University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

King John.

On the succeeding morning—while I was yet
lingering over my solitary breakfast, and playing
with old Hector, whom I had, in every interval of
leisure, been training with the greatest assiduity to
recognise and take note of the recovered glove of
Isabel, in the hope that his sagacity might at some
time aid me in the recovery of the precious owner
—the trampling of horses without called me to the
window. Not a little to my surprise, it was caused
by the party of the deputies, who had already returned
from Paris. They must have set off before it
was well daylight, for the sun was not yet two hours
high, and they had accomplished the full distance
of twenty miles at a pace unusually rapid for men

of peace and civilians, as was apparent from their
soiled habiliments, and from the foam and sweat
with which their panting steeds were liberally besmeared.

If I was surprised at their arrival, much more
was I astonished at receiving a message from one
of the royal chamberlains, that my presence was
required by his Eminence of Mazarin immediately
after the conference with the deputies; and further,
that I should do well to hold myself in instant
readiness for a journey of distance and duration.
Dressing myself at once, with as much attention
to decoration as my war-worn and weather-beaten
wardrobe would allow. I hurried to St. Germains;
was immediately admitted by the Swiss
guards on duty; and ushered through a succession
of vast halls—imperfectly furnished, and evidently
taxed to the uttermost for the accommodation of
the various personages of the court—into the anteroom
of the council-chamber; in which, as I could
easily hear without indeed wishing to do so, an
eager and excited debate was in progress on the
question of peace. They at length—as I conjectured
by the rustling of their feet as they arose,
and by the sound of their steps approaching the
door—concluded the business, when I caught
the words of the President de Mêsme, pronounced

clearly and as if in continuation of what he had
before been saying. He must have been close to
the folding-doors when speaking; for I, who was
standing at the farther end of the antechamber in
whispered conversation with an officer of the Swiss
guards, heard every syllable, as accurately as
though it had been addressed to myself.

“Since, then,” he said, “such is the position of
affairs, we must personally be sacrificed that the
state may be preserved! We must sign to this
peace! For, after the restrictions laid upon us by
the Parliament last night, there is no other measure
left us: perchance we shall ourselves be recalled
to-morrow! We will therefore hazard all!
If we are discovered, they will exclude us from the
gates of Paris; or, admitting us, will question our
powers—will deal on us as traitors. It is for you,
therefore, to give to us conditions which may justify
our conduct! It is your interest to do so! If they
be reasonable, we can sustain our policy against the
base and factious! if they be not—it is no matter!
Be they what they may, I will sign all and any
thing; and I will say to the first president, such is
my opinion—such the sole expedient for the safety
of the realm! If he agree with us, we shall have
peace! If not—still we shall have weakened the

faction; and the evil will be on ourselves, and on
ourselves alone!”

These noble sentiments called forth a proper
answer. The subdued hum of applause and approbation
reached my ears, and then the clear, high
voice of Condé—

“We thank you, Mr. President—we thank you
for his majesty; and, which is of less importance,
for ourselves also! You may add to your noble
declaration to the first president thus much from
Louis de Bourbon—that the conditions shall be
such as one good and brave man may proffer,
and another may receive, in confidence and honour!—Else
will they not bear the seal and signature
of Condé. Gentlemen, adieu—we hope that
to-morrow we shall see you here, or at Ruel, with
full powers to conclude!”

The doors were immediately thrown open—the
guards stood to their arms, and saluted as the
princes entered—the deputies passed onward,
Condé remaining on the threshold of the council-chamber,
and bowing deeply, his right hand laid
upon his heart, as the presidents made their salutations
as if to the monarch in person. His quick
eye glanced round the apartment, as if in search of
some one, and caught mine—he nodded familiarly.

“Ha! ever at your post, sir—come with me.

His eminence awaits you!” Then, in a lower voice,
as I approached his elbow, he continued—“Falter
not in his presence—he is well inclined towards you
even now, though he may affect hauteur—falter
not, therefore; speak boldly and frankly as is your
wont! Crafty himself, and subtle beyond even
Italian wiliness, he yet can prize and honour frankness!
But naught of yourself or of HER—naught
—as you value both or either!”

He led me through the council-chamber to another
anteroom, in which there were a couple of
monks, occupied in writing at a central table covered
with documents and books, and a delicate
pale boy, with a timid look and bashful demeanour,
widely different from the usual forwardness of
court pages.

“Here I must leave you!” he said; “and you—
Remember!”

I gave my name to the page, and was introduced
at the next moment to the presence of the fearful
man who wielded by dark intrigues the destinies
of kingdoms, and warped the will of princes at his
pleasure.

It was a small but pleasant apartment—the walls
being hung with crimson velvet, and decorated
with the finest pictures by the choicest masters—
my unpractised eye at once fell on a score of

which even I could recognise the authors. The
rich gorgeousness and flowing groups of Rubens
—the stately forms and rich tinting of Vandyck—
the heavenly female shapes, and most natural flesh-hues
of Titian—the exquisite madonnas of Raphael
and Carlo Dolci, were mingled with battle and
hunting pieces, alive in all the truth and spirit of
Wouvermans; with drinking-bouts and Flemish
boors by Teniers and Ostadt; and last, not least,
with the black shadows and the brilliant lights of
Rembrandt. These pictures—dearer to the cardinal
than his life, or even his power—in the hurry
of the court's departure from Paris, he had caused
to be removed with the nicest care; and his first
task, on reaching St. Germains, was to see them
tastefully disposed upon the walls of this his new
apartment.

My attention was not directed to these for a
second's space, nor even to the monkeys—another
of the minister's strange, yet ruling fancies—of
which at least a dozen, from the huge baboon of
Pondicherry to the smallest and most delicate
species from Brazil, or the southern provinces, were
gibbering and quarrelling, or playing with each
other about the floor and tables, clambering over
the backs of the chairs, soiling the rich furniture,
and offering hideous foils to the noble works of

statuary and painting with which every nook and
angle of the chamber was filled.

The cardinal himself, a fair slight man, of courteous
address, and almost hypocritic affability, with
a set of smiling and inexpressive though chiselled
lineaments, of which a bright eye was the sole redeeming
feature, sat in a chair of crimson damask,
contemplating, with an air of satisfaction, his darling
pictures, and sipping at times some of the fragrant
chocolate—at that period a newly discovered
luxury—which stood at his side, in a beautiful
equipage of antique silver; or at times caressing
with his hand, and pampering with dainties from the
salver, a tiny ring-tailed lemur, of the rarest kind,
which was perched on the elbow of his chair, and
which, if too long neglected, would slap his arm
with its diminutive hand, and look up into his face
with a strange mixture of malice and affection.
Monsieur le Tellier, the friend and trusted confidant
of the minister, was writing at a cabinet of
tortoise-shell, rich with buhl and marquetry, his
back towards me as I entered, nor did he move his
head or alter his position in the least degree while
I remained there.

“Monsieur de Mornington, I believe?” asked the
minister, with his simpering smile of condescension.

“At the service of your Eminence!” I replied,
with a profound obeisance.

“So we are told, sir—so we are told! ever at
our service! His highness of Condé gave us last
night some information of your obtaining, which
would have been most valuable—mark me, sir—
would have been—had we not been quite aware of
the destination of this emissary two days before.”
This, by way of parenthesis, I knew to be utterly
false, no idea having been entertained of the matter
till I had spoken of it to the prince; but I was
careful not to shock the minister's vanity, and answered
only by an assenting bow. “This, however,”
he continued, “is no detraction from your
merit, as you, of course, were ignorant of our information;
moreover, your tidings were confirmatory
of what we before knew, as they have been
since confirmed by the presidents of the Parliament!
Also, we are informed that you distinguished
yourself at Charenton; and we are, of our
own knowledge, aware of your good conduct in
the secret expedition to which you were in the
first place appointed! Answer me not,” he continued,
seeing me about to speak—“I know well
what you would say—these things are but of little
moment; and so indeed they are, considered of
themselves—but we are rather fain to hold them

earnests of what you shall do hereafter! Now,
Monsieur Mornington—that is, I fancy, your title
—we are disposed to further you in your profession!
You will doubtless marvel at our favours,
but you will remember, that though lavished, perhaps
too freely, upon one whom men might call
roturier and adventurer—”

“'Fore God! your Eminence,” I broke in, with
show of real indignation,—“'fore God, you may call
me aught it lists you, but did a man with a beard,
and without the tonsure, so presume to style me, I
would thrust my rapier through his body, were he
my own father's son!”

I was, perhaps, imprudent in not restraining
this outbreak of my naturally reckless temper, but
this time it served my turn; showing me at how
large a value the cardinal must hold my services,
that he should brook so sharp a retort from one so
far beneath him. His brow contracted, and his
pale cheek was flushed for a moment, but a smile
chased away both flush and frown, as he replied,
not unkindly—

“You are warm, young sir—warm and hasty!
but we like you not altogether the worse for that.
We will resume our subject. Monsieur Turenne
has, you perceive, consented to march and join the
Frondeurs; and the archduke has already, as we

are strenuously advised, advanced wellnigh to
Rheims. This may be troublesome! Now, sir—
you can be silent, and are not over-scrupulous?”

“Silent as the grave—in your Eminence's service;
and how should a poor soldier, like myself,
be scrupulous of executing aught, which a learned
and holy churchman may deem it right to order.”

“Well, sir,” he continued, “we will be brief.
This Turenne is one of those wrong-headed idiots
who stickle for conscience—as though soldiers had
aught to do with conscience! Were he a man of
sense, himself would I convince; and that, too, with
most cogent reasons. But he is of invincible obstinacy—which
he deems, perhaps, invincible integrity—and
which all wise men must hold egregious
folly!”

Seeing that he paused as if for a reply, I answered,
fully perceiving his drift—

“And in that case—if I be not overbold, to thrust
my poor opinions on your Eminence—it were perhaps
well to convince his soldiery.”

“Right!” he exclaimed, with another smile of
approbation—“right! to convince his soldiery!
That is the very matter about which I would employ
you. Clearly you are a youth of some discretion.
To convince the soldiery! Well, sir;
once more: his highness of Condé has recommended

you most strongly to our notice for this
very duty. It is somewhat perilous; and might,
to men of squeamishness—but, bah! you are not
one of these! In short, it is our will that you
should go at once to the maréchal with a flag, the
bearer of certain proposals from the court to the
general—he has not as yet declared himself, you
know—certain proposals, which we well know
will effect nothing; the bearer, also, of certain
letters to D'Erlach, chief of the Swiss troops,
and to the Comte D'Harcourt, which may avail
much; also of certain arguments to the soldiery—
which, we are confident, will succeed! This done,
and the troops gained over, you will send us advices,
remaining yourself as second in command
under the Comte D'Harcourt, who may be induced,
we imagine—you comprehend us!—may be induced
to assume the office of general-in-chief of
Turenne's army, and, as such, to act against the
archduke and him of Lorraine, on the frontiers of
the Pays Bas.”

With another profound inclination, I expressed
my sense of the honour to which I was destined,
my willingness to accept it, and my determination
to effect it if mortal skill could do so.

“Not so quick, monsieur!” he cried; “not so
quick! You will understand, that though there be

honour, and profit, and so forth in the duty, there
is also not a little of peril! You will go under a
false name—for I shall give it out that you are
despatched elsewhere!—you will also be a spy,
and, as such, answerable to the laws of war. Ma
foi! Turenne would scruple little about sending a
hundred such as you to the gallows on a mere
suspicion! Furthermore, touching Turenne himself”—and
he hesitated a little, as if willing that I
should again help him out; but, not much relishing
the course which the matter seemed to be taking,
I remained silent; and he was obliged, however
reluctantly, to speak out—“touching Turenne
himself—he must be secured!—secured, and, if
possible, sent in to us, at St. Germains or at Paris,
where we hope to be ere then.”

“Not by me!” I replied, resolutely, but at the
same time deferentially—“not by me, your Eminence,
though you would make me king of France
for the same deed! So far as regaining the affections
of the soldiery to his most sacred majesty,
that shall I do right willingly; for it seems to me
that Turenne hath somewhat swerved from the
nice path of honour in turning them aside. In
that, therefore, shall I serve your Eminence, by all
means and at every hazard! But as to debasing
myself so far as to bribe the soldiery, in order to

consign their leader to bonds, perchance to death
—that, please the Almighty, I shall never do! I
am, your Eminence, neither a minister of police
nor a hireling spy, but a major-general in the service
of the most Christian king, and a very proud,
although a very poor, gentleman of England.
With deep and fervent thanks must I decline your
Eminence's offers; but—otherwise than in the open
field and with the sword of honest warfare—never
will I act against the person of Turenne!”

“You say well—well and nobly!” replied a
sweet calm female voice from behind me, ere the
cardinal could express the anger which I shrewdly
suspect he felt. I started, and to my astonishment
beheld the commanding form and beautiful pale
features of Anne of Austria, the regent of the
realm during the minority of Louis, thereafter
styled Le Grand.

“You say right well, sir,” she continued, as I
sunk upon my knee before her, “and we doubt his
Eminence thinks with us, howsoever he may have
tried your honour and your principles, before intrusting
you with an arduous and a delicate duty.
We had learned from the Prince de Condé,” she
said, turning to the cardinal, “that you, sir,
were in conference with Monsieur Mornington;
and we were on our way hither to express our

satisfaction, that you should employ him on this
duty; and, further, to give him our thanks, and
those of our royal son, for his distinguished conduct
heretofore. We were unwilling, however,
to interrupt your converse; and, pausing in the
corridor, heard through the tapestry your latter
words. Well knowing that your Eminence would
be no less loath than ourselves to harm a man so
noble, and to whom France owes so much, as Maréchal
Turenne—although he now unhappily have
turned against us—we doubt not but you spoke
darkly to prove the integrity of this true gentleman!
This we should have ourselves considered
needless; but we rejoice that you thought otherwise,
since it has procured for us the pleasure of
knowing that the sentiments of our officer are no
less pure and noble than he has proved his hand
to be strong and his heart fearless! Go on,” she
continued, again turning to me—“go on, sir, as
you have begun. Hold honour in your eye, and
interest beneath your feet. Hedge not aside from
the straight narrow path, though it be for never so
little. Do this; and Anne of Austria tells you
that fame, and wealth, and honour will follow,
though you seek them not! That you will be one,
whom men will delight to honour—women to love
—and monarchs to retain as the brightest ornament
they hold about their thrones!”

A majestic smile played upon her bright intellectual
features, and, though long past the flower
and flush of womanhood, I thought, at the moment,
that I had witnessed nothing more femininely—I
had wellnigh said divinely—noble! Reverentially
I bowed my lips to the hand she extended to me,
and whispered as I touched it—

“Such were the lessons my mother taught me
in my boyhood.”

“Forget them not, young sir; oh! forget them
not,” she said, in a voice of considerable emotion;
“and ever bless the mother who lessoned your
tender years so truly and so well.”

“Her grace,” said the cardinal—adapting himself,
I fancy, rather to the tone of the queen's sentiments,
than obeying any generous impulses of
his own—“her grace has but forestalled me; nevertheless,
what she has said so well, it needs not that
I should mar by repetition. My language shall be
deeds! Monsieur de Tellier will send the letters,
of which I spoke, this evening to your quarters,
with such credentials as may be needful, and with
full instructions. You will start at midnight! The
other necessaries have been already provided,
closely stowed in the demi-piques of your escort,

who will be themselves unconscious of what they
carry. We doubt not but you will be successful
in your present mission; and we trust that, in the
further duties which present success will lay upon
you, you may so comport yourself as to confirm
our auspices, and to merit future recompense, and
the proud gratitude of kings!”

I understood myself at once to be dismissed;
and, with a fresh expression of gratitude, retreating
from the chamber, I hurried homeward with a
lighter heart, and a fuller confidence that I should
ere long clasp my lovely one to my heart, than I
had felt in many a day. I could perceive the
handiwork of the prince in the whole business;
and, in a brief interview which I sought with him
ere my departure, I hinted as much with thanks.

“None of that, sir!” he said—“none of that!
We had need of a good officer to perform an arduous
duty, and I honestly recommended you. I
know you are not a man to suffer private affections
to interfere with public duty. Nevertheless, I
think you are not likely to forget that it is a part of
the latter to secure this De Chateaufort, if possible.
He is, it seems, traitor as well as villain, having
accepted a commission under my cousin of Orléans.
If you succeed in gaining over the troops,
send back your old esquire with the tidings. Check

the archduke, if possible, and be sure you crush
Lorraine. You will want cavalry; and the moment
I can learn that you have thriven in your
first object, I will detach two regiments at least to
join you. We shall have no more fighting here
this season, if you can overreach Turenne—turning
his troops to account against the Spaniard;
and though you be too few to cope with the archduke,
he scarcely will dare march into the country
with so powerful an army in his rear. D'Harcourt
is, in good sooth, long since gained over. D'Erlach
is likewise true—not to Turenne, but to the
court. So much for promises! Money will do
the rest, and money you will take with you.
D'Harcourt will be the nominal commander; but,
I will so order it you shall be nearly independent.
These letters from me will gain you his good-will
and good opinion. Adieu, sir; be fortunate,
and—I need not say it—brave!”