CHAPTER XXIII.
The moment the priest and the Marchioness de Chazeul were gone, Rosed'Albret cast herself down into her chair, and covered her eyes withher hands. She would fain have shut out every sight and sound, inorder that she might bend the whole energies of her mind tocontemplation of that one question--were the dreadful tidings she hadheard, true or false? But the agitating beating of her heart, thewhirling confusion of her brain, prevented her for a long time, fromfixing her thoughts firmly upon all the different arguments forbelieving or disbelieving the tale that had been told her. All waswild, and vague, and indistinct. Apprehension at first was far morepowerful than hope; and, though reason pointed out manyimprobabilities even in that part of the intelligence which, as thereader knows, was absolutely true, yet she still dreaded the worst,even while she resolved, if possible, to believe that all was false.
"Was it likely," she asked herself, "that so proud a prince as theDuke of Nemours, should risk his life in single combat against his ownprisoner? Was it probable, that he, who had shown himself so haughtytowards De Montigni as scarcely to return him an answer, should placehimself in such a position as to be compelled to meet him in thefield? Was it not likely, most likely, that such a tale should beinvented by those who had already deceived her on other points, inorder to lead her the more easily to the objects they desired? Was itnot clear that it was so, from their refusal to produce the messenger?Was not, in short, anything asserted by Jacqueline de Chazeul, morelikely to be false than true?"
Thus argued hope; but on the other side fear, though in fewer words,spoke with a more powerful voice. "The priest had asserted that thereport had undoubtedly arrived. Would he venture to do so, after thesolemn adjuration she addressed to him, if he were not himselfconvinced that what he said was true? Then, too, the pains he hadtaken to prepare her mind for the tidings, showed care andconsideration for her; and, if the language he had used in so doing,were but the preface to a falsehood, it must be blasphemous triflingindeed. She suffered memory to run back over all the events latelypassed; she considered his conduct, she asked herself if he had everbeen guilty of deliberate falsehood? The answer was, no. He hadsuffered others to do so; but he had not done it himself. Withouttelling the exact truth, he had not uttered actual untruth. With thatspecies of art, which has acquired the name of a body of men famousfor employing it in all their dealings, he had made truth serve thepurposes of falsehood; and, by a jesuitical juggle, had countenancedthings that he knew to be untrue, without leaving those he deceivedany means of convicting him of a lie. But now he had boldly andstraightforwardly said, that the intelligence had certainly arrived.There was no evading that, she thought; it must either be true orfalse. She recollected, too, the fierce anger which De Montigni haddisplayed when first made prisoner by Nemours, and the words andglances which had passed between them in regard to herself. Might notsuch a scene, she inquired, have been renewed, when her lover foundthat she had been actually sent back without even being permittedanother interview with him? Might he not have used such language aswould compel a prince of fiery courage like Nemours to wave theprivileges of his rank, and meet him as had been reported. Nemours wasknown to be daring, chivalrous, and of a character to carry the pointof honour to excess; and if they met, was not the result reported toher, likely to take place."
Thus argued fear; and between his voice and that of hope, her mind wasleft in that painful uncertainty, which is more wearing and agitatingto the human frame, than even grief itself. She was still busy withthese thoughts, when the door opened and the maid looked in; but Rosewaved her hand impatiently, exclaiming, "leave me, leave me, I do notwant you. You can go to bed."
The very sight of Blanchette, however, brought back to her mind allthe arts that had been practised upon her before, and made her oncemore hope that this sad intelligence might be part of a similar plan."I will retire to bed;" she thought, "in the darkness and stillness ofthe night, I can think over these things more quietly than now. Thesight of that girl is hateful to me. I will shut her out," but whenshe looked round, she found that the lock of the door between her roomand the ante-chamber, had been removed.
"Ha!" she said, "am I to have no privacy? This is hard, indeed;" and,sitting down, she wept, feeling that she was left alone to strugglewith all the arts and machinations of a number, amongst whom she hadno friend. Rising again, after a moment, she wiped away the tears,murmuring to herself, "but they shall not conquer me. Even if he whomI love be gone, and have left me in this cold-hearted world alone, Ican die and follow him; but I will never be the wife of that base andhateful man, let the result be whatever it may." Thus saying, sheundressed without assistance, and retired to bed. But, for poor Rosed'Albret, it was no couch of repose. The thorns of the pillow--busycare, and sharp apprehension and bitter grief--banished all sleep fromher eyes; and hour after hour she lay turning in her mind the sameheavy thoughts which had burdened her since the visit of the priestand Madame de Chazeul.
Daylight returned, at length; and, raising herself upon her arm, shegazed round, as the faint grey stream of early morning poured throughthe window, and showed the various objects in the room. Then came awarmer tint, as the sun actually rose, and with it some of thethoughts which usually accompany the rising day. How beautiful is therevival of nature from her dark slumber in the arms of night! what animage of the dawning of eternal life to the emancipated spirit afterthe shadow of the grave! How good, how great, how wise, is theAlmighty Author of all, who plants in the seasons, and in theelements, in the changes of the world, and in all the revolutions ofnature, the signs and symbols of his beneficence and his power, withpromises of love and blessing and protection! There was consolationeven in the pale beams of morning; but then came back the sad thought,the bitter unanswerable question, to the mind of Rose d'Albret--"Dothe eyes of Louis de Montigni see, like mine, the return of dawningday, or are they closed for ever in the tomb?" And rising from her bedshe knelt, and prayed, and wept, till the increasing sounds in thehouse told her, that her oppressors were once more waking into activelife, and that she must prepare her mind to suffer and resist.
Oh, how most painful of all the many grievous tasks of life, is thatof resistance! and yet it is the unceasing lot of humanity; for thisis all a battle field, and at every point--within and without, againstourselves and others, against circumstances, temptations, cares,griefs, fears, pleasures, successes, triumphs, vanity, hope,expectation, pride, disappointment, opposition, regret, and despair;against man and fiends--it is all resistance; and he who wouldultimately win the garland of victory, must be armed and awake atevery moment of existence. From the moment when the foot of Adam firsttrod the garden, until the now in which we stand against the foe, theconflict has gone on; and happy are they who do resist.
Yet 'tis a weary and a terrible task, especially for those who buckleon their armour for the first time; and poor Rose d'Albret felt herheart sink as she prepared herself for it. But still, the thought ofhim she loved, and her repugnance to the man who would have injuredhim, nerved her for the effort; and again and again, she repeated,"They shall never move me! My voice must speak the falsehood, my ownhand must sign my folly, my own heart must prove the traitor, ere theycan conquer."
Her knowledge, too, of those with whom she had to deal, was not alittle serviceable in guarding her against all arts. That knowledgehad come slowly, not by study or inquiry, but sinking in daily intoher mind, as act after act, and word after word, developed thecharacters of the persons who now surrounded her.
"If they have doubts of De Montigni's fate," she argued, "they willurge me to this abhorred marriage with Chazeul at once andimmediately; they will give me no time--they may even try threats, andviolence, and force. If they have no doubt they will be lessimportunate; they will allow me to deliberate, to mourn. But, goodheaven, if they try force, what shall I do?--It matters not, I willdie first. But, by their course, I shall know whether the tale be trueor false; and if from their urgency I judge that it is false, I shallgain str
ength from hope, and courage even from their cruelty. PoorHelen de la Tremblade! They cannot make me as thou art--they cannotadd self-reproach to all I suffer, but by my own fault. Would that Ihad not promised, never to tell her tale, till she herself thoughtfit. I might perhaps find a friend, if I could do so, in the only onewho could well befriend me. She knew not how much her story mightserve me now; and I little thought that I should long to tell it formy own safety, rather than for her comfort. But hark, there are peoplespeaking near! I will be dressed and prepared to meet them when theycome hither. Blanchette," she continued aloud, "Blanchette!"
The girl made her call several times, and then appeared with a dulland sullen countenance; and Rose proceeding with her toilet, exchangedbut few words with one whom she had never either loved or esteemed,and now despised.
When she was fully dressed she advanced towards the door, saying, "Iwill go out upon the ramparts. Put the room in order against myreturn."
But the girl planted herself in the way, and replied, "You cannot,Mademoiselle. There are strict orders that you remain here, till theCount or the Marchioness come for you."
There was a low suppressed laugh--a laugh of triumph in herpower--mingled with the girl's words, which was hard to bear; and Rosefelt at first inclined to resist, and then to weep; but she gave wayto neither temptation; and, after gazing at her for a minute, merelyreplied, "What, I am a prisoner, then; and my own maid the gaoler? Itis well; but it will prove fruitless. Give me a book, I will read."
The girl inquired what book, and gave her mistress the pain--and shewell knew it was a pain,--to speak more than once before she chose tocomprehend.
At length, however, a book was brought; and poor Rose d'Albret,placing herself near the window, strove to read with an unconcernedair. But it was in vain she did so; the letters swam before her eyes:her mind wandered to other things: her eye ran over the lines withoutgathering their sense; and, ere she had mastered more than two orthree sentences, there was a step in the ante-room, a knock at thedoor, and before she could say "Come in," Madame de Chazeul entered,followed by Monsieur de Liancourt. The conflict, she saw, was about tobegin, and with an anxious gasp for breath, and a haggard eye, shegazed upon them as they approached, unable to speak, though she stroveto do so.
"Be calm, Rose, be calm," said Monsieur de Liancourt, placing a seatfor his sister, and taking one himself. "I have come to you thus earlyin the morning, because Madame de Chazeul and father Walter informedme last night, that you entertained suspicions as to the reality ofthe sad intelligence which we received last night, and I wish toassure you with my own lips that there is no doubt--that I entertainno doubt of the fact."
Rose wept but could not reply; and after a brief pause, the Countproceeded: "Of course I feel deeply grieved that such a fate shouldhave overtaken my nephew; but I cannot help at the same timeremembering, that he has not lately acted as became him, nor showntowards me that respect and gratitude which I trust I deserved at hishands."
"Oh, Sir," cried Rose, waving her hand mournfully; "touch not thememory of the dead--of one who was willing to show you everyreverence, although, perhaps, he might feel that he had been wrongedand deceived. To you," she continued, seeing the Count's lip quiver,"to you he attributed it not, but to the counsels of others; and youwould have found no one more affectionate no one more willing totestify, in every way, his regard and respect."
"Well, well," cried Madame de Chazeul, "there is no use of disputingabout such things. That is all past. The question before us is of thepresent. You had something to say on that score, brother, I think?"
"Why, simply this," replied the Count, "that as my nephew Chazeul isnow, without dispute, my heir, he is also, without dispute, the personindicated by the contract between myself and Monsieur de Marennes--asyour husband, Rose!" he added, in a slow emphatic tone.
Rose gazed down and was silent, for her heart beat so violently thatshe had no power to reply. Had she calculated her whole conduct,however, to obtain an insight into the views of her two companions,nothing could have served her better than that silence, for Madame deChazeul observed, after a momentary pause, "I am happy to see you makeno objection, for no longer delay can be admitted,--indeed it isimpossible--for the presence of Chazeul is instantly required by theDuke of Mayenne, and you must go with him as his wife."
"Make no objection!" said Rose.
But Madame de Chazeul cut her short, saying, "Ay, and it is well thatyou do not, for it could have no effect if you did. Everything isdetermined and prepared. The contract, as before drawn up, waits foryour signature, and the marriage must take place at once."
"He is not dead," murmured Rose to herself, with a sudden look of joypassing over her countenance, which those who saw it could in nodegree comprehend; and the next moment, turning to Monsieur deLiancourt, she said, "Sir, I will ask if this be decent and proper, inthe very first day of mourning for your nephew, for him to whom myheart was given, and my hand promised, to propose that I should wedanother?"
"Urgent circumstances, Rose," answered the Count, "must justify whatwould not otherwise be right. The necessity for Chazeul's immediatedeparture compels us to this course, and I must insist that you makeno opposition."
"If Monsieur de Chazeul must depart," said Rose, "let him; he canreturn at some future period, when a widowed heart may have somewhatrecovered from the wound it has received. But it shall not be said,that Rose d'Albret gave her hand to another, before her tears were dryfor him to whom her faith was plighted."
"This is all vain folly," cried Madame de Chazeul; "my son will findmeans to dry your tears, if that be all."
"He can but make them flow more bitterly," replied Rose d'Albret; "wasever such a monstrous and cruel thing proposed! Oh, Sir," shecontinued, turning to the Count, "will you, a man of honour and agentleman, a man of feeling, and of a kindly heart--will youcountenance the attempt to force me, the very day after I have heardof poor Louis de Montigni's bloody death, to wed a man for whom Inever entertained aught but indifference?"
"Well, Rose, well," said the Count, rising; "I will give you anotherday; that is all that I can allow; for my word is pledged that, beforenoon to-morrow, you shall be Chazeul's wife. Nay, say no more, for Iwill hear no more. Make up your mind to it in the meanwhile; for onthis point I am firm, and your conduct in secretly quitting my rooffor the purpose of thwarting all my designs and wishes for yourbenefit, well justifies me in compelling your immediate obedience."
Thus saying he turned and left the room; but Madame de Chazeulremained gazing upon her poor victim with a bitter, and almostcontemptuous look, which might well teach Rose to apprehend no veryhappy life if wedded to her son.
"What is the meaning of all this, girl?" exclaimed the Marchioness, assoon as the door had closed upon Monsieur de Liancourt; "you areplotting some stratagem,--your delays have some end in view."
"None, Madam," answered Rose d'Albret. "The only object that I canhave in life is, to avoid a union with a man I despise and abhor."
"Despise and abhor!" exclaimed Jacqueline de Chazeul, in a mockingtone; "pray may I ask how it happens that such passions have foundtheir way into your gentle breast?"
"His own deeds, which have come to my ears in spite of yourprecautions, Madam," replied Rose, "have planted those feelings there,never to be rooted out."
"What deeds?" demanded the Marchioness, sternly.
"Unhappily I have promised never to name them," answered Rose; "butyou know to what I allude right well; and you cannot doubt with whateyes I must look upon your son."
"You must be his wife, notwithstanding," said Madame de Chazeul.
But Rose could bear no more. "Never!" she exclaimed; "never! Come whatmay I will never be his wife. You may drag me to the altar, but noteven by silence will I seem to give consent. I will refuse the vow, Iwill cast away the ring, I will call God to witness that I am not hiswife. This hand shall never sign the contract till it moulders in thegrave; and if death be the consequence, I will not do one act that canmake m
e his;" and overpowered by her own vehemence, as well as by themany emotions in her bosom, she burst into a bitter flood of tears.
Madame de Chazeul gazed at her for a moment, while her whole faceworked with passion, which she could not find words to express; andthen shaking her hand at her, she exclaimed, in a low bitter tone,"You shall!" and quitted the room.