It may seem strange, very strange, that with such suspicions on my
mind, I should accept an invitation to visit the man who had excited
them. Nevertheless I did, and what is perhaps still more strange,
those very suspicions were in some degree the cause of my doing so.
When the Marquis first proposed that I should spend a day or two with
him at his _pavilion de chasse_, in the neighbourhood of Bagneres, I
felt a doubt in regard to it, of which I was ashamed--I was afraid of
feeling afraid of anything, and I instantly accepted his invitation. I
know not whether this may be very comprehensible to every one, but let
any man remember his feelings when he was nineteen--an age at which we
have not learned to distinguish between courage and rashness, prudence
and timidity--and he will, at least, in some degree, understand,
though he may blame my having acted as I did.
I would willingly have suffered the Marquis to be a day in advance
before I fulfilled my engagement, longing for that promised half-hour
of conversation with Helen, which was to me one of those cherished
anticipations on which the heart of youth spends half its ardour. Oh,
how often I wish now-a-day that I could long for anything as I did in
my childhood, and fill up the interval between the promise and the
fulfilment with bright dreams worth a world of realities. But, alas!
the uncertainty of everything earthly gradually teaches man to crowd
the vacancy of expectation with fears instead of hopes, and to guard
against disappointment instead of dreaming of enjoyment. However, as
the Marquis was only to remain three days at his _pavilion_ ere he set
out for Paris, he insisted on my accompanying him when he left the
Château de l'Orme.
The ride was delightful in itself, but he contrived to withdraw my
attention from the scenery by the charms of his conversation. The
first subject that he entered upon was my proposed visit to the court;
and he drew a thousand light, yet faithful sketches of all the
principal courtiers of the day.
"Amongst others," said he, after specifying several that I now forget,
"you will see the Duke of Bouillon, brave, shrewd, yet hasty, always
hurrying into danger with fearless impetuosity, and then finding means
of escape with a coolness which, if exerted at first, would have kept
him free from peril. He puts me in mind of a rope-dancer, whose every
spring seems as if it would be his last, and yet he catches himself
somehow when he appears inevitably gone. In his brother, Turenne, a
very different character is to be met with, or rather, perhaps, the
same character without its defects. What in Bouillon is rashness, in
Turenne is courage; what is cunning in the one is wisdom in the other.
I believe Turenne would sacrifice himself to his country; but if
Bouillon were to erect an altar to any deity, it would be, I am
afraid, to himself. Then there is the young and daring Jean de Gondi,
who is striving for the archbishopric of Paris; the most talented man
in Europe, but gifted or cursed with that strange lightness of soul
which sports with everything as if it were a trifle--who would
overthrow an empire but to re-model it, or raise an insurrection but
to guide the wild horses that draw the chariot of tumult. Had he lived
in the ancient days, he would have burnt the temple of the Ephesian
goddess to build, in one olympiad, what cost two hundred years. His
mind, in short, is like the ocean, deep and profound; that plays with
a feather, or supports a navy; that now is rippling in golden
tranquillity, and now is raging in fury and in tumult; that now scarce
shakes the pebble on the shore, and now spreads round confusion,
destruction, and death. In regard to the Count de Soissons, to whom
you go, his character is difficult to know: but yet I think I know it.
He has many high and noble qualities, and though at present he appears
intolerably proud, yet that is a fault of his education, not of his
disposition; he has it from his mother, and will conquer it, I doubt
not. But there is one virtue he wants, without which talents, and
skill, and courage are nothing--he wants resolution. He is somewhat
obstinate, but that does not imply that he is resolute; and a man
without resolution may be looked upon in the light of a miser: all the
riches that nature can give are useless to him, because he has not the
courage to make use of them."
"You must have been a very keen observer," said I, "of those persons
with whom you have mingled, and doubtless also of human life in
general."
"Life," replied he, "as life, is very little worth considering. It is
a stream that flows by us without our knowing how. Its turbulence or
its tranquillity, I believe, depend little upon ourselves. If there be
rain in the mountains, it will be a torrent; if it prove a dry season,
it will be a rivulet. We must let it flow as it will till it come to
an end, and then we have nothing to do but die."
"And of death," said I, "have you not thought of that? As it is the
very opposite of life it may have merited some more thought."
"Less, far less!" said he: "with some trouble, we may change the
course of the rivulet, but with all our efforts we cannot alter the
bounds of the sea. Look on death how we will, we can derive nothing
from it. The pleasures and pains of existence are so balanced, we
cannot tell whether death be a relief or a deprivation; and as to the
bubble of something after death, it is somewhat emptier than that now
floating down the stream."
I started, and said nothing, and gradually the conversation dropped of
itself. After a pause, he again turned it into other channels,
speaking of pleasure, and the excesses and gratifications of a court;
and though he recommended _moderation_, as the most golden word that
any language possessed, yet it was upon no principle of virtue, either
moral or religious. It was for the sake of pleasure alone--that it
might be more durable in itself, and never counterbalanced by painful
consequences.
My mind naturally turned to my many conversations with the Chevalier,
and, by comparison, I found his morality of a very different quality.
I merely replied, however, that I believed, if people had no stronger
motives to moderation than the expectation of remote effects, they
would seldom put much restraint upon their passions.
Soon after, we arrived at the _pavilion de chasse_; and, I must own,
that never did a more exquisitely luxurious dwelling meet my eye. It
was not large, but all was disposed for ease and pleasure. Piles of
cushions, rich carpets, easy chairs, Persian sofas, exquisite
tapestries, filled every chamber. Books, too, and pictures were there,
but the books and the pictures were generally of one class. Catullus,
Ovid, Petronius, or Tibullus, lay upon the tables or on the shelves;
while the walls were adorned with many a nymph and many a goddess,
liberal of their charms: though, at the same time, Horace and Virgil
appeared cast upon one of the sofas; and, every now and then, the eye
would fall on one of the sunshiny landscapes of Claude de Lorraine,
and dream for a moment amidst the sleepy splendour of his far
perspectives.
"And is it possible," said I, turning to the Marquis as he led me
through this luxurious place--"is it possible that you can quit such a
spot willingly, for the dangers and hardships of war?"
"There are various sorts of pleasure," replied he, "and without
varying, and changing, and opposing them one to another, we cannot
enjoy any long. Every man has his particular pleasures, and his
particular arrangement of them. I, for instance, require the stimulus
of war, to make me enjoy these luxuries of peace. But you have yet
seen little of the beauties of the place. Let us go out into the park.
The perfection of a house of this kind depends, almost entirely, upon
the grounds that surround it."
The two days that I spent at the pavilion of Monsieur de St. Brie
passed like lightning. Not a moment paused, for he contrived to fill
every hour with some pleasure of its own; but it was all too sweet.
One felt it to be luscious. Like the luxurious Romans, he mingled his
wine with honey, and the draught was both cloying and intoxicating.
On the third morning, I rose early from my bed to take a review of the
beautiful grounds which surrounded the house; and after wandering
about for half-an-hour, I turned to a river that ran through the park,
resolving to take my way towards the house by the side of the waters.
The path that I followed was hidden by trees, but there was a
transverse alley that came down to the water, and joined the one in
which I walked, about one hundred yards farther on. As I advanced, I
heard the voice of the Marquis talking earnestly with some other
person; and though at first what he said was very indistinct, yet I
soon heard more without seeking to do so, or, indeed, wishing it.
"Hold him down," said the Marquis, "when you have got him safely on
the ground, and cut his throat just under the jaws--if you go deep
enough he is dead in a moment."
As he gave this somewhat bloody direction, he turned into the same
path with myself, accompanied by another person, whose appearance is
worthy of some description. He was about my own height, which is not
inconsiderable, but, at the same time, he was remarkably stout--I
should say even fat, with a face in which a great degree of jollity
and merriment was mingled with a leering sort of slyness of eye, and a
slight twist of the mouth, that gave rather a sinister expression to
the drollery of his countenance. He wore short black mustachios, and a
small pointed beard; and from his head hung down upon his shoulders a
profusion of black wavy hair. His dress also was somewhat singular.
Instead of the broad, low-crowned plumed hats which were then in
fashion, his head was surmounted with an interminable beaver, whose
high-pointed crown resembled the steeple of a church. We have seen
many of them since amongst the English and the Swiss, but, at that
time, such a thing was so uncommon, and its effect appeared so
ridiculous, that I could scarce refrain from laughing, though my blood
was somewhat chilled with the conversation I had just overheard. The
rest of this stout gentleman's habiliments consisted of a somewhat
coarse brown pourpoint, laced with tarnished gold, and a slashed _haut
de chausse_, tied with black ribands; while a huge sword and dagger
ornamented his side, and a pair of funnel-shaped riding-boots
completed his equipment.
The Marquis's eye fell upon me instantly, and, advancing without
embarrassment, he embraced me, and gave me the compliments of the
morning. Then turning, he introduced his friend, Monsieur de Simon.
"The greatest fisherman in France," said he: "we were speaking just
now about killing a carp," he continued, "which, you know is
dreadfully tenacious of life. Are you a fisherman at all?"
I answered, "Not in the least;" and the conversation went on for some
time on various topics, till at length Monsieur de Simon took his
leave.
"I am sorry you cannot take your breakfast with us," said the Marquis;
"but remember, when I am gone, you are most welcome to fish, whenever
you think fit, upon my property."
"I thank you, I thank you, most noble Marquis," said the other, with a
curious sort of roguish twinkle of the eye; "I will take you at your
word, and will rid your streams of all those gudgeons which you
dislike so much, but which I dote upon. Oh, 'tis a dainty fish--a
gudgeon!"
At about one o'clock my horse was ready, and I took leave of the
Marquis--I cannot say with feelings either of reverence or regard; and
I have always found it an invariable fact, that when a man has amused
us without gaining our esteem, and pleased without winning our
confidence, there is something naturally bad at the bottom of his
character, which we should do well to avoid.
As I mounted my horse, I remarked that my worthy valet, Houssaye, had
imbibed as much liquor as would permit him to stand upright, and that
it was not without great difficulty and scrupulous attention to the
equipoise that he at all maintained his vertical position.
"Your servant is tipsy," said the Marquis; "you had better leave him
here till he recovers his intellects."
"I am as sober as a priest," hickupped Houssaye, who overheard the
accusation the Marquis brought against him, and repelled it with the
most drunken certainty of his own sobriety. "Monseigneur, you do me
wrong. I am sober, upon my conscience and my trumpet!" So saying, he
swung himself up to his horse's back, and forgetting to wait for me,
galloped on before, sounding a charge through his fist, as if he was
leading on a regiment of horse.
The Marquis laughed; and once more bidding him adieu, I followed the
pot-valiant trumpeter, who, without any mercy on his poor horse, urged
him on upon the road to Lourdes as fast as he could go. Very soon, I
doubt not, he quite forgot that I was behind, for, following much more
slowly, as I did not choose to fatigue my jennet at the outset, I soon
lost sight of him, and for half an hour perceived no traces of him
whatever.
I have heard that the effect of the fresh air, far from diminishing
the inebriation of a drunkard, greatly increases it. Probably this was
the case with Houssaye; for at the distance of about four miles from
the park of the Marquis, I found him lying by the side of the road,
apparently sound asleep, while his horse was calmly turning the
accident of his master to the best account, by cropping the grass and
shrubs at the roadside.
This accident embarrassed me a good deal, for I had set out late; and,
of course, I could not leave the poor drunkard to be gnawed by the
bears, or devoured by the wolves, whose regard for a sleeping man
might be found of somewhat too selfish a nature. After having shaken
him, therefore, two or three times for the purpose of recalling him to
himself, without producing any other effect than an inarticulate
grunt, I returned to a village about a mile nearer Bagneres, and
having procured the aid of some cottagers, I had the overthrown
trumpeter carried back, and left him there in security, till he should
have recovered from the state of intoxication in which he had plunged
himself.
All this delayed me for some time, so that it was near four o'clock
before I again resumed my journey. Nor was I sorry, indeed, that the
sun had got behind the mountains, whose long shadows saved my eyes
from the horizontal rays, which, as my way lay due west, would have
dazzled me all along the road had I set out earlier. In about two
hours it began to grow dusk, and I put my horse into a quicker pace,
lest the family at the château should conclude that I intended to
remain another night. There was one person also that, I knew, would be
anxious till they saw me return safe; and, for the world, I would not
have given Helen a moment's unnecessary pain. What made her suspect
the Marquis of any evil designs towards me I knew not, but I knew that
she did suspect him, and that was sufficient to make me hurry on to
assure her of my safety.
There is a thick wood covers the side of the mountain about five miles
from the Château de l'Orme, extending high up on the one hand, very
nearly to the crest of the hill, and spreading down on the other till
the stream in the valley bathes the roots of its trees. In a few
minutes after I had entered this wood, I suddenly heard the clatter of
a horse's hoofs close behind me--so near, it must have sprung out of
the coppice. I instantly turned my head to ascertain what it was, when
I received a violent blow just above the eyebrow, which nearly laid my
skull bare, and struck me headlong to the ground, before I could see
who was the horseman.
Though bruised and dizzied, I endeavoured to struggle up; but my
adversary threw himself from his horse, grappled with me, and cast me
back upon the ground with my face upwards. Oh how shall I describe the
fearful struggle for life that then ensued?--the agonising grasp with
which I clenched the hands wherewith he endeavoured to reach my
neck--the pressure of his knees upon my chest--the beating of my heart
as I still strove, yet found myself overmastered, and my strength
failing--the dreadful, eager haste with which he tried to hold back my
head, and gash my throat with the knife he held in his hand--and the
muttered curses he vented, on finding my resistance so long
protracted.
Five times he shook off my grasp, and five times I caught his hands
again, as they were in the act of completing his object. At the same
time, I could hear his teeth cranching against each other with the
violence of his efforts. My hands were all cut and bleeding, his dress
was nearly torn to pieces, the strength of both was well nigh
exhausted, when we heard the sounds of voices advancing along the
road. Though our struggle had hitherto been silent, I now called
loudly for assistance. He heard the noise also. "This then shall
settle it," cried he, raising his arm to plunge the knife into my
chest, but I interposed my hand; and though the force with which he
dealt the blow was such as to drive the point through my palm, yet
this saved my life, for before he could repeat the stroke the horsemen
had come up, attracted by the cries I continued to utter. One of them
sprang from his horse, beheld the deathly struggle going on, and not
knowing which was the aggressor, but seeing that one held the other at
a fatal disadvantage, called to my assailant instantly to desist or
die. The assassin again raised his arm: the horseman saw him about to
strike--levelled a pistol at his head--fired--and the murderer,
dropping the weapon from his hand, staggered up upon his feet--reeled
for a moment, and then fell dead across my chest.