brief moment that intervened before he appeared, considered hastily,
whether he should employ this personage in any way in making the
inquiries that were necessary. He knew that he was highly esteemed by
the Duke of Guise; but yet it was evident that, by some of the members
of, or the followers of, the League in Paris, the Duke was himself
entirely deceived; and yet Charles of Montsoreau was more inclined to
trust this man's sincerity than that of the person who had left him
some short time before, inasmuch as the Duke had addressed one of the
private letters we have before mentioned to him, while he had never
named the other. The countenance and appearance of Chapelle Marteau
confirmed any prepossession in his favour. It was quick, and
intelligent, and frank, though somewhat stern; and he had moreover the
air and bearing of a man in the higher ranks of life, although he held
but an office which was then considered inferior, that of one of the
Masters in the Chamber of Accounts.
"I come, sir," he said, as soon as the first civilities were over, "to
ask your pardon for some quickness on my part in refusing you
admittance at the gates last night. The fact is, that bad-intentioned
people have been endeavouring to introduce into the city of Paris,
under the King's name, a multitude of soldiery, in twos and threes,
for the purpose of overawing us in the pursuit of our rights and
liberties."
"Say no more, say no more, Monsieur Chapelle," said the Count; "I
doubt not you had very good reasons for what you did."
He then paused, leaving his companion to pursue the subject as he
might think fit; and the leaguer seemed somewhat embarrassed as to how
he should proceed, though his embarrassment showed itself in a
different manner from that of Master Nicolas Poulain. At length he
said, "I entertained some hope, sir, that you might bring me a
communication from the Duke of Guise, as, when I had the honour of
seeing him at Gonesse three days ago, he gave me the hope that he
would write to me ere long."
"No, Monsieur Chapelle," replied the Count deliberately; "I have no
message for you. His Highness directed me indeed to apply to you in
case of need; and I know that he has the highest esteem for you,
believing you to be a zealous defender of our holy faith, and a man
well worthy of every consideration;--but I have no present message to
you from the Duke; and the case in which it may be necessary to apply
to you for assistance, according to his Highness's direction, has not
yet arrived."
"Most delighted shall I be, my Lord[3] Count," replied the leaguer,
"to afford you any aid or assistance or council in my power, both on
account of his Highness the Duke of Guise and on your own. Might I ask
what is the case foreseen, in which you are to apply to me?"
---------------------
[Footnote 3: The word Monseigneur, my Lord, which in the days of Louis
XIV. had become restricted to a very few high dignitaries, or only
given to other noblemen by their own servants and tenantry, was in the
reign of Henry III. commonly used to all high noblemen, and we find
constantly titles addressed _A mon tres illustre et tres honore
Seigneur le Marquis_; or, _A l'illustre Seigneur, Monseigneur le Comte
de_ ----.]
---------------------
The Count smiled. "In case, Monsieur Chapelle," he said, "that I do
not succeed in objects which the Duke has entrusted to me by other
means, you shall know. At present, however, I have had no opportunity
of ascertaining what may be necessary to be done, finding that the
King is at Vincennes. In the mean time I am employing myself about
some personal business of my own, which I am afraid is likely to give
me trouble."
He spoke quite calmly; but a look of intelligence came immediately
over the countenance of Chapelle Marteau, and he said, "Perhaps I
might be enabled to assist your Lordship. My knowledge of Paris, and
all that is transacted therein, is very extensive."
"You are very kind," replied the Count, "and I take advantage of your
offer with the greatest pleasure. The matter is a very simple one. My
elder brother, the Marquis de Montsoreau, set out some time ago to
join the Duke of Guise, having under his charge and escort a young
lady, named Mademoiselle de Clairvaut."
"Daughter of the Duke of Guise's niece," said Chapelle Marteau with
some emphasis.
"I believe that is the relationship," answered the young nobleman.
"But, however, the facts are these: I have reason to believe that my
brother was interrupted in his journey by the attack of a party of
reiters, and was obliged in consequence to put himself and
Mademoiselle de Clairvaut under the protection of a body of the King's
troops coming to Paris. Now, my wish is, to ascertain whether he or
any of his party, either separately or together, are now in Paris, and
where they are to be found."
The leaguer gazed in his face for a minute or two with an inquiring
look, and then replied, "I can tell you at once, my Lord, that no
considerable party whatever has entered the gates of Paris under the
protection of the King's troops for the last ten days, no party of
even ten in number having the ensigns of Valois having appeared during
that time. But the party you mention may have come in by themselves
without the King's troops; and I rather suspect that they have so
done. However, I will let you know the exact particulars within four
and twenty hours from this moment, and every other information that I
can by any means glean regarding the persons you speak of; for I very
well understand, my Lord, that there may be more intelligence required
about them than you choose to ask for at once."
The young Count smiled again, but merely replied, "Any information
that you can obtain for me, Monsieur Chapelle, will be received by me
most gratefully; and in the mean time will you do me the honour of
partaking my poor dinner which is about to be served?"
The leaguer, however, declined the high honour, alleging important
business as his excuse; and, after having dined, the young Count rode
out through the streets of Paris, endeavouring to make himself
somewhat familiar with them, and feeling all those sensations which
the sight of that great capital might well produce on one who had
never beheld it before. On those sensations, however, we must not
pause, as matters of more importance are before us. A couple of hours
after nightfall he received a note to the following effect:--
"The Marquis de Montsoreau, with a body of horsemen, bearing no
badge or ensign, entered Paris yesterday at about four o'clock, and
lodged at the Fleur-de-lis. He is not there now, however, and is
supposed to have quitted Paris. Mademoiselle de Clairvaut is not known
to have entered the capital; but a carriage, containing ladies and
waiting-women, was escorted to Vincennes this morning by a body of
troops of Valois. The name of one of the ladies was ascertained to be
the Marquise de Saulny."
Charles of Montsoreau received these tidings with a beating heart, and
sleep did not visit his eyelids till the clock of a neighbouring
church had struck five in the morning.
CHAP. IV.
Dark heavy clouds hung over the world, and totally obscured the face
of the sky; the morning was chill, the air keen, and the eye of the
peasant was often turned up towards the leaden-looking masses of
vapour above his head, as if to inquire whether their stores would be
poured forth in lightning or in snow; and as Charles of Montsoreau
rode on through the park to the Donjon of Vincennes, he felt the
gloomy aspect of the whole scene more than he might have done at any
other time.
There, before his eyes, with the whole face of nature harmonising well
with its dark and frowning aspect, rose the grey gigantic keep, which
the vanquished opponent of Edward III., the rash and half-insane
founder of the race of Valois, erected at an early period of his
melancholy reign. Story above story, the large quadrangular mass, with
its flanking towers, rose up till it seemed to touch the gloomy sky
above; but in those days it had at least the beauty of harmony, for no
one had added to the harsh and solemn features of the feudal
architecture the gewgaw ornaments of a later age. The gallery of Marie
de Medici was not built, and nothing was seen but the antique form of
the Donjon itself, with the mass of walls surrounding its base with
their flanking turrets, a pinnacle or two rising above--as if from
some low Gothic building within the walls--and the still dark fosse
surrounding the whole.
We form but a faint idea to ourselves--a very very faint idea of the
manners and customs of feudal times; but still less, perhaps, can we
form any just idea of the every-day enormities, crimes, and vices,
that were committed at the period we now speak of, and of what it was
to live familiarly in the midst of such scenes, and to hear daily of
such occurrences. The mind of most men got hardened, callous, or
indifferent to acts of darkness and of shame, even if they did not
commit them themselves; and the world of Paris heard with scarcely an
emotion that this nobleman had been poisoned by another--that the hand
of the assassin had delivered one high lord of this troublesome friend
or that pertinacious enemy--that the husband had "drugged the posset"
for the wife, or the wife for the husband--or that persons obnoxiously
wise or virtuous disappeared within the walls of such places as
Vincennes, and passed suddenly with their good acts into that oblivion
which is the general recompense of all that is excellent upon earth.
No one noted such deeds; the sword of justice started from the
scabbard once or twice in a century, but that was all; and the world
laughed as merrily--the jest and the repartee went on--sport, love,
and folly revelled as gaily through the streets of Paris, as if it had
been a world of gentleness, and security, and peace.
Though of course Charles of Montsoreau felt in some degree the spirit
of the day--though he thought it nothing at all extraordinary to be
attacked by reiters in his own chateau, or stopped by fifty or sixty
plunderers on the broad highway--though it seemed perfectly natural to
him that man should live as in a state of continual warfare, always on
his defence, yet the whole of his previous life having passed far from
the daily occurrence of still more revolting scenes, in spots where
calm nature and God's handiwork were still at hand to purify and heal
men's thoughts, he had very different feelings in regard to the events
and customs of the day from those which were generally entertained by
the people of the metropolis. Thus, when he gazed up at the gloomy
tower of Vincennes, and thought of the deeds which had been committed
within its walls, together with the crimes and follies that were daily
there enacted, a feeling of mingled horror and disgust took possession
of his bosom; and had he not been impelled by a sense of duty, he
would not have set his foot upon the threshold of those polluted
gates.
The order to appear before the King at Vincennes had been communicated
to him early in the morning, and notice of his coming had been given
to the officers at the gates of the castle. He was punctual to a
moment at the appointed time, and was instantly led into the chateau,
and conducted up a long, darksome, winding stone staircase in one of
the towers. Everything took place almost in silence; few persons were
to be seen moving about in the building; and, while winding up those
stairs, nothing was heard but the footfalls of himself and the
attendant who conducted him.
Charles of Montsoreau certainly felt neither awe nor fear as he thus
advanced, though some of the warnings of the Duke of Guise might cross
his mind at the moment; but at the end of what seemed to be the first
story, the attendant said, "Wait a moment;" and, pushing open a door,
entered a room to the right. There was another door beyond, but both
were left partly unclosed, and the previous silence was certainly no
longer to be complained of, for such a jabbering, and screaming, and
yelling, and howling, as was now heard, was probably never known in
the palace of a king, before or since.
Human sounds they seemed certainly not to be, and yet words in various
languages were to be distinguished, so that conjecture was quite put
at fault, till after an absence of several minutes the attendant
returned, and, bidding the young nobleman follow him, led the way once
more into this den of noise and confusion.
The scene that then burst upon the eyes of Charles of Montsoreau was
as curious as can well be conceived. Innumerable parrots, macaws, and
cockatoos were ranged on perches and in cages along the sides of a
large apartment, with intervals of monkeys and apes rattling their
chains, springing forward at every object near them, mouthing,
chattering, and writhing themselves into fantastic forms; six or seven
small beautiful dogs of a peculiar breed were running about on the
floor, snarling at one another, barking at the stranger, or teazing
the other animals in the same room with themselves; baskets filled
with litters of puppies were in every corner of the room; and several
men and women were engaged in tending the winged and quadruped
favourites of the King. Not only, however, were the regular attendants
present, but, as one of the known ways to Henry's regard, a great
number of other persons were always to be found busily engaged in
tending the monkeys, parrots, and dogs. Amongst the rest here present,
were no less than five dwarfs, four others being in actual attendance
upon the King. None were above three feet and a half in height, and
some were deformed and distorted in the most fearful manner, while one
was perfectly and beautifully formed, and seemed to hold the others in
great contempt. The voices of almost all of them, however, were
cracked and screaming; and it was the sounds of their tongues, mingled
with the yelping of the dogs, the chattering of the monkeys, and the
various words repeated in different languages by the loquacious birds
along the wall, which had made the Babel of sounds that reached the
ears of Charles of Montsoreau while he stood without.
Passing through this room, with the envious eyes of the dwarfs staring
upon his fine figure, the young Count entered the chamber of the
pages--where, as if for the sake of contrast, a number of beautiful
youths were seen--and was thence led on into the royal apartments, in
which every thing was calm splendour and magnificence. Here and there
various officers of the royal household were found lounging away the
idle hours as they waited for the King's commands; and at length, in
an ante-room, the young Count was bade to wait again, while the
attendant once more notified his coming to the King. He was scarcely
detained a moment now, however; but, the door being opened, he was
ushered into the monarch's presence.
Henry on the present occasion presented an aspect different from that
which the young Count had expected to behold. The Monarch had
recalled, for a moment or two, the princely and commanding air of his
youth, and received the young Count with dignity and grace. His person
was handsome, his figure fine, and his dress in the most exquisite
taste that it was possible to conceive. It was neither so effeminate
nor so overcharged with ornament as it sometimes was; and the black
velvet slashed and laced with gold, the toque with a single large
diamond on his head, the long snowy-white ostrich feather, and the
collar of one or two high orders round his neck, became him well, and
harmonised with the air of dignity he assumed.
There were two or three gentlemen who stood around him more gaudily
dressed than himself, and amongst them was the Duke of Epernon, whom
Charles of Montsoreau remembered to have seen at his father's chateau
some years before. All, however, held back so as to allow the monarch
a full view of the young cavalier, as he advanced.
"You are welcome to Vincennes, Monsieur de Logeres," said the King.
"Our noble and princely cousin of Guise has notified to us that he has
sent you to Paris on business of importance; and, having given you
that praise which we are sure you must merit, has besought us to put
every sort of trust and confidence in you, and to listen to you as to
himself, while you speak with us upon the affairs which have brought
you hither. We beseech you, therefore, to inform us of that which he
has left dark, and tell us how we may pleasure our fair cousin, which
is always our first inclination to do--the good of our state and the
welfare of our subjects considered."
"His Highness the Duke of Guise, Sire," replied Charles of Montsoreau,
not in the slightest degree abashed by the many eyes that were fixed
upon him, scrutinising his person and his dress in the most
unceremonious manner, "his Highness the Duke of Guise, Sire, has sent
me to your Majesty, to ask information regarding a young lady, his
near relation, who, he has reason to believe, was protected by a body
of your Majesty's troops in a situation of some difficulty, for which
protection the Duke is most grateful. She was then, he understood,
conducted to this your Majesty's castle of Vincennes, doubtless for
the purpose of affording her a safe asylum till you could restore her
to his Highness, who is her guardian."
Henry turned with a sneering smile towards a dark but handsome man,
with a somewhat sinister expression of countenance, on his left hand,
saying, in an under tone, "Quick travelling, Villequier! to Soissons
and back to Paris in four and twenty hours, ha! Had the swallow ever
wings like rumour?"
This was said affectedly aside, but quite loud enough for the young
nobleman to hear the whole. He, of course, made no reply, as the words
were not addressed to him; but waited, with his eyes bent down,
apparently in thoughtful meditation, till the King should give him his
answer.
"You have given us, Monsieur le Comte de Logeres," said the King, "but
a faint idea of this business; and, as unhappily the commanders of our
troops are but too little accustomed to afford us any very full
account of their proceedings, we are ignorant of the occasion on which
any one of them rendered this service to the young lady you mention."
This affected unconsciousness, displayed absolutely in conjunction
with a scarcely concealed knowledge of the whole affair, Charles of
Montsoreau felt to be trifling and insulting: but he lost not his
reverence for the kingly authority; and he replied, with every
appearance of deference, "I had imagined, Sire, that the quick wings
of rumour must have carried the whole particulars to your Majesty,
otherwise I should have been more particular in my account. The
service was rendered to the young lady very lately, between Jouarre
and Gandelu. I am not absolutely aware of the name of the officer in
command of the troops at the time, but one gentleman present bore the
name of Colombel."
"And pray what was the name of the young lady herself?" demanded the
King, with a sneer. "The Duke of Guise has many she relations, as we
sometimes find to our cost. It could not be our pretty, mild, and
virtuous friend, the Duchess of Montpensier, nor the delicate and
fair-favoured Mademoiselle de St. Beuve; for the one is staying in
Paris in disobedience to the orders of the King, and the other is
remaining there, waiting for the tender consolations of the Chevalier
d'Aumale."
The young Count turned somewhat red, both at the coarseness and the
scornfulness of the King's reply. "The young lady," he answered,
however, still keeping the same tone, "is named Mademoiselle de
Clairvaut, daughter of the late Count de Clairvaut."
"Your first cousin, Villequier," said the King, turning to his
minister. "You should know something of this affair?"
"Not more than your Majesty," replied Villequier, bowing low, and
perceiving very clearly that Henry had maliciously wished to embarrass
him.
The King smiled at the double-meaning answer, and then, turning to the
young Count, replied, "Well, sir, you have fulfilled your mission, and
may tell the Duke of Guise, our true and well-beloved cousin, that we
will cause immediate inquiry and investigation to be made into the
whole affair; and let him know the particulars as soon as we are
sufficiently well-informed to speak upon it with that accuracy which
becomes our character. You may retire."
This was of course not the conclusion of the affair to which Charles
of Montsoreau was inclined to submit; and it was evident to him that
the King and his minions presumed upon his apparent youth and
inexperience. But there was a firm decision in his character which
they were not prepared for; and after pausing for a moment in thought,
during which time the King's brows began to bend angrily upon him, he
raised his eyes, looking Henry calmly and stedfastly in the face, and
replying, "Your Majesty must pardon me if I do not take instant
advantage of your permission to retire, as you have conceived a false
impression when you imagine that my mission is fulfilled."
The King looked with an air of astonishment, first to Epernon and then
to Villequier: but the former turned away his head with a look of
dissatisfaction; while the latter bit his lip, let his hand fall upon
a jewelled dagger in his belt, and said nothing.
Charles of Montsoreau, however, went on in the same calm but
determined tone. "His Highness the Duke of Guise," he said, "directed
me to inform your Majesty of the facts I have mentioned, and to beg in
general terms information regarding them; but in case the general
information that I obtained was not sufficiently accurate to enable me
to write to him distinctly that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut is in this
place, or in that place, he further directed me humbly to request that
your Majesty would answer in plain terms the following plain
questions:--Is Mademoiselle de Clairvaut in the chateau of Vincennes?
Is she under the charge and protection of your Majesty? Does your
Majesty know where she is?"
"By the Lord that lives," exclaimed Henry, "this Duke of Guise chooses
himself bold ambassadors to his King!"
"Do you dare, malapert boy," exclaimed Villequier, "with that bold
brow, to cross-question your sovereign?"
"I do dare, sir," answered Charles of Montsoreau, "to ask my
sovereign, in the name of the Duke of Guise, these plain questions,
which, as he is a just and noble monarch, he can neither find any
difficulty in answering, nor feel any anger in hearing."
"And what if I refuse to answer, sir?" demanded the King. "What is to
be the consequence then? Is the doughty messenger charged to make a
declaration of war on the part of our obedient subject, the Duke of
Guise?"
The young Count was not prepared for this question, and hesitated how
to answer it, though a full knowledge of how terrible the Duke of
Guise was to the weak and effeminate monarch he addressed, brought a
smile over his countenance, which had in reality more effect than any
words he could have spoken. After a pause, however, he replied,--"Oh
no, Sire. The Duke of Guise is, as you say, your Majesty's most
devoted and obedient subject; and never conceiving it possible that
you would refuse to answer his humble questions, he gave me no
instructions what to say in a case that he did not foresee. I can only
suppose," he added, with a low and reverent bow to the King, "that the
Duke will be obliged to come to Paris himself to make those inquiries
and investigations, concerning his young relation, in which I have not
been successful."
Charles of Montsoreau could see, notwithstanding the paint, which
delicately furnished the King with a more stable complexion than his
own, that at the very thought of the Duke of Guise coming to Paris the
weak monarch turned deadly pale. The same signs also were visible to
Villequier, who whispered, "No fear, Sire; no fear; he will not come!"
The King answered sharply, however, and sufficiently loud for the
young nobleman to hear, "We must give him no excuse, Rene! we must
give him no excuse! Monsieur de Logeres," he continued, putting on a
more placable air than before, "we are glad to find that neither the
Duke of Guise nor his envoy presumes to threaten us; and in
consideration of the questions being put in a proper manner, we are
willing to answer them to the best of our abilities."