The Styx had fast bound her
Nine times around her.
POPE, ODE ON ST.CECILIA'S DAY
Early on Monday morning came a message to Mademoiselle Nid de Merle
that she was to prepare to act the part of a nymph of Paradise in
the King's masque on Wednesday night, and must dress at once to
rehearse her part in the ballet specially designed by Monsieur.
Her first impulse was to hurry to her own Queen, whom she entreated
to find some mode of exempting her. But Elisabeth, who was still
in bed, looked distressed and frightened, made signs of caution,
and when the weeping girl was on the point of telling her of the
project that would thus be ruined, silenced her by saying, 'Hush!
my poor child, I have but meddled too much already. Our Lady grant
that I have not done you more harm than good! Tell me no more.'
'Ah! Madame, I will be discreet, I will tell you nothing; but if
you would only interfere to spare me from this ballet! It is
Monsieur's contrivance! Ah! Madame, could you but speak to the
King!'
'Impossible, child,' said the Queen. 'Things are not her as they
were at happy Montpipeau.'
And the poor young Queen turned her face in to her pillow, and
wept.
Every one who was not in a dream of bliss like poor little Eustacie
knew that the King had been in so savage a mood ever since his
return that no one durst ask anything from him.
A little while since, he had laughed at his gentle wife for letting herself, and
Emperor's daughter, be trampled on where his brother Francis's
Queen, from her trumpery, beggarly realm, had held up her head, and
put down la belle Mere; he had amused himself with Elisabeth's
pretty little patronage of the young Ribaumonts as a promising
commencement in intriguing like other people; but now he was
absolutely violent at any endeavour to make him withstand his
mother, and had driven his wife back into that cold, listless,
indifferent shell of apathy from which affection and hope had begun
to rouse her.
She knew it would only make it the worse for her
little Nid de Merle for her to interpose when Monsieur had made the
choice.
And Eustacie was more afraid of Monsieur than even of Narcisse, and
her Berenger could not be there to protect her. However, there was
protection in numbers. With twelve nymphs, and cavaliers to match,
even the Duke of Anjou could not accomplish the being very
insulting. Eustacie--light, agile, and fairy-like--gained
considerable credit for ready comprehension and graceful
evolutions. She had never been so much complimented before, and
was much cheered by praise. Diane showed herself highly pleased
with her little cousin's success, embraced her, and told her she
was finding her true level at court. She would be the prettiest of
all the nymphs, who were all small, since fairies rather than
Amazons were wanted in their position. 'And, Eustacie,' she added,
'you should wear the pearls.'
'The pearls!' said Eustacie. 'Ah! but HE always wears them. I
like to see them on his bonnet--they are hardly whiter than his
forehead.'
'Foolish little thing!' said Diane, 'I shall think little of his
love if he cares to see himself in them more than you.'
The shaft seemed carelessly shot, but Diane knew that it would
work, and so it did. Eustacie wanted to prove her husband's love,
not to herself, but to her cousin.
He made his way to her in the gardens of the Louvre that evening,
greatly dismayed at the report that had reached him that she was to
figure as a nymph of Elysium. She would thus be in sight as a
prominent figure the whole evening, even till an hour so late that
the market boat which Osbert had arranged for their escape could
not wait for them without exciting suspicion, and besides, his
delicate English feelings were revolted at the notion of her
forming a part of such a spectacle. She could not understand his
displeasure. If they could not go on Wednesday, they could go on
Saturday; and as to her acting, half the noblest ladies in the
court would be in piece, and if English husbands did not like it,
they must be the tyrants she had always heard of.
'To be a gazing-stock---' began Berenger.
'Hush! Monsieur, I will hear no more, or I shall take care how I
put myself in your power.'
'That has been done for you, sweetheart,' he said, smiling with
perhaps a shade too much superiority; 'you are mine entirely now.'
'that is not kind,' she pouted, almost crying--for between
flattery, excitement, and disappointment she was not like herself
that day, and she was too proud to like to be reminded that she was
in any one's power.
'I thought,' said Berenger, with the gentleness that always made
him manly in dealing with her, 'I thought you like to own yourself
mine.'
'Yes, sir, when you are good, and do not try to hector me for what
I cannot avoid.'
Berenger was candid enough to recollect that royal commands did not
brook disobedience, and, being thoroughly enamoured besides of his
little wife, he hastened to make his peace by saying, 'True, ma
mie, this cannot be helped. I was a wretch to find fault. Think
of it no more.'
'You forgive me?' she said, softened instantly.
'Forgive you? What for, pretty one? For my forgetting that you
are still a slave to a hateful Court?'
'Ah! then, if you forgive me, let me wear the pearls.'
'The poor pearls,' said Berenger, taken aback for a moment, 'the
meed of our forefather's valour, to form part of the pageant and
mummery? But never mind, sweetheart,' for he could not bear to vex
her again: 'you shall have them to-night: only take care of them.
My mother would look back on me if she knew I had let them out of
my care, but you and I are one after all.'
Berenger could not bear to leave his wife near the Duke of Anjou
and Narcisse, and he offered himself to the King as an actor in the
masque, much as he detested all he heard of its subject. The King
nodded comprehension, and told him it was open to him either to be
a demon in a tight suit of black cloth, with cloven-hoof shoes, a
long tail, and a trident; or one of the Huguenots who were to be
repulsed from Paradise for the edification of the spectators. As
these last were to wear suits of knightly armour, Berenger much
preferred making one of them in spite of their doom.
The masque was given at the hall of the Hotel de Bourbon, where a
noble gallery accommodated the audience, and left full space
beneath for the actors. Down the centre of the stage flowed a
stream, broad enough to contain a boat, which was plied by the Abbe
de Mericour--transformed by a gray beard and hair and dismal mask
into Charon.
But so unused to navigation was he, so crazy and ill-trimmed his
craft, that his first performance would have been his submersion in
the Styx had not Berenger, better accustomed to boats than any of
the dramatis personoe, caught him by the arms as he was about to
step in, pointed out the perils, weighted the frail vessel, and
given him a lesson in paddling it to and fro, with such a masterly
hand, that, had there been time for a change of dress, the part of
Charon would have been unanimously transferred to him; but the
delay could not be suffered, and poor Mericour, in fear of a
ducking, or worse, of ridicule, balanced himself, pole in hand, in
the midst of the river. To the right of the river was Elysium--a
circular island revolving on a wheel which was an absolute orrery,
representing in concentric circles the skies, with the sun, moon,
the seven planets, twelve signs, and the fixed stars, all
illuminated with small lamps. The island itself was covered with
verdure, in which, among bowers woven of gay flowers, reposed
twelve nymphs of Paradise, of whom Eustacie was one.
On the other side of the stream was another wheel, whose grisly
emblems were reminders of Dante's infernal circles, and were
lighted by lurid flames, while little bells were hung round so as
to make a harsh jangling sound, and all of the court who had any
turn for buffoonery were leaping and dancing about as demons
beneath it, and uttering wild shouts.
King Charles and his two brothers stood on the margin of the
Elysian lake. King Henry, the Prince of Conde, and a selection of
the younger and gayer Huguenots, were the assailants,--storming
Paradise to gain possession of the nymphs. It was a very illusive
armour that they wore, thin scales of gold or silver as cuirasses
over their satin doublets, and the swords and lances of festive
combat in that court had been of the bluntest foil ever since the
father of these princes had died beneath Montgomery's spear. And
when the King and his brothers, one of them a puny crooked boy,
were the champions, the battle must needs be the merest show,
though there were lookers-on who thought that, judging by
appearances, the assailants ought to have the best chance of
victory, both literal and allegorical.
However, these three guardian angels had choice allies in the shape
of the infernal company, who, as fast as the Huguenots crossed
swords or shivered lances with their royal opponents, encircled
them with their long black arms, and dragged them struggling away
to Tartarus. Henry of Navarre yielded himself with a good-will to
the horse-play with which this was performed, resisting just enough
to give his demoniacal captors a good deal of trouble, while
yielding all the time, and taking them by surprise by agile
efforts, that showed that if he were excluded from Paradise it was
only by his own consent, and that he heartily enjoyed the
merriment. Most of his comrades, in especial the young Count de
Rochefoucauld, entered into the sport with the same heartiness, but
the Prince of Conde submitted to his fate with a gloomy, disgusted
countenance, that added much to the general mirth; and Berenger,
with Eustacie before his eyes, looking pale, distressed, and ill at
ease, was a great deal too much in earnest. He had so veritable an
impulse to leap forward and snatch her from that giddy revolving
prison, that he struck against the sword of Monsieur with a hearty
good-will. His silvered lath snapped in his hand, and at that
moment he was seized round the waist, and, when his furious
struggle was felt to be in earnest, he was pulled over on his back,
while yells and shouts of discordant laughter rang round him, as
demons pinioned him hand and foot.
He thought he heard a faint cry from Eustacie, and, with a sudden,
unexpected struggle, started into a sitting posture; but a derisive
voice, that well he knew, cried, 'Ha, the deadly sin of pride!
Monsieur thinks his painted face pleases the ladies. To the depths
with him--' and therewith one imp pulled him backwards again, while
others danced a war-dance round him, pointing their forks at him;
and the prime tormentor, whom he perfectly recognized, not only
leapt over him, but spurned at his face with a cloven foot, giving
a blow, not of gay French malice, but of malignity. It was too much
for the boy's forbearance. He struggled free, dashing his
adversaries aside fiercely, and as they again gathered about him,
with the leader shouting, 'Rage, too, rage! To the prey, imps--'
he clenched his fist, and dealt the foremost foe such a blow in the
chest as to level him at once with the ground.
'Monsieur forgets,' said a voice, friendly yet reproachful, 'that
this is but sport.
It was Henry of Navarre himself who spoke, and bent to give a hand
to the fallen imp. A flush of shame rushed over Berenger's face,
already red with passion. He felt that he had done wrong to use
his strength at such a moment, and that, though there had been
spite in is assailant, he had not been therefore justified. He was
glad to see Narcisse rise lightly to his feet, evidently unhurt,
and, with the frankness with which he had often made it up with
Philip Thistlewood or his other English comrades after a sharp
tussle, he held out his hand, saying, 'Good demon, your pardon.
You roused my spirit, and I forgot myself.'
'Demons forget not,' was the reply. 'At him, imps!' And a whole
circle of hobgoblins closed upon with their tridents, forks, and
other horrible implements, to drive him back within two tall barred
gates, which, illuminated by red flames, were to form the ghastly
prison of the vanquished. Perhaps fresh indignities would have
been attempted, had not the King of Navarre thrown himself on his
side, shared with him the brunt of all the grotesque weapons, and
battled them off with infinite spirit and address, shielding him as
it were from their rude insults by his own dexterity and
inviolability, though retreating all the time till the infernal
gates were closed on both.
Then Henry of Navarre, who never forgot a face, held out his hand,
saying, 'Tartarus is no region of good omen for friendships, M. de
Ribaumont, but, for lack of yonder devil's claw, here is mine. I
like to meet a comrade who can strike a hearty blow, and ask a
hearty pardon.'
'I was too hot, Sire,' confessed Berenger, with one of his
ingenuous blushes, 'but he enraged me.'
'He means mischief.' said Henry. 'Remember, if you are molested
respecting this matter, that you have here a witness that you did
the part of a gentleman.'
Berenger bowed his thanks, and began something about the honour,
but his eye anxiously followed the circuit on which Eustacie was
carried and the glance was quickly remarked.
'How? Your heart is spinning in that Mahometan paradise, and that
is what put such force into your fists. Which of the houris is it?
The little one with the wistful eyes, who looked so deadly white,
and shrieked out when the devilry overturned you? Eh! Monsieur,
you are a happy man.'
'I should be, Sire;' and Berenger was on the point of confiding the
situation of his affairs to this most engaging of princes, when a
fresh supply of prisoners, chased with wild antics and fiendish
yells by the devils, came headlong in on them; and immediately,
completing, as Henry said, the galimatias of mythology, a
pasteboard cloud was propelled on the stage, and disclosed the
deities Mercury and Cupid, who made a complimentary address to the
three princely brothers, inciting them to claim the nymphs whom
their valour had defended, and lead them through the mazes of a
choric celestial dance.
This dance had been the special device of Monsieur and the ballet-
master, and during the last three days the houris had been almost
danced off their legs with rehearsing it morning, noon, and night,
but one at least of them was scarcely in a condition for its
performance. Eustacie, dizzied at the first minute by the whirl of
her Elysian merry-go-round, had immediately after become conscious
of that which she had been too childish to estimate merely in
prospect, the exposure to universal gaze. Strange staring eyes,
glaring lights, frightful imps seemed to wheel round her in an
intolerable delirious succession. Her only refuge was in closing
her eyes, but even this could not long be persevered in, so
necessary a part of the pageant was she; and besides, she had
Berenger to look for, Berenger, whom she had foolishly laughed at
for knowing how dreadful it would be. But of course the endeavour
to seek for one object with her eyes made the dizziness even more
dreadful; and when, at length, she beheld him dragged down by the
demoniacal creatures, whose horrors were magnified by her confused
senses, and the next moment she was twirled out of sight, her cry
of distracted alarm was irrepressible. Carried round again and
again, on a wheel that to her was far more like Ixion's than that
of the spheres, she never cleared her perceptions as to where he
was, and only was half-maddened by the fantastic whirl of
incongruous imagery, while she barely sat out Mercury's lengthy
harangue; and when her wheel stood still, and she was released, she
could not stand, and was indebted to Charon and one of her fellow-
nymphs for supporting her to a chair in the back of the scene.
Kind Charon hurried to bring her wine, the lady revived her with
essences, and the ballet-master clamoured for his performers.
Ill or well, royal ballets must be danced. One long sob, one gaze
round at the refreshing sight of a room no longer in motion, one
wistful look at the gates of Tartarus, and the misery of the
throbbing, aching head must be disregarded. The ballet-master
touched the white cheeks with rouge, and she stepped forward just
in time, for Monsieur himself was coming angrily forward to learn
the cause of the delay.
Spectators said the windings of that dance were exquisitely
graceful. It was well that Eustacie's drilling had been so
complete, for she moved through it blindly, senselessly, and when
it was over was led back between the two Demoiselles de Limeuil to
the apartment that served as a green-room, drooping and almost
fainting. They seated her in a chair, and consulted round her, and
her cousin Narcisse was among the first to approach; but no sooner
had she caught sight of his devilish trim than with a little shriek
she shut her eyes, and flung herself to the other side of the
chair.
'My fair cousin,' he said, opening his black vizard, 'do you not
see me? I am no demon, remember! I am your cousin.'
'That makes it no better,' said Eustacie, too much disordered and
confused to be on her guard, and hiding her face with her hands.
'Go, go, I entreat.'
In fact he had already done this, and the ladies added their
counsel; for indeed the poor child could scarcely hold up her head,
but she said, 'I should like to stay, if I could: a little, a
little longer. Will they not open those dreadful bars?' she added,
presently.
'They are even now opening them,' said Mdlle. de Limeuil. 'Hark!
they are going to fight en melle. Mdlle. de Nid de Merle is
better now?'
'Oh yes; let not detain you.'
Eustacie would have risen, but the two sisters had fluttered back,
impatient to lose nothing of the sports; and her cousin in his grim
disguise stood full before her. 'No haste, cousin,' he said; 'you
are not fit to move.'
'Oh, then go,' said Eustacie, suffering too much not to be
petulant. 'You make me worse.'
'And why? It was not always thus,' began Narcisse, so eager to
seize an opportunity as to have little consideration for her
condition; but she was unable to bear any more, and broke out:
'Yes, it was; I always detested you more than ever, since you
deceived me so cruelly. Oh, do but leave me!'
'You scorn me, then! You prefer to me--who have loved you so long-
-that childish new-comer, who was ready enough to cast you off.'
'Prefer! He is my husband! It is an insult for any one else to
speak to me thus!' said Eustacie, drawing herself up, and rising to
her feet; but she was forced to hold by the back of her chair, and
Diane and her father appearing at that moment, she tottered towards
the former, and becoming quite passive under the influence of
violent dizziness and headache, made no objection to being half
led, half carried, through galleries that connected the Hotel de
Bourbon with the Louvre.
And thus it was that when Berenger had fought out his part in the
melle of the prisoners released, and had maintained the honours
of the rose-coloured token in his helmet, he found that his lady-
love had been obliged by indisposition to return home; and while he
stood, folding his arms to restrain their strong inclination to
take Narcisse by the throat and demand whether this were another of
his deceptions, a train of fireworks suddenly exploded in the
middle of the Styx--a last surprise, especially contrived by King
Charles, and so effectual that half the ladies were shrieking, and
imagining that they and the whole hall had blown up together.
A long supper, full of revelry, succeeded, and at length Sidney ad
Ribaumont walked home together in the midst of their armed servants
bearing torches. All the way home Berenger was bitter in
vituperation of the hateful pageant and all its details.
'Yea, truly,' replied Sidney; 'methought that it betokens disease
in the mind of a nation when their festive revelry is thus ghastly,
rendering the most awful secrets made known by our God in order to
warm man from sin into a mere antic laughing-stock. Laughter
should be moved by what is fair and laughter-worthy--even like such
sports as our own "Midsummer Night's Dream." I have read that the
bloody temper of Rome fed itself in gladiator shows, and verily,
what we beheld to-night betokens something at once grisly and
light-minded in the mood of this country.'
Sidney thought so the more when on the second ensuing morning the
Admiral de Coligny was shot through both hands by an assassin
generally known to have been posted by the Duke of Guise, yet often
called by the sinister sobriquet of Le Tueur de Roi.