CHAPTER XXXIV
THE ABSOLUTION OF MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS DE PERIGNY
The Chateau Saint Louis shimmered in the November moonlight. It was acastle in dream. Solitude brooded over the pile as a mother broodsover an empty cot. High above the citadel the gilded ball of theflagstaff glittered like a warm topaz. Below, the roofs of thewarehouses shone like silver under gauze. A crooked black line markedthe course of the icy river, and here and there a phantom moon flashedupon it. The quiet beauty of all this was broken by the red harshnessof artificial light which gleamed from a single window in the chateau,like a Cyclopean eye. Stillness was within. If any moved about onthis floor it was on tiptoe. Death stood at the door and peered intothe darkest corners. For the Marquis de Perigny was about to start outupon that journey which has no visible end, which leaves no trailbehind: men setting out this way forget the way back, being withoutdesire.
Who shall plumb the depth of the bitterness in this old man's heart, ashe lay among his pillows, his head moving feebly from side to side, hisattenuated fingers plucking at the coverlet, his tongue stealing slowlyalong his cracked and burning lips. Fragments of his life passed inragged panorama. His mind wandered, and again became keen with theold-time cynicism and philosophy, as a coal glows and fades in a fitfulwind. In all these weeks he had left his bed but once . . . to findthat his son was lost in the woods, a captive, perhaps dead. Too late;he had always been too late. He had turned the forgiving hand away.And how had he wronged that hand?
"Margot?" he said, speaking to a shadow.
Jehan rose from his chair and approached his master. His withered,leathery face had lost the power to express emotion; but his faded eyessparkled suspiciously.
"Monsieur?" he said.
"What o'clock is it?" asked the marquis, irritably.
"It is midnight, Monsieur."
"Monsieur le Comte has not come in yet? With his sponging friends, Isuppose; drinking and gaming at the Corne d'Abondance." Thus had themarquis spoken in the Rochelle days. "A sip of wine; I am cold."Jehan put his arm around the thin shoulders of his master and held theglass to the trembling lips. A hectic flush superseded the pallor, andthe delusion was gone. The coal glowed. "It is you, Jehan? Well, myfaithful henchman, you will have to continue the journey alone. Myrelays have given out. Go back to Perigny in the spring. I shall beburied here."
Jehan shivered. The earth would be very cold here.
"The lad was a prophet. He told me that I should die in bed like this,alone, without one of my blood near me at the end. He spoke ofphantoms, too. . . . They are everywhere. And without the consolationof a friendly priest!"
"Monsieur, do you know me?"
"Why, yes, Jehan."
"Brother Jacques and Monsieur le Comte returned this day from thewilderness. I have seen them."
The marquis's hands became still. "Pride has filled my path with blackpits. Jehan, after all, was it a dream?"
"What, Monsieur?"
"That duel with D'Herouville"
"It was no dream, Monsieur."
"That is well. I should, like to see Monsieur le Comte. He must be aman now."
"I will call him."
"Presently, presently. He forgave me. Only, I should like to have himknow that my lips lied when I turned him away. Brother Jacques; hewill satisfy my curiosity in the matter of absolution. Death? I neverfeared it; I do not now. However, I leave with some regret; there werethings which I appreciated not in my pursuit of pleasure. Ah well, todie in bed, Jehan, was not among my calculations. But humancalculations never balance in the sum total. I have dropped a figureon the route, somewhere, and my account is without head or tail. Irecall a letter on the table. See if it is there, Jehan."
Jehan searched and found a letter under a book.
"What does it say?"
"'To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into his hands atmy death'," Jehan read.
"From . . . from my son?"
"I do not know, Monsieur."
"Open it and read it."
"It is in Latin, Monsieur, a language unknown to me," Jehan carefullyexplained.
"Give it to me;" but the marquis's fingers trembled and shook and hiseyes stared in vain. "My eyes have failed me, too. I can notdistinguish one letter from another. Give it to Brother Jacques whenhe comes. He is a priest; they all read Latin."
"Then I shall send for him and Monsieur le Comte?"
"Wait till I am sure that I can stand the sight of him. Is SisterBenie without? Call her. She quiets me. Brother Jacques may come inhalf an hour; after him, Monsieur le Comte. I wish to have done withall things and die in peace."
So Jehan went in search of Sister Benie. When she came in her angelicface was as white as the collaret which encircled her throat, and thescar was more livid than usual. Alas, the marquis's mind had gonea-wandering again: the coal dimmed. She put her hand on his brow tostill the wagging head.
"It was so long ago, Margot," he babbled. "It was all a mistake. . . .A fool plunges into all follies, but a wise man avoids what he can. Ihave been both the wise man and the fool. . . . And I struck youacross the face with the lash? Ah, the poor scar!" He touched thescar with his hand, and she wavered. "I loved you. It is true. I didnot know it then. You are dead, and you know that I loved you. Do youthink the lad has really forgiven me for what I have done to him? . . .I am weary of the contest; Death sits on his horse outside the door."
She was praying, praying for strength to go through this ordeal.
"Where did you go, Margot?" he asked. "I searched for you; you weregone. Where did you go that day?"
Outside, in the corridor, Jehan was listening with eyes distended. Andthe marquis did not know, being out of his mind again!
"Hush, Henriot!" said Sister Benie. Tumult was in her heart. His icyhand closed over hers, which was scarce warmer; all the blood was inher heart. Her arms ached with longing to wrap this poor form to herbreast. This was the supreme hour of her expiation.
"Henriot?" she called softly. "Henriot?" Thirty years of forgivenessand love thrilled in that name.
Jehan stole away. All this was not for his ears. Only God had theright to listen.
"Margot, are you still there? Henriot! I have not heard that name inthirty years."
She knew that delusion held him in its grasp, that he saw her only infancy, else she must have flown.
"Can you forgive me, Margot? . . . I have no faith in women. . . . Ihave your letter still; in a casket at Perigny. It is yellow with age,and crumbles to the touch. Where did you go? After madame died I waslonely. . . . All, all are phantoms!" Then his delusion took anotherturn. He saw her no more. "Monsieur de Longueville, you lie when yousay that I received billets from madame. I know a well-trodden placebehind the Tuileries. Perhaps you will follow me? . . . Richelieudead? What, then, will become of France, Jehan? Has Monsieur le Comtecome in yet?"
There were no tears in her eyes. Those reservoirs had emptied anddried twenty years ago. But her heart cried. A new pain stabbed her,causing the room to careen. She kissed him on the forehead. It wasall beyond her capacity for suffering. Her love belonged to God, notto man. To remain was to lose her reason. She would go before thedelusion passed. In the corridor she would kneel and pray for thisdark soul which was about to leap toward the Infinite. On thethreshold she came face to face with Brother Jacques, whose pallor, ifanything, exceeded her own. She stopped, undecided, hesitant. . . .Was it the color of his eyes?
"I have come, Sister, to give Monsieur le Marquis absolution." Histone was mild and reassuring. Stuck between his gown and his belt wasthe letter Jehan had given him to read. He had not looked at it yet."Monsieur le Marquis has called for me."
"You have full powers?" uncertain and distressed. She did not like thefever in his eyes.
"I am fully ordained. I may not perform mass because of my mutilation,though I am expecting a dispensation from his Holiness t
he pope." Heheld out his hand, and her distrust subsided at the sight of thosereddened stumps. "You are standing in my way, Sister. Seek Monsieurle Chevalier, if you will be so kind. He is in the citadel."
She moved to one side, and he passed into the room. When he reachedthe bedside, he turned. Sister Benie dropped her gaze, stepped intothe corridor, and softly closed the door. Brother Jacques and themarquis were alone. The mask of calm fell from the priest'scountenance, leaving it gloomy and haggard. But the fever in his eyesremained unchanged.
"It is something that you have forgiven me, Margot," the marquismurmured. His fancy had veered again. His eyes were closed; andBrother Jacques could see the shadow of the iris beneath the lids.
"Margot?" Brother Jacques trembled. "He wanders! Will he regainlucidity?"
A quarter of an hour passed. The moonbeam on the wall movedperceptibly. Once Brother Jacques pulled forth the letter and glancedagain at the address. It was singular. It recalled to him that nightwhen this old man had pressed D'Herouville to the wall. "To Monsieurle Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into his hands at my death."The priest wondered whose death this meant. He did not replace theletter in his belt, but slipped it into the pocket of his robe,thoughtlessly.
"Paul? . . . Ah! it is Brother Jacques. Curse these phantoms whichrecur again and again. But my son," eagerly; "he is well? He isuninjured? He will be here soon?"
"Yes, my father."
"Once you asked me to call you if ever I changed my mind regardingreligion. I will test this absolution of yours."
"Presently."
"Eh?"
"I said presently, my father."
"Father? . . . You say father?"
"Yes. But a moment gone you spoke of Margot Bourdaloue."
"What is that to you?" cried the marquis, raising himself on an elbow,though the effort cost him pain.
"She was my mother," softly.
The marquis fell back among his pillows. The gnawing of a mouse behindthe wall could be heard distinctly. Brother Jacques was conscious ofthe sound.
"My mother," he repeated.
"You lie, Jesuit!"
"Not at this hour, my father."
"Son of Margot Bourdaloue, you! . . . Ah!" The marquis rose again,leaning on both arms. "Have you come to mock my death-bed?"
"Truth is not mockery."
"Away, lying Jesuit!"
The priest stooped. "Look well into my face, Monsieur; look well. Isthere not something there to awaken your memory?" Brother Jacquesbrought his face within a span of the marquis's. "Look!"
"The eyes, the eyes! . . . Margot, a son? . . . What do you want?"The marquis moistened his lips.
"To make your last hour something like the many I have lived. Where isthe woman you wronged and cast aside, my mother?"
The marquis's arms gave way.
"Ah, but I have waited for this hour!" said Brother Jacques. All theyears of suffering returned and spread their venom through his veins."I have starved. I have begged. I have been beaten. I have slept infields and have been bitten by dogs. I have seen you feasting at yourtable while I hungered outside. I have watched your coach as it rolledthrough the chateau gates. One day your postilion struck me with hiswhip because I did not get out of the way soon enough. I have creptinto sheds and shared the straw with beasts which had more pity thanyou. I thought of you, Monsieur le Marquis, you in your chateau withplenty to eat and drink, and a fire toasting your noble shins. Have Inot thought of you?"
"I am an old man," said the marquis, bewildered. This priest must be anightmare, another of those phantoms which were crowding around his bed.
"How I longed for riches, luxury, content! For had I not your blood inmy veins and were not my desires natural? I became a priest because Icould starve no longer without dying. I have seen your true son in theforests, have called him brother, though he did not understand. Youcursed him and made him an outcast, wilfully. I was starving as a ladof two. My mother, Margot Bourdaloue, went out in search of bread. Ifollowed, but became lost. I never saw my mother again; I can not evenremember how she looked. I can only recall the starved eyes. And youcursed your acknowledged son and applied to him the epithet which Ihave borne these twenty years. Unnatural father!"
"Unnatural son," murmured the marquis.
"I have suffered!" Brother Jacques flung his arms above his head as ifto hurl the trembling curse. "No; I shall not curse you. You do notbelieve in God. Heaven and hell have no meaning."
"I loved your mother."
"Love? That is a sacred word, Monsieur; you soil it. What was it yousaid that night at Rochelle? . . . That for every soul you have sentout of the world, you have brought another into it? Perhaps thisfellow is my brother, and I know it not; this woman my sister, and Ipass her by."
"I would have provided for you."
To Brother Jacques it seemed that his sword of wrath had been suddenlytwisted from his hand. The sweat stood out on his forehead.
"If you were turned away from my door, it was not my hand that openedit."
"I asked for nothing but bread," said Brother Jacques, finding hisvoice.
"Thirty years ago . . . I have forgotten. Margot never told me."
"It was easy to forget. I have never known, what love is . . . fromanother."
"Have I?" with self-inflicted irony.
"I sought it; you repelled it."
"I knew not how to keep it, that was all. If I should say to you, 'Myson, I am sorry. I have lived evilly. I have wronged you; forgive me;I am dying'!" The marquis was breathing with that rapidity whichforetells of coming dissolution. "What would you say, Jesuit?"
Brother Jacques stood petrified.
"That silence is scarce less than a curse," said the marquis.
Still Brother Jacques's tongue refused its offices.
"Ah, well, I brought you into the world carelessly, you have cursed meout of it. We are quits. Begone!" There was dignity in his gesturetoward the door.
Brother Jacques did not stir.
"Begone, I say, and let me die in peace."
"I will give you absolution, father."
The fierce, burning eyes seemed to search into Brother Jacques's soul.There was on that proud face neither fear nor horror. And this was thehour Brother Jacques had planned and waited for! For this moment hehad donned the robes, isolated himself, taken vows, suffered physicaltortures! He had come to curse: he was offering absolution.
"Hypocrite, begone!" cried the marquis, seized with vertigo. He triedto strike the bell, but the effort merely sent it jangling to thefloor. "Begone!"
"Monsieur!"
"Must I call for help?"
Brother Jacques could stand no more. He rushed madly toward the door,which he opened violently. Sister Benie stood in the corridor,transfixed.
"My son?" she faltered. A pathetic little sob escaped her. Her armsreached out feebly; she fell. Brother Jacques caught her, but she wasdead. Her heart had broken. With a cry such as Dante conceived in hisdream of hell, Brother Jacques fell beside her, insensible.
The marquis stared at the two prostrate figures, fumbling with his lips.
Then came the sound of hurrying feet, and Jehan, followed by theChevalier, entered.
"Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" The marquis was throwing aside thecoverlet.
"Father!" cried the Chevalier.
"Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" the marquis cried. "My clothes, myclothes! Help me! I must dress!"
With trembling hands Jehan did as his master bade him. The Chevalier,appalled, glanced first at his father, then at Brother Jacques andSister Benie. He leaned against the wall, dazed; understood nothing ofthis scene.
"My shoes! Yes, yes! My sword!" rambled the dying man, in the lastfrenzy. "Paul said I should die in bed, alone. No, no! . . . Now,stand me on my feet . . . that is it! . . . Paul, it is you? Help me!Take me to her! Margot, Margot? . . . There is my heart, Jehan, theheart o
f the marquis. . . . Take me to her? And I thought I dreamed!Take me to her! . . . Margot?" He was on his knees beside her,kissing her hands and shuddering, shuddering.
"Margot is dead, Monsieur," said the aged valet. The tears rolled downhis leathery cheeks.
"Margot!" murmured the Chevalier. He had never heard this name before.What did it mean? "Father?" He came swiftly toward the marquis.
"Dead!" The marquis staggered to his feet without assistance. Heswung dizzily toward the candles on the mantel. He struck them. "Awaywith the lights, fools." The candles rolled and sputtered en thefloor. "Away with them, I say!" Toward the table he lurched, avoidingthe Chevalier's arms. From the table he dashed the candles. "Awaywith the lights! The Marquis de Perigny shall die as he lived . . . inthe dark!"
He fell upon the bed, his face hidden in the pillows. When theChevalier reached his side he was dead.
The Grey Cloak Page 34
