The Countess of Saint Geran

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CELEBRATED CRIMES, COMPLETE

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, PERE

IN EIGHT VOLUMES



THE COUNTESS DE SAINT-GERAN--1639

About the end of the year 1639, a troop of horsemen arrived, towards
midday, in a little village at the northern extremity of the province of
Auvergne, from the direction of Paris. The country folk assembled at the
noise, and found it to proceed from the provost of the mounted police
and his men. The heat was excessive, the horses were bathed in sweat,
the horsemen covered with dust, and the party seemed on its return from
an important expedition. A man left the escort, and asked an old woman
who was spinning at her door if there was not an inn in the place. The
woman and her children showed him a bush hanging over a door at the end
of the only street in the village, and the escort recommenced its march
at a walk. There was noticed, among the mounted men, a young man of
distinguished appearance and richly dressed, who appeared to be a
prisoner. This discovery redoubled the curiosity of the villagers, who
followed the cavalcade as far as the door of the wine-shop. The host
came out, cap in hand, and the provost enquired of him with a swaggering
air if his pothouse was large enough to accommodate his troop, men and
horses. The host replied that he had the best wine in the country to
give to the king's servants, and that it would be easy to collect in
the neighbourhood litter and forage enough for their horses. The provost
listened contemptuously to these fine promises, gave the necessary
orders as to what was to be done, and slid off his horse, uttering an
oath proceeding from heat and fatigue. The horsemen clustered round the
young man: one held his stirrup, and the provost deferentially gave way
to him to enter the inn first. No, more doubt could be entertained that
he was a prisoner of importance, and all kinds of conjectures were made.
The men maintained that he must be charged with a great crime, otherwise
a young nobleman of his rank would never have been arrested; the women
argued, on the contrary, that it was impossible for such a pretty youth
not to be innocent.

Inside the inn all was bustle: the serving-lads ran from cellar
to garret; the host swore and despatched his servant-girls to the
neighbours, and the hostess scolded her daughter, flattening her nose
against the panes of a downstairs window to admire the handsome youth.

There were two tables in the principal eating-room. The provost took
possession of one, leaving the other to the soldiers, who went in turn
to tether their horses under a shed in the back yard; then he pointed
to a stool for the prisoner, and seated himself opposite to him, rapping
the table with his thick cane.

"Ouf!" he cried, with a fresh groan of weariness, "I heartily beg your
pardon, marquis, for the bad wine I am giving you!"

The young man smiled gaily.

"The wine is all very well, monsieur provost," said he, "but I cannot
conceal from you that however agreeable your company is to me, this
halt is very inconvenient; I am in a hurry to get through my ridiculous
situation, and I should have liked to arrive in time to stop this affair
at once."

The girl of the house was standing before the table with a pewter pot
which she had just brought, and at these words she raised her eyes on
the prisoner, with a reassured look which seemed to say, "I was sure
that he was innocent."

"But," continued the marquis, carrying the glass to his lips, "this wine
is not so bad as you say, monsieur provost."

Then turning to the girl, who was eyeing his gloves and his ruff--

"To your health, pretty child."

"Then," said the provost, amazed at this free and easy air, "perhaps I
shall have to beg you to excuse your sleeping quarters."

"What!" exclaimed the marquis, "do we sleep here?"

"My lord;" said the provost, "we have sixteen long leagues to make, our
horses are done up, and so far as I am concerned I declare that I am no
better than my horse."

The marquis knocked on the table, and gave every indication of being
greatly annoyed. The provost meanwhile puffed and blowed, stretched out
his big boots, and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was
a portly man, with a puffy face, whom fatigue rendered singularly
uncomfortable.

"Marquis," said he, "although your company, which affords me the
opportunity of showing you some attention, is very precious to me, you
cannot doubt that I had much rather enjoy it on another footing. If it
be within your power, as you say, to release yourself from the hands of
justice, the sooner you do so the better I shall be pleased. But I beg
you to consider the state we are in. For my part, I am unfit to keep the
saddle another hour, and are you not yourself knocked up by this forced
march in the great heat?"

"True, so I am," said the marquis, letting his arms fall by his side.

"Well, then, let us rest here, sup here, if we can, and we will start
quite fit in the cool of the morning."

"Agreed," replied the marquis; "but then let us pass the time in a
becoming manner. I have two pistoles left, let them be given to these
good fellows to drink. It is only fair that I should treat them, seeing
that I am the cause of giving them so much trouble."

He threw two pieces of money on the table of the soldiers, who cried
in chorus, "Long live M. the marquis!" The provost rose, went to post
sentinels, and then repaired to the kitchen, where he ordered the best
supper that could be got. The men pulled out dice and began to drink and
play. The marquis hummed an air in the middle of the room, twirled his
moustache, turning on his heel and looking cautiously around; then he
gently drew a purse from his trousers pocket, and as the daughter of the
house was coming and going, he threw his arms round her neck as if to
kiss her, and whispered, slipping ten Louis into her hand--

"The key of the front door in my room, and a quart of liquor to the
sentinels, and you save my life."

The girl went backwards nearly to the door, and returning with an
expressive look, made an affirmative sign with her hand. The provost
returned, and two hours later supper was served. He ate and drank like a
man more at home at table than in the saddle. The marquis plied him with
bumpers, and sleepiness, added to the fumes of a very heady wine, caused
him to repeat over and over again--

"Confound it all, marquis, I can't believe you are such a blackguard as
they say you are; you seem to me a jolly good sort."

The marquis thought he was ready to fall under the table, and was
beginning to open negotiations with the daughter of the house, when,
to his great disappointment, bedtime having come, the provoking
provost called his sergeant, gave him instructions in an undertone, and
announced that he should have the honour of conducting M. the marquis
to bed, and that he should not go to bed himself before performing this
duty. In fact, he posted three of his men, with torches, escorted the
prisoner to his room, and left him with many profound bows.

The marquis threw himself on his bed without pulling off his boots,
listening to a clock which struck nine. He heard the men come and go in
the stables and in the yard.

An hour later, everybody being tired, all was perfectly still. The
prisoner then rose softly, and felt about on tiptoe on the chimneypiece,
on the furniture, and even in his clothes, for the key which he hoped to
find. He could not find it. He could not be mistaken, nevertheless, in
the tender interest of the young girl, and he could not believe that she
was deceiving him. The marquis's room had a window which opened upon the
street, and a door which gave access to a shabby gallery which did duty
for a balcony, whence a staircase ascended to the principal rooms of the
house. This gallery hung over the courtyard, being as high above it as
the window was from the street. The marquis had only to jump over
one side or the other: he hesitated for some time, and just as he was
deciding to leap into the street, at the risk of breaking his neck, two
taps were struck on the door. He jumped for joy, saying to himself as he
opened, "I am saved!" A kind of shadow glided into the room; the young
girl trembled from head to foot, and could not say a word. The marquis
reassured her with all sorts of caresses.

"Ah, sir," said she, "I am dead if we are surprised."

"Yes," said the marquis, "but your fortune is made if you get me out of
here."

"God is my witness that I would with all my soul, but I have such a bad
piece of news----"

She stopped, suffocated with varying emotions. The poor girl had come
barefooted, for fear of making a noise, and appeared to be shivering.

"What is the matter?" impatiently asked the marquis.

"Before going to bed," she continued, "M. the provost has required from
my father all the keys of the house, and has made him take a great oath
that there are no more. My father has given him all: besides, there is
a sentinel at every door; but they are very tired; I have heard them
muttering and grumbling, and I have given them more wine than you told
me."

"They will sleep," said the marquis, nowise discouraged, "and they have
already shown great respect to my rank in not nailing me up in this
room."

"There is a small kitchen garden," continued the girl, "on the side of
the fields, fenced in only by a loose hurdle, but----"

"Where is my horse?"

"No doubt in the shed with the rest."

"I will jump into the yard."

"You will be killed."

"So much the better!"

"Ah monsieur marquis, what have you done?" said the young girl with
grief.

"Some foolish things! nothing worth mentioning; but my head and my
honour are at stake. Let us lose no time; I have made up my mind."

"Stay," replied the girl, grasping his arm; "at the left-hand corner
of the yard there is a large heap of straw, the gallery hangs just over
it--"

"Bravo! I shall make less noise, and do myself less mischief." He made
a step towards the door; the girl, hardly knowing what she was doing,
tried to detain him; but he got loose from her and opened it. The moon
was shining brightly into the yard; he heard no sound. He proceeded to
the end of the wooden rail, and perceived the dungheap, which rose to a
good height: the girl made the sign of the cross. The marquis listened
once again, heard nothing, and mounted the rail. He was about to jump
down, when by wonderful luck he heard murmurings from a deep voice.
This proceeded from one of two horsemen, who were recommencing their
conversation and passing between them a pint of wine. The marquis crept
back to his door, holding his breath: the girl was awaiting him on the
threshold.

"I told you it was not yet time," said she.

"Have you never a knife," said the marquis, "to cut those rascals'
throats with?"

"Wait, I entreat you, one hour, one hour only," murmured the young girl;
"in an hour they will all be asleep."

The girl's voice was so sweet, the arms which she stretched towards him
were full of such gentle entreaty, that the marquis waited, and at the
end of an hour it was the young girl's turn to tell him to start.

The marquis for the last time pressed with his mouth those lips but
lately so innocent, then he half opened the door, and heard nothing this
time but dogs barking far away in an otherwise silent country. He leaned
over the balustrade, and saw very plainly a soldier lying prone on the
straw.

"If they were to awake?" murmured the young girl in accents of anguish.

"They will not take me alive, be assured," said the marquis.

"Adieu, then," replied she, sobbing; "may Heaven preserve you!"

He bestrode the balustrade, spread himself out upon it, and fell heavily
on the dungheap. The young girl saw him run to the shed, hastily detach
a horse, pass behind the stable wall, spur his horse in both flanks,
tear across the kitchen garden, drive his horse against the hurdle,
knock it down, clear it, and reach the highroad across the fields.

The poor girl remained at the end of the gallery, fixing her eyes on the
sleeping sentry, and ready to disappear at the slightest movement. The
noise made by spurs on the pavement and by the horse at the end of the
courtyard had half awakened him. He rose, and suspecting some surprise,
ran to the shed. His horse was no longer there; the marquis, in his
haste to escape, had taken the first which came to hand, and this was
the soldier's. Then the soldier gave the alarm; his comrades woke up.
They ran to the prisoner's room, and found it empty. The provost came
from his bed in a dazed condition. The prisoner had escaped.

Then the young girl, pretending to have been roused by the noise,
hindered the preparations by mislaying the saddlery, impeding the
horsemen instead of helping them; nevertheless, after a quarter of an
hour, all the party were galloping along the road. The provost swore
like a pagan. The best horses led the way, and the sentinel, who rode
the marquis's, and who had a greater interest in catching the prisoner,
far outstripped his companions; he was followed by the sergeant, equally
well mounted, and as the broken fence showed the line he had taken,
after some minutes they were in view of him, but at a great distance.
However, the marquis was losing ground; the horse he had taken was
the worst in the troop, and he had pressed it as hard as it could go.
Turning in the saddle, he saw the soldiers half a musket-shot off; he
urged his horse more and more, tearing his sides with his spurs; but
shortly the beast, completely winded, foundered; the marquis rolled with
it in the dust, but when rolling over he caught hold of the holsters,
which he found to contain pistols; he lay flat by the side of the
horse, as if he had fainted, with a pistol at full cock in his hand. The
sentinel, mounted on a valuable horse, and more than two hundred yards
ahead of his serafile, came up to him. In a moment the marquis, jumping
up before he had time to resist him, shot him through the head; the
horseman fell, the marquis jumped up in his place without even setting
foot in the stirrup, started off at a gallop, and went away like the
wind, leaving fifty yards behind him the non-commissioned officer,
dumbfounded with what had just passed before his eyes.

The main body of the escort galloped up, thinking that he was taken;
and the provost shouted till he was hoarse, "Do not kill him!" But they
found only the sergeant, trying to restore life to his man, whose skull
was shattered, and who lay dead on the spot.

As for the marquis, he was out of sight; for, fearing a fresh pursuit,
he had plunged into the cross roads, along which he rode a good hour
longer at full gallop. When he felt pretty sure of having shaken the
police off his track, and that their bad horses could not overtake him,
he determined to slacken to recruit his horse; he was walking him along
a hollow lane, when he saw a peasant approaching; he asked him the road
to the Bourbonnais, and flung him a crown. The man took the crown and
pointed out the road, but he seemed hardly to know what he was saying,
and stared at the marquis in a strange manner. The marquis shouted
to him to get out of the way; but the peasant remained planted on the
roadside without stirring an inch. The marquis advanced with threatening
looks, and asked how he dared to stare at him like that.

"The reason is," said the peasant, "that you have----", and he pointed
to his shoulder and his ruff.

The marquis glanced at his dress, and saw that his coat was dabbled in
blood, which, added to the disorder of his clothes and the dust with
which he was covered, gave him a most suspicious aspect.

"I know," said he. "I and my servant have been separated in a scuffle
with some drunken Germans; it's only a tipsy spree, and whether I have
got scratched, or whether in collaring one of these fellows I have drawn
some of his blood, it all arises from the row. I don't think I am hurt a
bit." So saying, he pretended to feel all over his body.

"All the same," he continued, "I should not be sorry to have a wash;
besides, I am dying with thirst and heat, and my horse is in no better
case. Do you know where I can rest and refresh myself?"

The peasant offered to guide him to his own house, only a few yards off.
His wife and children, who were working, respectfully stood aside, and
went to collect what was wanted--wine, water, fruit, and a large piece
of black bread. The marquis sponged his coat, drank a glass of wine,
and called the people of the house, whom he questioned in an indifferent
manner. He once more informed himself of the different roads leading
into the Bourbonnais province, where he was going to visit a relative;
of the villages, cross roads, distances; and finally he spoke of the
country, the harvest, and asked what news there was.

The peasant replied, with regard to this, that it was surprising to hear
of disturbances on the highway at this moment, when it was patrolled by
detachments of mounted police, who had just made an important capture.

"Who is that?--" asked the marquis.

"Oh," said the peasant, "a nobleman who has done a lot of mischief in
the country."

"What! a nobleman in the hands of justice?"

"Just so; and he stands a good chance of losing his head."

"Do they say what he has done?"

"Shocking things; horrid things; everything he shouldn't do. All the
province is exasperated with him."

"Do you know him?"

"No, but we all have his description."

As this news was not encouraging, the marquis, after a few more
questions, saw to his horse, patted him, threw some more money to the
peasant, and disappeared in the direction pointed out.

The provost proceeded half a league farther along the road; but coming
to the conclusion that pursuit was useless, he sent one of his men to
headquarters, to warn all the points of exit from the province, and
himself returned with his troop to the place whence he had started in
the morning. The marquis had relatives in the neighbourhood, and it was
quite possible that he might seek shelter with some of them. All the
village ran to meet the horsemen, who were obliged to confess that they
had been duped by the handsome prisoner. Different views were expressed
on the event, which gave rise to much talking. The provost entered the
inn, banging his fist on the furniture, and blaming everybody for the
misfortune which had happened to him. The daughter of the house, at
first a prey to the most grievous anxiety, had great difficulty in
concealing her joy.

The provost spread his papers over the table, as if to nurse his
ill-temper.

"The biggest rascal in the world!" he cried; "I ought to have suspected
him."

"What a handsome man he was!" said the hostess.

"A consummate rascal! Do you know who he is? He is the Marquis de
Saint-Maixent!"

"The Marquis de Saint-Maixent!" all cried with horror.

"Yes, the very man," replied the provost; "the Marquis de Saint-Maixent,
accused, and indeed convicted, of coining and magic."

"Ah!"

"Convicted of incest."

"O my God!"

"Convicted of having strangled his wife to marry another, whose husband
he had first stabbed."

"Heaven help us!" All crossed themselves.

"Yes, good people," continued the furious provost, "this is the nice boy
who has just escaped the king's justice!"

The host's daughter left the room, for she felt she was going to faint.

"But," said the host, "is there no hope of catching him again?"

"Not the slightest, if he has taken the road to the Bourbonnais; for I
believe there are in that province noblemen belonging to his family who
will not allow him to be rearrested."

The fugitive was, indeed, no other than the Marquis de Saint-Maixent,
accused of all the enormous crimes detailed by the provost, who by his
audacious flight opened for himself an active part in the strange story
which it remains to relate.

It came to pass, a fortnight after these events, that a mounted
gentleman rang at the wicket gate of the chateau de Saint-Geran, at
the gates of Moulins. It was late, and the servants were in no hurry to
open. The stranger again pulled the bell in a masterful manner, and
at length perceived a man running from the bottom of the avenue. The
servant peered through the wicket, and making out in the twilight a
very ill-appointed traveller, with a crushed hat, dusty clothes, and
no sword, asked him what he wanted, receiving a blunt reply that the
stranger wished to see the Count de Saint-Geran without any further loss
of time. The servant replied that this was impossible; the other got
into a passion.

"Who are you?" asked the man in livery.

"You are a very ceremonious fellow!" cried the horseman. "Go and tell M.
de Saint-Geran that his relative, the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, wishes
to see him at once."

The servant made humble apologies, and opened the wicket gate. He then
walked before the marquis, called other servants, who came to help him
to dismount, and ran to give his name in the count's apartments. The
latter was about to sit down to supper when his relative was announced;
he immediately went to receive the marquis, embraced him again and
again, and gave him the most friendly and gracious reception possible.
He wished then to take him into the dining-room to present him to all
the family; but the marquis called his attention to the disorder of his
dress, and begged for a few minutes' conversation. The count took him
into his dressing-room, and had him dressed from head to foot in his own
clothes, whilst they talked. The marquis then narrated a made-up story
to M. de Saint-Geran relative to the accusation brought against him.
This greatly impressed his relative, and gave him a secure footing in
the chateau. When he had finished dressing, he followed the count, who
presented him to the countess and the rest of the family.

It will now be in place to state who the inmates of the chateau were,
and to relate some previous occurrences to explain subsequent ones.

The Marshal de Saint-Geran, of the illustrious house of Guiche, and
governor of the Bourbonnais, had married, for his first wife, Anne de
Tournon, by whom he had one son, Claude de la Guiche, and one daughter,
who married the Marquis de Bouille. His wife dying, he married again
with Suzanne des Epaules, who had also been previously married,
being the widow of the Count de Longaunay, by whom she had Suzanne de
Longaunay.

The marshal and his wife, Suzanne des Epauies, for the mutual benefit of
their children by first nuptials, determined to marry them, thus sealing
their own union with a double tie. Claude de Guiche, the marshal's son,
married Suzanne de Longaunay.

This alliance was much to the distaste of the Marchioness de Bouille,
the marshal's daughter, who found herself separated from her stepmother,
and married to a man who, it was said, gave her great cause for
complaint, the greatest being his threescore years and ten.

The contract of marriage between Claude de la Guiche and Suzanne de
Longaunay was executed at Rouen on the 17th of February 1619; but the
tender age of the bridegroom, who was then but eighteen, was the cause
of his taking a tour in Italy, whence he returned after two years. The
marriage was a very happy one but for one circumstance--it produced no
issue. The countess could not endure a barrenness which threatened the
end of a great name, the extinction of a noble race. She made vows,
pilgrimages; she consulted doctors and quacks; but to no purpose.

The Marshal de Saint-Geran died on the 10th of December 1632, having the
mortification of having seen no descending issue from the marriage of
his son. The latter, now Count de Saint-Geran, succeeded his father in
the government of the Bourbonnais, and was named Chevalier of the King's
Orders.

Meanwhile the Marchioness de Bouille quarrelled with her old husband the
marquis, separated from him after a scandalous divorce, and came to
live at the chateau of Saint-Geran, quite at ease as to her brother's
marriage, seeing that in default of heirs all his property would revert
to her.

Such was the state of affairs when the Marquis de Saint-Maixent
arrived at the chateau. He was young, handsome, very cunning, and very
successful with women; he even made a conquest of the dowager Countess
de Saint-Geran, who lived there with her children. He soon plainly saw
that he might easily enter into the most intimate relations with the
Marchioness de Bouille.

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent's own fortune was much impaired by his
extravagance and by the exactions of the law, or rather, in plain words,
he had lost it all. The marchioness was heiress presumptive to the
count: he calculated that she would soon lose her own husband; in any
case, the life of a septuagenarian did not much trouble a man like the
marquis; he could then prevail upon the marchioness to marry him, thus
giving him the command of the finest fortune in the province.

He set to work to pay his court to her, especially avoiding anything
that could excite the slightest suspicion. It was, however, difficult
to get on good terms with the marchioness without showing outsiders what
was going on. But the marchioness, already prepossessed by the agreeable
exterior of M. de Saint-Maixent, soon fell into his toils, and the
unhappiness of her marriage, with the annoyances incidental to a
scandalous case in the courts, left her powerless to resist his schemes.
Nevertheless, they had but few opportunities of seeing one another
alone: the countess innocently took a part in all their conversations;
the count often came to take the marquis out hunting; the days passed in
family pursuits. M. de Saint-Maixent had not so far had an opportunity
of saying what a discreet woman ought to pretend not to hear; this
intrigue, notwithstanding the marquis's impatience, dragged terribly.