CHAPTER III. THE MISSION
The day had not yet dawned when Gerald, admirably disguised as aProvencal peasant, arrived at the Avenue aux Abois. The night had beenhot and sultry, and many of the windows of the houses were left open;but from none save one were any lights seen to gleam. This one wasbrilliant with the glare of wax-lights; and the sounds of merriment fromwithin showed it was the scene of some festivity. Light muslin curtainsfilled the spaces of the open casements, through which at moments theshadowy traces of figures could be detected.
While Gerald stood watching, with some curiosity, this strange contrastto the unbroken silence around, a rich deep voice caught his ear, andseemed to awaken within him some singular memory. Where, and when, andhow he had heard it before, he knew not; but every accent and every tonestruck him as well known.
'No, no, Mirabeau,' broke in another; 'when men throw down their houses,it is not to rebuild them with the old material.'
'I did not speak of throwing down,' interposed the same deep voice; 'Isuggested some safe and easy alteration. I would have the doors larger,for easy access; the windows wider, for more light.'
'And more wood, generally, in the construction, for easy burning, Ihope,' chimed in a third.
'Make your best provisions for stability: destruction will always be asimple task,' cried the deep voice. 'You talk of burning,' cried he,in a louder tone; 'what do you mean to do when your fire goes out?materials must fail you at last. What then? You will have heaped manya good and useful thing upon that pile you will live to regret the lossof. What will you do, besides, with those you have taught to dance roundthese bonfires?'
'Langeac says it is an experiment we are trying,' replied another; 'and,for my part, I am satisfied to accept it as such.'
'Nay, nay,' interposed a soft, low voice; 'I said that untried elementsin government are an experiment only warrantable in extreme cases;just as the physician essays even a dangerous remedy, when he deems hispatient hopeless.'
'But it's your own quackeries here have made all the mischief,' brokein the deep voice. 'If the sick man sink, it is yourselves have been thecause.'
'Was there ever a royal cause that had not its own fatal influences?'said another.
'There is an absurd reliance on prestige, a trust in that phantom calledDivine right, that blinds men against their better reason. This holidayfaith is but a sorry creed in times of trouble.'
'Far from this being the case,' said the deep voice, 'you will notconcede to kings what you would freely grant to your equals. You rejecttheir word, you distrust their oath, you prejudge their intentions, andsuspect their honour.'
'Why, Mirabeau, you ought to be at Versailles,' said another, laughing.'The pavilion of the Queen is more your place than the table of theTiers-Etat.'
'So thinks he himself,' broke in the low voice. 'He expects to pilot thewreck after we have gone off on the raft.'
'Four o'clock,' exclaimed another, pushing his chair hastily back as hearose; 'and here is D'Entraigues fast asleep these two hours.'
'No, _parbleu!_ muttered a drowsy voice. 'I closed my eyes when theBordeaux was finished, and began to reflect on Lafayette's breakfast.Isn't this the day?'
'To be sure. You are coming, Mirabeau?'
'Of course, we will all be there.'
'I must be at St. Frotin by seven o'clock,' said one.
'And I have to see Marigni at the mill of Montmorency, by the samehour.'
'A duel?'
'Yes; they are both Vendeans, and may kill each other without damage tothe State.'
'He was going to say Republic!' cried another, laughing.
'Who talks of a Republic?' interposed a rough voice angrily.
'Be calm, messieurs--all religions are to be respected,'
'True, Mirabeau; but this is to proclaim none.'
'Who knows? They never excavate near Rome but they discover somelong-forgotten deity! Can you or I venture to say what new faith may notarise out of these ashes?'
'Let it but repudiate the law of debt and discountenance marriage,' saidanother, 'and I am its first convert.'
'Good-bye, Mirabeau, adieu,' cried several together, and they were nowheard descending the stairs. Meanwhile, Mirabeau drew back the curtainand looked out upon the street.
'Whom have we got here?' said the first who issued forth from the door,and saw Gerald standing before him.
'What is it? who does he want?' cried Mirabeau, as he saw them inconversation.
'One of your peasants, Mirabeau, with, doubtless, a Provencal cheese andsome olives for you.'
'Or a letter of loving tidings from that dear uncle,' cried another;'the only one who ever knew the real goodness of your nature.'
'Let him come up,' said Mirabeau, as he closed the window.
When Gerald reached the top of the stair, he saw in front of him alarge, powerfully-built man, who, standing with his back to the light,had his features in deep shadow.
'You are the Count de Mirabeau?' began Gerald.
'And you--who are you?' responded he quickly.
'That you shall know, when I am certain of whom I am addressing/
'Come in,' said the Count, and walked before him into the room. Heturned about just as the door closed, and Gerald, fixing his eyes uponhim, cried out, 'Good heavens! is it possible? Signor Gabriel!'
'Now for your own name, my friend,' said Mirabeau calmly.
'Don't you know me, then? don't you remember the boy you saved years agofrom death in the Roman Maremma--Fitzgerald?'
'What!' said Mirabeau, in the same calm voice, 'you Fitzgerald? I shouldnever have recognised you.'
'And are you really the Count de Mirabeau?'
'Gabriel Riquetti, Count de Mirabeau, is my name,' replied he slowly.'How did you find me out? What chance led you here?'
'No chance, nor accident. I have come expressly to see and speak withyou. I am a Garde du Corps, and have assumed this disguise to gainaccess to you unremarked.'
'A Garde du Corps!' said the Count, in some surprise.
'Yes, Signor Gabriel. My life has had its turns of good and ill fortunesince we parted--the best being that I serve a great prince and a kindmaster.'
'Well said, but not over-prudent words to utter in the Faubourg St.Antoine,' rejoined the Count, smiling. 'Go on.'
'I have come with a message from Monsieur, to desire you will hastenimmediately to St. Cloud, where he will meet you. Secrecy and speed areboth essential, for which reasons he intrusted me with a mere verbalmessage, but to secure me your confidence he gave me this ring.'
Mirabeau smiled, and with such a scoffing significance that Geraldstopped, unable to proceed further.
'And then?' said Mirabeau.
'I have no more to add, Monsieur,' said Gerald haughtily. 'My commissionis fulfilled already.'
'Take some wine; you are heated with your long ride,' said the Count,filling out a large goblet, while he motioned to Gerald to be seated.
'Nay, sir; it is not of _me_ there is time to think now. Pray, let mehave your answer to my message, for Monsieur told me, if I either failedto find you, or from any casualty you were unable to repair to St.Cloud, that I should come back with all speed to apprise him, my notreturning being the sign that all went well.'
'All went well,' muttered Mirabeau to himself. 'How could it go worse?'
Gerald sat gazing in wonderment at the massive, stern features beforehim, calling up all that he could remember of their first meeting,and scarcely able, even yet to persuade himself that he had been thecompanion of that great Count de Mirabeau whose fame filled all France.
'In the event of my compliance, you were then to accompany me to St.Cloud?' said the Count, in a tone of inquiry.
'Yes, sir; so I understood my orders.'
'There is mention in history of a certain Duc de Guise----'
He stopped short, and walked to and fro for some time in silence; then,turning abruptly around, he asked: 'How came it that you stood so highin Monsieur's confidence that he sel
ected you for this mission?'
'By mere accident,' said Gerald, and he recounted how the incident hadoccurred.
'And your horse--what has become of him?' asked the Count.
'He is fastened to the ring of the large _porte cochere_--the thirdhouse from this.'
Mirabeau leaned out of the window as if to satisfy himself that thisstatement was true.
'Supposing, then, that I agree to your request, what means have you toconvey me to St. Cloud?--what preparations are made?'
'None, sir. There was no time for preparation. It was, as I have toldyou, late last night when Monsieur gave me this order. It was in thebriefest of words.'
'"Tell Monsieur de Mirabeau that his Majesty would speak with him,"'said the Count, suggesting to Gerald's memory the tenor of his message.
'No, sir. "Tell Monsieur de Mirabeau to hasten to St. Cloud, where Iwill meet him."'
'How did you become a noble guard?' asked he quickly. 'They say abroadthat the difficulties to admission are great?'
'I owe my admission to the favour of Madame de Bauflremont, sir.'
'A great patron, none more so. She would have befriended me once,' addedhe, with an insolent sneer, 'but that my ugliness displeased the Queen.Since that time, however, her Majesty has condescended to accustomherself to these harsh features, and even smiles benignly on them. Thereis little time to criticise the visage of your pilot, while the breakersare before and the rocks beside you. I will go, Gerald. Give me thatring.'
Gerald hesitated for a second; the Prince had not bestowed the ring onhim, but only confided it to his care.
'I will not compromise you, young man,' said Mirabeau gravely: 'I willsimply enclose that ring in a letter which you shall see, when I havewritten it,' and he immediately sat down to a table, and in a rapid handdashed off some lines, which he threw across to Gerald to read. They ranthus:
'Dear Friend and Nephew,--I am summoned to a meeting at St. Cloud, bythe owner of the ring which I enclose. If I do not return to Paris bynoon on Saturday, it is because ill has befallen yours,
'Gabriel Riquetti, Count de Mirabeau.
'To Mons. du Saillant, Rue d'Ascour, 170. 'Friday, 3 a.m,'
'There is the ring,' said Gerald, as he took it from his finger.
Mirabeau sealed the note, enclosing it in a strong envelope, and placingit on the table among other letters, ready sealed and addressed.
'You will carry this letter to its address, Gerald, and you will remainthere till--till my return.'
'I understand,' said Gerald; 'I am a hostage.'
'_You_ a hostage for _me_!' cried the other haughtily. 'Do you fancy,young man, that the whole corps you belong to could requite the lossof Gabriel Riquetti? Would the Court--would the Assembly--would Franceaccept such a price? Go, sir, and tell Monsieur du Saillant that if anyevil befall his uncle, he is to make use of you as the clue to trace it,and be sure that you discharge this trust well.'
'And if I refuse this mission?'
'If you refuse, you shall bear back to Monseigneur the reasons for whichI have not obeyed his commands,' said Mirabeau coldly. 'Methought youremembered me better. I had fancied you knew me as one who had suchconfidence in himself, that he believed his own counsels the wisest, andwho never turned from them. There is the letter--yes or no?'
'Yes--I will take it.'
'I will, with your leave, avail myself of your horse till I pass thebarrier. You can meanwhile take some rest here. You will be early enoughwith Du Saillant by eight o'clock,' and with this the Count withdrewinto a room adjoining to complete his preparations for the road. Whilethus occupied, he left the door partly open, and continued to conversewith Gerald, asking him various questions as to what had befallen himafter having quitted the Tana, and eagerly entering into the strangevicissitudes of his life as a stroller.
'I met your poet, I think it was at Milan. We were rivals at the time,and I the victor. A double insult to him, since he hated France andFrenchmen,' said the Count carelessly. 'There was a story of his havingcut the fingers of his right hand to the bone with a razor, to preventhis assassinating me. What strange stuff your men of imagination aremade of--ordinary good sense had reserved the razor for the enemy!'
'His is a great and noble nature,' exclaimed Gerald enthusiastically.
'So much the better, then, is it exercised upon fiction: real events andreal men are sore tests to such temperaments. There, I am ready now; oneglass to our next meeting, and good-bye.'
With a hearty shake-hands they parted, and as Gerald looked from thewindow, he saw the Count ride slowly down the street. Closing thewindow, he threw himself upon a couch and slept soundly.
Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel Page 22