CHAPTER XL.
It was night, and the scene was a somewhat curious one. A large chamber,with a vaulted roof, long square windows, and decorations neither newnor in a modern taste, a tall four-post bedstead with green velvethangings a good deal tarnished, a brick floor well waxed and polished,an immense armory or wardrobe quaintly carved, three or four tallstraight-backed chairs, and one large arm-chair well stuffed, togetherwith a table of black oak, the legs of which were cut into the forms ofsome nondescript species of devil,--not the conventional gentleman withhoofs and tail and pitchfork, but somebody not a whit lesshideous,--presented the aspect of a chamber quite of the olden time, itmight be of the reign of Francis I. or Louis XII.
All days have their olden times; and I believe the olden times havealways been praised,--such is the tendency of the human mind to regret.
When we are school-boys we wish we were children again, and think of thecaresses without the pangs and inconveniences of infancy; when we aremen we wish we were school-boys again, and forget the heavy task, theferule, and the rod; old age looks back to youth and sorrows over itslost powers; and only one man I know of has written in praise of life'sdeclining stage. But even Cicero upon such a theme could only indite aneloquent lie.
Possession is always paid for by regret; and we take out the smallchange in hope.
Nevertheless, it would appear, notwithstanding the excellencies of thoseold times, that some improvements have been made in the march ofsociety,--at least, in the manufacture of chairs. Although they were notfamous for that fabric in Louis the Thirteenth's time, Edward Langdalefelt that seats were certainly much more inconvenient at a formerperiod. "Men must once have had back-bones of quite a differentconstruction," he thought. "They must have either been so supple as tobend into all kinds of corners, or so hard as not to care for anycorners at all."
Such thoughts passed through his mind as he sat in a straight-backedsort of rack in the Castle of Mauze, just opposite to the Cardinal deRichelieu, who, having cast off cuirass and scarlet robe, was seated, inan easy gown of deep purple, in that comfortable arm-chair. The lightfell upon his magnificent head and easy graceful figure from a sconceupon the wall; and the fine flowing lines of the drapery andhalf-concealed limbs, with the broad high forehead and slightly grayhair, gave him the look of some antique picture, and made the wholeperson harmonize well with the room in which he sat.
The figure of Edward Langdale would have spoiled all, for it was full ofyouth,--I might almost call it youngness; but, as I have said before,his garments, though cut in what was then the modern fashion, were allof a sober color; and about the square brow, the delicately-chisellednose, and the firm, determined mouth, there was an antique, if not aclassical, character.
With the cuirass and the scarlet robe Richelieu seemed to have cast offthe heavy cares and hard sternness of the day, and with the satinpantoufles to have put on the ease and relaxation of spirit which no manenjoyed more intensely than himself, if we may believe the strayadmissions even of his enemies and calumniators. It is greatly to beregretted that Bois Robert did not write his history; for, although wemight not have had a true picture of his many-sided character, we shouldhave had another,--a more amiable and perhaps even a grander view of theman than any historian has given us, except by accident.
He had sent for Edward Langdale about half an hour before the time hehad appointed. His orders for the night and the following morning hadbeen given; his letters and despatches had been written or dictated;audiences had been afforded to several gentlemen on business; even theminute details of his household had been attended to; and he had satdown for that repose of the mind which can only be obtained by completechange of subject. The young Englishman had pleased him from the first,and, without knowing it, had flattered his vanity on its most sensitivepoint,--for Richelieu had his weaknesses as well as other men. Where,indeed, is there any one who can boast that he is without either thehair of the Hebrew giant or the heel of the Greek demigod? The cardinalknew, too,--had, indeed, very soon perceived,--that Edward's mind hadbeen early imbued, in an irregular manner, perhaps, but to a deepdegree, with that sort of graceful literature of which he was himselfmost fond, and that he was full of that refined and delicate taste onwhich he prided himself. He was the very person Richelieu sought for thesocial converse of hours which were unfilled by any weightyemployment,--hours which he would not give to his military officers,because his plans were all formed, his resolutions were all taken, andhe neither sought advice nor remonstrance; hours which he would notbestow upon his almoner nor upon his chaplain, for he did not wish tosleep just then; hours that he wished to pass very lightly indeed, as awise man takes nothing very heavy for his supper before he goes to bed.
"Welcome, Monsieur Langdale," said the great minister, as Edwardfollowed a servant into the room. "I have not had time to welcome youyet; for, in the first place, I did not recognise you, your beard havinggrown into somewhat leonine proportions. Since then I have not had time;for I have been engaged with what the people of this world call weightybusiness,--weighty enough, God wot, for those who have to handle it, andwhich somewhat tries the arm that has to wield it. But let us leave thatand talk of other things. How have you fared? Poor Lord Montagu, yourfriend, could not keep his nose out of a rat-trap; and yet it was badlybaited."
"He would not have gone near the wires if he had taken my advice," saidEdward. "I ventured to guess, not at the designs of your Eminence, butat your probable conduct; and I warned Lord Montagu not to come tooclose to you."
"Perhaps I have let you see me too close, young gentleman," saidRichelieu, with a good-humored smile. "And yet it is probable youserved me when you did not intend it. There be some men, my youngfriend, and they very sensible men too, who will take no advice whichcomes from younger and less experienced persons; but yet things, as theScripture says,--I speak with all reverence,--are often revealed to thepoor and simple and are hidden from the wise and great. Now, I have astrong idea that you know more of Cardinal Richelieu, poor Bishop ofLucon, than that great diplomatist, Lord Montagu."
Edward shook his head. "I cannot pretend to do that," he said; "but mylord thought he might venture to pass over a quarter of a league ofFrench territory, when some time before you had suffered him to roam forweeks over the whole of France."
"He had not got the papers then," said Richelieu, with a short laugh. "Idid not want Montagu's skin: it was his letters and his papers that Iarrested; and for that matter one quarter of a league is as good as athousand miles. As for yourself, you have told me something new to-day.I heard of you at Aix, where your hot spirit had brought some damage onyour skin. You had been wounded, I mean to say,--by your own brother Ibelieve they told me. Very foolish, Master Edward Langdale, to fightwith one's own brother!"
"I did not fight with him, may it please your Eminence. My sword wasnever drawn."
"Ha!" said the cardinal. "That is well. But then I heard of your makinga hole in another man's skin. How was that?"
"Why, I told the two men you sent after me, sir," replied Edward,frankly, "that I would shoot them if they kept dogging me; and I alwayshold to my word. They not only kept dogging me, but betrayed my lordinto the hands of Monsieur de Bourbonne; and so I shot one of them. I amsorry to say I had not time to shoot the other, or probably yourEminence would not have heard so much of me as you have done."
"Oh, yes," replied Richelieu, calmly: "the man got well, and was heresome two months ago. Besides, I never depend upon one informant. Butevery one may be deceived; and no one told me that the good count hadgot you in limbo all this time. You say he denied you the means ofcommunicating with me. Did you show him your safe-conduct?"
"I did, sir," answered Edward; "and it had a very good effect, for itmade him give me beef and wine instead of bread and water, with which hebegan my diet. I demanded also to be sent to your Eminence; but Monsieurde Bourbonne did not see fit to do so."
"Enough," said Richelieu; "enough." And, taking a scrap of paper fromthe table,
he wrote a few words thereon and laid it down again. "And nowtell me all about your escape," he continued. "How did you get away fromthis giant of the castle?"
Edward narrated, with perfect gravity of manner, but with some quietpleasantry of language, every particular of his escape from Coiffy; andRichelieu listened, evidently amused, but without any comment.
"Then you did not pass through Paris?" said the cardinal. "That is apity: you would have seen some interesting things there. We areimproving the drama greatly; and the Marais has a good troupe, they tellme. I am building a house, too, there, and I should like to have youropinion of it."
Edward smiled. "My opinion would be little worth," he answered. "I havebut little experience in those things of which your Eminence has athorough knowledge."
"And yet," said Richelieu, "I am told that you have great taste andskill in arts which reached their height not long ago, but which we havenearly lost in these days: I mean the designing in precious metals. Avery extraordinary man told me you were a thorough connoisseur."
"The little knowledge I possess," answered Edward, "is derived fromseeing every day in my early youth some very precious specimens which myfather brought over from Italy. They are all gone, alas! but one; andthat, I am afraid, will soon be lost also."
"Nay," said Richelieu, rather eagerly; "if you want to part with it Iwill buy it. I am making a collection of the works of Cellini and themen of his time."
"Could I obtain it," answered Edward, "I would humbly offer it to yourEminence without price, as a token of my gratitude. And, indeed, it isbeyond price. But some day soon I fear it will be in less worthy hands,or melted down into gold crowns and the jewels picked out to adorn thebrown neck of some Parisian seamstress. It is within the walls of yondevoted town, my lord. I was foolish not to bring it away with me."
Richelieu paused, and did not speak for a moment or two; but then heasked, "What sort of object is it?"
"It is a golden cup, or what we in England call a hanap," answeredEdward, "with figures exquisitely sculptured, and the rim surrounded bya garland of jewels in the form of flowers. The figures are in highrelief, and with their hands seem to support the garland."
"It must be beautiful indeed!" said Richelieu.
"The only defect," continued Edward, "is that my name is engraved uponthe stem."
"What may be its value?" asked the cardinal: "it is a pity indeed sorare an object should be lost."
"I never heard it valued," replied the young man; "and I will sell it tono one on this earth,--though I should have pride to see it in the handsof a benefactor."
"Well, it is a pity," said the cardinal. "But, as there is no help, letus change the theme. Have you seen or heard from Mademoiselle deMirepoix--I should say Madame de Langdale--lately?" He spoke with asmile. But Edward had learned that Richelieu's questions, even in hislightest moments, always meant something, and he replied, at once, "Notvery lately, my lord. I have seen her once since we parted in Aunis, asshe was passing through Aix on her way to Venice; and she has written tome once since her arrival, by the hands of a gentleman whom youknow,--Signor Morini."
"He is a very singular man," said Richelieu, in a meditative tone. "Doyou know, young gentleman, he says that your fate and mine are connectedby an inseparable link?--that we were born under the same aspect?"
"Your star must have been in the ascendant, sir," said Edward, with asmile. "Yet there must be some truth in it; for who could have thought ayear ago that I should be sitting here, conversing with your Eminenceas calmly as if you were some ordinary literary man? who could havethought that I should be indebted to you for more than life?"
"Act honestly and truly by me, young gentleman, and my friendship shallgo further still," replied Richelieu. "As to these visions ofastrologers," he continued, "they are only to be regarded as curiousspeculations. The star of a man's destiny is in his heart or in hisbrain. It is that star raises to power, shields against danger, guidesamidst intrigue. God's will is above all; but he it is who gives theclear mind and the strong will, the wisdom and the courage; he rendersthem successful as far as their success is necessary to his own wisepurposes, and then throws a bean-stalk in their way, and they stumbleand fall. We have naught to do but to bow the head and say, Thy will bedone!"
He ceased, and fell into a fit of thought, and Edward rose and took uphis hat as if about to retire; but Richelieu motioned him to his chairagain, saying, "Sit, sit! I have yet an hour. Have you read any of thisman Corneille's verses?"
Edward, luckily, could say he had not, for Richelieu's dislike forCorneille was already strong, and, taking up a book from the table, heread some lines, commenting severely upon what he called their rudeness.He went on with his criticisms for some ten minutes, to an attentiveear; but Edward fancied he perceived an under-current of thought runningthrough his literary disquisition.
"Perhaps I may be wrong," said Richelieu; "but in all matters of taste Ilike the graceful and the polished better than the strong and rude. Thiscup which you were speaking of must be a beautiful specimen of art. Thedesign as you have described it shows the conception of a great genius.Is it known who was the artist?"
"I cannot assure your Eminence with certainty," replied Edward; "but hewas always said to be a countryman and rival of Benvenuto Cellini. Iforget the name; but it is engraved on the inside of the foot."
"John of Bologna," said the cardinal,--"probably John of Bologna."
"The same, the same," said the young Englishman. "I now remember that isthe name."
"It is invaluable!" exclaimed Richelieu, warmly. "His works are muchmore rare than those of Cellini, and some are amongst the mosttriumphant efforts of genius. There is a Mercury, for instance: theheavy bronze seems instinct with godlike life,--actually springing fromthe ground. What a pity that a work of his should be lost! Is there noway of getting it out of Rochelle, think you?"
"But one," answered Edward, gravely; "and that I do not suppose eitheryour Eminence or the people of Rochelle would permit."
"What is it?" demanded Richelieu, abruptly.
Edward's heart beat high, for he had brought him to the very point hedesired; but yet a single misplaced word might spoil all, and hestruggled against his eagerness with sufficient success to answer withseeming indifference. "I left the cup," he said, "in the hands of thesyndic of the goldsmiths, one Clement Tournon, who had taken me to hishouse and nursed me most kindly----"
"He is a pestilent heretic," said the cardinal, sharply.
"And so am I, my lord," answered Edward; "but he is an honest and a goodman. I am willing, if your Eminence desires it, to try and get back intoLa Rochelle and bring you the cup; but I could only do so on beingpermitted to offer poor old Monsieur Tournon a pass to quit the city andescape the famine which they say is raging there."
Richelieu sat silent for a minute or two, and Edward then added, "I amnot sure I shall be able to accomplish what I desire; but I will do mybest, and shall be well pleased to see such a treasure of art in thehands of one who can appreciate it as your Eminence can."
"I could not accept it," said Richelieu, "except on makingcompensation."
"Nothing like sale, my lord," replied Edward: "the price has been paidbeforehand, and it must be an offering of gratitude, or not at all. ButI much fear that the Rochellois will not admit me within their walls. Ican but make the attempt, however."
"But this Clement Tournon," said Richelieu, thoughtfully. "You know notwhat you ask, young man. Every mouth within that city hastens its fall;and I have been obliged already to show myself obdurate to allentreaties,--to see women and children and old men driven back intotheir rebellious nest. They say, too, your great Duke of Buckingham ispreparing another fleet for their relief. He will find himself mistaken;but still we must waste no time."
"Old Clement Tournon is no great eater," said Edward, bluntly. "Hisfeeble jaws will not hasten the fall of the city five minutes; and it ispossible that, if admitted to your Eminence's presence, he might be themeans of persuading his
fellow-citizens to submission, if he sees thatdefence is hopeless and that favorable terms may be obtained."
"Ha! say you so?" exclaimed Richelieu; and, leaning his head upon hishand, he fell into profound thought. Edward would not say a word more,and after some five or ten minutes the cardinal looked up and shook hishead. "They will receive no messengers, reject all offers: even theking's proclamation sent by a herald they would not admit within thewalls, and Montjoie had to leave it before the gates."
"Perhaps they have learned better by this time," said Edward; "and, ifnot, they can but drive me back with bullets and cannon-balls."
"Well," said Richelieu, with a clearer brow, "you give me a betterreason now for suffering you to go. So help me Heaven as I would sparethis poor infatuated people the horrors they now suffer, if they wouldlet me! But rebellion must not exist in this land, and shall not while Ilive. They must submit; but they shall have terms that even you willcall fair. So you may tell them if you can but find your way in."
Edward saw that the message was vague and not at all likely to have anyeffect upon the people of Rochelle; but he did not try to bring thecardinal to any thing more definite, for he had no inclination to takepart in a negotiation for the surrender of Rochelle, remembering thatall the plans of his own Government might be frustrated by such aresult.
He and the cardinal both kept silent for several minutes, Richelieu'seyes remaining fixed upon the table, and his face continuing perfectlymotionless, though he was evidently deep in thought. At length he said,abruptly, "You will come back yourself?"
"Upon my honor, sir," replied Edward, "if I live and they will let me.They shall either keep me as a prisoner, or I will be here infour-and-twenty hours."
"So be it, then," said the cardinal. "You shall not only have a pass,but some one shall be sent with you to the very outmost post; for thereis something uncommonly suspicious in your appearance. Twice in yourcase already men have set at naught my hand and seal. The second caseshall be punished: the third, for your sake and my own, must be guardedagainst. As to your entrance into Rochelle, there may be--probably willbe--some difficulty; but if you are skilful--and I think you are--youmay succeed. I need not recommend to you caution in what you say and do.We have some disease in the camp, it is true; but they have pestilencein the city. Our supplies are not over-abundant; but they are sufferingfrom the direst famine. Every day increases our supplies and diminishestheirs."
"I shall say as little as possible, your Eminence," answered Edward."First, because I cannot, knowing what I know, advise them to hold out;secondly, because if I advise them to surrender I might be wrong.Clement Tournon, when he has seen your Eminence, after having witnessedwhat is passing in the city, can advise better, and will be more readilybelieved. It is well you should have some means of communication withthe Rochellois. I know none of their chief men, even by name; and theywould put no faith in me."
"In a week from this time," said Richelieu, "they must surrender. Thedyke will be finished which shuts them out from all the world. Vain willbe English fleets, vain all their imaginary armies. The gaunt spectrewhich already strides through their streets will have knocked at everydoor. Where will be the hand to fire the cannon? where the arm todefend the gate? The dead and the dying will be the garrison; and thesoldiers of the king will rush in to wrest the undefended plunder from ahost of skeletons. I would fain avoid such a result, young man," headded, with a shudder. "I delight not in misery and suffering; I have nopleasure in tears and woe. But France must have peace, the king musthave loyal subjects; and, were my brother amongst those rebels, theyshould be forced to obey. You are frank, and I believe you honest. Itherefore expect that you bear them no message from the enemies ofFrance, that you delude them with no vain hopes, that you returnyourself as speedily as possible, and that you bring this old man withyou if he will come. Remember that I am not to be trifled with, and thatI bear open enmity more patiently than deceit."
"I have no fear, sir," answered Edward. "I have come back and placedmyself in your power without the least hesitation, and I will do soagain; but then I will beseech your Eminence to let me pass over intoEngland. I am nearly without money; and, although I have sufficient onthe other side of the Channel, I cannot get it without going for it."
"We will talk of that hereafter," answered Richelieu. "I think I willlet you go; but, at all events, you shall not want for money. What ismoney, Monsieur Langdale? It is but dross,--at least, so the poets tellus; and yet I have found few men who like it better than the poets."
"Without it men cannot travel," replied Edward,--"cannot eat or drink oreven sleep; and it would be hard for want of money to want meat anddrink and sleep when I have plenty for all my wants on the other side ofthat arm of the sea; but harder still, my lord cardinal, to take fromany man money that does not belong to me."
"How proud these islanders are!" said Richelieu, with a smile. "Why,there is hardly a Frenchman in the land who would not thank me for acrown."
"If I had worked for it," answered Edward, "I might thank you too; buttill there be peace between France and England I can do your Eminence noservice."
"Now, let any one say," exclaimed the cardinal, with a laugh, "that I amnot the sweetest-tempered man in all this realm of France,--ay, as sweetand gentle as Signor Mazarin himself. Why, no man will believe that yousay to me such things and I do not send you to the Bastille at once. Oh,tell it not in the camp, or you will lose credit forever."
"I do not intend to tell it anywhere, my lord," replied Edward. "I knowit would be foolish, and perhaps it might be dangerous. I am notungrateful for your condescension to me; but it is a sort of thing Ishould not like to sport with."
"Right," said Richelieu: "you are right. You know the fact in naturalhistory that tigers may be tamed; but if any one suffers them, inplaying with them, to draw blood, he seldom goes away as full of life ashe came. I see you understand me. Now go away and sleep. Be here bydaybreak to-morrow, and you shall find the passes ready and somebodyprepared to ride with you to the outposts. He will wait therefour-and-twenty hours for your return. But if I should find you inRochelle when it is taken, except in a dungeon, beware of the tiger."
Edward bowed and withdrew; but he retired not to rest. His first objectwas to inquire for Beaupre and Pierrot. They were not in the castle, andhe had to seek them in the village below, where, after passing throughmany of the wild scenes of camp-life, he found them at length in a smallwooden shed, where some sort of food, such as it was, could be procuredby those who had money to pay for it. Much to the surprise of goodPierrot la Grange, the young gentleman's first order, after directinghis horse to be prepared half an hour before daylight, was to have hisflask filled with the best brandy he could procure and brought up to hisroom that night.
"Has the cardinal given you leave to go into the city?" asked JacquesBeaupre, in astonishment.
"He has given me leave to try," replied Edward.
"Pray, then, let me go with you," said the good man.
"Impossible!" was the answer. "I must go alone, and take my fate alone,whatever it may be. See that the brandy be good, Pierrot, if you canfind it. But be quick, for I would fain sleep before I go." And,retiring to his room in the castle, he waited till the man brought asmall flat bottle well filled, and then, casting himself down upon thebed, fell sound asleep, exhausted less by fatigue than by emotions whichhe had felt deeply, though he had concealed them well.
Lord Montagu's Page: An Historical Romance Page 42
