Which, if the reader can get through it, will bring him to the end
of the history.
All delay in the execution of a sentence where there exists no hope of
mercy, is but needless cruelty; yet De Blenau was suffered to linger
fourteen weary nights and days between the day of his condemnation and
that appointed for his death. It approached, however, at length. We are
told, by those who have had the best opportunities of judging, that the
last night of a condemned prisoner's existence is generally passed in
slumber. It was so with De Blenau. Hope and fear were equally things
gone by to him. The bitter sentence of death had rung in his ear. He had
traced the last lines of affection to her he loved. He had paid the
last duties of religion; and fatigued with the strong excitement which
his mind had undergone, he threw himself on his couch and fell into that
profound sleep which only despair can give, and which approaches near to
annihilation.
He was yet buried in forgetfulness when the gaoler came to announce that
the fatal hour was come, and for a moment, even after his spirit had
resumed her powers, memory still wandered far from the reality. He had
not dreamed, but all thought of the last few months had been
obliterated, and remembrance escaping from the painful present, lingered
fondly over all he had left behind.
It lasted not long, and as all the truth came rushing on his mind, he
thought alone of his approaching fate, and to meet it as became him. His
heart, indeed, was sick of all the instability of this world's things,
and for an instant there was a feeling almost amounting to satisfaction,
when he thought that the eternal balancing between hope and fear,
between joy and disappointment, was soon to be over, and that his soul,
wearied of change and doubt, would quickly have peace and certainty.
But then again the lingering ties of earth, the fond warm fellowships of
human existence came strongly upon him, with all the throng of kindly
sympathies that bind us to this world, and made him shrink from the
thought of breaking them all at once.
This also lasted but a moment--his fate was sealed, and hurrying over
all that might in any degree undermine his fortitude, he followed into
the court-yard, where the Prevost de Lyons and several of the
authorities of the town, with a file of soldiers, waited his coming.
The distance was so short from the place of his confinement to the
scaffold where he had beheld for the last time his unhappy friend Cinq
Mars, that the use of a carriage was dispensed with; and the guard
having formed an avenue through the crowd, the gates were thrown open to
give him exit for the last time.
"Monsieur de Blenau, will you take my arm," said the Prevost of Lyons:
"mine is a sad office, Sir, but the arm is not an unfriendly one."
De Blenau, however, declined it with thanks, saying that he needed no
support, and with a Priest on one hand and the Prevost on the other, he
proceeded calmly towards the scaffold, and ascended the steps with a
firm unshaken footstep. The block, and the axe, and the masked
executioner were nothing in De Blenau's eyes but the mere weak
precursors of the one awful event on which all his thoughts were bent,
and for which his mind was now fully prepared. There was but one thought
which could at all shake his fortitude--there was but one tie to be
broken which wrung his heart to break. He thought of Pauline de
Beaumont--but he thought also that he had merited a better fate; and
proudly spurning the weakness that strove to grow upon his heart, he
resolved to die as he had lived, worthy of her he loved. The very
feeling gave new dignity to his air, and he stood erect and firm while
the soldiers were disposed about the scaffold, and his sentence was read
aloud by the Prevost.
A great multitude surrounded the place, and fixed their eyes upon the
victim of arbitrary power, as he stood calm and unmoved before them, in
the spring of youth and the dignity of conscious innocence. There were
few who had not heard of the Count de Blenau, and all that they had
heard was good. The heart of man too, however fallen, has still one
spot reserved for the dwelling of compassion, and its very weakness
makes it soften to virtue in distress, and often even to forget faults
in misfortunes. However that may be, there was a glistening in the eyes
of many as they turned their looks towards De Blenau, who, according to
the universal custom of the time, advanced to the front of the scaffold
to address them. "Good friends," said he, "it is the will of Heaven that
here I should give back the spirit which has been lent me; and so help
me that God into whose bright presence I now go, as I am innocent of any
crime towards my King and Country!" A murmur ran among the people. "This
is my last asseveration," he continued; "and my last counsel to you is,
to keep your hearts clear and guiltless, so that if misfortune should
follow any one as it has followed me, he may be able to lay his head
upon the block as fearlessly as I do now." And retiring a step, he
unloosed his collar, and knelt for the stroke of the executioner.
"A horse! A horse! A council messenger! Pardon for the Count! Pardon for
the Count!" cried a thousand voices from the crowd. De Blenau looked up.
Headlong down the long narrow street that then led in a straight line
from the square, his horse in foam, his hat left far behind, and his
long grey hair flying in the wind, spurring as if for life, came a
horseman, who ever and anon held up a packet in his hand, and
vociferated something that was lost in the distance. He wore the dress
of a Lieutenant of the King's forests, and dashing like lightning
through the crowd, that reeled back on every side as he approached, he
paused not till he reached the foot of the scaffold,--threw himself from
his horse--passed unopposed through the guards--rushed up the steps, and
Philip the Woodman of Mantes cast himself at De Blenau's feet. "My
noble, noble Lord!" exclaimed the Woodman. It was all that he could
utter, for his breath was gone with the rapidity of his progress.
"What is all this?" cried the Prevost of Lyons, coming forward. "And why
do you stop the execution of the prisoner, Sir Lieutenant? What is all
this?"--
Philip started on his feet, "What is it?" he exclaimed, "why, that none
of you blood-sucking wolves dare put a fang to the Count's throat:
that's what it is! There is his pardon, with the King's own signature;
ay! and the Cardinal's to boot! At least, so Monsieur de Chavigni tells
me; for being no great clerk, I have not read it myself."
The Prevost unfolded the paper and read, "'_Aujourd'hui_,' &c.--Ah! yes,
all in form.--'The King having learned that the crimes of the Sieur
Claude de Blenau, Count de Blenau, and Seigneur de Blancford, are not so
heavy as at first appeared, and having investigated--&c. has ordained
and does ordain--out of his great grace, &c.--that the sentence of death
be changed and commuted to perpetual banishment, &c.--And if after
sixteen days from the date hereof, he be found within the kingdoms of
France and Navarre,' &c.--You understand, Monsieur le Comte.--Well, Sir,
I congratulate you. Here is the King's name; 'Louis,' _et plus bas_,
'Richelieu'--Will you come and take some refreshment at my poor
lodgings?"
De Blenau was glad to accept the invitation, for his mind was too much
confused to fix upon any plan of action at the moment. His resolution
had borne him strongly up at the time when all hope seemed lost; but now
the sudden change overpowered him; and amidst the acclamations of the
multitude, he suffered himself to be conducted in silence to the house
of the Prevost; where he was soon after discovered by his Page, Henri de
La Mothe.
We shall now pass quickly over the means which he took to procure money
for the expenses of the journey before him, merely saying that, through
the kindness of the Prevost, he was soon furnished with the necessary
funds for proceeding; and accordingly set out from Lyons the second
morning after that, the events of which we have described. Two powerful
reasons induced De Blenau to turn his steps towards Spain: in the first
place, it was much nearer than either Germany or Flanders, which were
the only other countries where he could hope for perfect security; and,
in the next place, his road to the frontier passed not only close to his
own estates, but skirted the property of Madame de Beaumont, and he was
not without hopes of meeting there some that were the dearest to him of
the earth; for he learned from Henri de La Mothe, that the vengeance of
the implacable Richelieu had extended to Pauline, and her mother, who
had been ordered once more to quit the Court of France, as a punishment
for having conveyed information to him in the Bastille.
Philip the Woodman was not forgotten in De Blenau's new arrangements;
and under the pretence of charging him with a letter back to St.
Germain's, in case Madame de Beaumont should not be in Languedoc, the
young Count seduced him into a promise of accompanying him to
Argentière. His real motive, however, was, to recompense the Woodman's
services, on arriving at his own property, in a manner which the scanty
state of his finances prevented him from doing at Lyons.
Notwithstanding all the joy he felt at his deliverance, there was a
heaviness hung over De Blenau as he rode out of Lyons, which he could
not account for, and a sensation of fatigue which he had never felt
before. To shorten the road, he beckoned to the Woodman, who, with Henri
de La Mothe, had dropped a little behind, and made him relate the
circumstances which led to his being despatched with the King's pardon
to Lyons. Philip's story, which occupied a long while in telling, may be
considerably shortened without disadvantage.
It must be remembered, that at the time of De Blenau's liberation from
the Bastille, Chavigni had promised, as some compensation for all that
Philip had suffered by his means, to have him appointed Sous-lieutenant
of the forest of Mantes: and he kept his word.
Philip was placed in the office, and exercised its functions, but the
actual brevet containing his official appointment had been delayed by a
multitude of other affairs pressing for attention, till the Statesman's
return from Narbonne. At length, Philip heard that Chavigni had
returned, and that the King, with all the Ministers, were once more at
St. Germain's; and he ventured to wait upon his patron, as he had been
desired, to remind him of expediting the brevet. There were several
persons waiting, and in his turn he was shown into the Statesman's
cabinet.
Chavigni had forgotten his face, and asked the simple question, "Who are
_you_?"
Such simple questions, however, often produce more important
consequences. "I am the Woodman," replied Philip, "who was in prison
with the Count de Blenau."
"The Count de Blenau!" exclaimed Chavigni, while an expression of
horror passed over his countenance. "By all the Saints, I had forgot!
Yet, let me see, to-day is Wednesday--there is yet time--stay here a
moment!" and he rushed out of the room, leaving the astonished Woodman
not knowing at all what he meant. In about a quarter of an hour the
Statesman returned, breathless with the expedition he had used--"There!"
he exclaimed, putting a paper into Philip's hand--"There is his pardon,
signed by both the King and the Cardinal!--Away! take the swiftest horse
in my stable!--lose not a moment, or you will be too late! Use the
King's name for fresh horses, and show that signature.--Tell the Count,
Chavigni has kept his word."
"And where am I to go?" demanded Philip, quietly, still completely
ignorant of the cause of Chavigni's agitation.
"To Lyons, to Lyons! you fool!" cried Chavigni. "If you use not all
speed, the Count's head will be off before you arrive with his pardon."
"The Count de Blenau?" demanded Philip.
"Yes, yes, I tell you!" reiterated the Statesman, "your good old friend,
the Count de Blenau! So lose no time, if you would save his life."
Philip lost no time, and arrived at Lyons, as we have seen, just at the
critical moment of De Blenau's fate.
Though Philip's narrative served to interest De Blenau, and the
chattering of Henri de La Mothe to amuse him on the way, nevertheless he
could not conceal from himself that there was a lassitude gradually
growing upon him, which seemed to announce the approach of some serious
sickness. Naturally of a strong constitution, and an ardent temperament,
he never yielded to indisposition, till unable to sustain it any longer;
and though fatigue, anxiety, and distress, had weakened him much, and
his two attendants often hinted that he looked unwell, and required
repose, De Blenau would not acknowledge that he was ill, until he
arrived in the neighbourhood of Tournon. There, however, the powers of
nature failed him, and he felt that he could proceed no farther.
Scarcely able to sit his horse, he entered the town, and looked eagerly
about for some place where he could repose, when suddenly the eyes of
Henri de La Mothe rested upon the well-known sign of the _Sanglier
Gourmand_, which, as they afterwards found, was still kept by no other
person than the celebrated Jacques Chatpilleur, who had at last been
driven from the neighbourhood of the Bastille by the wrathful Governor,
for one of his drunken achievements, very similar to the one recounted
in our second volume, and had taken refuge in his native place, Tournon.
Here De Blenau alighted, and was conveyed to a bed-chamber, where he was
soon attacked by a violent fever, which rapidly increased. Delirium
followed; and he quickly lost all remembrance of surrounding objects,
though the name of Pauline de Beaumont would often tremble on his
tongue, and he fancied that he saw a thousand airy shapes hovering round
his bed, and constantly reminding him of her he loved.
In about twenty days the disease had run its course, and passed away,
leaving him in a state of excessive weakness; but, in the mean time, the
fever, which had nearly destroyed De Blenau, had entirely ruined the
unhappy Jacques Chatpilleur. The report spread through Tournon, that the
_aubergiste_ had a malignant sickness raging in his house; and instead
of coming thither, as usual, for the good things of this life, the
citizens not only passed his door without entering, but even crossed
over the way, as they went through the street, to be as far as possible
from the infected air. For some days after he discovered this defection,
melancholy preyed upon the unhappy _aubergiste_; but suddenly he seemed
to have taken a bold resolution; pulled down his sign; put by his pots
and pans; resumed his gaiety; and no sooner did De Blenau talk of once
more proceeding, than Jacques Chatpilleur laid before him his sad
condition, and prayed, as an act of justice, that he would take him with
him into Spain, and suffer him to be his Lordship's cook.
De Blenau had not the heart to deny him; but another thing came now to
be considered. The time which, according to the ordinance of the King,
had been allowed him for the purpose of quitting the realm, had long
expired, and he was now virtually an outlaw. Every one was called upon
to deliver him up as an exile returned without grace, and by law his
blood could be required at the hand of no one who shed it. These
circumstances, though not very agreeable in themselves, would have given
De Blenau but little concern, had not the Judge Lafemas been still in
his immediate neighbourhood. But from his vindictive spirit he had
every thing to fear if discovered within the precincts of France after
the allotted time had expired; and in consequence he determined to
travel by night, as soon as his strength was sufficiently restored, and
to effect his escape into Spain with as little delay as possible.
Jacques Chatpilleur applied himself with all the vigour of an _ancien
vivandier_ to re-establish his new lord in his former robust health, and
succeeded so well as to leave but little traces of all that fever and
anxiety had done upon his frame. In the mean time, Henri de La Mothe
took care to prepare secretly every thing for their departure; and
Philip the Woodman, who had somewhat balanced between a wish to return
to his family, and love for the good young Count, determined to follow
him to the frontier, as soon as he heard that his life was at the mercy
of any one who chose to take it.
Under these circumstances, one clear autumn night, towards twelve
o'clock, De Blenau sallied forth from the little town of Tournon,
accompanied by the somewhat curious escort of the Innkeeper, the
Woodman, and the Page, and proceeding silently and cautiously, arrived
safely in the neighbourhood of La Voulte, where, betaking themselves to
one of the large open fields of the country, the party reposed
themselves under the mulberry-trees, which by this time had been long
stripped both of their green leaves and their silken balls, but which
still offered some degree of concealment, and something to which they
could attach their horses.
At noon, Jacques Chatpilleur, as the most expert, was despatched to the
town for some provisions, which commission he executed with great zeal
and discretion, and returning, informed De Blenau that he had seen a
gentleman in black pass through the town, accompanied by a considerable
train habited in the same sad colour.
As De Blenau conjectured that this might be Lafemas, it was determined
to take additional precautions, and rather to live upon scanty fare than
send into any town again; and setting off as soon as it was dark, they
passed by Privas, and reached the skirts of the thick wood that began
about Aubenas, and sweeping round La Gorce extended almost to Viviers on
the one side, and to L'Argentière on the other. Near to Viviers lay the
estates of the Marchioness de Beaumont, and within a league of
Argentière was the Château de Blenau; but it was towards the former that
De Blenau bent his steps as soon as the second night had come. Before
they had gone far, it began to rain hard, and though the wood afforded
some covering, yet the lateness of the season had stripped it of all
that could yield any efficient shelter, except at a spot where two
evergreen oaks, growing together like twin-brothers, spread their still
verdant branches over a considerable space of ground. De Blenau was
inclined to proceed as quickly as possible; but Jacques Chatpilleur, who
now acted as body physician as well as cook, so strongly cautioned his
lord to avoid the wet, that the whole party betook themselves to the
shelter of the oaks, in hopes of the rain passing away.
Before them lay a considerable tract of road, upon which, after about
half an hour of heavy rain, the moon began to shine once more; and De
Blenau was about to proceed, when the sound of horses was heard upon the
very path which they had just passed. De Blenau and his party drew back
as quietly as possible behind the trees, and though the horses' feet
still made some noise, the water dropping from the branches of the
forest was enough to cover the sound. Scarcely, however, were they
themselves concealed, when a horseman appeared upon the road in a
sombre-coloured suit, with some one riding on his right hand, whom De
Blenau judged to be an inferior, from the bending position in which he
listened to what the other said. Six servants followed at a little
distance, and a straggler brought up the rear, wringing the wet from the
skirts of his doublet. One by one, they passed slowly by; the uncertain
light showing them to be well-armed and mounted, but still not shining
sufficiently to allow De Blenau the opportunity of considering their
features, though he thought that the form of the first rider was in some
degree familiar to him. It was not unlike that of Lafemas, yet, as far
as he could judge, taller and more erect. The cavalcade passed on, and
were seen winding down the road in the moonlight, till they came
opposite to a spot where some felled timber and blocks of stone
embarrassed the ground. Immediately that they arrived there, there was a
bright flash, the report of a carbine, and one of the horses fell
suddenly to the ground. In a moment, nine or ten horsemen, and two or
three on foot rushed forth from the wood; and the clashing of steel, the
report of pistols, and various cries of wrath or agony came sweeping
upon the gale.
"Were it Lafemas himself," cried De Blenau, "this must not be! _En
avant pour la France!_" and dashing his rowels into the horse's side, he
galloped headlong down the road, followed by the Woodman, the Page, and
the redoubtable Jacques Chatpilleur.
Two moments brought them to the scene of the combat, and the moon
shining out seemed expressly to light the fray. The one party was
evidently to be distinguished by their black habits, the other by their
rusty cuirasses and morions. Directly in the way of De Blenau was the
Cavalier he had marked as he passed, contending with a man of almost
gigantic strength; but, notwithstanding the superior force of the
latter, his antagonist still foiled him by his skilful defence, when
suddenly one of the robbers on foot attacked the Cavalier also behind.
Thus beset, he turned to strike him down, when the tremendous Norman
(for it was no other) caught his bridle rein, and urging the horse back,
threw him to the ground. The robber on foot shortened the pike he
carried to plunge it in his body. But by this time De Blenau's party had
come up; and the courageous _aubergiste_ galloping on, bore the point of
his long sword in a direct line forward, which catching the pikeman
just below the cuirass, spitted him, to use Jacques Chatpilleur's own
expression, just like a widgeon.
In the mean while, the Norman had turned upon De Blenau, and snapped a
pistol at his head, which, however, missed fire. Enraged at his
disappointment, he threw the weapon from him, and spurring on his horse,
aimed a tremendous blow at the Count, which was instantly parried, and
returned by a straightforward lunge that cut him above the eye, and
deluged his face in blood. Mad with the pain, and half-blinded with the
gore, Marteville attempted once more the feat by which he had overthrown
his former antagonist; and, catching De Blenau's rein, urged his horse
back with Herculean strength. In vain the Count spurred him forward; he
sank upon his haunches, and was floundering in the fall, when De Blenau,
finding it inevitable, let go the rein, fixed his knees firm in the
saddle, and raising his sword with both hands, discharged it with all
his force upon the head of the Norman. The true steel passed clear on,
hewed through the iron morion, cleft through hair and skull, and sank
deep into his brain. He reeled in the saddle; his hands let go their
grasp, and he fell headlong to the ground, while the horse of De Blenau,
suddenly released from the pressure, rose up, and plunging forward trod
him under its feet. De Blenau lost not his presence of mind for a
moment, and while his horse was yet in the spring, he aimed a blow at
the Gros St. Nicolas, who had been hurrying to the assistance of his
captain, which disabled his shoulder, and threw him from his horse.
"_Sauve qui peut!_" cried the Robber, starting up on his feet and
running for the wood, "_Sauve qui peut!_ The Captain is dead!"
"_Sauve qui peut! Sauve qui peut!_" rang among the Robbers, and in a few
minutes De Blenau and his party were left masters of the field. The
Count drew up his horse, exclaiming, "Do not follow! Do not follow! Let
us look to the wounded;" and dismounting, he hurried to assist the
fallen Cavalier, who was struggling to disengage himself from his horse.
"Next to God, Sir, I have to thank you," said the stranger, as soon as
he had risen. "But--is it possible! Monsieur de Blenau!" he exclaimed as
the moonlight gleamed on the countenance of the Count. "God of heaven, I
thought you were in Spain long ago!"
"Monsieur de Chavigni! or I am mistaken," said De Blenau. "But I know
that I can trust to your honour, and therefore must say, that though my
late illness may have rendered me an outlaw, by detaining me in France
after my sentence of exile, yet I will not regret it, as it has given me
the opportunity of serving the man to whom I am indebted for my
life.--There, Sir, is my hand."
Chavigni embraced him warmly. "Let us look to the men who are wounded,
Monsieur de Blenau," said he, "and then I will give you a piece of news
which, however painful to me, will be satisfactory to you.--Cannot some
one strike a light, that we may examine more carefully what has occurred
on this unhappy spot; for I see many on the earth."
"It shall be done in the turning of a spit, Monseigneur," said Jacques
Chatpilleur, who had already collected some dry wood; and who now
quickly produced a fire by means of the flint of a pistol.
The scene that presented itself was a sad one. On the earth lay two of
Chavigni's servants dead, and one desperately wounded. To these was
added Henri de La Mothe, who had received a severe cut on the head, and
was stunned with the blow. Not far from the body of the Norman lay his
companion Callot, who was the pikeman despatched by the bellicose
_aubergiste_. In addition to these was a robber, whose head had been
nearly severed from his body by the cutlas which was borne by Philip the
woodman, in his capacity of Lieutenant of the King's forests; and one so
severely wounded by a pistol-ball from the hand of Chavigni, that his
companions had been obliged to abandon him. From him they learned that
the attack upon Chavigni had been preconcerted; that understanding he
was bending his steps towards Montpellier, Marteville had obtained exact
information of his course; and finding that he must pass through the
forest by Viviers, had laid in wait for him, with the expectation both
of revenge and plunder.
"And now, Monsieur de Blenau," said Chavigni, as soon as their
investigation ended, "whither does your immediate path lay? You know you
can trust me."
"I do," said De Blenau. "I go first towards Viviers, to the Chateau of
the late Marquis de Beaumont."
"And I go there too," said Chavigni. "I am even now expected; for I sent
forward a servant to announce my coming."
"Indeed!" exclaimed De Blenau, "May I ask your errand?"
A faint smile curled Chavigni's lip, which was uncommonly pale. "You
will hear on my arrival," said he; "for I see you are ignorant of what
has lately taken place, though the couriers must have arrived in all the
towns three days ago.--But let us have our wounded brought along, and we
will proceed to the Chateau.--It cannot be far distant."
The preparations were soon made--the Chateau was soon reached--and
Pauline de Beaumont was soon once more clasped in the arms of her
lover.--But let all that pass.
"Madame," said Chavigni, advancing to the Marchioness, "you doubtless
wonder as much as Monsieur de Blenau, what can have brought me hither.
But as I came to Montpellier, I had the King's commands to inform you,
that the fine which was imposed upon your estates is remitted in full.
And to you, Monsieur de Blenau, I have to announce, that your banishment
is at an end, for his Majesty has given permission to all exiles to
return to France, with a very few exceptions, amongst which you are not
included.--I need not tell you from these circumstances, that--the
Cardinal de Richelieu is dead!"
"Good God!" exclaimed De Blenau, "so soon!"
"Even so!" replied Chavigni. "Monsieur de Blenau, doubtless you are
happy--for he was your enemy.--But he was to me a friend--he was nearly
a father, and I mourn for him."
"May he rest in peace!" said De Blenau. "He was a great man. May he rest
in peace!"
* * * * *
Little more remains to be said; for this long history draws towards its
close. The sorrows, the dangers, and the difficulties, which had so long
surrounded De Blenau and Pauline, had now passed away, like the storms
of a summer day, that overcloud the morning, but leave the evening calm
and fair. They were united--in the beautiful valleys of Languedoc, and
in the fair scenes where they had first met, they continued to live on
in happiness and love, till the hand of time led them gently to the
grave.
That generation and its events have passed away; but there still remains
one record of the hero of this tale: for in a little village church,
between Argentière and Viviers, stands a fine marble tomb, with the
figure of a knight sculptured in a recumbent posture. Underneath is
engraven the date--one thousand six hundred and eighty-five, with the
simple inscription,
"_Ci git Claude, Comte de Blenau_."
NOTES.
"Après toutes les persécutions qui furent faites à plusieurs
particuliers, le Roy suivant son naturel s'abandonna tout entier au
pouvoir de son favori. Il se vit réduit à la vie la plus mélancolique et
la plus misérable du monde, sans suite, sans cour, sans pouvoir, et, par
conséquent, sans plaisir, et sans honneur. Ainsi se sont passés
plusieurs années de sa vie à St. Germain, où il vivoit comme un
particulier, et pendant que ses armées prenoient des villes et gagnoient
des batailles, il s'amusait à prendre des oiseaux."
_Memoires pour servir à l'Histoire d'Anne d'Autriche._
* * * * *
"Les ennemis de la Reine pour réussir encore mieux dans les desseins
qu'ils avoient de la faire haïr du Roy son mari, se servirent fortement
contre elle des intelligences qu'elle avoit en Espagne."
_Madame de Motteville, Mem. de la Reine._
* * * * *
"Mais la Reine m'a conté qu'un jour il (le Cardinal) lui parla d'un air
trop galland pour un ennemi; et qu'il lui fit un discours fort
passionné; mais qu'ayant voulu lui répondre avec colère et mépris, le
Roy dans ce moment étoit entre dans le cabinet où elle étoit, qui par sa
présence interrompit sa réponse."
_Madame de Motteville._
* * * * *
"Le Chevalier de Jars fut le plus maltraité, et comme il a été depuis
tout à fait de mes amis, et que dans sa persécution il y a quelques
choses qui sont dignes de l'estime des honnêtes gens, je veux en marquer
les principaux endroits qui pourront faire voir de quelle trempe étoit
son ame, quelle étoit sa probité, la vigueur de son esprit et la
grandeur de son courage. Il fut onze mois dans la Bastille enfermé dans
un cachot. Il fut pris en hyver, et l'habit de velours noir qu'il y
porta demeura toujours sur son corps tant qu'il habita dans cette
effroyable demeure. On l'interrogea quatre-vingt fois avec toute la
severité possible, et il repondit toujours avec bon sens et fermeté,
sans se laisser entamer sur aucun chapitre, sans se couper en ses
reponses, ni sans embarrasser personne. On l'en fit sortir pour le mener
à Troyes avec toutes les rudes apparences d'un homme qu'on alloit mener
à la mort....
* * * * *
A Troyes on lui donna pour Juge Lafemas, celui qui l'avoit déjà
tourmenté dans la Bastille, qu'on appelloit le _Bourreau du Cardinal_.
On accompagna celui-là d'un nombre suffisant de Juges pour lui faire son
procès, qui ne furent pas plus honnêtes gens que lui. Il y travailla par
toutes les voies que ces sortes de gens scavent pratiquer, et il fut
fortement secondé des autres. Ils voulurent lui acheter des faux
temoins, &c....
* * * * *
Lafemas avoit promis au Ministre qu'il le tourmenteroit si bien, qu'il
en tireroit à peu pres ce qu'il en desiroit scavoir, et que sur peu de
mal il trouverait les moyens de lui faire son procès; selon les manières
mêmes du Cardinal, qui, à ce que j'ai oüi conter à ses amis, avoit
accoutumé de dire qu'avec deux lignes de l'écriture d'un homme on
pouvoit faire le procès au plus innocent, parceque on pouvoit sur cette
matière ajuster si bien les affaires que facilement on y pouvoit faire
trouver ce qu'on voudroit.
"Sur ce fondement Lafemas travaille au jugement du Chevalier de Jars; il
le menace, il l'interroge et fait tout ce qu'une ame pleine de lâcheté
est capable de faire....
* * * * *
En effet, il fut mené sur la sellette, où fort constamment il récusa
pour Juge Lafemas, lui reprocha toutes ses lâchetés, l'appella une
seconde fois scélérat, et avertit ses autres Juges de ce que Lafemas
avoit promis au Cardinal contre lui. Il fut interrogé tout de nouveau,
et demeura trois heures en cet état. Il se defendit si courageusement
qu'il confondit ceux qui le vouloient perdre et qui avoient du moins le
dessein de lui faire trahir ses amis. Sortant de là, le Prevôt de l'Ile
s'approcha de lui et lui dit, 'Monsieur, bon courage! j'espère bien pour
vous, car on m'a dit de vous ramener dans la prison où vous êtes, et
c'est l'ordinaire de mener ceux qu'on va condamner à mort dans un autre
lieu.' Le Chevalier lui dit du même ton dont il avoit accoutumé de
censurer les choses qu'il n'approuvoit pas. 'Mon ami, ces pendars là me
vont condamner, je le vois bien à leur mine. Il faut avoir patience, et
le Cardinal enragera de voir que je me moque de lui et de ses tortures.'
* * * * *
Ayant été condamné, on le mena sur l'échaffaut. Il y parut plein de
courage et d'honneur. Il se moqua de ses ennemis, montrant de recevoir
la mort avec une grande fermeté. Etant prêt d'avoir la tête tranchée, on
lui vint apporter sa grace."
_Madame de Motteville._
THE END.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY S. AND K. BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
neighbourhoed=> neighbourhood {pg 333}