her, and, uttering a low cry, Marie de Clairvaut perceived the girl
who had given admittance to the supposed friar on the preceding
evening. The sound which she had uttered had instantly caught the
attention of Charles of Montsoreau; and, springing up the bank, he
found the girl with her hand clasped round the Lady's wrist, but
holding up the other hand as if enjoining silence.
"You are unkind," said the girl, in a low tone, "when I was kind to
you. I have already been bitterly reproached for letting in the monk;
and now, if you fly, what will become of me? They will say that I did
it."
"Fear not, fear not!" answered Charles of Montsoreau, "and attempt not
to detain the Lady, my good girl; for go she must and will; and, as
there is no other boat here, any attempt to pursue us will be vain.
All you can do by endeavouring to detain her will be useless, and but
injure yourself. Here is money for you," he continued.
The girl put it away with her hand, replying, "I want no money, sir;
but if she goes, I will go with her. I will not stay here in the power
of that dark Abbe. I will come with her if she will let me."
"Willingly, willingly," replied Charles of Montsoreau; "but say not a
word, and come quick; and remember, till the Lady is safe under the
protection of the Duke of Guise, we pause for no one, so there must be
no pretences of fatigue."
"Fear not," replied the girl; "I can bear more than she can. But how
can we get down the bank?"
"There is a short ladder," said the young Count. "Come quick!" And in
a moment after he aided Marie de Clairvaut to descend. It was all done
in a moment. The girl followed the Lady, the ladder was taken into the
boat, and, with joy and satisfaction beyond all conception, the fair
girl, whose days had lately passed so sorrowfully, felt the little
vessel fluctuating beneath her feet as she seated herself in it; while
Charles of Montsoreau, with a man who had been waiting therein, pushed
the boat away from the bank, and a boy seated at the stern guided it
into the deeper parts of the water. There were but a few words spoken
by any one.
"You are sure, Ignati," said the young Count, "that you marked every
rock and shoal as you came up?"
"Quite sure," replied the boy; and, leaving the current, which was
rapid and powerful, to bear them on, without disturbing its smooth
surface by the splash of oars, they glided along quickly down the
stream: now in moonlight, now in shade, with the high rocky banks and
promontories filled with holes and caverns, which border the valley of
the Charente, now seen in bright clear light--now rising up against
the silvery sky wrapped in deep shadows and obscurity.
The hand of Marie de Clairvaut lay clasped in that of her lover as
they sat side by side. Their hearts were full, though their lips were
silent; and the eyes of both were raised towards the sky, filled with
thankfulness, and hope, and trust. Thus they went on for about two
hours, saying but little, and that little in low and murmured tones;
but as they went, Charles of Montsoreau found occasion to tell her
that he had luckily effected a new arrangement, and that he had
procured means of landing and proceeding on their journey before they
reached Jarnac.
At length, after a voyage of about two hours and a half, as the moon
was beginning to decline, a rushing sound was heard over the bow of
the boat, and the waters of the river were seen fretting against a
dyke, which had been built to confine it in its proper course. A
couple of houses, sheltered by two sloping hills which swept down to
the very bank of the river, appeared upon the left hand, with what
seemed a number of living objects gathered about them.
Marie de Clairvaut turned her eyes to Charles of Montsoreau with some
apprehension, but he pressed her hand tenderly, saying, "Fear not,
fear not. They are my own people, waiting for our arrival."
The boy guided the boat safely up to the landing place, and the
question, "Who comes here?" was demanded, as if at a regular warlike
post.
"A friend," replied Charles of Montsoreau, and gave the word Chateau
Thierry. The man grounded his arms, and Charles of Montsoreau,
springing to the shore, led Marie de Clairvaut and the girl who had
followed her, to one of the houses, where every thing seemed prepared
for their reception.
He paused for a moment to gaze upon the face of the girl who had
accompanied them, and to ask her name, which he found to be Louise.
The countenance was good, and frank, and gentle, and the natural
spirit of physiognomy, which is in every one's brain, gave a pleasant
reading of that face.
"Listen to me," he said, speaking to her. "As you have preferred the
service of this lady to remaining behind where I found you, depend
upon it every attention and devotion that you show to her by the way
will be taken note of and well rewarded; and do not forget, that, if
possible, you are never to leave her, but to do every thing in your
power, under all circumstances, to enable her to reach the Duke of
Guise, who is her near relation, and whom we expect to find at Blois
or Chartres."
"Is she so great a lady?" said the girl.
"She is the niece and ward of the great Duke of Guise," replied
Charles of Montsoreau; "and the time is rapidly coming when those who
have injured and offended her will be severely punished, and those who
have assisted and befriended her rewarded far beyond their
expectations."
Having said this, he left them to see that all was properly prepared;
and in a few minutes more Marie de Clairvaut, with the girl who
accompanied her, were placed in one of the rude but roomy chaises of
the country, and with six horses to drag it through the heavy roads,
was rolling away in the direction of Limoges, followed by Charles of
Montsoreau, and a party of five or six servants on horseback.
CHAP. VIII.
The autumn was far spent, an early winter had set intensely in, frost
once more covered the ground, the last leaves had fallen from the
trees, and looking round upon the thick tapestry that covered the
walls, and the immense logs of wood which blazed in the deep arched
fire-place, the tenant of a splendid room in the old chateau of Blois
smiled when he thought of where he had last passed a similar frosty
day: in arms in the open field against the enemies of the land.
Now, however, the appearance of Henry Duke of Guise was in some degree
different from that which it had ever been before. Loaded with honours
by the King, adored by the people, gratified in every demand, ruling
almost despotically the state, the height to which he had risen had
impressed itself upon his countenance, and added to that expression of
conscious power, which his face had ever borne, the expression also of
conscious success. His dress, too, was more splendid than it had ever
been--not that he had adopted the silken refinements of Epernon or
Joyeuse; not that his person was loaded with jewels, or that his ear
hung with rubies: but every thing that he wore was of the richest and
most costly kind; and as he now stood ready dressed to go down to hold
the table of grand master of the King's household and generalissimo of
the armies of France, at which Henry himself, and all the great nobles
of the Court were that day to be present, it would have been
difficult, throughout all Europe--nay, it would have been impossible,
to match his princely look, or to excel in taste his rich apparel. One
single star gleamed upon his bosom, the collars of manifold orders
hung around his neck, the hilt of his sword was of massy gold, and
thin lines of gold embroidery marked the slashings of his green velvet
doublet, where, slightly opening as he moved with easy dignity, the
pure white lining below appeared from time to time. There were no
jewels on his hands, but one large signet ring. He wore no hat, and
the brown hair curling round his forehead was the only ornament that
decked his head. There was a jewel in his belt, indeed, a single
jewel of high price, and the pommel of the dagger, which lay across
his loins, was a single emerald.
From time to time, while he had been dressing;--indeed we might say
almost every minute, some messenger, or page, or courier appeared,
bearing him news or letters from the various provinces of the realm.
His secretary stood beside him, but every line was read first by the
Duke's own eye; and then he handed them to Pericard, either with some
brief comment or some direction in regard to the answer to be
returned.
"Ha!" he said, smiling, after reading one epistle. "There is a curious
letter from good Hubert de Vins. Hubert loves me as his own brother,
and yet to read that letter one would think he respected me but
little. There is no bad name he does not give me down to Maheutre and
Huguenot, because I trust in King Henry, who, he says, is as
treacherous as a Picardy cat."
"I think with Monsieur de Vins, your Highness," said Pericard, who had
been reading the letter while the Duke spoke, "'that trusting in the
semblances of the King's love, you expose your life every hour as if
it were neither a value to yourself or your friends or your country.'"
"You mistake, Pericard," replied the Duke; "I trust not in Henry's
love at all. Whether it be feigned or whether it be real for the time,
matters not a straw. If it be feigned, it does me no harm, but, on the
contrary, daily gives me greater power; if it be true, I receive the
benefits thereof for the time, well knowing that to-morrow or the next
day it will change completely into hate. I'll tell you what it is I
trust to, Pericard: not to the King's love, but to his good sense; for
were I dead to-morrow he could be ten times worse than he is to day. I
am he who stands between him and destruction!--Ah! who have we hear?"
he continued, as the door again opened. "From Provence;"--and taking
the letter from the hand of a dusty courier, he read it over
attentively and threw it to Pericard, saying, "That is good news
surely, Pericard! In the room of the two deputies who were so
difficult to manage that we were obliged to stuff them with carp and
truffles till they both fell sick and fled, we have got two steady
Leaguers not to be shaken by threats or moved by choice meats. If we
could dislodge that viper, Epernon, from Angoumois, all would be clear
before us till we reached the confines of Henry of Navarre. But
Epernon is raising troops, I hear----" he added, although he saw that
some one had entered the room and was approaching him.
"Which he will soon disband. Monsieur de Guise," said the stranger,
"as I am charged by the King to set out to-morrow morning to give the
Duke his commands to that effect."
"By my life, Monsieur Miron," said the Duke, "you will have soon to
lay aside altogether the exercise of your esculapean powers, at least
upon his Majesty's person. You show yourself so skilful in healing the
wounds of the state, and curing the sickness of the body politic."
"Your Highness is good unto me," replied the King's physician, looking
humble; "but I came to pay my respects to your Highness now, not
having seen you since the exile of Villeroy, Pinar and the rest. I
hope your Highness does not think that their disgrace is likely to
affect your interests at court."
"Not in the least, Monsieur Miron," replied the Duke: "far from it. I
seek to exercise no influence amongst the King's ministers. Those who
are good for the state are good to me. On the King's good feeling and
good sense I firmly rely."
"Some body," said the physician, "informed his Majesty that you were
grieved at the dismissal of Villeroy. I may tell him, then, that such
is not the case, for he was pained to hear it."
"Tell him so, I beseech you," replied the Duke. "I know the King would
not wish without some good reason to dismiss any one that I especially
esteemed."
"Most assuredly," replied Miron; "but might I give your Highness one
slight warning as a friend, and a most sincere one?"
"Most gratefully will it be received," replied the Duke. "Speak
freely, my learned sir," he continued, seeing that the physician had
fixed his eyes upon Pericard. "Our good Pericard is as silent as your
friend death, Monsieur Miron, who tells no tales you know to those on
this side the grave, whatever he may do to those on the other. What is
it you have to say?"
"It is this, my Lord," replied Miron. "I should tell you first, that I
do believe the King sincerely loves you, and that if you deal but
politicly with his humours, there is none in whom he will place such
confidence. But my good lord the King's temperament is a strange
one.--I speak as a physician. It is indeed injured by some excesses,
but though by nature full of the mercurial character, there was always
much of the saturnine in it. The balance between these has been
overthrown by many circumstances, and in certain conjunctions of the
planets he is strangely and variably affected. Such also is the case
in the time of these hard frosts. In soft and genial weather he may be
easily dealt with: you will then find him but as a thing of wax in
your hands. But I beseech you, my Lord, remember that, when the pores
of the earth are shut up and filled with this black and acrid frost,
'tis then that all the humours of the body are likewise congealed, and
Henry is at that time filled with black and terrible vapours, which
are dangerous not alone to himself, but to every one who approaches
him unprepared. I say it advisedly, my good Lord. Any one who urges
the King far, at such moments, is in peril of his life.[6] But I must
say no more, for here comes a messenger."
---------------------
[Footnote 6: Such, and in such terms, strange and fantastic as they
may seem, was undoubtedly the warning given by the physician Miron to
the Duke of Guise not many days before the catastrophe of Blois.]
---------------------
"I thank you most sincerely," replied the Duke. "Who is this packet
from? I must speedily descend to supper."
"From his Highness of Mayenne," replied the messenger. "He said it was
matter of life and death, and commanded me to ride post haste."
"Ha!" said Guise, as he opened the packets and saw the contents. "Our
cousin of Savoy in arms in France. This shows the need of unanimity
amongst ourselves. He shall find himself mistaken, however, if he
thinks Guise will forget his duty to his country. Write Charles of
Mayenne word, Pericard, to bring his troops into such a position that
they can act against Savoy at a moment's notice, and tell him that he
shall have orders to do so ere three days be over. Send, too, to
Rouen, thanking them for their attachment; and see that our agent at
the court of Rome have full instructions regarding the Count de
Soissons. Ha! here comes our brother of the church. My good Lord
Cardinal, we will descend together. We shall scarcely reach the hall
before the King arrives."
The person who entered bore a strong family likeness to the Duke, but
was neither so tall nor so powerful in person. He was dressed in the
crimson robes of a prince of the church of Rome; and his countenance,
which had much shrewdness and some dignity, accorded well with his
station, Miron had retired quietly while the Duke spoke; a sign had
dismissed the messenger from the Duke of Mayenne, and none but
Pericard remained in the room. But yet the Cardinal spoke in a whisper
to his brother, who merely smiled, replying, "Come, come; we have no
time now to jest." And thus saying, he led the way down to a hall,
where supper was prepared at the table of the Grand Master for all the
most distinguished guests then resident at Blois.
The table was covered, as was then much the custom, with jewelled
plate of many kinds, and various fanciful devices. The room was in a
blaze of light, and all the guests, but the King and his particular
train, had already arrived. They were standing back from the table,
and gathered together in the magnificent dresses of that period,
formed splendid groups in different parts of the chamber, while sewers
and other attendants, hurrying backwards and forwards, brought in the
various dishes, and set them in their regular order.
The appearance of the Duke and his brother, the Cardinal de Guise,
occasioned an instant movement amongst the guests, and the proudest
there bowed lowly to the gallant Prince, whose fortunes hitherto had
gone on from height to height. Nobles and generals of the highest
distinction eagerly sought a word with him, and bishops and prelates
of many a various character crowded forward, but to touch the hand of
one who had stood forth so prominently in defence of the church.
In a few minutes the table was covered with the various dishes, and
intimation that supper was served was immediately given to the King,
who appeared the moment after, while the Duke of Guise advanced to the
door to receive him, and with every testimony of lowly respect led him
to the raised seat appointed for him. The King was followed by six
gentlemen, for whom places had been reserved, and amongst them the eye
of Guise rested upon Villequier. That eye flashed for a single moment
as it saw him; but the next instant all was calm, and the Duke noticed
him especially by an inclination of the head.
As soon as the King had taken his seat, saying, "Sit, my Lord Duke, I
pray you; stand upon no further ceremonies," Guise and the rest seated
themselves at the table, and the monarch and his princely officer bent
forward to say some complimentary nothing to each other, each at the
same time unfolding the napkin that lay before them. As they did so,
from the napkin of the Duke of Guise fell out upon his plate a folded
letter; and Henry, who was all gaiety and condescension at that
moment, exclaimed aloud with a light laugh, "Some letter from his
lady-love, upon my honour. Read, read, my Lord Duke! Read, read!
Carvers, touch not a dish till the Duke has read."
The Duke opened the letter smiling, while the King bent a little
towards that side, as if jestingly, to see the contents. All eyes
round the table were fixed upon those two; and it was seen that the
colour mounted into the cheek of the Duke of Guise, that his brow
gathered into a frown, and his lip curled with a scornful smile. As
far as the paint on the King's countenance would admit, he appeared to
turn pale at the same moment. But Guise, crushing the letter together
in his hand, threw it contemptuously under the table, saving aloud,
"They dare not!"[7]
---------------------
[Footnote 7: Some of the Duke's historians say, that he did not speak
the words aloud, but merely wrote at the bottom of the note, "On
n'oseroit," and then threw it under the table.]
---------------------
None but the King around the table knew to what those words alluded:
but Henry had seen the words, "Beware, Duke of Guise, your life is in
danger every day. There are those round you from morning to night, who
are ready to spill your blood."
The Duke seemed to forget the matter in a moment, and by the graces of
his demeanour soon caused it to be forgotten also by all those around.
Henry resumed his gaiety and tranquillity; wine and feasting did their
part; and some short time after the King, with his glass filled with
the most exquisite wine of France, exclaimed, "Let us drink to some
one, my Lord Duke. To whom shall it be?"
"It is for your Majesty to command," replied the Duke gaily. "Let us
drink to our good friends the Huguenots!"
"Willingly, willingly," cried Henry laughing. "To the Huguenots,
cousin of Guise: ay, and to our good barricaders, too; let us not
forget them."
The King smiled, and many around smiled also, at what they thought
would be a mortification to the Duke. But Guise answered immediately,
after drinking the toast, "It is well bethought of your Majesty, while
you give us the health of your bitter enemies, to give us that of your
most faithful servants, who will never cease to defend you against
them."
He spoke with such an air of good humour, that none could see he had
taken any offence, and this matter was also forgotten in a few
moments. Shortly before the dessert was placed upon the table, a page
slipped a small scrap of paper with a few words written upon it into
the hands of the Duke, who gathered the meaning at a single glance,
while his whole countenance brightened with satisfaction. "Come,
Monsieur de Villequier," he said, "honour me by drinking with me to a
mutual relation of ours. Here is to Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, as
sweet, as good, as fair a lady as any in France. Let us drink her
health, and a gallant husband to her soon."
"Willingly, willingly, my Lord," replied Villequier; "and I wish your
Lordship would let me name that husband. But here is to her health."
And he drank the wine.
"Nay," answered Guise, "that cannot be, Monsieur de Villequier, for I
have named him myself already."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Villequier, with no slight surprise in his look.
But he instantly overcame the first emotion, adding, "I suppose, then,
that the young Lady is under your protection at the present moment?"
"At which you can neither be displeased nor surprised. Monsieur de
Villequier," replied the Duke, still bearing a courteous and affable
look. "As you know you swore upon the mass some weeks ago that she was
not under your protection, and that you knew not where she was, it
must be a relief to your mind to find that she is well cared for."
"Oh, my good Lord of Guise," replied Villequier in the same courteous
tone, "no one ever doubts that his Highness of Guise cares for every
one that comes within his influence. Have we not an instance of it
here, when no sooner is one of the good Duke's friends, and the
allotted husband of his fair niece, dead, than another of his friends
is raised to the same happy prospect. But, pray, may I ask if the
young Lady herself is well pleased with this rapid substitution of
lovers?"
"Delighted, I believe," replied the Duke with a smile full of meaning.
"Though I have had no particular communication with her yet, inasmuch
as, it having been discovered that she had escaped from the hands of
some base persons who unjustly detained her, the worthy and
respectable governor of Angoumois took pains to guard the country all
round, in order to stop her on her journey to Blois. This has much
delayed her coming, and would most likely have delayed it still
longer, had she not taken refuge with Monsieur and Madame Montmorin,
till I sent a force sufficient to open the way for her through all the
La Valettes in France. It is thus only this night--nay, this very
moment, that I hear of her arrival in Blois."
"Well, my Lord," answered Villequier with a laugh, "it is evident that
he who attempts to strive with the Duke of Guise, either in stratagem
or in force, must be a bold man, and should be a clever one. As I told
your Highness, Mademoiselle de Clairvaut was not in my hands, but how
she was set free from the hands in which she was placed must remain a
mystery rather difficult to solve. A servant girl, it seems, became
the immediate instrument; but the skill with which every trace of her
path was concealed, and even the manner in which her flight itself was
effected, bespeaks a better brain than that of a peasant of Angoumois.
Is it permitted, my Lord, to ask the name of the favoured gentleman
you destine for her husband?"
"His Majesty receives his Court to-night, I think," replied the Duke,
"and then, Monsieur de Villequier, I shall have much pleasure in
presenting that gentleman to you. But, Monsieur de Villequier, if, as
your words imply, you have suffered yourself to be out-man[oe]uvered
in this business, I will mortify your pride in your own skill by
telling you that you have been foiled and frustrated by no efforts of
mine, but by the wit of a girl and the courage and stratagem of a mere
youth. My Lord the King, may I humbly beseech your Majesty to let us
drink better policy to Monsieur de Villequier."
Henry laughed lightly and drank the wine; and the rest of the supper
passed off gaily, though Villequier from time to time fell into a
momentary fit of thought, from which he was twice roused to find the
eye of the Duke of Guise upon him. At length, as the hour for the
reception of the Court in the King's own apartments approached, Henry
rose and retired, followed by Villequier and the rest of the gentlemen
who had accompanied him.