‘Now, then! Who is muttering there?’ he asked, turning in the direction from which the disapproving murmurs had been clearest.
‘I am,’ said one soldier, bolder than the rest.
‘You!’
‘Yes, me.’
‘Come here and explain yourself.’
The soldier left the ranks and marched over to his chief.
‘What do you need, that makes you complain like that?’
‘What do I need?’
‘Yes, what do you need? Do you have your ration of bread?’
‘Yes, Commander.’
‘Your ration of meat?’
‘Yes, Commander.’
‘Are your barracks uncomfortable?’
‘No.’
‘Are you owed any back pay?’
‘No.’
‘So tell me: what do you need? What do you want? What is the meaning of this murmuring?’
‘The meaning is that we are fighting against our king, and that is hard for a French soldier.’
‘So you wish you were serving His Majesty?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’d like to go and join your king?’
‘Yes,’ said the soldier who, taken in by Richon’s calm manner, thought it would all end with him merely being expelled from the ranks of the Condés’ troops.
‘Very well,’ said Richon, grabbing the man by his jerkin. ‘But since I’ve closed the gates, you’ll have to take the only path left to you.’
‘What’s that?’ cried the terrified soldier.
‘This one,’ said Richon, lifting him up with his Herculean arm and throwing him over the parapet.
The soldier gave a cry and fell into the moat which, fortunately for him, was full of water.
A gloomy silence followed this decisive action. Richon thought that he had quelled the rebellion, and, like a gambler risking everything, he turned back to his men.
‘Now, if there are any other supporters of the king here,’ he said, ‘let them speak and they’ll leave by the same route.’
A hundred men shouted: ‘Yes! Yes! We support the king and want to leave.’
‘Ah, ha!’ said Richon, realizing that what was emerging was not the feeling of a few, but a general rebellion. ‘That’s another matter. I thought I was faced with just one mutineer, but I see I am dealing with five hundred cowards.’
It was a mistake for Richon to accuse them all at once. Only a hundred men had spoken, while the rest had remained silent, but the rest, now that they were included in this accusation of cowardice, also began to murmur.
‘Come now,’ said Richon, ‘Don’t all talk at once. Let one officer, if there is one who is ready to betray his oath, be the spokesman for you all. I promise you that he will be able to speak with impunity.’
At this, Ferguzon stepped forward and said, saluting his commander with exquisite courtesy: ‘Commander, you have heard the wishes of the garrison: you are fighting against His Majesty, our king, and the majority of us were not warned that we were being enrolled to make war on such an enemy. One of our gallant fellows here, whose feelings have been outraged in this manner, could very well in the midst of the battle have made a mistake in the direction towards which he was pointing his musket and put a shot through your head. But we are true soldiers and not cowards, as you wrongly described us. So this is the opinion of my comrades and myself, which we respectfully put before you: give us back to the king, or we shall do so of our own accord.’
This speech was greeted with a general cheer, showing that the lieutenant’s opinion was, if not that of the whole garrison, at least shared by the majority. Richon realized that he was lost.
‘I cannot defend myself alone,’ he said. ‘And I do not wish to surrender. Since my soldiers have abandoned me, let somebody negotiate for me as he and they think best, but that somebody will not be me. As long as the few brave men who have remained loyal to me are given safe conduct, that is all I want. So, who will be your negotiator?’
‘I shall do it, Commander, if you agree and if my comrades honour me with their trust.’
‘Yes, yes! Lieutenant Ferguzon! Lieutenant Ferguzon!’ shouted five hundred voices, among which could be heard those of Barabbas and Carrotel.
‘It will be you, then, Monsieur,’ said Richon. ‘You are free to come and go in and out of Vayres as you wish.’
‘Do you have any particular instructions to give me, Commander?’ said Ferguzon.
‘Freedom for my men.’
‘And for yourself?’
‘Nothing.’
Such self-denial would have changed the minds of men who had been misled, but these men had not only been misled, they had been sold.
‘Yes, yes! Freedom for us!’ they cried.
‘Have no fear, Commander,’ said Ferguzon. ‘I shall not forget you in the surrender.’
Richon smiled sadly, shrugged his shoulders, returned to his quarters and locked the door.
Ferguzon immediately went over to the royalists. But Monsieur de La Meilleraie was not willing to do anything without authorization from the queen, and she had left Nanon’s little house, because, as she said herself, she did not want to watch the disgrace of the army. She had retired to the town hall in Libourne.
Marshal de La Meilleraie put two soldiers to guard Ferguzon, mounted a horse and rode to Libourne. He went to find Mazarin, expecting that he would be announcing a great piece of news, but as soon as he began to speak, the minister stopped him with his usual smile.
‘We know all that, Marshal,’ he said. ‘The matter was settled yesterday evening. Negotiate with Lieutenant Ferguzon, but only give a verbal assurance as far as Richon is concerned.’
‘What! A verbal assurance?’ the marshal said. ‘But when I give my word, it’s the same as putting something in writing, I hope.’
‘Calm down, Marshal. I have received special indulgences from His Holiness the Pope which allow me to relieve people from their oaths.’
‘That may be,’ the marshal said. ‘But those indulgences do not apply to marshals of France.’
Mazarin smiled and signalled to the marshal that he could return to the camp.
The marshal went back, grumbling, gave Ferguzon a written safe conduct for himself and his men, and gave his word where Richon was concerned.
Ferguzon returned to the fort, which he and his fellow soldiers abandoned an hour before dawn, after letting Richon know of the marshal’s verbal assurance. Two hours later, when Richon could already see from his window the reinforcements arriving for him with Ravailly, men came into his room and arrested him in the name of the queen.
To begin with, the brave commander’s face wore an expression of deep satisfaction. While he was free, Madame de Condé could suspect him of treason, but if he was caught, his captivity answered for his honour. This was why, instead of leaving with the rest, he had stayed behind in the fort.
However, they were not satisfied merely with taking his sword, as he had at first expected, but after he had been disarmed, four men waiting for him by the door jumped on him and tied his hands behind his back.
Richon resisted this humiliating treatment with the calm and resignation of a martyr. He was one of those steadfast souls who were the ancestors of the popular heroes of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.13
He was brought to Libourne and taken before the queen, who looked him up and down with an arrogant stare; then before the king, who crushed him with a fierce glare; and finally before Monsieur Mazarin, who said: ‘You played for high stakes, Monsieur Richon.’
‘And I lost, didn’t I, Monseigneur? Now it remains to see what the stakes were.’
‘Your head, I’m afraid,’ said Mazarin.
‘Inform Monsieur d’Epernon that the king wishes to see him,’ said Anne of Austria. ‘As for this man, he can await his sentence here.’
Monsieur d’Epernon had arrived an hour earlier, but being an old man in love, his first call had been on Nanon. In the depths of Guyenne, he
had learned of Canolles’s spirited defence of the Ile Saint-Georges, and, still full of confidence in his mistress, he complimented her on her dear brother’s conduct, quite innocently adding that this brother’s appearance had not led him to expect such nobility and valour.
Nanon was too preoccupied to be amused by the continued success of her deception. Not only her own happiness was at risk, but also her lover’s freedom. She loved Canolles so desperately that she could not believe that he could have betrayed her, even though the idea had often come into her head. She had interpreted his efforts to get her away from the fort as nothing more than anxiety about her safety. She thought that he was being kept prisoner by force and wept for him, longing only for the moment when, thanks to Monsieur d’Epernon, she would be able to set him free.
So she had done all she could to speed up his return, by writing ten letters to the duke.
Now, finally, he had arrived and Nanon had begged him on behalf of her pretended brother whom she was anxious to deliver as soon as possible from the hands of his enemies; or, rather, from those of Madame de Cambes – because she thought that in reality Canolles was in danger of nothing more serious than to fall ever more deeply in love with the viscountess.
But for Nanon, this danger was crucial, so she begged the Duke d’Epernon for her brother’s freedom, with clasped hands.
‘It’s perfect,’ said the duke. ‘I have just learned that the Governor of Vayres has let himself be captured. Very well, we’ll exchange him for this brave Canolles.’
‘Oh, my dear duke,’ said Nanon. ‘It’s a gift from heaven.’
‘So do you love this brother of yours very much?’
‘More than my life.’
‘How odd that you never mentioned him to me, until that famous day when I was stupid enough…’
‘So, Duke?’ Nanon interrupted him.
‘So I’ll send the Governor of Vayres to Madame de Condé, and she’ll send us back Canolles. It happens every day in wartime. It’s a simple exchange of prisoners.’
‘Yes, but would not Madame de Condé judge Canolles to be worth more than a simple officer?’
‘Very well, in that case, instead of one officer, we’ll send her two, we’ll send her three… We’ll arrange everything as you please, you see, my sweet? And when our brave commander of the Ile Saint-Georges comes back to Libourne, we’ll greet him with a triumph.’
Nanon was beside herself with joy. There was nothing she wanted more than to have Canolles back again. What Monsieur d’Epernon would say when he realized who this Canolles was… well, she scarcely bothered about that. Once Canolles had been saved, she would announce that he was her lover: she would say so aloud, in front of everybody!
This is where things stood when the queen’s messenger arrived.
‘You see,’ said the duke. ‘It’s working out perfectly, my dear Nanon. I shall go to Her Majesty and fetch the request for the exchange.’
‘So my brother could be here…’
‘Tomorrow, perhaps.’
‘Go on, then!’ Nanon exclaimed. ‘Don’t lose a moment! Oh, tomorrow, tomorrow!’ she added, raising both arms to the heavens with a lovely, prayerful expression. ‘Tomorrow, God willing!’
‘Ah, what a soul!’ murmured the duke as he went out.
When he came into the queen’s chamber, Anne of Austria, red with fury, was biting her thick lips (lips that were much admired by her courtiers, precisely because they were the defect of her face). So Monsieur d’Epernon, a gallant, used to receiving the smiles of women, was welcomed like one of the rebellious men of Bordeaux.
He stared at the queen in astonishment. She had not responded to his greeting and was frowning and looking him up and down from the height of her royal majesty.
‘Ah, it’s you, Duke!’ she said, after a moment’s silence. ‘Come and let me compliment you on the way you make appointments.’
‘What have I done, Madame?’ the duke asked, in surprise. ‘What has happened?’
‘What has happened is that you made Governor of Vayres a man who fired his cannon at the king, that’s what.’
‘I, Madame!’ the duke exclaimed. ‘Your Majesty must surely be mistaken! It was not I that appointed the Governor of Vayres… at least, not as far as I know.’
D’Epernon hesitated, because his conscience told him that he did not always make appointments by himself.
‘Now that’s something new!’ she replied. ‘Monsieur Richon was not appointed by you – perhaps.’
She put a deeply malicious stress on this last word.
The duke, who knew Nanon’s talent for fitting the right man to a job, was quickly reassured.
‘I do not recall having appointed Monsieur Richon,’ he said. ‘But if I did so, then Monsieur Richon must be a loyal servant of the king.’
‘That’s rich!’ said the queen. ‘You think Monsieur Richon is a loyal servant of the king! Good heavens! Some servant – who in three days has killed five hundred of our men!’
‘Madame,’ the duke said anxiously, ‘if that is the case, I must admit that I was wrong. But before I am condemned, let me find proof that I really was the one who appointed him. I shall go and look for it.’
The queen made as though to stop him, then changed her mind.
‘Go, then,’ she said. ‘And when you bring me your proof, I shall show you mine.’
Monsieur d’Epernon ran out and hurried to Nanon’s.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Have you got the request for exchange?’
‘Oh, that’s the question,’ the duke replied. ‘The queen is furious.’
‘What is making Her Majesty furious?’
‘The fact that either you or I appointed Monsieur Richon Governor of Vayres, and this governor, who fought like a lion, apparently, has just killed five hundred of our men.’
‘Richon!’ Nanon repeated. ‘I don’t know him.’
‘Devil take me if I do, either.’
‘In that case, tell the queen outright that she is mistaken.’
‘But are you sure that you are not the one who is mistaken?’
‘Wait, I don’t want to have any reason to reproach myself. I’ll tell you.’ And she went to her bureau, looked up her business register at the letter ‘R’ and found no sign of any commission to Richon.
‘You can return to your queen,’ she said, coming back, ‘and tell her confidently that she is wrong.’
Monsieur d’Epernon went from Nanon’s house to the town hall in a single bound.
‘Madame,’ he said, proudly marching into the queen’s chambers. ‘I am innocent of the crime that is alleged against me. The appointment of Monsieur Richon was made by Your Majesty’s ministers.’
‘So my ministers sign themselves “d’Epernon”, do they?’ the queen asked, sourly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just this: that is the signature at the bottom of Monsieur Richon’s commission.’
‘Impossible, Madame,’ the duke replied, in the faltering tones of a man who is starting to doubt his own reason.
The queen shrugged her shoulders.
‘Impossible?’ she said. ‘Well, read it.’ And she took a commission that had been lying face down on the table with her hand on it.
Monsieur d’Epernon took the paper, read it keenly, examining every fold, every word and every letter, and was left perturbed: a frightful thought entered his head…
‘Could I see this Richon?’ he asked.
‘Nothing could be simpler,’ the queen answered. ‘I have had him waiting in the room next door just to give you that satisfaction.’ Then, turning to the guards, who were awaiting her orders by the door, she said: ‘Bring the wretch in.’
The guards left, and a moment later Richon was led in with his hands tied and his hat on. The duke walked across to the prisoner and stared at him with a look that the other bore with his accustomed dignity. Since he was wearing his hat, one of the guards knocked it off with a blow from the back of his hand.
The Governor of Vayres did not flinch at this insult.
‘Put a cloak over his shoulders, and a mask on his face, and give me a lighted candle,’ said the duke.
To begin with, they carried out the first two requests. The queen looked at these unusual preparations with astonishment. The duke walked round the masked figure of Richon, minutely examining him and trying to bring back all his memories, but still doubtful.
‘Bring me the candle I asked for,’ he said. ‘That will resolve all my doubts.’
A candle was brought. The duke put the commission close to the light, and, in the warmth of the flame, a double cross, written above the signature with invisible ink, appeared on the paper.
At the sight of this, the duke’s face lit up and he exclaimed: ‘Madame, this commission is signed by me, that’s true, but I did not sign it for Monsieur Richon or anyone else: it was extorted from me by this man in a kind of ambush. But before handing over this blank paper with my signature, I made a sort of mark that Your Majesty can see. It is overwhelming evidence against the guilty man. Look.’
The queen eagerly seized the paper and looked, while the duke pointed to the sign.
‘I don’t understand a word of the accusation you have just made against me,’ Richon said simply.
‘What!’ cried the duke. ‘Weren’t you the masked man to whom I gave this paper on the Dordogne?’
‘I have never spoken to Your Lordship before today,’ Richon replied coldly. ‘And I have never been masked on the Dordogne.’
‘If it was not you, then it was a man sent by you who came in your stead.’
‘There would be no point my hiding the truth,’ said Richon, calm as ever. ‘The commission that you have there, Duke, was given to me by the Princess de Condé, from the hands of the Duke de La Rochefoucauld in person. It was filled in with my name and forenames by Monsieur Lenet, whose writing you may recognize. How did the princess obtain this paper? How did it come into the hands of Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld? Where did Monsieur Lenet add my name and forenames to it? I know nothing of these things: they do not concern me or matter to me.’
‘Huh! That’s what you think!’ said the duke in a jocular tone. And, going over to the queen, he whispered to her a fairly long story that the queen followed attentively. It was the story of Cauvignac’s denunciation of Nanon and the meeting on the Dordogne. But, being a woman, the queen perfectly understood the duke’s feelings of jealousy.
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