Shortly after the gaoler had quitted my chamber, a priest came to
visit and console me; and after a long conversation he also departed,
promising to see me again next day. His arguments and reasoning were,
I believe, very common-place, and delivered with no great eloquence or
talent; but I was then very willing to lend myself to any one who
would lead my ideas from the world I was about to quit to a better one
beyond. Not that I entertained a doubt upon the subject; but I was
glad, by dwelling upon the idea of a life to come--by giving it a more
tangible essence and being--by lending conviction the more brilliant
colours of imagination--to forget the regrets that attached me to
this.
When he had left me, a sort of drowsiness fell upon me, which I
received as a friend also. I had, as I have said, sat up the whole of
the night before, writing, and the irritation of my two wounds, which
had never been dressed since I arrived at Mezières, had greatly
exhausted me. The approach of slumber, therefore, was an unexpected
blessing, and without farther preparation than merely laying my head
upon the table, I fell asleep. The battle of earthly hope and fear was
over in my bosom; and, like two inveterate enemies that had slain each
other, they left a dead, void calm, in place of their long and
agitating conflict. My sleep then was not like that of a child, light
and balmy--oh, no! it was more like the sleep of death--profound,
still, feelingless. It wanted but the fall of the one irrevocable
barrier to have been death itself.
I was awoke abruptly by some one touching me; and, starting up, I was
caught in the arms of the Chevalier de Montenero--I should say, the
Count de Bagnols.
"A thousand thousand thanks!" cried he, "my friend, my benefactor, my
more than son! Oh, Louis! no words can speak the joy, the
satisfaction, the relief your letter has given me. Not alone from the
packet it contained--though I have been seeking it for long and weary
years, as the only means of recovering rank, and station, and honour,
and casting back his accusation on the villain's head who wronged
me--but more, far more, from the proofs it brought forward, that the
man on whose high principles I had staked my estimate of human nature
for ever, was not the villain I had been misled to believe."
The Count was here interrupted by the gaoler, who had remained
standing near the door, with his immense bunch of keys still in his
hands. "Come, come!" grumbled he, in his dogged, surly tone, "you can
tell him all that, Monsieur le Comte, in another place. As you have
brought the youth's pardon, and the order for his release, you had
better take him away: for I never met one yet who liked to stay here,
and I want to do the room. We shan't be long without some other, thank
God!"
The words I heard fell dully upon my sense. I heard the sound, and it
startled me; but I received from it no defined meaning that I could
understand and believe.
"It is true, Louis! it is true!" said the Count de Bagnols; "your
pardon is granted, and you are no longer a prisoner. You owe it not
alone to me, however; the Duke of Bouillon made your enlargement and
security one of the several points without which he would not lay down
his arms. I applied to the Cardinal at the very moment that that point
was about to be refused. Two concurring motives produced more than one
could have done. He yielded, and you are free; but upon the condition
that you instantly return to Bearn, and do not pass its boundaries for
one year. Peace is now concluded. To-morrow the Duke of Bouillon will
be here, and in the evening I myself set out for Bigorre. You shall
journey with me, and I shall have the happiness of restoring you to
the arms of your father."
"Willingly," replied I; "but before I go, I must see the Maréchal de
Chatillon, and inquire after Helen Arnault. I left her in
circumstances which required explanation. See her I know I cannot, for
she was going to leave Paris; but I must and will ascertain where she
is, and how I may hear of her. Monsieur de Bagnols, you have yourself
felt, and can, I trust, understand my feelings."
"I do, my dear Louis," replied he: "but to see the Maréchal is quite
impossible: for he is at this time nearly a hundred leagues from
Mezières. But leave all that to me. I know him well, and shall have to
send a messenger to him myself: therefore I may safely promise you,
that by the time you arrive at Lourdes, you shall have every
information you desire."
This was hardly satisfactory; but I had no other course to pursue, and
therefore yielded, though it cost me no small pain once more to quit
the vicinity of her I still loved so unabatedly, without being able to
satisfy myself of her fate. I have bound myself to tell both the good
and the evil in my history, and I must here acknowledge, that a gleam
of satisfaction came over my mind, when I thought that the youth whom
I had seen with the Maréchal de Chatillon, and to whom I hesitated not
to attribute the quality of Helen's lover, could no longer pursue his
suit. It was a selfish satisfaction enough, I am afraid, and I
reproached myself for it as soon as I felt it. It was a base,
ungenerous triumph, I thought, over the dead, and I would fain have
scourged it from my breast; but it was in vain--I could not chase it
away. It was there in my heart a part of my humanity, and I found it
impossible to banish it from my bosom.
From the prison the Count conducted me to his dwelling; and after a
night's delightful repose--repose of mind and of feeling, as well as
of the mere body--I rose the next morning, refreshed, and disposed to
view my future prospects with a brighter eye than I had even done the
night before. Still Helen formed a part of them all. Reality in this
respect lent hope no aid; for I remembered my mental promise to my
mother, and I felt that I could not--that I dared not break it. It was
a contract between me and the dead, from which no living voice could
absolve me. Yet still I hoped; and, a dreamer from my infancy both by
nature and habit, I never felt the gay but baseless architecture of my
fancy rise more splendidly than when Hope, without any earthly basis,
but supported alone by her own pinions, commanded the work, and her
willing slave, Imagination, found bright materials in the air.
Before departing from Mezières, I begged the Count de Bagnols to send
a messenger to Sedan, desiring little Achilles to join me at the
Château de l'Orme; and as he had in his hands upwards of a thousand
crowns belonging to me, I doubted not that, armed with that magic
wand, money, he would get through his journey quite as well, though
somewhat more slowly, than any of the ancient magicians, either
mounted on hippogriff, or enthroned in flying chair.
A horse had been prepared for me, as well as every other thing I could
need, by my friend; but as the news of my enlargement and pardon had
spread through the town of Mezières, where the regiment of Monsieur de
Lagnerol, who had made me prisoner, then was, he generously sent me
back, before my departure, the beautiful charger which had been given
me by the unfortunate Count de Soissons; and I own that few things he
could have bestowed would have borne so high a value in my eyes; for
the memory of the manner in which he had been bestowed at first, added
a thousand-fold to the noble beast's intrinsic worth.
Towards two o'clock, we began our journey--not, as I had often ridden
with the Chevalier de Montenero, alone in unostentatious comfort,
unpursued by a crowd of useless attendants. His restored
rank--hampered with an inconvenience, like every other long-coveted
gratification of the earth--required him to lay aside the freedom of
an inferior station; and, followed from Mezières by twenty armed
horsemen, we took our way back towards Bearn.
Scarce a hundred yards from the gates of the city, we were met by the
Duke of Bouillon and his train, going, according to the terms of
amnesty, to renew the homage he had so lately cast off, to the crown
of France. He reined in his horse on perceiving me; and approaching,
saluted me gravely, but politely.
"I am happy, Monsieur de l'Orme," said he, "to see you at liberty, and
am glad that this accidental meeting gives me an opportunity of
thanking you for your co-operation on a late occasion, and of
expressing my sense of your gallant services to the cause in which we
were then both engaged, somewhat better than hurry and an impatient
disposition permitted me to do when last we met."
"Mention it not, Monsieur de Bouillon," replied I: "the memory of one
to whom we were both sincerely attached, would of itself have banished
any momentary irritation from my mind long ago, even if I had not been
made acquainted with the generous care you had taken to provide for my
security."
After a casual word or two farther upon the same subject, we took
leave of each other, and parted; and I pursued my way in company with
Monsieur de Bagnols.
During our first day's journey, the Count ceased not to question me
upon all the little minute points of my story, and I filled up all the
blanks in my tale with the same frankness which I have done in telling
it here. I showed him all my feelings, and all my thoughts--all that I
had wished, and all that I had done.
He dwelt particularly upon my unfortunate adventure at Saragossa. "I
was wrong, Louis, certainly very wrong," said he, "in suspecting you
of such a crime, and I owe you some reparation, which, doubt not,
shall be made. However, if you remember that I saw you enter your own
house that night, when every witness you brought forward swore that
you had never quitted it, you will see that I had some cause for
suspicion. I had been engaged myself with my banker in reading over
some very old accounts, concerning the sums which my intendant Arnault
had transmitted to Saragossa, many years before; and I had discovered
therein so many frauds and villanies, that I came away sick with human
nature. I saw you enter your lodgings as plainly as I see you now; but
judging you engaged in some intrigue, into which it was neither my
business nor my wish to inquire, I passed on. The circumstances that
followed gave a new character to my suspicions; and finding the high
ideas which, notwithstanding all your faults, I had entertained of you
suddenly cast down, I treated you with haughtiness and impatience,
when it would have been better to have shown kindness and confidence.
At the same time, let me say, that for years, Arnault, for purposes I
now understand, had been labouring to undermine you in my opinion;
and, though I have since discovered him to be as bad a man and as
daring a villain as ever existed, and suspected him even then, yet the
suspicions he instilled into me remained on my mind, being confirmed
by other events at the time which I could not doubt.
"However," he added, with a smile, "I suppose I must not express what
I think of Arnault so strongly, or I shall have your love for the
daughter in arms against me. Still, whatever fortune he has, and, as
you say, it must be considerable, has been robbed from me."
I was silent; for every word that connected Helen and Arnault in any
way together, went painfully to my heart, cutting through all my
hopes. The count, I believe, saw he had hurt me, and turned our
conversation, the next day, to his escape from the assassins of the
Marquis de St. Brie.
"There are circumstances even now," said he, "after a lapse of more
than eighteen years, on which I dare not let my thoughts rest. Do not
suppose I allude to pains and griefs. Time has softened those; but I
speak of the happiness that I enjoyed for a brief space, which,
whenever I think of it, awakens every pang in my heart. I had, as I
remember to have told you on a former occasion, made my escape from
the prison in which I had been confined on the accusation of the
greatest villain that ever, I believe, the earth produced. I had
prepared everything for my flight into Spain, with all that I held
dear on earth--my wife; when, on the very night that it was to have
taken place, as I entered the park, I was attacked by four hired
bravoes, attached to the villain St. Brie. Resolved to sell my life
dearly, I defended myself with desperation, till at length I fell,
with a severe wound in my side, and while I was on the ground,
received a blow on my head, which effectually stunned me.
"The assassins then carried me down to a stream that ran not far from
the spot, and threw me in, as they thought lifeless. But the very
plunge in the water recalled my senses; and I was making some faint
efforts to swim, when I was drawn out by two of my followers, whom I
had left waiting at a cottage below.
"Their approach scared away the assassins; and though so weak that I
could not stand, and delirious from the blow on my head, I was put
into a litter and borne away to Spain, by my attendants and a friend,
who, having brought about my escape from prison, would have risked his
own life if he had stayed.
"The news of my death was general; my estates of Bagnols, which could
not be sold, were sequestrated and given to the Marquis de St. Brie. I
was arraigned and condemned on my nonappearance; and, as I slowly
recovered from my wounds, I heard that the last tie between myself and
France was broken--my wife was dead. In a former embassy to Madrid,
which terminated in the marriage of Anne of Austria to our present
king, I had become personally known to King Philip; and it was
proposed to me to enter the Spanish service, to which I assented, on
the engagement never to be employed against my native country. With a
part of the money transmitted beforehand to Saragossa, I bought the
small estate of Montenero, and took that name, abandoning the one
under which I had known so many misfortunes. I was sent with the
forces to New Spain; had many opportunities of distinguishing myself;
rose high in station; and amassed, without either avarice or
extortion, a large, I may say an immense fortune. But it gave me no
happiness--in fact, I had, personally, no use for it. I was both a
soldier and somewhat of a cynic, and consequently not very much
inclined to waste wealth either in show or in luxury. Still I had a
most passionate desire to revisit my native country. Many other
circumstances also combined to carry me thither. The hope of
reestablishing my character and name, which in the first bitterness of
my griefs I had slighted, grew upon me with years, and I directed
Arnault, to whom I still paid a salary, to make every inquiry and
effort to recover the papers I had lost, offering a reward which might
have tempted a prince. No one, I have discovered, knew so well as he
did where to find them; and when, after seeing your encounter with the
Marquis de St. Brie, I betook myself to Spain, lest I should be
discovered before the proofs of my innocence were procured, he not
only found them, but sent them to me by your good friend Father
Francis of Allurdi, who, as you may remember, lost them on the road."
The manner in which the Count's papers had been lost now instantly
flashed across my mind. After my adventure with the gamblers at Luz I
remembered to have met with the pretended capuchin as I mounted the
stairs. The door of Father Francis's chamber was open, and the papers
had been enveloped in the same cover with some pieces of gold. The
matter was evident enough. The baffled sharper had indemnified himself
for his failure in cheating by a little simple robbery, and having
stolen into the good priest's room while he slept, had filched from
his baggage the packet, which to the tact of his experienced fingers
seemed most valuable. After having made what use he thought proper of
the gold, it is probable that, seeing the papers were of some
consequence, he had kept them about him, in hope of accident turning
them to account, till he was killed in his attempt to murder me, when
it may be remembered the papers were found upon him.
I communicated my supposition to the Count, who agreed with me
entirely; but my interruption seemed to have acted upon his story much
in the same manner that Don Quixote's did upon that of Sancho Panza;
for he ceased there, and would not again resume it, saying, with a
smile, that he had really little more to tell, except that, anxious to
re-establish his fame, he had, through some great interest he
possessed in the army, and from the pressing necessity which the
government had lately experienced for troops, obtained permission,
under his assumed name, to levy a regiment at his own expense, and had
commanded it at the battle of the Marfée, the result of which I
already knew.
Avoiding Paris, we now approached Bearn, with as long journeys as we
could make each day; and oh, what a crowd of thrilling, mingled
emotions hurried through my bosom, when, from the hill behind Pau, I
again beheld the grand chain of the purple Pyrenees spreading far
along the horizon, robed in that magical garment of misty light, which
makes them seem something too beautiful for earth! Oh, my native land!
my native land! bound to my heart by every sweet association of
youth--by all the opening ideas that infancy first receives, welcoming
every new impression as a joy--by every glad thought--by every pure
bright feeling!--when thou ceasest to be dear, most dear to me, the
lamp of memory must be extinguished, and the past all darkness indeed!
From Pau we sent forward a messenger to announce our coming to my
father, and the next morning early we set out for Lourdes. I will not
attempt to embody in words what I felt during that ride. My sensations
were so confused, so sorrowful in some respects, and so painfully
joyful in others, that I could not separate them even at the time.
Both the Chevalier and myself were silent; and the only words which, I
believe, passed between us were, when, on entering Lourdes, I begged
him to ride on, while I turned my horse towards the old church of the
Assumption, in which stood the tomb of the Counts of Bigorre.
I entered the church--there was no one there; and passing into the
little chapel, where the monument stood, I read over some letters that
were freshly chiselled in the marble. They recorded the death of my
mother; and leaning down my head, I poured upon them the tribute of my
heart's best feelings. I remained long there--longer than I had
intended; but I found a calm and a consolation in the sad duty that I
rendered, which cleared and tranquillized my feelings. As I came out
of the church, I found a number of the peasantry near the door, gazing
on my beautiful horse, which I had ridden during the last day, and had
tied to a cypress while I went in. They all recognised me; but
divining the employment in which I had been engaged, they did not
speak, but doffing their bonnets, let me depart in silence.
Proceeding somewhat slowly on the road, I suffered the Chevalier to
arrive some time before me, certain that my father would understand
and appreciate the motives of my delay. Gradually, however, the
château with its towers and pinnacles became visible--every
old-accustomed object, every well-remembered scene. Yet in the few
months of my absence so many great and important events had occurred
to me, so many thoughts had hurried through my brain, so many feelings
had left their impression on my heart, that I almost wondered to find
everything still so much the same; and had it been all in ruins,
should have scarcely been surprised, so many years--ay, years! seemed
to have elapsed since I beheld it.
In the court, all the old servants pressed round me, and overwhelmed
me with their caresses. Some wept, and some laughed, and some, with
the old feudal affection, kissed my hand; so that I was glad to escape
from them as soon as I could.
"To the saloon! to the saloon! monseigneur," cried old Houssaye, as I
broke from them, and ran into the house. To the saloon, then, I turned
my steps, threw open the door, and entered. But what was it I beheld?
There was but one person there--a young lady in deep mourning,
holding, as if for support, by the arm of one of the antique
chairs--it was Helen! my own Helen! and in a moment she was in my
arms, and clasped to my heart, with a paroxysm of overflowing joy,
that for the time swept every dark idea away before it.
"Oh, Louis, dear Louis!" was all that she could say; and what I said,
Heaven only knows. "But where are they?" cried I, at length. "Where is
my father?"
"In his library, awaiting you," replied Helen. "But _my_ father kindly
thought that our first meeting had better be alone, and therefore he
bade me stay here: but now let us come to him."
"Your father, Helen!" said I, some chilly feelings coming over my
heart that I dared not tell her--"is your father here?"
"Certainly," replied she, "he is in the library with yours. But come,
dear Louis, come!" and leading the way, with a light step she ran on
to my father's apartments. The door of the library was open, and
gliding forward, she threw her arms round the Count de Bagnols,
exclaiming, "My dear father, Louis did not know that you had arrived."
"Nay, more, Helen," replied the Count, "he did not know till this
moment that you were my child. Louis, forgive me, if I did not tell
you this before. It was not, believe me, from one remaining shade of
doubt; but it was, that I wished you to hear tidings that I was sure
would give you joy, from the lips I believed--I knew--to be dearest to
you on earth."
They flashed through my brain at once--the thousand circumstances
which, if I had entertained any suspicion, would have long before
shown me the whole truth. At the same moment, however, I found myself
clasped in the arms of my own father, and the happiness of meeting,
for some time, interrupted all farther explanation.
The explanations that were to be given me were nevertheless many. From
comparing the dates of Helen's age with the certificate I had seen of
the Count's marriage, it was evident that the Countess must have died
in giving her birth. On this, however, her father never spoke; perhaps
it was too painful a theme for him to touch upon. He told me, however,
that he had never himself learned that he had a child, till he was in
New Spain, when Arnault communicated it to him, knowing that thus
fresh sums of money would naturally flow into his hands. He took care
also that no doubt should exist upon the Count's mind respecting the
truth of his statement, by sending him the proof of Helen's birth,
obtained from the abbess of the convent wherein the Countess had died.
He thus gained his object: the child was consigned to his care by her
father, who could not for the time quit with honour the service in
which he was engaged; and Arnault received every year large
remittances for the education of his charge, which he applied of
course to his own righteous purposes. At length the Count returned;
and, hurried on by the strong impulse of paternal love, ventured to
cross the frontier. He found that his intentions had been anything but
fulfilled. Arnault, it is true, had taken the child from the convent
where her mother had died, the abbess of which very willingly resigned
her, as old Monsieur de Vergne had now given his whole soul over to
the dominion of Mammon, and refused even to pay the pittance required
for her support. The procureur, too, had brought her up as his own
daughter; but education she had received none.
It may easily be imagined that the Count was not a little indignant at
this neglect; but Arnault denied having received greater part of the
sums that had been transmitted to him; and an examination of his
accounts was likely to have followed, which might have shown his
character to his lord in its true light. My mother and myself,
however, arrived, as I have detailed in the first part of this book,
on our visit of gratitude, while the Count was in his house; and
Arnault, to turn away the threatening storm, proposed to my mother to
substitute Helen in place of Jean Baptiste, whom she had offered to
receive into our family. The Count, though charmed with the new
arrangement, resolved not to lose sight of the treasure he had
regained, and directed Arnault to purchase and repair for him the
house in which he afterwards resided.
It is probable that the worthy procureur, had he seen any prospect of
gain, would have betrayed the Count to the government; but Monsieur de
Bagnols had left his fortune still in Spain; and as, for obvious
reasons, he continued to employ his former intendant, the only profit
likely to accrue to Arnault was to be expected from his lord's life
and security.
In the meanwhile the Count, easily foreseeing the likelihood of an
attachment springing up between myself and Helen, applied himself to
watch my opening character, and to instil into my young mind all the
great and noble principles of his own. Where he succeeded, and where
he failed, must be judged of by the foregoing pages. That he did fail
in many instances I am but too painfully conscious.
By this time, Arnault, ever fertile in schemes where wealth was to be
won, aware that the Count had not communicated her birth to his
daughter, who was still too young to be intrusted with such a secret,
had laid the somewhat daring project of marrying his son to
Mademoiselle de Bagnols; doubtless imagining that his knowledge of the
Count's secret threw more power into his hands than it really did.
There were many obstacles, however, to be overcome, the two greatest
of which were, the likelihood of my winning Helen's love, and the
timidity and disinterestedness of Jean Baptiste, who still, be it
remarked, believed Helen to be his sister, having forgotten, with the
days of his childhood, her first coming to his father's house.
On discovering Helen's birth and probable wealth to his son, Arnault
found him deaf to the voice of interest; but he contrived to influence
him by other feelings, and, at the same time that he blackened my
character to the Count de Bagnols, he took advantage of Helen's gentle
kindness towards her supposed brother, to persuade the good youth that
she was in love with him.
As Helen grew towards womanhood, the Count, for many reasons, thought
it fit to inform her of her birth; but by various circumstances his
communication was delayed. In the meanwhile my journey to Saragossa
took place, and the unfortunate adventure in which I was there
engaged; and the Count, influenced by the suspicions to which that
adventure gave rise, instead of making me the bearer of a message to
my mother and his daughter, informing them of his real rank and of her
birth, as he had once designed, intrusted the charge to good Father
Francis of Allurdi, who perished in the snow at the very moment he was
about to communicate it to me. To Helen, however, the Count wrote, on
hearing of the good Father's death, and beginning to entertain more
than doubts of Arnault's probity, he procured the delivery of his
letter through the smuggler Garcias. At the same time, hearing of an
intimacy between my family and the Marquis de St. Brie, he enjoined
his daughter to maintain the most profound secrecy upon the subject.
Jean Baptiste had now suffered himself to be persuaded that Helen
loved him; and the sudden dispersion of his golden dreams, by
overhearing the acknowledgment of her affection towards me, ended, as
I have related, in the fit of passion which had nearly brought about
his own death.
Arnault, nevertheless, resolved not to abandon his scheme while a
chance of success remained. He saw that the Count's confidence in him
was gone, and knew that a thousand accidents might occur to bring
about a full discovery, and complete his ruin. His only hope,
therefore, was in the success of his plot. Being the only person but
Jean Baptiste who knew the real cause of my flight, he spread about
the report that I had carried off the daughter of a bourgeois of
Lourdes, who had, in fact, been seduced by the Marquis de St. Brie.
The Count de Bagnols had by this time returned from Spain; and one
accusation falling on me after another, he resolved to remove Helen
from the Château de l'Orme, viewing with as much apprehension the
chance of a union between her and me, as he had once regarded it with
hope and pleasure. Having given up all expectation of recovering the
proofs of his innocence, and his daughter's legitimacy, he took
measures to let the Cardinal de Richelieu know that he was still in
life; and received the assurance that he might live peacefully in
France, and that no farther proceedings would be instituted against
him, if he continued under an assumed name. He wished, however, to do
more; and setting off for Paris with Helen, he took up his abode in
the hotel of his cousin and ancient companion in arms, the Maréchal de
Chatillon; when one night passing through the streets in the carriage
of the Maréchal, his attendants found me lying senseless, by my fall
from the window.
I was borne to the Hôtel de Chatillon, and what passed there is
already written. The motives which induced the Count not to see me
himself, and to deny to his daughter's utmost entreaties but an
interview with me of a few minutes, may easily be understood, as well
as his having caused me to be removed during my sleep to my own
lodgings, to which my traiteur's bill, found in my pockets by the good
nun who acted as my nurse, furnished the address.
Finding his villany discovered, and fearing that restitution might be
called for, Arnault had delivered Lourdes from his presence a few days
before the Count carried Helen with him to Paris. There the procureur
also arrived: and as soon as he discovered the absence of his former
patron, who had by this time joined the army, he resumed his former
designs, and endeavoured to carry Helen off. His purpose was, as I
have shown, frustrated by the information I received from Jean
Baptiste, who had by this time fallen in love himself with the pretty
little attendant of the Countess de Soissons, and was besides heartily
ashamed of having yielded in the former instance to his father's
schemes. What ultimate object Arnault had proposed to himself in
taking Helen from her father's protection never distinctly appeared;
for though, not many months after, Jean Baptiste brought a bride to
Lourdes, and was, as a reward for his integrity, installed in his
father's place as intendant to the Count de Bagnols, yet he could give
us no farther information, his father having concealed the particulars
of his plan even from him.
Arnault himself we never saw or heard of again; and it seemed evident
that he had fled his country, in fear of the proceedings which the
Count instituted against him. The last news we received of him was
from Helen herself, who had seen him watching under the porch of the
convent of the Minims, as she set out for Pau, on the morning when I
was obliged to make my escape from the Hôtel de Soissons.
Her father, fearful of the consequences if the Count de Soissons
should march upon the capital, had requested the Maréchal de
Chatillon, then about to visit Paris on the business of the army, to
send his daughter back to Bearn, under as strong an escort as he night
before put the Maréchal upon his guard; and the party who accompanied
Helen to the house of the old Countess de Marignan, her relation at
Pau, rendered all danger out of the question.
Little more remains to be said, for I was at length happy--and
happiness is silent. Helen shortly after was made my own, by the
irrevocable ties which, to those who truly love, are doubly dear from
their durability. In her arms, I have found far more of delight and
peace than even the dreams of my own imagination had portrayed; or
Hope, that constant flatterer, had promised in her sweetest song.
Twenty years have now elapsed; and though Time, the slow destroyer of
man's joys as well as of his works, may, and probably will, day by day
rob me of some power or of some enjoyment, for those twenty years I
have known almost unmixed happiness. This glorious past I may truly
call my own, and fate itself cannot snatch it from my grasp.
Still, however, though Memory has there its certain treasure, hope
runs on before; and I look forward to my future years with
tranquillity. Thank Heaven, I have learned as much content as is
necessary to enjoyment and is compatible with activity; and that
spirit of adventure, which was once my torment, has now fallen asleep,
never I hope to wake again.
To you, my son, I give this history of your mother and myself; and as
I see, in some degree, the same spirit rising up in you, that caused
so much misery to your father, let me, before I lay down the pen,
point out the moral of my tale. If you remark the various events of
this story, as they hang one upon another, you will perceive, that had
I not suffered the love of adventure to lead me to the very brink of
vice, in the circumstances that occurred to me at Saragossa, I should
not only have escaped the pain immediately consequent, but the Count
de Bagnols would have confided to me the secret of his own rank and
Helen's birth. No motive for concealment would have existed between
us; my parents would have known all and approved all--I should never
have had to reproach myself with the murder of him I thought her
brother--I should never have been obliged to fly from my home--I
should never have been a houseless wanderer over the face of the
earth, accompanied by misery and remorse.
Yet understand me: I blame not enterprise, I blame not enthusiasm; it
is the spring of all that is good, great, and admirable in existence:
but the art of happiness is to guide enthusiasm firmly on the path of
virtue; the art of success, to guide it on the path of probability.
FOOTNOTES.
[Footnote 1: A small town, with a picturesque castle crowning a high
rock, at the entrance of one of the Pyrenean valleys, about ten
leagues distant from Pau.]
[Footnote 2: A favourite dish in the small inns of Bearn to this day.]
[Footnote 3: Although no such lakes are now in existence, we find, in
consulting authorities contemporary with the writer of these memoirs,
that the valley of Gavarnie, from the village to the Marboré, was in
that day completely filled with a chain of small lakes, the basins of
which are still evident.]
[Footnote 4: The same fancy is current amongst many Eastern nations,
and probably arrived at the Spanish smugglers through their Moorish
ancestors.]
[Footnote 5: I believe that this description is exact in regard to the
personal appearance of the Count of Colomma. He was a Catalonian by
birth; had served with great distinction; and, previous to this
unhappy revolt, had been looked upon with both pride and affection by
his fellow-countrymen.]
[Footnote 6: The ordinary Spanish accounts declare that the peasantry
who acted so conspicuous a part in the insurrection of Barcelona were
merely reapers, who came thither on Corpus Christi Day, according to
custom, but without any political object. "En el tiempo de la
recoleccion de los granos," says one author, "bajan muchas cuadrillas
de segadores de las montanas de Cataluna, para ejercer su profesion en
los partidos maritimos, y tienen la costumbre de concurrir a la
capital el dia de la festividad del Corpus, que aquel fue el siete de
junio. Esta masa va dispuesta a la sedicion aumentó los materiales del
volcan," &c. &c. There can be no doubt, however, that immense bodies
of a very different order of persons, all prepared to urge on the
revolt, had flocked into Barcelona several days before.]
[Footnote 7: This chapter in the original MS. appears written in a
different hand from the rest, and was probably interpolated long after
the composition of the whole, to explain historical circumstances
which had passed from men's memories.]
[Footnote 8: Translation of the original document.]
[Footnote 9: This is the only clear and satisfactory account that has
ever been given of the death of that most amiable prince, the Count de
Soissons. The Maréchal de Chatillon, in his narrative of the battle of
the Marfée, states, that the Count was killed by one of the queen's
men-at-arms, and the Maréchal de Faber countenances the same
supposition: but this was proved to be false by the Count's own
attendants, who unanimously declared that the battle was won before
his death. M. Jay, in his History of the Administration of Cardinal
Richelieu, leans to the belief that the Count accidentally shot
himself; and M. Peyran, in his History of the Principality of Sedan,
starts the very strange idea, that the Prince chose the very moment of
victory to commit suicide. Others have attributed his fate to an
assassin hired by Richelieu; and even these Memoirs leave some doubt
as to whether the motive of the Marquis de St. Brie was merely
personal resentment, or the instigation of another.]
THE END.
T. C. Savill, Printer, 4, Chandos-street, Covent-garden.
End of Project Gutenberg's De L'Orme., by George Payne Rainsford James