A fortnight, or rather more, passed away in this unpleasant state; and
I found that time, which reconciles one to most things, had not that
effect at all in making me endure patiently the transfer of the Duke's
confidence to Gaspard de Belleville. Had he been, indeed, a person who
deserved that confidence, or who would not have abused it, although my
vanity might have been as much pained, my reason would not have
supported me in murmuring, nor would my affection for my lord himself
have given additional pain to my personal mortification. As it was,
however, I felt convinced, from what I knew of that youth's
disposition, that he would not only do nothing to cure Monsieur de
Villardin of his morbid suspicions, but that, both for the sake of
maintaining his place in his master's favour, and of annoying me, he
would do all that he could to foster any feelings which he might find
out that I had opposed. When these thoughts came across my mind--not
being of the most patient temper in the world, nor particularly
scrupulous as to the means of gratifying it--I more than once thought
of throwing my adversary over the bridge into the river; and as I had
never yet done anything of the kind in my own private cause, though I
had committed many a doubtful act in the cause of others, I
endeavoured to reason myself into believing that such a proceeding was
absolutely necessary to the peace of Monsieur and Madame de Villardin.
This passed through my thoughts more than once, I acknowledge; and I
imagined--if done fairly in single combat, strength against strength,
without any surprise or feint on my part, and with full warning
received by him--that the act I contemplated would be fully as
justifiable as any duel that ever was fought. He, indeed, had the
advantage of age, being certainly two years older than myself; though
now, having grown considerably in the air of Brittany, I was as tall
as he was, and nearly as muscular.
What all this would have ended in, Heaven only knows; and I am almost
afraid to calculate now what would have been the probable result; but
two circumstances took place soon after my conversation with the
Duchess, which I have detailed in the end of the last chapter, which
put an end to all further thoughts upon the subject. The first was the
arrival of a personage, who, on many points, changed all my ideas and
opinions, gave me a new view of my duties, and both enlarged and
purified my mind. The second was an accident which suddenly gave me a
higher place than ever in the affection of Monsieur de Villardin, and
established a link of connexion between his heart and mine that
neither years nor circumstances could ever break.
Let me speak of the events which followed, however, in the order in
which they occurred.--Of old Jerome Laborde I had seen a good deal
since his arrival from the Prés Vallée; and, although he could give me
no information as to the result of the conferences held between
Monsieur de Villardin, his page, and the soubrette, he did not fail to
point out that the change which had taken place was an evil one, and
that all happiness was banished from our dwelling. The only thing, he
said, which would ever restore it, would be the coming of good Père
Ferdinand, his lord's confessor, who had more influence over his mind
than any one, and who had promised to come over and stay at Dumont for
some time. I had caught a passing sight of the Confessor more than
once at the Prés Vallée; and both from something prepossessing in his
demeanour, and from the effect which his exhortations had produced
upon Monsieur de Villardin on a former occasion, I argued in the same
manner as good Jerome Laborde in regard to his next visit.
Various circumstances detained him, it appears, at Rennes for several
days after this conversation; and the next time I saw the good
major-domo was one day when, on suddenly entering the saloon, I found
him speaking with the Duke, and, as it appeared to me, in an attitude
of entreaty. I was about to draw back; but Monsieur de Villardin
beckoned me forward, saying, "Come in, _Seigneur Jean_,"--the name by
which he usually called me when in his milder mood,--"come in! Here is
Jerome pleading to me in a matter which concerns you in a twofold
degree. It seems that you have told the intendant to seek you tenants
for your house at Juvigny, generously promising to let them rest rent
free if they will keep the house in repair. Now, I find that Jerome
has a nephew who is newly married, and who wants a dwelling, and he
applies to me for my consent to his occupying this tenement of yours.
Are you willing, Seigneur Jean?"
"Most willing, my lord," I replied, glad to give the old man any
testimony of my regard: "I am sure Jerome would not recommend any one
who would not do full justice to all intrusted to him."
"By my faith! I am not so sure," answered the Duke. "You know more of
this youth than I do; for it seems you saved him once from the
gallows--a piece of business not very much to the credit of either.
Besides, I may be accused, Jerome, of harbouring convicted felons."
"But, my lord, I can assure you," answered the old man, "he has
obtained grace and pardon of the King, only coupled with the condition
that he never sets foot in Paris again, nor ever attempts to exercise
the business of a printer."
As may well be conceived, I was not a little surprised to find that my
first tenant was likely to be poor Jacques Marlot; still more to hear
that Jacques had taken unto his bosom a wife; and most of all, to find
that a libel, which attacked the person and reputation of the Queen
Regent herself, had been pardoned upon any consideration whatever.
However, I, of course, joined my voice to that of good old Jerome
Laborde, who, to tell the truth, promised and vowed a great deal more
on the part of his nephew, than I at all imagined his nephew would
justify, assuring the Duke that all his follies were completely at an
end, and that henceforth, he himself would answer for Jacques living a
sober, tranquil, and peaceful life. Industrious and clever he always
had been, he continued; and as the good ladies of St. Ursula, the old
man said, were going to give him the management of their little farms,
just opposite to Juvigny, the house would come quite apropos. Although
with some difficulty, the Duke yielded to our solicitations, but
solely on condition that Jacques produced to the eyes of the intendant
the act of grace by which he was relieved from all danger of the royal
indignation. Jerome willingly accepted of the terms; and I withdrew
with him, in order to hear more of my worthy philosopher's fate, and
the adventures which had brought about such a consummation as
matrimony and the cultivation of the earth.
The major-domo, however, could tell me but little more than I had
already heard. He had received, he said, a letter from his nephew that
morning, dated from St. Aubin, entreating him to make the request he
had just done to the Duke, and giving him satisfactory assurances that
his pardon was really granted. How it had been obtained, Jerome added,
remained to be explained to himself as well as to me; but respecting
the farm of the Ursulines, and Jacques Marlot's knowledge of my plans
in regard to Juvigny, an easy explanation was afforded, by the fact of
his having just married a niece of our intendant's;--"A little against
the intendant's stomach, I believe," said the major-domo; "but it was
an old love affair, it seems, before Jacques went from Rennes--where
he was in good business enough--to Paris, where he got bad business
enough. But I have promised to open my own little store in his favour;
so that that affair is all set right with Monsieur l'Intendant."
I now found that Jacques, with his wife and other moveables, was to
take possession of his new dwelling, if his uncle obtained it for him,
in a few days; and as I could afford to bridle my curiosity for the
intervening time, I left the good major-domo, and proceeded on my
other affairs. These were of no great importance, and suffered little
from being disturbed; but as the old man's own occupations were very
numerous, and generally methodically arranged for all the hours of the
day, I was somewhat surprised to see him enter my chamber towards
nightfall, and seat himself as if prepared for no brief conversation.
After again thanking me for the fresh kindness I had shown his nephew,
he said,--"But it was not on that subject I came to speak with you
just now. You must know that Père Ferdinand arrived about an hour ago,
and is even now in conversation with my lord. You will see him at
supper; and doubtless my lord will introduce you to him, and will tell
him all you have done. But I took the liberty, my son, of telling him
all before, and also of letting him know how much you were attached to
my lord, and how eager you were to promote the peace and happiness of
all the family. Nay, more--and I hope, and am sure, that you will not
think I went too far--I promised him that you should meet him this
evening, after supper, in my apartment, and make his acquaintance more
completely."
"Oh! I will willingly meet him," replied I; "though I suppose we
should have had plenty of opportunities of making acquaintance during
his stay in the château, without any appearance of secrecy."
"It need be no secret, my son," answered the major-domo; "and in
regard to your making acquaintance with him afterwards, that would
depend entirely upon circumstances; for he does not seem at all
assured of staying even over to-morrow, till the conversation he is
now holding with the Duke is at an end. I merely wish you to see him,
because I think that, using both your efforts, you may do away much
that is amiss in the house, and also because I am sure you will love
and esteem him; for there never was a better man."
As old Jerome had anticipated, on entering the _salle à manger_ at the
hour of supper, I found the Duke standing with the Confessor, to whom
he instantly introduced me, saying,--"Father Ferdinand, this is the
young Englishman I mentioned, whom I look upon--if not as my own son,
since such a feeling is, perhaps, impossible--at least as the son of a
dear brother, and treat accordingly."
The Confessor took my hand, and looked at me with a smile full of
benignity, saying,--"We must be friends, my son; I hear a high
character of you from all quarters."
I expressed, as well as I could, my willingness to meet his kindness;
and as the Duchess was not well enough to appear that evening, we sat
down to supper alone. I remarked that Monsieur de Villardin was more
calm, though not less grave than he had seemed of late; but it was the
person and demeanour of the priest that principally engaged my
attention.
He was a man considerably past the prime of life; and though his frame
was neither bent nor broken by the weight of years, yet his age was to
be traced in his thin white hair, and in many a long deep furrow on
his brow and cheek. His eye, however, was bright and clear; and his
teeth of as white an ivory as ever appeared between the lips of
youthful beauty. He was thin and pale, but his complexion was clear,
and, probably, had never been red; and his form, which was tall, was
also upright and graceful, and in no degree stiff. His robes, too, sat
well upon him; which is always a sign of a lofty education or of a
fine mind; for no one can feel himself perfectly at his ease in all
his movements, without possessing the one, or having received the
other. With Monsieur de Villardin the Confessor spoke as equal to
equal; and though, from his demeanour, I might, perhaps, as a first
impression, have inferred that he was one of those priests who so
frequently govern, with absolute sway, the little kingdom of a private
family, yet he was evidently not one of those who would truckle to the
prejudices, or give indulgence to the errors, of any one in whose
dwelling he was established. There was in his whole conversation a
tone of bold independence, mingling with the tenderness of his manner,
which took away from it the slightest appearance of subserviency, and
made me feel that, in giving him the title of Father, one only
addressed him by a name which he believed himself to deserve.
After supper I again retired, and, as I had promised, took my way to
the apartments of the good major-domo, where the priest soon after
made his appearance, and spoke with me for some time, kindly and
frankly, upon a variety of indifferent subjects. He was evidently
delighted to hear that my mother had been a Catholic, and that I had
been originally brought up in that faith; but he pressed the subject
no farther upon me, and I saw that he skilfully avoided saying one
word that might make me suspicious of any design on his part, either
to force himself into my own confidence, or to wring from me the
secrets of others. Gradually, however, he brought the conversation
round to the subject of Monsieur de Villardin, and spoke with deep,
and, certainly, sincere regret, of the state to which the Duke
appeared to have brought himself. He asked me no questions, however;
but on my expressing equal pain at the fact, he only replied, by
exhorting me to strive, by every means in my power, to remove the
poison from my friend's mind. I willingly promised to continue all my
efforts, and our conference thus ended.
After what I have just said, it may seem extraordinary that my first
impression of Father Ferdinand was not favourable. On retiring to my
own chamber, I sat down to meditate over the character of the
Confessor, and, as usual, formed my judgment very rapidly. I was
wrong, however--entirely wrong; for as yet I had only allowed myself
to remark the worst--I may say, the sole bad trait in Father
Ferdinand's nature. On it, with the keenness which had been taught me
from my youth, I pounced like a tiger, and resolved to be as wary as
possible to guard myself against its effects. This evil spot, which I
short-sightedly conceived to overspread the whole surface of his
heart, though, indeed, it was but a small blemish therein, was a
slight touch of that subtlety for which our priests are rather famous;
but I must pause for a moment, to define exactly its real limits, lest
those who may read this writing fall into a like error with myself.
It was certainly a part of Father Ferdinand's doctrine, that, in
churchmen, the end justified the means, provided that the means were
not absolutely immoral. Thus things that, under any other
circumstances, he himself would have considered meannesses, lost that
character in his eyes when they were employed to effect some good
purpose; and art, duplicity, and cunning, used either in extracting
the truth from others, or in guiding them, even against their will,
upon the path he thought it right for them to follow, seemed to him
not only admissible, but praiseworthy, in a priest. He stopped there,
however, saying that no clergyman had a right to go farther; and that
if, upon the pretence of guiding others, he did one act that was
really sinful, the sin rested on himself, aggravated rather than
palliated by the motive, inasmuch as it was insulting God to suppose
that he could be served by sin.
On these principles, he made the character of all those with whom he
was brought in contact his most minute study; employed every method of
obtaining information concerning them, even to questioning their
servants and their friends; and having done so, proceeded, step by
step, to establish his own influence over their minds, which it was
only owing to the goodness of his own heart, and the natural rectitude
of his judgment, that he employed to their advantage and their peace.
At first, however, he proceeded cautiously; suffered the traits of
their hearts to develop themselves before his eyes; shocked none of
their prejudices; rudely assailed none of their opinions, till such
time as he found himself secure of his power over their minds; but
then, certainly, with an eloquence which I have never heard excelled,
and a fervour rarely equalled, he would combat their errors, oppose
their vices; and, once having begun the strife, would throw himself
before their passions, in full career, and show them that they
trampled on everything sacred, if they pursued their onward course.
The consciousness of this ultimate purpose, too, gave a dignity even
to acts that I cannot but imagine to be reprehensible; and even, in
the endeavour itself to elicit from dependants the secrets and
character of their lord--an occupation which surely is mean, if there
be anything mean on earth--there was an air of authority in his whole
bearing, which made it seem more as if he were examining witnesses
with the power and right of a judge, than inquiring into the private
history of others for objects of his own.
It is with regret that I have stated this blemish in a man I esteem
and love, though no one will see these lines till both our eyes are
closed, and his virtues will live remembered long after we both are
dust. He himself, however, saw it not as a blemish; and were he now to
behold the lines in which I have endeavoured to portray it in its true
features, he would very probably say, that I had softened down one of
the best traits in his character to suit my own prejudices; for he
himself has always contended, that the noblest victory he ever
acquired over human weakness, was that in which he conquered his
natural repugnance to employ means which the world condemns and
scorns, for the sake of effecting the best of purposes.
In all other respects, my memory can rest upon every part of our
acquaintance with pleasure; and, look into it as narrowly as I will, I
find qualities in his character which I can admire and respect. In
point of physical gifts, nature had originally been very bountiful to
him indeed, and he had cultivated what she gave with extraordinary
care. A fine ear for music, and a rich, melodious voice, gave
full effect to a copiousness of words, and a happy selection of
epithets, that could only be gained by long study; and clearness of
thought--which is probably a natural faculty--was thus rendered doubly
efficacious by immense power of expression.
But I must not dwell too long in description, which seldom does
justice to its object. The next morning, in strolling through the
park--a custom which my habits of early rising enabled me to indulge
before the rest of the family were up--I was joined by the Confessor,
or, as he was generally called, the Directeur; and although, as I have
said, I had already formed an erroneous opinion of his character,
which led me to believe that any conversation between us was to be a
game of chess, where it would behove me to be wary of all my moves,
yet there was something so bland and pleasing in his very salutation,
that I walked on with him, not ill-pleased with his company.
"I am glad to see you are an early riser, my son," he said, after
wishing me good morning. "It is a practice which leads to many worldly
advantages; and, where the mind is well disposed, may be turned to
better purposes. There is a freshness, and a sublimity, and a calm,
monitory voice, in the early morning, which inspires purity of
feeling, counsels good purposes for the ensuing day, and lifts the
heart to adoration of the Being who made all the bright world that is
wakening around us."
Whether he did it with that purpose or not, I cannot tell, but
certainly he could not have chosen a better method of breaking down
all the barriers between us, which my examination of his character on
the preceding night had raised up, than by thus showing me that there
were finer thoughts and feelings in his heart than those which I had
as yet discovered. After a few more words, however, in the same
strain, he again brought the conversation to Monsieur de Villardin;
and he now spoke of him in terms of tenderness and pity which he had
restrained on the preceding night, while in the presence of the old
domestic. Nor was it alone his sorrows he appeared to commiserate: he
seemed to pity him more for his errors than even for his griefs. He
spoke of him as of a being who, with noble powers and a generous
heart, had, by a few weaknesses and faults, created for himself
lasting misery below, and endangered his happiness for the long
hereafter. There was something so eloquent--I may say, so sublime, in
the pouring forth of his lamentation over one who was evidently his
friend as well as his penitent, that I was struck and affected; while
all my prepossessions, I felt, were rapidly giving way to a truer
estimate of my companion's character.
Seeing that I listened eagerly, and, mistaking the cause of the
surprise which was visible upon my countenance, he added, "You wonder
to find me addressing you thus upon the subject of the Duke; but you
must remember that I am his confessor, and know exactly how much you
know of his affairs; what share you have had therein, and how you have
borne yourself under difficult circumstances."
I replied not; for I began again to be upon my guard, fancying that
all this might be but a prelude to questions which I might not think
fit to answer. By my silence and the casting down of my eyes, he
seemed at once to enter into my thoughts:--"Be not afraid, my son," he
said, laying his hand upon my shoulder, with a smile; "I seek no
information that you can give me. Indeed, what need I, knowing much
more than you can know. Suffice it, that what I have heard of your
conduct--making allowance for faults of education and habit--leads me
to give you my esteem: and I trust that, even yet, with your good aid,
I may be able to eradicate from the bosom of my noble friend the root
of bitterness that poisons all the current of his days: and although a
shadow from the past is, I am afraid, cast over his future for ever,
yet we must try to soften it by the light of hope, which springs from
repentance."
I doubted not that the priest alluded to the death of the Count de
Mesnil; but it was neither my business to take it for granted that
Monsieur de Villardin had confided that secret to him, nor did I see
that the strong terms he used were very applicable to that event; for
I could not get my mind to comprehend that the fact of killing an
adversary in fair fight, though it might be a matter of personal
regret, was at all a subject for religious repentance. I replied,
therefore, generally, that, of course, he was the best judge of what
his penitent had to atone for; but that, for my part, as both duty and
affection prompted me, I was willing to strain every nerve to relieve
the mind of Monsieur de Villardin, and to restore him to a happier
state of feeling.
"I doubt you not, my son," replied he, seeing that there was still
some holding back in my conversation with him; "I doubt you not, and
trust that the time will soon come when you will not doubt me. In the
meanwhile, to speak of another part of our subject, good old Laborde
tells me that the page, Gaspard de Belleville, seems lately to have
taken your place in the Duke's confidence. Your place in his esteem
and affection he has not taken, as I positively know; and I would fain
be sure of the fact that Jerome Laborde tells me before I speak with
Monsieur de Villardin about it. Have you yourself remarked any
difference?"
"So much so," I replied, "that many a painful feeling have I
experienced on the subject. Indeed, I attribute the great increase of
that evil which we all deplore, to the fact of Monsieur de Villardin's
now confiding entirely in persons who are likely to foster all his
suspicions, and strengthen every wild idea that jealousy may suggest."
"And do you think that this Gaspard de Belleville is a person to do
so?" demanded the priest.
"Beyond all doubt," I answered. "So sure am I, and so sure have I
been, that such is the case, that, only yesterday, I contemplated
bringing him to the middle of that bridge and throwing him over into
the river, after giving him fair warning of my intention."
"My son!" exclaimed the Confessor, recoiling with a look of
involuntary horror; but, the moment after, he recovered himself, cast
his eyes down upon the ground, and muttered a short prayer.
"Of course," I added, seeing the surprise painted on his countenance,
"I did not propose to do so without giving him every fair equality.
You did not suppose, I trust, father, that I would take him by
surprise?"
"God forbid, my son, that you should do such an act at all," replied
the Confessor: "the time will come when you will think better."
He said nothing more upon that subject, however, governing his own
feelings with wonderful control; but, from that day forward, I seldom
failed to meet with Father Ferdinand in some part of my morning's
walk; and I saw that the words I had spoken with regard to Gaspard de
Belleville had never been forgotten. Gently and cautiously, but firmly
and perseveringly, he applied himself to change opinions and
prejudices which my early habits had rendered almost a part of my
nature. At first he would take an opportunity of descanting generally
upon the value of human life, as the most precious gift of God; and,
at various times, he put it in a thousand different points of view;
each tending to show that it was an inestimable gift, which no
creature had a right to take from another, except in those cases which
God himself had pointed out. Now, he represented it as the space
allotted to a sinner for repentance; now, as the means of conferring
benefits on others,--rearing and supporting a family,--and doing the
will of the Almighty. Now, he showed it as the crowning and especial
gift of God--a thing alike beyond man's comprehension and his efforts,
which he could, indeed, take away, but which he could never restore.
Now, he would display the horrors that would oppress that man, who, on
a supposed injury, had taken the life of another, if ever he were to
discover that his passion or his judgment had deceived him, and that
no injury had really been done, or that it had been attributed to an
innocent person. Now, he would carry his view beyond this world, and
represent the agony that the murderer's soul must suffer, when, in
addition to the weight of the crime itself, he felt loaded with all
the unrepented sins which his hand had prevented his victim from
atoning upon earth. Then, again, he would return and awaken every
human sympathy; display the sweet ties broken, the dear hopes
destroyed, the noble careers cut short, by such deeds: he would
represent loves and affections that we know not of, bright but secret
aspirations, joys and good deeds concealed from every eye, ended for
ever, as the punishment of some trifling fault or idle folly; and, in
the end, when he found that all my prejudices were shaken, he
addressed himself direct to my own heart, with such powerful and
eloquent exhortation, that thenceforth I mingled with the world with
very different feelings in regard to the relationship between man and
man.