It was a beautiful autumn evening, calm and clear. The moon had driven away almost all the clouds, and the few which remained were scattered here and there over the star-strewn sky. Around the group talking and listening in the garden of the Petit-Nesle, everything was calm and silent, but within their hearts all was sadness and agitation.
"My darling Colombe," said Ascanio, while Benvenuto, standing cold and pale behind him, seemed to be listening with his heart rather than with his ears, "my dearest love, why, alas! did our paths meet? When you know all that I have to tell you of misery and horror, you will curse me for being the bearer of such news."
"Nay, my dear," replied Colombe, "whatever you may have to tell me, I shall bless you, for in my eyes you are as one sent by God. I never heard my mother's voice, but I feel that I should have listened to her as I listen to you. Go on, Ascanio, and if you have terrible things to tell me, your voice will at least comfort me a little."
"Summon all your courage and all your strength," said Ascanio.
Thereupon he told her all that had taken place in his presence between Madame d'Etampes and Comte d'Orbec; he described the whole plot, a combination of treason against the kingdom and designs upon the honor of an innocent child; he subjected himself to the agony of explaining the infamous bargain made by the treasurer to that ingenuous soul, aghast at this revelation of wickedness; he must needs to make the maiden, whose heart was so pure that she did not blush at his words, understand the cruel refinements of torture and ignominy which hatred and baffled love suggested to the favorite. All that was perfectly clear to Colombe's mind was that her lover was filled with loathing and dismay, and, like the slender vine which has no other support than the sapling to which it clings, she trembled and shuddered with him.
"My dear," she said, "you must make known this fearful plot against my honor to my father. My father does not suspect our love, he owes you his life, and he will listen to you. Oh, never fear! he will rescue me from the clutches of Comte d'Orbec."
"Alas!" was Ascanio's only reply.
"O my love!" cried Colombe, who understood all the apprehension contained in her lover's exclamation. "Oh! can you suspect my father of complicity in so hateful a design? That would be too wicked, Ascanio. No, my father knows nothing, suspects nothing, I am sure, and although he has never shown me any great affection, he would never with his own hand plunge me into shame and misery."
"Forgive me, Colombe," rejoined Ascanio, "but your father is not accustomed to see misery in increased wealth. A title would conceal the shame, and in his courtier-like pride he would deem you happier as a king's mistress than as an artist's wife. It is my duty to hide nothing from you, Colombe: Comte d'Orbec told Madame la Duchesse d'Etampes that he would answer for your father."
"Just God, is it possible!" cried the poor girl. "Was such a thing ever seen, Ascanio, as a father who sold his daughter?"
"Such things are seen in all countries and at all times, my poor angel, and more than ever at this time and in this country. Do not picture to yourself the world as fashioned after the image of your heart, or society as taking pattern by your virtue. Yes, Colombe, the noblest names of France have shamelessly farmed out the youth and beauty of their wives and daughters to the royal lust: it is looked upon as a matter of course at court, and your father, if he cares to take the trouble to justify himself, will not lack illustrious precedents. I beg you to forgive me, my beloved, for bringing your chaste and spotless soul so abruptly in contact with this hideous reality; but I cannot avoid the necessity of showing you the snare that is laid for you."
"Ascanio, Ascanio!" cried Colombe, hiding her face against the young man's shoulder; "my father also turns against me. Oh, simply to repeat it kills me with shame! Where can I fly for shelter? Where but to your arms, Ascanio? Yes, it is for you to save me now. Have you spoken to your master, to Benvenuto, who is so strong and great and kindly, judging by your description of him, and whom I love because you love him?"
"Nay, do not love him, do not love him, Colombe!" cried Ascanio.
"Why not?" whispered the girl.
"Because he loves you, because, instead of the friend upon whom we thought we could rely, he is one enemy the more we have to contend against: an enemy, you understand, and the most formidable of all our enemies. Listen."
Thereupon he told her how, as he was on the point of making a confidant of Benvenuto, the goldsmith described to him his ideal love, and added that the favorite sculptor of François I. by virtue of the king's word of honor to which he had never proved false, could obtain whatever he chose to ask after the statue of Jupiter was cast. As we know, the boon that Benvenuto proposed to ask was Colombe's hand.
"O God! we have none to look to for succor but thee," said Colombe, raising her white hands and her lovely eyes to heaven. "All our friends are changed to enemies, every haven of refuge becomes a dangerous reef. Are you certain that we are so utterly abandoned?"
"Only too certain," replied Ascanio. "My master is as dangerous to us as your father, Colombe. Yes," he continued, wringing his hands, "I am almost driven to hate him, Benvenuto, my friend, my master, my protector, my father, my God! And yet I ask you, Colombe, why I should hear him ill will? Because he has fallen under the spell to which every exalted mind that comes in contact with yours must yield; because he loves you as I love you. His crime is my own, after all. But you love me, Colombe, and so I am absolved. What shall we do? For two days I have been asking myself the question, and I do not know whether I begin to detest him, or whether I love him still. He loves you, it is true; but he has loved me so dearly, too, that my poor heart wavers and trembles in its perplexity like a reed shaken in the wind. What will he do? First of all, I shall tell him of Comte d'Orbec's designs, and I hope that he will deliver us from them. But after that, when we find ourselves face to face as enemies, when I tell him that his pupil is his rival, Colombe, his will, which is omnipotent as fate, will perhaps be as blind; he will forget Ascanio to think only of Colombe; he will turn his eyes away from the man he once loved, to see only the woman he loves, for I feel myself that between him and you I should not hesitate. I feel that I would remorselessly sacrifice my heart's past for its future, earth for heaven! And why should he act differently? he is a man, and to renounce his love would be more than human. We must therefore, fight it out, but how can I, feeble and alone as I am, resist him. But no matter, Colombe: even if I should come some day to hate him I have loved so long and so well, I tell you now that I would not for all the world subject him to the torture he inflicted upon me the other morning when he declared his love for you."
Meanwhile Benvenuto, standing like a statue behind his tree, felt the drops of icy sweat roll down his forehead, and his hand clutched convulsively at his heart.
"Poor Ascanio! dear heart!" returned Colombe, "you have suffered bitterly already, and have much to suffer still. But let us face the future calmly. Let us not exaggerate our griefs, for the prospect is not altogether desperate. Including God there are three of us to make head against misfortune. You would rather see me Benvenuto's wife than Comte d'Orbec's, would you not? But you would also prefer to see me wedded to the Lord than to Benvenuto? Very well! if I am not yours, I will belong to none but the Lord, be sure of that, Ascanio. Your wife in this world, or your betrothed in the other. That is my promise to you, Ascanio, and that promise I will keep: never fear."
"Thanks, thou angel from heaven, thanks!" said Ascanio. "Let us forget the great world around us, and concentrate our lives upon this little thicket where we now are. Colombe, you haven't told me yet that you love me. Alas! it would almost seem that you are mine because you could not do otherwise."
"Hush! Ascanio, hush! do you not see that I am trying to sanctify my happiness by making it a duty? I love you, Ascanio, I love you!"
Benvenuto could no longer find strength to stand; he fell upon his knees with his head against a tree; his haggard eyes were fixed vacantly on space, while, with his ear turned toward the young people, he listened with feverish intentness.
"Dear Colombe," echoed Ascanio, "I love you, and something tells me that we shall be happy, and that the Lord will not abandon the loveliest of all his angels. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! in this atmosphere of joy which surrounds me, I forget the circle of grief which I must enter when I leave you."
"We must think of to-morrow," said Colombe: "let us help ourselves, Ascanio, so that God may help us. It would be disloyal, I think, to leave your master Benvenuto in ignorance of our love, for he would perhaps incur great risk in contending against Madame d'Etampes and Comte d'Orbec. It would not be fair: you must tell him everything, Ascanio."
"I will obey you, dearest Colombe, for a word from you, as you must know, is law to me. My heart also tells me that you are right, always right. But it will be a terrible blow for him. Alas! I judge from my own heart. It is possible that his love for me may turn to hatred, it is possible that he will turn me out of doors. In that case how can I, a stranger, without friends or shelter, resist such powerful enemies as the Duchesse d'Etampes and the king's treasurer. Who will help me to defeat the plans of that terrible couple? Who will fight on my side in this unequal struggle? Who will hold out a helping hand to me?"
"I!" said a deep, grave voice behind them.
"Benvenuto!" cried the apprentice, without even turning round.
Colombe shrieked and sprang to her feet. Ascanio gazed at his master, wavering between affection and wrath.
"Yes, it is I, Benvenuto Cellini," continued the goldsmith,—"I, whom you do not love, mademoiselle,—I, whom you no longer love, Ascanio, and who come to save you both, nevertheless."
"What do you say?" cried Ascanio.
"I say that you must come and sit down again, here by my side, for we must understand one another. You have no need to tell me aught. I have not lost a word of your conversation. Forgive me for listening after I came upon you by chance, but you understand: it is much better that I should know all. You have said some things very sad and terrible for me to hear; but some kind things too. Ascanio was sometimes right and sometimes wrong. It is very true, Mademoiselle, that I would have disputed you with him. But since you love him, that's the end of it, be happy; he has forbidden you to love me, but I will force you to it by giving you to him."
"Dear master!" cried Ascanio.
"You suffer, monsieur, do you not?" said Colombe clasping her hands.
"Ah, thanks, thanks!" said Benvenuto, as his eyes filled with tears, but restraining his feelings with a mighty effort. "You see that I suffer. He would not have noticed it, ungrateful boy! But nothing escapes a woman's eyes. Yes, I will not tell you a falsehood; I do suffer! and why not, since you are lost to me? But at the same time I am happy, because I am able to serve you; you will owe everything to me, and that thought comforts me a little. You were wrong, Ascanio; my Beatrice is jealous, and will brook no rival; you, Ascanio, must finish the statue of Hebe. Adieu, my sweetest dream,—the last!"
Benvenuto spoke with effort, in a broken voice. Colombe leaned gracefully toward him, and put her hand in his.
"Weep, my friend, weep," she said softly.
"Yes, yes," said Cellini, bursting into tears.
He stood for some time without speaking, weeping bitterly, and trembling with emotion from head to foot. His forceful nature gladly sought relief in tears too long held back. Ascanio and Colombe looked on in respectful silence at this exhibition of bitter grief.
"Except on the day when I wounded you, Ascanio, except at the moment when I saw your blood flow, I have not wept for twenty years," he said at last, recovering his self-control; "but it has been a hard blow to me. I was in such agony just now behind those trees that I was tempted for a moment to plunge my dagger in my heart, and end it all. The only thing that held my hand was your need of me, and so you saved my life. All is as it should be, after all. Ascanio has twenty years more of happiness to give you than I have, Colombe. And then he is my child: you will be very happy together, and it will rejoice my father's heart. Benvenuto will succeed in triumphing over Benvenuto himself, as well as over his enemies. It is the lot of us creators to suffer, and perhaps each one of my tears will cause some lovely statue to spring up, as each of Dante's tears became a sublime strain. You see, Colombe, I am already returning to my old love, my cherished sculpture: that love will never forsake me. You did well to bid me weep: all the bitterness has been washed from my heart by my tears. I am sad still, but I am kind once more, and I will forget my pain in my efforts to save you."
Ascanio took one of the master's hands, and pressed it warmly in his own. Colombe took the other, and put it to her lips. Benvenuto breathed more heavily than he had yet done. Shaking his head, he said with a smile:—
"Do not make it harder for me, but spare me, my children. It will be better never to speak of this again. Henceforth, Colombe, I will be your friend, nothing more; I will be your father. The rest is all a dream. How let us talk of the danger which threatens you, and of what we are to do. I overheard you a moment since discussing your plans. Mon Dieu! you are very young, and neither of you has an idea of what life really is. You offer yourselves, in the innocence of your heart, to the cruel blows of destiny, unarmed, and you hope to vanquish malignity, avarice, all the vile passions of which man is capable with your kind hearts and your smiles! Dear fools! I will be strong and cunning and implacable in your stead. I am wonted to it, but you,—God created you for happiness and tranquillity, my lovely cherubs, and I will see to it that you fulfil your destiny.
"Ascanio, anger shall not furrow thy calm brow: grief, Colombe, shall not disturb the pure outlines of thy face. I will take you in my arms, soft-eyed, charming pair; I will bear you so through all the mire and misery of life, and will not set you down until you have arrived safe and sound at perfect joy; and then I'll gaze at you, and be happy in your happiness. But you must have blind confidence in me; I have my own peculiar ways, abrupt and hard to understand, and which may perhaps alarm you a little, Colombe. I conduct myself somewhat after the manner of artillery, and I go straight to my goal, heedless of what I may meet on the road. Yes, I think more of the purity of my intentions, I confess, than of the morality of the means I use. When I set about modelling a beautiful figure I care but little whether the clay soils my fingers. The figure finished, I wash my hands, and that's the end of it. Do you then, mademoiselle, with your refined and timorous heart, leave me to answer to God for my acts. He and I understand each other. I have a powerful combination to deal with. The count is ambitious, the provost avaricious, and the duchess very subtle. They are each and all very powerful. You are in their power, and in their hands, and two of them have rights over you: it may perhaps be necessary to resort to craft and violence. I shall arrange it, however, so that you and Ascanio will have no part in a contest in every way beneath you. Come, Colombe, are you ready to close your eyes, and allow yourself to be led? When I say, 'Do this,' will you do it?—'Remain there,' will you remain?—'Go,' will you go?"
"What does Ascanio say? asked Colombe.
"Colombe," returned the apprentice, "Benvenuto is great and good: he loves us and forgives the injury we have done him. Let us obey him, I implore you."
"Command me, master," said Colombe, "and I will obey you as if you were sent by God himself.
"Very well, my child. I have but one thing more to ask you; it will cost you dear, perhaps, but you must make up your mind to it; thereafter your part will be confined to waiting, and allowing circumstances and myself to do our work. In order that both of you may have more perfect faith in me, and that you may confide unhesitatingly in one whose life may not be unspotted, but whose heart has remained pure, I am about to tell you the story of my youth. All stories resemble one another, alas! and sorrow lies at the heart of every one. Ascanio, I propose to tell you how my Beatrice, the angel of whom I have spoken to you, came to be associated with my existence; you shall know who she was, and you will wonder less no doubt at my determination to abandon Colombe to you, when you realize that by that sacrifice I am but beginning to pay to the child the debt I owe the mother. Your mother! a saint in paradise, Ascanio! Beatrice would say blessed; Stefana would say crowned."
"You have always told me, master, that you would tell me your whole story some day."
"Yes, and the moment has come to redeem my promise. You will have even more confidence in me, Colombe, when you know all the reasons I have for loving our Ascanio."
Thereupon Benvenuto took a hand of each of his children in his own, and told them what follows, in his grave, melodious voice, beneath the glimmering stars in the peaceful silence of the night.