It is a sad thing for a calm, retired student, to sit down and depict
the fierce and terrible passions which sometimes animate his
fellow-beings; and it is scarcely possible to tell how worn and shaken
his whole frame feels, after hurrying through some scene of angry
violence and wild commotion. He meets, indeed, with compensations in
pursuing his task. There may be a high and indescribable pleasure in
portraying the better qualities of human nature in all their grand and
beautiful traits; in describing sweet scenes of nature, and in
striving to find latent associations between the various aspects of
the material world and the mind, the feelings, or the fate of
ourselves and our fellow-men. Nay, more, there may be some touch of
satisfaction--part self-complacency, part gratified curiosity--in
tracing the petty things of humanity mingling with the finer ones, the
mighty and the mean counterbalancing each other within the same bosom,
and in discovering that the noblest of recorded earthly beings is
linked on to our little selves by some fond familiar fault or empty
vanity. But at the same time, though not so wearing as to paint the
struggle of mighty energies called forth on some great occasion, it is
even more painful, perhaps, to sit and draw the same strong passions
working by inferior means, and employing the low and treacherous
slave, _Cunning_, instead of the bold bravo, _Daring_. To such a
picture, however, we must now turn.
It was on the evening of the day, whose sanguinary commencement we
have already noticed, that, placed calmly by a clear wood fire, with
all the means of comfort, and even luxury around him, Ganay, the
druggist, sat pondering over the past and the future. Neither he
himself, nor Albert Maurice, had appeared at the execution of
Imbercourt and Hugonet--the one careless of what else occurred, so
that his bitter revenge was gratified--the other naturally abhorring
scenes of blood. The druggist, however--though where it was necessary
he neither wanted courage to undertake, nor hardihood to execute the
most daring actions--was ever well pleased to let more careless fools
perform the perilous parts of an enterprise, employing the time, which
would have been thus filled up by action, in thinking over the best
means of reaping his own peculiar harvest from the seed sown by
others. He now revolved every circumstance of his present situation,
and scanned the future--that dim and uncertain prospect--with steady
eyes, determined to force his way onward, through its mists and
obstacles, without fear and without remorse.
The predominant sensation in his bosom, however, was gratification at
the consummation of his long sought revenge. The man whom he most
hated on earth, who had offered him a personal indignity, and who had
refused pardon to his son, he had sent to join the unhappy magistrates
who had condemned that base and flagitious boy; and when he
contemplated the difficulties he had surmounted to bring about that
act of vengeance, the schemes he had formed and perfected, the events
which he had turned from their natural course, by his sole art, to
accomplish his purpose, the men he had used as instruments, and the
passions he had bent to his designs--when he contemplated, I say, the
whole course of his triumphant machinations, there rose up in his
bosom that pride of successful villany, which is so often the ultimate
means of its own punishment by the daring confidence which it
inspires.
The maxim of Rochefoucault is applicable to men as well as women.
Where was there ever the man who paused at one evil act? Ganay had
previously determined to limit all his efforts to the death of the
eschevins and of Imbercourt; but his very success in that endeavour
had entailed the necessity, and furnished the encouragement, to new
and, if possible, less justifiable acts. Nevertheless, it must not be
thought that there was no such thing as a thrill of remorse ever
entered his bosom. There probably never yet was a man, however he
might brave it to the world, who, with a bosom loaded with crimes, did
not feel remorse when solitary thought left him a prey to memory.
Conscience is an Antæus, that, though often cast to the earth by the
Herculean passions of man's heart, rises ever again re-invigorated by
its fall; and he must be strong, indeed, who can strangle it
altogether.
Remorse mingled its bitter drop even with the cup of Ganay's triumph;
and while he gazed upon the crackling embers, the joy of his successes
faded away; a feeling of age, and solitude, and crime, crept over his
heart; and the memories of other years--the hopes and dreams of
boyhood and innocence, rose up, and painfully contrasted themselves
with the mighty disappointment of successful vice. Through life he had
found many means of stifling such murmurs of the heart, in the
excitement of new schemes and the intricacies of tortuous policy; but
now he had learned another way of lulling the mind together with the
body; and, rising with his usual calm and quiet pace, he approached a
cupboard, poured a small silver cup half full of ardent spirits, and
then swallowed in its contents a certain portion of that narcotic
which he had found so soothing under the first anguish of his son's
death. Then carefully replacing the cup and the vial, he again took
his seat before the fire, and listened, as if waiting for some
visitor.
He was not kept long in expectation; for, in a very few minutes after,
the door was opened by the boy, and Maillotin du Bac entered without
farther announcement. The cheek of the Prevot was flushed with wine,
and his lip curled with triumph; but he had by this time, learned the
influence of Ganay in the affairs of Ghent too completely to treat him
with aught but the most profound deference. After some formality, he
took the seat that Ganay offered; and hypocras and wine having been
brought in, with spices and comfits, he helped himself largely, and
then, at the request of the druggist, recapitulated the events
connected with the execution of the morning, which we need not repeat.
"So now," said the Prevot, in conclusion, speaking of the unhappy
Imbercourt, "he is dead, and that score is cleared. Master Ganay, I
give you joy, with all my heart! Your son's death is nobly avenged,
and you can sleep in peace. Now, give me joy in return."
"I do! I do! Sir Prevot," replied Ganay, grasping the hand the other
held out to him in his thin fingers: "I do! I do, with all my heart!"
"But stay! stay!" cried Maillotin du Bac; "you do not yet know for
what. Hark ye, Master Ganay, revenge is sweet to every honourable man.
Did you ever hear tell of the Vert Gallant of Hannut? Did you ever
hear how he overpowered me by numbers, and disgraced me as a man and a
knight? He delivered yon proud Albert Maurice, too, when he was a less
worm than he is now. Well, he it was, who, as I tell you, encountered
the good Duke of Gueldres, and would have slain him, had not his own
foot slipped, or some one dashed him down, and the duke was rescued."
"Well, well, what of him?" cried the druggist; "what has befallen
him?"
"Why, he is safe in the prison of the town-house," replied the Prevot,
"and shall die after seven days' torture, if I live to the end of
them. His fellows, somehow, cut their way through, and got out of the
press, every one of them; but he himself was trodden down as he lay,
by the people, and was taken up by the burgher guard, half dead, after
the crowd dispersed. We shall give him two or three days to recover.
There is no use of killing him like a rat caught in a trap, you know,
and just knocking his head against the stones, without letting him
know why or wherefore. No, no! we must give him time to recover his
strength and his senses, or he will die upon the first wheel. But
there is more--there is more to be told still," continued the Prevot,
rather heated by the wine, and seeing that the other was about to
reply. "Who, think you, this famous long-concealed Vert Gallant proves
to be at last? Who but the nephew of that old sorcerer, the Lord of
Hannut? and, by the holy cross! if ever I live to see quiet times
again, that vile, heathenish wizard shall roast in the market-place of
Brussels, if there be such a thing as law and religion in the land. I
knew it all the time! Bless you, Master Ganay, I saw through it all,
from the time I was at the castle. I told the Lord of Imbercourt
that his nephew was the brigand leader; you may ask him if I did
not--though, by the way, he won't answer, for he is dead--but
I told him, nevertheless, that I was sure it was the old man's
nephew.--Master Ganay, here's to you!"
Ganay had turned somewhat pale as the other spoke: but he showed no
farther sign of discomposure; and replied immediately: "His nephew!
You must mistake. He has no nephew. He once had a son!" he added, in a
voice, the tremulous tone of which the Prevot, whose faculties had not
been rendered more pellucid by the wine he had drunk, attributed to
the painful remembrance of his own loss--"he once had a son! But the
boy died in infancy."
"Nay," replied Maillotin du Bac, "of that I know nothing. All I know
is that this youth is his nephew--this Sir Hugh de Mortmar."
"But I tell thee, good friend, it cannot be," rejoined the druggist,
somewhat sharply. "No nephew has he. Surely I should know."
"Well, well, 'tis all the same," cried the Prevot. "If not his nephew,
he passes as such; and die he shall, after the torture has racked his
every limb. Ay, Master Ganay, he shall die," he added, clasping his
strong and sinewy hand tight, as if holding some substance which he
was determined to let no power on earth wring from his grasp; "he
shall die, although your precious President were to give his right
hand to save him; and if, out of what he calls his fine feelings, he
attempt to repay the good turn the Vert Gallant did him at Hannut, and
free him from prison in return, he may chance to stumble at that step
himself, and die along with him. I owe him something, too, which I
have not forgot. So let him look to it."
Ganay mused for several minutes over the words of his companion, who
spoke evidently under the excitement both of passion and drink. The
wine, however, had not very deeply affected his discretion; and the
moment after, remembering the close connexion between the druggist and
Albert Maurice, the Prevot added, "Not that I mean any harm to your
friend, Master Ganay, only let him not meddle with my prisoner, that
is all. I am sure I have refrained from Seeking any vengeance against
him himself, simply because he is your friend; and will not, if he
keep his hands from interfering with my affairs."
Still Ganay was silent, and remained musing, with his eyes bent upon
the fire, till he perceived that Maillotin du Bac, somewhat
discomposed by his companion's taciturnity, and imagining that he had
made a blunder in regard to Albert Maurice, was again about to apply
to the bowl of spiced wines, as the best means of restoring his
confidence and composure. At that moment the druggist, stretching out
his hand, caught him gently by the arm, saying, "Stay, stay, Master
Prevot, we have both had enough of that for the present; and as we may
have many things to speak of which require cool heads, let us refrain
till all is settled, and then drink our fill."
"Well, well, 'tis the same to me," rejoined the Prevot, relinquishing
the bowl, and taking his seat once again. "What would you say, Master
Ganay? Command me; for you know that we are linked together by the
same interests, and therefore are not likely to differ."
"Well, then, listen for a moment, good Sir Maillotin, while I just
tell you a few things concerning this Lord of Hannut, which, though
they belong to the days past, do not the less bear upon the days
present."
The druggist then paused, and again mused for a moment in deep
thought, ere he proceeded; and in his countenance there was that air
of deep calculating thought, which may often be seen in the face of a
skilful chess player, when pausing, with suspended finger, over some
critical move. At length he went on: "We must both serve each other,
Sir Maillotin; and if you will aid me in what I propose, I will help
you to what you wish, though you dare not even hope for it."
"Speak, speak! Master Ganay," replied the Prevot; "and fear not that I
will refuse to serve you willingly and well. We have drawn vastly well
together yet; and there is no danger of our not doing so to the end."
Still however, the druggist hesitated for some minutes; for though he
could assume a false frankness as well as any one, he was not, by
nature, at all communicative, and what he had resolved, upon long
deliberation, to propose to the Prevot, required a more full
confidence than he could place in any one without pain. "I will tell
you a story," he said at length, "I will tell you a story, good
Maillotin du Bac. Listen then. 'Tis just two-and-thirty years ago
since I first heard much of this Lord of Hannut, who was then a
bright, brave young cavalier, whose life was not to be counted on for
two hours together, so much was his courage better than his prudence.
He had, as well you know he still has ample wealth and large
possessions, while his cousin, the present Duke of Gueldres, whose
father was then living, was so munificent a prince, as often to be
pinched for a hundred florins. Report said that the young duke, who
was then heir to Hannut, piously wished that his gallant cousin might
find the road to heaven speedily. But, as fate would have it, the Lord
of Hannut one day unexpectedly married, and within a year, his fair
lady made him the father of a son, of which she was delivered at their
pleasure-house of Lindenmar. All this went mightily against the
stomach of the good young Lord of Gueldres, whose father, then living,
kept him on scanty means; when, by another strange turn of fate, the
pleasure-house of Lindenmar was burnt to the ground, and the infant
son of the young Lord of Hannut perished in the flames. As fortune
would have it, a detachment of Duke Philip's army was marching over
the hill, within sight at the time, and with it was my good Lord of
Gueldres, together with Thibalt of Neufchatel, and a number of other
knights and nobles. As soon as the fire was discovered, they all
galloped down to put out the flames; and my Lord of Gueldres might
have passed for as zealous a friend as the rest, had he not been fool
enough to cry out, as if in jest, to let the whole place burn, so that
he had the lands of Hannut."
"He had better have kept that to himself," interrupted the Prevot,
shaking his head sagaciously. "No man has a worse enemy than his own
tongue. The good duke should have learned that it is better never to
let people know one's wishes, for they are never long in discovering
one's designs afterwards."
"He has marred all his good fortune through life," replied Ganay, "by
those rough sayings of his; for though he says no more than other men
think, yet he makes all men that hear him his enemies, by exposing
their feelings while confessing his own."
"However," continued the druggist, after this sage and liberal
observation, "down he came with the rest, of course, to make them
think what he said was a mere joke, and plunged into the flames with
the foremost. All was confusion, and no one knew what the other was
doing. The Lord of Hannut himself was stunned by the fall of a beam
upon his head, and was with difficulty dragged out by his servants.
Thibalt of Neufchatel, his great friend and brother in arms, carried
out the lady unhurt, through the midst of the flames; but the heir of
Hannut perished, and for some hours, no one could tell what had become
of Adolphus of Gueldres."
"Why you describe it all as well as if you had been there yourself,"
said Maillotin du Bac.
"I was there," replied the druggist, drily; "but you shall hear. What
put it into Thibalt of Neufchatel's head, I know not; but, after
saving the lady, he rushed back again into the house, and finding me
in the further wing, he dragged me out by the hair of the head, vowing
that I had kindled the fire. Now, you must know that I was then a
humble friend and domestic surgeon to the young Duke of Gueldres; and
when they searched my person, they found a number of letters, which
they thought of very doubtful meaning, and a few drugs, the use of
which their ignorance could not comprehend, and which they wanted much
to prove were materials for secretly lighting a flame. The good duke,
too, was not present; and, under all these circumstances, they had
nearly killed me on the spot. I took it all silently, for a man can
but die once in this world, and very little does it matter when that
once may fall. All I said was, to call my young lord, for that he
would clear me; and they agreed, at length, to spare me till the duke,
that is at present, could be found. He was not heard of, however, till
the next day, when it was discovered that he had retired to a
neighbouring village, much scorched by the flames. He instantly
despatched a letter to the Lord of Neufchatel, informing him that he
himself had sent me to inquire after the health of his fair cousins,
the Lord and Lady of Hannut, which was the cause that I had not been
seen accompanying him with the rest of the army. The servants of the
household of Lindenmar vouched for my coming the evening before on
that errand, and gave a good report of my proceedings. The Lord of
Hannut himself joined to exculpate me; and I easily found means to
convince Thibalt of Neufchatel that he had grossly ill-treated me, and
foully aspersed my character. Had he continued to treat me ill, I
might have devised a way to satisfy myself; but, on the contrary, as
soon as he was convinced of my innocence, nothing would serve him to
testify his sorrow for what had occurred, and to compensate the injury
he had inflicted. He kept his eye upon me through life, and, I may
well say, has been the origin of all my fortunes. The proofs he
gathered together of the charge against me, and of my innocence, he
has always kept in his own possession; and I have not chosen to press
for their being given up to me, lest it should seem that I was afraid
of anything therein contained. Do you understand me?"
"Quite well," replied Maillotin du Bac, drawing his clear hawk's eyes
together, with a shrewd glance upon the druggist's face; "quite well.
What more?"
"Why this," answered the druggist: "I love not be in the power of any
man. While Adolphus of Gueldres was in prison, and likely to remain
there--while Thibalt of Neufchatel was living, and likely to live--the
matter did not much signify; but now that Adolphus of Gueldres is
free, and that Thibalt of Neufchatel is dying of the wounds he
received at Nancy, it might be as well that those papers were in my
own possession. Thus, then, it must be managed, Sir Prevot: you must
find some excuse to take possession of his house with your men-at-arms
the moment the breath is out of his body; and while you are sealing up
the effects, I may be looking for the papers."
"But what, suppose I keep them in my possession for you?" demanded
Maillotin du Bac, with one of his shrewd looks.
"Why, then," replied the druggist, calmly, "I cannot aid you in
overthrowing Albert Maurice, and in obtaining possession of his person
and his wealth."
"I understand," said the Prevot; "we are agreed. But what surety have
I that you will do so when you have the papers?"
"This," answered Ganay, without any expression of indignation at a
doubt of his honesty, which he felt to be perfectly natural, but, at
the same time, approaching closer to the Prevot, and speaking in a
low, but clear and emphatic tone--"this, that Albert Maurice--by what
means I know not--has discovered my secret, and must die."
"Good! good!" replied the Prevot; "'tis better than a bond! We are
agreed, we are agreed, mine excellent good friend. But, hark ye,
Ganay, there is one bad stone in the arch. This Thibalt of Neufchatel,
this good Count Thibalt, is marvellously better to-day. It would seem
that the death of Imbercourt and Hugonet had done him good; for, about
the time of the axe falling, he began to mend."
Ganay, as was his habit when he heard any unpalatable tidings, replied
nought, but fixed his eyes upon the fire, and mused. "He is an old
man," said the druggist, at length, speaking in a low and quiet
voice--"he is an old man, this good Count Thibalt."
"Ay, doubtless is he," replied Maillotin du Bac, who was one of those
people who take a keen delight in discovering difficulties and
objections, solely for the sake of giving pain and disappointment to
those whom they were likely to thwart; "but he is a hale old man, and
may live these twenty years, if he get over this bout."
"He must have had enough of life," continued Ganay, in the same
meditative tone. "It is time he were asleep. Adolphus of Gueldres has
visited his sick couch more than once. It is time he were asleep."
The Prevot was silent; and Ganay, after considering his hawklike
features for a moment or two with an inquiring glance, added quietly,
"Well, well, Sir Maillotin, we will see. These sudden gleams of
convalescence often precede death in the badly wounded. I know these
matters better than you do, my good friend; and I have no faith in
this sudden and strange amendment. Let us keep ourselves in readiness,
and wait the result. You will be prepared at a moment's notice," he
added, in a more sharp and decided tone, throwing off at once the
quiet conversational manner of his former speech; "perchance he may
die to-morrow, perchance the next day; but be you on the watch, and
ever ready to secure the house."
"I will! I will!" answered Maillotin du Bac; and then speaking to the
druggist's purpose more than to his words, he added, "I will be ready
to secure the house and all that, Master Ganay; but I can do no more
in this business. To take men off except by the cord or the steel,
when they have merited their fate, is out of my line of operations."
"Who required you to do so?" demanded the druggist, gravely. "No, no,
Sir Prevot, men may die without your help or mine either. So, now to
the bowl! We understand each other, and that is enough. Be you ready
when I send to warn you that the good count is dead. If he live, you
know, which is likely, vastly likely--if he live, why all the rest is
in the moon. Sir Prevot, I carouse to your good rest this night; do me
justice--do me justice in the bowl!"
Thus ended their more important conversation; and all that passed
farther referred to the mysteries of the tankard, and need not be here
inflicted on the reader. It may be necessary to observe, however, that
the druggist did not suffer the Prevot Marechal to leave his house
till he had imbibed a sufficient quantity of various kinds of
intoxicating liquors to require the aid of two stout men to bear him
home; and that Ganay himself was, at the same time, incapable of
quitting the chair in which he sat.
It may be asked, was a man of such subtle schemes an habitual
drunkard, then? Far from it, though he could drink as deep as any one,
when some object might be gained by so doing: but he was one of those
men whose limbs only became inebriated, if we may use such an
expression, while their brain remains unclouded; and the debauch in
which he indulged was one of calculation, not pleasure. He had soon
seen that, in the case of the Prevot, the prudent guard which was
usually placed upon his lips was half asleep at the post long before
their conversation was over; and though he believed that he could
trust to old habits of caution to keep his companion from any
indiscreet babbling, either drunk or sober, yet he determined not to
let him leave his dwelling till utterance itself was drowned in wine.
Of himself he had no fear; and, leaning on his boy, he tottered to his
bed in silence.