by Eugène Sue
Sainte-Foix cites still another conversation with Father Tournemine, saying, “The Duchess of Portsmouth said to Father Tournemine and to the confessor of King James that she always imputed to that prince the execution of the Duke of Monmouth, because Charles II., at the moment of his death and when about to receive the last communion, had made King James (then Duke of York) promise on the Host, which Huldeston, a Catholic priest, secretly carried, that whatever revolt the Duke of Monmouth might attempt he (James) would never punish him with death; so King James did not put him to death,” said Father Sanders.
We will not multiply citations. We only desire to establish that the foundation of this story is not merely a romantic fiction, and that if it is not based upon a historic certainty, it is at least based upon a likely supposition.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE DUKE RELATES THE SACRIFICE TO WHICH HE OWES HIS LIFE.
THE CHEVALIER, PROFOUNDLY moved by the recital of Monmouth, furtively brushed aside his tears, and said, “I understand now what that animal Rutler, with his everlasting dagger, meant by speaking to me of my execution.”
“Angela, Angela, my child,” exclaimed the duke, lifting his noble countenance bathed in tears, and pressing the young woman to his heart, “how can you ever forgive me the murder of Sidney, my friend, my brother, your only relative, your only protector.”
“Alas! have you not replaced him to me, James? I have bewailed his death, believing him killed on the field of battle. Do you believe that my regrets will be greater, now that I know that he sacrificed his life for you — that he did what I would gladly do for you, James, my lover, my husband!”
“Angela! best beloved guardian angel of my life!” cried the duke; “your words cannot assuage the violence of my remorse, but at least you know what religious gratitude I have always had for Sidney, this holy martyr to friendship. What more can I tell you? I passed two days in a state bordering on madness; when I returned to myself I found a letter of Sidney’s. He had arranged that I should not receive it until the evening of the day on which he died for me. He explained his pious falsehood; he had not seen King James.”
“He had not seen him!” exclaimed Angela.
“No; all that he had said to me was false. So you can understand that I had reason to forever curse the culpable facility with which I had allowed myself to be persuaded. Meanwhile he had died for me; the fable which I had believed in now seemed monstrous folly. No, he had not seen the king! From the depository of my precious stones, he had subtracted wherewith to procure a sum sufficient to gain over one of the officers of the Tower, whom he besought to allow him to see me for the last time. Was this officer in league with Sidney as to the substitution of some one who desired to save me? or was he deceived by the resemblance to such an extent that he suspected nothing. I do not know. The following day, when they went to seek Sidney, he followed the hangman, but he refused to speak for fear his voice would be recognized. The sacrifice was accomplished,” said Monmouth, wiping his tears away, which had not ceased to fall during his recital. “I quitted London secretly and went to France under a false name, in order to seek you, Angela. Sidney had given me full power to take her away from the persons to whom he had confided her,” said the duke, addressing Croustillac. “Struck by her beauty, her candor, and her other adorable traits, I, believing myself worthy and able to fulfill the last wishes of Sidney in making his adopted child happy, married this angel. We started for the Spanish colonies, where I believed we would be safe. We took the greatest precautions not to be recognized. By chance I encountered an English captain at Cuba whom I had seen at Amsterdam. I believed myself discovered. We left. After a journey of some months, we established ourselves here. In order to divert suspicion, to watch over my wife, and not wishing to be condemned to an imprisonment which would have been fatal to me, I assumed, by turns, the disguises which you are aware of, and I could, with impunity, traverse the island. Thanks to my precious stones, we were able to purchase a number of small vessels, through the good offices of Master Morris, a man of great probity, who knew, without being in the secret, what to think of the pretended widowhoods of my wife. Not only our commercial vessels increased little by little our fortune, which we shall bequeath to our children, but they afford us always a means of flight. The Chameleon was built for this very purpose, and I have sometimes commanded in the guise of a filibuster, and encountered a Spanish pirate, much to the fright of Angela. We were living here very happily, almost peacefully, when I learned that the Chevalier de Crussol, whose life I had once saved, had become the governor of the island. Although he was a man of honor, I feared to tell him who I was. My first idea was to quit Martinique with my wife; but I then learned of the declaration of war from France to England, Spain and Holland, and that certain rumors began to circulate in England as to the miraculous manner in which I had been saved. My partisans were bestirring themselves, it was said. I could expect no justice from William of Orange, and believed myself safer in this colony than anywhere else. I remained, therefore, in spite of the presence of De Crussol, but redoubled my precautions. The pretended widowhoods of my wife, the frequent visits of the filibuster, the Caribbean, and the buccaneer, furnished a collection of facts so incomprehensible that it was impossible to distinguish the truth, which was in our favor. We were, however, much troubled.
“Monsieur de Crussol, curious to know the strange woman of whom such different tales were related, came to Devil’s Cliff. Fate ordained that I should be there, also, in the disguise of the buccaneer. I could not avoid meeting the governor, whom we were far from expecting. In spite of the thick beard which disguised my features, De Crussol had preserved too clear a remembrance of me not to recognize me; but, in order to assure himself of the truth, he said to me abruptly, ‘You are not what you appear.’ Fearing that all would be disclosed to Angela, who knew that I was a fugitive, but who was ignorant of the dangers to which I would be exposed if my existence was known, I said to De Crussol, ‘In memory of a past service, I ask silence, but I will tell you all;’ and I did not hide anything from him. He swore on his honor to keep my secret and do everything in his power to prevent our being disturbed. He kept his promise, but in dying — —”
“He told Father Griffen everything from scruples of conscience,” said Croustillac.
“How do you know that?” said the duke.
Croustillac then told Monmouth how the mystery of Devil’s Cliff had been revealed to the confessor of King James, and how Father Griffen had unintentionally betrayed him.
“Now, chevalier,” said Monmouth, “you know at the price of what an admirable sacrifice I owe this life which I have sworn to consecrate to Angela. I have related to you the frightful remorse which the devotion of Sidney causes me. You understand, I hope, that I cannot expose myself to new and cruel regrets by causing your destruction.”
“Ah, you think, your highness, that what you have told me will take from me any desire to devote my life to you? Zounds! you are greatly mistaken.”
“How?” exclaimed the duke, “you persist?”
“I persist? I persist more than ever, if you please, and for a very simple reason. Hold, sir! why should I hide it from you? A short time since it was more for the sake of the duchess that I wished to serve you, than for interest in you; this is no offense to you, for I did not know you; but now, that I see what you are; now, that I see how you regret your friends, and how gratefully you remember them, and what they do for you, your wife may be a real Blue Beard, she may be the devil in person, she may be in love with all the buccaneers and the cannibals of the Antilles, but I will do for you all that I would have done for the duchess, sir.”
“But, chevalier — —”
“But, your highness, all I can say to you is that you have inspired me with the desire to be a second Sidney to you; that is all. Zounds! it is very simple; one never inspires such devotion unless one merits it.”
“I wish to believe you, chevalier, but a person is unworthy such de
votion when he accepts it willingly.”
“Zounds, sir; without offense, I must say you are as pig-headed in your generosity as that Flemish bear was insupportable with his everlasting dagger. Come, let us reason together. What you most desire, is it not, is to save me from prison?”
“Doubtless.”
“Now I do not think you are very anxious to abandon the duchess. Well, by telling De Chemerant who you are, would you save me? I am not much of a lawyer but it seems to me that that is the question, is it not, madame?”
“He is right, my love,” said Angela, looking at her husband beseechingly.
“To proceed,” said Croustillac proudly. “Now, you say to this good Chemerant, ‘Sir, I am the Duke of Monmouth, and the chevalier here is only a scapegoat.’ So be it; so far all goes well. But at this stage the good Chemerant will reply, ‘Your highness, do you or do you not consent to head this insurrection in England?”
“Never! never!” cried the duke.
“Very well, your highness, now I know what insurrection has cost you. Now I have the honor of knowing the duchess; like you I say, ‘Never!’ only what will the good Chemerant say to this? The good Chemerant will say, ‘You are my prisoner,’ is it not so?”
“Unhappily it is very likely,” said Monmouth.
“Alas! it is only too true!” said Angela.
“‘As to this rascal, this schemer,’ the good Chemerant will continue, addressing himself to me,” said Croustillac, “‘as to this imposter, this sharper, as he has impudently imposed upon me, so that I confided to him a half-dozen secrets of state, each more important than the other, particularly as to how the confessors of the great kings have played the game of the poisoned shoulder-knot with their penitents, he shall be treated as he deserved.’ Now the said Chemerant, so much the more furious that I had caused him to make such a fool of himself, will not handle me very gently, and I may consider myself very lucky if he leaves me to perish in a dungeon, instead of hanging me quickly (seeing his full power), which would be another method of reducing me very effectually to silence.”
“Oh! do not speak so, the idea is frightful,” cried Angela.
“You see well, then, generous madman, the imminent danger to which you are exposed,” said the duke to him tenderly.
“Now, your highness,” said the Gascon with imperturbable calm, “as I said a short time ago, to madame, as I believed her madly in love with a certain fellow of leathern tint, it is clear that one does not devote oneself to people to the sole end of being crowned with roses and caressed by sylvan nymphs. It is the danger that constitutes the sacrifice. But that is not the question. In delivering yourself up as prisoner to the good Chemerant, do you in any way spare me prison or scaffold, sir?”
“But, chevalier — —”
“But, sir, I shall pursue you constantly with this argument ad hominum (that is all my Latin), as the Belgian pursued me with his everlasting dagger.”
“You deceive yourself, my worthy and brave chevalier, in believing that your situation is so desperate, when I shall have delivered myself up to Chemerant.”
“Prove it to me, your highness.”
“Without insisting too much upon my rank and my position, they are such that one would be always obliged to account for with me. So, when I say to De Chemerant, that it is my desire that you be not punished for a trait which does you honor, I do not doubt that De Chemerant will be eager to please me and put you at liberty.”
“Your highness, allow me to say that you are entirely mistaken.”
“But what more could he ask? Should I not be in his power? What would your capture amount to to him?”
“Your highness, you have been a statesman; you have been a conspirator; you are a great nobleman, consequently you must know men; you reason, pardon my bluntness, as if you did not know them at all, or rather, your generous desires in my behalf blind you.”
“No, indeed, sir — —”
“Listen to me, your highness. You concede, do you not, that the news that comes from England, and the part Louis XIV. has taken in this conspiracy, prove the importance of Chemerant’s mission?”
“Without doubt.”
“You will, therefore, concede, your highness, that Chemerant relies upon the success of this mission for his good fortune?”
“That is true.”
“Well, your highness, by refusing to take part in this insurrection, you leave Chemerant only the part of a jailer; your capture cannot make a success of the enterprise in which these two kings have so lively an interest. Then, believe me, you will cut a very sorry figure asking clemency of Chemerant, above all, at a time when he will be furious at seeing his hopes destroyed; above all, when he knows that the man in whose favor you intercede has made him see numberless stars at full noon. Believe me, then, your highness, by accepting all Chemerant’s propositions, by seconding the plans of these two kings, you could scarcely hope to secure my pardon.”
“James! what he says is full of wisdom,” said Angela. “I would not counsel you to be cowardly or egotistical, but he is right, you cannot deny it.”
The duke bent his head without answering.
“I indeed believe I am right,” said Croustillac. “I am wrong often enough once, by chance, to have common sense.”
“But, for the love of heaven, at least look things in the face, if I accept,” said the duke, taking both hands of Croustillac in his own. “You must conduct me and my wife on board the Chameleon; we will hoist sail and will be saved.”
“All right, your highness, that is how I like to hear you speak!”
“Yes, we shall be saved, but you, unhappy man, you will return on the frigate with Chemerant, and when you are brought face to face with my friends, your ruse will be discovered and you will be lost!”
“Zounds! sir, how you go on! Without offending you, you then look upon me as a pitiful fellow; you deprive me of all imagination, of all ingenuity. If I am not mistaken, it is some distance to the Cayman’s Creek, at Fort Royal?”
“About three leagues,” said the duke.
“Very well, your highness, in this country three leagues are three hours, and in three hours a man like myself has at least six chances of escaping. I have long legs and strong as a stag’s. The companion of Rend-your-Soul has taught me how to walk,” replied the Gascon, smiling with a malicious air. “Now I swear to you that it will make the good Chemerant’s escort take some pretty lively strides to keep up with me.”
“And you desire that I should allow you to stake your life on a chance as doubtful as that of an escape, when thirty soldiers, used to the country, would instantly be on your track?” said the duke. “Never!”
“And you desire, your highness, that I place my life, my salvation on a chance as uncertain as the clemency of the good Chemerant?”
“At least I should not sacrifice you to a certainty, and the chances are equal,” said the duke.
“Equal!” cried the adventurer indignantly. “Equal, your highness? Do you dare compare yourself with me? Who am I? and what purpose do I serve here below if not to carry an old sword at my side, and to live here and there according to the whims of humankind? I am nothing, I do nothing, I have nothing to care for. To whom is my life of any use? Who interests himself about me? Who even knows if Polyphème de Croustillac exists or not?”
“Chevalier, you are not right, and — —”
“Zounds! your highness, you belong to the duchess, the adopted child of Sidney. If he died for you, it is the least you can do to live for her whom he loved as his own child! If you reduce her to despair, she may die of grief, and you will have two victims instead of one to lament.”
“But once more, chevalier — —”
“But!” cried Croustillac, with a significant glance at Angela, and beginning to talk loudly enough to deafen one, thus drowning the voice of the duke, “But you are a miserable wretch! an insolent fellow! to speak so to me! Help! help! come to my assistance!”
Then Croustilla
c said rapidly, and in a low tone, to the duke, “You force me to do this, your highness, for I have no alternative.” And the adventurer began to shout at the top of his lungs.
The duke, paralyzed with surprise, remained motionless and looked at him in stupefaction.
At the cry of the Gascon, six men, forming a portion of the escort, which De Chemerant had stationed as sentinels in the gallery by the request of Croustillac, rushed into the room.
“Gag this rascal! gag him instantly!” cried Croustillac, who trembled at the fear that Chemerant might enter at this juncture.
The soldiers obeyed the chevalier’s order; they threw themselves upon the duke, who cried, as he struggled with them, “I am the prince; I am Monmouth.”
Happily, these dangerous words were stifled by the loud cries of the chevalier, who, from the beginning of this scene, pretended to be a prey to the greatest anger, and stamped his foot with rage.
One of the soldiers, with the aid of his scarf, succeeded in gagging the duke, who was thus prevented from speaking.
Chemerant, attracted by the noise, entered quickly. He found Angela pale and greatly agitated. While she understood the reason of this struggle, she could not help being deeply moved.
“What has he done, then? your highness,” cried Chemerant.
“That miserable wretch made such abominably insolent propositions to me that, in spite of my contempt for him, I was obliged to have him gagged.”
“Your highness, you were right; but I foresaw that this miserable wretch would break his ominous silence!”
“This scene, however,” cried Croustillac, “was not without its use. I was still hesitating, yes, I avow it, I was weak enough to. Now the die is cast; the guilty ones shall suffer for their crime. Let us start at once for the Cayman’s Cove; I have sent my orders to Captain Ralph; I shall not be content until I have seen them embark, under my own eyes; then we will return to Fort Royal.”
“Do you really wish to be present at this sad scene, your highness?”
