Henry of Guise Volume Iii Part 6

"No, no, Gaspar of Montsoreau!" exclaimed the Abbe quickly, "I have not done any of these things you talk of. I have not aided in any one degree to take from you the happiness you formerly had. There is but one secret for the preservation of happiness, Gaspar. It matters not what is the object of desire, for any thing that we thirst for really may give us happiness in nearly the same portion as another. Happiness is gained by the right estimation of the means. If a man ever uses means that he regrets, to obtain any object that he desires, he loses the double happiness which may be obtained in life, the happiness of pursuit and the happiness of enjoyment. Every means must, of course, be proportioned to its end; where much is to be won, much must be risked or paid: but the firm strong mind, the powerful understanding, weighs the object against the price; and, if it be worthy, whatever that price may be, after it is once paid and the object attained, regrets not the payment. It is like an idle child who covets a gilt toy, spoils it in half an hour, and then regrets the money it has cost, ever to sorrow over means we have used, when those means have proved successful. Say not, Gaspar, that I disturbed your happiness!

While you were in your own lands, enjoying the calm pleasures of a provincial life, knowing no joys, seeking no pleasures but those which, like light winds that ruffle the surface and plough not up the bosom of the water, amuse the mind but never agitate the heart, I lived contented and happy amongst you, believing that, but once or twice at most in the life of man, a joy is set before him, which is worthy of being bartered against amus.e.m.e.nt. I joined in all your sports, I furnished you with new sources of the same calm pleasures; and as long as I saw the pa.s.sions were shut out, I sought no change for myself or for you either. But when the moment came, that strong and deep pa.s.sions were to be introduced; when I saw that your heart, and that of your brother, like the moulded figure by the demiG.o.d, had been touched with the ethereal fire, and woke from slumber never to sleep again, then it was but befitting that I should aid him who confided in me, in the pursuit that he was now destined to follow. If the object was a great and worthy one, the means to obtain it were necessarily powerful and hazardous. No man ought to yield his repose for any thing that is not worth all risks; but having once begun the course, he must go on; and weak and idle is he who cannot overleap the barriers that he meets with, or, when the race is won, turns to regret this flower or that which he may have trampled down in his course."

"You are harsh, Abbe," replied the Marquis thoughtfully, somewhat shaken by his words--for though the wounds of remorse admit no balm, they are sometimes forgotten in strong excitement. "You are harsh, but yet it is a terrible thing to have slain one's brother."

"It is," replied the Abbe; "but circ.u.mstances give the value of every fact. It is a terrible thing to slay any human being; to take the life of a creature, full of the same high intelligences as ourselves: but if I slay that man in a room, and for no purpose, it is called murder; if I slay him in a battle-field, in order to obtain a crown, it is a glorious act, and worthy of immortal renown."

The Marquis listened to his sophistry, eager to take any theme of consolation to his heart. But any one who heard him, would have supposed that the Abbe de Boisguerin thought his companion too easily consoled. Perhaps it might be that the Abbe himself sought to defend his share in the transaction, rather than to give any comfort to his unhappy cousin. At all events, after a brief pause, during which both fell into thought, he added, "What I grieve the most for is, that Charles was kind-hearted and generous, frank and true, and I believe sincerely that, but for this unhappy business, he loved us both."

"Ay, there is the horror! there is the horror!" exclaimed the Marquis, casting himself down into a chair, and covering his eyes with his hands. "He did love me, I know he did; and I believe he sought to act generously by me."

The Abbe suffered him to indulge in his grief for a moment or two, and then replied, "But the misfortune is, that, with all this, your object is not yet secured; that though you have once more s.n.a.t.c.hed her from the power of the Guises, you have not contrived to keep her in your own."

The Marquis waved his hand impatiently, saying, "I cannot--I will not talk of such things now. Leave me, Abbe, leave me! I can but grieve; there is no way that I can turn without encountering sorrow."

The Abbe turned and left him; and descending the steps into the gardens, he walked on in the calm suns.h.i.+ne, as tranquilly as if purity and holiness had dwelt within his breast. "I must bear this yet a while longer," he said to himself. "But now, if I could find some enthusiastic priest, full of wild eloquence, such as we have in Italy, to seize this deep moment of remorse, we might do much with him to make him abjure this pursuit; perhaps abjure the world! The foolish boy thinks that it was his hand that did it, and does not know that I fired at all, when his hand shook so that he could not well have struck him. Perhaps there may be such a priest as I need up there," he continued, looking towards Augouleme, "perhaps there may be such a priest up there, of the kind I want. Epernon has his fits of devotion too, I believe. At all events, I will go up and see. The madder the better for my purpose."

Thus saying he called some servants, ordered his horse, and, as soon as it was brought, rode away towards Augouleme.

CHAP. V.

Gaspar de Montsoreau remained in the same position in which the Abbe had left him for nearly an hour, and the struggle of the various pa.s.sions which agitated his heart, were perhaps as terrible as any that had ever been known to human being. His situation, indeed, was one which exposed him more than most men are ever exposed, to the contention of the most opposite feelings. He had not been led gradually on, as many are, step by step, to evil; but he had been taken from the midst of warm and kindly feelings, from the practice of right, and an habitual course of calm and tranquil enjoyment, and by the mastery of one strong and violent pa.s.sion had been plunged into the midst of crimes which had left anguish and remorse behind them.

Still, however, the pa.s.sion which had at first led him astray, existed in all its fierceness and all its intensity; and, like some quiet field--from which the husbandman has been accustomed to gather yearly, in the calm suns.h.i.+ne, a rich and kindly harvest--when suddenly made the place of strife by contending armies, his heart, so tranquil and so happy not a year before, had now become the battle-place of remorse and love.

Sometimes the words of the Abbe came back upon his ear, urging him to abandon for ever, as a penance for his crime, the pursuit which had already led him to such awful deeds; but then again the thought of Marie de Clairvaut, of never beholding that beautiful being again, of yielding her for ever, perhaps, to the arms of others, came across his brain, and almost drove him mad.

Then would rush remorse again upon his heart, the features of his brother rose up before him, his graceful form seemed to move within his sight; the frank warm-hearted, kindly smile, that had ever greeted him when they met, was now painted by memory to his eye; and many a trait of generous kindness, many a n.o.ble, many an endearing act, the words and jests of boyhood and infancy, the long remembered sports of early years, the accidents, the adventures, the tender and twining a.s.sociations of youth and happiness, forgotten in the strife of pa.s.sion and the contention of rivalry, now came back, as vividly as the things of yesterday--came back, alas! now that death had ended the struggle, rendered the deeds of the past irreparable, thrown the pall of remorse over the last few months, and left memory alone to deck the tomb of the dead with bright flowers gathered from their spring of life.

It was too much to bear: he turned back again to the words, not of consolation but of incitement, which the Abbe had spoken to him. He tried to think it was folly to regret what had been done; he tried to recollect that it was in a scene of contention, and in moments of strife, that his brother had fallen; he strove to persuade himself that Marie de Clairvaut had been under his care and guidance and direction, and that his brother Charles had had no right even to attempt to take her out of his hands. He laboured, in short, to steel his heart; to render it as hard iron, in order to resist the things that it had to endure. He sought anxiously to rouse it into activity; and he tried to fix his mind still upon the thoughts of winning Marie de Clairvaut. He resolved, at whatever price, by whatever sacrifice, to gain her, to possess her, to make her his own beyond recall: with the eagerness of pa.s.sion and the recklessness of remorse, he determined to pursue his course, trusting, as many have idly trusted, that he should induce the woman, whose affections and feelings he forced, to love the man to whose pa.s.sions she was made a sacrifice.

The struggle was still going on, the voice of conscience was raising itself loudly from time to time, memory was doing her work, and pa.s.sion was opposing all, when, without hearing any step, or knowing that any one had arrived at the house, he felt a hand quietly laid upon his arm, and starting up with a feeling almost of terror, which was unusual to him, he beheld the dark and sinister, though handsome, countenance of Villequier.

The courtier grasped his hand with enthusiastic warmth, and gazed in his face with a look of deep interest. "You are sad, Monsieur de Montsoreau," he said; "I grieve to see you so sad. I fear that the news which I came to break to you has been told you, perhaps, in a rash and inconsiderate manner. You are aware then that your brother is no more. I hoped to have been in time, for I only heard it the day before yesterday, in the evening, from the Duke of Guise, who is now with the King, and, as you know, all powerful."

Gaspar de Montsoreau heard him to an end, and then merely bowed his head, saying, "I have heard all, Monsieur de Villequier." But although he saw that his companion--who had more than once witnessed the fierceness of his feelings towards his brother regarding Mademoiselle de Clairvaut--was surprised at the deep grief he now betrayed, he dared not let him know how much that grief was aggravated by remorse, from the belief that his own hand had cut the thread of his brother's life.

"I am sorry. Monsieur de Montsoreau," added Villequier, "to see you so deeply affected by this matter. Pray remember, that though Monsieur de Logeres was your brother, he was struggling with you for the hand of the person you love, and that his being now removed, renders your hope of obtaining the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut no longer doubtful and remote, but certain and almost immediate."

"I see not the matter in the same cheering light that you do, Monsieur de Villequier," replied Gaspar de Montsoreau thoughtfully. "You say, and I hear also that it is so, that the Duke of Guise is now all powerful with the King; if such be the case, what results have we to antic.i.p.ate? Do you think that the Duke of Guise will ever consent to the union of his ward with me? Do you think that, prejudging the question as he has already done, he will give me the bride that he promised to my brother? Have I not heard from those who were present, that he has sworn by all he holds sacred, that never, under any circ.u.mstances, should she be mine?"

"The Duke of Guise is not immortal," replied Villequier drily; "and his death leaves her wholly in my power. Should such an event not take place, however, and the period of her attaining free agency approach, we must risk a little should need be, and employ a certain degree of gentle compulsion to drive or lead her to that which we desire."

"When will it be?" demanded Gaspar of Montsoreau. "Why should we pause? why should we risk any thing by delay?"

"She becomes a free agent by the law," replied Villequier, "on the morrow of next Christmas. If that day pa.s.ses, it is true, prayers and supplications will be all that can be used, for the Parliament will extend its protection to her, and not the King himself can force her to wed any one she does not choose. Before that period her guardian can, for such is the feudal law of this realm, that she can be forced either to resign her lands or produce some one in her stead to lead her retainers in the King's service. The law has been somewhat stretched, it is true; but on more than one occasion, with the consent of the King, the guardian of a young lady difficult to please, has compelled her to make a choice, and the Parliament has sanctioned the act."

"Are you not her lawful guardian, then?" demanded the young Marquis, "that you should hesitate, in hopes of the Duke of Guise's death."

"I maintain that I am her guardian," replied Villequier, "and my suit is before the Parliament; but I should be much more certainly her guardian, if the Duke of Guise were dead."

"The Duke of Guise dead!" said Gaspar de Montsoreau sullenly. "A thing improbable, unlikely, not to be counted upon. If that be all my hold upon you, Monsieur de Villequier, the hopes that you have held out to me are but slight in fabric and foundation."

"Hear me, my good young friend," replied Villequier. "They are not so slight as you imagine. In the first place, we have for some time held in France that rash and troublesome persons who oppose our progress, or thwart our desires, are to be encountered for a certain time by the arts of policy and by every soft and quiet inducement we may hold out to them. When we have been patient as long as possible, and find that they are not to be frustrated by any ordinary means, it becomes necessary to put a stop to their opposition, and to remove them from the way in which we are proceeding. Now, the Duke of Guise has been very busily teaching a number of persons, both high and low, that his prolonged life would be extremely inconvenient to them. Biron does not love him, D'Aumont abominates him, D'O. has good cause to wish him a step beyond Jerusalem; Henry of Navarre has in him a bitter enemy; the rash, vain, Count of Soissons an obstacle and a stumbling-block; and though I am his humble servant, and the King his very good friend, yet both Henry and myself could do quite as well without him. Besides these, there are at least ten thousand more in France who would walk with their beavers far more gallantly, if there were a Guise the less in the world; so that I say, on very probable reasoning, that I would fully as soon reckon upon the life of a man of eighty, as I would upon the robust, powerful existence of Henry of Guise even for an hour. But putting all that aside. Monsieur de Montsoreau, taking it for granted that he lives, what can I do but what I propose? You have the King's promise and mine in writing; we can do no more. The cause is before the Parliament, and Henry, restrained in his own court, at war with his own subjects, and driven from his own capital, depend upon it, will never sign your contract of marriage with Mademoiselle de Clairvaut till every other hope has failed; ay, and what is more, till he sees before him a very very great object to be gained by so doing."

"A fresh object you mean, Monsieur de Villequier," replied Gaspar de Montsoreau. "I know that this is the way in which kings and statesmen deal with men less wise than themselves. There must be always one object secured to obtain the promise, and another to obtain the performance. Pray, what is the new object, Monsieur de Villequier? and is it sure, that if an object be held out of sufficient worth and importance, the King will not find some specious reason for drawing back, or that some new irresistible obstacle does not present itself?"

"Consider the King's situation. Monsieur de Montsoreau," replied Villequier, "with the Duke of Guise constantly at his side, dictating to him all his movements, with the question, of guardians.h.i.+p even now lying before the Parliament, he would run the very greatest risk at this moment if he were to do as we both wish, and forcibly hurry on this business to a conclusion. But the aspect of affairs is changing every day,--the Count of Soissons has come to join him; Henry of Navarre himself has sent him offers of a.s.sistance and support; Epernon, roused into activity, is levying forces in all parts of the country; every day the King may expect to make some way against the party of his adversaries; and therefore every day is something gained.

But even were it not so very hazardous to attempt any thing of the kind at present, you could not expect the King to risk much, and embarra.s.s his policy for your sake, without some individual motive.

That this business should take place, is your strong and intense desire. It is very natural that it should be so; but neither the King nor myself have any such feelings, pa.s.sions, or wishes. Let us each have our advantage, or our gratification, in that which is to ensue, and I will undertake, and pledge myself in the most solemn manner, that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut shall be your wife before next Christmas-day."

Gaspar de Montsoreau paused, and thought carefully over all that had been said. "I thank you. Monsieur de Villequier," he said, "for speaking freely in this matter. Let us cast away all idle delicacy.

Things have happened to me lately which have taught me to hold all such empty verbiage at naught. Let us look upon this business as a matter of dealing, a matter of merchandise."

"Exactly!" replied Villequier raising his eyes slightly, but not seeming in the least degree offended. "Let us consider it in such a light. Every matter of policy is but trade upon a large scale."

"Well then," continued Gaspar de Montsoreau in the same bold tone, "I will look upon you and the King, Monsieur de Villequier, as two partners in a mercantile house. Now, what sort of merchandise is it that you would prefer to have in barter for your signature to my marriage contract with this young Lady. Shall it be money?"

"Money!" exclaimed Villequier, with a slight ironical smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "Have you any money? It is indeed a surprising thing to hear any one talk of money except the Duke of Guise, or the Duke of Epernon. Why, Bellievre a.s.sures me, upon his honour, that the very dispatch which he was ordered to send to Soissons, to forbid positively the Duke of Guise coming to Paris, was stopped, for what reason think you? Because, when he took it down to the treasury, there was not found fifty livres to pay the courier's expenses. The courier would not go without the money, Bellievre had none to give him, so between them both they carried the King's dispatch to the post, and put it in with the common letters. The letters went to Rheims before they were sent to Soissons, and the Duke of Guise was in Paris, while the order to forbid him was on the road.[3] Money? Oh certainly, money above all things! But pray do not let it be a large sum, lest, like an apoplectic epicure, the King's treasury and my purse die of sudden repletion."

[Footnote 3: This is historically true in regard to one of the dispatches to the Duke of Guise; and in representing Henry and his courtiers as occasionally acting the part of low and mercenary swindlers, first fleecing and then laughing at a dupe, I am also borne out by facts.]

"Well then, Monsieur de Villequier," said the Marquis, after taking one or two turns up and down the room, "I will tell you what I will do, to show you how dearly I hold the gift that is promised me. On the day of my marriage with Marie de Clairvaut, when it is all completed, the benediction said, the contract signed, your name as guardian, and the King's in confirmation attached, I will place in your hands the sum of one hundred thousand crowns of the sun."

"Heavens and earth!" exclaimed Villequier in the same tone in which he had spoken before, "I did not know that there was such a sum in France. If I were to tell it to Monsieur d'O. he would not believe me."

"But remember, Monsieur de Villequier," replied Gaspar of Montsoreau, not quite liking the levity of his companion's speech, "this is no jesting matter with me, whatever it may be with you; and I must have such sure and perfect warranty that you will not betray my hopes again, or ask for even the slightest further delay, that there cannot be a doubt rest upon my mind; otherwise----"

"Otherwise what, Monsieur de Montsoreau?" demanded Villequier. "If we do not keep our words, you know we shall lose the great advantage that we hope to gain from you. That is the surest bond! Let the matter stand thus, sir: if this marriage do take place, as I have promised you it shall, the hundred thousand crowns of gold are paid; if not, we are the losers. I see no alternative beyond this."

"By Heavens! but there is, and there shall be one," answered Gaspar de Montsoreau impetuously. "I see that Monsieur de Villequier, who is supposed to count upon every chance and circ.u.mstance collateral and direct, has forgotten one or two points, although he has not forgotten that I am heir of my brother's lands, both of Logeres and Morly. But I will only put him in mind of what might take place on either side. The King and Monsieur de Villequier might find obstacles of great import rise up against my wishes, or they might find greater advantages in some other quarter; they might think it worth while to keep me trifling in inactivity, or employ me in their service against the enemy. They might do all this, and then forego the sum named for a greater. I, on the other hand. Monsieur de Villequier, might see wavering and hesitation; I might grow tired of waiting and dependence; I might say to-morrow I have no certainty in this business, and I might give my banner to the wind, broider the cross of the League upon my breast, or a.s.sume the double cross of Lorraine, and either range the spears of Montsoreau and Logeres in the ranks of the army of Mayenne, or marching to Chartres, Tours, or Blois, might bow me lowly to my Lord of Guise, and begging him to forget the past, swear myself his faithful servant."

Villequier gazed on him for a moment with certainly not the most friendly expression of countenance, and was about to speak; but the young Marquis, conscious of his own importance, waved his hand, saying, "Nay, nay, Monsieur de Villequier! on all and on every account the plan I am about to propose is the only one that can be followed.

Of course, in dealing with his Majesty, I cannot treat as crown to crown;" and he smiled somewhat bitterly. "But I must treat with you as gentleman to gentleman, and leave you to entreat his Majesty--urgently and zealously, as I doubt not you will do it, to accede graciously to our views. Thus then shall it be, that you and the King shall enter into a bond with me, by which you shall engage that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut shall, with the full consent of both parties expressed by their signature to our marriage-contract, become my wife on or before next Christmas-day, and in default shall be subject to amercement in whatsoever amount the Parliament of Paris may judge that I am damaged by the want of performance. This is merely to secure that the matter be explicit; and in the same bond may be placed my engagement to pay the sum named, upon the fulfilment of the contract. This is fair, and only fair; and you know my last resolve."

"In truth, Monsieur de Montsoreau," replied Villequier, "if you knew but the state of our finances, you would see that we are far more likely to be so eager in concluding this business as even to risk dangerous consequences, than to trifle with you in any degree."

He remembered the curious engagement that he had entered into with the Abbe de Boisguerin, and he paused a moment, in hopes that Gaspar de Montsoreau might show even the slightest sign of hesitation: but, so far from it, the frown deepened on the young n.o.bleman's brow, and he replied sharply, "I will trust to no contingencies. Monsieur de Villequier. These are changing times, as you well know. The cross Fleurdelisee in your arms[4] may well be changed, by the golden billets dropped around it, into the cross of Lorraine. If what I have offered be as good as you say, there is no earthly reason why his Majesty of France or yourself, Monsieur de Villequier, should object to enter into the engagement with me that I propose."