One night Raynold Cheyne and I had a desperate brawl in the Rue St. Honoré with the archers of the Provost des Marchands, led by the Chevalier de Guet, or commander of the night watch; but we knocked them over like nine-pins, and fought our way off. Moreover, in this devilish fortnight, I was involved in no less than two duels, having to fight one for myself and another for a friend.
I had become acquainted with a pretty little actress of the Hotel d'Argent aux Marais, and we used to take occasional rambles together in the Garden of Plants, and have other meetings, which were duly arranged for us by little Foquelin, the Molière of later times. These proceedings one of M. de Treville's musketeers resented so highly, that he asked me to give him a meeting, which I did one morning about five o'clock. Why abroad so early? the reader may ask; but the truth is, that to suit my own convenience I met him on my way home to the Louvre. We engaged, but after a few passes he burst into a fit of laughter, sheathed his sword, and proposed that we should toss up for my actress over a bottle of the wine of Artois, which we did accordingly, and, as fortune would have it, she fell to him.
My next affair was more serious.
Our comrade, the Viscount Dundrennan, when crossing at the ferry of the Nesle, was incommoded by a chevalier of St. Esprit, and a meeting was arranged; but the Viscount having to attend an assignation with a little citoyenne, in the Marais, asked me to take his place; and, wearing his rocquelaure and a lofty plume, by which he was as well known in Paris as the statue of Henry IV., I met the chevalier of St. Esprit outside the gate of St. Marcel, and at the fourth pass disarmed and laid him flat on his back by a blow with my shell on the mouth. As he was a friend of Mademoiselle de l'Orme, I feared that for this exploit I might have to cool my heels in Holland, and take service under those very pious and proper persons, the States General; but the Countess stood my friend with the Procureur du Roi, the Chevalier got a false set of teeth, the affair blew over, and Dundrennan was my friend for life.
One night I was sentinel at a private gate of the Louvre, armed completely, in helmet, breast and back plates, with sword and carbine. My orders simply were, to admit none by that postern without receiving from them the parole, which, as already related, the King daily gave to the Marquis de Gordon. In the chapel of the ancient palace, Louis was holding a solemn chapter of the fifty knights of the Holy Ghost (an order instituted by himself), for the purpose of receiving my friend, Cheyne of Dundargle, whose new honours were owing to the interest taken in his affairs by Madame d'Amboise.
I had still the miniature of that gay countess, and while whistling or humming an air to wile away the lonely two hours of my watch, I occasionally, by a lamp that hung overhead, surveyed this effort of the pencil of Poussin, who had caught with wonderful skill her voluptuous style of beauty, the wanton lustre that shone in her rich hazel eye, and the seductive droop of her eyelash.
Two old crones connected with the palace amused me for some time by gravely discussing whether Madame la Marechale d'Ancre really lodged devils at her house in Paris, and consequently deserved the stake; and then of the newer sorceries of Urbain Grandier among the poor nuns at Loudun, in the Vienne, which began to be much talked of about that time; and as all the ladies were in turn possessed by devils, which were only expelled by bringing them before a statue of our Lady of Recovery, the Carmelites, its possessors, were making quite a fortune by the fame of its miracles. After a little, the two crones shut their windows, and all became still and silent, save the strains of music that came at times from the illuminated windows of the Hôtel de Bourbon, which stood opposite; and now the time approached when the venerable clock of St. Germain l'Auxerrois would toll the hour for relieving me until morning.
A dark figure, about a pistol-shot distant, glided across the rays of light that fell from the Hotel windows towards the postern, and attracted my attention.
'Qui vive?' I challenged.
Without replying, a female, masked, and shrouded from head to foot in a long black veil, approached hurriedly, and, to my great surprise, laid a hand timidly upon my arm, saying—