CHAPTER XXIII.
It was eleven o'clock on the following day when Edward Langdale appearedat the door of Monsieur de Tronson. The laquais said he did not knowwhether his master was visible or not, but he would see; and, leavingthe young Englishman in an ante-chamber, he went in and remained somefive minutes. At his return he asked Edward to follow, and introducedhim into the bed-chamber of the secretary, who welcomed him, he thought,rather coldly.
"I hear, Monsieur de Langdale," said De Tronson, "that you haveaccurately fulfilled the injunctions of his Eminence and your word.That, my good cousin, Madame de Lagny, has told me; but I think youshould have been here earlier."
"It was my intention, sir," replied Edward, seating himself in a chairto which the secretary pointed, near that in which he himself sat,wrapped in a large dressing-gown, by the fire, though it was the monthof July.
"After having left my name in the ante-chamber of his Eminence, I wentto my auberge for a few minutes, and then came out, with the intentionof paying my respects to you; but I was stopped by a great crowd ofpeople and forced to witness a dreadful scene, which rendered meincapable of holding any rational conversation with any one."
"Ha! you were there!" exclaimed the secretary, suddenly roused from thesort of listless mood in which he seemed plunged when Edward entered."What happened? Tell me all. But first shut that door, if you please. Iam ill, or I would not trouble you; but it is well to have no listeningears in this place, whatever one has to say."
Edward closed the door, and, although unwillingly, detailed all that hehad witnessed of the execution of the unhappy Chalais.
De Tronson was moved far more than the young man expected. He put hishand over his eyes, murmuring, "Poor lady! Unhappy young man!" andEdward thought he saw some tears steal down his cheek. "I call God towitness," he exclaimed, at length, "that I had no share in this affair!Though my relations with Monsieur de Chalais were very slight, I wouldhave saved him if I could,--saved him from himself, I mean."
He sank into silence; and, to change the conversation, Edward said, "Iwould have been here earlier this morning, but I thought you wouldprobably be at the council."
"There will be no council to-day," replied the secretary, shaking hishead: "we are all made sick by this affair. It has been like one ofthose epidemic blasts that sweep over the marshes, filling every onethey touch with fever. I did not know you had waited on his Eminence:that was what I alluded to,--not a mere formal visit to me. That was allwell; but you had better let him know that you are here. I know not thathe will see you; but you must show every token of respect--especiallyjust now."
"Shall I go to his apartments, then?" asked Edward.
"No, no," said De Tronson, with somewhat of the petulance of illness:"call a servant."
The servant was soon called, and De Tronson bade him go to the apartmentof his Eminence. "Seek out one of his secretaries," he said, "and, ifyou cannot find one, ask for his chaplain. Request him to present myduty to the cardinal and tell him that Monsieur de Langdale, the youngEnglish gentleman he knows of, is with me, waiting his Eminence'spleasure. Say I would have come myself, but I am ill of fever."
The man retired and was absent only a few minutes ere he returned withthe simple words, "His Eminence cannot be interrupted to-day." Edwardheard the reply with regret; for time was passing away, his journey wasjust beginning when those who sent him imagined it was ended, and hisfunds were diminishing every hour. But, even while taking leave ofMonsieur de Tronson and expressing a sincere hope that he would soon bebetter, a servant in purple livery entered, and, bowing to Monsieur deTronson, announced that his Eminence would see Monsieur de Langdale.
"Go, go! quickly!" said De Tronson, in a low voice; "but be careful."And Edward followed the attendant from the room.
"Now for my fate," thought the young man, as he crossed the littlebridge over the moat. "Such scenes as that of yesterday harden ratherthan soften. Methinks I could meet death more easily now than I couldhave done four-and-twenty hours ago. Yet why should I think the cardinalwishes me ill? He has been kind to me, however cruel he may be toothers. But why should I call him cruel? I know nothing of that youngcount's guilt or innocence; and the horrid accessories of his fate werecertainly none of the minister's devising."
Thus thinking, he followed through the long passages of the castle tillhe came to a door where stood one of the cardinal's guard, and there theservant paused and knocked. A page opened it, and to his guidance Edwardwas consigned. He was then led through an ante-room, and then throughthe room where he had seen Richelieu before, to another smaller chamber,where he once more found himself in the presence of the man whose lifeand power were so often in the balance, but whose will in reality, fromthat time forward, was fate in France.
Richelieu, though habited in clerical garb, was in what may be calledhalf-dress, and the _robe de chambre_ which he wore above his cassockwas of bright colors and a mere mundane form. His pointed beard, orroyal, as it was then called, with the dark mustache and the rich lacecollar, which might have suited any gay cavalier of the court, also hada very lay appearance; and at once it flashed across the mind of theyoung Englishman that he had seen him somewhere in another costume.Where, for an instant he could not recollect; but he had not halftraversed the room before the magic power of association brought back anight not more than a week before, when, walking in one of the corridorsof that very chateau, he had met a man descending to the dungeons inwhich the unhappy Chalais was confined; and that man was before him. Heshuddered when his mind instinctively combined the visit of that nightwith the scene of the day before; but in the look and manner of thecardinal at that moment there was nothing to inspire awe or indicate anycruelty or even harshness of character. His face was grave,--very grave;but with a mild gravity much like that of the famous bust which is,perhaps, the only good likeness of that extraordinary man. In his handwas a book,--the famous Imitation of Christ; but he had let it drop uponhis knee when the door opened; and one who did not know him would havesaid, to see him, "There is some calm student of theology a littledisturbed by being interrupted."
"Come in, young gentleman, and take a seat," said Richelieu, as the pageclosed the door. "You have kept your word well with me, I find."
"I always try to do so, my lord cardinal," replied Edward, seatinghimself near the minister.
"Lord cardinal!" said Richelieu, with a faint smile: "that is English,and somewhat Roman too. But what matters it? You heretics from the otherside of the sea sometimes give us a lesson about dignities. Eminence!Any man can reach that title of right in other paths besides the Church,if he be wise, and brave, and firm,--ay, firm: he must be firm! Many aman who might be great, by some small weakness in his own nature yieldedto, even once too often, mars all the results of higher qualities. Well,you have returned, as you promised; but you have come at a time when weare all sad,--very sad. I thought I would not see any one this morning,but take counsel with the only happy ones,--the dead. However, on secondthoughts, I resolved to admit you, as you had performed your part of ourbargain well, and your last conversation pleased me."
He spoke in a sort of meditative tone, and, when he stopped, Edward hadnothing to reply but, "Your Eminence is gracious."
"Not so," answered Richelieu: "I am not gracious. I was not formed so bynature. I can be kind, I think, to those who love me,--affectionate,merciful; but graciousness implies some tenderness, and I am not tender.Nay, not even tender to myself; for I declare to Heaven that, did I findin my own heart the weakness that would yield right and justice toprayers and tears and entreaties, I would pluck out that heart andtrample it under foot!"
His tone was somewhat vehement, and his eye sparkled; but after a momentor two all was calm again; and he asked, even with a smile, "What thinkyou, young gentleman, men will say of me hereafter?"
"I have neither wisdom, your Eminence, nor experience sufficient todivine," answered Edward; "neither can any one say till a period, Itrust, far, far distant."
"You
mean when I am dead," said Richelieu. "Who can say how soon thatmay be? How long can a poor human frame bear the labors, the anxieties,the cares that I undergo,--the struggle against factions, the struggleagainst oneself, the crushing out of sympathies, the resistance of allkindly feelings, the endurance of ingratitude, falsehood, treachery, themalice and the envy of the many, the undeserved hatred of not a few?Happy the monk in his cloister! happy the ecclesiastic in his chair!Miserable, miserable is the man whom either personal ambition, or idlevanity, or the desire of serving his country, leads to the thorny pathsof state or places on the tottering pinnacle of power!"
"Thank Heaven!" said Edward, interested deeply, "there can be no chanceof my ever having to verify the truth of what your Eminence says."
"Who can tell?" rejoined Richelieu. "I have seen many rise to high placewith less opportunity than you. I myself,--did I ever think at your ageof being seated where I am now? You have talents, daring, firmness.Ambition grows like a worm upon a leaf, destroying what supports it. Themoth may have laid its egg in your heart even now; and in ten yearshence you may be what you dream not. But let us talk of other things. Iam sorry you have come here just now, young gentleman."
"May I presume to ask why, my lord?" said Edward.
Richelieu paused thoughtfully for a moment, and then raised his keendark eyes to the young man's face. "To answer you fully I must say whatought to flatter you and what cannot do so. You have pleased me; youhave high qualities which I esteem; I think you will be faithful to anyone to whom you attach yourself; and you have talents and courage toserve him well. But your mind is not clear enough, your experience istoo little, your prejudices too great, for you to judge sanely of actswhich have lately been done here. In bidding you return after your latejourney and see me before you went farther, I wished to gain you to myservice,--not by bribes, not by promises, but by winning your esteem andshowing you friendship; and I can be a good friend. What is it thatpasses over your brow? I thought so: you judge I can be a deadly enemyalso. Sir, I tell you, on my life and on my faith, I know no enemies butthose of France. I have endured much, but I have never struck a blow butfor the best interests of my king and my country. Even that young manwho perished yesterday, had he not warning sufficient? Had I not passedover follies without number? Had I not forgiven designs against my ownpower and life? They were nothing so long as the safety of France wasnot involved. But when his pertinacious treason went into schemes tobring foreign troops into the land, to overthrow a mighty policy, tothwart his sovereign's will, to shake his throne, ay, and, perchance totouch his life, what were mercy but folly? what were clemency buttreason?"
"I presume not, your Eminence," said Edward, bewildered by aconversation so strange and unexpected, "to judge even in my own heartof your conduct in circumstances of which I know nothing. I will ownthat a great part of the scene I was yesterday forced to witness struckme with horror; but even now, as I passed the bridge, I said to myself,'I know nothing of that young man's guilt or innocence; and the dreadfulaccessories of his death were certainly not of the cardinal'sdevising.'"
"You did me that justice, did you?" said Richelieu, with a well-pleasedlook: "let me tell you, sir, there is many a man in France who will denyit to me. Ay, it was horrible, they tell me. But I had naught to do withthat. Did I steal away the executioner of the court or of the city? DidI have any share in any of the details left to the common justice of theland? Inexorable I was bound to be, even to a mother's prayers andtears, though they wrung my heart. This court--this turbulent andfactious court--needed an example; a traitor deserved a traitor's death.Both have been given; for there was not one mitigating circumstance, notone palliation or excuse. Death was his doom; but God knows, could Ihave spared one additional pang to his poor mother or to himself, Iwould have done it."
"Indeed, I believe you, my lord cardinal," replied Edward, moved by theapparent sincerity of the minister and the warmth and fire with which hespoke.
"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. Iwill advise my king, as I have advised him, to show no mercy topersisting traitors. Let the blame fall on me: I care not. But saveFrance!"
When men high in power have been forced into severe and terriblemeasures 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 willseek out some individual, however insignificant, who will listen whilethey plead their own cause,--apparently to him, but in reality tothemselves. They will go over again all the reasoning, state all themotives afresh, which at first carried them forward, in order to proveto conscience that there was in the deed none of the selfishness whicheach 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 ofEdward Langdale gave him the opportunity of justifying the death ofChalais to a foreign and impartial ear.
There might be a little deceit in this,--self-deceit; but in hiseagerness, in the strong current of his language, and in the earnestvehemence of his manner, there was much that struck, ay, and captivated,his young companion. Let any one suppose himself in the presence ofCromwell or Caesar,--and Richelieu was little less, if at all,--hearinghim defend his most doubtful actions, and motive his most ruthlesscourse, and they can conceive the sensations of Edward Langdale. Edwardcompared the cardinal to neither; but he knew that he was in thepresence of the greatest and most powerful man who had yet appeared inthat age,--a man famous for stern discretion and unfaltering firmness ofpurpose,--and that some strong and terrible emotions within him had ledhim to pour forth in his presence views, principles, purposes, but dimlydiscerned by any one at that time. It was a somewhat awful confidenceRichelieu placed in him; and when the minister paused the youth knew notwhat 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 ofthought. It is known how, like most great men, he was somewhatsuperstitious, and, forgetting probably that he had himself used thewords a moment before, he answered, "Young man, that is my oracle. SaveFrance! I will, if it be in me, though a thousand heads should fall, andmy own the last,--though it should cost a river of blood and a river oftears. I will save France. I will put her upon the pinnacle ofcountries, where she ought to stand; and after my day men shall say ofher, 'This is the great leader of the nations, in arts, in science, andin arms.'"
He stopped and gazed into vacancy, as if he already saw the beautifulfuture of which he spoke, and then, as if feeling that the vehemence ofhis feelings had carried him beyond his usual reserve, he composed hiscountenance; the fire of the eye went out; the features, which had beenmuch moved, became calm and still; and the phantasmagoric light whichhad covered his face with great images passed away, leaving almost ablank behind.
"Let us talk of what we were speaking about a few minutes since," hesaid, not losing the expression of sympathy and admiration which hadcome upon young Langdale's face. "I was referring to the possibility ofyour attaching yourself to me, and meriting and meeting higher honorsand distinction than there seems any likelihood of your obtaining inyour own country. I offer you no unworthy incentive, for, if Iunderstand you, you are incapable of being moved by such; but I offeryou my friendship. Have I not given you the best proof of it?--not bybestowing on you the hand of a noble French heiress,--that isnothing,--but by speaking to you as Richelieu rarely speaks to anyone,--by showing you the things that lie within this bosom?"
Keen and acute as the young Englishman had become, he saw that he wasperhaps in more danger now than he had ever been before; that he wasstanding on the edge of a precipice, and that the very confidence whichthe cardinal had accidentally placed in him was only the tottering stonewhich might fall and hurl him over the brink. Habitual boldness came tohis aid, how
ever. "Let me recall to your Eminence," he said, "thatEngland and France are at war." A slightly scornful smile, at what hethought a subterfuge, curled Richelieu's lip. "I assure you, sir,"continued Edward, earnestly, "that, were such not the case, I wouldgrasp eagerly at an offer which can be rarely made to any one. I fearnot danger, though I know your service might be dangerous, (pardon myplain speaking.) But on that score I should have no apprehension; for Iam convinced that if that service proved fatal to me it would be by myown fault. But what your Eminence wants is one who will be faithful andtrue to you. What would you think of me if, at the first prospect ofsomewhat higher fortunes, I were not only to abandon my country, but toleave those who have treated me most kindly, educated, trusted me? Wouldnot all the good opinions you have entertained of me vanish? Would younot view me as base, treacherous, worthless? Could you ever confide inme, 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 passed, there may be something to consider. Are youaware, young gentleman, that I know more of you than I have seemed toknow?--that I know all?"
"Yes," answered Edward, at once: "I have seen that some time. I knowthat if you were to hang me on that tree the world would hold youjustified. But I do not think you will do it."
"Pshaw!" said Richelieu, "I care not for the world. But what makes youthink 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. Ifyou hanged me now, it would be because I refused to serve a country atwar with my own,--not because I came into France under a false name andwith the safe-conduct of another."
"Good," said the cardinal, "and true! But you forget another reason,--orfrom the idle babble of the day you may have learned to believe it not agood one: you do not mention that I promised to let you go on to yourjourney's end."
"I had forgotten it," said the lad; "but there might be many an excuse,or I may say reason, for passing over that promise. You may have learnedmore 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 acthonestly and bravely. I told your Eminence that my only motive for notgrasping eagerly at your generous proposal was, that France and Englandare at war, that if I now took service here you yourself could nevertrust me, and that I should feel myself unworthy of the trust of anyone."
"That objection may be sooner removed than you imagine," said Richelieu."Your gilded butterfly--your Buckingham--cannot flaunt it in thesunshine forever. Already he has plunged his monarch into difficultieswhich may, and will, produce sad consequences hereafter. An unnaturalwar of a brother-in-law against his wife's brother, for no reasonablecause, cannot long please the people of England. The Parliament--thathandcuff of kings--is already screwing the bolt tighter; and we mayleave it safely to compel a peace before your journey to the east isover. I will exact one promise from you, which keep as I keep mine. Itis the only condition I put to your safety. Go on your way. Serve yourlord faithfully: I will take no umbrage at that: then return to Franceas soon as you hear that peace is concluded between our twocountries;--nay, I know you will return, for there is a lure you willnot miss to follow, my young hawk; but come to visit me, and have yourbest hopes confirmed by serving one who can reward as well as punish. Doyou promise me this?"
"I do, most readily," replied Edward, "and most gratefully thank yourEminence 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. Youhave judged better of the Cardinal de Richelieu."
"You gave me the means of judging, my lord," said Edward; "if all menhad 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 youthoughts and feelings I do not usually suffer to appear, as you are aman of honor, you will keep them to yourself. Breathe not one word toany one of aught that has passed here. Say not to Lord Montagu, or anyone, Richelieu says this, or, Richelieu said that. By this I will testyour discretion."
"I will not forget," said Edward; "but, if I hear any one assail yourEminence's motives, I may be permitted, surely, to defend them by themeans 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 toLord Montagu, though he knew your errand and his. Compliment hislordship for me. And now farewell. I will to work. My spirit wassomewhat crushed with care, anxiety, and thought; but I am better forthis 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 thesea-coast. But we found the Duc de Rohan at Deux Rivieres, and he wasfiery enough. He calmed his passion before I left, however, and promisedto convey what I had said to his brother, which he did, as I know by aletter sent after me by that nobleman 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 passed. As forSoubise, he is weak and full of passions. What said his letter?"
"It is in the hands of Madame de Lagny, my lord," replied Edward; "but Ithink I can repeat it word for word;" and he did so without omitting asyllable.
Richelieu listened attentively; and at the words, "Tell the insolentvarlet that he shall never see her face again, the devil, the pope, andthe cardinal to boot," he laughed low, remarking, "We will dispense withthe 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 ofthe whole world, or my name is not Richelieu. One of the two brothersshall 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 Huguenotprince shall dare to name me, or the pope either, in such company. Haveyou 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 hewould not have had any man say that he had received a livre from thecardinal, had it been to save him from starving. He was turning todepart; but the memory of all that great but terrible man had done forhim within the last few days came flashing across his mind, and hepaused, saying, with true emotion, "I will make no professions, my lordcardinal, but this: Your great and extraordinary kindness shall neverbe forgotten as long as Edward Langdale lives." Richelieu waved hishand, but with a well-pleased look, and the youth retired.
"I have heard of such long memories before," said the minister tohimself. "Well, we shall see."
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