Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=7pcuAAAAYAAJ
(Princeton University)
2. This volume includes Henry de Cerons Vol. I.
and Vol. II.; and short stories entitled Eva
St. Clair and Annie Deer.
3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE
MAN-AT-ARMS;
OR,
HENRY DE CERONS.
A ROMANCE.
BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
"DARNLEY," "DE L'ORME," "CHARLES TYRRELL," "HENRY OF
GUISE," "KING'S HIGHWAY," &c., &c.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1855.
HENRY DE CERONS.
---------------
CHAPTER I.
It is difficult to discover what are the exact sources from which
spring the thrilling feelings of joy and satisfaction with which we
look back to the days of our early youth, and to the scenes in which
our infancy was passed. It matters not, or at least very little, what
are the pleasures to which we have addicted ourselves in after years,
what are the delights that surround us, what are the enjoyments which
Heaven has cast upon our lot. Whenever the mind, either as a voluntary
act or from accidental associations, recalls, by the art of memory,
the period of childhood, and the things which surrounded it, there
comes over us a general gladdening sensation of pure and simple joys
which we never taste again at any time of life. It must be, at least
in part, that the delights of those days were framed in innocence and
ignorance of evil, and that he who declared that of such as little
children consisted the kingdom of heaven, has allotted to the babes of
this world, in the brightness of their innocence, joys similar to
those of the world beyond--joys that never cloy, and that leave no
regret. What though some mortal tears will mix with those delights;
what though the flesh must suffer, and the evil one will tempt; yet
the allotted pleasures have a zest which not even novelty alone can
give, and an imperishable purity in their nature which makes their
remembrance sweeter than the fruition of other joys, and speaks their
origin from heaven.
I love to dwell upon such memories, and to find likenesses for them in
the course, the aspect, and the productions of the earth itself. I see
the same sweetness and the same simplicity pervading the youth of all
nature; and find in the sweet violet, the blue-eyed child of spring,
an image of those early joys, pure, soft, and calm, and full of an
odour that lasts upon the sense more than that of any other flower.
Thus it is, I suppose, and for these causes, that, in looking back
upon the days of my youth, though those days were not as happy and as
bright as they are to many people, I feel a sweet satisfaction which I
knew not at the actual time; for those hours--as one who gives a
diamond to a child--bestowed upon me a gift the value of which I knew
not till many a year had passed away.
My first recollections refer to the period when I was about seven or
eight years old, and to a sweet spot in the far south of France called
Blancford, not far from the great city of Bordeaux. The chateau in
which I dwelt had belonged for ages to my ancestors, and the little
room in one of the turrets which was assigned to me, looked towards
the setting sun over manifold beautiful green slopes and wooded banks,
with now and then a broken, cliffy bit of yellow ground, that
harmonized beautifully and richly with the warm tints of the spring
and the autumn, and broke not less pleasantly the thick green of the
mid year. Upon those banks, and trees, and slopes, the sunshine seemed
to dwell with peculiar fondness; and thither came the bright and
smiling showers of spring, and the rich, vision-like lights and shades
of autumn. Gay hawking parties, and many a splendid cavalcade from the
rich and important town in the neighbourhood, diversified the scenery
during the bright part of the year, and towards the winter-time the
beasts of the forest and the field used to resume their dwelling in
the neighbouring woods, and afford sport and diversion to the
inhabitants of the castle.
As I have said, that chateau had been for centuries the dwelling-place
of my ancestors, ever since, indeed, the arm of Du Guesclin and the
wisdom of Charles had expelled the English from the shores of France;
but still that chateau was not mine, nor ever likely to be mine; for I
was at that time a poor dependant upon the bounty of others, without
wealth, rank, station, or fortune of any kind to give hope to my heart
or energy to my effort.
The lord of that castle, my poor father's first cousin, had taken me
out of compassion to his relation, a poor soldier of fortune, who
married thoughtlessly and died young; and as he himself, a lover of
pleasure--even of license, at the time he took me into his house,
thought only of marriage as a remote evil, he treated me at first with
so much kindness, that the foolish persons who surrounded us imagined
that a time might come when I should be his heir. Nothing, indeed, was
farther from his thoughts. He had always determined, and still held
the resolution of wedding ultimately, in the hope of seeing his
possessions descend to children of his own.
The accomplishment of this purpose was hastened by accidental
circumstances, which placed it in his power to marry a beautiful and
wealthy bride, whom he brought home to the chateau in great pomp, and
the festivities which followed her arrival are among the first events
which I distinctly remember.
Surrounded by friends, and with scarcely a wish ungratified, he might
well consider himself a rich and happy man in the possession of one so
fair as she was. But beauty was not the only quality which she brought
to make him happy, nor riches the only dowry that was settled upon her
head. Never did I see any one who combined more graces of person with
more fine qualities of the heart; never any one who more merited the
love of every one who approached her.
It was evident that she had heard of me before she came, and she
greeted me with a warm and kindly smile, which went direct to my
heart. She gazed upon me at the same time with a look of deep interest
and scrutinizing inquiry, as if she thought to read my character in my
face, or to divine what were the feelings with which I met her. Heaven
knows that I had no feelings but those of sincere joy. I entertained
not the slightest idea that her coming, could have any evil effect
upon my fate; that it would in the least change my destiny or affect
my happiness. Of course, I was utterly ignorant of such things at that
period; the joy that was around me found a ready echo in a heart
naturally joyous, and I laughed, and danced, and sang with the rest,
more unthinking of the morrow than the bird upon the wing.
If the fair lady of Blancford gazed at me when first she came, my
cousin's eyes rested upon me many a time when he saw me so gay and
happy. I know not what it was, but it seemed as if my happiness
displeased him. I have since learned to know that in the human heart
there is often a great difference between remorse and repentance; and
that, when we have done a fellow-creature wrong, when we have pained,
injured, aggrieved--ay, even when we only entertain the purpose of
doing so, we hate that being on account of the very arts for which we
should hate ourselves. I do not mean to say that my cousin had injured
me by his marriage, for surely he had a right to wed where and when he
thought fit. But I am inclined to believe, from facts which I heard
afterward, that the first germe of harsh and unkind feelings towards
me was produced by a conviction that he had treated me with greater
kindness and distinction than he afterward intended to keep up, and
that it was his duty to make a provision for me, against which his
inclination struggled.
There were other matters, of which I may have to speak hereafter,
which increased and perpetuated such feelings. He could not but
recollect that, before the death of my father, he had been liberal of
promises and generous in words; he had told him that he would breed me
up for a soldier; that he would take care that I should have the means
of advancing myself; and now, perhaps, his intentions were changed. If
they were not, they certainly became so after a short time.
He was, at that period, a gay and gallant man of about five or
six-and-thirty years of age, handsome in appearance, specious in
manners and words, with no traces of profligate life in his language
or appearance, and very well fitted to gain and keep the love of any
young heart not thoroughly versed in the ways of mankind. Although his
marriage, as most marriages were at that time, had been arranged
entirely by the relations of the lady, without any reference to her
wishes, yet there is no doubt that she married him with a heart free
from other attachments, and even prepossessed in his favour. From such
feelings, of course, attachment easily sprung up; and, had he merited
it, love, deep, devoted, heartfelt, unchanging love, would indubitably
have followed. But alas! he did not deserve it; he took not the means
to obtain it; and though the attachment remained, that attachment was
mingled with sadness and perhaps with bitterness, and grave melancholy
trod fast upon the steps of feasting and merriment.
For my own part, I was of a cheerful and happy disposition, a little
fanciful perhaps, and somewhat wild; somewhat fond, occasionally, of
solitary wandering and deep thought; but at other periods light and
gay as a butterfly. Thus, then, I felt not, scarcely perceived,
indeed, that the demeanour of the general servants and retainers of my
cousin's house was at all changed towards me; although it was so
changed from the very first day of his marriage. But, had it been
changed ten times as much; had they treated me with neglect, or scorn,
or contemptible malice, the pain would have been more than compensated
by the love and tenderness of that sweet lady, and by the constant
care she showed me.
She first it was who recollected that, born of noble birth, and
connected with many of the great and proud of the land, it was needful
that I should hate the common education and accomplishments of the
day; and she argued that, if I were poor and penniless as her husband
said, and required to make a name and fortune for myself, it was but
the more necessary that, by the cultivation of my mind, even in an
extraordinary degree, I should be provided with the means of
accomplishing the more difficult task that was allotted to me. My
strength of body and an eager, active spirit had already rendered me
familiar with manly exercises in far greater degree than most youths
of my age could boast of. But my mind was totally uncultivated. I
could ride wild horses that many a man could not manage; I could fence
as well as my little strength allowed me; my aim with the arquebus was
true and firm; I know not the time when I could not swim; and my
cousin's pages, though considerably older than myself, were unable to
compete with me in leaping or pitching the bar. But could neither
write nor read, and knew nothing of books or of the world, but by
occasional words which I had heard spoken and treasured up in my
memory.
No sooner did she find that this was the case, than she herself became
my instructress; and oh how kindly did she teach me, day after day,
with unwearied patience; her fingers playing with the curls of my
hair, and her eyes often bent thoughtfully upon me, as if she were
calculating with some melancholy my future destiny and her own.
Perhaps I was stupid, perhaps I was by nature inattentive; but the
love, the deep love that I felt towards her, made me exert every
energy of my mind to give her pleasure and to make her task easy; and,
though the undertaking must have been dull, and my progress slow at
first, yet she always seemed well satisfied, and cheered me on with
words of bright encouragement.
A time soon came, however, when her instructions became somewhat
painful to her; apparently there was a languor in her eyes and in her
tone, which seemed to me strange; and, without being told to do so, I
spoke in a lower tone of voice, I paid more attention to everything
she said, I avoided everything that could disturb or trouble her. It
seemed to me that she was ill, and nature taught me how to act under
such circumstances.
At length, one day, she said to me, "I must give over teaching you for
a time, Henry, but good Monsieur la Tour will take the task till I can
follow it again." And she put me under the charge of the minister of
our little village, or rather, indeed, of the chateau, a good man as
ever lived, who had always shown himself fond of me, and who now
followed up, with zeal and kindness, that which she had so kindly and
generously begun. The whole family, and every one in the immediate
neighbourhood, were, as is well known, of the Reformed religion, and
my cousin, the Baron de Blancford, was at that time absent with the
Protestant army.
Shortly after, however, he returned, sent for, I believe, to be
present at the birth of his first child, and great anxiety manifested
itself in the household for several days. Fears were entertained for
the safety of the lady, and great precautions taken; but at length I
heard that the baroness had given birth to a child, and that she
herself was proceeding favourably. With my heart full of joy and
satisfaction, I ran to congratulate my cousin, thinking that there
could be nothing but similar feelings in his own heart. He pushed me
angrily away from him, however, exclaiming, "You fool, it is only a
girl!"
Not understanding what he meant, or comprehending in the slightest
degree why the birth of a girl should give him less satisfaction than
if a son had been born, I ran to the room of Monsieur la Tour, and
told him what had happened; and then it was, for the first time, that
I was made to understand how great was the difference made by the
customs of the world between two classes of beings naturally equal. A
vague idea, too, of my own circumstances was also communicated to my
mind, and from that time the change which had taken place, and which
daily increased, in the deportment of my cousin's servants towards me,
was marked, understood, and felt painfully. Two days after the birth
of his daughter the baron again left the chateau, but he remained long
enough to make me feel most bitterly that I was no longer the boy that
he had sported with and loved in former years.
The lady soon recovered, and resumed her care of me without a change.
She loved to have me with her; she loved to see me play with her
infant; and, as month after month proceeded, the child's affection for
me grew stronger and more strong, till there was none but her mother
that she loved so well.
About a year and a half afterward a son was born; and then another;
and from the birth of the first I found that I was no longer an object
of consideration to any one except to the good clergyman, whose
affection towards me seemed to increase as that of others diminished,
and to the sweet lady, who never for a moment, in her love and care
for others, forgot her love and care for me. A change had come over
the whole household, however; the lover had long been forgotten in the
husband, the husband had been forgotten in the man of pleasure.
Whenever any short cessation of hostilities permitted him to visit the
capital, it was in Paris that the Lord of Blancford's time was wholly
spent, and at other periods his days were passed in the pleasures of
other great towns, afar from the family which required his care and
direction, and from the wife whose love he had cast away.
On her part, she showed not the slightest inclination to depart from
his expressed wish that she would remain at the chateau of Blancford.
She loved not great cities; she sought not to indemnify herself for
her husband's neglect by following the same evil course in which he
led: she enjoyed fully and entirely the pleasures of rural life, and
found in the duties of a mother the greatest consolation and delight.
Once in the course of the month, perhaps, she visited Bordeaux with
the state becoming her rank and station, called upon some of the chief
ladies of the city, and returned home after having remained there but
a few hours. Very frequently, on these occasions, I accompanied her,
and the kindness with which she mentioned me to all who were really
good and estimable, seemed to bespeak for me their future protection
and regard, although she never even hinted at such an object.
I was her companion almost always in her walks, too; and from her
conversation I daily gained information upon subjects with which
otherwise, most probably, I should never have been acquainted; for she
took a delight in forming and expanding my mind, and, while she
endeavoured to instil principles even more than knowledge, she
illustrated for me the lessons she gave by facts and examples which
often drew her on to farther explanations, and which certainly
remained in my memory, storing it with much that was curious,
interesting, and beautiful. Thus there was scarcely a circumstance
which ever happened to me in after life which did not cause me to
recollect some example from her instruction which might teach me to
know the right from the wrong, to choose the good from the bad, or to
return from the evil, when I had been led into wrong, by the shortest
and most expeditious way.
In short, though she often fell into fits of musing, she seldom lost
an opportunity of giving my mind improvement. If I fixed upon a wild
flower, she told me its nature and its qualities; if I watched a
passing cloud, she explained to me how sweet and beneficial to the
earth's surface are the light vapours that float gently over it,
descending in light rain to render everything fertile and productive;
and she would explain to me, as well as she could, what were the
beneficial effects produced by winds and storms that seemed to my
imagination tremendous, pointing still to the all-powerful hand of
Providence, shaping still the events of this world with never-erring
wisdom directing never-failing might.
From her conversation, from her train of thought, my mind took the
peculiar turn which it ever after retained; and even to the present
day, after scenes of peril, and danger, and activity; after having
gained, by sad experience, knowledge of the world, and become
hackneyed and keen in the wisdom of the earth, many of the words that
she spoke to me, many of the counsels that she gave, come back upon my
ear in all the fresh sweetness of the tones in which it was originally
spoken, and I feel myself better, happier, more contented, when thus
dwell with her for a moment in the wide tracts of memory, than I do
when fulfilling any of the ordinary duties of my state and station.
What she herself could not do to improve my mind the good priest did;
he applied himself to teach me sciences; to read other languages than
my own, both dead and living; to argue by rule; to write my native
language with accuracy; to calculate arithmetically; and to do all, in
short, that he himself could do, which was more, perhaps, than my
after fate required. It was some years, of course, ere I gained much
facility in everything, but ere four years had passed after my
cousin's marriage I had become quite a different being. The formidable
obstacles that await us at the entrance of every science had given
way, and during the following year, which was the fourteenth of my
age, I made greater progress than I had done in any other. I had now
acquired a taste for the poetry which had descended to us from other
days; and from that high and ennobling source I drank long, deep
draughts of pure and unmingled delight. I found, too, that there were
works of infinite value, full of fancy and of wit, full of instruction
and amusement, in other languages besides either French, or Greek, or
Latin; and, almost unaided--for my good preceptor knew little of that
tongue himself--I made myself a tolerable master of the Italian
language, and felt like one who has suddenly discovered a treasure
when the works of Dante and Boccaccio, and the newer poems of Tasso,
fell into my hands.
Nevertheless, I did not in any degree neglect the usual exercises of
which I had formerly been fond. There were always a number of old
military retainers about the house, who were willing and eager to
teach me everything that could be taught in the profession to which
they had devoted themselves. I did not, it is true, follow any study
with great regularity, but I followed all and each with eagerness, and
zeal, and devotion.
When the baroness could give me up any of her time, she was always the
first I sought, and then the good minister La Tour. But he had many
duties to perform, and, during the rest of the day, every sport of the
field that was going on I followed with eagerness; every instruction I
could get in military exercises I sought continually, and listened
with deep and profound attention to all that the old officers or
soldiers could tell me of discipline and of tactics, or to their tales
of terrible sieges, well-fought fields, and marvellous escapes. I was
one of the best of listeners; and, flattered by the attention that I
paid them, they were always willing to amuse or to instruct me. The
courtyard of the castle became the mimic field of battle, the walls
the sisterus, the stables the fortifications of a besieged city; and
everything that was at hand was pressed into our service, either as
the animate or inanimate materials of war. All the tales that they
told me were delightful to me, but more especially so were those in
which my father's name was introduced, and when I heard deep regrets
expressed for his early death, and praises of the promise that he had
displayed as a soldier and a commander.
In the mean while, the greater part of the servants and retainers of
the household treated me completely as the poor dependant; the little
services I required were neglected; any direction that I gave was
heard in silence, or replied to with contemptuous lightness; and, in
order as far as possible to keep myself from the irritation of petty
insolence, I was obliged to avoid all communication with the domestics
of the chateau.
In the presence of their mistress, indeed, the servants dared not
behave in such a manner, and when her eye was on them they showed me
every sort of reverence and respect; once also I remember her rebuking
one of the grooms for neglecting my horse, speaking to him in a manner
so severe, as to work a permanent change in his conduct, and in some
degree to affect his companions.
These slight inconveniences, however, did not in the least depress my
spirit or keep down my gayety. Youth's buoyant and happy blood beat
in every limb, my heart was light, my cheerfulness unchecked; and,
though I learned when any one neglected me to punish by a cutting
word, yet it was always done with light and happy gayety, and
forgotten almost as soon as it was spoken, at least by myself.
Thus years rolled on, and during the frequent and long-continued
absence of my cousin, his children learned to love me with a strong
affection; and, taking a model from the domestic circle of a
neighbouring family, my imagination pictured for me a future fate like
that of a person whom I frequently beheld situated in very similar
circumstances. He was at this time a man well advanced in life, and,
like me, the cousin of the lord of the castle. But he had gained
considerable renown in arms. The father of the family, who was now
withheld from active service by the effects of severe wounds, confided
to him the leading of his retainers; the children clung to him with
reverence and affection; and the two eldest were, even at that very
time, trying their first arms under the sword of their veteran cousin.
He possessed no property, he sought none; but he lived with people who
reverenced and loved him: he had his own honoured seat by the hall
fire; his tales were listened to and sought for with delight by all,
and his counsel or assistance was asked by the father when any matter
of real danger or difficulty arose, by the elder sons in the mysteries
of the chase or the mew, and by the younger children in any of the
small sorrows or difficulties which were to them as important as wars
or sieges.
I fancied myself, I say, like him; winning renown in arms, gaining a
station by my own deeds, and seeing the young beings that I loved so
tenderly as babes, grow up round me as round an elder brother.
But oh, how vainly, how youthfully did I calculate! My cousin, when he
returned to the castle after any of his long absences, had now become
harsh and stern. Me he treated with utter neglect and coldness; he saw
me dine at his table without addressing a word to me; he met me
without any kind gratulation: he heard me wish him joy of his return
with scarcely an answering word. When he looked at me it was coldly;
and I could not but feel that I was a burden to him.
When I was about fifteen years of age, he one morning took the pains
to ask what progress I had made in my studies. The question was
addressed to Monsieur la Tour, but in my presence. The clergyman
replied with high praise; higher, I believe, than I deserved; and the
baron's reply was, "Don't you think you can contrive to make a priest
of him, La Tour?"
My blood boiled, I confess, but my cousin turned away without waiting
for any reply, having satisfied himself that, by the question he had
asked and the suggestion he had made, he quite fulfilled his duty
towards me, at least for the time.
I thought, however, of the days when I had sat upon his knee, and when
he had said that he would make a little hero of me: that I should be a
Bayard or a Du Guesclin.
He was absent after that visit for more than two years; and there were
tales reached the chateau of some fair dame in the capital who
withheld the baron from his wife, his children, and his duties, and
kept him in bonds stronger than the green withes of Delilah.
The health of the baroness had for some time been declining; she had
now been married ten years, and of that period she had known a few
months perhaps of visionary happiness, two or three years of calm,
unmurmuring tranquillity, and six or seven of anguish and sorrow. Her
little girl, Louisa, was now nine years of age, the image of her
mother in everything--features, complexion, disposition; there was the
difference, of course, between the woman and the child, but still
there was the same small, taper hand, the same beautiful foot, the
same brilliant complexion, the same open, clear forehead, the same
thoughtful but ingenuous smile. She was with her mother constantly or
with me, and it was she who even at that age first discovered the
progress of illness in the being she best loved, and pointed out to me
the flushed cheek, the bright and glittering eye, the pale lips, and
the features daily becoming sharp.
"Do you not think, Henry," she said to me one day, "That mamma looks
ill?" And then she went on to say in what particular it appeared to
her that it was so, showing that she had watched her mother's
countenance in a way most strange for a child of her age.
When my attention was thus called to the subject, I remarked the
change also, and I and Louisa used to watch with care and anxiety the
progress of disease. We neither of us knew, we neither of us fully
comprehended to what it all tended. It was not exactly fear that we
entertained, but it was grief; we grieved to see her suffer, we
grieved to see the languor and weakness that crept over her frame.
At length the baron returned, but his return contributed very little
to the restoration of his wife's health. He brought with him many gay
and riotous companions; the castle was filled with revelry and
merriment: he was absent at the chase or in the city during the
greater part of each day; and the night went down in songs, and mirth,
and drinking. He soon went away again to the capital, and his wife
continued withering slowly, like a flower, whose day of brightness is
over.
Such was the course of events for some years till I reached the age of
twenty, when the health of the baroness so completely and rapidly gave
way, that messengers were sent off in all haste to call her husband to
the side of her deathbed. He came, and, though he came unwillingly,
yet he was evidently pained and struck at the sight of the ruin and
decay which he now beheld. He was gloomy and sorrowful, and it might
be some consolation to his dying wife to find that, when all was
irrevocable, and neither tears nor regrets could recall the past, he
mourned for the approaching loss of one whose worth he had not
sufficiently estimated, and felt feelings of affection towards her
which he had not known till it was too late.
The Lady of Blancford died, and the grief of all, good and bad alike,
followed her to the grave; for there was a sweetness, and a
gentleness, and a kindness in her nature which touched the heart even
of the selfish and the vicious, and made them mourn for her as soon as
her virtues were no longer a living reproach to their errors.
At the time of her death, her daughter and eldest child was little
more than twelve years old, the two boys somewhat younger than eleven
and ten; and well might the father, when he looked round upon their
young faces, feel that his hearth was left desolate: well might he
regret, in the bitterness of his heart, that he had not sufficiently
valued the blessing he had possessed.
That he felt such sensations I am perfectly sure, but he felt them
with a degree of sullenness as well as sorrow. Conscience lashed him,
but he bore its chastisement with obdurate pride, and murmured at the
smart.
I did not see him for several days after the funeral of his wife, and,
indeed, since his return he had taken scarcely any notice of me,
seeming not even to see me. But, soon after, I saw his eyes fix upon
me, from time to time, with a dull and frowning aspect; and to bear
such cold unkindness had by this time become a burden to me, which I
was resolved to cast off. The one whom, of all others, I had loved
best from my early days, was now gone; and, though I loved all her
children, and especially Louisa, who now clung to me as her only prop
and stay in her overpowering grief for her mother, yet I felt that I
could not endure any longer the proud coldness of my cousin, since the
tie between him and me, which his wife's care and tenderness had
afforded, was broken for ever.
"I have at least my father's sword," I thought; "With that he gained
his living, and with it will I gain mine."
But there was much to be thought of, there was much to be done. "What
course," I asked myself, "shall I choose what plans shall I pursue?"
And much I meditated even these matters, but meditated always alone:
for there was none whom I could consult, none in whom I could confide.
To Monsieur la Tour, who loved me as his own son, I would not speak of
the matter at all, for I knew that he would oppose my going; and my
cousin himself, of course, I did not choose to consult; for the proud
air of contempt with which he had long treated me, made me feel that
his advice could not be such as I could follow without pain; and any
assistance that he offered could only be an indignity to receive. I
was utterly ignorant of the world, and of the world's ways; and
though, perhaps, I was not deficient in natural acuteness, yet life
was to me an unknown country, full of thick woods and tangled paths,
without a map to show me the road or a guide to direct my footsteps
aright.
Although it was now the winter-time, and the sere leaves had fallen
from the trees, leaving the woods thin and naked, yet it was in the
forest which came near to the chateau that I loved to take my way and
dream of my future prospects.
An event, however, occurred one day, which deranged all these plans
for the time, and suspended their execution for more than two years. I
had gone out, as usual, on foot, and wandered a considerable way into
the wood, when suddenly, as I was walking up and down, gazing upon the
icy bondage of the stream, and the feathery frost upon the rushes and
other water plants, I heard what seemed a loud but distant cry of
distress.
It struck me instantly that the voice was a familiar one; and,
crossing the stream, I rushed on like lightning to the spot whence it
seemed to proceed. There I found the eldest of my cousin's sons,
Charles, a noble and high-spirited, but somewhat weakly boy, thrown
down upon the ground by an immense wolf, whose fangs were fixed in his
shoulder. The animal, it seems, had sprung at his throat, and knocked
him down by the force of its attack; but, even in falling, the boy,
with noble presence of mind, had struck the animal with his dagger,
and prevented it from taking the fatal grasp which it sought, and
which certainly would have terminated his existence before I arrived.
A loud shout which I gave as I came up, to scare the beast as fast as
possible from his prey, made the wolf instantly turn upon me, with its
peculiar, fierce, low howl. I had been accustomed, however, to hunt
such beasts in these woods for many years; and, as he rushed upon me,
I struck him a violent blow with my sword across the eyes, which
almost blinded him, and dashed him down to my feet at once. But, mad
with hunger and pain, the beast, even in falling, seized my leg in his
fangs, and never let go his hold till he was quite dead. I killed and
threw him off as quickly as possible; and then, running to my young
cousin, carried him home to the castle without the pause of a moment,
although the wound I had received in my leg was extremely painful, and
the blood marked my track all the way to the gates.
The boy was but little hurt, and from his wound no serious consequence
arose; mine also was of little importance, though it left me lame for
several weeks. My cousin, however, on the following morning, thought
fit to thank me for the service I had rendered his son; and at the
same time he presented me with some trinkets and jewels, which, he
said, his wife had requested might be given to me, as remembrances of
her. There was much coldness and constraint in his manner while he
spoke, and the purpose which I had entertained for some time now broke
forth.
"My lord," I said, "I thank you for these things, which I shall always
keep and value highly in memory of one from whom I have never received
anything but benefits and kindness."
The baron was turning away, but I added, "Stay, my lord; I have yet
more to say. It is not often that I trouble you with words, and now
shall not make them very lengthy."
The baron turned round towards me with evident surprise at my tone and
manner, and with some sternness, but without the slightest touch of
scorn, demanding, "What is it you wish to say?"
"Merely this, sir," I replied; "I have been somewhat too long a burden
to you. I am now more than twenty years of age, and ought probably to
have done before what I intend to do now, namely, seek my own
fortunes, and endeavour to provide for my own necessities, without
remaining dependant upon any one. I am perfectly competent, I believe,
in every respect, to gain my bread as my father did his. I ask nothing
of you in any shape; and only now seek to inform you that I will leave
the chateau to-morrow, with many thanks for the shelter and bread you
have afforded me."
I never in my life beheld the countenance of my cousin express so much
surprise. I saw him waver for a moment, as if he were going to turn
and leave me with contempt; but the grief he had lately suffered, the
chastening sight of death, and the service which I had rendered to his
son, gave to a better spirit than that which usually actuated him the
predominance for a moment; and, turning round, with a look both
mournful and reproachful, he said,
"No, Henry, no; do not leave the poor children now. If not for my
sake, for their mother's memory, stay with them still for a while. La
Tour will also be with you and with them. But he is growing aged, his
health is feeble, his life insecure; my own life, God knows when it
may end; and while I am obliged to be absent, and before I have
determined what to do with them, I would fain have some kindred blood
near. On my return from Paris, which will not be very long, you shall
be free to do as you please, and I will promote your views to the
utmost of my power."
He spoke with a tone of command which I might have been inclined to
resist, had there not been mingled with it a certain degree of
confidence and kindness, the value of which was certainly enhanced not
a little by its rarity. I made no reply; indeed, I had not time; for,
taking it for granted that I acquiesced, he quitted me immediately.
A long conversation ensued between him and Monsieur la Tour, in which
he arranged everything regarding the maintenance of his family during
his absence, and the proper regulation of the chateau. A portion of
the rents were ordered to be paid to the pastor for the expenses of
the house; and the worthy man promised never to quit the family for
more than one day. My cousin spoke of me too, I found; and, according
to Monsieur la Tour's representation, spoke with some kindness. I am
inclined to believe, however, that the minister's representations were
the cause of his acting towards me ere he quitted the chateau, I may
say more wisely, as well as more kindly, than he had previously done.
The regulation of all expenses was confided to the clergyman; he
received and he paid for everything. But a portion, though a small
one, of the sum allowed, was ordered to be given into my hands, to be
employed for my own purposes, and for any military repairs or
arrangements that I might think required in the castle. Two servants,
at my choice, were to be considered as my own especial attendants; and
the baron himself announced to the retainer's assembled in the public
hall, that, in case of peril or attack, from the tide of war rolling
in that direction, the supreme command of all things was to rest with
me during his absence.
No sooner had these arrangements been made, than he himself set out
again for Paris, promising to return at the end of six months; and
leaving an old and faithful attendant of his dead wife as in some sort
the governess of his daughter.
The affection which the baroness had always entertained towards me,
had communicated itself to the good old servant I have mentioned,
Donine le Mery; and she declared, after the baron was gone, that the
greatest consolations she could receive after the death of her
mistress were, first, the promise of her lord that she should remain
ever with Mademoiselle Louise, and next to see me have the command of
the castle. Whatever she sought, whatever she wished for, the good
soubrette came to me to seek it; and if Louise herself had been
inclined to cling to me with all a sister's affection before her
mother's death, she was now ten times more disposed to do so, when she
had no other companion to whom she could pour forth undisguised all
her feelings and all her thoughts. Her brothers, younger than herself
in age, were still younger in mind; and her good attendant, though the
best of all creatures, was too far below her in education to permit of
any interchange of thought between them.
To me, therefore, the poor girl turned with the full confidence of
childhood and unbounded affection. I was the companion of her walks,
and of her rides, and of her solitary hours. I remembered her as an
infant; I had seen her grow up day by day under my eyes; time seemed
to make no difference; she was still a mere child in my sight. I
looked upon her as a dear but far younger sister; and I never found
that either I myself or any one else could dream there was a
possibility that such a change could take place in her feelings or in
mine which could be dangerous to the one or to the other.
The end of the six months came, but the baron returned not, and he did
not even hint in his letters that such an event was likely to take
place. He said that he had been delayed by various circumstances; that
the arrangements he had made in regard to the chateau must continue in
force till his coming; but he mentioned no period of return, and, in
truth, was once more entangled in the meshes of that net, from which
he had only been withdrawn for a time by the couriers which had
summoned him to his wife's deathbed.
In the mean time the days passed away happily enough. I had gained
importance in the eyes of all around me; deference and attention were
paid to me by the attendants; and, had I not been disturbed by the
frequent thought that the best season of my life was passing away;
that the days of youth were flying by in inactivity, when I felt
myself formed for action, I could have been well contented there, in
the society of that sweet girl to whom I was all in all; and of two
generous and high-spirited boys, who loved me with all the strength
and energy of youthful affection.
A year passed, and the baron came not. Louise was now growing up
towards womanhood; the warm blush mantled more deeply on her cheek;
her eye gained a brighter lustre; her lip acquired a warmer red; her
mind, too, expanded every hour, as if to keep pace with that fair
form, which was each day acquiring additional beauty.
As she wandered along beside me, her conversation was more
imaginative, more full of deep thought; and we talked over a
thousand things in which fancy and feeling linked our thoughts
together, so as to remain inseparable for ever. There was thus formed
for me a store of ideas, in regard to which I have since felt--alas!
how painfully--that they could never be mentioned, that they could
never be alluded to in the slightest manner, without calling up in my
bosom the thought of her, of her words, of her looks, of scenes long
past, and of departed happiness. Nor, indeed, could it be otherwise
with her. We created, in fact, for ourselves, a world of magic
aspirations; a straight and even pathway, on which fancy, guided by
memory, ran back like lightning from the present to the past.
We talked of her mother and of the days gone by, and we recalled all
her sweetness, and her beauty, and her tenderness towards us both; and
more than once we mingled our tears together, when we recollected all
that she had done to win and merit love, and that the eternal barrier
had fallen between us and her, shutting us out from all communication
with the loved and the departed. We talked of the future and of the
world--the wide, unknown world open before us both. She spoke of it
herself with awe and shuddering, as if she foresaw and would have
shrunk from the griefs, and cares, and anxieties before her. Often,
also, we would have recourse to dreams to chase away apprehensions;
she would inquire of me what the great capital was like; and when she
found I could in no degree satisfy her, she would apply to fancy, and
build up an enchanted city from the gay things of her own imagination.
The bright and glorious universe, too, afforded to both of us a
thousand schemes for speculation; other lands would rise up before the
mind's eye, clothed with brightness not their own; and when I spoke of
Italy or Spain, the vast and beautiful creations of art, a climate of
sunshine, a soil of fertility, and a courteous and friendly people,
such as I had read in the vague or overcharged accounts of travellers,
her countenance would glow brightly, her young eye sparkle, and she
would wish to be a journeyer through such scenes with people who could
love them or admire them like herself.
Frequently, in our ramblings, her brothers would accompany us, and
during a great part of the morning I was constantly with them, acting
in some degree the part of their preceptor, or taking a share in those
instructions which were communicated to them by masters from the
capital of Guienne. They loved me well, too; and, on looking back to
that time, I can recollect no one feeling in my own bosom--I cannot
believe that there was any one in the bosoms of those who surrounded
me--the natural tendency of which was calculated to give a moment's
pain to any one of the small but united party which then tenanted the
chateau of Blancford.
Such was the state of all things till Louise reached the age of
fifteen; and I feel confident that I could have gone on with the same
feelings towards her perfectly unchanged, and looking upon her merely
as a sister, had not other events intervened which soon separated us
from each other.
At this point may be said to end the period of my early life,
which--like an old picture, painted at first in vivid colours, soon
loses the brightness of its hues, becomes mellower but less distinct
to the eye, then grows gray and dim, and then is almost obscured
altogether--has now greatly faded away from memory, though the
impressions were then as bright and vivid as perhaps any that I have
received since.
Two days before the period at which Louise concluded her fifteenth
year, messengers from her father, whom they left at no greater
distance than Barbesieux, announced his sudden return. His letter
contained merely intelligence of the fact, that he would be at the
chateau of Blancford at supper-time on the ensuing day. I shall not
easily forget the anxiety with which we all waited his appearance, the
messenger having informed us of more than the letter that he bore,
namely, that the baron had wedded another bride, whom he was now
bringing home from the capital, where she had remained, while the wife
of another, somewhat too long for her own honour, for the baron's
reputation, and for the peace of a husband whom she speedily ceased to
mourn.
Hitherto I have given but a general view of all that passed during my
early years, but I must now give a more minute account of the event
that followed; for, from the day in which my cousin's new bride set
her foot within those doors, my fate underwent a greater change than
any to which it had yet been subject.