Читать книгу At Odds with the Regent - Burton Egbert Stevenson - Страница 5

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The Duc de Richelieu at that time occupied a magnificent hotel in the Rue des Saints Pères. The house, which had been pointed out to me as one of the sights of Paris, was in the form of a hollow square,—a form which had become very popular for buildings of this kind,—the open side of the square fronting the street and being closed by a high wall. Just back of the Hotel de Richelieu, on the Quai Malaquest, stood the famous Hotel de Bouillon, and next to it the equally famous Hotel de la Roche Sur Yon, the three together forming one of the most imposing and interesting quarters of the city, and one which I had had little hope of inspecting except from the outside.

Richelieu led the way along the quay at a rapid pace, seemingly absorbed in thought. I, also, had much to occupy my mind. There were two questions which vexed me and to which I could find no answer. How did Richelieu know I was from Poitiers, and what was the purpose of that curious assembly in the salon of Madame du Maine? I was still pondering on these, when we turned into the Rue des Saints Pères and stopped before a wall in which was a small postern.

“We will enter here,” said Richelieu, and he took a key from his belt and opened the gate. We passed through, and he locked the gate carefully behind him.

The garden in which we found ourselves, and which I saw to be the great central court, was dark, and only a suspicion of light glimmered here and there through the closed shutters of the house. Richelieu led the way to a door in the west wing, which he opened as he had the gate, and also locked after we had entered. Then with a gesture commanding caution he passed along a hall and up a narrow stair, unlocked another door, and ushered me into a room where a candle was burning dimly on a table. By its light I could see that the room was of some size and richly furnished, and through an open doorway I caught a faint glimpse of other apartments beyond.

“There!” exclaimed Richelieu, with a sigh of relief, “we are safe,” and he flung his cloak and hat into a corner and dropped into a chair, motioning me to do likewise. “As you doubtless know, it is sometimes desirable to be thought at home when one is really abroad, and that was the case this evening. No one saw me leave, no one saw me enter, hence I was here all the while and could have had no hand in whatever has happened in the mean time. But, man, are you wounded?” he asked, suddenly, observing, as I removed my cloak, the blood-stained handkerchief about my arm.

“Only a scratch, monsieur,” I answered. “A little water and a clean rag will repair the damage.”

He was on his feet in an instant, and in a few minutes the wound was washed and bound up, so that it gave me no further concern, and, indeed, need not again be mentioned.

“There will soon be need of long swords and strong arms such as yours,” observed the duke, settling down again into his chair. “Here, drink this,” and as he spoke he poured out a glass of wine from a bottle which stood on the table at his elbow. “’Twill do you good. I would not have anything happen to impair that arm of yours, for, as I saw to-night, it knows how to wield a sword to some purpose. How time passes!” and he looked at me with an expression of kindly interest. “It seems hardly possible that you can be little Jean de Brancas, of Poitiers.”

He smiled as he saw my eyes widen in questioning amazement.

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten,” he said. “You do not yet know how I guessed you were from Poitiers. I will tell you a little story which may explain it. Some six or seven years ago there was a boy who was in disgrace.” He paused a moment and smiled to himself, as at the memory of some boyish prank. “So it was decided that he should be sent to the Château d’Oleron for a time, to get the sea air and incidentally to think over his sins. He set out from Paris in a great coach, with no companion but his tutor. In order that there might be no scandal the trip was to be made incognito. They had horrible weather, the rain falling incessantly, and by the time they reached Poitiers the Clain was swollen to a torrent. They were told that the river could still be forded a mile below the town, so they drove to the place pointed out to them and the coachman whipped the horses into the water. In a moment, as it seemed to the boy within, the horses were beyond their depth and the coach was lifted from the bottom and swept off down the stream. It seems that they had attempted to ford in the wrong place.”

“Yes, yes,” I murmured, “I begin to understand.”

“Let me finish my story,” and Richelieu stood beside me and placed his hand upon my shoulder. “The driver was so terrified that he dropped the reins. The tutor seemed paralyzed with fright. The boy was struggling vainly to open the door and get out of the carriage, when he heard a cry of encouragement, and looking through the window, he saw another boy, two or three years younger than himself. This boy was on a horse, which he was forcing through the water. In a moment he was at the head of one of the coach horses; he caught its bridle, and turning his own horse across the stream, compelled the others to follow. Almost before those within realized his purpose the horses reached firm ground and pulled the coach out after them upon the other bank.”

I would have spoken, but Richelieu silenced me with a gesture.

“The boy in the carriage opened the door and leaped out,” he continued. “He ran to the other boy and caught his hand.

“‘’Twas bravely done!’ he cried. ‘I know no one else who would have dared it.’

“But the boy on horseback merely smiled.

“‘It was a little thing to do,’ he said, and the other boy noticed that he was plainly dressed.

“‘But you shall be rewarded,’ and he pulled his purse from his pocket.

“The boy on horseback grew very red and drew himself up proudly.

“‘You mistake me, monsieur,’ he said. ‘I do not want your money.’

“The other boy grew red also at that and put back his purse.

“‘At least tell me your name,’ he asked. ‘I shall never forget your name.’

“And the boy on horseback smiled again.

“‘My name is Jean de Brancas,’ he said, and the other boy could see that he was proud of the name. And just then his tutor came and separated them, but as the coach drove away he leaned far out of the window and waved his hand to the other boy.

“‘Good-by, Jean!’ he cried. ‘We shall meet again some day, and then it will be my turn.’”

Richelieu paused for a moment, and I felt that my eyes were wet.

“So you see,” he continued, “I had reason to be pleased this evening when I heard that it was Jean de Brancas to whom I had been of service, and whom I intend to keep by my side. For I was the boy in the coach, and I remember that ride through the river as though it had happened yesterday.”

“And I also remember it, M. le Duc,” I said, “and the boy who sprang from the coach and who thanked me so prettily has been my beau ideal from then until this day. I questioned many people, but no one knew him. I have dreamed of him many times, and in my dreams it was always I who was at his right hand, aiding him to win a thousand battles, even as you aided me to-night.”

“And that is where I would have you,” cried Richelieu, “and where you shall be henceforth.”

We were both more moved than we cared to show, for the memory of that boyish exploit was sweet to both of us, and a little silence followed. It was Richelieu who broke it.

“There are many things afoot in Paris,” he said, in a graver tone, and looking at me keenly. “But before I go further tell me, are you for the regent or against him?”

“I am neither for nor against the regent,” I answered, promptly. “I am for the king.”

“A wise answer,” and Richelieu smiled. “One that commits you to nothing. But come, you may be frank with me. What do you think of the Duke of Orleans?”

“The Duke of Orleans is quite indifferent to me,” I answered, readily enough. “I have heard little about him, and none of that was to his credit.”

“Well spoken!” cried Richelieu, heartily. “I see you will be with us. Come, I will trust you with a secret, but first permit me to give you a little lesson in politics. You say you know little about the regent. Let me tell you something about him.”

Now, I was not quite so ignorant of passing events as Richelieu seemed to think, yet I deemed it wise to keep my council and to hear these things as for the first time.

“Philip, Duke of Orleans,” continued Richelieu, “is not rightfully regent of France. Louis the Great’s will provided explicitly that there should be a council of regency during the king’s minority, in which Orleans should have only one vote. The real power was given to Louis’s son, the Duke du Maine, but he stood idly by and permitted Orleans to take up the regency almost unchallenged.”

“The more fool he,” I ejaculated, involuntarily.

“Right. The more fool he. But it is not for him we are going to fight. At least, not directly. He is busy making a collection of snuffboxes at Sceaux, and does not even know there is anything afoot. It is for the Duchess du Maine. Ah, there is a woman! Not beautiful, perhaps, but charming, and what a spirit! Orleans has not only assumed the regency, he has also deprived the Duke du Maine of his right to succeed to the throne. Again you say, that is his affair. True, but let us not forget the duchess. Do you know what she did when she heard of that decree? She was compelled to give up one of her apartments in the Tuileries in consequence, but before leaving she smashed every article of furniture in the room, and had to be carried away like a wounded general from a battle-field where he had won a great victory. Mlle. de Launay told me it was magnificent. In addition to all this, most of us have some little private quarrel to settle with the regent, and will welcome this opportunity to abase him. Well, what we propose to do is to take the regency away from Philip of Orleans and to give it to Philip of Spain.”

“Philip of Spain!” I cried.

“Yes, Philip of Spain. Who has a better right? He is the king’s uncle, the next in succession to the throne. And what is Orleans? He allows Dubois to manage the state while he spends his time with his mistresses at the back of the Louvre, there,” and Richelieu paused from sheer lack of breath.

“That may be,” I managed to say, “but what chance of success can there be?”

“Every chance,” cried the duke, rising from his chair and pacing excitedly up and down the room. “All Brittany is with us, and will rise to our support so soon as we choose to give the word. Half the nobility of the kingdom, whom Orleans has neglected no opportunity to insult, is with us. Alberoni, Philip’s prime minister, has collected troops. They will soon be at the frontier ready to invade France and depose the monstrous thing that governs it. Cellamare, Spain’s ambassador at Versailles, has all the threads in his fingers and is almost ready to strike. The train is laid and all that awaits is to apply the match. That will soon be done, and you will see Orleans tottering from the throne.”

“But does he not suspect?” I asked.

“Ah, that is the only thing,” and the light suddenly left Richelieu’s face. “Sometimes I think he does, sometimes I believe he does not. It is not Orleans himself I fear. He pays little heed to what is going on. But Dubois and Hérault,—that is another story. They have the police well organized. There are spies everywhere, and once or twice recently I have fancied I was followed, but that may have been for another reason. Indeed, the regent has no cause to love me.”

“And what is your part in this conspiracy, monsieur?” I questioned, for I felt that there was still something left untold.

“Ah, my part,” said Richelieu, his brow clouding still more. “Well, I will tell you, as I this evening told Madame du Maine. My part is to see that my regiment does not resist the Spanish army, but surrenders and opens to it the gates of Bayonne, the city where it is stationed, just at the foot of the Pyrenees.”

“But that is treason!” I cried, astounded at this disclosure.

“Treason to the regent, perhaps,” answered the duke, calmly, “but not to the king.”

So this was the victory the duchess had won! Well, she had reason to be proud of it. And as I sat, too bewildered to say more, there came a tap at the door, and Richelieu arose and opened it.

“Ah, Jacques,” he said, to the man who stood bowing on the threshold, and who permitted none of his astonishment at seeing me to appear in his face, “what is it?”

“A note, M. le Duc, delivered but a moment ago,” and he held out a tiny missive. Richelieu seized it, eagerly scanned the address, and tore it open with a hand trembling with excitement. He read its contents at a glance, and his eyes were dancing with joy as he raised them to mine.

“You may go, Jacques,” he said to the lacquey; “I shall not forget your promptness;” and then turning to me as the door closed, “Do you know what this means, de Brancas? It means success in another affair dearer to my heart than this conspiracy of Cellamare. Ah, the work that I have done to secure this one little note,—the servants I have bribed, the women I have cajoled, the disguises I have assumed! And here at last is victory, for this says, ‘Be at the dryad fountain in the Palais Royal gardens at ten o’clock to-morrow night.’”

“A rendezvous?” I asked.

“Yes, a rendezvous. But you could not guess with whom were you to guess forever. Who do you think will be at the dryad fountain waiting for me at ten o’clock to-morrow evening? Who but Charlotte d’Orleans, Mlle. de Valois!”

“Mlle. de Valois!” I gasped. “The daughter of the regent! Why, man, you must be mad,” and I gazed in astonishment at this youth of twenty-two who while plotting against the father dared make love to the daughter.

“If you but saw her, de Brancas,” cried the duke, “you would say I was far from mad. I fell in love with her the first time her eyes met mine. That was at a ball given a month ago for the Duchess de Lorraine, when the regent was celebrating her visit to Paris. You have never seen such eyes, de Brancas. We rave over Madame du Maine’s eyes,—you have seen them and know how wonderful they are,—but they fade as the stars fade at sunrise when Charlotte d’Orleans appears. No, ’tis not a lover’s rhapsody,” he added, seeing me smile; “there are none in the kingdom to compare with them. Were this not so I should not so readily have fallen victim, for I have gazed into many and many without a quickening of the pulse.”

He stopped to read through the note again, and as he folded it and placed it tenderly in his pocket I saw he was in earnest. Indeed, the eyes must needs be beautiful which could so move the heart of this seasoned courtier.

“But the regent,” I said, at last, “the regent. What thinks he of all this? I had not thought him a friend of yours.”

“A friend of mine!” cried Richelieu. “De Brancas, if there is one person in Paris whom he detests above all others, it is myself.”

“But then,” I began, and stopped. I had no wish to seem too curious.

“But then,” said Richelieu, pausing in his walk up and down the room. “Go on, de Brancas. What would you say?”

“Then he does not know?” I asked. “You have met with obstacles?”

“Obstacles!” and Richelieu smiled at me with triumphant face. “Yes,—such as most men would falter at. Imagine wooing a woman with whom you can never speak,—who is kept from you as from the plague! Ah, there was a problem, and one of the sort I love to solve. Why, de Brancas, if her father suspected that I had in my pocket a note from his daughter, he would have me back in a trice in my old cell at the Bastille.”

He paused a moment and touched the note with trembling fingers.

“No, I could never exchange a word with her,” he went on, at last, “but I made progress, nevertheless. Gold will work many miracles. Every morning she found a note in a bouquet of flowers,—on her writing-desk, on her dressing-table, on her embroidery-frame. Ah, how I cudgelled my poor brain in writing those notes, pleading, passionate, despairing by turns! At every ball, every concert, every fête where she was like to be, there was I, and if I could not use my lips, at least I could use my eyes. She looked at me first indifferently, then curiously, then shyly,—and last night at the Opéra she blushed when her eyes met mine, and I knew the battle won. To-morrow night I can speak to her. Ah, how I shall make her love me!”

Well, he was worth loving. My eyes blur with tears even yet as I see him again standing there, so glad, so straight, so gallant, and think of what came after. If I were a woman, I know I should have loved him heart and soul. Even as a man, ’tis little less than that.

“In affairs of the heart, as in affairs of state, my sword is at the service of M. le Duc,” I said, no little moved, and again we struck hands upon our compact, in which, I could not but think, it was I who must reap the most advantage. For of what service could the sword of an unknown youth of twenty be to Richelieu? And yet, as I was soon to learn, even a humble sword when backed by a loyal heart may be of service to the greatest.

Jacques was called and told to show me my apartment. What a contrast it was to that den under the gutters in the Rue Bailleul! Richelieu declared he would not part with me, and with some reluctance I gave Jacques the address of my former lodging, that he might bring away my wardrobe. That done, I was soon abed, turned to the wall, and slept a sleep infinitely sweetened by this sudden change in my circumstances.