S. Levett Yeats

“ The past never sleeps. The madness had come on me again, and again I had crushed it, as I imagined, in that lonely struggle with myself which he, who was a priest of his people, had mocked at and gibed. And was this horror to envelop me again? God forbid! No! A thousand times no! I would play this last game to the end of my sword, and then—farewell to France.
I longed, yet feared, to meet Marie. I felt my bridle hand shiver as I thought of her, and, so thinking, I all unconsciously slackened pace, and dropped behind the others, letting my horse go slower and slower until he barely walked. ”

“ As I glanced around me, I saw what I had not noticed before—a flagon of wine, and near it a cup, left there by the thoughtful care of Cipierre’s servants. Three times did I fill the cup to the brim and drain it. I wanted sleep, rest, forgetfulness—if it was but for a moment. I wanted to become oblivious of the new horror that had come upon me, to obtain in the Lethe of sleep that peace which cannot come even to those who die. For death is but the door which opens to lead us into another life. ”

“ Where are Renaudie, Castelnau, and Ste. Marie? Where are a hundred brave hearts we knew and loved?”
“Where we shall be if we fail. I will not go.”
“Your lands are broad, Vibrac. You are young, and life is dear.”
“My life is my own, and neither my lands nor yours of Duras were won with dishonor. And for the risk—I—I but stake myself, while you——”
I said no more, for he knew what I meant, and his brown cheek paled. As for me, for that moment I was innocent, I had conquered the past, and for once the dread breath that stirred the fires of evil within me lost its malign power. ”

“ Caraffa, the legate of the Holy See, relieved him of his vows, and no more reckless cavalier fought through the Italian war. He returned a merciless soldier, a fit instrument for the dark designs of those who sought to kill the faith with the sword. But the cup of his wickedness was brimming over, and the day of vengeance not far, when he, too, was to die by an assassin’s hand. I often wonder if any thought of poor Le Brun ever flashed before the glaring eyes of Richelieu, that bleak January night, when he lay poniarded and dying like a dog, on the pavement of the Rue des Lavandières. ”

“ As I rose to my feet, blackened and bruised, I saw Marcilly was safe. It was but a glance I gave; but it was enough, for Cipierre was beside him, and the black uniforms of the gendarmes of Aunis everywhere.
But for the moment all eyes were fixed on Achon. There were other, and sadder, things going on elsewhere in the burning square, for there the innocent were dying with the guilty; but here, where we were, this was what froze us with horror, and moved us all to pity. Ay, pity! Though he whom God’s hand was striking was the worst of men. ”

“ A look of pain came over the marble features of Catherine; she bent over the boy, as if to hide her features, and her voice was very low as she answered: “No, no, my son!”
And the child had become a child once more.
“I do not want to die,” he wailed. “I am King. Why should a King die?” He stopped and beckoned to Cipierre.
“Monsieur,” he said, as the Vicomte approached, “you are a brave soldier; you have fought many battles. You must save your King from death.” ”

“ I was bound to Marcilly, and the odds were heavy enough against us to tempt the most desperate gambler with life. With solitude my thoughts came back to me and racked me. I had sought for the bread of strength, and come back with a stone. All this may be nothing to you who pass by, but where could I turn for help? I, who was fighting for my soul. As evil thoughts steal into the heart like a fog, as good thoughts come to us like sunlight through the mist, so once again the light flashed on me, and I swore to myself to tear up the past, and face my sorrows like a man. Sleep was impossible. ”

“ For a moment, half blinded and bleeding, Majolais staggered back and then sprang at Achon, something flashing brightly in his hand; but the cruel whip came down again like lightning, and, with a shriek, the dwarf rolled over on the cobble-stones of the pavement. A man-at-arms lowered his lance to stick him, but the dwarf gained his feet with incredible rapidity, and dashed headlong into the crowd, which closed around him with a roar of oaths, laughter, and mob-cries, with now and then a tone that rose to the octave of menace against the bishop and his suite. ”

“ The cheery refrain jarred on our ears, coming as it did from almost under the spot where Condé was to die—where, if the plans of the Guise succeeded, not only would Condé die, but with him, as we thought, our France—the France that we loved so well.
We were now almost opposite Cipierre’s house, where the wooden galleries in the square were but partly finished. It was here, as we slackened pace to approach the gates, that we saw a man, mounted on a white horse, emerge from the shadow of the scaffolding and come half out into the moonlight. ”

“ I pointed to the opposite bank, where, on the Quai du Châtelet, a good half of the population of Orleans seemed to have assembled, all making in a westerly direction, and swaying backward and forward, like a wind-stirred field, while every now and again, above the murmuring voices that hummed like a thousand hives, a hoarse shout would be raised that was taken up all along the line, to die again as suddenly as it had sprung up.
“It is an expiation,” said our boatman, “a Huguenot who refused to bow to Our Lady of Mercy, in the Rue des Tanneurs, and he is to make expiation there on the quay.” ”

“ I felt it as a presage of ill-fortune to come, and full of useless regrets and gloomy forebodings, I moodily paced the foreshore of the river watching the sunset fade from gold to purple, and from purple to gray, that lightened again as the moon rose and hung heavily in the sky, throwing her soft beams on the shadowy, irregular lines of the city and gleaming in scales of silver on the lapping waters of the Seine.
It was whilst I stood thus for a moment that I once more heard the voice of the Capuchin uttering his dismal cry:
“Alms! Alms! He who giveth unto the poor, lendeth unto the Lord.” ”

“ Marie ran back to my side with a little gasp.
“They are come to take you—oh, Vibrac!”
But there was no tread of spurred heels, no clash of arms, only that insistent knocking, and then a voice:
“Vibrac! Vibrac! It is I—Marcilly!”
We two but glanced at each other, a guilty shrinking glance. Then springing forward, I took Marie by the arm, and almost dragged her across the room to where a curtained archway separated my study from a dressing-room.
“In there! Quick!” I whispered; “open the door beyond, and go out by the private way; I will stop him here.” ”

“ I looked after them stupidly, my mind still dazed and blurred, and a shame to which all other shame was as nothing throbbing through me. I turned to Richelieu, I know not why, and he stepped back a pace, as he would have from some foul thing.
“Monsieur,” he said, “our other meeting cannot take place. Even you must know why. Monsieur! I have been in many lands, I have seen strange things, good things, and evil things; but—so help me God!—I have never yet seen a thing so evil as this—I have never yet seen man fall so low as you. ”

“ On one side, almost for its whole length, extended the gray line of the priory wall. On the other hand, a jagged row of irregularly built houses crowded one above the other, their gables sharper, their pentice roofs sloping more steeply than ever in the weird moonlight. Not a soul was to be seen, and the sound of my own footfalls came to me with sullen echoes, as, loosening my sword in its sheath, I proceeded in search of the inn, looking well to the right and left, for if ever a place had “cut-throat” written large over it, this was the spot. ”

“ Things that take but a moment to happen should take but a moment to tell. Our swords were out, too, now; but we cut for Ponthieu as he came up, and he dashed into us in the confusion caused by our sudden assault in his favor. Marcilly’s reins were seized by de Rabutin with a cry of “Traitor,” but Jean leaned forward and struck the Tarantaise with the hilt of his sword, and he fell backward, but rose staggering to his feet. Ponthieu was hard pressed. Once he thrust at me, and it was but chance that I managed to turn his point. ”

“ You love me—”
“I have never said so——”
“Does man or woman ever need to be told that, Marie? You have saved my life. Let me devote that life to you, and give you life and happiness. I will leave Paris to-night. There is a wicket gate in the gardens of the Louvre beyond the riding school. I have the key. Meet me there at compline, and when the sun rises to-morrow we will be safe from pursuit, and then, Marie—and then—happiness for you and for me——”
I stopped, for her face was as marble, and with a shiver she murmured to herself,
“What shall I do? What shall I do?” ”

“ I know now that it is possible for a woman, a good and pure woman, to mistake the feelings of her heart, to imagine she loves where she does not, and to tread on the edge of a moral precipice, where a false step means the ruin of a soul. And because such a woman was strong enough to save herself, I was base enough to brand her coquette, vile enough to think of revenge. I could hear nothing except that glad cry of welcome; I saw as in a dream before me the figures of the Queen-Mother and our two friends engaged in earnest converse. ”

“ It was the old story. It is not in a woman’s words, but in her eyes, that her heart lies.
As she stood there, silent and motionless, Marcilly leaned over the Vicomte’s shoulder, and whispered something. Then they both beckoned to Lanoy and Chandieu, and retired into the recess of the window, where they spoke in whispers, and, as I looked, I saw a smile on Lanoy’s dark face, a light in the Vicomte’s eyes—and a jealous anger came into my heart that I was not asked to share their confidences. ”

“ Up this we let the horses scramble, until we reached a small table-land bereft of trees, and from the height peered into the darkness around.
“Messieurs!” It was Badehorn who spoke, or rather shouted. “Messieurs! We are all wrong. There is the light of Beaulieu to our right! It should be to our left!”
“Light! There is no light there!” I said, “though we may well be all wrong, as you say;” but even as I spoke, something flared and sputtered redly out of the night.
“That is not Beaulieu; the light is too low,” said Marcilly, “but Beaulieu or not, let us make for it, in God’s name! ”

“ All my vanity, all my self-love, was wounded and in arms—I was filled with the rage that burns in a heart in which love is turned to anger. I was capable of anything, and I had paved the way for this total descent. It was no case—it never is—of [Pg 206] one becoming at once supremely vile. I would have revenge, a full and complete revenge, for my abasement, and then came the whispered temptation that lost me my soul.
I started as the thought came to me, and then with it came a horror and loathing of the evil thing. ”

“ The one hope of all Frenchmen who loved their country, Louis of Condé, was in the hands of the Guisards. His life hung by a hair, and on that life hung, as we thought then, the safety of France. We were powerless to help, and here at Châtillon we, who had escaped disaster as yet, were practically prisoners, for de Termes held us in check from Ligueil, and the lances of Montluc gleamed from every tower from Buzançais to St. Aignan. We were, in short, caged. We could run about in our cage but not beyond its bars. We were in a trap—like rats in a trap. ”

“ In the dusk of the evening six gentlemen met the Prince of Condé by the oak of King Louis. You know the tree, with its trunk mottled as if with leprosy, and spreading its arms wide enough to shelter a company of horse! These six gentlemen, I say, met the Prince, who came alone, and they spoke it may be for an hour together. The heads of four of the six now wither on the spikes of the castle gates of Amboise. The fifth was a great noble from the north, and the sixth—he was, I remember now, the Sieur de Vibrac, a gentleman of the Ruergue. ”

“ If it will help you to be yourself I will tell you of myself. I never knew my own heart until I left you to-day—and I left you after hearing every word that passed between you and my husband. I thought his love was gone from me, and it was a desperate, foolish woman who promised you what she did. I know now that Marcilly loves me still, and with God’s help I mean to be a better woman and deserve his love. ”

“ Good men, honorable gentlemen, my friends—I had such friends once—have died like vermin. The Lake of Geneva holds all that is left of Maligny, le beau cadet, as we called him; the Vidame died at the galleys, chained to the scum of mankind. But he died, Maligny died, even Achon died, that merciless priest! And I live as a leper! I have come to know that death is the pity of God. ”

“ I took the hand he held out to me for a moment, and, muttering my thanks, turned hastily [Pg 308] and mingled with the crowd on the pavement, leaving Lorgnac staring after me in astonishment at my abrupt departure.
In a crowd one is soon lost, and in the uncertain light it would have required sharp eyes to have recognized me, as I threaded my way through the heaving throng. Not that I gave a thought to recapture. My mind was absorbed with one idea, and that was to put miles between me and the scene of my shame. For the moment I was tortured by neither remorse nor fear. ”

“ We stared at each other, surprise and anger in his glance. For an instant I almost hoped he was going to draw on me, for there was no more fierce spirit than Jean de Marcilly; but he controlled himself with a mighty effort.
“Forgive me, Gaspard!” he said, “we are too old in friendship to quarrel. Au revoir! I will meet you at the Porte St. Victor.”
“No!” I said, “I cannot promise to be there. Ride straight from Paris—go straight to the Prince. There are blows to be struck. I—-I will join you later. But leave me now. This house is no refuge, and our ways must be separate.” ”

“ SOWING THE WINDS I suppose there is no man who would care to have sunlight in all his life; but I hardly think there is one who could have sunk to the deep as I did, and yet have been coward enough to live, as I do—I, Gaspard de Vibrac.
As I write these lines in my study in lonely Vibrac, the four white stars on my shield, carved in relief above the fireplace, seem to burn red with the memory of my shame, and nothing can wipe out that stain in my ’scutcheon—nothing, nothing! ”

“ They snorted and trembled, and then their courage came back to them like the brave beasts they were, as we went at a hand gallop through the snow.
We had now come to the forest of Loches, that deep, dark wood which makes a fitting setting to the gloomy stronghold of Louis XI. The darkness gained upon us rapidly, and soon it became more and more difficult to follow the road. Now and then, through the gaps in the trees, through dead arms of beech or oak, we could catch the beacon fire on the tower of Beaulieu, and guided ourselves by its glimmer. We had meant to reach Chenonceaux by the morning. ”