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.
Be that as it may, Montmorency, Conde, are names so woven in the web of
history, that nothing 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 controller
of all man's actions, should find pleasure in bending to its will, that
which Nature originally seemed to place above its sway. Endued with all
the qualities a throne requires, brave, wise, clear-sighted, and
generous; with his mother'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
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 unwilling to allow him; and, retired at Chantilly, passed
his 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 declining;
but so feared was that redoubtable Minister, 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 grey mist had hardly rolled away
from the old towers and battlements of the Chateau of Chantilly, which,
unlike the elegant building afterwards 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 Palace, turning up and down
the alley, then called the Avenue de Luzarches, with that kind of
sauntering pace which indicated their conversation 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 willing
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 common height of men, was
formed in the most finished and elegant proportion, and possessed a
native dignity of demeanour, which characterized 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 stature, and mean in
appearance, was in countenance 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, 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 moment 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 instance, he had a point to
carry, and therefore was doubly disguised.
"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 Master of the Horse, as
if he would search his soul. But Cinq Mars still was silent, and,
apparently 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 moment 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."
"But you have made me no answer," rejoined Fontrailles, returning
perseveringly to the point on which his companion seemed unwilling 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? Well, be it so--I am
sorry for it--sorry that a trifling sickness, which will pass away in a
moon, should give France hopes of that liberation, which is yet far
off."
"But, nevertheless, you would be sorry were this great man to die," said
Fontrailles, putting it half as a question, half as an undoubted
proposition, 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 Cardinal 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 Cardinal, or feared him, too much to see his
crimes."
"Fear him!" exclaimed Cinq Mars, the blood mounting to his cheek, as if
the very name of 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, 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
ambition of this insatiate churchman, and not to wish that Heaven had
sent it otherwise."
"It is not Heaven's fault, Sir," replied Fontrailles; "it is our own,
that we do suffer it. Had we one man in France who, with sufficient
courage, talent, and influence, had the true spirit 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 his purpose. "Such an undertaking
as you hint at," he continued, "must be well considered, and well
supported, to have any effect. It must be strengthened by wit--by
courage--and by illustrious names.--It must have the power of wealth,
and the power of reputation.--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," said Fontrailles,
fixing his eyes on Cinq Mars with a peculiar expression, as if to denote
that he was the man alluded to. "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 Normandy, 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 their solitude for protection; and here is Paris and its
insulted Parliament, waiting but for opportunity."
"And here," said Cinq Mars, with a melancholy smile, following the
example of his companion, 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 France,
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!"
"But suppose I could show," said Fontrailles, 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 declare for us,--that England would aid us with money, and Spain
would put five thousand men at our command,--that the King's own
brother--"
Cinq Mars waved his hand: "No! no! no!" said he, in a firm, bitter tone:
"Gaston of Orleans has led too many to the scaffold already. The weak,
wavering Duke is ever the executioner of his friends. Remember poor
Montmorency!"
"Let me proceed," 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."
"Ha!" 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!" 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 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 Country's liberty, "Glorious indeed!" he
exclaimed,--"glorious indeed!"
But immediately after, fixing his glance upon the ground, he fell into
meditation of the many 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
undecided as a child. Bouillon is far away--"
"And where is Cinq Mars?" demanded Fontrailles,--"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 conspiracy, 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 startling
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 noble head to the block. Men's minds
had become so accustomed to the sound, that the explosion of a new plot
scarcely furnished matter for a day's wonder, as the burghers of a
besieged city at length hardly hear the roaring 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 reward for which, of all others, his heart
beat--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!" replied his wily companion, 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 Minister 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 Churchman
as a mere concession to the Monarch's whim; if it can be made clear that
the Marquis Cinq Mars would now have been a Duke and Constable of
France, had not his kind friend the Cardinal whispered he was unfit for
such an office:--then will you have no longer the excuse 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 finger on his lip as they
turned into another alley, "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 indescribable 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 _couteau 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.
The King, for such was the person who approached, 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 interest, 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 feeling of their
emptiness, and his own consciousness of how inferior they were, both to
his situation and his talents. His features at all times appeared
handsome, but more especially when any sudden excitement called up the
latent animation 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 become the slave of her slave. The consciousness of his
fallen situation, and of his inability to call up sufficient energy of
mind to disengage himself, 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 momentary
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 appearances, 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 proceeded, soon brought the King
close to Cinq Mars and Fontrailles. "Good-morrow, Monsieur de
Fontrailles," said he, as the Count 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 familiar 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. However, 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," said he, "were as weak
as to think over all the falls one may meet with in the chase, before
we get on horseback."
Both Cinq Mars and the King were passionately 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 favoured 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."
"Blessed be his memory!" cried the King. "But we will hunt to-day; we
will see you ride, Monsieur de Fontrailles. What say you, 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 gentlemen 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 countenance, "but as yet nothing certain. May I crave what
information your Majesty possesses?"
"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 future year of power and greatness, his air became
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 unconcluded,--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 engaged 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. 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 northern
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 talents, 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 liberating 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 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 master'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 measures which Fontrailles had
suggested.