CHAPTER XXVIII.
"Remember the Porte St. Antoine."
It was, perhaps, fortunate that about this time Mazarin kept me verybusy. Events moved quickly; the situation changed every day; no oneknew at one hour what would happen the next. The Cardinal remainedwith the Court, but I spent most of my time on horseback, gallopingwith hastily written letters from one leader to another.
One day I was sent to Villeneuve St. Georges, where Turenne, havingmade a daring march, had just arrived. The Marshal was in a positionof extreme danger. Lorraine was in front of him with a large army;Conde's troops were approaching swiftly from Etampes. There was aneven greater peril, of which, however, I had no idea, till the famoussoldier had read Mazarin's note.
"Here is news," said he, speaking to an officer of high rank; "Condehas left Paris and has joined his troops. We must settle this affairsoon, or the prince will be too quick for us."
He possessed the highest respect for Conde as a soldier, and the princeon his part regarded Turenne as the only enemy to be feared. These twowere, in fact, the most celebrated generals in Europe, and it was athousand pities for France that their swords were not pointed against acommon enemy.
"Let us see what the Cardinal offers," he continued, proceeding to readMazarin's note. "Hum! Lorraine won't accept those terms, unless Iback them up by a show of bayonets. Yet he must be got rid of! Wecan't fight both him and Conde at the same time."
Presently turning to me he said, "Ride back to St. Germain, De Lalande,and inform the Cardinal that I will send a messenger within twenty-fourhours. By then Lorraine will be in full retreat or His Majesty will beminus an army."
Before leaving the camp I endeavoured to find Raoul, but withoutsuccess. Several officers informed me that he was rarely with the mainbody, his troopers being chiefly used for scouting purposes. This wasdisappointing; so, as there was clearly no chance of meeting him, Ireturned to St. Germain and delivered my message.
How he managed it I cannot explain--some people hinted that Mazarin'scraft had most to do with it--but Turenne was as good as his word, andthe next evening an officer from his army galloped into St. Germainwith the information that, without striking a blow, Lorraine had brokenup his camp and was retreating to Flanders. Mazarin rubbed his handsat the news, and purred softly, as he usually did when well pleased.
"We are getting on, gentlemen!" said he. "Before long His Majesty willbe in his capital again."
In this the Cardinal was mistaken, but every day still further improvedour position. The Court removed to St. Denis; Conde, who had postedhis troops on the bank of the Seine, near St. Cloud, was being pressedday and night by Turenne, and was at length forced to retreat in thedirection of Charenton.
As soon as this became known in St. Denis the utmost excitementprevailed, and every one began asking what the people of Paris woulddo. Unless the gates of the city were opened the prince must eitherwin a brilliant victory or be crushed. On this point Mazarin spokevery sensibly.
"Everything depends on the result of the first stroke," said he. "TheDuke of Orleans is in command of the town. He will blow hot and coldafter his manner: Conde will ask for shelter, and Gaston will hesitate.There lies our chance. If we can catch and beat the prince meanwhile,all will go well; Gaston ever leans to the strongest side."
Turenne, who had come to consult with the Cardinal, smiled grimly.
"Take His Majesty to Charonne," he advised, "and bid him write a letterwith his own hand to the Council, forbidding the gates to be opened.It may do good: it cannot do harm."
"And meanwhile?" asked Mazarin.
"My cavaliers are hot on the prince's track. I have ordered La Ferteto cross the river with his artillery, and Conde must either surrenderor accept battle at St. Antoine."
"Remember the Porte St. Antoine!" The words sounded in my ears soclearly that it almost seemed as if I heard Raoul speaking.
"The Court will be in no danger," Turenne continued, "but I shallrequire every man who can use a sword or fire a musket. Have you everseen a wild boar at bay? That is how Conde fights. I shall beat him,but the pack will be badly mauled. Gentlemen, who will ride withTurenne, and die with Turenne, if needs be, for the honour of France?"
There were a dozen of us, all belonging to Mazarin's body-guard, at thelower end of the room, and instantly every sword leaped from itsscabbard and flashed in the air.
"I! I! I!" we shouted like a number of enthusiastic boys, and thefamous general laughed genially.
No one, I fear, waited for the Cardinal's consent, and when, a fewminutes later, Turenne mounted his horse, fifty headstrong cavaliersfell in joyously behind him.
"For the King! gentlemen," cried he. "For the King!" we echoedloyally, and the royal boy, with flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes, camein person to bid us farewell.
"I thank you, gentlemen, all," said he, and there was a curious catchin his voice. "I would I were riding in your ranks, but while the Kinghas such loyal servants France need fear no rebels. I wish yousuccess, gentlemen, you and your gallant leader."
At this, waving our plumed hats high, we cheered again and sweptforward with a rush. From the Faubourg St. Denis came the sounds ofmusketry, of wild battle shouts, and cries of triumph and despair.
"Forward!" cried Turenne. "Forward!"
Riding with loose reins we spurred hard to the scene of conflict, justin time to see the backs of Conde's rearguard. The gallant fellows hadfought stubbornly, contesting every foot of ground, and sacrificingthemselves in order to delay our advance. Now, however, they were inretreat, and Turenne, leaving his victorious infantry to re-form,collected his horsemen and pressed on in pursuit.
Among the foremost rode my old comrade, and my heart beat fast at sightof him. His head was bare, his long fair curls fell about hisshoulders, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes fiercely bright. I hadnever seen him in such a state of intense excitement. As I joined himhe greeted me with a forced smile, but there was no time for speech.Side by side we dashed through the streets into the Faubourg St.Martin. Here several squadrons of Conde's cavalry barred our way, butRaoul halted not.
"For the King!" he cried, waving his sword. "For the King!" as weleaped at the horsemen, while our comrades, answering with a lustyshout, galloped madly behind us.
Crash! We were in the midst of the throng, cutting, thrusting,parrying, pressing the rebels back slowly. They fought well, as becameFrenchmen, but we were too many, and at last they broke.
"Forward!" cried Raoul, who was still in front, but Turenne called usback.
"Softly, softly," exclaimed our leader; "a few hundred horsemen cannotdefeat an army in position. We must go slowly for a while. The enemyare entrenched behind barricades in the Faubourg St. Antoine."
Raoul looked at me meaningly, and I became unnerved by the oddcoincidence. Was it chance or fate?
"Together till the end," he whispered. "Do not grieve for me, dearfriend, it is written in the stars, and I am content."
I tried to reply, but my lips were dumb; I could only press his hand insilence.
Like a wise general Conde was meanwhile seizing and strengthening everydefensible post. His men pierced the houses for musketry, raised newobstacles everywhere, heightened the barricades, and dragged the bigguns into the open space. Every moment's delay on our part renderedthe position more formidable, and we listened anxiously for the tramp,tramp, of our brave infantry.
"Can't we take the place at a rush?" asked one man impetuously, andRaoul looked at him with a smile.
"You do not know the Faubourg St. Antoine," said he; "I do. I was herewhen Lorraine's troops put up the barricades. Even with our infantrywe shall be too weak to force a passage."
"Bah!" cried a listener impatiently, "there are three broad streetsleading to the gate, and we can have our choice of them. Then Condewill be cornered."
"Every house is a fortress," said Raoul, "and a dozen narrow streetslead into each avenue. Turenne will attack when the in
fantry arrives,but with any other general I should call it madness to move without LaFerte's artillery."
My comrade's reputation for reckless bravery was so well establishedthat his words produced some impression, though it was tantalising towait there while the enemy worked with all their might to render theFaubourg impregnable. Presently, a thundering cheer announced thearrival of our infantry, and we looked anxiously at Turenne to discoverif he would risk the hazard of the die. A very rash general would haveflung us at the barricades without a thought; a weak one would havehesitated too long; what would Turenne do?
Sitting his horse calmly at the head of his troops, he summoned hisprincipal officers around him, and explained his intentions. We couldonly guess at his words, but very soon the group broke up, the officersgalloped to their stations, commands were issued: first one section,then another of the troops moved slowly forward, and we became awarethat Turenne had resolved to attack without waiting for his artillery.
It has been mentioned that three principal streets led to the openspace before the gate, and along these avenues of death we fought ourway in three divisions. Raoul and I accompanied Turenne in the centre.Foot by foot, almost inch by inch, we advanced beneath a hail ofbullets. Men fell fast, but the survivors struggled on undauntedly.From every window sped the leaden messengers into our midst; frombehind each barricade flashed a flame of fire.
"The houses must be cleared!" exclaimed the general. "Let themusketeers clear them one by one!" and he ordered us to seek shelter,though he himself continued in the open, coolly directing theoperations.
With fierce cries the musketeers swarmed into the buildings, and at thepoint of the bayonet drove the enemy from room to room, slaying allthose who refused to surrender. I had thought the fight on the plainof Blenau terrible, but it was child's play to this. Stoutly andgallantly the rebels fought, but one by one the houses fell into ourhands; the barricades were torn down, and again the signal sounded forthe cavalry to advance.
Alas! Already many of the gay gentlemen who had ridden so joyouslythrough St. Martin had fallen; but there was no time to mourn theirloss. Turenne was in front, and the folds of the King's banner,shot-torn and blackened, were fluttering in the breeze. In after yearsour gracious monarch's colours were borne in many a hot encounter, butnever, I think, in a more desperate fray than the struggle at St.Antoine, between--shame on those who made it possible--Frenchmen andFrenchmen.
No war is good to look upon in cold blood, when the lust of battle hasdied away, but a cruel fight between men of the same blood and race isabominable. Yet, on that day, I question if it made any of us moregentle to know that our enemies were Frenchmen.
"Forward!" cried our chief, and with a rush we swept the street fromend to end, crying, "_Vive le Roi!_" as if victory were already won.
Then, suddenly, the roar of the guns greeted us, and, under cover ofthe smoke, Conde leaped into our midst at the head of his householdtroops. From the first I have maintained that the prince did France afoul wrong in setting himself against his rightful monarch, but itcannot be denied that he was a splendid soldier. With his war-cryringing high and clear above the tumult he came at us; the fight grewterrible; our infantry, unable to avoid the horses, fell back inconfusion, leaving a scattered handful of cavaliers to continue thecontest alone. Seeing his advantage, the prince flung every availablehorseman at us, and, though fighting desperately, we were driven backby force of numbers.
Again and again we returned to the charge, and many gallant feats ofarms were performed, but victory appeared hopeless, and we listenedanxiously for the sound of La Ferte's cannon. Thus far, at least,Raoul's judgment had proved correct. Ill news came both from right andleft. Our men, suffering fearfully from the hidden musketry fire, madeheadway only at a wasteful expense of life. More than one high officerhad fallen at the barricades, and Conde, who seemed to be in severalplaces at once, beat back each fresh assault.
Everywhere our soldiers were growing dispirited, and even talked ofwaiting for help; but Turenne, who had an iron will, would not hear ofdefeat. Rising in his stirrups, and looking steadily at his band ofcavaliers, he cried cheerfully, "One more charge, gentlemen!"
"For the King!" answered Raoul, waving his stained sword above hishead, and we all echoed the cry lustily.
Turenne gave the word, and once again we swept like a hurricane throughthe street. The rebels awaited the onset, but the shock was too great.Back they went, steadily at first, then swiftly, and at last inheadlong flight. Conde, brave as a lion--to my thinking no braver mantook part in the fight--endeavoured in vain to rally them; only hisstaunchest leaders stayed at his side. Raoul, a horse's length infront of us, galloped forward, and struck furiously at the rebel chief.The blow partly missed, but the sword drew blood.
"For the King!" shouted my comrade.
"Down with Mazarin!" responded our opponents defiantly, and surroundingConde forced him against his will to retire.
Meanwhile our musketeers, swarming into the houses, maintained anincessant and destructive fire, The rebels in their turn lost heart,and even their leader's matchless courage could hardly keep them attheir posts. A cheer on the right announced our success in thatquarter, and presently arose an answering cry from the left. The threedivisions had fought their way to the open space, and unless theParisians unbolted the gate the rebel army was doomed. Paris was attheir backs, we were in front, and they could not break through us.
A band of their leaders held the last barricade with heroic courage.Separated from all their friends, they were in desperate plight; yetthey blenched not. One after another they fell grievously wounded, andsome among them bore the highest names in France. It was a pitifulsight, yet they refused to surrender, though Turenne, I am certain,would gladly have spared them. Presently Conde, who had meanwhile beenendeavouring to stem the tide of battle elsewhere, observed theirplight, and, collecting a band of devoted adherents, made a gallantattempt at rescue.
Raoul, evidently thinking this a fine opportunity to seize the prince,spurred into the open; I raced after him quickly, others followed, andcrying, "Down with Conde!" charged in a body at the princely rebel.
While some of his friends rescued the survivors at the barricade, theothers rode in our direction. With a ringing cheer we sprang at them,struck out furiously right and left, spurred our horses into thethrong, pierced it in every direction, till finally it fell apart.Disdaining meaner foes, Raoul rode at the prince, engaging him indeadly combat. He still wore the King's gift on his breast, and foughtas if he were the monarch's sole champion. Whether he was Conde'sequal in swordsmanship I cannot say, but he kept the prince wellemployed.
Suddenly, as they fought, the roar of La Ferte's guns broke out, and wehad the enemy at our mercy. Conde, as if recognising this, began towithdraw, and Raoul was pressing on more vigorously when a rebelhorseman, spurring toward the gate, cut him down. I saw the tragedydistinctly, but could do no more than utter a warning cry, which, alas,my comrade did not hear.
How the Parisians by opening the gate and letting the rebels throughrobbed us of victory, the world knows, but at the moment I caredlittle. All my hopes and fears were centred in Raoul, and, heedless ofthe dropping bullets, I rode across to the spot where he lay. He wasin terrible pain, stricken I feared unto death, but his wonderfulcourage remained unbroken, and he did not even murmur when, with theassistance of some trusty comrades, I carried him to one of the emptyhouses.
The fight was over now; Conde's troops had escaped into the city; thesullen roar of the guns died away; men thought only of succouring thewounded who dotted the ground in large numbers. A kindly surgeon,hearing of Raoul's plight, hurried to the room where we had placed him,but at the first glance he shook his head sorrowfully, and I knew therewas no hope.
"An hour, or two at the most," he whispered to me. "The best physicianin France could do no more than ease his pain."
He did what he could and went his way, for there were many who neededhis service
s; the soldiers, too, had departed, and I alone remained towatch my friend die. Very still, and with closed eyes he lay, but hisbreathing was laboured, and from time to time a hoarse rattle soundedin his throat. Presently his eyes opened, and he looked at me with afaint smile. Then pointing to the King's star, he whispered, "ForMarie," and I, not trusting myself to speak, bowed my head.
"True friend," said he softly, "ever loyal! Do not grieve, Albert; itmust be for the best. I am happy, quite happy. Let me clasp yourhand. Ah, heaven was good in giving me such a friend!"
His voice became more and more broken; the last sentence I couldunderstand only by following closely the movements of his lips. Whatcould I say? I could not bid him hope; we both knew he was dying, andthat, in fact, his very moments were numbered. So I sat there in thegathering gloom, holding his hand, and at intervals wiping theperspiration from his forehead.
He spoke again, but now his mind wandered, and his thoughts driftedback to the happy days of our youth. He recalled past events, smilingor frowning as they pleased or angered him in the days gone by. Thenfor a time he lay still, but suddenly, as if coming to his senses, helooked up straight into my face.
"Good-bye," he murmured. "Tell Marie. The open space--the guns andthe hoof-beats. Strange, strange!"
And that was the end of it! Raoul was dead! How I mourned for himnone can ever know: it is not seemly to lay bare the inmost secrets ofour hearts to the gaze of curious eyes.
Raoul was dead, and on the very threshold of life.
We took him to St. Denis with many another gallant cavalier who hadridden out joyously to the fight with the cry of "For the King!" on hislips. The monks buried him in a plot of consecrated ground without themonastery walls, and Turenne, who recognised his worth, attended thefuneral. Stalwart John Humphreys, who had been chosen to guard theyoung King, was there also. He had loved the dead man dearly, andthough he could say nothing to lessen my bitter grief, yet somehow hispresence comforted me.
The next day I despatched Pillot with the star and a letter to Aunay,paid a farewell visit to Raoul's grave, and before the sun had gainedhis full power was riding sword in hand at Turenne's side. For inwarfare action alone must be the solace for one's private griefs.