CHAPTER XVI.
A fortnight, or rather more, passed away in this unpleasant state; andI found that time, which reconciles one to most things, had not thateffect at all in making me endure patiently the transfer of the Duke'sconfidence to Gaspard de Belleville. Had he been, indeed, a person whodeserved that confidence, or who would not have abused it, although myvanity might have been as much pained, my reason would not havesupported me in murmuring, nor would my affection for my lord himselfhave given additional pain to my personal mortification. As it was,however, I felt convinced, from what I knew of that youth'sdisposition, that he would not only do nothing to cure Monsieur deVillardin of his morbid suspicions, but that, both for the sake ofmaintaining his place in his master's favour, and of annoying me, hewould do all that he could to foster any feelings which he might findout that I had opposed. When these thoughts came across my mind--notbeing of the most patient temper in the world, nor particularlyscrupulous as to the means of gratifying it--I more than once thoughtof throwing my adversary over the bridge into the river; and as I hadnever yet done anything of the kind in my own private cause, though Ihad committed many a doubtful act in the cause of others, Iendeavoured to reason myself into believing that such a proceeding wasabsolutely necessary to the peace of Monsieur and Madame de Villardin.This passed through my thoughts more than once, I acknowledge; and Iimagined--if done fairly in single combat, strength against strength,without any surprise or feint on my part, and with full warningreceived by him--that the act I contemplated would be fully asjustifiable as any duel that ever was fought. He, indeed, had theadvantage of age, being certainly two years older than myself; thoughnow, having grown considerably in the air of Brittany, I was as tallas he was, and nearly as muscular.
What all this would have ended in, Heaven only knows; and I am almostafraid to calculate now what would have been the probable result; buttwo circumstances took place soon after my conversation with theDuchess, which I have detailed in the end of the last chapter, whichput an end to all further thoughts upon the subject. The first was thearrival of a personage, who, on many points, changed all my ideas andopinions, gave me a new view of my duties, and both enlarged andpurified my mind. The second was an accident which suddenly gave me ahigher place than ever in the affection of Monsieur de Villardin, andestablished a link of connexion between his heart and mine thatneither years nor circumstances could ever break.
Let me speak of the events which followed, however, in the order inwhich they occurred.--Of old Jerome Laborde I had seen a good dealsince his arrival from the Pr?s Vall?e; and, although he could give meno information as to the result of the conferences held betweenMonsieur de Villardin, his page, and the soubrette, he did not fail topoint out that the change which had taken place was an evil one, andthat all happiness was banished from our dwelling. The only thing, hesaid, which would ever restore it, would be the coming of good P?reFerdinand, his lord's confessor, who had more influence over his mindthan any one, and who had promised to come over and stay at Dumont forsome time. I had caught a passing sight of the Confessor more thanonce at the Pr?s Vall?e; and both from something prepossessing in hisdemeanour, and from the effect which his exhortations had producedupon Monsieur de Villardin on a former occasion, I argued in the samemanner as good Jerome Laborde in regard to his next visit.
Various circumstances detained him, it appears, at Rennes for severaldays after this conversation; and the next time I saw the goodmajor-domo was one day when, on suddenly entering the saloon, I foundhim speaking with the Duke, and, as it appeared to me, in an attitudeof entreaty. I was about to draw back; but Monsieur de Villardinbeckoned me forward, saying, "Come in, _Seigneur Jean_,"--the name bywhich he usually called me when in his milder mood,--"come in! Here isJerome pleading to me in a matter which concerns you in a twofolddegree. It seems that you have told the intendant to seek you tenantsfor your house at Juvigny, generously promising to let them rest rentfree if they will keep the house in repair. Now, I find that Jeromehas a nephew who is newly married, and who wants a dwelling, and heapplies 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 anytestimony of my regard: "I am sure Jerome would not recommend any onewho would not do full justice to all intrusted to him."
"By my faith! I am not so sure," answered the Duke. "You know more ofthis youth than I do; for it seems you saved him once from thegallows--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 hasobtained grace and pardon of the King, only coupled with the conditionthat he never sets foot in Paris again, nor ever attempts to exercisethe business of a printer."
As may well be conceived, I was not a little surprised to find that myfirst tenant was likely to be poor Jacques Marlot; still more to hearthat Jacques had taken unto his bosom a wife; and most of all, to findthat a libel, which attacked the person and reputation of the QueenRegent herself, had been pardoned upon any consideration whatever.However, I, of course, joined my voice to that of good old JeromeLaborde, who, to tell the truth, promised and vowed a great deal moreon the part of his nephew, than I at all imagined his nephew wouldjustify, assuring the Duke that all his follies were completely at anend, and that henceforth, he himself would answer for Jacques living asober, tranquil, and peaceful life. Industrious and clever he alwayshad been, he continued; and as the good ladies of St. Ursula, the oldman said, were going to give him the management of their little farms,just opposite to Juvigny, the house would come quite apropos. Althoughwith some difficulty, the Duke yielded to our solicitations, butsolely on condition that Jacques produced to the eyes of the intendantthe act of grace by which he was relieved from all danger of the royalindignation. Jerome willingly accepted of the terms; and I withdrewwith him, in order to hear more of my worthy philosopher's fate, andthe adventures which had brought about such a consummation asmatrimony and the cultivation of the earth.
The major-domo, however, could tell me but little more than I hadalready heard. He had received, he said, a letter from his nephew thatmorning, dated from St. Aubin, entreating him to make the request hehad just done to the Duke, and giving him satisfactory assurances thathis pardon was really granted. How it had been obtained, Jerome added,remained to be explained to himself as well as to me; but respectingthe farm of the Ursulines, and Jacques Marlot's knowledge of my plansin regard to Juvigny, an easy explanation was afforded, by the fact ofhis having just married a niece of our intendant's;--"A little againstthe intendant's stomach, I believe," said the major-domo; "but it wasan old love affair, it seems, before Jacques went from Rennes--wherehe was in good business enough--to Paris, where he got bad businessenough. 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 totake 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 theintervening time, I left the good major-domo, and proceeded on myother affairs. These were of no great importance, and suffered littlefrom being disturbed; but as the old man's own occupations were verynumerous, and generally methodically arranged for all the hours of theday, I was somewhat surprised to see him enter my chamber towardsnightfall, 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 youjust now. You must know that P?re Ferdinand arrived about an hour ago,and is even now in conversation with my lord. You will see him atsupper; and doubtless my lord will introduce you to him, and will tellhim all you have done. But I took the liberty, my son, of telling himall before, and also of letting him know how much you were attached tomy lord, and how eager you were t
o promote the peace and happiness ofall the family. Nay, more--and I hope, and am sure, that you will notthink I went too far--I promised him that you should meet him thisevening, after supper, in my apartment, and make his acquaintance morecompletely."
"Oh! I will willingly meet him," replied I; "though I suppose weshould have had plenty of opportunities of making acquaintance duringhis stay in the ch?teau, without any appearance of secrecy."
"It need be no secret, my son," answered the major-domo; "and inregard to your making acquaintance with him afterwards, that woulddepend entirely upon circumstances; for he does not seem at allassured of staying even over to-morrow, till the conversation he isnow 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 muchthat is amiss in the house, and also because I am sure you will loveand esteem him; for there never was a better man."
As old Jerome had anticipated, on entering the _salle ? manger_ at thehour of supper, I found the Duke standing with the Confessor, to whomhe instantly introduced me, saying,--"Father Ferdinand, this is theyoung 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 adear brother, and treat accordingly."
The Confessor took my hand, and looked at me with a smile full ofbenignity, saying,--"We must be friends, my son; I hear a highcharacter 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 satdown to supper alone. I remarked that Monsieur de Villardin was morecalm, though not less grave than he had seemed of late; but it was theperson and demeanour of the priest that principally engaged myattention.
He was a man considerably past the prime of life; and though his framewas neither bent nor broken by the weight of years, yet his age was tobe traced in his thin white hair, and in many a long deep furrow onhis brow and cheek. His eye, however, was bright and clear; and histeeth of as white an ivory as ever appeared between the lips ofyouthful beauty. He was thin and pale, but his complexion was clear,and, probably, had never been red; and his form, which was tall, wasalso upright and graceful, and in no degree stiff. His robes, too, satwell upon him; which is always a sign of a lofty education or of afine mind; for no one can feel himself perfectly at his ease in allhis movements, without possessing the one, or having received theother. With Monsieur de Villardin the Confessor spoke as equal toequal; and though, from his demeanour, I might, perhaps, as a firstimpression, have inferred that he was one of those priests who sofrequently govern, with absolute sway, the little kingdom of a privatefamily, yet he was evidently not one of those who would truckle to theprejudices, or give indulgence to the errors, of any one in whosedwelling he was established. There was in his whole conversation atone of bold independence, mingling with the tenderness of his manner,which took away from it the slightest appearance of subserviency, andmade me feel that, in giving him the title of Father, one onlyaddressed him by a name which he believed himself to deserve.
After supper I again retired, and, as I had promised, took my way tothe apartments of the good major-domo, where the priest soon aftermade his appearance, and spoke with me for some time, kindly andfrankly, upon a variety of indifferent subjects. He was evidentlydelighted to hear that my mother had been a Catholic, and that I hadbeen originally brought up in that faith; but he pressed the subjectno farther upon me, and I saw that he skilfully avoided saying oneword that might make me suspicious of any design on his part, eitherto force himself into my own confidence, or to wring from me thesecrets of others. Gradually, however, he brought the conversationround to the subject of Monsieur de Villardin, and spoke with deep,and, certainly, sincere regret, of the state to which the Dukeappeared to have brought himself. He asked me no questions, however;but on my expressing equal pain at the fact, he only replied, byexhorting me to strive, by every means in my power, to remove thepoison from my friend's mind. I willingly promised to continue all myefforts, and our conference thus ended.
After what I have just said, it may seem extraordinary that my firstimpression of Father Ferdinand was not favourable. On retiring to myown chamber, I sat down to meditate over the character of theConfessor, and, as usual, formed my judgment very rapidly. I waswrong, however--entirely wrong; for as yet I had only allowed myselfto remark the worst--I may say, the sole bad trait in FatherFerdinand's nature. On it, with the keenness which had been taught mefrom my youth, I pounced like a tiger, and resolved to be as wary aspossible to guard myself against its effects. This evil spot, which Ishort-sightedly conceived to overspread the whole surface of hisheart, though, indeed, it was but a small blemish therein, was aslight touch of that subtlety for which our priests are rather famous;but I must pause for a moment, to define exactly its real limits, lestthose who may read this writing fall into a like error with myself.
It was certainly a part of Father Ferdinand's doctrine, that, inchurchmen, the end justified the means, provided that the means werenot absolutely immoral. Thus things that, under any othercircumstances, he himself would have considered meannesses, lost thatcharacter in his eyes when they were employed to effect some goodpurpose; and art, duplicity, and cunning, used either in extractingthe truth from others, or in guiding them, even against their will,upon the path he thought it right for them to follow, seemed to himnot only admissible, but praiseworthy, in a priest. He stopped there,however, saying that no clergyman had a right to go farther; and thatif, upon the pretence of guiding others, he did one act that wasreally sinful, the sin rested on himself, aggravated rather thanpalliated by the motive, inasmuch as it was insulting God to supposethat he could be served by sin.
On these principles, he made the character of all those with whom hewas brought in contact his most minute study; employed every method ofobtaining information concerning them, even to questioning theirservants and their friends; and having done so, proceeded, step bystep, to establish his own influence over their minds, which it wasonly owing to the goodness of his own heart, and the natural rectitudeof his judgment, that he employed to their advantage and their peace.At first, however, he proceeded cautiously; suffered the traits oftheir hearts to develop themselves before his eyes; shocked none oftheir prejudices; rudely assailed none of their opinions, till suchtime as he found himself secure of his power over their minds; butthen, certainly, with an eloquence which I have never heard excelled,and a fervour rarely equalled, he would combat their errors, opposetheir vices; and, once having begun the strife, would throw himselfbefore their passions, in full career, and show them that theytrampled on everything sacred, if they pursued their onward course.
The consciousness of this ultimate purpose, too, gave a dignity evento acts that I cannot but imagine to be reprehensible; and even, inthe endeavour itself to elicit from dependants the secrets andcharacter of their lord--an occupation which surely is mean, if therebe anything mean on earth--there was an air of authority in his wholebearing, which made it seem more as if he were examining witnesseswith the power and right of a judge, than inquiring into the privatehistory of others for objects of his own.
It is with regret that I have stated this blemish in a man I esteemand love, though no one will see these lines till both our eyes areclosed, and his virtues will live remembered long after we both aredust. He himself, however, saw it not as a blemish; and were he now tobehold the lines in which I have endeavoured to portray it in its truefeatures, he would very probably say, that I had softened down one ofthe best traits in his character to suit my own prejudices; for hehimself has always contended, that the noblest victory he everacquired over human weakness, was that in which he conquered hisnatural repugnance to employ means which the world condemns andscorns, for the sake of effecting the best of purposes.
In all other respects, my memory can rest upon every part of ouracquaintance with pleasure; and, look into it as narrowly as I will, Ifind qualities in his character which I can admire and respect.
Inpoint of physical gifts, nature had originally been very bountiful tohim indeed, and he had cultivated what she gave with extraordinarycare. A fine ear for music, and a rich, melodious voice, gavefull effect to a copiousness of words, and a happy selection ofepithets, that could only be gained by long study; and clearness ofthought--which is probably a natural faculty--was thus rendered doublyefficacious by immense power of expression.
But I must not dwell too long in description, which seldom doesjustice to its object. The next morning, in strolling through thepark--a custom which my habits of early rising enabled me to indulgebefore 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 havesaid, I had already formed an erroneous opinion of his character,which led me to believe that any conversation between us was to be agame 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, afterwishing me good morning. "It is a practice which leads to many worldlyadvantages; and, where the mind is well disposed, may be turned tobetter purposes. There is a freshness, and a sublimity, and a calm,monitory voice, in the early morning, which inspires purity offeeling, counsels good purposes for the ensuing day, and lifts theheart to adoration of the Being who made all the bright world that iswakening around us."
Whether he did it with that purpose or not, I cannot tell, butcertainly he could not have chosen a better method of breaking downall the barriers between us, which my examination of his character onthe preceding night had raised up, than by thus showing me that therewere finer thoughts and feelings in his heart than those which I hadas yet discovered. After a few more words, however, in the samestrain, he again brought the conversation to Monsieur de Villardin;and he now spoke of him in terms of tenderness and pity which he hadrestrained on the preceding night, while in the presence of the olddomestic. Nor was it alone his sorrows he appeared to commiserate: heseemed to pity him more for his errors than even for his griefs. Hespoke of him as of a being who, with noble powers and a generousheart, had, by a few weaknesses and faults, created for himselflasting misery below, and endangered his happiness for the longhereafter. There was something so eloquent--I may say, so sublime, inthe pouring forth of his lamentation over one who was evidently hisfriend as well as his penitent, that I was struck and affected; whileall my prepossessions, I felt, were rapidly giving way to a truerestimate of my companion's character.
Seeing that I listened eagerly, and, mistaking the cause of thesurprise which was visible upon my countenance, he added, "You wonderto find me addressing you thus upon the subject of the Duke; but youmust remember that I am his confessor, and know exactly how much youknow of his affairs; what share you have had therein, and how you haveborne yourself under difficult circumstances."
I replied not; for I began again to be upon my guard, fancying thatall this might be but a prelude to questions which I might not thinkfit to answer. By my silence and the casting down of my eyes, heseemed at once to enter into my thoughts:--"Be not afraid, my son," hesaid, laying his hand upon my shoulder, with a smile; "I seek noinformation that you can give me. Indeed, what need I, knowing muchmore than you can know. Suffice it, that what I have heard of yourconduct--making allowance for faults of education and habit--leads meto 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 rootof bitterness that poisons all the current of his days: and although ashadow 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 fromrepentance."
I doubted not that the priest alluded to the death of the Count deMesnil; but it was neither my business to take it for granted thatMonsieur de Villardin had confided that secret to him, nor did I seethat the strong terms he used were very applicable to that event; forI could not get my mind to comprehend that the fact of killing anadversary in fair fight, though it might be a matter of personalregret, was at all a subject for religious repentance. I replied,therefore, generally, that, of course, he was the best judge of whathis penitent had to atone for; but that, for my part, as both duty andaffection prompted me, I was willing to strain every nerve to relievethe mind of Monsieur de Villardin, and to restore him to a happierstate of feeling.
"I doubt you not, my son," replied he, seeing that there was stillsome holding back in my conversation with him; "I doubt you not, andtrust that the time will soon come when you will not doubt me. In themeanwhile, to speak of another part of our subject, good old Labordetells me that the page, Gaspard de Belleville, seems lately to havetaken your place in the Duke's confidence. Your place in his esteemand affection he has not taken, as I positively know; and I would fainbe sure of the fact that Jerome Laborde tells me before I speak withMonsieur de Villardin about it. Have you yourself remarked anydifference?"
"So much so," I replied, "that many a painful feeling have Iexperienced on the subject. Indeed, I attribute the great increase ofthat evil which we all deplore, to the fact of Monsieur de Villardin'snow confiding entirely in persons who are likely to foster all hissuspicions, and strengthen every wild idea that jealousy may suggest."
"And do you think that this Gaspard de Belleville is a person to doso?" demanded the priest.
"Beyond all doubt," I answered. "So sure am I, and so sure have Ibeen, that such is the case, that, only yesterday, I contemplatedbringing him to the middle of that bridge and throwing him over intothe river, after giving him fair warning of my intention."
"My son!" exclaimed the Confessor, recoiling with a look ofinvoluntary horror; but, the moment after, he recovered himself, casthis 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 bysurprise?"
"God forbid, my son, that you should do such an act at all," repliedthe Confessor: "the time will come when you will think better."
He said nothing more upon that subject, however, governing his ownfeelings with wonderful control; but, from that day forward, I seldomfailed to meet with Father Ferdinand in some part of my morning'swalk; and I saw that the words I had spoken with regard to Gaspard deBelleville had never been forgotten. Gently and cautiously, but firmlyand perseveringly, he applied himself to change opinions andprejudices which my early habits had rendered almost a part of mynature. At first he would take an opportunity of descanting generallyupon 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 nocreature had a right to take from another, except in those cases whichGod himself had pointed out. Now, he represented it as the spaceallotted to a sinner for repentance; now, as the means of conferringbenefits on others,--rearing and supporting a family,--and doing thewill of the Almighty. Now, he showed it as the crowning and especialgift 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, ona supposed injury, had taken the life of another, if ever he were todiscover that his passion or his judgment had deceived him, and thatno injury had really been done, or that it had been attributed to aninnocent person. Now, he would carry his view beyond this world, andrepresent the agony that the murderer's soul must suffer, when, inaddition to the weight of the crime itself, he felt loaded with allthe unrepented sins which his hand had prevented his victim fromatoning upon earth. Then, again, he would return and awaken everyhuman sympathy; display the sweet ties broken, the dear hopesdestroyed, the noble careers cut short, by such deeds: he wouldrepresent loves and affections that we know not of, bright but secretaspirations, joys and good deeds conce
aled from every eye, ended forever, as the punishment of some trifling fault or idle folly; and, inthe end, when he found that all my prejudices were shaken, headdressed himself direct to my own heart, with such powerful andeloquent exhortation, that thenceforth I mingled with the world withvery different feelings in regard to the relationship between man andman.
The Little Ball O' Fire; or, the Life and Adventures of John Marston Hall Page 16
