Many, eager, and loud were the inquiries of the party who came to the
rescue of Jean Charost, regarding his adventures since Martin had left
him; but their curiosity was left unsatisfied. All he thought fit to
tell them amounted merely to the facts that he had been surrounded and
seized, before he was prepared to resist, by a party which appeared to
consist of common robbers; that for some time his life had seemed in
danger; and that, in the end, his captors, after having emptied his
purse, had consented to let him go, on condition that he would carry
away the child with him, and promise to take care of it for six years.
He had been made to take an oath also, he stated, neither to pursue
the party who had captured him, nor to give any description of their
persons; and, notwithstanding the arguments of the duke's retainers,
and especially of Monsieur Blaize, who sought to persuade him that an
oath taken in duress was of no avail, he resolutely kept his word.
The old _écuyer_ seemed mortified and displeased; but he did not
hesitate long as to his own course; and, leaving the young secretary
and Martin Grille to find their way back to the château of Beauté as
they could, he dashed on into the wood with his companions, swearing
that he would bring in the marauders, or know the reason why.
He was disappointed, however. The place where the captors of Jean
Charost had been enjoying themselves was easily found by the embers of
the fire round which they had sat; but they themselves were gone,
leaving nothing but an empty leathern bottle and some broken meat
behind them. The tracks of the horses' feet, too, could be traced for
some distance; but, after they entered the little road through the
wood, they became more indistinct amid other footprints and ruts, and,
although Monsieur Blaize and his companions followed them, as they
thought, to the village beyond, they could obtain no information from
the peasantry. No one would admit that they had seen any one pass but
Matthew So-and-so, the farmer; or the priest of the parish, on his
mule; or the baillie, on his horse; or some laborers with wagons; and,
after a two hours' search, the party of the duke's men returned to the
castle, surly and disappointed, and resolved to spare no means of
drawing all the particulars from Jean Charost.
In the mean time, the young secretary had returned to the little
hamlet which had gathered round the foot of the château of Beauté,
making Martin Grille, who was somewhat ashamed of the part he had
acted in the morning's adventures, carry the infant in his arms--a
task for which he was better fitted than Jean Charost himself; for, to
say truth, he made no bad nurse, and one of his many good qualities
was a great love for children. At the hamlet, Jean Charost paused, and
went into one or two of the cottages inquiring for Angelina Moulinet;
but he had to go down quite to the foot of the hill before he found
the house of the person of whom he was in search. It was small, but
much neater than most of the rest, and, on opening the door, he found
a little scene of domestic happiness which pleased the eye. A young
husband and wife, apparently tolerably well to do in life, were seated
together with two children, the husband busily engaged in carving out
a pair of _sabots_, or wooden shoes, from an old stump of willow, and
the wife spinning as fast as she could get her fingers to go. The boy
was, of course, teazing a cat; the little girl, still younger, was
crawling about upon her hands and knees, and rolling before her a
great wooden ball, probably of her father's handiwork. The fire burned
bright; every thing about the place was clean and comfortable; and the
whole formed a pleasant scene of calm mediocrity and rural happiness,
better than all the Arcadias that ever were dreamed of.
The wife rose up when the well-dressed young gentleman entered, and
the husband inclined his head without leaving off his operations upon
the _sabot_. But both looked a little surprised when Martin Grille
followed his master into the cottage, carrying an infant in his arms,
and Angelina Moulinet, with the kindly tact which never abandons a
woman, put down her distaff and went to look at the baby,
comprehending at once that some strange accident had brought it there,
and willing to smooth the way for explanation.
"What a beautiful little girl!" she exclaimed "Come, Pierrot, look
what a beautiful child!"
"Is it a little girl?" said Jean Charost, in perfect simplicity; "I am
sure I did not know it."
"Lord bless me! sir," cried the good woman "don't you see?"
"All I see," replied Jean Charost, "is, that it is an infant which has
accidentally been cast upon my hands; and I wish to know, Madame
Moulinet, if you will take care of it for me?"
The young woman looked at her husband, and the husband gazed with some
astonishment at Jean Charost, murmuring at length, though with evident
deference to his better half, "I think we have enough of our own."
"I do not expect you to take charge of this child," said Jean Charost,
"without proper payment. I will engage that you shall be well rewarded
for your pains."
"But, sir, we do not know you," said the man; and his wife in the same
breath inquired, "Pray, sir, who sent you to us?"
Jean Charost hesitated; and then taking the child from Martin Grille,
told him to leave the cottage for a moment.
The good valet obeyed; but, being blessed with the faculty of other
valets, he took up a position on the outside of the house which he
fancied would enable him to use both his hearing and his sight.
Neither served him much, however; for, though he saw good Angelina
Moulinet take the child from Jean Charost's arms, and the latter bend
down his head toward herself and her husband as they stood together,
as if saying a few words to them in a low tone, not one of those words
reached his ear through the cottage window. He could make nothing of
the gestures, either, of any of the party. Angelina raised her eyes
toward the sky, as if in some surprise; and Pierrot crossed his arms
upon his chest, looking grave and thoughtful. The moment after, both
were seen to speak quickly together, and the result of the
consultation, if it was one, was made manifest by Jean Charost leaving
the child with them and coming out of the cottage door.
"Now give me my horse," said the young gentleman; and then added,
while Martin unfastened the bridle from the iron ring, "Remember
this house, Martin; you will have to bring some money here for me
to-night."
"I will not forget it, sir," replied Martin Grille; and then added,
with a laugh, "and I will bring the money safely, which is more than
many a varlet could say of himself;" but before the last words were
uttered, his young master was in the saddle and on his way toward the
château.
Under a sharp-pointed arch which formed the gateway, two or three of
the duke's men were lounging about; and the moment Jean Charost
appeared, one of them advanced to his horse's side, saying, "His
highness has been inquiring for you, sir."
"Is it three of the clock yet?" asked Jean Charost, somewhat
anxiously.
"Not two yet, sir," replied the man; and springing from his horse, the
young secretary hurried on toward the apartments of the duke. He was
admitted instantly, and found his princely master seated in a chair,
dressed in a light-furred dressing-gown, and sadly changed in
appearance, even since the preceding day. His face was very pale, his
eye heavy, and his lips parched; but still he smiled with a
good-humored, though not gay expression of countenance, saying, "I
hope they have not recalled you from any amusement, De Brecy; for I
did not think I should want you till three. But I feel ill, my friend,
and there are very busy thoughts in my mind."
He paused for a moment or two, looking down thoughtfully on the table,
and then added, slowly, "When the brain is full--perhaps the heart
too--of these eager, active, tireless emmets of the mind, called
thoughts, we are glad to drive some of them forth. Alas! De Brecy, how
rarely does a prince find any one to share them with!"
He paused again, and Jean Charost did not venture a reply. He would
have fain said, "Share them with me;" but he felt that it would be
presumptuous, and he remained silent till the duke at length went on.
"You are different from the rest of the people about me, De Brecy;
from any one I have ever had--unhackneyed in the world--not ground
down to nothing by the polishing of a court. There is something new
and fresh about you; somewhat like what I once was myself. Now, what
am I? By starts a wise man, by starts a fool."
"Oh no, my prince," cried Jean Charost, "I can not believe that. 'Tis
but temptation leads you for a moment from the path of wisdom; the
sickness, as it were, of an hour. But the life is healthy; the heart
is sound."
The prince smiled, but went on, apparently pursuing the course of his
own thoughts. "To know what is right--to do what is wrong--to feel a
strong desire for good, and constantly to fall into evil, surely this
is folly; surely it is a life of folly--surely it is worse than if one
did not know what ought to be, as a blind man can not be charged with
stupidity for running against a wall, which any other would be an
idiot not to avoid."
He looked up in the young secretary's face, and Jean Charost,
encouraged by his tone, ventured to reply, "It wants but a strong
will, sir. You have a strong will against your enemies, I know; why
not have a strong will against yourself?"
"I have, De Brecy--I have," replied the duke. "But my strong
will against myself is just like my strong will against my
enemies--very potent for the time, but easily mollified; a peace is
proposed--favorable terms of compromise offered, and lo! I and myself
are friends again, and all our mutual offenses forgiven."
He spoke with a smile, for the figure amused his fancy; but the next
instant he started up, saying, "It is time that this should come to an
end. My will is now powerful, and my future course shall be different.
I will take my resolutions firmly--I will shape my course--I will lay
it down in writing, as if on a map, and then very shame will prevent
my deviating. Sit down. De Brecy, sit down, and write what I shall
dictate." Jean Charost seated himself, took some paper which was upon
the table, and dipped a pen in the ink, while the duke stood by his
side in such a position that he could see the sheet under his
secretary's hand, on which he gazed for a minute or two with a
thoughtful, half-absent look. The young man expected him every moment
to begin the dictation of the resolutions which he had formed; but at
length the duke said, in an altered tone, "No need of that; it would
show a doubt of myself, of which I trust there is none. No, no;
true resolution needs not fetters. I have resolved enough; I will
begin to act. Give me that fur cloak, De Brecy, and go and see if the
picture-gallery be warmed. Tell one of the varlets at the door to pile
logs enough upon the fire, and to wait there. Then return to me."
Without reply, Jean Charost quitted the room, and told one of the two
attendants who were seated without to show him the way to the
picture-gallery--an apartment he had never yet heard of. The man led
him on along the corridor, to a door at no great distance, which he
opened; and Jean Charost, the moment after, found himself in a long,
narrow sort of hall, extending across the whole width of the building,
and lighted from both ends. It was divided into three separate
portions, by columns on either side, and the walls between were
covered with pictures nearly to the top. To our eyes these paintings
might seem poor and crude; but to the eyes of Jean Charost they were,
like those which he had seen at the Hôtel d'Orleans, in Paris, perfect
marvels of art. Before he paused to examine any of them, he ordered
more wood to be thrown upon the fire, which was burning faintly in the
great fire-place in the centre; and while the attendant had gone to
bring the wood from a locker, he walked slowly toward the western end
of the gallery, where, upon a little strip of white silk, suspended
between the two columns, appeared in large letters the word "AMORI."
On entering that portion of the gallery, he was not at all surprised,
after reading the inscription, to find that it contained nothing but
portraits of women. All seemed very beautiful; and though the faces
were all strange to him, he had no difficulty in recognizing many of
the persons whom the portraits were intended to represent, for the
names, in most instances, were inscribed in large letters on the
frame.
A general look around filled him with astonishment, and a sort of
consternation at the daring levity which had gathered together, under
so meaning an inscription, the portraits of some of the most
celebrated ladies in France. But he did not pause long, for the fire
was soon arranged and kindled into a blaze; and he returned, as he had
been directed, to the chamber of the duke.
"Now," said the prince, as he entered, "is all ready?"
"It is, sir," answered Jean Charost; "but the air is still chilly,
and, in truth, your highness does not look well. Were it not better to
pause for awhile?"
"No, no," replied the Duke of Orleans, quickly, but not sharply; "let
us go at once, my friend. I will put such a seal upon my resolutions,
that neither I nor the world shall ever forget them."
He drew the fur cloak tighter round him, and walked out of the room,
leaning heavily on the young secretary's arm. As he passed, he bade
both the men at the chamber-door follow; and then walking into the
gallery, he turned directly to that portion of it which Jean Charost
had examined. There, seating himself in a chair near the centre of the
room, while the two servants stood at a little distance behind, he
pointed to a picture in the extreme southwestern corner, and bade Jean
Charost bring it to him. It was the picture of a girl quite young,
less beautiful than many of the others, indeed, but with the peculiar
beauty of youth; and when the Duke of Orleans had got it, he let the
edge of the frame rest upon his knee for a moment or two, and gazed
upon the face in silence.
Jean Charost would have given a great deal to be able to see the
duke's heart at that moment, and to trace there the emotions to which
the contemplation of that picture gave rise. A smile, tender and
melancholy, rested upon the prince's face; but the melancholy deepened
into heavy gloom as he continued to gaze, and the smile rapidly
departed.
"I might spare this one," he said. "Poor thing! I might spare this
one. The grave has no jealousies--" He gazed again for a single
instant, and then said, "No, no--all--all. Here, take it, and put it
in the fire."
Turning his head, he had spoken to one of the attendants; but the man
seemed so utterly confounded by the order, that he repeated the words,
"On the fire?" as he received the picture from the prince's hands.
"Yes--on the fire," said the duke, slowly and sternly; and then
pointing to another, he added, "Give me that."
Jean Charost brought it to him, when it met with the same fate, but
with less consideration than the other. Another and another succeeded;
but at length a larger one than the rest was pointed out by the duke,
and the young secretary paused for an instant before it, utterly
confounded as he read beneath the name of the Duchess of Burgundy. It
fared no better than the rest, and another still was added to the
flames. But then the duke paused, saying, "I am ill, my friend--I am
ill. I can not go on with this. I leave the task to you. Stay here
with these men, and see that every one of the pictures in this room,
as far as yonder two columns on either side, be burned before
nightfall, with one exception. I look to you to see the execution of
an act which, if I die, will wipe out a sad stain from my memory. You
hear what I say," he continued, turning to the two attendants; and was
then walking toward the centre door of the gallery, when Jean Charost
said, "Your highness mentioned one exception, but you did not point it
out."
The duke laid his hand upon his arm, led him to the side of the room,
and pointed to a picture nearly in the centre, merely uttering the
word "That!"
On the frame was inscribed the words, "Valentine, Duchess of Orleans;"
and, after having gazed at it for a moment in silence, the prince
turned and quitted the room.
When he was gone, Jean Charost remained for a few minutes without
taking any steps to obey his command. The two men stood likewise, with
their arms crossed, in a revery nearly as grave as that of the young
secretary; but their thoughts were very different from his. He
comprehended, in a degree, the motives upon which the prince acted,
and felt how strong and vigorous must be the resolution, and yet how
painful the feelings which had prompted the order he had given. Nay
more, his fancy shadowed forth a thousand accessories--a thousand
associations, which must have hung round, and connected themselves
with that strong act of determination which his royal master had just
performed--sweet memories, better feelings, young hopes, ardent
passions, kindly sympathies, wayward caprices, volatile forgetfulness,
sorrow, regret, and mourning, and remorse. A light, as from
imagination, played round the portraits as he gazed upon them. The
spirits of the dead, of the neglected, of the forgotten, seemed to
animate the features on the wall, and he could not but feel a sort of
painful regret that, however guilty, however vain, however foolish
might be the passion which caused those speaking effigies to be ranged
around, he should have been selected to consign them to that
destroying element which might devour the picture, but could not
obliterate the sin.
At length he started from his revery, and began the appointed work,
the men obeying habitually the orders they received, although doubts
existed in their minds whether the prince was not suffering from
temporary insanity in commanding the destruction of objects which they
looked upon only as rare treasures, without the slightest conception
of the associations which so often in this world render those things
most estimable in the eyes of others, sad, painful, or perilous to the
possessor.
In about an hour all was completed; and I am not certain that what I
may call the experience of that hour--the thoughts, the sensations,
the fancies of Jean Charost--had not added more than one year to his
mental life. Certain it is, that with a stronger and a more manly
step, and with even additional earnestness of character, he walked
back to the apartments of the duke, and knocked for admission. A
voice, but not that of the prince, told him to come in, after a
moment's delay, and he found the maître d'hôtel in conference with his
master.
"Come in, De Brecy," said the duke. "Leave us, Lomelini. You are his
good friend, I know. But I have to speak with him on my own affairs,
not on his. With them I have naught to do, and it were well for others
not to meddle either. So let them understand."
The maître d'hôtel retired, bowing low; and, after remaining a moment
or two in thought, the duke raised his eyes to the young secretary's
face, saying, in a somewhat languid tone, "Were you ever in this part
of the country before, De Brecy?"
"Never, your highness," replied Jean Charost.
"You have met with an adventure in the wood, I hear," said the duke,
"and did not tell me of it."
"I did not think it right to intrude such subjects on your highness,"
answered the young man. "Had there been any thing to lead to it, I
should have told you at once."
"Well, well," said the duke, "you shall tell me hereafter;" and then
he added, somewhat irritably, "they have broken through my thoughts
with these tales. I want you to do me a service."
"Your highness has but to command," said Jean Charost.
"I am ill, De Brecy," said the duke. "I feel more so than I ever did
before; indeed, I have been rarely ill, and, perhaps--But that matters
not. Whatever be the cause, I have a strange feeling upon me, a sort
of presentiment that my life will not be very long extended. You heard
the announcement that was made to me by man or shadow--I know not, and
care not what--in the convent of the Celestins. But it is not that
which has produced this impression, for I had forgotten it within an
hour; but I feel ill; and I see not why there should not be influences
in external and invisible things which, speaking to the ear of the
soul, without a voice, announce the approach of great changes in our
state of being, and warn us to prepare. However that may be, the
feeling is strong upon me. I have ordered an imperial notary to be
sent for, in order that I may make my will. In it I will show the
world how I can treat my enemies--and my friends also; for I may show
my forgetfulness of the injuries of the one, without failing in my
gratitude to the other."
He leaned his head upon his hand for a moment or two, and then added,
"I long earnestly to see my wife. Yet from causes that matter not to
mention, I do not wish to send her a long letter, telling her of my
state and of my feelings. I have, therefore, written a few lines,
merely saying I am indisposed here at Beauté. I know that they will
induce her to set out immediately from Blois, where she now is, and it
must be the task of the messenger to prepare her mind for the changes
that she _must_, and the changes that she may find here. Do you
understand me?"
"I think I do, sir," replied Jean Charost, "fully."
"I should wish him, also," said the duke, "in case my own lips should
not be able to speak the words, to tell her, that whatever may have
been my faults, however passion, or vanity, or folly may have misled
me, I have ever retained a deep and affectionate regard for her
virtues, her tenderness, and her gentleness. I could say more--much
more--I will say more if ever I behold her again. But let her be
assured that my last prayer shall be to call down the blessing of God
upon her head, and entreat his protection for her and for our
children."
While he spoke, he continued to hold a sealed letter in his hand, and
gazed at Jean Charost very earnestly. Nevertheless, he seemed to
hesitate, and when he paused, he looked down upon the paper, turning
it round and round, without speaking, for several minutes. Then,
however, as if he had decided at length, he looked up suddenly,
saying, "There is none I can send but Lomelini or yourself. Joigni is
a rough brute, though bold and honest. Blaize has no heart, and very
little understanding. Monluc would frighten her to death; for were he
to see me now, he would think me dead already. There is none but you
or Lomelini then. In some respects, it were better to send him. He is
of mature age, of much experience, accurate and skillful in his
dealings and passably honest; not without heart either, affectionately
attached to her, as well he may be, brought up and promoted by her
father; but there is in him a world of Italian cunning, a great deal
of cowardly timidity, and an all-absorbing, sense of his own
interests, the action of which we can never altogether count upon.
Besides, she loves him not. I know it--I am sure of it, although she
is too gentle to complain. He came hither as her servant. He found it
more for his interest to be mine. She can not love him. But enough of
that. I have conceived a regard for you, De Brecy, and you will find
proofs of it. It is not a small one that I send you on this mission.
There is something in the freshness of your character and in the
frankness of your nature which will win confidence, and I wish you to
set off at once for Blois. Bear this letter to the duchess, tell her
in what state I am--but kindly, gently--and accompany her back hither.
What men will you want with you? The country is somewhat disturbed,
but I do not think there is much danger."
"One who knows the way will suffice, my lord," replied De Brecy. "A
small party may pass more easily than a large one. I will only beg a
stout horse from your highness's stables, which my man can lead, and
which may both carry what we need by the way, and serve me in case of
any accident to my own. I will undertake to deliver the letter, if I
live to the end of the journey."
"Perhaps you are right in choosing small attendance," said the duke.
"I will send you a stout fellow to accompany you, who knows every rood
of the road. He is but a courier, but he makes no bad man-at-arms in
case of need; and, though I would not have you go fully armed, I think
it were as well if you wore a _secret_ beneath your ordinary dress."
"I have no arms of any kind with me but my sword and dagger, sir,"
replied Jean Charost, "and I do not think I shall need more."
"Yes--yes, you may," replied the duke. "Stay; I will write a word to
Lomelini. He will procure you all that is needful;" and, drawing some
paper toward him, the duke wrote, with a hand which shook a good deal,
the following words: "Signor Lomelini, put Armand Chauvin under the
orders of Monsieur De Brecy upon a journey which he has to take for
me. Command the armorer to furnish him with what ever arms he may
require, and the chief _écuyer_ to let him take from the stable what
horses he may select, with the exception of gray Clisson, the Arab
jennet, my own hackney, and my three _destriers_. ORLEANS."
"There," said the duke, "there. Here is an order on the treasurer,
too, for your expenses; and now, when will you set out?"
"In an hour," replied Jean Charost.
"Can you get ready so soon?" the prince inquired.
"I think so, your highness," replied the young secretary. "I shall be
ready myself, if the two men are prepared."
"So be it, then," said the Duke of Orleans. "I will go lie down on my
bed again, for I am weary in heart and limb."