Canolles proudly lifted his head, and his fine hair, in a gesture that was full of style, fell in black ringlets across his neck. They had reached the street, where many torches were lighting the way, so that people could see his calm, smiling face. He heard some women weep, and others saying: ‘Poor baron! So young and so handsome!’
They went silently on their way. Then, suddenly, he said: ‘Oh, Monsieur Lenet! I truly would like to see her one more time.’
‘Do you want me to go and fetch her?’ said Lenet, who could no longer decide for himself.
‘Yes, yes,’ murmured Canolles.
‘Very well, I shall run. But you will kill her.’
‘So much the better,’ said the egotist inside the young man’s heart. ‘If you kill her, no one else will ever possess her.’ But then, overcoming this final weakness, Canolles put out a hand to restrain Lenet and said: ‘No, no. You promised her that you would stay with me. So stay.’
‘What’s he saying?’ the duke asked the captain of the guard.
Canolles heard the question.
‘I am saying, Duke,’ he replied, ‘that I did not think it was so far from the prison to the Esplanade.’
‘Alas, don’t complain, you poor young man,’ Lenet added. ‘We are there.’
Even as he said this, the torches lighting the procession and the advance guard of the escort disappeared round a bend in the road.
Lenet pressed the young man’s hand, and, wanting to make one further attempt before they reached the place of execution, he went over to the duke and said in a quiet voice: ‘Once more, I beg you: pardon him! You will lose our cause by executing Monsieur de Canolles.’
‘Not at all,’ the duke retorted. ‘We are proving that we consider it to be a just one, since we are not afraid to take reprisals.’
‘Reprisals are exchanged between equals, Duke. And whatever you care to say, the queen will always be the queen and we her subjects.’
‘Let us not argue about such matters in front of Monsieur de Canolles,’ said the duke, in a louder voice. ‘You can see that it is not appropriate.’
‘Don’t talk about mercy to his lordship,’ said Canolles. ‘You can see he is in the middle of carrying out his coup d’état, so let’s not bother him with such trivial matters…’
The duke did not reply, but his clenched lips and ironic glance showed that the shot had found its mark. Meanwhile, they had carried on walking, and Canolles was now at the entrance to the Esplanade. In the distance, that is to say at the far end of the square, they could see the packed crowd and a wide circle formed by the shining muzzles of the muskets. In the centre, was something black and shapeless which Canolles did not trouble to make out through the dark; he thought that it was an ordinary scaffold. But suddenly, the torches, reaching the middle of the square, lit up this sombre object that had previously been unrecognizable and showed the dreadful outline of a gibbet.
‘A gibbet!’ Canolles cried, stopping and pointing at the device. ‘Is that not a gibbet that I can see there, Duke?’
‘Yes, indeed, you are not mistaken,’ the duke replied coldly.
The young man’s face reddened with indignation. He pushed aside the two soldiers who were marching at his sides and in a single stride was confronting Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld.
‘Have you forgotten, Monsieur, that I am a gentleman?’ he shouted. ‘Everyone knows, even the executioner, that a gentleman has the right to be beheaded!’
‘There are some circumstances…’
‘Monsieur,’ Canolles interrupted him. ‘I am not speaking to you in my name, but in that of all the nobility, in which you yourself hold such a high rank: you have been a prince, and you are now a duke. It would be a dishonour – not for me, who am innocent, but for all of you, such as you are, were one of your peers to die on a gibbet.’
‘The king had Richon hanged, Monsieur!’
‘Richon was a brave soldier, as noble in heart as anyone in the world, but he was not noble by birth. I am.’
‘You forget,’ the duke said, ‘that we are dealing with an affair of reprisal. Even if you were a prince of the blood, you would be hanged.’
Canolles, without thinking, felt for his sword and, not finding it at his side, was forced back into the full realization of his situation. His anger evaporated, and he saw that his superiority lay in his weakness.
‘Woe betide those who use reprisals, philosopher,’ he said. ‘And more still those who, in doing so, pay no heed to humanity. I am not asking for mercy, but for justice. There are those who love me, Monsieur – and I stress that word, because you, I know, are not aware that it is possible to love.3 Well, in the heart of those people you will for ever impress, beside the memory of my death, the ignoble image of the gibbet. A sword thrust, I beg you, or a musket ball. Give me your dagger so that I can strike myself, and afterwards you can hang my corpse if you wish.’
‘Richon was hanged alive, Monsieur,’ the duke replied coldly.
‘Very well. Now listen to me: one day, a frightful misfortune will strike you, and you will see that this misfortune is a punishment from God. As for me, I am dying in the certainty that my death is your doing.’
Canolles, shivering, pale, but exultant and full of courage, walked over to the scaffold and paused, proud and disdainful before the mob, with his foot on the first step of the ladder.
‘And now,’ he said, ‘executioners – do your work!’
‘There’s only one!’ the crowd shouted in surprise. ‘The other! Where is the other? We were promised two!’
‘Ah, that’s a consolation,’ Canolles said with a smile. ‘This fine mob is not even content with what you are doing for it. Did you hear them, Duke?’
‘Death! Death! Revenge for Richon!’ shouted ten thousand voices.
‘Perhaps,’ thought Canolles, ‘if I were to annoy them, they would be quite capable of tearing me limb from limb, and then I should not be hanged, which would infuriate the duke.’
‘Cowards!’ he shouted. ‘I can see some among you who were in the attack on the fort of Saint-Georges: I saw you running away. Now you are taking revenge on me for beating you.’
There was an answering roar.
‘Cowards! Rebels! Wretches!’ he went on.
A thousand knives flashed, and stones started to fall at the foot of the scaffold.
‘At last,’ Canolles thought. Then, aloud, he said: ‘The king hanged Richon, and good riddance! When he captures Bordeaux he’ll hang plenty more of you.’
At these words, the crowd charged like a flood across the Esplanade, knocked over the guards, broke down the palisades and rushed, roaring, towards the prisoner.
Meanwhile, at a signal from the duke, one of the executioners had lifted Canolles up by his armpits, while the other threw a cord around his neck.
Canolles felt the rope and yelled more insults. If he was to be killed in time, he had not a minute to lose. At that final moment, he looked around and saw only blazing eyes and threatening weapons.
One man alone, a soldier on horseback, was brandishing his musket.
‘Cauvignac! It’s Cauvignac!’ Canolles shouted, grasping the ladder with both hands; his arms had not been tied.
Cauvignac waved his gun at the man whom he had been unable to save and took aim.
‘Yes, yes!’ he cried, nodding his head.
And now let us describe how Cauvignac came to be there.
IV
We saw Cauvignac leaving Libourne and we know why he did so.
When he caught up with his soldiers, under Ferguzon’s command, he paused for a moment, not to catch his breath, but to carry out the plan that his inventive mind had been able to conceive in half an hour’s speedy march.
First of all, he told himself, with every justification, that if he were to present himself before the princess after what had happened, the princess, who was hanging Canolles when she had nothing against him, would certainly hang Cauvignac, against whom she did have cause for reproach, so
his mission, though successful in that Canolles might, perhaps, be saved, would be a failure to the extent that he himself would be hanged. So he hurriedly changed clothes with one of his men, got Barabbas, who was less familiar to the princess than he was, to put on his finest clothes and, taking him along, once more set off at a gallop down the Bordeaux road. Meanwhile, there was one thing bothering him, namely the content of the letter that he was carrying, which his sister had written with such confidence, and which, according to her, he had only to hand over to the princess for Canolles to be saved. And this unease increased to the point where he quite simply decided to read the letter, telling himself that a good negotiator can only succeed in his mission if he is fully informed of the matter concerned. Apart from which, it must be said, Canolles did not have every confidence in his sister: it was possible that Nanon, even though she was his sister – and even precisely because she was his sister – might well hold a grudge against her brother, firstly for the affair at Jaulnay, and then afterwards for his unexpected escape from the Château-Trompette, and might be helping fate to put everything back in its place (which was something of a family tradition).
So Cauvignac easily opened the document, which was only closed by a simple wax seal, and experienced a strange and quite painful sensation as he read the letter.
This is what Nanon had written:
Princess,
A victim is necessary to compensate for the unfortunate Richon. Do not take an innocent man, take the one who is really guilty. I do not wish Monsieur de Canolles to die, because killing him would be to avenge an assassination with a murder. When you read this letter, I shall have only a league to cover to reach Bordeaux with all that I possess. You can hand me over to the people who hate me – since they have twice tried to cut my throat – and keep my wealth for yourself: it amounts to two million. Madame, on bended knee I beg you this favour. I am partly to blame for this war. When I am dead, peace will return to the province and Your Highness will triumph. Give us a quarter of an hour’s grace. Do not release Canolles until you have me; but then, by your soul, you will release him, won’t you?
And I shall be your respectful and grateful,
Nanon de Lartigues
After reading this, Cauvignac was amazed to find that his heart was full and his eyes were damp. He remained motionless and dumbfounded as though unable to believe what he had just read. Then suddenly he cried: ‘So it is true that there are in this world hearts that are generous for the pleasure of being so!4 Very well, by heaven! They will see that I am as capable as another of being generous when I have to.’
Since he was at the gate of the town, he handed the letter to Barabbas, with the following instructions: ‘Whatever they say to you, answer only: “On the king’s business!” And put this letter into the hands of Madame de Condé herself.’
While Barabbas was hurrying towards the palace where the princess was staying, Cauvignac for his part set off for the Château-Trompette.
Barabbas found nothing to stand in his way. The streets were deserted, and the town appeared to be empty, everyone in it having made for the Esplanade.
At the door of the palace, the sentries tried to stop him from passing, but, following Cauvignac’s advice, he waved his letter, shouting: ‘On the king’s business! On the king’s business!’
The sentries assumed he was a messenger from the court and raised their pikes, letting Barabbas get into the palace, as he had previously got into the town. Because, as the reader will recall, this was not the first time that Monsieur Cauvignac’s worthy lieutenant had the honour to visit Madame de Condé. So he leapt down from his horse and, knowing his way, hastily ran to the staircase, rushing past some busy servants, and reached the princess’s chambers. There he stopped, confronted by a woman whom he recognized as the princess, with another woman kneeling at her feet.
‘Oh, Madame! Mercy, in heaven’s name!’ this other woman was saying.
‘Claire,’ the princess replied, ‘hush, be reasonable. Consider that we have put aside our nature as women together with our women’s clothing. We are the representatives of the prince and reason of state must dictate.’
‘There is no reason of state for me,’ Claire cried. ‘There are no longer any political factions or opinions. There is nothing except him in this world that he is about to leave, and when he has left it, there will be nothing for me but death!’
‘Claire, child, I have told you that it is impossible,’ the princess replied. ‘They killed Richon, and if we do not reply in kind, we shall be dishonoured.’
‘Oh, Madame, no one is ever dishonoured by showing mercy; no one is ever dishonoured by making use of a privilege that is reserved for the king of heaven and the kings of the earth. One word, Madame, just one! The poor wretch is waiting!’
‘But Claire, you are mad! I’ve told you it’s impossible…’
‘And I told him that he was safe! I showed him his pardon signed with your own hand. I told him that I would return with confirmation of that pardon.’
‘I granted it on condition that the other man would pay for him. Why was the other one allowed to leave?’
‘He had nothing to do with that escape, I swear! In any case, the other man may not be saved. They might find him…’
‘Ah, yes! Beware!’ thought Barabbas, who arrived at that moment.
‘They are going to lead him away, Madame. Time is running out. They will be tired of waiting.’
‘You are right, Claire,’ said the princess. ‘Because I gave the order that everything should be over by eleven o’clock, and eleven o’clock is just striking. It must all be over.’
The viscountess gave a cry and got up. As she did so, she came face to face with Barabbas.
‘Who are you?’ she cried. ‘What do you want? Have you already come to report his death?’
‘No, Madame,’ said Barabbas, assuming his most affable manner. ‘On the contrary, I have come to save him.’
‘How?’ the viscountess cried. ‘Tell us quickly!’
‘By giving this letter to the princess.’
Madame de Cambes reached out, snatched the letter from the messenger’s hands and said, giving it to the princess: ‘I don’t know what is in this letter, but in heaven’s name, read it!’
The princess opened the letter and read it aloud, while Madame de Cambes, her face growing paler at every line, devoured every word as it fell from the princess’s lips.
‘From Nanon!’ said the princess. ‘Nanon is there! She is surrendering! Where is Lenet? Where is the duke? Get someone, get someone here.’
‘I am here,’ said Barabbas, ‘and ready to run wherever Your Highness pleases.’
‘Then run to the Esplanade, to the place of execution and tell them to suspend it… But, no, they won’t believe you!’
The princess, grabbing a pen, wrote the words: ‘Suspend execution’ at the bottom of the letter. Then she gave it, unsealed, to Barabbas, who dashed out of the room.
‘She loves him more than I do,’ thought the viscountess. ‘Wretch that I am, she is the one to whom he will owe his life.’ And, at this idea, she dropped senseless into a chair, after managing to remain standing through all the shocks of that dreadful day.
Barabbas, meanwhile, did not lose a second. He flew down the stairs, as though he had wings, then leapt on his horse and galloped at full tilt towards the Esplanade.
While he was going to the palace, Cauvignac for his part had been hurrying directly to the Château-Trompette. There, under cover of darkness and made unrecognizable by a broad felt hat pulled right down over his eyes, he asked questions and learned every detail of his own escape and how Canolles was to pay for him. Instinctively, without planning what he was going to do, he raced towards the Esplanade, spurring his horse on furiously, pushing the crowd aside, dashing, overturning and crushing everything in his path. When he reached the execution place, he saw the gibbet and gave a cry that was drowned by the shouts of the mob, which Canolles was exciting and provok
ing, in the hope that it would tear him apart.
It was at this moment that Canolles saw Cauvignac, guessed his intent and nodded to show him that he was welcome.
Cauvignac stood up in his stirrups, looked around in case he could see Barabbas or a messenger from the princess and listened for the word ‘Pardon!’ But he could see and hear nothing except Canolles, whom the executioner was about to knock off the ladder and swing into the void – and who, with one hand, was showing him his heart.
This is when Cauvignac raised his musket towards the young man, put it to his cheek, aimed and fired.
‘Thank you,’ said Canolles, opening his arms. ‘At least I am dying a soldier’s death.’
The shot had pierced his chest.
The executioner pushed the body, which hung from the rope of shame, but it was no more than a corpse.
The shot had acted like a signal. A thousand other musket shots rang out at once, and a voice cried: ‘Stop! Stop! Cut the rope!’
But it was lost in the screams of the mob. In any case, the rope was cut by a shot, while the guard resisted in vain before being swept aside by the flood of people. The gallows was torn down, smashed, obliterated. The executioners fled, and the crowd, spreading like a shadow, seized the body, pulled it away, tore it apart and dragged it in shreds around the town.
This mob, made idiotic by hatred, thought that it was adding to the baron’s punishment, while in reality it was saving him from the infamy that he had so greatly feared.
While all this was going on, Barabbas had made his way to the duke, and, though he could see for himself that he was too late, he gave him the message that he had brought.
In the midst of all the firing, the duke had merely moved a little way to the side – for he was cold and calm in courage as in everything else that he did. He opened the letter5 and read it.
‘That’s a shame,’ he said, turning to his officers. ‘What this Nanon suggests might have been more advantageous, but what is done, is done.’ Then, after a moment’s reflection, he added: ‘In fact, since she is on the far side of the river, waiting for our reply, we may still be able to do something about it.’
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