<h4>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h4>
<br/>
<p>The most humiliating of all the various kinds of human suffering is
undoubtedly sea-sickness, and therefore I will willingly pass over all
my sensations in crossing the Gulf of Lyons. I believe, however, that
the excessive importunity of my corporeal feelings did me good,
inasmuch as it served, for a time, to obliterate from my memory the
various strange and exciting scenes which I had lately gone through.
If we could suppose the soul itself to be in a state of ebriety, I
should say that my mind had been for several days drunk with excess of
stimulus; and the relaxation consequent upon it, during the vacant
hours of the voyage, would have been actually painful, had not the
horrors of sea-sickness so employed the body, that the mind could not
act.</p>
<p>We landed, then, at Marseilles, after a safe and rapid passage, and I
prepared to set out with all speed for Lyons, hoping, by being the
first to bear the Cardinal de Richelieu news, which I well divined
would be most joyful to him, that I might at all events remove some of
the dangers and difficulties of my situation--a situation which I
hardly dared to contemplate.</p>
<p>My father, though richly endowed with personal courage, wanted, as I
have said, that moral courage, which leads a man to look everything
that is painful or disagreeable boldly in the face. With him, indeed,
this disposition was carried to the excess of flying from the
contemplation, even of inconvenient trifles; but enough of it had
descended to me to make me willingly turn my eyes from circumstances
like those in which I was now placed.</p>
<p>Money, I had hardly more than would bear me to Paris; resources, I had
none before me, and I shrank from the idea of either writing to, or
hearing from, the once loved home that I had left, with a degree of
horror it is difficult to describe. What could I write, without
forcing my mind to dwell upon details that were agony to think of?
What could I hear, but reproaches, which I knew not well whether I
deserved or not; or tenderness, which would have been more painful
still? My only resource was, like the ostrich in the fable, to shut my
eyes against the evils that pursued me, and to hurry forward as fast
as I could, filling up the vacuity of each moment with any
circumstances less painful than my own thoughts, and leaving to time
and chance--the two great patrons of the unfortunate--to remove my
difficulties, and provide for my wants.</p>
<p>At the inn at Marseilles, as soon as my little attendant, Achilles,
had recovered what he called his powers of ambulation, the rolling of
the sea having left him, even on land, certain sensations of
unsteadiness which made him walk in various zigzag meanders during the
whole day, he unfolded to my astonished eyes the clothes which he had
bought for me at Barcelona. First, appeared a splendid Spanish riding
dress of philomot cloth, laced with silver, and perfectly new; with a
black beaver and white plumes, which, together with the untanned
riding-boots, sword, and dagger, all handsomely mounted, might cost,
upon a very moderate calculation, at least one hundred and fifty
louis-d'ors. I concluded myself ruined, of course; but what was my
surprise and horror when he dragged forth a long leathern case,
containing a rich dress suit of white silk, laced with gold; a white
sword and gold hilt, a bonnet and plume, that might have served a
prince, with collars of Flemish lace, gold-embroidered gloves of
Brussels, and shoes of Cordova.</p>
<p>If it had been a box of serpents I could not have gazed into it with
more horror, my purse feeling lighter by a pistole for every fold he
unplied in the rich white silk. "There! there! there!" cried he,
contemplating them with as much delight as I experienced
consternation. "What an exquisite Alexander the Great I should make in
that white silk! Never was such an opportunity lost, for fitting up
the wardrobe of a theatre--never! never! but I could not bear to part
with the little shining yellow things, that kept my pocket so warm,
and therefore I only bought what was necessary for you, <i>signeurie</i>."</p>
<p>"And where do you think that my <i>seigneurie</i> is to get money to pay
for them?" demanded I, somewhat sharply. "Pray how much have you spent
more than I gave you?"</p>
<p>The poor little man looked up with an air of consternation that
increased my own. "Spent!" cried he; "spent more than you gave
me!--Why, none at all. I got them all for seven louis."</p>
<p>"Then they must have been stolen," cried I.</p>
<p>"To be sure!" answered he, in a tone of the most <i>naïve</i> simplicity in
the world; "to be sure they were stolen. How did you think I should
come by them else?"</p>
<p>Though in no very merry mood, the tone, the air, and simplicity of the
little player overcame my gravity, and I could not help laughing while
I asked who they had really belonged to, before they came so honestly
into his possession.</p>
<p>"Lord! how should I know?" replied he. "If you want to hear how I got
them, that is easily told. When you went away to the council, after
bidding me buy you a riding-suit, I went out with Jaccomo, as they
call him, the cook; and as we were marching along in search of a
fripier, we passed by the ruins of the arsenal, where you and I were
confined, and where I killed the savage soldado," he continued,
drawing himself up till he fancied himself full six feet high. "But
that has nothing to do with the matter. The arsenal is now in a
terrible state; partly battered to pieces with the cannon, partly
blown up, as it seemed to me; but we just went in to take a look about
us, when suddenly out from amongst a whole heap of ruins creeps a
peasant fellow, with these two large mails on his back, and a heap of
other things in a bag round his neck. At first he looked frightened,
but after a little took heart, and told us a long story, which Jaccomo
translated for me, showing forth, that having come to town too late
for the famous plunder of the day before, he had hunted about amongst
the rooms that were yet standing in the arsenal, till he had found all
the things we saw; and added, that if we would go on we should find a
deal more. This, however, did not suit Jaccomo, who talked to him very
loudly about taking him before the council, and frightened him a good
deal, after which he made him show us what was in the mails; when,
finding they would suit your lordship, I made the cook offer the man
seven louis for them, though he said I was a great fool for offering
so much; and that if I would let him, he would frighten him so he
would give them up for nothing. But as I knew you would not wear them
without you paid for them, I gave the man the money, who was very glad
to get it, and walked away quite contented with that, and several
other suits that he had besides."</p>
<p>This information satisfied my conscience; and certainly if there never
were seven louis better laid out, never was apparel more needed; for
what between my journeys in the Pyrenees and my adventures in Spain,
my <i>pourpoint</i> would have qualified me for a high rank amongst those
poor chevaliers whom we see frequenting the corners of low taverns,
and waiting patiently till some solitary traveller without
acquaintance, or indefatigable tippler abandoned by his mates, invites
them to share his tankard for the mere sake of company.</p>
<p>The next thing was to try them on, when, to my mortification, I found
that, though in point of length they suited me exactly, both the
<i>pourpoint</i> and the <i>haut de chausse</i> much required the intervention
of a pair of shears to reduce the waist to the same circumference as
my own. A small lean-shanked Marseillois, exercising the honourable
office of tailor to the inn, was soon procured; and setting him down
in the corner of the chamber, I suffered him not to depart till both
the suits were reduced to a just proportion, and I no longer looked as
if I had got into an empty balloon when I again tried them on.</p>
<p>One night I suffered to roll past tranquilly, though a thousand
phantoms of the last two days hovered about my pillow and disturbed my
rest. The next morning, however, a new embarrassment presented itself;
for, on inquiring for the boat to Lyons, I was informed that it did
not depart till the next day; and even then I found it would be so
long on its passage that I must abandon all hope of being the first
bearer of news from Catalonia, if I pursued so dilatory a mode of
travelling. At the same time I well knew that it was quite out of the
question to take poor little Achilles so many hundred miles on
horseback. The only way, therefore, which we could determine upon, was
for him to remain behind till the boat sailed, and then to make the
best of his way to Paris to rejoin me, while I went on as fast as
possible, and accomplished my errand in the meanwhile.</p>
<p>Being now in France, and having his pockets well garnished, little
Achilles did not, of course, feel himself near so much at a loss as he
would have done in Spain; but still he clung about me, and whimpered
like a baby to see me depart. I believe that he had seldom known
kindness before, and he estimated it as a jewel from its rarity. He
made one request, however, before I departed, with which, though
unwillingly, I could not refuse to comply. My scruple of conscience
about the diamonds of which he had plundered the house of Monsieur de
Villafranca had in some degree touched his own, and he had heroically
resolved to return them if ever he found the opportunity--always,
however, reserving the right to make use of any part of them in case
either his own or my occasions should require it. But in the meantime
he remained under the most dreadful anxiety lest he should be robbed
on the way to Paris; and made it his most humble request, both as I
was the most valiant of the two, and as I should be a less space of
time on the road, that I would take charge of the packet in which they
were enveloped.</p>
<p>I did as he wished, though I would willingly have been excused; and
having left him to shed his tender tears over our separation, I
mounted the post-horse that had been brought me, and set out on my
journey for Paris.</p>
<p>The night's rest which I had taken at Marseilles served me till I
arrived at Lyons; and the one which I indulged in there carried me on
to Paris. No time was lost on my journey; a single word concerning
despatches for the minister making doors fly open and horses gallop
better than the magic rings of the Fairy Tales.</p>
<p>At length I began to see the villages growing nearer and nearer
together; separate houses highly ornamented and decorated, yet not
large enough to dignify themselves with the name of châteaux; troops
of people seemingly returning from some great city to their homes in
the country; strings of carts and horses; and, in short, everything
announcing the proximity of a metropolis; while at the same time the
sound of a multitude of bells came borne upon the wind towards me,
telling me that I arrived at some moment of great public rejoicing. I
will not stop to inquire why that sound fell so heavily upon my heart;
but so it did, and all the increasing gaiety I met as I began to enter
into the suburbs but rendered me the more melancholy.</p>
<p>It was by this time beginning to grow dusk, and directing my horse
towards the <i>Quartier St. Eustache</i>, I alighted at a small auberge
which our landlord at Marseilles had recommended as the best in Paris.
Having taken off my baggage with my own hands, and paid my postilion,
I looked about in the little courtyard for some one to show me an
apartment. It was long, however, before I could find any one; and even
at last, the only person I could meet with was an old woman, the
great-grandmother of mine host, I believe, who told me that all the
world were out at the fête, and that I might sit down in the
<i>salle-à-manger</i> if I liked, till they came back.</p>
<p>This seemed but poor entertainment for the best auberge in Paris; but
I was forced to content myself with what I found, for it was too late
to seek another lodging, even had I not appointed Achilles to meet me
there. Nor, indeed, was my companion, the old woman, very
entertaining; for she was so deaf that she heard not one word I said,
and merely replied to all my inquiries, on whatever subject they were
made, by informing me that every one was at the fête, repeating the
precise words she made use of before.</p>
<p>Thus passed the time for an hour; but then the face of affairs
altered. The host--a jolly aubergiste as ever roasted a capon--rushed
in, in his best attire, followed by his wife and his sister, and his
sister's husband, all half inebriated with good spirits; and I was
soon at my desire shown to an apartment, which, though small, was
sufficiently clean; and having been told that supper would be ready at
the table d'hôte in an hour, I waited, while the various odours rising
up from the kitchen to my window seemed sent on purpose to inform me,
step by step, of the progress of the meal.</p>
<p>Alone--in Paris--unknown to a soul--with a vacant hour lying open
before me--it was impossible any longer to avoid that unkind friend,
thought. For a moment or two, I walked up and down the little chamber,
whose antique furniture--the precise allotted portion which a
traveller could not do without--called to my mind the old but splendid
garnishing of my apartments at the Château de l'Orme.</p>
<p>Where--I asked myself--where were all the familiar objects that habit
had rendered dear to my eye?--where all the little trifles, round
which memory lingers, even after time has torn her away from things of
greater import?--where were the grand mountains whose vast masses
would even now have been stretching dark and sublime across the
twilight sky before my windows?--where the free breeze that wafted
health with every blast?--where were the eyes whose glance was
sunshine, and the voices whose tones were music, and the hearts whose
happiness had centred in me alone? What had I instead? A petty
chamber, in a petty inn--the rank close atmosphere of a swarming city,
and the eternal clang of scolding, lying, blaspheming tongues, rising
up with a din that would have deafened a Cyclop--while misery, and
vice, and want, and sorrow, cabal, and treason, and treachery, and
crime, were working around me, in the thousand narrow, jammed-up cells
of that great infernal hive. Such was the picture that imagination
contrasted with the sweet calm scene which memory portrayed; and
casting myself down on the bed, I hid my face on the clothes, giving
way to a burst of passionate sorrow, that relieved me with unmanly but
still with soothing tears.</p>
<p>While I yet lay there, I heard some one move in the chamber; and
starting suddenly up, I saw a man carefully examining my baggage, with
a very suspicious and nonchalant air. "Who the devil are you?" cried
I, laying my hand on my sword.</p>
<p>"<i>Garçon de l'auberge, ne vous deplaise, Monsieur</i>," replied the man.</p>
<p>"Then Monsieur Garçon de l'auberge," said I, "beware how you touch my
baggage; for though there be nothing in it but my clothes and a packet
for his eminence the cardinal, I shall take care to slit your nose if
you finger it without orders."</p>
<p>The man started back at the name of the cardinal as if he had touched
a viper, gave me the <i>monseigneur</i> immediately, and replied, that he
came to tell me supper was served, and the guests about to place
themselves at table.</p>
<p>Following him down, I found the <i>salle-à-manger</i> tenanted by about ten
persons, while upon the table smoked a savoury and plentiful supper,
on which they but waited the presence of the host to fall with
somewhat wolfish appetites.</p>
<p>Silence reigned omnipotent at the first course; but at the second, two
or three of the guests, more loquacious than the rest, began to
entertain themselves and their neighbours with their own importance.</p>
<p>One, whose beard was as black and shaggy as a hawthorn tree in winter,
spoke of his exploits in war, and showed himself a very Cæsar, at
least in words.</p>
<p>Another was all-powerful in love, and told of many a cunning <i>passe</i>
which he had put upon jealous husbands and careful relations. No
female heart had ever resisted him, according to his account, which
was the more extraordinary, as he was the ugliest of human beings.
This he acknowledged, however, in some degree, swearing he knew not
what the poor fools found to love in him.</p>
<p>A third was a mighty man of state, talked in a low voice, and
told all the news. He had seen, he said, a certain great man that day,
whom it was dangerous to name; and he could tell, if he liked, a
mighty secret--but no, he would not--he was afraid of their
indiscretion;--then again, however, he changed his mind, and
would--they were all discreet men, he was sure. The news was this,--it
was undoubted, he could assure them. Portugal had again fallen under
the dominion of Spain--he had it from the best authority. The means of
the counter-revolution was this: the Viceroy of Catalonia had sent
twenty thousand men by Gibraltar, straight to Portugal, where they had
uncrowned the Duke of Braganza, and restored King Philip, for which
great service the king had appointed the Viceroy of Catalonia his
prime minister.</p>
<p>As I knew how much of this news was truth, I of course gave the
politician his due share of credit; and judging the rest of the
company from the specimen he afforded, I was rather inclined to
imagine that the lover's face made a truer report of his achievements
than his tongue, and that, perhaps, the beard of the soldado
constituted the most efficient part of his valour. I did not, however,
seek to inquire into particulars; but remained as silent as several
plain-looking respectable shopkeepers, who sat near me, and only
opened my mouth to ask if I could procure some one to guide me that
evening to a place I wished to visit in the town. This was addressed
to my next neighbour, who had himself shown no symptoms of loquacity;
but, it caught the ears of the man of the sword, who had been admiring
the lace upon my riding-suit, with somewhat the expression of a cat
looking into a vase of gold fish; and he instantly proposed, in a very
patronizing manner, to be my conductor himself. "I have half an hour
to spare, young sir," said he; "your countenance pleases me, and I am
willing to bestow that leisure upon you. You do not know Paris, and
the strange folks you may meet; my presence will be a protection to
you."</p>
<p>I replied that I wanted no protection; that I had always been able,
hitherto, to protect myself; but that I was obliged by his offer of
guiding me, and would accept it.</p>
<p>Having taken care to lock the door of my chamber before I came down,
and having the despatch from Barcelona about me, the moment we had
done dinner I accompanied the complaisant soldier into the street, and
then begged him to show me to the Palais Cardinal. The name seemed to
startle him a little; but he bade me follow him, which I accordingly
did. For about a quarter of an hour, he went up one street and down
another, turning and returning, like a hare pursued by the dogs, till
at length I began to perceive that the very last intention in my
worthy guide's mind was to conduct me to the Palais Cardinal, which I
well knew was not half a mile from the Quartier St. Eustache. As he
went, my honest companion amused me with the detail of a great many
adventures, in which he had proved himself a Hercules, and carried on
the conversation with such spirit that he had it all to himself.</p>
<p>What he intended to do with me, God knows; but getting rather tired of
walking about the streets, I fixed upon a respectable-looking grocer's
shop, which was not yet closed, and telling my companion that I wanted
to buy some pepper, I walked in.</p>
<p>"Pepper!" cried he, following me; "what can you want with pepper?"</p>
<p>"I will tell you presently," I answered, "when I have asked this good
gentleman (the grocer) a question.--Pray, sir," I continued, turning
to the master of the house, "will you inform me if I am near the
Palais Cardinal? This worthy person agreed to guide me thither from
the Rue des Prouvaires, quartier St. Eustache, and we have walked near
half an hour without finding it."</p>
<p>"He has taken you quite to the other end of the town," replied the
grocer. "You are now, sir, in the Rue des Prêtres St. Paul."</p>
<p>"On my life!" cried the soldier, "I thought I was leading you right.
By my honour, 'tis a strange mistake!"</p>
<p>"So strange, sir," said I, "that if you do not instantly go to the
right about, and march off, I may be tempted to cudgel you."</p>
<p>"<i>Ventre St. Gris!</i>" cried the bully, laying his hand on his sword.
But the grocer whispered a word or two to his shop-boy about fetching
the Capitaine du Guêt; and the great soldier, finding that his honour
was likely to suffer less by retreating than by maintaining his
ground, took to his heels, and ran off with all speed.</p>
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