The Women's War
‘By God!’ he exclaimed, after a moment of deep reflection, during which the six horsemen had looked at one another in some confusion. ‘How do we get into the park: through the main gate or the side ones? Let’s present ourselves at the first entrance that we come to and go in. Gentlemen of our appearance will hardly be left outside when men dressed like those that we have been meeting since this morning are allowed inside.’
‘I tell you again, Cauvignac,’ replied one of the five riders to whom the chief had been speaking. ‘These poorly dressed people who, despite looking and behaving like bumpkins, are now inside the park, had an advantage over us, which is that they knew the password. We do not have that advantage and cannot get in.’
‘You think not, Ferguzon?’ said the man who had spoken first, with a certain deference for his lieutenant’s opinion; readers will recognize him as the adventurer they met in the first pages of this story.
‘Don’t I believe! I’m sure of it. Do you think those people are hunting for hunting’s sake? Tatare! It’s obvious: they’re conspiring.’
‘Ferguzon is right,’ said a third man. ‘They are conspiring, and we shall not get inside.’
‘Even so, a deer hunt is not bad sport when you happen to get the chance.’
‘Especially when you are tired of hunting men, isn’t that so, Barabbas?’ said Cauvignac. ‘Well, let it not be said that we let this opportunity pass by. We have all that is needed to make a worthy show at this entertainment. We are as bright as new crown pieces. If the Duke d’Enghien needs soldiers, where could he find more handsome ones? If he needs conspirators, where could he meet with more elegant ones? The least finely dressed among us looks like a captain.’
‘And you, Cauvignac,’ said Barabbas, ‘you could easily pass for a duke and peer of the realm if need be.’
Ferguzon said nothing. He was thinking. ‘Unfortunately,’ Cauvignac continued with a laugh, ‘Ferguzon does not feel like hunting today.’
‘A plague on it!’ said Ferguzon. ‘I’m not so sick of life: hunting is a gentleman’s sport that suits me at any time, so I’ll not turn up my nose at it for myself or discourage anyone else from it. All I’m saying is that there are fences and gates between you and this park where the hunt is taking place.’
‘There!’ Cauvignac cried. ‘The horns are sounding the view-halloo.’
‘But this does not mean,’ Ferguzon went on, ‘that we shall not hunt.’
‘And how are we to hunt, donkey-brain, if we can’t get in?’
‘I’m not saying that we can’t get in.’
‘And how do you expect us to get in, when the entrances, open to others, are closed to us, according to you?’
‘Then why don’t we make a hole in this little wall for ourselves alone, through which we and our horses can pass and behind which we shall certainly find no one to ask us to pay for it?’
‘Hurrah!’ Cauvignac exclaimed, waving his hat in the air with joy. ‘I take it all back! Ferguzon, you are the resourceful one among us! And when I’ve overthrown the King of France and put the prince on the throne in his place, I’ll get you the place of Signor Mazarino Mazarini. To work, friends, to work.’
At this, Cauvignac leapt off his horse, and, with the help of his companions (a single one of whom was enough to hold the horses of all of them), he set about demolishing the already shaky stones of the park wall. In a short time, the five workers had made a breach in the wall three or four feet wide. Then they remounted their horses and, guided by Cauvignac, hurried through it.
‘Now,’ he said, heading for the place from which they could hear the sound of horns. ‘Now, let’s be polite and well behaved, and I invite you to dine with the Duke d’Enghien.’
XV
We have said that our newly created gentlemen were well mounted. Their horses also had the advantage of being fresh, unlike those of the riders who had arrived that morning. So they soon caught up with the main body of the hunt and took their place among the rest without being challenged. Most of the guests came from different provinces and did not know one another, so the intruders, once inside the park, could pass as guests themselves.
Everything would thus have gone off splendidly, if they had only kept to their place, or even if they had been satisfied with going ahead of the others and mingling with the whippers-in and the officers of the hunt. But it was not to be. After a moment, Cauvignac seemed convinced that the hunt was being given in his honour. He seized a horn from the hands of a whipper-in, who did not dare refuse to give it him, charged off at the head of the huntsmen, rode in front of the master of hounds in all directions, broke through woods and coppices, sounding his horn in every direction, confusing the view-halloo with the lancer, or breaking from cover with driving to cover, trampling the hounds, knocking down the whippers-in, flirting with the ladies when he rode in front of them, swearing, shouting and getting excited when he lost sight of them, and arriving at the fallow deer just as the creature was at bay after swimming through the great lake.
‘Hallali, the kill!’ Cauvignac shouted. ‘The deer is ours! Corbleu! We’ve got it!’
‘Cauvignac,’ said Ferguzon, who was following a horse’s length away. ‘You’ll have us all thrown out. For God’s sake, calm down!’
But Cauvignac did not hear, and, seeing that the animal was standing up to the dogs, he leapt down and drew his sword, shouting: ‘The kill, the kill!’
His companions, apart from the cautious Ferguzon, were encouraged by his example and preparing to pounce on their prey, when the master of the hunt, thrusting Cauvignac aside with his knife, said: ‘Easy, sir, easy. It’s the princess who is leading the hunt, so it’s for her to cut the deer’s throat or to pass the honour to whoever she wishes.’
This harsh rebuke brought Cauvignac back to his senses, and while he was retreating, quite grudgingly, he was suddenly surrounded by the main body of the hunt, Cauvignac’s five minutes’ pause having given the riders time to catch up. They formed a wide circle around the creature, which had its back to an oak tree, surrounded and under attack from all the hounds together.
At the same moment, down a long avenue, they saw the princess arriving ahead of the Duke d’Enghien, as well as the gentlemen and ladies who had made a point of not leaving her side. She was in a very lively mood, and it was evident that she saw this warlike sport as the prelude to a real war.
On arriving in the middle of the circle, she stopped, surveyed her surroundings in a princely manner and noticed Cauvignac and his companions who were the object of anxious and suspicious looks from the whippers-in and the hunt officials.
The master came over to her with his knife drawn. This was a knife that usually belonged to the prince, with a blade of the finest steel and a hilt of silver gilt.
‘Does Her Highness know this gentleman?’ he asked, in a low voice, indicating Cauvignac with a glance.
‘No,’ she said. ‘But he has got in, so he must be known to someone.’
‘He is not known to anyone, Your Highness, and everyone I have asked says that they have seen him for the first time today.’
‘But surely he cannot have got past the gate without the password?’
‘No, surely not,’ said the master. ‘However, might I dare to suggest that Your Highness should be wary of him?’
‘First of all, we must know who he is,’ said the princess.
‘We shall find out soon, Madame,’ said Lenet, who had accompanied the princess, with his usual smile. ‘I have dispatched a Norman, a Picard and a Breton to him, and he will be thoroughly interrogated. But for the time being Your Highness should not seem to be paying attention to him, or he will escape us.’
‘You are right, Lenet, let’s get back to the hunt.’
‘Cauvignac,’ said Ferguzon, ‘I think that we are being talked about in high places. We would do well to make ourselves scarce.’
‘Do you think?’ said Cauvignac. ‘Oh, that’s too bad! I want to be in at the kill. Let whatever happens, happen
.’
‘It’s a splendid sight, I know,’ said Ferguzon. ‘But we might pay for our places more dearly than at the Hôtel de Bourgogne.’71
‘Madame,’ said the master of hounds to the princess, offering her the knife. ‘To whom does Your Highness wish to grant the honour of killing the beast?’
‘I shall keep it for myself, Monsieur,’ the princess said. ‘A woman of my rank must become accustomed to handling iron and seeing blood flow.’
‘Namur,’ said the master of hounds to the arquebusier. ‘Get ready.’
The arquebusier stepped forward and went to stand some twenty yards from the animal with his arquebus in his hand. The idea was that he could kill the deer with a shot if, driven to despair, as sometimes happens, it rushed at the princess instead of waiting for her.
The princess dismounted, took the knife and, with fixed eyes, burning cheeks and her lips half parted, she walked towards the animal, which, almost entirely swamped by the dogs, seemed to be covered by a motley carpet of a thousand colours. The creature surely did not think that death was approaching in the form of this beautiful princess from whose hand he had eaten more than ten times, so, kneeling as he was, he tried to get up, his eye weeping that large tear that accompanies the death throes of the stag, the fallow deer and the roe deer. But he did not have time: the blade of the knife, a ray of sunlight glinting from it, disappeared to the hilt in his throat and the blood spurted out as far as the princess’s face. The fallow deer raised its head, gave a howl of pain and, casting a last, reproachful look at its beautiful mistress, fell and died.
At the same moment, all the horns sounded the morte and a thousand cries of ‘Long live the princess!’ rang out, while the young prince, shifting on his saddle, clapped his hands in joy.
The princess took the knife out of the animal’s throat, looking around the whole company with the eyes of an amazon, gave the bloody weapon back to the master of hounds and remounted.
Lenet came over to her.
‘Would the princess like me to tell her what she was thinking of as she cut the poor creature’s throat?’ he asked with his usual smile.
‘Yes, Lenet, I’d love to know.’
‘She was thinking of Monsieur de Mazarin and wishing that he had been in the place of the deer.’
‘Yes!’ the princess cried. ‘That’s right. And I should have slit his throat without pity, I swear. But you really are a sorcerer, Lenet.’ She turned towards the rest of the hunting party. ‘Now that the hunt is over, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘please follow me. It is already too late to hunt another deer, and supper awaits us.’
Cauvignac replied to this invitation with the most gracious gesture.
‘What are you doing, Captain?’ asked Ferguzon.
‘Why, I’m accepting. Can’t you see that the princess is inviting us to sup with her, as I promised you she would?’
‘Cauvignac, believe me or not, but in your place I should get back to the hole in the wall,’ said his lieutenant.
‘Ferguzon, my friend, your natural perspicacity has forsaken you. Did you not observe the orders given by that gentleman dressed in black, who has the hypocritical manner of a fox when he laughs and that of a badger when he doesn’t? Ferguzon, the breach in the wall is guarded, and going towards the breach means revealing the fact that we wish to leave by the same means as we entered.’
‘So what will become of us?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.’
At this reassurance, the six adventurers took their place among the crowd of gentlemen and made their way with them towards the château.
Cauvignac was not wrong: they were kept in sight. Lenet came riding along on their right, with the master of the hounds on his right and the steward of the house of Condé on his left.
‘Are you sure that no one knows those riders?’ he asked.
‘No one. We’ve questioned more than fifty gentlemen, always with the same response: they are entirely unknown to everyone.’
The Norman, the Picard and the Breton came back to join Lenet without being able to tell him more. But the Norman had found a breach in the park wall and, being an intelligent man, had a guard put on it.
‘In that case,’ said Lenet, ‘we shall adopt the most efficient method. A handful of spies must not force us to send away a hundred fine gentlemen to no purpose. Make sure, Steward, that no one can leave the courtyard or the gallery where the cavalry will come in. You, Captain, once the door of the gallery is closed, station a picket of twelve men with their muskets loaded in case of emergencies. Now, go. I shall keep sight of them.’
As it happened, Lenet did not have much trouble in carrying out the task that he had set himself. Cauvignac and his companions did not show the slightest desire to run away. Cauvignac took the lead, rakishly twirling his moustache. He was followed by Ferguzon, who was reassured by his promise, knowing his chief well enough to be sure that he would not have gone into this burrow unless it had a second exit. As for Barabbas and his three other companions, they followed their lieutenant and their captain, without thinking of anything except the excellent supper that awaited them. In brief, they were very materialistic fellows who were perfectly happy to leave the intellectual part of their social relations to their two leaders, in whom they had total confidence.
Everything happened as the counsellor had predicted and was carried out according to his orders. The princess sat in the great reception hall, under a canopy that served her as a throne. Near to her was her son, dressed as we described earlier.
Everyone exchanged glances. They had been promised a supper and it was clear that they were about to be given a speech.
The princess got up and began. Her discourse was rousing.* This time, Claire-Clémence de Maillé knew no bounds and came openly out against Mazarin. For their part, the audience, electrified by the memory of the insult done to the whole nobility of France in the person of the princes and perhaps still more by the hope of gaining positions at court in the event of success, interrupted the princess’s speech two or three times, loudly swearing faithfully to serve the cause of the illustrious house of Condé and to help to raise it from the humble position to which Mazarin had tried to reduce it.
‘So, gentlemen,’ said the princess, winding up her speech, ‘what the orphan here asks of your generous hearts is the support of your valour and the gift of your devotion. You are our friends – or, at least, that is how you have appeared to us. What can you do for us?’
One of the nobles bowed respectfully to the princess.
‘I am Gérard de Montalent,’ he said. ‘I am bringing with me four gentlemen, my friends. Between us we have five good swords and two thousand pistoles which we put at the service of the prince. Here are our credentials, signed by the Duke de La Rochefoucauld.’
The princess returned his bow, took the letter of credence from the hands of the donor and passed it to Lenet. Then she gestured to the gentlemen to move over to her right.
No sooner had they done so than another nobleman got up.
‘I am Claude Raoul de Lessac, Count de Clermont,’ he said. ‘I am here with six gentlemen, my friends. We each have a thousand pistoles, which we ask to be allowed to add to Your Highness’s funds. We are armed and equipped and will be content with a simple daily allowance. Here are our credentials signed by the Duke de Bouillon.’
‘To my right, gentlemen,’ said the princess, taking the letter from Monsieur de Bouillon and looking at it as she had done the first one, and then, like the first, passing it to Lenet. ‘And accept my gratitude.’
The noblemen obeyed.
‘I am Louis Ferdinand de Lorges, Count de Duras,’ said a third man. ‘I have come without friends or money, rich and strong only in my sword, with which I cut a path through the enemy when I was besieged in Bellegarde. Here are my credentials from the Viscount de Turenne.’
‘Come here, Monsieur,’ said the princess, taking the credentials in one hand and offering him the other to kiss.
‘Come and stay beside me; I am going to make you one of my brigadiers.’
Their example was followed by all the noblemen, each coming with a letter of credence either from Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld, or Monsieur de Bouillon, or Monsieur de Turenne. Each of them handed over the letter and went to the princess’s right. When her right-hand side was full, she pointed them to the left.
In this way, the body of the hall was gradually emptied. Soon, only Cauvignac and his henchmen formed a solitary group, towards which everyone was directing a look of anger and menace, while murmuring mistrustfully.
Lenet turned towards the door. It was completely shut. He knew that behind it was a captain with twelve well-armed men. So, turning back towards the strangers, he said: ‘And you, gentlemen, who are you? Would you do us the honour of naming yourselves and showing your credentials?’
The opening of this scene had cast a shadow of anxiety over the face of Ferguzon, who, intelligent as he was, felt very uneasy about its outcome, and this unease had quietly communicated itself to his companions, who, like Lenet, were glancing towards the door. But their chief, magnificently robed in his cloak, had remained quite impassive and at Lenet’s invitation, took two steps forward and saluted the princess with an infinite amount of flowery self-importance.
‘Madame,’ he said, ‘I am Roland de Cauvignac and I am bringing to serve Your Highness my five gentlemen, who belong to the first families of Guyenne, but who wish to remain incognito.’
‘But you surely did not come to Chantilly without being recommended by someone, gentlemen?’ said the princess, concerned at the dreadful uproar that would result from the arrest of these six suspects. ‘Where are your credentials?’
Cauvignac bowed, like a man accepting the correctness of the request, felt inside his doublet and took out a piece of paper, folded into four, which he passed over to Lenet with the most profound salutation.
Lenet opened it and read. A most joyful expression spread over his features, which had been contracted by a quite natural sense of apprehension.