CHAPTER XL.
It was night, and the scene was a somewhat curious one. A large chamber, with a vaulted roof, long square windows, and decorations neither new nor in a modern taste, a tall four-post bedstead with green velvet hangings a good deal tarnished, a brick floor well waxed and polished, an immense armory or wardrobe quaintly carved, three or four tall straight-backed chairs, and one large arm-chair well stuffed, together with a table of black oak, the legs of which were cut into the forms of some nondescript species of devil,—not the conventional gentleman with hoofs and tail and pitchfork, but somebody not a whit less hideous,—presented the aspect of a chamber quite of the olden time, it might be of the reign of Francis I. or Louis XII.
All days have their olden times; and I believe the olden times have always been praised,—such is the tendency of the human mind to regret.
When we are school-boys we wish we were children again, and think of the caresses without the pangs and inconveniences of infancy; when we are men we wish we were school-boys again, and forget the heavy task, the ferule, and the rod; old age looks back to youth and sorrows over its lost powers; and only one man I know of has written in praise of life's declining stage. But even Cicero upon such a theme could only indite an eloquent lie.
Possession is always paid for by regret; and we take out the small change in hope.
Nevertheless, it would appear, notwithstanding the excellencies of those old times, that some improvements have been made in the march of society,—at least, in the manufacture of chairs. Although they were not famous for that fabric in Louis the Thirteenth's time, Edward Langdale felt that seats were certainly much more inconvenient at a former period. "Men must once have had back-bones of quite a different construction," he thought. "They must have either been so supple as to bend into all kinds of corners, or so hard as not to care for any corners at all."
Such thoughts passed through his mind as he sat in a straight-backed sort of rack in the Castle of Mauzé, just opposite to the Cardinal de Richelieu, who, having cast off cuirass and scarlet robe, was seated, in an easy gown of deep purple, in that comfortable arm-chair. The light fell upon his magnificent head and easy graceful figure from a sconce upon the wall; and the fine flowing lines of the drapery and half-concealed limbs, with the broad high forehead and slightly gray hair, gave him the look of some antique picture, and made the whole person harmonize well with the room in which he sat.
The figure of Edward Langdale would have spoiled all, for it was full of youth,—I might almost call it youngness; but, as I have said before, his garments, though cut in what was then the modern fashion, were all of a sober color; and about the square brow, the delicately-chiselled nose, and the firm, determined mouth, there was an antique, if not a classical, character.