The morning after Eugenie's departure, no small surprise was expressed
in the Hotel de Guise at the non-appearance of the priest, who had not
only performed the marriage ceremony for the Count d'Aubin, but also
rendered the much more important service of communicating to Mayenne
the approach of aid from the Duke of Parma. While Mayenne, in his
usual slow and deliberate manner, discussed the fact with his sister,
and, shrugging his shoulders, declared that if the good father did not
choose to come for his reward, he could not help it, the thought
crossed his mind that he had not yet seen his own confessor, who had
been carried off by the myrmidons of Bussy le Clerc; and although he
doubted not that the Chevalier d'Aumale had before this time set the
good priest at liberty, he determined to inquire farther: a vague
suspicion for the first time crossing his mind that all was not right
in regard to the transactions of the preceding evening.
By this time the hand of the dial pointed to the hour of nine; and
Eugenie's maid Caroline, who, in order to give as much time to her
mistress as possible, had ventured to prolong the period at the end of
which she had been directed to present herself at the Hotel de Guise,
was even now at the door inquiring for the Duchess of Montpensier. Her
message was brought to that lady as she sat by her brother; and
although she comprehended not one word thereof, she saw that it in
some manner bore upon the point they were discussing, and ordered the
girl to be brought into the room.
"He says that Mademoiselle de Menancourt's tire-woman has brought some
apparel for her mistress," she repeated, turning to her brother after
the attendant who made the announcement had left the room; "what can
this mean, Charles?"
"I know not, Kate," he replied with a doubtful smile; "but when the
girl comes, make her repeat her message," appearing perfectly
unconcerned.
Before he could add more, the tire-woman was in the saloon; and
playing her part with a natural talent which none but a French
_soubrette_ ever possessed, she approached towards Madame de
Montpensier, and with a low and reverent courtesy, and a look of the
most perfect simplicity, said, "I have brought all the things, your
Highness, that my mistress thought she would require; but in regard to
the filigree girdle, as I told her last night, I have not seen it for
these two months. It was given into charge to Laure, who was sent away
when my old lord died." And she went on into a long story, solely the
invention of her own brain for the occasion; but which was so
circumstantial and minute, and delivered with so much apparent
earnestness and sincerity, that Mayenne looked at Madame de
Montpensier, and Madame de Montpensier looked at Mayenne, with eyes in
which bewilderment and surprise were then plainly visible.
"And pray what made you think that your mistress was here at all?"
demanded the Duchess, at length cutting across the thread of the
girl's story, which bade fair otherwise to be interminable.
It was now the maid's turn to be surprised, and most skilfully did she
represent the passion of astonishment; standing before Madame de
Montpensier in silence, and looking at her without one trace of
comprehension in her eyes. "Pray what did your Highness say?" she
asked at length; "I did not understand you."
"She demanded what made you think your mistress was here at all?"
repeated Mayenne, in a harsh voice.
"Lord bless me, sir! Your Highness! Dear me! What made me think my
mistress was here?" cried the girl, with an affectation of wonder and
doubt and affright that was perfectly admirable. "Did not her Highness
send her own carriage for her last night, with a young abbé and a
page, and a billet sealed with green wax?"
The story, as it had been prepared by Beatrice of Ferrara, now came
out at full, and the whole Hotel de Guise was soon in agitation and
confusion:--Madame de Montpensier alternately laughing and frowning,
Mayenne striding up and down the room, and vowing that if it were the
Count d'Aubin who had served him such a trick, he would find means to
make him rue it; and the maid Caroline weeping as bitterly as if she
had lost a lover or a gold necklace, and wringing her hands for her
poor mistress with all the phrase and circumstance of sorrow.
In the midst of this scene the Chevalier d'Aumale appeared, informing
Mayenne that Bussy le Clerc denied all knowledge of his chaplain, and
that the guards at the Bastile were in the same story. Ere Mayenne,
however, could include Bussy le Clerc in his denunciations of
vengeance against the Count d'Aubin, the confusion of the whole was
rendered more confused by the apparition of the confessor himself, who
exculpated the demagogue by declaring that he had never been in the
Bastille, but, on the contrary, had been carried away by persons he
knew not, who, at a certain point, had put him into a carriage, and
blindfolded him. They had then lodged him for the night in a small
room with nothing but a bed, a crucifix, and a missal. Here, in mortal
terror, he had watched and prayed, till the grey of the dawn, when,
being again blindfolded, he was led out through a great many streets
and turnings, of whose name and nature of which he had not the
slightest conception, and at length finding himself free from the
hands of those who had held him, he uncovered his eyes, and perceived
that he was standing in the midst of the Pont Neuf, by the side of a
blind man who was singing detestable melodies to the discordant
accompaniment of that most ancient instrument the hurdy-gurdy. Tired,
frightened, and bewildered, he had made the best of his way home,
without attempting to seek for his ravishers; and after sleeping till
he had incurred a penance for forgetting his matins, he had come to
add his mite of confusion to that which already existed in the hall of
his patron.
His tribute, however, small as it was, aided to perplex the ideas of
Mayenne far more than ever. Ere he made his appearance, it had been
the natural conclusion of the lieutenant-general and of his sister,
that the carrying off of Eugenie de Menancourt had been the work of
the Count d'Aubin; and the absence of the confessor had been
considered entirely as a thing apart. No sooner, however, were his
adventures related, than they instantly connected themselves in the
minds of all with the non-appearance of the priest, who had performed
the ceremony, and with the absence of Eugenie; and the shrewd
intellects of Mayenne and Madame de Montpensier, thus put upon the
right track, seemed likely soon to discover no small portion of the
truth. Eugenie's tire-woman was again strictly examined, and though
she acquitted herself to a wonder, suspicion was roused. "Think you,
Kate," demanded Mayenne, "that shrewd plotter, Beatrice of Ferrara,
has a hand in this? There was some talk of love--ay! and even of
marriage--between her and D'Aubin in the old Queen's time."
"No, no!" replied the Duchess, "that has all gone by, and she now
despises him, as every woman of common sense must do. Besides, I saw
her at old Madame de Gondi's fete last night at one o'clock! You had
better question the other attendants of De Menancourt. You may gain
more tidings there."
Mayenne accordingly determined to proceed instantly to Eugenie's
dwelling, in order to interrogate the rest of her servants; and he
commanded, in a stern and threatening tone, that the girl Caroline
should be detained till he returned. As the door was thrown open,
however, to give him exit to the court, a gentleman was introduced as
the captain of the lansquenets, sent to his aid by the Duke of Parma;
and all Mayenne's conclusions were once more deranged, by finding that
the intelligence brought him by the priest was genuine.
How Beatrice of Ferrara had obtained that intelligence Mayenne never
discovered; but true the news certainly was, and most important were
the results to the cause of the League; for what between the auxiliary
force which thus joined him, and reinforcements brought in by
Bassompierre, Nemours, and Balagny, the army in Paris was soon so
strong as not only to justify but to bespeak bold and energetic
measures. Mayenne instantly prepared to take the field against the
royal army; and ere Henry IV. had been three days before Rouen, the
forces of the League were in full march to give him battle. Before he
left Paris, however, the Duke used every means not only to discover
the retreat of Eugenie, but to ascertain the cause and the manner of
her flight. In regard to the first, he was baffled at every point; and
so skilful had been the arrangements of Beatrice, that in respect to
the second he returned to the conclusion, after long and repeated
investigations, that to the Count d'Aubin was to be attributed an act
which, under such circumstances, he looked upon as a base breach of
faith, approaching to a personal insult. The tidings, therefore, that
Eugenie had disappeared from the capital, and was nowhere to be heard
of, were conveyed to D'Aubin by a reproachful letter from the Duke of
Mayenne; and mad with anger and disappointment, the Count, on his
part, gave his mind up to the belief that Mayenne was deceiving him,
threw himself on his horse, and travelled with frantic rapidity, till
he reached Paris. There finding that the army of the League was
already on its march, he followed with all speed, overtook Mayenne at
Gournay, and a somewhat vehement altercation was the consequence.
Mayenne, however, could not afford to quarrel with a person of so much
importance to his cause; and acting with wisdom and moderation, an
explanation soon ensued, which cleared either party in the opinion of
the other. As D'Aubin, however, giving way to the natural impetuosity
of his disposition, had not waited to put the troops in motion which
he had collected in Maine, he returned thither after one day's rest,
while Mayenne marched forwards towards Dieppe.
Accompanied by some of the first officers in France, and supported by
an overwhelming force, it seemed that the great leader of the League
was about to drive the handful of men which opposed him, and their
heroic monarch, into that sea which was already bearing to their aid
the expected succour from England. Strongly posted, however, and
powerful both in courage and in right, Henry IV. calmly awaited the
attack of his adversary; and, after several preliminary movements, the
day of Arques dawned heavy and dull, without a breath of air to stir
the trees or to dispel the autumn fog that obscured the scene of that
memorable fight.
It were tedious here to tell all the minute particulars of the
glorious day, when, attacked at all points, and assailed in all
manners, not only by the arms of the enemy, but by the treason or
folly of part of his own troops, Henry IV. defended the hill of Arques
against forces more than six times the number of his own.
Every one has heard how, when monarch and soldiers were alike wearied
out with sustaining through a long day the unceasing attacks of
infinitely superior numbers, when scarcely a horse could bear his
rider to the charge, and scarcely a hand could wield a sword, the
little band of Royalists beheld the powerful and yet untouched cavalry
of the League wheeling round upon their flank, while a light wind
springing up tended to clear the air, and showed to both armies the
insignificance of the one and the tremendous advantages of the other.
But in stricken fields, as in the daily strife of life, the event
which seems destined to seal our misfortunes is often but the
harbinger of unexpected success. The wind, it is true, rose higher,
and rolling the sea-fog, in heavy clouds, away down the valley of
Arques, left the few gallant defenders of that long-contested hill
exposed, in all their need, to the eyes of the mighty host that swept
round them in dreadful array; but, at the same time, the full sunshine
poured upon the advancing squadrons of the League as they came on to
the charge, and those upon the hill, for the first time during the
day, could distinguish clearly the separate masses of friends and
foes. The cannon of the castle of Arques opened at once, with
tremendous effect, upon the cavalry of Mayenne; the first ranks were
swept down as they advanced; the second rolled over their dying
comrades; the horses, mad with pain and terror, broke through the
ranks behind; and the charge of a few hundred men, at that critical
moment, put all the gallant array into irremediable flight. Mayenne
saw that the day was not for him; and withdrawing his masses in slow
and soldierly order, he retreated for several miles, and left the
field of Arques to the glory of Henry IV.