Henry of Guise Volume Iii Part 7

[Footnote 4: Such were the arms of the Villequier family.]

"Well," answered Villequier; "well, I must do my best with the King; but I dare say, Monsieur de Montsoreau," he said in a lower voice, "I dare say you are well aware that a little compulsion, perhaps, must be used in this instance."

He thought he saw hesitation, and he went on the more eagerly, for he wished to avoid the written engagement. "I must be permitted to use what means I think fit to wring consent from the young Lady herself.

Nor must I have one word of objection on your part, whatever you see or hear--no asking for delay!--no yielding to her tears. One word of such a kind, remember, vitiates the engagement upon our part, but leaves you as strictly bound as ever."

Gaspar de Montsoreau gazed down upon the ground sternly for several moments, with his brows contracting, till his eyes were nearly hid beneath them. His fingers were seen to clasp into the palms of his hands, as if the nails would have buried themselves there. But after a short and terrible struggle, the evil spirit maintained its ascendancy, and he exclaimed, "Be it so! Be it so! But in the meantime, sir," he continued abruptly, "there is one thing I have to demand. How have I been led with hopes, and meeting nothing but disappointments, for the last two months. I who dared all, and underwent all, to s.n.a.t.c.h her once more from the power of the Guises.

When forced to fly, it was under your power and in your charge I left her; and yet, though this is the fourth or fifth time that you and I have met, I have never been able to see her, or to learn distinctly where she is. This must be no longer, Monsieur de Villequier. I need consolation; I need comfort; the only comfort or consolation I can find is in her presence and in her society. Where is she?--I demand to know where she is. I was brought to Augouleme by information that she was in the neighbourhood; but I cannot discover her, and I will be trifled with no longer."

"By all I hold sacred," exclaimed Villequier, not a little surprised by the bold and daring tone and decided manner, which the young n.o.bleman had so suddenly put on, "By all I hold sacred----"

"What is that, sir?" demanded Gaspar de Montsoreau.

Villequier smiled. "Oh many things, Monsieur de Montsoreau," he answered; "I hold many things sacred. But with any oath or abjuration that you think most convenient, I a.s.sure you that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut is not under my charge, or in my power at this moment."

"But was so how long ago?" demanded the Marquis.

"About a fortnight," replied Villequier coolly. "The fact is, Monsieur de Montsoreau, that his high and mighty Highness, the Duke of Guise, having come to pay a humble visit to his Majesty--to congratulate him, I suppose, on being driven out of Paris,--gave significant notice to the King, on their first interview at Chartres, that he believed Mademoiselle de Clairvaut to be in my hands, and that he would have her instantly delivered up. I was not present, you know, but every thing pa.s.sed as the Guises wished. I dare say you have heard all the rest; Epernon was banished, and fled to Augouleme here, stripped of his high posts and manifold emoluments; Guise was created generalissimo of the King's armies; in fact, Guise dictated the law to the King, and Henry was fain to forget all the past, or to cover the bitter memory with a jest."

"But to the point; to the point, Monsieur de Villequier," said the Marquis de Montsoreau. "What of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut?"

"Why, the King told me," replied Villequier, "that the Duke demanded her at all events till the Parliament of Paris had decided our cause.

The next day the Duke and I had an interview on the subject; but ere that, I had placed her in the hands of a friend, and begged him to remove her for a time from the house where she then was. The Duke was as imperious and unceremonious as an executioner. He vowed that I should give her up to him at once; and though we did our best to deceive him, exactly as we had done with your wild thoughtless brother, the Duke did not so easily believe us; and both I and the King were obliged to swear upon the ma.s.s that she was not in our power, and that we knew not where she was. That was easily done; but Henry's low laugh had nearly betrayed the whole; and the Duke swore loudly, and menaced high, that if he were deceived, he would have vengeance."

"And now, Monsieur de Villequier," said the Marquis, "where is she now? And who is the friend in whose hands you have placed her?"

Villequier paused for a single moment, as if to consider whether he should tell him or not. But a moment after he answered with a smile, "The friend in whose hands she is placed, Monsieur de Montsoreau, is one in whom at that time you yourself placed great confidence. I trust the same feelings exist still towards him. I mean the Abbe de Boisguerin."

Gaspar de Montsoreau started at the intelligence with feelings of angry dissatisfaction, which he could hardly account for to himself, but which he instantly strove to conceal from the keen eyes of the artful man with whom he was dealing. The exclamation of "Indeed!"

however, which broke from his lips, was uttered in a tone which instantly showed Villequier that the tidings were by no means pleasing; and while he suffered the young Marquis to digest them at leisure he laid out in his own mind a plan for keeping the Abbe and his former pupil at variance, not with any clear and definite object, indeed, but for the purpose of having a check upon the young Marquis at any future moment, in case of necessity. Villequier felt, too, that the clear, artful, and unscrupulous mind of the Abbe de Boisguerin was far better fitted to deal with, and frustrate him in any purpose that he might entertain, than that of the young Marquis, which, though not deficient either in acuteness or policy, was constantly misled by inexperience, or by the impetuosity of strong pa.s.sions. He felt that the counsels of the Abbe might under many circ.u.mstances, if given sincerely, be a safeguard to Gaspar de Montsoreau against his arts; and he therefore saw no slight advantage in encouraging feelings of doubt and dissatisfaction in the mind of his young companion.

"It is surprising," said the Marquis, "that the Abbe did not communicate to me the facts which you have mentioned, Monsieur de Villequier; but I suppose that you bound him down to secrecy."

"To general secrecy," replied Villequier, "as was absolutely necessary. But you, of course, as my friend, and as the person most interested--you, of course, were excepted. No, Monsieur de Montsoreau, no! In this business the Abbe has acted upon his own judgment. He was then at Blois, you know. I was in great haste, knew no other person to whom I could apply, and therefore entrusted him with the task, thinking him also, at that time, you must remember, sincerely, truly, and devotedly your friend."

"And have you any cause. Monsieur de Villequier," demanded the Marquis, "have you any cause to suppose now that he is not my friend?"

"Nay, Monsieur de Montsoreau!" replied Villequier. "If you are satisfied, I have nothing to say. I only thought you seemed dissatisfied, and----"

"And what, Monsieur de Villequier?" demanded the Marquis, seeing that he paused.

"I was going to say," replied Villequier, "that it might be as well for you to be upon your guard. We are living in troublous times, Monsieur de Montsoreau. We are both of us placed in a delicate situation; every word and action ought to be guided by policy and forethought; and though I do not wish to wound the delicacy of your friends.h.i.+p towards your relation and friend, Monsieur de Boisguerin, yet we all know that he is a skilful politician, and that when, some years ago, even as a young man he appeared at the Court of France, her Majesty the Queen-mother was heard to say, she was glad when he was gone, for she was confident that he would outwit Satan himself, and therefore might go far to outwit her."

"I should not mind his policy," replied the Marquis. "I should not mind his policy, if you had not insinuated doubts as to whether he was at heart my friend."

Villequier answered nothing, but gazed down upon the ground with his brow somewhat contracted, and then stirred the rushes on the floor with the point of his sword, as if determined not to make any reply.

"You are silent, Monsieur de Villequier," said Gaspar of Montsoreau; "and yet there is hanging a cloud of much thought upon your brow, as if there were intelligence in your breast which you could give, but would not. I beseech you, if you are really friendly to me--or to speak more plainly--if our interests in this business are in some degree linked together, I beseech you to let me know fully and fairly what you think, and what you know, of the Abbe de Boisguerin."

"Thus adjured, Monsieur de Montsoreau," replied Villequier, "I can but answer you, that I do not think Monsieur de Boisguerin is as friendly to you as you suppose. Depend upon it, he has his own purposes to answer first, and you are but a secondary consideration, if not, perhaps, a tool."

"These are grave charges, sir," said Gaspar de Montsoreau, somewhat angry at the term tool. "I should like to have some proofs to sustain them."

"See! you are angry already," cried Villequier. "However, at the present moment I have no proofs to give. At some future time--ay, before the period of your marriage with Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, I may give you such proof of what is the Abbe's real character and real feelings towards you, that you will say I am well justified. In the meantime I have warned you sufficiently to put you on your guard. That is enough for the present moment: you must act as you think fit; but still you will be prepared. Farther, I have only to say, that it is not I that keep you from seeing Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. You have my full will and consent to see her whom you will. I would not, indeed, have you visit her too often, lest discovery should ensue, and Guise obtain possession of her at once. But your own discretion must be your guide. I will now leave you, Monsieur de Montsoreau; and, depend upon it, you will not find that I will fail you in any of the promises I have made, and will very soon return to you with the business arranged by the King, in the manner that you desire. We must then wait until further delay be judged dangerous: then if nothing occurs to relieve us from the other obstacles, we must in the end step over them; and, forgetting a little law, conclude your marriage, whether the Parliament awards me the guardians.h.i.+p or not. When once she is made your wife, they cannot easily unwife her."

Gaspar de Montsoreau, full of thoughts rather than words, did not pursue the conversation further. "I have but shown you scanty courtesy, Monsieur de Villequier," he said, "in not asking you to make your home of my poor house. It is not, indeed, such as I could wish to offer you, having been taken from its bankrupt lord in some slight haste. But still----"

"I thank you most humbly, Marquis," replied Villequier. "But I am bound farther to the city on the hill there. I must lodge with Epernon to-night, for I have messages to him from the King."

Thus saying, after various more such ceremonious speeches as the age required, Villequier took his departure, and mounting his horse, which he had ordered to be kept still saddled in the court-yard, he rode on towards Augouleme, followed by his train. As he did so, he once more thought over the alliance between Gaspar de Montsoreau and Marie de Clairvaut. "If I can bring it about," he thought, "I not only gain this sum he promises, but bind him to me for ever. I am her nearest male relation, and I could not well find such an alliance in France.

Montsoreau, Morly, Logeres; it is a wonderful combination! But even, were it not for that--were it half as good, where should I get the man in France who would give a hundred thousand golden crowns for the possession of such a cold piece of pretty marble as that."

CHAP. VI.

While the conversation just narrated was taking place, and the character and views of the Abbe de Boisguerin were being commented upon in a manner which he could but little have wished, he himself was pursuing his way towards the town of Augouleme, with feelings and purposes varying at every step; though in his case it was not the slightest sting of remorse or regret which occasioned this vacillation of purpose.

Probably there never was a man on earth who wholly and entirely stilled the voice of conscience, and there might be moments when the Abbe's own heart reproached him for things which he had done. But the habit of his thoughts was different. He had been brought up in a school where right and wrong were so frequently confounded for the purpose of maintaining the temporal dominion of the church that, at a very early period of his life, he had arrived at that conclusion, which the sceptical followers of Pyrrho arrive at by a more lengthened process, namely, that on earth there is no absolute and invariable right and wrong.

The Jesuits had taught him, that what was wrong under some circ.u.mstances, and marked by the reprobation both of G.o.d and man, was right under other circ.u.mstances, and even praiseworthy; and forgetting the cautious restrictions under which the wiser and the better members of the order attempted, though vainly, to guard the doctrine, his keen and clear mind at once determined, that if fraud could ever be pious, virtue of any kind could be but a name. If there were no invariable and universal standard: if his thoughts and his actions were to be governed by the opinions, and directed to the purposes of men, the only rule of virtue, he saw, must be the approbation of others like himself; and as every course of action must have an end and object to secure energy in pursuing it, he readily fell into the belief that gratification was the great object, and men's good opinion but to be sought as a means to that end.

It may be easily conceived how far he went on upon such a course of reasoning. It naturally ended in the disbelief of every thing that other men hold sacred: yet he put on all the semblances of religion; for as he believed in no hereafter, to do so, did not seem to him an impious mockery, but merely an unmeaning ceremony required by society.

Every thing had become with him a matter of calculation; any thing that was to be obtained, was to be obtained by a certain price; and, as he himself declared, he never regretted giving any price, provided the object was attained, and was of equal value.

It was his pa.s.sions alone that led him wrong, and made him calculate falsely. They had done so more than once in life, but yet not frequently; not indeed that he sought to subdue them, but that they were not naturally easily roused.

It was no remorse then, or regret, that moved him in the varying state of his thoughts as he rode on. It was doubt as to the means that he was employing; It was doubt as to whether the strong pa.s.sion, which he felt within his breast, was not blinding his eyes, and misleading his judgment, as to the choice of paths and instruments. He felt that on the present occasion he calculated not so coolly as he was accustomed to do; he felt that the object he had proposed to himself--or rather which pa.s.sion, and rash pa.s.sion had suggested--was one so great and so little likely to be obtained, that the means employed must be great and extraordinary also; and that no single false step could be taken without the loss of every hope. His sensations were all strangely complicated, however. He felt and reproached himself for feeling that the pa.s.sion in his heart had grown up so powerful, so overwhelming, that when he thought of staking life itself upon the issue, not a hesitation crossed his mind, and that he was ready to say, like a love-sick boy, "Let me die, if she be not mine!" But with that pa.s.sion, he had mingled ambition, both as a means and as an end; prospects had opened before his eyes which had roused in his heart aspirations, which he thought he had put down; and not only to succeed in his love, but to gild that love with pageantry and state and power, had now become his object.

Still, however, he remembered that in grasping at these high things, he might overlook matters which would prevent him reaching them; and after riding on quickly for some time, he drew in his rein, to think more calmly, to review his situation, and to calculate exactly all the important, the critical steps which were now to be taken.

"What am I next going to do?" he thought. "To seek for a priest, who may work upon that impetuous, weak-minded boy, to yield the object of his pa.s.sion, because, in the pursuit thereof, he has shed his brother's blood. And yet, is it likely that he will yield it? No! I fear not! and yet stronger minds than his have been bowed down by superst.i.tion to greater sacrifices. He may, it is true; and it may be as well to secure that chance: but then, even then, only one small step is gained. If one could get him to yield all his great possessions at the same time, that were something! But he will not do that! Two centuries ago we would have sent him to the holy land: but those good times are past. What then is to be done?--To hurry him on into some rash enterprise, and sharing his danger, take the equal chance of which shall live and which shall die?--That were a gamester's policy indeed.--No! we must find more easy means than that."

"However," continued the Abbe, after a pause "in the meantime, I must strike for myself alone. She hates and abhors him evidently. I myself have been too rash and rough with her. My pa.s.sion has been too impetuous--too fiery. I know that those women who seem so cold and circ.u.mspect are often like aetna, icy above but with fire at the heart.

But I have been rash. She will easily forgive that offence, however, and forget it too, when I can woo her as one unbound by the clerical vows, and companion of the high and great. I must lose no time, however, for events are drawing clearly to a mighty issue. Here is the party of Henry, and the party of the League. I must choose between the two without delay. And yet the choice is soon made. In the first place, it would be long ere Guise would trust me: in the next, he would never love me: in the next, he himself is not long lived. As I have seen a bird, when hit by a skilful fowler, tower high into the air before it falls, so Guise is soaring up with mighty effort, which will end but in his own destruction. I will away to Epernon at once.

He is the man whose fortunes will yet rise; his unconquerable spirit, his courage, determination, and activity, his gross selfishness, his insolence, his very weakness, will all contribute to support him still. This is a world in which such things thrive! Epernon must be the man; and if I show him such cause as I can show him, he may well be glad to attach me to himself, as increasing his power and enhancing his importance with the King. It is to him I will go! Doubtless his reverses have humbled him somewhat, otherwise it were no light task to deal on such subjects with Epernon."

In judging of Epernon the Abbe judged by mankind in general, for in almost every breast pride is a cowardly quality, and once depressed sinks into grovelling submission. Epernon, however, was the exception to the general rule, and seemed rather to rise in haughtiness under adversity.

With thoughts like those which we have just detailed, the Abbe spurred on towards Angouleme; but as he began to climb the steep ascent, he saw several indications of popular emotion, which made him hesitate for a moment, as to whether he should proceed or not. There were two or three groups of citizens all speaking eagerly together, and in low tones; and at the gates of the city he remarked a man whom he had seen before, and knew to be the mayor of the place, conversing in a low tone, but in what seemed an anxious manner, with the soldiers of the Corps de Garde. The Abbe contrived to make his horse pa.s.s as near them as possible, but at the same time affected to be deeply busied with his own thoughts while really listening attentively to their conversation. He could only catch, however, the end of one sentence and the beginning of a reply:--

"This Duke--a proud insufferable tyrant," said the voice of the mayor.