SURPRISE AND GRIEF.
First came the principal citizens of Nanci, four abreast, bearing
steel partizans and clad in scarlet velvet pourpoints and black serge
breeches, slashed with red, guarding the council of state, with the
Master of Requests, their secretary, eight advocates and two ushers,
all wearing thick ruffs and black gowns furred with white miniver.
Then followed the Great Master of the Household with his twenty-eight
officials, including the marshal of the kitchen.
The Great Chamberlain, with the physician, apothecary, &c. in black
robes, attended by twenty-four valets de chambre in the livery of the
Duke.
The Masters of the Horse, the Hounds, the Waggons and the Wardrobe,
each with his staff of officials, all of whom were named to me by old
Sergeant Alsfeldt. Then came a company of petardiers under the Count
de Bitche, whom I longed to grasp by the throat.
The Grand Almoner in full canonicals with the banner of St. Nicolas
of Lorraine borne before him; having a covered chalice in his hands,
and his eyes cast downward on the earth.
The Grand Marshal, with the Marshals of Lorraine and Bar, all clad in
cloth of gold, magnificently mounted, with their batons, banners, and
helmets borne before them by esquires or pages.
The priests of the Scottish college at Pontamoussin in their sombre
vestments, with the banners of St. Andrew and St. Lucy borne before
them. The latter in the hands of old Father Colville.
Then followed the commanders of the ducal troops; of the two
companies of gendarmerie; of the garde du corps of Charles IV.; of
the regiment of guards, and the Grand Master of the Artillery of
Lorraine, all accoutred in brilliant half-armour and jack-boots,
mounted on fine horses richly caparisoned. All these cavaliers were
elderly men, as their moustaches seemed grey or white; and their
cuirasses glittered with the orders of the Empire.
Attended by the Prince of Vaudemont and Count Pappenheim, and
surrounded by his richly-dressed garde du corps, composed of one
hundred chosen Switzers, with their trumpets sounding and kettledrums
beating, and followed by all the officials of his civil tribunals,
the Advocate General and messieurs the Councillors of the Chamber of
Accounts for Nanci and Bar-le-Duc, came Charles IV., Duke of
Lorraine, a fine-looking old soldier, compact and stately in form,
with his head worn bare less by time than by the peak of his helmet;
he had keen dark eyes and large grizzled moustaches. He was dressed
in a suit of black velvet trimmed with narrow lace and silver cord.
He wore a high stiff ruff, a diamond-hilted sword, and the order of
the Golden Fleece. He bowed kindly to the people, who greeted him
with a storm of acclamation, as he rode slowly past on a powerful
black charger, which he had ridden scatheless through many a
battlefield.
The Duke of Alsace, a son of the house of Suabia, who feudally held
his duchy of the house of Lorraine, rode on his left hand, with his
coronet borne before him, by an armed Knight of Malta. This Duke was
a child about nine years of age, and though I knew it not then, was
destined to bear an important position in this my narrative; but of
that more in time.
A young lady clad in a suit of that rich white satin for the
manufacture of which Nanci is so famed, brocaded with gold, rode at
his right hand, and managed her horse's reins of red silken fringe,
with singular grace. Her hair was of a colour resembling gold, and
escaped in brilliant locks from under her broad hat, which had two
long and drooping white feathers. Her face was turned from me, as
she was conversing with young Pappenheim; but the enthusiasm of the
people grew to a frenzy, in their shouts of welcome: for this
golden-haired girl was the Duke's only daughter; and as they
approached, the dense masses in the square swayed to and fro, with
such an impetus, that twice I was nearly thrown down and trod under
foot.
'Vive Mademoiselle Marie-Louise!' was the cry.
'Vive le Duc d'Alsace!'
'Vive Louise de Lorraine et M. le Comte de Pappenheim!'
Such were the shouts that burst like a storm around me.
'Is that young lady the daughter of the Duke?' I asked of the
sergeant, who still held me fast by the arm.
'Yes, monsieur. Pardieu! but she is lovely! Her horse is stopped by
the crowd--a moment, and she will look this way.'
'I thought she was in the Bastille, at Paris.'
'So we all thought; but, last night, she returned to Nanci. That is
the gallant Count Pappenheim (son of Godfrey _le Balafré_), whom she
is to many, that now she is chatting to so gaily. Now, she turns our
way--look! Monsieur, look! O vive Mademoiselle de Lorraine!'
The fair young lady heard the stentorian shout of Alsfeldt; she
turned to us, and bowed.
'My God! _'tis Nicola!_' I ejaculated in a breathless voice--a voice,
at least, unheard amid the clamour round us; and so overwhelming were
my emotions, on making this discovery, that, had not that good
fellow, the sergeant, supported me, I must have fallen at his feet.
Bareheaded, travel-stained, crest-fallen in bearing, and crushed in
spirit, I stood a guarded prisoner in the open streets of Nanci,
while this brilliant pageant passed before me; and a tide of strange
emotions, but chiefly astonishment and grief, with many bitter,
bitter thoughts, swept in one wild current through my heart. There
was a buzz in my ears; but I heard nothing now, neither the clanging
of the church bells, the salvoes from tower and rampart, nor the
acclamations of the people; I saw only Nicola; and this fantastic
procession in quaint costumes, glittering garbs and armour, that like
some fairy pageant or the phantasmagoria of delirium, were bearing
her away from me--she whom I loved so well! Yet it was no dream, no
delusion, and no mockery of the brain, for I knew that beloved face
too well to be mistaken for a moment now.
'Nicola! Nicola!'
I strove to speak, but my voice could only whisper; I strove to
stretch my arms towards her, but they sank powerless by my side.
As the Switzers of the ducal garde du corps roughly beat back the
people with the staves of their halberds, and opened a passage again,
the procession moved on. As she passed, I thought her eye caught a
sight of my upturned face, amid that sea of faces round her; and, if
so, I am assured that the stupefaction and agony it expressed, must
have struck a pang in her heart--for she trembled, grew ghastly pale,
and nearly fell from her white horse, but Pappenheim caught her hand;
the pageant moved on, and I saw her no more--for that day at least.
Pen cannot describe all that whirled through my heart and brain on
that dreadful day, in the streets of Nanci--a day, to me, of sorrow
and bewilderment.
A huge cup of wine, brought by the old sergeant, and dashed with
brandy, restored me to a certain extent; and in one hour after this,
I found myself, with my escort, in a chamber of the ducal palace,
awaiting the behest of Count Pappenheim, who had not yet returned
from the church of St. Epurus.
'It is all a dream--a nightmare--from which I shall soon awaken!'
thought I.