Henry of Guise Volume Iii Part 1

Henry of Guise.

Vol. III.

by G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford) James.

CHAPTER I.

The convent of the Black Penitents was a very different building indeed, and a very different establishment altogether from that which the imagination of the reader may have raised up from the images furnished by dark and mysterious tales of Italian superst.i.tion. It was certainly intended to be, and was, in some degree, a place of voluntary penitence for women who conceived that they had led a peculiarly sinful life: but there were two cla.s.ses of nuns confined there by their own good will,--one of which consisted of persons who had mingled long with the world, and really led an irregular life therein; while the other comprised a number of young women of high rank, who had never known any thing, either of the pleasures or the vices which the others now fled from, but who, either by a natural feeling of devotion, or the urgency of relations, had devoted themselves at an early period to the cloister.

In point of diet, fasts, prayers, and penances the order was certainly very strict; but the building in itself was any thing but a gloomy one, and a considerable portion of it, attached to the dwelling of the superior, was set apart for the occasional boarders, who took up their abode there, or for such ladies of high rank and station as might wish to absent themselves for a time from the cares and vanities of the world, and retire to a more intimate communion with G.o.d and their own heart, than they could enjoy in such a capital as that of France.

Such was the original intention of these apartments, and the destination of the inst.i.tution altogether; but we well know how every thing entrusted to human management here is corrupted in process of time. The rooms which at first had been furnished simply, were soon decked with every sort of ornament; the visiter's table, as it was called, was separated from the ordinary board of the refectory; cooks and wine-growers did their best to gratify the palate; and, with the exception of the vowed nuns, those who sought shelter in the convent of the Black Penitents were condemned to but little abstinence, and knew only this difference from the world in general, that they had an opportunity of escaping obtrusive society when they thought fit.

It was in one then of the handsomest apartments of the building--to speak truth, one far handsomer than that occupied by the Queen-mother herself--that Marie de Clairvaut made her abode during the time she was confined in that building. No great restraint, indeed, was put upon her; but the word confinement was justified by the measures taken to prevent her quitting the convent, or holding communication with any one but the nuns themselves.

To this apartment the Prioress led her back again, after putting an end to her interview with Charles of Montsoreau, and though the good lady herself was by no means entirely weaned from the affections of this world, she thought it but befitting to read Mademoiselle de Clairvaut a brief lecture on the necessity of attaching herself to higher objects, and an exhortation to abandon earthly attachments, and dedicate herself to the service of Heaven. She hinted, indeed, that there could not be an order more worthy of entering into than the one of which she was an unworthy member; nor, indeed, one in which so many of the little pleasures of life could be combined with deep devotion.

Marie de Clairvaut was, at that moment, far more inclined to weep than smile; but it was scarcely possible not to feel amused at the exhortation of the Prioress; and certainly the greater degree of knowledge which the young lady had lately acquired of conventual life would have banished from her mind all desire to take those irrevocable vows which she had once looked forward to with pleasure, even if love had not long before driven all such purposes from her mind.

Glad to be freed from importunity, and left to her own thoughts, she replied nothing to the good mother's words; and, as soon as she was gone, gave up her whole mind to the recollection of the interview which she had just had with him she loved. To her, too, that interview was a source of deep gratification; every memory of it was dear to her; every word that Charles of Montsoreau had spoken came back to her heart like the voice of hope, and giving way to the suggestions of that bright enchantress, she flattered herself with the expectation of seeing him again and again, even if the presence of the Duke of Guise in Paris failed to restore them both to liberty.

Previously to that period, she had been accustomed to see the Queen almost every day, and indeed more than once during the day; but, during the whole of that evening she saw her not again, and though she eagerly asked the next morning to be admitted to the presence of Catherine de Medici, the only answer that she obtained was, that though the Princess was expected again in the evening, she had not yet returned from the palace.

The second day pa.s.sed as the first had done, but during the morning of the third the excitement of the city had communicated itself even to the inmates of the convent. The portress, the lay sisters, the visiters, obtained the news of the hour from those without, and communicated it to the nuns within. Nor did two of those nuns, who had entered into some degree of intimacy with the fair prisoner, fail to bring her, every half-hour, intelligence of what was pa.s.sing without.

The first news brought was that the guards in the streets of Paris had been all changed and doubled during the preceding night, and that the Holy League and the Court were in continual agitation, watching each other's movements. One of the nuns whispered that people said, it had been proposed by the Duke of Epernon, to murder the Duke of Guise at the very door of that convent, as he came to visit the Queen-mother; and others declared, she added, that the Duke had vowed he would not rest till he had taken the crown off Henry's head, and put it on that of the Cardinal de Bourbon.

Then came intelligence that a large body of the Swiss guards had just entered Paris, and were seen marching rapidly down the Rue St. Honore, with their fifes silent, and their drums still. Hourly after that came the news of fresh troops entering the city, and fresh rumours of manifold designs and purposes against the life of the Duke of Guise.

His house was to be attacked by the French and Swiss guards, and his head to be struck off in the Place de Greve: he was to be shot by an a.s.sa.s.sin, placed at one of the windows of an opposite house, the first time he came out; and some said that Villequier had found means to bribe Lanecque, his cook, to poison him that night at supper, as well as all who were with him.

The various scenes, and the dangers and difficulties which she had lately encountered, had given Marie de Clairvaut a far greater knowledge of the world, and of how the important events of the world take place, than was possessed by any of her companions; and she a.s.suredly did not believe a thousandth part of all the different rumours that reached her. The reiteration of those rumours, however, gave her some apprehensions for her great relation; and when towards the evening she was visited by the Prioress, and found that, beyond all doubt, every gate of the city, except the porte St. Honore, was closed, her fears became much greater, seeing plainly that it was the design of the Court to hem the Duke in, within the walls of Paris, deprived, as they believed him to be, of all a.s.sistance from his friends without.

The night pa.s.sed over, however, in tranquillity; and when, at an early hour, the young lady rose, she was informed, as she had expected, that a great part of the rumours of the preceding day were false or exaggerated. No Swiss, it was now said, had arrived, except a very small body; the Duke of Guise had been seen on horseback with the King; and the mind of Marie de Clairvaut became rea.s.sured in regard to her uncle. The Prioress herself--though somewhat given to fear, and like many other persons, absolutely enjoying a little apprehension in default of other excitement--acknowledged that all seemed likely to go well.

But this state of security was soon changed. The report regarding the arrival of the Swiss had only forerun the event by a few hours, for the sound of drums and trumpets heard from the side of the Cemetery of the Innocents towards seven o'clock in the morning, announced to the Parisians that a large body of troops had been introduced in the night, without the city in general knowing it; and in a few minutes after the movements of these forces evidently showed that some grand stroke was to be struck by the Court against its enemies. The Place de Greve was next occupied by a considerable force of mixed Swiss and French guards, favoured in their entrance by the Prevot des Marchands, and led by the notorious Marquis d'O. Various other points, such as bridges and market-places, were seized upon by the troops; and the greatest activity seemed to reign in the royal party, while that of the Duke of Guise and the League, remained perfectly still and inactive, as if thunderstruck at this sudden display of energy.

News of all these proceedings reached Marie de Clairvaut in the convent, accompanied with such circ.u.mstances of confirmation, that she could not doubt that the intelligence was partly true. But for a short time after the troops were posted, every thing seemed to relapse into tranquillity, except that from time to time reports were brought to the convent parlour, of citizens, and especially women, being treated with great insolence and grossness by the soldiery. Crillon himself was heard to swear that any citizen who came abroad with a sword should be hung to his door-post, while worse was threatened to the wives and daughters of the burghers, if the slightest resistance was made to the troops. The portress brought news that all the houses and shops in the Rue St. Denis and the Rue St. Honore were closed; and the Prioress herself thought it was high time to cause the convent gates to be shut and barred, and even that door which led into what was called the rector's court, and which usually stood open, to be closed and fastened with large chains.

At length tidings were brought that the first open resistance of the people had commenced; that blood had been shed; and it was rumoured that Crillon himself, attempting to take possession of the Place Maubert with two companies of Swiss and one of French guards, had been opposed by the scholars of the University and the citizen guard, and forced to retreat without effecting his object.

The terror of the Prioress was now extreme; the sound of horses galloping here and there with the most vehement speed, could be heard even in the parlour of the convent, and towards nine o'clock the roll of distant musketry borne by the wind completed the terror of the poor nuns.

It was evident now to Marie de Clairvaut that a struggle had commenced between the Monarch and the people of the capital, on which depended the safety, perhaps the life, of the Duke of Guise, and, in a great degree, her own fate and happiness. In that struggle she could take no part; and, situated as she was, she could gain no relief even from hearing any exact account of how it proceeded from time to time.

The fears of the good superior of the convent had driven her by this time to the resource of prayer. All the nuns were ordered to a.s.semble in the chapel; and Marie de Clairvaut, feeling that none at that moment had greater need of heavenly protection than herself, prepared to follow, after listening for a few minutes, alone in her chamber, to the distant roll of musketry which still went on; when suddenly the Prioress returned in great haste with a paper in her hand, and apparently in much agitation and alarm.

"There, there," she said, thrusting the paper into Marie de Clairvaut's hands, "that is from the Queen! Do what you like! Act as you like! I would not go out for the whole world, for just through the grating I have seen a Swiss officer carried by, all dropping with blood as they bore him along the streets. I will go to prayers; I will go to prayers!"

The note from the Queen-mother was very brief.

"You know, mademoiselle," it said, "that you have not been kept where you are by my orders. I would fain have set you free two nights ago by any means in my power, if meddling fools on the one side, and cowardly fools on the other, had not frustrated my plan. I have now taken the responsibility upon myself of ordering the gates to be opened to you.

The man who brings you this is brave and to be trusted; and what I have to entreat of you is, if I have shown you any kindness, to go with all speed to the hotel of my good cousin of Guise, and beseech him to do his best to allay the tumult, so far, at least, that I myself may come to him with safety. The scenes that you will meet with may be terrible, but you have that blood in your veins which does not easily shrink from the aspect of danger."

Marie de Clairvaut might be more timid than Catherine de Medici believed; but, when she thought of freedom, and of being delivered from the power of those whom she detested, to dwell once more with those she loved, she felt that scarcely any scene would be so terrible as to deter her from seeking such a result. She remarked, however, that the Queen did not once mention the name of Charles of Montsoreau, or allude to his fate. "What," she asked herself, "is he still to be kept a prisoner, while I am set at liberty? If so, liberty is scarcely worth having."

She paused, and thought for a moment, and then the hope crossed her mind of setting him at liberty herself.

"Surely," she said, "I could trace my way back to his apartments. I remember every turning well; and then, by bringing him through here, in the confusion and terror that now reign in the convent, I could easily give him his liberty too."

The more she thought of it, the more feasible the scheme seemed to be; and catching up an ordinary veil to throw over her head, she ran down into the apartments of the Queen, which she found, as she expected, quite vacant. She had no difficulty in discovering the corridor that led towards the rector's court. At the end there was a door which was locked, but the key was in it, and she pa.s.sed through. Another short pa.s.sage led her to the room where she had waited for the Queen, and where she had listened to Charles of Montsoreau singing; and then with a beating and an anxious heart she hurried on rapidly to the chamber where she had seen him last.

All the bolts were shot, showing her that he was still there; but exactly opposite was an open door at the top of a small staircase, which seemed to lead to a waiting-room below, for she could distinctly hear the tones and words of two men of the lower cla.s.s talking over the events that were taking place without.

Gently closing the door at the top of the stairs, Marie de Clairvaut locked and bolted it as quietly and noiselessly as possible. Her heart beat so violently, however, with agitation, that she could scarcely hear any thing but its pulsation, though she listened breathlessly to ascertain if the slight noise of the lock had not attracted attention.

All was still, however, and she gently undid the fastenings of the opposite door.

Charles of Montsoreau was seated at the table, and lifted his eyes as she entered with a sad and despairing look, expecting to see no one but the attendant. Marie was in his arms in a moment, however, and holding up her finger to enjoin silence, she whispered, "Not a word, Charles; but come with me, and we shall be safe! Every one is in the chapel at prayers; orders are given for my liberation; and in five minutes we may be at the Hotel de Guise."

"What are all those sounds," demanded her lover in the same tone, "those sounds which I have heard in the streets? I thought I heard the discharge of firearms."

"I fear," she answered, "that it is my uncle's party at blows with that of the King. I know but little myself, however; only that we may make our escape if we will. I will lead you, Charles; I will lead you this time."

"Alas!" said Charles of Montsoreau as he followed her rapidly, "they have taken my sword from me;" but Marie ran on with a step of light, taking care however to lock the doors behind them as she pa.s.sed to prevent pursuit.

As she had never been in the courtyard since the day of her first arrival, she met with some difficulty in finding her way thither from the Queen's apartments: haste and agitation indeed impeding her more than any real difficulty in the way. At length, however, it was reached, and was found vacant of every one but the old portress, who stood gazing through a small iron grating at what was pa.s.sing without.

"Open the door, my good sister," said Marie de Clairvaut touching her arm. "Of course the Prioress has given orders for you to let me pa.s.s."

"Yes, to let you pa.s.s, my sister," replied the portress, "for I suppose you are the young lady she meant; but not to let any body else pa.s.s." And she ran her eye over the figure of Charles of Montsoreau.

"Why, surely," replied Marie de Clairvaut, "you would not stop the gentleman who is going to protect me through the streets."

"Why, I do not know," replied the portress, still st.u.r.dily setting her face against their pa.s.sage; "there was another person waiting on the outside to show you the way, till just a minute ago. Where he's gone, I don't know, but he seemed the fitter person of the two, for he was an ecclesiastic. I have heard, too, of some one being confined up above, by Monsieur Villequier's orders, and as the rector's court belongs to him, they say I must take care what I am about; so I'll just ring the bell and inquire."

"I will save you the trouble of doing that, my good lady," replied Charles of Montsoreau; and stepping quietly forward, he put her gently but powerfully back with his left hand, while with his right he turned the key in the great lock of the wicket, and threw it open. The portress made a movement of her hand to the bell; but then thinking better of it, did not ring; and Marie and her lover, without further opposition, pa.s.sed at once into the streets of Paris.

There were very few people in the Rue St. Denis, but on looking up and down on either side, there were seen a party of hors.e.m.e.n, apparently halted, at the farther end of the street, on the side nearest to the country, and a number of persons farther down, pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing along one of the cross streets. Some way farther up, between the fugitives and the party of hors.e.m.e.n we have mentioned, were two figures, one of which was evidently dressed in the robes of an ecclesiastic, and both gazing down towards the convent, as if watching for the appearance of some one.

The moment the young Count and Marie de Clairvaut appeared, the two figures walked on rapidly in a different direction, and were lost immediately to their sight by turning down another street. There was nothing apparent that could alarm the fugitives in any degree, and though distant shouts and cries were borne upon the air, yet the sound of musketry had ceased, which gave greater courage to Marie de Clairvaut. She needed indeed some mitigation of her apprehensions, for the success which she met with in rescuing her lover had been far from increasing her courage in the same proportion that it had been diminished by the very agitation she had gone through. Drawing the thick veil over her face, and as far as possible over her person, she clung to Charles's arm, and hurried on with him, directing him as far as her recollection of the city of Paris would serve. It was long, however, since she had seen it; and although the general direction which she took was certainly right, yet many a turning did she unnecessarily take by the way.

Still, however, they hurried on, till turning suddenly into one of the small streets which led round into the Rue St. Honore itself, the scene of fierce contention which was going on in the capital was displayed to their eyes in a moment.

Across the street, within fifty yards of the turning, was drawn an immense chain from post to post, and behind it was rolled an immense number of barrels filled with sand and stones, and rendered fixed and immovable, against the efforts of any party in front at least, by carts taken off the wheels, barrows, and paving-stones. Behind this barrier again appeared an immense mult.i.tude of men armed with various sorts of weapons s.n.a.t.c.hed up in haste. The front row, indeed, was well furnished with arquebuses, while pistols, swords, daggers, and pikes gleamed in abundance behind. Several of the persons in front were completely armed in the defensive armour of the time; and in a small aperture which had been left at the corner between the barricade and the houses, sufficient only for two people to pa.s.s abreast when the chain was lowered, an officer was seen in command, with a page behind carrying his plumed casque.

The lower windows of all the houses throughout Paris were closed, and the manifold signs, awnings, and spouts, as well as the penthouses which were sometimes placed to keep off the rain and wind from some of the princ.i.p.al mansions, had all been suddenly removed, in order that any bodies of soldiery moving through the streets might be exposed, without a place of shelter, to the aim of the persons above, who might be seen at every window glaring down at the scene below. There too were beheld musketoons, arquebuses, and every other sort of implement of destruction; and where these had not been found, immense piles of paving-stones had been carried up to cast down upon the objects of popular enmity.

Between the two fugitives and the barricade were drawn up two companies of Swiss and one of French infantry; and though standing in orderly array, and displaying strongly the effects of good military discipline, yet there was a certain degree of paleness over the countenances of the men, and a look of hesitation and uncertainty about their officers, which showed that they felt not a little the dangerous position in which they were placed. No shots were fired on either side however, and the only movement was amongst the people, who were seen talking together, with their leaders stirring amongst them, while from time to time those who were below shouted up to those in the windows above.