CHAPTER XI.
We must now turn once more to the young Marquis of St. Real; and,although the events which had befallen him since the death of hisfather may have been gathered by the reader from what has passed inthe chapters immediately preceding, it may not be unnecessary torecapitulate here, as briefly as possible, the occurrences which hadplaced him a prisoner in the midst of Paris.
According to the promise which Henry of Navarre had obtained from theold Marquis of St. Real on his death-bed, that nobleman's son, as soonas possible after the last rites had been paid to his father's memory,had prepared to take the field in behalf of one of the greatcontending parties which then struggled for mastery in France. He hadapplied for and obtained, both from King Henry III. on the one part,and from the Duke of Mayenne on behalf of the League, a safe-conductto visit the camp and the capital, accompanied by twenty retainers.The rest of his forces, it was expressly stipulated, were to remain atthe distance of fifteen leagues from the royalist army; and theposition of the two kings, as they advanced to lay siege to Paris, hadcompelled him, in compliance with this stipulation, to deviate fromhis direct road to Paris, and accompany, for a short way, his cousin,who was advancing to reinforce the troops of Longueville and La Noue.Although strongly pressed by messengers from those two generals todecide at once in favour of the royal cause, and join the partisanforce which they commanded, St. Real steadily refused to do so, till,according to the determination he had expressed, and in considerationof which he had obtained a safe-conduct from Mayenne, he should havevisited the head-quarters of the king and of the League.
As soon as he had obtained such a position for his forces as enabledhim to leave them in perfect security, he set out with his smalltrain, purposing to proceed first to the camp of the two Henrys, asthe nearest at the moment, and then to visit Paris. He had scarcelyadvanced, however, half a day's march on his way, when he was suddenlysurrounded by an immensely superior body of reitters and lansquenets,who had been sent forth from Paris for the express purpose ofobtaining possession of his person. How Madame do Montpensier hadgained such accurate intelligence of all his movements, was a matterof surprise even to her own immediate confidants; but it was very wellunderstood that the orders, in consequence of which this bold strokewas executed, emanated from her; and the leaders of the mercenaries,who captured St. Real, were not only furnished with the exact detailsof his line of march, but also with a ready answer to the indignantappeal which he instantly made, on his arrest, to the safe-conduct hepossessed under the Duke of Mayenne's own hand. That safe-conduct,they replied, had been given him in order to facilitate a peacefulvisit to Paris; while he, on the contrary, had not only led his troopsinto such a position as to enable him to give strong support to theDuke of Longueville, but had even detached a body to aid that noblemanin the battle of Senlis.
It was in vain St. Real explained to his captors, that the troopswhich had left him were the immediate retainers of his cousin, theCount d'Aubin, over whom he had no authority, and that he himself hadpositively refused to take part with the Duke of Longueville. Hisremonstrance was without effect; and, although he well knew his owninnocence, he could not but admit that the reasoning against him wasspecious. In reply to all his explanations, the captain of thelansquenets simply urged that he had no power to release him, and thathis justification must be made to the Duke of Mayenne himself. Tosubmit, therefore, was a matter of necessity; and, as he was in everyrespect well treated, the young Marquis did submit without any veryangry feelings, concluding that he might as well reverse the order ofhis proceedings, and first visit Paris instead of the royal camp.
On his arrival in the capital, he demanded to be carried instantly tothe presence of the Duke of Mayenne; but this application was evaded,it being boldly asserted by those who held him in their hands that theDuke was absent from the city. Hitherto his attendants had beenpermitted to bear him company; and as he had ridden through thecrowded streets of the city, he had felt less as a prisoner than as avoluntary visiter of the great metropolis; but when, after having beendetained for some time at the house of Albert of Wolfstrom, he wastold that he must accompany his captor to the convent of theDominicans, whither only one servant could be permitted to attend him,he began to suspect that the bonds of his imprisonment were beingstraitened; and he remonstrated with calm but firm language,reiterating his demand to be brought before the Duke of Mayenne, andexpressing his determination to hold the name of that nobleman up tothe reprobation of all honourable men, if he suffered any of hisadherents to violate the safe-conduct from his hand with impunity.
Wolfstrom, however, who on more than one occasion had shown himselfbut little tender of his own fair fame, could not be expected to feelmuch solicitude for that of another; and, although he held the potentDuke in some degree of awe, he had become hardened by the impunitywhich every sort of falsehood enjoyed in the good easy times of civilwar, and doubted not that, in the end, he should find means ofextricating himself from the consequences of the present intrigue, ashe had done in regard to many which had preceded, namely, by theunlimited command of impudence, shrewdness, and three thousandmercenaries.
He turned a deaf ear, therefore, to the complaints of St Real; and theyoung Marquis was conducted to the convent of the Jacobins, in themidst of precautions which he did not fail to mark, and from which heaugured little good in regard to the intentions of his gaolers.
The distance from the dwelling of the mercenary leader to the conventwas but short; and the people of Paris were well accustomed to seeparties of soldiers pass through their streets: but the indescribablepleasure of staring, in this instance, as in all others, collected alittle crowd round the centre of bustle; and the gates of theJacobins, as they opened to receive St. Real, were surrounded bybetween twenty and thirty persons of different conditions. To thosewho have eaten sufficiently of the tree of good and evil in a greatcapital to know _that they are naked_, the presence of a gaping mob towitness the fact of their being dragged along like culprits by a partyof rude soldiers, would be a subject of annoyance. St. Real feltinjured, but not ashamed or afraid; and fixing his eye upon the mostrespectable personage of the crowd, he suddenly stopped where hestood, and, ere any one could prevent him, exclaimed, in a loud anddistinct voice, "My friend, if the Duke of Mayenne be in Paris, youwill serve both him and me by telling him that the Marquis of St. Realis here detained, contrary to the Duke's safe-conduct and his honour."
"You will tell him no such thing, as you value your ears!" shoutedAlbert of Wolfstrom, fixing his eyes upon the Parisian with a markingglance, which seemed to intimate that he would not be easily forgottenby the wrath of the German leader in case of disobedience. TheParisian drew back, determined from the very first to practise thatsort of wisdom which those long resident in great cities, and muchhabituated to scenes of contention and intrigue, do not fail toacquire; namely, to meddle with nothing that does not personallyconcern them. There was another person present, however, whosediminutive stature, and the simplicity of garb which he had assumed,combined to conceal him from the notice of either St. Real or themercenary leader; no other, indeed, than the young Marquis's dwarfpage, Bartholo; who, peeping through the open spaces between the otherpersonages that formed the little crowd, saw and heard all that passedwithout attracting notice himself. Slipping out at once from amongstthe rest, he made his way down the street, holding one of his usualmuttered consultations with himself.
"Now, shall I tell Mayenne," he said, "that the great baby is caught,and shut up here in the Jacobins, like a young imprudent rat, in apolitic rat-trap; or shall I let him lie there for his pains, tillthat spoilt boy, D'Aubin, has married the other fair-haired baby, andthat matter is irrevocable?"
He paused for a moment at the end of the street, revolving thequestion he had put to himself in silence. "No, no," he added, atlength; "no, no, there I might outwit myself; these Leaguers are toocunning for that. If they can't get St. Real on any other terms, theymay marry him to this Eugenie de Menancourt, and spoil
all my schemesat once. If Mayenne hears publicly where he is, he must set him free,for his honour's sake. Then will he go off, in the heat of his anger,to the people at St. Cloud; D'Aubin will come over to the League,marry the girl, and all will be safe. Yes, yes, to Mayenne! I will toMayenne!"
In consequence of this determination, he proceeded as quickly, but asquietly as possible, to the Hotel de Guise, and demanded to speak withthe Duke of Mayenne,--a privilege which every one in Paris claimed inregard to that leader, whose power was principally based upon hispopularity. The Duke, however, had by this time set out to watch theprogress of the skirmishes which were taking place almost hourly inthe Pr? aux Clercs, and the dwarf, not choosing that the tidings hehad to communicate should be given in any other than a public manner,refused to intrust them to Mayenne's retainers, and retired, resolvingto repeat his visit early the next morning.
In the mean time St. Real was hurried into the convent, the gates wereshut, and, preceded by two or three of the Dominicans, he was ledalong the dark and gloomy passages of the building, towards theapartment in which the Prior and Madame de Montpensier were still inconference. Here, however, he was stopped at the door; and Albert ofWolfstrom, entering alone, held a brief but rapid conversation withthe Prior. It ended in St. Real being led back again across the greatcourt to a distant part of the monastery, where, after climbing twoflights of steps, he was ushered into a corridor extremely narrow, butof considerable length. In the whole extent of wall, however, whichthis corridor presented, there only appeared three doors, besides thelow arch by which he entered. Two of these opened on the left, andwere close together; the other was at the further end of the passage.
Albert of Wolfstrom and his soldiers paused at the entrance; but themonks led St. Real on, and, in a moment after, the Prior himselffollowed. He seemed to regard the young stranger with some degree ofinterest, and addressed him with mildness and urbanity. "I am told, myson," he said, "that it is necessary, for reasons into which I have noauthority to inquire, to hold you as a prisoner till the decision ofthe lieutenant-general of the kingdom is known in regard to yourdestination; but at the same time the members of the holy CatholicUnion, whose object is solely to maintain the faith and liberties ofthe people, and to oppose the progress of tyranny and heresy, desirethat you should not be treated as a common prisoner of war, but rathershould have every comfort and convenience till your fate is otherwisedecided. For this purpose, they have consigned you to our care ratherthan to the rude durance of the Bastille; and, instead of assigningyou one of the common cells of the brotherhood, I have directed thatyou should be placed here, where you can have more space andconvenience. Yonder door, at the farther end of the corridor, belongsto a cell fitted for your attendant; this first door on the left leadsto an apartment which we shall assign to one of our brethren of St.Dominick, through whom you can communicate with the convent and theworld without. This is your own apartment--"
As he spoke, he opened the second of the two doors, which stoodclose together on the left, and led St. Real into a spacious andwell-furnished chamber. It was airy, but somewhat dim, as it derivedits only light from a window, which appeared, by its great height andGothic shape, to have once formed part of some church or chapel. Atthe present moment, such arrangements had been made--amongst thevarious alterations which the old building must have undergone--thatthis single window, which reached from the ceiling to the floor,served to give light both to the room in which St. Real stood, and tothe other immediately by its side, which together must have onceformed but one large chamber. The thin partition of woodwork whichseparated the one room from the other, was supported, from the floorto the roof, by the strong stone pillar that divided the Gothic windowinto two parts; and thus, though the two chambers were completelydistinct, they both had an equal share of light.
"This chamber is somewhat obscure," continued the Prior; "but in thealterations which were made in this building, some twenty years ago,we could not arrange things better. What are now sleeping rooms werethen part of the old chapel, and this high window looked out to thePrior's dwelling." So saying, he advanced and opened the casement, agreat part of which, swinging back on its creaking and clatteringhinges, gave admittance to the free air of summer from without, andshowed to St. Real the heavy walls of another body of the buildingrising up before the window, at the distance of scarcely five feet.Running along upon the same level as the chamber in which he stood,might be seen one of those Gothic passages of fretted stone-work,which, in churches, are called monks' galleries; while, at thedistance of about twenty feet below, appeared between the twobuildings the narrow paved alley which united the inner to the outercourt of the Dominican convent.
The Prior proceeded with some more excuses for the dimness of thechamber; but as soon as he had concluded, St. Real, who had listenedcalmly, replied, "I complain not of the apartment, father, I haveslept in worse; but I complain of imprisonment, when my safety andfreedom were guaranteed to me by the Duke of Mayenne himself. However,let me warn you, that I am aware, from some circumstances whichoccurred at the gate of the convent, that his Highness of Mayenne ispurposely held in ignorance of my imprisonment. I acquit him thereforeof all dishonourable conduct: but how you, and others, will answer tohim for bringing his honour and good faith in question, you mustyourself consider."
"For my actions," replied the Prior, somewhat sternly, "I am prepared,my son, not only to answer to him, but to God. Those of others I havenought to do with. It suffices for me, that I have authority fromthose who have a right to give it, to detain you here till I amassured that the lieutenant-general thinks it fit that you should beset at liberty. You are ungrateful, my son, for kindness felt andshown: you might have undergone harsher treatment, had you beenconsigned to the Bastille."
"Father, I am not ungrateful," replied St. Real, whose simple goodsense was no unequal match for even monkish shrewdness; "but when anact of injustice is committed, it is somewhat hard to require that thesufferer should be well pleased that that act of injustice is notgreater than it is. To confine me here is wrong--to confine me in theBastille were worse; but, surely, I cannot be expected to feelgrateful to the thief who cuts my purse, simply because he does notcut my throat also!"
"Your language is hard," replied the Prior, "and your similes areindecent towards a minister of the religion you profess to hold; Ishall, therefore, waste no more words upon you, young sir. Yourconduct, however, makes no change in my purposes. The treatment youreceive shall be as gentle and as good as if you were grateful forkindness, and courteous towards those whom you should respect. Youwill one time know me better; and you may be sure, even now, that Ihave no purposes to serve by your detention; as you will find by ourintercourse, be it long, be it short, that I shall strive for nothingbut, if possible, to lead you in that course in which your honour,your happiness, and your best interests, here and hereafter, are aloneto be found."
St. Real made no reply; and the Dominican, bowing his head with an airof conscious dignity, withdrew from the apartment, and, proceedingthrough the doorway by which he had entered, left the young Marquisand his attendant alone. The sound of turning keys and drawing boltssucceeded, and St. Real for the first time found himself a prisonerindeed. Now "The soul, secure in its existence, may smile at the drawndagger, and defy its point;" yet there are many things which mayhappen to the body, that defy the soul to preserve her equanimity,although they be much less evils, in comparison, than thatirretrievable separation of matter and spirit, which we are accustomedto look upon with more indifference. For a moment or two, St. Reallost his calmness, and, striding up and down the room with his armsfolded on his breast, gave way to that bitterness of spirit, whichevery noble heart must feel on the loss of the great, theincomparable, the inestimable blessing of liberty. His morephilosophical attendant, who had been selected in haste from among therest of his followers, without any great attention to his mentalqualities, consoled himself, under the privation which so painfullyaffected his master, by examining every hole and
corner in theapartments to which they were consigned; and comforted himself not alittle, under all their woes and disasters, by the sight of soft anddowny beds, rich arras, and velvet hangings. Before his perquisitionswere well complete, however, and just as his master was reasoninghimself into calmer endurance of an event he could not avoid, the dooronce more opened, and admitted a brother of the order, on whoseappearance and demeanour we must pause for a moment.
He was younger than any of the friars that St. Real had yetseen,--pale in countenance, heavy in expression, with a certain degreeof sadness, if not wildness, in his eye, and that close shutting ofthe teeth and compression of the lips, which, in general, argues adetermined disposition. A little above the middle height, he waspowerful in limb and muscle; but the appearance of strength andactivity, which his form would otherwise have displayed, wascontradicted by a certain slouching stoop, which deprived hisdemeanour of all grace; while the habit of gazing, as it were,furtively from under the bent brows which almost concealed his eyes,gave his dull countenance a sinister expression, not at allprepossessing.
"Benedicite!" said the friar, as he advanced towards St. Real;"benedicite!"
St. Real made some ordinary answer in Latin; but the dull unreplyingcountenance of the monk showed that his stock of Latinity did notextend even to the common phrases in use amongst persons of hisprofession; and the young Marquis proceeded in French: "You are, Ipresume, the brother appointed to keep watch over us in ourconfinement?"
"The Prior has given me, for a penance," replied the monk, "the taskof lying in a down bed, and waiting your will in communicating withthe parlour and the refectory, till to-morrow morning. I am commandedto ask you if you will have supper: it grows late."
"I am here, father," replied St. Real, with a smile, "as a bird in acage, and you must feed me at what hours you please: it matters butlittle to me."
The monk gazed on him, for a moment, in sullen silence, as if hehardly attended to his reply, or hardly understood its meaning; andthen, as his slow comprehension did its work, he turned away with afew muttered, half-intelligible words, and left the apartment, goingapparently to command the meal of which he had spoken. It was soonafter brought in; and, during its course, the Dominican sat by,turning over the leaves of his breviary in silence, from time to timereading a few sentences, and filling up the intervals in gazingvacantly upon the pages, seemingly occupied in dull and gloomy dreams.
The meal did not occupy much time; and after it was concluded, St.Real, anxious to hear something more precise concerning the state ofthe capital, and to obtain some information in regard to his ownsituation, endeavoured to enter into conversation with the monk; butthe course of all their thoughts lay in such different lines, that hesoon perceived the attempt would be in vain. The Dominican sat andlistened, and replied either by monosyllables, or by long fanaticaltirades, in general totally irrelevant to the topic which called themforth; and, as twilight began to grow upon the world, the youngMarquis abandoned the endeavour, and intimated, by his silence, adesire to be left alone. It was long before the other gratified hisinclination in this respect, however, but sat mute and absent, stillturning over the leaves of his breviary, and gazing, from time totime, upon the face of his companion. Nor was it till St. Realexpressed his desire to have a lamp, and to be left to his ownthoughts, that the monk deemed it advisable to retire.
Fatigued in body and mind by the events of the day, St. Real soon casthimself down to rest; and sleep was not long in visiting his eyelids.His slumber was profound also; and he awoke not till various sounds inthe immediate vicinity of his chamber disturbed his repose somewhatrudely.
The nature of the first noises that roused him he could not very welldistinguish, for slumber, though in flight, still held, in somedegree, possession of his senses. They seemed, however, as far as hecould remember afterwards, to have proceeded from some smart blows ofa hammer upon a wooden scaffolding; but, before he was well awake,those sounds had ceased, and a buzzing hum, like that of a turner'swheel, or a quickly moved saw, had succeeded. St. Real listenedattentively; and, having convinced himself that the noises, bywhatever they were occasioned, were not produced by anything in hisown chamber, but rather seemed to proceed from some part of thebuilding opposite his window, he addressed himself to sleep again, andnot without success.
But his repose was not so full and tranquil as before. His formerslumbers had been profound, forming one of those dreamless,feelingless, lapses of existence, which seem given us to show how thesoul, even while dwelling in the body, can pause with all her powerssuspended, unconscious of her own being, till called again intoactivity by some extraneous cause. The sleep which succeeded, however,was very different: dreams came thick and fast; some of them wereconfused and wild, and indistinct, but some were of that class ofvisions in which all the objects are as clear and definite as duringour waking moments,--in which our thoughts are as active, our mind isas much at work, our passions are as vehemently excited, as in thestrife and turmoil of living aspiration and endeavour--dreams whichseem given to show us how intensely the soul can act, and feel, andlive, while the corporeal faculties, which are her earthly servants,are as dead and useless as if the grave's corruption had resolved theminto nothing.
At one moment it seemed that he was in the battle-field, amidst theshout and the cry, and the clang of arms, and the rush of chargingsquadrons; and then he was in the flight of the defeated army, and heknew all the bitter indignation of reverse, and all the burning thirstto retrieve the day, and he felt all the vain effort to rally theflying, and the hopeless and daring effort to repel the victor; andthen again, when all was lost, and not the faint shadow of adespairing hope remained, he was hurrying his rapid course across somedark and midnight moor; and, while he spurred on his own weary horse,he held in his hand the bridle rein of another, who bore one for whomhe felt a thousand fears which he knew not for himself; and ever andanon, as he turned to look, the soft sweet eyes of Eugenie deMenancourt would gaze upon him with imploring earnestness. Then,suddenly, the figure changed, the rein dropped from his hand, and,armed all in steel, with lance couched and visor up, as if gallopingto attack him, appeared his cousin, Philip d'Aubin; and, with afeeling of horror and a sudden start, St. Real woke.
The sounds that he now heard--for as yet the night had by no meansassumed her attribute of quietness--were certainly not calculated toproduce the painful sensations that he had just undergone. There wasmusic on the air--soft and delicate music,--not gay, and yet not sad,but with a certain wild solemnity of tone, that well accorded with thehour, and seemed calculated to raise the thoughts to high andunearthly aspirations. At first, the music was solely instrumental;but, in a moment or two afterwards, two sweet voices were heard,singing, with a peculiarly thrilling softness of tone, that seemed tohave something supernatural in its clear melody. St. Real listened;and, though the sounds must have proceeded from some distance, yet thewords were pronounced so distinctly, that he lost not a syllable ofthe song they poured upon the night.
SONG.
_First Voice_. Blessed! blessed! art thou, Amongst the sons of men! For angels are wreathing for thy brow Flowers that fade not again!
_Second Voice_. A crown, a crown of glory for the brave!
_First Voice_. Blessed! blessed! are those That sleep the sleep of the good! Blessed is he whose bosom glows To shed the tyrant's blood!
_Second Voice_. Glory to him whom the Church shall save!
_First Voice_. Amongst the saints in Paradise, In glory he shall dwell! And angels shall greet him to the skies, When to earth he bids farewell!
_Second Voice_. Joy, joy, joy to the champion of the Lord!
_First Voice_. His arm is now endued with might, The foes of the Faith to destroy! To sweep the ty
rant from God's sight, To crush the worm in his joy!
_Second Voice_. Death, death, death to the tyrant abhorred!
_Both Voices_. Blessed! blessed! blessed art thou Amongst the sons of men! For angels are wreathing for thy brow Flowers that fade not again!
It was no longer doubtful whence these sounds proceeded; for, inconsequence of the closeness of a hot August night, St. Real had lefthis window open; and he now distinctly perceived that the music issuedfrom a spot in the monks' gallery, very nearly opposite. Springing outof bed as soon as the sounds had ceased, he advanced to the window,and looked out; but he could perceive nothing. The night was somewhatobscure, the moon by this time was down, and it was with difficultythat he distinguished the fretted stonework of the gallery from therest of the dark mass that rose before him. He paused for a moment, toconsider what all this could mean. Though a sincere Catholic, andhabituated to make a marked distinction between the doctrines of thereligion he professed and the absurdities, superstitions, andcorruptions with which knaves and fools had endeavoured to disguiseit, still the Reformation had disclosed too much, and the young noblewas of too inquiring a disposition for him to be unaware of themultitude of tricks, intrigues, and deceptions, which some of the morebigoted members of the Roman church thought themselves justified inpractising for the attainment of an end desired. The sounds he hadjust heard, therefore, he attributed at once to their right cause,looking upon them as part of some piece of monkish jugglery. Almost asrapidly joining this conclusion in his mind to his own arrest withoutthe knowledge of Mayenne, to his detention in the Dominican convent,to his separation from the rest of the community, and to the peculiarposition of the apartments assigned to him, he was led tobelieve--though wrongly--that he himself was the object of thesomewhat absurd stratagem which he had just witnessed.
"These monks must surely deem me a very great fool indeed!" hethought, as he stood and gazed out upon the building opposite, longingto give the persons who had been singing an intimation of hisconsciousness of their arts, and of the contempt in which he heldthem. But, while considering whether it would not be more dignified tolet the matter pass over in silence, a new trick was played off. Asudden light burst through the apertures of the stone-work, and waspoured, as it were, in a full stream upon the window at which hestood, but not on the part contained in his own chamber, beingdirected entirely upon that portion of the casement which wasbeyond the partition, and which gave light to the chamber assignedto the young monk who had been given him as an attendant. The firstray of light that St. Real perceived was of the ordinary hue, thoughof a dazzling brightness; but the next moment it assumed a brightrose-colour, and proceeded to pour on, changing to a thousand variedand beautiful tints, which the young noble thought certainly veryadmirable, but not at all supernatural. The next moment, however, heheard through the partition the murmuring of voices in theneighbouring chamber; and, thinking that the jugglery had been carriedquite far enough, he determined, if possible, to put an end to it.Throwing his cloak round him, therefore, he approached the door,intending to enter the chamber of the young Dominican, and tell him inplain language, that he was not to be deceived; but, when he attemptedto draw the lock, he found that the key had been turned upon him fromwithout; and, with a curling lip, he cast himself again upon his bed,and soon forgot, in tranquil slumber, events which had excited in hismind no other feeling than contempt.