divisionem necis_? But, deuce take it!" added Procope, changing his
tone, "our man doesn't come. God grant that nothing has happened to him!
It will he pitch dark very soon."
"_Suadentque cadentia sidera somnos_," added Fracasso. "And by the way,
my friends, take care that Benvenuto doesn't in the dark resort to a
trick which I once put in practice myself: it was during my sojourn on
the banks of the Rhine. I always loved the banks of the Rhine, the
country there is so picturesque and at the same time so melancholy. The
Rhine is the river of dreamers. I was dreaming then upon the banks of
the Rhine, and this was the subject of my dreams.
"A nobleman named Schreckenstein, if my memory serves me, was to be put
to death. It was no easy matter, for he never went out without a strong
escort. This is the plan upon which I finally resolved.
"I donned a costume like that worn by him, and one dark evening I lay in
wait for him and his escort. When I saw them coming through the solitude
and darkness, _obscuri sub nocte_, I made a desperate attack upon
Schreckenstein, who was walking a little ahead; but I was clever enough
to strike off his hat with its waving plumes, and then to change my
position so that I was standing where he should have been. Thereupon I
stunned him with a violent blow with my sword hilt, and began to shout
amid the clashing of swords and the shouts of the others, 'Help! help!
death to the brigands!' so that Schreckenstein's men fell furiously upon
their master and left him dead upon the spot, while I glided away into
the bushes. The worthy nobleman could at least say that he was killed by
his friends."
"It was a bold stroke," said Ferrante, "but if I were to cast a backward
glance upon my vanished past I could find a still more audacious exploit
there. Like you, Fracasso, I had to deal with a chief of partisans,
always well mounted and escorted. It was in a forest in the Abruzzi. I
stationed myself in an enormous oak tree upon a great branch which
stretched out over the road at a point which the personage in question
must pass; and there I waited, musing. The sun was rising and its first
rays fell in long shafts of pale light down through the moss-grown
branches; the morning air was fresh and keen, enlivened by the songs of
birds. Suddenly--"
"Sh!" Procope interrupted him. "I hear footsteps: attention! it's our
man."
"Good!" muttered Maledent, glancing furtively about; "all is silent and
deserted hereabout; fortune is on our side."
They stood without speaking or moving; their dark, threatening faces
could not be distinguished in the gathering gloom, but one might have
seen their gleaming eyes, their hands playing nervously with their
rapiers, and their attitude of breathless suspense; in the half-darkness
they formed a striking dramatic group, which no pencil but Salvator
Rosa's could adequately reproduce.
It was in fact Benvenuto coming on at a rapid pace; as we have said, his
suspicions were aroused, and with his piercing glance he maintained a
constant watch in the darkness. As his eyes were accustomed to the
uncertain light he saw the four bandits issue from their ambush when he
was still twenty yards away, and had time to throw his cloak over his
basket, and draw his sword, before they were upon him. Furthermore, with
the self-possession which never abandoned him, he backed against the
church wall, and thus faced all of his assailants.
They attacked him savagely. He could not retreat, and it was useless to
cry out as the château was five hundred yards away. But Benvenuto was
no novice in deeds of arms, and he received the cut-throats with vigor.
His mind remained perfectly clear, and a sudden thought flashed through
it as he plied his sword. It was evident that this ambuscade was
directed against him, and no other. If therefore he could succeed in
throwing them off the track, he was saved. He began therefore, as the
blows rained down upon him, to joke them upon their pretended mistake.
"What fit has seized you, my fine fellows? Are you mad? What do you
expect to make out of an old soldier like me? Is it my cloak that you
want? Does my sword tempt you? Stay, stay, you! If you want my good
sword, you must earn it! Sang-Dieu! By my soul, for thieves who seem to
have served their apprenticeship, your scent is bad, my children."
With that he charged upon them, instead of falling back before them, but
only took one or two steps away from the wall, and immediately placed
his back against it once more, incessantly slashing and thrusting,
taking pains to throw aside his cloak several times, so that, if they
had been warned by Comte d'Orbec's servants, whom he had seen leave the
house, and who had seen him count the money, they would at least
conclude that he had not the gold upon him. Indeed, his assured manner
of speaking, and the ease with which he handled his sword with a
thousand crowns under his arm, caused the bravos to entertain some
doubts.
"Damnation! do you suppose we have made a mistake, Ferrante?" said
Fracasso!
"I fear so. The man seemed not so tall to me; or even if it is he, he
hasn't the gold, and that damned viscount deceived us."
"I have gold!" cried Benvenuto, thrusting and parrying vigorously all
the while. "I have no gold save a handful of gilded copper; but if you
are ambitious to secure that, my children, you will pay dearer for it
than if it were gold belonging to another, I promise you."
"Deuce take him!" said Procope, "he's really a soldier. Could any
goldsmith fence so cleverly as he? Expend all your wind on him, if you
choose, you fellows; I don't light for glory."
And Procope began to heat a retreat, grumbling to himself, while the
attack of the others relaxed in vigor, by reason of their doubts, as
well as of his absence. Benvenuto, with no such motive for weakening,
seized the opportunity to drive them back, and to start for the
château, backing before his assailants, but fighting all the time, and
defending himself manfully. The savage boar was luring the hounds with
him to his den.
"Come, my brave fellows, come with me," he said "bear me company as far
as the entrance to the Pré-aux-Clercs, the Maison Rouge, where my
sweetheart, whose father sells wine, is expecting me to-night. The road
isn't very safe, so they say, and I should be glad to have an escort."
Upon that pleasantry, Fracasso also abandoned the chase, and went to
join Procope.
"We are fools, Ferrante!" said Maledent; "this isn't your Benvenuto."
"Yes, yes, I say it is himself," cried Ferrante, who had at last
discovered the basket bulging out with money under Benvenuto's arm, as a
too sudden movement disarranged his cloak.
But it was too late: the château was within a hundred feet or less, and
Benvenuto was shouting in his powerful voice: "Hôtel de Nesle! ho!
help! help!"
Fracasso had barely time to retrace his steps, Procope to hasten up, and
Ferrante and Maledent to redouble their efforts; the workmen who were
expecting their master, were on the alert. The door of the château was
flung open at his first shout, and Hermann the colossus, little Jehan,
Simon-le-Gaucher, and Jacques Aubry came running out armed with pikes.
At that sight the bravos turned and fled.
"Wait, wait, my dear young friends," Benvenuto shouted to the fugitives;
"won't you escort me a little farther? O the bunglers! who couldn't take
from one lone man a thousand golden crowns which tired his arm!"
The brigands had in fact succeeded in inflicting no other injury than a
slight scratch upon their opponent's hand, and they made their escape
shamefaced, and Fracasso howling with pain. Poor Fracasso at the very
last lost his right eye, and was one-eyed for the rest of his days, a
circumstance which accentuated the tinge of melancholy which was the
most prominent characteristic of his pensive countenance.
"Well, my children," said Benvenuto to his companions, when the
footsteps of the bravos had died away in the distance, "we must have
some supper after that exploit. Come all and drink to my escape, my dear
rescuers. But God help inc! I do not see Ascanio among you. Where is
Ascanio?"
The reader will remember that Ascanio left the Louvre before his master.
"I know where he is?" said little Jehan.
"Where is he, my boy?" asked Benvenuto.
"Down at the end of the garden, where he has been walking for half an
hour; the student and I went there to talk with him, but he begged us to
leave him alone."
"Strange!" said Benvenuto. "How did he fail to hear my shout? How is it
that he did not hasten to me with the others? Do not wait for me, but
sup without me, my children. Ah, there you are, Scozzone!"
"O mon Dieu! what is this they tell me,--that some one tried to murder
you, master?"
"Yes, yes, there was something like that."
"Mon Dieu!" cried Scozzone.
"It was nothing, my dear girl, nothing," said Benvenuto consolingly, for
poor Catherine had become as pale as death. "Go now and bring wine, of
the best, for these gallant fellows. Take the keys of the cellar from
Dame Ruperta, Scozzone, and select it yourself."
"Why, you are not going out again?" said Scozzone.
"No, never fear: I am going to find Ascanio in the garden. I have
important matters to discuss with him."
Scozzone and the others returned to the studio, and Benvenuto walked
toward the gate leading to the garden.
The moon was just rising, and the master saw Ascanio very plainly; but,
instead of walking, the young man was climbing a ladder set against the
wall between the gardens of the Grand and Petit-Nesle. When he reached
the top, he pulled the ladder up after him, lowered it on the other
side, and disappeared.
Benvenuto passed his hand over his eyes like a man who cannot believe
what he sees. Forming a sudden resolution, he went straight to the
foundry and up into his cell, stepped to the window sill, and leaped to
the wall of the Petit-Nesle; from there, with the aid of a stout vine,
he dropped noiselessly into Colombe's garden; it had rained in the
morning, and the ground was so damp that his footfalls were deadened.
He put his ear to the ground, and questioned the silence for some
moments. At last he heard subdued voices in the distance, which guided
his steps; he at once rose, and crept cautiously forward, feeling his
way, and stopping from moment to moment. Soon the voices became more
distinct.
Benvenuto walked toward them, and at last, when he reached the second
path which crossed the garden, he recognized Colombe, or rather divined
her presence in the shadow, dressed in white, and sitting beside Ascanio
on the bench we already know. They were talking in low tones, but
distinctly, and with animation.
Hidden from their observation by a clump of trees, Benvenuto drew near
and listened.
III
AN AUTUMN NIGHT'S DREAM
It was a beautiful autumn evening, calm and clear. The moon had driven
away almost all the clouds, and the few which remained were scattered
here and there over the star-strewn sky. Around the group talking and
listening in the garden of the Petit-Nesle, everything was calm and
silent, but within their hearts all was sadness and agitation.
"My darling Colombe," said Ascanio, while Benvenuto, standing cold and
pale behind him, seemed to be listening with his heart rather than with
his ears, "my dearest love, why, alas! did our paths meet? When you know
all that I have to tell you of misery and horror, you will curse me for
being the bearer of such news."
"Nay, my dear," replied Colombe, "whatever you may have to tell me, I
shall bless you, for in my eyes you are as one sent by God. I never
heard my mother's voice, but I feel that I should have listened to her
as I listen to you. Go on, Ascanio, and if you have terrible things to
tell me, your voice will at least comfort me a little."
"Summon all your courage and all your strength," said Ascanio.
Thereupon he told her all that had taken place in his presence between
Madame d'Etampes and Comte d'Orbec; he described the whole plot, a
combination of treason against the kingdom and designs upon the honor of
an innocent child; he subjected himself to the agony of explaining the
infamous bargain made by the treasurer to that ingenuous soul, aghast at
this revelation of wickedness; he must needs to make the maiden, whose
heart was so pure that she did not blush at his words, understand the
cruel refinements of torture and ignominy which hatred and baffled love
suggested to the favorite. All that was perfectly clear to Colombe's
mind was that her lover was filled with loathing and dismay, and, like
the slender vine which has no other support than the sapling to which it
clings, she trembled and shuddered with him.
"My dear," she said, "you must make known this fearful plot against my
honor to my father. My father does not suspect our love, he owes you his
life, and he will listen to you. Oh, never fear! he will rescue me from
the clutches of Comte d'Orbec."
"Alas!" was Ascanio's only reply.
"O my love!" cried Colombe, who understood all the apprehension
contained in her lover's exclamation. "Oh! can you suspect my father of
complicity in so hateful a design? That would be too wicked, Ascanio.
No, my father knows nothing, suspects nothing, I am sure, and although
he has never shown me any great affection, he would never with his own
hand plunge me into shame and misery."
"Forgive me, Colombe," rejoined Ascanio, "but your father is not
accustomed to see misery in increased wealth. A title would conceal the
shame, and in his courtier-like pride he would deem you happier as a
king's mistress than as an artist's wife. It is my duty to hide nothing
from you, Colombe: Comte d'Orbec told Madame la Duchesse d'Etampes that
he would answer for your father."
"Just God, is it possible!" cried the poor girl. "Was such a thing ever
seen, Ascanio, as a father who sold his daughter?"
"Such things are seen in all countries and at all times, my poor angel,
and more than ever at this time and in this country. Do not picture to
yourself the world as fashioned after the image of your heart, or
society as taking pattern by your virtue. Yes, Colombe, the noblest
names of France have shamelessly farmed out the youth and beauty of
their wives and daughters to the royal lust: it is looked upon as a
matter of course at court, and your father, if he cares to take the
trouble to justify himself, will not lack illustrious precedents. I beg
you to forgive me, my beloved, for bringing your chaste and spotless
soul so abruptly in contact with this hideous reality; but I cannot
avoid the necessity of showing you the snare that is laid for you."
"Ascanio, Ascanio!" cried Colombe, hiding her face against the young
man's shoulder; "my father also turns against me. Oh, simply to repeat
it kills me with shame! Where can I fly for shelter? Where but to your
arms, Ascanio? Yes, it is for you to save me now. Have you spoken to
your master, to Benvenuto, who is so strong and great and kindly,
judging by your description of him, and whom I love because you love
him?"
"Nay, do not love him, do not love him, Colombe!" cried Ascanio.
"Why not?" whispered the girl.
"Because he loves you, because, instead of the friend upon whom we
thought we could rely, he is one enemy the more we have to contend
against: an enemy, you understand, and the most formidable of all our
enemies. Listen."
Thereupon he told her how, as he was on the point of making a confidant
of Benvenuto, the goldsmith described to him his ideal love, and added
that the favorite sculptor of François I. by virtue of the king's word
of honor to which he had never proved false, could obtain whatever he
chose to ask after the statue of Jupiter was cast. As we know, the boon
that Benvenuto proposed to ask was Colombe's hand.
"O God! we have none to look to for succor but thee," said Colombe,
raising her white hands and her lovely eyes to heaven. "All our friends
are changed to enemies, every haven of refuge becomes a dangerous reef.
Are you certain that we are so utterly abandoned?"
"Only too certain," replied Ascanio. "My master is as dangerous to us as
your father, Colombe. Yes," he continued, wringing his hands, "I am
almost driven to hate him, Benvenuto, my friend, my master, my
protector, my father, my God! And yet I ask you, Colombe, why I should
hear him ill will? Because he has fallen under the spell to which every
exalted mind that comes in contact with yours must yield; because he
loves you as I love you. His crime is my own, after all. But you love
me, Colombe, and so I am absolved. What shall we do? For two days I have
been asking myself the question, and I do not know whether I begin to
detest him, or whether I love him still. He loves you, it is true; but
he has loved me so dearly, too, that my poor heart wavers and trembles
in its perplexity like a reed shaken in the wind. What will he do? First
of all, I shall tell him of Comte d'Orbec's designs, and I hope that he
will deliver us from them. But after that, when we find ourselves face
to face as enemies, when I tell him that his pupil is his rival,
Colombe, his will, which is omnipotent as fate, will perhaps be as
blind; he will forget Ascanio to think only of Colombe; he will turn his
eyes away from the man he once loved, to see only the woman he loves,
for I feel myself that between him and you I should not hesitate. I feel
that I would remorselessly sacrifice my heart's past for its future,
earth for heaven! And why should he act differently? he is a man, and to
renounce his love would be more than human. We must therefore, fight it
out, but how can I, feeble and alone as I am, resist him. But no matter,
Colombe: even if I should come some day to hate him I have loved so long
and so well, I tell you now that I would not for all the world subject
him to the torture he inflicted upon me the other morning when he
declared his love for you."
Meanwhile Benvenuto, standing like a statue behind his tree, felt the
drops of icy sweat roll down his forehead, and his hand clutched
convulsively at his heart.
"Poor Ascanio! dear heart!" returned Colombe, "you have suffered
bitterly already, and have much to suffer still. But let us face the
future calmly. Let us not exaggerate our griefs, for the prospect is not
altogether desperate. Including God there are three of us to make head
against misfortune. You would rather see me Benvenuto's wife than Comte
d'Orbec's, would you not? But you would also prefer to see me wedded to
the Lord than to Benvenuto? Very well! if I am not yours, I will belong
to none but the Lord, be sure of that, Ascanio. Your wife in this world,
or your betrothed in the other. That is my promise to you, Ascanio, and
that promise I will keep: never fear."
"Thanks, thou angel from heaven, thanks!" said Ascanio. "Let us forget
the great world around us, and concentrate our lives upon this little
thicket where we now are. Colombe, you haven't told me yet that you love
me. Alas! it would almost seem that you are mine because you could not
do otherwise."
"Hush! Ascanio, hush! do you not see that I am trying to sanctify my
happiness by making it a duty? I love you, Ascanio, I love you!"
Benvenuto could no longer find strength to stand; he fell upon his knees
with his head against a tree; his haggard eyes were fixed vacantly on
space, while, with his ear turned toward the young people, he listened
with feverish intentness.
"Dear Colombe," echoed Ascanio, "I love you, and something tells me that
we shall be happy, and that the Lord will not abandon the loveliest of
all his angels. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! in this atmosphere of joy which
surrounds me, I forget the circle of grief which I must enter when I
leave you."
"We must think of to-morrow," said Colombe: "let us help ourselves,
Ascanio, so that God may help us. It would be disloyal, I think, to
leave your master Benvenuto in ignorance of our love, for he would
perhaps incur great risk in contending against Madame d'Etampes and
Comte d'Orbec. It would not be fair: you must tell him everything,
Ascanio."
"I will obey you, dearest Colombe, for a word from you, as you must
know, is law to me. My heart also tells me that you are right, always
right. But it will be a terrible blow for him. Alas! I judge from my own
heart. It is possible that his love for me may turn to hatred, it is
possible that he will turn me out of doors. In that case how can I, a
stranger, without friends or shelter, resist such powerful enemies as
the Duchesse d'Etampes and the king's treasurer. Who will help me to
defeat the plans of that terrible couple? Who will fight on my side in
this unequal struggle? Who will hold out a helping hand to me?"
"I!" said a deep, grave voice behind them.
"Benvenuto!" cried the apprentice, without even turning round.
Colombe shrieked and sprang to her feet. Ascanio gazed at his master,
wavering between affection and wrath.
"Yes, it is I, Benvenuto Cellini," continued the goldsmith,--"I, whom
you do not love, mademoiselle,--I, whom you no longer love, Ascanio, and
who come to save you both, nevertheless."
"What do you say?" cried Ascanio.
"I say that you must come and sit down again, here by my side, for we
must understand one another. You have no need to tell me aught. I have
not lost a word of your conversation. Forgive me for listening after I
came upon you by chance, but you understand: it is much better that I
should know all. You have said some things very sad and terrible for me
to hear; but some kind things too. Ascanio was sometimes right and
sometimes wrong. It is very true, Mademoiselle, that I would have
disputed you with him. But since you love him, that's the end of it, be
happy; he has forbidden you to love me, but I will force you to it by
giving you to him."
"Dear master!" cried Ascanio.
"You suffer, monsieur, do you not?" said Colombe clasping her hands.
"Ah, thanks, thanks!" said Benvenuto, as his eyes filled with tears, but
restraining his feelings with a mighty effort. "You see that I suffer.
He would not have noticed it, ungrateful boy! But nothing escapes a
woman's eyes. Yes, I will not tell you a falsehood; I do suffer! and why
not, since you are lost to me? But at the same time I am happy, because
I am able to serve you; you will owe everything to me, and that thought
comforts me a little. You were wrong, Ascanio; my Beatrice is jealous,
and will brook no rival; you, Ascanio, must finish the statue of Hebe.
Adieu, my sweetest dream,--the last!"
Benvenuto spoke with effort, in a broken voice. Colombe leaned
gracefully toward him, and put her hand in his.
"Weep, my friend, weep," she said softly.
"Yes, yes," said Cellini, bursting into tears.
He stood for some time without speaking, weeping bitterly, and trembling
with emotion from head to foot. His forceful nature gladly sought relief
in tears too long held back. Ascanio and Colombe looked on in respectful
silence at this exhibition of bitter grief.
"Except on the day when I wounded you, Ascanio, except at the moment
when I saw your blood flow, I have not wept for twenty years," he said
at last, recovering his self-control; "but it has been a hard blow to
me. I was in such agony just now behind those trees that I was tempted
for a moment to plunge my dagger in my heart, and end it all. The only
thing that held my hand was your need of me, and so you saved my life.
All is as it should be, after all. Ascanio has twenty years more of
happiness to give you than I have, Colombe. And then he is my child: you
will be very happy together, and it will rejoice my father's heart.
Benvenuto will succeed in triumphing over Benvenuto himself, as well as
over his enemies. It is the lot of us creators to suffer, and perhaps
each one of my tears will cause some lovely statue to spring up, as each
of Dante's tears became a sublime strain. You see, Colombe, I am already
returning to my old love, my cherished sculpture: that love will never
forsake me. You did well to bid me weep: all the bitterness has been
washed from my heart by my tears. I am sad still, but I am kind once
more, and I will forget my pain in my efforts to save you."
Ascanio took one of the master's hands, and pressed it warmly in his
own. Colombe took the other, and put it to her lips. Benvenuto breathed
more heavily than he had yet done. Shaking his head, he said with a
smile:--