CHAPTER XXII.
For the first time in life--and it was very early to begin--EdwardLangdale felt that loneliness of heart which parting for an indefinitetime from one we dearly love produces in all but the very light or thevery hard. He had never loved before; he had never even thought of love;but now he loved truly and well. He might not indeed have loved evennow, for he and Lucette were both so young that the idea might not havecome into the mind of either; but their love had been a growth ratherthan a passion; and, as the reader skilled in such mysteries must haveseen, it had been watered and trained and nourished by all thoseaccidents which raise affection from a small germ to a beautiful flower.First, she had nursed him so tenderly that he could not but feelgrateful to her; then she had been cast upon his care in dangers anddifficulties of many kinds, so that deep interest in her had sprung up.Then, again, she was so beautiful, in her first fresh youth, that hecould not but admire what he protected and cherished. Then she was soinnocent, so gentle, so ductile, and yet so good in every thought, thathe could not but esteem and reverence what he admired. Then had come histurn of nursing, and the interest became warmer, more tender; and atlength, when the mere thought of stating, in order to account for theircompanionship, that they sought to be married first entered the mind ofeach, it let a world of light into their hearts, and the whole waspointed, directed, confirmed, by the sudden ceremony which bound themtogether. They had promised at the altar to love each other forever,and they felt that they could keep their word.
But Edward, as he rolled along by the side of Madame de Lagny, could nothelp asking himself painful questions: "I shall love her ever," he saidto himself; "but she is so young, so very young,--a mere child! Will herlove last through a long separation? will not her feelings change withchanging years? does she even love me now as I love her?"
Luckily he asked himself the last question, for it went some way toanswer the others to his satisfaction. There had been something in herembrace, in her kiss, in her eyes, in her clinging tenderness, whichtold him that she did love as he did; and he, feeling, or at leastbelieving, that he would love still, however long they might beseparated, learned to credit the sweet tale of Hope and believe that shewould love constantly too.
Nevertheless, he felt very sad; and yet he exerted himself eagerly andsuccessfully to make the journey pass as pleasantly as he could to poorMadame de Lagny, who, though she had not undertaken her disagreeabletask out of any affection to either Edward or Lucette, but merely inobedience to the wishes of Richelieu, had learned to love both her youngcompanions, and had taken their part sincerely in the discussion withthe Duc de Rohan. She was both a keen-sighted and a clear-minded oldlady; and she saw well the gloomy sadness of Edward Langdale, andunderstood its cause; but she saw likewise that he was making everyeffort to show her courteous attention; and no old women are everungrateful for the attention of young men.
For three days the weary journey back to Nantes continued; and in thattime the good marquise contrived to store the young Englishman's mindwith many of her own peculiar apothegms, some good and some indifferent,but all the fruit of much worldly experience grafted upon a keen andsensible mind.
"Never despair, my son," she said. "Many a man is lighted on his way bya candle; nobody by a stone. Of a misfortune you can remove, think asmuch as you like; of a situation you cannot change, think as little aspossible. If you have a marsh to go through, gallop as fast as you can;and, if you have a heavy hour, fill it with action. A wasp will notsting you if you do not touch it; and we do not feel sorrow when we donot think of it."
Such were a few of the old lady's maxims, and one of them struck EdwardLangdale's fancy very much. "If you have a marsh to go through," herepeated to himself, "gallop as fast as you can; and, if you have aheavy hour, fill it with action." He thought that the next two yearswould indeed be a marsh to him, and he resolved to gallop through themas fast as he could. But there was one sad reflection which he could notbanish, one point in his situation which gave him anxiety rather thanpain. He knew not how to hold any communication with his young bride. Hewas well aware that every effort would be made to prevent it. Lucettehad been once sent to England to keep her out of the hands of theDuchesse de Chevreuse: where might she not be sent now? Her two cousinsSoubise and Rohan were constantly roving from place to place, and therewas as little chance of any letter from him finding her as of any newsof where she was reaching him.
The old fable of Midas telling his misfortune to the reeds is foundedupon a deep knowledge of human nature. Man must have some one to sharethe burden of heavy thoughts, and Edward told his to Madame de Lagny.The old lady was better than the reeds, for she whispered consolation."I can help you but little, my son," she said; "but, if you could attachyourself to the cardinal, he could help you a great deal. However, Iwill do the best I can for you and the dear child your little wife. Ifyou want to write to her, send your letter to me at the court, whereverit is, and the letter shall reach her sooner or later. I will find meansto let her know that she must send hers to me likewise, and they shallreach you; if you will keep me always informed of where you are."
Edward not only pressed her hand, but kissed it; and not five minutesafter, when they were within ten miles of the city of Nantes, a man cameriding at full speed after the carriage, drew up his horse at the greatleathern excrescence called the portiere, and asked, in a brusque tone,if Monsieur Langdale was in the coach.
"Yes; I am he," answered Edward. "What want you with me?"
"A letter," replied the man. And, handing in a sealed packet, he turnedhis horse's head and rode away.
It was still early in the day, and the youth, breaking open the letter,read the contents. They ran thus:--
"MY LORD AND BROTHER:--
"On the wing for England, I have received your letter. Tell the insolent varlet that he shall never see her face again, the devil and the pope and the cardinal to boot, or my name is not
"SOUBISE."
Edward's brow became fearfully contracted, and he muttered, "At the endof the earth."
"Show it to me! show it to me!" exclaimed Madame de Lagny, who was notwithout her share of woman's curiosity. "What is it makes you look soangry, my son?"
Edward handed her the letter, and she read it with attention, but notwith the indignation he expected to see. On the contrary, she seemedpleased and amused. "Let me keep this," she said. "Methinks thatMonsieur de Soubise may find the triple alliance of the devil, the pope,and the cardinal to boot somewhat too much for him. The cardinal alonemight be enough, without two such powerful auxiliaries. But let me keepit. It can be of no value to you."
"Oh, none!" answered Edward. "Keep it if you will, madame. But thePrince de Soubise shall find that, if he have a strong will, I have astrong will also; and, if he have some advantages, we have youth andactivity and resolution."
"And the Cardinal de Richelieu," said Madame de Lagny, emphatically: "heis not the man to leave any work incomplete, nor to be bearded by anyone. However, we must be near Nantes by this time. Now let us considerwhat your course is to be when we arrive."
The good marquise then proceeded to indoctrinate her young companionwith all the forms of a court, which, though not so rigid as theyafterward became,--for Louis XIV. was the father of etiquette,--weresufficiently numerous and arbitrary to puzzle a young man like Edward.He found that, although he had once by the force of circumstances woneasy access to the cardinal prime minister, he had now variousceremonies to go through before he could hope for an audience. To call,to put down his name and address in a book, to see principal andsecondary officers, and to give as it were an abstract of his business,were all proceedings absolutely necessary, Madame de Lagny thought,before he could see the cardinal; and Edward, with a faint smile, askedher if she did not think it would be better for him to commit a littletreason as the shortest way to the minister's presence.
"Heaven forbid!" cried the old lady. "But in the mean time you must goto an auberge near the chateau, wher
e his Eminence can find you at anymoment." And she proceeded to recommend the house of an excellent man,who had been cook to poor Monsieur de Lagny, and now, she assuredEdward, kept the very best auberge in Nantes.
At length the city was reached, and the coach drove straight to thecastle, where Madame de Lagny took a really affectionate leave of Edwardand retired to her own apartments. The young Englishman then proceededto inquire for Richelieu, found he was absent at a small distance fromthe town, and, having written his name in a book, betook himself to theinn which his travelling-companion had mentioned. In the court of thecastle he had seen no one but a guard or two and some servants at thedoor of the hall. In the great place there was hardly a human being tobe seen,--no gay cavaliers on horseback or on foot, no heavy carrossewith its crowd of laquais. At the other side of the square, indeed, nearthe end of the little street which led toward the dwelling of Monsieurde Tronson, was a group of workmen; and another larger group justappeared beyond some buildings close by the river-side. But, altogether,the whole town had a melancholy and deserted look. A sort of ominoussilence reigned around, too, which Edward felt to be very depressing tothe spirits, especially in a country celebrated even then for the lighthilarity of its population.
The inn, however, was fresh-looking and clean, and the landlord, whosoon appeared, although he was not at the entrance as usual when thecoach stopped, was the perfection of a French aubergist,--as polished asa prince, and full of smiles. While Pierrot la Grange and JacquesBeaupre stayed by the carriage, at their master's desire, to take outthe little sum of his baggage and to bestow a small gratuity upon thecoachman, the host led his guest up to a large, somewhat gloomy chamberfloored with polished tiles, recommended his fish--the best in theworld--and his poultry, which he asseverated strongly were the genuineproduction of Maine, and took the young gentleman's pleasure as to hisdinner.
He had hardly gone when the two servants appeared, bringing variousarticles; but their principal load was evidently in the mind. The faceof Pierrot, which temperate habits had not yet improved in fatness,though it had become somewhat blanched in hue, was at least three incheslonger since they entered Nantes; and Jacques Beaupre, always solemneven in the midst of his fun, was now not only solemn, but gloomy.
"I wish we were safe out of this place, sir," said Pierrot, shutting thedoor after him. "It is a horrible place!"
"What is the matter?" asked Edward: "the whole town looks sad, and youboth seem to have caught the infection."
"Did not the landlord tell you, sir?" said Jacques Beaupre. "I thoughtlandlords always told all they knew, and a little more. But I suppose hehas lived long enough near a court to keep his tongue in his mouth, forfear somebody should cut it out."
"The matter, sir, is this," said Pierrot: "the poor young Count deChalais, who was confined in the dungeons close under the room wherethey put you, has been condemned to die this morning,--they say, for afew light words."
"Indeed!" said Edward, with a somewhat sickening memory of the dangershe himself had seen: "that is very sad. But probably the king willpardon him."
"Oh, not he," answered Pierrot: "they say the poor countess, his mother,has moved heaven and earth to save him, without the least effect. Hishead is probably off by this time."
"No, no; that cannot be," rejoined Jacques: "did not the boy tell usthat the two executioners had both been spirited away?"
"Yes, but he said that a soldier--a prisoner--had been found toundertake the job," answered Pierrot. "Oh, it is a bad business, MasterNed! They say the queen herself has been brought before the council, andthe Duke of Anjou threatened with death, and half the court exiled, andthe cardinal in such a humor that----"
"That every one as he walks along is feeling his ears, to be sure thatthere is any head upon his shoulders," added Jacques Beaupre. "Would itnot be better for you, sir, to go to that good Monsieur de Tronson, andbe civil to him, and make as many friends as possible?"
Edward paused in thought for a moment, and then replied, "That is wellbethought, Beaupre; for though I think I have nothing to fear, yet incommon courtesy I owe my second visit to one who has been so kind to me.I will go directly. Let the landlord know that I may be a little laterthan I mentioned at dinner."
Edward put on his hat and went out into the place, taking care to markparticularly the position of the auberge, that he might not be forced toinquire his way in a town where so many dangers lurked on every side.The road to Monsieur de Tronson's house was easy; and, crossing thesquare, the young gentleman directed his course toward the end of thestreet where, when passing in the coach, he had seen a crowd of workmen,who were still gathered round a spot about a hundred and fifty or twohundred yards in advance. On approaching nearer, Edward caught sight ofa platform of wood raised some eight or ten steps from the ground. Hecould only discern a part, for the people had gathered thickly round;but, though he had never before seen the preparations for a publicexecution, it flashed through his mind at once that this was thescaffold on which the unhappy Chalais was to suffer. To avoid theterrible scene, he turned toward the left; but, just as he wasapproaching the end of the street, a shout came up from the water-sideand a dull rushing sound from the southeast. A large crowd poured intothe square from both sides; and before Edward could escape he was caughtby the two currents and forced along to within thirty yards of thescaffold. He tried to free himself and force his way out, but a warningvoice sounded in his ear.
"Be quiet, young gentleman," said an elderly man close by, speaking in alow tone. "This young count has to die, and, if he be your best friend,take no notice. Suspicion is as good as proof here just now. Look wherehe comes!"
Edward turned his eyes in the direction to which the old man waslooking, and beheld a sight which was but a mere prologue to the horrorsthat were to follow, but which could never be banished from his memory.Surrounded by a body of guards came a tall, handsome young man, withouthis cloak, as if he had been torn from his dungeon unprepared, but stillshowing, in such habiliments as he did wear, all the extravagantsplendor of the times. By his side, with her hand passed through hisarm, as if to support him, and pouring a torrent of words into his ear,was an elderly lady in a widow's dress. Her face and carriage were nobleand dignified, though lines of past grief and present anguish werestrongly marked upon her countenance; but when she lifted her eyestoward the scaffold, and beheld there a stout, bad-looking man leaningon a large, heavy sword, a sort of spasm passed over her features.
"That is his mother," whispered the same voice which Edward had heardbefore.
Behind the mother and the son came the confessor, a dull-faced, heavymonk; and then a good number of guards, and one or two men in blackrobes,--probably exempts, or other inferior officers of the court. Butthe eyes of Edward Langdale were fixed upon the mother and her son; andthe thought of his own dear mother gave him the power--I might almostcall it the faculty--of sympathizing with the noble-minded woman, to adegree that made the whole scene one of actual agony.
"I wish I could get out," he said, speaking to the old man, who wasjammed up against him: "this is horrible. Can you not make way?"
"Try to force your way through the castle-wall," replied the other,cynically: "you have but to see a man die, young gentleman."
"Ay, but how?" said Edward.
"By the sword," said the old man: "it is an interesting sight,--muchbetter than by the cord. I have seen every execution that has takenplace in the city for twenty years. Perhaps I may see yours some day.They are fine sights,--the only sights that interest me now; but this islikely to be a bungled business, for the old countess there bribed boththe executioners to get out of the way, and this fellow does notunderstand the trade. He is paler than the criminal. See how he shakes!"
Edward raised his eyes for an instant and saw the unhappy mothersupporting her luckless son up the very steps of the scaffold,--not thathe wanted aid, for his step was firm and his look bold and frowning.There was a fearful sort of fascination in the sight; and the lad gazedon till he saw th
e last embrace taken and the young count make a signand speak a word to the executioner. Then he withdrew his eyes, till, amoment after, there was a shrill cry of anguish and a murmur amongst thecrowd; and he looked up again only to see the wretched young man, allbleeding, leaning his wounded head upon his mother's bosom.
The executioner had missed his stroke. Again and again he missed it. Hecomplained of the sword: a heavier one was handed up to him; but stillhis shaking arm refused to perform its hideous office, till, after morethan thirty blows,[4] the head of the unhappy young man was literallyhacked off, almost at his mother's feet.
The noble woman raised her hands and her eyes to heaven, exclaiming, "Ithank thee, O God, that my son has died a martyr and not a criminal!"
The last acts of the terrible drama Edward did not see. He felt as ifhis heart would burst with the mingled feelings of indignation andhorror which all he had beheld awakened; and after the second or thirdblow he kept his eyes resolutely bent down, till the pressure of thecrowd relaxed as the spectators of the bloody scene began to disperse.Then, sick at heart, and with a strange feeling of hatred for the world,he turned his steps back to the inn. He was in no mood for conversationwith any one.
[Footnote 4: Some say seven-and-twenty.]
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