Sometimes very small and insignificant occurrences, even when
anticipated and prepared for, produce mighty and unforeseen
consequences; sometimes great and startling events the least expected,
and the least provided against, pass away quietly without producing
any immediate result.
Henry the Fifth of England had returned to France in high health, had
triumphed over all enemies, and had used the very storms and tempests
of passion and faction as instruments of his will. All yielded before
him; victory seemed his right; health and long life his privilege; and
success the obedient servant of his will. No one contemplated a
change--no one even dreamed of a reverse; defeat was never thought of;
death was never mentioned. There was no expectation, no preparation.
But in the midst of triumph, and activity, and energetic power, he was
touched by the transforming wand of sickness. Few hours were allowed
him to set his house in order; and in the prime of life and the midst
of glory, the successful general, the gallant knight, the wise
statesman, the ambitious king closed his eyes upon the world, and
nothing but a mighty name remained.
What changes might have been expected to follow an event so little
contemplated! Yet very few, if any, occurred. His last hours, while
writhing on a bed of pain, sufficed to regulate all the affairs of two
great kingdoms, and his wisdom and foresight, as well as his energy
and resolution, were never more strongly displayed than on the bed of
death. All remained quiet; the sceptre of England passed from the hand
of the hero to the hand of the child; and in France no popular
movement of any importance showed that the people were awakened to the
value of the chances before them. All remained quiescent; the vigorous
and unsparing hand of Bedford seemed no less strong than had been that
of his departed brother; and, reduced to a few remote provinces, the
party of the dauphin was powerless and inert.
It was while this state continued, that three persons entered the old
hall of the château of Brecy just as the sun was going down. The elder
lady leaned with a feeble and fatigued air upon the arm of Jean
Charost; Agnes had both her hands clasped upon his other arm, and all
three paused at the door, and looked round with an expression, if not
somewhat sad, somewhat anxious. All were very glad to be there again;
all were very glad to be even in France once more. But three years
make a great difference in men, in countries, and in places; and when
we return to an ancient dwelling-place, we are more conscious,
perhaps, of the workings of time than at any other period. We feel
within ourselves that we are changed, and we expect to find a change
in external objects also--we look to see a stone fallen from the
walls, the moss or mildew upon the paneling, the monitory dust
creeping over the floor, the symptoms of alteration and decay apparent
in the place of cherished memories.
There was nothing of the kind, however, to be seen in the old hall of
the château of De Brecy. The evening rays of sunshine gliding through
the windows shone cheerfully against the wall; the room was swept and
garnished. All was neat and in good array; and it seemed as if, from
that little circumstance alone, Hope relighted her lamp for their
somewhat despondent hearts.
"There may be bright days before us yet, my son," said Madame de
Brecy, in a calm, grave tone.
"Oh, yes, there will be bright days," said Agnes, warmly and
enthusiastically. "We are back in France--fair bright France; we are
back, safe and well, and there must be happy days for us yet."
"I wonder," said Jean Charost, thoughtfully, "who has kept up the
place so carefully. We left but poor old Augustine, incapable of much
exertion. The friendly offices of Jacques C[oe]ur must have had a hand
in this."
"Not much, sir," said a voice behind him; "if that very excellent
gentleman will permit me to say so."
Jean Charost turned round, and perceived Jacques C[oe]ur himself
entering the hall with a stout little man in a gardener's habit. I
say a gardener's habit, because in those blessed days, called the good
old times, which had their excellences as well as their defects, you
could tell a man's trade, calling, profession, or degree--at least
usually--by his dress. It was a good habit, it was a beneficial habit,
was an honest habit. You could never mistake a priest for a
life-guardsman, nor a shop-boy for a prime minister--nor the reverse.
In our own times, alas--in our days of liberty (approaching license),
equality (founded upon the grossest delusion), and fraternity (which,
as far as we have seen it carried, is the fraternity of Cain), we are
allowed to disguise ourselves as we will, to sail under any false
colors that may suit us, to cheat, and swindle, and lie, and deceive
in whatever garb may seem best fitted for our purpose. The vanity and
hypocrisy of the multitude have triumphed not only altogether over
sumptuary laws, but, in a great part, over custom itself and I know
nothing that a man may not assume, except the queen's crown, and God
protect that for her, and for her race forever!
The gardener's habit, however, with the blue cloth stockings bound on
with leathern straps, was so apparent in the present instance, that
Jean Charost, who was unconscious of having a gardener, could not for
an instant conceive who the personage was, till the face of Martin
Grille, waxen like that of the moon at the end of the second quarter,
grew distinct to recollection.
"He says true, my good friend, Monsieur de Brecy," said Jacques
C[oe]ur, "and right glad I am, his care should have so provided that
your first sight of your own house, on your return from captivity
should be a pleasant one. The only share I have had in this, as your
agent, has been to let him do what he would."
"'Tis explained in a word, sir," said Martin Grille. "You told me you
could not afford to keep me while you were a prisoner; and I thought I
could afford to keep myself, out of the waste ground about the castle,
and keep the castle in good order too. I had always a fancy for
gardening when I was a boy, and had once a whole crop of beans in an
old sauce-pan, on the top of the garret where my mother lived in
Paris. The first five sous I ever had in my life was for an ounce of
onion seed which I raised in a cracked pitcher. I was intended by
nature for digging the earth, and not for digging holes in other
people's bodies; and the town of Bourges owes me some of the best
cabbages that ever were grown, when I am quite sure I should have
reaped any thing but a crop of glory if I had cultivated the fields of
war. However, here I am, ready to take up the trade of valet again, if
you will let me; and, to show that I have not forgotten the mystery, I
rubbed up all your old arms last night, brushed coats, mantles,
jerkins, houseaux, and every thing else I could find, and swept up
every room in the house to save poor old Augustine's unbendable back."
In more ways than one, the house was well prepared for the return of
its lord, and, thanks to the care of good Martin Grille, a very
comfortable supper had not been forgotten. It was a strange sensation,
however, for Jean Charost, when the sun had gone down and the sconces
were lighted, to sit once more in his own hall, a free man, with
friendly faces all about him--a pleasant sensation, and yet somewhat
overpowering. The tears stood in Madame De Brecy's eyes more than once
during that evening; but Agnes, whose spirits were light, and who had
fewer memories, was full of gay joyfulness.
Jean Charost himself was very calm; but he often thought, had he been
alone, he could have wept too.
Thus some thought and some feeling was given to personal things; but
the fate, the state, the history of his country during his absence
occupied no small portion of his attention. In those days news
traveled slowly. Great facts were probably more accurately stated and
known than even now; for there was no complicated machinery for the
dissemination of falsehood, no public press wielded by party spirit
for the purpose of adulterating the true with the false. A certain
generosity, too, had survived the pure chivalrous ages, and men, even
during life, could attribute high and noble qualities to an enemy; but
details were generally lost. Jean Charost was anxious to hear those
details, and when they gathered round the great chimney and the
blazing hearth--for it was now October, and the nights were
frosty--Jacques C[oe]ur undertook to give his young friend some
account of all that had taken place in France since the battle of
Azincourt, somewhat to the following effect.
"You remember well, my friend," he said, "that, after the fall of
Harfleur, John of Burgundy only escaped the name of traitor by a
lukewarm offer to join his troops to those of France in defense of
the realm. But he was distrusted, and probably not without cause. You
were already a prisoner in England when the Orleanist party obtained
entire preponderance at the court, and the young duke being in
captivity like yourself, the leading of that faction was assumed by
his father-in-law, the Count of Armagnac. Rapid, great, and perilous
was his rise, and fearless, bold, and bloody he showed himself. The
sword of constable placed the whole military power of France at his
disposal, and the death of the dauphin Louis left him no rival in
authority or favor. Happy had it been for him had he contented himself
with military authority; but he must grasp the finances too; and in
the disastrous state of the revenues of the crown, the imposts, only
justified by a hard necessity, raised him up daily enemies. His rude
and merciless severity, too, irritated even more than it alarmed, and
it was not long before all those who had been long indifferent went to
swell the ranks of his adversaries. True, his party was strong; true,
hatred of the Burgundian faction was intense in a multitude of
Frenchmen. But the great lords, and many of the princes attached to
the house of Orleans, were absent and powerless in English prisons. By
every means that policy and duplicity could suggest, John of Burgundy
strove to augment the number of his friends. All those who fled from
the persecution of Armagnac were received by him with joy and treated
with distinction. He increased his forces; he hovered about Paris; he
treated the orders of the court to retire, if not with contempt, with
disobedience. At length, however, he seemed to give up the hope of
making himself master of the capital, and retreated suddenly into
Artois.
"Not judging his enemy rightly, the Count of Armagnac resolved to
seize the opportunity of an open path, in order to strike a blow for
the recovery of Harfleur; and, leaving a strong garrison in Paris, he
set out upon his expedition. No sooner was he gone, than John of
Burgundy hastened to profit by his absence, and rapid negotiations
took place between him and his partisans within the walls of Paris.
You know the turbulent and factious nature of the lower order of
citizens in the capital. Many of them were animated with mistaken zeal
for the house of Burgundy; more were eager for plunder, or thirsty for
blood; and one of the darkest and most detestable plots that ever
blackened the page of history was formed for the destruction of the
whole Armagnac party, and that, too, with the full cognizance of the
Duke of Burgundy. It was determined that, at a certain hour, the
conspirators should appear in arms in the streets of Paris, seize upon
the queen, the king, and the young dauphin, John, murder the-whole of
the Armagnac faction, and, after having seized the Duke of Berri and
the King of Sicily, load them with chains, and make a spectacle of
them in the streets of Paris mounted on an ox, and then put them to
death likewise.
"The plot was frustrated by the fears or remorse of a woman, within a
few minutes of the hour appointed for its execution. Precautions were
taken; the royal family placed in safety; and Tanneguy du Châtel, at
the head of his troops, issued forth from the Bastile, and made
himself master of the houses and the persons of the conspirators.
There was no mercy, my friend, for any one who was found in arms. Some
suffered by the cord or hatchet, some were drowned in the Seine; and
Armagnac returning, added to the chastisement already inflicted on
individuals, the punishment of the whole city of Paris. Suspicion was
received as proof, indifference became a crime, the prisons were
filled to overflowing, and the very name of Burgundian was proscribed.
The troops of the Duke of Burgundy, which had approached the city of
Paris, were attacked in the open field, and civil war, in its most
desolating aspect, raged all around the metropolis.
"Every sort of evil seemed poured out upon France, as if all the
fountains of Heaven's wrath were opened to rain woes upon the land.
Another dauphin was snatched away from us, and rumors of poison were
very general; but the death of one prince was very small in comparison
with the treason of another. There is no doubt, De Brecy, that John of
Burgundy, frustrated in his attempt upon Paris, entered into a league
with the enemies of his country, and secretly recognized Henry of
England as king of France. Dissensions arose between the queen and the
Count of Armagnac, in which our present dauphin, Charles, was so far
compromised as to incur the everlasting hatred of his mother.
Burgundy, the queen, and England, united for the destruction of the
dauphin and the Count of Armagnac, and vengeance and ambition combined
for the final ruin of the country. The politic King of England took
advantage of all, and marched on from conquest to conquest throughout
Normandy, while, by slow degrees, the Duke of Burgundy approached
nearer and nearer to the capital. The perils by which he was
surrounded appeared to deprive Armagnac of judgment: he seemed
possessed of the fury of a wild beast, and little doubt exists that he
meditated a general massacre of the citizens of Paris. But his crimes
were cut short by the crimes of others. The troops of Burgundy were in
possession of Pontoise. A well-disposed and peaceable young man,
insulted and injured by a follower of Armagnac, found means to
introduce his enemies into the city of Paris. At the first cry of
Burgundy, thousands rose to deliver themselves from the tyranny under
which they groaned, and, headed by a man named Caboche, retaliated, in
a most fearful manner, on the party of Armagnac, the evils which it
had inflicted. The prisons were filled; the streets ran with blood;
and the Count of Armagnac, himself forced to fly, was concealed for a
few hours by a mason, only to be delivered up in the end. The queen
and the Duke of Burgundy encouraged the massacre; the prisons were
broken into, the prisoners murdered in cold blood; the Châtelet was
set on fire, and the unhappy captives within its walls were driven
back into the flames at the point of the pike; and the leaders of the
Armagnac faction were dragged through the streets for days before they
were torn to pieces by the people. Tanneguy du Châtel alone showed
courage and discretion, and obtained safety, if not success. He
rescued the dauphin in the midst of the tumult, placed him in safety
at Melun, returned to the capital, fought gallantly for some hours
against the insurgents and the troops of Burgundy, and then retired to
counsel and support his prince. The queen and the Duke of Burgundy
entered the city in triumph; flowers were strewed before her on the
blood-stained streets; and a prince of the blood-royal of France was
seen grasping familiarly the hands of low-born murderers. But the
powers, which he had raised into active virulence, were soon found
ungovernable by the Duke of Burgundy, and he determined first to
weaken, and then to destroy them. The troops of assassins fancied
themselves soldiers, because they were butchers, and demanded to be
led against the enemy. The duke was right willing to gratify them, and
sent forth two bands of many thousands each. The first was beaten and
nearly cut to pieces by the Armagnac troops. The remnant murdered
their leaders in their rage of disappointment, but did not profit by
the experience they had gained. The second party were defeated with
terrible loss, and fled in haste to Paris; but the gates were shut
against them; and dispersing, they joined the numerous bands of
plunderers that infested the country, and were pursued and slaughtered
by the troops of Burgundy. Thus weakened, the insurgents, who had
brought back the Duke of Burgundy to Paris, were easily subjugated by
the duke himself: their leaders perished on the scaffold; and
thousands of the inferior villains were swept away by various indirect
means. A still more merciless scourge, however, than either Armagnac
or Burgundy was about to smite the devoted city--a scourge that spared
no party, respected no rank or station. The plague appeared in the
capital, and, in the space of a few months, the grave received more
than a hundred thousand persons of every age, class, and sex. In some
of these events perished Caboche, the uncle of your servant Martin
Grille, who, with the courage of a lion and the fierceness of a tiger,
combined some talents, which, better employed, might have won him an
honorable name in history."
"And what has become of his son?" asked Jean Charost. "He was
attached, I think, to the court of the queen."
"He left her," answered Jacques C[oe]ur, "and came hither to Bourges
with Marie of Anjou, the wife of the dauphin, when that prince removed
from Melun to Bourges. You know somewhat of what happened after--how
his highness was driven hence to Poictiers, how negotiations took
place to reunite the royal family; how divided counsels, ambitions,
and jealousies prevented any thing like union against the real enemy
of France; how, step by step, the English king made himself master of
all the country, almost to the gates of Paris. You were present, I am
told, at the death of the Duke of Burgundy--shall I, or shall I not
call it murder? Well had he deserved punishment--well had he justified
almost any means to deliver France from the blasting influence of his
ambition. But at the very moment chosen for vengeance, he showed some
repentance for his past crimes, some inclination to atone, and perhaps
the very effects of his remorse placed his life in the hands of his
adversaries. Would to God that act had not been committed."
"And what has followed?" asked Jean Charost. "I have heard but little
since, except that at Arras a treaty was concluded by which the crown
of France was virtually transferred to the King of England on his
marriage with the Princess Catharine."
"The scene is confused and indistinct," said Jacques C[oe]ur, "like
the advance of a cloud overshadowing the land, and leaving all vague
and misty behind it. Far from serving the cause of the dauphin, far
from serving the cause of France, the death of the Duke of Burgundy
has produced unmitigated evil to all. His son has considered vengeance
rather than justice, the memory of his father, rather than the
happiness of his country. Leagued with the queen, and with the King of
England, he has sought nothing but the destruction of the dauphin, and
has seen the people of France swear allegiance to a foreign conqueror
whom his connivance enabled to triumph. From conquest to conquest the
King of England has gone on, till almost all the northern part of
France was his, and the River Loire is the boundary between two
distinct kingdoms. Here and there, indeed, a large town and a strong
fortress is possessed by one party in the districts where the other
dominates, and a border warfare is carried on along the banks of the
river. But for a long time previous to King Henry's death, fortune
seemed to follow wherever he trod, and the whole western as well as
northern parts of France were being gradually reduced beneath his
sway. During a short absence in England, indeed, a false promise of
success shone upon the arms of the dauphin. A re-enforcement of six
thousand men from Scotland enabled him to keep the field with success,
and the victory of Baugé, the death of the Duke of Clarence, and the
relief of Angers, gave hope to every loyal heart in France. Money,
indeed, was wanting, and I was straining every nerve to obtain for my
prince the means of carrying on the war, when the return of Henry, and
his rapid successes in Saintonge and the Limousin cut me off from a
large part of the resources I had calculated upon, and once more
plunged us all into despair. The last effort in arms was the siege of
Cone, on the Loire, garrisoned by the Burgundian troops. The dauphin
presented himself before its walls in person, and the Duke of Burgundy
marched to its relief, calling on his English allies for aid. Henry
was not slow to grant it, and set out from Senlis to show his
readiness and his friendship. Death struck him, it is true, by the
way; but even in death he seemed to conquer, and Cone was relieved as
he breathed his last at Vincennes. Happily have you escaped, De Brecy;
for had the Lord Willoughby received intimation of the king's dying
commands before he freed you, you would have lingered many a long year
in prison. Well knowing that the captives of Azincourt would afford
formidable support to the party of the dauphin as soon as liberated,
it has always been Henry's policy to detain them in London, and almost
his last words were an order not to set them free till his infant son
had attained his majority. You are the only one, I believe, above the
rank of a simple esquire who has been permitted to return to France."
"I owe it all to this dear girl," answered Jean Charost, laying his
hand upon the little hand of Agnes. "She went to plead for me at a
happy moment. But where is the dauphin now? He needs the arm of every
gentleman in France, and I will not be long absent from his army."
"Army!" said Jacques C[oe]ur, with a melancholy shake of the head.
"Alas! De Brecy, he has no army. Dispirited, defeated, almost
penniless, seeing the fairest portions of his father's dominions in
the hands of an enemy--that father's name and authority used against
him--his own mother his most rancorous foe, the Duke of Burgundy at
the head of one army in the field, and the Duke of Bedford, hardly
inferior to the great Henry, leading another, he has retired, almost
hopeless, to the lonely Castle of Polignac; and strives, I am told,
but strives in vain, to forget the adversities of the past, and the
menaces of the future, in empty pleasures. An attempt must be made to
rouse him; but I can do nothing till I have obtained those means,
without which all action would be hopeless. To Paris I dare not
venture myself; but I have agents there, friends who will aid me, and
wealth locked up in many enterprises. Diligently have I labored during
the last month to gather all resources together; but still I linger on
in Bourges without receiving any answer to my numerous letters."
"Can not I go to Paris?" asked Jean Charost. "You know, my friend of
old, that I want no diligence, and had once some skill in such
business as yours."
Jacques C[oe]ur paused thoughtfully, and then answered, "It might,
perhaps, be as well. You have been so long absent, your person would
be unknown. When could you set out?"
Jean Charost replied that he would go the very next day; and the
conversation was still proceeding upon these plans, when the sound of
a horse's feet was heard in the castle court, and in a minute or two
after, a tall, elderly weather-beaten man was brought in by Martin
Grille. Jean Charost looked at him, thinking that he recognized the
face of Armand Chauvin, the chevaucheur of the late Duke of Orleans;
but the man walked straight up to Jacques C[oe]ur, put a letter in his
hand, and then turned his eyes to the ground, without giving one
glance to those around.
"This is good news, indeed," said Jacques, who had read the letter by
the light of a sconce. "A hundred thousand crowns, and two hundred
thousand more in a month! What with the money from Marseilles we may
do something yet. This is good news indeed!"
"I have more news yet," said Chauvin, gravely. "Hark, in your ear,
Messire Jacques. I have hardly eaten or drank, and have not slept a
wink from the gates of Paris to Bourges, and Bourges hither, all to
bring you these tidings speedily. Hark in your ear!" and he whispered
something to Jacques C[oe]ur. The other listened attentively, gave a
very slight start, and appeared somewhat, but not greatly moved.
"God rest his soul!" he said, at length. "He has had a troublous
life--God rest his soul!"