Lord Montagu's Page Part 23

"And yet," said Richelieu, more calmly, "were it to be done over again, I would do it: nay, I will do it; for, though the medicine be strong, the malady of this land of France cannot be cured by a single dose. I will advise my king, as I have advised him, to show no mercy to persisting traitors. Let the blame fall on me: I care not. But save France!"

When men high in power have been forced into severe and terrible measures by motives which seem to them perfectly sufficient at the time, they sometimes feel a doubt when the execution of their purpose is over, and, though they may scorn to make a defence before the world, they will seek out some individual, however insignificant, who will listen while they plead their own cause,--apparently to him, but in reality to themselves. They will go over again all the reasoning, state all the motives afresh, which at first carried them forward, in order to prove to conscience that there was in the deed none of the selfishness which each human sinner of us all knows too well is in his own heart. Such, doubtless, was the case with Richelieu at the moment when the visit of Edward Langdale gave him the opportunity of justifying the death of Chalais to a foreign and impartial ear.

There might be a little deceit in this,--self-deceit; but in his eagerness, in the strong current of his language, and in the earnest vehemence of his manner, there was much that struck, ay, and captivated, his young companion. Let any one suppose himself in the presence of Cromwell or Caesar,--and Richelieu was little less, if at all,--hearing him defend his most doubtful actions, and motive his most ruthless course, and they can conceive the sensations of Edward Langdale. Edward compared the cardinal to neither; but he knew that he was in the presence of the greatest and most powerful man who had yet appeared in that age,--a man famous for stern discretion and unfaltering firmness of purpose,--and that some strong and terrible emotions within him had led him to pour forth in his presence views, principles, purposes, but dimly discerned by any one at that time. It was a somewhat awful confidence Richelieu placed in him; and when the minister paused the youth knew not what to reply, but repeated, mechanically, not knowing why, the words, "Ay, save France!"

Richelieu gazed at him for a moment with his bright eyes, full of thought. It is known how, like most great men, he was somewhat superst.i.tious, and, forgetting probably that he had himself used the words a moment before, he answered, "Young man, that is my oracle. Save France! I will, if it be in me, though a thousand heads should fall, and my own the last,--though it should cost a river of blood and a river of tears. I will save France. I will put her upon the pinnacle of countries, where she ought to stand; and after my day men shall say of her, 'This is the great leader of the nations, in arts, in science, and in arms.'"

He stopped and gazed into vacancy, as if he already saw the beautiful future of which he spoke, and then, as if feeling that the vehemence of his feelings had carried him beyond his usual reserve, he composed his countenance; the fire of the eye went out; the features, which had been much moved, became calm and still; and the phantasmagoric light which had covered his face with great images pa.s.sed away, leaving almost a blank behind.

"Let us talk of what we were speaking about a few minutes since," he said, not losing the expression of sympathy and admiration which had come upon young Langdale's face. "I was referring to the possibility of your attaching yourself to me, and meriting and meeting higher honors and distinction than there seems any likelihood of your obtaining in your own country. I offer you no unworthy incentive, for, if I understand you, you are incapable of being moved by such; but I offer you my friendship. Have I not given you the best proof of it?--not by bestowing on you the hand of a n.o.ble French heiress,--that is nothing,--but by speaking to you as Richelieu rarely speaks to any one,--by showing you the things that lie within this bosom?"

Keen and acute as the young Englishman had become, he saw that he was perhaps in more danger now than he had ever been before; that he was standing on the edge of a precipice, and that the very confidence which the cardinal had accidentally placed in him was only the tottering stone which might fall and hurl him over the brink. Habitual boldness came to his aid, however. "Let me recall to your Eminence," he said, "that England and France are at war." A slightly scornful smile, at what he thought a subterfuge, curled Richelieu's lip. "I a.s.sure you, sir,"

continued Edward, earnestly, "that, were such not the case, I would grasp eagerly at an offer which can be rarely made to any one. I fear not danger, though I know your service might be dangerous, (pardon my plain speaking.) But on that score I should have no apprehension; for I am convinced that if that service proved fatal to me it would be by my own fault. But what your Eminence wants is one who will be faithful and true to you. What would you think of me if, at the first prospect of somewhat higher fortunes, I were not only to abandon my country, but to leave those who have treated me most kindly, educated, trusted me? Would not all the good opinions you have entertained of me vanish? Would you not view me as base, treacherous, worthless? Could you ever confide in me, esteem me more? Should I thenceforward be the man you want?"

"There is some truth in what you say," said the minister, slowly. "Yet, after what has pa.s.sed, there may be something to consider. Are you aware, young gentleman, that I know more of you than I have seemed to know?--that I know all?"

"Yes," answered Edward, at once: "I have seen that some time. I know that if you were to hang me on that tree the world would hold you justified. But I do not think you will do it."

"Pshaw!" said Richelieu, "I care not for the world. But what makes you think I will not do it?"

"Because your Eminence has shown me the principles on which you act,"

said Edward; "and such a deed would not be within those principles. If you hanged me now, it would be because I refused to serve a country at war with my own,--not because I came into France under a false name and with the safe-conduct of another."

"Good," said the cardinal, "and true! But you forget another reason,--or from the idle babble of the day you may have learned to believe it not a good one: you do not mention that I promised to let you go on to your journey's end."

"I had forgotten it," said the lad; "but there might be many an excuse, or I may say reason, for pa.s.sing over that promise. You may have learned more since you made it."

"Young man, do you wish to be hanged?" asked the cardinal, with a smile.

"Far from it, monseigneur," said Edward, gravely; "but I wish to act honestly and bravely. I told your Eminence that my only motive for not grasping eagerly at your generous proposal was, that France and England are at war, that if I now took service here you yourself could never trust me, and that I should feel myself unworthy of the trust of any one."

"That objection may be sooner removed than you imagine," said Richelieu.

"Your gilded b.u.t.terfly--your Buckingham--cannot flaunt it in the sunshine forever. Already he has plunged his monarch into difficulties which may, and will, produce sad consequences hereafter. An unnatural war of a brother-in-law against his wife's brother, for no reasonable cause, cannot long please the people of England. The Parliament--that handcuff of kings--is already s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the bolt tighter; and we may leave it safely to compel a peace before your journey to the east is over. I will exact one promise from you, which keep as I keep mine. It is the only condition I put to your safety. Go on your way. Serve your lord faithfully: I will take no umbrage at that: then return to France as soon as you hear that peace is concluded between our two countries;--nay, I know you will return, for there is a lure you will not miss to follow, my young hawk; but come to visit me, and have your best hopes confirmed by serving one who can reward as well as punish. Do you promise me this?"

"I do, most readily," replied Edward, "and most gratefully thank your Eminence for kindness I have perhaps not deserved."

"You have deserved better by refusing me just now," said Richelieu, "than you would have done by yielding. I could _not_ have trusted you.

Go to, now. Men say that everybody must obey me, or I am a fiend. You have judged better of the Cardinal de Richelieu."

"You gave me the means of judging, my lord," said Edward; "if all men had the same, perhaps----"

"They would misconstrue me," said the minister. "But one thing remember: If, in an open and unguarded moment, I have been led to show you thoughts and feelings I do not usually suffer to appear, as you are a man of honor, you will keep them to yourself. Breathe not one word to any one of aught that has pa.s.sed here. Say not to Lord Montagu, or any one, Richelieu says this, or, Richelieu said that. By this I will test your discretion."

"I will not forget," said Edward; "but, if I hear any one a.s.sail your Eminence's motives, I may be permitted, surely, to defend them by the means you yourself have afforded me."

"Let my motives take care of themselves, young man," said the minister, sternly. "You may say that the cardinal treated you well,--kindly, liberally,--and, although he had every right to stop you, sent you on to Lord Montagu, though he knew your errand and his. Compliment his lordship for me. And now farewell. I will to work. My spirit was somewhat crushed with care, anxiety, and thought; but I am better for this conversation."

Edward rose to retire, but the cardinal made him a sign to stay, saying, "I forgot to ask what reception you met from the fiery Soubise."

"I did not see the prince, my lord," replied Edward: "he had gone to the sea-coast. But we found the Duc de Rohan at Deux Rivieres, and he was fiery enough. He calmed his pa.s.sion before I left, however, and promised to convey what I had said to his brother, which he did, as I know by a letter sent after me by that n.o.bleman himself."

"Ha! De Rohan is a good man, and might be a great one," said Richelieu: "he will be a loyal subject before two years have pa.s.sed. As for Soubise, he is weak and full of pa.s.sions. What said his letter?"

"It is in the hands of Madame de Lagny, my lord," replied Edward; "but I think I can repeat it word for word;" and he did so without omitting a syllable.

Richelieu listened attentively; and at the words, "Tell the insolent varlet that he shall never see her face again, the devil, the pope, and the cardinal to boot," he laughed low, remarking, "We will dispense with the devil, and need not trouble the pope: but the cardinal says you _shall_ see her face again; and she shall be your wife in the face of the whole world, or my name is not Richelieu. One of the two brothers shall sign the contract, or both shall rot in exile. Now, fare you well, my young friend. The time is not far distant when not even a Huguenot prince shall dare to name me, or the pope either, in such company. Have you money sufficient?"

"Enough till I can get more, I thank your Eminence," replied Edward.

He would have made the same answer if he had possessed much less; for he would not have had any man say that he had received a livre from the cardinal, had it been to save him from starving. He was turning to depart; but the memory of all that great but terrible man had done for him within the last few days came flashing across his mind, and he paused, saying, with true emotion, "I will make no professions, my lord cardinal, but this: Your great and extraordinary kindness shall never be forgotten as long as Edward Langdale lives." Richelieu waved his hand, but with a well-pleased look, and the youth retired.

"I have heard of such long memories before," said the minister to himself. "Well, we shall see."

CHAPTER XXIV.

What say you to a quick ride and a short chapter, reader? We have stood wasting our time too long with cardinals and secretaries and courtiers.

Let us set out on our journey toward Paris, with three strong horses, each under the saddle, two stout men, and a young lad, who, ride as hard as they will, still keeps ahead of them. They are not troubled with much baggage; but they have good long pistols at their saddle-bows, swords by their sides, and eke daggers in their belts.

The apparel of the two men had nothing remarkable in it. Each had the common slashed and laced pourpoint with the short cloak of the times, and their lower limbs were clad in that very peculiar and ugly garment, between trousers and breeches, which distinguished the epoch of Louis XIII. The boots, like a pair of gigantic funnels, however, covered not only the foot and ankle, but the whole of the lower part of the leg, and hid in a degree the monstrous _chausses_. The young man was dressed with somewhat greater taste and richness; and there was something in his air and his wondrous horsemanship which would have distinguished him at once from his two followers without the accessories of dress. In vain his horse--which he had bought in Nantes for a mere trifle, on account of its vicious propensities--darted to the right or left at every suspicious object, reared, plunged, and kicked; not all its efforts could shake him in the saddle for a moment: in vain the brute galloped at full speed when he was only required to trot; the youth only whipped and spurred him the more, till at length the fierce beast, finding that he had indeed got his master on his back, yielded with a good grace; and by the time the party reached Ancenis he was as quiet as a lamb.

But, though Ancenis is a pretty little town, and the fare is good and the wine by no means bad, Edward Langdale was not inclined to lose time by the way. One hour for refreshment was all that was allowed for man or horse, and then on again they went toward Angers. It is true that Angers is somewhat more than fifty miles from Nantes, that the road in those days was not remarkable for its excellence, and that a broiling July sun had shone upon the travellers from break of day till night; but Edward saw with his own eyes that the horses were well cared for; and all was prepared for departure early the next morning. Here, however, for the first and only time during the journey, the safe-conduct was demanded by an officer of the governor. All was in order, however; no suspicion was entertained, and on the little party went, to Suette, Duretal, La Fleche. The sweet little valley of the Loire pa.s.sed with all its beauties unseen; and, after two hours' repose at La Fleche, Fouletourte, Guecelard, and Le Mans were reached. Nearly one-half of the journey between Nantes and the first place to which Edward had been directed was now accomplished; but the horses--especially the two ridden by Pierrot and Jacques--showed evident signs of fatigue, and it was found necessary to have their shoes removed and give them somewhat more time for repose.

Edward could not reach Chartres upon the third night, as he had hoped; but reflecting, with some apprehension, that if one of the horses were to fall sick he had not funds sufficient to purchase another, he proceeded more quietly to Nogent le Rotrou, where he paused for the night before the sun had gone down.

Now, the dear but hasty reader has come to a conclusion that I have been engaged in writing an itinerancy, rather than a romance or a true history. But in this he is mistaken; for it was necessary to mention two little incidents which befell Lord Montagu's page on his way toward Paris; and one of these occurred at Nogent le Rotrou. It was therefore requisite to show that Edward got there; for an incident cannot happen to a man at a place where he is not. It was necessary, also, to explain how he arrived at that place later by some eight hours than he at first expected; for, if he had been able to continue the same galloping pace with which he set out from Nantes, the incident would not have happened at all.

At Nogent, the young Englishman--as is the case with most Englishmen--had looked to the accommodation of the horses in the first instance, and, having seen that they had a good dry stable, that the saddles were taken off and that they were well rubbed down, he directed them to be walked up and down before the house for a few minutes; when, to his consternation, he perceived that one of them was going somewhat lame. It was the horse ridden by long Pierrot la Grange, and one of the best of the three; and a consultation in regard to the poor animal was held immediately. One proposed one thing, another another; but, none being particularly skilful in the veterinary art, and as Edward did not choose to trust to a common blacksmith, it was determined to rest upon cold water applied to the lame foot and fetlock, and the horse was led back to the stable.

The inn was a neat little auberge, and the landlord a fat, well-doing, clean-looking sinner as ever shortened a flagon or lengthened a bill. He promised worlds in the way of edible refreshment, trout and crayfish from the Huisne, pigeons from his own dove-cot, and capons equal to those of Maine; and, while all these delicacies were in preparation, Edward took post before the door, standing beside the tall pole with a garland upon it, which in those days appeared at the entrance of many a little cabaret in France.

As he thus stood, in not a very happy mood, two new travellers on horseback trotted up. Their dress was coa.r.s.e, and evidently not the costume of any part of France that the young gentleman was acquainted with; but that which attracted his attention more particularly was the lameness of one of their horses, who limped much after the fashion of Pierrot's beast, but a great deal worse. The riders dismounted, and one of them, pa.s.sing him, gave him "_Bong jou_," in a strange sort of _patois_. Edward advanced to the side of the other, who was holding the beasts, saying, "That horse seems very lame, my good friend."

"Oh, it is nothing," answered the man, in the same sort of jargon as that of his companion. "He'll be well before morning: we are _marechaux de chevaux_, and will soon set him right. You see us go away to-morrow: he not lame then."

Shortly after the horses were led into the stable, and the young gentleman's dinner was announced; but, before partaking of any of the good things, he followed the two strangers, and found that they were provided with all the tools of the blacksmith and all the oils and essences of the veterinary surgeon of that day. "Let him cool, and then we see," said the master, speaking to his companion; and the whole party adjourned to the _salle-a-manger_. Five more hungry men never sat down to dinner, if they might be judged by their consumption of food; but all the other guests, and the landlord more particularly, remarked that the two last-arrived strangers ate none of the admirable crayfish. Now, when at a house of public entertainment you eat none of the especial dish of the place, it is not only an affront to your host, but an insult to his country. The landlord shook his head and declared the men must be some outlandish cannibals, for they neither spoke French nor ate crayfish. In this conclusion n.o.body gainsaid him,--not even the two men themselves, who did not seem to understand, but finished their dinner and went to attend to the lame horse.

Now, it may seem very strange in the author to entertain a reader with a lame horse, with which, though fully as good as a dead a.s.s, that reader seems to have nothing on earth to do. But I declare it is neither for the purpose of filling up a vacant chapter, nor in any spirit of perversity,--such as frequently seizes every writer,--nor from a desire to delay till I have made up my mind how to proceed, nor from any caprice, that I pause upon that lame horse. On the contrary, it is a piece of genuine, serious history,--in fact, the only pure and dignified piece of history in this whole book,--mentioned by authors of high repute, and confirmed by a long train of consequences, which involved at least the three next years of Edward Langdale's life in their network; and so the fate of that lame horse cannot be omitted. With one of those sympathetic movements of the mind which we can neither direct nor restrain, and which lead us on the course of destiny whether we will or not, the youth felt a personal interest in that lame horse,--was not one of his own horses lame?--and he went to the stable to see the treatment the animal was to undergo. Need I pause to tell how one of the uncouth travellers took off the shoe, examined the foot, poured some fluid which he called oil of vipers into the hole left by one of the nails, wrapped an old rag round the hoof, and did sundry other beneficent acts to the affected part? No: suffice it to say that he seemed to treat it so skilfully, and with so much of that decision which continually pa.s.ses for skill and nine times out of ten has as good a result, that Edward determined he should try his hand on Pierrot's horse also.

The immediate result was relief to both the beasts, and when their several riders mounted next morning no sign of lameness was visible.

The score was paid, and Edward with his party rode away first; but they had not gone half a mile before they were overtaken by the two blacksmiths, who seemed to desire company on the way, which they accounted for by telling the companions of the young cavalier that they were wandering Savoyards, who, having some skill in horse-medicine, had come to France, made a little money, and were returning to their own country to live upon the fruits of their toil.

Now, Savoy is a fine country, and the people are a very good people, very much like other people who live amongst rocks and stones,--not quite so wise as serpents nor so innocent as doves. "Poor, patient, quiet, honest people," says Sterne, "fear not. Your poverty, the treasury of your simple virtues, will not be envied you by the world, nor will your valleys be invaded by it." Now, why I quoted this author in regard to Savoy was simply because the most interesting account of any country is always given by a man who knows nothing about it. He has such a wide field to expatiate in! There are exceedingly good people in Savoy, and exceedingly good people come out of it; but there is a tolerably large minority as cunning and as selfish as I ever met with.

Now, Edward Langdale had few prejudices upon the matter. He had never seen a Savoyard before, or one who pretended to be so; but he had heard a good deal of their "simple virtues," and, therefore, if the balance leaned either way it was in their favor. But somehow the faces of his two new companions did not please him, and he said not a word of the probability that he would himself be obliged in the end to direct his steps toward their mountain-land. Indeed, with a remarkable degree of discretion in one so young, he had kept his own two immediate followers in ignorance of that and many other facts, and they went like lambs to the slaughter with their heads hanging down, and thinking the journey somewhat long, but without the slightest idea where it was to end. When they had reached Chartres, however, he had to make many inquiries as to his further course; and, though he conferred with the landlord of the Ecu Royal himself, Pierrot la Grange stood provokingly near, and it is probable--for his ears were long and sharp--he heard every word that was said, and drew his own conclusions.