‘You should say “like a brother”,’ said Nanon, with a smile. Then, thinking of something else, she exclaimed: ‘Monstrous traitors!’, screwing up the letter and pretending to throw it on the fire, while in fact putting it carefully into her pocket with the idea of eventually discovering the author.
‘I’ve just thought,’ said the duke. ‘Why is the boy not coming? Why should I wait to see him here? I will go at once and have him brought from the inn of the Golden Calf.’
‘Oh, yes!’ said Nanon. ‘So that he can find out that I can hide nothing from you and that, despite my oath, I have told you everything.’
‘I shall be tactful.’
‘My lord Duke, now it is my turn to pick a bone with you,’ Nanon said, with the smile that demons give to the angels.
‘Why is that, my dearest?’
‘Because there was a time when you were more eager to enjoy an evening alone with me. Come, have supper with me, and tomorrow there will be time to send for Canolles.’
Between now and tomorrow, Nanon thought, I shall find the opportunity to warn him.
‘Very well,’ said the duke. ‘Let’s eat.’ And, still retaining a small suspicion, added under his breath: ‘I shall not leave her between now and tomorrow, and if she finds a way to contact him, she’s a witch.’
‘So, now,’ said Nanon, putting her arm on the duke’s shoulder, ‘might I be allowed to ask a favour of my friend for my brother?’
‘What?’ said d’Epernon. ‘Anything you wish… Money?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Nanon. ‘He doesn’t need money. He it was that gave me the magnificent ring you noticed, which belongs to his mother.’
‘A promotion, then?’
‘Yes, yes! A promotion. We’ll make him a colonel, won’t we?’
‘Blast it! A colonel! You’re pushing a bit hard, my dear,’ said the duke. ‘He has to have given some service to the cause of His Majesty before he can become a colonel.’
‘He is ready to perform whatever services are required of him.’
‘Ah, now,’ said the duke, looking at Nanon out of the corner of his eye. ‘Yes, I might well have a confidential mission for the court…’
‘A mission for the court!’ Nanon exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ said the old courtier. ‘But it would mean you being separated.’
Nanon saw that this last hint of suspicion had to be abolished.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, my dear Duke. What does separation matter, as long as it is of advantage to him! If I were to stay close to him, I should serve him ill – you are jealous of him – but from afar, you would extend your powerful hand over him. Exile him, send him abroad, if it is for his good, and don’t worry about me. As long as I still have the love of my dear Duke, what more can I need to be happy?’
‘Very well, it’s done,’ said the duke. ‘Tomorrow morning I shall send for him and give him his instructions. And now, as you said,’ the duke went on, casting a much more tender glance at the two chairs, the two place settings and the two pillows, ‘now let us dine, my loveliest.’
Each of them sat down at the table, with a smiling face – so much so, indeed, that even Francinette, used as she was, in her role as confidential chambermaid, to the manners of the duke and the character of his mistress, thought that Nanon’s mind was perfectly at ease and the duke’s completely reassured.
VII
The rider whom Canolles had greeted by the name of Richon had gone up to the first floor of the inn of the Golden Calf and was taking supper with the viscount. He was the person for whom the viscount had been waiting so impatiently, when chance had made him a witness to the hostile preparations of Monsieur d’Epernon and put him in the way of doing the Baron de Canolles the signal favour that we have described.
He had left Paris a week earlier and Bordeaux that same day, so he was bringing recent news of the somewhat complicated affairs that, from Paris to Bordeaux, were at that time being woven into such disturbing webs. While Richon was speaking – about the imprisonment of the princes, which was the affair of the moment, and about the parliament of Bordeaux, which was the authority in the locality, or about Monsieur de Mazarin, who was the king of the hour – the young viscount was silently observing the bronzed, masculine face, the piercing, self-assured eyes and the sharp white teeth visible beneath his long black moustache, all of which marked Richon out as the typical officer of fortune.
‘So,’ the viscount said after a while, ‘the princess is now in Chantilly.’
As we know, this is how the two duchesses of Condé were designated, while the mother was also called the ‘dowager’.
‘Yes,’ Richon replied. ‘She is expecting you there at the earliest possible moment.’
‘And what is her situation there?’
‘One of veritable exile. She and her mother-in-law are kept under the closest watch, since it is suspected at court that they will not restrict themselves to petitioning Parliament and are plotting something more effective to help the princes. Unfortunately, as ever, money… And, on the subject of money, have you received what was owing to you? I was specifically told to ask you that question.’
‘It was only with great difficulty,’ said the viscount, ‘that I managed to obtain some twenty thousand livres, which I have here in gold, that’s all.’
‘That’s all! My word, that’s ripe, Viscount: one can see that you are a millionaire – talking so casually about such a sum, and at such a moment! Twenty thousand livres! We shall be less rich than Monsieur de Mazarin, but we shall be richer than the king.’
‘So, do you think, Richon, that this modest offering will be acceptable to the princess?’
‘She will accept it gratefully. You’re bringing the price of an army.’
‘And you think we’ll need it?’
‘What? An army? Certainly, and we are engaged in mustering one. Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld32 has enrolled four hundred gentlemen, on the pretext of their attendance at his father’s funeral. The Duke de Bouillon is going to leave for Guyenne with a similar number or even more. Monsieur de Turenne promises to press on as far as Paris in order to surprise Vincennes and seize the princes in a surprise attack; he will have thirty thousand men – the whole of his army in the north, which he is poaching from the service of the king. Oh, everything’s underway, don’t worry,’ Richon continued. ‘I don’t know if we’ll do a great job, but we’ll certainly draw attention to ourselves.’
‘And you haven’t come across the Duke d’Epernon?’ the young man interrupted, his eyes shining with joy at this list of forces that promised the success of the party to which he belonged.
‘The Duke d’Epernon?’ the soldier of fortune asked, with a puzzled expression. ‘Where might I have met him? I don’t come from Agen, but from Bordeaux.’
‘You might have encountered him a few yards from here,’ the viscount went on, with a smile.
‘Of course! That’s right: doesn’t the lovely Nanon de Lartigues live somewhere hereabouts?’
‘A mere two musket shots from this very inn.’
‘Well, now! That explains the presence of the Baron de Canolles at the inn of the Golden Calf.’
‘You know him?’
‘Who? The baron? Yes… I might even venture to say that I am his friend, were it not that Monsieur de Canolles comes from a fine noble family, and I am merely a poor commoner.’
‘Commoners like you, Richon, are worth princes in our present situation. By the way, you may know that I saved your friend the Baron de Canolles from a beating and perhaps something worse…’
‘Yes, he did say something about that to me, but I did not fully take it in: I was in a hurry to come up and see you. Are you sure that he did not recognize who you are?’
‘One has difficulty recognizing a person one has never seen.’
‘Then I should have said “guess”.’
‘Now you mention it,’ said the viscount, ‘he did look closely at me.’
Richon smiled
.
‘I can believe that. It’s not every day that one meets a gentleman of your kind.’
‘He seems a merry sort of blade to me,’ said the viscount, after a moment’s silence.
‘Merry and good, a charming spirit and a generous heart. A Gascon, as you know, is never run-of-the-mill: either he’s outstanding, or he’s nothing. This one is a fine fellow. In love as in war, he’s both a stylish gallant and a brave captain. I’m sorry that he is against us. In fact, since chance put you in contact with him, you should have taken advantage of the situation to win him over to our side.’
A blush passed as swiftly as a meteor across the viscount’s pale cheeks.
‘Well, too bad,’ said Richon, with that sad and philosophical resignation that one sometimes meets with in men who have seen a lot of the world. ‘Are we ourselves so serious and so reasonable, we who are bearing aloft the flame of civil war in our rash hands like a church candle? Is the coadjutor such a serious man, when he can calm Paris with a word, or rouse it? Is Monsieur de Beaufort a serious man, when he wields such influence in the capital that he is called “King of Les Halles”? Is Madame de Chevreuse a serious woman, when she can make or break a minister at will? And Madame de Longueville, even though she reigned for three months in the Hôtel de Ville – is she serious? Or what about the Princess de Condé, who only yesterday cared for nothing except dresses, jewels and diamonds: is she serious? And finally is the Duke d’Enghien an entirely serious faction leader, when he is still playing with his dolls and in the charge of women, and who may put on his first pair of knee-breeches only to turn all France upside down? And last of all am I myself – if you will permit me to mention my name after so many illustrious ones – am I such a grave personage, the son of a miller in Angoulême, former servant to Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld, to whom one day, in place of a brush and a cloak, he gave a sword, which I bravely slung at my side, reinventing myself as a soldier? Yet here is the son of the Angoulême miller, former valet to Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld, who finds himself a captain. Here he is, mustering a company, assembling four or five hundred men with whose lives he will juggle, as though God had given him the right to do so… Here he is, marching on the path of glory, perhaps to be colonel or the governor of a fortress – who knows? Here he is, who may perhaps for ten minutes, or an hour, or even a day, hold the destiny of a kingdom in his hands. You see? It’s all very much like a dream, yet it is one that I shall take for reality until the day when some great catastrophe wakes me…’
‘And on that day, woe betide whoever does wake you, Richon,’ said the viscount, ‘because you will be a hero…’
‘A hero or a traitor, depending on whether we are the stronger or the weaker. Under the other cardinal,33 I should have looked twice, because I should have been risking my neck.’
‘Come now, Richon. You’re not going to try to persuade me that such considerations weigh with a man like yourself, who is spoken of as one of the bravest soldiers in the army!’
‘Well, maybe,’ said Richon, with a movement of the shoulders that it is impossible to describe. ‘I was brave enough when King Louis XIII, with his pale face, his blue riband and his eye shining like a carbuncle, cried in his strident voice, while chewing his moustache: “The king is watching you; forward, gentlemen!” But when I have to see this same blue riband, no longer behind me, but in front of me, and on the chest of the son, as I can still see it on that of his father, and when I have to shout to my men: “Fire on the King of France!”, then on that day, Viscount,’ Richon continued, shaking his head, ‘I’m afraid I might funk it and not shoot straight…’
‘What side of the bed did you get out of today, my dear Richon, to be seeing everything in the blackest colours?’ the young man asked. ‘Civil war is sad, I know, but there are times when it is necessary.’
‘Yes, like the plague, like yellow fever, like the black death, like pestilences of every colour. Do you really believe that it is necessary, for example, Viscount, that I who this evening was so pleased to shake hands with that fine fellow Canolles should have to stick my sword in his belly tomorrow, because I am the servant of the Princess de Condé, who doesn’t care a fig for me, and he is the servant of Monsieur de Mazarin, for whom he doesn’t care a fig? Nonetheless, that’s how it will be.’
The viscount shuddered in horror.
‘Unless, of course, I am mistaken,’ Richon continued, ‘and he is the one who drills a hole in my chest somehow or other. Oh, you people don’t understand war! You think of it in terms of a sea or an intrigue, and plunge into it as into your natural element. Why, I was saying only the other day to Her Highness, “From where you are, the artillery fire that kills us looks to you like mere fireworks”, and she agreed with me.’
‘Truly, Richon,’ said the viscount, ‘you alarm me, and if I was not sure of having you there to protect me, I should not dare set out on the road. But with you escorting me, I fear nothing,’ said the young man, holding out his small hand to the irregular soldier.
‘Escorting you?’ said Richon. ‘Ah, yes! That’s right. And that reminds me: you will have to do without my escort, Viscount; the deal’s off.’
‘But weren’t you supposed to go back to Chantilly with me?’
‘True, I was supposed to go back, in one event, which is that I was not needed here. But as I told you, my importance has increased to the extent that I have a definite order from the princess not to leave the area of the fort, on which apparently someone has designs.’
The viscount gave an exclamation of terror.
‘I am to leave like this, without you!’ he cried. ‘To leave with that worthy Pompée, who is a hundred times more of a coward than even I am, and cross half of France alone or almost alone… Oh, no! I’m not going, I swear! I’d die of fright before I got there.’
‘Oh, my dear Viscount,’ Richon retorted, bursting into laughter. ‘Have you forgotten the sword hanging at your side?’
‘Laugh if you like, but I’m not going! The princess promised me that you would come with me, and it was only on that condition that I agreed.’
‘As you wish, Viscount,’ said Richon, with feigned gravity. ‘Even so, they are counting on you in Chantilly – and, beware: princes are quick to lose patience, especially when it is money that they are waiting for.’
‘And to make matters worse,’ said the viscount, ‘I have to leave at night.’
‘So much the better,’ said Richon, laughing. ‘No one will see that you are afraid, and you will meet greater cowards than yourself and make them run away.’
‘Do you think so?’ asked the viscount, not greatly reassured, despite this promise.
‘In any case, there’s a way to solve everything. You’re afraid for the money, aren’t you? Well, leave the money with me, and I’ll send it with three or four reliable men. Though, believe me, the best way to ensure that it arrives is to take it yourself.’
‘You’re right, I’ll go, Richon. And since I have to be a thorough hero, I’ll keep the money. From what you tell me, I think Her Highness needs the money more than she needs me, so perhaps I should not be welcome if I were to turn up without it.’
‘I told you when I came in that you looked like a hero. In any case, the King’s soldiers are everywhere, and we are not yet at war; however, don’t put too much faith in that and tell Pompée to prime his pistols.’
‘Are you saying that to reassure me?’
‘Of course. If you know the danger, you can’t be taken by surprise. So off you go,’ Richon went on, getting up. ‘It’s going to be a fine night, and before daybreak you could be in Monlieu.’
‘But won’t our baron see me leave?’
‘Huh! At the moment he’s doing what we’ve just done, that is, he’s having supper, and if his supper was anything like ours, he’ll be too keen on his food to get up from the table without good reason. In any case, I’ll go down and make sure of it.’
‘Then make my excuses for my impoliteness to him. I wouldn�
�t like him to seek a quarrel with me, if he should one day meet me in a less forgiving mood than he was today. Apart from which, he must be a bit of a stickler for form, your baron!’
‘You’ve said it, and he would be the man to follow you to the ends of the earth just to cross swords with you. But don’t worry, I’ll pass on your respects.’
‘Yes, but do wait until I’ve left.’
‘I certainly shall.’
‘And don’t you have some message for Her Highness?’
‘I do indeed. Thank you, I was forgetting the most important thing.’
‘Have you written her a letter?’
‘No, there are just two words that she needs to know.’
‘What are they?’
‘Bordeaux – yes.’
‘Will she know what that means?’
‘Definitely. And with those two words, she can leave with her mind at rest. Tell her that I guarantee everything.’
‘Come on, Pompée,’ the viscount said to the old servant, who, at that moment, was poking his head round the door, which he had just half opened. ‘Come on, my friend, we have to go.’
‘Oh, no! To go?’ said Pompée. ‘Does the viscount realize? There’s going to be a frightful storm.’
‘What are you talking about, Pompée?’ Richon retorted. ‘There’s not a cloud in the sky.’
‘But we might lose our way in the dark.’
‘That would be hard, since you have only to follow the highway. And in any case, the moonlight is quite splendid.’
‘Moonlight! Moonlight!’ Pompée muttered. ‘You realize it’s not for my own sake that I’m saying this, Monsieur Richon.’
‘Of course,’ Richon said. ‘An old soldier…’
‘When you’ve fought the Spaniards and been wounded at the Battle of Corbie…’34 Pompée said, puffing himself up with pride.
‘You don’t fear a thing, huh? Well, that’s excellent, because the viscount is not at all easy in his mind, I can tell you.’
The Women's War Page 9