A fortnight, or rather more, passed away in this unpleasant state; and I found that time, which reconciles one to most things, had not that effect at all in making me endure patiently the transfer of the Duke's confidence to Gaspard de Belleville. Had he been, indeed, a person who deserved that confidence, or who would not have abused it, although my vanity might have been as much pained, my reason would not have supported me in murmuring, nor would my affection for my lord himself have given additional pain to my personal mortification. As it was, however, I felt convinced, from what I knew of that youth's disposition, that he would not only do nothing to cure Monsieur de Villardin of his morbid suspicions, but that, both for the sake of maintaining his place in his master's favour, and of annoying me, he would do all that he could to foster any feelings which he might find out that I had opposed. When these thoughts came across my mind--not being of the most patient temper in the world, nor particularly scrupulous as to the means of gratifying it--I more than once thought of throwing my adversary over the bridge into the river; and as I had never yet done anything of the kind in my own private cause, though I had committed many a doubtful act in the cause of others, I endeavoured to reason myself into believing that such a proceeding was absolutely necessary to the peace of Monsieur and Madame de Villardin. This passed through my thoughts more than once, I acknowledge; and I imagined--if done fairly in single combat, strength against strength, without any surprise or feint on my part, and with full warning received by him--that the act I contemplated would be fully as justifiable as any duel that ever was fought. He, indeed, had the advantage of age, being certainly two years older than myself; though now, having grown considerably in the air of Brittany, I was as tall as he was, and nearly as muscular.
What all this would have ended in, Heaven only knows; and I am almost afraid to calculate now what would have been the probable result; but two circumstances took place soon after my conversation with the Duchess, which I have detailed in the end of the last chapter, which put an end to all further thoughts upon the subject. The first was the arrival of a personage, who, on many points, changed all my ideas and opinions, gave me a new view of my duties, and both enlarged and purified my mind. The second was an accident which suddenly gave me a higher place than ever in the affection of Monsieur de Villardin, and established a link of connexion between his heart and mine that neither years nor circumstances could ever break.
Let me speak of the events which followed, however, in the order in which they occurred.--Of old Jerome Laborde I had seen a good deal since his arrival from the Prés Vallée; and, although he could give me no information as to the result of the conferences held between Monsieur de Villardin, his page, and the soubrette, he did not fail to point out that the change which had taken place was an evil one, and that all happiness was banished from our dwelling. The only thing, he said, which would ever restore it, would be the coming of good Père Ferdinand, his lord's confessor, who had more influence over his mind than any one, and who had promised to come over and stay at Dumont for some time. I had caught a passing sight of the Confessor more than once at the Prés Vallée; and both from something prepossessing in his demeanour, and from the effect which his exhortations had produced upon Monsieur de Villardin on a former occasion, I argued in the same manner as good Jerome Laborde in regard to his next visit.
Various circumstances detained him, it appears, at Rennes for several days after this conversation; and the next time I saw the good major-domo was one day when, on suddenly entering the saloon, I found him speaking with the Duke, and, as it appeared to me, in an attitude of entreaty. I was about to draw back; but Monsieur de Villardin beckoned me forward, saying, "Come in,Seigneur Jean,"--the name by which he usually called me when in his milder mood,--"come in! Here is Jerome pleading to me in a matter which concerns you in a twofold degree. It seems that you have told the intendant to seek you tenants for your house at Juvigny, generously promising to let them rest rent free if they will keep the house in repair. Now, I find that Jerome has a nephew who is newly married, and who wants a dwelling, and he applies to me for my consent to his occupying this tenement of yours. Are you willing, Seigneur Jean?"
"Most willing, my lord," I replied, glad to give the old man any testimony of my regard: "I am sure Jerome would not recommend any one who would not do full justice to all intrusted to him."
"By my faith! I am not so sure," answered the Duke. "You know more of this youth than I do; for it seems you saved him once from the gallows--a piece of business not very much to the credit of either. Besides, I may be accused, Jerome, of harbouring convicted felons."
"But, my lord, I can assure you," answered the old man, "he has obtained grace and pardon of the King, only coupled with the condition that he never sets foot in Paris again, nor ever attempts to exercise the business of a printer."
As may well be conceived, I was not a little surprised to find that my first tenant was likely to be poor Jacques Marlot; still more to hear that Jacques had taken unto his bosom a wife; and most of all, to find that a libel, which attacked the person and reputation of the Queen Regent herself, had been pardoned upon any consideration whatever. However, I, of course, joined my voice to that of good old Jerome Laborde, who, to tell the truth, promised and vowed a great deal more on the part of his nephew, than I at all imagined his nephew would justify, assuring the Duke that all his follies were completely at an end, and that henceforth, he himself would answer for Jacques living a sober, tranquil, and peaceful life. Industrious and clever he always had been, he continued; and as the good ladies of St. Ursula, the old man said, were going to give him the management of their little farms, just opposite to Juvigny, the house would come quite apropos. Although with some difficulty, the Duke yielded to our solicitations, but solely on condition that Jacques produced to the eyes of the intendant the act of grace by which he was relieved from all danger of the royal indignation. Jerome willingly accepted of the terms; and I withdrew with him, in order to hear more of my worthy philosopher's fate, and the adventures which had brought about such a consummation as matrimony and the cultivation of the earth.
The major-domo, however, could tell me but little more than I had already heard. He had received, he said, a letter from his nephew that morning, dated from St. Aubin, entreating him to make the request he had just done to the Duke, and giving him satisfactory assurances that his pardon was really granted. How it had been obtained, Jerome added, remained to be explained to himself as well as to me; but respecting the farm of the Ursulines, and Jacques Marlot's knowledge of my plans in regard to Juvigny, an easy explanation was afforded, by the fact of his having just married a niece of our intendant's;--"A little against the intendant's stomach, I believe," said the major-domo; "but it was an old love affair, it seems, before Jacques went from Rennes--where he was in good business enough--to Paris, where he got bad business enough. But I have promised to open my own little store in his favour; so that that affair is all set right with Monsieur l'Intendant."
I now found that Jacques, with his wife and other moveables, was to take possession of his new dwelling, if his uncle obtained it for him, in a few days; and as I could afford to bridle my curiosity for the intervening time, I left the good major-domo, and proceeded on my other affairs. These were of no great importance, and suffered little from being disturbed; but as the old man's own occupations were very numerous, and generally methodically arranged for all the hours of the day, I was somewhat surprised to see him enter my chamber towards nightfall, and seat himself as if prepared for no brief conversation.
After again thanking me for the fresh kindness I had shown his nephew, he said,--"But it was not on that subject I came to speak with you just now. You must know that Père Ferdinand arrived about an hour ago, and is even now in conversation with my lord. You will see him at supper; and doubtless my lord will introduce you to him, and will tell him all you have done. But I took the liberty, my son, of telling him all before, and also of letting him know how much you were attached to my lord, and how eager you were to promote the peace and happiness of all the family. Nay, more--and I hope, and am sure, that you will not think I went too far--I promised him that you should meet him this evening, after supper, in my apartment, and make his acquaintance more completely."
"Oh! I will willingly meet him," replied I; "though I suppose we should have had plenty of opportunities of making acquaintance during his stay in the château, without any appearance of secrecy."
"It need be no secret, my son," answered the major-domo; "and in regard to your making acquaintance with him afterwards, that would depend entirely upon circumstances; for he does not seem at all assured of staying even over to-morrow, till the conversation he is now holding with the Duke is at an end. I merely wish you to see him, because I think that, using both your efforts, you may do away much that is amiss in the house, and also because I am sure you will love and esteem him; for there never was a better man."
As old Jerome had anticipated, on entering thesalle à mangerat the hour of supper, I found the Duke standing with the Confessor, to whom he instantly introduced me, saying,--"Father Ferdinand, this is the young Englishman I mentioned, whom I look upon--if not as my own son, since such a feeling is, perhaps, impossible--at least as the son of a dear brother, and treat accordingly."
The Confessor took my hand, and looked at me with a smile full of benignity, saying,--"We must be friends, my son; I hear a high character of you from all quarters."
I expressed, as well as I could, my willingness to meet his kindness; and as the Duchess was not well enough to appear that evening, we sat down to supper alone. I remarked that Monsieur de Villardin was more calm, though not less grave than he had seemed of late; but it was the person and demeanour of the priest that principally engaged my attention.
He was a man considerably past the prime of life; and though his frame was neither bent nor broken by the weight of years, yet his age was to be traced in his thin white hair, and in many a long deep furrow on his brow and cheek. His eye, however, was bright and clear; and his teeth of as white an ivory as ever appeared between the lips of youthful beauty. He was thin and pale, but his complexion was clear, and, probably, had never been red; and his form, which was tall, was also upright and graceful, and in no degree stiff. His robes, too, sat well upon him; which is always a sign of a lofty education or of a fine mind; for no one can feel himself perfectly at his ease in all his movements, without possessing the one, or having received the other. With Monsieur de Villardin the Confessor spoke as equal to equal; and though, from his demeanour, I might, perhaps, as a first impression, have inferred that he was one of those priests who so frequently govern, with absolute sway, the little kingdom of a private family, yet he was evidently not one of those who would truckle to the prejudices, or give indulgence to the errors, of any one in whose dwelling he was established. There was in his whole conversation a tone of bold independence, mingling with the tenderness of his manner, which took away from it the slightest appearance of subserviency, and made me feel that, in giving him the title of Father, one only addressed him by a name which he believed himself to deserve.
After supper I again retired, and, as I had promised, took my way to the apartments of the good major-domo, where the priest soon after made his appearance, and spoke with me for some time, kindly and frankly, upon a variety of indifferent subjects. He was evidently delighted to hear that my mother had been a Catholic, and that I had been originally brought up in that faith; but he pressed the subject no farther upon me, and I saw that he skilfully avoided saying one word that might make me suspicious of any design on his part, either to force himself into my own confidence, or to wring from me the secrets of others. Gradually, however, he brought the conversation round to the subject of Monsieur de Villardin, and spoke with deep, and, certainly, sincere regret, of the state to which the Duke appeared to have brought himself. He asked me no questions, however; but on my expressing equal pain at the fact, he only replied, by exhorting me to strive, by every means in my power, to remove the poison from my friend's mind. I willingly promised to continue all my efforts, and our conference thus ended.
After what I have just said, it may seem extraordinary that my first impression of Father Ferdinand was not favourable. On retiring to my own chamber, I sat down to meditate over the character of the Confessor, and, as usual, formed my judgment very rapidly. I was wrong, however--entirely wrong; for as yet I had only allowed myself to remark the worst--I may say, the sole bad trait in Father Ferdinand's nature. On it, with the keenness which had been taught me from my youth, I pounced like a tiger, and resolved to be as wary as possible to guard myself against its effects. This evil spot, which I short-sightedly conceived to overspread the whole surface of his heart, though, indeed, it was but a small blemish therein, was a slight touch of that subtlety for which our priests are rather famous; but I must pause for a moment, to define exactly its real limits, lest those who may read this writing fall into a like error with myself.
It was certainly a part of Father Ferdinand's doctrine, that, in churchmen, the end justified the means, provided that the means were not absolutely immoral. Thus things that, under any other circumstances, he himself would have considered meannesses, lost that character in his eyes when they were employed to effect some good purpose; and art, duplicity, and cunning, used either in extracting the truth from others, or in guiding them, even against their will, upon the path he thought it right for them to follow, seemed to him not only admissible, but praiseworthy, in a priest. He stopped there, however, saying that no clergyman had a right to go farther; and that if, upon the pretence of guiding others, he did one act that was really sinful, the sin rested on himself, aggravated rather than palliated by the motive, inasmuch as it was insulting God to suppose that he could be served by sin.
On these principles, he made the character of all those with whom he was brought in contact his most minute study; employed every method of obtaining information concerning them, even to questioning their servants and their friends; and having done so, proceeded, step by step, to establish his own influence over their minds, which it was only owing to the goodness of his own heart, and the natural rectitude of his judgment, that he employed to their advantage and their peace. At first, however, he proceeded cautiously; suffered the traits of their hearts to develop themselves before his eyes; shocked none of their prejudices; rudely assailed none of their opinions, till such time as he found himself secure of his power over their minds; but then, certainly, with an eloquence which I have never heard excelled, and a fervour rarely equalled, he would combat their errors, oppose their vices; and, once having begun the strife, would throw himself before their passions, in full career, and show them that they trampled on everything sacred, if they pursued their onward course.
The consciousness of this ultimate purpose, too, gave a dignity even to acts that I cannot but imagine to be reprehensible; and even, in the endeavour itself to elicit from dependants the secrets and character of their lord--an occupation which surely is mean, if there be anything mean on earth--there was an air of authority in his whole bearing, which made it seem more as if he were examining witnesses with the power and right of a judge, than inquiring into the private history of others for objects of his own.
It is with regret that I have stated this blemish in a man I esteem and love, though no one will see these lines till both our eyes are closed, and his virtues will live remembered long after we both are dust. He himself, however, saw it not as a blemish; and were he now to behold the lines in which I have endeavoured to portray it in its true features, he would very probably say, that I had softened down one of the best traits in his character to suit my own prejudices; for he himself has always contended, that the noblest victory he ever acquired over human weakness, was that in which he conquered his natural repugnance to employ means which the world condemns and scorns, for the sake of effecting the best of purposes.
In all other respects, my memory can rest upon every part of our acquaintance with pleasure; and, look into it as narrowly as I will, I find qualities in his character which I can admire and respect. In point of physical gifts, nature had originally been very bountiful to him indeed, and he had cultivated what she gave with extraordinary care. A fine ear for music, and a rich, melodious voice, gave full effect to a copiousness of words, and a happy selection of epithets, that could only be gained by long study; and clearness of thought--which is probably a natural faculty--was thus rendered doubly efficacious by immense power of expression.
But I must not dwell too long in description, which seldom does justice to its object. The next morning, in strolling through the park--a custom which my habits of early rising enabled me to indulge before the rest of the family were up--I was joined by the Confessor, or, as he was generally called, the Directeur; and although, as I have said, I had already formed an erroneous opinion of his character, which led me to believe that any conversation between us was to be a game of chess, where it would behove me to be wary of all my moves, yet there was something so bland and pleasing in his very salutation, that I walked on with him, not ill-pleased with his company.
"I am glad to see you are an early riser, my son," he said, after wishing me good morning. "It is a practice which leads to many worldly advantages; and, where the mind is well disposed, may be turned to better purposes. There is a freshness, and a sublimity, and a calm, monitory voice, in the early morning, which inspires purity of feeling, counsels good purposes for the ensuing day, and lifts the heart to adoration of the Being who made all the bright world that is wakening around us."
Whether he did it with that purpose or not, I cannot tell, but certainly he could not have chosen a better method of breaking down all the barriers between us, which my examination of his character on the preceding night had raised up, than by thus showing me that there were finer thoughts and feelings in his heart than those which I had as yet discovered. After a few more words, however, in the same strain, he again brought the conversation to Monsieur de Villardin; and he now spoke of him in terms of tenderness and pity which he had restrained on the preceding night, while in the presence of the old domestic. Nor was it alone his sorrows he appeared to commiserate: he seemed to pity him more for his errors than even for his griefs. He spoke of him as of a being who, with noble powers and a generous heart, had, by a few weaknesses and faults, created for himself lasting misery below, and endangered his happiness for the long hereafter. There was something so eloquent--I may say, so sublime, in the pouring forth of his lamentation over one who was evidently his friend as well as his penitent, that I was struck and affected; while all my prepossessions, I felt, were rapidly giving way to a truer estimate of my companion's character.
Seeing that I listened eagerly, and, mistaking the cause of the surprise which was visible upon my countenance, he added, "You wonder to find me addressing you thus upon the subject of the Duke; but you must remember that I am his confessor, and know exactly how much you know of his affairs; what share you have had therein, and how you have borne yourself under difficult circumstances."
I replied not; for I began again to be upon my guard, fancying that all this might be but a prelude to questions which I might not think fit to answer. By my silence and the casting down of my eyes, he seemed at once to enter into my thoughts:--"Be not afraid, my son," he said, laying his hand upon my shoulder, with a smile; "I seek no information that you can give me. Indeed, what need I, knowing much more than you can know. Suffice it, that what I have heard of your conduct--making allowance for faults of education and habit--leads me to give you my esteem: and I trust that, even yet, with your good aid, I may be able to eradicate from the bosom of my noble friend the root of bitterness that poisons all the current of his days: and although a shadow from the past is, I am afraid, cast over his future for ever, yet we must try to soften it by the light of hope, which springs from repentance."
I doubted not that the priest alluded to the death of the Count de Mesnil; but it was neither my business to take it for granted that Monsieur de Villardin had confided that secret to him, nor did I see that the strong terms he used were very applicable to that event; for I could not get my mind to comprehend that the fact of killing an adversary in fair fight, though it might be a matter of personal regret, was at all a subject for religious repentance. I replied, therefore, generally, that, of course, he was the best judge of what his penitent had to atone for; but that, for my part, as both duty and affection prompted me, I was willing to strain every nerve to relieve the mind of Monsieur de Villardin, and to restore him to a happier state of feeling.
"I doubt you not, my son," replied he, seeing that there was still some holding back in my conversation with him; "I doubt you not, and trust that the time will soon come when you will not doubt me. In the meanwhile, to speak of another part of our subject, good old Laborde tells me that the page, Gaspard de Belleville, seems lately to have taken your place in the Duke's confidence. Your place in his esteem and affection he has not taken, as I positively know; and I would fain be sure of the fact that Jerome Laborde tells me before I speak with Monsieur de Villardin about it. Have you yourself remarked any difference?"
"So much so," I replied, "that many a painful feeling have I experienced on the subject. Indeed, I attribute the great increase of that evil which we all deplore, to the fact of Monsieur de Villardin's now confiding entirely in persons who are likely to foster all his suspicions, and strengthen every wild idea that jealousy may suggest."
"And do you think that this Gaspard de Belleville is a person to do so?" demanded the priest.
"Beyond all doubt," I answered. "So sure am I, and so sure have I been, that such is the case, that, only yesterday, I contemplated bringing him to the middle of that bridge and throwing him over into the river, after giving him fair warning of my intention."
"My son!" exclaimed the Confessor, recoiling with a look of involuntary horror; but, the moment after, he recovered himself, cast his eyes down upon the ground, and muttered a short prayer.
"Of course," I added, seeing the surprise painted on his countenance, "I did not propose to do so without giving him every fair equality. You did not suppose, I trust, father, that I would take him by surprise?"
"God forbid, my son, that you should do such an act at all," replied the Confessor: "the time will come when you will think better."
He said nothing more upon that subject, however, governing his own feelings with wonderful control; but, from that day forward, I seldom failed to meet with Father Ferdinand in some part of my morning's walk; and I saw that the words I had spoken with regard to Gaspard de Belleville had never been forgotten. Gently and cautiously, but firmly and perseveringly, he applied himself to change opinions and prejudices which my early habits had rendered almost a part of my nature. At first he would take an opportunity of descanting generally upon the value of human life, as the most precious gift of God; and, at various times, he put it in a thousand different points of view; each tending to show that it was an inestimable gift, which no creature had a right to take from another, except in those cases which God himself had pointed out. Now, he represented it as the space allotted to a sinner for repentance; now, as the means of conferring benefits on others,--rearing and supporting a family,--and doing the will of the Almighty. Now, he showed it as the crowning and especial gift of God--a thing alike beyond man's comprehension and his efforts, which he could, indeed, take away, but which he could never restore. Now, he would display the horrors that would oppress that man, who, on a supposed injury, had taken the life of another, if ever he were to discover that his passion or his judgment had deceived him, and that no injury had really been done, or that it had been attributed to an innocent person. Now, he would carry his view beyond this world, and represent the agony that the murderer's soul must suffer, when, in addition to the weight of the crime itself, he felt loaded with all the unrepented sins which his hand had prevented his victim from atoning upon earth. Then, again, he would return and awaken every human sympathy; display the sweet ties broken, the dear hopes destroyed, the noble careers cut short, by such deeds: he would represent loves and affections that we know not of, bright but secret aspirations, joys and good deeds concealed from every eye, ended for ever, as the punishment of some trifling fault or idle folly; and, in the end, when he found that all my prejudices were shaken, he addressed himself direct to my own heart, with such powerful and eloquent exhortation, that thenceforth I mingled with the world with very different feelings in regard to the relationship between man and man.
In speaking of Father Ferdinand, I have compressed into one view the effect which was produced upon my mind by many long interviews with him. These took place, as I have said, almost every morning; but in the meanwhile several events occurred to which I must now turn. A slight variation in our dull and somewhat painful course of life was afforded, about this time, both to good Jerome Laborde and myself, by the coming of Jacques Marlot and his bride to my house at Juvigny, and by the preparations which preceded his arrival. In these preparations, indeed, I did not share; but almost every day I perceived that good Jerome continued to absent himself from his duties at the château for a sufficient space of time to run down, through the park, to Juvigny; and many a time did I meet him with gleesome satisfaction depicted on his countenance, returning from his expedition to his nephew's new dwelling.
As soon as I had learned that my friend Socrates had brought home his Xantippe, and was fairly in possession of his new abode, I asked the Duke permission to absent myself for an hour or two, and sallied forth to make him a visit of congratulation. I found him gazing forth from his door, with pleasure and content at the prospect around him, having the farm which he was to cultivate for the good Ursulines just on the opposite side of the river, the convent itself within a quarter of a mile; and a little stone bridge, at half that distance, to render it easily accessible.
Madame la mariée was within, aided by a bustling big-nosed Bretonneservante, arranging the household gods; and Jacques Marlot himself had thus an opportunity, without any sacrifice of dignity in the eyes of his bride, to pour forth his joy and gratitude to John Marston Hall.
As he somewhat belaboured me with thanks for all sort of kindnesses, past, present, and to come, I cut him as short as I could, by demanding impatiently to see the bride.
"Ha! ha! my young lord and master," he exclaimed, "do not excite my jealousy within the first fortnight of my marriage; for I have but lately found out that you are an old friend and high favourite of my dear better half."
These tidings surprised me more, perhaps, than they might have done at a later period of my life; for at that time the extent of my female acquaintance was very limited, and perhaps the most decided fragment of my boyhood that then remained to me was a lingering dislike to the generality of female society, and a very juvenile contempt for women in general.
"Indeed!" exclaimed I, in reply to Jacques Marlot's information, "indeed! you make me but the more curious. Let me offer my adorations with all speed to the first of your household divinities."
"Well, well; enter, enter, by all means," he cried: "I am not made of jealous stuff, thank God; and as our love has already lasted five long years, I trust it will not break short at matrimony."
I was now conducted in form into the house; and on the first floor we found the bride and her coadjutrix, when my surprise was still more excited, by beholding in Madame Marlot the pretty brunette whom I had seen at the inn near St. Aubin, on my first arrival in Brittany, and who had warned me of what was passing between her father and the groom who then accompanied me. After the first salutation, I returned her my thanks in set form, although I had nearly lost my life in consequence of her information; and I then enquired after her worthy and respectable father as tenderly as my conscience would permit me to do. In reply, she informed me that her parent had most unjustly been suspected of having given information to the same band of robbers who had plundered me, that the courier for St. Malo was about to pass within their hospitable neighbourhood, on a certain day and hour; and that, in consequence, he had been arrested and thrown into prison, where, within one fortnight, he died, just as the authorities were about to liberate him, having become convinced of his innocence, and judging that a fortnight's imprisonment was a sufficient punishment for being suspected. The prisoner having thus liberated himself, his daughter was left, according to her own account, sole heiress of her father's wealth, which proved a burden less weighty than she had anticipated. She also found so many persons in this generous world willing to relieve her of it, that she saw very clearly it would soon be no burden at all; and therefore, she set herself to consider what she might best do under such circumstances, when suddenly her ancient lover, Jacques Marlot, appeared one night at the inn, and presented her with an expedient that she did not fail to adopt.
In reply to this communication, I paid her my compliments upon her wisdom; and, as I found that the kind-hearted brunette and her bridegroom were both bent upon my staying to partake of their first dinner in their new dwelling, I yielded to my fate, and found that neither Jacques Marlot's taste forfriandise, nor the skill which Madame had acquired in the kitchen of an inn, had abandoned them. During our meal, my philosopher gave me a sketch of his wandering life in the guise of a pedlar; and then related the means he had employed to obtain his pardon, which were ingenious enough. It appears that in France the presence of the King is always mercy, and that if he but set eyes upon a condemned criminal his punishment is remitted. Well knowing this fact, and trusting to his disguise, Jacques Marlot made his way towards Paris, and having heard that the King and Court were about to make their public entrance into the capital on a certain day, he prepared to take advantage thereof, to obtain his pardon. This plan succeeded to his wish. Bribing some of the guards at the palace with a considerable portion of what he had gained in his petty traffic, he placed himself in a spot where the royal party were sure to pass, in descending from their carriages; and, as the young King and the Queen came on together, he struggled forward to cast himself at their feet. One of the ushers, indeed, opposed his progress, and knocked the poor printer down to make him clear the way; but this only brought him literally to the King's knees; and the young monarch's first impulse was to stoop in order to raise him, reproving, at the same time, the usher for his violence.
Jacques Marlot rose no farther than his knees, however, and in that position besought pardon for his offences. It being now ascertained who the intruder really was, the guards were ordered by Mazarin to take him into custody; and poor Marlot was removed, trembling, as he acknowledged, for the consequences of his bold attempt. The rule, however, was suffered to prevail even in his case, although the Queen and the Cardinal were both exasperated in a high degree against the unfortunate printer. After remaining in one of the rooms of the palace for more than an hour, his pardon was brought him, but coupled with the condition that he should quit Paris immediately, never to return, and should never more exercise the trade of printing in any part of France. "And thus, my dear benefactor," he added, "I turned my steps hither, determined to become a new Cincinnatus, and, abandoning the government of Roman capitals, to dwell upon my farm and put my hand to the plough."
In such conversation we passed an hour or two very cheerfully; at the end of which time I took my leave, and left the pair to conclude their evening alone. It was now about two o'clock, on a fine April day; and, walking slowly along, I meditated over all the strange turns of that strange and unaccountable thing, fate, which, principally by the means of a complete stranger, had conducted theci-devantprinter in less than a year from the foot of the gallows to a peaceful retirement in a beautiful country.
On entering the park, I took the shady walk by the bank of the stream, both because the warmth of the day made a shelter from the sun not unpleasant, though the year was yet so young, and because I always had an indescribable pleasure in sauntering by a running water, and gazing upon the current gushing brightly by me. The banks here were irregular, sometimes high and overhanging, sometimes sloping softly down, and dipping their turf into the stream; and, as I often paused to gaze, and ponder, and revolve a number of sweet sunshiny dreams that were now very common to my mind, I was at least twice the length of time in the walk that I needed to have been.
Luckily did it happen that I was so. When I had got about half way to the château, I perceived that there were others in the walk besides myself; and, straining my eyes a little, I saw that it was Madame de Villardin, with a servant a step behind her, and her little girl running on before. The Duchess approached but slowly, with her fine eyes, as usual now, bent pensively upon the ground, and her hands, which were very beautiful, clasped together, and resting on her waist. The little girl, full of the joy and vivid life of youth, ran backwards and forwards before her mother, now gathering a flower, now peeping over at the stream, and receiving, from time to time, a grave caution from the soubrette, who walked behind, against approaching too near the water. As soon as she saw me, however, the little Laura had a new object of attention, and running along the walk like light, she came towards her playfellow. The impulse, however, was soon over; and, ere she had half reached me, she slackened her pace on hearing the voices of her father and the Confessor in one of the other paths hard by, and was turning gaily to seek them, when an early butterfly started up from the bosom of a flower and caught her notice. The painted insect fluttered on before her with that sort of faint impotent flight which leads so many a child to follow on for miles, still hoping to catch it at every step. Eagerly she pursued, with her whole young soul beaming out of her beautiful eyes. For some way the butterfly flew on down the alley, and Laura de Villardin was close upon it; when rising a little in the air, it turned its course towards the opposite bank of the river. With a bound forward, Mademoiselle de Villardin strove to catch it ere it escaped for ever, slipped her foot on the bank, and plunged over at once into the stream.
It is impossible to describe the three or four long thrilling shrieks that burst from the lips of Madame de Villardin as her child disappeared. For one instant they overpowered me; but the next I darted forward to the bank. Luckily the stream was flowing towards me, and, though deep and rapid, was smooth enough. I cannot remember the time when I could not swim, and the only difficulty was to discover the object of our search. The first plunge over had made her sink, and nothing appeared as my eye ran along the river, but the flat glistening surface of the stream.
An instant after, however, the little girl rose again, and with a faint cry, held out her arms at the distance of about twenty yards from me. I plunged in, with two or three strokes brought myself to the spot, and finding that she had sunk again, dived down where I caught the gleaming of her clothes; and, throwing my left arm round her, shot up to the surface, holding her head above my own. By the convulsive grasp with which she seized my neck and hair, I found that she was still living: and the joy which that conviction gave me was indescribable, when, on rising above the water, I saw the scene that the bank presented. Madame de Villardin, on her knees, with her hands clasped, and eyes straining upon the spot where I had disappeared, was the first object that met my view; but a little nearer stood the Duke, called to the spot by the shrieks of his wife; while, with the frenzy of agony in his whole aspect, he was evidently only restrained from plunging over also by the firm grasp which the priest had laid upon his arm. Behind him appeared the form of Father Ferdinand, raising up his left hand with impressive energy; and I could not but think he was predicting I would save the child. The whole scene was made up by a number of servants running down towards the spot, together with the woody irregular banks, the bright green shades of the young leaves which clothed some of the trees, and the calm, bright sunshine, streaming cheerfully over all, as if there were no such things as danger, and terror, and care, and distress, in all the many scenes he looks upon.
A shout of joy, that made the banks echo again, burst from the spectators, when we rose above the surface of the stream, especially when, by the ease with which my old habits of swimming enabled me to bear my little charge, they saw that she was placed beyond further risk; and when a motion of her hand towards her father evinced that she was uninjured from that which had already occurred. All crowded round the spot to which I directed my course; and Monsieur de Villardin, stooping down as I approached, caught his child in his arms, and pressed her again and again to his heart. For some time Madame de Villardin wept in silence, holding one little hand of her rescued child, and kissing her fair cheek as she lay sobbing and agitated in her father's bosom. The priest looked on for a moment or two without speaking; but then calling to their remembrance Him to whom their thanks were first due, he offered a short prayer of praise and gratitude in their name to the Almighty Giver of all good.
When this was concluded, Madame de Villardin besought her husband to give their little Laura into the hands of one of the servants, with orders to carry her to the château, lest, from the dripping state of her clothes, she might encounter a danger different from that which she had just escaped. Her father, however, would not part with her; but, so far following the suggestion, he himself carried her home, hurrying forward as fast as possible, while Madame de Villardin, with the rest, followed more slowly, her situation preventing her from accompanying her husband so rapidly. Her feelings were too intense for speech, and she proceeded in perfect silence; while the priest, who followed by my side, questioned me concerning all the circumstances which had attended the accident.
When we arrived at the castle, we were met by Monsieur de Villardin himself, leading his daughter by the hand, now clad in drier garments, and smiling as gaily as if nothing had happened. Such moments soften and expand the heart; and the Duke's first act was one which inspired bright but delusive hopes of better days in the bosom of more than one person present. He held his daughter up in his arms to embrace her mother, and then taking the Duchess's hand, he pressed a kiss upon her cheek.
Without pretending to any fine feelings, I may truly say, that I felt as glad as if some great benefit had fallen upon myself. His next act, however, was one which gave me gratification more entirely personal. The little Laura, having embraced her mother, turned to me, and, as I bent over her to ask her how she was, she sprang into my arms and kissed my cheeks repeatedly, with all the warmth and sincerity of childish gratitude. Monsieur de Villardin smiled kindly upon us both; and the Duchess, who was again drowned in tears of joy, held out to me her hand, which I raised respectfully to my lips. We all now entered the château, and, although I was not very apt to fear wet clothes, I made the state of my dress an excuse for retiring to my chamber, feeling that the Duke and Duchess would be better left alone together with their child under the circumstances in which they were then placed. A couple of hours elapsed before I again saw any of the family; but, at the end of that time, one of the lacqueys entered my room, and informed me that Monsieur de Villardin desired to speak with me. I instantly followed, not doubting, certainly, that his intention was to thank me for the assistance I had rendered to his child; but not expecting, by any means, the deep and enthusiastic pouring forth of gratitude with which he now overwhelmed me.
He knew not, he said, how he could express his feelings towards me. If he had before looked upon me as a member of his own family, in what light could he now look upon me, when I had saved his child, the idol of his heart, from the death which so imminently threatened her? In conclusion, he again asked what he could do to testify his affection for me, and to express his thanks; and bade me point out myself any way which would prove most gratifying to myself, and he would instantly pursue it, did it involve the sacrifice of half his fortune.
"My lord," I replied, "I hope for nothing, I wish nothing, I will accept of nothing, for doing an act which is far more than repaid by seeing the happiness which it has given to yourself and your most excellent lady. Or, if I must ask a boon, it shall be alone, that you will, through life, give me the same place in your regard and affection that you do now, and let me share your love and confidence as long as we both live."
"That boon," replied the Duke, "was granted before you sought it. For never, of course, can I behold you in any other light than as the dearest and best beloved of my friends--nay more, as a benefactor, though the benefits conferred are of a kind that I can never repay. You must think, therefore, of some other request; or, if you think of none now, let it stand over to the future, and I promise, whatever boon you then ask me, to grant you, upon my honour."
"I do not think I shall have cause, my lord," I replied, "to call upon you to fulfil your word; but, as there is nothing that I either want or wish for at present, I can certainly ask nothing now."
"Well, then," he added, "let it remain for the future; but one thing I must myself do immediately, which I have heretofore forgotten: as I told you before, it will require a royal ordinance to put you, as a foreigner, in full and entire possession of your farm of Juvigny; and, as I stand not over well with the Court, I was almost afraid that such a favour might be refused me, if I applied without some special reason which I could assign for making over the property to you. I now can assign the noblest and the most valid of reasons, and I will at once write to the Prince de Condé, one of my best friends, entreating him to make immediate application to the court for such letters patent as may enable you hereafter and for ever to obtain and hold lands and lordships in France, as if you were a native subject of the realm."
I thanked him sincerely for all his kindness, and the letter to the Prince de Condé was immediately written and despatched by a special messenger, who, before three weeks were over, brought me back letters of naturalization in all due form, and entitling me, John Marston Hall,Sieur de Juvigny--a name which, afterwards, I occasionally adopted when circumstances required.
If, in the household of Monsieur de Villardin, there had before been anything wanting to my being considered and treated as one of his own family, such was no longer the case. Every day something new was done to contribute to my comfort and happiness. My time was left perfectly at my own disposal. A servant was selected peculiarly to attend upon me. A suite of handsome apartments were assigned me in one of the wings of the château. Two beautiful horses were presented to me for my own use; and no young cavalier, of the first quality, could have been better equipped in every respect than I now found myself. That which gratified me the most of all, however, was to find that Monsieur de Villardin now selected me continually for his companion; and though but little conversation of a very private nature took place between us, yet I felt that, as far as his confidence went, Gaspard de Belleville was beneath my feet for ever.
From Father Ferdinand, too, I received a mark of affection and kindness, which, as I had now learned to appreciate his character properly, gratified me much. The apartments assigned me consisted of an ante-chamber, a little saloon, a bed-room, and a dressing-room; and I was surprised, on returning one morning, to see the carpenters, who were always more or less employed about the house, engaged in putting up a neat bookcase in my ante-room. This was followed by the arrival of two large packets of books from Rennes; and I soon after found the good priest busily employed in placing them in order. When the task was concluded, he begged me to accept them for his sake, and added, "I have had them placed here for you, because there are many leisure moments in every man's life which he is glad to employ in reading, if a book be at hand, when, probably, he would not take the trouble of going down to seek one out in a large library like that below."
When I came to examine the store that the good father had provided for my mind, I was both pleased and amused with his selection; and, indeed, it offered not a bad type of his own mind. The books were in general of anything but a heavy or very serious cast, though amongst them were to be found a number of volumes, in the pages of which a man disposed to seek for sound and wholesome ideas was sure to find them on every branch of morals or ethics. The generality, however, consisted of the best and purest poets in the language; of historians a considerable number; of romance writers a very few; but all were chosen evidently with a view to induce a habit of reading, and to lead the mind on to knowledge and virtue, by the pleasant path of entertainment.
The effect was such as the good priest could have wished and desired: as I was not naturally obstinate or perverse, the knowledge of his design led me rather to endeavour to accomplish than to defeat it. Although my taste for reading was, certainly, never so great as it might have been, yet the half hour that I snatched twice or thrice in the course of each day to peruse some of the volumes with which he had supplied me, carried me through a great number of the classical authors, both in French and Latin, and gave me a taste for many things which I had before but little appreciated.
Owing both to new pursuits and feelings, my time did not now hang heavy on my hands; but it must be remarked, also, that a renewed gleam of sunshine had fallen upon our dwelling, which made everything seem cheerful around. The burst of kindly emotions and tender feeling, to which Monsieur de Villardin had given way, had proved more permanent than might have been expected. For several days before, the Confessor had been labouring to free his mind from its delusions; and although he had clung to his suspicions with all the tenacity of a jealous disposition, yet the calm, steadfast reasoning of the priest had, it appears--together with my former representations--produced a great effect; and it wanted but some little circumstance to wake the dormant affections of his heart, when the accident that befel his child occurred. The consequence, at the time, I have already noticed; and for several weeks the same mood continued. Everything assumed a new aspect, and to me, especially, the whole scene was full of enjoyment.
Although the season was no longer one in which we could urge the chase, as we had formerly done at the Prés Vallée, yet fishing and falconry, which was still a favourite sport in that part of Brittany, afforded us constant amusement; and, as I have said, I was ever by the side of Monsieur de Villardin, often his only follower, and always his most cherished companion. The only one in the house whom this change seemed really to oppress, was my old enemy, Gaspard de Belleville; and never did I set out with the Duke on any expedition of pleasure, but I caught a sight of his brow lowering upon us, evidently full of gloomy disappointment at seeing the new hold I had obtained of his master's affections. That he would struggle to regain them himself, and endeavour to deprive me of the confidence and regard which he coveted, I did not at all doubt; but as I feared nothing for myself, and trusted that his power of injuring Madame de Villardin, at least in regard to the Count de Mesnil, was at an end, his hatred and malevolence were more a matter of mockery to me than anything else. It is difficult, however, to know when the fangs of a snake are drawn completely; and I had yet to learn what a base and malicious heart can accomplish, when it scruples at no means to serve its own sordid and ungenerous purpose. I thought it quite sufficient that I did not affect to triumph over him who was evidently my enemy, and that, without insulting him by anything like protection or condescension, I treated him with civility. I have sometimes, indeed, been sorry since that I did not pursue a different course, and even, by irritating him still more against myself, who could always defend myself, give a different direction to efforts which, without serving his own purpose, were but too fatal to the peace of others.