Cinq-Mars

by Alfred de Vigny

“That is nothing, Monsieur. Listen to their conversation.”

“The parliament is dead,” said one of the men; “the nobles are dead. Let us dance; we are the masters. The old Cardinal is dying. There is no longer any but the King and ourselves.”

“Do you hear that drunken wretch, Monsieur?” asked Corneille. “All our epoch is in those words of his.”

“What! is this the work of the minister who is called great among you, and even by other nations? I do not understand him.”

“I will explain the matter to you presently,” answered Corneille. “But first listen to the concluding part of this letter, which I received to-day. Draw near this light under the statue of the late King. We are alone. The crowd has passed. Listen!

“It was by one of those unforeseen circumstances which prevent the
accomplishment of the noblest enterprises that we were not able to
save MM. de Cinq-Mars and De Thou. We might have foreseen that,
prepared for death by long meditation, they would themselves refuse
our aid; but this idea did not occur to any of us. In the
precipitation of our measures, we also committed the fault of
dispersing ourselves too much in the crowd, so that we could not
take a sudden resolution. I was unfortunately stationed near the
scaffold; and I saw our unfortunate friends advance to the foot of
it, supporting the poor Abbe Quillet, who was destined to behold the
death of the pupil whose birth he had witnessed. He sobbed aloud,
and had strength enough only to kiss the hands of the two friends.
We all advanced, ready to throw ourselves upon the guards at the
announced signal; but I saw with grief M. de Cinq-Mars cast his hat
from him with an air of disdain. Our movement had been observed,
and the Catalonian guard was doubled round the scaffold. I could
see no more; but I heard much weeping around me. After the three
usual blasts of the trumpet, the recorder of Lyons, on horseback at
a little distance from the scaffold, read the sentence of death, to
which neither of the prisoners listened. M. de Thou said to M. de
Cinq-Mars:
“‘Well, dear friend, which shall die first? Do you remember Saint-
Gervais and Saint-Protais?’
“‘Which you think best,’ answered Cinq-Mars.
“The second confessor, addressing M. de Thou, said, ‘You are the
elder.’
“‘True,’ said M. de Thou; and, turning to M. le Grand, ‘You are the
most generous; you will show me the way to the glory of heaven.’
“‘Alas!’ said Cinq-Mars; ‘I have opened to you that of the
precipice; but let us meet death nobly, and we shall revel in the
glory and happiness of heaven!’
“Hereupon he embraced him, and ascended the scaffold with surprising
address and agility. He walked round the scaffold, and contemplated
the whole of the great assembly with a calm countenance, which
betrayed no sign of fear, and a serious and graceful manner. He
then went round once more, saluting the people on every side,
without appearing to recognize any of us, with a majestic and
charming expression of face; he then knelt down, raising his eyes to
heaven, adoring God, and recommending himself to Him. As he
embraced the crucifix, the father confessor called to the people to
pray for him; and M. le Grand, opening his arms, still holding his
crucifix, made the same request to the people. Then he readily
knelt before the block, holding the stake, placed his neck upon it,
and asked the confessor, ‘Father, is this right?’ Then, while they
were cutting off his hair, he raised his eyes to heaven, and said,
sighing:
“‘My God, what is this world? My God, I offer thee my death as a
satisfaction for my sins!’
“‘What are you waiting for? What are you doing there?’ he said to
the executioner, who had not yet taken his axe from an old bag he
had brought with him. His confessor, approaching, gave him a
medallion; and he, with an incredible tranquillity of mind, begged
the father to hold the crucifix before his eyes, which he would not
allow to be bound. I saw the two trembling hands of the Abbe
Quillet, who raised the crucifix. At this moment a voice, as clear
and pure as that of an angel, commenced the ‘Ave, maris stella’.
In the universal silence I recognized the voice of M. de Thou, who
was at the foot of the scaffold; the people repeated the sacred
strain. M. de Cinq-Mars clung more tightly to the stake; and I saw
a raised axe, made like the English axes. A terrible cry of the
people from the Place, the windows, and the towers told me that it
had fallen, and that the head had rolled to the ground. I had
happily strength enough left to think of his soul, and to commence a
prayer for him.
“I mingled it with that which I heard pronounced aloud by our
unfortunate and pious friend De Thou. I rose and saw him spring
upon the scaffold with such promptitude that he might almost have
been said to fly. The father and he recited a psalm; he uttered it
with the ardor of a seraphim, as if his soul had borne his body to
heaven. Then, kneeling down, he kissed the blood of Cinq-Mars as
that of a martyr, and became himself a greater martyr. I do not
know whether God was pleased to grant him this last favor; but I saw
with horror that the executioner, terrified no doubt at the first
blow he had given, struck him upon the top of his head, whither the
unfortunate young man raised his hand; the people sent forth a long
groan, and advanced against the executioner. The poor wretch,
terrified still more, struck him another blow, which only cut the
skin and threw him upon the scaffold, where the executioner rolled
upon him to despatch him. A strange event terrified the people as
much as the horrible spectacle. M. de Cinq-Mars’ old servant held
his horse as at a military funeral; he had stopped at the foot of
the scaffold, and like a man paralyzed, watched his master to the
end, then suddenly, as if struck by the same axe, fell dead under
the blow which had taken off his master’s head.
“I write these sad details in haste, on board a Genoese galley, into
which Fontrailles, Gondi, Entraigues, Beauvau, Du Lude, myself, and
others of the chief conspirators have retired. We are going to
England to await until time shall deliver France from the tyrant
whom we could not destroy. I abandon forever the service of the
base Prince who betrayed us.
“MONTRESOR”

“Such,” continued Corneille, “has been the fate of these two young men whom you lately saw so powerful. Their last sigh was that of the ancient monarchy. Nothing more than a court can reign here henceforth; the nobles and the senates are destroyed.”

“And this is your pretended great man!” said Milton. “What has he sought to do? He would, then, create republics for future ages, since he destroys the basis of your monarchy?”

“Look not so far,” answered Corneille; “he only seeks to reign until the end of his life. He has worked for the present and not for the future; he has continued the work of Louis XI; and neither one nor the other knew what they were doing.”

The Englishman smiled.