Lord Montagu's Page: An Historical Romance

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XLII.

  I will not dwell upon the horrors of the streets of Rochelle. They havebeen described by an able pen: at least, I believe so; for I have notseen the work of Madame de Genlis since my boyhood, and that, dearreader, is a long time ago,--quite long enough to forget more than that.

  The part of the town in which stood the house of Clement Tournon seemedquite deserted, and the house itself showed no signs of being inhabited.The windows were all closed; and the little court before the building,which separated it from the general line of the street, and which wasonce so trimly kept, was now all overgrown with grass. It was knee-high;and even the path of smooth white stones which led to the principal doorhardly showed a trace of the unfrequent footfall. With a sinking heart,Edward looked up; but all was still and silent. The door stood open, andhe approached and knocked with his knuckles. There was no reply,however: no voices were heard from the once merry kitchen, no sound ofhammer or file from the workshop.

  Edward Langdale had learned to know the house well, and, entering, hemounted the stairs and entered the room on the right. It was vacant anddark also, for the windows were all closed. He then turned to another;but it was empty likewise. He saw some light, however, stream from theroom at the back,--the little room where he had lain in sickness for somany days,--Lucette's room, where he had first seen that dear face. Itwas a place full of memories for him; and, even if he had not seen thatray of sunshine crossing the top of the stairs, he would have entered.Pushing open the door, which stood a little ajar, he went in; and therewas the object of his search straight before him.

  Seated in the great arm-chair in which he himself had sat when firstrecovering was good old Clement Tournon, the shadow of his former self.The palms of his hands rested on his knees; his head was bent forward onhis chest; his eyes were shut, and his lips and cheeks were of a bluishwhite. Had it not been for a slight rocking motion of his body as hesat, Edward would have thought him dead. Behind his chair, silent andstill as a statue, stood the good woman Marton. She, too, was as pale asher helmet-shaped white cap, and the frank, good-humored expression ofher countenance was supplanted by a cold, hard, stony look which seemedto say that every energy was dead. That such was not really the case,however, Edward soon saw; for, the moment her eyes lighted on him as hepassed the door, the old bright light came into them again, and shewalked quietly but hastily across the floor in her little blue socks,holding up her finger as a sign to keep silence.

  "He sleeps," she said; "he sleeps. It is wellnigh as good as food forhim. But how came you here, Master Ned? What has brought you? Has theEnglish fleet arrived?"

  "Alas, no," replied Edward, in the same low tone which she herself hadused; "and it could not enter the port if it had. But I come, ifpossible, to save that good old man. I have a little food here with me.Go get me a cup and some water; for I have a little of that which willbe better to him at first even than food."

  "God bless you, sir!" said the good woman: "there is not a drop of winein all the city, and with him the tide of life is nearly gone out. Ithought he would have died this morning; but he would rise. You staywith him, and I will be back in a minute. But keep silent and still, forsleep always does him good." So saying, she hurried away and brought asilver cup and some fresh water.

  All was silent during her absence: the old man slept on, and EdwardLangdale seated himself near, as quietly as possible. Marton took herplace again without a word; and for about three-quarters of an hour theslumber of old Clement Tournon continued unbroken. Then a voice washeard at the foot of the stairs, crying, "Rations!" and Marton hurrieddown.

  Either the voice or the movement in the room disturbed the old man. Hemoved in his chair, raised his head a little, and Edward, with some ofthe strong waters well diluted in the cup, approached and put it to hislips.

  "What is it?" said Clement Tournon, putting the cup feebly aside withhis hand. "I thought it might have pleased God I should die in thatsleep."

  "Take a little," said Edward, in a low tone: "it will refresh you." AndClement Tournon suffered him to raise the cup again to his lips, aidingwith his own feeble hands, and drank a deep draught, as if he were verythirsty. Then, suddenly raising his eyes to Edward's face, he exclaimed,"Good Heavens! who are you? Edward Langdale! Is it all a dream?--ahorrible dream?"

  "I have come to see you and take you away, Monsieur Tournon," saidEdward, as calmly as he could. "Keep yourself quite tranquil, and I willtell you more presently. At present be as silent as I used to be when Iwas sick and you were well."

  The old syndic sat without speaking for a moment or two, and then said,"I know not what you have given me; but it seems to have strengthenedand revived me. But pray, tell me more: I cannot make this out at all."

  "I will tell you after you have eaten something," said Edward. "I havebrought something with me for you. But first sip a little more of thisdraught."

  The old man drank again, and then ate a little of the food which hadbeen brought him; but the forces of life had so much diminished that itwas long before the weight of the body seemed to give the mind libertyto act. At first he would wander a little, less with what seemeddelirium than with forgetfulness. The brain appeared to sleep or faint;but with judicious care--an instinctive knowledge, as it were, of whatwas best for him--Edward administered support and stimulus by slowdegrees till the mind fully wakened up. Quietly and cautiously the youngman told him what he had done, why he came, and the certain prospectthere was of his escape from that city of horror and famine if he couldbut summon strength to pass the gates.

  "But Guiton,--but my friend Guiton," said Clement Tournon. "What will hethink of me?"

  "He begs you, he beseeches you, to go," said Edward. "He says you havedone all you can for Rochelle, that you can do no more, that every mouthout of the city is a relief, and that, now you can go in safety, youought to go."

  "Oh, my son," said Clement Tournon, "you know not what it is to ask meto quit the home of many years. I have travelled, it is true; I haveleft my domestic hearth; I have left the earth that holds my wife andchildren; but it was always with a thought of coming back and dyinghere. Now, if I go, I go forever,--never to see Rochelle more."

  "Nay, I hope that is not so," answered Edward. "The cardinal assured methat he would give the most favorable terms to the city; and I cannotbut think that your presence may be the means of rendering those termsreally and not nominally favorable. You can tell him of thedetermination of the people, of your certain expectation of succor----"

  The old man shook his head. "No succor," he said; "no succor."

  "But at all events it is probable," replied Edward, "that you may beable to obtain terms for Rochelle which she can accept honorably. Youcan aid no one here; you may do good service there. In this instance thepaths of duty and of safety are one."

  "Oh, I will go," said Clement Tournon, languidly. "I need no persuading.But what am I to do with this poor creature?" he continued, looking atMarton, who continued still in the room. "How can I leave her behindme?"

  A sort of spasm passed her countenance; but she answered, with the realdevotion of woman, "Go, old master; go. Never mind me. I can do wellenough. My light heart keeps me up; and old women live upon little. Whenthe young gentleman has risked every thing to save you, you cannotdisappoint him."

  "No indeed, Marton," said the syndic; "but yet----"

  "Never talk about yet," said Marton. "You have got to go, that is clear;and perhaps you may be able to make a treaty by which we shall be allfed and comforted. Maitre Guiton should have done it long ago; but he isa hard man, and would see us all die of famine, and himself too, beforehe would bate an inch of his pride."

  "Hush, hush!" said Edward: "he is a good and noble man, Marton; andtimes far distant shall talk of the famous defence of Rochelle by theMayor Guiton. Bring your master a little more food, Marton. The sun isbeginning to go down, and we shall soon be able to set out."

  The poor old syndic bent his eyes down upon his hands and wept tears ofage, of
weakness, and of manifold emotions; and Edward, thinking itbetter to distract his thoughts, spoke of the gold cup which he hadpromised to bring to Richelieu, and asked where he could find it.

  "What! a bribe?" exclaimed Clement Tournon, with more energy than theyoung man thought he had possessed. "The great Cardinal de Richelieutake a bribe?"

  "No, no!" replied Edward: "do not misunderstand me. This cup wasmentioned but incidentally as a curious and beautiful object of art, andI promised to bring it to him: therefore I must keep my word. But, if Imust tell the truth, I believe the cardinal's inducement to give me apass for you was that through you he might open some communication withthe citizens, who have refused all overtures."

  "Ay, there is that Mayor Guiton again," said Marton.

  "The cardinal assured me," continued Edward, "that he had no wish tocrush Rochelle, and would grant such favorable terms as could nothonestly be rejected."

  "God grant it!" said Clement Tournon; "but he has us at his mercy, andhe knows it. As to the cup, my son, you will find it in the armory,where it stood when you were here before. Where are the keys, Marton?You will find it all safe, and the papers with it,--a letter for youamongst the rest; but I knew not where you were. All the gold and silveris safe; for when the people broke into the house it was food theysought, poor fools! They cared not for gold and silver: they could noteat them."

  Marton found the keys and handed them to Edward, by Clement Tournon'sorders; and the cup, wrapped in manifold papers and enveloped in an oldparchment bag, was soon found. The whole packet was inscribed, in theold goldsmith's own handwriting, with the words, "The cup within belongsto Master Edward Langdale, of Buckley, in the county of Huntingdon,England, left with me for safe-keeping." By the side of the cup lay aletter, surrounded, as was common in those days, with a silken string,tied and sealed; and, on taking it up, Edward instantly recognised thehandwriting of good Dr. Winthorne. That was no time for reading,however, and he put the letter in his breast; but his eye could not helpglancing over the vast quantity of plate, both gold and silver, whicheven that one cupboard contained. Taking the cup in his hands, he lockedthe door, and, returning to the room of the syndic, inquired, with someanxiety, what was to be done for the protection of his property while hewas gone.

  "Dross, dross, my son," said Clement Tournon. "Yet the door of the roommay be as well locked and bolted. Give Marton the key."

  "We will take care of it, Master Ned," said Marton. "The boys come backevery night,--all who are left of them, poor fellows! but stout Johndied of the fever, and William the filigree-man soon gave way when wecame to want food. Old men and old women have borne it best. But nobodywill think of touching the gold and silver. What could they do with itif they had it? All the gold in that room would not buy a pound of beefin Rochelle."

  "It were as well to make all safe, however," answered Edward. "I will goand lock all the doors."

  "I will come with you," said Clement Tournon, "and see whether I canwalk. What you have given me seems to have revived me much, very much.What is it?"

  "What you probably never tasted in your life before," saidEdward,--"strong waters; and it shows the benefit of reserving the useof them for cases of need. That which kills many a man who uses itfreely is now giving you back life, because you have never used it atall. All I have in that flask would not have the slightest effect uponPierrot la Grange. I trust there is enough there to afford you strengthto reach the camp."

  "Oh, more than enough,--more than enough," said the good old syndic,whose holy horror of drunkenness made him almost shudder at the idea ofwhat he had been imbibing, although he could not but feel that it hadwrought a great and beneficial change upon him. "Now let me see how Ican walk."

  Edward gave him his arm; but the old man showed much more strength thanhe expected,--tottered a little in his gait, it is true, and lost hisbreath before he reached his arm-chair again. But Edward and Martonapplied themselves diligently during the next two hours to confirm theprogress he had already made, and were not unsuccessful.

  I cannot say whether the good woman, whose love and devotion toward hermaster were extreme, did or did not secretly bestow upon him her ownscanty portion of the common food which was doled out to all those whohad given up their own stores to be disposed of by the city; but certainit is that, till the sun had nearly set, she and Edward contrived everyquarter of an hour to furnish the old man a small piece of meat and amouthful of pea-bread, with a few spoonfuls of the brandy-and-water.

  At length the hour for departure came; and the parting between the oldsyndic and the faithful Marton was a very painful one. They saidnothing, it is true; but she kissed his hand, and her tears, whether shewould or not, fell upon it. Clement Tournon wept too; but Edward drewhim slowly away, and once more he went out into the streets of Rochelle.

  Those streets were nearly vacant, for almost everybody not wanted on thewalls had retired to their miserable dwellings, there in solitude andfamine to wait the return of the daylight which brought no comfort andvery little hope.

  Two men indeed passed by at a slow pace, and turned to look. "There goesold Clement Tournon," said one,--"up to the town-house, I suppose, asusual."

  "I thought he was dead," said the other. "Old Dr. Cavillac died lastnight."

  They spoke aloud, for those were no times of delicacy; and Edward,fearful that the old syndic had heard such depressing words, whispered,"I trust, Monsieur Tournon, you will be able to obtain such terms as thecity can accept."

  "Pray God I may!" said the old man, not perceiving Edward's littlestroke of art in playing off hope against despair. "Oh, it would be thebrightest day of my life!"

  They walked slowly, very slowly; but at length they reached the gate,over which a very feeble oil-lamp was burning under the heavy stonearch; for by this time even an article of such common necessity as oilwas terribly scarce in Rochelle. The common soldiers on guard wereevidently indisposed to let Edward and his companion pass; but the youngofficer whom the mayor had called Bernard was soon summoned forth fromthe guard-house, and with a reverent pressure of the hand he welcomedthe old syndic. "God bless you, sir!" he said. "I was right glad to hearwhat Monsieur Guiton told me. Would to Heaven I had a horse or mule togive you to help you across! but it is not half a mile, and I trust youhave strength for that."

  "God knows, Bernard," said the old man, who was leaning very heavilyupon Edward's arm. "I trust my going may be good for the city. Were itnot for that hope, I should be well contented to stay and die here. Godknows how often during the last week I have wished that it were all overand these eyes closed."

  "Nay, nay, sir," said the other, in a kindly tone: "you are reserved forbetter things, I trust. But the wicket is open. You had better passthrough, lest any people should come."

  The syndic and his young companion passed out into the darkness; butClement Tournon's steps became so feeble as they crossed the drawbridgethat Edward proposed to sit down and rest a while upon the same stonewhere he had sat in the morning; and there, to amuse his mind for thetime, he spoke of his last visit to the city, and even, under shadow ofthe night, alluded to Lucette.

  "Ah, dear child!" said the old man. "I heard that she had reached safelythe care of the Duc de Rohan, for he wrote to me. But such a letter! Icould not comprehend it at all. It was full of heat and anger aboutsomething,--I know not what; for there has been no means of inquiringsince. He surely would not have had me keep her in Rochelle to suffer aswe have suffered; but yet he seemed displeased that I had sent heraway."

  "He knew not all the circumstances," answered Edward; "and these greatmen are impetuous. Have you heard from her?"

  "Not a word," said the syndic, with a sigh. "And yet God knows I lovedher as a father."

  "And she loved you," said Edward; "but it was some months ere she couldpossibly write, and since then Rochelle has been strictly blockaded."

  "Ah, Edward Langdale," said the old man, in a sad tone, "the young soonforget. Joys and pleasures and the freshness of all things aro
und themwipe away the memories of all early affections. And it is well it shouldbe so. Old people forget too; but the sponge that blots out theirremembrance is filled with bitterness and gall and decay."

  Edward felt that Clement Tournon was doing injustice to Lucette; yet thewords were painful to him to hear, and he changed the subject, trying toconverse upon indifferent things, but with his mind still recurring tothe question, "Can Lucette forget so easily?"

  At the end of some half-hour he said, "Let us try now, sir, to reach theoutposts. But first take some more of this cordial. Remember what wehave at stake."

  The old man rose; but he was still very feeble, and he stumbled amongstthe low bushes at the end of the bridge. Immediately there was a callfrom the walls above of "Who goes there?" and the next instant a shotfrom a musket passed close by. Another succeeded, but went more wide;and, hurrying forward Clement Tournon, Edward put as much space betweenthem and the walls as possible, saying, in a light tone, "Hard to beshot at by our friends. I trust that it is an omen we shall be wellreceived by our enemies."

  "I cannot go so fast," said the old man. "Go you on, Master Ned: I willfollow. If they shoot me I cannot hurry."

  "No, no! we go together," replied Edward. "Here; keep along this path,straight for that watch-fire." And, placing the old syndic before him,he sheltered him completely from the walls with his own body. But therewas no more firing; and the only result was to scare the unhappyRochellois with a report that a party of the enemy had approached closeto the gates to reconnoitre.

  The distance was really very short, as we have seen, from the walls tothe royal lines; but it was long to poor Clement Tournon, and itrequired all Edward's care and skill and attention to get the old manacross. But at length the challenge of the sentinel came; and it was themost welcome sound that at that moment could meet Edward Langdale's ear.His flask was at the last drop, and the good syndic seemed to have nostrength left. All difficulties, however, were now over. In five minutesthe young officer who had accompanied Edward from Mauze was by theirside, with Jacques Beaupre and Pierrot; and, by the demonstrative joy ofthe two latter when they beheld Clement Tournon, one would have thoughtit was their father who had been rescued from death.

  "Ah, sir," exclaimed Jacques, addressing Edward, "I will never doubtthat you can do any thing again. Nobody but you in the whole world couldhave done it."

  "I must beg of you, sir," said Edward to the young officer, "to obtainsome place of repose for my poor old friend here. He is incapable ofgoing any farther to-night; and I must away to the cardinal. These twomen can, I presume, procure wine and meat for him; for food and rest areall that is needful."

  "Be assured, sir, all shall be attended to properly," said the youngofficer, in the most courteous tone. "Monsieur de Bassompierre will behere himself in a moment, for he says he knows and esteems thisgentleman, and we could not leave him in better hands, as I myself mustaccompany you back to his Eminence, who has moved down to what they callthe Petit Chateau, some miles nearer the city."

  This brief conversation took place some fifty yards from where ClementTournon was seated between Pierrot and Jacques Beaupre; and at themoment Edward uttered the last words he heard a bluff, good-humoredvoice saying, "Ah! Clement Tournon, my old friend, right glad am I tosee you. So his Eminence has let you out of the cage. What, man! neverdroop! we will soon restore your strength. This cardinal of ours hasheard how men tame wild beasts by keeping them on low diet, and he hasdetermined to try the same plan with you people of Rochelle. But I havea nice cabin for you here in a corner of the trench, and a good softbed, all ready, with a boiled pullet; and we will have a good stoup ofwine together, as we had when you sold me that diamond signet."

  "Ah, sir," said the feeble voice of Clement Tournon, "you drankseven-eighths of the stoup yourself, saying you were thirsty and neededit. I need it most now, I fear."

  "And so you shall drink the seven-eighths now," said Bassompierre,gayly. "Here! some one bring us a litter. We will carry him home intriumph. The best of goldsmiths shall have the best of welcomes."

  "Farewell for a few hours," said Edward, in a low voice, approaching theold man's side and pressing his hand. "I must away up to the cardinal,to show him that I keep faith. But I leave you in good hands, dearfriend, and will be with you again early to-morrow."

  Thus saying, he turned away, rejoined the young officer, and rode offwith him as fast as he could go, in order to present himself beforeRichelieu had retired to rest. Though probably burning with curiosity,Edward's companion did not venture to ask any questions in regard to LaRochelle, but merely pointed to the large packet containing the cupwhich Edward carried slung to his cross-belt, saying, in a jocular tone,"I suppose, Monsieur Langdale, that is not a _havresac_ of provision;for they do say that article is somewhat scanty in the city."

  "Oh, no," said Edward: "this is something too hard to eat: it belongsnot to me, but to his Eminence. I wish it contained something I couldeat; for I have tasted nothing since I left you this morning."

  "They fast long in Rochelle," said the young man, dryly; "but you willbe able to get something up at the chateau."

  "I must report myself first," answered Edward; and on they rode withoutfurther conversation.

  Edward was destined to wait longer for his supper than he expected, forhe was detained in the cardinal's ante-chamber nearly an hour. At theend of that time, some five or six gentlemen came forth from Richelieu'sroom, and Edward's name was called by the usher. The minister wasstanding when the young gentleman entered, and was evidently in no humorfor prolonged conversation.

  "Have you brought the old man?" he said.

  "Yes, my lord cardinal," replied Edward. "I left him at the outposts: hewas too weak to come on."

  "Then the famine in the city is severe, I suppose," observed thecardinal.

  "It is, your Eminence," answered Edward; "but I was permitted to seevery little."

  "Blindfolded?" asked Richelieu.

  "Yes," answered Edward. "But they may hold out some time, I think."

  "How long?" demanded the minister.

  "With their spirit, perhaps a month," replied Edward.

  "A month!" repeated Richelieu. "Impossible! Did you hear of no tumults?"

  "None whatever," replied Edward.

  "What have you there?" next demanded the cardinal, pointing to the cupand its covers, which Edward had now detached from his belt.

  "It is that work of art I mentioned, sire," replied the young man,taking it from the parchment bag and unwrapping the many papers whichenfolded it.

  Richelieu took it from his hands, gazed at it for a moment or two withevident admiration, and then set it down on the table, saying,"Beautiful! beautiful indeed! Have you heard any thing from England?" hecontinued, abruptly.

  "No," answered Edward; but, instantly correcting himself, he added,"Yes: I forgot. I found a letter waiting me; but I have not opened it.It is merely from my old tutor."

  "Let me see it," said Richelieu, in a tone that admitted of no refusal.

  Edward took it from the pocket of his coat and gave it to him insilence.

  Without the least ceremony, Richelieu opened it, and, after looking atthe date, gave it back again, saying, "Why, it is six months old; and Ihave news not much more than seven days. The English fleet is just readyto sail, it seems, and only waits for your mighty duke to lead them. Hewill find some stones in his way before he harbors in Rochelle. But nowgood-night, Monsieur Edward Langdale. Be here to-morrow betimes, and wewill talk more. Just now I am tired, and must to rest."