<h4>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h4>
<br/>
<p>Achilles, on his return, amused me with the account I have just given,
while he rubbed my shoulder with some unguent, bought for the purpose;
and, though I was not over well pleased at having been played off as a
robber, with so particular a description also as he had given of my
person, yet I was not at all sorry that the jeweller had been pinched
for his roguery, and not a little rejoiced with the recovery of my
ring.</p>
<p>As I have before said, the little player, though as cunning as a
sharper in some matters, was in others as simple as a child; and, like
a boy with his first crown-piece, fortune never gave him any sum,
however small, but he seemed to think it inexhaustible. Thus, from
time to time, he found so many delightful ways of employing my hundred
louis, that, had I followed his advice, one single day would have seen
me at the end of all my riches: but I soon put a stop to the building
of his castles in the air, by informing him that I intended to live
with the most rigid economy, till such time as I had an opportunity of
writing to my father; at the same time begging him to make up his mind
to follow my example, if he still held his intention of remaining with
me.</p>
<p>"Oh, very well, monseigneur, very well," cried he, gaily, "anything
contents me. I <i>can</i> live upon ortolans and stewed eels, but I do not
object to onion soup and a crust of bread. Nay, when the soup cannot
be had, the crust must serve."</p>
<p>Having arranged in my own mind all my plans for pursuing my economical
system as strictly as possible, I sat down to the long-deferred task
of writing to my father: for now that I had seen Helen, half the
difficulty was removed. No matter what were the contents of the letter
which I wrote; it never went. Posts, in those days, were not the
regular mechanical contrivances which our present glorious monarch has
instituted for the purpose of facilitating the communication of every
part of his dominions with the others. Couriers, indeed, passed to and
fro from one part of the empire to another, carrying the letters of
individuals, as well as the despatches of the state; but all the
arrangements concerning them were much in the same state as Louis XI.
had left them. Their departure from Paris was at uncertain and
irregular times; and their journeys were generally directed towards
the principal cities, having either commercial or political relations
with the capital. The difficulty, therefore, of conveying anything to
a remote and little frequented part of the empire delayed my letter
for some time; and before an opportunity presented itself,
circumstances had changed.</p>
<p>In the meanwhile, I employed my mornings in searching for the mansion
wherein I had seen Helen; but, although aided by all the wit of little
Achilles, to whom I communicated enough information to guide him on
the search, I wandered through the streets of Paris in vain, watching
the opening gates of every large hotel I saw, in the hope of beholding
the livery in which the servants I had seen were dressed, and forcing
my recollection to recall the appearance of the archway under which I
had been carried, till a thousand times I deceived myself into hope,
and as often encountered disappointment.</p>
<p>Once only I thought myself sure of the discovery. The porte-cochère of
a house near the Place Royale struck me as the very same I had passed,
while borne upon the <i>brancard</i> by the servants. Every ornament, every
pillar was there, as far as I could remember. There were the curious
Gothic mouldings upon which the torch-light had flashed as we passed
through--there were the two immense couchant bears carved in stone on
each side of the arch, on the back of one of which the bearers had
rested the litter, while their companions opened the gates. Everything
seemed the same; and, taking my stand under the porch of the monastery
of the Minims, I kept watch for two hours, till a servant coming out,
showed me, to my surprise, a livery totally different from that which
I had both hoped and expected to see.</p>
<p>It may be asked what was my object in thus seeking for Helen, when I
knew, when I felt that my union with her was impossible--when at the
very thought her brother's spirit seemed to rise up before me, and,
with the same ghastly look which he had worn in death, bid me forget
such hopes for ever. Why did I seek her? No one that has loved will
ever ask. I sought her for the bright brief happiness which the
presence of the loved still gives, after every expectation is crushed
and withered. I sought her with that dreamy sort of lingering with
which a mother hangs over the frail clay of her dead child. My hopes
were blighted, my happiness was gone; and yet the very object that
most nourished my regret was that on which I could look most fondly,
and which I sought with the most anxious, most unremitting care.</p>
<p>Thus passed my mornings, in fruitless search and continual
disappointment. My evenings flew in a different manner, not in
studying "<i>The Sure Way of Winning</i>," or in practising its precepts,
for such a horror had seized me of that hell-invented vice, gaming,
and of all that appertains to it, that my first care had been to throw
the book I had bought into the fire. The temporary passion which had
seized me, I looked upon, and can almost look upon now, as a fit of
insanity; for taught as I had been from my infancy to abhor its very
name, nothing but absolute madness could have hurried me to a vice at
once so degrading and so dangerous--which, as far as regards the mind,
is in fact, at best, a combination of avarice and frenzy. I had now
bought myself a variety of books on military tactics, and, without any
defined purpose in the study, I spent my whole evenings in poring over
these treatises of attack and defence--a greater and a nobler species
of gambling than that which I had quitted, it is true, but only less
mad, inasmuch as it is a game which any one nation can compel another
to play, and where those must lose who have not studied to win.</p>
<p>I also went occasionally to a hall that an Italian fencer had fitted
up in the Rue Pavée for the purpose of turning a high reputation he
had acquired in Europe into ready money. Here the room, which was
furnished with all sorts of arms offensive and defensive, was well
lighted every night, and the assembled company either formed
practising parties amongst themselves, or took lessons from the
Italian himself, who was one of the most athletic men I ever beheld,
and certainly a most complete master of his weapons.</p>
<p>My father, I have said, was perhaps the most skilful swordsman of his
day; and he had taken care that his son should not be wanting in an
accomplishment in which he was such a proficient. I was, therefore,
certainly more than equal in point of skill to any one who frequented
the Italian's hall, and very nearly a match for himself. This,
however, seemed rather to give him pleasure than otherwise; and
whenever I entered he saluted me with the respect which he
enthusiastically imagined due to every one skilful in the noble
science of arms, frequently inviting me to stretch my limbs with him
in an assault, and taking a delight in showing me all the minute
refinements of his art.</p>
<p>This was the sole diversion I allowed myself, though while I mingled
with the crowds where I knew no one, and wandered through the streets
where I was a stranger, a sad feeling of loneliness--of miserable
desolation--crept over my heart, and I returned to my lodging in the
evening, grave, melancholy, and discontented.</p>
<p>Although there were now several companies of actors continually at
Paris, to the play I never went, that being a sort of amusement too
costly for the narrow bounds to which I had restrained my expenses;
and, indeed, so strictly economical was I in all my habits, that my
good landlady began to fancy me in want, and to show her commiseration
for my condition by all those little delicate pieces of charity which
a person who has felt both pride and suffering knows how to evince
towards those whose spirit has not yet wholly bowed to its fate. Any
little delicacy which fell in her way, she would add it to the
breakfast that Achilles brought me from the traiteur's. Nor did she
ever ask for her rent, but rather avoided me on those days when it
became due; though I believe, in truth, she needed it not a little.</p>
<p>I understood her motives; and though I did not choose to undeceive
her, I took care that she should not be a loser by the kindness which
she showed me. Finding in her also a delicacy of feeling and
refinement of conversation which were above her station, I would
sometimes, when any chance led me to speak with her, endeavour to
ascertain whether her situation had ever been more elevated than that
which she at present filled; and on one of these occasions, she told
me gratuitously that she had been in former years governante to the
beautiful Henriette de Vergne, whose private marriage with the Count
de Bagnols I have already mentioned more than once.</p>
<p>She was surprised to find that I was acquainted with so much of the
history, of which she knew very little more herself. "As I was found
to have been privy to the marriage," said she, "I was sent away
directly, and denied all communication with my young lady, after it
was discovered; but I saw the bloody spot where the poor count was
slain, and the dents of the feet where the struggle had passed; and a
fearful struggle it must have been, for two of the Marquis of St.
Brie's men remained ill at the village for weeks afterwards, and no
one was allowed to see them but his own surgeon. One of them died
also; and his confession was said to be so strange, that the priest
sent to Rome to know how far he was justified in keeping it secret.
After that I came to Paris; and I heard no more of the family, which
all went to ruin, except, indeed, some one told me that my young lady
died shortly afterwards in a convent at Auch."</p>
<p>As I was, of course, anxious to transmit the papers which chance had
placed in my hands, to any of the surviving members of the Count de
Bagnols' family, I inquired particularly what information she could
give me concerning them; but she was more ignorant of everything
relating to them than even myself.</p>
<p>One morning, on my return from my vain searching after Helen, I was
surprised on being informed that a stranger had inquired for me during
my absence, and had begged the landlady to inform me that he would
call again in the evening.</p>
<p>Where reason has no possible clue to guide her through the labyrinth
of any doubt she pauses at the gate, while imagination seems to step
the more boldly in; and, as if in mockery of her timid companion,
sports through every turning till she either finds the track by
accident, or, tired of wandering through the inexplicable maze, she
spreads her Dædalian wings and soars above the walls that would
confine her. I had no cause to believe that one person sought me more
than another, and yet my fancy set to work as busily as if she had the
most certain data to reason from. My first thoughts immediately turned
to Arnault, and my next to the Chevalier de Montenero; and so strange
was the ascendency which the last had gained over my mind, that the
very idea of meeting with him inspired me with as much joy as if all
my difficulties had been removed; but the description given in answer
to my inquiries at once put to flight such a supposition. The
stranger, my landlady informed me, was evidently a clergyman by his
dress, and by his manner and appearance she guessed him to be one of a
distinguished rank. It was, therefore, evidently neither the Chevalier
nor Arnault, and the only supposition I could form upon the subject
was that the Cardinal de Richelieu had at length deigned to take some
notice of me.</p>
<p>My disposition was naturally impatient of all expectation, and the
dull heaviness of the last week, which I had passed day after day in
the same fruitless pursuit, had worked me up to a pitch of irritable
anxiety, which people of a different temperament can hardly imagine. I
wearied imagination, I exhausted conjecture; I hoped, I feared, I
doubted, till day waned and night came; and, giving up all expectation
of seeing the stranger that evening, I cursed him heartily for having
said he would come, and not keeping his word, and sat down once more
to my theory of tactics. I had scarcely, however, got through one
quarter of a campaign, when the rapid motion of Achilles' feet on the
stairs announced news of some kind, and in a moment after he threw
open the door, giving admission to a stranger.</p>
<p>The person who entered was not much older than myself; he was tall and
apparently well-made, but his clerical dress served him a good deal in
this respect, concealing a pair of legs which were somewhat clumsy,
and not the straightest in the world. His head was one of the finest I
have ever seen; and his face, without, perhaps, possessing, one
feature that was regularly handsome, except the full rounded chin and
the broad expanse of forehead, instantly struck and pleased, giving
the idea of great powers of mind joined with a light and brilliant wit
that sparkled playfully in his clear dark eye. He bowed low as he
entered, and advanced towards a seat, which I begged of him to take,
with that quietness of motion which, without being stealthy, is silent
and calm, and is ever a sign of high breeding and good society. I made
Achilles a sign to withdraw; and expressing myself honoured by the
stranger's visit, begged to know whether I was to attribute it to any
particular object, or merely to his kind politeness towards a
stranger.</p>
<p>"If there were any kindness in doing a pleasure to oneself," replied
the stranger, "I would willingly take the credit of it; but in the
present instance, as the gratification is my own, I cannot pretend to
any merit."</p>
<p>This answer was somewhat too vague to satisfy me; and I replied, that
"I was fully sensible of the honour done me; and would have much
pleasure in returning his visit, when I knew where I might have the
opportunity."</p>
<p>My method of receiving him, as equal with equal, seemed, I thought,
somewhat to surprise him; for, half closing his eyes, in a manner
which seemed common to him, he glanced round my small apartment with a
scrutinizing look, too brief to be impertinent, and yet too remarking
to escape my notice. "I shall esteem myself honoured by your visit,"
replied he, at length; "I am but a poor abbé,--my name Jean de Gondi,
and you will find me for the present at the house of my uncle, the
Duke de Retz."</p>
<p>It was, indeed, the famous abbé, afterwards Cardinal de Retz, with
whom I was then in conversation. Not yet three and twenty years of
age, he had already acquired one of the most singular reputations that
ever man possessed. Daring, intriguing, and ambitious, nothing daunted
him in his enterprises, nothing repelled him in their course. Storms
and tumults were his element; and when, before he was seventeen, he
wrote his famous "<i>Conjuration de Fiesque</i>," he seemed to point out
the scene in which he was himself destined to act, to which nature
prompted him from the first, and circumstances called him in the end.
In his manner, there was a strange mixture of calm suavity,
thoughtless vivacity, policy, frankness, and pride, which, combined
together, served perhaps better to cover his immediate motives, and
hide his real character, than the appearance of any uniform habit of
mind which he could have assumed.</p>
<p>All men contain within themselves strange contradictions; but he was
the only one I ever knew, who, upon the most mature reflection, acted
in continual contradiction to himself. He would often put in practice
the most consummate strokes of policy to gain a trifle, or to satisfy
an appetite; and he would commit the most egregious follies and affect
the most extravagant passions, to hide the shrewdest political schemes
and conceal the best calculated and most subtle enterprises. He was a
man on whom one could never calculate with certainty. It seemed his
pleasure to disappoint whatever expectations had been formed of him;
and yet, to hear him reason, one would have judged that the slightest
action of his life was regulated by strong conclusions from fixed
unvarying principles.</p>
<p>I had heard his character from many others, as well as from the
Marquis de St. Brie; but as this last gentleman had calculated, when
he sketched it to me, that my life would be limited to three days at
the utmost, he could have had no possible motive in deceiving me.</p>
<p>With this knowledge of his character, then, it required no great
discernment to see that the visit of De Retz was not without an
object; and resolving, if it were possible, to ascertain precisely
what that object was, I bowed on his announcing himself, and said, "Of
course, Monsieur de Retz, it is needless for me to give you my name.
You were certainly aware of that before you did me the honour of this
visit."</p>
<p>"No, indeed!" replied he; "I am perfectly ignorant both of your name
and rank, though, by your appearance, and by all I have heard of you,
I can have no doubt in regard to the latter. The truth is, I was
informed by persons on whom I could depend, that a young gentleman of
singularly prepossessing appearance and manners had taken this
apartment, and was supposed to be under some temporary difficulty."</p>
<p>I turned very red, I believe; but he proceeded. "People will talk of
their neighbours' affairs, you know; and 'tis useless to be angry with
them--but hearing this, as I have said, I felt an irresistible impulse
to visit you, and to render you any assistance in my power. Nor will I
regret it, even if I have been misinformed, inasmuch as it has gained
me the pleasure of your acquaintance."</p>
<p>With such a speech there was no possible means of being offended,
though I felt not a little angry at my affairs having been made
matters of commiseration throughout the town. I was rather inclined to
believe also, that the trouble which M. de Retz had given himself did
not originate entirely in benevolence. I did not doubt that charity
might have some part therein, for he had acquired a reputation, which
I believe he deserved, for generous feeling towards the sufferings of
his fellow-creatures; but the motives of men are so mixed that it is
in vain tracing their original source. Like a great stream, the course
of human action arises very often in five or six different fountains,
each of which has nearly the same right as the others to be considered
the head: and besides this, in flowing on from its commencement to its
end, it receives the accession of a thousand other different currents,
so that at the last not one drop in a million is the pure water which
welled from any individual source.</p>
<p>I was very sure, therefore, of doing Monsieur de Retz no great
injustice in supposing that his benevolence might be tinged with other
feelings; and I replied, "I should be sorry, sir, that a mistake had
given you the trouble of coming here, did I not derive so much benefit
from that false rumour. My name is the Count de l'Orme, and I am happy
that the bounty you proposed to exercise upon me may be turned towards
some other person more needing and deserving it than I do."</p>
<p>"Be not offended, Monsieur de l'Orme," replied De Retz, "at a mistake
which has nothing in it dishonouring. Poverty is much oftener a virtue
than wealth. But your name strikes me--De l'Orme!--Surely that was not
the name of the young gentleman that his highness the Count de
Soissons expected to join him from Bearn--oh, no, I remember! it was
Count Louis de Bigorre."</p>
<p>"But no less the same person," replied I, with an unspeakable joy at
seeing the clouds break away that had hung over my fate--at finding
myself known and expected where I had fancied myself solitary amongst
millions. I felt as if at those few words I leapt over the barrier
which had confined me to my own loneliness, and mingled once more in
the society of my fellows. "I have always," continued I, "been called
Count Louis de Bigorre; but circumstances induced me, when I left my
father's house, to assume the title which really belongs to the eldest
son of the Counts of Bigorre."</p>
<p>Monsieur de Retz saw that there was some mystery in my conduct, and he
applied himself to discover my secret with an art and industry which
would have accomplished much greater things. Nor did I take any great
pains to conceal it from him. It is astonishing how weakly the human
heart opens to any one who brings it glad news. The citadel of the
mind throws wide all its gates to receive the messenger of joy, and
takes little heed to secure the prisoners that are within. In the
course of half an hour my new acquaintance had made himself acquainted
with the greater part of my history; and when I began to think of
putting a stop to my communication, I found that the precaution was of
no use.</p>
<p>The moment, however, that he saw me begin to retire into myself, he
turned the conversation again to the Count de Soissons, whom he
advised me to seek without loss of time. "You will find in him," said
he, "all that is charming in human nature. In his communion with
society, he had but one fault originally; which was great haughtiness.
He knew that it was a fault, and has had the strength of mind to
vanquish it completely; so that you will see in him one of the most
affable men that France can boast. In regard to his private character,
you must make your own discoveries. The great mass of a man's mind,
like the greater part of his body, he takes care to cover, so that no
one shall judge of its defects except they be very prominent; and
there are, thank God, as few that have hump-backed minds, as
hump-backed persons! Indeed, it has become a point of decency to
conceal every thing but the face even of the mind, and none but
tatterdemalions and sans culottes ever suffer it to appear in its
nakedness. To follow my figure, then, Monsieur le Comte is always
well-dressed, so that you will find it difficult to know him; but,
however, it is not for me to undress him for you. Take my advice, set
out for Sedan to-morrow, where, of course, you know he is--driven from
his country by the tyrannizing spirit of our detested and detestable
cardinal. I rather think the Count intends to initiate you somewhat
deeply into politics, but that must be his own doing also. Break your
fast with me to-morrow, and I will give you letters and more
information. Is it an engagement?"</p>
<p>I accepted the invitation with pleasure; and having answered one or
two questions which I put to him, M. de Retz left me for the night.</p>
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