The Red Cockade

by Stanley John Weyman

  Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by theWeb Archive (University of Toronto)

  Transcriber's Notes:

  1. Page scan source: https://www.archive.org/details/redcockade00weymuoft (University of Toronto)

  THE RED COCKADE

  _WORKS BY STANLEY WEYMAN_.

  The House of the Wolf. A Gentleman of France. Under the Red Robe. My Lady Rotha. The New Rector. The Story of Francis Cludde. The Man in Black. From the Memoirs of a Minister of France. The Red Cockade.

  ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS

  "'MESSIEURS,' HE CRIED." _See page_ 21.]

  THE RED COCKADE

  BY STANLEY WEYMAN AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," ETC.

  LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 1895

  CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER

  I. The Marquis de St. Alais.

  II. The Ordeal.

  III. In the Assembly.

  IV. L'ami du Peuple.

  V. The Deputation.

  VI. A Meeting in the Road.

  VII. The Alarm.

  VIII. Gargouf.

  IX. The Tricolour.

  X. The Morning after the Storm.

  XI. The Two Camps.

  XII. The Duel.

  XIII. A la Lanterne.

  XIV. It Goes Ill.

  XV. At Milhau.

  XVI. Three in a Carriage.

  XVII. Froment of Nimes.

  XVIII. A Poor Figure.

  XIX. At Nimes

  XX. The Search.

  XXI. Rivals.

  XXII. Noblesse Oblige.

  XXIII. The Crisis.

  XXIV. The Millennium.

  XXV. Beyond the Shadow.

  THE RED COCKADE.

  CHAPTER I.

  THE MARQUIS DE ST. ALAIS.

  When we reached the terraced walk, which my father made a littlebefore his death, and which, running under the windows at the rear ofthe Chateau, separates the house from the new lawn, St. Alais lookedround with eyes of scarcely-veiled contempt.

  "What have you done with the garden?" he asked, his lip curling.

  "My father removed it to the other side of the house," I answered.

  "Out of sight?"

  "Yes," I said; "it is beyond the rose garden."

  "English fashion!" he answered with a shrug and a polite sneer. "Andyou prefer to see all this grass from your windows?"

  "Yes," I said, "I do."

  "Ah! And that plantation? It hides the village, I suppose, from thehouse?"

  "Yes."

  He laughed. "Yes," he said. "I notice that that is the way of all whoprate of the people, and freedom, and fraternity. They love thepeople; but they love them at a distance, on the farther side of apark or a high yew hedge. Now, at St. Alais I like to have my folksunder my eye, and then, if they do not behave, there is the _carcan_.By the way, what have you done with yours, Vicomte? It used to standopposite the entrance."

  "I have burned it," I said, feeling the blood mount to my temples.

  "Your father did, you mean?" he answered, with a glance of surprise.

  "No," I said stubbornly, hating myself for being ashamed of thatbefore St. Alais of which I had been proud enough when alone. "I did.I burned it last winter. I think the day of such things is past."

  The Marquis was not my senior by more than five years; but those fiveyears, spent in Paris and Versailles, gave him a wondrous advantage,and I felt his look of contemptuous surprise as I should have felt ablow. However, he did not say anything at the moment, but after ashort pause changed the subject and began to speak of my father;recalling him and things in connection with him in a tone of respectand affection that in a moment disarmed my resentment.

  "The first time that I shot a bird on the wing I was in his company!"he said, with the wonderful charm of manner that had been St. Alais'even in boyhood.

  "Twelve years ago," I said.

  "Even so, Monsieur," he replied with a laughing bow. "In those daysthere was a small boy with bare legs, who ran after me, and called meVictor, and thought me the greatest of men. I little dreamed that hewould ever live to expound the rights of man to me. And, _Dieu!_Vicomte, I must keep Louis from you, or you will make him as great areformer as yourself. However," he continued, passing from thatsubject with a smile and an easy gesture, "I did not come here to talkof him, but of one, M. le Vicomte, in whom you should feel evengreater interest."

  I felt the blood mount to my temples again, but for a differentreason. "Mademoiselle has come home?" I said.

  "Yesterday," he answered. "She will go with my mother to Cahorsto-morrow, and take her first peep at the world. I do not doubt thatamong the many new things she will see, none will interest her morethan the Vicomte de Saux."

  "Mademoiselle is well?" I said clumsily.

  "Perfectly," he answered with grave politeness, "as you will see foryourself to-morrow evening, if we do not meet on the road. I daresaythat you will like a week or so to commend yourself to her, M. leVicomte? And after that, whenever Madame la Marquise and you cansettle the date, and so forth, the match had better come off--while Iam here."

  I bowed. I had been expecting to hear this for a week past; but fromLouis, who was on brotherly terms with me, not from Victor. The latterhad indeed been my boyish idol; but that was years ago, before Courtlife and a long stay at Versailles and St. Cloud had changed him intothe splendid-looking man I saw before me, the raillery of whose eye Ifound it as difficult to meet as I found it impossible to match theaplomb of his manner. Still, I strove to make such acknowledgments asbecame me; and to adopt that nice mixture of self-respect, politeness,and devotion which I knew that the occasion, formally treated,required. But my tongue stumbled, and in a moment he relieved me.

  "Well, you must tell that to Denise," he said pleasantly; "doubtlessyou will find her a patient listener. At first, of course," hecontinued, pulling on his gauntlets and smiling faintly, "she will bea little shy. I have no doubt that the good sisters have brought herup to regard a man in much the same light as a wolf; and a suitor assomething worse. But, _eh bien, mon ami!_ women are women after all,and in a week or two you will commend yourself. We may hope, then, tosee you to-morrow evening--if not before?"

  "Most certainly, M. le Marquis."

  "Why not Victor?" he answered, laying his hand on my arm with a touchof the old _bonhomie_. "We shall soon be brothers, and then,doubtless, shall hate one another. In the meantime, give me yourcompany to the gates. There was one other thing I wanted to name toyou. Let me see--what was it?"

  But either he could not immediately remember, or he found a difficultyin introducing the subject, for we were nearly half-way down theavenue of walnut trees that leads to the village when he spoke again.Then he plunged into the matter abruptly.

  "You have heard of this protest?" he said.

  "Yes," I answered reluctantly and with a foresight of trouble.

  "You will sign it, of course?"

  He had hesitated before he asked the question; I hesitated before Ianswered it. The protest to which he referred--how formal the phrasenow sounds, though we know that under it lay the beginning of troubleand a new world--was one which it was proposed to move in the comingmeeting of the _noblesse_ at Cahors; its aim, t
o condemn the conductof our representatives at Versailles, in consenting to sit with theThird Estate.

  Now, for myself, whatever had been my original views on thisquestion--and, as a fact, I should have preferred to see reformfollowing the English model, the nobles' house remaining separate--Iregarded the step, now it was taken, and legalised by the King, asirrevocable; and protest as useless. More, I could not help knowingthat those who were moving the protest desired also to refuse allreform, to cling to all privileges, to balk all hopes of bettergovernment; hopes, which had been rising higher, day by day, since theelections, and which it might not now be so safe or so easy to balk.Without swallowing convictions, therefore, which were pretty wellknown, I could not see my way to supporting it. And I hesitated.

  "Well?" he said at last, finding me still silent.

  "I do not think that I can," I answered, flushing.

  "Can support it?"

  "No," I said.

  He laughed genially. "Pooh!" he said. "I think that you will. I wantyour promise, Vicomte. It is a small matter; a trifle, and of noimportance; but we must be unanimous. That is the one thingnecessary."

  I shook my head. We had both come to a halt under the trees, a littlewithin the gates. His servant was leading the horses up and down theroad.

  "Come," he persisted pleasantly: "you do not think that anything isgoing to come of this chaotic States General, which his Majesty wasmad enough to let Neckar summon? They met on the 4th of May; this isthe 17th of July; and to this date they have done nothing but wrangle!Nothing! Presently they will be dismissed, and there will be an end ofit!"

  "Why protest, then?" I said rather feebly.

  "I will tell you, my friend," he answered, smiling indulgently andtapping his boot with his whip. "Have you heard the latest news?"

  "What is it?" I replied cautiously. "Then I will tell you if I haveheard it."

  "The King has dismissed Neckar!"

  "No!" I cried, unable to hide my surprise.

  "Yes," he answered; "the banker is dismissed. In a week his StatesGeneral or National Assembly, or whatever he pleases to call it, willgo too, and we shall be where we were before. Only, in the meantime,and to strengthen the King in the wise course he is at last pursuing,we must show that we are alive. We must show our sympathy with him. Wemust act. We must protest."

  "But, M. le Marquis," I said, a little heated, perhaps, by the news,"are you sure that the people will quietly endure this? Never was sobitter a winter as last winter; never a worse harvest, or suchpinching. On the top of these, their hopes have been raised, and theirminds excited by the elections, and----

  "Whom have we to thank for that?" he said, with a whimsical glance atme. "But, never fear, Vicomte; they will endure it. I know Paris; andI can assure you that it is not the Paris of the Fronde, though M. deMirabeau would play the Retz. It is a peaceable, sensible Paris, andit will not rise. Except a bread riot or two, it has seen no rising tospeak of for a century and a half: nothing that two companies of Swisscould not deal with as easily as D'Argenson cleared the Cour desMiracles. Believe me, there is no danger of that kind: with the leastmanagement, all will go well!"

  But his news had roused my antagonism. I found it more easy to resisthim now.

  "I do not know," I said coldly; "I do not think that the matter is sosimple as you say. The King must have money, or be bankrupt; thepeople have no money to pay him. I do not see how things can go backto the old state."

  M. de St. Alais looked at me with a gleam of anger in his eyes.

  "You mean, Vicomte," he said, "that you do not wish them to go back?"

  "I mean that the old state was impossible," I said stiffly. "It couldnot last. It cannot return."

  For a moment he did not answer, and we stood confronting oneanother--he just without, I just within, the gateway--the cool foliagestretching over us, the dust and July sunshine in the road beyond him;and if my face reflected his, it was flushed, and set, and determined.But in a twinkling his changed; he broke into an easy, polite laugh,and shrugged his shoulders with a touch of contempt.

  "Well," he said, "we will not argue; but I hope that you will sign.Think it over, M. le Vicomte, think it over. Because"--he paused, andlooked at me gaily--"we do not know what may be depending upon it."

  "That is a reason," I answered quickly, "for thinking more beforeI----

  "It is a reason for thinking more before you refuse," he said, bowingvery low, and this time without smiling. Then he turned to his horse,and his servant held the stirrup while he mounted. When he was in thesaddle and had gathered up the reins, he bent his face to mine.

  "Of course," he said, speaking in a low voice, and with a searchinglook at me, "a contract is a contract, M. le Vicomte; and theMontagues and Capulets, like your _carcan_, are out of date. But, allthe same, we must go one way--_comprenez-vous?_--we must go oneway--or separate! At least, I think so."

  And nodding pleasantly, as if he had uttered in these words acompliment instead of a threat, he rode off; leaving me to stand andfret and fume, and finally to stride back under the trees with mythoughts in a whirl, and all my plans and hopes jarring one another ina petty copy of the confusion that that day prevailed, though Iguessed it but dimly, from one end of France to the other.

  For I could not be blind to his meaning; nor ignorant that he had, nomatter how politely, bidden me choose between the alliance with hisfamily, which my father had arranged for me, and the political viewsin which my father had brought me up, and which a year's residence inEngland had not failed to strengthen. Alone in the Chateau since myfather's death, I had lived a good deal in the future--in day-dreamsof Denise de St. Alais, the fair girl who was to be my wife, and whomI had not seen since she went to her convent school; in day-dreams,also, of work to be done in spreading round me the prosperity I hadseen in England. Now, St. Alais' words menaced one or other of theseprospects; and that was bad enough. But, in truth, it was not that, somuch as his presumption, that stung me; that made me swear one momentand laugh the next, in a kind of irritation not difficult tounderstand. I was twenty-two, he was twenty-seven; and he dictated tome! We were country bumpkins, he of the _haute politique_, and he hadcome from Versailles or from Paris to drill us! If I went his way Imight marry his sister; if not, I might not! That was the position.

  No wonder that before he had left me half an hour I had made up mymind to resist him; and so spent the rest of the day composing soundand unanswerable reasons for the course I intended to take; nowconning over a letter in which M. de Liancourt set forth his plan ofreform, now summarising the opinions with which M. de Rochefoucauldhad favoured me on his last journey to Luchon. In half an hour and theheat of temper! thinking no more than ten thousand others, who thatweek chose one of two courses, what I was doing. Gargouf, the St.Alais' steward, who doubtless heard that day the news of Neckar'sfall, and rejoiced, had no foresight of what it meant to him. FatherBenoit, the cure, who supped with me that evening, and heard thetidings with sorrow--he, too, had no special vision. And theinnkeeper's son at La Bastide, by Cahors--probably he, also, heard thenews; but no shadow of a sceptre fell across his path, nor any of a_baton_ on that of the notary at the other La Bastide. A notary, a_baton_! An innkeeper, a sceptre! _Mon Dieu!_ what conjunctions theywould have seemed in those days! We should have been wiser thanDaniel, and more prudent than Joseph, if we had foreseen such thingsunder the old _regime_--in the old France, in the old world, that diedin that month of July, 1789!

  And yet there were signs, even then, to be read by those with eyes,that foretold something, if but a tithe of the inconceivable future;of which signs I myself remarked sufficient by the way next day tofill my mind with other thoughts than private resentment; with somenobler aims than self-assertion. Riding to Cahors, with Gil and Andreat my back, I saw not only the havoc caused by the great frosts of thewinter and spring, not only walnut trees blackened and withered, vinesstricken, rye killed, a huge proportion of the land fallow, desert,gloomy and unsown: not only those common signs of pover
ty to which usehad accustomed me--though on my first return from England I had viewedthem with horror--mud cabins, I mean, and unglazed windows, starvedcattle, and women bent double, gathering weeds. But I saw other thingsmore ominous; a strange herding of men at cross-roads and bridges,where they waited for they knew not what; a something lowering inthese men's silence, a something expectant in their faces; worst ofall, a something dangerous in their scowling eyes and sunken cheeks.Hunger had pinched them; the elections had roused them. I trembled tothink of the issue, and that in the hint of danger I had given St.Alais, I had been only too near the mark.

  A league farther on, where the woodlands skirt Cahors, I lost sight ofthese things; but for a time only. They reappeared presently inanother form. The first view of the town, as, girt by the shining Lot,and protected by ramparts and towers, it nestles under the steephills, is apt to take the eye; its matchless bridge, and time-wornCathedral, and great palace seldom failing to rouse the admirationeven of those who know them. But that day I saw none of these things.As I passed down towards the market-place they were selling grainunder a guard of soldiers with fixed bayonets; and the starved facesof the waiting crowd that filled all that side of the square, theirshrunken, half-naked figures, and dark looks, and the sullenmuttering, which seemed so much at odds with the sunshine, occupiedme, to the exclusion of everything else.

  Or not quite. I had eyes for one other thing, and that was theastonishing indifference with which those whom curiosity, or business,or habit had brought to the spot, viewed this spectacle. The inns werefull of the gentry of the province, come to the Assembly; they lookedon from the windows, as at a show, and talked and jested as if at homein their chateaux. Before the doors of the Cathedral a group of ladiesand clergymen walked to and fro, and now and then they turned alistless eye on what was passing; but for the most part they seemed tobe unconscious of it, or, at the best, to have no concern with it. Ihave heard it said since, that in those days we had two worlds inFrance, as far apart as hell and heaven; and what I saw that eveningwent far to prove it.

  In the square a shop at which pamphlets and journals were sold wasfull of customers, though other shops in the neighbourhood wereclosed, their owners fearing mischief. On the skirts of the crowd, anda little aloof from it, I saw Gargouf, the St. Alais' steward. He wastalking to a countryman; and, as I passed, I heard him say with agibe, "Well, has your National Assembly fed you yet?"

  "Not yet," the clown answered stupidly, "but I am told that in a fewdays they will satisfy everybody."

  "Not they!" the agent answered brutally. "Why, do you think that theywill feed you?"

  "Oh, yes, by your leave; it is certain," the man said. "And, besides,every one is agreed----"

  But then Gargouf saw me, saluted me, and I heard no more. A momentlater, however, I came on one of my own people, Buton, the blacksmith,in the middle of a muttering group. He looked at me sheepishly,finding himself caught; and I stopped, and rated him soundly, and sawhim start for home before I went to my quarters.

  These were at the Trois Rois, where I always lay when in town; Doury,the innkeeper, providing a supper ordinary for the gentry at eighto'clock, at which it was the custom to dress and powder.

  The St. Alais had their own house in Cahors, and, as the Marquis hadforewarned me, entertained that evening. The greater part of thecompany, indeed, repaired to them after the meal. I went myself alittle late, that I might avoid any private talk with the Marquis; Ifound the rooms already full and brilliantly lighted, the staircasecrowded with valets, and the strains of a harpsichord tricklingmelodiously from the windows. Madame de St. Alais was in the habit ofentertaining the best company in the province; with less splendour,perhaps, than some, but with so much ease, and taste, and goodbreeding, that I look in vain for such a house in these days.

  Ordinarily, she preferred to people her rooms with pleasant groups,that, gracefully disposed, gave to a _salon_ an air elegant andpleasing, and in character with the costume of those days, the silksand laces, powder and diamonds, the full hoops and red-heeled shoes.But on this occasion the crowd and the splendour of the entertainmentapprised me, as soon as I crossed the threshold, that I was assistingat a party of more than ordinary importance; nor had I advanced farbefore I guessed that it was a political rather than a socialgathering. All, or almost all, who would attend the Assembly next daywere here; and though, as I wound my way through the glittering crowd,I heard very little serious talk--so little, that I marvelled to thinkthat people could discuss the respective merits of French and Italianopera, of Gretry and Bianchi, and the like, while so much hung in thebalance--of the effect intended I had no doubt; nor that Madame, inassembling all the wit and beauty of the province, was aiming atthings higher than amusement.

  With, I am bound to confess, a degree of success. At any rate it wasdifficult to mix with the throng which filled her rooms, to run thegauntlet of bright eyes and witty tongues, to breathe the atmosphereladen with perfume and music, without falling under the spell, withoutforgetting. Inside the door M. de Gontaut, one of my father's oldestfriends, was talking with the two Harincourts. He greeted me with asly smile, and pointed politely inwards.

  "Pass on, Monsieur," he said. "The farthest room. Ah! my friend, Iwish I were young again!"

  "Your gain would be my loss, M. le Baron," I said civilly, and slid byhim. Next, I had to speak to two or three ladies, who detained me withwicked congratulations of the same kind; and then I came on Louis. Heclasped my hand, and we stood a moment together. The crowd elbowed us;a simpering fool at his shoulder was prating of the social contract.But as I felt the pressure of Louis' hand, and looked into his eyes,it seemed to me that a breath of air from the woods penetrated theroom, and swept aside the heavy perfumes.

  Yet there was trouble in his look. He asked me if I had seen Victor.

  "Yesterday," I said, understanding him perfectly, and what was amiss."Not to-day."

  "Nor Denise?"

  "No. I have not had the honour of seeing Mademoiselle."

  "Then, come," he answered. "My mother expected you earlier. What didyou think of Victor?"

  "That he went Victor, and has returned a great personage!" I said,smiling.

  Louis laughed faintly, and lifted his eyebrows with a comical air ofsufferance.

  "I was afraid so," he said. "He did not seem to be very well pleasedwith you. But we must all do his bidding--eh, Monsieur? And, in themeantime, come. My mother and Denise are in the farthest room."

  He led the way thither as he spoke; but we had first to go through thecard-room, and then the crowd about the farther doorway was so densethat we could not immediately enter; and so I had time--whileoutwardly smiling and bowing--to feel a little suspense. At last weslipped through and entered a smaller room, where were only Madame laMarquise--who was standing in the middle of the floor talking with theAbbe Mesnil--two or three ladies, and Denise de St. Alais.

  Mademoiselle had her seat on a couch by one of the ladies; andnaturally my eyes went first to her. She was dressed in white, and itstruck me with the force of a blow how small, how childish she was!Very fair, of the purest complexion, and perfectly formed, she seemedto derive an extravagant, an absurd, air of dignity from the formalityof her dress, from the height of the powdered hair that strainedupwards from her forehead, from the stiffness of her brocadedpetticoat. But she was very small. I had time to note this, to feel alittle disappointment, and to fancy that, cast in a larger mould, shewould have been supremely handsome; and then the lady beside her,seeing me, spoke to her, and the child--she was really littlemore--looked up, her face grown crimson. Our eyes met--thank God! shehad Louis' eyes--and she looked down again, blushing painfully.

  I advanced to pay my respects to Madame, and kissed the hand, which,without at once breaking off her conversation, she extended to me.

  "But such powers!" the Abbe, who had something of the reputation of a_philosophe_, was saying to her. "Without limit! Without check!Misused, Madame----"

  "But the King is too goo
d!" Madame la Marquise answered, smiling.

  "When well advised, I agree. But then the deficit?"

  The Marquise shrugged her shoulders. "His Majesty must have money,"she said.

  "Yes--but whence?" the Abbe asked, with answering shrug.

  "The King was too good at the beginning," Madame replied, with atouch of severity. "He should have made them register the edicts.However, the Parliament has always given way, and will do so again."

  "The Parliament--yes," the Abbe retorted, smiling indulgently. "But itis no longer a question of the Parliament; and the States General----"

  "States General pass," Madame responded grandly. "The King remains!"

  "Yet if trouble comes?"

  "It will not," Madame answered with the same grand air. "His Majestywill prevent it." And then with a word or two more she dismissed theAbbe and turned to me. She tapped me on the shoulder with her fan."Ah! truant," she said, with a glance in which kindness and a littleausterity were mingled. "I do not know what I am to say to you!Indeed, from the account Victor gave me yesterday, I hardly knewwhether to expect you this evening or not. Are you sure that it is youwho are here?"

  "I will answer for my heart, Madame," I answered, laying my hand uponit.

  Her eyes twinkled kindly.

  "Then," she said, "bring it where it is due, Monsieur." And she turnedwith a fine air of ceremony, and led me to her daughter. "Denise," shesaid, "this is M. le Vicomte de Saux, the son of my old, my goodfriend. M. le Vicomte--my daughter. Perhaps you will amuse her while Igo back to the Abbe."

  Probably Mademoiselle had spent the evening in an agony of shyness,expecting this moment; for she curtesied to the floor, and then stooddumb and confused, forgetting even to sit down, until I covered herwith fresh blushes by begging her to do so. When she had complied, Itook my stand before her, with my hat in my hand; but between seekingfor the right compliment, and trying to trace a likeness between herand the wild, brown-faced child of thirteen, whom I had known fouryears before--and from the dignified height of nineteen immeasurablydespised--I grew shy myself.

  "You came home last week, Mademoiselle?" I said at last.

  "Yes, Monsieur," she answered, in a whisper, and with downcast eyes.

  "It must be a great change for you!"

  "Yes, Monsieur."

  Silence: then, "Doubtless the Sisters were good to you?" I suggested.

  "Yes, Monsieur."

  "Yet, you were not sorry to leave?"

  "Yes, Monsieur."

  But on that the meaning of what she had last said came home to her, orshe felt the banality of her answers; for, on a sudden, she lookedswiftly up at me, her face scarlet, and, if I was not mistaken, shewas within a little of bursting into tears. The thought appalled me. Istooped lower.

  "Mademoiselle!" I said hurriedly, "pray do not be afraid of me.Whatever happens, you shall never have need to fear me. I beg of youto look on me as a friend--as your brother's friend. Louis is my----"

  Crash! While the name hung on my lips, something struck me on theback, and I staggered forward, almost into her arms; amid a shiver ofbroken glass, a flickering of lights, a rising chorus of screams andcries. For a moment I could not think what was happening, or hadhappened; the blow had taken away my breath. I was conscious only ofMademoiselle clinging terrified to my arm, of her face, wild withfright, looking up to me, of the sudden cessation of the music. Then,as people pressed in on us, and I began to recover, I turned and sawthat the window behind me had been driven in, and the lead and panesshattered; and that among the _debris_ on the floor lay a great stone.It was that which had struck me.