‘Where?’ said Canolles.
‘That I don’t know, but we shall certainly meet again.’
Canolles sadly shook his head.
‘I’m not counting on it, Madame,’ he said. ‘There is a war between us, and that is too much when there is not love at the same time.’
‘So does this day mean nothing to you?’ said the viscountess, in the most seductive voice.
‘It is the only one, since I came into this world, in which I am quite sure that I have lived.’
‘So, you see how ungrateful you are.’
‘Give me another day like this one.’
‘I cannot. I have to leave this evening.’
‘I was not asking you for tomorrow, or the day after. I am asking for a day, in the future. Take as long as you wish, choose whatever place you wish, but let me live with one certainty: I should suffer too much if all I had was hope.’
‘Where are you going after you leave me?’
‘To Paris, to report on my mission.’
‘And then?’
‘Quite possibly the Bastille too.’
‘But supposing that you do not go there?’
‘I shall return to Libourne, where my regiment must be.’
‘And I to Bordeaux, where I shall find the princess. Do you know a very quiet little village on the road between Bordeaux and Libourne?’
‘I know one, which is almost as dear to my memory as Chantilly.’
‘Jaulnay?’ the viscountess asked, with a smile.
‘Jaulnay,’ Canolles repeated.
‘Well, it takes four days to go to Jaulnay. Today is Tuesday. I shall be there on Sunday for the whole day.’
‘Thank you, thank you!’ Canolles exclaimed, pressing his lips to a hand that Madame de Cambes did not have the strength to take away from him. Then, after a moment, she said: ‘Now, we have to put on our little act.’
‘Ah, yes! As you say, Madame, the little act that should cover me with ridicule in the eyes of all France. But I cannot complain. I am the one who wanted it to be like this, and I am the one who chose, not the role that I play, but who devised the ending that concludes it.’ Madame de Cambes lowered her eyes. ‘Now, tell me what I have to do,’ said Canolles, impassively. ‘I await your orders, ready for anything.’
Claire was so moved that Canolles could see her velvet dress rising with the fast, uneven movements in her breast.
‘I know that you are making an enormous sacrifice for me; but, in heaven’s name, do believe me: I shall be eternally grateful. Yes, for my sake you will be risking the shame of the court; yes, you will be severely judged. I beg you, Monsieur, to despise all this if it gives you any pleasure to think that you have made me happy.’
‘I shall try, Madame.’
‘Believe me, Baron,’ Madame de Cambes went on. ‘This cold pain that I sense is eating away in you arouses dreadful remorse in me. Others might perhaps reward you more fully than I have done; but, Monsieur, a reward that was granted so easily would not be a worthy recompense for what you have done.’
As she said these words, Claire lowered her eyes with a sigh of modesty and suffering.
‘Is that all you have to say to me?’ asked Canolles.
‘Here,’ said the viscountess, taking a miniature portrait out of her bosom and handing it to Canolles. ‘Here, take this portrait and, whenever this unfortunate business causes you any pain, look at it and tell yourself that you are suffering for her whose image you see here, and that each of your sufferings is earned with her regret.’
‘Is that all?’
‘With esteem.’
‘Is that all?’
‘With sympathy.’
‘Oh, Madame, one word more!’ Canolles exclaimed. ‘What would it cost you to make me entirely happy?’
Claire made a quick movement towards the young man, held out her hand and opened her mouth to add: ‘With love.’
But as her mouth opened, so did the door, and the pretend captain of the guard appeared together with Pompée.
‘I shall finish at Jaulnay.’
‘Your sentence or your thought?’
‘Both: one always expresses the other.’
‘Madame,’ said the captain of the guard. ‘Your Highness’s horses are harnessed to the coach.’
‘Look surprised,’ Claire whispered to Canolles.
The baron gave a smile of pity that was addressed to himself.
‘Where is Your Highness going?’
‘I am leaving.’
‘But has Your Highness forgotten that I have been commanded by Her Majesty not to let you out of my sight?’
‘Monsieur, your mission is over.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that I am not Her Highness, the Princess de Condé, but merely the Viscountess de Cambes, her first lady-in-waiting. The princess left yesterday evening, and I am going to join her.’
Canolles stayed motionless. He was visibly loath to go on playing this farce for an audience of servants. So Madame de Cambes, to encourage him, cast him a gentle look, which fortified him a little.
‘So the king has been deceived,’ he said. ‘And where is the Duke d’Enghien?’
‘I ordered Pierrot to go back to his flowerbeds,’ said a low voice at the door of the room. It belonged to the Dowager Princess, who was standing on the threshold, supported by two ladies-in-waiting.
‘Go back to Paris, to Mantes, to Saint-Germain, or go back to the court, because your mission here is at an end. You will tell the king that those who are persecuted have to turn to trickery, which cancels the use of force. Nonetheless, you are free to remain in Chantilly and watch over me. I have not left and shall not leave the château, because I do not intend to do so. And with that, Baron, I bid you farewell.’
Canolles, blushing with shame, could hardly find the strength to bow, while looking at the viscountess and muttering, reproachfully: ‘Oh, Madame, Madame!’
The viscountess understood the look and the words.
‘Will Your Highness permit me,’ she said, turning to the dowager, ‘to play the part of the princess for a moment longer. I wish to thank the Baron de Canolles, in the name of the illustrious hosts who have left this castle, for the respect that he has shown and the tact that he brought to carrying out such a difficult mission. I dare believe, Madame, that Your Highness is of the same opinion and to hope that she will consequently join her thanks to mine.’
The dowager, touched by these forceful words – and her profound wisdom perhaps revealing to her one of the faces of this new secret grafted on to the old one – said the following, in a voice that was not devoid of feeling: ‘Everything that you have done against us, Monsieur, is forgotten, and for all that you have done for my family, there is gratitude.’
Canolles knelt before the princess who gave him the hand to kiss that had so often been kissed by Henri IV.
This was the finale of the scene and the inexorable dismissal: nothing was left for Canolles but to leave, as Madame de Cambes was about to do. He therefore went back to his rooms and hastily wrote Mazarin the most discouraging letter that he could manage. The purpose of this report was to spare himself the rebuff of the first, astonished reaction. Then walking through the ranks of the servants at the château, rather afraid that he would be insulted by them, he went down to the courtyard where his horse was ready and waiting.
Just as he was about to put his foot in the stirrup, an imperious voice spoke these words: ‘Pay your respects to the envoy of His Majesty, our king and master.’
At this, every head bowed to Canolles who, after having himself bowed towards the window where the princess was standing, spurred his horse and went on his way, with his head held high.
Castorin, disappointed in the fine dream that the false steward Pompée had encouraged in him, followed his master with his head hanging.
IV
It is now time to return to one of the most important figures in this story, who, mounted on a good horse
, is riding down the highway between Paris and Bordeaux, surrounded by five companions, whose eyes grow wider at every tinkle from a sack full of gold coins that Lieutenant Ferguzon has hanging from the tree of his saddle. This music rejoices and refreshes the troop just as the sound of drums and pipes revives a soldier on the march.
‘No matter, no matter,’ one of the men was saying. ‘Ten thousand livres is a fine sum.’
‘What you might say is that it would be a magnificent sum,’ Ferguzon said, ‘if it owed nothing to anyone; but this money owes a company of soldiers to the princess. Nimium satis est, as they used to say in olden times, which means: “Only too much is enough.” And, my dear Barabbas, we don’t have that mighty enough that makes up too much.’
‘It’s an expensive business, looking respectable,’ said Cauvignac. ‘All the money from the royal collector of taxes went in jerkins and embroidery. We are as magnificent as lords and have even allowed ourselves the luxury of purses – true, there’s nothing in them… Ah, what we do for appearance’s sake!’
‘Talk for us, Captain, not for yourself,’ retorted Barabbas, ‘you’ve got the purse and ten thousand livres with it.’
‘My friend,’ said Cauvignac. ‘Didn’t you hear, or did you fail to grasp what Ferguzon just said about our obligations towards the princess? I am not one of those who promise one thing and do another. Monsieur Lenet counted out ten thousand livres for me to muster a company, and I shall raise one, or the devil take me. Now he will give me a further forty thousand on the day when the company is assembled. So if he fails to pay those forty thousand, we shall see…’
‘With ten thousand livres!’ four ironic voices cried simultaneously – because Ferguzon, who was full of confidence in his chief’s abilities, seemed to be the only one in the troop convinced that Cauvignac would achieve the promised goal. ‘You’re going to muster a company, with ten thousand livres?’
‘Yes,’ said Cauvignac. ‘With a little bit added on.’
‘And who’s going to add something on?’ asked a voice.
‘Not me,’ said Ferguzon.
‘So who?’ asked Barabbas.
‘Heavens, the first comer! There, look, I can see a man on the road over there. Watch and see…’
‘I understand,’ said Ferguzon.
‘Is that all?’ asked Cauvignac.
‘And I admire.’
‘Yes,’ one of the other horsemen said, riding up to Cauvignac. ‘Yes, I can see that you are keen to fulfil your obligations, Captain, but we might well lose by being too respectable. Today, we are necessary, but if tomorrow the company has been mustered, they will put their trusty officers to command it and send us packing, after we’ve been to the trouble to assemble it.’
‘You are a fool, in four letters, my dear Carrotel, and it’s not the first time I’ve told you so,’ retorted Cauvignac. ‘The feeble argument that you have just put forward will deprive you of the rank that I intended to award you in the company – because it’s obvious that we will be the six officers in this nucleus of an army. I should have appointed you sub-lieutenant straightaway, Carrotel, but now you will be merely a sergeant. Thanks to the pathetic speech you have just heard, Barrabas, you, who kept quiet, will take the officer’s rank until such time as – Ferguzon having been hanged – you become lieutenant by right of seniority. But let’s not forget my first soldier, whom I can see over there.’
‘Do you know anything about this man, Captain?’ Ferguzon asked.
‘Nothing at all.’
‘He must be a bourgeois, because he has a black coat.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Huh! Look, the wind’s blowing it up. Can you see?’
‘If he has a black coat, he is a rich bourgeois. So much the better. We are recruiting men to serve the princes, so it is important that the company should be of high quality. If it was for that lily-livered Mazarin, anything would do, but for the princes, peste! Ferguzon, I have a notion that my company will do me honour, as Falstaff says.’
The whole troop spurred its horses on to catch up the bourgeois, who was riding along peacefully in the middle of the road.
When the worthy man, mounted on a good mule, saw the fine horsemen galloping towards him, he moved respectfully to the side of the road and saluted Cauvignac.
‘He’s polite,’ said Cauvignac. ‘That’s good, at least. But he doesn’t know how to give a military salute yet. We’ll teach him.’
Cauvignac returned the salute and drew up alongside him.
‘Monsieur,’ he enquired, ‘could you tell us if you love the king?’
‘Indeed, I do!’ said the bourgeois.
‘Admirable!’ said Cauvignac, rolling his eyes in delight. ‘And the queen?’
‘The queen? I have the utmost veneration for her.’
‘Excellent! What about Monsieur de Mazarin?’
‘Monsieur de Mazarin is a great man, whom I admire.’
‘Perfect. So,’ Cauvignac went on, ‘we have the pleasure of meeting a good servant of His Majesty?’
‘I pride myself on it, Monsieur!’
‘And one ready to demonstrate his attachment?’
‘On any occasion.’
‘How fortunate that is! Such encounters only happen on the highway.’
‘What do you mean?’ the bourgeois asked, starting to look at Cauvignac with some anxiety.
‘I mean, Monsieur, that you must follow us.’
The bourgeois leapt in his saddle with surprise and alarm.
‘Follow you! Where, Monsieur?’
‘I don’t quite know where we are going.’
‘But I only travel in the company of men whom I know.’
‘Quite right. You’re a cautious man. So, I’m going to tell you who we are.’
The man made a gesture indicating that he thought he knew this already, but Cauvignac appeared not to notice and went on: ‘I am Roland de Cauvignac, captain of a company of men, which is, it must be said, absent, but worthily represented by Louis-Gabriel Ferguzon, my lieutenant, by Georges-Guillaume Barabbas, my sub-lieutenant, by Zépharin Carrotel, my sergeant, and by these two gentlemen, one of whom is my quartermaster and the other my billeting sergeant. Now you know us, Monsieur,’ Cauvignac went on, in the most affable manner, ‘and I do hope you no longer feel any antipathy towards us.’
‘But, Monsieur, I have already served His Majesty in the town guard, and I pay my taxes, duties, tolls and so on regularly,’ the man replied.
‘So, Monsieur,’ Cauvignac continued, ‘it is not in His Majesty’s service that I am enrolling you, but in that of the princes, whose unworthy representative you see before you.’
‘In the service of the princes! Enemies of the king!’ the bourgeois exclaimed, ever more amazed. ‘But why, then, did you ask if I loved His Majesty?’
‘Because if you had not loved the king, if you had accused the queen, and if you had cursed Monsieur de Mazarin, I should have been very careful not to bother you in whatever you are doing. You should have been sacred to me, like a brother.’
‘But, Monsieur, I’m not a slave, I’m not a serf.’
‘No, you’re a soldier, that is to say absolutely free to become a captain, as I am, or a marshal of France, like Monsieur de Turenne.’6
‘I have often been in court in my life.’
‘Oh, dear, that’s a pity, a real pity: it’s such a bad habit getting involved in trials. I’ve never done it myself, perhaps because I studied to be a lawyer.’
‘But in the course of doing so I learned the laws of the kingdom.’
‘There are plenty of them. You know, Monsieur, that from the Pandects of Justinian7 down to the bill of Parliament, which states, on the subject of the death of the Marshal d’Ancre, that no foreigner can ever be a minister in France,8 there are 18,772 laws, not to mention other regulations, but then there are some specially favoured beings who have an astonishing memory: Pico della Mirandola9 spoke twelve languages by the age of eighteen. And what benefit have you
gained from knowing these laws, Monsieur?’
‘The benefit of knowing that one does not press-gang people on the highway without authorization.’
‘I have that, Monsieur. Here it is.’
‘From the princess?’
‘From Her Highness’s own self.’
And Cauvignac respectfully raised his hat.
‘So are there two kings in France?’ the bourgeois exclaimed.
‘Yes, Monsieur, and that is why I have the honour to require you to prefer mine, and that I consider it a duty to enrol you in my service.’
‘I shall appeal to the parliament of Bordeaux.’
‘That is indeed a third king and you will probably have the opportunity to serve it as well. Ours is a broad church. And so, forward, Monsieur!’
‘But this is impossible: I’m expected on business.’
‘Where?’
‘In Orléans.’
‘By whom?’
‘My attorney.’
‘Why?’
‘On financial business.’
‘Your first business is the service of the state.’
‘Can’t it do without me?’
‘We were counting on you, and we shall most surely miss you. However, if as you say, you were going to Orleans on financial business…’
‘Yes, on financial business.’
‘How much finance was involved?’
‘Four thousand livres.’
‘Which you were to receive?’
‘No, which I was to pay.’
‘To your attorney?’
‘Just so, Monsieur.’
‘For a case he had won?’
‘No, for one he lost.’
‘That’s something to think about. Four thousand livres!’
The Women's War Page 26