It was toward that hour in the evening, at which the rays of twilight
that linger behind the rest of the lustrous retinue of day are called
away from the sky, and our hemisphere is given over to the absolute
rule of night--it was at that hour, too, which is more important, when
the joyous denizens of the gay capital of France, after having sunned
themselves through the long afternoon of a summer's day in the gardens
and highways, were in those times wont to retire each to his
individual home, to enjoy such dainties as the bounty of nature and
the skill of his cook had prepared for the last meal of the evening.
It was about nine o'clock, then, on a night in August, when, the
streets of Paris being nearly deserted by every one else, a strong
troop of horsemen assembled in the little square, nearly opposite to
the dwelling of Eugenie de Menancourt.
The gentleman who was at their head, springing to the ground, advanced
to the door; and after asking a few questions of one of the servants,
entered the court. Shortly afterwards the carriage of Madame de
Montpensier rolled heavily up; and that fair dame herself, with one or
two ladies in her train, descended therefrom and mounted the great
staircase. Then, after a pause of five minutes, the Duke of Mayenne
appeared on horseback, with his habiliments somewhat dusty, as if
unchanged since his return from some long expedition, and accompanied
by a numerous train of officers and attendants. Dismounting from his
horse, the Duke dismissed at once the principal part of his suite;
only retaining two or three of the inferior attendants who remained
below at the gate, while he himself, with a slow and seemingly
unwilling step, entered the house.
The servant who marshalled the Duke on his way to the saloon did not
seem to look upon him with the best-satisfied countenance in the
world; and the faces of the three or four attendants who had been
permitted to remain with the young heiress of Menancourt after
their old lord's death, and who now appeared in the lobbies and
ante-chambers, seemed full not only of grief, but of a sort of sullen
determination, which, had their numbers been greater, might have
broken out at once in a more serious manner.
Mayenne, however, marked them not, but mounted the stairs and entered
the saloon; and certainly, if his heart revolted at the part he was
about to act, the scene which now presented itself to his eyes was not
calculated to reconcile him to the proceeding.
Standing at one of the farther windows, and looking out into the dark
street, where he certainly could see nothing to engage his attention,
was the Count d'Aubin, while seated at a table, on which stood two or
three lighted tapers, was the unhappy Eugenie de Menancourt. Her dress
was still deep mourning; and her eyes gave evident tokens of having
shed late and bitter tears: but she was now calm; and fixing her gaze
upon vacancy, seemed totally inattentive to the words which Madame de
Montpensier and her ladies, who stood round her, were pouring upon her
dull unheeding ear.
"We cannot persuade her to change her dress, Charles," said the
Duchess, pointing to the mourning in which Eugenie was clothed.
"Never mind, never mind!" replied the Prince, impatiently; "why tease
her more than necessary? Let her wear what dress she will!"
"Nay, Charles, but it is ominous," cried the Duchess; "pray speak to
her about it."
"Mademoiselle de Menancourt," said Mayenne, in a grave but not unkind
tone, "let me persuade you to change this garb, if it be but for this
night. It is unusual and ungracious to go to the marriage altar in the
robe of mourning, as if you were following some friend to the grave."
Eugenie had started at his voice, and now looking up she replied,
"Were I going willingly to the marriage altar, my Lord Duke, I would
change my garb; but what robe, but the robe of mourning, would you
have me wear, when you are about to drag me to a fate, in comparison
with which the grave itself were happiness. But, my Lord, you mistake
me. If, as I am told, marriage must depend upon consent, and that none
other is legal, my consent shall never be given to a union with the
Count d'Aubin."
"I am sorry to say, Madame," replied Mayenne, "that imperative motives
of state necessity compel me--"
Mayenne was suddenly interrupted; for, unperceived by himself, the few
servants and retainers of the old Count de Menancourt, who had, as we
have said, been suffered to remain with their young mistress, had
glided into the room one after the other, and stood ranged across the
door; and while the Duke was speaking, the principal officer of the
unhappy girl's household, indignant at the oppression exercised
towards the daughter of his beloved lord, strode forward and boldly
confronted Mayenne, as if he had been his equal. "My Lord Duke," he
said, "we will have none of this! Our young lady shall be free to give
her hand to whom she likes; and if you drag her to the altar against
her will, it shall be over our dead bodies! Nay, frown not on me,
Count d'Aubin. I have seen more stricken fields than you are years of
age; and a great man when he is doing a wicked thing is less than a
little one. But all I have to say is, that though we be but few, we
will die sooner than see our lady ill-used. Stop him in the way,
Martin," he continued, speaking to his companions as he perceived the
Count d'Aubin striding towards the door. "We have them here; but two
against us seven; and though, doubtless, we shall be hanged for it
after, we can, by one means, make sure that Mademoiselle shall never
be forced to marry a Count d'Aubin!"
Rage and fury had evidently taken possession of D'Aubin; but Mayenne,
on the contrary, listened calmly and tranquilly, with a slight smile
curling his lip, till the man had done speaking; then, pointing to the
window, he said, "Do me the favour, Monsieur d'Aubin, to call up the
guard. By the window, by the window, D'Aubin!"
"Lock the door, Martin," exclaimed the old attendant, as a comment
upon Mayenne's words; "we can settle the matter here before the guard
comes. Out with your swords, my men, and upon them!"
But Eugenie interposed: "No, no! my friends," she cried, rising; "no,
no! blood shall never be spilt on my account. Quit the room, I
beseech, I command you, and let them have their will, however
iniquitous that will may be. Only remember, that whatever may be said,
or whatever may be done, I do to the last protest, that I do not, and
that I will not, wed the Count d'Aubin; and though they may drag me to
the altar, I am not, and never shall consider myself, his wife:--leave
me, I beseech you," she added, seeing some hesitation on the part of
her attendants; "leave me, if you would not increase my sorrow," and
sinking down into her chair, she burst once more into a flood of
tears; while the attendants, still muttering and eyeing Mayenne and
his companion with somewhat doubtful glances, slowly and sullenly
quitted the apartment.
"Really, Monsieur d'Aubin," said Mayenne, in a low voice, "this should
not go forward!"
"Your promise, my Lord Duke," replied D'Aubin, drily.
"Well, well," said Mayenne, shrugging his shoulders; and then
producing a roll of parchment, he laid it on the table before Eugenie
de Menancourt, whose weeping eyes were still covered with her hands,
and said, "Mademoiselle de Menancourt, I am compelled by
circumstances, much against my inclination, to request your signature
to this contract of marriage between yourself and the Count d'Aubin."
"Never!" answered Eugenie, distinctly; "never!"
Mayenne looked towards the Count d'Aubin, who said, in a low and
hurried tone, "Never mind the contract, my Lord! let us get over the
ceremony in the chapel. That will be sufficient. Marriage is a
sacrament, you know, and that once past, it cannot be shaken off."
Mayenne paused for a moment, as if scarcely able to master the
reluctance which struggled in his bosom against the fulfilment of his
promise to the Count d'Aubin. "Where is Father Herbert?" he asked at
last; "Catherine, did you not bring him with you?"
"He is waiting us in the chapel by this time," replied Madame de
Montpensier: "some one gave him a note just as we were in the court,
and he said he would follow instantly, and join us below."
"Send down and see, Monsieur le Comte," said Mayenne: "you had better
call up some of the attendants, by means of that window," he added,
"for we may be troubled by these pugnacious peasants again; and,
indeed, I must take care that they be looked to till this business be
blown over and forgotten. You are well aware," he continued, in a low
tone, speaking to D'Aubin, "that what we are doing is contrary to the
law."
"I will take my share of the responsibility," replied the Count,
sharply; "and for your part, my Lord, if you cannot manage a
parliament which is wholly devoted to you, I am afraid you will never
be able to manage a kingdom, which is more than one half devoted to
another." Thus speaking, he approached the open window, and, in a few
words, directed some of the persons below to come up; but almost
instantly turned to Mayenne, saying, "I suppose that is your confessor
just arrived--at least I hear some one inquiring for you in great
haste apparently."
Almost as he spoke, the door opened, and the Chevalier d'Aumale
entered the saloon, followed by a person, who was evidently to be
distinguished as a priest, both by his tonsure and robe, but upon whom
Mayenne and his sister gazed as a stranger. "I beg your highness's
pardon for intruding," said Aumale; "but two things have occurred
which called upon me to wave ceremony. After leaving you, I rode on
direct to your hotel, where I found the whole world in confusion in
consequence of that insolent villain, Bussy le Clerc, having caused
your own confessor to be arrested by a party of his people within a
hundred yards of your dwelling, upon the pretence of his favouring the
Huguenots--your own confessor favouring the Huguenots!"
"I will hang that pitiful demagogue to one of the spouts in the
chatelet before many weeks are over!" said Mayenne, sternly; "but why
did you not follow and release the good father. Monsieur d'Aumale?" he
continued.
"Because, just at that moment," answered the Chevalier, "this reverend
gentleman trotted up on his mule, begging instant audience of you on
urgent business from his highness the Prince of Parma."
"Indeed! indeed!" exclaimed Mayenne; "what is your business with me,
reverend sir? I can but ill attend to it at this moment, unless it be
important indeed."
"My business is to deliver that despatch, my son," replied the priest,
placing in the hands of the Duke a sealed paper, which he instantly
tore open and read.
"Most warlike and joyful news, by a most peaceful messenger!"
exclaimed Mayenne. "Spain sends us a thousand men, Aumale, within
three days! Most joyful news, indeed! and not the less acceptable from
being conveyed to us by a minister of our holy religion."
"Glad am I to hear you say so, my noble and princely son," answered
the priest; "for his Highness of Parma, when he over persuaded me to
quit my little flock at Houdaincourt, because he fancied a cassoc
would pass more safely with the tidings than a buff belt, did mention
something about a vacant stall in the cathedral church of Cambray, and
the great love and reverence of our father, the Bishop, for your
Highness, and all your illustrious family."
"Well, well, your good service, father, in the cause of the faith
shall not go without reward," replied Mayenne; "but you are just come
in time to do us another good service. Have you any objection to read
the marriage service here, and win a rich benefice for your pains?"
Eugenie had heard everything that passed, as if in a troubled dream;
and when the Chevalier d'Aumale had related the arrest of the
confessor, a momentary hope of reprieve had crossed her mind. The last
words of Mayenne, however, and the ready assent of the priest,
instantly extinguished it. The next moment it revived again, as she
heard the somewhat strangely chosen missive of the Prince of Parma
observe, "But the lady seems to be weeping! what is the cause of
that?" and a vague purpose of beseeching him not to join in the
oppression which was exercised towards her entered her thoughts. Ere
she could execute such a design, however, Mayenne, in a low voice,
directed the Count d'Aubin to take the priest out of the room, and
explain to him, as he thought best, the circumstances of the case,
promising him what reward he judged right to stop all troublesome
inquiries.
As the door opened and closed, Eugenie looked fearfully around; and
feeling that the last hope of moving any one to pity lay in the
temporary absence of him whom she regarded as her most determined
persecutor, she rose, intending to cast herself at the knees of
Mayenne, and to beseech him, by all that was noble and chivalrous in
his nature, to become her protector against the violence of others,
rather than to join in oppressing her himself. During the last two
days, however, she had undergone more mental suffering than her
corporeal frame could endure. The efforts of the last few minutes had
poured the drops of overflowing into the cup; and though by great
exertion she staggered to the spot, where Mayenne remained standing,
after speaking to the Count d'Aubin, she could not utter a word, but
fell fainting at his feet. At the same moment D'Aubin returned; and
there was a slight interval of confusion and uncertainty, some calling
for water and essences, some proposing to bear her to her own
apartment. But D'Aubin interfered. "Let us seize the present moment,"
he said, "to carry her to the chapel, where we can find means of
restoring animation. One great difficulty will then be got over, and
we can proceed with the ceremony at once."
"I have often heard," said Madame de Montpensier, "that yours is a
determined nature, Monsieur d'Aubin, but I did not know how determined
till to-night."
Without noticing the sneer by any reply, D'Aubin raised the senseless
form of Eugenie de Menancourt in his arms, and followed by the rest,
bore her down one flight of stairs to the chapel, which, as usual in
many of the principal hotels of Paris at that time, was attached to
the dwelling, and independent of the parochial clergy. During his
short absence, the Count had taken care that his own followers and
those of Mayenne should clear that part of the house of the attendants
of the unhappy object of his persecution, so that, by the way, he met
with neither opposition nor inquiry. The chapel was reached, and all
was found prepared, with the priest standing at the altar.
The situation of Eugenie instantly called his attention, however, and
he exclaimed, "I cannot go on till the lady has recovered."
"Nobody wishes you, sir priest," exclaimed D'Aubin, sharply. "Some one
bring water; quick!"
This command was rendered unnecessary, however; for by this time
Eugenie was beginning to regain that miserable consciousness of the
evils that surrounded her, from which even temporary insensibility had
been a relief. Madame de Montpensier raised her head; Mayenne, in
broken and scarcely intelligible terms, endeavoured to speak a few
words of comfort; and, being lifted up before the altar, the vain
ceremony of her marriage with the Count d'Aubin was begun by the
priest, in hurried and not very distinct tones.
Rallying all her powers for one last effort, Eugenie freed herself
from the hands of those who supported her, and once more distinctly
and firmly protested her dissent from the idle rite which they were
performing. Again overpowered, however, she sank upon her knees, the
priest went on, and ere she well knew what past, the fatal ring was
upon her finger.
Snatching it off instantly, however, she cast it down upon the floor
of the chapel, and again fell back fainting into the arms of Madame de
Montpensier.
"See her carried back to her own apartments, poor girl!" cried
Mayenne; "and do you, Catherine, stay with her awhile, and comfort
her."
"Let us leave her with her own people, Charles," answered Madame de
Montpensier, comprehending better than her brother the nature of the
only solace that one in the situation of Eugenie de Menancourt could
receive. "We are all comparatively strangers to her; and the best
comfort in time of sorrow, to a woman's heart at least, is some
familiar and long-remembered face. Will you call some of her own
people, Monsieur le Comte d'Aubin?"
It was not, perhaps, from any unnatural hardness of heart that D'Aubin
was mortified by the tone of commiseration in which both Mayenne and
his sister spoke of Eugenie de Menancourt; but he felt, and could not
help feeling, that their pity for the object of his persecution was a
direct condemnation of himself. He believed also, and perhaps not
erroneously, that Madame de Montpensier, on various accounts,
experienced a degree of pleasure in rendering every particular of the
scene, in which he was so principal an actor, as painful to him as
possible; but he was a great deal too deeply skilled in the world's
ways not to struggle to prevent those feelings and suspicions from
appearing, either in an angry word, or in any attempt to make light of
the sorrows he had caused. Sending for some of Eugenie's attendants,
therefore, he gave her over into their hands; directing them, in a
grave and earnest tone, and with the air of one who now had a right to
command, to bear her up to her usual apartments slowly and gently, and
use instant means to recall her to consciousness. "Perhaps, madame,"
he added, turning to the Duchess, "you would at least watch the
applications of remedies to promote her recovery, as these good people
may be more affectionate than skilful."
"I will do so with pleasure, Monsieur le Comte," replied Madame de
Montpensier; "but I will retire as soon as I perceive that animation
is returning; for I am sure the sight of any one who has mingled in
the horrible scenes through which the unhappy girl has just passed
will, for a long fill her with terror and abhorrence."
D'Aubin bit his lip, but made no reply; and Madame de Montpensier in
silence followed the attendants, who bore the insensible form of their
young mistress out of the chapel.
"And now, Monsieur le Comte," said Mayenne, "it must be time, I think,
for you to put your foot in the stirrup, and ride to make those
preparations which we spoke of yesterday."
"A few moments more, my good lord," replied D'Aubin, with a cynical
smile. "Your Highness has so scrupulously fulfilled your part of the
engagement, that you need be under no fear lest I should fail in mine.
But ere I go, I must ask this worthy priest to give me a regular
certification of my marriage with Eugenie de Menancourt, otherwise the
retainers of her house may refuse to acknowledge the authority which
it is so necessary for the interests of your Highness that I should be
fully enabled to exercise."
"You are right," replied Mayenne, calmly. "Be so good, reverend
father, to draw up the document required. The names are, Philip Count
d'Aubin, and Eugenie Lady of Menancourt and of Beaumont en Maine."
In the little room which answered the purpose of a sacristy, materials
for writing were soon procured, and the priest sat down to prepare the
certification which was to place D'Aubin in possession of the property
he had so unjustly acquired.
"You are somewhat slow, sir priest," said the haughty noble,
perceiving that every now and then he paused, and seemed to think of
what he should say next; "you are somewhat slow, as if you had never
drawn a certificate before."
"I generally do leave it to the sacristan," replied the priest,
mildly: "but that was not what made me hesitate, my son. I pondered
whether I should insert that the marriage was against the lady's
will;" and a sly, though half-suppressed smile played about his lips,
and put D'Aubin to silence.
Mayenne however replied: "No, no, good father," he said; "make it as
brief and as simple as possible. We need no comments."
The priest accordingly concluded his task; and D'Aubin taking the
certificate, glanced his eye hastily over its contents, and then
turning to Mayenne, he said, "Now, my lord, I make all speed to Maine,
leaving my bride in your hands, and trusting to find on my return,
that during my absence, you have used more eloquence in my favour,
than you have thought fit to do to-night in my presence."
"I will do all that I can, Monsieur d'Aubin," replied Mayenne, with
calm dignity, "to efface from her mind the impression which this night
must have left, to overcome objections founded on former conduct, of
which I know nothing; and to reconcile her to her fate, which she does
not at all appear to consider the less bitter because it is
inevitable."
Both the Count d'Aubin and the Duke of Mayenne felt that, under
existing circumstances, the fewer words that passed between them the
less was likely to be the diminution of their friendship. Each had in
a considerable degree a hold over the other; for D'Aubin, possessing
an extended right of command over the lands of Eugenie de Menancourt,
was too powerful to be alienated from the League; and yet, on the
other hand, retaining possession of the person of Eugenie de
Menancourt, Mayenne held D'Aubin to his faction, by a bond that it
would have been dangerous for him to break. D'Aubin, therefore, curbed
the anger which during the whole evening had been gathering in his
bosom, and merely bowing in reply to the last words of the Duke,
quitted the chapel, mounted his horse, and galloped off, followed by
his attendants.
"And now, my good father," said Mayenne, "return with me to the Hotel
de Guise, and we will speak over this letter from the Prince of Parma,
and his promise regarding the stall in Cambray."
"May it please your Highness," replied the priest, "as you are on
horseback and I am on foot--for I left my mule at the door of your
hotel--I will follow you with all speed, if you will leave some one to
show me the way, for I cannot boast much acquaintance with the
topography of this vast and labyrinth-like city."
"Well, well, so be it," replied Mayenne. "But now, I think of it, my
sister, the Duchess of Montpensier--that lady, who was here just now,"
he added, "will bring you with her in her coach. It will hold ten with
ease, and she has but four ladies with her. Wait here, and I will tell
some of the attendants to let you know when she comes down."
The priest bowed his head, and Mayenne departing, left a message for
his sister, and rode back to the Hotel do Guise. Not long after the
carriage of Madame de Montpensier rolled into the court, and the
Duchess instantly sought her brother's cabinet.
"One of your grooms told me, Charles," she said, "that I was to bring
the priest with me."
"Certainly," replied the Duke. "Have you not done so?"
"No," she answered, "I have not, because I could not find him. We
sought everywhere, in the chapel and the sacristy, and over all the
lower part of the house; but he had evidently gone away, and left the
door of the chapel open behind him."
"The foolish man has mistaken me, then," said Mayenne; "but it matters
not. He will not be long in finding me out, for he has not got his
reward for either of the two services he has rendered to-night; and if
I may judge by his face, he is not a man to perform either the one or
the other for the love of God. So we shall hear of him ere half an
hour be over, depend upon it." And he turned the conversation to the
distressing scene in which he had so unwillingly played a part.
In regard to the priest, however, Mayenne was mistaken. The night
passed over without his appearance; and the following morning, as the
Duke was making inquiries concerning him, he was interrupted by news
of a different nature, in regard to which we must give some previous
explanation.