The Red Mask by Rafael Sabatini (diy ebook reader .txt) đ
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The Red Mask
by Rafael Sabatini
From The Ludgate, December, 1898.
During the last year of his reign, it was a common thing for Mazarin to repair to the masques given by the King at the Louvre.
In a long domino, the ample folds of which cloaked his tall, lean figure beyond all recognition, it was his custom to mingle in the crowdâall unconscious of his presenceâin the hope of gleaning through the channels of court gossip some serviceable information.
These visits to the Louvre were kept a profound secret from all save Monsieur André, the valet who dressed him, and myself, the captain of his guards, who escorted him.
It was usual upon such occasions for the Cardinal to retire to his own apartments, under the pretence of desiring to be a-bed at an earlier hour. Once screened from the gaze of the curious, he would prepare for the ball, and when he was ready, AndrĂ© would summon me from the ante-chamber. On the night in question, however, I was startled out of the reverie into which I had lapsed whilst watching two pages throwing at dice and discussing the arts of the practice, by the Cardinalâs own voice uttering my name:
âMonsieur de Cavaignac,â
At the sound of the rasping voice, which plainly told me that his Eminence was out of humour, one of the lads sat precipitately upon the dice, to hide from his masterâs eyes the unholy nature of their pastime, whilst I, astonished at the irregularity of the proceedings, turned sharply round and made a profound obeisance.
One glance at Mazarin told me there was trouble. An angry flush was upon his sallow face, and his eyes glittered in a strange, discomforting manner, whilst his jewelled fingers tugged nervously at the long pointed beard which he still wore, after the fashion of the days of his late Majesty, Louis XIII.
âFollow me, Monsieur,â he said; whereupon, respecting his mood, I lifted my sword to prevent its clanking, and passed into the study, which divided the bedroom from the ante-chamber.
Suppressing with masterly self-control, the anger that swelled within him, Mazarin held out to me a strip of paper.
âRead,â he said laconically, as if afraid to trust his voice with more.
Taking the paper as I was bid, I gazed earnestly at it, and marvelled to myself whether the Cardinalâs dotage was upon him, for, stare as I would, I could detect no writing.
Noting my perplexity, Mazarin took a heavy silver candlestick from the table, and placing himself at my side, held it so as to throw a strong light upon the paper. Wonderingly, I examined it afresh, and discovered this time the faint impression of such characters as might have been written with a pencil upon another sheet placed over the one that I now held.
With infinite pains, and awed at what I read, I had contrived to master the meaning of the first two lines, when the Cardinal, growing impatient at my slowness, set down the candlestick and snatched the paper from my hand.
âYou have seen?â he asked.
âNot all, your eminence,â I replied.
âThen I will read it to you; listen.â
And in a slightly shaken monotone he read out to me the following words:â
âThe Italian goes disguised to-night to attend the Kingâs masque. He will arrive at ten, wearing a black silk domino and a red vizor.â
Slowly he folded the document, and then, turning his sharp eyes upon me.
âOf course,â he said, âyou do not know the handwriting; but I am well acquainted with it; it is that of my valet, AndrĂ©.â
âIt is a gross breach of confidence, if you are certain that it alludes to your Eminence,â I ventured, timidly.
âA breach of confidence, Chevalier!â he cried in derision. âA breach of confidence! I took you for a wiser man. Does this message suggest nothing more than a breach of confidence to you?â
I started, aghast, as his meaning dawned upon me, and noting this,
âAh, I see that it does,â he said, with a curious smile. âWell, what do you say now?â
âI scarcely like to word my thoughts, Monseigneur,â I answered.
âThen I will word them for you,â he retorted. âThere is a conspiracy afoot.â
âGod forbid!â I cried, then added quickly; âImpossible! your Eminence is too well beloved.â
âPish!â he answered, with a frown; âyou forget, de Cavaignac, this is the Palais Mazarin, and not the Louvre. We need no courtiers here.â
âTwas but the truth I spoke, Monseigneur,â I expostulated.
âEnough!â he exclaimed, âwe are wasting time. I am assured that he is in league with one, or may be more, foul knaves of his kidney, whose purpose it isâwell, what is the usual purpose of a conspiracy?â
âYour Eminence!â I cried, in horror.
âWell?â he said, coldly, and with a slight elevation of the eyebrows.
âPardon me for suggesting that you may be in error. What evidence is there to show that you are the person to whom that note alludes?â
He gazed at me in undisguised astonishment, and may-be pity, at my dullness.
âDoes it not say, âthe Italianâ?â
âBut then, Monseigneur, pardon me again, you are not the only Italian in Paris; there are several at courtâBotillani, delâAsta de Agostini, Magnani. Are these not all Italians? Is it not possible that the note refers to one of them?â
âDo you think so?â he inquired, raising his eyebrows.
âMa foi, I see no reason why it should not.â
âBut does it not occur to you that in such a case there would be little need for mystery? Why should not AndrĂ© have mentioned his name?â
âThe course of leaving out the name appears to me, if Monseigneur will permit me to say so, an equally desirable one, whether the party conspired against, be your Eminence or a court fop.â
âYou argue well,â he answered, with a chilling sneer. âBut come with me, de Cavaignac, and I will set such an argument before your eyes as can leave no doubt in your mind. Venez.â
Obediently I followed him through the white and gold folding-doors into his bedroom. He walked slowly across the apartment, and pulling aside the curtains he pointed to a long black silk domino lying across the bed; then, putting out his hand, he drew forth a scarlet mask and held it up to the light, so that I might clearly see its colour.
âAre you assured?â he asked.
I was indeed! Whatever doubts there may have been in my mind as to Monsieur AndrĂ©âs treachery were now utterly dispelled by this overwhelming proof.
Having communicated my opinion to his Eminence, I awaited, in silence, his commands.
For some moments he paced the room slowly with bent head and toying with his beard. At last he stopped.
âI have sent that knave AndrĂ© upon a mission that will keep him engaged for some moments yet. Upon his return I shall endeavour to discover the name of his accomplice, or rather,â he added scornfully, âof his master. I half-suspectââ he began, then suddenly turned to me, âCan you think of any one, Cavaignac?â he enquired.
I hastened to assure him that I could not, whereat he shrugged his shoulders in a manner meant to express the value he set upon my astuteness.
âOhimĂš!â he cried bitterly, âhow unenviable is my position. Traitors and conspirators in my very house, and none to guard me against them!â
âYour Eminence!â I exclaimed, almost indignantly, for this imputation to one who had served him as I had done was cruel and unjust.
He shot a sharp glance at me from under his puckered brows, then softening suddenly, as he saw the look upon my face, he came over to where I stood, and placing his soft white hand upon my shoulder,
âForgive me, Cavaignac,â he said gently, âforgive me, my friend, I have wronged you. I know that you are true and faithfulâand the words I spoke were wrung from me by bitterness at the thought that one upon whom I have heaped favours should so betray meâprobably,â he added bitterly, âfor the sake of a few paltry pistoles, even as Iscariot betrayed his Master.â
âI have so few friends, Cavaignac,â he went on, in a tone of passing sadness, âso few that I cannot afford to quarrel with the only one of whom I am certain. There are many who fear me; many who cringe to me, knowing that I have the power to make or break themâbut none who love me. And yet I am envied!â and he broke into a short bitter laugh, âEnvied. âThere goes the true King of Franceâ say noble and simple, as they doff their hats and bow low before the great and puissant Cardinal Mazarin. They forget my fortes but they denounce my foibles, and envying, they malign me, for malice is ever the favourite mask of envy. They envy me, a lonely old man amid all the courtiers who cringe like curs about me. Ah; Cavaignac, âtwas wisely said by that wise man, the late Cardinal Richelieu, that often those whom the world most envies, stand most in need of pity.â
I was deeply moved by his words and by the low tone, now sad, now fierce, in which they were deliveredâfor it was unusual for Mazarin to say so much in a breath, and I knew that AndrĂ©âs treachery must have stricken him sorely.
It was not for me to endeavour by argument to convince him that he was in error; moreover, I knew full well that all he said was true, and being no lisping courtier, to whom the art of falsehood comes as naturally as that of breathing, but a blunt soldier who spoke but what was in my heart, I held my peace.
With those keen eyes of his he read what was in my mind; taking me by the hand, he pressed it warmly.
âThanks, my friend, thanks!â he murmured, âyou at least are true, true as the steel you wear and honour, and so long as this weak hand of mine can sway menâs fortunes, so long as I live, you shall not be forgotten. But go now, Cavaignac, leave me; AndrĂ© may return at any moment, and it would awaken his suspicions to find you here, for there are none so suspicious as traitors. Await my orders in the ante-chamber, as usual.â
âBut is it safe to leave your Eminence alone with him?â I cried, in some concern.
He laughed softly.
âThink you the knave is eager to enjoy the gibbet he has earned as Montfaucon?â he said. âNay, have no fear, it will not come to violence.â
âA rat at bay is a dangerous foe,â I answered.
âI know, I know,â he replied, âand so I have taken my precautionsâunnecessary as I think themâ_voyez!_â and as he opened his scarlet robe I beheld the glitter of a shirt of mail beneath.
ââTis well,â I replied, and, bowing, I withdrew.
In the dark and silent ante-chamberâfor the pages and their ungodly toys were gone when I returnedâI paced slowly to and fro, musing sadly over all that the Cardinal had said, and cursing in my heart that dog AndrĂ©. So bitter did I feel towards the villainous traitor, that, when at the end of half an hour I beheld him standing before me with a false smile upon his pale countenance, it
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