moments, with his brows contracting, till his eyes were nearly hid
beneath them. His fingers were seen to clasp into the palms of his
hands, as if the nails would have buried themselves there. But after a
short and terrible struggle, the evil spirit maintained its
ascendancy, and he exclaimed, "Be it so! Be it so! But in the
meantime, sir," he continued abruptly, "there is one thing I have to
demand. How have I been led with hopes, and meeting nothing but
disappointments, for the last two months. I who dared all, and
underwent all, to snatch her once more from the power of the Guises.
When forced to fly, it was under your power and in your charge I left
her; and yet, though this is the fourth or fifth time that you and I
have met, I have never been able to see her, or to learn distinctly
where she is. This must be no longer, Monsieur de Villequier. I need
consolation; I need comfort; the only comfort or consolation I can
find is in her presence and in her society. Where is she?--I demand to
know where she is. I was brought to Augouleme by information that she
was in the neighbourhood; but I cannot discover her, and I will be
trifled with no longer."
"By all I hold sacred," exclaimed Villequier, not a little surprised
by the bold and daring tone and decided manner, which the young
nobleman had so suddenly put on, "By all I hold sacred----"
"What is that, sir?" demanded Gaspar de Montsoreau.
Villequier smiled. "Oh many things, Monsieur de Montsoreau," he
answered; "I hold many things sacred. But with any oath or abjuration
that you think most convenient, I assure you that Mademoiselle de
Clairvaut is not under my charge, or in my power at this moment."
"But was so how long ago?" demanded the Marquis.
"About a fortnight," replied Villequier coolly. "The fact is, Monsieur
de Montsoreau, that his high and mighty Highness, the Duke of Guise,
having come to pay a humble visit to his Majesty--to congratulate him,
I suppose, on being driven out of Paris,--gave significant notice to
the King, on their first interview at Chartres, that he believed
Mademoiselle de Clairvaut to be in my hands, and that he would have
her instantly delivered up. I was not present, you know, but every
thing passed as the Guises wished. I dare say you have heard all the
rest; Epernon was banished, and fled to Augouleme here, stripped of
his high posts and manifold emoluments; Guise was created
generalissimo of the King's armies; in fact, Guise dictated the law to
the King, and Henry was fain to forget all the past, or to cover the
bitter memory with a jest."
"But to the point; to the point, Monsieur de Villequier," said the
Marquis de Montsoreau. "What of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut?"
"Why, the King told me," replied Villequier, "that the Duke demanded
her at all events till the Parliament of Paris had decided our cause.
The next day the Duke and I had an interview on the subject; but ere
that, I had placed her in the hands of a friend, and begged him to
remove her for a time from the house where she then was. The Duke was
as imperious and unceremonious as an executioner. He vowed that I
should give her up to him at once; and though we did our best to
deceive him, exactly as we had done with your wild thoughtless
brother, the Duke did not so easily believe us; and both I and the
King were obliged to swear upon the mass that she was not in our
power, and that we knew not where she was. That was easily done; but
Henry's low laugh had nearly betrayed the whole; and the Duke swore
loudly, and menaced high, that if he were deceived, he would have
vengeance."
"And now, Monsieur de Villequier," said the Marquis, "where is she
now? And who is the friend in whose hands you have placed her?"
Villequier paused for a single moment, as if to consider whether he
should tell him or not. But a moment after he answered with a smile,
"The friend in whose hands she is placed, Monsieur de Montsoreau, is
one in whom at that time you yourself placed great confidence. I trust
the same feelings exist still towards him. I mean the Abbe de
Boisguerin."
Gaspar de Montsoreau started at the intelligence with feelings of
angry dissatisfaction, which he could hardly account for to himself,
but which he instantly strove to conceal from the keen eyes of the
artful man with whom he was dealing. The exclamation of "Indeed!"
however, which broke from his lips, was uttered in a tone which
instantly showed Villequier that the tidings were by no means
pleasing; and while he suffered the young Marquis to digest them at
leisure he laid out in his own mind a plan for keeping the Abbe and
his former pupil at variance, not with any clear and definite object,
indeed, but for the purpose of having a check upon the young Marquis
at any future moment, in case of necessity. Villequier felt, too, that
the clear, artful, and unscrupulous mind of the Abbe de Boisguerin was
far better fitted to deal with, and frustrate him in any purpose that
he might entertain, than that of the young Marquis, which, though not
deficient either in acuteness or policy, was constantly misled by
inexperience, or by the impetuosity of strong passions. He felt that
the counsels of the Abbe might under many circumstances, if given
sincerely, be a safeguard to Gaspar de Montsoreau against his arts;
and he therefore saw no slight advantage in encouraging feelings of
doubt and dissatisfaction in the mind of his young companion.
"It is surprising," said the Marquis, "that the Abbe did not
communicate to me the facts which you have mentioned, Monsieur de
Villequier; but I suppose that you bound him down to secrecy."
"To general secrecy," replied Villequier, "as was absolutely
necessary. But you, of course, as my friend, and as the person most
interested--you, of course, were excepted. No, Monsieur de Montsoreau,
no! In this business the Abbe has acted upon his own judgment. He was
then at Blois, you know. I was in great haste, knew no other person to
whom I could apply, and therefore entrusted him with the task,
thinking him also, at that time, you must remember, sincerely, truly,
and devotedly your friend."
"And have you any cause. Monsieur de Villequier," demanded the
Marquis, "have you any cause to suppose now that he is not my friend?"
"Nay, Monsieur de Montsoreau!" replied Villequier. "If you are
satisfied, I have nothing to say. I only thought you seemed
dissatisfied, and----"
"And what, Monsieur de Villequier?" demanded the Marquis, seeing that
he paused.
"I was going to say," replied Villequier, "that it might be as well
for you to be upon your guard. We are living in troublous times,
Monsieur de Montsoreau. We are both of us placed in a delicate
situation; every word and action ought to be guided by policy and
forethought; and though I do not wish to wound the delicacy of your
friendship towards your relation and friend, Monsieur de Boisguerin,
yet we all know that he is a skilful politician, and that when, some
years ago, even as a young man he appeared at the Court of France, her
Majesty the Queen-mother was heard to say, she was glad when he was
gone, for she was confident that he would outwit Satan himself, and
therefore might go far to outwit her."
"I should not mind his policy," replied the Marquis. "I should not
mind his policy, if you had not insinuated doubts as to whether he was
at heart my friend."
Villequier answered nothing, but gazed down upon the ground with his
brow somewhat contracted, and then stirred the rushes on the floor
with the point of his sword, as if determined not to make any reply.
"You are silent, Monsieur de Villequier," said Gaspar of Montsoreau;
"and yet there is hanging a cloud of much thought upon your brow, as
if there were intelligence in your breast which you could give, but
would not. I beseech you, if you are really friendly to me--or to
speak more plainly--if our interests in this business are in some
degree linked together, I beseech you to let me know fully and fairly
what you think, and what you know, of the Abbe de Boisguerin."
"Thus adjured, Monsieur de Montsoreau," replied Villequier, "I can but
answer you, that I do not think Monsieur de Boisguerin is as friendly
to you as you suppose. Depend upon it, he has his own purposes to
answer first, and you are but a secondary consideration, if not,
perhaps, a tool."
"These are grave charges, sir," said Gaspar de Montsoreau, somewhat
angry at the term tool. "I should like to have some proofs to sustain
them."
"See! you are angry already," cried Villequier. "However, at the
present moment I have no proofs to give. At some future time--ay,
before the period of your marriage with Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, I
may give you such proof of what is the Abbe's real character and real
feelings towards you, that you will say I am well justified. In the
meantime I have warned you sufficiently to put you on your guard. That
is enough for the present moment: you must act as you think fit; but
still you will be prepared. Farther, I have only to say, that it is
not I that keep you from seeing Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. You have my
full will and consent to see her whom you will. I would not, indeed,
have you visit her too often, lest discovery should ensue, and Guise
obtain possession of her at once. But your own discretion must be your
guide. I will now leave you, Monsieur de Montsoreau; and, depend upon
it, you will not find that I will fail you in any of the promises I
have made, and will very soon return to you with the business arranged
by the King, in the manner that you desire. We must then wait until
further delay be judged dangerous: then if nothing occurs to relieve
us from the other obstacles, we must in the end step over them; and,
forgetting a little law, conclude your marriage, whether the
Parliament awards me the guardianship or not. When once she is made
your wife, they cannot easily unwife her."
Gaspar de Montsoreau, full of thoughts rather than words, did not
pursue the conversation further. "I have but shown you scanty
courtesy, Monsieur de Villequier," he said, "in not asking you to make
your home of my poor house. It is not, indeed, such as I could wish to
offer you, having been taken from its bankrupt lord in some slight
haste. But still----"
"I thank you most humbly, Marquis," replied Villequier. "But I am
bound farther to the city on the hill there. I must lodge with Epernon
to-night, for I have messages to him from the King."
Thus saying, after various more such ceremonious speeches as the age
required, Villequier took his departure, and mounting his horse, which
he had ordered to be kept still saddled in the court-yard, he rode on
towards Augouleme, followed by his train. As he did so, he once more
thought over the alliance between Gaspar de Montsoreau and Marie de
Clairvaut. "If I can bring it about," he thought, "I not only gain
this sum he promises, but bind him to me for ever. I am her nearest
male relation, and I could not well find such an alliance in France.
Montsoreau, Morly, Logeres; it is a wonderful combination! But even,
were it not for that--were it half as good, where should I get the man
in France who would give a hundred thousand golden crowns for the
possession of such a cold piece of pretty marble as that."
CHAP. VI.
While the conversation just narrated was taking place, and the
character and views of the Abbe de Boisguerin were being commented
upon in a manner which he could but little have wished, he himself was
pursuing his way towards the town of Augouleme, with feelings and
purposes varying at every step; though in his case it was not the
slightest sting of remorse or regret which occasioned this vacillation
of purpose.
Probably there never was a man on earth who wholly and entirely
stilled the voice of conscience, and there might be moments when the
Abbe's own heart reproached him for things which he had done. But the
habit of his thoughts was different. He had been brought up in a
school where right and wrong were so frequently confounded for the
purpose of maintaining the temporal dominion of the church that, at a
very early period of his life, he had arrived at that conclusion,
which the sceptical followers of Pyrrho arrive at by a more lengthened
process, namely, that on earth there is no absolute and invariable
right and wrong.
The Jesuits had taught him, that what was wrong under some
circumstances, and marked by the reprobation both of God and man, was
right under other circumstances, and even praiseworthy; and forgetting
the cautious restrictions under which the wiser and the better members
of the order attempted, though vainly, to guard the doctrine, his keen
and clear mind at once determined, that if fraud could ever be pious,
virtue of any kind could be but a name. If there were no invariable
and universal standard: if his thoughts and his actions were to be
governed by the opinions, and directed to the purposes of men, the
only rule of virtue, he saw, must be the approbation of others like
himself; and as every course of action must have an end and object to
secure energy in pursuing it, he readily fell into the belief that
gratification was the great object, and men's good opinion but to be
sought as a means to that end.
It may be easily conceived how far he went on upon such a course of
reasoning. It naturally ended in the disbelief of every thing that
other men hold sacred: yet he put on all the semblances of religion;
for as he believed in no hereafter, to do so, did not seem to him an
impious mockery, but merely an unmeaning ceremony required by society.
Every thing had become with him a matter of calculation; any thing
that was to be obtained, was to be obtained by a certain price; and,
as he himself declared, he never regretted giving any price, provided
the object was attained, and was of equal value.
It was his passions alone that led him wrong, and made him calculate
falsely. They had done so more than once in life, but yet not
frequently; not indeed that he sought to subdue them, but that they
were not naturally easily roused.
It was no remorse then, or regret, that moved him in the varying state
of his thoughts as he rode on. It was doubt as to the means that he
was employing; It was doubt as to whether the strong passion, which he
felt within his breast, was not blinding his eyes, and misleading his
judgment, as to the choice of paths and instruments. He felt that on
the present occasion he calculated not so coolly as he was accustomed
to do; he felt that the object he had proposed to himself--or rather
which passion, and rash passion had suggested--was one so great and so
little likely to be obtained, that the means employed must be great
and extraordinary also; and that no single false step could be taken
without the loss of every hope. His sensations were all strangely
complicated, however. He felt and reproached himself for feeling that
the passion in his heart had grown up so powerful, so overwhelming,
that when he thought of staking life itself upon the issue, not a
hesitation crossed his mind, and that he was ready to say, like a
love-sick boy, "Let me die, if she be not mine!" But with that
passion, he had mingled ambition, both as a means and as an end;
prospects had opened before his eyes which had roused in his heart
aspirations, which he thought he had put down; and not only to succeed
in his love, but to gild that love with pageantry and state and power,
had now become his object.
Still, however, he remembered that in grasping at these high things,
he might overlook matters which would prevent him reaching them; and
after riding on quickly for some time, he drew in his rein, to think
more calmly, to review his situation, and to calculate exactly all the
important, the critical steps which were now to be taken.
"What am I next going to do?" he thought. "To seek for a priest, who
may work upon that impetuous, weak-minded boy, to yield the object of
his passion, because, in the pursuit thereof, he has shed his
brother's blood. And yet, is it likely that he will yield it? No! I
fear not! and yet stronger minds than his have been bowed down by
superstition to greater sacrifices. He may, it is true; and it may be
as well to secure that chance: but then, even then, only one small
step is gained. If one could get him to yield all his great
possessions at the same time, that were something! But he will not do
that! Two centuries ago we would have sent him to the holy land: but
those good times are past. What then is to be done?--To hurry him on
into some rash enterprise, and sharing his danger, take the equal
chance of which shall live and which shall die?--That were a
gamester's policy indeed.--No! we must find more easy means than
that."
"However," continued the Abbe, after a pause "in the meantime, I must
strike for myself alone. She hates and abhors him evidently. I myself
have been too rash and rough with her. My passion has been too
impetuous--too fiery. I know that those women who seem so cold and
circumspect are often like AEtna, icy above but with fire at the heart.
But I have been rash. She will easily forgive that offence, however,
and forget it too, when I can woo her as one unbound by the clerical
vows, and companion of the high and great. I must lose no time,
however, for events are drawing clearly to a mighty issue. Here is the
party of Henry, and the party of the League. I must choose between the
two without delay. And yet the choice is soon made. In the first
place, it would be long ere Guise would trust me: in the next, he
would never love me: in the next, he himself is not long lived. As I
have seen a bird, when hit by a skilful fowler, tower high into the
air before it falls, so Guise is soaring up with mighty effort, which
will end but in his own destruction. I will away to Epernon at once.
He is the man whose fortunes will yet rise; his unconquerable spirit,
his courage, determination, and activity, his gross selfishness, his
insolence, his very weakness, will all contribute to support him
still. This is a world in which such things thrive! Epernon must be
the man; and if I show him such cause as I can show him, he may well
be glad to attach me to himself, as increasing his power and enhancing
his importance with the King. It is to him I will go! Doubtless his
reverses have humbled him somewhat, otherwise it were no light task to
deal on such subjects with Epernon."
In judging of Epernon the Abbe judged by mankind in general, for in
almost every breast pride is a cowardly quality, and once depressed
sinks into grovelling submission. Epernon, however, was the exception
to the general rule, and seemed rather to rise in haughtiness under
adversity.
With thoughts like those which we have just detailed, the Abbe spurred
on towards Angouleme; but as he began to climb the steep ascent, he
saw several indications of popular emotion, which made him hesitate
for a moment, as to whether he should proceed or not. There were two
or three groups of citizens all speaking eagerly together, and in low
tones; and at the gates of the city he remarked a man whom he had seen
before, and knew to be the mayor of the place, conversing in a low
tone, but in what seemed an anxious manner, with the soldiers of the
Corps de Garde. The Abbe contrived to make his horse pass as near them
as possible, but at the same time affected to be deeply busied with
his own thoughts while really listening attentively to their
conversation. He could only catch, however, the end of one sentence
and the beginning of a reply:--
"This Duke--a proud insufferable tyrant," said the voice of the mayor.
"Get along; if you were not what you are, I would put my pike into
you," replied the soldier; and went on with some observations upon his
companion's conduct, not very complimentary, the whole of which the
Abbe de Boisguerin did not hear.
As he advanced into the town, however, his keen eye remarked many more
signs and symptoms of the same kind, from all of which he drew his own
deductions; and on entering the castle, which was then inhabited by
the Duke of Epernon, he dismounted in the court of the guardhouse, as
it was called, where there were a considerable number of the Duke's
soldiery loitering about. Though it was not the usual place for
visitors to dismount, they suffered him to attach his horse to one of
the large iron hooks in the wall, and in a few minutes after he was in
the presence of the Duke of Epernon. Not a trace of humiliation or
abasement was to be seen in the Duke's countenance or demeanour. He
was as proud, as fierce, as fiery as ever; and although he received
the Abbe, having seen him more than once in Paris during the late
events, and entertaining that degree of consideration for him which a
keen and powerful mind almost always commands, he nevertheless seemed
to doubt whether he should ask him even to sit down, and did it at
length with an air of condescension.
"Well, Monsieur de Boisguerin," he said at length, "to what do I owe
this visit?"
"I come, my Lord," replied the Abbe without a moment's hesitation, "to
offer your Lordship my poor services."
The Duke smiled. "They are of course," he said, "welcome. Monsieur de
Boisguerin. But the time of offering them is somewhat singular, when
all men think my fortunes on the decline, or, perhaps, I should say,
utterly down."
"Such it may seem to them, my Lord," replied the Abbe; "but such it
seems not to me. There are sciences, my Lord, which teach us what the
future is destined to produce; and I own that I am quite selfish in my
present act, seeking to attach myself to one who is yet destined to
uphold the throne of France, to affect the fortunes of the times, to
triumph over all his enemies, and to outlive most of them now living."
"Indeed!" said the Duke thoughtfully; "and am I to believe this
prophecy seriously?"
"Most seriously, my Lord," replied the Abbe. "I myself believe it and
know it, as I believe and know the great fortunes that are likely to
attend myself--otherwise, perhaps, you might not have seen me here
to-day."
"That is candid, at all events," said the Duke; "and to say truth, I
think that your prophecy, in some things, may be right; for I feel
within my breast that undiminished power, that sense of my own
strength, that confidence in my own destiny, which surely never can be
given to a falling man. But you spoke of your own future high
fortunes, sir. What may they be?"
The Abbe paused and looked down for a moment, but then replied, "I
tell not the prophecy to every one, my Lord; but to you, to whose
services I hope to dedicate those high fortunes, I fear not to relate
it. It was pronounced long ago, in the city of Rome, when I was there
studying, and as a rash young man had entangled myself in an affair
with a fair girl of the city, who suffered our intercourse to be
discovered, and consequently well nigh ruined all my prospects. I
thought indeed it was so, and was turning my back upon Rome for ever,
when I met with an old monk, who from certain facts I told him drew my
horoscope, and assured me that I should find my fate in France; that
my fortune would be brought about by the death of two relations far
younger than myself; and that I should suddenly take a share in great
events, and rule the destiny of others when I least expected it. Such
was the old man's prophecy now many years ago; and I have seen no sign
of its accomplishment till the present time."
"And what signs have you seen now?" demanded Epernon.
"That I have been suddenly led, my Lord," replied the Abbe, "from the
calm and tranquil quiet of a provincial life, without my own will or
agency, into scenes of activity and strife; and that one, out of the
two lives which lay between me and the great possessions of
Montsoreau, Logeres, and Morly--lives, which in their youth and
healthfulness seemed to cut me off from all hope--has already lapsed,
and left but one."
"How is that?" exclaimed the Duke. "What life has lapsed?"
"That of the young Count of Logeres," replied the Abbe.
"Indeed!" exclaimed the Duke of Epernon in a tone somewhat sorrowful.
"I had not heard that. He was a bold, rash youth; but yet there was in
him the seeds of great things. He was fearless, and proud, and firm:
virtues, the parents of all dignity and greatness.--You say then that
there is but one life between you and all these lordships."
"But one," replied the Abbe; "that of Gaspar of Montsoreau, in regard
to whom you took some slight interest, at the time his marriage with
Mademoiselle de Clairvaut was talked of."
"Was talked of?" said the Duke. "Is it not talked of still?"