Intended to prove that keen-sighted politicians are but buzzards
after all, and to show how Philip the woodman took a ride earlier
than usual.
I wish to Heaven it were possible, in a true story, to follow the old
Greek's rule, and preserve at least unity of place throughout. It would
save a great deal of trouble, both to writer and reader, if we could
make all our characters come into one hall, say their say, and have done
with it. But there is only one place where they could be supposed to
meet--heroes and heroines, statesmen and conspirators, servant and
master, proud and humble--the true Procrustes' bed which is made to fit
every one. However, as before I could get them there, the story would be
done, and the generation passed away, I must even violate all the
unities together, and gallop after my characters all over the country,
as I have often seen a shepherd in the Landes of France, striding here
and there upon his long stilts after his wilful and straggling sheep,
and endeavouring in vain to keep them all together. I must ask the
reader, therefore, to get into the chaise with me, and set off for
Chantilly; and as we go, I will tell him a few anecdotes, just to pass
the time.
It was a common custom with Louis the Thirteenth to spend a part of the
morning in that large circular piece of ground at Chantilly, called
then, as now, the Manège; while his various hunters, in which he took
great delight, were exercised before him. Here, while the few gentlemen
that generally accompanied him, stood a step behind, he would lean
against one of the pillars that surrounded the place, and remark, with
the most minute exactitude, every horse as it passed him, expressing his
approbation to the grooms when any thing gave him satisfaction. But on
the same morning which had witnessed at St. Germain the arrest of De
Blenau, something had gone wrong with the King at Chantilly. He was
impatient, cross, and implacable: and Lord Montague, an English
nobleman, who was at that time much about him, remarked in a low voice
to one of the gentlemen in waiting, "His Majesty is as peevish as a
crossed child, when Cinq Mars is absent."
The name of his Grand Ecuyer, though spoken very low, caught the King's
ear.
"Do any of you know when Cinq Mars returns?" demanded he. "We never
proceed well when he is not here.--Look at that man now, how he rides,"
continued Louis, pointing to one of the grooms; "would not any one take
him for a monkey on horseback? Do you know where Cinq Mars is gone, _Mi
Lor_?"
"I hear, Sire," replied Lord Montague, "that he is gone with Monsieur de
Thou to Troyes, where he has an estate, about which there is some
dispute, which Monsieur de Thou, who is learned in such matters, is to
determine."
"To Troyes!" exclaimed the King, "that is a journey of three days--Did
not some of you tell me, that Chavigni arrived last night, while I was
hunting?"
"I did so, please your Majesty," replied one of the gentlemen; "and I
hear, moreover, that the Cardinal himself slept at Luzarches last night,
with the purpose of being here early this morning."
"The Cardinal at Luzarches!" said the King, a cloud coming over his
brow. "It is strange I had not notice--We shall scarce have room for
them all--I expect the Queen to-night--and the Cardinal and her Majesty
are as fond of each other as a hawk and a heron poulet."
Louis was evidently puzzled. Now the best way to cut the Gordian knot of
an _embarras_, is to run away from it, and let it settle itself. It is
sure to get unravelled somehow; and by the time you come back, a
thousand to one the fracas is over. Louis the Thirteenth, who of all men
on earth hated what is called in the vulgar tongue _a piece of work_,
except when he made it himself, was very much in the habit of adopting
the expedient above mentioned, and, indeed, had been somewhat a loser by
the experiment. However, it was a habit now, confirmed by age, and
therefore more powerful than Nature. Accordingly, after thinking for a
moment about the Queen and the Cardinal, and their mutual hatred, and
their being pent up together in the small space of Chantilly, like two
game cocks in a cock-pit; and seeing no end to it whatever, he suddenly
burst forth--
"Come, Messieurs, I'll go hunt. Quick! saddle the horses!" and casting
kingly care from his mind, he began humming the old air _Que ne suis je
un Berger!_ while he walked across the manège towards the stables. But
just at that moment, Chavigni presented himself, doffing his hat with
all respect to the King, who could not avoid seeing him.
Louis was brought to bay, but still he stood his ground. "Ah! good day,
Monsieur de Chavigni," exclaimed he, moving on towards the stables.
"Come in good time to hunt with us. We know you are free of the forest."
"I humbly thank your Majesty," replied the Statesman; "but I am
attending the Cardinal."
"And why not attend the King, Sir? Ha!" exclaimed Louis, his brow
gathering into a heavy frown. "It is our will that you attend us, Sir."
Chavigni did not often commit such blunders, but it was not very easy to
remember at all times to pay those external marks of respect which
generally attend real power, to a person who had weakly resigned his
authority into the hands of another: and as the Cardinal not only
possessed kingly sway, but maintained kingly state, it sometimes
happened that the King himself was treated with scanty ceremony. This,
however, always irritated Louis not a little. He cared not for the
splendour of a throne, he cared not even for the luxuries of royalty;
but of the personal reverence due to his station, he would not bate an
iota, and clung to the shadow when he had let the substance pass away.
The Statesman now hastened to repair his error, and bowing profoundly,
he replied, "Had I not thought that in serving the Cardinal I best
served your Majesty, I should not have ventured on so bold an answer;
but as your Majesty is good enough to consider my pleasure in the chase,
and the still greater pleasure of accompanying you, your invitation will
be more than an excuse for breaking my appointment with the Cardinal."
To bear the burthen of forcing one of the Council to break his
engagement with the prime Minister, and all for so trifling a cause as
an accidental hunting-party, was not in the least what the King wished
or intended, and he would now very willingly have excused Chavigni's
attendance; but Chavigni would not be excused.
The wily Statesman well knew, that Richelieu had that day a point to
carry with the King of the deepest importance as to the stability of
his power. The Queen, whom the Cardinal had long kept in complete
depression, being now the mother of two princes, her influence was
increasing in the country to a degree that alarmed the Minister for his
own sway. It was a principle with Richelieu always to meet an evil in
its birth; and seeing plainly that as the King's health declined--and it
was then failing fast--the party of Anne of Austria would increase, if
he did not take strong measures to annihilate it--he resolved at once to
ruin her with her husband, to deprive her of her children, and, if
possible, even to send her back to Spain. "And then," thought he, "after
the King's death I shall be Regent.--Regent? King! ay, and one more
despotic than ever sat upon the throne of France. For twenty years this
young Dauphin must be under my guidance; and it will be strange indeed
if I cannot keep him there till my sand be run." And the proud man, who
reasoned thus, knew not that even then he trembled on the verge of the
grave.
"Ainsi, dissipateurs peu sages
Des rapides bienfaits du temps,
Nos désirs embrassent des âges,
Et nous n'avons que des instans."
However, the object of his present visit to Chantilly was to complete
the ruin of the Queen; and Chavigni, who suffered his eyes to be blinded
to simple right and wrong by the maxims of State policy, lent himself
entirely to the Cardinal's measures, little imagining that personal
hatred had any share in the motives of the great Minister whose steps he
followed.
A moment's reflection convinced Chavigni that he might greatly promote
the object in view by accompanying the King in the present instance. He
knew that in difficult enterprises the most trifling circumstances may
be turned to advantage; and he considered it a great thing gained at
that moment, to lay Louis under the necessity of offering some amends,
even for the apparent trifle of making him break his appointment with
Richelieu. In riding with the King, he would have an opportunity of
noting the Monarch's state of mind, which he perceived was unusually
irritated, and also of preparing the way for those impressions which
Richelieu intended to give: and accordingly he avoided with consummate
art any subject which might open the way for Louis to withdraw his
previous order to accompany him.
Having already followed one royal hunt somewhat too minutely, we will
not attempt to trace the present; only observing that during the course
of the day, Chavigni had many opportunities of conversing with the King,
and took care to inform him that the campaign in the Netherlands was
showing itself much against the arms of France; that no plan was formed
by the Government, which did not by some means reach the ears of the
Spanish generals, and consequently that all the manoeuvres of the
French troops were unavailing; and from this, as a natural deduction, he
inferred, that some one at the court of France must convey information
to the enemy; mingling these pleasant matters of discourse, with sundry
sage observations respecting the iniquity and baseness of thus
betraying France to her enemies.
Louis was exactly in the humour that the Statesman could have wished.
Peevish from the absence of Cinq Mars, and annoyed by the unexpected
coming of Richelieu, he listened with indignation to all that Chavigni
told him, of any one in France conveying intelligence to a country which
he hated with the blindest antipathy.
The predominant passion in the King's mind had long been his dislike to
Spain, but more especially to Philip, whom he regarded as a personal
enemy: and Chavigni easily discerned, by the way in which the news he
conveyed was received, that if they could cast any probable suspicion on
the Queen, (and Chavigni really believed her guilty,) Louis would set no
bounds to his anger. But just at the moment he was congratulating
himself upon the probable success of their schemes, a part of the storm
he had been so busily raising fell unexpectedly upon himself.
"Well, Monsieur de Chavigni," said the King, after the chase was over,
and the Royal party were riding slowly back towards Chantilly, "this
hunting is a right noble sport: think you not so, Sir?"
"In truth I do, Sire," replied Chavigni; "and even your Majesty can
scarce love it better than myself."
"I am glad to hear it, Sir," rejoined the King, knitting his brows;
"'tis a good sign. But one thing I must tell you, which is, that I do
not choose my Royal forests to be made the haunt of worse beasts than
stags and boars.--No wolves and tigers.--Do you take me, Sir?"
"No, indeed, Sire," replied Chavigni, who really did not comprehend the
King's meaning, and was almost tempted to believe that he had suddenly
gone mad. "Allow me to remind your Majesty that wolves are almost
extinct in this part of France, and that tigers are altogether beasts of
another country."
"There are beasts of prey in every part of the world," answered the
King. "What I mean, Sir, is, that robbers and assassins are beginning
to frequent our woods; especially, Sir, the wood of Mantes. Was it that,
or was it the forest of Laye, in which the young Count de Blenau was
attacked the other day?"
It was not easy on ordinary occasions to take Chavigni by surprise, and
he was always prepared to repel open attack, or to parry indirect
questions, with that unhesitating boldness, or skilful evasion, the
proper application of which is but one of the lesser arts of diplomacy;
but on the present occasion, the King's question was not only so
unexpected as nearly to overcome his habitual command of countenance,
but was also uttered in such a tone as to leave him in doubt whether
Louis's suspicions were directed personally towards himself. He replied,
however, without hesitation: "I believe it was the wood of Mantes, Sire;
but I am not perfectly sure."
"You, of all men, ought to be well informed on that point, Monsieur de
Chavigni," rejoined the King, "since you took care to send a servant to
see it rightly done."
The matter was now beyond a doubt, and Chavigni replied boldly: "Your
Majesty is pleased to speak in riddles, which I am really at a loss to
comprehend."
"Well, well, Sir," said Louis hastily, "it shall be inquired into, and
made plain both to you and me. Any thing that is done legally must not
be too strictly noticed; but I will not see the laws broken, and murder
attempted, even to serve State purposes."
Thus speaking, the King put his horse into a quicker pace, and Chavigni
followed with his mind not a little discomposed, though his countenance
offered not the slightest trace of embarrassment. How he was to act, now
became the question; and running over in his own mind all the
circumstances connected with the attack upon the Count de Blenau, he
could see no other means by which Louis could have become acquainted
with his participation therein, than by the loquacity of Philip, the
woodman of Mantes: and as he came to this conclusion, Chavigni
internally cursed that confident security which had made him reject the
advice of Lafemas, when the sharp-witted Judge had counselled him to
arrest Philip on first discovering that he had remarked the livery of
Isabel and silver amongst the robbers.
In the present instance the irritable and unusually decided humour of
the King, made him fear that inquiries might be instituted immediately,
which would not only be dangerous to himself personally, but might
probably overthrow all those plans which he had been labouring, in
conjunction with the Cardinal, to bring to perfection. Calculating
rapidly, therefore, all the consequences which might ensue, Chavigni
resolved at once to have the Woodman placed in such a situation as to
prevent him from giving any farther evidence of what he had seen. But
far from showing any untimely haste, though he was the first to dismount
in the court-yard in order to offer the King his aid in alighting, yet
that ceremony performed, he loitered, patting his horse's neck, and
giving trifling directions to his groom, till such time as Louis had
entered the Palace, and his figure had been seen passing the window at
the top of the grand staircase. That moment, however, Chavigni darted
into the Chateau, and seeking his own apartments, he wrote an order for
the arrest of Philip the woodman, which with the same despatch he placed
in the hands of two of his most devoted creatures, adding a billet to
the Governor of the Bastille, in which he begged him to treat the
prisoner with all kindness, and allow him all sort of liberty within the
prison, but on no account to let him escape till he received notice from
him.
We have already had occasion to see that Chavigni was a man who
considered State-policy paramount to every other principle; and
naturally not of an ungentle disposition or ignoble spirit, he had
unfortunately been educated in a belief that nothing which was expedient
for the statesman could be discreditable to the man. However, the
original bent of his mind generally showed itself in some degree, even
in his most unjustifiable actions, as the ground-work of a picture will
still shine through, and give a colour to whatever is painted above it.
In the present instance, as his only object was to keep the Woodman out
of the way till such time as the King's unwonted mood had passed by, he
gave the strictest commands to those who bore the order for Philip's
arrest, to use him with all possible gentleness, and to assure his wife
and family that no harm was intended to him. He also sent him a purse,
to provide for his comfort in the prison, which he well knew could not
be procured without the potent aid of gold.
The two attendants, accustomed to execute commands which required
despatch, set out instantly on their journey, proceeding with all speed
to Beaumont, and thence to Pontoise, where crossing the river Oise they
soon after arrived at Meulan: and here a dispute arose concerning the
necessity of calling upon two Exempts of that city to aid in arresting
Philip the woodman, the one servant arguing that they had no such orders
from their Lord, and the other replying that the said Philip might have
twenty companions for aught they knew, who might resist their authority,
they not being legally entitled to arrest his Majesty's lieges. This
argument was too conclusive to be refuted; and they therefore waited at
Meulan till the two Exempts were ready to accompany them. It being night
when they arrived at Meulan, and the two Exempts being engaged in
"potations deep and strong," drinking long life to the Cardinal de
Richelieu, and success to the royal prisons of France, some time was of
course spent before the party could proceed. However, after the lapse of
about an hour, discussed no matter how, they all contrived to get into
their saddles, and passing the bridge over the Seine, soon reached the
first little village, whose white houses, conspicuous in the moon-light,
seemed, on the dark back-ground of the forest, as if they had crept for
protection into the very bosom of the wood; while it, sweeping round
them on every side, appeared in its turn to afford them the friendly
shelter that they sought.
All was silence as they passed through the village, announcing plainly
that its sober inhabitants were comfortably dozing away the darkness.
This precluded them from asking their way to Philip's dwelling; but
Chavigni had been so precise in his direction, that notwithstanding the
wine-pots of Meulan, the two servants, in about half an hour after
having entered the wood, recognized the _abreuvoir_ and cottage, with
the long-felled oak and piece of broken ground, and all the other
_et-cetera_, which entered into the description they had received.
There is nothing half so amusing as the bustle with which little people
carry on the trifles that are intrusted to them. They are so important,
and so active, one would think that the world's turning round upon its
axis depended upon them; while all the mighty business of the universe
slips by as quietly as if the wheels were oiled; and the government of
a nation is often decided over a cup of coffee, or the fate of empires
changed by an extra bottle of Johanisberg.
But to return. Chavigni's two servants, with the two Exempts of Meulan,
were as important and as busy as emmets when their hill is disturbed--or
a _sous-secretaire_ when he opens his first despatch, and receives
information of a revolution in the Isle of Man--or the fleas in an
Italian bed, when you suddenly light your candle to see what the Devil
is biting you so infernally--or the Devil himself in a gale of wind--or
any other little person in a great flurry about nothing. So having
discovered the cottage, they held a profound council before the door,
disputing vehemently as to the mode of proceeding. One of the Exempts
proposed to knock at the door, and then suddenly to seize their prisoner
as he came to open it; but Chavigni's servants, though somewhat dipped
in the Lethean flood, in which the Exempts of Meulan had seduced them to
bathe, remembered the strict orders of their master, to treat Philip
with all possible gentleness, and judging that the mode proposed might
startle him, and affect his nerves, they decided against the motion.
A variety of other propositions were submitted, and rejected by the
majority, each one liking nobody's suggestion but his own; till one of
the Exempts, not bearing clearly in mind the subject of discussion,
knocked violently at the door, declaring it was tiresome to stand
disputing on their feet, and that they could settle how they should gain
admission after they had got in and sat down.
This seemed a very good motion, and settled the matter at once; and
Philip, who was in that sound and fearless sleep which innocence,
content, and labour can alone bestow, not exactly answering at first,
they all repeated the noise, not a little enraged at his want of
attention to personages of such high merit as themselves.
The moment after, the Woodman appeared at the window, and seeing some
travellers, as he imagined, he bade them wait till he had lighted a
lamp, and he would come to them. Accordingly, in a moment or two Philip
opened the door, purposing either to give them shelter, or to direct
them on their way, as they might require; but when the light gleamed
upon the black dresses of the Exempts, and then upon the well-known
colours of Isabel and silver, the Woodman's heart sank, and his cheek
turned pale, and he had scarcely power to demand their errand.
"I will tell you all that presently," replied the principal servant of
the two, who, like many another small man in many another place, thought
to become great by much speaking. "First let us come in and rest
ourselves; for as you may judge by our dusty doublets, we have ridden
far and hard: and after that I will expound to you, good friend, the
cause of our coming, with sundry other curious particulars, which may
both entertain and affect you."
Philip suffered them to enter the house, one after another, and setting
down the lamp, he gazed upon them in silence, his horror at gentlemen
in black coats and long straight swords, as well as those dressed in
Isabel and silver, being quite unspeakable.
"Well, Monsieur Philip le Bucheron," said the spokesman, throwing
himself into the oaken settle with that sort of percussion of breath
denoting fatigue: "you seem frightened, Monsieur Philip; but, good
Monsieur Philip, you have no cause for fear. We are all your friends,
Monsieur Philip."
"I am glad to hear it, Sir," replied the Woodcutter; "but may I know
what you want with me?"
"Why, this is the truth, Monsieur Philip," replied the servant, "it
seems that his Majesty the King, whom we have just left at Chantilly, is
very angry about something,--Lord knows what! and our noble employer,
not to say master, the Count de Chavigni, having once upon a time
received some courtesy at your hands, is concerned for your safety, and
has therefore deemed it necessary that you should be kept out of the
way for a time."
"Oh, if that be the case," cried Philip, rubbing his hands with
gladness, "though I know not why the King's anger should fall on me, I
will take myself out of the way directly."
"No, no, Monsieur Philip, that won't do exactly," answered the servant.
"You do not know how fond my master is of you; and so concerned is he
for your safety, that he must be always sure of it, and therefore has
given us command to let you stay in the Bastille for a few days."
At that one word _Bastille_, Philip's imagination set to work, and
instantly conjured up the image of a huge tower of red copper, somewhat
mouldy, standing on the top of a high mountain, and guarded by seven
huge giants with but one eye apiece, and the like number of fiery
dragons with more teeth and claws than would have served a dozen. If it
was not exactly this, it was something very like it; for Philip, whose
travels had never extended a league beyond the wood of Mantes, knew as
much about the Bastille as Saint Augustin did of Heaven,--so both drew
from their own fancy for want of better materials.
However, the purse which Chavigni's attendants gave him in behalf of
their master, for they dared not withhold his bounty, however much they
might be inclined, greatly allayed the fears of the Woodman.
There is something wonderfully consolatory in the chink of gold at all
times; but in the present instance, Philip drew from it the comfortable
conclusion, that they could not mean him any great harm when they sent
him money. "I know not what to think," cried he.
"Why, think it is exactly as I tell you," replied the servant, "and that
the Count means you well. But after you have thought as much as you
like, get ready to come with us, for we have no time to spare."
This was the worst part of the whole business. Philip had now to take
leave of his good dame Joan, which, like a well-arranged sermon,
consisted of three distinct parts; he had first to wake her, then to
make her comprehend, and then to endure her lamentation.
The first two were tasks of some difficulty, for Joan slept tolerably
well--that is to say, you might have fired a cannon at her ear without
making her hear--and when she was awake, her understanding did not
become particularly pellucid for at least an hour after. This on
ordinary occasions--but on the present Philip laboured hard to make her
mind take in that he was arrested and going to the Bastille. But finding
that her senses were still somewhat obdurate, and that she did nothing
but rub her eyes, and stretch and yawn in his face, he had recourse to
the same means morally, which he would have used physically to cleave an
oak; namely, he kept shouting to her, "Bastille! Bastille! Bastille!"
reiterating the word upon her ear, just in the same manner that he would
have plied the timber with his axe.
At length she comprehended it all. Her eye glanced from the inner room
upon the unwonted guests who occupied the other chamber, and then to the
dismayed countenance of her husband; and divining it suddenly, she threw
her arms round the athletic form of the Woodman, bursting into a passion
of tears, and declaring that he should not leave her.
Of course, on all such occasions there must follow a very tender scene
between husband and wife, and such there was in the present instance:
only Joan, availing herself of one especial privilege of the fair sex,
did not fail, between her bursts of tears and sobs, to rail loudly at
the Cardinal, the King, and all belonging to them, talking more high
treason in five minutes, than would have cost any _man_ an hour to
compose; nor did she spare even the Exempts, or the two gentlemen in
Isabel and silver, but poured forth her indignation upon all alike.
However, as all things must come to an end, so did this; and Philip was
carried away amidst the vain entreaties his wife at length condescended
to use.
The only difficulty which remained was, how to mount their prisoner,
having all forgot to bring a horse from Meulan for that purpose; and
Philip not choosing to facilitate his own removal by telling them that
he had a mule in the stable.
However it was at length agreed, that one of the Exempts should walk to
the next town, and that Philip should mount his horse till another could
be obtained. As the party turned away from the hut, the chief servant,
somewhat moved by the unceasing tears of Joan, took upon him to say that
he was sure that Charles the Woodman's son, who stood with his mother at
the door, would be permitted to see his father in the Bastille, if they
would all agree to say, that they did not know what was become of him,
in case of any impertinent person inquiring for him during his absence.
This they all consented to, their grief being somewhat moderated by the
prospect of communicating with each other, although separated; and
Philip once more having bid his wife and children adieu, was carried on
to a little village, where a horse being procured for him, the whole
party took the road to Marly, and thence proceeded to Paris with all
possible diligence.
Day had long dawned before they reached the Bastille, and Philip, who
was now excessively tired, never having ridden half the way in his life,
was actually glad to arrive at the prison, which he had previously
contemplated with so much horror.
Here he was delivered, with the _lettre de cachet_, and Chavigni's note,
to the Governor; and the servant again, in his own hearing, recommended
that he should be treated with all imaginable kindness, and allowed
every liberty consistent with his safe custody.
All this convinced the Woodcutter, as well as the conversation he had
heard on the road, that Chavigni really meant well by him; and without
any of those more refined feelings, which, however they may sometimes
open the gates of the heart to the purest joys, but too often betray the
fortress of the breast to the direst pains, he now felt comparatively
secure, and gazed up at the massy walls and towers of the Bastille with
awe indeed, but awe not unmingled with admiration.