Александр Дюма
The War of Women. Volume 2
IV
We saw Cauvignac taking his departure from Libourne, and we know the object of his journey.
When he reached the spot where his men, under Ferguzon's command, lay in camp, he paused an instant, not to take breath, but to put in execution a plan which his inventive genius had formed in half an hour and while he was riding like the wind.
In the first place he said to himself, with infinite good sense, that if he made his appearance before Madame la Princesse after what had happened, Madame la Princesse, who was about to hang Canolles, against whom she had nothing, would not fail to hang him, of whom she had good reason to complain; and so his mission, which might be successful in so far that Canolles would be saved, would assuredly fail in that he would be hanged. He lost no time therefore in changing coats with one of his soldiers, ordered Barrabas, whose face was less familiar to Madame la Princesse, to don his most elaborate costume, and started off again at a gallop for Bordeaux in that worthy's company. He was disturbed about one thing, namely, the contents of the letter of which he was the bearer, and which his sister had written with such absolute confidence that he had but to hand it to Madame la Princesse to ensure Canolles' safety. His uneasiness on this point increased to such a degree that he resolved to read the letter and set his mind at rest, remarking to himself that a shrewd negotiator could never succeed in his negotiation unless he knew all the ins and outs of the matter in hand; and then, too, if it must be said, Cauvignac never sinned in the direction of having too great confidence in his neighbor, and Nanon, though she was his sister, – indeed, for the very reason that she was his sister, – might very well bear her brother a grudge, in the first place because of the adventure of Jaulnay, and again because of his unforeseen escape from Château-Trompette, and might be trusting to chance to restore everything to its proper place.
He therefore unsealed the letter, – a very simple task, as it was sealed with a bit of wax only, and experienced a very strange and painful sensation as he read what follows: —
MADAME LA PRINCESSE, – It seems that you must have an expiatory victim for poor Richon's death; do not, I pray you, take an innocent man, but take the real culprit. I do not wish that Monsieur de Canolles should die, for to put him to death would be to avenge assassination by murder. As you read this letter I shall be within a league of Bordeaux, with all that I possess. You will deliver me to the populace, who detest me, for they have already tried twice to take my life, and you will keep for yourself my wealth, which amounts to two millions. Oh! madame, I ask this favor of you upon my knees; I am in part the cause of this war; with my death the province will be pacified and your Highness will be triumphant. Madame, a reprieve for quarter of an hour! You need not release Canolles until you have me in your power; but then, upon your soul, you will let him go, will you not?
And I shall be respectfully and gratefully yours,
NANON DE LARTIGUES.
Having read the letter Cauvignac was amazed beyond expression to find his heart swollen with emotion and his eyes moist.
He sat motionless and silent as if he could not believe his eyes. Suddenly he cried: —
"It is true, then, that there are in the world hearts that are generous for the mere pleasure of being generous! Morbleu! she shall see that I am as capable as another of being generous when the need arises."
As they were at the gates of the city, he handed the letter to Barrabas, with these instructions simply: —
"To whatever is said to you, reply: 'On the king's business!' nothing more, and deliver this letter into no hands but Madame la Princesse's own."
While Barrabas galloped away toward the princess's temporary domicile, Cauvignac rode in the direction of Château-Trompette.
Barrabas met with no obstacle; the streets were empty, the city seemed deserted, for everybody had gone to the Esplanade.
At the palace gate the sentries undertook to forbid his passage, but, as Cauvignac bade him do, he waved his letter, crying: —
"On the king's business! On the king's business!"
The sentries took him for a messenger from the court, and raised their halberds, and Barrabas entered the palace without further hindrance.
If the reader will take the trouble to remember, this was not the first time that Master Cauvignac's worthy lieutenant had had the honor of appearing in Madame de Condé's presence. He alighted, and as he knew the road, darted rapidly up the staircase, passed through the crowd of startled servants, and made his way into the princess's suite. There he halted, for he found himself face to face with a woman at whose feet another woman was kneeling.
"Oh! madame, mercy, in the name of Heaven!" the latter was saying.
"Leave me, Claire," replied the princess; "be reasonable; remember that we have laid aside the emotions of womankind as well as the garments; we are Monsieur le Prince's lieutenants, and reasons of State control our actions."
"Oh! madame, there are no such things as reasons of State for me," cried Claire; "nor political parties; nor opinions. For me there is nothing and nobody in the world but the man who is to leave it, and when he has left it there will be naught for me but death!"
"Claire, my child, I have already told you that it is impossible; they put Richon to death, and if we do not return like for like we shall be dishonored."
"Ah! madame, one is never dishonored for having pardoned; one is never dishonored for having made use of the prerogative which belongs only to the King of Heaven, and the kings of earth; one word, madame, a single word; the poor boy is waiting!"
"Why, Claire, you are mad! I tell you it is impossible!"
"But I told him that he was safe; I showed him his pardon signed by your own hand; I told him that I would return with your ratification of the pardon!"
"I signed it on condition that the other was to die; why did he allow the other to escape?"
"He had absolutely no part in the escape, I give you my solemn word; besides, the other may not have escaped; he may yet be found."
"Very true! beware!" interposed Barrabas, who arrived at that moment.
"Madame, they will take him away; the time is flying, madame; they will grow weary of waiting."
"You are right, Claire," said the princess, "for I ordered that it should be all over at eleven, and the clock is just striking eleven; it must be all over."
The viscountess uttered a shriek of despair, and rose to her feet, to find herself face to face with Barrabas.
"Who are you? what do you want?" she cried. "Have you come so soon to tell me of his death?"
"No, madame," replied Barrabas, assuming his most affable expression, "on the contrary, I come to save him."
"How so?" cried Claire; "speak at once!"
"By handing this letter to Madame la Princesse."
Claire put out her hand, snatched the letter from the messenger, and handed it to the princess.
"I have no idea what there may be in this letter," said she, "but in Heaven's name read it!"
The princess opened the letter and read it aloud, while Madame de Cambes, turning paler at every line, devoured the words as they fell from her Highness's lips.
"From Nanon?" cried the princess when she had read it through. "Nanon is close by! Nanon gives herself up! Where is Lenet? Where is the duke? Call a messenger, a messenger!"
"I am here, madame," said Barrabas, "ready to go wherever your Highness would have me."
"Go to the Esplanade, to the place of execution, and bid them suspend operations, – but no, they would not believe you," she added, and seizing her pen, wrote at the bottom of the letter, "Suspend!" and handed it open to Barrabas, who rushed from the room.
"Ah!" murmured the viscountess, "she loves him more dearly than I; and he will owe his life to her, wretched creature that I am!"
Stunned by that thought, she fell helplessly upon a chair, although she had received upon her feet all the crushing blows of that terrible day.
Meanwhile Barrabas did not lose a second; he flew down the stairs as if he had wings, leaped upon his horse, and rode furiously away toward the Esplanade.
While he was on his way to the palace, Cauvignac had ridden straight to Château-Trompette. There, favored by the darkness, and rendered unrecognizable by the broad brim of his hat being pulled down over his eyes, he had questioned the bystanders and learned the whole story of his escape in all its details, and that Canolles was to pay the penalty for him. Instinctively, hardly aware of what he was doing, he thereupon hurried away to the Esplanade, driving the spurs into his horse, galloping madly through the crowd, upsetting and riding over every one who came in his way.
When he reached the Esplanade he spied the gallows, and uttered a yell, which was drowned by the howling of the populace, upon whom Canolles was heaping insults in order to excite them to tear him to pieces. It was then that Canolles saw him, divined his purpose, and motioned to him that he was welcome.
Cauvignac stood up in his stirrups and looked in every direction, hoping to see Barrabas or some messenger from the princess, and listening to hear the word: "Reprieve!" but he could see nobody and could hear nobody save Canolles, whom the executioner was just about to push from the ladder into eternity, and who pointed to his heart.
Thereupon Cauvignac raised his musket, pointed it toward the young man, took careful aim, and fired.
"Thanks!" said Canolles, opening his arms; "at least I die the death of a soldier."
The ball pierced his breast.
The executioner pushed the body from the ladder, and it swung at the end of the infamous rope; but it was nothing more than a corpse.
It was as if the report of the musket was a signal, so quickly was it followed by a thousand others.
Suddenly a voice cried: —
"Stop! stop! cut the rope!"
But the voice was drowned in the yelling of the mob; moreover, the rope was cut by a bullet. In vain did the guard resist; they were overborne by the huge waves of people; the gallows was overthrown and demolished; the executioners took flight; the crowd overflowed the square, seized upon the body, tore it limb from limb, and dragged the pieces about through the streets.
Stupid in its hatred, it believed that it was adding to the young nobleman's punishment, whereas it was really saving him from the infamy he dreaded so deeply.
During this scene Barrabas accosted the duke, and handed him the letter of which he was the bearer, although he could see for himself that he had arrived too late.
The duke, notwithstanding the brisk discharge of firearms, simply drew a little aside, – for his courage was as calm and cool as every other of his qualities, – and read the letter.
"It's a pity," he said, turning to his officers; "the plan that this Nanon suggests would have been preferable perhaps; but what's done is done. – By the way," he added after reflecting a moment, "as she is to await our reply on the other side of the river, we may even yet be able to gratify her."
Without further thought for the messenger, he put spurs to his horse, and rode back with his escort to the princess.
At that moment the storm which had been gathering for some time, burst over Bordeaux, and a heavy rain, accompanied with vivid lightning, deluged the Esplanade as if to wash it clean of innocent blood.
V
While these things were taking place at Bordeaux, while the people were dragging the body of poor Canolles through the street, while the Duc de La Rochefoucauld was returning to flatter the pride of Madame la Princesse by pointing out to her that her power to do evil was as great as any queen's, while Cauvignac was spurring toward the city gates with Barrabas, deeming it useless to pursue their mission farther, a carriage drawn by four breathless, foam-flecked horses, came to a standstill upon the shore of the Garonne opposite Bordeaux, and between the villages of Belcroix and La Bastide.
Eleven o'clock had just struck.
A mounted courier, who followed the carriage, leaped hastily to the ground as it stopped, and opened the door.
A woman hurriedly alighted, looked up at the sky, which was all ablaze with a bright red light, and listened to the distant shouts and noises.
"You are sure," said she to the maid who alighted after her, "that we have not been followed?"
"No, madame; the two outriders who remained behind at madame's command, have just come up with the carriage, and they have not seen or heard anything."
"Do not you hear anything in the direction of the city?"
"It seems to me that I hear shouting in the distance."
"Do you see nothing?"
"I see something like the reflection of a fire."
"Those are torches."
"Yes, madame, yes, for they move about and dance up and down like wills o' the wisp; do you hear how much louder and more distinct the shouts seem to grow, madame?"
"Mon Dieu!" faltered the young woman, falling on her knees upon the damp soil; "mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"
It was her only prayer. A single word presented itself to her mind; her lips could pronounce no other; it was the name of him who alone could perform a miracle in her favor.
The maid was not mistaken. Torches were waving and the cries seemed to be coming nearer; a musket-shot rang out, followed by fifty others and by a tremendous uproar; then the torches vanished and the shouts receded; a storm was rumbling overhead, the rain began to fall; but what cared Nanon for that? It was not the lightning of which she was afraid.
Her eyes were constantly fixed upon the spot where she had heard so great a tumult. She could no longer see or hear anything at that spot, and it seemed to her in the glare of the lightning that the square was empty.
"Oh! I haven't the strength to wait here any longer," she cried. "To Bordeaux! take me to Bordeaux!"
Suddenly she heard the sound of horses' footsteps rapidly approaching.
"Ah! they are coming at last," she cried. "Here they are! Adieu, Finette, I must go alone; take her up behind you, Lombard, and leave in the carriage everything that I brought."
"But what do you mean to do, madame, in God's name?" cried the terrified maid.
"Adieu, Finette; adieu!"
"But why, adieu, madame? Where are you going?"
"I am going to Bordeaux."
"Oh! don't do that, madame, in heaven's name! they will kill you."
"Very good! for what purpose do you suppose that I am going thither?"
"Oh! madame! Help, Lombard! help me prevent madame – "
"Hush! leave me, Finette. I have remembered you, never fear: go; I do not wish that any harm should befall you. Obey me! They are coming nearer, here they are."
As she spoke a man galloped up to the carriage, followed at some little distance by another horseman; his horse was roaring rather than breathing.
"Sister! sister!" he cried. "Ah! I come in time!"
"Cauvignac!" cried Nanon. "Well, is it all arranged? Is he awaiting me? Shall we go?"
But, instead of replying, Cauvignac leaped down from his horse, and seized Nanon in his arms. She allowed him to do as he pleased, with the stiff inertness of ghosts and fools. He placed her in the carriage, bade Lombard and Francinette take their places beside her, closed the door, and leaped upon his horse. In vain did poor Nanon, once more in possession of her faculties, shriek and struggle.
"Do not release her," said Cauvignac: "whatever happens do not release her. Keep the other door, Barrabas, and do you, coachman, keep your horses on the gallop or I'll blow your brains out."
These orders followed one another so rapidly that there was a moment's delay in putting them in execution; the carriage was slow to move, the servants were trembling with apprehension, even the horses seemed to hesitate.
"Look alive there, ten thousand devils!" shouted Cauvignac; "they are coming! they are coming!"
In the distance could be heard the hoof-beats of many horses, approaching rapidly with a noise like thunder.
Fear is contagious. The coachman, at Cauvignac's threat, realized that some great danger was impending, and seized the reins.
"Where are we going?" he faltered.
"To Bordeaux! to Bordeaux!" cried Nanon from within the carriage.
"To Libourne, ten thousand furies!" cried Cauvignac.
"Monsieur, the horses will fall before they have gone two leagues."
"I don't ask them to go so far!" retorted Cauvignac, spurring them with his sword. "Let them hold out as far as Ferguzon's camp, that's all I ask."
The heavy vehicle thereupon set forth at a terrifying pace. Men and horses, sweating, gasping, bleeding, urged one another on, the first by their shouts, the others by their loud neighing.
Nanon tried to resist, to free herself, to leap down from the carriage, but she exhausted her strength in the struggle, and soon fell back utterly worn out; she was no longer conscious of what was taking place. By dint of seeking to distinguish Cauvignac amid the hurly-burly of fleeing shadows, her head went round and round; she closed her eyes with a despairing cry, and lay cold and motionless in her maid's arms.
Cauvignac rode forward to the horses' heads. His horse left a trail of fire along the road.
"Help, Ferguzon! help!" he cried.
His call was answered by a cheer in the distance.
"Demons of hell," cried Cauvignac, "you are playing against me, but I believe, upon my soul, that you will lose again to-day. Ferguzon! Ferguzon! help!"
Two or three musket shots rang out in their rear, and were answered by a general discharge from in front.
The carriage came to a stand-still; two of the horses fell from exhaustion, and a third was struck by a bullet.
Ferguzon and his men fell upon the troops of Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld; as they outnumbered them three to one, the Bordelais soon found it hopeless to continue the struggle; they turned tail and fled, and victors and vanquished, pursuers and pursued, vanished in the darkness like a cloud driven by the wind.
Cauvignac remained with the footmen and Francinette beside the insensible Nanon. Luckily they were within a hundred yards of the village of Carbonblanc. Cauvignac carried Nanon in his arms as far as the first house; and there, having given orders to bring up the carriage, placed his sister upon a bed, and, taking from his breast an object which Francinette could not distinguish, slipped it into the poor woman's clenched hand.
The next morning, on awaking from what she thought at first was a frightful dream, Nanon put her hand to her face, and felt something soft and silky caress her pale cheeks. It was a lock of Canolles' hair which Cauvignac had heroically rescued, at the peril of his life, from the Bordelais tigers.
VI
For eight days and nights Madame de Cambes lay tossing in delirium upon the bed to which she was carried, unconscious, upon learning the terrible news.
Her women took care of her, but Pompée kept the door; no other than the old servant, as he knelt beside his unhappy mistress's bed, could awake in her a glimmer of reason.
Numerous visitors besieged the door; but the faithful squire, as inflexible in carrying out his orders as an old soldier should be, courageously denied admission to all comers, at first from the conviction that any visitor whatsoever would annoy his mistress, and subsequently by order of the physician, who feared the effect of too great excitement.
Every morning Lenet presented himself at the door, but it was closed to him as to all others. Madame la Princesse herself appeared there with a large retinue, one day when she had been to call upon poor Richon's mother, who lived in a suburb of the city. It was her purpose, aside from her interest in the viscountess, to show perfect impartiality. She came therefore, intending to play the gracious sovereign; but Pompée informed her with the utmost respect that he had strict orders from which he could not depart; that all men, even dukes and generals, and all women, even princesses, were included in the terms of his orders, and Madame de Condé above all others, inasmuch as a visit from her, after what had happened, would be likely to cause a terrible paroxysm.
The princess, who was fulfilling, or thought she was fulfilling, a duty, and asked nothing better than to avoid the interview, did not wait to be told twice, but took her leave with her suite.
On the ninth day Claire recovered consciousness; it was noticed that, during her delirium, which lasted eight times twenty-four hours, she wept incessantly; although fever ordinarily dries up the source of tears, hers had ploughed a furrow, so to speak, beneath her eyes, which were surrounded by a circle of red and pale blue, like those of the sublime Virgin of Rubens.
On the ninth day, as we have said, when it was least expected, and when her attendants were beginning to lose hope, her reason suddenly returned, as if by enchantment; her tears ceased to flow; her eyes gazed about upon her surroundings, and rested with a sad smile upon the maids who had cared for her so zealously, and upon Pompée who had so faithfully stood guard at her door. Then she lay for some hours, with her head resting on her hand, without speaking, dry-eyed, dwelling upon the same thought, which recurred to her mind again and again with ever-increasing force.
Suddenly, without considering whether her strength was commensurate with her determination, she exclaimed:
"Dress me."
Her women drew near, dumbfounded, and undertook to remonstrate; Pompée stepped a short distance into the room and clasped his hands imploringly.
But the viscountess repeated, gently, but firmly: —
"I bade you dress me."
The women made ready to obey. Pompée bowed and backed out of the room.
Alas! the plump, rosy cheeks were now as pale and thin as those of the dying; her hand, as beautiful as ever, and of as lovely shape, was almost transparent, and lay as white as ivory upon her breast, which put to shame the snowy linen wherein it was enveloped. Beneath her skin could be seen the violet veins which told of the exhaustion caused by great suffering. The clothes she had laid aside the day before, so to speak, and which then fitted closely to her slender, graceful form, now fell about her in loose folds.
They dressed her as she wished, but it was a long operation, for she was so weak that thrice she nearly fainted. When she was dressed she walked to the window, but turning sharply away, as if the sight of the sky and the city terrified her, she seated herself at a table, asked for pen and ink, and wrote a note to Madame la Princesse, soliciting the favor of an audience.
Ten minutes after the letter had been despatched by the hand of Pompée to its destination, a carriage stopped at the door, and almost immediately Madame de Tourville was announced.
"Was it really you," she cried, "who wrote to Madame la Princesse requesting an audience."
"Yes, madame; will she refuse me?"
"Oh! far from it, my dear child; I came hither at once to say to you from her that you know perfectly well that you have no need to request an audience, for you are welcome at any hour of the day or night."
"Thanks, madame," said Claire, "I will avail myself of the privilege."
"How so?" cried Madame de Tourville. "Do you mean to go out in your present condition?"
"Have no fear, madame," replied the viscountess; "I feel perfectly well."
"And you will come?"
"Instantly."
"I will go and tell Madame la Princesse of your purpose."
And Madame de Tourville went out as she came in, with a ceremonious reverence to the viscountess.
The prospect of this unexpected visit produced, as will readily be understood, great excitement in the little court. The viscountess's plight had aroused an interest as keen as it was widespread, for it was by no means true that Madame La Princesse's conduct in the late affair was universally approved. Curiosity was at its height, therefore; officers, maids of honor, courtiers, thronged to Madame de Condé's cabinet, hardly able to believe in the promised visit, for it was but the day before that Claire's condition was represented to be almost hopeless.
Suddenly Madame la Vicomtesse de Cambes was announced.
At the sight of those pallid features, as cold and motionless as marble, the hollow, black-ringed eyes, from which all the life and fire had fled, a murmur of compassion made itself heard in the princess's circle.
Claire did not seem to notice it.
Lenet, deeply moved, walked forward to meet her, and timidly put out his hand. But Claire, without accepting it, walked past him toward Madame de Condé, whom she saluted with noble dignity. She walked the whole length of the apartment with firm step, although she was so pale that she thought every moment that she would fall.
The princess, herself intensely excited and deathly pale, watched Claire's approach with a feeling resembling terror; nor had she the strength to conceal the feeling, which was plainly depicted on her face.
"Madame," said the viscountess in a grave voice, "I have requested this audience which your Highness is pleased to grant me, in order to ask you, in the face of all, if you have been content with my fidelity and devotion since I have had the honor to serve you."
The princess put her handkerchief to her lips, and faltered: —
"Most assuredly, my dear viscountess, I have had reason to praise your conduct on all occasions, and I have expressed my gratitude to you more than once."
"That statement is very precious to me, madame, for it permits me to solicit your Highness to relieve me from further attendance upon you."
"What!" cried the princess, "you wish to leave me, Claire?"
Claire bowed respectfully, but made no reply. Shame, remorse, or sorrow could be detected upon every face. A deathlike silence pervaded the assembly.
"But why do you leave me?" continued the princess at last.
"I have but a few days to live, madame," replied the viscountess, "and those few days I desire to pass in caring for the welfare of my soul."
"Claire, dear Claire!" cried the princess, "pray reflect – "
"Madame," the viscountess interrupted, "I have two favors to ask at your hands; may I hope that you will grant them?"
"Oh! speak, speak!" cried Madame de Condé, "for I shall be only too happy if I can do aught for you."
"You can, madame."
"What are the favors you wish to ask me?"
"The first is the gift of the abbacy of Sainte-Radegonde, vacant since the death of Madame de Montivy."
"You an abbess, my dear child! surely you cannot think of it!"
"The second, madame," continued Claire, with a slight trembling in her voice, "is that I may be permitted to inter on my estate at Cambes the body of my fiancé, Monsieur le Baron Raoul de Canolles, murdered by the the people of Bordeaux."
The princess turned away and pressed a trembling hand to her heart. The Duc de La Rochefoucauld turned pale and lost countenance. Lenet opened the door and fled incontinently.
"Your Highness does not deign to reply," said Claire; "do you refuse? Perhaps I have asked too much."
Madame de Condé had only enough strength to nod her head in token of assent, before she fell back in a swoon upon her chair.
Claire turned away as unmoved as if she were of stone, and passed majestically from the room through the lane of courtiers, standing with heads bent; not until the door had closed behind her, did they realize that no one had thought of going to Madame de Condé's assistance.
Five minutes later a carriage rolled slowly out of the court-yard; Madame de Cambes was taking leave of Bordeaux.
"What is your Highness's decision?" Madame de Tourville inquired of Madame de Condé when she came to herself.
"Comply with the wishes of Madame la Vicomtesse de Cambes in respect to both the petitions she addressed to us just now, and implore her to forgive us."
