HYMEN! OH HYMEN!
Isabelle, accustomed to Chiquita’s odd, enigmatical ways, had refrained
from questioning her—waiting to ask for explanations until the poor
girl should have become more quiet, and able to give them. She could
see that some terrible catastrophe must have occurred, which had left
all her nerves quivering, and caused the strong shudders that passed
over her in rapid succession; but the child had rendered her such good
service, in her own hour of need, that she felt the least she could do
was to receive and care for the poor little waif tenderly, without
making any inquiries as to her evidently desperate situation. After
giving her in charge to her own maid, with orders that she should be
properly clothed, and made thoroughly comfortable in every way,
Isabelle resumed her reading—or rather tried to resume it; but her
thoughts would wander, and after mechanically turning over a few pages
in a listless way, she laid the book down, beside her neglected
embroidery, on a little table at her elbow. Leaning her head on her
hand, and closing her eyes, she lapsed into a sorrowful reverie—as,
indeed, she had done of late many times every day.
“Oh! what has become of de Sigognac?” she said to herself. “Where can
he be? and does he still think of me, and love me as of old? Yes, I am
sure he does; he will be true and faithful to me so long as he lives,
my brave, devoted knight! I fear that he has gone back to his desolate,
old château, and, believing that my brother is dead, does not dare to
approach me. It must be that chimerical obstacle that stands in his
way—otherwise he would surely have tried to see me again—or at least
have written to me. Perhaps I ought to have sent him word that
Vallombreuse had recovered; yet how could I do that? A modest woman
shrinks from even seeming to wish to entice her absent lover back to
her side. How often I think that I should be far happier if I could
have remained as I was—an obscure actress; then I could at least have
had the bliss of seeing him every day, and of enjoying in peace the
sweetness of being loved by such a noble, tender heart as his. Despite
the touching affection and devotion that my princely father lavishes
upon me, I feel sad and lonely in this magnificent château. If
Vallombreuse were only here his society would help to pass the time;
but he is staying away so long—and I try in vain to make out what he
meant when he told me, with such a significant smile, as he bade me
adieu, that I would be pleased with what he was about to do. Sometimes
I fancy that I do understand; but I dare not indulge myself with such
blissful thoughts for an instant. If I did, and were mistaken after
all, the disappointment would be too cruel—too heart-rending. But, if
it only could be true! ah! if it only might! I fear I should go mad
with excess of joy.”
The young Comtesse de Lineuil was still absorbed in sad thoughts when a
tall lackey appeared, and asked if she would receive his lordship, the
Duke of Vallombreuse who had just arrived, at the château and desired
to speak with her.
“Certainly, I shall be delighted to see him,” she said in glad
surprise; “ask him to come to me at once.”
In a few minutes—which had seemed like hours to Isabelle—the young duke
made his appearance, with beaming eyes, rosy cheeks, light, elastic
step, and that air of glorious health and vigour which had
distinguished him before his illness. He threw down his broad felt hat
as he came in, and, hastening to his sister’s side, took her pretty
white hands and raised them to his lips.
“Dearest Isabelle,” he cried, “I am so rejoiced to see you again! I was
obliged to stay away from you much longer than I wished, for it is a
great deprivation to me now not to be with you every day—I have gotten
so thoroughly into the habit of depending upon your sweet society. But
I have been occupied entirely with your interests during my absence,
and the hope of pleasing my darling sister, and adding to her
happiness, has helped me to endure the long separation from her.”
“The way to please me most, as you ought to have known,” Isabelle
replied, “was to stay here at home quietly with your father and me, and
let us take care of you, instead of rushing off so rashly—with your
wound scarcely healed, or your health fully re-established—on some
foolish errand or other, that you were not willing to acknowledge.”
“Was I ever really wounded, or ill?” said Vallombreuse, laughing. “Upon
my word I had forgotten all about it. Never in my life was I in better
health than at this moment, and my little expedition has done me no end
of good. But you, my sweet sister, are not looking as well as when I
left you; you have grown thin and pale. What is the matter? I fear that
you find your life here at the château very dull. Solitude and
seclusion are not at all the thing for a beautiful young woman, I know.
Reading and embroidery are but melancholy pastimes at best and there
must be moments when even the gravest, most sedate of maidens grows
weary of gazing out upon the stagnant waters of the moat, and longs to
look upon the face of a handsome young knight.”
“Oh! what an unmerciful tease you are, Vallombreuse, and how you do
love to torment me with these strange fancies of yours. You forget that
I have had the society of the prince, who is so kind and devoted to me,
and who abounds in wise and instructive discourse.”
“Yes, there is no doubt that our worthy father is a most learned and
accomplished gentleman, honoured and admired at home and abroad; but
his pursuits and occupations are too grave and weighty for you to
share, my dear little sister, and I don’t want to see your youth passed
altogether in such a solemn way. As you would not smile upon my friend,
the Chevalier de Vidalinc, nor condescend to listen to the suit of the
Marquis de l’Estang, I concluded to go in search of somebody that would
be more likely to please your fastidious taste, and, my dear, I have
found him. Such a charming, perfect, ideal husband he will make! I am
convinced that you will dote upon him.”
“It is downright cruelty, Vallombreuse, to persecute me as you do, with
such unfeeling jests. You know perfectly well that I do not wish to
marry; I cannot give my hand without my heart, and my heart is not mine
to give.”
“But you will talk very differently, I do assure you, my dear little
sister, when you see the husband I have chosen for you.”
“Never! never!” cried Isabelle, whose voice betrayed her distress. “I
shall always be faithful to a memory that is infinitely dear and
precious to me; for I cannot think that you intend to force me to act
against my will.”
“Oh, no! I am not quite such a tyrant as that; I only ask you not to
reject my protégé before you have seen him.”
Without waiting for her reply, Vallombreuse abruptly left the room, and
returned in a moment with de Sigognac, whose heart was throbbing as if
it would burst out of his breast. The two young men, hand in hand,
paused on the threshold, hoping that Isabelle would turn her eyes
towards them; but she modestly cast them down and kept them fixed upon
the floor, while her thoughts flew far away, to hover about the beloved
being who she little dreamed was so near her. Vallombreuse, seeing that
she took no notice of them, and had fallen into a reverie, advanced
towards her, still holding de Sigognac by the hand, and made a
ceremonious bow, as did also his companion; but while the young duke
was smiling and gay, de Sigognac was deeply agitated, and very pale.
Brave as a lion when he had to do with men, he was timid with women—as
are all generous, manly hearts.
“Comtesse de Lineuil,” said Vallombreuse, in an emphatic tone of voice,
“permit me to present to you one of my dearest friends, for whom I
entreat your favour—the Baron de Sigognac.”
As he pronounced this name, which she at first believed to be a jest on
her brother’s part, Isabelle started, trembled violently, and then
glanced up timidly at the newcomer.
When she saw that Vallombreuse had not deceived her, that it was really
he, her own true lover, standing there before her, she turned deathly
pale, and had nearly fallen from her chair; then the quick reaction
came, and a most lovely blush spread itself all over her fair face, and
even her snowy neck, as far as it could be seen. Without a word, she
sprang up, and throwing her arms round her brother’s neck hid her face
on his shoulder, while two or three convulsive sobs shook her slender
frame and a little shower of tears fell from her eyes. By this
instinctive movement, so exquisitely modest and truly feminine,
Isabelle manifested all the exceeding delicacy and purity of her
nature. Thus were her warm thanks to Vallombreuse, whose kindness and
generosity overcame her, mutely expressed; and as she could not follow
the dictates of her heart, and throw herself into her lover’s arms, she
took refuge in her transport of joy with her brother, who had restored
him to her.
Vallombreuse supported her tenderly for a few moments, until he found
she was growing calmer, when he gently disengaged himself from her
clasping arms, and drawing down the hands with which she had covered
her face, to hide its tears and blushes, said, “My sweet sister, do
not, I pray you, hide your lovely face from us; I fear my protégé will
be driven to believe that you entertain such an invincible dislike to
him you will not even look at him.”
Isabelle raised her drooping head, and turning full upon de Sigognac
her glorious eyes, shining with a celestial joy, in spite of the
sparkling tear-drops that still hung upon their long lashes, held out
to him her beautiful white hand, which he took reverentially in both
his own, and bending down pressed fervently to his lips. The passionate
kiss he imprinted upon it thrilled through Isabelle’s whole being, and
for a second she turned faint and giddy; but the delicious ecstasy,
which is almost anguish, of such emotion as hers, is never hurtful, and
she presently looked up and smiled reassuringly upon her anxious lover,
as the colour returned to her lips and cheeks, and the warm light to
her eyes.
“And now tell me, my sweet little sister,” began Vallombreuse, with an
air of triumph, and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “wasn’t I right
when I declared that you would smile upon the husband I had chosen for
you? and would not be discouraged, though you were so obstinate? If I
had not been equally so, this dear de Sigognac would have gone back to
his far-away château, without even having seen you; and that would have
been a pity, as you must admit.”
“Yes, I do admit it, my dearest brother, and also that you have been
adorably kind and good to me. You were the only one who, under the
circumstances, could bring about this reunion, and we both know how to
appreciate what you have so nobly and generously done for us.”
“Yes, indeed,” said de Sigognac warmly; “your brother has given us
ample proof of the nobility and generosity of his nature—he
magnanimously put aside the resentment that might seem legitimate, and
came to me with his hand outstretched, and his heart in it. He revenges
himself nobly for the harm I was obliged to do him, by imposing an
eternal gratitude upon me—a light burden, that I shall bear joyfully so
long as I live.”
“Say nothing more about that, my dear baron!” Vallombreuse exclaimed.
“You would have done as much in my place. The differences of two
valiant adversaries are very apt to end in a warm mutual attachment—we
were destined from the beginning to become, sooner or later, a devoted
pair of friends; like Theseus and Pirithous, Nisus and Euryalus, or
Damon and Pythias. But never mind about me now, and tell my sister how
you were thinking of her, and longing for her, in that lonely château
of yours; where, by the way, I made one of the best meals I ever had in
my life, though you do pretend that starvation is the rule down there.”
“And _I_ had a charming supper there too,” said Isabelle with a smile,
“which I look back upon with the greatest pleasure.”
“Nevertheless,” rejoined de Sigognac, “plenty does not abound there—but
I cannot regret the blessed poverty that was the means of first winning
me your regard, my precious darling! I am thankful for it—I owe
everything to it.”
“_I_ am of opinion,” interrupted Vallombreuse, with a significant
smile, “that it would be well for me to go and report myself to my
father. I want to announce your arrival to him myself, de Sigognac! Not
that he will need to be specially prepared to receive you, for I am
bound to confess—what may surprise my little sister here—that he knew
such a thing might come about, and was equally implicated with my
graceless self in this little conspiracy. But one thing yet—tell me
before I go, Isabelle, Comtesse de Lineuil, whether you really do
intend to accept the Baron de Sigognac as your husband—I don’t want to
run any risk of making a blunder at this stage of the proceedings, you
understand, after having conducted the negotiations successfully up to
this point. You do definitely and finally accept him, eh?—that is
well—and now I will go to the prince. Engaged lovers sometimes have
matters to discuss that even a brother may not hear, so I will leave
you together, feeling sure that you will both thank me for it in your
hearts. Adieu!—make the most of your time, for I shall soon return to
conduct de Sigognac to the prince.”
With a laughing nod the young duke picked up his hat and went away,
leaving the two happy lovers alone together, and—however agreeable his
company may have been to them, it must be admitted that his absence
was, as he had predicted, very welcome to both. The Baron de Sigognac
eagerly approached Isabelle, and—again possessed himself of her fair
hand, which she did not withdraw from his warm, loving clasp. Neither
spoke, and for a few minutes the fond lovers stood side by side and
gazed into each other’s eyes. Such silence is more eloquent than any
words. At last de Sigognac said softly, “I can scarcely believe even
yet in the reality of so much bliss. Oh! what a strange, contradictory
destiny is mine. You loved me, my darling, because I was poor and
unhappy—and thus my past misery was the direct cause of my present
felicity. A troupe of strolling actors, who chanced to seek refuge
under my crumbling roof, held in reserve for me an angel of purity and
goodness—a hostile encounter has given me a devoted friend—and, most
wonderful of all, your forcible abduction led to your meeting the fond
father who had been seeking you so many years in vain. And all this
because a Thespian chariot went astray one stormy night in the Landes.”
“We were destined for each other—it was all arranged for us in heaven
above. Twin souls are sure to come together at last, if they can only
have patience to wait for the meeting. I felt instinctively, when we
met at the Château de Sigognac, that you were my fate. At sight of you
my heart, which had always lain dormant before, and never responded to
any appeal, thrilled within me, and, unasked, yielded to you all its
love and allegiance. Your very timidity won more for you than the
greatest boldness and assurance could have done, and from the first
moment of our acquaintance I resolved never to give myself to any one
but you, or God.”
“And yet, cruel, hard-hearted child that you were—though so divinely
good and lovely—you refused your hand to me, when I sued for it on my
knees. I know well that it was all through generosity, and that of the
noblest—but, my darling, it was a very cruel generosity too.”
“I will do my best to atone for it now, my dearest de Sigognac, in
giving you this hand you wished for, together with my heart, which has
long been all your own. The Comtesse de Lineuil is not bound to be
governed by the scruples of Isabelle, the actress. I have had only one
fear—that your pride might keep you from ever seeking me again as I am
now. But, even if you had given me up, you would never have loved
another woman, would you, de Sigognac? You would have been faithful to
me always, even though you had renounced me—I felt so sure of that.
Were you thinking of me down there in your ancient château, when
Vallombreuse broke in upon your solitude?”
“My dearest Isabelle, by day I had only one thought—of you—and at
night, when I kissed the sacred pillow on which your lovely head had
rested, before laying my own down upon it, I besought the god of dreams
to show me your adored image while I slept.”
“And were your prayers sometimes answered?”
“Always—not once was I disappointed—and only when morning came did you
leave me, vanishing through ‘the ivory gates.’ Oh I how interminable
the sad, lonely days seemed to me, and how I wished that I could sleep,
and dream of you, my angel, all the weary time.”
“I saw you also in my dreams, many nights in succession. Our souls must
have met, de Sigognac, while our bodies lay wrapped in slumber. But
now, thanks be to God, we are reunited—and forever. The prince, my
father, knew and approved of your being brought here, Vallombreuse
said, so we can have no opposition to our wishes to fear from him. He
has spoken to me of you several times of late in very flattering terms;
looking at me searchingly, the while, in a way that greatly agitated
and troubled me, for I did not know what might be in his mind, as
Vallombreuse had not then told me that he no longer hated you, and I
feared that he would always do so after his double defeat at your
hands. But all the terrible anxiety is over now, my beloved, and
blessed peace and happiness lie before us.”
At this moment the door opened, and the young duke announced to de
Sigognac that his father was waiting to receive him. The baron
immediately rose from his seat beside Isabelle, bowed low to her, and
followed Vallombreuse to the prince’s presence. The aged nobleman,
dressed entirely in black, and with his breast covered with orders, was
sitting in a large arm-chair at a table heaped up with books and
papers, with which he had evidently been occupied. His attitude was
stately and dignified, and the expression of his noble, benevolent
countenance affable in the extreme. He rose to receive de Sigognac,
gave him a cordial greeting, and politely bade him be seated.
“My dear father,” said Vallombreuse, “I present to you the Baron de
Sigognac; formerly my rival, now my friend, and soon to be my brother,
if you consent. Any improvement that you may see in me is due to his
influence, and it is no light obligation that I owe to him—though he
will not admit that there is any. The baron comes to ask a favour of
you, which I shall rejoice to see accorded to him.”
The prince made a gesture of acquiescence, and looked reassuringly at
de Sigognac, as if inviting him to speak fearlessly for himself.
Encouraged by the expression of his eyes, the baron rose, and, with a
low bow, said, in clear, distinct tones, “Prince, I am here to ask of
you the hand of Mlle. la Comtesse Isabelle de Lineuil, your daughter.”
The old nobleman looked at him steadily and searchingly for a moment,
and then, as if satisfied with his scrutiny, answered: “Baron de
Sigognac, I accede to your request, and consent to this alliance, with
great pleasure—so far, that is, as my paternal will accords with the
wishes of my beloved daughter—whom I should never attempt to coerce in
anything. The Comtesse de Lineuil must be consulted in this matter, and
herself decide the question which is of such vital importance to her. I
cannot undertake to answer for her—the whims and fancies of young
ladies are sometimes so odd and unexpected.”
The prince said this with a mischievous smile—as if he had not long
known that Isabelle loved de Sigognac with all her heart, and was
pining for him. After a brief pause, he added: “Vallombreuse, go and
fetch your sister, for, without her, I cannot give a definite answer to
the Baron de Sigognac.”
The young duke accordingly went for Isabelle, who was greatly alarmed
at this summons, and obeyed it in fear and trembling. Despite her
brother’s assurances, she could not bring herself to believe in the
reality of such great happiness. Her breast heaved tumultuously, her
face was very pale, at each step her knees threatened to give way under
her, and when her father drew her fondly to his side she was forced to
grasp the arm of his chair tightly, to save herself from falling.
“My daughter,” said the prince gravely, “here is a gentleman who does
you the honour to sue for your hand. For my own part, I should hail
this union with joy—for he is of an ancient and illustrious family, of
stainless reputation and tried courage, and appears to me to possess
every qualification that heart could desire. I am perfectly satisfied
with him—but has he succeeded in pleasing you, my child? Young heads do
not always agree with gray ones. Examine your own heart carefully, and
tell me if you are willing to accept the Baron de Sigognac as your
husband. Take plenty of time to consider—you shall not be hurried, my
dear child, in so grave a matter as this.”
The prince’s kindly, cordial smile gave evidence that he was in a
playful mood, and Isabelle, plucking up courage, threw her arms round
her father’s neck, and said in the softest tones, “There is no need for
me to consider or hesitate, my dear lord and father! Since the Baron de
Sigognac is so happy as to please you, I confess, freely and frankly,
that I have loved him ever since we first met, and have never wished
for any other alliance. To obey, you in this will be my highest
happiness.”
“And now clasp hands, my children, and exchange the kiss of betrothal,”
cried the Duke of Vallombreuse gaily. “Verily, the romance ends more
happily than could have been expected after such a stormy beginning.
And now the next question is, when shall the wedding be?”
“It will take a little time to make due preparation,” said the prince.
“So many people must be set to work, in order that the marriage of my
only daughter may be worthily celebrated. Meanwhile, Isabelle, here is
your dowry, the deed of the estate of Lineuil—from which you derive
your title, and which yields you an income of fifty thousand crowns per
annum—together with rent-rolls, and all the various documents
appertaining thereto”—and he handed a formidable roll of papers to her.
“As to you, my dear de Sigognac, I have here for you a royal ordinance,
which constitutes you governor of a province; and no one, I venture to
say, could be more worthy of this distinguished honour than yourself.”
Vallombreuse, who had gone out of the room while his father was
speaking, now made his appearance, followed by a servant carrying a box
covered with crimson velvet.
He took it from the lackey at the door, and advancing, placed it upon
the table in front of Isabelle.
“My dear little sister,” said he, “will you accept this from me as a
wedding gift?”
On the cover was inscribed “For Isabelle,” in golden letters, and it
contained the very casket which the Duke of Vallombreuse had offered at
Poitiers to the young actress, and which she had so indignantly refused
to receive, or even look at.
“You will accept it this time?” he pleaded, with a radiant smile; “and
honour these diamonds of finest water, and these pearls of richest
lustre, by wearing them, for _my_ sake. They are not more pure and
beautiful than yourself.”
Isabelle smilingly took up a magnificent necklace and clasped it round
her fair neck, to show that she harboured no resentment; then put the
exquisite bracelets on her round, white arms, and decked herself with
the various superb ornaments that the beautiful casket contained.
And now we have only to add, that a week later Isabelle and de Sigognac
were united in marriage in the chapel at Vallombreuse, which was
brilliantly lighted, and filled with fragrance from the profusion of
flowers that converted it into a very bower. The music was heavenly,
the fair bride adorably beautiful, with her long white veil floating
about her, and the Baron de Sigognac radiant with happiness. The
Marquis de Bruyères was one of his witnesses, and a most brilliant and
aristocratic assemblage “assisted” at this notable wedding in high
life. No one, who had not been previously informed of it, could ever
have suspected that the lovely bride—at once so noble and modest, so
dignified and graceful, so gentle and refined, yet with as lofty a
bearing as a princess of the blood royal—had only a short time before
been one of a band of strolling players, nightly fulfilling her duties
as an actress. While de Sigognac, governor of a province, captain of
mousquetaires, superbly dressed, dignified, stately and affable, the
very beau-ideal of a distinguished young nobleman, had nothing about
him to recall the poor, shabby, disconsolate youth, almost starving in
his dreary, half-ruined château, whose misery was described at the
beginning of this tale.
After a splendid collation, graced by the presence of the bride and
groom, the happy pair vanished; but we will not attempt to follow them,
or intrude upon their privacy—turning away at the very threshold of the
nuptial chamber, singing, in low tones, after the fashion of the
ancients, “Hymen! oh Hymen!”
The mysteries of such sacred happiness as theirs should be respected;
and besides, sweet, modest Isabelle would have died of shame if so much
as a single one of the pins that held her bodice were indiscreetly
drawn out.