By the reader's good leave, we must go up for a moment or two to the
ramparts of the Château of Marzay, and introduce him to the party
there, before the new comers arrive. Nay, more, we must return for
nearly an hour, and listen to the conversation which was taking place
while all the events we have just narrated were occurring in the wood
that lay beneath the eyes of those upon the castle walls, though it
must be premised, that those events had been completely hidden from
their sight by the thin veil of forest boughs, as the various turns of
fate, upon which the fortunes of our whole future life depend, are
often going on close by us, concealed from our gaze, whether anxious
or unconscious, by the ripple of an idle current of trifling things
that affect us not permanently in any way.
The Baron de Montigni, though five or six years had elapsed since he
last saw any of the party there assembled, had, by his previous
knowledge of the circumstances, divined aright the names of the
persons of which it was composed. About an hour and a half before
sunset, a very beautiful girl of eighteen or nineteen had come forth
upon the walls for her afternoon walk, having on one hand a gentleman
dressed in the height of the extravagant fashions of the day, with a
high starched ruff, or _fraise_, as it was called, which made his head
look like that of John the Baptist in a charger, and with a slashed
and laced pourpoint of yellow velvet, stiffly embroidered with silver.
His shoes were of white satin, enriched with a rosette of yellow; and
in his girdle hung a small dagger knife, with a fretted hilt of gold,
while far behind hung his sword, as if put out of reach of his hand
lest he should use it too frequently. His beard was pointed, and
neatly trimmed; his hair curled, and turned back from his face; and on
the top of his head he wore a small velvet toque, with a single long
feather. In person he was tall, and not ungraceful, though somewhat
stiff; and his features were all good, though there was certainly
something in the disposition of them which gave a sinister and
unpleasant expression to his countenance. Perhaps this effect was
produced by the closeness of the eyes and the narrowness of the brows,
which produced a shrewd and confined look, though his face might
otherwise have been prepossessing.
Though dressed with such scrupulous care, his air and manner was not
that of a fop. It was not easy and unrestrained, indeed, but it was
bold and confident; and if one might judge--as we almost all do
judge--from manner and appearance, pride, rather than vanity, was his
prevailing folly; shrewd ambition, rather than levity, the
characteristic vice. Yet, as we shall see, he was not without
lightness, too; but it was often used in those days as a means to an
end, and covered too frequently intense selfishness under an air of
idle indifference.
On the other side of the young lady walked, to and fro with her upon
the rampart, a man considerably passed the middle age, dressed in the
habit of the clergy. His hair was almost white, though here and there
a streak of a darker hue showed that it had been once jet black. His
features were fine, though apparently worn with care and thought; and
the expression of his countenance was grave, calm, and almost stern.
His large dark eyes were, indeed, full of light, but it was not of
that kind which illuminates what is within for the gaze of others, but
it rather fell dazzling upon those who were his companions for the
time, searching the secrets of their hearts, and displaying none of
his own. His lips were thin and pale; his cheek delicate and hollow,
but with a slight tinge of red, which by its varying intensity, from
time to time gave the only indication to be obtained of strong
emotions in his bosom.
But we must speak of the lady, for truly she deserves some notice,
were it but for her beauty. There were, however, other things to be
remarked in her besides the fine and delicate features, the graceful
and rounded limbs, the bright complexion, the fair skin, the tangles
of her luxuriant dark brown hair, the heaving bosom, or the perfect
symmetry of the neck and shoulders. In the large, soft hazel eyes,
under their jetty fringes, on the warm arching lips, and in the dimple
of the cheek, shone forth a gay and bright spirit, which, perhaps,
under some circumstances might have been full of playful jest and
light-hearted merriment; but, as it was, the light was subdued and
shaded almost to sad thoughtfulness. It seemed as if cares and
anxieties, if not sorrows and misfortunes, had come upon her young; or
as if those with whom her early years had been spent, had laboured to
repress, rather than moderate, the joyous buoyancy of youth, and had
brought a cloud over the sunshine of girlhood.
It was not exactly so, indeed; but living in troublous times, when the
mind became familiar with great but tragic acts, and every day brought
some subject for deep and anxious thought, and passing her life in
comparative seclusion with people older than herself,--not very
wise nor very considerate, though not actually domineering and
austere,--her cheerfulness had been repressed, though not
extinguished, and a shade of sadness brought over her demeanour,
rendering it various and changeful like an April day. Her dress was
rich and tasteful, according to the fashion of the times, but more in
the style of the fair and unhappy queen of Scotland, than of the harsh
and masculine Elizabeth. There were no gaudy colours; indeed there was
no great display of embroidery; but the lace which waved over her fair
bosom and rose round her snowy neck, was of the finest and most costly
kind; and the black velvet of her dress was here and there looped with
pearls.
When first she came forth, by a door that led over a small bridge to
the inner parts of the dwelling, she paused at the edge of the wall
for a moment, and gazed over the scene around. Youth is generally more
fond of contemplating nature's handiwork than age. Mature life is
usually spent in dealing with man and man's acts; the face of nature
comes upon us then as an impression rather than a subject of
contemplation. To the young, it is full of interest and of wonder;
imagination robes it in her own garmenture of light, peoples each
shady dell, fills the forest with her own creations, and calls up in
each village or church or tower a wild and agitated throng of feelings
and sensations, of hopes and fears, all the beings of the fancy,
ephemeral though bright, confused though lively, impalpable though
vivid. Youth sees more than the landscape,--age, sees it as it is; the
one has its own sun-shine, to adorn all it looks upon; the other views
everything under the shady cloud.
Rose d'Albret stopped to gaze; then, notwithstanding the chilliness of
the wintry air, she turned her eyes to the east over the gray lines,
where the vanguard of the night was marching forward over the sky, and
then looked round to the west, where the rear of day was all
glittering with golden light. What made her sigh? what made her fix
her eyes upon a thin white film of mist that rose up from the deeper
parts of the forest, like the smoke of a heath-burner's fire? Who can
say? who can trace along the magic chain of association, link by link,
and tell how the objects within her sight connected themselves in her
mind with her own situation, and made her remember that she had much
to regret?
"You are thoughtful to-night, Rose," said the Marquis de Chazeul.
"And may a woman never be thoughtful, Chazeul?" asked Rose d'Albret.
"If such be your creed, pray seek another wife, for you will often
find me so, I assure you."
"Nay," replied Chazeul, "I would not disappoint you so for the world,
sweet Rose; it would break your little heart if I were to take you at
your word."
"No, indeed," replied the young lady, with perfect calmness; "you are
quite mistaken, Chazeul, my heart is not so easily broken; and, as for
disappointment, it would be none at all; I am in that happy state,
that, whatever be the event, I can bear it with calmness."
"Or at all events, with affected indifference," replied her companion,
a little nettled, "is it not so, Rose?"
"Not at all," she answered; "you never saw me affect anything that I
did not feel. Here is father Walter, who has known me as long and
better than yourself, can witness for me. Did you ever see me pretend
to anything that is not real, Monsieur de la Tremblade?"
"Never, my dear child," replied the priest; "and I should think
Monsieur de Chazeul should be very well content to see you willing to
give your hand to him according to your guardian's commands. In the
first place, it shows that obedient disposition, on which so much of a
husband's happiness depends; and in the next place, it leaves him the
sweet task of teaching you to love him."
"That is, if he can," said Rose d'Albret, with a smile; "but do you
know, my good father," she continued, "I would draw another inference
from the facts, which is simply this, that it would be better for
Monsieur de Chazeul to give me longer time to learn that same lesson
of love, and not to press forward this same marriage so hastily."
"Nay, on my life," answered Chazeul, "it is Monsieur de Liancourt's
doing, not mine; but I will acknowledge, sweet Rose, that my eagerness
to possess so fair a flower may make me anxious to gather it without
delay, though my impatience may make me prick my fingers with the
thorns, as I have done just now."
"Well, I am in the hands of others," said Rose d'Albret; "I have
nothing to do but to obey; and doubtless, in hurrying this matter
forward, my guardian does what he thinks best for me."
"He may have many reasons, dear daughter," said the priest, "he is
old; times are troublesome and dangerous; none can tell what a day may
bring forth; and it is a part of his duty to see you married and under
the protection of a younger and more active man than himself, before
he is called to quit this busy scene."
"Oh, I think, good father, I could protect myself," replied Rose
d'Albret. "Those thorns my cousin De Chazeul talks of, would be quite
hedge enough, I should imagine,--but hark, there are guns in the
wood--and there again!"
All listened, and two or three more shots were distinctly heard.
"I thought we had a truce here?" said Rose d'Albret.
"True, amongst ourselves," answered the Marquis de Chazeul; "but we
cannot get others always to observe it; and 'tis not unlikely that
these are a party of Henry de Bourbon's heretic soldiers wandering
about, and committing some of their usual acts of violence and
plunder. He is now besieging Dreux, I find."
"Why, I have always heard," said Rose d'Albret, "that the King is
strict and scrupulous in restraining his soldiers from such excesses."
"The King?" exclaimed Chazeul, with his lip curling. "Pray call him
some other name, sweet Rose. He may be a king of heretics, but he is
no king of mine, nor of any other Catholics."
"Hush, hush!" cried Walter de la Tremblade, "you must not let Monsieur
de Liancourt hear you make such rash speeches. He acknowledges him as
King of right, though not in fact,--his religion being the only bar."
"And that an insurmountable one," said the Marquis; "if he were to
profess himself converted to-morrow, who would believe him? I am sure
not I."
"Nay, cousin," replied Rose d'Albret, "one who is so frank and free,
so true to all men, so strict a keeper of his word as the King is
reported to be, would never falsify the truth in that. Remember, too,
I am his humble cousin; for the counts of Marennes come from the same
stock as the old kings of Navarre."
"Ay, a hundred degrees removed," said Chazeul; "I have no fear, dear
Rose, of your blood being contaminated by his."
"Well, it matters not," replied Rose d'Albret, with a laugh; "I intend
to fall in love with him whenever I see him."
"It might be better," observed Chazeul, "to try that with your
husband."
"Oh no," cried his fair companion, gaily; "that would be quite
contrary to all rule, Chazeul, especially amongst the ladies and
gentlemen of the League. As far as I have heard, they have done away
with all such foolish old customs; and loyalty to their king, or love
between husband and wife are amongst the errors of the past, which
they quite repudiate." Chazeul bit his lip, and she went on, "I should
like to see this King, he is so gallant and so noble, I am sure I
should love him--is he very handsome, Monsieur de Chazeul?"
"I never saw him, Mademoiselle," answered the Marquis, somewhat
bitterly, "except at such a distance that one could discover nothing
but the white plume in his hat, and on his horse's head."
"I have seen him often, long ago," said the priest, "when he was a
mere youth, at the court of the Queen Mother; and then he was as
handsome a boy as ever my eyes lighted upon, with a skin so delicately
soft, and such a warm colour in his cheek, one would have thought him
little fitted for the rough, laborious, and perilous life he has since
led."
"Hark! there are guns again," exclaimed Rose d'Albret; and a sudden
cloud came over her brow. "I hope these people," she continued, after
a moment's pause, "are not attacking my cousin De Montigni."
"They will soon make an end of him if they do," said Chazeul; "at
least I should suppose so."
"You seem very indifferent to the matter," observed the lady quickly;
"why do you imagine so?"
"Simply because a book-read student, who has been passing the best
part of his life within the walls of a college, can be no match for
men of courage and of action," replied Chazeul.
"Fie," replied Rose d'Albret, warmly; "Louis de Montigni has as much
courage as any one. I can remember him before he went abroad, a wild
rash boy, who used to frighten me by the daring things he did. But if
you had any kindness in your nature, Chazeul, you would go out to help
him--in case it be he who is attacked. He must be on the road even
now; I wonder he is not arrived."
"I will go and speak with Monsieur de Liancourt about it," replied
Chazeul; and leaving the priest and the lady together, he retired for
a short time from the walls.
"Let us listen," said Rose d'Albret; and, leaning her arm upon the
stone-work, she turned her ear towards the wood, bending down her
bright eyes upon the ground, while the priest advanced, and standing
beside her gazed at her for a moment, and then looked out over the
country beyond.
During the whole conversation which had taken place, he had watched
her closely; and, well acquainted with her character from infancy, he
had read aright all that was passing in her mind. He saw that the
coldness which she displayed towards the man selected for her future
husband was no assumed indifference, none of the coquettish excitement
which many a woman learns too early to administer to the passion of a
favoured lover, none of that holding back which is intended to lead
forward; none of that reluctance which is affected but to be overcome.
He perceived clearly enough that she was indifferent to him, and
perhaps somewhat more; that she felt for him no respect--but little
esteem; and, though accustomed for some years to his society from time
to time, and habituated to look upon her marriage with him as an act
that was to be, that she now began to feel repugnance as the time
approached for performing the contract, which had been entered into by
others without her knowledge or consent. In short, he saw that, though
she would obey, it would be unwillingly.
The priest regretted that it was so; for he felt no slight affection
towards her, though, as too often happens, he was ready to do all he
could, from other considerations, to promote a sacrifice which might
destroy the happiness of one he loved almost as a child. The knowledge
that she was indifferent towards Chazeul might grieve him, but it did
not in the least induce him to pause in the course he had determined
to pursue; and he proceeded, after a few moments given to thought, to
draw forth her sentiments further, while, at the same time, he
endeavoured to work some change in her opinions.
"He is certainly very handsome," said the priest abruptly; "do you not
think so?"
"Who?" cried D'Albret, with a start. "Oh! Chazeul! Yes, perhaps he is;
and yet not handsome either."
"Indeed," said Walter de la Tremblade, "I think I never saw finer
features, or a more graceful form."
"No, not graceful, surely," said the young lady. "Well-proportioned,
perhaps, and his features are all good, it is true; but yet, father,
there is something that makes him not handsome."
"What?" asked the priest.
"Nay, I cannot well tell," answered Mademoiselle d'Albret; "perhaps it
is that his eyes are too close together--but I was thinking of De
Montigni, good father; I hope no mischance has befallen him."
"Oh! I trust not!" answered her companion. "And so, Rose, this is the
only fault you can find with your lover's beauty, that his eyes are
too close together! I can assure you, sweet lady, that the fair dames
of Paris do not perceive that defect, and that you may have some
trouble to keep the heart you have won."
"I wish--" said Rose d'Albret, but then she broke off suddenly,
leaving the sentence unconcluded, and beginning again afresh, she
added, "Heaven knows, good father, that I took no pains to win his
love; and perhaps the best way to retain it when I am his wife, if
ever that happens, will be to take no pains to keep it."
"It will then be a duty to take pains," answered the priest, somewhat
sternly; "we are not born, my daughter, in this life, to seek nothing
but our own pleasure and happiness. We are here to fulfil the
important tasks assigned us by the Almighty, and clearly pointed out
to us by the circumstances in which we are placed. To neglect them is
sinful, to perform them coldly is reprehensible; and it is our
greatest wisdom, as well as our strictest duty, to labour that our
inclinations may go hand in hand with the performance of that which
God has given us to do."
"Nay," said Rose, laying her hand gently on the sleeve of his gown,
"you speak severely, good father. I do not see how it is so clearly
pointed out that I should marry Nicholas de Chazeul; and I do wish
that the ceremony were not hurried in this way. However, if I do wed
him, depend upon it I shall follow your counsel, and do my best to
love him. At all events," she added, raising her head somewhat
proudly, "you may be sure, that under no circumstance will I forget
what is due to him and to myself. I may be an unhappy wife, but I will
never be a bad one."
"That I doubt not, that I doubt not," said the priest warmly; "but
what I wish to point out to you is, the way to happiness, daughter;
and depend upon it you can but find it in doing your duty cheerfully."
"I know it, my excellent friend," answered Rose, "and it shall be my
endeavour so to act; but I could much desire before I take a vow to
love any one, that I had some better means of knowing how far I can
fulfil it."
"Oh! if you have the will to do so," answered father Walter, "it may
easily be done."
"What!" she cried eagerly, "easy to love a man one cannot esteem or
respect! I say not that such is the case in the present instance,
father," she continued, seeing her companion fix his eyes upon her
with a look of surprise and inquiry; "I only state a case that might
be. Suppose I were to find him cold, selfish, heartless, cruel,
vicious, base, how should I love him then?"
"But Monsieur de Chazeul is none of these," rejoined the priest.
"I say not that he is," answered Rose d'Albret; "I only say he may be
for aught I know. I knew him not in youth; and in manhood I have seen
him twice or thrice a year in circles where all men wear a mask. I
would fain see him with his face bare, good father."
"Few women ever so see their lovers," rejoined the priest; "love is
the greatest of all hypocrites."
"Perhaps that is true," said Rose; "yet time, if a woman's eyes be
unblinded by her own feelings, does generally, soon or late, draw back
the covering of the heart, so far as to show her some of the features.
I have seen little: I would see more; for what I have seen makes me
doubt."
"Indeed!" exclaimed her companion, "what have you perceived to raise
suspicions? Some casual word, some slight jest, I warrant you; such as
he spoke just now about his cousin. Idle words, daughter! idle words,
upon which you must put no harsh interpretation."
"How often idle words betray the spirit within!" said Rose. "They are
the careless jailers which let the prisoner forth out of his secret
dungeon. They have cost many a king his crown, if history be true;
many a woman reputation, aye, and perhaps, many a lover his lady's
hand. But what I wish is to hear more than idle words, to see more
than a masked face; and, I do beseech you, aid me to delay this
marriage for a time. Why was I not told earlier? Why was all arranged
without my knowledge? Louis de Montigni has been summoned back more
than a month, and yet I have had but one week, one poor week, allowed
me to prepare my thoughts, to nerve my heart for the great change of
woman's existence. Marriage, to man, is but a pageant, a ball, a
festival. To us, it is one of the sole events. It is birth or death to
woman. I do beseech you, father, if you have ever loved me, if you
have watched over my youth, counselled me rightly, enlightened and
instructed my mind, led me on in honour, virtue, faith--I do beseech
you, aid me but to delay this ceremony. I feel not rightly here," and
she laid her hand upon her bosom.
"I cannot promise to do so, my sweet child," replied the priest. "The
marriage is decided; your guardian's word is given; and I cannot but
think it may be well for all, that the final seal be put to the
engagement as soon as may be."
"Do you?" said Mademoiselle d'Albret; but there she stopped, for at
that moment Chazeul appeared again at a little distance; and Walter de
la Tremblade advanced towards him. The next moment, however, she
murmured to herself, "They have gained him; and I am alone!"
A change came over her from that instant, and when, after speaking a
word together, the other two rejoined her, she was cheerful if not
gay.
"The Count declares it is some loose party stealing the deer," said
Chazeul, as he approached; "and thought it needless to send out to
see, as, in these days, when one can hardly secure the corn of one's
fields, or the fruits of one's vineyard, it were a vain hope to keep
the game of one's woods."
"Well, he knows best," replied Rose d'Albret; "and now, good cousin of
Chazeul, do tell me, what is to be the fate of France? How often is
your great friend the Duke to be defeated, before he succeeds in
crushing heresy, excluding the King from the throne, and putting some
one on that thorny seat instead?"
"He will be defeated, as you term it, no more, fair lady," answered
the Marquis; "for if report speaks true, he is even now marching
against Henry of Bourbon with a force that shall crush him and his
apostates, as men tread down an ants' nest."
"Indeed?" asked his fair companion; "then there will be a battle
soon?"
"Within three days, men think," replied Chazeul.
"And of course you will be present?" said Rose d'Albret.
But the colour rose in her lover's cheek while he replied, "Nay, I
cannot quit my bride and give up my bridal for any cause."
"True! men would say it was an ungallant gallantry," she replied; "and
yet ladies love heroic acts I have heard. God help us! We women, I
believe, but little know what we would have."
"That is very true," said the priest; "and, therefore, fair daughter,
it is wisely arranged that others should decide for them."
"Perhaps so," answered the lady; "but one thing is certain, they would
do so, whether it were better for us or not."
They then walked on once or twice along the whole range of the rampart
without speaking, each seemingly busy with thoughts which they did not
choose to utter; till at length the lady resumed the conversation on a
new theme: "Methinks, cousin of Chazeul, the court in its days of
splendour, must have been a gay place."
"It was, indeed," replied the Marquis, glad of a subject which enabled
him to speak more freely; "I know nought so brilliant on the face of
the earth as was the court of Henry of Valois, some five years before
his death; but I trust ere long we shall see a monarch who will hold
as bright a one, without displaying his weaknesses; and then I trust
Rose de Chazeul will shine amongst the very first in splendour, and in
beauty."
"I am determined," she answered, with a smile, "if ever I appear at
the court, to have a coronet of diamonds fashioned into roses, to bear
out my name."
"Oh trust to me," cried Chazeul, "trust to me, to find devices which
shall make you outshine the Queen."
"Ha! there come a party over the hills," cried Mademoiselle d'Albret.
"It is De Montigni, I am sure;" and running forward to the edge of the
rampart, she looked forth; but, as she did so, she murmured, "Do they
think to buy and sell me for a goldsmith's toy?"
Her two companions joined her in a moment; and, as the party
approached, she waved her hand as we have before related, gaily
beckoning her cousin. He did not raise his eyes, however; and with an
air of some mortification, she said, "He will not look up!"
"He is bashful," said Chazeul; "too much study makes but a timid
gentleman."
"So they say," replied Rose d'Albret; "but let us in and meet him at
all events."