balcony to balcony at the risk of breaking his neck, when I heard
another noise, which came almost from the foot of the tree in which I
was sitting. I looked down and saw Ascanio creeping stealthily along
from the foundry."
"Ascanio, Benvenuto's beloved pupil?"
"Himself, my friend, himself. A sort of choir-boy, to whom one would
give absolution without confession. Oh yes! that comes of trusting to
appearances."
"Why had Ascanio come out?"
"Ah, that's just it! Why had he? that's what I asked myself at first,
but soon I had no occasion to ask it; for Ascanio, after having made
sure, as Hermann and Pagolo had done, that nobody could see him, took
from the foundry a long ladder, which he rested against the shoulders of
Mars, and up he climbed. As the ladder was on the opposite side from
myself, I lost sight of him as he went up, and was just wondering what
had become of him when I saw a light in the eyes of the statue."
"What's that you say?" cried Marmagne.
"The exact truth, my friend, and I confess that, if it had happened
without any knowledge on my part of what had happened previously, I
should not have been altogether at my ease. But I had seen Ascanio
disappear, and I suspected that the light was caused by him."
"But what was Ascanio doing at that hour in the head of the god Mars?"
"Ah! that is just the question I asked myself, and as there was no one
to answer me I determined to find out for myself. I gazed with all my
eyes, and succeeded in discovering, through those of the statue, a
ghost, i' faith! yes, dressed all in white; the ghost of a woman, at
whose feet Ascanio was kneeling as respectfully as before a Madonna.
Unfortunately, the Madonna's back was turned to me, and I could not see
her face, but I saw her neck. Oh what lovely necks ghosts have, my dear
viscount! Imagine a perfect swan's neck, white as snow. And Ascanio was
gazing at it, the impious varlet! with a degree of adoration which
convinced me that the ghost was a woman. What do you say to that, my
dear fellow? Gad! it's a neat trick, eh? to conceal one's mistress in
the head of a statue."
"Yes, yes, it's most ingenious," rejoined Marmagne, laughing and
reflecting at the same time; "very ingenious, in good sooth. And you
have no suspicion who the woman can be?"
"Upon my honor, I have no idea. And you?"
"No more than you. What did you do, pray, when you saw all this?"
"What did I do? I laughed so that I lost my balance, and if I hadn't
caught on a branch I should have broken my neck. As there was nothing
more to see, and I had fallen half-way to the ground, I climbed down the
rest of the way, crept to the door, and was on my way home, still
laughing all by myself, when I met you, and you compelled me to tell you
the story. Now, give me your advice, as you are of Benvenuto's friends.
What must I do about telling him? As for Dame Perrine, that doesn't
concern him; the dear woman is of age, and consequently mistress of her
actions; but as to Scozzone, and the Venus who lodges in the head of
Mars, it's a different matter."
"And you want me to advise you as to what you ought to do?"
"Yes, I do indeed! I am much perplexed, my dear--my dear--I always
forget your name."
"My advice is to say nothing to him. So much the worse for those who are
foolish enough to allow themselves to be deceived. I am obliged to you,
Master Jacques Aubry, for your company and your agreeable conversation;
but here we are at Rue Hautefeuille, and to return confidence for
confidence, this is where my charmer dwells."
"Adieu, my dear, my excellent friend," said Jacques Aubry, pressing the
viscount's hand. "Your advice is good and I will follow it. Good luck,
and may Cupid watch over you!"
Thereupon they parted, Marmagne taking Rue Hautefeuille, and Jacques
Aubry Rue Poupée, on his way to Rue de la Harpe, at the far end of
which he had taken up his abode.
The viscount lied to the unlucky student when he declared that he had no
suspicion as to the identity of the female demon whom Ascanio adored on
his knees. His first thought was that the inhabitant of Mars was no
other than Colombe, and the more he reflected upon it, the more firmly
convinced he became. As we have said, Marmagne was equally ill disposed
toward the provost, D'Orbec, and Cellini, and he found himself in a very
awkward position as regarded the gratification of his ill will, for he
could not inflict suffering upon one without giving pleasure to the
others. If he held his peace, D'Orbec and the provost would remain in
their present embarrassed plight; but Benvenuto would likewise continue
in his present joyous frame of mind. If, on the other hand, he disclosed
what he had learned, Benvenuto would be in despair, but the provost
would recover his child, D'Orbec his betrothed. He determined,
therefore, to turn the thing over in his mind until it should be made
clear to him what was the most advantageous course for him to follow.
His indecision did not long endure; without knowing the real motive for
her interest, he was aware that Madame d'Etampes was deeply interested
in the marriage of Comte d'Orbec with Colombe. He thought that, by
revealing his secret to the duchess, he might gain sufficient credit for
perspicacity to make up for what he had lost in the matter of courage;
he resolved, therefore, to appear at her morning reception on the
following day, and tell her everything. Having formed that resolution,
he punctually put it in execution.
By one of those fortunate chances which sometimes serve the purpose of
evil deeds so well, all the courtiers were at the Louvre, paying court
to François I. and the Emperor, and there was nobody at Madame
d'Etampes's reception save her two faithful servants, the provost and
Comte d'Orbec, when the Vicomte de Marmagne was announced.
The viscount respectfully saluted the duchess, who acknowledged his
salutation with one of those smiles which belonged to her alone, and in
which she could express pride, condescension, and disdain all at the
same time. But Marmagne did not worry about this smile, with which he
was well acquainted from having seen it upon the duchess's lips not only
for his own benefit, but for the benefit of many another. He knew
moreover that he possessed a certain means of transforming that smile of
contempt into a smile of good will by a single word.
"Aha! Messire d'Estourville," he said, turning to the provost, "so the
prodigal child has returned?"
"Still the same pleasantry, Viscount!" cried Messire d'Estourville with
a threatening gesture, and flushing with anger.
"Oh don't lose your temper, my good friend, don't lose your temper!"
returned Marmagne; "I tell you this, because, if you haven't yet found
your vanished dove, I know where she has built her nest."
"You do?" cried the duchess, in the most charmingly friendly way.
"Where is it, pray? Tell me quickly, I beg, my dear Marmagne?"
"In the head of the statue of Mars, which Benvenuto has modelled in the
garden of the Grand-Nesle."
IX
MARS AND VENUS
The reader will doubtless have guessed the truth, no less accurately
than Marmagne, strange as it may have appeared at first glance. The head
of the colossus was Colombe's place of retreat. Mars furnished
apartments for Venus, as Jacques Aubry said. For the second time
Benvenuto gave his handiwork a part to play in his life, summoned the
artist to the assistance of the man, and embodied his fate in his
statues as well as his thought and his genius. He had on an earlier
occasion concealed his means of escape in one of his figures; he was now
concealing Colombe's freedom and Ascanio's happiness in another.
But, having reached this point in our narrative, it becomes necessary
for greater clearness to retrace our steps a moment.
When Cellini finished the story of Stefana, there was a brief pause.
Benvenuto saw, among the phantoms which stood out vividly in his
painful, obtrusive memories of the past, the melancholy, but serene
features of Stefana, twenty years dead. Ascanio, with head bent forward,
was trying to recall the pale face of the woman who had leaned over his
cradle and often awoke him in his infancy, while the tears fell from her
sad eyes upon his chubby cheeks. Colombe was gazing with deep emotion at
Benvenuto, whom another woman, young and pure like herself, had loved so
dearly: at that moment his voice seemed to her almost as soft as
Ascanio's, and between the two, both of whom loved her devotedly, she
felt instinctively that she was as safe as a child could be upon its
mother's knee.
Benvenuto was the first to break the silence.
"Well!" he said, "will Colombe trust herself to the man to whom Stefana
intrusted Ascanio?"
"You are my father, he my brother," replied Colombe, giving a hand to
each of them with modest grace and dignity, "and I place myself blindly
in your hands to keep me for my husband."
"Thanks," said Ascanio, "thanks, my beloved, for your trust in him."
"You promise to obey me in everything, Colombe?" said Benvenuto.
"In everything."
"Then listen, my children. I have always been convinced that man could
do what he would, but only with the assistance of God on high and time
here below. To save you from Comte d'Orbec and infamy, and to give you
to my Ascanio, I must have time, Colombe, and in a very few days you are
to be the count's wife. First of all then the essential thing is to
delay this unholy union, is it not, Colombe, my sister, my child, my
daughter? There are times in this sad life when it is necessary to do
wrong in order to prevent a crime. Will you be courageous and resolute?
Will your love, which is so pure and devoted, be brave and strong as
well? Tell me."
"Ascanio will answer for me," said Colombe, with a smile, turning to the
youth. "It is his right to dispose of me."
"Have no fear, master: Colombe will be brave," said Ascanio.
"In that case, Colombe, will you, trusting in our loyalty and your own
innocence, boldly leave this house and go with us?"
Ascanio started in surprise. Colombe looked at them both for a moment
without speaking, then rose to her feet, and said simply,--
"Where am I to go?"
"O Colombe, Colombe!" cried Benvenuto, deeply moved by such absolute
trust, "you are a noble, saintly creature, and yet Stefana made me very
exacting in my ideal. Everything depended upon your reply. We are saved
now, but there isn't a moment to lose. This is the decisive hour. God
places it at our disposal, let us avail ourselves of it. Give me your
hand, Colombe, and follow me."
The maiden lowered her veil as if to hide her blush from itself, then
followed the master and Ascanio. The door between the Grand and
Petit-Nesle was locked, but the key was in the lock. Benvenuto opened it
noiselessly.
When they were passing through, Colombe stopped.
"Wait a moment," she said in a voice trembling with emotion; and upon
the threshold of the house which she was leaving because it had ceased
to be a sanctuary for her, the child knelt and prayed. Her prayer
remained a secret between God and herself; but doubtless she prayed that
he would forgive her father for what she was driven to do. Then she
rose, calm and strong, and went on under the guidance of Cellini.
Ascanio with troubled heart followed them in silence, gazing fondly at
the white dress which fled before him in the shadow. They walked in
this way across the garden of the Grand-Nesle; the songs and heedless,
joyous laughter of the workmen at their supper, for it will be
remembered that it was a holiday at the château, reached the ears of
our friends, who were anxious and nervous as people ordinarily are at
supreme moments.
When they reached the foot of the statue, Benvenuto left Colombe a
moment, went to the foundry, and reappeared, laden with a long ladder
which he leaned against the colossus. The moon, the celestial watcher,
east her pale light upon the scene. Having made sure that the ladder was
firmly fixed in its place, the master knelt upon one knee in front of
Colombe. The most touching respect softened the sternness of his
expression.
"My child," said he, "put your arms around me, and hold fast."
Colombe obeyed without a word, and Benvenuto lifted her as if she had
been a feather.
"The brother," he said to Ascanio as he drew near, "must allow the
father to carry his beloved daughter."
The powerful goldsmith, laden with the most precious of all burdens,
started up the ladder as lightly as if he were carrying nothing heavier
than a bird. As her head lay upon the master's shoulder, Colombe could
watch his manly, good-humored faee, and felt a degree of filial trust in
him which was unlike anything she had ever experienced. As to Cellini,
so powerful was the will of this man of iron, that he was able to hold
her in his arms, for whom he would have given his life two hours
earlier, with a hand that did not tremble, nor did his heart heat more
rapidly or a single one of his muscles of steel weaken for an instant.
He had ordered his heart to be calm, and his heart had obeyed.
When he reached the neck of the statue he opened a small door, entered
the head, and deposited Colombe therein.
The interior of this colossal head of a statue nearly sixty feet high
formed a small round room some eight feet in diameter, and ten feet
high; air and light made their way in through the openings for the eyes,
nose, mouth, and ears. This miniature apartment Benvenuto made when he
was working at the head; he used it as a receptacle for the tools he was
using, so that he need not be at the trouble of taking them up and down
five or six times a day; often too he carried up his lunch with him and
set it out upon a table which stood in the centre of this unique
dining-room, so that he had not to leave his scaffolding to take his
morning meal. This innovation which was so convenient for him, made the
place attractive to him; he followed up the table with a cot-bed, and
latterly he had formed the habit of taking his noon-day siesta in the
head of his Mars, as well as of breakfasting there. It was quite
natural, therefore, that it should occur to him to ensconce Colombe in
what was clearly the most secure hiding place of all he could offer her.
"This is where you must remain, Colombe," said Benvenuto, "and you must
make up your mind to go down only after dark. Await here in this
retreat, under God's eye and our watchful care, the result of my
efforts. Jupiter," he added with a smile, alluding to the king's
promise, "will finish, I trust, what Mars has begun. You don't
understand, but I know what I mean. We have Olympus on our side, and you
have Paradise. How can we not succeed? Come, smile a little, Colombe,
for the future at least, if not for the present. I tell you in all
seriousness that we have ground for hope. Hope therefore with
confidence,--in God, if not in me. I have been in a sterner prison than
yours, believe me, and my hope made me indifferent to my captivity. From
now until the day that success crowns my efforts, Colombe, you will see
me no more. Your brother Ascanio, who is less suspected and less closely
watched than I am, will come to see you, and will stand guard over you.
I rely upon him to transform this workman's chamber into a nun's cell.
Now that I am about to leave you, mark well and remember my words: you
have done all that you had to do, trustful and courageous child; the
rest concerns me. We have now only to allow Providence time to do its
part, Colombe. Now listen. Whatever happens remember this: however
desperate your situation may seem to be or may really be, even though
you stand at the altar and have naught left to say but the terrible Yes
which would unite you forever to Comte d'Orbec, do not doubt your
friend, Colombe; do not doubt your father, my child; rely upon God and
upon us; I will arrive in time, I promise you. Will you have the
requisite faith and resolution? Tell me."
"Yes," said the girl confidently.
"'Tis well," said Cellini. "Adieu. I leave you now in your solitude;
when everybody is asleep, Ascanio will come and bring you what you need.
Adieu, Colombe."
He held out his hand, but Colombe gave him her forehead to kiss as she
was accustomed to do with her father. Benvenuto started, but, passing
his hand over his eyes, he mastered the thoughts which came to his mind
and the passions which raged in his heart, and deposited upon that
spotless forehead the most paternal of kisses.
"Adieu, dear child of Stefana," he whispered, and went quickly down the
ladder to Ascanio, with whom he joined the workmen, who had finished
eating, but were drinking still.
A new life, a strange, dream-like life, thereupon began for Colombe, and
she accommodated herself to it as she would have done to the life of a
queen.
Let us see how the aerial chamber was furnished. It had already, as we
know, a bed and a table. Ascanio added a low velvet chair, a Venetian
mirror, a collection of religious books selected by Colombe herself, a
crucifix,--a marvellous piece of carving,--and a silver vase, also from
the master's hand, which was filled every night with fresh flowers.
There was room for nothing more in the white shell, which contained so
much of innocence and charm.
Colombe ordinarily slept during the day. Ascanio had advised that course
for fear that, if she were awake, she might thoughtlessly do something
that would betray her presence. She awoke with the stars and the
nightingale's song, knelt upon her bed, in front of her crucifix, and
remained for some time absorbed in fervent prayer; then she made her
toilet, dressed her lovely, luxuriant hair, and sat and mused. Erelong a
ladder would be placed against the statue and Ascanio would knock at the
little door. If Colombe's toilet was completed, she would admit him and
he would remain with her until midnight. At midnight, if the weather was
fine, she would go down into the garden, and Ascanio would return to the
Grand-Nesle for a few hours' sleep, while Colombe took her nightly walk,
beginning once more the old dreams she used to dream in her favorite
path, and which seemed now more likely to be fulfilled. After about two
hours the white apparition would return to her snug retreat, where she
would wait for daylight and her bedtime, inhaling the sweet odor of the
flowers she had collected for her little nest, and listening to the
singing of the nightingales in the Petit-Nesle, and the crowing of the
cocks in the Pré-aux-Clercs.
Just before dawn Ascanio would return to his beloved once more, bringing
her daily supply of provisions, adroitly subtracted from Dame Ruperta's
larder by virtue of Cellini's complicity. Then they would sit for a
while, conversing as only lovers can converse, evoking memories of the
past, and forming plans for the future when they should be man and wife.
Sometimes Ascanio would sit silently contemplating Colombe, and Colombe
would meet his earnest gaze with her sweet smile. Often when they parted
they had not exchanged a single word, but those were the occasions on
which they said most. Had not each of them in his or her heart all that
the other could have said, in addition to what the heart cannot say, but
God reads?
Grief and solitude have this advantage in youth, that, while they make
the heart nobler and greater, they preserve its freshness. Colombe, a
proud, dignified maiden, was at the same time a light-hearted young
madcap: so there were days when they laughed as well as days when they
dreamed,--days when they played together like children; and, most
astonishing thing of all, those days--or nights, for, as we have seen,
the young people had inverted the order of nature--were not the ones
that passed most quickly. Love, like every other shining thing, needs a
little darkness to make its light shine the brighter.
Never did Ascanio utter a word that could alarm the timid, innocent
child who called him brother. They were alone, and they loved each
other; but for the very reason that they were alone they were the more
conscious of the presence of God, whose heaven they saw nearer at hand,
and for the very reason that they loved each other, they respected their
love as a divinity.
As soon as the first rays of dawn began to cast a feeble light upon the
roofs of the houses, Colombe regretfully sent her friend away, but
called him back as many times as Juliet did Romeo. One or the other had
always forgotten something of the greatest importance; however, they had
to part at last, and Colombe, up to the moment, toward noon, when she
committed her heart to God, and slept the sleep of the angels, would sit
alone, and dream, listening to the voices whispering in her heart, and
to the little birds singing under the lindens in her old garden. It goes
without saying that Ascanio always carried the ladder away with him.
Every morning she strewed bread around the mouth of the statue for the
little birds; the bold-faced little fellows would come and seize it, and
fly quickly away again at first; but they gradually grew tame. Birds
seem to understand the hearts of young girls, who are winged like
themselves. They finally would remain for a long while, and would pay in
song for the banquet with which Colombe regaled them. There was one
audacious goldfinch who ventured within the room, and finally acquired
the habit of eating from Colombe's hand at morning and evening. When the
nights began to be a little cool, one night he allowed himself to be
taken captive by the young prisoner, who put him in her bosom, and there
he slept until morning, notwithstanding Ascanio's visit and Colombe's
nightly promenade. After that the willing captive never failed to return
at night. At daybreak he would begin to sing: Colombe would then hold
him for Ascanio to kiss, and set him at liberty.
Thus did Colombe's days glide by in the head of the statue. Only two
things occurred to disturb the tranquillity of her existence; those two
things were the provost's domiciliary visits. Once Colombe awoke with a
start at the sound of her father's voice. It was no dream; he was down
in the garden beneath her, and Benvenuto was saying to him: "You ask
what this colossal figure is, Monsieur d'Estourville? It is the statue
of Mars, which his Majesty condescended to order for Fontainebleau. A
little bauble sixty feet high, as you see!"
"It is of noble proportions, and very beautiful," replied D'Estourville;
"but let us go on, this is not what I am in search of."
"No, it would be too easy to find."
And they passed on.
Colombe, kneeling with outstretched arms, felt an intense longing to cry
out, "Father, father, I am here!" The old man was seeking his child,
weeping for her perhaps; but the thought of Comte d'Orbec, the hateful
schemes of Madame d'Etampes, and the memory of the conversation Ascanio
overheard, paralyzed her impulse. And on the second visit the same
impulse did not come to her when the voice of the odious count was
mingled with the provost's.
"There's a curious statue built just like a house," said D'Orbec, as he
halted at the foot of the colossus. "If it stands through the winter,
the swallows will build their nests in it in the spring."
On the morning of the day when the mere voice of her _fiancé_ so
alarmed Colombe, Ascanio had brought her a letter from Cellini.
"My child," so ran the letter, "I am obliged to go away, but have no
fear. I leave everything prepared for your deliverance and your
happiness. The king's word guarantees my success, and the king you know
has never been false to his word. From to-day your father also will be
absent. Do not despair. I have now had all the time that I needed.
Therefore I say to you again, dear girl, though you should be at the
church door, though you should be kneeling at the altar, and on the
point of uttering the words which bind you for life, let things take
their course. Providence will intervene in time, I swear to you. Adieu.
"Your father,
"BENVENUTO CELLINI."