/ ' 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY / 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA ' 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 MRS. VIRGINIA B. SPORER
 
 Fl 
 
 CINQ MARS 
 
 (VOL. I.) 
 By ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 
 
 Crowned by the French Academy 
 
 
 ^^AftJpW^lARlJES DE 
 
 MJfeAWof the French Academy 
 >m (he Painting in the Mttste Camaoalel, Pans.] 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Current Literature Publishing Company 
 1910 


 
 
 
 
 CINQ MARS 
 
 (VOL. I.) 
 By ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 
 \ 
 
 Crowned by the French Academy 
 
 
 With a Preface by CHARLES DE 
 MAZADE, of the French Academy 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Current Literature Publishing Company 
 1910 

 
 COPYRIGHT 1905 
 
 BY 
 ROBERT ARNOT 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1910 
 
 BY 
 CURRENT LITERATURE PUBLISHING COMPANY
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 E reputation of Alfred de Vigny has 
 endured extraordinary vicissitudes in 
 France. First he was lauded as the 
 precursor of French romantic poetry 
 and stately prose; then he sank in 
 semi-oblivion, became the curiosity of 
 criticism, died in retirement, and was 
 neglected for a long time, until the 
 last ten years or so produced a marked revolution of 
 taste in France. The supremacy of Victor Hugo has 
 been, if not questioned, at least mitigated ; other poets 
 have recovered from their obscurity. Lamartine shines 
 now like a lamp relighted ; and the pure, brilliant, and 
 profoundly original genius of Alfred de Vigny now 
 takes, for the first time, its proper place as one of the 
 main illuminating forces of the nineteenth century. 
 
 It was not until one hundred years after this poet's 
 birth that it became clearly recognized that he is one of 
 the most important of all the great writers of France, 
 and he is distinguished not only in fiction, but also in po- 
 etry and the drama. He is a follower of Andre Chenier, 
 Lamartine, and Victor Hugo, a lyric sun, a philosophic 
 poet, later, perhaps in consequence of the Revolution 
 of 1830, becoming a " Symbolist" He has been held 
 to occupy a middle ground between De Musset and 
 [v] 
 
 2042182
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Chenier, but he has also something suggestive of Ma- 
 dame de Stael, and, artistically, he has much in common 
 with Chateaubriand, though he is more coldly imper- 
 sonal and probably much more sincere in his philos- 
 ophy. If Sainte-Beuve, however, calls the poet in his 
 Nouveaux Lundis a "beautiful angel, who has been 
 drinking vinegar," then the modern reader needs a 
 strong caution against malice and raillery, if not jeal- 
 ousy and perfidy, although the article on De Vigny 
 abounds otherwise with excessive critical cleverness. 
 
 At times, indeed, under the cruel deceptions of love, 
 he seemed to lose faith in his idealism ; his pessimism, 
 nevertheless, always remained noble, restrained, sym- 
 pathetic, manifesting itself not in appeals for condo- 
 lence, but in pitying care for all who were near and dear 
 to him. Yet his lofty prose and poetry, interpenetrated 
 with the stern despair of pessimistic idealism, will al- 
 ways be unintelligible to the many. As a poet, De 
 Vigny appeals to the chosen few alone. In his dramas 
 his genius is more emancipated from himself, in his 
 novels most of all. It is by these that he is most widely 
 known, and by these that he exercised the greatest in- 
 fluence on the literary life of his generation. 
 
 Alfred- Victor, Count de Vigny, was born in Loches, 
 Touraine, March 27, 1797. His father was an army 
 officer, wounded in the Seven Years' War. Alfred, after 
 having been well educated, also selected a military ca- 
 reer and received a commission in the " Mousquetaires 
 Rouges," in 1814, when barely seventeen. He served 
 until 1827, "twelve long years of peace," then re-
 
 PREFACE 
 
 signed. Already in 1822 appeared a volume of Poemes 
 which was hardly noticed, although containing poetry 
 since become important to the evolution of French 
 verse: La Neige, le Cor, le Deluge, Elva, la Fregate, 
 etc., again collected in Poemes antiques et modernes 
 (1826). Other poems were published after his death in 
 Les Destinees (1864). 
 
 Under the influence of Walter Scott, he wrote a his- 
 torical romance in 1826, Cinq-Mars, ou une Conjur- 
 ation sans Louis XIII. It met with the most brilliant 
 and decided success and was crowned by the Academy. 
 Cinq-Mars will always be remembered as the earliest 
 romantic novel in France and the greatest and most 
 dramatic picture of Richelieu now extant. De Vigny 
 was a convinced Anglophile, well acquainted with the 
 writings of Shakespeare and Milton, Byron, Words- 
 worth, Shelley, Matthew Arnold, and Leopardi. He 
 also married an English lady in 1825 Lydia Bunbury. 
 
 Other prose works are Stello (1832), in the manner of 
 Sterne and Diderot, and Servitude et Grandeur mili- 
 taire (1835), the language of which is as caustic as that 
 of Merimee. As a dramatist, De Vigny produced a 
 translation of Othello Le More de Venice (1829); also 
 La Marechale d'Ancre (1832); both met with mod- 
 erate success only. But a decided "hit" was Chatter- 
 ton (1835), an adaption from his prose-work Stello, ou 
 les Diables bleus; it at once established his reputation 
 on the stage ; the applause was most prodigious, and in 
 the annals of the French theatre can only be compared 
 with that of Le Cid. It was a great victory for the 
 Romantic School, and the type of Chatterton, the 
 [vii]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 slighted poet, " the marvellous boy, the sleepless soul 
 that perished in his pride," became contagious as erst- 
 while did the type of Werther. 
 
 For twenty years before his death Alfred de Vigny 
 wrote nothing. He lived in retirement, almost a rec- 
 luse, in La Charente, rarely visiting Paris. Admitted 
 into L' Academic Franchise in 1845, he describes in his 
 Journal (Pun Poete his academic visits and the recep- 
 tion held out to him by the members of L'Institut. 
 This work appeared posthumously in 1867. 
 
 He died in Paris, September 17, 1863. 
 
 de 1'Acade'mic Frangaise. 
 
 Lviii]
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 study of social progress is to-day 
 not less needed in literature than is 
 the analysis of the human heart. 
 We live in an age of universal in- 
 vestigation, and of exploration of the 
 sources of all movements. France, 
 for example, loves at the same time 
 history and the drama, because the 
 one explores the vast destinies of humanity, and the 
 other the individual lot of man. These embrace the 
 whole of life. But it is the province of religion, of phi- 
 losophy, of pure poetry only, to go beyond life, beyond 
 time, into eternity. 
 
 Of late years (perhaps as a result of our political 
 changes) art has borrowed from history more than 
 ever. All of us have our eyes fixed on our chronicles, 
 as though, having reached manhood while going on 
 toward greater things, we had stopped a moment to 
 cast up the account of our youth and its errors. We 
 have had to double the interest by adding to it recol- 
 lection. 
 
 As France has carried farther than other nations 
 this love of facts, and as I had chosen a recent and 
 well-remembered epoch, it seemed to me that I ought 
 not to imitate those foreigners who in their pictures 
 
 [ix]
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 barely show in the horizon the men who dominate 
 their history. I placed ours in the foreground of the 
 scene; I made them leading actors in this tragedy, 
 wherever I endeavored to represent the three kinds of 
 ambition by which we are influenced, and with them 
 the beauty of self-sacrifice to a noble ideal. A treatise 
 on the fall of the feudal system; on the position, at 
 home and abroad, of France in the seventeenth cen- 
 tury; on foreign alliances; on the justice of parliaments 
 or of secret commissions, or on accusations of sorcery, 
 would not perhaps have been read. But the romance 
 was read. 
 
 I do not mean to defend this last form of historical 
 composition, being convinced that the real greatness 
 of a work lies in the substance of the author's ideas 
 and sentiments, and not in the literary form in which 
 they are dressed. The choice of a certain epoch ne- 
 cessitates a certain treatment to another epoch it 
 would be unsuitable; these are mere secrets of the 
 workshop of thought which there is no need of dis- 
 closing. What is the use of theorizing as to wherein 
 lies the charm that moves us? We hear the tones of 
 the harp, but its graceful form conceals from us its 
 frame of iron. Nevertheless, since I have been con- 
 vinced that this book possesses vitality, I can not help 
 throwing out some reflections on the liberty which the 
 imagination should employ in weaving into its tap- 
 estry all the leading figures of an age, and, to give 
 more consistency to their acts, in making the reality 
 of fact give way to the idea which each of them should 
 represent in the eyes of posterity; in short, on the
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 difference which I find between Truth in art and the 
 True in fact. 
 
 Just as we descend into our consciences to judge of 
 actions which our minds can not weigh, can we not 
 also search in ourselves for the feeling which gives 
 birth to forms of thought, always vague and cloudy? 
 We shall find in our troubled hearts, where discord 
 reigns, two needs which seem at variance, but which 
 merge, as I think, in a common source the love of the 
 true, and the love of the fabulous. 
 
 On the day when man told the story of his life to 
 man, history was born. Of what use is the memory of 
 facts, if not to serve as an example of good or of evil ? 
 But the examples which the slow train of events pre- 
 sents to us are scattered and incomplete. They lack 
 always a tangible and visible coherence leading straight 
 on to a moral conclusion. The acts of the human 
 race on the world's stage have doubtless a coherent 
 unity, but the meaning of the vast tragedy enacted will 
 be visible only to the eye of God, until the end, which 
 will reveal it perhaps to the last man. All systems of 
 philosophy have sought in vain to explain it, ceaselessly 
 rolling up their rock, which, never reaching the top, 
 falls back upon them each raising its frail structure 
 on the ruins of the others, only to see it fall in its 
 turn. 
 
 I think, then, that man, after having satisfied his 
 first longing for facts, wanted something fuller some 
 grouping, some adaptation to his capacity and ex- 
 perience, of the links of this vast chain of events which 
 his sight could not take in. Thus he hoped to find in
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 the historic recital examples which might support the 
 moral truths of which he was conscious. Few single 
 careers could satisfy this longing, being only incom- 
 plete parts of the elusive whole of the history of the 
 world; one was a quarter, as it were, the other a half 
 of the proof; imagination did the rest and completed 
 them. From this, without doubt, sprang the fable. 
 Man created it thus, because it was not given him to 
 see more than himself and nature, which surrounds 
 him; but he created it true with a truth all its own. 
 
 This Truth, so beautiful, so intellectual, which I 
 feel, I see, and long to define, the name of which I 
 here venture to distinguish from that of the True, that 
 I may the better make myself understood, is the soul 
 of all the arts. It is the selection of the characteristic 
 token in all the beauties and the grandeurs of the visi- 
 ble True; but it is not the thing itself, it is something 
 better: it is an ideal combination of its principal forms, 
 a luminous tint made up of its brightest colors, an in- 
 toxicating balm of its purest perfumes, a delicious 
 elixir of its best juices, a perfect harmony of its sweetest 
 sounds in short, it is a concentration of all its good 
 qualities. For this Truth, and nothing else, should 
 strive those works of art which are a moral representa- 
 tion of life dramatic works. To attain it, the first 
 step is undoubtedly to learn all that is true in fact of 
 every period, to become deeply imbued with its general 
 character and with its details; this involves only a 
 cheap tribute of attention, of patience, and of memory. 
 But then one must fix upon some chosen centre, and 
 group everything around it; this is the work of im-
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 agination, and of that sublime common-sense which is 
 genius itself. 
 
 Of what use were the arts if they were only the re- 
 production and the imitation of life? Good heavens! 
 we see only too clearly about us the sad and disen- 
 chanting reality the insupportable lukewarmness of 
 feeble characters, of shallow virtues and vices, of 
 irresolute loves, of tempered hates, of wavering friend- 
 ships, of unsettled beliefs, of constancy which has its 
 height and its depth, of opinions which evaporate. 
 Let us dream that once upon a time have lived men 
 stronger and greater, who were more determined for 
 good or for evil; that does us good. If the paleness of 
 your True is to follow us into art, we shall close at 
 once the theatre and the book, to avoid meeting it a 
 second time. What is wanted of works which revive 
 the ghosts of human beings is, I repeat, the philo- 
 sophical spectacle of man deeply wrought upon by the 
 passions of his character and of his epoch; it is, in 
 short, the artistic Truth of that man and that epoch, 
 but both raised to a higher and ideal power, which 
 concentrates all their forces. You recognize this 
 Truth in works of the imagination just as you cry out 
 at the resemblance of a portrait of which you have 
 never seen the original; for true talent paints life 
 rather than the living. 
 
 To banish finally the scruples on this point of the 
 consciences of some persons, timorous in literary mat- 
 ters, whom I have seen affected with a personal sorrow 
 on viewing the rashness with which the imagination 
 sports with the most weighty characters of history, I
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 will hazard the assertion that, not throughout this 
 work, I dare not say that, but in many of these pages, 
 and those perhaps not of the least merit, history is a 
 romance of which the people are the authors. The 
 human mind, I believe, cares for the True only in the 
 general character of an epoch. What it values most 
 of all is the sum total of events and the advance of 
 civilization, which carries individuals along with it; 
 but, indifferent to details, it cares less to have them 
 real than noble or, rather, grand and complete. 
 
 Examine closely the origin of certain deeds, of cer- 
 tain heroic expressions, which are born one knows not 
 how; you will see them leap out ready-made from 
 hearsay and the murmurs of the crowd, without having 
 in themselves more than a shadow of truth, and, never- 
 theless, they will remain historical forever. As if by 
 way of pleasantry, and to put a joke upon posterity, 
 the public voice invents sublime utterances to mark, 
 during their lives and under their very eyes, men who, 
 confused, avow themselves as best they may, as not de- 
 serving of so much glory * and as not being able to sup- 
 
 * In our time has not a Russian General denied the fire of Moscow, 
 which we have made heroic, and which will remain so? Has not a 
 French General denied that utterance on the field of Waterloo which 
 will immortalize it? And if I were not withheld by my respect for a 
 sacred event, I might recall that a priest has felt it to be his duty to 
 disavow in public a sublime speech which will remain the noblest that 
 has ever been pronounced on a scaffold : " Son of Saint Louis, rise to 
 heaven ! " When I learned not long ago its real author, I was over- 
 come by the destruction of my illusion, but before long I was consoled 
 by a thought that does honor to humanity in my eyes. I feel that 
 France has consecrated this speech, because she felt the need of re- 
 establishing herself in her own eyes, of blinding herself to her awful 
 error, and of believing that then and there an honest man was found 
 who dared to speak aloud.
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 port so high renown. In vain ; their disclaimers are not 
 received. Let them cry out, let them write, let them 
 print, let them sign they are not listened to. These 
 utterances are inscribed in bronze; the poor fellows 
 remain historical and sublime in spite of themselves. 
 And I do not find that all this is done in the ages 
 of barbarism alone; it is still going on, and it molds 
 the history of yesterday to the taste of public opinion 
 a Muse tyrannical and capricious, which preserves 
 the general purport and scorns detail. 
 
 Which of you knows not of such transformation ? 
 Do you not see with your own eyes the chrysalis fact 
 assume by degrees the wings of fiction ? Half formed 
 by the necessities of the time, a fact is hidden in the 
 ground obscure and incomplete, rough, misshapen, like 
 a block of marble not yet rough-hewn. The first 
 who unearth it, and take it in hand, would wish it 
 differently shaped, and pass it, already a little round- 
 ed, into other hands; others polish it as they pass 
 it along; in a short time it is exhibited transformed 
 into an immortal statue. We disclaim it; witnesses 
 who have seen and heard pile refutations upon ex- 
 planations; the learned investigate, pore over books, 
 and write. No one listens to them any more than to 
 the humble heroes who disown it; the torrent rolls on 
 and bears with it the whole thing under the form which 
 it has pleased it to give to these individual actions. 
 What was needed for all this work? A nothing, a 
 word; sometimes the caprice of a journalist out of 
 work. And are we the losers by it? No. The 
 adopted fact is always better composed than the real
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 one, and it is even adopted only because it is better. 
 The human race feels a need that its destinies should 
 afford it a series of lessons; more careless than we think 
 of the reality of facts, it strives to perfect the event in 
 order to give it a great moral significance, feeling sure 
 that the succession of scenes which it plays upon earth 
 is not a comedy, and that since it advances, it marches 
 toward an end, of which the explanation must be 
 sought beyond what is visible. 
 
 For my part, I acknowledge my gratitude to the 
 voice of the people for this achievement; for often in 
 the finest life are found strange blemishes and incon- 
 sistencies which pain me when I see them. If a man 
 seems to me a perfect model of a grand and noble 
 character, and if some one comes and tells me of a 
 mean trait which disfigures him, I am saddened by it, 
 even though I do not know him, as by a misfortune 
 which affects me in person; and I could almost 
 wish that he had died before the change in his char- 
 acter. 
 
 Thus, when the Muse (and I give that name to art 
 as a whole, to everything which belongs to the domain 
 of imagination, almost in the same way as the ancients 
 gave the name of Music to all education), when the 
 Muse has related, in her impassioned manner, the 
 adventures of a character whom I know to have lived ; 
 and when she reshapes his experiences into conformity 
 with the strongest idea of vice or virtue which can be 
 conceived of him filling the gaps, veiling the incon- 
 gruities of his life, and giving him that perfect unity of 
 conduct which we like to see represented even in evil 
 [xvij
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 if, in addition to this, she preserves the only thing 
 essential to the instruction of the world, the spirit of 
 the epoch, I know no reason why we should be more 
 exacting with her than with this voice of the people 
 which every day makes every fact undergo so great 
 changes. 
 
 The ancients carried this liberty even into history; 
 they wanted to see in it only the general march, and 
 broad movements of peoples and nations; and on these 
 great movements, brought to view in courses very 
 distinct and very clear, they placed a few colossal 
 figures symbols of noble character and of lofty 
 purpose. 
 
 One might almost reckon mathematically that, hav- 
 ing undergone the double composition of public opinion 
 and of the author, their history reaches us at third 
 hand and is thus separated by two stages from the 
 original fact. 
 
 It is because in their eyes history too was a work of 
 art; and in consequence of not having realized that 
 such is its real nature, the whole Christian world still 
 lacks an historical monument like those which domi- 
 nate antiquity and consecrate the memory of its desti- 
 nies as its pyramids, its obelisks, its pylons, and its 
 porticos still dominate the earth which was known to 
 them, and thereby commemorate the grandeur of an- 
 tiquity. 
 
 If, then, we find everywhere evidence of this inclina- 
 tion to desert the positive, to bring the ideal even into 
 historic annals, I believe that with greater reason we 
 should be completely indifferent to historical reality in 
 [ xvii ]
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 judging the dramatic works, whether poems, roman- 
 ces, or tragedies, which borrow from history celebrated 
 characters. Art ought never to be considered except 
 in its relations with its ideal beauty. Let it be said 
 that what is true in fact is secondary merely; it is only 
 an illusion the more with which it adorns itself one of 
 our prejudices which it respects. It can do without it, 
 for the Truth by which it must live is the truth of ob- 
 servation of human nature, and not authenticity of fact. 
 The names of the characters have nothing to do with 
 the matter. The idea is everything; the proper name 
 is only the example and the proof of the idea. 
 
 So much the better for the memory of those who are 
 chosen to represent philosophical or moral ideas; but, 
 once again, that is not the question. The imagination 
 can produce just as fine things without them; it is a 
 power wholly creative; the imaginary beings which it 
 animates are endowed with life as truly as the real 
 beings which it brings to life again. We believe in 
 Othello as we do in Richard III., whose tomb is in 
 Westminster; in Lovelace and Clarissa as in Paul 
 and Virginia, whose tombs are in the Isle of France. 
 It is with the same eye that we must watch the per- 
 formance of its characters, and demand of the Muse 
 only her artistic Truth, more lofty than the True 
 whether collecting the traits of a character dispersed 
 among a thousand entire individuals, she composes 
 from them a type whose name alone is imaginary; or 
 whether she goes to their tomb to seek and to touch 
 with her galvanic current the dead whose great deeds 
 are known, forces them to arise again, and drags them 
 
 [ xviii 1
 
 TRUTH IN ART 
 
 dazzled to the light of day, where, in the circle which 
 this fairy has traced, they re-assume unwillingly their 
 passions of other days, and begin again in the sight 
 of their descendants the sad drama of life. 
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY. 
 1827. 
 
 [xix]
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 VOLUME I 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE ADIEU ................. J 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE STREET ................ 3 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE GOOD PRIEST .............. 44 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE TRIAL ................. 60 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE MARTYRDOM . . . . , .......... 74 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE DREAM ........ ........ 87 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THE CABINET .............. . . 99 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE INTERVIEW ............... 129 
 
 [xxi]
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SIEGE 146 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 THE RECOMPENSE 163 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 THE BLUNDERS 179 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 THE NIGHT-WATCH 194 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 THE SPANIARD 216 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE RIOT 230 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 THE ALCOVE 251 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 THE CONFUSION 270 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 THE TOILETTE . . 281 
 
 [rrii]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE ADIEU 
 
 Fare thee well! and if forever, 
 Still forever fare thee well! 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 O you know that charming part of 
 our country which has been called 
 the garden of France that spot 
 where, amid verdant plains watered 
 by wide streams, one inhales the 
 purest air of heaven ? 
 
 If you have travelled through fair 
 Touraine in summer, you have no 
 doubt followed with enchantment the peaceful Loire; 
 you have regretted the impossibility of determining 
 upon which of its banks you would choose to dwell 
 with your beloved. On its right bank one sees valleys 
 dotted with white houses surrounded by woods, hills 
 yellow with vines or white with the blossoms of the cher- 
 ry-tree, walls covered with honeysuckles, rose-gardens, 
 from which pointed roofs rise suddenly. Everything 
 reminds the traveller either of the fertility of the land 
 or of the antiquity of its monuments; and everything 
 interests him in the work of its busy inhabitants.
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Nothing has proved useless to them; it seems as if in 
 their love for so beautiful a country the only province 
 of France never occupied by foreigners they have 
 determined not to lose the least part of its soil, the 
 smallest grain of its sand. Do you fancy that this 
 ruined tower is inhabited only by hideous night-birds ? 
 No; at the sound of your horse's hoofs, the smiling face 
 of a young girl peeps out from the ivy, whitened with 
 the dust from the road. If you climb a hillside cov- 
 ered with vines, a light column of smoke shows you 
 that there is a chimney at your feet; for the very rock 
 is inhabited, and families of vine-dressers breathe in its 
 caverns, sheltered at night by the kindly earth which 
 they laboriously cultivate during the day. The good 
 people of Touraine are as simple as their life, gentle 
 as the air they breathe, and strong as the powerful 
 earth they dig. Their countenances, like their char- 
 acters, have something of the frankness of the true 
 people of St.-Louis; their chestnut locks are still long 
 and curve around their ears, as in the stone statues of 
 our old kings; their language is the purest French, 
 with neither slowness, haste, nor accent the cradle of 
 the language is there, close to the cradle of the mon- 
 archy. 
 
 But the left bank of the stream has a more serious 
 aspect; in the distance you see Chambord, which, 
 with its blue domes and little cupolas, appears like 
 some great city of the Orient; there is Chanteloup, 
 raising its graceful pagoda in the air. Near these a 
 simpler building attracts the eyes of the traveller by its 
 magnificent situation and imposing size; it is the cha- 
 
 [2]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 teau of Chaumont. Built upon the highest hill of the 
 shore, it frames the broad summit with its lofty walls 
 and its enormous towers; high slate steeples increase 
 their loftiness, and give to the building that conventual 
 air, that religious form of all our old chateaux, which 
 casts an aspect of gravity over the landscape of most 
 of our provinces. Black and tufted trees surround 
 this ancient mansion, resembling from afar the plumes 
 that encircled the hat of King Henry. At the foot of 
 the hill, connected with the chateau by a narrow path, 
 lies a pretty village, whose white houses seem to have 
 sprung from the golden sand; a chapel stands half- 
 way up the hill; the lords descended and the villagers 
 ascended to its altar the region of equality, situated 
 like a neutral spot between poverty and riches, which 
 have been too often opposed to each other in bitter 
 conflict. 
 
 Here, one morning in the month of June, 1639, the 
 bell of the chateau having, as usual, rung at midday, 
 the dinner-hour of the family, occurrences of an un- 
 usual kind were passing in this ancient dwelling. The 
 numerous domestics observed that in repeating the 
 morning prayers before the assembled household, the 
 Marechale d'Effiat had spoken with a broken voice 
 and with tears in her eyes, and that she had appeared 
 in a deeper mourning than was customary. The peo- 
 ple of the household and the Italians of the Duchesse 
 de Mantua, who had at that time retired for a while to 
 Chaumont, saw with surprise that sudden preparations 
 were being made for departure. The old domestic of 
 the Marcchal d'Effiat (who had been dead six months) 
 [3]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 had taken again to his travelling-boots, which he had 
 sworn to abandon forever. This brave fellow, named 
 Grandchamp, had followed the chief of the family 
 everywhere in the wars, and in his financial work; he 
 had been his equerry in the former, and his secretary 
 in the latter. He had recently returned from Ger- 
 many, to inform the mother and the children of the 
 death of the Marechal, whose last sighs he had heard 
 at Luzzelstein. He was one of those faithful servants 
 who are become too rare in France; who suffer with 
 the misfortunes of the family, and rejoice with their 
 joys; who approve of early marriages, that they may 
 have young masters to educate; who scold the chil- 
 dren and often the fathers; who risk death for them; 
 who serve without wages in revolutions; who toil for 
 their support; and who in prosperous times follow 
 them everywhere, or exclaim at their return, "Behold 
 our vines!" He had a severe and remarkable face, 
 a coppery complexion, and silver-gray hair, in which, 
 however, some few locks, black as his heavy eyebrows, 
 made him appear harsh at first; but a gentle counte- 
 nance softened this first impression. At present his 
 voice was loud. He busied himself much that day in 
 hastening the dinner, and ordered about all the ser- 
 vants, who were in mourning like himself. 
 
 "Come," said he, "make haste to serve the dinner, 
 while Germain, Louis, and Etienne saddle their horses ; 
 Monsieur Henri and I must be far away by eight 
 o'clock this evening. And you, gentlemen, Italians, 
 have you warned your young Princess ? I wager that 
 she is gone to read with her ladies at the end of the 
 [4]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 park, or on the banks of the lake. She always comes 
 in after the first course, and makes every one rise from 
 the table." 
 
 "Ah, my good Grandchamp," said in a low voice a 
 young maid servant who was passing, "do not speak of 
 the Duchess; she is very sorrowful, and I believe that 
 she will remain in her apartment. Santa Maria! what 
 a shame to travel to-day! to depart on a Friday, the 
 thirteenth of the month, and the day of Saint Gervais 
 and of Saint-Protais the day of two martyrs! I have 
 been telling my beads all the morning for Monsieur de 
 Cinq-Mars; and I could not help thinking of these 
 things. And my mistress thinks of them too, although 
 she is a great lady; so you need not laugh!" 
 
 With these words the young Italian glided like a 
 bird across the large dining-room, and disappeared 
 down a corridor, startled at seeing the great doors of 
 the salon opened. 
 
 Grandchamp had hardly heard what she had said, 
 and seemed to have been occupied only with the prep- 
 arations for dinner; he fulfilled the important duties 
 of major-domo, and cast severe looks at the domestics 
 to see whether they were all at their posts, placing 
 himself behind the chair of the eldest son of the house. 
 Then all the inhabitants of the mansion entered the 
 salon. Eleven persons seated themselves at table. 
 The Marechale came in last, giving her arm to a hand- 
 some old man, magnificently dressed, whom she placed 
 upon her left hand. She seated herself in a large 
 gilded armchair at the middle of one side of the table, 
 which was oblong in form. Another seat, rather more 
 [5]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 ornamented, was at her right, but it remained empty. 
 The young Marquis d'Effiat, seated in front of his 
 mother, was to assist her in doing the honors of the 
 table. He was not more than twenty years old, and 
 his countenance was insignificant; much gravity and 
 distinguished manners proclaimed, however, a social 
 nature, but nothing more. His young sister of four- 
 teen, two gentlemen of the province, three young 
 Italian noblemen of the suite of Marie de Gonzaga 
 (Duchesse de Mantua), a lady-in-waiting, the gov- 
 erness of the young daughter of the Marechale, and 
 an abbe of the neighborhood, old and very deaf, com- 
 posed the assembly. A seat at the right of the elder 
 son still remained vacant. 
 
 The Marechale, before seating herself, made the sign 
 of the cross, and repeated the Benedicite aloud; every 
 one responded by making the complete sign, or upon 
 the breast alone. This custom was preserved in many 
 families in France up to the Revolution of 1789; some 
 still practise it, but more in the provinces than in Paris, 
 and not without some hesitation and some preliminary 
 words upon the weather, accompanied by a depreca- 
 tory smile when a stranger is present for it is too true 
 that virtue also has its blush. 
 
 The Marechale possessed an imposing figure, and 
 her large blue eyes were remarkably beautiful. She 
 did not appear to have yet attained her forty- fifth 
 year; but, oppressed with sorrow, she walked slowly 
 and spoke with difficulty, closing her eyes, and allow- 
 ing her head to droop for a moment upon her breast, 
 after she had been obliged to raise her voice. At such 
 [6]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 efforts ner iiand pressed to her bosom showed that she 
 experienced sharp pain. She saw therefore with satis- 
 faction that the person who was seated at her left, 
 having at the beginning engrossed the conversation, 
 without having been requested by any one to talk, per- 
 sisted with an imperturbable coolness in engrossing it 
 to the end of the dinner. This was the old Marechal 
 de Bassompierre ; he had preserved with his white 
 locks an air of youth and vivacity curious to see. His 
 noble and polished manners showed a certain gallantry, 
 antiquated like his costume for he wore a ruff in the 
 fashion of Henri IV, and the slashed sleeves fashiona- 
 ble in the former reign, an absurdity which was unpar- 
 donable in the eyes of the beaux of the court. This 
 would not have appeared more singular than anything 
 else at present; but it is admitted that in every age we 
 laugh at the costume of our fathers, and, except the 
 Orientals, I know of no people who have not this 
 fault. 
 
 One of the Italian gentlemen had hardly finished 
 asking the Marechal what he thought of the way in 
 which the Cardinal treated the daughter of the Due de 
 Mantua, when he exclaimed, in his familiar language : 
 
 "Heavens, man! what are you talking about? what 
 do I comprehend of this new system under which 
 France is living? We old companions-in-arms of his 
 late Majesty can ill understand the language spoken 
 by the new court, and that in its turn does not compre- 
 hend ours. But what do I say? We speak no lan- 
 guage in this sad country, for all the world is silent 
 before the Cardinal; this haughty little vassal looks 
 [7]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 upon us as merely old family portraits, which occasion- 
 ally he shortens by the head; but happily the motto 
 always remains. Is it not true, my dear Puy-Lau- 
 rens?" 
 
 This guest was about the same age as the Marechal, 
 but, being more grave and cautious, he answered in 
 vague and few words, and made a sign to his contem- 
 porary in order to induce him to observe the unpleasant 
 emotions which he had caused the mistress of the 
 house by reminding her of the recent death of her hus- 
 band and in speaking thus of the minister, his friend. 
 But it was in vain, for Bassompierre, pleased with the 
 sign of half -approval, emptied at one draught a great 
 goblet of wine a remedy which he lauds in his Me- 
 moirs as infallible against the plague and against re- 
 serve; and leaning back to receive another glass from 
 his esquire, he settled himself more firmly than ever 
 upon his chair, and in his favorite ideas. 
 
 "Yes, we are in the way here; I said so the other 
 day to my dear Due de Guise, whom they have ruined. 
 They count the minutes that we have to live, and 
 shake the hour-glass to hasten the descent of its sands. 
 When Monsieur le Cardinal-Due observes in a corner 
 three or four of our tall figures, who never quitted the 
 side of the late King, he feels that he is unable to move 
 those statues of iron, and that to do it would require 
 the hand of a great man; he passes quickly by, and 
 dares not meddle with us, who fear him not. He be- 
 lieves that we are always conspiring; and they say at 
 this very moment that there is talk of putting me in 
 the Bastille." 
 
 [8]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Eh! Monsieur le Marechal, why do you delay your 
 departure?" said the Italian. "I know of no place, 
 except Flanders, where you can find shelter." 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur! you do not know me. So far from 
 flying, I sought out the King before his departure, and 
 told him that I did so in order to save people the 
 trouble of looking for me; and that if I knew when 
 l.e wished to send me, I would go myself without be- 
 ing taken. He was as kind as I expected him to be, 
 and said to me, 'What, my old friend, could you have 
 thought that I desired to send you there? You know 
 well that I love you.'" 
 
 "Ah, my dear Marechal, let me compliment you," 
 said Madame d'Effiat, in a soft voice. "I recognize 
 the benevolence of the King in these words ; he remem- 
 bers the affection which the King, his father, had tow- 
 ard you. It appears to me that he always accorded 
 to you all that you desired for your friends," she added, 
 with animation, in order to put him into the track of 
 praise, and to beguile him from the discontent which 
 he had so loudly declared. 
 
 "Assuredly, Madame," answered he; "no one is 
 more willing to recognize his virtues than Francois 
 de Bassompierre. I shall be faithful to him to the 
 end, because I gave myself, body and fortune, to his 
 father at a ball; and I swear that, with my consent at 
 least, none of my family shall ever fail in their duties 
 toward the King of France. Although the Besteins are 
 foreigners and Lorrains, a shake of the hand from 
 Henri IV gained us forever. My greatest grief has 
 been to see my brother die in the service of Spain; 
 [9]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 and I have just written to my nephew to say that I 
 shall disinherit him if he has passed over to the Em- 
 peror, as report says he has." 
 
 One of the gentlemen guests who had as yet been 
 silent, and who was remarkable for the profusion of 
 knots, ribbons, and tags which covered his dress, and 
 for the black cordon of the Order of St.-Michael which 
 decorated his neck, bowed, observing that it was thus 
 all faithful subjects ought to speak. 
 
 "I 5 faith, Monsieur de Launay, you deceive yourself 
 very much," said the Marechal, to whom the recollec- 
 tion of his ancestors now occurred; "persons of our 
 blood are subjects only at our own pleasure, for God 
 has caused us to be born as much lords of our lands 
 as the King is of his. When I came to France, I came 
 at my ease, accompanied by my gentlemen and pages. 
 I perceive, however, that the farther we go, the more 
 we lose sight of this idea, especially at the court. But 
 here is a young man who arrives very opportunely to 
 hear me." 
 
 The door indeed opened, and a young man of fine 
 form entered. He was pale; his hair was brown, his 
 eyes were black, his expression was sad and reckless. 
 This was Henri d'Effiat, Marquis de Cinq-Mars (a 
 name taken from an estate of his family). His dress 
 and his short cloak were black; a collar of lace fell 
 from his neck halfway down his breast; his stout, 
 small, and very wide-spurred boots made so much 
 noise upon the flags of the salon that his approach was 
 heard at a distance. He walked directly toward the 
 Marechale, bowed low, and kissed her hand. 
 [10]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Well, Henri," she said, "are your horses ready? 
 At what hour do you depart?" 
 
 "Immediately after dinner, Madame, if you will 
 allow me," said he to his mother, with the ceremonious 
 respect of the times; and passing behind her, he saluted 
 M. de Bassompierre before seating himself at the left 
 of his eldest brother. 
 
 "Well," said the Marechal, continuing to eat with 
 an excellent appetite, "you are about to depart, my 
 son; you are going to the court a slippery place 
 nowadays. I am sorry for your sake that it is not now 
 what it used to be. In former times, the court was 
 simply the drawing-room of the King, in which he 
 received his natural friends: nobles of great family, 
 his peers, who visited him to show their devotion and 
 their friendship, lost their money with him, and accom- 
 panied him in his pleasure parties, but never received 
 anything from him, except permission to bring their 
 vassals with them, to break their heads in his service. 
 The honors a man of quality received did not enrich 
 him, for he paid for them out of his purse. I sold an 
 estate for every grade I received; the title of colonel- 
 general of the Swiss cost me four hundred thousand 
 crowns, and at the baptism of the present King I had 
 to buy a costume that cost me a hundred thousand 
 francs." 
 
 "Ah!" said the mistress of the house, smiling, "you 
 must acknowledge for once that you were not obliged 
 to do that. We have all heard of your splendid dress 
 of pearls; but I should be much vexed were it still the 
 custom to wear such."
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "Oh, Madame la Marquise, do not fear, those times 
 of magnificence never will return. We committed fol- 
 lies, no doubt, but they proved our independence; it 
 is clear that it would then have been hard to convert 
 from their allegiance to the King adherents who were 
 attached to him by love alone, and whose coronets con- 
 tained as many diamonds as his own locked-up crown. 
 It is also certain that ambition could not then attack 
 all classes, since such expenses could come only from 
 rich hands, and since gold comes only from mines. 
 Those great houses, which are being so furiously as- 
 sailed, were not ambitious, and frequently, desiring no 
 employment from the Government, maintained their 
 places at court by their own weight, existed upon their 
 own foundation, and might say, as one of them did 
 say, 'The Prince condescends not; I am Rohan.' It 
 was the same with every noble family, to which its own 
 nobility sufficed ; the King himself expressed it in writ- 
 ing to one of my friends: 'Money is not a common 
 thing between gentlemen like you and me.' " 
 
 "But, Monsieur le Marechal," coldly, and with ex- 
 treme politeness, interrupted M. de Launay, who per- 
 haps intended to anger him, "this independence has 
 produced as many civil wars and revolts as those of 
 Monsieur de Montmorency." 
 
 "Monsieur! I can not consent to hear these things 
 spoken," said the fiery Marechal, leaping up in his arm- 
 chair. "Those revolts and wars had nothing to do 
 with the fundamental laws of the State, and could no 
 more have overturned the throne than a duel could 
 have done so. Of all the great party-chiefs, there was 
 
 [12]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 not one who would not have laid his victory at the feet 
 of the King, had he succeeded, knowing well that all 
 the other lords who were as great as himself would 
 have abandoned the enemy of the legitimate sovereign. 
 Arms were taken against a faction, and not against the 
 sovereign authority; and, this destroyed, everything 
 went on again in the old way. But what have you 
 done in crushing us? You have crushed the arm of 
 the throne, and have not put any tiling in its place. 
 Yes, I no longer doubt that the Cardinal-Duke will 
 wholly accomplish his design; the great nobility will 
 leave and lose their lands, and, ceasing to be great 
 proprietors, they will cease to be a great power. The 
 court is already no more than a palace where people 
 beg; by and by it will become an antechamber, when 
 it will be composed only of those who constitute the 
 suite of the King. Great names will begin by enno- 
 bling vile offices; but, by a terrible reaction, those offices 
 will end by rendering great names vile. Estranged 
 from their homes, the nobility will be dependent upon 
 the employments which they shall have received; and 
 if the people, over whom they will no longer have any 
 influence, choose to revolt 
 
 "How gloomy you are to-day, Marechal!" inter- 
 rupted the Marquise; "I hope that neither I nor my 
 children will ever see that time. I no longer perceive 
 your cheerful disposition, now that you talk like a 
 politician. I expected to hear you give advice to my 
 son. Henri, what troubles you? You seem very 
 absent." 
 
 Cinq-Mars, with eyes fixed upon the great bay- 
 [13]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 window of the dining-room, looked sorrowfully upon 
 the magnificent landscape. The sun shone in full 
 splendor, and colored the sands of the Loire, the trees, 
 and the lawns with gold and emerald. The sky was 
 azure, the waves were of a transparent yellow, the islets 
 of a vivid green; behind their rounded outlines rose 
 the great sails of the merchant-vessels, like a fleet in 
 ambuscade. 
 
 "O Nature, Nature!" he mused; "beautiful Nature, 
 farewell! Soon will my heart cease to be of simplicity 
 enough to feel your charm, soon you will no longer 
 please my eyes. This heart is already burned by a 
 deep passion; and the mention of the interests of men 
 stirs it with hitherto unknown agitation. I must, how- 
 ever, enter this labyrinth; I may, perchance, lose my- 
 self there, but for Marie 
 
 At this moment, aroused by the words of his mother, 
 and fearing to exhibit a childish regret at leaving his 
 beautiful country and his family, he said: 
 
 "I am thinking, Madame, of the road which I shall 
 take to Perpignan, and also of that which shall bring 
 me back to you." 
 
 "Do not forget to take that of Poitiers, and to go to 
 Loudun to see your old tutor, our good Abbe Quillet ; 
 he will give you useful advice about the court. He is 
 on very good terms with the Due de Bouillon; and 
 besides, though he may not be very necessary to you, 
 it is a mark of deference which you owe him." 
 
 "Is it, then, to the siege of Perpignan that you are 
 going, my boy?" asked the old Marechal, who began 
 to think that he had been silent a long time. "Ah! 
 [14]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 it is well for you. Plague upon it! a siege! 'tis an 
 excellent opening. I would have given much had I 
 been able to assist the late King at a siege, upon my 
 arrival in his court; it would have been better to be 
 disembowelled then than at a tourney, as I was. But 
 we were at peace ; and I was compelled to go and shoot 
 the Turks with the Rosworm of the Hungarians, in 
 order that I might not afflict my family by my idle- 
 ness. For the rest, may his Majesty receive you as 
 kindly as his father received me! It is true that the 
 King is good and brave ; but they have unfortunately 
 taught him that cold Spanish etiquette which arrests 
 all the impulses of the heart. He restrains himself 
 and others by an immovable presence and an icy look ; 
 as for me, I confess that I am always waiting for the 
 moment of thaw, but in vain. We were accustomed 
 to other manners from the witty and simple-hearted 
 Henri; and we were at least free to tell him that we 
 loved him." 
 
 Cinq-Mars, with eyes fixed upon those of Bassom- 
 pierre, as if to force himself to attend to his discourse, 
 asked him what was the manner of the late king in 
 conversation. 
 
 "Lively and frank," said he. "Some time after my 
 arrival in France, I played with him and with the 
 Duchesse de Beaufort at Fontainebleau ; for he wished, 
 he said, to win my gold-pieces, my fine Portugal money. 
 He asked me the reason why I came into this country. 
 'Truly, Sire,' said I, frankly, 'I came with no intention 
 of enlisting myself in your service, but only to pass 
 some time at your court, and afterward at that of
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Spain; out you have charmed me so much that, in- 
 stead of going farther, if you desire my service, I will 
 devote myself to you till death.' Then he embraced 
 me, and assured me that I could not find a better 
 master, or one who would love me more. Alas! I 
 have found it so. And for my part, I sacrificed every- 
 thing to him, even my love; and I would have done 
 more, had it been possible to do more than renounce 
 Mademoiselle de Montmorency." 
 
 The good Marechal had tears in his eyes; but the 
 young Marquis d'Efnat and the Italians, looking at 
 one another, could not help smiling to think that at 
 present the Princesse de Conde was far from young 
 and pretty. Cinq-Mars noticed this interchange of 
 glances, and smiled also, but bitterly. 
 
 "Is it true then," he thought, "that the affections 
 meet the same fate as the fashions, and that the lapse 
 of a few years can throw the same ridicule upon a 
 costume and upon love? Happy is he who does not 
 outlive his youth and his illusions, and who carries 
 his treasures with him to the grave!" 
 
 Bu tagain, with effort breaking the melancholy course 
 of his thoughts, and wishing that the good Marechal 
 should read nothing unpleasant upon the countenances 
 of his hosts, he said: 
 
 "People spoke, then, with much freedom to King 
 Henri? Possibly, however, he found it necessary to 
 assume that tone at the beginning of his reign; but 
 when he was master did he change it?" 
 
 "Never! no, never, to his last day, did our great 
 King cease to be the same. He did not blush to be a 
 [16]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 man, and he spoke to men with force and sensibility. 
 Ah! I fancy I see him now, embracing the Due de 
 Guise in his carriage, on the very day of his death; 
 he had just made one of his lively pleasantries to me, 
 and the Duke said to him, 'You are, in my opinion, 
 one of the most agreeable men in the world, and destiny 
 ordained us for each other. For, had you been but 
 an ordinary man, I should have taken you into my 
 service at whatever price; but since heaven ordained 
 that you should be born a great King, it is inevitable 
 that I belong to you.' Oh, great man!" cried Bassom- 
 pierre, with tears in his eyes, and perhaps a little ex- 
 cited by the frequent bumpers he had drunk, "you 
 said well, 'When you have lost me you will learn my 
 value.' " 
 
 During this interlude, the guests at the table had 
 assumed various attitudes, according to their position 
 in public affairs. One of the Italians pretended to 
 chat and laugh in a subdued manner with the young 
 daughter of the Marechale; the other talked to the 
 deaf old Abbe, who, with one hand behind his ear that 
 he might hear, was the only one who appeared atten- 
 tive. Cinq-Mars had sunk back into his melancholy 
 abstraction, after throwing a glance at the Marechal, 
 as one looks aside after throwing a tennis-ball until its 
 return; his elder brother did the honors of the table 
 with the same calm. Puy-Laurens observed the mis- 
 tress of the house with attention ; he was devoted to the 
 Due d' Orleans, and feared the Cardinal. As for the 
 Marechale, she had an anxious and afflicted air. Care- 
 less words had often recalled the death of her husband
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 or the departure of her son; and, oftener still, she had 
 feared lest Bassompierre should compromise himself. 
 She had touched him many times, glancing at the same 
 time toward M. de Launay, of whom she knew little, 
 and whom she had reason to believe devoted to the 
 prime minister; but to a man of his character, such 
 warnings were useless. He appeared not to notice 
 them; but, on the contrary, crushing that gentleman 
 with his bold glance and the sound of his voice, he 
 affected to turn himself toward him, and to direct all 
 his conversation to him. M. de Launay assumed an 
 air of indifference and of assenting politeness, which he 
 preserved until the moment when the folding-doors 
 opened, and " Mademoiselle la Duchesse de Mantua" 
 was announced. 
 
 The conversation which we have transcribed so 
 lengthily passed, in reality, with rapidity; and the re- 
 past was only half over when the arrival of Marie de 
 Gonzaga caused the company to rise. She was small, 
 but very well made, and although her eyes and hair 
 were black, her complexion was as dazzling as the 
 beauty of her skin. The Marechale arose to acknowl- 
 edge her rank, and kissed her on the forehead, in 
 recognition of her goodness and her charming age. 
 
 "We have waited a long time for you to-day, dear 
 Marie," she said, placing the Duchess beside her; 
 "fortunately, you remain with me to replace one of 
 my children, who is about to depart." 
 
 The young Duchess blushed, lowered her head and 
 her eyes, in order that no one might see their redness, 
 and said, timidly: 
 
 [18]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Madame, that may well be, since you have taken 
 toward me the place of a mother;" and a glance thrown 
 at Cinq-Mars, at the other end of the table, made him 
 turn pale. 
 
 This arrival changed the conversation; it ceased to 
 be general, and each guest conversed in a low voice 
 with his neighbor. The Marechal alone continued to 
 utter a few sentences concerning the magnificence of 
 the old court, his wars in Turkey, the tournaments, and 
 the avarice of the new court; but, to his great regret, 
 no one made any reply, and the company were about 
 to leave the table, when, as the clock struck two, five 
 horses appeared in the courtyard. Four were mounted 
 by servants, cloaked and armed ; the other horse, black 
 and spirited, was held by old Grandchamp it was his 
 master's steed. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Bassompierre ; "see, our battle- 
 horses are saddled and bridled. Come, young man, 
 we must say, with our old Marot: 
 
 "'Adieu la cour, adieu les dames! 
 Adieu les filles et les femmes! 
 Adieu vous dy pour quelque temps; 
 Adieu vos plaisans passe-temps! 
 Adieu le bal, adieu la dance; 
 Adieu mesure, adieu cadance, 
 Tabourins, Hautbois, Violons, 
 Puisqu'a la guerre nous allons!'"* 
 
 These old verses and the air of the Marechal made 
 all the guests laugh, except three persons. 
 
 "Heavens!" he continued, "it seems to me as if, 
 
 * In this quotation the Old French form has been preserved. 
 [19]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 like him, I were only seventeen years old; he will re- 
 turn to us covered with embroidery. Madame, we 
 must keep his chair vacant for him." 
 
 The Marechale suddenly grew pale, and left the 
 table in tears; every one rose with her; she took only 
 two steps, and sank into another chair. Her sons and 
 her daughter and the young Duchess gathered anx- 
 iously around her, and heard her say, amid the sighs 
 and tears which she strove to restrain: 
 
 "Pardon, my friends! it is foolish of me childish; 
 but I am weak at present, and am not mistress of my- 
 self. We were thirteen at table; and you, my dear 
 Duchess, were the cause of it. But it is very wrong of 
 me to show so much weakness before him. Farewell, 
 my child ; give me your forehead to kiss, and may God 
 conduct you! Be worthy of your name and of your 
 father." 
 
 Then, as Homer says, "smiling under tears," she 
 raised herself, pushed her son from her, and said: 
 
 "Come, let me see you on horseback, fair sir!" 
 
 The silent traveller kissed the hands of his mother, 
 and made a low bow to her; he bowed also to the 
 Duchess, without raising his eyes. Then, embracing 
 his elder brother, pressing the hand of the Marechal, 
 and kissing the forehead of his young sister almost 
 simultaneously, he went forth, and was on horseback 
 in an instant. Every one went to the windows which 
 overlooked the court, except Madame d'Effiat, who 
 was still seated and suffering. 
 
 "He sets off at full gallop. That is a good sign," 
 said the Marechal, laughing. 
 
 [20]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Oh, heavens!" cried the young Princess, retiring 
 from the bay-window. 
 
 "What is the matter?" said the mother. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing!" said M. de Launay. "Your 
 son's horse stumbled under the gateway; but he soon 
 pulled him up. See, he salutes us from the road." 
 
 "Another ominous presage!" said the Marquise, 
 upon retiring to her apartments. 
 
 Every one imitated her by being silent or speaking 
 low. 
 
 The day w^as sad, and in the evening the supper was 
 silent at the chateau of Chaumont. 
 
 At ten o'clock that evening, the old Marechal, con- 
 ducted by his valet, retired to the northern tower near 
 the gateway, and opposite the river. The heat was 
 extreme; he opened the window, and, enveloping him- 
 self in his great silk robe, placed a heavy candlestick 
 upon the table and desired to be left alone. His win- 
 dow looked out upon the plain, which the moon, in her 
 first quarter, indistinctly lighted; the sky was charged 
 with thick clouds, and all things disposed the mind to 
 melancholy. Although Bassompierre had nothing of 
 the dreamer in his character, the tone which the con- 
 versation had taken at dinner returned to his memory, 
 and he reconsidered his life, the sad changes which 
 the new reign had wrought in it, a reign which seemed 
 to have breathed upon him a wind of misfortune the 
 death of a cherished sister; the irregularities of the heir 
 of his name; the loss of his lands and of his favor; the 
 recent fate of his friend, the Marechal d'Efnat, whose 
 chambers he now occupied. All these thoughts drew 
 
 [21]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 from him an involuntary sigh, and he went to the win- 
 dow to breathe. 
 
 At that moment he fancied he heard the tramp of a 
 troop of horse at the side of the wood; but the wind 
 rising made him think that he had been mistaken, and, 
 as the noise suddenly ceased, he forgot it. He still 
 watched for some time all the lights of the chateau, 
 which were successively extinguished, after winding 
 among the windows of the staircases and rambling 
 about the courtyards and the stables. Then, leaning 
 back in his great tapestried armchair, his elbow resting 
 on the table, he abandoned himself to his reflections. 
 After a while, drawing from his breast a medallion 
 which hung concealed, suspended by a black ribbon, 
 he said: 
 
 "Come, my good old master, talk with me as you 
 have so often talked; come, great King, forget your 
 court for the smile of a true friend; come, great man, 
 consult me concerning ambitious Austria; come, in- 
 constant chevalier, speak to me of the lightness of thy 
 love, and of the fidelity of thine inconstancy; come, he- 
 roic soldier, complain to me again that I obscure you 
 in combat. Ah, had I only done it in Paris! Had I 
 only received thy wound? With thy blood the world 
 has lost the benefits of thine interrupted reign 
 
 The tears of the Marechal obscured the glass that 
 covered the large medallion, and he was effacing them 
 with respectful kisses, when, his door being roughly 
 opened, he quickly drew his sword. 
 
 "Who goes there?" he cried, in his surprise, which 
 was much increased when he saw M. de Launay, who, 
 
 [22]
 
 CINQMARS 
 
 hat in hand, advanced toward him, and said to him, 
 with embarrassment : 
 
 "Monsieur, it is with a heart pierced with grief that 
 I am forced to tell you that the King has commanded 
 me to arrest you. A carriage awaits you at the gate, 
 attended by thirty of the Cardinal-Duke's musket- 
 eers." 
 
 Bassompierre had not risen: and he still held the me- 
 dallion in his right hand, and the sword in the other. 
 He tendered it disdainfully to this man, saying: 
 
 " Monsieur, I know that I have lived too long, and it 
 is that of which I was thinking; in the name of the 
 great Henri, I restore this sword peacefully to his son. 
 Follow me." 
 
 He accompanied these words with a look so firm that 
 De Launay was depressed, and followed him with 
 drooping head, as if he had himself been arrested by the 
 noble old man, who, seizing a flambeau, issued from 
 the court and found all the doors opened by horse- 
 guards, who had terrified the people of the chateau in 
 the name of the King, and commanded silence. The 
 carriage was ready, and departed rapidly, followed by 
 many horses. The Marechal, seated beside M. de 
 Launay, was about to fall asleep, rocked by the move- 
 ment of the vehicle, when a voice cried to the driver, 
 "Stop!" and, as he continued, a pistol-shot followed. 
 The horses stopped. 
 
 "I declare, Monsieur, that this is done without my 
 participation," said Bassompierre. Then, putting his 
 head out at the door, he saw that they were in a little 
 wood, and that the road was too narrow to allow the
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 horses to pass to either the right or the left of the car- 
 riage a great advantage for the aggressors, since the 
 musketeers could not advance. He tried to see what 
 was going on when a cavalier, having in his hand a long 
 sword, with which he parried the strokes of the guard, 
 approached the door, crying: 
 
 "Come, come, Monsieur le Marechal!" 
 
 "What! is that you, you madcap, Henri, who are 
 playing these pranks? Gentlemen, let him alone; he 
 is a mere boy." 
 
 And, as De Launay called to the musketeers to cease, 
 Bassompierre recognized the cavalier. 
 
 "And how the devil came you here?" cried Bassom- 
 pierre. "I thought you were at Tours, or even farther, 
 if you had done your duty; but here you are returned 
 to make a fool of yourself." 
 
 "Truly, it was not for you I returned, but for a secret 
 affair," said Cinq-Mars, in a lower tone; "but, as I 
 take it, they are about to introduce you to the Bastille, 
 and I am sure you will not betray me, for that delight- 
 ful edifice is the very Temple of Discretion. Yet had 
 you thought fit," he continued, aloud, "I should have 
 released you from these gentlemen in the wood here, 
 which is so dense that their horses would not have been 
 able to stir. A peasant informed me of the insult passed 
 upon us, more than upon you, by this violation of my 
 father's house." 
 
 "It is the King's order, my boy, and we must respect 
 his will; reserve your ardor for his service, though I 
 thank you with all my heart. Now farewell, and let me 
 proceed on my agreeable journey." 
 [24]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 De Launay interposed, "I may inform you, Monsieur 
 de Cinq-Mars, that I have been desired by the King 
 himself to assure Monsieur le Marechal, that he is 
 deeply afflicted at the step he has found it necessary to 
 take, and that it is solely from an apprehension that 
 Monsieur le Marechal may be led into evil that his 
 Majesty requests him to remain for a few days in the 
 Bastille."* 
 
 Bassompierre turned his head toward Cinq-Mars 
 with a hearty laugh. "You see, my friend, how we 
 young men are placed under guardianship; so take 
 care of yourself." 
 
 "I will go, then," said Henri; "this is the last time 
 I shall play the knight-errant for any one against his 
 will;" and, reentering the wood as the carriage dashed 
 off at full speed, he proceeded by narrow paths toward 
 the castle, followed at a short distance by Grandchamp 
 and his small escort. 
 
 On arriving at the foot of the western tower, he reined 
 in his horse. He did not alight, but, approaching so 
 near the wall that he could rest his foot upon an abut- 
 ment, he stood up, and raised the blind of a window on 
 the ground-floor, made in the form of a portcullis, such 
 as is still seen on some ancient buildings. 
 
 It was now past midnight, and the moon was hidden 
 behind the clouds. No one but a member of the family 
 could have found his way through darkness so pro- 
 found. The towers and the roof formed one dark 
 mass, which stood out in indistinct relief against the 
 sky, hardly less dark; no light shone throughout the 
 
 *He remained there twelve years. 
 [25]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 chateau, wherein all inmates seemed buried in slum- 
 ber. Cinq-Mars, enveloped in a large cloak, his fac6 
 hidden under the broad brim of his hat, awaited in 
 suspense a reply to his signal. 
 
 It came; a soft voice was heard from within: 
 
 "Is that you, Monsieur Cinq-Mars?" 
 
 "Alas, who else should it be? Who else would re- 
 turn like a criminal to his paternal house, without en- 
 tering it, without bidding one more adieu to his moth- 
 er ? Who else would return to complain of the present, 
 without a hope for the future, but I?" 
 
 The gentle voice replied, but its tones were agitated, 
 and evidently accompanied with tears: "Alas! Henri, 
 of what do you complain? Have I not already done 
 more, far more than I ought ? It is not my fault, but my 
 misfortune, that my father was a sovereign prince. 
 Can one choose one's birthplace or one's rank, and say 
 for example, 'I will be a shepherdess?' How unhappy 
 is the lot of princesses! From the cradle, the sentiments 
 of the heart are prohibited to them; and when they 
 have advanced beyond childhood, they are ceded like a 
 town, and must not even weep. Since I have known 
 you, what have I not done to bring my future life within 
 the reach of happiness, in removing it far from a 
 throne? For two years I have struggled in vain, at 
 once against my evil fortune, that separates me from 
 you, and against you, who estrange me from the duty 
 I owe to my family. I have sought to spread a belief 
 that I was dead ; I have almost longed for revolutions. 
 I should have blessed a change which deprived me of 
 my rank, as I thanked Heaven when my father was de- 
 [26]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 throned; but the court wonders at my absence; the 
 Queen requires me to attend her. Our dreams are at 
 an end, Henri; we have already slumbered too long. 
 Let us awake, be courageous, and think no more of 
 those dear two years forget all in the one recollection 
 of our great resolve. Have but one thought; be am- 
 bitious for be ambitious for my sake." 
 
 "Must we, then, indeed, forget all, Marie?" mur- 
 mured Cinq-Mars. 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "Yes, forget all that I myself have forgotten." 
 Then, after a moment's pause, she continued with ear- 
 nestness: "Yes, forget our happy days together, our 
 long evenings, even our walks by the lake and through 
 the wood; but keep the future ever in mind. Go, 
 Henri; your father was Marechal. Be you more; be 
 you Constable, Prince. Go ; you are young, noble, rich, 
 brave, beloved " 
 
 "Beloved forever?" said Henri. 
 
 "Forever; for life and for eternity." 
 
 Cinq-Mars, tremulously extending his hand to the 
 window, exclaimed: 
 
 "I swear, Marie, by the Virgin, whose name you 
 bear, that you shall be mine, or my head shall fall on 
 the scaffold!" 
 
 "Oh, Heaven! what is it you say?" she cried, seiz- 
 ing his hand in her own. "Swear to me that you will 
 share in no guilty deeds; that you will never forget that 
 the King of France is your master. Love him above 
 all, next to her who will sacrifice all for you, who will 
 await you amid suffering and sorrow. Take this little 
 [27]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 gold cross and wear it upon your heart; it has often 
 been wet with my tears, and those tears will flow still 
 more bitterly if ever you are faithless to the King. Give 
 me the ring I see on your finger. Oh, heavens, my 
 hand and yours are red with blood!" 
 
 "Oh, only a scratch. Did you hear nothing, an 
 hour ago?" 
 
 "No; but listen. Do you hear anything now ?" 
 
 "No, Marie, nothing but some bird of night on the 
 tower." 
 
 "I heard whispering near us, I am sure. But 
 whence comes this blood? Tell me, and then de- 
 part." 
 
 "Yes, I will go, while the clouds are still dark above 
 us. Farewell, sweet soul; in my hour of danger I will 
 invoke thee as a guardian angel. Love has infused the 
 burning poison of ambition into my soul, and for the 
 first time I feel that ambition may be ennobled by its 
 aim. Farewell! I go to accomplish my destiny." 
 
 "And forget not mine." 
 
 "Can they ever be separated?" 
 
 "Never!" exclaimed Marie, "but by death." 
 
 "I fear absence still more," said Cinq-Mars. 
 
 "Farewell! I tremble; farewell!" repeated the be- 
 loved voice, and the window was slowly drawn down, 
 the clasped hands not parting till the last moment. 
 
 The black horse had all the while been pawing the 
 earth, tossing his head with impatience, and whinny- 
 ing. Cinq-Mars, as agitated and restless as his steed, 
 gave it the rein ; and the whole party was soon near the 
 city of Tours, which the bells of St. Gatien had an- 
 [28]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 nounced from afar. To the disappointment of old 
 Grandchamp, Cinq-Mars would not enter the town, 
 but proceeded on his way, and five days later he en- 
 tered, with his escort, the old city of Loudun in Poitou, 
 after an unev tful journey.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE STREET 
 
 Je m'avancais d'un pas penible et mal assurd vers le but de ce 
 convoi tragique. NODIER, Smarra. 
 
 [E reign of which we are about to 
 paint a few years a reign of feeble- 
 ness, which was like an eclipse of the 
 crown between the splendors of Henri 
 IV and those of Louis le Grand af- 
 flicts the eyes which contemplate it 
 with dark stains of blood, and these 
 were not all the work of one man, but 
 were caused by great and grave bodies. It is melan- 
 choly to observe that in this age, still full of disorder, the 
 clergy, like a nation, had its populace, as it had its no- 
 bility, its ignorant and its criminal prelates, as well as 
 those who were learned and virtuous. Since that time, 
 its remnant of barbarism has been refined away by the 
 long reign of Louis XIV, and its corruptions have been 
 washed out in the blood of the martyrs whom it offered 
 up to the revolution of 1793. 
 
 We felt it necessary to pause for a moment to express 
 this reflection before entering upon the recital of the 
 facts presented by the history of this period, and to in- 
 timate that, notwithstanding this consolatory reflection, 
 we have found it incumbent upon us to pass over many 
 [30]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 details too odious to occupy a place in our pages, sigh- 
 ing in spirit at those guilty acts which it was necessary 
 to record, as in relating the life of a virtuous old man, 
 we should lament over the impetuosities of his passion- 
 ate youth, or over the corrupt tendencies of his riper 
 age. 
 
 When the cavalcade entered the narrow streets of 
 Loudun, they heard strange noises all around them. 
 The streets were filled with agitated masses; the bells 
 of the church and of the convent were ringing furi- 
 ously, as if the town was in flames ; and the whole pop- 
 ulation, without paying any attention to the travellers, 
 was pressing tumultuously toward a large edifice that 
 adjoined the church. Here and there dense crowds 
 were collected, listening in silence to some voice that 
 seemed raised in exhortation, or engaged in emphatic 
 reading; then, furious cries, mingled with pious ex- 
 clamations, arose from the crowd, which, dispersing, 
 showed the travellers that the orator was some Capuchin 
 or Franciscan friar, who, holding a wooden crucifix in 
 one hand, pointed with the other to the large building 
 which was attracting such universal interest. 
 
 "Jesu Maria!" exclaimed an old woman, "who 
 would ever have thought that the Evil Spirit would 
 choose our old town for his abode?" 
 
 "Ay, or that the pious Ursulines should be pos- 
 sessed?" said another. 
 
 "They say that the demon who torments the Superior 
 is called Legion," cried a third. 
 
 "One demon, say you?" interrupted a nun; "there 
 were seven in her poor body, whereunto, doubtless, she 
 [31]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 had attached too much importance, by reason of its 
 great beauty, though now 'tis but the receptacle of evil 
 spirits. The prior of the Carmelites yesterday expelled 
 the demon Eazas through her mouth ; and the reverend 
 Father Lactantius has driven out in like manner the 
 demon Beherit. But the other five will not depart, and 
 when the holy exorcists (whom Heaven support !) sum- 
 moned them in Latin to withdraw, they replied inso- 
 lently that they would not go till they had proved their 
 power, to the conviction even of the Huguenots and 
 heretics, who, misbelieving wretches! seem to doubt 
 it. The demon Elimi, the worst of them all, as you 
 know, has threatened to take off Monsieur de Lau- 
 bardemont's skull-cap to-day, and to dangle it in the 
 air at Miserere" 
 
 "Holy Virgin!" rejoined the first speaker, "I'm all 
 of a tremble ! And to think that many times I have got 
 this magician Urbain to say masses for me!" 
 
 "For myself," exclaimed a girl, crossing herself; "I 
 too confessed to him ten months ago! No doubt I 
 should have been possessed myself, but for the relic of 
 Saint- Genevieve I luckily had about me, and 
 
 "Luckily, indeed, Martine," interposed a fat gossip; 
 "for no offence! you, as I remember, were long 
 enough with the handsome sorcerer." 
 
 "Pshaw!" said a young soldier, who had joined the 
 group, smoking his pipe, "don't you know that pretty 
 Martine was dispossessed a month ago." 
 
 The girl blushed, and drew the hood of her black 
 cloak over her face. The elder gossips cast a glance of 
 indignation at the reckless trooper, and finding them- 
 [32]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 selves now close to the door of the building, and thus 
 sure of making their way in among the first when it 
 should be thrown open, sat down upon the stone bench 
 at the side, and, talking of the latest wonders, raised the 
 expectations of all as to the delight they were about to 
 have in being spectators of something marvellous an 
 apparition, perhaps, but at the very least, an adminis- 
 tration of the torture. 
 
 "Is it true, aunt," asked Martine of the eldest gos- 
 sip, "that you have heard the demons speak?" 
 
 "Yes, child, true as I see you; many and many can 
 say the same; and it was to convince you of it I brought 
 you with me here, that you may see the power of the 
 Evil One." 
 
 "What kind of voice has he?" continued the girl, 
 glad to encourage a conversation which diverted from 
 herself the invidious attention procured her by the sol- 
 dier's raillery. 
 
 " Oh, he speaks with a voice like that of the Superior 
 herself, to whom Our Lady be gracious! Poor young 
 woman! I was with her yesterday a long time; it was 
 sad to see her tearing her breast, turning her arms and 
 her legs first one way and then another, and then, all of 
 a sudden, twisting them together behind her back. 
 When the holy Father Lactantius pronounced the name 
 of Urbain Grandier, foam came out of her mouth, and 
 she talked Latin for all the world as if she were reading 
 the Bible. Of course, I did not understand what she 
 said, and all I can remember of it now is, ' Urbanus 
 Magicus rosas diabolica? which they tell me means that 
 the magician Urbain had bewitched her with some 
 3 [33]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 roses the Devil had given him; and so it must have 
 been, for while Father Lactantius spoke, out of her ears 
 and neck came a quantity of flame-colored roses, all 
 smelling of sulphur so strongly that the Judge-Advocate 
 called out for every one present to stop their noses and 
 eyes, for that the demons were about to come out." 
 
 "Ah, look there now!" exclaimed with shrill voices 
 and a triumphant air the whole bevy of assembled 
 women, turning toward the crowd, and more particu- 
 larly toward a group of men attired in black, among 
 whom was standing the young soldier who had cut his 
 joke just before so unceremoniously. 
 
 "Listen to the noisy old idiots!" exclaimed the sol- 
 dier. "They think they're at the witches' Sabbath, but 
 I don't see their broomsticks." 
 
 "Young man, young man!" said a citizen, with a sad 
 air, "jest not upon such subjects in the open air, or, in 
 such a time as this, the wind may become gushing 
 flames and destroy you." 
 
 "Pooh! I laugh at your exorcists!" returned the sol- 
 dier; "my name is Grand-Ferre, and I've got here a 
 better exerciser than any of you can show." 
 
 And significantly grasping the handle of his rapier in 
 one hand, with the other he twisted up his blond mous- 
 tache, as he looked fiercely around; but meeting no 
 glance which returned the defiance of his own, he 
 slowly withdrew, left foot foremost, and strolled along 
 the dark, narrow streets with all the reckless noncha- 
 lance of a young soldier who has just donned his uni- 
 form, and a profound contempt for all who wear not 
 a military coat. 
 
 [34]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 In the meantime eight or ten of the more substantial 
 and rational inhabitants traversed in a body, slowly 
 and silently, the agitated throng; they seemed over- 
 whelmed with amazement and distress at the agitation 
 and excitement they witnessed everywhere, and as each 
 new instance of the popular frenzy appeared, they ex- 
 changed glances of wonder and apprehension. Their 
 mute depression communicated itself to the working- 
 people, and to the peasants who had flocked in from the 
 adjacent country, and who all sought a guide for their 
 opinions in the faces of the principal townsmen, also for 
 the most part proprietors of the surrounding districts. 
 They saw that something calamitous was on foot, and 
 resorted accordingly to the only remedy open to the 
 ignorant and the beguiled apathetic resignation. 
 
 Yet, in the character of the French peasant is a cer- 
 tain scoffing finesse of which he makes effective use, 
 sometimes with his equals, and almost invariably with 
 his superiors. He puts questions to power as embar- 
 rassing as are those which infancy puts to mature age. 
 He affects excessive humility, in order to confuse him 
 whom he addresses with the very height of his isolated 
 elevation. He exaggerates the awkwardness of his man- 
 ner and the rudeness of his speech, as a means of cover- 
 ing his real thoughts under the appearance of mere un- 
 couthness; yet, despite all his self-command, there is 
 something in his air, certain fierce expressions which 
 betray him to the close observer, who discerns in his 
 sardonic smile, and in the marked emphasis with which 
 he leans on his long staff, the hopes that secretly nourish 
 his soul, and the aid upon which he ultimately relies. 
 [35]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 One of the oldest of the peasants whom we have in- 
 dicated came on vigorously, followed by ten or twelve 
 young men, his sons and nephews, all wearing the 
 broad-brimmed hat and the blue frock or blouse of the 
 ancient Gauls, which the peasants of France still wear 
 over their other garments, as peculiarly adapted to 
 their humid climate and their laborious habits. 
 
 When the old man had reached the group of person- 
 ages of whom we have just spoken, he took off his hat 
 an example immediately followed by his whole fam- 
 ily and showed a face tanned with exposure to the 
 weather, a forehead bald and wrinkled with age, and 
 long, white hair. His shoulders were bent with years 
 and labor, but he was still a hale and sturdy man. He 
 was received with an air of welcome, and even of re- 
 spect, by one of the gravest of the grave group he had 
 approached, who, without uncovering, however, ex- 
 tended to him his hand. 
 
 "What! good Father Guillaume Leroux!" said he, 
 "and have you, too, left our farm of La Chenai'e to visit 
 the town, when it's not market-day? Why, 'tis as if 
 your oxen were to unharness themselves and go hunt- 
 ing, leaving their work to see a poor rabbit run 
 down!" 
 
 "Faith, Monsieur le Comte du Lude," replied the 
 farmer, "for that matter, sometimes the rabbit runs 
 across our path of itself; but, in truth, I've a notion that 
 some of the people here want to make fools of us, and 
 so I've come to see about it." 
 
 "Enough of that, my friend," returned the Count; 
 "here is Monsieur Fournier, the Advocate, who assur- 
 [36]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 edly will not deceive you, for he resigned his office of 
 Attorney-General last night, that he might henceforth 
 devote his eloquence to the service of his own noble 
 thoughts. You will hear him, perhaps, to-day, though 
 truly, I dread his appearing for his own sake as much 
 as I desire it for that of the accused." 
 
 "I care not for myself," said Fournier; "truth is 
 with me a passion, and I would have it taught in all 
 times and all places." 
 
 He that spoke was a young man, whose face, pallid 
 in the extreme, was full of the noblest expression. His 
 blond hair, his light-blue eyes, his thinness, the deli- 
 cacy of his frame, made him at first sight seem younger 
 than he was; but his thoughtful and earnest counte- 
 nance indicated that mental superiority and that preco- 
 cious maturity of soul which are developed by deep 
 study in youth, combined with natural energy of char- 
 acter. He was attired wholly in black, with a short 
 cloak in the fashion of the day, and carried under his 
 left arm a roll of documents, which, when speaking, he 
 would take in the right hand and grasp convulsively, as 
 a warrior in his anger grasps the pommel of his sword. 
 At one moment it seemed as if he were about to unfurl 
 the scroll, and from it hurl lightning upon those whom 
 he pursued with looks of fiery indignation three Ca- 
 puchins and a Franciscan, who had just passed. 
 
 "Pere Guillaume," pursued M. du Lude, "how is it 
 you have brought with you only your sons, and they 
 armed with their staves?" 
 
 "Faith, Monsieur, I have no desire that our girls 
 should learn to dance of the nuns; and, moreover, just 
 [37]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 now the lads with their staves may bestir themselves to 
 better purpose than their sisters would." 
 
 "Take my advice, my old friend," said the Count, 
 "and don't bestir yourselves at all; rather stand quietly 
 aside to view the procession which you see approaching, 
 and remember that you are seventy years old." 
 
 "Ah!" murmured the old man, drawing up his 
 twelve sons in double military rank, "I fought under 
 good King Henriot, and can play at sword and pistol 
 as well as the worthy ligueurs;" and shaking his head 
 he leaned against a post, his knotty staff between his 
 crossed legs, his hands clasped on its thick butt-end, 
 and his white, bearded chin resting on his hands. Then, 
 half closing his eyes, he appeared lost in recollections 
 of his youth. 
 
 The bystanders observed with interest his dress, 
 slashed in the fashion of Henri IV, and his resemblance 
 to the Be"arnese monarch in the latter years of his life, 
 though the King's hair had been prevented by the assas- 
 sin's blade from acquiring the whiteness which that of 
 the old peasant had peacefully attained. A furious 
 pealing of the bells, however, attracted the general 
 attention to the end of the great street, down which was 
 seen filing a long procession, whose banners and glit- 
 tering pikes rose above the heads of the crowd, which 
 successively and in silence opened a way for the at once 
 absurd and terrible train. 
 
 First, two and two, came a body of archers, with 
 
 pointed beards and large plumed hats, armed with 
 
 long halberds, who, ranging in a single file on each side 
 
 of the middle of the street, formed an avenue along 
 
 [38]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 which marched in solemn order a procession of Gray 
 Penitents men attired in long, gray robes, the hoods 
 of which entirely covered their heads; masks of the 
 same stuff terminated below their chins in points, like 
 beards, each having three holes for the eyes and nose. 
 Even at the present day we see these costumes at fu- 
 nerals, more especially in the Pyrenees. The Penitents 
 of Loudun carried enormous wax candles, and their 
 slow, uniform movement, and their eyes, which seemed 
 to glitter under their masks, gave them the appearance 
 of phantoms. 
 
 The people expressed their various feelings in an 
 undertone : 
 
 "There's many a rascal hidden under those masks," 
 said a citizen. 
 
 "Ay, and with a face uglier than the mask itself," 
 added a young man. 
 
 "They make me afraid," tremulously exclaimed a 
 girl. 
 
 "I'm only afraid for my purse," said the first speaker. 
 
 "Ah, heaven! there are our holy brethren, the Peni- 
 tents," cried an old woman, throwing back her hood, 
 the better to look at them. " See the banner they bear! 
 Ah, neighbors, 'tis a joyful thing to have it among us! 
 Beyond a doubt it will save us; see, it shows the devil 
 in flames, and a monk fastening a chain round his neck, 
 to keep him in hell. Ah, here come the judges noble 
 gentlemen! dear gentlemen! Look at their red robes; 
 how beautiful! Blessed be the Virgin, they've been 
 well chosen!" 
 
 "Every man of them is a personal enemy of the 
 [39]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Cure," whispered the Count du Lude to the advocate 
 Fournier, who took a note of the information. 
 
 "Don't you know them, neighbors?" pursued the 
 shrill, sharp voice of the old woman, as she elbowed 
 one and pinched another of those near her to attract 
 their attention to the objects of her admiration; "see, 
 there's excellent Monsieur Mignon, whispering to Mes- 
 sieurs the Counsellors of the Court of Poitiers; Heaven 
 bless them all, say I!" 
 
 "Yes, there are Roatin, Richard, and Chevalier 
 the very men who tried to have him dismissed a year 
 ago," continued M. du Lude, in undertones, to the 
 young advocate, who, surrounded and hidden from 
 public observation by the group of dark-clad citizens, 
 was writing down his observations in a note-book under 
 his cloak. 
 
 "Here; look, look!" screamed the woman. "Make 
 way! here's Monsieur Barre, the Cure of Saint- Jacques 
 at Chinon." 
 
 "A saint!" murmured one bystander. 
 
 "A hypocrite!" exclaimed a manly voice. 
 
 "See how thin he is with fasting!" 
 
 "See how pale he is with remorse!" 
 
 "He's the man to drive away devils!" 
 
 "Yes, but not till he's done with them for his own 
 purposes." 
 
 The dialogue was interrupted by the general excla- 
 mation, "How beautiful she is!" 
 
 The Superior of the Ursulines advanced, followed by 
 all her nuns. Her white veil was raised ; in order that 
 the people might see the features of the possessed ones, 
 [40]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 it had been ordered that it should be thus with her and 
 six of the sisterhood. Her attire had no distinguishing 
 feature, except a large rosary extending from her neck 
 nearly to her feet, from which hung a gold cross; but 
 the dazzling pallor of her face, rendered still more con- 
 spicuous by the dark hue of her capuchon, at once fixed 
 the general gaze upon her. Her brilliant, dark eyes, 
 which bore the impress of some deep and burning pas- 
 sion, were crowned with eyebrows so perfectly arched 
 that Nature herself seemed to have taken as much pains 
 to form them as the Circassian women to pencil theirs 
 artistically; but between them a slight fold revealed 
 the powerful agitation within. In her movements, 
 however, and throughout her whole bearing, she affected 
 perfect calm; her steps were slow and measured, and 
 her beautiful hands were crossed on her bosom, as 
 white and motionless as those of the marble statues 
 joined in eternal prayer. 
 
 "See, aunt," ejaculated Martine, "see how Sister 
 Agnes and Sister Claire are weeping, next to the Su- 
 perior!" 
 
 "Ay, niece, they weep because they are the prey of 
 the demon." 
 
 "Or rather," interposed the same manly voice that 
 spoke before, "because they repent of having mocked 
 Heaven." 
 
 A deep silence now pervaded the multitude; not a 
 word was heard, not a movement, hardly a breath. 
 Every one seemed paralyzed by some sudden enchant- 
 ment, when, following the nuns, among four Penitents 
 who held him in chains, appeared the Cure of the
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Church of Ste.-Croix, attired in his pastor's robe. 
 His was a noble, fine face, with grandeur in its whole 
 expression, and gentleness in every feature. Affecting 
 no scornful indifference to his position, he looked 
 calmly and kindly around, as if he sought on his dark 
 path the affectionate glances of those who loved him. 
 Nor did he seek in vain ; here and there he encountered 
 those glances, and joyfully returned them. He even 
 heard sobs, and he saw hands extended toward him, 
 many of which grasped weapons. But no gesture of his 
 encouraged these mute offers of aid; he lowered his 
 eyes and went on, careful not to compromise those who 
 so trusted in him, or to involve them in his own misfor- 
 tunes. This was Urbain Grandier. 
 
 Suddenly the procession stopped, at a sign from the 
 man who walked apart, and who seemed to command 
 its progress. He was tall, thin, sallow; he wore a long 
 black robe, with a cap of the same material and color; 
 he had the face of a Don Basilic, with the eye of Nero. 
 He motioned the guards to surround him more closely, 
 when he saw with affright the dark group we have men- 
 tioned, and the strong-limbed and resolute peasants 
 who seemed in attendance upon them. Then, advanc- 
 ing somewhat before the Canons and Capuchins who 
 were with him, he pronounced, in a shrill voice, this sin- 
 gular decree : 
 
 "We, Sieur de Laubardemont, referendary, being delegated and 
 invested with discretionary power in the matter of the trial of 
 the magician Urbain Grandier, upon the various articles of accu- 
 sation brought against him, assisted by the reverend Fathers 
 Mignon, canon, Barrd, curd of St. Jacques at Chinon, Father 
 [42]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 Lactantius, and all the other judges appointed to try the said 
 magician, have decreed as follows: 
 
 " Primo: the factitious assembly of proprietors, noble citizens of 
 this town and its environs, is dissolved, as tending to popular 
 sedition; its proceedings are declared null, and its letter to the 
 King, against us, the judges, which has been intercepted, shall 
 be publicly burned in the market-place as calumniating the good 
 Ursulines and the reverend fathers and judges. 
 
 " Secundo: it is forbidden to say, publicly or in private, that the 
 said nuns are not possessed by the Evil Spirit, or to doubt of 
 the power of the exorcists, under pain of a fine of twenty thou- 
 sand livres, and corporal punishment. 
 
 " Let the bailiffs and sheriffs obey this. Given the eighteenth 
 of June, in the year of grace 1639." 
 
 Before he had well finished reading the decree, the 
 discordant blare of trumpets, bursting forth at a pre- 
 arranged signal, drowned, to a certain extent, the mur- 
 murs that followed its proclamation, amid which Lau- 
 bardemont urged forward the procession, which entered 
 the great building already referred to an ancient con- 
 vent, whose interior had crumbled away, its walls now 
 forming one vast hall, well adapted for the purpose to 
 which it was about to be applied. Laubardemont did 
 not deem himself safe until he was within the building 
 and had heard the heavy, double doors creak on their 
 hinges as, closing, they excluded the furious crowd 
 without. 
 
 [43]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE GOOD PRIEST 
 L'homme de paix me parla ainsi. VICAIRE SAVOYARD. 
 
 that the diabolical procession is 
 in the arena destined for its spectacle, 
 and is arranging its sanguinary repre- 
 sentation, let us see what Cinq-Mars 
 had been doing amid the agitated 
 throng. He was naturally endowed 
 with great tact, and he felt that it 
 would be no easy matter for him to 
 attain his object of seeing the Abbe Quillet, at a time 
 when public excitement was at its height. He there- 
 fore remained on horseback with his four servants in a 
 small, dark street that led into the main thoroughfare, 
 whence he could see all that passed. No one at first 
 paid any attention to him; but when public curi- 
 osity had no other aliment, he became an object of 
 general interest. Weary of so many strange scenes, the 
 inhabitants looked upon him with some exasperation, 
 and whispered to one another, asking whether this was 
 another exorcist come among them. Feeling that it was 
 time to take a decided course, he advanced with his 
 attendants, hat in hand, toward the group in black of 
 whom we have spoken, and addressing him who ap- 
 peared its chief member, said, "Monsieur, where can I 
 find Monsieur 1'Abbe Quillet?" 
 [44]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 At this name, all regarded him with an air of terror, 
 as if he had pronounced that of Lucifer. Yet no anger 
 was shown ; on the contrary, it seemed that the question 
 had favorably changed for him the minds of all who 
 heard him. Moreover, chance had served him well in 
 his choice; the Comte du Lude came up to his horse, 
 and saluting him, said, "Dismount, Monsieur, and I 
 will give you some useful information concerning him." 
 
 After speaking a while in whispers, the two gentle- 
 men separated with all the ceremonious courtesy of the 
 time. Cinq-Mars remounted his black horse, and pass- 
 ing through numerous narrow streets, was soon out of 
 the crowd with his retinue. 
 
 "How happy I am!" he soliloquized, as he went his 
 way; "I shall, at all events, for a moment see the good 
 and kind clergyman who brought me up; even now I 
 recall his features, his calm air, his voice so full of gen- 
 tleness." 
 
 As these tender thoughts filled his mind, he found 
 himself in the small, dark street which had been indi- 
 cated to him; it was so narrow that the knee-pieces of 
 his boots touched the wall on each side. At the end of 
 the street he came to a one-storied wooden house, and 
 in his eagerness knocked at the door with repeated 
 strokes. 
 
 "Who is there ?" cried a furious voice within; and at 
 the same moment, the door opening revealed a little 
 short, fat man, with a very red face, dressed in black, 
 with a large white ruff, and riding-boots which engulfed 
 his short legs in their vast depths. In his hands were a 
 pair of horse-pistols. 
 
 [45]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "I will sell my life dearly!" he cried; "and " 
 
 "Softly, Abbe, softly," said his pupil, taking his arm; 
 "we are friends." 
 
 "Ah, my son, is it you?" said the good man, letting 
 fall his pistols, which were picked up by a domestic, 
 also armed to the teeth. "What do you here? The 
 abomination has entered the town, and I only await the 
 night to depart. Make haste within, my dear boy, with 
 your people. I took you for the archers of Laubarde- 
 mont, and, faith, I intended to take a part somewhat 
 out of my line. You see the horses in the courtyard 
 there; they will convey me to Italy, where I shall re- 
 join our friend, the Due de Bouillon. Jean! Jean! 
 hasten and close the great gate after Monsieur's do- 
 mestics, and recommend them not to make too much 
 noise, although for that matter we have no habitation 
 near us." 
 
 Grandchamp obeyed the intrepid little Abbe, who 
 then embraced Cinq- Mars four consecutive times, rais- 
 ing himself on the points of his boots, so as to attain the 
 middle of his pupil's breast. He then hurried him into 
 a small room, which looked like a deserted granary; 
 and seating him beside himself upon a black leather 
 trunk, he said, warmly: 
 
 "Well, my son, whither go you? 'How came Ma- 
 dame la Marechale to allow you to come here ? Do you 
 not see what they are doing against an unhappy man, 
 whose death alone will content them? Alas, merciful 
 Heaven! is this the first spectacle my dear pupil is to 
 see? And you at that delightful period of life when 
 friendship, love, confidence, should alone encompass 
 [46]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 you; when all around you should give you a favorable 
 opinion of your species, at your very entry into the great 
 world! How unfortunate! alas, why did you come?" 
 
 When the good Abbe had followed up this lamenta- 
 tion by pressing affectionately both hands of the young 
 traveller in his own, so red and wrinkled, the latter an- 
 swered : 
 
 "Can you not guess, my dear Abbe, that I came to 
 Loudun because you are here? As to the spectacle 
 you speak of, it appears to me simply ridiculous; and 
 I swear that I do not a whit the less on its account 
 love that human race of which your virtues and your 
 good lessons have given me an excellent idea. As to the 
 five or six mad women who " 
 
 "Let us not lose time; I will explain to you all that 
 matter; but answer me, whither go you, and for what ?" 
 
 "I am going to Perpignan, where the Cardinal-Duke 
 is to present me to the King." 
 
 At this the worthy but hasty Abbe rose from his box, 
 and walked, or rather ran, to and fro, stamping. " The 
 Cardinal! the Cardinal!" he repeated, almost choking, 
 his face becoming scarlet, and the tears rising to his 
 eyes; "My poor child! they will destroy him! Ah, mon 
 Dieu! what part would they have him play there? 
 What would they do with him? Ah, who will protect 
 thee, my son, in that dangerous place?" he continued, 
 reseating himself, and again taking his pupil's hands in 
 his own with a paternal solicitude, as he endeavored to 
 read his thoughts in his countenance. 
 
 "Why, I do not exactly know," said Cinq-Mars, 
 looking up at the ceiling; "but I suppose it will be the 
 [47]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Cardinal de Richelieu, who was the friend of my 
 father." 
 
 "Ah, my dear Henri, you make me tremble; he will 
 ruin you unless you become his docile instrument. 
 Alas, why can not I go with you ? Why must I act the 
 young man of twenty in this unfortunate affair ? Alas, 
 I should be perilous to you; I must, on the contrary, 
 conceal myself. But you will have Monsieur de Thou 
 near you, my son, will you not?" said he, trying to re- 
 assure himself; "he was your friend in childhood, 
 though somewhat older than yourself. Heed his coun- 
 sels, my child, he is a wise young man of mature reflec- 
 tion and solid ideas." 
 
 "Oh, yes, my dear Abbe, you may depend upon my 
 tender attachment for him; I never have ceased to love 
 him." 
 
 "But you have ceased to write to him, have you 
 not?" asked the good Abbe, half smilingly. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, my dear Abbe, I wrote to him 
 once, and again yesterday, to inform him that the Car- 
 dinal has invited me to court." 
 
 "How! has he himself desired your presence?" 
 
 Cinq-Mars hereupon showed the letter of the Cardi- 
 nal-Duke to his mother, and his old preceptor grew 
 gradually calmer. 
 
 "Ah, well!" said he to himself, "this is not so bad, 
 perhaps, after all. It looks promising; a captain of the 
 guards at twenty that sounds well!" and the worthy 
 Abbe's face became all smiles. 
 
 The young man, delighted to see these smiles, which 
 so harmonized with his own thoughts, fell upon the 
 [48]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 neck of the Abbe and embraced him, as if the good man 
 had thus assured to him a futurity of pleasure, glory, 
 and love. 
 
 But the good Abbe, with difficulty disengaging him- 
 self from this warm embrace, resumed his walk, his 
 reflections, and his gravity. He coughed often and 
 shook his head ; and Cinq-Mars, not venturing to pur- 
 sue the conversation, watched him, and became sad as 
 he saw him become serious. 
 
 The old man at last sat down, and in a mournful tone 
 addressed his pupil : 
 
 "My friend, my son, I have for a moment yielded 
 like a father to your hopes; but I must tell you, and it 
 is not to afflict you, that they appear to me excessive 
 and unnatural. If the Cardinal's sole aim were to show 
 attachment and gratitude toward your family, he would 
 not have carried his favors so far; no, the extreme prob- 
 ability is that he has designs upon you. From what 
 has been told him, he thinks you adapted to play some 
 part, as yet impossible for us to divine, but which he 
 himself has traced out in the deepest recesses of his 
 mind. He wishes to educate you for this; he wishes to 
 drill you into it. Allow me the expression in consider- 
 ation of its accuracy, and think seriously of it when the 
 time shall come. But I am inclined to believe that, as 
 matters are, you would do well to follow up this vein in 
 the great mine of State ; in this way high fortunes have 
 begun. You must only take heed not to be blinded and 
 led at will. Let not favors dazzle you, my poor child, 
 and let not elevation turn your head. Be not so indig- 
 nant at the suggestion ; the thing has happened to older 
 4 [49]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 men than yourself. Write to me often, as well as to 
 your mother; see Monsieur de Thou, and together we 
 will try to keep you in good counsel. Now, my son, be 
 kind enough to close that window through which the 
 wind comes upon my head, and I will tell you what has 
 been going on here." 
 
 Henri, trusting that the moral part of the discourse 
 was over, and anticipating nothing in the second part 
 but a narrative more or less interesting, closed the old 
 casement, festooned with cobwebs, and resumed his 
 seat without speaking. 
 
 "Now that I reflect further," continued the Abbe, 
 "I think it will not perhaps be unprofitable for you to 
 have passed through this place, although it be a sad ex- 
 perience you shall have acquired ; but it will supply what 
 I may not have formerly told you of the wickedness of 
 men. I hope, moreover, that the result will not be 
 fatal, and that the letter we have written to the King 
 will arrive in time." 
 
 "I heard that it had been intercepted," interposed 
 Cinq-Mars. 
 
 "Then all is over," said the Abbe Quillet ; "the Cur6 
 is lost. But listen. God forbid, my son, that I, your 
 old tutor, should seek to assail my own work, and at- 
 tempt to weaken your faith! Preserve ever and every- 
 where that simple creed of which your noble family has 
 given you the example, which our fathers possessed in 
 a still higher degree than we, and of which the greatest 
 captains of our time are not ashamed. Always, while 
 you wear a sword, remember that you hold it for the 
 service of God. But at the same time, when you are 
 [50]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 among men, avoid being deceived by the hypocrite. 
 He will encompass you, my son; he will assail you on 
 the vulnerable side of your ingenuous heart, in ad- 
 dressing your religion; and seeing the extravagance of 
 his affected zeal, you will fancy yourself lukewarm as 
 compared with him. You will think that your con- 
 science cries out against you; but it will not be the 
 voice of conscience that you hear. And what cries 
 would not that conscience send forth, how fiercely 
 would it not rise upon you, did you contribute to the 
 destruction of innocence by invoking Heaven itself as 
 a false witness against it?" 
 
 "Oh, my father! can such things be possible?" ex- 
 claimed Henri d'Effiat, clasping his hands. 
 
 "It is but too true," continued the Abbe; "you saw 
 a partial execution of it this morning. God grant you 
 may not witness still greater horrors ! But listen ! what- 
 ever you may see, whatever crime they dare to commit, 
 I conjure you, in the name of your mother and of all 
 that you hold dear, say not a word ; make not a gesture 
 that may indicate any opinion whatever. I know the 
 impetuous character that you derive from the Marechal, 
 your father; curb it, or you are lost. These little ebul- 
 litions of passion give but slight satisfaction, and bring 
 about great misfortunes. I have observed you give way 
 to them too much. Oh, did you but know the advan- 
 tage that a calm temper gives one over men! The an- 
 cients stamped it on the forehead of the divinity as his 
 finest attribute, since it shows that he is superior to our 
 fears and to our hopes, to our pleasures and to our 
 pains. Therefore, my dear child, remain passive in the
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 scenes you are about to witness; but see them you 
 must. Be present at this sad trial ; for me, I must suf- 
 fer the consequences of my schoolboy folly. I will re- 
 late it to you ; it will prove to you that with a bald head 
 one may be as much a child as with your fine chestnut 
 curls." 
 
 And the excellent old Abbe, taking his pupil's head 
 affectionately between his hands, continued : 
 
 "Like other people, my dear son, I was curious to 
 see the devils of the Ursulines; and knowing that they 
 professed to speak all languages, I was so imprudent as 
 to cease speaking Latin and to question them in Greek. 
 The Superior is very pretty, but she does not know 
 Greek! Duncan, the physician, observed aloud that it 
 was surprising that the demon, who knew everything, 
 should commit barbarisms and solecisms in Latin, and 
 not be able to answer in Greek. The young Superior, 
 who was then upon her bed, turned toward the wall to 
 weep, and said in an undertone to Father Barre, 'I can 
 not go on with this, father.' I repeated her words 
 aloud, and infuriated all the exorcists; they cried out 
 that I ought to know that there are demons more igno- 
 rant than peasants, and said that as to their power and 
 physical strength, it could not be doubted, since the 
 spirits named Gresil des Trones, Aman des Puissance, 
 and Asmodeus, had promised to carry off the calotte of 
 Monsieur de Laubardemont. They were preparing for 
 this, when the physician Duncan, a learned and upright 
 man, but somewhat of a scoffer, took it into his head to 
 pull a cord he discovered fastened to a column like a 
 bell-rope, and which hung down just close to the refer- 
 [52]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 endary's head; whereupon they called him a Hugue- 
 not, and I am satisfied that if Marechal de Breze were 
 not his protector, it would have gone ill with him. The 
 Comte du Lude then came forward with his customary 
 sang-froid, and begged the exorcists to perform before 
 him. Father Lactantius, the Capuchin with the dark 
 visage and hard look, proceeded with Sister Agnes and 
 Sister Claire ; he raised both his hands, looking at them 
 as a serpent would look at two dogs, and cried in a ter- 
 rible voice, 'Quis te misit, Diabole?' and the two sisters 
 answered, as with one voice, 'Urbanus.' He was about 
 to continue, when Monsieur du Lude, taking out of his 
 pocket, with an air of veneration, a small gold box, said 
 that he had in it a relic left by his ancestors, and that 
 though not doubting the fact of the possession, he wished 
 to test it. Father Lactantius seized the box with de- 
 light, and hardly had he touched the foreheads of the 
 two sisters with it when they made great leaps and 
 twisted about their hands and feet. Lactantius shouted 
 forth his exorcisms; Barre threw himself upon his 
 knees with all the old women; and Mignon and the 
 judges applauded. The impassible Laubardemont 
 made the sign of the cross, without being struck dead 
 for it ! When Monsieur du Lude took back his box the 
 nuns became still. 'I think,' said Lactantius, inso- 
 lently, 'that you will not question your relics now.' 
 'No more than I do the possession,' answered Monsieur 
 du Lude, opening his box and showing that it was 
 empty. 'Monsieur, you mock us,' said Lactantius. I 
 was indignant at these mummeries, and said to him, 
 'Yes, Monsieur, as you mock God and men.' And this, 
 [53]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 my dear friend, is the reason why you see me in my 
 seven-league boots, so heavy that they hurt my legs, 
 and with pistols; for our friend Laubardemont has or- 
 dered my person to be seized, and I don't choose it to 
 be seized, old as it is." 
 
 "What, is he so powerful, then?" cried Cinq-Mars. 
 
 "More so than is supposed more so than could be 
 believed. I know that the possessed Abbess is his 
 niece, and that he is provided with an order in council 
 directing him to judge, without being deterred by any 
 appeals lodged in Parliament, the Cardinal having pro- 
 hibited the latter from taking cognizance of the matter 
 of Urbain Grandier." 
 
 "And what are his offences?" asked the young man, 
 already deeply interested. 
 
 "Those of a strong mind and of a great genius, an 
 inflexible will which has irritated power against him, 
 and a profound passion which has driven his heart and 
 him to commit the only mortal sin with which I believe 
 he can be reproached ; and it was only by violating the 
 sanctity of his private papers, which they tore from 
 Jeanne d'Estievre, his mother, an old woman of eighty, 
 that they discovered his love for the beautiful Made- 
 leine de Brou. This girl had refused to marry, and 
 wished to take the veil. May that veil have concealed 
 from her the spectacle of this day! The eloquence of 
 Grandier and his angelic beauty drove the women half 
 mad; they came miles and miles to hear him. I have 
 seen them swoon during his sermons; they declared 
 him an angel, and touched his garment and kissed his 
 hands when he descended from the pulpit. It is cer- 
 [54]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 tain that, unless it be his beauty, nothing could equal 
 the sublimity of his discourses, ever full of inspiration. 
 The pure honey of the gospel combined on his lips with 
 the flashing flame of the prophecies; and one recog- 
 nized in the sound of his voice a heart overflowing with 
 holy pity for the evils to which mankind are subject, 
 and filled with tears, ready to flow for us." 
 
 The good priest paused, for his own voice and eyes 
 were filled with tears; his round and naturally joy- 
 ous face was more touching than a graver one under 
 the same circumstances, for it seemed as if it bade de- 
 fiance to sadness. Cinq-Mars, even more moved, 
 pressed his hand without speaking, fearful of interrupt- 
 ing him. The Abbe* took out a red handkerchief, wiped 
 his eyes, and continued: 
 
 "This is the second attack upon Urbain by his com- 
 bined enemies. He had already been accused of be- 
 witching the nuns; but, examined by holy prelates, by 
 enlightened magistrates, and learned physicians, he was 
 immediately acquitted, and the judges indignantly im- 
 posed silence upon these devils in human form. The 
 good and pious Archbishop of Bordeaux, who had him- 
 self chosen the examiners of these pretended exorcists, 
 drove the prophets away and shut up their hell. But, 
 humiliated by the publicity of the result, annoyed at 
 seeing Grandier kindly received by our good King 
 when he threw himself at his feet at Paris, they saw 
 that if he triumphed they were lost, and would be uni- 
 versally regarded as impostors. Already the convent 
 of the Ursulines was looked upon only as a theatre for 
 disgraceful comedies, and the nuns themselves as shame- 
 [55]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 less actresses. More than a hundred persons, furious 
 against the Cure, had compromised themselves in the 
 hope of destroying him. Their plot, instead of being 
 abandoned, has gained strength by its first check ; and 
 here are the means that have been set to work by his 
 implacable enemies. 
 
 "Do you know a man called L> Eminence Grise, that 
 formidable Capuchin whom the Cardinal employs in all 
 things, consults upon some, and always despises? It 
 was to him that the Capuchins of Loudun addressed 
 themselves. A woman of this place, of low birth, named 
 Hamon, having been so fortunate as to please the Queen 
 when she passed through Loudun, was taken into her 
 service. You know the hatred that separates her court 
 from that of the Cardinal ; you know that Anne of Aus- 
 tria and Monsieur de Richelieu have for some time dis- 
 puted for the King's favor, and that, of her two suns, 
 France never knew in the evening which would rise 
 next morning. During a temporary eclipse of the Car- 
 dinal, a satire appeared, issuing from the planetary sys- 
 tem of the Queen; it was called, La cordonniere de la 
 reine-mere. Its tone and language were vulgar; but it 
 contained things so insulting about the birth and per- 
 son of the Cardinal that the enemies of the minister 
 took it up and gave it a publicity which irritated him. 
 It revealed, it is said, many intrigues and mysteries 
 which he had deemed impenetrable. He read this 
 anonymous work, and desired to know its author. It 
 was just at this time that the Capuchins of this town 
 wrote to Father Joseph that a constant correspondence 
 between Grandier and La Hamon left no doubt in their 
 [56]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 minds as to his being the author of this diatribe. It 
 was in vain that he had previously published religious 
 books, prayers, and meditations, the style of which 
 alone ought to have absolved him from having put his 
 hand to a libel written in the language of the market- 
 place; the Cardinal, long since prejudiced against Ur- 
 bain, was determined to fix upon him as the culprit. 
 He remembered that when he was only prior of Cous- 
 say, Grandier disputed precedence with him and gained 
 it; I fear this achievement of precedence in life will 
 make poor Grandier precede the Cardinal in death 
 also." 
 
 A melancholy smile played upon the lips of the good 
 Abbe as he uttered this involuntary pun. 
 
 "What! do you think this matter will go so far as 
 death?" 
 
 " Ay, my son, even to death; they have already taken 
 away all the documents connected with his former ab- 
 solution that might have served for his defence, despite 
 the opposition of his poor mother, who preserved them 
 as her son's license to live. Even now they affect to 
 regard a work against the celibacy of priests, found 
 among his papers, as destined to propagate schism. It 
 is a culpable production, doubtless, and the love which 
 dictated it, however pure it may be, is an enormous sin 
 in a man consecrated to God alone; but this poor 
 priest was far from wishing to encourage heresy, and it 
 was simply, they say, to appease the remorse of Made- 
 moiselle de Brou that he composed the work. It was 
 so evident that his real faults would not suffice to con- 
 demn him to death that they have revived the accusa- 
 [57]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 tion of sorcery, long since disposed of; but, feigning to 
 believe this, the Cardinal has established a new tribunal 
 in this town, and has placed Laubardemont at its head, 
 a sure sign of death. Heaven grant that you never 
 become acquainted with what the corruption of gov- 
 ernments call coups-d'etatl" 
 
 At this moment a terrible shriek sounded from be- 
 yond the wall of the courtyard ; the Abbe arose in ter- 
 ror, as did Cinq-Mars. 
 
 "It is the cry of a woman," said the old man. 
 
 "'Tis heartrending!" exclaimed Cinq-Mars. "What 
 is it?" he asked his people, who had all rushed out into 
 the courtyard. 
 
 They answered that they heard nothing further. 
 
 "Well, well," said the Abbe, "make no noise." He 
 then shut the window, and put his hands before his eyes. 
 
 "Ah, what a cry was that, my son!" he said, with his 
 face of an ashy paleness "what a cry! It pierced my 
 very soul ; some calamity has happened. Ah, holy Vir- 
 gin! it has so agitated me that I can talk with you no 
 more. Why did I hear it, just as I was speaking to you 
 of your future career ? My dear child, may God bless 
 you! Kneel!" 
 
 Cinq-Mars did as he was desired, and knew by a 
 kiss upon his head that he had been blessed by the old 
 man, who then raised him, saying : 
 
 "Go, my son, the time is advancing; they might find 
 you with me. Go, leave your people and horses here ; 
 wrap yourself in a cloak, and go; I have much to write 
 ere the hour when darkness shall allow me to depart for 
 Italy." 
 
 [58]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 They embraced once more, promising to write to 
 each other, and Henri quitted the house. The Abbe, 
 still following him with his eyes from the window, cried : 
 
 "Be prudent, whatever may happen," and sent him 
 with his hands one more paternal blessing, saying, 
 "Poor child! poor child!" 
 
 [59]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 Oh, vendetta di Dio, quanto tu dei 
 Esser temuta da ciascun che legge 
 Cio, che fu manifesto agli occhi miei. DANTE. 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING the custom of 
 
 having secret trials, freely counte- 
 nanced by Richelieu, the judges of 
 the Cure of Loudun had resolved 
 that the court should be open to the 
 public; but they soon repented this 
 measure. They were all interested 
 in the destruction of Urbain Grandier; 
 but they desired that the indignation of the country 
 should in some degree sanction the sentence of death 
 they had received orders to pass and to carry into 
 effect. 
 
 Laubardemont was a kind of bird of prey, whom 
 the Cardinal always let loose when he required a 
 prompt and sure agent for his vengeance; and on 
 this occasion he fully justified the choice that had 
 been made of him. He committed but one error 
 that of allowing a public trial, contrary to the usual 
 custom; his object had been to intimidate and to dis- 
 may. He dismayed, indeed, but he created also a 
 feeling of indignant horror. 
 
 [60]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 The throng without the gates had waited there two 
 hours, during which time the sound of hammers in- 
 dicated that within the great hall they were hastily 
 completing their mysterious preparations. At length 
 the archers laboriously turned upon their hinges the 
 heavy gates opening into the street, and the crowd 
 eagerly rushed in. The young Cinq-Mars was carried 
 along with the second enormous wave, and, placed 
 behind a thick column, stood there, so as to be able to 
 see without being seen. He observed with vexation 
 that the group of dark-clad citizens was near him; 
 but the great gates, closing, left the part of the court 
 where the people stood in such darkness that there 
 was no likelihood of his being recognized. Although 
 it was only midday, the hall was lighted with torches; 
 but they were nearly all placed at the farther end, 
 where rose the judges' bench behind a long table. 
 The chairs, tables, and steps -were all covered with 
 black cloth, and cast a livid hue over the faces of those 
 near them. A seat reserved for the prisoner was 
 placed upon the left, and on the crape robe which 
 covered him flames were represented in gold em- 
 broidery to indicate the nature of the offence. Here 
 sat the accused, surrounded by archers, with his hands 
 still bound in chains, held by two monks, who, with 
 simulated terror, affected to start from him at his 
 slightest motion, as if they held a tiger or enraged 
 wolf, or as if the flames depicted on his robe could 
 communicate themselves to their clothing. They also 
 carefully kept his face from being seen in the least 
 degree by the people. 
 
 [6iJ
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 The impassible countenance of M. de Laubarde- 
 mont was there to dominate the judges of his choice; 
 almost a head taller than any of them, he sat upon a 
 seat higher than theirs, and each of his glassy and 
 uneasy glances seemed to convey a command. He 
 wore a long, full scarlet robe, and a black cap covered 
 his head; he seemed occupied in arranging papers, 
 which he then passed to the judges. The accusers, 
 all ecclesiastics, sat upon the right hand of the judges; 
 they wore their albs and stoles. Father Lactantius 
 was distinguishable among them by his simple Ca- 
 puchin habit, his tonsure, and the extreme hardness 
 of his features. In a side gallery sat the Bishop of 
 Poitiers, hidden from view; other galleries were filled 
 with veiled women. Below the bench of judges a 
 group of men and women, the dregs of the populace, 
 stood behind six young Ursuline nuns, who seemed 
 full of disgust at their proximity; these were the wit- 
 nesses. 
 
 The rest of the hall was filled with an enormous 
 crowd, gloomy and silent, clinging to the arches, the 
 gates, and the beams, and full of a terror which com- 
 municated itself to the judges, for it arose from an 
 interest in the accused. Numerous archers, armed 
 with long pikes, formed an appropriate frame for this 
 lugubrious picture. 
 
 At a sign from the President, the witnesses with- 
 drew through a narrow door opened for them by an 
 usher. As the Superior of the Ursulines passed M. 
 de Laubardemont she was heard to say to him, "You 
 have deceived me, Monsieur." He remained immov- 
 [62]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 able, and she went on. A profound silence reigned 
 throughout the whole assembly. 
 
 Rising with all the gravity he could assume, but still 
 with visible agitation, one of the judges, named Hou- 
 main, Judge- Advocate of Orleans, read a sort of indict- 
 ment in a voice so low and hoarse that it was impos- 
 sible to follow it. He made himself heard only when 
 what he had to say was intended to impose upon the 
 minds of the people. He divided the evidence into 
 two classes: one, the depositions of seventy-two wit- 
 nesses; the other, more convincing, that resulting from 
 "the exorcisms of the reverend fathers here present," 
 said he, crossing himself. 
 
 Fathers Lactantius, Barre, and Mignon bowed low, 
 repeating the sacred sign. 
 
 "Yes, my lords," said Houmain, addressing the 
 judges, "this bouquet of white roses and this manu- 
 script, signed with the blood of the magician, a counter- 
 part of the contract he has made with Lucifer, and 
 which he was obliged to carry about him in order to 
 preserve his power, have been recognized and brought 
 before you. We read with horror these words written 
 at the bottom of the parchment : ' The original is in 
 hell, in Lucifer's private cabinet. 1 " 1 
 
 A roar of laughter, which seemed to come from 
 stentorian lungs, was heard in the throng. The presi- 
 dent reddened, and made a sign to the archers, who 
 in vain endeavored to discover the disturber. The 
 Judge- Advocate continued : 
 
 "The demons have been forced to declare their 
 names by the mouths of their victims. Their names 
 [63]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 and deeds are deposited upon this table. They are 
 called Astaroth, of the order of Seraphim; Eazas, 
 Celsus, Acaos, Cedron, Asmodeus, of the order of 
 Thrones, Alex, Zebulon, Cham, Uriel, and Achas, 
 of the order of Principalities, and so on, for their num- 
 ber is infinite. For their actions, who among us has 
 not been a witness of them?" 
 
 A prolonged murmur arose from the gathering, 
 but, upon some halberdiers advancing, all became 
 silent. 
 
 "We have seen, with grief, the young and respecta- 
 ble Superior of the Ursulines tear her bosom with her 
 own hands and grovel in the dust; we have seen the 
 sisters, Agnes, Claire, and others, deviate from the 
 modesty of their sex by impassioned gestures and un- 
 seemly laughter. When impious men have inclined 
 to doubt the presence of the demons, and we ourselves 
 felt our convictions shaken, because they refused to 
 answer to unknown questions in Greek or Arabic, the 
 reverend fathers have, to establish our belief, deigned 
 to explain to us that the malignity of evil spirits being 
 extreme, it was not surprising that they should feign 
 this ignorance in order that they might be less pressed 
 with questions; and that in their answers they had 
 committed various solecisms and other grammatical 
 faults in order to bring contempt upon themselves, so 
 that out of this disdain the holy doctors might leave 
 them in quiet. Their hatred is so inveterate that 
 just before performing one of their miraculous feats, 
 they suspended a rope from a beam in order to involve 
 the reverend personages in a suspicion of fraud, where- 
 [64]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 as it has been deposed on oath by credible people that 
 there never had been a cord in that place. 
 
 "But, my lords, while Heaven was thus miraculously 
 explaining itself by the mouths of its holy interpre- 
 ters, another light has just been thrown upon us. At 
 the very time the judges were absorbed in profound 
 meditation, a loud cry was heard near the hall of coun- 
 cil; and upon going to the spot, we found the body 
 of a young lady of high birth. She had just exhaled 
 her last breath in the public street, in the arms of 
 the reverend Father Mignon, Canon; and we learned 
 from the said father here present, and from several 
 other grave personages, that, suspecting the young 
 lady to be possessed, by reason of the current rumor 
 for some time past of the admiration Urbain Grandier 
 had for her, an idea of testing it happily occurred to 
 the Canon, who suddenly said, approaching her, 'Gran- 
 dier has just been put to death,' whereat she uttered 
 one loud scream and fell dead, deprived by the demon 
 of the time necessary for giving her the assistance of 
 our holy Mother, the Catholic Church." 
 
 A murmur of indignation arose from the crowd, 
 among whom the word "Assassin" was loudly re- 
 echoed; the halberdiers commanded silence with a 
 loud voice, but it was obtained rather by the judge re- 
 suming his address, the general curiosity triumphing. 
 
 "Oh, infamy!" he continued, seeking to fortify him- 
 self by exclamations; "upon her person was found 
 this work, written by the hand of Urbain Grandier," 
 and he took from among his papers a book bound in 
 parchment. 
 
 5 [65]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "Heavens!" cried Urbain from his seat. 
 
 "Look to your prisoner!" cried the judge to the 
 archers who surrounded him. 
 
 "No doubt the demon is about to manifest him- 
 self," said Father Lactantius, in a sombre voice; 
 "tighten his bonds. " He was obeyed. 
 
 The Judge- Advocate continued, "Her name was 
 Madeleine de Brou, aged nineteen." 
 
 "O God! this is too much!" cried the accused, as 
 he fell fainting on the ground. 
 
 The assembly was deeply agitated; for a moment 
 there was an absolute tumult. 
 
 "Poor fellow! he loved her," said some. 
 
 "So good a lady!" cried the women. 
 
 Pity began to predominate. Cold water was thrown 
 upon Grandier, without his being taken from the 
 court, and he was tied to his seat. The Judge-Advo- 
 cate went on: 
 
 "We are directed to read the beginning of this book 
 to the court," and he read as follows: 
 
 " 'It is for thee, dear and gentle Madeleine, in order to set at 
 rest thy troubled conscience, that I have described in this book 
 one thought of my soul. All those thoughts tend to thee, celestial 
 creature, because in thee they return to the aim and object of 
 my whole existence; but the thought I send thee, as 'twere a 
 flower, comes from thee, exists only in thee, and returns to thee 
 alone. 
 
 "'Be not sad because thou lovest me; be not afflicted because 
 I adore thee. The angels of heaven, what is it that they do? 
 The souls of the blessed, what is it that is promised them ? Are 
 we less pure than the angels? Are our souls less separated from 
 the earth than they will be after death? Oh, Madeleine, what 
 [66]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 is there in us wherewith the Lord can be displeased ? Can it be 
 that we pray together, that with faces prostrate in the dust before 
 His altars, we ask for early death to take us while yet youth and 
 love are ours? Or that, musing together beneath the funereal 
 trees of the churchyard, we yearned for one grave, smiling at 
 the idea of death, and weeping at life? Or that, when thou 
 kneelest before me at the tribunal of penitence, and, speaking 
 in the presence of God, canst find naught of evil to reveal to me, 
 so wholly have I kept thy soul in the pure regions of heaven? 
 What, then, could offend our Creator? Perhaps yes! perhaps 
 some spirit of heaven may have envied me my happiness when 
 on Easter morn I saw thee kneeling before me, purified by long 
 austerities from the slight stain which original sin had left in thee! 
 Beautiful, indeed, wert thou! Thy glance sought thy God in 
 heaven, and my trembling hand held His image to thy pure lips, 
 which human lip had never dared to breathe upon. Angelic 
 being! I alone participated in the secret of the Lord, in the one 
 secret of the entire purity of thy soul; I it was that united thee 
 to thy Creator, who at that moment descended also into my 
 bosom. Ineffable espousals, of which the Eternal himself was 
 the priest, you alone were permitted between the virgin and her 
 pastor! the sole joy of each was to see eternal happiness begin- 
 ning for the other, to inhale together the perfumes of heaven, 
 to drink in already the harmony of the spheres, and to feel as- 
 sured that our souls, unveiled to God and to ourselves alone, 
 were worthy together to adore Him. 
 
 '"What scruple still weighs upon thy soul, O my sister? 
 Dost thou think I have offered too high a worship to thy virtue? 
 Fearest thou so pure an admiration should deter me from that 
 of the Lord?'" 
 
 Houmain had reached this point when the door 
 
 through which the witnesses had withdrawn suddenly 
 
 opened. The judges anxiously whispered together. 
 
 Laubardemont, uncertain as to the meaning of this, 
 
 [67]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 signed to the fathers to let him know whether this was 
 some scene executed by their orders; but, seated at 
 some distance from him, and themselves taken by sur- 
 prise, they could not make him understand that they 
 had not prepared this interruption. Besides, ere they 
 could exchange looks, to the amazement of the assem- 
 bly, three women, en chemise, with naked feet, each 
 with a cord round her neck and a wax taper in her 
 hand, came through the door and advanced to the 
 middle of the platform. It was the Superior of the 
 Ursulines, followed by Sisters Agnes and Claire. Both 
 the latter were weeping; the Superior was very pale, 
 but her bearing was firm, and her eyes were fixed and 
 tearless. She knelt; her companions followed her 
 example. Everything was in such confusion that no 
 one thought of checking them; and in a clear, firm 
 voice she pronounced these words, which resounded in 
 every corner of the hall: 
 
 "In the name of the Holy Trinity, I, Jeanne de 
 Belfiel, daughter of the Baron de Cose, I, the unworthy 
 Superior of the Convent of the Ursulines of Loudun, 
 ask pardon of God and man for the crime I have com- 
 mitted in accusing the innocent Urbain Grandier. My 
 possession was feigned, my words were dictated; re- 
 morse overwhelms me." 
 
 " Bravo S" cried the spectators, clapping their hands. 
 The judges arose ; the archers, in doubt, looked at the 
 president; he shook in every limb, but did not change 
 countenance. 
 
 "Let all be silent," he said, in a sharp voice; "arch- 
 ers, do your duty." 
 
 [68]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 This man felt himself supported by so strong a hand 
 that nothing could affright him for no thought of 
 Heaven ever visited him. 
 
 "What think you, my fathers?" said he, making a 
 sign to the monks. 
 
 "That the demon seeks to save his friend. Ob- 
 mutesce, Satanasl" cried Father Lactantius, in a ter- 
 rible voice, affecting to exorcise the Superior. 
 
 Never did fire applied to gunpowder produce an 
 effect more instantaneous than did these two words. 
 Jeanne de Belfiel started up in all the beauty of twenty, 
 which her awful nudity served to augment ; she seemed 
 a soul escaped from hell appearing to her seducer. 
 With her dark eyes she cast fierce glances upon, the 
 monks; Lactantius lowered his beneath that look. 
 She took two steps toward him with her bare feet, 
 beneath which the scaffolding rung, so energetic was 
 her movement; the taper seemed, in her hand, the 
 sword of the avenging angel. 
 
 "Silence, impostor!" she cried, with warmth; "the 
 demon who possessed me was yourself. You deceived 
 me; you said he was not to be tried. To-day, for the 
 first time, I know that he is to be tried ; to-day, for the 
 first time, I know that he is to be murdered. And I 
 will speak!" 
 
 "Woman, the demon bewilders thee." 
 
 " Say, rather, that repentence enlightens me. Daugh- 
 ters, miserable as myself, arise; is he not innocent?" 
 
 "We swear he is," said the two young lay sisters, 
 still kneeling and weeping, for they were not animated 
 with so strong a resolution as that of the Superior, 
 [69]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Agnes, indeed, had hardly uttered these words when 
 turning toward the people, she cried, "Help me! they 
 will punish me; they will kill me!" And hurrying 
 away her companion, she drew her into the crowd, 
 who affectionately received them. A thousand voices 
 swore to protect them. Imprecations arose; the men 
 struck their staves against the floor; the officials dared 
 not prevent the people from passing the sisters on from 
 one to another into the street. 
 
 During this strange scene the amazed and panic- 
 struck judges whispered; M. Laubardemont looked at 
 the archers, indicating to them the points they were 
 especially to watch, among which, more particularly, 
 was that occupied by the group in black. The ac- 
 cusers looked toward the gallery of the Bishop of 
 Poitiers, but discovered no expression in his dull coun- 
 tenance. He was one of those old .men of whom 
 death appears to take possession ten years before all 
 motion entirely ceases in them. His eyes seemed 
 veiled by a half sleep; his gaping mouth mumbled a 
 few vague and habitual words of prayer without mean- 
 ing or application; the entire amount of intelligence 
 he retained was the ability to distinguish the man who 
 had most power, and him he obeyed, regardless at 
 what price. He had accordingly signed the sentence 
 of the doctors of the Sorbonne which declared the 
 nuns possessed, without even deducing thence the 
 consequence of the death of Urbain; the rest seemed 
 to him one of those more or less lengthy ceremonies, 
 to which he paid not the slightest attention accus- 
 tomed as he was to see and live among them, him-
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 self an indispensable part and parcel of them. He 
 therefore gave no sign of life on this occasion, merely 
 preserving an air at once perfectly noble and expres- 
 sionless. 
 
 Meanwhile, Father Lactantius, having had a mo- 
 ment to recover from the sudden attack made upon 
 him, turned toward the president and said: 
 
 "Here is a clear proof, sent us by Heaven, of the 
 possession, for the Superior never before has forgotten 
 the modesty and severity of her order." 
 
 "Would that all the world were here to see me!" 
 said Jeanne de Belfiel, firm as ever. "I can not be 
 sufficiently humiliated upon earth, and Heaven will 
 reject me, for I have been your accomplice." 
 
 Perspiration appeared upon the forehead of Lau- 
 bardemont, but he tried to recover his composure. 
 "What absurd tale is this, Sister; what has influenced 
 you herein?" 
 
 The voice of the girl became sepulchral; she col- 
 lected all her strength, pressed her hand upon her 
 heart as if she desired to stay its throbbing, and, look- 
 ing at Urbain Grandier, answered, "Love." 
 
 A shudder ran through the assembly. Urbain, who 
 since he had fainted had remained with his head hang- 
 ing down as if dead, slowly raised his eyes toward 
 her, and returned entirely to life only to undergo a 
 fresh sorrow. The young penitent continued: 
 
 "Yes, the love which he rejected, which he never 
 fully knew, which I have breathed in his discourses, 
 which my eyes drew in from his celestial countenance, 
 which his very counsels against it have increased.
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Yes, Urbain is pure as an angel, but good as a man 
 who has loved. I knew not that he had loved! It 
 is you," she said more energetically, pointing to Lac- 
 tantius, Barre, and Mignon, and changing he. pas- 
 sionate accents for those of indignation "it is you 
 who told me that he loved; you, who this morning 
 have too cruelly avenged me by killing my rival with 
 a word. Alas, I only sought to separate them! It 
 was a crime; but, by my mother, I am an Italian! I 
 burned with love, with jealousy; you allowed me to 
 see Urbain, to have him as a friend, to see him daily." 
 She was silent for a moment, then exclaimed, "People, 
 he is innocent! Martyr, pardon me, I embrace thy 
 feet!" 
 
 She prostrated herself before Urbain and burst into 
 a torrent of tears. 
 
 Urbain raised his closely bound hands, and giving 
 her his benediction, said, gently: 
 
 "Go, Sister; I pardon thee in the name of Him 
 whom I shall soon see. I have before said to you, 
 and you now see, that the passions work much evil, 
 unless we seek to turn them toward heaven." 
 
 The blood rose a second time to Laubardemont's 
 forehead. "Miscreant!" he exclaimed, "darest thou 
 pronounce the words of the Church?" 
 
 "I have not quitted her bosom," said Urbain. 
 
 "Remove the girl," said the President. 
 
 When the archers went to obey, they found that she 
 
 had tightened the cord round her neck with such 
 
 force that she was of a livid hue and almost lifeless. 
 
 Fear had driven all the women from the assembly; 
 
 [72]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 many had been carried out fainting, but the hall was 
 no less crowded. The ranks thickened, for the men 
 out of the streets poured in. 
 
 The judges arose in terror, and the president at- 
 tempted to have the hall cleared; but the people, put- 
 ting on their hats, stood in alarming immobility. The 
 archers were not numerous enough to repel them. 
 It became necessary to yield; and accordingly Lau- 
 bardemont in an agitated voice announced that the 
 council would retire for half an hour. He broke up 
 the sitting; the people remained gloomily, each man 
 fixed firmly to his place. 
 
 [73]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 
 
 La torture interroge, et la douleur repond. 
 
 RAYNOUARD, Les Templiers. 
 
 HE continuous interest of this half- 
 trial, its preparations, its interrup- 
 tions, all had held the minds of the 
 people in such attention that no pri- 
 vate conversations had taken place. 
 Some irrepressible cries had been ut- 
 tered, but simultaneously, so that no 
 man could accuse his neighbor. But 
 when the people were left to themselves, there was an 
 explosion of clamorous sentences. 
 
 There was at this period enough of primitive sim- 
 plicity among the lower classes for them to be per- 
 suaded by the mysterious tales of the political agents 
 who were deluding them; so that a large portion of 
 the throng in the hall of trial, not venturing to change 
 their judgment, though upon the manifest evidence 
 just given them, awaited in painful suspense the re- 
 turn of the judges, interchanging with an air of mystery 
 and inane importance the usual remarks prompted by 
 imbecility on such occasions. 
 
 "One does not know what to think, Monsieur?" 
 " Truly, Madame, most extraordinary things have 
 happened." 
 
 [74]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "We live in strange times!" 
 
 "I suspected this; but, i' faith, it is not wise to 
 say what one thinks/' 
 
 "We shall see what we shall see," and so on 
 the unmeaning chatter of the crowd, which merely 
 serves to show that it is at the command of the first 
 who chooses to sway it. Stronger words were heard 
 from the group in black. 
 
 "What! shall we let them do as they please, in 
 this manner? What! dare to burn our letter to 
 the King!" 
 
 "If the King knew it!" 
 
 "The barbarian impostors! how skilfully is their 
 plot contrived! What! shall murder be committed 
 under our very eyes? Shall we be afraid of these 
 archers?" 
 
 "No, no, no!" rang out in trumpet-like tones. 
 
 Attention was turned toward the young advocate, 
 who, standing on a branch, began tearing to pieces 
 a roll of paper; then he cried: 
 
 "Yes, I tear and scatter to the winds the defence I 
 had prepared for the accused. They have suppressed 
 discussion; I am not allowed to speak for him. I 
 can only speak to you, people; I rejoice that I can 
 do so. You heard these infamous judges. Which of 
 them can hear the truth? Which of them is worthy 
 to listen to an honest man ? Which of them will dare 
 to meet his gaze? But what do I say? They all 
 know the truth. They carry it in their guilty breasts; 
 it stings their hearts like a serpent. They tremble 
 in their lair, where doubtless they are devouring their 
 [75]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 victim; they tremble because they have heard the 
 cries of three deluded women. What was I about to 
 do ? I was about to speak in behalf of Ur jain Gran- 
 dier! But what eloquence could equal that of those 
 unfortunates? What words could better have shown 
 you his innocence? Heaven has taken up arms for 
 him in bringing them to repentance and to devotion; 
 Heaven will finish its work 
 
 "Vade retro, Satanas," was heard through a high 
 window in the hall. 
 
 Fournier stopped for a moment, then said: 
 
 "You hear these voices parodying the divine lan- 
 guage? If I mistake not, these instruments of an 
 infernal power are, by this song, preparing some new 
 spell." 
 
 "But," cried those who surrounded him, "what 
 shall we do? What have they done with him?" 
 
 "Remain here; be immovable, be silent," replied 
 the young advocate. "The inertia of a people is all- 
 powerful; that is its <rue wisdom, that its strength. 
 Observe them closely, and in silence; and you will 
 make them tremble." 
 
 "They surely will not dare to appear here again," 
 said the Comte du Lude. 
 
 "I should like to look once more at the tall scoun- 
 drel in red," said Grand-Ferre, who had lost nothing 
 of what had occurred. 
 
 "And that good gentleman, the Cure," murmured 
 old Father Guillaume Leroux, looking at all his in- 
 dignant parishioners, who were talking together in a 
 low tone, measuring and counting the archers, ridi- 
 [76]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 culing their dress, and beginning to point them out to 
 the observation of the other spectators. 
 
 Cinq-Mars, still leaning against the pillar behind 
 which he had first placed himself, still wrapped in his 
 black cloak, eagerly watched all that passed, lost not 
 a word of what was said, and filled his heart with hate 
 and bitterness. Violent desires for slaughter and re- 
 venge, a vague desire to strike, took possession of 
 him, despite himself; this is the first impression which 
 evil produces on the soul of a young man. Later, sad- 
 ness takes the place of fury, then indifference and 
 scorn, later still, a calculating admiration for great 
 villains who have been successful; but this is only 
 when, of the two elements which constitute man, earth 
 triumphs over spirit. 
 
 Meanwhile, on the right of the hall near the judges' 
 platform, a group of women were watching attentively 
 a child about eight years old, who had taken it into 
 his head to climb up to a cornice by the aid of his 
 sister Martine, whom we have seen the subject of 
 jest with the young soldier, Grand-Ferre. The child, 
 having nothing to look at after the court had left the 
 hall, had climbed to a small window which admitted 
 a faint light, and which he imagined to contain a swal- 
 low's nest or some other treasure for a ]x>y; but after 
 he was well established on the cornice, his hands grasp- 
 ing the bars of an old shrine of Jerome, he wished 
 himself anywhere else, and cried out: 
 
 "Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand to get 
 down!" 
 
 "What do you see there?" asked Martine. 
 [77]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "Oh, I dare not tell; but I want target down," and 
 he began to cry. 
 
 "Stay there, my child; stay there!" said all the 
 women. "Don't be afraid; tell us all that you see." 
 
 "Well, then, they've put the Cure between two great 
 boards that squeeze his legs, and there are cords round 
 the boards." 
 
 "Ah! that is the rack," said one of the townsmen. 
 "Look again, my little friend, what do you see now?" 
 
 The child, more confident, looked again through the 
 window, and then, withdrawing his head, said: 
 
 "I can not see the Cure now, because all the judges 
 stand round him, and are looking at him, and their 
 great robes prevent me from seeing. There are also 
 some Capuchins, stooping down to whisper to him." 
 
 Curiosity attracted more people to the boy's perch; 
 every one was silent, waiting anxiously to catch his 
 words, as if their lives depended on them. 
 
 "I see," he went on, "the executioner driving four 
 little pieces of wood between the cords, after the 
 Capuchins have blessed the hammer and nails. Ah, 
 heavens! Sister, how enraged they seem with him, 
 because he will not speak. Mother! mother! give me 
 your hand, I want to come down!" 
 
 Instead of his mother, the child, upon turning round, 
 saw only men's faces, looking up at him with a mourn- 
 ful eagerness, and signing him to go on. He dared 
 not descend, and looked again through the window, 
 trembling. 
 
 "Oh! I see Father Lactantius and Father Barre 
 themselves forcing in more pieces of wood, which 
 [78]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 squeeze his legs. Oh, how pale he is! he seems pray- 
 ing. There, his head falls back, as if he were dying! 
 Oh, take me away!" 
 
 And he fell into the arms of the young Advocate, 
 of M. du Lude, and of Cinq-Mars, who had come to 
 support him. 
 
 "Deus stetit in synagoga deorum: in medio autem 
 Deus dijudicat ' chanted strong, nasal voices, is- 
 suing from the small window, which continued in full 
 chorus one of the psalms, interrupted by blows of 
 the hammer an infernal deed beating time to ce- 
 lestial songs. One might have supposed himself near 
 a smithy, except that the blows were dull, and mani- 
 fested to the ear that the anvil was a man's body. 
 
 "Silence!" said Fournier, "He speaks. The chant- 
 ing and the blows stop." 
 
 A weak voice within said, with difficulty, "Oh, my 
 fathers, mitigate the rigor of your torments, for you 
 will reduce my soul to despair, and I might seek to 
 destroy myself!" 
 
 At this the fury of the people burst forth like an 
 explosion, echoing along the vaulted roofs; the men 
 sprang fiercely upon the platform, thrust aside the 
 surprised and hesitating archers; the unarmed crowd 
 drove them back, pressed them, almost suffocated 
 them against the walls, and held them fast, then 
 dashed against the doors which led to the torture 
 chamber, and, making them shake beneath their 
 blows, threatened to drive them in; imprecations re- 
 sounded from a thousand menacing voices and ter- 
 rified the judges within. 
 
 [79]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "They are gone; they have taken him away! "cried 
 a man who had climbed to the little window. 
 
 The multitude at once stopped short, and changing 
 the direction of their steps, fled from this detestable 
 place and spread rapidly through the streets, where 
 an extraordinary confusion prevailed. 
 
 Night had come on during the long sitting, and the 
 rain was pouring in torrents. The darkness was ter- 
 rifying. The cries of women slipping on the pave- 
 ment or driven back by the horses of the guards; the 
 shouts of the furious men; the ceaseless tolling of the 
 bells which had been keeping time with the strokes 
 of the question; the roll of distant thunder all com- 
 bined to increase the disorder. If the ear was as- 
 tonished, the eyes were no less so. A few dismal 
 torches lighted up the corners of the streets; their 
 flickering gleams showed soldiers, armed and mounted, 
 dashing along, regardless of the crowd, to assemble 
 in the Place de St. -Pierre; tiles were sometimes thrown 
 at them on their way, but, missing the distant culprit, 
 fell upon some unoffending neighbor. The confusion 
 was bewildering, and became still more so, when, 
 hurrying through all the streets toward the Place de 
 St.-Pierre, the people found it barricaded on all sides, 
 and rilled with mounted guards and archers. Carts, 
 fastened to the posts at each corner, closed each en- 
 trance, and sentinels, armed with arquebuses, were 
 stationed close to the carts. In the centre of the Place 
 rose a pile composed of enormous beams placed cross- 
 wise upon one another, so as to form a perfect square ; 
 these were covered with a whiter and lighter wood; 
 [80]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 an enormous stake arose from the centre of the scaf- 
 fold. A man clothed in red and holding a lowered 
 torch stood near this sort of mast, which was visible 
 from a long distance. A huge chafing-dish, covered 
 on account of the rain, was at his feet. 
 
 At this spectacle, terror inspired everywhere a pro- 
 found silence; for an instant nothing was heard but 
 the sound of the rain, which fell in floods, and of the 
 thunder, which came nearer and nearer. 
 
 Meanwhile, Cinq-Mars, accompanied by MM. du 
 Lude and Fournier and all the more important per- 
 sonages of the town, had sought refuge from the storm 
 under the peristyle of the church of Ste.-Croix, raised 
 upon twenty stone steps. The pile was in front, and 
 from this height they could see the whole of the square. 
 The centre was entirely clear, large streams of water 
 alone traversed it; but all the windows of the houses 
 were gradually lighted up, and showed the heads of 
 the men and women who thronged them. 
 
 The young D'Effiat sorrowfully contemplated this 
 menacing preparation. Brought up in sentiments of 
 honor, and far removed from the black thoughts which 
 hatred and ambition arouse in the heart of man, he 
 could not conceive that such wrong could be done 
 without some powerful and secret motive. The au- 
 dacity of such a condemnation seemed to him so 
 enormous that its very cruelty began to justify it in 
 his eyes; a secret horror crept into his soul, the same 
 that silenced the people. He almost forgot the inter- 
 est with which the unhappy Urbain had inspired him, 
 in thinking whether it were not possible that some 
 6 [81]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 secret correspondence with the infernal powers had 
 justly provoked such excessive severity; and the pub- 
 lic revelations of the nuns, and the statement of his 
 respected tutor, faded from his memory, so powerful 
 is success, even in the eyes of superior men ! so strongly 
 does force impose upon men, despite the voice of con- 
 science ! 
 
 The young traveller was asking himself whether it 
 were not probable that the torture had forced some 
 monstrous confession from the accused, when the ob- 
 scurity which surrounded the church suddenly ceased. 
 Its two great doors were thrown open; and by the 
 light of an infinite number of flambeaux, appeared all the 
 judges and ecclesiastics, surrounded by guards. Among 
 them was Urbain, supported, or rather carried, by 
 six men clothed as Black Penitents for his limbs, 
 bound with bandages saturated with blood, seemed 
 broken and incapable of supporting him. It was at 
 most two hours since Cinq-Mars had seen him, and 
 yet he could hardly recognize the face he had so 
 closely observed at the trial. All color, all roundness 
 of form had disappeared from it; a livid pallor cov- 
 ered a skin yellow and shining like ivory; the blood 
 seemed to have left his veins; all the life that remained 
 within him shone from his dark eyes, which appeared 
 to have grown twice as large as before, as he looked 
 languidly around him; his long, chestnut hair hung 
 loosely down his neck and over a white shirt, which 
 entirely covered him or rather a sort of robe with 
 large sleeves, and of a yellowish tint, with an odor 
 of sulphur about it; a long, thick cord encircled his 
 [82]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 neck and fell upon his breast. He looked like an 
 apparition; but it was the apparition of a martyr. 
 
 Urbain stopped, or, rather, was set down upon the 
 peristyle of the church; the Capuchin Lactantius 
 placed a lighted torch in his right hand, and held it 
 there, as he said to him, with his hard inflexibility : 
 
 " Do penance, and ask pardon of God for thy crime 
 of magic." 
 
 The unhappy man raised his voice with great dif- 
 ficulty, and with his eyes to heaven said: 
 
 "In the name of the living God, I cite thee, Lau- 
 bardemont, false judge, to appear before Him in three 
 years. They have taken away my confessor, and I 
 have been fain to pour out my sins into the bosom of 
 God Himself, for my enemies surround me. I call 
 that God of mercy to witness I never have dealt in 
 magic. I have known no mysteries but those of the 
 Catholic religion, apostolic and Roman, in which I 
 die; I have sinned much against myself, but never 
 against God and our Lord 
 
 "Cease!" cried the Capuchin, affecting to close 
 his mouth ere he could pronounce the name of the 
 Saviour. "Obdurate wretch, return to the demon 
 who sent thee!" 
 
 He signed to four priests, who, approaching with 
 sprinklers in their hands, exorcised with holy water 
 the air the magician breathed, the earth he touched, 
 the wood that was to burn him. During this cere- 
 mony, the Judge-Advocate hastily read the decree, 
 dated the i8th of August, 1639, declaring Urbain Gran- 
 dier duly attainted and convicted of the crime oj sor- 
 [83]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 eery, witchcraft, and possession, in the persons of sundry 
 Ursuline nuns of Loudun, and others, laymen, etc. 
 
 The reader, dazzled by a flash of lightning, stopped 
 for an instant, and, turning to M. de Laubardemont, 
 asked whether, considering the awful weather, the ex- 
 ecution could not be deferred till the next day. 
 
 "The decree," coldly answered Laubardemcnt, 
 "commands execution within twenty-four hours. Fear 
 not the incredulous people; they will soon be con- 
 vinced." 
 
 All the most important persons of the town and 
 many strangers were under the peristyle, and now 
 advanced, Cinq-Mars among them. 
 
 "The magician never has been able to pronounce 
 the name of the Saviour, and repels his image." 
 
 Lactantius at this moment issued from the midst of 
 the Penitents, with an enormous iron crucifix in his 
 hand, which he seemed to hold with precaution and 
 respect; he extended it to the lips of the sufferer, 
 who indeed threw back his head, and collecting all 
 his strength, made a gesture with his arm, which 
 threw the cross from the hands of the Capuchin. 
 
 "You see," cried the latter, "he has thrown down 
 the cross!" 
 
 A murmur arose, the meaning of which was doubtful. 
 
 "Profanation!" cried the priests. 
 
 The procession moved toward the pile. 
 
 Meanwhile, Cinq-Mars, gliding behind a pillar, had 
 eagerly watched all that passed; he saw with aston- 
 ishment that the cross, in falling upon the steps, which 
 were more exposed to the rain than the platform, 
 [84]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 smoked and made a noise like molten lead when 
 thrown into water. While the public attention was 
 elsewhere engaged, he advanced and touched it lightly 
 with his bare hand, which was immediately scorched. 
 Seized with indignation, with all the fury of a true 
 heart, he took up the cross with the folds of his cloak, 
 stepped up to Laubardemont, and, striking him with 
 it on the forehead, cried: 
 
 "Villain, I brand thee with the mark of this red- 
 hot iron!" 
 
 The crowd heard these words and rushed forward. 
 
 "Arrest this madman!" cried the unworthy magis- 
 trate. 
 
 He was himself seized by the hands of men who 
 cried : 
 
 "Justice! justice, in the name of the King!" 
 
 "We are lost!" said Lactantius; "to the pile, to 
 the pile!" 
 
 The Penitents dragged Urbain toward the Place, 
 while the judges and archers reentered the church, 
 struggling with the furious citizens; the executioner, 
 having no time to tie up the victim, hastened to lay 
 him on the wood, and to set fire to it. But the rain 
 still fell in torrents, and each piece of wood had no 
 sooner caught the flame than it became extinguished. 
 In vain did Lactantius and the other canons them- 
 selves seek to stir up the fire; nothing could overcome 
 the water which fell from heaven. 
 
 Meanwhile, the tumult which had begun in the 
 peristyle of the church extended throughout the square. 
 The cry of "Justice!" was repeated and circulated, 
 [85]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 with the information of what had been discovered; 
 two barricades were forced, and despite three volleys 
 of musketry, the archers were gradually driven back 
 toward the centre of the square. In vain they spurred 
 their horses against the crowd; it overwhelmed them 
 with its swelling waves. Half an hour passed in this 
 struggle, the guards still receding toward the pile, 
 which they concealed as they pressed closer upon it. 
 
 "On! on!" cried a man; "we will deliver him; do 
 not strike the soldiers, but let them fall back. See, 
 Heaven will not permit him to die! The fire is out; 
 now, friend, one effort more! That is well! Throw 
 down that horse! Forward! On!" 
 
 The guard was broken and dispersed on all sides. 
 The crowd rushed to the pile, but no more light was 
 there: all had disappeared, even the executioner. 
 They tore up and threw aside the beams; one of 
 them was still burning, and its light showed under a 
 mass of ashes and ensanguined mire a blackened hand, 
 preserved from the fire by a large iron bracelet and 
 chain. A woman had the courage to open it; the 
 fingers clasped a small ivory cross and an image of 
 St. Magdalen. 
 
 "These are his remains," she said, weeping. 
 
 "Say, the relics of a martyr!" exclaimed a citizen, 
 baring his head. 
 
 [86]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 Les vergers languissants alteres de chaleurs, 
 Balancent des rameaux depourvus de feuillages; 
 II semble que 1'hiver ne quitte pas les cieux. 
 
 Maria, JULES LEFEVRE. 
 
 >EANWHILE, Cinq-Mars, amid the 
 excitement which his outbreak had 
 provoked, felt his left arm seized by 
 a hand as hard as iron, which, draw- 
 ing him from the crowd to the foot 
 of the steps, pushed him behind the 
 wall of the church, and he then saw 
 the dark face of old Grandchamp, 
 who said to him in a sharp voice: 
 
 "Sir, your attack upon thirty musketeers in a wood 
 at Chaumont was nothing, because we were near you, 
 though you knew it not, and, moreover, you had to 
 do with men of honor; but here 'tis different. Your 
 horses and people are at the end of the street; I re- 
 quest you to mount and leave the town, or to send me 
 back to Madame la Marechale, for I am responsible 
 for your limbs, which you expose so freely." 
 
 Cinq- Mars was somewhat astonished at this rough 
 mode of having a service done him, was not sorry 
 to extricate himself thus from the affair, having had 
 [87]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 time to reflect how very awkward it might be for him 
 to be recognized, after striking the head of the ju- 
 dicial authority, the agent of the very Cardinal who 
 was to present him to the King. He observed also 
 that around him was assembled a crowd of the low- 
 est class of people, among whom he blushed to find 
 himself. He therefore followed his old domestic with- 
 out argument, and found the other three servants wait- 
 ing for him. Despite the rain and wind he mount- 
 ed, and was soon upon the highroad with his escort, 
 having put his horse to a gallop to avoid pursuit. 
 
 He had, however, hardly left Loudun when the 
 sandy road, furrowed by deep ruts completely filled 
 with water, obliged him to slacken his pace. The 
 rain continued to fall heavily, and his cloak was al- 
 most saturated. He felt a thicker one thrown over 
 his shoulders; it was his old valet, who had approached 
 him, and thus exhibited toward him a maternal so- 
 licitude. 
 
 "Well, Grandchamp," said Cinq-Mars, "now that 
 we are clear of the riot, tell me how you came to be 
 there when I had ordered you to remain at the Abbe's. " 
 
 "Parbleu, Monsieur!" answered the old servant, in 
 a grumbling tone, "do you suppose that I should 
 obey you any more than I did Monsieur le Marechal ? 
 When my late master, after telling me to remain in 
 his tent, found me behind him in the cannon's smoke, 
 he made no complaint, because he had a fresh horse 
 ready when his own was killed, and he only scolded 
 me for a moment in his thoughts; but, truly, during 
 the forty years I served him, I never saw him act as 
 [88]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 you have in the fortnight I have been with you. Ah!" 
 he added with a sigh, " things are going strangely; 
 and if we continue thus, there's no knowing what will 
 be the end of it." 
 
 "But knowest thou, Grandchamp, that these scoun- 
 drels had made the crucifix red hot ? a thing at which 
 no honest man would have been less enraged than I." 
 
 "Except Monsieur le Marechal, your father, who 
 would not have done at all what you have done, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 "What, then, would he have done?" 
 
 "He would very quietly have let this cure be burned 
 by the other cures, and would have said to me, ' Grand- 
 champ, see that my horses have oats, and let no one 
 steal them'; or, 'Grandchamp, take care that the 
 rain does not rust my sword or wet the priming of 
 my pistols'; for Monsieur le Marechal thought of 
 everything, and never interfered in what did not con- 
 cern him. That was his great principle; and as he 
 was, thank Heaven, alike good soldier and good gen- 
 eral, he was always as careful of his arms as a recruit, 
 and would not have stood up against thirty young 
 gallants with a dress rapier." 
 
 Cinq- Mars felt the force of the worthy servitor's 
 epigrammatic scolding, and feared that he had fol- 
 lowed him beyond the wood of Chaumont; but he 
 would not ask, lest he should have to give explanations 
 or to tell a falsehood or to command silence, which 
 would at once have been taking him into confidence 
 on the subject. As the only alternative, he spurred 
 his horse and rode ahead of his old domestic; but the 
 [89]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 latter had not yet had his say, and instead of keeping 
 behind his master, he rode up to his left and con- 
 tinued the conversation. 
 
 " Do you suppose, Monsieur, that I should allow you 
 to go where you please? No, Monsieur, I am too 
 deeply impressed with the respect I owe to Madame 
 la Marquise, to give her an opportunity of saying to 
 me: 'Grandchamp, my son has been killed with a 
 shot or with a sword; why were you not before him?' 
 Or, 'He has received a stab from the stiletto of an 
 Italian, because he went at night beneath the win- 
 dow of a great princess; why did you not seize the 
 assassin ? ' This would be very disagreeable to me, 
 Monsieur, for I never have been reproached with 
 anything of the kind. Once Monsieur le Marechal 
 lent me to his nephew, Monsieur le Comte, to make a 
 campaign in the Netherlands, because I know Spanish. 
 I fulfilled the duty with honor, as I always do. When 
 Monsieur le Comte received a bullet in his heart, I 
 myself brought back his horses, his mules, his tent, 
 and all his equipment, without so much as a pocket- 
 handkerchief being missed; and I can assure you 
 that the horses were as well dressed and harnessed 
 when we reentered Chaumont as if Monsieur le Comte 
 had been about to go a-hunting. And, accordingly, 
 I received nothing but compliments and agreeable 
 things from the whole family, just in the way I like." 
 
 "Well, well, my friend," said Henri d'Effiat, "I may 
 
 some day, perhaps, have these horses to take back; 
 
 but in the mean time take this great purse of gold, 
 
 which I have well-nigh lost two or three times, and 
 
 [90!
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 thou shalt pay for me everywhere. The money 
 wearies me." 
 
 "Monsieur le Marechal did not so, Monsieur. He 
 had been superintendent of finances, and he counted 
 every farthing he paid out of his own hand. I do not 
 think your estates would have been in such good con- 
 dition, or that you would have had so much money to 
 count yourself, had he done otherwise; have the good- 
 ness, therefore, to keep your purse, whose contents, 
 I dare swear, you do not know." 
 
 "Faith, not I." 
 
 Grandchamp sent forth a profound sigh at his mas- 
 ter's disdainful exclamation. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur le Marquis! Monsieur le Marquis! 
 When I think that the great King Henri, before my 
 eyes, put his chamois gloves into his pocket to keep 
 the rain from spoiling them; when I think that Mon- 
 sieur de Rosni refused him money when he had spent 
 too much; when I think 
 
 "When thou dost think, thou art egregiously tedious, 
 my old friend," interrupted his master; "and thou 
 wilt do better in telling me what that black figure is 
 that I think I see walking in the mire behind us." 
 
 "It looks like some poor peasant woman who, per- 
 haps, wants alms of us. She can easily follow us, for 
 we do not go at much of a pace in this sand, wherein 
 our horses sink up to the hams. We shall go to the 
 Landes perhaps some day, Monsieur, and you will 
 see a country all the same as this sandy road, and 
 great, black firs all the way along. It looks like a 
 churchyard; this is an exact specimen of it. Look, 
 [91]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 the rain has ceased, and we can see a little ahead; 
 there is nothing but furze-bushes on this great plain, 
 without a village or a house. I don't know where 
 we can pass the night ; but if you will take my advice, 
 you will let us cut some boughs and bivouac where we 
 are. You shall see how, with a little earth, I can 
 make a hut as warm as a bed." 
 
 "I would rather go on to the light I see in the 
 horizon," said Cinq- Mars; "for I fancy I feel rather 
 feverish, and I am thirsty. But fall back, I would 
 ride alone; rejoin the others and follow." 
 
 Grandchamp obeyed; he consoled himself by giv- 
 ing Germain, Louis, and Etienne lessons in the art 
 of reconnoitring a country by night. 
 
 Meanwhile, his young master was overcome with 
 fatigue. The violent emotions of the day had pro- 
 foundly affected his mind; and the long journey on 
 horseback, the last two days passed almost without 
 nourishment, owing to the hurried pressure of events, 
 the heat of the sun by day, the icy coldness of the 
 night, all contributed to increase his indisposition and 
 to weary his delicate frame. For three hours he rode 
 in silence before his people, yet the light he had seen 
 in the horizon seemed no nearer; at last he ceased 
 to follow it with his eyes, and his head, feeling heavier 
 and heavier, sank upon his breast. He gave the reins 
 to his tired horse, which of its own accord followed 
 the high-road, and, crossing his arms, allowed himself 
 to be rocked by the monotonous motion of his fellow- 
 traveller, which frequently stumbled against the large 
 stones that strewed the road. The rain had ceased, 
 [92]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 as had the voices of his domestics, whose horses fol- 
 lowed in the track of their master's. The young man 
 abandoned himself to the bitterness of his thoughts; 
 he asked himself whether the bright object of his 
 hopes would not flee from him day by day, as that 
 phosphoric light fled from him in the horizon, step 
 by step. Was it probable that the young Princess, 
 almost forcibly recalled to the gallant court of Anne 
 of Austria, would always refuse the hands, perhaps 
 royal ones, that would be offered to her? What 
 chance that she would resign herself to renounce a 
 present throne, in order to wait till some caprice of 
 fortune should realize romantic hopes, or take a youth 
 almost in the lowest rank of the army and lift him to 
 the elevation she spoke of, till the age of love should 
 be passed? How could he be certain that even the 
 vows of Marie de Gonzaga were sincere ? 
 
 "Alas!" he said, "perhaps she has blinded herself 
 as to her own sentiments; the solitude of the country 
 had prepared her soul to receive deep impressions. I 
 came; she thought I was he of whom she had dreamed. 
 Our age and my love did the rest. But when at 
 court, she, the companion of the Queen, has learned 
 to contemplate from an exalted position the greatness 
 to which I aspire, and which I as yet see only from a 
 very humble distance; when she shall suddenly find 
 herself in actual possession of the future she aims at, 
 and measures with a more correct eye the long road 
 I have to travel; when she shall hear around her 
 vows like mine, pronounced by lips which could undo 
 me with a word, with a word destroy him whom she 
 [93]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 awaits as her husband, her lord oh, madman that I 
 have been! she will see all her folly, and will be 
 incensed at mine." 
 
 Thus did doubt, the greatest misery of love, begin 
 to torture his unhappy heart; he felt his hot blood rush 
 to his head and oppress it. Ever and anon he fell 
 forward upon the neck of his horse, and a half sleep 
 weighed down his eyes; the dark firs that bordered 
 the road seemed to him gigantic corpses travelling 
 beside him. He saw, or thought he saw, the same 
 woman clothed in black, whom he had pointed out 
 to Grandchamp, approach so near as to touch his 
 horse's mane, pull his cloak, and then run off with a 
 jeering laugh; the sand of the road seemed to him 
 a river running beneath him, with opposing current, 
 back toward its source. This strange sight dazzled 
 his worn eyes; he closed them and fell asleep on his 
 horse. 
 
 Presently, he felt himself stopped, but he was 
 numbed with cold and could not move. He saw 
 peasants, lights, a house, a great room into which 
 they carried him, a wide bed, whose heavy curtains 
 were closed by Grandchamp; and he fell asleep again, 
 stunned by the fever that whirred in his ears. 
 
 Dreams that followed one another more rapidly than 
 grains of sand before the wind rushed through his 
 brain; he could not catch them, and moved restlessly 
 on his bed. Urbain Grandier on the rack, his mother 
 in tears, his tutor armed, Bassompierre loaded with 
 chains, passed before him, making signs of farewell; 
 at last, as he slept, he instinctively put his hand to 
 [94]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 his head to stay the passing dream, which then seemed 
 to unfold itself Wore his eyes like pictures in shifting 
 sands. 
 
 He saw a public square crowded with a foreign 
 people, a northern people, who uttered cries of joy, 
 but they were savage cries; there was a line of guards, 
 ferocious soldiers these were Frenchmen. "Come 
 with me," said the soft voice of Marie de Gonzaga, 
 who took his hand. "See, I wear a diadem; here is 
 thy throne, come with me." And she hurried him 
 on, the people still shouting. He went on, a long way. 
 "Why are you sad, if you are a queen?" he said, 
 trembling. But she was pale, and smiled and spoke 
 not. She ascended, step after step, up to a throne, 
 and seated herself. "Mount!" said she, forcibly pull- 
 ing his hand. But, at every movement, the massive 
 stairs crumbled beneath his feet, so that he could not 
 ascend. "Give thanks to love," she continued; and 
 her hand, now more powerful, raised him to the 
 throne. The people still shouted. He bowed low to 
 kiss that helping hand, that adored hand; it was the 
 hand of the executioner! 
 
 "Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Cinq-Mars, as, heaving 
 a deep sigh, he opened his eyes. A flickering lamp 
 lighted the ruinous chamber of the inn; he again 
 closed his eyes, for he had seen, seated on his bed, a 
 woman, a nun, young and beautiful! He thought he 
 was still dreaming, but she grasped his hand firmly. 
 He opened his burning eyes, and fixed them upon 
 her. 
 
 "Is it you, Jeanne de Belfiel? The rain has 
 [95]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 drenched your veil and your black hair! Why are 
 you here, unhappy woman?" 
 
 "Hark! awake not my Urbain; he sleeps there in 
 the next room. Ay, my hair is indeed wet, and my 
 feet see, my feet that were once so white, see how 
 the mud has soiled them. But I have made a vow 
 I will not wash them till I have seen the King, and 
 until he has granted me Urbain's pardon. I am go- 
 ing to the army to find him; I will speak to him as 
 Grandier taught me to speak, and he will pardon 
 him. And listen, I will also ask thy pardon, for I 
 read it in thy face that thou, too, art condemned to 
 death. Poor youth! thou art too young to die, thy 
 curling hair is beautiful; but yet thou art condemned, 
 for thou hast on thy brow a line that never deceives. 
 The man thou hast struck will kill thee. Thou hast 
 made too much use of the cross; it is that which will 
 bring evil upon thee. Thou hast struck with it, and 
 thou wearest it round thy neck by a hair chain. Nay, 
 hide not thy face; have I said aught to afflict thee, 
 or is it that thou lovest, young man? Ah, reassure 
 thyself, I will not tell all this to thy love. I am mad, 
 but I am gentle, very gentle ; and three days ago I was 
 beautiful. Is she also beautiful? Ah! she will weep 
 some day! Yet, if she can weep, she will be happy!" 
 
 And then suddenly Jeanne began to recite the ser- 
 vice for the dead in a monotonous voice, but with 
 incredible rapidity, still seated on the bed, and turning 
 the beads of a long rosary. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened; she looked up, and fled 
 through another door in the partition. 
 [96]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "What the devil's that an imp or an angel, say- 
 ing the funeral service over you, and you under the 
 clothes, as if you were in a shroud?" 
 
 This abrupt exclamation came from the rough voice 
 of Grandchamp, who was so astonished at what he 
 had seen that he dropped the glass of lemonade he 
 was bringing in. Finding that his master did not 
 answer, he became still more alarmed, and raised 
 the bedclothes. Cinq-Mars's face was crimson, and he 
 seemed asleep, but his old domestic saw that the blood 
 rushing to his head had almost suffocated him; and, 
 seizing a jug full of cold water, he dashed the whole 
 of it in his face. This military remedy rarely fails 
 to effect its purpose, and Cinq-Mars returned to him- 
 self with a start. 
 
 "Ah! it is thou, Grandchamp; what frightful dreams 
 I have had!" 
 
 "Peste! Monsieur le Marquis, your dreams, on the 
 contrary, are very pretty ones. I saw the tail of the 
 last as I came in; your choice is not bad." 
 
 "What dost mean, blockhead?" 
 
 "Nay, not a blockhead, Monsieur; I have good 
 eyes, and I have seen what I have seen. But, 
 really ill as you are, Monsieur le Marechal would 
 never 
 
 "Thou art utterly doting, my friend; give me some 
 drink, I am parched with thirst. Oh, heavens! what 
 a night! I still see all those women." 
 
 "All those women, Monsieur? Why, how many 
 are here?" 
 
 "I am speaking to thee of a dream, blockhead. 
 7 [97]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Why standest there like a post, instead of giving me 
 some drink?" 
 
 " Enough, Monsieur; I will get more lemonade." 
 And going to the door, he called over the staircase, 
 ' ' Germain ! Etienne ! Louis ! ' ' 
 
 The innkeeper answered from below: "Coming, 
 Monsieur, coming; they have been helping me to 
 catch the mad-woman." 
 
 "What mad-woman?" said Cinq-Mars, rising in bed. 
 
 The host entered, and, taking off his cotton cap, 
 said, respectfully: "Oh, nothing, Monsieur le Mar- 
 quis, only a mad-woman that came here last night on 
 foot, and whom we put in the next room; but she 
 has escaped, and we have not been able to catch her." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Cinq-Mars, returning to himself 
 and putting his hand to his eyes, "it was not a dream, 
 then. And my mother, where is she? and the Mare- 
 chal, and Ah! and yet it is but a fearful dream! 
 Leave me." 
 
 As he said this, he turned toward the wall, and 
 again pulled the clothes over his head. 
 
 The innkeeper, in amazement, touched his forehead 
 three times with his finger, looking at Grandchamp as 
 if to ask him whether his master were also mad. 
 
 Grandchamp motioned him away in silence, and 
 in order to watch the rest of the night by the side of 
 Cinq-Mars, who was in a deep sleep, he seated him- 
 self in a large armchair, covered with tapestry, and 
 began to squeeze lemons into a glass of water with 
 an air as grave and severe as Archimedes calculating 
 the condensing power of his mirrors. 
 [98]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE CABINET 
 
 Men have rarely the courage to be wholly good or wholly bad. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI. 
 
 us leave our young traveller sleep- 
 ing; he will soon pursue a long and 
 beautiful route. Since we are at 
 liberty to turn to all points of the 
 map, we will fix our eyes upon the 
 city of Narbonne. 
 
 Behold the Mediterranean, not far 
 distant, washing with its blue waters 
 the sandy shores. Penetrate into that city resembling 
 Athens; and to find him who reigns there, follow 
 that dark and irregular street, mount the steps of the 
 old archiepiscopal palace, and enter the first and larg- 
 est of its apartments. 
 
 This was a very long salon, lighted by a series of 
 high lancet windows, of which the upper part only 
 retained the blue, yellow, and red panes that shed a 
 mysterious light through the apartment. A large 
 round table occupied its entire breadth, near the great 
 fireplace; around this table, covered with a colored 
 cloth and scattered with papers and portfolios, were 
 seated, bending over their pens, eight secretaries copy- 
 ing letters which were handed to them from a smaller 
 [99]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 table. Other men quietly arranged the completed 
 papers in the shelves of a bookcase, partly filled with 
 books bound in black. 
 
 Notwithstanding the number of persons assembled 
 in the room, one might have heard the movements of 
 the wings of a fly. The only interruption to the si- 
 lence was the sound of pens rapidly gliding over paper, 
 and a shrill voice dictating, stopping every now and 
 then to cough. This voice proceeded from a great 
 armchair placed beside the fire, which was blazing, 
 notwithstanding the heat of the season and of the 
 country. It was one of those armchairs that you still 
 see in old castles, and which seem made to read one's 
 self to sleep in, so easy is every part of it. The sitter 
 sinks into a circular cushion of down; if the head 
 leans back, the cheeks rest upon pillows covered with 
 silk, and the seat juts out so far beyond the elbows 
 that one may believe the provident upholsterers of 
 our forefathers sought to provide that the book should 
 make no noise in falling so as to awaken the sleeper. 
 
 But we will quit this digression, and speak of the 
 man who occupied the chair, and who was very far 
 from sleeping. He had a broad forehead, bordered 
 with thin white hair, large, mild eyes, a wan face, to 
 which a small, pointed, white beard gave that air of 
 subtlety and finesse noticeable in all the portraits of 
 the period of Louis XIII. His mouth was almost 
 without lips, which Lavater deems an indubitable 
 sign of an evil mind, and it was framed in a pair of 
 slight gray moustaches and a royale an ornament 
 then in fashion, which somewhat resembled a comma 
 [100]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 in form. The old man wore a close red cap, a large 
 robe-de-chambre, and purple silk stockings; he was 
 no less a personage than Armand Duplessis, Cardinal 
 de Richelieu. 
 
 Near him, around the small table, sat four youths 
 from fifteen to twenty years of age; these were pages, 
 or domestics, according to the term then in use, which 
 signified familiars, friends of the house. This custom 
 was a relic of feudal patronage, which still existed in 
 our manners. The younger members of high families 
 received wages from the great lords, and were devoted 
 to their service in all things, challenging the first 
 comer at the wish of their patron. The pages wrote 
 letters from the outline previously given them by the 
 Cardinal, and after their master had glanced at them, 
 passed them to the secretaries, who made fair copies. 
 The Duke, for his part, wrote on his knee private notes 
 upon small slips of paper, inserting them in almost 
 all the packets before sealing them, which he did with 
 his own hand. 
 
 He had been writing a short time, when, in a mirror 
 before him, he saw the youngest of his pages writing 
 something on a sheet of paper much smaller than the 
 official sheet. He hastily wrote a few words, and then 
 slipped the paper under the large sheet which, much 
 against his inclination, he had to fill; but, seated be- 
 hind the Cardinal, he hoped that the difficulty with 
 which the latter turned would prevent him from see- 
 ing the little manoeuvre he had tried to exercise with 
 much dexterity. Suddenly Richelieu said to him, dry- 
 ly, "Come here, Monsieur Olivier." 
 
 [101]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 These words came like a thunder-clap on the poor 
 boy, who seemed about sixteen. He rose at once, 
 however, and stood before the minister, his arms hang- 
 ing at his side and his head lowered. 
 
 The other pages and the secretaries stirred no more 
 than soldiers when a comrade is struck down by a ball, 
 so accustomed were they to this kind of summons. 
 The present one, however, was more energetic than 
 usual. 
 
 "What were you writing?" 
 
 "My lord, what your Eminence dictated." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "My lord, the letter to Don Juan de Braganza." 
 
 "No evasions, Monsieur; you were writing some- 
 thing else." 
 
 "My lord," said the page, with tears in his eyes, 
 "it was a letter to one of my cousins." 
 
 "Let me see it." 
 
 The page trembled in every limb and was obliged 
 to lean against the chimney-piece, as he said, in a 
 hardly audible tone, "It is impossible." 
 
 "Monsieur le Vicomte Olivier d'Entraigues, " said 
 the minister, without showing the least emotion, "you 
 are no longer in my service." The page withdrew. 
 He knew that there was no reply; so, slipping his let- 
 ter into his pocket, and opening the folding-doors just 
 wide enough to allow his exit, he glided out like a 
 bird escaped from the cage. 
 
 The minister went on writing the note upon his 
 knee. 
 
 The secretaries redoubled their silent zeal, when 
 
 [102]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 suddenly the two wings of the door were thrown back 
 and showed, standing in the opening, a Capuchin, 
 who, bowing, with his arms crossed over his breast, 
 seemed waiting for alms or for an order to retire. He 
 had a dark complexion, and was deeply pitted with 
 smallpox; his eyes, mild, but somewhat squinting, 
 were almost hidden by his thick eyebrows, which met 
 in the middle of his forehead; on his mouth played 
 a crafty, mischievous, and sinister smile; his beard 
 was straight and red, and his costume was that of the 
 order of St. Francis in all its repulsiveness, with san- 
 dals on his bare feet, that looked altogether unfit to 
 tread upon carpet. 
 
 Such as he was, however, this personage appeared 
 to create a great sensation throughout the room; for, 
 without finishing the phrase, the line, or even the 
 word begun, every person rose and went out by the 
 door where he was still standing some saluting him 
 as they passed, others turning away their heads, and 
 the young pages holding their fingers to their noses, 
 but not till they were behind him, for they seemed to 
 have a secret fear of him. When they had all passed 
 out, he entered, making a profound reverence, because 
 the door was still open; but, as soon as it was shut, 
 unceremoniously advancing, he seated himself near the 
 Cardinal, who, having recognized him by the general 
 movement he created, saluted him with a dry and 
 silent inclination of the head, regarding him fixedly, 
 as if awaiting some news and unable to avoid knitting 
 his brows, as at the aspect of a spider or some other 
 disagreeable creature. 
 
 [103]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 The Cardinal could not resist this movement of 
 displeasure, because he felt himself obliged, by the 
 presence of his agent, to resume those profound and 
 painful conversations from which he had for some 
 days been free, in a country whose pure air, favorable 
 to him, had somewhat soothed the pain of his malady ; 
 that malady had changed to a slow fever, but its in- 
 tervals were long enough to enable him to forget dur- 
 ing its absence that it must return. Giving, therefore, 
 a little rest to his hitherto indefatigable mind, he had 
 been awaiting, for the first time in his life perhaps, 
 without impatience, the return of the couriers he had 
 sent in all directions, like the rays of a sun which 
 alone gave life and movement to France. He had 
 not expected the visit he now received, and the sight 
 of one of those men, whom, to use his own expression, 
 he "steeped in crime," rendered all the habitual dis- 
 quietudes of his life more present to him, without en- 
 tirely dissipating the cloud of melancholy which at 
 that time obscured his thoughts. 
 
 The beginning of his conversation was tinged with 
 the gloomy hue of his late reveries; but he soon be- 
 came more animated and vigorous than ever, when 
 his powerful mind had reentered the real world. 
 
 His confidant, seeing that he was expected to break 
 the silence, did so in this abrupt fashion: 
 
 "Well, my lord, of what are you thinking?" 
 
 "Alas, Joseph, of what should we all think, but of 
 
 our future happiness in a better life ? For many days 
 
 I have been reflecting that human interests have too 
 
 much diverted me from this great thought; and I re- 
 
 [104]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 pent me of having spent some moments of my leisure 
 in profane works, such as my tragedies, Europe and 
 Mirame, despite the glory they have already gained 
 me among our brightest minds a glory which will 
 extend unto futurity." 
 
 Father Joseph, full of what he had to say, was at 
 first surprised at this opening; but he knew his mas- 
 ter too well to betray his feelings, and, well skilled in 
 changing the course of his ideas, replied: 
 
 "Yes, their merit is very great, and France will 
 regret that these immortal works are not followed by 
 similar productions." 
 
 "Yes, my dear Joseph; but it is in vain that such 
 men as Boisrobert, Claveret, Colletet, Corneille, and, 
 above all, the celebrated Mairet, have proclaimed these 
 tragedies the finest that the present or any past age 
 has produced. I reproach myself for them, I swear to 
 you, as for a mortal sin, and I now, in my hours of 
 repose, occupy myself only with my Methode des Con- 
 troverses, and my book on the Perfection du Chretien. 
 I remember that I am fifty-six years old, and that I 
 have an incurable malady." 
 
 "These are calculations which your enemies make 
 as precisely as your Eminence," said the priest, who 
 began to be annoyed with this conversation, and was 
 eager to talk of other matters. 
 
 The blood mounted to the Cardinal's face. 
 
 "I know it! I know it well!" he said; "I know all 
 their black villainy, and I am prepared for it. But 
 what news is there?" 
 
 "According to our arrangement, my lord, we have 
 [105]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 removed Mademoiselle d'Hautefort, as we removed 
 Mademoiselle de la Fayette before her. So far it is 
 well; but her place is not filled, and the King ' 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "The King has ideas which he never had before." 
 
 "Ha! and which come not from me? Tis well, 
 truly," said the minister, with an ironic sneer. 
 
 "What, my lord, leave the place of the favorite 
 vacant for six whole days? It is not prudent; par- 
 don me for saying so." 
 
 "He has ideas ideas!" repeated Richelieu, with a 
 kind of terror; "and what are they?" 
 
 "He talks of recalling the Queen-mother," said the 
 Capuchin, in a low voice; "of recalling her from 
 Cologne." 
 
 "Marie de Medicis!" cried the Cardinal, striking 
 the arms of his chair with his hands. "No, by 
 Heaven, she shall not again set her foot upon the soil 
 of France, whence I drove her, step by step ! England 
 has not dared to receive her, exiled by me; Holland 
 fears to be crushed by her; and my kingdom to re- 
 ceive her! No, no, such an idea could not have 
 originated with himself! To recall my enemy! to re- 
 call his mother! What perfidy! He would not have 
 dared to think of it." 
 
 Then, having mused for a moment, he added, fixing 
 a penetrating look still full of burning anger upon 
 Father Joseph: 
 
 "But in what terms did he express this desire? 
 Tell me his precise words." 
 
 "He said publicly, and in the presence of Monsieur: 
 [106]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 'I feel that one of the first duties of a Christian is to 
 be a good son, and I will resist no longer the murmurs 
 of my conscience.'" 
 
 "Christian! conscience! these are not his expres- 
 sions. It is Father Caussin it is his confessor who is 
 betraying me, " cried the Cardinal. " Perfidious Jesuit ! 
 I pardoned thee thy intrigue with La Fayette; but I 
 will not pass over thy secret counsels. I will have this 
 confessor dismissed, Joseph; he is an enemy to the 
 State, I see it clearly. But I myself have acted with 
 negligence for some days past; I have not sufficiently 
 hastened the arrival of the young d'Effiat, who will 
 doubtless succeed. He is handsome and intellectual, 
 they say. What a blunder! I myself merit disgrace. 
 To leave that fox of a Jesuit with the King, without 
 having given him my secret instructions, without a 
 hostage, a pledge, or his fidelity to my orders! What 
 neglect! Joseph, take a pen, and write what I shall 
 dictate for the other confessor, whom we will choose 
 better. I think of Father Sirmond." 
 
 Father Joseph sat down at the large table, ready to 
 write, and the Cardinal dictated to him those duties, 
 of a new kind, which shortly afterward he dared to 
 have given to the King, who received them, respected 
 them, and learned them by heart as the command- 
 ments of the Church. They have come down to us, 
 a terrible monument of the empire that a man may 
 seize upon by means of circumstances, intrigues, and 
 audacity: 
 
 "I. A prince should have a prime minister, and that minister 
 three qualities: (i) He should have no passion but for his prince; 
 [107]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 (2) He should be able and faithful; (3) He should be an eccle- 
 siastic. 
 
 "II. A prince ought perfectly to love his prime minister. 
 
 "III. Ought never to change his prime minister. 
 
 "IV. Ought to tell him all things. 
 
 "V. To give him free access to his person. 
 
 "VI. To give him sovereign authority over his people. 
 
 "VII. Great honors and large possessions. 
 
 "VIII. A prince has no treasure more precious than his prime 
 minister. 
 
 "IX. A prince should not put faith in what people say against 
 his prime minister, nor listen to any such slanders. 
 
 "X. A prince should reveal to his prime minister all that is 
 said against him, even though he has been bound to keep it secret. 
 
 "XI. A prince should prefer not only the well-being of the 
 State, but also his prime minister, to all his relations." 
 
 Such were the commandments of the god of France, 
 less astonishing in themselves than the terrible naivete 
 which made him bequeath them to posterity, as if 
 posterity also must believe in him. 
 
 While he dictated his instructions, reading them 
 from a small piece of paper, written with his own 
 hand, a deep melancholy seemed to possess him more 
 and more at each word; and when he had ended, he 
 fell back in his chair, his arms crossed, and his head 
 sunk on his breast. 
 
 Father Joseph, dropping his pen, arose and was in- 
 quiring whether he were ill, when he heard issue from 
 the depths of his chest these mournful and memorable 
 words : 
 
 "What utter weariness! what endless trouble! If 
 the ambitious man could see me, he would flee to a 
 [108]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 desert. What is my power? A miserable reflection 
 of the royal power; and what labors to fix upon my 
 star that incessantly wavering ray! For twenty years 
 I have been in vain attempting it. I can not com- 
 prehend that man. He dare not flee me; but they 
 take him from me he glides through my fingers. 
 What things could I not have done with his heredi- 
 tary rights, had I possessed them? But, employing 
 such infinite calculation in merely keeping one's bal- 
 ance, what of genius remains for high enterprises? 
 I hold Europe in my hand, yet I myself am sus- 
 pended by a trembling hair. What is it to me that 
 I can cast my eyes confidently over the map of Eu- 
 rope, when all my interests are concentrated in his nar- 
 row cabinet, and its few feet of space give me more 
 trouble to govern than the whole country besides? 
 See, then, what it is to be a prime minister! Envy me, 
 my guards, if you can." 
 
 His features were so distorted as to give reason to 
 fear some accident; and at the same moment he was 
 seized with a long and violent fit of coughing, which 
 ended in a slight hemorrhage. He saw that Father 
 Joseph, alarmed, was about to seize a gold bell that 
 stood on the table, and, suddenly rising with all the 
 vivacity of a young man, he stopped him, saying: 
 
 "'Tis nothing, Joseph; I sometimes yield to these 
 fits of depression; but they do not last long, and I 
 leave them stronger than before. As for my health, 
 I know my condition perfectly; but that is not the 
 business in hand. What have you done at Paris? 
 I am glad to know the King has arrived in Beam, as 
 [109]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 I wished; we shall be able to keep a closer watch 
 upon him. How did you induce him to come away?" 
 
 "A battle at Perpignan." 
 
 "That is not bad. Well, we can arrange it for him; 
 that occupation will do as well as another just now. 
 But the young Queen, what says she?" 
 
 "She is still furious against you; her correspondence 
 discovered, the questioning to which you had sub- 
 jected her " 
 
 "Bah! a madrigal and a momentary submission on 
 my part will make her forget that I have separated her 
 from her house of Austria and from the country of 
 her Buckingham. But how does she occupy herself?" 
 
 "In machinations with Monsieur. But as we have 
 his entire confidence, here are the daily accounts of 
 their interviews." 
 
 "I shall not trouble myself to read them; while the 
 Due de Bouillon remains in Italy I have nothing to 
 fear in that quarter. She may have as many petty 
 plots with Gaston in the chimney-corner as she pleases; 
 he never got beyond his excellent intentions, forsooth! 
 He carries nothing into effect but his withdrawal 
 from the kingdom. He has had his third dismissal; 
 I will manage a fourth for him whenever he pleases; 
 he is not worth the pistol-shot you had the Comte de 
 Soissons settled with, and yet the poor Comte had 
 scarce more energy than he." 
 
 And the Cardinal, reseating himself in his chair, 
 began to laugh gayly enough for a statesman. 
 
 "I always laugh when I think of their expedition to 
 Amiens. They had me between them. Each had 
 [no]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 fully five hundred gentlemen with him, armed to the 
 teeth, and all going to despatch me, like Concini; but 
 the great Vitry was not there. They very quietly let 
 me talk for an hour with them about the hunt and the 
 Fete Dieu, and neither of them dared make a sign 
 to their cut-throats. I have since learned from Cha- 
 vigny that for two long months they had been waiting 
 that happy moment. For myself, indeed, I observed 
 nothing, except that little villain, the Abbe de Gon- 
 di,* who prowled near me, and seemed to have 
 something hidden under his sleeve; it was he that 
 made me get into the coach." 
 
 "Apropos of the Abbe, my lord, the Queen insists 
 upon making him coadjutor." 
 
 "She is mad! he will ruin her if she connects her- 
 self with him; he's a musketeer in canonicals, the 
 devil in a cassock. Read his Histoire de Fiesque; 
 you may see himself in it. He will be nothing while 
 Hive." 
 
 "How is it that with a judgment like yours you 
 bring another ambitious man of his age to court?" 
 
 "That is an entirely different matter. This young 
 Cinq-Mars, my friend, will be a mere puppet. He 
 will think of nothing but his ruff and his shoulder- 
 knots; his handsome figure assures me of this. I 
 know that he is gentle and weak ; it was for this reason 
 I preferred him to his elder brother. He will do what- 
 ever we wish." 
 
 "Ah, my lord," said the monk, with an expression 
 of doubt, "I never place much reliance on people 
 
 * Afterward Cardinal de Retz. 
 [ill]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 whose exterior is so calm; the hidden flame is often 
 all the more dangerous. Recollect the Marechal d'Ef- 
 fiat, his father." 
 
 "But I tell you he is a boy, and I shall bring him 
 up; while Gondi is already an accomplished con- 
 spirator, an ambitious knave who sticks at nothing. 
 He has dared to dispute Madame de la Meilleraie 
 with me. Can you conceive it? He dispute with 
 me! A petty priestling, who has no other merit than 
 a little lively small-talk and a cavalier air* Fortunately, 
 the husband himself took care to get rid of him " 
 
 Father Joseph, who listened with equal impatience 
 to his master when he spoke of his bonnes fortunes or 
 of his verses, made, however, a grimace which he 
 meant to be very sly and insinuating, but which was 
 simply ugly and awkward; he fancied that the ex- 
 pression of his mouth, twisted about like a monkey's, 
 conveyed, "Ah! who can resist your Eminence?" 
 But his Eminence only read there, "I am a clown who 
 knows nothing of the great world"; and, without 
 changing his voice, he suddenly said, taking up a 
 despatch from the table: 
 
 "The Due de Rohan is dead, that is good news; 
 the Huguenots are ruined. He is a lucky man. I 
 had him condemned by the Parliament of Toulouse to 
 be torn in pieces by four horses, and here he dies 
 quietly on the battlefield of Rheinfeld. But what 
 matters? The result is the same. Another great 
 head is laid low! How they have fallen since that of 
 Montmorency! I now see hardly any that do not 
 bow before me. We have already punished almost 
 
 [112]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 all our dupes of Versailles; assuredly they have noth- 
 ing with which to reproach me. I simply exercise 
 against them the law of retaliation, treating them as 
 they would have treated me in the council of the 
 Queen-mother. The old dotard Bassompierre shall be 
 doomed for perpetual imprisonment, and so shall the 
 assassin Marechal de Vitry, for that was the punish- 
 ment they voted me. As for Marillac, who counselled 
 death, I reserve death for him at the first false step he 
 makes, and I beg thee, Joseph, to remind me of him; 
 we must be just to all. The Due de Bouillon still 
 keeps up his head proudly on account of his Sedan, 
 but I shall make him yield. Their blindness is truly 
 marvellous! They think themselves all free to con- 
 spire, not perceiving that they are merely fluttering at 
 the ends of the threads that I hold in my hand, and 
 which I lengthen now and then to give them air and 
 space. Did the Huguenots cry out as one man at 
 the death of their dear duke?" 
 
 "Less so than at the affair of Loudun, which is 
 happily concluded.'* 
 
 "What! Happily? I hope that Grandier is 
 dead?" 
 
 "Yes; that is what I meant. Your Eminence may 
 be fully satisfied. All was settled in twenty-four 
 hours. He is no longer thought of. Only Laubarde- 
 mont committed a slight blunder in making the trial 
 public. This caused a little tumult; but we have a 
 description of the rioters, and measures have been 
 taken to seek them out." 
 
 "This is well, very well. Urbain was too superior 
 8 [113]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 a man to be left there; he was turning Protestant. I 
 would wager that he would have ended by abjuring. 
 His work against the celibacy of priests made me con- 
 jecture this; and in cases of doubt, remember, Joseph, 
 it is always best to cut the tree before the fruit is 
 gathered. These Huguenots, you see, form a regular 
 republic in the State. If once they had a majority in 
 France, the monarchy would be lost, and they would 
 establish some popular government which might be 
 durable." 
 
 "And what deep pain do they daily cause our holy 
 Father the Pope!" said Joseph. 
 
 "Ah," interrupted the Cardinal, "I see; thou 
 wouldst remind me of his obstinacy in not giving 
 thee the hat. Be tranquil; I will speak to-day on the 
 subject to the new ambassador we are sending, the 
 Marechal d'Estrees, and he will, on his arrival, doubt- 
 less obtain that which has been in train these two 
 years thy nomination to the cardinalate. I myself 
 begin to think that the purple would become thee 
 well, for it does not show blood-stains." 
 
 And both burst into laughter the one as a master, 
 overwhelming the assassin whom he pays with his 
 utter scorn; the other as a slave, resigned to all the 
 humiliation by which he rises. 
 
 The laughter which the ferocious pleasantry of the 
 old minister had excited had hardly subsided, when 
 the door opened, and a page announced several cour- 
 iers who had arrived simultaneously from different 
 points. Father Joseph arose, and, leaning against the 
 wall like an Egyptian mummy, allowed nothing to 
 ["4]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 appear upon his face but an expression of stolid con- 
 templation. Twelve messengers entered successively, 
 attired in various disguises; one appeared to be a 
 Swiss soldier, another a sutler, a third a master-mason. 
 They had been introduced into the palace by a secret 
 stairway and corridor, and left the cabinet by a door 
 opposite that at which they had entered, without any 
 opportunity of meeting one another or communicating 
 the contents of their despatches. Each laid a rolled 
 or folded packet of papers on the large table, spoke 
 for a moment with the Cardinal in the embrasure of 
 a window and withdrew. Richelieu had risen on the 
 entrance of the first messenger, and, careful to do all 
 himself, had received them all, listened to all, and 
 with his own hand had closed the door upon all. 
 When the last was gone, he signed to Father Joseph, 
 and, without speaking, both proceeded to unfold, or, 
 rather, to tear open, the packets of despatches, and in 
 a few words communicated to each other the sub- 
 stance of the letters. 
 
 "The Due de Weimar pursues his advantage; the 
 Due Charles is defeated. Our General is in good 
 spirits; here are some of his lively remarks at table. 
 Good!" 
 
 "Monseigneur le Vicomte de Turenne has retaken 
 the towns of Lorraine; and here are his private con- 
 versations 
 
 "Oh! pass over them; they can not be dangerous. 
 
 He is ever a good and honest man, in no way mixing 
 
 himself up with politics; so that some one gives him 
 
 a little army to play at chess with, no matter against 
 
 ["5]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 whom, he is content. We shall always be good 
 friends." 
 
 " The Long Parliament still endures in England. The 
 Commons pursue their project ; there are massacres in 
 Ireland. The Earl of Strafford is condemned to death. " 
 
 "To death! Horrible!" 
 
 "I will read: 'His Majesty Charles I has not had 
 the courage to sign the sentence, but he has appointed 
 four commissioners.'" 
 
 "Weak king, I abandon thee! Thou shalt have no 
 more of our money. Fall, since thou art ungrateful! 
 Unhappy Went worth!" 
 
 A tear rose in the eyes of Richelieu as he said this; 
 the man who had but now played with the lives of 
 so many others wept for a minister abandoned by his 
 prince. The similarity between that position and his 
 own affected him, and it was his own case he deplored 
 in the person of the foreign minister. He ceased to 
 read aloud the despatches that he opened, and his 
 confidant followed his example. He examined with 
 scrupulous attention the detailed accounts of the most 
 minute and secret actions of each person of any im- 
 portance accounts which he always required to be 
 added to the official despatches made by his able 
 spies. All the despatches to the King passed through 
 his hands, and were carefully revised so as to reach 
 the King amended to the state in which he wished 
 him to read them. The private notes were all care- 
 fully burned by the monk after the Cardinal had as- 
 certained their contents. The latter, however, seemed 
 by no means satisfied, and he was walking quickly 
 [116]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 to and fro with gestures expressive of anxiety, when 
 the door opened, and a thirteenth courier entered. 
 This one seemed a boy hardly fourteen years old; he 
 held under his arm a packet sealed with black for 
 the King, and gave to the Cardinal only a small letter, 
 of which a stolen glance from Joseph could collect 
 but four words. The Cardinal started, tore the billet 
 into a thousand pieces, and, bending down to the 
 ear of the boy, spoke to him for a long time; all that 
 Joseph heard was, as the messenger went out: 
 
 "Take good heed to this; not until twelve hours 
 from this time." 
 
 During this aside of the Cardinal, Joseph was oc- 
 cupied in concealing an infinite number of libels from 
 Flanders and Germany, which the minister always 
 insisted upon seeing, however bitter they might be to 
 him. In this respect, he affected a philosophy which 
 he was far from possessing, and to deceive those around 
 him he would sometimes pretend that his enemies 
 were not wholly wrong, and would outwardly laugh 
 at their pleasantries; but those who knew his char- 
 acter better detected bitter rage lurking under this 
 apparent moderation, and knew that he was never satis- 
 fied until he had got the hostile book condemned by 
 the parliament to be burned in the Place de Greve, as 
 "injurious to the King, in the person of his minister, 
 the most illustrious Cardinal," as we read in the de- 
 crees of the time, and that his only regret was that 
 the author was not in the place of his book a satis- 
 faction he gave himself whenever he could, as in the 
 case of Urbain Grandier.
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 It was his colossal pride which he thus avenged, 
 without avowing it even to himself nay, laboring for 
 a length of time, sometimes for a whole twelvemonth 
 together, to persuade himself that the interest of the 
 State was concerned in the matter. Ingenious in con- 
 necting his private affairs with the affairs of France, 
 he had convinced himself that she bled from the 
 wounds which he received. Joseph, careful not to 
 irritate his ill-temper at this moment, put aside and 
 concealed a book entitled Mysteres Politiques du Car- 
 dinal de la Rochelle; also another, attributed to a 
 monk of Munich, entitled Questions quolibetiques , 
 ajustees au temps present, et Impiete Sanglante du dieu 
 Mars. The worthy advocate Aubery, who has given 
 us one of the most faithful histories of the most eminent 
 Cardinal, is transported with rage at the mere title of 
 the first of these books, and exclaims that "the great 
 minister had good reason to glorify himself that his 
 enemies, inspired against their will with the same en- 
 thusiasm which conferred the gift of rendering oracles 
 upon the ass of Balaam, upon Caiaphas and others, 
 who seemed most unworthy of the gift of prophecy, 
 called him with good reason Cardinal de la Rochelle, 
 since three years after their writing he reduced that 
 town; thus Scipio was called Africanus for having 
 subjugated that PROVINCE!" Very little was wanting 
 to make Father Joseph, who had necessarily the same 
 feelings, express his indignation in the same terms; 
 for he remembered with bitterness the ridiculous part 
 he had played in the siege of Rochelle, which, though 
 not a province like Africa, had ventured to resist the 
 [118]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 most eminent Cardinal, and into which Father Joseph, 
 piquing himself on his military skill, had proposed 
 to introduce the troops through a sewer. However, 
 he restrained himself, and had time to conceal the 
 libel in the pocket of his brown robe ere the minister 
 had dismissed his young courier and returned to the 
 table. 
 
 "And now to depart, Joseph," he said. "Open 
 the doors to all that court which besieges me, and let 
 us go to the King, who awaits me at Perpignan; this 
 time I have him for good." 
 
 The Capuchin drew back, and immediately the 
 pages, throwing open the gilded doors, announced in 
 succession the greatest lords of the period, who had 
 obtained permission from the King to come and salute 
 the minister. Some, even, under the pretext of illness 
 or business, had departed secretly, in order not to be 
 among the last at Richelieu's reception; and the un- 
 happy monarch found himself almost as alone as 
 other kings find themselves on their deathbeds. But 
 with him, the throne seemed, in the eyes of the court, 
 his dying couch, his reign a continual last agony, and 
 his minister a threatening successor. 
 
 Two pages, of the first families of France, stood at 
 the door, where the ushers announced each of the 
 persons whom Father Joseph had found in the ante- 
 room. The Cardinal, still seated in his great arm- 
 chair, remained motionless as the common couriers 
 entered, inclined his head to the more distinguished, 
 and to princes alone put his hands on the elbows of 
 his chair and slightly rose ; each person, having pro- 
 ["9]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 foundly saluted him, stood before him near the fire- 
 place, waited till he had spoken to him, and then, at a 
 wave of his hand, completed the circuit of the room, 
 and went out by the same door at which he had en- 
 tered, paused for a moment to salute Father Joseph, 
 who aped his master, and who for that reason had 
 been named "his Gray Eminence," and at last quitted 
 the palace, unless, indeed, he remained standing be- 
 hind the chair, if the minister had signified that he 
 should, which was considered a token of very great 
 favor. 
 
 He allowed to pass several insignificant persons, and 
 many whose merits were useless to him; the first 
 whom he stopped in the procession was the Mare- 
 chal d'Estrees, who, about to set out on an embassy 
 to Rome, came to make his adieux; those behind him 
 stopped short. This circumstance warned the court- 
 iers in the anteroom that a longer conversation than 
 usual was on foot, and Father Joseph, advancing to 
 the threshold, exchanged with the Cardinal a glance 
 which seemed to say, on the one side, "Remember the 
 promise you have just made me," on the other, "Set 
 your mind at rest." At the same time, the expert 
 Capuchin let his master see that he held upon his 
 arm one of his victims, whom he was forming into a 
 docile instrument; this was a young gentleman who 
 wore a very short green cloak, a pourpoint of the same 
 color, close-fitting red breeches, with glittering gold 
 garters below the knee the costume of the pages of 
 Monsieur. Father Joseph, indeed, spoke to him se- 
 cretly, but not in the way the Cardinal imagined; for 
 
 [120]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 he contemplated being his equal, and was preparing 
 other connections, in case of defection on the part of 
 the prime minister. 
 
 "Tell Monsieur not to trust in appearances, and 
 that he has no servant more faithful than I. The 
 Cardinal is on the decline, and my conscience tells me 
 to warn against his faults him who may inherit the 
 royal power during the minority. To give your great 
 Prince a proof of my faith, tell him that it is intended 
 to arrest his friend, Puy-Laurens, and that he had 
 better be kept out of the way, or the Cardinal will put 
 him in the Bastille." 
 
 While the servant was thus betraying his master, 
 the master, not to be behindhand with him, betrayed 
 his servant. His self-love, and some remnant of re- 
 spect to the Church, made him shudder at the idea of 
 seeing a contemptible agent invested with the same 
 hat which he himself wore as a crown, and seated as 
 high as himself, except as to the precarious position 
 of minister. Speaking, therefore, in an undertone to 
 the Marechal d'Estrees, he said: 
 
 "It is not necessary to importune Urbain VIII any 
 further in favor of the Capuchin you see yonder; it is 
 enough that his Majesty has deigned to name him for 
 the cardinalate. One can readily conceive the repug- 
 nance of his Holiness to clothe this mendicant in the 
 Roman purple." 
 
 Then, passing on to general matters, he continued: 
 
 "Truly, I know not what can have cooled the Holy 
 Father toward us; what have we done that was not 
 for the glory of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church ? 
 
 [121]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 I myself said the first mass at Rochelle, and you see 
 for yourself, Monsieur le Marechal, that our habit 
 is everywhere; and even in your armies, the Cardinal 
 de la Vallette has commanded gloriously in the palat- 
 inate." 
 
 "And has just made a very fine retreat," said 
 the Mare"chal, laying a slight emphasis upon the 
 word. 
 
 The minister continued, without noticing this little 
 outburst of professional jealousy, and raising his voice, 
 said: 
 
 "God has shown that He did not scorn to send the 
 spirit of victory upon his Levites, for the Due de 
 Weimar did not more powerfully aid in the conquest 
 of Lorraine than did this pious Cardinal, and never 
 was a naval army better commanded than by our 
 Archbishop of Bordeaux at Rochelle." 
 
 It was well known that at this very time the minis- 
 ter was incensed against this prelate, whose haughti- 
 ness was so overbearing, and whose impertinent ebul- 
 litions were so frequent as to have involved him in 
 two very disagreeable affairs at Bordeaux. Four years 
 before, the Due d'Epernon, then governor of Guyenne, 
 followed by all his train and by his troops, meeting 
 him among his clergy in a procession, had called him 
 an insolent fellow, and given him two smart blows 
 with his cane; whereupon the Archbishop had excom- 
 municated him. And again, recently, despite this 
 lesson, he had quarrelled with the Marechal de Vitry, 
 from whom he had received "twenty blows with a 
 cane or stick, which you please," wrote the Cardinal- 
 [122]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 Duke to the Cardinal de la Vallette, "and I think he 
 would like to excommunicate all France." In fact, 
 he did excommunicate the MarechaPs baton, remem- 
 bering that in the former case the Pope had obliged 
 the Due d'Epernon to ask his pardon; but M. Vitry, 
 who had caused the Marechal d'Ancre to be assassi- 
 nated, stood too high at court for that, and the Arch- 
 bishop, in addition to his beating, got well scolded 
 by the minister. 
 
 M. d'Estrees thought, therefore, sagely that there 
 might be some irony in the Cardinal's manner of re- 
 ferring to the warlike talents of the Archbishop, and 
 he answered, with perfect sang-froid: 
 
 "It is true, my lord, no one can say that it was 
 upon the sea he was beaten." 
 
 His Eminence could not restrain a smile at this; 
 but seeing that the electrical effect of that smile had 
 created others in the hall, as well as whisperings and 
 conjectures, he immediately resumed his gravity, and 
 familiarly taking the MarechaPs arm, said: 
 
 "Come, Monsieur PAmbassadeur, you are ready at 
 repartee. With you I*should not fear Cardinal Albor- 
 nos, or all the Borgias in the world no, nor all the 
 efforts of their Spain with the Holy Father." 
 
 Then, raising his voice, and looking around, as if 
 addressing himself to the silent, and, so to speak, cap- 
 tive assembly, he continued: 
 
 "I hope that we shall no more be reproached, as 
 
 formerly, for having formed an alliance with one of 
 
 the greatest men of our day; but as Gustavus Adolphus 
 
 is dead, the Catholic King will no longer have any pre- 
 
 [123]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 text for soliciting the excommunication of the most 
 Christian King. How say you, my dear lord?" ad- 
 dressing himself to the Cardinal de la Vallette, who 
 now approached, fortunately without having heard 
 the late allusion to himself. "Monsieur d'Estrees, 
 remain near our chair; we have still many things to 
 say to you, and you are not one too many in our con- 
 versations, for we have no secrets. Our policy is 
 frank and open to all men; the interest of his Majesty 
 and of the State nothing more." 
 
 The Marechal made a profound bow, fell back be- 
 hind the chair of the minister, and gave place to the 
 Cardinal de la Vallette, who, incessantly bowing and 
 flattering and swearing devotion and entire obedience 
 to the Cardinal, as if to expiate the obduracy of his 
 father, the Due d'Epernon, received in return a few 
 vague words, to no meaning or purpose, the Cardinal 
 all the while looking toward the door, to see who 
 should follow. He had even the mortification to find 
 himself abruptly interrupted by the minister, who 
 cried at the most flattering period of his honeyed dis- 
 course : 
 
 "Ah! is that you at last, my dear Fabert? How I 
 have longed to see you, to talk of the siege!" 
 
 The General, with a brusque and awkward manner, 
 saluted the Cardinal- Generalissimo, and presented to 
 him the officers who had come from the camp with 
 him. He talked some time of the operations of the 
 siege, and the Cardinal seemed to be paying him court 
 now, in order to prepare him afterward for receiving 
 his orders even on the field of battle; he spoke to the 
 [124]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 officers who accompanied him, calling them by their 
 names, and questioning them about the camp. 
 
 They all stood aside to make way for the Due d'An- 
 gouleme that Valois, who, having struggled against 
 Henri IV, now prostrated himself before Richelieu. 
 He solicited a command, having been only third in 
 rank at the siege of Rochelle. After him came young 
 Mazarin, ever supple and insinuating, but already 
 confident in his fortune. 
 
 The Due d'Halluin came after them; the Cardinal 
 broke off the compliments he was addressing to the 
 others, to utter, in a loud voice : 
 
 "Monsieur le Due, I inform you with pleasure that 
 the King has made you a marshal of France; you 
 will sign yourself Schomberg, will you not, at Leucate, 
 delivered, as we hope, by you? But pardon me, here 
 is Monsieur de Montauron, who has doubtless some- 
 thing important to communicate." 
 
 "Oh, no, my lord, I would only say that the poor 
 young man whom you deigned to consider in your 
 service is dying of hunger." 
 
 "Pshaw! at such a moment to speak of things like 
 this! Your little Corneille will not write anything 
 good ; we have only seen Le Cid and Les Horaces 
 as yet. Let him work, let him work! it is known that 
 he is in my service, and that is disagreeable. How- 
 ever, since you interest yourself in the matter, I give 
 him a pension of five hundred crowns on my privy 
 purse." 
 
 The Chancellor of the Exchequer retired, charmed 
 with the liberality of the minister, and went home to 
 [125]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 receive with great affability the dedication of Cinna, 
 wherein the great Corneille compares his soul to that 
 of Augustus, and thanks him for having given alms 
 a quelques Muses. 
 
 The Cardinal, annoyed by this importunity, rose, 
 observing that the day was advancing, and that it 
 was time to set out to visit the King. 
 
 At this moment, and as the greatest noblemen pre- 
 sent were offering their arms to aid him in walking, 
 a man in the robe of a referendary advanced toward 
 him, saluting him with a complacent and confident 
 smile which astonished all the people there, accus- 
 tomed to the great world, seeming to say: "We have 
 secret affairs together; you shall see how agreeable 
 he makes himself to me. I am at home in his cab- 
 inet." His heavy and awkward manner, however, 
 betrayed a very inferior being; it was Laubardemont. 
 
 Richelieu knit his brows when he saw him, and cast 
 a glance at Joseph; then, turning toward those who 
 surrounded him, he said, with bitter scorn : 
 
 "Is there some criminal about us to be appre- 
 hended?" 
 
 Then, turning his back upon the discomfited Lau- 
 bardemont, the Cardinal left him Tedder than his robe, 
 and, preceded by the crowd of personages who were 
 to escort him in carriages or on horseback, he de- 
 scended the great staircase of the palace. 
 
 All the people and the authorities of Narbonne 
 viewed this royal departure with amazement. 
 
 The Cardinal entered alone a spacious square litter, 
 in which he was to travel to Perpignan, his infir- 
 [126]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 mities not permitting him to go in a coach, or to per- 
 form the journey on horseback. This kind of mov- 
 ing chamber contained a bed, a table, and a small 
 chair for the page who wrote or read for him. This 
 machine, covered with purple damask, was carried 
 by eighteen men, who were relieved at intervals of a 
 league; they were selected among his guards, and al- 
 ways performed this service of honor with uncovered 
 heads, however hot or wet the weather might be. The 
 Due d'Angouleme, the Marechals de Schomberg and 
 d'Estrees, Fabert, and other dignitaries were on 
 horseback beside the litter; after them, among the 
 most prominent were the Cardinal de la Vallette and 
 Mazarin, with Chavigny, and the Marechal de Vitry, 
 anxious to avoid the Bastille, with which it was said 
 he was threatened. 
 
 Two coaches followed for the Cardinal's secreta- 
 ries, physicians, and confessor; then eight others, each 
 with four horses, for his gentlemen, and twenty-four 
 mules for his luggage. Two hundred musketeers on 
 foot marched close behind him, and his company of 
 men-at-arms of the guard and his light-horse, all 
 gentlemen, rode before and behind him on splendid 
 horses. 
 
 Such was the equipage in which the prime minister 
 proceeded to Perpignan; the size of the litter often 
 made it necessary to enlarge the roads, and knock 
 down the walls of some of the towns and villages on 
 the way, into which it could not otherwise enter, "so 
 that," say the authors and manuscripts of the time, 
 full of a sincere admiration for all this luxury "so 
 [127]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 that he seemed a conqueror entering by the breach." 
 We have sought in vain with great care in these docu- 
 ments, for any account of proprietors or inhabitants of 
 these dwellings so making room for his passage who 
 shared in this admiration; but we have been unable 
 to find any mention of such. 
 
 [128]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 Mon ge"nie e* tonne tremble devant le sien. 
 
 'HE pompous cortege, of the Cardinal 
 halted at the beginning of the camp. 
 All the armed troops were drawn up 
 in the finest order; and amid the 
 sound of cannon and the music of 
 each regiment the litter traversed a 
 long line of cavalry and infantry, 
 formed from the outermost tent to 
 that of the minister, pitched at some distance from the 
 royal quarters, and which its purple covering distin- 
 guished at a distance. Each general of division ob- 
 tained a nod or a word from the Cardinal, who at 
 length reaching his tent and, dismissing his train, 
 shut himself in, waiting for the time to present him- 
 self to the King. But, before him, every person of 
 his escort had repaired thither individually, and, with- 
 out entering the royal abode, had remained in the long 
 galleries covered with striped stuff, and arranged as 
 became avenues leading to the Prince. The court- 
 iers walking in groups, saluted one another and shook 
 hands, regarding each other haughtily, according to 
 their connections or the lords to whom they belonged. 
 Others whispered together, and showed signs of aston- 
 9 [129]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 ishment, pleasure, or anger, which showed that some- 
 thing extraordinary had taken place. Among a thou- 
 sand others, one singular dialogue occurred in a corner 
 of the principal gallery. 
 
 "May I ask, Monsieur 1'Abbe, why you look at me 
 so fixedly?" 
 
 "Parbleu! Monsieur de Launay, it is because I'm 
 curious to see what you will do. All the world aban- 
 dons your Cardinal-Duke since your journey into Tou- 
 raine; if you do not believe it, go and ask the people 
 of Monsieur or of the Queen. You are behindhand 
 ten minutes by the watch with the Cardinal de la 
 Vallette, who has just shaken hands with Rochefort 
 and the gentlemen of the late Comte de Soissons, whom 
 I shall regret as long as I live." 
 
 "Monsieur de Gondi, I understand you; is it a 
 challenge with which you honor me?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur le Comte," answered the young 
 Abbe, saluting him with all the gravity of the time; 
 "I sought an occasion to challenge you in the name 
 of Monsieur d'Attichi, my friend, with whom you had 
 something to do at Paris." 
 
 "Monsieur 1'Abbe, I am at your command. I will 
 seek my seconds; do you the same." 
 
 "On horseback, with sword and pistol, I suppose?" 
 added Gondi, with the air of a man arranging a party 
 of pleasure, lightly brushing the sleeve of his cassock. 
 
 "If you please," replied the other. And they sepa- 
 rated for a time, saluting one another with the great- 
 est politeness, and with profound bows. 
 
 A brilliant crowd of gentlemen circulated around 
 [130]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 them in the gallery. They mingled with it to procure 
 friends for the occasion. All the elegance of the cos- 
 tumes of the day was displayed by the court that 
 morning small cloaks of every color, in velvet or in 
 satin, embroidered with gold or silver; crosses of St. 
 Michael and of the Holy Ghost; the ruffs, the sweep- 
 ing hat-plumes, the gold shoulder-knots, the chains 
 by which the long swords hung: all glittered and 
 sparkled, yet not so brilliantly as did the fiery glances 
 of those warlike youths, or their sprightly conversa- 
 tion, or their intellectual laughter. Amid the assembly 
 grave personages and great lords passed on, followed 
 by their numerous gentlemen. 
 
 The little Abbe de Gondi, who was very short- 
 sighted, made his way through the crowd, knitting 
 his brows and half shutting his eyes, that he might 
 see the better, and twisting his moustache, for eccle- 
 siastics wore them in those days. He looked closely 
 at every one in order to recognize his friends, and at 
 last stopped before a young man, very tall and dressed 
 in black from head to foot; his sword, even, was of 
 quite dark, bronzed steel. He was talking with a 
 captain of the guards, when the Abbe de Gondi took 
 him aside. 
 
 " Monsieur de Thou," said he, "I need you as my 
 second in an hour, on horseback, with sword and 
 pistol, if you will do me that honor." 
 
 "Monsieur, you know I am entirely at your ser- 
 vice on all occasions. Where shall we meet?" 
 
 11 In front of the Spanish bastion, if you please." 
 
 "Pardon me for returning to a conversation that 
 [131]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 greatly interests me. I will be punctual at the rendez 
 vous." 
 
 And De Thou quitted him to rejoin the Captain. 
 He had said all this in the gentlest of voices with 
 unalterable coolness, and even with somewhat of an 
 abstracted manner. 
 
 The little Abbe squeezed his hand with warm satis- 
 faction, and continued his search. 
 
 He did not so easily effect an agreement with the 
 young lords to whom he addressed himself; for they 
 knew him better than did De Thou, and when they 
 saw him coming they tried to avoid him, or laughed 
 at him openly, and would not promise to serve him. 
 
 "Ah, Abbe! there you are hunting again; I'll swear 
 it's a second you want," said the Due de Beaufort. 
 
 "And I wager," added M. de la Rochefoucauld, 
 "that it's against one of the Cardinal-Duke's people." 
 
 "You are both right, gentlemen; but since when 
 have you laughed at affairs of honor?" 
 
 "The saints forbid I should," said M. de Beaufort. 
 "Men of the sword like us ever reverence tierce, 
 quarte, and octave; but as for the folds of the cas- 
 sock, I know nothing of them." 
 
 "Pardieu! Monsieur, you know well enough that 
 it does not embarrass my wrist, as I will prove to him 
 who chooses; as to the gown itself, I should like to 
 throw it into the gutter. " 
 
 "Is it to tear it that you fight so often?" asked 
 La Rochefoucauld. "But remember, my dear Abbe, 
 that you yourself are within it." 
 
 Gondi turned to look at the clock, wishing to lose 
 l3*l
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 no more time in such sorry jests; but he had no bet- 
 ter success elsewhere. Having stopped two gentle- 
 men in the service of the young Queen, whom he 
 thought ill-affected toward the Cardinal, and con- 
 sequently glad to measure weapons with his creatures, 
 one of them said to him very gravely: 
 
 "Monsieur de Gondi, you know what has just hap- 
 pened; the King has said aloud, 'Whether our im- 
 perious Cardinal wishes it or not, the widow of Henri 
 le Grand shall no longer remain in exile.' Imperious! 
 the King never before said anything so strong as that, 
 Monsieur 1'Abbe, mark that. Imperious! it is open 
 disgrace. Certainly no one will dare to speak to him; 
 no doubt he will quit the court this very day." 
 
 "I have heard this, Monsieur, but I have an 
 affair 
 
 "It is lucky for you he stopped short in the middle 
 of your career. " 
 
 "An affair of honor " 
 
 "Whereas Mazarin is quite a friend of yours." 
 
 "But will you, or will you not, listen to me?" 
 
 "Yes, a friend indeed! your adventures are always 
 uppermost in his thoughts. Your fine duel with Mon- 
 sieur de Coutenan about the pretty little pin-maker, 
 he even spoke of it to the King. Adieu, my dear 
 Abbe, we are in great haste; adieu, adieu!" And, 
 taking his friend's arm, the young mocker, without 
 listening to another word, walked rapidly down the 
 gallery and disappeared in the throng. 
 
 The poor Abbe was much mortified at being able 
 to get only one second, and was watching sadly the
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 passing of the hour and of the crowd, when he per- 
 ceived a young gentleman whom he did not know, 
 seated at a table, leaning on his elbow with a pensive 
 air; he wore mourning which indicated no connection 
 with any great house or party, and appeared to await, 
 without any impatience, the time for attending the 
 King, looking with a heedless air at those who sur- 
 rounded him, and seeming not to notice or to know 
 any of them. 
 
 Gondi looked at him a moment, and accosted him 
 without hesitation: 
 
 "Monsieur, I have not the honor of your acquaint- 
 ance, but a fencing-party can never be unpleasant to 
 a man of honor; and if you will be my second, in a 
 quarter of an hour we shall be on the ground. I am 
 Paul de Gondi; and I have challenged Monsieur de 
 Launay, one of the Cardinal's clique, but in other 
 respects a very gallant fellow." 
 
 The unknown, apparently not at all surprised at 
 this address, replied, without changing his attitude: 
 "And who are his seconds?" 
 
 "Faith, I don't know; but what matters it who 
 serves him? We stand no worse with our friends for 
 having exchanged a thrust with them." 
 
 The stranger smiled nonchalantly, paused for an in- 
 stant to pass his hand through his long chestnut hair, 
 and then said, looking idly at a large, round watch 
 which hung at his waist: 
 
 "Well, Monsieur, as I have nothing better to do, 
 and as I have no friends here, I am with you; it will 
 pass the time as well as anything else." 
 [i34]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 And, taking his large, black-plumed hat from the 
 table, he followed the warlike Abbe, who went quickly 
 before him, often running back to hasten him on, like 
 a child running before his father, or a puppy that goes 
 backward and forward twenty times before it gets to 
 the end of a street. 
 
 Meanwhile, two ushers, attired in the royal livery, 
 opened the great curtains which separated the gallery 
 from the King's tent, and silence reigned. The court- 
 iers began to enter slowly, and in succession, the 
 temporary dwelling of the Prince. He received them 
 all gracefully, and was the first to meet the view of 
 each person introduced. 
 
 Before a very small table surrounded with gilt arm- 
 chairs stood Louis XIII, encircled by the great officers 
 of the crown. His dress was very elegant: a kind of 
 fawn-colored vest, with open sleeves, ornamented with 
 shoulder-knots and blue ribbons, covered him down to 
 the waist. Wide breeches reached to the knee, and 
 the yellow-and-red striped stuff of which they were 
 made was ornamented below with blue ribbons. His 
 riding-boots, reaching hardly more than three inches 
 above the ankle, were turned over, showing so lavish 
 a lining of lace that they seemed to hold it as a vase 
 holds flowers. A small mantle of blue velvet, on which 
 was embroidered the cross of the Holy Ghost, covered 
 the King's left arm, which rested on the hilt of his 
 sword. 
 
 His head was uncovered, and his pale and noble 
 face was distinctly visible, lighted by the sun, which 
 penetrated through the top of the tent. The small,
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 pointed beard then worn augmented the appearance 
 of thinness in his face, while it added to its melancholy 
 expression. By his lofty brow, his classic profile, his 
 aquiline nose, he was at once recognized as a prince 
 of the great race of Bourbon. He had all the char- 
 acteristic traits of his ancestors except their penetrat- 
 ing glance; his eyes seemed red from weeping, and 
 veiled with a perpetual drowsiness; and the weakness of 
 his vision gave him a somewhat vacant look. 
 
 He called around him, and was attentive to, the 
 greatest enemies of the Cardinal, whom he expected 
 every moment; and, balancing himself with one foot 
 over the other, an hereditary habit of his family, he 
 spoke quickly, but pausing from time to time to make 
 a gracious inclination of the head, or a gesture of the 
 hand, to those who passed before him with low rev- 
 erences. 
 
 The court had been thus paying its respects to the 
 King for two hours before the Cardinal appeared; 
 the whole court stood in close ranks behind the Prince, 
 and in the long galleries which extended from his 
 tent. Already longer intervals elapsed between the 
 names of the courtiers who were announced. 
 
 "Shall we not see our cousin the Cardinal?" said 
 the King, turning, and looking at Montresor, one of 
 Monsieur's gentlemen, as if to encourage him to 
 answer. 
 
 "He is said to be very ill just now, Sire," was the 
 answer. 
 
 "And yet I do not see how any but your Majesty 
 can cure him," said the Due de Beaufort. 
 [136]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "We cure nothing but the king's evil," replied Lou- 
 is; "and the complaints of the Cardinal are always 
 so mysterious that we own we can not understand 
 them." 
 
 The Prince thus essayed to brave his minister, gain- 
 ing strength in jests, the better to break his yoke, in- 
 supportable, but so difficult to remove. He almost 
 thought he had succeeded in this, and, sustained by 
 the joyous air surrounding him, he already privately 
 congratulated himself on having been able to assume 
 the supreme empire, and for the moment enjoyed all 
 the power of which he fancied himself possessed. An 
 involuntary agitation in the depth of his heart had 
 warned him indeed that, the hour passed, all the bur- 
 den of the State would fall upon himself alone ; but he 
 talked in order to divert the troublesome thought, and, 
 concealing from himself the doubt he had of his own 
 inability to reign, he set his imagination to work upon 
 the result of his enterprises, thus forcing himself to 
 forget the tedious roads which had led to them. Rapid 
 phrases succeeded one another on his lips. 
 
 "We shall soon take Perpignan, " he said to Fabert, 
 who stood at some distance. 
 
 "Well, Cardinal, Lorraine is ours," he added to La 
 Vallette. Then, touching Mazarin's arm: 
 
 "It is not so difficult to manage a State as is sup- 
 posed, eh?" 
 
 The Italian, who was not so sure of the Cardinal's 
 disgrace as most of the courtiers, answered, without 
 compromising himself: 
 
 "Ah, Sire, the late successes of your Majesty at 
 [i37j
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 home and abroad prove your sagacity in choosing your 
 instruments and in directing them, and 
 
 But the Due de Beaufort, interrupting him with 
 that self-confidence, that loud voice and overbearing 
 air, which subsequently procured him the surname of 
 Important, cried out, vehemently: 
 
 "Pardieu! Sire, it needs only to will. A nation is 
 driven like a horse, with spur and bridle; and as we 
 are all good horsemen, ydur Majesty has only to 
 choose among us." 
 
 This fine sally had not tune to take effect, for two 
 ushers cried, simultaneously, "His Eminence!" 
 
 The King's face flushed involuntarily, as if he had 
 been surprised en flagrant delit. But immediately gain- 
 ing confidence, he assumed an air of resolute haugh- 
 tiness, which was not lost upon the minister. 
 
 The latter, attired in all the pomp of a cardinal, 
 leaning upon two young pages, and followed by his 
 captain of the guards and more than five hundred 
 gentlemen attached to his house, advanced toward the 
 King slowly and pausing at each step, as if forced to 
 it by his sufferings, but in reality to observe the faces 
 before him. A glance sufficed. 
 
 His suite remained at the entrance of the royal tent; 
 of all those within it, not one was bold enough to sa- 
 lute him, or to look toward him. Even La Vallette 
 feigned to be occupied in a conversation with Mon- 
 tresor; and the King, who desired to give him an un- 
 favorable reception, greeted him lightly and continued 
 a private conversation in a low voice with the Due de 
 Beaufort. 
 
 [138]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 The Cardinal was therefore forced, after the first 
 salute, to stop and pass to the side of the crowd of 
 courtiers, as if he wished to mingle with them, but in 
 reality to test them more closely; they all recoiled as 
 at the sight of a leper. Fabert alone advanced toward 
 him with the frank, brusque air habitual with him, 
 and, making use of the terms belonging to his pro- 
 fession, said: 
 
 "Well, my lord, you make a breach in the midst of 
 them like a cannon-ball; I ask pardon in their name." 
 
 "And you stand firm before me as before the 
 enemy," said the Cardinal; "you will have no cause 
 to regret it in the end, my dear Fabert." 
 
 Mazarin also approached the Cardinal, but with 
 caution, and, giving to his mobile features an expres- 
 sion of profound sadness, made him five or six very 
 low bows, turning his back to the group gathered 
 around the King, so that in the latter quarter they 
 might be taken for those cold and hasty salutations 
 which are made to a person one desires to be rid of, 
 and, on the part of the Duke, for tokens of respect, 
 blended with a discreet and silent sorrow. 
 
 The minister, ever calm, smiled disdainfully; and, 
 assuming that firm look and that air of grandeur which 
 he always wore in the hour of danger, he again leaned 
 upon his pages, and, without waiting for a word or 
 a glance from his sovereign, he suddenly resolved up- 
 on his line of conduct, and walked directly toward 
 him, traversing the whole length of the tent. No one 
 had lost sight of him, although all affected not to 
 observe him. Every one now became silent, even 
 [i39]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 those who were conversing with the King. All the 
 courtiers bent forward to see and to hear. 
 
 Louis XIII turned toward him in astonishment, 
 and, all presence of mind totally failing him, remained 
 motionless and waited with an icy glance his sole 
 force, but a force very effectual in a prince. 
 
 The Cardinal, on coming close to the monarch, did 
 not bow; and, without changing his attitude, with his 
 eyes lowered and his hands placed on the shoulders 
 of the two boys half bending, he said: 
 
 "Sire, I come to implore your Majesty at length to 
 grant me the retirement for which I have long sighed. 
 My health is failing; I feel that my life will soon be 
 ended. Eternity approaches me, and before render- 
 ing an account to the eternal King, I would render 
 one to my earthly sovereign. It is eighteen years, 
 Sire, since you placed in my hands a weak and divided 
 kingdom; I return it to you united and powerful. 
 Your enemies are overthrown and humiliated. My 
 work is accomplished. I ask your Majesty's permis- 
 sion to retire to Citeaux, of which I am abbot, and 
 where I may end my days in prayer and medita- 
 tion." 
 
 The King, irritated by some haughty expressions in 
 this address, showed none of the signs of weakness 
 which the Cardinal had expected, and which he had 
 always seen in him when he had threatened to resign 
 the management of affairs. On the contrary, feeling 
 that he had the eyes of the whole court upon him, 
 Louis looked upon him with the air of a king, and 
 coldly replied: 
 
 [140]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "We thank you, then, for your services, Monsieur 
 le Cardinal, and wish you the repose you desire." 
 
 Richelieu was deeply moved, but no indication of 
 his anger appeared upon his countenance. "Such 
 was the coldness with which you left Montmorency to 
 die," he said to himself; "but you shall not escape 
 me thus." He then continued aloud, bowing at the 
 same time: 
 
 "The only recompense I ask for my services is that 
 your Majesty will deign to accept from me, as a gift, 
 the Palais-Cardinal I have erected at my own expense 
 in Paris." 
 
 The King, astonished, bowed his assent. A mur- 
 mur of surprise for a moment agitated the attentive 
 court. 
 
 "I also throw myself at your Majesty's feet, to beg 
 that you will grant me the revocation of an act of 
 rigor, which I solicited (I publicly confess it), and 
 which I perhaps regarded too hastily beneficial to the 
 repose of the State. Yes, when I was of this world, 
 I was too forgetful of my early sentiments of personal 
 respect and attachment, in my eagerness for the pub- 
 lic welfare ; but now that I already enjoy the enlighten- 
 ment of solitude, I see that I have done wrong, and I 
 repent." 
 
 The attention of the spectators was redoubled, and 
 the uneasiness of the King became visible. 
 
 "Yes, there is one person, Sire, whom I have al- 
 ways loved, despite her wrong toward you, and the 
 banishment which the affairs of the kingdom forced me 
 to bring about for her; a person to whom I have
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 owed much, and who should be very dear to you, 
 no withstanding her armed attempts against you; a 
 person, in a word, whom I implore you to recall 
 from exile the Queen Marie de Medicis, your 
 mother!" 
 
 The King uttered an involuntary exclamation, so 
 little did he expect to hear that name. A repressed 
 agitation suddenly appeared upon every face. All 
 waited in silence the King's reply. Louis XIII looked 
 for a long time at his old minister without speaking, 
 and this look decided the fate of France; in that in- 
 stant he called to mind all the indefatigable services 
 of Richelieu, his unbounded devotion, his wonderful 
 capacity, and was surprised at himself for having 
 wished to part with him. He felt deeply affected at 
 this request, which had probed for the exact cause of 
 his anger at the bottom of his heart, and uprooted it, 
 thus taking from his hands the only weapon he had 
 against his old servant. Filial love brought words of 
 pardon to his lips and tears into his eyes. Rejoicing to 
 grant what he desired most of all things in the world, 
 he extended his hands to the Duke with all the no- 
 bleness and kindliness of a Bourbon. The Cardinal 
 bowed and respectfully kissed it ; and his heart, which 
 should have burst with remorse, only swelled in the 
 joy of a haughty triumph. 
 
 The King, deeply touched; abandoning his hand to 
 him, turned gracefully toward his court and said, with 
 a trembling voice: 
 
 "We often deceive ourselves, gentlemen, and espe- 
 cially in our knowledge of so great a politician as this. 
 [142]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 I hope he will never leave us, since his heart is as 
 good as his head." 
 
 Cardinal de la Vallette instantly seized the sleeve 
 of the King's mantle, and kissed it with all the ardor 
 of a lover, and the young Mazarin did much the same 
 with Richelieu himself, assuming, with admirable 
 Italian suppleness, an expression radiant with joy and 
 tenderness. Two streams of flatterers hastened, one 
 toward the King, the other toward the minister; the 
 former group, not less adroit than the second, although 
 less direct, addressed to the Prince thanks which could 
 be heard by the minister, and burned at the feet of 
 the one incense which was intended for the other. 
 As for Richelieu, bowing and smiling to right and 
 left, he stepped forward and stood at the right hand 
 of the King as his natural place. A stranger entering 
 would rather have thought, indeed, that it was the, 
 King who was on the Cardinal's left hand. The 
 Marechal d'Estrees, all the ambassadors, the Due 
 d'Angouleme, the Due d'Halluin (Schomberg), the 
 Marechal de Chatillon, and all the great officers of 
 the crown surrounded him, each waiting impatiently 
 for the compliments of the others to be finished, in 
 order to pay his own, fearing lest some one else should 
 anticipate him with the flattering epigram he had 
 just improvised, or the phrase of adulation he was 
 inventing. 
 
 As for Fabert, he had retired to a corner of the tent, 
 and seemed to have paid no particular attention to the 
 scene. He was chatting with Montre"sor and the 
 gentlemen of Monsieur, all sworn enemies of the Car-
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 dinal, because, out of the throng he avoided, he had 
 found none but these to speak to. This conduct would 
 have seemed extremely tactless in one less known; 
 but although he lived in the midst of the court, he was 
 ever ignorant of its intrigues. It was said of him 
 that he returned from a battle he had gained, like the 
 King's hunting-horse, leaving the dogs to caress their 
 master and divide the quarry, without seeking even 
 to remember the part he had had in the triumph. 
 
 The storm, then, seemed entirely appeased, and to 
 the violent agitations of the morning succeeded a 
 gentle calm. A respectful murmur, varied with pleas- 
 ant laughter and protestations of attachment, was all 
 that was heard in the tent. The voice of the Car- 
 dinal arose from time to time: "The poor Queen! 
 We shall, then, soon again see her! I never had dared 
 to hope for such happiness while I lived!" The King 
 listened to him with full confidence, a'nd made no 
 attempt to conceal his satisfaction. "It was assuredly 
 an idea sent to him from on high," he said; "this 
 good Cardinal, against whom they had so incensed 
 me, was thinking only of the union of my family. 
 Since the birth of the Dauphin I have not tasted greater 
 joy than at this moment. The protection of the Holy 
 Virgin is manifested over our kingdom." 
 
 At this moment, a captain of the guards came up 
 and whispered in the King's ear. 
 
 "A courier from Cologne?" said the King; "let 
 him wait in my cabinet." 
 
 Then, unable to restrain his impatience, "I will go! 
 I will go!" he said, and entered alone a small, square 
 [i44]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 tent attached to the larger one. In it he saw a young 
 courier holding a black portfolio, and the curtains 
 closed upon the King. 
 
 The Cardinal, left sole master of the court, concen- 
 trated all its homage; but it was observed that he no 
 longer received it with his former presence of mind. 
 He inquired frequently what time it was, and exhibited 
 an anxiety which was not assumed; his hard, unquiet 
 glances turned toward the smaller tent. It suddenly 
 opened; the King appeared alone, and stopped on 
 the threshold. He was paler than usual, and trem- 
 bled in every limb; he held in his hand a large letter 
 with five black seals. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, in a loud but broken voice, 
 "the Queen has just died at Cologne; and I perhaps 
 am not the first to hear of it," he added, casting a 
 severe look toward the impassible Cardinal, "but God 
 knows all! To horse in an hour, and attack the 
 lines! Marechals, follow me." And he turned his 
 back abruptly, and reentered his cabinet with them. 
 
 The court retired after the minister, who, without 
 giving any sign of sorrow or annoyance, went forth 
 as gravely as he had entered, but now a victor. 
 
 10
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE SIEGE 
 
 II papa, alzato le mani e fattomi un patente crocione supra 
 la mia figura, mi disse, che mi benediva e che mi perdonava tutti 
 gli omicidii che io avevo mai fatti, et tutti quelli che mai io farei 
 in servizio della Chiesa apostolica. BENVENUTO CELLINI. 
 
 ^HERE are moments in our life when 
 we long ardently for strong excite- 
 ment to drown our petty griefs 
 times when the soul, like the lion in 
 the fable, wearied with the continual 
 attacks of the gnat, earnestly desires 
 a mightier enemy and real danger. 
 Cinq-Mars found himself in this con- 
 dition of mind, which always results from a morbid 
 sensibility in the organic constitution and a perpetual 
 agitation of the heart. Weary of continually turning 
 over in his mind a combination of the events which 
 he desired, and of those which he dreaded; weary of 
 calculating his chances to the best of his power; of 
 summoning to his assistance all that his education had 
 taught him concerning the lives of illustrious men, in 
 order to compare it with his present situation; op- 
 pressed by his regrets, his dreams, predictions, fancies, 
 and all that imaginary world in which he had lived dur- 
 ing his solitary journey he breathed freely upon find- 
 [146!
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 ing himself thrown into a real world almost as full of 
 agitation; and the realizing of two actual dangers 
 restored circulation to his blood, and youth to his 
 whole being. 
 
 Since the nocturnal scene at the inn near Loudun, 
 he had not been able to resume sufficient empire over 
 his mind to occupy himself with anything save his 
 cherished though sad reflections; and consumption 
 was already threatening him, when happily he arrived 
 at the camp of Perpignan, and happily also had the 
 opportunity of accepting the proposition of the Abbe 
 de Gondi for the reader has no doubt recognized 
 Cinq-Mars in the person of that young stranger in 
 mourning, so careless and so melancholy, whom the 
 duellist in the cassock invited to be his second. 
 
 He had ordered his tent to be pitched as a volunteer 
 in the street of the camp assigned to the young noble- 
 men who were to be presented to the King and were 
 to serve as aides-de-camp to the Generals; he soon 
 repaired thither, and was quickly armed, horsed, and 
 cuirassed, according to the custom of the time, and 
 set out alone for the Spanish bastion, the place of 
 rendezvous. He was the first arrival, and found that 
 a small plot of turf, hidden among the works of the 
 besieged place, had been well chosen by the little 
 Abbe for his homicidal purposes; for besides the 
 probability that no one would have suspected officers 
 of engaging in a duel immediately beneath the town 
 which they were attacking, the body of the bastion 
 separated them from the French camp, and would 
 conceal them like an immense screen. It was wise 
 [i47]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 to take these precautions, for at that time it cost a 
 man his head to give himself the satisfaction of risking 
 his body. 
 
 While waiting for his friends and his adversaries, 
 Cinq-Mars had time to examine the southern side of 
 Perpignan, before which he stood. He had heard 
 that these works were not those which were to be 
 attacked, and he tried in vain to account for the be- 
 sieger's projects. Between this southern face of the 
 town, the mountains of Albere, and the Col du Per- 
 thus, there might have been advantageous lines of 
 attack, and redoubts against the accessible point; 
 but not a single soldier was stationed there. All the 
 forces seemed directed upon the north of Perpignan, 
 upon the most difficult side, against a brick fort called 
 the Castillet, which surmounted the gate of Notre- 
 Dame. He discovered that a piece of ground, ap- 
 parently marshy, but in reality very solid, led up to the 
 very foot of the Spanish bastion; that this post was 
 guarded with true Castilian negligence, although its 
 sole strength lay entirely in its defenders; for its bat- 
 tlements, almost in ruin, were furnished with four 
 pieces of cannon of enormous calibre, embedded in 
 the turf, and thus rendered immovable, and impossible 
 to be directed against a troop advancing rapidly to the 
 foot of the wall. 
 
 It was easy to see that these enormous pieces had 
 discouraged the besiegers from attacking this point, 
 and had kept the besieged from any idea of addition 
 to its means of defence. Thus, on the one side, the 
 vedettes and advanced posts were at a distance, and 
 [148]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 on the other, the sentinels were few and ill supported. 
 A young Spaniard, carrying a long gun, with its rest 
 suspended at his side and the burning match in his 
 right hand, who was walking with nonchalance upon 
 the rampart, stopped to look at Cinq-Mars, who was 
 riding about the ditches and moats. 
 
 "Senor caballero," he cried, "are you going to take 
 the bastion by yourself on horseback, like Don Qui- 
 xote Quixada de la Mancha?" 
 
 At the same time he detached from his side the 
 iron rest, planted it in the ground, and supported upon 
 it the barrel of his gun in order to take aim, when a 
 grave and older Spaniard, enveloped in a dirty brown 
 cloak, said to him in his own tongue: 
 
 "Ambrosio de demonio, do you not know that it is 
 forbidden to throw away powder uselessly, before 
 sallies or attacks are made, merely to have the pleasure 
 of killing a boy not worth your match ? It was in this 
 very place that Charles the Fifth threw the sleeping 
 sentinel into the ditch and drowned him. Do your 
 duty, or I shall follow his example." 
 
 Ambrosio replaced the gun upon his shoulder, the 
 rest at his side, and continued his walk upon the ram- 
 part. 
 
 Cinq-Mars had been little alarmed at this menacing 
 gesture, contenting himself with tightening the reins 
 of his horse and bringing the spurs close to his sides, 
 knowing that with a single leap of the nimble animal 
 he should be carried behind the wall of a hut which 
 stood near by, and should thus be sheltered from the 
 Spanish fusil before the operation of the fork and
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 match could be completed. He knew, too, that a 
 tacit convention between the two armies prohibited 
 marksmen from firing upon the sentinels; each party 
 would have regarded it as assassination. The soldier 
 who had thus prepared to attack Cinq-Mars must 
 have been ignorant of this understanding. Young 
 D'Effiat, therefore, made no visible movement; and 
 when the sentinel had resumed his walk upon the 
 rampart, he again betook himself to his ride upon the 
 turf, and presently saw five cavaliers directing their 
 course toward him. The first two, who came on at 
 full gallop, did not salute him, but, stopping close to 
 him, leaped to the ground, and he found himself in 
 the arms of the Counsellor de Thou, who embraced 
 him tenderly, while the little Abbe de Gondi, laughing 
 heartily, cried: 
 
 "Behold another Orestes recovering his Pylades, 
 and at the moment of immolating a rascal who is not 
 of the family of the King of kings, I assure you." 
 
 "What! is it you, my dear Cinq-Mars?" cried De 
 Thou; "and I knew not of your arrival in the camp! 
 Yes, it is indeed you; I recognize you, although you 
 are very pale. Have you been ill, my dear friend? 
 I have often written to you; for my boyish friendship 
 has always remained in my heart." 
 
 "And I," answered Henri d'Effiat, "I have been 
 very culpable toward you; but I will relate to you all 
 the causes of my neglect. I can speak of them, but 
 I was ashamed to write them. But how good you 
 are! Your friendship has never relaxed." 
 
 "I knew you too well," replied De Thou; "I knew 
 [150]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 that there could be no real coldness between us, and 
 that my soul had its echo in yours." 
 
 With these words they embraced once more, their 
 eyes moist with those sweet tears which so seldom 
 flow in one's life, but with which it seems, nevertheless, 
 the heart is always charged, so much relief do they 
 give in flowing. 
 
 This moment was short ; and during these few words, 
 Gondi had been pulling them by their cloaks, saying: 
 
 "To horse! to horse, gentlemen! Pardieu! you will 
 have time enough to embrace, if you are so affection- 
 ate; but do not delay. Let our first thought be to 
 have done with our good friends who will soon arrive. 
 We are in a fine position, with those three villains 
 there before us, the archers close by, and the Spaniards 
 up yonder! We shall be under three fires." 
 
 He was still speaking, when De Launay, finding 
 himself at about sixty paces from his opponents, with 
 his seconds, who were chosen from his own friends 
 rather than from among the partisans of the Cardinal, 
 put his horse to a canter, advanced gracefully toward 
 his young adversaries, and gravely saluted them. 
 
 "Gentlemen, I think that we shall do well to select 
 our men, and to take the field; for there is talk of 
 attacking the lines, and I must be at my post." 
 
 "We are ready, Monsieur," said Cinq-Mars; "and 
 as for selecting opponents, I shall be very glad to 
 become yours, for I have not forgotten the Marechal 
 de Bassompierre and the wood of Chaumont. You 
 know my opinion concerning your insolent visit to 
 my mother." 
 
 [151]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "You are very young, Monsieur. In regard to 
 Madame, your mother, I fulfilled the duties of a man 
 of the world; toward the Marechal, those of a captain 
 of the guard; here, those of a gentleman toward Mon- 
 sieur 1'Abbe*, who has challenged me; afterward I 
 shall have that honor with you." 
 
 "If I permit you," said the Abbe, who was already 
 on horseback. 
 
 They took sixty paces of ground all that was 
 afforded them by the extent of the meadow that en- 
 closed them. The Abbe" de Gondi was stationed 
 between De Thou and his friend, who sat nearest 
 the ramparts, upon which two Spanish officers and 
 a score of soldiers stood, as in a balcony, to wit- 
 ness this duel of six persons a spectacle common 
 enough to them. They showed the same signs of joy 
 as at their bull-fights, and laughed with that savage 
 and bitter laugh which their temperament derives 
 from their admixture of Arab blood. 
 
 At a sign from Gondi, the six horses set off at full 
 gallop, and met, without coming in contact, in the 
 middle of the arena; at that instant, six pistol-shots 
 were heard almost together, and the smoke covered 
 the combatants. 
 
 When it dispersed, of the six cavaliers and six horses 
 but three men and three animals were on their legs. 
 Cinq-Mars was on horseback, giving his hand to his 
 adversary, as calm as himself; at the other end of 
 the field, De Thou stood by his opponent, whose horse 
 he had killed, and whom he was helping to rise. As 
 for Gondi and De Launay, neither was to be seen.
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 Cinq-Mars, looking about for them anxiously, per- 
 ceived the Abbe's horse, which, caracoling and cur- 
 vetting, was dragging after him the future cardinal, 
 whose foot was caught in the stirrup, and who was 
 swearing as if he had never studied anything but the 
 language of the camp. His nose and hands were 
 stained and bloody with his fall and with his efforts 
 to seize the grass; and he was regarding with con- 
 siderable dissatisfaction his horse, which in spite of 
 himself he irritated with his spurs, making its way to 
 the trench, filled with water, which surrounded the 
 bastion, when, happily, Cinq-Mars, passing between 
 the edge of the swamp and the animal, seized its bridle 
 and stopped its career. 
 
 "Well, my dear Abbe, I see that no great harm 
 has come to you, for you speak with decided energy." 
 
 "Corbleu /" cried Gondi, wiping the dust out of his 
 eyes, "to fire a pistol in the face of that giant I had 
 to lean forward and rise in my stirrups, and thus I 
 lost my balance; but I fancy that he is down, too." 
 
 "You are right, sir," said De Thou, coming up; 
 "there is his horse swimming in the ditch with its 
 master, whose brains are blown out. We must think 
 now of escaping," 
 
 " Escaping! That, gentlemen, will be rather difficult, " 
 said the adversary of Cinq-Mars, approaching. "Hark! 
 there is the cannon-shot, the signal for the attack. 
 I did not expect it would have been given so soon. 
 If we return we shall meet the Swiss and the foot- 
 soldiers, who are marching in this direction." 
 
 "Monsieur de Fontrailles says well," said De Thou; 
 [i53]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "but if we do not return, here are these Spaniards, 
 who are running to arms, and whose balls we shall 
 presently have whistling about our heads." 
 
 "Well, let us hold a council," said Gondi; "sum- 
 mon Monsieur de Montresor, who is uselessly occupied 
 in searching for the body of poor De Launay. You 
 have not wounded him, Monsieur De Thou?" 
 
 "No, Monsieur 1'Abbe; not every one has so good 
 an aim as you," said Montresor, bitterly, limping from 
 his fall. "We shall not have time to continue with 
 the sword." 
 
 "As to continuing, I will not consent to it, gentle- 
 men," said Fontrailles; "Monsieur de Cinq-Mars 
 has behaved too nobly toward me. My pistol went 
 off too soon, and his was at my very cheek I feel 
 the coldness of it now but he had the generosity to 
 withdraw it and fire in the air. I shall not forget 
 it; and I am his in life and in death." 
 
 "We must think of other things now," interrupted 
 Cinq-Mars; "a ball has just whistled past my ear. 
 The attack has begun on all sides; and we are sur- 
 rounded by friends and by enemies." 
 
 In fact, the cannonading was general; the citadel, 
 the town, and the army were covered with smoke. 
 The bastion before them as yet was unassailed, and 
 its guards seemed less eager to defend it than to ob- 
 serve the fate of the other fortifications. 
 
 "I believe that the enemy has made a sally," said 
 Montresor, "for the smoke has cleared from the plain, 
 and I see masses of cavalry charging under the pro- 
 tection of the battery." 
 
 [i54]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Cinq-Mars, who had not ceased 
 to observe the walls, "there is a very decided part 
 which we could take, an important share in this 
 we might enter this ill-guarded bastion." 
 
 "An excellent idea, Monsieur," said Fontrailles; 
 "but we are but five against at least thirty, and are 
 in plain sight and easily counted." 
 
 "Faith, the idea is not bad," said Gondi; "it is 
 better to be shot up there than hanged down here, as 
 we shall be if we are found, for De Launay must be 
 already missed by his company, and all the court 
 knows of our quarrel." 
 
 "Parbleu! gentlemen," said Montresor, "help is 
 coming to us." 
 
 A numerous troop of horse, in great disorder, ad- 
 vanced toward them at full gallop; their red uniform 
 made them visible from afar. It seemed to be their 
 intention to halt on the very ground on which were 
 our embarrassed duellists, for hardly had the first 
 cavalier reached it when cries of "Halt!" were re- 
 peated and prolonged by the voices of the chiefs who 
 were mingled with their cavaliers. 
 
 "Let us go to them; these are the men-at-arms of 
 the King's guard," said Fontrailles. "I recognize 
 them by their black cockades. I see also many of 
 the light-horse with them; let us mingle in the disorder, 
 for I fancy they are ramenes." 
 
 This is a polite phrase signifying in military lan- 
 guage "put to rout." All five advanced toward the 
 noisy and animated troops, and found that this con- 
 jecture was right. But instead of the consternation
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 which one might expect in such a case, they found 
 nothing but a youthful and rattling gayety, and heard 
 only bursts of laughter from the two companies. 
 
 "Ah, pardieu ! Cahuzac," said one, "your horse 
 runs better than mine; I suppose you have exercised 
 it in the King's hunts!" 
 
 "Ah, I see, 'twas that we might be the sooner rallied 
 that you arrived here first," answered the other. 
 
 "I think the Marquis de Coislin must be mad, to 
 make four hundred of us charge eight Spanish regi- 
 ments." 
 
 "Ha! ha! Locmaria, your plume is a fine ornament; 
 it looks like a weeping willow. If we follow that, it 
 will be to our burial." 
 
 "Gentlemen, I said to you before," angrily replied 
 the young officer, "that I was sure that Capuchin 
 Joseph, who meddles in everything, was mistaken in 
 telling us to charge, upon the part of the Cardinal. 
 But would you have been satisfied if those who have 
 the honor of commanding you had refused to charge?" 
 
 "No, no, no!" answered all the young men, at the 
 same time forming themselves quickly into ranks. 
 
 "I said," interposed the old Marquis de Coislin, 
 who, despite his white head, had all the fire of youth 
 in his eyes, "that if you were commanded to mount 
 to the assault on horseback, you would do it." 
 
 "Bravo! bravo!" cried all the men-at-arms, clap- 
 ping their hands. 
 
 "Well, Monsieur le Marquis," said Cinq-Mars, ap- 
 proaching, "here is an opportunity to execute what 
 you have promised. I am only a volunteer; but an
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 instant ago these gentlemen and I examined this bas- 
 tion, and I believe that it is possible to take it." 
 
 "Monsieur, we must first examine the ditch to 
 see " 
 
 At this moment a ball from the rampart of which 
 they were speaking struck in the head the horse of 
 the old captain, laying it low. 
 
 "Locmaria, De Mouy, take the command, and to 
 the assault!" cried the two noble companies, believing 
 their leader dead. 
 
 "Stop a moment, gentlemen," said old Coislin, 
 rising, "I will lead you, if you please. Guide us, 
 Monsieur volunteer, for the Spaniards invite us to 
 this ball, and we must reply politely." 
 
 Hardly had the old man mounted another horse, 
 which one of his men brought him, and drawn his 
 sword, when, without awaiting his order, all these 
 ardent youths, preceded by Cinq-Mars and his friends, 
 whose horses were urged on by the squadrons behind, 
 had thrown themselves into the morass, wherein, to 
 their great astonishment and to that of the Spaniards, 
 who had counted too much upon its depth, the horses 
 were in the water only up to their hams; and in spite 
 of a discharge of grape-shot from the two largest 
 pieces, all reached pell-mell a strip of land at the foot 
 of the half-ruined ramparts. In the ardor of the rush, 
 Cinq-Mars and Fontrailles, with the young Locmaria, 
 forced their horses upon the rampart itself; but a 
 brisk fusillade killed the three animals, which rolled 
 over their masters. 
 
 "Dismount all, gentlemen!" cried old Coislin; 
 [i57]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "forward with pistol and sword! Abandon your 
 horses!" 
 
 All obeyed instantly, and threw themselves in a 
 mass upon the breach. 
 
 Meantime, De Thou, whose coolness never quitted 
 him any more than his friendship, had not lost sight 
 of the young Henri, and had received him in his arms 
 when his horse fell. He helped him to rise, restored to 
 him his sword, which he had dropped, and said to him, 
 with the greatest calmness, notwithstanding the balls 
 which rained on all sides: 
 
 "My friend, do I not appear very ridiculous amid 
 all this skirmish, in my costume of Counsellor in Par- 
 liament?" 
 
 "Parbleu!" said Montresor, advancing, "here's the 
 Abbe, who quite justifies you." 
 
 And, in fact, little Gondi, pushing on among the 
 light horsemen, was shouting, at the top of his voice: 
 "Three duels and an assault. I hope to get rid of 
 my cassock at last!" 
 
 Saying this, he cut and thrust at a tall Spaniard. 
 
 The defence was not long. The Castilian soldiers 
 were no match for the French officers, and not one of 
 them had time or courage to recharge his carbine. 
 
 "Gentlemen, we will relate this to our mistresses 
 in Paris," said Locmaria, throwing his hat into the 
 air; and Cinq-Mars, De Thou, Coislin, De Mouy, 
 Londigny, officers of the red companies, and all the 
 young noblemen, with swords in their right hands and 
 pistols in their left, dashing, pushing, and doing each 
 other by their eagerness as much harm as they did
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 the enemy, finally rushed upon the platform of the 
 bastion, as water poured from a vase, of which the 
 opening is too small, leaps out in interrupted gushes. 
 
 Disdaining to occupy themselves with the van- 
 quished soldiers, who cast themselves at their feet, 
 they left them to look about the fort, without even dis- 
 arming them, and began to examine their conquest, 
 like schoolboys in vacation, laughing with all their 
 hearts, as if they were at a pleasure-party. 
 
 A Spanish officer, enveloped in his brown cloak, 
 watched them with a sombre air. 
 
 "What demons are these, Ambrosio?" said he to 
 a soldier. "I never have met with any such before 
 in France. If Louis XIII has an entire army thus 
 composed, it is very good of him not to conquer all 
 Europe." 
 
 "Oh, I do not believe they are very numerous; 
 they must be some poor adventurers, who have noth- 
 ing to lose and all to gain by pillage." 
 
 "You are right," said the officer; "I will try to per- 
 suade one of them to let me escape." 
 
 And slowly approaching, he accosted a young light- 
 horseman, of about eighteen, who was sitting apart 
 from his comrades upon the parapet. He had the 
 pink-and-white complexion of a young girl; his del- 
 icate hand held an embroidered handkerchief, with 
 which he wiped his forehead and his golden locks 
 He was consulting a large, round watch set with rubies, 
 suspended from his girdle by a knot of ribbons. 
 
 The astonished Spaniard paused. Had he not seen 
 this youth overthrow his soldiers, he would not have 
 [i59]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 believed him capable of anything beyond singing a 
 romance, reclined upon a couch. But, filled with 
 the suggestion of Ambrosio, he thought that he might 
 have stolen these objects of luxury in the pillage of 
 the apartments of a woman; so, going abruptly up to 
 him, he said: 
 
 "H ombre! I am an officer; will you restore me to 
 liberty, that I may once more see my country?" 
 
 The young Frenchman looked at him with the gen- 
 tle expression of his age, and, thinking of his own 
 family, he said: 
 
 "Monsieur, I will present you to the Marquis de 
 Coislin, who will, I doubt not, grant your request; 
 is your family of Castile or of Aragon?" 
 
 "Your Coislin will ask the permission of somebody 
 else, and will make me wait a year. I will give you 
 four thousand ducats if you will let me escape." 
 
 That gentle face, those girlish features, became in- 
 fused with the purple of fury; those blue eyes shot 
 forth lightning; and, exclamining, "Money to me! 
 away, fool!" the young man gave the Spaniard a 
 ringing box on the ear. The latter, without hesitating, 
 drew a long poniard from his breast, and, seizing the 
 arm of the Frenchman, thought to plunge it easily into 
 his heart; but, nimble and vigorous, the youth caught 
 him by the right arm, and, lifting it with force above 
 his head, sent it back with the weapon it held upon the 
 head of the Spaniard, who was furious with rage. 
 
 "Eh! eh! Softly, Olivier!" cried his comrades, run- 
 ning from all directions; "there are Spaniards enough 
 on the ground already." 
 
 [160]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 And they disarmed the hostile officer. 
 
 "What shall we do with this lunatic?" said one. 
 
 "I should not like to have him for my valet-de- 
 chambre," returned another. 
 
 "He deserves to be hanged," said a third; "but, 
 faith, gentlemen, we don't know how to hang. Let us 
 send him to that battalion of Swiss which is now pass- 
 ing across the plain." 
 
 And the calm and sombre Spaniard, enveloping 
 himself anew in his cloak, began the march of his own 
 accord, followed by Ambrosio, to join the battalion, 
 pushed by the shoulders and urged on by five or six 
 of these young madcaps. 
 
 Meantime, the first troop of the besiegers, astonished 
 at their success, had followed it out to the end; Cinq- 
 Mars, so advised by the aged Coislin, had made with 
 him the circuit of the bastion, and found to their vex- 
 ation that it was completely separated from the city, 
 and that they could not follow up their advantage. 
 They, therefore, returned slowly to the platform, talk- 
 ing by the way, to rejoin De Thou and the Abbe de 
 Gondi, whom they found laughing with the young 
 light-horsemen. 
 
 "We have Religion and Justice with us, gentlemen; 
 we could not fail to triumph." 
 
 "No doubt, for they fought as hard as we." 
 
 There was silence at the approach of Cinq-Mars, 
 and they remained for an instant whispering and ask- 
 ing his name; then all surrounded him, and took his 
 hand with delight. 
 
 "Gentlemen, you are right," said their old captain; 
 ii [161]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "he is, as our fathers used to say, the best doer oj the 
 day. He is a volunteer, who is to be presented to- 
 day to the King by the Cardinal." 
 
 "By the Cardinal! We will present him ourselves. 
 Ah, do not let him be a Cardinalist; he is too good a 
 fellow for that!" exclaimed all the young men, with 
 vivacity. 
 
 "Monsieur, I will undertake to disgust you with 
 him," said Olivier d'Entraigues, approaching Cinq- 
 Mars, "for I have been his page. Rather serve in the 
 red companies; come, you will have good comrades 
 there." 
 
 The old Marquis saved Cinq-Mars the embarrass- 
 ment of replying, by ordering the trumpets to sound 
 and rally his brilliant companies. The cannon was 
 no longer heard, and a soldier announced that the 
 King and the Cardinal were traversing the lines to 
 examine the results of the day. He made all the 
 horses pass through the breach, which was tolerably 
 wide, and ranged the two companies of cavalry in 
 battle array, upon a spot where it seemed impossible 
 that any but infantry could penetrate. 
 
 [162]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE RECOMPENSE 
 
 Ah! comme du butin ces guerriers trop jaloux 
 Courent bride abattue au-devant des mes coups, 
 Agitez tous leurs sens d'une rage insensde, 
 Tambour, fifre, trompette, otez-leur la pense'e. 
 
 N. LEMERCIER, Panhypocrisiade. 
 
 'ARDINAL RICHELIEU had said to 
 
 himself, "To soften the first parox- 
 ysm of the royal grief, to open a 
 source of emotions which shall turn 
 from its sorrow this wavering soul, let 
 this city be besieged; I consent. Let 
 Louis go; I will allow him to strike 
 a few poor soldiers with the blows 
 which he wishes, but dares not, to inflict upon me. Let 
 his anger drown itself in this obscure blood; I agree. 
 But this caprice of glory shall not derange my fixed 
 designs; this city shallnot fall yet. It shall not be- 
 come French forever until two years have past; it 
 shall come into my nets only on the day upon which 
 I have fixed in my own mind. Thunder, bombs, and 
 cannons; meditate upon your operations, skilful cap- 
 tains; hasten, young warriors. I shall silence your 
 noise, I shall dissipate your projects, and make your 
 efforts abortive; all shall end in vain smoke, for I shall 
 conduct in order to mislead you." 
 [163]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 This is the substance of what passed in the bald 
 head of the Cardinal before the attack of which we 
 have witnessed a part. He was stationed on horse- 
 back, upon one of the mountains of Salces, north of 
 the city; from this point he could see the plain of 
 Roussillon before him, sloping to the Mediterranean. 
 Perpignan, with its ramparts of brick, its bastions, its 
 citadel, and its spire, formed upon this plain an oval 
 and sombre mass on its broad and verdant meadows; 
 the vast mountains surrounded it, and the valley, like 
 an enormous bow curved from north to south, while, 
 stretching its white line in the east, the sea looked 
 like its silver cord. On his right rose that immense 
 mountain called the Canigou, whose sides send forth 
 two rivers into the plain below. The French line 
 extended to the foot of this western barrier. A crowd 
 of generals and of great lords were on horseback be- 
 hind the minister, but at twenty paces' distance and 
 profoundly silent. 
 
 Cardinal Richelieu had at first followed slowly the 
 line of operations, but had later returned and stationed 
 himself upon this height, whence his eye and his 
 thought hovered over the destinies of besiegers and 
 besieged. The whole army had its eyes upon him, 
 and could see him from every point. All looked upon 
 him as their immediate chief, and awaited his gesture 
 before they acted. France had bent beneath his yoke 
 a long time; and admiration of him shielded all his 
 actions to which another would have been often sub- 
 jected. At this moment, for instance, no one thought 
 of smiling, or even of feeling surprised, that the cuirass 
 [164]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 should clothe the priest; and the severity of his char- 
 acter and aspect suppressed every thought of ironical 
 comparisons or injurious conjectures. This day the 
 Cardinal appeared in a costume entirely martial: he 
 wore a reddish-brown coat, embroidered with gold, 
 a water-colored cuirass, a sword at his side, pistols 
 at his saddle-bow, and he had a plumed hat; but this 
 he seldom put on his head, which was still covered 
 with the red cap. Two pages were behind him; one 
 carried his gauntlets, the other his casque, and the 
 captain of his guards was at his side. 
 
 As the King had recently named him generalissimo 
 of his troops, it was to him that the generals sent for 
 their orders; but he, knowing only too well the secret 
 motives of his master's present anger, affected to 
 refer to that Prince all who sought a decision from 
 his own mouth. It happened as he had foreseen; 
 for he regulated and calculated the movements of 
 that heart as those of a watch, and could have told 
 with precision through what sensations it had passed. 
 Louis XIII came and placed himself at his side; but 
 he came as a pupil, forced to acknowledge that his 
 master is in the right. His air was haughty and dis- 
 satisfied, his language brusque and dry. The Car- 
 dinal remained impassible. It was remarked that the 
 King, in consulting him, employed the words of com- 
 mand, thus reconciling his weakness and his power of 
 place, his irresolution and his pride, his ignorance 
 and his pretensions, while his minister dictated laws 
 to him in a tone of the most profound obedience. 
 
 "I will have them attack immediately, Cardinal," 
 [165]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 said the Prince on coming up; "that is to say," he 
 added, with a careless air, "when all your preparations 
 are made, and you have fixed upon the hour with our 
 generals. " 
 
 "Sire, if I might venture to express my judgment, 
 I should be glad did your Majesty think proper to 
 begin the attack in a quarter of an hour, for that will 
 give time enough to advance the third line." 
 
 "Yes, yes; you are right, Monsieur le Cardinal! I 
 think so, too. I will go and give my orders myself; 
 I wish to do everything myself. Schomberg, Schom- 
 berg! in a quarter of an hour I wish to hear the sig- 
 nal-gun; I command it." 
 
 And Schomberg, taking the command of the right 
 wing, gave the order, and the signal was made. 
 
 The batteries, arranged long since by the Marechal 
 de la Meilleraie, began to batter a breach, but slowly, 
 because the artillerymen felt that they had been 
 directed to attack two impregnable points; and be- 
 cause, with their experience, and above all with the 
 common sense and quick perception of French soldiers, 
 any one of them could at once have indicated the point 
 against which the attack should have been directed. 
 The King was surprised at the slowness of the firing. 
 
 "La Meilleraie," said he, impatiently, "these bat- 
 teries do not play well; your cannoneers are asleep." 
 
 The principal artillery officers were present as well 
 as the Marechal; but no one answered a syllable. 
 They had looked toward the Cardinal, who remained 
 as immovable as an equestrian statue, and they imi- 
 tated his example. The answer must have been that 
 [i66j
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 the fault was not with the soldiers, but with him who 
 had ordered this false disposition of the batteries; 
 and this was Richelieu himself, who, pretending to 
 believe them more useful in that position, had stopped 
 the remarks of the chiefs. 
 
 The King, astonished at this silence, and, fearing 
 that he had committed some gross military blunder 
 by his question, blushed slightly, and, approaching 
 the group of princes who had accompanied him, said, 
 in order to reassure himself: 
 
 "D'Angouleme, Beaufort, this is very tiresome, is 
 it not? We stand here like mummies." 
 
 Charles de Valois drew near and said: 
 
 "It seems to me, Sire, that they are not employing 
 here the machines of the engineer Pompee-Targon. " 
 
 "Parbleu!" said the Due de Beaufort, regarding 
 Richelieu fixedly, "that is because we were more 
 eager to take Rochelle than Perpignan at the time 
 that Italian came. Here we have not an engine ready, 
 not a mine, not a petard beneath these walls; and the 
 Marechal de la Meilleraie told me this morning that 
 he had proposed to bring some with which to open 
 the breach. It was neither the Castillet, nor the six 
 great bastions which surround it, nor the half-moon, 
 we should have attacked. If we go on in this way, 
 the great stone arm of the citadel will show us its fist 
 a long time yet." 
 
 The Cardinal, still motionless, said not a single word ; 
 he only made a sign to Fabert, who left the group in 
 attendance, and ranged his horse behind that of Riche- 
 lieu, close to the captain of his guards, 
 [167]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 The Due de la Rochefoucauld, drawing near the 
 King, said: 
 
 "I believe, Sire, that our inactivity makes the 
 enemy insolent, for look! here is a numerous sally, 
 directing itself straight toward your Majesty; and the 
 regiments of Biron and De Fonts fall back after firing. " 
 
 "Well!" said the King, drawing his sword, "let us 
 charge and force those villains back again. Bring 
 on the cavalry with me, D'Angoule'me. Where is it, 
 Cardinal?" 
 
 "Behind that hill, Sire, there are in column six 
 regiments of dragoons, and the carabineers of La 
 Roque; below you are my men-at-arms and my light 
 horse, whom I pray your Majesty to employ, for those 
 of your Majesty's guard are ill guided by the Marquis 
 de Coislin, who is ever too zealous. Joseph, go tell 
 him to return." 
 
 He whispered to the Capuchin, who had accom- 
 panied him, huddled up in military attire, which he 
 wore awkwardly, and who immediately advanced in- 
 to the plain. 
 
 In the mean time, the compact columns of the old 
 Spanish infantry issued from the gate of Notre-Dame 
 like a dark and moving forest, while from another 
 gate proceeded the heavy cavalry, which drew up on 
 the plain. The French army, in battle array at the 
 foot of the hill where the King stood, behind fortifi- 
 cations of earth, behind redoubts and fascines of turf, 
 perceived with alarm the men-at-arms and the light 
 horse pressed between these two forces, ten times their 
 superior in numbers. 
 
 [168]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Sound the charge!" cried Louis XIII; "or my old 
 Coislin is lost." 
 
 And he descended the hill, with all his suite as 
 ardent as himself; but before he reached the plain 
 and was at the head of his musketeers, the two com- 
 panies had taken their course, dashing off with the 
 rapidity of lightning, and to the cry of "Vive le Roi!" 
 They fell upon the long column of the enemy's cavalry 
 like two vultures upon a serpent; and, making a large 
 and bloody gap, they passed beyond, and rallied be- 
 hind the Spanish bastion, leaving the enemy's cavalry 
 so astonished that they thought only of re-forming 
 their own ranks, and not of pursuing. 
 
 The French army uttered a burst of applause; the 
 King paused in amazement. He looked around him, 
 and saw a burning desire for attack in all eyes; the 
 valor of his race shone in his own. He paused yet 
 another instant in suspense, listening, intoxicated, to 
 the roar of the cannon, inhaling the odor of the pow- 
 der; he seemed to receive another life, and to become 
 once more a Bourbon. All who looked on him felt as 
 if they were commanded by another man, when, raising 
 his sword and his eyes toward the sun, he cried : 
 
 "Follow me, brave friends! here I am King of 
 France!" 
 
 His cavalry, deploying, dashed off with an ardor 
 which devoured space, and, raising billows of dust 
 from the ground, which trembled beneath them, they 
 were in an instant mingled with the Spanish cavalry, 
 and both were swallowed up in an immense and 
 fluctuating cloud. 
 
 [169]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "Now! now!" cried the Cardinal, in a voice of 
 thunder, from his elevation, "now remove the guns 
 from their useless position! Fabert, give your orders; 
 let them be all directed upon the infantry which 
 slowly approaches to surround the King. Haste! save 
 the King!" 
 
 Immediately the Cardinal's suite, until then sitting 
 erect as so many statues, were in motion. The generals 
 gave their orders; the aides-de-camp galloped off into 
 the plain, where, leaping over the ditches, barriers, 
 and palisades, they arrived at their destination as soon 
 as the thought that directed them and the glance that 
 followed them. 
 
 Suddenly the few and interrupted flashes which had 
 shone from the discouraged batteries became a con- 
 tinual and immense flame, leaving no room for the 
 smoke, which rose to the sky in an infinite number 
 of light and floating wreaths; the volleys of cannon, 
 which had seemed like far and feeble echoes, changed 
 into a formidable thunder whose roll was as rapid as 
 that of drums beating the charge; while from three 
 opposite points large red flashes from fiery mouths 
 fell upon the dark columns which issued from the be- 
 sieged city. 
 
 Meantime, without changing his position, but with 
 ardent eyes and imperative gestures, Richelieu ceased 
 not to multiply his orders, casting upon those who 
 received them a look which implied a sentence of 
 death if he was not instantly obeyed. 
 
 "The King has overthrown the cavalry; but the 
 foot still resist. Our batteries have only killed, they 
 [170]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 have not conquered. Forward with three regiments 
 of infantry instantly, Gassion, La Meilleraie, and 
 Lesdiguieres! Take the enemy's columns in flank. 
 Order the rest of the army to cease from the attack, 
 and to remain motionless throughout the whole line. 
 Bring paper! I will write myself to Schomberg." 
 
 A page alighted and advanced, holding a pencil and 
 paper. The minister, supported by four men of his 
 suite, also alighted, but with difficulty, uttering a cry, 
 wrested from him by pain; but he conquered it by an 
 effort, and seated himself upon the carriage of a can- 
 non. The page presented his shoulder as a desk; 
 and the Cardinal hastily penned that order which con- 
 temporary manuscripts have transmitted to us, and 
 which might well be imitated by the diplomatists of 
 our day, who are, it seems, more desirous to maintain 
 themselves in perfect balance between two ideas than 
 to seek those combinations which decide the destinies 
 of the world, regarding the clear and obvious dictates 
 of true genius as beneath their profound subtlety. 
 
 "M. le Marechal, do not risk anything, and reflect before 
 you attack. When you are thus told that the King desires you 
 not to risk anything, you are not to understand that his Majesty 
 forbids you to fight at all; but his intention is that you do not 
 engage in a general battle unless it be with a notable hope of 
 gain from the advantage which a favorable situation may pre- 
 sent, the responsibility of the battle naturally falling upon you. " 
 
 These orders given, the old minister, still seated 
 
 upon the gun-carriage, his arms resting upon the 
 
 touch-hole, and his chin upon his arms, in the attitude 
 
 of one who adjusts and points a cannon, continued in 
 
 [171]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 silence to watch the battle, like an old wolf, which, 
 sated with victims and torpid with age, contemplates 
 in the plain the ravages of a lion among a herd of 
 cattle, which he himself dares not attack. From time 
 to time his eye brightens; the smell of blood rejoices 
 him, and he laps his burning tongue over his toothless 
 jaw. 
 
 On that day, it was remarked by his servants or, 
 in other words, by all surrounding him that from 
 the time of his rising until night he took no nourish- 
 ment, and so fixed all the application of his soul on 
 the events which he had to conduct that he triumphed 
 over his physical pains, seeming, by forgetting, to have 
 destroyed them. It was this power of attention, this 
 continual presence of mind, that raised him almost 
 to genius. He would have attained it quite, had he 
 not lacked native elevation of soul and generous sen- 
 sibility of heart. 
 
 Everything happened upon the field of battle as he 
 had wished, fortune attending him there as well as in 
 the cabinet. Louis XIII claimed with eager hand 
 the victory which his minister had procured for him; 
 he had contributed himself, however, only that grand- 
 eur which consists in personal valor. 
 
 The cannon had ceased to roar when the broken 
 columns of infantry fell back into Perpignan; the 
 remainder had met the same fate, was already within 
 the walls, and on the plain no living man was to be 
 seen, save the glittering squadrons of the King, who 
 followed him, forming ranks as they went. 
 
 He returned at a slow walk, and contemplated with 
 [172]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 satisfaction the battlefield swept clear of enemies; he 
 passed haughtily under the very fire of the Spanish 
 guns, which, whether from lack of skill, or by a secret 
 agreement with the Prime Minister, or from very 
 shame to kill a king of France, only sent after him a 
 few balls, which, passing two feet above his head, 
 fell in front of the lines, and merely served to increase 
 the royal reputation for courage. 
 
 At every step, however, that he took toward the 
 spot where Richelieu awaited him, the King's coun- 
 tenance changed and visibly fell; he lost all the flush 
 of combat; the noble sweat of triumph dried upon 
 his brow. As he approached, his usual pallor returned 
 to his face, as if having the right to sit alone on a 
 royal head; his look lost its fleeting fire, and at last, 
 when he joined the Cardinal, a profound melancholy 
 entirely possessed him. He found the minister as he 
 had left him, on horseback; the latter, still coldly re- 
 spectful, bowed, and after a few words of compliment, 
 placed himself near Louis to traverse the lines and 
 examine the results of the day, while the princes and 
 great lords, riding at some distance before and behind, 
 formed a crowd around them. 
 
 The wily minister was careful not to say a word or to 
 make a gesture that could suggest the idea that he had 
 had the slightest share in the events of the day; and 
 it was remarkable that of all those who came to hand 
 in their reports, there was not one who did not seem 
 to divine his thoughts, and exercise care not to com- 
 promise his occult power by open obedience. All 
 reports were made to the King. The Cardinal then
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 traversed, by the side of the Prince, the right of the 
 camp, which had not been under his view from the 
 height where he had remained; and he saw with sat- 
 isfaction that Schomberg, who knew him well, had 
 acted precisely as his master had directed, bringing 
 into action only a few of the light troops, and fighting 
 just enough not to incur reproach for inaction, and 
 not enough to obtain any distinct result. This line 
 of conduct charmed the minister, and did not dis- 
 please the King, whose vanity cherished the idea of 
 having been the sole conqueror that day. He even 
 wished to persuade himself, and to have it supposed, 
 that all the efforts of Schomberg had been fruitless, 
 saying to him that he was not angry with him, that 
 he had himself just had proof that the enemy before 
 him was less despicable than had been supposed. 
 
 "To show you that you have lost nothing in our 
 estimation," he added, "we name you a knight of our 
 order, and we give you public and private access to 
 our person." 
 
 The Cardinal affectionately pressed his hand as he 
 passed him, and the Marechal, astonished at this 
 deluge of favors, followed the Prince with his bent 
 head, like a culprit, recalling, to console himself, all 
 the brilliant actions of his career which had remained 
 unnoticed, and mentally attributing to them these un- 
 merited rewards to reconcile them to his conscience. 
 
 The King was about to retrace his steps, when the 
 Due de Beaufort, with an astonished air, exclaimed: 
 
 "But, Sire, have I still the powder in my eyes, or 
 have I been sun-struck? It appears to me that I 
 [i74]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 see upon yonder bastion several cavaliers in red uni- 
 forms who greatly resemble your light horse whom we 
 thought to be killed." 
 
 The Cardinal knitted his brows. 
 
 " Impossible, Monsieur," he said; "the imprudence 
 of Monsieur de Coislin has destroyed his Majesty's 
 men-at-arms and those cavaliers. It is for that reason 
 I ventured just now to say to the King that if the use- 
 less corps were suppressed, it might be very advan- 
 tageous from a military point of view." 
 
 "Pardieul your Eminence will pardon me," an- 
 swered the Due de Beaufort; "but I do not deceive 
 myself, and there are seven or eight of them driving 
 prisoners before them." 
 
 "Well! let us go to the point," said the King; "if 
 I find my old Coislin there I shall be very glad." 
 
 With great caution, the horses of the King and his 
 suite passed across the marsh, and with infinite as- 
 tonishment their riders saw on the ramparts the two 
 red companies in battle array as on parade. 
 
 "Vive Dieu!" cried Louis; "I think that not one 
 of them is missing! Well, Marquis, you keep your 
 word you take walls on horseback." 
 
 "In my opinion, this point was ill chosen," said 
 Richelieu, with disdain; "it in no way advances the 
 taking of Perpignan, and must have cost many lives." 
 
 "Faith, you are right," said the King, for the first 
 time since the intelligence of the Queen's death ad- 
 dressing the Cardinal without dryness; "I regret the 
 blood which must have been spilled here." 
 
 "Only two of own young men have been wounded 
 [i75]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 in the attack, Sire," said old Coislin; "and we have 
 gained new companions-in-arms, in the volunteers 
 who guided us. " 
 
 "Who are they?" said the Prince. 
 
 "Three of them have modestly retired, Sire; but 
 the youngest, whom you see, was the first who pro- 
 posed the assault, and the first to venture his person 
 in making it. The two companies claim the honor 
 of presenting him to your Majesty." 
 
 Cinq-Mars, who was on horseback behind the old 
 captain, took off his hat and showed his pale face, 
 his large, dark eyes, and his long, chestnut hair. 
 
 "Those features remind me of some one," said the 
 King; "what say you, Cardinal?" 
 
 The latter, who had already cast a penetrating 
 glance at the newcomer, replied: 
 
 "Unless I am mistaken, this young man is ' 
 
 "Henri d'Efnat," said the volunteer, bowing. 
 
 "Sire, it is the same whom I had announced to your 
 Majesty, and who was to have been presented to you 
 by me; the second son of the Marechal." 
 
 "Ah!" said Louis, warmly, "I am glad to see the 
 son of my old friend presented by this bastion. It 
 is a suitable introduction, my boy, for one bearing 
 your name. You will follow us to the camp, where 
 we have much to say to you. But what! you here, 
 Monsieur de Thou ? Whom have you come to judge ? " 
 
 "Sire," answered Coislin, "he has condemned to 
 death, without judging, sundry Spaniards, for he was 
 the second to enter the place." 
 
 "I struck no one, Monsieur," interrupted De Thou, 
 [176]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 reddening.; " it is not my business. Herein I have no 
 merit; I merely accompanied my friend, Monsieur de 
 Cinq-Mars." 
 
 "We approve your modesty as well as your bravery, 
 and we shall not forget this. Cardinal, is there not 
 some presidency vacant?" 
 
 Richelieu did not like De Thou. And as the sources 
 of his dislike were always mysterious, it was difficult 
 to guess the cause of this animosity; it revealed itself 
 in a cruel word that escaped him. The motive was 
 a passage in the history of the President De Thou 
 the father of the young man now in question where- 
 in he stigmatized, in the eyes of posterity, a grand- 
 uncle of the Cardinal, an apostate monk, sullied with 
 every human vice. 
 
 Richelieu, bending to Joseph's ear, whispered: 
 
 "You see that man; his father put my name into 
 his history. Well, I will put his into mine." And, 
 truly enough, he subsequently wrote it in blood. At 
 this moment, to avoid answering the King, he feigned 
 not to have heard his question, and to be wholly in- 
 tent upon the merit of Cinq-Mars and the desire to 
 see him well placed at court. 
 
 "I promised you beforehand to make him a cap- 
 tain in my guards," said the Prince; "let him be 
 nominated to-morrow. I would know more of him, 
 and raise him to a higher fortune, if he pleases me. 
 Let us now retire; the sun has set, and we are far 
 from our army. Tell my two good companies to fol- 
 low us." 
 
 The minister, after repeating the order, omitting the 
 12 [177]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 implied praise, placed himself on the King's right 
 hand, and the whole court quitted the bastion, now 
 confided to the care of the Swiss, and returned to the 
 camp. 
 
 The two red companies defiled slowly through the 
 breach which they had effected with such promptitude ; 
 their countenances were grave and silent. 
 
 Cinq-Mars went up to his friend. 
 
 "These are heroes but ill recompensed," said he; 
 "not a favor, not a compliment." 
 
 "I, on the other hand," said the simple De Thou 
 "I, who came here against my will receive one. 
 Such are courts, such is life; but above us is the true 
 Judge, whom men can not blind." 
 
 "This will not prevent us from meeting death to- 
 morrow, if necessary," said the young Olivier, laughing. 
 
 [178]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE BLUNDERS 
 
 Quand vint le tour de saint Guilin 
 II jeta trois des sur la table. 
 Ensuite il regarda le diable, 
 Et lui dit d'un air tres-malin: 
 Jouons done cette vieille femme! 
 Qui de nous deux aura son ame! 
 
 Ancienne Legende. 
 
 ;N order to appear before the King, 
 Cinq-Mars had been compelled to 
 mount the charger of one of the light 
 horse, wounded in the affair, having 
 lost his own at the foot of the ram- 
 part. As the two companies were 
 marching out, he felt some one touch 
 his shoulder, and, turning round, 
 saw old Grandchamp leading a very beautiful gray 
 horse. 
 
 "Will Monsieur le Marquis mount a horse of his 
 own?" said he. "I have put on the saddle and hous- 
 ings of velvet embroidered in gold that remained in 
 the trench. Alas, when I think that a Spaniard 
 might have taken it, or even a Frenchman! For just 
 now there are so many people who take all they find, 
 as if it were their own; and then, as the proverb says, 
 * What falls in the ditch is for the soldier. ' They might
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 also have taken the four hundred gold crowns that 
 Monsieur le Marquis, be it said without reproach, 
 forgot to take out of the holsters. And the pistols! 
 Oh, what pistols! I bought them in Germany; and 
 here they are as good as ever, and with their locks 
 perfect. It was quite enough to kill the poor little 
 black horse, that was born in England as sure as I 
 was at Tours in Touraine, without also exposing these 
 valuables to pass into the hands of the enemy. " 
 
 While making this lamentation, the worthy man 
 finished saddling the gray horse. The column was 
 long enough filing out to give him time to pay scru- 
 pulous attention to the length of the stirrups and of 
 the bands, all the while continuing his harangue. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Monsieur, for being somewhat 
 slow about this; but I sprained my arm slightly in 
 lifting Monsieur de Thou, who himself raised Mon- 
 sieur le Marquis during the grand scuffle." 
 
 "How earnest thou there at all, stupid?" said Cinq- 
 Mars. "That is not thy business. I told thee to 
 remain in the camp." 
 
 "Oh, as to remaining in the camp, that is out of 
 the question. I can't stay there; when I hear a mus- 
 ket-shot, I should be ill did I not see the flash. As 
 for my business, that is to take care of your horses, 
 and you are on them. Monsieur, think you I should 
 not have saved, had I been able, the life of the poor 
 black horse down there in the trench? Ah, how I 
 loved him! a horse that gained three races in his 
 time a time too short for those who loved him as I 
 loved him! He never would take his corn but from 
 [180]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 his dear Grandchamp; and then he would caress me 
 with his head. The end of my left ear that he carried 
 away one day poor fellow! proves it, for it was not 
 out of ill-will he bit it off; quite the contrary. You 
 should have heard how he neighed with rage when 
 any one else came near him; that was the reason 
 why he broke Jean's leg. Good creature, I loved 
 him so! 
 
 "When he fell I held him on one side with one 
 hand and M. de Locmaria with the other. I thought 
 at first that both he and that gentleman would recover; 
 but unhappily only one of them returned to life, and 
 that was he whom I least knew. You seem to be 
 laughing at what I say about your horse, Monsieur; 
 you forget that in times of war the horse is the soul 
 of the cavalier. Yes, Monsieur, his soul; for what 
 is it that intimidates the infantry? It is the horse! 
 It certainly is not the man, who, once seated, is little 
 more than a bundle of hay. Who is it that performs 
 the fine deeds that men admire? The horse. There 
 are times when his master, who a moment before 
 would rather have been far away, finds himself vic- 
 torious and rewarded for his horse's valor, while the 
 poor beast gets nothing but blows. Who is it gains 
 the prize in the race? The horse, that sups hardly 
 better than usual, while the master pockets the gold, 
 and is envied by his friends and admired by all the 
 lords as if he had run himself. Who is it that hunts 
 the roebuck, yet puts but a morsel in his own mouth? 
 Again, the horse; sometimes the horse is even eaten 
 himself, poor animal! I remember in a campaign 
 [181]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 with Monsieur le Marechal, it happened that 
 
 But what is the matter, Monsieur, you grow pale?" 
 
 "Bind up my leg with something a handkerchief, 
 a strap, or what you will. I feel a burning pain there; 
 I know not what." 
 
 "Your boot is cut, Monsieur. It may be some ball; 
 however, lead is the friend of man." 
 
 "It is no friend of mine, at all events." 
 
 "Ah, who loves, chastens! Lead must not be ill 
 spoken of! What is that " 
 
 While occupied in binding his master's leg below 
 the knee, the worthy Grandchamp was about to hold 
 forth in praise of lead as absurdly as he had in praise 
 of the horse, when he was forced, as well as Cinq- 
 Mars, to hear a warm and clamorous dispute among 
 some Swiss soldiers who had remained behind the 
 other troops. They were talking with much ges- 
 ticulation, and seemed busied with two men among 
 a group of about thirty soldiers. 
 
 D'Effiat, still holding out his leg to his servant, and 
 leaning on the saddle of his horse, tried, by listening 
 attentively, to understand the subject of the colloquy; 
 but he knew nothing of German, and could not com- 
 prehend the dispute. Grandchamp, who, still hold- 
 ing the boot, had also been listening very seriously, 
 suddenly burst into loud laughter, holding his sides 
 in a manner not usual with him. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha! Monsieur, here are two sergeants dis- 
 puting which they ought to hang of the two Spaniards 
 there; for your red comrades did not take the trouble 
 to tell them. One of the Swiss says that it's the 
 [182]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 officer, the other that it's the soldier; a third has just 
 made a proposition for meeting the difficulty." 
 "And what does he say?" 
 "He suggests that they hang them both." 
 "Stop! stop!" cried Cinq-Mars to the soldiers, at- 
 tempting to walk ; but his leg would not support him. 
 "Put me on my horse, Grandchamp." 
 "Monsieur, you forget your wound." 
 "Do as I command, and then mount thyself." 
 The old servant grumblingly obeyed, and then gal- 
 loped off, in fulfilment of another imperative order, 
 to stop the Swiss, who were just about to hang their 
 two prisoners to a tree, or to let them hang them- 
 selves ; for the officer, with the sang-froid of his nation, 
 had himself passed the running noose of a rope around 
 his own neck, and, without being told, had ascended 
 a small ladder placed against the tree, in order to tie 
 the other end of the rope to one of its branches. The 
 soldier, with the same calm indifference, was looking 
 on at the Swiss disputing around him, while holding 
 the ladder. 
 
 Cinq-Mars arrived in time to save them, gave his 
 name to the Swiss sergeant, and, employing Grand- 
 champ as interpreter, said that the two prisoners were 
 his, and that he would take them to his tent; that he 
 was a captain in the guards, and would be responsi- 
 ble for them. The German, ever exact in discipline, 
 made no reply; the only resistance was on the part 
 of the prisoner. The officer, still on the top of the 
 ladder, turned round, and speaking thence as from a 
 pulpit, said, with a sardonic laugh : 
 [183]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 
 
 "I should much like to know what you do here? 
 Who told you I wished to live?" 
 
 "I do not ask to know anything about that," said 
 Cinq-Mars; "it matters not to me what becomes of 
 you afterward. All I propose now is to prevent an 
 act which seems to me unjust and cruel. You may 
 kill yourself afterward, if you like." 
 
 "Well said," returned the ferocious Spaniard; "you 
 please me. I thought at first you meant to affect the 
 generous in order to oblige me to be grateful, which 
 is a thing I detest. Well, I consent to come down; 
 but I shall hate you as much as ever, for you are a 
 Frenchman. Nor do I thank you, for you only dis- 
 charge a debt you owe me, since it was I who this 
 morning kept you from being shot by this young soldier 
 while he was taking aim at you; and he is a man who 
 never missed a chamois in the mountains of Leon." 
 
 "Be it as you will," said Cinq-Mars; "come 
 down." 
 
 It was his character ever to assume with others the 
 mien they wore toward him; and the rudeness of the 
 Spaniard made him as hard as iron toward him. 
 
 "A proud rascal that, Monsieur," said Grand- 
 champ; "in your place Monsieur le Marechal would 
 certainly have left him on his ladder. Come, Louis, 
 Etienne, Germain, escort Monsieur's prisoners a 
 fine acquisition, truly! If they bring you any luck, 
 I shall be very much surprised. " 
 
 Cinq-Mars, suffering from the motion of his horse, 
 rode only at the pace of his prisoners on foot, and 
 was accordingly at a distance behind the red com- 
 [184]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 panics, who followed close upon the King. He med- 
 itated on his way what it could be that the Prince de- 
 sired to say to him. A ray of hope presented to his 
 mind the figure of Marie de Mantua in the distance; 
 and for a moment his thoughts were calmed. But all 
 his future lay in that brief sentence "to please the 
 King"; and he began to reflect upon all the bitter- 
 ness in which his task might involve him. 
 
 At that moment he saw approaching his friend, De 
 Thou, who, anxious at his remaining behind, had 
 sought him in the plain, eager to aid him if necessary. 
 
 "It is late, my friend; night approaches. You 
 have delayed long; I feared for you. Whom have 
 you here? What has detained you? The King will 
 soon be asking for you." 
 
 Such were the rapid inquiries of the young coun- 
 sellor, whose anxiety, more than the battle itself, had 
 made him lose his accustomed serenity. 
 
 "I was slightly wounded; I bring a prisoner, and 
 I was thinking of the King. What can he want me 
 for, my friend? What must I do if he proposes to 
 place me about his person? I must please him; and 
 at this thought shall I own it? I am tempted to fly. 
 But I trust that I shall not have that fatal honor. 
 'To please,' how humiliating the word! 'to obey' quite 
 the opposite! A soldier runs the chance of death, 
 and there's an end. But in what base compliances, 
 what sacrifices of himself, what compositions with 
 his conscience, what degradation of his own thought, 
 may not a courtier be involved! Ah, De Thou, my 
 dear De Thou! I am not made for the court; I feel it,
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 though I have seen it but for a moment. There is in 
 my temperament a certain savageness, which education 
 has polished only on the surface. At a distance, I 
 thought myself adapted to live in this all-powerful 
 world; I even desired it, led by a cherished hope of 
 my heart. But I shuddered at the first step; I shud- 
 dered at the mere sight of the Cardinal. The recol- 
 lection of the last of his crimes, at which I was pres- 
 ent, kept me from addressing him. He horrifies me; 
 I never can endure to be near him. The King's favor, 
 too, has that about it which dismays me, as if I 
 knew it would be fatal to me." 
 
 "I am glad to perceive this apprehension in you; 
 it may be most salutary," said De Thou, as they rode 
 on. "You are about to enter into contact with power. 
 Before, you did not even conceive it; now you will 
 touch it with your very hand. You will see what it 
 is, and what hand hurls the lightning. Heaven grant 
 that that lightning may never strike you! You will 
 probably be present in those councils which regulate 
 the destiny of nations; you will see, you will perchance 
 originate, those caprices whence are born sanguinary 
 wars, conquests, and treaties; you will hold in your 
 hand the drop of water which swells into mighty tor- 
 rents. It is only from high places that men can judge 
 of human affairs; you must look from the mountain- 
 top ere you can appreciate the littleness of those 
 things which from below appear to us great." 
 
 "Ah, were I on those heights, I should at least 
 learn the lesson you speak of; but this Cardinal, this 
 man to whom I must be under obligation, this man 
 [186]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 whom I know too well by his works what will he be 
 to me?" 
 
 " A friend, a protector, no doubt, " answered De Thou. 
 
 "Death were a thousand times preferable to his 
 friendship! I hate his whole being, even his very 
 name; he spills the blood of men with the cross of 
 the Redeemer!" 
 
 "What horrors are you saying, my friend? You 
 will ruin yourself if you reveal your sentiments respect- 
 ing the Cardinal to the King." 
 
 "Never mind; in the midst of these tortuous ways, 
 I desire to take a new one, the right line. My whole 
 opinion, the opinion of a just man, shall be unveiled 
 to the King himself, if he interrogate me, even should 
 it cost me my head. I have at last seen this King, 
 who has been described to me as so weak; I have seen 
 him, and his aspect has touched me to the heart in 
 spite of myself. Certainly, he is very unfortunate, 
 but he can not be cruel; he will listen to the truth." 
 
 "Yes; but he will not dare to make it triumph," 
 answered the sage De Thou. "Beware of this warmth 
 of heart, which often draws you by sudden and dan- 
 gerous movements. Do not attack a colossus like 
 Richelieu without having measured him." 
 
 "That is just like my tutor, the Abbe Quillet. My 
 dear and prudent friend, neither the one nor the other 
 of you know me; you do not know how weary I am 
 of myself, and whither I have cast my gaze. I must 
 mount or die." 
 
 "What! already ambitious?" exclaimed De Thou, 
 with extreme surprise. 
 
 [187]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 His friend inclined his head upon his hands, aban- 
 doning the reins of his horse, and did not answer. 
 
 "What! has this selfish passion of a riper age ob- 
 tained possession of you at twenty, Henri? Ambition 
 is the saddest of all hopes." 
 
 "And yet it possesses me entirely at present, for I 
 see only by means of it, and by it my whole heart is 
 penetrated." 
 
 "Ah, Cinq-Mars, I no longer recognize you! how 
 different you were formerly! I do not conceal from 
 you that you appear to me to have degenerated. In 
 those walks of our childhood, when the life, and, above 
 all, the death of Socrates, caused tears of admiration 
 and envy to flow from our eyes; when, raising our- 
 selves to the ideal of the highest virtue, we wished 
 that those illustrious sorrows, those sublime misfor- 
 tunes, which create great men, might in the future 
 come upon us; when we constructed for ourselves 
 imaginary occasions of sacrifices and devotion if 
 the voice of a man had pronounced, between us two, 
 the single world, 'ambition,' we should have believed 
 that we were touching a serpent." 
 
 De Thou spoke with the heat of enthusiasm and of 
 reproach. Cinq-Mars went on without answering, 
 and still with his face in his hands. After an instant 
 of silence he removed then\, and allowed his eyes to 
 be seen, full of generous tears. He pressed the hand 
 of his friend warmly, and said to him, with a pene- 
 trating accent: 
 
 "Monsieur de Thou, you have recalled to me the 
 most beautiful thoughts of my earliest youth. Do 
 [188]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 not believe that I have fallen; I am consumed by a 
 secret hope which I can not confide even to you. I 
 despise, as much as you, the ambition which will seem 
 to possess me. All the world will believe in it; but 
 what do I care for the world? As for you, noble 
 friend, promise me that you will not cease to esteem 
 me, whatever you may see me do. I swear that my 
 thoughts are as pure as heaven itself!" 
 
 "Well," said De Thou, "I swear by heaven that 
 I believe you blindly; you give me back my life!" 
 
 They shook hands again with effusion of heart, and 
 then perceived that they had arrived almost before 
 the tent of the King. 
 
 Day was nearly over; but one might have believed 
 that a softer day was rising, for the moon issued from 
 the sea in all her splendor. The transparent sky of 
 the south showed not a single cloud, and it seemed 
 like a veil of pale blue sown with silver spangles; the 
 air, still hot, was agitated only by the rare passage 
 of breezes from the Mediterranean; and all sounds 
 had ceased upon the earth. The fatigued army re- 
 posed beneath their tents, the line of which was marked 
 by the fires, and the besieged city seemed oppressed 
 by the same slumber; upon its ramparts nothing was 
 to be seen but the arms of the sentinels, which shone 
 in the rays of the moon, or the wandering fire of the 
 night-rounds. Nothing was to be heard but the gloomy 
 and prolonged cries of its guards, who warned one 
 another not to sleep. 
 
 It was only around the King that all things waked, 
 but at a great distance from him. This Prince had 
 [189]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 dismissed all his suite; he walked alone before his 
 tent, and, pausing sometimes to contemplate the beauty 
 of the heavens, he appeared plunged in melancholy 
 meditation. No one dared to interrupt him; and 
 those of the nobility who had remained in the royal 
 quarters had gathered about the Cardinal, who, at 
 twenty paces from the King, was seated upon a little 
 hillock of turf, fashioned into a seat by the soldiers. 
 There he wiped his pale forehead, fatigued with the 
 cares of the day and with the unaccustomed weight 
 of a suit of armor; he bade adieu, in a few hurried 
 but always attentive and polite words, to those who 
 came to salute him as they retired. No one was near 
 him now except Joseph, who was talking with Lau- 
 bardemont. The Cardinal was looking at the King, 
 to see whether, before reentering, this Prince would 
 not speak to him, when the sound of the horses of 
 Cinq-Mars was heard. The Cardinal's guards ques- 
 tioned him, and allowed him to advance without fol- 
 lowers, and only with De Thou. 
 
 "You are come too late, young man, to speak with 
 the King," said the Cardinal-Duke with a sharp voice. 
 "One can not make his Majesty wait." 
 
 The two friends were about to retire, when the 
 voice of Louis XIII himself made itself heard. This 
 Prince was at that moment in one of those false posi- 
 tions which constituted the misfortune of his whole 
 life. Profoundly irritated against his minister, but 
 not concealing from himself that he owed the success 
 of the day to him, desiring, moreover, to announce to 
 him his intention to quit the army and to raise the 
 [190]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 siege of Perpignan, he was torn between the desire 
 of speaking to the Cardinal and the fear lest his 
 anger might be weakened. The minister, upon his 
 part, dared not be the first to speak, being uncertain 
 as to the thoughts which occupied his master, and 
 fearing to choose his time ill, but yet not able to de- 
 cide upon retiring. Both found themselves precisely 
 in the position of two lovers who have quarrelled and 
 desire to have an explanation, when the King, seized 
 with joy the first opportunity of extricating himself. 
 The chance was fatal to the minister. See upon 
 what trifles depend those destinies which are called 
 great. 
 
 "Is it not Monsieur de Cinq-Mars?" said the King, 
 in a loud voice. "Let him approach; I am waiting 
 for him." 
 
 Young D'Efnat approached on horseback, and at 
 some paces from the King desired to set foot to earth; 
 but hardly had his leg touched the ground when he 
 dropped upon his knees. 
 
 "Pardon, Sire!" said he, "I believe that I am 
 wounded;" and the blood issued violently from his 
 boot. 
 
 De Thou had seen him fall, and had approached to 
 sustain him. Richelieu seized this opportunity of ad- 
 vancing also, with dissembled eagerness. 
 
 "Remove this spectacle from the eyes of the King," 
 said he. "You see very well that this young man is 
 dying." 
 
 "Not at all," said Louis, himself supporting him; 
 "a king of France knows how to see a man die, and 
 [191]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 has no fear of the blood which flows for him. This 
 young man interests me. Let him be carried into my 
 tent, and let my doctors attend him. If his wound is 
 not serious, he shall come with me to Paris, for the 
 siege is suspended, Monsieur le Cardinal. Such is 
 my desire; other affairs call me to the centre of the 
 kingdom. I will leave you here to command in my 
 absence. This is what I desired to say to you." 
 
 With these words the King went abruptly into his 
 tent, preceded by his pages and his officers, carrying 
 flambeaux. 
 
 The royal pavilion was closed, and Cinq-Mars was 
 borne in by De Thou and his people, while the Due 
 de Richelieu, motionless and stupefied, still regarded 
 the spot where this scene had passed. He appeared 
 thunderstruck, and incapable of seeing or hearing 
 those who observed him. 
 
 Laubardemont, still intimidated by his ill reception 
 of the preceding day, dared not speak a word to him, 
 and Joseph hardly recognized in him his former mas- 
 ter. For an instant he regretted having given him- 
 self to him, and fancied that his star was waning; but, 
 reflecting that he was hated by all men and had no 
 resource save in Richelieu, he seized him by the arm, 
 and, shaking him roughly, said to him in a low voice, 
 but harshly: 
 
 "Come, come, Monseigneur, you are chicken- 
 hearted; come with us." 
 
 And, appearing to sustain him by the elbow, but in 
 fact drawing him in spite of himself, with the aid of 
 Laubardemont, he made him enter his tent, as a
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 schoolmaster forces a schoolboy to rest, fearing the 
 effects of the evening mist upon him. 
 
 The prematurely aged man slowly obeyed the wishes 
 of his two parasites, and the purple of the pavilion 
 dropped upon him. 
 
 13
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE NIGHT-WATCH 
 
 coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! 
 The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight, 
 Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
 What do I fear? Myself? 
 
 1 love myself! SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 fARDLY was the Cardinal in his tent 
 before he dropped, armed and cui- 
 rassed, into a great armchair; and 
 there, holding his handkerchief to 
 his mouth with a fixed gaze, he re- 
 mained in this attitude, letting his 
 two dark confidants wonder whether 
 contemplation or annihilation main- 
 tained him in it. He was deadly pale, and a cold sweat 
 streamed upon his brow. In wiping it with a sudden 
 movement, he threw behind him his red cap, the only 
 ecclesiastical sign which remained upon him, and 
 again rested with his mouth upon his hands. The 
 Capuchin on one side, and the sombre magistrate on 
 the other, considered him in silence, and seemed, with 
 their brown and black costumes like the priest and 
 the notary of a dying man. 
 
 The friar, drawing from the depth of his chest a 
 voice that seemed better suited to repeat the service
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 of the dead than to administer consolation, spoke 
 first: 
 
 "If Monseigneur will recall my counsels given at 
 Narbonne, he will confess that I had a just presenti- 
 ment of the troubles which this young man would one 
 day cause him." 
 
 The magistrate continued : 
 
 "I have learned from the old deaf abbe who 
 dined at the house of the Marechale d'Effiat, and 
 who heard all, that this young Cinq-Mars exhibited 
 more energy than one would have imagined, and that 
 he attempted to rescue the Marechal de Bassompierre. 
 I have still by me the detailed report of the deaf man, 
 who played his part very well. His Eminence the 
 Cardinal must be sufficiently convinced by it." 
 
 "I have told Monseigneur," resumed Joseph for 
 these two ferocious Seyds alternated their discourse 
 like the shepherds of Virgil "I have told him that 
 it would be well to get rid of this young D'Effiat, and 
 that I would charge myself with the business, if such 
 were his good pleasure. It would be easy to destroy 
 him in the opinion of the King." 
 
 "It would be safer to make him die of his wound," 
 answered Laubardemont ; "if his Eminence would 
 have the goodness to command me, I know intimately 
 the assistant-physician, who cured me of a blow on 
 the forehead, and is now attending to him. He is a 
 prudent man, entirely devoted to Monseigneur the 
 Cardinal-Duke, and whose affairs have been somewhat 
 embarrassed by gambling." 
 
 "I believe," replied Joseph, with an air of modesty, 
 [195]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 mingled with a touch of bitterness, "that if his Ex- 
 cellency proposed to employ any one in this useful 
 project, it should be his accustomed negotiator, who 
 has had some success in the past." 
 
 "I fancy that I could enumerate some signal in- 
 stances," answered Laubardemont, "and very recent 
 ones, of which the difficulty was great." 
 
 "Ah, no doubt," said the father, with a bow and an 
 air of consideration and politeness, "your most bold 
 and skilfully executed commission was the trial of 
 Urbain Grandier, the magician. But, with Heaven's 
 assistance, one may be enabled to do things quite as 
 worthy and bold. It is not without merit, for in- 
 stance," added he, dropping his eyes like a young 
 girl, "to have extirpated vigorously a royal Bourbon 
 branch." 
 
 "It was not very difficult," answered the magis- 
 trate, with bitterness, "to select a soldier from the 
 guards to kill the Comte de Soissons; but to preside, 
 to judge " 
 
 "And to execute one's self," interrupted the heated 
 Capuchin, "is certainly less difficult than to educate 
 a man from infancy in the thought of accomplishing 
 great things with discretion, and to bear all tortures, 
 if necessary, for the love of heaven, rather than reveal 
 the name of those who have armed him with their 
 justice, or to die courageously upon the body of him 
 that he has struck, as did one who was commissioned 
 by me. He uttered no cry at the blow of the sword 
 of Riquemont, the equerry of the Prince. He died 
 like a saint; he was my pupil." 
 [196]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "To give orders is somewhat different from running 
 risk one's self." 
 
 "And did I risk nothing at the siege of Rochelle?" 
 
 "Of being drowned in a sewer, no doubt," said 
 Laubardemont. 
 
 "And you," said Joseph, "has your danger been 
 that of catching your fingers in instruments of tor- 
 ture? And all this because the Abbess of the Ursu- 
 lines is your niece." 
 
 "It was a good thing for your brothers of Saint 
 Francis, who held the hammers; but I I was struck 
 in the forehead by this same Cinq-Mars, who was 
 leading an enraged multitude." 
 
 "Are you quite sure of that?" cried Joseph, de- 
 lighted. "Did he dare to act thus against the com- 
 mands of the King?" The joy which this discovery 
 gave him made him forget his anger. 
 
 "Fools!" exclaimed the Cardinal, suddenly break- 
 ing his long silence, and taking from his lips his hand- 
 kerchief stained with blood. "I would punish your 
 angry dispute had it not taught me many secrets of 
 infamy on your part. You have exceeded my orders; 
 I commanded no torture, Laubardemont. That is 
 your second fault. You cause me to be hated for 
 nothing; that was useless. But you, Joseph, do not 
 neglect the details of this disturbance in which Cinq- 
 Mars was engaged; it may be of use in the end." 
 
 "I have all the names and descriptions," said the 
 secret judge, eagerly, bending his tall form and thin, 
 olive-colored visage, wrinkled with a servile smile, down 
 to the armchair. 
 
 [i97]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "It is well! it is well!" said the minister, pushing 
 him back; "but that is not the question yet. You, 
 Joseph, be in Paris before this young upstart, who 
 will become a favorite, I am certain. Become his 
 friend; make him of my party or destroy him. Let 
 him serve me or fall. But, above all, send me every 
 day safe persons to give me verbal accounts. I will 
 have no more writing for the future. I am much dis- 
 pleased with you, Joseph. What a miserable courier 
 you chose to send from Cologne! He could not under- 
 stand me. He saw the King too soon, and here we 
 are still in disgrace in consequence. You have just 
 missed ruining me entirely. Go and observe what is 
 about to be done in Paris. A conspiracy will soon 
 be hatched against me; but it will be the last. I re- 
 main here in order to let them all act more freely. Go, 
 both of you, and send me my valet after the lapse of 
 two hours; I wish now to be alone." 
 
 The steps of the two men were still to be heard as 
 Richelieu, with eyes fixed upon the entrance to the 
 tent, pursued them with his irritated glance. 
 
 "Wretches!" he exclaimed, when he was alone, 
 "go and accomplish some more secret work, and after- 
 ward I will crush you, in pure instruments of my 
 power. The King will soon succumb beneath the 
 slow malady which consumes him. I shall then be 
 regent; I shall be King of France myself; I shall no 
 longer have to dread the caprices of his weakness. I 
 will destroy the haughty races of this country. I will 
 be alone above them all. Europe shall tremble. 
 
 I " 
 
 [198]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 Here the blood, which again filled his mouth, obliged 
 him to apply his handkerchief to it once more. 
 
 "Ah, what do I say? Unhappy victim that I am! 
 Here am I, death-stricken! My dissolution is near; 
 my blood flows, and my spirit desires to labor still. 
 Why? For whom? Is it for glory? That is an 
 empty word. Is it for men? I despise them. For 
 whom, then, since I shall die, perhaps, in two or 
 three years? Is it for God? What a name! I have 
 not walked with Him! He has seen all 
 
 Here he let his head fall upon his breast, and his 
 eyes met the great cross of gold which was suspended 
 from his neck. He could not help throwing himself 
 back in his chair; but it followed him. He took it; 
 and considering it with fixed and devouring looks, he 
 said in a low voice: 
 
 "Terrible sign! thou followest me! Shall I find 
 thee elsewhere divinity and suffering? What am I? 
 What have I done?" 
 
 For the first time a singular and unknown terror 
 penetrated him. He trembled, at once frozen and 
 scorched by an invincible shudder. He dared not lift 
 his eyes, fearing to meet some terrible vision. He 
 dared not call, fearing to hear the sound of his own 
 voice. He remained profoundly plunged in medita- 
 tions on eternity, so terrible for him, and he murmured 
 the following kind of prayer: 
 
 "Great God, if Thou hearest me, judge me then, 
 
 but do not isolate me in judging me ! Look upon me, 
 
 surrounded by the men of my generation; consider 
 
 the immense work I had undertaken! Was not an 
 
 [i99]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 enormous lever wanted to bestir those masses; and 
 if this lever in falling crushes some useless wretches, 
 am I very culpable? I seem wicked to men; but 
 Thou, Supreme Judge, dost thou regard me thus? 
 
 "No; Thou knowest it is boundless power which 
 makes creature culpable against creature. It is not 
 Armand de Richelieu who destroys; it is the Prime- 
 Minister. It is not for his personal injuries; it is to 
 carry out a system. But a system what is this 
 word? Is it permitted me to play thus with men, to 
 regard them as numbers for working out a thought, 
 which perhaps is false? I overturn the framework 
 of the throne. What if, without knowing it, I sap 
 its foundations and hasten its fall! Yes, my borrowed 
 power has seduced me. O labyrinth! O weakness 
 of human thought! Simple faith, why did I quit thy 
 path? Why am I not a simple priest? If I dared 
 to break with man and give myself to God, the lad- 
 der of Jacob would again descend in my dreams." 
 
 At this moment his ear was struck by a great noise 
 outside laughter of soldiers, ferocious shouts and 
 oaths, mingled with words which were a long time sus- 
 tained by a weak yet clear voice; one would have 
 said it was the voice of an angel interrupted by the 
 laughter of demons. He rose and opened a sort of 
 linen window, worked in the side of his square tent. 
 A singular spectacle presented itself to his view; he 
 remained some instants contemplating it, attentive to 
 the conversation which was going on. 
 
 "Listen, listen, La Valeur!" said one soldier to an- 
 other. "See, she begins again to speak and to sing! 
 
 [200]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 Put her in the middle of the circle, between us and 
 the fire." 
 
 "You do not know her! You do not know her!" 
 said another. "But here is Grand-Ferre", who says 
 that he knows her." 
 
 "Yes, I tell you I know her; and, by Saint Peter 
 of Loudun, I will swear that I have seen her in my 
 village, when I had leave of absence ; and it was upon 
 an occasion at which one shuddered, but concerning 
 which one dares not talk, especially to a Cardinalist 
 like you." 
 
 "Eh! and pray why dare not one speak of it, you 
 great simpleton?" said an old soldier, twisting up his 
 moustache. 
 
 "It is not spoken of because it burns the tongue. 
 Do you understand that?" 
 
 "No, I don't understand it." 
 
 "Well, nor I neither; but certain citizens told it to 
 me." 
 
 Here a general laugh interrupted him. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha! is he a fool?" said one. "He listens 
 to what the townsfolk tell him." 
 
 "Ah, well! if you listen to their gabble, you have 
 time to lose," said another. 
 
 "You do not know, then, what my mother said, 
 greenhorn?" said the eldest, gravely dropping his eyes 
 with a solemn air, to compel attention. 
 
 "Eh! how can you think that I know it, La Pipe? 
 Your mother must have died of old age before my 
 grandfather came into the world." 
 
 "Well, greenhorn, I will tell you! You shall know, 
 [201]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 first of all, that my mother was a respectable Bohe- 
 mian, as much attached to the regiment of carabineers 
 of La Roque as my dog Canon there. She carried 
 brandy round her neck in a barrel, and drank better 
 than the best of us. She had fourteen husbands, all 
 soldiers, who died upon the field of battle." 
 
 "Ha! that was a woman!" interrupted the soldiers, 
 full of respect. 
 
 "And never once in her life did she speak to a 
 townsman, unless it was to say to him on coming to 
 her lodging, 'Light my candle and warm my soup.'" 
 
 "Well, and what was it that your mother said to 
 you?" 
 
 "If you are in such a hurry, you shall not know, 
 greenhorn. She said habitually in her talk, 'A soldier 
 is better than a dog; but a dog is better than a 
 bourgeois.'" 
 
 "Bravo! bravo! that was well said!" cried the sol- 
 dier, filled with enthusiasm at these fine words. 
 
 "That," said Grand-Ferre, "does not prove that 
 the citizens who made the remark to me that it burned 
 the tongue were in the right; besides, they were not 
 altogether citizens, for they had swords, and they 
 were grieved at a cure being burned, and so was I." 
 
 "Eh! what was it to you that they burned your 
 cure, great simpleton?" said a sergeant, leaning upon 
 the fork of his arquebus; "after him another would 
 come. You might have taken one of our generals in 
 his stead, who are all cures at present; for me, I am 
 a Royalist, and I say it frankly." 
 
 "Hold your tongue!" cried La Pipe; "let the girl 
 [202]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 speak. It is these dogs of Royalists who always dis- 
 turb us in our amusements." 
 
 "What say you?" answered Grand-Ferre. "Do 
 you even know what it is to be a Royalist?" 
 
 "Yes," said La Pipe; "I know you all very well. 
 Go, you are for the old self-called princes of the peace, 
 together with the wranglers against the Cardinal and 
 the gabelle. Am I right or not?" 
 
 "No, old red-stocking. A Royalist is one who is for 
 the King; that's what it is. And as my father was 
 the King's valet, I am for the King, you see; and I 
 have no liking for the red- stockings, I can tell you." 
 
 "Ah, you call me red-stocking, eh?" answered the 
 old soldier. "You shall give me satisfaction to-morrow 
 morning. If you had made war in the Valteline, you 
 would not talk like that; and if you had seen his 
 Eminence marching upon the dike at Rochelle, with 
 the old Marquis de Spinola, while volleys of cannon- 
 shot were sent after him, you would have nothing to 
 say about red-stockings." 
 
 "Come, let us amuse ourselves, instead of quar- 
 relling," said the other soldiers. 
 
 The men who conversed thus were standing round 
 a great fire, which illuminated them more than the 
 moon, beautiful as it was; and in the centre of the 
 group was the object of their gathering and their 
 cries. The Cardinal perceived a young woman ar- 
 rayed in black and covered with a long, white veil. 
 Her feet were bare; a thick cord clasped her elegant 
 figure; a long rosary fell from her neck almost to her 
 feet, and her hands, delicate and white as ivory, turned 
 [203]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 its beads and made them pass rapidly beneath her 
 fingers. The soldiers, with a barbarous joy, amused 
 themselves with laying little brands in her way to 
 burn her naked feet. The oldest took the smoking 
 match of his arquebus, and, approaching it to the 
 edge of her robe, said in a hoarse voice: 
 
 "Come, madcap, tell me your history, or I will fill 
 you with powder and blow you up like a mine; take 
 care, for I have already played that trick to others 
 besides you, in the old wars of the Huguenots. Come, 
 sing." 
 
 The young woman, looking at him gravely, made no 
 reply, but lowered her veil. 
 
 "You don't manage her well," said Grand-Ferre, 
 with a drunken laugh; "you will make her cry. You 
 don't know the fine language of the court; let me 
 speak to her." And, touching her on the chin, "My 
 little heart," he said, "if you will please, my sweet, 
 to resume the little story you told just now to these 
 gentlemen, I will pray you to travel with me upon the 
 river Du Tendre, as the great ladies of Paris say, 
 and to take a glass of brandy with your faithful chev- 
 alier, who met you formerly at Loudun, when you 
 played a comedy in order to burn a poor devil." 
 
 The young woman crossed her arms, and, looking 
 around her with an imperious air, cried: 
 
 "Withdraw, in the name of the God of armies; 
 withdraw, impious men! There is nothing in com- 
 mon between us. I do not understand your tongue, 
 nor you mine. Go, sell your blood to the princes of 
 the earth at so many oboles a day, and leave me to
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 accomplish my mission! Conduct me to the Car- 
 dinal." 
 
 A coarse laugh interrupted her. 
 
 "Do you think," said a carabineer of Maurevert, 
 "that his Eminence the Generalissimo will receive 
 you with your feet naked? Go and wash them." 
 
 "The Lord has said, 'Jerusalem, lift thy robe, and 
 pass the rivers of water,'" she answered, her arms 
 still crossed. "Let me be conducted to the Cardinal." 
 
 Richelieu cried in a loud voice, "Bring the woman 
 to me, and let her alone!" 
 
 All were silent; they conducted her to the minister. 
 
 "Why," said she, beholding him "why bring me 
 before an armed man?" 
 
 They left her alone with him without answering. 
 
 The Cardinal looked at her with a suspicious air. 
 "Madame," said he, "what are you doing in the camp 
 at this hour? And if your mind is not disordered, 
 why these naked feet?" 
 
 "It is a vow; it is a vow," answered the young 
 woman, with an air of impatience, seating herself 
 beside him abruptly. "I have also made a vow not 
 to eat until I have found the man I seek." 
 
 "My sister," said the Cardinal, astonished and 
 softened, looking closely at her, " God does not exact 
 such rigors from a weak body, and particularly from 
 one of your age, for you seem very young." 
 
 "Young! oh, yes, I was very young a few days 
 ago; but I have since passed two existences at least, 
 so much have I thought and suffered. Look on my 
 countenance." 
 
 [205]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 And she discovered a face of perfect beauty. Black 
 and very regular eyes gave life to it; but in their 
 absence one might have thought her features were 
 those of a phantom, she Wets so pale. Her lips were 
 blue and quivering; and a strong shudder made her 
 teeth chatter. 
 
 "You are ill, my sister," said the minister, touched, 
 taking her hand, which he felt to be burning hot. A 
 sort of habit of inquiring concerning his own health, 
 and that of others, made him touch the pulse of her 
 emaciated arm; he felt that the arteries were swollen 
 by the beatings of a terrible fever. 
 
 "Alas!" he continued, with more of interest, "you 
 have killed yourself with rigors beyond human strength ! 
 I have always blamed them, and especially at a ten- 
 der age. What, then, has induced you to do this? 
 Is it to confide it to me that you are come? Speak 
 calmly, and be sure of succor." 
 
 "Confide in men!" answered the young woman; 
 "oh, no, never! All have deceived me. I will con- 
 fide myself to no one, not even to Monsieur Cinq- 
 Mars, although he must soon die." 
 
 "What!" said Richelieu, contracting his brows, but 
 with a bitter laugh, "what! do you know this young 
 man? Has he been the cause of your misfortune?" 
 
 "Oh, no! He is very good, and hates wickedness; 
 that is what will ruin him. Besides," said she, sud- 
 denly assuming a harsh and savage air, "men are 
 weak, and there are things which women must accom- 
 plish. When there were no more valiant men in 
 Israel, Deborah arose." 
 
 [206]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Ah! how came you with all this fine learning?" 
 continued the Cardinal, still holding her hand. 
 
 "Oh, I can't explain that!" answered she, with a 
 touching air of naivete and a very gentle voice; "you 
 would not understand me. It is the Devil who has 
 taught me all, and who has destroyed me. " 
 
 "Ah, my child! it is always he who destroys us; 
 but he instructs us ill," said Richelieu, with an air of 
 paternal protection and an increasing pity. "What 
 have been your faults? Tell them to me; I am vary 
 powerful." 
 
 "Ah," said she, with a look of doubt, "you have 
 much influence over warriors, brave men and gen- 
 erals! Beneath your cuirass must beat a noble heart; 
 you are an old General who knows nothing of the 
 tricks of crime." 
 
 Richelieu smiled; this mistake flattered him. 
 
 "I heard you ask for the Cardinal; do you de- 
 sire to see him? Did you come here to seek 
 him?" 
 
 The girl drew back and placed a finger upon her 
 forehead. 
 
 "I had forgotten it," said she; "you have talked to 
 me too much. I had overlooked this idea, and yet it 
 is an important one; it is for that that I have con- 
 demned myself to the hunger which is killing me. I 
 must accomplish it, or I shall die first. Ah," said 
 she, putting her hand beneath her robe in her bosom, 
 whence she appeared to take something, "behold it! 
 this idea " 
 
 She suddenly blushed, and her eyes widened extra- 
 [207]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 ordinarily. She continued, bending to the ear of the 
 Cardinal : 
 
 "I will tell you; listen! Urbain Grandier, my lover 
 Urbain, told me this night that it was Richelieu who 
 had been the cause of his death. I took a knife from 
 an inn, and I come here to kill him; tell me where he 
 is." 
 
 The Cardinal, surprised and terrified, recoiled with 
 horror. He dared not call his guards, fearing the 
 cries of this woman and her accusations; neverthe- 
 less, a transport of this madness might be fatal to 
 him. 
 
 "This frightful history will pursue me everywhere!" 
 cried he, looking fixedly at her, and thinking within 
 himself of the course he should take. 
 
 They remained in silence, face to face, in the same 
 attitude, like two wrestlers who contemplate before 
 attacking each other, or like the pointer and his vic- 
 tim petrified by the power of a look. 
 
 In the mean time, Laubardemont and Joseph had 
 gone forth together; and ere separating they talked 
 for a moment before the tent of the Cardinal, because 
 they were eager mutually to deceive each other. Their 
 hatred had acquired new force by their recent quar- 
 rel; and each had resolved to ruin his rival in the 
 mind of his master. The judge then began the dia- 
 logue, which each of them had prepared, taking the 
 arm of the other as by one and the same movement. 
 
 "Ah, reverend father! how you have afflicted me by 
 seeming to take in ill part the trifling pleasantries 
 which I said to you just now." 
 [208]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Heavens, no! my dear Monsieur, I am far from 
 that. Charity, where would be charity? I have 
 sometimes a holy warmth in conversation, for the 
 good of the State and of Monseigneur, to whom I am 
 entirely devoted." 
 
 "Ah, who knows it better than I, reverend father? 
 But render me justice; you also know how completely 
 I am attached to his Eminence the Cardinal, to whom 
 I owe all. Alas! I have employed too much zeal in 
 serving him, since he reproaches me with it." 
 
 "Reassure yourself," said Joseph; "he bears no 
 ill-will toward you. I know him well; he can ap- 
 preciate one's actions in favor of one's family. He, 
 too, is a very good relative." 
 
 "Yes, there it is," answered Laubardemont ; "con- 
 sider my condition. My niece would have been to- 
 tally ruined at her convent had Urbain triumphed; 
 you feel that as well as I do, particularly as she did 
 not quite comprehend us, and acted the child when 
 she was compelled to appear." 
 
 "Is it possible? In full audience! What you tell 
 me indeed makes me feel for you. How painful it 
 must have been!" 
 
 "More so than you can imagine. She forgot, in 
 her madness, all that she had been told, committed a 
 thousand blunders in Latin, which we patched up as 
 well as we could; and she even caused an unpleasant 
 scene on the day of the trial, very unpleasant for me 
 and the judges there were swoons and shrieks. Ah, 
 I swear that I would have scolded her well had I not 
 been forced to quit precipitately that little town of 
 14 [ 209 ]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Loudun. But, you see, it is natural enough that I 
 am attached to her. She is my nearest relative; for 
 my son has turned out ill, and no one knows what 
 has become of him during the last four years. Poor 
 little Jeanne de Belfiel! I made her a nun, and then 
 abbess, in order to preserve all for that scamp. Had 
 I foreseen his conduct, I should have retained her 
 for the world." 
 
 "She is said to have great beauty," answered Jo- 
 seph; " that is a precious gift for a family. She might 
 have been presented at court, and the King Ah! 
 ah! Mademoiselle de la Fayette eh! eh! Mademoi- 
 selle d'Hautefort you understand; it may be even 
 possible to think of it yet." 
 
 "Ah, that is like you, Monseigneur! for we know 
 that you have been nominated to the cardinalate; how 
 good you are to remember the most devoted of your 
 friends!" 
 
 Laubardemont was yet talking to Joseph when they 
 found themselves at the end of the line of the camp, 
 which led to the quarter of the volunteers. 
 
 "May God and his Holy Mother protect you dur- 
 ing my absence!" said Joseph, stopping. "To-mor- 
 row I depart for Paris; and as I shall have frequent 
 business with this young Cinq-Mars, I shall first go to 
 see him, and learn news of his wound." 
 
 "Had I been listened to," said Laubardemont, 
 "you would not now have had this trouble." 
 
 "Alas, you are right!" answered Joseph, with a 
 profound sigh, and raising his eyes to heaven; "but 
 the Cardinal is no longer the same man. He will not 
 
 [210]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 fcake advantage of good ideas; he will ruin us if he 
 goes on thus." 
 
 And, making a low bow to the judge, the Capuchin 
 took the road which he had indicated to him. 
 
 Laubardemont followed him for some time with his 
 eyes, and, when he was quite sure of the route which 
 he had taken, he returned, or, rather, ran back to the 
 tent of the minister. "The Cardinal dismisses him, 
 he tells me; that shows that he is tired of him. I 
 know secrets which will ruin him. I will add that he 
 is gone to pay court to the future favorite. I will 
 replace this monk in the favor of the minister. The 
 moment is propitious. It is midnight; he will be 
 alone for an hour and a half yet. Let me run." 
 
 He arrived at the tent of the guards, which was 
 before the pavilion. 
 
 "Monseigneur gives audience to some one," said 
 the captain, hesitating; "you cannot enter." 
 
 "Never mind; you saw me leave an hour ago, and 
 things are passing of which I must give an account." 
 
 "Come in, Laubardemont," cried the minister; 
 "come in quickly, and alone." 
 
 He entered. The Cardinal, still seated, held the 
 two hands of the nun in one of his, and with the other 
 he imposed silence upon his stupefied agent, who 
 remained motionless, not yet seeing the face of this 
 woman. She spoke volubly, and the strange things 
 she said contrasted horribly with the sweetness of her 
 voice. Richelieu seemed moved. 
 
 "Yes, I will stab him with a knife. It is the knife 
 which the demon Behirith gave me at the inn; but it 
 
 [211]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 is the nail of Sisera. It has a handle of ivory, you see; 
 and I have wept much over it. Is it not singular? 
 my good General ? I will turn it in the throat of him 
 who killed my friend, as he himself told me to do; 
 and afterward I will burn the body. There is like 
 for like, the punishment which God permitted to 
 Adam. You have an astonished air, my brave gen- 
 eral; but you would be much more so, were I to repeat 
 to you his song the song which he sang to me again 
 last night, at the hour of the funeral-pyre you under- 
 stand? the hour when it rains, the hour when my 
 hand burns as now. He said to me: 'They are much 
 deceived, the magistrates, the red judges. I have 
 eleven demons at my command; and I shall come to 
 see you when the clock strikes, under a canopy of 
 purple velvet, with torches torches of resin to give 
 us light Ah, that is beautiful! Listen, listen to 
 what he sings!" 
 
 And she sang to the air of De Projundis: 
 
 "'Je vais etre prince d'Enfer, 
 Mon sceptre est un manteau de fer 
 
 Ce sapin brulant est mon trone. 
 
 Est ma robe est de soufre jaune; 
 Mais je veux t'epouser demain: 
 Viens, Jeanne, donne-mois la main.' 
 
 "Is it not singular, my good General?" said she, 
 when she had finished; "and I I answer him every 
 evening. Listen well to what I sing: 
 
 '"Le juge a parle* dans la nuit, 
 Et dans la tombe on me conduit, 
 Pourtant j'etais ta fiancee! 
 
 [212]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 Viens! la pluie est longue et glacde; 
 Mais tu ne dormira pas seul, 
 Je te prterai mon linceul.' 
 
 Then he speaks as spirits and prophets speak. He 
 says: 'Woe, woe to him who has shed blood! Are the 
 judges of the earth gods ? No, they are men who grow 
 old and suffer, and yet they dare to say aloud, Let 
 that man die! The penalty of death, the pain of 
 death who has given to man the right of imposing 
 it on man? Is the number two? One would be an 
 assassin, look you! But count well, one, two, three. 
 Behold, they are wise and just, these grave and sal- 
 aried criminals! O crime, the horror of Heaven! 
 If you looked upon them from above as I look upon 
 them, you would be yet paler than I am. Flesh de- 
 stroys flesh! That which lives by blood sheds blood 
 coldly and without anger, like a God with power to 
 create!'" 
 
 The cries which the unhappy girl uttered, as she 
 rapidly spoke these words, terrified Richelieu and 
 Laubardemont so much that they still remained mo- 
 tionless. The delirium and the fever continued to 
 transport her. 
 
 "'Did the judges tremble?' said Urbain Grandier 
 to me. 'Did they tremble at deceiving themselves?' 
 They work the work of the just. The question ! They 
 bind his limbs with ropes to make him speak. His 
 skin cracks, tears away, and rolls up like a parch- 
 ment; his nerves are naked, red, and glittering; his 
 bones crack; the marrow spurts out. But the judges 
 sleep! they dream of flowers and spring. 'How hot 
 [213]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 the grand chamber is!' says one, awaking; 'this man 
 has not chosen to speak! Is the torture finished?' 
 And pitiful at last, he dooms him to death death, 
 the sole fear of the living! death, the unknown world! 
 He sends before him a furious soul which will wait 
 for him. Oh! has he never seen the vision of ven- 
 geance ? Has he never seen before falling asleep the 
 flayed prevaricator?" 
 
 Already weakened by fever, fatigue, and grief, the 
 Cardinal, seized with horror and pity, exclaimed: 
 
 "Ah, for the love of God, let this terrible scene 
 have an end! Take away this woman; she is mad!" 
 
 The frantic creature turned, and suddenly uttering 
 loud cries, "Ah, the judge! the judge! the judge!" 
 she said, recognizing Laubardemont. 
 
 The latter, clasping his hands and trembling before 
 the Cardinal, said with terror: 
 
 "Alas, Monseigneur, pardon me! she is my niece, 
 who has lost her reason. I was not aware of this mis- 
 fortune, or she would have been shut up long ago. 
 Jeanne! Jeanne! come, Madame, to your knees! ask 
 forgiveness of Monseigneur the Cardinal-due." 
 
 "It is Richelieu!" she cried; and astonishment 
 seemed wholly to paralyze this young and unhappy 
 beauty. The flush which had animated her at first 
 gave place to a deadly pallor, her cries to a motion- 
 less silence, her wandering looks to a frightful fixed- 
 ness of her large eyes, which constantly followed the 
 agitated minister. 
 
 "Take away this unfortunate child quickly," said 
 he; "she is dying, and so am I. So many horrors
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 pursue me since that sentence that I believe all hell 
 is loosed upon me." 
 
 He rose as he spoke; Jeanne de Belfiel, still silent 
 and stupefied, with haggard eyes, open mouth, and 
 head bent forward, yet remained beneath the shock of 
 her double surprise, which seemed to have extinguished 
 the rest of her reason and her strength. At the move- 
 ment of the Cardinal, she shuddered to find herself 
 between him and Laubardemont, looked by turns at 
 one and the other, let the knife which she held fall 
 from her hand, and retired slowly toward the opening 
 of the tent, covering herself completely with her veil, 
 and looking wildly and with terror behind her upon 
 her uncle who followed, like an affrighted lamb, which 
 already feels at its back the burning breath of the 
 wolf about to seize it. 
 
 Thus they both went forth; and hardly had they 
 reached the open air, when the furious judge caught 
 the hands of his victim, tied them with a handkerchief, 
 and easily led her, for she uttered no cry, not even a 
 sigh, but followed him with her head still drooping 
 upon her bosom, and as if plunged in profound som- 
 nambulism. 
 
 [215]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE SPANIARD 
 
 Qu'un ami veritable est une douce chose! 
 II cherche vos besoins au fond de votre coeur; 
 
 II vous e"pargne la pudeur 
 
 De les lui de"couvrir vous-meme. 
 
 LA FONTAINE. 
 
 [EANTIME, a scene of different na- 
 ture was passing in the tent of Cinq- 
 Mars; the words of the King, the 
 first balm to his wounds, had been 
 followed by the anxious care of the 
 surgeons of the court. A spent ball, 
 easily extracted, had been the only 
 cause of his accident. He was al- 
 lowed to travel; and all was ready. The invalid had 
 received up to midnight friendly or interested visits; 
 among the first were those of little Gondi and of Font- 
 railles, who were also preparing to quit Perpignan for 
 Paris. The ex-page, Olivier d'Entraigues, joined with 
 them in complimenting the fortunate volunteer, whom 
 the King seemed to have distinguished. The habitual 
 coldness of the Prince toward all who surrounded him 
 having caused those who knew of them to regard the 
 few words he had spoken as assured signs of high 
 favor, all came to congratulate him.
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 At length, released from visitors, he lay upon his 
 camp-bed. De Thou sat by his side, holding his 
 hand, and Grandchamp at his feet, still grumbling at 
 the numerous interruptions that had fatigued his 
 wounded master. Cinq-Mars himself tasted one of 
 those moments of calm and hope, which so refresh 
 the soul as well as the body. His free hand secretly 
 pressed the gold cross that hung next to his heart, 
 the beloved donor of which he was so soon to behold. 
 Outwardly, he listened with kindly looks to the coun- 
 sels of the young magistrate; but his inward thoughts 
 were all turned toward the object of his journey 
 the object, also, of his life. The grave De Thou went 
 on in a calm, gentle voice: 
 
 "I shall soon follow you to Paris. I am happier 
 than you at seeing the King take you there with him. 
 You are right in looking upon it as the beginning of 
 a friendship which must be turned to profit. I have 
 reflected deeply on the secret causes of your ambition, 
 and I think I have divined your heart. Yes; that 
 feeling of love for France, which made it beat in your 
 earliest youth, must have gained greater strength. You 
 would be near the King in order to serve your country, 
 in order to put in action those golden dreams of your 
 early years. The thought is a vast one, and worthy 
 of you! I admire you; I bow before you. To ap- 
 proach the monarch with the chivalrous devotion of 
 our fathers, with a heart full of candor, and prepared 
 for any sacrifice; to receive the confidences of his 
 soul; to pour into his those of his subjects; to soften 
 the sorrows of the King by telling him the confidence 
 [217]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 his people have in him; to cure the wounds of the 
 people by laying them open to its master, and by the 
 intervention of your favor thus to reestablish that 
 intercourse of love between the father and his children 
 which for eighteen years has been interrupted by a 
 man whose heart is marble; for this noble enterprise, 
 to expose yourself to all the horrors of his vengeance 
 and, what is even worse, to brave all the perfidious 
 calumnies which pursue the favorite to the very steps 
 of the throne this dream was worthy of you. 
 
 "Pursue it, my friend," De Thou continued. "Nev- 
 er become discouraged. Speak loudly to the King 
 of the merit and misfortunes of his most illustrious 
 friends who are trampled on. Tell him fearlessly 
 that his old nobility have never conspired against 
 him; and that from the young Montmorency to the 
 amiable Comte de Soissons, all have opposed the 
 minister, and never the monarch. Tell him that the 
 old families of France were born with his race ; that in 
 striking them he affects the whole nation; and that, 
 should he destroy them, his own race will suffer, that 
 it will stand alone exposed to the blast of time and 
 events, as an old oak trembling and exposed to the 
 wind of the plain, when the forest which surrounded 
 and supported it has been destroyed. Yes!" cried 
 De Thou, growing animated, "this aim is a fine and 
 noble one. Go on in your course with a resolute step; 
 expel even that secret shame, that shyness, which a 
 noble soul experiences before it can resolve upon flat- 
 tering upon paying what the world calls its court. 
 Alas, kings are accustomed to these continual expres- 
 [218]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 sions of false admiration for them! Look upon them 
 as a new language which must be learned a language 
 hitherto foreign to your lips, but which, believe me, 
 may be nobly spoken, and which may express high 
 and generous thoughts." 
 
 During this warm discourse of his friend, Cinq- 
 Mars could not refrain from a sudden blush; and he 
 turned his head on his pillow toward the tent, so that 
 his face might not be seen. De Thou stopped: 
 
 "What is the matter, Henri? You do not answer. 
 Am I deceived?" 
 
 Cinq-Mars gave a deep sigh and remained silent. 
 
 "Is not your heart affected by these ideas which I 
 thought would have transported it?" 
 
 The wounded man looked more calmly at his friend 
 and said: 
 
 "I thought, my dear De Thou, that you would not 
 interrogate me further, and that you were willing to 
 repose a blind confidence in me. What evil genius 
 has moved you thus to sound my soul? I am not a 
 stranger to these ideas which possess you. Who told 
 you that I had not conceived them? Who told you 
 that I had not formed the firm resolution of prosecut- 
 ing them infinitely farther in action than you have 
 put them in words ? Love for France, virtuous hatred 
 of the ambition which oppresses and shatters her 
 ancient institutions with the axe of the executioner, 
 the firm belief that virtue may be as skilful as crime, 
 these are my gods as much as yours. But when 
 you see a man kneeling in a church, do you ask him 
 what saint or what angel protects him and receives 
 [219]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 his prayer? What matters it to you, provided that he 
 pray at the foot of the altars that you adore provided 
 that, if called upon, he fall a martyr at the foot of 
 those altars? When our forefathers journeyed with 
 naked feet toward the Holy Sepulchre, with pilgrims' 
 staves in their hands, did men inquire the secret vow 
 which led them to the Holy Land? They struck, 
 they died; and men, perhaps God himself, asked no 
 more. The pious captain who led them never stripped 
 their bodies to see whether the red cross and haircloth 
 concealed any other mysterious symbol; and in heav- 
 en, doubtless, they were not judged with any greater 
 rigor for having aided the strength of their resolutions 
 upon earth by some hope permitted to a Christian 
 some second and secret thought, more human, and 
 nearer the mortal heart." 
 
 De Thou smiled and slightly blushed, lowering his eyes. 
 
 "My friend," he answered, gravely; "this excite- 
 ment may be injurious to you. Let us not continue 
 this subject; let us not mingle God and heaven in our 
 discourse. It is not well; and draw the coverings 
 over your shoulder, for the night is cold. I promise 
 you," he added, covering his young invalid with a 
 maternal care "I promise not to offend you again 
 with my counsels." 
 
 "And I," cried Cinq-Mars, despite the interdiction 
 to speak, "swear to you by this gold cross you see, 
 and by the Holy Mary, to die rather than renounce 
 the plan that you first traced out ! You may one day, 
 perhaps, be forced to pray me to stop; but then it 
 will be too late." 
 
 [ 22 ]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Very well!" repeated the counsellor, "now sleep; 
 if you do not stop, I will go on with you, wherever 
 you lead me." 
 
 And, taking a prayer-book from his pocket, he began 
 to read attentively; in a short time he looked at Cinq- 
 Mars, who was still awake. He made a sign to Grand- 
 champ to put the lamp out of sight of the invalid ; but 
 this new care succeeded no better. The latter, with his 
 eyes still open, tossed restlessly on his narrow bed. 
 
 "Come, you are not calm," said De Thou, smiling; 
 "I will read to you some pious passage which will put 
 your mind in repose. Ah, my friend, it is here that 
 true repose is to be found; it is in this consolatory 
 book, for, open it where you will, you will always see, 
 on the one hand, man in the only condition that suits 
 his weakness prayer, and the uncertainty as to his 
 destiny and, on the other, God himself speaking to 
 him of his infirmities! What a glorious and heavenly 
 spectacle! What a sublime bond between heaven and 
 earth! Life, death, and eternity are there; open it 
 at random." 
 
 "Yes!" said Cinq-Mars, rising with a vivacity 
 which had something boyish in it; "you shall read to 
 me, but let me open the book. You know the old 
 superstition of our country when the mass-book is 
 opened with a sword, the first page on the left contains 
 the destiny of him who reads, and the first person 
 who enters after he has read is powerfully to influence 
 the reader's future fate." 
 
 " What childishness ! But be it as you will. Here is 
 your sword; insert the point. Let us see."
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "Let me read myself," said Cinq-Mars, taking one 
 side of the book. Old Grandchamp gravely advanced 
 his tawny face and his gray hair to the foot of the 
 bed to listen. His master read, stopped at the first 
 phrase, but with a smile, perhaps slightly forced, he 
 went on the the end. 
 
 "I. Now it was in the city of Milan that they appeared. 
 
 "II. The high-priest said to them, 'Bow down and adore the 
 gods.' 
 
 "III. And the people were silent, looking at their faces, which 
 appeared as the faces of angels. 
 
 "IV. But Gervais, taking the hand of Protais, cried, looking 
 to heaven, and filled with the Holy Ghost: 
 
 "V. Oh, my brother! I see the Son of man smiling upon us; 
 let me die first. 
 
 "VI. For if I see thy blood, I fear I shall shed tears unworthy 
 of the Lord our God. 
 
 "VII. Then Protais answered him in these words: 
 
 "VIII. My brother, it is just that I should perish after thee, 
 for I am older, and have more strength to see thee suffer. 
 
 "IX. But the senators and people ground their teeth at them. 
 
 "X. And the soldiers having struck them, their heads fell 
 together on the same stone. 
 
 "XI. Now it was in this same place that the blessed Saint 
 Ambroise found the ashes of the two martyrs which gave sight 
 to the blind." 
 
 "Well," said Cinq-Mars, looking at his friend when 
 he had finished, "what do you say to that?" 
 
 "God's will be done! but we should not scrutinize 
 it." 
 
 "Nor put off our designs for a child's play," said 
 D'Effiat impatiently, and wrapping himself in a cloak 
 
 [222]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 which was thrown over him. "Remember the lines 
 we formerly so frequently quoted, 'Justum et tenacem 
 propositi virum'; these iron words are stamped upon 
 my brain. Yes; let the universe crumble around me, 
 its wreck shall carry me away still resolute." 
 
 "Let us not compare the thoughts of man with 
 those of Heaven; and let us be submissive," said De 
 Thou, gravely. 
 
 "Amen!" said old Grandchamp, whose eyes had 
 lled with tears, which he hastily brushed away. 
 
 "What hast thou to do with it, old soldier? Thou 
 weepest," said his master. 
 
 "Amen!" said a voice, in a nasal tone, at the en- 
 trance of the tent. 
 
 "Parbleu, Monsieur! rather put that question to his 
 Gray Eminence, who comes to visit you," answered 
 the faithful servant, pointing to Joseph, who advanced 
 with his arms crossed, making a salutation with a 
 frowning air. 
 
 "Ah, it will be he, then!" murmured Cinq-Mars. 
 
 "Perhaps I come inopportunely," said Joseph, 
 soothingly. 
 
 "Perhaps very opportunely," said Henri d'Efnat, 
 smiling, with a glance at De Thou. "What can bring 
 you here, Father, at one o'clock in the morning? It 
 should be some good work." 
 
 Joseph saw he was ill-received; and as he had 
 always sundry reproaches to make himself with ref- 
 erence to all persons whom he addressed, and as many 
 resources in his mind for getting out of the difficulty, 
 he fancied that they had discovered the object of his 
 [223]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 visit, and felt that he should not select a moment of 
 ill humor for preparing the way to friendship. There- 
 fore, seating himself near the bed, he said, coldly: 
 
 "I come, Monsieur, to speak to you on the part of 
 the Cardinal- Generalissimo, of the two Spanish pris- 
 oners you have made; he desires to have information 
 concerning them as soon as possible. I am to see and 
 question them. But I did not suppose you were still 
 awake; I merely wished to receive them from your 
 people." 
 
 After a forced interchange of politeness, they ordered 
 into the tent the two prisoners, whom Cinq-Mars had 
 almost forgotten. 
 
 They appeared the one, young and displaying an 
 animated and rather wild countenance, was the soldier; 
 the other, concealing his form under a brown cloak, 
 and his gloomy features, which had something am- 
 biguous in their expression, under his broad-brimmed 
 hat, which he did not remove, was the officer. He 
 spoke first : 
 
 "Why do you make me leave my straw and my 
 sleep? Is it to deliver me or hang me?" 
 
 "Neither," said Joseph. 
 
 "What have I to do with thee, man with the long 
 beard? I did not see thee at the breach." 
 
 It took some time after this amiable exordium to 
 make the stranger understand the right a Capuchin 
 had to interrogate him. 
 
 "Well," he said, "what dost thou want?" 
 
 "I would know your name and your country." 
 
 "I shall not tell my name; and as for my country, 
 [224]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 I have the air of a Spaniard, but perhaps am not one, 
 for a Spaniard never acknowledges his country." 
 
 Father Joseph, turning toward the two friends, said : 
 "Unless I deceive myself, I have heard his voice some- 
 where. This man speaks French without an accent; 
 but it seems he wishes to give us enigmas, as in the 
 East." 
 
 "The East? that is it," said the prisoner. "A 
 Spaniard is a man from the East; he is a Catholic 
 Turk; his blood either flags or boils; he is lazy or 
 indefatigable; indolence makes him a slave, ardor a 
 tyrant; immovable in his ignorance, ingenious in his 
 superstition, he needs only a religious book and a 
 tyrannical master; he obeys the law of the pyre; he 
 commands by that of the poniard. At night he falls 
 asleep in his bloodthirsty misery, nurses fanaticism, 
 and awakes to crime. Who is this gentleman? Is it 
 the Spaniard or the Turk? Guess! Ah! you seem to 
 think that I have wit, because I light upon analogy. 
 
 "Truly, gentlemen, you do me honor; and yet the 
 idea may be carried much further, if desired. If I pass 
 to the physical order, for example, may I not say to you, 
 This man has long and serious features, a black and 
 almond-shaped eye, rugged brows, a sad and mobile 
 mouth, tawny, meagre, and wrinkled cheeks; his head 
 is shaved, and he covers it with a black handkerchief 
 in the form of a turban; he passes the whole day lying 
 or standing under a burning sun, without motion, 
 without utterance, smoking a pipe that intoxicates him. 
 Is this a Turk or a Spaniard? Are you satisfied, 
 gentlemen ? Truly, it would seem so ; you laugh, and 
 '5 [ 22 5]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 at what do you laugh? I, who have presented this 
 idea to you I have not laughed ; see, my countenance 
 is sad. Ah ! perhaps it is because the gloomy prisoner 
 has suddenly become a gossip, and talks rapidly. 
 That is nothing! I might tell you other things, and 
 render you some service, my worthy friends. 
 
 "If I should relate anecdotes, for example; if I told 
 you I knew a priest who ordered the death of some her- 
 etics before saying mass, and who, furious at being in- 
 terrupted at the altar during the holy sacrifice, cried 
 to those who asked for his orders, ' Kill them all ! kill 
 them all!' should you all laugh, gentlemen? No, not 
 all! This gentleman here, for instance, would bite 
 his lips and his beard. Oh ! it is true he might answer 
 that he did wisely, and that they were wrong to inter- 
 rupt his unsullied prayer. But if I added that he 
 concealed himself for an hour behind the curtain of 
 your tent, Monsieur de Cinq-Mars, to listen while you 
 talked, and that he came to betray you, and not to 
 get me, what would he say? Now, gentlemen, are 
 you satisfied? May I retire after this display?" 
 
 The prisoner had uttered this with the rapidity of a 
 quack vending his wares, and in so loud a voice that 
 Joseph was quite confounded. He arose indignantly 
 at last, and, addressing himself to Cinq-Mars, said: 
 
 "How can you suffer a prisoner who should have 
 been hanged to speak to you thus, Monsieur?" 
 
 The Spaniard, without deigning to notice him any 
 further, leaned toward D'Efnat, and whispered in his 
 ear: 
 
 "I can be of no further use to you; give me my 
 [226]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 liberty. I might ere this have taken it; but I would 
 not do so without your consent. Give it me, or have 
 me killed." 
 
 "Go, if you will!" said Cinq-Mars to him. "I 
 assure you I shall be very glad;" and he told his people 
 to retire with the soldier, whom he wished to keep in 
 his service. 
 
 This was the affair of a moment. No one remained 
 any longer in the tent with the two friends, except the 
 abashed Joseph and the Spaniard. The latter, taking 
 off his hat, showed a French but savage countenance. 
 He laughed, and seemed to respire more air into his 
 broad chest. 
 
 " Yes, I am a Frenchman, " he said to Joseph. " But 
 I hate France, because she gave birth to my father, 
 who is a monster, and to me, who have become one, 
 and who once struck him. I hate her inhabitants, 
 because they have robbed me of my whole fortune at 
 play, and because I have robbed them and killed them. 
 I have been two years in Spain in order to kill more 
 Frenchmen; but now I hate Spain still more. No 
 one will know the reason why. Adieu! I must live 
 henceforth without a nation; all men are my enemies. 
 Go on, Joseph, and you will soon be as good as I. Yes, 
 you have seen me once before," he continued, violently 
 striking him in the breast and throwing him down. 
 "I am Jacques de Laubardemont, the son of your 
 worthy friend." 
 
 With these words, quickly leaving the tent, he dis- 
 appeared like an apparition. De Thou and the ser- 
 vants, who ran to the entrance, saw him, with two 
 [227]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 bounds, spring over a surprised and disarmed soldier, 
 and run toward the mountains with the swiftness of 
 a deer, despite various musket-shots. Joseph took 
 advantage of the disorder to slip away, stammering a 
 few words of politeness, and left the two friends 
 laughing at his adventure and his disappointment, as 
 two schoolboys laugh at seeing the spectacles of their 
 pedagogue fall off. At last they prepared to seek a 
 rest of which they both stood in need, and which they 
 soon found the wounded man in his bed, and the 
 young counsellor in his chair. 
 
 As for the Capuchin, he walked toward his tent, 
 meditating how he should turn all this so as to take 
 the greatest possible revenge, when he met Laubarde- 
 mont dragging the young mad-woman by her two 
 hands. They recounted to each other their mutual 
 and horrible adventures. 
 
 Joseph had no small pleasure in turning the poniard 
 in the wound of his friend's heart, by telling him of 
 the fate of his son. 
 
 "You are not exactly happy in your domestic rela- 
 tions," he added. "I advise you to shut up your 
 niece and hang your son, if you are fortunate enough 
 to find him." 
 
 Laubardemont replied with a hideous laugh : 
 
 "As for this idiot here, I am going to give her to an 
 ex-secret judge, at present a smuggler in the Pyrenees 
 at Oleron. He can do what he pleases with her 
 make her a servant in his posada, for instance. I care 
 not, so that my lord never hears of her." 
 
 Jeanne de Belfiel, her head hanging down, gave no 
 [228]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 sign of sensibility. Every glimmer of reason was ex- 
 tinguished in her; one word alone remained upon 
 her lips, and this she continually pronounced. 
 
 "The judge! the judge! the judge!" she murmured, 
 and was silent. 
 
 Her uncle and Joseph threw her, almost like a sack 
 of corn, on one of the horses which were led up by 
 two servants. Laubardemont mounted another, and 
 prepared to leave the camp, wishing to get into the 
 mountains before day. 
 
 "A good journey to you!" he said to Joseph. "Ex- 
 ecute your business well in Paris. I commend to you 
 Orestes and Pylades." 
 
 "A good journey to you!" answered the other. "I 
 commend to you Cassandra and CEdipus." 
 
 " Oh! he has neither killed his father nor married his 
 mother." 
 
 "But he is on the high-road to those little pleas- 
 antries." 
 
 "Adieu, my reverend Father!" 
 
 "Adieu, my venerable friend!" 
 
 Then each added aloud, but in suppressed tones: 
 
 "Adieu, assassin of the gray robe! During thy 
 absence I shall have the ear of the Cardinal." 
 
 "Adieu, villain in the red robe! Go thyself and 
 destroy thy cursed family. Finish shedding that por- 
 tion of thy blood that is in others' veins. That share 
 which remains in thee, I will take charge of. Ha! a 
 well-employed night!" 
 
 [229]
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE RIOT 
 
 Le danger, Sire, est pressant et universel, et au dela de tous 
 les calculs de la prudence humaine. MIRABEAU, Adresse au Roi. 
 
 HUS with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, 
 In motion of no less celerity 
 Than that of thought," 
 
 exclaims the immortal Shakespeare in 
 the chorus of one of his tragedies. 
 
 " Suppose that you have seen 
 
 The well-appointed king 
 Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet 
 With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. 
 
 . . . behold, 
 And follow." 
 
 With this poetic movement he traverses time and 
 space, and transports at will the attentive assembly 
 to the theatre of his sublime scenes. 
 
 We shall avail ourselves of the same privilege, though 
 without the same genius. No more than he shall we 
 seat ourselves upon the tripod of the unities, but 
 merely casting our eyes upon Paris and the old dark 
 palace of the Louvre, we will at once pass over the 
 [230]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 space of two hundred leagues and the period of two 
 years. 
 
 Two years! what changes may they not have upon 
 men, upon their families, and, above all, in that great 
 and so troublous family of nations, whose long al- 
 liances a single day suffices to destroy, whose wars are 
 ended by a birth, whose peace is broken by a death! 
 We ourselves have beheld kings returning to their 
 dwelling on a spring day; that same day a vessel 
 sailed for a voyage of two years. The navigator re- 
 turned. The kings were seated upon their thrones; 
 nothing seemed to have taken place in his absence, 
 and yet God had deprived those kings of a hundred 
 days of their reign. 
 
 But nothing was changed for France in 1642, the 
 epoch to which we turn, except her fears and her 
 hopes. The future alone had changed its aspect. 
 Before again beholding our personages, we must con- 
 template at large the state of the kingdom. 
 
 The powerful unity of the monarchy was rendered 
 still more imposing by the misfortunes of the neigh- 
 boring States. The revolutions in England, and those 
 in Spain and Portugal, rendered the peace which 
 France enjoyed still more admired. Strafford and Oli- 
 vares, overthrown or defeated, aggrandized the immo- 
 vable Richelieu. 
 
 Six formidable armies, reposing upon their trium- 
 phant weapons, served as a rampart to the kingdom. 
 Those of the north, in league with Sweden, had put 
 the Imperialists to flight, still pursued by the spirit 
 of Gustavus Adolphus, those on the frontiers of Italy 
 [231]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 had in Piedmont received the keys of the towns which 
 had been defended by Prince Thomas; and those 
 which strengthened the chain of the Pyrenees held in 
 check revolted Catalonia, and chafed before Perpignan, 
 which they were not allowed to take. The interior 
 was not happy, but tranquil. An invisible genius 
 seemed to have maintained this calm, for the King, 
 mortally sick, languished at St.-Germain with a young 
 favorite; and the Cardinal was, they said, dying at 
 Narbonne. Some deaths, however, betrayed that he 
 yet lived ; and at intervals, men falling as if struck by a 
 poisonous blast recalled to mind the invisible power. 
 
 St.-Preuil, one of Richelieu's enemies, had just laid 
 his "iron head" upon the scaffold without shame or 
 fear, as he himself said on mounting it. 
 
 Meantime, France seemed to govern herself, for the 
 prince and the minister had been separated a long 
 time; and of these two sick men, who hated each 
 other, one never had held the reins of State, the other 
 no longer showed his power he was no longer named 
 in the public acts; he appeared no longer in the 
 government, and seemed effaced everywhere; he slept, 
 like the spider surrounded by his webs. 
 
 If some events and some revolutions had taken 
 place during these two years, it must have been in 
 hearts; it must have been some of those occult changes 
 from which, in monarchies without firm foundation, 
 terrible overthrows and long and bloody dissensions 
 arise. 
 
 To enlighten ourselves, let us glance at the old 
 black building of the unfinished Louvre, and listen 
 [232]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 to the conversation of those who inhabited it and those 
 who surrounded it. 
 
 It was the month of December; a rigorous winter 
 had afflicted Paris, where the misery and inquietude 
 of the people were extreme. However, curiosity was 
 still alive, and they were eager for the spectacles given 
 by the court. Their poverty weighed less heavily 
 upon them while they contemplated the agitations of 
 the rich. Their tears were less bitter on beholding 
 the struggles of power; and the blood of the nobles 
 which reddened their streets, and seemed the only 
 blood worthy of being shed, made them bless their 
 own obscurity. Already had tumultuous scenes and 
 conspicuous assassinations proved the monarch's weak- 
 ness, the absence and approaching end of the minis- 
 ter, and, as a kind of prologue to the bloody comedy 
 of the Fronde, sharpened the malice and even fired 
 the passions of the Parisians. This confusion was 
 not displeasing to them. Indifferent to the causes of 
 the quarrels which were abstruse for them, they were 
 not so with regard to individuals, and already began 
 to regard the party chiefs with affection or hatred, 
 not on account of the interest which they supposed 
 them to take in the welfare of their class, but simply 
 because as actors they pleased or displeased. 
 
 One night, especially, pistol- and gun-shots had been 
 heard frequently in the city; the numerous patrols 
 of the Swiss and the body-guards had even been 
 attacked, and had met with some barricades in the 
 tortuous streets of the He Notre-Dame ; carts chained 
 to the posts, and laden with barrels, prevented the 
 [233]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 cavaliers from advancing, and some musket-shots had 
 wounded several men and horses. However, the town 
 still slept, except the quarter which surrounded the 
 Louvre, which was at this time inhabited by the 
 Queen and M. le Due d'Orleans. There everything 
 announced a nocturnal expedition of a very serious 
 nature. 
 
 It was two o'clock in the morning. It was freezing, 
 and the darkness was intense, when a numerous as- 
 semblage stopped upon the quay, which was then 
 hardly paved, and slowly and by degrees occupied 
 the sandy ground that sloped down to the Seine. 
 This troop was composed of about two hundred men; 
 they were wrapped in large cloaks, raised by the long 
 Spanish swords which they wore. Walking to and 
 fro without preserving any order, they seemed to wait 
 for events rather than to seek them. Many seated 
 themselves, with their arms folded, upon the loose 
 stones of the newly begun parapet; they preserved 
 perfect silence. However, after a few minutes passed 
 in this manner, a man, who appeared to come out 
 of one of the vaulted doors of the Louvre, approached 
 slowly, holding a dark-lantern, the light from which 
 he turned upon the features of each individual, and 
 which he blew out after finding the man he sought 
 among them. He spoke to him in a whisper, taking 
 him by the hand: 
 
 "Well, Olivier, what did Monsieur le Grand say 
 to you? * Does all go well?" 
 
 * The master of the horse, Cinq-Mars, was thus named by abbrevi- 
 ation. This name will often occur in the course of the recital.
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Yes, I saw him yesterday at Saint- Germain. The 
 old cat is very ill at Narbonne; he is going ad patres. 
 But we must manage our affairs shrewdly, for it is 
 not the first time that he has played the torpid. Have 
 you people enough for this evening, my dear Fon- 
 trailles?" 
 
 "Be easy; Montresor is coming with a hundred of 
 Monsieur's gentlemen. You will recognize him; he 
 will be disguised as a master-mason, with a rule in 
 his hand. But, above all, do not forget the pass- 
 words. Do you know them all well, you and your 
 friends?" 
 
 "Yes, all except the Abbe de Gondi, who has not 
 yet arrived ; but Dieu me pardonne, I think he is there 
 himself! Who the devil would have known him?" 
 
 And here a little man without a cassock, dressed as 
 a soldier of the French guards, and wearing a very 
 black false moustache, slipped between them. He 
 danced about with a joyous air, and rubbed his hands. 
 
 "Vive Dieu! all goes on well, my friend. Fiesco 
 could not do better;" and rising upon his toes to tap 
 Olivier upon the shoulder, he continued: 
 
 "Do you know that for a man who has just quitted 
 the rank of pages, you don't manage badly, Sire 
 Olivier d'Entraigues ? and you will be among our 
 illustrious men if we find a Plutarch. All is well 
 organized; you arrive at the very moment, neither 
 too soon nor too late, like a true party chief. Fon- 
 trailles, this young man will get on, I prophesy. But 
 we must make haste; in two hours we shall have 
 some of the archbishops of Paris, my uncle's parish- 
 [235]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 loners. I have instructed them well; and they will 
 cry, 'Long live Monsieur! Long live the Regency! No 
 more of the Cardinal!' like madmen. They are good 
 devotees, thanks to me, who have stirred them up. 
 The King is very ill. Oh, all goes well, very well! 
 I come from Saint-Germain. I have seen our friend 
 Cinq-Mars; he is good, very good, still firm as a rock. 
 Ah, that is what I call a man! How he has played 
 with them with his careless and melancholy air! He 
 is master of the court at present. The King, they 
 say, is going to make him duke and peer. It is much 
 talked of; but he still hesitates. We must decide that 
 by our movement this evening. The will of the people ! 
 He must do the will of the people; we will make him 
 hear it. It will be the death of Richelieu, you'll see. 
 It is, above all, hatred of him which is to predom- 
 inate in the cries, for that is the essential thing. That 
 will at last decide our Gaston, who is still uncertain, 
 is he not?" 
 
 "And how can he be anything else?" said Fon- 
 trailles. "If he were to take a resolution to-day in 
 our favor it would be unfortunate." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "Because we should be sure that to-morrow morn- 
 ing he would be against us." 
 
 "Never mind," replied the Abbe"; "the Queen is 
 firm." 
 
 "And she has heart also," said Olivier; "that gives 
 me some hope for Cinq-Mars, who, it seems to me, 
 has sometimes dared to frown when he looked at 
 her," 
 
 [236]
 
 CINQ. MARS 
 
 "Child that you are, how little do you yet know of 
 the court! Nothing can sustain him but the hand of 
 the King, who loves him as a son; and as for the 
 Queen, if her heart beats, it is for the past and not 
 for the future. But these trifles are not to the pur- 
 pose. Tell me, dear friend, are you sure of your 
 young Advocate whom I see roaming about there? 
 Is he all right?" 
 
 "Perfectly; he is an excellent Royalist. He would 
 throw the Cardinal into the river in an instant. Be- 
 sides, it is Fournier of Loudun; that is saying every- 
 thing." 
 
 "Well, well, this is the kind of men we like. But 
 take care of yourselves, Messieurs; some one comes 
 from the Rue Saint-Honore. " 
 
 "Who goes there?" cried the foremost of the troop 
 to some men who were advancing. "Royalists or 
 Cardinalists?" 
 
 "Gaston and Le Grand," replied the newcomers, 
 in low tones. 
 
 "It is Montresor and Monsieur's people," said Fon- 
 trailles. "We may soon begin." 
 
 "Yes, par la corbleu /" said the newcomer, "for 
 the Cardinalists will pass at three o'clock. Some one 
 told us so just now." 
 
 "Where are they going?" said Fontrailles. 
 
 "There are more than two hundred of them to 
 escort Monsieur de Chavigny, who is going to see the 
 old cat at Narbonne, they say. They thought it safer 
 to pass by the Louvre. " 
 
 "Well, we will give him a velvet paw! " said the Abbe*. 
 [237!
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 As he finished saying this, a noise of carriages and 
 horses was heard. Several men in cloaks rolled an 
 enormous stone into the middle of the street. The 
 foremost cavaliers passed rapidly through the crowd, 
 pistols in hand, suspecting that something unusual 
 was going on; but the postilion, who drove the horses 
 of the first carriage, ran upon the stone and fell. 
 
 "Whose carriage is this which thus crushes foot- 
 passengers?" cried the cloakmen, all at once. "It is 
 tyrannical. It can be no other than a friend of the 
 Cardinal de la Rochelle."* 
 
 "It is one who fears not the friends of the little 
 Le Grand," exclaimed a voice from the open door, 
 from which a man threw himself upon a horse. 
 
 "Drive these Cardinalists into the river!" cried a 
 shrill, piercing voice. 
 
 This was a signal for the pistol-shots which were 
 furiously exchanged on every side, and which lighted 
 up this tumultuous and sombre scene. The clashing 
 of swords and trampling of horses did not prevent the 
 cries from being heard on one side: "Down with the 
 minister! Long live the King! Long live Monsieur 
 and Monsieur le Grand! Down with the red-stock- 
 ings!" On the other: "Long live his Eminence! Long 
 live the great Cardinal! Death to the factious! Long 
 live the King!" For the name of the King presided 
 over every hatred, as over every affection, at this 
 strange time. 
 
 * During the long siege of La Rochelle, this name was given to 
 Cardinal Richelieu, to ridicule his obstinacy in commanding as Gen- 
 eral-in-Chief, and claiming for himself the merit of taking that town.
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 The men on foot had succeeded, however, in plac- 
 ing the two carriages across the quay so as to make a 
 rampart against Chavigny's horses, and from this, 
 between the wheels, through the doors and springs, 
 overwhelmed them with pistol-shots, and dismounted 
 many. The tumult was frightful, but suddenly the 
 gates of the Louvre were thrown open, and two squad- 
 rons of the body-guard came out at a trot. Most of 
 them carried torches in their hands to light them- 
 selves and those they were about to attack. The 
 scene changed. As the guards reached each of the 
 men on foot, the latter was seen to stop, remove his 
 hat, make himself known, and name himself; and 
 the guards withdrew, sometimes saluting him, and 
 sometimes shaking him by the hand. This succor to 
 Chavigny's carriages was then almost useless, and only 
 served to augment the confusion. The body-guards, 
 as if to satisfy their consciences, rushed through the 
 throng of duellists, saying: 
 
 "Gentlemen, gentlemen, be moderate!" 
 
 But when two gentlemen had decidedly crossed 
 swords, and were in active conflict, the guard who 
 beheld them stopped to judge the fight, and some- 
 times even to favor the one who he thought was of 
 his opinion, for this body, like all France, had their 
 Royalists and their Cardinalists. 
 
 The windows of the Louvre were lighted one after 
 another, and many women's heads were seen behind 
 the little lozenge-shaped panes, attentively watching 
 the combat. 
 
 Numerous Swiss patrols came out with flambeaux. 
 [239]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 These soldiers were easily distinguished by an odd 
 uniform. The right sleeve was striped blue and red, 
 and the silk stocking of the right leg was red; the 
 left side was striped with blue, red, and white, and 
 the stocking was white and red. It had, no doubt, 
 been hoped in the royal chateau that this foreign 
 troop would disperse the crowd, but they were mis- 
 taken. These impassible soldiers coldly and exactly 
 executed, without going beyond, the orders they had 
 received, circulating symmetrically among the armed 
 groups, which they divided for a moment, returning 
 before the gate with perfect precision, and resuming 
 their ranks as on parade, without informing them- 
 selves whether the enemies among whom they had 
 passed had rejoined or not. 
 
 But the noise, for a moment appeased, became 
 general by reason of personal disputes. In every di- 
 rection challenges, insults, and imprecations were 
 heard. It seemed as if nothing but the destruction 
 of one of the two parties could put an end to the com- 
 bat, when loud cries, or rather frightful howls, raised 
 the tumult to its highest pitch. The Abbe de Gondi, 
 dragging a cavalier by his cloak to pull him down, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "Here are my people! Fontrailles, now you will 
 see something worth while! Look! look already who 
 they run! It is really charming." 
 
 And he abandoned his hold, and mounted upon a 
 
 stone to contemplate the manoeuvres of his troops, 
 
 crossing his arms with the importance of a General of 
 
 an army. Day was beginning to break, and from the 
 
 [240]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 end of the He St.-Louis a crowd of men, women, 
 and children of the lowest dregs of the people was 
 seen rapidly advancing, casting toward heaven and 
 the Louvre strange vociferations. Girls carried long 
 swords; children dragged great halberds and pikes 
 of the time of the League; old women in rags pulled 
 by cords old carts full of rusty and broken arms; 
 workmen of every trade, the greater number drunk, 
 followed, armed with clubs, forks, lances, shovels, 
 torches, stakes, crooks, levers, sabres, and spits. They 
 sang and howled alternately, counterfeiting with atro- 
 cious yells the cries of a cat, and carrying as a flag 
 one of these animals suspended from a pole and 
 wrapped in a red rag, thus representing the Cardinal, 
 whose taste for cats was generally known. Public 
 criers rushed about, red and breathless, throwing on 
 the pavement and sticking up on the parapets, the 
 posts, the walls of the houses, and even on the palace, 
 long satires in short stanzas upon the personages of 
 the time. Butcher-boys and scullions, carrying large 
 cutlasses, beat the charge upon saucepans, and dragged 
 in the mud a newly slaughtered pig, with the red cap 
 of a chorister on its head. Young and vigorous men, 
 dressed as women, and painted with a coarse ver- 
 milion, were yelling, "We are mothers of families 
 ruined by Richelieu! Death to the Cardinal!" They 
 carried in their arms figures of straw that looked like 
 children, which they threw into the river. 
 
 When this disgusting mob overran the quays with 
 its thousands of imps, it produced a strange effect 
 upon the combatants, and entirely contrary to that 
 16 [ 241 ]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 expected by their patron. The enemies on both sides 
 lowered their arms and separated. Those of Mon- 
 sieur and Cinq-Mars were revolted at seeing them- 
 selves succored by such auxiliaries, and, themselves 
 aiding the Cardinal's gentlemen to remount their 
 horses and to gain their carriages, and their valets to 
 convey the wounded to them, gave their adversaries 
 personal rendezvous to terminate their quarrel upon 
 a ground more secret and more worthy of them. 
 Ashamed of the superiority of numbers and the ignoble 
 troops which they seemed to command, foreseeing, 
 perhaps, for the first time the fearful consequences 
 of their political machinations, and what was the scum 
 they were stirring up, they withdrew, drawing their 
 large hats over their eyes, throwing their cloaks over 
 their shoulders, and avoiding the daylight. 
 
 "You have spoiled all, my dear Abbe, with this 
 mob," said Fontrailles, stamping his foot, to Gondi, 
 who was already sufficiently nonplussed; "your good 
 uncle has fine parishioners!" 
 
 "It is not my fault," replied Gondi, in a sullen tone; 
 "these idiots came an hour too late. Had they ar- 
 rived in the night, they would not have been seen, 
 which spoils the effect somewhat, to speak the truth 
 (for I grant that daylight is detrimental to them), and 
 we would only have heard the voice of the people: 
 Vox populi, vox Dei. Nevertheless, no great harm 
 has been done. They will by their numbers give us 
 the means of escaping without being known, and, 
 after all, our task is ended ; we did not wish the death 
 of the sinner. Chavigny and his men are worthy fel- 
 [242]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 lows, whom I love; if he is only slightly wounded, so 
 much the better. Adieu; I am going to see Mon- 
 sieur de Bouillon, who has arrived from Italy." 
 
 " Olivier," said Fontrailles, "go at once to Saint- 
 Germain with Fournier and Ambrosio; I will go and 
 give an account to Monsieur, with Montre"sor." 
 
 All separated, and disgust accomplished, with these 
 high-born men, what force could not bring about. . 
 
 Thus ended this fray, likely to bring forth great 
 misfortunes. No one was killed in it. The cavaliers, 
 having gained a few scratches and lost a few purses, 
 resumed their route by the side of the carriages along 
 the by-streets; the others escaped, one by one, through 
 the populace they had attracted. The miserable 
 wretches who composed it, deprived of the chief of 
 the troops, still remained two hours, yelling and scream- 
 ing until the effect of their wine was gone, and the 
 cold had extinguished at once the fire of their blood 
 and that of their enthusiasm. At the windows of 
 the houses, on the quay of the city, and along the 
 walls, the thoughtful and genuine people of Paris 
 watched with a sorrowful air and in mournful silence 
 these preludes of disorder; while the various bodies 
 of merchants, dressed in black and preceded by their 
 provosts, walked slowly and courageously through the 
 populace toward the Palais de Justice, where the par- 
 liament was to assemble, to make complaint of these 
 terrible nocturnal scenes. 
 
 The apartments of Gaston d' Orleans were in great 
 confusion. This Prince occupied the wing of the 
 Louvre parallel with the Tuileries; and his windows 
 [243]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 looked into the court on one side, and on the other 
 over a mass of little houses and narrow streets which 
 almost entirely covered the place. He had risen pre- 
 cipitately, awakened suddenly by the report of the 
 firearms, had thrust his feet into large square-toed 
 slippers with high heels, and, wrapped in a large silk 
 dressing-gown, covered with golden ornaments em- 
 broidered in relief, walked to and fro in his bedroom, 
 sending every minute a fresh lackey to see what was 
 going on, and ordering them immediately to go for 
 the Abbe de la Riviere, his general counsellor; but he 
 was unfortunately out of Paris. At every pistol-shot 
 this timid Prince rushed to the windows, without see- 
 ing anything but some flambeaux, which were carried 
 quickly along. It was in vain he was told that the 
 cries he heard were in his favor; he did not cease to 
 walk up and down the apartments, in the greatest 
 disorder his long black hair dishevelled, and his 
 blue eyes open and enlarged by disquiet and terror. 
 He was still thus when Montresor and Fontrailles at 
 length arrived and found him beating his breast, 
 and repeating a thousand times, "Mea culpa, mea 
 cut pal" 
 
 "You have come at last!" he exclaimed from a dis- 
 tance, running to meet them. "Come! quick! What 
 is going on? What are they doing there? Who are 
 these assassins? What are these cries?" 
 
 "They cry, 'Long live Monsieur!' " 
 
 Gaston, without appearing to hear, and holding the 
 door of his chamber open for an instant, that his voice 
 might reach the galleries in which were the people of 
 [244]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 his household, continued to cry with all his strength, 
 gesticulating violently: 
 
 "I know nothing of all this, and I have authorized 
 nothing. I will not hear anything! I will not know 
 anything! I will never enter into any project! These 
 are rioters who make all this noise; do not speak to 
 me of them, if you wish to be well received here. I 
 am the enemy of no man; I detest such scenes!" 
 
 Fontrailles, who knew the man with whom he had 
 to deal, said nothing, but entered with his friend, that 
 Monsieur might have time to discharge his first fury; 
 and when all was said, and the door carefully shut, 
 he began to speak: 
 
 " Monseigneur, " said he, "we come to ask you a 
 thousand pardons for the impertinence of these people, 
 who will persist in crying out that they desire the 
 death of your enemy, and that they would even wish 
 to make you regent should we have the misfortune to 
 lose his Majesty. Yes, the people are always frank 
 in their discourse; but they are so numerous that all 
 our efforts could not restrain them. It was truly a 
 cry from the heart an explosion of love, which rea- 
 son could not restrain, and which escaped all bounds." 
 
 "But what has happened, then?" interrupted Gas- 
 ton, somewhat calmed. "What have they been do- 
 ing these four hours that I have heard them?" 
 
 "That love," said Montresor, coldly, "as Monsieur 
 de Fontrailles had the honor of telling you, so escaped 
 all rule and bounds that we ourselves were carried 
 away by it, and felt seized with that enthusiasm which 
 always transports us at the mere name of Monsieur, 
 [245]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 and which leads us on to things which we had not 
 premeditated." 
 
 "But what, then, have you done?" said the Prince. 
 
 "Those things," replied Fontrailles, "of which 
 Monsieur de Montresor had the honor to speak to 
 Monsieur are precisely those which I foresaw here 
 yesterday evening, when I had the honor of convers- 
 ing with you." 
 
 "That is not the question," interrupted Gaston. 
 "You can not say that I have ordered or authorized 
 anything. I meddle with nothing; I know nothing 
 of government." 
 
 "I admit," continued Fontrailles, "that your High- 
 ness ordered nothing, but you permitted me to tell 
 you that I foresaw that this night would be a troubled 
 one about two o'clock, and I hoped that your aston- 
 ishment would not have been too great." 
 
 The Prince, recovering himself little by little, and 
 seeing that he did not alarm the two champions, hav- 
 ing also upon his conscience and reading in their eyes 
 the recollection of the consent which he had given 
 them the evening before, sat down upon the side 
 of his bed, crossed his arms, and, looking at them 
 with the air of a judge, again said in a commanding 
 tone: 
 
 "But what, then, have you done?" 
 
 "Why, hardly anything, Monseigneur, " said Fon- 
 trailles. "Chance led us to meet in the crowd some 
 of our friends who had a quarrel with Monsieur de 
 Chavigny's coachman, who was driving over them. 
 A few hot words ensued and rough gestures, and a 
 [246]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 few scratches, which kept Monsieur de Chavigny wait- 
 ing, and that is all." 
 
 "Absolutely all," repeated Montresor. 
 
 "What, all?" exclaimed Gaston, much moved, and 
 tramping about the chamber. "And is it, then, noth- 
 ing to stop the carriage of a friend of the Cardinal- 
 Duke? I do not like such scenes. I have already 
 told you so. I do not hate the Cardinal; he is cer- 
 tainly a great politician, a very great politician. You 
 have compromised me horribly; it is known that 
 Montresor is with me. If he has been recognized, 
 they will say that I sent him." 
 
 "Chance," said Montresor, "threw in my way this 
 peasant's dress, which Monsieur may see under my 
 cloak, and which, for that reason, I preferred to any 
 other." 
 
 Gaston breathed again. 
 
 "You are sure, then, that you have not been recog- 
 nized. You understand, my dear friend, how painful 
 it would be to me. You must admit yourself " 
 
 "Sure of it!" exclaimed the Prince's gentleman. "I 
 would stake my head and my share in Paradise that 
 no one has seen my features or called my by my name. " 
 
 "Well," continued Gaston, again seating himself on 
 his bed, and assuming a calmer air, in which even a 
 slight satisfaction was visible, "tell me, then, what has 
 happened." 
 
 Fontrailles took upon himself the recital, in which, 
 as we may suppose, the populace played a great part 
 and Monsieur's people none, and in his peroration he 
 said: 
 
 [247]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "From our windows even, Monseigneur, respectable 
 mothers of families might have been seen, driven by 
 despair, throwing their children into the Seine, cursing 
 Richelieu." 
 
 "Ah, it is dreadful!" exclaimed the Prince, indig- 
 nant, or feigning to be so, and to believe in these ex- 
 cesses. "Is it, then, true that he is so generally 
 detested? But we must allow that he deserves it. 
 What! his ambition and avarice have, then, reduced 
 to this extremity the good inhabitants of Paris, whom 
 I love so much." 
 
 "Yes, Monseigneur," replied the orator. "And it 
 is not Paris alone, it is all France, which, with us, 
 entreats you to decide upon delivering her from this 
 tyrant. All is ready; nothing is wanting but a sign 
 from your august head to annihilate this pygmy, who 
 has attempted to assault the royal house itself." 
 
 "Alas! Heaven is my witness that I myself forgive 
 him!" answered Gaston, raising up his eyes. "But I 
 can no longer bear the cries of the people. Yes, I will 
 help them; that is to say," continued the Prince, "so 
 that my dignity is not compromised, and that my 
 name does not appear in the matter." 
 
 "Well, but it is precisely that which we want," ex- 
 claimed Fontrailles, a little more at his ease. 
 
 "See, Monseigneur, there are already some names 
 to put after yours, who will not fear to sign. I will 
 tell you them immediately, if you wish it." 
 
 "But but," said the Due d'Orleans, timidly, "do 
 you know that it is a conspiracy which you propose to 
 me so coolly?" 
 
 [248]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Fie, Monseigneur, men of honor like us! a con- 
 spiracy! Oh! not at all; a league at the utmost, a 
 slight combination to give a direction to the unanimous 
 wish of the nation and the court that is all." 
 
 "But that is not so clear, for, after all, this affair 
 will be neither general nor public; therefore, it is a 
 conspiracy. You will not avow that you are con- 
 cerned in it." 
 
 "I, Monseigneur! Excuse me to all the world, 
 since the kingdom is already in it, and I am of the 
 kingdom. And who would not sign his name after 
 that of Messieurs de Bouillon and Cinq-Mars?" 
 
 "After, perhaps, not before," said Gaston, fixing 
 his eyes upon Fontrailles more keenly than he had 
 expected. 
 
 The latter hesitated a moment. 
 
 "Well, then, what would Monseigneur do should I 
 tell him the names after which he could sign his?" 
 
 "Ha! ha! this is amusing," answered the Prince, 
 laughing; "know you not that above mine there are 
 not many? I see but one." 
 
 "And if there be one, will Monseigneur promise to 
 sign that of Gaston beneath it?" 
 
 "Ah, parbleu! with all my heart. I risk nothing 
 there, for I see none but that of the King, who surely 
 is not of the party." 
 
 "Well, from this moment permit us," said Mon- 
 tresor, "to take you at your word, and deign at pres- 
 ent to consent to two things only: to see Monsieur de 
 Bouillon in the Queen's apartments, and Monsieur the 
 master of the horse at the King's palace. " 
 [249]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 " Agreed!" said Monsieur, gayly, tapping Montresor 
 on the shoulder. "I will to-day wait on my sister- 
 in-law at her toilette, and I will invite my brother to 
 hunt the stag with me at Chambord." 
 
 The two friends asked nothing further, and were 
 themselves surprised at their work. They never had 
 seen so much resolution in their chief. Accordingly, 
 fearing to lead him to a topic which might divert him 
 from the path he had adopted, they hastened to turn 
 the conversation upon other subjects, and retired in 
 delight, leaving as their last words in his ear that they 
 relied upon his keeping his promise. 
 
 [250]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE ALCOVE 
 
 Les reines ont 6t6 vues pleurant comme de simples femmes. 
 CHATEAUBRIAND. 
 
 Qu'il est doux d'etre belle alors qu'on est aime'e. DELPHINE 
 GAY. 
 
 ;HILE a prince was thus reassured 
 with difficulty by those who sur- 
 rounded him, and allowed them to 
 see a terror which might have proved 
 contagious, a princess more exposed 
 to accidents, more isolated by the 
 indifference of her husband, weaker 
 by nature and by the timidity which 
 is the result of the absence of happiness, on her side 
 set the example of the calmest courage and the most 
 pious resignation, and tranquillized her terrified suite; 
 this was the Queen. Having slept hardly an hour, 
 she heard shrill cries behind the doors and the thick 
 tapestries of her chamber. She ordered her women 
 to open the door, and the Duchesse de Chevreuse, in 
 her night attire, and wrapped in a great cloak, fell, 
 nearly fainting, at the foot of her bed, followed by four 
 of her ladies-in-waiting and three of the women of 
 the bed-chamber. Her delicate feet were bare, and 
 bleeding from a wound she had received in running. 
 
 [si]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 She cried, weeping like a child, that a pistol-shot had 
 broken her shutters and her window-panes, and had 
 wounded her; she entreated the Queen to send her 
 into exile, where she would be more tranquil than in 
 a country where they wished to assassinate her because 
 she was the friend of her Majesty. 
 
 Her hair was in great disorder, and fell to her feet. 
 It was her chief beauty ; and the young Queen thought 
 that this toilette was less the result of chance than 
 might have been imagined. 
 
 "Well, my dear, what has happened?" she said to 
 her with sang-froid. "You look like a Magdalen, but 
 in her youth, and before she repented. It is probable 
 that if they wish to harm any one here it is I; calm 
 yourself." 
 
 "No, Madame! save me, protect me! it is Riche- 
 lieu who pursues me, I am sure!" 
 
 The sound of pistols, which was then heard more 
 distinctly, convinced the Queen that the terrors of 
 Madame de Chevreuse were not vain. 
 
 "Come and dress me, Madame de Motteville!" 
 cried she. But that lady had completely lost her self- 
 possession, and, opening one of those immense ebony 
 coffers which then answered the purpose of ward- 
 robes, took from it a casket of the Princess's diamonds 
 to save it, and did not listen to her. The other women 
 had seen on a window the reflection of torches, and, 
 imagining that the palace was on fire, threw jewels, 
 laces, golden vases, and even the china, into sheets 
 which they intended to lower into the street. At this 
 moment Madame de Guemene*e arrived, a little more
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 dressed than the Duchesse de Chevreuse, but taking 
 events still more tragically. Her terror inspired the 
 Queen with a slight degree of fear, because of the 
 ceremonious and placid character she was known to 
 possess. She entered without curtseying, pale as a 
 spectre, and said with volubility: 
 
 " Madame, it is time to make our confession. The 
 Louvre is attacked, and all the populace are arriving 
 from the city, I have been told." 
 
 Terror silenced and rendered motionless all the per- 
 sons present. 
 
 "We shall die!" exclaimed the Duchesse de Chev- 
 reuse, still on her knees. "Ah, my God! why did I 
 leave England ? Yes, let us confess. I confess aloud. 
 I have loved I have been loved by " 
 
 "Well," said the Queen, "I do not undertake to 
 hear your confession to the end. That would not 
 perhaps be the least of my dangers, of which, how- 
 ever, you think little." 
 
 The coolness of Anne of Austria, and this last se^ 
 vere observation, however, restored a little calm to 
 this beautiful personage, who rose in confusion, and 
 perceiving the disordered state of her toilet, went to 
 repair it as she best could in a closet near by. 
 
 "Dona Stefania," said the Queen to one of her 
 women, the only Spaniard whom she had retained, 
 "go seek the captain of the guards. It is time that 
 I should see men at last, and hear something reason- 
 able." 
 
 She said this in Spanish, and the mystery of this 
 order, spoken in a tongue which the ladies did not 
 [253]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 understand, restored those in the chamber to their 
 senses. 
 
 The waiting-woman was telling her beads, but she 
 rose from the corner of the alcove in which she had 
 sought refuge, and hastened to obey her mistress. 
 
 The signs of revolt and the evidences of terror be- 
 came meantime more distinct. In the great court of 
 the Louvre was heard the trampling of the horses of 
 the guards, the orders of the chief r, the rolling of the 
 Queen's carriages, which were being prepared, should 
 it be necessary to fly. The rattling of the iron chains 
 dragged along the pavement to form barricades in 
 case of an attack, hurried steps in the corridor, the 
 clash of arms, the confused cries of the people, which 
 rose and fell, went and came again, like the noise of the 
 waves and the winds. The door once more opened, 
 and this time it was to admit a very charming person. 
 
 "I expected you, dear Marie," said the Queen, ex- 
 tending her arms to the Duchesse de Mantua. "You 
 have been more courageous than any of us; you are 
 attired fit to be seen by all the court." 
 
 "I was not in bed, fortunately," replied the young 
 Princesse de Gonzaga, casting down her eyes. "I saw 
 all these people from the windows. O Madame, Ma- 
 dame, fly! I implore you to escape by the secret 
 stairway, and let us remain in your place. They 
 might take one of us for the Queen. " And she added, 
 with tears, "I have heard cries of death. Fly, Ma- 
 dame! I have no throne to lose. You are the daugh- 
 ter, the wife, and the mother of kings. Save yourself, 
 and leave us here!" 
 
 [254]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "You have more to lose than I, m'amie, in beauty, 
 youth, and, I hope, in happiness," said the Queen, 
 with a gracious smile, giving the Duchess her beau- 
 tiful hands to kiss. "Remain in my alcove and wel- 
 come; but we will both remain there. The only ser- 
 vice I accept from you, my sweet child, is to bring to 
 my bed that little golden casket which my poor Motte- 
 ville has left on the ground, and which contains all 
 that I hold most precious. " 
 
 Then, as she took it, she whispered in Marie's ear: 
 
 "Should any misfortune happen to me, swear that 
 you will throw it into the Seine." 
 
 "I will obey you, Madame, as my benefactress and 
 my second mother," Marie answered, weeping. 
 
 The sound of the conflict redoubled on the quays, 
 and the windows reflected the flash of the firearms, 
 of which they heard the explosion. The captain of 
 the guards and the captain of the Swiss sent for orders 
 from the Queen through Dona Stefania. 
 
 "I permit them to enter," said the Queen. "Stand 
 aside, ladies. I am a man in a moment like this; and 
 I ought to be so." Then, raising the bed-curtains, 
 she continued, addressing the two officers: 
 
 "Gentlemen, first remember that you answer with 
 your heads for the life of the princes, my children. 
 You know that, Monsieur de Guitaut?" 
 
 "I sleep across their doorway, Madame; but this 
 disturbance does not threaten either them or your 
 Majesty." 
 
 "Very well; do not think of me until after them," 
 interrupted the Queen, "and protect indiscriminately 
 [255]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 all who are threatened. You also hear me, Monsieur 
 de Bassompierre; you are a gentleman. Forget that 
 your uncle is yet in the Bastille, and do your duty by 
 the grandsons of the dead King, his friend." 
 
 He was a young man, with a frank, open counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Your Majesty," said he, with a slight German 
 accent, "may see that I have forgotten my family, 
 and not yours." And he displayed his left hand 
 despoiled of two fingers, which had just been cut off. 
 "I have still another hand," said he, bowing and 
 withdrawing with Guitaut. 
 
 The Queen, much moved, rose immediately, and, 
 despite the prayers of the Princesse de Guemenee, the 
 tears of Marie de Gonzaga, and the cries of Madame 
 de Chevreuse, insisted upon placing herself at the 
 window, and half opened it, leaning upon the shoulder 
 of the Duchesse de Mantua. 
 
 "What do I hear?" she said. "They are crying, 
 'Long live the King! Long live the Queen!' ' 
 
 The people, imagining they recognized her, redoubled 
 their cries at this moment, and shouted louder than 
 ever, "Down with the Cardinal! Long live Monsieur 
 le Grand!" 
 
 Marie shuddered. 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" said the Queen, 
 observing her. But as she did not answer, and trem- 
 bled in every limb, this good and gentle Princess 
 appeared not to perceive it; and, paying the greatest 
 attention to the cries and movements of the populace, 
 she even exaggerated an inquietude which she had 
 [256]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 not felt since the first name had reached her ear. An 
 hour later, when they came to tell her that the crowd 
 only awaited a sign from her hand to withdraw, she 
 waved it graciously, and with an air of satisfaction. 
 But this joy was far from being complete, for her 
 heart was still troubled by many things, and, above 
 all, by the presentiment of the regency. The more 
 she leaned forward to show herself, the more she beheld 
 the revolting scenes which the increasing light revealed. 
 Terror took possession of her soul as it became nec- 
 essary to appear calm and confiding; and her heart 
 was saddened at the very gayety of her words and 
 countenance. Exposed to all eyes, she felt herself a 
 mere woman, and shuddered in looking at that peo- 
 ple whom she would soon perhaps be called upon to 
 govern, and who already took upon themselves to 
 demand f he death of ministers, and to call upon their 
 Queen to appear before them. 
 
 She saluted them. 
 
 A hundred and fifty years later that salute was 
 repeated by another princess, like herself of Austrian 
 blood, and Queen of France. The monarchy without 
 foundation, such as Richelieu made it, was born and 
 died between these two salutes. 
 
 The Princess at last closed her windows, and hast- 
 ened to dismiss her timid suite. The thick curtains 
 fell again over the barred windows; and the room 
 was no longer lighted by a day which was odious to 
 her. Large white wax flambeaux burned in cande- 
 labra, in the form of golden arms, which stand out 
 from the framed and flowered tapestries with which 
 i7 [ 2 S7]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 the walls were hung. She remained alone with Marie 
 de Mantua; and reentering with her the enclosure 
 which was formed by the royal balustrade, she fell 
 upon her bed, fatigued by her courage and her smiles, 
 and burst into tears, leaning her head upon her pil- 
 low. Marie, on her knees upon a velvet footstool, 
 held one of her hands in both hers, and without dar- 
 ing to speak first, leaned her head tremblingly upon 
 it; for until that moment, tears never had been seen 
 in the Queen's eyes. 
 
 They remained thus for some minutes. The Prin- 
 cess, then raising herself up by a painful effort, spoke : 
 
 "Do not afflict yourself, my child; let me weep. 
 It is such a relief to one who reigns! If you pray to 
 God for me, ask Him to grant me sufficient strength 
 not to hate the enemy who pursues me everywhere, 
 and who will destroy the royal family of Frr.ice and 
 the monarchy by his boundless ambition, i recognize 
 him in all that has taken place; I see him in this 
 tumultuous revolt." 
 
 "What, Madame! is he not at Narbonne? for it 
 is the Cardinal of whom you speak, no doubt; and 
 have you not heard that these cries were for you, and 
 against him?" 
 
 "Yes, m'amie, he is three hundred leagues- away 
 from us, but his fatal genius keeps guard at the door. 
 If these cries have been heard, it is because he has 
 allowed them; if these men were assembled, it is be- 
 cause they have not yet reached the hour which he 
 has destined for their destruction. Believe me, I 
 know him; and I have dearly paid for the knowledge 
 [258]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 of that dark soul. It has cost me all the power of my 
 rank, the pleasures of my age, the affection of my 
 family and even the heart of my husband. He has 
 isolated me from the whole world. He now confines 
 me within a barrier of honors and respect; and for- 
 merly he dared, to the scandal of all France, to bring 
 an accusation against myself. They examined my 
 papers, they interrogated me, they made me sign my- 
 self guilty, and ask the King's pardon for a fault of 
 which I was ignorant; and I owed to the devotion, 
 and the perhaps eternal imprisonment of a faithful 
 servant,* the preservation of this casket which you 
 have saved for me. I read in your looks that you think 
 me too fearful; but do not deceive yourself, as all the 
 court now does. Be sure, my dear child, that this man 
 is everywhere, and that he knows even our thoughts." 
 
 "What, Madame! does he know all that these men 
 have cried under your windows, and the names of 
 those who sent them?" 
 
 "Yes; no doubt he knows it, or has foreseen it. 
 He permits it; he authorizes it, to compromise me in 
 the King's eyes, and keep him forever separated from 
 me. He would complete my humiliation." 
 
 "But the King has not loved him for two years; 
 he loves another." 
 
 The Queen smiled; she gazed some time in silence 
 upon the pure and open features of the beautiful Marie, 
 and her look, full of candor, which was languidly 
 
 * His name was Laporte. Neither the fear of torture nor the hope 
 of the Cardinal's reward could draw from him one word of the Queen's 
 secrets. 
 
 [259]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 raised toward her. She smoothed back the black 
 curls which shaded her noble forehead, and seemed 
 to rest her eyes and her soul in looking at the charm- 
 ing innocence displayed upon so lovely a face. She 
 kissed her cheek, and resumed: 
 
 "You do not suspect, my poor child, a sad truth. 
 It is that the King loves no one, and that those who 
 appear the most in favor will be the soonest aban- 
 doned by him, and thrown to him who engulfs and 
 devours all." 
 
 "Ah, mon Dieu! what is this you tell me?" 
 
 "Do you know how many he has destroyed?" con- 
 tinued the Queen, in a low voice, and looking into her 
 eyes as if to read in them all her thoughts, and to 
 make her own penetrate there. "Do you know the 
 end of his favorites? Have you been told of the 
 exile of Baradas; of that of Saint-Simon; of the con- 
 vent of Mademoiselle de la Fayette, the shame of 
 Madame d'Hautfort, the death of Chalais? All have 
 fallen before an order from Richelieu to his master. 
 Without this favor, which you mistake for friendship, 
 their lives would have been peaceful. But this favor 
 is mortal; it is a poison. Look at this tapestry, which 
 represents Semele. The favorites of Louis XIII re- 
 semble that woman; his attachment devours like this 
 fire, which dazzles and consumes her." 
 
 But the young Duchess was no longer in a condition 
 to listen to the Queen. She continued to fix her large, 
 dark eyes upon her, dimmed by a veil of tears; her 
 hands trembled in those of Anne of Austria, and her 
 lips quivered with convulsive agitation. 
 [260]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "I am very cruel, am I not, Marie?" continued the 
 Queen, in an extremely sweet voice, and caressing her 
 like a child from whom one would draw an avowal. 
 "Oh, yes; no doubt I am very wicked! Your heart 
 is full; you can not bear it, my child. Come, tell me; 
 how do matters stand with you and Monsieur de Cinq- 
 Mars?" 
 
 At this word grief found a vent, and, still on her 
 knees at the Queen's feet, Marie in her turn shed 
 upon the bosom of the good Princess a deluge of 
 tears, with childish sobs and so violent an agitation of 
 her head and her beautiful shoulders that it seemed 
 as if her heart would break. The Queen waited a 
 long time for the end of this first emotion, rocking her 
 in her arms as if to appease her grief, frequently re- 
 peating, "My child, my child, do not afflict yourself 
 thus!" 
 
 "Ah, Madame!" she exclaimed, "I have been guilty 
 toward you; but I did not reckon upon that heart. 
 I have done wrong, and I shall perhaps be punished 
 severely for it. But, alas! how shall I venture to 
 confess to you, Madame? It was not so much to 
 open my heart to you that was difficult; it was to avow 
 to you that I had need to read there myself." 
 
 The Queen reflected a moment, laying her finger 
 upon her lips. "You are right," she then replied; 
 "you are quite right. Marie, it is always the first 
 word which is the most difficult to say; and that 
 difficulty often destroys us. But it must be so; and 
 without this rule one would be often wanting in dig- 
 nity. Ah, how difficult it is to reign ! To-day I would 
 [261]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 descend into your heart, but I come too late to do 
 you good." 
 
 Marie de Mantua hung her head without making 
 any reply. 
 
 "Must I encourage you to speak?" said the Queen. 
 "Must I remind you that I have almost adopted you 
 for my eldest daughter? that after seeking to unite 
 you with the King's brother, I prepared for you the 
 throne of Poland? Must I do more, Marie? Yes, I 
 must, I will. If afterward you do not open your 
 whole heart to me, I have misjudged you. Open this 
 golden casket; here is the key. Open it fearlessly; 
 do not tremble as I do." 
 
 The Duchesse de Mantua obeyed with hesitation, 
 and beheld in this little chased coffer a knife of rude 
 form, the handle of which was of iron, and the blade 
 very rusty. It lay upon some letters carefully folded, 
 upon which was the name of Buckingham. She 
 would have lifted them ; Anne of Austria stopped her. 
 
 "Seek nothing further," she said; "that is all the 
 treasure of the Queen. And it is a treasure; for 
 it is the blood of a man who lives no longer, but who 
 lived for me. He was the most beautiful, the bravest, 
 the most illustrious of the nobles of Europe. He 
 covered himself with the diamonds of the English 
 crown to please me. He raised up a fierce war and 
 armed fleets, which he himself commanded, that he 
 might have the happiness of once fighting him who 
 was my husband. He traversed the seas to gather a 
 flower upon which I had trodden, and ran the risk of 
 death to kiss and bathe with his tears the foot of this 
 [262]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 bed in the presence of two of my ladies-in-waiting. 
 Shall I say more? Yes, I will say it to you I loved 
 him! I love him still in the past more than I could 
 love him in the present. He never knew it, never 
 divined it. This face, these eyes, were marble toward 
 him, while my heart burned and was breaking with 
 grief; but I was the Queen of France!" Here Anne 
 of Austria forcibly grasped Marie's arm. "Dare now 
 to complain," she continued, "if you have not yet 
 ventured to speak to me of your love, and dare now 
 to be silent when I have told you these things!" 
 
 "Ah, yes, Madame, I shall dare to confide my grief 
 to you, since you are to me ' 
 
 "A friend, a woman!" interrupted the Queen. "I 
 was a woman in my terror, which put you in pos- 
 session of a secret unknown to the whole world. I 
 am a woman by a love which survives the man I loved. 
 Speak; tell me! It is now time." 
 
 "It is too late, on the contrary," replied Marie, 
 with a forced smile. "Monsieur de Cinq-Mars and I 
 are united forever." 
 
 "Forever!" exclaimed the Queen. "Can you mean 
 it? And your rank, your name, your future is all 
 lost? Do you reserve this despair for your brother, 
 the Due de Bethel, and all the Gonzagas?" 
 
 "For more than four years I have thought of it. I 
 am resolved; and for ten days we have been af- 
 fianced." 
 
 "Affianced!" exclaimed the Queen, clasping her 
 hands. "You have been deceived, Marie. Who 
 would have dared this without the King's order? It 
 [263]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 is an intrigue which I will know. I am sure that you 
 have been misled and deceived." 
 
 Marie hesitated a moment, and then said: 
 
 "Nothing is more simple, Madame, than our attach- 
 ment. I inhabited, you know, the old chateau of 
 Chaumont, with the Marechale d'Effiat, the mother 
 of Monsieur de Cinq-Mars. I had retired there to 
 mourn the death of my father; and it soon happened 
 that Monsieur de Cinq-Mars had to deplore the loss 
 of his. In this numerous afflicted family, I saw his 
 grief only, which was as profound as mine. All that 
 he said, I had already thought, and when we spoke of 
 our afflictions we found them wholly alike. As I had 
 been the first to suffer, I was better acquainted with 
 sorrow than he; and I endeavored to console him by 
 telling him all that I had suffered, so that in pitying 
 me he forgot himself. This was the beginning of 
 our love, which, as you see, had its birth, as it were, 
 between two tombs." 
 
 "God grant, my sweet, that it may have a happy 
 termination!" said the Queen. 
 
 "I hope so, Madame, since you pray for me," con- 
 tinued Marie. "Besides, everything now smiles upon 
 me; but at that time I was very miserable. The 
 news arrived one day at the chateau that the Cardinal 
 had called Monsieur de Cinq-Mars to the army. It 
 seemed to me that I was again deprived of one of my 
 relatives; and yet we were strangers. But Monsieur 
 de Bassompierre spoke without ceasing of battles and 
 death. I retired every evening in grief, and I wept 
 during the night. I thought at first that my tears 
 [264]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 flowed for the past, but I soon perceived that it was 
 for the future; and I felt that they could not be the 
 same tears, since I wished to conceal them. Some 
 time passed in the expectation of his departure. I 
 saw him every day; and I pitied him for having to 
 depart, because he repeated to me every instant that 
 lie would have wished to live eternally as he then did, 
 in his own country and with us. He was thus with- 
 out ambition until the day of his departure, because 
 he knew not whether he was whether he was I 
 dare not say it to your Majesty- 
 Marie blushed, cast down her humid eyes, and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Well!" said the Queen, "whether he was beloved, 
 is it not so?" 
 
 "And in the evening, Madame, he left, ambitious." 
 "That is evident, certainly. He left," said Anne of 
 Austria, somewhat relieved; "but he has been back 
 two years, and you have seen him?" 
 
 "Seldom, Madame," said the young Duchess, 
 proudly; "and always in the presence of the priest, 
 before whom I have promised to be the wife of no 
 other than Cinq- Mars." 
 
 "Is it really, then, a marriage? Have you dared to 
 do it? I shall inquire. But, Heaven, what faults! 
 how many faults in the few words I have heard! Let 
 me reflect upon them." 
 
 And, speaking aloud to herself, the Queen contin- 
 ued, her eyes and head bent in the attitude of reflection: 
 "Reproaches are useless and cruel if the evil is done. 
 The past is no longer ours; let us think of the future. 
 [265]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 Cinq-Mars is brave, able, and even profound in his 
 ideas. I have observed that he has done much in 
 two years, and I now see that it was for Marie. He 
 comports himself well; he is worthy of her in my 
 eyes, but not so in the eyes of Europe. He must rise 
 yet higher. The Princesse de Mantua can not, may 
 not, marry less than a prince. He must become one. 
 By myself I can do nothing; I am not the Queen, I 
 am the neglected wife of the King. There is only 
 the Cardinal, the eternal Cardinal, and he is his 
 enemy; and perhaps this disturbance 
 
 "Alas! it is the beginning of war between them. I 
 saw it at once." 
 
 "He is lost then!" exclaimed the Queen, embracing 
 Marie. "Pardon me, my child, for thus afflicting you; 
 but in times like these we must see all and say all. 
 Yes, he is lost if he does not himself overthrow this 
 wicked man for the King will not renounce him; 
 force alone 
 
 "He will overthrow him, Madame. He will do it, 
 if you will assist him. You are the divinity of France. 
 Oh, I conjure you, protect the angel against the 
 demon! It is your cause, that of your royal family, 
 that of all your nation." 
 
 The Queen smiled. 
 
 "It is, above all, your cause, my child; and it is as 
 such that I will embrace it to the utmost extent of 
 my power. That is not great, as I have told you, 
 but such as it is, I lend it to you entirely, provided, 
 however, that this angel does not stoop to commit 
 mortal sins," added she, with a meaning look. "I 
 [266]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 heard his name pronounced this night by voices most 
 unworthy of him." 
 
 "Oh, Madame, I would swear that he knows noth- 
 ing of it!" 
 
 "Ah, my child, do not speak of State affairs. You 
 are not yet learned enough in them. Let me sleep, 
 if I can, before the hour of my toilette. My eyes are 
 burning, and yours also, perhaps." 
 
 Saying these words, the amiable Queen laid her 
 head upon the pillow which covered the casket, and 
 soon Marie saw her fall asleep through sheer fatigue. 
 She then rose, and, seating herself in a great, tapes- 
 tried, square armchair, clasped her hands upon her 
 knees, and began to reflect upon her painful situation. 
 Consoled by the aspect of her gentle protectress, she 
 often raised her eyes to watch her slumber, and sent 
 her in secret all the blessings which love showers upon 
 those who protect it, sometimes kissing the curls ot 
 her blond hair, as if by this kiss she could convey to 
 her soul all the ideas favorable to the thought ever 
 present to her mind. 
 
 The Queen's slumber was prolonged, while Marie 
 thought and wept. However, she remembered that 
 at ten o'clock she must appear at the royal toilette 
 before all the court. She resolved to cast aside re- 
 flection, to dry her tears, and she took a thick folio 
 volume placed upon a table inlaid with enamel and 
 medallions; it was the Astree of M. d'Urfe a work 
 de belle galanterie adored by the fair prudes of the 
 court. The unsophisticated and straightforward mind 
 of Marie could not enter into these pastoral loves. She 
 [267]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 was too simple to understand the berg&res du Lignon, 
 too clever to be pleased at their discourse, and too 
 impassioned to feel their tenderness. However, the 
 great popularity of the romance so far influenced her 
 that she sought to compel herself to take an interest 
 in it; and, accusing herself internally every time that 
 she felt the ennui which exhaled from the pages of 
 the book, she ran through it w r ith impatience to find 
 something to please and transport her. An engraving 
 arrested her attention. It represented the shepherdess 
 Astree with high-heeled shoes, a corset, and an im- 
 mense farthingale, standing on tiptoe to watch floating 
 down the river the tender Celadon, drowning himself 
 in despair at having been somewhat coldly received 
 in the morning. Without explaining to herself the 
 reason of the taste and accumulated fallacies of this 
 picture, she sought, in turning over the pages, some- 
 thing which could fix her attention; she saw the word 
 "Druid." 
 
 "Ah! here is a great character," said she. "I shall 
 no doubt read of one of those mysterious sacrifi- 
 cers of whom Britain, I am told, still preserves the 
 monuments; but I shall see him sacrificing men. 
 That would be a spectacle of horror; however, let 
 us read it." 
 
 Saying this, Marie read with repugnance, knitting 
 her brows, and nearly trembling, the following: 
 
 "The Druid Adamas delicately called the shepherds Pimandre, 
 Ligdamont, and Clidamant, newly arrived from Calais. 'This 
 adventure can not terminate, ' said he, ' but by the extremity of 
 love. The soul, when it loves, transforms itself into the object
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 beloved; it is to represent this that my agreeable enchantments 
 will show you in this fountain the nymph Sylvia, whom you all 
 three love. The high-priest Amasis is about to come from 
 Montbrison, and will explain to you the delicacy of this idea. 
 Go, then, gentle shepherds! If your desires are well regulated, 
 they will not cause you any torments; and if they are not so, 
 you will be punished by swoonings similar to those of Celadon, 
 and the shepherdess Galatea, whom the inconstant Hercules 
 abandoned in the mountains of Auvergne, and who gave her 
 name to the tender country of the Gauls; or you will be stoned 
 by the shepherdesses of Lignon, as was the ferocious Amidor. 
 The great nymph of this cave has made an enchantment.'" 
 
 The enchantment of the great nymph was complete 
 on the Princess, who had hardly sufficient strength to 
 find out with a trembling hand, toward the end of the 
 book, that the Druid Adamas was an ingenious alle- 
 gory, representing the Lieutenant- General of Mont- 
 brison, of the family of the Papons. Her weary eyes 
 closed, and the great book slipped from her lap to the 
 cushion of velvet upon which her feet were placed, 
 and where the beautiful Astree and the gallant Celadon 
 reposed luxuriously, less immovable than Marie de 
 Mantua, vanquished by them and by profound slumber. 
 
 [269]
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE CONFUSION 
 
 II faut, en France, beaucoup de fermete et une grande 6tendue 
 d'esprit pour se passer des charges et des emplois, et consentir 
 ainsi a demeurer chez soiane rien faire. Personne, presque, 
 n'a assez de merite pour jouer ce role avec dignite, ni assez de 
 fonds pour remplir le role du temps, sans ce que le vulgaire ap- 
 peile les affaires. 
 
 II ne manque cependant a Poisivetd du sage qu'un meilleur 
 nom, et que m&liter, parler, lire et etre tranquille, s'appelat 
 travailler. LA 
 
 URING this same morning, the various 
 events of which we have seen in the 
 apartments of Gaston d'Orle'ans and 
 of the Queen, the calm and silence 
 of study reigned in a modest cabinet 
 of a large house near the Palais de 
 Justice. A bronze lamp, of a gothic 
 shape, struggling with the coming 
 day, threw its red light upon a mass of papers and 
 books which covered a large table; it lighted the bust 
 of L'H6pital, that of Montaigne the essayist, the Pres- 
 ident de Thou, and of King Louis XIII. 
 
 A fireplace sufficiently large for a man to enter and 
 
 sit there was occupied by a large fire burning upon 
 
 enormous andirons. Upon one of these was placed 
 
 the foot of the studious De Thou, who, already risen, 
 
 [270]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 examined with attention the new works of Descartes 
 and Grotius. He was writing upon his knee his notes 
 upon these books of philosophy and politics, which 
 were then the general subjects of conversation; but 
 at this moment the Meditations Metaphysiques ab- 
 sorbed all his attention. The philosopher of Touraine 
 enchanted the young counsellor. Often, in his en- 
 thusiasm, he struck the book, uttering exclamations of 
 admiration; sometimes he took a sphere placed near 
 him, and, turning it with his ringers, abandoned him- 
 self to the most profound reveries of science; then, 
 led by them to a still greater elevation of mind, he 
 would suddenly throw himself upon his knees before 
 a crucifix, placed upon the chimney-piece, because at 
 the limits of the human mind he had found God. At 
 other times he buried himself in his great armchair, 
 so as to be nearly sitting upon his shoulders, and, 
 placing his two hands upon his eyes, followed in his 
 head the trace of the reasoning of Rene Descartes, 
 from this idea of the first meditation: 
 
 "Suppose that we are asleep, and that all these particularities 
 that is, that we open our eyes, move our heads, spread our 
 arms are nothing but false illusions." 
 
 to this sublime conclusion of the third: 
 
 "Only one thing remains to be said; it is that like the idea 
 of myself, that of God is born and produced with me from 
 the time I was created. And certainly it should not be thought 
 strange that God, in creating me, should have implanted in me 
 this idea, to be, as it were, the mark of the workman impressed 
 upon his work. " 
 
 [271]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 These thoughts entirely occupied the mind of the 
 young counsellor, when a loud noise was heard under 
 the windows. He thought that some house on fire 
 excited these prolonged cries, and hastened to look 
 toward the wing of the building occupied by his mother 
 and sisters; but all appeared to sleep there, and the 
 chimneys did not even send forth any smoke, to attest 
 that its inhabitants were even awake. He blessed 
 Heaven for it; and, running to another window, he saw. 
 the people, whose exploits we have witnessed, hastening 
 toward the narrow streets which led to the quay. 
 
 After examining this rabble of women and children, 
 the ridiculous flag which led them, and the rude dis- 
 guises of the men: "It is some popular fete or some 
 carnival comedy," said he; and again returning to 
 the corner of the fire, he placed a large almanac 
 upon the table, and carefully sought in it what saint 
 was honored that day. He looked in the column of 
 the month of December; and, finding at the fourth 
 day of this month the name of Ste.-Barbe, he re- 
 membered that he had seen several small cannons 
 and barrels pass, and, perfectly satisfied with the ex- 
 planation which he had given himself, he hastened to 
 drive away the interruption which had called off his 
 attention, and resumed his quiet studies, rising only 
 to take a book from the shelves of his library, and, 
 after reading in it a phrase, a line, or only a word, 
 he threw it from him upon his table or on the floor, 
 covered in this way with books or papers which he 
 would not trouble himself to return to their places, 
 lest he should break the thread of his reveries. 
 [272]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 Suddenly the door was hastily opened, and a name 
 was announced which he had distinguished among 
 those at the bar a man whom his connections with 
 the magistracy had made personally known to him. 
 
 "And by what chance, at five o'clock in the morning, 
 do I see Monsieur Fournier?" he cried. "Are there 
 some unfortunates to defend, some families to be sup- 
 ported by the fruits of his talent, some error to dis- 
 sipate in us, some virtue to awaken in our hearts? 
 for these are of his accustomed works. You come, 
 perhaps, to inform me of some fresh humiliation of 
 our parliament. Alas! the secret chambers of the 
 Arsenal are more powerful than the ancient magis- 
 tracy of Clovis. The parliament is on its knees; all 
 is lost, unless it is soon filled with men like yourself." 
 
 "Monsieur, I do not merit your praise," said the 
 Advocate, entering, accompanied by a grave and aged 
 man, enveloped like himself in a large cloak. "I 
 deserve, on the contrary, your censure; and I am 
 almost a penitent, as is Monsieur le Comte du Lude, 
 whom you see here. We come to ask an asylum for 
 the day." 
 
 "An asylum! and against whom?" said De Thou, 
 making them sit down. 
 
 "Against the lowest people in Paris, who wish to 
 have us for chiefs, and from whom we fly. It is odious; 
 the sight, the smell, the ear, and the touch, above all, 
 are too severely wounded by it," said M. du Lude, 
 with a comical gravity. "It is too much!" 
 
 "Ah! too much, you say?" said De Thou, very 
 much astonished, but not willing to show it, 
 '8 [273]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "Yes," answered the Advocate; "really, between 
 ourselves, Monsieur le Grand goes too far." 
 
 "Yes, he pushes things too fast. He will render 
 all our projects abortive," added his companion. 
 
 "Ah! and you say he goes too far?" replied M. de 
 Thou, rubbing his chin, more and more surprised. 
 
 Three months had passed since his friend Cinq- 
 Mars had been to see him; and he, without feeling 
 much disquieted about it knowing that he was at 
 St. -Germain in high favor, and never quitting the 
 King was far removed from the news of the court. 
 Absorbed in his grave studies, he never heard of public 
 events till they were forced upon his attention. He 
 knew nothing of current life until the last moment, 
 and often amused his intimate friends by his naive 
 astonishment the more so that from a little worldly 
 vanity he desired to have it appear as if he were fully 
 acquainted with the course of events, and tried to 
 conceal the surprise he experienced at every fresh 
 intelligence. He was now in this situation, and to 
 this vanity was added the feeling of friendship; he 
 would not have it supposed that Cinq-Mars had been 
 negligent toward him, and, for his friend's honor even, 
 would appear to be aware of his projects. 
 
 "You know very well how we stand now," continued 
 the Advocate. 
 
 "Yes, of course. Well?" 
 
 "Intimate as you are with him, you can not be 
 ignorant that all has been organizing for a year 
 past." 
 
 "Certainly, all has been organizing; but proceed." 
 [274]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "You will admit with us that Monsieur le Grand 
 is wrong?" 
 
 "Ah, that is as it may be; but explain yourself. 
 I shall see." 
 
 "Well, you know upon what we had agreed at the 
 last conference of which he informed you?" 
 
 "Ah! that is to say pardon me, I perceive it almost; 
 but set me a little upon the track." 
 
 "It is useless; you no doubt remember what he 
 himself recommended us to do at Marion de Lorme's?" 
 
 "To add no one to our list," said M. du Lude. 
 
 "Ah, yes, yes! I understand," said DeThou; "that 
 appears reasonable, very reasonable, truly." 
 
 "Well," continued Fournier, "he himself has in- 
 fringed this agreement; for this morning, besides the 
 ragamuffins whom that ferret the Abbe de Gondi 
 brought to us, there was some vagabond captain, who 
 during the night struck with sword and poniard gentle- 
 men of both parties, crying out at the top of his voice, 
 ' A moi, D'Aubijoux! You gained three thousand du- 
 cats from me; here are three sword-thrusts for you. 
 A moi, La Chapelle! I will have ten drops of your 
 blood in exchange for my ten pistoles!' and I myself 
 saw him attack these gentlemen and many more of 
 both sides, loyally enough, it is true for he struck 
 them only in front and on their guard but with 
 great success, and with a most revolting impartiality." 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur, and I was about to tell him my 
 
 opinion," interposed De Lude, "when I saw him 
 
 escape through the crowd like a squirrel, laughing 
 
 greatly with some suspicious-looking men with dark, 
 
 [275]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 swarthy faces; I do not doubt, however, that Mon- 
 sieur de Cinq- Mars sent him, for he gave orders to 
 that Ambrosio whom you must know that Spanish 
 prisoner, that rascal whom he has taken for a servant. 
 In faith, I am disgusted with all this; and I was not 
 born to mingle with this canaille." 
 
 "This, Monsieur," replied Fournier, "is very dif- 
 ferent from the affair at Loudun. There the people 
 only rose, without actually revolting; it was the sen- 
 sible and estimable part of the populace, indignant at 
 an assassination, and not heated by wine and money. 
 It was a cry raised against an executioner a cry of 
 which one could honorably be the organ and not 
 these howlings of factious hypocrisy, of a mass of 
 unknown people, the dregs of the mud and sewers of 
 Paris. I confess that I am very tired of what I see; 
 and I have come to entreat you to speak about it to 
 Monsieur le Grand." 
 
 De Thou was very much embarrassed during this 
 conversation, and sought in vain to understand what 
 Cinq-Mars could have to do with the people, who 
 appeared to him merely merrymaking; on the other 
 hand, he persisted in not owning his ignorance. It 
 was, however, complete; for the last time he had 
 seen his friend, he had spoken only of the King's 
 horses and stables, of hawking, and of the importance 
 of the King's huntsmen in the affairs of the State, 
 which did not seem to announce vast projects in which 
 the people could take a part. He at last timidly ven- 
 tured to say: 
 
 "Messieurs, I promise to do your commission; 
 [276]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 meanwhile, I offer you my table and beds as long as 
 you please. But to give my advice in this matter is 
 very difficult. By the way, it was not the jete of 
 Sainte-Barbe I saw this morning?" 
 
 "The Sainte-Barbe!" said Fournier. 
 
 "The Sainte-Barbe!" echoed Du Lude. "They 
 burned powder." 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes! that is what Monsieur de Thou 
 means," said Fournier, laughing; "very good, very 
 good indeed! Yes, I think to-day is Sainte-Barbe." 
 
 De Thou was now altogether confused and reduced 
 to silence; as for the others, seeing that they did not 
 understand him, nor he them, they had recourse to 
 silence. 
 
 They were sitting thus mute, when the door opened 
 to admit the old tutor of Cinq-Mars, the Abbe Quillet, 
 who entered, limping slightly. He looked very gloomy, 
 retaining none of his former gayety in his air or lan- 
 guage; but his look was still animated, and his speech 
 energetic. 
 
 "Pardon me, my dear De Thou, that I so early 
 disturb you in your occupations; it is strange, is it 
 not, in a gouty invalid? Ah, time advances; two 
 years ago I did not limp. I was, on the contrary, 
 nimble enough at the time of my journey to Italy; 
 but then fear gives legs as well as wings." 
 
 Then, retiring into the recess of a window, he signed 
 De Thou to come to him. 
 
 "I need hardly remind you, my friend, who are in 
 their secrets, that I affianced them a fortnight ago, as 
 they have told you." 
 
 [277]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "Ah, indeed! Whom?" exclaimed poor De Thou, 
 fallen from the Charybdis into the Scylla of astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Come, come, don't affect surprise;' you know very 
 well whom," continued the Abbe. "But, faith, I fear 
 I have been too complaisant with them, though these 
 two children are really interesting in their love. I 
 fear for him more than for her; I doubt not he is acting 
 very foolishly, judging from the disturbance this morn- 
 ing. We must consult together about it." 
 
 "But," said De Thou, very gravely, "upon my 
 honor, I do not know what you mean. Who is acting 
 foolishly?" 
 
 "Now, my dear Monsieur, will you still play the 
 mysterious with me? It is really insulting," said the 
 worthy man, beginning to be angry. 
 
 "No, indeed, I mean it not; whom have you 
 affianced?" 
 
 "Again! fie, Monsieur!" 
 
 "And what was the disturbance this morning?" 
 
 "You are laughing at me! I take my leave," said 
 the Abbe, rising. 
 
 "I vow that I understand not a word of all that has 
 been told me to-day. Do you mean Monsieur de Cinq- 
 Mars?" 
 
 "Very well, Monsieur, very well! you treat me as 
 a Cardinalist; very well, we part," said the Abbe 
 Quillet, now altogether furious. And he snatched up 
 his crutch and quitted the room hastily, without listen- 
 ing to De Thou, who followed him to his carriage, 
 seeking to pacify him, but without effect, because he 
 [278]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 did not wish to name his friend upon the stairs in the 
 hearing of his servants, and could not explain the 
 matter otherwise. He had the annoyance of seeing 
 the old Abbe depart, still in a passion; he called out 
 to him amicably, " To-morrow," as the coachman 
 drove off, but got no answer. 
 
 It was, however, not uselessly that he had descended 
 to the foot of the stairs, for he saw thence hideous 
 groups of the mob returning from the Louvre, and 
 was thus better able to judge of the importance of 
 their movements in the morning; he heard rude voices 
 exclaiming, as in triumph: 
 
 "She showed herself, however, the little Queen!" 
 "Long live the good Due de Bouillon, who is coming 
 to us! He has a hundred thousand men with him, 
 all on rafts on the Seine. The old Cardinal de la 
 Rochelle is dead! Long live the King! Long live 
 Monsieur le Grand!" 
 
 The cries redoubled at the arrival of a carriage and 
 four, with the royal livery, which stopped at the coun- 
 sellor's door, and in which De Thou recognized the 
 equipage of Cinq-Mars; Ambrosio alighted to open 
 the ample curtains, which the carriages of that period 
 had for doors. The people threw themselves between 
 the carriage-steps and the door of the house, so that 
 Cinq-Mars had an absolute struggle ere he could get 
 out and disengage himself from the market-women, 
 who sought to embrace him, crying: 
 
 "Here you are, then, my sweet, my dear! Here you 
 are, my pet ! Ah, how handsome he is, the love, with 
 his big collar! Isn't he worth more than the other 
 [279]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 fellow with the white moustache? Come, my son, 
 bring us out some good wine this morning." 
 
 Henri d'Effiat pressed, blushing deeply the while, 
 his friend's hand, who hastened to have his doors 
 closed. 
 
 "This popular favor is a cup one must drink," said 
 he, as they ascended the stairs. 
 
 "It appears to me," replied De Thou, gravely, 
 "that you drink it even to the very dregs." 
 
 "I will explain all this clamorous affair to you," 
 answered Cinq-Mars, somewhat embarrassed. "At 
 present, if you love me, dress yourself to accompany 
 me to the Queen's toilette." 
 
 "I promised you blind adherence," said the coun- 
 sellor; "but truly I can not keep my eyes shut much 
 longer if " 
 
 "Once again, I will give you a full explanation as 
 we return from the Queen. But make haste; it is 
 nearly ten o'clock." 
 
 "Well, I will go with you," replied De Thou, con- 
 ducting him into his cabinet, where were the Comte 
 du Lude and Fournier, while he himself passed into 
 his dressing-room. 
 
 [280]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE TOILETTE 
 
 Nous aliens chercher, comme dans les abimes, les anciennes 
 prerogatives de cette Noblesse qui, depuis onze siecles, est cou- 
 verte de poussiere, de sang et de sueur. MONTESQUIEU. 
 
 [E carriage of the Grand Equerry 
 was rolling rapidly toward the Louvre, 
 when, closing the curtain, he took 
 his friend's hand, and said to him 
 with emotion: 
 
 "Dear De Thou, I have kept great 
 secrets in my heart, and, believe me, 
 they have weighed heavily there ; but 
 two fears impelled me to silence that of your dan- 
 ger, and shall I say it? that of your counsels." 
 
 "Yet well you know," replied De Thou, "that I 
 despise the first; and I deemed that you did not de- 
 spise the second." 
 
 "No, but I feared, and still fear them. I would 
 not be stopped. Do not speak, my friend; not a 
 word, I conjure you, before you have heard and seen 
 all that is about to take place. I will return with you 
 to your house on quitting the Louvre; there I will 
 listen to you, and thence I shall depart to continue 
 my work, for nothing will shake my resolve, I warn 
 [281]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 you. I have just said so to the gentlemen at your 
 house." 
 
 In his accent Cinq-Mars had nothing of the brusque- 
 ness which clothed his words. His voice was con- 
 ciliatory, his look gentle, amiable, affectionate, his 
 air as tranquil as it was determined. There was no 
 indication of the slightest effort at control. De Thou 
 remarked it, and sighed. 
 
 Alighting from the carriage with him, De Thou 
 followed him up the great staircase of the Louvre. 
 When they entered the Queen's apartment, announced 
 by two ushers dressed in black and bearing ebony 
 rods, she was seated at her toilette. This was a table 
 of black wood, inlaid with tortoise-shell, mother-of- 
 pearl, and brass, in an infinity of designs of very bad 
 taste, but which give to all furniture an air of grandeur 
 which we still admire in it. A mirror, rounded at the 
 top, which the ladies of our time would consider small 
 and insignificant, stood in the middle of the table, 
 whereon were scattered jewels and necklaces. 
 
 Anne of Austria, seated before it in a large armchair 
 of crimson velvet, with long gold fringe, was as mo- 
 tionless and grave as on her throne, while Dona 
 Stefania and Madame de Motteyille, on either side, 
 lightly touched her beautiful blond hair with a comb, 
 as if finishing the Queen's coiffure, which, however, 
 was already perfectly arranged and decorated with 
 pearls. Her long tresses, though light, were exquis- 
 itely glossy, manifesting that to the touch they must 
 be fine and soft as silk. The daylight fell without a 
 shade upon her forehead, which had no reason to 
 1 282 ]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 dread the test, itself reflecting an almost equal light 
 from its surpassing fairness, which the Queen was 
 pleased thus to display. Her blue eyes, blended with 
 green, were large and regular, and her vermilion 
 mouth had that under-lip of the princesses of Austria, 
 somewhat prominent and slightly cleft, in the form 
 of a cherry, which may still be marked in all the 
 female portraits of this time, whose painters seemed 
 to have aimed at imitating the Queen's mouth, in 
 order to please the women of her suite, whose desire 
 was, no doubt, to resemble her. 
 
 The black dress then adopted by the court, and of 
 which the form was even fixed by an edict, set off the 
 ivory of her arms, bare to the elbow, and ornamented 
 with a profusion of lace, which flowed from her loose 
 sleeves. Large pearls hung in her ears and from her 
 girdle. Such was the appearance of the Queen at 
 this moment. At her feet, upon two velvet cushions, 
 a boy of four years old was playing with a little can- 
 non, which he was assiduously breaking in pieces. 
 This was the Dauphin, afterward Louis XIV. The 
 Duchesse Marie de Mantua was seated on her right 
 hand upon a stool. The Princesse de Guemenee, the 
 Duchesse de Chevreuse, and Mademoiselle de Mont- 
 bazon, Mesdemoiselles de Guise, de Rohan, and de 
 Vendome, all beautiful and brilliant with youth, were 
 behind her, standing. In the recess of a window, 
 Monsieur, his hat under his arm, was talking in a low 
 voice with a man, stout, with a red face and a steady 
 and daring eye. This was the Due de Bouillon. An 
 officer about twenty-five years of age, well-formed, 
 [283]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 and of agreeable presence, had just given several 
 papers to the Prince, which the Due de Bouillon ap- 
 peared to be explaining to him. 
 
 De Thou, after having saluted the Queen, who said 
 a few words to him, approached the Princesse de 
 Guemenee, and conversed with her in an undertone, 
 with an air of affectionate intimacy, but all the while 
 intent upon his friend's interest. Secretly trembling 
 lest he should have confided his destiny to a being 
 less worthy of him than he wished, he examined the 
 Princess Marie with the scrupulous attention, the 
 scrutinizing eye of a mother examining the woman 
 whom her son has selected for his bride for he 
 thought that Marie could not be altogether a stranger 
 to the enterprise of Cinq-Mars. He saw with dis- 
 satisfaction that her dress, which was extremely ele- 
 gant, appeared to inspire her with more vanity than 
 became her on such an occasion. She was incessantly 
 rearranging upon her forehead and her hair the rubies 
 which ornamented her head, and which scarcely 
 equalled the brilliancy and animated color of her 
 complexion. She looked frequently at Cinq-Mars; 
 but it was rather the look of coquetry than that of 
 love, and her eyes often glanced toward the mirror 
 on the toilette, in which she watched the symmetry of 
 her beauty. These observations of the counsellor be- 
 gan to persuade him that he was mistaken in suspect- 
 ing her to be the aim of Cinq-Mars, especially when 
 he saw that she seemed to have a pleasure in sitting at 
 the Queen's side, while the duchesses stood behind 
 her, and that she often looked haughtily at them, 
 [284]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "In that heart of nineteen," said he, "love, were 
 there love, would reign alone and above all to-day. 
 It is not she!" 
 
 The Queen made an almost imperceptible move- 
 ment of the head to Madame de Guemenee. After 
 the two friends had spoken a moment with each per- 
 son present, and at this sign, all the ladies, except 
 Marie de Mantua, making profound courtesies, 
 quitted the apartment without speaking, as if by 
 previous arrangement. The Queen, then herself turn- 
 ing her chair, said to Monsieur: 
 
 "My brother, I beg you will come and sit down by 
 me. We will consult upon what I have already told 
 you. The Princesse Marie will not be in the way. I 
 begged her to remain. We have no interruption to 
 fear." 
 
 The Queen seemed more at ease in her manner 
 and language; and no longer preserving her severe 
 and ceremonious immobility, she signed to the other 
 persons present to approach her. 
 
 Gaston d'Orleans, somewhat alarmed at this solemn 
 opening, came carelessly, sat down on her right hand, 
 and said with a half-smile and a negligent air, play- 
 ing with his ruff and the chain of the Saint Esprit 
 which hung from his neck: 
 
 "I think, Madame, that we shall fatigue the ears of 
 so young a personage by a long conference. She 
 would rather hear us speak of dances, and of marriage, 
 of an elector, or of the King of Poland, for example." 
 
 Marie assumed a disdainful air; Cinq-Mars frowned. 
 
 "Pardon me," replied the Queen, looking at her; 
 [285]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 "I assure you the politics of the present time interest 
 her much. Do not seek to escape us, my brother," 
 added she, smiling. "I have you to-day! It is the 
 least we can do to listen to Monsieur de Bouillon." 
 
 The latter approached, holding by the hand the 
 young officer of whom we have spoken. 
 
 "I must first," said he, "present to your Majesty 
 the Baron de Beauvau, who has just arrived from 
 Spain." 
 
 "From Spain?" said the Queen, with emotion. 
 "There is courage in that; you have seen my family?" 
 
 "He will speak to you of them, and of the Count- 
 Duke of Olivares. As to courage, it is not the first 
 time he has shown it. He commanded the cuirassiers 
 of the Comte de Soissons." 
 
 "How? so young, sir! You must be fond of polit- 
 ical wars." 
 
 "On the contrary, your Majesty will pardon me," 
 replied he, "for I served with the princes of the 
 peace." 
 
 Anne of Austria smiled at this jeu-de-mot. The 
 Due de Bouillon, seizing the moment to bring for- 
 ward the grand question he had in view, quitted Cinq- 
 Mars, to whom he had just given his hand with an 
 air of the most zealous friendship, and approaching 
 the Queen with him, "It is miraculous, Madame," 
 said he, "that this period still contains in its bosom 
 some noble characters, such as these;" and he pointed 
 to the master of the horse, to young Beauvau, and to 
 De Thou. "It is only in them that we can place our 
 hope for the future. Such men are indeed very rare 
 [286]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 now, for the great leveller has swung a long scythe 
 over France." 
 
 "Is it of Time you speak," said the Queen, "or of 
 a real personage?" 
 
 "Too real, too living, too long living, Madame!" 
 replied the Duke, becoming more animated; "but his 
 measureless ambition, his colossal selfishness can no 
 longer be endured. All those who have noble hearts 
 are indignant at this yoke; and at this moment, more 
 than ever, we see misfortunes threatening us in the 
 future. It must be said, Madame yes, it is no longer 
 time to blind ourselves to the truth, or to conceal it 
 the King's illness is serious. The moment for think- 
 ing and resolving has arrived, for the time to act is 
 not far distant." 
 
 The severe and abrupt tone of M. de Bouillon did 
 not surprise Anne of Austria ; but she had always seen 
 him more calm, and was, therefore, somewhat alarmed 
 by the disquietude he betrayed. Quitting accordingly 
 the tone of pleasantry which she had at first adopted, 
 she said: 
 
 "How! what fear you, and what would you do?" 
 
 "I fear nothing for myself, Madame, for the army 
 of Italy or Sedan will always secure my safety; but I 
 fear for you, and perhaps for the princes, your sons. " 
 
 "For my children, Monsieur le Due, for the sons 
 of France? Do you hear him, my brother, and do 
 you not appear astonished?" 
 
 The Queen was deeply agitated. 
 
 "No, Madame," said Gaston d'Orleans, calmly; 
 "you know that I am accustomed to persecution. I 
 [287]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 am prepared to expect anything from that man. He 
 is master; we must be resigned." 
 
 "He master!" exclaimed the Queen. "And from 
 whom does he derive his powers, if not from the King ? 
 And after the King, what hand will sustain him? 
 Can you tell me? Who will prevent him from again 
 returning to nothing? Will it be you or I?" 
 
 "It will be himself," interrupted M. de Bouillon, 
 "for he seeks to be named regent; and I know that at 
 at this moment he contemplates taking your children 
 from you, and requiring the King to confide them to 
 his care." 
 
 "Take them from me!" cried the mother, involun- 
 tarily seizing the Dauphin, and taking him in her 
 arms. 
 
 The child, standing between the Queen's knees, 
 looked at the men who surrounded him with a gravity 
 very singular for his age, and, seeing his mother in 
 tears, placed his hand upon the little sword he wore. 
 
 "Ah, Monseigneur, " said the Due de Bouillon, 
 bending half down to address to him what he intended 
 for the Princess, "it is not against us that you must 
 draw your sword, but against him who is undermin- 
 ing your throne. He prepares an empire for you, no 
 doubt. You will have an absolute sceptre; but he has 
 scattered the fasces which indicated it. Those fasces 
 were your ancient nobility, whom he has decimated. 
 When you are king, you will be a great king. I fore- 
 see it; but you will have subjects only, and no friends, 
 for friendship exists only in independence and a kind 
 of equality which takes its rise in force. Your an- 
 [288]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 cestors had their peers; you will not have yours. 
 May God aid you then, Monseigneur, for man may 
 not do it without institutions! Be great; but above 
 all, around you, a great man, let there be others as 
 strong, so that if the one stumbles, the whole mon- 
 archy may not fall." 
 
 The Due de Bouillon had a warmth of expression 
 and a confidence of manner which captivated those 
 who heard him. His valor, his keen perception in 
 the field, the profundity of his political views, his 
 knowledge of the affairs of Europe, his reflective and 
 decided character, all rendered him one of the most 
 capable and imposing men of his time the only one, 
 indeed, whom the Cardinal-Due really feared. The 
 Queen always listened to him with confidence, and 
 allowed him to acquire a sort of empire over her. She 
 was now more deeply moved than ever. 
 
 "Ah, would to God," she exclaimed, "that my 
 son's mind was ripe for your counsels, and his arm 
 strong enough to profit by them! Until that time, 
 however, I will listen, I will act for him. It is I who 
 should be, and it is I who shall be, regent. I will not 
 resign this right save with life. If we must make war, 
 we will make it; for I will do everything but submit 
 to the shame and terror of yielding up the future 
 Louis XIV to this crowned subject. Yes," she went 
 on, coloring and closely pressing the young Dauphin's 
 arm, "yes, my brother, and you gentlemen, counsel 
 me! Speak! how do we stand? Must I depart? 
 Speak openly. As a woman, as a wife, I could have 
 wept over so mournful a position; but now see, as a 
 19 [ 289 ]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 mother, I do not weep. I am ready to give you orders 
 if it is necessary." 
 
 Never had Anne of Austria looked so beautiful as 
 at this moment; and the enthusiasm she manifested 
 electrified all those present, who needed but a word 
 from her mouth to speak. The Due de Bouillon cast 
 a glance at Monsieur, which decided him. 
 
 "Ma foil" said he, with deliberation, "if you give 
 orders, my sister, I will be the captain of your guards, 
 on my honor, for I too am weary of the vexations 
 occasioned me by this knave. He continues to per- 
 secute me, seeks to break off my marriage, and still 
 keeps my friends in the Bastille, or has them assas- 
 sinated from time to time; and besides, I am indig- 
 nant," said he, recollecting himself and assuming a 
 more solemn air, "I am indignant at the misery of the 
 people." 
 
 "My brother," returned the Princess, energetically, 
 "I take you at your word, for with you, one must do 
 so; and I hope that together we shall be strong 
 enough for the purpose. Do only as Monsieur le 
 Comte de Soissons did, but survive your victory. 
 Side with me, as you did with Monsieur de Mont- 
 morency, but leap the ditch." 
 
 Gaston felt the point of this. He called to mind 
 the well-known incident when the unfortunate rebel of 
 Castelnaudary leaped almost alone a large ditch, and 
 found on the other side seventeen wounds, a prison, 
 and death in the sight of Monsieur, who remained 
 motionless with his army. In the rapidity of the 
 Queen's enunciation he had not time to examine 
 [290]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 whether she had employed this expression proverbially 
 or with a direct reference ; but at all events, he decided 
 not to notice it, and was indeed prevented from doing 
 so by the Queen, who continued, looking at Cinq- 
 Mars : 
 
 "But, above all, no panic-terror! Let us know 
 exactly where we are, Monsieur le Grand. You have 
 just left the King. Is there fear with you?" 
 
 D'Effiat had not ceased to observe Marie de Man- 
 tua, whose expressive countenance exhibited to him 
 all her ideas far more rapidly and more surely than 
 words. He read there the desire that he should speak 
 the desire that he should confirm the Prince and 
 the Queen. An impatient movement of her foot con- 
 veyed to him her will that the thing should be accom- 
 plished, the conspiracy arranged. His face became 
 pale and more pensive; he pondered for a moment, 
 realizing that his destiny was contained in that hour. 
 De Thou looked at him and trembled, for he knew 
 him well. He would fain have said one word to him, 
 only one word; but Cinq-Mars had already raised his 
 head. He spoke: 
 
 "I do not think, Madame, that the King is so ill 
 as you suppose. God will long preserve to us this 
 Prince. I hope so; I am even sure of it. He suffers, 
 it is true, suffers much; but it is his soul more pecul- 
 iarly that is sick, and of an evil which nothing can 
 cure of an evil which one would not wish to one's 
 greatest enemy, and which would gain him the pity 
 of the whole world if it were known. The end of his 
 misery that is to say, of his life will not be granted 
 [291]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 him for a long time. His languor is entirely moral. 
 There is in his heart a great revolution going on; he 
 would accomplish it, and can not. 
 
 "The King has felt for many long years growing 
 within him the seeds of a just hatred against a man 
 to whom he thinks he owes gratitude, and it is this 
 internal combat between his natural goodness and his 
 anger that devours him. Every year that has passed 
 has deposited at his feet, on one side, the great works 
 of this man, and on the other, his crimes. It is the 
 last which now weigh down the balance. The King 
 sees them and is indignant; he would punish, but all 
 at once he stops and weeps. If you could witness 
 him thus, Madame, you would pity him. I have seen 
 him seize the pen which was to sign his exile, dip it 
 into the ink with a bold hand, and use it for what? 
 to congratulate him on some recent success. He at 
 once applauds himself for his goodness as a Christian, 
 curses himself for his weakness as a sovereign judge, 
 despises himself as a king. He seeks refuge in prayer, 
 and plunges into meditation upon the future; then 
 he rises terrified because he has seen in thought the 
 tortures which this man merits, and how deeply no 
 one knows better than he. You should hear him in 
 these moments accuse himself of criminal weakness, 
 and exclaim that he himself should be punished for not 
 having known how to punish. One would say that 
 there are spirits which order him to strike, for his arms 
 are raised as he sleeps. In a word, Madame, the 
 storm murmurs in his heart, but burns none but him- 
 self. The thunderbolts are chained." 
 [292]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "Well, then, let us loose them!" exclaimed the Due 
 de Bouillon. 
 
 "He who touches them may die of the contact," 
 said Monsieur. 
 
 "But what a noble devotion!" cried the Queen. 
 
 "How I should admire the hero!" said Marie, in a 
 half-whisper. 
 
 "I will do it," answered Cinq-Mars. 
 
 "We will do it," said M. de Thou, in his ear. 
 
 Young Beauvau had approached the Due de 
 Bouillon. 
 
 "Monsieur," said he, "do you forget what follows?" 
 
 "No, pardieu ! I do not forget it," replied the lat- 
 ter, in a low voice; then, addressing the Queen, "Ma- 
 dame," said he, "accept the offer of Monsieur le 
 Grand. He is more in a position to sway the King 
 than either you or I; but hold yourself prepared, for 
 the Cardinal is too wary to be caught sleeping. I 
 do not believe in his illness. I have no faith in the 
 silence and immobility of which he has sought to per- 
 suade us these two years past. I would not believe 
 in his death even, unless I had myself thrown his head 
 into the sea, like that of the giant in Ariosto. Hold 
 yourself ready to meet all contingencies, and let us, 
 meanwhile, hasten our operations. I have shown 
 my plans to Monsieur just now ; I will give you a sum- 
 mary of them. I offer you Sedan, Madame, for your- 
 self, and for Messeigneurs, your sons. The army of 
 Italy is mine; I will recall it if necessary. Monsieur 
 le Grand is master of half the camp of Perpignan. 
 All the old Huguenots of La Rochelle and the South 
 [293]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 are ready to come to him at the first nod. All has 
 been organized for a year past, by my care, to meet 
 events." 
 
 "I should not hesitate," said the Queen, "to place 
 myself in your hands, to save my children, if any mis- 
 fortune should happen to the King. But in this gen- 
 eral plan you forget Paris." 
 
 "It is ours on every side; the people by the arch- 
 bishop, without his suspecting it, and by Monsieur de 
 Beaufort, who is its king; the troops by your guards 
 and those of Monsieur, who shall be chief in com- 
 mand, if he please." 
 
 "I! I! oh, that positively can not be! I have not 
 enough people, and I must have a retreat stronger 
 than Sedan," said Gaston. 
 
 "It suffices for the Queen," replied M. de Bouillon. 
 
 "Ah, that may be! but my sister does not risk so 
 much as a man who draws the sword. Do you know 
 that these are bold measures you propose?" 
 
 "What, even if we have the King on our side?" 
 asked Anne of Austria. 
 
 "Yes, Madame, yes; we do not know how long 
 that may last. We must make ourselves sure; and 
 I do nothing without the treaty with Spain." 
 
 "Do nothing, then," said the Queen, coloring deeply; 
 "for certainly I will never hear that spoken of." 
 
 "And yet, Madame, it were more prudent, and 
 Monsieur is right," said the Due de Bouillon; "for 
 the Count-Duke of San Lucra offers us seventeen 
 thousand men, tried troops, and five hundred thou- 
 sand crowns in ready money." 
 [294]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the Queen, with astonishment, 
 "have you dared to proceed so far without my con- 
 sent? already treaties with foreigners!" 
 
 "Foreigners, my sister! could we imagine that a 
 princess of Spain would use that word?" said Gas- 
 ton. 
 
 Anne of Austria rose, taking the Dauphin by the 
 hand; and, leaning upon Marie: "Yes, sir," she said, 
 "I am a Spaniard; but I am the grand-daughter of 
 Charles V, and I know that a queen's country is 
 where her throne is. I leave you, gentlemen; pro- 
 ceed without me. I know nothing of the matter for 
 the future." 
 
 She advanced some steps, but seeing Marie pale 
 and bathed in tears, she returned. 
 
 "I will, however, solemnly promise you inviolable 
 secrecy; but nothing more." 
 
 All were mentally disconcerted, except the Due de 
 Bouillon, who, not willing to lose the advantages he 
 had gained, said to the Queen, bowing respectfully: 
 
 "We are grateful for this promise, Madame, and 
 we ask no more, persuaded that after the first success 
 you will be entirely with us." 
 
 Not wishing to engage in a war of words, the Queen 
 courtesied somewhat less coldly, and quitted the apart- 
 ment with Marie, who cast upon Cinq-Mars one of 
 those looks which comprehend at once all the emo- 
 tions of the soul. He seemed to read in her beautiful 
 eyes the eternal and mournful devotion of a woman 
 who has given herself up forever; and he felt that if 
 he had once thought of withdrawing from his enter- 
 [295]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 prise, he should now have considered himself the basest 
 of men. 
 
 As soon as the two princesses had disappeared, 
 "There, there! I told you so, Bouillon, you offended 
 the Queen," said Monsieur; "you went too far. You 
 can not certainly accuse me of having been hesitating 
 this morning. I have, on the contrary, shown more 
 resolution than I ought to have done." 
 
 "I am full of joy and gratitude toward her Majesty, " 
 said M. de Bouillon, with a triumphant air; "we are 
 sure of the future. What will you do now, Monsieur 
 de Cinq-Mars?" 
 
 "I have told you, Monsieur; I draw not back, 
 whatever the consequences. I will see the King; I 
 will run every risk to obtain his assent." 
 
 "And the treaty with Spain?" 
 
 "Yes, I " 
 
 De Thou seized Cinq-Mars by the arm, and, ad- 
 vancing suddenly, said, with a solemn air: 
 
 "We have decided that it shall be only signed after 
 the interview with the King; for should his Majesty's 
 just severity toward the Cardinal dispense with it, 
 we have thought it better not to expose ourselves to 
 the discovery of so dangerous a treaty." 
 
 M. de Bouillon frowned. 
 
 "If I did not know Monsieur de Thou," said he, 
 "I should have regarded this as a defection; but 
 from him " 
 
 "Monsieur," replied the counsellor, "I think I may 
 engage myself, on my honor, to do all that Monsieur 
 le Grand does; we are inseparable." 
 [296]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 Cinq- Mars looked at his friend, and was astonished 
 to see upon his mild countenance the expression of 
 sombre despair; he was so struck with it that he had 
 not the courage to gainsay him. 
 
 "He is right, gentlemen," he said with a cold but 
 kindly smile; "the King will perhaps spare us much 
 trouble. We may do good things with him. For the 
 rest, Monseigneur, and you, Monsieur le Due," he 
 added with immovable firmness, "fear not that I shall 
 ever draw back. I have burned all the bridges behind 
 me. I must advance; the Cardinal's power shall fall, 
 or my head." 
 
 "It is strange, very strange!" said Monsieur; "I 
 see that every one here is farther advanced in the con- 
 spiracy than I imagined." 
 
 "Not so, Monsieur," said the Due de Bouillon; 
 "we prepared only that which you might please to 
 accept. Observe that there is nothing in writing. 
 You have but to speak, and nothing exists or ever has 
 existed; according to your order, the whole thing 
 shall be a dream or a volcano." 
 
 "Well, well, I am content, if it must be so," said 
 Gaston; "let us occupy ourselves with more agree- 
 able topics. Thank God, we have a little time before 
 us! I confess I wish that it were all over. I am not 
 fitted for violent emotions; they affect my health," 
 he added, taking M. de Beauvau's arm. "Tell us if 
 the Spanish women are still pretty, young man. It 
 is said you are a great gallant among them. Tudieu 1 
 I'm sure you've got yourself talked of there. They 
 tell me the women wear enormous petticoats. Well, 
 [297]
 
 ALFRED DE VIGNY 
 
 I am not at all against that; they make the foot look 
 smaller and prettier. I'm sure the wife of Don Louis 
 de Haro is not handsomer than Madame de Guemenee, 
 is she? Come, be frank; I'm told she looks like a 
 nun. Ah! you do not answer; you are embarrassed. 
 She has then taken your fancy; or you fear to offend 
 our friend Monsieur de Thou in comparing her with 
 the beautiful Guemenee. Well, let's talk of the cus- 
 toms; the King has a charming dwarf I'm told, and 
 they put him in a pie. He is a fortunate man, that 
 King of Spain! I don't know another equally so. 
 And the Queen, she is still served on bended knee, is 
 she not? Ah! that is a good custom; we have lost 
 it. It is very unfortunate more unfortunate than 
 may be supposed." 
 
 And Gaston d'Orleans had the confidence to speak 
 in this tone nearly half an hour, with a young man 
 whose serious character was not at all adapted to such 
 conversation, and who, still occupied with the im- 
 portance of the scene he had just witnessed and the 
 great interests which had been discussed, made no 
 answer to this torrent of idle words. He looked at 
 the Due de Bouillon with an astonished air, as if to 
 ask him whether this was really the man whom they 
 were going to place at the head of the most audacious 
 enterprise that had ever been launched; while the 
 Prince, without appearing to perceive that he remained 
 unanswered, replied to himself, speaking with volu- 
 bility, as he drew him gradually out of the room. He 
 feared that one of the gentlemen present might re- 
 commence the terrible conversation about the treaty; 
 [298]
 
 CINQ-MARS 
 
 but none desired to do so, unless it were the Due de 
 Bouillon, who, however, preserved an angry silence. 
 As for Cinq- Mars, he had been led away by De Thou, 
 under cover of the chattering of Monsieur, who took 
 care not to appear to notice their departure. 
 
 END OF VOL. I 
 
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