CHAPTER X. GABRIEL DE------
'I wish I knew how I could ever repay you, Pippo, for all your kindnessto me,' said Gerald, as he sat one fine evening with the old man at thedoor; 'but when I tell you that I am as poor and as friendless in theworld as on that same night when Signor Gabriel found me beside thelake----'
'Not a whit poorer or more alone in the world than the rest of us,' saidPippo good-naturedly. 'We have all a rough journey before us in life,and the least we can do is to help one another.'
The youth grasped the old man's hand and pressed it to his heart.
'Besides,' continued Pippo, 'all your gratitude is owing to SignorGabriel himself. Any little comforts you have had here have been of hisprocuring. He it was fetched that doctor from Bolseno, and his own handscarried the little jar of honey from St. Stephano.'
'What a kind heart he has!' cried Gerald eagerly.
'Well,' said Pippo, with a dry, odd smile, 'that's not exactly whatpeople say of him; not but he can do a kind thing too, just as he can doanything.'
'Is he so clever, then?' asked Gerald curiously.
'Is he not!' exclaimed Pippo; 'where has he not travelled, what has henot seen! And then the books he has written--scores of them, theytell me: he's always writing still--whole nights through; after which,instead of going to his bed like any one else, he is off for a plunge inthe lake there, though I've told him over and over, that the water thatkills fish can never be healthy for a human being!'
'What a strange nature his must be! And what brings him here?'
'That's _his_ secret, and it would be _mine_ too, if I knew it; for, Ipromise you, he 's not one it's over safe to talk about.'
'Where does he come from?'
'He 's French, and that's all I can tell you.'
'It can't be for the _chasse_ he comes here,' said Gerald musingly.'There's no game in these mountains. It can scarcely be for seclusion,for he's always rambling away to some village or town near. It's nowmore than a week since we have seen him. I wish I could make out who orwhat he is!'
'Would you indeed?' cried a deep voice, as a large, heavy hand fell uponhis shoulder; 'and what would the knowledge benefit you, boy?' Geraldlooked up, and there stood Gabriel. He was dressed in a loose peasant'sfrock, and seemed by his mien as if he had come off a long day's march.
'Go in, Pippo, and make me a good salad. Grill me that old hen yonder,and I'll give you a share of a flask of Orvieto that was in the bishop'scellar last night.'
He threw off his knapsack as he spoke, and removing his hat, wiped hisheated forehead, and then turning to the youth at his side, he said:'So, boy, I am a sort of mystery to you, it seems--mayhap others sharein that same sentiment--at least I have heard as much. But whence thiscuriosity on your part? You were a stranger to me, and you are so still.What can it signify to either of us what has happened before we met andknew each other? Life is not a river running in one bed, but a seriesof streams that follow fifty channels--some pure and limpid, some,perchance, turbid and foul enough. What you have been gives no guaranteeto what you may be, remember that!'
He spoke with a tone of sternness that made his words sound likereproof, and the youth held down his head abashed.
'Don't suppose I am angry with you,' continued the other, but in theself-same tone as before; 'nor that I regard this curious desire ofyours as ingratitude. You owe me nothing, or next to nothing, and you're a rare instance of such in life, if within the next ten years thewish will not occur to you at least twenty times, that I had left you todie beside the dark shores of Bolseno!'
'I can well believe it may be so,' said Gerald with a sigh.
'Not that this is my own philosophy,' said the other, in a voice ofpowerful meaning. 'I soon made the discovery that life was not a garden,but a hunting-ground, and that the wolves had the best of it! Ay, boy,'cried he, with a kind of savage exultation, 'there's the experience ofone whose boast it is to know something of his fellows!'
Gerald was silent, and for some time Gabriel also did not speak. Atlast, looking steadfastly at the youth, he said: 'I have been up toRome these last three days. My errand there was to learn something about_you_.'
'About _me_?' said Gerald, blushing deeply.
'Yes. It was a whim--(I am the slave of such caprices)--seized me tolearn how you came among the Jesuit brothers, and why you left them.'
'I thought I had told you why myself,' said the youth proudly.
'So you had; but I am one of those who can only build on the foundationtheir own hands have laid, and so I went myself to learn your history.'
'And has the journey rewarded your exertions?' said the boy, halfmockingly.
A sudden start, and a look of almost savage ferocity on Gabriel'sfeatures, made Gerald tremble for his own rashness; and then, with ameasured voice, he repeated the boy's words:
'The journey _has_ rewarded my exertions.'
'May I venture to ask what you have discovered?' said Gerald timidly.
'I went to satisfy my own curiosity, not yours, boy. What I have learnedmay suffice for the one, and not for the other. Here comes Pippo withpleasanter tidings than all this gossip,' said he, rising, and enteringthe house.
'Won't you come in and have a bit of supper with us, Gerald?' askedPippo kindly.
'No, I cannot eat,' said the boy, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
'Come and taste a glass of the generous Orvieto, however.'
'No, Pippo; I could not swallow it,' said he, in a half-choking voice.
'Ah!' muttered the old man with a sigh, 'Signor Gabriel's talk rarelymakes one relish the meal they wait for,' and with bent-down head here-entered the house.
The feeling Gerald had long experienced toward Gabriel was one of fear,almost verging upon terror. There was about the man's look, his voice,his manner, something that portended danger. Do what he would, the boynever could make his sense of gratitude rise superior to his fear. Hetried, over and over again, to think of him only as one who had savedhis life, and to whom he owed all the present comforts he enjoyed; butabove these thoughts there triumphed a terrible dread of the man, and astrange, mysterious belief that he possessed a sort of control over hisdestiny.
'If it were indeed so,' muttered he to himself, 'and that his shadowwere to be over me through life, I 'd curse the day he carried me fromthe shore of the Lagoscuro!'
Night was rapidly closing in, and the dreary landscape was every momentgrowing sadder and drearier. As the sun sank beneath the hills the heavyexhalations began to well up from the damp earth, till a bluish haze ofvapour rested over the plains and even partly up the mountain side.An odour, oppressive and sickening, accompanied this mist, whichembarrassed the respiration, and made the senses dull and weary; and yetthere sat Gerald, drinking in these noxious influences, careless of hisfate, and half triumphing in his own indifference as to life. A drowsystupor was rapidly gaining on him, when he felt his arm violentlyshaken, and, looking up, saw Gabriel at his side. In a gruff, rudevoice, he chided him for his imprudence, and told him to go in.
'Isn't my life, at least, my own?' said Gerald boldly.
'That it is not,' said the other. 'Your priestly teachers might havetold you that you hold it in trust for Him who gave it. I, and men likeme, would say that each of us here has his allotted task to do in life;and that he is but a coward, or as bad as a coward, who skulks his shareof it. Go in, I say, boy.'
Gerald obeyed without a word; and now a slavish sense of fear came overhim, and he felt that this man swayed and controlled him as he pleased.
'There, Gerald, drink that,' said Gabriel, filling him out a goblet ofred wine. 'That's the liquor inspires the pious sentiments of theBishop of Orvieto. From that generous grape-juice spring his Christiancharities and his heavenly precepts. Let us see what miracles it canwork upon two such sinful mortals as you and me. Well done, boy; drainoff another,' and he refilled his glass as he spoke.
Old Pippo had retired and left them alone together. The moon was slowlyrising beyond the lake,
and threw a long yellow stream upon the floor,the only light in the chamber where they sat, thus giving a sort ofsolemnity to a moment when each felt too deeply sunk in his own thoughtsfor much conversation.
'Do you remark how that streak of moonlight seems to separate us,Gerald?' said Gabriel. 'A superstitious mind would find food forspeculation there, and trace some mysterious meaning--perhaps awarning--from it. Are you superstitious?'
'I can scarcely say I am not,' said the boy diffidently.
'None of us are,' said the other boldly. 'If we affect to despisespirits we are just as eager slaves of our own presentiments. Whatwe dignify by the name of reason is just as often a mere prompting ofinstinct. It amuses us to believe that we steer the bark of our destiny;but the truth comes upon us at last, that the tiller was lashed when thevoyage began.' After a long silence on both sides, Gabriel said: 'I havetold you, Gerald, that I made a journey to Rome on your account. I havebeen to the Jesuit College; conversed with the superior; saw yourcell, your torn school-books, your little table carved over withyour pen-knife; and, by a date scratched on a window-pane, was led todiscover where you had passed the evening of the fifth of January.'
'And did you go _there_ also?' asked Gerald eagerly.
'Ay, boy. I gave an afternoon to the Altieri and the cafe in front ofit.'
'You saw the Count, then?'
'No, I have not seen him,' said Gabriel dryly. 'He was away from Romeat a villa, I believe; but I have learned that, indignant at your flightfrom the Cardinal's villa, he absolves himself of all further interestin you.'
'Have you seen Fra Luke?' asked the boy, who now talked as if the otherhad known every incident of his life.
'No; he too was away. In fact, Gerald, there was little to learn, and Icame back very nearly as I went. I only know that you are about as muchalone in the world as myself. We are meet companions. You said, a whileago, you were curious to know who and what I was. You shall hear. Iam of a good Provencal family, originally derived from Italy. We arecounts, from a date before the Medici; so much for blood. As to fortune,my grandfather was rich, and my own father enjoyed a reasonablefortune. I was, however, brought up to believe all men my brothers; allinterested alike in serving and aiding each other: helping in the causeof that excellent thing we are pleased to call Humanity; and as a creedfirmly believing that, bating a chance yielding to temptation, a littlebacksliding now and then on the score of an evil passion, men and womenwere wonderfully good, and were on the road to be better. We were mostingenious in our devices to build up this belief. My father wrote booksand delivered lectures to prove it. He did more: he squandered all hispatrimony in support of his theory, and he trained me up to be--what Iam.' And the last words were uttered in a voice of intense solemnity.
'I am not going to give you a story of my life,' said he, after sometime; 'I mean only to let you hear its moral. Till I was eighteen Iwas taught to believe that men were honest, truthful, brave, andaffectionate; and that women were pure-hearted, gentle, forgiving, andtrustful. Before I was nineteen I knew men to be scoundrels; it took meabout a year more to think worse of the others. Then began my reallife. I ceased to be a dupe, and felt a man. I am a quick learner, andI acquired their vices rapidly, all but one, that is still mystumbling-block--hypocrisy. All that I have done,' said he, in halfsoliloquy, 'might have passed harmlessly had I known but how toshroud it. Slander, theft, and seduction must not walk naked in thiswell-dressed world; but, with fine clothes on, they make very goodcompany. I was curious to see if other lands were the same slaves ofconventionalities, and I travelled. I went to Holland and to England;I found both as bad--nay worse--than France. If I obtained a momentarysuccess in life I was certain to be robbed of it by some allegationforeign to the question. My book was clever; but I had deserted mywife. My treatise was admirable; but I had seduced the daughter of myprotector. My views were just, right-minded, and true; but I had robbedmy father. Thus, with a subtlety the stupidest possess, they wereable to detract from my genius by charging it with the defects of mycharacter, as if it behoved one to pay the debts of the other. I went oninsisting that it was my opinions alone were before the world; they assteadily persisted in dragging myself there. At last they have had theirwill, and I wish them joy of the victory.' There was a savage triumphin his eyes as he spoke this that made Gerald tremble while he looked athim.
'If you care for my story, boy,' resumed he, 'old Pippo there willgive it to you for a flask of Monte Pulciano. He 'll tell you of all mycruelties in my first campaign in Corsica; how I won my wife by firstblasting her reputation; how I left her; how I was imprisoned and fined,and how escaped from both by a seduction. If he forget the name, you mayremind him of Sophie De Mounier. They beheaded me in effigy for thisat Dole. But why go on with vulgar incidents which have happened toso many! It is the moral of it all I would impress, boy, which isthis--take nothing from the world but solid gifts. Laugh at its praises,and drink deep of its indulgences! Those born great are able to do thisby prerogative; you and I may succeed to it by skill. Remember, too,that my theory is a wide, a most catholic one; and to follow it youneed assume no special discipline, but be priest, soldier, statesman,scholar, just as you will. I have been all these in turn, and may be soagain; but whether I wear a cassock or a cuirass, my knowledge of menwill guide me to but one mode of dealing with them.'
'There is nothing in what you have told me of your life to make merevere your principles,' said Gerald, with a courageous boldness.
'Because I have told you how I fell, and not how I was tempted; becauseI have stooped to say of myself that which none dare say to my face;because whatever I have been to the world it was that same worldfashioned me to. What would it avail me that I made out a case ofundeserving hardships and injustice, proved myself an injured, martyredsaint: would your wondering sympathy heal any the least of those woundsthat fester here, boy? Every man's course in life is but one swing ofthe pendulum. I have vowed that with mine I shall cleave the dense moband scatter the vile multitude. As to you,' said he, suddenly turninghis glaring eyes upon the youth, 'you are free to leave this to-morrow.I'll take care that you are safely restored to those you came from, ifyou wish to return. If you prefer it, you may remain here for a month ortwo; by that time I shall return.'
'Are you going, then, from this?' asked Gerald.
'Yes. I am on my trial at Aix, for cruelty and desertion of my wife.They have spread a report that I have no intention to appear; that,having fled France, I mean never to return to it. Ere the week's overthey shall learn their mistake. I shall be there before them; and, ifinstances from the uses of court and courtiers are admissible, show,that when they prove me guilty, they must be ready to include Versaillesin the next prosecution. Watch this case, boy; I'll send you thenewspapers daily. Watch it closely, and you 'll see that the file is atwork noiselessly now, but still at work on those old fetters that havebound mankind so long. But first say if you desire to stay here.'
Gerald held down his head and muttered a half audible 'Yes.'
'To-night, then, I will jot down the names of certain books you oughtto read. I shall leave you many others too, and take your choice amongthem. Read and think, and, if you are able, write too: I care not onwhat theme, so the thoughts be your own.'
Gerald wished to thank him, but even gratitude could not surmount thedread he felt for him. Gabriel saw the struggle that was engaged in theboy's heart, and, smiling half sadly, said, 'To our next meeting, lad!'
Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel Page 10