CHAPTER XVII
THE HOROSCOPE
"The sick man will live, Dame Aloyse! The danger has been very great, and his convalescence will be very slow. All this blood-letting has weakened the poor fellow terribly; but he will live, never fear! And thank God that the extreme debilitation of the body has lessened the blow that his mind has received, for we cannot cure those wounds; and this one of his might have been fatal,—indeed, it may yet be!"
The physician who spoke thus was a man of great height, with a great bulging forehead and deep-set and piercing eyes. The common people called him Master Nostredame; but he signed his own name Nostradamus. He seemed to be not more than fifty years old.
"But, holy Jesus, look at him, Messire!" replied Dame Aloyse. "He has been lying there since the evening of June 7; and it is now the 2d of July, and during that whole time he has not spoken one word,—has not even seemed to see me or to know me, and has been like one dead, alas! Look, if you touch his hand, he doesn't appear to notice it!"
"So much the better, I tell you, Dame Aloyse! I pray that he may be as long as possible in awaking to the remembrance of his sorrows. If he can continue, as I trust he will, another month in this weak state, without knowing or thinking about anything, he will recover, beyond a doubt."
"He will recover!" said Aloyse, raising her eyes to heaven as if offering thanks to God.
"Yes, he will recover if there is no relapse. And you may say so to that pretty maid who comes twice a day to get news of him; for there is an affair with some great lady hidden under all this, is there not? Sometimes that sort of thing is very delightful, and sometimes fatal."
"Yes, indeed, it is fatal; you are quite right, Master Nostredame," said Aloyse; with a sigh.
"God grant that he recover from his passion as well as from his illness, Dame Aloyse! if indeed illness and passion haven't always the same cause and the same effect. But I will answer for the one, and not for the other."
Nostradamus opened the soft and apparently lifeless hand that he held in his, and looked very carefully and attentively at the palm; he even lifted the skin from the fore and middle fingers. He seemed to be racking his brain to remember something.
"It is strange!" he said in an undertone, as if he were talking to himself. "Several times I have examined this hand, and every time it has seemed to me as if I had already examined it long ago. But what are the marks which have struck me so? The mensal line is of favorable length; the medial is a little doubtful; but the line of life is perfect. There is nothing extraordinary about it. The predominating characteristic of this youth should be a steadfast will, firm and unswerving as the arrow aimed by a sure hand. That is not what has aroused my wonder heretofore. And then my memories are too confused not to refer to some long ago time; and your master is not more than twenty-five, is he, Dame Aloyse?"
"He is only twenty-four, Messire."
"He was born in 1533, then. Do you know the day?"
"It was the 6th of May."
"But you don't know whether it was in the morning or the evening?"
"Pardon me! I was with his mother when he was born. It was just on the stroke of half after six in the morning."
Nostradamus made a note of these facts.
"I will see what was the condition of the heavens on that day at that hour," said he. "But if Vicomte d'Exmès were twenty years older, I would swear that I had already held his hand in mine; but that's of little consequence, after all. It is not the sorcerer, as the people sometimes call me, but the physician, who has work to do here; and I tell you again, Dame Aloyse, the physician will answer now for the invalid's welfare."
"Pardon, Master!" said Aloyse, sadly; "you say that you will answer for the disease, but that you will not answer for the passion."
"The passion! Oh! But," Nostradamus replied, smiling significantly, "I should say that the attendance of the little maid twice a day tends to show that the passion is not altogether a hopeless one."
"Quite the contrary, Master,—quite the contrary!" cried Aloyse, in an accent of horror.
"Come, come, Dame Aloyse! wealthy, gallant, young, and handsome as Vicomte d'Exmès is, a man is in no danger of being held off for long by the ladies in a time like ours. A brief postponement is the utmost he has to fear."
"But suppose that this is not the case, Master. Suppose that when Monseigneur is restored to life and reason, the first and only thought which his restored reason will entertain should be this: 'The woman whom I love is irrevocably lost to me,' then what will happen to him?"
"Oh, we must hope that this supposition of yours has no foundation in fact, for that would be terrible! Such an overwhelming grief as that would be a terrible strain for his enfeebled brain. So far as one can judge of a man by his features and the look of his eyes, your master, Aloyse, is no mere superficial creature; and in such a case as you suppose, his energetic and forceful will would be only one danger more, and being shattered by trying to do what is impossible, might shatter his life with it."
"Holy Jesus! my boy will die!" cried Aloyse.
"He will at least be in danger of inflammation of the brain," said Nostradamus. "But why need it be so? There must be some way of showing him a mere glimmer of hope. The most remote or most elusive chance it may be, yet he will grasp it, and it will save him."
"He shall be saved, then," said Aloyse, gloomily. "I will perjure my soul, but he shall be saved. Messire Nostredame, I thank you."
A week passed, and Gabriel seemed to be trying to think, even though he did not succeed. His eyes, still wandering and expressionless, seemed to be asking questions, nevertheless, of the faces and objects about him. Then he began to assist himself in the changes which they had to make in his position, to raise himself in bed alone, and to take of his own volition the potions that Nostradamus handed him.
Aloyse, standing unwearied at his pillow, waited.
At the end of another week, Gabriel could speak. Light had not yet fully evolved order out of the chaos of his mind. He could only say a few words, incoherent and unconnected, but which had reference to the events of his past. Aloyse fairly quaked with terror when the physician was there, lest he should reveal some of his secrets.
Her apprehensions were justified by the event; and one day, Gabriel, in a feverish sleep, cried aloud before Nostradamus,—
"They think that my true name is Vicomte d'Exmès. No, no, don't think it! I am the Comte de Montgommery."
"The Comte de Montgommery!" said Nostradamus, in whose brain the name had awakened some memory.
"Silence!" said Aloyse, her finger on her lip.
However, Nostradamus went away without Gabriel's having said anything further; and as he did not mention the words that had fallen from the invalid on the next or any following day, Aloyse, thinking it over, feared to attract his attention to something which it might be her master's interest to conceal. So the incident appeared to have been forgotten by both of them.
Gabriel continued to improve. He recognized Aloyse and Martin-Guerre; he asked for whatever he needed; and he spoke with a gentle sadness which made it possible to hope that his reason had returned.
One morning, it was the first day that he had left his bed, he said to Aloyse,—
"Well, nurse, and the war?"
"What war, Monseigneur?"
"Why, the war against Spain and England."
"Oh, Monseigneur, I hear sad news of that. The Spaniards, reinforced by twelve thousand English, have entered Picardy, they say, and there is fighting going on all along the frontier."
"So much the better," said Gabriel.
Aloyse attributed this reply to the remains of his delirium. But the next morning, with perfect coolness, Gabriel said to her,—
"I did not ask you yesterday if Monsieur de Guise had returned from Italy."
"He is on the way, Monseigneur," said Aloyse, in amazement.
"That is well! What day of the month is it, nurse?"
"Tuesday, August 4, Monseigneur."
"It will be two months on the 7th since I have been lying on this bed of anguish," was Gabriel's comment.
"Oh," cried Aloyse, trembling, "how well Monseigneur remembers!"
"Yes, I remember, Aloyse,—I remember; but," he added sadly, "though I have not forgotten, it seems that I have been forgotten. Has no one been to inquire for me, Aloyse?"
"Yes, indeed!" said Aloyse, in an uncertain voice, and anxiously watching the effect of her words on the young man's face,—"yes, indeed, Monseigneur! a maid named Jacinthe came twice a day to learn how you were. But for the last fortnight, since you have been perceptibly and surely improving, she has come no more."
"She comes no more! And do you know why, nurse?"
"Yes, Monseigneur. Because her mistress, according to what Jacinthe said the last time she came, has obtained the king's leave to withdraw to a convent till the end of the war at least."
"Really!" said Gabriel, with a sweet and melancholy smile.
And as a tear, the first he had shed for two months, rolled slowly down his cheek, he added,—
"Dear Diane!"
"Oh, Monseigneur," cried Aloyse, beside herself with delight, "Monseigneur has uttered that name! and without a shock, and without swooning. Master Nostredame was mistaken. Monseigneur is saved! Monseigneur will live, and I shall not need to be false to my oath."
We can see that the poor nurse's delight had almost made her mad; but Gabriel, luckily, did not notice her last words. He replied simply, with a smile full of bitterness,—
"Yes, I am saved; but still, dear Aloyse, I shall not live."
"How so, Monseigneur?" said Aloyse, trembling again in every limb.
"My body has held out manfully," Gabriel replied; "but my soul, Aloyse, my soul, do you think that it has not been stricken to death? I am going to recover from this long sickness, it is true; and I am allowing myself to be cured, as you see. But, luckily, there is fighting on the frontier; and I am captain of the Guards, and my place is where they are fighting. As soon as I am strong enough to mount my horse, I shall go where my place is. And at the very first battle in which I have a hand, Aloyse, I shall take good care so to arrange matters that I shall never have to return."
"You will kill yourself! Holy Virgin! And why, Monseigneur,—why, I pray you?"
"Why? Because Madame de Poitiers refused to speak, Aloyse; because Diane may be my sister; and because I love Diane; because it may be that the king was responsible for my father's murder; and because I cannot wreak my vengeance on him unless I am sure of it. And so, since I can neither avenge my father nor marry my sister, I don't see what more there is for me to do in this world. That is why I choose to leave it."
"No, Monseigneur, you shall not leave it," said Aloyse, gloomy and cast down, and in a spiritless voice. "You shall not leave it, because you have much to do, and a terrible task, I promise you. But I shall not speak to you of it until the day when you are entirely well again; and Master Nostredame tells me that you may hear what I have to say, and that you have sufficient strength to bear it."
That day arrived on the Tuesday of the week following. Gabriel had been out for the three days preceding, getting ready his equipments, and preparing for his departure; and Nostradamus had said he would come once more during the day to see his convalescent, but that it would be for the last time.
When Aloyse was alone with Gabriel, she said to him,—
"Monseigneur, have you considered well the extreme resolution you have taken, and do you persist in it?"
"I do indeed," said Gabriel.
"And you mean to kill yourself?"
"I mean to kill myself."
"And is it because you have no means of ascertaining whether Madame de Castro is or is not your sister that you mean to die?"
"For that very reason."
"What did I say to you, Monseigneur, to put you on the track of this fearful secret? Do you remember what I said!"
"To be sure! That God in the other world and two persons only in this had ever known this secret. The two human beings were Diane de Poitiers and the Comte de Montgommery, my father. I have begged and implored and threatened Madame de Valentinois; but when I left her, I was more uncertain and despairing than ever."
"But when I told you, Monseigneur," said Aloyse, "you declared that if it were necessary for you to descend into your father's tomb to wrest this secret from him, you would not shrink from the task."
"But," said Gabriel, "I have no idea where that tomb is situated."
"Nor I, but you must seek for it, Monseigneur."
"And even if I should find it," cried Gabriel, "God would have to work a miracle for me. The dead do not speak, Aloyse."
"No, the dead do not; but the living do."
"Great God! what do you mean?" said Gabriel, pale as a ghost.
"That you are not, as you kept calling yourself in your delirium, the Comte de Montgommery, Monseigneur, but only Vicomte de Montgommery, because your father, the Comte de Montgommery, is still living."
"Heaven and earth! Do you know that he is alive, my dear father?"
"I don't know it, Monseigneur, but I believe and hope so; for his was a strong and sturdy nature like yours, and should have resisted suffering and misfortune as valiantly. Now, if he is alive, he is not the one to refuse, as Madame Diane did, to reveal the secret on which your happiness depends!"
"But where shall we find him; of whom demand him? In Heaven's name, Aloyse, tell me!"
"It is a terrible story, Monseigneur! And I swore to my husband, by your father's command, never to reveal it to you; for as soon as you know it, you will plunge into the midst of fearful dangers, Monseigneur, and will declare war against foes a hundred times stronger than yourself. But the most desperate peril is preferable to certain death. You had made up your mind to die; and I knew that you would not grow weak in that determination. After all, I prefer to expose you to the doubtful chances of the bitter conflict which your hither dreaded in your behalf. At all events, your death will be less certain, and will be delayed a little. So I am going to tell you everything, Monseigneur; and it may be that God will pardon me for proving false to my oath."
"Yes, of course, dear Aloyse. My father! my father living! Oh, quickly! speak!"
But at this moment there was a soft knock at the door, and Nostradamus appeared.
"Aha, Monsieur d'Exmès," said he, "how bright and lively you are! I'm glad to see it! You were not like this a month ago. You seem to be all ready to take the field."
"Yes, indeed,—to take the field," said Gabriel, with sparkling eye, looking meaningly at Aloyse.
"So I see that the physician has no further business here," said Nostradamus.
"Nothing, save to receive my grateful thanks, Master, and I dare not say the value of your services, for under certain circumstances one's life is not valuable."
And Gabriel, pressing the doctor's hand, left in it a roll of gold-pieces.
"Thanks, Monsieur Vicomte d'Exmès," said Nostradamus. "But give me leave to make you a present which I think will prove of value to you."
"What is it, pray, Master?"
"You know, Monseigneur," Nostradamus began, "that I do not occupy myself entirely with men's illnesses. I have presumed to look farther and higher. I have tried to read their destinies,—a task full of uncertainty and obscurity; but in default of light, I have sometimes, I think, caught glimpses of the truth. God, I am convinced, has written twice over, in advance of his birth, the vast and mighty scheme of each man's destiny; in the stars of heaven, his native land, to which he raises his eyes so often, and in the lines of his hand,—an intricate conjuring book which he carries always with him, but which he cannot even begin to spell except at the cost of unwearying study. During many days and nights, Monseigneur, I have dug and delved away at these two sciences, as fathomless as the cask of the Danaïdes,—chiromancy and astrology. I have summoned before me all future ages; and a thousand years from now, those who are then alive may be sometimes amazed at my prophecies. But I know that the truth only shines in streaks, for although I sometimes see clearly, often, alas! I am in doubt. Nevertheless I am certain that I have now and then hours of clairvoyance which almost frighten me, Monseigneur. In one of these infrequent hours, I saw, twenty-five years ago, the destiny of a gentleman attached to the court of King François clearly written in the stars which watched over his birth and in the complicated lines of his hand. This extraordinary, curious, and perilous destiny made a strong impression on me. Fancy my astonishment, then, when in your hand and in the stars which presided over your birth, I seemed to read a horoscope like that which had so surprised me long ago; but I could not distinguish it so clearly as before and the lapse of twenty-five years had confused my memory. Last of all, Monseigneur, last month, in the height of your fever, you pronounced a name; I heard only the name, but it caught my attention at once. It was the name of the Comte de Montgommery."
"Of the Comte de Montgommery?" Gabriel cried in alarm.
"I tell you again, Monseigneur, that I heard nothing but the name; and the rest is of little importance, for that name was the name of the man whose destiny had been made as clear to me as the noonday sun. I hastened home and hunted among my old papers until I found the Comte de Montgommery's horoscope. But a most singular circumstance, Monseigneur, and one which I have never met with before in more than thirty years of study, is that there must be some mysterious connection, some strange affinity, between you and the Comte de Montgommery; and God, who never ordained the same destiny for two men, must have reserved both of you for the same fate. For I was not mistaken; the lines of the hand and the constellations had the same aspect for both. I should not dare to say that there was to be no difference in the details of your two lives; but the predominating feature of both horoscopes is the same. I long ago lost sight of the Comte de Montgommery; but I ascertained that one of my predictions in his regard was fulfilled. He wounded François I. in the face with a red-hot brand. Has the remainder of his destiny been fulfilled? That is what I cannot say. I can only be sure that the same misfortune and the same violent death which threatened him are impending over you."
"Can it be?" said Gabriel.
"Here, Monseigneur," said Nostradamus, handing to Vicomte d'Exmès a roll of parchment, "here is the horoscope which I drew off at the time for the Comte de Montgommery. I should make no changes in it were I to write yours to-day."
"Give it me, Master, give it me!" said Gabriel. "This is indeed an inestimable gift; and you cannot imagine how precious it is to me."
"One word more, Monsieur d'Exmès," said Nostradamus; "one last word to put you on your guard, though God be supreme, and one can hardly turn aside His plans. The nativity of Henri II. presaged that he would die in a duel or in single combat."
"But," asked Gabriel, "what connection?"
"When you read this scroll, you will understand me, Monseigneur. Meanwhile it remains only for me to take my leave of you, and to hope that the catastrophe with which God menaces your life may at least be not sought by you."
And having saluted Gabriel, who pressed his hand warmly and escorted him to the door, he took his leave.
As soon as he was with Aloyse once more, Gabriel unrolled the parchment; and having made sure that no one could interrupt him or spy upon him, he read aloud the following lines:—
"En joûte, en amour, cettuy touchera
Le front du roy,
Et cornes ou bien trou sanglant mettra
Au front du roy.
Mais le veuille ou non, toujours blessera
Le front du roy.
Enfin, l'aimera, puis, las! le tuera
Dame du roy."[2]
"It is well!" cried Gabriel, with beaming eye and a look of triumph. "Now, dear Aloyse, you may tell me how my father, the Comte de Montgommery, was entombed alive by King Henri II."
"By King Henri II.!" cried Aloyse; "how do you know, Monseigneur?"
"I guess it! But you can tell me of the crime, since God has pointed out to me my revenge."
"In tilting and in love-making this youth shall ever
Be matched against the king,
And shall in winning hearts and breaking heads
E'en triumph o'er the king.
Yea, though he wish it not, still shall his brand
Wound in the face the king.
And then, alas! shall love him and destroy him
The lady of the king.”