Monsieur de Villequier," he said. "I take no more vows. I have taken
too many already; and those, by God's grace and the good will of our
holy father the Pope, I intend to get rid of very speedily. I have
nothing to request of your Lordship at present. I know, see, and
understand your whole policy, and think you quite right in every
respect. The promises which you and the King are to give to Monsieur
de Montsoreau concerning the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut can of
course be broken, changed, or modified in a moment at any future
time."
"We have no intention of breaking them," replied Villequier. "We are
acting in good faith, I can assure you."
"Doubtless," replied the Abbe, "doubtless: but they can be broken?"
"Of course," replied Villequier; "of course any thing on earth can be
broken."
"That is sufficient," replied the Abbe. "It is quite enough, Monsieur
de Villequier: I only desire to know, whether you and the King
consider it as a final arrangement, that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut is
to marry the young Lord of Montsoreau, or whether the matter is not
now as much unsettled and within your own power and grasp as ever."
"Why," replied Villequier thoughtfully, "it is, as I dare say you well
know, Monsieur l'Abbe, a very difficult thing indeed to devise any
sort of black lines, which, written down upon sheep skin, will prove
sufficiently strong to bind the actions of kings, princes, or common
men, at a future period. But it seems to me, Monsieur l'Abbe, that the
time is come when we had better be frank with each other! What is it
that you aim at? You seem not displeased to think the arrangement
doubtful or contingent; and yet I, who am not accustomed to guess very
wrongly in such matters, have entertained no doubtful suspicion that
you prompted the demand for a definite and conclusive bargain."
"I did," replied the Abbe. "When you asked to see him alone, I was
very well assured that, though a game of policy skilfully played may
occasionally afford sport to Monsieur de Villequier, you were quite as
well pleased in the present business to deal with a young and
inexperienced head as with an old and a worldly one. He sought my
opinion and advice, and, as I uniformly do when it is sought, I gave
it him sincerely, though it was against my own views and purposes.
Now, Monsieur de Villequier, I see hovering round your lips a
question, which, in whatever form of words you place it, whatever
Proteus form it may assume, will have this for its substance and
object; namely, What are the plans and purposes of the Abbe de
Boisguerin? Now, my plans and purposes are these,--remember, I do not
say my objects; the object of every man in life is one, though we all
set out upon different roads to reach it. My purpose is to serve his
Majesty and the Queen-mother far more than I have hitherto been able
to do. What I have done is a trifle; but if I detach from the party of
the League, separate for ever from the Duke of Guise, and bring over
to the royal cause Charles of Montsoreau as well as his brother, I
shall confer no trifling service, for I can now inform you, Monsieur
de Villequier, that, besides the great estates of Logeres, he is lord
of all the possessions lately held by the old Count de Morly, who
amassed much treasure during the avaricious part of age, and died
little more than a week ago, leaving this young Lord the heir of all
his wealth. I have received the intelligence this very morning; so
that, what between his riches, his skill, and his courage, he is worth
any two, excepting Epernon perhaps, of the King's court."
"If you do what you say, Monsieur de Boisguerin," replied the Marquis
in a low, deep, sweet-toned voice, "you may command any thing you
please in France, bishoprics, abbeys----"
"If it rained bishoprics," replied the Abbe, "I would not wear a
mitre. I do not pretend to say, Monsieur de Villequier, that I am more
disinterested than my neighbours; that I have not great rewards in
view, and objects of importance--to me, if not to others. But these
objects are not quite fixed or determined yet, and I am not one of
those men, Monsieur de Villequier, who hesitate to render the services
first from a fear of losing the reward afterwards. I know how to make
my claims heard when the time comes for demanding; and in the present
instance, although I cannot distinctly promise to bring Charles of
Montsoreau absolutely and positively over to the King's cause, yet I
am sure of being able both to detach him from the Duke of Guise and
separate him from the faction of the League. I think, indeed, that all
three can be done: but nothing can be done unless the promise given to
his brother be made contingent. The one loves her as vehemently as the
other; and I, who know how to deal with him, can change his whole
views in an hour, or at least in a few days."
"Indeed!" said Villequier. "He is now in Paris; the trial could be
speedily made."
"I know it--" replied the Abbe, seeing the Marquis fix his eyes upon
him eagerly, thinking, perhaps, 'he has promised more than he could
perform.'
"I know it, and that is the precise reason why I have hurried on this
matter, and urged it to the present point. No time is to be lost, or I
see storms approaching, Monsieur de Villequier, that I think escape
your eyes."
"What do you intend to do?" demanded Villequier; "and what means do
you require to do it?"
"My purposes I have already told you," replied the Abbe. "The means I
require--to come to the point at once--consist of a document under
your own hand, making over to me, as far as your relationship to
Mademoiselle de Clairvaut goes, the right of disposing of her hand in
marriage to whomsoever I may think fit: that is to say, the voice for,
or the voice against, any particular candidate for her hand, when
given by me, is to be held as if given by yourself."
"This is a great thing that you demand, Monsieur de Boisguerin,"
replied Villequier, gazing in his face with no inconsiderable
surprise; "and I see not how I can give such a paper at the very same
time that I give the one which I have promised to the Marquis of
Montsoreau."
"Nothing, I fear, can be done without it," replied the Abbe; "but I
think it may be done without risk or exposure of any kind, for I in
return can bind myself not to employ that paper for nine months, by
which time all will be complete; and in both the documents you can
speak vaguely of other promises and engagements, and can declare your
great object in giving me that paper to be, the final settlement of
difficult claims, by a person in whom you have full confidence."
Villequier looked in his face with a meaning and somewhat sarcastic
smile: then turned to the note which the Queen-mother, Catharine de
Medici, had sent him; read it over again as if carelessly, but marking
every word as he did so; and then said, with somewhat of a sigh,
"Well, Monsieur de Boisguerin, pray draw up on that paper what you
think would be required."
The Abbe took up the pen and ink, and wrote rapidly for a moment or
two; while Villequier looked over his shoulder, fingering the hilt of
his dagger as he did so, in a manner which might have made the periods
of any man but the Abbe de Boisguerin, who knew as he did his
companion's habits and views, less rounded and eloquent than they
usually were. The Abbe, however, wrote on without the slightest sign
of apprehension, and at length Villequier exclaimed, "That would tie
my hands sufficiently tight, Monsieur de Boisguerin."
"Not quite, my Lord," replied the other. "I never make a covenant
without a penalty; and what I am now going to add provides that, in
case of your failing to confirm my decision, or attempting in any way
to rescind this paper and the power hereby given to me, you forfeit to
my use and benefit one hundred thousand golden crowns, to be sued for
from you in any lawful court of this kingdom."
"Nay, nay, nay!" cried Villequier, now absolutely laughing. "This is
going too far, Monsieur de Boisguerin."
"Faith, not a whit, my Lord," replied the Abbe. "I take care when men
make me promises, that they are not such as can be trifled with, at
least if I am to act upon them."
"Why, you do not suppose----" exclaimed Villequier.
"I suppose nothing, my Lord," interrupted the Abbe, "but that you are
a statesman and a courtier, and must in your day have seen more than
one promise broken."
"By some millions," replied Villequier. "I told you to speak frankly,
Monsieur de Boisguerin, and you have done so with a vengeance. I must
have my turn, too, and tell you that neither to you nor any other man
on earth will I give such a promise, without in the first place seeing
a probability of the object for which it is given being accomplished,
and, in fact, some steps taken towards the accomplishment of that
object; and, in the next place, without having a distinct notion of
the means by which it is to effect its end. That is a beautiful ring
of yours," continued the statesman, suddenly breaking away from the
subject as if to announce that what he had just said was final, but
perhaps in reality to consider what was to be the next step. "That is
a beautiful ring of yours, Monsieur de Boisguerin, and of some very
peculiar stone it seems; a large turquoise semi-transparent."
"It is an antidote against all poisons," answered the Abbe coolly,
"whether they be eaten in the savoury ragout, drunk in the racy cup,
smelt in the odour of a sweet flower, or inhaled in the balmy air of
some well-prepared apartment. My dear friends will not find me so
tender a lamb as Jeanne d'Albret."
"No, I should think not," replied Villequier with a laugh, and still
holding off from the original subject of conversation. "I should think
not, if I may judge by some of your attendants, Monsieur de
Boisguerin, for there is one of them at least, an Italian, whom I
passed in the court but now, who looks much more like the follower of
a wolf than of a lamb. He was dressed somewhat in the guise of a
wandering minstrel, with a good strong dagger, which I dare say is
serviceable in time of need."
"I have not the slightest doubt of it," replied the Abbe de Boisguerin
with the most imperturbable coolness, "though I have not had occasion
to make use of him much in that way yet. But the man's a treasure,
Monsieur de Villequier; and as to his garb the fact is, that I have
not had time yet to have it changed and made more becoming. You shall
see in a few days, Monsieur de Villequier, what a change can be
effected by razors, soap, cold water, and good clothing. He's a
complete treasure, I can assure you, and well worth any pains."
"But," said Villequier, "if you have had him so short a time as not to
be able to clothe him yet, how do you know all these magnificent
qualities?"
"It is a singular business enough," answered the Abbe. "I knew him
long ago in Italy, where he was exercising various professions: but he
had skill enough almost to cheat me, which, of course, made me judge
highly of his abilities. One day, not long ago, he presented himself
at the Chateau de Montsoreau, where it seems he had been upon some
vagabond excursion a week or a fortnight before. He had on the first
occasion seen and recognised me, and he now came back, having spent
all the money he had gained by selling a young Italian pipe-player to
my good cousin Charles, and being consequently in not the best
provided state. He was in hopes that I would take him into my service,
which, from ancient recollection of his character, I was very willing
to do; dismissing, however, without much ceremony, another man and a
low Italian woman whom he had brought with him. They seemed very
willing to go, it is true, and he to part with them; and my good
friend Orbi has already shown himself on more than one occasion fully
as serviceable as I had expected he would prove. My former knowledge
of him gives me means of binding him to me by very strong ties; and I
will acknowledge that never was there man to all appearance so well
calculated to remove a troublesome friend or a pertinacious enemy."
"Doubtless, doubtless," replied Villequier; "though he seems not to be
particularly strong in frame."
"But he is active," answered the Abbe, "and full of skill, and
thought, and ingenuity. But to return to what we were saying
concerning the paper, Monsieur de Villequier, which we have left
somewhat too long," added the Abbe, thinking this sort of farce had
been carried quite far enough. "Every objection that you have raised
can be overthrown at once. I ask this promise, not for my own sake,
but to satisfy this youth Charles of Montsoreau. He will trust you as
soon as the fox will the tiger; but he will trust to me implicitly, if
he believes that I have the power to aid him in obtaining her he
loves. Thus you see at once the means by which this promise is to work
to the ends that we propose. Then, as to seeing clearly what the
effect will be, I will show it to you in the very course of this
night. Read that letter, written by the young Count of Logeres to his
brother, no later than yesterday evening! You see," the Abbe
continued, after Villequier had read, "he renounces all claim
whatsoever to the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, and this in
favour of his brother. The letter was brought hither not two hours
ago. Now, ere two hours more be over, you shall yourself see the whole
feelings of this young man changed, and the pursuit renewed as eagerly
as ever. If it be so, what say you? Will you go forward in the way I
propose?--Yea or nay, Monsieur de Villequier? I trifle not, nor am
trifled with."
"I will then go forward, beyond all doubt," replied the Marquis.
The Abbe thereupon took up the pen, wrote five lines on a sheet of
paper, sealed them with some of the yellow wax which lay ready,
addressed the note to Charles of Montsoreau, and placing it in the
hands of Villequier, bade him to send it by a page, with orders to
require an answer. The page seemed winged with the wind, and in a
marvellous short time he returned, bearing a note from the young Count
of Logeres, containing these few words:--
"My renunciation was entirely conditional. If it be as you say,
nothing on earth shall induce me to yield the hand of Mademoiselle de
Clairvaut to any man. The time that you allow me for writing does not
permit me to say more, but come to me as early as possible to-morrow,
and let all things be explained; for a state of doubt and suspicion
was always to me worse than the knowledge of real evil or real wrong."
The Abbe gave it to Villequier, and the Minister only replied by
signing and sealing the paper which the Abbe had drawn up.
"Now, quick! Monsieur l'Abbe," said the Minister. "Go for a few
minutes to your own apartments, and then join us at supper, which I
hear is already served, as if we had not met during the evening. You
will not need your ring, I can assure you."
The Abbe bowed low and retired in silence; but in his heart he said,
"And this, the fool Henry holds to be a great politician."
No knave can be a great politician; but every knave thinks himself so.
The mistake they make is between wisdom and cunning. The knave prides
himself on deceiving others, the wise man on not deceiving himself.
CHAP. VI.
When the Abbe de Boisguerin on the following morning entered the
presence of Charles of Montsoreau, his mind was prepared for every
thing he was to say and do, for every thing he was to assert or
to imply. But there was one thing for which his mind was not
prepared--all shrewd, keen, politic, and experienced as it was.
There are points in the deep study of human nature which those who
would use that mighty science for selfish purposes almost always
overlook. Amongst these are the changes, both sudden and progressive,
which take place in themselves and in others, and the changes in
relative situations which they produce. In this respect it was that
the Abbe de Boisguerin, thoughtful and calculating as he was, had not
prepared himself for the meeting with Charles of Montsoreau. The time
was short since they had parted. Not above six weeks had elapsed, if
so much; and the Abbe had come ready to deal with a youth of keen and
penetrating mind, of quick perceptions and extensive powers; of all
whose feelings and thoughts he fancied that he knew the scope and
quality; whose mind he believed that he had gauged and tested as if it
were some material substance. But he knew not at all, what an effect
the space of six weeks may have when spent in communication with great
minds, and in dealing with great events; and the moment he entered the
room he saw a change which he had never dreamt of--a change which
through the mind affected the body, the countenance, and the
demeanour.
Charles of Montsoreau, in short, had left him a youth high-spirited,
feeling, intelligent, graceful,--he stood before him a man, calm,
thoughtful, grave, dignified. There were even lines of care already
upon his brow, which gave it a degree of sternness not natural to it;
and the whole look and aspect of his former pupil was so powerfully
intellectual, that the Abbe felt he must be more cautious and careful
than he had prepared to be; that his words, his thoughts, and his
looks would not alone be tested by old affection, nor even by the
simple powers of an undoubting mind, but would be tried by experience
likewise, and tried moreover with that degree of suspicion which is
more active within us when we first learn the painful lessons taught
by human deceit, than it is when we learn fully our own powers of
separating truth from falsehood.
He saw that it would be necessary to be more cautious than he had
proposed to be, and that, consequently, he must change much that he
had intended to say and do. The very caution affected his manner, and
his alteration of purposes caused occasional hesitation. Charles of
Montsoreau, who remembered his whole character and demeanour during
many years, found, without seeking it, a touchstone in the past by
which to try the present, and the conclusion in his own heart was,
"This man is not true."
The explanation given by the Abbe of all that had occurred on their
route did not satisfy his hearer. He told him that he had remained
with Mademoiselle de Clairvaut and the carriage till the reiters had
passed, and then had caused the horses to be turned into a bye-road,
in the hope of escaping any returning parties: they had thus
accidentally met with the King's troops, whose offered protection, of
course, they could not refuse. But he touched vaguely and lightly upon
the mission of Colombel to the young Marquis de Montsoreau; and the
Count de Logeres did not press him upon the subject, for he felt
sufficiently upon his guard, and had a repugnance openly to convict
one whom he had loved of falseness and treachery.
He turned then to the note which he had received on the preceding
evening.
"You tell me now," he said, "Abbe, that you have some reason to
believe that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, as I at first supposed, has
seen my affection, and did not intend to discourage it. What are those
reasons?"
The Abbe stated vaguely that some words, dropped by Madame de Saulny,
had produced that belief in his mind.
Charles of Montsoreau mused, and made no answer. The time had been
when he would have replied at once, and have discussed the question
fully with his former preceptor; but now he held counsel with his own
heart in his own bosom, and said, "This man has some object in telling
me this. Her own words were sufficiently conclusive, that she did not
see, that she did not remark, the signs of affection which I had
fancied undoubted."
He still maintained silence, however, towards the Abbe, in regard to
his own views, his own purposes, and his own feelings. Nor could the
other, though he used all his skill, draw from him the slightest
indication of what he intended to do, except that he waited in Paris
for the arrangement of some affairs, which were not yet concluded,
with the King. He in turn, however, questioned the Abbe much
concerning his brother, expressing not only a wish but a determination
to see him.
"I am happy," he said, "that my letter reached him; for--by whom or
for what reason instructed to falsify the truth, I do not know--the
porter of Monsieur de Villequier denied the fact of your being in the
house. As nothing could shake my own belief that it was Gaspar and
yourself I had seen, and as both Gondrin and the page confirmed my
opinion, I sent the letter at all risks: and now, good Abbe, if you
love Gaspar and myself as you used to do, contrive that we may meet
again to-morrow, in order that all these clouds may be cleared away
from between us, and that we may feel once more as brothers ought to
feel towards each other."
The Abbe promised to do as the young Count desired, beseeching him,
however, not to press his brother to an interview too suddenly, and
assuring him that he would use every effort.
The still more important subject of what had become of Mademoiselle de
Clairvaut remained to be discussed; and Charles of Montsoreau, though
resolved to make the inquiry, approached it with distaste and with
caution, from a feeling that the Abbe would not deal truly with him,
and would only endeavour, in the course of any conversation upon that
point, to discover what were his secret intentions, even while he
concealed from him the true circumstances.
It was as he expected. The Abbe told him that, in some degree under
the care, and in some degree under the guard, of the King's troops,
the whole party had been brought to the neighbourhood of Paris, where
a messenger from the monarch had conveyed to himself and the young
Marquis an invitation to take up their abode at the house of
Villequier, while Mademoiselle de Clairvaut was conveyed to Vincennes.
They had done all that was possible, he said, to prevent such a
separation; but the King's commands were peremptory; and he had since
learnt, or at least had reason to believe, that the young lady had
been sent in the direction of Beauvais, to the care of some distant
relations.
The young Count smiled, and said nothing; and the Abbe then, with an
air of grave sincerity, proceeded to ask him what had best be done
under such circumstances. He replied that he could give no advice; and
many a vain effort was again made to discover what were his purposes
in regard to Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. Finding that no indirect means
succeeded, the Abbe, trusting to their former familiarity, asked the
question directly, "What do you intend to do in this business,
Charles."
"Indeed, my dear Abbe," replied the young Count, "it is difficult to
tell you. I have no definite plan of action at present, and must be
guided by circumstances as they arise."
Thus ended their interview; and it formed a strange contrast to that
between the Abbe and Villequier,--showing how simple honesty may often
baffle cunning which has succeeded against astuteness like itself. The
following day passed without any communication reaching the young
Count, either from the Abbe or from his brother, from the King or the
Duke of Guise; and expectation of receiving tidings from some one
caused him to remain at home during the greater part of the day.
On the succeeding morning, however, he determined to proceed to the
house of Villequier, and to demand peremptorily the fulfilment of the
promise which the King had made. Ere he set out, however, he received
a note in the hand of the Abbe de Boisguerin, informing him briefly
that his brother, having determined to return to Montsoreau, was upon
the very point of setting out. He, the Abbe, was to accompany him for
two days' march upon the road, but would return to Paris in four or
five days without fail.
Charles of Montsoreau read the note with a faint and melancholy smile,
and again said, "This man is not true!"
He rode at once, however, to the hotel of Villequier, but found that
the minister had once more gone to Vincennes. He inquired for the
Marquis of Montsoreau of the same porter who had denied the fact of
his being there. The porter, not at all discomposed, replied that the
Marquis and the Abbe de Boisguerin, with their train, had set out
fully two hours before for Montl'hery; which, being confirmed upon
farther inquiry by an Italian confectioner on the opposite side of the
street, was believed by the young Count, who returned home with a
heart but ill at ease.