CHAPTER IX
THE MASTER-GENERAL
In the labyrinth of narrow streets, crooked roads, and blind alleysbehind the Palais de Justice, where the houses are so crowded, thatthey seem to climb one over the other in their efforts to reach higherand higher in their search for air, is a small street called the Ruedes Deux Mondes. It had this advantage--that it was wider than most ofthe other roads in that part of Paris, and opened out abruptly on tothe river face, very nearly opposite the upper portion of the PontNeuf, then under course of construction but not to be finished forsome years later. At the corner of the street and overlooking theriver, the Pont Neuf, the Passeur aux Vaches, with a glimpse of theQuai Malaquais and the mansions of the Faubourg St. Germain, was ahouse of moderate size kept and owned by a Maitre Pantin, who wasengaged nominally, in some legal business in the courts of the city. Isay nominally, because he was in reality an agent of the Huguenotparty, who, having contributed so largely to help the King to his own,were in reward restricted from the public exercise of their religionto a radius of thirty miles beyond Paris. This restriction did not,however, apply to Madame Catherine, the King's sister, now the Duchessde Bar, and a few of the great nobles such as Bouillon, de Guiche, dePangeas, and one or two others, who had declined to follow the King'sexample and see the error of their religious ways, and who when in thecapital were allowed to attend the princess' daily _preche_ in theLouvre, a thing which exasperated all Paris, and induced Monseigneurthe Archbishop de Gondy to make public protest to the King, and tocome back very downcast with a carrot for his cabbage.
It was this house of Maitre Pantin, it will be remembered, that hadbeen recommended to me as a lodging by Palin, who told me of theowner's occupation, and when I demurred on account of my religiousconvictions, the Huguenot pointed out that I had to do things in Pariswhich required a safe retreat, and that he could vouch for the honestyand discretion of Pantin. I admitted that his arguments werereasonable, and resolved to take advantage of his recommendation.
We rode into Paris by the St. Germain's gate, and I was immediatelystruck by the aspect of gloom that the city wore. Most of the shopswere indeed open, but there appeared to be no business doing, andinstead of men hurrying backwards and forwards, the streets werefilled with groups of people evidently engaged in discussing someaffair of the utmost moment. Every third or fourth man wore a blackscarf over his right arm, and the bells of the churches were tollingdismally for the dead. From St. Germain des Pres, from St. Severin,from the airy spire of Ste. Chapelle, they called out mournfully, andabove them all, drowning the distant voices of St. Germainl'Auxerrois, St. Jacques de la Boucherie, St. Antoine, and others lessknown to fame, pealed out the solemn notes of the Bourdon of NotreDame.
Near the Pre-aux-clercs, hundreds of long-robed students wereassembled, and the windows of many of the great houses, including theLogis de Nevers, were hung with black. It was strange to see Paris,always so bright and gay, with this solemn air upon it. No notice wastaken of us as we rode on, the knots of people merely moving aside tolet us pass, and answering Jacques' cheerful 'good-day 'with a silentinclination of the head or a chill indifference.
'_Pardieu_, monsieur,' exclaimed Jacques, as we turned up the Rue dela Harpe, hard by the Hotel de Cluny, 'one would think the Kinghimself were dead, these gentry pull such long faces.' My servant'schance observation sent a sudden shock through me. What if Henry wasdead! What if I had got only one thread of the plot that was weavingat Anet? I did not answer Jacques; but observing a Capuchin priestadvancing in my direction, I reined in Couronne, and giving him theday, asked what it was that had befallen the city. He looked up at mein a slight surprise, and then, observing my travel-stainedappearance, replied:
'I see you are a stranger, sir; but have you not heard the news--itshould have gone far by this?'
'I have not, as you see--but what is it? Surely the King is not dead?'
'God forbid,' he answered, 'no, not the King; but she who in a fewweeks would have been Queen of France.'
'The Duchesse de Beaufort?'
'Exactly.'
'I knew that; but you don't mean to say that the city is in mourningfor the mistress of the King?'
He looked at me straight in the face, and stroked his white beardthoughtfully. He was a tall, a very tall, thin man, and his eyes, ofthe clearest blue, seemed to lighten with a strange light.
'No, my son, not for the mistress of the King, as you call her, butfor the open hand and the generous heart, for the kindly soul thatnever turned from suffering or from sorrow, for Magdalen bountiful,and, let us hope, Magdalen repentant.'
'But----'
'Adieu, my son--think of what I have said. Is your own heart so purethat you can afford to cast a stone at the dead?' And without waitingfor a further answer he went onwards. I turned and watched the tall,slim figure as it moved through the crowd, the people making way forhim on every side as if he were a prince of the church.
But though he was slowly passing out of sight, he had left wordsbehind him that were at their work. This was the woman whom I hadopenly-reviled as fallen and beyond the pale--had I any right to caststones? For a moment I was lost in myself, when Jacques' voice cutinto my thoughts.
'That must have been a cardinal at least, monsieur, though he does notlook like the Cardinal du Perron, whom we heard preach at Rheims--Iwill ask,' and he inquired who the Capuchin was, of a man who had justcome up.
'That is the _pere_ Ange, monsieur,' was the answer, and the man wenton, leaving Jacques' thanks in the air.
The _pere_ Ange. The name brought back a host of recollections to meas I shook up Couronne's reins and headed her towards the Pont St.Michel. I saw myself a boy again in the suite of Joyeuse, andremembered with what awe I used to gaze on the brilliant de Bouchage,his brother, who was a frequent visitor at Orleans. His splendidattire, his courtly air, the great deeds he had done were in all men'smouths. We youngsters, who saw him at a respectful distance, aped thecut of his cloak, the tilt of his sword, the cock of his plumed hat.If we only knew how he made love, we would have tried to do so in likemanner; but for this each one of us had to find out a way of his own.
All at once it was rumoured that the chevalier had vanished,disappeared mysteriously, and that every trace of him was lost. Therewere men who whispered of the Chatelet, or, worse still, the Bastille;others who said the Seine was very deep near the mills by the Pont auxMeunniers; others who put together the sudden retreat from the courtof the brilliant but infamous Madame de Sauves, the Rose of Guise,with the disappearance of de Bouchage, and shook their heads andwinked knowingly. They were all wrong. Gradually the truth came out,and it became known that the polished courtier, the great soldier, andthe splendid cavalier had thrown away the world as one would flingaside an old cloak, and buried himself in a cloister.
It was a ten days' wonder; then other things happened, and perhaps notone in ten thousand remembered, in the saintly _pere_ Ange, the oncefiery prince of the house of Joyeuse.
I have mentioned this because of his reproof to me. Day by day myeducation was progressing, and I began to recognise that my virtue waspitiless, that I was too ready to judge harshly of others. _Pere_Ange's reproof was a lesson I meant to profit by; and now--to theabode of Maitre Pantin.
Palin's directions were clear, and after crossing the Pont St. Michel,a wooden bridge, we kept to the south of Ste. Chapelle, and then,after many a twist and turn, found ourselves in the Rue des DeuxMondes, before the doors of Pantin's house.
The master himself answered my knock and stood in the doorway, asmall, wizened figure, looking at us cautiously from grey eyes,shadowed by bushy white brows.
'Good-day, monsieur--what is it I can do for you?'
'You are Maitre Pantin?'
'At your service.'
'And I am the Chevalier d'Auriac. I have come to Paris from Bidache onbusiness, and need a lodging. Maitre Palin has recommended me to you.'
'Enough, monsieur le ch
evalier. My friend Palin's name is sufficient,and I have need of clients, for the house is empty. If Monsieur'sservant will lead the horses through that lane there, he will find anentrance to the stables--and will Monsieur step in and take a seatwhile I summon my wife--Annette! Annette!'
I limped in and sat down, escorted by expressions of compassion fromPantin, who mingled these with shouts for Annette. In a little timeMadame Pantin appeared, and never have I seen so great a resemblancebetween husband and wife as between these two. There was the samesmall, shrivelled figure, the same clear-cut features, the same whiteeyebrows standing prominently out over the same grey eyes--theirheight, walk, and tone of voice even, was almost the same. Madame,however, had an eye to business, which her husband, although Iunderstood him to be a notary, had not discovered to me, and whilst hewent off to see, as he said, to the arrangements for the horses,Madame Annette struck a bargain with me for my lodging, which I closedwith at once, as I was in sufficient funds to be a little extravagant.This matter being arranged by my instant agreement to her terms, sheshowed me to my rooms, which were on the second floor, and commanded agood view of the river face; and, pocketing a week's rental inadvance, the old lady retired, after recommending me to an ordinarywhere the food was excellent and the Frontignac old.
I spent the remainder of the day doing nothing, going forth but to supquietly at the Two Ecus, which I found fully upheld the good nameMadame Pantin had given it, and returning early to my rooms.
Sitting in an easy chair at a window overlooking the Seine, I lostmyself for a while in a dreamland of reverie. Let it be rememberedthat I was a man of action, who had been awakened by the love he borefor a woman to a sense of his own unfitness, and it will be realisedhow difficult it was for me to look into myself. I tried to tick offmy failings in my mind, and found they were hydra-headed. There weresome that I alone could not combat, and I hated myself for my want ofmoral strength. I had groped towards religion for aid, to the faith ofmy fathers; but there were doctrines and canons there that I could notreconcile with my inward conscience. I could not believe all I wasasked to take on trust, and I felt I was insensibly turning towardsthe simpler faith of the Huguenot. But here, again, I was in troublouswaters. I had got over the sinful pride that prevented me fromapproaching my God in humbleness, but I found that prayer, though itgave momentary relief, did not give permanent strength to resist, anda sort of spiritual despair fell upon me. Along with this was anunalterable longing to be near the woman I loved, to feel her presenceabout me, to know that she loved me as I loved her, and, in short, Iwould rather go ten times up to a battery of guns than feel over againthe desolation and agony of spirit that was on me then. So I spent anhour or so in a state of hopeless mental confusion, and at last I cutit short by pulling myself up abruptly. Win or lose, I would followthe dictates of my conscience. If I could, I would win the woman Iloved, and with God's help and her aid lead such a life as would bringus both to Him when we died. It was a quick, unspoken prayer that wentup from me, and it brought back in a moment its comfort.
Jacques' coming into the room at this juncture was a relief. He litthe tall candles that stood in the grotesque bronze holders thatprojected from the wall, and then, drawing the curtains, inquired if Ineeded his services further that night.
'I don't think so, Jacques--but stay!'
'Monsieur.'
'How do we stand?'
'Oh, well enough, monsieur. Better really than for a long time. Wehave three horses and their equipment--although one of Monsieur'spistols is broken--and a full hundred and fifty crowns.'
'A perfect fortune--are you sure of the crowns?'
'As I am of being here, monsieur.'
'Well, then, there is something I want you to do, and attend with bothears.'
'Monsieur.'
'I want you to take the two horses we got at Evreux and fifty crowns,and go back to Ezy. Keep ten crowns for yourself and give forty to thesmith and his daughter, and take them with you to Auriac. Theforester's lodge is vacant--let them live there, or, if they like,there is room enough in the chateau. I will give you a letter toBozon. He wants help, and these people will be of service to him.After you have done this, sell one of the horses--you may keep theproceeds, and come back to me. If I am not here you will get certainnews of me, and can easily find me out--you follow?'
'Exactly.'
'Then when will you be prepared to start?'
'As soon as Monsieur le Chevalier is suited with another man asfaithful as I.'
'Eh!'
'_Sangdieu!_ monsieur, I shall never forget what _pere_ Michel and theold steward Bozon said when I came home last without you. I believe ifI were to do so again the good cure would excommunicate me, and MaitreBozon would have me flung into the bay to follow. If I were to go backand leave you alone in Paris anything might happen. No! no! My fathershave served Auriac for two hundred years, and it shall never besaid that Jacques Bisson left the last of the old race to diealone--never!'
'My friend, you are mad--who the devil talks of dying?'
'Monsieur, I am not such a fool as perhaps I look. Do I not understandthat Monsieur has an affair in hand which has more to do with a rapierthan a ribbon? If not, why the night ride, why the broken pistol, andthe blood-stained saddle of Couronne? If Monsieur had come to Paris inthe ordinary way, we would have been at court, fluttering it as gailyas the rest, and cocking our bonnets with the best of them--instead ofhiding here like a fox in his lair.'
'You are complimentary; but it is to help me I want you to do this.'
'The best help Monsieur can have is a true sword at hiselbow--Monsieur will excuse me, but I will not go,' and, angry as histone was, there were tears in the honest fellow's eyes. Of course Icould have dismissed the man; but I knew him too well not to know thatnothing short of killing him would rid me of him. Again I was morethan touched by his fidelity. Nevertheless, I was determined to carryout my project of making up to Marie in some way for the death ofNicholas, and resolved to temporise with Jacques. There was no oneelse to send, and it would have to be my stout-hearted knave; but thebusiness was to get him to go.
'Very well, Jacques; but remember, if I get other temporary help thatyou approve of you will have to go.'
'In that case, monsieur, it is different.'
'Then it must be your business to see to this, and now good night.'
'Good night, monsieur,' and he took himself off.
I had made up my mind to lay my information before Sully. That he wasin Paris I knew, having obtained the information from Pantin, and itwas my intention to repair the next day to the Hotel de Bethune, andtell the minister all. The night was one of those in which sleep wouldnot come, not because the place was a strange one--I was too old acampaigner to lose rest because the same feather pillow was not undermy head every night--but because my thoughts kept me awake. What thesewere I have already described, and they were in force sufficient tobanish all sleep until the small hours were well on, and I at lastdropped off, with the solemn notes of the Bourdon ringing in my ears.
It was about ten o'clock the next morning that I mounted Couronne,and, followed by Jacques, well armed, took my way towards the Hotel deBethune. We found the Barillierie thronged with people on their way toSt. Denis to witness the burial of Madame de Beaufort, and the Pont auChange was so crowded that we had to wait there for a full half-hour.At last we got across the bridge, on which in their eagerness for gainthe money-changers had fixed their stalls, and pushed and struggledand fought over their business on each side of the narrow track theyleft for the public. Finally, we passed the grey walls of the GrandChatelet, and turning to our right, past St. Jacques, the Place deGreve, and the Hotel de Ville, got into the Rue St. Antoine by a sidestreet that ran from St. Gervais to the Baudets. Here we found themain street almost deserted, all Paris having crowded to the funeral,and a quarter-mile or so brought us to the gates of the Hotel deBethune.
Sully had just received the Master-Generalship of the Ordnance, and athis door was a gu
ard of the regiment of La Ferte. I knew the blueuniforms with the white sashes well, and they had fought like fiendsat Fontaine Francaise and Ham. The officer on guard very civilly toldme that the minister did not receive that day, but on my insisting andpointing out that my business was of the utmost importance, he gaveway with a shrug of his shoulders. 'Go on, monsieur le chevalier, butI can tell you it is of no use; however, that is a business you mustsettle with Ivoy, the duke's secretary.'
I thanked him, and, dismounting and flinging the reins to Jacques,passed up the courtyard and up the stone steps to the entrance door.Here I was met by the same statement, that Sully was unable to receiveto-day; but, on my insisting, the secretary Ivoy appeared and asked memy name and business.
'I have given my name twice already, monsieur,' I answered. 'I am theChevalier d'Auriac, and as for my business it is of vital import, andis for Monseigneur's ear alone--you will, therefore, excuse me if Idecline to mention it to you.'
Ivoy bowed. 'It will come to me in its own good time, monsieur. Willyou be seated? I will deliver your message to the duke; but I amafraid it will be of little use.'
'I take the risk. Monsieur d'Ivoy.'
'But not the rating, chevalier,' and the secretary, with a half-smileon his face, went out and left me to myself. In a few minutes hereturned.
'The duke will see you, monsieur--this way, please.'
'_Pardieu!_' I muttered to myself as I followed Ivoy, 'he keeps asmuch state as if he were the chancellor himself. However, I have arelish for Monseigneur's soup.'
Ivoy led the way up a winding staircase of oak, so old that it wasblack as ebony, and polished as glass. At the end of this was alanding, where a couple of lackeys were lounging on a bench before aclosed door. They sprang up at our approach, and Ivoy tapped gently atthe door.
'Come in,' was the answer, given in a cold voice, and the next momentwe were in the room.
'Monsieur le Chevalier d'Auriac,' and Ivoy had presented me.
Sully inclined his head frigidly to my bow, and then motioned to Ivoyto retire. When we were alone, he turned to me with a brief 'Well?'
'I have information of the utmost importance which I wish to laybefore you.'
'I hear that ten times a day from people. Will your story take long totell?'
'That depends.'
'Then be seated for a moment, whilst I write a note.'
I took the chair he pointed out, and he began to write rapidly. Whilsthe was doing this I had a glance round the room. It was evidently theduke's working cabinet, and it bore everywhere the marks of the primexactness of its master's character. There was no litter of papers onthe table. The huge piles of correspondence on it were arrangedneatly, one file above the other. All the books in the long shelvesthat lined the walls were numbered, the curtains were drawn back atexact angles to the curtain poles, the chairs were set squarely, therewas not a thing out of place, not a speck of dust, not a blot on thebrown leather writing-pad, on the polished walnut of the table beforewhich Sully sat. On the wall opposite to him was a portrait of Madamede Sully. It was the only ornament in the room. The portrait itselfshowed a sprightly-looking woman with a laughing eye, and she lookeddown on her lord and master from the painted canvas with a merry smileon her slightly parted lips. As for the man himself, he sat squarelyat his desk, writing rapidly with an even motion of his pen. He wasplainly but richly dressed, without arms of any kind. His collar wasruffed in the English fashion, but worn with a droop, over which hislong beard, now streaked with grey, fell almost to the middle of hisbreast. He was bald, and on each side of his high, wrinkled foreheadthere was a thin wisp of hair, brushed neatly back. His clear eyeslooked out coldly, but not unkindly, from under the dark, archedeyebrows, and his short moustaches were carefully trimmed and twistedinto two points that stuck out one on each side of his long straightnose. The mouth itself was small, and the lips were drawn togethertightly, not, it seemed, naturally, but by a constant habit that hadbecome second nature. It was as if there were two spirits in this man.One a genial influence that was held in bonds by the other, a cold,calculating, intellectual essence. Such was Maximilian de Bethune,Marquis de Rosny and Duc de Sully. He was not yet nominally chiefminister. But it was well known that he was in the King's inmostsecrets, and that there was no man who held more real power in theState than the Master-General of the Ordnance. As I finished my surveyof him, he finished his despatch, and after folding and addressing ithe turned it upside down and said to me:
'Now for your important news, monsieur. It must be very important tohave brought _you_ here.'
'I do not understand?'
He looked at me, a keen inquiry in his glance. 'You do notunderstand?' he said.
'Indeed, no, monseigneur.'
'Hum! You are either deeper than I take you to be, or a born fool.Look, you, are you not Alban de Breuil, Sieur d'Auriac, who was latelyin arms in the service of Spain against France as a rebel and atraitor?'
'I was on the side of the League.'
'Monsieur, the League died at Ivry----'
'But not for us.'
He made an impatient gesture. 'We won't discuss that. Are you not theman I refer to? Say yes or no.'
'I am d'Auriac--there is no other of my name--but no more a rebel ortraitor than Messieurs de Guise, de Mayenne, and others. The King'sPeace has pardoned us all. Why should I fear to come to you? I havecome to do you a service, or rather the King a service.'
'Thank you. May I ask if you did not receive a warning at La Fere, andanother at Bidache?'
'From M. d'Ayen--yes. Monseigneur, I refuse to believe what I heard.'
'And yet your name heads a list of half a dozen whom the King's Peacedoes not touch. One of my reasons for receiving you was to have youarrested.'
'It is a high honour, all this bother about a poor gentleman ofNormandy, when Guise, de Mayenne, Epernon, and others keep their skinswhole.'
'You have flown your hawk at too high a quarry, monsieur.'
'Then that painted ape, d'Ayen, told a true tale,' I burst out inuncontrollable anger. 'Monseigneur, do what you will to me. Rememberthat you help to the eternal dishonour of the King.'
The words hit him, and the blood flushed darkly under the pale oliveof the man's cheek.
'Monsieur, you forget yourself.'
'It is not I, but you who do so--you who forget that your name isBethune. Yes, touch that bell. I make no resistance. I presume it willbe the Chatelet?'
His hand, half stretched towards the button of the call-bell beforehim, suddenly stayed itself.
'Were my temper as hasty as your tongue, monsieur, it would have beenthe Chatelet in half an hour.'
'Better that----' I began, but he interrupted me with a quick wave ofhis hand.
'Monsieur d'Auriac, a time will come when you will have reason toregret the words you have used towards me. I do not mean regret themin the place you have mentioned, but in your heart. In this businessthe honour of Bethune as well as the honour of the King is at stake.Do you think I am likely to throw my hazard like an infant?'
I was silent, but a dim ray of hope flickered up in my heart as Ilooked at the man before me, and felt, I know not why, in the glanceof his eye, in the tone of the voice, in his very gestures, that herewas one who had conquered himself, and who knew how to rule.
'Now, sir,' he went on, the animation in his tone dropping to a coldand frigid note, 'proceed with your tale.'
It was a thing easier ordered than done, but I managed it somehow,trying to be as brief as possible, without missing a point. Sullylistened without a movement of his stern features, only his eyesseemed to harden like crystal as I spoke of Biron and Zamet. When Itold what I heard of the death of Madame de Beaufort, he turned hishead to the open window and kept it thus until I ended. When he lookedback again at me, however, there was not a trace of emotion in hisfeatures, and his voice was as cold and measured as ever as he asked:
'And your reward for this news, chevalier?'
'Is not to be measured in pis
toles, monseigneur.'
'I see; and is this all?'
His tone chilled me. 'It is all--no,' and with a sudden thought, 'giveme twenty men, and in a week I put the traitors in your hands.'
He fairly laughed out. '_Corb[oe]uf!_ Monsieur le chevalier, do youwant to set France ablaze?'
'It seems, monseigneur, that the torch is held at Anet,' I answered alittle sulkily.
'But not lighted yet; leave the dealing with that to me. And,monsieur, the King is at Fontainebleau, and for a month nothing can bedone. And see here, monsieur, I can do nothing for you; you follow. Atthe end of a month go and see the King. Tell him your story, and, ifhe believes you, claim your reward. I will go so far as to promisethat you will be received.'
All the little hope I had begun to gather fluttered away at thesewords like a scrap of paper cast in the wind. 'Monseigneur,' I said,and my voice sounded strangely even to my own ears, 'in a month itwill be too late.'
'Leave that to me,' he answered. 'I have a reminder always before myeyes,' and he pointed through the open window in the direction of ahouse that towered above the others surrounding it.
'I do not follow,' I stammered.
'That is the Hotel de Zamet,' he said grimly, and I thought Iunderstood why he had turned to the window when I spoke of Madame deBeaufort's death.
I rose with a sigh I could barely repress: 'Then there is nothing forme to do but to wait?'
'You will not lose by doing so.'
'I thank you, monseigneur; but there is one little favour I ask.'
'And that is?'
'The King's Peace until I see the King.'
'You will be safer in the Chatelet, I assure you, but as youwish--stay, there is one thing. Not a word of your interview with me,even to the King.'
My hopes rose again. 'On my faith as a gentleman, I will not mentionit.'
As I finished he struck his bell sharply twice, and Ivoy entered.
'Ivoy, do me the favour to conduct Monsieur d'Auriac to the gatesyourself, and impress upon him the necessity of keeping to hislodging. The air of Paris out-of-doors is unhealthy at present.Good-day, monsieur.'
Ivoy bowed, with a slight upraising of his eyebrows, and we passedout. Going down the stairway, he said to me with a smile: 'I see youdine at home to-day, chevalier.'
'At the Two Ecus,' I answered, pretending not to understand hisallusion, and he chuckled low to himself. At the gates I observed thatthe guards were doubled, and a whispered word passed between Ivoy andthe officer in command. But of this also I took no notice, and,wishing them the day, rode back as I came.
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