Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER XXII.

For one moment--it could scarcely be more--the old Marchioness de Chazeul gazed down upon the pavement of the hall after her brother had left them; and then looking up, with the demon smile which was not uncommon upon her countenance, when anything especially daring and evil was working in her mind, she took her son's arm, and gazing in his face, said in a low sarcastic tone, "Do you know, my son Nicholas, you are but a fool after all?"

"Indeed, sweet mother?" said the worthy offspring of such a parent, with a look of supercilious indifference; "I am glad to hear you think so. Variety is charming in a family; and I have heard men say that you are no fool. But may I know how I have merited the pleasant appellation you so glibly bestow upon me? What have I done, said, or thought, which deserves that ancient and honourable title?"

"You have thought that this girl can be won by civility, flattering, coaxing, and tenderness," replied the Marchioness; "and therefore you are a fool, as well as my weak brother, your uncle. It needs but a glance of her eye; it needs but a word from her lip, to show that such means are as vain as whistling to the wind. I tell you, Chazeul, and I tell you true, that force--force--do you mark me? force is the only engine you can employ against this haughty spirit. Ay, and it must be applied quickly, if you would have your bride. She knows more than we imagine--she knows all, that is clear. There is now no stopping in midway. You must overleap all idle barriers; rend to pieces all morsels of black and white parchment. You must render yourself the only man she can marry; and all will be soon yours."

"But what course would you have me pursue, my most politic mother?" asked Chazeul; "If one frightens and alarms her, she will only shrink from me the more."

"Let her shrink," cried the Marchioness. "What matters her shrinking, to you? Do not pretend to things you do not feel. She must be your wife, Chazeul, shrinking or willingly; and which, matters not much, either to you or me. She must be yours, I say; and as it is clear that she will not with her consent, it must be without."

"But how? but how is this to be accomplished?" demanded her son. "Here are a thousand obstacles, good lady. We must work through my uncle, and you must see that it is vain to hope he will use any violent means. How weakly he answered me this morning, when Nemours' trumpet came!"

"We must act through some one else," answered the Marchioness. "He is not to be trusted, but when he considers his rights invaded; and 'tis useless to think of employing him. We must find another, and get him to aid our plan."

"But what is that plan?" demanded the young nobleman. "Let me hear in a word what is the purport of all these hints?--How is it to be done?"

"By various ways," replied Madame de Chazeul. "First and above all, you must remove from this busy scene the man whom she fancies that she loves."

"Remove him!" exclaimed Chazeul; "I know not how. He is surrounded by people devoted to him. I should find some difficulty.--He is now in the hands of Nemours too, who would not suffer it. The Duke is scrupulous in such matters."

Such were the words of Chazeul. He expressed no surprise; he displayed no horror at the proposal; but in those days such thoughts were familiar to the minds of most men. In the preceding reign, private assassination had been one of the means of war, so often really committed by persons high in station and education, that rumour as usual exceeded the truth, and no death took place with circumstances at all out of the common course, without being attributed to the agency of man. The revenge of individuals, the malignity of faction, the policy of states, all took the same direction; and kings and princes prompted and paid for dark deeds of blood, as well as the corrupt minions of the court, and the vicious women with whom it was thronged. Each day some murder had stained the records of the country, and men had more cause to guard themselves against the covert enmity of the rival in ambition or in love, than against the open wrath of the acknowledged foe. So common, indeed, had such crimes become, that circumstances were supposed to justify, and custom to palliate them; and when they were discovered, no wonder or disgust was excited, and multitudes who had taken no part in the deed itself, were found to conceal, protect, and plead for the assassin. It was an age of crime.

Chazeul, then, and his mother discussed the means of removing De Montigni from their path, as calmly as if they had been laying out some party of pleasure; there was no hesitation, no repugnance, no tragic movings of remorse. The difficulties were all that were considered and how to obviate them. It was of everyday deeds and events they spoke, and they conversed over them in an every-day tone.

"I do not see," replied the Marchioness, "why that should prevent the business. His being in the hands of Nemours, but fastens him to one spot, where he can always be reached."

"But there will be guards and people about him," said Chazeul, "who would give him help. To accomplish it, we should need too many men, to be able to introduce them quietly."

"Too many men!" cried his mother with a laugh; "why, you soldiers always are thinking of violence, and swords, and daggers. You do not fancy, do you, that I would have recourse to means so rough? Out upon such coarse handy-work! One little cup of drink--one savoury ragout--will do the deed better than bullet or steel, and put you in possession of Liancourt as well as Marennes. But leave that to me, for you seem unskilful in such matters. You must have both; and your task must be with the girl--leave me the man. We must have no more trifling, Chazeul, or secrets may come out which it were well to hide till you have obtained all that you can desire. The girl must be yours before two days have past--did you not mark her words?"

"I marked many of them," replied Chazeul; "they were well worthy of notice.--But which do you mean?"

"Are you so dull?" asked his mother. "Did you not hear her say, that you had deceived others as well as herself? and did not your own mind read the comment?--Hark ye, boy! Did you ever see or know a person--a sweet tender, delicate creature, called Helen de la Tremblade?"

Chazeul's cheek grew pale and then red; not from remorse; not from shame; but from dread. It was dread, however, of only one human being. All the world might have been made aware of his baseness, without causing him a care or anxiety, if he could have kept it from his mother. But he knew her well, the dark and fiendish nature of her character, her remorseless seeking for her own ends, her vindictive hatred of all those who offended her, and the little regard she had for any tie, in pursuit of her own objects. Vanity, vice, and intemperate passions, had not yet altogether quenched every natural feeling in his heart; and some lingering affection for the unhappy girl he had injured, made him apprehensive for her, more than for himself. His mother might use the knowledge she had obtained, to drive him in the course she thought fit, or to frustrate his purposes if he opposed her, but she would do no more as far as he was concerned. The result to Helen, however, might be death, or worse than death; and, for a moment or two, he remained silent, considering how he should act.

The keen eye of Madame de Chazeul was upon his countenance all the time, marking every change of expression, and translating all she marked; but after waiting his answer for some time, she demanded, "You have heard of such a person, have you not?"

"Well," he replied somewhat impatiently, "what of her? What has Mademoiselle d'Albret to do with Helen?"

"Ha, ha, ha," cried Madame de Chazeul, with a bitter laugh. "What has she to do with Helen! Why, simply to tell Walter de la Tremblade, that gay Nicholas de Chazeul has made a paramour of his niece, in order to raise a devil that will soon send all our projects flying to the wind.--You now see there is no time to be lost. The thing cannot long be kept secret. This girl has got some inkling of the truth, and she must be your wife before she can hint her suspicions to him, and he inquire into the facts."

Chazeul paused, and thought for a moment, and then repeated his mother's words. "The thing cannot long be kept secret!--why not?--What have you done with her, my good mother?--Something assuredly; for Helen would keep her own counsel.--You have not put her to death, surely?"

"Not I," cried Madame de Chazeul. "I am not called upon to punish such sins as that. It's only when people stand in the way, that wise men put them to death. There, be satisfied,--be satisfied. I have done her no harm; but, as I told you, the thing cannot long be concealed. Rose d'Albret has obtained some intimation of it. Of that I am sure by her manner. The old priest will wonder that his niece does not come hither, for I told him she was ill, or I would have brought her; and he will go to see her, so that I say, it cannot be long concealed. You must use your time, therefore, busily."

Chazeul saw that his mother did not tell him all; but he was well aware, that it was impossible to obtain the straightforward truth from her, when she, wished to conceal it, and accordingly following the bent which she gave to the conversation herself, he asked, "But how--how am I to use my time busily and to good purpose? I, unaided, cannot force Rose d'Albret to give me her hand. If my uncle would assist vigorously, we might indeed succeed. But he is timid, as you know, in action, however bold he may be in words; and depend upon it, we shall need strong measures to induce her to yield."

"Ay, strong measures indeed," replied his mother, "but they may be used without my brother's will or consent; and, if you manage matters rightly, you may make the lady less positive than she is at present. Hark ye, Chazeul, a word in your ear!" He bent down his head, and the Marchioness whispered to him a few brief words.

"No, no!--Impossible," he cried; "utterly impossible! The maid sleeps in the ante-chamber, the priest in the next room.--'Tis quite in vain."

"Why, foolish boy," replied his mother, "I mean no violence--I mean no wrong. You do not comprehend me. Do you not know, how much store she sets upon virtue and reputation? She would never consent to carry to Louis de Montigni, a sullied name. Let but her fame be in your hands; let us but be able to prove that you have passed the night in her chamber; and we shall have no more idle resistance. The girl Blanchette will give you admittance, and be a witness also. Then keep as still as death for an hour or two, leave something on the table--a glove--a hat--anything in short, to mark that you have been there, and to show her herself that it is so, without your telling her."

Chazeul paused and meditated. He thought the scheme not unlikely to succeed; and yet he feared to undertake it. If discovered, he knew that it would prove his ruin with his uncle; and he did not see how he could bring it to work upon the mind of Rose herself, without acknowledging the truth or more than the truth to Monsieur de Liancourt. Just as he was about to reply, the Count himself returned with father Walter; and one of the servants entered at the same time to light the sconces in the hall. Madame de Chazeul held up her finger; as a warning to be silent; and as soon as the attendant was gone, the Marchioness turned to her brother, inquiring, "Well, what have you done with this obstinate girl, Anthony?"

"In good faith, nothing," replied the Count; "she was more mild and gentle than with you; and I left her weeping; but she is as firm as ever."

"Well," said Madame de Chazeul, in an indifferent tone, "if she will not by fair means, she must by force. We have every right to compel her to do that which is good for her."

Monsieur de Liancourt shook his head doubtfully, saying, "I do not know."

"Ah, my good brother," answered Madame de Chazeul in a bitter tone, "a battle lost makes great difference with doubtful friends. What say you, Monsieur de la Tremblade? Are you for giving up the Holy Catholic Union, and bestowing the lands of Marennes and Liancourt upon a supporter of the heretics?"

"Far from it, Madam," replied Walter de la Tremblade. "If anything, this unfortunate defeat should make us more zealous, active, and determined. The party of the League is the party of truth and religion; and doubtless it will ultimately triumph. It should be our part to promote it the more strenuously, as each new obstacle arises; and I must say that, conscientiously, no guardian could bestow the hand of his ward upon a man, who, like Monsieur de Montigni, has drawn his sword against his religion."

"But that is a different thing," said Monsieur de Liancourt "from forcing her to a marriage without her consent."

"Not altogether," answered the priest. "If you do not compel her to wed the one, she will wed the other; and when she finds there is no escape, most probably her resistance will give way."

Madame de Chazeul watched the countenance of father Walter while he spoke, and listened, well satisfied, to words which showed her beyond all doubt, that neither her own conduct towards his niece, nor that of her son, was ever dreamt of by Walter de la Tremblade. "If we can accomplish this marriage," she thought "within a few hours all will be safe. He may rage then, as much as he will. It is amusing enough, to make him aid in bringing about that, which he will wish undone, when he knows the truth."

"What you say is very true, father," rejoined the Count, "but I see not what means one can employ actually to force her. As she said to me but now, we may drag her to the altar, but she will refuse the vow, and protest against it in the face of God and man."

"Such things have taken place," said Walter de la Tremblade, "and yet the ceremony has proceeded."

"But then, the contract," said Monsieur de Liancourt. "If she will not sign it, how can we force her?"

"Oh, leave all that to me," cried Madame de Chazeul. "If you, brother, will only promise not to interfere, except by exerting your authority on behalf of your nephew, and laying your commands upon her to marry him, I will do all the rest."

"But I fear your violence, my good sister," replied the Count.

Madame de Chazeul was about to answer, when a servant again entered the hall; and Monsieur de Liancourt exclaimed impatiently, "what now?"

"A messenger is just arrived from Chartres, Sir," replied the man, "with orders for Monsieur de Mottraye who escorted Mademoiselle Rose back, to return without a moment's delay, as the town is menaced by the King. He brings tidings, too, Sir, that a duel has been fought between Monsieur de Montigni and my lord of Nemours."

"Nemours has killed him for a thousand crowns," cried Chazeul, as joyfully as if De Montigni had shown himself his bitterest enemy through life.

"What more? what more?" cried Monsieur de Liancourt; "which of them fell?"

"He knew little about it, Sir," replied the servant, "for he came away, before the matter had spread over the town."

"I will go and see him," exclaimed Chazeul. "Nemours has killed him without doubt."

Thus saying, he hurried away, and was absent for several minutes, during which time the Marchioness talked in a low voice to the priest. But the Count remained standing in the middle of the room, with his eyes bent down and his heart sad. He could not but recollect the days that were passed. The boy whom he had brought up from early years, the graces and high qualities he had displayed, and many a little act, and many a little scene, forgotten till that moment, rose up reproachfully before his eyes, and for the time filled him with grief, and with remorse. The voice of conscience, which in its own hour will be heard, told him that the deed was his, that, had he not attempted to injure and deceive his sister's son, all the long train of dark and sad events, which had filled the last few days, would not have happened, that joy, and peace, and mutual love, and kindly affection might have reigned, where strife and evil passion, violence and death, had been introduced, as the black followers of fraud. His brother and his nephew, both were gone in a few short days; and his heart told him, that the virtuous and the good had been cut off, while the dishonest and the vile remained!

It was but during a few minutes, however, that such thoughts oppressed him; for vanity, his besetting sin, the besetting sin of so many, the salve with which the devil medicates all the wounds of conscience was soon brought to his relief. He was too vain to believe, for any length of time, that he could do wrong, even though the warning angel of the human heart thundered it in his ear. "Had De Montigni done as he was asked," he thought, after he had mastered the first impression, "nothing of this kind would have happened. It is all in consequence of his own obstinacy. What a sad thing it is, that men will not be persuaded to their own good!"

As these comforting reflections passed through his mind, Chazeul re-entered the hall. "He is dead," he cried, "beyond all doubt he is dead. The man himself saw Nemours come back into the city, alone and uninjured."

"Well, then," said Madame de Chazeul, "we are saved all farther trouble; for now you are the only heir. You had better go and tell her the news, Chazeul. Perhaps it may deliver her from as great an embarrassment as any one feels."

"Fie now, Jacqueline! Fie now!" cried the Count. "You know not her heart or feelings."

"I know very well, my good brother," replied Madame de Chazeul, "that women if they have said a thing, often adhere to it with the constancy of a martyr, when they would give their right hand for a fair excuse for changing; but vanity keeps them to the point, with a much firmer sort of resolution than conviction can supply. Do not tell me about her feelings! I know my own sex far better than you do; and I am sure there is not one woman out often, who would not rejoice at the death of her dearest friend, if it delivered her from a great embarrassment."

"I find the church is merciful as well as wise, in imposing celibacy upon its priesthood," said father Walter, with a cold sarcastic smile. "But, indeed, I think it would be better, not to tell Mademoiselle d'Albret to-night. She must be fatigued; her mind depressed with disappointment and anxiety; and she should be allowed some time for repose."

"No, father, no!" replied Madame de Chazeul. "She must know it to-night, for the marriage shall take place to-morrow, or, at farthest, the next day. Let her have to-night for grief--for I do not say she will not weep--to-morrow her mind will be made up, and the affair can proceed with decency."

"Will you tell her, father Walter?" said Monsieur de Liancourt.

"Nay," exclaimed the Marchioness, "why give him that trouble? I will do it in a moment."

"No, Jacqueline, you shall not go," cried the Count. "You are too harsh and fierce to bear such tidings.--Go, Father, go!--It is an office of Christian charity."

"She is more likely to believe it from my lips, than yours, Madam," said father Walter, "and therefore I will undertake the task; but I must be quick, for I have my watch to commence in the chapel."

"Let us hear how she bears it," said the Count de Liancourt. "I grieve for the poor girl."

"Pshaw!" cried Jacqueline de Chazeul; and the priest quitted the hall, leaving the Marchioness evidently uneasy.

A chamber had now been assigned to Rose d'Albret, higher in the building than that which she had formerly tenanted, and next to the room of father Walter himself. It opened first into an ante-chamber, somewhat smaller than the other, and thence upon a large landing place, separated from the stairs by a balustrade. The ante-room, as before, was occupied by the maid Blanchette, who, well warned and tutored, was kept as a spy upon all her mistress's actions; and, on entering this little suite of apartments, the girl was the first person whom father Walter encountered.

She was sitting at a table, knitting, with a sullen brow and pouting lips; and, notwithstanding deep habitual reverence for the priest, she seemed scarcely willing to answer him civilly, when he inquired, if he could speak with her mistress.

"I cannot tell," replied the girl, rising for a moment, and resuming her seat; "I really do not know what she is doing,--she does not want my services, she says; she would rather be alone."

"Go and see, daughter!" said the priest. "Doubtless Mademoiselle d'Albret is grieved and perhaps angry; but that does not exempt you from respect and obedience towards her in all things, where other duties do not require you to oppose her wishes."

"Indeed, father," answered the girl sullenly, "I cannot undertake all this.--Here, I am told not to quit her ante-room, from the moment she enters her chamber, till the moment she leaves it, which is making me no better than a prisoner; and then, I am to be rated, and frowned upon by the Lady, as if I had behaved very ill to her.--I don't see why I should bear all this."

"Because you are ordered to do so," said the priest somewhat sternly: but he added the next moment, "It will not be of long duration however. Now go and tell her I am here, seeking to speak with her on a matter of deep moment."

Before Blanchette could obey, however, the door of the ante-chamber opened, and Madame de Chazeul entered, saying, "I have come to tell her myself, good father. I can then better judge of her frame of mind; and, as the Count tells me, you have to keep vigil by the body of my poor old brother Michael, which I did not understand before, I will not keep you."

"Nay," replied the priest, "I have time, and will never shrink from doing my duty. This poor child will need consolation, and it must be my task to give it to her, as far as my poor voice can do so."

The Marchioness was evidently not well pleased with this reply; and, though she masked her embarrassment as well as she could, yet a certain air of anxiety and uneasiness, did not escape the calm but penetrating eye of Walter de la Tremblade. "She doubts me," bethought. "She is one of those who have no confidence in any one. What must her own heart be like!"

As he thus pondered, Blanchette returned, and bade him enter, which he did, making way, however, for Madame de Chazeul to pass in first.

Rose had been weeping, but her eyes were now dry; and the usual mild and gentle expression was upon her countenance, till her eye lighted upon Madame de Chazeul; and then she turned away her head, with a look of shuddering horror, which the Marchioness did not fail to mark, though with less anger, than might perhaps have been expected. It was her wish to overawe and to command, both at present and in future and the age of wishing to be loved, had long passed by with her. Rose however, soon added to the offence; for, turning towards Walter de la Tremblade, she said, "The girl merely mentioned your name, father; and I was willing and even glad to receive you; but the conversation which has already taken place between this lady and myself, was not of such a character as to make her society very desirable to me."

"You must have it, nevertheless, pretty minion," replied Madame de Chazeul. "I know you are as ungrateful, as you are self-willed; but I came to break to you a piece of news which has just arrived, and which, as you must hear it sooner or later, we have thought fit to communicate at once."

"The sooner it is communicated the better," answered Rose; "I beseech you to make no delay; for I am anxious to retire to rest."

Madame de Chazeul turned towards the priest with a sign for him to proceed; and father Walter taking up the tale, addressed Rose in a gentle and a kindly tone, saying, "I fear, my poor daughter, what we have to communicate may grieve you more than you expect; and I would therefore have you prepare your mind, by thinking of how God tries all men in this world, with various deep afflictions, making them sometimes his chastisements for errors past, sometimes warnings against future faults, often depriving us of those things most dear which might prove snares to us, often frustrating our most anxious desires, which, if we knew all, might in their gratification produce misery, instead of joy."

Rose listened attentively, anxious to hear what was to come next; but Madame de Chazeul waved her hand impatiently, exclaiming, "You are not in the pulpit, my good father. Do you not see she is quite prepared for anything you have to say? The truth is this, Mademoiselle d'Albret, a messenger has just arrived from Chartres bringing orders for the men who accompanied you, to return immediately, and with that order they conveyed intelligence that a duel has been fought between Monsieur de Nemours, and your late lover De Montigni, in which the latter has met with the chastisement which his presumption deserved, and has been killed on the spot."

Rose started up and clasped her hands, while her face grew pale as ashes, and for a moment she seemed about to faint. The next instant, however, she passed her hand across her brow, gazed for a moment anxiously upon the ground, and then suddenly raised her head with a smile full of scorn, while the blood came back into her cheek and lip, exclaiming, "It is false! I know that it is false!"

"The poor creature is mad," said Madame de Chazeul. "You know it to be false, when we know it to be true! You must have wonderfully clever information. The man is in the château at this moment, who brought the tidings from Chartres."

"Let me see him!" said Rose d'Albret.

Madame de Chazeul paused, and saw that, by mentioning the messenger, she had committed a mistake; for it was her object to represent the death of De Montigni as certain, and she was aware that her son had run on to that inference, much more rapidly than the man's own account might justify.

"No," she replied, "you shall not see him. I pledge my word that the information is true. Here is father Walter ready to do the same. Monsieur de Liancourt will tell you the like story. If you insult us by doubting our word, it does not become us, to take any trouble to convince you."

"Madam, I have been deceived in more than one thing already," replied Rose, bending her head gravely; "and consequently, I do not lend my mind easily to everything that is told me. Father Walter, I beseech you, by your duty to God, by your sacred calling, as you shall answer for it hereafter, to let me know, has this information truly arrived, and is it certain?"

"That it has arrived, is beyond doubt," answered the priest, "but in regard to the certainty or the particulars--not having spoken with the messenger myself--I cannot say anything."

Rose waved her hand. "Enough," she said, "enough; I will beseech you now to leave me.--Nay, I can endure no more to-night."

Madame de Chazeul was going to add something; but the priest laid his hand upon her arm, saying, "Nay, Madam, let us not press upon her hardly. Give her till to-morrow to think over it;" and he led the Marchioness away, leaving poor Rose to her meditations.