We left Edward Langdale at nightfall, and, by the reader's good leave,
may as well take him up again about the same hour, but with an interval
of some ten days. The interval measured upon the earth's surface must be
equally great. When we last saw him he was entering a little town on
the frontiers of Burgundy, just after the cool sunset of a chilly spring
day. He was now riding out of the fine old town of Niort after a warm
day's journey; for even under the genial sky of France ten days will
make a great difference, and bring the warm breath of the South to
expand the flowers, though winter even there will sometimes linger in
the lap of spring.
"Well, sir," said Jacques Beaupré, who was a good deal tired with a
longer day's ride than usual, "everybody says you will find the town
full of soldiers; and we all know where fighting men are there is no
room for civil men."
"We will find room, Jacques," replied Edward, in a light, confident
tone; "and, as to civility, if we don't show ourselves too militant, the
fighting-men will be civil enough, depend on it. But, my good friend, I
must, if possible, see the cardinal to-morrow. They tell me that an
assault upon Rochelle will be made shortly; and, if I could but get into
the town for a few hours----"
Jacques Beaupré shook his head, saying, "Ah, sir, it is all in vain. I
will go as far to help poor old Clement Tournon as any man; but the good
syndic is most likely dead of starvation by this time; and, if he is
not, you might as well try to persuade a cat to let a mouse get out of
her jaws as attempt to persuade his Eminence to let one single soul, old
or young, get out of Rochelle."
"I will try, at all events," answered Edward. "He who makes no effort
never succeeds. He who makes an effort may fail, but he may succeed. The
man who helped me at my utmost need shall never say that I did not try
to help him when he was in a harder scrape. Ride on, ride on: we have
still three leagues to go."
The twilight grew fainter as they went, and it was quite dark when they
emerged from the little wood which lies about a quarter of a league from
the small old town of Fontenay, then universally called Rohan Rohan. It
is now a mere insignificant burgh; but in those times and in the time
before it was a small city of some importance,--if not for its commerce,
at least for its capabilities for defence. It had even ventured a short
time before to set at defiance the arms of France, and had made an
obstinate resistance, but, having fallen at length, had suffered
severely from the captors.
It was night, as I have said, when Edward and his two companions first
came within sight; and very little of the place would have been visible
had not a large body of men, which formed the rear-guard of the royal
army, been marched out some days before and encamped a mile beyond the
town. Every one who has seen a camp must have remarked how much more
light finds its way to the sky from amongst the tents in the early part
of the night than arises from amongst the houses of a city, though,
perhaps, much more populous; and now the blaze from watch-fires and
lamps and torches threw out the dark masses of the town of Rohan Rohan,
with its fine old castle, in strong relief.
It is rarely that the rear of an army is guarded with as much care as
its van. Few captains are as careful as Earl Percy. But in this case
negligence was more excusable; for no one in all the camp ever dreamed
of such a thing as an attack in the rear. Moreover, to say the truth,
that rear-guard in advance of Rohan Rohan was composed of a somewhat
disorderly set, gentlemen and soldiers alike, not one of whom wished
particularly to see the fall of Rochelle.
To explain the cause of this indifference would take up too much time;
but the words of Bassompierre revealed the fact when he said, "You will
see we shall be fools enough to take Rochelle."
However that might be, Edward and his companions had passed the centre
of the town before they saw a single soldier. It was badly lighted, it
is true; but the cause of their not seeing any was that there were none
to be seen. The young gentleman looked for guard, or picquet, or patrol,
in vain, till he arrived within a hundred yards of the end of the street
which leads up from Pont de Cossé to the castle. There, however, he was
challenged for the first time,--one of a group of musketeers who were
drinking at the door of a house starting up and demanding the password.
Edward, unable to give it, requested to see the man's officer, and was
led unceremoniously into the house, where he found an old gray-headed
gentleman seated reading, with his steel cap upon the table. To him the
young gentleman's errand was soon explained, and his safe-conduct
exhibited.
"I cannot let you pass, young gentleman, without further orders," said
the old man; "but if you will wait here for an hour I will send on your
name and the description of your pass to our commander. He will soon let
us hear from him. I am rather curiously situated myself, and therefore
must be careful."
"I must wait the leisure of the king's officers," answered Edward, in a
civil tone. "But, in the mean while, perhaps my two men, who are
without, can get some forage for the horses and some food for
themselves. I have not seen an inn open in the whole place."
"I suppose not," said the old officer, dryly. "But some of my people
will easily find for yours what they want. Pray, be seated and wait till
my return."
He was not gone more than five minutes; and then about an hour passed in
broken and desultory conversation between him and his visitor, whom he
treated with every sort of distinction,--for by this time Edward was
once more equipped in the garments of a gentleman of the court, which
were none the less gentlemanly for being plain and sober. Some of the
old man's questions and observations seemed to his young companion
somewhat strange: he asked if Edward had met any parties of armed men on
the road, how long he had travelled, which way he had come, and remarked
that this siege was a weary business, but that the cardinal was
determined to carry Rochelle whatever it might cost.
Edward replied as shortly as politeness permitted, and only put a few
questions in return. Amongst them, however, he inquired who was the
officer commanding the troops in front, and heard, with sensations not
altogether pleasant, that his name was Monsieur de Lude, into whose
hands he had fallen once before.
At the end of an hour he was relieved, however; for a soldier, entering
the room with every appearance of haste, gave a letter into the hands
of the old officer, who opened and read it with a good deal of
merriment.
"Monsieur de Lude writes thus," he said: "'Present my compliments to
Monsieur de Langdale and inform him that I cannot let him pass the posts
till I have the cardinal's permission, which I have no doubt will be
given as soon as he hears his name.' Shall I read the rest?" asked the
old officer.
Edward nodded, and he went on thus:--"'I got into a devil of a scrape
last summer about him and a girl he had with him. Who the mischief he is
I don't know; but, by what the cardinal said when I saw him, I think he
must be his Eminence's pet cat turned into a cavalier. On your life, be
as civil to him as possible; give him the best rooms in the castle, and
feed and drink him well, till I can come over myself,--which will be as
soon as I hear from the cardinal to-morrow. I am half afraid to stop
him. But what can I do? The orders are strict not to let any one pass
the posts, because'----The rest," continued the old man, abruptly,
"refers to matters of no consequence. You will find the rooms of the
castle very comfortable, for they were inhabited by the Duc de Rohan but
a few weeks before we sat down before the place, and some of the old
servants have been suffered to remain till the king's pleasure is known.
Heaven grant there be no ghosts there to disturb you!--though there are
some strange tales, as in regard to every old country-house."
"I am not afraid of any thing unsubstantial," answered Edward. "Do you
know what has become of the Duc de Rohan?"
"No,--not rightly," replied the old officer, with some slight
hesitation. "They did say he was threatening the right flank of the army
with a body of horse; but he must have found out by this time it was of
no use. Men must submit to circumstances, sir. But let us go. I will
have the honor of escorting you. We shall find your servants somewhere
about." And, calling aloud for torches, he led the way out of the low
house where he had taken up his quarters, and gave some orders to the
men about the door.
Before the torches were lighted and Edward Langdale and his companion,
with two men before them, had proceeded a hundred yards up the hill,
Jacques Beaupré and Pierrot had joined them, leading the horses. In
sooth, the party proceeded exceedingly slowly; and it took a full
quarter of an hour to reach the gates of the chateau. All watch and ward
was gone; and at the inner door of the lodging-part of the building
appeared a tremulous old man with a candle in his hand. The old officer
called him "Matthew," as if they had been long acquainted, and ordered
him briefly to pay every attention to the guest and give him the best
chambers in the house.
"Those are the duchess's apartments," said the old majordomo. "We will
have a fire lighted in a moment, gentlemen; but I fear me there is not
much in the house to eat. However, I will tell old Henri Borgne, who was
cook here before Maître Grondin's father came, to get something ready
with all speed."
"No, no," said the old officer: "this gentleman is not fond of
antediluvian sauces. I will make shift to send him up a roast chicken
and a pottage. We are not particularly well off for provisions down
below; but I can find something, and I think, Matthew, you can find the
wine."
"Hush, hush, sir," said the old man, in a low voice: "if your soldiers
did but hear."
"I will break the first man's neck that climbs the hill," replied the
officer.
"I want nothing," said Edward. "We supped at Cossé, and my men have
taken care of themselves below, depend upon it. Where is the duchess
now, Monsieur Matthew? and who has she got with her?"
"Oh, she is in Venice still," replied the old man; "and there are Madame
St. Aignan, and Mademoiselle de Mirepoix, and three or four maids, and
the serving-men. Do you know her, sir? She's a fine lady, and mighty
gay."
"I have not the honor," said Edward. "But now, my good man, let the fire
be lighted: I shall go to bed soon, for I have ridden long and hard. I
trust," he continued, addressing the old officer, "that Monsieur de Lude
will communicate my coming to his Eminence as soon as possible; for it
is very necessary that I should see him without delay."
"Be you sure he will do that," replied the other. "De Lude is not a man
to burn his fingers twice with the same chestnut."
He then took his leave. The old servant with the candle marshalled the
way ceremoniously to a very splendid suite of apartments which had
escaped, I know not how, from the rude hands of the soldiers when the
town was taken. Pierrot and Jacques Beaupré disposed of themselves,
doubtless very comfortably; and Edward sat down to meditate. The reader
need not ask what was the subject of his thoughts, if he remembers that
those were the halls and dwelling-place of the ancestors of Lucette.
"Was it a dream?" he asked himself. Hardly nine months before, had he
passed with her not many miles from that very spot? had they wandered
alone together for weeks without restraint? had they borne suffering,
anxiety, danger in dear companionship which made even danger sweet? had
they been married, parted, met again, and again parted?
There are times when a sensation of the unreality of all things upon
this earth comes over us,--when memory seems but a dream, our past acts
a vision, our hopes, our fears, our enjoyments, but the fancies of the
fleeting hour.
For an instant it was so with Edward Langdale as he sat and gazed into
the flickering and phantasm-begetting fire. But when he turned his eyes
around upon those old walls, whose scrolls and sconces and fantastic
ornaments all spoke of the past,--all told that he was in the dwelling
of the Rohan Rohans,--the strange, shadowy doubts vanished: he felt that
there was something real in the world,--something more real than mere
tangible objects; that, if all else died or passed away like a show, the
realities of heart and mind must remain forever,--that esteem,
affection, love, truth, honesty and honor, genius and wisdom, can never
perish.
How long he sat he knew not; but his meditations were interrupted by the
old servant bringing in fresh wood, with a man from the town below,
bearing a tray of provisions.
The former he was glad to have, for the night had grown chilly; but the
latter he sent away to Pierrot and Beaupré, bidding them eat and then go
to rest, as he wanted nothing more. The old man, after reverent offers
of service, put some fresh candles in the sconces and left him, assuring
him that he should have had candlesticks,--fine silver flambeaux,--but
that they had been taken away.
Edward, left alone, began to pace up and down the room. He looked at the
bed, which seemed comfortable enough, and thought of lying down; but he
had no inclination to sleep. The chamber was a square room in an angle
of the tower, one side looking to the south and the other to the east.
The windows were without blinds or shutters. Edward advanced to one on
the southern side, from which there was a view over a considerable part
of the camp. The glow which had risen in that direction some hours
before had considerably diminished: the watch-fires were dying out; the
torches no longer moved about from place to place. He lifted his eyes to
the sky, studded with stars, and saw a planet with a pure mild light
moving upward untwinkling amongst the more steadfast watchers of the
night.
"Can there be any truth," he thought, "in those tales of the
astrologers? Can the fate of many men, of many nations, depend upon the
course of such a pale, silent orb as that?" And, turning to the table
again, he sat down and let his thoughts run on in the new course they
had assumed. Every thing grew more and more silent around. The village
clock struck. He did not count its sounds, but he felt it must be near
midnight.
Who can tell what it is which, when alone and in silence, at that still
spectral hour, seems to chill the warm blood of the heart, and fills the
brain with ideas vague, and awful, and sublime,--with fancies gloomy, if
not fearful?
Edward sat thoughtfully for nearly half an hour longer. The fire had
fallen low, and he rose and threw some more wood upon it; but it would
not burn. He then rose and went to the other window, which looked
eastward. The moon was just rising, and he could see over a wide extent
of country, with the wood which he had passed on his way to Fontenay on
the left of the picture, then half a mile or so of open sandy ground,
then another wood to the right, and farther still, on the same side,
but more distant, the spires and towers of some other little town. There
was the haziness of moonlight over the whole scene; but the moon, though
she was strong enough to cast long shadows from every elevated object,
so flooded the whole scene with light that the more distant features
were not distinct.
Suddenly Edward raised his hand half open to his brow, and gazed from
underneath. He saw something that surprised him. A dark figure issued
from the wood; more followed; line after line of black, soldier-like
phantoms swept over the sandy ground from the one wood toward the other,
disappearing as they entered. But still more followed, horse and foot.
They seemed to be a moving host; but there was something so quiet and
gliding in their motions that Edward could hardly believe they were
substantial. He opened the window quietly and listened. There was no
noise; there was no beat of drum, or sound of fife, or clang of arms, or
tramp of marching men. Yet still the line went on, troop after troop and
squadron after squadron, in the same silent, stealthy way; and where he
stood he could discern no shadows cast by the moon from the passing
multitude.
At length he thought that fatigue must have affected his mind or body
strangely; and, retiring from the window, he closed it, and lay down to
sleep without undressing.
His eyes closed heavily in a few minutes; but, ere an hour was over, he
started up and gazed around him, wondering where he was. Then, as
remembrance came back, he approached the window again and gazed out. The
moon was higher in the heaven, and shining with great splendor; but the
phantom host had disappeared, and nothing was to be seen but the misty
landscape and the shadows of the trees.