mistakes the need of loving for love. If you had seen me first, you
would love me instead of her. Oh, when I think that you might have loved
me! But no, no! it is much better that you should choose me in
preference to her. I do not know this Colombe; she is lovely and pure,
and whatever you choose; but these slips of girls know nothing about
loving. Your Colombe would never have told you what I, whom you despise,
have just said; she would have too much vanity, too much diffidence, too
much shame perhaps. But my love is simple, and expresses itself in
simple words. You despise me, you think that I forget my sex, and all
because I don't dissemble. Some day, when you know the world better,
when you have drunk so deeply of life that you have reached the
dregs,--sorrow,--then you will think better of your present injustice,
then you will admire me. But I do not choose to be admired, Ascanio, I
choose to be loved. I say again, Ascanio, if I loved you less, I might
be false, artful, coquettish; but I love you too well to try to
fascinate you. I long to receive your heart as a gift, not to steal it.
What will be the end of your love for that child? Tell me. You will
suffer, my best beloved, and that's all. But I can serve you in many
ways. In the first place, I have suffered for two, and perhaps God will
permit my surplusage of suffering to be credited to you; and then I lay
my wealth, my power, my experience, all at your feet. I will add my life
to yours, and will save you from all sorts of missteps and from all
forms of corruption. To arrive at fortune, or even to attain glory, an
artist must often stoop to base, crawling expedients. You will be beyond
all necessity for that with me. I will lift you ever higher and higher;
I will be your stepping-stone. With me you will continue to be the
proud, the noble, the pure Ascanio."
"But Colombe! Colombe, madame! Is not she too an immaculate pearl?"
"My child, believe what I say," replied the duchess, relapsing from
feverish exaltation to melancholy. "Your pure white, innocent Colombe
will make your life monotonous and dreary. You are both too divine. God
didn't make angels to be joined together, but to make bad people
better."
The duchess's manner was so eloquent, and her voice so sincere, that
Ascanio was conscious of a thrill of affectionate compassion stealing
over him, in spite of himself.
"Alas! madame," he said, "I see that I am indeed honored by your
affection, and I am very deeply touched; but it is even better to love!"
"Oh, how true! how true that is! I prefer your disdain to the king's
softest words. Ah me! I love for the first time: for the first time, I
swear!"
"And the king? pray do you not love him, madame?"
"No, I am his mistress, but he is not my master."
"But he loves you!"
"Mon Dieu!" cried Anne, gazing earnestly into Ascanio's face, and
seizing both his hands in hers: "Am I so fortunate that you are jealous?
Does the king's love offend you? Listen: hitherto I have been in your
eyes the duchess, wealthy, noble, powerful, offering to stir up crowned
heads and overturn thrones. Do you prefer the poor, lonely woman, out of
the world, with a simple white robe, and a wild flower in her hair? Do
you prefer that, Ascanio? Let us leave Paris, the court, the world! Let
us take refuge in some far off nook in your sunny Italy, beneath the
lofty pines of Rome, or on the shores of your lovely Bay of Naples. Here
I am: I am ready. O Ascanio, Ascanio, does it really flatter your pride,
that I would sacrifice a crowned lover for your sake?"
"Madame," said Ascanio, whose heart was beginning to melt in the flame
of so great a passion, "madame, my heart is too proud and too exacting;
you cannot give me the past."
"The past! O you men, you men! always cruel! The past! In God's name
ought an unfortunate woman to be compelled to answer for her past, when
it has almost always been made what it was by events and circumstances
stronger than herself? Suppose that a storm should arise and a whirlwind
carry you off to Italy; when you return, one year, two years, three
years hence, should you take it ill of your Colombe, whom you love so
dearly to-day, because she had obeyed her parents and married Comte
d'Orbec? Would you make her virtue a subject of reproach? would you
punish her for obeying one of God's commandments? And if she had not
your memory to feed upon, if she had never known you,--if, in her
deathly ennui, crushed with grief, forgotten for a moment by God, she
had sought to gain some knowledge of that paradise called love, the door
of which was closed to her,--if she had loved another than her husband,
whom she could not love,--if in a moment of delirium she had given her
heart in exchange for another,--she would then be ruined in your eyes,
dishonored in your heart. She could no longer hope to be blessed by your
love, because she had not an unsullied past to give in exchange for your
heart. Oh! I repeat, it is unjust, it is cruel!"
"Madame--"
"Who told you that is not my story? Listen to what I say, and
believe what I declare to be the truth. I say again that I have suffered
for both; and this poor woman, whom God forgives, you refuse to forgive.
You do not understand how much greater and nobler it is to raise one's
self from the abyss after falling into it, than to pass close by without
seeing it, having the bandage of happiness over your eyes. O Ascanio,
Ascanio! I deemed you better than the others, because you were younger,
and fairer to look upon--"
"O madame!"
"Reach me your hand, Ascanio, and at one bound I will spring from the
bottom of the abyss to your heart. Will you? To-morrow I will have
broken with the king, the court, the world. Oh, I am valiant in love!
But I do not wish to make myself any greater than I am. It would be but
a trifling sacrifice for me, believe me. All these men are not worth one
glance from you. But, if you would trust to me, dear child, you would
let me retain my authority, and continue my plans for you. I would make
you great, and you men can do without love if you attain glory: you are
ambitious,--you may not know it yet, but you are. As for the king's
love, don't be alarmed about that: I will turn it aside upon some other
to whom he will give his heart while I retain his mind. Choose, Ascanio.
Powerful through my means and with me, or I humble through your means
and with you. Look you: a short time since, as you know, I was in this
chair, and the most powerful courtiers were at my feet. Sit you in my
place: sit you there, and behold me at your feet. Oh, how I love to be
here, Ascanio! oh what bliss to see you and look into your eyes! You
turn pale, Ascanio! Oh, if you would but tell me that you would love me
some day, though not for a long, a very long while!"
"Madame! madame!" cried Ascanio, hiding his face in his hands, and
covering eyes and ears, so conscious was he of the potent fascination of
the aspect and the accent of the siren.
"Do not call me madame, do not call me Anne," said the duchess, putting
aside his hands: "call me Louise. It is also my name, but a name by
which no one has ever called me, and it shall be yours. Louise!
Louise!--Do you not think it a sweet name, Ascanio?"
"I know one sweeter still," replied Ascanio.
"Beware, Ascanio!" cried the wounded lioness: "if you make me suffer too
keenly, I may perhaps come to hate you as much as I love you."
"Mon Dieu!" replied the young man, shaking his head, as if to avert the
spell: "Mon Dieu! you confuse my thoughts, and overwhelm my heart! Am I
delirious? Have I a fever? Am I dreaming? If I say harsh things to you,
forgive me, for I do it to awaken myself. I see you, lovely, adored, a
queen, here at my feet. It cannot be that such temptations exist except
to lead souls to perdition. Ah! you are, as you say, in an abyss; but
instead of rising out of it yourself, you would draw me in. Oh, do not
expose my weakness to such a trial!"
"There is neither temptation, nor trial, nor dream; there is a
resplendent reality for us both: I love you, Ascanio, I love you!"
"You love me, but you will repent of your love hereafter and will
reproach me some day for what you have brought into my life, or what I
have taken away from yours."
"Ah! you do not know me," cried the duchess, "if you think me weak
enough to repent. Stay: will you have a pledge?"
Anne hastily seated herself at a table upon which were writing
materials, and, seizing a pen, dashed off a few words.
"Take this," she said, "and doubt me again, if you dare!"
Ascanio took the paper and read:--
"Ascanio, I love you: go with me where I go, or let
me go with you where you go.
"ANNE D'HEILLY."
"Oh, that cannot be, madame! It seems to me that my love would be a
cause of shame to you."
"Shame!" cried the duchess: "do I know shame? I am too proud for that.
My pride is my virtue!"
"Ah! I know a lovelier and more saintly virtue than that," said Ascanio,
clinging to the thought of Colombe with a desperate effort.
The blow struck home. The duchess rose, trembling with indignation.
"You are an obstinate, hard-hearted child, Ascanio," she said in a
broken voice: "I would fain have spared you much suffering, but I see
that sorrow alone can teach you what life is. You will come back to me,
Ascanio; you will return wounded, bleeding, heartbroken, and you will
know then the worth of your Colombe and of myself. I will forgive you
then, because I love you; but ere that time comes terrible things will
happen. _Au revoir._"
And Madame d'Etampes, wild with love and hatred, left the room,
forgetting that the two lines she had written in a moment of exaltation
remained in Ascanio's hands.
XVIII
LOVE AS A DREAM
As soon as Ascanio was out of Madame d'Etampes's presence, the
fascinating influence which emanated from her disappeared, and he could
once more see clearly the condition of his own heart, as well as what
was going on about him. How, he recalled two things he had said. Colombe
might love him, since the Duchesse d'Etampes loved him. Thenceforth his
life did not belong to him: his instinct had served him well in
suggesting these two thoughts to him, but it had led him astray when it
inspired him to give utterance to them. If the honest, upright soul of
the young man had been capable of descending to dissimulation, all would
have been well, but he had simply put the wounded and much to be dreaded
duchess on her guard. The struggle henceforth was to be the more
terrible, in that Colombe only was threatened.
However, this passionate and perilous scene with the duchess was of
service to Ascanio in one respect. He carried away from it a new-born
feeling of exaltation and confidence. His mind, excited by the spectacle
it had witnessed as well as by its own efforts, was more active than
ever, and more inclined to audacious deeds; so that he gallantly
determined to find out what basis there might be for his hopes, and to
sound the depths of Colombe's heart, though he were to find nothing more
than indifference there. If Colombe really loved Comte d'Orbec, why
contend longer against Madame d'Etampes? She might do what she would
with a rebellious, despised, desolate, despairing existence. He would be
ambitious, he would become gloomy and evil-minded; what matter if he
did? But first of all he must put an end to his doubts, and go with a
determined step to meet his fate. If worse came to worst, Madame
d'Etampes's promise would take care of the future.
Ascanio arrived at this decision as he returned along the quay, watching
the sun sink in a sea of flame behind the black, frowning Tour de Nesle.
When he reached the hôtel, without delay or hesitation, he went first
to put together a few jewels, then resolutely knocked four times at the
door leading to the Petit-Nesle.
Dame Perrine chanced to be in the neighborhood. With astonishment,
mingled with curiosity, she made haste to open the gate. But when she
saw the apprentice, she felt called upon to assume a very frigid
demeanor.
"Ah! is it you, Monsieur Ascanio? What do you wish?"
"I wish to show these jewels to Mademoiselle Colombe immediately, good
Dame Perrine. Is she in the garden?"
"Yes, in her path. But wait, young man, wait for me!"
Ascanio, who had not forgotten the road, walked swiftly away without
giving another thought to the governess.
"Let us see," said she, stopping to reflect. "I think my best course is
not to join them, but to leave Colombe free to select her purchases and
her gifts. It would not be becoming for me to be there, if, as is
probable, she puts something aside for me. I will arrive when she has
completed her purchases, and then I should certainly be very ungrateful
to refuse. That's what I'll do, stay here and not embarrass the dear,
kind-hearted child."
It will be seen that the good woman was not deficient in delicacy.
For ten days past Colombe had not found it necessary to ask herself if
Ascanio had become her dearest thought. The pure-souled, unsophisticated
child did not know what love was, but her heart was overflowing with
love. She told herself that she did wrong to indulge in such dreams, but
she excused herself on the ground that she certainly should never see
Ascanio again, and that she should not have the consolation of
justifying herself in his eyes.
Upon this pretext she passed all her evenings upon the bench where he
had sat beside her, and there she would talk to him, listen to him, and
concentrate her whole soul upon the memory. And when the darkness came
on, and Dame Perrine bade her retire, the lovely dreamer would return to
the house with reluctant steps, and not until she was recalled to
herself would she remember her father's commands, Comte d'Orbec, and the
rapid flight of time. Her sleepless nights were hard to bear, but not
sufficiently so to efface the charm of her visions of the evening.
On this evening, as usual, Colombe was living over again the delicious
hour she had passed with Ascanio, when, happening to raise her eyes, she
uttered a sharp cry.
He was standing before her, gazing at her in silence.
He found her changed, but lovelier than ever. Pallor and melancholy were
most becoming to her ideally beautiful face. She seemed to belong still
less to earth. And so Ascanio, gazing admiringly upon her enhanced
charms, was assailed once more by his former modest apprehensions, which
Madame d'Etampes's passion had dissipated for a moment. How could this
celestial creature ever love him?
The two lovely children, who had loved each other so long without a
word, and who had already suffered so much, were at last face to face.
They ought, no doubt, to have traversed in an instant the space they had
traversed step by step, and separately, in their dreams. They might now
come to an understanding first of all, and then allow all their long
pent-up emotion to find expression in an outburst of joy.
But they were both too timid for that, and although their emotion
betrayed each to the other, their angel hearts did not come together
until they had first made a detour.
Colombe, speechless and blushing, had risen to her feet by a sudden
impulse. Ascanio, pale with the intensity of his emotion, repressed with
a trembling hand the rapid beating of his heart.
They both began to speak at once: he to say, "Forgive me, mademoiselle,
but you gave me leave to show you some jewels;" she to say, "I am glad
to see that you are entirely recovered, Monsieur Ascanio."
They ceased speaking simultaneously, but nevertheless they had perfectly
understood each other: and Ascanio, emboldened by the involuntary smile
which the incident naturally brought to the maiden's lips, rejoined,
with somewhat more assurance:--
"Are you so kind as to remember that I was wounded?"
"Indeed, yes; and Dame Perrine and I have been very anxious and
astonished not to see you."
"I did not intend to come again."
"Why not, pray?"
At this decisive moment Ascanio was fain to lean against a tree for
support, but in a moment he summoned all his strength and all his
courage, and said breathlessly:--
"I may confess it now: I loved you!"
"And now?"
The question came from Colombe's lips almost without her knowledge: it
would have put to flight all the doubts of an older hand than Ascanio,
but it simply revived his hopes a little.
"Now, alas!" he continued, "I have measured the distance that lies
between us, and I know that you are happily betrothed to a noble count."
"Happily!" interposed Colombe, with a bitter smile.
"What! you do not love the count! Great God! Pray tell me, is he not
worthy of you?"
"He is rich and powerful, far above me: but you have seen him?"
"No, and I was afraid to inquire. Besides, I cannot say why, but I felt
certain that he was young and attractive, and that he was agreeable to
you."
"He is older than my father, and he frightens me," said Colombe, hiding
her faee in her hands with a gesture of abhorrence which she could not
repress.
[Illustration 04]
Ascanio, beside himself with joy, fell on his knees, with clasped hands,
pale as death, his eyes half closed, but a sublime light shone out from
beneath his eyelids, and a smile fit to rejoice God's heart played about
his colorless lips.
"What is the matter, Ascanio?" said Colombe in alarm.
"What is the matter!" cried the young man, finding in the excess of his
joy the audacity which sorrow first gave him; "What is the matter! why,
I love you, Colombe!"
"Ascanio! Ascanio!" murmured Colombe, in a tone that was half reproof,
half pleasure, and it must be said, as soft as a confession of love.
But they understood each other; their hearts were united, and before
they were conscious of it, their lips had followed suit.
"My friend," said Colombe, softly pushing Ascanio away.
They gazed into one another's faces in ecstasy: the two angels
recognized each other at last. Life does not contain two such moments.
"And so," said Ascanio, "you do not love Comte d'Orbec: you are free to
love me."
"My friend," said Colombe, in her sweet, grave voice, "no one save my
father ever kissed me before, and he, alas! very rarely. I am an
ignorant child, and I know nothing of life; but I know from the thrill
which your kiss caused me that it is my duty henceforth to belong only
to you or to Heaven. Yes, if it were otherwise, I am sure that it would
be a crime! Your lips have consecrated me your _fiancée_ and your wife,
and though my father himself should say no, I would listen only to the
voice of God, which says yes in my heart. Here is my hand, which is
yours."
"Angels of paradise, hear her and envy me!" cried Ascanio.
Such ecstasy is not to be pictured or described. Let those who can
remember, remember, ft is impossible to put upon paper the words, the
looks, the hand-pressures of these pure-hearted lovely children. Their
spotless souls flowed together, as do the waters from two springs,
without changing their nature or their color. Ascanio did not sully with
the shadow of an impure thought the chaste brow of his beloved; Colombe
laid her head in perfect trust upon her lover's shoulder. Had the Virgin
Mary looked down upon them from on high she would not have turned her
head away.
When one begins to love, one is in haste to bring to the support of his
love all that he can of his past, present, and future. As soon as they
could speak calmly, Ascanio and Colombe described to each other all
their sorrows, all their hopes, of the days just gone by. It was
charming to both to find that each had the other's story to tell. They
had suffered much, and they smiled upon each other as they remembered
their suffering.
But when they came to speak of the future, then they became serious and
sad. What had God in store for them for the morrow? According to all
divine laws they were made for each other; but human prejudices would
declare their union ill assorted, monstrous. What were they to do? How
persuade Comte d'Orbec to renounce his wife? how persuade the Provost of
Paris to give his daughter to an artisan?
"Alas! my friend," said Colombe, "I promised you that I would belong to
you or to Heaven,--I see that it must be to Heaven.
"No," said Ascanio, "to me. Two children like ourselves cannot move the
world alone; but I will speak to my dear master, Benvenuto Cellini. He
is powerful, Colombe, and sees all things from a higher level! He acts
on earth as God ordains in heaven, and whatever his will has undertaken
he accomplishes. He will give you to me. I do not know how he will do
it, but I am sure. He loves obstacles. He will speak to King François;
he will persuade your father. The only thing he could not bring to pass
you did without his intervention,--you loved me. The rest ought to be
very simple. You see that I believe in miracles now, my best beloved."
"Dear Ascanio, you hope and I hope. Would you like me also to try an
experiment? There is a person whose influence over my father's mind is
unbounded. Shall I not write to Madame d'Etampes?"
"Madame d'Etampes!" cried Ascanio. "Mon Dieu! I had forgotten her."
Thereupon he told her, simply and without affectation, how he had seen
the duchess, how she had declared her love for him, and how, that very
day, within an hour, she had pronounced herself the enemy of his
beloved. But of what consequence was it? Benvenuto's task would be a
little more difficult, that was all. One adversary more would not
terrify him.
"My dear," said Colombe, "you have faith in your master, and I have
faith in you; speak to Cellini as soon as possible, and let him decide
our fate."
"To-morrow I will tell him everything. He loves me so well that he will
understand me instantly. But what is it, my Colombe? How sad you are!"
Each sentence of Ascanio's narrative had made Colombe doubly conscious
of her love for him by forcing the sharp sting of jealousy into her
heart, and more than once she convulsively pressed Ascanio's hand, which
she held in her own.
"Ascanio, Madame d'Etampes is very beautiful. She is beloved by a great
king. Mon Dieu! did she make no impression upon your heart?"
"I love you!" said Ascanio.
"Wait here for me."
She returned a moment later with a beautiful fresh white lily.
"When you are working at that woman's lily of gold and jewels," said
she, "glance sometimes at the simple lilies from your Colombe's garden."
With that she put her lips to the flower and handed it to the
apprentice, as coquettishly as Madame d'Etampes herself could have done.
At that moment Dame Perrine appeared at the end of the path.
"Adieu and _au revoir_!" said Colombe, putting her hand to her lover's
lips with a furtive, graceful gesture.
The governess approached them.
"Well, my child," she said to Colombe, "have you given the delinquent a
good scolding, and selected your jewels?"
"Take this, Dame Perrine," said Ascanio, putting the box of trinkets in
the good woman's hands still unopened; "Mademoiselle Colombe and I have
decided that you shall yourself choose whatever suits you best, and I
will come again to-morrow for the others."
With that he ran off with his joy, darting a farewell glance at Colombe,
which told her all that he had to tell.
Colombe sat with her hands folded upon her breast as if to confine the
happiness it contained,--while Dame Perrine was making her choice among
the marvels brought by Ascanio.
Alas! the poor child was very soon and very cruelly awakened from her
sweet dreams.
A woman appeared, escorted by one of the provost's men.
"Monseigneur le Comte d'Orbec, who is to return day after to-morrow,"
said this woman, "places me at madame's service from to-day. I am
familiar with the newest and prettiest styles, and I am commanded by
Monsieur le Comte and Messire le Prévôt to make for madame a
magnificent brocade gown, as Madame la Duchesse d'Etampes is to present
madame to the queen on the day of her Majesty's departure for
Saint-Germain, four days hence."
After the scene we have described, the reader may imagine the despairing
effect of this twofold news upon Colombe.
XIX
LOVE AS AN IDEA
The next morning at daybreak Ascanio, resolved to place his destiny in
his master's hands at once, repaired to the foundry where Cellini worked
every morning. But as he was about to knock at the door of what the
master called his cell, he heard Scozzone's voice. He supposed that she
was posing, and he discreetly withdrew, to return a little later.
Meanwhile he walked about the gardens of the Grand-Nesle, reflecting
upon what he should say to Cellini, and what Cellini would probably say
to him.
But Scozzone was not posing,--far from it. She had never before set foot
in the cell, to which no one, to her great disappointment, was ever
admitted. So it was that the master's wrath was terrible to behold,
when, happening to turn his head, he saw Catherine behind him, with her
great eyes open wider than ever. The imprudent damsel's desire to see
found little to gratify it, after all. A few drawings upon the walls, a
green curtain before the window, a statue of Hebe begun, and a
collection of sculptor's utensils, comprised the whole contents of the
room.