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Many days rolled on without a reply-days | heroic effort. Clementine forever lost to me, which Rose passed a prey to conflicting emo- nothing remained but to obey my father; my tions. Sometimes she would thank Heaven that life, henceforward without purpose, might be she was the wife of a man of intelligence; some- useful to my brother-why should I refuse it to times, recalling to mind his treatment, she fell him? on my return I told my father I was ready into a profound chagrin, and felt herself humil- to obey him, and fifteen days after married iated in her dignity of wife even to the shedding Rose. I went to the altar as other men to the of copious tears. “ It is because he is so far stake, with a calm resolution.”......... above other men," she cried, “that he disdains “How much," exclaimed poor Rose, after finme so much.” Finally, one morning she re- ishing the letter—“ how much he loved her! ceived a letter bearing the post-mark of Paris. and how contemptuously he speaks of me !" She broke it open with a trembling hand, for it She remained for some time plunged in these appeared to her as decisive of her future fate. bitter reflections—when perceiving the letter of It was from her husband's friend, and contained her husband's friend still upon her knee, she was besides one from Henri to him. She eagerly on the point of throwing it into the drawer withdevoured the contents of the latter. It was a out reading it—for nothing need be added, she resumé by Henri of his thoughts and acts for the thought, to the terrible letter of her husband. preceding twelve months or more. He depicted She changed her intention, however, and read his quiet life at the chateau—his wanderings and the letter : reveries by the solitary streams or upon the “The melancholy revelations that your huslonely hillside ; an intercourse with genial and band has made to me”--the friend says "will healing Nature that had effected his moral and complete your full comprehension of him, and intellectual recovery: he had not dared to re- prove to your mind that he has never acted the veal his sensations to his antipathetic family, part which has deceived you, as you have said, and had been obliged to assign as a pretext for with no little bitterness in the simplicity of your his frequent and protracted absences from home sixteen years. The morose, silent, unsociable a passionate desire for the chase. “My intellect youth of the chateau actually existed, and the underwent,” he writes, “a complete transforma- exceptional circumstances in which your martion; the faculties which I had fatigued and ex- riage took place contributed to your great but hausted by too unremitting labor did not return not irreparable error.” after my prostration by sickness; they might be He concludes : “Most assuredly he is a poet, called dried-up fountains from which nought and a true poet. No one in Paris doubts that could ever flow again, but at the same time, by now, and it will not be long before every body an admirable compensation of Providence, un- at the chateau will think so too." known forces were accorded me, and my thoughts Rose did not undertake to divine the mysran in a different current; a sentiment, confused terious character of these last words--her emoat first, was followed by a distinct and rapid ar- tion was too great for her curiosity. These letticulation ; one day the form of my language ters flashed the whole implacable truth upon her changed, a revelation of the poetic spirit reached soul, extenuating nothing, withholding nothing, me, and I became a poet."

but revealing to her at once both the immeasHe went on to state how this life of danger- urable value of her husband's heart and the ous reverie was suddenly interrupted and con- impassable abyss by which she was separated founded by the apparition of Clementine; how from it. The letter of his friend gave her no passionately, insanely he loved her; how he assurance his encouragement to her to hope lived only in her presence, or upon her souve- seemed naught but commonplace sympathy, and nirs; and how cold, constrained, and even re- she threw the letter away in a sentiment of pelling was her manner toward him—so that at anger. times he would fly her companionship and rush This friend, however-a true friend to her into the woods like a wounded wolf.

husband always-was not content to do oneHe then detailed the history of his marriage half the work of a proper understanding between with Rose, “ a young girl of fifteen or sixteen, the youthful couple. He wrote Henri at the whom I had hardly seen, and who seemed to me same time, and urged him with the most strenoverflowing with common freshness of complex- uous exhortations to return to his wife, whom ion and untutored innocence.” He tells his he had neglected and doubtless misunderstood ; friend that he would not consent to marry her with her he would find his duty, forgetfulness till his father had granted him a day for delib- of the past, and, as he believed, a calm and raeration : “I wished to see Clementine to confess diant future, every thing to her, and learn my fate from her

VI. own mouth." That in the time accorded to him The evening of the next day after Rose had he had gone to Toulon, and, unseen by Clemen- received her letters, she was walking with her tine, had surprised her in a tête-à-tête with her mother some distance from their house on the cousin and lover; and had heard her, in the road to Toulon ; they both were pensive and most heartless and mocking terms, ridicule his silent, arranging the future under the control unbounded attachment for her.

of their fears or desires. Their preoccupation “When I recovered from the shock," he made them forget the growing lateness of the writes, “I overcame myself by a violent and hour and the distance from home; night and

silence were around them; the moon was rising | Rose struck her foot against a stone, and came in the hushed sky, and her rays silvered the near falling. Henri caught her, and held her sombre foliage of the orange-tree.

up by the arm. Suddenly they started : the gallop of a horse “Have you hurt yourself, Rose?” he asked. was heard, evidently approaching them. The “No, thank you, Henri," she replied. rider was urging his beast onward, and soon They relapsed into silence, only Henri kept appeared at an angle of the road. By the light his wife's arm within his own; and they conof the moon they distinguished the slender form tinued walking, pensive and mute, each thinkand firm seat of the horseman.

ing of the other, but neither daring to exchange “My God!" exclaimed Rose, hanging trem- a common thought. blingly to her mother's arm, “I believe that In the mean time Henri looked at Rose, and I believe it is Henri!”

found her quite changed from what she had It was Henri indeed; and he was about pass- been. ing without seeing them, when Madame Lasere Her whole countenance bore visible traces advanced into the middle of the road. The of the violent sensations by which her life had sudden apparition made the horse leap to one been shaken. She seemed to have grown quite side. Henri controlled him, and looked to see thin; the magnificent freshness of her comwhat was the matter.

plexion, with which he had reproached her, “Well, son-in-law,” said Madame Lasere, had given way to that soft transparent paleness “you would prefer to run me over than to see so charming in blondes. me!”

Her hair, instead of being done up in flowHenri immediately dismounted and saluted ing tresses, as she ordinarily wore it, was gathher respectfully. From a sentiment of timidity ered up in short bands and negligently twisted Rose had hid herself behind her mother. behind her head. A slight swelling of the tra

But Madame Lasere unmasked her all at cery of the blue veins running over the temples once. “Rose,” she said, “ do you not welcome revealed a suppressed emotion. She walked your husband home?”

slowly, with her eyes bent down, and with a Rose stammered some words, and Henri, sur- languishing gait indicative of suffering. Seen prised at meeting her so suddenly, remained thus, under the soft and sad rays of the moon, speechless.

she resembled one of those beautiful angels of To recover self-possession he offered his arm Andrea del Sarta descending against her will to the mother, and Rose clung to her other upon this world of misery and sorrow. side like a frightened child. The horse, glad to Henri was struck with a physiognomy so new have got rid of the spur, tranquilly followed his to him; he believed he had never really seen master, cropping the brushwood as he went Rose, and could not forbear looking at her, along. For some minutes naught was heard though unconscious of the great pleasure he but the sound of their feet upon the stones, and took in the contemplation. the jaws of the animal as he cropped the young Rose, absorbed in her thoughts, did not persprouts.

ceive the attention of which she was the object; They walked side by side, overcome by the and while her husband was still looking at her, embarrassment which the contrast of position a tear, descending the whole length of her pale with sentiments always produces. Their re- cheek, fell upon a spear of grass, where it shone spective parts, apparently the most simple in for a moment like a rose-drop. the world, were in reality difficult and delicate. This mute tear moved the young poet's heart. Each was silent, yet full of the desire to speak; "You weep, Rose," he said. " What is it and in this way they walked on till they came that can trouble you? Is it my presence ?" to a turn in the road, which led to Madame Her bosom rose as she heard his voice, but Lasere's residence, and where they found her she remained silent. carriage in waiting for her. Declining Henri's " Answer me, dear Rose," he continued. invitation to accompany them to their house, as “What is the matter? I am anxious to know she thought it much more politic to leave the the cause of your sorrow." young people alone, she bade them adieu and “There is nothing the matter with me, and drove off.

I most happy to see you," Rose at last said, The two remained all alone. For a long raising her large, dewy eyes to his face; and time they walked on, side by side, without even to demonstrate her satisfaction in seeing him looking at each other, each seeking a way of again, she pressed, though slightly, the arm bringing on a conversation. Their embarrass- upon which hers rested; then, as if ashamed ment was much increased by the departure of of too bold an act, she became suddenly red, Madame Lasere. They felt as if they were and for a moment her old color returned to near some solemn moment, and underwent that her countenance. mysterious and indefinable impression which al Something so touching vibrated in her voice most invariably precedes the decisive acts of our as she pronounced these few words-her look, lives. Cold and common phrases exchanged a her gesture were impressed with a grace so month before between them had now become sweet, with a sentiment at the same time so impossible.

timid and profound, that Henri felt troubled in On entering the avenue of their residence his inmost soul.

“Why, then, do you weep?” he asked, affec-| tered our house ; come and sit near me, and let tionately.

me show you all of a heart which no person till “Oh! I can never tell you.”

this day looked into. When you have heard “You are wrong, Rose. You should tell me me—when you have known every thing-you every thing; for am I not your protector, your shall decide upon my future lot !” adviser, and your best friend? It is my right Rose went and sat near her husband without to console you if you suffer. Tell me, then, reply. He took her hands, held them in his what you can have to afflict you, unless it be own, and placed at his case by his wife's knowlmy presence ?"

edge of a portion of his history, he commenced These questions, put in almost a tender tone, speaking to her with the most unreserved frankencouraged Rose. * You have never before,” ness. He dazzled Rose - who thought she she said, “ spoken to me in this manner, and knew him—by the rich treasures of his mind; yet I have wept a great deal this last month." and for this girl of sixteen summers, born only

“Indeed!” replied Henri; "and how could a few days since to the life of the heart, he had I be ignorant of it?"

one attraction superior to all others, of which “I do not know. You have never perceived he never thought. In his speech she recognized it, that's all. How happens it that you are no and appreciated the language of his age; his longer the same?"

natural and spontaneous words, simple and for“Ah! yes, you are right,” replied Henri, with cible at once, possessed the irresistible grace a sigh, “ many changes have taken place in me of youth. In spite of every thing_even when since that time, and I am no longer the same, he revealed his saddest deceptions—the fresh as you say. I wish to make you forget the in- and sparkling poetry of his almost boyish age different and sullen being whom you once knew. broke forth from his heart, and shone in his Is that possible ?"

features. He had that inimitable charm, so Rose went on from one surprise to another, quickly lost and never replaced—the youth of on seeing her husband take the very direction the heart and soul joined to the youth of beauty. to which she had feared all the time she would Many hours flew rapidly by in this most intibe unable to lead him. Her heart expanded mate and mutual outpouring of the heart; for under a ray of hope, and she was too full of after Henri had got through his confessions, emotion to reply. Henri continued:

Rose gave all the little story of her life, so bar“Is it possible, I ask you, Rose, if you ren of incident for sixteen years, but so full the can pardon the ridiculous being of a month previous three months. Thus, during these hapago--pardon his wrongs to you, his rudeness, py hours, in the meditation and silence of a his coldness, his injustice? Oh, my dear Rose, lovely summer's night, under a heaven thickchild as you are, you can not know what has set with stars, the youthful pair first became acpassed in me! Believe me, my sufferings should quainted. Nature had been kinder to them be my apologies !

than parents. They had imposed one upon the If you knew !” he repeated, concentrating other, ignorant or careless of their capacities for in one single thought all his mournful history. each other's happiness; but Nature, like a comHe stopped short. This recall of the past re- pensating angel, came and struck in the heart opened wounds hardly yet cicatrized; his emo- of each a sympathetic chord, which discoursed tions mastered him; he hid his face in his sweet music through all the vicissitudes of afthands, and convulsive sobs broke from his er-life. bosom.

Louis was elected Deputy through the influSeeing him so overcome, Rose was seized ence of Henri's father-in-law; but Henri himwith one of those passionate and generous self had been previously decorated with the movements which noble-minded woman can Legion of Honor for a poem of remarkable never resist.

originality and force. It was the secret that She placed her little hand upon her husband's his friend had hinted at in the letter to Rose, arm, and gently uncovered his face.

but which he had considerately left for the hus“Henri,” she said, with a kind of sweet so- band to communicate. lemnity; "Henri, I know every thing-yes, every thing," she repeated; "and I forgive you."

THE CODE OF HONOR.

THE Rose ! have

period the Germans, Danes, told you ?"

and Franks. Louis le Débonnaire was the first “ You, yourself;" she replied, taking from French monarch who permitted to litigants the her bosom his letter to his friend, and handing trial by arms. The same custom was introit to him. He remained a moment stupefied duced into England, with other Norman custhen took the letter with a trembling hand. toms, by William the Conqueror. By the laws,

“What! you know then my sad hallucina- none were exempt from trial by battle but fetions? You know—and you do not hate me! males, the sick and maimed, and persons under Oh, then, Rose, you must be an angel indeed!” fifteen and over sixty years of age. Ecclesi

“I am your wife, and I wish to love you,” astics were permitted to produce champions to replied she, in a tone of tender reproach. fight in their stead.

“Dearest Rose,” he said, "we have now en The belief was that Providence would pre

What you know." fried Henri; a you, THE duel

, mas a judicial trials prevailed from

more.

serve the right; and the defeat in regular trial | last, after further painful entreaties, Henry conby battle of one accused of crime, was taken as descended to accept the boon of a favorite's life; positive proof of his guilt. Numerous instances but it was too late now; the wretch bled to must have occurred where the ends of justice death before he could be removed from the were plainly defeated by the superior skill of a field. Jarnac refused his right of triumphal guilty combatant. But such accidental tri- procession, saying that he had gained all he amphs of guilt over innocence did little to shake fought for, namely, the re-establishment of his the popular belief in the watchfulness of “The honor; whereupon Henry exclaimed, “that he God of Battles;” and if an innocent person did fought like Cæsar, and spoke like Aristotle :" suffer, why, there was the happy thought that though for all that his kingly love and affection the road from earth to heaven was a short and lay with the dead man. La Chasteneraye was pleasant one to a good soul.

only twenty-eight years old ; but he was the What was the meaning of the word "honor" most expert swordsman in France, the best in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in wrestler, and the cleverest fencer; so skilled, inEngland and France, then the two most enlight-deed, in all these exercises that no one would ened nations of the earth, will be best shown by believe he could be conquered, and several fatal a few remarkable examples.

duels were fought between those who knew and One of the most noted of judicial combats those who would not credit the result of the enwas that between the French Counts Jarnaccounter. and De la Chasteneraye, in the time of Henry The renowned Bayard had a fatal affair with II. of France.

the Spaniard Don Alonzo de Soto Mayor; La Chasteneraye accused Jarnac to Francis whereby he got an infinitude of praise, because the First of improper conduct with his own he delivered up the dead body to the seconds, mother-in-law. The King, who was much at- and would not use it in any way of ignominy tached to Jarnac, repeated this accusation to and scoff. His magnanimity was wonderfulhim, willing to give him the power of refuting ly belauded; such savage, ruthless, uncivilized it; for La Chasteneraye not only maintained fellows were even the heroes and nobles of his assertion, but swore that Jarnac himself had those dark and sanguinary times !

But manconfessed the fact to him a dozen times and ners grew more humane as time went on; and

Jarnac denied the whole charge with Charles the Ninth was the last king of France much vehemence, entreating the King's permis- who allowed or was present at a duel: the first sion to try the truth by single combat. Francis also who, by an ordinance dated fifteen hunat first consented to this; but afterward with- dred and sixty-six, prohibited the practice. A drew his consent, and in a short time he died. strange instance of humanity in the Saint BarAs soon as his successor, Henry the Second, tholomew murderer. But some remarkable ducame to the throne, Jarnac renewed his petition els took place meanwhile, chiefly in the reign for a single combat; which at last Henry grant- of Henry the Second. One was between Châed-he being on La Chasteneraye's side, as teauneuf, a minor, and his guardian LachesFrancis had been on Jarnac's; and, on the naye, an old man of eighty, concerning a lawtenth of June, fifteen hundred and forty-seven, suit touching the lad's property. As might be the King, the constable, the admiral, and the expected, Châteauneuf soon dispatched his feemarshals of France, together with the court and ble old antagonist, who accused him, by-the-by, nobility, assembled at St. Germain-en-Laye to of being secretly defended by a cuirass. A short witness this judicial combat. Jarnac, who had time after this, another youth, Saint André, just recovered from a sickness, was modest, quarreled and fought with Matas, an aged man, calm, and humble ; La Chasteneraye was still who disarmed, lectured, and forgave him, when, somewhat weak in his sword-arm from a wound bidding him pick up his fallen sword and belately received, but was arrogant and insolent. have more rationally for the future, he was reThey attacked each other savagely, and were mounting his horse to ride away, when Saint soon both wounded. While La Chasteneraye André plunged his sword into his back, and left was making a furious lunge, Jarnac gave him him dead on the forest sward. The youth was that fatal coup which cut the ham of La Chas- not even rebuked at court for the murder; he teneraye's left leg, and, presently redoubling his had powerful friends; but Matas was blamed stroke, cut also the ham on the right. La for having provoked a fiery spirit by his reproof: Chasteneraye fell; and Jarnac offered him his Car Dieu s'en attriste (God is grieved), said life if he would confess that he had lied, and re- one, when the aged rebuke the generous young. store him his honor: the wounded man was si Duprat, Baron de Vitaux, was one of the lent. Jarnac then turned to the King and be- most noted duelists, or, more properly speaksought him to accept the other's life for God's ing, murderers of his time. He began his sosake and love's; but the King refused. Poor cial life by killing his friend, Baron Soupez, who Jarnac, who did not wish to have the blood of had previously broken his hot pate by flinging his enemy on his soul, and had only fought to a candlestick at him. For this, Vitaux wayrestore to himself his lost repute, again entreat- laid and murdered him; then escaped, disguised ed La Chasteneraye to confess his error; but, as a woman. A gentleman, named Goumelieu, for all answer, he raised himself as well as he killed Vitaux's brother, a lad of fifteen : Vicould and cut at his generous adversary. At taux, accompanied by Boucicaut, a young no

bleman, followed Goumelieu, overtook him near Bussy d'Amboise was another of the royal Saint Denis, and murdered him. For this he favorites and celebrated cut-throats of the day. was obliged to fly again: this time into Italy; In the Bartholomew massacres he assassinated as Goumelieu was a favorite with the King, and Antoine de Clermont, a near relation with whom his death would have been avenged. But he he was at law; afterward he fought Saint Phal, soon returned to fight-or rather to assassinate because Saint Phal had the letter X embroid-Baron de Mittaud, who had killed another ered on his clothes, and Bussy maintained it of his brothers; though he, Mittaud, was a was a Y. Then he attacked Crillon in the Rue near relation to the Vitaux family. Accom- St. Honoré, Crillon crying, “This is the hour panied by Boucicaut, and Boucicaut's brother, of thy death!" as he defended himself; but Vitaux, disguised as a lawyer, waited in Paris they were separated. Finally he was killed by for Mittaud, and not in vain. One day these hired bravos in the service of the Count de three worthies met the baron and murdered Montsoreau, who met him at the place of ashim; but one of the Boucicauts was wounded signation instead of the Countess, to whom he in the struggle. Unable to escape with his had written, and with whom he had an incompanions, and tracked by his blood, he was trigue. taken by the archers and sent to the Bastile. Henry the Fourth tried to prevent the prac. Interest was made for him at court, and he was tice of dueling, but in vain. From fifteen pardoned ; reappearing at the King's balls and hundred and eighty-nine, when he ascended levees with as much gayety and unconcern as if the throne, to sixteen hundred and seven, it his neck had never been in peril. Encouraged was calculated that four thousand gentlemen by this example, Vitaux also returned openly had lost their lives in duels. One of the most to Paris, this time with seven or eight compan- celebrated was that between Devèze and Soeions. Beginning his metropolitan career by illes. The latter having seduced the former's murdering Guart, the King's favorite, who had wife, they met; but though Devèze had planned opposed his pardon, but protected by the Duc an assassination rather than a duel, Soeilles d'Alençon, he was held harmless, though his escaped with a wound in the back. Again they was one of the foulest and most cold blooded met: this time Devèze simply fired a pistol at crimes on record. However, not long after his rival, then ran away; for which act of cowthis, the Baron de Mittaud, brother to the one ardice he was dismissed the army, and Soeilles previously assassinated, met, fought, and killed received permission to attack him whenever he Vitaux - the paragon, as he was called, of found him, and to seize on his property how France.

and where he would. A reconciliation was Quélus and D'Entragues, two unworthy min- patched up after this, and Soeilles was beions of Henry the Third, fought near the Porte trothed to Devèze's sister; but he meant reSaint Antoine. Riberac and Schomberg-a venge not marriage, and the poor girl was made German- were the seconds to D’Entragues; the instrument of his revenge. He betrayed Maugerin and Livaret to Quélus. When the and ruined her, then refused to marry. Detwo principals were engaged Riberac went up vèze waylaid, and this time positively murdered to Maugerin, proposing that a reconciliation him; but he himself was murdered soon after should be effected.

by one D'Aubignac, hired for the deed by a “Sir!” said Maugerin, angrily, “I came relative of Soeilles. here to fight, not to string beads."

Lagarde Valois and Bazanez were two f&“Fight! with whom?" asked Riberac. mous swordsmen of that time. Bazanez, eager "With you,” said Maugerin.

to fight Lagarde, sent him a hat trimmed with “In that case let us then pray,” answered feathers, daring him to wear it. Lagarde put Riberac, calmly, drawing his sword and dag- on the hat, of course, and went to seek Bazager and placing their hilts cross-wise. But his nez. They fought at once, Legarde wounding prayers were so long that Maugerin grew im- the other in the head at the first blow, but bendpatient and interrupted him; whereupon they ing his sword at the same time. However he set to work, and soon both fell dead. Schom- ran him through immediately after, saying: berg, animated by such a virtuous example, “This is for the hat!" (again the same stroke) proposed the like pastime to Livaret; Livaret “this is for the feathers !” (again) “this is for accepted, and the German laid his cheek open the loop.” All the while complimenting him at the first cut. In revenge, Livaret pierced on the elegant fit of the hat and its perfect him through the heart, and stretched him life- taste. Bazanez, streaming with blood and fuless at his feet. D'Entragues was severely rious with rage, rushed on him desperately, wounded, but escaped, and Quelus died the broke through his guard, and stabbed him no next day. Henry was disconsolate at his loss, fewer than fourteen times, Lagarde shrieking and had him buried by the side of another ill- for mercy, while Bazanez yelled, “No! no ! fated minion, Saint Mogrin, assassinated by the no!" at every thrust. Lagarde, prostrate and Duc de Guise at the gate of the Louvre. Two dying, yet found sufficient strength to bite off a years after this bloody fight, Livaret was killed bit of his opponent's chin and to break his head in a duel with the Marquis de Pienne; when with the pommel of his sword. While this rehis servant seeing him fall, stabbed De Pienne volting butchery was going on between these on the field.

two scoundrels, the seconds were fighting in

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