Two large gates of that fine hammered iron which is now rarely seen,
twisted into leaves and flowers and coronets, with gilding here and
there, and the arms of Chevreuse and Montbazon let into the centre, shut
the small park of Dampierre from the road. They seemed indeed to offer
no ingress to any one, for Edward rang the great bell at least half a
dozen times before any one appeared; but then a man walked slowly down
the road from the chateau itself, and examined the strangers through the
filagree-work of the gate as he came. At neither of the two lodges at
the sides of the gate was there the least sign of life.
The man, who seemed an old servant, however, and who carried a large key
in his hand, applied it to the lock without asking any questions, and
Edward, before entering, inquired if Madame de Chevreuse was at the
chateau.
"I do not know," replied the servant, in an indifferent tone. "A good
many people rode away the day before yesterday, and I have not seen her
since; but, if you ride up, they will tell you there."
Edward accordingly rode on, and, though the distance was not more than
three hundred yards, he perceived that his coming had created more
sensation at the chateau than at the gates. There were heads at several
of the windows, and two or three men came forth upon the terrace and
watched the approaching party. Edward rode slowly to give time for a
full examination; for, from all he had heard at Nantes, he could very
well conceive that the fair duchess might be inclined to stand somewhat
upon her guard before she admitted strangers. Dismounting before the
chateau, he gave his horse to Jacques Beaupré to hold, and advanced
toward one of the servants at the door, who showed no disposition to
advance toward him, inquiring if the duchess was at Dampierre and would
receive him. "Come in, sir," said another servant, who had just come
down the steps. "Go up that staircase and turn to your right through the
first door. You will soon find somebody who will inform you."
Edward obeyed, thinking the manners of the Chateau of Dampierre somewhat
strange, it must be confessed, but being perfectly prepared to follow
the old adage of doing at Rome &c. The stairs were wide and low-stepped,
of dark polished oak, with richly-ornamented balusters; and the walls of
the staircase were covered with rich pictures both of Italian and
Flemish schools. At the top was a broad landing-place or vestibule, with
doors all round; but, following the directions he had received, the
young Englishman opened the first on the right and entered a splendid
saloon, where, seated in a great arm-chair, was a lady of gorgeous and
dazzling beauty, with a little girl of some seven or eight years old at
her knee, nearly as beautiful as herself. The eyes of both were fixed
upon the opening door with a gay look of expectation; and the moment
that Edward was fairly in the room the little girl ran forward, sprung
up, and kissed him. The beautiful lady followed and kissed him likewise,
laughing gayly as she did so.
It was certainly a surprise, though not a very disagreeable one, and
Edward would not have objected to go over the same scene again; but,
fancying there must be some mistake, he said, "I beg pardon for my
intrusion. I imagine, madame, that you have--happily for me--taken me
for some one else, by the honor you show me. I am merely a page to Lord
Montagu, whom I hope to find here."
"No mistake at all, monsieur," said the gay lady. "It is a vow,
sir,--altogether a vow,--which I and my daughter made, to kiss the first
gentleman that came to relieve our solitude; for my magnificent lord has
chosen to take himself away with all his people, and we have seen no
faces but those of the old servants for two whole days. It was a vow,
sir, we accomplished; but, even had it not been, I suppose I am not the
first duchess who has kissed a page, and probably I shall not be the
last."
"Heaven forbid!" said Edward, entering into the humor of the hour, "if
all duchesses' kisses are as sweet. But I presume I am in the presence
of Madame de Chevreuse, for whom I have a letter."
"Well, well," said the bright, reckless woman, "sit down here beside me
and tell me more. So you are my friend Lord Montagu's page. He has
expected you long, and told me all about you. How happened you to linger
on the road? Now, I warrant you met with some pretty little maiden, and
could not tear yourself away till you had beguiled the poor thing."
Edward took the seat to which she pointed beside her own chair, and
proceeded to tell her all he thought necessary to account for his long
delay, but without alluding in any way to Lucette. The explanation was
somewhat long, and the duchess listened listlessly, sometimes gazing at
his face, sometimes looking down at her own beautiful hands and shifting
the rings about in an absent manner. Edward, as was customary at that
period, nourished two locks of dark silky hair, twisted into those long
pendent curls which brought forth at an after-period the famous
puritanical tirade upon "the unloveliness of love-locks;" and, a little
to his surprise, as he went on he felt the fair duchess's hands busy
with the curls and twisting them round her fingers. Suddenly, however,
she started, exclaiming, "What am I about?" and Edward innocently
thought she was shocked at the familiarity into which a fit of absence
had betrayed her. Not a bit of it; and he was soon undeceived.
"Surely I saw two attendants with you as I was looking from the window,"
she continued; "and I have totally forgotten the poor men and the poor
horses. Run, my child, and tell Paton, the Savoyard, to have the men and
horses monsieur brought here taken care of; and bid somebody carry his
baggage to the chamber Lord Montagu had, next to mine. It is strange,
you will think," she continued, as her daughter tripped away: "I have
not a soubrette in the house, nor any woman but the old housekeeper and
my own girl; but I came away from Britanny in such haste, not knowing
whether I should be suffered to come away at all, that the fewer people
I brought with me the better. Now let me hear the rest, and give me the
letter you mentioned,--after which you shall have some food."
Edward had little more to tell, except the execution of poor Chalais,
and the permission given him by Richelieu to pursue his journey. The
first he touched but slightly, as the common rumor of something more
than the mere relations of friendship between the unhappy count and
Madame de Chevreuse had reached him; but the duchess would hear all, and
for a time she seemed greatly moved, although her love was so very
minutely divided that there could be no great portion for any individual
lover. At his account of his last interview with Richelieu,--which was
somewhat lame, from there being various circumstances which he felt
bound to keep back,--Madame de Chevreuse mused.
"The cardinal has some object," she said: "in fact, he always has. It
was not for your good mien he let you go on, depend upon it,--though you
are a handsome boy, I do not deny, and if the fox had been a woman I
could have understood his favor for you better,--though probably he
would then have kept you with him, as I intend to do."
"Indeed, madame," replied Edward, "I fear my duty requires me to go on
immediately, if, as I gather from your conversation, Lord Montagu is not
here. I need not tell you how much I should like to stay."
"Why do you not add something about bright eyes and beautiful lips, &c.
&c. &c., in true page style?" said Madame de Chevreuse; and then, giving
him a playful box on the ear, she added, "Were not you told to take my
orders and follow my directions, sir? It was so explained to me; but I
see I have a great deal to teach you yet. You will have to wait till the
day after to-morrow. Here; listen; put down your head." And as Edward
obeyed she brought her rosy lips so near his ear that the perfumed
breath fanned his cheek. "To-morrow night," she whispered, "I shall have
news of Montagu, and the day after, perhaps, I shall find it convenient
to take flight for Lorraine myself. The neighborhood of the court is
somewhat dangerous for me; and my head looks prettier upon my own
shoulders than in the hands of the executioner. In the mean time, you
have to stay here and console my daughter and myself. We live the life
of two nuns just now: you know how nuns live, I dare say,--young nuns,
of course, I mean. And now, let us talk of any thing but business: you
have to amuse me, and I have to be amused. I do not much care how."
I think it may be as well to drop for the present the further
conversation of the gay young duchess and her still younger companion.
She had all her life been famous for free speaking, and a little
celebrated for free acting; and, had it not been necessary to show
something of the life and manners of the times, I might have been
tempted not to bring her on the stage at all,--although, in writing the
adventures of Lord Montagu's page, Edward's visit to Dampierre could
hardly be left out. It must be remembered, however, that, though
somewhat more beautiful, more gay and witty, than most of her courtly
compeers, Marie de Rohan was but a type of French society at that time.
Few of the high dames of that day were at all more virtuous than
herself, although she had the candour--or the impudence, as it may
be--to make very few pretensions.
She had said that she had many things to teach Edward, and certainly
hers was not a very good school for a young lad; but he learned there
more perhaps than she imagined, and in the midst of her light coquetries
the sweet pure image of his Lucette came up to his mind, like the odor
of a fresh flower in the midst of some scene of revel. He thanked God
with all his heart that she whom he loved had never been subjected to
the guardianship of such a woman; and he even felt pained that the poor
young child her daughter should be witness to the reckless levity which
the mother displayed. There is a holiness about childhood; and the heart
of every man not impious revolts at the very thought of any thing which
can profane that shrine of innocence.
Edward dined well; for the Duc de Chevreuse was one of the most
luxurious--the French writers call it splendid--of the nobility of the
day. He is reported at one time to have ordered six magnificent coaches
merely to try which was the easiest; and he was not a man to have any of
his many houses at any time unprovided with a good cook.
After dinner is the time for sober but not heavy chat: the most
persistent of appetites is satisfied; the blood has something to do in
the process of digestion, and frolics less freely than at other times;
and the brain itself turns hard work over to the stomach, and neither
sports like a young horse set free from harness, nor lies down to sleep
like an ass upon a common. The Duchesse de Chevreuse went to lie down
upon her bed and rest after dinner, as was then common; but, as was
fully as common, she asked the young Englishman to come and sit beside
her. There were no triclinia in those days, nor _chaises longues_, nor
sofas; and, although piles of cushions had been introduced into a few
houses by those who had served against or with the Turks, they had not
found their way into the Chateau de Dampierre. Her conversation was much
more sober, however, than it had been in the earlier part of the day;
and from it Edward learned that Lord Montagu had talked to her much
about him, had told her his whole history, and had even left with her a
purse of five hundred crowns for his use, expressing a conviction that
some unforeseen accident had delayed him on his journey and might have
exhausted his finances.
"He seemed to take a vast deal of interest in you," said the duchess,
"and made me long to see you. But, Monsieur Langdale, this conduct of
his Eminence of Richelieu toward you puzzles me, and to my mind augurs
little good. Tell me: did any thing particular happen to you on the
road? Did you meet with any of the cardinal's people? Are these two men
you have brought with you sure and faithful?"
The remembrance of the two strangers who had endeavored to force
themselves upon him, instantly recurred to Edward's mind, and he related
the whole adventure.
"Spies! spies, on my life!" cried the duchess. "I trust they did not
discover you were coming here?"
"Not from me," answered Edward Langdale; "for I suspected them from the
first."
"Ah! then you have learned to suspect betimes," said the duchess; "and I
dare say you suspect women as much as men,--though we are more sincere
by half. I say not we are more faithful, for men are so unfaithful that
we should lose at that game; but we show more openly what we feel, and
therefore are more true. Now, tell me: were you ever in love, Monsieur
Langdale?"
Thus she rambled on, with less gayety, and less familiarity, perhaps,
than before dinner; but there was a sort of languor about her, a soft
sleepiness, which was perhaps more attractive, especially to a young
man. One of the greatest charms of that extraordinary woman was her
infinite variety. Was it now a desire merely to coquet with a young and
handsome lad? Was it only with the purpose of amusing a vacant hour or
two? Was it without purpose at all, and that she simply gave way to the
passing feelings of the moment and with listless carelessness left the
results to chance? I know not; and probably she herself and Edward
Langdale were the only persons who ever knew.
Authors will get into difficulties sometimes, dear reader,--will come to
sticking-places where they find it as difficult to go back as to wade
through. The only way in such circumstances is to take a great jump;
and, thank Heaven, the horses we ride are equal to any leap.
The next morning Edward and the duchess and her daughter met at
breakfast; and Madame de Chevreuse, if not in great spirits, was
cheerful and gay, and full of plans for passing the day pleasantly. She
would go and show the young Englishman the grotto and the rocks; they
would kill a stag in the adjoining forest; they would visit the _curé_
of Chevreuse, and astonish the good man,--a sport which she by no means
disliked: but while they were arranging all these schemes on the open
space before the chateau, a courier was seen riding up from the gates,
and when he came near he handed the duchess two letters.
The blood left her cheek as she read, and, instantly drawing Edward
aside, she said, "We must part at once. You go on as fast as possible to
Gray. Wait there two days, and, if you hear no more, ride forward to
Turin. As for myself, look here." And she put a paper into his hand. It
was a copy of the decree banishing her to Lorraine, there to remain upon
her own estates till the king's further pleasure.
"Order your horses quickly," she said. "Then come to my chamber for the
sum Montagu left for you. Glimpses of sunshine! glimpses of sunshine in
this April-day life! and then dark clouds and heavy showers."
In an hour, Edward Langdale rode away from Dampierre. He was grave and
silent. What was in his heart who can tell? but he certainly did not
view the world more brightly, or feel more confidence in human nature,
than he had done before that short visit.