Chapter XXVI: The Castle of Versailles

I traversed all the land of Lorraine, and never drew bridle save when I could not, without destroying my fine Spanish barb, press him further, or faster.

On passing the borders of Champagne, I proceeded more at my leisure, and after a pleasant journey of about thirty miles per day, found myself one evening, in the beginning of August, trotting down the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, towards the old familiar masses of the magnificent Louvre, with all the buzz, bustle, chatter, gaiety, dust, and sunshine of Paris around me; and once more I saw its spires glooming in the twilight of azure and gold.

His Majesty was hunting at his country castle of Versailles (it was only a castle then), and would not return for a week; thus, after halting for refreshment and repose at my old hotel, the _Golden Fleur-de-lis_, in the Rue d'Ecosse, where Maître Pierre Omelette was still extant in all his glory and amplitude of night-cap and white apron, I flung all the frivolous billets with which I was intrusted into the box of the Hotel des Postes--all save those for Mademoiselle de l'Orme, whom I was anxious to see, and hiring a fresh horse, departed next day for the royal hunting-seat, without making any detour towards the château d'Amboise, though I looked wistfully at its shining vanes, and steep slated turrets as they rose above the coppice with a cloud of pigeons wheeling round them; but I rode rapidly on, feeling piqued, because the handsome and gay Marquis of Gordon had written to Clara, and had given me the letter to carry. Moreover I dreaded to meet her natural grief for her brother's death, and resolved seriously to consider the expedience of my visit, _after_ the delivery of my despatch.

At this time, when the imperial general had nearly made himself master of all the bailiwick of Vaudevrange, and encamped his army between the Save and the Wilde, that he might more effectually succour the Duke of Lorraine; and when France and her allies were most unsuccessful in Italy, where the Duke of Parma was stripped of his territories by the encroaching Spaniards, notwithstanding all the valiant efforts of the French troops under the Marechal Duc de Crecqui, couriers or officers bearing despatches were ever anxiously waited for at the Louvre and Versailles, and by no one more than Richelieu, who had precipitated France into this war with the German empire.

In a short time I approached Versailles, a small village on a rising ground, about twelve miles westward from Paris, and entered the avenue which led to the country palace or hunting castle built by Louis XIII. It is an edifice entirely of brick, coped with stone, crowned by balustrades and sculptured trophies, busts, and vases. All the statues, eighty in number, are antiques of white marble, and stand on carved corbeilles between the windows. In the centre is a balcony supported by eight Doric columns of richly-veined marble. Under this balcony stood a gentleman of the Scottish Guard, one of the twenty-four archers, on duty with his arquebuse, talking to some young nobles and Gray Mousquetaires, who were lounging about the grand entrance, and making it seem quite gay, with their slashed pourpoints and plumed hats.

Little hills that teem with game surround this quaint old hunting castle, on which, since those days, Louis XIV. has engrafted one of the most magnificent palaces in the world.

Just as I dismounted, and gave the reins of my horse to a groom in the royal livery, a vehement blowing of horns, accompanied by the yelling and barking of dogs, the tramp of horses, and cracking of whips, approached, and I beheld the King ride up, surrounded by a gay and joyous but travel-stained band of hunters--the four dukes, who were gentlemen of his chamber, the grand huntsman, the grand faucormier, a pack of hounds, and a host of grooms and keepers. They all came up by that stately path of ancient elms, the rows of which are twenty fathoms wide, and which lead from the old brick castle towards Paris.

I begged M. de Brissac, a gentleman of the Duc de Bouillon, and formerly a captain in St. Lacy's dragoons, who was riding beside the King, to mention that a courier had arrived from the army; and my request--or the words of it--spread like wildfire.

'A courier from the army?' said one.

'Which army--we have five in the field?' asked a second.

'The army of the Rhine,' replied a third.

'From Italy, I believe,' said M. de Brissac.

'Ah!' exclaimed the Duc de St. Simon; 'from the Marechal Duc de Crecqui?'

'Has he taken Parma from the Spaniards?'

'Yes--of course. Parbleu! 'tis glorious.'

'Parma is taken. Vive le Marechal Duc de Crecqui!'

Thus, amid confused shouts and blowing of horns, I found myself standing uncovered beside the stirrup of the timid and querulous king, who was in the act of opening a long despatch, which had just been handed to him by another officer, who, as De Brissac told me, had just arrived from the Duc de Rohan; and in this officer, who had preceded me by three minutes, I recognized my countryman the young Earl of Irvine, a colonel of foot. He looked pale, thin, and emaciated, for his right hand had been shot off.

'My brave M. Irvine,' said the King, 'what reward must yours be?'

'Permission to serve your Majesty with my left hand, since the right is lying at the foot of the Alps.'

'Thou art a valiant Scot!' exclaimed the King, opening the despatch.'

But his countenance grew dark as he read on, for the letter detailed, in the gentlest manner, an undeniable defeat; and every lip was hushed and every eye bent on him while he made himself master of its contents.

'Mordieu!' he exclaimed in an altered tone; 'so--so my lord, you were defeated at a place which M. de Rohan calls Bormio?'

'Pardon me, sire,' replied the politic Earl, with a profound bow; 'we were not defeated--your Majesty's troops never are. We simply retired, and left some of our soldiers in possession of the field.'

'Ah! the killed and wounded, I suppose,' said the King, with a sardonic grin.

'Alas! sire,' resumed the young Earl, 'I have still worse tidings to give, for it was rumoured in our army that your Majesty's most faithful and valiant ally, Monseigneur the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, is dying.'

'Dying!' reiterated the petulant king; 'what business has he to think of dying just now, after luring us into this German war; and just at the time when we need his assistance most? But good, my lord, go--and let us see you no more at Versailles until you have other tidings to give than those of the defeat of our armies and death of our allies.'

As the Earl turned haughtily away, I heard him mutter,

'There never was a Scottish king dared speak to a Scottish earl, as this pampered Bourbon has this day spoken to me!'

And without according the least salute to Louis, he strode away, and next day left his service.

I now approached.

'Another courier--Oho! 'tis a cuirassier of our valiant Scottish Guard; a good omen by St. Louis! Your despatch;--thanks, monsieur.

He tore it open, and there was again profound stillness as the king scanned it. He made himself master of its contents at a glance, and then read it aloud that all might hear, while I remained on one knee at his side, with the standard of Lorraine in my hands.

'Pardieu! this is good--this is brave! Well done, my valiant Hepburn--thou shalt be a Marechal of France!' exclaimed the King, as his eyes flashed with sudden energy and pride. 'Alsace is ours!'

'Vive le Camp-Marechal Hepburn--Alsace is ours!' repeated the courtiers, and there was a vehement clapping of hands.

'The Prince of Vaudemont routed before Bitche, and his standard taken by M. Blane, of our Garde du Corps Ecossais; a thousand troop-horses captured, and fifty of the enemy slain in the valley of Ingweiler by this same M. Blane; La Mothe stormed, the bailiff of Bassignie killed, and the troops of Hepburn pushing onward to the German frontier--to the Rhine which shall be ours! Let the bells be rung and the cannon fired! But who are you, monsieur?' asked Louis, turning to me.

'Arthur Blane, of the Scottish Guard, sir.'

'Good, my friend, kings have bad memories; but you will soon find that mine is an exception.'

My heart danced with joy as he gave me his hand to kiss, and held up the standard in view of his attendants, whose applause again burst forth with a rapture truly French.

'Tonnerre de Ciel!' said Louis, glancing again at the despatch; 'our loss in men is considerable.'

'Heed it not, sire,' replied the gay Duke de Bouillon; 'the boys born this week in our good and virtuous city of Paris will replace the loss in battle.'

'And so M. le Chevalier Hepburn is in full march to attack Count Gallas?'

'Yes, sire.'

'Mohammed condescended to go to the mountain; so, as M. le Comte will not come to meet the troops of France, we must march them to fight M. le Comte. Bon!' exclaimed Louis, rubbing his hands.

He was about to address me again, as I stood the cynosure of a thousand eyes, when suddenly a carriage, escorted by twelve mounted musketeers, wheeled up the ancient avenue of elms; and Louis muttered, while nervously folding the despatch,--

'Here comes our devil of a Cardinal! Ah--your Eminence is welcome--we have just got despatches----'

'From the Duke de Rohan and the Chevalier Hepburn,' replied the Cardinal, coldly.

'How know you that?' asked the King, with astonishment.

'I know every man who approaches your Majesty,' replied the Cardinal, with a cold smile: 'you bore letters from our army of the Rhine?' he added, turning abruptly to me.

I bowed.

Furtively and swiftly, he gave me a fierce and hawk-like glance of hostility, and followed the King into the castle of Versailles. The attendants flocked after them, and I was left standing almost alone in the Cour de Marble.

The strange glance of this terrible man startled me. I knew not how to account for its expression; but I feared him, and felt assured that I had incurred his displeasure--that he hated me! While standing irresolute whether or not to retire, M. de Brissac, the kinsman of the Duke de Bouillon, approached, with an intimation that a collation awaited me, after which I was to return to the Louvre, and there, after reporting myself to the officer commanding the archers of the Garde du Corps Ecossais, to await despatches, which I was to convey to the army.