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 **>' 
 
 RICHELIEU, 
 
 A TALE OF FRANCE. 
 
 I advise you that you read 
 The Cardinal's malice and his potency 
 Together: to consider further, that 
 What his high hatred would effect, wants not 
 A minister in his power. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I, 
 
 LONDON . 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1829.
 
 -> a.-
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 My Dear Sir, 
 Your name is too great a one to be trifled 
 with, and therefore, I do not put it at the head 
 of this page. Should your anticipations in fa- 
 vour of this work be realized, and its success be 
 equal to my utmost hopes, I dedicate it to you 
 in testimony both of my gratitude for your 
 kindness, and my admiration for your genius ; 
 but should the hand of criticism cut it short 
 hereafter, or the frost of neglect wither it in 
 the bud, I take a humbler tone, and beg you 
 only to accept my thanks for your good wishes 
 and kind encouragement. If it should succeed, 
 you will, I am sure, receive the work with some 
 pleasure on my account ; — if it fail, you will 
 
 ;*x5o<H
 
 VI DEDICATION. 
 
 still accept it a3 the only means I have of ex- 
 pressing my feeling of obligation towards you ; 
 and, at all events, you will understand my 
 motive for not prefixing your name to the 
 Dedication of a book, the fate of which is yet 
 doubtful. 
 
 The Author. 
 
 * *
 
 PREFACE 
 
 DEARLY BELOVED READER, 
 
 Although I call the following pages mine, 
 and upon the strength of them write myself 
 Author, yet I must in truth confess, that I 
 have very little to do with them, and still less to 
 do with the story they record ; and therefore I 
 am fain to treat the world with something of 
 my own exclusive composition, in the shape of 
 a preface. The facts of the case are as follow : 
 I one day possessed myself of a bundle of ma- 
 nuscript notes — no matter when or how, *o 
 that they were honestly come by, for that is 
 all that you, or I, or Sir Richard Birnie, have 
 to do with the matter. Now I say they were
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 honestly come by, and the onus probandi must 
 rest upon the other party. So no more of that. 
 My dear Mr. Colburn, where was I? I 
 quite forget — Oh, now I have it ! Having 
 one day possessed myself of a bundle of manu- 
 script notes, — honestly come by, — I proceeded to 
 read them, and although the hand was small 
 and crooked, with all the frs shaped like Lao- 
 coons, and every g like a pair of spectacles, 
 yet there was something in the tale there 
 written, that made me read it through before 
 I rose off my chair, although I did not then 
 know, what I have since discovered, that every 
 word of it was true. Now this is an advan- 
 tage which you, my dear reader, have over me 
 in perusing this history for the first time ; for 
 unquestionably even upon my pure ipse dixit r 
 you will believe that the whole of the three 
 volumes which follow, is neither more nor less 
 than a plain and simple narration of facts.
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 Nevertheless, in case there should be in the 
 world any person so sceptical as to doubt the 
 assertion, even of a novelist, I will refer my 
 reader to the well-known authorities of the 
 day, and merely observe, that though there 
 may be some discrepancy in the dates and some 
 difference in the names, yet every individual 
 circumstance recorded in these pages, will be 
 found to be collaterally verified by contempo- 
 rary writers of good repute, who, however, did 
 not know so much of the detail of the events in 
 question as are disclosed in the old manuscript 
 alluded to, nor were they, like the writer of 
 that document, acquainted with the real causes 
 of those movements which shook the whole of 
 France, and which, originating in the heart of 
 the Court, could only be detected by one who 
 was himself a resident there. To you, my dear 
 reader, whose confidence in my word I know- 
 to be as unbounded as the conscience of a tailor, 
 a 5
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 or the stomach of an alderman, I have only to 
 remark, that the Hero of my tale is by no means 
 a fabulous person. 
 
 My story opens with the latter years of the 
 reign of Louis XIII. King of France — a pe- 
 riod memorable in English annals from the 
 civil wars which then raged between Charles I. 
 and his rebellious Parliament, and no less me- 
 morable in the history of France, as the most 
 terrific portion of Richelieu's bloody domination. 
 At the death of Henry IV. the Regency of 
 the kingdom during her son's minority, was 
 seized upon by Mary de Medicis, a woman of 
 considerable talent and of vast ambition, whose 
 primary object seems to have been, so to secure 
 the sovereign power to herself, that Louis du- 
 ring her life should remain in a state of tute- 
 lage. 
 
 In such projects, but still more in her obsti- 
 nate partiality for the celebrated Marechal
 
 PREFACE. xi 
 
 cTAncre and his wife, originated a thousand 
 factions and civil wars, which kept the coun- 
 try in a continual state of tumult during the 
 King's minority. These factions, and the cir- 
 cumstances which they engendered, necessarily 
 gave rise to various rapid changes in the Queen's 
 ministry, and amidst these, for the first time, 
 appeared on the political stage Richelieu, then 
 Bishop of Lucon. His prospects yet doubtful, 
 and his ambition still in its infancy, Richelieu 
 made mildness and courtesy his first steps to- 
 wards pre-eminence. He contented himself with 
 an inferior station in the Council : his urbanity 
 and his talents proved equally agreeable and 
 useful; and no one beheld in the calm and 
 polished Bishop of Lucon, any promise of the 
 aspiring and remorseless Cardinal de Richelieu. 
 A circumstance, however, occurred almost in 
 the outset of his career, which had nearly thrown 
 him for ever from the destined scene of his as-
 
 Xll PREFACE. 
 
 grandizement. This was the fall of the Mare- 
 chal d'Ancre, and the arrest of the Queen- 
 mother. 
 
 On the marriage of Louis XIII., the jealous 
 eye of Mary de Medicis soon perceived her son's 
 first affection towards his young wife, and, fear- 
 ful of an influence which might spring up to 
 counteract her own, she found means to de- 
 stroy, without remorse, the domestic happiness 
 of her child, in order to secure her own domi- 
 nion over him. But while she fomented every 
 disagreement between Louis and his wife, and 
 watched the least symptom of reviving affection 
 with the suspicious anxiety of uncertain power, 
 she blindly suffered near his person a favourite 
 who combined with the genius to form great de- 
 signs, the most consummate art to conceal them. 
 Monsieur de Luynes, it appears, from the first 
 moment of his intimacy with the King, pro- 
 jected his master's deliverance from the tyranny 
 of Mary de Medicis; but lest he should be sus-
 
 PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 pected of such designs, he hid them beneath 
 the mask of levity and thoughtlessness. It 
 would be little appropriate here to enter more 
 largely into the details of these proceedings. 
 Suffice it that in the end the Queen's favourite 
 was shot as he entered the palace of the Louvre, 
 and she herself was instantly arrested and exiled 
 to Blois. Amongst others of her council who 
 shared in the fall of the Queen, was Richelieu, 
 and for some time he remained in exile at Avig- 
 non. 
 
 The Queen's party, however, was still strong 
 in France ; and in her misfortunes, the factious 
 and discontented, who had formerly opposed her 
 measures merely because she held the reins of 
 government, now supported her against the 
 hand to which those reins had been transferred. 
 A civil war seemed inevitable, and in order to 
 avert such an event, the King's advisers found 
 themselves obliged to negociate with the Prin- 
 cess, whom they had dispossessed ; but Mary
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 rejected all intercession, and it was not till the 
 return of Richelieu that any compromise could 
 be effected. That minister, however, with the 
 deep diplomatic skill for which he was conspi- 
 cuous, instantly availed himself of the weak 
 point in the character of his mistress, and 
 through the medium of her confessor, won her 
 to his purpose. A reconciliation was now speed- 
 ily effected between Mary and her son, and 
 Richelieu having become the friend of the one 
 and the confident of the other, saw himself 
 placed more surely than ever in the road to 
 political eminence. Many circumstances com- 
 bined to accelerate his progress. The death of 
 the Duke de Luynes, the religious wars still 
 raging in the heart of the kingdom, and the re- 
 newed differences between the King and his 
 mother, — all gave the rising minister the means 
 of increasing his power, and the opportunity of 
 displaying the vast energies of his extraordinary 
 mind. All was subdued before him ; the Queen-
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 mother was exiled ; the Protestants were crush- 
 ed ; and the King himself became the slave of 
 Richelieu. 
 
 But power so acquired was only to be main- 
 tained at the expense of much blood. Con- 
 spiracy after conspiracy was formed to cast off 
 his dominion, and more than one insurrection 
 burst forth in opposition to his tyranny ; but 
 each in turn was overthrown, and the blood of 
 the conspirators only served to cement the fabric 
 of his greatness. Usurped power must still 
 have some object for suspicion, and after having 
 quelled all his more powerful adversaries, the 
 jealousy of Richelieu turned towards the young 
 Queen, persecuting her with such uncalled for 
 virulence as to induce many to believe that his 
 hatred proceeded from some more private and 
 personal cause than was apparent. 
 
 In the mean time, Louis himself, seldom call- 
 ed upon, except as a state puppet, to sign some 
 ordonnance, or hold some council under the di- 
 rection of Richelieu, lingered on in inactivity,
 
 XVI PREFACE. 
 
 yielding one privilege after another to the grasp- 
 ing ambition of his minister, without the dig- 
 nity of royalty or the peace of private life. It 
 is true that, on more than one occasion, he was 
 roused by circumstances to put forth the native 
 energies of his mind, but this was most fre- 
 quently on some trifling occurrence. And 
 though the momentary flashes of a vigorous in- 
 tellect would show that nature had been origin- 
 ally bountiful to him, yet he never evinced any 
 steady determination of purpose. Richelieu 
 spared no pains to secure the power he had ac- 
 quired ; and that he might leave the King no 
 means of extricating himself, plunged the king- 
 dom in wars and negociations which he well 
 knew that none but himself could conduct with 
 success. But here indeed his genius showed 
 itself resplendent. The government of a world 
 seemed in his hands, and yet he managed the 
 complicated machine steadily and firmly, with 
 a clear, discerning eye, and a calm, unshrinking
 
 PREFACE. XVli 
 
 heart. Nevertheless, whether it was that the 
 multitude of his other avocations diverted his 
 attention from the minor regulations of the 
 kingdom, or whether, as some believe, he en- 
 couraged a disorganized state of the interior for 
 political purposes, it must be acknowledged 
 that all contemporary accounts represent the 
 internal police of France during his administra- 
 tion, as in a strangely deranged condition— a 
 condition little to have been expected from the 
 vigour of his government, and the severe exacti- 
 tude of his disposition. 
 
 But so it was. The partizans of the various 
 factions which had long been embodied as armies, 
 were fain, after his measures had dispersed them 
 as considerable bodies, to take refuge in the 
 less cultivated parts of the country — the moun- 
 tains, the forests, or the wastes ; and as they 
 had before lived by anarchy, they now contrived 
 to subsist by plunder. The nobles being called 
 from their strong holds to expensive cities, and
 
 XV111 PREFACE. 
 
 compelled by Richelieu's jealousy to show them- 
 selves continually at his luxurious Court, could 
 no longer maintain the host of retainers which 
 had formerly revelled at their expense, and 
 these also were obliged to join themselves to the 
 various bands of freebooters that infested the 
 country. Occasionally a merciless execution of 
 some of these banditti awed the rest for a time, 
 but upon examining history, even to the end of 
 Richelieu's life, we find that while he governed 
 the nobles with a rod of iron, saw every attempt 
 at conspiracy with a prophet's foresight, and 
 repressed it with a giant's strength, he over- 
 looked or forgave those crimes which did not 
 affect his political situation. 
 
 Such was the state of France at the opening 
 of the following history : and now having at- 
 tempted to prepare my reader's mind for what 
 is to follow, I have only farther to refer him to 
 the notes at the end of the third volume, in con- 
 firmation of my assertion, that this tale is en-
 
 PREFACE. XIX 
 
 tirely true. The manuscript from which it is 
 rendered in its present form, possessed that air of 
 fact which from the first left very little doubt on 
 my mind that the narrative was authentic ; but 
 not content with this, I examined the best autho- 
 rities, and had the pleasure of finding that every 
 material circumstance was perfectly unquestion- 
 able, and from the acquaintance of the original 
 writer with all the most minute points, I cannot 
 now divest myself of the idea that he must have 
 been, in some degree, an actor in what he nar- 
 rates. 
 
 Be that as it may, I feel sure that whoever 
 peruses it to the end will be perfectly convinced 
 of its truth ; and in the hope that many will do 
 so, I leave them to commence their journey, 
 wishing them all a safe and happy arrival at its 
 conclusion.
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Page 49, line 5, for ' illuminated,' read ' illumined. 
 
 — 115, — M>,for * shas hent,' read ' has sent.' 
 
 — 182, — 15, for ' the side,' read ' your side.' 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 Page 65, line 5,/or 'end,' read « beginning.' 
 
 — 185, — 15, for ' whom,' read ' as.' 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 Page 216, line 18, for 'wave,' read ' waive.' 
 
 — 342, — 17,/or • laid,' read « lain.'
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Which shows what a French forest was in the year of 
 our Lord 1642, and by whom it was inhabited. 
 
 The vast Sylva Lida, which in the days of 
 Charlemagne stretched far along the banks of 
 the Seine, and formed a woody screen round 
 the infant city of Paris, has now dwindled to a 
 few thousand acres in the neighbourhood of St. 
 Germain en Laye. Not so in the time of Louis 
 the Thirteenth. It was then one of the most 
 magnificent forests of France, and extending 
 as far as the town of Mantes, took indifferently 
 the name of the Wood of Mantes, or the Forest 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 2 RICHELIEU. 
 
 of Laye. That portion to the North of St. 
 Germain has been long cut down: yet there 
 were persons living, not many years since, who 
 remembered some of the old trees still standing, 
 bare, desolate, and alone, like parents who had 
 seen the children of their hopes die around 
 them in their prime. 
 
 Although much improvement in all the arts 
 of life, and much increase of population had 
 taken place during the latter years of Henry 
 the Fourth, and under the regency of Mary 
 de Medicis ; yet at the time of their son 
 Louis the Thirteenth, the country was still 
 but thinly peopled, and far different from the 
 gay, thronged land, that it appears to-day. 
 For besides that it was in earlier days, there had 
 been many a bitter and a heavy war, not only 
 of France against her enemies, but of France 
 against her children. Religious and political 
 differences had caused disunion between man 
 and man, had banished mutual confidence and 
 social intercourse, and raised up those feuds 
 and hatreds, which destroy domestic peace, and
 
 RICHELIEU. 3 
 
 retard public improvement. A midst general dis- 
 trust and civil wars, industry had received no en- 
 couragement ; and where stand at present many 
 a full hamlet and busy village, where the vine- 
 yard yields its abundance, and the peasant ga- 
 thers in peace the bounty of Nature, were then 
 the green copses of the forest, the haunt of the 
 wild boar and the deer. The savage tenants 
 of the wood, however, did not enjoy its shelter 
 undisturbed ; for, in those days of suspicion, 
 hunting was a safer sport than conversation, 
 and the boughs of the oak a more secure cover- 
 ing than the gilded ceilings of the saloon. 
 
 To our pampered countrymen, long nur- 
 tured in that peculiar species of luxury called 
 comfort, the roads of France even now must 
 seem but rude and barbarous constructions, 
 when compared with the smooth, joltless cause- 
 ways over which they are borne in their own 
 land; but in the time of Louis the Thirteenth, 
 when all works of the kind were carried on 
 by the Seigneur through whose estates they 
 passed, few but the principal roads between one 
 B 2
 
 4 RICHELIEU. 
 
 great town and another were even passable for 
 a carriage. Those, however, which traversing 
 the wood of Mantes, served as means of access 
 to the royal residence of St. Germain, were of a 
 superior kind, and would have been absolutely 
 good, had the nature of the soil afforded a 
 steady foundation : but this was not always to 
 be found in the forest, and the engineer had 
 shown no small ingenuity in taking advantage 
 of all the most solid parts of the land, and 
 in avoiding those places where the marshy or 
 sandy quality of the ground offered no secure 
 basis. By these circumstances, however, he 
 was obliged to deviate sadly from those prin- 
 ciples of direct progression, so dear to all 
 Frenchmen ; and the road from St. Germain to 
 Mantes, as well as that which branched off from 
 it to join the high-road to Chartres, instead of 
 being one interminable, monotonous, straight 
 line, with a long row of trees, like a file of gre- 
 nadiers, on each side, went winding in and out 
 with a thousand turnings amongst the old oaks 
 of the forest, that seemed to stand forward, and
 
 RICHELIEU. 5 
 
 stretch their broad branches across it, as if will- 
 ing to shelter it from the obtrusive rays of the 
 sun. Sometimes, climbing the side of a hill, 
 it would suddenly display a wide view over 
 the leafy ocean below, till the eye caught the 
 towers and spires of distant cities breaking the 
 far grey line of the horizon. Sometimes, de- 
 scending into the depths of the forest, it would 
 almost seem to lose itself amongst the wild 
 groves and savannas, being itself the only trace 
 of man's laborious hand amidst the wilderness 
 around. 
 
 In the heart of the wood, at that point where 
 the two roads (which I have mentioned) diva- 
 ricated from each other, stood the hut of a 
 Woodman, and the abreuvoir where many a gay 
 lord of the Court would stop when his hunting 
 was over, and give his horse time to drink. 
 There, too, many a traveller would pause to 
 ask his way through the forest ; so that Philip, 
 the woodman, and his young family, were 
 known to almost all whom business or pleasure 
 brought through the wood of Mantes ; and al-
 
 6 RICHELIEU. 
 
 though during the course of this true history, 
 princes and heroes may become the subjects of 
 discourse, it is with Philip that we must com- 
 mence our tale. 
 
 It was at that season of the year, when the 
 first leaves of summer begin to leave the bran- 
 ches from which they sprang, like the bright 
 and tender hopes of early years, that fade 
 and fall before the autumn of life has fully 
 commenced. The sun had abated but little of 
 his force, and the days scarcely seemed to have 
 contracted their span. 
 
 The time of day, too, was like the period of 
 the year, " falling gently into the sear," so that 
 it was only a scarce perceptible shadow, stealing 
 over the landscape, which told that the great 
 power of light was quitting that quarter of the 
 globe, to bestow the equal blessing of his smile 
 on other nations and on distant climes. That 
 shadow had been the signal for Philip the 
 woodman to return towards his home, and he 
 issued forth from one of the forest paths, near
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 his dwelling, singing as he came the old hunt- 
 ing-song of Le bon roi Dagobert.* 
 
 " King Dagobert in days of yore 
 Put on his hose wrong side before. 
 Says St. Eloi, the king's old squire, 
 ■ I would not offend, most gracious Sire, 
 But may your slave be soundly switch' d, 
 If your Majesty is not oddly breech'd,' 
 
 For you 've got the wrong side before.' 
 Says the Ring, ' I do not care a groat ; 
 One's breeches are scarcely worth a thought ; 
 A beggar 's a king when he 's at his ease, 
 So turn them about which way you please, 
 
 And be quick, you s 
 
 * This song of Le bon roi Dagobert is in the original 
 very long, and contains a great deal of witty ribaldry, 
 unfit to be inserted here. The above is a somewhat free 
 translation of the first verse, which stands thus in the 
 French : 
 
 " Le bon roy Dagobert 
 
 Mettoit ses culottes a renvers. 
 
 Le bon St. Eloi 
 
 Lui dit, Oh mon Roy ! 
 
 Que votre Majeste 
 
 Est bien mal culotte\ 
 
 Eh bien, dit ce bon Roy, 
 
 Je consens qu'on lesmete a Pendroit.''
 
 8 RICHELIEU, 
 
 Now St. Hubert, in all probability, is the 
 only person who correctly knows how it hap- 
 pened, that the very unmeaning and inappli- 
 cable ditty of Le bon roi Dagobert, should 
 have been appropriated exclusively to the noble 
 exercise of hunting, to which it has no reference 
 whatever ; but so it has been, and even to the 
 present day where is the chasseur who cannot, 
 as he returns from the chace, blow the notes, or 
 sing the words of Le bon roi Dagobert ? 
 
 Philip, as woodman, had heard it echoed and 
 re-echoed through the forest from his very in- 
 fancy ; and now, without even knowing that he 
 did so, he sang it as a matter of habit, although 
 his mind was occupied upon another subject : as 
 men are always naturally inclined to employ 
 their corporeal faculties on some indifferent ob- 
 ject, when their mental ones are intensely en- 
 gaged in things of deeper interest. 
 
 Philip advanced slowly along the road, with 
 his brow knit in such a manner as to evince 
 that his light song had no part in his thoughts. 
 He was a man perhaps nearly fifty, still hale
 
 RICHELIEU. 9 
 
 and athletic, though a life of labour had 
 changed the once dark locks of his hair to grey. 
 His occupation was at once denoted hv his 
 dress, which consisted simply of a long-bodied 
 blue coat of coarse cloth, covered over, except 
 the arms, with what is called in Britanny, a 
 Peau de bicque, or goat-skin : a pair of lea- 
 ther breeches, cut off above the knee, with 
 thick gaiters to defend his legs from the 
 thorns, completed his dress below ; and a 
 round broad-brimmed hat was brought far 
 over his eyes, to keep them from the glare of 
 the declining sun. His apparel was girded 
 round him by a broad buff belt, in the left 
 of which hung his woodman's knife ; in the 
 right he had placed the huge axe, which he 
 had been using in his morning's occupation : 
 and thus accoutred, Philip would have been 
 no insignificant opponent, had he met with any 
 of those lawless rovers, who occasionally fre- 
 quented the forest. 
 
 As he approached his dwelling, he suddenly 
 stopped, broke off his song, and turning round, 
 b5
 
 10 RICHELIEU. 
 
 listened for a moment attentively ; but the 
 only noise to be heard was the discordant cry 
 of the jay in the trees round about ; and the 
 only living things visible were a few wild birds 
 overhead, slowly winging their flight from the 
 distant fields and vineyards towards their forest 
 home. 
 
 Philip proceeded, but he sang no more ; and 
 opening the cottage door, he spoke without 
 entering. " Charles, 1 ' demanded he, " has the 
 young gentleman returned, who passed by this 
 morning to hunt ?" 
 
 " No, father," answered the boy coming for- 
 ward ; " nobody has passed since you went — I 
 am sure no one has, for I sat on the old tree all 
 the morning, carving you a sun-dial out of the 
 willow branch you brought home yesterday ; v 
 and he drew forth one of those ingenious little 
 machines, by means of which the French shep- 
 herds tell the time. 
 
 "Thou art a good boy," said his father, laying 
 his hand on his head, " thou art a good boy." 
 But still, as the Woodman spoke, his mind
 
 RICHELIEU. 11 
 
 seemed occupied by some anxiety, for again he 
 looked up the road and listened. " There are 
 strange faces in the forest," said Philip, not ex- 
 actly soliloquizing, for his son was present, but 
 certainly speaking more to himself than to the 
 boy. " There are strange faces in the forest, and 
 I fear me some ill deed is to be done. But here 
 they come, thank God ! — No ! what is this ?" 
 
 As he spoke, there appeared, just where the 
 road turned into the wood, a sort of procession, 
 which would have puzzled any one of later 
 days, more than it did the Woodman. It con- 
 sisted of four men on horseback, and four 
 on foot, escorting a vehicle, the most elegant 
 and tasteful that the age produced. The peo- 
 ple of that day had doubtless very enlarged 
 notions, and certainly the carriage I speak of 
 would have contained any three of modern con- 
 struction (always excepting that in which his 
 most gracious Majesty the King of England 
 appears on state occasions, and also that of the 
 Lord Mayor of London City.) 
 
 Indeed the one in question was more like a
 
 12 RICHELIEU. 
 
 state carriage than any other ; broad at the top, 
 low in the axle, all covered over with painting 
 and gilding, with long wooden shafts for the 
 horses, and green taffeta curtains to the win- 
 dows: and in this guise it came on, swaying 
 and swaggering about over the ruts in the road, 
 not unlike the bloated Dutch pug of some over- 
 indulgent dame, waddling slowly on, with its 
 legs far apart, and its belly almost trailing on 
 the ground. 
 
 When the carriage arrived at the abreuvoir, 
 by the side of which Philip had placed himself, 
 the footmen took the bridles from the horses' 
 mouths to give them drink, and a small white 
 hand, from within, drew back the taffeta cur- 
 tain, displaying to the Woodman one of the 
 loveliest faces he had ever beheld. The lady 
 looked round for a moment at the forest scene, 
 in the midst of whose wild ruggedness they 
 stood, and then raised her eyes towards the sky, 
 letting them roam over the clear deepening ex- 
 panse of blue, as if to satisfy herself how much 
 daylight still remained for their journey.
 
 RICHELIEU. 13 
 
 " How far is it to St. Germain, good friend F" 
 said she, addressing the Woodman, as she finish- 
 ed her contemplations ; and her voice sounded 
 to Philip like the warble of a bird, notwith- 
 standing a slight peculiarity of intonation, 
 which more refined ears would instantly have 
 decided as the accent of Roussillon, or some 
 adjacent province : the lengthening of the i, 
 and the swelling roundness of the Spanish u, 
 sounding very differently from the sharp preci- 
 sion peculiar to the Parisian pronunciation. 
 
 " I wish, Pauline, that you would get over 
 that bad habit of softening all your syllables," 
 said an old lady who sat beside her in the car- 
 riage. " Your French is scarcely comprehen- 
 sible." 
 
 " Dear Mamma !" replied the young lady 
 playfully, " am not I descended lineally from 
 Clemence Isaure, the patroness of song and chi- 
 valry ? And I should be sorry to speak aught 
 but my own langue cToc — the tongue of the 
 
 first knights and first poets of France. 
 
 But hark ! what is that noise in the wood ?"
 
 14 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " Now help, for the love of God !" cried the 
 Woodman, snatching forth his axe, and turning 
 to the horsemen who accompanied the carriage ; 
 " murder is doing in the forest. Help, for the 
 love of God V" 
 
 But as he spoke, the trampling of a horse's 
 feet was heard, and in a moment after, a stout 
 black charger came down the road like light- 
 ning ; the dust springing up under his feet, and 
 the foam dropping from his bit. 
 
 Half falling from the saddle, half supported 
 by the reins, appeared the form of a gallant 
 young Cavalier ; his naked sword still clasped 
 in his hand, but now fallen powerless and 
 dragging by the side of the horse ; his head 
 uncovered and thrown back, as if conscious- 
 ness had almost left him, and the blood flow- 
 ing from a deep wound in his forehead, and 
 dripping amongst the thick curls of his dark 
 brown hair. 
 
 The charger rushed furiously on ; but the 
 Woodman caught the bridle as he passed, and 
 with some difficulty reined him in ; while one
 
 RICHELIEU. 15 
 
 of the footmen lifted the young gentleman to 
 the ground, and placed him at the foot of a tree. 
 
 The two ladies had not beheld this scene un- 
 concerned; and were descending from the car- 
 riage, when four or five servants in hunting 
 livery were seen issuing from the wood at the 
 turn of the road, contending with a very supe- 
 rior party of horsemen, whose rusty equipments 
 and wild anomalous sort of apparel, bespoke 
 them free of the forest by not the most honour- 
 able franchise. 
 
 " Ride on, ride on !" cried the young lady 
 to those who had come with her : " Ride on 
 and help them ;" and she herself advanced to 
 give aid to the wounded Cavalier, whose eyes 
 seemed now closed for ever. 
 
 He was as handsome a youth as one might 
 look upon : one of those forms which we are 
 fond to bestow upon the knights and heroes that 
 we read of in our early days, when unchecked 
 fancy is always ready to give her bright con- 
 ceptions " a local habitation and a name." The 
 young lady, whose heart had never been taught
 
 16 RICHELIEU. 
 
 to regulate its beatings by the frigid rules of so- 
 ciety, or the sharp scourge of disappointment, 
 now took the wounded man's head upon her 
 knee, and gazed for an instant upon his counte- 
 nance, the deadly paleness of which appeared 
 still more ghastly from the red streams that 
 trickled over it from the wound in his forehead. 
 She then attempted to staunch the blood, but 
 the trembling of her hands defeated her purpose, 
 and rendered her assistance of but little avail. 
 
 The elder lady had hitherto been giving her 
 directions to the footmen, who remained with 
 the carriage, while those on horseback rode on 
 towards the fray. " Stand to your arms, Mi- 
 chel V cried she. " You take heed to the coach. 
 You three, draw up across the road, each with 
 his arquebuse ready to fire. Let none but the 
 true men pass. — Fie ! Pauline ; I thought you 
 had a firmer heart." She continued, approach- 
 ing the young lady, " Give me the handker- 
 chief. — That is a bad cut in his head, truly ; 
 but here is a worse stab in his side." And she 
 proceeded to unloose the gold loops of his hunt-
 
 RICHELIEU. 17 
 
 ing-coat, that she might reach the wound. But 
 that action seemed to recall, in a degree, the 
 senses of the wounded Cavalier. 
 
 " Never ! never P' he exclaimed, clasping his 
 hand upon his side, and thrusting her fingers 
 away from him, with no very ceremonious cour- 
 tesy, — " never, while I have life." 
 
 u I wish to do you no harm, young Sir, but 
 good," replied the old lady ; — " I seek but to 
 stop the bleeding of your side, which is draining 
 your heart dry."' 1 
 
 The wounded man looked faintly round, 
 his senses still bewildered, either by weak- 
 ness from loss of blood, or from the stun- 
 ning effects of the blow on his forehead. 
 He seemed, however, to have caught and com- 
 prehended some of the words which the old lady 
 addressed to him, and answered them by a 
 slight inclination of the head, but still kept his 
 hand upon the breast of his coat, as if he had 
 some cause for wishing it not to be opened. 
 
 The time which had thus elapsed more than 
 sufficed to bring the horsemen, who had accom-
 
 18 RICHELIEU. 
 
 parried the carriage, (and who, as before stated, 
 had ridden on before) to the spot where the ser- 
 vants of the Cavalier appeared contending with a 
 party, not only greater in number, but superior 
 in arms. 
 
 The reinforcement which thus arrived, gave 
 a degree of equality to the two parties, though 
 the freebooters might still have retained the ad- 
 vantage, had not one of their companions com- 
 manded them, in rather a peremptory manner, 
 to quit the conflict. This personage, we must 
 remark, was very different, in point of costume, 
 from the forest gentry with whom he herded 
 for the time. His dress was a rich livery suit 
 of Isabel and silver ; and indeed he might have 
 been confounded with the other party, had not 
 his active co-operation with the banditti (or 
 whatever they might be) placed the matter 
 beyond a doubt. 
 
 Their obedience, also, to his commands 
 showed, that if he were not the instigator of 
 the violence we have described, at least his in- 
 fluence over his lawless companions was singu-
 
 RICHELIEU. 19 
 
 Jarly powerful ; for at a word from him they 
 drew off from a combat in which they were be- 
 fore engaged with all the hungry fury of wolves 
 eager for their prey ; and retreated in good order 
 up the road, till its windings concealed them 
 from the view of the servants to whom they 
 had been opposed. 
 
 These last did not attempt to follow, but 
 turning their horses, together with those who 
 had brought them such timely aid, galloped up 
 to the spot where their master lay. When 
 they arrived, he had again fallen into a state 
 of apparent insensibility, and they all . flocked 
 round him with looks of eager anxiety, which 
 seemed to speak more heartfelt interest than 
 generally existed between the murmuring vassal 
 and his feudal lord. 
 
 One sprightly boy, who appeared to be his 
 page, sprang like lightning from the saddle, and 
 kneeling by his side, gazed intently on his 
 face, as if to seek some trace of animation. 
 " They have killed him !" he cried at length, 
 " I fear me they have killed him !"
 
 ^O RICHELIEU. 
 
 " No, he is not dead,"" answered the old lady ; 
 " but I wish, Sir Page, that you would prevail 
 on your master to open his coat, that we may 
 staunch that deep wound in his side." 
 
 " No, no ! that must not be," cried the boy 
 quickly ; " but I will tie my scarf round the 
 wound." So saying, he unloosed the rich scarf 
 of blue and gold, that passing over his right 
 shoulder crossed his bosom till it nearly reached 
 the hilt of his sword, where forming a large knot 
 it covered the bucklings of his belt. This he 
 bound tightly over the spot in his masters side 
 from whence the blood flowed ; and then asked 
 thoughtfully, without raising his eyes, " But 
 how shall we carry him to St. Germain ?" 
 
 il In our carriage, 1 ' said the young lady ; "we 
 are on our way thither, even now." 
 
 The sound of her voice made the Page start, 
 for since his arrival on the spot, he had scarcely 
 noticed any one but his master, whose danger- 
 ous situation seemed to occupy all his thoughts: 
 but now there was something in that sweet 
 voice, with its soft Languedocian accent, which
 
 RICHELIEU. 21 
 
 awakened other ideas, and he turned his full 
 sunny face towards the lady who spoke. 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed she, as that 
 glance showed her a countenance not at all un- 
 familiar to her memory : " Is not this Henry de 
 La Mothe, son of our old farmer Louis ?" 
 
 " No other indeed. Mademoiselle Pauline,' 1 
 replied the boy ; " though, truly, I neither 
 hoped nor expected to see you at such a mo- 
 ment as this." 
 
 " Then who" — demanded the young lady, 
 clasping her hands with a look of impatient 
 anxiety — " in the name of heaven, tell me who 
 is this!" 
 
 For an instant, and but for an instant, a look 
 of arch meaning played over the boy's counte- 
 nance ; but it was like a flash of lightning on a 
 dark cloud, lost as quickly as it appeared, leav- 
 ing a deep gloom behind it, as his eye fell upon 
 the inanimate form of his master. " That, 
 Madam," said he, while something glistened 
 brightly, but sadly, in his eye, " that is Claude 
 Count de Blenau."
 
 %% RICHELIEU. 
 
 Pauline spoke not, but there was a deadly 
 paleness come upon her face, which very plainly 
 showed, how secondary a feeling is general be- 
 nevolence, compared with personal interest. 
 
 "Is it possible ?" exclaimed the elder lady, 
 her brow darkening thoughtfully. " Well, 
 something must be done for him." 
 
 The Page did not seem particularly well 
 pleased with the tone in which the lady spoke, 
 and, in truth, it had betrayed more pride than 
 compassion. 
 
 " The best thing that can be done for him, 
 Madame la Marquise," answered he, " is to 
 put him in the carriage and convey him to 
 St. Germain as soon as possible, if you should 
 not consider it too much trouble ." 
 
 " Trouble !" exclaimed Pauline ; " trouble ! 
 Henry de La Mothe, do you think that my mo- 
 ther or myself would find any thing a trouble, 
 that could serve Claude de Blenau, in such a 
 situation ?" 
 
 " Hush, Pauline !" said her mother. " Of 
 course we shall be glad to serve the Count —
 
 RICHELIEU. 23 
 
 Henry, help Michel and Regnard to place your 
 master in the carriage. — Michel, give me your 
 arquebuse ; I will hold it till you have done. — 
 Henry, support your master's head." 
 
 But Pauline took that post upon herself, not- 
 withstanding a look from the Marchioness, if 
 not intended to forbid, at least to disapprove. 
 The young lady, however, was too much agi- 
 tated with all that had occurred to remark her 
 mother's looks, and following the first impulse 
 of her feelings, while the servants carried him 
 slowly to the carriage, she supported the head 
 of the wounded Cavalier on her arm, though 
 the blood continued to flow from the wound 
 in his forehead, and dripped amidst the rich 
 slashing of her Spanish sleeves, dabbling the 
 satin with which it was lined. 
 
 " Oh Mademoiselle !" said the Page, when 
 their task was accomplished, " this has been a 
 sad day's hunting. But if I might advise," he 
 continued, turning to the Marchioness, '.' the 
 drivers must be told to go with all speed." 
 
 " Saucy as a page !" said the old lady, " is a
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 proverb, and a good one. Now, Monsieur La 
 Mothe, I do not think the drivers must go with 
 all speed ; for humbly deferring to your better 
 opinion, it would shake your master to death." 
 
 The Page bit his lip, and his cheek grew 
 somewhat red, in answer to the high dame's re- 
 buke, but he replied calmly, " You have seen, 
 Madam, what has happened to-day, and depend 
 on it, if we be not speedy in getting out of this 
 accursed forest, we shall have the same good 
 gentry upon us again, and perhaps in greater 
 numbers. Though they have wounded the 
 Count, they have not succeeded in their ob- 
 ject ; for he has still about him that which they 
 would hazard all to gain." 
 
 " You are in the right, boy," answered the 
 lady ; " I was over-hasty. Go in, Pauline. 
 Henry, your master's horse must carry one of 
 my footmen, of whom the other three can mount 
 behind the carriage — thus we shall go quicker. 
 You, with the Count's servants, mix with my 
 horsemen, and keep close round the coach ; and 
 now bid them, on, with all speed." Thus say-
 
 RICHELIEU. 25 
 
 ing, she entered the vehicle ; and the rest hav- 
 ing disposed themselves according to her orders, 
 the whole cavalcade was soon in motion on the 
 road to St. Germain. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 26 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In which new characters are brought upon the stage, 
 and some dark hints given respecting them. 
 
 The sun had long gone down, and the large 
 clear autumn moon had risen high in his stead, 
 throwing a paler, but a gentler light upon the 
 wood of Laye, and the rich wild forest-scenery 
 bordering the road from St. Germain to Mantes. 
 The light, unable to pierce the deeper re- 
 cesses of the wood, fell principally upon those 
 old and majestic trees, the aristocracy of the 
 forest, which, raising their heads high above 
 their brethren of more recent growth, seemed to 
 look upon the beam in which they shone, as the 
 right of elder birth, and due alone to their 
 aspiring height. The deep shadows of their 
 branches fell in long sombre shapes across the
 
 RICHELIEU. 27 
 
 inequalities of the road, leaving but glimpses 
 every now and then, to light the footsteps of 
 whatever being might wander there at that hour 
 of silence. 
 
 On one of those spots where the full beams 
 fell, stood the cottage of Philip, the woodman : 
 and the humble hut with its straw thatch, 
 the open space of ground before it, with a 
 felled oak which had lain there undisturbed 
 till a coat of soft green moss had grown thick 
 over its rugged bark, the little stream dammed 
 up to afford a sufficient supply of water for the 
 horses, and the large square block of stone to 
 aid the traveller in mounting, all were displayed 
 in the clear moonlight as plainly as if the full 
 day had shone upon them. 
 
 Yet, however fair might be the night, there 
 were very few who would have chosen the 
 beams of the moon to light them across the 
 wood of Mantes. In sooth, in those days sun- 
 shine was the best safeguard to travellers. For 
 France swarmed with those who gathered in 
 their harvest at night, and who (to use their 
 c 2
 
 28 RICHELIEU. 
 
 own phrase) had turned their swords into reap- 
 ing-hooks. 
 
 Two grand objects fully occupied the mind 
 of that famous minister, the Cardinal de 
 Richelieu (who then governed the kingdom 
 with almost despotic sway): the prosecution 
 of those mighty schemes of foreign policy, 
 which at the time shook many a throne, and 
 in after years changed more than one dynas- 
 ty ; and the establishment of his own power 
 at home, which, threatened by factions, and at- 
 tacked by continual conspiracies, was supported 
 alone by the terror of his name, and the favour 
 of a weak and irresolute monarch. These more 
 immediate calls upon his attention gave him but 
 little time to regulate the long-neglected police 
 of the country ; and indeed it was whispered, 
 that Richelieu not only neglected, but know- 
 ingly tolerated many of the excesses of the 
 times ; the perpetrators of which were often 
 called upon to do some of those good services 
 which statesmen occasionally require of their 
 less circumspect servants. It was said too, that
 
 RICHELIEU. 29 
 
 scarce a forest in France but sheltered a band 
 of these free rovers, who held themselves in 
 readiness to merit pardon for their other of- 
 fences, by offending in the State's behalf when- 
 ever it should be demanded, and in the mean 
 time took very sufficient care to do those things 
 on their own account for which they might be 
 pardoned hereafter. 
 
 We may suppose then, it rarely happened 
 that travellers chose that hour for passing 
 through the wood of Mantes, and that those 
 who did so were seldom of the best description. 
 But on the night I speak of, two horsemen 
 wound slowly along the road towards the cot- 
 tage of the Woodman, with a sort of sauntering, 
 idle pace, as if thoughtless of danger, and en- 
 tirely occupied in their own conversation. 
 
 They were totally unattended also, although 
 their dress bespoke a high station in society, and 
 by its richness might have tempted a robber to 
 inquire farther into their circumstances. Both 
 were well armed with pistol, sword, and dagger, 
 and appeared as stout cavaliers as ever mounted
 
 30 RICHELIEU. 
 
 horse, having, withal, that air of easy confidence, 
 which is generally the result of long familiarity 
 with urgent and perilous circumstances. 
 
 Having come near the abreuvoir, one of the 
 two gave his horse to drink without dismount- 
 ing, while the other alighted, and taking 
 out the bit, let his beast satisfy its thirst at 
 liberty. As he did so, his eye naturally 
 glanced over the ground at the foot of the 
 tree. Something caught his attention ; and 
 stooping down to examine more closely, " Here 
 is blood, Chavigni !" he exclaimed ; " surely, 
 they have never been stupid enough to do it 
 here, within sight of this cottage." 
 
 " I hope they have not done it at all, Lafe- 
 mas," replied the other. " I only told them to 
 tie him, and search him thoroughly ; but not to 
 give him a scratch, if they could avoid it." 
 
 " Methinks, thou hast grown mighty cere- 
 monious of late, and somewhat merciful, Mas- 
 ter Chavigni," replied his companion ; " I re- 
 member the time, when you were not so scru- 
 pulous. Would it not have been the wiser way,
 
 RICHELIEU. 31 
 
 to have quieted this young plotter at once, 
 when your men had him in their hands P* 1 
 
 " Thou wert born in the Fauxbourg St. An- 
 toine, I would swear, and served apprenticeship 
 to a butcher/' replied Chavigni. " Why, thou 
 art as fond of blood, Lafemas, as if thou hadst 
 sucked it in thy cradle ! Tell me, when thou 
 wert an infant Hercules, didst thou not stick 
 sheep, instead of strangling serpents ?" 
 
 " Not more than yourself, lying villain I" an- 
 swered the other in a quick deep voice, making 
 his hand sound upon the hilt of his sword. 
 " Chavigni, you have taunted me all along the 
 road ; you have cast in my teeth things that 
 you yourself caused me to do. Beware of your- 
 self ! Urge me not too far, lest you leave your 
 bones in the forest !" 
 
 " Pshaw, man ! pshaw P cried Chavigni, 
 laughing : " Here 's a cool-headed j udge ! Here's 
 the calm placid Lafemas ! Here's the Cardi- 
 nal's gentle hangman, who can condemn his 
 dearest friends to the torture with the same 
 meek look that he puts on to say grace over a
 
 32 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Beccafico, suddenly metamorphosed into a 
 bully and a bravo in the wood of Mantes. — 
 But hark ye, Sir Judge !" he added, in a 
 prouder tone, tossing back the plumes of his 
 hat, which before hung partly over his face, and 
 fixing his full dark eye upon his companion, 
 who still stood scowling upon him with ill-re- 
 pressed passion — " Hark ye, Sir Judge! Use 
 no such language towards me, if you seek not 
 to try that same sharp axe you have so often 
 ordered for others. Suffice it for you to know, 
 in the present instance, that it was not the 
 Cardinal's wish that the young man should be 
 injured. We do not desire blood, but when 
 the necessity of the State requires it to be shed. 
 Besides, man," and he gradually fell into his 
 former jeering tone — " besides, in future, under 
 your gentle guidance, and a touch or two of 
 the peine forte et dure, this young nightingale 
 may be taught to sing, and, in short, be forced 
 to tell us all he knows. Now do you under- 
 stand r 
 
 " I do, I do," replied Lafemas. " I thought
 
 RICHELIEU. 33 
 
 that there was some deep, damnable wile that 
 made you spare him ; and as to the rest, I 
 did not mean to offend you. But when a man 
 condemns his own soul to serve you, you should 
 not taunt him, for it is hard to bear." 
 
 " Peace! peace!" cried Chavigni, in a 
 sharp tone ; " let me hear no more in this 
 strain. Who raised you to what you are ? 
 We use you as you deserve ; we pay you for 
 your services ; we despise you for your mean- 
 ness ; and as to your soul," he added with a 
 sneer, " if you have any fears on that head — 
 why you shall have absolution. Are you not 
 our dog, who worries the game for us ? We 
 house and feed you, and you must take the 
 lashes when it suits us to give them. Re- 
 member, Sir, that your life is in my hand ! 
 One word respecting the affair of Chalais men- 
 tioned to the Cardinal, brings your head to the 
 block ! And now let us see what is this blood 
 you speak of? 11 
 
 So saying, he sprang from his horse, while 
 Lafemas, as he had been depicted by his com- 
 » c 5
 
 34 RICHELIEU. 
 
 panion, hung his head like a cowed hound, and 
 in sullen silence pointed out the blood, which had 
 formed a little pool at the foot of the tree, and 
 stained the ground in several places round about. 
 
 Chavigni gazed at it with evident symptoms 
 of displeasure and uneasiness ; for although, 
 when he imagined that the necessities of the 
 State required the severest infliction on any 
 offender, no one was more ruthless than himself 
 as to the punishment, no one more unhesitating 
 as to the means — although, at those times, no 
 bond of amity, no tie of kindred, would have stay- 
 ed his hand, or restrained him in what he errone- 
 ously considered his political duty; yet Chavigni 
 was far from naturally cruel ; and, as his after 
 life showed, even too susceptible of the strongest 
 and deepest affections of human nature. 
 
 In his early youth, the Cardinal de Riche- 
 lieu had remarked in him a strong and pene- 
 trating mind ; but above all, an extraordinary 
 power of governing and even subduing the 
 ardent passions by which he was at times ex- 
 cited. As son to the Count de Bouthilliers,
 
 RICHELIEU. 35 
 
 one of the oldest members of the Privy Council, 
 the road to political preferment was open to 
 Chavigni ; and Richelieu, ever fearful of aught 
 that might diminish his power, and careful to 
 strengthen it by every means, resolved to bind 
 the young Count to his cause by the sure ties 
 of early habit and mutual interest. With this 
 view he took him entirely under his own pro- 
 tection, educated him in his own line of policy, 
 instilled into him, as principles, the deep stern 
 maxims of his own mighty and unshrinking 
 mind, and having thus moulded him to his wish, 
 called him early to the council-table, and in- 
 trusted him with a greater share of his power 
 and confidence than he would have yielded to 
 any other man. 
 
 Chavigni repaid the Cardinal with heartfelt 
 gratitude, with firm adherence, and uncompro- 
 mising service. In private life, he was honour- 
 able, generous, and kind ; but it was his axiom, 
 that all must yield to State necessity, or (as he 
 said) in other words, to the good of his country ; 
 and upon the strength of this maxim, which, in
 
 36 RICHELIEU. 
 
 fact, was the cause of every stain that rests upon 
 his memory, he fancied himself a patriot ! 
 
 Between Chavigni and the Judge Lafemas, 
 who was the Jeffreys of his country, and had 
 received the name of Le Bourreau du Cardinal* 
 existed a sort of original antipathy ; so that the 
 Statesman, though often obliged to make use of 
 the less scrupulous talents of the Judge, and 
 even occasionally to associate with him, could 
 never refrain for any length of time from break- 
 ing forth into those bitter taunts which often 
 irritated Lafemas almost to frensy. The ha- 
 tred of the Judge, on his part, was not less 
 strong, even at the times it did not show itself ; 
 and he still brooded over the hope of exercising 
 his ungentle functions upon him who was at 
 present, in a degree, his master. 
 
 But to return, Chavigni gazed intently on 
 the spot to which Lafemas pointed. " I be- 
 lieve it is blood, indeed, " said he, after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, as if the uncertainty of the 
 light had made him doubt it at first : " they 
 shall rue the day that they shed it contrary to
 
 RICHELIEU. 37 
 
 my command. It is blood surely, Lafemas : is 
 it not?" 
 
 " Without a doubt," said Lafemas ; " and it 
 has been shed since mid-day.'' 
 
 " You are critical in these things, I know," 
 replied the other with a cool sneer ; " but we 
 must hear more of this, Sir Judge, and ascertain 
 what news is stirring, before we go farther. 
 Things might chance, which would render it 
 necessary that one or both of us should return 
 to the Cardinal. We will knock at this cottage 
 and inquire. — Our story must run, that we have 
 lost our way in the wood, and need both rest 
 and direction. " 
 
 So saying, he struck several sharp blows with 
 the hilt of his sword against the door, whose 
 rickety and unsonorous nature returned a grum- 
 bling indistinct sound, as if it too had shared 
 the sleep of the peaceable inhabitants of the 
 cottage, and loved not to be disturbed by such 
 nocturnal visitations. u So ho !" cried Cha- 
 vigni ; " will no one hear us poor travellers, 
 who have lost our way in this forest !"
 
 38 RICHELIEU. 
 
 In a moment after, the head of Philip, the 
 woodman, appeared at the little casement by 
 the side of the door, examining the strangers, on 
 whose figures fell the full beams of the moon, 
 with quite sufficient light to display the courtly 
 form and garnishing of their apparel, and to 
 show that they were no dangerous guests. 
 " What would ye, Messieurs?"" demanded he, 
 through the open window : " it is late for tra- 
 vellers." 
 
 " We have lost our way in your wood," re- 
 plied Chavigni, " and would fain have a little 
 rest, and some direction for our farther pro- 
 gress. We will pay thee well, good man, for 
 thy hospitality." 
 
 " There is no need of payment, Sir," said the 
 Woodman, opening the door. " Come in, I 
 pray, Messieurs. — Charles (" he added, calling 
 to his son, " get up and tend these gentlemen's 
 horses. Get up, I say, Sir Sluggard !" 
 
 The boy crept sleepily out of the room be- 
 yond, and went to give some of the forest-hay 
 to the beasts which had borne the strangers
 
 RICHELIEU. 39 
 
 thither, and which gave but little signs of 
 needing either rest or refreshment. In the 
 mean while, his father drew two large yew-tree 
 seats to the fire-side, soon blew the white ashes 
 on the hearth into a flame, and having invited 
 his guests to sit, and lighted the old brazen 
 lamp that hung above the chimney, he bowed 
 low, asking how he could serve them farther ; 
 but as he did so, his eye ran over their persons 
 with a half-satisfied and inquiring glance, which 
 made Lafemas turn away his head. But Cha- 
 vigni answered promptly to his offer of service : 
 " Why now, good friend, if thou couldst give us 
 a jug of wine, 'twould be well and kindly done, 
 for we have ridden far.'' 1 
 
 " This is no inn, Sir," replied Philip, " and 
 you will find my wine but thin : nevertheless, 
 such as it is, most welcomely shall you taste." 
 
 From whatever motive it proceeded, Philip's 
 hospitality was but lukewarm towards the 
 strangers ; and the manner in which he rinsed 
 out the tankard, drew the wine from a barrique 
 standing in one corner of the room, half co-
 
 40 RICHELIEU. 
 
 vered with a wolf-skin, and placed it on a table 
 by the side of Chavigni, bespoke more churlish 
 rudeness than good- will. But the Statesman 
 heeded little either the quality of his reception 
 or of his wine, provided he could obtain the in- 
 formation he desired ; so, carrying the tank- 
 ard to his lips, he drank, or seemed to drink, 
 as deep a draught as if its contents had been 
 the produce of the best vineyard in Medoc. 
 " It is excellent," said he, handing it to Lafe- 
 mas, " or my thirst does wonders. Now, good 
 friend, if we had some venison-steaks to broil 
 on your clear ashes, our supper were complete. 1 ' 
 
 " Such I have not to offer, Sir," replied Phi- 
 lip, " or to that you should be welcome too." 
 
 " Why, I should have thought," said Cha- 
 vigni, " the hunters who ran down a stag at 
 your door to-day, should have left you a part, 
 as the woodman's fee." 
 
 " Do you know those hunters, Sir?" de- 
 manded Philip, with some degree of emphasis. 
 
 " Not I, in truth," replied Chavigni ; though 
 the colour rose in his cheek, notwithstanding
 
 RICHELIEU. 41 
 
 his long training to courtly wile and political 
 intrigue, and he thanked his stars that the 
 lamp gave but a faint and glimmering light : 
 " Not I, in truth ; but whoever ran him down 
 got a good beast, for he bled like a stag of ten. 
 I suppose they made the curee at your door?" 
 
 " Those hunters, Sir," replied Philip, " give 
 no woodman's fees ; and as to the stag, he is as 
 fine a one as ever brushed the forest dew, but 
 he has escaped them this time." 
 
 u How ! did he get off with his throat cut ?" 
 demanded Chavigni, " for there is blood enough 
 at the foot of yon old tree, to have drained the 
 stoutest stag that ever was brought to bay.' 1 
 
 " Oh ! but that is not stag's blood !" in- 
 terrupted Charles, the woodman's son, who had 
 by this time not only tended the strangers' 
 horses, but examined every point of the quaint 
 furniture with which it was the fashion of the 
 day to adorn them. " That is not stag's blood ; 
 that is the blood of the young Cavalier, who 
 was hurt by the robbers, and taken away by — " 
 
 At this moment the boy's eye caught the
 
 4$ RICHELIEU. 
 
 impatient expression of his father's counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " The truth is, Messieurs," said Philip, tak- 
 ing up the discourse, " there was a gentleman 
 wounded in the forest this morning. I never 
 saw him before, and he was taken away in 
 a carriage by some ladies, whose faces were 
 equally strange to me." 
 
 " You have been somewhat mysterious upon 
 this business, Sir Woodman,'" said Chavigni, his 
 brow darkening as he spoke ; " why were you 
 so tardy in giving us this forest news, which 
 imports all strangers travelling through the 
 wood to know ?" 
 
 " I hold it as a rule," replied Philip boldly, 
 " to mind my own business, and never to men- 
 tion any thing I see ; which in this affair I 
 shall do more especially, as one of the robbers 
 had furniture of Isabel and silver ;" and as he 
 spoke he glanced his eye to the scarf of Cha- 
 vigni, which was of that peculiar mixture of 
 colours then called Isabel, bordered by a rich 
 silver fringe.
 
 RICHELIEU. 43 
 
 u Fool r muttered Chavigni between his 
 teeth; "Fool! what need had he to show 
 himself?" 
 
 Lafemas, who had hitherto been silent, now 
 came to the relief of his companion : taking 
 up the conversation in a mild and easy tone, 
 " Have you many of these robbing fraternity 
 in your wood ¥* said he ; "if so, I suppose we 
 peril ourselves in crossing it alone." And, 
 without waiting for any answer, he proceeded, 
 " Pray, who was the cavalier they attacked T* 
 
 " He was a stranger from St. Germain," an- 
 swered the Woodman ; " and as to the robbers, 
 I doubt that they will show themselves again, 
 for fear of being taken." 
 
 "They did not rob him then ?" said the Judge. 
 Now nothing that Philip had said bore out 
 this inference ; but Lafemas possessed in a 
 high degree the talent of cross-examination, 
 and was deeply versed in all the thousand 
 arts of entangling a witness, or leading a 
 prisoner to condemn himself. But there was a 
 stern reserve about the Woodman which baf-
 
 44 RICHELIEU. 
 
 fled the Judge's cunning : i( I only saw the last 
 part of the fray, v replied Philip, " and therefore 
 know not what went before." 
 
 " Where was he hurt ?" asked Lafemas; " for 
 he lost much blood. 1 ' 
 
 " On the head and in the side," answered the 
 Woodman. 
 
 " Poor youth !" cried the Judge in a pitiful 
 tone. " And when you opened his coat, was 
 the wound a deep one ? v 
 
 " I cannot judge," replied Philip, " being no 
 surgeon." 
 
 It was in vain that Lafemas tried all his 
 wiles on the Woodman, and that Chavigni, who 
 soon joined in the conversation, questioned him 
 more boldly. Philip was in no communicative 
 mood, and yielded them but little information 
 respecting the events of the morning. 
 
 At length, weary of this fruitless interroga- 
 tion, Chavigni started up — u Well, friend !" 
 said he, " had there been danger in crossing 
 the forest, we might have stayed with thee till 
 daybreak ; but, as thou sayest there is none, we
 
 RICHELIEU. 45 
 
 will hence upon our way." So saying he strode 
 towards the door, the flame-shaped mullets of 
 his gilded spurs jingling over the brick-floor 
 of Philip's dwelling, and calling the Woodman's 
 attention to the knightly rank of his departing 
 guest. In a few minutes all was prepared for 
 their departure, and having mounted their 
 horses, the Statesman drew forth a small silk 
 purse tied with a loop of gold, and holding 
 it forth to Philip, bade him accept it for his 
 services. The Woodman bowed, repeating that 
 he required no payment. 
 
 " I am not accustomed to have my bounty 
 refused," said Chavigni proudly ; and dropping 
 
 the purse to the ground, he spurred forward 
 
 his horse. 
 
 " Now, Lafemas," said he, when they had 
 
 proceeded so far as to be beyond the reach of 
 
 Philip's ears, " what think you of this ?" 
 
 " Why, truly," replied the Judge, " I deem 
 
 that we are mighty near as wise as we were 
 
 before." 
 
 ci Not so," said Chavigni. " It is clear
 
 46 RICHELIEU. 
 
 enough these fellows have failed, and De 
 Blenau has preserved the packet ; I under- 
 stand it all. His Eminence of Richelieu, 
 against my advice, has permitted Madame de 
 Beaumont and her daughter Pauline to return 
 to the Queen, after an absence of ten years. 
 The fact is, that when the Cardinal banished 
 them the Court, and ordered the Marchioness 
 to retire to Languedoc, his views were not so 
 extended as they are now, and he had laid out 
 in his own mind a match between one of his 
 nieces and this rich young Count de Blenau ; 
 which, out of the royal family, was one of the 
 best alliances in France. The boy, however, 
 had been promised, and even, I believe, affi- 
 anced by his father, to this Pauline de Beau- 
 mont ; and accordingly his Eminence sent away 
 the girl and her mother, with the same sang- 
 froid that a man drives a strange dog out of 
 his court-yard ; at the same time he kept the 
 youth at Court, forbidding all communication 
 with Languedoc : but now that the Cardinal 
 can match his niece to the Duke D'Enghien,
 
 RICHELIEU. 47 
 
 De Blenau may look for a bride where he lists, 
 and the Marquise and her daughter have been 
 suffered to return. To my knowledge, they 
 passed through Chartres yesterday morning on 
 their way to St. Germain. " 
 
 " But what have these to do with the present 
 affair ?" demanded Lafemas. 
 
 " Why thus has it happened, 31 continued 
 Chavigni. " The youth has been attacked. 
 He has resisted, and been wounded. Just then, 
 up come these women, travelling through the 
 forest with a troop of servants, who join with 
 the Count, and drive our poor friends to cover. 
 This is what I have drawn from the discourse 
 of yon surly Woodman ." 
 
 " You mean, from your own knowledge of 
 the business," replied Lafemas, " for he would 
 confess nothing.'' 
 
 " Confess, man !" exclaimed Chavigni. — 
 " Why he did not know that he was before a 
 confessor, and still less before a Judge, though 
 thou wouldest fain have put him to the ques- 
 tion. I saw your lip quivering with anxiety to
 
 48 RICHELIEU. 
 
 order him the torture ; rack, and thumb- screw, 
 and oubliette were in your eye, every sullen an- 
 swer he gave." 
 
 " Were it not as well to get him out of the 
 way ?" demanded Lafemas. " He remarked 
 your livery, Chavigni, and may blab." 
 
 " Short-sighted mole !" replied his compa- 
 nion. " The very sulkiness of humour which 
 has called down on him thy rage, will shield 
 him from my fears — which might be quite as 
 dangerous. He that is so close in one thing, 
 depend upon it, will be close in another. Be- 
 sides, unless he tells it to the trees, or the 
 jays, or the wild boars, whom should he tell it 
 to ? I would bet a thousand crowns against 
 the Prince de Conti's brains, or the Archbishop 
 Coadjutor's religion, or Madame de Chevreuse's 
 — reputation, or against any thing else that 
 is worth nothing, that this good Woodman sees 
 no human shape for the next ten years, and 
 then all that passes between them will be, 
 ' Good day, Woodman !' — ' Good day, Sir !'— and 
 he mimicked the deep voice of him of whom
 
 RICHELIEU. 49 
 
 they spoke. But, notwithstanding this appear- 
 ance of gaiety, Chavigni was not easy; and even 
 while he spoke, he rode on with no small pre- 
 cipitation, till, turning into a narrow forest path, 
 the light of the moon, which had illuminated 
 the greater part of the high road, was cut off en- 
 tirely by the trees, and the deep gloom obliged 
 them to be more cautious in proceeding At 
 length, however, they came to a little savanna, 
 surrounded by high oaks, where Chavigni en- 
 tirely reined in his horse, and blew a single 
 note on his horn, which was soon answered by 
 a similar sound at some distance. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 50 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Which shows what a French forest was at night, and who 
 inhabited it. 
 
 Those whom either the love of sylvan sports, 
 or that calm meditative charm inherent to wood 
 scenery, has tempted to explore the deeper re- 
 cesses of the forest, must be well aware that 
 many particular glades and coverts will often 
 lie secret and undiscovered, amidst the mazes 
 of the leafy labyrinth, even to the eyes of 
 those long accustomed to investigate its most 
 intricate windings. In those countries where 
 forest hunting is a frequent sport, I have more 
 than once found myself led on into scenes com- 
 pletely new, when I had fancied that long expe- 
 rience had made me fully acquainted with every
 
 RICHELIEU. 51 
 
 rood of the woodland round about, and have 
 often met with no small trouble in retracing the 
 spot, although I took all pains to observe the 
 way thither, and fix its distinctive marks in my 
 memory. 
 
 In the heart of the forest of St. Germain, at 
 a considerable distance from any of the roads, 
 or even by-paths of the wood, lay a deep dingle 
 or dell, which probably had been a gravel-pit 
 many centuries before, and might have furnished 
 forth sand to strew the hails of Charlemagne, for 
 aught I know to the contrary. However, so 
 many ages had elapsed since it had been em- 
 ployed for such purpose, that many a stout oak 
 had sprung, and flourished, and withered round 
 about it, and had left the ruins of their once 
 princely forms crumbling on its brink. At the 
 time I speak of, a considerable part of the dell 
 itself was filled up with tangled brush- wood, 
 which a long hot season had stripped and with- 
 ered ; and over the edge hung a quantity of dry 
 shrubs and stunted trees, forming a thick screen 
 over the wild recess below. 
 D 2
 
 Q% RICHELIEU. 
 
 One side, and one side only, was free of access, 
 and this was by means of a small sandy path 
 winding down into the bottom of the dell, be- 
 tween two deep banks, which assumed almost 
 the appearance of cliffs as the road descended. 
 This little footway conducted, it is true, into 
 the most profound part of the hollow, but then 
 immediately lost itself in the thick underwood, 
 through which none but a very practised eye 
 would have discovered the means of entering 
 a deep lair of ground, sheltered by the steep 
 bank and its superincumbent trees on one side, 
 and concealed by a screen of wood on every other. 
 
 On the night I have mentioned, this well con- 
 cealed retreat was tenanted by a group of men, 
 whose wild attire harmonized perfectly with the 
 rudeness of the scene around. The apparel of 
 almost every class was discernible among them, 
 but each vesture plainly showed, that it had 
 long passed that epoch generally termed " better 
 days ;" and indeed, the more costly had been 
 their original nature, the greater was their pre- 
 sent state of degradation. So that what had
 
 RICHELIEU. 53 
 
 once been the suit of some gay cavalier of the 
 court, and which doubtless had shone as such 
 in the circles of the bright and the fair, having 
 since passed through the hands of the page, who 
 had perhaps used it to personate his master, and 
 the fripier, who had tried hard to restore it to 
 a degree of lustre, and the poor petitioner who 
 had bought it and borne it second-hand to 
 court, and lost both his labour and his money — 
 having passed through these, and perhaps a 
 thousand other hands, it had gradually ac- 
 quired that sort of undefinable tint, which 
 ought properly to be called old-age colour, and 
 at present served, and only served, to keep its 
 owner from the winds of heaven. At the same 
 time the buff jerkin which covered the broad 
 shoulders of another hard by, though it had 
 never boasted much finery, had escaped with 
 only a few rusty stains from its former intimacy 
 with a steel cuirass, and a slight greasy gloss 
 upon the left side, which indicated its owner's 
 habit of laying his hand upon his sword. 
 
 Here, too, every sort of offensive weapon
 
 54 RICHELIEU. 
 
 was to be met with. The long Toledo blade 
 with its basket hilt and black scabbard tipped 
 with steel; the double-handed heavy sword, 
 which during the wars of the League had often 
 steaded well the troops of Henry the Fourth, 
 when attacked by the superior cavalry of the 
 Dukes of Guise and Mayenne, and which had 
 been but little used since ; the poniard, the sti- 
 letto, the heavy petronel, or horse pistol, and 
 the smaller girdle pistol, which had been but 
 lately introduced, were all to be seen, either 
 as accompaniments to the dress of some of the 
 party, or scattered about on the ground, where 
 they had been placed for greater convenience. 
 
 The accoutrements of these denizens of the 
 forest were kept in countenance by every other ac- 
 cessory circumstance of appearance ; and a torch 
 stuck in the sand in the midst, glared upon fea- 
 tures which Salvator might have loved to trace. 
 It was not alone the negligence of personal 
 appearance, shown in their long dishevelled 
 hair and untrimmed beards, which rendered 
 them savagely picturesque, but many a furious
 
 RICHELIEU. 55 
 
 passion had there written deep traces of its un- 
 bounded sway, and marked them with that 
 wild undefinable expression, which habitual 
 vice and lawless licence are sure to leave be- 
 hind in their course. 
 
 At the moment I speak of, wine had been 
 circulating very freely amongst the robbers ; 
 such indeed they were. Some were sleeping, 
 either with their hands clasped over their k 
 and their heads drooping down to meet them, 
 or stretched more at their ease under the b 
 snoring loud in answer to the wind, that whis- 
 tled through the branches. Some sat gazing 
 with a wise sententious look on the empty 
 gourds, many of which, fashioned into bottles, 
 lay scattered about upon the ground : and fcw< 
 or three, who had either drunk less of the potent 
 liquor, or whose heads were better calculated 
 to resist its effects than the rest, sat clustered 
 together singing and chatting by turns, arrived 
 exactly at that point of ebriety, where a man's 
 real character shows itself, notwithstanding all 
 his efforts to conceal it.
 
 56 RICHELIEU. 
 
 The buff' jerkin we have spoken of, covered the 
 shoulders of one among this little knot of choice 
 spirits, who still woke to revel after sleep had 
 laid his leaden mace upon their companions; 
 and it may be remarked, that a pair of broader 
 shoulders are rarely to be seen than those so 
 covered. 
 
 Wouvermans is said to have been very much 
 puzzled by a figure in one of his pictures, which, 
 notwithstanding all his efforts, he could never 
 keep down (as painters express it). What- 
 ever he did, that one figure was always salient, 
 and more prominent than the artist intended ; 
 nor was it till he had half blotted it out, 
 that he discovered its original defect was being 
 too large. Something like Wouvermans 1 figure, 
 the freebooter I speak of, stood conspicuous 
 amongst the others, from the Herculean pro- 
 portion of his limbs; but he had, in addition, 
 other qualities to distinguish him from the rest. 
 His brow was broad, and of that peculiar 
 form to which physiognomists have attached the 
 idea of a strong determined spirit ; at the same
 
 RICHELIEU. 57 
 
 time, the clear sparkle of his blue Norman eye 
 bespoke an impetuous, but not a depraved mind. 
 
 A deep scar was apparent on his left cheek ; 
 and the wound which had been its progenitor, 
 was most probably the cause of a sneering turn 
 in the corner of his mouth, which, with a bold 
 expression of daring confidence, completed the 
 mute history that his face afforded, of a life 
 spent in arms, or well, or ill, as circumstances 
 prompted, — an unshrinking heart, which dared 
 every personal evil, and a bright but unprincipled 
 mind, which followed no dictates but the pas- 
 sions of the moment. 
 
 He was now in his gayest mood, and holding 
 a horn in his hand, trolled forth an old French 
 ditty, seeming confident of pleasing, or per- 
 haps careless whether he pleased or not. 
 
 " Thou 'rt an ass, Robin, thou 'rt an ass, 
 To think that great men be 
 More gay than I that lie on the grass 
 
 Under the greenwood tree. 
 I tell thee no, I tell thee no, 
 The Great are slaves to their gilded show. 
 
 D 5
 
 58 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Now tell me, Robin, tell me, 
 
 Are the ceilings of gay saloons 
 So richly wrought as yon sky we see, 
 
 Or their glitter so bright as the moon's ? 
 I tell thee no, I tell thee no, 
 The Great are slaves to their gilded show. 
 
 Say not nay, Robin, say not nay ! 
 
 There is never a heart so free, 
 In the vest of gold, and the palace gay, 
 
 As in buff 'neath the forest tree. 
 1 tell thee yea, I tell thee yea, 
 The Great were made for the poor man's prey.'' 
 
 So sang the owner of the buff jerkin, and his 
 song met with more or less applause from his 
 companions, according to the particular humour 
 of each. One only amongst the freebooters 
 seemed scarcely to participate in the merriment. 
 He had drunk as deeply as the rest, but he ap- 
 peared neither gay, nor stupid, nor sleepy ; 
 and while the tall Norman sang, he cast, from 
 time to time, a calm sneering glance upon the 
 singer, which showed no especial love, either for 
 the music, or musician. 
 
 " You sing about prey," said he, as the other 
 concluded the last stanza of his ditty — " You
 
 RICHELIEU. 59 
 
 sing about prey, and yet you are no great falcon, 
 after all ; if we may judge from to-day." 
 
 " And why not, Monsieur Pierrepont Le 
 Blanc?" demanded the Norman, without dis- 
 playing aught of ill-humour in his countenance : 
 " though they ought to have called you Mon- 
 sieur Le Noir — Mr. Black, not Mr. White. — 
 Nay, do not frown, good comrade ; I speak but 
 of your beard, not of your heart. What, art 
 thou still grumbling, because we did not cut the 
 young Count's throat outright ?" 
 
 " Nay, not for that," answered the other," but 
 because we have lost the best man amongst us, 
 for want of his being well seconded." 
 
 " You lie, Parbleu !" cried the Norman, 
 drawing his sword, and fixing his thumb upon a 
 stain, about three inches from the point. t; Did 
 not I lend the youth so much of my iron tooth- 
 pick ? and would have sent it through him, if 
 his horse had not carried him away. But I know 
 you, Master Buccaneer — You would have had 
 me stab him behind, while Mortagne slashed his 
 head before. That would have been a fit task
 
 60 RICHELIEU. 
 
 for a Norman gentleman, and a soldier ! I whose 
 life he saved too !" 
 
 " Did you not swear, when you joined our 
 troop," demanded the other, " to forget every 
 thing that went before ?" 
 
 The Norman hesitated ; he well remembered 
 his oath, against which the better feelings of his 
 heart were perhaps sometimes rebellious. He 
 felt, too, confused at the direct appeal the other 
 had made to it ; and to pass it by, he caught at 
 the word forget, answering with a stave of the 
 song — 
 
 " Forget ! forget ! let slaves forget 
 The pangs and chains they bear ; 
 The brave remember every debt 
 
 To honour, and the fair. 
 For these are bonds that bind us more, 
 Yet leave us freer than before. 
 
 " Yes, let those that can do so, forget : but I 
 very well remember, at the battle at Perpignan, 
 I had charged with the advance guard, when 
 the fire of the enemy's musketeers, and a masked 
 battery which began to enfilade our line, soon 
 threw our left flank into disorder, and a charge 
 of cavalry drove back De Coucy's troop.
 
 RICHELIEU. 61 
 
 Mielleraye's standard was in the hands of the 
 enemy, when I and five others rallied to rescue 
 it. A gloomy old Spaniard fired his petronel 
 and disabled my left arm, but still I held the 
 standard-pole with my right, keeping the stan- 
 dard before me ; but my Don drew his long 
 Toledo, and had got the point to my breast, just 
 going to run it through me and standard and 
 all, as I Ve often spitted a duck's liver and a 
 piece of bacon on a skewer; when, turning 
 round my head, to see if no help was near, I 
 perceived this young Count de Blenau's bande- 
 rol, coming like lightning over the field, and 
 driving all before it ; and blue and gold were then 
 the best colours that ever I saw, for they gave 
 me new heart, and wrenching the standard-pole 
 round — But hark, there is the horn !" 
 
 As he spoke, the clear full note of a hunting- 
 horn came swelling from the south-west ; and in 
 a moment after, another, much nearer to them, 
 seemed to answer the first. Each, after giving 
 breath to one solitary note, relapsed into 
 silence ; and such of the robbers as were 
 awake, having listened till the signal met
 
 62 RICHELIEU. 
 
 with a reply, bestirred themselves to rouse 
 their sleeping companions, and to put some 
 face of order upon the disarray which their 
 revels had left behind. 
 
 " Now, Sir Norman," cried he that they dis- 
 tinguished by the name of Le Blanc ; "we 
 shall see how Monseigneur rates your slackness 
 in his cause. Will you tell him your long story 
 of the siege of Perpignan ?" 
 
 " Pardie !" cried the other, " I care no more 
 for him, than I do for you. Every man that 
 stands before me on forest ground is but a man, 
 and I will treat him as such." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" exclaimed his companion ; 
 " it were good to see thee bully a privy coun- 
 sellor ; why, thou darest as soon take a lion by 
 the beard. 1 ' 
 
 " I dare pass my sword through his heart, 
 were there need," answered the Norman ; " but 
 here they come, — stand you aside and let me 
 deal with him. 1 ' 
 
 Approaching steps, and a rustling; sound in 
 the thick screen of wood caready mentioned, as
 
 RICHELIEU. 63 
 
 the long boughs were forced back by the pas- 
 sage of some person along the narrow pathway, 
 announced the arrival of those for whom the 
 robbers had been waiting. 
 
 u Why, it is as dark as the pit of Acheron 1" 
 cried a deep voice amongst the trees. " Are we 
 never to reach the light I saw from above? Oh, 
 here it is. — Chauvelin, hold back that bough, it 
 has caught my cloak." As the speaker uttered 
 the last words, an armed servant, in Isabel and 
 silver, appeared at the entrance of the path, 
 holding back the stray branches, while Cha- 
 vigni himself advanced into the circle of rob- 
 bers, who stood grouped around in strange pic- 
 turesque attitudes, some advancing boldly, as if 
 to confront the daring stranger that thus in- 
 truded on their haunts, some gazing with a 
 kind of curiosity upon the being so different 
 from themselves, who had thus placed himself 
 in sudden contact with them, some lowering 
 upon him with bended heads, like wolves when 
 they encounter a nobler beast of prey. 
 
 The Statesman himself advanced in silence ;
 
 04 RICHELIEU. 
 
 and, with something of a frown upon his brow, 
 glanced his eye firmly over every face around, 
 nor was there an eye amongst them that did 
 not sink before the stern commanding fire of 
 his, as it rested for a moment upon the counte- 
 nance of each, seeming calmly to construe the 
 expression of the features, and read into the 
 soul beneath, as we often see a student turn 
 over the pages of some foreign book, and col- 
 lect their meaning at a glance. 
 
 " Well, Sirs," said he at length, " my 
 knave tells me, that ye have failed in executing 
 my commands." 
 
 The Norman we have somewhat minutely 
 described heretofore, now began to excuse him- 
 self and his fellows ; and was proceeding to set 
 forth that they had done all which came with- 
 in their power and province to do, and was also 
 engaged in stating, that no man could do more, 
 when Chavigni interrupted him. " Silence !" 
 cried he, with but little apparent respect for 
 these lords of k the forest, " I blame ye not for 
 not doing more than ye could do ; but how 
 dare ye, mongrel bloodhounds, to disobey my
 
 RICHELIEU. 65 
 
 strict commands ? and when I bade ye abstain 
 from injuring the youth, how is it ye have 
 mangled him like a stag torn by the wolves?' 1 ' 
 
 The Norman turned with a look of subdued 
 triumph towards him who had previously cen- 
 sured his forbearance. " Speak, speak, Le 
 Blanc!" cried he; "answer Monseigneur. — 
 Well," continued he, as the other drew back, 
 " the truth is this, Sir Count : we were divided 
 in opinion with respect to the best method of 
 fulfilling your commands, so we called a coun- 
 cil of war — " 
 
 " A council of war !" repeated Chavigni, his 
 lip curling into an ineffable sneer. " Well, pro- 
 ceed, proceed ! You are a Norman, I presume 
 — and braggart, I perceive. — Proceed, Sir, pro- 
 ceed!" 
 
 Be it remarked, that by this time the influ- 
 ence of Chavigni's first appearance had greatly 
 worn away from the mind of the Norman. The 
 commanding dignity of the Statesman, though 
 it still, in a degree, overawed, had lost the 
 effect of novelty; and the bold heart of the 
 freebooter began to reproach him for truckling
 
 66 RICHELIEU. 
 
 to a being who was inferior to himself, accord- 
 ing to his estimate of human dignities — an esti- 
 mate formed not alone on personal courage, but 
 also on personal strength. 
 
 However, as we have said, he was, in some 
 measure, overawed ; and though he would have 
 done much to prove his daring in the sight 
 of his companions, his mind was not yet suffi- 
 ciently wrought up to shake off all respect, and 
 he answered boldly, but calmly, " Well, Sir 
 Count, give me your patience, and you shall 
 hear. But my story must be told my own 
 way, or not at all. We called a council of war, 
 then, where every man gave his opinion, and 
 my voice was for shooting Monsieur de Blenau's 
 horse as he rode by, and then taking advantage 
 of the confusion among his lackeys, to seize 
 upon his person, and carrying him into St. Her- 
 man's brake, which lies between Le Croix de 
 bois and the river — You know where I mean, 
 Monseigneur ?" 
 
 " No, truly," answered the Statesman ; " but, 
 as I guess, some deep part of the forest, where
 
 RICHELIEU. 67 
 
 you could have searched him at your ease — 
 The plan was a good one. Why went it not 
 forward ?" 
 
 " You shall hear in good time," answered 
 the freebooter, growing somewhat more familiar 
 in his tone. " As you say, St. Herman's brake 
 is deep enough in the forest — and if we had once 
 housed him there, we might have searched him 
 from top to toe for the packet — ay, and looked 
 in his mouth, if we found it no where else. 
 But the first objection was, that an arquebuse, 
 though a very pretty weapon, and pleasant ser- 
 viceable companion in broad brawl and battle, 
 talks too loud for secret service, and the noise 
 thereof might put the Count's people on their 
 guard before we secured his person. However, 
 they say * a Norman cow can always get over 
 a stile," 1 so I offered to do the business with 
 yon arbalete ;" and he pointed to a steel cross- 
 bow lying near, of that peculiar shape which 
 seems to unite the properties of the cross-bow 
 and gun, propelling the ball or bolt by means 
 of the stiff arched spring and cord, by which
 
 68 RICHELIEU. 
 
 little noise is made, while the aim is rendered 
 more certain by a long tube similar to the bar- 
 rel of a musket, through which the shot passes. 
 " When was I ever known to miss my aim ?" 
 continued the Norman. " Why, I always shoot 
 my stags in the eye, for fear of hurting the 
 skin. However, Mortagne — your old friend, 
 Monsieur de Chavigni — who was a sort of band 
 captain amongst us, loved blood, as you know, 
 like an unreclaimed falcon ; besides, he had 
 some old grudge against the Count, who turned 
 him out of the Queen's anteroom, when he was 
 Ancient in the Cardinal's guard. He it was 
 who over-ruled my proposal. He would have 
 shot him willingly enough, but your gentleman 
 would not hear of that ; so we attacked the 
 Count's train, at the turn of the road — boldly, 
 and in the face. Mortagne was lucky enough 
 to get a fair cut at his head, which slashed 
 through his beaver, and laid his skull bare, but 
 went no farther, only serving to make the youth 
 as savage as a hurt boar; for I had only time 
 to see his hand laid upon his sword, when its
 
 RICHELIEU. 69 
 
 cross was knocking against Mortagne's ribs be- 
 fore, and the point shining out between his 
 blade-bones behind. It was done in the twink- 
 ling of an eye." 
 
 " He is a gallant youth/ 1 said Chavigni ; 
 u he always was from a boy ; but where is 
 your wounded companion?" 
 
 " Wounded !" cried the Norman. " Odds 
 life ! heV dead. It was enough to have killed 
 the Devil. There he lies, poor fellow, wrapped 
 in his cloak. Will you please to look upon 
 him, Sir Counsellor F" and snatching up one of 
 the torches, he approached the spot where the 
 dead man lay, under a bank covered with with- 
 ered brush-wood and stunted trees. 
 
 Chavigni followed with a slow step and gloomy 
 brow, the robbers drawing back at his approach ; 
 for though they held high birth in but little 
 respect, the redoubted name and fearless bearing 
 of the Statesman had power over even their 
 ungoverned spirits. He, however, who had 
 been called Pierrepont Le Blanc by the tall 
 Norman, twitched his companion by the sleeve
 
 70 RICHELIEU. 
 
 as he lighted Chavigni on. " A cowed hound, 
 Norman !" whispered he — " thou hast felt the 
 lash — a cowed hound !" 
 
 The Norman glanced on him a look of fire, 
 but passing on in silence, he disengaged the 
 mantle from the corpse, and displayed the face 
 of his dead companion, whose calm closed eyes 
 and unruffled features might have been sup- 
 posed to picture quiet sleep, had not the ashy 
 paleness of his cheek, and the drop of the under- 
 jaw, told that the soul no longer tenanted its 
 earthly dwelling. The bosom of the unfortu- 
 nate man remained open, in the state in which 
 his comrades had left it, after an ineffectual 
 attempt to give him aid ; and in the left side 
 appeared a small wound, where the weapon of 
 his opponent had found entrance, so trifling in 
 appearance, that it seemed a marvel how so 
 little a thing could overthrow the prodigious 
 strength which those limbs announced, and rob 
 them of that hardy spirit which animated them 
 some few hours before. 
 
 Chavigni gazed upon him, with his arms 
 crossed upon his breast, and for a moment his
 
 RICHELIEU. 71 
 
 mind wandered far into those paths, to which 
 such a sight naturally directs the course of our 
 ideas, till, his thoughts losing themselves in the 
 uncertainty of the void before them, by a sud- 
 den effort he recalled them to the business in 
 which he was immediately engaged. 
 
 " Well, he has bitterly expiated the disobe- 
 dience of my commands ; but tell me," he said, 
 turning to the Xorman, who still continued to 
 hold the torch over the dead man, " how is it 
 ye have dared to force my servant to show him- 
 self, and my liveries, in this attack, contrary to 
 my special order ?* 
 
 <; That is easily told," answered the Nor- 
 man, assuming a tone equally bold and pe- 
 remptory with that of the Statesman. " Thus 
 it stands, Sir Count : you men of quality often 
 employ us nobility of the forest to do what 
 you either cannot, or dare not do for your- 
 selves ; then, if all goes well, you pay us scan- 
 tily for our pains ; if it goes ill, you hang us 
 for your own doings. But we will have none 
 of that. If we are to be falcons for your game, 
 we will risk the stroke of the heron's bill, but
 
 72 RICHELIEU. 
 
 we will not have our necks wrung after we have 
 struck the prey. When your lackey was pre- 
 sent, it was your deed. Mark ye that, Sir 
 Counsellor ?" 
 
 " Villain, thou art insolent !" cried Chavigni, 
 forgetting, in the height of passion, the fearful 
 odds against him, in case of quarrel at such a 
 moment. " How dare you, slave, to — " 
 
 " Villain ! and slave P cried the Norman, in- 
 terrupting him, and laying his hand on his 
 sword. " Know, proud Sir, that I dare any 
 thing. You are now in the green forest, not at 
 council-board, to prate of daring." 
 
 Chavigni 's dignity, like his prudence, be- 
 came lost in his anger. " Boasting Norman 
 coward P cried he, " who had not even courage, 
 when he saw his leader slain before his face — " 
 
 The Norman threw the torch from his hand, 
 and drew his weapon ; but Chavigni 1 s sword 
 sprang in a moment from the scabbard. He 
 was, perhaps, the best swordsman of his day ; 
 and before his servant (who advanced, calling 
 loudly to Lafemas to come forth from the wood
 
 RICHELIEU. 73 
 
 where he had remained from the first) could ap- 
 proach, or the robbers could show any signs of 
 taking part in the fray, the blades of the states- 
 man and the freebooter had crossed, and, maugre 
 the Norman's vast strength, his weapon was in- 
 stantly wrenched from his hand, and, flying over 
 the heads of his companions, struck against the 
 bank above. 
 
 Chavigni drew back, as if to pass his sword 
 through the body of his opponent ; but the one 
 moment he had been thus engaged, gave time 
 for reflection on the imprudence of his conduct, 
 and calmly returning his sword to its sheath, 
 u Thou art no coward, after all," said he, ad- 
 dressing the Norman in a softened tone of 
 voice ; "but trust me, friend, that boasting 
 graces but little a brave man. As for the rest, 
 it is no disgrace to have measured swords with 
 Chavigni." 
 
 The Norman was one of those men so totally 
 unaccustomed to command their passions, that, 
 like slaves who have thrown off their chains, 
 each struggles for the mastery, obtains it for a 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 RICHELIEU. 
 
 moment, and is again deprived of power by 
 some one more violent still. 
 
 The dignity of the Statesman's manner, the 
 apparent generosity of his conduct, and the 
 degree of gentleness with which he spoke, acted 
 upon the feelings of the Norman, like the waves 
 of the sea when they meet the waters of the 
 Dordogne, driving them back even to their very 
 source with irresistible violence. An unwonted 
 tear trembled in bis eye. " Monseigneur, I 
 have done foul wrong," said he, " in thus urg- 
 ing you, when you trusted yourself amongst us. 
 But you have punished me more by your for- 
 bearance, than if you had passed your sword 
 through my body." 
 
 " Ha ! such thoughts in a freebooter !" cried 
 Chavigni. " Friend, this is not thy right trade. 
 But what means all this smoke that gathers 
 round us? — Surely those bushes are on fire; — 
 see the sparks how they rise !" 
 
 His remark called the eyes of all upon that 
 part of the dingle, into which the Norman had 
 incautiously thrown his torch, on drawing his
 
 RICHELIEU. 75 
 
 sword upon the Statesman. Continued sparks, 
 mingled with a thick cloud of smoke, were rising 
 quickly from it, showing plainly that the fire 
 had caught some of the dry bushes thereabout ; 
 and in a moment after a bright flame burst 
 forth, speedily communicating itself to the old 
 withered oaks round the spot, and threatening 
 to spread destruction into the heart of the forest. 
 In an instant all the robbers were engaged in 
 the most strenuous endeavours to extinguish the 
 fire; but the distance, to which the vast strength 
 of the Norman had hurled the torch among the 
 bushes, rendered all access extremely difficult. 
 No water was to be procured, and the means 
 they employed, that of cutting down the smaller 
 trees and bushes with their swords and axes, in- 
 stead of opposing any obstacle to the flames, 
 seemed rather to accelerate their progress. From 
 bush to bush, from tree to tree, the impetuous 
 element spread on, till, finding themselves almost 
 girt in by the fire, the heat and smoke of which 
 were becoming too intense for endurance, the 
 robbers abandoned trieir useless efforts to extin- 
 E £
 
 76 RICHELIEU. 
 
 guish it, and hurried to gather up their scatter- 
 ed arms and garments, before the flames reached 
 the spot of their late revels. 
 
 The Norman, however, together with Chavigni 
 and his servant, still continued their exertions; 
 and even Lafemas, who had come forth from his 
 hiding-place, gave some awkward assistance; 
 when suddenly the Norman stopped, put his hand 
 to his ear, to aid his hearing amidst the cracking 
 of the wood and the roaring of the flames, and 
 exclaimed, " I hear horse upon the hill — follow 
 me, Monseigneur. St. Patrice guide us ! this is 
 a bad business : — follow me !" So saying, three 
 steps brought him to the flat below, where his 
 companions were still engaged in gathering to- 
 gether all they had left on the ground. 
 
 " Messieurs !" he cried to the robbers, "leave 
 all useless lumber ; I hear horses coming down the 
 hill. It must be a lieutenant of the forest, and 
 the gardes champkres, alarmed by the fire — 
 Seek your horses, quick! — each his own way. 
 We meet at St. Herman^ brake — You, Mon- 
 seigneur, follow me, I will be your guide ; but
 
 RICHELIEU. 77 
 
 dally not, Sir, if, as I guess, you would rather 
 be deemed in the Rue St. Honore, than in the 
 Forest of St. Germain." 
 
 So saying, he drew aside the boughs, dis- 
 closing a path somewhat to the right of that by 
 which Chavigni had entered their retreat, and 
 which apparently led to the high sand-cliff' 
 which flanked it on the north. The Statesman, 
 with his servant and Lafemas, followed quickly 
 upon his steps, only lighted by the occasional 
 gleam of the flames, as they flashed and flick- 
 ered through the foliage of the trees. 
 
 Having to struggle every moment with the low 
 branches of the hazel and the tangled briars that 
 shot across the path, it was some time ere they 
 reached the bank, and there the footway they 
 had hitherto followed seemed to end. " Here 
 are steps/' said the Norman, in a low voice ; 
 u hold by the boughs, Monseigneur, lest your 
 footing fail. Here is the first step." 
 
 The ascent was not difficult, and in a few 
 minutes they had lost sight of the dingle and 
 the flames by which it was surrounded ; only
 
 78 RICHELIEU. 
 
 every now and then, where the branches opened, 
 a broad red light fell upon their path, telling 
 that the fire still raged with unabated fury. A 
 moment or two after, they could perceive that 
 the track entered upon a small savanna, on 
 which the moon was still shining, her beams 
 showing with a strange sickly light, mingled as 
 they were with the fitful gleams of the flames 
 and the red reflection of the sky. The whole 
 of this small plain, however, was quite suffi- 
 ciently illuminated to allow Chavigni and his 
 companion to distinguish two horses fastened by 
 their bridles to a tree hard by ; and a momen- 
 tary glance convinced the Statesman, that the 
 spot where he and Lafemas had left their beasts, 
 was again before him, although he had arrived 
 there by another and much shorter path than 
 that by which he had been conducted to the 
 rendezvous. 
 
 " We have left all danger behind us, Mon- 
 seigneur," said the robber^ after having care- 
 fully examined the savanna, to ascertain thaf 
 no spy lurked amongst the trees around.
 
 RICHELIEU. 79 
 
 " The flies are all swarming round the flames. 
 There stand your horses — mount, and good 
 speed attend you ! Your servant must go with 
 me, for our beasts are not so nigh." 
 
 Chavigni whispered a word in the robber's 
 ear, who in return bowed low, with an air of 
 profound respect. " I will attend your Lord- 
 ship — " replied he, w — and without fear."" 
 
 " You may do so in safety," said the States- 
 man, and mounting his horse, after waiting a 
 moment for the Judge, he took his way once 
 more towards the high road to St. Germain.
 
 80 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In which the learned reader will discover that it is 
 easy to raise suspicions without any cause, and that 
 royalty is not patent against superstition. 
 
 We must now return to the principal person- 
 age of our history, and accompany him on his 
 way towards St. Germain, whither he was wend- 
 ing when last we left him. 
 
 There are some authors fond of holding their 
 readers in suspense, of bringing them into un- 
 expected situations, and surprising them into 
 applause. All such things are extremely ap- 
 propriate in a novel or romance; but as this is a 
 true and authentic history, and as eke I detest 
 what theatrical folks call " claptrap, 1 ' I shall
 
 RICHELIEU. 81 
 
 proceed to record the facts in the order in 
 which they took place, as nearly as it is pos- 
 sible to do so, and will, like our old friend 
 Othello, " a round unvarnished tale deliver. ,, 
 
 The distance to St. Germain was consider- 
 able, and naturally appeared still longer than it 
 really was, to persons unacquainted with one 
 step of the road before them, and apprehensive 
 of a thousand occurrences both likely and un- 
 likely. Nothing, however, happened to inter- 
 rupt them on the way ; and their journey passed 
 over, not only in peace, but pretty much in 
 silence also. Both the ladies who occupied the 
 inside of the carriage, seemed to be very suffici- 
 ently taken up with their own thoughts, and no 
 way disposed to loquacity, so that the only 
 break to the melancholy stillness which hung 
 over them, was now and then a half-formed sen- 
 tence, proceeding from what was rapidly passing 
 in the mind of each, or the complaining creak of 
 the heavy wheels, as they ground their unwill- 
 ing way through the less practicable parts of 
 the forest road. 
 
 E 5
 
 82 RICHELIEU. 
 
 At times, too, a groan from the lips of their 
 wounded companion interrupted the silence, as 
 the roughness of the way jolted the ponderous 
 vehicle in whicli he was carried, and re-awak- 
 ened him to a sense of pain. 
 
 Long ere they had reached St. Germain, 
 night had fallen over their road, and nothing 
 could be distinguished by those within the car- 
 riage, but the figures of the two horsemen who 
 kept close to the windows. The interior was 
 still darker, and it was only a kind of inarticu- 
 late sob from the other side, which made the 
 Marchioness inquire, " Pauline ! you are not 
 weeping ?" 
 
 The young lady did not positively say whe- 
 ther she was so or not, but replied in a voice 
 which showed her mother's conjecture to be 
 well founded. 
 
 " It was not thus, Mamma," she said, " that 
 I had hoped to arrive at St. Germain. 
 
 " Fie, fie ! Pauline," replied the old lady ; 
 " I have long tried to make you feel like a wo- 
 man, and you are still a child, a weak child.
 
 RICHELIEU. 83 
 
 These accidents, and worse than these, occur to 
 every one in the course of life, and they must 
 be met with fortitude. Have you flattered 
 yourself that you would be exempt from the 
 common sorrows of humanity ?" 
 
 " But if he should die ?" said Pauline, with 
 the tone of one w T ho longs to be soothed out of 
 their fears. The old lady, however, applied no 
 such unction to the wound in her daughter's 
 heart. Madame de Beaumont had herself been 
 reared in the school of adversity ; and while her 
 mind and principles had been thus strengthened 
 and confirmed, her feelings had not been ren- 
 dered more acute. In the present instance, 
 whether she spoke it heedlessly, or whether she 
 intended to destroy one passion by exciting 
 another, to cure Pauline's grief by rousing her 
 anger, her answer afforded but little consolation. 
 " If he dies," said she dryly, " why I suppose 
 the fair lady, whose picture he has in his bosom, 
 would weep, and you " 
 
 A deep groan from their wounded companion 
 broke in upon her speech, and suggested to the
 
 84 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Marchioness that he might not be quite so in- 
 sensible as he seemed. Such an answer, too, 
 was not so palatable to Pauline as to induce 
 her to urge the conversation any farther ; so that 
 Silence again resumed her empire over the party, 
 remaining undisturbed till the old lad} F , drawing 
 back the curtain, announced that they were en- 
 tering St. Germain. 
 
 A few minutes more brought them to the 
 lodging of the Count de Blenau ; and here the 
 Marchioness descending, gave all the necessary 
 directions in order that the young gentleman 
 might be carried to his sleeping-chamber in 
 the easiest and most convenient method, while 
 Pauline, without proffering any aid, sat back in 
 a dark corner of the carriage. Nor would any 
 thing have shown that she was interested in 
 what passed around her, but when the light of 
 a torch glared into the vehicle, discovering a 
 handkerchief pressed over her eyes to hide the 
 tears she could not restrain. 
 
 As soon as the Count was safely lodged in his 
 own dwelling, the carriage proceeded towards
 
 RICHELIEU. 85 
 
 the palace, which showed but little appearance 
 of regal state. However the mind of Pauline 
 might have been accustomed to picture a court 
 in all the gay and splendid colouring which 
 youthful imagination lends to anticipated plea- 
 sure, her thoughts were now far too fully occu- 
 pied, to admit of her noticing the lonely and 
 deserted appearance of the scene. But to Ma- 
 dame de Beaumont it was different. She, who 
 remembered St. Germain in other days, looked 
 in vain for the lights flashing from every win- 
 dow of the palace; for the servants hurrying 
 along the different avenues, the sentinels parad- 
 ing before every entrance, and the gay groups 
 of courtiers and ladies, in all the brilliant cos- 
 tume of the time, which used to crowd the ter- 
 race and gardens to enjoy the cool of the even- 
 ing after the sun had gone down. 
 
 All that she remembered had had its day ; 
 and nothing remained but silence and solitude. 
 A single sentry, at the principal gate, was all 
 that indicated the dwelling of a king; and it 
 was not till the carriage had passed under the
 
 86 RICHELIEU. 
 
 archway, that even an attendant presented himself 
 to inquire who were the comers at that late hour. 
 
 The principal domestic of Madame de Beau- 
 mont, who had already descended from his 
 horse> gave the name of his lady with all cere- 
 mony, and also tendered a card (as he had been 
 instructed by the Marchioness), on which her 
 style and title were fully displayed. The royal 
 servant bowed low, saying that the Queen, his 
 mistress, had expected the Marchioness before ; 
 and seizing the rope of a great bell, which hung 
 above the staircase, he rang such a peal that the 
 empty galleries of the palace returned a kind of 
 groaning echo to the rude clang which seemed 
 to mock their loneliness. 
 
 Two or three more servants appeared, in an- 
 swer to the bell's noisy summons; yet such was 
 still the paucity of attendants, that Madame de 
 Beaumont, even while she descended from her 
 carriage, and began to ascend the " grand esca 
 Her," had need to look, from time to time, at the 
 splendid fresco paintings which decorated the 
 walls, and the crowns and fleurs-de-lis with which
 
 RICHELIEU. 87 
 
 all the cornices were ornamented, before she 
 could satisfy herself that she really was in the 
 royal chateau of St. Germain. 
 
 Pauline's eyes, fixed on the floor, wandered 
 little to any of the objects round, yet, perhaps, 
 the vast spaciousness of the palace, contrasted 
 with the scarcity of its inhabitants, might cast 
 even an additional degree of gloom over her 
 mind, saddened, as it already was, by the occur- 
 rences of the day. Doubtless, in the remote 
 parts of Languedoc, where Pauline de Beau- 
 mont had hitherto dwelt, gay visions of a court 
 had come floating upon imagination like the 
 lamps which the Hindoos commit to the waters 
 of the Ganges, casting a wild and uncertain 
 light upon the distant prospect ; and it is pro- 
 bable, that even if St. Germain had possessed 
 all its former splendour, Pauline would still 
 have been disappointed, for youthful imagina- 
 tion always outrivals plain reality ; and besides, 
 there is an unpleasing feeling of solitude com- 
 municated by the aspect of a strange place, 
 which detracts greatly from the first pleasure of
 
 88 RICHELIEU. 
 
 novelty. Thus there were a thousand reasons 
 why Mademoiselle de Beaumont, as she followed 
 the attendant through the long empty galleries 
 and vacant chambers of the palace, towards the 
 apartments prepared for her mother and her- 
 self, felt none of those happy sensations which 
 she had anticipated from her arrival at court ; 
 nor was it till, on entering the antechamber of 
 their suite of rooms, she beheld the gay smiling 
 face of her Lyonaise waiting-maid, that she felt 
 there was any thing akin to old recollections 
 within those cold and pompous walls, which 
 seemed to look upon her as a stranger. 
 
 The soubrette had been sent forward the day 
 before with a part of the Marchioness de Beau- 
 mont's equipage ; and now, having endured a 
 whole day's comparative silence with the patience 
 and fortitude of a martyr, she advanced to the 
 two ladies with loquacity in her countenance, as 
 if resolved to make up, as speedily as possible, 
 for the restraint under which her tongue had la- 
 boured during her short sojourn in the palace; 
 but the deep gravity of Madame de Beaumont,
 
 RICHELIEU. 89 
 
 and the melancholy air of her daughter, checked 
 Louise in full career ; so that, having kissed her 
 mistress on both cheeks, she paused, while her 
 lip, like an overfilled reservoir whose waters are 
 trembling on the very brink, seemed ready to 
 pour forth the torrent of words which she had 
 so long suppressed. 
 
 Pauline, as she passed through the anteroom, 
 wiped the last tears from her eyes, and on en- 
 tering the saloon, advanced towards a mirror 
 which hung between the windows, as if to as- 
 certain what traces they had left behind. The 
 soubrette did not fail to advance, in order to 
 adjust her young lady's dress, and finding her- 
 self once more in the exercise of her functions, 
 the right of chattering seemed equally restored ; 
 for she commenced immediately, beginning in 
 a low and respectful voice, but gradually in- 
 creasing as the thought of her mistress was 
 swallowed up in the more comprehensive idea 
 of herself. 
 
 " Oh, dear Mademoiselle," said she, " I am 
 so glad you are come at last. This place is
 
 90 RICHELIEU. 
 
 so sad and so dull ! Who would think it was 
 a court ? Why, I expected to see it all filled 
 with lords and ladies, and instead of that, I 
 have seen nothing but dismal-looking men, who 
 go gliding about in silence, seeming afraid to 
 open their lips, as if that cruel old Cardinal, 
 whom they all tremble at, could hear every word 
 they say. I did see one fine-looking gentleman 
 this morning, to be sure, with his servants all 
 in beautiful liveries of blue and gold, and horses 
 as if there were fire coming out of their very 
 eyes ; but he rode away to hunt, after he had 
 been half an hour with the Queen and Made- 
 moiselle de Hauteford, as they call her." 
 
 " Mademoiselle who ?" exclaimed Pauline, 
 quickly, as if startled from her reverie by some- 
 thing curious in the name. 4k Who did you 
 say, Louise ?" 
 
 " Oh, such a pretty young lady !" replied the 
 waiting- woman. " Mademoiselle de Hauteford 
 is her name. I saw her this morning as she 
 went to the Queen's levee. She has eyes as blue 
 as the sky, and teeth like pearls themselves ; but
 
 RICHELIEU. 91 
 
 withal she looks as cold and as proud as if she 
 were the Queen's own self." 
 
 While the soubrette spoke, Pauline raised 
 her large dark eyes to the tall Venetian mirror 
 which stood before her, and which had never 
 reflected any thing lovelier than herself, as has- 
 tily she passed her fair small hand across her 
 brow, brushing back the glossy ringlets that hung 
 clustering over her forehead. But she was tired 
 and pale with fatigue and anxiety ; her eyes, 
 too, bore the traces of tears, and with a sigh 
 and look of dissatisfaction, she turned away 
 from the mirror, which, like every other in- 
 vention of human vanity, often procures us dis- 
 appointment as well as gratification. 
 
 Madame de Beaumont's eyes had been fixed 
 upon Pauline; and translating her daughter's 
 looks with the instinctive acuteness of a mother, 
 she approached with more gentleness than was 
 her wont. " You are beautiful enough, my 
 Pauline," said she, pressing a kiss upon her 
 cheek ; " you are beautiful enough. Do not 
 fear/'
 
 92 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " Nay, Mamma," replied Pauline, " I have 
 nothing to fear, either from possessing or from 
 wanting beauty ." 
 
 " Thou art a silly girl, Pauline," continued 
 her mother, " and take these trifles far too 
 much to heart. Perhaps I was wrong concern- 
 ing this same picture. It was but a random 
 guess. Besides, even were it true, where were 
 the mighty harm ? These men are all alike, 
 Pauline — Like butterflies, they rest on a thou- 
 sand flowers before they settle on any one. We 
 all fancy that our own lover is different from his 
 fellows ; but, believe me, my child, the best 
 happiness a woman can boast, is that of being 
 most carefully deceived. 1 ' 
 
 " Then no such butterfly love for me, Mam- 
 ma," replied Pauline, her cheek slightly co- 
 louring as she spoke. " I would rather not 
 know this sweet poison — love. My heart is still 
 free, though my fancy may have — have — " 
 
 " May have what, Pauline ?" demanded her 
 mother, with a doubtful smile. u My dear
 
 RICHELIEU. 93 
 
 child, thy heart, and thy fancy, I trow, have 
 not been so separate as thou thinkest. 11 
 
 " Nay, Mamma," answered Pauline, lt my 
 fancy, like an insect, may have been caught in 
 the web of a spider; but the enemy has not 
 yet seized me, and I will break through while I 
 can.' , 
 
 " But, first, let us be sure that we are right," 
 said Madame de Beaumont. " For as everv 
 rule has its exception, there be some men, 
 whose hearts are even worthy the acceptance of 
 a squeamish girl, who, knowing nothing of the 
 world, expects to meet with purity like her own. 
 At all events^ love, De Blenau is the soul of 
 honour, and will not stoop to deceit. Injus- 
 tice, you must not judge without hearing him." 
 
 " But," said Pauline, not at all displeased 
 with the refutation of her own ideas, and even 
 wishing, perhaps, to afford her mother occasion 
 to combat them anew, — " but — " 
 
 The sentence, however, was never destined to 
 be concluded ; for, as she spoke, the door of the 
 apartment opened, and a form glided in, the
 
 94 RICHELIEU. 
 
 appearance of which instantly arrested the 
 words on Pauline's lips, and made her draw 
 back with an instinctive feeling of respect. 
 
 The lady who entered had passed that ear- 
 lier period of existence when beauties and graces 
 succeed each other without pause, like the flow- 
 ers of spring, that go blooming on from the vio- 
 let to the rose. She was in the summer of 
 life, but it was the early summer, untouched 
 by autumn ; and her form, though it possessed 
 no longer the airy lightness of youth, had ac- 
 quired in dignity a degree of beauty which 
 compensated for the softer loveliness that years 
 had stolen away. , Her brown hair fell in a 
 profusion of large curls round a face, which, 
 if not strictly handsome, was highly pleasing : 
 and even many sorrows and reverses, by min- 
 gling an expression of patient melancholy with 
 the gentle majesty of her countenance, pro- 
 duced a greater degree of interest than the fea- 
 tures could have originally excited. 
 
 Those even who sought for mere beauty 
 of feature, would have perceived that her
 
 RICHELIEU. 95 
 
 eyes were quick and fine ; that her skin was 
 of the most delicate whiteness, except where it 
 was disfigured by the use of rouge ; and that her 
 small mouth might have served as model to a 
 statuary, especially while her lips arched with a 
 warm smile of pleasure and affection, as advanc- 
 ing into the apartment, she pressed Madame de 
 Beaumont to her bosom, who on her part, bend- 
 ing low, received the embrace of Anne of Austria 
 with the humble deference of a respectful subject 
 towards the condescension of their sovereign. 
 
 " Once more restored to me, my dear Ma- 
 dame de Beaumont I" said the Queen. " His 
 Eminence of Richelieu does indeed give me 
 back one of the best of my friends — And this is 
 your Pauline." — She added, turning to Mademoi- 
 selle de Beaumont, " You were but young, my 
 fair Demoiselle, when last I saw you. You 
 have grown up a lovely flower from a noble 
 root ; but truly you will never be spoiled by 
 splendour at our court ." 
 
 As she spoke, her mind seemed naturally to 
 return to other days, and her eye fixed intently on
 
 96 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the ground, as if engaged in tracing out the 
 plan of her past existence, running over all the 
 lines of sorrow, danger and disappointed hope, 
 till the task became too bitter, and she turned 
 to the Marchioness with one of those long deep 
 sighs, that almost always follow a review of the 
 days gone by, forming a sort of epitaph to the 
 dreams, the wishes, and the joys, that once were 
 dear, and are now no more. 
 
 " When you met me, De Beaumont," said 
 the Queen, " with the proud Duke of Guise 
 on the banks of the Bidasoa — quitting the king- 
 dom of my father, and entering the king- 
 dom of my husband — with an army for my 
 escort, and princes kneeling at my feet — little, 
 little did ever you or I think, that Anne of Aus- 
 tria, the wife of a great king, and daughter of a 
 long line of monarchs, would, in after years, be 
 forced to dwell at St. Germain, without guards, 
 without court, without attendants, but such as 
 the Cardinal de Richelieu chooses to allow her. — 
 The Cardinal de Richelieu !" she proceeded 
 thoughtfully ; " the servant of my husband ! —
 
 RICHELIEU. 97 
 
 but no less the master of his master, and the 
 king of his king." 
 
 " I can assure your Majesty, 11 replied Madame 
 de Beaumont, with a deep tone of feeling which 
 had no hypocrisy in it, for her whole heart was 
 bound by habit, principle, and inclination, to 
 her royal mistress — u I can assure your Majesty, 
 that many a tear have I shed over the sorrows 
 of my Queen ; and when his Eminence drove me 
 from the court, I regretted not the splendour of 
 a palace, I regretted not the honour of serving 
 my sovereign, I regretted not the friends I left 
 behind, or the hopes I lost, but I regretted that 
 I could not be the sharer of my mistress's mis- 
 fortunes. — But your Majesty has now received a 
 blessing from Heaven," she continued, willing 
 to turn the conversation from the troubled course 
 of memory to the more agreeable channels of 
 hope — " a blessing which we scarcely dreamed 
 of, a consolation under all present sorrows, and 
 a bright prospect for the years to come. 
 
 " Oh, yes, my little Louis, you would say,'" 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 RICHELIEU. 
 
 replied the Queen, her face lightening with all a 
 mother's joy as she spoke of her son. " He is 
 indeed a cherub ; and sure am I, that if God 
 sends him years, he will redress his mother's 
 wrongs by proving the greatest of his race." 
 
 She spoke of the famousLouis the Fourteenth, 
 and some might have thought she prophesied. 
 But it was only the fervour of a mother's hope, 
 an ebullition of that pure feeling, which alone, of 
 all the affections of the heart, the most sordid 
 poverty cannot destroy, and the proudest rank 
 can hardly check. 
 
 " He is indeed a cherub," continued the Queen; 
 " and such was your Pauline to you, De Beau- 
 mont, when the Cardinal drove you from my side: 
 a consolation not only in your exile, but also in 
 your mourning for your noble lord. Come near, 
 young lady ; let me see if thou art like thy father ." 
 Pauline approached ; and the Queen laying her 
 hand gently upon her arm, ran her eye rapidly 
 over her face and figure, every now and then 
 pausing for a moment, and seeming to call me- 
 mory to her aid, in the comparison she was
 
 RICHELIEU. 99 
 
 making between the dead and the living. 
 But suddenly she started back, " SainteViergeT 
 cried she, crossing herself, " your dress is all 
 dabbled with blood. What bad omen is this ?" 
 
 " May it please your Majesty/' said the Mar- 
 chioness, half smiling at the Queen's supersti- 
 tion, for her own strong mind rejected many of 
 the errors of the day, " that blood is only an 
 omen of Pauline's charitable disposition ; for in 
 the forest hard by, we came up with a wounded 
 cavalier, and, like a true demoiselle errante, 
 Pauline rendered him personal aid, even at the 
 expense of her robe." 
 
 " Nay, nay, De Beaumont," said the Queen, 
 " it matters not how it came ; it is a bad omen : 
 some misfortune is about to happen. I remem- 
 ber the day before my father died, the Conde de 
 Saldana came to court with a spot of blood 
 upon the lace of his cardinal ; and on that fatal 
 day which " 
 
 The door of the apartment at this moment 
 opened, and Anne of Austria, filled with her 
 own peculiar superstition, stopped in the midst 
 f2
 
 100 RICHELIEU. 
 
 of her speech and turned her eye anxiously to- 
 wards it, as if she expected the coming of some 
 ghastly apparition. The figure that entered, 
 however, though it possessed a dignity scarcely 
 earthly, and a calm still grace — an almost in- 
 animate composure, rarely seen in beings agi- 
 tated by human passions, was, nevertheless, no 
 form calculated to inspire alarm. 
 
 " Oh, Mademoiselle de Hauteford !" cried the 
 Queen, her face brightening as she spoke, " De 
 Beaumont, you will love her, for that she is one 
 of my firmest friends.'" 
 
 At the name of De Hauteford, Pauline drew 
 up her slight elegant figure to its full height, 
 with a wild start, like a deer suddenly fright- 
 ened by some distant sound, and drawing her 
 hand across her forehead, brushed back the two 
 or three dark curls which had again fallen over 
 her clear fair brow. 
 
 " De Hauteford ! w cried Anne of Austria ^as 
 the young lady advanced, " what has happened? 
 You look pale — some evil is abroad." 
 
 " I would not have intruded on your Ma-
 
 RICHELIEU. 101 
 
 jesty, of on these ladies, 1 ' said Mademoiselle de 
 Hauteford with a graceful but cold inclination 
 of the head towards the strangers, " had it not 
 been that Monsieur Seguin, your Majesty's 
 Surgeon, requests the favour of an audience im- 
 mediately. Nor does he wish to be seen by the 
 common attendants ; in truth, he has followed 
 me to the antechamber, where he waits your 
 Majesty's pleasure." 
 
 " Admit him, admit him !" cried the Queen. 
 " What can he want at this hour ?" 
 
 The surgeon was instantly brought into the 
 presence of the Queen by Mademoiselle de 
 Hauteford; but, after approaching his royal 
 mistress with a profound bow, he remained in 
 silence glancing his eye towards the strangers 
 who stood in the apartment, in such a manner 
 as to intimate that his communication required 
 to be made in private. 
 
 " Speak, speak, Seguin !" cried the Queen, 
 translating his look and answering it at once ; 
 " these are all friends, old and dear friends. " 
 
 " If such be your Majesty's pleasure," re-
 
 102 RICHELIEU. 
 
 plied the Surgeon, with that sort of short dry 
 voice, which generally denotes a man of few 
 words. * I must inform you at once, that young 
 Count de Blenau has been this morning attack- 
 ed by robbers, while hunting in the forest, and 
 is severely hurt.' 1 
 
 While Seguin communicated this intelligence, 
 Pauline (she scarce knew why) fixed her eye 
 upon Mademoiselle de Hauteford, whose clear 
 pale cheek, ever almost of the hue of alabaster, 
 showed that it could become still paler. The 
 Queen too, though the rouge she wore concealed 
 any change of complexion, appeared manifestly 
 agitated. " I told you so, De Beaumont/' she 
 exclaimed — <c that blood foreboded evil : I never 
 knew the sign to fail. This is bad news truly, 
 Seguin/' she continued. " Poor De Blenau ! 
 surely he will not die. 1 ' 
 
 " I hope not, Madam," replied the Surgeon ; 
 " I see every chance of his recovery." 
 
 u But speak more freely," said the Queen. 
 " Have you learnt any thing from him ? These 
 are all friends, I tell you."
 
 RICHELIEU. 103 
 
 u The Count is very weak, Madam," answered 
 Seguin, " both from loss of blood and a stunning 
 blow on the head ; but he desired me to tell 
 your Majesty, that though the wound is in his 
 side, his heart is uninjured V 
 
 " Oh, I understand, I understand, 1 ' exclaimed 
 the Queen. " De Blenau is one out of a thou- 
 sand ; I must write him a note; follow me, Se- 
 guin. Good night, dear Madame de Beaumont. 
 Farewell, Pauline ! — Come to my levee to-mor- 
 row, and we will talk over old stories and new 
 hopes. — But have a care, Pauline — No more 
 blood upon your robe. It is a bad sign in the 
 house of Austria."" 
 
 The moment the Queen was gone, Pauline 
 pleaded fatigue, and retired to her chamber, 
 followed by her maid Louise, who, be it re- 
 marked, had remained in the room during the 
 Royal visit. 
 
 u This is a strange place, this St. Germain," 
 said the waiting-woman, as she undressed her 
 mistress. 
 
 iC It is indeed F replied Pauline. * I wish I
 
 104 RICHELIEU. 
 
 had never seen it. But of one thing let me 
 warn you, Louise, before it is too late. Never 
 repeat any thing you may see or hear, while 
 you are at the court ; for if you do, your life 
 may answer for it." 
 
 " My life ! Mademoiselle Pauline," exclaimed 
 the soubrette, as if she doubted her ears. 
 
 " Yes indeed, your life !" replied the young 
 lady : " So beware." 
 
 " Then I wish I had never seen the place 
 either, 1 ' rejoined the maid ; " for what is the 
 use of seeing and hearing things, if one may 
 not talk about them ? — and who can be always 
 watching one's tongue ?"
 
 RICHELIEU. 105 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A Chapter of mighty import, which may be read or not, 
 as the Reader thinks fit, the Book being quite as well 
 without it. 
 
 With the happy irregularity of all true sto- 
 ries, we must return, for a moment, to a very 
 insignificant person, — the Woodman of Mantes- 
 Indeed, I have to beg my reader's pardon for 
 saying so much about any one under the rank 
 of a Chevalier at least ; but all through this 
 most untractable of all histories, I have been 
 pestered with a set of shabby fellows in very 
 indifferent circumstances. Woodcutters, rob- 
 bers, gentlemen's servants, and the like, who 
 make themselves so abominably useful, that 
 though we wish them at the Devil all the time, 
 we can no way do without them. Let the sin 
 F 5
 
 106 RICHELIEU. 
 
 not be attributed to me ; for I declare, upon my 
 conscience, that when first I undertook to record 
 this tale 3 1 attempted a thorough reform; I super- 
 seded a great number of subordinate characters, 
 put others upon the retired list, and dismissed 
 a great many as useless sinecurists ; but when I 
 had done, all was in confusion ; and then, after 
 considering matters for half an hour, and turn- 
 ing over a page or two in the book of Nature, 
 I found, that the most brilliant actions and the 
 greatest events were generally brought about 
 from the meanest motives and most petty causes: 
 I perceived, that women and valets de-chambre 
 govern the world : I found that saur-kraut had 
 disagreed with Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, 
 made her insolent to Queen Anne, made Queen 
 Anne threaten to box her ears, made England 
 resign her advantages over France — placed the 
 Bourbon dynasty on the throne of Spain, and 
 changed the face of Europe even to the present 
 day. So, if saur kraut did all this, surely I may 
 return to Philip, the woodman of Mantes. * 
 
 Chavigni, as we have seen, cast his purse
 
 RICHELIEU. 107 
 
 upon the ground, and rode away from the cot- 
 tage of the Woodman, little heeding what so 
 insignificant an agent might do or say. Yet 
 Philip's first thought was one which would have 
 procured him speedy admission to the Bastille, 
 had Chavigni been able to divine its nature. 
 " The young Count shall know all about it," 
 said Philip to himself. " That's a great rogue 
 in Isabel and silver, for all his fine clothes, or 
 I 'm much mistaken." 
 
 His next object of attention was the purse ; and 
 after various pros and cons, Inclination, the best 
 logician in the world, reasoned him into taking it. 
 "For," said Philip, " dirty fingers soil no gold ;" 
 and having carefully put it into his pouch, the 
 Woodman laid his finger upon the side of his 
 nose, and plunged headlong into a deep medita- 
 tion concerning the best and least suspicious me- 
 thod of informing the young Count de Blenau of 
 all he had seen, heard, or suspected. We will not 
 follow the course of this cogitation, which, as 
 it doubtless took place in the French tongue, 
 must necessarily suffer by translation, but taking
 
 108 RICHELIEU. 
 
 a short cut straight through all the zig-zags of 
 Philip's mind, arrive directly at the conclusion, 
 or rather at the consequences, which were these. 
 In the first place, he commanded his son Charles 
 to load the mule with wood, notwithstanding 
 the boy's observation, that no one would buy 
 wood at that time of the morning, or rather the 
 night; for, to make use of Shakspeare's lan- 
 guage, the Morn, far from being yet clad in 
 any russet mantle, was snugly wrapped up in 
 the blanket of the dark, and snoring away, fast 
 asleep, like her betters. 
 
 Precisely in the same situation as Aurora, 
 that is to say, soundly sleeping, till her ordi- 
 nary hour of rising, was Joan, the Woodman's 
 wife. Philip, however, by sundry efforts, con- 
 trived to awaken her to a sense of external 
 things ; and perceiving that, after various yawns 
 and stretches, her mind had arrived at the point 
 of comprehending a simple proposition, " Get 
 up, Joan, get up !" cried he. " I want you to 
 write a letter for me ; writing being a gift that, 
 by the blessing of God, I do not possess."
 
 RICHELIEU. 109 
 
 The wife readily obeyed ; for Philip, though 
 as kind as the air of spring, had a high notion 
 of marital privileges, and did not often suffer 
 his commands to be disputed within his little 
 sphere of dominion. However, it seemed a sort 
 of tenure by which his sway was held, that Joan, 
 his wife, should share in all his secrets ; and 
 accordingly, in the present instance, the good 
 Woodman related in somewhat prolix style, not 
 only all that had passed between Chavigni and 
 Lafemas in the house, but much of what they 
 had said before they even knocked at his door. 
 
 " For you must know, Joan," said he, 
 " that I could not sleep for thinking of all 
 this day's bad work ; and, as I lay awake, I 
 heard horses stop at the water, and people 
 speaking, and very soon what they said made 
 me wish to hear more, which I did, as I have 
 told you. And now, Joan, I think it right, as a 
 Christian and a man, to let this young cavalier 
 know what they are plotting against him. So 
 sit thee down ; here is a pen and ink, and a 
 plain sheet out of the boy's holy catechism, —
 
 110 RICHELIEU. 
 
 God forgive me ! But it could not go to a 
 better use. 11 
 
 It matters not much to tell all the various 
 considerations which were weighed and discussed 
 by Philip and his wife in the construction of 
 this epistle. Suffice it to say, that like two 
 unskilful players at battledoor and shuttlecock, 
 they bandied backwards and forwards the same 
 objections a thousand times between them, for 
 ever letting them drop, and taking them up 
 again anew, till such time as day was well risen 
 before they finished. Neither would it much 
 edify the world, in all probability, to know the 
 exact style and tenor of the composition when 
 it was complete, although Philip heard his wife 
 read it over with no small satisfaction, and 
 doubtless thought it as pretty a piece of ora- 
 tory as ever was penned. 
 
 It is now unfortunately lost to the public, 
 and all that can be satisfactorily vouched upon 
 the subject is, that it was calculated to convey 
 to the Count de Blenau all the information 
 which the Woodcutter possessed, although that
 
 RICHELIEU. Ill 
 
 information might be clothed in homely lan- 
 guage, without much perfection, either in writ- 
 ing or orthography. 
 
 When it had been read, and re-read, and 
 twisted up according to the best conceit of the 
 good couple, it was intrusted to Charles, the 
 Woodman's boy, with many a charge and di- 
 rection concerning its delivery, For his part, 
 glad of a day's sport, he readily undertook the 
 task, and driving the laden mule before him, set 
 out, whistling on his way to St. Germain's. He 
 had not, however, proceeded far, when he was 
 overtaken by Philip with new directions ; the 
 principal one being to say, if any one should 
 actually see him deliver the note, and make in- 
 quiries, that it came from a lady. " For," said 
 Philip, — and he thought the observation was a 
 shrewd one, — " so handsome a youth as the 
 young Count must have many ladies who write 
 to him." 
 
 Charles did not very well comprehend what 
 it was all about, but he was well enough con- 
 tented to serve the young Count, who had
 
 112 RICHELIEU. 
 
 given him many a kind word and a piece of sil- 
 ver, when the hunting-parties of the court had 
 stopped to water their horses at the abreuvoir. 
 The boy was diligent and active, and soon 
 reached St. Germain. His next task was to 
 find out the lodging of the Count de Blenau : 
 and, after looking about for some time, he ad- 
 dressed himself, for information, to a stout, 
 jovial-looking servant, who was sauntering down 
 the street, gazing about at the various hotels, 
 with a look of easy nonchalance, as if idleness 
 was his employment. 
 
 « Why do you ask, my boy ?" demanded the 
 man, without answering his question. 
 
 " I want to sell my wood, 11 replied the 
 Woodman's son, remembering that his errand 
 was to be private. " Where does he lodge, 
 good Sir? 11 
 
 " Why, the Count does not buy wood in this 
 hot weather," rejoined the other. 
 
 " I should suppose the Count does not buy 
 wood, himself, at all, 11 replied the boy, putting 
 the question aside with all the shrewdness of
 
 RICHELIEU. 113 
 
 a French peasant ; u but, perhaps, his cook 
 will." 
 
 " Suppose I buy your wood, my man," said 
 the servant. 
 
 " Why, you are very welcome, Sir," answer- 
 ed Charles; " but if you do not want it, I 
 pray you, in honesty, show me which is the 
 Count de Blenau's hotel." 
 
 " Well, I will show thee," said the servant ; 
 " I am e'en going thither myself, on the part of 
 the Marquise de Beaumont, to ask after the 
 young Count's health." 
 
 " Oh, then, you are one of those who were 
 with the carriage yesterday, when he was 
 wounded in the wood," exclaimed the boy. 
 " Now I remember your colours. Were you 
 not one of those on horseback ?" 
 
 " Even so," answered the man ; " and if I 
 forget not, thou art the Woodman's boy. But 
 come, prithee, tell us what is thy real errand 
 with the Count. We are all his friends, you 
 know ; and selling him the wood is all a tale." 
 
 Charles thought for a moment, to determine
 
 114 RICHELIEU. 
 
 whether he should tell the man all he knew or 
 not; but remembering the answer his father had 
 furnished him with, he replied, " The truth 
 then is, I carry him a note from a lady." 
 
 " Oh, ho ! my little Mercury !" cried the 
 servant ; " so you are as close with your secrets 
 as if you were an older politician. This is the 
 way you sell wood, is it ?" 
 
 "I do not know what you mean by Mer- 
 cury,*" rejoined the boy. 
 
 " Why he was a great man in his day," re- 
 plied the servant, " and, as I take it, used to 
 come and go between the gods and goddesses ; 
 notwithstanding which, Monsieur Rubens, who 
 is the greatest painter that ever lived, has 
 painted this same Mercury as one of the late 
 Queen's* council, but nevertheless he was a 
 carrier of messages, and so forth." 
 
 " Why, then, thou art more Mercury than I, 
 
 * Alluding, no doubt, to the picture of the reconcili- 
 ation of Mary de Medicis and her son Louis XIII. in 
 which Mercury seems hand in glove with the cardi- 
 nals and statesmen of the day.
 
 RICHELIEU. 115 
 
 for thou earnest a message, and I a letter," an- 
 swered Charles, as they approached the hotel of 
 the Count, towards which they had been bend- 
 ing their steps during this conversation. Their 
 proximity to his dwelling, in all probability, 
 saved Charles from an angry answer ; for his 
 companion did not seem at all pleased with hav- 
 ing the name of Mercury retorted upon him- 
 self; and intending strongly to impress upon the 
 Woodman's boy that he was a person of far too 
 great consequence to be jested with, he assumed 
 a tone of double pomposity towards the servant 
 who appeared on the steps of the hotel. " Tell 
 Henry de La Mothe, the Count's page," said 
 the servant, " that the Marquise de Beaumont 
 shas ent to inquire after his master's health/' 
 
 The servant retired with the message, and in 
 a moment after Henry de La Mothe himself 
 appeared, and informed the messenger that his 
 master was greatly better. He had slept well, 
 he said, during the night ; and his surgeons 
 assured him that the wounds which he had re- 
 ceived were likely to produce no farther harm
 
 116 RICHELIEU. 
 
 than the weakness naturally consequent upon 
 so great a loss of blood as that which he had 
 sustained. Having given this message on his 
 master's account, Henry, on his own, began to 
 question the servant concerning many little par- 
 ticulars of his own family ; his father being, as 
 already said, Fermier to Madame de Beaumont. 
 
 Charles, the Woodman's son, perceiving that 
 the conversation had turned to a subject too 
 interesting soon to be discussed, glided past the 
 Marchioness's servant, placed the note he carried 
 in the hand of the Count's Page, pressed his 
 finger on his lip, in sign that it was to be given 
 privately, and detaching himself from them, 
 without waiting to be questioned, drove back 
 his mule through the least known parts of the 
 forest, and rendered an account to his father of 
 the success of his expedition. 
 
 " Who can that note be from ?" said the 
 Marchioness de Beaumont's servant to Henry 
 de La Mothe. " The boy told me, it came from 
 a lady." 
 
 " From Mademoiselle de Hauteford, pro-
 
 RICHELIEU. 117 
 
 bably," replied the Page, thoughtfully. " I 
 must give it to my master without delay, if he 
 be strong enough to read it. We will talk 
 more anotherday, ' good friend;" — and he left 
 him. 
 
 " From Mademoiselle de Hauteford V said 
 the man. " Oh, ho P" — and he went home to 
 tell all he knew to Louise, the soubrette.
 
 118 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Marquis de Cinq Mars, the Count de Fontrailles, 
 and King Louis the Thirteenth, all making fools of 
 themselves in their own way. 
 
 There are some spots on the earth which 
 seem marked out as the scene of extraordinary 
 events, and which, without any peculiar beauty, 
 or other intrinsic quality to recommend them, 
 acquire a transcendent interest, as the theatre 
 of great actions. Such is Chantilly, the history 
 of whose walls might furnish many a lay to the 
 poet, and many a moral to the sage ; and even 
 now, by its magnificence and its decay, it offers 
 a new comment on the vanity of splendour, and 
 proves, by the forgotten greatness of its lords, 
 how the waves of time are the true waters of 
 oblivion.
 
 RICHELIEU. 119 
 
 Be that as it may, Montmorency, Conde, are 
 names so woven in the web of history, that no- 
 thing can tear them out, and these were the 
 lords of Chantilly. But amongst all that its 
 roof has sheltered, no one, perhaps, is more 
 worthy of notice than Louis the Thirteenth : 
 the son of Henry the Fourth and Mary de 
 Medicis, born to an inheritance of high talents 
 and high fortune, with the inspiring incitement 
 of a father's glory, and the powerful support 
 of a people's love. 
 
 It is sad that circumstance — that stumbling 
 block of great minds — that confounder of deep- 
 laid schemes — that little, mighty, unseen con- 
 troller of all man's actions, should find pleasure 
 in bending to its will, that which Nature origi- 
 nally seemed to place above its sway. Endued 
 with all the qualities a throne requires, brave, 
 wise, clear-sighted, and generous ; with his mo- 
 ther's talents and his father's courage, the events 
 of his early life quelled every effort of Louis's 
 mind, and left him but the slave of an ambitious 
 minister ! a monarch but in name ! the shadow
 
 120 RICHELIEU. 
 
 of a King ! How it was so, matters not to this 
 history — it is recorded on a more eloquent page. 
 But at the time of my tale, the brighter part of 
 life had passed away from King Louis; and now 
 that it had fallen into the sear, he seemed to 
 have given it up as unworthy a farther effort. 
 He struggled not even for that appearance of 
 Royal state which his proud Minister was un- 
 willing to allow him ; and, retired at Chantilly, 
 passed lus time in a thousand weak amusements, 
 which but served to hurry by the moments of a 
 void and weary existence. 
 
 It was at this time, that the first news of the 
 Cardinal de Richelieu's illness began to be 
 noised abroad. His health had long been de- 
 clining; but so feared was that redoubtable Mi- 
 nister, that though many remarked the increased 
 hollowness of his dark eye, and the deepening 
 lines upon his pale cheek, no one dared to 
 whisper what many hoped — that the tyrant of 
 both King and people was falling under the 
 sway of a still stronger hand. 
 
 The morning was yet in its prime. The
 
 RICHELIEU. 121 
 
 grey mist had hardly rolled away from the old 
 towers and battlements of the Chateau of Chan- 
 tilly, which, unlike the elegant building after- 
 wards erected on the same spot, offered then 
 little but strong fortified walls and turrets. — The 
 heavy night-dew lay still sparkling upon the 
 long grass in the avenues of the Park, when two 
 gentlemen were observed walking near the Pa- 
 lace, turning up and down the alley, then called 
 the Avenue de Luzarches, with that kind of 
 sauntering pace which indicated their conversa- 
 tion to be of no very interesting description. 
 
 Perhaps, in all that vast variety of shapes 
 which Nature has bestowed upon mankind, and 
 in all those innate differences by which she has 
 distinguished man's soul, no two figures or two 
 minds could have been found more opposite 
 than those of the two men thus keeping a will- 
 ing companionship — the Count de Fontrailles, 
 and the Marquis de Cinq Mars, Grand Ecuyer, 
 or, as it may be best translated, Master of the 
 Horse. 
 
 Cinq Mars, though considerably above the 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 RICHELIEU. 
 
 common height of men, was formed in the most 
 finished and elegant proportion, and possessed 
 a native dignity of demeanour, which charac- 
 terized even those wild gesticulations in which 
 the excess of a bright and enthusiastic mind 
 often led him to indulge. 
 
 On the other hand, Fontrailles, short in sta- 
 ture, and mean in appearance, was in counte- 
 nance equally unprepossessing. He had but one 
 redeeming feature, in the quick grey eye, that, 
 with the clear keenness of its light, seemed to 
 penetrate the deepest thoughts of those upon 
 whom it was turned. 
 
 Such is the description that history yields of 
 these two celebrated men ; and I will own that 
 my hankering after physiognomy has induced 
 me to transcribe it here, inasmuch as the mind 
 of each was like his person. 
 
 In the heart of Cinq Mars dwelt a proud 
 nobility of spirit, which, however he might be 
 carried away by the fiery passions of his nature, 
 ever dignified his actions with something of 
 great and generous. But the soul of Fontrailles,
 
 RICHELIEU. 123 
 
 ambitious, yet mean, wanted all the wild ardour 
 of his companion, but wanted also all his better 
 qualities ; possessing alone that clear, piercing 
 discernment, which, more like instinct than 
 judgment, showed him always the exact mo- 
 ment of danger, and pointed out the means of 
 safety. 
 
 And yet, though not friends, they were often 
 (as I have said) companions ; for Cinq Mars 
 was too noble to suspect, and Fontrailles too 
 wary to be known — besides, in the present in- 
 stance, he had a point to carry, and therefore 
 was doubly disguised. 
 
 s< You have heard the news, doubtless, Cinq 
 Mars," said Fontrailles, leading the way from 
 the great Avenue de Luzarches into one of the 
 smaller alleys, where they were less liable to be 
 watched; for he well knew that the conversation 
 he thus broached would lead to those wild starts 
 and gestures in his companion, which might call 
 upon them some suspicion, if observed. Cinq 
 Mars made no reply, and he proceeded. " The 
 Cardinal is ill !" and he fixed his eye upon the 
 G 2
 
 124 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Master of the Horse, as if he would search his 
 soul. But Cinq Mars still was silent, and, ap- 
 parently deeply busied with other thoughts, 
 continued beating the shrubs on each side of 
 the path with his sheathed sword, without even 
 a glance towards his companion. After a mo- 
 ment or two, however, he raised his head with 
 an air of careless abstraction : " What a desert 
 this place has become !" said he ; " look how all 
 these have grown up, between the trees. One 
 might really be as well in a forest as a royal 
 park now-a-days." 
 
 u But you have made me no answer," rejoin- 
 ed Fontrailles, returning perseveringly to the 
 point on which his companion seemed unwill- 
 ing to touch : " I said, the Cardinal is ill." 
 
 " Well, well ! I hear,"" answered Cinq Mars, 
 with a peevish start, like a restive horse forced 
 forward on a road he is unwilling to take. 
 " What is it you would have me say ? — That 
 I am sorry for it i Well, be it so — I am sorry 
 for it — sorry that a trifling sickness, which will
 
 RICHELIEU. 125 
 
 pass away in a moon, should give France hope? 
 of that liberation, which is yet far off. 11 
 
 " But, nevertheless, you would be sorry were 
 this great man to die," said Fontrailles, putting 
 it half as a question, half as an undoubted propo- 
 sition, and looking in the face of the Marquis, 
 with an appearance of hesitating uncertainty. 
 
 Cinq Mars could contain himself no more. 
 " What !" cried he vehemently, " sorry for the 
 peace of the world ! — sorry for the weal of my 
 country ! — sorry for the liberty of my King ! 
 Why, I tell thee, Fontrailles, should the Car- 
 dinal de Richelieu die, the people of France 
 would join % in pulling down the scaffolds and 
 the gibbets, to make bonfires of them !*' 
 
 " Who ever dreamed of hearing you say so ?'* 
 said his companion. " All France agrees with 
 you, no doubt ; but we all thought that the 
 Marquis de Cinq Mars either loved the Cardi- 
 nal, or feared him, too much to see his crimes.' 1 
 
 u Fear him !" exclaimed Cinq Mars, the blood 
 mounting to his cheek, as if the very name of
 
 126 RICHELIEU. 
 
 fear wounded his sense of honour. He then 
 paused, looked into his real feelings, shook his 
 head mournfully, and after a moment's interval 
 of bitter silence added, "True! true! Who 
 is there that does not fear him ? Nevertheless r 
 it is impossible to see one's country bleeding for 
 the merciless cruelty of one man, the prisons 
 filled with the best and bravest of the land to 
 quiet his suspicions, and the King held in worse 
 bondage than a slave to gratify the daring am- 
 bition of this insatiate churchman, and not to 
 wish that Heaven had sent it otherwise." 
 
 " It is not Heaven's fault, Sir," replied Fon- 
 trailles; "it is our own, that we do suffer ft. 
 Had we one man in France who, with sufficient 
 courage, talent, and influence, had the true spi- 
 rit of a patriot, our unhappy country might 
 soon be freed from the bondage under which 
 she groans." 
 
 " But where shall we find such a man ?" 
 asked the Master of the Horse, either really 
 not understanding the aim of Fontrailles, or 
 wishing to force him to a clearer explanation of
 
 RICHELIEU. 127 
 
 his purpose. " Such an undertaking as you 
 hint at," he continued, " must be well consi- 
 dered, and well supported, to have any effect. 
 It must be strengthened by wit — by cou- 
 rage — and by illustrious names. — It must have 
 the power of wealth, and the power of reputa- 
 tion. — It must be the rousing of the lion with 
 all his force, to shake off the toils by which he 
 is encompassed." 
 
 " But still there must be some one to rouse 
 him, 11 said Fontrailles, fixing his eyes on Cinq 
 Mars with a peculiar expression, as if to denote 
 that he was the man alluded to. 4t Suppose 
 this were France," he proceeded, unbuckling 
 his sword from the belt, and drawing a few 
 lines on the ground with the point of the 
 sheath : " show me a province or a circle that 
 will not rise at an hour's notice to cast off the 
 yoke of this hated Cardinal. Here is Nor- 
 mandy, almost in a state of revolt ; — here is 
 Guienne, little better ; — here is Sedan, our 
 own; — here are the Mountains of Auvergne, filled 
 with those whom his tyranny has driven into
 
 128 RICHELIEU. 
 
 their solitude for protection ; and here is Paris 
 and its insulted Parliament, waiting but for 
 opportunity." 
 
 u And here," said Cinq Mars, with a melan- 
 choly smile, following the example of his com- 
 panion, and pointing out with his sword, as if 
 on a map, the supposed situations of the various 
 places to which he referred — " And here is 
 Peronne, and Rouen, and Havre, and Lyons, 
 and Tours, and Brest, and Bordeaux, and every 
 town or fortress in Prance, filled with his 
 troops and governed by his creatures ; and 
 here is Flanders, with Chaunes and Mielleray, 
 and fifteen thousand men, at his disposal ; and 
 here is Italy, with Bouillon, and as many more, 
 ready to march at his command V 
 
 " But suppose I could show," said Fon- 
 trailles, laying his hand on his companion's arm, 
 and detaining him as he was about to walk on 
 — "but suppose I could show, that Mielleray 
 would not march, — that Bouillon would de- 
 clare for us, — that England would aid us with 
 money, and Spain would put five thousand
 
 RICHELIEU. 129 
 
 men at our command, — that the King's own 
 brother—" 
 
 Cinq Mars waved his hand : " No ! no ! no P 
 said he, in a firm, bitter tone : " Gaston of Or- 
 leans has led too many to the scaffold already. 
 The weak, wavering Duke is ever the execu- 
 tioner of his friends. Remember poor Mont- 
 morency r 
 
 " Let me proceed,' 1 said Fontrailles ; " hear 
 me to an end, and then judge. I say, suppose 
 that the King's own brother should give us his 
 name and influence, and the King himself should 
 yield us his consent. 1 ' 
 
 " Ha I 11 exclaimed Cinq Mars, pausing 
 abruptly. — The idea of gaining the King had 
 never occurred to him ; and now it came like a 
 ray of sunshine through a cloud, brightening 
 the prospect which had been before in shadow. 
 " Think you the King would consent ?" 
 
 " Assuredly J 1 ' replied his companion. "Does 
 
 he not hate the Cardinal as much as any one ? 
 
 Does not his blood boil under the bonds he 
 
 cannot break ? And would he not bless the 
 
 g 5
 
 130 RICHELIEU. 
 
 man who gave him freedom ? Think, Cinq 
 Mars!" he continued, endeavouring to throw 
 much energy into his manner, for he knew that 
 the ardent mind of his companion wanted but 
 the spark of enthusiasm to inflame — " think, 
 what a glorious object ! to free alike the people 
 and their sovereign, and to rescue the many 
 victims even now destined to prove the tyrant's 
 cruelty !— Think, think of the glorious reward, 
 the thanks of a King, the gratitude of a 
 nation, and the blessings of thousands saved 
 from dungeons and from death !" 
 
 It worked as he could have wished. The 
 enthusiasm of his words had their full effect on 
 the mind of his companion. As the other went 
 on, the eye of Cinq Mars lightened with all the 
 wild ardour of his nature ; and striking his 
 hand upon the hilt of his sword, as if longing 
 to draw it in the inspiring cause of his Coun- 
 try's liberty, " Glorious indeed !" he exclaimed, 
 — " glorious indeed V 9 
 
 But immediately after, fixing his glance upon 
 the ground, he fell into meditation of the many
 
 RICHELIEU. 181 
 
 circumstances of the times ; and as his mind's 
 eye ran over the difficulties and dangers which 
 surrounded the enterprise, the enthusiasm which 
 had beamed in his eye, like the last flash of an 
 expiring fire, died away, and he replied with a 
 sigh, " What you have described, Sir, is indeed 
 a glorious form — But it is dead — it wants a 
 soul. The King, though every thing great and 
 noble, has been too long governed now to act for 
 himself. The Duke of Orleans is weak and un- 
 decided as a child. Bouillon is far away — " 
 
 " And where is Cinq Mars r" demanded Fon- 
 trailles, — " where is the man whom the King 
 really loves ? If Cinq Mars has forgot his own 
 powers, so has not France ; and she now tells 
 him — though by so weak a voice as mine — that 
 he is destined to be the soul of this great body 
 to animate this goodly frame, to lead this con- 
 spiracy, if that can be so called which has a 
 King at its head, and Princes for its support." 
 
 In these peaceable days, when we are taught 
 to pray against privy conspiracy, both as a 
 crime and misfortune, the very name is start-
 
 132 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Jing to all orthodox ears ; but at the time I 
 speak of, it had no such effect. Indeed, from 
 the commencement of the wars between Henri 
 Quatre and the League, little else had existed 
 but a succession of conspiracies, which one after 
 another had involved every distinguished person 
 in the country, and brought more than one no- 
 ble head to the block. Men's minds had be- 
 come so accustomed to the sound, that the ex- 
 plosion of a new plot scarcely furnished mat- 
 ter for a day's wonder, as the burghers of a 
 besieged city at length hardly hear the roar- 
 ing of the cannon against their walls; and so 
 common had become the name of conspirator, 
 that there were very few men in the realm 
 who had not acquired a just title to such an 
 appellation. 
 
 The word " conspiracy," therefore, carried 
 nothing harsh or disagreeable to the mind of 
 Cinq Mars. What Fontrailles proposed to him, 
 bore a plausible aspect. It appeared likely to 
 succeed ; and, if it did so, offered him that re- 
 ward for which, of all others, his heart beat —
 
 RICHELIEU. 133 
 
 Glory ! But there was one point on which he 
 paused : " You forget," said he, — " you forget 
 that I owe all to Richelieu, — you forget that, 
 however he may have wronged this country, 
 he has not wronged me ; and though I may 
 wish that such a being did not exist, it is not 
 for me to injure him." 
 
 " True, most true V replied his wily compa- 
 nion, who knew that the appearance of frank 
 sincerity would win more from Cinq Mars than 
 aught else : " if he has done as you say, be 
 still his friend. Forget your country in your 
 gratitude — though in the days of ancient virtue 
 patriotism was held paramount. We must 
 not hope for such things now — so no more of 
 that. But if I can show that this proud Mi- 
 nister has never served you ; if I can prove 
 that every honour which of late has fallen upon 
 you, far from being a bounty of the Cardinal, 
 has proceeded solely from the favour of the 
 King, and has been wrung from the hard Church- 
 man as a mere concession to the Monarch's whim; 
 if it can be made clear that the Marquis Cinq
 
 134 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Mars would now have been a Duke and Con- 
 stable of France, had not his kind friend the 
 Cardinal whispered he was unfit for such an 
 office : — then will you have no longer the ex- 
 cuse of friendship, and your Country's call 
 must and shall be heard." 
 
 " I can scarce credit your words, Fontrailles," 
 replied Cinq Mars. " You speak boldly, — but 
 do you speak truly ?" 
 
 " Most truly, on my life {"replied Fontrailles. 
 " Think you, Cinq Mars, if I did not well 
 know that I could prove each word I have 
 said, that thus I would have placed my most 
 hidden thoughts in the power of a man who 
 avows himself the friend of Richelieu ?" 
 
 " Prove to me, — but prove to me, that I 
 am not bound to him in gratitude," cried Cinq 
 Mars vehemently, — " take from me the bonds 
 by which he has chained my honour, and I 
 will hurl him from his height of power, or 
 die in the attempt." 
 
 " Hush !" exclaimed Fontrailles, laying his fin- 
 ger on his lip as they turned into another alley,
 
 RICHELIEU. 135 
 
 " we are no longer alone. Govern yourself, 
 Cinq Mars, and I will prove every tittle of what 
 I have advanced ere we be two hours older." 
 
 This was uttered in a low tone of voice ; for 
 there was indeed another group in the same 
 avenue with themselves. The party, which was 
 rapidly approaching, consisted of three persons, 
 of whom one was a step in advance, and, though 
 in no degree superior to the others in point of 
 dress, was distinguished from them by that in- 
 describable something which constitutes the idea 
 of dignity- He was habited in a plain suit of 
 black silk with buttons of jet, and every part of 
 his dress, even to the sheath and hilt of his cou- 
 teau de chasse, corresponding. On his right hand 
 he wore a thick glove, of the particular kind 
 generally used by the sportsmen of the period, 
 but more particularly by those who employed 
 themselves in the then fashionable sport of bird- 
 catching ; and the nets and snares of various 
 kinds carried by the other two, seemed to evince 
 that such had been the morning's amusement of 
 the whole party.
 
 136 RICHELIEU. 
 
 The King, for such was the person who ap- 
 proached, was rather above the middle height, 
 and of a spare habit. His complexion was very 
 pale ; and his hair, which had one time been of 
 the richest brown, was now mingled throughout 
 with grey. But still there was much to inte- 
 rest, both in his figure and countenance. There 
 was a certain air of easy self-possession in all 
 his movements-; and even when occupied with 
 the most trivial employment, which was often 
 the case, there was still a degree of dignity in 
 his manner, that seemed to show his innate feel- 
 ing of their emptiness, and his own conscious- 
 ness of how inferior they were, both to his situa- 
 tion and his talents. His features at all times 
 appeared handsome, but more especially when 
 any sudden excitement called up the latent ani- 
 mation of his dark-brown eye, recalling to the 
 minds of those who remembered the days gone 
 before, that young and fiery Prince who could 
 not brook the usurped sway even of his own 
 highly talented mother, but who had now be- 
 come the slave of her slave. The consciousness
 
 RICHELIEU. 137 
 
 of his fallen situation, and of his inability to call 
 up sufficient energy of mind to disengage him- 
 self, generally cast upon him an appearance of 
 profound sadness : occasionally, however, flashes 
 of angry irritability would break across the 
 cloud of melancholy which hung over him, and 
 show the full expression of his countenance, 
 which at other times displayed nothing but the 
 traces of deep and bitter thought, or a mo- 
 mentary sparkle of weak, unthinking merriment. 
 So frequent, however, were the changes to be 
 observed in the depressed Monarch, that some 
 persons even doubted whether they were not 
 assumed to cover deeper intentions. It might 
 be so, or it might not ; but at all events, between 
 the intervals of these natural or acquired ap- 
 pearances, would often shine out strong gleams 
 of his mother's unyielding spirit, or his father's 
 generous heart. 
 
 The rapid pace with which he always pro- 
 ceeded, soon brought the King close to Cinq 
 Mars and Fontrailles. " Good-morrow, Mon- 
 sieur de Fontrailles," said he, as the Count
 
 138 RICHELIEU. 
 
 bowed low at his approach. " Do not remain 
 uncovered. 'Tis a fine day for forest sports, 
 but not for bare heads ; though I have heard 
 say, that if you were in the thickest mist of all 
 Holland, you would see your way through it. 
 — What ! mon Grand Ecuyer" he continued, 
 turning to Cinq Mars; " as sad as if thou hadst 
 been plotting, and wert dreaming even now of 
 the block and axe ?" And with a kind and fami- 
 liar air, he laid his hand upon his favourite's 
 arm : who on his part started, as if the Monarch 
 had read his thoughts and foretold his doom. 
 
 A single word has sometimes lost or won an 
 empire. Even less than a single word, if we 
 may believe the history of Darius's horse, who, 
 being a less loquacious animal than Balaam's 
 ass, served his master without speaking. How- 
 ever, Fontrailles fixed his eye on Cinq Mars, 
 and seeing plainly the effect of Louis's speech, 
 he hastened to wipe it away. " To calculate petty 
 dangers in a great undertaking, 1, said he, " were 
 as weak as to think over all the falls one may
 
 RICHELIEU. 139 
 
 meet with in the chase, before we get on horse- 
 back." 
 
 Both Cinq Mars and the King were passion- 
 ately fond of the noble forest sport, so that the 
 simile of Fontrailles went directly home, more 
 especially to the King, who, following the idea 
 thus called up, made a personal application of 
 it to him who introduced it. " Jesu, that were 
 folly indeed !" he exclaimed, in answer to the 
 Count's observation. " But you are not fond 
 of the chase either, Monsieur de Fontrailles, if 
 I think right ; I never saw you follow boar or 
 stag, that I can call to mind," 
 
 " More my misfortune than my fault, Sire," 
 replied Fontrailles. " Had I ever been fa- 
 voured with an invitation to follow the royal 
 hounds, your Majesty would have found me as 
 keen of the sport as even St. Hubert is said to 
 have been of yore." 
 
 a Blessed be his memory !" cried the King. 
 " But we will hunt to-day ; we will see you 
 ride, Monsieur de Fontrailles. What say you,
 
 140 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Cinq Mars ? The parties who went out to turn 
 a stag last night (I remember now) presented 
 this morning, that in the bosquet at the end of 
 the forest, near Argenin, is quartered a fat stag 
 of ten, and another by Boisjardin ; but that by 
 Argenin will be the best, for he has but one 
 refuite by the long alley. — Come, gentlemen, 
 seek your boots, — seek your boots ; and as our 
 Grand Veneur is not at Chantilly, you, Cinq 
 Mars, shall superintend the chase. Order the 
 Maitre valet de chiens to assemble the old pack 
 and the relais at the Carrefour d' Argenin, and 
 then we will quickly to horse." So saying, he 
 turned away to prepare for his favourite sport ; 
 but scarcely had gone many paces ere he 
 slackened his pace, and allowed the two gentle- 
 men to rejoin him. " What think you, friend ?" 
 said he, addressing Cinq Mars ; " they tell me, 
 the Cardinal is sick. Have you heard of it?" 
 " I have heard a vague report of the kind," 
 replied Cinq Mars, watching his master's coun- 
 tenance, " but as yet nothing certain. May I 
 crave what information your Majesty possesses ?"
 
 RICHELIEU. 141 
 
 *• Why, he is sick, very sick," replied Louis, 
 " and perchance may die. May his soul find 
 mercy ! Perchance he may die, and then — " 
 And the King fell into deep thought. 
 
 It is possible that at that moment his mind 
 was engaged in calculating all that such an event 
 as the death of Richelieu would produce ; for, 
 gradually, as if he dreamed of ruling for himself, 
 and as hope spread out before him many a fu- 
 ture year of power and greatness, his air be- 
 came more dignified, his eye flashed with its 
 long repressed fire, and his step acquired a new 
 degree of firmness and majesty. 
 
 Fontrailles watched the alteration of the 
 King's countenance, and, skilful at reading the 
 mind's workings by the face, he added, as if 
 finishing the sentence which Louis had left un- 
 concluded, — but taking care to blend what he 
 said with an air of raillery towards the Master 
 of the Horse, lest he should offend the irritable 
 Monarch — " And then," said he, " Cinq Mars 
 shall be a Duke. Is it not so, Sire?" 
 
 Louis started. His thoughts had been en-
 
 142 RICHELIEU. 
 
 gaged in far greater schemes ; and yet rewarding 
 his friends and favourites, always formed a 
 great part of the pleasure he anticipated in 
 power, and he replied, without anger, " Most 
 likely it will be so — Indeed," he added, " had 
 my wishes, as a man, been followed," — and he 
 turned kindly towards the Master of the Horse, 
 — " it should have been so long ago, Cinq Mars. 
 But Kings, you know, are obliged to yield their 
 private inclinations to what the State requires." 
 
 Fontrailles glanced his eye towards the Grand 
 Ecuyer, as if desiring him to remark the King's 
 words. Cinq Mars bent his head, in token that 
 he comprehended, and replied to the King : " I 
 understand your Majesty ; but, believe me, Sire, 
 no honour or distinction could more bind Cinq 
 Mars to his King, than duty, gratitude, and 
 affection do at this moment." 
 
 " I believe thee, friend, — I believe thee, from 
 my soul," said Louis. " God forgive us that 
 we should desire the death of any man ! and 
 surely do not I that of the Cardinal, for he is 
 a good Minister, and a man of powerful mind.
 
 RICHELIEU. 143 
 
 But, withal, we may wish that he was more 
 gentle and forgiving. Nevertheless, he is a 
 great man. See how he thwarts and rules half 
 the Kings in Europe — See how he presses the 
 Emperor, and our good brother-in-law, Philip 
 of Spain; while the great Gustavus, this north- 
 ern hero, is little better than his general." 
 
 " He is assuredly a great man, Sire," replied 
 Cinq Mars. "But permit me to remark, that 
 a great bad man is worse than one of less ta- 
 lents, for he has the extended capability of 
 doing harm ; and perhaps, Sire, if this Minister 
 contented himself with thwarting Kings abroad, 
 he would do better than by opposing the will of 
 his own Sovereign at home." 
 
 The time, however, was not yet come for 
 Louis to make even an attempt toward liberat- 
 ing himself from the trammels to which he had 
 been so long accustomed. Habit in this had 
 far more power over his mind than even the 
 vast and aspiring talents of Richelieu. No man 
 in France, perhaps, more contemned or hated 
 the Cardinal than the royal slave whom he had
 
 144 RICHELIEU. 
 
 so long subjugated to his burdensome sway. 
 Yet Louis, amidst all his dreams for the future, 
 looked with dread upon losing the support of 
 a man whom he detested, but upon whose 
 counsels and abilities he had been accustomed 
 to rely with confidence and security. 
 
 Cinq Mars saw plainly the state of his mas- 
 ter's mind; and as he entered the Palace, he 
 again began to doubt whether he should at all 
 lend himself to the bold and dangerous mea- 
 sures which Fontrailles had suggested.
 
 RICHELIEU. 145 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In which is shown how a great King hunted a great 
 beast, and what came of the hunting. 
 
 While the King's mind, as he returned to 
 the Chateau de Chantilly, was agitated by 
 vague hopes and fears, which, like the forms 
 that we trace in the clouds, rolled into a thou- 
 sand strange and almost palpable shapes be- 
 fore his mind's eye, and yet were but a vapour 
 after all ; and while the thoughts of Cinq Mars 
 ran over all the difficulties and dangers of the 
 future prospect, reverted to the obligations 
 Richelieu had once conferred upon him, or 
 scanned the faults and crimes of the Minister, 
 till the struggle of patriotism and gratitude left 
 nothing but doubt behind : the imagination of 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Fontrailles was very differently occupied. It 
 was not that he pondered the means of en- 
 gaging more firmly the wavering mind of Cinq 
 Mars. No, for he had marked him for his 
 own ; and, from that morning's conversation, 
 felt as sure of his companion as the ant-lion 
 does of the insect he sees tremble on the edge 
 of his pit. Neither did he revolve the proba- 
 ble issue of the dangerous schemes in which he 
 was engaging both himself and others ; for he 
 was confident in his powers of disentangling 
 himself, when it should become necessary to his 
 own safety so to do, and he was not a man to 
 distress himself for the danger of his friends. 
 The occupation of his mind as they approached 
 the Castle, was of a more personal nature. The 
 truth is, that so far from discomposing himself 
 upon the score of distant evils, the sole trou- 
 ble of his thoughts was the hunting-party into 
 which he had entrapped himself. Being by no 
 means a good horseman, and caring not one 
 sous for a pastime which involved far too much 
 trouble and risk to accord in any degree with
 
 RICHELIEU. 147 
 
 his idea of pleasure, Fontrailles had professed 
 himself fond of hunting, merely to please the 
 King, without ever dreaming that he should be 
 called upon to give farther proof of his venera- 
 tion for the Royal sport. 
 
 He saw plainly, however, that his case admit- 
 ted of no remedy. Go he must ; and, having 
 enough philosophy in his nature to meet inevit- 
 able evils with an unshrinking mind, he prepar- 
 ed to encounter all the horrors of the chase, as 
 if they were his principal delight. 
 
 He accordingly got into his boots with as 
 much alacrity as their nature permitted, for, 
 each weighing fully eight pounds, they were 
 somewhat ponderous and unmanageable. He 
 then hastily loaded his pistols, stuck his cou- 
 teau de chasse in his belt, and throwing the 
 feather from his hat, was the first ready to 
 mount in the court-yard. 
 
 " Why, how is this, Monsieur de Fon- 
 traijjes ?" said the King, who in a few minutes 
 joined him in the area where the horses were 
 assembled. " The first at your post ! You are, 
 
 H'2
 
 148 RICHELIEU. 
 
 indeed, keen for the sport. Some one, see for 
 Cinq Mars. — Oh ! here he comes : Mount, gen- 
 tlemen, mount ! Our Ordinaries of the chase, 
 and Lieutenants, await us at the Carrefour (TAr- 
 genin, — Mount, gentlemen, mount ! Ha ! have 
 you calculated your falls for to-day, Monsieur 
 de Fontrailles, as you spoke of this morning ?" 
 And the King's eyes glistened with almost child- 
 ish eagerness for his favourite pastime. 
 
 In the mean while, Cinq Mars had approach- 
 ed with a slow step and a gloomy countenance, 
 showing none of the alacrity of Fontrailles, or 
 the enthusiastic ardour of the King. " There 
 are other dangers than falls to be met with in 
 chase, my liege,"" said the Master of the Horse, 
 with a bitter expression of displeasure in his 
 manner ; " and that Claude de Blenau could 
 inform your Majesty." 
 
 " I know not what you mean, Cinq Mars," 
 answered the King. " De Blenau is a gallant 
 cavalier ; as staunch to his game as a beagle of 
 the best ; and though he shows more service to
 
 RICHELIEU. 149 
 
 our Queen than to ourself, he is no less valued 
 for that/' 
 
 " He is one cavalier out of ten thousand — " 
 replied Cinq Mars, warmly: " my dearest 
 companion and friend ; and whilst Cinq Mars 
 has a sword to wield, De Blenau shall never 
 want one to second his quarrel.'' 
 
 M Why, what ails thee, Cinq Mars?" de- 
 manded the King with some surprise. u Thou 
 art angry, — what is it now ?" 
 
 " It is, Sire," replied the Master of the Horse, 
 " that I have just had a courier from St. Ger- 
 main, who bears me word, that, three days 
 since past, the Count, as your Majesty and I 
 have often done, was hunting in the neighbour- 
 hood of Mantes, and was there most treacher- 
 ously attacked by an armed band, in which 
 adventure he suffered two wounds that nearly 
 drained his good heart of blood. Shall this be 
 tolerated, Sire ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! no, indeed !" replied the King 
 with much warmth. " This shall be looked to.
 
 150 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Our kingdom must not be overrun with robbers 
 and brigands." 
 
 " Bobbers !" exclaimed Cinq Mars, indig- 
 nantly. " I know not — they may have been 
 robbers ; but my letters say, that one of them 
 wore colours of Isabel and silver. 1 ' 
 
 " Those are the colours of Chavigni's livery,'"' 
 replied the King, who knew the most minute 
 difference in the bearing of every family in 
 the kingdom, with wonderful precision. " This 
 must be looked to, and it shall, or I am not de- 
 serving of my name. But now mount, gentle- 
 men, mount! we are waited for at the ren- 
 dezvous." 
 
 The Carrefour cTArgenin, at which the King 
 and his attendants soon arrived, was a large 
 open space in the forest, where four roads cross- 
 ed. Each of these, but one, cut into a long 
 straight avenue through the wood, opened a 
 view of the country beyond, forming a separate 
 landscape, as it were, framed, or to use the 
 French term, encadre, by the surrounding trees. 
 The sun had not yet risen sufficiently to shine
 
 RICHELIEU. 151 
 
 upon any of these forest roads ; but the sweeping 
 hills and dales beyond, were to be seen through 
 the apertures, richly lighted up by the clear 
 beams of the morning ; though occasionally a 
 soft wreath of mist, lingering in the bosom of 
 some of the hollows, would roll a transient sha- 
 dow over the prospect. Louis had chosen this 
 spot for the rendezvous, perhaps as much on 
 account of its picturesque beauty, as for any 
 other reason. Deprived, as he was, of courtly 
 splendour and observance, his mind, unpervert- 
 ed by the giddy show and tinsel pomp that 
 generally surrounds a royal station, regarded 
 with a degree of enthusiasm the real loveliness 
 of Nature ; and now it was some time before even 
 the preparations for his favourite sport could 
 call his attention from the picturesque beauty of 
 the spot. 
 
 The policy of Richelieu, which had led him 
 to deprive the King of many of the external 
 marks of sovereignty, as well as of the real 
 power, taught him also to encourage all those 
 sports which might at once occupy Louis's
 
 152 RICHELIEU. 
 
 mind, and place him at a distance from the 
 scene of government. Thus, the hunting equi- 
 page of the King was maintained in almost 
 more than royal luxury. 
 
 The first objects that presented themselves, 
 in the Carre/our cFArgenin, were a multitude 
 of dogs and horses, grouped together with the 
 lieutenants of the forest, and the various offi- 
 cers of the hunt, under those trees which would 
 best afford them shade as the sun got up. Vari- 
 ous piqueurs and valets were seen about the 
 ground, some holding the horses, some laying 
 out the table for the royal dejeune, and some 
 busily engaged in cutting long straight wands 
 from the more pliable sort of trees, and peeling 
 off the bark for a certain distance, so as to leave 
 a sort of handle or hilt still covered, while the 
 rest of the stick, about three feet in length, 
 remained bare. These, called " batons de 
 chasse," were first presented to the King, who, 
 having chosen one, directed the rest to be dis- 
 tributed among his friends and attendants, for 
 the purpose of guarding their heads from the
 
 RICHELIEU. 153 
 
 boughs, which in the rapidity of the chase, 
 while it continued in the forest, often inflicted 
 serious injuries. 
 
 The Maitre valet de chiens, and his ordi- 
 naries, each armed with a portentous-looking 
 horn, through the circles of which were passed 
 a variety of dog couples, were busily occupied 
 in distributing the hounds into their different 
 relays, and the grooms and other attendants 
 were seen trying the girths of the heavy hunt- 
 ing saddles, loading the pistols, or placing them 
 in the holsters, and endeavouring to distinguish 
 themselves fully as much by their bustle as 
 by their activity. 
 
 However, it was an animated scene, and those 
 who saw it could not wonder that Louis pre- 
 ferred the gay excitement of such sports, to the 
 sombre monotony of a palace without a court, 
 and royalty without its splendour. 
 
 After examining the preparations with a cri- 
 tical eye, and inquiring into the height, age, 
 size, and other distinctive signs of the stag 
 which was to be hunted, Louis placed himself 
 H 5
 
 j54 RICHELIEU. 
 
 at the breakfast-table which had been prepared 
 in the midst of the green, and motioning Cinq 
 Mars and Fontrailles to be seated, entered into 
 a lively discussion concerning the proper spots 
 for placing the relays of horses aud dogs. At 
 length it was determined that six hounds and 
 four hunters should be stationed at about two 
 leagues and a half on the high road; that twelve 
 dogs and four piqueurs, with an ordinary of 
 the chase, should take up a position upon the 
 side of a hill under which the stag was likely to 
 pass ; and that another relay should remain at 
 a spot called Le Croix de bois, within sight 
 of which the hunt would be obliged to come, if 
 the animal, avoiding the open country, made for 
 the other extremity of the forest. 
 
 It fell upon Cinq Mars to communicate these 
 directions to the officers of the hunt, which he 
 did in that sort of jargon, which the sports of 
 the field had made common in those days, but 
 which would now be hardly intelligible. He 
 was engaged in giving general orders, that the 
 horses should be kept in the shade and ready
 
 RICHELIEU. 155 
 
 to be mounted at a moment's notice, in case the 
 King, or any of his suite should require them, 
 and that the ordinary should by no means let 
 slip any of the dogs of the relay upon the stag, 
 even if it passed his station, without especial 
 orders from the piqueurs of the principal hunt 
 — when suddenly he stopped, and pointing with 
 his hand, a man was discovered standing in one 
 of the avenues, apparently watching the Royal 
 party. 
 
 The circumstance would have passed without 
 notice, had it not been for the extraordinary 
 stature of the intruder, who appeared fully as 
 tall as Cinq Mars himself. Attention was far- 
 ther excited by his disappearing as soon as he 
 was observed ; and some grooms were sent to 
 bring him before the King, but their search was 
 in vain, and the matter was soon forgotten. 
 
 The minute relation of a Royal hunt in 
 France, anno 1642, would afford very little ge- 
 neral interest. Enough has been said to show 
 how different were the proceedings of that time 
 from our method of conducting such things in
 
 156 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the present day ; and those who want farther 
 information on the subject may find it in a very 
 erudite treatise, " De la Chasse, &c." by Le 
 Mercier, in the year fifty-six of the same cen- 
 tury. We must, however, in a more general 
 manner, follow the King over the field, though 
 without attempting to describe all the minute 
 occurrences of the day, or the particulars of eti- 
 quette usual on such occasions. 
 
 The stag, poor silly beast, who had been doz- 
 ing away his time in a thicket at about half a 
 mile distance, was soon roused by the very un- 
 wished appearance of the huntsmen, and taking 
 his path down the principal avenue, bounded 
 away towards the open country, calculating, 
 more wisely than the beast recorded by our old 
 friend iEsop, that the boughs might encumber 
 his head gear. The horns sounded loud, the 
 couples were unloosed, the dogs slipped, and 
 away went man and beast in the pursuit. For 
 a moment or two, the forest was filled with 
 clang, and cry, and tumult: — as the hunt 
 swept away, it grew fainter and fainter, till the
 
 RICHELIEU. 157 
 
 sound, almost lost in the indistinct distance, 
 left the deep glades of the wood to resume 
 their original silence. 
 
 They did not, however, long appear solitary, 
 for in a few minutes after the hunt had quitted 
 the forest, the same tall figure, whose appa- 
 rition had interrupted Cinq Mars in his oratory 
 concerning the relays, emerged from one of the 
 narrower paths, leading a strong black horse, 
 whose trappings were thickly covered with a 
 variety of different figures in brass, represent- 
 ing the signs of the zodiac, together with sun- 
 dry triangles, crescents, and other shapes, such as 
 formed part of the astrological quackery of that 
 day. The appearance of the master was not 
 less singular in point of dress than that of the 
 horse. He wore a long black robe, somewhat 
 in the shape of that borne by the order of Black 
 Friars, but sprinkled with silver signs. This, 
 which made him look truly gigantic, was bound 
 round his waist by a broad girdle of white lea- 
 ther, traced all over with strange characters, that 
 might have been called hieroglyphics, had they
 
 158 RICHELIEU. 
 
 signified any thing ; but which were, probably, 
 as unmeaning as the science they were intended 
 to dignify. 
 
 To say the truth, the wearer did not seem 
 particularly at his ease in his habiliments ; for 
 when, after having looked cautiously around, 
 he attempted to mount his horse, the long dra- 
 pery of his gown got entangled round his feet 
 at every effort, and it was not till he had vented 
 several very ungodly execrations, and effected a 
 long rent in the back of his robe, that he ac- 
 complished the ascent into the saddle. Once 
 there, however, the dexterity of his horseman- 
 ship, and his bearing altogether, made him 
 appear much more like the captain of a band 
 of heavy cavalry than an astrologer, notwith- 
 standing the long snowy beard which hung 
 down to his girdle, and the profusion of white 
 locks that, escaping from his fur cap, floated 
 wildly over his face, and concealed the greater 
 part of its features. 
 
 The horseman paused for a moment, seem- 
 ingly immersed in thought, while his horse,
 
 RICHELIEU. 159 
 
 being a less considerate beast than himself, kept 
 pawing the ground, eager to set off. " Let me 
 see," said the horseman ; f4 the stag will soon be 
 turned on the high road by the carriers for 
 Clermont, and must come round under the hill, 
 and then I would take the world to a cliapon de 
 Maine* that that fool Andrieu lets slip his relay, 
 and drives the beast to water. If so, I have 
 them at the Croix de bois. At all events, one 
 must try." And thus speaking, he struck his 
 horse hard with a thick kind of truncheon he 
 held in his hand, and soon was out of the forest. 
 In the mean while the King and his suite fol- 
 lowed close upon the hounds ; the Monarch and 
 Cinq Mars, animated by the love of the chase, 
 and Fontrailles risking to break his neck rather 
 than be behind. The road for some way was 
 perfectly unobstructed, and as long as it re- 
 mained so, the stag followed it without devia- 
 tion ; but at length a train of carriers' waggons 
 appeared, wending their way towards Clermont. 
 The jingling of the bells on the yokes of the 
 oxen, and the flaunting of the red and white
 
 160 RICHELIEU. 
 
 ribbons on their horns, instantly startled the 
 stag, who, stopping short in his flight, stood at 
 gaze for a moment, and then darting across the 
 country, entered a narrow track of that unpro- 
 ductive sandy kind of soil, called in France 
 landes, which bordered the forest. It so hap- 
 pened, — unfortunately, I was going to say, but 
 doubtless the stag thought otherwise — that a 
 large herd of his horned kindred were lying 
 out in this very track, enjoying the morning 
 sunshine, and regaling themselves upon the first 
 fruits that fell from some chesnut-trees, which 
 in that place skirted the forest. 
 
 Now the stag, remembering an old saying, 
 which signalizes the solace of " company in dis- 
 tress," proceeded straight into the midst of the 
 herd ; who being fat burghers of the wood, and 
 like many other fat burghers somewhat selfish 
 withal, far from compassionating his case, re- 
 ceived him with scanty courtesy, and, in short, 
 wished him at the devil. However, no time was 
 to be lost ; the dogs were close upon his steps ; 
 6i sauve qui peat!" was the word among the
 
 RICHELIEU. 161 
 
 stags, and away they all went, flying in every 
 direction. 
 
 The hunters had as little cause to be pleased 
 with this manoeuvre as the stags ; for the hounds 
 being young, were deceived by a strong family 
 likeness between one of the herd and the one 
 they had so long followed, and all of the dogs but 
 four, yielding up the real object of pursuit, 
 gave chase to the strange stag, who, darting off 
 to the left, took his way towards the river. Cinq 
 Mars and most of the piqueurs, misled by see- 
 ing the young hounds have so great a majority, 
 followed also. It was in vain the King called 
 to him to come back, that he was hunting the 
 wrong beast, and was as great a fool as a 
 young hound ; he neither heeded nor heard, 
 and soon was out of sight. 
 
 " Sa christi /" cried Louis, u there they go, 
 just like the world, quitting the true pursuit to 
 follow the first fool that runs, and priding them- 
 selves on being in the right, when they are most 
 in error ; but come, Monsieur de Fontrailles, 
 we will follow the true stag of the hunt."
 
 162 RICHELIEU. 
 
 But Fontrailles too was gone. The separa- 
 tion of the hounds had afforded an opportunity 
 of quitting the sport not to be neglected, and 
 he had slunk away towards the Palace by the 
 nearest road, which, leading through a narrow 
 dell, skirted the side of the hill opposite to that 
 over which the King's stag had taken his course. 
 However, he still heard from time to time the 
 dogs give tongue, and the hunting cry of the 
 King; who, without considering that no one 
 followed, gave the exact number of mots on his 
 horn, followed by the haloo, and the " II dit 
 vrai ! il dit vrai !'' which the piqueurs ordina- 
 rily give out, to announce that the dog who 
 cried was upon the right scent. Still Fon- 
 trailles pursued his way, when suddenly he per- 
 ceived the stag, who, having distanced the King, 
 was brought to bay under the bank over which 
 his road lay. 
 
 At that season of the year, the stag is pecu- 
 liarly dangerous, but Fontrailles did not want 
 personal courage, and, dismounting from his 
 horse, he sprang to the bottom of the bank ;
 
 RICHELIEU. 168 
 
 where, drawing his couteau de chasse, he pre- 
 pared to run in upon the beast ; but remem- 
 bering at the moment that the King could 
 not be far distant, he paused, and waiting till 
 Louis came up, held the stirrup and offered 
 his weapon to the Monarch, who instantly run- 
 ning in, presented the knife with all the dex- 
 terity of an experienced sportsman, and in a 
 moment laid the stag dead at his feet. 
 
 It was now the task of Frontrailles to keep off 
 the hounds, while the King, anxious to have all 
 the honours of the day to himself, began what 
 is called in France the " section" and " curte 
 aux chiens" without waiting for piqueurs or 
 ordinaries. Nevertheless, he had only time to 
 make the longitudinal division of the skin, and 
 one of the transverse sections from the breast to 
 the knee, when the sound of a horse's feet made 
 him raise his head from his somewhat unkingly 
 occupation, thinking that some of the other 
 hunters must be now come up. 
 
 (i Que Diable /" cried the King, viewing the 
 strange figure of the Astrologer we have already
 
 164 RICHELIEU. 
 
 noticed in this profound chapter, "Je veux 
 dire, Vive Dieu ! What do you want ? and 
 who are you ?" 
 
 " A friend to the son of Henri Quatre," re- 
 plied the stranger, advancing his horse closer 
 to the King, who stood gazing on him with no 
 small degree of awe — for be it remembered, 
 that the superstitious belief in all sorts of ne- 
 cromancy was at its height both in England 
 and France. 
 
 "A friend to the son of Henri Quatre! and 
 one who comes to warn him of near-approach- 
 ing dangers.'" 
 
 '* What are they, friend ?" demanded the 
 King, with a look of credulous surprise : " Let 
 me know whence they arise and how they may 
 be avoided, and your reward is sure." 
 
 " I seek no reward,*" replied the stranger, 
 scornfully. " Can all the gold of France change 
 the star of my destiny ? No ! Monarch, I come 
 uncalled, and I will go unrewarded. The 
 planets are still doubtful over your house, 
 and therefore I forewarn you ere it be too late —
 
 RICHELIEU. 165 
 
 A Spaniard is seeking your overthrow, and a 
 woman is plotting your ruin — A Prince is 
 scheming your destruction, and a Queen is be- 
 traying your trust. 
 
 '* How !" exclaimed Louis. " Am I to 
 believe — " 
 
 " Ask me no questions," cried the stranger, 
 who heard the trampling of horses' feet ap- 
 proaching the scene of conference. " In this roll 
 is written the word of fate. Read it, O King ! 
 and timely guard against the evil that menaces. 1 ' 
 So saying, he threw a scroll of parchment be- 
 fore the King, and spurred on his horse to de- 
 part ; but at that moment, the figure of Cinq 
 Mars, who by this time had run down the stag 
 he had followed, presented itself in his way, 
 " What mumming is this ?" cried the Master 
 of the Horse, regarding the stranger. 
 
 " Stop him ! Cinq Mars," cried Fontrailles, 
 who foresaw that the stranger's predictions 
 might derange all his schemes. " He is an im- 
 postor : do not let him pass ! v And at the same 
 time he laid his h?nd upon the Astrologer's bri-
 
 166 RICHELIEU. 
 
 die. But in a moment, the stranger spurring 
 on his charger, overturned Fontrailles, shiver- 
 ed the hunting sword, which Cinq Mars had 
 drawn against him, to atoms with one blow of 
 his truncheon, and scattering the grooms and 
 huntsmen like a flock of sheep, was soon out of 
 reach of pursuit. 
 
 " What means all this ?" exclaimed Cinq 
 Mars; — "explain Fontrailles! Sire, shall we 
 follow yon impostor ?" 
 
 But Louis's eyes were fixed with a strained 
 gaze upon the scroll, which he held in his hand, 
 and which seemed to absorb every faculty of his 
 soul. At length he raised them, mounted his 
 horse in silence, and still holding the parchment 
 tight in his hand, rode on, exclaiming, " To 
 Chantilly."
 
 RICHELIEU. 167 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Showing how the green-eyed monster got hold of a 
 young lady's heart, and what he did with it. 
 
 Who is there that has not dreamed and had 
 their dream broken ? Who is there that has 
 not sighed to see spring flowers blighted, or 
 summer sunshine yield to wintry clouds ; or 
 bright hopes change to dark sorrows, and gay 
 joys pass away like sudden meteors, that blaze 
 for one splendid moment, and then drop pow- 
 erless into the dark bosom of the night ? 
 
 If memory^ instead of softening all the traces, 
 gave us back the original lines of life in their 
 native harshness, who could live on to old 
 age ? for the catalogue of broken hopes, and
 
 168 RICHELIEU. 
 
 disappointed wishes, and pleasures snatched 
 from us never to return, would be more than 
 any human mind could bear. It would harden 
 the heart to marble, or break it in its youth. 
 It is happy too, that in early years our mind 
 has greater power of resistance, for the no- 
 velty of sorrow gives it a double sting. 
 
 The fatigues of her journey had long worn 
 off, and left Pauline de Beaumont all the glow 
 of wild youthful beauty, which had adorned 
 her in her native hills. Her cheek had reco- 
 vered its fine soft blush in all its warmth, and 
 her eyes all their dark brilliancy. But the 
 cheerful gaiety which had distinguished her, the 
 light buoyancy of spirit, that seemed destined 
 to rise above all the sorrows of the world, had 
 not come back with the rose of her cheek, or 
 the lustre of her eye. She loved to be alone, 
 and instead of regretting the gloom and still- 
 ness which prevailed in the court of Anne of 
 Austria, she often seemed to find its gaiety 
 too much for her, and would retire to the suite 
 of apartments appropriated to her mother and
 
 RICHELIEU. 169 
 
 herself, to enjoy the solitude of her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 At first, Madame de Beaumont fancied that 
 the melancholy of her daughter was caused by 
 the sudden change from many loved scenes, en- 
 deared by all the remembrances of infancy, to 
 others in which, as yet, she had acquired no in- 
 terest. But as a second week followed the first, 
 after their arrival at St. Germain's, and the 
 same depression of spirits still continued, the 
 Marchioness began to fear that Pauline had 
 some more serious cause of sorrow ; and her 
 mind reverted to the suspicions of De Blenau's 
 constancy, which she had been the first to ex- 
 cite in her daughter's bosom. 
 
 The coming time is filled with things that we 
 know not, and chance calls forth so many unex- 
 pected events, that the only way in life is to 
 wait for Fate, and seize the circumstances of the 
 day ; by the errors of the past to correct our 
 actions at present, and to leave the future to a 
 wiser judgment and a stronger hand. Madame 
 de Beaumont took no notice of her daughter's 
 
 vol. I. I
 
 170 RICHELIEU. 
 
 melancholy, resolving to be guided in her con- 
 duct by approaching circumstances ; for clouds 
 were gathering thickly on the political horizon 
 of France, which, like a thunder-storm de- 
 pending on the fickle breath of the wind, might 
 break in tempests over their head, or be wafted 
 afar, and leave them still in peace. 
 
 It was one of those still evenings, when the 
 world, as if melancholy at the sun's decline, 
 seems to watch in silence the departure of his 
 latest beams. All had sunk into repose, not 
 a cloud passed over the clear expanse of sky, 
 not a noise was stirring upon earth ; and Pauline 
 felt a sensation of quiet, pensive melancholy 
 steal over all her thoughts, harmonizing them 
 with the calmness of the scene, as it lay tran- 
 quilly before her, extending far away to the 
 glowing verge of heaven, una wakened by a 
 sound, unruffled by a breath of air. 
 
 The window at which she sat looked towards 
 St. Denis, where lay the bones of many a race of 
 Kings, who had, in turn, worn that often con-
 
 RICHELIEU. 171 
 
 tested diadem, which to the winner had gene- 
 rally proved a crown of thorns. But her 
 thoughts were not of them. The loss of early 
 hopes, the blight of only love, was the theme 
 on which her mind brooded, like a mother 
 over the tomb of her child. The scene before 
 her — its vast extent — the dying splendour of the 
 sun — the deep pureness of the evening sky — the 
 sublimity of the silence — all wrought upon her 
 mind ; and while she thought of all the fairy 
 hopes she had nourished from her youth, while 
 she dreamed, over again, all the dreams she had 
 indulged of one on whose fame, on whose ho- 
 nour, on whose truth, she had fondly, rashly, 
 raised every wish of her future life ; and while 
 new-born fears and doubts came sweeping away 
 the whole, — the tears rose glistening in her eyes, 
 and rolled, drop after drop, down her cheeks. 
 
 " Pauline P said a voice close behind her. 
 
 She started, turned towards the speaker, and 
 
 with an impulse stronger than volition, held out 
 
 her hand to Claude de Blenau. " Pauline,' 1 
 
 I 2
 
 172 RICHELIEU. 
 
 said he, printing a warm kiss on the soft white 
 hand that he held in his, " dear, beautiful Pau- 
 line, we have met at last." 
 
 From the moment he had spoken, Pauline 
 resolved to believe him as immaculate as any 
 human being ever was since the first meeting of 
 Adam and Eve ; but still she wanted him to tell 
 her so. It was not coquetry ; but she was afraid 
 that after what she had seen, and what she had 
 heard, she ought not to be satisfied. Common 
 propriety, she thought, required that she should 
 be jealous till such time as he proved to her 
 that she had no right to be so. She turned 
 pale, and red, and drew back her hand without 
 reply. 
 
 De Blenau gazed on her for a moment in 
 silent astonishment ; for, young, and ardent, and 
 strongly tinged with that romantic spirit of gal- 
 lantry which Anne of Austria had introduced 
 from Spain into the court of France, the whole 
 enthusiasm of his heart had been turned towards 
 Pauline de Beaumont ; and he had thought of 
 her the more, perhaps, because forbid to think
 
 RICHELIEU. 173 
 
 of her. Nor had the romance he had worked 
 up in his own mind admitted a particle of the 
 cold ceremonies of courtly etiquette ; he had 
 loved to figure it as something apart from the 
 world . A life with her he loved, of ardour, and 
 passion, and sunshiny hours, unclouded by a 
 regret, unchilled by a reserve, but all boundless 
 confidence, and unrestrained affection — Such 
 had been the purport of his letters to Pauline de 
 Beaumont, and such had been the colouring of 
 her replies to him. And who is there that has 
 not dreamed so once ? 
 
 De Blenau gazed on her for a moment in 
 silence. " Do you not speak to me, Pauline ?" 
 said he at length. " Or is it that you do not 
 know me ? True, true ! years work a great 
 change at our time of life. But I had fancied 
 — perhaps foolishly fancied — that Pauline de 
 Beaumont would know Claude de BJenau 
 wheresoever they met, as well as De Blenau 
 would know her." 
 
 While he spoke, Pauline knew not well what 
 to do with her eyes; so she turned them towards
 
 174 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the terrace, and they fell upon Mademoiselle de 
 Hauteford, who was walking slowly along before 
 the Palace. Less things than that have caused 
 greater events in this world than a renewal of 
 all Pauline's doubts. Doubts did I call them ? 
 Before Mademoiselle de Hauteford, with all the 
 graceful dignity for which she was conspicuous, 
 had taken three steps along the terrace, Pau- 
 line's doubts had become almost certainties ; and 
 turning round, with what she fancied to be great 
 composure, she replied, " I have the pleasure of 
 knowing you perfectly, Monsieur de Blenau ; I 
 hope you have recovered entirely from your late 
 wounds." 
 
 " Monsieur de Blenau ! — The pleasure of 
 knowing me!" exclaimed the Count. "Good 
 God, is this my reception ? Not three months 
 have gone, since your letters flattered me with 
 the title of 'Dear Claude.' — My wounds are 
 better, Mademoiselle de Beaumont, but you 
 seem inclined to inflict others of a more painful 
 nature." 
 
 Pauline strove to be composed, and strove to
 
 RICHELIEU. 175 
 
 reply, but it was all in vain ; Nature would have 
 way, and she burst into tears and sobbed aloud. 
 " Pauline, dearest Pauline !" cried De Blenau, 
 catching her to his bosom unrepulsed : " This 
 must be some mistake — calm yourself, dear girl, 
 and, in the name of Heaven, tell me, what means 
 this conduct to one who loves you as I do ?" 
 
 " One who loves me, Claude !" replied Pau- 
 line, wiping the tears from her eyes ; (i Oh no, 
 no — But what right had I to think that you 
 would love me? None, none, I will allow. Sepa- 
 rated from each other so long, I had no title to 
 suppose that you would ever think of the child 
 to whom you were betrothed, but of whom you 
 were afterwards commanded not to entertain a 
 remembrance — would think of her, after those 
 engagements were broken by a power you could 
 not choose but obey. But still, De Blenau, 
 you should not have written those letters filled 
 with professions of regard, and vows to retain 
 the engagements your father had formed for 
 you, notwithstanding the new obstacles which 
 had arisen. You should not, indeed, unless you
 
 176 RICHELIEU. 
 
 had been very sure of your own heart ; for it was 
 cruelly trifling with mine," and she gently dis- 
 engaged herself from his arms. — " I only blame 
 you," she added, " for ever trying to gain my 
 affection, and not for now being wanting in love 
 to a person you have never seen since she was a 
 child." 
 
 " Never seen you !" replied De Blenau with a 
 smile : " Pauline, you are as mistaken in that, 
 as in any doubt you have of me. A year has not 
 passed since last we met. Remember that sum- 
 mer sunset on the banks of the Rhone: remem- 
 ber the masked Cavalier who gave you the ring 
 now on your finger : remember the warm hills of 
 Languedoc, glowing with a blush only equalled 
 by your cheek, when he told you that that token 
 was sent by one who loved you dearly, and would 
 love you ever — that it came from Claude de 
 Blenau, who had bid him place the ring on your 
 finger, and a kiss on your hand, and renew the 
 vow that he had long before pledged to you. — 
 Pauline, Pauline, it was himself." 
 
 " But why, dear Claude," demanded Pauline
 
 RICHELIEU. 177 
 
 eagerly, forgetting coldness, and pride, and sus- 
 picion, in the memory his words called up, 
 " why did you not tell me ? why did you not 
 let me know that it was you ?" 
 
 " Because if I had been discovered," answered 
 the Count, " it might have cost me my life, 
 years of imprisonment in the Bastille, or worse 
 — the destruction of her I loved ? The slight- 
 est cry of surprise from you might have be- 
 trayed me." 
 
 u But how did you escape, without your 
 journey being known?" demanded Pauline; 
 " they say in Languedoc, that the Cardinal has 
 bribed the evil spirits of the air to be his spies 
 on men's actions." 
 
 " It is difficult indeed to say how he acquires 
 his information," replied De Blenau ; " but, how- 
 ever, I passed undiscovered. It was thus it 
 happened : I had gone as a volunteer to the 
 siege of Perpignan, or rather, as one of the 
 Arriere-ban of Languedoc, which was led 
 by the young and gallant Due d'Enghien, to 
 whom, after a long resistance, that city de- 
 i 5
 
 178 RICHELIEU. 
 
 livered its keys. As soon as the place had sur- 
 rendered, I asked permission to absent myself 
 for a few days. His Highness granted it im- 
 mediately, and I set out. — For what think you, 
 Pauline ? what, but to visit that spot, round 
 which all the hopes of my heart, all the dreams 
 of my imagination, had hovered for many a 
 year. — But to proceed, taking the two first 
 stages of my journey towards Paris, I sudden- 
 ly changed my course, and embarking on the 
 Rhone, descended as far as the Chateau de 
 Beaumont. You remember, that my page, 
 Henry La Mothe, is the son of your mother's 
 fermier, old La Mothe, and doubtless know 
 full well his house among the oaks, on the bor- 
 ders of the great wood. It was here I took up 
 my abode, and formed a thousand plans of 
 seeing you undiscovered. At length, fortune 
 favoured me. Oh ! how my heart beat as, 
 standing by one of the trees in the long avenue, 
 Henry first pointed out to me two figures 
 coming slowly down the path from the Cha- 
 teau — yourself and your mother, — and as, ap-
 
 RICHELIEU. 179 
 
 proaching towards me, they gradually grew 
 more and more distinct, my impatience almost 
 overpowered me, and I believe I should have 
 started forward to meet you, had not Henry re- 
 minded me of the danger. You passed close 
 by. — O Pauline! I had indulged many a 
 waking dream. I had let fancy deck you in 
 a thousand imaginary charms — but at that mo- 
 ment, I found all I had imagined, or dreamed, 
 a thousand times excelled. I found the beau- 
 tiful girl, that had been torn from me so many 
 years before, grown into woman's most surpass- 
 ing loveliness ; and the charms which fancy and 
 memory had scattered from their united stores, 
 faded away before the reality, like stars on the 
 rising of the sun. But this was not enough. 
 I watched my opportunity. I saw you, as you 
 walked alone on the terrace, by the side of the 
 glittering Rhone, — I spoke to you, — I heard 
 the tones of a voice to be remembered for 
 many an after hour, and placing the pledge 
 of my affection on your hand, I tore myself 
 away."
 
 180 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Blenau paused. Insensibly, whilst he was 
 speaking, Pauline had suffered his arm again to 
 glide round her waist. Her hand somehow be- 
 came clasped in his, and as he told the tale of 
 his affection, the tears of many a mingled emo- 
 tion rolled over the dark lashes of her eye, and 
 chasing one another down her cheek, fell upon 
 the lip of her lover, as he pressed a kiss upon 
 the warm sunny spot which those drops be- 
 dewed. 
 
 De Blenau saw that those tears were not 
 tears of sorrow, and had love been with him an 
 art, he probably would have sought no farther ; 
 for in the whole economy of life, but more es- 
 pecially in that soft passion Love, holds good 
 the homely maxim, to let ivell alone. But De 
 Blenau was not satisfied; and like a foolish 
 youth, he teased Pauline to know why she 
 had at first received him coldly. In good 
 truth, she had by this time forgotten all about 
 it ; but as she was obliged to answer, she soon 
 again conjured up all her doubts and suspicions. 
 She hesitated, drew her hand from that of the
 
 RICHELIEU. 181 
 
 Count, blushed deeper and deeper, and twice 
 began to speak without ending her sentence. 
 
 " I know not what to think," said she at 
 length, " De Blenau : I would fain believe you 
 to be all you seem, — I would fain reject every 
 doubt of what you say." 
 
 Her coldness, her hesitation, her embarrass- 
 ment, alarmed De Blenau's fears, and he too 
 began to be suspicious. 
 
 u On what can you rest a doubt ?" demanded 
 he, with a look of bitter mortification ; and per- 
 ceiving that she still paused, he added sadly, 
 but coldly, " Mademoiselle de Beaumont, you 
 are unkind. Can it be that you are attached 
 to another ? Say, am I so unhappy ?" 
 
 " No, De Blenau, no !" replied Pauline, strug- 
 gling for firmness : "but answer me one ques- 
 tion, explain to me but this one thing, and I am 
 satisfied.''' 
 
 " Ask me any question, propose to me any 
 doubts," answered the Count, " and I will reply 
 truly, upon my honour." 
 
 " Then tell me," said Pauline, But just as
 
 182 RICHELIEU. 
 
 she was about to proceed, she felt some difficulty 
 in proposing her doubts. She had a thousand 
 times before convinced herself they were very 
 serious and well founded ; but all jealous sus- 
 picions look so very foolish in black and white, 
 or what is quite as good, in plain language, 
 though they may seem very respectable when 
 seen through the twilight of passion, that Pau- 
 line knew not very well how to give utterance 
 to hers. " Then tell me," said Pauline, with no 
 small hesitation— " then tell me, what was the 
 reason you would suffer no one to open your 
 hunting coat, when you were wounded in the 
 forest — no, not even to staunch the bleeding of 
 the side ?" 
 
 " There was a reason, certainly," replied De 
 Blenau, not very well perceiving the connexion 
 between his hunting-coat and Pauline's coldness; 
 M there was a reason certainly ; but how in the 
 name of Heaven does that affect you, Pauline ?" 
 
 " You shall see by my next question," an- 
 swered she. " Have you or have you not re- 
 ceived a letter, privately conveyed to you from
 
 RICHELIEU. 18 
 
 a lady ? and has not Mademoiselle de Haute- 
 ford visited you secretly during your illness? 1 " 
 
 It was now De Blenau's turn to become em- 
 barrassed ; he faltered, and looked confused, 
 and for a moment his cheek, which had hitherto 
 been pale with the loss of blood, became of the 
 deepest crimson, while he replied, " I did not 
 know that I was so watched." 
 
 " It is enough, Monsieur de Blenau," said 
 Pauline rising, her doubts almost aggravated to 
 certainties. " To justify myself, Sir, I will tell 
 you that you have not been watched. Pauline 
 de Beaumont would consider that man unworthy 
 of her affection, whose conduct would require 
 watching. What I know, has come to my ears 
 by mere accident. In fact," and her voice trem- 
 bled the more, perhaps, that she strove to pre- 
 serve its steadiness — " in fact, I have become 
 acquainted with a painful truth through my 
 too great kindness for you, in sending my own 
 servant to inquire after your health, and not 
 to watch you, Monsieur de Blenau." 
 
 " Stop, stop, Pauline ! in pity, stop," cried
 
 184 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Blenau, seeing her about to depart. " Your 
 questions place me in the most embarrassing of 
 situations. But, on my soul, I have never suf- 
 fered a thought to stray from you, and you 
 yourself will one day do me justice. But at 
 present, on this point, I am bound by every 
 principle of duty and honour, not to attempt an 
 exculpation." 
 
 ' " None is necessary, Monsieur de Blenau," 
 replied Pauline. " It is much better to under- 
 stand each other at once. I have no right 
 to any control over you. You are of course 
 free, and at liberty to follow the bent of your 
 own inclinations. Adieu ! I shall always wish 
 your welfare." And she was quitting the apart- 
 ment, but De Blenau still detained her, though 
 she gently strove to withdraw her hand. 
 
 " Yet one moment, Pauline," said he. " You 
 were once kind, you were once generous, you 
 have more than once assured me of your affec- 
 tion. Now, tell me, did you bestow that affec- 
 tion on a man destitute of honour ? on a man
 
 RICHELIEU. 185 
 
 who would sully his fame by pledging his faith 
 to what was false ?" Pauline's hand remained 
 in his without an effort, and he went on. "I 
 now pledge you my faith, and give you my 
 honour, however strange it may appear that a 
 lady should visit me in private, I have never 
 loved or sought any but yourself. Pauline, do 
 you doubt me now ?" 
 
 Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, and 
 she did not reply, but there was a slight motion 
 in the hand he held, as if it would fain have 
 returned his pressure had she dared. " I could, 1 ' 
 he continued, " within an hour obtain permis- 
 sion to explain it all. But oh, Pauline, how 
 much happier would it make me to find, that 
 you trust alone to my word, that you put full 
 confidence in a heart that loves you !" 
 
 " I do ! I do I" exclaimed Pauline, with all 
 her own wild energy, at the same time placing 
 her other hand also on his, and raising her eyes 
 to his face : " Say no more, De Blenau. I be- 
 lieve I have been wrong ; at all events, I cannot,
 
 186 RICHELIEU. 
 
 I will not doubt, what makes me so happy to 
 believe. 1 ' And her eyes, which again filled with 
 tears, were hidden on his bosom. 
 
 De Blenau pressed her to his heart, and again 
 and again thanked the lips that had spoken such 
 kind words, in the way that such lips may best be 
 thanked. — " Dearest Pauline," said De Blenau, 
 after enjoying a moment or two of that peculiar 
 happiness which shines but once or twice even 
 in the brightest existence, giving a momentary 
 taste of heaven, and then losing itself, either in 
 human cares, or less vivid joys. — The heart is a 
 garden, and youth is its spring, and hope is its 
 sunshine, and love is a thorny plant, that grows 
 up and bears one bright flower, which has no- 
 thing like it in all the earth — 
 
 " Dearest Pauline/' said De Blenau, "I leave 
 you for a time, that I may return and satisfy 
 every doubt. Within one hour all shall be ex- 
 plained." 
 
 A s he spoke, the door of the apartment open- 
 ed, and one of the servants of the Palace en- 
 tered, with a face of some alarm. " Monsieur
 
 RICHELIEU. 187 
 
 de Blenau, 1 ' said he, * I beg a thousand pardons 
 for intruding, but there have been, but now, at 
 the Palace gate, two men of the Cardinal's guard 
 inquiring for you: so I told them that you 
 were most likely at the other side of the Park, 
 for — for — " and after hesitating a moment, he 
 added, " They are the same who arrested Mon- 
 sieur de Vitry." 
 
 De Blenau started. " Fly, fly, Claude P ex- 
 claimed Pauline, catching him eagerly by the 
 arm — " Oh fly, dear Claude, while there is yet 
 time. I am sure they seek some evil towards 
 you." 
 
 " You have done well," said De Blenau to 
 the attendant. " I will speak to you as I come 
 down.— Dearest Pauline," he continued when the 
 man was gone — " I must see what these gentle- 
 men want. Nay, do not look frightened ; you 
 are mistaken about their errand. I have no- 
 thing to fear, believe me. Some trifling busi- 
 ness, no doubt. In the mean time, I shall not 
 neglect my original object. In half an hour all 
 your doubts shall be satisfied."
 
 188 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " I have none, Claude,"" replied Pauline; " in- 
 deed I have none, but about these men." 
 
 De Blenau endeavoured to calm her, and 
 assured her again and again that there was no 
 danger. But Pauline was not easy, and the 
 Count himself had more suspicions concerning 
 their object than he would suffer to appear.
 
 RICHELIEU. 189 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Containing a great deal that would not have been said 
 had it not been necessary. 
 
 In front of the Palace of St. Germain's, but 
 concealed from the park and terrace by an angle 
 of the building, stood the Count de Chavigni, 
 apparently engaged in the very undignified oc- 
 cupation of making love to a pretty-looking 
 soubrette, no other than Louise, the waiting- 
 maid of Mademoiselle de Beaumont. But, 
 notwithstanding the careless nonchalance with 
 which he affected to address her, it was evident 
 that he had some deeper object in view than the 
 trifling of an idle hour. 
 
 " Well, ma belle" said he, after a few words 
 of a more tender nature, "you are sure the Sur-
 
 190 RICHELIEU. 
 
 geon said, though the wound is in his side, his 
 heart is uninjured ? w 
 
 ° Yes, exactly," said Louise, " word for 
 word ; and the Queen answered, ( I understand 
 you.' But I cannot think why you are so curi- 
 ous about it." 
 
 " Because I take an interest in the young 
 Count," replied Chavigni. " But his heart 
 must be very hard if it can resist such eyes 
 as yours." 
 
 if He never saw them," said Louise, " for I 
 was not with my Lady when they picked him 
 up wounded in the forest." 
 
 " So much the better," replied Chavigni, 
 " for that is he turning that angle of the Palace: 
 I must speak to him ; so farewell, belle Louise, 
 and remember the signal. — Go through that 
 door, and he will not see you. r> 
 
 Speaking thus, Chavigni left her, and a few 
 steps brought him up to De Blenau, who at that 
 moment traversed the angle in which he had 
 been standing with Louise, and was hurrying on 
 with a rapid pace in search of the Queen.
 
 RICHELIEU. 191 
 
 " Good morrow, Monsieur de Blenau," said 
 Chavigni : " you seem in haste.'" 
 
 " And am so, Sir," replied De Blenau proud- 
 ly ; and added, after a moment's pause, " Have 
 you any commands for me ?" for Chavigni stood 
 directly in his way. 
 
 " None in particular,'' answered the other 
 with perfect composure — " only if you are seek- 
 ing the Queen, I will go with you to her Ma- 
 jesty ; and as we go, I will tell you a piece of 
 news you may perhaps like to hear." 
 
 " Sir Count de Chavigni, I beg you would 
 mark me," replied De Blenau. " \ r ou are one of 
 the King's Council — a gentleman of good re- 
 pute, and so forth ; but there is not that love 
 between us that we should be seen taking our 
 evening's walk together, unless, indeed, it were 
 for the purpose of using our weapons more 
 than our tongues. ,, 
 
 u Indeed, Monsieur de Blenau," rejoined 
 Chavigni, his lip curling into a smile which 
 partook more of good humour than scorn, 
 though, perhaps, mingled somewhat of each —
 
 192 RICHELIEU. 
 
 "indeed you do not do me justice; I love 
 you better than you know, and may have an 
 opportunity of doing you a good turn some 
 day, whether you will or not. So with your 
 leave I walk with you, for we both seek the 
 Queen. ,, 
 
 De Blenau was provoked. " Must I tell 
 you, Sir," exclaimed he, " that your company 
 is disagreeable to me? — that I do not like the 
 society of men who herd with robbers and 
 assassins ?" 
 
 " Psha !" exclaimed Chavigni, somewhat 
 peevishly. " Captious boy, you'll get yourself 
 into the Bastille some day, where you would 
 have been long ago, had it not been for me." 
 
 " When you tell me, Sir, how such obliga- 
 tions have been incurred," answered the Count, 
 " I shall be happy to acknowledge them. 1 ' 
 
 " Why, twenty times, Monsieur de Blenau, 
 you have nearly been put there," replied Cha- 
 vigni, with that air of candour which it is very 
 difficult to affect when it is not genuine. " Your 
 hot and boiling spirit, Sir, is always running
 
 RICHELIEU. 193 
 
 you into danger. Notwithstanding all your late 
 wounds, a little bleeding, even now, would not 
 do you any harm. Here the first thing you do 
 is to quarrel with a man who has served you, is 
 disposed to serve you, and of whose service you 
 may stand in need within five minutes. 
 
 " But to give you proof at once that what I 
 advance is more than a mere jest — Do you think- 
 that your romantic expedition to Languedoc 
 escaped me ? Monsieur de Blenau, you start, 
 as if you dreamed that in such a country as 
 this, and under sucli an administration, any 
 thing could take place without being known 
 to some member of the government. No, no, 
 Sir ! there are many people in France, even 
 now, who think they are acting in perfect secu- 
 rity, because no notice is apparently taken of 
 the plans they are forming, or the intrigues they 
 are carrying on ; while, in reality, the hundred 
 eyes of Policy are upon their every action, and 
 the sword is only suspended over their heads, 
 that it may eventually fall with more severity." 
 
 16 You surprise me, I own," replied De Ble- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 RICHELIEU. 
 
 nan j " by showing me that you are acquainted 
 with an adventure, which I thought buried in 
 my own bosom, or only confided to one equally 
 faithful to me." 
 
 st . You mean your Page," said Chavigni, with 
 the same easy tone in which he had spoken all 
 along. " You have no cause to doubt him. He 
 has never betrayed you (at least to my know- 
 ledge). But these things come about very sim- 
 ply, without treachery on any part. The stag 
 never flies so fast, nor the hare doubles so 
 often, but they leave a scent behind them for 
 the dogs to follow, — and so it is with the ac- 
 tions of man ; conceal them as he will, there is 
 always some trace by which they may be disco- 
 vered ; and it is no secret to any one, now-a- 
 days, that there are people in every situation 
 of life, in every town of France, paid to give 
 information of all that happens ; so that the 
 schemes must be well concealed indeed, which 
 some circumstance does not discover. I see, 
 you shake your head, as if you disapproved 
 of the principle.
 
 RICHELIEU. 195 
 
 " De Blenau, you and I are engaged in dif- 
 ferent parties. You act firmly convinced of 
 the rectitude of your own cause — Do me the 
 justice to believe that I do the same. You 
 hate the Minister — I admire him, and feel fully 
 certain that all he does is for the good of the 
 State. On the other hand, I applaud your cou- 
 rage, your devotion to the cause you have 
 espoused, and your proud unbending spirit — 
 and I would bring you to the scaffold to- 
 morrow, if I thought it would really serve 
 the party to which I am attached." 
 
 The interesting nature of his conversation, 
 and the bold candour it displayed, had made 
 De Blenau tolerate Chavigni's society longer 
 than he had intended, and even his dislike to 
 the Statesman had in a degree worn away before 
 the easy dignity and frankness of his manner. 
 But still, he did not like to be seen holding any 
 kind of companionship with one of the Queen's 
 professed enemies; and taking advantage of the 
 first pause, he replied — 
 
 " You are frank, Monsieur de Chavigni, but 
 K 2
 
 196 RICHELIEU. 
 
 my head is well where it is. And now may I ask 
 to what does all this tend ?" 
 
 " You need not hurry the conversation to a 
 conclusion," replied Chavigni. " You see that 
 we are in direct progress towards that part of 
 the Park where her Majesty is most likely to be 
 found.'" But seeing that De Blenau seemed 
 impatient of such reply, he proceeded : " How- 
 ever, as you wish to know to what my conver- 
 sation tends, I will tell you. If you please, it 
 tends to your own good. The Cardinal wishes 
 to see you " 
 
 He paused, and glanced his eye over the 
 countenance of his companion, from which, how- 
 ever, he could gather no reply, a slight frown 
 being all the emotion that was visible. 
 
 Chavigni then proceeded. " The Cardinal 
 wishes to see you. He entertains some suspi- 
 cion of you. If you will take my advice, you 
 will set out for Paris immediately, wait upon 
 his Eminence, and be frank with him — Nay, do 
 not start ! I do not wish you to betray any
 
 RICHELIEU. 197 
 
 one's secrets, or violate your own honour. But 
 be wise, set out instantly."" 
 
 " I suspected something of this," replied De 
 Blenau, " when I heard that there were stran- 
 gers inquiring for me. But whatever I do, I 
 must first see the Queen :" and observing that 
 Chavigni was about to offer some opposition, 
 he added decidedly, " It is absolutely necessary 
 — on business of importance." 
 
 " May I ask," said Chavigni, " is it of im- 
 portance to her Majesty or yourself?" 
 
 " I have no objection to answer that at 
 once," replied De Blenau : " it concerns my- 
 self alone." 
 
 " Stop a moment," cried Chavigni, laying 
 his hand on the Count's arm, and pausing in 
 the middle of the avenue, at the farther extre- 
 mity of which a group of three or four persons 
 was seen approaching. " No business can be 
 of more importance than that on which I ad- 
 vise you to go. — Monsieur de Blenau, I would 
 save you pain. Let me, once more, press you
 
 198 RICHELIEU. 
 
 to set out without having any farther conversa- 
 tion with her Majesty than the mere etiquette 
 of taking leave for a day." 
 
 De Blenau well knew the danger which he 
 incurred, but still he could not resolve to go, 
 without clearing the doubts of Pauline, which 
 five minutes' conversation with the Queen would 
 enable him to do. "It is impossible," replied 
 he, thoughtfully ; " besides, let the Cardinal 
 send for me. I do not see why I should 
 walk with my eyes open into the den of a 
 lion." 
 
 "Well then, Sir," answered Chavigni, with 
 somewhat more of coldness in his manner, " I 
 must tell you, his Eminence has sent for you, 
 and that, perhaps, in a way which may not suit 
 the pride of your disposition. Do you see those 
 three men that are coming down the avenue ? 
 they are not here without an object. — Come, once 
 more, what say you, Monsieur le Comte? Go 
 with me, to take leave of the Queen, for I must 
 suffer no private conversation. Let us then 
 mount our horses, and ride as friends to Paris.
 
 RICHELIEU. 199 
 
 There, pay your respects to the Cardinal, and 
 take Chavigni's word, that, unless you suffer 
 the heat of your temper to betray you into any 
 thing unbecoming, you shall return safe to St. 
 Germain's before to-morrow evening. If not, 
 things must take their course." 
 
 " You offer me fair, Sir," replied the Count, 
 " if I understand you rightly, that the Cardi- 
 nal has sent to arrest me ; and of course, I can- 
 not hesitate to accept your proposal. I have 
 no particular partiality for the Bastille, I can 
 assure you." 
 
 " Then you consent ?" said Chavigni. De 
 Blenau bowed his head. " Well then, I will 
 speak to these gentlemen," he added, " and they 
 will give us their room." 
 
 By this time the three persons, who had con- 
 tinued to advance down the avenue, had approach- 
 ed within the distance of a few paces of Chavigni 
 and the Count. Two of them were dressed in 
 the uniform of the Cardinal's guard ; one as a 
 simple trooper, the other being the Lieutenant 
 who bore the lettre de cachet for the arrest of
 
 200 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Blenau. The third, we have had some occa- 
 sion to notice in the wood of Mantes, being no 
 other than the tall Norman, who on that oc- 
 casion was found in a rusty buff jerkin, con- 
 sorting with the banditti. His appearance, 
 however, was now very much changed for the bet- 
 ter. The neat trimming of his beard and mus- 
 taches, the smart turn of his broad beaver, 
 the flush newness of his long-waisted blue silk 
 vest, and even the hanging of his sword, which 
 instead of offering its hilt on the left hip, ever 
 ready for the hand, now swung far behind, with 
 the tip of the scabbard striking against the 
 right calf, — all denoted a change of trade and 
 circumstances, from the poor bravo who won 
 his daily meal at the sword's point, to the well- 
 paid bully, who fattened at his lord's second 
 table, on the merit of services more real than 
 apparent. 
 
 De Blenau's eye fixed full upon the Norman, 
 certain that he had seen him somewhere before, 
 but the change of dress and circumstances em- 
 barrassed his recollection.
 
 RICHELIEU. 201 
 
 In the mean while, Chavigni advanced to the 
 Cardinal's officer. " Monsieur Chauville," said he, 
 "favour me by preceding me to his Eminence 
 of Richelieu. Offer him my salutation, and in- 
 form him, that Monsieur le Comte de Blenau 
 and myself intend to wait upon him this af- 
 ternoon." 
 
 Chauville bowed, and passed on, while the 
 Norman, uncovering his head to Chavigni, in- 
 stantly brought back to the mind of De Blenau 
 the circumstances under which he had first 
 seen him. 
 
 " You have returned, I see," said Chavigni. 
 u Have you found an occasion of fulfilling my 
 orders ?" 
 
 " To your heart's content, Monseigneur,' 1 
 replied the Norman ; " never was such an Astro- 
 loger, since the days of Intrim of Blois." 
 
 " Hush !" said Chavigni, for the other spoke 
 aloud. " If you have done it, that is enough. 
 But for a time, keep yourself to Paris, and 
 avoid the Court, as some one may recognise 
 you, even in these fine new feathers." 
 K 5
 
 20% RICHELIEU. 
 
 " Oh, I defy them," replied the Norman, in 
 a lower tone than he had formerly spoken, but 
 still so loud that De Blenau could not avoid 
 hearing the greater part of what he said — " I 
 defy them ; for I was so wrapped up in my 
 black robes and my white beard, that the Devil 
 himself would not know me for the same mortal 
 in the two costumes. But I hope, Monsieur 
 le Comte, that my reward may be equal to the 
 risk I have run, for they sought to stop me, 
 and had I not been too good a necromancer for 
 them, I suppose I should have been roasting at 
 a stake by this time. But one wave of my 
 magic wand sent the sword of Monsieur de 
 Cinq Mars out of his hand, and opened me a 
 passage to the wood ; otherwise I should have 
 fared but badly amongst them." 
 
 " You must not exact too much, Monsieur 
 Marteville," replied Chavigni. " But we will 
 speak of this to-night. I shall be in Paris in a 
 few hours ; at present, you see, I am occupied ;" 
 and leaving the Norman, he rejoined De Ble- 
 nau, and proceeded in search of the Queen.
 
 RICHELIEU. 203 
 
 u If my memory serves me right," Monsieur 
 de Chavigni," said De Blenau, in a tone of some 
 bitterness, " I have seen that gentleman be- 
 fore, and with his sword shining at my breast." 
 
 " It is very possible," answered Chavigni, 
 with the most indifferent calmness. " I have 
 seen him in the same situation with respect to 
 myself." 
 
 " Indeed !" rejoined De Blenau, with some 
 surprise ; " but probably not with the same 
 intention,"" he added. 
 
 " I do not know," replied the Statesman, 
 with a smile. " His intentions in my favour 
 were to run me through the body." 
 
 " And is it possible, then," exclaimed De 
 Blenau, " that with such a knowledge of his 
 character and habits, you can employ and pa- 
 tronize him ?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered Chavigni, " I wanted 
 a bold villain. Such men are very necessary 
 in a State. Now, I could not have better proof 
 that this man had the qualities required, than 
 his attempting to cut my throat. But you do
 
 204 RICHELIEU. 
 
 him some injustice ; he is better than you sup- 
 pose — is not without feeling — and has his own 
 ideas of honour."" 
 
 De Blenau checked the bitter reply which 
 was rising to his lips, and letting the conversa- 
 tion drop, they proceeded, in silence, in search 
 of the Queen. They had not gone much far- 
 ther, when they perceived her leaning famili- 
 arly on the arm of Madame de Beaumont, and 
 seemingly occupied in some conversation of 
 deep interest. However, her eye fell upon the 
 Count and Chavigni as they came up, and, sur- 
 prised to see them together, she abruptly paused 
 in what she was saying. 
 
 " Look there, De Beaumont," said she : 
 " something is not right. I have seen more 
 than one of these creatures of the Cardinal 
 hanging about the Park to-day. I fear for 
 poor De Blenau. He has been too faithful to 
 his Queen to escape long." 
 
 " I salute your Majesty," said Chavigni, as 
 soon as they had come within a short distance 
 of the Queen, and not giving De Blenau the
 
 RICHELIEU. 205 
 
 time to address her : "I have been the bearer of 
 a message from his Eminence of Richelieu to 
 Monsieur de Blenau, your Majesty's Chamber- 
 lain, requesting the pleasure of entertaining him 
 for a day in Paris. The Count has kindly ac- 
 cepted the invitation ; and I have promised that 
 the Cardinal shall not press his stay beyond 
 to-morrow. We only now want your Majesty's 
 permission and good leave, which in his Emi- 
 nence's name I humbly crave for Monsieur de 
 Blenau;' 
 
 u His Eminence is too condescending,' 1 re- 
 plied the Queen. '* He knows that his will is 
 law ; and we, humble Kings and Queens, as 
 in duty, do him reverence. I doubt not that 
 his intentions towards our Chamberlain are as 
 mild and amiable, as his general conduct to- 
 wards our self. " 
 
 " The truth is, your Majesty," said De Blenau, 
 " the Cardinal has sent for me, and (however 
 Monsieur de Chavigni's politeness may colour 
 it) in a way that compels my attendance." 
 
 " I thought so," exclaimed the Queen, drop-
 
 206 RICHELIEU. 
 
 ping the tone of irony which she had assumed 
 towards Chavigni, and looking with mingled 
 grief and kindness upon the young Cavalier, 
 whose destruction she deemed inevitable from 
 the moment that Richelieu had fixed the ser- 
 pent eyes of his policy upon him — " I thought 
 so. Alas, my poor De Blenau ! all that attach 
 themselves to me seem devoted to persecution." 
 
 " Not so, your Majesty," said Chavigni, with 
 some degree of feeling; " I can assure you, 
 Monsieur de Blenau goes at perfect liberty. 
 He is under no arrest ; and, unless he stays 
 by his own wish, will return to your Majesty's 
 court to-morrow night. The Cardinal is far 
 from wishing to give unnecessary pain." 
 
 " Talk not to me, Sir Counsellor," replied 
 the Queen, angrily : " Do I not know him ? I, 
 who of all the world have best cause to estimate 
 his baseness ? Have I not under his own hand, 
 the proof of his criminal ambition ? but no more 
 
 of that " And breaking off into Spanish, as 
 
 was frequently her custom when angry, she con-
 
 RICHELIEU. 207 
 
 tinued, " No se si es la misma vanidad, la so- 
 bervia, 6 la arrogancia, Que todo esto, segun 
 creo es el Cardenal. v 
 
 4 ' It is useless, Madam," said De Blenau, as 
 soon as the Queen paused in her angry vituper- 
 ation of the Minister, " to distress you farther 
 with this conversation. I know not what the 
 Cardinal wants, but he may rest assured that 
 De Blenau's heart is firm, and that no human 
 means shall induce him to swerve from his 
 duty ; and thus I humbly take my leave." 
 
 " Go then, De Blenaii," said the Queen : 
 " Go, and whether we ever meet again or not, 
 your faithful services and zealous friendship 
 shall ever have my warmest gratitude ; and 
 Anne of Austria has no other reward to be- 
 stow." Thus saying, she held out her hand to 
 him. De Blenau in silence bent his head re- 
 spectfully over it, and turned away. Cha- 
 vigni bowed low, and followed the Count, to 
 whose hotel they proceeded, in order to prepare 
 for their departure.
 
 208 RICHELIEU. 
 
 In the orders which De Blenau gave on their 
 arrival, he merely commanded the attendance of 
 his Page. 
 
 " Pardon me, Monsieur de Blenau, if I ob- 
 serve upon your arrangements," said Chavigni, 
 when he heard this order. " But let me remind 
 you, once more, that you are not going to a pri- 
 son, and that it might be better if your general 
 train attended you, as a gentleman of high sta- 
 tion about to visit the Prime Minister of his 
 Sovereign. They will find plenty of accommo- 
 dation in the Hotel de Bouthiliers." 
 
 u Be it so, then," replied De Blenau, scarce- 
 ly able to assume even the appearance of civility 
 towards his companion. " Henry de La Mothe," 
 he proceeded, " order a dozen of my best men 
 to attend me, bearing my full colours in their 
 sword-knots and scarfs. Trick out my horses 
 gaily, as if I were going to a wedding, for 
 Claude de Blenau is about to visit the Cardinal; 
 and remember," he continued, his anger at the 
 forced journey he was taking overcoming his 
 prudence, " that there be saddled for my own
 
 RICHELIEU. 209 
 
 use the good black barb that carried me so 
 stoutly when I was attacked by assassins in the 
 wood of Mantes ;" and as he spoke, his eye 
 glanced towards the Statesman, who sitting in 
 the window seat, had taken up the Poems of 
 Rotrou, and apparently inattentive to all that 
 was passing, read on with as careless and easy 
 an air, as if no more important interest occu- 
 pied his thoughts, and no contending passions 
 struggled in his breast.
 
 210 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Shows how the Count de Blenau supped in a place that 
 he little expected. 
 
 Though the attendants of the Count de 
 Blenau did not expend much time in preparing 
 to accompany their master, the evening was 
 nevertheless too far spent, before they could 
 proceed, to permit the hope of reaching Paris 
 ere the night should have set in. It was still 
 quite light enough, however, to show all the 
 preparations for the Count's departure to the 
 boys of St. Germain's, who had not beheld for 
 many a good day such a gay cavalcade enliven 
 the streets of that almost deserted town. 
 
 Chavigni and De Blenau mounted their horses
 
 RICHELIEU. 211 
 
 together ; and the four or five servants which 
 the Statesman had brought with him from 
 Paris, mingling with those of De Blenau, fol- 
 lowed the two gentlemen as they rode from the 
 gate. Having the privilege of the Park, Chavigni 
 took his way immediately under the windows 
 of the Palace, thereby avoiding a considerable 
 circuit, which would have occupied more time 
 than they could well spare at that late hour of 
 the evening. 
 
 The moment Pauline de Beaumont had seen 
 her lover depart, the tears, which she had strug- 
 gled to repress in his presence, flowed rapidly 
 down her cheeks. The noble, candid manner 
 of De Blenau had nearly quelled all suspicion 
 in her mind. The graces of his person, the 
 tone of his voice, the glance of his eye, had 
 realized the day-dreams which she had nou- 
 rished from her youth. 
 
 Fame had long before told her that he was 
 brave, high-spirited, chivalrous ; and his pic- 
 ture, as well as memory, had shown him as 
 strikingly handsome; but still it did not speak,
 
 212 RICHELIEU. 
 
 it did not move ; and though Pauline had often 
 sat with it in her hand, and imagined the ex- 
 pressions of his various letters as coming from 
 those lips, or tried in fancy to animate the mo- 
 tionless eyes of the portrait, still the hero of her 
 romance, like the figure of Prometheus ere he 
 had robbed the Sun of light to kindle it into 
 active being, wanted the energy of real life. 
 But at length they had met, and whether it 
 was so in truth, or whether she imagined it, 
 matters not, but every bright dream of her fancy 
 seemed fulfilled in De Blenau; and now that she 
 had cause to fear for his safety, she upbraided 
 herself for having entertained a suspicion. 
 
 She wept then — but her tears were from a 
 very different cause to that which had occasioned 
 them to flow before. However, her eyes were 
 still full, when a servant entered to inform her 
 that the Queen desired her society with the 
 other ladies of her scanty Court. Pauline en- 
 deavoured to efface the marks which her weep- 
 ing had left, and slowly obeyed the summons, 
 which being usual at that hour, she knew was
 
 RICHELIEU. 213 
 
 on no business of import ; but on entering the 
 closet, she perceived that tears had also been 
 in the bright eyes of Anne of Austria. 
 
 The circle, which consisted of Madame de 
 Beaumont, Mademoiselle de Hauteford, and 
 another Lady of honour, had drawn round the 
 window at which her Majesty sat, and which, 
 thrown fully open, admitted the breeze from 
 the Park. 
 
 " Come hither, Pauline," said the Queen as 
 she saw her enter, " What ! have you been 
 weeping too ? Nay, do not blush, sweet girl ; 
 for surely a subject need not be ashamed of 
 doing once what a Queen is obliged to do every 
 day. Why, it is the only resource that we wo- 
 men have. But come here : there seems a gay 
 cavalcade entering the Park gates. These are 
 the toys with which we are taught to amuse 
 ourselves. Who are they, I wonder ? Come 
 near, Pauline, and see if your young eyes can 
 toll" 
 
 Pauline approached the window, and took 
 her station by the side of the Queen, who, rising
 
 214 RICHELIEU. 
 
 from her seat, placed her arm kindly through 
 that of Mademoiselle de Beaumont, and leaning 
 gently upon her, prevented the possibility of 
 her retiring from the spot where she stood. 
 
 In the mean while the cavalcade approached. 
 The gay trappings of the horses, and the rich 
 suits of their riders, with their silk scarfs and 
 sword-knots of blue and gold, soon showed to 
 the keen eyes of the Queen's ladies that the 
 young Count de Blenau was one of the party ; 
 while every now and then a horseman in Isabel 
 and silver appearing amongst the rest, told 
 them, to their no small surprise, that he was 
 accompanied by the Count de Chavigni, the 
 sworn friend of Richelieu, and one of the prin- 
 cipal leaders of the Cardinal's party. The 
 Queen, however, evinced no astonishment, and 
 her attendants of course did not attempt to 
 express the wonder they felt at such a com- 
 panionship. 
 
 The rapid pace at which the two gentlemen 
 proceeded, soon brought them near the Palace ; 
 and Chavigni, from whose observant eye no-
 
 RICHELIEU. 215 
 
 thing passed without notice, instantly perceived 
 the Queen and her party at the window, and 
 marked his salutation with a profound inclina- 
 tion, low almost to servility, while De Blenau 
 raised his high-plumed hat and bowed, with the 
 dignity of one conscious that he had deserved 
 well of all who saw him. 
 
 Chavigni led the way to Marly, and thence 
 to Ruel, where night began to come heavily 
 upon the twilight; and long before they entered 
 Paris, all objects were lost in darkness. '* You 
 must be my guest for to-night, Monsieur de 
 Blenau," said Chavigni, as they rode on down 
 the Rue St. Honore, " for it will be too late to 
 visit the Cardinal this evening. ,, 
 
 However, as they passed the Palais Royal 
 (then called the Palais Cardinal), the blaze of 
 light, which proceeded from every window of 
 the edifice, told that on that night the superb 
 Minister entertained the Court; — a Court, of 
 which he had deprived his King, and which he 
 had appropriated to himself. De Blenau drew 
 a deep sigh as he gazed upon the magnificent
 
 216 RICHELIEU. 
 
 edifice, and compared the pomp and luxury which 
 every thing appertaining to it displayed, with 
 the silent, desolate melancholy which reigned 
 in the royal palaces of France. 
 
 Passing on down the Rue St. Honore, and 
 crossing the Rue St. Martin, they soon reached 
 the Place Royale, in which Chavigni had fixed 
 his residence. Two of De Blenau's servants 
 immediately placed themselves at the head of 
 his horse, and held the bridle short, while 
 Henry de La Mothe sprang to the stirrup* 
 But at that moment a gentleman who seemed 
 to have been waiting the arrival of the travel- 
 lers, issued from the Hotel de Bouthiliers, and 
 prevented them from dismounting. 
 
 " Do not alight, gentlemen," exclaimed he ; 
 " his Eminence the Cardinal de Richelieu has 
 sent me to request that Messieurs De Blenau 
 and Chavigni will partake a small collation at 
 the Palais Cardinal, without the ceremony of 
 changing their dress." 
 
 De Blenau would fain have excused himself, 
 alleging that the habit which he wore was but
 
 RICHELIEU. 217 
 
 suited to the morning, and also was soiled with 
 the dust of their long ride. But the Cardinal's 
 officer overbore all opposition, declaring that 
 his Eminence would regard it as a higher com- 
 pliment, if the Count would refrain from setting 
 foot to the ground till he entered the gates of 
 his Palace. 
 
 " Then we must go back," said Chavigni. 
 " We are honoured by the Cardinal's invita- 
 tion. Monsieur de Blenau, pardon me for 
 having brought you so far wrong. Go in, 
 Chatenay," he added, turning to one of his 
 own domestics, " and order flambeaux." 
 
 In a few moments all was ready ; and pre- 
 ceded by half a dozen torch-bearers on foot, 
 they once more turned towards the dwelling of 
 the Minister. As they did so, De Blenau's feel- 
 ings were not of the most agreeable nature, but 
 he acquiesced in silence, for to have refused his 
 presence would have been worse than useless. 
 
 The Palais Royal, which, as we have said, 
 was then called the Palais Cardinal, was a 
 very different building when occupied by the 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 RICHELIEU. 
 
 haughty Minister of Louis the Thirteenth, 
 from that which we have seen it in our days. 
 The unbounded resources within his power 
 gave to Richelieu the means of lavishing on the 
 mansion which he erected for himself, all that 
 art could produce of elegant, and all that 
 wealth could supply of magnificent. For seven 
 years the famous Le Mercier laboured to per- 
 fect it as a building ; and during his long ad- 
 ministration, the Cardinal himself never ceased 
 to decorate it with every thing rare or luxu- 
 rious. The large space which it occupied was 
 divided into an outer and an inner court, round 
 which, on every side, the superb range of build- 
 ings, forming the Palace, was placed in exact 
 and beautiful proportion, presenting every way 
 an external and internal front, decorated with 
 all the splendour of architectural ornament. 
 
 The principal fagade lay towards the Rue 
 St. Honore, and another of simpler, but per- 
 haps more correct design, towards the gardens, 
 which last were themselves one of the wonders 
 of Paris at the time. Extending over the space
 
 RICHELIEU. 219 
 
 now occupied by the Rue de Richelieu, the 
 Rue de Valois, and several other streets, they 
 contained, within themselves, many acres of 
 ground, and were filled with every plant and 
 flower that Europe then possessed, scattered 
 about amongst the trees, which, being plant- 
 ed long before the formality of the Dutch taste 
 was introduced in France, had in general been 
 allowed to fall into natural groups, unpervert- 
 ed into the long avenues and straight alleys 
 which disfigure so many of the royal parks 
 and gardens on the Continent. 
 
 The right wing of the first court was prin- 
 cipally occupied by that beautiful Theatre, so 
 strongly connected with every classic remem- 
 brance of the French stage, in which the first 
 tragedies of Rotrou and Corneille were pro- 
 duced, — in which many of the inimitable come- 
 dies of Moliere were first given to the world, 
 and in which he himself acted till his death. 
 
 In the wing immediately opposite, was the 
 Chapel, built in the Ionic order, and orna- 
 mented in that pure and simple manner which 
 L 2
 
 220 RICHELIEU. 
 
 none knew better how to value than the Cardinal 
 de Richelieu. 
 
 The two courts were divided from each other 
 by a massive pile of building, containing the 
 grand saloon, the audience-chamber, and the 
 cabinet of the high council. On the ground- 
 floor was the banqueting-room and its ante- 
 chamber ; and a great part of the building 
 fronting the gardens was occupied by the famous 
 gallery of portraits, which Richelieu had taken 
 care should comprise the best pictures that 
 could be procured of all the greatest characters 
 in French history. 
 
 The rest of the Palace was filled with various 
 suites of apartments, generally decorated and 
 furnished in the most sumptuous manner. 
 Great part of these the Cardinal reserved either 
 for public entertainments, or for his own private 
 use ; but what remained was nevertheless fully 
 large enough to contain that host of officers 
 and attendants by which he was usually sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 On the evening in question almost every part
 
 RICHELIEU. 221 
 
 of that immense building was thrown open to 
 receive the multitude that interest and fear ga- 
 thered round the powerful and vindictive Mi- 
 nister. Almost all that was gay, almost all that 
 was beautiful, had been assembled there. All 
 to whom wealth gave something to secure — all 
 to whom rank gave something to maintain — all 
 whom wit rendered anxious for distinction — all 
 whom talent prompted to ambition. Equally 
 those that Richelieu feared or loved, hated or 
 admired, were brought there by some means, 
 and for some reason. 
 
 The scene which met the eyes of De Blenau 
 and Chavigni, as they ascended the grand stair- 
 case and entered the saloon, can only be qua- 
 lified by the word princely. The blaze of 
 jewels, the glare of innumerable lights, the splen- 
 did dresses of the guests, and the magnificent 
 decorations of the apartments themselves, all 
 harmonized together, and formed a coup-d'ail 
 of surpassing brilliancy. 
 
 The rooms were full, but not crowded ; for 
 there were attendants stationed in various parts
 
 222 RICHELIEU. 
 
 for the purpose of requesting the visitors to pro- 
 ceed, whenever they observed too many collected 
 in one spot. Yet care was taken that those 
 who were thus treated with scant ceremony 
 should be of the inferior class admitted to the 
 Cardinal's fete. Each officer of the Minister's 
 household was well instructed to know the just 
 value of every guest, and how far he was to be 
 courted, either for his mind or influence. 
 
 To render to all the highest respect, was the 
 general order, but some were to be distinguished. 
 Care was also taken that none should be ne- 
 glected, and an infinite number of servants 
 were seen gliding through the apartments, of- 
 fering the most costly and delicate refreshments 
 to every individual of the mixed assembly. 
 
 De Blenau followed Chavigni through the 
 grand saloon, where many an eye was turned 
 upon the elegant and manly figure of him, who 
 on that night of splendour and finery, presumed 
 to show himself in a suit, rich indeed and well- 
 fashioned, but evidently intended more for the 
 sports of the morning than for the gay evening
 
 RiCHELIEU. 223 
 
 circle in which he then stood. Yet it was re- 
 marked, that none of the ladies drew back as 
 the Cavalier passed them, notwithstanding his 
 riding-dress and his dusty boots ; and one fair 
 demoiselle, whose rank would have sanctioned 
 it, had it been done on purpose, was unfor- 
 tunate enough to entangle her train on his 
 spurs. The Count de Coligni stepped forward 
 to disengage it, but De Blenau himself had al- 
 ready bent one knee to the ground, and easily 
 freeing the spur from the robe of Mademoiselle 
 de Bourbon, he remained for a moment in the 
 same attitude. " It is but just," said he, " that 
 1 should kneel, at once to repair my awkward- 
 ness, and sue for pardon." 
 
 " It was my sister's own fault, De Blenau,' 1 
 said the Duke d'Enghien, approaching them, 
 and embracing the young Count. u We have 
 not met, dear friend, since the rendering of Per- 
 pignan. But what makes you here ? Does 
 your proud spirit bend at last to ask a grace of 
 my Lord Uncle Cardinal V 
 
 " No, your Highness," replied De Blenau ;
 
 224 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " no farther grace have I to ask, than leave to 
 return to St. Germain's as soon as I may." 
 
 " What !" said the Duke, in the abrupt heed- 
 less manner in which he always spoke, " does 
 he threaten you too with that cursed bugbear 
 of a Bastille ? a bugbear, that makes one man 
 fly his country, and another betray it ; that 
 makes one man run his sword into his heart, 
 and another marry ;" — alluding without cere- 
 mony to his own compelled espousal of the Car- 
 dinars niece. " But there stands Chavigni," he 
 continued, " waiting for you, I suppose. Go 
 on, go on ; there is no stopping when once you 
 have got within the Cardinal's magic circle — Go 
 on, and God speed your suit ; for the sooner 
 you are out of that same circle the better/ ' 
 
 Quitting the young hero, who had already, 
 on more than one occasion, displayed that 
 valour and conduct which in after-years pro- 
 cured for him the immortal name of the Great 
 Conde, the Count de Blenau passed another 
 group, consisting of the beautiful Madame de 
 Montbazon and her avowed lover, the Duke of
 
 RICHELIEU. 225 
 
 Longueville, who soon after, notwithstanding 
 his unconcealed passion for another, became the 
 husband of Mademoiselle de Bourbon. For be 
 it remarked, in those days a bitter quarrel exist- 
 ed between Love and Marriage, and they were 
 seldom seen together in the same society. It is 
 said indeed, that in France, a coolness remains 
 between them to this day. Here also was the 
 Duke of Guise, who afterwards played so con- 
 spicuous a part in the revolution of Naples, 
 and by his singular adventures, his gallantry 
 and chivalrous courage, acquired the name of 
 I'Hero de la Fable, as Conde had been called 
 PHero de VHistoire. Still passing on, De 
 Blenau rejoined Chavigni, who waited for him 
 at the entrance of the next chamber. 
 
 It was the great hall of audience, and at the 
 farther extremity stood the Cardinal de Riche- 
 lieu himself, leaning for support against a gilt 
 railing, which defended from any injurious 
 touch the beautiful picture of Raphael, so well 
 known by the title of " La Belle Jardiniere. " 
 He was dressed in the long purple robes of his 
 l5
 
 226 RICHELIEU. 
 
 order, and wore the peculiar hat of a Cardinal ; 
 the bright colour of which made the deadly 
 hue of his complexion look still more ghastly. 
 But the paleness of his countenance, and a cer- 
 tain attenuation of feature, was all that could 
 be discerned of the illness from which he suf- 
 fered. The powerful mind within seemed to 
 conquer the feebleness of the body. His form 
 was erect and dignified, his eye beaming with 
 that piercing sagacity and haughty confidence 
 in his own powers, which so distinguished his 
 policy ; and his voice clear, deep, and firm, but 
 of that peculiar quality of sound, that it seemed 
 to spread all round, and to come no one knew 
 from whence, like the wind echoing through an 
 empty cavern. 
 
 It was long since De Blenau had seen the 
 Cardinal; and on entering the audience-chamber, 
 the sound of that voice made him start. Its 
 clear hollow tone seemed close to him, though 
 Richelieu was conversing with some of his im- 
 mediate friends at the farther end of the room. 
 
 As the two cavaliers advanced, De Blenau
 
 RICHELIEU. 227 
 
 had an opportunity of observing the manner in 
 which the Minister treated those around him : 
 but far from telling aught of dungeons and of 
 death, his conversation seemed cheerful, and his 
 demeanour mild and placid. u And can this 
 be the man," thought the Count, " the fabric of 
 whose power is cemented by blood and torture ?" 
 They had now approached within a few 
 paces of the spot where the Cardinal stood ; and 
 the figure of Chavigni catching his eye, he ad- 
 vanced a step, and received him with unaffected 
 kindness. Towards DeBlenau, his manner was 
 full of elegant politeness. He did not embrace 
 him as he had done Chavigni ; but he held him 
 by the hand for a moment, gazing on him with a 
 dignified approving smile. Those who did not 
 well know the heart of the subtle Minister, would 
 have called that smile benevolent, especially 
 when it was accompanied by many kind inqui- 
 ries respecting the young nobleman's views and 
 pursuits. De Blenau had been taught to judge 
 by actions, not professions ; and the Cardinal 
 had taken care to imprint his deeds too deeply
 
 228 RICHELIEU. 
 
 in the minds of men to be wiped out with soft 
 words. To dissemble was not De Blenau's forte; 
 and yet he knew, that to show a deceiver he 
 cannot deceive, is to make him an open enemy 
 for ever. He replied, therefore, calmly and 
 politely ; neither repulsed the Cardinal's ad- 
 vances, nor courted his regard; and after a 
 few more moments of desultory conversation, 
 prepared to pursue his way through the various 
 apartments. 
 
 w There are some men, Monsieur le Comte, 1 ' 
 said the Cardinal, seeing him about to pass on, 
 " whom I might have scrupled to invite to 
 such a scene as this, in their riding-dress. But 
 the Count de Blenau is not to be mistaken. ,, 
 
 " I felt no scruple," answered De Blenau, 
 " in presenting myself thus, when your Emi- 
 nence desired it; for the dress in which the 
 Cardinal de Richelieu thought fit to receive me, 
 could not be objected to by any of his circle.' 1 
 
 The Cardinal bowed ; and De Blenau add- 
 ing, that he would not intrude farther at that 
 moment, took his way through the suite of
 
 RICHELIEU. 229 
 
 apartments to Richelieu's left hand. Cha- 
 vigni was about to follow, but a sign from the 
 Cardinal stopped him, and the young Count 
 passed on alone. 
 
 Each of the various rooms he entered was 
 thronged with its own peculiar grouj s. In one, 
 was an assembly of famous artists and sculp- 
 tors ; in another, a close convocation of philo- 
 sophers, discussing a thousand absurd theories 
 of the day ; and in the last he came to, was a 
 buzzing hive of poets and beaux esprit s ; each 
 trying to distinguish himself, each jealous of 
 the other, and all equally vain and full of them- 
 selves. 
 
 In one corner was Scuderi, haranguing upon 
 the nature of tragedy, of which he knew no- 
 thing. In another place, Voiture, throwing off 
 little empty couplets and bon-mots, like a child 
 blowing bubbles from a tobacco-pipe; and far- 
 ther on was Rotrou, surrounded by a select 
 party more silent than the rest, to whom he 
 recited some of his unpublished poems, mark- 
 ing strongly the verse, and laying great em-
 
 230 RICHELIEU. 
 
 phasis upon the rhyme. De Blenau stopped for 
 a moment to listen while the poet proceeded : — 
 
 " L'aube desia se leve, et le mignard Zephire, 
 Parfumant l'horizon du doux air qu'il respire, 
 Va d'un son agreable esveiller les oiseaux 
 Pour saluer le jour qui paroist sur les eaux." 
 
 But though the verses he recited were highly 
 poetic, the extravagant affectation of his manner 
 soon neutralized their effect upon De Blenau ; 
 and passing on down a broad flight of steps, 
 De Blenau found himself in the gardens of the 
 Palace. These, as well as the whole front of the 
 building, were illuminated in every direction. 
 Bands of musicians were dispersed in the dif- 
 ferent walks, and a multitude of servants were 
 busily engaged in laying out tables for supper 
 with all the choicest viands of the season, and 
 in trimming the various lamps and tapers which 
 hung from the branches of the trees or were 
 displayed on fanciful frames of wood, so placed 
 as to give the fullest light to the banquets which 
 were situated near them. 
 
 Scattered about in various parts of the garden, 
 but more especially near the Palace, were dif-
 
 RICHELIEU. 231 
 
 ferent groups of gentlemen, all speaking of 
 plays, assemblies, or fetes, and all taking care 
 to make their conversation perfectly audible, 
 lest the jealous suspicion ever attendant on 
 usurped power, should attribute to them schemes 
 which, it is probable, fear alone prevented them 
 from attempting. 
 
 Nevertheless, the gardens, as we have said, 
 containing several acres of ground, there were 
 many parts comparatively deserted. It was to- 
 wards these more secluded spots that DeBlenau 
 directed his steps, wishing himself many a league 
 away from the Palais Cardinal and all its splen- 
 dour. Just as he had reached a part where few 
 persons were to be seen, some one struck him 
 slightly on the arm, and turning round, he per- 
 ceived a man who concealed the lower part of 
 his face with his cloak, and tendered him what 
 seemed to be a billet. 
 
 At the first glance De Blenau thought he 
 recognised the Count de Coligni, a reputed lover 
 of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, and imagined that 
 the little piece of gallantry he had shown that
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 lady on his first entrance, might have called 
 upon him the wrath of the jealous Coligni. But 
 no sooner had he taken the piece of paper, than 
 the other darted away amongst the trees, giving 
 him no time to observe more, either of his per- 
 son or his dress. 
 
 Approaching a spot where the number of 
 lamps gave him sufficient light to read, De Ble- 
 nau opened the note, which contained merely 
 these words. " Beware of Chavigni ; — they will 
 seek to draw something from you which may 
 criminate you hereafter." 
 
 As he read, De Blenau heard a light step ad- 
 vancing, and hastily concealing the note, turned 
 to see who approached. The only person near 
 was a lady, who had thrown a thick veil over 
 her head, which not only covered her face, but 
 the upper part of her figure. She passed close 
 by him, but without turning her head, or by 
 any other motion seeming to notice him ; but as 
 she did so, De Blenau heard a low voice from 
 under the veil, desiring him to follow. Gliding 
 on, without pausing for a moment, the lady led
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the way to the very extreme of the garden. De 
 Blenau followed quick upon her steps, and as 
 he did so, endeavoured to call to mind where he 
 had seen that graceful and dignified figure be- 
 fore. At length the lady stopped, looked round 
 for a moment, and raising her veil, discovered 
 the lovely countenance of Mademoiselle de 
 Bourbon. 
 
 u Monsieur de Blenau," said the Princess, 
 " I have but one moment to tell you, that the 
 Cardinal and Chavigni are plotting the ruin of 
 the Queen ; and they wish to force or persuade 
 you to betray her. After you had left the 
 Cardinal, by chance I heard it proposed to ar- 
 rest you even to-night ; but Chavigni said, that 
 he had given his word that you should return 
 to St. Germain's to-morrow. Take care, there- 
 fore, of your conduct while here, and if you 
 have any cause to fear, escape the moment you 
 are at liberty. Fly to Flanders, and place your- 
 self under the protection of Don Francisco de 
 Mello." 
 
 " I have to return your Highness a thousand
 
 234 RICHELIEU. 
 
 thanks," replied De Blenau ; " but as far as 
 innocence can give security, I have no reason 
 to fear." 
 
 " Innocence is nothing here," rejoined the lady. 
 " But you are the best judge, Monsieur de Ble- 
 nau. I sent Coligni to warn you, and taking 
 an opportunity of escaping from the supper- 
 table, came to request that you will offer my 
 humble duty to the Queen, and assure her that 
 Marie de Bourbon is ever hers. But here is 
 some one coming — Good God, it is Chavigni !" 
 
 As she spoke, Chavigni came rapidly upon 
 them. Mademoiselle de Bourbon drew down 
 her veil, and De Blenau placed himself between 
 her and the Statesman, who, affecting an excess 
 of gaiety, totally foreign to his natural cha- 
 racter, began to rally the Count upon what he 
 termed his gallantry. " So, Monsieur de Ble- 
 nau," cried he, " already paying your devoirs 
 to our Parisian dames. Nay, I must offer my 
 compliments to your fair lady on her conquest ;" 
 and he endeavoured to pass the Count towards 
 Mademoiselle de Bourbon.
 
 RICHELIEU. 235 
 
 De Blenau drew his sword. " Stand off, 
 Sir," exclaimed he, u or by Heaven you are a 
 dead man V And the point came flashing so near 
 Chavigni's breast, that he was fain to start back 
 a step or two. The lady seized the opportunity 
 to pass him, for the palisade of the garden had 
 prevented her escaping the other way. Cha- 
 vigni attempted to follow, but De Blenau caught 
 his arm, and held him with a grasp of iron. 
 
 " Not one step, Sir f cried he. " Monsieur 
 de Chavigni, you have strangely forgot your- 
 self. How is it you presume, Sir, to interrupt 
 my conversation with any one ? And let me 
 ask, what affair it is of yours, if a lady chose to 
 give me five minutes of her company even 
 here ! You have slackened your gallantry not 
 a little." 
 
 " But was the Cardinal's garden a place fitted 
 for such love stories ?" demanded Chavigni, 
 feeling, at the same time, very sure that the 
 conversation he had interrupted had not been 
 of love ; for in those days politics and faction 
 divided the heart of a Frenchwoman with gal-
 
 236 RICHELIEU. 
 
 lantry, and, instead of quarrelling for the em- 
 pire of her breast, these apparently opposite 
 passions went hand in hand together ; and ex- 
 empt from the more serious dangers incurred 
 by the other sex in similar enterprises, women 
 were often the most active agents and zealous 
 partisans in the factions and conspiracies of the 
 times. 
 
 It had been Chavigni's determination, on ac- 
 companying De Blenau to the Palais Cardinal, 
 not to lose sight of his companion for a moment, 
 in order that no communication might take 
 place between him and any of the Queen's party 
 till such time as the Cardinal had personally 
 interrogated him concerning the correspondence 
 which they supposed that Anne of Austria 
 carried on with her brother, Philip of Spain. 
 Chavigni, however, had been stopped, as we 
 have seen, by the Cardinal himself, and detained 
 for some time in conversation, the principal 
 object of which was, the Count de Blenau him- 
 self, and the means of either persuading him by 
 favour, or of driving him by fear, not only to
 
 RICHELIEU. 237 
 
 abandon, but to betray the party he had es- 
 poused. The Cardinal thought ambition would 
 do all ; Chavigni said that it would not move 
 De Blenau ; and thus the discussion was con- 
 siderably prolonged. 
 
 As soon as Chavigni could liberate himself, 
 he had hastened after the Count, and found 
 him as we have described. To have ascertained 
 who was his companion, Chavigni would have 
 risked his life ; but now that she had escaped 
 him, the matter was past recall ; and willing 
 again to throw De Blenau off his guard, he made 
 some excuses for his intrusion, saying he had 
 thought that the lady was not unknown to 
 him. 
 
 " Well, well, let it drop," replied De Ble- 
 nau, fully more desirous of avoiding farther 
 inquiries than Chavigni was of relinquishing 
 them. " But the next time you come across 
 me on such an occasion, beware of your heart's 
 blood, Monsieur de Chavigni." And thus say- 
 ing, he thrust back his sword into the scab- 
 bard.
 
 238 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Chavigni, however, was resolved not to lose 
 sight of him again, and passing his arm through 
 that of the Count, " You are still too hot, 
 Monsieur de Blenau," said he ; " but never- 
 theless let us be friends again ." 
 
 " As far as we ever were friends, Sir," replied 
 De Blenau. " The open difference of our prin- 
 ciples in every respect, must always prevent our 
 greatly assimilating.*" 
 
 Chavigni, however, kept to his purpose, and 
 did not withdraw his arm from that of De 
 Blenau, nor quit him again during the whole 
 evening. 
 
 Whether the Statesman suspected Mademoi- 
 selle de Bourbon or not, matters little ; but on 
 entering the banquet-room, where the principal 
 guests were preparing to take their seats, they 
 passed that lady with her brother and the 
 Count de Coligni, and the eye of Chavigni 
 glanced from the countenance of De Blenau to 
 hers. But they were both upon their guard, 
 and not a look betrayed that they had met
 
 RICHELIEU. 239 
 
 since De Blenau's spur had been entangled in 
 her train. 
 
 At that moment the Master of the ceremonies 
 exclaimed with a loud voice, " Place au Comte 
 de Blenau," and was conducting him to a seat 
 higher than his rank entitled him to take, when 
 his eye fell upon the old Marquis de Brion ; and 
 with the deference due not only to his station 
 but to his high military renown, De Blenau 
 drew back to give him precedence. 
 
 " Go on, go on, mon cher De Blenau" said 
 the old soldier ; and lowering his voice to a 
 whisper, he added, " honest men like you and I 
 are all out of place here ; so go on, and never 
 mind. If it were in the field, we would strive 
 which should be first ; but here there is no 
 knowing which end of the table is most honour- 
 able.* 
 
 " Wherever it were, I should always be 
 happy to follow Monsieur de Brion," replied 
 De Blenau ; " but as you will have it, so let it 
 be." And following the Master of the ceremonies,
 
 240 RICHELIEU. 
 
 he was soon placed amongst the most distin- 
 guished guests, and within four or five seats of 
 the Cardinal. Like the spot before a heathen 
 altar, it was always the place either of honour 
 or sacrifice ; and De Blenau scarcely knew which 
 was to be his fate. At all events, the distinc- 
 tion which he met with, was by no means pleas- 
 ing to him, and he remained in silence during 
 greater part of the banquet. 
 
 Every thing in the vast hall where they sat 
 was magnificent beyond description. It was 
 like one of those scenes in fairy romance, where 
 supernatural powers lend their aid to dignify 
 some human festival. All the apartment was 
 as fully illuminated as if the broad sun had 
 shone into it in his fullest splendour ; yet not 
 a single light was to be seen. Soft sounds of 
 music also occasionally floated through the air, 
 but never so loud as to interrupt the con- 
 versation. 
 
 At the table all was glitter, and splendour, 
 and luxury ; and from the higher end at which 
 De Blenau sat, the long perspective of the hall,
 
 RICHELIEU. 241 
 
 decked out with all a mighty kingdom's wealth 
 and crowded with the gay, the bright, and the 
 fair, offered an interminable view of beauty and 
 magnificence. 
 
 I might describe the passing of the banquet, 
 and the bright smiles that were given, and the 
 bright things that were said. I might enlarge 
 upon the crowd of domestics, the activity of the 
 seneschals and officers, and tell of the splendour 
 of the decorations. I might even introduce the 
 famous court fool, L'Angeli, who stood behind 
 the chair of his young lord the Duke d'Enghien. 
 But no — a master's hand has given to the 
 world so many splendid pictures of such scenes, 
 that mine would seem but a feeble imitation. 
 Let such things rest with Scott, whose magic 
 wand has had power to call up the spirit of the 
 past with as much truth, as if it were again 
 substantially in being. 
 
 To pursue our theme, however. The Cardi- 
 nal de Richelieu, who held in his hand the fate 
 of all who sat around him, yielded to his guests 
 the most marked attention, treating them with 
 
 vol. I. M
 
 242 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the profound humility of great pride ; trying 
 to quell the fire of his eye, till it should be- 
 come nothing but affability ; and to soften the 
 deep tones of his voice, from the accent of com- 
 mand to an expression of gentle courtesy ; but 
 notwithstanding all his efforts, a degree of that 
 haughtiness with which the long habit of des- 
 potic rule had tinged his manners, would occa- 
 sionally appear, and still show that it was the 
 lord entertaining his vassals. His demeanour 
 towards De Blenau, however, was all suavity 
 and kindness. He addressed him several times 
 in the most marked manner during the course 
 of the banquet, and listened to his reply with 
 one of those approving smiles, so sweet upon 
 the lips of power. 
 
 De Blenau was not to be deceived, it is true. 
 Yet though he knew that kindness to be as- 
 sumed on purpose to betray, and the smile to 
 be as false as Hell, there was a fascination in 
 the distinction shown him, against which he 
 could not wholly guard his heart. His brow 
 unbent of its frown, and he entered into the
 
 RICHELIEU. 243 
 
 gay conversation which was going on around ; 
 but at that moment he observed the Cardinal 
 glance his eye towards Chavigni with a mean- 
 ing smile. 
 
 De Blenau marked it. " So,'"* thought he, 
 " my Lord Cardinal, you deem me your own." 
 And as the guests rose, De Blenau took his 
 leave, and returned with Chavigni to the 
 Place Rovale. 
 
 M *
 
 244 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Containing a Conference, which ends much as it began. 
 
 The music of the Cardinal's fete rang in 
 De Blenau's ears all night, and the lights danced 
 in his eyes, and the various guests flitted be- 
 fore his imagination, like the figures in some 
 great phantasmagoria. One time he seemed 
 wandering in the gardens with Pauline de 
 Beaumont, and offering up all the dearest trea- 
 sures of his heart, when suddenly the lady 
 raised her veil, and it was Mademoiselle de 
 Bourbon. Then again he was seated on the 
 Cardinal's right hand, who poured out for him 
 a cup of wine : he raised it to his lips, and 
 was about to drink, when some one dashed it
 
 RICHELIEU. 245 
 
 from his hand, exclaiming, " It is poison !" 
 then, turning round to see who had thus in- 
 terposed, he beheld a figure without a head, 
 and the overthrown cup poured forth a stream 
 of blood. The next moment it was all the 
 Cardinal's funeral, and the fool L'Angeli ap- 
 peared as chief mourner. At length, however, 
 towards the approach of morning, the uneasy 
 visions died away, and left him in deep sleep, 
 from which he rose refreshed, and prepared to 
 encounter the events of a new day. 
 
 Alas ! that man should still rise to sorrow 
 and to danger, and that the kindest gift of 
 Heaven should be the temporary forgetfulness 
 of existence. Sorrow ! how is it that thy coarse 
 thread is so intimately mingled with the web of 
 life, that he who would tear thee out must rend 
 the whole fabric ? Oh life, thou long sad 
 dream ! when shall we rise from all thy phantom 
 agonies to that bright waking which we fondly 
 hope? 
 
 De Blenau prepared his mind, as a man arm- 
 ing for a battle ; and sent to notify to Chavigni,
 
 246 RICHELIEU. 
 
 that he was about to visit the Cardinal. In a 
 few minutes after, the Statesman himself ap- 
 peared, and courteously conducted the young 
 Count to his horse, but did not offer to accom- 
 pany him to the Minister. " Monsieur de 
 Blenau," said he, " it is better you should go 
 alone. After your audience, you will doubt- 
 less be in haste to return to St. Germain's ; but if 
 you will remain to take your noon meal at my 
 poor table, I shall esteem myself honoured.''' 
 
 De Blenau thanked him for his courtesy, but 
 declined, stating that he was anxious to return 
 home before night, if he were permitted to do 
 so at all. " My word is passed for your safety ," 
 replied Chavigni ; " so have no doubt on that 
 head. But take my counsel, Monsieur le 
 Comte : moderate your proud bearing towards 
 the Cardinal. Those who play with a lion, 
 must take good care not to irritate him." 
 
 On arriving at the Palais Cardinal, De Ble- 
 nau left his attendants in the outer court, and 
 following an officer of the household, proceeded 
 through a long suite of apartments to a large
 
 RICHELIEU. 247 
 
 saloon, where he found several others waiting 
 the leisure of the Minister, who was at that 
 moment engaged in conference with the Ambas- 
 sador from Sweden. 
 
 De Blenaus own feelings were not of the 
 most comfortable nature ; but on looking round 
 the room, he guessed, from the faces of all those 
 with whom it was tenanted, that such sensations 
 were but too common there. One had placed 
 himself at a window, and gazed upon the stones 
 of the court-yard with as much earnestness as 
 if they had inspired him with the deepest inte- 
 rest. Another walked up and down his own 
 corner with irregular steps and downcast 
 look. Another leaned back in his seat, with 
 his chin resting on his breast, and regarded in- 
 tently a door in the other side of the saloon. 
 And another sat bending his hat into so many 
 shapes, that he left it, in the end, of no shape at 
 all. But all were marked, by the knitted brow 
 and anxious eye, for men whose fate was hang- 
 ing on the breath of another. 
 
 There was nothing consolatory in their looks,
 
 £48 RICHELIEU. 
 
 and De Blenau turned to the portraits which 
 covered the walls of the saloon. The first that 
 his eye fell upon was that of the famous Mont- 
 morency. He was represented as armed in 
 steel, with the head uncovered ; and from his 
 apparent age it seemed that the picture had not 
 been painted long before the unfortunate con- 
 spiracy, which, by its failure, brought him to 
 the scaffold. There was also an expression of 
 grave sadness in the countenance, as if he had 
 presaged his approaching fate. De Blenau 
 turned to another; but it so happened that each 
 picture in the room represented some one of the 
 rr^any whom Richelieu's unsparing vengeance 
 had overtaken. Whether they were placed in 
 that waiting-room in order to overawe those 
 whom the Minister wished to intimidate; or 
 whether it was that the famous gallery, which 
 the Cardinal had filled with portraits of all the 
 principal historical characters of France, would 
 contain no more, and that in consequence the 
 pictures of the later dates had been placed in 
 this saloon, without any deeper intent, matters
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 not ; but at all events they offered no very plea- 
 sant subject of contemplation. 
 
 De Blenau, however, was not long kept in 
 suspense; for, in a few minutes, the door on 
 the other side of the room opened, and the 
 Swedish Ambassador passed out. The door 
 shut behind him, but in a moment after an 
 attendant entered, and although several others 
 had been waiting before him, De Blenau was the 
 first summoned to the presence of the Cardinal. 
 
 He could not help feeling as if he wronged 
 those he left still in doubt as to their fate : 
 but following the officer through an ante-room, 
 he entered the audience closet, and immedi- 
 ately perceived Richelieu seated at a table, 
 over which were strewed a multitude of papers 
 of different dimensions, some of which he was 
 busily engaged in examining; — reading them he 
 was not, for his eye glanced so rapidly over 
 their contents, that his knowledge of each could 
 be but general. He paused for a moment as 
 "De Blenau entered, bowed his head, pointed to 
 a seat, and resumed his employment. When 
 M 5
 
 250 RICHELIEU. 
 
 he had done, he signed the papers, and gave 
 them to a dulHooking personage, in a black silk 
 pourpoint, who stood behind his chair. 
 
 " Take these three death-warrants," said he, 
 " to Monsieur Lafemas, and then these others 
 to Poterie at the Bastille. But no— stop," he 
 continued after a moment's thought ; " you had 
 better go to the Bastille first, for Poterie can 
 put Caply to the torture, while you are gone to 
 Lafemas ; and you can bring me back his con- 
 fession as you return. 1 ' 
 
 De Blenau shuddered at the sang froid with 
 which the Minister commanded those things that 
 make one's blood curdle even to imagine. But 
 the attendant was practised in such commis- 
 sions^; and taking the packets, as a mere matter 
 of course, he bowed in silence, and disappearing 
 by a door on the other side, left De Blenau alone 
 with the Cardinal. 
 
 " Well, Monsieur de Blenau," said Richelieu, 
 looking up with a frank smile, " your pardon for 
 having detained you. There are many things 
 upon which I have long wished to speak to you,
 
 RICHELIEU. 251 
 
 and this caused me to desire your company. 
 But I have no doubt that we shall part perfectly 
 satisfied with each other." 
 
 The Cardinal paused, as if for a reply. " I 
 hope so too, my Lord,' 1 said De Blenau. " I can, 
 of course, have no cause to be dissatisfied with 
 your Eminence ; and for my own part, I feel my 
 bosom to be clear. 1 ' 
 
 " I doubt it not, Monsieur le Comtek re- 
 plied the Minister, with a gracious inclination of 
 the head — " I doubt it not ; I know your spirit 
 to be too frank and noble to mingle in petty 
 faction and treasonable cabal. No one more 
 admires your brave and independent bearing 
 than myself. You must remember that I have 
 marked you from your youth. You have been 
 educated, as it were, under my own eye ; and 
 were it now necessary to trust the welfare of 
 the State to the honour of any one man, I would 
 confide it to the honour of De Blenau/' 
 
 " To what, in the name of Heaven, can this 
 lead ?" thought De Blenau ; but he bowed with- 
 out reply, and the Cardinal proceeded.
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " I have, for some time past," he continued, 
 " been thinking of placing you in one of those 
 high stations, to which your rank and considera- 
 tion entitle you to aspire. At present, none are 
 vacant ; but as a forerunner to such advance- 
 ment, I propose to call you to the Council, and 
 to give you the government of Poitou." 
 
 De Blenau was now, indeed, astonished. The 
 Cardinal was not a man to jest : and yet what he 
 proposed, as a mere preliminary, was an offer 
 that the first noble in France might have ac- 
 cepted with gladness. The Count was about 
 to speak. But Richelieu paused only for a mo- 
 ment, to observe the effect of what he said upon 
 his auditor ; and perhaps over-rating the ambi- 
 tion of De Blenau, he proceeded more boldly. 
 
 " I do not pretend to say, notwithstanding 
 my sense of your high merit, and my almost 
 parental feelings towards you, that I am wholly 
 moved to this by my individual regard ; but the 
 truth is, that the State requires, at this moment, 
 the services of one, who joins to high talents 
 a thorough knowledge of the affairs of Spain,"
 
 RICHELIEU. 253 
 
 " So!" thought De Blenau, " I have it now. 
 The government of Poitou, and a seat at the 
 Council, provided I betray the Queen and sell 
 my own honour." Richelieu seemed to wait an 
 answer, and De Blenau replied : " If your Emi- 
 nence means to attribute such knowledge to me, 
 some one must have greatly misled you. I pos- 
 sess no information on the affairs of Spain what- 
 ever, except from the common reports and 
 journals of the time." 
 
 This reply did not seem to affect Richelieu's 
 intentions. " Well, well, Monsieur de Blenau," 
 said he, with a smile, " you will take your seat 
 at the Council, and will, of course, as a good 
 subject and an honourable man, communicate 
 to us whatever information you possess, on 
 those points which concern the good of the 
 State. We do not expect all at once; and 
 every thing shall be done to smooth your way, 
 and facilitate your views. Then, perhaps, if 
 Richelieu live to execute the plans he has 
 formed, you, Monsieur de Blenau, following his 
 path, and sharing his confidence, may be ready
 
 254 RICHELIEU. 
 
 to take his place, when death shall at length 
 call him from it." 
 
 The Cardinal counted somewhat too much on 
 De Blenau's ambition, and not sufficiently on 
 his knowledge of the world ; and imagining that 
 he had, the evening before, discovered the weak 
 point in the character of the young Count, he 
 thought to lead him to any thing, by holding 
 out to him extravagant prospects of future 
 greatness. The dish, however, was somewhat 
 too highly flavoured ; and De Blenau replied, 
 with a smile, — 
 
 ■* Your Eminence is exceeding good to think 
 at all of me, in the vast and more important 
 projects which occupy your mind. But, alas ! 
 my Lord, De Blenau would prove but a poor 
 successor to Richelieu.— No, my Lord Car- 
 dinal," he continued, " I have no ambition ; 
 that is a passion which should be reserved for 
 such great and comprehensive minds as yours. 
 I am contented as I am. High stations are 
 always stations of danger." 
 
 " I had heard that the Count de Blenau was
 
 RICHELIEU. 255 
 
 no way fearful, 1 ' said Richelieu, fixing on him a 
 keen and almost scornful glance. " Was the 
 report a mistake? or is it lately he has become 
 afraid of danger F" 
 
 De Blenau was piqued, and lost temper. " Of 
 personal danger, my Lord, I am never afraid," 
 replied he. "But when along with risk to my- 
 self is involved danger to my friends, danger to 
 my country, danger to my honour, and danger to 
 my soul," and he returned the Cardinal's glance 
 full as proudly as it had been given, " then, 
 my Lord Cardinal, I would say, it were no 
 cowardice, but true courage to fly from such 
 peril — unless," he added, remembering the 
 folly of opposing the irritable and unscrupulous 
 Minister, and thinking that his words had, per- 
 haps, been already too warm — u unless, indeed, 
 one felt within one's breast the mind of a Riche- 
 lieu." 
 
 While De Blenau spoke, the Cardinal's brow 
 knitted into a frown. A flush too came over 
 his cheek ; and untying the ribbon which 
 served as a fastening, he took off the velvet cap
 
 256 RICHELIEU. 
 
 he generally wore, as if to give himself air. He 
 heard him, however, to the end, and then an- 
 swered drily, " You speak well, Monsieur de 
 Blenau, and, I doubt not, feel what you say. 
 But am I to understand you, that you refuse to 
 aid us at the Council with your information and 
 advice ?" 
 
 " So far, your Eminence is right," replied the 
 Count, who saw that the storm was now about 
 to break upon his head ; " I must, indeed, de- 
 cline the honours which you offer with so boun- 
 tiful a hand. But do not suppose that I do so 
 from unwillingness to yield you any informa- 
 tion ; for, truly, I have none to give. I have 
 never meddled with politics. I have never 
 turned my attention to State affairs ; and there- 
 fore still less could I yield you any advice. 
 Your Eminence would be woefully disappointed, 
 when you expected to find a man well ac- 
 quainted with the arts of government, and deep 
 read in the designs of foreign states, to meet with 
 one, whose best knowledge is to range a batta- 
 lion, or to pierce a boar ; a soldier, and not a
 
 RICHELIEU. 257 
 
 diplomatist ; a hunter, and not a statesman. 
 And as to the government of Poitou, my Lord, 
 its only good would be the emolument, and al- 
 ready my revenues are far more than adequate 
 to my wants." 
 
 " You refuse my kindness, Sir," replied the 
 Cardinal, with an air of deep determined haugh- 
 tiness, very different from the urbanity with 
 which he had at first received De Blenau ; " I 
 must now speak to you in another tone. And 
 let me warn you to beware of what you say ; 
 for be assured, that I already possess sufficient 
 information to confound you if you should 
 prevaricate." 
 
 " My Lord Cardinal," replied De Blenau, 
 somewhat hastily, " I am not accustomed to 
 prevaricate. Ask any questions you please, 
 and, so long as my honour and my duty go with 
 them, I will answer you." 
 
 " Then there are questions," said the Cardi- 
 nal, " that you would think against your duty 
 to answer ?" 
 
 " I said not so, your Eminence," replied De
 
 258 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Blenau. " In the examination I find I am to 
 undergo, give my words their full meaning, if 
 you please, but no more than their meaning." 
 
 " Well then, Sir, answer me as a man of 
 honour and a French noble," said the Cardinal — 
 " Are you not aware of a correspondence that 
 has been, and is now, carried on between Anne 
 of Austria and Don Francisco de Mello, Gover- 
 nor of the Low Countries ?" 
 
 * I know not whom you mean, Sir, by Anne 
 of Austria," replied De Blenau. " If it be her 
 Majesty, your Queen and mine, that you so 
 designate, I reply at once that I know of no 
 such correspondence, nor do I believe that it 
 exists." 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Monsieur de Blenau," 
 demanded the Cardinal, fixing his keen sunken 
 eyes upon the young Count with that basilisk 
 glance for which he was famous — " Do you 
 mean to say, that you yourself have not for- 
 warded letters from the Queen to Madame de 
 Chevreuse, and Don Francisco de Mello, by a 
 private channel ? — Pause, Monsieur de Blenau,
 
 
 RICHELIEU. 259 
 
 before you answer, and be well assured that I 
 am acquainted with every particular of your 
 conduct."" 
 
 " Your Eminence is, no doubt, acquainted 
 with much more intricate subjects than any of 
 my actions," replied the Count. " With regard 
 to Madame de Chevreuse, her Majesty has no 
 need to conceal a correspondence with her, which 
 has been fully permitted and sanctioned, both 
 by your Eminence and the still higher authority 
 of the King ; and I may add, that to my certain 
 knowledge, letters have gone to that lady by 
 your own courier. On the other point, I have 
 answered already ; and have only to say once 
 more, that I know of no such correspondence, 
 nor would I, assuredly, lend myself to any such 
 measures; which I should conceive to be trea- 
 sonable." 
 
 " I have always hitherto supposed you to be 
 a man of honour, " said the Cardinal coolly ; 
 " but what must I conceive now, Monsieur le 
 Comte, when I tell you that I have those very 
 letters in my possession ?"
 
 260 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " You may conceive what you please, Sir," 
 replied De Blenau, giving way to his indigna- 
 tion ; " but I will dare any man to lay before 
 me a letter from her Majesty to the person you 
 mention, which has passed through the hands of 
 De Blenau." 
 
 The Cardinal did not reply, but opening an 
 ebony cabinet, which stood on his right hand, 
 he took from one of the compartments a small 
 bundle of papers, from which he selected one, 
 and laid it on the table before the Count, who 
 had hitherto looked on with no small wonder 
 and expectation. " Do you know that writing, 
 Sir ?" demanded the Cardinal, still keeping his 
 hand upon the paper, in such a manner as to 
 allow only a word or two to be visible. 
 
 De Blenau examined the line which the Car- 
 dinal suffered to appear, and replied — '* From 
 what little I can see, I should imagine it to be 
 the hand-writing of her Majesty. But that 
 does not show that I have any thing to do 
 with it." 
 
 " Put there is that in it which does," an-
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 261 
 
 swered Richelieu, folding down a line or two of 
 the letter, and pointing out to the Count a 
 sentence which said, " This will be conveyed 
 to you by the Count de BJenau, who you know 
 never fails." 
 
 " Now, Sir F continued the Cardinal, " once 
 more let me advise you to give me all you pos- 
 sess upon this subject. From a feeling of per- 
 sonal regard, I have had too much patience 
 with you already." 
 
 " All I can reply to your Eminence,' 1 an- 
 swered the Count, not a little embarrassed, " is, 
 that no letter whatever has been conveyed by 
 me, knowingly, to the Governor of the Low 
 Countries." 
 
 De Blenau's eyes naturally fixed on the pa- 
 per, which still lay on the table, and from which 
 the Cardinal had by this time withdrawn his 
 hand ; and feeling that both life and honour 
 depended upon that document, he resolved to 
 ascertain its authenticity, of which he enter- 
 tained some doubt. 
 
 " Stop," said he hastily, " let me look at the
 
 262 RICHELIEU. 
 
 super scription," and before Richelieu could re_ 
 ply, he had raised it from the table and turned 
 to the address. One glance was enough to 
 satisfy him, and he returned it to the Cardinal 
 with a cool and meaning smile, repeating the 
 words — c< To Madame de Chevreuse." 
 
 At first the Cardinal had instinctively stretch- 
 ed out his hand to stop De Blenau in his pur- 
 pose, but he instantly recovered himself, nor 
 did his countenance betray the least change of 
 feeling. "Well, Sir," replied he, "you said 
 that you would dare any one to lay before you 
 a letter from the Queen to the person I men- 
 tioned. Did I not mention Madame de Chev- 
 reuse, and is not there the letter ?" 
 
 " Your Eminence has mistaken me," replied 
 De Blenau, bowing his head, and smiling at the 
 Minister's art ; "I meant, Don Francisco de 
 Mello. I had answered what you said in re- 
 gard to Madame de Chevreuse, before." 
 
 " I did mistake you then, Sir," said the 
 Cardinal ; u but it was from the ambiguity of 
 your own words. However, passing over your
 
 RICHELIEU. 263 
 
 boldness, in raising that letter without my per- 
 mission ; I will show you that I know more of 
 your proceedings than you suspect. I will tell 
 you the very terms of the message you sent to 
 the Queen, after you were wounded in the 
 wood of Mantes, conveying to her, that you 
 had not lost the packet with which you were 
 charged. Did not Seguin tell her, on your 
 part, that though the wound was in your side, 
 your heart was not injured ?" 
 
 " I dare say he did, my Lord,' 1 replied De 
 Blenau, coolly ; " and the event has proved 
 that he was quite right, for your Eminence must 
 perceive that I am quite recovered, which, of 
 course, coukl not have been the case, had any 
 vital part been hurt. But I hope, your Emi- 
 nence, that there is no offence, in your eyes, 
 either in having sent the Queen, my mistress, 
 an account of my health, or in having escaped 
 the attack of assassins." 
 
 A slight flush passed over Richelieu's cheek. 
 " You may chance to fall into less scrupulous 
 hands than even their's," replied he. " I am
 
 264 RICHELIEU. 
 
 certainly informed, Sir, that you, on the part 
 of the Queen, have been carrying on a treason 
 able intercourse with Spain — a country at war 
 with France, to whose crown you are a born 
 subject and vassal ; and I have to tell you, that 
 the punishment of such a crime is death. Yes, 
 Sir, you may knit your brow. But no consi- 
 deration shall stay me from visiting, with the 
 full severity of the law, such as do so offend ; 
 and though the information I want be but small, 
 depend upon it, I shall not hesitate to employ 
 the most powerful means to wring it from you." 
 De Blenau had no difficulty in comprehend- 
 ing the nature of those means, to which the 
 Cardinal alluded ; but his mind was made up to 
 suffer the worst. " My Lord Cardinal,''' re- 
 plied he, " what your intentions are, I know 
 not ; but be sure, that to whatever extremes 
 you may go, you c^n wring nothing from 
 me but what you have already heard. I once 
 more assure you, that I know of no treasonable 
 correspondence whatsoever; and firm in my own
 
 RICHELIEU. 265 
 
 innocence, I equally despise all attempts to 
 bribe or to intimidate me. 1 ' 
 
 " Sir, you are insolent !" replied the Cardinal 
 rising: " Use no such language to me ! — Are 
 you not an insect I can sweep from my path in 
 an instant ? Ho, a guard there without ! We 
 shall soon see, whether you know aught of Phi- 
 lip of Spain. " 
 
 Had the Cardinal's glance been directed to- 
 wards De Blenau, he would have seen, that at 
 the name of Philip of Spain, a degree of pale- 
 ness came over his cheek ; but another object 
 had caught Richelieu's eye, and he did not ob- 
 serve it. It was the entrance of the attendant 
 whom he had despatched with the death-war- 
 rants, which now drew his notice; and well 
 pleased to show De Blenau the dreadful means 
 he so unscrupulously employed to extort con- 
 fession from those he suspected, he eagerly de- 
 manded, " What news ?" 
 
 " May it please your Eminence," said the 
 attendant, " Caply died under the torture. In 
 
 vol. I. N
 
 %66 RICHELIEU. 
 
 truth, it was soon over with him, for he did not 
 bear it above ten minutes."" 
 
 " But the confession, the confession !" ex- 
 claimed Richelieu. " Where is the proces 
 verbal?" 
 
 " He made no confession, Sir,'" replied the 
 man. " He protested, to the last, his inno- 
 cence, and that he knew nothing." 
 
 " Pshaw !" said Richelieu ; " they let him 
 die too soon ; they should have given him wine 
 to keep him up. Foolish idiot," he continued, 
 as if meditating over the death of his victim ; 
 " had he but told what he was commanded, he 
 would have saved himself from a death of hor- 
 ror. Such is the meed of obstinacy." 
 
 " Such," thought De Blenau, " is, unhap- 
 pily, often the reward of firmness and integrity. 
 But such a death is honourable in itself." 
 
 No one could better read in the face what was 
 passing in the mind than Richelieu, and it is pro- 
 bable that he easily saw in the countenance of 
 De Blenau, the feelings excited by what had just 
 passed. He remembered also the promise given
 
 RICHELIEU. 267 
 
 by Chavigni ; and if, when he called the Guard, 
 he had ever seriously proposed to arrest De 
 Blenau, he abandoned his intention for the mo- 
 ment. Not that the high tone of the young 
 Count's language was either unfelt, or forgiven, 
 for Richelieu never pardoned ; but it was as 
 easy to arrest De Blenau at St. Germain's as in 
 Paris ; and the wily Minister calculated, that by 
 giving him a little liberty, and throwing him off 
 his guard, he might be tempted to do those 
 things which would put him more completely 
 in the power of the government, and give the 
 means of punishing him for his pride and ob- 
 stinacy, as it was internally termed by a man 
 long unaccustomed to any opposition. 
 
 De Blenau was principally obnoxious to the 
 Cardinal, as the confidant of the Queen, and 
 from being the chief of her adherents both 
 by his rank, wealth, and reputation. Anne of 
 Austria having now become the only apparent 
 object which could cloud the sky of Riche- 
 lieu's political power, he had resolved either 
 to destroy her, by driving her to some crimi- 
 N 2
 
 268 RICHELIEU. 
 
 nal act, or so to entangle her in his snares, 
 vs to reduce her to become a mere instru- 
 ment in his hands and for his purposes. To 
 arrest De Blenau would put the Queen upon 
 her guard ; and therefore, the Minister, with- 
 out hesitation, resolved to dissemble his re- 
 sentment, and allow the Count to depart in 
 peace ; reserving for another time the venge- 
 ance he had determined should overtake him at 
 last. Nor was his dissembling of that weak na- 
 ture which those employ, who have all the will 
 to deceive, without the art of deceiving. 
 
 Richelieu walked rapidly up and down the 
 closet for a moment, as if striving to repress 
 some strong emotion, then stopped, and turning 
 to De Blenau with some frankness of manner, 
 " Monsieur le Comte," said he, " I will own 
 that you have heated me, — perhaps I have 
 given way to it too much. But you ought to 
 be more careful of your words, Sir, and remem- 
 ber that with men whose power you cannot re- 
 sist, it is sometimes dangerous even to be in the 
 right, much more to make them feel it rudely.
 
 RICHELIEU. 269 
 
 However, it is all past, and I will now detain 
 you no longer ; trusting to your word, that the 
 information which I have received, is without 
 foundation. Let me only add, that you might 
 have raised yourself this day to a height which 
 few men in France would not struggle to at- 
 tain. But that is past also, and may, perhaps, 
 never return." 
 
 "I am most grateful, believe me," replied De 
 Blenau, " for all the favours your Eminence in- 
 tended me ; and I have no doubt, that you will 
 soon find some other person, on whom to be- 
 stow them, much more worthy of them than 
 myself." 
 
 Richelieu bowed low, and fixed his eyes upon 
 the Count without reply — a signal that the 
 audience was over, which was not lost upon 
 De Blenau, who very gladly took his leave of 
 the Minister, hoping most devoutly never to see 
 his face again. The ambiguity of his last sen- 
 tence, however, had not escaped the Cardinal. 
 
 " So, Monsieur de Blenau !" said he, as soon 
 as the Count had left him, " you can make
 
 270 RICHELIEU. 
 
 speeches with a double meaning also ! Can you 
 so ? You may rue it though, for I will find 
 means to bend your proud spirit, or to break 
 it ; and that before three days be over. Is every 
 thing prepared for my passage to Chantilly ?" 
 he continued, turning to the attendant. 
 
 " All is prepared, please your Eminence, 11 re- 
 plied the man ; " and as I passed, I saw Mon- 
 sieur de Chavigni getting into his chaise to set 
 out. 11 
 
 " We v/ill let him be an hour or two in 
 advance," said the Cardinal. " Send in the 
 Marquis de Goumont ;" and he again applied 
 himself to other affairs.
 
 RICHELIEU. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 '• An entire new comedy, with new scenery, dresses, and 
 decorations." 
 
 The little village of Mesnil St. Loup, all 
 insignificant as it is, was at the time of my tale 
 a place of even less consequence than it appears 
 now-a-days, when nine people out of ten have 
 scarcely ever heard of its existence. 
 
 It was, nevertheless, a pretty-looking place ; 
 and had its little auberge, on the same scale 
 and in the same style as the village to which it 
 belonged, — small, neat, and picturesque, with its 
 high pole before the door, crowned with a gay 
 garland of flowers, which served both for sign 
 and inscription to the inn ; being fully as com- 
 prehensible an intimation to the peasantry of
 
 272 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the day, that " Bon vin et bonne chere" were 
 to be obtained within, as the most artful flou- 
 rish of a modern sign-painter. 
 
 True it is, that the little cabaret of Mesnil 
 St. Loup was seldom troubled with the pre- 
 sence of a traveller ; but there the country peo- 
 ple would congregate after the labours of the 
 day, and enjoy their simple sports with a relish 
 that luxury knows not. The high road from 
 Paris to Troyes passed quite in another di- 
 rection ; and a stranger in Mesnil St. Loup 
 was a far greater stranger than he could pos- 
 sibly have been anywhere else, except perhaps 
 in newly discovered America. For there was 
 nothing to excite either interest or curiosity ; 
 except it were the little church, which had 
 seen many a century pass over its primitive 
 walls, remaining still unaltered, while five or 
 six old trees, which had been its companions 
 for time out of mind, began to show strong 
 signs of decay, in their rifted bark and falling 
 branches, but still formed a picturesque group, 
 with a great stone cross and fountain under-
 
 RICHELIEU. 273 
 
 neath them, and a seat for the weary traveller 
 to rest himself in their shade. 
 
 Thus, Mesnil St. Loup was little known to 
 strangers, for its simplicity had no attractions 
 for the many. Nevertheless, on one fine even- 
 ing, somewhere about the beginning of Septem- 
 ber, the phenomenon of a new face showed itself 
 at Mesnil St. Loup. The personage to whom 
 it appertained, was a horseman of small mean 
 appearance, who, having passed by the church, 
 rode through the village to the auberge, and 
 having raised his eyes to the garland over the 
 door, he divined from it, that he himself would 
 find there good Champagne wine, and his horse 
 would meet with entertainment equally adapted 
 to his peculiar taste. Thereupon, the stranger 
 alighted and entered the place of public reception, 
 without making any of that bustle about him- 
 self, which the landlord seemed well inclined to do 
 for him ; but on the contrary sat himself down 
 in the most shady corner, ordered his bottle of 
 wine, and inquired what means the house af- 
 forded of satisfying his hunger, in a low quiet 
 > 5
 
 274 RICHELIEU. 
 
 tone of voice, which reached no farther than the 
 person he addressed. 
 
 " As for wine," the host replied, " Monsieur 
 should have such wine that the first merchant 
 of Epernay might prick his ears at it ; and in 
 regard to eatables, what could be better than 
 stewed eels, out of the river hard by, and a 
 civet de Heme ? — Monsieur need not be afraid," 
 he added ; " it was a real hare he had snared 
 that morning himself, in the forest under the 
 hill. Some dishonourable innkeepers," be ob- 
 served — " innkeepers unworthy of the name, 
 would dress up cats and rats, and such animals, 
 in the form of hares and rabbits ; even as the 
 Devil had been known to assume the appearance 
 of an Angel of light ; but he scorned such prac- 
 tices, and could not only show his hare's skin, 
 but his hare in the skin. Farther, he would 
 give Monsieur an ortolan in a vine leaf, and a 
 dish of stewed sorrel." 
 
 The stranger underwent the innkeeper's ora- 
 tion with most exemplary patience, signified his 
 approbation of the proposed dinner, without
 
 RICHELIEU. 275 
 
 attacking the hare's reputation ; and when at 
 length it was placed before him, he ate his meal 
 and drank his wine, in profound silence, without 
 a word of praise or blame to either one or the 
 other. The landlord, with all his sturdy lo- 
 quacity, failed in more than one attempt to draw 
 him into conversation ; and the hostess, though 
 none of the oldest or ugliest, could scarce win a 
 syllable from his lips, even by asking if he were 
 pleased with his fare. The taciturn stranger 
 merely bowed his head, and seemed little in- 
 clined to exert his oratorical powers, more than 
 by the simple demand of what he wanted ; so 
 that both mine host and hostess gave him up in 
 despair — the one concluding that he was " an 
 odd one," and the other declaring that he was 
 as stupid as he was ugly. 
 
 This lasted some time, till one villager after 
 another, having exhausted every excuse for stay- 
 ing to hear whether the stranger would open his 
 lips, dropped away in his turn, and left the 
 apartment vacant. It was then, and not till 
 then, that mine host was somewhat surprised, by
 
 276 RICHELIEU. 
 
 hearing the silent traveller pronounce in a most 
 audible and imperative manner, " Gaultier, come 
 here.'" The first cause of astonishment was to 
 hear him speak at all ; and the next to find his 
 own proper name of Gaultier so familiar to 
 the stranger, forgetting that it had been vocife- 
 rated at least one hundred times that night in 
 his presence. However, Gaultier obeyed the 
 summons with all speed, and approaching the 
 stranger with a low reverence, begged to know 
 his good will and pleasure. 
 
 " Your wine is good, Gaultier," said the 
 stranger, raising his clear grey eyes to the rosy 
 round of Gaultier's physiognomy. Even an inn- 
 keeper is susceptible of flattery ; and Gaultier 
 bent his head down towards the ground, as if 
 he were going to do kou-tou. 
 
 " Gaultier, bring me another bottle," said the 
 stranger. This phrase was better than the for- 
 mer ; that sort of substantial flattery that goes 
 straight to an innkeeper's heart. Truly, it is a 
 pity that innkeepers are such selfish beings. 
 And yet it is natural too ; — so rapidly does man-
 
 RICHELIEU. 277 
 
 kind pass by them, that theirs can be, at best, 
 but a stage-coach sort of affection for their fel- 
 low-creatures — The coachman shuts the door — 
 Drive on ! — and it is all over. Thus, my dear 
 Sir, the gaieties, the care, and the bustle in 
 which you and I live, render our hearts but as 
 an inn, where many a traveller stays for an 
 hour, pays his score, and is forgotten. — I am 
 resolved to let mine upon lease. 
 
 The bottle of wine was not long in making 
 its appearance ; and as Gaultier set it on the 
 table before the stranger, he asked if he could 
 serve him farther. 
 
 " Can you show me the way to the old Cha- 
 teau of St. Loup ?" demanded the stranger. 
 
 " Surely, I can, Sir," replied the innkeeper ; 
 " that is to say, as far as knowing where it is. 
 But I hope Monsieur does not mean to-night." 
 
 " Indeed do I," answered the stranger; " and 
 pray why not ? The night is the same as the 
 day to an honest man. 11 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt !" exclaimed Gaultier, 
 with the greatest doubt in the world in his own
 
 £78 RICHELIEU. 
 
 mind. — " No doubt ! But, Holy Virgin ! Jesu 
 preserve us !•" — and he signed the cross most de- 
 voutly — " we all know that there are spirits, 
 and demons, and astrologers, and the Devil, 
 and all those sort of things ; and I would not 
 go through the Grove where old Pere Le Rouge, 
 the sorcerer, was burnt alive, not to be prime 
 minister, or the Cardinal de Richelieu, or any 
 other great man, — that is to say, after nightfall. 
 In the day I would go anywhere, or do any 
 thing, — I am no coward, Sir, — I dare do any 
 thing. My father served in the blessed League 
 against the cursed Huguenots — so I am no 
 coward ; — but bless you, Sir, I will tell you 
 how it happened, and then you will see — " 
 
 " I know all about it," replied the stranger, 
 in a voice that made the innkeeper start, and 
 look over his left shoulder ; " I know all about 
 it; but sit down and drink with me, to keep 
 your spirits up, for you must show me the way 
 this very night. Pere Le Rouge was a dear 
 friend of mine, and before he was burnt for a 
 sorcerer, we had made a solemn compact to meet
 
 RICHELIEU. 279 
 
 once every ten years. Now, if you remember 
 aright, it is jus*, ten years, this very day, since 
 he was executed ; and there is no bond in Hell 
 fast enough to hold him from meeting me to- 
 night at the old chateau. So sit you down and 
 drink P — And he poured out a full cup of wine 
 for the innkeeper, who looked aghast at the 
 portentous compact between the stranger and 
 Pere Le Rouge. However, whether it was that 
 Gaultier was too much afraid to refuse, or had 
 too much esprit de corps not to drink with any 
 one who would drink with him, can hardly be 
 determined now ; but so it was, that sitting 
 down, according to the stranger's desire, he 
 poured the whole goblet of wine over his 
 throat at one draught, and, as he afterwards 
 averred, could not help thinking that the 
 stranger must have enchanted the liquor, for 
 no sooner had he swallowed it, than all his fears 
 of Pere Le Rouge began to die away, like morn- 
 ing dreams. However, when the goblet was 
 drained, Gaultier began more justly to estimate 
 the danger of drinking with a sorcerer; and
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 that the stranger was such, a Champenois 
 aubergiste of 1642 could never be supposed to 
 doubt, after the diabolical compact so unscru- 
 pulously confessed. Under this impression, he 
 continued rolling his empty cup about upon 
 the table, revolving at the same time his own 
 critical situation, and endeavouring to deter- 
 mine what might be his duty to his King and 
 Country under such perilous circumstances. 
 Rolling the cup to the right — he resolved in- 
 stantly to denounce this malignant enchanter 
 to the proper authorities, and have him forth- 
 with burnt alive, and sent to join Pere Le Rouge 
 in the other world, by virtue of the humane and 
 charitable laws in that case especially made and 
 provided. Then rolling the cup to the other side 
 — his eye glanced towards the stranger's bottle, 
 and resting upon the vacuum which their united 
 thirst had therein occasioned, his heart over- 
 flowed with the milk of human kindness, and 
 he pitied from his soul that perverted taste 
 which could lead any human being from good 
 liquor, comfortable lodging, and the society of
 
 RICHELIEU. 281 
 
 an innkeeper, to a dark wood and a ruined castle, 
 an old roasted sorcerer, and the Devil perhaps 
 into the bargain. 
 
 " Would you choose another bottle, Sir ?" 
 demanded Gaultier ; and as his companion 
 nodded his head in token of assent, was about 
 to proceed on this errand — with the laud- 
 able intention also of sharing all his newly 
 arisen doubts and fears with his gentle help- 
 mate, who, for her part, was busily engaged in 
 the soft domestic duties of scolding the stable- 
 boy and boxing the maid's ears. But the 
 stranger stopped him, perhaps divining, and 
 not very much approving, the aforesaid com- 
 munication. He exclaimed, " La Bourgeoisc /" 
 in a tone of voice which overpowered all other 
 noises : the abuse of the dame herself — the tears 
 of the maid — the exculpation of the stable-boy 
 — the cackle of the cocks and hens, which were 
 on a visit in the parlour — and the barking of a 
 prick-eared cur included. The fresh bottle soon 
 stood upon the table; and while the hostess 
 returned to her former tender avocations,
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the stranger, whose clear grey eye seemed 
 reading deeply into Gaultier's heart, continued 
 to drink from the scanty remains of his own 
 bottle, leaving mine host to fill from that which 
 was hitherto uncontaminated by any other touch 
 than his own. This Gaultier did not fail to do, 
 till such time as the last rays of the sun, which 
 had continued to linger fondly amidst a flight 
 of light feathery clouds overhead, had entirely 
 left the sky, and all was grey. 
 
 At that moment the stranger drew forth his 
 purse, let it fall upon the table with a heavy 
 sort of clinking sound, showing that the louis- 
 d'ors within had hardly room to jostle against 
 each other. It was a sound of comfortable 
 plenty, which had something in it irresistibly 
 attractive to the ears of Gaultier ; and as he 
 stood watching while the stranger insinuated 
 his finger and thumb into the little leathern 
 bag, drawing forth first one broad piece and 
 then another, so splendid did the stranger's 
 traffic with the Devil begin to appear in the 
 eyes of the innkeeper, that he almost began to
 
 RICHELIEU. 283 
 
 wish that he had been brought up a sorcerer 
 also. 
 
 The stranger quietly pushed the two pieces 
 of gold across the table till they got within the 
 innkeeper's sphere of attraction, when they be- 
 came suddenly hurried towards him, with irre- 
 sistible velocity, and were plunged into the 
 abyss of a large pocket on his left side, close 
 upon his heart. 
 
 The stranger looked on with philosophic 
 composure, as if considering some natural phe- 
 nomenon, till such time as the operation was 
 complete. " Now, Gaultier," cried he, " put 
 on- your beaver, and lead to the beginning of 
 the Grove. I will find my way through it alone. 
 But hark ye, say no word to your wife." 
 
 Gualtier was all complaisance, and having 
 placed his hat on his head, he opened the door 
 of the auberge, and brought forth the stran- 
 ger's horse, fancying that what with a bottle of 
 wine, and two pieces of gold, he could meet 
 Beelzebub himself, or any other of those gentle- 
 men of the lower house, with whom the Cure
 
 284 RICHELIEU. 
 
 used to frighten the little boys and girls when 
 they went to their first communion. However, 
 the stranger had scarcely passed the horse's 
 bridle over his arm, and led him a step or two 
 on the way, when the cool air and reflection 
 made the innkeeper begin to think differ- 
 ently of the Devil, and be more inclined to 
 keep at a respectful distance from so grave 
 and antique a gentleman. A few steps more 
 made him as frightened as ever ; and before 
 they had got to the end of the village, Gaultier 
 fell hard to work, crossing himself most labori- 
 ously, and trembling every time he remembered 
 that he was conducting one sorcerer to meet 
 another, long dead and delivered over in form, 
 with fire and fagot, into the hands of Satan. 
 
 It is probable that he would have run, but 
 the stranger was close behind, and cut off his 
 retreat. 
 
 At about a mile and a half from the little 
 village of Mesnil, stood the old Chateau of St. 
 Loup, situated upon an abrupt eminence, com- 
 manding a view of almost all the country round.
 
 RICHELIEU. 285 
 
 The valley at its foot, and the slope of the hill 
 up to its very walls, were covered with thick 
 wood, through which passed the narrow deserted 
 road from Mesnil, winding in and out with a 
 thousand turns and divarications, and twice com- 
 pletely encircling the hill itself, before it reached 
 the castle gate, which once, in the hospitable 
 pride of former days, had rested constantly 
 open for the reception equally of the friend and 
 the stranger, but which now only gave entrance 
 to the winds and tempests — rude guests, that 
 contributed, even more than Time himself, the 
 great destroyer, to bring ruin and desolation on 
 the deserted mansion. Hard by, in a little 
 cemetery, attached to the Chapel, lay many of 
 the gay hearts that had once beat there, now 
 quiet in the still cold earth There, mouldering 
 like the walls that overshadowed them, were 
 the last sons of the brave and noble race of Mes- 
 nil, without one scion left to dwell in the halls 
 of their forefathers, or to grieve over the deso- 
 lation of their heritage. There, too, lay the 
 vassals, bowed to the will of a sterner Lord, and
 
 %86 RICHELIEU. 
 
 held in the surer bondage of the tomb; and 
 yet perhaps, in life, they had passed on, hap- 
 pier than their chief, without his proud anxiety 
 and splendid cares ; and now, in death, his 
 bed was surely made as low, and the equal wind 
 that whispered over the grave of the one, of- 
 fered no greater flattery to the monument of 
 the other. But, beyond all these, and removed 
 without the precincts of consecrated ground, 
 was a heap of shards and flints — the Sorcerer's 
 grave ! Above it, some pious hand had raised 
 the symbol of salvation — a deed of charity, 
 truly, in those days, when eternal mercy was 
 farmed by the Church, like a turnpike on the 
 high road, and none could pass but such as paid 
 toll. But, however, there it rose, — a tall white 
 cross, standing, as that symbol should always 
 stand, high above every surrounding object, 
 and full in view of all who sought it. 
 
 As the aubergiste and his companion climbed 
 the hill, which, leading from the village of Mes- 
 nil, commanded a full prospect of the rich
 
 RICHELIEU. 287 
 
 woody valley below, and overhung that spot 
 which, since the tragedy of poor Fere Le Rouge, 
 had acquired the name of the Sorcerer's Grove, 
 it was this tall white cross that first caught 
 their attention. It stood upon the opposite 
 eminence, distinctly marked on the back-ground 
 of the evening sky, catching every ray of light 
 that remained, while behind it, pile upon pile, 
 lay the thick clouds of a coming storm. 
 
 " There, Monsieur," cried Gaultier, "there 
 is the cross upon the Sorcerer's grave !" And 
 the fear which agitated him while he spoke, 
 made the stranger's lip curl into a smile of bitter 
 contempt. But as they turned the side of the 
 hill, which had hitherto concealed the castle 
 itself from their sight, the teeth of Gaultier 
 actually chattered in his head, when he beheld 
 a bright light shining from several windows of 
 the deserted building. 
 
 " There !" exclaimed the stranger, " there, 
 you see how well Pere Le Rouge keeps his ap- 
 pointment. I am waited for, and want you no
 
 288 RICHELIEU. 
 
 farther. I can now find my way alone. I 
 would not expose you, my friend, to the dan- 
 gers of that Grove. " 
 
 The innkeeper's heart melted at the stranger's 
 words, and he was filled with compassionate 
 zeal upon the occasion. " Pray don't go," cried 
 Gaultier, almost blubbering betwixt fear and 
 tender-heartedness; " pray don't go! Have pity 
 upon your precious soul ! Youll go to the Devil, 
 indeed you will ! — or at least to purgatory for a 
 hundred thousand years, and be burnt up like an 
 overdone rabbit. You are committing murder, 
 and conspiracy, and treason,*" — the stranger 
 started, but Gaultier went on — " and heresy, 
 and pleurisy, and sorcery, and you will go to 
 the Devil, indeed you will — and then you'll re- 
 member what I told you." 
 
 46 What is fated, is fated !" replied the stran- 
 ger, in a solemn voice, though Gaultier's speech 
 had produced that sort of tremulous tone, ex- 
 cited by an inclination either to laugh or to cry. 
 " I have promised, and I must go. But let me 
 warn you," he continued, sternly, " never to men-
 
 RICHELIEU. 289 
 
 tion one word of what has passed to-night, it' 
 you would live till I come again. For if you 
 reveal one word, even to your wife, the ninth 
 night after you have done so, Pere Le Rouge will 
 stand on one side of your bed, and I on the 
 other, and Satan at your feet, and we will carry 
 you away body and soul, so that you shall never 
 be heard of again." 
 
 When he had concluded, the stranger waited 
 for no reply, but sprang upon his horse, and 
 galloped down into the wood. 
 
 In the mean time, the landlord climbed to a 
 point of the hill, from whence he could see both 
 his own village, and the ruins of the castle. 
 There, the sight of the church steeple gave 
 him courage, and he paused to examine the 
 extraordinary light which proceeded from the 
 ruin. In a few minutes, he saw several figures 
 flit across the windows, and cast a momentary 
 obscurity over the red glare which was stream- 
 ing forth from them upon the darkness of the 
 night. "There they are!" cried he, "Pere 
 Le Rouge, and his pot companion ! — and surely 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the Devil must be with them, for I see more 
 than two, and one of them has certainly a tail — 
 Lord have mercy upon us !" 
 
 As he spoke, a vivid flash of lightning burst 
 from the clouds, followed instantly by a tre- 
 mendous peal of thunder. The terrified inn- 
 keeper startled at the sound, and more than ever 
 convinced that man's enemy was on earth, took 
 to his heels, nor ceased running till he reached 
 his own door, and met his better angel of a wife, 
 who boxed his ears for his absence, and vowed he 
 had been gallanting. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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