Lafcadio Hearn - "Glimpses of an Unfamiliar Japan"

Erasmus Roterodamus - "Selections from Erasmus"

E. A. Wallis Budge - "Legends Of The Gods"

James Anthony Froude - "Caesar: A Sketch"

Editorial
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Orrain

S >> S. Levett Yeats >> Orrain



ORRAIN

A Romance

by

S. LEVETT-YEATS

Author of
"The Lord Protector," "The Chevalier d'Auriac," etc.







Longmans, Green, and Co.
91 and 93 Fifth Avenue, New York
London and Bombay
1904

Copyright, 1904, by
S. Levett-Yeats
All Rights Reserved






CONTENTS


CHAPTER

I THE CRY IN THE RUE DES LAVANDIERES
II I BECOME THE OWNER OF A RING
III MY PYRAMID OF CARDS COMES DOWN
IV THE QUEEN'S MIRACLE
V THE PORTE ST. MICHEL
VI SIMON AND I MEET AGAIN
VII DIANE
VIII THE ACTS OF PIERREBON
IX THE WHITE MASK
X THE BITER BITTEN
XI THE ROAD TO POITIERS
XII A WRITER OF COMMENTARIES
XIII THE TOUR DE L'OISEAU
XIV MADEMOISELLE DE PARADIS
XV MY PRISONER
XVI THE TWELVE ROSE PETALS
XVII MADEMOISELLE DECIDES
XVIII DR. JOHANNES CABALLUS
XIX THE WOMAN IN BLACK AND WHITE
XX THE CROWN JEWELS
XXI THE HOUSE IN THE PASSAGE OF PITY
XXII THE TABLETS OF DOM ANTOINE DE MOUCHY
XXIII THE MASQUERADE
XXIV THE KING AND THE FAVOURITE
XXV THE PACKET OF LETTERS
XXVI THE CHURCH UNDER THE GROUND
XXVII THE RING
XXVIII THE ARM OF GOD
XXIX LA VALENTINOIS AND I
XXX FONTAINEBLEAU
XXXI THE PEARS OF ORRAIN




ORRAIN


CHAPTER I

THE CRY IN THE RUE DES LAVANDIERES

My father, Rene, Vidame d'Orrain, was twice married. By his first wife
he had one son, Simon, who subsequently succeeded to his title and
estates, and was through his life my bitter enemy. By his second wife,
whom he married somewhat late in life, he had two sons--the elder,
Anne, known as the Chevalier de St. Martin from his mother's lands,
which he inherited; and the younger, Bertrand--myself.

Simon betook himself early to the Court, and we heard but little of
him, and that not to his credit; St. Martin went to Italy under the
banner of Brissac; and as for me, my parents yielding to the persuasion
of my mother's uncle, the Bishop of Seez, decided that I should become
a Churchman, and I was forthwith packed off to Paris, and entered at
the College of Cambrai, being then about seventeen years of age. Being
remarkably tall and strongly built, with a natural taste for all manly
exercises, it might have been expected that my books saw little of me;
but, on the contrary, I found in them a pleasure and a companionship
that has lasted through my life. Thus it happened that I made
considerable progress. So much so that the good Bishop, my
great-uncle, often flattered me with the ambitious hopes of some day
filling his Episcopal chair--a hope that, I need not say, was never
realised.

About this time, I being nineteen years of age, things happened that
entirely altered my life. My mother sickened and died. Shortly after
news came of the death of my brother St. Martin, who was killed in an
affair of honour at Milan. The Vidame, my father, then in his
eighty-first year, and much enfeebled by old wounds, especially one he
had received at Fornovo, felt that his last hours were come, and
summoned my brother Simon and myself home to receive his last blessing
before he died.

I hurried back as fast as possible, but when I reached Orrain I found
to my astonishment the gates of the Chateau closed against me, and
Simon, leaning over the battlements, bade me begone.

Overcome with this reception, I was for a space struck speechless; but
at length finding voice I begged, even with tears, to be allowed to see
my father. But Simon sneered back:

"You will have to take a long journey, then; either below or above--I
know not which," he mocked. "Your father is dead. He has left you his
curse, and the lands of St. Martin are yours. I am master here at
last, thank God! And I tell you to be off! Take that pink and white
face of yours back to your College of Cambrai!"

He lied, for, as I afterwards heard, my father was not dead then, but
lay dying in his chamber, to which no one but Simon had access, and
over which he had placed a guard of his men-at-arms, a cut-throat set
of Italians whom he ever had with him.

Simon's cruel words stung me to the quick. My blood flamed with rage,
and I dared him to come forth and meet me as a man; but he only laughed
all the more, and, pointing to the tree of justice outside the gate,
asked how I would like to swing from one of its branches. He added
that, as I was his step-brother, he would give me a high one, if I
chose.

I can almost see him now as I write this, with his cruel hatchet face
snarling over the parapet, his red hair, his tall, thin figure and bent
back--if the truth were known, Simon's affairs of gallantry must have
been few.

In brief, despite all my efforts, I was unable to see my father, who
died that night asking for me.

In the hamlet of Orrain itself I could find no shelter, although the
villagers knew and loved me, and this was from fear of the new Vidame.
I, however, found a temporary retreat in the forest, living there like
a wild beast for four days, waiting with a burning heart for a chance
of meeting Simon, but he never came forth.

On the fourth day my father was buried at dead of night in the Chapel
of St. Hugo of Orrain, where every Vidame of Orrain, save one, lies.

Pierrebon, now my steward, and at that time my servant, and the only
companion I had with me, brought me news from the village that this was
to be, and I determined to be there at all hazard. This resolution I
carried out, and Simon and I met beside our father's grave. The time
and the occasion sealed my lips and stayed my hand. Even Simon spake
never a word, but, when it was all over, rode off sullenly through the
night back to the Chateau, his cursed Italians around him, and with the
dawn started off for Paris.

This I did too. There was nothing else to be done, and I returned to
my College.

I was, however, no longer in the position of a poor cadet, without
means or resource. My mother's lands of St. Martin had come to me on
Anne's death. Even my great-uncle the good Bishop agreed with me, with
many sighs, that the profession of arms was more suited to my present
position than the Church, but advised me to stay for a year more in
College, and fortify my mind by taking the course of Philosophy.

I very willingly assented to this; but the wealthy Chevalier d'Orrain
as I was called--I did not take the name of St. Martin--was a vastly
different person from the poor cadet of the past year. I found myself
courted and sought after. I began to find pleasures in life unknown to
me before, and in the young man of fashion, who entered the world a
year later it was hardly possible to recognise the once quiet and
studious Bertrand d'Orrain.

I plunged into the dissipations of the capital. At the Court I found a
patron in Monseigneur the Duc d'Enghien. My extravagance and my
follies brought me many reproofs from the Bishop of Seez, but the good
man's warnings were in vain, and might have been shouted to the stars.
They were certainly at times loud enough to be heard there.

I often met Simon, now Vidame d'Orrain. He was high in favour with the
Dauphin, who succeeded to the throne as Henri II., and his mistress,
Diane de Poitiers, whom he made Duchess of Valentinois. By tacit
consent there was an armed peace between us, though I well knew he
would take any chance that might arise to my injury. As it was, we
met, and passed each other without greeting, and in silence, ever with
black looks, and hands on the hilts of our swords.

My acres began to diminish and the woods of St. Martin to go down.
Things, in fact, were going from bad to worse, when war with the
Emperor broke out afresh, and I was amongst the first of those who
volunteered under Enghien for the Italian campaign. There I did my
part, and shared in the day of Cerisolles as a captain in the Light
Horse of Monsieur de Randan. Then, on the peace, back to Paris once
more and the old life; with this difference, that now there was no
restraining hand over me, for my great-uncle was dead. He left me his
blessing, his copy of "Plutarch's Lives," and thirty crowns of the
sun--all his fortune--for, though Bishop of Seez, he was a true
shepherd of God, and laid up for himself all his treasures on high.

It was impossible that things could go on much longer without disaster,
and the death--murder, rather--of that gallant prince the Duc d'Enghien
deprived me of a protector upon whom I could always rely. This,
followed by an unfortunate duel, the circumstances of which will be
detailed later, precipitated matters. The Edict of Fontainebleau
served as a weapon to my enemies, and it was put in force with the
utmost rigour against me. My principal accuser was my unnatural
step-brother the Vidame d'Orrain. He went so far as to charge me with
aiding and harbouring the members of the New Heresy, and the discovery
of a small leaflet printed at Geneva amongst my books was held to be
sufficient proof against me. The affair of the duel I might have lived
through, but this meant death. I took refuge in flight; it was the
only course. I was condemned in my absence by the Chambre Ardente to
the extreme penalty, and what remained of my property was given to
Simon, who shared it with Diane, the mistress of the King.

Thus at five and twenty I found myself an exile, and penniless. One
friend alone remained to me, and this was a young man of Orrain called
Pierrebon, whom I have mentioned before. Through good and ill he
adhered to me with ancient fidelity, and he lives still, honoured and
trusted by all who know him.

Together we sought a refuge in the Low Countries, and there I learned
the first great lesson of my life, and that was to live by honest work.
For five years I labored, until I had amassed sufficient to give me a
small estate of about fifty ecus.

During those five years so many things had happened--I myself was so
changed--that I began to think that I and my affairs had been consigned
to oblivion, and that I might safely return to France. One day I was
seized with an uncontrollable desire to see my native land once again.
I determined to do so then and there, and a fortnight later,
accompanied by Pierrebon, I was in Paris.

I had every reason to confirm the opinion I had formed, that I and my
doings had been forgotten. In the humble class to which I now belonged
no one had ever heard of the Chevalier d'Orrain. Here in Paris I felt
I was safe, and I consequently determined to fix my abode in the great
city. I hired an apartment in the Rue des Lavandieres, and established
myself there, giving out that I was a fencing-master. No pupils came;
but at any rate there was peace and contentment. I formed no
acquaintances except one, a certain Camus, a glove-maker, who had an
apartment above mine. For some reason or other this man forced himself
upon me, and though at first I repulsed his attentions he would not be
denied, and I grew to tolerate him. He was possessed of extraordinary
learning, and, under the guise of his ostensible calling, plied another
terrible trade--those who know the story of Jeanne of Navarre will know
what I mean.

This I was unaware of at the time; but, despite myself, the man's
conversation interested me, so that I occasionally yielded to his
importunities, and visited him for an hour or so after supper, when we
passed the time in discussion.

In this manner close upon six years elapsed, until I myself had almost
forgotten in the Bourgeois Broussel--the name I assumed--the once
brilliant Chevalier d'Orrain. Pierrebon alone knew my secret, and he
was as silent as the grave. At times the honest fellow would speak
hopefully of a good day to come; but I poured cold water on that, and,
pointing to my lute and my copy of "Plutarch's Lives," was wont to say
that there was enough happiness there for my life without seeking to
reopen the past or delve into the future.

One night--I remember it well; it was the night of Pentecost, in the
year 1555--I went up, at Camus' request, to his apartment. I had not
seen the old man for some time, and our talk was longer than usual. By
some chance we began to discuss poisons, and Camus opened the stores of
his curious knowledge. He had studied, he said, with a strange smile,
the works of the Rabbi Moses bin Maimon, and was possessed of antidotes
for each of the sixteen poisons; but there was one venom, outside the
sixteen, the composition of which he knew, but to which there was no
antidote. On my inquiry he stated that this was the poison used by the
Borgia, and it was prepared as follows:

A bear having been caught, it was made to swallow a draught of _Acqua
di Borgia_. On this beginning to take effect the bear was suspended
head downwards. Whilst the animal was in convulsions there poured from
his mouth a foamy stream. This, collected in a silver vessel and
securely bottled, was the Borgia venom, and to this there was no
antidote.

I made some remark of horror, and he laughed a dry, crackling laugh,
and rose from his seat.

"I will show you," he said, and was moving towards a press when we were
startled by a cry from the street--a cry for help:

"_A moi_! _A moi_!"




CHAPTER II

I BECOME THE OWNER OF A RING

I started from my seat, and Camus, with a turn and a step, reached the
window, where, resting his hands on the mullions, he leaned far out. I
was on his heels; but the window was narrow, a mere slit, and so I
could see nothing below. Late as it was the cry had, however, reached
other ears than ours as well. Here and there a dim light glowed for an
instant or so in an overhanging window. Here and there a shadowy
figure appeared at a balcony, only to vanish like a ghost after peering
for a moment in the direction of the sound. This was all the interest,
all the attention it excited, and this spoke for the times.

"What is it? Can you see anything?" I asked, craning over Camus'
shoulder; and, as if in answer to my question, the cry rang out again,
just below the window:

"_A moi_! _Au secours_!" Then came an oath, and the rasp of steel.

"They are killing someone there," said Camus; "killing with clumsy
steel. Well! 'tis an affair for the watch." And with a shrug of his
lean shoulders he turned back. But I waited to hear no more. Drawing
my sword I made all haste down the stairway and into the street, and
there before me, where the moonlight glistened on the mud and on the
green and slimy cobble stones of the Rue des Lavandieres, two men,
their backs to the wall, fought for their lives against four, whilst a
fifth, who seemed to direct them, stood a little apart.

The odds were heavy against the two. All the heavier because one,
dressed in the bizarre attire of jester, had no sword but only a dagger
for defence. Nevertheless, with his short cloak wrapped over his left
arm, and the dagger in his right hand, he held his own with skill and
courage.

The attack, however, was chiefly directed upon his companion, a
fair-haired man, with a short moustache and beard. He had lost his
hat. There was a red line of blood on his face from a wound in the
forehead, and a twitching smile on his lips; but he fought silent as a
wolf.

A thrust that would have found his heart was parried, but not by him.
Quick as thought, the swordless man by his side hit up the bravo's
rapier with his left arm, and the blade, stabbing the air, struck and
bent against the stones of the wall just over shoulder-height.

"_Sus_! _sus_!" cried the leader of the night-hawks; and he ran forward.

Clearly it was time that help came. So I passed my sword through one
of the bravos, and as the others, surprised and disconcerted, gave way
a little, I ranged myself beside the two.

"Courage!" I said, "affairs are more equal now."

Cursing and growling, spitting like so many cats, the villains came on
with a rush, their leader first. A long arm and a long sword are,
however, great advantages in affairs of this kind, and I took him on
the riposte. A cry and a gasp, a sword clattered on to the pavement,
and the stricken man spun round and, holding his hand to his side,
tried to stagger off, but after stumbling a few steps he fell in a heap
in the shadow.

This settled the matter. The others, seeing their leader hit, waited
for no more, but fled. There was no pursuit. For a few brief seconds
we heard the patter of running feet, and then all was still.

We stood, all three staring at each other, and then the fair-haired man
held out his hand, saying simply: "I thank you, monsieur!"

I met his grasp, expressing at the same time my concern for his wound.

"It is not much, I think--all due to a weak parry on my part." And he
strove with a gold-laced handkerchief to staunch the blood that was
flowing somewhat freely. I was about to offer what help I could when
the jester cut in.

"Faith of a fool!" he said, sheathing his dagger, "my gossip here is
apt to make light of these scratches; but I would give my cap and bells
now for a little salve."

"If you will come into my house, messieurs--'tis but a step--we will
see to the hurt."

I almost repented of my offer the moment after I made it, for I caught
the jester plucking at my friend's sleeve in warning; but the other
laughed, and, addressing me in a high and gracious way, said:

"Monsieur, once more thanks! I accept your offer. Of a truth!" and he
ruefully looked at his handkerchief, "this is a trifle too much cupping
for me."

I bowed, and led the way across the road; but the jester stayed us,
calling out in his high-pitched tones:

"Just a look at this carrion! One may as well see upon whom our friend
here has put his mark." So saying he stooped and turned over the man,
the first of the two who had fallen. He lay half in a stagnant pool of
water, and was quite dead, as we could see, for the moon fell clearly
on his evil and distorted face and horny, film-covered eyes.

"As dead as imperial Caesar," said the jester; "nor can I say who or
what he was. St. Siege! Stay--see this!" And throwing back the man's
cloak, which half covered his breast, he pointed with his fingers at a
crest embroidered on the doublet. It was a crescent in silver, with a
scroll beneath it, and as we all stooped down to see, the jester's keen
eyes met those of his companion.

"The scroll explains all," he said, as if in reference to the attack
upon them: "it is _totum donec impleat orbem_."

"Diane?"

"Yes; Diane de Poitiers--Diane, Duchess of Valentinois--Diane, the
curse of France! But I should play the Caliph Aaron no more, and keep
home of nights; better still, take horse with the dawn for Navarre!"

There was a strange earnestness in the speaker's voice. There he was,
one knee to ground, a finger resting on the ill-omened crest of the
mistress of the King, the moon shining on his rich dress of black and
gold, on the sharp, weasel-like face, and keen eyes that looked up at
his friend.

"There is more in this than I thought at first," I said to myself, and
scanned the features of the dead man more closely. He looked like a
foreigner, and, saying that I was going to see after the other, I
turned away, but with my ears skinned, as I began to dislike the affair
exceedingly.

As I suspected, the jester began to warn his friend once more.

"Monseigneur, there has been enough folly for tonight, and your wound
is but slight. Go not into the house! Let us thank him--reward him if
you will--but let us be off!"

"Hush, Le Brusquet!" said the other in the same low tone. "There is no
fear, and if there is danger I turn not from it."

I had heard enough, and seen enough too. The other man had got off
somehow. He had fallen, it is true, but recovered himself sufficiently
to make away. One can never be sure of the riposte in an uncertain
light, and uncertain moonlight is worst of all.

"He has got off," I said as I returned; "and 'twere well to have your
wound looked after, if you mean to have it done."

With this I led the way to the door of my house, and opening it bade
them enter. The fair-haired man passed in at once, but I caught a
gleam in Le Brusquet's hand as he followed. He had drawn his dagger
once more.

My first thought had been, much as I disliked him, to ask Camus to help
me in dressing the wound; but upon consideration, and chiefly, after I
had heard Le Brusquet address his friend as "Monseigneur," I deemed it
preferable that I should see to it myself. I had some experience in
these things. A soldier should know how to stop as well as to let
blood; and by way of precaution I always keep a little store of
remedies at hand, for one never knows when they may be needed, as they
were then. With this in my mind I led the way up into my apartment.
Here, I may mention, I had established myself modestly but comfortably.
It is true that the walls were bare, except for a demi-suit of mail, a
couple of swords, and a banner I had taken at Cerisolles; but for the
rest, what with my books--I had five in all--and my lute, I flattered
myself that I had all that a man needed.

Pierrebon was asleep on a settle, and I had to call twice ere I could
wake him, for he slept like the dead. But he rose quickly enough, and
lit the candles. Then, bidding him fetch me materials for dressing a
cut, I begged my guests to be seated. It was the first chance we had
of really seeing each other. The jester Le Brusquet I did not
recognize at all, though I noticed the royal cipher on his pourpoint.
As for the other, there is only one house in France that bears such
features, and the greatest of them all is now King, and owes his being
to the man who stood before me.

As the lights fell on us I noticed a quick glance pass between the two,
and Le Brusquet's hand moved beneath his cloak. It was as if suspicion
were gone and he had resheathed his poniard. I smiled to myself; but
Pierrebon now entered with a ewer and the things I required. He placed
these on the table, and at a look from me, which he understood,
vanished again.

I set myself at once to dress the wound, which was, after all, but a
slight affair, though it had bled freely. I said so as I finished,
adding that if it had been a trifle deeper the business would have been
serious; but, as it was, a couple of days would mend matters entirely,
except for a patch.

"Not Frenel himself could have tended me better," said the wounded man.
"Monsieur, I am deeply obliged to you."

And Pierrebon entering at this time with some wine I begged them to do
me the honour to drink a cup.

This they willingly assented to, and filling three cups from the flagon
I raised mine on high.

"Messieurs, a toast for all good Christians! Down with the crescent!"

They understood and drank--Le Brusquet with a searching look in his
eyes and a smile on his lips, and his companion with a reckless laugh.

And now they rose. "Monsieur," said the wounded man, "will you add to
your kindness by telling us to whom we are indebted? You are a
soldier--I can see that--and I can keep that sword of yours from
rusting if you will."

So he had not recognised me! Well, ten years make a difference! And
yet, if once, he had seen me a hundred times in the days when his
valiant brother Enghien lived. I began to feel sure that if he did not
know me I was safe indeed; but I had no mind to change my present peace
for any other life, and so made answer:

"Monseigneur, it were idle for me to say that I do not know you. Rest
assured that were I so minded I could follow no braver or more generous
prince than Antony of Vendome, but my sword is hung to the wall. My
name is Broussel. I am bourgeois, as you see, and having a small
estate of fifty ecus have all that suffices for the simple needs of a
citizen such as I. Monseigneur, the little service I rendered is
small; let it be forgotten. Nevertheless, I thank you for the kind
offer you have made."

I delivered this speech with a respectful air, but yet in a tone that
carried the conviction that my resolve was unchangeable.

"As you will," said the Duke, with some coldness of manner. "A Bourbon
does not offer twice. And so, farewell! I fear 'tis a long road and
an ugly road we have yet to travel, thanks to my folly--eh, Le
Brusquet?"

Out of the tail of my eye I had been watching Le Brusquet. All this
time he had been engaged in examining the silver cup from which he had
drunk his wine--a relic of my past splendour. He toyed with it this
way and that, looking at the arms engraved thereon, and comparing them
with those on the flagon. Then his little eyes stole a swift,
searching glance at me, and a smile--just the shadow of a
smile--flickered over his lips. He had not, however, lost a word of
what was passing between Vendome and myself, and on the Duke addressing
him he put down the cup he held in his hand, saying quietly: "If
Monsieur Broussel will add to his kindness by lending me a sword it
may, perhaps, be better for us, and I promise faithfully to return it."

Without a word I took a sword from the wall and handed it to Le
Brusquet, who received it with a bow, and then, turning to the Duke, I
offered to accompany them to the end of the street, which was an evil
place even by day. I added that a little beyond the end of the street
was the Gloriette, where the guards of Monsieur the Lieutenant of the
Chatelet were to be found, and that thence their way would be safe.

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