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HENRY OF GUISE;
OR,
THE STATES OF BLOIS.
VOL. II.
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. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1839.
HENRY OF GUISE;
OR,
THE STATES OF BLOIS.
CHAPTER I.
All was bustle round the door of the little inn of Montigny; twenty or
thirty horses employed the hands and attention of as many grooms and
stable-boys; and while they put their heads together, and talked over
the perfections or imperfections of the beasts they held, sixty or
seventy respectable citizens, the great cloth merchant, and the
wholesale dealer in millstones, the cure of the little town, the
bailiff of the high-justiciary, the ironmonger, the grocer, and the
butcher, stood in knots on the outside, discussing more important
particulars than the appearance of the horses. The sign of the inn was
the _Croix de Lorraine_, and the name of the Duke of Guise was
frequently heard mingling in the conversation of the people round the
door.
"A great pity," cries one, "that his Highness does not stay here the
night."
"Some say that the King's troops are pursuing him," replied another.
"Sure enough he came at full speed," said a third; "but I heard his
people talk about the reiters."
"Oh, we would protect him against the reiters," cried one of the bold
citizens of Montigny.
"Well," said another, "if he be likely to bring the reiters upon us, I
think his Highness very wise to go. How could we defend an open town?
and he has not twenty men behind him."
"I will tell you something, my masters," said another, with an air of
importance, and a low bow:--"When my boy was over towards Montreuil
to-night, he heard a report of the reiters having been defeated near
Gandelu."
"Oh, nonsense!" replied the courageous burgher; "who should defeat
them if the Duke was not there?"
"But hark!" cried another, "I hear trumpets, as I live. Now, if these
should be the King's troops we will defend the Duke at the peril of
our lives. But let us look out and see."
"Come up to my windows," cried one.
"Go up the tower of the church," said the cure.
But another remarked that the sounds did not come from the side of
Paris; and, in a minute or two after, a well-dressed citizen like
themselves rode gaily in amongst them, jumped from his horse, threw up
his cap in the air, and exclaimed, "Long life to the Duke of Guise!
The reiters have been cut to pieces!"
"What is that you say, young man?" exclaimed a voice from one of the
windows of the inn above; and looking up, the citizen saw a young and
gay-looking man sitting in the open casement, and leaning out with his
arm round the iron bar that ran up the centre.
"I said, my Lord," replied the man, "that the reiters have been cut to
pieces, and I saw the troops that defeated them bring in the wounded
and prisoners last night into La Ferte."
"Ventre bleu! This is news indeed," cried the other; and instantly
turning, he quitted the window and advanced into the room.
While this conversation had been going on without, a quick conference
had been going on between the personages whose horses were held
without. The chamber in which they were assembled was an upstairs'
room, with two beds in two several corners, and a table in the midst
covered with a clean white table-cloth, and ornamented in the centre
with a mustard-pot, a salt-seller, and a small bottle of vinegar,
while four or five spoons were ranged around.
At the side of the table appeared the Duke of Guise, dining with as
good an appetite off a large piece of unsalted boiled beef, as off any
of the fine stews and salmis of his cook Maitre Lanecque. Five or six
other gentlemen were around, diligently employed in the same
occupation; and one who had finished two bowls of soup at a place
where they had previously stopped, now declaring that he had no
appetite, had taken his seat in the window. The servants of the Duke
and of his companions were at dinner below, and the landlord himself
was excluded from the room, that dining and consultation might go on
at the same time.
"It is most unfortunate," said the Duke of Guise, as soon as he had
seated himself at the table, "it is most unfortunate that this youth
has not kept his word with me. Our horses and men are both fatigued to
death; and yet, after what happened the other day at Mareuil, it would
be madness to remain here all night with only twenty horsemen."
"You have got timid, fair cousin," replied one of the gentlemen
present. "We shall have you wrapping yourself up in a velvet gown, and
setting up a conferrie, in imitation of our excellent, noble, and
manly king."
The Duke w as habitually rash enough to be justified in laughing at
the charge, and he replied, "It is on your account, my pretty cousin,
that I fear the most. You know what the reiters have sworn to do with
you, if they catch you."
"It is most unfortunate indeed," said an older and a graver man; "most
unfortunate, that this Count de Logeres should have deceived you. It
might have been better, perhaps, to trust to some more tried and
experienced friend."
"Oh, you do him wrong, Laval; you do him wrong," replied the Duke. "It
is neither want of faith or good will, I can be sworn. Some accident,
such as may happen to any of us, has detained him. I am very anxious
about him, and somewhat reproach myself for having made him march with
only half his numbers. Had his whole band been with him, he might have
made head against the reiters, if he met with them. But now he has
less than half their reputed number. Nevertheless," he continued, "his
absence is, as you say, most unfortunate; for--with these Germans on
our left, and the movements of Henry's Swiss upon our right--they
might catch us as the Gascons do wild ducks, in the net, through the
meshes of which we have been foolish enough to thrust our own heads. I
pray thee, Brissac, go down to mine host of the house, and gather
together some of the notable men of the place, to see if we cannot by
any means purchase horses to carry us on. Who are you speaking to,
Aumale?" he continued, raising his voice, and addressing the youth who
sat in the window.
"Good news, good news!" cried the young man springing down, and coming
forward into the room. "The reiters have been cut to pieces near
Gandelu. There is a fellow below who has seen the victorious troops,
and the wounded and the prisoners."
"My young falcon for a thousand crowns!" cried the Duke of Guise. "If
that be the case, we shall soon hear more of him. Hark! are not those
trumpets? Yet go out, Brissac; go out. We must not suffer ourselves to
be surprised whatever we do. Aumale, have the horses ready. If they
should prove the Swiss, we must march out at the one gate while they
march in at the other."
But at that moment Brissac, who had run down at a word, and was by
this time in the street, held up his hand to one of the others who was
looking out of the window, exclaiming, "Crosses of Lorraine, crosses
of Lorraine! A gallant body of some fifty spears; but all crosses of
Lorraine.--Ay, and I can see the arms of Montsoreau and Logeres! All
is right, tell the Duke; all is right!" And thus saying he advanced
along the street to meet the troops that were approaching.
The Duke of Guise, who had risen from the table, seated himself again
quietly, drew a deep breath as a man relieved from some embarrassment,
and filling the glass that stood beside him, half full of the good
small wine of Beaugency, rested his head upon his hand, and remained
in thought for several minutes.
While he remained in this meditative mood the sounds of the trumpets
became louder and louder; the trampling of horses' feet were heard
before the inn, and then was given, in a loud tone, the order to halt.
Several of the companions of the Duke had gone down stairs to witness
the arrival of the troops, and in a minute or two after, feet were
heard coming up, and the Duke turned his head to welcome the young
Count on his arrival. He was somewhat surprised, however, to see an
old white-headed man, who had doffed his steel cap to enter the Duke's
presence, come in between Brissac and Laval, and make him a low
inclination of the head.
"Who are you, my good friend?" demanded the Duke. "And where is the
young Count of Logeres?"
"I know not, your Highness," replied the other. "I am the Count's
seneschal, and expected to find him here. He set off four days ago
with one half of his men, commanding me to join him at Montigny with
the rest, as soon as their arms arrived from Rhetel. They came sooner
than we expected, so I followed him the day after."
"Then is it to you, my worthy old friend," said the Duke, "that the
country is obliged for the defeat of this band of marauders?"
"No, your Highness," replied the old man bluntly. "I have not had the
good fortune to meet with any thing to defeat, though, indeed, we
heard of something of the kind this morning as we passed by
Grisolles."
"I hope the news is true," said the Duke; "I have heard of many a
victory in my day, where it turned out that the victors were
vanquished; and I hear that these reiters numbered from a hundred to a
hundred and fifty men. How many had your Lord with him, good
seneschal?"
"He had fifty-one men at arms," replied the old soldier, "besides some
lackeys and a page; and some men leading horses with the baggage he
could not do without."
"I shall not be easy till I hear more of him," said the Duke, walking
up and down the room. "However, your coming, good seneschal, will
enable us to make good this place against any force that may be
brought against it. Quick, send me up the aubergiste. We must despatch
some one to bring us in intelligence: and now, good seneschal, rest
and refresh your horses, get your men some food, and have every thing
ready to put foot in stirrup again at a moment's notice; for if we
find that your Lord has fallen into the hands of these reiters, we
must mount to deliver him. Let their numbers be what they may, Henry
of Guise cannot make up his mind to leave a noble friend in the hands
of the foemen."
"We are all ready this minute, my Lord," replied the old seneschal.
"There is not a man of Logeres who is not ready to ride forty miles,
and fight two reiters this very night in defence of his Lord."
"The old cock's not behind the young one," said the Chevalier d'Aumale
to Brissac. But the Duke of Guise overruled the zealous eagerness of
the old soldier; and as soon as the aubergiste appeared, directed him
to send off a boy in the direction of Montreuil and La Ferte, in order
to gain intelligence of the movements of the Count de Logeres, and to
ascertain whether the report of the defeat of the reiters was correct
or not. His own horses he ordered now to be unsaddled, and casting off
his corselet, gave himself up to repose for the evening.
During the next hour, or hour and a half, manifold were the reports
which reached the town concerning the conflict which had taken place
between the Count of Logeres and the reiters on the preceding evening.
All sorts of stories were told: every peasant that brought in a basket
of apples had his own version of the affair; and the accounts were the
most opposite, as well as the most various. The Duke of Guise,
however, was too much accustomed to sifting the various rumours of the
day, not to be able to glean some true information from the midst of
these conflicting statements. It seemed clear to him that the reiters
had been defeated, and without having any very certain cause for his
belief, he felt convinced that Charles of Montsoreau was already upon
his way towards Montigny.
"Come," he added, after expressing these opinions to the Chevalier
d'Aumale, "we must at least give our young champion a good meal on his
arrival. See to it, Brissac; see to it. You, who are a connoisseur in
such things, deal with our worthy landlord of the Cross, and see if he
cannot procure something for supper more dainty than he gave us for
dinner."
"The poor man was taken by surprise," replied Brissac; "but since he
heard that you were to remain here, there has been such a cackling and
screaming in the court-yard, and such a riot in the dovecote, that I
doubt not all the luxuries of Montigny will be poured forth this night
upon the table."
In less than an hour after this order was given, the arrival of fresh
horses was heard; and Laval, who went to the window, announced, that
as well as he could see through the increasing darkness, for it was
now night, this new party consisted only of five or six persons. In a
few minutes, however, the door was thrown open by the aubergiste, and
Charles of Montsoreau himself appeared, dusty with the march, and with
but few traces of triumph or satisfaction on his countenance.
"What, my young hero!" cried the Duke, rising and taking him by the
hand; "you look as gloomy as if you had suffered a defeat, rather than
gained a victory. Are the tidings which we have heard not true then,
or are they exaggerated? If you have even brought off your forces safe
from the reiters, that is a great thing, so overmatched as you were."
"It is not that, your Highness," replied Charles of Montsoreau: "the
numbers were not very disproportionate, but the reiters have certainly
suffered a complete rout, and I do not think that they will ever meet
in a body again. They lost a good many men on the field, and I fear
the peasantry have murdered all the wounded."
"So much the better," cried the Chevalier d'Aumale; "so much the
better. One could have done nothing with them but hang them."
"I fear then," said the Duke of Guise, addressing the Count, "I fear
then that your own loss has been severe by the gloominess of your
countenance, Logeres."
"There are a good many severely wounded, sir," replied the Count; "but
very few killed. This, however, is not the cause of my vexation, which
I must explain to your Highness alone. I have, however, to apologise
to you for not being here last night, as I fully intended. I did not
go to seek the reiters, but fell in with them accidentally, and after
the skirmish I was forced to turn towards La Ferte instead of coming
here, in order to get surgeons to my wounded men. I find, however,
sir," he continued, "that my good old seneschal has made more speed
than his master, and has arrived here with his band before me. I must
go and take order for the comfort of my people, and prepare lodging
for the rest who are coming up, for I rode on at all speed as soon as
I met with the messenger whom you had sent out to seek me. After that
I will return and crave a few minutes' audience of your Grace alone."
"Come back to supper, dear friend," replied the Duke; "we must let our
gay friends now sup with us; but then we will drive them to their
beds, and hold solitary council together, and be not long Logeres, for
you need both refreshment and repose."
When the young Count returned to the apartments of the Duke, after he
had seen the rest of his troop arrive, and had taken every measure to
secure the comfort of the men under his command, he found that Prince
standing in one of the deep windows speaking in a low tone with the
page Ignati, while his own officers were gathered together in the
window on the other side.
The Duke instantly took him by the hand as he approached, and said in
a low but kindly tone, "You see I have been questioning the spy I set
upon you, Logeres, and he has let me into a number of your secrets;
but you must not be angry with him on that account, for Henry of Guise
will not abuse the trust. Come, let us sit down to table, and we will
afterwards find an opportunity of talking over all these affairs. You
have acted nobly and gallantly, my young friend, and have served your
country while you benefited me. For your brother's conduct you are not
responsible: but I think this morning's events, if the boy speaks
correctly, must bar your tongue from speaking his praises for the
future."
"Indeed, my Lord," exclaimed the young Count, "my brother may----"
"Hush! hush!" cried the Duke. "There is nothing sits so ill upon the
lips of a noble-hearted man as an excuse for bad actions, either in
himself or others. It is false generosity, Charles of Montsoreau, to
say the least of it. But let us to table. Come, Aumale. See! our good
Aubergiste looks reproachfully at you for letting his fragrant ragouts
grow cold. Come, we will to meat, gentlemen. Sit down, sit down, We
will have no ceremony here at the Cross of Lorraine."
Thus saying, the Duke seated himself at table, and the rest took their
places around. The supper proved better than had been expected, and
wine and good appetites supplied the place of all deficiencies. The
Chevalier d'Aumale indeed had every now and then a light jest at some
of the various dishes: he declared that a certain capon had blunted
his dagger, and asked Charles of Montsoreau whether it was not tougher
than a veteran reiter. He declared that a matelote d'anguille which
was placed before him, had a strong flavour of a hedge; but added,
that as his own appetite was viperous, he must get through it as best
he might. He was not without a profane jest either, upon a dish of
pigeons; but though he addressed the greater part of these gaily to
the young Count de Logeres, he could hardly wring a smile from one who
in former days would have laughed with the best, but whose heart was
now anxiously occupied with many a bitter feeling.
Charles of Montsoreau was eager, too, that the meal should be over,
for he longed for that private communication with the Duke which
weighed upon his mind in anticipation. He felt that it would be
difficult to exculpate his brother; and yet, in pursuance of his own
high resolutions, he longed to do so: and then again he eagerly hoped
that the powerful prince beside whom he sat would find some means of
delivering Marie de Clairvaut from the hands into which she had
fallen; and yet he feared, from all he heard and saw, that that
deliverance might be difficult and remote.
Thus the banquet passed somewhat cheerlessly to him; and it was not
very much enlivened by a little incident which happened towards the
close of supper, when the landlord, who had come into the room
followed by a man dressed in the garb of a surgeon, whispered
something in the Duke's ear which called his attention immediately.
"How many did you say?" demanded the Duke.
"Only two at present, your Highness," replied the surgeon; "but three
more sinking, I think."
"All in the same house?" said the Duke.
"No, my Lord, in different houses," replied the man; "but near the
same spot."
"The only thing to be done," replied the Duke, "is to draw a barrier
across the end of that street, and mark the houses with a white
cross."
"What is the matter, your Highness?" said Laval, from the other end of
the table.
"Oh, nothing," replied the Duke of Guise, "only a few cases of the
plague; and because it was very bad last autumn at Morfontaine, the
people here have got into a fright."
The Duke of Guise concluded his supper as lightly and gaily as if
nothing had happened, for his mind had become so accustomed to deal
with and to contemplate things of great moment, that they made not
that impression upon him which they do upon those whose course is laid
in a smoother and evener path.
Charles of Montsoreau, however, could not feel in the same way. "War
and pestilence!" he thought, "bloodshed and death! These are the
common every-day ideas of men in this unhappy country, now. Perhaps
famine may be added some day soon, and yet there will be light
laughter, and merriment, and jest. Well, let it be so. Why should we
cast away enjoyment because it can but be small? Life is at best but
made up of chequered visions: let us enjoy the bright ones while we
may, and make the dark ones short if we can."
While he thus thought, the Duke of Guise whispered a word or two to
the Count of Brissac, and that gentleman nodded to Laval. Shortly
after, both rose; and, with an air of affected unwillingness, the
Chevalier d'Aumale followed their example. The two or three other
gentlemen who had partaken of the meal, but who either from inferior
situation or natural taciturnity had mingled but little in the
conversation, left the table at the same time, and accompanied the
others out of the room, so that the Duke of Guise and the young Count
were left alone.
CHAP. II.
The weak-minded and the vulgar are cowed by the aspect of high
station; the humble in mind, and the moderate in talent, are subdued
by high genius, and bend lowly to the majesty of mind; the powerful,
the firm, and the elevated spring up to meet their like, and with them
there is nothing earthly that can overawe but a consciousness of evil
in themselves, or a sensation of abasement for those they love.
Such was the case with Charles of Montsoreau, who undoubtedly was a
man of high and powerful mind. He was in his first youth, it is true;
he had no great or intimate knowledge of the world, except that
knowledge of the world which, in a few rare instances, comes as it
were by intuition. He had been bred up from his youth in love and
admiration for the princes of the House of Lorraine, and especially of
Henry, Duke of Guise; and yet, when he had met him for the first time,
and recognised him at once in the inn at Mareuil, he felt no
diffidence--no alarm. Nor had this confidence in himself any thing
whatsoever to do with conceit: he thought not of himself for a moment;
he thought only of the Duke of Guise and his situation, and impulse
guided by habit did the rest. Seeing that the Duke had assumed an
inferior character, he treated him accordingly; and acting as nature
dictated to him, he acted right.
Neither, at Rheims, when the Duke appeared surrounded by pomp and
splendour, did the young nobleman feel differently. He paid every
tribute of external reverence to the Prince's station and high renown;
but he conferred with him upon equal terms, feeling that if in mind he
was not absolutely equal to that great leader, he was competent to
appreciate his character, and was not inferior to him in elevation of
thought and purpose.
But now, how changed were all his feelings, when, sitting by one whom
he venerated and respected--more than perhaps was deserved--he had to
discuss with him the painful subject of a brother's errors, and
torture imagination to find excuses which judgment would not ratify!
He sat humiliated, and pained, and hesitating: he knew not what to
say, and he felt that any thing he could say was vain.
For a few minutes after the rest of the party quitted the room, the
Duke of Guise remained silent, sometimes gazing down, as was his
habit, upon his clasped hands, sometimes raising his eyes for a single
moment to the countenance of his young companion. He seemed to feel
for him, indeed; and when he did speak, led the conversation to the
subject gradually and delicately.
"Well, my dear Count," he said, "let us speak of this affair of the
reiters. You made me as many excuses but now, for defeating our
enemies, as if you had let them defeat you. Such gallant actions are
easily pardoned, Logeres; and if you but proceed to commit many such
faults, Henry of Navarre and Henry of Guise had both need look to
their renown. There was a third Henry once," he continued, half
closing his eyes, and speaking with a sigh, as he thought of Henry
III. and fair promises of his youth; "there was a third Henry once,
who might perhaps have borne the meed of fame away from us both: but
that light has gone out in the socket, and left nothing but an
unsavory smell behind. However, there was no excuse needed, good
friend, for cutting to pieces double your own number of German
marauders."
"My excuse was not for that," replied the Count, calmly, "but your
Highness directed me to go no farther than Montigny, and I went to La
Ferte, on account of the wounded men."
"That is easily excused too," said the Duke. "But now give me your own
account of the affair. The boy told me the story but imperfectly. How
fell you in with the reiters at first?"
Charles of Montsoreau did as the Prince required, giving a full and
minute, but modest, account of all that had taken place. But when he
spoke of retreating up the river to the spot where the banks were
deeper, and the stream more profound, Guise caught him by the hand,
exclaiming eagerly, "Did you know that the banks were steeper? Did you
see that they would guard your flank?"
"That was my object, my Lord," replied the young Count, somewhat
surprised. "I noticed the nature of the ground as we charged them at
first."
"Kneel down!" cried the Duke; "kneel down! Would to God that I were a
Bayard for thy sake!--In the name of God, St. Michael and St. George,
I dub thee knight;" and drawing his sword he struck him on the collar
with the blade, adding with a smile, in which melancholy was blended
with gaiety, "Perchance this may be the last chivalrous knighthood
conferred in France. Indeed, as matters go, I think it will be: but if
it should, I can but say that it never was won more nobly."
The young Count rose with sparkling eyes. The memory of the chivalrous
ages was not yet obliterated by dust and lichens; the fire of a more
enthusiastic epoch was not yet quite extinct; and he felt as if what
had passed gave him greater strength to go through what was to come.
The Duke, however, relaxing soon into his former manner, made him a
sign to proceed; and Charles of Montsoreau went on to detail the
complete defeat and dispersion of the different bodies of reiters. He
then began to hesitate again: but Guise was determined to hear all,
and said, "But your brother; where did you find your brother? Be frank
with me, Logeres."
Thus pressed, the young Count went on to say, that he did not again
meet with his brother till he found him in the market-place at La
Ferte. "My brother," he continued, "having been driven by the party
that pursued him beyond the carriage, and judging that I was coming up
with a superior force, imagined that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut and her
attendants had fallen under my protection: but finding that such was
not the case, he mounted his horse again, and proceeded to seek for
her during the greater part of the night, while I did the same in
another direction."
He was then hurrying on as fast as possible to speak of the following
morning, but the Duke interrupted him, demanding, "There was a sharp
dispute in the market-place, I think; was there not, Monsieur de
Logeres? Pray let me hear the particulars."
But Charles of Montsoreau, driven to the point, answered boldly and at
once, "It was a dispute between two brothers, my Lord; in regard to
which none but God and their own consciences can judge. You will
therefore pardon me if I keep that which is private to my private
bosom."
Guise gazed at him for a long--a very long time, with eyes full of
deep feeling, and then replied, "By Heaven! you are one of the most
extraordinary young men I ever met with. I know the whole, Monsieur de
Logeres; and the words there spoken let me into the secrets of your
bosom which I wished to know. I now understand how to deal with you;
and while I do my best to secure your happiness, trust to the Duke of
Guise to avoid, as far as possible, any thing that is painful to you
in the course. But go on; let me hear the rest."
"If you know all, my Lord," said Charles of Montsoreau, a good deal
affected by the Duke's kindness, "will you not spare me the telling of
that which must be painful to me?"
"I fear I must ask you to go on," replied the Duke. "What you have now
to tell me is the most important part of all to me at the present
moment, for by it must my conduct be regulated, in regard to the
measures for rescuing our poor Marie from the hands of that----." He
checked himself suddenly, and then added, "the King, in short. A
single word may cause a difference in our view of the matter; and
therefore I would fain hear you tell it, if you will do me that
favour."
"All that I know, my Lord, I will tell," replied the Count; "but of my
own knowledge I have little to tell, for the principal part of my
information was derived from the boy with whom you have already
spoken. All then that I personally know is, that, having slept long
from great fatigue, I was roused by the boy in the morning; that he
told me my brother was about to depart; and that, on descending, I
found his report true. My brother was already on horseback, and his
troop in the act of setting out; but he was accompanied by a gentleman
whom I had never seen before, whose name is Colombel, and who, I found
afterwards, is an officer in the service of the King."
"Oh yes," said the Duke of Guise; "I have heard him named; a person of
no great repute, but some cunning."
"My conversation with my brother," continued the Count, "was not the
most agreeable. On his side it was all taunts; but the only part of
which it is needful to inform your Highness, was, that when I asked
tidings of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, he would afford me no
information, except that she was in safe hands. I am grieved, also, to
be compelled to say that he told me, if I did not join you before he
did, I should be long parted from you."
"We have lost an ally," replied the Duke; "but one which, to say
sooth, I do not covet. If he be not treacherous, he is at best
unsteady; but I cannot help fearing, Charles of Montsoreau, that your
brother himself, apprehending that my regard for you might not suit
his purposes, has had some share in suffering Marie to fall into the
hands of Henry."
"Oh no, my Lord, oh no!" exclaimed Charles of Montsoreau; "you do him
wrong, believe me. My Lord, a few words will explain to you the cause
of his conduct. He is possessed with a passion for Mademoiselle de
Clairvaut, so strong, so vehement, so intense, as to have a portion of
madness in it,--a sufficient portion to make him cast away his former
nature altogether, to hate his brother, to abandon his friends, to
abjure all the thoughts and feelings of his youth, and to follow her
still where-ever she goes, seeking to obtain her by means which the
very blindness of his passion prevents him from seeing are those which
must insure his losing her."
"This is the passion of a weak and unstable mind," said the Duke.
"Love, my young friend, is in itself a grand and ennobling thing,
leading us to do great actions for the esteem and approbation of her
we love. The love of a bright woman," he added, "the love of a bright
woman--I speak it with all due reverence," and he put his hand to his
hat, "is the next finest sensation, the next grand mover in human
actions, to the love of God. The object is undoubtedly inferior, but
the course is the same, namely, the striving to do high and excellent
things for the approbation of a being that we love and venerate. Alas
that it should be so! but in this world I fear the love of woman is
amongst us the strongest mover of the two: the other is so remote, so
high, so pure, that our dull senses strain their wings in reaching it.
The love of woman appeals to the earthly as well as to the heavenly
part of man's nature, and consequently is heard more easily.
Perhaps--and Heaven grant it!--that, as some of our fathers held, the
one love may lead us on to the other, and the perishable be but a step
to the immortal. However," he added, "such love as that which you say
possesses your brother, will certainly never lead him on to any thing
that is great, or high, or noble. Most certainly it will not lead him
to the hand of Marie de Clairvaut as long as Henry of Guise can draw a
sword. If he have not betrayed me, he has abandoned me; if he have not
shown himself a coward, he has shown himself a weak defender of those
intrusted to his charge; and under such circumstances, had he the
wealth of either India and the power of Caesar, he should never wed
Marie de Clairvaut." He laid his hand upon the shoulder of Charles of
Montsoreau, and he said, "You have heard my words, good friend; those
words are irrevocable: and now knowing that your brother can never be
really your rival, act as you will. I would fain have your confidence,
Charles, but I will not wring it from you. This girl is beautiful and
sweet and fascinating; and if I judge right, you love her not less but
more nobly than your brother. Tell me, or tell me not as you will, but
we all feel pleased with confidence."
"Oh, my Lord," replied Charles of Montsoreau, "how can I deny you my
confidence when you load me with such proofs of your goodness? I do
love Mademoiselle de Clairvaut as deeply, as intensely, as
passionately, as my brother,--more, more a thousand fold than he or
any body else, I believe, is capable of loving. I had some
opportunities of rendering her services, and on one of those occasions
I was betrayed into words and actions which I fancied must have made
her acquainted with all my feelings. It was after that I discovered,
my Lord, how madly my brother loved her: it was after that I
discovered that the pursuit of my love must bring contention and
destruction on my father's house. Had I believed that she loved me,
nothing should have made me yield her to any one; for I had the prior
claim, I had the prior right: but when I had reason to believe that
she had not marked, and did not comprehend all the signs of my
affection; when I felt that I could quit her without the appearance of
trifling with her regard, though not without the continued misery of
my own life, my determination was taken in a moment, and I determined
to make the sacrifice, be the consequences what they might. Such, my
Lord, is the simple truth; such is the only secret of all my actions."
The Duke of Guise bent down his eyes upon the ground with a smile, in
the expression of which there was a degree of cynical bitterness. It
was somewhat like one of the smiles of the Abbe de Boisguerin; but the
Duke's words explained it at once, which the Abbe's never did.
"I fear, my young friend," he said, "that the science of women's
hearts is a more difficult one than the science of war. You have
learnt the one, it would seem, by intuition; in the other you are yet
a novice. However, you shall pursue your own course, bearing with you
the remembrance that I swear by my own honour--"
"Oh swear not, my Lord," replied Charles of Montsoreau; "circumstances
may change; she may love him; her love may alter him, and lead him
back to noble things."
The Duke smiled again. "What I have said," he answered, "is as good as
sworn. But have it your own way; I thank you for the confidence you
have reposed in me. And now, to show you how I can return it, I have a
task to put upon you, an adventure on which to send forth my new made
knight. I do not think that Henry either will or dare refuse to give
up to me my own relation and ward. The king and I are great friends,
God wot! But still I must demand her, and somebody must take a journey
to Paris for that purpose. To the capital, doubtless, they have
conveyed her; and I trust, my good Logeres, that you will not think it
below your dignity and merit to seek and bring back a daughter of the
House of Guise."
Charles of Montsoreau paused thoughtfully for a moment, ere he
replied. All the difficulties and dangers to which he might be
exposed, in acting against the views of the King of France, were to
him as nothing; but the difficulties and dangers which might arise
from his opposition to his own brother, were painful and fearful to
him to contemplate. He saw not, however, how he could refuse the task;
and it cannot be denied that love for Marie de Clairvaut had its share
also in making him accept it. He doubted not for a moment, that if she
were in the hands of the King, she was there against her own will; and
could he, he asked himself, could he even hesitate to aid in
delivering her from a situation of difficulty, danger, and distress?
The thought of aiding her, the thought of seeing her again, the
thought of hearing the sweet tones of that beloved voice, the thought
of once more soothing and supporting her, all had their share; the
very contemplation made his heart beat; and lifting his eyes, he found
those of the Duke of Guise fixed upon his countenance, reading all the
passing emotions, the shadows of which were brought across him by
those thoughts. The colour mounted slightly into his cheek as he
replied, "My Lord, I will do your bidding to the best of my ability.
When shall I march?"
"Oh, you mistake," said the Duke, laughing; "you are not to go at the
head of your men, armed _cap-a-pie_, to deliver the damsel from the
giant's castle; but in the quality of my envoy to Henry; first of all
demanding, quietly and gently, where the Lady is, and then requiring
him to deliver her into your hands, for the purpose of escorting her
to me, where-ever I may be. You shall have full powers for the latter
purpose; but you must keep them concealed till such time as you have
discovered, either from the King's own lips--though no sincerity
dwells upon them--or by your own private inquiries and investigations,
where this poor girl is. Then you may produce to the King your powers
from me, and to herself I will give you a letter, requesting her to
follow your directions in all things. Now, you must show yourself as
great a diplomatist as a soldier, for I can assure you that you will
have to deal with as artful and as wily a man as any now living in
Europe."
"I will do my best, my Lord; and to enable me to deal with them before
all their plans are prepared, I had better set out at break of day
to-morrow, with as many men as your Highness thinks fit should
accompany me."
The Duke mused for a moment or two; "No," he said, "no; I must not let
you go, Logeres, without providing for your safety. You have risked
your life sufficiently for me and mine already. You go into new
scenes, with which you are unacquainted; into dangers, with which you
may find it more difficult to cope than any that you have hitherto met
with. I cannot then suffer you to depart without such passports and
safeguards as may diminish those dangers as far as possible."
"Oh, I fear not, my Lord," replied Charles of Montsoreau, "the King
and your Highness are not at war. I have done nothing to offend,
and--"
"It cannot be, it cannot be," replied the Duke. "You must go back with
me to Soissons. I will send a messenger from this place to demand the
necessary passports for you. No great time will be lost, for a common
courier can pass where you or I would be stopped. Then," he continued,
"as to the men that you should take with you, I should say, the fewer
the better. Mark me," he continued, with a smile, "there are secret
springs in all things; and I will give you letters to people in Paris,
which will put at your disposal five hundred men on the notice of half
an hour. Ay, more, should you require them. But use not these letters
except in the last necessity, for they might hurry on events which I
would rather see advance slowly till they were forced upon me, than do
aught to bring them forward myself. No; you shall go back with me to
Soissons, guarding me with your band; and I doubt not, our messenger
from Paris will not be many hours after us. Now leave me, and to rest,
good Logeres, and send in the servant, whom you will find half way
down the stairs."
The young Count withdrew without another word, and he found that while
the conversation between himself and the Duke had been going on, a man
had been stationed, both above and below the door of the apartment, as
if to insure that nobody approached to listen. Such were the sad
precautions necessary in those days.
Early on the following morning the whole party mounted their horses,
the wounded men of Logeres were left under the care and attendance of
the good townsmen of Montigny, and the young Count riding with the
party of the Duke of Guise, proceeded on the road to Soissons. No
adventure occurred to disturb their progress; and, as so constantly
happens in the midst of scenes of danger, pain, and difficulty, almost
every one of the whole party endeavoured to compensate for the
frequent endurance of peril and pain by filling up the intervals with
light laughter and unthinking gaiety. The Duke of Guise himself was
not the least cheerful of the party, though occasionally the cloud of
thought would settle again upon his brow, and a pause of deep
meditation would interrupt the jest or the sally. It was late at night
when they arrived at Soissons, and the Duke, after supping with the
Cardinal de Bourbon, retired to rest, without conversing with any of
his party. It was about eight o'clock on the following morning, and
while, by the dull grey light of a cloudy spring day, Charles of
Montsoreau was dressing himself, with the aid of one of his servants,
that the door opened without any previous announcement, and the Duke
of Guise, clad in a dressing-gown of crimson velvet trimmed with
miniver, entered the room, bearing in his hand a packet of sealed
letters, and one open one. A page followed him with something wrapped
up in a skin of leather, which he placed upon one of the stools, and
instantly retired.
"Send away your man, Count," said the Duke, seating himself; "resume
your dressing-gown, and kindly give me your full attention for
half an hour. You will be so good," he continued, turning to the man
who was quitting the chamber, "as to take your stand on the first
landing-place below this door. You will tell any body whom you see
coming up to pass by the other staircase; any one you may see coming
down, you will direct to pass by this door quickly."
There was a stern command in the eye of the Duke of Guise which had a
strong effect upon those it rested on; and the man to whom he now
spoke made his exit from the room, stumbling over twenty things in his
haste to obey. As soon as he was gone, the Duke turned to his young
friend, and continued, "Here is the King's safeguard under his own
hand, and the necessary passports for yourself and two attendants.
Here is your letter of credit to him in my name, requiring him to give
you every sort of information which he may be possessed of regarding
the subjects which you will mention to him; and here is a third
letter giving you full power to demand at his hands the person of
Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, for the purpose of escorting her and
placing her under my protection. This, again, is to Mary herself,
bidding her follow your counsels and direction in every thing; and
these others are to certain citizens of Paris, whose names you will
find written thereon. If you will take my advice, you will again take
with you the boy Ignati, and one stout man-at-arms, unarmed, however,
except in such a manner as the dangers of the road require. You
understand, I think, clearly, all that I wish."
"I believe, my Lord, I do," replied the Count. "But how am I to insure
safety for Mademoiselle de Clairvaut on the road, without an adequate
force?"
"Write to me but one word," replied the Duke of Guise, "as soon as she
is delivered into your hands, and I will send you with all speed
whatever forces I can spare. But I have one or two things to
communicate to you, which it is necessary for you to know, both for
your own security and the success of your mission. The principal part
of my niece's lands lie in the neighbourhood of Chateauneuf, between
Dreux and Mortagne in Normandy. It is not at all unlikely, that, if
driven to remove her from your sight, Henry may be tempted to send her
thither, well knowing that it is what I have always opposed, and that
I preferred rather that she should dwell even in Languedoc than be in
that neighbourhood. For this I had a reason; and that reason is the
near relationship in which her father stood to the most daring and the
most dangerous man in France. One of the first of those whom you will
see near the person of the King, the man who governs and rules him to
his own infamy and destruction, in whose hands the minions are but
tools and Henry an instrument, who, more than any one else, has tended
to change a gracious prince, a skilful general, and a brave man, into
an effeminate and vicious king, is Rene de Villequier, Baron of
Clairvaut. He was first cousin to Marie de Clairvaut's father, and he
is consequently her nearest male relation out of the family of Guise.
He has, indeed, sometimes hinted at a right to share in the
guardianship of his cousin's daughter. But such things a Guise permits
not. However, with this claim upon the disposal of her hand, Henry
may, perhaps, hesitate to yield her, unless with the consent of
Villequier. With him, then, you may be called upon to deal; but
Villequier, I think, knows the hand of a Guise too well to call down a
blow from it unnecessarily. However, he is as daring as he is artful,
and impunity in crime has rendered him perfectly careless of
committing it. He is Governor of Paris, one of the King's ministers, a
Knight of the Holy Ghost. Now hear what he has done to merit all this.
More than one assassin broken on the wheel has avowed himself the
instrument of Villequier, sent to administer poison to those he did
not love. Complaisant in every thing to his King, he sought to
sacrifice to him the honour of his wife: but she differed from him in
her tastes; and, on the eighteenth of last September, in broad
daylight, in the midst of an effeminate court, he murdered her with
his own hand at her dressing-table. Nor was this all: there was a
girl--a young sweet girl--the natural daughter of a noble house, who
was holding before the unhappy lady a mirror to arrange her dress when
the fatal blow was struck. The fiend's taste for blood was roused. One
victim was not enough, and he murdered the wretched girl by the side
of her dead mistress. This was done in open day, was never disowned,
was known to every one, and was rewarded by the order of the Holy
Ghost--an insult to God, to France, and to humanity.[1] However, as
with this man you may have to deal, I have to give you two cautions.
Never drink wine with him, or eat food at his table; never go into his
presence without wearing under your other dress the bosom friend which
I have brought you there;" and he took from the leathern skin in which
it was wrapped, a shirt of mail, made of rings linked together, so
fine that it seemed the lightest stroke would have broken it, and yet
so strong, that the best tempered poinard, driven by the most powerful
hand, could not have pierced it. "Have also in your bosom," continued
the Duke of Guise, "a small pistol; and if the villain attempts to lay
his hand upon you, kill him like a dog. This is the only way to deal
with Rene de Villequier."
---------------------
[Footnote 1: All these charges were but too true.]
---------------------
The young Count smiled: "And is it needful my Lord Duke," he asked,
"to take all these precautions in the courtly world of Paris?--Do you
yourself take them, my Lord?--I fear not sufficiently."
"Oh! with regard to myself," replied the Duke, it is different. "I am
so marked out and noted, they dare not do any thing against me. They
would raise up a thousand vengeful hands against them in a moment, and
they know that, too well to run such a risk. Neither Henry nor
Villequier would hold their lives by an hour's tenure after Guise was
dead. But you must take these precautions, my young friend. And now I
have nothing more to say, except that, whatever you do to withdraw
Marie de Clairvaut from the hands into which she has fallen, I will
justify. If any ill befall you, I will avenge you as my brother; and
if you deliver her from those whom she hates and abhors, she shall,
give you any testimony of her gratitude that she pleases, without a
man in France saying you nay."
"Oh, my Lord, it is not for that I go!" exclaimed Charles of
Montsoreau, with the blood rushing up again into his cheek. "It is
not; surely you believe--"
"Hush! hush!" replied the Duke. "I have fallen into the foolish error
of saying too much, my good young friend. But now, fare you well. Make
your arrangements as speedily as you can; mount your horse, and onward
to Paris, while I apply myself to matters which may well occupy every
minute and every thought."
CHAP. III.