THE STORY OF EULALIE.
My father, Marie-Dominique Louis de Mazancy, Sieur de St. Valliere,
was a gentleman of Lower Dauphiny, and the lineal descendant of that
unfortunate M. de Mazancy, whom M. le Terrail slew in presence of
Henry IV., before the windows of the gallery of the Louvre, and whose
death so deeply affected that monarch, who, as history records, loved
and respected him beyond all his courtiers. My father was chef de
bataillon of the Régiment de Dauphiné, of the French line, and having
served in all the wars of the late king's reign, was a chevalier of
St. Louis and all the royal orders. He was the bosom friend and
brother soldier of the brave Comte de Lusignan, colonel of the
Régiment de Flandre (which was entirely composed of persons of the
second order of nobility), whose venerable head became the foot-ball
of a Parisian mob.
I was named Marie Domenica, after my father, and Eulalie, after my
poor mother, Mademoiselle de Losme, sister of the unfortunate major
of the terrible Bastille. M. le Major de Losme was a brave and
worthy officer, who, by his extreme gentleness and compassion, had
done much to alleviate the sorrows of the unhappy prisoners who pined
in the towers and dungeons of that dreaded fortress; yet this availed
him nothing, when it fell before the cannon and beneath the
execrations of the people. He perished with the Governor, M. de
Launay, in the hands of a frenzied multitude in the Place de la Grève.
I was educated at a little distance from Paris in an Ursuline
convent, situated among the vine-covered hills of Mont l'Hery; and
while there enjoyed the friendship of Mademoiselle de Karalio, one of
the most celebrated ladies in France, authoress of a history of
Elizabeth of England, and many other works--a lady whose pen
vigorously defended the demolition of the Bastille, and exculpated
the miserable M. Danry, who was incarcerated there for life for
having offended----
I interrupted her,
"The king, of course?"--
"No; for something then esteemed much more serious; his royal
father's mistress."
"Madame de Pompadour?"
"Yes."
"And a life was required to expiate this!"
Madame resumed her narrative.
You see how much my country required a revolution of some kind. At
the end of fourteen years M. Danry wrote two penitent letters, one to
the Minister of France; the other to Madame de Pompadour, full of
tears, of penitence, and prayers for mercy; describing his hair,
which from being a rich brown, had now become thin and grey; his
wasted form and exceeding misery, adding that he had almost lost all
his faculties by the very monotony of his captivity; but these
sorrowful productions--the keen outpourings of a broken spirit and a
broken heart--were never delivered.
Years rolled on.
Louis XV. and his Pompadour were gathered to their fathers; Louis
XVI. succeeded, and thereafter, poor M. Danry died in his dark
dungeon; and when the Bastille was demolished, his two sorrowful
letters were found in the Governor's house with their seals
_unbroken_. Mademoiselle Karalio showed them to me, with cold irony
in her intelligent eyes, when I was weeping for the terrible death of
my uncle, the Major de Losme.
The terrors of the Revolution, as detailed to me by Mademoiselle, and
the horror I felt on hearing that my gentle mother had been
guillotined for no other crime than being an aristocrat and the
sister of De Losme, filled me with such a disgust for life, that I
conceived the idea of taking the veil in some convent remote from
Paris (the vicinity of which was far from safe), and of retiring for
ever from a world of which I knew but little, and in which I had so
few ties; for my father was then serving abroad, having command of
the French troops in the islands of Martinique and Guadaloupe.
These resolutions were warmly seconded by him, as he had once made a
vow, after a narrow escape in battle, if he ever had a child, to
dedicate it to the Church; and by the Ursulines with whom I had lived
for seven years, and among whom I made many dear and amiable friends,
his views were earnestly urged. I redoubled all the austerities we
had hitherto practised, and, inspired by a religious fervour, on
which I now look back with astonishment--for I was barely
twenty--spent nearly my whole time in the chapel of of our
establishment and on my knees.
I had commenced my five years' noviciate, and measures were in
progress for my removal, together with all the younger ladies of our
house, to a more remote convent of the order, when one day a card was
brought to me by a lay sister. It was inscribed--
"Le Chevalier de Losme."
I started on receiving it, and remembered that this gentlemen, my
cousin Adrien, had long been absent with the army in India, and under
the circumstances of his recent bereavement, I could not decline to
receive him. I could neither repress the blush that rose to my
cheek, or certain emotions of awkwardness and curiosity, when I
remembered that it had once been a favourite project of my mother and
her brother the major of the Bastille, to marry me to this identical
cousin, and that he was cognizant of their wish.
I adjusted my hood and veil, adopted my most severe and demure
expression of face, and in presence of Madame the Superior, awaited,
with something of an inward flutter, the entrance of my cousin.
He reminded me in feature almost painfully of my dead mother. He was
young and handsome, and still wore, in defiance of the
Revolutionists, the white and gold-laced uniform of the Régiment de
Bearn. His face expressed gravity, and his eyes had a sadness in
them that made him very interesting, especially to an enthusiastic
and imaginative young girl. When his quiet eyes met mine, their
glance, I knew not why, troubled me, and my cheek flushed so redly,
that our Superior afterwards remarked my emotion. When he spoke to
me kindly and tenderly as my kinsman, I became uneasy, unhappy, and
disturbed.
"Why was this? You smile; ah, already you begin to perceive that
Mademoiselle Eulalie was not fated to fulfil her father's wish.
"My dear cousin, I have just returned from Pondicherry," said he
kissing my hand in defiance of the frowns of Madame the Reverend
Mother, "and reached this now hateful city of Paris only in time to
find the common scaffold wet with the blood of all that was noble in
France--all that were nearest and dearest to you and to me; and now I
go to Flanders, to seek vengeance under the banner of M. le Comte
d'Artois, who has collected an army of emigrants, and has honoured me
with a commission in the regiment of Noble Infantry."
"Shall--shall I not see you again?" I asked timidly, for in spite of
me, my heart was warming and yearning towards this handsome young
man, my only kinsman in France and, save my father, in the world.
"Oh, if you wish it, my dear Eulalie."
"He calls me 'dear Eulalie,'" said I, in my heart. It seemed so
oddly, so new to be thus addressed by a man; and my own name never
sounded so sweet or so musical before.
"And you have resolved on this secluded life, cousin?" said he,
playing with his aiguilettes.
"Yes; it is my choice," said I, sighing.
"It is terrible, Eulalie," he urged impressively.
"And is my father's wish," I added, sighing again.
"But it was not the wish of madame your mother. Do you remember how
often she jested with me about my little wife--you cannot have
forgotten those happy childish days."
I was blushing painfully, for the Superior's impatience, as the
conversation became more and more perilous, was marked and
oppressive, though my soldierly cousin heeded the old lady not in the
least.
"Oh, Eulalie," he continued, "I trust you have weighed the matter
well. Life is a precious gift, and not to be trifled with."
I became painfully agitated; but, as my mother's name filled my eyes
with tears, Cousin Adrien changed the subject.
"And you leave Paris?" I asked.
"Very soon, unless you would wish me to remain a little time, to see
you again; but I am already, I fear, a suspected man. The son of the
Chevalier Major de Losme, is nowhere safe in France," he added
bitterly; "and so the veil is your choice, my beautiful cousin. I
dare not congratulate you; but I pray in my inmost heart, that you
may be happy, dear Eulalie!"
He bowed and retired, but his voice seemed to linger in my ear. The
brow of our reverend mother was clouded, and I hurried to my little
cell full of new and strange thoughts. I cast myself upon my bed and
wept, I knew not why. I strove to thrust aside the image of my
cousin--to turn my mind to prayer and the duties of my office; but in
vain; the handsome form and figure of the dark and sad-eyed young
man, in his white uniform and gold aiguilettes still hovered before
me, and I began to wonder when he would visit me again.
"This is quite natural; there is nothing wrong in the interest I feel
in Adrien," said I; "he is my kinsman, the nephew of my dear mother,
who is now in heaven."
"It matters not, Eulalie," said the superior, who followed me one day
and overheard my remark; "you must think no more of him; bend your
thoughts in prayer, and say a _Salve Regina_ daily; each morning and
evening intreat the protection of St. Ursule, and shun alike the
society and the sophistries of that vile woman Karalio, whose
writings have corrupted Paris and are tainting you."
I endeavoured to do all this; but my cousin's next visit overturned
every little plan, and I now began to perceive that I had viewed
seclusion on one hand, and the external world on the other, through
false mediums. I was no longer content and tranquil; I still prayed
with ardour, but prayer soon became a task,--my thoughts rebelled
against myself, and strayed ever from the duties set before me.
At last a crisis came! One night we were roused from sleep by the
sound of drums and alarm-bells; by the glare of torches and the gleam
of weapons, as a revolutionary mob, which had sacked and demolished a
chateau in our vicinity, flushed with bloodshed, wine, and outrage,
assailed the convent. Its doors were driven in; the chapel was
pillaged of its altar-vessels, vestments, and reliquary; the nuns
were driven forth with every indignity, and two who attempted to
rebuke the multitude were stripped nearly nude and bayoneted. I fled
I know not whither; so great was my terror, that I must have been
almost bereft of reason, as I can only remember being found in a
peasant's hut by my cousin, the Chevalier de Losme, some weeks after
the destruction of the convent of St. Ursule; for the moment he heard
of that catastrophe, he had hastened from Paris to Mont l'Hery to
save and protect me.
My ecclesiastical habit being no longer a safeguard in France, I laid
it aside for ever. My cousin procured for me a residence in a
secluded village, and promised to get me released from the remainder
of the five years' vows I had taken; and with mutual promises of love
and fidelity we separated in tears and sorrow, as he repaired to join
the army of the Comte d'Artois.
He wrote to Martinique, and duly informed my father of all that had
passed,--of what were our own views and wishes, and how dearly he
loved me; but the Sieur de Mazancy was indignant on learning that I
wished to return to the world, and wrote to the chevalier and to me,
reprehending in severe terms my desire to obtain a double
dispensation, which was necessary, as we were related within the
degrees forbidden by the church. This communication filled me with
agony, sorrow, and alarm; but my spirit soon rose, for the
free-and-easy precepts of the time, as instilled into me by
Mademoiselle Karalio, made me revolt against so severe an exertion of
parental authority.
My father's letter was delivered to me by a subaltern--a
sous-lieutenant of his regiment--named Thibaud de Rouvigny, a native
of Dauphiny, where his father was steward of our estates. He was a
man of a dreadful nature, for though, externally suave, smiling,
polite, and winning, at heart he was a villain of the deepest dye;
and the distance at which he found me from aid, my helplessness and
personal attractions, made him conceive the most daring designs
against me, with the most dazzling hope of success; yet he was too
wary to speak to me then of love, and his whole conversation
consisted of pious morality--of resignation to the wish of my father
and to the will of God. I deemed him a model of goodness and
propriety, and opened up all my heart to him. There were times when
I thought a sinister gloom shot across his face; but this might be
the result of a deep sword-cut, by which his forehead had been laid
open.
My cousin Adrien had now been absent from me some months; but his
heart was inspired by undiminished love; and through M. le Comte
d'Artois, who was sincerely attached to him, he hoped ultimately to
overcome alike the scruples of my father and those of the exiled
Archbishop of Paris, who maintained that I ought to complete in some
Ursuline Convent the five years of the white veil.
Rouvigny affected to sympathize with me, and by his artful advice I
wrote two letters, one to my father, in which I stated that I
renounced the Chevalier de Losme for ever, as I had ceased to love
him. To Adrien, I wrote assuring him that the threats, the animosity
or repugnance of my father to our union would never influence me in
the slightest degree, or lessen the tender love I bore for him, and
him only; and these two most important letters I sealed up and
committed to the care of the Sous-Lieutenant Rouvigny.
What think you he did in secret?
He opened the covers and _transposed_ the contents; sending to my
father the letter in which I breathed the purity of my passion for De
Losme, and to De Losme the letter for my father in which I renounced
him for ever!
After the performance of this perfidy, Rouvigny left me, and I saw
him no more, in France at least, for he was ordered back to
Martinique, with a detachment for my father's garrison.
My dear cousin was filled with grief on receiving a document so
unexpected. He knew my writing and signature too well to imagine
there was any deception. He wrote me a sorrowful adieu, and next
morning volunteered for a forlorn hope at the storming of a redoubt
near Louvain. He was taken prisoner, and offered life and liberty by
Dumourier, if he would only say "Vive la Nation--à bas le Roi." He
refused, and was shot dead by a platoon.
One of the balls which pierced his heart had also pierced a letter
that was worn next it.
That letter was mine--the fatal letter transmitted to him by the
perfidious Rouvigny, of whose treason I was yet ignorant.
Such was the fate of the faithful and brave De Losme!