Corse de Leon, or the brigand. A romance

Front matter

EOUTLEDGE'S SIXPENNY NOVELS WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT, ROUTLEDGE'S 6d. EDITION OP LORD LYTTON'S NOVELS. The Author's Copyright Revised Edition, in which are given the latest revisions and corrections made by the Author, together with the Prefaces he wrote to the various Editions ef his Noi'els published duritrg his lifetime. Presaoes and Revisions. No other 6d. Edition contains these 132. Eugene Aram, with Three Prefaces. 133. Godolphin. 139. Falkland and Zicci, with a Prefatory Note. 140. Pelfcam, with Dedication. 141. The Disowned, with a Preface. 142. Devereux, with a Preface. 143, Alice ; or. The Mysteries. Sequel to " Ernest Maltravers." 134. Last Days of Pompeii, with Two Prefaces. 135. Rienzi, with Dedication and Two Prefaces. 136. Ernest Maltravers. with a Preface. 137- Paul Clifford, with Two Prefaces. 138, Leila, Calderon the Courtier, and New Copyright Volumes, The Pilgrims of the Ehiae, in One Volume. 147.

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Tha Phantom Ship. 109, Valerie. 104. Olla Podrlda. 123. The Pirate and the 95. The King 8 Own. 96. Newton Forster. 97. Jacob Faithful. 98. Frank Mildmay. 99. Paoha of Many Tales. I 103. The Poacher. Three Cutters. EUGENE SUE.-6d. each. 73. Tha Wandering Jew. 78. The Mysteries of Paris. Part i (Morning) 79. Ditto. Part 2 (Noon). 80. Ditto. Part 3 (Night). Part 1 (The Transgression). 73. Ditto. Part 2 (The Chastisement). 76. Ditto. Part 3 (The Redemption). OLD G. P. R. JAMES'S NOVELS. 2s. each, fancy boards. THE BRIGAND. GOWRIE. MORLEY ERNSTEIN, DARNLEY. DELAWARE, HENRY OF GUISE. THE ROBBER. RICHELIEU. THE GIPSY. ONE IN A THOUSAND. THE SMUGGLER. ARABELLA STUART. THE WOODMAN. AGINCOURT. DE L'ORME. HEIDELBERG. RUSSELL. THE FALSE HEIR. CASTLENEAU. THE KING'S HIGHWAY. THE CASTLE OF EHRENSTEIN. THE STEPMOTHER.

Chapter I

mind ; I am inclined to think, I say, that such despondency is only given to the high-minded and the great ; a prophetic voice, announcing not to the ear, but to the heart, that the day of trial comes ; the trumpet of Fate calling on a champion, dauntless and strong, to rouse him to the battle, and arm his spirit for some awful strife. The day had been as bright and beautiful as a summer day in the south of Europe can be ; and yet it had spared the traveller and the labourer many of the inconveniences and discomforts which those beautiful days of the south sometimes bring along wit h them : for the year was yet young, and with all the brightness of youth it had all the tenderness too. There had been a fresh breeze in the sky during the hotter part of the day ; and one would have felt that it blew from the cool tops of snowy mountains, even had one not seen from time to time some of the distant peaks of the high Alps towering white over the greener hills below.

There are a thousand small and apparently accidental circumstances, which, in our course through life, bring a temporary gloom upon us, render our expectations from the future fearful and cheerless, and diminish our confidence in all those things whereon man either rashly relies or builds his reasonable trusts. Strength, youth, wealth, power, the consciousness of rectitude, the providence of God — all these will occasionally lose their sustaining influence, even upon the most hopeful mind, from causes too slight to jus tify such an effect. These accidental circumstances, these mental clouds, resemble much those other clouds which sometimes at the close of a bright day come over a landscape previously warm and shining, cast a grey shade over its rich hues, shut out the re doubled glory of the setting sun, and make gloom and shadow spread over the summer scene.

Though nothing is changed but the light in which things dwell, though the colour of the tree and the form of the rock are the same, yet the brightness of the whole is departed, and the lustre gone out as if for ever. There was also a world of streams and rivulets, and cascades about, which gave additional fresh ness and life to the air that blew heavy with the perfume of the flowers upon the banks ; and the high swelling of the mountains round, still gave a pleasant shade to one side of the valley. Each sense had something to delight it ; and there was over every object which nature presented, that aspect of peaceful enjoyment which is the greatest soother of man's heart. There are times, however, when a gloom, which seems to have no counterpart in the physical world, comes over the mind ; when all has gone fairly with us ; when every object around is full of brightness and hope ; when the horses of For tune's car have never once even stumbled on the way ; and not a sorrow rough enough to rub the down from the wing of a butterfly has fallen upon our hearts for years ; and yet a deep and shadowy despondency steals over our spirits, as if the im mortal within us were telling the mortal of anxie ties and griefs, and dangers approaching ; discovered by the fine sympathies of the higher part of our being with things undiscoverable by the mere material creature.

The spot was at the extreme verge of Savoy, bordering upon France. It would little benefit the reader to say exactly where, for the aspect of the land has changed : the towns of that age and their laborious denizens would not be recognized by their successors of the present day; the castle, the fortress, and the palace are ruined and swept away, and even the roads themselves now wind through other valleys or climb over other hills. It wars somewhere between Nice and St. Jean de Maurienne : that space is surely limited enough to afford the reader a definite idea of the scene. Let him take a map and a pair of compasses, lie will find it but a span ; and in reality it is less — with a universe around it. Nevertheless it was a very lovely scene, as I have said, with the hills tall and blue, and the snowy mountains looking down upon one through the long defiles ; with the valleys green and fresh, and the streams bright and sparkling.

Here and there, too, upon some rocky height which com manded the entrance of the gorges of the mountain, a feudal castle would raise its battlements, grey, and stern, and warlike ; and either in the Cares, sorrows, and perils, corporeal agony, and anguish of thc heart, are often but as the fire which tempers the pure iron into the sine steel, at once proving and strengthening the spirit. The last grand lesson which leads generous youth to vigorous manhood, which confirms our powers, and gives the great man's mastery over Fate, is to endure ; and I am inclined to believe that such sudden and unaccountable feelings of despon dency — I do not mean the ordinary fits of gloom that haunt a moody and a wayward spirit, but, on the contrary, the dark impression, the heavy shadow that once or twice, in the midst of a bright lifetime, comes irresistibly upon a gay or placid open plain, where such a thing was found, or in the warm valleys between the hills, were seen the villages and small towns of Savoy, with their greyish white walls, and their graceful church towers crowning the loveliness of the whole with the aspect of human life.

The period of the world's history whereof 1 speak was one of gorgeous pageantry, and gay wit and deeds of arms; a period when chivalry and the feudal system, just about to be extinguished for ever, blazed with a dying flame. Montmorency still lived, though Bayard and Francis had left the busy scene but a few years before, and Henry the Second had not yet closed his career in the last tournament which Europe was destined to wit ness. The songs of Marot and the wit of Rabe lais still rang in the ear, and Ronsard, Dorat, and Montaigne were entering gaily upon the path of letters. It was in the year 1553, then, and towards the close of the day, that a small party of horsemen wound along through the bright scenery of which we have spoken. It consisted only of four per sons, two of whom were merely armed servants, such as usually attended upon a cavalier of those times, not exactly acting the part of soldier on ordinary occasions, but very well fitted so to do when any particular exigency required the exer tion of the strong hand.

The third was a youth of no very remarkable appearance, in the garb of a page ; but the fourth was evidently the leader of the whole, and, as such, the person who merits the most accurate description. I will attempt to paint him to the eye of the reader, as I have my self seen him represented by the hand of an unknown artist in one of the palaces on the banks of the Brenta. but also with four short carbines — at least such they appear to be — one at each corner of the saddle. His head, indeed, is seen unencumbered by the steel cap, which usually completed the armour, but it is borne by the page at his saddle bow, while the cavalier himself appears wearing upon his head the somewhat cooler covering of a black velvet cap, without feather or any other ornament. The horse that carried him, which was a tall powerful charger, fared better in some respects than his master, for before this epoch the heavy armour with which steed as well as man used at one time to be encumbered, was lightened in favour of the quadruped ; and the horse which bore the young gentleman of whom we speak was only covered with such pieces as might protect his head and chest in the shock of the charge.

The day, I have said, had been bright and sweet, and all nature had been as fresh and happy as a young heart upon a holyday. Similar, too, had been the mood of Bernard de Rohan as he rode along ; not so much that the scene and its charms created, as that they found, sympathetic feelings in his bosom ; for his disposition was naturally cheerful and bright, full of gay thoughts and happy enthusiasms. He was returning, too, from another country, from the midst of strangers, and perils, and fatigues, to enjoy an interval of tranquillity, in his own bright land, and the society of those he loved. France was within his sight, the tongues that he heard around him spoke nearly the same lan guage as that which he had used from infancy ; and, though the nominal frontier of Savoy lay some fifteen miles before him, yet, in all but the name, he was in his own country.

There was little of that cold restraint about him which is either acquired by harsh dealings with evil men, or is natural from some inward pravity of the heart ; and the cheerful mood of his mind found its way forth in many an outward sign. From time to time lie had turned round to speak to the page, or to one of the servants, with some light jest or gay inquiry. Now he would point out a distant spot in the landscape as they stood upon some beetling point half way up the mountain, and ask if they recognized this or that town in Dauphine ; now he would pat the proud crest of his stout horse, and talk to the noble animal as if he expected an answer ; and now would even break forth into a snatch of song. His heart, in short, was as a fountain, so filled with happiness that it welled over, and the waters sparkled as they overflowed the brim.

The servants smiled to see their lord so gay, especially an elder one, who, commenting w ith the other, remarked that he might well look happy, bearing back home such glory as he had He was in person about the middle height, rather above it than below, and at this period was not more than twenty-three years of age. His forehead was broad and fine, with short dark hair curling round it : his features were small, except the eye and brow, the former of which was large and full, and the latter strongly marked. The mouth was very handsome, showing when half open in speaking, the brilliant white teeth, and giving to the whole countenance a look of playful gaiety ; but when shut, there was an expression of much thoughtfulness, approaching perhaps to sternness, about it, which the rounded and somewhat prominent chin con firmed.

The upper lip was very short ; but, on either side, divided in the middle, was a short black moustache, not overhanging the mouth, but raised above it ; and the beard, which was short and black like the hair, was only suffered to grow in such a manner as to ornament, but not en cumber, the chin. In form the cavalier was muscular, and power fully made, his breadth of chest and shoulders giving the appearance of a more advanced period of life than that at which he had yet arrived. He was evidently a soldier, for he was fully armed, as if having lately been or being still in scenes of strife and danger; and, to say the truth, a man fully armed in those days was certainly more loaded with weapons, offensive and defensive, than was probably ever the case before or since. won. Thus passed the earlier part of the day's journey ; but towards the evening the mood of Bernard de Rohan changed.

His open brow did not grow cloudy, it is true, but there came a look of gloom upon it : thc lips no longer opened with a bland smile, and the teeth were closed with that stern expression we have already noticed. His eyes gazed upon the scene, but with somewhat of a vacant aspect, and every thing told that the spirit was busy in its taber nacle dealing with high thoughts. Nor could any one who looked upon him suppose that those The picture I have spoken of represents him, with not only the complete armour which was then still used to encase the person, with the long heavy sword, the dagger, and thc large pistols, thoughts were other than sad ones. Intense they certainly were ; and certainly they were not gay. and heavily, denting the dusty covering of the road. Bernard de Rohan and his followers rode on at full speed, though the descent was steep, the way bad, and the grey twilight creeping over the scene.

Five minutes more brought them to a turn, where they could obtain a wider view; but, alas ! no place of refuge was to be seen, except where the same tall dark tower rose heavily across the streaks of red light in the west, marking the place of some distant town or village. ! The attendants, who had pictured to themselves j, during the morning's ride all the comforts of the J cheerful inn, the good rich wine of Dauphin, the stretching forth at ease of the strong laborious limb, the easy gossip with the village girls, the light-hearted song in the porch, and all the re laxing joys of an hour's idleness, now begun to think of the long and tedious task of cleaning arms and clothing, and spending many an hour in rubbing the cold steel; and to say sooth, their lord also would have been better pleased with fairer weather.

Yet Bernard de Rohan had no remembered grief. Fate had indeed once struck him severely, but ever after had spared him altogether, had plucked not a flower from his bosom, nor cast a shadow on his path. In early years he had lost both his parents, but that was the only misfortune which had befallen him, and it was long ago. He scarcely remem bered them ; and all that remained was a soft memory, affectionate but not painful. Since then his course had been from one bright thing to another. Wise and tender friends, the amusements, the sports, the studies of youth, virtue and honour, wealth and station, praise, success, and glory had been his. He had no thirst for power ; so what could he want more? Had any one asked him that question, he would have replied, Nothing — nothing but what he might well hope to attain ; and yet about an hour before the sun reached the edge of the sky, a fit of gloom fell upon him, dark, vague, unaccountable, like one of those mists that in mountain lands suddenly surround the wayfarer, shutting out the beauty and the brightness, and leaving all around dull, chilly, vague, uncertain, and confused.

The road, as such roads ever must do, wound its way round many a turn and angle of the rock ; so that it was very possible for several persons to be within a short distance of each other, without the one who followed ever seeing him who was but a few hundred yards before him. At the spot which we have mentioned, Bernard de Rohan paused for a moment to look round for some place of shelter, and the road before him seemed perfectly clear and free. He could see completely into the valley on his right, and across the plains beyond, while the path which he was following could be traced along the side of the hill, round two or three sharp angles of the rock, about two hundred years apart from each other. All at first was clear as I have said, when suddenly there emerged at the salient point which cut that part of the sky where the light still lingered, the figure of a human being, which was lost again round the turn, almost as soon as it was seen.

"There is a peasant on a mule," exclaimed the cavalier gladly. "We cannot be far from some village." "It looks more like a priest on an ass, my lord,' replied the attendant who had spoken before. For nearly half-an-hour he gave way to the sensations that oppressed him. They seemed at first too mighty to be struggled with. It was what in the language of northern poetry is called " having the cloud upon him," and he could not cast it off; till at length it seemed to disperse gradually, and the power returned, first, of argu ing with himself upon the unreasonableness of such feelings, and then of smiling — though with a mingled smile — at his own weakness in giving way to them. The effect wore off ; but he was still com muning with himself on the sensations he had just experienced, when the page called his atten tion to the clouds that were gathering round the mountains.

With that quick transition so com mon to hill countries, especially in the south, the sky was becoming rapidly obscured. The iurid masses of stormy vapour writhed themselves round the peaks ; and although beneath their dark canopy a gleam of intense red light was seen marking the far western sky on the side of France, the whole heaven above was soon covered with a thick expanse of deep grey clouds. At a con siderable distance, in the more open part of the country, which lay beyond the mouth of the de file, stretching in long lines of dark purple to wards the sunset, appeared a large square tower, with some other neighbouring buildings, cutting with their straight lines the rounded forms of the trees. "Well, well," said his master, " we shall find the better lodgings." " And the better wine," rejoined his follower, " but perhaps not the better welcome."

"Oh! they are good men, these priests of Savoy," replied Bernard de Rohan, spurring on; " but we must not lose him again." In a few minutes they again caught sight of the object of their pursuit. He was now much nearer, but still it was somewhat difficult to distinguish whether he were priest or peasant, till coming up with him by dint of hard riding — for his long-eared charger was bearing him on at a rapid pace — they found that he was, as the at tendant had supposed, a jovial priest : not indeed extravagantly fat, as but too many were in that day, but in good case of body, and bearing a countenance rosy with health, and apparently sparkling with a cheerful disoosition. He seemed, indeed, to be of a character somewhat eccentric, for, contrary to all clerical rules, he had covered his head with one of the large straw hats of the peasantry, which accorded but ill with the rest of his habiliments.

His features, which the; young cavalier thought he had seen somewhere " That must be Voiron," said thecavalier, as if in answer to his page's observation regarding the coming storm. " We must quicken our pace and reach shelter, or we shall have to pass half the night in cleaning our arms, if yonder frowning cloud fulfil one half its menaces." " Voiron must be ten leagues off, sir," replied one of the attendants; "we shall not reach it this night." "Then we must find some other covering," replied the master, gaily ; " but at all events use your spurs, for the battle has already begun." Even as he spoke the large drops fell slowly ?a ; 4 rive this sensation, notwithstanding the dictum of the most selfish of would-be philosophers. It is, on the contrary, from a comparison of their own situation at the moment with what that situation sometimes has been, or might even then be, that the good and the generous experience such feelings ; and though the thought of others exposed to the tempest, must naturally cross their minds, yet that thought is mixed with pity and regret.

The little inn towards which Bernard de Rohan and his companions were proceeding, under the guidance of the priest, when last we left them, though the village in which it stood contained not above nine or ten cottages, was good for the time and the country. Its only sitting-room, of course, was the great kitchen, into which the door opened from the road ; but that kitchen was well fenced from the wind and rain ; the windows were small and cased in stone ; the door was sheltered by a deep porch, where host and travellers sat and amused them selves in the summer daytime ; and as it was the first house met with after passing some of the steepest mountains between France and Pied mont, everything was done to make it attractive in the eyes of weary wayfarers. The thunder had past, the air had become cold and raw, the night was as dark as a bad man's thoughts, a fierce wind was blowing, and the heavy rain dashed in gusts against the clattering casements ; but all those indications of the harsh and boisterous state of the weather without, did but serve to make the scene within seem more comfortable to the eyes of a traveller, who sat in one of the large seats within the sheltering nook of the chimney, watching the busy hostess prepare more than one savoury mess for his supper on the bright wood fire that blazed upon the hearth.

In the meantime, several attendants of various kinds might be seen in different parts of the wide kitchen cleaning and drying harness, clothes, baldrics, and weapons, or preparing other matters for the service of their lord, with all the devices of courtly luxury. before, were good, with an expression of much sharpness ; and though undoubtedly he had heard the tramp of horses' feet behind him, in a land and in times not famous for safe travelling, either his conscience or his courage were so good, that he turned not his head to see who followed him thus closely, but kept his ass at the same brisk canter, while the young cavalier rode up to his side, and gave him the ordinary salutation of the day. "A good evening to you, father!" said Ber nard de Rohan, riding between him and the edge of the precipice.

"Pray let us have it quickly, my son," replied the priest ; " for the one we have got seems likely to be as bad a one as ever I saw, at pre sent." " Indeed it is," answered the young gentle man, smiling at his somewhat cynical reply ; " I am heartily glad to have met with you, my good father, for I trust you can show us some place of shelter." " Good faith," replied the priest, turning for a moment to look at the cavalier's followers, " I cannot say I am so glad of the encounter ; for where I am going we cannot be sure of finding too many of the good things of this life, and the lion's portion is always sure to go to the fighting men. " " Nay, nay I we will share alike !" rejoined Bernard. " Ay ! but I am a king in those matters," an swered the priest ; " I do not like to share at all. But come on, come on, I am only jesting.

We shall find plenty, I doubt not ; for when last I passed that little inn, there was good meat and wine enough to have fed a refectory for a week, or an army for a year. Come on quick, I say, for yon foul-mouthed railer at the top of the hill is beginning to roar at us, as well as spit at us. We have still far to go, and a storm in these mountains is like a dull jest, I can tell you, young gentleman, for one never knows what may come next." **Why, what can come next," demanded the cavalier, " but fine weather after the storm ?" Those attendants, however, were not the attendants of Bernard de Rohan, nor was the traveller that cavalier himself ; he being yet upon his way thither, and enduring all the fury of the storm. "A rock upon your head," replied the priest, "or an avalanche at your heels, which would smother you in your steel case like a lobster in his shell.

Come on ! come on ! Sancta Maria ! why my small ass will outrun your tall charger now ;" and bestowing a buffet with his straw hat, upon the flank of his bearer, the beast quickened his pace still more, and with a mali cious whisk of the tail and fling with his hind feet, set off into a gallop. But we must pause to change the scene, and precede the travellers on their way. The one of whom I now speak was a man of about the same age, but rather older. He was decidedly a handsomer man also : his features were all finer in form ; he was taller ; his com plexion was fairer, without, however, being effeminate, and it was evident, too, that he knew his personal advantages, and was somewhat vain of them. He was dressed with much splendour, according to the fashion of that day ; and though he seemed to have met with some part of the storm, it was clear that he had not been long exposed to it.

In short, as he sat there, he might well be pronounced one of the handsomest and most splendid cavaliers of his day; but there was a something which a closely observing eye might detect in the hanging brow and curling lip that was not altogether pleasant. It could scarcely be called a sneer; yet there was something supercilious and contemptuous in it too. Nor was it altogether haughty, though pride un doubtedly had its share. It was a dark and yet not a gloomy expression. It seemed as if the

Chapter II

Tur.RF. are few situations in life which convey to the mind of man more completely the sensation of comfort, security, and repose, than when, after a long day's ride, he sits at ease by a glowing fire, and hears — while all the ready service of a well-conducted inn is in bustling activity to minister to his wants or satisfy his appetite — the rain patter and the tempest roar without. Nor is it from any selfish comparison of their own fate with that of others less happy, that men deheart that lay beneath was full of many an unfathomable idea, and proud of its impenetrability. The thoughts might be good or bad ; but it was evidently a countenance of much thought under a mask of lightness : a deep lake beneath a ripple. The stranger had, as we have said, been looking on while the hostess, with a bustling maid, prepared manifold dishes for his supper, and he added, from time to time, a gay jest to either of them upon the progress of the work.