Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.
CHAPTER XXI.
The journey was long and tedious, the road heavy and bad, the coachwhich had been procured at Chartres ponderous and cumbersome, and thehorses which had been placed in it unequal to drag its weight exceptat a slow and lingering pace. Poor Rose d'Albret sat far back in thevehicle, with her hands over her eyes, and the tears streaming fastdown her cheek as they passed through the gates of Chartres, and asthe last faint traces of the dream of happiness in which she had beenindulging, faded away, and left her a reality of misery, anxiety, andcare.
Tardy as was their progress, the feet of the horses seemed all tooquick in drawing her towards a scene in which she anticipated nothingbut distress of many kinds; reproach from those who themselvesdeserved the bitterest censure, threats, importunity, persecution, andthat constant effort to deceive, which she knew would require on herpart continual watchfulness and a guard upon every word, and look, andaction. She could no longer hope to give way to one feeling of theheart; the free spirit was to be chained down and bound; the candidand the frank, was to put on reserve and policy; the trustful and theconfiding, was to assume doubt and suspicion: every bright quality ofher own mind was to be cast away for the time, as useless in thewarfare in which she was about to engage; and she was to be calledupon to take up the weapons of her adversaries, in order to meet themupon equal terms. It was all bitters, in short; and Rose shrank fromthe contemplation, and felt a sickening hopelessness of heart, towhich she had never given way before.
Then her thoughts turned to De Montigni; and for the first time shefelt to the full how much she loved him. Short as had been the timethat they had passed together since his return to France, those fewhours had been as much as years in binding heart to heart, so full hadthey been of events, thoughts, and feelings; and now that she wasseparated from him, she asked herself, what would be his fate;meditated over all that he would suffer on her account, as well as theweary weight of imprisonment; and, judging rightly of his sensations,knew that his grief and anguish for her, would be the most painfulpart of all he had to endure. She felt as if she were bound ingratitude to repay his anxiety, by equal grief for him; and, insteadof endeavouring to console herself by listening to the voice of hope,she added, I may say voluntarily, to her own sorrow, by dwelling uponhis.
Thus passed hour after hour, as they rolled slowly on, while the partyof horsemen who guarded her, urged the coachman to greater speed,though, if her voice could have obtained a hearing, she would havebesought him to delay at every step, rather than hurry on to a place,the very thought of which was horrible to her. The driver, however,was not one to be moved in any degree by the exhortations of hiscompanions; and neither slower nor faster did he go, for all thatcould be said to him. At the same dilatory pace he proceeded, pausedtwice to water and to feed his horses, and seemed as deaf to theapprehensions of the guard, lest they should be overtaken by any partyof the enemy, as to the threats which they held out of the anger ofthe governor and the Duke of Nemours. Thus night fell just before theyreached a little town, not much more than half way to Marzay; and thecoachman, declaring that his horses could proceed no further that day,pulled up at the door of what was then called a _G?te_ or sleepingplace, and proceeded unceremoniously to detach the cattle from thevehicle, giving no heed whatsoever, either to the questions orremonstrance of an old man who was in command of the troop.
As nothing could be done but to remain where they were, Rose was ledto her bed-chamber, and told, in civil terms enough, that, by herleave, they would proceed at daybreak on the following morning. Theold man paid every attention to her comfort, according to the ordershe had received; and even listened, while, encouraged by his courteousmanner, she ventured to remonstrate upon the conduct pursued towardsher, in carrying her against her will to a place so hateful to her. Hereplied coldly, that the affair was none of his; he did but obey hisorders; and Rose soon found, by the strictness with which she waswatched, and by the placing of a guard at her chamber door, that thehope of escaping, and flying on foot at any risk, was altogether vain.
The journey of the next day went on as that of the day just gone; andit was evening when the sight of many well known objects, the woodthrough which she had often ridden, the little chapel where she hadfrequently stopped to pray, the hamlet, the church, the fountain, thestream, all of which she recollected, showed her that they were withina few miles of the place in which her youth had been spent. Howchanged were now all her feelings, from those with which she hadwandered through the same scenes in girlhood! Where was now thesunshine of the heart, which at once lighted up every object around?Where was the interest with which imagination had invested all thatnow seemed so dead and cold? Some light had gone out in life since shewas last there; and the visionary splendour had departed.
In about half an hour more, they came to the side of a hill, fromwhich the Ch?teau of Marzay was visible, at the distance of about amile. The evening sun was just setting, and casting long streams oflight and shadow over the undulating country below. The snow haddisappeared; the green herbage of the fields was seen; the brownbranches of the wood grew warm and glowing in the evening rays; theriver swollen with rain rushed on like a torrent of blood, reflectingthe glowing crimson of the west, and every window of the ch?teauflashed back the bright beams of light, in lines almost too dazzlingfor the eye. Round the summits of the towers, however, as they roseabove the eminence on which the castle was built, rolled a thin dullcloud of leaden vapour, faintly tinged with red, on the side next tothe sun; and as the carriage moved slowly on, it descended lower andlower over the building, rendering the lines and angles indistinct tothe eye, like the fate which awaited the poor girl who was journeyingthither. She gazed out eagerly towards it with a heavy sigh, and aheart weighed down with the certainty of coming sorrow; and thenturning her eyes over the open ground below, she traced the road whichshe had followed in her flight with De Montigni, and could have weptto think how vain had proved all the hopes that bore her up throughthe fatigues and discomforts of that journey.
Suddenly from behind a clump of trees, at the distance of about aquarter of a mile, emerged slowly a figure on horse-back, bearing inhis hand what Rose at first imagined to be a lance. The next moment,however, she perceived that it was a cross; and, at the same solemnpace, following the first on foot, came six other men carryingsomething like a litter on their shoulders. The light caught upon it,however, as they began to ascend the slope towards the ch?teau, andRose saw the fluttering of a pall; several other persons followed,likewise, on foot, and then a party of some fifteen or sixteenhorsemen, with lances lowered, and a pennon flickering in the wind.
"They are bearing back a dead body to the ch?teau, Mademoiselle," saidthe old man, who was riding by the side of the carriage at the moment;"likely some one who has fallen at Ivry. Perhaps we had better stopand let them get before us. It is unlucky to go in with a corpse."
"Unlucky to go in at all," said Rose, sadly; "do as you will. Sir, Iam a captive, and have no authority in such matters."
The old man gave orders to halt; and the funeral procession of thegood old Commander de Liancourt, which was following a road thatformed an acute angle with the one they were themselves pursuing,moved slowly on towards the ch?teau. When it had come within three orfour hundred yards of the gates, the Count de Liancourt, with hisnephew Chazeul, and a number of the soldiers and attendants, cameforth to meet it, preceded by father Walter, and two boys, belongingto the chapel, dressed in their robes. The procession immediatelyhalted; and Estoc dismounting from his horse, advanced a few steps infront to confer with the Count and his companions.
The loss of a brother, to a man in the decline of life, can never be amatter of indifference, and Monsieur de Liancourt was evidently muchagitated; but there were other feelings in his bosom, besides those ofmere grief, and his manner was hesitating and embarrassed, as hereturned Estoc's grave salutation, and listened to the solemn words,
"I have brought back to you, Sir, the corpse of your brother, Michaelde Lianc
ourt, Commander of the Order of St. John, who fell, gallantlyfighting for his King, on the glorious field between St. Andr? andIvry; and I claim your permission to carry it into the chapel of thech?teau, according to his own request."
"I receive my poor brother's body at your hands, Monsieur Estoc,"replied the Count, "and thank you for your letter of this morning; butas you know we have few people in the castle, and many of us notaltogether holding the same opinions as yourself; you cannot, expectus to suffer you to enter with such a body of armed men."
"We are armed, Sir Count," answered Estoc, "as soldiers carrying thebody of a soldier; but you know right well, we come in peace upon sosad an errand. As soon as we have performed our duty, we will departin peace, if we are suffered to do so; but what we have undertaken wewill perform, and trust to meet with no opposition."
"This is foolishness, Sir," cried Chazeul, sharply; "you cannot expectsuch permission, after all that has taken place; and, in one word, youmay enter yourself with any two or three, but no more shall haveadmission."
Estoc's cheek grew red. "To you, young man," he replied, "I do notspeak, for you are not the lord of that ch?teau, and never will be;but to you, Monsieur de Liancourt, I answer, we have all of us swornto lay the body of our old leader before the altar of the chapel ofMarzay, and we will do it. If you will give us admission, well; ifnot, I will bear it back to the church in the village, there set itdown till we are joined by the men of Montigni, and then forcing myway in at the point of the sword, will keep my oath, whoever tries tostay me. You know old Estoc too well to believe that he will break hisword; so choose, and that quickly, for it is growing late."
But at this moment father Walter interposed, advancing with an air ofgrave authority, and saying, "Cease, cease! in the name of decency andChristian charity, cease! and in the presence of the dead, let us havepeace. My son," he continued, turning to the Count, "you will never, Iam sure, oppose Monsieur Estoc in carrying in the body of our poorfriend into the chapel according to his vow, if he pledge his word toretire immediately after it be accomplished. You, Monsieur Estoc, willnever refuse to plight your word as a French gentleman, to re-treadyour steps as soon as you have laid the corpse before the altar,without doing injury to any one, or interfering in any way with theaffairs of the castle."
"Most willingly, good father," replied Estoc; "I come but for onepurpose; and as soon as that is accomplished, I am more anxious thanany one to leave this place at once, for I have promised to lead thesegood fellows back to join the King, and reap our share in the fruitsof this great victory."
"Then it is true that Henry won the battle?" asked Monsieur deLiancourt.
"Ay, Sir!" answered Estoc, "most true--and a decisive battle it was.The League is now, nothing but a name."
Chazeul smiled contemptuously; but the priest brought back thediscussion to the point, saying, "Monsieur de Liancourt, you have notanswered. I trust you will be satisfied with this promise."
The Count hesitated; but Estoc, turning towards him with a reproachfullook, demanded, "Have you known me so long, Monsieur de Liancourt, andyet doubt my word? I promise you, Sir, to quit the castle with thesegood men, as soon as I have laid that bier before the altar, and givenfather Walter here the message which I have to deliver to him,regarding the watching of the body and the masses for the soul."
"Well," said the Count, whose eyes had been turned for a moment to thehill behind Estoc, "well, I consent on condition, Sir, that youimmediately retire to the village without meddling in any way withwhat you may see within the castle. Do you promise as a man ofhonour?"
"I do!" replied Estoc; "though I know not what you are afraid I shouldinterfere with. But as I come here for a fixed purpose, when that isaccomplished, I will go."
"Well, then, march on!" said the Count; "and we, as mourners for mybrother, will bring up the rear."
The order was accordingly given, and the funeral train was once moreput in motion. The party of the Count, with the exception of fatherWalter, who remained in front, paused till the rest had passed, andthen fell in behind; but, on a word from Monsieur de Liancourt, one ofhis attendants quitted the line, and at a quick pace sped up the hillto the spot where the coach, containing poor Rose d'Albret, was stillstanding. Had Estoc been aware of whom that vehicle contained, itmight have changed the fate of many an after day; but as yet he hadnot perceived it at all; and following the corpse of his old leaderwith a slow and heavy step, while a thousand memories of other days,associated with the very building he was now entering, pressed sadlyon his mind, he ascended the slope with his eyes bent down upon theground, till the body passed the low arch of the gate, and he foundhimself in the outer court, so long familiar to his footsteps.
The priest, in the meantime, sped on into the chapel, in order toreceive the body with the usual ceremonies; and, dismounting fromtheir horses, the soldiers who had followed the old commander to thefield of Ivry, soon thronged the space before the altar, with theirarmed forms falling into fine but sombre groups, as the last faintrays of the setting sun streamed through the stained glass window onthe western side, and cast their long shadows across the floor,covered with many a monumental stone and inscription. The Count deLiancourt and Chazeul stood behind, with their followers andattendants; and even when the ceremony was over, they lingered still,as if to see the old soldier and his comrades quit the chapel.
Estoc looked round more than once in the hope that they were gone.Perhaps he wished to give way to the feelings of sorrow and regretthat were strong in his heart, without the presence of colderwitnesses. Perhaps he wished to have some private conversation withthe priest before he departed. But the Count and his companionsremained where they were; and finding that they had no intention ofretiring, he at length turned to the priest, saying, "Monsieur de laTremblade, I have now to ask you, on behalf of him who is gone, first,to say one hundred masses for the repose of his soul."
The priest bowed his head, replying, "It shall be done rightwillingly, my son."
And Estoc proceeded, "Secondly, to keep vigil this night and to-morrowby the body, till the hour of matins."
"It is unusual, my son," answered the priest, "except in the case ofvery high personages; but still, as you require it, it shall be done."
"I beseech you in charity to do so, father," replied Estoc: "and Iknow that which you promise you will accomplish."
"Without fail," answered father Walter, and Estoc, turning from thechapel led his men back into the court. The first object his eyes fellupon was a carriage, apparently just arrived and surrounded by severalarmed men, bearing the green scarfs of the League. The door of thecoach was open, and a lady in the act of alighting; and the nextmoment Rose d'Albret held out her hands to the old soldier,exclaiming, "Ah! good Estoc!"
Yielding to the first impulse, Estoc sprang forward towards her,exclaiming, "Have they brought you here already, dear lady?"
"Much against my will," replied Mademoiselle d'Albret; but Chazeul andthe Count de Liancourt instantly interposed.
"You promised, Sir," exclaimed the latter, "to retire from the ch?teauwithout interfering with anything that you might see or hear. Is thisthe way you keep your word?"
"I will keep my word with you, Sir," answered Estoc, "better than youhave kept yours with this lady's father.--Alas! Mademoiselled'Albret," he continued, "I am bound to quit this place at once; andall I can say is, that steadfast truth and firmness will prevail atlast, and so I must bid you farewell."
As he spoke, he kissed her hand and turned away; and Rose, yielding toa violent burst of tears, suffered herself to be led into the buildingby the Count de Liancourt, who remained silent till they reached thehall, where the first object that presented itself to her eyes, in thedim twilight that now reigned through the wide chamber, was the tallharsh form of the Marchioness de Chazeul, advancing as if to meet her.For a moment, Rose's heart sunk at the sight; but, the next instant,she murmured to herself, "I must not give way. My task is one offirmness, and I must not yield to any weakness lik
e this."
"So, girl, so," cried Jacqueline de Chazeul, "all your fine plots haveproved of no avail! Was it not decent, delicate, and feminine, to flyfrom your guardian's protection and cast yourself, unmarried, into thearms of a man you scarcely know?"
"Scarcely know!" exclaimed Rose d'Albret; "whom do I know so well?But, Madam, to fly with him was my only choice, in order to escape thearts and persecutions which I was sure to encounter here. I believethat I was justified by the contract of my father, which had been solong concealed from me. I could trust to the honour of the man to whommy father had engaged my hand; and I went to seek from the King thatprotection and justice which I was not likely to meet with where I wasbest entitled to except it."
"You have learned boldness enough, it seems, minion," replied Madamede Chazeul, in a sharp tone, "and, if you think to justify yourselfhere, by saying that it was to a heretic usurper you fled, to onecondemned and degraded by God and the apostolic church, from yourlawful guardian and the husband whom he has selected for you, you arevery much mistaken."
"To you, Madam, I seek not to justify myself at all," replied Rose; "Ihave nought to do with you, nor you with me. To Monsieur de Liancourt,when he thinks fit, I am ready, in private, to assign the motives ofmy conduct, and to none else am I responsible."
"I will teach you that I have to do with you, pretty lady," repliedMadame de Chazeul. "Have you not deceived and ill-treated my son? andyou shall make him full atonement, before I quit this ch?teau."
"I have not ill-treated nor deceived him, Madam," replied Rose. "'Tishe that has ill-treated and deceived me, and many others, too. Hecannot say that I ever affected to love him, that I ever did more thanyield a cold and unwilling acquiescence to that which he made mebelieve, by a shameless falsehood, was my poor father's will. Ilearned, at length, what that father's intentions really were; andthen, contempt and abhorrence of the deceiver took place of theindifference I before felt towards him. He knows it well," shecontinued, "that I am bound to him by no tie, no promise, noengagement whatsoever. I was told that I must marry him--"
"And so you must, fair lady," exclaimed Madame de Chazeul, in amocking tone, "and so you must, and so you shall! Assure as my name isJacqueline de Chazeul, you shall be his wife before two suns set."
"Nay, nay, my dear mother," said Chazeul, who had been speaking to theCount de Liancourt at a little distance, "you are too harsh, and toounkind to Mademoiselle d'Albret. She will yield when she finds that itmust be so. She will also yield, when she finds she is mistaken aboutthis contract, and that, in reality, her father left it open forMonsieur de Liancourt to bestow her hand on which of his nephews hethought fit. I can assure you, Rose," he continued, in a soft, butemphatic tone, "Monsieur de Marennes believed that my uncle, here,could bequeath his estates to myself, if he chose it; and, therefore,I might as well be meant by the contract as my cousin."
"Cease, Sir, cease," answered Rose; "it is vain to stain yourselveswith any more deceits. I now know the whole truth, that the goodCommander resigned his claims in favour of Madame de Montigni; that toher son those claims appertained when my father signed the contract,and, therefore, it was to him he pledged me. But I have something moreto say, and I beg you will mark it. Had you been even meant by thecontract, which you know right well you were not, nothing on earthshould ever make me give you my hand, now that I know some other ofyour doings. I would rather, a thousand-fold, vow myself to theseclusion of a convent, than pass my life with a man whom I canneither respect, esteem, nor love."
"We will not give you the choice, minion," cried Madame de Chazeul;"your fate is sealed and determined; you are to be his wife, if not byfair means, then by force. This will bear no farther trifling,Liancourt; you must exert your power over her, and compel her to dowhat is right."
"I hope he will exert it," exclaimed Rose, "to protect me from thosewho would do me wrong. Monsieur de Liancourt," she continued, "I havealways loved you well. You have ever been kind to me, till this lastsad occasion, when, persuaded by others, I am sure, rather than byyour own inclination, you have well nigh sacrificed my happiness andpeace. For my part, I have tried, from my young days, to show you theaffection of a daughter, and I would willingly show you the obedienceof one, were it possible; but in this instance, it is not so. Myfather's contract I will fulfil, happy that my own inclinations andthe earliest affections of my heart go with it, but still more happythat it saves me from wedding one with whom I could expect nothing butmisery. I beseech you, then, give me that protection which youpromised my father you would afford me; suffer me not to be injuredand insulted in your own house, even by your sister; and do not allowme to be persecuted to break the engagement made between you and yourwife's brother. Rather, aid to maintain it to the utmost of yourpower; and be my support and stay in this hour of difficulty anddistress."
"You ask much at my hands, Mademoiselle d'Albret," replied the Count,coldly, "and yet do not offer much in return. You cannot suppose thatI approve of your quitting my house with Monsieur de Montigni; andyour claim to protection on my part, must be founded on your obedienceto my commands, which I trust you will now honour somewhat more thanyou have lately done."
Rose turned away, with a sad look, and sickening sinking at her heart.Every one was against her; and, though it was what she had expected,yet it made her feel more deeply desolate and hopeless. To reply, shesaw was vain; and she felt that she could not much longer keep up thefirm and determined tone in which she had forced herself to speak; fortears, at every other moment, were ready to betray the feelings thatshe laboured to conceal. "I am weary," she said, abruptly, "and Iwould fain retire to rest. By your leave, Monsieur de Liancourt, Iwill seek my chamber."
"I will show you which is your chamber," said Madame de Chazeul, "foryou must not fancy that you are to tenant a room so easy of access.Who can tell," she continued, in a jesting tone, "what gay gallants wemay have in the castle, who may be pleased to scale a lady's window,when they know she is so ready to receive them?"
Rose could bear no more, and burst into a flood of tears.
"Hush, Jacqueline, hush!" said Monsieur de Liancourt; "I will show herthe room myself;" and, taking her hand, he led her away from the hall.