I was the more deceived.--HAMLET
The unhappy Charles IX. had a disposition that in good hands might
have achieved great nobleness; and though cruelly bound and trained
to evil, was no sooner allowed to follow its natural bent than it
reached out eagerly towards excellence. At this moment, it was his
mother's policy to appear to leave the ascendancy to the Huguenot
party, and he was therefore allowed to contract friendships which
deceived the intended victims the more completely, because his
admiration and attachment were spontaneous and sincere.
Philip Sidney's varied accomplishment and pure lofty character greatly
attracted the young King, who had leant on his arm conversing
during great part of the ball, and the next morning sent a royal
messenger to invite the two young gentlemen to a part at pall-mall
in the Tuileries gardens.
Pall-mall was either croquet or its nearest relative, and was so
much the fashion that games were given in order to keep up
political influence, perhaps, because the freedom of a garden
pastime among groves and bowers afforded opportunities for those
seductive arts on which Queen Catherine placed so much dependence.
The formal gardens, with their squares of level turf and clipped
alleys, afforded excellent scope both for players and spectators,
and numerous games had been set on foot, from all of which,
however, Berenger contrived to exclude himself, in his restless
determination to find out the little Demoiselle de Nid-de-Merle,
or, at least, to discover whether any intercourse in early youth
accounted for his undefined sense of remembrance.
He interrogated the first disengaged person he could find, but it
was only the young Abbe de Mericour, who had been newly brought up
from Dauphine by his elder brother to solicit a benefice, and who
knew nobody. To him ladies were only bright phantoms such as his
books had taught him to regard like the temptations of St. Anthony,
but whom he actually saw treated with as free admiration by the
ecclesiastic as by the layman.
Suddenly a clamour of voices arose on the other side of the
closely-clipped wall of limes by which the two youths were walking.
There were the clear tones of a young maiden expostulating in
indignant distress, and the bantering, indolent determination of a
male annoyer.
'Hark!' exclaimed Berenger; 'this must be seen to.'
'Have a care,' returned Mericour; 'I have heard that a man needs
look twice are meddling.'
Scarcely hearing, Berenger strode on as he had done at the last
village wake, when he had rescued Cis of the Down from the
impertinence of a Dorchester scrivener. It was a like case, he
saw, when breaking through the arch of clipped limed he beheld the
little Demoiselle de Nid-de-Merle, driven into a corner and
standing at bay, with glowing cheeks, flashing eyes, and hands
clasped over her breast, while a young man, dressed in the extreme
of foppery, was assuring her that she was the only lady who had not
granted him a token--that he could not allow such pensionnaire
airs, and that now he had caught her he would have his revenge, and
win her rose-coloured break-knot. Another gentleman stood by,
laughing, and keeping guard in the walk that led to the more
frequented part of the gardens.
'Hold!' thundered Berenger.
The assailant had just mastered the poor girl's hand, but she took
advantage of his surprise to wrench it away and gather herself up
as for a spring, but the Abbe in dismay, the attendant in anger,
cried out, 'Stay--it is Monsieur.'
'Monsieur; be he who he may,' exclaimed Berenger, 'no honest man
can see a lady insulted.'
'Are you mad? It is Monsieur the Duke of Anjou,' said Mericour,
pouncing on his arm.
'Shall we have him to the guardhouse?' added the attendant, coming
up on the other side; but Henri de Valois waved them both back, and
burst into a derisive laugh. 'No, no; do you not see who it is?
Monsieur the English Baron still holds the end of the halter. His
sale is not yet made. Come away, D'O, he will soon have enough on
his hands without us. Farewell, fair lady, another time you will
be free of your jealous giant.'
So saying, the Duke of Anjou strolled off, feigning indifference
and contempt, and scarcely heeding that he had been traversed in
one of the malicious adventures which he delighted to recount in
public before the discomfited victim herself, often with shameful
exaggeration.
The girl clasped her hands over her brow with a gesture of dismay,
and cried, 'Oh! if you have only not touched your sword.'
'Let me have the honour of reconducting you, Mademoiselle,' said
Berenger, offering his hand; but after the first sigh of relief, a
tempestuous access seized her. She seemed about to dash away his
hand, her bosom swelled with resentment, and with a voice striving
for dignity, though choked with strangled tears, she exclaimed,
'No, indeed! Had not M. le Baron forsaken me, I had never been
thus treated!' and her eyes flashed through their moisture.
'Eustacie! You are Eutacie!'
'Whom would you have me to be otherwise? I have the honour to wish
M. le Baron a good morning.'
'Eustacie! Stay! Hear me! It concerns my honour. I see it is
you--but whom have I seen? Who was she?' he cried, half wild with
dismay and confusion. 'Was it Diane?'
'You have seen and danced with Diane de Ribaumont,' answered
Eustacie, still coldly; 'but what of that? Let me go, Monsieur;
you have cast me off already.'
'I! when all this has been of your own seeking?'
'Mine?' cried Eustacie, panting with the struggle between her
dignity and her passionate tears. 'I meddled not. I heard that M.
le Baron was gone to a strange land, and had written to break off
old ties.' Her face was in a flame, and her efforts for composure
absolute pain.
'I!' again exclaimed Berenger. 'The first letter came from your
uncle, declaring that it was your wish!' And as her face changed
rapidly, 'Then it was not true! He has not had your consent?'
'What! would I hold to one who despised me--who came here and never
even asked to see this hated spouse!'
I did! I entreated to see you. I would not sign the application
till--Oh, there has been treachery! And have they made you too
sign it!'
When they showed me your name they were welcome to mine.'
Berenger struck his forehead with wrath and perplexity, then cried,
joyfully, 'It will not stand for moment. So foul a cheat can be at
once exposed. Eutacie, you know--you understand, that it was not
you but Diane whom I saw and detested; and no wonder, when she was
acting such a cruel treason!'
'Oh no, Diane would never so treat me,' cried Eustacie. 'I see how
it was! You did not know that my father was latterly called
Marquis de Nid-de-Merle, and when they brought me here, they WOULD
call me after him: they said a maid of honour must be Demoiselle,
and my uncle said there was only one way in which I could remain
Madame de Ribaumont! And the name must have deceived you. Thou
wast always a great dull boy,' she added, with a sudden assumption
of childish intimacy that annihilated the nine years since their
parting.
'Had I seen thee, I had not mistaken for an instant. This little
face stirred my heart; hers repelled me. And she deceived me
wittingly, Eustacie, for I asked after her by name.'
'Ah, she wished to spare my embarrassment. And then her brother
must have dealt with her.'
'I see,' exclaimed Berenger, 'I am to be palmed off thus that thou
mayest be reserved for Narcisse. Tell me, Eustacie, wast thou
willing?'
'I hate Narcisse!' she cried. 'But oh, I am lingering too long.
Monsieur will make some hateful tale! I never fell into his way
before, my Queen and Madame la Comtesse are so careful. Only to-
day, as I was attending her alone, the King came and gave her his
arm, and I had to drop behind. I must find her; I shall be
missed,' she added, in sudden alarm. 'Oh, what will they say?'
'No blame for being with thy husband,' he answered, clasping her
hand. 'Thou art mine henceforth. I will soon cut our way out of
the web thy treacherous kindred have woven. Meantime---'
'Hush! There are voices,' cried Eustacie in terror, and, guided by
something he could not discern, she fled with the swiftness of a
bird down the alley. Following, with the utmost speed that might
not bear the appearance of pursuit, he found that on coming to the
turn she had moderated her pace, and was more tranquilly advancing
to a bevy of ladies, who sat perched on the stone steps like great
butterflies sunning themselves, watching the game, and receiving
the attentions of their cavaliers. He saw her absorbed into the
group, and then began to prowl round it, in the alleys, in a tumult
of amazement and indignation. He had been shamefully deceived and
cheated, and justice he would have! He had been deprived of a
thing of his own, and he would assert his right. He had been made
to injure and disown the creature he was bound to protect, and he
must console her and compensate to her, were it only to redeem his
honour. He never even thought whether he loved her; he merely felt
furious at the wrong he had suffered and been made to commit, and
hotly bent on recovering what belonged to him. He might even have
plunged down among the ladies and claimed her as his wife, if the
young Abbe de Mericour, who was two years older than he, and far
less of a boy for his years, had not joined him in his agitated
walk. He then learnt that all the court knew that the daughter of
the late Marquis de Nid-de-Merle, Comte de Ribaumont, was called by
his chief title, but that her marriage to himself had been forgotten
by some and unknown to others, and thus that the first error between
the cousins had not been wonderful in a stranger, since the Chevalier's
daughter had always been Mdlle. de Ribaumont. The error once made,
Berenger's distaste to Diane had been so convenient that it had
been carefully encouraged, and the desire to keep him at a distance
from court and throw him into the background was accounted for.
The Abbe was almost as indignant as Berenger, and assured him both
of his sympathy and his discretion.
'I see no need for discretion,' said Berenger. 'I shall claim my
wife in the face of the sun.'
'Take counsel first, I entreat,' exclaimed Mericour. 'The
Ribaumonts have much influence with the Guise family, and now you
have offended Monsieur.'
'Ah! Where are those traitorous kinsmen?' cried Berenger.
'Fortunately all are gone on an expedition with the Queen-mother.
You will have time to think. I have heard my brother say no one
ever prospered who offended the meanest follower of the house of
Lorraine.'
'I do not want prosperity, I only want my wife. I hope I shall
never see Paris and its deceivers again.'
'Ah! But is it true that you have applied to have the marriage
annulled at Rome?'
'We were both shamefully deceivers. That can be nothing.'
'A decree of his Holiness: you a Huguenot; she an heiress. All is
against you. My friend, be cautions, exclaimed the young
ecclesiastic, alarmed by his passionate gestures. 'To break forth
now and be accused of brawling in the palace precincts would be
fatal--fatal--most fatal!'
'I am as calm as possible,' returned Berenger. 'I mean to act most
reasonably. I shall stand before the King and tell him openly how
I have been tamperes with, demanding my wife before the whole
court.'
'Long before you could get so far the ushers would have dragged you
away for brawling, or for maligning an honour-able gentlemen. You
would have to finish your speech in the Bastille, and it would be
well if even your English friends could get you out alive.'
'Why, what a place is this!' began Berenger; but again Mericour
entreated him to curb himself; and his English education had taught
him to credit the house of Guide with so much mysterious power and
wickedness, that he allowed himself to be silenced, and promised to
take no open measures till he had consulted the Ambassador.
'He could not obtain another glimpse of Eustacie, and the hours
passed tardily till the break up of the party. Charles could
scarcely release Sidney from his side, and only let him go on
condition that he should join the next day in an expedition to the
hunting chateau of Montpipeau, to which the King seemed to look
forward as a great holiday and breathing time.
When at length the two youths did return, Sir Francis Walsingham
was completely surprised by the usually tractable, well-behaved
stripling, whose praises he had been writing to his old friend,
bursting in on him with the outcry, 'Sir, sir, I entreat your
counsel! I have been foully cozened.'
'Of how much?' said Sir Francis, in a tone of reprobation.
'Of my wife. Of mine honour. Sir, your Excellency, I crave
pardon, if I spoke too hotly,' said Berenger, collecting himself;
'but it is enough to drive a man to frenzy.'
'Sit down, my Lord de Ribaumont. Take breath, and let me know what
is this coil. What hath thus moved him, Mr. Sidney?'
'It is as he says, sir,' replied Sidney, who had beard all as they
returned; 'he has been greatly wronged. The Chevalier de Ribaumont
not only writ to propose the separation without the lady's
knowledge, but imposed his own daughter on our friend as the wife
he had not seen since infancy.'
'There, sir,' broke forth Berenger; 'surely if I claim mine own in
the face of day, no man can withhold her from me!'
'Hold!' said Sir Francis. 'What mean this passion, young sir?
Methought you came hither convinced that both the religion and the
habits in which the young lady had been bred up rendered your
infantine contract most unsuitable. What hath fallen out to make
this change in your mind?'
'That I was cheated, sir. The lady who palmed herself off on me as
my wife was a mere impostor, the Chevalier's own daughter!'
'That may be; but what known you of this other lady? Has she been
bred up in faith or manners such as your parents would have your
wife?'
'She is my wife,' reiterated Berenger. 'My faith is plighted to
her. That is enough for me.'
Sir Francis made a gesture of despair. 'He has seen her, I
suppose,' said he to Sidney.
'Yes truly, sir,' answered Berenger; 'and found that she had been
as greatly deceived as myself.'
'Then mutual consent is wanting,' said the statesman, gravely
musing.
'That is even as I say,' began Berenger, but Walsingham help up his
hand, and desired that he would make his full statement in the
presence of his tutor. Then sounding a little whistle, the
Ambassador despatched a page to request the attendance of Mr.
Adderley, and recommended young Ribaumont in the meantime to
compose himself.
Used to being under authority as Berenger was, the somewhat severe
tone did much to allay his excitement, and remind him that right
and reason were so entirely on his side, that he had only to be
cool and rational to make them prevail. He was thus able to give a
collected and coherent account of his discovery that the part of
his wife had been assumed by her cousin Diane, and that the
signature of both the young pair to the application to the Pope had
been obtained on false pretences. That he had, as Sidney said,
been foully cozened, in both senses of the word, was as clear as
daylight; but he was much angered and disappointed to find that
neither the Ambassador nor his tutor could see that Eustacie's
worthiness was proved by the iniquity of her relation, or that any
one of the weighty reasons for the expediency of dissolving the
marriage was remove. The whole affair had been in such good train
a little before, that Mr. Adderley was much distressed that it
should thus have been crossed, and thought the new phase of affairs
would be far from acceptable at Combe Walwyn.
'Whatever is just and honourable must be acceptable to my
grandfather,' said Berenger.
'Even so,' said Walsingham; 'but it were well to consider whether
justice and honour require you to overthrow the purpose wherewith
he sent you hither.'
'Surely, sir, justice and require me to fulfil a contract to which
the other party is constant,' said Berenger, feeling very wise and
prudent for calling that wistful, indignant creature the other
party.
'That is also true,' said the Ambassador, 'provided she be
constant; but you own that she signed the requisition for the
dissolution.'
'She did so, but under the same deception as myself, and further
mortified and aggrieved at my seeming faithlessness.'
'So it may easily be represented,' muttered Walsingham.
'How, sir?' cried Berenger, impetuously; 'do you doubt her truth?'
'Heaven forefend,' said Sir Francis, 'that I should discuss any
fair lady's sincerity! The question is how far you are bound.
Have I understood you that you are veritably wedded, not by a mere
contract of espousal?'
'Berenger could produce no documents, for they had been left at
Chateau Leurre, and on his father's death the Chevalier had claimed
the custody of them; but he remembered enough of the ceremonial to
prove that the wedding had been a veritable one, and that only the
papal intervention could annul it.
Indeed an Englishman, going by English law, would own no power in
the Pope, nor any one on earth, to sever the sacred tie of wedlock;
but French courts of law would probably ignore the mode of
application, and would certainly endeavour to separate between a
Catholic and a heretic.
'I am English, sir, in heart and faith,' said Berenger, earnestly.
'Look upon me as such, and tell me, am I married or single at this
moment?'
'Married assuredly. More's the pity,' said Sir Francis.
'And no law of God or man divides us without our own consent.'
There was no denying that the mutual consent of the young pair at
their present age was all that was wanting to complete the
inviolability of their marriage contract.
Berenger was indeed only eighteen, and Eustacie more than a year
younger, but there was nothing in their present age to invalidate
their marriage, for persons of their rank were usually wedded quite
as young or younger. Walsingham was only concerned at his old
friend's disappointment, and at the danger of the young man running
headlong into a connection probably no more suitable than that with
Diane de Ribaumont would have been. But it was not convenient to
argue against the expediency of a man's loving his own wife; and
when Berenger boldly declared he was not talking of love but of
justice, it was only possible to insist that he should pause and
see where true justice lay.
And thus the much-perplexed Ambassador broke up the conference with
his hot and angry young guest.
'And Mistress Lucy---?' sighed Mr. Adderley, in rather an
inapropos fashion it must be owned; but then he had been fretted
beyond endurance by his pupil striding up and down his room,
reviling Diane, and describing Eustacie, while he was trying to
write these uncomfortable tidings to Lord Walwyn.
'Lucy! What makes you bring her up to me?' exclaimed Berenger.
'Little Dolly would be as much to the purpose!'
'Only, sir, no resident at Hurst Walwyn could fail to know that has
been planned and desired.'
'Pshaw!' cries Berenger; 'have you not heard that it was a mere
figment, and that I could scarce have wedded Lucy safely, even had
this matter gone as you wish? This is the luckiest chance that
could have befallen her.'
'That may be,' said Mr. Adderley; 'I wish she may think so--sweet
young lady!'
'I tell you, Mr. Adderley, you should know better! Lucy has more
sense. My aunt, whom she follows more than any other creature,
ever silenced the very sport or semblance of love passages between
us even as children, by calling them unseemly in one wedded as I
am. Brother and sister we have ever been, and have loved as such--
ay, and shall! I know of late some schemes have crossed my
mother's mind---'
'Yea, and that of others.'
'But they have not ruffled Lucy's quiet nature--trust me! And for
the rest? What doth she need me in comparison of this poor child?
She--like a bit of her own gray lavender in the shadiest nook of
the walled garden, tranquil there--sure not to be taken there, save
to company with fine linen in some trim scented coffer, whilst this
fresh glowing rosebud has grown up pure and precious in the very
midst of the foulest corruption Christendom can show, and if I
snatch her not from it, I, the innocence and sweetness, what is to
be her fate? The very pity of a Christian, the honour of a
gentleman, would urge me, even if it were not my most urgent duty!'
'Mr. Adderley argued no more. When Berenger came to his duty in
the matter he was invincible, and moreover all the more provoking,
because he mentioned it with a sort of fiery sound of relish, and
looked so very boyish all the time. Poor Mr. Adderley!' feeling as
if his trust were betrayed, loathing the very idea of a French
court lady, saw that his pupil had been allured into a headlong
passion to his own misery, and that of all whose hopes were set on
him, yet preached to by this stripling scholar about duties and
sacred obligations! Well might he rue the day he ever set foot in
Paris.
Then, to his further annoyance, came a royal messenger to invite
the Baron de Ribaumont to join the expedition to Montpipeau. Of
course he must go, and his tutor must be left behind, and who could
tell into what mischief he might not be tempted!
Here, however, Sidney gave the poor chaplain some comfort. He
believed that no ladies were to be of the party, and that the
gentlemen were chiefly of the King's new friends among the
Huguenots, such as Coligny, his son-in-law Teligny, Rochefoucauld,
and the like, among whom the young gentleman could not fall into
any very serious harm, and might very possibly be influenced
against a Roman Catholic wife. At any rate, he would be out of the
way, and unable to take any dangerous steps.
This same consideration so annoyed Berenger that he would have
declined the invitation, if royal invitations could have been
declined. And in the morning, before setting out, he dressed
himself point device, and with Osbert behind him marched down to
the Croix de Larraine, to call upon the Chevalier de Ribaumont. He
had a very fine speech at his tongue's end when he set out, but a
good deal of it had evaporated when he reached the hotel, and
perhaps he was not very sorry not to find the old gentleman within.
On his return, he indited a note to the Chevalier, explaining that
he had now seen his wife, Madame la Baronne de Ribaumont, and had
come to an understanding with her, by which he found that it was
under a mistake that the application to the Pope had been signed,
and that they should, therefore, follow it up with a protest, and
act as if no such letter had been sent.
Berenger showed this letter to Walsingham, who, though much
concerned, could not forbid his sending it. 'Poor lad,' he said to
the tutor; ''tis an excellently writ billet for one so young. I
would it were in a wiser cause. But he has fairly the bit between
his teeth, and there is no checking him while he has this show of
right on his side.'
And poor Mr. Adderley could only beseech Mr. Sidney to take care of
him.