There was an old hall in the Château de Marzay, very like many another
old hall in many parts both of France and England, some forty feet in
span, some seventy in length, arched over with a concave roof, nearly
semi-circular in the curve, and not at all unlike, with its rounded
ribs, the tilt of an enormous waggon. From the line where the vault
sprang from the walls, ten or twelve large beams projected, ornamented
at the ends with curiously carved and somewhat grotesque heads,
supporting each an upright, upon which the arches of the roof rested,
while diagonal beams gave additional strength to this sort of
permanent scaffolding. The floor, as was usual in such chambers, was
of polished tiles, alternately octangular and square; and seven large
windows, with very small panes set in lead, gave light to the
interior.
This hall was the favourite place, in all the castle, of its Lord,
Anthony Lefevre, Count de Liancourt, a gentleman allied to some of the
first families in France, who had served in former wars with tolerable
reputation, showing a greater lack of judgment than of courage; the
latter quality leading him into many dangers, from which he had been
saved, more by the skill and resolution of his friends and followers,
than his own discretion. Comparatively few of the vices of man do not
spring from his weaknesses. It is still the contest between the
stronger and the feebler parts of our nature which overthrows us; and
whether the passion be vanity or pride or avarice or ambition, or any
of all the host of minor fiends against which we pray, it is solely by
weakness of the higher qualities, placed to guard the heart in
opposition to them, that either or all gain the ascendancy. We do not
have a care to fortify the garrison betimes, as we might do, and the
enemy takes us by siege, or storm, or escalade.
The Count de Liancourt had been all his life a weak man, and the
passion which triumphed the most frequently over him was vanity; but
he had sufficient talent, which is very far from incompatible with
weakness, to conceal from the eyes of those who did not know him to
the very heart, the feebleness of his character. The suggestions of
other people he passed for the result of his own deliberations, and he
adhered to these adopted children with all the fondness of a parent.
Though naturally wavering and undecided, he had the skill to give a
colouring of moderation and prudence to that conduct which sprung from
hesitation; and, by adopting the reasonings of wiser men, he justified
that course which in him was the result of unreasonable doubts. But as
he was wanting in discrimination of justice, right, and propriety, it
not unfrequently happened that the very art with which he covered the
fact that he followed rather than led, turned to his discredit; and
acts by no means honourable to him were very generally ascribed to his
own cunning, which were in truth only attributable to his own
weakness. Without giving the whole history of his life, these facts
could not have been made manifest by any other means than by
description, and therefore I have thought fit to point out some
peculiarities in a character which would not probably have room to
develop itself.
He loved, I have said, that old hall, and would pass many an hour
there, either walking to and fro--apparently in deep thought, but in
reality more engaged in day-dreams than meditations--or in writing or
reading at a table in one of the windows, while ever and anon he
raised his eyes to the banners and ensigns which hung from the beams,
and contemplated with pleasure the long ancestral line of which they
were mementos.
In this hall he was found by his fair ward, Rose d'Albret, and her two
companions, on their return from the battlements; but the Lady had to
place her hand upon his arm before he roused himself from a book which
he seemed studying deeply.
"De Montigni has just arrived, my dear uncle," said Rose, as he looked
up; "we saw him from the walls."
"I am glad to hear it," replied the Count; "I knew no harm would
happen to him. Ah, here he comes!"
As he spoke, the young nobleman entered the hall, followed by the good
farmer Chasseron; and Monsieur de Liancourt advancing towards him,
opened his arms and embraced him with every mark of kindness.
"Welcome! welcome, my dear boy!" he said, in a somewhat pompous tone;
"welcome back to Marzay. You will find the old château just as it was,
though your uncle cannot boast of bearing his years as well, Louis.
Here are your gay cousin Chazeul and my fair ward Rose, all ready to
receive you, and wish you joy of your return. Why, you look somewhat
thin and pale!"
Chazeul embraced De Montigni also, and congratulated him upon his safe
arrival in his native land, adding, "You have been no great traveller,
I think, nevertheless, Louis. Padua has been your boundary, has it
not? And there, doubtless, you have made yourself a very learned man,
while we here have learned nothing but hard blows and rough campaigns.
By my faith, you have, I think, chosen the better part, at least the
happier one, though here is a fair reward for all one's labours. Sweet
Rose, do you not welcome your cousin?"
The cheek of Rose d'Albret grew somewhat red, partly through
indignation, partly through embarrassment. She saw clearly enough the
latent design of the Marquis de Chazeul in speaking of her as if she
were actually his; and she felt some anger at being called forward to
welcome the companion of her youth, as if she were not prompt to do
so, by a man who had shown such indifference to his safety. She came
forward gracefully, however, and held out her hand to De Montigni,
with a warm and kindly smile, saying, "Indeed I am very glad to see
you, Louis; but you would take no notice of me just now. I waved my
hand to you from the walls, to be the first to wish you joy on your
return, but you did not look up."
De Montigni coloured, and faltered for a moment, but then replied,
earnestly, "I saw you from a distance, and knew you at once; but as I
came near, a thousand memories of other days assailed me, Mademoiselle
d'Albret. Days long gone rose up before me, hopes vanished, pleasures
past away, regrets unavailing; and I could not but give myself up to
thought."
Rose asked herself what were the hopes, what the regrets, he spoke of;
and her heart beat, and her cheek grew somewhat pale. She looked
round, however; Chazeul was talking in a whisper with her guardian;
the priest was standing in the window; and she said, in a low voice,
"Do not call me Mademoiselle d'Albret, Louis. That is a cold name. It
used ever to be Rose, or cousin, in former days."
"Cousin you are not, except by courtesy," replied De Montigni, in the
same tone, "and I did not venture to call you Rose, now that you are
another's."
The colour came warmly into her cheek, but she cast down her eyes,
saying, in a tone scarcely audible, "I am not another's yet; and, if
ever I am, I shall then be your cousin really."
De Montigni knew little of the world, it is true; but yet when a woman
speaks of such matters, in so low a tone, to one for whom she
professes friendship, it shows at least a confidence in him, which is
near akin to deeper regard. He was embarrassed, however; and how many
opportunities does not embarrassment cause us to lose for ever! how
often does it make us seem the very reverse of what we are! The kind
appear harsh, the affectionate cold, the modest even impudent. He knew
not what to reply; and suddenly breaking off their private
conversation, though it might have lasted longer, for his uncle was
still talking eagerly with Chazeul, he turned to his companion
Chasseron, who, standing a step behind, had remained unnoticed,
watching with his clear and penetrating eyes all that was passing
before him, and drawing at once his own conclusions.
"My dear uncle," said the young nobleman, addressing Monsieur de
Liancourt, "here is a worthy gentleman to whom I have promised a
welcome for the night in your name. I found him in the wood about half
an hour ago, attacked by some six or seven marauders, two of whom he
had disabled before I came up."
"Ay, Sir," rejoined Chasseron, "and if you had not come up and fought
gallantly when you did come, the rest would have soon disabled me. To
your courage and skill I owe my life, _pardie!_"
"Indeed!" cried Rose d'Albret, with her cheek glowing and her eyes
turned somewhat reproachfully towards Chazeul, "I told you I was sure
Louis was attacked, and that the guns we heard were those of some of
these plunderers. I knew De Montigni was coming at that hour," she
added as a sort of explanation, "and thought it very likely that he
would meet with some lawless band in the wood."
"It was in my defence, fair Lady, that he fought," said Chasseron,
"and gallantly he did fight, too."
"And pray, Sir, who are you?" demanded Chazeul, with an angry spot
upon his cheek at hearing the praises of one whom he wished to believe
weak and timid.
"A very poor gentleman, Sir," replied Chasseron, "not many poorer in
the realm of France; and yet a gentleman. My name is Michael de
Chasseron; and in days of yore, I have seen many a well stricken
field; so that I am some judge of such matters, though now I have laid
aside that trade, and am, as you may see, but a cultivator of the
ground."
"Michael de Chasseron! I have heard the name," said Monsieur de
Liancourt; "at all events you are welcome, Sir; and such entertainment
as the Château of Marzay can afford you shall command."
Chasseron was expressing his thanks briefly, when a loud rough-toned
but hearty voice was heard without, exclaiming, "Where is he? where is
he? where is my dear boy?" and at the same moment an old man entered
the room, who had apparently, though not really, numbered more years
than Monsieur de Liancourt himself. He was dressed in a buff coat of
buckskin, laced with gold, with a high-standing collar, according to a
fashion passed away some fifteen or twenty years before, with no ruff
round his neck, but merely a plain linen cape turned back from his
grey beard and neck. Over his shoulders hung a riband, from which was
suspended the cross of a Commander of the order of St. John, and in
his hand he carried a stout staff, on which he leant as he advanced up
the hall, somewhat limping in his gait from an old wound in the leg. A
deep scar appeared on his brow, and a large hole on his right cheek,
mementos of former fields; and his whole frame seemed greatly
shattered by injuries and labours. His eye however was clear and
bright, his cheek warm and healthy, and his countenance frank and
smiling.
The instant he entered he paused, looked straight towards De Montigni,
and then stretched out his arms. The young man sprang to meet his
embrace, and the old commander held him for several moments to his
heart, unable apparently to speak from emotion. A tear rose in the eye
of Rose d'Albret as she witnessed the meeting, and for a moment she
turned away towards the window.
"Welcome, welcome, Louis," cried the old Commander de Liancourt,
"welcome back at length, my boy; but what the devil made thee stay
away so long? thou shouldst have been here years ago! 'Tis a bad
business, Louis, 'tis a bad business; but no matter for that, it can't
be helped. We are all fools at some time of our lives; one man when he
is young, another man when he is old. Heaven help us, man, how tall
thou art grown! and I'll warrant you, notwithstanding all they say of
your studies, can wield a sword or couch a lance with any one.
_Pardie_, I'll have thee run a tilt with Chazeul in the court-yard
to-morrow!" and dropping his voice, he added with a laugh, "break his
head for him, Louis; he is a coxcomb and a knave, though he be my
sister's son; but she's not much better, for that matter."
While he spoke, he held the young man by the hand, and eyed him all
over with a look of fond affection, seeming to attend but little to
what he said in reply, though De Montigni answered him in warm terms
of regard, and declared he looked in better health than when last he
saw him.
"Ay boy, ay," said the old commander, "rest and idleness have done
something for me; though if I could have mounted my horse, I would
have been in the field long ago; but this accursed wound still keeps
me out of the saddle, and I am no better than an old woman,--food for
worms--food for worms, Louis! This old carrion of mine is quite ready
for the earth, when it be God's will. But you must see old Estoc; he
bore your father's cornet at Jarnac; and the old villain does not know
you are come, or he would have been here long ago. Halloo there!
Estoc! Estoc!" and he made the hall ring with his shout.
"For heaven's sake, my good brother," said Monsieur de Liancourt, "do
not shake the walls of the château down. Some one tell Estoc that
Monsieur de Montigni is arrived."
"Monsieur de Montigni!" said the commander, imitating his brother's
tone. "Warm that, Louis!--cordial! Monsieur de Montigni! _Ventre saint
gris!_ have you quite forgot he is your nephew, brother? Your eldest
sister's son? Ah! poor Louise; if she could but see what I see!--Well,
'tis no matter, the grave is a sure shield against many a wound."
"Come, come, now brother," said Monsieur de Liancourt, somewhat
sharply, "your humour gets intolerable. Did you not promise that I
should have none of this?"
"Promise? No, not a bit of it," cried the old commander; "I always
keep my promises, Anthony; I wish others did as well. However, there
is no use of talking now. You must have it all your own way. You
always did; and a pretty affair you often made of it. Ah! here comes
Estoc.--Here he is, old comrade, here he is, with just the same face
he went away, only with a beard on it!"
These words were addressed to a tall, old, weather-beaten man, as thin
and as stiff as a lance, who advanced with great strides up the hall,
and taking the Baron de Montigni in his arms, gave him a great hug;
then suddenly letting him go, he said, "I could not help it, Sir,
indeed. Bless my heart, it seems as if you were little Louis still; do
you recollect how I used to teach you to ride, and to shoot, and to
play with sword and buckler?"
"Ay, that I do, Estoc," replied the young nobleman; "those lessons
have served me well, many a time since, and no longer ago than to-day.
But I must give my companion of this afternoon's adventure into your
charge, Estoc. Where is Monsieur de Chasseron?" he continued, looking
around.
"He left the room this moment, probably to see after his horse,"
observed father Walter, advancing from the window for the first time.
"I will go and find him," answered Estoc; "I passed some one in the
vestibule, but as it is growing grey, I scarcely saw him;" and he
turned abruptly to depart.
"Hark ye, Estoc," said the old commander, detaining him for a moment,
and speaking in a whisper, "come up to his room when he goes to change
his clothes. I must have some talk with him; the boy must know how he
stands here--do you understand?"
Estoc nodded his head, and took his departure without reply.
In the meantime the priest had held out his hand to the young Baron de
Montigni, saying, "Though the last to wish you joy on your return,
Sir, I do so sincerely, and trust you have fared well during your
absence."
"Ah! good father," exclaimed the young Baron, "in this dim light I did
not know you; but I am right glad to see you again, and have to thank
you for many a wise counsel and much good instruction, by which I hope
I have not failed to profit. Have you been well since last we parted?"
"As well as I could wish to be," replied the priest; "not that I am
sure that high health is as great a blessing as men think. Like wealth
and many another of this world's gifts, it sometimes leads us to
forget our dependence on the Giver."
"I trust not to a well-regulated mind," said De Montigni; "and I am
sure, to you it could be no source of evil."
The old man looked down and shut his teeth fast together; and Monsieur
de Liancourt, wishing to bring a scene which was not altogether
pleasing to him to a close as speedily as possible, told De Montigni
that the evening meal would be ready in half an hour, so that he had
but time to change his riding-dress.
The young nobleman lingered for a few moments, however, conversing
with those around, and marking many things which the actors therein
little knew that he observed. Chazeul had kept close to the side of
Rose d'Albret since his conversation with the Count had come to an
end, and thrice he had endeavoured to engage her attention to himself,
but in vain. At this moment, however, he said with some degree of
irritation in his tone, "You seem very much occupied, sweet Rose."
"So I am, Monsieur de Chazeul," she answered aloud, "and interested
too.--Are you not so?"
"Oh, certainly," he replied, "these receptions are always interesting
ceremonies."
"Not to those, with whom they are ceremonies," said Rose d'Albret; and
while Chazeul bit his lip, and his brow contracted moodily, she turned
to speak with father Walter de la Tremblade.
De Montigni was conversing, in the meantime with his two uncles; but
he had heard all, and marked particularly the words "Monsieur de
Chazeul;" and whatever other effect might be produced upon him, the
immediate result was to throw him into a fit of thought, and make him
answer some of Monsieur de Liancourt's questions at random.
"What are you thinking about, Louis?" cried the old commander; "my
brother asks when you left Padua; and you say, five years."
"He is tired and exhausted," said Monsieur de Liancourt; "he had
better go and take off these heavy boots, cool his head and hands in
some fresh water, and come down to supper, where we will refresh him
with a good cup of wine."
"I am tired," said the young nobleman, "for I have ridden more than
twenty leagues to-day, so that I will take your advice, my good uncle,
and find my way down to the supper-hall when I hear the trumpet."
Thus saying, he retired, passing through the vestibule, where in one
of the deep windows he saw his old friend Estoc, still busily talking
to the good farmer Chasseron. De Montigni did not stop, however, but
merely said, as he passed by, "Take care of him, Estoc, and seek him
out a comfortable room."
"That I will, Sir," replied Estoc, and continued his conversation.
The first meeting between the two who now stood together in the
window, had been somewhat curious. On quitting the hall, the old
soldier had entered the vestibule with his usual wide and hasty
strides; and, as that side of the château was turned from the sun, so
that it was darker than most other parts of the house, he might not
have seen the man he came in search of, who was seated on a bench near
the window, had not his attention been called by a voice pronouncing
the word, 'Estoc.'
Turning quickly round he advanced towards him, and gazed in his face,
saying, "You seem to know me, Sir, and methinks I have seen you
before."
"You have, my good friend," replied Chasseron; "we have met twice; do
you not remember Michael Chasseron?"
"I remember Peter Chasseron, right will," replied the old soldier; "he
took me prisoner at St. Jean, and treated me right kindly; but you are
not the same," and while he spoke he continued to examine the
countenance of his companion with great attention.
"And when he had taken you," replied the farmer, "he brought you to
the person who was in command of the troop. That was his brother. I am
the same. Do you recollect me now?"
Estoc gazed at him again, and then answered in a significant tone, "I
think I do; but it is twelve years ago, and you were a young man then.
Come into the window and let me look at you."
"I am the same I tell you," replied Chasseron, moving into the window;
"there, take as good a look as you like."
Estoc did not fail to do so; then cast down his eyes, and bit the side
of his hand with his teeth. "Well," he said, at length, "you are a
bold man to venture here, all things considered. Do you not know that
we are all Catholics in this place, and Monsieur de Chazeul one of the
foremost of the League, who would think no more of putting you to
death, be the result what it would, than of sitting down to his
supper?"
"Parbleu! I know it right well," replied Chasseron; "and that is the
reason I waited for you here. I am sure that you are not one who would
betray me, and as for your leader, the good commander, I would put my
life in his hands without the slightest fear."
"That you might, that you might," said the old soldier; "and it will
be better to tell him too. But do none of these people know you? Some
of them must have seen you. Why, the very name of Chasseron, if they
had recollected, was enough to make the Marquis cut your throat. He
would no more hesitate to roast a Huguenot alive in that court-yard,
than to kill a stag or a wolf;" and, as he spoke, he looked over his
shoulder to see that no one was coming.
"He would need two or three to help him," replied Chasseron; "and I
felt sure that, if I trusted to the young Baron's word, I should find
those within who would take the part of honour. But none of these men
have seen me for years; and when they did, 'twas but for a moment. You
know in those days I came and went like the lightning. As for the name
of Chasseron, it has long been forgotten too.--But hark ye, Estoc, you
love this young Lord it seems? Now it is for his sake that I have come
hither; not for a night's lodging, which I could obtain where I chose.
I have heard at C[oe]uvres that they are playing him false here; and
that there are plans afoot for doing him wrong in several ways.
Perhaps I may aid him, if I know the facts; and I would fain do so for
his good father's memory. He was as high and honourable a gentleman as
any in France. Though adversaries, we were not enemies, and I owed him
something too for courtesies shown when, God help me, there were few
to show them."
"Ah! I wish my poor Lord could hear those words," cried Estoc. "But
you are right, Sir, you are right. They are playing poor Louis false.
Wait a bit, and you shall hear more in the course of the evening; and
if you can help him, though I doubt it, God will bless you, were you
twenty times a heretic."
"Parbleu! you must be speedy with your tidings, Master Estoc," said
Chasseron, "for I must be away before nine tomorrow. I have got my
wheat to dispose of," he added; "a weighty matter in my new trade."
The old soldier laughed. "I should think, Sir, you would make but a
poor farmer," he replied; "but you shall have all my news this very
night. Ha! here comes the young Lord. As soon as he is gone by, I will
tell the good old commander that you are in the house; and you shall
see him yourself in his room."
Before Chasseron could reply, De Montigni passed through the
vestibule, as I have before described; but the moment he was gone the
old soldier added, "We are to talk with the poor lad while he is
dressing, and if I can so manage it, you shall be called to take a
part; if not, I will find the means ere night be over. Here come the
rest--let them pass, and then wait for me. I will be back with you in
a minute."
As he spoke, all those whom we have seen conversing in the hall passed
through the vestibule, with the exception of Rose d'Albret, who
retired by another door, leading direct to her own apartment. The good
old commander, supporting himself on his stick, was the last that
appeared, with his eyes bent down upon the ground, and his lips
muttering disconnected sentences to himself. In the semi-darkness that
now reigned, no one took any notice of Chasseron or his companion; but
the moment that his old leader had reached the opposite door, Estoc
followed, and taking his hand familiarly, put it through his own arm,
as if to assist his on his way; but at the same time he bent his head
and seemed to whisper. The old commander suddenly stopped gazing in
his face, and then hurried on at a quicker pace than before, in
evident agitation.
In less than two minutes, Estoc returned, saying in a low voice,
"Come, Sir, come! he is wild to see you;" and, with a quick step,
Chasseron followed him from the room.