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

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER V.

  The Count de Meyrand was awake early, and dressed with the mostscrupulous exactness of appearance, without a riband tumbled or a pointout of place. He descended slowly about seven of the clock from thechamber in which he had passed the night, by the long blackdouble-railed staircase, that led at once from the rooms above into thekitchen, which, as I have said before, served also as the saloon of theinn. His air and his countenance bore the same appearance ofindifference which they usually displayed, and he made no inquirywhatsoever regarding the events of the preceding evening, although hehad retired to rest more than an hour before Bernard de Rohan hadreturned to the inn. His servants came and went, seeking directionsconcerning this thing and that, and communicating with him, from time totime, in a low tone. The aubergiste, with many a lowly reverence, askedhis distinguished guest manifold questions concerning his breakfast; butstill the Count de Meyrand was not heard to ask any questions eitherregarding the fate of his friend, or the somewhat remarkable eventswhich had lately taken place.

  At length, however, the jovial priest made his appearance; and whetherit was that the count was in a better humour for raillery than on thenight before, or whether he remarked, by the keen twinkling of theother's eye, that he was about to commence an attack upon him, whichwould not easily cease, he chose to be the first to open the encounter,saying, "Well, good father, though I know it is not an easy thing tocool a priest's courage, yet I trust your last night's expedition hasrather diminished your chivalrous ardour."

  "Not a whit," replied the priest. "Everything depends upon how much aman's courage wants cooling. Yours, noble count, seems not of a qualityvery likely to boil over; and, doubtless, ten steps from the door of theinn would have sent you home shivering. Mine carried me, however, alittle farther."

  "Ay, doubtless," interrupted the count, "up to the point where you metwith these rogues; and then you waited behind a great stone to see whohad the best of the fray. Is it not so? I see you have brought home nodesperate wounds with you."

  "None," replied the priest, "that I cannot bear as tranquilly and wellas you, my noble lord, could bear the sorrow of your best friend. Mytrade, however, is not bloodshed; I love not hard blows, and shallalways keep out of their way as far as I can. So my confession is made;but here comes one who has a greater liking for wounds and bruises thanI have; and now Heaven send us all as good food as I have a goodstomach. Mine host! mine host! that omelet will be overdone, and the sinof burned eggs is one to which I refuse absolution. By Hercules! as theRomans used to say--Body of Bacchus! as the Italians say--Dame! as wesay in France, did ever mortal man see such a basket of fine trouts?Why, it is a gift for an abbot! Look! my noble baron, look!" hecontinued, turning to Bernhard de Rohan, who now made his appearance;"did you ever see such fair river-gods in your life? Put them upon theashes, host, put them upon the ashes!"

  Bernard de Rohan did not pay so much attention to the fishes as thepriest, by his commendation, seemed to think they deserved; but, turningto his friend, he shook him by the hand, saying, "Well, Meyrand, youcertainly always were a very unaccountable sort of personage, or Ishould be inclined seriously to quarrel with you for suffering me to golast night without assistance, at the imminent risk of getting my throatcut for want of your help."

  "If you risked getting your throat cut, De Rohan," replied hiscompanion, "that was your fault; I had nothing to do with that; I evendeviated so far from my usual habits as to ask you to stay, and not doit. I have always a reason for everything I do, good Sir Bernard, and Itake it for granted that other people have a reason too. I supposed thatyou had some motive for going and getting your throat cut, and thereforedid not in the least blame you for doing so, if you chose; but I had noreason for anything of the kind, and therefore I stayed where I was.Indeed, I had every reason in the world not to go: I was warm andcomfortable, and had good wine and good viands before me; I was tiredwith a long day's hunting, and had got my boots off. Then what to me wasthe Lord of Masseran, that I should try to save his life or liberty? Ihad no motive for serving him: indeed, quite the contrary. Every oneknows him to be an egregious scoundrel, and at this moment he owes methirty thousand crowns, which he will never pay, and which I have nochance of getting, unless some honest brigand should cut his throat,when the King of France would doubtless take possession of his lands andpay his creditors."

  "Good faith, you are better acquainted with him than I am," repliedBernard de Rohan. "Pray let me know something of his history; for Inever heard anything of him till some six months ago, when letters fromFrance informed me that the widowed Countess of Brienne, the mother ofmy friend and comrade, Henry of Brienne, was about to be married to aMarquis of Masseran."

  "Oh! his history is told in a few words," replied the Count de Meyrand,laughing; "but serve the breakfast, my good host, and do not stand withyour mouth open listening to the venerable character of your noble lord,for I take it we are here upon his domain."

  "No, no!" replied the host, "he is no lord of mine, noble sir; this isducal domain we stand upon."

  "It matters not," answered the count; "this Lord of Masseran, then,Bernard, though his mother was a Frenchwoman, was born on the other sideof those Alps, a Piedmontese vagabond; half Frenchman, half Italian; asort of water-snake, neither adder nor eel; though a sort of third-sizesovereign, an underling of the Duke of Savoy. He who would have beenbeggarly for a French gentleman, was ten times more beggarly for aprince; and thus, in all probability, he would have gone onliving--filled with all the small Italian vices of our day; sharing, itis said, with the brigands who take refuge on the territories of suchsmall lords; and employing the stiletto or the drug when it suited hispurpose to get rid of troublesome friends--thus, I say, he would havegone on living what is considered in Italy a very respectable, quiet,insignificant life, had a fancy not suddenly come into the head of ourworthy king to take possession of the dominions of his friend andcousin, the Duke of Savoy, which fancy at once raises this Lord ofMasseran into a person of importance. He has, it seems, upon his landsone or two small towns and one or two small castles; but these towns andthese castles are so situated as to command several passes and defilesvaluable to France. Now my Lord of Masseran is a conscientious man, and,of course, nothing would ever induce him to take part with any one whocould not pay him for the same. From the poor Duke of Savoy not a livretournois was to be expected. The King of France himself, though aperfect Croesus in promises, was known to be somewhat threadbare inthe treasury. He, however, was the more hopeful speculation of the two,for he had power if he had not money, and there was a probability of hispaying one friend out of what he pillaged from another. With him, then,my Lord of Masseran chose to deal, and promised to give free passage tothe troops of France upon certain conditions, which are, of course, asecret. One thing, however, is evident; my Lord of Masseran did with theking as some of our followers do when they take service of us. He asked,in short, for something in hand. Now the worthy monarch of France hadnothing to give but the hand of a fair widow in her fortieth year. Withthat hand, however, went a dowry of some twenty thousand crowns a year,and the Lord of Masseran came to Paris and opened the campaign againstthe widow's heart. She has the repute, as you should know better thanany one, of being somewhat hard and stern in her purpose, and cuttingwith her tongue. She was inconsolable, too, for the death of her noblehusband; always wore black, like the mother of the late king, and lookedthe picture of widowhood. My Lord of Masseran, however, with hisPiedmontese eloquence, found means to win the widow, with the support ofthe king. The lady thought, it would seem, to spend her days in Paris;but that city soon became a residence unsuited to the health of her newhusband. There were strange stories current regarding him; but there wasone thing certain, namely, that he was marvellously fond of those small,square, spotted pieces of mischief, which have the art of conveying somany fortunes from hand to hand. He played largely; he won generally;and his fortune seemed immense. One night, at the Louvre, he borrowedfrom me the large sum I have nam
ed, with a promise to repay it the nextmorning; but it would seem that, after I left the hall, either fortunewent against him, or he took an irresistible longing for Savoy. His ladyraved and raged, we are told: but she found that she had now to do withone, upon whose dull ear the sweet sounds of a woman's tongue, raised toever so high a pitch, had no effect. The Lord of Masseran paid not theleast attention to anything that she said; he did not seem to hear her;but, with the most kind courtesy and ceremonious respect, handed her tothe carriage which was prepared to bear her away; and she found herselfon the road to Savoy before she could arrange any scheme for resistance.This is his history; mine is soon told: I choose not so easily toabandon my hold of my Lord of Masseran; and I am here hunting his game,riding through his woods, and visiting his castle gate; for he seems tome to be as deaf to my sweet solicitations for repayment as he showedhimself to the melodious intonations of his lady's voice. Now, priest,though your clerical appetite may be good, do not devour all the troutin the dish, for I am hungry as well as you, and have told a longstory."

  "And a good one too," replied the priest, laughing, and putting over thedish to the count; but he suddenly added, "Have you never got within thegates of his castle, then, my noble lord?" and he fixed his eyes fullupon the face of the Count de Meyrand.

  A very slight change of colour took place on the count's cheek; but hereplied at once, "Oh yes, I have been within, but to no purpose."

  "He must be an obdurate man indeed," said the priest, "if yourpersuasions, my noble lord, can have no effect upon him. I wonder whatmine would have! Perhaps he might listen to the voice of the Church: Iwill go up and try."

  "Why what hast thou to do with him?" demanded the count, suddenlyturning his eyes sharply upon the priest. "On what pretext wilt thou gothither?"

  "To exercise my calling," replied the priest, with a sly smile; "toexercise my calling in one of its various ways."

  "I knew not that your calling had various ways," replied the count, hisusual air of indifference verging into a look of supercilious contempt.

  "Oh yes it has," replied the priest, well pleased, as it seemed toBernard de Rohan, that he had piqued the count out of his apathy. "Ourcalling has various ways of exercising itself. We address ourselves toall grades and classes. If I convert not the Lord of Masseran, I mayconvert his cook, you know. My efforts for the good of his soul mayprove for the benefit of my own body; and the discourse that is heldover venison and capons comes with a fervour and an unction which ismarvellously convincing."

  There was a sly and jocular smile upon the priest's countenance,especially while addressing the Count de Meyrand, that somewhat puzzledBernard de Rohan, and evidently annoyed the count himself. It was notdifficult to see that, in the most serious things he said--though,indeed, there were few that he did say which were serious at all--therewas a lurking jest, that seemed pointed at something which the hearerdid not clearly see, but which might or might not be something in hisown character, purposes, or pursuits.

  The significance of his tone towards the Count de Meyrand, however, didnot pass without that gentleman's observation; and, after listening tohim for several minutes more, while the party concluded their breakfast,he turned towards him as he rose, saying, "It seems to me, priest, thatyou would fain be insolent. Now let me tell you, that, though you arevery reverend personages in Savoy, and men meddle with you warily, inFrance we have a way of curing clerical insolence, which is a goodscourging with hunting-whips. Perhaps you do not know that this is theway French gentlemen treat those who are insolent."

  "I know it well," replied the priest, turning upon him sharply, "I knowit well, as I happen to be a French gentleman myself."

  He instantly changed his tone, however, and added, with his wontedsmile, "Nay, but now, Heaven forbid! that I should be insolent to thenoble Count de Meyrand. He being a generous and well-bred gentleman,and, like every other gentleman, indifferent to all things upon earth,can never take offence where no offence is meant; but, as he looksfurious, I will take myself out of harm's way. The blessing of a wholeskin is great. Adieu, my son! adieu! We shall meet some time again, whenI shall find you, I trust, restored to temper, and as lamb-like and meekas myself."

  While he thus spoke, the priest gradually made his way to the door andissued forth; while the Count of Meyrand, calling one of his attendantsto him, whispered something which Bernard de Rohan construed into anorder unfavourable to the safety of the jovial priest's shoulders.

  "Nay, nay, Meyrand," he said, "let him have his jest, for pity's sake.Recollect he is a priest."

  "His gown sha'n't save him," replied the count. "Those priests have toomuch immunity already in all parts of the world. But what do you now, deRohan? Will you hunt with me to-day, and we will drive this Lord ofMasseran's deer from one end of Savoy to the other? or do you go on toParis at once, and deny me your good company?"

  "I write to Paris," replied the cavalier, "and send off a messengerimmediately. But I myself go up to seek this Lord of Masseran. I havedespatches for him from the Marechal de Brissac, and also some orders togive by word of mouth."

  "I hope they are not disagreeable orders," replied the count, turningtowards the door of the inn; "for he is not one of those whom I shouldlike to offend in his own castle."

  "Oh no, I shall say nothing that should offend him," replied Bernard deRohan. "But, besides that, I shall not go till after the arrival of therest of my men, who come across the mountain this morning; and he mightfind it rather dangerous to do me harm."

  "His ways of dealing with troublesome friends are various," replied thecount. "I should love neither to dine nor to sleep in his dwelling. Aword to the wise, good friend, a word to the wise! Now, my men, quick!quick! get ready the horses, bring out the dogs. You will not betempted, De Rohan?"

  "I cannot now," replied his friend. "Another day, if I stay so long. Iwish you sport, I wish you good sport;" and, turning towards hischamber, he caused a table to be brought, and materials for writing tobe placed before him. He there remained for nearly an hour and a half,busily tracing upon paper those small black characters which, since someman--whether Cadmus, who, if he did it, may well be said to have sowndragons' teeth and reaped a harvest of strife, or whoever else thelearned world may have it--those black characters, I say, which, sincesome man, not contented with what mischief the tongue can do, inventedwriting for the propagation thereof, have worked more of wo andmischief, as well as of happiness and prosperity, than any otherinvention that the prolific mind of man ever brought forth. At lengththe sound of a trumpet coming down the hill saluted his ear, and in afew minutes after it was announced to him that the rest of his train hadarrived.