Bernard de Rohan waited for nearly an hour before the person whom he
wished to see made his appearance. At length, however, the aubergiste
entered; and--with a face of so much mystery and importance as almost to
make the young gentleman believe that he was acquainted with the
character and pursuits of the brigand--he announced that the Chevalier
Lenoir had called again to know if the Baron de Rohan had returned. In a
minute or two after, Corse de Leon himself entered the room; and Bernard
could not but feel some surprise at the manner in which the wild, bold,
vehement rover of the mountain side conformed to the usages of society,
and bent down his energies, if we may so say, to the customary trammels
of an artificial mode of life.
He shook hands with Bernard de Rohan as an old friend, put down his hat
upon the table by his side, remarked that the dust had soiled his plume,
spoke of the heat of the past day, and with such empty nothings carried
on the interview till the aubergiste had retired and closed the large
oaken door behind him.
The moment he was gone, however, the brigand said abruptly, "I came
hither before, to lead you to the scene whither it seems you had gone
without me. Is not that a lovely sport?" he continued, with a curling
lip and a flashing eye; "is not that a lovely sport for keen, sleek
priests, after feasting in the refectory? Is not that a sweet amusement
for these holy and gentle pastors to go to, with the grease of their
patties still sticking upon their lips? Pastors! why our pastors of the
Alps would teach them better than that: they take the wool and use the
milk, but they roast not the lambs of their flock, as the people of the
plains do. By Heaven, it would do my soul good to make yon bloodthirsty
capuchin eat the flesh he has cooked this night. They call us lawless
brigands," he continued. "Pray God that we may ever be lawless, so long
as there are such laws as these. I came to show you this spectacle, for
I once told you I would make you witness such things, but you had gone
without me."
"I went not willingly," replied Bernard de Rohan. "I was caught in the
crowd, and could not disentangle myself. I hate and abhor such sights,
and think that these acts are disgraceful and ruinous to our religion.
If anything could justify heresy, such persecution surely would do it."
"Think not, think not," cried Corse de Leon, eagerly, "think not that
this is a crime of our religion alone, or of any other. It is man, and
man's infamous laws, and the foul vice of that strange compact which
rogue has made with rogue, and villain with villain, and tyrant with
tyrant, and fool with fool, in order that the cunning may have the best
means of outwitting the strong; that the criminal may torture and
destroy the innocent, and the virtuous be for ever the prey of the
vicious. Catholic or Protestant, heretic, infidel, Turk, it is all the
same: man is bound together, not by a league for mutual defence, but by
a league for mutual destruction and corruption. Here you yourself have a
friend and comrade, who fights by your side, and whom you trust. What is
the first thing that he does! Betrays you--seeks to injure you in the
darkest way--plots--contrives--cabals--"
"There is a day of reckoning coming," replied Bernard de Rohan.
"Ay, and it may come soon," answered Corse de Leon, "for that very man
is now in Lyons."
Bernard de Rohan started up and laid his hand upon his sword, which he
had thrown down upon a chair beside him; but the brigand went on,
saying, "Not to-night, not to-night. Let it be in the open day; and it
were better, too, before the whole court of France."
"I will not wait for that," replied Bernard de Rohan. "Where I find him,
there will I punish him. But, as you say, it must be in the open day.
Yet I must not let him escape me; I will write to him this instant."
"The way of all others to make him escape you," replied Corse de Leon.
"He might, on this occasion, refuse to meet you hand to hand; he
might--"
"No," answered Bernard de Rohan, "no, he dare not. There is no French
gentleman who dares to be a coward. To those whom he has wronged he must
make reparation, even though it were with life. Besides, this is not a
man to turn away from the sword's point."
"I know not," answered Corse de Leon, "for I am not one of you; but
methinks--though there is nothing upon all the earth now living that
could make me turn aside from my path--there would be something very
terrible to me in a wronged friend. However, this man may have an excuse
you know not of to refuse you that which you desire: he may say that the
matter is before the king, which, as I learn, it is. Be persuaded: wait
till to-morrow: then let him be narrowly watched: meet him alone; and,
when your sword is drawn upon him, then, as you say, he cannot well
evade you."
"He shall not," answered Bernard de Rohan. "But still it is not him that
I now seek, it is my own dear Isabel; and here, in this town of Lyons, I
have lost all trace of her, though she must have been here last night."
"Perhaps not," replied the brigand. "I have no certain tidings of her
any more than you have; but listen to what I do know. I reached this
place in haste to-day; and during the morning, at the inn called the
Dolphin, near the old church by the river, I saw a man who had been with
this Meyrand in Savoy, his guide, and assistant, and confidential knave.
He knew me not, and indeed, perhaps, had never seen me; for I see many,
but am seen by few. I made inquiries, however, and I found that this man
had preceded his lord from Paris on business, it was said, of mighty
moment. He was preparing rooms for him, gaining intelligence, and, in
fact, making all things ready for whatever knavery so skilful a master
might have in hand. I inquired farther, and found that yesterday,
shortly after the man's arrival, a lady and her train had paused for
some moments at the same inn; that one of his servants had spoken to
this serviceable villain, and that, without descending from her litter,
she had gone on, it was said, towards Geneva. To-day I waited and
watched for the arrival of your enemy, and the moment he did come, he
was closeted with his knave. A minute after, the host was summoned, and
much inquiry made for fresh horses to go towards Geneva. By this time,
however, it was late; none but tired beasts could be found, and the
journey was put off till daybreak to-morrow morning."
"We will travel the same road," said Bernard de Rohan, "we will travel
the same road. But what can have induced Isabel to take the way to
Geneva?"
"We know not that this lady was the same," replied Corse de Leon; "but,
supposing her to be so, forget not that she believes you to be dead. I
have told you that the matter is before the king; and she may fear that,
as this Count de Meyrand is a known intimate of a woman all too powerful
in this land of France, some constraint may be laid upon her will in
order to make her give her hand to him."
"They shall find," replied Bernard de Rohan, "that there is one whose
claim upon her hand is not so easily to be cast off; and, even were I
dead, I am full sure that to the last day of her existence she would
look on one who could betray his friend with nothing but abhorrence and
disgust."
"It may be so," replied the brigand; "but you have yet one thing to
learn. Your claim upon her hand is already disallowed. On that the
king's decision has gone forth three days ago. An edict, which has just
reached Lyons, was then registered in the Parliament of Paris, rendering
all clandestine marriages, past or future, null and void. This was aimed
at you, depend upon it, for both the wily Italian and the artful
Frenchman were then at the court of France."
Bernard de Rohan covered his eyes with his hand, and paused thoughtfully
without reply. "All this," he said at length, "all this shows, my
friend, the absolute need there is of my being speedily in Paris.
Wherever Isabel may turn her steps, she will soon hear that I am living
if I appear before the king; and in another point of view, also, my
speedy appeal to Henry himself may do good. There is one whom you have
mentioned who does certainly possess much power--far too much for any
subject in the realm; but yet I judge not of her so harshly as you
perhaps may do. She has a noble spirit, and I think would not willingly
do wrong. Besides all this, she is the trusted friend of one who loves
me well--the Marechal de Brissac; therefore I do believe that especially
she would not wish to injure me. When I have seen her, she has always
seemed to regard me highly; and I will own--although I must regret that
any one should hold such authority in the land of France as often to
overrule the king's wisest ministers--I do believe that, for her own
personal advantage, she would in no degree seek what is unjust to
another, or do that which might be dangerous to her country. I have no
doubt that one of her first wishes is to promote, in every way, such
plans as she considers just and wise; and although, of course, she may
from time to time be biased, like every other person, by blinding mists
of prejudice or of self-interest, yet I do think that she is less so
than any other being who ever yet filled a situation of splendid
disgrace and ill-bought authority. I believe, then, that with her, as
with the king, a few plain words of remonstrance and explanation will
win that support which is alone needful to my just claims."
"Then go thither at once," said Corse de Leon, with a dissatisfied air.
"If you will still trust to those whom you have not tried, go thither,
and encounter whatever the consequence may be. Were I you, my conduct
would be different."
"What would you do, then?" asked Bernard de Rohan. "I do not propose to
go to the court _at once_, but merely after I have done all that I can
to trace my Isabel on the road that she has taken. Say! what would you
do were you situated as I am?"
"It matters little," replied Corse de Leon, "for we are differently
formed. You are like the stately warhorse, doubtless strong and full of
fire, but broken down to the bit and rein of custom, and trained to pace
hither and thither, as the great riding-master called society wills.
Your affections may be vehement, your courage high, your heart sincere,
but you are not fitted and formed for the wild life of freedom, or for a
desperate and deadly struggle against the trammels of habit, and the
lash and spur of opinion. I, on the contrary, am the lion--or, if you
will, the tiger, or the wolf. No hand tames me and goads me on--my mouth
knows no bit and curb--the desert is my home--solitude my society--my
own will my law--and they who strive to take and chain me, to break me
down to the world's habits, or to bind me by man's opinions, will either
rue the bite of the free wild beast, or see him die before the hunters,
in silence and despair. If you would know what I would do, I would take
my revenge of that bad man; I would seek the lady till I found her; I
would tell her that dangers, obstructions, impediments, and the vain
idleness of a world's laws were before us if we did not trample upon
that world's judgments; I would ask her to cast off for me and with me
the prejudices of country and connexions; I would make my native place
of the first land of freedom I could find; I would find my friends and
my relations among the brave, and the free, and the good, wherever I met
them; I would press out from the grape of liberty the wine of my own
happiness, and I would drink of the cup that my own hand had prepared.
But such counsels are not for you; such things are not parts of your
nature."
"I believe not," replied Bernard de Rohan; "but still the first part of
your advice I shall follow, and at daybreak to-morrow will set out to
meet this man upon the way, and bid him draw his sword where there is
none to interrupt us."
"Should he refuse?" said the brigand. "He is well accompanied--has many
men with him, and some who seem to bear a high rank and station. He may
refuse to draw his sword, and say that the matter is before the king:
what then?"
"I will spurn him as a cur," replied Bernard de Rohan. "I will strike
him in the midst of his people; call him a coward as well as a knave,
and send him back with the brand of shame upon his brow. It matters not
to me who are with him! If gentlemen be there, so much the better;
Bernard de Rohan's name is not unknown, Bernard de Rohan's honour bears
no stain; and they shall hear his treachery and baseness blazoned in the
open day by a tongue unknown to falsehood."
Corse de Leon gazed upon him for a moment with a grave, perhaps one
might call it a pitying smile. "You have forgotten," he said, "or never
fully known, the court of France. There has there risen up," he added,
"within my memory, a habit, an affectation of indifference, if you like
to call it so, to all things on this earth; which indifference is born
of a corrupt and a degraded heart, and of sated and exhausted appetites.
To a high mind, furnished with keen and vigorous faculties, nothing on
earth can be indifferent; for acuteness of perception--a quality which,
in its degree, assimilates us to the Divine nature--weighs all
distinctions. As God himself sees all the qualities of everything,
whether minute or great, and gives them their due place, so, the grander
and the more expansive the intellect may be, the more accurately it
feels, perceives, and estimates the good or evil of each individual
thing. The low and the base, the palled taste of luxury, the satiated
sense of licentiousness, the callous heart of selfishness, the blunted
sensibilities of lust, covetousness, gluttony, effeminacy, and idleness,
take refuge in indifference, and call it to their aid, lest vanity--the
weakest, but the last point to become hardened in the heart of
man--should be wounded. They take for their protection the shield of a
false and tinsel wit, the answer of a sneer, the argument of a
supercilious look, and try to gloze over everything, to themselves and
others, with a contemptuous persiflage which confounds all right and
wrong. Thus will this count and his companions meet you; and you will
gain neither answer nor satisfaction, but a jest, a sneer, or a look of
pity."
"It matters not," replied Bernard de Rohan, "it matters not! There are
some things that men cannot laugh away! Honour, and courage, and virtue
are not columns planted so loosely that a light gale can blow them down;
and I will mark his brow with such disgrace that an ocean of laughter
and light jests will never wash the stain off again. When I have done
that, I will seek my Isabel, and by her own wishes shall our future
conduct be guided. You have reasoned like a learned scholar, my good
friend; but yet you see you have not converted me to your thoughts,
though I will own that it much surprises me to find you have such varied
knowledge of courts, and, I should think, of schools also."
"I have of both," replied Corse de Leon: "the one I have seen, though in
an humble sphere; the other in my youth I frequented, and gained there
knowledge which those who taught me did not know that they communicated.
However, I wished not to convince you or to overrule your determination,
for that determination is not wrong. I only desired that you should go
to its execution with a full knowledge of all that you might meet with.
Follow your plan, therefore, as you have laid it down, and in executing
it I will not be far from you in case of need. There is no knowing what
a bad man may do, and you ride too slightly attended to offer much
resistance in case they sought to do you wrong."
"Oh, I fear not, I fear not," replied Bernard de Rohan. "Here, on the
soil of France, I have no fear of any acts of violence, such as that
from which I suffered in Savoy."
"Have you not seen to-night," said his companion, "have you not seen
this night what wrongs are daily done, even here? However, as I have
said, I will not be far from you; so, for the present, farewell, and let
not daylight see you a lingerer in this dark city."
Thus saying, he turned and left his young companion, who remained for
some time plunged in deep thought; and, though the light of bright hope
continued still unextinguished before him, mists and clouds came across
the flame from time to time, making it wavering, uncertain, and obscure.
END OF VOL. I.
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