SONG.First Voice. Blessed! blessed! art thou,Amongst the sons of men!For angels are wreathing for thy browFlowers that fade not again!Second Voice. A crown, a crown of glory for the brave!First Voice. Blessed! blessed! are thoseThat sleep the sleep of the good!Blessed is he whose bosom glowsTo shed the tyrant's blood!Second Voice. Glory to him whom the Church shall save!First Voice. Amongst the saints in Paradise,In glory he shall dwell!And angels shall greet him to the skies,When to earth he bids farewell!Second Voice. Joy, joy, joy to the champion of the Lord!First Voice. His arm is now endued with might,The foes of the Faith to destroy!To sweep the tyrant from God's sight,To crush the worm in his joy!Second Voice. Death, death, death to the tyrant abhorred!Both Voices. Blessed! blessed! blessed art thouAmongst the sons of men!For angels are wreathing for thy browFlowers that fade not again!
SONG.First Voice. Blessed! blessed! art thou,Amongst the sons of men!For angels are wreathing for thy browFlowers that fade not again!Second Voice. A crown, a crown of glory for the brave!First Voice. Blessed! blessed! are thoseThat sleep the sleep of the good!Blessed is he whose bosom glowsTo shed the tyrant's blood!Second Voice. Glory to him whom the Church shall save!First Voice. Amongst the saints in Paradise,In glory he shall dwell!And angels shall greet him to the skies,When to earth he bids farewell!Second Voice. Joy, joy, joy to the champion of the Lord!First Voice. His arm is now endued with might,The foes of the Faith to destroy!To sweep the tyrant from God's sight,To crush the worm in his joy!Second Voice. Death, death, death to the tyrant abhorred!Both Voices. Blessed! blessed! blessed art thouAmongst the sons of men!For angels are wreathing for thy browFlowers that fade not again!
It was no longer doubtful whence these sounds proceeded; for, in consequence of the closeness of a hot August night, St. Real had left his window open; and he now distinctly perceived that the music issued from a spot in the monks' gallery, very nearly opposite. Springing out of bed as soon as the sounds had ceased, he advanced to the window, and looked out; but he could perceive nothing. The night was somewhat obscure, the moon by this time was down, and it was with difficulty that he distinguished the fretted stonework of the gallery from the rest of the dark mass that rose before him. He paused for a moment, to consider what all this could mean. Though a sincere Catholic, and habituated to make a marked distinction between the doctrines of the religion he professed and the absurdities, superstitions, and corruptions with which knaves and fools had endeavoured to disguise it, still the Reformation had disclosed too much, and the young noble was of too inquiring a disposition for him to be unaware of the multitude of tricks, intrigues, and deceptions, which some of the more bigoted members of the Roman church thought themselves justified in practising for the attainment of an end desired. The sounds he had just heard, therefore, he attributed at once to their right cause, looking upon them as part of some piece of monkish jugglery. Almost as rapidly joining this conclusion in his mind to his own arrest without the knowledge of Mayenne, to his detention in the Dominican convent, to his separation from the rest of the community, and to the peculiar position of the apartments assigned to him, he was led to believe--though wrongly--that he himself was the object of the somewhat absurd stratagem which he had just witnessed.
"These monks must surely deem me a very great fool indeed!" he thought, as he stood and gazed out upon the building opposite, longing to give the persons who had been singing an intimation of his consciousness of their arts, and of the contempt in which he held them. But, while considering whether it would not be more dignified to let the matter pass over in silence, a new trick was played off. A sudden light burst through the apertures of the stone-work, and was poured, as it were, in a full stream upon the window at which he stood, but not on the part contained in his own chamber, being directed entirely upon that portion of the casement which was beyond the partition, and which gave light to the chamber assigned to the young monk who had been given him as an attendant. The first ray of light that St. Real perceived was of the ordinary hue, though of a dazzling brightness; but the next moment it assumed a bright rose-colour, and proceeded to pour on, changing to a thousand varied and beautiful tints, which the young noble thought certainly very admirable, but not at all supernatural. The next moment, however, he heard through the partition the murmuring of voices in the neighbouring chamber; and, thinking that the jugglery had been carried quite far enough, he determined, if possible, to put an end to it. Throwing his cloak round him, therefore, he approached the door, intending to enter the chamber of the young Dominican, and tell him in plain language, that he was not to be deceived; but, when he attempted to draw the lock, he found that the key had been turned upon him from without; and, with a curling lip, he cast himself again upon his bed, and soon forgot, in tranquil slumber, events which had excited in his mind no other feeling than contempt.
It was late in the morning when St. Real awoke; and so profound had been his slumbers during the latter hours of their course, that the door of his chamber had been opened without his knowing it; and, on looking round, he found the young Dominican sitting at the farther end of the room, employed, as usual, in turning over busily the leaves of his breviary. In his eye there was more wild and gloomy fire than St. Real had remarked on the preceding evening; and the young noble, who could not help connecting the monk with the trick that had been played off upon him during the night, resolved to speak upon the subject at once, in the hope of discovering what was the real object of the friars.
"Good morrow, father!" he said, as their eyes first met; "I trust you have slept more soundly than I have."
"Why shouldyousleep unsoundly?" demanded the Dominican in return. "You have no mighty thoughts! you have no heavenly calling! you have no glorious revelations to keep you waking! Why should you sleep unsoundly?"
"Simply, because foolish people took the trouble to disturb me," replied St. Real. "Heard you not the singing, and saw you not the light?"
"Foolish people!" cried the friar, with his grey eyes gleaming: "call you the angels of Heaven foolish people? Yes, profane man, I saw the light, and I heard the singing; and that you heard and saw it too, shows me that it was no dream, but a blessed reality! But you saw not what I saw! you heard not what I heard! You saw not the winged angel of the Lord that entered my cell, bearing the sword of the vengeance of God! you heard not the message of Heaven to poor Jacques Clement, bidding him go forth in the power of faith, and smite the Holofernes at St. Cloud--the oppressor of the people of the Lord, the enemy and contemner of the will of the Highest!"
"No, indeed!" answered St. Real, "I neither heard nor saw any of these things; but I now perceive, father, that the vision was addressed to you, not to me, as at first I believed it to be. But tell me, good father, you surely are not simple enough to take all this that you have seen for--"
Ere St. Real could conclude his sentence, the door, which the Dominican had left ajar, was thrown wide open, and the Prior of the convent entered the room, and approached the bed where the young gentleman had remained resting on his arm while he maintained this brief conversation with Father Clement. "Good morrow, my son!" said the Prior. "What! still abed! Brother Clement, thou mayst withdraw."
The friar immediately obeyed; and the superior went on: "I bring you tidings, my son, which you will be glad to hear. The lieutenant-general of the kingdom has been informed of your arrest; and, notwithstanding some circumstances of a suspicious kind which justified that measure, trusts so much to your good faith and honour, that he has ordered your liberation, and recognises the validity of your safe-conduct. Some of his officers wait below; your own attendants are now collected in the court; and all is prepared in order that you may immediately visit him. In the meantime, however, while you rise and dress yourself, I would fain speak a few words of warning and advice."
"Willingly will I attend, reverend father," replied St. Real, who was disposed to show every sort of respect to the teachers of his religion, although he could not but believe that there was a good deal of double-dealing, even in the very speech by which the Prior announced the tidings of his liberation. "Happy am I to hear that the Duke of Mayenne, however he may have learned my detention, is more awake to a sense of his own honour, than that detention itself seemed to imply. But let me hear: what is it you would say, good father?"
"As a vowed teacher of the true faith, and a preacher of the holy Gospel," replied the Dominican, "I would warn you, my son, against any hesitation in those particulars where your eternal salvation is concerned. In matters of faith, as in matters of virtue, there can be but one right and wrong: there is no middle course in religion; and, if you are a true Catholic, holding the doctrines of the apostolic church, and reverencing that authority which the Saviour of mankind transferred to blessed St. Peter and his successors, you must hold the enemies of that church, who oppose its doctrines, and strive for its overthrow, as blasphemous and sacrilegious heretics, whose existence is an ulcer in the state, whose very neighbourhood is dangerous, and whose companionship is a pest. You must hold those who, pretending to be apostolic Catholics, support, maintain and consort with the enemies of that religion, as even worse than those enemies themselves, inasmuch as they add hypocrisy and falsehood to heresy and sacrilege; and when you perceive that every vice which can degrade human nature characterises those who are thus apostates to the church, and protectors of heresy, you will see the natural consequences which fall upon such as disobey the injunctions of the church they acknowledge, and the punishment that will attend all those who uphold a foul and evil cause,--disgrace, dishonour, loss of their own esteem, crimes that they once regarded with horror; in this life infamy, misfortune, and reverse; speedy death; and then eternal condemnation."
In the same strain the Prior proceeded for some time, enlarging, and not without eloquence, upon all the common topics with which the preachers of the League were accustomed to stir up the fanatical spirit of their auditors. He touched also upon St. Real's own situation, his power of choosing, at that moment, between good and bad: he spoke of the unquestionable honour and high repute of many of the leaders of his faction; he painted in the most dark and terrible colours the vices and the crimes that stained the court of Henry III.; and he artfully glossed over, or passed in silence, all that could be detrimental to his own party in the opinion of an honourable and an upright gentleman. He said nothing of the ambition, the rapacity, the debauchery, the prostitution of feeling, honour, virtue, patriotism, to the basest party purposes and the most sordid self-interests, which disgraced the faction of the League.
While he proceeded, St. Real went on with the occupations of his toilet, and, somewhat to the annoyance of the Dominican, heard his oration in favour of the League with a degree of calmness that set all his powers of penetration at defiance. He expressed neither assent nor dissent; neither wonder at all the charges which the Prior brought against the King and his minions, nor admiration of the characters which he attributed to the leaders of the League. He listened, but he did not even take advantage of any pause to answer; and, when the Prior had completely concluded, he merely said, "Well, father, I shall soon see all these things with my own eyes, and shall then determine."
Somewhat piqued to find that all his oratory had produced so small an effect, the Prior rose, and, with an air of stern dignity, moved towards the door. As he approached it, he turned, drew up his tall figure to its full height, and, lifting his right hand, with the two first fingers raised, he said, in an impressive tone, while he fixed his keen eyes upon the figure of the young Marquis, "Remember, my son, what Christ, your Saviour himself, has said: 'He that is not for me, is against me;'" and, without waiting for a reply, he turned and quitted the room.
Unmoved by what he considered, rightly, a piece of stage effect, St. Real soon followed, and found the door of the corridor left open; while the servant, who had been suffered to accompany him to the convent, was seen in the little ante-room beyond, speaking with some persons in rich military dresses, with whose faces St. Real was unacquainted. The moment he approached, however, one stepped forth from the rest, and addressed him by his name.
"I am commanded, Monsieur de St. Real, to greet you on the part of his Highness the Duke of Mayenne, lieutenant-general of the kingdom, and to inform you that the arrest under which you have suffered, took place without either his knowledge or consent, by a mistake on the part of a body of reitters, who seem to have confounded you in some way with the troops attached to Monsieur de Longueville. I am further directed to conduct you to the presence of his Highness, who will explain to you more at large how these events have occurred. Your own attendants and horses are already prepared below: and, if it suits your convenience, we will instantly set out."
"At once, if it so please you, sir," replied St. Real. "I am so little used to imprisonment, that every minute of it is tedious to me."
Proceeding, therefore, to the door of the ante-chamber, at which stood one of the Dominican friars, St. Real and his companions were led down to the court, and there mounted their horses. As he was turning his rein towards the gate, however, his eye fell upon the form of the Prior, standing at an oriel window above; and, raising his hat, he bowed with all becoming reverence. The Prior spread his hands, and gave his blessing in return, adding--"May God bless thee, my son, and give thee light to see thy way aright!"
On the present occasion, there appeared to be not only dignity, but even sincerity, in his tone. Nor, indeed, did St. Real doubt the purity of his intentions throughout; but, in the wars and factions that had preceded the time of which we now speak, the young noble had, as we have said, acted the part of a looker-on; and thus he had learned many a lesson in the art of appreciating the character of such men as Prior Edmé Bourgoin--men who, devotedly sincere themselves in their attachment to the party they espouse, and convinced by passion's eloquent voice of the justice of their cause, think every means justifiable to attain its objects, or to bring over converts to its tenets. St. Real felt sure that the Prior entertained not a doubt of the rectitude of his own motives, and the propriety of everything he did in behalf of the League; but he felt equally sure, that the Dominican would think right and just a thousand means and stratagems, to obtain his purposes, which he, St. Real, would look upon as base, dishonourable, and even impious. Whatever end, therefore, had been sought by confining him in the Jacobin convent, the effect had been anything rather than increased affection for the League; and, as he rode away from its gates towards the Hotel de Guise, his only reflection was, "Well, if such be the means by which the League is supported, and such the stratagems by which its adherents are gained, I, at least, will not be one of the crowd of fools whereof its followers must be composed."
At the Hotel de Guise a different scene awaited him, and different means of attraction were played off in order to win him to the faction. All that had passed at the Jacobins had apparently been minutely reported to Madame de Montpensier; and, with a profound knowledge of human nature, and a perfect command of art, she at once read the principal points of St. Real's character, and adapted her own behaviour to suit it. The mistakes which she committed, as we shall presently see, were not from misapprehending the traits of his disposition, but from not perceiving their depth.
On alighting from their horses, the young officers who had conducted St. Real from the Dominican convent, led him at once towards the audience chamber of the Duke of Mayenne. At the door, however, they were informed by an attendant that the Duke was busy on matters of some deep importance, but that he would be at leisure in a few minutes. Another attendant then stepped forth to usher him to some waiting-room; and, ere he was aware of it, St. Real was in the presence of two beautiful women,--the Duchess of Guise, and the Duchess of Montpensier,--who appeared busy with the ordinary morning occupations of ladies of that day, and seemed surprised at the intrusion; though it need scarcely be said, that the whole man[oe]uvre had been conducted upon their own positive orders. The attendant, who led the young cavalier thither, seemed also surprised to find that chamber engaged; and, begging St. Real to follow him again, was retiring, with many profound reverences and apologies to the two ladies, when Madame de Montpensier demanded the gentleman's name; and, glancing her eye over his person, with a smile not at all unnatural, added, before the man could answer, that, as all the other chambers were occupied, the stranger might, if he so pleased, remain there till her brother was disengaged, as he did not seem so ferocious a person as to make war upon a bevy of women, though Henry of Valois had shown that even the sacred robe of the church was sometimes no protection.
St. Real's name was then given by the attendant; who, without further question, retired, leaving the young cavalier to play his part with the two artful women in whose society he was placed, as best he might. The Marquis, however, did not play that part ill. Graceful by nature and by education, his manners were embarrassed by no kind of bashfulness; for although his acquaintance with society was but limited, yet there were two feelings in his bosom which gave him ever perfect self-possession without presumption. The first of these feelings was a slight touch of the pride of birth, which taught him, when in company with the high or the proud, never to forget that he was himself sprung from the noblest of the land; the second, was the consciousness of perfect rectitude in every thought, feeling, and purpose. Besides all this, the St. Reals had been, as I have said, from age to age, a chivalrous race; and their representative had strong in his own bosom that species of chivalrous gallantry, which made him look upon woman's weakness as a constant, undeniable claim to deference, to courtesy, and to those small attentions, which give greater pleasure very often than even greater services.
Madame de Montpensier was surprised and pleased; and the Duchess de Guise, perhaps, inwardly determined to add St. Real to her train of admirers. At all events, both bent their efforts, in the first place, to gain him for the League; and the sister of the haughty house of Lorraine pursued her plan with the calm and steady purpose of a great diplomatist. In her communion with the young Marquis, she scrupulously avoided aught of coquetry--she suffered not a touch even of levity to be apparent in her manner--she put a guard upon her tongue and upon her eyes, and suffered not even an idle jest to pass those lips with which such things were so familiar. At first, affecting even a degree of distant coldness, she suffered the softer and more blandishing manners of the Duchess of Guise to smooth away all the difficulties of an accidental introduction; and then, as the conversation proceeded, she affected to become more interested, spoke wisely and cautiously, and assumed the tone of virtue and deep feeling, which she knew would harmonise with his principles; though, if all tales be true, that tone was the most difficult for her to affect.
She soon contrived to discover a fact, of which she seemed to be ignorant till St. Real told her; namely, that he was the cousin of the Count d'Aubin; and then, acting upon one of those vague intuitions, which women are occasionally gifted with in regard to matters of the heart, she turned the conversation suddenly and abruptly to Mademoiselle de Menancourt, and the subject of her detention in Paris. St. Real was taken by surprise: there had been some warring in his bosom too, of late, in regard to the fair girl, who had been the companion of his early youth: it was the only point on which his thoughts were not as free and light as the sunshine on the waters; and, at the name of Eugenie de Menancourt, so suddenly pronounced, the blood mounted for a moment into his cheek, and glowed upon his brow.
Madame de Montpensier saw, without seeming to see; and instantly understood the whole: but she fancied even more than she understood. Even though the purity of St. Real's nature forced itself upon her conviction, the evil and subtlety of her own character affected the impression which his left upon her mind, and changed it from its natural appearance. It was like a beautiful face seen in a bad mirror--the traits the same, and yet the aspect changed. She fancied that she saw in the feelings of St. Real towards Eugenie de Menancourt the secret of his hesitation between the League and the Royalists: not, indeed, that she believed that he wished to bargain for his services, as so many had done, or that he designed to attempt to deprive his cousin of the hand of her he loved; but she imagined that secret, and perhaps unconscious, hopes of some fortuitous circumstance, proving favourable to his wishes, might be the cause of a lingering tendency towards the party who could bestow the hand of Eugenie de Menancourt, when his political feelings led him to support the royal cause. Upon these suppositions she shaped her plans, and proceeded to speak of the young heiress with all the tenderness and consideration of a sister. She commiserated her situation, she said,--promised by her father to a man that she could not love, and then left an orphan in the midst of such troublous times. It was happy, indeed, she added, that the young lady had fallen into the hands of one in every respect so noble and considerate as the Duke of Mayenne; for Monsieur d'Aubin must, by this time, have learned, that the lieutenant-general, endeavouring to exercise his power for the happiness of all, would not suffer any restraint to be put upon the inclination of Mademoiselle de Menancourt, but would bestow her hand upon any one that she could really love, provided his rank and station, presented no invincible obstacles.
St. Real was, for a moment, silent; but he at length replied, that he could not conceive upon what ground Mademoiselle de Menancourt's present objections to a union with the Count d'Aubin could be founded. During her father's lifetime, he said, she had not apparently opposed the alliance; and, as far as he had heard, D'Aubin had given her no new cause of offence.
The subject was one on which St. Real found it difficult to speak, not from any feelings he might experience towards Eugenie de Menancourt--for, by a strong sense of honour, and a great command over his own mind, he crushed all sensations of the kind as soon as he found them rising in his breast,--but his difficulty proceeded from a consciousness that D'Aubin was to blame, and from a wish to say as much as possible in favour of his cousin, without deviating from that rigid adherence to truth, which was the constant principle of his heart. What he said was true, indeed. Eugenie de Menancourt had evinced no strenuous opposition to the proposed alliance, so long as her father lived; and yet it was during his lifetime that St. Real had principally remarked those errors in the conduct of his cousin which he thought most calculated to give offence to that cousin's future bride. He did, therefore, wonder what new motive had given such sudden and strong determination to one whom he had always remarked as gentle and complying; and, although he doubted not he should find Eugenie in the right, he did long to hear from her own lips the reasons upon which her conduct was founded.
Madame de Montpensier remarked the restraint under which he spoke, but attributed it to wrong motives, and shaped her answer accordingly. "Perhaps," she said, with a significant smile, "Mademoiselle de Menancourt may have perceived that there are other people, more worthy of her heart; and, as soon as she finds that her duty to her father no longer requires obedience, she may yield to her own inclinations, especially where she finds they are supported by reason."
"I do not think that, madam," replied St. Real. "I do not think Eugenie de Menancourt is one to love easily; though, where she did love, she would love deeply."
There was a degree of simplicity and unconsciousness in this reply, that somewhat puzzled Madame de Montpensier, and put her calculations at fault. She did not choose to let the subject drop, however; and she replied--"You seem to know this young lady well, Monsieur de St. Real: have you been long acquainted?"
"I know her as if she were my own sister," replied St. Real. "We have been acquainted since our infancy; and, indeed, we are distantly related to each other."
"Not within the forbidden degrees, I hope?" said the Duchess or Guise, with a smile.
"She will scare the bird from the trap with her broad jests!" thought the more cautious Catherine de Montpensier, as she saw the colour come up again to St. Real's cheek; but he replied, with his usual straightforward simplicity, "I really do not know, madam: I never considered the matter; but the relationship is, I trust, sufficiently near to justify me in asking his Highness of Mayenne to grant me an interview with Mademoiselle de Menancourt, as I wish to see whether I cannot remove any false impression she may have formed of my cousin, and induce her to fulfil an engagement on which his happiness depends."
Madame de Montpensier gave a sharp eager glance towards the Duchess of Guise, to prevent her from pressing St. Real too hard; and she herself replied, "My brother will doubtless grant you the interview, Monsieur de St. Real; but I am afraid you will be unsuccessful. One thing, however, you may be sure of, that Mayenne himself will in no degree press Mademoiselle de Menancourt to such a union, for he is fully convinced that her objections are but too well founded: and although, perhaps, the party that we espouse might be benefited by holding out to your cousin the prospect of our support in this matter, yet it can in no degree be granted, unless some great change takes place in the feelings of Mademoiselle de Menancourt herself."
As St. Real was about to reply, an attendant again appeared, and announced that Mayenne was, for a few moments, free from those weighty affairs with which the situation of his party overwhelmed him. The young Marquis rose to obey the summons: but Madame de Montpensier was not at all inclined to abandon her unconcluded schemes to the chances of a private interview between her more candid brother and the object of her wiles. That which had at first been the mere desire of gaining a powerful acquisition to her party, and of depriving the Royalists of a strong support, had now become, under the opposition and difficulties she had met with, the eager struggle of compromised vanity. Her reputation for skill and policy were even dearer to her, at that moment, than her reputation for beauty and wit had ever been; and, at the mere apprehension of missing her stroke in a matter where she had risked so much, and employed such means, she called up before the eyes of imagination the calm, half-sneering smile with which Mayenne would mark her failure, and the galling compassion with which all her dear friends and favourite counsellors would commiserate her disappointment.
"I have a petition too to present to my all-powerful brother," she said, rising at the same time; "and, therefore, with your good leave, Monsieur de St. Real, I will accompany you to his high and mighty presence." St. Real, perhaps, would have preferred to see Mayenne alone, but no choice was left him; and, offering his hand, he led her through the long galleries and corridors of the Hotel de Guise to the audience-chamber of the lieutenant-general.
Oh entering the cabinet of the Duke of Mayenne, Madame de Montpensier and her companion found him still engaged in listening to the reports of several military men. He instantly made a sign, however, for the purpose of enjoining silence as his sister approached; and turning to St. Real, he pointed to a seat. "The Marquis de St. Real, I presume?" he said, with an air of plain and unaffected dignity. "Your mourning habit, sir, reminds me that I should condole with you on the death of one of the noblest gentlemen that France has ever known. He would not, it is true, take part with those who wished him well; but, even had he drawn his sword against us, I should have lamented his death as a star gone out that may never be lighted again."
There was a brief pause--for St. Real would not trust his voice with a reply--and the Duke, after having dismissed the officers by whom he had been surrounded, proceeded: "I trust, Monsieur de St. Real, that you know enough of him who speaks to you to believe, even without my saying it, that Charles of Mayenne is utterly incapable of such an act as that by which my safe-conduct was violated in your instance. For my own part, the persons who captured you allege, in their excuse, some dispositions of your troops, which gave cause to suspect an inclination to support our adversary, the young Duke of Longueville; but I--judging your sentiments by my own--absolve you from all such suspicion."
"You do me justice, my lord," replied St. Real; "I am incapable of taking advantage of your pass in order to injure you; and, though in the first heat of anger at my arrest, I might cast the blame on you, I have since learned to judge better, and to know that it was the purpose of those who detained me to keep you in ignorance of my imprisonment. At least, I conclude so from the fact that, on my desiring one of the lookers-on, as I was carried through the streets, to bear the tidings to you, the commander, as he seemed, of the reitters threatened to cut the man's ears off if he obeyed. How the news was at length brought to you I know not, and would willingly hear."
"'Twas a little misshapen dwarf," replied Mayenne, "whom I remember well about the court some years ago, that brought the tidings, and bellowed them forth just as I was mounting my horse to ride out this morning."
"'Tis one of my own pages, doubtless," replied St. Real. "I fancied that the little pigmy could ill bear the fatigues of our long march, and I sent him on hither in a chariot, with another young lad, to prepare a lodging for me while in Paris."
"I knew not, sir Marquis," replied Mayenne, "that you, who affect so much retirement in the provinces, took such pains to follow the modes of the court. What! you have dwarfs for pages, too, have you? And doubtless, in such a household as yours, you equal this Henry of Valois, and have thetailleur aux nains, as well as the dwarf's valet."
A fear crossed the mind of Madame de Montpensier, lest her brother should be pressing St. Real somewhat too hard for his own interests; and she accordingly joined in the conversation at once. "No, no!" she exclaimed; "depend upon it, Charles, Monsieur de St. Real has obtained this dwarf through some accident. I am a better judge of nature than you, Mayenne; and I will answer for it that St. Real is not one to ape the follies of a vicious court, and have his dozen or two of dwarfs and buffoons."
"You are quite right, madam," replied St. Real, who could not but feel pleased to hear himself so boldly defended by such lovely lips. "This dwarf was given me, when I needed a page, by my cousin of Aubin, who prophesied that one day he would serve me at my need--a prophecy which you see has been happily fulfilled, by the unexpected service he has rendered me to-day; and I only trust that his Highness of Mayenne will punish as severely those who have abused his authority, as I will reward largely the activity of my little page."
Mayenne's brow darkened a little: for, of course, the contrivers of the scheme by which St. Real had been brought to Paris he could not punish; and the executors of that scheme were too necessary to his own purposes to admit of any severity being exercised towards them, even had a sense of justice not pointed out that they were mere instruments in the hands of his sister. He was embarrassed therefore; for he felt that the mind of the young Marquis of St. Real was too clear and too straightforward not to detect and appreciate any evasive reply: but Madame de Montpensier came to his aid.
"Nay, nay, Monsieur de St. Real," she said, half playfully, half sadly, "let us not talk of punishments to-day. The miseries and the pangs which are inflicted by either party on the other are sufficient, Heaven knows, without requiring us to be very severe upon our own. But you talked," she added, changing the subject abruptly, "of your page seeking you a lodging in Paris. Now, this is the Hotel de Guise; and I, as a daughter of that house, will take upon me to bid you make it your dwelling while you stay; though my brother, here present, might have had the courtesy to do so before now."
"Nay, Catherine," answered Mayenne, "I wished to put no restraint upon Monsieur de St. Real. He came to the capital to act and to judge for himself; to examine our cause, to mark the demeanour of those who support it; and, though anxious--most anxious--to have so noble a name joined to all those who already uphold the Catholic faith against the apostate and excommunicated tyrant who would destroy it, yet on no account would I bias for a moment the judgment of our noble friend, which, indeed, he might think I wished to do if I pressed him to dwell here."
There was a dignified simplicity in the demeanour of the Duke of Mayenne which pleased St. Real much; but still he wished in no degree to commit himself with the League, till he had ascertained that there was some strong and imperative cause for quitting the path which loyalty and his allegiance pointed out for him to follow. "I thank you, my lord, for your consideration," he replied; "but it was my purpose, after this interview, and having obtained one boon at your hands, to take my leave for the time, in order to proceed to St. Cloud, as I at first intended."
A cloud came over the brow of the Duke; but Madame de Montpensier again interfered. "Monsieur de St. Real," she said, laughing, with something of a double meaning, "you are strongly inclined to spoil all my best plans in your favour; but I do not intend to let you do so. Positively, for this day at least, you shall make your habitation in the Hotel de Guise. The morning you shall spend as you please--see all our faults and failings, and spy out the nakedness of the land. At night you sup with me, to which supper I also bid my lord Duke, here; and I will take care, that in the course of the evening, you shall have an opportunity of urging your cousin's suit upon the ear of Mademoiselle de Menancourt, as long and as privately as you please."
Mayenne cast an inquiring glance upon his sister; but she only replied, "Ay, Charles, even so: your fair ward, Eugenie de Menancourt, with whom Monsieur de St. Real desires to speak in favour of the Count d'Aubin. However, to this plan I will have no objections, my lord Marquis; so, on your gallantry, I call you to obey without murmuring, remembering that, as it is impossible for a young, gay, handsome cavalier like yourself to have a private interview with a beautiful girl like Eugenie de Menancourt at her own dwelling without notorious scandal, this is your only chance. No reply!" she added, with an air of playful imperiousness; "no reply! but obedience! Herbert!" she continued, raising her voice loud enough to be heard in the ante-room, "command themaître d'hôtelto conduct this gentleman to such a suite of rooms as may be sufficient for himself and his attendants, and suited to his high quality."
It would have needed a heart very stern and stoical to disobey commands so pleasantly given, and coupled with such temptations. St. Real, therefore, signified his assent, and, following the officer who had come to Madame de Montpensier's call, was conducted to an apartment in the Hotel de Guise, where he was soon joined by his own attendants, bearing the various articles of baggage which he had brought with him on quitting his little camp near Senlis, and which, to their singular honour be it spoken, the reitters had left with no very important abstractions, though plunder was no uncommon part of their military avocations.
Madame de Montpensier, although she had in reality neither boon nor question to demand of her brother, lingered for a moment after St. Real was gone, looking archly in the grave face of the Duke of Mayenne. "Well, Charles," she exclaimed, "do you not thank me for my assistance? have I not got you nicely out of a scrape?"
"After having wildly got me into one," replied the Duke. "But tell me, Kate, what is this business about Mademoiselle de Menancourt? I will not suffer you to trouble the course of events there."
"Nor do I purpose to do so," replied Madame de Montpensier; "but I see farther than you do, Charles, and, at all events, for this day will have my own way. So, you look to your plans, and I will look to mine, and may come to help you again when you get into difficulty." Thus speaking, and without waiting for any farther questions, she turned away, leaving the Duke to pursue the military arrangements in which he had been previously occupied.
St. Real, whose toilet at the convent of the Jacobins had been, from the circumstances in which he was placed, both hasty and unceremonious, now proceeded to change a dress suited alone to a journey, and both deranged and soiled by all that he had lately passed through. While thus occupied, a loud but well-known voice made itself heard in the ante-room, exclaiming, "Make way, make way! Paul Thiebaut and Pierre Langlois, if you do not get out of my way, I will break your pates with the hilt of my dagger! I will break your pates, though they may be as thick, and as hard, and as heavy as the leaden pummel of my old lord's double-handed sword! Out of the way, I say: do you think one can walk through your great hulking bodies?"
"No," replied one of the attendants, in a gruff voice, "no! but you could walk between our legs, I suppose, little Master Bartholo."
What was the dwarf's reply did not appear; but it would seem that it was somewhat of a manual nature, for a loud oath and stamp of the foot followed; and the door of the chamber opened so unceremoniously as to evince that Bartholo was in some haste to escape from the vengeance that his replication, whatever it had been, was likely to call down upon his head. Banging the door in the face of those behind, he instantly recovered his tranquillity when he found himself in the presence of his master; and advancing towards St. Real with graceful ease, bent his little knee to the ground, kissed his lord's hand, and gave him joy on his arrival in the great capital.
St. Real replied something kind to his first salutation, and then added, "But how now, Bartholo! you claim no merit for the service you have rendered me this morning?"
"I never like to claim merit," replied the dwarf, in his usual cynical tone: "I never like to claim merit, especially with people who think themselves generous; because, if they have forgot my merit, and do not intend to reward me, my claim is a reproach which they never forgive; and if they remember my merit, and design to thank me, my claim is a disappointment."
"It would be well, my good Bartholo," replied St. Real, "if every one else acted upon the same principle--not alone to those who think themselves generous, as you say, but to all men. It would, I believe, save many a disappointment, and many a bitter aggravation of ingratitude; for I have remarked that, as you say, those who are simply forgetful of services hate those who serve them when they are called on to be grateful. But where is Leonard de Monte? Could not he find out his master's abode as well as you, Bartholo? or is he one of those whose memory of kindness does not outlive the act?"
"Good truth, I do not know, my lord!" replied the dwarf. "I never judge of folks on brief acquaintance. His memory of kindness may be as short-lived as a jest at the gallows, or a widow's mourning, or a court lady's constancy--the sincerity of Madame de Montpensier, or the smiles of Monsieur de Mayenne, or any other short thing in this short life, for aught I know; but, in regard to the reason why Leonard's black eyes did not find you out here, it is that they are even now looking for you at St. Cloud. As you were two or three days later than your appointed time, the silly boy took fright, and set out late last night to seek for you. He would fain have persuaded me to go too; but I was not to be wheedled into such an errand. I know well that every fool finds his way to Paris, and that you, therefore, could not well miss it. So I remained quiet, watching every corner till you appeared; and then, as I found you guarded more strongly than necessary, and lodged more holily than I judged you would like, I made bold to bear the tidings to the Duke of Mayenne, begging him to deliver you forthwith from the preaching friars, for fear you should be tired of the friars' preaching."
"You did well and wisely, Bartholo," replied St. Real; "and, as this is the first piece of real good-will that I have ever seen you display to any one, it shall not go without reward. There is my purse, good Bartholo; and now, while I dress, give me the news of Paris; for you are sharp enough and shrewd enough, I take it, to discover and to mark all that is passing in this great city."
According to his master's desire, Bartholo proceeded to detail all the gossips, the scandal, and the real news of the capital, commenting, as he went on, on every anecdote that he related with the keen shrewdness and sagacity which peculiarly distinguished him. His observations, indeed, might derive a peculiar turn from his own particular views and purposes; but, in this curious and complicated world in which we live, every part fits into the other with such exact nicety, that the great depend upon the little nearly as much as the little depend upon the great: the intrigues of the mighty and the powerful, the schemes of the noble and the high, are almost always to be affected in their course--to derive their success or receive their overthrow--from the most mean and despised things that crawl almost unseen around their presence. Thus, in the present instance, all the art, the tortuous policy, the consummate acting of Madame de Montpensier was rendered nearly unavailing by the keen and sarcastic observations, the knowledge of parties, and the insight into real motives and actions, of even so insignificant a person as the dwarf. In the course of the half hour that succeeded, he gave to St. Real a completely new view of the state of the League, and the motives and characters of its supporters; and, without one direct assertion, without one attempt to controvert his opinions, or one apparent effort to obtain a particular object, he showed his master, that frank simplicity might be assumed as the best cloak for art, just as much as religion and patriotism might be affected for the purpose of concealing selfishness and ambition.
As soon as he was dressed, St. Real went forth on foot, followed, as was customary in those days, by two or three armed attendants, and guided by the dwarf, who took care that he should see everything which the capital contained that could disgust him with the proceedings of the League: though why he wished to drive his master into the royal party was somewhat difficult to discover. He first led the young Marquis into the large open space in the neighbourhood of the University, upon the pretence of showing him that building from which the light of knowledge had been so frequently poured forth upon France; but it would seem that he had calculated upon another and more important object presenting itself by the way: nor was he disappointed: for, immediately on entering the great square, St. Real's eyes encountered a considerable crowd; and, making his way forward through the press to a spot where he could see what was proceeding, he immediately beheld one of the many curious scenes which were then taking place in the French capital--such as no city in the world, at any period of its history, has presented, except Paris in the days of the League. Covered with steel corslets, armed with sword, and pike, and musketoon, and with their shaven heads covered with that species of iron caps called asalade, appeared a dense body of about 1500 men, man[oe]uvring with that close and serried discipline which was peculiarly attributed to the Spanish infantry. They seemed, indeed, at first, a very strong body of regular troops, though somewhat singularly clothed; but nearer inspection showed the large hanging sleeves and long flowing gowns of various communities of monks and friars protruding from under the iron panoply of war.
As soon as St. Real had satisfied himself that his eyes had not deceived him, he turned away disgusted, and, led by the dwarf, proceeded onward to the Bastille, where, entrance being refused to all but those who came against their own will, or those who had something to do with the act of bringing them thither, St. Real and his attendants stood without, while the dwarf commented in a low voice, but in bitter terms, upon the uses to which that prison was for the time applied. While thus engaged, a party of horsemen, followed by a small guard of cavalry, came up at full speed; and their leader, as he sprang to the ground at the gate of the fortress, turned to give a hasty glance at St. Real, exposing as he did so, the features of the Duke of Mayenne.
As soon as the Duke perceived who it was that was gazing up to the building, he beckoned to him to approach, saying, in the same bold and candid tone which he usually employed, "If you will come in with me, Monsieur de St. Real, you shall see the inside as well as the outside of this famous prison; and may also see--" he added, knitting his brows, "and may also see to what evil purposes power may sometimes be applied in troublous times, and how difficult it is for one who endeavours to guide aright the outburst of popular indignation to insure that his name and authority shall not be abused by others, even while he is labouring night and day himself to re-establish order and justice, and promote the public weal."
St. Real readily agreed to his proposal, as his desire was to see all that he could during his short stay in the capital. Every gate opened at the appearance of the Duke; but, as if by previous orders, he was not alone accompanied by his own immediate suite, but was also followed by at least one-half of the cavalry forming his escort: who, dismounting from their horses, gave their bridles to their companions, and kept close to the heels of Mayenne as he advanced. The guards and warders at the second and third gates looked suspiciously upon the number of soldiers thus introduced into the fortress, and seemed to hesitate in regard to giving them admission. Mayenne walked on; and, before his bold and determined aspect, all opposition at once gave way. A man at the second gate, indeed, made a sudden movement, as if to communicate the fact of the Duke's arrival to others in the interior of the building; but in a stern though low tone, Mayenne commanded him to stay where he was, and advanced rapidly unannounced. It would seem, indeed, that his coming took the demagogues then in possession of the Bastile by surprise. In the inner court a knot of several persons might be observed standing under a beam, which was thrust out of one of the loophole windows of an angular tower, and from which beam dangled a strong cord, formed into that ominous ellipsis, the sight of which has made many a stout heart turn cold. One of the group assembled below was in the very act of demonstrating to his fellows that it would be necessary to fetch a bench or table in order to bring their pastime to a crisis, inasmuch as the rope was too short, and the noose fully eight feet from the ground, when the appearance of Mayenne stopped his oration in the midst.
The speaker raised his hat at the approach of the Duke; but the glance that he gave was certainly not one of welcome or of love. "What are you doing, Monsieur le Clerc?" demanded Mayenne, sternly eyeing the fatal preparations before him. "All this seems very like an intention of again overstepping your authority."
The person he addressed was a shrewd bold-looking man, with an expression of quick eager cunning, not unlike that of a monkey. "We were going, my lord Duke, to do what, I trust, you will be well pleased to witness," replied Bussy le Clerc: "we were going to execute a traitor, a rebel to lawful authority, and an enemy to the apostolic League and to the Catholic faith--him who was formerly called the President Blancmesnil."
"And how did you dare, sir," exclaimed Mayenne, in a tone that cowed even the bold plotter before him, "how did you dare to stir in such a matter without my authority? I ask you not where you got the impudence, for that you lack not for any feat; but where did you get the courage for such a deed? Am I, or am I not, lieutenant-general of the kingdom? and am I man to pass by such an act without punishment?"
"You are, my lord--you are lieutenant-general of the kingdom," replied Bussy le Clerc, in a humble tone; but the next moment he muttered between his teeth, "You are lieutenant-general of the kingdom; but those who made can unmake."
Notwithstanding the low tone in which he spoke, Mayenne seemed to catch his words; for, grasping him suddenly and firmly by the arm with his left hand, he pointed to the instrument of death, which Le Clerc had prepared for others, and, shaking the forefinger of his right in the pale countenance of the bloody man before him, he fixed his eyes upon him with a look of dark and stern significance, the meaning of which was not to be mistaken. He said not a word, but the glance was sufficient; and there was no one present who did not read therein a threat to make the demagogue taste of the portion he assigned to others, if he pursued his bloody course any further--a threat which did not fail to receive its accomplishment at an after period.
Mayenne held him in his powerful grasp for nearly a minute; then, letting his arm drop, he turned, and, while Le Clerc slunk away amongst his creatures, exclaimed aloud, "Bring forth the President de Blancmesnil!"
Several of the officers hastened to obey; and an old man, whose noble countenance and silver hairs might well win respect and pity, was brought out into the court, while two or three of the governor's satellites hurriedly untied the cords which had pinioned his hands behind.
"Ah! my good lord of Mayenne!" he exclaimed, as he approached, "I am happy to see your face."
"I had nearly come too late, Monsieur de Blancmesnil," replied Mayenne; "but still I am in time to tell you, that by the authority in me reposed, you are set free from this moment; and that whatever proceedings have been taken against you, in whatever court, whether legal or illegal, are null and void, so far as I can render them so."
The old man cast himself at Mayenne's feet and embraced his knees. "Thank you, my lord!" he said: "I thank you, and God will reward you for saving a guiltless man, on whose life some hopes and some affections are still fixed by those he loves; but yet, my lord, one boon--grant me one boon more, and let the cup of your generosity overflow! You have given me life--give me also liberty, and suffer me to retire from a city where each day shows me something either to condemn or to regret, and retire to the court of my lawful sovereign, where alone I can serve my country as I ought."
Mayenne paused for a moment, and his countenance, though not of the most expressive character, gave evident marks of a strong internal struggle; the quick glance of displeasure, and the open expansion of more generous feelings, succeeding each other rapidly, like the quick light and shade flying across a landscape in an autumn day, as the clouds are borne over the bright sky by the hasty wind. The sunshine, however, at length predominated. "Be it so; Blancmesnil, be it so," he replied, "be it so. I had hoped that your wisdom, your attachment to the faith, and your love of virtue would have kept you from a court of fools, of heretics, and of villains; but I will not stay you, if you love such men."
"My lord," said Blancmesnil in a tone almost of sorrow, "it would be ungrateful in me to answer you. Suffer me alone to say, that the most imperative and absolute sense of duty alone would induce me to repeat the request which I have made. None would more willingly spend his last few hours of this brief life in the service of one so noble and so generous as yourself than old Blancmesnil; but it cannot be, my lord, without the sacrifice of all those principles which have won me the esteem of your Highness."
"Well, well!" replied Mayenne, conscious that the impression produced by any further discussion of this kind in the hearing of St. Real would be very opposite to that which he could desire; "well, well! far be it from me to withhold any man from the path on which he thinks that duty prompts him. A bold enemy I love next to a faithful friend: it is only traitors to either cause that deserve punishment. Go! Blancmesnil, go! and do not forget that as much as we hate the vices which we are armed to crush, so much do we love virtue, even in an enemy!"
Mayenne felt that he had regained his advantage; and, turning to St. Real, he said, "Well, Monsieur de St. Real, you will return with me, for it grows late, and my sister will soon expect us. I will bear you company on foot. Sometimes I love to ramble amongst the people for a while, and hear the unvarnished opinions of the streets. Greatness, caged in gilded saloons, knows too little of the world around it, and needs now and then to take a flight amongst the wide universe of other beings, to learn how many varied and different aspects the state of all things can assume to the myriads of eyes that are looking on each passing event. You, Longjumeau," he continued, "take the horsemen, and guard Monsieur de Blancmesnil safely to his house. Wait there with him till all his preparations are made; and then, with a white flag, pass him safely to the outposts of the Huguenots at Meudon. Fare you well, Blancmesnil!" he added, turning to the old man; "I must embrace you once more, though you will be my enemy."
"Perhaps more your friend, my lord, in quitting you, than I should have been in staying with you," replied the President. Mayenne answered nothing, but, turning away, led St. Real from the Bastile, and took his way back to the Hotel de Guise, followed on foot by the principal part of the gentlemen of his household who had attended him to the state prison. No matter of any importance occurred during their walk; and St. Real was pleased to find, that far from attempting in any degree to influence him against his better judgment, the Duke confined his conversation solely to indifferent topics, commenting upon all the many objects of attention which all great cities present with as much liveliness as his nature permitted. More than one interruption occurred as they passed on, springing from the various duties and functions with which the Duke had charged himself, or with which the people chose to burden him. It was now an officer from the outposts, who stopped them on the way to demand orders and directions for the night; then a bare-footed friar, of not the most prepossessing appearance, approached the princely Mayenne, and held with him a whispering conversation of several minutes in the open street; then again a high officer, belonging to one of the courts of law, with his bonnet in his hand, presented some papers relative to the proceedings against the President de Blancmesnil; and then an old woman, thinking that she had as good a right as any other citizen of Paris to her share of the great Duke, hobbled across his path, and presented her dirtyplacetregarding a stall in the Fauxbourg de l'Université, and reinforced her petition by a torrent of that peculiar eloquence possessed by old apple-women in all civilised countries.
Mayenne gave her some mild but evasive reply; and turning with a smile towards St. Real, as they walked on, he said, "You see the post I occupy is not without its cares, and those cares so nicely balanced as to be all equally weighty; for you may judge, by that old woman, that, if the greater cares are more oppressive, the lighter are the more importunate."
All these interruptions of their onward progress had occupied no small time; so that the western sky began to look rosy with the summer sunset ere they reached the Hotel de Guise. "Quick! Monsieur de St. Real," said Mayenne, as they entered the vestibule; "quick! for in less than half an hour my sister will expect us at her supper-table."
St. Real accordingly retired to his apartments, and changing his dress with all speed, sent down one of his followers to seek out some of the attendants of the Duchess de Montpensier, and discover to what chamber, of all the many in that wide and rambling mansion, he was to bend his steps. Almost immediately after a servant of the Duchess appeared to conduct him; and he was led down the stairs, and through the manifold passages and turnings of the Hotel de Guise, at that particular moment of the day ere factitious light has supplied the place of the blessed sunshine, and when such rays of the set orb as still linger in the sky and find their way through the windows--though as rosy as those of the morning--are melancholy rather than gay. At length the servant opened the door of a small cabinet, and passing through, led St. Real into a larger room beyond, where he left him.
Standing near one of the windows at the farther end, and apparently gazing forth with some attention, appeared the figure of a lady in deep mourning. The light was not sufficient for St. Real to distinguish who she was; but her garb showed that it was not Madame de Montpensier, and St. Real was sure that it was not the Duchess de Guise. His heart beat quick, far quicker than he liked--for the heart is sometimes a prophet--and, for a moment, he paused in the midst of the room. The next instant, however, he again advanced: the lady turned as he approached, roused from her reverie by the sound of his footsteps, and St. Real suddenly found himself alone in the chamber with Eugenie de Menancourt. He was not surprised--at least he had no right to be so--for he was prepared to meet Mademoiselle de Menancourt at the Hotel de Guise that night; but it were vain to say that he was not agitated. He knew not why, and he was angry with himself for feelings which he could not, which he would not, perhaps, account for to his own understanding.
With Eugenie it was different. She was both surprised and agitated; for the last person she had expected, yet the person she had most wished to see, was the Marquis of St. Real. It was natural enough, too, that she should desire to see him: she had known him from her infancy; she had learned, in the early habits of unrestrained intercourse, to look upon him as a brother; she had found him always kind and gentle in his affections, clear and just in his opinions, and firm and noble in his principles; and, in the friendless and orphan state in which she was now left, there was no one to whom she so longed to apply for advice, assistance, and protection as to Huon of St. Real. At one time, indeed, in her utter ignorance of the selfishness of faction, she had contemplated applying to the Duke of Mayenne for permission to retire to the castle of the old Marquis of St. Real, whose neutrality between the contending parties of the day, she had fondly fancied, might obviate the objections which the leader of the League would entertain to any other asylum not within the immediate grasp of his own power. There was, however, in her bosom a vague unacknowledged consciousness of feelings, which she wished not to render more distinct--a sort of apprehension lest the world should attribute to her motives that she would have shrunk from entertaining --which made her hesitate so long in regard to giving voice to her request, that ere she decided the tidings reached her that the old lord was dead, and that the refuge which she might otherwise have hoped to find in his dwelling was consequently shut against her forever. Her thoughts, then, had often been busy with St. Real; she had often longed to see him, to speak with him, to confide her situation, her fears, her anxieties, her danger, to one in whom she was sure to find a kind and feeling auditor. With these wishes, however, no hopes had been combined. She knew, or believed she knew, that St. Real's principles would lead him to join the royal party; and that, therefore, unless he entered Paris as a victor or a prisoner, there was little chance of his visiting the capital. Madame de Montpensier, in summoning her to the Hotel de Guise, had given her no information of the object for which she was called thither; and she had obeyed with some degree of alarm, which had not been decreased by an apparent inattention and want of courtesy on the part of the Duchess, evinced by leaving her for nearly half an hour unnoticed in the wide and solitary chamber to which she had been ushered on her first arrival. Her sensations, therefore, on beholding St. Real, were purely those of surprise and pleasure; but they reached the height of agitation.
She spoke not; but, as the last light that lingered in the sky shone upon her beautiful countenance through the open window, St. Real beheld the warm blood rush up into her cheek and forehead, a beaming lustre dance in her eyes, and a bright irrepressible smile play about her lips, that plainly told he was no unwelcome visiter. The hand that was instantly extended to him he took in his; and he thought it no treason to his cousin to press his lips upon it. All that Eugenie and St. Real first said was too hurried and confused, too shapeless and unconnected, to bear much meaning if written down in mere cold words, without the looks, and the gestures, and the feelings, that at the time gave life and soul to those words themselves. They had a thousand things to speak of. Since their last meeting each had lost a father, each had lost a friend; and the affection that either had borne to the dead parent of the other was matter of deep sympathy and feeling between them. All their thoughts, their sorrows, their regrets, were in common, and their conversation, for some time, was one of those deep, touching, artless, unrestrained communications of mutual ideas, which--full of the reciprocation of bright sentiments--more than aught else on earth knit heart and heart together.
At length St. Real remembered that he was losing moments which he had destined for another purpose; and some of the servants entering to light the lamps and sconces in the apartment, at once showed him that he had no time to lose, and gave him an opportunity of changing the topic. As soon as they were left once more alone, he spoke of his cousin, the Count d'Aubin, and approached, without directly speaking of the subject of his pretensions, to Mademoiselle de Menancourt.
Eugenie turned as pale as death, and then again the red blood mounted to her cheek with a quick vehement blush: she too felt that there was an infinity to be said, and feared that there might be little time to say it. There was much--she felt there was much--to be staked upon the conversation of the next few instants; and she determined that, whatever report of her sentiments St. Real might bear his cousin, it should be such as to put an end for ever to his hopes of her affection.
"And would you, St. Real," she said, "would you, who know both him and me, would you press me to fulfil an engagement, in making which I myself bore no part, and which, even on the side of my father, was, as far as I can learn, but conditional? No, St. Real, no! sooner than disobey my father's commands, I would have sacrificed happiness, perhaps life itself: but he left me free, and pointedly, with his last breath, bade me, in the difficult circumstances in which I should be placed, use my own judgment. That judgment will never lead me to become the wife of one who can act as you and I have seen Philip d'Aubin act."
"But, believe me, Eugenie," replied St. Real, "Philip has changed. He loves you deeply, sincerely; and that love will teach him to seek your happiness by gaining your esteem."
"No, no! St. Real," replied Eugenie with a sigh, "no, no! he loves nothing but himself. I know him better than you do. While I thought that, at some time, I was to become his wife, I strove to love him as great an effort as woman can strive to direct the feelings of her own heart. In striving to love him, I strove to know him; and thus I learned all the baseness, all the selfishness, of his character. Forgive me, St. Real, for using such harsh language: you know it is not in my nature to speak or to feel thus, except in a case where all my happiness is concerned: but I wish you to understand at once, and for ever, that I will not marry Philip d'Aubin--because I do not love him."
"But might not time, and assiduity, and nobler deeds, teach you to love him?" demanded St. Real: "for, believe me, Eugenie, better qualities lie slumbering in his heart, which a great object might awake and strengthen. Might he not teach you to love him?"
"I would not love him for a universe," replied Eugenie; "for the woman who loves him is sure to be miserable. But press me no more, St. Real, press me no more: my resolution is taken--my mind and my heart are fixed. I do not love Philip d'Aubin--I never have loved him--I never can love him; and, sooner than become his wife, I would resign all that I have on earth but the dowry of a nun; quit the world, and seek peace in the cloister."
St. Real replied but by a sigh; and although that sigh might be one of sorrow for the disappointment of his cousin, yet it called up in the bosom of Eugenie de Menancourt varied emotions, that, for a moment, sent another bright flush across her cheek, which, fading away again, left her as pale as death. Ere the soft natural hue had returned, and ere St. Real had time to separate his mingled feelings from each other, and give to those he thought it right to express, the door opened, and Madame de Montpensier appeared alone.
Strange is it to say, but no less true, that though Eugenie de Menancourt and Huon de St. Real had both longed for such a moment of calm and unobserved communion, the approach of a third person was, at that moment, a relief to both. Nor was the manner of Madame de Montpensier at all calculated to lessen that sensation: it was the same which she had assumed in the morning towards St. Real, and which she had found succeed so well, that she determined not to abandon it till he had quitted Paris. She was, perhaps, even calmer and more tranquil in her demeanour now than she had appeared before: for reading, with deep knowledge, the secrets of the human heart, she knew that such a demeanour was best in harmony with the feelings which she wished St. Real and Eugenie to experience towards each other. Approaching, then, slowly and tranquilly, she welcomed Mademoiselle de Menancourt cordially, and then proceeded to speak of various indifferent subjects with wit and grace, but with very tempered gaiety, until the appearance of the Duchess of Guise, and then of the Duke of Mayenne, gave a different turn to the conversation. Supper was almost immediately announced; and, during the meal, all passed in the same calm tone. Eugenie, for the first time in her life, thought Madame de Montpensier as fascinating in manners as she was generally reported to be; and although she could not help feeling, with a degree of discomfort, that the eyes of the princess were frequently upon her with an inquiring, or rather, investigating, glance, yet the minutes went by more pleasantly than any she had known for many months. St. Real, too, felt the time brief and sweet; but, arguing from the costly apparel of the Duchess and her sister, that they were either going forth to figure on some more splendid scene, or were about to receive other guests at home, he judged that the moments allowed to such conversation as he then enjoyed would be but few; and he tormented himself by remembering a thousand things he wished to say to Mademoiselle de Menancourt, which he had forgotten at the only time when they could have been said.
At length the party rose; and, if the sound of rolling wheels, and shouting attendants, and trampling horses, augured true, the members of the house of Guise were even somewhat late in preparing to receive the noble guests who were invited that night to meet together in gaiety and splendour, though the morning had passed with many in strife and bloodshed, and though iron war was thundering with his cannon at the gates.
On the first signal of their design to quit the supper table, the attendants, who stood round, threw open the doors of the hall, and Madame de Montpensier, taking Eugenie by the hand, led the way into another chamber, which was already brilliantly lighted, and evidently prepared for some occasion of splendour, but into which, as yet, no one had been admitted. Passing through that and several rooms beyond, they at length approached a saloon, the door of which was open, and from which proceeded the busy hum of many voices; while various figures were seen passing to and fro across the aperture of the doorway, like the painted shadows cast by a phantasmagoria. Some of those guests, however, who watch for great men's steps, and observe their looks, soon perceived the approach of the family of Guise; and the words, "The Duke, the Duke! His Highness the lieutenant-general!" pronounced by several voices within, created, for the moment a brief bustle among the guests, and then the silence of expectation, till the party entered the room.
The number already assembled might amount to nearly fifty, of whom the greater proportion were officers and soldiers, either personally attendant upon the Duke of Mayenne, or eager to pay court to him whose fortunes were for the time in the ascendant. For them, governments, commands, and the many military employments which gave profuse opportunity of squeezing a divided people, formed the attractions towards one at whose disposal were placed all the good things of at least one half the empire. The rest of the party who occupied the saloon were made up of the lower classes of the French nobility, male and female, principally thenoblesse de la robe, who, with the same views as the others, though directed in a different line, sought to be amongst the first at the Hotel de Guise.
Not long after, however, another class began to arrive, who, willing to associate with Mayenne, to partake of the influence of his good fortune, to share what he chose to delegate of his power, and to obtain for their younger children the various benefices in his gift, were yet desirous of distinguishing themselves from even the democracy of their own order, by making the hour of their visit somewhat later, that they might not be confounded in the first rush of the subservient crowd. Last of all, as if in mockery of the pride of their immediate predecessors, came the fops, the coxcombs, the witlings, the debauchees of Paris, heedless of all interests but the dear first all-absorbing interests of their own vanity, and ready to laugh or sneer at everything and everybody, from the great Duke himself, down to the last new-madeprocureur, who claimed a right to bear arms and call himselfgentilhomme.
On his arrival in the hall, the Duke advanced and bowed round him with the dignity, and perhaps with a little more than the pride, of a legitimate monarch. Though his eye had not much of the fire and energy which characterized that of his father and his brother, it was sufficiently quick and marking to observe in the room all those who are likely to be serviceable, either individually to himself, or more generally, to the state; and to each of these he took care to address some word of more particular favour and encouragement. Some he passed with a mere inclination of the head; some he noticed not at all. Madame de Montpensier, however, though in her heart prouder than her brother, was one of those--of those few persons--capable of feeling the master passions of human nature in all the terrible energy in which they can display themselves. Hatred, revenge, and ambition, were for the time, predominant in her heart: and these are idols to which, as to the Moloch of the Ammonites, pride will even sacrifice its children. Knowing and feeling that the meanest man present might accelerate or retard the objects of her desire, casting aside all her natural vanity, and all the haughtiness of her race, Madame de Montpensier mingled with the crowd, and--while her languishing sister, the Duchess of Guise, sat coquetting with her own particular admirers--she spoke with every one, smiled upon every one, and left each with increased prepossession in her favour, and renewed attachment to her cause.