CHAPTER XVIII.
While such was the conduct of the Count d'Aubin, St. Real, whom he hadleft hurt, agitated, and gloomy, continued to pace his little chamber,giving way to many a melancholy thought. The more he yielded toreflection, the more he examined the state of his own heart, the moredeeply and bitterly he felt that the deceit he had practised uponhimself did not date from a late period, but had been of longexistence. He remembered the pleasure he had felt in the society ofEugenie de Menancourt from his earliest days, in the sweetreciprocation of simple and innocent feelings, in the mutualcommunication of thoughts and sensations peculiar to the retired stateof life in which they then passed their days. He remembered how muchpain he had felt when her father, taking part in the troubles of thetime, had removed for a short period from his neighbourhood; and heremembered how gladly he had heard that the hand of Eugenie deMenancourt had been promised to his cousin the young Count d'Aubin,inasmuch as that engagement was destined to bring her back to thevicinity of his father's chateau. He had calculated, simply enough,upon always regarding her as a beloved sister; and as he never for amoment having dreamed of any other feeling towards her during hisearly days, the idea certainly never presented itself after he wasinformed of an arrangement which he was taught to look upon as apositive engagement towards his cousin. When she did return to Maine,he greeted her with what he fancied brotherly affection; and thoughwhen he beheld his cousin apparently neglecting her, to pay devotedattention to the gay and sparkling beauties of the royal court, hefelt a degree of anger and indignation on Eugenie's account, whichmade him devote himself entirely to her, he would have consideredthose feelings--had he thought of the matter in such a light atall--as the surest proofs that his inmost sensations towards Eugeniede Menancourt were merely those of a relation, inasmuch as, instead offeeling jealous of the attentions his cousin paid her, he was angrythat those attentions were not more. Now, however, he knew thewhole--he saw that the love he had felt had been early conceived, andsecretly nourished; and the insight that he gained into his ownfeelings showed him that those feelings could never change, but wouldlast in all their intensity to cause his misery through life.
While these thoughts passed in his mind, the time flew quickly by; andthe meal which his principal attendants took care should be placedbefore him, was served and taken away almost untouched. Shortlyafterwards, Monsieur de Sancy visited him; and St. Real, whose mindwas not one to yield where it could resist, endeavoured to entervigorously into everything that could distract his attention fromhimself, spoke again and again of all the probable consequences of theevents that were occurring, and endeavoured to gain a clear anddistinct knowledge of the characters, purposes, and power of thevarious nobles forming the royalist party.
For the time the attempt succeeded, and his mind found some relieffrom the memory of personal sorrows; but the moment that Monsieur deSancy left him, his thoughts returned to himself as bitterly as ever.As evening fell, he fancied that music might soothe his mind ordistract his attention; and sending for his page, Leonard de Monte, heasked, "Did you not once tell me, Leonard, that you could sing, andplay upon the lute? I am somewhat sad just now, my boy, and would fainhear a little music to while away unpleasant ideas."
The boy smiled with a peculiar expression, and replied. "Music!--Iwill sing, if you like--that is to say, if I can find a lute; butmusic which will soothe care, and refresh the mind fatigued ofbusiness, calm the turbulent thoughts of ambition, or soften thefeverish pangs of sickness, is no antidote against sorrow, and is,they say 'the food of love.'"
"Well, well," replied St. Real, "let me hear your instrument and yourvoice; I must have amusement of some kind, for this night wearsheavily."
"I have not my own lute here," replied the boy, "but the dwarf willsoon find one, I warrant;" and, going out, he returned in a fewmoments followed by Bartholo, carrying one of those guitars witheleven strings which were the principal musical instruments then invogue. The boy struck his hand across the chords, and then pushed itfrom him to the dwarf, exclaiming angrily, "Take it from me, and tuneit. Why give me a thing all discord, like that?"
"May it please you," replied the dwarf, with a look of humbledeference, which did not escape St. Real's eyes, and which he hadnever seen assumed towards himself, "I did not know that it had beenout of tune, or I should not have failed----"
"Well, well, take it away," replied the boy; and, remaining seated onthe spot where he had placed himself to sing, he leaned with his elbowon the arm of the chair, and his head upon his hand, and the darkshining locks of his black hair falling in linked curls over his clearbeautiful brow and small graceful fingers. He seemed to be thinkingover the song he was about to sing. At least, so St. Real read hisattitude. But the tone in which the youth had spoken to the dwarf, andthat in which the dwarf replied, had struck and surprised their commonmaster, and he was about to disturb the page's reverie, by making someinquiries in regard to his previous history, when Bartholo againreturned with the lute. The boy took it, and running his fingersthrough the strings, scarcely seeming to know what note he struck,produced, nevertheless, a wild plaintive wandering melody, whichnothing but the most exquisite skill and knowledge of the instrumentcould have brought forth.
"There are few songs," he said, looking up in St. Real's face, "thatare good to soothe sorrow; but I will sing you one of the battle-songsof my own unhappy land, in which liberty begat anarchy, and anarchystrife, and strife weakness, till foreign tyrants made a prey ofnations who knew not that military and political power are thechildren of internal union and civil order--a land which, from sea tosea, has been one vast battle-field for ages past."
He paused, and seemed to give a moment of sad thought to the sorrowsof his native country; then suddenly dashing his hand over the chords,he made them ring with a loud and peculiar air, so marked and measuredthat one could almost fancy one heard the regular footfalls ofmarching men, mingled with the sounding of the trumpet, and thebeating of the drum. Then joining his clear melodious voice, he sungof the dreams of glory and of patriotism wherewith the soldier on hisway warms his heart to battle, and conceals from his own eyes the darkand bloody nature of the deed itself. Then again the chords of theinstrument, with a quicker movement, and more discordant sounds,imitated the clang and clash of charging hosts; and the deep andfrequent tones of the bass might be supposed to express the roar ofthe artillery, while still between came the notes of the clarion, andsounds that resembled the distant beating of the drum. At the sametime the voice of the youth, in few but striking words, and, as itwere, with brief snatches of song, called up the images more forcibly,and aided imagination in supplying all that the scope of the lutecould not afford. Gradually, however, as he sung, the louder soundswere omitted; the imitation of the trumpet changed from the notes ofthe charge to those of the retreat; the strings seemed to rustle underhis touch, as if from the hasty rush of flying multitudes; and then,with a sudden change of time, the music altered to a sweet andplaintive strain of wailing, while his voice took up the song ofmourning for the dead.
Till that moment St. Real had no idea of all that music can produce.He had heard sweet songs, and what were then considered finecompositions; but this was something totally different; this was apainting addressed not to the eye, but to the ear; and that not withwords which with laborious minuteness, describe insignificant parts,without conveying effectually grand impressions; but with soundswhich, rousing fancy's greatest powers at once, called up all thesplendid pageantry of imagination to complete for the mind's eye thegrand pictures that those tones suggested. The boy, too, as he sung,looked like one inspired; his eyes flashed and glittered; his voicerose and fell with every touch of feeling which his song expressed;and his hand seemed now playing amidst the strings, as if in childishsport; now sweeping them with all the fire and power of some mightymaster of song; but ever with such perfect ease and grace, that itseemed a gift rather than an accomplishment. When his voice hadceased, St. Real sat rapt for one moment by all the feelings which
themusic had inspired; and then, gazing upon the youth, he said, "You arean extraordinary boy, and I must one day have your history, Leonard."
The youth shook his head; but then after a short pause added,abruptly, "Perhaps you may, perhaps you may--but now while the lute isin tune, I will sing you another song--a song about love;" and withoutwaiting for reply, he struck the chords, and began, with a measure anda tone so different, as for a time to seem almost tame andinsignificant, when compared with the wild and thrilling energy of theformer music. But as he went on, there was a touching and melancholypathos in the words and in the air which went direct to St. Real'sheart, rousing feelings which he would fain have lulled to sleep, andoverwhelming him with deeper melancholy than ever. So sad, sosorrowful did it make him,--so completely did it master him and takepossession of his imagination, that he could have given way even totears, if there had been no eye to see him so unmanned.
The boy was still going on; but St. Real waved his hand, exclaiming,"Hush, hush! no more! It is too much for me!"
The boy looked up with a smile, saying,
"He that will not find Ease when he may, Leaves all joy behind For ever and a day.
"Yet let him wither His own hopes at will, So that no other Blossoms he kill."
St. Real started, somewhat surprised. "You seem to know," he said,"more of me and mine than I fancied. I must hear what you do know,Leonard, and how you know it, before you quit me."
"Nay, nay, my good lord," replied the boy, still smiling, "look not sosuspicious. Does it need a very shrewd guess to discover, or to fancy,when a gallant cavalier, like yourself, falls into sadness suddenly,as if he had caught some infectious disease, and then looks more darkand gloomy still, when one sings a simple song to him about love, andbeautiful eyes--does it need a very shrewd guess to fancy that afterall, that same passion of love is at the bottom of the mystery?"
"But you spoke but now," replied St. Real, "as if you knew more thanthat, and made allusions that you could not have made unless you hadknown more."
"Faith then, my lord," replied the boy, "the man who compounded theold proverb I repeated, must have had a mighty skill in divination, tosee what was likely to go on in your lordship's heart some hundredyears after he himself had lived, and that it would serve a page athis need instead of a better answer--but yet the proverb is a goodone," he continued, rambling on. "Good faith! I hold that no man has aright to make a woman love him, and then leave her for any whimsywhatsoever. I do not know much about these things, it is true, but Ithink that it is dishonourable."
"But suppose," replied St. Real, "that honour has some other claimupon him which calls him in a different way--what should he do then?"
"Why, methinks he should become an apothecary!" replied the boy; andthen added, seeing St. Real's brow slightly contract, "what I mean is,my lord, that he should take the very nicest scales that consciencecan supply to weigh out medicines for hurt honour, if he have gothimself into such a scrape that honour must be injured either way. Orhe may do the matter differently, and weigh in those nice scales whichis the heaviest sin,--to break a lady's heart; to leave her unhappyand cheerless through the long days of life; to doom her to wed onethat she does not love, or perhaps hates; to have her reproaches andher sorrow to answer for at his dying day; or, on the other hand, toviolate what he may think a claim upon his honour, which very likelypriests and prelates, and saints and martyrs, and his own heart too,in the calm after-day of life, may tell him was no claim at all."
"And do you tell me that you speak thus from mere guess?" demanded St.Real. "No, no, my boy! You have some other knowledge; and you mustgive me an answer how it was obtained."
"Indeed, my lord," answered the youth, starting up and laughing "I amtired, sleepy, and thirsty, with looking for you all the morning, andsinging you two songs at night. So, by your leave, I will e'en go tobed and sleep; and I dare say before to-morrow morning I shall be ableto make an answer, for I have not one ready made; and even if my witshould run low, I will away by cock-crow to the nearest _fripier_, andbuy me an answer second-hand. One often finds one as good as new thathas served twenty people before;" and seeing St. Real about to speakagain with a serious brow, he ended with a gay laugh, and darted outof the room.
A momentary feeling of anger passed through St. Real's breast, and hehalf rose in his chair, determined to call the boy back and make himexplain distinctly what was the meaning of the allusions he had made,how he had obtained his information, and to what length it extended.Brief reflection, however, caused him to pause and change his purpose;thinking that it would be better to take time to regulate his ownthoughts, and command his own feelings, ere he questioned his pageupon subjects so likely to awaken and expose deep emotions in himself.Casting himself back into his seat again, he revolved all that hadjust passed; and his mind, reverting to everything that was painfuland distressing in his situation, fell into one of those sad andmelancholy dreams which must have visited almost every one at sometime of life, when the bright and brilliant prospects of youth aresuddenly obscured by the dark and lowering clouds which precede thefirst storms of life.
However painful may be this mode of mind,--however desirous we may beof escaping from it,--however sensibly we may feel that the onlyrelief we can hope is to be found in activity, occupation, andresistance; yet there is a benumbing influence in that peculiar stateof grief and disappointment, which, like the fabled fascination of theserpent in regard to the birds it seeks to devour, prevents us fromemploying the only means of delivering ourselves. St. Real knew aswell as any one, that the occupation of his thoughts upon othersubjects was the only relief he could hope for; but still he lingeredon from hour to hour, no sooner attempting to turn his mind to otherthings, than falling back again into the same desponding memories ofall that he cast away when he resigned the hope of ever seeing Eugeniede Menancourt again. Ere he was aware of it--for deep grief, likeintense happiness, "takes no note of time"--the grey daylight of theearly summer dawn began to pour through the open window. All had beenlong quiet in the town, the inns and cabarets had long been closed,and not a sound had for some time stirred in the _auberge_ where hehad taken up his quarters. But at length his reverie was broken by thedistant sound of horses' feet; and, rising from his seat, he almostmechanically proceeded to the window, and gazed out up and down theroad. At first no one was visible, except a small group of guards atthe gates of the Maison de Gondi, in which King Henry III. had fixedhie abode, and though they were apparently speaking together, thetones they used were so low that not even the murmur of their voicesreached St. Real's ear through the still, calm silence of the earlymorning. The next moment, however, the sound of coming horse becamesuddenly more distinct, as, turning the corner of the road fromMeudon, a party of five cavaliers galloped into the village. St. Realfixed his eyes upon them as they advanced, and instantly recognised intheir leader Henry of Navarre.
The guards at the gate of the Maison de Gondi seemed, from the bustlecreated amongst them, not only to see the party, but to recognise thecousin of their monarch. The tidings of his arrival appeared to bepassed on into the court; and the moment after, the soldiers andofficers of the Scottish guard came pouring forth without any symptomsof their usual discipline and orderly demeanour. The King of Navarreperceived their approach; and nearly opposite to the window at whichSt. Real stood drew up his horse, which hitherto had proceeded at fullgallop. Several of the officers of the guard instantly rushed forward,and cast themselves upon one knee at the stirrup of the monarch,exclaiming, "Oh, sire! you are our king and our master!" and, at thesame moment, one or two voices from the crowd pronounced, for thefirst time, the often repeated words, "Vive Henry Quatre!"
The king sprang to the ground, affected even to tears, exclaiming in atone of unfeigned regret, "Alas, alas! is he then really dead?"Walking rapidly forward, he proceeded towards the royal headquarters,and entered the Maison de Gondi; and the news of Henry III.'s deathproceeded rapidly through the town. Every hou
se began soon to pourforth its inhabitants; and ere the sun was well risen, all was bustle,and agitation, and confusion.
Although a feeling of reverence for that fearful thing, death, and theawe which an event of such magnitude might well inspire, repressedmuch of the noise which otherwise would have been heard: and thoughthe eager consultations and busy rumours were carried on in no loudertone than a whisper, still it was evident, from every symptomdisplayed by the multitudes which now thronged the streets of St.Cloud, that the ties which linked society together were broken, thatthe foundations were shaken, and that not only the fabric of the royalarmy, but even of the French monarchy itself, was wavering as if tofall.
After gazing out for a few minutes upon the scene below, with thefeelings of a mere spectator, St. Real remembered that he himself hada part to act; and as the _auberge_, in common with all the otherhouses of the town, was by this time roused, he called for hisattendants, and despatched a messenger to his cousin, intimating hiswish to speak with him immediately. Then casting on his cloak, he wentforth into the street; and entering into conversation with some of theinferior officers of the troops, he tried to gain some insight intothe various feelings and motives by which the lower ranks of the royalarmy were actuated; and, wherever he found it possible, endeavoured togive a bias to the wavering and undetermined in favour of that conductwhich could alone save the monarchy and the country.
To every one whom he addressed St. Real was a stranger; and though hisdress was such as became his station, yet his rank and character beingunknown, it was not at all improbable that he would have met withinsolence, if not violence, had there not been in his whole demeanourthat mingling of frankness and dignity, of sincerity and of grace,which went far, not only to win and to persuade, but to commandattention and respect. While he was thus engaged, the attendant whomhe had despatched to his cousin returned, and informed him that theCount d'Aubin had gone up to the royal quarters; and, almost at thesame moment, a hand was laid upon his arm, and turning round, hebeheld Monsieur de Sancy.
"A moment's conversation with you, Monsieur de St. Real," he said,leading the way towards the _auberge_. St. Real instantly followed,and on entering, conducted the old officer to his own apartments.
"Is your mind the same as when last I saw you?" demanded De Sancy, assoon as the door was shut.
"Undoubtedly," replied St. Real; "you cannot suppose I would change."
"One can never tell," replied De Sancy, smiling; "you will find thismorning that more than fifty have changed since the same hour lastnight; and, to speak plainly, Monsieur de St. Real, your own cousinamongst the number. However, let us ourselves lose no time. Theleaders are flocking up to the quarters of the late king, and many, Ifear, will be the differences we shall find. Nevertheless, I hope thatwe shall still be able to make up a good party on our side, andperhaps we may shame a great many more to join us by taking a boldposition ourselves, and letting the others see that they are not onlycontemptible, but weak. Will you come, for every moment is ofconsequence?"
"Instantly!" replied St. Real. "D'Aubin is there already."
"Then there will be mischief going on," said De Sancy; "for I havevery sure information that your cousin has decidedly chosen his part.I do not fear to say to you, Monsieur de St. Real, that he is wrong,and that he knows it; and when such is the case, it is natural that aman should endeavour to persuade as many others to act in the same wayas possible, in order that, at all events, he may shelter his ownconduct from the odium of singularity."
"Very often, too," replied St. Real, as they walked on, "when a man isdetermined upon a thing, and does not clearly know whether he is rightor wrong, he strives to satisfy himself that he is right, by bringingover as many more to his own side as possible. This I believe to beD'Aubin's case; for his opinions on any points are never very fixed,and many is the time that I have heard him defend both sides of aquestion with equal skill."
"Vanity, vanity, all that!" replied De Sancy, "and a most unhappyvanity too; for it has cheated many a man out of his honour andintegrity, out of his own self-respect, out of the world's esteem--ay,and even out of his hopes of heaven. But at all events, as apostates,whether religious or political, are the most vehement against thecreeds they abandon, so we may feel sure that Monsieur d'Aubin, andall those who have cast off their loyalty, will have many a furiousargument in store against the cause which they are quitting. Let us beprepared then to assert in words, as well as deeds, the ancientloyalty of the French nobility."
"Of course, to the best of our abilities," said St. Real; "but myvoice can have small weight. Who is that going in?" he added, just asthey reached the gates of the Hotel de Gondi, the court of which wasfilled with guards and attendants--"I mean that stout, hard-featuredman, who walks forward with as consequential a step as if the thronewere his."
"By my honour, if it be not his to take," replied De Sancy, "it may behis to give; for if he act heartily with the king, there is littlefear of the result. If he go over to the League, the clouds, which aredark enough already, will grow deeper still over our heads. It isArmand de Gontaut, Marechal de Biron. He is stopping to speak with theofficer on guard. I will see if I can learn his determination; for heis so much in the hearts of the soldiers, that one half the army willfall off if he fail us."
Thus saying, De Sancy advanced; and, with an air of some deference,saluted Biron, who in return shook him warmly by the hand. He failed,however, in his object of gaining any insight into the purposes of theold soldier, though his questions were dexterously put. Whether atthat moment the Marshal had not yet determined upon any precise lineof conduct, or whether he hoped to gain greater advantages byconcealing his own views, he evaded De Sancy's enquiries; and thensaid abruptly, "A great number of our friends are assembled already inthe lower hall to talk over all these affairs. If you are going tothem, I will walk in with you."
De Sancy replied that they were about to join the rest; and Biron,after running his eyes with a glance of some attention and pleasureover the fine and soldier-like person of St. Real, asked his companionin a low voice who he was. De Sancy replied in the same tone; and theMarshal rejoined in a louder voice, "Indeed, indeed!--I knew hisfather too--I knew him well, in the time of my uncle, you know.Monsieur de St. Real, I am glad to see you here, and I hope----" Buthere their conversation was interrupted by an officer requiring themto give up their swords, a ceremony which the two commanders seemedprepared for, and with which St. Real, of course, complied withoutopposition. De Biron then again turned towards St. Real, as if toconclude his sentence; but ere he could speak, a young man, whom St.Real had remarked with the King of Navarre as he rode into town thatmorning, came up, and after shaking hands with Monsieur de Sancy, drewBiron aside, whispered a word in his ear, and then passed on. TheMarshal smiled, and from this slight indication De Sancy drew afavourable augury, saying to St. Real, ere the other rejoined them, "Ithink from that smile all will go well. That young gentleman is Rosny,an especial friend and adherent of his present Majesty."
By this time they had nearly reached the chamber in which the noblesof France, with the body of their late monarch lying in a room notvery distant, and their lawful sovereign seated in the apartmentdirectly above them, were deliberating what use they should make ofthe power which a foul and unjustifiable act of their common enemy hadthrown into their hands. The table at which they were placed wasnearly full, and Marshal Biron, with De Sancy and St. Real, placedthemselves in a group at the end next to the door; while the Duke ofLongueville, who was speaking when they entered, went on. He was ayoung man of a handsome and prepossessing appearance; but his mannerwas timid, and his elocution hesitating and difficult. He did not seemso much to want ideas as words, and appeared even to want words morefrom not having any confidence in himself, than from any other cause.He expressed shortly and confusedly the determination of himself, andof the little knot of princes and gentlemen by whom he was surrounded,to acknowledge the title of Henry IV. to throne of France, and toserve him with their whole
souls, if he would renounce the Protestantheresy, and reconcile himself to the church of Rome. If he refused todo so, the Duke continued, it would be for the gentlemen, in whosename he spoke, to consider whether they would not beg leave to retirefrom his service.
Apparently not knowing how to wind up his speech, he was deviatinginto one of those long and unmeaning tirades with which unskilfulorators often attempt to let themselves drop by degrees, when he wassuddenly interrupted by the Duke of Epernon, who said, somewhatsharply, "In your offers of service, my lord Duke, I beg you to omitmy name. I have much to do on my own lands, and have borne arms longenough."
"I will beg you to except me also," said the Count d'Aubin, who wassitting near the Duke of Longueville, and rose to speak as soon as hesaw that Epernon had concluded. "I will not serve Henry King ofNavarre, and I trust that my reasons are good ones. As a Catholic, Ishould think it treachery to my faith were I to attempt to establish aheretic monarch upon the throne of this realm. Therefore, if the kingremains attached to the Huguenots, notwithstanding the eloquence ofMonsieur de Longueville, I cannot remain in his army; and if he besuddenly converted by the arguments of my lord Duke, my faith in themiracle will be too small to assure me that it will last. For myself,gentlemen, I see no choice. If the king remain unchanged, he is aheretic; were he to change suddenly, he would be a hypocrite; and inneither case can I draw my sword in his behalf."
There was something sneering and bitter in the tone of the Countd'Aubin, which, though it made the Duke of Longueville, and others ofthe undecided party, hate him, and inclined them more than before tothe service of Henry IV. yet rendered others, even better disposedtowards the monarch, afraid to answer; and, for a moment there was apause. Seeing that no one spoke, however, St. Real took a step forwardto the table, and, without the slightest degree of hesitation,addressed the assembly, while his name passed from mouth to mouth, andmany an enquiring ear was turned to hear what one of the simple St.Reals would say, after the speech of the sarcastic Count d'Aubin.
"Gentlemen of France," he said, "my opinion, in many respects,coincides with that of my cousin who has just spoken." D'Aubin, DeSancy, and Biron, looked at him and each other in astonishment. "Myopinion," he repeated, "in many respects coincides with his; but, asis very often the case with us, my conduct will be the direct reverse.I think as he does, that to ask his Majesty to change his religion ona sudden change of fortune, were to ask him to become a hypocrite; andI should as soon think of requiring him to do so, in order to gain myservices, as he would think of requiring me to abandon my faith tomerit his favour. Let us be too just to do the one, and we may feelsure that he is too just to do the other. The claims of his majesty,King Henry IV. are known to us all. As the lineal descendant of St.Louis, he is king of this realm of France, unless some of his actshave been so black as to render him incapable of reigning. Now whathave his acts throughout life been up to this day, but noble,generous, chivalrous, worthy to lead a nation of brave hearts upon thepath of honour? And shall we attempt to pry into his conscience? Shallwe demand that, by a sudden abjuration of his long-cherished belief,he should stain that honour which he has ever held so pure andspotless? The worst that the most zealous Catholic can apprehend--andnone is more zealous than I am--is that a Protestant monarch shouldinterfere with our faith. Let us not set him the example byinterfering with his, and take for a guarantee of his future conductthe whole of his conduct that has gone before. We have, at thismoment, two claims upon us--the claims of our country and ourking,--both equally powerful on the hearts of Frenchmen, and happilyboth in this instance leading us in the same direction. Our first dutyis to put an end to the factions which have torn this unhappy land,and left her scarce a shadow of her former prosperity; to compel therebellious to submission, and teach the ambitious to limit theirexpectations to their rights,--to bring back, in short, security, andpeace, and union to France. This can only be done by bending all ourenergies to uphold the shaken throne, and with those good swords,which have never yet been drawn in an unjust quarrel, to open a wayfor our gallant and our rightful monarch to the seat and the power ofhis ancestors. This, at least, is my determination; and I trust that Ishall see no one who aspires to honour during life, or glory afterdeath, fall from his duty at a moment when the safety of his countryand the throne of his king depend upon union, energy, and fidelity."
"Well spoken, on my soul," cried Gontaut de Biron. "Well spoken, on mysoul! And if all here present act up to it, the monarchy is safe!"
"That at least will I," rejoined De Sancy; "for I hold that to proposeany terms to his Majesty at this moment when--encompassed is we havetoo fatally seen, by assassins, surrounded by difficulties anddangers, and opposed by an ambitious faction--he comes unexpectedly toa perilous throne, were base and ungenerous indeed. Let those whowill, join the party of the assassin; my voice and my sword are readyfor Henry IV."
The speech of De Sancy was followed by one of those slight murmurswhich betoken a vacillation of opinion in a popular assembly. Each manlooked in the face of his neighbour; some smiled and nodded to thespeaker, as if in approbation of what he had said; some frowned andbit their lips; some whispered eagerly to the persons next whom theysat; and the cheek of the Count d'Aubin, as De Sancy denominated theLeague "the party of the assassin," grew as red as fire, while theveins in his temple might be seen swelling out through his clear darkskin.
There was a pause for a moment; but D'Aubin recovered himself quickly,and said, "Methinks the three noble gentlemen who, not deigning totake a seat amongst us, remain standing at the foot of the table, havenot come here to deliberate, but to announce their determination; andif that determination were binding upon all the princes and nobles ofFrance, it would become us to submit and break up the council; but asthat is not exactly the case, I would propose that we should continueour consultations, without yielding more than due weight to the vetoof Monsieur de Biron, the pithy sentences of the noble leader of theSwiss, or to the speech of my worthy but somewhat inexperiencedcousin--a speech evidently got by heart."
"It is got by heart, Philip d'Aubin," replied St. Real, opposing tothe sarcastic sneer of the Count d'Aubin a look of calm and dignifiedreproof. "It is got by heart; for it comes from my heart, and theactions of my hand shall justify it. As to my inexperience, what yousay is true,--I am somewhat inexperienced; and I would thank God forit, did I believe that experience would ever debase me to takeadvantage of a noble monarch's utmost need either to dictate termswhich he could not comply without dishonour, or to abandon his causefor a selfish motive or a weak pretext."
D'Aubin rose angrily from his seat, and, for a moment, it did seemthat everything like deliberation was to be merged in anger andcontention; but De Biron and the Dukes of Longueville and Epernoninterfered; and after, in some degree, restoring order, Monsieurd'Epernon addressed the French nobles, and put an end to a meetingfrom which no good could accrue. "Angry words, gentlemen," he said,"can do no good, and are not at all required. We are not here todetermine any settled plan which is to be binding upon us all; buteach is as free as before to follow his own purposes anddeterminations. However, as the communication of our various opinionshas produced some heat, I think it better that we should conclude adiscussion which seems to be fruitless. Let each of us follow his ownpath. For my part, though I do not draw my sword against the king, yetI cannot reconcile it to my conscience to fight the battles of anexcommunicated monarch against my brethren of the faith."
Thus saying, he rose; and beckoning one or two of those on whom hecould rely, into one corner of the hall, he entered into conversationwith them; while the same conduct was followed by various otherpersons in different parts of the room.
St. Real and his companions, however, did not remain long to witnessthis scene; for Marshal Biron laid his hand upon the arm of the youngnoble, saying, "Come, Monsieur de St. Real; come, De Sancy! Let us tothe king. It is easy to see that he will need the consolation andsupport of all that are faithful to him." Thus saying, he quitted thechamber, fol
lowed by those to whom he spoke, and two or three others;and, speaking a few words with one of the attendants, he was led on toa large upper hall, where Henry IV. waited the result of thedeliberations which he was well aware were taking place around him;the nature of which he knew, and the termination of which he feared,but which he had no power to stop or to control.
Almost alone, with only two attendants of an inferior class stationedat the door, he was walking up and down the room in evident agitation.The moment he saw De Biron, however, he stopped, and gazed for amoment anxiously in his face; but the Marshal advanced at once, andthrowing himself at the king's feet, kissed respectfully the hand thathe held out to him. Henry instantly took him in his arms, exclaiming,"Rise, rise, Biron! Tell me what tidings you bear?" And at the sametime he extended his hand to St. Real and De Sancy, who knelt andpressed it to their lips.
"The tidings I bear your Majesty from below," replied De Biron, "are,I am afraid, not very satisfactory. Several, I fear, will fall offfrom your Majesty, and several will be but lukewarm friends."
"That I expect," replied the king; "but if you, Biron, stand fast byme, on your shoulder will I lean, and defy all the factions in Franceto shake me."
"Thanks, sire, thanks!" replied De Biron, in his usual blunt tone. "Ofmy fidelity and attachment your Majesty need have no doubt; and Ithink," he added, "I think I can answer for the greater part of thetroops."
"Then we are safe!" cried the king. "Then we are safe! What with myown forces, and those that you can bring me, Biron, the Swiss underMonsieur de Sancy here, and the fresh troops of Maine promised me bymy young friend St. Real, I will not fear anything, even thoughD'Aumont and his division go over to the enemy."
"I do not think he will, sire," replied Biron. "He is not the mostactive of soldiers, but he is an honest and true-hearted man. De Rosnytold me but now that he was going to him, and I doubt not but, at thefirst word, he will come to join your Majesty; but it might have beenbetter to have directed Rosny to speak with his officers, and bringthem over too, for D'Aumont will never think of it; and besides--"
"He has not the whole hearts of his soldiers, like Biron," added theking. "I thought of it, my friend, I thought of it, and begged DeRosny to see what could be done. But who have we here? Oh! our cousinsof Longueville and Nevers; and Monsieur d'O, too, whom we hopespeedily to replace in his government of Paris, which has beenill-governed enough certainly since he left it."
As he spoke, a large body of French nobles, headed by the persons whomhe mentioned, entered the hall; and Monsieur de Biron and the otherswho were with the king, forming a semicircle on either hand, thegentlemen who had just arrived advanced, and one by one knelt andkissed the monarch's hand. There was, however, a degree of gloom andcoldness in their countenances, which betokened no hearty wishes forthe welfare of him who had so suddenly been placed upon the throne.When they had all saluted the king, Monsieur D'O, the titular governorof Paris, advanced a step before the rest, and addressed the monarchin the name of all. His tone was respectful, and his words wellchosen; but after proceeding to offer some faint congratulations tothe king on his accession to the throne, he stated that the fact ofhis Majesty's adherence to the tenets of the Huguenots pained andembarrassed many who were his faithful subjects and sincerewell-wishers; and then he proceeded boldly and unceremoniously topropose that the monarch should reconcile himself to the Church ofRome, and receive absolution for his past heresies, holding out but ahalf-concealed threat, that if he did not comply with this suddenproposal, the great body of the French nobles and princes of the bloodwould be obliged to withdraw from the royal army.
Henry heard him patiently and calmly; though for a moment, while hewas making his somewhat extraordinary request, one of those gay andbrilliant smiles, with which his countenance was so familiar onordinary occasions, passed over the king's lip and chequered thegravity of his attention. "My noble cousins and gentlemen," he said inreply, "I confess myself not a little astonished to find that you, whoare so strongly attached to your religion, should think me so littleattached to mine. It is true my attachment is more a matter of habitthan perhaps of reason; for, living as I have lived in the tentedfield, and spending the greater part of my time between the councilchamber and the battle plain, I have had no opportunity of hearingdiscussed the merit of those questions which unhappily divide the onechurch from the other. Nevertheless, I should think myself base,and--what is more to the purpose on the present occasion--you alsowould think me base, if for any worldly advantage I, unconvinced, wereto sacrifice the religion in which I have been brought up. That,gentlemen, is impossible. But still I am not so foolish as to say thatI will never abandon what is called the Reformed Faith; for, on thecontrary, I will zealously and diligently investigate the merits ofthe arguments on both sides; and, if my conscience will allow me, willtake those steps which I well know would be pleasing to the greatmajority of my subjects. Nevertheless, this must be the work ofconviction, not of interest; and I tell you candidly, that I musthave, at least, six months to hear, and ponder, and judge, ere I cangive you any determinate answer as to what my ultimate conduct inthese respects will be. In the meanwhile, believe me, I love you allas my children, and will serve and protect you as such to the utmostof my power; and should there be any one amongst you who has the heartto leave his king at the moment his king most needs his service, lethim go in peace, and not be afraid, for I will serve him still, as faras may be, even against his will."
When the king ceased, there were one or two amongst the group ofnobles who looked as if they would fain have added something to thespeech of their orator; and it was evident the noble and dignifiedmanner in which Henry treated their absurd proposal was not withouteffect upon any. Like all other bodies of men, however, there werethose amongst them destined to lead, and those only fitted to follow;and the latter did not venture to act without the approbation of theformer. Bowing in silence then, the whole party retired, and wereimmediately succeeded by the Baron de Rosny, afterwards famous as theDuke of Sully, who approached with the Marechal d'Aumont. The latterat once, and with graceful zeal in words and manner, tendered hisfaith and homage to the king, and assured him that the officers underhis command would present themselves within an hour to swearallegiance to their new monarch. He again was succeeded by another, inwhom St. Real instantly recognised the Duke d'Epernon, though he hadchanged his garb within the last hour, and now appeared in deepmourning.
The keen eye of Henry IV. at once read his purpose in the countenanceof the Duke; and, preventing him from kneeling, he said, "Pause, mycousin, and think what you are about to do. We will excuse yourbending the knee to-day, if it be not to be bent tomorrow."
Though fantastic, and even effeminate in appearance, D'Epernon wasbrave even to rashness, and by no means destitute of that calm anddignified presence of mind which approaches near to greatness. Gravelytaking half a step back, he persisted in bending his knee, and kissedthe king's hand, replying, "My lord the king! your majesty's right tothe throne of France and to the homage of your subjects isincontestable; and deeply do I regret that any circumstances,religious or political, should lessen that zeal which the nobles ofFrance are so willing to display in behalf of their kings. But, toavoid all subjects which it would be painful for your majesty to hearand for me to speak, I come to crave leave to retire for a time to myown lands, which have much need of their lord's presence. I am wearyof warfare, sire, somewhat anxious for repose, and my poor peasantryrequire protection and assistance."
"Well, cousin of Epernon," replied the monarch, "if you be reallydisposed to imitate the great Roman and hold the plough, my serviceshall not detain you; but let me trust that you are not about toreverse the scriptural prophecy, and turn the ploughshare into a swordin favour of new friends."
"I need no sword, sire," replied the duke, "but that which I latelyproved beside your majesty at Tours; and be assured that if it be notdrawn in your service, it shall not be unsheathed against you."
"Well, well!" said the king, wi
th a sigh, "so be it, if it must be so.Fare you well, fair cousin of Epernon! and may the harvest you aregoing to reap have fewer thorns than that which is before me, I fear!"
The duke bowed and withdrew; and Henry, turning to those whosurrounded him, proceeded with a sigh, "Let them go, gentlemen ofFrance, let them go," he said; "better a few firm friends, than adiscontented multitude. On you I repose my whole hopes; but we mustlose no time. My confidence in your judgment and in your affection isunlimited; and therefore I send you forth amongst the mingled crowd offriends and enemies which surrounds me in the camp, with no otherdirection or command than this. Do the best you can for your king andfor your country. Rejoin me here again in the evening, to let me knowwhat has been done; by that time we shall have learned what troopsremain with us, and shall be able to determine upon our futureconduct."
All the king's immediate attendants now took their leave and withdrew.Biron and D'Aumont proceeded instantly to their several quarters. DeSancy set off to insure that there was no tampering with the Swissunder his command; and St. Real, returning to his lodging, called hisattendants about him, and ordering a certain number to mount withspeed, prepared to go in person, in order to bring up more rapidly thetroops he had left near Senlis. In the hurry and agitation of the lastfew hours, his personal situation had been forgotten; but as he wasjust about to mount his horse, the appearance of his page, Leonard deMonte, recalled to his mind both the events of the preceding eveningand his own determination of questioning the boy upon that knowledgeof his inmost thoughts which Leonard seemed by some means to haveobtained. He had no time, however, at the moment to pursue such apurpose, and after commanding him to remain at the _auberge_ till hereturned, he inquired if the boy knew where the Count d'Aubin's forceswere quartered.
"They lie under the hill at the back of the park," replied the youth."Shall I show you the way?"
"Quick! get a horse, then, and come," said St. Real.
"I will run by your side, and be there ere a horse could be saddled,"said the page. St. Real assented; and proceeding in the directionwhich had been pointed out, he rode on, determined to make one lasteffort to recall his cousin from a path which he firmly believed wouldlead to dishonour.
When they had mounted the little hill, however, underneath which, asthe page had said, the Count d'Aubin's troops had been quartered,nothing was to be seen in the meadow where their tents had latelystood but one or two carts of the country, in which a small party ofsoldiers were busily stowing the canvass dwellings wherein they hadlately made their abode, together with the spare arms and baggage ofthe larger body of troops just gone.
As St. Real halted and gazed, the sound of a clarion at a littledistance struck his ear, and made him turn his eyes to the oppositeslope. Over the brow of the hill, upon the road which led towardsParis, appeared horse and foot filing away with their arms glitteringin the summer sun; and the distance was not sufficiently great toprevent St. Real from recognising the retainers of the house of Aubin,joined to another body apparently little inferior in number. The stepthus taken by his cousin was too decided to admit a hope of change;and bidding the boy, who was gazing steadfastly in the same direction,return to St. Cloud, he resumed his own path, and rode on with allspeed towards Senlis.