CHAPTER XV.
St. Real entered not again the lighted halls in which the leaders andpartisans of the League were assembled; but he paused for a moment inthe open air, after the carriage which bore Eugenie de Menancourttowards her solitary home had driven out of the courtyard and passedaway down the echoing streets. A momentary burst of artillery andsmall arms came, borne upon the wind, from a distance, as theindefatigable Henry of Navarre roused the Parisian garrisons with an_alerte_ from the side of Meudon: but the mind of St. Real was toodeeply busied with other thoughts for the thunder of the cannon toawake in his heart the martial and chivalrous spirit that lay within.The discovery which he had made of his own feelings was, in everyrespect, painful; and the insight which he had gained into those ofEugenie de Menancourt herself--although there is ever a sweet andsoothing balm in the consciousness of being loved--was hardly lessbitter. The idea of entering into rivalry with his cousin--ofattempting to deprive one who confided in him of the hand of hispromised bride--the idea of seeking, or even receiving happinesshimself at the expense of that of Philip d'Aubin, found not harbour inthe bosom of St. Real for one single moment. Deeply and severely didhe blame himself for having suffered such feelings to grow up in hisheart as the occurrences of that night had discovered to his ownsight; and still more bitterly did he reproach himself for havingallowed his feelings to carry him away as they had lately done. Eventhe degree of regard with which he saw that Eugenie de Menancourtlooked on him was an additional reproach; for he well knew that thatregard could not have been obtained without conduct on his own partwhich, although involuntary, he looked upon as a betrayal of hiscousin's confidence.
St. Real was not a man, however, to waste upon fruitless regrets thosepowers of mind which should be employed in forming and executing nobleresolutions. He grieved bitterly for what was past, but he grievedonly with the purpose of shaping his conduct differently for thefuture; and, as he turned again to enter the Hotel de Guise, it waswith the full determination of never seeing Eugenie de Menancourtagain, till the fate of Philip d'Aubin, as far as it was connectedwith hers, was fixed beyond all recall.
This resolution was joined with another, which rendered the first notdifficult to execute. With all her art, with all her skill, with allher knowledge of human character, and with all her insight into thatof St. Real, Madame de Montpensier had overreached herself. She hadbeen able to comprehend and appreciate the simplicity and purity withwhich he was attached to Eugenie de Menancourt, without perceiving thenature of his own feelings; but the quality of her own mind preventedher from comprehending the deep firmness of principle which existed inhis heart, and from foreseeing the means that principle would take tocombat love as soon as ever the progress of the insidious enemy wasdiscovered. The proposal that she had made to him had produced uponthe mind of St. Real an effect the most directly opposite to thatwhich she had intended. The character of the Duke of Mayenne St. Realcould not but esteem: there was a dignity, a generosity, a franknessabout it, which, together with his splendid talents, commanded nosmall admiration; and had St. Real been convinced that his oppositionto his king, that his bold rebellion, that even his connexion with aparty, factious, turbulent, and depraved, originated in motives ofpatriotism and virtue, his views of the League might have beenmodified by his opinion of the leader, and his ultimate conductdetermined by the judgment he might form in regard to whether thatleader's efforts would, or would not, be ultimately beneficial to hiscountry. In the course of that night, however, he had heard and seenenough to convince him that the passion of Mayenne was ambition, andthat his object was his own aggrandizement; and the only hold,therefore, that the League could have had upon St. Real would havebeen virtue, honour, and patriotism, in the whole, considered as aparty.
The question, therefore, with the young Marquis had now become,whether the League did, or did not, possess such qualities. At theJacobins, on the preceding night, however, he had witnessed the meansemployed by those who were considered the holiest men amongst them toobtain ends which he could not doubt were treacherous and bloody: thatvery night it had been calmly proposed to him, as a bribe to attachhim to the party of the League, to betray his cousin's confidence, andto gratify his own passions at the expense of his honour andintegrity. In his examination of the city during the day, he had seenthe high and the noble demeaning themselves to court popularity byfawning on persons they despised--an irrefragable proof that their owndesigns were base; he had seen the good and the just in the filthy andunsparing hands of villains and plunderers; and he had seen those whoprofessed to be the ministers of a God of peace armed to promote acivil war and to shed the blood of their fellow-creatures!
What then could be the result, he asked himself, when a leader, whoseprinciple was ambition, took upon him to guide a fierce and lawlessmultitude, composed of nobles whose motive was selfishness, of priestswhose spirit was fanaticism, and of a rabble whose objects werelicentiousness, bloodshed, and plunder? The answer was not difficult;and, as he turned and mounted the staircase, amidst the crowd oflacqueys and attendants who stared at his thoughtful and abstracteddemeanour without his noticing their presence, he determined toproceed to the royal camp as early as might be on the followingmorning, doubting not that, whatever might be the vices and thefollies it presented to his sight, he should there find the path whichled to his country's welfare, and, he trusted, also to his own peaceof mind.
Passing the doors of the saloons, he proceeded to that part of thehouse in which was situated the apartments that had been assigned tohim; and, sending for his master of the horse--a common officer atthat time, in the houses of the principal French nobility--he directedhim to have everything prepared to quit Paris by daybreak on thefollowing morning. The earliness of the hour which he thus appointedwas not dictated by any apprehension that Mayenne would endeavour toimpede his departure; but, his resolution being taken, and his opinionfixed by the most favourable view that could be afforded him of theparty of the League itself, he wished to avoid, as far as possible,anything like solicitation; and he likewise desired neither to explainhis feelings, nor reason upon his motives, in the conduct he was aboutto pursue regarding Eugenie de Menancourt.
His sensations, indeed, upon the subject were so painful inthemselves, that St. Real did not wish either to speak of or to dwellupon them. Arguing, with the usual simplicity of his nature, that,where our wishes and our duties are at variance, it is better toemploy our thoughts in performing the duties, than to give them up tothe hard task of combating the wishes--in which combat they are buttoo often defeated--he prepared to occupy all the energies of his mindin the attempt to serve his country, and to benefit to the utmost ofhis power the party he had determined to espouse, leaving his cousinto pursue his suit towards Eugenie de Menancourt as best he might, butendeavouring to serve him therein by pointing his efforts to noblerobjects than had hitherto employed them, and by taking care that allhe did should be placed in a fairer light than that in which thelevity and somewhat vain indifference of d'Aubin had hithertopermitted his own actions to appear.
Poor St. Real, however, did not know how hard is the task--howpainful, how continual is the struggle, to turn the thoughts of afeeling and affectionate heart from the objects of its firstattachment, and to occupy, even in the busiest scenes and moststirring actions wherein other men find employment for their wholesoul, a mind to which love has given its direction elsewhere. Hisfirst experience of what he was but too long to undergo, was made whenhe lay down to rest, on the night of which we have just spoken. Hethought to sleep, to taste the same refreshing, undisturbed slumberswhich were so rarely absent from his pillow; but, alas! alas! howchanged were all his sensations. The burning thirst for thoughtsto which he would not give way--the consciousness that he wasresigning for ever that which would have made his happiness throughlife--anxieties, which he dared not probe, regarding the happiness ofher he loved--self-reproaches, slight, indeed, but bitter, becausethey were the first he had ever had occasion to address to his ownheart--a
nd doubts respecting the conduct and vows of his cousin, whichhe now saw with eyes sharpened by love--all planted his pillow thickwith thorns; and he tossed in feverish restlessness upon his uneasycouch, while slumber and all its wholesome balms were far away.
The sounds of music and of laughing, which to his saddened heartrang like the revelry of fiends, came in bursts up to his windows;and the roll of carriages, the trampling of horses, the shouts oftorch-bearers, and the murmuring hum of a thousand less vociferoustongues, poured irritatingly upon his ear, and set sleep at defiance.Gradually, however, those sounds died away, and that space of timewhich the citizens of the masterless metropolis called a day, and setapart for the transaction of a certain portion of intrigue andfaction, levity, sensuality, and bloodshed, came to an end. The bellof the neighbouring church, unheard during many an hour of turbulenceand noise, struck two, and the whole world around sank into silence,if not into repose. Still, however, sleep came not to the eyes of St.Real; and he lay and counted the moments till a new class of soundswere heard, announcing that the sons of toil were up and busy in thetask of preparing luxuries for the sons of idleness and dissipation.At length, a faint rosy light was seen to glimmer through the openwindow, the indistinct forms of the massive furniture began to standout from the gray darkness, and St. Real started up more weary andfatigued with that one night of restless anxiety than he would havefelt after weeks of watching in the tented field.
The first task, after dressing himself, was to sit down, and, with thewriting materials that stood at hand, to indite a brief note to theDuke of Mayenne, apologizing for not waiting to make a more formalleave-taking. He did not, it is true, announce in distinct terms hisdetermination of joining his arms to the other supporters of the royalcause, because he felt it was within the bounds of possibility thatcircumstances might yet change his purpose; though, as he left thematter still open, he thought that bad must be the scene presented bythe camp of the Henrys indeed, if it could make him prefer the craft,the treachery, and the baseness he had beheld in Paris. In thisrespect, while expressing his high opinion of the Duke himself, he didnot scruple to use language and to display sentiments which hadalready brought many a venerable and respected head low, amongst thefactions and anarchy of the day; and, having said enough to show whichway his feelings at that moment led him, he descended to the court,and, mounting his horse, which, with his train, stood prepared fordeparture, he bade adieu to the Hotel de Guise.
The streets of Paris now presented a very different scene from thatwhich they afforded in either the full life of the risen day, or inthe dregs of the evening. Few were the persons to be seen walkingslowly along in the fresh, clear, unpolluted light of the earlymorning; and the long irregular perspective of the antique streetsmight be seen unencumbered by the many gaudy vehicles which obstructedthe sight at a later hour. As St. Real rode on towards the suburbs,one or two patrols of horse, returning from their night watch beyondthe walls, passed him with tired faces and soiled arms; but, althoughthe numbers that composed his train were sufficient to have justifiedsome inquiry, yet such was the confused organization of the garrisonof Paris, and of the army of the League in general, that no one askedhis errand, and he passed on uninterrupted to the gates.
Here, however, he was detained for some minutes, while the drowsycommander of the guard examined his pass and safe-conduct: and somesuspicious glances were given to the apparel of his followers, whowore neither the black cross, nor the scarf of the followers of theLeague. At the end of about a quarter of an hour, however, he wassuffered to proceed; and, as the position of the royal armies was notdistinctly known to him, he directed his course towards Meudon, atwhich place it was certain that a part, at least, of the Huguenotforce had shown itself the day before. Greater watchfulness was nowapparent on the part of the League; and St. Real was challenged andstopped five or six times within half a mile of the gates of Paris. Atlength, a wide green meadow by the banks of the Seine presenteditself; and at the angle of this meadow and the road stood a solitarysentinel, covered with his cuirass, his _salade_ or iron cap, andsteel plates to defend the thighs. In one hand he carried his longmusket, while with the other he held his coil of match, smoulderingslowly, between the finger and thumb, and only requiring to be blownto prepare it for immediate action. In the ground, just one pacebefore him, was planted the iron-shod stake, which, supporting a sortof two-pronged fork, afforded a rest for his long and unwieldy weaponin case of his being called upon to make use of it against anyadvancing enemy. Painted in front of his iron cuirass appeared theblack cross of the League; and there could be no doubt that this wasthe extreme outpost of the garrison of Paris. It would seem, however,that he had no order to oppose the passage of persons coming from theside of the city; for, although he gazed attentively at the youngMarquis and his party as they passed, he asked no questions; and St.Real advanced along the road skirting the meadow, towards an extensivebuilding that he saw at the distance of a quarter of a mile beforehim, and which bore every sign of being, what it really was, areligious house belonging to some order of friars.
Scarcely had he passed half the distance between the sentinel of theLeague and the gate of the monastery, when a considerable body ofhorsemen drew out from behind some trees at the farther extremity ofthe field, and galloped towards the travellers with their lances downin somewhat menacing array. St. Real immediately halted his men, andwaited calmly for the approach of the strangers, who advanced at fullspeed almost till the parties met, without choosing to notice thepeaceable demeanour of the young lord and his attendants. The momentafter, however, they came to a halt; and two or three, riding forwardbefore the rest, demanded "_Qui vive?_" apparently not half satisfiedwith the appearance of St. Real and his attendants. The white scarfsborne by the leaders of this impetuous party sufficiently indicated towhat army they belonged; and, replying "_Vive le Roi!_" St. Realproduced the pass he had received from Henry III.
"No game for us, this!" exclaimed he who seemed to be their chief, ashe read the authentic letters of safe-conduct placed before his eyes."Good faith, Sir Marquis of St. Real, we thought that Monsieur deMayenne had roused himself from his bed full four hours before hisordinary time, and was sending out parties to take us by surprise,thinking that we were as laggard and sleepy-headed as himself.However, we will, if you please, form your escort to the next post,and beyond that you will find your way easily to the king."
St. Real signified his assent, and, thus guarded, proceeded onwardtowards Meudon, conversing, as he went, with the leaders of theHuguenot party--for the strangers were followers of the King ofNavarre--and gaining from them some knowledge of the real state andposition of the royal armies. On the side of the two kings he found amuch greater degree of activity and military caution; and,notwithstanding the presence of the party he had first encountered, hewas not suffered to pass the second outpost without a strictexamination of his letters of safe-conduct, and was afterwardsescorted from post to post by a small body of men-at-arms, until hehad proceeded beyond the quarters of the King of Navarre, and hadfully entered those of Henry III. of France, who had taken up hisabode, by this time, at St. Cloud. Here, again, the discipline seemedmore relaxed; and St. Real was suffered to advance without any furtherquestion, till, at the entrance of the neat little village of St.Cloud, he perceived a group of persons gathered together round thedoor of a house, from which, the moment after, issued forth his cousinthe Count d'Aubin, booted and armed, as if prepared to mount a horsethat was held ready by a groom before the house.
"The lost one found!" exclaimed D'Aubin, embracing his cousin as soonas they met; "the lost one found! Why, St. Real, I had even now myfoot in the stirrup to set out once more for Paris, in search of yourfair person. But how has all this happened? Let me hear all; for youhave had to do with the shrewdest heads in France; and his Highness ofMayenne, with his fair sisters of Montpensier and Guise, are wellworth studying, if it be but to lay out a map of human cunning, inorder to find our way through its tortuous roads in future."
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As St. Real returned the warm embrace of his cousin, there weresensations in his bosom that he had never felt before. It was not thatany feeling of rivalry had diminished his affection for Philipd'Aubin, even by a feather's weight; but it was that, notwithstandingevery wish to serve his cousin and promote his suit, he hadunintentionally cast in his way a greater obstacle than ever; and,although conscious of his own virtue and integrity, he felt as if hehad wronged him. With St. Real the predominant feelings were not, aswith the rest of mankind, concealed or distorted with laborious care,but on the contrary were always the first to find utterance. "Oh! Iwill give you all that history hereafter; but I have something of moreimportance to communicate." Thus saying, he entered the house with hiscousin, who led the way to some apartments apparently appropriated tohimself, and demanded, laughing, "What now, Huon? what now? You rusticnobles see things in the capital with magnifying glasses, and thinkmany matters of deep consequence, which to us, who see them every day,are, of course, every day affairs."
"I trust you may think as lightly of it as you seem to expect,"replied St. Real: "but the matter is this--last night I sawMademoiselle de Menancourt."
"Ha!" exclaimed D'Aubin, instantly roused to attention; "what ofher--where did you see her?"
"I saw her at the Hotel de Guise," replied St. Real; "supped with herthere, and was near her afterwards, at the great entertainment given,as I suppose, to the partisans of the League."
"Indeed!" exclaimed D'Aubin somewhat moodily; "and what saw you then?Who fluttered round her? Who was favoured in their suit of the greatheiress? To which of his partisans does Mayenne propose to give herhand? Tell me all you saw!"
"I saw much," replied St. Real. "I had an opportunity of speaking withher alone, and was near her the whole evening; so that----"
"Ay! doubtless, doubtless!" replied his cousin; "and were the favouredknight, beyond a doubt; and, probably, sweet Madame de Montpensierencouraged your suit, and Mayenne offered you her hand, if you wouldjoin the League----"
He paused; and St. Real was silent for a few moments, somewhatastonished at the accuracy with which his cousin--partly in the randomventuring of passion and ill-humour, partly from a shrewd knowledge ofthe actors in the great drama going on at Paris--hit upon the facts asthey had occurred. At length, the Marquis seeing impatience flashingup in his cousin's eye, replied, "You are right, Philip; such an offerwas made me!"
"By the Lord! I thought so!" exclaimed D'Aubin. "On my honour, this isright merry and good! and fair Eugenie de Menancourt, as timid as ayoung fawn, and as gentle as a turtle dove, may do more good serviceto the armies of the League than a whole regiment of reitters, orhalf-a-dozen hot nobles of Provence! Why, the devil incarnate seizeupon the man! he offered her to me in the morning, if I would join theLeague, and to you in the evening on the same conditions; and now,doubtless, Huon, if you choose to turn your horses' heads back toParis, and call in your troops from Senlis, put on a black scarf, andsign the blessed Union, you may to-morrow have the hand of the sweetheiress of Maine, and become a distinguished leader of thehypocritical League. Ha! what say you to violating your cousin'sconfidence, and gallantly carrying away his promised bride? On myhonour and soul, it were a worthy commencement, and would rank youhigh amongst us libertines of the court and the capital."
"You are angry, Philip," replied St. Real, calmly, though somewhatsorrowfully; "you are angry, Philip, and without cause. Such is notthe commencement that I intend to make, nor has it ever entered intomy thoughts to do so."
"But what said Eugenie?" interrupted D'Aubin, fixing his keen eyesupon him; "what said Eugenie to all this fine arrangement? Doubtlessit pleased her well!"
"She said nothing to it," replied St. Real, "because she never heardit; and, in regard to what you would insinuate of myself, my beinghere in order to serve the King in arms, is a sufficient reply, Ishould think."
"And are you here for that purpose?" demanded D'Aubin, softening histone. "Have you positively decided on joining the royal forces?"
"Positively," replied St. Real, "if I find nothing here which wouldrender the King's service perfectly insupportable."
"Then get ye gone to the court as fast as possible, Huon," exclaimedD'Aubin, relapsing into the usual levity of tone which was fashionableat that time, even in speaking of the most serious subjects; "get theegone to the court, and see all the vices and horrors it contains; for,till you have done so, I shall not know what you consider supportableor not. Yet, stay, Huon," he added, more generous feelings for amoment resuming their sway, "I doubt you not, my cousin--I know yournature, St. Real, too well to doubt you; so let not your determinationbe influenced by me. I would trust you as fully with Eugenie in Paris,as if thousands of miles, or hostile armies, or wide-flowing seas,separated you from her."
"You might!" replied St. Real; "but, in the present case, my purposeis fixed. With the private vices of Henry III. or the vices of hiscourt either, I have nothing to do, at least, as far as regards mypublic actions; and, if I see no reason to believe that my joining theLeague is absolutely necessary for the salvation of my country, myallegiance to my King is my first public duty, after the service of mynative land. Yet, hear me a word more, in regard to Eugenie----"
"Hark, what a noise!" exclaimed D'Aubin, turning towards a window thatlooked into the street. "Those dogs of Huguenots are alwaysquarrelling with us cats of Catholics, and the distance between Meudonand St. Cloud cannot keep us asunder. Look, Huon, look! they will cometo blows presently! See that fellow in the white scarf, how he islaying down the law and the Gospel with the bony finger of his righton the broad hard palm of his left. If he were the renegade,voluptuous, fiery Luther himself, or the keen, fierce, bloodthirstyCalvin, he could not argue the matter more eagerly. Now there, Iwarrant ye, goes the demonstration of the superiority of the _pr?che_over the _messe_--the refutation of transubstantiation, and an uttercondemnation of poor purgatory!"
St. Real had followed unwillingly to the window, wondering not alittle--although his own ear had been caught by the turbulent soundsin the streets--at the light volatility of his cousin, who could soeasily break off a conversation in which he had already shown suchheat, and which St. Real himself felt but too deeply to be one ofpainful interest, in order to gaze upon a squabble between some rudesoldiers. The scene which presented itself, however, soon obtained astronger hold of his attention: it was evidently, as D'Aubin haddivined, a quarrel between a small party of the Huguenot soldiers,who, serving under Henry of Navarre, had been quartered in theneighbouring town of Meudon, and a body of the Catholics, forming partof the army of Henry III. who seemed not at all disposed to show muchhospitality in the streets of St. Cloud to their allies with the whitescarfs. According to the usual course of such occurrences, two personswere more distinguished than the rest by vehemence of manner, loudnessof tone, and fierceness of look; but behind the principal speaker onthe part of the Protestants stood another of the same party, giftedwith that dark and ominous look of silent determination whichbetokens, in general, a man more disposed to deeds than words. As theargument was evidently getting higher and higher, and the dispute wasapparently reaching that point where strong blows are brought incorroboration of vigorous assertions, St. Real proposed to his cousinto interpose with that authority which their rank conferred, and whichthe number of their retainers, who were standing by enjoying thescene, enabled them to render effectual. D'Aubin agreed to thepropriety of this proceeding; but he still continued to gaze out, moreamused than affected by what he saw, till at length the more quietpersonage, whom we have described as belonging to the Huguenot party,stretched forth a long arm from behind his more voluble comrade, andcut short a very vehement and vigorous tirade on the part of theCatholic soldier, by dealing him a blow on the side of the head thatinstantly stretched him on the bosom of his mother earth.
Swords and daggers were drawn on all sides in a moment; and St. Real,waiting for no further question, sprang down the stairs, followed byhis cousin; and, calling upon the attendants
to aid him, he interposedbetween the contending parties, thrusting his powerful form betweenthe two principal combatants, and casting them asunder like twopugnacious curs unwilling to be separated. In the struggle, however,and ere D'Aubin and the attendants could come to his assistance andenforce order, St. Real had received a slight cut upon the face, whichspeedily stained his collar in blood; and his clothes suffered equallyfrom dust and dirt, and the profaning fingers of more than one uncleanhand. At length the tumult was appeased; and D'Aubin, after treatingthe contending parties to a witty harangue in praise of peace, turnedaway with St. Real, saying, "Well, well, Huon, now that you have hadenough of fighting for your morning's meal, get you gone to the King,or he will be out for the day. He is not at the chateau, but in thathouse with the large garden--you can hardly see it as we stand; but,by the number of people I see gathering in that direction, I shouldsuppose he was now about to set out. So hasten on, and you will findme here at your return."
"My visit to the King may well wait a few hours," replied St Real;"and I would fain, Philip, conclude with you a conversation which cannever be renewed between us without pain. I have got much to tell you.But stay!" he exclaimed suddenly, as his eye fell upon the figure of aDominican monk, who was slowly proceeding up the road, and had justpassed the spot where he himself stood in conversation with hiscousin; "but stay! I think I know that friar, and, if so, I must tothe King with all speed!"
Thus speaking, and without waiting for any reply, he made a sign tohis attendants to follow, and hurried on, after the Jacobin, on foot.The monk was proceeding at a calm quiet pace, with his eyes fixed uponthe ground; and St. Real was by his side in a moment. One glanceshowed him the dull heavy features of Brother Clement, who hadtenanted the chamber to his own in the convent of the Jacobins; andthe voices and the jugglery he had seen played off upon the wretchedfanatic, as well as the effect which the whole had produced upon theobject of those artifices, instantly came up before St. Real's mind,and made him hesitate whether he should not question him in regard tohis errand at St. Cloud. The next moment, however, a gentleman, inwhom St. Real could easily recognise a high officer of the law--as, inthose days, every class and profession had its appropriate garb--cameup, followed by some other people carrying papers, and, stopping thefriar, as a person whom he knew, held a brief conversation with him,and then walked slowly on by his side towards the dwelling of theKing. St. Real, after a moment's consideration, paused, and beckoningto the dwarf Bartholo, from whose knowledge of Paris and itsinhabitants he had already derived much information, inquired the nameof the personage now walking forward with the monk.
"His name is La Guesle," replied the dwarf, drily: "he is the king's_Procureur G?n?ral_."
Such information was sufficient to remove from the mind of St. Realsome part at least of the apprehensions which he had entertained; but,nevertheless, there was a lingering suspicion that the Jacobin'sintentions were not all righteous, which made him resolve to informthe king at once of what he had seen in Paris, and put him upon hisguard against the machinations of his most insidious enemies. Withthis view, as he saw that the _Procureur G?n?ral_ and his companionwere proceeding exactly in the same direction as himself, he hurriedhis pace, and passed them. Making his way onward through the variousgroups of soldiers, courtiers, and officers, that were scatteredthickly through the streets of their temporary residence, enjoying thefine sunshine of the early summer morning, he hastened forward towardsthe spot to which his cousin had directed him as the abode of theking, inquiring as he went which was the exact house amongst the manysplendid buildings that St. Cloud then contained.
At length the abode of one Hieronimo de Gondi was pointed out to him;and, entering the court, the walls of which had concealed from hissight a crowd of guards and attendants at that time constantly waitingupon the sovereign, he proceeded to the great entrance, and mountedthe steps which led to the first hall. Here his name and business wereinstantly demanded, and his reply transmitted through various mouthsto the chambers above. While detained below for the king's answer tohis demand of an audience, he was ushered into a side room, where someof the superior officers of the court were whiling away their dailyhours of attendance. Some were playing with dice, and some at chess;but in all there was a fearful effeminacy in dress and demeanour,which made St. Real shrink from the soft and womanly things with whichhe was for the moment brought in contact. He was not destined,however, to remain long amongst them; for the next moment a page--fairand soft, and smooth-spoken, with jewels in his ears, and as muchsatin and lace upon his slashed doublet of sky-blue silk as wouldfurnish forth a lady on a court birthday--glided into the room, andbesought the Marquis of St. Real to follow him to the presence of theking.
Ascending the broad flight of steps which led to the principalapartments above, St. Real first passed through the chamber of theGascon guards, the same unscrupulous body which had served the monarchso remorselessly in the assassination of the ambitious but heroic Dukeof Guise. Their harsh and war-worn features, shaggy beards, andaffectedly rough demeanour, offered a strange contrast to the soft andsilken aspect of the rest of the court: but St. Real was soonintroduced to a new, but not less sickening scene of luxuriouseffeminacy. Passing through an ante-chamber, in which lounged a numberof creatures such as he had seen below, he was led into theaudience-room prepared for the king. Faint rose-coloured velvet formedthe hangings of the walls, a number of green silk couches were placedround the room, and the whole air was so burdened with manifoldperfumes, that St. Real, disgusted with all he beheld, felt actuallysick at the compound odour that assailed him as soon as he entered. Anumber of personages stood round, dressed in all the gaudy colours ofthe rainbow, and each without the slightest spot or stain to be seenupon his glossy vestments. In the midst of them all sat a man habited,like themselves, with all the scrupulous care that folly can wasteupon personal appearance. His hands and his face were as white and asdelicate as the satin lining of his cloak, except where on his cheeksappeared a faint delicate colour, like the hectic blush of aconsumptive girl, but which, in him, was probably rather the effect ofpaint than of disease. He was speaking when St. Real entered: but itwas none of his lords, or minions, as they were then called, who wasso honoured at that moment by the effeminate Henry III. On his lap heheld a beautiful worked basket, lined with faint blue satin, andcontaining no less than four small dogs, neither of which exceeded insize a well-fed miller's rat; and to one of these--his favourite petsand constant companions--he was addressing some tender reproaches forthe crime of having scrambled over the back of one of the others, inits unceremonious attempts to escape from the delicate dwelling, whichit would willingly have exchanged for a wooden box, and some cleanhay.
St. Real's bold step in the room, the sound of his heavy boot andjingling spurs, instantly caught the king's attention; and, looking upfrom his basket of dogs, he gazed over the person of the young noble,with a glance first of surprise, and then, apparently, of horror anddisgust. The silken watchers of the king's countenance instantlycaught its expression, and divined the cause.
"Good God, sir!" exclaimed one, interposing between St. Real and theking, as if he feared that the young noble were about to assassinatethe monarch; "good God, sir! is it possible that any one shouldpresent himself before his Majesty in such a plight? Retire, forHeaven's sake! you had better retire!"
St. Real laid his hand upon the attendant's breast to push him backout of his way; but the minion shrank back from the touch of the samestout doe-skin glove with which the young Marquis had parted thecontending soldiers in the street, as if a dagger had been at hisbosom.
"I would not have intruded upon your Majesty," said St. Real, "in agarb stained with blood as this is, had I not had something tocommunicate which I thought of immediate importance----"
"Whatever you have to communicate, sir," interrupted the king,frowning, "must be told when you have changed your dress: I will hearnothing at the risk of being suffocated. The blood has nothing to dowith the matter! I have seen m
ore blood, and shed more blood, than youever have, or ever will, perhaps; but you bring in with you awhirlwind of dust, enough to choke up the lungs of any Christian kingupon the face of the earth. Make no reply, sir," he continued, wavinghis hand; "make no reply, but leave the room; and when you havechanged your dress, and appear in habiliments more befitting thisplace, I will hear what you have to communicate, but not before."
"As your Majesty pleases," replied St. Real; "but still, let me warnyou of one thing at least----"
"Of nothing!" exclaimed the king. "Why, the very percussion of yourbreath shakes the dust from your cloak, till the whole air is dim.Away with him! away with him! Nevers, Joyeuse, Epernon, rid me of thesight of him! But gently, gently! Do not shake the dust off him: 'tisbad enough to be obliged to ride along the high roads, once every day,without having the high roads brought into our own audience-chamber."
There was a determination in the look and demeanour of the youngMarquis of St. Real which augured something in his nature not pleasantto lay hands upon; and, consequently, the courtiers of thecontemptible monarch took care not to enforce his commands with anyrudeness. Nor was it necessary; for St. Real, finding that any fartherattempt, at that moment, to communicate to the king the apprehensionshe entertained from what he had seen in Paris, would be vain,retreated from the royal presence without farther question, resolvingimmediately to inform his cousin D'Aubin, and beg him to convey thebare intelligence of danger to the monarch, while he himself changedhis dress, and prepared to give more full and minute information.
Rejoining his attendants in the court, and looking eagerly round, ashe quitted the royal residence, in order to ascertain whether the monkwere still in sight, St. Real turned his steps back towards the housewhere he had found D'Aubin on his arrival at St. Cloud. It was not,indeed, that he could feel particularly interested in the fate of themonarch whom he had just seen, or that he thought the death of such adegraded being would be, at any other period, much to be regretted inFrance; but the young lord, acting upon general principles whichaccidental circumstances never greatly modified, felt it his boundenduty to prevent, if possible, a meditated crime; and, even had it notbeen so, would have been extremely desirous of preserving the life ofthe reigning sovereign, at a moment when political and religiousfactions, personal enmities, and contending interests, convulsed therealm, and required no new brand of discord to bring down sorrows,desolation, and ruin, upon the people, the country, and the state.
Whichever way St. Real turned his eyes, however, various groups ofpersons loitering about, without any apparent object, interrupted hisview ere it could penetrate many yards. Amongst them the figure of theJacobin was not to be seen; and, mounting his horse, which had beenled after him, he proceeded as fast as possible to the dwelling inwhich his cousin had taken up his quarters.
He found D'Aubin surrounded by a large party of the gay nobility ofParis; and levity and merriment had so completely taken possession ofevery one present, that St. Real could obtain no attention for theserious matter he had to communicate. Even his cousin himself, whom heknew to be full of strong and fiery passions, and whom he had seenthat very morning moved by no light emotions, appeared now to havegiven himself up entirely to the idlest spirit of gaiety; so that theonly effect produced by the tale which the young nobleman had to tellwas loud laughter at the repulse he had met with from the monarch'spresence, and advice to suffer Henry to deal with his friend the friaras best he might.
Somewhat offended, and still more grieved, at his cousin's conduct,St. Real quitted him, promising to rejoin him in the course of theday; and, betaking himself to the small rooms, which were the onlyones he could find unoccupied in either of the two _auberges_ thatSt. Cloud at that time boasted, he hastily put off his riding-suit,removed the traces of travel and contention from his person, and then,dressed more in accordance with the courtly foppery of a great capitalthan the simplicity which he had expected to find in a camp, hereturned to the temporary dwelling of the king, bent upon executinghis own right purposes, whoever might laugh or sneer. Henry had bythis time, it would seem, considered the impolicy of alienating sopowerful a subject, at a moment when the throne so much neededsupport; and St. Real found a page waiting for him in the vestibule,charged, on his return, to deliver a sort of half apology for thetreatment he had met with, and to conduct him immediately to the royalpresence.
Led through the same rooms, St. Real entered the audience-chamber,which was still tenanted by the same personages, with the exception ofthe king himself, whose voice was heard in a cabinet beyond. The page,however, instantly proceeded to the door, and throwing it open,announced St. Real's return.
"We will speak with him presently," replied Henry, aloud: but thesight which met St. Real's eyes through the open door made him oncemore cast away all ceremony, notwithstanding his rebuke he hadreceived in the morning. On the right of the monarch stood La Guesle,the _Procureur G?n?ral_, while at the king's feet knelt the veryJacobin friar whom St. Real had seen in conversation with that officerabout half an hour before. The monk seemed in the act of presenting aletter; but though that action, and his whole demeanour, appearedperfectly pacific, yet St. Real was convinced, from his previousknowledge, that the ultimate designs of the Jacobin must be evil; andstriding across the audience-hall with the purpose of interposing, hehad nearly reached the door of the cabinet, when one of the nobles inattendance stopped him for an instant, attempting to explain to himthat the King would summon him when he thought fit.
"Of course, of course!" replied St. Real, "but the King is in danger.See, see!" And at the same moment the Dominican, as he knelt, liftedhis arm and struck the monarch, what appeared to be merely a blow ofhis clenched hand.
The King staggered back, however, exclaiming, "He has killed me!" Anddrawing from his side the long sharp knife which the Jacobin had leftin the wound, he struck the assassin on the head as he wasendeavouring to rise. Almost at the same time, La Guesle, drawing; hissword, passed it through the monk's body; and the nobleman, who had soill-timedly stopped the advance of St. Real, sprang forward, crying,"The Monk has killed his Majesty;" and while the murderer was alreadyfalling under the blows of the King and La Guesle, drove his daggerinto his throat and put a period to his existence. The other officersin attendance rushed into the cabinet in tumult and fury, and with anindecent excess of rage, cast the dead body of the Jacobin out of thewindow into the court.
There is no describing the terror, confusion, and despair, into whichthe large body of courtiers, interested deeply in the life of theirmaster, were thrown by the event that had just occurred; but Henryhimself, at that awful moment, recalled all the courage andself-possession for which he had been distinguished in his earlyyears, and showed himself far more tranquil and undisturbed than anyof the party.
"Send for a surgeon," he said, sitting down and pressing one hand uponthe wound, while with the other he waved back those who were crowdinground him. "La Guesle, you have done wrong to kill the wretch. Wemight have learned who were his instigators; but let the room becleared. Monsieur de St. Real, I thought to have spoken with you, butit is impossible now. You said you had something to communicate; butif I recover, it must be told hereafter; if I die, it must be told tomy successor."
"God forbid your Majesty should die at this moment," replied St. Real,whose intended communication was now rendered useless. "I trust thatyour wound will not prove serious."
"I trust not," replied the King; "but no one can say what, or howsoon, may be the termination. Although I am inclined to think that thewound is not dangerous, yet in this body there may be but half an hourof life. Therefore remember, lords and gentlemen of France herepresent, that, should death be the result of this morning's bad work,Henry of Navarre is your lawful king! From the moment that my lipscease to breathe he is your king according to every principle of rightand justice: the fundamental laws of the French monarchy make him so,and no power on earth can absolve you of your duty towards him. I onlyraise my voice to point out to my subjects w
hat will be their dutywhen I am dead. Remember that this is my last injunction: but herecome the surgeons; and now, once more, I say, let the room becleared."
The monarch's orders were instantly obeyed, and the cabinet, in whichhe had received his wound, was accordingly abandoned by all but thesurgeons and his immediate personal attendants. The whole party,however, lingered in the audience chamber, and in the ante-roomadjoining, breaking into separate groups, and each speaking low, buteagerly, on the event that had occurred, and the consequences likelyto ensue. As St. Real was not personally known to any one present, hewas, of course, thrown out of all these small circles, and wasproceeding through the rooms, in order to join his attendants and makehis escape from the bustle, confusion, and tumult which were beginningto spread rapidly through the royal household, when a stout,plainly-dressed, middle-aged man, whom he had not particularly noticedin the crowd, laid his hand upon his arm, saying, "I think I heardyour name mentioned as Monsieur de St. Real."
"The same," replied St. Real, bowing. "What are your commands?"
"My name is De Sancy," replied the other: "an old acquaintance of yourfather's. I would speak a word with you, but not here." Thus saying,he led St. Real on till they reached the court, where all was in thesame state of confusion which reigned above--the gates closed, and noone suffered to go out. At the appearance of Monsieur de Sancy,however, the guards presented arms, and the porter threw open the_grille_ for him and his companion to pass. A word, on his part,obtained the same facility for his own immediate followers, and forthose of St. Real; and walking on foot down the road, while theirhorses followed, De Sancy spoke briefly to his young companion of whathad occurred.
"The king will die," he said. "I see it in his countenance; and Francewill be thrown into a state of greater turbulence than ever. There isbut one way to save her, Monsieur de St. Real; and, if you inherityour father's heart and principles, you will not hesitate to join mein following it."
"May I ask you," demanded St. Real, "what is the way to which youallude?"
"I mean," replied De Sancy, "boldness, decision, preparation, on thepart of the friends of good order. You will see, Monsieur de St. Real,that as soon as the king is dead, the bonds which keep all theseforces together will be suddenly dissolved. The greater part of theleaders will think all ties of honesty, loyalty, and patriotism at anend; and almost all will set themselves up for sale to the highestbidder, while many will join that party for which they have already ahankering. I heard, some time ago, that you were expected here, and Ilearned that you have a considerable body of troops lying near Senlis.Now tell me, supposing that the king were dead, in what light wouldyou look upon Henry, King of Navarre?"
"As the legitimate successor to the crown," answered St. Real, "and asmy rightful sovereign!"
"Then would you be as well contented to fight against the League undera Huguenot sovereign," demanded De Sancy, "as under the Catholicmonarch, who has just met with such a fitting reward for his love ofpriests and friars?"
"A thousand times better," replied St. Real, "if that sovereign beHenry of Navarre, my father's friend and my own--honest and noble, ifever man was, and loving his country and his people better thanhimself."
"If such, then, be your opinions, Monsieur de St. Real," replied DeSancy, laying his hand familiarly on his shoulder--"if such be youropinions, without a word more let us mount our horses, and ride overtogether to Meudon, to bear to the Bearnois, as they call him, thefirst tidings of all that has happened here, and to promise him ourunbought support in case of need. I bring with me nearly threethousand sturdy Swiss; and you, I hear, near a thousand hardyFrenchmen. What say you? shall we go?"
Great emergencies make short oratory. "With all my heart," replied St.Real, who, however brief had been the explanation, understood DeSancy's views and objects as well as if he had spoken a volume; "withall my heart!" he replied, "and we will ride quick."
Their horses were beckoned up; each cavalier sprang into the saddle;and, after a few words of direction and command to some of theirattendants on either part, they galloped off towards Meudon as fast asthey could go.