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/henryofguiseorst03jame
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
HENRY OF GUISE;
OR,
THE STATES OF BLOIS.
VOL. III.
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. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1839.
HENRY OF GUISE;
OR,
THE STATES OF BLOIS.
CHAPTER I.
The convent of the Black Penitents was a very different building
indeed, and a very different establishment altogether from that which
the imagination of the reader may have raised up from the images
furnished by dark and mysterious tales of Italian superstition. It was
certainly intended to be, and was, in some degree, a place of
voluntary penitence for women who conceived that they had led a
peculiarly sinful life: but there were two classes of nuns confined
there by their own good will,--one of which consisted of persons who
had mingled long with the world, and really led an irregular life
therein; while the other comprised a number of young women of high
rank, who had never known any thing, either of the pleasures or the
vices which the others now fled from, but who, either by a natural
feeling of devotion, or the urgency of relations, had devoted
themselves at an early period to the cloister.
In point of diet, fasts, prayers, and penances the order was certainly
very strict; but the building in itself was any thing but a gloomy
one, and a considerable portion of it, attached to the dwelling of the
superior, was set apart for the occasional boarders, who took up their
abode there, or for such ladies of high rank and station as might wish
to absent themselves for a time from the cares and vanities of the
world, and retire to a more intimate communion with God and their own
heart, than they could enjoy in such a capital as that of France.
Such was the original intention of these apartments, and the
destination of the institution altogether; but we well know how every
thing entrusted to human management here is corrupted in process of
time. The rooms which at first had been furnished simply, were soon
decked with every sort of ornament; the visiter's table, as it was
called, was separated from the ordinary board of the refectory; cooks
and wine-growers did their best to gratify the palate; and, with the
exception of the vowed nuns, those who sought shelter in the convent
of the Black Penitents were condemned to but little abstinence, and
knew only this difference from the world in general, that they had an
opportunity of escaping obtrusive society when they thought fit.
It was in one then of the handsomest apartments of the building--to
speak truth, one far handsomer than that occupied by the Queen-mother
herself--that Marie de Clairvaut made her abode during the time she
was confined in that building. No great restraint, indeed, was put
upon her; but the word confinement was justified by the measures taken
to prevent her quitting the convent, or holding communication with any
one but the nuns themselves.
To this apartment the Prioress led her back again, after putting an
end to her interview with Charles of Montsoreau, and though the good
lady herself was by no means entirely weaned from the affections of
this world, she thought it but befitting to read Mademoiselle de
Clairvaut a brief lecture on the necessity of attaching herself to
higher objects, and an exhortation to abandon earthly attachments, and
dedicate herself to the service of Heaven. She hinted, indeed, that
there could not be an order more worthy of entering into than the one
of which she was an unworthy member; nor, indeed, one in which so many
of the little pleasures of life could be combined with deep devotion.
Marie de Clairvaut was, at that moment, far more inclined to weep than
smile; but it was scarcely possible not to feel amused at the
exhortation of the Prioress; and certainly the greater degree of
knowledge which the young lady had lately acquired of conventual life
would have banished from her mind all desire to take those irrevocable
vows which she had once looked forward to with pleasure, even if love
had not long before driven all such purposes from her mind.
Glad to be freed from importunity, and left to her own thoughts, she
replied nothing to the good mother's words; and, as soon as she was
gone, gave up her whole mind to the recollection of the interview
which she had just had with him she loved. To her, too, that interview
was a source of deep gratification; every memory of it was dear to
her; every word that Charles of Montsoreau had spoken came back to her
heart like the voice of hope, and giving way to the suggestions of
that bright enchantress, she flattered herself with the expectation of
seeing him again and again, even if the presence of the Duke of Guise
in Paris failed to restore them both to liberty.
Previously to that period, she had been accustomed to see the Queen
almost every day, and indeed more than once during the day; but,
during the whole of that evening she saw her not again, and though she
eagerly asked the next morning to be admitted to the presence of
Catherine de Medici, the only answer that she obtained was, that
though the Princess was expected again in the evening, she had not yet
returned from the palace.
The second day passed as the first had done, but during the morning of
the third the excitement of the city had communicated itself even to
the inmates of the convent. The portress, the lay sisters, the
visiters, obtained the news of the hour from those without, and
communicated it to the nuns within. Nor did two of those nuns, who had
entered into some degree of intimacy with the fair prisoner, fail to
bring her, every half-hour, intelligence of what was passing without.
The first news brought was that the guards in the streets of Paris had
been all changed and doubled during the preceding night, and that the
Holy League and the Court were in continual agitation, watching each
other's movements. One of the nuns whispered that people said, it had
been proposed by the Duke of Epernon, to murder the Duke of Guise at
the very door of that convent, as he came to visit the Queen-mother;
and others declared, she added, that the Duke had vowed he would not
rest till he had taken the crown off Henry's head, and put it on that
of the Cardinal de Bourbon.
Then came intelligence that a large body of the Swiss guards had just
entered Paris, and were seen marching rapidly down the Rue St. Honore,
with their fifes silent, and their drums still. Hourly after that came
the news of fresh troops entering the city, and fresh rumours of
manifold designs and purposes against the life of the Duke of Guise.
His house was to be attacked by the French and Swiss guards, and his
head to be struck off in the Place de Greve: he was to be shot by an
assassin, placed at one of the windows of an opposite house, the first
time he came out; and some said that Villequier had found means to
bribe Lanecque, his cook, to poison him that night at supper, as well
as all who were with him.
The various scenes, and the dangers and difficulties which she had
lately encountered, had given Marie de Clairvaut a far greater
knowledge of the world, and of how the important events of the world
take place, than was possessed by any of her companions; and she
assuredly did not believe a thousandth part of all the different
rumours that reached her. The reiteration of those rumours, however,
gave her some apprehensions for her great relation; and when towards
the evening she was visited by the Prioress, and found that, beyond
all doubt, every gate of the city, except the porte St. Honore, was
closed, her fears became much greater, seeing plainly that it was the
design of the Court to hem the Duke in, within the walls of Paris,
deprived, as they believed him to be, of all assistance from his
friends without.
The night passed over, however, in tranquillity; and when, at an early
hour, the young lady rose, she was informed, as she had expected, that
a great part of the rumours of the preceding day were false or
exaggerated. No Swiss, it was now said, had arrived, except a very
small body; the Duke of Guise had been seen on horseback with the
King; and the mind of Marie de Clairvaut became reassured in regard to
her uncle. The Prioress herself--though somewhat given to fear, and
like many other persons, absolutely enjoying a little apprehension in
default of other excitement--acknowledged that all seemed likely to go
well.
But this state of security was soon changed. The report regarding the
arrival of the Swiss had only forerun the event by a few hours, for
the sound of drums and trumpets heard from the side of the Cemetery of
the Innocents towards seven o'clock in the morning, announced to the
Parisians that a large body of troops had been introduced in the
night, without the city in general knowing it; and in a few minutes
after the movements of these forces evidently showed that some grand
stroke was to be struck by the Court against its enemies. The Place de
Greve was next occupied by a considerable force of mixed Swiss and
French guards, favoured in their entrance by the Prevot des Marchands,
and led by the notorious Marquis d'O. Various other points, such as
bridges and market-places, were seized upon by the troops; and the
greatest activity seemed to reign in the royal party, while that of
the Duke of Guise and the League, remained perfectly still and
inactive, as if thunderstruck at this sudden display of energy.
News of all these proceedings reached Marie de Clairvaut in the
convent, accompanied with such circumstances of confirmation, that she
could not doubt that the intelligence was partly true. But for a short
time after the troops were posted, every thing seemed to relapse into
tranquillity, except that from time to time reports were brought to
the convent parlour, of citizens, and especially women, being treated
with great insolence and grossness by the soldiery. Crillon himself
was heard to swear that any citizen who came abroad with a sword
should be hung to his door-post, while worse was threatened to the
wives and daughters of the burghers, if the slightest resistance was
made to the troops. The portress brought news that all the houses and
shops in the Rue St. Denis and the Rue St. Honore were closed; and the
Prioress herself thought it was high time to cause the convent gates
to be shut and barred, and even that door which led into what was
called the rector's court, and which usually stood open, to be closed
and fastened with large chains.
At length tidings were brought that the first open resistance of the
people had commenced; that blood had been shed; and it was rumoured
that Crillon himself, attempting to take possession of the Place
Maubert with two companies of Swiss and one of French guards, had been
opposed by the scholars of the University and the citizen guard, and
forced to retreat without effecting his object.
The terror of the Prioress was now extreme; the sound of horses
galloping here and there with the most vehement speed, could be heard
even in the parlour of the convent, and towards nine o'clock the roll
of distant musketry borne by the wind completed the terror of the poor
nuns.
It was evident now to Marie de Clairvaut that a struggle had commenced
between the Monarch and the people of the capital, on which depended
the safety, perhaps the life, of the Duke of Guise, and, in a great
degree, her own fate and happiness. In that struggle she could take no
part; and, situated as she was, she could gain no relief even from
hearing any exact account of how it proceeded from time to time.
The fears of the good superior of the convent had driven her by this
time to the resource of prayer. All the nuns were ordered to assemble
in the chapel; and Marie de Clairvaut, feeling that none at that
moment had greater need of heavenly protection than herself, prepared
to follow, after listening for a few minutes, alone in her chamber, to
the distant roll of musketry which still went on; when suddenly the
Prioress returned in great haste with a paper in her hand, and
apparently in much agitation and alarm.
"There, there," she said, thrusting the paper into Marie de
Clairvaut's hands, "that is from the Queen! Do what you like! Act as
you like! I would not go out for the whole world, for just through the
grating I have seen a Swiss officer carried by, all dropping with
blood as they bore him along the streets. I will go to prayers; I will
go to prayers!"
The note from the Queen-mother was very brief.
"You know, mademoiselle," it said, "that you have not been kept where
you are by my orders. I would fain have set you free two nights ago by
any means in my power, if meddling fools on the one side, and cowardly
fools on the other, had not frustrated my plan. I have now taken the
responsibility upon myself of ordering the gates to be opened to you.
The man who brings you this is brave and to be trusted; and what I
have to entreat of you is, if I have shown you any kindness, to go
with all speed to the hotel of my good cousin of Guise, and beseech
him to do his best to allay the tumult, so far, at least, that I
myself may come to him with safety. The scenes that you will meet with
may be terrible, but you have that blood in your veins which does not
easily shrink from the aspect of danger."
Marie de Clairvaut might be more timid than Catherine de Medici
believed; but, when she thought of freedom, and of being delivered
from the power of those whom she detested, to dwell once more with
those she loved, she felt that scarcely any scene would be so terrible
as to deter her from seeking such a result. She remarked, however,
that the Queen did not once mention the name of Charles of Montsoreau,
or allude to his fate. "What," she asked herself, "is he still to be
kept a prisoner, while I am set at liberty? If so, liberty is scarcely
worth having."
She paused, and thought for a moment, and then the hope crossed her
mind of setting him at liberty herself.
"Surely," she said, "I could trace my way back to his apartments. I
remember every turning well; and then, by bringing him through here,
in the confusion and terror that now reign in the convent, I could
easily give him his liberty too."
The more she thought of it, the more feasible the scheme seemed to be;
and catching up an ordinary veil to throw over her head, she ran down
into the apartments of the Queen, which she found, as she expected,
quite vacant. She had no difficulty in discovering the corridor that
led towards the rector's court. At the end there was a door which was
locked, but the key was in it, and she passed through. Another short
passage led her to the room where she had waited for the Queen, and
where she had listened to Charles of Montsoreau singing; and then with
a beating and an anxious heart she hurried on rapidly to the chamber
where she had seen him last.
All the bolts were shot, showing her that he was still there; but
exactly opposite was an open door at the top of a small staircase,
which seemed to lead to a waiting-room below, for she could distinctly
hear the tones and words of two men of the lower class talking over
the events that were taking place without.
Gently closing the door at the top of the stairs, Marie de Clairvaut
locked and bolted it as quietly and noiselessly as possible. Her heart
beat so violently, however, with agitation, that she could scarcely
hear any thing but its pulsation, though she listened breathlessly to
ascertain if the slight noise of the lock had not attracted attention.
All was still, however, and she gently undid the fastenings of the
opposite door.
Charles of Montsoreau was seated at the table, and lifted his eyes as
she entered with a sad and despairing look, expecting to see no one
but the attendant. Marie was in his arms in a moment, however, and
holding up her finger to enjoin silence, she whispered, "Not a word,
Charles; but come with me, and we shall be safe! Every one is in the
chapel at prayers; orders are given for my liberation; and in five
minutes we may be at the Hotel de Guise."
"What are all those sounds," demanded her lover in the same tone,
"those sounds which I have heard in the streets? I thought I heard the
discharge of firearms."
"I fear," she answered, "that it is my uncle's party at blows with
that of the King. I know but little myself, however; only that we may
make our escape if we will. I will lead you, Charles; I will lead you
this time."
"Alas!" said Charles of Montsoreau as he followed her rapidly, "they
have taken my sword from me;" but Marie ran on with a step of light,
taking care however to lock the doors behind them as she passed to
prevent pursuit.
As she had never been in the courtyard since the day of her first
arrival, she met with some difficulty in finding her way thither from
the Queen's apartments: haste and agitation indeed impeding her more
than any real difficulty in the way. At length, however, it was
reached, and was found vacant of every one but the old portress, who
stood gazing through a small iron grating at what was passing without.
"Open the door, my good sister," said Marie de Clairvaut touching her
arm. "Of course the Prioress has given orders for you to let me pass."
"Yes, to let you pass, my sister," replied the portress, "for I
suppose you are the young lady she meant; but not to let any body else
pass." And she ran her eye over the figure of Charles of Montsoreau.
"Why, surely," replied Marie de Clairvaut, "you would not stop the
gentleman who is going to protect me through the streets."
"Why, I do not know," replied the portress, still sturdily setting her
face against their passage; "there was another person waiting on the
outside to show you the way, till just a minute ago. Where he's gone,
I don't know, but he seemed the fitter person of the two, for he was
an ecclesiastic. I have heard, too, of some one being confined up
above, by Monsieur Villequier's orders, and as the rector's court
belongs to him, they say I must take care what I am about; so I'll
just ring the bell and inquire."
"I will save you the trouble of doing that, my good lady," replied
Charles of Montsoreau; and stepping quietly forward, he put her gently
but powerfully back with his left hand, while with his right he turned
the key in the great lock of the wicket, and threw it open. The
portress made a movement of her hand to the bell; but then thinking
better of it, did not ring; and Marie and her lover, without further
opposition, passed at once into the streets of Paris.
There were very few people in the Rue St. Denis, but on looking up and
down on either side, there were seen a party of horsemen, apparently
halted, at the farther end of the street, on the side nearest to the
country, and a number of persons farther down, passing and repassing
along one of the cross streets. Some way farther up, between the
fugitives and the party of horsemen we have mentioned, were two
figures, one of which was evidently dressed in the robes of an
ecclesiastic, and both gazing down towards the convent, as if watching
for the appearance of some one.
The moment the young Count and Marie de Clairvaut appeared, the two
figures walked on rapidly in a different direction, and were lost
immediately to their sight by turning down another street. There was
nothing apparent that could alarm the fugitives in any degree, and
though distant shouts and cries were borne upon the air, yet the sound
of musketry had ceased, which gave greater courage to Marie de
Clairvaut. She needed indeed some mitigation of her apprehensions, for
the success which she met with in rescuing her lover had been far from
increasing her courage in the same proportion that it had been
diminished by the very agitation she had gone through. Drawing the
thick veil over her face, and as far as possible over her person, she
clung to Charles's arm, and hurried on with him, directing him as far
as her recollection of the city of Paris would serve. It was long,
however, since she had seen it; and although the general direction
which she took was certainly right, yet many a turning did she
unnecessarily take by the way.
Still, however, they hurried on, till turning suddenly into one of the
small streets which led round into the Rue St. Honore itself, the
scene of fierce contention which was going on in the capital was
displayed to their eyes in a moment.
Across the street, within fifty yards of the turning, was drawn an
immense chain from post to post, and behind it was rolled an immense
number of barrels filled with sand and stones, and rendered fixed and
immovable, against the efforts of any party in front at least, by
carts taken off the wheels, barrows, and paving-stones. Behind this
barrier again appeared an immense multitude of men armed with various
sorts of weapons snatched up in haste. The front row, indeed, was well
furnished with arquebuses, while pistols, swords, daggers, and pikes
gleamed in abundance behind. Several of the persons in front were
completely armed in the defensive armour of the time; and in a small
aperture which had been left at the corner between the barricade and
the houses, sufficient only for two people to pass abreast when the
chain was lowered, an officer was seen in command, with a page behind
carrying his plumed casque.
The lower windows of all the houses throughout Paris were closed, and
the manifold signs, awnings, and spouts, as well as the penthouses
which were sometimes placed to keep off the rain and wind from some of
the principal mansions, had all been suddenly removed, in order that
any bodies of soldiery moving through the streets might be exposed,
without a place of shelter, to the aim of the persons above, who might
be seen at every window glaring down at the scene below. There too
were beheld musketoons, arquebuses, and every other sort of implement
of destruction; and where these had not been found, immense piles of
paving-stones had been carried up to cast down upon the objects of
popular enmity.
Between the two fugitives and the barricade were drawn up two
companies of Swiss and one of French infantry; and though standing in
orderly array, and displaying strongly the effects of good military
discipline, yet there was a certain degree of paleness over the
countenances of the men, and a look of hesitation and uncertainty
about their officers, which showed that they felt not a little the
dangerous position in which they were placed. No shots were fired on
either side however, and the only movement was amongst the people, who
were seen talking together, with their leaders stirring amongst them,
while from time to time those who were below shouted up to those in
the windows above.
Without the slightest apparent fear of the soldiers, who were thus
held at bay, two or three people from time to time separated
themselves from the populace, and coming out under or over the chain,
passed completely round the guards to the opposite corner of the
street, and appeared to be laying a plan for forming another barricade
in that quarter, so as completely to inclose the soldiery.
At the sight of all these objects Marie de Clairvaut naturally clung
closer to the arm of her lover, and both paused for a moment in order
to judge what was best to do. An instant's consideration however
sufficed, and Charles of Montsoreau led her on to that part of the
barricade where the chain was the only obstacle to their further
progress, passing as he did so along the whole face of the French and
Swiss soldiers, not one of whom moved or uttered a word to stop them
as they proceeded. At the chain, however, they met with a more serious
obstacle. The officer whom they had seen in command at that point
had now turned away, and was speaking to some people behind, and a
rough-looking citizen, armed with a steel cap and breastplate, dropped
the point of his spear to the young Count's breast saying, "Give the
word, or you do not pass!"
"I do not know the word," replied Charles of Montsoreau. "But I pray
you let me pass, for I am one of the friends and officers of the Duke
of Guise."
"If you were you would know the word," replied the man. "Keep back, or
I will run the pike into you."
"I could not know the word," answered the young Count, "if I had been
long absent from the Duke, as I have been, and were hastening to join
him, as I now am."
"Keep back, I say," cried the man who was no way fond of argument.
"You will repent if you do not keep back."
Charles of Montsoreau was about to call to the officer he saw before
him, but at that moment the other walked on amidst the people, and was
seen no more.
"Let us try another street," cried Marie de Clairvaut; "let us try
another street, Charles." And following this suggestion they hurried
back, and took another street farther to the left.
They now found themselves in a new scene; no soldiers were there, but
dense masses of people were beheld in every direction, and barricades
formed or forming at every quarter. Where they were not complete the
lady and her lover passed without difficulty, and almost without
notice. One of the young citizens, indeed, as he helped her over a
large pile of stones, remarked that her small feet ran no risk of
knocking down the barricade; and an old man who was rolling up a tun
to fill a vacant space, paused to let her pass, and gazing with a sort
of fatherly look upon her and her lover, exclaimed, "Get ye gone home,
pretty one; get ye gone home. Take her home quick, young gentleman;
this is no place for such as she is."
These were all the words that were addressed to them till they again
reached another barrier; but there again the word was demanded with as
much dogged sullenness as ever, and the young Count, now resolved to
force his way by some means, determined rather to be taken prisoner by
the people and to demand to be carried to the Hotel de Guise, than be
driven from barrier to barrier any longer. He remembered, however, the
degree of civility which had been shown to him by Chapelle Marteau
some time before, and he demanded of the man who opposed him at the
chain if either that personage or Bussi le Clerc were there. The man
replied in the negative, but seemed somewhat shaken in his purpose of
excluding him, by his demand for persons so well known and so popular.
At that moment, however, Charles of Montsoreau caught the sight of a
high plume passing amongst the people at some distance, and the
momentary glance of a face that he recollected.
"There is Monsieur de Bois-dauphin," he cried; "in the name of Heaven
call him up here, that he may put an end to all this tedious
opposition." The man did not seem to know of whom it was he spoke, but
pointing forward with his hand, the young Count exclaimed, "That
gentleman with the plume! that gentleman with the tall red plume!"
The word was passed on in a moment, and the officer approached the
barrier, when Charles of Montsoreau instantly addressed him by the
name of Bois-dauphin, begging him to give them admittance within the
barricade, and then adding in a low voice, that he had with him the
Duke's ward, Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, who had just made her escape
from the enemies of the House of Guise, and was so terrified that she
could scarcely support herself any longer.
"You mistake, sir," replied the officer; "I am not Bois-dauphin, but
Chamois: but I remember your face well at Soissons; the Count of
Logeres, if I am right."
The Count gave a sign of affirmation, while Marie de Clairvaut looked
up in his face with an expression of joy and relief, and the officer
immediately added, "Down with the chain directly, my good friends. You
are keeping out the Duke's best friends and relations."
The men round the chain hastened eagerly to obey, but some difficulty
was experienced in removing the chain, as the barrels--or barriques,
as they are called in France, and from which the barriers called
barricades took their name--pressed heavily upon it, and prevented it
from being unhooked.
Charles of Montsoreau was just about to pass under with his fair
charge as the most expeditious way, when there came a loud cry from
the end of the same street by which they had themselves come thither,
of "The Queen! the Queen! Long live the good Queen Catherine!" And
rolling forward with a number of unarmed attendants came one of the
huge gilded coaches of the time, passing at great risk to itself and
all that it contained, through or over the yet incomplete barriers
farther up in the street.
At the barricade where Charles of Montsoreau now was, however, the six
horses by which the vehicle was drawn were brought to a sudden stop,
and notwithstanding her popularity, which, at this time, was not
small, the citizens positively refused to remove the barricade,
although the Queen entreated them in the tone of a suppliant, and
assured them that she was going direct to the Hotel de Guise. Some
returned nothing but a sullen answer, some assured her it was
impossible, and would take hours to accomplish; and Monsieur de
Chamois, who apparently did not choose to be seen actually aiding or
directing the people in the formation of the barricades, retreated
amongst the multitude, and left them to act for themselves.
At that moment the eye of Catherine de Medici fell upon Charles of
Montsoreau, and she beckoned him eagerly towards her.
"You are here, of course," she said, "upon the part of the Duke."
"Not so indeed, madam," he replied; "I have but this moment made my
escape from that place where I have been so long and so unjustly
detained."
"Your escape!" she exclaimed in a tone that could not be affected.
"Villequier has betrayed me. He promised you should be set at liberty
yesterday morning. And you too, Marie," she said looking at the young
Count's fair companion. "You surely received the order for your
liberation that I sent."
"Safely, madam," replied Marie de Clairvaut, "and thank your Majesty
deeply. But they have refused to let us pass at several barriers,
otherwise I should certainly have executed your Majesty's commands."
"This is most unfortunate," said the Queen. But pray. Monsieur de
Logeres, exert your influence with these people as far as possible.
The welfare, perhaps the very salvation of the state, depends upon my
speaking with the Duke of Guise directly."
"I will do my best, madam," replied the young Count; "but I fear I
shall not be able to do much. I will leave her under your protection,
madam, and see."
The Queen made him place Marie de Clairvaut in the carriage beside
her: and having done this, he turned to the barrier and spoke to those
who surrounded that point where the chain had been lowered to let him
pass, with far more effect than he had anticipated. To remove the
barricade, the people said, was utterly impossible; but if her Majesty
would descend and betake herself to her chair which was seen carried
by her domestics behind her, they would do what they could to make the
aperture large enough for her to pass.
With this suggestion Catherine de Medici, who had no personal fears,
complied at once, and seated herself in the rich gilt-covered chair
which followed her. She was about to draw the curtains round her and
bid the bearers proceed, but her eye fell upon Marie de Clairvaut; and
after a moment's hesitation between compassion and queenly state, she
said, "Poor child, thou art evidently like to drop: come in here with
me; there is room enough for thee also, and the Queen is old enough
not to mind her garments being ruffled. Quick, quick," she added,
seeing Marie hesitate; and without further words the fair girl took
her place by the Queen.
Although the chairs of those times were very different in point of
size from those which we see (and now alas! rarely see) in our own,
yet Mademoiselle de Clairvaut felt that she pressed somewhat
unceremoniously on her royal companion; but Catherine de Medici, now
that the act was done, smiled kindly upon her, and told her not to
mind; and the bearers taking up the chair carried it on, while the
populace rolled away one of the tuns to permit its passing through the
barricade. The Queen's train of attendants pressed closely round the
chair, and Charles of Montsoreau followed amongst them as near as he
could to the vehicle, the people shouting as they went, "Long live the
Queen! Long live the good Queen Catherine!"
At all the barriers a way was made for her to pass, but still the
multitudes in the streets were so thick, and the obstacles so many,
that nearly three quarters of an hour passed, and the Hotel de Guise
was still at some distance.
At length Catherine de Medici drew back the curtains of gilt leather,
and beckoned the young Count to approach, saying, as soon as he was
near, "Pray, Monsieur de Logeres, go on as fast as possible, and let
the Duke know that I am coming. I fear that with all these delays he
may have gone forth ere I reach his hotel. And hark. Monsieur de
Logeres," she continued, "if out of pure good will I once afforded you
one hour of happiness that you did not expect, remember it now; and
should chance serve, speak a word to the Duke in favour of my
purposes. You understand? Quick--go on!"
Charles of Montsoreau hastened on at the Queen's bidding, and having
now heard the pass-word often repeated amongst the citizens, met with
no opposition in making his way to the Hotel de Guise. The only
difficulty that he encountered was in the neighbourhood of the mansion
itself, for the street was so thickly crowded with people and with
horses, that it was scarcely possible to approach the gates. Every
thing was hurry and confusion too, and the dense mass of people
collected in that spot was not like an ordinary crowd, either fixed to
one place around the object of their attention, or moving in one
direction in pursuit of a general object; but, on the contrary, it was
struggling and agitated, by numbers of persons forcing their way
through in every different direction, so that it was with the greatest
possible labour and loss of time that any one advanced at all. The
great bulk of those present were armed, and amidst corslets, and
swords, and brassards, heavy boots and long spurs, Charles of
Montsoreau, totally unarmed as he was, found the greatest possible
difficulty in forcing his way, although, probably, in point of mere
personal strength he was more than equal to any one there present.
Long ere he could reach the gate of the hotel, there was a loud cry
of, "The Queen! the Queen! long live Queen Catherine!" And the crowd
rolling back, as if by common consent, swept him away far from the
spot which he had gained, and nearly crushed him by the pressure. At
some distance he caught a sight of the Queen's chair, but it stopped
at the edge of the crowd, and the movements that he saw in that part
of the mass made him believe that Catherine was descending from the
vehicle, intending to proceed on foot.
He doubted not that the Queen's attendants, who were very numerous,
would keep off the multitude; and even the rolling back of the people
upon himself evinced that they were inclined to show her every
respect. But still feeling that all he loved on earth was there, he
naturally strove to see over the heads of the people. It was in vain
that he did so, however, for between him and the line along which the
Queen was passing was a sea of waving plumes of every height and
colour, and all that he could discover was, how far she had proceeded
on her way to the gates, by the rush of the people closing up behind
her as soon as she had passed.
Just as she was entering the mansion a considerable degree of
confusion was created in the crowd by one of the horses, held not far
from the place where Charles of Montsoreau stood, either frightened by
the noise, or pressed upon by the people, beginning to kick violently.
The man whom he first struck was luckily well covered with defensive
armour; but he was knocked down notwithstanding, and all the rest
rushed back, pressing upon the others behind them in confusion and
dismay.
Charles of Montsoreau, however, took advantage of the opportunity to
make his way forward; but just as he was so doing he was encountered
by the Marquis de Brissac hurrying eagerly forward through the crowd.
He was dressed in his ordinary clothes, and armed with nothing but his
sword; but there was fire and eagerness in his eyes, and he seized the
young Count by the hand, exclaiming, "I am delighted to have found
you, Logeres. I wanted a man of action and of a good head. Come with
me! come with me quick! or we shall have more mischief done than is at
all needful. They have begun firing again! There!--Don't you hear?"
"I hear now," replied the Count, "but I did not pay attention to it
before. I would come with you willingly. Monsieur de Brissac, but I
wish to see the Duke. He does not know yet that I am at liberty:
neither have I a sword."
"The Duke cannot see you now," cried Brissac, still holding the Count
by the arm. "The Queen and her people are with him. I will get you a
sword. Come with me, come with me. Here, fellow, give the Count your
sword." And taking hold of the baldric of one of the men near, he made
him unbuckle it, and threw it over the Count's shoulders.
For Brissac, who was well known to almost every body there, the people
now made way at least in some degree; and followed by the young Count
he hurried on, till they both could breathe somewhat more at liberty.
In the mean time the sound of the musketry was heard increasing every
moment, and Brissac after listening for a moment exclaimed, "It comes
from the Marche Neuf. By Heavens! Logeres, we must put a stop to this,
or they will take up the same music all over the town, and we shall
have those poor devils of Swiss slaughtered to a man. Who is that
firing at the Marche Neuf?" he demanded at the first barrier they
reached.
"Our people," replied the captain of the quarter, "are firing upon the
soldiers in the market-place I hear."
"Quick, Arnault; quick!" cried Brissac. "Get the keys of the
slaughter-house and bring them after me with all speed! Come on,
Logeres, come on!" he continued, unable to refrain from a joke even in
the exciting and terrible scene that was going on. "The King will
find, I am afraid, that he has brought these _pigs_ to a bad _market_,
as the good ladies of the halle say. We must save as many of them from
being butchered as we can, however." And running on, followed by two
or three persons from the different barriers that they passed, they
soon reached the corner of the Marche Neuf, where an extraordinary and
terrible scene was exposed to their eyes.
The market, which was somewhat raised above a low street that passed
by its side, was a large open space, having at that time neither
booths nor penthouses to cover the viands, usually there exposed, from
the sun: each vendor that thought fit spreading out his own little
canvass tent over his goods when he brought them. On the side by which
Brissac and Charles of Montsoreau approached, there was a low wall,
not a yard high, separating the market from the street which passed by
the side, with some steps up to the former, as well as two or three
open spaces to give ingress; and on the other side was a long low
range of covered slaughter-houses, with tall buildings overtopping
them beyond.
In the midst of this open space, cooped in by barricades on every
side, and surrounded by tall houses with innumerable windows, was a
body of about eight hundred Swiss. They were standing firm in the
midst of the place, forming a three-sided front, with their right and
left resting on the slaughter-houses; and while their front rank
poured a strong and well-directed but ineffectual fire upon the two
barricades opposite, the second rank endeavoured to pick off their
assailants at the different windows.
In the meanwhile, however, from those windows and barricades was
poured in upon the unhappy Swiss a tremendous fire, almost every shot
of which told. The people at the barriers rose, fired, and then bent
down again behind their defences, while the men at the windows kept up
a still more formidable, but more irregular discharge, sometimes
firing almost altogether, as if by common consent, sometimes picking
off, here and there, any of their enemies they might fix upon; so that
at one moment, the whole sweeping lines of the tall houses were in one
blaze of fire and cloud of smoke; and the next, the flashes would drop
from window to window, over each face of the square, like some
artificial firework.
Such was the scene of confusion and destruction which burst upon the
eyes of Brissac and Charles of Montsoreau when they entered the square
of the Marche Neuf. The fire of the barrier which they passed was
instantly stopped, but in other places it was still going on and
Brissac, without the slightest hesitation, jumped at once upon the low
wall we have mentioned, and waved his hat in the air, shouting loudly
to cease firing. Some cessation instantly took place, but still not
altogether; and Charles of Montsoreau, rapidly crossing the
marketplace to command the men at the opposite barricade to stop, was
slightly wounded in the arm by a ball from one of the windows.
It luckily happened that the baldric which had been procured for him
by Brissac bore the colours of the League and the cross of Lorraine
embroidered on the front; and the defenders of the barrier stopped
instantly at his command. When that was accomplished, he turned to
rejoin Brissac, and as he went, called to the people at the lower
windows of the houses to stop firing in the name of the Duke of Guise,
and to pass the same order up to those above them. The Swiss had
ceased immediately, very glad of any truce to an encounter in which
fifty or sixty of their number had already fallen, while many more
were seriously wounded.
The keys which Brissac had sent for had by this time arrived; and,
accompanied by the young Count, he advanced, hat in hand, to the
officer in command of the Swiss, who met him half way with a sad but
calm and determined countenance.
"You see, sir," said Brissac, "that it is perfectly impossible for you
to contend against the force opposed to you."
"Perfectly," replied the officer; "every street is a fortress, every
house a redoubt. But we never intended to contend, and indeed had
received orders to retire, but could not do so on account of the
barricades, when suddenly some shot was fired from behind those
buildings; and whether it was a signal to commence the massacre, or
whether the people thought that we had fired, I know not, but they
instantly began to attack us; and here are more than sixty of my poor
fellows butchered without cause."
"There is only one plan to be pursued, sir," replied Brissac, "in
order to save you. You must instantly lay down your arms."
"Were the people opposed to me soldiers, sir," replied the officer, "I
would do so at a word; but the people seem in a state of madness, and
the moment we are disarmed they might fall upon us all, and butcher us
in cold blood--yourself and all, for aught I know."
"I have provided against that, sir," replied Brissac. "Here are the
keys of those buildings, which will shelter you from all attack, I
must not put in your hands a fortress against the citizens of Paris;
so that while you retain your weapons you cannot enter; but the moment
you lay down your arms, I will give you that shelter, and pledge my
word for your protection."
The joy which spread over the officer's countenance at this offer
plainly showed, what neither word nor look had done before, how deeply
he had felt the terrible situation in which he was placed.
"It shall be done this instant," he said; and returning to his men,
while Brissac unlocked the gates, he made them pile their arms in the
market-place, amidst a deafening shout from the people on all sides.
The Swiss then marched, rank by rank, into the place of shelter thus
afforded them; and Brissac, bowing low to the commander, who entered
the last, said with a smile, which the other returned but faintly, "In
name, my dear sir, the exchange you are just making is not an
agreeable one; but I am sure you will find that this slaughterhouse is
rather a more comfortable position than the one from which I have just
delivered you."
The Marquis then caused a guard of the citizens to be placed over the
arms of the Swiss; and turning to Charles of Montsoreau, he said,
"Come, let us quick to the new bridge. The King used to say of me,
Monsieur de Logeres, that I was good for nothing, either on the sea or
on the land. I think he will find to-day that I am good for something
on the pavement."
Thus saying he led the way back through the barrier; and Charles of
Montsoreau, having more leisure now than before to observe the
countenances and demeanour of the different people around, could not
help thinking that older and more skilful soldiers than the citizens
of Paris could boast were busy in directing the operations of the
populace in different parts of the city. The scene was a strange and
extraordinary one altogether; the streets were absolutely swarming
with people, and crowds were hurrying hither and thither through every
open space, but were still kept in dense masses by the constant
obstruction of the barricades.
Hastening on through the midst of these masses with Brissac, the young
nobleman's eye ran hastily over all the crowds that he passed, when
suddenly, at the end of one of the largest streets, which rose between
the dark gigantic houses on either side, with a gentle acclivity from
the spot where he then stood, he saw amongst the various groups which
were moving rapidly along or across it, one which attracted his
attention more particularly than the rest. It was at that moment
coming down the street, but proceeding in a somewhat slanting
direction towards the corner of another small street, not fifty yards
from the spot where he then was. There were two figures in it, in
regard to which he could not be deceived: the one nearest him was the
Abbe de Boisguerin, the second was his own brother, Gaspar de
Montsoreau; and he could not help imagining that another whom he saw
leading the way was that personage who had first called upon him on
his arrival in Paris, named Nicolas Poulain.
Before he could recollect himself, an exclamation of surprise had
called the attention of Brissac; but remembering how much his brother
had excited the indignation of the Duke of Guise, and that his very
life might be in danger if taken in the streets of Paris at that time,
Charles of Montsoreau only answered in reply to Brissac's questions,
that he had fancied he saw somebody whom he knew.
"There goes worthy Master Nicolas Poulain," said Brissac, "and the
good Cure of St. Genevieve, as zealous in our cause as any one; but we
can't stop to speak with them just now." And he was hurrying on, but
Charles of Montsoreau stopped him, saying,
"For my part, Monsieur de Brissac, I shall return to the Hotel de
Guise. The Duke, I dare say, has concluded his interview with the
Queen by this time, and I much wish to speak with him."
"Well, you cannot miss your way," cried Brissac. "Take that first
turning to the left, and then the third to the right, and it will lead
you straight to the Porte Cochere."
Charles of Montsoreau nodded his head, and hurried on, with manifold
anxieties and apprehensions in his bosom, which twenty times he
pronounced to be absurd, but which, nevertheless, he could not banish
by any effort of reason.
CHAP. II.
We must now return to mark what was passing at another point in the
capital, an hour or two earlier than the events narrated in the end of
the last chapter. The Duke of Guise sat in a cabinet in his hotel,
with his sword laid upon the table before him, which also bore a pen,
and ink, and paper, and some open letters. His foot was resting on a
footstool, his dress plain but costly, and not one sign of any thing
like preparation for the stirring events, which were to take place
that day, apparent in either his looks, his apparel, or his demeanour.
Beside him booted, and in some degree armed, stood the Count of St.
Paul; while Bois-dauphin, who had just had his audience, was leaving
the cabinet by a low door, and the Duke, bending his head, appeared
listening with the utmost tranquillity to what his friend was telling
him.