Part 2

At the sight of all these objects Marie de Clairvaut naturally clung closer to the arm of her lover, and both paused for a moment in order to judge what was best to do. An instant's consideration however sufficed, and Charles of Montsoreau led her on to that part of the barricade where the chain was the only obstacle to their further progress, passing as he did so along the whole face of the French and Swiss soldiers, not one of whom moved or uttered a word to stop them as they proceeded. At the chain, however, they met with a more serious obstacle. The officer whom they had seen in command at that point had now turned away, and was speaking to some people behind, and a rough-looking citizen, armed with a steel cap and breastplate, dropped the point of his spear to the young Count's breast saying, "Give the word, or you do not pass!"

"I do not know the word," replied Charles of Montsoreau. "But I pray you let me pass, for I am one of the friends and officers of the Duke of Guise."

"If you were you would know the word," replied the man. "Keep back, or I will run the pike into you."

"I could not know the word," answered the young Count, "if I had been long absent from the Duke, as I have been, and were hastening to join him, as I now am."

"Keep back, I say," cried the man who was no way fond of argument. "You will repent if you do not keep back."

Charles of Montsoreau was about to call to the officer he saw before him, but at that moment the other walked on amidst the people, and was seen no more.

"Let us try another street," cried Marie de Clairvaut; "let us try another street, Charles." And following this suggestion they hurried back, and took another street farther to the left.

They now found themselves in a new scene; no soldiers were there, but dense masses of people were beheld in every direction, and barricades formed or forming at every quarter. Where they were not complete the lady and her lover passed without difficulty, and almost without notice. One of the young citizens, indeed, as he helped her over a large pile of stones, remarked that her small feet ran no risk of knocking down the barricade; and an old man who was rolling up a tun to fill a vacant space, paused to let her pass, and gazing with a sort of fatherly look upon her and her lover, exclaimed, "Get ye gone home, pretty one; get ye gone home. Take her home quick, young gentleman; this is no place for such as she is."

These were all the words that were addressed to them till they again reached another barrier; but there again the word was demanded with as much dogged sullenness as ever, and the young Count, now resolved to force his way by some means, determined rather to be taken prisoner by the people and to demand to be carried to the Hôtel de Guise, than be driven from barrier to barrier any longer. He remembered, however, the degree of civility which had been shown to him by Chapelle Marteau some time before, and he demanded of the man who opposed him at the chain if either that personage or Bussi le Clerc were there. The man replied in the negative, but seemed somewhat shaken in his purpose of excluding him, by his demand for persons so well known and so popular.

At that moment, however, Charles of Montsoreau caught the sight of a high plume passing amongst the people at some distance, and the momentary glance of a face that he recollected.

"There is Monsieur de Bois-dauphin," he cried; "in the name of Heaven call him up here, that he may put an end to all this tedious opposition." The man did not seem to know of whom it was he spoke, but pointing forward with his hand, the young Count exclaimed, "That gentleman with the plume! that gentleman with the tall red plume!"

The word was passed on in a moment, and the officer approached the barrier, when Charles of Montsoreau instantly addressed him by the name of Bois-dauphin, begging him to give them admittance within the barricade, and then adding in a low voice, that he had with him the Duke's ward, Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, who had just made her escape from the enemies of the House of Guise, and was so terrified that she could scarcely support herself any longer.

"You mistake, sir," replied the officer; "I am not Bois-dauphin, but Chamois: but I remember your face well at Soissons; the Count of Logères, if I am right."

The Count gave a sign of affirmation, while Marie de Clairvaut looked up in his face with an expression of joy and relief, and the officer immediately added, "Down with the chain directly, my good friends. You are keeping out the Duke's best friends and relations."

The men round the chain hastened eagerly to obey, but some difficulty was experienced in removing the chain, as the barrels--or barriques, as they are called in France, and from which the barriers called barricades took their name--pressed heavily upon it, and prevented it from being unhooked.

Charles of Montsoreau was just about to pass under with his fair charge as the most expeditious way, when there came a loud cry from the end of the same street by which they had themselves come thither, of "The Queen! the Queen! Long live the good Queen Catherine!" And rolling forward with a number of unarmed attendants came one of the huge gilded coaches of the time, passing at great risk to itself and all that it contained, through or over the yet incomplete barriers farther up in the street.

At the barricade where Charles of Montsoreau now was, however, the six horses by which the vehicle was drawn were brought to a sudden stop, and notwithstanding her popularity, which, at this time, was not small, the citizens positively refused to remove the barricade, although the Queen entreated them in the tone of a suppliant, and assured them that she was going direct to the Hôtel de Guise. Some returned nothing but a sullen answer, some assured her it was impossible, and would take hours to accomplish; and Monsieur de Chamois, who apparently did not choose to be seen actually aiding or directing the people in the formation of the barricades, retreated amongst the multitude, and left them to act for themselves.

At that moment the eye of Catherine de Medici fell upon Charles of Montsoreau, and she beckoned him eagerly towards her.

"You are here, of course," she said, "upon the part of the Duke."

"Not so indeed, madam," he replied; "I have but this moment made my escape from that place where I have been so long and so unjustly detained."

"Your escape!" she exclaimed in a tone that could not be affected. "Villequier has betrayed me. He promised you should be set at liberty yesterday morning. And you too, Marie," she said looking at the young Count's fair companion. "You surely received the order for your liberation that I sent."

"Safely, madam," replied Marie de Clairvaut, "and thank your Majesty deeply. But they have refused to let us pass at several barriers, otherwise I should certainly have executed your Majesty's commands."

"This is most unfortunate," said the Queen. But pray. Monsieur de Logères, exert your influence with these people as far as possible. The welfare, perhaps the very salvation of the state, depends upon my speaking with the Duke of Guise directly."

"I will do my best, madam," replied the young Count; "but I fear I shall not be able to do much. I will leave her under your protection, madam, and see."

The Queen made him place Marie de Clairvaut in the carriage beside her: and having done this, he turned to the barrier and spoke to those who surrounded that point where the chain had been lowered to let him pass, with far more effect than he had anticipated. To remove the barricade, the people said, was utterly impossible; but if her Majesty would descend and betake herself to her chair which was seen carried by her domestics behind her, they would do what they could to make the aperture large enough for her to pass.

With this suggestion Catherine de Medici, who had no personal fears, complied at once, and seated herself in the rich gilt-covered chair which followed her. She was about to draw the curtains round her and bid the bearers proceed, but her eye fell upon Marie de Clairvaut; and after a moment's hesitation between compassion and queenly state, she said, "Poor child, thou art evidently like to drop: come in here with me; there is room enough for thee also, and the Queen is old enough not to mind her garments being ruffled. Quick, quick," she added, seeing Marie hesitate; and without further words the fair girl took her place by the Queen.

Although the chairs of those times were very different in point of size from those which we see (and now alas! rarely see) in our own, yet Mademoiselle de Clairvaut felt that she pressed somewhat unceremoniously on her royal companion; but Catherine de Medici, now that the act was done, smiled kindly upon her, and told her not to mind; and the bearers taking up the chair carried it on, while the populace rolled away one of the tuns to permit its passing through the barricade. The Queen's train of attendants pressed closely round the chair, and Charles of Montsoreau followed amongst them as near as he could to the vehicle, the people shouting as they went, "Long live the Queen! Long live the good Queen Catherine!"

At all the barriers a way was made for her to pass, but still the multitudes in the streets were so thick, and the obstacles so many, that nearly three quarters of an hour passed, and the Hôtel de Guise was still at some distance.

At length Catherine de Medici drew back the curtains of gilt leather, and beckoned the young Count to approach, saying, as soon as he was near, "Pray, Monsieur de Logères, go on as fast as possible, and let the Duke know that I am coming. I fear that with all these delays he may have gone forth ere I reach his hotel. And hark. Monsieur de Logères," she continued, "if out of pure good will I once afforded you one hour of happiness that you did not expect, remember it now; and should chance serve, speak a word to the Duke in favour of my purposes. You understand? Quick--go on!"

Charles of Montsoreau hastened on at the Queen's bidding, and having now heard the pass-word often repeated amongst the citizens, met with no opposition in making his way to the Hôtel de Guise. The only difficulty that he encountered was in the neighbourhood of the mansion itself, for the street was so thickly crowded with people and with horses, that it was scarcely possible to approach the gates. Every thing was hurry and confusion too, and the dense mass of people collected in that spot was not like an ordinary crowd, either fixed to one place around the object of their attention, or moving in one direction in pursuit of a general object; but, on the contrary, it was struggling and agitated, by numbers of persons forcing their way through in every different direction, so that it was with the greatest possible labour and loss of time that any one advanced at all. The great bulk of those present were armed, and amidst corslets, and swords, and brassards, heavy boots and long spurs, Charles of Montsoreau, totally unarmed as he was, found the greatest possible difficulty in forcing his way, although, probably, in point of mere personal strength he was more than equal to any one there present.

Long ere he could reach the gate of the hotel, there was a loud cry of, "The Queen! the Queen! long live Queen Catherine!" And the crowd rolling back, as if by common consent, swept him away far from the spot which he had gained, and nearly crushed him by the pressure. At some distance he caught a sight of the Queen's chair, but it stopped at the edge of the crowd, and the movements that he saw in that part of the mass made him believe that Catherine was descending from the vehicle, intending to proceed on foot.

He doubted not that the Queen's attendants, who were very numerous, would keep off the multitude; and even the rolling back of the people upon himself evinced that they were inclined to show her every respect. But still feeling that all he loved on earth was there, he naturally strove to see over the heads of the people. It was in vain that he did so, however, for between him and the line along which the Queen was passing was a sea of waving plumes of every height and colour, and all that he could discover was, how far she had proceeded on her way to the gates, by the rush of the people closing up behind her as soon as she had passed.

Just as she was entering the mansion a considerable degree of confusion was created in the crowd by one of the horses, held not far from the place where Charles of Montsoreau stood, either frightened by the noise, or pressed upon by the people, beginning to kick violently. The man whom he first struck was luckily well covered with defensive armour; but he was knocked down notwithstanding, and all the rest rushed back, pressing upon the others behind them in confusion and dismay.

Charles of Montsoreau, however, took advantage of the opportunity to make his way forward; but just as he was so doing he was encountered by the Marquis de Brissac hurrying eagerly forward through the crowd. He was dressed in his ordinary clothes, and armed with nothing but his sword; but there was fire and eagerness in his eyes, and he seized the young Count by the hand, exclaiming, "I am delighted to have found you, Logères. I wanted a man of action and of a good head. Come with me! come with me quick! or we shall have more mischief done than is at all needful. They have begun firing again! There!--Don't you hear?"

"I hear now," replied the Count, "but I did not pay attention to it before. I would come with you willingly. Monsieur de Brissac, but I wish to see the Duke. He does not know yet that I am at liberty: neither have I a sword."

"The Duke cannot see you now," cried Brissac, still holding the Count by the arm. "The Queen and her people are with him. I will get you a sword. Come with me, come with me. Here, fellow, give the Count your sword." And taking hold of the baldric of one of the men near, he made him unbuckle it, and threw it over the Count's shoulders.

For Brissac, who was well known to almost every body there, the people now made way at least in some degree; and followed by the young Count he hurried on, till they both could breathe somewhat more at liberty.

In the mean time the sound of the musketry was heard increasing every moment, and Brissac after listening for a moment exclaimed, "It comes from the Marché Neuf. By Heavens! Logères, we must put a stop to this, or they will take up the same music all over the town, and we shall have those poor devils of Swiss slaughtered to a man. Who is that firing at the Marché Neuf?" he demanded at the first barrier they reached.

"Our people," replied the captain of the quarter, "are firing upon the soldiers in the market-place I hear."

"Quick, Arnault; quick!" cried Brissac. "Get the keys of the slaughter-house and bring them after me with all speed! Come on, Logères, come on!" he continued, unable to refrain from a joke even in the exciting and terrible scene that was going on. "The King will find, I am afraid, that he has brought these _pigs_ to a bad _market_, as the good ladies of the halle say. We must save as many of them from being butchered as we can, however." And running on, followed by two or three persons from the different barriers that they passed, they soon reached the corner of the Marché Neuf, where an extraordinary and terrible scene was exposed to their eyes.

The market, which was somewhat raised above a low street that passed by its side, was a large open space, having at that time neither booths nor penthouses to cover the viands, usually there exposed, from the sun: each vendor that thought fit spreading out his own little canvass tent over his goods when he brought them. On the side by which Brissac and Charles of Montsoreau approached, there was a low wall, not a yard high, separating the market from the street which passed by the side, with some steps up to the former, as well as two or three open spaces to give ingress; and on the other side was a long low range of covered slaughter-houses, with tall buildings overtopping them beyond.

In the midst of this open space, cooped in by barricades on every side, and surrounded by tall houses with innumerable windows, was a body of about eight hundred Swiss. They were standing firm in the midst of the place, forming a three-sided front, with their right and left resting on the slaughter-houses; and while their front rank poured a strong and well-directed but ineffectual fire upon the two barricades opposite, the second rank endeavoured to pick off their assailants at the different windows.

In the meanwhile, however, from those windows and barricades was poured in upon the unhappy Swiss a tremendous fire, almost every shot of which told. The people at the barriers rose, fired, and then bent down again behind their defences, while the men at the windows kept up a still more formidable, but more irregular discharge, sometimes firing almost altogether, as if by common consent, sometimes picking off, here and there, any of their enemies they might fix upon; so that at one moment, the whole sweeping lines of the tall houses were in one blaze of fire and cloud of smoke; and the next, the flashes would drop from window to window, over each face of the square, like some artificial firework.

Such was the scene of confusion and destruction which burst upon the eyes of Brissac and Charles of Montsoreau when they entered the square of the Marché Neuf. The fire of the barrier which they passed was instantly stopped, but in other places it was still going on and Brissac, without the slightest hesitation, jumped at once upon the low wall we have mentioned, and waved his hat in the air, shouting loudly to cease firing. Some cessation instantly took place, but still not altogether; and Charles of Montsoreau, rapidly crossing the marketplace to command the men at the opposite barricade to stop, was slightly wounded in the arm by a ball from one of the windows.

It luckily happened that the baldric which had been procured for him by Brissac bore the colours of the League and the cross of Lorraine embroidered on the front; and the defenders of the barrier stopped instantly at his command. When that was accomplished, he turned to rejoin Brissac, and as he went, called to the people at the lower windows of the houses to stop firing in the name of the Duke of Guise, and to pass the same order up to those above them. The Swiss had ceased immediately, very glad of any truce to an encounter in which fifty or sixty of their number had already fallen, while many more were seriously wounded.

The keys which Brissac had sent for had by this time arrived; and, accompanied by the young Count, he advanced, hat in hand, to the officer in command of the Swiss, who met him half way with a sad but calm and determined countenance.

"You see, sir," said Brissac, "that it is perfectly impossible for you to contend against the force opposed to you."

"Perfectly," replied the officer; "every street is a fortress, every house a redoubt. But we never intended to contend, and indeed had received orders to retire, but could not do so on account of the barricades, when suddenly some shot was fired from behind those buildings; and whether it was a signal to commence the massacre, or whether the people thought that we had fired, I know not, but they instantly began to attack us; and here are more than sixty of my poor fellows butchered without cause."

"There is only one plan to be pursued, sir," replied Brissac, "in order to save you. You must instantly lay down your arms."

"Were the people opposed to me soldiers, sir," replied the officer, "I would do so at a word; but the people seem in a state of madness, and the moment we are disarmed they might fall upon us all, and butcher us in cold blood--yourself and all, for aught I know."

"I have provided against that, sir," replied Brissac. "Here are the keys of those buildings, which will shelter you from all attack, I must not put in your hands a fortress against the citizens of Paris; so that while you retain your weapons you cannot enter; but the moment you lay down your arms, I will give you that shelter, and pledge my word for your protection."

The joy which spread over the officer's countenance at this offer plainly showed, what neither word nor look had done before, how deeply he had felt the terrible situation in which he was placed.

"It shall be done this instant," he said; and returning to his men, while Brissac unlocked the gates, he made them pile their arms in the market-place, amidst a deafening shout from the people on all sides. The Swiss then marched, rank by rank, into the place of shelter thus afforded them; and Brissac, bowing low to the commander, who entered the last, said with a smile, which the other returned but faintly, "In name, my dear sir, the exchange you are just making is not an agreeable one; but I am sure you will find that this slaughterhouse is rather a more comfortable position than the one from which I have just delivered you."

The Marquis then caused a guard of the citizens to be placed over the arms of the Swiss; and turning to Charles of Montsoreau, he said, "Come, let us quick to the new bridge. The King used to say of me, Monsieur de Logères, that I was good for nothing, either on the sea or on the land. I think he will find to-day that I am good for something on the pavement."

Thus saying he led the way back through the barrier; and Charles of Montsoreau, having more leisure now than before to observe the countenances and demeanour of the different people around, could not help thinking that older and more skilful soldiers than the citizens of Paris could boast were busy in directing the operations of the populace in different parts of the city. The scene was a strange and extraordinary one altogether; the streets were absolutely swarming with people, and crowds were hurrying hither and thither through every open space, but were still kept in dense masses by the constant obstruction of the barricades.

Hastening on through the midst of these masses with Brissac, the young nobleman's eye ran hastily over all the crowds that he passed, when suddenly, at the end of one of the largest streets, which rose between the dark gigantic houses on either side, with a gentle acclivity from the spot where he then stood, he saw amongst the various groups which were moving rapidly along or across it, one which attracted his attention more particularly than the rest. It was at that moment coming down the street, but proceeding in a somewhat slanting direction towards the corner of another small street, not fifty yards from the spot where he then was. There were two figures in it, in regard to which he could not be deceived: the one nearest him was the Abbé de Boisguerin, the second was his own brother, Gaspar de Montsoreau; and he could not help imagining that another whom he saw leading the way was that personage who had first called upon him on his arrival in Paris, named Nicolas Poulain.

Before he could recollect himself, an exclamation of surprise had called the attention of Brissac; but remembering how much his brother had excited the indignation of the Duke of Guise, and that his very life might be in danger if taken in the streets of Paris at that time, Charles of Montsoreau only answered in reply to Brissac's questions, that he had fancied he saw somebody whom he knew.

"There goes worthy Master Nicolas Poulain," said Brissac, "and the good Curé of St. Genevieve, as zealous in our cause as any one; but we can't stop to speak with them just now." And he was hurrying on, but Charles of Montsoreau stopped him, saying,