CHAPTER XXI.
A long summer's day was over, and nothing remained of its splendourbut a fading tint of purple in the deep blue sky; while Venus and themoon came hand in hand together above the trees, as if to dividebetween their bright but gentle rule the tranquil kingdom of thenight. The royal camp no longer sounded with the clang of arms or thetramp of marching men; the man[oe]uvres for the day were over; and thesoldiery, quartered in the village of St. Cloud itself, had left thestreets vacant, while they sought consolation after all the laboursand exertions of the morning, in the gay evening meal and oftenreplenished flask. The body of the dead king lay--almost forgotten, bythose who had fed upon his bounty and encouraged his vices,--in thehouse where the hand of the assassin had struck him; and lights werejust beginning to twinkle in the windows of the old chateau where thenew monarch had fixed his abode the night after his accession to thetottering throne of France.
Such was the state of St. Cloud, when, on the third evening after thedeath of Henry III. a party of horsemen paused at the gates of thispark, and, dismounting there, advanced towards the old palace on foot.The guards at the gates saluted as the cavaliers passed; and Henry IV.who walked a step before the rest, mused as he proceeded, leading theway with a slow step, and sometimes gazing up thoughtfully at the bluetwilight sky, sometimes fixing his eyes upon the gravel of the path,absorbed in deep and silent reverie. At length, turning to those whoaccompanied him, he said, "Our arrangements, I think, are all nowcomplete, and we may begin our march to-morrow. I have to thank you,Rosny, for Meulan; and you, St. Real, for as fine a body of men asever a loyal heart brought to the aid of a poor king. D'Aumont has, Isuppose, already marched to see what friends he can raise for us inthe east; but I much fear that our messenger has never reached ourworthy cousin, the Count de Soissons! However, it matters not, as, bythe reports from Normandy, we shall most likely change our plans.Still I could wish, De Rosny, that you would write a few lines to theCount, bidding him advance as fast as possible upon Mans, and thenregulate his movements by what he hears of ours; remembering, however,that the great object is to bring me men and money as speedily aspossible. Let the letter be copied six times, and I will come and signeach ere half-an-hour be over. Sent by six separate messengers, one ofthese letters can scarcely fail to reach him. You, St. Real, look wellto your quarters; for these Leaguers must know by this time how muchour forces are diminished, and may strive for some advantage. Fare youwell! Good night! Quick! up to the chateau, Rosny, and take all theseothers with you. I would fain have half-an-hour's quiet thought,amidst these moonlight walks, where so many of my ancestors havewandered, ere I quit them, perhaps for ever, after having been theirsovereign but for a day!"
"Were it not better, your Majesty," replied De Rosny, in a low voice,"to keep a few of your attendants around you? Remember that the daggerof the assassin found your predecessor in the midst of his army andhis court, and that treason has been so evident amongst those by whomwe are surrounded, that we cannot tell whose hand may next be armedagainst his monarch's life."
"I fear not, De Rosny," replied Henry, "I fear not! If it be the willof God that I fall, the weapon will find me in the midst of guards andprecautions, as easily as alone in the open field. Nor do fear thetreason you seem to apprehend. Our camp has lately been like a butt ofnew made wine, in one general ferment, where all was troubled andunpalatable; but that very ferment, I trust, has worked it clear, andI would not be the man to fancy myself continually surrounded bysecret enemies--no, not if I could thereby spin out this mortal threadfor centuries beyond the length of ordinary lives! No, no! De Rosny, Ifear not, and I would be alone."
The last words were spoken in a tone that left no reply; and De Rosny,beckoning to those who followed, walked on directly towards thechateau, while Henry turned into one of the lateral alleys, down whichthe moonlight was streaming in full effulgence. One or two of theattendants lingered for a moment, as if still unwilling to leave theking; but Henry waved his hand for them to depart, and then walked on.
There are periods in the life of every man, when so many events arecrowding into the short space of a few days, when such manifold callsupon attention, and such deep and important interests forconsideration load the wings of every minute as it flies, that time iswanting for the recollection, for the thought, for even the feeling,of how the mighty changes which are going on around us affect our ownindividual nature, and work upon our being and our fate. At thoseperiods, to every thinking and intellectual mind, comes a thirst and alonging for even a brief space of calm reflection; and we gladly seizethe very first opportunity of withdrawing our thoughts from thewearying necessity of directing our actions on the instant, and givethem up for a time to that consideration of remote prospects andgeneral feelings, which, after the energetic activity lately requiredof us, is comparatively a state of tranquillity and repose.
Such had been, and such was the situation of Henry IV. Since theassassination of the late king, scarcely an instant had passed withoutsome imperious demand for immediate exertion. Mighty and deep were theinterests involved; imminent and terrible were the perils thatsurrounded him; and the consequences of every step that his foot trod,in the rough and precipitous path before him, were not only destinedto affect himself as an individual, but to carry weal or woe tothousands and tens of thousands; to change the fate of states andkingdoms, and decide the destiny of generations yet unborn. His crownand station for life, the security and fortune of his friends, thepower of recompensing those who served him, the right of chastisingthe rebel, and of punishing the traitor; the means of restoring peaceto his rent and devastated country, the weal and welfare of his wholepeople, hung trembling in the balance of every instant, and requiredthe exertion of all the energies with which God had blessed his greatand powerful mind for the direction of his feeling and generous heart.The exertions of those energies had not been spared by Henry IV. Hehad lost not a moment; he had neglected not an opportunity; he haddone more than mortal frame could well endure; and had taken from thecares of empire not even the time for necessary refreshment andrepose. But now that the hurricane had in some measure passed by, thatthe evil of the hour was accomplished, and that every means whichhuman sagacity could devise had been taken to remedy past misfortunes,and to guard against future perils, he gave way to that longing thirstfor communion with his own heart, which the heat of the great storm ofdifficulties and dangers he had undergone, and the fatigue of mightyexertions, had left behind. Well, well might he think of that vast,dim, misty prospect, the future! Well, well might he look around tosee, if beyond the rocks, and shoals, and tempests, which surroundedhim, he could perceive no calmer scene, no haven of repose, no gleamof sunshine to light him on over the dark and troubled waters aroundhim! Well, well might he ask his own heart, if he could have courage,and energy, and perseverance sufficient, to dare all the dangers, tobear all the reverses, and again and again breast the waves which hadso often dashed him back against the rocks.
Such were his thoughts, such the matter of his contemplation, as, withhis eyes now bent on the ground, now raised towards the sky, he walkedslowly along one of the alleys of the old park of St. Cloud. But hismind wandered far, and paused for a moment upon many of thosecollateral associations to which his circumstances and situation gaverise. He thought of the sorrows and cares of kingly lot, of theingratitude and baseness of mankind, of the hollowness andheartlessness of courts, and of the selfishness and insincerity ofmany of those who dwelt in them. He remembered the fate of hisimmediate predecessor; betrayed by those whom he had favoured, drivenfrom his capital, and almost hurled from his throne by the friend andcompanion of his youth,[3] opposed in arms by those whom his bountyhad fed and pampered, and murdered by the representative of an orderwhich he had loaded with benefits and degraded himself to serve. Hethought of what might be his own fate; and, judging from all the signsthat he saw around him, he argued, that the well of bitterness was butfreshly opened for him, and that his hand held a cup of sorrow whereofhe was destine
d to drink to the very last drop.
Then again, as he raised his eyes towards the beautiful planet whichwas diffusing the flood of her tranquil light over field, and plain,and wood, over armed camp and beleaguered city, as calmly andtranquilly as if nothing but peace, and virtue, and happiness dweltbeneath her beams, his mind reverted to his early days, when he hadseen the same effulgent rays pour through the mighty masses of hisnative mountains, and stream down the lovely valleys in which he hadfirst learned to shoot his boyish arrows at the mark, to cast thelight line for the silver trout, or to pursue the swift-footed izzardover the beetling crags: and as he thought of those sweet times andhappy hours, how he did long, with the deep yearnings of thedisappointed heart, to be able to cast away crown and sceptre, swordand shield, the miseries of high station, the bitter wisdom ofmanhood, and to sport again, a boy, with the happy carelessness ofother years, by the bright waters of the Gave, and amidst the lustrousvalleys of Ossau, Argelez, and Pau!
By this time he had nearly reached the end of the alley, where itopened out upon a small lawn, over which, in the neglect of all thingsthat existed during the civil wars, the grass had grown up long andrank; and he was preparing to return and bend his steps towards thechateau, when a light rustling sound amongst the trees caught hisear, and made him draw round his sword belt, till the hilt of hiswell-tried weapon was within easy reach of his hand.
The next moment the cause of that sound stood before him, at thedistance of about ten paces; and the moon afforded quite sufficientlight to show the monarch that no fresh peril was near. The form wasthat of a page, and the next moment Leonard de Monte advanced, andcast himself upon his knee at Henry's feet. "Ha! my friend the page!"cried the king; "I saw you yesterday, as I passed through the village,and recognised you instantly; but had no time to speak. What would younow, good youth?" and as he spoke he extended his hand towards him.
Leonard de Monte raised it to his lips, but still continued kneeling,while he replied, "I crave a boon, sire. You may remember that I once,not many moons since, led you in safety through more than one path ofdanger; and you promised me then, that if ever I asked you a boonconsistent with your honour, you would grant it."
"And so I will, if it be possible," answered Henry; "though I havegranted you one boon already without your asking it; I mean that Ihave kept your secret!" Leonard de Monte started up and drew a stepback; but the king continued, "Did you fancy I did not recollect you?Ay! within five minutes after our first meeting: but never mind, anddo not fear; speak your boon boldly, and, if it be in my power, I willnot say nay; though, to tell the truth, within these three days I havegranted so much that I doubt if there be anything left in all Franceto grant!"
"Mine will not be difficult, sire," replied the page; "it is but this,that you will give me, under your royal hand, an order addressed toall your lieutenants, officers, and seneschals, and to all persons, inshort, who hold you dear, to aid and help me with the whole of theirpower whenever I shall call upon them; to protect me and all who arewith me in case of danger, and to give me every kind of informationand assistance which I may require for my personal safety."
"You ask a very high and unlimited power of command for a boy of yourage!" said the king, laughing; "but I think I may trust you; and yet,"he added, in a graver tone, "such authority might be abused."
The boy again advanced and once more bent his knee, "Never by me,sire!" he said; "and to think so for one moment, would be to do mefoul injustice. Born in a foreign land, and my own sovereign at least,I cannot offer you allegiance; but I swear with truer intentions thanmany of those who have vowed faith and service to you within thesethree days, that I will never use the power I ask from you but for thepurposes of safety. I promise it upon my word--a word that was broken;upon my honour--an honour that has never known a stain."
"You are an extraordinary being," said the king, "and I will do whatyou ask without a doubt; but tell me," he added with a smile, "whatname shall I put in this general order? Shall it be Leonard de Monte,or a nobler name?"
"Show me that you do really know me," answered the other, in a gayertone than he had hitherto used, "by writing the name you would fixupon me in the letter."
"Do you think I have forgotten the conferences of Niort?" demandedHenry; "no, no! I remember them well; and I recollect, too, that whenI pressed Madame de Saulnes somewhat hard to tell me what I was reallyto expect from the court of that day, she told me to ask you, not her;for that your habits were different; you never told a falsehood, andshe never told the truth!"
"But I told you nothing!" exclaimed the boy, eagerly.
"No, but you said plainly you would not!" answered the king, "andtherefore I trusted you with my life when last I met you; and willtrust you to the very utmost now. Come, let us go back to the castle."
As he spoke, he took the hand of the youth, who had again risen; butLeonard de Monte instantly withdrew it, saying, "Perhaps I had bettersend for the paper when your Majesty has had leisure to finish it."
"Good faith, you must take it now or never!" answered Henry: "but whohave we here?"
"'Tis but a page I sent to seek you at the chateau, sire," replied hiscompanion, "while I waited amongst the alleys for his return. I heardyour voice, however, as you dismissed your attendants, and followedyou hither."
"Ha, St. Real's dwarf, who met us in the wood!" cried the monarch, asthe page Bartholo approached, "Pardie! your schemes seem to have beenwell and deeply laid; and yet there is a mystery which I cannotaltogether fathom; though I have been accustomed to deal with thosewhose trade is deceit, till my eyes, I believe could well nighpenetrate the nether millstone. You must some day let me into thesecret of all this."
"Perhaps I may, your Majesty," replied the youth; "that is, I may sometime give you the secret of my own conduct. The secret of my presentrequest, sire, is very soon told. I seek but to aid the oppressed, andif your Majesty will listen to the tale, it shall be told as we goalong."
"Speak, speak!" replied the king; "we treat as crown to crown, youknow; and I must e'en take as much or as little of your confidence asyour diplomacy is pleased to offer. Speak! and if I can aid you, countupon my help."
Leonard de Monte made a sign to Bartholo to draw back; and thenwalking by the side of the king, with the ease of one accustomed tocourts and the society of princes, proceeded to tell the tale he hadmentioned, in a low voice, the tones of which scarcely reached thedwarf's ear. It was evident, however, that the king soon becameinterested; sometimes suddenly interrupting the soft melodious tonesin which the voice spoke, to ask some rapid question, sometimesabruptly pausing to listen with greater attention, and then resuminghis walk towards the chateau. When they had nearly reached the gates,the monarch again turned, exclaiming, "Marry her to St. Real!--Pardie!that was not the consummation I expected."
"And why not, sire?" demanded the boy. "Wherefore should she not bemarried to St. Real?"
"Why, certainly, I did not suppose you wished to marry her yourself!"replied Henry, laughing. "You are very generous, however."
"Sire, your majesty mistakes me," replied Leonard de Monte in a gravetone,--"mistakes me, my views, wishes, and purposes entirely."
"I perceive I do," replied the king, "and acknowledge you are more amystery to me than ever. However, this is all irrelevant to the matterof deep interest which you have just told me, and to the shrewd butdaring plans which you have formed. On my honour," he added, "you havea bold and generous heart, and, could we but get you to grow a littletaller, would make as good a knight as ever couched a lance. But letus speak to the point. You must have my counsel and advice, for I havebeen somewhat famous for _coups de main_ in my day;--be so good, SirDwarf, as to put at least a hundred times your own length between yoursteps and ours; we shall give you notice when we want your presence atour conference." Thus saying, the king again entered the lateralalley, in which he had first met Leonard de Monte, and dropping hisvoice so as to confine the sense of his words to the ears for whichthey were intended, he conti
nued the conversation with rapid and eagerinterest. Leonard de Monte frequently joined in; and, by the time theyreached the end of the walk, it seemed that their plans were fullyarranged; for, wheeling suddenly round, they returned with muchquicker steps towards the chateau, keeping silence also as they went,till at length, when within a hundred yards of the terrace, Henryburst into a loud laugh, exclaiming--"Ventre Saint Gris, 'twill beworth half a province so to circumvent his slow Highness of Mayenne!"
He then led the way into the palace; and, bidding the dwarf wait inthe vestibule, proceeded to a small cabinet in which De Rosny,together with a secretary, was busily engaged in writing the lettersbefore mentioned to the Count de Soissons. The grave and somewhatformal Huguenot raised his eyes with some surprise to the handsome andglittering youth who entered with the king, and to whose face andperson he was totally a stranger. Henry, however, without noticing hisastonishment, and seemingly entirely occupied by the thoughts to whichhis late conversation had given rise, led the way on into a chamberbeyond, bidding the secretary bring him instantly materials forwriting. Then casting himself into a chair, he wrote with a rapidhand, in the first place, the general letter, which the youth hadoriginally demanded, and then another longer epistle, which he foldedand sealed with his private signet.
"This," he said, handing the letter to Leonard de Monte, "this is tobe your last resource if other means fail; and I do not think, howeverhe may deny our authority, that our worthy cousin will neglect thewarning there given him. Nevertheless, try all other means first, andforget not to give me instant information of the result; for evenshould the beginning be successful, it may require some pains and somepower to render the end equally fortunate."
The boy, who had remained standing, took the papers; and kissing theking's hand, with many thanks, retired from his presence. Passingthrough the vestibule, he beckoned to the page to follow him, and,with a rapid step, proceeded to the outward gates. Then taking his wayto the _auberge_, in which St. Real lodged, he entered the room inwhich the young marquis was seated.
St. Real beckoned him to approach, saying, "I have sent for you twice,Leonard."
"No one told me of it, sir," replied the boy, "and in fact no onecould, for I was absent till within this moment. But what are yourcommands?"
"Come hither," said St. Real, with a smile, "and I will tell you." Thepage approached; and the young lord marking some sort of impatience inhis countenance, for a few minutes played with his expectation as onemight do with the eagerness of a child.
At length, however, he asked more gravely----
"Do you remember, on the night of the king's death, you sang me asong, and repeated me a proverb, which, together with your own words,too well applied to myself to have been spoken accidentally? Youescaped me at the time; and since, I have not had an opportunity ofspeaking with you on the subject. But now I must not only demand toknow how you have fathomed secrets which I thought confined to my ownbosom; but I must also require of you to tell me who and what you are,for your language and your station are at variance, and I must have mydoubts satisfied."
"Sir," replied the boy, while first a playful smile, and then a lookalmost approaching to sorrow, passed over his countenance, "withregard to what I know of yourself, some day I may tell you how I knowit, but I cannot tell you now. In regard to what you ask concerningmyself, I can give you but one answer. Did you ever hear of beingscalled fairies, who, for some particular motive of friendship orregard, sometimes come down to do better than mortal service to achosen race, or a particular individual? If you have heard of suchbeings--and who has not?--you must know, that the very first questionconcerning their nature, or their fate, dissolves the spell that bindsthem to the person they serve, and ends their term of service. Such,sir, is the case with me. So long as you asked me no questions, I wasyour willing page and humble attendant. Your curiosity has dissolvedthe spell, and all I can do is, to bid you farewell, and to tell you,that you will never see Leonard de Monte more."
Thus saying, he again darted out of the room, leaving St. Realuncertain whether he spoke in jest or earnest. Determined, however, toknow more, the young nobleman started up, and opened the door, inorder to call the gay youth back, and question him farther. Bartholothe dwarf was seated in the ante-room, together with anotherattendant; and St. Real bade him instantly follow the page, and bringhim back. The dwarf stared for a moment, as if in astonishment at thecommand; and then replied, that he knew not where to find Leonard, forthat he had seen him enter the room from which the young lord had justcome, but had not seen him return. The other attendant was in the samestory, and St. Real caused the boy to be sought for in vain.
The next morning, however, a greater defection was found amongst hisfollowers, which satisfactorily accounted to St. Real for the magicaldisappearance of his page on the preceding night. The dwarf Bartholo,and three of his ordinary attendants, were nowhere to be heard of;but, by this time, the tampering of the Leaguers with every class ofpersons in the royal camp was so great and notorious, that St. Realwas not at all surprised to find that five of his followers had beeninduced to quit his service. The loss of Leonard de Monte, however, hefelt more than he could have anticipated from the short time the youthhad been in his service, and from the slightness of the dutiesrequired at his hands; but, from the first moment he had seen him, theyoung lord of St. Real had conceived an interest in his page whichevery hour had increased. During his first deep sorrow for the loss ofhis father, he had found the boy's attentions so soothing and welljudged, his sympathy apparently so deep and true, his few words ofconsolation so mingling together sense and feeling, that he feltgratitude towards him as well as regard; but there was something morethan all this. With all the boy's occasional boldness and daring,there was blended a softness and a gentleness, which, together withthe apparent weakness of his slight frame, and a few traits oftimidity, approaching to cowardice, rendered him an object of thattender care which always endears those in whose behalf it isexercised. Thus, when St. Real found that the youth had really lefthim, though he felt some slight degree of anger at a desertion whichhe was conscious he had not deserved, he experienced no small desireto know the former, and guide the future fate of Leonard de Monte.
Events, however, calling for frequent and vigorous exertion, weremultiplying so rapidly round his path, that he had but little time togive to matters of more remote interest. He occasionally thought ofthe youth, it is true, but more often grieved over the conduct of hiscousin, and never ceased to ponder, with bitterness of heart, on thefate of Eugenie de Menancourt, and on his own feelings towards her.But still every hour brought some claim upon his attention of adifferent kind; and in the retreat of the royal army, which began twodays after his page had left him, he had scarcely time for any othersensations than the anxiety and foresight attendant upon withdrawing asmall and ill-supplied body of men from the presence of a powerfuladversary.
It was in the midst of the arrangements incident to such a retreat,that, at the first halting place on the march, Monsieur de Sancy cameinto the small room in which St. Real was seated at Mantes,exclaiming--"I have news for you, Monsieur de St. Real! Your cousinhas already secured the recompense at which he aimed in quitting us.He was married last night to Mademoiselle de Menancourt, the richheiress of Maine. I have it from one who was in Paris at the time."
St. Real made no reply; but he turned so deadly pale, that De Sancycould not but observe that something had gone amiss, and instantlystrove to turn the conversation into another channel.