A LITTLE LESSON IN POLITICS
The Duc de Richelieu at that time occupied a magnificent hotel in the
Rue des Saints Pères. The house, which had been pointed out to me as
one of the sights of Paris, was in the form of a hollow square,--a form
which had become very popular for buildings of this kind,--the open
side of the square fronting the street and being closed by a high wall.
Just back of the Hotel de Richelieu, on the Quai Malaquest, stood the
famous Hotel de Bouillon, and next to it the equally famous Hotel de la
Roche Sur Yon, the three together forming one of the most imposing and
interesting quarters of the city, and one which I had had little hope
of inspecting except from the outside.
Richelieu led the way along the quay at a rapid pace, seemingly
absorbed in thought. I, also, had much to occupy my mind. There were
two questions which vexed me and to which I could find no answer. How
did Richelieu know I was from Poitiers, and what was the purpose of
that curious assembly in the salon of Madame du Maine? I was still
pondering on these, when we turned into the Rue des Saints Pères and
stopped before a wall in which was a small postern.
“We will enter here,” said Richelieu, and he took a key from his
belt and opened the gate. We passed through, and he locked the gate
carefully behind him.
The garden in which we found ourselves, and which I saw to be the great
central court, was dark, and only a suspicion of light glimmered here
and there through the closed shutters of the house. Richelieu led the
way to a door in the west wing, which he opened as he had the gate,
and also locked after we had entered. Then with a gesture commanding
caution he passed along a hall and up a narrow stair, unlocked another
door, and ushered me into a room where a candle was burning dimly on
a table. By its light I could see that the room was of some size and
richly furnished, and through an open doorway I caught a faint glimpse
of other apartments beyond.
“There!” exclaimed Richelieu, with a sigh of relief, “we are safe,”
and he flung his cloak and hat into a corner and dropped into a
chair, motioning me to do likewise. “As you doubtless know, it is
sometimes desirable to be thought at home when one is really abroad,
and that was the case this evening. No one saw me leave, no one saw me
enter, hence I was here all the while and could have had no hand in
whatever has happened in the mean time. But, man, are you wounded?” he
asked, suddenly, observing, as I removed my cloak, the blood-stained
handkerchief about my arm.
“Only a scratch, monsieur,” I answered. “A little water and a clean rag
will repair the damage.”
He was on his feet in an instant, and in a few minutes the wound was
washed and bound up, so that it gave me no further concern, and,
indeed, need not again be mentioned.
“There will soon be need of long swords and strong arms such as yours,”
observed the duke, settling down again into his chair. “Here, drink
this,” and as he spoke he poured out a glass of wine from a bottle
which stood on the table at his elbow. “’Twill do you good. I would
not have anything happen to impair that arm of yours, for, as I saw
to-night, it knows how to wield a sword to some purpose. How time
passes!” and he looked at me with an expression of kindly interest.
“It seems hardly possible that you can be little Jean de Brancas, of
Poitiers.”
He smiled as he saw my eyes widen in questioning amazement.
“Ah, yes, I had forgotten,” he said. “You do not yet know how I guessed
you were from Poitiers. I will tell you a little story which may
explain it. Some six or seven years ago there was a boy who was in
disgrace.” He paused a moment and smiled to himself, as at the memory
of some boyish prank. “So it was decided that he should be sent to the
Château d’Oleron for a time, to get the sea air and incidentally to
think over his sins. He set out from Paris in a great coach, with no
companion but his tutor. In order that there might be no scandal the
trip was to be made incognito. They had horrible weather, the rain
falling incessantly, and by the time they reached Poitiers the Clain
was swollen to a torrent. They were told that the river could still be
forded a mile below the town, so they drove to the place pointed out to
them and the coachman whipped the horses into the water. In a moment,
as it seemed to the boy within, the horses were beyond their depth and
the coach was lifted from the bottom and swept off down the stream. It
seems that they had attempted to ford in the wrong place.”
“Yes, yes,” I murmured, “I begin to understand.”
“Let me finish my story,” and Richelieu stood beside me and placed his
hand upon my shoulder. “The driver was so terrified that he dropped the
reins. The tutor seemed paralyzed with fright. The boy was struggling
vainly to open the door and get out of the carriage, when he heard a
cry of encouragement, and looking through the window, he saw another
boy, two or three years younger than himself. This boy was on a horse,
which he was forcing through the water. In a moment he was at the head
of one of the coach horses; he caught its bridle, and turning his own
horse across the stream, compelled the others to follow. Almost before
those within realized his purpose the horses reached firm ground and
pulled the coach out after them upon the other bank.”
I would have spoken, but Richelieu silenced me with a gesture.
“The boy in the carriage opened the door and leaped out,” he
continued. “He ran to the other boy and caught his hand.
“‘’Twas bravely done!’ he cried. ‘I know no one else who would have
dared it.’
“But the boy on horseback merely smiled.
“‘It was a little thing to do,’ he said, and the other boy noticed that
he was plainly dressed.
“‘But you shall be rewarded,’ and he pulled his purse from his pocket.
“The boy on horseback grew very red and drew himself up proudly.
“‘You mistake me, monsieur,’ he said. ‘I do not want your money.’
“The other boy grew red also at that and put back his purse.
“‘At least tell me your name,’ he asked. ‘I shall never forget your
name.’
“And the boy on horseback smiled again.
“‘My name is Jean de Brancas,’ he said, and the other boy could see
that he was proud of the name. And just then his tutor came and
separated them, but as the coach drove away he leaned far out of the
window and waved his hand to the other boy.
“‘Good-by, Jean!’ he cried. ‘We shall meet again some day, and then it
will be my turn.’”
Richelieu paused for a moment, and I felt that my eyes were wet.
“So you see,” he continued, “I had reason to be pleased this evening
when I heard that it was Jean de Brancas to whom I had been of service,
and whom I intend to keep by my side. For I was the boy in the coach,
and I remember that ride through the river as though it had happened
yesterday.”
“And I also remember it, M. le Duc,” I said, “and the boy who sprang
from the coach and who thanked me so prettily has been my beau ideal
from then until this day. I questioned many people, but no one knew
him. I have dreamed of him many times, and in my dreams it was always I
who was at his right hand, aiding him to win a thousand battles, even
as you aided me to-night.”
“And that is where I would have you,” cried Richelieu, “and where you
shall be henceforth.”
We were both more moved than we cared to show, for the memory of that
boyish exploit was sweet to both of us, and a little silence followed.
It was Richelieu who broke it.
“There are many things afoot in Paris,” he said, in a graver tone, and
looking at me keenly. “But before I go further tell me, are you for
the regent or against him?”
“I am neither for nor against the regent,” I answered, promptly. “I am
for the king.”
“A wise answer,” and Richelieu smiled. “One that commits you to
nothing. But come, you may be frank with me. What do you think of the
Duke of Orleans?”
“The Duke of Orleans is quite indifferent to me,” I answered, readily
enough. “I have heard little about him, and none of that was to his
credit.”
“Well spoken!” cried Richelieu, heartily. “I see you will be with us.
Come, I will trust you with a secret, but first permit me to give you
a little lesson in politics. You say you know little about the regent.
Let me tell you something about him.”
Now, I was not quite so ignorant of passing events as Richelieu seemed
to think, yet I deemed it wise to keep my council and to hear these
things as for the first time.
“Philip, Duke of Orleans,” continued Richelieu, “is not rightfully
regent of France. Louis the Great’s will provided explicitly that there
should be a council of regency during the king’s minority, in which
Orleans should have only one vote. The real power was given to Louis’s
son, the Duke du Maine, but he stood idly by and permitted Orleans to
take up the regency almost unchallenged.”
“The more fool he,” I ejaculated, involuntarily.
“Right. The more fool he. But it is not for him we are going to fight.
At least, not directly. He is busy making a collection of snuffboxes
at Sceaux, and does not even know there is anything afoot. It is for
the Duchess du Maine. Ah, there is a woman! Not beautiful, perhaps, but
charming, and what a spirit! Orleans has not only assumed the regency,
he has also deprived the Duke du Maine of his right to succeed to the
throne. Again you say, that is his affair. True, but let us not forget
the duchess. Do you know what she did when she heard of that decree?
She was compelled to give up one of her apartments in the Tuileries in
consequence, but before leaving she smashed every article of furniture
in the room, and had to be carried away like a wounded general from a
battle-field where he had won a great victory. Mlle. de Launay told
me it was magnificent. In addition to all this, most of us have some
little private quarrel to settle with the regent, and will welcome this
opportunity to abase him. Well, what we propose to do is to take the
regency away from Philip of Orleans and to give it to Philip of Spain.”
“Philip of Spain!” I cried.
“Yes, Philip of Spain. Who has a better right? He is the king’s uncle,
the next in succession to the throne. And what is Orleans? He allows
Dubois to manage the state while he spends his time with his mistresses
at the back of the Louvre, there,” and Richelieu paused from sheer lack
of breath.
“That may be,” I managed to say, “but what chance of success can there
be?”
“Every chance,” cried the duke, rising from his chair and pacing
excitedly up and down the room. “All Brittany is with us, and will rise
to our support so soon as we choose to give the word. Half the nobility
of the kingdom, whom Orleans has neglected no opportunity to insult,
is with us. Alberoni, Philip’s prime minister, has collected troops.
They will soon be at the frontier ready to invade France and depose
the monstrous thing that governs it. Cellamare, Spain’s ambassador at
Versailles, has all the threads in his fingers and is almost ready to
strike. The train is laid and all that awaits is to apply the match.
That will soon be done, and you will see Orleans tottering from the
throne.”
“But does he not suspect?” I asked.
“Ah, that is the only thing,” and the light suddenly left Richelieu’s
face. “Sometimes I think he does, sometimes I believe he does not. It
is not Orleans himself I fear. He pays little heed to what is going on.
But Dubois and Hérault,--that is another story. They have the police
well organized. There are spies everywhere, and once or twice recently
I have fancied I was followed, but that may have been for another
reason. Indeed, the regent has no cause to love me.”
“And what is your part in this conspiracy, monsieur?” I questioned, for
I felt that there was still something left untold.
“Ah, my part,” said Richelieu, his brow clouding still more. “Well, I
will tell you, as I this evening told Madame du Maine. My part is to
see that my regiment does not resist the Spanish army, but surrenders
and opens to it the gates of Bayonne, the city where it is stationed,
just at the foot of the Pyrenees.”
“But that is treason!” I cried, astounded at this disclosure.
“Treason to the regent, perhaps,” answered the duke, calmly, “but not
to the king.”
So this was the victory the duchess had won! Well, she had reason to be
proud of it. And as I sat, too bewildered to say more, there came a tap
at the door, and Richelieu arose and opened it.
“Ah, Jacques,” he said, to the man who stood bowing on the threshold,
and who permitted none of his astonishment at seeing me to appear in
his face, “what is it?”
“A note, M. le Duc, delivered but a moment ago,” and he held out a tiny
missive. Richelieu seized it, eagerly scanned the address, and tore it
open with a hand trembling with excitement. He read its contents at a
glance, and his eyes were dancing with joy as he raised them to mine.
“You may go, Jacques,” he said to the lacquey; “I shall not forget your
promptness;” and then turning to me as the door closed, “Do you know
what this means, de Brancas? It means success in another affair dearer
to my heart than this conspiracy of Cellamare. Ah, the work that I have
done to secure this one little note,--the servants I have bribed, the
women I have cajoled, the disguises I have assumed! And here at last is
victory, for this says, ‘Be at the dryad fountain in the Palais Royal
gardens at ten o’clock to-morrow night.’”
“A rendezvous?” I asked.
“Yes, a rendezvous. But you could not guess with whom were you to guess
forever. Who do you think will be at the dryad fountain waiting for me
at ten o’clock to-morrow evening? Who but Charlotte d’Orleans, Mlle. de
Valois!”
“Mlle. de Valois!” I gasped. “The daughter of the regent! Why, man, you
must be mad,” and I gazed in astonishment at this youth of twenty-two
who while plotting against the father dared make love to the daughter.
“If you but saw her, de Brancas,” cried the duke, “you would say I was
far from mad. I fell in love with her the first time her eyes met mine.
That was at a ball given a month ago for the Duchess de Lorraine, when
the regent was celebrating her visit to Paris. You have never seen such
eyes, de Brancas. We rave over Madame du Maine’s eyes,--you have seen
them and know how wonderful they are,--but they fade as the stars fade
at sunrise when Charlotte d’Orleans appears. No, ’tis not a lover’s
rhapsody,” he added, seeing me smile; “there are none in the kingdom
to compare with them. Were this not so I should not so readily have
fallen victim, for I have gazed into many and many without a quickening
of the pulse.”
He stopped to read through the note again, and as he folded it and
placed it tenderly in his pocket I saw he was in earnest. Indeed, the
eyes must needs be beautiful which could so move the heart of this
seasoned courtier.
“But the regent,” I said, at last, “the regent. What thinks he of all
this? I had not thought him a friend of yours.”
“A friend of mine!” cried Richelieu. “De Brancas, if there is one
person in Paris whom he detests above all others, it is myself.”
“But then,” I began, and stopped. I had no wish to seem too curious.
“But then,” said Richelieu, pausing in his walk up and down the room.
“Go on, de Brancas. What would you say?”
“Then he does not know?” I asked. “You have met with obstacles?”
“Obstacles!” and Richelieu smiled at me with triumphant face.
“Yes,--such as most men would falter at. Imagine wooing a woman with
whom you can never speak,--who is kept from you as from the plague!
Ah, there was a problem, and one of the sort I love to solve. Why, de
Brancas, if her father suspected that I had in my pocket a note from
his daughter, he would have me back in a trice in my old cell at the
Bastille.”
He paused a moment and touched the note with trembling fingers.
“No, I could never exchange a word with her,” he went on, at last, “but
I made progress, nevertheless. Gold will work many miracles. Every
morning she found a note in a bouquet of flowers,--on her writing-desk,
on her dressing-table, on her embroidery-frame. Ah, how I cudgelled my
poor brain in writing those notes, pleading, passionate, despairing by
turns! At every ball, every concert, every fête where she was like to
be, there was I, and if I could not use my lips, at least I could use
my eyes. She looked at me first indifferently, then curiously, then
shyly,--and last night at the Opéra she blushed when her eyes met mine,
and I knew the battle won. To-morrow night I can speak to her. Ah, how
I shall make her love me!”
Well, he was worth loving. My eyes blur with tears even yet as I see
him again standing there, so glad, so straight, so gallant, and think
of what came after. If I were a woman, I know I should have loved him
heart and soul. Even as a man, ’tis little less than that.
“In affairs of the heart, as in affairs of state, my sword is at the
service of M. le Duc,” I said, no little moved, and again we struck
hands upon our compact, in which, I could not but think, it was I who
must reap the most advantage. For of what service could the sword of
an unknown youth of twenty be to Richelieu? And yet, as I was soon
to learn, even a humble sword when backed by a loyal heart may be of
service to the greatest.
Jacques was called and told to show me my apartment. What a contrast
it was to that den under the gutters in the Rue Bailleul! Richelieu
declared he would not part with me, and with some reluctance I gave
Jacques the address of my former lodging, that he might bring away my
wardrobe. That done, I was soon abed, turned to the wall, and slept a
sleep infinitely sweetened by this sudden change in my circumstances.