CHAP. V.
Charles of Montsoreau rode homeward in painful and anxious thought: he had flattered himself vainly, before he had proceeded to Vincennes, that the redoubted name of Henry of Guise would be found fully sufficient immediately to cause the restoration of Marie de Clairvaut to him, who had naturally a right to protect her. It less frequently happens that youth fails to reckon upon the fiery contention it is destined to meet with from adversaries, than that it miscalculates the force of the dull and inert opposition which circumstances continually offer to its eager course, throwing upon it a heavy, slow, continual weight, which, like a clog upon a powerful horse, seems but a nothing for the moment, but in the end checks its speed entirely. None knew better than Henry III. that it is by casting small obstacles in the way of impetuous youth, that we conquer and tame it sooner than by opposing it; and such had been his purpose with Charles of Montsoreau.
In his idle carelessness he cared but little what became of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, or into whose hands she fell. He was willing to countenance and assist the politic schemes of his favourite Villequier; and cared not, even in the slightest degree, whether that personage employed poison or the knife to rid himself of the young Count of Logères, provided always that he himself had nothing to do with it. The only part that he was inclined to act was to thwart the Duke's young envoy by obstacles and long delays; and this he had suffered to become so far evident to Charles of Montsoreau, that he became angry and impatient at the very prospect before him. He doubted, however, whether it would be right to send off a courier with this intelligence immediately to the Duke of Guise, or to wait for two or three days, in order to see whether the powers promised him were effectually granted; and he was still pondering the matter, while riding through the streets of Paris, when, in passing by a large and splendid mansion in one of the principal streets, he caught a glimpse of two figures disappearing through the arched portal of the building. The faces of neither were visible to him; their figures only for a moment, and that at a distance. But he felt that he could not be mistaken--that all the thoughts and feelings and memories of youth could not so suddenly, so magically, be called up by the sight of any one but his brother,--and if so, that the other was the Abbé de Boisguerin.
"Whose is that house?" he exclaimed aloud, turning to his attendants.
"That of Monsieur René de Villequier," replied the page instantly; and, springing from his horse at the gate, the young Count knocked eagerly for admission. The portals were instantly thrown open, and a porter in crimson, with a broad belt fringed with gold, appeared in answer to the summons.
"I think," said the young Count, "that I saw this moment the Marquis de Montsoreau and the Abbé de Boisguerin pass into this house."
The porter looked dull, and shook his head, replying, "No, sir; nobody has passed in here but two of my noble Lord's attendants--the old Abbé Scargilas, and Master Nicolas Prevôt, who used formerly to keep the Salle d'Armes, opposite the kennel at St. Germain."
Although Charles of Montsoreau knew the existence and possibility of such a thing as the lie circumstantial, yet the coolness and readiness of the porter surprised him. "Pray," he said, after a moment's pause, "is there any such person as either Monsieur de Montsoreau or the Abbé de Boisguerin dwelling here at present?"
"None, sir," replied the man. "There is no one here but the attendants of my Lord, who is at present absent with the King."
Charles of Montsoreau would have given a good deal to have searched the house from top to bottom; but as it would not exactly do to storm the dwelling of René de Villequier, he rode on, no less convinced than ever that his brother was at that moment in the dwelling of the minister.
This conviction determined his conduct at once. That his brother was in Paris, and in the hands of the most dangerous and intriguing man of that day, he had no doubt; and it seemed to him also clear, that schemes were going on and contriving, of which the obstacles and delays thrown in his way might be, perhaps, a part. To what they tended he could not, of course, tell directly; but he saw that the only hope of frustrating them lay in exertion without the loss of a moment, and he accordingly dispatched his faithful attendant Gondrin to Soissons as soon as he reached the inn.
We must follow, however, for a moment, the two persons whom the young Count had seen enter the hotel of Villequier, and accompany them at once into the chamber to which they proceeded after passing the portal. It was a splendid cabinet, filled with every sort of rare and costly furniture, which was displayed to the greater perfection by the dark but rich tapestry that covered the walls. Another larger room opened beyond, and through the door of that again, which was partly open, a long suite of bed-rooms and other apartments were seen, with different rich and glittering objects placed here and there along the perspective, as if for the express purpose of catching the eye.
Into one of the large arm-chairs which the cabinet contained, the Marquis of Montsoreau threw himself as if familiar with the scene. "Villequier is long," he said, speaking to the Abbé. "He promised to have returned before this hour."
"Impatience, Gaspar, impatience," replied the Abbé, "is the vice of your disposition. How much have you lost already by impatience? Was it not your impatience which hurried me forward to represent his own situation and that of yourself, to your brother Charles, which drove him directly to the Duke of Guise? Was it not your impatience which made you speak words of love to Marie de Clairvaut before she was prepared to hear them, drawing from her a cold and icy reply? Was it not your impatience that made us leave behind at Provins all the tired horses and one half of the men, rather than wait a single day to enable them to come on with us; and did not that very fact put us almost at the mercy of the reiters, and give your brother an opportunity of showing his gallantry and skill at our expense?"
"It is all true, my friend; it is all true," replied the Marquis. "But in regard to my speaking those fiery words to Marie de Clairvaut, how could I help that? Is it possible so to keep down the overflowing thoughts of our bosom as to prevent their bursting forth when the stone is taken off from the fountain, and when the feelings of the heart gush out, not as from the spring of some ordinary river, but, like the waters of Vaucluse, full, powerful, and abundant even at their source."
"It was that I wished you to guard against," replied the Abbé. "Had you appeared less to seek, you would have been sought rather than avoided. It may be true, Gaspar, what authors have said, that a woman, like some animals of the chase, takes a pleasure in being pursued; but depend upon it, if she do so, she puts forth all her speed to insure herself against being caught. Unless you are very sure of your own speed and strength, you had better steal quietly onward, lest you frighten the deer. Had she heard much from my lips, and from those of her good but weak friend Madame de Saulny, of your high qualities, and of all those traits in your nature calculated to captivate and attract such a being as herself, while you seemed indifferent and somewhat cool withal, every thing--good that is in her nature would have joined with every thing that is less good--the love of high qualities and of manly daring would have combined with vanity and caprice to make her seek you, excite your attention, and court your love."
"I have never yet seen in her," said the young Marquis, "either vanity or caprice; and besides, good friend, such things to me at least are not matters of mere calculation. I act upon impulses that I cannot resist. Mine are feelings, not reasonings: I follow where they lead me, and even in the pursuit acquire intense pleasure that no reasoning could give."
"True," replied the Abbé, bending down his head and answering thoughtfully. "There is a great difference between your age and mine, Gaspar. You are at the age of passions, and at that period of their sway when they defeat themselves by their own intensity. I had thought, however, that my lessons might have taught you, my counsel might have shown you, that with any great object in view it is necessary to moderate even passion in the course, in order to succeed in the end."
"But there is joy in the course also," exclaimed Gaspar de Montsoreau. "Think you, Abbé, that even if it were possible to win the woman we love by another's voice, we could lose the joy of winning her for ourselves--the great, the transcendant joy of struggling for her affection, even though it were against her coldness, her indifference, or her anger?"
"I think, Gaspar," replied the Abbé, "that if to a heart constituted as yours is, there be added a mind of equal power, nothing--not even the strongest self-denial--will be impossible for the object of winning her you love. But I am not a good judge of such matters," he continued with a slight smile curling his lip--a smile not altogether without pride. "I am no judge of such matters. The profession which I have chosen, and followed to a certain point, excludes them from my consideration. All I wish to do in the present instance is to warn you, Gaspar, against your own impetuosity in dealing with this Villequier. Be warned against that man! be careful! Promise him nothing; commit yourself absolutely to nothing, unless upon good and sufficient proof that he too deals sincerely with you. He is not one to be trusted, Gaspar, even in the slightest of things; and promise me not to commit yourself with him in any respect whatsoever."
"Oh, fear not, fear not," replied the Marquis. "In this respect at least, good friend, no passions hurry me on. Here I can deal calmly and tranquilly, because, though the end is the same, I have nothing but art to encounter, which may always be encountered by reason. When I am with her, Abbé, it is the continual strife of passion that I have to fear; at every word, at every action, I have to be upon my guard; and reason, like a solitary sentinel upon the walls of a city attacked on every side, opposes the foes in vain at one point, while they pour in upon a thousand others."
While he was yet speaking, a servant with a noiseless foot entered the room, and in a low sweet tone informed the Marquis, that Monsieur de Villequier had just returned from Vincennes, and desired earnestly to speak with him, for a moment, alone in his own cabinet. The word "alone" was pronounced more loud than any other, though the whole was low and tuneful; for Villequier used to declare that he loved to have servants with feet like cats and voices like nightingales.
The Abbé marked that word distinctly, and was too wise to make the slightest attempt to accompany his former pupil. The Marquis, however, did not remark it; and, perhaps a little fearful of his own firmness and skill, asked his friend to accompany him. But the Abbé instantly declined. "No, Gaspar," he said, "no; it were better that you should see Monsieur Villequier alone. I will wait for you here;" and, turning to the table, he took up an illuminated psalter, and examined the miniatures with as close and careful an eye as if he had been deeply interested in the labours of the artist.
He saw not a line which had there been drawn; but after the Marquis had followed the servant from the room he muttered to himself, "So, Monsieur de Villequier, you think that I am a mean man, who may be over-reached with impunity and ease? You know me not yet, but you shall know me, and that soon." And laying down the psalter, he took up another book of a character more suited to his mind at the moment, and read calmly till his young friend returned, which was not for near an hour.
In the mean time the Marquis had proceeded to the cabinet of Villequier, who, the moment he saw him, rose from the chair in which he had been seated busily writing, and pressed him warmly by the hand.
"My dear young friend," he said, "one learns to love the more those in whose cause one suffers something; and, since I saw you, I have had to fight your battle manfully."
"Indeed! and may I ask, my Lord, with whom?" demanded the young Marquis.
"With many," answered Villequier. "With the King,--with Epernon,-with your own brother."
"With my brother?" exclaimed Gaspar of Montsoreau, while the blood rushed up in his face. "Does he dare to oppose me after all his loud professions of disinterestedness and generosity? But where is he, my Lord? Leave me to deal with him. Where does he dwell? Is he in Paris?"
Villequier smiled, but so slightly, that it did not attract the eyes of his companion. That smile, however, was but the announcement of a sudden thought that had passed through his own mind.
Shrewd politicians like himself, fertile in all resources, and unscrupulous about any, feel a pride and pleasure in their own abundance of expedients, which makes the conception of a new means to their end as pleasant as the finding of a diamond. On the present occasion the subtle courtier thought to himself with a smile, as he saw the angry blood mount into the cheek of the young Marquis of Montsoreau at the very mention of his brother's name,--"Here were a ready means of ridding ourselves, were it needful, of one if not both of these young rash-headed nobles, by setting them to cut each other's throats."
It suited not his plan however at the moment to follow out the idea, and he consequently replied, "No, no, Monsieur de Montsoreau. I should take no small care, seeing how justly offended you are with your brother, to prevent your finding out his abode, as I know what consequences would ensue. But in all probability, by this time, he has gone back to the Duke of Guise, having with difficulty been frustrated, for the King was much inclined to yield to his demands."
"What did he demand?" exclaimed the Marquis vehemently. "What did he dare to demand, after the professions he made to me at La Ferté?"
"That matters not," answered Villequier. "Suffice it that his demands were such as would have ruined all your hopes for ever."
"But why should the King support his demands," said the Marquis, "when well assured of how attached he is to the great head of the League that tyrannises over him?"
"Hush, hush!" said Villequier. "The League only tyrannises so long as the King chooses. Henry wields not the sword at present, but the sword is still in his hands to strike when he thinks fit. But to answer your question, my young friend. The King knows well, as you say, that your brother is attached to the Duke of Guise: but you must remember at the same time, Monsieur de Montsoreau, that as yet he is not fully assured that you are attached to himself. Nay, hear me out, hear me out! The King's arguments, I am bound to say, were not only specious but reasonable. He had to consider, on the one hand, that the Duke of Guise, with whom it is his strongest interest to keep fair, demands this young lady as his ward, which, according to the laws of the land, Henry has no right to refuse. Your brother, on the Duke's part, threatens loudly; and what have I to oppose to a demand to which it seems absolutely necessary in good policy that the King should yield? Nothing; for, on the other hand, Henry affirms that he can be in no degree sure of yourself; that your family for long have shown attachment for the House of Guise; that you yourself were upon your march to join the Duke, when this lady, falling into the hands of the King's troops, induced you to abandon your purpose for the time; but that the moment he favours your suit, or gives his consent to your union with her, you may return to your former attachments, and purchase the pardon and good will of the Duke of Guise by returning to his faction."
"I am incapable of such a thing!" exclaimed the Marquis vehemently: but the recollection of his abandonment of the Duke's party came over him with a glow of shame, and he remained for a moment or two without making any farther reply, while Villequier was purposely silent also, as if to let what he had said have its full effect. At length he added:
"I believe you are incapable of it, Monsieur de Montsoreau, and so I assured the King. He, however, still urged upon me that I had no proof, and that you had taken no positive engagement to serve his Majesty. All the monarch's arguments were supported by Epernon, who, I believe, wishes for the hand of the young lady for some of his own relations, in order to arrange for himself such an alliance with the House of Guise as may prove a safeguard to him in the hour of need." And again Villequier smiled at his own art in turning back upon the Duke of Epernon the suspicion which the Duke had expressed in regard to himself.
The warning of the Abbé de Boisguerin, however, at that moment rang in the ears of Gaspar of Montsoreau, and he roused himself to deal with Villequier not exactly as an adversary, but certainly less as a friend.
"In fact, Monsieur de Villequier," he said, "his Majesty wishes that I should devote my sword and fortune to his service; and I am to understand, through you, that he holds out to me the hope of obtaining the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut in return. Now, it was not at all my purpose to take any part in the strifes that are agitating the country at this moment. I am neither Leaguer nor Huguenot, nor Zealot nor Moderate; and, though most loyal, not what is called Royalist. I was merely conducting Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, with a very small force, not the tenth part of what I can bring into the field at a week's notice, when the events took place which brought me to Paris. Now, Monsieur, if the King does not rest satisfied with my expressions of loyalty, and desires some express and public engagement to his service, I see no earthly reason why I should rest satisfied with mere vague hopes of obtaining the hand of the lady I love; and though, of course, I cannot deal with his Majesty upon equal terms, yet I must demand some full, perfect, and permanent assurance that I am not to be disappointed in my hopes, before I draw my sword for one party or another."
Villequier gazed thoughtfully in his face for a moment or two, biting his under lip, and saying internally, "The Abbé de Boisguerin--this comes from him." His next thought was, "Shall I endeavour to pique this stripling upon his honour, and generosity, and loyalty, and all those fine words?" But he rejected the idea the moment after thinking. "No; that would do better with his brother. When a man boldly leaps over such things, it is insulting him to talk about them any more."
And after a moment's farther thought, he replied, "It is all very fair, Monsieur de Montsoreau, that you should have such assurances; though, if we were not inclined to deal straightforwardly with you in the matter, we might very very easily refuse every thing of the kind, and leave you not in the most pleasant situation."
"How so?" demanded the Marquis with some alarm. "How so?"
"Easily, my dear young friend," replied Villequier. "Thus: by informing you that the King could give you no such assurance--which, indeed, is nominally true, though not really--and by showing you, at the same time, that as the young lady is in his Majesty's hands, and he is determined not to give her up to the Duke of Guise or to any body else, but some tried and faithful friend, the only means by which you can possibly obtain her is by serving the King voluntarily, in the most devoted manner. Suppose this did not suit you, what would be your resource? If you go to the Duke of Guise, you find the ground occupied before you by your brother, and the Duke accuses you of having betrayed his young relation into the hands of the King--perhaps sends you under a guard into Lorraine, and has you tried, and your head struck off. Such things have happened before now, Monsieur de Montsoreau. At all events, not the slightest chance exists of your winning the fair heiress of Clairvaut from him. But, even if you did gain his consent, she is still in the hands of the King, who would certainly not give her up to one who had proved himself a determined enemy."
Gaspar of Montsoreau looked down, with somewhat of a frowning brow, upon the ground. He saw, indeed, that the alternative was one that he could not well adopt; and, from the showing of Villequier, he fancied himself of less power and consequence in the matter than he really was. He resolved, however, not to admit the fact if he could help it.
"Suppose, Monsieur de Villequier," he said, "that the League were to prevail, and to force his Majesty to concede all the articles of Nancy, think you not that one thing exacted from him might well be, to yield Mademoiselle de Clairvaut to her lawful guardian?"
"It might," answered Villequier immediately. "But then I come in. The question of guardianship has never been tried between the Duke and myself. I stand as nearly related to her as he does; and I should instantly bring the cause before the Parliament, demanding that the young lady should remain in the hands of the King as suzerain till the cause is decided, which might be this time ten years."
"I did not know," said the young nobleman, "that the relationship was so near, though I was aware that Clairvaut is the family name of Villequier. However, sir, there is yet another alternative. Suppose I were to keep the sword in the sheath, and retire once more to Montsoreau."
"Why there, then," replied Villequier with a slight sneer, "you might happily abide, watching the progress of events, till either the royalist party or the League prevailed; and then, as chance or accident might will it, see the hand of the fair Lady rewarding one of the King's gallant defenders, or bestowed by the Duke of Guise upon his brave and prudent partisan, the Count of Logères."
He paused for a moment or two, to let all he said have its full effect, and then added, in a familiar tone, "Come, come, Monsieur de Montsoreau, see the matter in its true light. There is no possible chance of your obtaining the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, except by attaching yourself to the King's service, and defending the royal cause with the utmost zeal. If you persist in doing so simply as a voluntary act to be performed or remitted at pleasure, be you sure that as you make the King depend upon your good will for your services towards him, so will you be made to depend upon his good will, his caprices if you like, for the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. If, however, on the contrary, you frankly and generously determine to take service with the King, and bind yourself irrevocably to his cause, I do not scruple to promise you, under his hand, his full consent to your union with Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. I will give you the same consent under mine, assuming the title of her guardian. Your marriage cannot, of course, take place till the great struggle that is now impending is over. In a few months, nay, in a few weeks, the one party or the other--who are now directing their efforts against each other, instead of turning, as they ought, their united forces against the common enemies of our religion--must have triumphed over its adversary. I need not tell you which I feel, which I know, must be successful; but your part will now be, to exert yourself to the utmost, to traverse the country with all speed to Montsoreau, to raise every soldier that you can, and to gather every crown that you can collect, to join the King with all your forces, wherever he may be, and, by your exertions, to render that result certain, which is, indeed, scarcely doubtful even as it is; remembering that upon the destruction of the Duke of Guise's party, and upon the overthrow of his usurped and unreasonable power, depends not only the welfare of your King and master, but the realisation of your best and sweetest hopes."
"You grant all that I demand, Monsieur de Villequier," replied Gaspar of Montsoreau. "All I wish is the King's formal consent in writing, and yours, to my marriage with Marie de Clairvaut, as the condition of my absolute and public adhesion to the royal cause."
"I know," replied Villequier, "that I grant all you demand, and I was prepared to do so from the first, only we were led into collateral discussions as we went on. You will, of course, take an oath to the King's service, and confirm it under your hand."
"We will exchange the papers, Monsieur de Villequier," replied the Marquis, thinking himself extremely cautious. "But now, pray tell me, how ended the discussion with my brother?"
"The only way that it could end," replied Villequier, "when all parties were determined to evade his demand. The King, you may easily suppose, was not inclined to give the young heiress of Clairvaut to any of the partisans of an enemy. Epernon knew well that if the hand of a Guise were upon her shoulder, the ring of a La Valette would never pass upon her finger; and I, when last we met, had half given my promise to you, and was, at all events, determined that the question of wardship should be settled before I parted with her. The King, therefore, evaded the demands of the young Count, though he was not a little inclined to yield to them at one time, in order to pacify the Duke of Guise. However, I took the brunt of the business upon myself, and underwent the hot indignation of your brother, who thought to find in me an Epernon, or a Montsoreau, who would measure swords with him for an angry word."
"They had better be skilful as well as brave," said the young Marquis thoughtfully, "who measure swords with my brother Charles."
"Indeed!" said Villequier, "is he then so much a master of his weapon?"
"The most perfect I ever beheld--ay, more skilful now, than even our friend the Abbé de Boisguerin; though I have heard that, some years ago, when the Abbé was studying at Padua, he challenged the famous Spanish sword-player, Bobéz, to display his skill with him in the schools, in single combat, and hit him three times upon the heart without Bobéz touching him once."
"I remember, I remember!" cried Villequier. "The master broke the buttons from the swords in anger, and the student ran him through the body at the first pass, whereof he died within five minutes after in the Deacon's chamber."
"I never heard that he died," replied the Marquis with some surprise.
"He did indeed, though," replied Villequier with a meditative air. "And so this was the Abbé de Boisguerin. One would have thought the army, rather than the church, would have called such a spirit to itself."
"I know not," replied the young Marquis, "but in all things he is equally skilful; and, doubtless, you know he has taken but the first step towards entering the church, pausing as it were even on the threshold."
"Do you think," said Villequier, "that he is as skilful in conveying intelligence as in other things?"
"What do you mean, my Lord?" exclaimed his young companion.
"Nay, I mean nothing," replied the politician, satisfied with having sown the first seed of suspicion in the young nobleman's mind, without, perhaps, any definite design, but simply for the universal purpose of making men doubt and distrust each other, with a view of ruling them more easily. "Nothing, except a mere question concerning his skill. I have no latent meaning, I assure you."
The brow of the Marquis grew clear again, and Villequier saw that he believed the latter assertion more fully than he had intended. He let the subject pass, however, and spoke of many other things, giving his own account of various matters which had occurred during the Count de Logères's audience of the King, and urging Gaspar de Montsoreau to set off with all speed to raise his forces in his native province. Then abruptly turning the conversation, he demanded, "You or the Abbé told me, I think, that you suspected your brother of having communicated your march to the reiters. Is it like his general character so to act? I'm sure, if it be his custom to do such things, I would much rather that he was upon the opposite party than our own."
The Marquis bent down his head, and gazed sternly upon the ground for two or three moments. He then answered, with a deep sigh, "No, Monsieur de Villequier; no, it is not like Charles's character. He has all his life been frank and free as the summer air, open, and generous. I fear I did him wrong to suspect him. We are rivals where no man admits of rivalry: but I must do him justice. If he have done such a thing, his nature must be changed, changed indeed--changed, perhaps, as much as my own."
"I thought," replied Villequier, "that he seemed frank and straightforward enough, bold and haughty as a lion; gave the King look for look; bearded Epernon, and threatened to bring him to the field; and spared not me myself, whom men don't for some reason love to offend. But he did not seem a man likely to betray his friend, or practise treachery upon his brother. It is a very strange thing, too," he continued in an easier tone, "that Colombel and the other officers of the King's troops at Château Thierry should have received news of your coming a day before you did cross the Marne, together with the information that the reiters might attack you near Gandelu. Was not this strange?"
"Most strange," replied the Marquis, knitting his brows, and setting his teeth hard. But Villequier, now seeing that he had said quite enough, again turned the conversation; and after letting it subside naturally to ordinary subjects, he told the young Marquis that he would immediately write to the King, and obtain his signature to the paper required, before bed-time. "It is late already," he said; "I think even now I see a shade in the sky, so I must about my work rapidly. But remember, Monsieur de Montsoreau, nine is my supper hour exactly; and then, care and labour being past, we will sit down and enjoy ourselves, though I fear the accommodation which I can offer you in my poor dwelling must seem but rude in your eyes."
The Marquis said all that such a speech required, and then withdrew.
When he was gone, Villequier applied himself for some time to other things; but when they were concluded, he rose from his chair, and walked once or twice thoughtfully across the cabinet.
"I had better," he said to himself at length, "I had better deal with him at once, and then I can ascertain what are his demands, and how to treat them."
Thus saying, he took up his bell and rang it, directing the servant who appeared to see if he could find the Abbé de Boisguerin alone, in which case he was to invite him to a conference. "He will be alone," thought the wily courtier, "for I have sown seeds of those things which will not suffer them to be long together."
The Abbé, however, was absent from the house, much to the surprise of Villequier; and another hour had well nigh passed before he made his appearance. The moment that he did so, he advanced towards Villequier with his mild and graceful calmness, saying that he understood his Lordship had sent for him. Villequier pressed his hand tenderly, and with soft and courtly words assured him that, in sending for him, he had only sought to enjoy the pleasure of his unrivalled conversation for a few minutes before supper.
The Abbé replied exactly in the same tone; that he was profoundly grieved to have lost even a moment of the society of one who fascinated from the first, and sent away every one charmed and delighted.
A slight and bitter smile curled the lip of each as he ended his speech, like a seal upon a treaty, the confirmation and mockery of a falsehood.
The Abbé, however, added to his speech a few words more, saying that he should have been back earlier, but that his conversation at the White Penitent's had been so interesting that he could not withdraw himself earlier from her Majesty the Queen-mother.
Villequier started. "Are you acquainted with the Queen?" he said. "What a surprising-being Catherine is!"
"She is indeed," answered the Abbé. "My long sojourn at Florence some years ago made me fully acquainted with every member of the House of Medici, and I now bring you this letter on her part, Monsieur de Villequier."
Villequier took the paper that the Abbé handed to him, and read apparently with some surprise. "Her Majesty," he said, "knows that I am her devoted slave, but at the same time she cannot doubt, knowing as she does so well your high qualities, that I will do every thing to serve and assist you, and prevent all evil machinations against you."
"Oh, she doubts it not; she doubts it not," replied the Abbé. "She doubts it not, Monsieur de Villequier, any more than I do; and has written this note only in confirmation of your good intentions towards me. However, there is one thing I wish you to do for me, Monsieur de Villequier."
"Name it, my dear friend," exclaimed the Marquis; "but give me an opportunity of making myself happy in gratifying your wishes."
"The fact is, Monsieur de Villequier," replied the Abbé, "that some malicious person has been endeavouring to persuade the young Marquis de Montsoreau, my friend, and formerly my pupil, that it was I who intimated to the reiters the course we were pursuing to meet the Duke of Guise, and who also intimated the facts to the King's troops at Château Thierry, that they might have an opportunity of coming up to rescue us and bring us hither--though they showed no great activity in doing the first. Now, doubtless, the person who did this, if there were any one, had the King's service solely in view, and deserved to be highly rewarded, as he probably will be; but----"
"Doubtless," replied Villequier with a sneering smile. "But surely he could not object to such honourable service being known."
"Of course not," replied the Abbé; "nor that he had given intimation of the facts to, and taken his measures with, her Majesty the Queen-mother; by an order, under whose hand the troops at Château Thierry acted, and at whose suggestion Monsieur de Montsoreau and his friends threw themselves into the hands of Monsieur de Villequier.--All this her Majesty declares he did; and he could not, of course, object to any of these things being known, except as it is contrary to good policy and to the wishes of the Queen-mother: and more especially contrary to every wise purpose, if he be a person possessed of much habitual influence with the young Marquis."
"Monsieur de Boisguerin," said Villequier, seeming suddenly to break away from the subject, but in truth following the scent as truly as any well-trained hound, "the bishopric of Seez is at present vacant. I know none who would fill it better than the Abbé de Boisguerin."
The Abbé drew himself up and waved his hand. "You mistake me entirely, Monsieur de Villequier," he said. "I take no more vows. I have taken too many already; and those, by God's grace and the good will of our holy father the Pope, I intend to get rid of very speedily. I have nothing to request of your Lordship at present. I know, see, and understand your whole policy, and think you quite right in every respect. The promises which you and the King are to give to Monsieur de Montsoreau concerning the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut can of course be broken, changed, or modified in a moment at any future time."
"We have no intention of breaking them," replied Villequier. "We are acting in good faith, I can assure you."
"Doubtless," replied the Abbé, "doubtless: but they can be broken?"
"Of course," replied Villequier; "of course any thing on earth can be broken."
"That is sufficient," replied the Abbé. "It is quite enough, Monsieur de Villequier: I only desire to know, whether you and the King consider it as a final arrangement, that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut is to marry the young Lord of Montsoreau, or whether the matter is not now as much unsettled and within your own power and grasp as ever."
"Why," replied Villequier thoughtfully, "it is, as I dare say you well know, Monsieur l'Abbé, a very difficult thing indeed to devise any sort of black lines, which, written down upon sheep skin, will prove sufficiently strong to bind the actions of kings, princes, or common men, at a future period. But it seems to me, Monsieur l'Abbé, that the time is come when we had better be frank with each other! What is it that you aim at? You seem not displeased to think the arrangement doubtful or contingent; and yet I, who am not accustomed to guess very wrongly in such matters, have entertained no doubtful suspicion that you prompted the demand for a definite and conclusive bargain."
"I did," replied the Abbé. "When you asked to see him alone, I was very well assured that, though a game of policy skilfully played may occasionally afford sport to Monsieur de Villequier, you were quite as well pleased in the present business to deal with a young and inexperienced head as with an old and a worldly one. He sought my opinion and advice, and, as I uniformly do when it is sought, I gave it him sincerely, though it was against my own views and purposes. Now, Monsieur de Villequier, I see hovering round your lips a question, which, in whatever form of words you place it, whatever Proteus form it may assume, will have this for its substance and object; namely, What are the plans and purposes of the Abbé de Boisguerin? Now, my plans and purposes are these,--remember, I do not say my objects; the object of every man in life is one, though we all set out upon different roads to reach it. My purpose is to serve his Majesty and the Queen-mother far more than I have hitherto been able to do. What I have done is a trifle; but if I detach from the party of the League, separate for ever from the Duke of Guise, and bring over to the royal cause Charles of Montsoreau as well as his brother, I shall confer no trifling service, for I can now inform you, Monsieur de Villequier, that, besides the great estates of Logères, he is lord of all the possessions lately held by the old Count de Morly, who amassed much treasure during the avaricious part of age, and died little more than a week ago, leaving this young Lord the heir of all his wealth. I have received the intelligence this very morning; so that, what between his riches, his skill, and his courage, he is worth any two, excepting Epernon perhaps, of the King's court."
"If you do what you say, Monsieur de Boisguerin," replied the Marquis in a low, deep, sweet-toned voice, "you may command any thing you please in France, bishoprics, abbeys----"
"If it rained bishoprics," replied the Abbé, "I would not wear a mitre. I do not pretend to say, Monsieur de Villequier, that I am more disinterested than my neighbours; that I have not great rewards in view, and objects of importance--to me, if not to others. But these objects are not quite fixed or determined yet, and I am not one of those men, Monsieur de Villequier, who hesitate to render the services first from a fear of losing the reward afterwards. I know how to make my claims heard when the time comes for demanding; and in the present instance, although I cannot distinctly promise to bring Charles of Montsoreau absolutely and positively over to the King's cause, yet I am sure of being able both to detach him from the Duke of Guise and separate him from the faction of the League. I think, indeed, that all three can be done: but nothing can be done unless the promise given to his brother be made contingent. The one loves her as vehemently as the other; and I, who know how to deal with him, can change his whole views in an hour, or at least in a few days."
"Indeed!" said Villequier. "He is now in Paris; the trial could be speedily made."
"I know it--" replied the Abbé, seeing the Marquis fix his eyes upon him eagerly, thinking, perhaps, 'he has promised more than he could perform.'
"I know it, and that is the precise reason why I have hurried on this matter, and urged it to the present point. No time is to be lost, or I see storms approaching, Monsieur de Villequier, that I think escape your eyes."
"What do you intend to do?" demanded Villequier; "and what means do you require to do it?"
"My purposes I have already told you," replied the Abbé. "The means I require--to come to the point at once--consist of a document under your own hand, making over to me, as far as your relationship to Mademoiselle de Clairvaut goes, the right of disposing of her hand in marriage to whomsoever I may think fit: that is to say, the voice for, or the voice against, any particular candidate for her hand, when given by me, is to be held as if given by yourself."
"This is a great thing that you demand, Monsieur de Boisguerin," replied Villequier, gazing in his face with no inconsiderable surprise; "and I see not how I can give such a paper at the very same time that I give the one which I have promised to the Marquis of Montsoreau."
"Nothing, I fear, can be done without it," replied the Abbé; "but I think it may be done without risk or exposure of any kind, for I in return can bind myself not to employ that paper for nine months, by which time all will be complete; and in both the documents you can speak vaguely of other promises and engagements, and can declare your great object in giving me that paper to be, the final settlement of difficult claims, by a person in whom you have full confidence."
Villequier looked in his face with a meaning and somewhat sarcastic smile: then turned to the note which the Queen-mother, Catharine de Medici, had sent him; read it over again as if carelessly, but marking every word as he did so; and then said, with somewhat of a sigh, "Well, Monsieur de Boisguerin, pray draw up on that paper what you think would be required."
The Abbé took up the pen and ink, and wrote rapidly for a moment or two; while Villequier looked over his shoulder, fingering the hilt of his dagger as he did so, in a manner which might have made the periods of any man but the Abbé de Boisguerin, who knew as he did his companion's habits and views, less rounded and eloquent than they usually were. The Abbé, however, wrote on without the slightest sign of apprehension, and at length Villequier exclaimed, "That would tie my hands sufficiently tight, Monsieur de Boisguerin."
"Not quite, my Lord," replied the other. "I never make a covenant without a penalty; and what I am now going to add provides that, in case of your failing to confirm my decision, or attempting in any way to rescind this paper and the power hereby given to me, you forfeit to my use and benefit one hundred thousand golden crowns, to be sued for from you in any lawful court of this kingdom."
"Nay, nay, nay!" cried Villequier, now absolutely laughing. "This is going too far, Monsieur de Boisguerin."
"Faith, not a whit, my Lord," replied the Abbé. "I take care when men make me promises, that they are not such as can be trifled with, at least if I am to act upon them."
"Why, you do not suppose----" exclaimed Villequier.
"I suppose nothing, my Lord," interrupted the Abbé, "but that you are a statesman and a courtier, and must in your day have seen more than one promise broken."
"By some millions," replied Villequier. "I told you to speak frankly, Monsieur de Boisguerin, and you have done so with a vengeance. I must have my turn, too, and tell you that neither to you nor any other man on earth will I give such a promise, without in the first place seeing a probability of the object for which it is given being accomplished, and, in fact, some steps taken towards the accomplishment of that object; and, in the next place, without having a distinct notion of the means by which it is to effect its end. That is a beautiful ring of yours," continued the statesman, suddenly breaking away from the subject as if to announce that what he had just said was final, but perhaps in reality to consider what was to be the next step. "That is a beautiful ring of yours, Monsieur de Boisguerin, and of some very peculiar stone it seems; a large turquoise semi-transparent."
"It is an antidote against all poisons," answered the Abbé coolly, "whether they be eaten in the savoury ragout, drunk in the racy cup, smelt in the odour of a sweet flower, or inhaled in the balmy air of some well-prepared apartment. My dear friends will not find me so tender a lamb as Jeanne d'Albret."
"No, I should think not," replied Villequier with a laugh, and still holding off from the original subject of conversation. "I should think not, if I may judge by some of your attendants, Monsieur de Boisguerin, for there is one of them at least, an Italian, whom I passed in the court but now, who looks much more like the follower of a wolf than of a lamb. He was dressed somewhat in the guise of a wandering minstrel, with a good strong dagger, which I dare say is serviceable in time of need."
"I have not the slightest doubt of it," replied the Abbé de Boisguerin with the most imperturbable coolness, "though I have not had occasion to make use of him much in that way yet. But the man's a treasure, Monsieur de Villequier; and as to his garb the fact is, that I have not had time yet to have it changed and made more becoming. You shall see in a few days, Monsieur de Villequier, what a change can be effected by razors, soap, cold water, and good clothing. He's a complete treasure, I can assure you, and well worth any pains."
"But," said Villequier, "if you have had him so short a time as not to be able to clothe him yet, how do you know all these magnificent qualities?"
"It is a singular business enough," answered the Abbé. "I knew him long ago in Italy, where he was exercising various professions: but he had skill enough almost to cheat me, which, of course, made me judge highly of his abilities. One day, not long ago, he presented himself at the Château de Montsoreau, where it seems he had been upon some vagabond excursion a week or a fortnight before. He had on the first occasion seen and recognised me, and he now came back, having spent all the money he had gained by selling a young Italian pipe-player to my good cousin Charles, and being consequently in not the best provided state. He was in hopes that I would take him into my service, which, from ancient recollection of his character, I was very willing to do; dismissing, however, without much ceremony, another man and a low Italian woman whom he had brought with him. They seemed very willing to go, it is true, and he to part with them; and my good friend Orbi has already shown himself on more than one occasion fully as serviceable as I had expected he would prove. My former knowledge of him gives me means of binding him to me by very strong ties; and I will acknowledge that never was there man to all appearance so well calculated to remove a troublesome friend or a pertinacious enemy."
"Doubtless, doubtless," replied Villequier; "though he seems not to be particularly strong in frame."
"But he is active," answered the Abbé, "and full of skill, and thought, and ingenuity. But to return to what we were saying concerning the paper, Monsieur de Villequier, which we have left somewhat too long," added the Abbé, thinking this sort of farce had been carried quite far enough. "Every objection that you have raised can be overthrown at once. I ask this promise, not for my own sake, but to satisfy this youth Charles of Montsoreau. He will trust you as soon as the fox will the tiger; but he will trust to me implicitly, if he believes that I have the power to aid him in obtaining her he loves. Thus you see at once the means by which this promise is to work to the ends that we propose. Then, as to seeing clearly what the effect will be, I will show it to you in the very course of this night. Read that letter, written by the young Count of Logères to his brother, no later than yesterday evening! You see," the Abbé continued, after Villequier had read, "he renounces all claim whatsoever to the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, and this in favour of his brother. The letter was brought hither not two hours ago. Now, ere two hours more be over, you shall yourself see the whole feelings of this young man changed, and the pursuit renewed as eagerly as ever. If it be so, what say you? Will you go forward in the way I propose?--Yea or nay, Monsieur de Villequier? I trifle not, nor am trifled with."
"I will then go forward, beyond all doubt," replied the Marquis.
The Abbé thereupon took up the pen, wrote five lines on a sheet of paper, sealed them with some of the yellow wax which lay ready, addressed the note to Charles of Montsoreau, and placing it in the hands of Villequier, bade him to send it by a page, with orders to require an answer. The page seemed winged with the wind, and in a marvellous short time he returned, bearing a note from the young Count of Logères, containing these few words:--
"My renunciation was entirely conditional. If it be as you say, nothing on earth shall induce me to yield the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut to any man. The time that you allow me for writing does not permit me to say more, but come to me as early as possible to-morrow, and let all things be explained; for a state of doubt and suspicion was always to me worse than the knowledge of real evil or real wrong."
The Abbé gave it to Villequier, and the Minister only replied by signing and sealing the paper which the Abbé had drawn up.
"Now, quick! Monsieur l'Abbé," said the Minister. "Go for a few minutes to your own apartments, and then join us at supper, which I hear is already served, as if we had not met during the evening. You will not need your ring, I can assure you."
The Abbé bowed low and retired in silence; but in his heart he said, "And this, the fool Henry holds to be a great politician."
No knave can be a great politician; but every knave thinks himself so. The mistake they make is between wisdom and cunning. The knave prides himself on deceiving others, the wise man on not deceiving himself.