The personage concerning whom the last sentences were spoken, and who
now entered the hall, was not more than three feet six inches in
height,[1] but perfectly well formed in every respect, except that the
head, as is very usual with persons of his unfortunate description,
was somewhat too large for the size of the body it surmounted. His
former lord had spoken of his ugliness; but although his face was
certainly by no means handsome, yet there was nothing in it
approaching deformity. Between "the human face divine" and that of the
monkey, our great original, there are a thousand shades and varieties
of feature; and the countenance of the dwarf, it must be admitted, was
at the very far extreme of the chain, and at the end nearest the ape.
A pair of sparkling black eyes, and two rows of very fine white teeth,
however, rendered the rest of his features less disagreeable, but by
no means diminished his resemblance to the animal. Whether from a
consciousness of this likeness, and a desire to hide it as far as
possible, or from a sort of conceited foppery not uncommon, the dress
of this small man was as scrupulously elegant as the taste of that day
would admit. His beard and mustachios, which were soft and silky, were
most accurately trimmed. His hair, thrust back from his face, exposed
his large and somewhat protuberant forehead; while his pourpoint,
composed of deep blue cloth, was slashed with primrose silk, to favour
a somewhat dingy complexion. Sword and dagger he wore at his girdle;
and all the chronicles of those days bear witness that he well knew
how to use--and to use fearlessly--the weapons intrusted to his small
hands.
His whole appearance produced a strange and not pleasant effect upon
those who saw him. The want of harmony between his size and his form
was constantly forcing itself upon attention. Could one have magnified
him, he would have appeared a very well-dressed cavalier, according to
the fashions of the times; and, had there not been something in his
whole form and air that bespoke manhood, one might have looked upon
him as a smart child; but, as it was, one felt inclined to smile as
soon as the eye fell upon him, though there was in his demeanour but
few of those absurdities by which many of his class of beings render
themselves ridiculous. He had neither strut nor swagger, smirk nor
simper; and the only thing which in any degree tended to render his
aspect peculiar, besides the fact of his diminutive form, was a
certain cynical smile which ever hung more or less about his lips, as
if, from a consciousness of superior talent or superior cunning, he
scorned the race which, for their superior corporeal qualities, he
hated; or rather, perhaps, as if he were ever prepared to encounter
their contempt for his inferior size by contempt for their inferior
acuteness.
He entered the hall with ease, if not with grace; but, perhaps, with
more of what may be termed boldness than either. To St. Real, as his
actual master, he bowed low, and to the Count d'Aubin still lower,
accompanying the inclinations of his head, in this instance, with a
keen and significant glance, which, had the Chevalier de St. Real been
of a suspicious nature, might have made him place but little
confidence in an attendant of his cousin's recommending. But he
himself had nothing to conceal, and, as yet, feared not that any one
should see his inmost thoughts; for he was one of those few men who
know no other use for words than to express their feelings.
"Why did you blow the horn so loud, Bartholo?" demanded St. Real,
"when you well knew that my father lies so ill?"
"I did it, noble sir," replied the dwarf, "lest the cooks, and the
pages, and the concierge at the door should lose a jest and fit of
laughter--rare things in the castle of St. Real. I knew full well that
some one would cry out, 'Hear what a great sound can be made by a
little body!' and it would be unjust to disappoint the poor fools in
the offices, for fear of disturbing the rich gallants in the hall.
But, by my faith, I had another reason, too, which is worth looking
to. There was a traveller came with me, and an ass, and an ass's
burden."
"Was it the surgeon for whom I sent you?" asked St. Real, eagerly;
"the new surgeon from Tours?"
"Seeing that my eyes and the surgeon are innocent of all intercourse,"
replied the other, "I cannot tell you, noble sir, whether it be he or
not. The man was not in his dwelling when I reached it, so I left my
message, and rode further; and, as I came back, what should I see,
half a mile hence, but the white feather of this man's hat waving in
the dark night, and not knowing its way to the chateau of St. Real. I
asked him what party he was of, whither he was going, and if he had
passport or safe conduct. He answered, short enough, that he belonged
to his own party, had no passport but his sword and his right hand,
and was coming hither. So, whether he were surgeon or not, let those
judge that are wise! I asked no further, but brought him hither, and
left him in the green arras room, as he seemed no way dangerous, and
wished to see either the Marquis or the Marquis's son in private."
"It is either a reitter seeking service, or a quack-salver seeking the
sick," cried the Count d'Aubin. "Go to him--go to him quick, Huon! He
will whip you the gold lace off the hangings, either for his pocket or
his crucible. So go to him, and leave me the dwarf to jest withal."
With the quick and impatient step which anxiety produces in the young
and active, St. Real bent his steps towards the chamber to which he
had been directed by the dwarf, hoping, notwithstanding the
description which had been given of the person who awaited him, that
he might prove the surgeon who had been sent for in aid of the
ordinary medical assistance attending upon his father.
The room which he now entered was a small one, hung with arras of a
dark-green hue, that served to absorb the greater part of the light
afforded by a single lamp. The stranger had cast himself into a large
chair at the farther end of the chamber, and, in the half obscurity,
his person and features were but faintly seen; but nearer, and in the
full light, sat the youth whom we first found washing his feet in one
of the neighbouring streams. He seemed fatigued with journeying, and
leaning listlessly against a small table under the lamp, suffered his
head to rest upon his hand, showing a profusion of jetty curls falling
thick round his brow, while the cap and feather which he had worn
without was now thrown upon the ground beside him. The person whom he
had accompanied, however, retained his hat and high white plume, and
made no movement to rise as St. Real entered.
The eyes of the young noble first rested upon the boy; but immediately
turning towards the elder of his two visitors, he advanced towards
him, without noticing the apparent incivility of his demeanour. When
he had taken two steps forward, however, St. Real paused; and then,
with an exclamation of surprise, was again advancing, when the
stranger rose, saying, "Ha, Monsieur St. Real, I did not know you at
first. Ventre Saint Gris! I had forgot that ten years makes a boy a
man."
"If I am not mistaken, I see his Majesty of Navarre," said the
Chevalier; "and only grieve that my father is not capable of bidding
him welcome, with all the goodwill that we entertain towards himself
and his royal house."
"Henry of Navarre, indeed!" replied the monarch; "as poor a King as
lives, St. Real, but one who grieves sincerely at your father's
illness. I trust that it is not dangerous, however, and that I shall
yet see him ere I depart; for to that purpose I have been forced to
steal me a path amidst bands through which I should have found it hard
to cut me a way, and to do that singly which I dared not attempt with
many a stout soldier at my back."
"My father sleeps, my lord," replied St. Real; "'tis the first sleep
that he has known for many a day, and I would fain----"
"Wake him not--wake him not for me!" interrupted the King. "To-morrow
I must hie me back to Tours; but in the meanwhile I can well wait his
waking, and will crave some refreshment for myself and this good
youth, who has guided me hither, and who seems less able to bear
hunger and long riding than Henry of Navarre."
"I will order such poor fare as our house affords to be placed before
your Majesty directly," replied St. Real, "though I fear me much that
the two surgeons and a priest, together with a _gentilhomme serjent_
from La Fleche, are even now busy in despatching all that is already
prepared."
"Let us join them! let us join them by all means!" cried the King; "by
my faith I would never choose to dine where better cheer is usually to
be found, than in company with surgeons and with priests. The first
are too much accustomed to the care of other people's bodies to
neglect their own; and the others, though they limit their special
vocation to the preparation of souls for the other world, are not
without care for the preservation of the corporeal part in this. But
our horses, St. Real--they stand in the court-yard: that is to say, my
horse, and this good youth's more humble charger in the shape of an
ass."
St. Real turned his eyes upon the youth while the King spoke; and
after having replied that he would give instant orders for Henry's
equipage of all kinds to be attended to, added, still looking at the
boy, "Your Majesty's page, I suppose?"
"If so, but the page of a day," replied the King; "but, nevertheless,
though of so short an acquaintance, I can say that he seems as good a
boy as ever lived, has guided me here through many dangers, with more
wit and more courage too than most would have shown, and is by far too
wise to prefer the service of a poor king to that of a rich lord. In
short, St. Real, it seems that he was coming here when I met with him;
and as his sole guerdon for the pains he has taken, he required me to
advocate his cause with your father, to have him received as a page in
your household."
"My father," said St. Real, in reply, "has a mortal aversion to pages,
ever since the Queen was here with more than half a score, and will
only suffer two in his household--his own stirrup page, and mine, a
dwarf given me by my cousin Philip."
"Nay, nay, you must not refuse my first request, St. Real," said the
King; "for I have many another to make ere I have done, and if I halt
at the first step, I shall never be able to walk through the rest of
the list."
"Oh! I never dreamed of refusing your Majesty so trifling a thing,"
replied the other; "but we must give him some other name than page.
What will you be, my boy? You are too young and too gay-looking for a
valet in such a dull house as this."
"And too noble," added the youth, "or too proud, if you will. I seek
not, sir, to take wages of any man; but I seek to pass a time in some
house where the hearts are as noble as the blood they contain, where
old feelings are not forgot in new follies; and I would fain that that
house were the chateau of St. Real."
"You speak well, good youth, and more like a man than a boy; but
somewhat too haughtily too," replied St. Real.
"I will speak more humbly when I am your follower," answered the
youth, colouring a good deal; "to those who would raise me up, I can
be as humble as the dust, and to those who would cast me down, as
proud as a diamond. I sought to be your father's page, my lord," he
added, in a softer tone; "because I heard much of him, and because all
that I did hear showed him as a man blending so equally in his nature
goodness and nobility, that love and reverence must be his followers
wherever he bend his steps."
Something very like a tear rose in St. Real's fine clear eye, and the
youth proceeded. "I am grieved that aught should have grieved you,
sir, on his account; but still let me beseech you to take me into his
service. You know not," he added, eagerly, "how kindly I can tend
those I love; how I can amuse the weary hours of sickness, and while
away the moments of pain. I can read him stories from ancient lore,
and from many a language that few pages know. I can tell him tales of
other lands, and describe places, and things, and nations that he has
never seen. I can sing to him sweet songs in tongues that are all
music, and play to him on the lute as none in this land can play."
"Enough! enough!" cried Henry; "by my life, St. Real, if you do not
conclude your bargain with the boy quickly, I will step in and try to
outbid you in your offers; for if he but perform his undertaking with
you as well as he has done with me, you will have a page such as never
was since this world began."
"He was ours, my lord, from the first moment that your Majesty
expressed a wish that he should be so," replied St. Real. "There is my
hand, good youth, and it shall ever give you aid and protection at
your need. But tell me, what is your name? for although, as in the old
times, we let our guests come and go in the chateau without question;
yet, of course, I must know what I am to call _you_."
"Leonard," answered the youth; "Leonardo, in my own land; but here in
France, men call me Leonard de Monte."
"I thought I heard a slight Italian accent on your lips," said St.
Real; "but tell me, have I not seen you as one of the pages of Queen
Catherine's court?--a court," he added, almost regretting that he
had yielded to the King's request, "a court, not the best school
for----" But there again he paused, unwilling to hurt the feelings of
any one, and seeing a flush come over the boy's face, as if he already
anticipated the bitter censure that court so well deserved. The
youth's answer made him glad that he had paused.
"I know what are in your thoughts, sir," he replied; "but I beseech
you speak no evil of a mistress who is now dead, and who was ever kind
to me. Let her faults lie in the grave where she lies, and let men
forget them as soon as they forget virtues. As for myself, I may have
faults too; but they have never been those of the persons amongst whom
I mingled; I have neither learned to lie, nor to flatter, nor to
cheat, nor to run evil messages, nor give sweet hints. If, then, I
have lived amidst corruption and come out pure----"
"You are gold tried in the fire," rejoined St. Real, laying his hand
upon his shoulder; "and I will trust you, my good youth, as much
convinced by the tenderness of your speech towards her who is no more,
as by your defence of yourself----. But this matter has kept your
Majesty too long," he added, "and by your permission I will now
conduct you to the lesser hall, where these four persons are at
supper; though I cannot but think that you had better suffer me to
order you refreshments here."
"Nay, nay, I will sup with chirurgeons by all means," replied Henry,
laughing, "and we will forget that there is such a thing as a king, if
you please, St. Real; for I would not have it blazed abroad that I am
wandering about without an escort, or I might soon find myself in the
castle of Amboise. Call me Maitre Jacques, if you please, for the
present time, and let us make haste; for if I am to gauge the appetite
of those worthy doctors by my own, they will have devoured the supper
ere we reach the hall."
"Permit me, then, to show the way," replied St. Real; "seek out my
dwarf, Bartholo, good youth," he added, turning to the page, "and bid
him find you lodging and refreshment, as he values my favour. But I
will see more to your comfort myself shortly; for the villain is
sometimes insolent, and may be spiteful too, like most of his race,
though I never have marked it."
The youth bowed his head without other reply, and St. Real proceeded
to conduct Henry of Navarre, afterwards so well known as the frank and
gallant "Henri Quatre," along the many long and dimly lighted passages
of the chateau of St. Real, towards a small hall in one of the
farthest parts of the building.
"Maitre Jacques! remember I am Maitre Jacques!" said Henry, as the
young noble laid his hand upon the lock; "and you must not only make
your words call me so, but your demeanour also, St. Real."
"Fear not! fear not!" answered St. Real, in a low tone; "I will be as
disrespectful as you can desire, sire."
Thus saying, he opened the door, exposing to view the interior of what
was called the little hall, which presented a scene whereon we may
dwell for a single instant; for, though the picture which it displayed
of the callous indifference of human nature to the griefs and
sufferings of others, is not an agreeable one, it was not new enough
even then to excite wonder, and is not old enough now to be omitted.
The master of the house was dying, and his family full of sorrow at
the approaching loss of one who had been a father to all who
surrounded him; but there, in the little hall, was collected, in the
persons of the surgeons, the priest, and the lawyer, attendant upon
the dying man, as merry a party as it had ever contained. The hall,
though it was called little, was only so comparatively; for its size
was sufficient to make the table at which the feasters sat look like a
speck in the midst. Nevertheless, it was well lighted; and St. Real
and his royal companion, as they entered, could plainly see the man of
law holding up a brimming Venice glass of rich wine to one of his two
shrewd eyes, while the hall was echoing to some potent jest that he
had just cast forth amongst his companions. Even the carver at the
buffet, and the serving man who was filling up the wine for the rest,
were shaking their well-covered sides at the joke; and the priest,
though repressing as far as possible the outward signs of merriment,
was palating the _bon mot_ with a sly smile, and had perhaps a covert
intention of using it himself secondhand, whenever he could find
occasion. For a minute or two the party at the table did not perceive
the entrance of any other persons, or concluded that those who did
enter were servants; and their conversation went on in the same light
tone which had evidently predominated up to that moment.
As soon, however, as St. Real and his guest appeared, matters assumed
a different aspect; and solemn ceremony and respect took the place of
merriment. Seats were soon placed; and Henry, while engaged in
satisfying the hunger that a long day's journey had occasioned, failed
not by some gay and sportive observations to bring back a degree of
cheerfulness: but the natural frank liveliness of the King's heart was
controlled, or rather oppressed, by many an anxious thought for
himself, and by feelings of kindly and sincere sympathy with the young
noble who sat beside him. St. Real, on his part, did not affect to
feel aught but deep anxiety; and, after their entrance, the merriment
of the party in the hall was very much sobered down from its previous
elevated tone, giving way, indeed, in the breasts of the lawyer and
the surgeons, to many a shrewd conjecture in regard to the profession
and object of their new comrade Maitre Jacques.
In the meantime, the page stood where St. Real and the King had left
him, supporting himself against the table in an attitude of much
grace, but one which spoke deep and somewhat melancholy thought. His
head leaned upon his bosom, his hand fell listlessly by his side, his
eyes strained with the deep and intense gaze of anxious meditation
upon one unmeaning spot of the marble floor; and thus, without the
slightest motion, he continued so long in the same position, that he
might have been taken for some fanciful statue tricked out in the gay
dress of that time, had not every now and then a deep sigh broke from
his bosom, and evinced the conscious presence of life and all its
ills.
Near a quarter of an hour elapsed without his taking the slightest
notice of the lapse of time. The steps of his new master and the
prince had long ceased to sound through the passages, other noises had
made themselves heard and died away again; but the youth remained
apparently unconscious of everything but some peculiar and absorbing
facts in his own situation. His reverie was, however, at length
disturbed, but apparently not unexpectedly, though the stealthy step
and silent motions with which the dwarf Bartholo advanced into the
room in which the youth stood, had brought him near before the other
was aware of his presence. For a moment after their eyes had met
neither spoke, though there was much meaning in the glance of each;
and at length the youth made a silent motion of his hand towards the
door. The sign was obeyed at once; and the dwarf, closing the door
cautiously, returned with a quick step, suddenly bent one knee to the
ground, and kissed the hand the boy extended towards him.
"So, Bartholo," he said, receiving this somewhat extraordinary
greeting as a thing of course, "so! you see that I am here at length!"
"I do," replied the dwarf, rising; "but for what object you are come I
cannot conceive."
"For many objects," answered the youth; "but one sufficient to myself,
is that I am near those that I wish to be near; and can watch their
actions--perhaps see into their thoughts. If I could but make myself
sure that St. Real really loves the girl! that were worth all the
trouble."
"But the risk! the risk!" exclaimed the dwarf.
"The risk is nothing, if my people are faithful to me," answered the
youth sharply; "and woe be to them if they are not! Why came you not as
I commanded, but left me to wait and wander in the neighbourhood of
Beaumont, and nearly be taken by a party of reitters, in the pay of
Mayenne?"
"I could not come," answered the dwarf; "for I was sent to seek a
chirurgeon from Tours for the old man, who lies at the point of death.
I made what haste I could; but missed you, and could not overtake you
till you had nearly reached the chateau."
"And is the old Marquis, then, so near the end of a long good life?"
asked the youth. "There are some men whose deeds are so full of
immortality, that we can scarce fancy even their bodies shall become
food for worms. But so it must be with the best as well as with the
worst of us."
"Even so!" answered the dwarf; "but as to this old man, I have not
seen him with my own eyes for this many a day; but the report runs in
the castle that he cannot long survive."
"His death would come most inopportunely for all my plans," replied
the youth; "it would place me in strange circumstances: and yet I
would dare them, for I have passed through still stranger without
fear. I feel my own heart strong--ay, even in its weakness; and I will
not fear. Nevertheless, see you obey my orders better. You should have
sent some other on your errand, and not have left me to the mercy of a
troop of reitters."
"Crying your mercy," said the dwarf, with a significant grin, "I
should have thought that your late companion might have proved as
dangerous."
"Dare you be insolent to me, sir?" cried the youth, fixing his
full dark eye sternly on the dwarf. "But, no; I know you dare
not, and you know me too well to dare. But you are wrong. Whatever
may be the faults of Harry of Navarre--all reprobate heretic as he
is--nevertheless he is free from every ungenerous feeling; and
although I might think I saw a glance of recognition in his eyes, yet
I harbour not a fear that he will betray me or make any ill use of his
knowledge, even if he have remembered me."
"Are you aware, however," asked the dwarf, lowering his voice and
dropping his eyes--"are you aware that the Count d'Aubin is here?"
"No, no!" cried the youth, starting. "No, no! Where--where do you
mean? I know that he is in Maine, but surely not here."
"In this very house," answered the dwarf--"in the great hall, not a
hundred yards from the spot where we now stand."
"Indeed!" said the other, musing. "Indeed! I knew that he was near,
and that we should soon meet; but I did not think to find him here.
Look at me, Bartholo! look at me well! Think you that he would
recognise me? Gold, and embroidery, and courtly fashions, are all laid
aside; and I might be taken for the son of a mechanic, or, at best,
for the child of some inferior burgher."
"I knew you at once!" answered the page emphatically.
"Yes, yes; but that is different," replied he whom we shall take the
liberty of calling by the name he had given himself, although that
name, it need scarcely be said, was assumed; "but that is different,"
replied Leonard de Monte. "You were prepared to know me; but I think
that I am secure with all others. Why, when I look in the mirror, I
hardly know myself."
The dwarf gazed over the person of him who was evidently his real
master, however he might, for some unexplained purposes, affect to be
in the service of others--and after a moment, he replied, with a shrug
of the shoulders, "It may be so indeed. Dusty, and travel-soiled, and
changed, perhaps he would not know you; and were you to put on a high
fraise, instead of that falling collar, it would make a greater
difference still in your appearance."
"Quick! get me one, then" cried the youth; "I will pass before him for
an instant this very night, that his eye may become accustomed to the
sight, and memory be lulled to sleep. See, too, that all be prepared
for me to lodge as you know I would."
"I have already marked out a chamber," answered the dwarf, "and have
curried favour with the major-domo, so that he will readily grant it
to the new page at my request."
"Where is it?" demanded the youth. "You know I am familiar with the
house."
"It is," replied the dwarf, "one of the small chambers, with a little
ante-chamber, in the garden tower."
"Quick, then! Haste and ask it for me," exclaimed Leonard de Monte.
"The young lord bade me apply to you for what I needed; so you can
plead his order to the master of the chambers. Then bring me the
fraise speedily, ere I have time to think twice, and to waver in my
resolutions."
With almost supernatural speed the dwarf did his errand, and returned,
bearing with him one of those stiff frills extended upon whalebone
which are to be seen in all the portraits of those days. The youth
instantly took it from his hand; and, concealing the falling collar of
lace, which was for a short period the height of the fashion at the
court of Henry III., and which certainly did not well accord with the
simplicity of the rest of his apparel, he tied the fraise round his
neck, and advanced to a small mirror in a silver frame that hung
against the arras. "Yes, that does better," he exclaimed--"that does
better. Now, what say you, Bartholo?"
"That you are safe," answered the page--"that I should not know you
myself, did I not hear your voice."
"Well, then, lead through the hall, if Philip of Aubin be there."
replied the youth; "and when I am in my chamber, bring me a wafer and
a cup of wine; for I am weary, and must seek rest."
The dwarf opened the door, and led the way, conducting his young
companion across the great hall, up and down which the Count d'Aubin
was pacing slowly and thoughtfully.
"Who have you there, Bartholo?" demanded the young noble as they
passed.
"Only a page, my lord," replied the dwarf; and they walked on. The
Count looked at the page attentively; but not the slightest sign of
recognition appeared on his face; and, though the youth's steps
faltered a little with the apprehension of discovery, he quitted the
hall, satisfied that his disguise was not seen through. As soon as
they reached the door of the small chamber, which was to be
thenceforth his abode, Bartholo left him, to bring the refreshment he
had ordered; and as the dwarf passed by the door of the hall once
more, and heard the steps of the Count pacing up and down, he paused
an instant, as if undecided. "Shall I tell him?" he muttered between
his teeth, "shall I tell him, and blow the whole scheme to pieces? But
no, no, no; I should lose all, and with him it might have quite the
contrary effect. I must find another way;" and he walked on.