CHAPTER XXVII.
It was in a cottage by the sea-side--a mere hut, belonging in formertimes to a fisherman--that Eugenie de Menancourt sat one autumn daybeside Beatrice of Ferrara watching the clouds of mist roll over thewaters, as the exhalations which night had left behind struggled witha light wind and a still powerful sun for place upon the bosom of theocean. It was a mere hut, as we have said, but there was somethingpicturesque in its position, seated halfway up, halfway down asand-cliff to the east of Dieppe, with a projecting shoulder of therock sheltering it from the winds of the Atlantic, and a few trees andshrubs--stunted in size and not very luxuriant in foliage, it is true,but still green and fresh--keeping it company in the warm nook whereit was placed. It is not impossible that the very picturesque beautyof its situation might be the reason why it had been selected by onewho had more poetry in her heart and soul than half the poets of theland in which she lived. But, at the same time, there was anothermotive which she would have assigned if she had been asked, and whichwas, that the shore beneath formed a little bay in which the wavesseldom broke boisterously, but even in very stormy weather seemed toplay there in innocent sport, while their parent sea was all introuble and contention without, as we may have seen the children of awarrior playing in peace by their cottage-door while their father wasurging the bloody strife upon the battle plain. In this sheltered baylay a small vessel, and on the beach were two or three boats, while upabove upon the cliff were several more cottages, from which to that wehave described a winding and somewhat difficult path led down the faceof the crag. Although the cottage had not contained more than ten daysits two fair tenants, who had now resumed their appropriate dress, yetthey had contrived to ornament it with a very different sort of tastefrom that which was displayed by any of the neighbouring dwellers onthe shore: for Beatrice had her full share of that knowledge and loveof what is beautiful in art or nature which was then general in hernative land; and although she had daily talked of returning soon toParis to play her appointed part upon that busy scene, yet she hadlingered with a fond clinging to the peaceful moments she spent there,musing away her time upon the ever-varying sea-shore, or decoratingthe cottage she had hired for Eugenie with somewhat whimsical care. Asif her journey to Paris had been a duty, for the neglect of which sheowed an apology to her own heart, she often spoke of the difficultiesand dangers of reaching the capital when two hostile armies wereinterposed: but difficulties or dangers had rarely stopped Beatrice ofFerrara when she willed to go in any direction upon earth; and,perhaps, the real reason of her delay might be, that Philip d'Aubinwas not in the metropolis, and that she knew it.
As we have said, however, beside her Eugenie de Menancourt; upon anautumn day, little more than a fortnight after we last left them.Their eyes were bent upon the sea-fogs rolling along over the bosom ofthe waters below, and contending in vain against a rising wind, whichevery now and then swept them away, and showed to old Ocean the blueeyes of Heaven looking upon his slumbering waves, when the curtain ofthe mist was withdrawn by the soft hand of the morning air.
"See, Eugenie! see!" cried Beatrice of Ferrara, as, with their armstwined in each other, they gazed forth upon the changing scene; "seehow the soft and downy masses of fog roll dark above the sea, and how,every now and then, a scanty gleam of light breaks in, and gilds themoving vapour and the waves below! Do you know, dear Eugenie, that thebosom of that sea seems to me like my own fate, wrapped up, as it hasbeen for many years, in clouds and gloom, with every now and then agleam of brightness breaking through, for a brief moment, and obscuredagain almost as soon as given. Do you know, dear girl, I could standand gaze upon that sea, and, with all the superstition of the ancientdays, I could play the augur to my own heart, and read my after-lot inthe changes that come over the bosom of the water."
"Well, let me read it!" cried Eugenie: "see, see, Beatrice, what along bright gleam is coming now!"
"Ay! but the clouds roll up behind," replied her friend.
"Yes, but beyond them again all is clear and bright," rejoinedEugenie, as the sun and the wind gained the mastery, and the lastwreaths of mist were swept away, leaving nothing but a thin filmy veilupon the expanse of sea. "See, Beatrice, how bright it looks!"
"And, on the other hand, gaze on the dark cloud of the past," repliedBeatrice, with a smile which was not without its share of hopefulness;"and as you, dear Eugenie, have read me my coming lot, and would fainmake me believe that it is to be so bright, I will tell you shortly,very shortly, the history of the past; that you may judge how muchcause I have to augur well of the approaching hours from my experienceof those gone. I cannot dwell long upon such painful things, but Iwill speak them briefly."
Sitting down together, and still gazing out upon the golden sea,Beatrice began her tale; and as she told it in as few words as itcould well be told, so shall it be repeated here.
"I was born amongst the lovely Euganean hills," she said, "wherenature has compressed into one small space all that is beautiful andall that is grand; mountain and valley, stream and lake, profuseabundance, vegetation and cultivation, an atmosphere of magic light,and an air of balm. My father was the sovereign prince of----, butthat matters not; though we were of the house of Ferrara, which hasgiven sovereigns to many another land, and has allied its princes tothe highest upon earth. My father's dominions were small, but theywere rich and beautiful; and he himself, born of a warlike race, keptwell with the sword those territories which, doubtless, the sword hadfirst acquired. He, when the sovereigns of Ferrara were closely alliedto the house of France, visited this court; and wedded, more for herbeauty than her wealth, and more for her virtues than her beauty, theheiress of a noble house, whose lands lie not far from your own inMaine. He carried her to Italy, where they ever after lived; hisrights to his lady's lands in France being still respected by thesovereigns of this country, though the management of them was somewhatneglected by those in whom he trusted. Still, however, those landswere rich, and made no small addition to the revenues of an Italianprince. His favourite residence was amongst the Euganean hills; andthere, where he had collected everything that was beautiful to theeye, or pleasant to the ear, where the wise and the good, the poet andthe sculptor, the painter and the musician, ever found a home, I, hisfirst-born child, saw the light, now some four-and-twenty years ago.About four years after, a brother was born, and, in his birth, mymother died; but though my father never wedded again, but buried hisheart in the tomb of her he had loved, yet we were well, carefully,fondly nurtured, both by our surviving parent himself, and by anuncle, who, high in the church of Rome, looked on both my brother andmyself as if we had been children of his own. Abandoning the paths ofambition for our sake, he left the ancient capital of empires for ourpeaceful castle in the Euganean hills; and there, while my father wasoften absent fulfilling the duties of a prince or a soldier, hedevoted himself to the cultivation of our young minds, and to thestrengthening of our young hearts against the sorrows and thetemptations of the world. He was, he is, one man out of a multitude.But, Eugenie, we had another uncle, who, through life, had followed adifferent path, and who was destined to act a different part. He wasbred a soldier, and lent his sword, and the troops he had contrived toraise, to any one who held out to him the prospect of wealth oraggrandisement. His expeditions, fortunate to others,--for he wasbrave and skilful,--were not fortunate to himself; for the artful anddeceitful men he served generally contrived to withhold from him hispromised reward. From my father he always met kindness and protection;and often did my parent support his cause, and avenge his quarrels, tothe detriment of his own best interests. How that uncle acted inreturn, you shall hear. His heart was corrupted by dealing with thebase, and he became base himself, from believing that all others wereso.
"My uncle Albert, the Cardinal, saw more deeply into his heart than myfather; and I remember well that it was when speaking of his brother,my other uncle, that he took pains to impress upon my mind a truththat struck me as a child, and which I have never forgotten. 'Truev
irtue,' he said, 'comes out the brighter for shining amidst vice. Itis only those who feel themselves weak that fear the contagion ofcorruption. We may hate evil, and not willingly mingle with those whopractise it; but, if forced to do so, my child, we shall only hate itthe more if we be really virtuous at heart. Meaner stones derive alustre from that which lies beneath them: we set the diamond uponblack, and it shines by its own light.' My father died, Eugenie; andthe manner of his death was not altogether without suspicion; but as,in his territories, it was a doubtful question, whether the coronet,where there were male and female children, descended to the eldest ofeither sex, or was the portion of the first-born son, my uncleFerdinand came hastily to settle the succession; and, to prevent alldispute, he took the inheritance unto himself. For fear of greaterevils to us, and greater crimes to his brother, my other uncle,Albert, sent my young brother and myself, with speed and secrecy, tothe court of France. I was then but thirteen years of age, and mybrother nine, and with us were some attached dependants, who hadeither followed my mother to Italy, or had dwelt long in my father'shouse. My brother instantly received my mother's inheritance inFrance, burdened only with a small portion for myself; but, to bettermy fallen fortunes, the late Queen-mother, Catherine of Medicis,received me as one of her women, and, to do her but right, showed me,through life, unvarying tenderness. I will not offend your ears,Eugenie, by telling all that I saw in that corrupt court; but I hadthree great safeguards, dear friend--a heart naturally not easilymoved; firm principles of truth and virtue, implanted in my earliestyears; and one faithful woman, who had nursed my mother and myself,and who to vestal purity of heart added a daring courage, whichstrengthened her to do what she judged right in defiance of alldangers, and would speak truth to the highest of God's creatures uponearth. Yet I must not take credit to myself for any great powers ofresistance. I do not say that there were not many who sought me, somein marriage, and some with lighter vows; but so deep and thorough wasthe contempt I felt for the vain and idle butterflies of that viciouscourt, that my scorn extended to the whole sex, and I fancied I shouldnever give one thought to any man in the whole world. You know,Eugenie, and I know too well, how much I was mistaken. At length cameone who sought my love as others had not sought it. Four years, ormore, have since passed, my friend, and those years have changed himnot for the better. There was a freshness of young feeling about himthen, that is now gone, and it was that which first won a way to myheart. I now found that, if my heart had been difficult to move, whenonce it was moved, like a rock broken by some earthquake from theAlps, it was likely to bear all away before it. Oh, how I loved him,Eugenie! and when, after having, I own, made him sigh for many amonth, to prove his love for me, I at length let him know that I didnot feel towards him as towards the rest of men, and that he might, atsome distant time, hope for the hand of Beatrice of Ferrara, therelief, alas! was greater to my heart than his. Then came the changeover him, Eugenie. I believe he had injured his fortune with thosehateful dice; the hope of obtaining your hand was held out to him;ambition and interest called him loudly to pursue that prospect; for Iwas poor, comparatively, and had no hope of better fortunes; and Iheard that he was offering his vows to Eugenie de Menancourt. Iresolved to see with my own eyes if this was true; and as the queenwas then about to undertake one of her gay and politic progressesthrough Maine, I joined her, with my young brother; for my faithfulnurse was by that time dead, and I did not choose to dwell in thatcourt alone. You remember well, Eugenie, those days, and how my truantlover seemed chained, like a slave, to my bridle-rein. My pride wassatisfied, if my heart was not, and I returned to Paris. He remainedsome months behind, and when he came, I found that he was changedindeed. He fled my society, and yet he seemed struggling with himself;full of passion and tenderness when we met, his words were wild andstrange: he plunged deep into the vices of the court; and, though Isaw and knew he loved me still, yet I resolved, by appearing todespise his conduct, and to forget himself, to recall him, if possibleto better deeds. I went down to the dwelling of my brother in Maine,and there, roaming wildly over the country, I soon heard enough toshow me that, notwithstanding all his large possessions, the Countd'Aubin was struggling vainly with the consequences of his ownfollies. There was then a contagious disease raging here in France,and my brother caught it, and died. His possessions fell to me. I hadit now in my power to raise up again him I loved, and to sweep hisembarrassments away; and it became my favourite dream to reclaim himfrom all evil, to lead him back to virtue and to right, to restore himto honour and to station, and to make him owe to me at once peace ofmind and ease of fortune. For the last two years I have laboured forthis object, Eugenie, by many a different means. I have been thwartedby accident, and by his own perversity; but I cling the moretenaciously to those hopes, the weaker becomes the foundation on whichthey rest. Sad and sorry I am to say he has weakened it more and moreevery hour; but yet, Eugenie, I hope. I have had him watched, Eugenie,not that I might know his weaknesses, for to those I have ever shut myears, but in order to seize the moment, if ever the moment shouldcome, for snatching him from his follies or from his evil fate. Tohimself I have pretended to hate and despise him, the better toconceal my views, and also to make him feel my kindness the more whenmy time comes. Sometimes I think, however, that he suspects me; and adwarf page, who has been attached to me from my childhood, and whom,in other days, I gave to him to be his cupbearer, he sent away, a yearor more ago, to his cousin St. Real. I had directed that page to giveme notice of all that passed in Philip d'Aubin's household; but thetidings he gave were scanty, even while he was there, and as soon ashe was gone, I formed a bold resolution, which I executed boldly.Shortly after you had come to Paris with your father, and I hadcontrived to gain your love and confidence, you may remember thatPhilip d'Aubin went down to Maine; and I did hope, that, incompanionship with so noble a heart as his cousin St. Real, and underthe eye of the good old Marquis, who was then living, his betterfeelings might expand, like flowers in the sunshine; and I resolved,at any risk, to go down thither and watch him myself; for I knew thatmen, to whom he owed large sums, were pressing him hard, and that, hadit not been for these sad wars, his estates would long ago havesuffered from their claims. I thought that the moment might come whenthe full and tender generosity, which is so often to be found inwoman's heart, might have room to act, that I might save him from theconsequences of his own faults, and thus, perhaps, save him from thosefaults themselves. I contrived, by means of the dwarf, to forceseveral of my own servants into the household of St. Real; and I wasfollowing down rapidly myself, to try whether I could not, for a time,obtain admission there also, when messengers from my uncle Albert,telling me of the death of Ferdinand, the usurper of my little state,conveying to me considerable treasure, and beseeching me to return,and take possession of territories which were now universallyacknowledged as my own, reached me at Orleans, and brought me back toParis.
"As soon as I had dispatched them back with other letters, begging myuncle to rule in my stead till my return, I pursued my plan; butD'Aubin had, in the meantime, returned to Paris, and had thence againbeen summoned to the sick bed of his uncle of St. Real. Of this I knewnothing, however; and, after manifold risks and difficulties, owing,perhaps, to the negligence, perhaps to the malice, of the dwarfBartholo, I accomplished my object, and found myself established as apage in the house of the lords of St. Real. I had determined, in anygreat difficulty, to apply at once to the old Marquis, and tell himall my history and all my views; but I found him dying, and soon sawthat I must withdraw from the household into which I had thusintruded, or risk detection, and, perhaps, ill repute. To guard myname at home, however, I caused my women to give out that I was ill ofthe fever; and they played their part with skill. Day by day, however,my disguise produced more and more pain to myself; for I had buthourly proofs of how completely D'Aubin had given himself up to thevices and follies of his comrades of the court; and I determined, soonafter St. Real and his cousin reached Paris, to cast that disguise offat onc
e. The wealth which I had now at command in that venal city, andin these venal times, procured me every sort of facility in coming andgoing between Paris and St. Cloud; and I believe that, for one halfthe sum which I possessed unknown within the town, I could haveprocured regular passes for the two kings and all their troops tomarch quietly in and take possession of the capital. Thus, as soon asI had notice of the last sad and daring means which Philip d'Aubin wasabout to employ against you, my Eugenie,--the most base and profligatestep of any he had yet taken,--I cast myself at the king's feet, whoowed me some gratitude for a former service; told him your situation,my own plan for saving you, and besought him to give me hisassistance. He did so in a generous manner, and even furnished me withintelligence to give Mayenne from the Prince of Parma, which iscertain to mislead and puzzle the Duke regarding all our plans.Learning from an attendant, whom I still have in D'Aubin's service,that the Count had bound himself to set out on the very evening of hismarriage for Maine, I conceived the Duke of Mayenne's plans at once;all his views; all his policy. I set every engine to work to gaininformation. I had his chaplain seized and carried away; I induced awild drunken Huguenot soldier, not without talents, but withoutreligion or principle, to enact the priest, and brought him to theHotel de Guise at the moment that a priest was wanted. I took carethat your refusal should be witnessed by so many, that, even had theperson who performed the ceremony been what he seemed, the whole wouldhave been illegal; but I also ensured that proof of the man'scondition, and of all the other facts, should be lodged in the handsof the king, so as to render you free as air. And now, dear Eugenie,here we are, safe and at liberty, with a bark to bear you to England,if the king should lose the approaching battle; and, doubtless, youwonder that, with all I have seen, and with all I know, I can for onemoment think again of Philip d'Aubin. Such is the voice of reason,Eugenie, and the voice of sense; but there is another voice in myheart, which drowns them all, and fills my mind with excuses for hisconduct--vain and light, indeed, as the changing clouds upon the sky,I know; but still those clouds cast shadows, which alter the aspect ofeverything whereon they fall; and so, to my weak eyes, the excusesfound by love cast an obscuring shade upon his actions, which will notsuffer me to see them as I should if the full sun of unbiassedjudgment shone upon them. I will make one more effort, dear Eugenie--Iwill essay one more trial; I will find the means of serving him deeplyand truly; and if he be then ungrateful, I can cast him off--and die."
"Oh, not so, Beatrice!" replied Eugenie; "make every effort; try everymeans; but, even if all should fail, talk not of dying, but seekhappiness in some other shape."
"In vain, Eugenie! in vain!" replied Beatrice, "all the feelings of myheart are engaged in this one effort. If it fail, there will benothing else left for me on earth. The body may live, Eugenie--itperhaps may linger on some few years; but the heart and the soul aredead. Still, let us hope better things, dear friend; you have read mea happy fate in those passing clouds and the sunshine that followed,and I will trust----"
As she spoke, an attendant hurried in. "They are flying, madam!" hesaid; "they are flying!"
"Who?" demanded Beatrice, eagerly, "who are flying?"
"Mayenne's horse, madam," replied the man: "do you not hear thecannon? They have been fighting at Arques for these four hours."
"Send out! send out to see!" cried Beatrice. "On this battle maydepend our future fate, dear Eugenie."
In less than an hour the news of Mayenne's defeat was borne toBeatrice and Eugenie; and the servant who brought it added, that hehad seen the king and Monsieur de St. Real both quite safe, anddirecting the operations which followed up the victory.
"Thank God for this, also!" replied Beatrice. "This battle will securethe western provinces to the king; and now, dear Eugenie, ere I wendmy way back to Paris, we will journey together to Maine, where,between my lands and yours, there lies a spot secluded and calm, andsurrounded by people attached both to you and to me. Mayenne must fallback on Picardy; the king will march on Paris; and Maine will offer asafer asylum than even this which we possess at present."
The political anticipations of Beatrice of Ferrara were not far wrong:scarcely had the day of Arques been won, when the English succourdisembarked at Dieppe. Henry effected his junction with the Duke ofLongueville and the Count of Soisson, the former of whom had beendetached to levy troops; and then resuming the offensive, he marchedin search of Mayenne, and attempted to provoke him to another battle.Retreating upon Picardy, however, Mayenne avoided the large forcewhich was now opposed to him; and, by a number of skilful operations,both military and political, repaired the disadvantages incurred bythe lost field of Arques. Anxious to withdraw him from a province intowhich, from the disaffection of many of the larger towns, the royalforces could not with safety follow him, Henry marched direct uponParis, and, taking several unimportant places by the way, attacked andcarried the suburbs of the capital itself, to the horror and dismay ofthe Leaguers. The scheme was perfectly successful. Mayenne, in terrorlest the metropolis should be lost, spurred with all speed to Paris,leaving his army to follow as they might. The forces of the Royalistswas not sufficiently numerous to invest the city entirely; and thetroops of Mayenne following from Picardy soon placed such a number ofmen within the walls as to set farther attack at defiance.
Withdrawing from a useless enterprise, Henry retreated upon Montl'Hery, and then turned upon Etampes; taking a number of towns underthe very eyes of the League, the leaders of which seemed littledisposed to risk the chances of another battle. Thus passed thewinter, and a considerable part of the spring. The town of Le Mans, itis true, made some resistance to the royal arms, but at lengthyielded; and thence directing expeditions towards different parts ofthe country, the gallant monarch recovered a great part of the richprovinces towards the centre of France. Almost all Maine and aconsiderable part of Normandy were now subject to the king; and,amongst the rest, the lands of Eugenie de Menancourt were, for a time,occupied by the royal troops. The tenantry, however, and the vassals,had been generally called into the field, by the Count d'Aubin, whohad by this time joined Mayenne in Paris; and the changing events ofthe war soon obliged the monarch to withdraw his troops from that partof Maine, and advance to new victories and more important conquests.
Shortly before Easter, Henry IV. had laid siege to Dreux, in Normandy;and Mayenne having taken the castle of Vincennes, Poissi, and severalother places, endeavoured to reduce Meulan. The demonstrations of theroyal army, however, showed a purpose of compelling him to raise thesiege; and having been joined by fresh levies from various parts ofFrance, and considerable reinforcements from the low countries, hedetermined to risk another battle; and for the purpose of choosing hisown ground put his army in motion. Nonancourt had fallen before thearms of Henry IV. and the siege of Dreux was rapidly advancing; whennews reached the royal camp of various unexpected movements on thepart of the army of the League. First came tidings that five thousandinfantry had passed the bridge of Mantes; then came reports of largeforces of cavalry having been seen in march on both sides of theSeine; and, lastly, intelligence was brought to the king that theforagers of the Duke of Mayenne had appeared in the neighbourhood ofDammartin.
Calling his principal officers to council, Henry informed them of thetidings he had received, and then at once made his own comment; andannounced his determination thus:--"From these facts, my friends, itis evident that our good cousin of Mayenne is seeking us; andtherefore I propose instantly to raise the siege of Dreux."
The members of the council looked in each other's faces, with glancesof surprise at such an unexpected proposal from one who was not, ingeneral, easily turned from his enterprises. Henry for a momentsuffered their astonishment to continue, and then added, with a smile;"You seem surprised, my friends; but I have no scruple in regard toabandoning a siege when it is for the purpose of fighting a battle.What say you, my gallant St. Real; will you strike for Henry IV. asbravely here as you did at Arques?"
"With all my heart, sire!" replied
St. Real; and this is one of thefew instances on record of a council in which there existed nodifference of opinion.