THE CARDINAL’S MUSKETEER
[Illustration: CARDINAL RICHELIEU
FROM THE PORTRAIT BY PHILIPPE DE CHAMPAIGNE, IN THE GALLERY OF THE
LOUVRE]
THE
CARDINAL’S MUSKETEER
BY
M. IMLAY TAYLOR
AUTHOR OF
“ON THE RED STAIRCASE,” “AN IMPERIAL LOVER,” “A YANKEE
VOLUNTEER,” “THE HOUSE OF THE WIZARD”
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1900
COPYRIGHT
BY A. C. McCLURG & CO.
A.D. 1900
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CLOCKMAKER’S SHOP 7
II. THE SECRET OF THE GARRET 17
III. PÈRE ANTOINE 30
IV. THE PASTRY SHOP ON THE RUE DES PETITS CHAMPS 40
V. THE CHÂTEAU DE NANÇAY 54
VI. A BUNCH OF VIOLETS 67
VII. PÉRON AND PÈRE ANTOINE 81
VIII. PÉRON’S FIRST VICTORY 93
IX. THE CARDINAL’S CLOCK 104
X. IN THE TOILS 114
XI. RENÉE 124
XII. MADAME MICHEL’S STORY 139
XIII. THE CARDINAL’S INSTRUCTIONS 154
XIV. THE HOUSE AT POISSY 164
XV. THE SIGNAL 180
XVI. THE CARDINAL’S SNARE 191
XVII. MONSIEUR AND MONSIGNOR 203
XVIII. MADEMOISELLE’S TRINKET 218
XIX. MADAME LA MÈRE 227
XX. PÈRE MATTHIEU 241
XXI. THE INN AT AMIENS 252
XXII. A GREENWOOD TRIBUNAL 264
XXIII. THE DUNGEON OF THE CHÂTEAU 275
XXIV. THE CARDINAL’S RING 288
XXV. ARCHAMBAULT’S INFORMATION 301
XXVI. IN THE FOREST OF CHANTILLY 310
XXVII. AN ACT OF JUSTICE 324
XXVIII. A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 332
XXIX. MADEMOISELLE’S DISAPPEARANCE 342
XXX. THE HOUSE ON THE RUE DE PARADIS 350
The Cardinal’s Musketeer
CHAPTER I
THE CLOCKMAKER’S SHOP
ON the Rue de la Ferronnerie, near the end of the Rue St. Honoré, where
Henri Quatre was stabbed, stood the clockmaker’s shop. In the days of
the thirteenth Louis, the streets of Paris were narrow; the windows
of one dwelling peeped curiously into those of its opposite neighbor,
and especially was this true of the old Rue de la Ferronnerie and
of the shop of Jacques des Horloges, the famous clockmaker, at the
sign of Ste. Geneviève. It was shop and house united, the upper story
overhanging the lower, and under the eaves of the gabled roof the
swallows built their nests. It was a quaint little house, the weather
stains upon its front and the narrow windows speaking plainly of its
antiquity. The strong oak door, black with age, had iron clamps which
formed crosses at the top and bottom, while in an alcove above was a
rough stone image of Ste. Geneviève. Within, on the lower floor there
were three rooms; the one in front was the shop, next to this was the
living-room for the clockmaker’s family, and in the rear the kitchen.
In the second story there were three small apartments, and above these
again was the attic in the gabled roof. From the interior of the house
this garret could be reached only by a ladder, put through a trap-door
in the floor; but there was another entrance by a stone staircase which
ascended to the roof on the outside of the house, from the court in
the rear. From these steps two doors opened into the interior, one
at the second story and one, a small one, in the roof; the first was
frequently opened, the latter was always securely fastened.
The family of the clockmaker was small; it consisted of only three
persons and the great gray cat, called M. de Turenne. There were
Jacques des Horloges, properly called Jacques Michel, a man of middle
age and a master of his trade; his wife, an excellent woman; and one
adopted child, the boy Péron. To this child, the long narrow room which
constituted the shop, was a chamber furnished with as many marvels as
any grotto of fairy lore. Jacques Michel, who had supplied the clocks
for the Louvre, who regulated the great clock on the tower of the old
Palais de Cité, the first clock that ever told the hours in Paris,
and who could make watches like the famous “Nuremberg eggs,” had a
marvellous collection in his shop on the Rue de la Ferronnerie. There
were many greater and wiser than little Péron who contemplated these
elaborate pieces of mechanism with amazement. Horology had advanced by
strides since the days when the caliph Aroun-al-Raschid presented the
famous water-clock to Charlemagne; yet Jacques Michel did not scorn to
imitate that curious machine, and one of his clocks, which especially
delighted Péron, had, too, twelve horsemen, armed cap-a-pie, who
appeared at twelve doors beneath the dial when the hour was struck.
Here, too, in a dim corner stood a miniature of the great jacquemart
of Dijon, which Philip the Bold of Burgundy carried away in carts from
Courtray, the fruit of his victory at Rosbecque. In solemn rows upon
either side of the shop, and in double tiers at the ends, stood tall
clocks and short clocks, old-fashioned and new; here were clocks with
the old steel spring enclosed in a little barrel, and others with the
fusee with its catgut attachment; and here were some of the first with
weights and flies. On the right was one with the signs of the zodiac on
its face; to the left stood another on which perched a golden rooster,
who crowed when the hour struck. There was one also, with silver
doors below its solemn face, which opened to reveal the images of the
Virgin and St. Elizabeth. There were watches, too, so diminutive that
the child never ceased to marvel that they could tell the time; in a
cabinet was a watch, shaped like a cross and set with jewels, said to
be the one worn by M. de Guise when he was stabbed in the presence
of Henri III. Here, too, was a watch set in a ring, which struck the
hours; and here was the almond-shaped timepiece carried by two of the
house of Valois and discarded, to come at last into the clockmaker’s
hands; and here were marvellous little pieces of mechanism which set
in motion figures of the Virgin, the apostles, and the saints. The
clockmakers of Paris occupied a dignified position, protected by the
statutes of Louis XI. and Francis I. They enjoyed rights and privileges
of their own; nor could a man become a master of the trade unless he
had served eight years as an apprentice and produced a _chef-d’œuvre_
under the eyes of an inspector of the corporation. Jacques des Horloges
was a past master of the art, and he had accumulated a sufficient
fortune to gratify his taste for these antique and wonderful machines.
Many of the timepieces in his quaint shop were kept continually in
motion, and the soft tick and the loud tick rapped out their noisy
contention hour after hour; the cock crew, the jacquemart struck the
silver bell, and the twelve horsemen rode out, to the entertainment
and delight of the lonely child, who sat day after day gazing at
these marvels, and telling himself stories of what the clocks said
to one another. He and the great cat, M. de Turenne, seemed to find
their chief amusement in this occupation. Péron told himself that the
deep-toned jacquemart was a great warrior, and that the Image de Notre
Dame had the voice of a saint; and away over in the corner his quick
ear heard the little voice of M. de Guise crying out that he was slain.
The child was full of fancies, and many a tale he wove from the talk
of the clocks. It was his custom whenever he crossed the Pont Neuf to
go and look at the Tour de l’Horloge of the Palais de Cité, for to him
the face of that clock had many expressions: when it smiled, little
Péron was happy; when it frowned, he was sure to have ill luck. It was
only the overgrown imagination of a solitary child, for the boy was
very solitary; his only companions were Jacques Michel and his wife,
his only playmate M. de Turenne. At this time he was eight years old,
a handsome, sturdy, little fellow with a rosy face and golden brown
hair, a thoughtful expression in his large dark eyes, and the sober,
old-fashioned manners of a child who lived chiefly with his seniors and
whose play was of the most sober sort. Although Jacques des Horloges
was the possessor of a comfortable fortune, little Péron was plainly
dressed; his short jacket was usually a well-worn blue taffety, and
his breeches were of coarse wool, except on Sundays and saint-days,
when he had the honor of appearing in a complete suit of black taffety
with a collar of heavy lace. There was a still greater distinction
reserved for Easter and Christmas,--a hat with a long curled plume,
and then Péron felt that even Monsieur was not more grandly arrayed.
At such times the child felt a certain shyness even of M. de Turenne,
and walked about stiffly until the solemn occasion was past and he was
at home again in the old blue jacket. Little Péron was scarcely known
to the visitors to the shop, although Jacques Michel had many grand
patrons, from the queen to the Prince de Condé. Great ladies came
there in their coaches and descended the carriage steps, assisted by
liveried footmen, entering the shop with the rustle of marvellous satin
and brocade gowns, little velvet cloaks on their shoulders and great
ruffs of lace standing up to their ears. They moved about admiring,
wondering, criticising; one loved the clock that was inlaid with gold,
another wanted only the Valois watch, which was not for sale. All the
while they furnished rare entertainment to the wondering child, who
crept back between the tiers of clocks and watched them secretly,
because he liked to look at their pretty faces and beautiful clothing;
but he detested the airs with which they noticed him if he came out
from the hiding-place. They either had haughty glances for him or
condescending pleasantry, and the child, who was shy and proud, fled
from both. He only peeped out at the great dames surreptitiously, and
wove fanciful romances about them as he did about the beloved clocks
which were his playfellows. And he saw all the beauties of the Marais;
the Princesse de Condé came there, and Leonora Galigai, the favorite
of Marie de’ Medici, and Catherine de Vivonne, and Mademoiselle de
Montmorency, and even the Princesse Marguerite of Lorraine. Little
Péron knew them all by sight, and he told the cat, M. de Turenne,
in confidence, his opinion of each; but there was one visitor, an
infrequent one it is true, but still a visitor, who made the child
shrink back yet farther with his cat in his arms. This was a man whose
very presence seemed to change the atmosphere of the shop, and who was
received with great courtesy by Jacques des Horloges; a priest, clad in
the habit of a bishop, with a pale, keen, Italian face, his eyes having
a brilliance and penetration which always startled the child. Péron
was not the only one, however, who was fascinated by the presence of
the future ruler of France, Armand Jean du Plessis, Bishop of Luçon.
The boy shrank and yet was attracted, creeping after awhile into some
position of vantage where he could watch the pale, haughty face, the
handsome, slender hands, the wonderful, dark eyes; but the bishop never
saw his small admirer. Indeed, Péron had a reason besides his shyness
for avoiding the customers; he felt instinctively that he was not
wanted at such times. Jacques Michel seldom called upon the child for
any service, and even dismissed him roughly in the presence of these
visitors from the Marais. When more humble callers were there, he was
unheeded, but the arrival of a nobleman was often the signal for his
departure. Yet at other seasons the boy was not only kindly treated,
but was privileged beyond other children of his years and condition.
His hands were soft and white, for he had never been called upon for
any menial service, and seldom even for errands; his bed was soft, and
the clothing upon it was finer and more luxurious than that on the bed
of Madame Michel herself. He had the little room next the workshop,
because the rear apartment on the second floor, the one which opened
on the stairs from the court, was full of apprentices. Péron’s room
had a bit of tapestry on the wall, the picture of a stag hunt--the
stag pulled down by a savage dog and the hunters in full career toward
it; and there was a white curtain in his window, and over his bed was
a silver crucifix. He had, too, a tiny square of Arras carpet on the
floor, and a velvet cushion on which he kneeled to count his beads. He
enjoyed the best at table, also: many a dainty found its way to his
plate which was not shared either by the clockmaker or his wife; yet
he was not indulged in all directions. He was kept indoors when he
longed to run out in the sunshine and play with the children of the Rue
de la Ferronnerie; he was forbidden playmates of his own age, and he
seldom went anywhere except to the Rue de Bethisi to learn his lessons
from Père Antoine, a truly sober diversion. At first he rebelled
against these rules, but after awhile he accepted them, and turned
for consolation to M. de Turenne and the jacquemarts. He peopled his
world with fanciful personages, among whom there always moved a slender
figure clad in a bishop’s robe. He was an observant child, and studied
everything about him, watching the apprentices for hours and making
endless little models of clocks out of paper or wax,--a dull life for
a child certainly, yet not an unhappy one, for he was naturally dreamy
and old for his age, and he had no troubles. No one crossed him, he
had never received a blow in the whole course of his existence, and
never a sharp word, except in the presence of Jacques Michel’s great
visitors. As for Madame Michel, he was--though he knew it not--the
very apple of her eye, and it was one of her chief joys to train the
soft, golden brown curls on the boy’s head. Many an hour did she spend
washing and pinning out on a cushion the great lace collar he wore on
fête days, and she sighed in secret over the linen one, and the worn
blue taffety jacket of daily wear.