CHAPTER XV.
There are dull pauses in human life when the mind, however anxious it may be to speed forward upon its active career, is forced by circumstances to halt and deal with minor things; as a traveller on foot, however eager he may be to hasten forward upon his way, is sometimes obliged to stop and take a small stone out of his shoe, lest it should impede the whole after part of his journey: and thus, though we would willingly go on with those in whom we are more interested, we must linger for a moment or two with the priest and Madame de Chazeul, in order to proceed more rapidly when we have related some things which, though not very entertaining, are absolutely necessary to the right understanding of this history.
The lady led the way to her own chamber, with a step she intended to be perfectly calm and tranquil, but which, by its occasional irregularity and sharp jerking movement, betrayed the agitated and angry feelings which she struggled to conceal. The priest followed, with his still, even pace, his large dark eyes as usual bent down, and not a trace of any emotion upon his countenance. He seemed, indeed, like a moving statue, to the countenance of which the sculptor had successfully endeavoured to give an expression of great thought, of mind, and equanimity, but not of feeling or emotion.
When they reached the lady's chamber, the Marchioness de Chazeul took a seat, and pointed to another, with a somewhat haughty wave of the hand; but father Walter sat down deliberately, and crossing one foot over the other, remained in an easy attitude waiting for Madame de Chazeul to begin, as if totally unconscious that there were any angry feelings in her bosom towards himself. He made no inquiry, even by a look, in regard to the nature of the communication which he was about to receive, but calmly bent his head a little forward as if to listen, and waited for her to begin.
"Well, Monsieur de la Tremblade," said the lady at length, "so you have thought fit to commence this system of sweet candour towards Monsieur de Montigni, and to tell him that he has a right to the estates."
"I always advocated candour, Madam," replied the priest; "and if my advice had been followed, and the exact state of the case had been told him in Italy, with a request that he would remove all obstacles, he would have remained where he was, and you would not have been in such an unpleasant situation at present."
"And therefore, I suppose, because people judged differently from yourself," said the Marchioness, "you thought fit to spoil their plans, when yours were not adopted."
"Not exactly," answered father Walter, perfectly unmoved; "I only acted as was right and fitting on the occasion, I betrayed no secrets, lady; I gave no further information than was merely necessary to induce this young gentleman to do what was required of him. The very act of renunciation itself bore upon its face, the acknowledgment that he had rights; and I did not in any degree define them, but merely said, that it was necessary he should sign the papers, to guard against any legal contest hereafter."
"Pshaw!" cried Madame de Chazeul; "do you think I do not see your motives, Walter de la Tremblade? You would fain have so managed, that the greater part of the benefices, if not the whole, should fall into your hands. You were not content with the Abbey of Chizay--not you! You must have more: and now a fine business you have made of it, for you have lost all to yourself and to us too."
The slightest possible glow passed over the cheek of Walter de la Tremblade; but he replied, without the least alteration of tone, "You are wrong in your suspicions, daughter; and they are unworthy of you or me."
"Quite worthy of me," replied the Marchioness, "for I like to see to the bottom of men's hearts. Now, I will answer for it, you persuaded him that it was very improper for laymen to hold the property of the church; you showed him, that he could not conscientiously keep these benefices, if he got them, without taking the gown. Ha! have I touched you? can you deny it, Sir?"
"Entirely," replied father Walter. "He stated such objections himself; and it was not for me to argue against my conscience. I told him, however, that it was a constant practice in France for men, not ecclesiastics, to hold such benefices. The objections were his, not mine, though how you came to learn they were ever made, I know not, as his conduct turned upon very different feelings."
"How I came to learn!" exclaimed the Marchioness, with a scornful smile; "because I know you both right well--by no other means, good father. Oh! I understand the whole. Think you I have lived for fifty years, with my eyes open, in this busy world, and do not know how a calm, quiet priest, by a few soft, half-whispered words, can instil doubts, and insinuate his own views into the mind of a weak-hearted youth; how by a look, or even a faint denial of that which he seeks most strongly to impress, he can produce the effect desired, when seeming to oppose it."
"Madam, you are very learned in such arts," replied father Walter, with a slight sarcastic curl of the lip.
"I am," answered the Marchioness, boldly, "and I know that father Walter can make use of them as well as others. But there is such a thing as overreaching one's self, Sir; and methinks you have done so in this instance."
"Not in the least, daughter," replied the Priest. "I am quite contented, if you are."
"But I am not!" cried the Marchioness, vehemently, "and I will have no more of this. You think the game is lost; and, therefore, with the cunning of your cloth, you bear it tranquilly. I know that it is not so hopeless as you imagine; and for that reason I take the trouble of telling you, that if I recover the false steps taken, I will not be frustrated by you."
She spoke angrily and haughtily; and then, as if feeling that she had given too much way to passion, she rose, went to the window, gazed out for a moment, and played with the embroidery on her dress. Father Walter in the meanwhile remained calm and silent: not that thought--ay, and even passion, were less busy in his own bosom than in hers; but he was more habituated to command his own sensations, and to keep them, like those undercurrents of the sea which carry ships far astray without producing a ripple on the surface, from showing, by any outward sign, the course in which they were bent.
At length, the Marchioness returned, with a smoother brow and more placable look. "Come, father Walter," she said, "we must not quarrel; we are needful to each other. Let us act together, and, depend upon it, the interests of both will be better served by so doing, than if each pursued a course apart."
"I deny that I have ever acted otherwise, daughter," replied the Priest. "I am glad to hear you have hopes of retrieving what has gone wrong; and I will aid you to the very utmost of my power, not only to wrest from Monsieur de Montigni the estates of Liancourt, but also to unite Mademoiselle d'Albret to your son. There are a few things that I would not undertake to accomplish this; but not from the motives you imagine,--from very, very different reasons."
"What may they be?" inquired the Marchioness; "if you promote my views, boldly and unhesitatingly, and I can aid yours, I will, without scruple. What may they be, good father?"
"Listen, then, daughter," replied the Priest. "To an ecclesiastic of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, there are objects far higher, far nearer to his heart than any interests of his own. Indeed, rightly speaking, we should have no interest but one, though human weakness will occasionally have its share. When we enter into that body to which I belong, we lose our identity, we become but part of a great whole, we merge all our own passions, hopes, wishes, desires, all our personal feelings and views, in those of the church, and for her interests, as the highest object at which we can aim, we are justified in taking means, and performing acts, which we should consider culpable, were they undertaken for any individual end."
"Well, father," said the Marchioness, as he paused, "to what does this tend?"
"To a very important point, daughter," replied the Priest. "This young man, this De Montigni, boldly and straightforwardly acknowledges the heretic, Henry de Bourbon, as King of France. 'Tis but the day before yesterday, that, for the deliverance of the heretic named Chasseron, a man who, I hear, made himself bitterly obnoxious during what is called the Lover's War, he charged and put to death several good Catholics of the League. One of them was brought in here severely wounded, and I confessed him last night before his death. The youth is, even now, gone to join his heretic monarch, excommunicated by the head of the Christian church, and deprived by him of all right and title to the allegiance of any but heretics like himself. Think you, lady, that a priest of the true religion would willingly see estates and power in the hands of such a one? No, daughter, no; and I believe that any scheme would be justifiable to deprive him of the means of injuring the church, of upholding heretics and infidels, and of overthrowing all true religion in this realm. It is with great difficulty I have kept your brother--whose wavering weakness in such things I need not tell you--from acknowledging Henry of Bourbon; and, if his heir goes over to that side, all my pains are lost. It has been for these causes that I have joined heart and hand in endeavouring to bring about the marriage between Mademoiselle d'Albret and Monsieur de Chazeul, one of the brightest ornaments of the Holy Catholic Union; and you have done me great wrong in supposing that any private interest, whatsoever, would induce me to risk, even by a word, the great object I have in view."
"Perhaps I have," replied the Marchioness; "but yet, father, it was imprudent to let this youth know that he had any rights."
"Not at all," replied the Priest, somewhat sternly. "That fact could not be concealed. The very papers showed it, and the attempt to keep it back naturally produced suspicion and inquiry. If others had played their part as well as I did, and had watched carefully to prevent all communication between your brother Michael and his nephew, till De Montigni had signed, no harm would have arisen; but my advice was ill followed; they were suffered to meet in private--how, and when, I know not; but five minutes was sufficient to do all the mischief. And now it is necessary that I should know what you are about to do--what are your hopes of retrieving this affair--and what scheme is to be followed for the future."
"What would you advise yourself, father?" inquired the lady, willing to test his sincerity.
"Methinks," answered the Priest, "there is but one course to be taken. Lose not a moment longer in vain deliberation, surprise, and recrimination, but raise all the men of Liancourt, and send them out to overtake this runaway ward. A thousand things may occur to stop her. Dispatch messengers to Mayenne, Nemours, Aumale, with information of the circumstances. Tell them to cut her off from the King's camp and send her back. Once here, we will find means to deal with her. This is your only chance; but a clue to her course may be gained by the road which the old Commander follows. Be you sure that he is going to join them; and it is even not improbable, that they are waiting for him, at no great distance."
"Give me your hand, father Walter," cried the Marchioness. "All that you propose is already ordered; and, if we succeed by your assistance, not only Chizay, but another abbey, richer still, shall show our gratitude--"
The priest waved his hand, and she added, with a smile, "to enable you to promote the true interests of the Roman Catholic religion."
Father Walter was about to reply; but at that moment one of the Marchioness's women entered the room, saying, "Madam, here are Theodore and one of the men you sent back to Chazeul, who wish to speak with you directly."
Her mistress made her a sign to be silent, and father Walter, observing her gesture, took his leave and retired.