CHAPTER II. A NIGHT ON DUTY
Scarcely had the Count set out for Paris when Gerald remembered that itwas his night for duty, he was _de service_ in the antechamber of theking, and had but time to hasten to his quarters and equip himself infull uniform. When he reached the foot of the grand staircase he foundseveral dismounted dragoons, splashed and travel-stained, the centres oflittle groups, all eagerly questioning and listening to them. They hadarrived in hot haste from Paris, where a tremendous revolt had brokenout. Some said the Prince of Lambesi's regiment, the 'Royal Allemand,'were cut to pieces; others, that the military were capitulatingeverywhere; and one averred that when he passed the barrier the Bastillehad just fallen. While the veterans of the Swiss Guard and the householdtroops conversed in low and anxious whispers together, exchanginggloomy forebodings of what was to come, the two or three courtiers whomcuriosity had attracted to the spot spoke in tones of contempt and scornof the mob.
'They are shedding their blood freely, though, I assure you,' said ayoung sous-lieutenant, whose arm was in a sling. 'The fellow who smashedmy wrist had his face laid open by a sabre-cut, but seemed never to heedit in the least.'
'Have you despatches, Monsieur de Serrans?' asked a verydaintily-dressed and soft-voiced gentleman, with a wand of office aschamberlain.
'No, Monsieur le Marquis. I have a verbal message for his Majesty fromthe Duc de Bassompierre, and I crave an early audience.'
'His Majesty is going to supper,' replied the chamberlain. 'I will tryand obtain admission for you to-morrow.'
'The Duc's orders were very pressing, Monsieur le Marquis. He wasretiring for want of reinforcements, but would still hold his ground ifhis Majesty ordered it.'
'I regret it infinitely, but what is to be done, Monsieur?' said theother, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.
'At the hazard of spoiling his Majesty's appetite, I 'd like to see himat once, Monsieur de Breze,' said the officer boldly.
The polished courtier turned a look of half astonishment, half rebuke,on the soldier, and tripped up the stairs without a word.
'I am _de service_, sir,' whispered Gerald to the young officer. 'CouldI possibly be of any use to you?'
'I am afraid not,' replied the other courteously. 'I have a message tobe delivered to his Majesty's own ear, and the answer to which I was tocarry to my general. What I have just mentioned to M. de Breze was notof the importance of that with which I am charged.'
'And will it be too late to-morrow?'
'To-morrow! I ought to have been half-way back toward Paris already.You don't know that a battle is raging there, and fifty thousand men areengaged in deadly conflict.'
'The king _must_ hear of it,' said Gerald, as he mounted the stairs.
Very different was the scene in the splendid salons from that whichpresented itself below. Groups of richly attired ladies and followersof the court were conversing in all the easy gaiety their pleasant livessuggested. Of the rumours from the capital they made matter of jest andraillery; they ridiculed the absurd pretensions of the popular leaders,and treated the rising as something too contemptible for grave remark.As Gerald drew nigh, he saw, or fancied he saw, a sort of coldness inthe manner of those around. The conversation changed from its tone oflight flippancy to one of more guarded and more commonplace meaning. Itwas no longer doubtful to him that the story of his late altercationhad got abroad, with, not impossibly, very exaggerated accounts of theopinions he professed. Indeed, the remark of an old Marechal du Palaiscaught his ear as he passed, while the sidelong glances of the hearerstold that it was intended for himself--'It is too bad to find thesentiments of the Breton Club from the lips of a Garde du Corps.'
It was all that Gerald could do to restrain the impulse that urged himto confront the speaker, and ask him directly if the words were appliedto _him_, The decorous etiquette of the spot, the rigid observance ofall that respect that surrounds the vicinity of a king, checked hispurpose, and, having satisfied himself that he should know the speakeragain, he moved on. It was on the stroke of ten, the hour that he wasto relieve the soldier on guard, a duty which, in the etiquette of theGarde du Corps, was always performed by the relief appearing at theproper moment, without the usual military ceremony of a guard.
Alone at last, in that vast chamber where he had passed many an hour ofsentinel's watch, Gerald had time to compose his thoughts, and calm downthe passionate impulses that swayed him. He walked for above an hour hisweary round, stopping at times to gaze on the splendid tapestries which,on the walls, represented certain incidents of the _AEneid_. The faint,far-away sounds of the band, which performed during the supper of theking, occasionally met his ear, and he could not help contrasting thescene which they accompanied with the wild and terrible incidents thengoing forward at Paris. His mind ever balanced and vacillated betweentwo opinions. Were they right who maintained the supremacy of the royalcause, and the inviolability of that princely state whose splendourswere such a shock to misery! Or had the grievances of the people a realground--were there great wrongs to be redressed, cruel inequalities tobe at least compromised? How much had he listened to on either side?What instincts and prejudices were urged for this! what strength ofargument enlisted to support that! And he himself, what a positionwas his!--one of a corps whose very boast it was to reject all save ofancient lineage! What could he adduce as his claim to high descent? Ifthey questioned him to-morrow, how should he reply? What meant his titleof Chevalier? might he not be arraigned as a pretender, a mere impostorfor assuming it? If the Count Dillon decided that he should challengeMaurepas, might not his claim to gentle blood be litigated? And what ahistory should he give if asked for the story of his life! From thesethoughts he rambled on to others, scarcely less depressing: the cause ofthe king, of the very monarchy itself. Bold as the pretensions, highas the language was of those about the court, the members of the royalfamily exhibited the most intense anxiety. Within view of the palacewindows, in that same week, tumultuous assemblages had taken place,and thousands of men passed in solemn procession to the place where the'States General' had appointed for their meeting. The menacing gestures,the wild and passionate words, all so unlike what formerly had markedsuch demonstrations, were terribly significant of the change that hadcome over public opinion. Over and over had Gabriel predicted all thisto him. Again and again had he impressed upon him that a time was comingwhen the hard evils of poverty would arouse men to ask the terriblequestion, Why are we in wretchedness while others revel in excess?' Onthat day, and coming it is,' said he, 'all the brain-spun theories ofstatecraft will be thrown aside like rubbish, and they alone will belistened to who are men of action.' Was this dark prophecy now drawingnigh to accomplishment? were these the signs of that dread consummation?Gabriel had told him that the insane folly and confidence of those aboutthe court would be the greatest peril of the monarchy. 'Mark my words,'said he, 'it will be all insolence and contempt at first, abject terrorand mean concession after.' Was not the conduct of De Breze a very typeof the former? he had not even a word of passing courtesy for the bravefellow who wounded and exhausted, stood there waiting like a lackey.
Gerald was startled by the sudden opening of a door; and, as he turned,he saw a figure which he speedily recognised as the brother of the king,or, as he was called in court phrase, 'Monsieur.'
'Are you Maurice de Courcel' asked he, addressing Gerald hastily.
'No, Monseigneur; I am Fitzgerald.'
'Where is De Courcel, can you tell me?'
'He went on leave this morning, Monseigneur, to shoot in the forestof Soissons.'
'_Peste!_' muttered he angrily. 'Methinks you gentlemen of the Garde duCorps have little other idea of duty than in plotting how to evade it.It was De Courcel's night of duty, was it not?'
'Yes, sir; I took it in his place.'
'Who relieves you?'
'The Chevalier de Monteroue, sir.'
'You are l'Ecossais--at least they call you so, eh?'
'Yes, Monseigneur, they call me so,' sa
id Gerald, flushing.
The Prince hesitated, turned to speak, and then moved away again. Itwas evident that he laboured under some irresolution that he could notmaster.
Resolved not to lose an opportunity so little likely to recur, Geraldadvanced toward him, and, with an air of deep respect, said: 'If I mightdare to approach your Royal Highness on such a pretext, I would saythat some tidings of deepest moment have been brought this evening by anofficer from Paris, charged to deliver them to the king; and that he yetwaits unable to see his Majesty.'
'How--what--why has he not sent up his despatches?'
'He had none, sir; he was the bearer of a verbal message from the Duc deBassompierre.'
'Impossible, sir; none could have dared to assume this responsibility.Who told you this story?'
'I was present, sir, when the officer arrived--spoke with him--and heardM. de Breze say, "You can, perhaps, have an audience to-morrow."'
'He deserves the Bastille for this!'
'He would have deserved it, sir, yesterday.' 'How do you mean, sir?'
'That there is no Bastille to-day. The officer I mentioned saw itcarried by the populace as he left Paris: the garrison are all cut topieces.'
With something like a cry of agony, half-smothered by an effort, thePrince hurried from the room.
While the clock was yet striking, the sentinel in relief arrived, andGerald was released from duty. As he wended his way along through roomafter room, he was struck by the air of silence and desertion around;nowhere were to be seen the groups of lounging courtiers and 'officiersde service.' A few inferior members of the household rose and salutedhim, and even they wore something ominous and sad in their look, asthough evil tidings were abroad.
A light, soft rain was falling as Gerald left the palace toward thepavilion, where Count Dillon's quarters were established. He knew itwas impossible that the Count could yet have returned from Paris, butsomehow he found himself repairing to the spot without well knowing why.
As he drew nigh he perceived a light in the little salon, and coulddistinguish the figure of a man writing at the table. Curious to learnif the Count had unexpectedly turned back, Gerald opened the door andentered. The person at the table turned quickly about, and to his utterconfusion Gerald saw it was Monsieur.
'Come in, come in; you will, perhaps, spare me some writing.' criedhe, in an easy, familiar tone: 'you may indeed read what I have justwritten.' and so saying he handed him a paper with these lines:
'Dear Count Dillon,--Give me the earliest and fullest information withrespect to a young countryman of yours, Fitzgerald, called "L'Ecossais."May we employ him on a mission of secrecy and importance? It is ofconsequence--that is, it were far better--that the person intrusted withour commands were not a Frenchman----'
The Prince had but written so much as Gerald entered, and he now satcalmly watching the effect produced upon the young soldier as he readit.
'Am I to answer for myself, 'Monseigneur,' said he modestly.
'It is exactly what I intended,' was the calm reply.
'I can pledge for my fidelity and devotion, sir, but not for any skillor ability to execute your orders.'
'They will require little beyond speed and exactitude. You know Pariswell?'
'Perfectly, sir.'
'At the Rue de Turenne there is a small street called l'Avenue auxAbois--do you know it?--well, the second or third house, I am not surewhich, is inhabited by a gentleman called the Count Mirabeau.'
'He who spoke so lately at the Assembly?'
'The same. You will see him, and induce him to repair with you to St.Cloud. Haste is everything. If your mission speed well, you can be atSt. Cloud by noon to-morrow. It is possible that the Count may distrustyour authority to make this appointment, for I dare not give youanything in writing; you will then show him this ring, which he willrecognise as mine. Spare no entreaties to accomplish the object, nor, sofar as you are able, permit anything to thwart it. Let nothing that yousee or hear divert you from your purpose. Pay no attention to the eventsat Paris, whatever they be. You have one object--only one--that CountMirabeau reach the Chateau de St. Cloud by the earliest moment possible,and in secrecy. Remember that, sir--in secrecy.'
'I cannot wear my uniform,' began Gerald.
'Of course not, nor suffer any trace of powder to remain in your hair.I will send you clothes which will disguise you perfectly; and, ifquestioned, you can call yourself a peasant on the estate of theMirabeaus, come up from Provence to see the Count. You must stain yourhands, and be particular about every detail of your behaviour. There isbut one thing more,' said he, after a moment's reflection; 'if Monsieurde Mirabeau refuse, if he even seek to defer the interview I seekfor--but he will not, he dare not.'
'Still, Monseigneur, let me be provided for every emergencypossible--what if he should refuse?'
'You will be armed, you will have your pistols--but no, no, underno circumstances,' muttered he below his breath. 'There will be thennothing for you to do, but to hasten back to me with the tidings.'Monsieur arose as he said these words, and stood in apparently deepthought. 'I believe,' said he at last, 'that I have not forgottenanything. Ah, it were well to take one of the remount horses that arenot branded--I will look to that.'
'If the Count should be from home, am I to seek for him elsewhere, sir?'
'That will depend upon your own address; if you are satisfied that youcan defy detection. I leave all to yourself, Chevalier. It is a greatand a holy cause you serve, and no words of mine can add to what yourown heart will teach you. Only remember, that hours are like weeks, andtime is everything.'
Gerald kissed the hand that Monsieur extended to him; and lighting himdown the little stairs, saw him take his way across the park.
Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel Page 21