E-text prepared by Al Haines
ORRAIN
A Romance
by
S. LEVETT-YEATS
Author of
"The Lord Protector," "The Chevalier d'Auriac," etc.
Longmans, Green, and Co.
91 and 93 Fifth Avenue, New York
London and Bombay
1904
Copyright, 1904, by
S. Levett-Yeats
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE CRY IN THE RUE DES LAVANDIERES
II I BECOME THE OWNER OF A RING
III MY PYRAMID OF CARDS COMES DOWN
IV THE QUEEN'S MIRACLE
V THE PORTE ST. MICHEL
VI SIMON AND I MEET AGAIN
VII DIANE
VIII THE ACTS OF PIERREBON
IX THE WHITE MASK
X THE BITER BITTEN
XI THE ROAD TO POITIERS
XII A WRITER OF COMMENTARIES
XIII THE TOUR DE L'OISEAU
XIV MADEMOISELLE DE PARADIS
XV MY PRISONER
XVI THE TWELVE ROSE PETALS
XVII MADEMOISELLE DECIDES
XVIII DR. JOHANNES CABALLUS
XIX THE WOMAN IN BLACK AND WHITE
XX THE CROWN JEWELS
XXI THE HOUSE IN THE PASSAGE OF PITY
XXII THE TABLETS OF DOM ANTOINE DE MOUCHY
XXIII THE MASQUERADE
XXIV THE KING AND THE FAVOURITE
XXV THE PACKET OF LETTERS
XXVI THE CHURCH UNDER THE GROUND
XXVII THE RING
XXVIII THE ARM OF GOD
XXIX LA VALENTINOIS AND I
XXX FONTAINEBLEAU
XXXI THE PEARS OF ORRAIN
ORRAIN
CHAPTER I
THE CRY IN THE RUE DES LAVANDIERES
My father, René, Vidame d'Orrain, was twice married. By his first wife
he had one son, Simon, who subsequently succeeded to his title and
estates, and was through his life my bitter enemy. By his second wife,
whom he married somewhat late in life, he had two sons--the elder,
Anne, known as the Chevalier de St. Martin from his mother's lands,
which he inherited; and the younger, Bertrand--myself.
Simon betook himself early to the Court, and we heard but little of
him, and that not to his credit; St. Martin went to Italy under the
banner of Brissac; and as for me, my parents yielding to the persuasion
of my mother's uncle, the Bishop of Seez, decided that I should become
a Churchman, and I was forthwith packed off to Paris, and entered at
the College of Cambrai, being then about seventeen years of age. Being
remarkably tall and strongly built, with a natural taste for all manly
exercises, it might have been expected that my books saw little of me;
but, on the contrary, I found in them a pleasure and a companionship
that has lasted through my life. Thus it happened that I made
considerable progress. So much so that the good Bishop, my
great-uncle, often flattered me with the ambitious hopes of some day
filling his Episcopal chair--a hope that, I need not say, was never
realised.
About this time, I being nineteen years of age, things happened that
entirely altered my life. My mother sickened and died. Shortly after
news came of the death of my brother St. Martin, who was killed in an
affair of honour at Milan. The Vidame, my father, then in his
eighty-first year, and much enfeebled by old wounds, especially one he
had received at Fornovo, felt that his last hours were come, and
summoned my brother Simon and myself home to receive his last blessing
before he died.
I hurried back as fast as possible, but when I reached Orrain I found
to my astonishment the gates of the Chateau closed against me, and
Simon, leaning over the battlements, bade me begone.
Overcome with this reception, I was for a space struck speechless; but
at length finding voice I begged, even with tears, to be allowed to see
my father. But Simon sneered back:
"You will have to take a long journey, then; either below or above--I
know not which," he mocked. "Your father is dead. He has left you his
curse, and the lands of St. Martin are yours. I am master here at
last, thank God! And I tell you to be off! Take that pink and white
face of yours back to your College of Cambrai!"
He lied, for, as I afterwards heard, my father was not dead then, but
lay dying in his chamber, to which no one but Simon had access, and
over which he had placed a guard of his men-at-arms, a cut-throat set
of Italians whom he ever had with him.
Simon's cruel words stung me to the quick. My blood flamed with rage,
and I dared him to come forth and meet me as a man; but he only laughed
all the more, and, pointing to the tree of justice outside the gate,
asked how I would like to swing from one of its branches. He added
that, as I was his step-brother, he would give me a high one, if I
chose.
I can almost see him now as I write this, with his cruel hatchet face
snarling over the parapet, his red hair, his tall, thin figure and bent
back--if the truth were known, Simon's affairs of gallantry must have
been few.
In brief, despite all my efforts, I was unable to see my father, who
died that night asking for me.
In the hamlet of Orrain itself I could find no shelter, although the
villagers knew and loved me, and this was from fear of the new Vidame.
I, however, found a temporary retreat in the forest, living there like
a wild beast for four days, waiting with a burning heart for a chance
of meeting Simon, but he never came forth.
On the fourth day my father was buried at dead of night in the Chapel
of St. Hugo of Orrain, where every Vidame of Orrain, save one, lies.
Pierrebon, now my steward, and at that time my servant, and the only
companion I had with me, brought me news from the village that this was
to be, and I determined to be there at all hazard. This resolution I
carried out, and Simon and I met beside our father's grave. The time
and the occasion sealed my lips and stayed my hand. Even Simon spake
never a word, but, when it was all over, rode off sullenly through the
night back to the Chateau, his cursed Italians around him, and with the
dawn started off for Paris.
This I did too. There was nothing else to be done, and I returned to
my College.
I was, however, no longer in the position of a poor cadet, without
means or resource. My mother's lands of St. Martin had come to me on
Anne's death. Even my great-uncle the good Bishop agreed with me, with
many sighs, that the profession of arms was more suited to my present
position than the Church, but advised me to stay for a year more in
College, and fortify my mind by taking the course of Philosophy.
I very willingly assented to this; but the wealthy Chevalier d'Orrain
as I was called--I did not take the name of St. Martin--was a vastly
different person from the poor cadet of the past year. I found myself
courted and sought after. I began to find pleasures in life unknown to
me before, and in the young man of fashion, who entered the world a
year later it was hardly possible to recognise the once quiet and
studious Bertrand d'Orrain.
I plunged into the dissipations of the capital. At the Court I found a
patron in Monseigneur the Duc d'Enghien. My extravagance and my
follies brought me many reproofs from the Bishop of Seez, but the good
man's warnings were in vain, and might have been shouted to the stars.
They were certainly at times loud enough to be heard there.
I often met Simon, now Vidame d'Orrain. He was high in favour with the
Dauphin, who succeeded to the throne as Henri II., and his mistress,
Diane de Poitiers, whom he made Duchess of Valentinois. By tacit
consent there was an armed peace between us, though I well knew he
would take any chance that might arise to my injury. As it was, we
met, and passed each other without greeting, and in silence, ever with
black looks, and hands on the hilts of our swords.
My acres began to diminish and the woods of St. Martin to go down.
Things, in fact, were going from bad to worse, when war with the
Emperor broke out afresh, and I was amongst the first of those who
volunteered under Enghien for the Italian campaign. There I did my
part, and shared in the day of Cerisolles as a captain in the Light
Horse of Monsieur de Randan. Then, on the peace, back to Paris once
more and the old life; with this difference, that now there was no
restraining hand over me, for my great-uncle was dead. He left me his
blessing, his copy of "Plutarch's Lives," and thirty crowns of the
sun--all his fortune--for, though Bishop of Seez, he was a true
shepherd of God, and laid up for himself all his treasures on high.
It was impossible that things could go on much longer without disaster,
and the death--murder, rather--of that gallant prince the Duc d'Enghien
deprived me of a protector upon whom I could always rely. This,
followed by an unfortunate duel, the circumstances of which will be
detailed later, precipitated matters. The Edict of Fontainebleau
served as a weapon to my enemies, and it was put in force with the
utmost rigour against me. My principal accuser was my unnatural
step-brother the Vidame d'Orrain. He went so far as to charge me with
aiding and harbouring the members of the New Heresy, and the discovery
of a small leaflet printed at Geneva amongst my books was held to be
sufficient proof against me. The affair of the duel I might have lived
through, but this meant death. I took refuge in flight; it was the
only course. I was condemned in my absence by the Chambre Ardente to
the extreme penalty, and what remained of my property was given to
Simon, who shared it with Diane, the mistress of the King.
Thus at five and twenty I found myself an exile, and penniless. One
friend alone remained to me, and this was a young man of Orrain called
Pierrebon, whom I have mentioned before. Through good and ill he
adhered to me with ancient fidelity, and he lives still, honoured and
trusted by all who know him.
Together we sought a refuge in the Low Countries, and there I learned
the first great lesson of my life, and that was to live by honest work.
For five years I labored, until I had amassed sufficient to give me a
small estate of about fifty écus.
During those five years so many things had happened--I myself was so
changed--that I began to think that I and my affairs had been consigned
to oblivion, and that I might safely return to France. One day I was
seized with an uncontrollable desire to see my native land once again.
I determined to do so then and there, and a fortnight later,
accompanied by Pierrebon, I was in Paris.
I had every reason to confirm the opinion I had formed, that I and my
doings had been forgotten. In the humble class to which I now belonged
no one had ever heard of the Chevalier d'Orrain. Here in Paris I felt
I was safe, and I consequently determined to fix my abode in the great
city. I hired an apartment in the Rue des Lavandières, and established
myself there, giving out that I was a fencing-master. No pupils came;
but at any rate there was peace and contentment. I formed no
acquaintances except one, a certain Camus, a glove-maker, who had an
apartment above mine. For some reason or other this man forced himself
upon me, and though at first I repulsed his attentions he would not be
denied, and I grew to tolerate him. He was possessed of extraordinary
learning, and, under the guise of his ostensible calling, plied another
terrible trade--those who know the story of Jeanne of Navarre will know
what I mean.
This I was unaware of at the time; but, despite myself, the man's
conversation interested me, so that I occasionally yielded to his
importunities, and visited him for an hour or so after supper, when we
passed the time in discussion.
In this manner close upon six years elapsed, until I myself had almost
forgotten in the Bourgeois Broussel--the name I assumed--the once
brilliant Chevalier d'Orrain. Pierrebon alone knew my secret, and he
was as silent as the grave. At times the honest fellow would speak
hopefully of a good day to come; but I poured cold water on that, and,
pointing to my lute and my copy of "Plutarch's Lives," was wont to say
that there was enough happiness there for my life without seeking to
reopen the past or delve into the future.
One night--I remember it well; it was the night of Pentecost, in the
year 1555--I went up, at Camus' request, to his apartment. I had not
seen the old man for some time, and our talk was longer than usual. By
some chance we began to discuss poisons, and Camus opened the stores of
his curious knowledge. He had studied, he said, with a strange smile,
the works of the Rabbi Moses bin Maimon, and was possessed of antidotes
for each of the sixteen poisons; but there was one venom, outside the
sixteen, the composition of which he knew, but to which there was no
antidote. On my inquiry he stated that this was the poison used by the
Borgia, and it was prepared as follows:
A bear having been caught, it was made to swallow a draught of _Acqua
di Borgia_. On this beginning to take effect the bear was suspended
head downwards. Whilst the animal was in convulsions there poured from
his mouth a foamy stream. This, collected in a silver vessel and
securely bottled, was the Borgia venom, and to this there was no
antidote.
I made some remark of horror, and he laughed a dry, crackling laugh,
and rose from his seat.
"I will show you," he said, and was moving towards a press when we were
startled by a cry from the street--a cry for help:
"_A moi_! _A moi_!"