Richelieu: A Tale of France, v. 2/3

by G. P. R. James

AS a young member of what is technically called the lower house, or otherwise the House of Commons, when first he goes down after his election to take the oaths and his seat, his heart fluttering both with pride and timidity, most conscientiously resolves to be independent in all his opinions, and determines heroically to have no party: so had I, when I entered upon the arduous duties of giving this work to the public in its present form, determined heroically to have no hero; but to do equal justice to all the several characters, and let each reader find a hero for himself.

However, pursuing the course of the abovementioned young member of the Commons House of Parliament, who soon begins to perceive, that it is as easy to eat oysters and brown sugar, as to vote with a party to whom he has a natural antipathy; or for the needle to fly from the magnet as for him to keep aloof from that faction to which individual interests, long-indulged habits, and early prejudices attach him; so, I soon began to find that my own feelings more particularly inclining me to the Count de Blenau, I unconsciously made him the hero of my tale, dilated on his history, enlarged upon his character, quitted him with regret, and returned to him with pleasure.

At present, however, the course of my tale naturally conducts me once more to the gloomy walls of the Bastille, to give some account of the circumstances which led to the latter events of the last chapter; and consequently I feel no hesitation in once more taking up the history of my Hero.

The sleep of the Count de Blenau was fully as sound within the Bastille as ever it had been in his own hotel at St. Germain: nor was it till the day was risen high that he awoke, on the first morning after his imprisonment.

It was some moments before he could remember his precise situation, so profound had been his sleep. But the unpleasant parts of our fate soon recall themselves to our senses, though we may forget them for a time; and the narrow windows, the iron door, and the untapestried walls, speedily brought back to De Blenau’s recollection many a painful particular, to which sleep had given a temporary oblivion.

On rising, he missed in some degree the attendance to which he was accustomed; but nevertheless he contrived to get through the business of the toilet, without much difficulty; although no page was ready at his call, no groom prepared to adjust every part of his apparel. He then proceeded into the outer chamber, which he mentally termed his saloon, and would willingly have ordered his breakfast, but his apartments afforded no means of communicating with those below, except by the iron door already mentioned; the secret of which was of too great importance to be lost upon so trifling an occasion.

No remedy presented itself but patience, and proceeding to the window, which opened at will to admit the air, but which was strongly secured on the outside with massy iron bars, he endeavoured to amuse the time by looking into the court below, in which he could occasionally catch a glimpse of some of his fellow-prisoners, appearing and disappearing, as they sometimes emerged into the open space within his sight, and sometimes retired into the part, which the thickness of the walls in which the window was placed, hid from his view.

They were now apparently taking their morning’s walk, and enjoying the privilege of conversing with each other—a privilege which De Blenau began to value more highly than ever he had done. Amongst those that he beheld were many whom he recognised, as having either known them personally, or having seen them at the court, or with the army; and the strange assemblage of all different parties which met his eye in the court-yard of the Bastille, fully convinced him, that under the administration of a man who lived in constant fear that his ill-gotten power would be snatched from him, safety was to be found in no tenets and in no station.

Here he beheld some that had been of the party of Mary de Medicis, and some who had been the avowed followers of Richelieu himself; some that the Minister suspected of being too much favoured by the King, and some, as in his own case, who had been attached to the Queen. One he saw who was supposed to have favoured the Huguenots in France, and one that had assisted the Catholic party in Germany.

“Well,” thought De Blenau, “I am but one out of the many, and whatever plan I had pursued, most probably I should have found my way here somehow. Wealth and influence, in despotic governments, are generally like the plumes of the ostrich, which often cause her to be hunted down, but will not help her to fly.”