Prince Eugene and His Times Part 76

At sound of this name, Eugene started up, and leaning his head upon his hand, prepared to listen.

The doctor continued: "By-the-by, he is the uncle of the unfortunate young marchioness of that name who was forced into a marriage with a depraved Venetian n.o.bleman called Strozzi. Your highness has heard her history?"

Eugene murmured something in reply, and sank back upon his pillow.

"A very melancholy affair," pursued the doctor, signing to the nun to approach, "and it has ended most singularly."

"Ended! How?" cried Eugene. "Speak, doctor, I implore you: is she dead?"

"She? The marchioness? Quite the contrary, she is alive and well.

Her husband suddenly disappeared with her from Venice, last spring; and it was discovered that he had confined her within a solitary castle, somewhere in a forest; having previously given out to the world that she was a raving lunatic."

"The accursed liar!" muttered Eugene. "May G.o.d grant me life to avenge her wrongs!"

"Your highness is much moved at the recital," continued the doctor, "and no wonder, for it is a fact much stranger than fiction. But I will defer the conclusion of my story to some other day. You are too much excited to hear it now."

"Oh no, indeed! I am strong--well. Look at me, doctor; and believe me when I say that your conversation is more healing than all the medicines you have ever administered."

"In truth, your highness seems quite invigorated within the last half hour. Do you not perceive the change, Sister Angelica?"

She bowed her head, and approached the couch.

"Then, in mercy, let me hear the rest," cried Eugene, his eyes flashing with eagerness.

"Be it so, then. In spite of bolts, bars, and her miserable husband's spies, the marchioness has managed to escape."

"Escape!" exclaimed Eugene, starting from his couch, and standing upright upon the floor. In a moment the nun was behind him, ready to support him in case of need; but he walked hurriedly to the window, threw it wide open, and inhaled the fresh morning air. For a while, not a word was spoken. The prince looked upward at the blue and silver clouds that were floating silently by; his large, dark eyes wandered lovingly over the beautiful landscape that lay below, and then, bowing his head, he lifted his heart to heaven, and thanked G.o.d.

"Doctor," said he, at last, "whither fled the marchioness?"

"No one knows, your highness. But you must excuse me if I take my leave. I must attend a consultation of--"

"Doctor," cried the prince, grasping him by the arm, "you cannot go: I must know all that you have to tell."

The doctor smiled. "Upon my word, your highness speaks as if you were ordering a charge against the Turks. But I cannot obey: Sister Angelica has heard the story from beginning to end, and she will relate the rest of it. Adieu."

So saying, Doctor Franzi left the room.

"Oh, dear sister," cried Eugene, "can you tell me whether she fell into his hands again?"

"She did not," replied the nun, in a low, tremulous voice; "but the shock of her disappearance was so terrible in its effects upon the marquis, that he is now a maniac in the very apartments wherein he had confined his wretched wife."

Eugene had listened in breathless amazement to these low, fluttering words; and when they ceased he seemed still to listen. His face had become excessively pale; his lips were slightly parted, and his eyes riveted upon some imaginary object at a distance, which seemed to obliterate from his mind the presence of his companion. She meanwhile became so terrified that she clasped her hands, and knelt at his feet.

He saw--he understood it all, and, raising her in his arms, he pressed her rapturously to his heart. The veil had fallen, and she was there! His Laura! his long-lost Laura!

CHAPTER II.

LOUIS THE FOURTEENTH.

The morning service was at an end, and King Louis XIV., attended by his courtiers, left the royal chapel. His countenance was troubled, and it followed, as a matter of course, that everybody else wore a woe-begone expression. The fact is, that things were very dull and solemn at the French court. Feasts and festivals were forbidden, and n.o.body was allowed to look cheerful. La Valliere, in a Carmelite convent, was doing penance for the sin of her love for Louis; while De Montespan, in the world, was expiating hers within sight of the king's indifference. He had tired of her long ago, but had permitted her to remain at court, where her saloons were as stupid, as silent, and as empty, as they had once been bright and crowded.

The reigning favorite was De Maintenon, who might have had followers innumerable, had she desired them. But she appeared to be perfectly unconscious of her own power; going about, now as ever, with modest mien and simple dress, with folded hands and downcast eyes, apparently unaware of the existence of any mortal whatsoever, save that of her well-beloved Louis. And her course, of action had been triumphantly successful, for by many she was believed to be the legitimate spouse of the King of France.

From the chapel, Louis betook himself to the boudoir of the marquise, and greeted her with a slight inclination of his royal head.

"Why were you not at ma.s.s to-day, madame?" inquired he, curtly, as, hastily crossing the room, he flung open the window, and admitted the sharp air of a raw autumn morning.

De Maintenon stifled a sigh, and compelled herself to smile. "You know, sire," replied she, gently, "that I am indisposed. My physician has forbidden me to breathe the air, and for this reason I dared not follow the impulse of my heart, and join my prayers to those of your majesty this morning. The autumn winds are too keen for me."

The king paid no attention to De Maintenon's allusion to the "autumn winds." The window remained open, and she was obliged to stand directly in front of it as long as Louis was pleased to enjoy the breeze.

"You are becoming sickly, madame," observed he, coldly.

"True, sire, I suffer of late," sighed she.

"You are getting old," replied he, tartly. "Old age is a sorry companion; it makes people peevish and disagreeable."

The marquise grew as pale as ashes, and the sharp glance of her black eyes was turned quickly upon the countenance of the king, who, instead of looking at her, was staring out of the window at the marble Naiads, over whose white limbs the waters of a fountain were foaming and plashing, in myriads of pearly drops. He appeared to be quite unconscious of having wounded the feelings of his sensitive companion.

She, on her part, felt that a crisis was at hand, and that, to waken the king from his apathy, desperate measures must be adopted. She plunged into her remedy at once.

"I see," sighed she, "that my presence is irksome to your majesty.

It is better, therefore, that I gather up my strength, and sacrifice my happiness to yours. I will retire to St. Cyr."

Louis raised his shoulders. "I think not. People often say such things, but never mean what they say."

"Sire, Madame de la Valliere is a proof of the contrary, and I-- although (as you remarked just now)--I am old, possess a heart over whose emotions time and age have no power. I love as I have ever loved, pa.s.sionately, profoundly; but my love is disinterested, and soars high above all self-gratification. Now that it has become obtrusive, its current shall be turned to heaven, and in the sacred walls of a cloister I will spend the remainder of my days in prayer for him whose image I shall cherish unto death. Sire, I respectfully request permission to enter the convent of St. Cyr."

Louis began to be uneasy. He knew very well that De Maintenon had a vigorous and resolute soul, quite capable of carrying out any purpose dictated by her head; and, if once she appealed from her affections to her pride, he felt that no ulterior persuasions of his would avail to deter her from the step she meditated.

"Are you serious, madame?" said he, reproachfully. "Would you, indeed, forsake me?"

"Sire, I am so earnest in my intention to free you from the presence of an infirm old woman, that I repeat my request to be allowed to depart now--this very hour."

The king hated nothing on earth like surprises; he disliked to have the sluggish waters of his every-day life stirred by unaccustomed occurrences. He turned around at once to remonstrate, and, instead of the pallid face he had encountered just a few minutes ago, he saw a pair of glowing cheeks and flashing eyes, from whose l.u.s.trous depths there darted a light that warmed up his tepid old heart, and set it to beating as it had been wont to do, when La Valliere smiled and De Montespan coquetted.

"Surely," said he, "you would not set a bad example to the wives of my courtiers, Francoise! You would not teach them that when they tire of their husbands they may desert them, and bury their ennui in a convent!"

"Sire, I cannot accept the responsibility of other women's derelictions. My duty points out to me a convent as the proper refuge for a woman who has outlived her husband's love."

"I will not release you from your marriage-tie, madame; and, should you brave my displeasure, and attempt to leave me, I would follow you to St. Cyr, and drag you from the altar, were you in the very act of making your vows!"

The marquise dropped on her knees. "Oh, sire, do I hear aright! I am not odious to you!--You will not drive me away from my earthly heaven! I may yet be happy, yet be loved!"