Corse de Leon; or, The Brigand: A Romance. Volume 1 (of 2)

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER VIII.

  "Has not the Count de Meyrand returned?" demanded Bernard de Rohan, ashe re-entered the kitchen of the little inn, and saw it tenanted only byone or two of his own attendants, the host and hostess, and awaiting-boy.

  "He has not only returned, my lord," replied the landlord, "but has goneaway again, and, sorry I am to say, gone away altogether. He came back,and departed in great haste, paying for all that he had like a prince."

  "This is strange!" replied Bernard de Rohan. "Did he leave no messagefor me?"

  "No message, my lord," replied the host; "he gave your man, MasterMartin, a note for you, however; but he has just gone up the hill, andtaken the note with him."

  "Do you know where the count has gone to?" demanded the young nobleman.

  "Oh, to Pont Beauvoisin, on his way to Paris," the landlord answered;"he has been gone wellnigh two hours."

  It is a very common piece of policy on the part of hosts, aubergistes,landlords, and others of the same class and character, by whatsoeverdenomination they may be known, to laud up to the skies the guest justdeparted, praising in him those especial virtues which they wish toinculcate upon the guest who happens to be their listener. Thus thelandlord was proceeding to paint in high colours the generosity andcareless liberality of the Count de Meyrand, when some persons speaking,and a loud, rich, buttery laugh, merry in every tone, announced that thegood priest, Father Willand, was approaching the auberge with somecompanion.

  "We shall live like clerks now he is gone, we shall live like clerks,"exclaimed the voice of the priest. "By the holy mass, he was not contentwith eating more than his own share of everything, but his very lookchanged everything that he did not eat, and turned it bad. His aspectwas so cold that it chilled the pottage; his look so sharp that itturned the wine sour. I will make a new prayer night and morning: May Inever again meet such a companion at an inn as this Count de Meyrand."

  Bernard de Rohan found, on the entrance of the priest, that it was hisown attendant, Martin, with whom Father Willand had been conversing. Theattendant immediately produced the Count de Meyrand's note, which hismaster read attentively, and with an appearance of satisfaction. "So myfriend De Meyrand has gone on business of importance to Paris," he saidaloud.

  "Ay, as the fox is said to go to his hole," replied the priest.

  "I dare say, indeed," replied the young cavalier, "that there are manyfoxes in that hole, my good father; but still your comparison is not avery pleasant one for the good count."

  "The comparison was more aimed at his way of going to Paris than ateither Paris or himself," replied the priest. "I repeat, he is gone toParis as a fox is said to go to his hole; that is, back foremost."

  "Nay," replied Bernard de Rohan, "I never yet saw fox so stupid. Whyshould a fox go back foremost?"

  "To hide the way he goes," answered the priest; "to make the footstepspoint out of the hole instead of into it. So the good peasants tellone."

  "But how can this apply to the Count de Meyrand?" asked Bernard deRohan, with his curiosity now considerably excited.

  "Because he tells you," replied the priest, "that he is going to Paris,and we watched him from the top of the hill, and saw him turn quite theother way before he got two leagues out into the plain."

  "Strange enough!" replied Bernard de Rohan, not choosing to appear asmuch interested as he really was; "strange enough; but he may well havesome friends to see--some town to visit in the way. Come, my good host!come, let us have supper speedily, and give us more light, for the nightis growing dark and sombre. Good priest," he continued, turning toFather Willand, and speaking in a low voice, "I have a word for yourprivate ear by-and-by; somewhat to consult upon, regarding which I needsound discretion and good counsel. I beseech you, therefore, pause atthe end of the first stoup of wine."

  "My son, my son," replied the priest, "men have always made a mistakewith regard to the abode of truth. Truth and my brains lie together atthe bottom of the second pottle pot, for most men are sure to tell thetruth when they get to that pitch; and my brains are never clear, clean,and neat till they have been washed in that quantity at least. Fear not,fear not, I will be careful; though, if you are going to confessyourself, you ought to wish me as drunk as possible, for the penances Ienjoin are always light when my knees feel like an unstarched ruff. Wereit not better, however, to talk this matter over first, while my goodhost prepares the supper, and then we can consider it in our cups, youknow?"

  "It may indeed be as well," replied Bernard de Rohan. "Follow to mychamber, good priest, then. Go on, Martin, with a light;" and, takinghis way up the dingy staircase, Bernard de Rohan led the priest to thelarge square, lofty bedroom which had been assigned him as his place ofrepose, and which no one would have imagined that lowly andhumble-looking inn could boast of. The moment the door was closed andthe attendant gone, the priest's eyes assumed a shrewder, but moreserious expression, and he said, "Know you that I have been here twiceyesterday, and three times to-day, seeking you?"

  "In truth, I did not," replied the young cavalier. "On what account didyou seek me?"

  "To tell you to make good use of your time," answered the priest. "TheLord of Masseran is absent. He, I doubt not, is really gone to Paris;gone to justify himself to the king against accusations which he hearsare to be made against him. You have, therefore, time to do all that youwould, and nothing is required but to be diligent, quick, and secret."

  "I have been all three," replied Bernard de Rohan. "And I just come fromthe postern by the fir-trees."

  "Then you have seen Corse de Leon," said the priest, abruptly. "When andwhere? For I could not find him, neither yesterday nor to-day."

  "I met him this morning," replied Bernard; "I met him this morning, andtook him for an old drover, so completely had he disguised himself."

  "Then have you seen the lady also?" asked the priest.

  "I have, my good friend," answered the young cavalier, somewhatsurprised to find how completely his proceedings were divined. "I haveseen the lady; and it is in regard to that interview that I wished tospeak with you. May I trust to you to do for me to-morrow night one ofthe offices of your holy function, and--"

  "Marry you, in short," replied the priest, "marry you to this fairIsabel of Brienne. Well, my son, I see no impediment--no harm therein.If you have well considered the matter," he added with a laugh, "andhave determined to take upon yourself the holy estate of matrimony, farbe it from me to prevent you, although I must say, that it was ingracious consideration and providence for our temporal as well asspiritual happiness that our holy church exacted from us an oath not toenter into the condition you so much covet; however, I will put thecouples round your necks, and then you must run along the road togetheras you can; but where shall it be?" he continued. "Tell me the whens andthe hows, for that is very needful."

  Bernard de Rohan explained to him as much as he judged needful. Indeed,what he was obliged to explain put his plans completely in the power ofthe priest. Nevertheless, he did not anticipate any evil on thataccount. All of us, wise and simple alike, are more or less guided inour dealings with our fellow-creatures by various other principles thanthe dictates of mere reason. The most suspicious man, the most cautiousman, will, from time to time, place confidence where it is leastdeserved, from some motives to which his judgment would refuse itsassent. The calm and deliberate politician, who has frustrated many ofthe cabinet knaves of Europe, and concealed his thoughts from thepenetrating eye of diplomacy, has often betrayed his secret to a prettyface, and sometimes let it fall into possession of a roguish valet.

  But Bernard de Rohan was neither a very cautious nor a very suspiciousman. His nature was frank and confiding; and, wherever he showed himselfreserved, he was rendered so by the effect of reason and deliberateconsideration. In the present instance he was forced to trust thepriest, and he trusted him without regret or hesitation; for there wassomething in good Father Willand's face and demeanour which was frankand kindly, and, to say sooth, Bernard de Rohan h
ad conceived aprepossession in his favour, which might or might not be justified. Hethought, too, that, although his own memory of the good priest'sfeatures might have faded in the lapse of many years, and though thosefeatures themselves must have been much changed by time since he hadseen them--he thought, too, that they were not wholly without somecorresponding traces on the tablets of remembrance. Memory has herinstincts, too; and often, though we cannot recollect the why or thewherefore, the time or the circumstances regarding an object suddenlypresented to us, we feel that it is connected with pleasant orunpleasant things in the past; that there have been causes to love, orhate, or fear a person whose very name and being we have forgotten. Thuswas it with Bernard de Rohan and Father Willand; for, though he knew notwhere they had met before, though he was not sure that they ever hadmet, he was sure that if they had, there had existed good cause to holdthe priest in some esteem.

  When all the arrangements for the succeeding night had been made betweenthe priest and the young cavalier, the latter turned to a pointconnected with the same subject which pressed somewhat heavily upon hismind.

  "And now, my good Father Willand," he said, "you must tell me, sincerelyand candidly, whether you have reason to be perfectly certain that thisLord of Masseran has betaken himself to the court of France."

  "My dear son," replied the priest, "there is nothing upon the earth orunder the earth that we have any reason to be perfectly certain of. And,now that you put it in my head," he added, pausing thoughtfully for amoment or two, "now that you put it into my head, there are severalreasons for believing that this Savoyard devil has not gone to Paris. Inthe first place, I advised him to go, which is a strong reason forsupposing he would not; he being one of those who think that no man canbe sincere in anything. I was so far sincere, however, that I told himwhat is really the only way of saving his neck from the gripe of theKing of France; but I had another object, too, which was to clear theplace of his uncomfortable presence. At the same time, there is a secondreason for believing that he is not gone to the court of France--"

  "There are a thousand," interrupted Bernard de Rohan.

  "Ay, but there is one," rejoined the priest, "which, though not one outof your thousand, is stronger than all the rest, namely, that the worthyand truth-loving Lord of Masseran told some of his servants, and thosenot the most confidential ones, that he had gone to Paris. Now, as hewas never known to tell truth in his life when a lie would do as well,this is a second strong reason for believing that he has not gone toParis. But then, again, on the other hand, we have to recollect that itis very possible he might for once tell the truth, in the hope andexpectation that, from his known character, it might be mistaken for alie, and deceive his dear friends that way. In short, the matter isdoubtful; for every saying of the Lord of Masseran is, like one of thelearned propositions of the schools on which we dispute so learnedly,compounded of so much lie, that if there be a grain of truth therein,the finest head in France will not separate it in a year. But let mehear, my son, let me hear, what reasons have you to bring forward on theone side or the other?"

  "None of very great weight, indeed," replied Bernard de Rohan, unable todivulge the orders, written or verbal, that he bore from the Marechal deBrissac. "A report, indeed, has reached us in Italy," he continued,"that this man is playing a double part between the courts of France andAustria; and, when I did hear of his departure, I certainly suspectedthat the end of his journey might be Milan rather than Paris."

  "I will soon learn that," cried the priest, "I will soon learn that.What you suspect is anything but improbable. And although--knowing wellthe object of your journey--he might give out that he went to Paris toclear himself before he saw you, yet the whole may be false together,and he himself be within ten miles of his castle at the present time.One thing, however, is clear, my son, no time is to be lost; and, in themean time, I will ascertain beyond all doubt what road he took."

  "But can you ascertain?" demanded Bernard de Rohan; "is it possible tolearn exactly in such a labyrinth-like country as this?"

  The priest laughed. "Beyond all doubt, my son, beyond all doubt," hesaid. "The past we can always ascertain. The future is God's," he added,more reverently; "the future is God's, and must rest in his dark councilchamber. But do you not know, have you not yourself seen, that thoughthe peasant and the traveller wander along the sides of these mountainswithout beholding anything but the gray stone, and the clear stream, andthe green bush; though he might whistle all the lays of France and Italytogether, and blow all the horns that ever were winded from Naples tothe far North, without rousing anything but a roebuck or an eagle, thereare particular sounds, to be uttered by particular voices, which wouldcall every bush into life, and change every rock into an armed man? Mygood friend, my good friend, the mountain is full of eyes; and the Lordof Masseran himself, though he knows it is so, does not know to whatextent. There is only one being under the blue eye of heaven that seesit all, and that is the man whom I met with you the other night."

  "He is certainly a very extraordinary being," replied Bernard de Rohan,"and I would fain know more of him."

  "In all probability you will know more," replied the priest. "But youmay meet with thousands like him in various parts of the world. Thereare three places where you generally find the great roguescongregate--the court, the court of law, and the refectory. The honestman has only two places that I know of--the mountain-side and thehighway. There are exceptions, you know; for instance, there is a veryhonest priest, who has the care of the poor souls in the parish of SaintJohn of Bonvoisin, just across the frontier line in France. Sinner thatI am! what should he be doing here, using his time no better than hispatron, Saint Anthony, used his head? Why should he be here, I say,preaching to the stones upon this mountain, when his reverendpredecessor preached to fishes and petted a pig? However, the king, ablessing on his good-humoured head, sent the said priest to Bonvoisin tokeep him out of harm's way; for that boisterous heretic, Clement Marot,threatened to drive his dagger into him for throwing back some of hisribald poetry on his own head. Then, again, the grave and seriousadmiral felt aggrieved at his preaching, one Saint Anthony's day, uponthe subject of herrings, which he vowed was a satire upon the tax he hadlaid on the fishery. However, there the good priest is--or, rather,there he is not, but ought to be--one of the honestest men in allFrance, if you will take his own word for it; a great rogue according tosome men, and a good soul according to others. There may be two or threelike him in other parts of France; and depend upon it, wherever theyare, you will find the poor speak well of them, the widows and themaidens over forty shake their heads and disparage them when theycompare them with their reverend predecessor; while some very grave menin the parish look wise and suspect them to be heretics, without beingable to prove it."

  Bernard de Rohan smiled; but, wishing to hear somewhat more of FatherWilland's acquaintance with his friend Corse de Leon, he replied, "Ithought that this same good priest you mention, if not a Savoyard bybirth, had a Savoyard cure, and that the first of his penitents was ourgood friend Corse de Leon."

  "You are mistaken, my son," replied the ecclesiastic, "you are mistakenaltogether. He has no cure in Savoy, though he may have business there;and as to Corse de Leon being a penitent, he is very impenitent indeed.I remember now," he continued, in a thoughtful way, "it is some five orsix years since, when I was travelling through a little village calledPommieres, not far from the foot of Mount Rosa, that the people calledme to confess a young man who had been crushed under an earth-slip ofthe mountain. It was difficult to get him to confess at all; and onepriest from Saint Maurice had left him. But I set about the matter in adifferent way; told him I did not think he would die, and had greathopes of his not being damned if he did. He said he would rather diethan not; but I argued him out of that, and in the end got him to make afull confession. What he did confess is no business of yours, my son;but I found him to be a man who had suffered many wrongs, and hadendured bitter griefs; but one who was naturally as kind of
heart as hewas bold, fearless, and determined, and as noble and generous in hispurposes as he was sometimes wild, fierce, and intemperate in theirexecution. I sat by his bedside for six weeks, for the three first ofwhich he fluttered between life and death. At the end of that time herecovered, and his frame, like iron tempered in the fire, seemed tobecome but the stronger and more active for what it had undergone. Twoor three years elapsed ere I met him again, and by that time he hadbecome Corse de Leon. The cause of his quitting his native country,France, which was just before I first met with him, was that, on hisreturn from the army, where he had served his king for years, he foundhis sister injured, insulted, and disgraced by the intendant of a highnobleman who was lately dead. He first sought for justice, but could notobtain it. He then visited the deathbed of the poor girl, and found herhead supported by the daughter of that very high noble, and her lipsmoistened by the hand of--_Bernard de Rohan_. He turned away as soon asDeath had done his work, and, mad for revenge, had sought the house ofthe intendant. But the generous spirit of two high youths, Bernard deRohan and Henry de Brienne, had been beforehand with him, and had drivenforth with ignominy the oppressor whom he sought. Still, however, thething rankled on his mind, and the injustice which he had once sufferedand but too often seen, turned a portion of his blood to bitterness. Buthark! there is mine host knocking at the door to tell us that supper isready; and what is all human nature compared with supper?"