Highness has mistaken me. My pretensions to the hand of Mademoiselle
de Clairvaut are too small, too few to be thought of even by myself.
My brother, indeed, may have greater pretensions. Your Highness knows
that his estates in the south are considerable; that his race, though
certainly not equal to that of the princely house of Guise, is as old
and as pure as any in France; but he has a thousand high qualities
that you do not know. He is brave, skilful, with far more experience
than myself, faithful and true in his attachments, and even more
zealous and eager than I am in every thing he undertakes. Let any
little services of mine, my Lord, be attributed to him; let him also
serve and attach himself to your Highness; and let the sum of the
affection and zeal of both in your cause induce you to look favourably
upon his suit, even should he aspire to the hand of Mademoiselle de
Clairvaut."
"By my faith," exclaimed the Duke of Guise, pushing the glass of wine
which he was just about to drink away from him--"By my faith, this is
the most extraordinary piece of business, I think, I ever heard of!"
And he paused, thoughtfully gazing down upon the table. "You are a
strange youth," he continued, "and there is something under this which
I do not understand. But, be you sure, Maitre Charles, that Maitre
Henri will unriddle it. And now let me tell you something that you do
not know yourself. I have this very morning received an epistle from
your brother; an epistle which, though eloquent enough, well written,
clear, and masterly, yet I love not altogether. He tells me, that the
passports for my niece, from Henri of Navarre, have arrived; but that
he judges it best, seeing the troubled state of the country, to escort
her towards Soissons himself, with a sufficient band to protect her
against any attack. He speaks of you, too, as '_a brother of his_,'
and gives as a reason for delaying a day or two ere he sets out, that
you had taken with you on your journey some men from the castle, so
that it is necessary for him to increase his numbers ere he departs."
"That was hardly generous of him," said Charles of Montsoreau, calmly;
"for I took no more than my own immediate retainers, except, indeed,
the one man, Gondrin, whom your Highness knows, and who was born upon
my own lands of Logeres."
"Oh, I know him well, indeed," replied the Duke, "and owe him much. We
will have him and the page in before we part, that I may thank them.
And so, Monsieur de Logeres, you will let me do nothing for you."
"Say not so, my Lord," replied the Count, "I ask you much, when I ask
you for the honour and the pleasure of serving under you, and also
express the hope that you will always treat me and consider me as
now."
"Oh, such requests are easily granted," said the Duke: "you shall
command a company of my Albanians, and be ever near my person; but
still I shall consider that there is a debt to be paid, and shall
reserve the payment thereof for a year; and if you name not your own
boon by that time, I shall force my gratitude upon you. There is some
mystery in your conduct which at present I do not understand. But all
earthly mysteries disappear, my good young friend. When they
represented Time, they would have done well to put a torch in his hand
as well as a scythe, for he throws light upon all things. I will write
about the Albanian company this night."
"Your pardon, my Lord," replied Charles of Montsoreau--"but I would
fain serve you at the head of my own people. Give me but a month away
from you, and I will bring you a hundred steel-caps from Logeres,
mounted, armed, and trained as well as any cavaliers in France. All
the tenantry are bred to arms there from their infancy, so that but a
short space will suffice."
"You are resolved to make me still more your debtor," said the Duke;
"and I will acknowledge, that at the present moment the assistance of
every brave and true-hearted man in France is needful to Henry of
Guise; for oh, my young friend, I have to deal with as wily a serpent
as ever was hatched in the Asiatic deserts. Were it but Henry of
Navarre I had to deal with, the contest in this country would soon be
settled, for as gallant a knight, and as noble a gentleman is he, as
ever lived; frank, generous, and true; and with our lances in our
hands and our helmets on our heads, we could decide the fate of France
between us in an hour. But when I have to deal with one who,
professing love and friendship, would poison the chalice, or arm the
assassin's hand against me; who, while he feigns to listen to my
counsel, deals secretly with every enemy of his state and of his
country; who betrays every secret that is intrusted to him as soon as
he finds an interest in so doing; and who only sinks from the activity
of evil-doing into voluptuous, effeminate, indecent repose;--when I
have to deal with such a man as that, I say, the support of every true
man in France is needful to me, to free my country from the evils that
afflict her--never forgetting my duty to the crown. Go, my young
friend, arm your vassals, bring to me every man that you can command,
and you shall find Henry of Lorraine as deeply grateful to you for
this new service as he is for that which is past. I will make no
further professions to you. What I have said already ought to be
enough to convince you, that with me, at least, neither the pride nor
the ambition, of which they unjustly accuse our race, can stand in the
way of gratitude. Now, however, let us have in your man Gondrin and
your little page. He speaks, it seems to me, with a foreign accent.
Where did you get him?"
As he spoke, the Duke rang a silver bell which stood by his side, and
gave orders to the servant who appeared to seek for the two attendants
of the young Count, and bring them before him. While he was absent,
Charles of Montsoreau gave him a full account of his accidental
meeting with the boy Ignati, and of his redeeming him from the hands
of the Italians. The tale seemed to interest the Duke not a little;
and, after musing for a moment, he said, "You see, my young friend,
how kindness and services always render men greedy. I would to heaven
that you would give me these two who have gone with me through such a
moment of peril. I feel as if that boy were destined again to do me
some great service."
"Take him, my Lord, with all my heart," replied Charles of Montsoreau,
"not that I put any great faith in such presentiments; but as I
redeemed the boy from these men only for his own good, far be it from
me to stay him in any way from advancement. Your Highness remembers,
however, that he is not noble, and therefore can scarcely be your
page."
"Oh, we set our foot upon such things now," replied the Duke--"the
service of the Guise shall make him noble. But here they are. Come
hither, good youth," he added, as the boy and Gondrin entered--"let me
look in your face: it seems to me as if I had seen you somewhere
before. Your look pleases me, and memory seems to bring it back with
pleasure. Where have I beheld you?"
The boy looked up in the Duke's face, with his colour slightly
heightened, but his manner calm and self-possessed. "You have seen me,
my Lord," he said, "in the good town of Nancy, in the palace of the
noble Duke of Lorraine, upon the night of a high festival, where many
a gallant lord and many a bright lady sat around you; and a poor
Italian boy was brought in to dance and sing before the high table at
which you feasted. The princes, and the nobles round, the beautiful
women, and the politic matrons, poured their money into the cap which
my hard taskmaster handed round; but the Duke of Guise alone called up
poor Ignati to his side, laid his hand upon his head, thanked him for
his music, and gave him a broad piece of gold for himself."
"I remember," said the Duke, thoughtfully, "I remember. Well, boy, by
that kind word, and that broad piece, it seems I have purchased
service that never was bought at so light a rate. My good Lord of
Logeres, when the pistol of a reiter was within a foot of my breast,
his finger on the trigger, and my life apparently at his mercy, with
nothing but a grey doublet between, me and destruction, this boy
proved better to me than a breastplate of Milan steel, and, by driving
his dagger into the heart of my adversary, saved the life of Henry of
Guise, for whatever period God in his grace may grant it further. Will
you give me this youth, my Lord, to be my page?"
The young Count bowed his head in token of assent, and the Duke went
on. "What say you, boy? would you willingly serve me?"
The boy paused, and looked down, while the tears rose in his eyes.
Then, turning his look to Charles of Montsoreau, he said, "He has been
very kind to me!"
"Come, come, Ignati," said the young Count, "I will not have your heart
spoil your fortunes, my good youth. I took you for your own service,
not for mine; and though I like you well, and would willingly have you
with me, yet this is a noble offer, and must not be refused."
The boy then knelt down and kissed the Duke of Guise's hand, saying,
"I am your Highness's servant."
"So shalt thou be, Ignati," replied the Duke, with one of the bright
smiles of the Guise. "But I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Thou
shalt go with this young lord to his lands of Logeres, and be my spy
upon all his actions and his thoughts. Then, if thou findest out that
thing on all the earth which he most wishes and desires to possess,
and bringest me the tidings thereof, thou shalt have a purse of broad
pieces for thy pains. When he comes back, thou shalt come to be of my
household; and, as I trust that he will be ever near me, thou mayest
find many a way of serving him also.--Now, good soldier," he
continued, turning to Gondrin, "you, too, have aided me well in a
moment of great need: what recompense shall the Duke of Guise offer
you? Will you take service with him, and he will care for your
fortunes?"
"I thank you, my Lord," replied Gondrin, bluntly. "But on this young
gentleman's lands was I born, his race have I served, his forest
sports have I tended through all my life, and I think I will not leave
him now, unless he dismount me out of his troop; and then, pardie! I
think I shall follow him on foot. What I did for your Highness was
done by his orders. I knew you but as Maitre Henri, with a grey
doublet and a cock's feather, so that I deserve neither thanks nor
recompense, though I will gladly serve your Highness under him, if God
and the good Count so will it."
"Would that there were many such as thou art!" said the Duke of Guise,
thoughtfully. "There are few who will not quit old kindness for new
preferment. Here, my friend, take you that ring, in memory of Henry of
Guise. It is a diamond, for which the goldsmiths will give five
hundred crowns; but, should you ever want money, he who now gives it
will gladly give a thousand crowns for it back again."
CHAP. XII.
The rock which it meets with in its course turns the impetuous river
from the way it was pursuing, even when it comes down in all the fury
of the mountain torrent. The slight slope of a green hill, the rise of
a grassy bank at an after-period, bends the calm stream hither and
thither through the plains, offering the most beautiful image of the
effect of circumstances on the course of human life. Some streams also
become coloured by the earth they pass over, or mingle readily with
the waters that flow into theirs. But there are a few--and they are
always the mightiest and most profound--which retain their original
hue and character, receive the tribute of other streams, pass over
rocks and mountains, and through the midst of deep lakes, without the
Rhone losing its glossy blue in the bosom of Lake Leman, or the Rhine
mingling its clear stream with the waters of Constance or the current
of the Maine.
The firm and powerful mind may be affected in its operations by
circumstances, but not in its nature, and the depths of original
character remain unchanged from the beginning to the end of life. Even
strong feelings in such hearts, like objects cast upon a grand and
rapid river, are borne along with the current through all scenes and
circumstances, till with the waters themselves they plunge into the
ocean of eternity.
Neither by nature nor by the period of his life was Charles of
Montsoreau likely to retain and nourish long any light feelings of
disappointment, but such was not the case with deep sorrows or with
strong affections. His heart was of that firm and tenacious kind that
it lost not readily any thing once strongly impressed upon it. The
love of Marie de Clairvaut was one of those things never to be
forgotten; the sorrows by which that love had been followed were never
to be obliterated from his mind.
In the gay scenes of the sort of second court which the Duke of Guise
held for some days in the city of Rheims, Charles of Montsoreau
mingled without any apparent grief weighing upon his mind, or any dark
and gloomy memory seeming to oppress his spirit. He smiled with those
who smiled, he admired all that was fine, and bright, and beautiful;
and if he felt for a moment coming over him the deep melancholy with
which he had quitted his own home, and which had now concentrated
itself in his heart, he struggled against it and banished the outward
appearance of it speedily, deriving only from those deeper feelings
which lay concealed within, that degree of indifference towards the
pleasures and amusements of youth which is seldom obtained but by
experience. He forgot not Marie de Clairvaut, however--he forgot not
the painful task which he had imposed upon himself; but he gladly
occupied his immediate thoughts with the objects around him, and
remained for some days well pleased himself, and not un-noted by
others for his calm and graceful demeanour, amongst all the proud
nobles who now surrounded the princely Guise.
At length, however, all his attendants but two, whose wounds promised
a tedious convalescence, were sufficiently recovered to enable him to
pursue his journey to Logeres; and he set out, with his train
increased by six or seven veteran soldiers, whom the Duke spared to
him, for the purpose of completing, as rapidly as possible, the
discipline and training of his own retainers. As the distance was not
far, and the Duke of Guise had given him more than one hint that no
time was to be lost, he resolved to accomplish the march in one day;
and, setting off early in the morning, approached Logeres towards
sunset upon a short spring day.
It was a wild and wooded country, on the borders of the ancient
Ardennes, with the scene continually varying in minor points, but
never changing the character of rough, solitary nature, which that
part of France, and indeed many other parts, at that time displayed.
Here the ground was rocky and mountainous, shooting up into tall hills
covered with old woods; there, smooth and even, with the feet of the
primeval oaks carpeted with green turf. Then, again, came deep dells,
and banks, and ravines, and dingles, so thick that the boar could
scarcely force his way through the bushes; and then the trees fell
back, and left the wild stream wandering through green meadows, or
sporting amongst the masses of stone. If a village appeared, it was
perched high up above the road, as if afraid of the passing strangers;
if a cottage, it was nested in the brown wood, and scarcely to be
distinguished from the surrounding banks. The air was now as warm as
May, and all the sweet things that haunt the first dream of summer had
come forth: the birds were tuning their earliest songs; the flowers
were gathering round the roots of the trees, and the branches above
them were making an effort, though but faint, to cast away the brown
cloak of winter, and put on the green garmenture of the spring.
The evening sunshine was clear and smiling. Pouring from under a light
cloud, which covered a part of the sky, it streamed in amongst the
bolls and branches of the trees; it gilded the green turf, and danced
upon the yellow banks: and what between the wild music of the
blackbird, and the thrush, and the woodlark, the flowers upon the
ground, the balminess of the air, the spring sunshine, and the
peaceful scene, Charles of Montsoreau felt his sorrows softened; and
though not less deeply melancholy than before, yet owned the influence
of that season, which is so near akin to youth and hope, and rode on
with a vague, but sweet feeling, that brighter hours might come.
He had spent many a happy youthful day at Logeres; and though he had
forgotten much, so that the charm of novelty was not altogether
wanting, he remembered enough to make his heart beat with the thrill
of memory, while many an object, once familiar to his eye, rose up, as
if to greet him on his return. At length, the road passing straight
over a ridge of rising-ground, showed him his own little village, in
the sweet valley below, with the chateau rising on a tall hill that
started up from the side of the little town, unconnected with any of
the other heights around. The clouds that were in the zenith at that
moment were pouring forth a light shower of spring rain; the sun was
shining bright near the edge of the horizon, catching on the
weathercocks, and turrets, and windows of the chateau; while spanning
over the castle and the village, and wavering on the face of the light
grey cloud above was seen the radiant bow of heaven, the pledge of
brightness for the days to come.
The young Count, as he paused for a moment to gaze, could hear gay
distant voices, borne on the wind, rising up from the village in the
valley. It was a cheerful sound; but, more than any thing else, it
recalled the former times, and wove between them and the present a
tissue of associations both sweet and melancholy. He thought of the
gallant father, by whose knee he had played in those very scenes in
other days; he thought of the mother, whose inheritance those lands
had been; he thought of the mutual love and harmony that had subsisted
between them all, and how death had taken two, and how disunion had
arisen between the two that remained. He thought of all this; and he
thought of how--if fate had willed it otherwise--he might have led a
happy bride to those glittering towers, have listened with her to the
glad voices of the rejoicing peasantry, and have pointed to the
sunshine that lit their dwelling, and the rainbow that waved across
their sky, as auguries of hope, and happiness, and mutual love. He
thought of all this, and how it was all in vain: and the tears filled
his eyes, as he rode on towards the dwelling before him.
The two servants, whom he had sent on the day before, had spread the
news, and given the probable hour of his coming; the street of the
village was thronged with people, in their holy-day attire; the old
grey cross, and the rude stone fountain, were decked with flowers; the
light-hearted peasantry echoed his name with shouts when he appeared,
and greetings and gratulations poured forth upon him: but the heart of
the young Count of Logeres was sad. The face of nature reviving from
the wintry cold, the voices of the birds, the eloquence of sunshine
and of flowers, had soothed, and calmed, and inspirited his heart; but
the rejoicings of fellow-beings like himself--he knew not why, and he
was angry to feel it--made him even more melancholy than before.
The elders of the village, conscious of dignity, the Count's own
intendant, and the seneschal of his lands, came forward to greet him,
and conduct him on his way, while Gondrin lingered behind, shaking
hands with many an old friend, and inquiring after many an old
acquaintance, vaunting the high deeds and noble qualities of his lord,
and gladdening the hearts of the villagers with the promise of great
doings at Logeres.
Such was Charles of Montsoreau's arrival on his own estates; but the
aspect of the interior of his dwelling again recalled bitter feelings
and manifold regrets. But we must pass over such things, and merely
notice briefly what followed after his arrival. Immediate inquiry
showed him a state of things which few lords who absent themselves
long from their own lands can ever hope to find:--his tenantry, his
vassals, were in general contented and happy; no one had been pressed
hard upon by his officers in his absence; no one brought forward any
accusation of extortion or oppression; and though there were many who
had their little petition to present, or their request to make for the
future, there was none who found occasion to complain of the past. At
the same time, he found that considerable sums, and a considerable
quantity of produce, had accumulated for his own use; that there were
large woods, the trees of which required to be thinned; that the wool
of many years yet remained to be sold; that some distant mines had
poured unexpected wealth into his coffers; and that, in fact, great
riches, which seemed still greater to an inexperienced eye, were
immediately at his command.
The secret of all this was, that those left in authority behind him
were all old tried and attached servants of his mother's house; and
the feudal system had that advantage at least, if it had no other,
that it created an identity of interests between a lord and his
servants, which nothing but blindness and folly could break through on
either part.
On speaking with the old seneschal in regard to the military capacity
and disposition of the people, the old man smiled at the question if
he could raise a hundred strong troopers within the ensuing month.
"The ringing, sir, of the old ban-cloque," he said, "which, thank God,
I have heard but once in my day, would bring double the number of
well-armed lads round your gate in an hour. They are only angry
because, in all the feuds that have lately fallen out, I would never
let them go to join either one party or another, if I could help it.
Your own orders upon that head were strict; and I certainly thought it
very wise, as long as they judged fit to leave us at peace here, to
avoid all occasion of bringing feuds upon ourselves. Some of the young
men stole away, indeed, whether I would or not, and took service with
the good Duke of Guise against the reiters. They have almost all come
back now; but the tales they bring of battles here and there, and
driving the Germans out of France like sheep, are not likely to make
those that remained more fond of home."
"I have no wish," replied the Count, "to drain the place of its
peasantry, good seneschal. A hundred men will be enough for my
purpose, and of those, none but such as are willing. I would rather,
of course, have those who have served already, if they are inclined to
serve again under their own lord's banner. And now let this be
arranged with all speed, for I have promised the Duke of Guise not to
delay a day longer than necessary."
No delay or obstruction of any kind was met with by the young Count in
his proceedings. Though neither very populous nor very productive,
except in wood and pasture, his territories were very extensive; and
no sooner were his wishes known, than many more volunteers flocked in
to serve beneath his banner than he was willing to receive. With the
old soldiers who accompanied him, and the aid of such of his peasantry
as had served before, whatever was wanting to the discipline of the
rest was soon accomplished. The providing them with arms and horses
occupied a some--what longer time; but every thing was in active
preparation, when, at the expiration of about a fortnight, a courier
from the Duke of Guise arrived at Logeres, bearing a letter dated from
Soissons, and addressed to the young Count.
"I fear," the letter said, "that this will not find you in such a
state of preparation as to enable you to join me at once, at the
little town of Gonnesse, with all the men you promised. If you could,
however, advance at once towards that place, with whatever men you can
command at the moment, you might render the greatest of services to
Henry of Guise.
"It would be as well," he continued in a postscript, "if you could
cross the Aisne. My presence is required, with all speed, in the
neighbourhood of Paris. I have not fifty men with me; and,
notwithstanding the defeat of Auneau, I hear that a strong band of
reiters has been seen in the neighbourhood of La Ferte sous Jouarre.
If you can set off before night to-morrow, send me tidings that such
is the case by the messenger who bears this letter; but do not go
farther than Montigny before you hear more. God have you in his good
keeping.
"Henry of Guise."
The consultation of Charles of Montsoreau with his seneschal was but
short. He well knew that the field is the place to make good soldiers,
and that but little more preparation was needful. He therefore caused
his band to pass before the courier of the duke, and bade him tell
that Prince what he saw, directing him to add, that he would, on the
following day, make his first march towards La Ferte with fifty men;
and that, in four days more, the rest would follow, if by any
possibility their arms could be prepared by that time. With this
message he mounted him afresh, and sent him back to Soissons.