Which was written expressly to prove that there is many a Slip
between the Cup and the Lip.
It was the small Chapel of St. Catherine, otherwise called the Queen's
Chapel, attached to the Palace-church of St. Germain en Laye, to which
Potier, Bishop of Beauvais, proceeded with slow steps from the door of
private communication with the chateau, on a night in October, one
thousand six hundred and forty-two. He was preceded by two young Abbés,
carrying lighted tapers, and followed by a group, whose white garments
spoke that they came on some occasion of joy. The first of these was
Anne of Austria, with her eyes animated, and her countenance glowing
with the interest she took in every thing which bore the least
appearance of secrecy or romance. Her right arm was passed through that
of the Marchioness de Beaumont, who moved on with a calm, rather grave
countenance; while on the Queen's left, walked a young lady in the first
gay spring of life, ever and anon turning a smiling, playful glance
behind to Pauline de Beaumont, who, leaning on the arm of Claude de
Blenau, followed, agitated, blushing, and happy, towards the altar at
which they were to be united for ever. Seguin, the Queen's physician,
and Henri de La Mothe, the Count's page, were admitted as witnesses to
the ceremony; and an attendant was stationed at the door, to guard
against any troublesome devotee entering the church during the time it
was thus occupied.
The idea of marrying Pauline de Beaumont privately to the Count de
Blenau, had entirely originated with the Queen, whose passion for any
thing romantic often threw both herself and her friends into situations
of great danger. In the present instance, she represented to Madame de
Beaumont that a thousand circumstances might occur in those unhappy
times, to tear De Blenau again from her he loved; or that the Cardinal
might positively prohibit their marriage, and then, she asked, who would
dare to oppose him? whereas their private union would obviate all
difficulties, and incur no danger.
Madame de Beaumont made many objections, and her daughter hesitated; but
the wishes of the Queen overcame all the Marchioness's scruples; and the
entreaties of De Blenau were not less powerful with Pauline.
The appointed night being arrived, and all the arrangements having been
made as privately as possible, Pauline, as we have said, followed her
Mother and the Queen into the Chapel of St. Catherine. But as she did
so, there was a sort of despondency fell upon her that she could not
account for. As she leaned upon De Blenau, she felt that she was most
happy in being united to him. She was agitated, it was true, but still
it was natural that she should be so, she thought. All her duties, all
her ideas, were, by one single word, about to suffer an entire change,
yet that did not take from her happiness. But still there was an
undefined fear, a sort of melancholy presentiment, which weighed upon
her spirits she knew not why. She asked herself, was De Blenau less
kind? Oh, no! And as the thought passed through her mind, she raised her
eyes for a moment from the ground, on which they had been bent, and
turned them on her lover. In so doing, they met the full, soft,
affectionate gaze, with which De Blenau was at that moment regarding
her, and a deep blush rose in her cheek, but soon faded away, and left
her again pale and thoughtful. She had not, however, much time to
analyse her feelings; for, by this time, the Bishop had reached the
altar, and waited their approach.
Potier, Bishop of Beauvais, had little of that gentleness of
disposition, or suavity of manner, calculated to re-assure Pauline. He
had undertaken the office which he came there to fulfil, merely at the
desire of the Queen, and that not without making considerable
opposition. But, though Potier was obstinate, Anne of Austria was still
more so. She had resolved that the ceremony should be performed, and
that he should perform it, and she carried her point; but yet he made
his dislike to the task very apparent, and regarded the innocent Pauline
with no very friendly looks.
"Come, Mademoiselle," said he, as Pauline seemed to linger for a moment,
"you and Monsieur le Comte will have enough of each other's society
after my office is over. Let us proceed with the ceremony."
The group arranged themselves round the altar, and the Bishop opening
the book began to read. The promise, which was to bind her to De Blenau
for ever, trembled on Pauline's lips, when a confused noise at the
private door leading to the Palace caught her ear, and she paused.
De Blenau, who had not heard it, turned towards her in surprise; but
immediately the voice of the attendant, who had been stationed there as
portgreve, was heard exclaiming to some one, who apparently endeavoured
to make his way into the church, "Stand back, I say. You do not enter
here! What is your authority?"
"My authority," replied another voice, "is a warrant of Council. Oppose
it if you dare. Strike him down, if he does not let you pass." And
immediately the door bursting open, an Officer of the Cardinal's Guard,
with a file of soldiers, entered the church.
"Guard the doors," cried the Officer, "and let no one quit the place."
And giving his partizan to one of the soldiers, he advanced towards the
high Gothic arch, forming the boundary between the main aisle and the
Chapel of St. Catherine.
Pauline clung to De Blenau. "Oh, Claude!" cried she, "they are going to
tear you from me again. My heart misgave me.--I was sure that something
dreadful would interpose between us."
De Blenau whispered a few words of comfort to her, and Potier himself
was moved by her agitation. "Do not be afraid, young Lady," said he; "we
are on sacred ground.--Stop, sir," he continued, advancing to the steps
of the Chapel, which the Officer had just reached: "what seek you here?
And how do you presume to bring armed men into this Church?"
"I come, sir," answered the Officer, "with a warrant from his Majesty's
Council, to arrest Claude Count de Blenau;" and he made a step towards
the Chapel.
"Hold!" exclaimed the Bishop, "You arrest him not here. This ground is
sanctuary; and I command you, in the name of God and our holy religion,
to withdraw your men, and instantly to quit this Church." And he waved
his hand with an air of dignified authority.
The Officer paused. "But, Monseigneur," he replied, "the Count is
charged with high treason."
"With high treason!" exclaimed the Queen.--"With high treason!" echoed
Pauline, clinging still closer to De Blenau's arm, which she held
encircled by both her own.
"He is charged with high treason," repeated the Officer; "and I must
fulfil my duty."
"Were he charged with all the crimes which disgrace humanity," replied
the Bishop, "here he is sanctuarized; and I command you, on pain of
excommunication--you, Sir Officer, and your soldiers, to quit the
church. I stand not here to see this altar violated, whatever be your
authority."
The Officer paused a moment, uncertain how to act. "Well, holy Father,"
replied he at length, "I obey; but I shall take especial care to guard
every door of the church; so that if there be any blame, it does not
fall on me." And muttering between his teeth the discontent he did not
dare to vent aloud, he slowly withdrew his men.
The eye of Anne of Austria watched them intently till the last soldier
had passed through the door which communicated with the Palace. Then
turning quickly to the Count, she exclaimed, "Fly quick, De Blenau, up
that staircase, cross the _jube_, through the monks' gallery round the
choir. You will find a door on the right that leads into the King's
cabinet. Wait there till I send--Quick, fly--I desire--I command you."
"Oh fly, Claude, fly!" reiterated Pauline, "they will murder you surely
this time, if you do not fly."
"Pardon me, your Majesty--pardon me, dear Pauline," replied De Blenau;
"it cannot be. There is no man in France more innocent, in deed, word,
or even thought, of treason against his King and Country than I am; and
Claude de Blenau flies from no one, so long as his honour and integrity
remain by him: when these fail, then he may become a coward. But to
these will I now trust, and instantly surrender myself to his Majesty's
warrant. I did not interfere while Monseigneur defended the rights of
the sanctuary, for he did but the duties of his high office; nor indeed
was I willing to yield my sword to a servant of Cardinal Richelieu. Take
it, Henry," he continued, unbuckling it from his side, and giving it to
the Page; "take it, and keep it for your master."
"De Blenau, you are an obstinate man," said the Queen. "I will urge
nothing; but look at this pale cheek, and fancy what the feelings of
that sweet girl must be." And she pointed to Pauline who stood by with
the tears chasing each other down her face.
Notwithstanding the firmness with which he spoke, there had been many a
bitter pang struggling in De Blenau's breast. The appeal of the Queen,
and the sight of Pauline's distress, overcame his calmness; and starting
forward, he caught her in his arms and pressed an ardent kiss upon her
lips. "Dear, dear Pauline," he exclaimed, "all will go well, be assured.
My innocence will protect me."
Pauline shook her head mournfully, but her heart was too full to reply.
"Then you will not fly?" demanded the Queen, with some degree of
impatience.
"He is in the right, Madam," said the Bishop. "As a good subject, he is
bound to obey the laws of his country; and in duty to himself, he ought
not to give weight to the charge against him by seeming afraid to meet
it."
Anne of Austria turned away with a look of angry disappointment. "Well,
at all events," said she, "let us conclude the ceremony which has been
thus interrupted, and afterwards the Count can act as he pleases."
De Blenau hesitated. He felt that what the Queen proposed, if carried
into effect, would be the only consolation he could receive under the
new misfortune that had befallen him; but he felt also that it was a
selfishness to wish it, and he looked towards the Bishop who had so well
supported his first resolution. But Potier bent his eyes gravely on the
ground, disapproving the proposal, yet unwilling farther to oppose the
Queen.
"It shall be as Pauline decides," said De Blenau, taking her hand and
raising it gently to his lips. "Pauline," he continued, "you know how
deeply I love you; you know how I have longed for the hour that should
give me your hand. But I fear that I should be cruelly selfish, were I
to ask you to become the bride of one whose fate is so uncertain--Speak,
dear Pauline."
Mademoiselle de Beaumont spoke not, but she raised her eyes to De Blenau
with an expression which told that every feeling of her heart was given
to him. The Marchioness, however, interposed. "No!" said she: "Claude,
you are right; it is better to wait. The time will come, I feel sure,
when you will be able to claim Pauline in the midst of smiles and
happiness, instead of tears and danger. Does not your Majesty think this
delay advisable?"
"My opinion has been expressed already," replied Anne of Austria
peevishly. "But it is not my affair--act as you think fit. But were I
Pauline, and my lover gave me up so calmly, I would seek another in his
absence to console me."
De Blenau, deeply hurt, bit his lip, and by a strong effort forced
himself to silence: but Pauline placed her hand in his, and raising her
eyes to his face: "Fear not, Claude," she said; "in life and in death, I
am yours. None other shall ever possess the hand of Pauline de
Beaumont."
"You are a noble girl, Pauline," exclaimed the Queen. "De Blenau, I was
wrong; but it vexes me to see that you will always be more in the right
than I am. Do not look so sad, Pauline. The more I think of it, the more
I feel sure that De Blenau's innocence will stand him in good stead yet,
in spite of the meager Cardinal: and I begin to reckon also somewhat on
my own influence with Louis; he is far kinder than in former days; and
I will make it a point of earnest prayer, that De Blenau be fairly used.
Besides, they have now no plea against him. There are no secret letters
to be discovered--no correspondence with the public enemy."
Pauline shook her head mournfully. A cloud had come over the sun of her
days, and she fancied that he would never beam brightly again.
"If we could ascertain the reason of this arrest," said Madame de
Beaumont, "it might in some degree satisfy our minds."
"That may be easily done," replied the Bishop, "as Monsieur de Blenau is
resolved to surrender himself. We can question the Officer, in regard to
what occurred at the place from whence he comes; and by that means
discover what circumstances have arisen to cast suspicion on the Count."
What the Bishop proposed was instantly agreed to; and De Blenau sent
forward his Page to inform the Officer of his determination.
Anne of Austria then took a few steps along the nave, and turned to see
if he still held his resolution. De Blenau bowed. "I follow your
Majesty," he said "I feel that I have nothing to fear." And they passed
on slowly and sadly to the other end of the church.
As they went, Pauline still clung to the arm of her lover, as if she
feared that every moment they would tear him from her; and tear after
tear rolled silently down her cheeks. The heart of De Blenau also was
too full for words, so that silence hung upon the whole party.
At the door which communicated with the Palace, stood the Cardinal's
Officer, with two or three of his men; and as she approached, the Queen
desired him to follow her to the saloon. The Officer bowed low, and
replied, that he would obey her commands; but immediately advancing to
De Blenau, he laid his hand upon the Count's arm. "In the King's name,
Monsieur le Comte de Blenau," said he, "I arrest you for high treason.
Behold my warrant."
Pauline recoiled with a look of fear; and De Blenau calmly put the man's
hand from off his sleeve. "Pass on, Sir," he said, "I am your prisoner."
The Officer hesitated; "Pass on, Sir," repeated the Count; "you have my
word. I am your prisoner."
The man passed on, but not before he had made a sign to the soldiers who
were with him, who suffered the Count and Pauline to pass, and then
closing in, followed at a few paces distance.
On reaching the saloon, the Queen took her seat; and beckoning to
Pauline, who, faint and terrified, was hardly able to support herself,
she made her sit down on the footstool at her feet. "Now, Sir Officer,"
said Anne of Austria, "what news bring you from Narbonne? How fares his
Majesty the King?"
"May it please you, Madame," he replied, "I come not from Narbonne, as
your Majesty supposes, but from Tarascon, where the King had just
arrived when I departed."
"The King at Tarascon!" exclaimed Anne of Austria. "In the name of
Heaven, what does he at Tarascon?"
"That is beyond my knowledge," answered the Officer. "All I can tell
your Majesty is, that for the last week there has been strange flying of
couriers from one place to another. Monsieur de Chavigni has almost
killed himself with riding between Tarascon and Narbonne. Every thing is
altered, evidently, but no one knows how or why; and just as Aleron,
Monsieur de Brezé's _maitre d'hotel_, was about to give me the whole
history, I received an order to set off for Paris instantly, and when I
arrived there, to take twenty troopers from the _caserne_, and come on
hither on the errand which I have the honour to perform."
"But did you hear nothing?" demanded the Queen, earnestly. "Did this
Aleron tell you nothing?"
"Nothing, Madame," replied the Officer. "He had just made me promise
inviolable secrecy, and we were interrupted before he began his tale; or
I would have told your Majesty with pleasure."
"But from report?" said the Queen. "Did you gain no knowledge from
rumour?"
"Oh, there were rumours enough, truly," answered the man; "but as fast
as one came, it was contradicted by another. Some said that the troops
at Perpignan had revolted, and some that Monsieur le Grand had killed
Cardinal Mazarin. Others brought word that Monsieur de Noyers had tried
to poison the King; and others, that the King had kicked Fontrailles for
hunting in short boots."
"Nonsense!" said the Queen; "all nonsense.--It is unfortunate," she
continued, musing, "that we can get no information. But tell me, where
are you ordered to conduct Monsieur de Blenau?--To the Bastille?"
At the name of a place where both De Blenau and herself had suffered so
much, and which was associated in her mind with every horrible idea,
Pauline clasped her hands over her eyes, as if to shut out the frightful
visions it recalled.
"No, Madame," replied the Officer, "I am commanded to conduct Monsieur
de Blenau, as quickly as possible, to Tarascon; and allow me to remind
your Majesty that the time is passing fast."
De Blenau made a sign to the Officer, indicating that he was ready. He
saw that Pauline's hands still covered her eyes, and, wishing to spare
her the pain of such a parting, he bowed profoundly to the Queen, and
moved in silence to the door. The Queen and Madame de Beaumont saw his
intention, and remained silent; but as he reached the door, he could not
resist the desire to turn and look once more upon her whom he was
leaving perhaps for ever--who had so nearly been his bride--whom he had
loved so long--who had undergone so much for him. It was excusable, but
the delay defeated his purpose. The sudden silence alarmed Pauline--she
raised her eyes--she saw De Blenau in the act of departing, and the last
fixed painful glance with which he regarded her. All but her love was
that moment forgotten; and starting wildly forward, she threw herself
into his arms, and wept bitterly on his bosom. But Madame de Beaumont
advancing, gently disengaged her from his embrace: Pauline hid her eyes
upon her mother's shoulder; and De Blenau, with a heart ready to break,
fled quickly from a scene that his fortitude could support no longer.