Read Ebook: Richelieu: A Tale of France v. 1/3 by James G P R George Payne Rainsford

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Ebook has 1743 lines and 138617 words, and 35 pages

The wounded man looked faintly round, his senses still bewildered, either by weakness from loss of blood, or from the stunning effects of the blow on his forehead. He seemed, however, to have caught and comprehended some of the words which the old lady addressed to him, and answered them by a slight inclination of the head, but still kept his hand upon the breast of his coat, as if he had some cause for wishing it not to be opened.

The time which had thus elapsed more than sufficed to bring the horsemen, who had accompanied the carriage, to the spot where the servants of the Cavalier appeared contending with a party, not only greater in number, but superior in arms.

The reinforcement which thus arrived, gave a degree of equality to the two parties, though the freebooters might still have retained the advantage, had not one of their companions commanded them, in rather a peremptory manner, to quit the conflict. This personage, we must remark, was very different, in point of costume, from the forest gentry with whom he herded for the time. His dress was a rich livery suit of Isabel and silver; and indeed he might have been confounded with the other party, had not his active co-operation with the banditti placed the matter beyond a doubt.

Their obedience, also, to his commands showed, that if he were not the instigator of the violence we have described, at least his influence over his lawless companions was singularly powerful; for at a word from him they drew off from a combat in which they were before engaged with all the hungry fury of wolves eager for their prey; and retreated in good order up the road, till its windings concealed them from the view of the servants to whom they had been opposed.

These last did not attempt to follow, but turning their horses, together with those who had brought them such timely aid, galloped up to the spot where their master lay. When they arrived, he had again fallen into a state of apparent insensibility, and they all flocked round him with looks of eager anxiety, which seemed to speak more heartfelt interest than generally existed between the murmuring vassal and his feudal lord.

One sprightly boy, who appeared to be his page, sprang like lightning from the saddle, and kneeling by his side, gazed intently on his face, as if to seek some trace of animation. "They have killed him!" he cried at length, "I fear me they have killed him!"

"No, he is not dead," answered the old lady; "but I wish, Sir Page, that you would prevail on your master to open his coat, that we may staunch that deep wound in his side."

"No, no! that must not be," cried the boy quickly; "but I will tie my scarf round the wound." So saying, he unloosed the rich scarf of blue and gold, that passing over his right shoulder crossed his bosom till it nearly reached the hilt of his sword, where forming a large knot it covered the bucklings of his belt. This he bound tightly over the spot in his master's side from whence the blood flowed; and then asked thoughtfully, without raising his eyes, "But how shall we carry him to St. Germain?"

"In our carriage," said the young lady; "we are on our way thither, even now."

The sound of her voice made the Page start, for since his arrival on the spot, he had scarcely noticed any one but his master, whose dangerous situation seemed to occupy all his thoughts: but now there was something in that sweet voice, with its soft Languedocian accent, which awakened other ideas, and he turned his full sunny face towards the lady who spoke.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed she, as that glance showed her a countenance not at all unfamiliar to her memory: "Is not this Henry de La Mothe, son of our old farmer Louis?"

"No other indeed, Mademoiselle Pauline," replied the boy; "though, truly, I neither hoped nor expected to see you at such a moment as this."

"Then who"--demanded the young lady, clasping her hands with a look of impatient anxiety--"in the name of heaven, tell me who is this!"

For an instant, and but for an instant, a look of arch meaning played over the boy's countenance; but it was like a flash of lightning on a dark cloud, lost as quickly as it appeared, leaving a deep gloom behind it, as his eye fell upon the inanimate form of his master. "That, Madam," said he, while something glistened brightly, but sadly, in his eye, "that is Claude Count de Blenau."

Pauline spoke not, but there was a deadly paleness come upon her face, which very plainly showed, how secondary a feeling is general benevolence, compared with personal interest.

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the elder lady, her brow darkening thoughtfully. "Well, something must be done for him."

The Page did not seem particularly well pleased with the tone in which the lady spoke, and, in truth, it had betrayed more pride than compassion.

"The best thing that can be done for him, Madame la Marquise," answered he, "is to put him in the carriage and convey him to St. Germain as soon as possible, if you should not consider it too much trouble."

"Trouble!" exclaimed Pauline; "trouble! Henry de La Mothe, do you think that my mother or myself would find any thing a trouble, that could serve Claude de Blenau, in such a situation?"

"Hush, Pauline!" said her mother. "Of course we shall be glad to serve the Count--Henry, help Michel and Regnard to place your master in the carriage.--Michel, give me your arquebuse; I will hold it till you have done.--Henry, support your master's head."

But Pauline took that post upon herself, notwithstanding a look from the Marchioness, if not intended to forbid, at least to disapprove. The young lady, however, was too much agitated with all that had occurred to remark her mother's looks, and following the first impulse of her feelings, while the servants carried him slowly to the carriage, she supported the head of the wounded Cavalier on her arm, though the blood continued to flow from the wound in his forehead, and dripped amidst the rich slashing of her Spanish sleeves, dabbling the satin with which it was lined.

"Oh Mademoiselle!" said the Page, when their task was accomplished, "this has been a sad day's hunting. But if I might advise," he continued, turning to the Marchioness, "the drivers must be told to go with all speed."

"Saucy as a page!" said the old lady, "is a proverb, and a good one. Now, Monsieur La Mothe, I do not think the drivers must go with all speed; for humbly deferring to your better opinion, it would shake your master to death."

The Page bit his lip, and his cheek grew somewhat red, in answer to the high dame's rebuke, but he replied calmly, "You have seen, Madam, what has happened to-day, and depend on it, if we be not speedy in getting out of this accursed forest, we shall have the same good gentry upon us again, and perhaps in greater numbers. Though they have wounded the Count, they have not succeeded in their object; for he has still about him that which they would hazard all to gain."

"You are in the right, boy," answered the lady: "I was over-hasty. Go in, Pauline. Henry, your master's horse must carry one of my footmen, of whom the other three can mount behind the carriage--thus we shall go quicker. You, with the Count's servants, mix with my horsemen, and keep close round the coach; and now bid them, on, with all speed." Thus saying, she entered the vehicle; and the rest having disposed themselves according to her orders, the whole cavalcade was soon in motion on the road to St. Germain.

In which new characters are brought upon the stage, and some dark hints given respecting them.

The sun had long gone down, and the large clear autumn moon had risen high in his stead, throwing a paler, but a gentler light upon the wood of Laye, and the rich wild forest-scenery bordering the road from St. Germain to Mantes. The light, unable to pierce the deeper recesses of the wood, fell principally upon those old and majestic trees, the aristocracy of the forest, which, raising their heads high above their brethren of more recent growth, seemed to look upon the beam in which they shone, as the right of elder birth, and due alone to their aspiring height. The deep shadows of their branches fell in long sombre shapes across the inequalities of the road, leaving but glimpses every now and then, to light the footsteps of whatever being might wander there at that hour of silence.

On one of those spots where the full beams fell, stood the cottage of Philip, the woodman: and the humble hut with its straw thatch, the open space of ground before it, with a felled oak which had lain there undisturbed till a coat of soft green moss had grown thick over its rugged bark, the little stream dammed up to afford a sufficient supply of water for the horses, and the large square block of stone to aid the traveller in mounting, all were displayed in the clear moonlight as plainly as if the full day had shone upon them.

Yet, however fair might be the night, there were very few who would have chosen the beams of the moon to light them across the wood of Mantes. In sooth, in those days sunshine was the best safeguard to travellers. For France swarmed with those who gathered in their harvest at night, and who had turned their swords into reaping-hooks.

Two grand objects fully occupied the mind of that famous minister, the Cardinal de Richelieu : the prosecution of those mighty schemes of foreign policy, which at the time shook many a throne, and in after years changed more than one dynasty; and the establishment of his own power at home, which, threatened by factions, and attacked by continual conspiracies, was supported alone by the terror of his name, and the favour of a weak and irresolute monarch. These more immediate calls upon his attention gave him but little time to regulate the long-neglected police of the country; and indeed it was whispered, that Richelieu not only neglected, but knowingly tolerated many of the excesses of the times; the perpetrators of which were often called upon to do some of those good services which statesmen occasionally require of their less circumspect servants. It was said too, that scarce a forest in France but sheltered a band of these free rovers, who held themselves in readiness to merit pardon for their other offences, by offending in the State's behalf whenever it should be demanded, and in the mean time took very sufficient care to do those things on their own account for which they might be pardoned hereafter.

We may suppose then, it rarely happened that travellers chose that hour for passing through the wood of Mantes, and that those who did so were seldom of the best description. But on the night I speak of, two horsemen wound slowly along the road towards the cottage of the Woodman, with a sort of sauntering, idle pace, as if thoughtless of danger, and entirely occupied in their own conversation.

They were totally unattended also, although their dress bespoke a high station in society, and by its richness might have tempted a robber to inquire farther into their circumstances. Both were well armed with pistol, sword, and dagger, and appeared as stout cavaliers as ever mounted horse, having, withal, that air of easy confidence, which is generally the result of long familiarity with urgent and perilous circumstances.

"I hope they have not done it at all, Lafemas," replied the other. "I only told them to tie him, and search him thoroughly; but not to give him a scratch, if they could avoid it."

"Methinks, thou hast grown mighty ceremonious of late, and somewhat merciful, Master Chavigni," replied his companion; "I remember the time, when you were not so scrupulous. Would it not have been the wiser way, to have quieted this young plotter at once, when your men had him in their hands?"

"Thou wert born in the Fauxbourg St. Antoine, I would swear, and served apprenticeship to a butcher," replied Chavigni. "Why, thou art as fond of blood, Lafemas, as if thou hadst sucked it in thy cradle! Tell me, when thou wert an infant Hercules, didst thou not stick sheep, instead of strangling serpents?"

"Not more than yourself, lying villain!" answered the other in a quick deep voice, making his hand sound upon the hilt of his sword. "Chavigni, you have taunted me all along the road; you have cast in my teeth things that you yourself caused me to do. Beware of yourself! Urge me not too far, lest you leave your bones in the forest!"

"I do, I do," replied Lafemas. "I thought that there was some deep, damnable wile that made you spare him; and as to the rest, I did not mean to offend you. But when a man condemns his own soul to serve you, you should not taunt him, for it is hard to bear."

"Peace! peace!" cried Chavigni, in a sharp tone; "let me hear no more in this strain. Who raised you to what you are? We use you as you deserve; we pay you for your services; we despise you for your meanness; and as to your soul," he added with a sneer, "if you have any fears on that head--why you shall have absolution. Are you not our dog, who worries the game for us? We house and feed you, and you must take the lashes when it suits us to give them. Remember, Sir, that your life is in my hand! One word respecting the affair of Chalais mentioned to the Cardinal, brings your head to the block! And now let us see what is this blood you speak of?"

So saying, he sprang from his horse, while Lafemas, as he had been depicted by his companion, hung his head like a cowed hound, and in sullen silence pointed out the blood, which had formed a little pool at the foot of the tree, and stained the ground in several places round about.

Chavigni gazed at it with evident symptoms of displeasure and uneasiness; for although, when he imagined that the necessities of the State required the severest infliction on any offender, no one was more ruthless than himself as to the punishment, no one more unhesitating as to the means--although, at those times, no bond of amity, no tie of kindred, would have stayed his hand, or restrained him in what he erroneously considered his political duty; yet Chavigni was far from naturally cruel; and, as his after life showed, even too susceptible of the strongest and deepest affections of human nature.

In his early youth, the Cardinal de Richelieu had remarked in him a strong and penetrating mind; but above all, an extraordinary power of governing and even subduing the ardent passions by which he was at times excited. As son to the Count de Bouthilliers, one of the oldest members of the Privy Council, the road to political preferment was open to Chavigni; and Richelieu, ever fearful of aught that might diminish his power, and careful to strengthen it by every means, resolved to bind the young Count to his cause by the sure ties of early habit and mutual interest. With this view he took him entirely under his own protection, educated him in his own line of policy, instilled into him, as principles, the deep stern maxims of his own mighty and unshrinking mind, and having thus moulded him to his wish, called him early to the council-table, and intrusted him with a greater share of his power and confidence than he would have yielded to any other man.

Chavigni repaid the Cardinal with heartfelt gratitude, with firm adherence, and uncompromising service. In private life, he was honourable, generous, and kind; but it was his axiom, that all must yield to State necessity, or in other words, to the good of his country; and upon the strength of this maxim, which, in fact, was the cause of every stain that rests upon his memory, he fancied himself a patriot!

But to return, Chavigni gazed intently on the spot to which Lafemas pointed. "I believe it is blood, indeed," said he, after a moment's hesitation, as if the uncertainty of the light had made him doubt it at first: "they shall rue the day that they shed it contrary to my command. It is blood surely, Lafemas: is it not?"

"Without a doubt," said Lafemas; "and it has been shed since mid-day."

"You are critical in these things, I know," replied the other with a cool sneer; "but we must hear more of this, Sir Judge, and ascertain what news is stirring, before we go farther. Things might chance, which would render it necessary that one or both of us should return to the Cardinal. We will knock at this cottage and inquire.--Our story must run, that we have lost our way in the wood, and need both rest and direction."

So saying, he struck several sharp blows with the hilt of his sword against the door, whose rickety and unsonorous nature returned a grumbling indistinct sound, as if it too had shared the sleep of the peaceable inhabitants of the cottage, and loved not to be disturbed by such nocturnal visitations. "So ho!" cried Chavigni; "will no one hear us poor travellers, who have lost our way in this forest!"

In a moment after, the head of Philip, the woodman, appeared at the little casement by the side of the door, examining the strangers, on whose figures fell the full beams of the moon, with quite sufficient light to display the courtly form and garnishing of their apparel, and to show that they were no dangerous guests. "What would ye, Messieurs?" demanded he, through the open window: "it is late for travellers."

"We have lost our way in your wood," replied Chavigni, "and would fain have a little rest, and some direction for our farther progress. We will pay thee well, good man, for thy hospitality."

"There is no need of payment, Sir," said the Woodman, opening the door. "Come in, I pray, Messieurs.--Charles!" he added, calling to his son, "get up and tend these gentlemen's horses. Get up, I say, Sir Sluggard!"

The boy crept sleepily out of the room beyond, and went to give some of the forest-hay to the beasts which had borne the strangers thither, and which gave but little signs of needing either rest or refreshment. In the mean while, his father drew two large yew-tree seats to the fire-side, soon blew the white ashes on the hearth into a flame, and having invited his guests to sit, and lighted the old brazen lamp that hung above the chimney, he bowed low, asking how he could serve them farther; but as he did so, his eye ran over their persons with a half-satisfied and inquiring glance, which made Lafemas turn away his head. But Chavigni answered promptly to his offer of service: "Why now, good friend, if thou couldst give us a jug of wine, 'twould be well and kindly done, for we have ridden far."

"This is no inn, Sir," replied Philip, "and you will find my wine but thin: nevertheless, such as it is, most welcomely shall you taste."

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