De L'Orme. / The Works of G. P. R. James, Esq., Vol. XVI.

by G. P. R. James

At eighteen, one has very few doubts, and very few fears; much passion, and much curiosity; and for my own part, I had resolved if I did not view the Spaniard in all situations, it should not be my fault. In short, by the time I arrived at Saragossa, I was willing to enter into any sort of adventure that might present itself, and though the memory of Helen might act as some restraint upon me, yet I am afraid I wanted that strong moral principle, which ought ever to guide us in all our actions. I make this acknowledgment, because I look upon these sheets to be a sort of confession, which in making at all, I am bound to write truly; and though I shall not dwell upon any of those scenes of vice which might lead others by the mere detail into the very errors that I commemorate, be it remembered, that I seek not to show myself at any period of my life as better or purer than I was. With regard to every feeling that came within the direct code of honour, or even its refinements, I had imbibed them from my earliest days; but I was a countryman of Henri Quatre, and not without a great share of that weakness, which in the gallant monarch was redeemed by a thousand great and shining qualities. But the love of adventure was my principal failing, which is a sort of mental spirit drinking, as hard to be overcome as the passion for strong waters itself.

I know not why or how, but the Chevalier seemed to have an instinctive perception of my character which almost frightened me; and while Father Francis was seeking in his bags for a parcel which Arnault at Lourdes had intrusted to his care, my keen-sighted companion drew me to the window of the front chamber, and after having, by a few brief observations on my disposition, shown me that he saw into my bosom even more clearly than I did myself, he warned me of many of the dangers of a Spanish town. "Remember, my dear Louis," continued he, "that I only tell you that such things exist--I do not tell you to avoid them. Your own good sense, as far as the good sense of a very young man can go, will tell you how to act, and I am afraid that all men in this world must buy experience for themselves; for if an angel from heaven were to vouch its truths, they would not believe the experience of others. However, loving you as I do--and you do not know how much I love you--there is one thing I must exact--if you want advice, apply to me--if you want assistance, apply to me--if you want a sword to back your quarrel, you must seek none but mine."

As he spoke, Father Francis entered the room with a look of much consternation and sorrow. "I hope and trust," said he, advancing to the Chevalier, "that the packet which your procureur Arnault intrusted to me for you is of no great value, for on my honour it has been stolen by some one out of my bags."

The pale cheek of the Chevalier grew a shade paler, and though no other emotion was visible, that one sign led me to think that the packet was of the utmost import, for never before did I see him yield the least symptom of agitation to any event whatever. "I did expect," replied he, in a calm, unshaken voice, "some papers of much consequence, but I know not whether this packet you mention contained them. There is no use, my good Father Francis, of distressing yourself upon the subject," he added, seeing the very great pain which the accident had caused to the worthy old man; "if by calling to mind the circumstances you can find a probability of its recovery, we will immediately take measures to effect it. If not, the packet is lost, and we will forget it."

"How it has been abstracted, or when," answered the good priest, "I know not. On arriving at Luz, at the end of our first day's journey, I opened my valise on purpose to put that packet in safety, wrapping it up with some small stock of money that I had laid by for the purpose of doing alms; but both are gone."

"Stolen for the sake of the money!" said the Chevalier, shutting his teeth, and compressing his lips, as if to master the vexation he felt. "Well," proceeded he, with a sigh, "it is in vain we struggle against destiny. For sixteen years I have been seeking those papers, but always by some unfortunate accident they have been thrown out of my reach; destiny wills not that I shall have them, and I will give it up."

"And what do you mean by destiny, my dear son?" demanded Father Francis, with the anxious haste of an enthusiastic man, who fancies he discovers some great error or mistake in a person he esteems. "Many people allow their energies to be benumbed, and even their religion, by a theory of fatalism which has its foundation in a great mistake."

"It appears to me, my good father," replied the Chevalier, with a smile, "that fate grasps us, as it were, in a cleft stick, as I have seen many a boor catch a viper--there we may struggle as much as we like, but we are fixed down, and cannot escape."

"Nay, nay," said Father Francis, "it is denying the goodness of God. Every one must feel within himself the power of choosing whatever way or whatever conduct he thinks fit. A man standing at a spot where two roads separate, does he not always feel within himself the power to follow whichever he likes? and yet, perhaps, death lies on the one road, and good fortune on the other."

"But if he is destined to die that day, that day will he die," replied the Chevalier. "And if you allow that God foresees which the traveller will take, of course he must take it, and his free will is at an end."