A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Mysteries of Paris, V3

E >> Eugene Sue >> Mysteries of Paris, V3




"Ah! M. Rudolph! how fortunate it was that I was at hand."

"Brave and devoted--as always," said the prince to him in a mournful voice;
"you save me again!"

"I was going to the Barrière de Charenton--to see you depart--happily--I
was stopped here by the crowd--besides, this was to happen to me--I said so
to Martial--I had a presentiment."

"A presentiment?"

"Yes, M. Rudolph--the dream of the sergeant--last night I had it---"

"Forget these ideas. Hope; your wound will not be mortal."

"Oh! yes--Bones has struck home. Never mind, I was right--to say to
Martial--that an earthworm like me could sometimes be--useful--to a great
lord like you---"

"But it is life--life!--that I owe you again."

"We are quits, M. Rudolph. You told me that I had a heart and honor. These
words--Oh! I suffocate, without you--command--do me the honor--of--your
hand!--I feel that I am going---"

"No, it is impossible!" cried the prince, bending over the Slasher, and
pressing in his hands the icy fingers of the dying man. "No; you will
live--you will live!"

"M. Rudolph--do you see that there is something-up there!--I killed--with a
_slash_ myself!" said the Slasher, in a voice more and more feeble and
indistinct.

At this moment his eyes were fixed on Fleur-de-Marie, whom he had not yet
perceived. Astonishment was painted on his dying face, he started, and
said, "Oh! La Goualeuse."

"Yes, she is my daughter. She blesses you for having preserved her father."

"She--your daughter! here--that reminds me of our acquaintance--M.
Rudolph--and the--blows with the fists--at the end--but--this--blow with
the knife--will be also--the blow--of the end. I have _slashed_--I am
_slashed_--it is fair play!"

Then he uttered a deep sigh, his head falling backward--he was dead!

The noise of horses resounded without; the carriage of Rudolph had met that
of Murphy and David, who, in their eagerness to rejoin the prince, had
hastened their departure. David and the squire entered.

"David," said Rudolph, wiping away his tears, and pointing to the Slasher,
"is there no hope?"

"None, your highness," said the doctor, after a minute's examination.
During this minute, a mute but frightful scene passed between
Fleur-de-Marie and the Ogress, which Rudolph had not noticed. When the
Slasher pronounced in a low tone the name of La Goualeuse, the Ogress
raising her head, had quickly seen Fleur-de-Marie. Already the horrible
woman had recognized Rudolph in the person whom they called his highness.
He called La Goualeuse his daughter. Such a transformation stupefied the
Ogress, who kept her staring eyes obstinately fixed on her former victim.

Fleur-de-Marie, pale and alarmed, seemed fascinated by this look. The death
of the Slasher, the unexpected appearance of the Ogress, who had just
awakened more grievously than ever the remembrance of her former
degradation, seemed to her of mournful presage. From this moment,
Fleur-de-Marie was struck with one of those presentiments which often have,
on characters like hers, an irresistible influence.

* * * * *

A short time after these sad events, Rudolph and his daughter had left
Paris forever.






EPILOGUE.

_GEROLSTEIN._




CHAPTER I.

PRINCE HENRY D'HERKAUSEN-OLDENZAAL TO COUNT MAXIMILIAN KAMINETN.


"OLDENZAAL, August 23d, 1841.

I have just returned from Gerolstein, where I passed three months with the
grand duke and his family. I expected to have found a letter announcing
your arrival at Oldenzaal, my dear Maximilian. Imagine my grief and
surprise, when I understood that you would be detained in Hungary several
weeks longer. I have not been able to write to you for four months, not
knowing how to direct my letters to you, thanks to your original and
adventurous manner of traveling; and yet you had, nevertheless, seriously
promised me at Vienna, at the moment of our separation, that you would be
at Oldenzaal the first of August. I must, then, renounce the pleasure of
seeing you; and never had I more desire to pour out my heart into yours, my
good Maximilian, my oldest friend; for though we are both still young, our
friendship is old--it dates from our infancy. What shall I say to you?
Within three months a great revolution has taken place in me. I have
reached one of those moments which decide a man's fate. Judge if I do not
want your presence, your advice. But you will not fail me much longer;
whatever concerns detain you in Hungary, you will come, Maximilian; you
must come, I conjure, for I shall, indeed, need the most earnest
consolation, and I cannot go to you. My father, whose health becomes more
and more feeble, has recalled me from Gerolstein. He grows weaker every
day. It is impossible for me to leave him. I have so much to tell you, that
I shall be prolix, for I have to recount to you the most painful, the most
romantic incident of my life. Strange and sad chance! during this period we
are fatally distant from each other; we inseparables, we brothers, both of
us the most fervent apostles of thrice holy friendship, we, who were so
proud of proving that the Cazlas and Posa of our Schiller are not
idealities, and that, like those divine creations of the great poet, we
know how to taste the sweet delights of a tender and mutual attachment! Oh,
my friend, why were you not there, why were you not there! For three months
my heart has been overflowing with emotions at the same time inexpressibly
sweet and sad. And I was alone; I am alone now. Pity me; you, who know my
sensibility, at times so fancifully expansive; you, who have often seen my
eyes moistened with tears at the simple recital of a generous action, at
the simple view of a beautiful sunset, or in a quiet and starry summer
night. You remember the past year, during our excursion to the Ruins of
Oppenfeld--the borders of the great lake--our silent reveries during that
magnificent evening, so calm, so poetical, so serene. Strange contrast! it
was three days before that bloody duel, in which I would not take you for
my second, for I should have suffered too much for you if I had been
wounded under your eyes--that duel, for a quarrel at play, in which my
second unfortunately killed that young Frenchman, the Viscount St. Rémy.
Apropos, do you know what has become of that dangerous siren St. Rémy
brought to Oppenfeld, and whose name was, I think, Cecily David? You will
smile with pity, my friend, to see me wander thus among these vague
remembrances of the past, instead of proceeding to the grave confessions
which I have announced to you; it is because, in spite of myself, I recoil
from these confessions. I know your severity; I am afraid of being scolded,
yes, scolded, because, instead of having acted with reflection, with wisdom
(alas for the wisdom of one-and-twenty!), I have acted foolishly, or,
rather, I have not acted at all; I have suffered myself to be borne along
blindly on the current which carried me forward. It is only since my return
from Gerolstein that I have, so to speak, awakened from the enchanting
vision in which I have been cradled for the last three months, and this
waking is sad. Come then, my friend, good Maximilian, I assume my best
courage. Hear me with indulgence. I begin by casting down my eyes; I dare
not look at you, for as you read these lines your features will become so
grave, so severe. Stoical man! Having obtained leave of absence for six
months, I left Vienna, and remained here some time with my father; his
health was then good, and he advised me to go and visit my excellent aunt,
Princess Juliana, the superior of the Abbey of Gerolstein. I have told you,
I believe, my friend, that my grandmother was cousin-german of the
grandfather of the present grand duke; and that the latter, Gustavus
Rudolph, on account of this relationship, has always treated my father and
myself very kindly, very affectionately, as cousins. You know also, I
believe, that during a very long journey which the prince recently made
into France he gave to my father the charge of the government of the grand
duchy.

You will believe that it is not from any pride, my friend, that I mention
these circumstances to you; it is only by way of explanation of the causes
of the extreme intimacy in which I live with the grand duke and his family
during my stay at Gerolstein. You recollect that last year, during our
journey on the banks of the Rhine, we were informed that the prince had
found in France, and had married _in extremis_, the Countess M'Gregor,
in order to legitimatize the birth of a daughter, whom he had by her in
consequence of an early secret marriage, which was afterward broken, from
some illegality in the ceremony, and because it had been contracted against
the will of the reigning grand duke. This young daughter, so solemnly
acknowledged, is that charming Princess Amelia, [Footnote: As the name of
Marie recalled to Rudolph and his daughter such sad recollections, he had
given her the name of Amelia, after his mother.] of whom Lord Dudley, who
saw her at Gerolstein about a year since, spoke to us so often at Vienna
last winter. You recollect we accused him of exaggeration. Strange chance!
If any one had then told me--But though you have undoubtedly now almost
divined my secret, let me follow the march of events without interruption.
The Convent of Saint Hermangilda, of which my aunt is the abbess, is hardly
a quarter of a league distant from Gerolstein, for the abbey gardens border
on the suburbs of the city. A charming house, completely isolated from the
cloister, had been placed at my disposition by my aunt, who loves me, as
you know, with a maternal tenderness. The day of my arrival she informed me
that there was the next day to be a solemn reception and court ceremony;
the grand duke on that day was to make the official announcement of his
approaching marriage with the Marchioness d'Harville, who had recently
arrived at Gerolstein, accompanied by her father, Count Orbigny. [Footnote:
The reader is reminded, in order to maintain the probability of this
narrative, that the last Princess of Courtland, a lady as remarkable for
the singular superiority of her mind as for the charm of her character, and
the admirable goodness of her heart, was Mademoiselle de Medeur.] Some
blame the prince for not having sought a sovereign alliance in his marriage
(the grand duchess, the former wife of the prince, belonged to the house of
Bavaria): others, on the contrary, and my aunt is of the number of these,
congratulate him for having preferred an amiable young lady, whom he
adores, and who belongs to the highest nobility of France, to
considerations of ambition. You know, moreover, my friend, that my aunt
having always entertained for the Grand Duke Rudolph the most profound
attachment, she can appreciate, better than any one else, the eminent
qualities of the prince.

"My dear child," said she to me, on occasion of this solemn reception,
which I was to attend the day after my arrival, "my dear child, the most
remarkable part of this _fête_ the _Pearl of Gerolstein_."

"What do you mean, my dear aunt?"

"The Princess Amelia."

"The daughter of the grand-duke? Lord Dudley told us about her at Vienna.
He spoke of her with an enthusiasm which we called poetical exaggeration."

"At my age, with my character, and in my position," replied my aunt, "one
is not easily excited; and you will believe my judgment to be impartial, my
dear child. Indeed, I assure you, that in my whole life I never knew
anything so enchanting as the Princess Amelia. I might speak to you of her
angelic beauty, if she were not endowed with an inexpressible charm which
is superior even to her beauty. Figure to yourself candor with dignity, and
grace in modesty. From the first day in which the grand-duke presented me
to her, I felt for this young princess an involuntary sympathy. Nor am I
alone in this opinion. The Archduchess Sophia has been at Gerolstein some
days; she is the proudest and most haughty princess whom I know."

"Very true, my aunt, her irony is terrible; few persons escape her biting
pleasantries. At Vienna she was dreaded like the fire. Can the Princess
Amelia have found favor with her?"

"The other day she came here, after having visited the House of Refuge,
which is placed under the superintendence of the young princess. 'Do you
know one thing,' said this dreaded archduchess to me, with her abrupt
frankness, 'I have a mind singularly disposed to satire, have I not? Well,
if I were to live long with the daughter of the grand duke, I should
become, I am sure, inoffensive; her goodness is so penetrating, so
contagious."

"But is my cousin, then, an enchantress?" said I to my aunt, smiling.

"Her most powerful attraction, in my eyes at least," replied my aunt, "is
that mingling of gentleness, modesty, and dignity, of which I have spoken
to you, and which gives the most touching expression to her angelic face."

"Modesty is certainly a rare quality in a princess so young, so beautiful,
so happy."

"Remember, too, my dear child, how much better it is for the Princess
Amelia to enjoy without vain ostentation the high position which is
incontestably acquired for her; her elevation is recent." [ Footnote: On
arriving in Germany, Rudolph had given out that Fleur-de-Marie, whom he had
long supposed dead, had never quitted her mother, the Countess M'Gregor.]

"In her conversations with you, dear aunt, has the princess ever made any
allusions to her past fortunes?"

"No; but when, notwithstanding my advanced age, I have spoken to her with
the respect which is due to her, since her royal highness is the daughter
of our sovereign, her ingenuous distress, mingled with gratitude and
veneration for me, have deeply moved me; for her reserve, at the same time
noble and affable, proved to me that the present did not intoxicate her so
much as to make her forget the past, and that she rendered to my age what I
granted to her rank."

"You must have an exquisite tact, my dear aunt, to observe such delicate
shades."

[Illustration: A PAGE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY]

"Thus, my dear child, the more I have seen of the Princess Amelia, the more
I have felt my first impression confirmed. Since she has been here, the
good works she has accomplished are incredible, and she has done it all
with a reflection, a maturity of judgment, which amazes me in a person of
her age. Judge of them: at her request, the grand duke has founded at
Gerolstein an establishment for little orphan girls of five or six years
old, and for young girls, also orphans or abandoned by their parents, who
have reached the age of sixteen, an age so fatal for the unfortunate who
have no one to defend them from the seductions of vice or the pressure of
want. The noble nuns of my abbey teach and direct the daughters of this
house. In going to visit it, I have often occasion to observe the adoration
which these poor disinherited creatures entertain toward the Princess
Amelia. Every day she goes to pass several hours in this establishment,
which is placed under her especial protection; and I repeat to you, my
child, it is not only respect, gratitude, that these poor girls and the
nuns feel for her highness, it is almost fanaticism."

"The Princess Amelia must be an angel," replied I to my aunt.

"An angel--yes, an angel," replied she, "for you cannot imagine with what
melting goodness she treats her favorites, and with what pious solicitude
she watches over them--I have never seen the susceptibility of misfortune
more delicately treated; it seems as if an irresistible sympathy especially
attracts the princess toward this class of the abandoned poor. Finally,
would you believe it, she, the daughter of a sovereign, never calls these
young girls anything but _sisters_."

At these last words of my aunt, I confess to you, Maximilian, the tears
came into my eyes. Do you not find something beautiful and holy in this
conduct of the princess? You know my sincerity, I protest to you that I
report to you, as I will always report to you, the conversation of my aunt,
almost word for word.

"Since the princess," said I to her, "is so marvelously endowed, I shall
feel great embarrassment when I am presented to her to-morrow; you know my
insurmountable timidity, you know that elevation of character overpowers me
more even than that of rank, I am sure I shall appear to the princess as
stupid as embarrassed; I know this well enough beforehand."

"Come, come," said my aunt, smiling, "she will take pity on you, my dear
child, and the more so as you will not be a new acquaintance to her."

"Dear aunt?"

"Certainly."

"How so?"

"You recollect that when at the age of sixteen years, you quitted Oldenzaal
to make a journey to Russia and England with your father, I had your
portrait painted in the costume which you wore at the first fancy ball
given by the late grand duchess?"

"Yes, the costume of a German page of the sixteenth century."

"Our excellent painter, Fritz Mokker, while he faithfully reproduced your
features, not only retraced a personage of the sixteenth century, but with
the caprice of an artist, he amused himself with imitating even the manner
and the appearance of age of pictures painted soon after that period. A few
days after her arrival in Germany, the Princess Amelia having come to visit
me with her father, remarked your portrait, and asked me with great
simplicity what this charming picture of the olden time was? Her father
smiled, and making a signal to me, answered her, 'This portrait is that of
one of our cousins, you see by his costume, my dear Amelia, of some three
hundred years date. When he was very young he exhibited a rare courage and
an excellent heart. Does he not, in fact, display bravery in his bearing,
and goodness in his smile?'

(I beg you, Maximilian, do not shrug your shoulders with impatient disdain,
at my writing such things about myself. It is hard for me to do it, you may
suppose, but the sequel of this narrative will prove to you that these
puerile details, of which I feel the bitter ridicule, are unfortunately
indispensable. I close the parenthesis, and go on:)

"The Princess Amelia," continued my aunt, "the dupe of this innocent
pleasantry, agreed in opinion with her father, respecting the gentle and
proud expression of your physiognomy, after having attentively examined the
portrait. Afterward, when I went to see her at Gerolstein, she smilingly
asked me the news of her cousin of the olden time. I then owned to her our
deception, telling her that the fair page of the sixteenth century was
simply my nephew, Prince Henry d'Herkausen Oldenzaal, now twenty-one years
of age, captain of his Majesty the Emperor of Austria's Guards, and in
everything, excepting, the costume, very like his portrait. At these words,
the Princess Amelia," added my aunt, "blushed and became again serious, as
she almost always is. Since then, she has not spoken to me again about the
picture. Nevertheless, you see, my dear child, that you will not be
entirely a stranger and a new face to _your cousin_, as the grand duke
calls you. So take courage and sustain the honor of your portrait," added
my aunt, smiling.

This conversation took place, as I have told you, my dear Maximilian, on
the eve of the day when I was to be presented to the princess, my cousin. I
then left my aunt, and returned to my apartment. I have never hidden from
you my most secret thoughts, good or evil; I am therefore about to confess
to you what absurd and foolish imaginations I allowed myself to indulge in
after the conversation which I have just reported to you.




CHAPTER II.

PRINCE HENRY D'HERKAUSEN-OLDENZAAL TO COUNT MAXIMILIAN KAMINETZ.


You have often told me, my dear Maximilian, that I have no vanity; I
believe that is true, and must believe so, to be able to continue this
account without exposing myself to the charge of presumptuousness in your
eyes. When I was alone at home, in recalling my aunt's conversation, I
could not help dreaming over with a secret satisfaction the fact that the
Princess Amelia having observed the portrait of me, made six or seven years
ago, had asked a few days after, in jest, for news of her cousin of the
olden time. I acknowledge that nothing was more foolish than to found the
least hope upon such an insignificant circumstance; but, as I told you, I
shall always use the most entire frankness with you; this insignificant
circumstance ravished me. Undoubtedly the praises which I had heard
lavished upon the Princess Amelia by a woman as grave and austere as my
aunt, while they raised the princess still higher in my eyes, rendered me
yet more sensible to the distinction which she had deigned to bestow upon
me, or, rather, had granted to my portrait. However, as I tell you, this
distinction awakened in me such foolish hopes, that, now, in throwing back
a calmer glance upon the past, I ask how I could have allowed myself to be
drawn on to those thoughts, which inevitably bordered upon a precipice.
Although a relation of the grand duke, and always kindly welcomed by him,
it was impossible for me to conceive of the least hope of marriage with the
princess, even if she had accepted my love, which was still more
improbable. Our family holds an honorable rank, but it is poor, if we
compare our fortune with the immense domains of the grand duke, the richest
prince of the Germanic Confederation; and then, I was hardly twenty-one
years old; I was a mere captain in the Guards, without renown, without
personal reputation; never, in short, would the grand duke dream of me for
his daughter. All these reflections should have preserved me from a passion
which as yet I did not feel, but of which I had, so to speak, a singular
presentiment. Alas! I gave myself up, on the contrary to new childishness.
I was wearing on my finger a ring which was formerly given me by Theckla
(the good countess, whom you know); although this token of careless and
frivolous love could not trouble me much, I heroically made of it a
sacrifice to ray new-born love, and the poor ring disappeared in the water
which flows rapidly under my window. It is useless to tell you what a night
I passed; you can imagine it I knew that the Princess Amelia was fair, and
of angelic beauty; I endeavored to imagine her features, her stature, her
demeanor, the sound of her voice, the expression of her countenance; then,
remembering my portrait which she had remarked upon, I recollected with
regret that the cursed artist had flattered me; besides, in despair, I
compared the picturesque costume of a page of the fifteenth century with
the severe uniform of His Imperial Majesty's captain of the Guards. Then to
these foolish ideas succeeded now and then, I assure you, my friend, some
generous thoughts, some noble impulses of the soul; I felt myself
moved--yes! deeply moved at the remembrances, of what my aunt had told me
of that adorable goodness of the Princess Amelia who called the poor
abandoned ones whom she protected--_her sisters._ In fine--odd and
inexplicable contrast--I have, you know, the most humble opinion of
myself--and I was, nevertheless, proud enough to suppose that the sight of
my portrait had struck the princess; I had good sense enough to understand
that an impassable distance separated me from her forever, and yet I asked
myself, with real anxiety, whether she would not find me unworthy of my
portrait. In short, I had never seen her; I was convinced beforehand that
she would hardly look upon me; and, nevertheless, I thought myself right in
sacrificing to her the pledge of my former love. I passed in real suffering
the night of which I speak, and a part of the next day. The hour of
reception arrived. I tried on two or three uniforms, finding each worse
than the other, and set out for the palace of the grand duke, much
displeased with myself.

Although Gerolstein is hardly a quarter of a league from St. Hermangilda's
Abbey, during the short drive a thousand thoughts assailed me: all the
nonsense with which I had busied myself disappeared before a grave, sad,
almost threatening idea; an invincible presentiment forwarned me of one of
those crises which govern the whole life; a sort of revelation told me that
I was about to love, to love passionately, to love as one loves but once;
and, to heighten the fatality, this love, so highly and worthily placed,
was always to be unfortunate to me. These ideas alarmed me so much, that I
suddenly took the wise resolution of stopping my carriage, returning to the
abbey, and going to rejoin my father, leaving to my aunt the duty of
excusing me to the grand duke for my abrupt departure. Unfortunately, one
of those vulgar causes, of which the effects are sometimes so immense,
prevented me from executing this. My carriage having stopped at the
entrance of the avenue leading to the palace, I leaned out at the window to
give orders to my people to return, when the Baron and Baroness Roller,
who, like me, were on their way to court, perceived me, and ordered their
carriage also to stop. The baron, seeing me in uniform, said, "Can I assist
you in anything, my dear prince? what has happened to you? Since you are on
your way to the palace, will you not join us, if anything has happened to
your horses?"

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.