THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF(狼之家)

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THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

THE HOUSE OF THE

WOLF

by STANLEY WEYMAN

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

INTRODUCTION.

The following is a modern English version of a curious French memoir,

or fragment of autobiography, apparently written about the year 1620 by

Anne, Vicomte de Caylus, and brought to this country--if, in fact, the

original ever existed in England--by one of his descendants after the

Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. This Anne, we learn from other

sources, was a principal figure at the Court of Henry IV., and, therefore, in

August, 1572, when the adventures here related took place, he and his two

younger brothers, Marie and Croisette, who shared with him the honour

and the danger, must have been little more than boys. From the tone of his

narrative, it appears that, in reviving old recollections, the veteran renewed

his youth also, and though his story throws no fresh light upon the history

of the time, it seems to possess some human interest.

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

CHAPTER I.

WARE WOLF!

I had afterwards such good reason to look back upon and remember

the events of that afternoon, that Catherine's voice seems to ring in my

brain even now. I can shut my eyes and see again, after all these years,

what I saw then--just the blue summer sky, and one grey angle of the keep,

from which a fleecy cloud was trailing like the smoke from a chimney. I

could see no more because I was lying on my back, my head resting on my

hands. Marie and Croisette, my brothers, were lying by me in exactly the

same posture, and a few yards away on the terrace, Catherine was sitting

on a stool Gil had brought out for her. It was the second Thursday in

August, and hot. Even the jackdaws were silent. I had almost fallen

asleep, watching my cloud grow longer and longer, and thinner and

thinner, when Croisette, who cared for heat no more than a lizard, spoke

up sharply, "Mademoiselle," he said, "why are you watching the Cahors

road?"

I had not noticed that she was doing so. But something in the

keenness of Croisette's tone, taken perhaps with the fact that Catherine did

not at once answer him, aroused me; and I turned to her. And lo! she

was blushing in the most heavenly way, and her eyes were full of tears,

and she looked at us adorably. And we all three sat up on our elbows,

like three puppy dogs, and looked at her. And there was a long silence.

And then she said quite simply to us, "Boys, I am going to be married to

M. de Pavannes."

I fell flat on my back and spread out my arms. "Oh, Mademoiselle!"

I cried reproachfully.

"Oh, Mademoiselle!" cried Marie. And he fell flat on his back, and

spread out his arms and moaned. He was a good brother, was Marie, and

obedient.

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

And Croisette cried, "Oh, mademoiselle!" too. But he was always

ridiculous in his ways. He fell flat on his back,and flopped his arms and

squealed like a pig.

Yet he was sharp. It was he who first remembered our duty, and went

to Catherine, cap in hand, where she sat half angry and half confused, and

said with a fine redness in his cheeks, "Mademoiselle de Caylus, our

cousin, we give you joy, and wish you long life; and are your servants, and

the good friends and aiders of M. de Pavannes in all quarrels, as--"

But I could not stand that. "Not so fast, St. Croix de Caylus" I said,

pushing him aside--he was ever getting before me in those days--and

taking his place. Then with my best bow I began, "Mademoiselle, we

give you joy and long life, and are your servants and the good friends and

aiders of M. de Pavannes in all quarrels, as--as--"

"As becomes the cadets of your house," suggested Croisette, softly.

"As becomes the cadets of your house," I repeated. And then

Catherine stood up and made me a low bow and we all kissed her hand in

turn, beginning with me and ending with Croisette, as was becoming.

Afterwards Catherine threw her handkerchief over her face--she was

crying--and we three sat down, Turkish fashion, just where we were, and

said "Oh, Kit!" very softly.

But presently Croisette had something to add. "What will the Wolf

say?" he whispered to me.

"Ah! To be sure!" I exclaimed aloud. I had been thinking of

myself before; but this opened quite another window. "What will the

Vidame say, Kit?"

She dropped her kerchief from her face, and turned so pale that I was

sorry I had spoken--apart from the kick Croisette gave me. "Is M. de

Bezers at his house?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes" Croisette answered. "He came in last night from St. Antonin,

with very small attendance."

"The news seemed to set her fears at rest instead of augmenting them

as I should have expected. I suppose they were rather for Louis de

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

Pavannes, than for herself. Not unnaturally, too, for even the Wolf could

scarcely have found it in his heart to hurt our cousin. Her slight willowy

figure, her pale oval face and gentle brown eyes, her pleasant voice, her

kindness, seemed to us boys and in those days, to sum up all that was

womanly. We could not remember, not even Croisette the youngest of

us--who was seventeen, a year junior to Marie and myself--we were twins-

-the time when we had not been in love with her.

But let me explain how we four, whose united ages scarce exceeded

seventy years, came to be lounging on the terrace in the holiday stillness

of that afternoon. It was the summer of 1572. The great peace, it will

be remembered, between the Catholics and the Huguenots had not long

been declared; the peace which in a day or two was to be solemnized, and,

as most Frenchmen hoped, to be cemented by the marriage of Henry of

Navarre with Margaret of Valois, the King's sister. The Vicomte de

Caylus, Catherine's father and our guardian, was one of the governors

appointed to see the peace enforced; the respect in which he was held by

both parties--he was a Catholic, but no bigot, God rest his soul!--

recommending him for this employment. He had therefore gone a week

or two before to Bayonne, his province. Most of our neighbours in

Quercy were likewise from home, having gone to Paris to be witnesses on

one side or the other of the royal wedding. And consequently we young

people, not greatly checked by the presence of good-natured, sleepy

Madame Claude, Catherine's duenna, were disposed to make the most of

our liberty; and to celebrate the peace in our own fashion.

We were country-folk. Not one of us had been to Pau, much less to

Paris. The Vicomte held stricter views than were common then, upon

young people's education; and though we had learned to ride and shoot, to

use our swords and toss a hawk, and to read and write, we knew little

more than Catherine herself of the world; little more of the pleasures and

sins of court life, and not one- tenth as much as she did of its graces.

Still she had taught us to dance and make a bow. Her presence had

softened our manners; and of late we had gained something from the frank

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

companionship of Louis de Pavannes, a Huguenot whom the Vicomte had

taken prisoner at Moncontour and held to ransom. We were not, I think,

mere clownish yokels.

But we were shy. We disliked and shunned strangers. And when

old Gil appeared suddenly, while we were still chewing the melancholy

cud of Kit's announcement, and cried sepulchrally, "M. le Vidame de

Bezers to pay his respects to Mademoiselle!"--Well, there was something

like a panic, I confess!

We scrambled to our feet, muttering, "The Wolf!" The entrance at

Caylus is by a ramp rising from the gateway to the level of the terrace.

This sunken way is fenced by low walls so that one may not--when

walking on the terrace--fall into it. Gil had spoken before his head had

well risen to view, and this gave us a moment, just a moment. Croisette

made a rush for the doorway into the house; but failed to gain it, and drew

himself up behind a buttress of the tower, his finger on his lip. I am slow

sometimes, and Marie waited for me, so that we had barely got to our legs-

-looking, I dare say, awkward and ungainly enough-- before the Vidame's

shadow fell darkly on the ground at Catherine's feet.

"Mademoiselle!" he said, advancing to her through the sunshine, and

bending over her slender hand with a magnificent grace that was born of

his size and manner combined, "I rode in late last night from Toulouse;

and I go to-morrow to Paris. I have but rested and washed off the stains

of travel that I may lay my-- ah!"

He seemed to see us for the first time and negligently broke off in his

compliment; raising himself and saluting us. "Ah," he continued

indolently, "two of the maidens of Caylus, I see. With an odd pair of

hands apiece, unless I am mistaken, Why do you not set them spinning,

Mademoiselle?" and he regarded us with that smile which--with other

things as evil--had made him famous.

Croisette pulled horrible faces behind his back. We looked hotly at

him; but could find nothing to say.

"You grow red!" he went on, pleasantly--the wretch!--playing with

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

us as a cat does with mice. "It offends your dignity, perhaps, that I bid

Mademoiselle set you spinning? I now would spin at Mademoiselle's

bidding, and think it happiness!"

"We are not girls!" I blurted out, with the flush and tremor of a boy's

passion. "You had not called my godfather, Anne de Montmorenci a girl,

M. le Vidame!" For though we counted it a joke among ourselves that

we all bore girls' names, we were young enough to be sensitive about it.

He shrugged his shoulders. And how he dwarfed us all as he stood

there dominating our terrace! "M. de Montmorenci was a man," he said

scornfully. "M. Anne de Caylus is--"

And the villain deliberately turned his great back upon us, taking his

seat on the low wall near Catherine's chair. It was clear even to our

vanity that he did not think us worth another word--that we had passed

absolutely from his mind. Madame Claude came waddling out at the

same moment, Gil carrying a chair behind her. And we--well we slunk

away and sat on the other side of the terrace, whence we could still glower

at the offender.

Yet who were we to glower at him? To this day I shake at the thought

of him. It was not so much his height and bulk, though he was so big

that the clipped pointed fashion of his beard a fashion then new at court--

seemed on him incongruous and effeminate; nor so much the sinister

glance of his grey eyes--he had a slight cast in them; nor the grim suavity

of his manner, and the harsh threatening voice that permitted of no

disguise. It was the sum of these things, the great brutal presence of the

man--that was overpowering--that made the great falter and the poor

crouch. And then his reputation! Though we knew little of the world's

wickedness, all we did know had come to us linked with his name. We

had heard of him as a duellist, as a bully, an employer of bravos. At

Jarnac he had been the last to turn from the shambles. Men called him

cruel and vengeful even for those days--gone by now, thank God!--and

whispered his name when they spoke of assassinations; saying commonly

of him that he would not blench before a Guise, nor blush before the

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

Virgin.

Such was our visitor and neighbour, Raoul de Mar, Vidame de Bezers.

As he sat on the terrace, now eyeing us askance, and now paying

Catherine a compliment, I likened him to a great cat before which a

butterfly has all unwittingly flirted her prettiness. Poor Catherine! No

doubt she had her own reasons for uneasiness; more reasons I fancy than I

then guessed. For she seemed to have lost her voice. She stammered

and made but poor replies; and Madame Claude being deaf and stupid, and

we boys too timid after the rebuff we had experienced to fill the gap, the

conversation languished. The Vidame was not for his part the man to put

himself out on a hot day.

It was after one of these pauses--not the first but the longest-- that I

started on finding his eyes fixed on mine. More, I shivered. It is hard

to describe, but there was a look in the Vidame's eyes at that moment

which I had never seen before. A look of pain almost: of dumb savage

alarm at any rate. From me they passed slowly to Marie and mutely

interrogated him. Then the Vidame's glance travelled back to Catherine,

and settled on her.

Only a moment before she had been but too conscious of his presence.

Now, as it chanced by bad luck, or in the course of Providence, something

had drawn her attention elsewhere. She was unconscious of his regard.

Her own eyes were fixed in a far-away gaze. Her colour was high, her

lips were parted, her bosom heaved gently.

The shadow deepened on the Vidame's face. Slowly he took his eyes

from hers, and looked northwards also.

Caylus Castle stands on a rock in the middle of the narrow valley of

that name. The town clusters about the ledges of the rock so closely that

when I was a boy I could fling a stone clear of the houses. The hills are

scarcely five hundred yards distant on either side, rising in tamer colours

from the green fields about the brook. It is possible from the terrace to

see the whole valley, and the road which passes through it lengthwise.

Catherine's eyes were on the northern extremity of the defile, where the

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

highway from Cahors descends from the uplands. She had been sitting

with her face turned that way all the afternoon.

I looked that way too. A solitary horseman was descending the steep

track from the hills.

"Mademoiselle!" cried the Vidame suddenly. We all looked up. His

tone was such that the colour fled from Kit's face. There was something

in his voice she had never heard in any voice before--something that to a

woman was like a blow. "Mademoiselle," he snarled, "is expecting news

from Cahors, from her lover. I have the honour to congratulate M. de

Pavannes on his conquest."

Ah! he had guessed it! As the words fell on the sleepy silence, an

insult in themselves, I sprang to my feet, amazed and angry, yet astounded

by his quickness of sight and wit. He must have recognized the Pavannes

badge at that distance. "M. le Vidame," I said indignantly--Catherine

was white and voiceless--"M. le Vidame--" but there I stopped and faltered

stammering. For behind him I could see Croisette; and Croisette gave

me no sign of encouragement or support.

So we stood face to face for a moment; the boy and the man of the

world, the stripling and the ROUE. Then the Vidame bowed to me in

quite a new fashion. "M. Anne de Caylus desires to answer for M. de

Pavannes?" he asked smoothly; with a mocking smoothness.

I understood what he meant. But something prompted me--Croisette

said afterwards that it was a happy thought, though now I know the crisis

to have been less serious than he fancied to answer, "Nay, not for M. de

Pavannes. Rather for my cousin." And I bowed. "I have the honour

on her behalf to acknowledge your congratulations, M. le Vidame. It

pleases her that our nearest neighbour should also be the first outside the

family to wish her well. You have divined truly in supposing that she

will shortly be united to M. de Pavannes."

I suppose--for I saw the giant's colour change and his lip quiver as I

spoke--that his previous words had been only a guess. For a moment the

devil seemed to be glaring through his eyes; and he looked at Marie and

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF

me as a wild animal at its keepers. Yet he maintained his cynical

politeness in part. "Mademoiselle desires my congratulations?" he said,

slowly, labouring with each word it seemed. "She shall have them on the

happy day. She shall certainly have them then. But these are troublous

times. And Mademoiselle's betrothed is I think a Huguenot, and has

gone to Paris. Paris--well, the air of Paris is not good for Huguenots, I

am told."

I saw Catherine shiver; indeed she was on the point of fainting, I broke

in rudely, my passion getting the better of my fears. "M. de Pavannes can

take care of himself, believe me," I said brusquely.

"Perhaps so," Bezers answered, his voice like the grating of steel on

steel. "But at any rate this will be a memorable day for Mademoiselle.

The day on which she receives her first congratulations--she will

remember it as long as she lives! Oh, yes, I will answer for that, M.

Anne," he said looking brightly at one and another of us, his eyes more

oblique than ever, "Mademoiselle will remember it, I am sure!"

It would be impossible to describe the devilish glance he flung at the

poor sinking girl as he withdrew, the horrid emphasis he threw into those

last words, the covert deadly threat they conveyed to the dullest ears.

That he went then, was small mercy. He had done all the evil he could

do at present. If his desire had been to leave fear behind him, he had

certainly succeeded.

Kit crying softly went into the house; her innocent coquetry more than

sufficiently punished already. And we three looked at one another with

blank faces, It was clear that we had made a dangerous enemy, and an

enemy at our own gates. As the Vidame had said, these were troublous

times when things were done to men--ay, and to women and children--

which we scarce dare to speak of now. "I wish the Vicomte were here,"

Croisette said uneasily after we had discussed several unpleasant

contingencies.

"Or even Malines the steward," I suggested.

"He would not be much good," replied Croisette.

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THEHOUSEOFTHEWOLF1THEHOUSEOFTHEWOLFbySTANLEYWEYMANTHEHOUSEOFTHEWOLF2INTRODUCTION.ThefollowingisamodernEnglishversionofacuriousFrenchmemoir,orfragmentofautobiography,apparentlywrittenabouttheyear1620byAnne,VicomtedeCaylus,andbroughttothiscountry--if,infact,theoriginaleverexistedinEngland--byoneofhisd...

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