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Agnes Sorel

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<h4>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h4> When Jean Charost reached the bottom of the great stair-case, he found every thing below in a state of great hurry and confusion. A number of persons were passing out, and stately forms, and burnished arms, and waving plumes were seen flowing along through the corridor like a stream. At the foot of the stairs stood Tanneguy du Châtel in complete arms, with his right foot raised upon the first step, his knee supporting the pommel of a small battle-ax, and his hand resting on the blade of the weapon. His beaver was up, and the expression of his countenance eager and impatient. "Quick, quick, De Brecy," he said. "The prince has gone on. We must catch him before the interview begins, if you would speed in your suit." "I am ready," said the young man; and on they hastened, somewhat impeded by the number of attendants and noblemen of the dauphin's court, who were already following him toward the bridge over the Seine. They issued out of the abbey, at length, and then made greater progress in the open streets. But, nevertheless, they did not overtake the prince and the group that immediately surrounded him, till he had reached the foot of the high arched bridge on which the barriers were erected. In the open space on either side of the road, between the houses and the water, were assembled a strong body of horse and two large companies of archers. A herald and a marshal kept the way clear for the prince and his train, and no one appeared upon the bridge itself but some men, stationed at each of the four barriers, to open and close the gates as the several parties passed in. On the opposite side of the river towered up the old castle, with its outworks coming quite down to the bridge; but nobody appeared there except a few soldiers on the walls. "Here is Monsieur De Brecy, royal sir," said Tanneguy du Châtel, approaching the dauphin--a tall and graceful, but slightly-formed young man--"the gentleman who has been a prisoner! since Azincourt, of whom I spoke to your highness, as did also, I hear, your royal lady, and Mademoiselle De St. Geran." The dauphin turned partly round, and gave one glance at Jean Charost, saying, "Bring him in with you, Du Châtel. We will speak with him within the barriers; for, by all I see, my fair cousin of Burgundy intends to keep me waiting." Thus saying, the dauphin passed on with two or three other persons, the barrier being raised to give him admission. The man in charge of the gate seemed to hesitate at the sight of Jean Charost in his monk's gown; but Du Châtel exclaimed, sharply, "The Baron De Brecy. Let him pass. I am his warrant." The second barrier was passed in the same way as the first by the dauphin and his immediate followers; but a number of the train remained between the two barricades, according to orders apparently previously given. The keeper of the second barrier made greater difficulty than the other to let Jean Charost pass and it was not till the dauphin himself turned his head, and said, "Let him enter," that the rail was raised. Across the centre of the bridge a single light rail was drawn, and in the space between that and the second barrier was placed a little pavilion, decorated with crimson silk, and furnished with a chair for the use of the prince. He advanced at once toward it and seated himself, and those who accompanied him, in number about two or three and twenty, gathered round, and an eager conversation seemed to take place among them. Tanneguy du Châtel mingled with the rest, approaching close to the side of the dauphin; but Jean Charost remained on the verge of the group, unnoticed, and apparently forgotten. Some one was heard to say something regarding the insolence of keeping his highness waiting; and then the voice of Du Châtel answered, in a frank tone, "Not insolence, perhaps--suspicion and fear, very likely." "We wish him no ill," said the dauphin. "Let him keep his promises, and we will embrace him with all friendship. Perhaps he does not know that we are here. Go and summon him, Du Châtel." Without reply, Tanneguy hastened away, vaulted, armed as he was, over the rail which crossed the bridge at the centre, and passed through the two other barriers on the side of the castle, disappearing under the archway of the gate. The eyes of most persons present were turned in that direction; but the dauphin looked round, with a somewhat listless air, as if for some object with which to fill up the time, and, seeing Jean Charost, he beckoned him up. "I am glad to see you, Monsieur De Brecy," he said. "They tell me you have a letter for me from my cousin of Orleans. Were you not, if I remember right, the secretary of his father, my uncle, who was so basely murdered?" "I was, your highness," replied Jean Charost. "Permit me to present you the young duke's letter." The dauphin took it, but did not break the seal, merely saying, "I grieve deeply for my good cousin's long imprisonment, and if we can bring this stout-hearted Duke of Burgundy to any thing like reasonable terms of accommodation, I doubt not that we shall be able to conclude an honorable peace with England, in which case his liberation shall be stipulated, and yours, too, Monsieur De Brecy; for I am told you not only served well, and suffered much at Azincourt, but that your noble devotion to my murdered uncle had well-nigh cost your own life. Rest assured you shall be remembered." Jean Charost judged rightly whence the prince's information came; and he was expressing his thanks, when some of those who were standing round exclaimed, "The duke is coming, your highness!" "Somewhat late," said the young prince, with a frown; "but better that than not come at all. Well go, some of you, and do him honor." Thus saying, he rose and advanced slowly to the rail across the bridge, on which he leaned, crossing his arms upon his chest. In the meanwhile, a small party, consisting of ten or twelve people, were seen approaching from the gate of the castle. At the first barrier they halted, and a short consultation seemed to take place. Before it was finished they were joined by some six or seven noblemen who had left the group about the dauphin by his command. They then moved forward again; but some way in advance of them came Tanneguy du Châtel, with a quick step and a flushed countenance. "This man is very bold, my prince," he said, in a low tone. "God send his looks and words may be more humble here, for I know not how any of us will bear it." "Go back--go back, and bring him on," said the dauphin. "He shall hear some truths he may not lately have heard. Be you calm, Du Châtel, and leave me to deal with him. I will not spare." Eagerness to see all the strange scene that was passing had led Jean Charost almost close to the rail by the time that Tanneguy du Châtel turned, and advanced once more to meet the Duke of Burgundy. That prince was now easily to be distinguished a little in advance of his company, and Jean Charost remarked that he had greatly changed since he last saw him. Though still a strong and active man, he looked much older, and deep lines of anxious thought were traced upon his cheek and brow. At first his eyes were fixed upon the dauphin, who continued to lean against the rail without the slightest movement; but as he came on, the duke looked to the right and left, running his eyes over the prince's attendants, and when about ten steps from the rail, they rested firmly and inquiringly on the face of Jean Charost. For a moment the sight seemed to puzzle him; but then a look of recognition came over his countenance; and the next instant he turned deadly pale. A sort of hesitation was seen in his step and air; but he recovered himself at once, advanced straight to the dauphin, and bent one knee to the ground before him, throwing his heavy sword behind with his left hand. The dauphin moved not, spoke not, for a moment, but gazed upon the duke with a heavy, frowning brow. "Well, cousin of Burgundy," he said, at length, without asking him to rise, "you have come at length. I thought you were going to violate your promise now, as in the other cases." "I have violated no promises, Charles of France," replied the duke, in a tone equally sharp. "Heaven is witness that you have," answered the dauphin. "Did you not promise to cease from war? Did you not promise to withdraw your garrisons from five cities where they still are?" The duke's face flushed, his eyes sparkled, and his brow contracted. What he replied, Jean Charost did not hear; but seeing a gentleman close to the dauphin lay his hand upon his dagger, he caught him by the arm, whispering, "Forbear! forbear!" At the same moment, one of the dauphin's officers, who had gone to meet the duke, took that prince by the arm, saying, "Rise, sir--rise. You are too honorable to remain kneeling." Whether the duke heard, or mistook him, I know not; but he turned sharply toward him, with a fierce look, and, either moved by his haughty spirit, or in order to rise more easily, he put his right hand on the hilt of his sword; and Robert de Loire exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, "Dare you put your hand on your sword in the presence of our lord the dauphin!" "It is time that this should cease!" cried Tanneguy du Châtel, his whole countenance inflamed, and his eyes flashing fire; and at the same moment he struck the duke a blow with the ax he carried in his hand. Burgundy started up, and partly drew his sword; but another blow beat him on his knee again, and another cast him headlong to the ground. A strong man, named Oliver de Laget and another sprang upon him, and thrust a sword into his body. At the same moment, a scuffle occurred at a little distance between one of the followers of the duke and some of the dauphin's party, and Jean Charost saw a man fall; but all was confused and indistinct. Horror, surprise, and a wild, grasping effort of the mind to seize all the consequences to France, to England, to himself, which might follow that dreadful act, stupefied and confounded him. Every thing passed, as in a dream, with rapid indistinctness, to be brought out vivid and strong by an after effort of memory. That the duke was killed at the very feet of the dauphin, was all that his mind had room for at the moment. The next instant a voice exclaimed, "Look to the dauphin--look to the dauphin!" and Jean Charost saw him staggering back from the rail as pale as death, and with his eyes half closed. It is not unlikely that many there present had contemplated as possible some such event as that which had taken place, without any definite purpose of effecting it, or taking any part therein. Popular expectation has often something prophetic in it, and the warning voice, which had rendered so many grave and thoughtful during the whole course of that morning, must have been heard also by the actors of the scene which had just passed. But one thing is certain, and the whole history of the time leaves no doubt of the fact, that the dauphin himself had neither any active share in his cousin's death, nor any participation in a conspiracy to effect it. They bore him back, fainting, to the little pavilion which had been raised for his accommodation, and thence, after a time, led him, in profound silence, to the abbey, while his followers secured a number of the Duke of Burgundy's immediate attendants, and the soldiery, crowding on the bridge, threatened the castle itself with assault. Jean Charost retired from the scene with a sad heart. His hopes were disappointed; his fate seemed sealed; but though he felt all this bitterly, yet he felt still more despondency at the thought of his unhappy country's fate. Personal rivalry, selfish ambition, greed of power and of wealth, undisciplined valor, insubordinate obstinacy, were all urging her on to the verge of a precipice from which a miracle seemed necessary to save her. The feelings which filled his breast at that moment were very like those expressed by the contemporary historian when he wrote, "Only to hear recounted this affair is so pitiful and lamentable that greater there can not be; and especially the hearts of all noble men, and other true men, natives of the kingdom of France, must be of great sadness and shame in beholding those of such noble blood as of the fleur de lis, so near of kindred, themselves destroy one another, and the same kingdom placed, in consequence of the facts above mentioned, and others past and done before, in the way and the danger of falling under a new lord and altogether going to perdition." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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