Александр Дюма
The Forty-Five Guardsmen
CHAPTER XXXVII.
ERNANTON DE CARMAINGES
Ernanton remained on the field of battle, much embarrassed what to do with the two men, who would shortly open their eyes. As he deliberated, he saw a wagon coming along, drawn by two oxen, and driven by a peasant. Ernanton went to the man and told him that a combat had taken place between the Huguenots and Catholics, that four had been killed, but that two were still living. The peasant, although desperately frightened, aided Ernanton to place first M. de Mayenne and then the soldier in the wagon. The four bodies remained.
"Monsieur," said the peasant, "were they Catholics or Huguenots?"
"Huguenots," said Ernanton, who had seen the peasant cross himself in his first terror.
"In that case there will be no harm in my searching them, will there?"
"None," replied Ernanton, who thought it as well that the peasant should do it, as the first passer-by. The man did not wait to be told twice, but turned out their pockets. It seemed that he was far from disappointed, for his face looked smiling when he had finished the operation, and he drove on his oxen at their quickest pace, in order to reach his home with his treasure.
It was in the stable of this excellent Catholic, on a bed of straw, that M. de Mayenne recovered his consciousness. He opened his eyes, and looked at the men and the things surrounding him with a surprise easy to imagine. Ernanton immediately dismissed the peasant.
"Who are you, monsieur?" asked Mayenne.
Ernanton smiled.
"Do you not recognize me?" said he.
"Yes, I do now; you are he who came to the assistance of my enemy."
"Yes, but I am he who prevented your enemy from killing you."
"That must be true, since I live; unless, indeed, he thought me dead."
"He went away knowing you to be alive."
"Then he thought my wound mortal."
"I do not know; but had I not opposed him, he would have given you one which certainly would have been so."
"But then, monsieur, why did you aid him in killing my men?"
"Nothing more simple, monsieur; and I am astonished that a gentleman, as you seem to be, does not understand my conduct. Chance brought me on your road, and I saw several men attacking one; I defended the one, but when this brave man – for whoever he may be, he is brave – when he remained alone with you, and would have decided the victory by your death, then I interfered to save you."
"You know me, then?" said Mayenne, with a scrutinizing glance.
"I had no need to know you, monsieur; you were a wounded man, that was enough."
"Be frank; you knew me?"
"It is strange, monsieur, that you will not understand me. It seems to me that it is equally ignoble to kill a defenseless man, as six men to attack one."
"There may be reasons for all things."
Ernanton bowed, but did not reply.
"Did you not see," continued Mayenne, "that I fought sword to sword with that man?"
"It is true."
"Besides, he is my most mortal enemy."
"I believe it, for he said the same thing of you."
"Do you think me dangerously wounded?"
"I have examined your wound, monsieur, and I think that, although it is serious, you are in no danger of death. I believe the sword slipped along the ribs, and did not penetrate the breast. Breathe, and I think you will find no pain in the lungs."
"It is true; but my men?"
"Are dead, all but one."
"Are they left on the road?"
"Yes."
"Have they been searched?"
"The peasant whom you must have seen on opening your eyes, and who is your host, searched them."
"What did he find?"
"Some money."
"Any papers?"
"I think not."
"Ah!" said Mayenne, with evident satisfaction. "But the living man; where is he?"
"In the barn, close by."
"Bring him to me, monsieur; and if you are a man of honor, promise me to ask him no questions."
"I am not curious, monsieur; and I wish to know no more of this affair than I know already."
The duke looked at him uneasily.
"Monsieur," said Ernanton, "will you charge some one else with the commission you have just given me?"
"I was wrong, monsieur, I acknowledge it; have the kindness to render me the service I ask of you."
Five minutes after, the soldier entered the stable. He uttered a cry on seeing the duke; but he put his finger on his lip, and the man was silent.
"Monsieur," said Mayenne to Ernanton, "my gratitude to you will be eternal; and, doubtless, some day we shall meet under more favorable circumstances. May I ask to whom I have the honor of speaking?"
"I am the Vicomte Ernanton de Carmainges, monsieur."
"You were going to Beaugency?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Then I have delayed you, and you cannot go on to-night."
"On the contrary, monsieur, I am about to start at once." – "For Beaugency?"
"No, for Paris," said Ernanton; "somewhat unwillingly."
The duke appeared astonished.
"Pardon," said he; "but it is strange that going to Beaugency, and being stopped by an unforeseen circumstance, you should return without fulfilling the end of your journey."
"Nothing is more simple, monsieur; I was going to a rendezvous for a particular time, which I have lost by coming here with you; therefore I return."
"Oh! monsieur, will you not stay here with me for two or three days? I will send this soldier to Paris for a surgeon, and I cannot remain here alone with these peasants, who are strangers to me."
"Then let the soldier remain with you, and I will send you a doctor."
"Do you know the name of my enemy?"
"No, monsieur."
"What! you saved his life, and he did not tell you his name?"
"I did not ask him."
"You did not ask him?"
"I have saved your life also, monsieur; have I asked you your name? But, in exchange, you both know mine."
"I see, monsieur, there is nothing to be learned from you; you are as discreet as brave."
"I observe that you say that in a reproachful manner; but, on the contrary, you ought to be reassured, for a man who is discreet with one person will be so with another."
"You are right! your hand, M. de Carmainges."
Ernanton did quietly as he was asked.
"You have blamed my conduct, monsieur," said Mayenne; "but I cannot justify myself without revealing important secrets."
"You defend yourself, monsieur, when I do not accuse."
"Well! I will only say that I am a gentleman of good rank, and able to be of use to you."
"Say no more, monsieur; thanks to the master whom I serve, I have no need of assistance from any one."
"Your master, who is he?"
"I have asked no questions, monsieur."
"It is true."
"Besides, your wound begins to inflame; I advise you to talk less."
"You are right; but I want my surgeon."
"I am returning to Paris, as I told you: give me his address."
"M. de Carmainges, give me your word of honor that if I intrust you with a letter it shall be given to the person to whom it is addressed."
"I give it, monsieur."
"I believe you; I am sure I may trust you. I must tell you a part of my secret. I belong to the guards of Madame de Montpensier."
"Oh! I did not know she had guards."
"In these troublous times, monsieur, every one guards himself as well as he can, and the house of Guise being a princely one – "
"I asked for no explanation, monsieur."
"Well, I had a mission to Amboise; when on the road I saw my enemy; you know the rest." – "Yes."
"Stopped by this wound, I must report to the duchesse the reason of my delay."
"Well?"
"Will you therefore put into her own hands the letter I am about to write?"
"I will seek for ink and paper."
"It is needless, my soldier will get my tablets."
He instructed the soldier to take them from his pocket, opened them by a spring, wrote some lines in pencil, and shut them again. It was impossible for any one who did not know the secret to open them without breaking them.
"Monsieur," said Ernanton, "in three days these tablets shall be delivered."
"Into her own hands?"
"Yes, monsieur."
The duke, exhausted by talking, and by the effort of writing the letter, sank back on his straw.
"Monsieur," said the soldier, in a tone little in harmony with his dress, "you bound me very tight, it is true, but I shall regard my chains as bonds of friendship, and will prove it to you some day."
And he held out a hand whose whiteness Ernanton had already remarked.
"So be it," said he, smiling; "it seems I have gained two friends."
"Do not despise them; one has never too many."
"That is true," said Ernanton; and he left them.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE STABLE-YARD
Ernanton arrived at Paris on the third day. At three in the afternoon he entered the Louvre, among his comrades. The Gascons called out in surprise at seeing him, and M. de Loignac looked gloomy, and signed to him to enter a little room, where he always gave his private audiences.
"This is nice behavior, monsieur," said he; "five days and nights absent; and you whom I thought so well of."
"Monsieur, I did what I was told to do."
"What were you told to do?"
"To follow M. de Mayenne, and I have followed him."
"For five days and nights?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Then he has left Paris?"
"He left that same evening, and that seemed to me suspicious."
"You are right, monsieur, go on."
Ernanton related clearly and energetically all that had taken place. When Ernanton mentioned the letter:
"You have it, monsieur?" asked De Loignac.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Diable! that deserves attention; come with me, I beg of you."
Ernanton followed De Loignac to the courtyard of the Louvre. All was preparing for the king's going out, and M. d'Epernon was seeing two new horses tried, which had been sent from England, as a present from Elizabeth to Henri, and which were that day to be harnessed to the king's carriage for the first time.
De Loignac approached D'Epernon.
"Great news, M. le Duc," said he.
"What is it?" said D'Epernon, drawing to one side.
"M. de Carmainges has seen M. de Mayenne lying wounded in a village beyond Orleans."
"Wounded!"
"Yes, and more, he has written a letter to Madame de Montpensier, which M. de Carmainges has in his pocket."
"Oh! oh! send M. de Carmainges to me."
"Here he is," said De Loignac, signing to Ernanton to advance.
"Well, monsieur, it seems you have a letter from M. de Mayenne."
"Yes, monsieur."
"Addressed to Madame de Montpensier?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Give it to me," and the duke extended his hand.
"Pardon, monsieur, but did you ask me for the duke's letter?"
"Certainly."
"You do not know that this letter was confided to me."
"What matters that?"
"It matters much, monsieur; I passed my word to the duke to give it to Madame la Duchesse herself."
"Do you belong to the king, or M. de Mayenne?"
"To the king."
"Well! the king wishes to see the letter."
"Monsieur, you are not the king."
"I think you forget to whom you speak, M. de Carmainges."
"I remember perfectly, monsieur, and that is why I refuse."
"You refuse?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"M. de Carmainges, you forget your oath of fidelity."
"Monsieur, I have sworn fidelity only to one person, and that is the king; if he asks me for the letter, he must have it, but he is not here."
"M. de Carmainges," said the duke, growing very angry, "you are like the rest of the Gascons; blind in prosperity, your good fortune dazzles you, and the possession of a state secret is a weight too heavy for you to carry."
"The only thing I find heavy, monsieur, is the disgrace into which I seem likely to fall; not my fortune, which my refusal to obey you renders, I know, very precarious; but, no matter; I do what I ought to do, and no one, excepting the king, shall see this letter, but the person to whom it is addressed."
"De Loignac," cried D'Epernon, "place M. de Carmainges in arrest at once."
"It is certain that will prevent me from delivering the letter for a time, but once I come out – "
"If you never do come out?"
"I shall come out, monsieur; unless you have me assassinated. Yes, I shall come out, the walls are less strong than my will, and then – "
"Well?"
"I will speak to the king."
"To prison with him, and take away the letter," cried D'Epernon, beside himself with rage.
"No one shall touch it," cried Ernanton, starting back and drawing from his breast the tablet of M. de Mayenne, "for I will break it to pieces, since I can save it in no other way; M. de Mayenne will approve my conduct, and the king will pardon me."
The young man was about to execute his threat, when a touch arrested his arm. He turned and saw the king, who, coming down the staircase behind them, had heard the end of the discussion.
"What is the matter, gentlemen?" said he.
"Sire," cried D'Epernon, furiously, "this man, one of your Forty-five Guardsmen, of which he shall soon cease to form part, being sent by me to watch M. de Mayenne, in Paris, followed him to Orleans, and received from him a letter for Madame de Montpensier."
"You have received this letter?" asked the king of Ernanton.
"Yes, sire, but M. d'Epernon does not tell you under what circumstances."
"Well, where is this letter?"
"That is just the cause of the quarrel, sire. M. de Carmainges resolutely refuses to give it to me, and determines to carry it to its address."
Carmainges bent one knee before the king. "Sire," said he, "I am a poor gentleman, but a man of honor. I saved the life of your messenger, who was about to be assassinated by M. de Mayenne and six of his followers, for I arrived just in time to turn the fortune of the combat."
"And M. de Mayenne?"
"Was dangerously wounded."
"Well, after?"
"Your messenger, sire, who seemed to have a particular hatred of M. de Mayenne – "
The king smiled.
"Wished to kill his enemy; perhaps he had the right, but I thought that in my presence, whose sword belongs to your majesty, this vengeance became a political assassination, and – "
"Go on, monsieur."
"I saved the life of M. de Mayenne, as I had saved that of your messenger."
D'Epernon shrugged his shoulders with a scornful smile.
"Go on," said the king.
"M. de Mayenne, reduced to one companion, for the four others were killed, did not wish to separate from him, and, ignorant that I belonged to your majesty, confided to me a letter to his sister. I have this letter, sire, and here it is; I offer it to your majesty who has the right to dispose of it and of me. My honor is dear to me, sire, but I place it fearlessly in your hands."
Ernanton, so saying, held out the tablets to the king, who gently put them back.
"What did you say, D'Epernon?" said he; "M. de Carmainges is an honest man and a faithful servant?"
"What did I say, sire."
"Yes; I heard you pronounce the word 'prison.' Mordieu! on the contrary, when one meets a man like M. de Carmainges, it is reward we should speak of. A letter, duke, belongs only to the bearer and to the person to whom it is sent. You will deliver your letter, M. de Carmainges."
"But, sire," said D'Epernon, "think of what that letter may contain. Do not play at delicacy, when, perhaps, your majesty's life is concerned."
"You will deliver your letter, M. de Carmainges," said the king.
"Thanks, sire," said Carmainges, beginning to retire.
"Where do you take it?"
"To Madame la Duchesse de Montpensier, I believed I had had the honor of telling your majesty."
"I mean, to the Hotel Guise, St. Denis, or where?"
"I had no instructions on that subject, sire. I shall take the letter to the Hotel Guise, and there I shall learn where Madame de Montpensier is."
"And when you have found her?"
"I will deliver my letter."
"Just so. M. de Carmainges, have you promised anything else to M. de Mayenne than to deliver that letter to his sister?"
"No, sire."
"No secrecy as to the place where you find her?" – "No, sire."
"Then I will impose only one condition on you."
"I am your majesty's servant."
"Deliver your letter, and then come to me at Vincennes, where I shall be this evening."
"Yes, sire."
"And you will tell me where you found the duchesse?"
"I will, sire."
"I ask no other confidences; remember."
"Sire, I promise."
"What imprudence, sire!" cried D'Epernon.
"There are men you cannot understand, duke. This one is loyal to Mayenne, he will be loyal to me."
"Toward you, sire, I shall be more than loyal – I shall be devoted," cried Ernanton.
"Now, D'Epernon, no more quarrels," said the king; "and you must at once pardon in this brave fellow what you looked upon as a want of loyalty, but which I regard as a proof of honesty."
"Sire," said Ernanton, "M. le Duc is too superior a man not to have discovered, through my disobedience (for which I confess my regret), my respect for him; only, before all things, I must do what I believe to be my duty."
"Parfandious!" said the duke, changing his expression like a mask, "this trial has done you honor, my dear Carmainges, and you are really a fine fellow – is he not, De Loignac? However, we gave him a good fright;" and the duke burst out laughing.
De Loignac did not answer; he could not lie like his illustrious chief.
"If it was a trial, so much the better," said the king, doubtfully; "but I counsel you not to try these experiments often; too many people would give way under them. Now, let us go, duke; you accompany me?"
"It was your majesty's order that I should ride by the door?"
"Yes; and who goes the other side?"
"A devoted servant of your majesty's, M. de St. Maline," said D'Epernon, glancing at Ernanton to see the effect of his words: but Ernanton remained unmoved.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE SEVEN SINS OF MAGDALENE
The king, however, on seeing his horses, did not wish to be alone in the carriage, but desired D'Epernon to sit by him. De Loignac and St. Maline rode on each side, and an outrider in front. The king was, as usual, surrounded by dogs, and there was also a table in the carriage, covered with illuminated pictures, which the king cut out with wonderful skill, in spite of the movement of the carriage. He was just then occupied with the life of Magdalene, the sinner. The different pictures were labeled "Magdalene gives way to the sin of anger" – "Magdalene gives way to the sin of gluttony," and so on through the seven cardinal sins. The one that the king was occupied with, as they passed through the Porte St. Antoine, represented Magdalene giving way to anger.
The beautiful sinner, half-lying on cushions, and with no other covering than the magnificent hair with which she was afterward to wipe the feet of Jesus, was having a slave, who had broken a precious vase, thrown into a pond filled with lampreys, whose eager heads were protruding from the water: while on the other side, a woman, even less dressed than her mistress, as her hair was bound up, was being flogged, because she had, while dressing her mistress's head, pulled out some of those magnificent hairs, whose profusion might have rendered her more indulgent to such a fault. In the background were visible some dogs being whipped for having allowed beggars to pass quietly, and some cocks being murdered for having crowed too loudly in the morning.
On arriving at the Croix-Faubin, the king had finished this figure, and was passing to "Magdalene giving way to the sin of gluttony."
This represented a beautiful woman lying on one of those beds of purple and gold on which the ancients used to take their repasts; all that the Romans had most recherche in meat, in fish, and in fruit, dormice in honey, red mullets, lobsters from Stromboli, and pomegranates from Sicily, ornamented the table, while on the ground some dogs were disputing for a pheasant, while the air was full of birds, which had carried off from the table, figs, strawberries, and cherries. Magdalene held in her hand, filled with white liquor, one of those singularly-shaped glasses which Petronius has described in his feasts.
Fully occupied with this important work, the king merely raised his eyes as they passed by the convent of the Jacobins, from which vespers was sounding on every bell, and of which every window and door was closed.
But a hundred steps further on, an attentive observer would have seen him throw a more curious glance on a fine-looking house on his left, which, built in the midst of a charming garden, opened on the road. This house was called Bel-Esbat, and, unlike the convent, had every window open with the exception of one, before which hung a blind. As the king passed, this blind moved perceptibly; Henri smiled at D'Epernon, and then fell to work on another picture. This was the sin of luxury. The artist had represented this in such glowing colors, and had painted the sin with so much courage and minuteness, that we can only describe a small part of it, viz.: – that Magdalene's guardian angel was flying back to heaven affrighted, and hiding his face in his hands. All this occupied the king so much, that he never noticed an image of vanity who rode by his carriage. It was a pity; for St. Maline was very happy and proud on his horse, as he rode so near that he could hear the king say to his dog, "Gently, M. Love, you get in my way;" or to M. le Duc d'Epernon, "Duke, I believe these horses will break my neck." From time to time, however, St. Maline glanced at De Loignac, who was too much accustomed to these honors not to be indifferent to them; and he could not but feel the superiority of his calm and modest demeanor, and even would try to imitate, for a few minutes, until the thought would recur again, "I am seen and looked at, and people say, 'Who is that happy gentleman who accompanies the king?'" St. Maline's happiness seemed likely to last for a long time, for the horses, covered with harness heavy with gold and embroidery, and imprisoned in shafts like those of David's ark, did not advance rapidly. But as he was growing too proud, something peculiarly annoying to him came to temper it down; he heard the king pronounce the name of Ernanton, and not once, but two or three times. St. Maline strained his attention to hear more, but some noise or movement always prevented him. Either the king uttered some exclamation of regret at an unlucky cut of the scissors, or one of the dogs began to bark. So that between Paris and Vincennes, the name of Ernanton had been pronounced six times by the king, and four times by D'Epernon, without St. Maline's knowing the reason. He persuaded himself that the king was merely inquiring the cause of Ernanton's disappearance, and that D'Epernon was explaining it. At last they arrived at Vincennes, and as the king had still three sins to cut out, he went at once to his own room to finish them. It was a bitterly cold day, therefore St. Maline sat down in a chimney corner to warm himself, and was nearly falling asleep, when De Loignac put his hand on his shoulder.
"You must work to-day," said he; "you shall sleep some other day; so get up, M. de St. Maline."
"I will not sleep for a fortnight, if necessary, monsieur."
"Oh! we shall not be so exacting as that." – "What must I do, monsieur?"
"Get on your horse and return to Paris."
"I am ready; my horse is standing saddled."
"Good; go then straight to the room of the Forty-five, and awaken every one; but excepting three, whom I will name to you, no one must know where he is going, nor what he is about to do."
"I will obey these instructions implicitly."
"Here then are some more; leave fourteen of these gentlemen at the Porte St. Antoine, fifteen others half way, and bring the rest here."
"Yes, monsieur; but at what hour must we leave Paris?"
"When night falls."
"On horseback or on foot?"
"On horseback."
"Armed?"
"Fully; with daggers, pistols, and swords."
"With armor?"
"Yes."
"What else?"
"Here are three letters; one for M. de Chalabre, one for M. de Biron, and one for yourself. M. de Chalabre will command the first party, M. de Biron the second, and yourself the third."
"Good, monsieur."
"These letters are only to be opened at six o'clock. M. de Chalabre will open his at the Porte St. Antoine, M. de Biron his at the Croix Faubin, and you yours on your return."
"Must we come quickly?"
"As quickly as possible, without creating suspicion. Let each troop come out of Paris by a different gate; M. de Chalabre by the Porte Bourdelle; M. de Biron by the Porte du Temple, and you through the Porte St. Antoine. All other instructions are in the letters. Go quickly from here to the Croix Faubin, but then slowly; you have still two hours before dark, which is more than necessary. Now do you well understand your orders?"
"Perfectly, monsieur."
"Fourteen in the first troop, fifteen in the second, and fifteen in the third; it is evident they do not count Ernanton, and that he no longer forms part of the Forty-five," said St. Maline to himself when De Loignac was gone.
He fulfilled all his directions punctually. When he arrived among the Forty-five, the greater number of them were already preparing for their supper. Thus the noble Lardille de Chavantrade had prepared a dish of mutton stewed with carrots and spices, after the method of Gascony, to which Militor had occasionally aided by trying the pieces of meat and vegetable with a fork.
Pertinax de Montcrabeau, and the singular servant who spoke to him so familiarly, were preparing supper for themselves and six companions, who had each contributed six sous toward it; each one, in fact, was disposing according to his fancy of the money of his majesty Henri III. One might judge of the character of each man by the aspect of his little lodging. Some loved flowers, and displayed on their window-sills some fading rose or geranium; others had, like the king, a taste for pictures; others had introduced a niece or housekeeper; and M. d'Epernon had told M. de Loignac privately to shut his eyes on these things. At eight o'clock in winter, and ten in summer, they went to bed; but always leaving fifteen on guard. As, however, it was but half-past five when St. Maline entered, he found every one about, and, as we said, gastronomically inclined. But with one word he put an end to all this: "To horse, gentlemen," said he; and leaving them without another word, went to explain his orders to MM. de Biron and Chalabre. Some, while buckling on their belts and grasping their cuirasses, ate great mouthfuls, washed down by a draught of wine; and others, whose supper was less advanced, armed themselves with resignation. They called over the names, and only forty-four, including St. Maline, answered.
"M. Ernanton de Carmainges is missing," said De Chalabre, whose turn it was to exercise these functions. A profound joy filled the heart of St. Maline, and a smile played on his lips, a rare thing with this somber and envious man.
The forty-four therefore set off on their different routes.
