CHAPTER XXVIII.
Willingly we turn once more from the dull, dry page of history--thatuninteresting record which no one reads in these days, and probablynever will again, unless by some unforeseen accident the world shouldgrow wiser and better--to the more entertaining and instructiveaccidents and adventures of the individual characters, which, withsomewhat less skill than that of a Philidore, we have been movingabout upon the little chess-board before us. It is always the mostskilful game, we are told, to begin with the pawns, of which we arewell aware, though we somewhat deviated from that rule in thecommencement; but now that we have got our pieces scattered about indifferent directions, and have just been obliged to make the kingabandon his attack upon the castle, we must even have recourse topieces which we have found very useful in many a previous game, andplay this chapter out with the knights.
The evening was cold and still; for the ordinary winds of March hadnot yet begun to blow, although that month was well advanced; and thedull heavy clouds that hung over the world might descend in rain, ormight still assert the rule of winter, and come down in a fall ofsnow. The sky, therefore, looked chill and comfortless to the eyes ofa considerable body of the army of the League, as it moved along theheavy and channelled roads in the neighbourhood of Evreux; and to saysooth, the aspect of the earth itself was but little more cheeringthan that of the heaven which canopied it. Days of trouble hadimpoverished the land, and the cold season which had just passed hadleft the earth brown and rugged; while the woods, that swept overevery favourable slope, presented nothing but a tangled mass of dullgrey branches, diversified alone by a few patches of crisp yellowleaves, that adhered, with all the tenacity of old attachment, to thestems which were soon to cast them off for the greener and gayerchildren of the spring. Thinly peopled, too, was then the land; andthough here and there a village church raised its tower against theevening sky, or a cottage appeared upon the upland, in many instancesthe bell had long ceased to sound from amidst the scenes that war hadvisited; very often the light of the cottage was found extinguished,and the fire of the once warm hearth gone out for ever. The hamletswere few, and generally gathered round some castle, which afforded theinhabitants refuge or protection in time of need; and solitary butinhabited cottages, if met with at all, were but mere huts, in whichdwelt the lowest and most miserable of the population, upon whom waritself could inflict nothing worse than existence.
In short, the whole scene was cold and desolate; and its effect uponthe mind of one of the leaders, who conducted the detachment we havementioned, was such as it was naturally calculated to produce. He hadridden on, at about the distance of half a mile from the head of themingled masses of cavalry and infantry which were under his command;and, accompanied by one companion, and several attendants, advancedsilently upon the rude road, which, winding along the side of an easyhill, displayed a wide extent of dull grey slopes, slightly tintedhere and there with a faint and melancholy hue of green, till a darkand gloomy wood, at several leagues' distance, cut sharp upon theleaden sky, and closed the cheerless prospect. Although the eye ofPhilip d'Aubin, for such was the horseman we have spoken of, roved farand wide over the uninviting face of the country, it was clear that helooked not upon it as a general reconnoitring the land through whichhe passed, with the keen glance of strategic inquiry; but rather thathe seemed to regard it with the look of one whose heart--not whollydead to nobler feelings than those which armed him in civil strifeupon a bad and unjustifiable cause--grieved for the state of ruin inwhich his native land was plunged, although his own evil passionsaided to produce the desolation that he lamented.
The other who rode beside him, Albert of Wolfstrom, drew his cloakround him, and, as he gazed upon the bleak and desolate landscape,thought of nothing but himself. Mercenary by nature and by habit, hescarcely knew what it is to have a country; and--like many others whobelieve themselves to be citizens of the world--in truth and inreality, his own individual selfishness was his world, his country,and his home. D'Aubin knew the nature of the man too well to sufferthe slightest hint of what was passing in his own bosom to escape hislips; well aware that his companion could not understand his feelings,and that, setting aside even the mercenary leader's own particularphilosophy, there was cant of many kinds to be brought forward againstthe sensations which forced themselves upon him; for where was yet theunholy cause which did not inscribe upon its banners the names ofvirtue, religion, patriotism, and honour?
"It is a chilly night," he said, as he remarked the action of hiscompanion; "it is a chilly night, Wolfstrom!"
"Ay, and a dreary prospect," answered his companion. "Which, thinkyou, my noble Count, shall we have to warm our blood tonight with;raising the wine cup, shaking the dice, or hard blows upon brightsteel?"
"With wine, if anything," replied D'Aubin; "Mayenne is not one fond ofnight encounters and sudden surprises; and if he have not fought theking's force to-day, which is not likely, he will let another sun riseere he strike a blow. As for dice, you know, I have abjured them."
"Ay do I, to my sorrow," answered Wolfstrom; "for we have not had onemerry night since we began our march; but, by my life, it is a drearyprospect. I trust that all the centre of this good land is not so bareand wasted. I have been so long in Picardy, where things wear a betteraspect, that I expected not this sad scene in Normandy."
D'Aubin turned upon him an inquiring eye, not understanding, for amoment, what curious combination could have excited in the bosom ofthe adventurer anything like feelings of regret for the devastation ofany land on earth. "You are compassionate, Wolfstrom!" he said:"France indeed has suffered terrible evils; and Normandy, lately, morethan all; for here has been the hottest fire of war during the lastfour months."
"And pray has not Maine suffered as much?" demanded Wolfstrom in aquiet tone.
D'Aubin laughed aloud: "By the Lord!" he exclaimed, "I thought thyheart had grown mighty tender over the woes of France, most worthy andconsiderate Wolfstrom; forgetting, that in the _hypoth?que_[4] which Igave thee over my lands in Maine, on account of that accursed throw ofthe dice, thou hast acquired a certain tender and generous interest inmy unhappy country, through the only channel by which thy heart can bereached,--but rest satisfied! The war would be sweeping and desolatingindeed, which would leave the lands of Aubin unable to pay the pitifulinterest of thy pitiful debt; and besides, I shall soon be able todischarge the whole, and load thee with that sort of moveable ore,which is better suited to thy purposes and thy nature than any claimupon the soil."
"You mean when your marriage can be completed with Mademoiselle deMenancourt," replied Wolfstrom, not unwilling to retort some of thebitterness of Aubin's speech upon himself. "By my faith, Sir Count, ifit wait till then, it will wait long enough apparently; for your fondand affectionate bride seems to conceal herself from your longing armswith wonderful skill and perseverance."
D'Aubin bit his lip, and paused for several minutes ere he replied;but wrath he felt was vain in regard to circumstances far too wellknown to admit the possibility of concealment, however much it mightsting him to find them a subject of common conversation to everymercenary follower of the camp. It cost him an effort, indeed, tosmother all the angry feelings at his heart; but that effort over, hereplied in a tone of calmness that disappointed Wolfstrom's malice:"She does, indeed, conceal herself skilfully," he said; "and in truth,I little thought that so slight an offence as I gave her would sodeeply wound woman's jealous love, or I should have taken greater careto please; but as soon as this battle is over, and these provincescleared, I will bend my whole thoughts and efforts to the search; andwhen once I have found her, a few words of apology, and a few vows ofeternal love and fidelity, will set the whole to rights again."
"I heard that you tried all that before," replied Wolfstrom, dryly;"and the good, free-spoken Parisians seems to think, that it was lovefor one cousin made her run away from the other so eagerly; at least,so Madame de Montpensier, and the Duchess of Guise, and young LaTremblaye, and several others, fa
ncied."
"It is false as hell!" cried D'Aubin; "and those who say it, and thosewho repeat it, lie."
"I trust it is false," answered Wolfstrom, calmly; "and will not takeup the hard word you have used just now, Monsieur d'Aubin, till thebattle is over, and our personal affairs are in a little better order.After that, however, I shall have to inquire how far the word lie wasapplied to my share in the story. At present, let me say, that myrepeating unpalatable rumours to you was but an act of kindness,intended to direct your mind towards a particular point. Evensupposing that nothing like love exists between your cousin and thisfair fugitive, every one knows that he used to regard her as a brothermight a sister; and it is a common supposition that she has fled tohis protection, and is concealed by his assistance."
"Nonsense, nonsense, Wolfstrom!" replied D'Aubin, musing a littlewhile he spoke. "It is all nonsense, depend upon it; and as to theword lie, I applied it alone, of course, to those who spread suchreports maliciously--not to you. Eugenie, wherever she has fled, hastoo deep a sense of female modesty to put herself under the protectionof any idle boy, like my cousin of St. Real."
"Pardie! call him not an idle boy!" cried Wolfstrom. "Call him rathera stout soldier, and skilful commander; for such has he proved himselfin all these last affairs; and the very best in either camp may nowand then take a lesson from him."
"Pshaw!" said D'Aubin. "You are credulous, Wolfstrom! The followers ofthe Bearnois take care to vaunt their great officers and skilfulsoldiers, in order to make up, by the fears of their adversaries, fortheir own want of strength. Do not let us be such gulls as to believethem; and only let us so far reckon on their power, as to take everymeans of employing our own to the best advantage. Do not you spareyour men, Wolfstrom; for one of these great battles lost might placethe whole of France in the power of the Bearnois."
"I shall neither spare my men nor my person, as I am bound in honour,"answered Wolfstrom; "but it matters little to me whether France fallsunder the power of the Bearnois or not. The term for which I took armswill soon be expired; and I can always find employment for my sword,thanks to the Protestants and Catholics here and in other lands."
"True," replied D'Aubin; "but you may find my lands confiscated to thecrown for treason and rebellion some fine day, if the Bearnois winsthe day of us ultimately; and then what becomes of your _hypoth?que?_"
"That consideration shall make me give a good stroke or two more, mydear friend," replied the German coolly; "but I seldom find meanswanting to repay myself; and, methinks, if the Bearnois does beat uscompletely, and declares himself your heir, I shall still contrive toskin his inheritance before I go."
D'Aubin made no reply, and for some time the two commanders rode on insilence; the German leader probably calculating upon the best means ofskinning, as he termed it, other men's inheritance, and the Countd'Aubin, on his part, revolving bitterly all that had just passed in aconversation which presented so very few agreeable points for the mindto rest on. What his companion had said in regard to Eugenie and St.Real, he had repelled only the more angrily because it was confirmedby suspicions existing previously in his own mind; for such is thenature of the human heart, to combat on the lips of others theself-same feelings that we experience with terror within us. To thatpoint of their conversation, therefore, did he most earnestly turn histhoughts; and bitter and angry were the sensations which he now felttowards a being whom he had once loved, but who had since committedthe unforgiveable offence of holding firm to virtue and to honourwhere D'Aubin's own grasp had given way. Gradually as he nourished andpampered the doubts and suspicions within him, the emotions of hismind communicated themselves to his features and to his frame; andsuddenly remembering himself, as he was spurring on his horse underthe impulse of his irritated feelings, he affected to see some objectin the distant plain, and asked his companion whether he did notperceive a light in the eastern part of the landscape.
Wolfstrom answered in the negative; and the conversation between themwas renewed, but took a different turn, touching chiefly upon thechances of a battle on the following day, the respective forces of theRoyalists and Leaguers, and the probability of success on either part.
"We should soon know how the strife will end, if we were in mycountry," said Wolfstrom; "at least, we might easily find persons totell us."
"How so?" demanded D'Aubin. "I hear that our holy Father the Pope,although friendly to our cause, predicts that the day will go againstus."
"Ay, but in Germany," replied Wolfstrom, "we should find those whopretend to know as much as his holiness, and do know a great dealmore. Have you never heard, that in the Odenwald, when a war is aboutto begin, the Wild Huntsman goes out with all his dogs, and that, onthe tops of our mountains, on many a stormy night, the spirits of therivers and the floods hold their meetings, and reveal dark secrets ofcoming events to those who have the courage to go and consult them?"
"No, indeed, Wolfstrom," answered D'Aubin, "I never did hear all that;and I can but say, that I think those spirits must be very foolishspirits to haunt Germany at all, when there is many a warmer and afairer land would be very willing to receive them; and still morefoolish to go up to the tops of mountains on a stormy night! No, no,Wolfstrom; I am no believer in spirits, or ghosts, or phantasms, ornecromancers, or any sort of portents, except the wonders to beeffected by strong wits and strong arms."
"Say many a warmer land, if you will," replied Wolfstrom, angry atD'Aubin's sneer at his native country. "Say many a warmer land, if youwill, but not many a fairer; for the whole earth does not contain afairer than Germany. Why, everything that stream, and mountain, andforest, rich plain, and sweeping upland, can do to make a land lovelyis to be found in Germany: but as you have not seen it, you cannotjudge; and as to your disbelief in portents, you, as every otherincredulous doubter, will some day be convinced."
"Never!" answered D'Aubin, with a laugh: "but now, good Sir Albert, asnight is falling, and we shall not reach St. Andre before midnight, Ithink we had better fall back to our men, and throw out some scouts.Not that I fear surprise; for as Mayenne is between us and the enemy,it would be strange to meet with a foe before we rejoin our friends.'Tis as well, however, always to hold one's self prepared."
The views of the leader of the reitters perfectly coincided in thiscautious doctrine; and D'Aubin and his companion, slackening theirpace, suffered the head of their corps to come up with them.Arrangements were then made for a night march; and the sun went downere they had proceeded far, bursting forth for a moment as he touchedthe edge of the horizon, and dyeing the heavy clouds that rolledaround him with a dull and misty red. The clock struck nine as theCount and his forces entered the little village of Gross[oe]uvre; andthe leaders, riding forward to the old chateau, were welcomed withkindness and hospitality by the ancestors of my poor friend, thegallant and chivalrous De Vitermont, one of the noble and generoushearts of France, who, after having shed his blood, and lost healthand comfort in defence of his country, could still hold out the handof friendship and affection to those who had smitten him so severely,but who were enemies no more.
So good was the wine, so hospitable the hearth at which he sat, thatAlbert of Wolfstrom, with the true love of a soldier of fortune forcomfortable quarters, would fain have delayed the farther march tillmorning, alleging that the horses and men were both fatigued, andcould just as well proceed an hour or two before daylight as at thatlate hour of the night. D'Aubin, however, would not hear of delay;well knowing of how much importance it is to bring troops fresh intothe field, rather than wearied with a long march. Determined,therefore, that whatever rest the soldiers obtained should be as nearthe expected field of battle as possible, at eleven o'clock he causedthe trumpets to sound; and shortly after the troops were once more ontheir march towards the small town of Ivry, at which place the Duke ofMayenne was now ascertained to be. A circuitous route, however, wasnecessarily followed through the great plain which lies between Pacyand St. Andre, as the latter place was understood to be occupied byth
e forces of the king. Sure guides had been obtained, indeed, atGross[oe]uvre, and much were they needed, for the night was as dark asthe mouth of Acheron; and not a ray found its way through the blackcovering of clouds to mark the road from the fields amongst which itwound. The air was calm and still; and no sound was to be heard exceptthe occasional howling of the wolves, which were then frequent, andare not now uncommon, in the many woods which diversify that part ofthe country. Instead of bringing additional chilliness to theatmosphere, however, the night had become warm, and was growing moreand more sultry as it advanced; and every now and then the wind, as ifstruggling to rise against some oppressive burden in the sky, camewith a momentary gust of hot breath, which instantly fell again, andall was still.
"It will turn to rain!" said D'Aubin, speaking to Wolfstrom, who rodebeside him; "it has grown too hot for snow."
"No, no, noble Sir!" replied the old man who walked beside D'Aubin'sbridle-rein, to show him the way; "that which you feel is the hotbreath of the battle coming up! They will fight to-morrow, that iscertain! When I served with the Great Duke, we never felt a night likethis, without being sure that there would be bloody work the nextmorning, whether we expected it before or not."
"Indeed!" said D'Aubin; but as he spoke, a slight momentary flashplayed along the verge of the far sky, showing, for the brief instantthat it lasted, the plain and the woods around, and then leaving allblank and dark once more.
"Ay, that's always the way," said the old man; "the spirits of the twoarmies are trying to-night which will have the victory to-morrow. Weshall hear more of it soon."
Several minutes, however, elapsed without his prophecy being verified;and D'Aubin began to fancy, that what he had at first supposed to be aflash of lightning had proceeded from the discharge of some distantgun, the report of which had escaped his ear; when again a broad blazeillumined the sky, and a clap of thunder, resembling the discharge ofa whole park of artillery, echoed and re-echoed through the air. Thencame another pause; but the moment after appeared a spectaclewhich--if it had not been seen by the unimaginative Sully, and thekeen and inquiring eyes of D'Avila the historian, as well as those ofevery other person then awake in either host,--might well have passedfor a superstitious fable. The sky became suddenly in a blaze withflickering lightning, which scarcely left it for a moment in darkness;while in the midst appeared forms of fire, like those of mountedhorsemen and charging squadrons. Shifting, advancing, wheeling, nowmeeting in impetuous shock, now mingled in the confusion of the_m?l?e_, now broken and scattered, now fleeing, now rallied, theaerial combatants acted in the clouds the fierce drama of ahard-contested field of battle before the eyes of the astonishedsoldiers. For some minutes an uncommanded halt took place; thesoldiers gazed upon the blazing sky with eyes of wonder and terror;several of the horses started from the ranks, and were only broughtback by skill and strength; and then stood with foaming hides anddistended nostrils, straining their eyes, with their riders, on thebright but fearful phenomenon above them. Still that strange warfarein the sky seemed to go on, while the thunder rolled around in oneincessant peal; and gradually shaking off the first effects of terror,the soldiery began to take an interest in the scene, worked up theirimaginations to the belief that the combat was real. So complete atlength was the illusion, that when the phantom army appeared defeatedby their adversaries, and the forms that composed it were driven overthe sky in confusion, the trumpeter of the horsemen of Aubininstinctively put his clarion to his lips, and blew a rally. The Counttook advantage of the incident to give the word to march; and turningto Albert of Wolfstrom, as he spurred on his horse, exclaimed, "Intruth, in truth, this is very strange!"
The troops followed their commander in some disarray; but ere theyreached the edge of the upland the pageant had passed away, and allwas darkness, except when an occasional flash of lightning broke foran instant across the sky.[5]