Lord Montagu's Page: a historical romance

Front matter

VOL. SPLENDID GIFT BOOK FOR CHRISTMAS. DEDICATED BY PERMISSION OF THE COUNTESS OF WESTMORLAND. In One Vol., Post ito., Price 12s. BHANAVAR, A ROMANTIC POEM. TO WHICH IS ADDED FADLEEN, AN ORIENTAL TALE. By EDWARD FITZBALL, Esq., Author of " Maritana," " The Crown Diamonds," :" Siege of Rochelle," &c„ <&c. SBiijr numerous %Iertbft Illustrations ON STEEL AND AVOOD, A HISTOBICAL BOMANCE. By G. P. R. JAMES, Esq., Author of " The Gipsy," " Darnley," " Richelieu," "The Woodman," "The Old Oak Chest," &c. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. « Hcnflon : T. CAUTLEY NEYVBY, PUBLISHER 30, AVELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 1858.

Chapter I

A dungeon is by no means an agreeable place, and the dungeon of poor Edward Lang dale was not an agreeable dungeon. As was common at that time, before Vauban and others had introduced a better system of fortification, the principal defence of the Castle of Coiffy was a wet ditch or fosse, which differed little from those we see surrounding old castles of the Feudal period. This wet ditch was sup- Voe. 3. B. LORD MONTAGE'S PAGE. 4 plied Avith abundance of water from a spring a little higher up the hill, which, indeed, was the source of one of the principal confluents of the Aube ; but the soil, as I have said elseAvhere, being somewhat sandy the banks suffered the water to percolate in some slight degree to the detriment of the foundations of the castle ; and had not the masonry been very heavy and the mortar someAvhat better than AA'e use in building cockney villas, the square flanking tower, to the right of the gateway, as you look east, would have been down fifty years before and crushed to death the denizens of poor Edward's dungeon, if it had been furnished with tenants at that time.

Now doubtless the reader learned in romance composition may imagine that I am merely preparing the way for a fine scene of escape from prison with melo-dramatic incidents, new songs, scenery, and decorations. But, as I am sorry to say, no such heroic result was achieved by Lord Montagu's page, I cannot use, it as an incident in this true history. I only mention the percolation of the water of the fosse and its effect upon the foundations amongst which that and other dungeons were placed, to sIioav that the place of the poor youth's confinement was as damp and disagreeable as it could be. Some stones had fallen from the vault above, some large detached pieces of mortar, green and slimy, covered the mud or stone floor, and the walls were all glistening with dampness ; but those Avails were too thick, and the blocks of stone of which they Avere com posed, too hea\y for any unaided prisoner to have worked his way out with the utmost dili gence.

In one corner of the miserable hole was a sort of camp bedstead with a straAv bed, covered with yellow and green stains from long exposure to tbe foul moist air — disgust and sickness and death to lie upon — and in another corner, high up on the Avail was a little grated window, not so high as the opposite parapet of the glacis, but sufficiently so to admit the air and the sounds from Avithout. The Avail Avas too thick to allow a prisoner catching even a glimpse of the blue sky or to permit one ray of the sun to enter eA'en at his rising or his setting. It was indeed a desolate chamber. What an expressive word that desolate is ! Although sometimes in the heat of an almost tropical cli mate — heats often more intense than I ever heard of in the tropics themselves — I sometimes grumble a little at the power and ardour of the sun, yet what Avould the earth be Avithout him, what any place on the earth's surface which he does not visit ?

Desolate, desolate indeed ! The first sound which Edward heard after the bolts had ceased to grate in their sockets, Avas that of a canon, apparently from the walls of the Castle ; some five minutes after the same sound seemed to be repeated from a distance. It might be an echo. He could not tell ; but a moment or two after another report was heard certainly nearer ; and then two more confirmed his fancy that they were signal guns announcing that the well watched English envoy had been captured and was a prisoner at Coiffy. Some three hours then passed spent in perfect silence, at least only enlivened by the voice of some soldiers on the ramparts, and then came the squeaking of the wry necked fife and the beat ing of drums, announcing to Edward that troops of some kind were drawing round Coiffy.

Then were heard voices on the drawbridge and gay laughter as if officers were being received into the castle Avith signs of honor. All that passed away and silence resumed her reign till night fell. The light in the lantern burned down almost to the socket. No meat, no drink had been brought to the prisoner ; and he be gan to ask himself if it could be their intention to starve him there in darkness. His feelings were not pleasant. Just about that time there was some noise and bustle from Avithout — probably on the draw bridge or at the gate — the tramp of horses and voices speaking. Then for a few minutes all was silent again. Then there were sounds just lcsd montagu's page. 8 above more distinct and clear than any he had hitherto heard. People speaking and others moving sloAvly about, evidently penetrating to the cell which Edward tenanted, by the broken parts of the vault on which the flooring of the upper chamber rested.

" Ah ! " cried a voice with a groan " you have got me by the shoulder just by the wound. Do not do that ! Put your hand lower down — not there, not there, lower still. That young devil ! he does not miss his mark indeed." " Lay him on the bed — flat on bis back" said another voice. "Now, Brin, is not that easier for you ? and then followed several sen tences in a language Edward did not under stand at all. " The two blacksmiths" said EdAvard to him self " they have just brought in the wounded man." H For some half hour various sounds succeeded, some distinct, others confused, to which the young prisoner did not pay much attention; and then there was a sort of lull — not quite silence, but still much less bustle. Even slight sounds were easily distinguishable in the dun geon ; for the roof was so far dilapidated that here and there the rays of light from above found their way through a chink in the flooring, and traced a yelloAv line upon the pavement.

He could hear the wounded man groan and ask in a faint tone for water. " He is badly hurt it seems" said Edward Langdale to himself, " if the horse had not shied aAvay it would have gone through his head and served the traitor right." Edward wanted a little more softening to make him a real sentimental hero ; but I can only paint him as I find him. He did not feel the slightest remorse for what he had done. He thought it but right— but just; and he would have clone it over again the next minute. It is true the groans of the wounded man did somewhat annoy him. He felt no pleasure in his pain ; but as to the mere fact of having shot him becaue he had betrayed his Lord; Edward was as hard as a stone. It seemed indeed as if Monsieur de Bour bonne was inclined to try upon the young Englishman the treatment they sometimes em ploy to tame wild beasts, fasting and darkness.

He had kept him without food all day ; and now the light in the lantern Avent out and all was darkness in the dungeon, except where these yellow streaks from above chequered the floor ing ; and the youth's only entertainment was to listen while a good deal of Avalking to and fro and speaking took place overhead. He divined from all he heard that a surgeon had been sent for and was performing some operation upon the wounded man. At length the latter ex claimed, " Ah you have got it now- — there, there, that is comfortable. It feels as if you had pulled out a hot coal !" Just at that time a soldier opened the dun geon door and brought in a pitcher of cool water and some bread. " Am I to be kept in darkness ?" asked Edward. " I don't knoAv ;" answered the man, holding up his own lantern to look at him, " you have offended Monsieur le Comte mightily it seems; but I do not suppose that he intends you should have no light."

" Well then tell him something for me," replied Edward. " Say that I am greatly obliged to him for all his kindness ; but that I have friends in France who will repay him seA'enfold or I am much mistaken in them." The man went away but returned in a minute or two with a fresh candle. " Did you tell him ?" asked Echvard. " Yes," answered the soldier, who seemed a good-natured sort of person, " I told him but you had better not enrage him. It will do no good, young gentleman." Edward ate heartily of his poor fare and drank the cool water as if it had been nectar. He had hardly finished the temperate meal when he heard a voice above, which he recognised, by a slight hesitation of speech, as that of Monsieur de Bourbonne, and he certainly might be excused, in his circumstances, for listening Avith both his ears.

First the Count made several enquiries as to the state of the Avounded man, and then he added, " Well, my good friend, I have got the young tiger who scratched you safe caged in the worst dungeon of the castle, 1 hope you Avill get well ; but if you should die I will hang him from the herse." •'For God's sake do not do that Monsieur," cried the companion of the patient. "If I die, hang him as high as you please," growled the voice of Maitre Brin ; " the Cardi nal cannot do any thing to me after I am dead, and the young devil had better go with me." " Ha" said Monsieur de Bourbonne in a tone of some surprise "he boasts of having some good friends in France, and speaks as if he personally kneAv His Eminence." "And so he does" said Brin s more timid companion, " he is a great favourite of the Cardinal ; and Monsieur de Trouson warned us not to touch a hair of his head under any circumstances.

He said that Ave should be held to answer for any evil that happened to him. We were only to follow him where ever he went from Nantes, and not lose sight of him till he joined the English Lord." " Then did you first see him at Nantes ;" asked thc Count. " Surely,'' replied the other, " we Avatched in the courtyard while he was in with the Cardinal, that avc might take good note of him as he came out." There was a silence of some minutes, and then the voice of the sick man was heard saying ; " After all you had better not treat him badly Monseigneur. I do not think I am much hurt, and if he is hardly used some of us will suffer, you be may sure." " You shoidd have told me this before," said Monsieur de Bourbonne in a very sharp tone. " Why what time had we to tell you any thing, Monseigneur?" asked the wounded man's brother.

"At all events we tell you now ;" growled Brin, " and this talking is not likely to do me good. The lad is as fierce as a young wolf — he threatened to shoot me once before; but he is a pet of the Cardinal — one of his own people for Avhat we kuow ; and now that you are told he is so, you must use him as you think fit. It is no fault of ours — we have not hurt him." It is probable that the interview was less satisfactory to the Count de Bourbonne than he had expected ; for he brought it speedily to a conclusion, and Edward, for full half an hour after, heard the two men above talking together in a language he did not understand. At the end of that time, the bolt of the door was withdrawn, and the soldier who had previously brought him bread and Avater, appeared again with somewhat of a grin upon his face.

Well, young gentleman," he said, " Monsieur le Comte begs you Avid send him up the safe conduct you mentioned to him. After seeing that, perhaps they Avill treat you better." " Tell him I Avill not," said Edward in a resolute tone, " he may come and take it from me by force — or he may see it here in my presence ; but I give it out of my hands to no one, especially to one who has treated me unlike a soldier and a gentleman — Tell him what I say." The soldier laughed, " 'Pon my word, ycu are a bold one," he said, " do you not knoAv you are quite in his poAver ?" " Not so much as you think," replied Edward, " I am not the least afraid of him — Tell him exactly what I say." A full hour passed, and probably it AA'as spent in some degree of anxious and hesitating c, deliberation betAveen Monsieur de Bourbonne and the Count de Boulogne, his father-in-law ; for they remained the whole of that time shut up together in a small room on the second floor.

One can easily conceive that it was a hard thing for a proud and irritable man to make any confession to a mere lad who set him at defiance in language somewhat tinged with contempt. But a bold face stoutly kept up has a great effect upon most men, and if Edward had known the count intimately he could not, though it was entirely accidental, have chosen his course better. De Bourbonne was brave, and even rash; but he had a terrible reverence for power; and when he found the youth's account of himself confirmed even by the very man whose hfe he had nearly taken, fancy conjured up all sorts of ministerial indig nation, and sheAved him the service he had rendered in the capture of Lord Montagu — on which he had based so many gorgeous dreams more than counter-balanced, in the eves of Richelieu by his treatment of one of the Cardi nal's favorites.

Monsieur de Boulogne too, an older and milder man, strongly counselled mode ration and gentleness; somewhat censured what had been already done, and advised recourse to measures perhaps too directly and suddenly opposed. Still pride struggled hard with de Bourbonne. He vowed he did not and would not believe the tale which he had heard. " What hold," he asked, " could a mere fierce English lad have upon the Cardinal ?" and for some time his father-in-law reminded him in vain that Richelieu, though a wonderfully great man, was sometimes capricious in his affections, suggested that as he was not a little superstitious too in regard to astrology and the occult sciences, he might find some imaginary connexion between the youth's fate and his own ; and pointed out that it was utterly improbable Edward should treat him with such daring disrespect, if he was not certain of some strong support.

In the mean time the poor prisoner remained in some doubt and anxiety. Imprisonment, solitude, and low diet, had gone some way to tame the wild bird, and the uncertainty of the last hour had been heavy. He had fancied that the words he had heard spoken by the wounded man and his companion would produce an imme diate change ; but as minute after minute passed by, and nothing indicated any better treatment, he began to despond. At length, however, he heard the tramp of feet and the jingle of spurs, and a man Avith a torch opened the door, admitting Monsieur de Boulogne and one or two attendants. " Young gentleman," said the old nobleman, with a reproving but fatherly air, " you have been acting very rashly and impetuously towards the Count my son-in-law." " And how has he been acting towards me, sir," asked Edward, in a more respectful tone than he had used towards the younger man.

" Somewhat harshly, I am afraid j" said the other, looking round him, "he could not have known the state of this place, or he would not have put you here." " What right had he to put tee in a dungeon at all ?" asked Edward. " Why, you shot and nearly killed one of his attendants," was the reply. " Not at all," answered Edward, you are de ceived, sir, I shot an attendant of Lord Monta gu, whom 1 caught in the act of betraying his master. Ask his Lordship — ask the man him self, or his brother, if they had not both taken service with my Lord and received his money." The old gentleman smiled. " That puts a new face upon the matter ;" he said, "but let us have no recriminations, I wish to smooth matters down between you and my fiery relative. You say you have a safe conduct from his Eminence of Richelieu.

Let me see it." " On the sole condition, sir, that you restore to me at once," said Edward, putting his hand into a pocket in the breast of his coat, and taking out the passport in its velvet case. " Let me examine it," said Monsieur de Boulogne, " do not fear, you shall have it again in a moment." " I do not fear," replied the youth, giving him the case, "I am sure you are a man of honour by your face." "Here, man, hold the torch nearer," said the Count, and putting a pair of spectacles or barnacles, as they were then commonly called, upon his nose, he proceeded to examine the safe conduct minutely. But all was in proper form and order, calling upon all royal officers, gover nors of cities, castles, or provinces, to let the Seigneur Edward Langdale and suite pass and repass, without limitation of time or place, throughout the land of France ; and there was the seal of the council and the undoubted signa ture of the prime minister.

The face of the Count turned very grave as he read. " This is odd ;" he said, " my son should have seen this. Here is your suite mentioned, young gentleman. Where is your suite ?" " I might reply," said Edward, " that any one I chose to name is of my suite, for his Eminence put no restrictions. But I wish not to quibble. The suite of which he speaks is now at Nancy, with the exception of one page," he added, half smiling, " who is now in Venice." " Well, this is all very strange !" said the old man, " I cannot understand the^Cardinal giving you such a Avide safe conduct at all — an English man^ — and a youth like you." " I am neither bound nor inclined to explain the motives of his Eminence," replied Edward. " If you think fit to interrogate any one upon that subject, it must be himself." " God forbid !" cried Monsieur de Boulogne, eagerly, " There, take the paper and come with me.

I will take this business on myself. Two such young rash spirits may make mischief." Edward followed willingly enough ; and the old Count led him up the stairs from the dungeon to a tolerably comfortable room in one of the towers, where he left him, on his promise to remain till he could confer with Monsieur de Bourbonne. In a feAV minutes the two noble men entered together ; de Bourbonne evidently struggling not very successfully to keep up his dignity while forced to make disagreeable con cessions. " The Count de Boulogne informs me, sir," he said, " that you have really got a safe conduct from his Eminence of Richelieu." " Which you have known ever since mid day," said Edward. "Hush, hush," said the elder gentleman. "No more of that. Tell my-son-in-law, young gentleman, what it is you demand of him in the circumstances."

" I demand that he shall respect the Cardinal's safe conduct," answered the youth ; but de Bour bonne waved his hand, saying " I will respect it by sending you to his Eminence under guard on the first opportunity What more f" "That I be no more put in a wet dungeon — that I be not fed on bread and water — that 1 have my baggage restored to me, and that I am treated in every respect as that safe conduct gives me a right to expect." "Granted," said the Count ; "but upon the clear understanding that you are a prisoner, and remain such till I can send you to the Car dinal." "With the clear understanding," added Ed- Avard, " that you shall be called to strict account for every hour you keep me prisoner without lawful cause, and for your manifest disobedience of the Cardinal's Avritten orders under his own hand and seal."

The Count's face flushed, and he exclaimed, in evident embarrassment, " What the fiend are you to the Cardinal, or the Cardinal to you ?" But Edward saw that one way or other he had got the advantage. "That, sir," he said, in a cool tone, "you may have to learn hereafter from other lips than mine. In the mean time, you can do exactly as you think fit. Obey the commands you have received in the King's name, or disobey them as seems expedient to you ; but only do not put me in a damp dun geon, or feed me on bread and water any more, for that is as unpleasant to me as it is dangerous to yourself" " But suppose the safe conduct is a forgery," said de Bourbonne. " It would be a curious one," replied the youth, with perfect composure, " somewhat bold to devise and difficult to practise. Of that you can judge yourself; but take care you judge right.

I have only one other demand to make, namely, to be permitted to visit my Lord Montagu." " He has gone to bed," said de Bourbonne sharply, " and I shall consider of the matter further till to-morrow. I have only one more question. How much liberty in this castle do you Avant — it will depend entirely upon whether you do or do not give me your parole that you will not attempt to escape." " Now this is strange," said Edward, with an irrepressible laugh, "one moment I am sus pected of forgery, and the next my word of honor is to be relied on implicitly. However, Monsieur de Comte, as I have no intention of leaving you quite so soon, and as if I did escape I should run straight to his Eminence, to whom you say you intend to send me, I will give you my parole. But would you allow me to insinuate that I am exceedingly hungry, and that I have always considered a little good wine of Beau gency, better than a draught of water out of a pitcher not over clean."

Both the Counts laughed, and old Monsieur de Boulogne, taking his son-in-law by the arm, led him away, saying " Come, come, I shall make you two better friends before I have done.' "You will need to do so, father;" said Mon sieurde Bourbonne, "for, on my life, it shall be long enough before that keen boy sees the Cardinal. If what he says be true, as I suppose it is, the tales he has to tell might ruin us; and if it is false, he well deserves a good long spell of im prisonment."

Chapter II

The writers of biography and auto or pseudo autobiography, who flourished and were so abundant in France during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, made a great mistake by adding to the simple narrative a great number of romantic incidents which there is much rea son to believe had no foundation in fact. Put ting aside the morality or immorality of lying, they committed an artistic blunder. History is the best romance. Just in as much as a painter or a sculptor can approach to the realities of the human form, so is the grace and interest of his design. Just inasmuch as a writer can approach to the truth of history — telling all the truth mi nutely — so is the romantic history of his book. Only history is so very romantic, that no one who writes it completely can obtain credence. Let us see whether the reader will believe a morsel as true history when it appears under the character of romance.

The fact of the capture of Lord Montagu spread rapidly through all France. Couriers carried it to Villeroy and Rochelle. Rumour brought it rapidly to Paris ; and thence with concentric ripples the knowledge was carried far and wide to all who were unwise enough to med dle with politics in those days. The effect was very different upon different people. The great Cardinal rejoiced at the suc cess of his well-laid schemes, for he had long known, and watched with a keen eye, the nego tiations which had been entrusted to the English nobleman. Perhaps, however, he rejoiced more at the hold which he doubted not the seized papers of the diplomatist would give him upon his own enemies in France itself, than upon the means afforded of frustrating all the combinations which had been effected against his country His mighty mind feared foreign enemies much less than secret cabal at home.

In fact, he knew that the fortress of his power was strong enough to resist a cannonade, but might not be proof against a mine. Nor was the spirit of the King dissatisfied to learn that Buckingham's agent had fallen into his power with all his correspondence, com prising probably one-third of the nobility of France. We have not had time, we shall not have time to dwell upon the character of Louis, though it well merits a treatise to itself. His sports in youth had been cruel, his amusements low. His father had called him " that wicked boy ;" and though he possessed all that father's courage and much of his military skill, he had none of his kindness of heart, his clemency or his gentleness. It might be that he did not feel pleasure in the shedding of blood, but it is certain that he never objected to shed it ; and when his best friends and greatest favourites were con demned, often by unlawful tribunals, he con sented to their death with coolness or a jest.

But there was one in France who heard of Lord Montagu's capture with very different feelings. Anne of Austria, the unhappy queen, the child less wife of the coldest-hearted monarch that ever lived, received the tidings with terror and confusion. It might be that the tales they tell of certain secret communications between her and the brilliant Duke of Buckingham were founded in truth. It might be that she had connived at schemes for the overthrow of a minister who persecuted her. But it is beyond doubt that she held dangerous correspondence with her own family in Spain ; that Buckingham had been negotiating with that court; and that Montagu was his most confidential emissary. What letters might not be upon his person at the moment of his arrest ? — What papers which might give a complete triumph to her enemies, and she had many ?

Happily, however, she had many friends sincere, devoted, and fearless. At the very moment when she was in the most profound agony of terror, one of these was near at hand. It is well known that gentlemen of good fa mily, but small means, were in those days proud to accept even what Ave consider menial offices in the household of Princes or great men. A youth of the name of Laporte, had been attached to the service of Anne of Austria, almost ever since her entrance into France, in the humble capacity of valet de chambre. In one of the many intrigues of the court, he had incurred the anger of the King, but had been permitted to enter a corps of cavalry, known as the gens (Parmes de la Reine, as ensign. This corps. at the time of the capture of Lord Montagu, was serving on the frontiers of Loraine, and was one of the first to be called towards the Chateau of Coiffy, to form part of the escort of the noble prisoner on the way to Paris.

But Laporte was not with his regiment. He was, when the news arrived, on leave of absence in the capital, and his presence had been known to the young Queen. At midnight and in disguise he was brought to the Louare ; and Anne of Austria at once laid open to her attached servant the terrible apprehensions under which she suffered. To ascertain if her name was at all compromised in the correspondence of Lord Montagu, was of immediate importance. It was, in fact, an affair of life and death ; but to do so seemed ut terly hopeless. All the papers of the prisoner Avere in the hands of his captors, and the utmost secresy was maintained as to their contents. Laporte, however, undertook the difficult task ; and on the following day set out to rejoin his regiment at Coiffy. The way was long, and he did not reach the Castle till the prisoner and his escort were already on the march to Paris ; but he was near enough to witness the absurd gas conade of Monsieur de Bourbonne, who having gathered together a very considerable force, no tified the Duke of Loraine of the day and hour when he would commence his journey.