'I am here!' The Duke's Motto; or, the Little Parisian

Front matter

mber 18, \ [Complete. B DUKE'S MOTTO; OIR, TIKE LITTLE PARISIAN. "I A._>Æ HBEE!" THE DUKE'S MOTTO; OB, THE LITTLE PAKISTAN. BY PAUL FEVAJU. /U Author of "The Loves of Pa__s," "The Mybtekies of London," "The Sons of S-LhCb," ' " The King's Bulxies," "The Bsiuties of Night," &c. &c. It It upon this Romance that the world-renowned Play is founded, which has b*ea performed for over ft hualrMt oijhtg, «t Nlblo's Theatre, New York, under Mr. Wheatley'l management. NEW YORK. ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER, NO 33 KOSE STEEET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by K. M. DE WITT, In the Clerk's Office of the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York. ; OR, THE LITTLE PARISIAN. PART

Chapter I. The Chateau Of Caylus

The Vale of Louron, once the city of Loire, with its pagan temples, amphithea tres, and capitol, is now a desert where the idle plough of the Gascon peasant often blunts itself against the marble ruins of the past. A deep cleft in the snowy Pyr enees makes a road for the Venerquean smugglers. Some leagues off, Paris coughs, dances, jokes, and dreams that it cures its incura ble bronchitis, at Bagneres de Lucbon. On the other side, rheumatic Paris hopes to leave its sciatica in the sulphurous baths of Bareger les Barns. Faith saves Paris, in spite of iron, magnesia, and sulphur. The Vale of Louron, the farthest limit of Gascon}', spreads out like a fan between the forest of Ens and the fine woods. of Frechet. The sorest borders a rocky hill, rising near the centre of the valley, one precipitous side of which is watered by the dark tide of the river Clarabides.

On this hill are the ruins of the ancient castle of Caylus. Tradition reports that the Mar quis of Caylus, its rich proprietor, raised the rampart round the little village of Tar rides to protect his Huguenot vassals after the abjuration of Henry the Fourth. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, the family of Caylus- Tarrides became ex tinct. Francois de Tarrides, the last of his race, belongs to our story. In 1699, the Marquis was a man about sixty, who in his youth had followed, with out success, the court of Louis XIV., and had retired discontented from the scene of FIRST, splendor and folly. He now lived on his estates with his only daughter, the beauti ful Aurora de Caylus. He was nick-named Caylus the Gaoler, for tho following rea son. When about forty, and a widower, he fell in love with the beautiful daughter of Soto Mayor, governor of Parnpeluna.

Inez de Soto Mayor was a lovely Spanish girl of seventeen, whose liquid dark eyes revealed her ardent nature. It was said that tire Marquis had not rendered his first wife very happy. He kept her always shut up in the old castle, and she died at the age of twenty-five. She told her father she would never marry the Marquis. But, in Spain, what account is made of a young girl's will ? One beautiful evening, Inez, hidden be hind her Venetian blinds,listened for the last time to the serenade of the Corregidor's son. Tho next day she accompanied the Marquis to France ; he took her without a dowry, and moreover, gave a large sum to her father. When the Marquis brought his young and lovely wife to the castle, there was a great desire to see her, but in vain. The beautiful Inez, confined like a prisoner within the fortress, was unapproachable.

In a few years death opened her prison house. She died of solitude and ennui, leaving an only daughter. After the death of his second wife, the Marquis wished to marry again. But the governor of the Parnpeluna had no more daughters, and the Marquis' reputation as a gaoler was so well established that the most intrepid of the young ladies he sought dared not ven ture to listen to his prayers. So he re- * The Duke's Motto ; or, tlie Little Parisian. 4 warned a widower awaiting with impa tience the time when his daughter would need to be padlocked. The neighboring gentry did not like him, and he often, not withstanding his riches, lacked company. Ennui drove him forth from his dungeon. Every year he went to Paris, where the young courtiers borrowed his money and made game of him. During his absence, Aurora was left in the charge of two or tLree duennas and an old chaplain.

Aurora was as beautiful as her mother. When she was seventeen, the villagers of Tarrides often, in the dark nights, heard the dogs at Caylus bark. About this time. Philip of Nevers, one of the most brilliant noblemen of the court, came to reside at liis castle of Buch, in the Jurancon. The mountain air restored him, and he soon fol lowed the chase as far as the valley of Louron. The first time that the dogs of Caylus barked, the young duke, overcome with fatigue, had sought shelter in the woodman's cottage. Nevers remained one year at the castle of Buch. The shepherds of Tarrides laud ed Lis generosity, and related two noctur nal adventures during his residence. Once, at midnight, there were lights seen in the chapel of Caylus. The dogs had not barked, but a dark figure, which the villagers had often seen before, passed through the brushwood after nightfall. 'These old castles are full of phantoms.

Another time — also at night — Dame Mar tha, the youngest of the Caylus duennas, rushed from the castle to the woodman's cottage ; and a litter soon after passed through the woods of the Ens. The next day, the woodman's cottage was deserted, its master had gone no one knew whither, and Dame Martha was no more seen at the castle of Caylus. Four years passed. Philip of Nevers was no longer at his mansion of Buch ; but another Philip, not less noble and brilliant, honored the Vale of Louron with his presence — Philip Polixenes of Mantua, Prince of Gonzagues, to whom the Marquis of Caylus intended to give his daughter Auro ra in marriage. Gonzagues was about thirty years of age, with tine, though rather effeminate fea tures, and a noble presence. His dark hair fell in heavy curls round his white sore head; his large, brilliant eyes shone with Italian pride.

He was tall, of an elegant figure, and his gestures had almost theatrical majesty and display. His birth was il lustrious ; for the house of Gonzagues vied in nobility with the Bourbons and Mont morencys. His friends were equally noble. One was a member of the house of Lorraine, tho other was a Bourbon. The Duke of Char tres, nephew to Louis XIV., afterwards Duke of Orleans and ltegent of Fiance, the Duke of Nevers, and the Prince of Gonza gues, were inseparable friends. They were called at court the three Philips. Philip Gonzagues was the eldest, the future Re gent was in his twenty -fifth year, the Duke of Nevers was a year younger. One may well think how greatly the prospect of such a son-in-law flattered tho pride of the old Marquis. Gonzagues was said to have immense estates in Italy; more over, he was cousingerman and only heir of Nevers, who, everyone thought, was destined for an early grave.

Philip of Nevers possessed one of the richest domains in Fiance. No one, certainly, suspected the Prince Gonzagues of desiring his friend's death ; but it was out of his power to prevent it, and that death would put him in possession of millions. The Marquis and the intended bridegroom had nearly set tled the matter- ; as to Aurora, she had not even been consulted. It was a beautiful day in autumn. Louis XIV. growing old and tired of war, the peace of Ryswick had been concluded; still, skirmishes continued on the frontier, and the Vale of Louron was not free from marauders. In the dining-hall of the cas tle of Caylus, about half-a-dozen guests were assembled round a well-spread table. The Marquis had his faults, but at least he made a capital host. With the exception of the Marquis, Gonzagues, and Aurora, the other guests were of middle rank, and dependants.

Firstly, Don Bernard, chaplain of Caylus, who had also spiritual charge of the little village of Tarrides, and who kept in the sacristy of his chapel the registry of births, deaths, and marriages. Next, Peyrolles, a gentleman in the suite of the Prince of Gonzagues. This man plays an important part in our story, therefore we must describe him. He was a middle-aged man, with a thin, pale face and scanry hair, and a tall and rather stooping figure. One can scarcely fancy such a man in our day without spec tacles ; but at that time they were not in fashion. Effrontery was the only expres sion of his insignificant features. Gonza- , or, the Little Parisian. 5 < gues said that M. Peyrolles could make good use of the sword that hung awkward ly at his side. It was to be observed, that the Prince always praised his devoted fol lower; he was no doubt very useful to him.

Aurora de Caylus did the honors with a cold, reserved dignity. In general, women — even the most beautiful — are what their feelings make them. A woman may be adorable to the one she loves, and almost displeasing to others. But Aurora was one of those lovely creatures who please against their will, and are admired in spite of themselves. She wore the Spanish dress, and voluminous folds of lace fell over the shining jet of her hair. Although not yet twenty, the beautiful curves round her mouth already bespoke sadness. But what loveliness would a smile bring to those pure lips — what brilliancy to those soft eyes, heavily shaded with their long silken lashes ! But, alas ! it was a long time since a smile had played over that sweet face. Her father said to him self, " It will all change when she becomes Princess de Gonzagues," and took no furth er notice.

At the end of the second course, Aurora rose, and asked permission to retire. Dame Isidore cast a longing look at the pastry and sweetmeats ; but it was her duty to follow her young mistress. As Aurora left the room, the Marquis as sumed a more jaunty air. " Prince," he said, " you owe me my revenge at chess — are you ready '?" " Always at your service, dear Marquis," answered Gonzagues. Caylus ordered the chessmen to be brought. This was the hundred and fiftieth game that Caylus and Gonzagus had played du ring the fortnight that the Prince had been at the castle. At thirty, with his figure, wealth, and station, this violent passion for chess upon the part of the Prince of Gonzagues denot ed either an ardent attachment to Aurora — or to her dowry. Every day after dinner, as well as after supper, the chessboard was brought.

The Marquis of Caylus had the skill of a lad of fourteen. Every day Gonzagues allowed himself to lose a dozen games, after which the Marquis triumphantly fell asleep. Thus Gonzagues paid his court to the fair Aurora. At the end of the first game, Gonzagues made a sign to Peyrolles, who went out ; and the others shortly followed his ex ample. " You did not finish, yesterday," sard Gonzagues, " the story of that gentleman who tried to get into the castle." " Ah, I see, you wish to distract my at tention from the game ; but it won't do," exclaimed the Marquis, laughing. " Well, that gentleman had half-a dozen sword-cut* in the ditch yonder. This has happened more than once, so even scandal could never assail the reputation of the ladies of Caylus." " And what you then did as a husband, would 3'ou now do as a father ?" asked Gonzagues, negligently.

" Assuredly," answered Caylus. " \ know no other means of guarding Eve's daughters. Schah mato, Prince, as the Persians say (Schah malo means, you know ' The king is dead,' which phrase we have corrupted into checkmate). As for women, believe me, good swords and strong walls — in those are the essence of their virtue." After saying this, the Marquis sank back in his easy chair, and dropped asleep. Gonzagues instantly left the dining hall. It was two hours after noon. Peyrolles was waiting for his master in the corri dor "Well, friend — our knaves?" inquired Gonzagues, as soon as he perceived his fol lower. " Six have arrived," answered Peyrolles. " Where are they ? ' "At the Adam and Eve, on the other side of the valley. " Who are the two absent ?" " Master Cocardasse, junior, of Tarbes, and Brother Passepoil, his assistant."

" Two good swordsmen," said the Prince. "And the other affair?" " Donna Martha is now with Mademoi selle de Caylus." " With the child V " With the child." " How did she enter ?" " By the cellar window, which looks in the trenches beneath the bridge." Gonzagues reflected a moment, then said: " Have you questioned Don Bernard ?" " He is mute," answered Peyrolles. " How much did you offer ?" " Five hundred pistoles." " Donna Martha must know where the register is. She must not leave the castle." " Very well," said Peyrolles. Gonzagues paced rapidly to and fro. " I wish to speak to her myself," he ; or, the Little Parisian. 6 murmured ; " but are you quite sure that my cousin Nevers received Aurora's mes sage ?" " Our German took it." " And Nevers will come ?" " To-night." They were at the entrance of the Princess apartments.

At the castle of Caylus three passages crossed each other at right angles, one down the centre, the other along the two wmgs. The Prince's apartments were situated in the western wing. At the end of the corridor was the staircase leading to the cellars. A noise was heard in the centre gallery. Donna Martha came out of Mademoiselle _e Caylus's apartments, and with a furtive but rapid step passed along the passage. It was the hour of repose ; the Spanish fashion of siesta had crossed the Pyrenees. Every one was asleep in the castle. Donna Martha had reason to believe that she would meet no one. But as she passed before the door of the Prince's apartments Peyrolles rushed out suddenly upon her, thrust a handkerchief into her mouth to prevent her cries, and carried her, half fcinting, into his master's room.

Chapter II. Cocardasse And Passepoil

The first, bestriding a sorry cart-horse, carried himself proudly. He wore a buff and cuirass ; large funnel-shaped boots after the fashion of Louis XIII.; he had, moreover, a felt hat and an enormous sword. He was Master Cocardasse, junior, native of Toulouse, formerly fencing-master in Paris — lately established at Tarbes, with but indifferent success. The latter looked timid and humble. He was dressed in shabby black ; his cloth cap was pulled over his ears; and, notwithstanding the sultry heat, he had on a pair of furred boots, and sat sideways on a donkey. Master Cocardasse rejoiced in large, fierce moustaebios, and hair as black as a negro's ; while his companion, on the con trary, had only a few scanty locks, and two or three bristles of a tawny yellow under his long nose. This peaceable-looking traveller was, nevertheless, assistant fenc ing-inaster: and on occasion, could handle vigorously tho large unwieldy sword that knocked against his donkey s sides.

His name was AmablePassepoil, a native of Villedieu in Normandy — as famous as Conde-sur-Noireau for its boon companions. His friends called him Friar Passepoil, from his clerical appearance. He was as ugly as sin, notwithstanding the sentimen tal air he put on whenever a red serge petticoat crossed his path ; while, on the other hand, Cocardasse would'cvery where pass for a fine-looking fellow. Onward they toiled under a mid-day sun. Every stone in the road made Cocar dasse's nag stumble ; and every now and then a fit of obstinacy seized Passepoil's donkey. " Oh !" exclaimed Cocardasse, "I declare that for these two hours we have had that confounded castle and its hill before us, and it seems no nearer yet." " Patience !" cried Passepoil ; " we shall arrive soon enough for what we get to do."

" Fire and fury !" said the Gascon with a sigh, " if we had only gone on better, with our talents, we might have chosen our work." "Just so, friend," replied the Norman ; " our passions have been our ruin. Gamb ling, drinking " " And the fair sex !" added Passepoil, looking upward. They were passing now the banks of the river in tue valley of Louron, and tho steep hill before them was crowned by the lofty battlements of the castle of Caylus. Right and left of its two high towers extended deep trenches, formerly filled with water. Outside of the northern wall were a few scattered houses of the hamlet of Tarrides. Within arose the taper spire of the chapel, with its pointed windows in the early Nor man style. The castle of Caylus was the wonder of the Pyreneen valleys; but Cocardasse and Passepoil had no tastes for the fine arts.

This Cocardasse was, no doubt, a jolly fellow when his purse was full; and his companion even had an air of stupid good humor : but to-day they were both sad, and with good reason, too. Hungry stomachs, empty purses, and dangerous work before them. " Oh !" exclaimed Cocardasse, " I'll never touch another card or drink another glass." " And I'll never fall in love," sighed the tender Passepoil. " I will buy a complete outfit," cried Co cardasse, with enthusiasm, " and join the company of the Little Parisian." " 1, too," rejoined Passepoil, " as soldier or surgeon's assistant." ; or, the Little Parisian. 7 " Should not I make a hussar ?" " The regiment that I entered might en sure being well bled." And then both continued, speaking one after the other, in a transport of enthusiasm : " We should see our Little Parisian again."

" We would spare him a blow now and then." " He would call me his old Cocardasse." " And he would laugh at Friar Passepoil as he used to do." " Yes, friend," cried the Gascon, giving a kick to his tired horse ; " we are down in the world now ; but I feel that with the little Parisian I should amend my ways." Passepoil shook his head sadly. " Who knows that he would recognise us now ?" he said, desponding. " Oh," rejoined Cocardasse, •' he has some heart, that fellow." " What a fencer !" sighed Passepoil; "and what readiness !" " What a swordsman ! — what action !" " Do you recollect his back thrust in re treat ?" " And his three thrusts to the right ?" , " Oh, a splendid fellow ! — lucky at cards and able to drink like a fish." "And handsome enough to turn the heads of half the women.' At each reply both friends grew warmer and stopped to give each other a hearty shake of the hand.

" By my honor and word," cried Cocar dasse, " we will be his servants, if he wish es." ' •' And we will make him a great lord," added Passepoil ; " and then Peyrolles' money will bring us good luck." So it was Monsieur Peyrolles, the confi dential friend of Philip de Gonzagues, who caused Master Cocardasse and Friar Passe poil's journey. They were well acquainted with Pey rolles, and still better with his master ; for they had kept a fencing-school at Paris, and perhaps might have made a fortune — for all the Court went to them — had it not been for the disorders their sins caused in their affairs. Some sad pranks had forc ed them to leave Paris ; but let us be mer ciful, and not expose them. In that day Parisian fencing-masters were the familiar companions of the proudest nobles, and of ten knew both sides of the cards better than the courtiers themselves.

LeaviDg Tarbes, Passepoil had said, " Nevers is the first swordsman in Europe after the Little Parisian. If it concerns Nevers, they must be generous." It was two hours after mid-day when they reached Tarrides, and were directed to the inn of Adam and Eve. On their entranco, the lower room was already nearly full. A young girl waited on six thirsty guests, who had come a long way under a sultry sun. Six good swords and their belongings hung against the wall. Each man had bully written in legible characters on his bronzed face and fierce moustachios. At the table next the door were three Spaniards, judging from their faces. At the next table an Italian, with a scar right across his face. Opposite to him was a sinister-looking German. The third table was appropiated by a churl with long, rough hair, with a strong Breton accent.

The three Spaniards were called Sal dague, Pinto, and Pepe, or the Bullfighter ; the Italian's name was Guiseppe Faenza ; the German, Staupitz ; the Breton, Joel de Jugan. Peyrolles had assembled them all. When Cocardasse and Passepoil entered, they started back at the sight of this re spectable company, who in rough voices cried out — ' Master Cocardasse !'' " Friar Passepoil !" with appropriate oaths. " Sure enough," rejoined Cocardasse, " all boon companions !" " And old friends," added Passepoil, in a trembling voice. He was a coward by nature, whom want had made brave. Much shaking of hands followed. Before the arrival of our two friends, the groups had kept their distance. The Breton knew no one ; the German only talked to the Italian, and the three Spa niards held themselves proudly apart.

Cocardasse and Passopoil formed a con necting link which united these groups, so well fitted to understand and appreciate each other. The ice was broken, and in troductions made. Each knew the other by reputation. It was frightful to think, that the 6ix swords hanging against the wall had killed more men than all the executioners of Franco and Navarre. The Breton, had he been an Indian, might have had three dozen scalps around his waist ; the Italian might have seen some twenty ghosts of his victims in his dreams. The German had murdered noblemen of all grades, worthy ; or, the Little Parisian. 8 citizens, lawyers, doctors, and poets. But these were nothing to the three Spa niards, who might have bathed in the blood of their victims. When the first drinking-bout was over, and the buzz ofthe boasting voices of these hired assassins a little calmed, Cocardasse said — " Now, my friends, let's to business."

More wine was called for, and the trembling girl dismissed. Passepoil sighed. " Now, my masters," continued Cocar dasse, " we did not expect to meet such good company here, so far from cities, where your talents are best paid." " Alas !" cried the Italian, " where can we find work ?" All shook their heads mournfully. " Do you know why we are here ?" asked one of the Spaniards. The Gascon was about to answer, when Passepoil touched his foot. Cocardasse was accustomed to follow his lieutenant's advice. " I know," he answered, " we have been brought here ; and for ordinary cases, Passepoil and I are enough." " What, senors ?" cried the Bulltighter. " When I am in a business a second is not wanted!" " Are we wanted to fight a whole army. then V demanded Cocardasse. " No," answered the German ; " only one man."

Staupitz, the German, was in the ser vice of Peyrolles, the confidential friend of Philip de Gonzagues. A boisterous laugh followed this an nouncement. Cocardasse and Passepoil laughed louder than the rest. " And who is the giant who is to fight against eight ?" asked Passepoil. " Philip, Duke of Nevers," Staupitz an swered. " But he is ill !" cried one. " Consumptive !" cried a second. " Dying 1" added a third. Cocardasse and Passepoil pushed back their glasses and were silent. " What is the matter ?" cried the others. " It looks if you would like to give up the game !" added Faenza. " And not far from the mark, my mas ter, either," replied Cocardasse, gravely. A thunder of voices followed. " We have seen Philip of Nevers at Par is," continued Passepoil, gently. " He's a dying man who may cut a few heads off yet."

The rest shrugged their shoulders with disdain. . " I see," said Cocardasse, " you have never heard of the thrust of Nevers." All stared. " The thrust of old Delapalme, which did for seven fencers between the Roule and the Gate of St. Honore," continued the fencing-master. All listened, and ceased laughing. " It is well we are all here," continued Cocardasse, solemnly. " You talk of an army — for my part, I would rather meet one. There is only one man in the world who could cross swords with Philip of Nevers." " And who is that man ?" cried six voices at once. " The Little Parisian," answered Cocar dasse. " Ah ! he is the devil himself !" cried Passepoil, with enthusiasm. " The Little Parisian — what's his name f cried the rest. " A name which you all know, my friends. He calls himself the Chevalier de Lagar dere."

All knew the name and were silent. " I have never encountered him," said Saldague. " All the better for you," returned the Gascon. " He is called the handsome Lagardere," said Pinto. " He killed three Flemish soldiers under the walls of Senlis." " It was he " continued a third. But Cocardasse interrupted him, saying emphatically — ■ " There are not two Lagarderes."

Chapter III. The Three Philips

The only window of the public room at the Adam and Eve looked on to a sloping bank planted with beeches, which extended to the trenches of Caylus. A cart-road crossed the wood, and ended in a wooden bridge thrown over these trenches, which, no longer filled with water, bore a good crop of hay, which had just been cut. There was only one entrance to them, which was on the road before the inn. ; or, the Little Parisian. 9 The ramparts that bounded these trenches were pierced with numerous gun-holes, but only one of them was large enough for a man to pass through. This was a low win dow, well barred, near the bridge. It was now three o'clock ; and the eight friends, having recovered their spirits, re sumed their talk but had not yet come to blows, when Staupitz cried — " Hush, comrades ! here is Peyrolles."

The factotum of the Duke de Gonzagues had indeed arrived on horseback at the door of the inn. " Friends," said Passepoil, quickly, " Nevers and his secret thrust are worth their price — what say you to make your fortunes at once, my masters ?" " Who would say no 1" cried all at once. "Well, then, leave matters to Cocardasse and me, and whatever we say to Peyrolles, support us." " Agreed !" answered all in chorus. Peyrolles entered. Passepoil took off his hat respectfully; the others did the same. Peyrolles had a heavy bag of gold in his hand. He threw it on the table. " Here, my fine fellows," he cried, " here is your pay !" Then casting a rapid glance upon each member of the party, he said — "Now, my lads, I will tell you in two words what you have to do." " All attention, good Master Peyrolles," said Cocardasse with his elbows on the table.

" All attention," repeated the rest. " This evening," continued Peyrolles, "about eight o'clock, a man will come by that road that you see under the window ; he will be on horseback, and will fasten his horse by the bridge, leap the ditch, and — do you see that barred window there ?" " Certainly, Master Peyrolles," answered Cocardasse, " we are not blind." " The man will go to that window." " And at the same moment we are to ac cost him ? ' " Politely," said Peyrolles with a sinister smile, " and your money is gained ?" " Fire and fury !" cried Cocardasse, " Master Peyrolles always has his joke." " Is it agreed ?" " Certainly ; but you won't leave us so soon ?" " My friends. I am in a hurry," said Peyrolles, retreating. " What !" cried Cocardasse, " without telling us the name of the man we are to accost V " What matters the name ?"

Cocardasse gave a signal. A general murrsur of discontent arose. " Without having even given us the name of our honorable employer?" repeated Cocardasse. Peyrolles looked at him with alarm. " What is that to you ?" he replied, as suming a high tone. "It is a great deal to us, good Master Peyrolles." " I cannot see that it concerns you; since you are well paid ?" " Perhaps we are not paid enough." " What is it, friend ?" Cocardasse rose ; the rest followed his example. " Fire and fury V he cried ; " let's to the point ; we are all gentlemen, and want to know how we stand." Passepoil pushed a chair towards Pey rolles ; the others applauded warmly. '• My friends, since you wish so mueh to know, could you not easily have guessed ? To whom does this castle belong ?" " To the Marquis of Caylus, whose wives die young ; to Caylus the Gaoler."