(_Concluded from page 74._ [Note: Mirror 266])
Things were in this state when I visited S----, and the union of Henri
and Rosalie, though not positively fixed, was regarded as an event by no
means distant. Every one was interested for the young and handsome
couple, and wished for their espousal. Rosalie's friends longed for the
day when she was to wed the young and handsome Henri; and Henri's
comrades were perpetually urging him to cement his union with the
lovely Rosalie.
We left the place with every kind wish for the young and betrothed pair.
I have not since revisited S----, but by letters from my friend, I have
been informed, that this commencement of their loves had a sad and
melancholy sequel.
After our departure, it seems, the lovers continued equally attached;
arrangements were making for their union, and it was intended that Henri
should leave the army previous to their marriage. But just at this
juncture, and as he was about to leave his corps, rumours of war were
circulated, the enterprise against Spain was projected, and the royal
guard was one of the first corps ordered for service. Henri, with the
natural enthusiasm of a soldier, felt all his former ardour revive; and
longed to mingle in the ranks of glory, ere he left them for ever. He,
doubtless, felt severely the separation from Rosalie; yet his feelings
were described to me as being of a joyous character, and as if evincing
that he felt happy that the opportunity of joining his brethren in arms,
and of signalizing himself perhaps for the last time, had presented
itself, previous to his marriage and his quitting the service.
The enterprise against Spain, he considered as the French army commonly
did, to be a mere excursion of pleasure, which, while it led them into a
country which many of them had never visited before, would also afford
them the occasion of gathering laurels which might serve to redeem
somewhat of their lost glory. He therefore looked forward to the
expedition, on the whole, with feelings of ardour and delight, and even
longed for its approach. Not so Rosalie! She looked on war and bloodshed
with the natural apprehensions of her sex; and saw in the projected
expedition, and its prospects of glory, only danger and death to her
lover! Her spirits received a severe shock when the intelligence was
first communicated--she gradually lost her cheerfulness and spirits; the
song, the dance, had no longer charm or interest for her, and she could
only contemplate the approaching separation with sorrow and dismay!
Henri perceived her depression, and endeavoured to combat and remove her
fears by arguments fond, but unavailing. It was only, he would urge, a
jaunt of pleasure; it would admit his speedy return, when he would come
to lay his services at her feet, and claim the hand which was already
promised to his hopes; and surely, then, Rosalie could not regret his
obeying the call of duty and of honour; or like her lover the worse,
when crowned with victory in the cause of his country. To these and
similar assurances, Rosalie could only reply with the mute eloquence of
tears; and nothing could divest her of the apprehension with which she
ever regarded an enterprise which she seemed to consider from the
first as fatal.
The time however drew on, the dreaded period arrived, the Royal Guard
left its quarters, and departed from S----. Henri took a fond and
passionate adieu of his betrothed; and Rosalie, having summoned all her
fortitude to her aid, went through the parting scene with more firmness
than could have been expected from her, though her feelings, afterwards,
were described as of the most agonizing kind.
Such is the difference between the ardent feelings of man, and the
tender and gentle sympathies of woman, that, while his sorrow is
alleviated by a thousand mitigating circumstances of ardour and
excitement, which relieve his attention, and soothe, though they do not
annihilate his grief; she can only brood over her feelings, and suffer
in silence and in sorrow. Henri marched out with his regiment in all the
vigour of manhood, and with all the "pomp, pride, and circumstance of
war," while Rosalie could only retire to her chamber and weep.
Time passed on; letters were received from Henri, which spoke in ardent
terms of his journey, and of the new and singular scenes unfolded to his
view. He adverted also to his return, mentioned the war as a mere
pastime, and as an agreeable jaunt, the termination of which he only
desired, because it would once more restore him to his Rosalie. It was
remarked, however, that she never recovered her cheerfulness; to all her
lover's assurances she could only reply with expressions of distrust,
and with feelings of sorrow; and when she wrote, it was to express her
fears of the campaign, and her wish that it were over, and that they
were again united in safety.
And constantly did the good and pious girl offer up her prayers for her
lover, as she repaired to the church of the Holy Virgin at S----, to
perform her daily devotions.
The season advanced: the French marched through Spain, and reached
Cadiz. At this last hope of the Constitutionalists, a strong resistance
was expected, and Henri had written from Seville, that his next letter
would announce the termination of the campaign. Alas! he never wrote
again! Time flew on; the journals announced the fall of the Trocadero;
the surrender of Cadiz, and the restoration of Ferdinand; yet there came
no news from Henri! Then did the gentle girl sink into all the
despondency of disappointment; and as day after day passed and brought
no tidings of her lover, her beauty and her health suffered alike, she
languished and pined till she scarce retained the semblance of her
former self.
At last came a letter; it was from Spain, but it was written in a
stranger's hand, and its sable appendages bespoke the fatal nature of
its contents. It was from a brother officer of Henri, stating that his
regiment had been foremost in the attack, and that the Trocadero, the
last resource of the Constitutionalists, had been carried with the loss
of but few killed; but, alas! among that few, was Henri! He was shot
through the body while leading his men to the assault. He fell instantly
dead, and the writer expressed his desire that the sad intelligence
should be conveyed as gently as possible to Rosalie.
Unhappily, by one of those chances which often occur, as if to aggravate
misfortune, it was Rosalie who received the fatal letter from the
postman's hands! She tore it open; read its dreadful contents; and with
a wild and frenzied shriek, fell senseless to the ground! She was borne
to her bed, where every care and attention was bestowed; but her illness
rapidly assumed a threatening and a dangerous character. A fever seized
her frame; she became at once delirious; nor did reason again resume her
throne; and it was not till after months of suffering and agony, that
she recovered, if that could be called recovery, which gave back a
deformed and hapless lunatic, bereft of intellect and of beauty, in
place of the once gay and fascinating Rosalie. The dread aberration of
intellect was attributed by her medical attendants to the fatal and
sudden shock which she had sustained, and to its effect on a mind
weakened by previous anxiety and sorrow; while they feared her malady
was of a nature, which admitted no hope of the return of reason.
Her mind, it was stated, remained an entire blank. Imbecile, vacant,
drivelling--she appeared almost unconscious of former existence; and of
those subjects which formerly engrossed her attention, and excited her
feelings, there were scarcely any on which she now evinced any emotion.
Even the name of her lover was almost powerless on her soul, and if
repeated in her hearing, seemed scarcely to call forth her notice.
One only gift remained, in all its native pathos, tenderness, and
beauty--her voice, so sweet before her illness, seemed, amid the wreck
of youth, and joy, and love, and all that was charming and endeared, to
have only become sweeter still! She was incapable or unwilling to learn
any new airs, but she would occasionally recollect snatches of former
songs or duets, which she and Henri had sung together, and she would
pour the simple melodies in strains of more than mortal sweetness!
This, alas! was the only relic of former talent or taste that she
retained; in all other respects, her mind and body, instead of evincing
symptoms of recovery, seemed to sink in utter hopelessness and despair;
and an early tomb seems to be the best and kindest boon which heaven, in
its mercy, can bestow, on the once fair and fascinating Rosalie!
_Tales of all Nations._
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