SONG.I.Give me repose and peace! Let others proveThe losing game of strife;Or climb the hill, or plough the wave;To find out fortune or a grave,Stake happiness and life.Oh, give me rest and peace,And quietude and love!II.Give me repose and peace! The power, the sway,The sceptre, crown, and throne,Are thorny treasures, paying illThe sacrifice of joy and will--All man can call his own.Oh, give me rest and peace,To bless my humble day!III.Give me repose and peace! I covet notThe laurel or the wreath,Wars to the brave, strifes to the strong,Ambitions to the proud belong--All hand in hand with death.But be repose, and peace,And life, and joy, my lot!
The musician ceased, but still the Prince kept his hand before his eyes, and I could see the tears roll slowly from underneath it, and chase one another down his cheek, so great had been the power of the music upon him.
"No more, Vanbroc--no more!" said he, at length raising his eyes. "Ha! De l'Orme. You should not have seen me thus: but I was ever more easily vanquished by music than by the sword. But now to business: leave us, Vanbroc."
The lute-player withdrew, and the Prince, instantly recovering from the momentary weakness into which he had been betrayed, proceeded to question me respecting the minor details of my negotiation in Paris. With all that I had done he expressed himself infinitely contented, and showed the confidence which my conduct had inspired him with, by making me acquainted with every particular that had taken place at Sedan during my absence, together with all his future plans, as far as they were formed.
"To-morrow evening," said he, "or the next morning at farthest, Lamboy, the Imperial General, will join us with five thousand veteran Germans. As soon as he is prepared to pass the river, I also shall cross by the bridge, and forming our junction on the other side, we will together offer battle to the Maréchal de Chatillon, who has been for some days at Remilly."
"I believe your highness is misinformed," replied I; "for hardly yet five days ago I saw Monsieur de Chatillon in Paris:" and I proceeded to inform the Count of the circumstances which made me so positive of the fact.
"He was there last night, however," replied the Count; "for one of our scouts watched him pass the Meuse and advance some way to reconnoitre Lamboy: his person was known, and there could be no doubt. At all events, we shall fairly offer our enemy battle on the day after to-morrow. Lamboy commands the infantry, Bouillon the cavalry, and myself the reserve.--But what makes you look so grave on my saying that Bouillon commands the cavalry?"
"My reason was frankly this, monseigneur," replied I; "Monsieur de Bouillon has never shown any great regard for me; and I have farther this day met a person on whose conduct towards me I have already expressed myself to your highness without restraint--I mean the Marquis de St. Brie." The Count started. "He boasts himself the friend of Monsieur de Bouillon," continued I, "and you may easily imagine what sort of harmony there can exist between him and me. The little troop I have levied consisting entirely of cavalry, it will not of course be very pleasant to me to fight side by side with a man who has twice attempted my life; but however----"
"Stay, De l'Orme!" said the Count. "No likelihood exists of that taking place which you anticipate. Your troop has been destined by Bouillon and myself for a manœuvre, which we are sure you will execute well, and on which the fate of the battle may probably depend. If we can gain the ground that we wish, the cavalry, under the command of Bouillon, will remain in the hollow way till such time as the enemy lose somewhat of their compact order; as soon as ever this is ascertained, by a signal from the hill behind, where you may have remarked an ancient pillar--the signal, remember, is the raising of a red flag on the pillar--Bouillon advances and charges the cavalry of the enemy; but some cooperating movement may be necessary to second the efforts of the Duke, and, consequently, we have determined to post a body of cavalry behind a little wood, to the left of our position. You must have seen it. But you shall be furnished with a plan of the country, like this on the table. Here, you see, is the great wood of the Marfée. Here the little wood to the left, joined to the Marfée by this low copse, which I shall take care to garnish for you with a body of musketeers. Here the high summit, on which, if we have time to reach it, we shall take up our position; and here the hollow way for Bouillon's cavalry. Your body of troopers must be stationed just behind the wood, from whence you have a full view of the pillar. The moment you see the red flag, draw out and charge the right of the enemy. You have before you a gentle slope, which is, in truth, the only part of the ground fit for cavalry; and your being there will have two great advantages;--that of seconding Bouillon; and, in case of the enemy attempting to turn our left flank, that of making his manœuvre fall upon himself. It was for this reason that I ordered your troop on to the hamlet behind Torcy, from whence, on the morning of the battle, you can easily take up your position as we have arranged. Do you fully understand?"
"Perfectly," replied I; "and the arrangement is of course most gratifying to me. Not that any circumstances should have induced me to pursue a private quarrel to the detriment of your Highness's service. I have already met the Marquis de St. Brie and spoken to him, without noticing his attempt upon my life."
"You did right, De l'Orme," replied the count, his brow knitting into a sterner frown than I had ever seen him assume. "But if he has the insolence to present himself before me, my conduct must be very different. In addition to this attempt upon you, he is known to have been the murderer of the Count de Bagnols, and strongly suspected of having poisoned poor De Valençais. My own honour and dignity require me to have no communion with such a man, let his rank and influence be what it may. If I can meet with Bouillon, we will make such arrangements as will spare me the mortification of publicly repelling this bad man. Come with me; we will see if we can find him."
So saying, he took his hat, which lay upon the table, and passed into the anteroom. Several of his attendants were now in waiting, and rising, followed with me into the court, and thence into the great square before the château.
It was a fine sunny evening in July, one of those that seem made for loitering in the shade, with some pleasant companion, listening to dreamy fanciful talk, and drinking the balmy breath of the summer air. As our misfortune would have it, however, the first person we encountered thus employed was the Marquis de St. Brie himself, who had by this time dismounted; and, surrounded by a crowd of the most distinguished persons at Sedan, was entertaining them with that easy flowing conversation which no one knew so well how to display as himself. I could tell by the countenances of the listeners, and the smile that sat upon the lip of each, the very tone of what was passing; and I could almost fancy I heard it all--the tart jest, the pointed sneer, the amusing anecdote, the shrewd remark, the witty turn, all softened and harmonized by the language, which made the company of that infamous man so fascinating and so dangerous.
The Prince, who knew him by sight, was passing on to the other side of the square, where the Duke of Bouillon was himself inspecting a body of infantry; but the party of gentlemen instantly advanced towards us, and one of them, coming a step forward, begged leave to make the Marquis de St. Brie known to his Highness the Count de Soissons.
"Sir!" replied the Count, tossing back the plumes of his bonnet, as if to let every one see that he did not make the least inclination to the person thus presented to him; "thank God! I know the Marquis de St. Brie thoroughly, and seek to know no more of him;" and thus speaking, he turned his back upon the Marquis, and walked forward to the Duke of Bouillon, to whom he explained in a few words his feelings in regard to the other, without, however, at all implicating my name in the business.
"Few people can look upon him with less respect than I do," said the Duke of Bouillon in reply. "But he is a man of great wealth and influence, and though he is here at present with only a few servants--which I will own strikes me as singular--he promises me a reinforcement of five hundred men in three days, which may be very serviceable for the purpose of improving our victory the day after to-morrow. Your highness must really allow me to explain away your treatment of him, in some degree, for he is too influential a person to be lost."
The Count would hardly hear of any qualificatory measure; but, after a long discussion, he gave way in some degree. "Well, well," said he, "say to him what you like, but do not let him come near me, for I cannot receive him with civility."
"I will take care that he be kept away," replied the Duke. "The only difficulty will be to make him remain with us at all."
We now returned to the citadel; and the rest of the evening passed in all the bustle and activity of preparation. The service which I was to execute was again and again pointed out to me, both by the Prince and the Duke of Bouillon, the last of whom, probably to animate me to still greater exertion, gave unlimited praise to all the arrangements I had hitherto made, and expressed the utmost confidence in my co-operation with himself in the battle that was likely to take place.
Looking on my troop as perfectly secure under the command of Garcias, I remained at Sedan that night, spending the rest of my time, after I had left the Princes, in fitting myself with the necessary defensive armour which I had not been able to procure in Paris. This was not done without some difficulty even at Sedan; for the armourers had quite sufficient occupation with the multitude of warlike guests that filled the city.
When this was accomplished, however, and I possessed my morion, back and breast-pieces, taslets and gauntlets complete, I sat down to write a letter to be delivered to my father in case of my death in the ensuing battle, and gave full instructions concerning it to little Achilles, whom I intended to leave at Sedan. After this, I paused for a moment at the open window of my chamber, watching some thick clouds that came rolling over the moon, and thinking of the strange, strong effect of imagination, which I had there myself experienced, together with the extraordinary coincidence of my mother's death being announced to me so soon afterwards.
As I stood I heard a window below me open, and some voices speaking. What they said at first was indistinct, from the noise of a tumbrel rolling across the court; but that ceased, and I could plainly distinguish the tone of the Marquis de St. Brie, saying, "I tell you, I saw him myself, with the Marquis de Sourdis in the other army: if it was not he, it was his spirit. He was paler, thinner, darker, older--but there was every line--and yet surely it could not be."
"No, no, my lord!" replied another voice. "I saw him as dead as a felled ox, and I gave him myself another slash across the head, to make all sure, before I threw him into the water."
"I will trust my own hand next time, however," said the Marquis. "Not that I doubt you, my good----"
As he spoke, I remembered that I was eaves-dropping; and though, if ever there was an occasion where it might be justified, it was then, I felt ashamed to do so, and retired to bed, bidding my servants, however, lock the door of the anteroom before they slept.
Early next morning, a firing was heard in the direction of Torcy; and springing on my horse, I galloped off for the scene of action, as fast as possible. Before I came up, however, the firing had ceased; and I found my troop under arms in the hamlet where I had left them, though the village itself, not above five hundred yards in front, was in the hands of the enemy. A regiment of infantry, which Monsieur de Bouillon had thrown forward into the village of Torcy itself for the purpose of covering his bridge of boats, had been attacked, it seemed, by the advance-guard of the enemy, and, after a sharp struggle, had been driven back upon the hamlet behind, from which Garcias had made a very brilliant charge upon the pursuing parties of the enemy, repulsed them with some loss, and compelled them to content themselves with the village they had taken.
As may be imagined, I was mortified at not having been present; but I expressed to my troop my high satisfaction at what had been done; and told them, in a brief harangue I made them on the occasion, that his highness the Count de Soissons reckoned greatly upon their valour for success; and that, therefore, he proposed to intrust to them, under my command, some of the most important manœuvres which had already been determined upon. Praise was perhaps the more palatable to them, as their bravery had been attended with no loss, and as they had driven back the enemy at the expense of a few slight wounds. Loud cheers, therefore, attended me as I rode with Garcias along their ranks; and these were repeated still more loudly when the commanding officer of the infantry rode up to Garcias, and thanked him for the very successful diversion which my troop had operated in his favour.
Finding that the enemy did not make any disposition for advancing farther, which would indeed have brought them almost under the guns of Sedan, I rode into the town to inform the Count of what had occurred; and after a brief interview with him, I delivered the letter for my father into the hands of little Achilles; and taking with me all my papers, I bade adieu to my little attendant with feelings that perhaps do not often exist between master and servant, and returned to my troop for the night.
Before joining them, however, according to the commands of the Count, I reconnoitred the position I was to take up the next morning, and passed by the pillar from which the signal was to be given. It had formed part of an old Roman arch, and probably had recorded some victory of those wonderful barbarians, the Romans, over their still more barbarous enemies, the Gauls; but as I looked at the broken fragments of the structure they had probably raised, in the fond hope of immortalizing some long-forgotten deed, the thrilling feeling of man's mortality--of the mortality of all his works--the mortality of his very fame, came coldly over my heart; and I turned away, repeating to myself some of the lines which my dead friend Father Francis of Allurdi had once cited--
"Glory, alas! what art thou but a name?"
and returned to the post assigned me, thinking ofwhat might be in another world.
Towards six o'clock, a heavy rain began to fall; but that did not prevent me from having several messengers from the Count de Soissons--one bidding me make good the hamlet which I occupied, at all risks; another informing me that Lamboy, with the Germans and the cannon, had arrived, and would pass the next morning early; and a third giving me orders to quit the hamlet as silently as possible, before daybreak the next day, and to take up the position assigned to me. This last command made me order my men to rest as soon as possible; and I also threw myself down upon some straw, completely armed except my casque; and after giving about half an hour to some vague wandering thoughts regarding the morrow, I felt that thought was of no use, and addressed myself to sleep. The fear, however, of not waking in time, abridged my slumber to two or three hours; and rising, I went out of the hovel in which I had been lying, to ascertain by the appearance of the sky what o'clock it was.
All was dark and silent, though I could hear at intervals the neighing of the horses in the enemy's army, and could see the long line of dim watch-fires, half extinguished by the rain, which marked where the veteran Lamboy had taken up his ground on the opposite hill.
Shortly after the clocks of Sedan struck midnight, and I resolved to give my men yet an hour's sleep, that they might be as fresh as possible the next day.
It was an hour of the deepest and most awful thought for me. Every one must feel, the day before he risks his life in mortal combat, sensations that assail him at no other time--the eager anxiety to know the issue--the doubt, if not the fear, of the event--the thought of earth, and all that earth has dear--the calculations of eternity--all that is awful in our vague and misty state of being then presses on the mind: and he is the brave man that looks upon it without shrinking. But my feelings were deeper and more exciting than those of most men, because my all was staked upon that battle. If it should be won, the Count de Soissons would be master of the councils of France: the only remaining obstacle between Helen and myself might easily be removed. Rank, wealth, power, affection, were all within my grasp; and never did my heart feel what love is, so much as it did that night. But if the battle were lost, I had no longer anything to live for;-- home and country, and station, and love, and hope, were all gone; and I resolved that life also should be cast upon the die.
It seemed but a minute since twelve o'clock had struck, when one followed it by the clocks of Sedan--so busy had been the ideas that hurried through my brain. But action now became my duty; and waking Garcias, we proceeded to take the necessary measures for decamping in silence.
No men in the broad universe could have been found better calculated for every motion which required secrecy than my three hundred: they provided themselves with forage and provisions for the next morning, mounted their horses, and rode out of the hamlet, without even disturbing the regiment of infantry that lay beside them; and the only person, I believe, whom we woke out of his slumber, was a weary sentinel, who, without the excuse of Mercury's wand, had followed the example of Argus, and fallen asleep upon his watch. Woke suddenly by our passing, he seemed to think the best thing he could do was to fire his piece; and accordingly snapped it at my head; but luckily, the priming had fallen out while he slept, and it missed fire. I seldom remember a more unpleasant ride than that from Torcy to the heights of the Marfée. The rain had come on more heavily than ever; the whole way was a long, broken ascent, traversed by ravines, and often interrupted by copses; and the ground was so slippery, that our horses could scarcely keep their feet. We passed it, however, after much difficulty; and there was some consolation in knowing that the enemy's army would have to vanquish the same obstacles before the battle, if they dared to attack us.
Day began to break heavily as we reached the wood, without any sign of the rain abating; but the smaller detached part of the forest, behind which we were posted, formed almost entirely of old beeches, gave us better shelter than we could have hoped.
On our arrival, I found that the Count, according to his word, had already detached a company of musketeers to take possession of the copse wood between us and his main position; and had also sent forward several tumbrils with provisions and ammunition in plenty. Together with these was a letter for me, containing some farther orders, and a very ample commission under his hand, by which I found that the infantry beside me were also placed under my command.
As we were all new troops, there was no jealousy respecting seniority of service; and I found the officer of the infantry well disposed to act with me, especially as all I required was for his own security. It appeared to me that the copse in which he was placed was of much more importance than had been attached to it, as, in case of the enemy possessing himself thereof, which would have been easily done by advancing through a hollow way to our left, the left flank of the Prince's force was completely exposed.
To render it, then, as defensible as possible, I proposed to the other officer to employ our spare time in throwing up a strong breastwork of earth and boughs before it; and all our men setting to work with great eagerness, before seven o'clock we had completed a line, which placed it in comparative security.
Towards eight the rain ceased; and for the rest of the day merely came down in occasional showers. It had been hitherto so thick that the line of the Meuse, and even the town of Sedan, had been scarcely distinguishable; but now it drew up like a curtain, and I could see the troops of Lamboy descending toward the bridge of boats, and gradually passing the river, in as fine unbroken order as if on a review.
Shortly after, the bridge of Sedan began to be occupied; and pennons, and plumes, and standards, and flashing arms, and all the pageantry of war, announced that the princes were on their march to form their junction with the imperial army. My eye then turned anxiously towards Torcy; but all was still in the camp of the enemy; and I saw the two allied armies approach near and more near, and then unite, unopposed and seemingly almost unnoticed.
Winding in and out of the ravines and over the hills, the army of the princes now began to mount towards the heights on which I was stationed; and it was near nine o'clock before the report of a cannon announced that the Maréchal de Chatillon intended to take any notice of their movements.
No time, however, was now to be lost; and making my men refresh both themselves and their horses, I waited impatiently for the arrival of the army. All sombre thoughts, if I had entertained any such before, now vanished like mists before the sun. The sight of the moving hosts--the recollection of all that was that day to be won--the thoughtless aspiration which all young minds have for glory--the love of daring natural to my character; all stimulated me on the onward path; and slow, slow did I think the approach of the forces, as winding their way over the wet and slippy ground, they advanced towards the position which they proposed to take up.
For some time, as they came nearer, I lost sight of them in the hollow way; but a little after ten the advance-guard began to appear upon the heights, and took their ground with the left resting upon the copse. Regiment after regiment now presented itself, and I could see them, one following another across the underwood, defile to the places assigned to them, but lost them one by one in a few minutes after, behind the wood of the Marfée.
The sounds of the trumpets, however, the loud commands of the officers, the crashing and creaking of the ammunition carts, all assured me of their proximity; and in a few minutes after, one of the Prince's equerries rode up to ascertain that I had arrived, and to tell me that no alterations had been made in the dispositions of the day before. I pointed out to him the work we had constructed; and in a short time afterwards he returned, by the Prince's express command to thank me, and inform me of his high approbation of what had been done.
While we were still speaking, the enemy began to appear on the opposite slope, and in a moment afterwards a discharge of artillery from beneath the hill gave notice that the battle was commenced upon our right, where the infantry of Lamboy were still making their way up to the heights. The sound of the cannon, so much nearer to me than I expected, I will own, made me start; but springing at once into the saddle, lest any one should see fear in what in truth was but surprise, I rode round alone to a spot where, through the trees, I could see what was passing in the hollow.
The smoke of the cannon greatly impeded my sight, but I could perceive a body of the enemy's pikemen in the act of charging the German infantry, who were borne back before my eyes near two hundred yards, but still maintained their order. Every step that they yielded, my heart beat to be there, and lead them back to the charge; but then again, I thought that if I might be permitted to charge the flank of the pikemen with my men-at-arms, I could drive them all to the devil.
At that moment my eye fell upon a group of officers gathered upon a little knoll, in the front of whom was evidently the Count de Soissons, dressed in a suit of steel armour I had seen in his apartments, and accompanied by an elderly man in German uniform, whom I concluded to be Lamboy. The Count was pointing with his leading staff to the retreating infantry of his left wing, while the other seemed to look upon the whole with the utmost composure. In a moment after, an equerry set off from the Count's party, and a company of our musketeers instantly wheeled upon the flank of the pikemen, and drove them back under a tremendous fire, while the Germans again advanced and took up their position as before.
The smoke of the musketry now interrupted my view in that direction; and turning round, I found that I had insensibly advanced so far as to be out of sight of the pillar from whence the signal was to be displayed. Riding back as fast as I could, I rejoined my troop; but no signal had yet been made; and as I looked up towards the hill, where I expected every moment to behold it displayed, all was clear, calm, and quiet; offering a strange contrast to the eager and deathful struggle upon which I had just been gazing.
"We shall not be long now, Garcias," said I, riding up. "Is all ready?"
He assured me that it was, and passing along from man to man, I spoke a few words to each, telling them that the infantry had already repulsed the enemy, and that we might soon expect to be called upon; saying everything I could think of to animate them to exertion, and beseeching them not to let the love of plunder induce them to separate before the battle was completely gained.
They all made me the most solemn promises in the world not to lose their discipline, to which of course I attached due credence; believing it to be just as probable for a tiger to abandon bloodshed, as for them to resist plunder even for a moment. A vigorous and effective charge, however, I knew to be the great object desired; and I doubted not from their whole tone and bearing that they would effect it as well as I could desire.
In the meanwhile, the din increased. We could every now and then hear the dull, measured sound of the charging of horse, mingled with the continued firing of the musketry, and at intervals a discharge of cannon; while the smoke, rolling over the wood, reached even the spot where we stood, and made me fearful lest I should lose sight of the signal-pillar.
Every minute I thought the sign must be made, and no language can express the impatience I began to feel as the minutes flew by and it did not appear. The firing appeared to me to grow less; and I felt angry that the battle should be lost or won, without my presence. No longer able to bear it, I rode on about twenty yards to the corner of the wood. The whole scene was covered with white wreaths of smoke, but the greater part of the attacking army was now displayed upon the same plain with ourselves; and I could see that the battle was far from concluded, though the attack of the enemy upon our position was languishing, and his troops considerably broken and disordered. Small parties of horsemen, separated from their regiments, were scattered confusedly over the plain. Groups of men on foot, carrying the more distinguished wounded to the rear, appeared here and there through the smoke. Aides-de-camp riding from spot to spot, and officers endeavouring by bustle and activity to re-animate the flagging energies of their soldiers, were seen hurrying about in all parts of the enemy's line; and I looked upon the whole scene as I have often done upon a disturbed ant-hill, where I have seen confusion and hurry in every member of the insect populace, without being able to divine their operations or understand their movements.
Column after column, as I stood and watched, was brought up against our battalions, but each after a discharge of musketry turned off as from a stone wall. Not three hundred yards from me was a dense mass of cavalry, and I could see its officers endeavouring to animate their men to the charge. At that moment I looked back. The red flag was displayed from the pillar; and spurring back to the head of my troop, I led them out from the wood. Their impatience had been nearly equal to my own; and, as the whole field of battle opened before them with all the thrilling and exciting objects it presented, they gave a loud and cheering hurrah, which seemed to be answered by a flourish of trumpets, at the very same moment, from the cavalry of the Duke of Bouillon that just appeared above the hill, about a quarter of a mile from us. The flourish and the shout acted as a signal of concert. A moment sufficed to put my troop in order; and pointing onward to the enemy with my sword, while my heart beat so as almost to deprive me of breath, I gave the word "Charge!" Onward we galloped like lightning, treading, I believe, on many of the dead and dying in our passage: the ground seemed to vanish under our horses' feet, the open space was passed in an instant. Nearer, and nearer, and nearer, as we came, each individual adversary grew into distinctness on our eyes. We passed the flat like a cloud-shadow, sweeping the plain. We reached the brow of the descent, and hurled down the side of the slope upon the flank of the enemy; like an avalanche upon a forest of pines, we bore them headlong before us. Charged at the same moment by the Duke of Bouillon in front, and surprised by our headlong onset from so unexpected a quarter, the enemy's cavalry were borne back upon their infantry, their arms and fled; many of the cavalry turned their reins and galloped from the field; and though some fought still hand to hand, it was with but the courage of despair; for the army of Chatillon was by that one charge thrown into complete rout.
One officer in full armour seemed to single me out; and, not willing to disappoint him, I turned my horse towards him. Parrying a blow he was making at my neck, just above the gorget, I returned it with the full sweep of my long heavy sword. It cut sheer through the lacings of his casque, which another blow dashed from his head; when the face of a young man presented itself, whom I immediately remembered as the somewhat hasty youth I had seen with Monsieur de Chatillon in Paris.
"Will you quarter?" said I.
"Never!" replied he, aiming another blow at my head; but at that moment, Combalet de Carignan, who was behind me, fired a pistol at him, the ball of which passed right through his head. He sprang up in the saddle, his sword fell from his hand, and his horse, freed from the rein, galloped away wildly over the field. I had no time to see farther what became of him; though, when I lost sight of him in the confusion, the horse was still rushing on, and the rider--though dead, I feel sure--still in the saddle; but by this time, although all had passed like lightning, my troopers were far before me; and, notwithstanding the endeavours of Garcias to keep them together, were separating and pursuing the fliers one by one. I hurried forward to unite my efforts to those of the brave Spaniard; but just as I came up, a small peloton of the enemy's infantry, that had kept together near some valuable baggage, gave us one parting volley before they fled, and to my deep regret I beheld Garcias fall headlong from his horse.
Springing to the ground, I raised his head on my knees, and saw that the bullet had gone through his corslet just above the lower rim. "Jesu Maria!" cried he, opening his eyes, from which the light of life was fleeting fast--"Jesu Maria!--"
"I am afraid you are badly hurt, Garcias," cried I, more painfully affected by his situation than I could have imagined.
"I am dying, señor!" muttered he in Spanish--"I am dying! Thank you for your care--your kindness. It is vain--I am dying! Oh, señor--François Derville! that unhappy man--do you remember--how I slew him at the mill! I wish I had not done it--I can see him now! Oh, I wish I had not done it--Sancta Maria! ora pro----"
The heavy cloud of death fell dully down upon the clear bright eye. Fire, and soul, and meaning, passed away, and Garcias was nothing.
I bade my servants, who were still with me, carry him to the rear; and springing on my horse again, galloped forward, to see if I could restore some order to my troop.
By this time, however, all was confusion. The field was scattered with small parties of horsemen riding here and there, and cutting down or making prisoners the few of the enemy that remained. Nothing was to be seen but heaps of dead and dying, masterless horses flying over the plain, cannon and waggons overturned, long files of prisoners, and groups of stragglers plundering the fallen; while part of the village of Chaumont appeared burning on our right, and towards the left was distinguished a regiment of the enemy, who had still maintained their order, and were retreating over the opposite hill, fast but firmly. The rear-rank was seen to face about at every twenty or thirty yards, and by a heavy regular fire drive back a strong body of cavalry that hung upon their retreat. Gathering together about twenty of my men, I rode as fast as I could to the spot, and arrived just at the moment the enemy faced and gave us a volley. If I may use the expression, it made our cavalry reel, and more than one empty saddle presented itself; but what engaged my attention was, to behold in the officer commanding this last regiment of the enemy, the Chevalier de Montenero.
As I was gazing at him, to assure myself that my eyes did not deceive me, the Duke of Bouillon rode up, and demanded where were the greater part of my men, in a tone that did not particularly please me. "They are where the greater part of your own are, my lord," replied I; "some dead, some plundering, some following the enemy."
"If that be the case," rejoined he, sharply, "you had better go and join them yourself; for Monsieur de l'Orme and half a dozen men are no service tome."
"You speak rudely, Monsieur de Bouillon," replied I; "and methinks on a day of such victory as this, you might conduct yourself differently to one who has shared in the dangers of the struggle, whether he shares in its advantages or not." The duke's visor was up, and he coloured highly; but without waiting for reply, I turned my rein, and rode away.
My men, who had only followed me in the hope of more fighting, seeing me leave the spot where it was going on, turned to the trade they liked next in degree, and separated to plunder as before. Without caring much how they employed themselves for the moment, I rode back towards the spot where I had before seen the Count de Soissons, and pushing my horse up the hill, I saw him still posted on a little eminence, with a group of his officers and attendants at the distance of about a dozen yards behind him--he seeming to enjoy the sight of the field he had won, and the others apparently discussing with some animation the events that had lately passed.
Silence had now comparatively resumed her reign; for though a straggling fire might be heard from time to time, mingled with distant shouts and cries, the roar of the battle itself was over. The ground between me and the prince also--a space of about a hundred and fifty yards--was clear and unoccupied; but being upland, it of course delayed my horse's progress. Happy, happy, had I been able to have passed it sooner! Just as I was mounting the rise, a horseman dashed across the top like lightning--reined in his horse a moment before the Count--I heard the report of fire-arms. The horseman galloped on, and I saw the prince falling from his horse.
The noise called the attention of those that were near; and when I arrived they had gathered round the Count, and were untying his casque; but all that presented itself was the cold blank face of the dead. Above the right eyebrow was the wound of a pistol-ball, which must have gone directly into the brain; and the brow and forehead were scorched and blackened with the fire and smoke of the pistol--so near must have been his murderer.
Thus died Louis Count de Soissons, in the moment of triumph and victory--triumph turned to mourning, victory rendered fruitless by his death![9]
"Ah! Monsieur de l'Orme!" cried de Riquemont, the Prince's firstecuyer de la main, as I galloped up. "Here is a dreadful catastrophe! Monsieur le Comte, I am afraid, has accidentally shot himself. Twice during this morning I have seen him raise the visor of his casque with the muzzle of his pistol, and I warned him of the event."
"No, De Riquemont!" replied I. "No! the Count has been murdered! Look at his pistols; you will find them charged. As I rode up the hill, I saw a horseman pass him, I heard a pistol fired, and beheld the Count fall."
"I saw a horseman ride away also," cried one of the attendants: "he wore a green plume, and his horse, which was a thorough barb, had a large white spot on his left shoulder."
"I know him, I know him, then!" replied I, "and I will avenge this on his head, or die." So saying, I turned and galloped down in the direction which the horseman had taken, without seeing or caring whether any one followed me or not.
Certain that the assassin had betaken himself to the hollow way, I felt sure that, whether he went straight forward, or crossed over the hill, I must catch a glance of him if I rode fast. I was mounted on the noble horse the unhappy Prince had himself given me; and, as if feeling that my errand was to avenge his lord, he flew beneath me like the wind. I was just in time; for I had scarcely reached the bottom of the glen when I saw a hat and green feather sinking behind the hill to the right. I spurred across it in an instant, and at the distance of about one hundred and fifty yards before me, in the ravine below, I beheld the same horseman I had but too surely marked before, now galloping as if he well knew that the avenger of blood was behind him.
The ravine led into a road which I was acquainted with, from De Retz and myself having followed it on our return from Sedan to Paris. It was the worst a fugitive could have taken, for it had scarce a turning in its whole length; and, once we were both upon it, the chase of the assassin became a matter of mere speed between my horse and his. They were as nearly matched as it is possible to conceive; and for more than four miles which that road extended, I did not gain upon him forty yards.
At length, however, the path was traversed by the little river Bar, broad and spreading, but scarcely deeper than a horse's knee. The bridge was built of wood, old and insecure; and he that I pursued took the river in preference. In the midst his horse's foot slipped, and fell on his knees. His rider brought him up; but the beast was hurt, his speed was over, and before he had gained twenty lengths on the other side, I was up with him, and my hand upon his bridle-rein.
"Turn, villain! Turn, murderer!" cried I, "and prepare to settle our long account together. This day, this hour, this moment, is either your last or mine."
"By my faith, Monsieur de l'Orme," replied the Marquis de St. Brie--for to him it was spoken--"you hold very strange language; but you had better quit my rein; my attendants are within call, and you may repent this conduct. Are you mad?"
From whatever accident it happened, his attendants were evidently not within call, or he would not have fled so rapidly from a single man. While he spoke also, I saw him slip his hand softly towards his holsters, and in another moment most probably I should have shared the fate of the Count de Soissons, but before he could reach his pistol, I struck him a violent blow with my clenched gauntlet that dashed him from his horse. I sprang to the ground, and he started up at the same moment, laying his hand upon his sword.
"Draw! draw, villain!" cried I. "It is what I seek! draw!"
"Doubtless," replied he, with a sneer, that he could not restrain even then, while at the same time fury and hesitation were strangely mingled in his countenance--"doubtless, when you are covered with a corslet and morion, and I am without any defensive arms."
"That difference shall soon be done away," cried I, casting away my casque, and unbuckling my corslet, while I stood between him and his horse, and kept a wary eye upon him lest he should take me at a disadvantage; but he had other feelings on the subject, it seems, for before I was prepared, he said, in a faltering tone, "You have told me yourself, that whoever seeks your life shall die by your hand. The combat with you is not equal."
"Fool!" cried I, "fool! You, a murderer, and an infidel!--are you superstitious? But draw, and directly, for I would not kill you like a dog. Think of the noble Prince you have just slain--think of the unhappy Bagnols, the proofs of whose innocence and your treason are now upon my person."
"Ha!" cried he, suddenly drawing his sword, "have at you then. You know too much! At all events, 'tis time that one should die."
So saying, he waited not for me to begin the attack, but himself lunged straight at my breast. The struggle was long and obstinate. He was an excellent swordsman, and was besides better armed for such an encounter than I was, his sword being a long Toledo rapier, while mine was a heavy-edged broadsword, which would thrust, it is true, but was ponderous and unwieldy. I was heated too, and rash, from almost every motive that could irritate the human heart. He had sought my own life--he had taken that of one I loved and esteemed--he had snatched from me all the advantages of success and victory, at the very moment they seemed given into my hand. Thus, anger made me lose my advantage; and it was not till a sharp wound in the shoulder taught me how near my adversary was my equal, that I began to fight with caution and coolness.
The glaring of his deadly eye upon me showed me now whenever he meditated a thrust that he fancied certain; and I could perceive, as he saw the blood from my shoulder trickle over the buff coat I had worn under my corslet, a smile of triumph and of sanguinary hope curl his lip, as his faith in the astrologer's prophecy gave way.
A wound in his neck soon turned his smile into an expression of mortal wrath, and making a double feint, which he thought certain, he lunged full at my heart. I was prepared--parried it instantly--lunged before he could recover, and the hilt of my sword knocked against his ribs, while the point shone out under his left shoulder. He felt that he was slain; but, grappling me tight with the last deathly clasp of expiring revenge, he drew his poignard, and, attempting to drive it into my heart, wounded me again in the arm. With difficulty I wrenched it from him, and cast him back upon the ground, where, after rolling for a moment in convulsive agony, and actually biting the earth with his teeth, he expired with a hollow groan and a struggle to start upon his feet.
So keen, so eager, so hazardous had been the strife, that though I became conscious some spectators had been added to the scene of combat, I had not dared to withdraw my eye for an instant to ascertain who they were. When it was ended, however, a voice cried out, "Nobly done! bravely fought! Pardie, one does not see two such champions every day!" and turning round, I found myself in presence of an old officer, accompanied by another little man on horseback, together with about twenty musketeers on foot.
"And now, pray tell us, sir," demanded the officer, "who you are, and whether you are for the king or the Princes?"
"I can save him that trouble," interrupted the little man who accompanied him, riding a step forward, and exposing to my sight the funnel-shaped boots, the brown pourpoint, and the keen, inquisitive little countenance of my old persecutor,Jean le Hableur. "This, Monsieur le Chevalier," he continued, "is Monsieur le Comte de l'Orme, the dear friend and ally of his highness the Count de Soissons, and one of the chiefs of the rebels; and let me tell you that you had better put irons on both his hands and his feet, for a more daring or more cunning plotter never tied an honest man to a tree in a wood."
"I shall certainly use no such measures against so brave a soldier as this young gentleman seems to be," replied the officer. "Nevertheless, you must surrender yourself a prisoner, sir," he added, "without you can show that this old man speaks falsely."
"He speaks truth," replied I. "Do with me what you like--I am very careless of the event."
"From your despairing tone, young sir," observed the officer, "I conclude that your party has lost a battle, and that Chatillon has gained one."
"So far from it," replied I, "that never did any one suffer a more complete defeat than the Maréchal de Chatillon this day. His cannon, his baggage, and his treasure, are all in the hands of the Duke of Bouillon; and he has not now one man upon the field of battle but the dead, the wounded, and the prisoners."
"God of heaven!" cried the old officer, deeply affected by the news. "Sir, you are surely too brave a man to tell me a falsehood?"
"I speak the truth, upon my honour," replied I; "and more, I warn you that, if you do not speedily retreat, you will have the cavalry of the Prince upon you."
"We must take you with us, however," answered the other. "Some one look to the young gentleman's wounds, for I see he is bleeding."
My sword was now taken from me, my wounds were bandaged up, as well as the circumstances permitted; and being placed upon my horse, I was carried to the end of the road, where I found that the soldiers who had made me prisoner were only the advance party of a regiment that had been hurrying to join the army of the king. The old officer with whom I had spoken was the Count de Langerot, their commander, who, having heard the distant report of cannon, together with the rumours which spread fast among the peasantry, had ridden forward to gain some farther information, and had come up just before the death of the Marquis de St. Brie.
The regiment immediately retreated to Le Chesne, and during the time I remained with it, I was treated with every sort of lenity and kindness by its commander; but this only lasted for a day; for the Maréchal de Chatillon having joined the regiment at Le Chesne, and collected together the scattered remnants of his army, sent me prisoner to Mezières, under a large escort, making me appear, by his precautions, a person of much more consequence than I really was, probably thinking that a prisoner of some import might do away, in a degree, the humiliating appearance of his defeat. Perhaps, however, I did him wrong; but I must confess, at the time, I could see no other object in sending me from Rethel to Mezières under a strong detachment of cavalry.
At Mezières I was consigned to a small room in the château, which, though not a dungeon, approached somewhat near it in point of comfort; and here plenty of time had I to reflect at my leisure over the hopelessness of my situation. With the death of the Count de Soissons, every dream of my fancy had died also; and all that I could do, was to turn my eyes upon the past, and brood despairingly over the delights of the years gone by, with thoughts cold, unfruitful, agonising--as the spirits of the dead are said sometimes to hover round the treasures they amassed in their lives, at once regretting their loss, and grieving that they had not used them better.
Thus hour after hour slipped away, each one a chain of heavy, painful minutes, gloomy, desolate, deathlike. My gaoler was a gaoler indeed. For several days he continued to bring me my food, without interchanging with me one word; and his looks had anything in them but consolation. At length, on the seventh morning, I think it was, he came with another like himself, bearing a heavy set of irons, and told me I must submit to having them put on my legs and arms.
Of course I remonstrated against the degradation, urged my rank, and asked the reason of the change.
"Because you are condemned to death," replied he. "That is enough, is not it?"
"Condemned to death!" I exclaimed, "without a trial? It is false--it cannot be."
"You'll find it too true, when they strike your head off," replied the gaoler; and without farther information left me to my own thoughts. I had before given up life, it is true--I had fancied that I cared not for it, now that I had lost all that made life deal--but, nevertheless, I found that the love of being lingered still, and that I could not think, without a shudder, on the fond fellowship betwixt body and soul being dissolved for ever.--For ever! the very word was awful; and that fate which I had never shrunk from, which I had often dared, in the phrensy of passion or the folly of adventure, acquired new strange terrors when I viewed it face to face, slowly advancing towards me, with a calm inevitable step.
While I sat thinking upon death, and all the cold and cheerless ideas thereunto associated, a gay flourish of trumpets was borne upon the wind, jarring most painfully with all my feelings. The sounds came nearer, mingled with shout, and acclamation, and applause: and then, the evident arrival of some regiments of cavalry took place in the court of the château where I was confined; for there was the clanging of the hoofs, and jingling of the arms, and the cries of the commanders, and all the outcry and fracas of military discipline. During the whole day the noise continued with little intermission; and though I would have given worlds for quiet, quiet was not to be had.
It was about four o'clock, and the rays of the summer sun were gleaming through the high windows of my prison, kindling in my bosom the warm remembrance of nature's free and beautiful face, when the gaoler entered, and told me I must follow him. I rose; and being placed between two soldiers, I was marched through several of the long passages of the château, as fast as my irons would permit, to a small anteroom, where, being made to sit down upon a bench, I was soon after joined by one or two others, manacled like myself.
Here we were kept for some time, with guards at all the doors, and the gaoler standing by our side, without affording a look or word to any one. At length, however, the sound of persons speaking approached the door of what seemed the inner chamber; and, as it opened, I heard a voice which, however unexpected there, I was sure was that of the Chevalier de Montenero.
The sound increased as he came nearer, and I could distinctly hear him say, "Your Eminence has promised me already as much as I could desire--the enjoyment of my fortune, and my station in France. All else that you could properly grant, or I could reasonably request, depends, unfortunately, upon papers which are, I am afraid, lost irrecoverably; and I have only to thank you for your patient hearing, and the justice you have done me."
As he spoke, the Chevalier came forward, accompanied, as far as the door, by Richelieu himself, who seemed to do him the high honour of conducting him to the threshold of his cabinet.
"Monsieur le Comte de Bagnols," said the minister, to my infinite surprise and astonishment, addressing by this name him whom I had always been taught to call the Chevalier de Montenero, "what I have done is nothing but what you had a right to claim. Your splendid actions in this last campaign prove too well your attachment to the king and the state, for me to refuse you every countenance and protection in my power to give; and believe me, if the letters, and the marriage certificate you allude to, can by any means be recovered, everything that you could wish will be rendered easy. In the meantime, the King's gratitude stops not here. We look upon the safety of the greater part of the army to have depended upon your exertions, and we must think of some means of rewarding it in the manner most gratifying to yourself. You will not leave Mezières for a few days--before then you shall hear from me."
The Chevalier, or rather the Count de Bagnols, took his leave and withdrew, without casting his eyes upon any of the wretched beings that lined the side of the anteroom. My heart swelled, but I said nothing; and, in a moment after, was myself called to the presence of the minister.
He was seating himself when I entered; and as he turned round upon me, very, very different was the aspect of his dark tremendous brow from that which I had beheld on another occasion. The heavy contemplative frown, the stern piercing eye, the stiff compressed lip, the blaze of soul that shone out in his glance, yet the icy rigidity of his features, all seemed to say, "I am fire in my enmities, and marble in my determinations;" and well spoke the inflexible spirit that dwelt within. When I thought over the easy flowing conversation which had passed between me and that very man, his unbent brow, his calm philosophising air, and compared the whole with the iron expression of the countenance before me, I could scarcely believe it had been aught but a dream.
"Well, Sir Count de l'Orme," said he, in a deep hollow tone of voice, "you have chosen your party. You have abandoned an honourable path that was open to you. Of your own free-will you attached yourself to treason and to traitors, and you now taste the consequences."
"Your Eminence," replied I, calmly--for my mind was made up to the worst--"is too generous, I am sure, to triumph over the fallen."
"I am so," answered Richelieu, "and therefore I sent for you, to tell you that, though no power on earth can alter your fate--andyou must die!--yet I am willing that any alleviating circumstance which you may desire should be granted you in the interim."
"I have heard," replied I, "that no French noble can be judged, without being called for his own defence. It is a law not only of this country, but of the world--it is a law of reason, of humanity, of justice; and I hope it will not be dispensed with for the purpose of condemning me."
"You have heard truly, sir," replied the Cardinal. "No one can be condemned without being heard,exceptit can be proved that he has knowingly and intentionally fled from the pursuit of justice: he is then condemned, as it is termed,par contumace. It was not at all difficult to prove your flight, and you were condemned by the proper tribunal, together with the Duke of Guise and the Baron de Bec. You are the only one yet made prisoner; and though perhaps the least guilty of the three, the necessity unfortunately exists of showing them, by the execution of your sentence, that no hope exists for them.--Have you anything to ask?"
"Merely," replied I, "that time and materials may be allowed me to write some letters of great consequence to my family and others."
"What time do you require?" demanded Richelieu. "The day of your execution rests with me. Name your time yourself; but remember that, if you ask longer than absolutely necessary for the purpose you have mentioned, you are only prolonging hours of miserable expectation, after all hope of life is over."
I had now to fix the day of my own death. It was a bitter calculation, but running my eye through the brief future, I tried to divest my spirit of its clinging to corporeal existence, and estimate truly how much time was necessary to what I wished to accomplish, without leaving one hour to vain anticipations of my coming fate.
"Three days," replied I, at length, "will be sufficient for my purpose."
"Be it so," said the minister; and taking a paper already written, from his portfolio, he proceeded to fill up some blanks which appeared to have been left on purpose. I knew that it was the order for my execution; and my feelings may be better conceived than described, as I saw his thin, pale fingers move rapidly over the vacant spaces, fixing my fate for ever, till at last, with a firm determined hand, which spoke "irrevocable" in its every line, he wrote his name at the bottom, and handed it to the gaoler, who stood beside me, and advanced to receive it.
"Have those fetters taken off," said the minister, in a stern tone, as he gave the paper. "You have exceeded your duty. See that the prisoner be furnished with writing materials, and admit any of his friends to see him, one at a time. Farther, let his comfort be attended to, as far as is consistent with security. Remove him!"
His tone, his manner, admitted no reply; and as he concluded he turned away his head, while I was led out of the cabinet, and carried back to my cell. While the gaoler, after having taken off my irons, went grumblingly to seek the materials for writing, which he had been directed to furnish, my thoughts, flying even from my own situation, reverted to the title by which the minister had addressed the Chevalier de Montenero.
The Count de Bagnols! Was it--could it be possible that he was that Count de Bagnols, said to have been assassinated by order of the Marquis de St. Brie? At first I could hardly believe it; but as I reflected, the conviction came more and more strongly upon my mind.
Every circumstance that I remembered showed it more plainly. He himself had first told me the tale of his own supposed death, and that with a circumstantial accuracy that any one but a person actually on the spot could hardly have done. He had remained for years living under an assumed name, probably because he had not the papers necessary to establish his innocence of the charge the Marquis had brought against him. I had just heard the minister allude to those very papers. From Achilles I had learned that the Count's fortune had been transmitted to Spain; and the Viceroy of Catalonia had told me that the Chevalier was not a Spaniard. I had also overheard the Marquis de St. Brie, only a few nights before, declare that he had seen in the royal army some one whom he had believed dead many years, and to whose supposed death he was evidently in some degree accessory. To no one could what he had said be so well applied as to the Count de Bagnols.
Undoubtedly, then, the Chevalier de Montenero, the man whom, perhaps, of all others, I esteemed the most on earth, but whose good opinion I had lost by a succession of inexplicable misunderstandings, was one and the same with that Count de Bagnols, the separate incidents of whose story had come to my knowledge by a thousand strange accidents, whose fate had always been to me a point of almost painful interest, and whose most important documents were still fortunately in my hands. I had now, then, the means at once of clearing myself of all suspicion in his eyes, and of conferring on him the means of equally showing his own innocence to the world. True that I could never see the happiness I knew I should give him--true that his good or bad opinion could serve me no longer upon earth; but still there was the consolation of knowing that my memory would remain pure and unsullied in his eyes; and that the benefit I had it in my power to confer would attach feelings of love to my name and regret to my loss.
Surely the wish to be remembered with affection is hardly a weakness. The warrior's or the poet's hope of immortality on earth--the laurel that binds the lyre or the sword--is perhaps the most daring, yet the emptiest of all imaginative vanities; but there is something holier and sweeter in the dream of living in the love of those that have known us--it is, indeed, prolonging attachments beyond the grave, and perhaps derives its charm from an innate feeling in the breast of man, that friends part not here for ever.
As soon, then, as paper and ink were brought me I sat down; and after writing my last farewell to my father, and a few lines expressive of my deep, my unchangeable affection to Helen Arnault, I proceeded to sketch out for the Count de Bagnols the history of my unfortunate adventure at Saragossa. I told him the promise I had entered into, never to disclose the circumstances to a Spaniard, and showed him that, as long as I had believed him to be such, my lips had been necessarily sealed. I pointed out to him the mistake which Garcias had committed; I related to him my rencontre with Jean Baptiste; and farther, as briefly as possible, I gave him the outline of everything which had occurred to me since we had last met, up to the moment that I wrote; and having told him how I had avenged him on the Marquis de St. Brie, I enclosed his papers, which I had always kept about my person. Lastly, I begged him, if I thereby rendered him any service--if I had ever held any place in his esteem--if I had by that explanation at all regained it, to see my father; and bearing him my last farewell, to entreat him for my sake to look upon Helen as his child--to remember how I had loved her, and to love her for her love to me; and now, wishing him personally all that happiness in his latter years which had been denied to his youth, I bade him an eternal adieu.
This cost me all that night and the greater part of the next morning; but by the time that my gaoler visited me my packet was prepared, and showing him some louis--the last I had about me--I promised them to him if he would deliver that letter to the Count de Bagnols, if he was still in the town, bringing me back an acknowledgment that it had been received.
In less than an hour he returned, and gave me a paper written hastily in the hand of the Chevalier. It only contained, "I have received a packet from the Count de l'Orme--BAGNOLS." I gave the gaoler his promised reward, and he left me.