Chapter XLVI: Surprise and Grief

First came the principal citizens of Nanci, four abreast, bearing steel partizans and clad in scarlet velvet pourpoints and black serge breeches, slashed with red, guarding the council of state, with the Master of Requests, their secretary, eight advocates and two ushers, all wearing thick ruffs and black gowns furred with white miniver.

Then followed the Great Master of the Household with his twenty-eight officials, including the marshal of the kitchen.

The Great Chamberlain, with the physician, apothecary, &c. in black robes, attended by twenty-four valets de chambre in the livery of the Duke.

The Masters of the Horse, the Hounds, the Waggons and the Wardrobe, each with his staff of officials, all of whom were named to me by old Sergeant Alsfeldt. Then came a company of petardiers under the Count de Bitche, whom I longed to grasp by the throat.

The Grand Almoner in full canonicals with the banner of St. Nicolas of Lorraine borne before him; having a covered chalice in his hands, and his eyes cast downward on the earth.

The Grand Marshal, with the Marshals of Lorraine and Bar, all clad in cloth of gold, magnificently mounted, with their batons, banners, and helmets borne before them by esquires or pages.

The priests of the Scottish college at Pontamoussin in their sombre vestments, with the banners of St. Andrew and St. Lucy borne before them. The latter in the hands of old Father Colville.

Then followed the commanders of the ducal troops; of the two companies of gendarmerie; of the garde du corps of Charles IV.; of the regiment of guards, and the Grand Master of the Artillery of Lorraine, all accoutred in brilliant half-armour and jack-boots, mounted on fine horses richly caparisoned. All these cavaliers were elderly men, as their moustaches seemed grey or white; and their cuirasses glittered with the orders of the Empire.

Attended by the Prince of Vaudemont and Count Pappenheim, and surrounded by his richly-dressed garde du corps, composed of one hundred chosen Switzers, with their trumpets sounding and kettledrums beating, and followed by all the officials of his civil tribunals, the Advocate General and messieurs the Councillors of the Chamber of Accounts for Nanci and Bar-le-Duc, came Charles IV., Duke of Lorraine, a fine-looking old soldier, compact and stately in form, with his head worn bare less by time than by the peak of his helmet; he had keen dark eyes and large grizzled moustaches. He was dressed in a suit of black velvet trimmed with narrow lace and silver cord. He wore a high stiff ruff, a diamond-hilted sword, and the order of the Golden Fleece. He bowed kindly to the people, who greeted him with a storm of acclamation, as he rode slowly past on a powerful black charger, which he had ridden scatheless through many a battlefield.

The Duke of Alsace, a son of the house of Suabia, who feudally held his duchy of the house of Lorraine, rode on his left hand, with his coronet borne before him, by an armed Knight of Malta. This Duke was a child about nine years of age, and though I knew it not then, was destined to bear an important position in this my narrative; but of that more in time.

A young lady clad in a suit of that rich white satin for the manufacture of which Nanci is so famed, brocaded with gold, rode at his right hand, and managed her horse's reins of red silken fringe, with singular grace. Her hair was of a colour resembling gold, and escaped in brilliant locks from under her broad hat, which had two long and drooping white feathers. Her face was turned from me, as she was conversing with young Pappenheim; but the enthusiasm of the people grew to a frenzy, in their shouts of welcome: for this golden-haired girl was the Duke's only daughter; and as they approached, the dense masses in the square swayed to and fro, with such an impetus, that twice I was nearly thrown down and trod under foot.

'Vive Mademoiselle Marie-Louise!' was the cry.

'Vive le Duc d'Alsace!'

'Vive Louise de Lorraine et M. le Comte de Pappenheim!'

Such were the shouts that burst like a storm around me.

'Is that young lady the daughter of the Duke?' I asked of the sergeant, who still held me fast by the arm.

'Yes, monsieur. Pardieu! but she is lovely! Her horse is stopped by the crowd--a moment, and she will look this way.'

'I thought she was in the Bastille, at Paris.'

'So we all thought; but, last night, she returned to Nanci. That is the gallant Count Pappenheim (son of Godfrey _le Balafré_), whom she is to many, that now she is chatting to so gaily. Now, she turns our way--look! Monsieur, look! O vive Mademoiselle de Lorraine!'

The fair young lady heard the stentorian shout of Alsfeldt; she turned to us, and bowed.

'My God! _'tis Nicola!_' I ejaculated in a breathless voice--a voice, at least, unheard amid the clamour round us; and so overwhelming were my emotions, on making this discovery, that, had not that good fellow, the sergeant, supported me, I must have fallen at his feet.

Bareheaded, travel-stained, crest-fallen in bearing, and crushed in spirit, I stood a guarded prisoner in the open streets of Nanci, while this brilliant pageant passed before me; and a tide of strange emotions, but chiefly astonishment and grief, with many bitter, bitter thoughts, swept in one wild current through my heart. There was a buzz in my ears; but I heard nothing now, neither the clanging of the church bells, the salvoes from tower and rampart, nor the acclamations of the people; I saw only Nicola; and this fantastic procession in quaint costumes, glittering garbs and armour, that like some fairy pageant or the phantasmagoria of delirium, were bearing her away from me--she whom I loved so well! Yet it was no dream, no delusion, and no mockery of the brain, for I knew that beloved face too well to be mistaken for a moment now.

'Nicola! Nicola!'

I strove to speak, but my voice could only whisper; I strove to stretch my arms towards her, but they sank powerless by my side.

As the Switzers of the ducal garde du corps roughly beat back the people with the staves of their halberds, and opened a passage again, the procession moved on. As she passed, I thought her eye caught a sight of my upturned face, amid that sea of faces round her; and, if so, I am assured that the stupefaction and agony it expressed, must have struck a pang in her heart--for she trembled, grew ghastly pale, and nearly fell from her white horse, but Pappenheim caught her hand; the pageant moved on, and I saw her no more--for that day at least.

Pen cannot describe all that whirled through my heart and brain on that dreadful day, in the streets of Nanci--a day, to me, of sorrow and bewilderment.

A huge cup of wine, brought by the old sergeant, and dashed with brandy, restored me to a certain extent; and in one hour after this, I found myself, with my escort, in a chamber of the ducal palace, awaiting the behest of Count Pappenheim, who had not yet returned from the church of St. Epurus.

'It is all a dream--a nightmare--from which I shall soon awaken!' thought I.