I was standing at the window of my bedchamber, in one of those
meditative, almost sad moods, which often fill up the pauses of more
active and energetic being, when the mind falls back upon itself,
after the stir and bustle of great enterprises, and the silent moral
voice within seems to rebuke us for the worm-like pettiness of our
earthly struggles, and the vain futility of all our mortal endeavours.
Nothing could be more lovely than the scene from the window. The sun
was setting over the dark forest of Ardennes, which, skirting all
round the northern limits of the view, formed a dark purple girdle to
the beautiful principality of Sedan; but day had only yet so far
declined as to give a rich and golden splendour to the whole
atmosphere, and his beams still flashed against every point of the
landscape, where any bright object met them, as if they encountered a
living diamond. Running from the south-east to the north were the
heights of Amblemont, from the soft green summit of which, stretching
up to the zenith, the whole sky was mottled with a flight of light
high clouds, which caught every beam of the sinking sun, and blushed
brighter and brighter as he descended. A thousand villages and hamlets
with their little spires, and now and then the turrets of the
châteaux, scattered through the valley, peeped out from every clump of
trees. The flocks of sheep and the herds of cattle, winding along
towards their folds, gave an air of peaceful abundance to the scene;
and the grand Meuse wandering through its rich meadows with a thousand
meanders, and glowing brightly in the evening light, added something
both solemn and majestic to the whole. I was watching the progress of
a boat gliding silently along the stream, whose calm waters it
scarcely seemed to ruffle in its course; and, while passion, and
ambition, and pride, and vanity, and the thousands of irritable
feelings that struggled in my bosom during the day were lulled into
tranquillity by the influence of the soft, peaceful scene before my
eyes, I was thinking how happy it would be to glide through life like
that little bark, with a full sail, and a smooth and golden tide, till
the stream of existence fell into the dark ocean of eternity--when my
dream was broken by some one knocking at my chamber-door.
Though I wished them no good for their interruption, I bade them come
in; and the moment after, the Duke of Bouillon himself stood before
me.
"Monsieur de l'Orme," said he, advancing, and doffing his hat, "I hope
I do not interrupt your contemplations." I bowed, and begged him to be
seated; and after a moment or two he proceeded: "I am happy in finding
you alone; for, though certainly one is bound to do whatever one
conceives right before the whole world, should chance order it so, yet
of course, when one has to acknowledge one's self in the wrong, it is
more pleasant to do so in private--especially," he added with a smile,
"for a sovereign prince in his own castle. I was this morning,
Monsieur de l'Orme, both rude and unjust towards you; and I have come
to ask your pardon frankly. Do you give it me?"
Although I believed there was at least as much policy as candour in
the conduct of the Duke, I did not suffer that conviction to affect my
behaviour towards him, and I replied, "Had I preserved any irritation,
my lord, from this morning, the condescension and frankness of your
present apology would of course have obliterated it at once."
I thought I saw a slight colour mount in the Duke's cheek at the word
apology; for men will do a thousand things which they do not like to
hear qualified by even the mildest word that can express them; and I
easily conceived, that though the proud lord of Sedan had for his own
purposes fully justified me in the use of the term, it hurt his ears
to hear that he had apologised to any one.
He proceeded, however: "I was, in truth, rather irritable this
morning, and I hastily took up an opinion, which I since find, from
the conversation of Monsieur le Comte, was totally false; namely, that
you were using all your endeavours to dissuade him from the only step
which can save himself and his country from ruin. Our levies were
nearly made, our envoy on his very return from the Low Countries, all
our plans concerted, and the Count perfectly determined, but the very
day before your arrival. Now I find him again undetermined; and though
I am convinced I was in error, yet you will own that it was natural I
should attribute this change to your counsels."
"Your Excellence attributed to me," I replied, with a smile, at the
importance wherewith a suspicious person often contrives to invest a
circumstance, or a person who has really none--"Your Excellence
attributed to me much more influence with Monsieur le Comte than I
possess: but, if it would interest you at all to hear what are the
opinions of a simple gentleman of his Highness's household, and by
what rule he was determined to govern his conduct, I have not the
slightest objection to give you as clear an insight into my mind, as
you have just given me of your own."
The Duke, perhaps, felt that he was not acting a very candid part, and
he rather hesitated while he replied that such a confidence would give
him pleasure.
"My opinion, then, my lord," replied I, "of that step which you think
necessary to the Count's safety, namely, a civil war, is, that it is
the most dangerous he could take, except that of hesitating after once
having fully determined."
"But why do you think it so dangerous?" demanded the Duke: "surely no
conjuncture could be more propitious. We have troops, and supplies,
and allies, internal and external, which place success beyond a doubt.
The Count is adored by the people and by the army--scarcely ten men
will be found in France to draw a sword against him. He is courage and
bravery itself--an able politician--an excellent general--a man of
vigorous resolution."
This was said so seriously, that it was difficult to suppose the Duke
was not in earnest; and yet to believe that a man of his keen sagacity
was blind to the one great weakness of the Prince's character was
absolutely impossible. If it was meant as a sort of bait to draw from
me my opinions of the count, it did not succeed, for I suspected it at
the time; and replied at once, "Most true. He is all that you say; and
yet, Monsieur de Bouillon, though my opinion or assistance can be of
very little consequence, either in one scale or the other, my
determination is fixed to oppose, to the utmost of my power, any step
towards war, whenever his highness does me the honour of speaking to
me on the subject--so long, at least, as I see that his mind remains
undetermined. The moment, however, I hear him declare that he has
taken his resolution, no one shall be more strenuous than myself in
endeavouring to keep him steady therein. From that instant I shall
conceive myself, and strive to make him believe, that one retrograde
step is destruction; and I pledge myself to exert all the faculties of
my mind and body, as far as those very limited faculties may go, to
assist and promote the enterprise to the utmost of my power."
"If that be the case," replied the Duke, "I feel sure that I shall
this very night be able to show that war is now inevitable; and to
determine the Count to pronounce for it himself. A council will be
held at ten o'clock to-night, on various matters of importance; and I
doubt not that his highness will require your assistance and opinion.
Should he do so, I rely upon your word to do all that you can to close
the door on retrocession, when once the Count has chosen his line of
conduct."
The noble duke now spoke in the real tone of his feelings. To do him
justice, he had shown infinite friendship towards his princely guest;
and it was not unnatural that he should strive by every means to bring
over those who surrounded the Prince to his own opinion. When as now
he quitted all art as far as he could, for he was too much habituated
to policy to abandon it ever entirely, I felt a much higher degree of
respect for him; and, as he went on boldly, soliciting me to join
myself to his party, and trying to lead me by argument from one step
to another, I found much more difficulty in resisting than I had
before experienced in seeing through and parrying his artifices.
It is in times of faction and intrigue, when every single voice is of
import to one party or the other, that small men gain vast
consequence; and, apt to attribute to their individual merit the court
paid to them for their mere integral weight, they often sell their
support to flattery and attention, when they would have yielded to no
other sort of bribery. However much I might overrate my own importance
from the efforts of the Duke to gain me--and I do not at all deny that
I did so--I still continued firm: and at last contenting himself with
what I had at first promised, he turned the conversation to myself,
and I found that he had drawn from the Count so much of my history as
referred to the insurrection of Catalonia, and my interview with
Richelieu.
I felt, as we conversed, that my character and mind were undergoing a
strict and minute examination, through the medium of every word I
spoke; and, what between the vanity of appearing to the best
advantage, and the struggle to hide the consciousness that I was under
such a scrutiny, I believe that I must have shown considerably more
affectation than ability. The conviction that this was the case, too,
came to embarrass me still more; and, feeling that I was undervaluing
my own mind altogether, I suddenly broke off at one of the Duke's
questions, which somewhat too palpably smacked of the investigation
with which he was amusing himself, and replied, "Men's characters,
monseigneur, are best seen in their actions, when they are free to
act; and in their words, when they think those words fall unnoticed;
but, depend upon it, one cannot form a correct estimate of the mind of
another by besieging it in form. We instantly put ourselves upon the
defensive when we find an army sitting down before the citadel of the
heart; and whatever be the ability of our adversary, it is very
difficult either to take us by storm, or to make us capitulate."
"Nay," replied the Duke, "indeed you are mistaken. I had no such
intention as you seem to think. My only wish was to amuse away an hour
in your agreeable society, ere joining his highness, to proceed with
him to the council: but I believe it is nearly time that I should go."
The Duke now left me. I was not at all satisfied with my own conduct
during the interview that had just passed; and, returning to my
station at the window, I watched the last rays of day fade away from
the sky, and one bright star after another gaze out at the world
below, while a thousand wandering fancies filled my brain, taking a
calm but melancholy hue from the solemn aspect of the night, and a
still more gloomy one from feeling how little my own actions were
under the control of my reason, and how continually, even in a casual
conversation, I behaved and spoke in the most opposite manner to that
which reflection would have taught me to pursue.
Sick of the present, my mind turned to other days. Many a memory and
many a regret were busy about my heart, conjuring up dreams, and
hopes, and wishes passed away--the throng of all those bright things
we leave behind with early youth and never shall meet again, if it be
not in a world beyond the tomb. All the sounds of earth sunk into
repose, so that I could hear even the soft murmur of the Meuse, and
the sighing of the summer-breeze wandering through the embrazures of
the citadel. The cares, the labours, the anxieties, and all the
grievous realities of life, seemed laid in slumber with the day that
nursed them; while fancy, imagination, memory, every thing that lives
upon _that which is not_, seemed to assert their part, and take
possession of the night. I remembered many such a starry sky in my own
beautiful land, when, without a heart-ache or a care, I had gazed upon
the splendour of the heavens, and raised my heart in adoration to Him
that spread it forth; but now, I looked out into the deep darkness,
and found painful, painful memory mingling gall with all the sweetness
of its contemplation. I thought of my sweet Helen, and remembered how
many an obstacle was cast between us. I thought of my father, who had
watched my youth like an opening flower, who had striven to instil
into my mind all that was good and great, and I recollected the pain
that my unexplained absence must have given. I thought of my mother,
who had nursed my infant years, who had founded all her happiness on
me--who had watched, and wept, and suffered for me, in my illness; and
I called up every tone of her voice, every glance of her eye, every
smile of her lip, till my heart ached even with the thoughts it
nourished; and a tear, I believe, found its way into my eye--when
suddenly, as it fixed upon the darkness, something white seemed to
glide slowly across before me. It had the form--it had the look--it
had the aspect of my mother. My eyes strained upon it, as if they
would have burst from their sockets. I saw it distinct and plain as I
could have seen her in the open day. My heart beat, my brain whirled,
and I strove to speak; but my words died upon my lips; and when at
length I found the power to utter them, the figure was gone, and all
was blank darkness, with the bright stars twinkling through the deep
azure of the sky.
I know--I feel sure, now, as I sit and reason upon it--that the whole
was imagination, to which the hour, the darkness, and my own previous
thoughts, all contributed: but still, the fancy must have been most
overpoweringly strong to have thus compelled the very organs of vision
to co-operate in the deceit; and, at the moment, I had no more doubt
that I had seen the spirit of my mother than I had of my own
existence. The memory of the whole remains still as strongly impressed
upon my mind as ever; and certainly, as far as actual impressions
went, every circumstance appeared as substantially true as any other
thing we see in the common course of events. Memory, however, leaves
the mind to reason calmly; and I repeat, that I believe the whole to
have been produced by a highly excited imagination; for I am sure that
the Almighty Being who gave laws to nature, and made it beautifully
regular even in its irregularities, never suffers his own laws to be
changed or interrupted, except for some great and extraordinary
purpose.
I do not deny that such a thing has happened--or that it may happen
again; but, even in opposition to the seeming evidence of my senses, I
will not believe that such an interruption of the regular course of
nature did occur in my own case.