Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://archive.org/details/henryofguiseorst01jame
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
HENRY OF GUISE;
OR,
THE STATES OF BLOIS.
VOL. I.
London:
Printed by A. Spottiswoode,
New-Street-Square
HENRY OF GUISE
OR,
THE STATES OF BLOIS.
BY
G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF
"THE ROBBER," "THE GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL,"
ETC. ETC. ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1839.
DEDICATION.
* * * * *
TO
THE HONOURABLE
FRANCIS SCOTT
My dear Scott,
In dedicating to you the following work as the tribute of old
friendship, and of sincere and well founded esteem, allow me to add a
few words in explanation of the course I have pursued in the
composition. I do this, it is true, more for the public than for
yourself, as you were with me while it was in progress, and by your
good judgment confirmed my opinion of the mode in which the subject
ought to be treated.
The character of every person who plays a prominent part on the great
stage of the world is of course lauded by friends and decried by
adversaries at the time, and the mingled report comes down to after
ages. But the mists of prejudice are wafted away by the breath of
years. The character of the historian is considered in connexion with
those of the personages he has depicted; and allowances are made for
errors and wrong views on all sides: the greater facts remain, in
general, clear and distinct; and from these, together with those small
traits which are rather let fall accidentally than recorded, by
contemporaries, the estimate of history is formed.
There are some characters, however, which from various causes remain
obscure and doubtful through all time; and many which have points in
them that are never satisfactorily explained, producing acts which
cannot be accounted for; like those waters which have never been
fathomed, though we know not whether it be some under current that we
see not, or the profound depth itself, which prevents the plumbed line
from reaching the bottom. Amongst the many acts recorded in the annals
of the world, the motives for which have never been ascertained, one
of the most extraordinary is, that of Henry Duke of Guise, when, on
the 12th of May, 1588, the famous day of the barricades, he had the
crown of France within his grasp, and did not close his hand. Some
have called it weakness, some virtue, some moderation, some
indecision; and in fact, whatever view we take of it, there are points
in which it is opposed to the general character of the Duke.
In the account of this transaction, which I have given in the
following pages, I have rather attempted to narrate how the event took
place, than to put forth a theory regarding the motives. My own
opinion is, indeed, fixed, after diligent examination of every
contemporary account, that the motives were mixed. I do not believe
that the Duke's moderation proceeded from indecision, for I imagine
that he had decided from the first not to dethrone the King; but I do
believe that he might be, and was, much tempted to usurp the throne,
as the events of the day proceeded. Opportunity could not be without
its temptation to a bold and ambitious heart like his. Whether he
would have remained master of his own conduct, whether he would have
been able to struggle against his own desires and the wishes of the
people, whether he would have maintained his resolution to the end of
that day, had the King not escaped from Paris, is another question.
Suffice it that he resisted the temptation as long as the temptation
existed; and that he did so deliberately is proved, by his strictly
prohibiting the people from surrounding the royal residence, "lest it
should commit him too far." Upon this view of the case have I based my
narration.
In regard to the death of the Duke of Guise, I had but little
difficulty; for the event is so amply and minutely detailed by
contemporaries, that no doubt can exist in regard to any of the facts.
In the treatment of the story, however, I had to choose between two
courses. A French writer, or writer of the French school, in order to
concentrate the interest upon the Guise, would most likely have
brought into a prominent point of view his criminal passion for Madame
de Noirmoutier, and would have wrought it up with sentiment till the
feelings of the reader were enlisted in favour of herself and the
Duke.
I did not do this for two reasons. In the first place, it would have
been a violation of history to represent Madame de Noirmoutier as any
thing but a mere abandoned woman, as her amours with Henry IV. and
others clearly show. In the next place, I consider it an insult to
virtue to endeavour to excite interest for vice. It was necessary,
indeed, to introduce Madame de Noirmoutier, on account of the famous
warning which she gave to Guise on the night before his death; but I
have done so as briefly as possible for the reasons I have just
stated.
I have only farther to say, that I know there is a French work bearing
the same title, or very nearly the same title, as this. I have never
seen that work, nor read any review of it, nor heard any part of its
contents, and therefore have no idea whatsoever of how the story is
there conducted. Doubtless very differently, and, perhaps, much better
than in the following pages; but, nevertheless, I trust that the
public will extend to them the same indulgence which has been granted
to my other works, and for which I am most sincerely grateful.
To you, my dear Scott, I am also very grateful, for many a happy hour,
and many a pleasant day, and for many a trait which, in our mutual
intercourse, has given me the best view of human nature, and added one
to the few whom in this life we find to love and to respect. Accept,
then, this very slight testimony of such feelings, and believe me
ever,
Yours faithfully,
G. P. R. James.
HENRY OF GUISE;
OR,
THE STATES OF BLOIS.
CHAPTER I.
It was as dark and sombre a morning, the sky was as gloomy, the earth
as dry and parched, as earth, sky, and morning ever appear in the most
northern climates. A dull grey expanse of leaden cloud shut out the
blue heaven, a hard black frost pinched up the ground, the blades of
grass stood stiff and rugged on the frozen soil, and vague grey mists
lay in all the hollows of the ground. The forests, the manifold
forests that then spread over the fair land of France, showed nothing
but bare branches, except where here and there the yoke-elm or
tenacious beech retained in patches its red and withered leaves, while
beneath the trees again, the ground was thickly carpeted with the
fallen honours of the past summer, mingled with hoar frost and thin
snow. A chilliness more piercing than mere frost pervaded the air; and
the aspect of the whole scene was cheerless and melancholy.
Such was the aspect of the day, though the scene was in the south of
France, at a spot which we shall leave for the present nameless, when
at about seven o'clock in the morning--an hour in which, at that
period of the year, the sun's rays are weak and powerless--a tall,
strong, florid man of about four-and-thirty years of age was seen upon
the edge of a wide wood walking along cautiously step by step,
carefully bending down his eyes upon the withered leaves that strewed
his path, as if he had dropped something of value which he sought to
find.
The wood, as we have said, was extensive, covering several miles of
undulating ground, broken by rocks and dingles, and interspersed by
more than one piece of water. It contained various kinds of tree, as
well as various sorts of soil; but at the spot of which we now speak
the wood was low and thin, gradually increasing in volume as it rose
along the slope of the adjacent hill, till it grew into a tangled
thicket, from which rose a number of tall trees, waving their grey
branches sadly in the wintry air. On a distant eminence, rising far
above the wood itself, might be seen towers, and turrets, and
pinnacles, the abode of some of the lords of the land; and at the end
of a long glade, up which the man we have just mentioned was
cautiously stealing, as we have described, appeared a little cottage
with one or two curious outbuildings, not usually found attached to
the abodes of the agricultural population.
The features of this early wanderer in the woods were good, the
expression of his countenance frank; and though poring so intently
upon the ground as he passed, there was nevertheless an air of
habitual cheerfulness in his countenance, which broke out in the
frequent smile, either at something passing in his own thoughts, or at
something he observed amongst the withered leaves. He was dressed in a
plain suit of dark brownish grey, with a cap and feather on his head,
a sword by his side, and an immense winding horn slung under his left
arm; and though at the present moment he was without either horses or
dogs, his whole dress and appearance bespoke him one of the huntsmen
of some neighbouring lord.
After having walked on for about three or four hundred yards, he
suddenly stopped at some traces on the ground, turned into the wood,
which in a particular line seemed disturbed and broken, and following
the marks, which denoted that some large object of the chase had
passed that way, he reached the thicker part of the wood, where, to
use his own expression, he felt sure that the boar was lodged.
It would be useless and tedious to accompany him in all the
perquisitions that he made round the thicket, in order to ascertain
that the animal had not again issued forth from its woody covert. He
satisfied himself, however, completely, that such was not the case,
and then paused, musing for a moment or two, till he was roused from
his reverie by the distant sounds of human voices and of horses' feet,
coming from the side of the glade in which we have first displayed him
to the reader's eyes. He now hurried back as rapidly as possible, and
in a minute or two after stood uncovered in the midst of a gay and
glittering party, on which we must pause for a few minutes, ere we
proceed to describe the events of that morning.
There were about twenty persons present, but the greater number
consisted of various attendants attached to the household of all
French noblemen of that period, under the names of grooms, piqueurs,
valets de chiens, chefs de relais, &c. Three out of the group,
however, are worthy of greater attention, not alone because they were
higher in rank, but because with them we shall have to deal throughout
the course of this tale, while most of the others may well be
forgotten. The eldest of the three, bore the robe of an ecclesiastic,
though in his deportment, as he sat a spirited, and somewhat fretful
horse, he seemed fully as well suited to play the part of a gay
cavalier as that of a sober churchman.
His features were fine, though not strongly marked; the nose straight
and well cut; the chin rounded; the brow broad and high, and the mouth
well formed. But with all these traits of beauty, there were one or
two drawbacks, both in feature and expression, which rendered his
aspect by no means so prepossessing as it otherwise might have been.
The eyes, which were remarkably fine, large, dark, and powerful, were
sunk deep under the sharp cut, overhanging brow, looking keenly out
from below their long fringed lids, as if in ambush for each unguarded
glance or gesture of those with whom he conversed. The lips, though,
as we have said, well formed, closed tight over the teeth, which were
as white as snow, never suffering them to appear, except when actually
speaking. Even then those lips parted but little, and gave one the
idea of their being, as it were, the gates of imprisoned thoughts,
which opened no farther than was necessary to give egress to those
which they were forced to set at liberty. The nostril, though it was
finely shaped, was even stiller and more motionless than the lips. No
moment of eagerness, no excited passion of the bosom, made that
nostril expand, and if it ever moved at all, it was but when a slight
irrepressible sneer upon the lip drew it up with a scornful elevation,
not the less cutting because it was but slight.
The age of this personage at the time we speak of might be about
forty-five; and if one might judge by the clear paleness of his
complexion, a considerable portion of his life had been spent in
intense study. The marks of his age were visible, too, in his beard
and mustachios, which had once been of the deepest black, but were now
thickly grizzled with grey. No sign, however, of any loss of strength
or vigour was apparent; and though still and quiet in his demeanour,
he seemed not at all disinclined to show, by an occasional exercise of
strength or agility, that stillness and quietude were with him matters
of choice and not of necessity. He kept his horse a very small pace
behind those of his two younger companions; but he so contrived it
that this very act of deference should not have the slightest
appearance of humility in it, but should rather seem an expression of
what he owed to his own age and character rather than to their
superior rank.
The other two were both young men in the very early outset of life,
and were so nearly of the same age, that it was difficult to say which
was the elder. Both were extremely handsome, both were very powerfully
and gracefully formed; and the most extraordinary similarity of
features and of frame existed between them, so that it would have been
difficult to distinguish the one from the other, had it not been that
their complexions were entirely different. The one was dark, the other
fair: in one the hair curled over the brow in large masses, as glossy
as the wing of the raven; in the other, the same profuse and shining
hair existed, but of a nut brown, with every here and there a gleam as
if the sun shone upon it. The eyes of the one were dark, but flashing
and lustrous; the eyes of the other of a deep hazel, and in them there
mingled, with the bright bold glances of fearless courage, an
occasional expression of depth and tenderness of feeling, which
rendered the character of his countenance as different from that of
his brother as was his complexion.
Notwithstanding the great similarity that existed between them, they
were not, as may have been supposed, twins, the fairer of the two
being a year younger than his brother. They were both, indeed, as we
have said, in their early youth, but their youth was manly; and though
neither had yet seen three-and-twenty years, the form of each was
powerful and fully developed, and the slight pointed beard and
sweeping mustachio were as completely marked as the custom of the day
admitted.
On the characters of the two we shall not pause in this place, as they
will show themselves hereafter; and it is sufficient to say that there
was scarcely a little word, or action, or gesture, which did not more
or less display a strong and remarkable difference between the hearts
and minds of the two. During their whole life, hitherto,
notwithstanding this difference, they had lived in the utmost
friendship and regard, without even any of those occasional quarrels
which too often disturb the harmony of families. Perhaps the secret of
this might be that the elder brother had less opportunity of
domineering over the younger than generally existed in the noble
families of France, for their mother had been an heiress of great
possessions, and according to the tenour of her contract of marriage
with their father, her feofs and riches fell on her death to her
second son, leaving him, if any thing, more powerful and wealthy than
his elder brother.
The fortune of neither, however, though each was large, was of such
great extent as to place them amongst the few high and powerful
families who at that time struggled for domination in the land of
their birth. The territory of each could bring two or three hundred
soldiers into the field in case of need: the wealth of each sufficed
to place them in the next rank to the governor of the province which
they inhabited; but still their names stood not on the same list with
those of Epernon, Joyeuse, Montmorency, Guise, or Nemours; and,
contented hitherto with the station which they enjoyed, neither they
themselves, nor any of their ancestors, had striven to obtain for
their house a distinction which, in those times, was, perhaps, more
perilous than either desirable or honourable. Neither of them, indeed,
was without ambition, though that ambition was, of course, modified by
their several characters; but it had been controlled hitherto,
perhaps, less by the powers of their own reason than by the influence
of the personage who now accompanied them, and whom we have before
described.
Not distantly connected with them by the ties of blood, the Abbe de
Boisguerin had been called from Italy, where he had long resided, to
superintend their education shortly after their mother's death. His
own income, though not so small as that of many another scion of a
noble house in France, had, nevertheless, proved insufficient through
life to satisfy a man of expensive, though not very ostentatious,
tastes and habits; and the large emoluments, offered to him, together
with the prospects of advancement which the station proposed held out,
induced him without hesitation to quit his residence in Rome, and
revisit a country, the troublous state of which gave the prospect of
advancement to every daring and unscrupulous spirit.
It may seem strange to say, as we have said, that the influence of an
ambitious man had been directed to check their ambition: but he was
ambitious only for the attainment of certain ends. He valued not power
merely as power, but for that which power might command. Personal
gratification was his object, though the pursuit of that
gratification, as far as the objects of sense went, was also
restrained, like his ambition, by other qualities and feelings. Thus,
as an ambitious man, at the time we speak of, he was neither fierce
nor grasping; as an epicurean, he was not coarse nor insatiable; and
yet with all this apparent--nay, real, moderation--there lay within
his breast, unexcited and undeveloped, passions as strong and fierce,
desires as eager and as fiery, as ever burned within the heart of man.
He controlled them by skill and habit, he covered them, as it were,
with the dust and ashes of his profession, but it needed only an
accidental breath to blow them into a flame, which, in turn, would
have given fire to every other aspiration and effort of his mind.
He had found it in no degree difficult to obtain a complete ascendency
over the minds of the two young men he was called upon to govern.
Their father had plunged deeply, after his wife's death, into the wars
and troubles of the times, and he left his two sons entirely to the
care and direction of the Abbe de Boisguerin. Thus he had every
opportunity that he could desire; and he brought to the task most
extensive learning, which enabled him to direct in every thing the
inferior teachers. His manners were graceful, polished, and
captivating, his temper calm and unruffled: hiding his own thoughts
and feelings under an impenetrable veil, never alluding to his past
life or his future purposes, he skilfully, nay, almost imperceptibly,
made himself master of the confidence of others, and gained every
treasured secret of the hearts around him, without giving any
thing in exchange. His learning, his wisdom, his acuteness, his
impenetrability, won respect and reverence, and almost awe, from the
two youths yet in their boyhood: his courtesy, his kindness, his
consideration for the errors and the desires of their youth, gained
greatly upon their regard; and their admiration and love was increased
by some events which took place towards their seventeenth and
sixteenth years.
It happened that about that time their master of arms was teaching
them some of the exercises of the day in the tilt-yard of the castle;
while their governor, with his arms folded on his breast, stood
looking on. He usually, under such circumstances, refrained from
making any observations; but, thrown for a moment off his guard on the
present occasion, by what appeared to him an awkwardness on the part
of the master in teaching some evolution, he said courteously enough,
that he thought it might be executed better in another manner.
Conceited and rash, the master of arms replied with a show of
contempt. The Abbe then persisted; and the other, with a sneer, begged
that he might be experimentally shown the new method of the governor.
The churchman smiled slightly, threw off his gown, mounted one of the
horses with calm and quiet grace, and with scarcely a change of
feature, or any other appearance of unusual exertion, displayed his
own superiority in military exercises, and foiled the master of arms
with his own weapons. Ever after that, from time to time, he mingled
in the sports and pastimes of the young men, never losing sight of his
own dignity, but showing sufficient skill, address, and boldness to
make them look up to him in the new course to which their attention
was now directed by the customs of the age.
The Abbe de Boisguerin, however, did not suffer their whole attention
to be occupied by those military exercises, which formed the chief
subject of study with the young nobility of the day. He had caused
them at an earlier period to be instructed deeply in the more elegant
and graceful studies: he had endeavoured to implant in their minds a
fondness for letters, for poetry, for music. Drawing, too, and
painting, then rising into splendour from the darkness which had long
covered it, were pointed out to their attention, as objects of
admiration and interest for every fine and elevated mind; and while no
manly sport or science was omitted, the many moments of unfilled time
that then hung heavy on the hands of other youths in France were by
them filled up with occupations calculated to polish, to expand, and
to dignify their minds.
As far as this had gone, every thing that the Abbe de Boisguerin had
done was calculated to raise him in the esteem of his pupils; and
when, on the death of their father, they found that their preceptor
had been appointed to remain with them till the law placed their
conduct in their own hands, they both rejoiced equally and sincerely.
It may be asked, however, whether, of the two brothers, the Abbe had
himself a favourite, and whether he was better beloved by the one than
by the other? Still wise and cautious in all his proceedings, his
demeanour displayed no great predilection to either. No ordinary eye
could see: they themselves could not detect, by any outward sign, that
one possessed a particle more of his regard than the other, and both
were towards him equally attentive, affectionate, and respectful. But
there was one peculiarity in his method of dealing with them, and in
the effect that it produced upon either, which showed to himself, and
unwittingly showed to one, which was the character best calculated to
assimilate with his own.
It more than once happened, nay, indeed, it often happened, that in
order to induce them to arrive at the same conclusion with himself, or
to lead them to do that which their passions, prejudices, or
weaknesses made them unwilling to do, he would address himself, not
directly to their reason or to their heart, but to their vanity, their
pride, their prejudices: he would politically combat one error with
another: he would not exactly assail what he knew to be wrong, but
would undermine it; and when he had conquered, and they were satisfied
that he was right in the result, he would then point, with a degree of
smiling and good-humoured triumph, to the subtle means which he had
employed to lead them to his purpose.
The elder brother would sometimes be angry at having been so led; but
yet he took a certain pleasure in the skill with which it was done,
and more than once endeavoured to give the Abbe back art for art. He
strove to lead his younger brother by the same means, and more than
once succeeded. The younger, however, on his part, showed no anger at
having been led, if he were fully convinced that the object was right.
He never attempted, however, to practise the same; and as he grew up,
when any act of the kind was particularly remarkable in the Abbe, or
in his brother, it threw him into musings more serious than those
which he usually indulged in. If it diminished his regard for either,
he did not suffer that result to appear; and when he reached the
period at which his mother's estates were given into his own hands, he
eagerly besought the preceptor to remain with them, and insured to him
an income far beyond that which any thing but deep affection and
regard required him to bestow.
The interest of their father had before his death obtained for the
Abbe de Boisguerin the office of a bishopric; but the Abbe had
declined it--perhaps, as many another man has done, with more ambition
than moderation in the refusal--and he had continued to remain with
his pupils, increasing and extending his influence over them, up to
the moment at which we have placed them before the reader. He had
carefully withheld them, however; from mingling in that world of which
they as yet knew little or nothing, and in which his influence was
likely to be lost, looking forward to that period at which the
circumstances of the times should--as he saw they were likely to
do--render the support of the two young noblemen so indispensable to
some one of the great parties then struggling for supreme power, that
they might command any thing which he chose to dictate as the price of
adhesion.
Such was their state at the period which we have chosen for opening
this tale. But there was another point in their state which it may be
necessary to mark. They were not themselves at all aware of their
own characters and dispositions; nor was any one else, except the
clear-sighted and penetrating man who had dwelt so long with them; and
he could only guess, for all the world of passions within the bosoms
of each had as yet slumbered in their youthful idleness, like Samson
in the lap of Delilah; but they were speedily to be roused.
The dress of each requires but little comment, as it was the ordinary
hunting dress of the period, and was only remarkable for a good deal
of ornament, denoting, perhaps, a little taste for finery, which might
be passed over in youth. Of the two, perhaps the younger brother
displayed less gold and embroidery upon his green doublet and riding
coat. His boots, too, made, as usual, of untanned leather, displayed
no gold tassels at the sides; though his moderation in these respects
might be in some degree atoned by the length of the tall single
feather in his riding cap.
Such were the principal persons of the group which rode into the green
alley or glade that we have described in the wood; and the rest,
amounting to some twenty in number, comprised attendants of all sorts
in the glittering and many-coloured apparel of that time.
CHAP. II.
Did all that are hunted in this world--whether the chase be carried on
by care, or villany, or sorrow, by our own passions, or by the
malevolence of our fellow-men--did all that are hunted in this world
obtain as loud and clear an intimation that the pursuit is up and
stirring, as the wild boar which had been tracked to its covert then
had, we might have a better chance than this world generally affords
us of making our escape in time, or, at least, of preparing for
defence.
Much was the noise, great the gingling and the tramp, the whining of
impatient dogs, the chiding of surly foresters, the loud laugh and gay
jest of their masters, in the glen of the wood within three or four
hundred yards of the thicket in which the boar lay sleeping. He woke
not with the sounds, however, or, at all events, he noticed them not,
while the preparations went on for putting his easy life in the brown
forest to a close.
"Well, Gondrin," exclaimed the elder of the two brothers, Gaspar,
Marquis of Montsoreau--"Well, Gondrin, have you made sure of our
beast? is he lodged safely?"
"As safe as an ox in his stall," replied the huntsman, whom we have
seen tracking the steps of the wild boar over the crisp frost-covered
leaves of winter. "He has his lair in the thicket there, my Lord, and,
as near as I can guess, he is but a hundred yards in. If you go round
by the back of the cottage, and station two relays, one on the hill of
Dufay, and the other on the bank of the river by the bridge of
Neufbourg, you will have a glorious chase; for he can take no other
way but down the glen, and then crossing the high road by the river,
must run all the way up the valley, and stand at bay amongst the rocks
at the end."
"Beautifully arranged, Gondrin, beautifully arranged," cried the
younger brother, Charles of Montsoreau, Count of Logeres; but his
elder brother instantly interrupted him, exclaiming, "But have you not
netted the thicket, Gondrin?"
"No, my Lord," replied the huntsman; "Count Charles said the other day
he loved to give the beasts a chance, and lodged as the boar is, you
would miss the run, for then he must turn at bay in the thicket and be
killed immediately."
"It matters not, it matters not," replied Gaspar de Montsoreau. "If
Charles like it, so let it be; and yet I love to see the huge beast
darting from side to side, and floundering in the nets he did not
think of. There is a pleasure in so circumventing him."
"It is not too late yet," said the fine rich musical voice of the Abbe
de Boisguerin. "The nets can be speedily brought, and the thicket
enclosed."
"Oh no," cried both brothers at once: "we have no such patience, you
know, good friend. Send down the relays, Gondrin, and let us begin the
sport at once."
"I will go round to the left of the thicket with my men," continued
the younger brother, "and will keep the hill-side as well as if there
were all the nets in the world. You, Gaspar, keep this side and the
little lane behind the cottage."
"And what shall I do?" demanded the Abbe with a smile. "I must not
show myself backward in your sports, Charles, so I will go with
Gondrin here, and some of the piqueurs, and force the grizzly monarch
of the forest in his hold."
The matter being thus determined, the relays were sent down, and the
parties separated for their several stations, Gondrin saying to his
younger lord as they went round, "If I sound one mot on my horn, sir,
the boar is making his rush towards you; if I sound two, he is taking
towards the Marquis; but if I sound three, be sure that he is going
down the valley, as I said, and must take to the rocks, for he has no
chance any other way but by the ford, which he won't take, unless hard
pressed."
"I will go straight round by the ford and turn him," replied his young
lord. "Then we make sure of him altogether, Gondrin."
Thus saying, he rode quickly on and took his station on the hill,
where an open space gave him room to plant his men around so as to
meet the boar at any point of the ascent, in case the beast turned in
that direction and endeavoured to plunge into the depths of the
forest.
Some time was allowed to elapse, in order to give the relays time to
reach their stations, and then, from the western side of the thicket,
were heard the cries and halloos of the huntsmen, as they themselves
plunged into the wood, and encouraged the dogs to attack the boar in
his lair. For a short space, the hounds themselves were mute; but, in
about five minutes, they seemed to have got upon the boar's scent, who
had moved onward, roused by the cries of the hunters, and a loud long
opening burst announced that they had come upon his track, A minute
afterwards, a single note was heard from the horn of the huntsman, and
the grey form of the boar glanced for a moment past one of the gaps in
the wood where the younger of the brothers had stationed himself; but
the beast plunged in again immediately, and a piercing yell from one
of the dogs seemed to show that he had passed through the midst of the
hounds, taking vengeance upon them as he went for disturbing his
quiet. Shortly after, the horn of Gondrin gave the signal that the
boar was rushing down the valley. Charles of Montsoreau paused to be
quite sure, but the three notes were sounded again after a moment's
silence, and, setting spurs to his horse, he galloped on like
lightning to interrupt the boar, and turn him at the ford. The loud
cries of the dogs in full chase were sufficient to show him that he
was right in the direction he had taken till he issued forth from the
wood, and after that he could see with his own eyes the whole scene of
the boar's flight, and the pursuit through the open country into which
the beast was now driven.
Galloping on with all the eagerness and impetuosity of youth, he made
at once for the ford; now catching wide views of the landscape as he
passed over the side of some open hill, now losing the whole again as
he plunged amidst the leafless vineyards or woods. The country around
was thus hidden from his sight, and he could see nothing but the dull
dry stems of the vines, in a low sloping hollow through which he
passed, or a few mottled patches of darker cloud upon the dull grey
sky overhead--when suddenly his ear caught the sound of distant
fire-arms, and he drew up his horse in no small surprise.
The situation of the country, indeed--the wars that were taking
place in almost every part of France--the general disorganisation
of society, which throughout almost the whole land changed the
peasant into the soldier, either for the purposes of plunder or
self-defence--might be supposed to have rendered such sounds not at
all unfamiliar to his ear; and, in truth, two years before he would
have shown no sign of astonishment to have heard a whole park of
artillery roaring in the direction from which he now heard the sound
of a few scattered shots. Since, then, however, the tide of warfare
had been turned in another direction. In the secluded spot in which he
dwelt, few visits from occasional marauders were to be apprehended:
the peasantry had returned to their labours, and no news of any kind
from the distant provinces had given reason to suppose that the
scourge of civil war was again likely to afflict that part of the
country. Some precautions, indeed, had been necessary to keep down
petty feuds and plundering excursions amongst some of the inferior
gentry and partisans in the neighbourhood; and the two young noblemen
had been called upon to practise some of the most important duties of
their station, in maintaining, as far as possible, peace and
tranquillity around them.
After pausing, then, for a moment, to listen, Charles of Montsoreau,
judging that the sounds he heard proceeded from some new infraction of
the law, rode on, determined, as soon as he had finished the
all-important business of the chase, to investigate the matter more
thoroughly, and to punish the aggressors. All these fine resolutions,
however, were changed in a moment; for almost as soon as they were
formed he emerged from the vineyard through which he had been passing,
entered upon the open side of the hill, and a scene was presented to
his eyes which excited other and somewhat more painful feelings in his
bosom.
Although the point on which he stood was not particularly high, the
view was extensive and uninterrupted by any very near object. The
valley through which the stream wound was about a mile and a half in
breadth, and five or six miles in length; along the whole extent of
which the high road was visible, with the exception of a few hundred
yards here and there, where a rock, or a peasant's house, or a
water-mill by the side of the stream, interrupted the view. At the
distance of somewhat more than half a mile lay the bridge over the
stream, and half way between it and the spot where the young gentleman
stood, appeared one of the large, heavy, wide-topped carriages of the
day, drawn by six horses, and driving along at a furious rate, as if
in full flight. The driver was lashing his horses with furious
eagerness; but ever and anon he turned his head to look behind towards
the bridge, where a scene appeared, which showed his anxiety to
quicken his pace to be not at all unnatural.
Half upon the bridge and half upon the road, on the nearer side of the
stream, appeared a very small body of horsemen, apparently not more
than seven or eight in number, contending fiercely with a larger body,
as if to give time for the persons in the carriage to escape; and from
that spot, rolling up in white wreaths amongst the yellow banks and
cold green wintry slopes of scanty herbage, curled the white smoke,
occasioned by the discharge of fire-arms. At the distance of about a
mile and a half beyond, again, was seen coming up, with headlong
speed, a still larger body of cavalry; and it was evident, that at the
rate with which the latter were advancing, the carriage and its
denizens, if such were the object of their pursuit, would not be very
long before they were overtaken.
It is a pleasant weakness in young and generous minds to seek in all
strifes the defence of the weaker, even when we do not know whether
the cause that we thus espouse be or be not the just one. Charles of
Montsoreau paused but for a moment, and then rode down towards the
carriage as fast as possible, followed by his attendants. The coachman
showed great unwillingness to stop; but he had no power of resisting
the command which he received to do so, and accordingly, as soon as it
was repeated, obeyed. But, at the same moment, the head of an elderly
lady, apparently of some rank, was thrust forth from between the
curtains of the vehicle, uttering various not very coherent sentences,
and displaying in every line and feature indubitable marks of great
fear and trepidation.
Brought up in the habit of chivalrous courtesy, the young nobleman
instantly raised his cap, and bowing low, asked if he could render her
any service. His words were few and simple, but there was great
encouragement in his air; and the lady replied, "Oh! for Heaven's
sake, do not stop us, young gentleman. We have been basely betrayed by
one of our servants into an ambush of the King of Navarre's reiters,
who seek to make us prisoners, and Heaven only knows what may become
of us if they succeed."
"If the reiters be those that are following you," said the young
nobleman, "there is no earthly possibility of your escaping them,
madam, except by taking refuge in the chateau of Montsoreau hard by. I
will give your coachman directions, and then go down and help to
disentangle your attendants, who seem to be contending gallantly with
superior numbers on the bridge."
"A thousand and a thousand thanks, young gentleman," replied the lady.
"But how," she added, with a look of uncertainty, "but how can we tell
that we shall be kindly received at Montsoreau, and shall not,
perhaps, be treated as prisoners there also?"
"By my promise, madam," replied the young gentleman with a smile, "I
am Charles of Montsoreau, the Marquis's brother: will you trust
yourself to my word?"
"Most willingly," she said; and turning to the coachman, the young
gentleman added, "Drive on with all speed till the road divides, then
take the left-hand road up the hill and through the wood; demand
admittance, in my name, at the castle, if I should not have come up in
time. But I shall have overtaken you before then. Now, speed on, and
spare not your beasts, for the way is not long, if you be diligent."
Thus saying, he again bowed low and rode on, and in a very few minutes
had reached the spot where the contention was taking place between the
party of light-armed servants attending upon the carriage and the
heavy armed reiters.
The young nobleman was not unwilling to signalise himself by any deed
of arms that might fall in his way; but on the present occasion no
great opportunity was afforded him, for the numbers he brought to the
assistance of the servants appeared so formidable in the eyes of the
other party who were already engaged in the fray, that they hastened
to draw back for the purpose of waiting in security the arrival of
their comrades; and the only event which took place worth noting was
the action of the commander of the reiters then present, who turned
deliberately as he retreated, and fired his pistol at the head of the
young nobleman with so true an aim as to send the bullet through his
hunting cap, within an inch of his head.
Under any other circumstances, Charles of Montsoreau would not have
failed to repay this sort of courtesy with something of the same kind;
but recollecting the situation of the persons in the carriage, he
showed more cool prudence than might have been expected from his
years; and telling an elderly man, who seemed the principal attendant
present, that the carriage was proceeding as fast as possible to the
shelter of the chateau of Montsoreau, he bade him ride after it with
all speed.
"You, Martin," he said, turning to one of his own followers, "gallop
up to the ford, cross it, seek out the hunt, which I can see no longer
in the field, and tell my brother what has happened, asking him to
hasten back to the castle with all speed. I shall wait here for a
time, to watch the movements of the reiters, and see that they do not
pursue you--so lose no time, but spur on speedily."
The man did as he was bid, and for about five minutes Charles of
Montsoreau kept his position upon the bridge, supported by nothing but
his own attendants. The servant whom he had despatched to his brother
reached the ford and crossed it, without any attempt on the part of
the reiters to interrupt him. He then galloped on in the direction of
the rocks, at full speed; and Charles of Montsoreau having seen him,
as far as he could judge, in safety, turned his horse, and rode after
the carriage and its followers.
In the mean time, while these events were taking place, on one side of
the valley the boar, following the plan that the huntsman Gondrin had
laid out for him, pursued the course of the stream, and though chased
by the dogs in full cry, paused not, and turned not, till at the
water-mill a fierce watch-dog rushed out upon him, and received in
return a wound from one of the beast's sharp tusks, which laid him
dying upon the road. This little incident did not stop the fierce
animal for an instant; but it seemed to confuse him, and made him turn
from the direct course he was pursuing sooner than he otherwise would
have done. He doubled once before the hounds almost like a hare, and
then darting up one of the narrow passes to the right, led hounds and
huntsmen a considerable distance from the spot where the chase first
commenced, before he was finally driven into the valley of rocks, from
which there was no outlet, and where he was, consequently, obliged to
stand at bay.
The way that he took led the main body of the huntsmen, with the young
lord of Montsoreau and the Abbe of Boisguerin, into a track, from
which the other side of the valley was not visible; and their own
eagerness, the cries of the numerous dogs, and the shouts and halloos
of the huntsmen, prevented them from hearing those sounds which had
attracted the attention of Charles of Montsoreau. When the Abbe and
the Marquis arrived, they found the noble boar already brought to bay
by the dogs, and defending himself stoutly against his enemy. Two of
the hounds were already sprawling in their blood beneath his feet, and
the Marquis sprang to the ground to put an end to the strife as soon
as possible.
Nothing extraordinary occurred to mark the event of the chase. The
boar, like one of those unfortunate men that we sometimes see in the
world, upon whom every sort of misfortune falls one after another,
torn by the dogs, assailed by the huntsmen, confused by the clamour,
was soon killed amongst them; and Gaspar, whose hand had performed the
actual deed, executed all the usual offices of the hunter upon that
occasion, and stepping out the boar's length, declared that it was one
of the finest brutes that he had ever slain.
"I wonder where Charles is," he exclaimed, as soon as the whole was
completed. "He must have missed us at the turn by the water-mill."
And thus saying, he gazed down the valley of rocks, through the
opening of which might be seen a part of the other valley, with the
wood from which the boar had been forced, and the grey towers of the
chateau of Montsoreau rising upon the hill beyond. A single horseman
appeared coming up the valley, at the distance of about half a mile;
but as the young marquis gazed in the direction of the castle, his eye
was suddenly attracted by a quick flash which seemed to dart from one
of the embrasures, and almost at the same instant a white cloud of
smoke enveloped the top of the principal tower. After a short
interval, the loud booming report of a cannon made itself heard, and
another, and another flash issued forth from the embrasures on the
side which commanded the road, while the cloud of smoke around the
castle grew deeper and more extensive; and the repeated roar of the
cannon gave notice to the country round that war had returned to
disturb the peace which had reigned in those valleys for the last two
years.
"What is the meaning of this?" exclaimed the Marquis, turning towards
the Abbe--"What can be the meaning of all this?"
"Why, simply," replied the Abbe, "I suppose some unexpected attack
upon the castle, and that your brother Charles has thrown himself into
it, and is firing upon the enemy. But, if I mistake not, this man
coming up at such speed is his piqueur Martin. He rides to us with
news, depend upon it."
The man soon conveyed to them his own tale, and added the information,
that, as far as he could judge from the backward looks that he had
cast as he rode along, the body of reiters who had followed in pursuit
of the carriage amounted at least to the number of two hundred. The
situation of the Marquis and his companions was now in some degree
embarrassing; for their party was far too small to afford a hope of
forcing their way into the chateau at once, if opposed by the superior
force which the man described. Measures were, therefore, immediately
taken, for calling the peasantry around to arms; and such was the
military and enterprising spirit of the day, that you would have
thought from the alacrity with which the pike was grasped, and the
steel-cap put on, that some joyful occasion called the good countrymen
forth from their homes, and not a matter of peril and strife.
In the course of about two hours, more than forty men had collected in
the valley of rocks; and with this small force, Gaspar de Montsoreau
prepared to force his way into the chateau, though the Abbe de
Boisguerin still remonstrated with him on the smallness of the number,
and advised him to wait for further support. As they were discussing
the matter, however, the huntsman Gondrin stepped forward, and, with a
low inclination of the head, addressed his lord.
"I think, sir," he said, "if you would let me guide you, I could bring
you through the wood to the postern under the rock, without these
German vagabonds catching the least sight of your march; and at that
postern, you know, defended by the guns of the chateau, you could defy
the whole world till the postern is opened."
"How do you propose to do it, Gondrin?" demanded the Abbe, scarcely
giving the young lord time to reply.
"Why, I mean," replied the man, "to go round under the hill to the
road between the deep banks, which would cover a whole troop of men at
arms, much less a small body, such as we have here. That leads us
straight into the wood behind my house; and then there is the path
which I always follow myself in coming up to the chateau. It never
leaves the covert of the wood till it reaches the postern, or at least
the little green that opens before it."
"Oh, Gondrin is right, Gondrin is right," exclaimed the young marquis.
"He is always sure of his way. Lead on, Gondrin: keep about twenty
yards in front, and we will follow as orderly as we can. But some one
bring along the boar! we must not leave the boar behind!"