Lord Montagu's Page: An Historical Romance

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XIII.

  The table, the book, the pallet, the grinning emblem of death, and alittle black crucifix hung up against the wall, were--with the exceptionof a large pitcher of very clear, cold water--all that the cellcontained; and yet it was by no means without ornament, for each ofthose chambers looking to the western cloister had a window divided intotwo by a beautiful mullion and was garnished all round, even in theinterior, with mouldings a foot in depth. The original small panes ofstained glass were also there, but Edward could at first form no idea ofthe richness of the coloring; for, although the moon had now risenseveral hours, the face of heaven was black with clouds, and all withoutwas darkness. About five minutes after he had entered the cell, however,the whole interior of the little room, where the feeble oil-lamp hadonly made the darkness visible, was pervaded by intense light, and animage of the stained-glass window was thrown upon the floor andopposite wall in colors the most intense and beautiful. Still, thethunder did not follow for several seconds; but when it did come theroar was awful. It seemed as if some one were pouring rocks andmountains in a stream upon the roof of the abbey, making the very solidwalls and foundations shake. Edward drew forth his watch,--one of therude contrivances of those days, but with the great advantage of havingthe figures on the dial plain and distinct,--and, holding it to thelamp, perceived it was a quarter past one. "Lucette must be awake," hethought: "she could not sleep through such a crash as that. I will waitfive minutes and then go and call her."

  In the mean time the flashes of lightning became more frequent, somefollowed by heavy thunder, some passing away in silence, till at lengththey grew so rapid in succession that one could not attach the roar tothe flame. Edward's first knock brought Lucette, completely dressed, tothe door; and he was surprised to see her cheek so pale. The thought ofdanger had never entered his own mind; but he clearly saw that she wasmuch agitated. "You are not afraid, dear girl?" he asked: "it is but alittle thunder."

  "It is not fear, but awe, Edward," she said. "But is it time to go? I amready."

  "Not yet," he answered; "but we may as well stay here in the passage. Ifthe storm should alarm the monks, and any one come out, we can say weare frightened too."

  "Is not that some one crossing there?" asked Lucette; but almost as shespoke a sudden flash showed that what she took for a man was but a shortpillar. Edward drew her closer to him and put his arm round her. She didnot feel at all angry, but rather clung to his side. Fear is a greatsmoother away of all prudery; and, to say sooth, Lucette had very littleof it to be planed down. The fact is, she was innocent in heart and mindas a young child; and innocence is never prudish,--nor is real delicacy.

  "Ne fiez-vous a l'Angelus; Mais craignez les bois et les orages,"

  says an old French song about two lovers somewhat similarly situated;but Edward and Lucette ran no danger from any thing but the lightning.It, however, was now really terrific. The clouds, crammed withelectricity, were evidently directly over the abbey, and every instantthe blaze was running across the windows, the various colors of whichgave the flashes the effect of fireworks more brilliant than any thatever were constructed by the hand of man.

  At length a sound, not the roaring roll of thunder, but an explosion, asit were, as if some mighty cannon had burst, shook the very ground onwhich they stood. Then came a moment's pause, and then a peculiarnoise,--it might be thunder, or it might not, but it seemed more likethe sound of stones rolling rapidly and heavily over each other and thenfalling from a height to the ground. The next instant a heavy bell beganto toll, but ceased after three or four strokes had been struck,mingling strangely with a peal of thunder which was then echoing throughthe building.

  A spirit of confusion now seemed to seize upon the abbey: the door atthe end of the corridor was thrown open; monks were seen hurryingacross, moving a little way up the passage and disappearing by anotherdoor. There were voices calling and screaming too, and Edward thought hecould distinguish groans and shrieks; while ever and anon a little bellwas heard ringing with a small, tinkling sound; and, in strange discordwith all the rest, a solemn strain of music burst upon the ear wheneverthe little door on the left was opened.

  Edward tried to ascertain from one of the passing monks what was thematter; but he could get no intelligible answer; and it was withinfinite satisfaction that at length he saw Pierrot appear, comingtoward them in haste.

  "The great tower has been struck, sir," said the man, in answer to hisinquiries; "and Heaven knows how much of it has tumbled down over theother cloisters. One of the monks is killed, they say, and several otherpeople are crushed under the stones; but, what is worse than all, justas they were ringing the great bell, they found out that the lightningwhen it struck had set the tower on fire, for the rope broke short off,and the end that came down upon the sacristan's head was burning. Thereis no hope of getting it put out; for some are carrying off theornaments of the church, some are praying, some are singing, some arewhipping themselves; and the best thing we can do is to get out to thebank of the canal,--if we can find the way; for, though the hour youtold me is not quite come, we can wait there more safely than here,where we are likely to have the roofs and buttresses on our heads everyminute."

  Edward pressed Lucette a little closer to him and whispered something,to which she answered, "Anywhere you will.--Trust you? Oh, yes!" And,getting her large hat from the cell, Edward placed it on her head so asto conceal as far as possible her wonderfully luxuriant hair: then,leading her down the passage, opened the door which the soldier hadpointed out to him. Instantly a flash of lightning crossed their eyes;but it served to show, though it lived but a second, the dull, heavyfeatures of the Marais, with not one, but half a dozen, streams ofzigzag lightning playing through the sky,--some, as the levin-bolt isusually represented, darting down to earth like a flaming javelin,others twisting into all shapes, and even running up, like fieryserpents disporting themselves in the horrors of the storm. What was ofmore importance, however, to Edward and Lucette, that flash displayed,close before them, one of those long rows of willows and ash-trees whichin that part of the country denote the course of the larger canals, andalso showed a break in the line of wood, where the monks probably wentdown to fish from their own boats.

  All the noises of the abbey were now heard far more distinctly, thethunder notwithstanding; and through every window of the great church,with its tall square tower, might be seen a red, ominous glare. Butonward Edward supported Lucette, with Pierrot feeling his way beforethem, till a few steps brought them to the very edge of the water. Twoboats were fastened to the bank by chains; but there was no boatmanapparent, and Edward and his good servant consulted for a moment, with arunning accompaniment of lightning, as to whether it would not be betterto unloose one of the skiffs and seek safety somewhere.

  "I can break the chain in a moment with a big stone, Master Ned," saidPierrot; "but, as we do not know where to go, we had better wait forsome one to show us. Master George Brin, the good corporal, promisedthat some one should be here at two; and, depend on it, he will keep hisword. Hark! I hear oars. It is not quite two yet; but you had better putthe young lady under that ash-tree, for it is beginning to rain, thankGod. That will soon put the thunder out; and pray Heaven it quenches thefire in the church, too! Those monks are good, simple souls and merry."

  Not more than two minutes after he had done speaking, a boat came upquickly to the little landing-place, rowed by an elderly man, as far asEdward could see by the lightning, who carefully avoided touching theabbey boats, but, as soon as he backed his oars, looked round over thebank.

  "Ah, there you are!" he said, in a tongue which, though it was notFrench at all, was a jargon quite understandable. "Get in! get in,quick! Here, young man, give me your hand." And, catching Lucette's arm,he lifted her in rather than aided her to embark. Edward and Pierrotfollowed, and without another word the boatman pushed off. It was allover in less than thirty seconds, and the boat had made some two hundredyards over the water, the man pushing
her along with a pole, before herelinquished that instrument and sat down as if to resume his oars. Therain was now beginning to fall thick in heavy drops, and the boatman, ashe pushed his bark along, had been scanning his party of passengersearnestly. "Here," he said, at length, dragging something large andshaggy from beneath one of the seats,--"here, you one in the large hat,put this on, or you will get wet. The sky may come down in drops withoutgoing through that."

  "What is it?" asked Lucette, taking what the man offered, but notcomprehending what it was.

  "A _peau de bique_, to-be-sure," replied the boatman. "You are the girlthat Georgy Brin told me of, are not you? I must not let you get wet;for he says you are weakly. 'Tis a bad business, anyhow!" And, with thissage reflection, he began vigorously to handle his oars.

  Edward aided his fair companion to envelop herself in the water-proofgarment then and still common in that part of France; and the boat shoton rapidly under the branches of the trees, which may be said to haveinterlaced above them. For about a quarter of a mile all was darkness,but at the end of that distance the boatman began to look up toward thesky wherever a small patch of the heavens could be seen through theoverhanging trees. Edward, too, saw from time to time gleams of redlight upon the water; and it seemed as if the sky itself had caught firefrom the lightning and would soon be in one general blaze. Anotherquarter of a mile brought the travellers to a spot where were two reedcabins and an open space of ground round them; and there the boatman layupon his oars. All eyes were now turned toward the abbey, where a sightat once sad and grand presented itself. The top of the great squaretower, like an immense altar, bore a pyramid of flame up to the skies;and from every window and loophole issued forth a tongue of fire,licking the gray walls. The windows even of the church were painted inred upon the dark stone-work, whenever the cloud of smoke whichsurrounded the whole of the lower part of the building like a vastshroud suffered the masonry to appear.

  "Alas for the poor monks!" said the boatman, with an unaffected sigh:"if they did not do much good, they did not do any harm; and we mighthave had worse people amongst us. That abbey has stood wellnigh fourhundred years, they tell me; and it was never touched by lightning untilnow,--doubtless because they have given it to a lay abbot, and he turnsall the revenues to the works of man which were devoted to the works ofGod. Well, we cannot help the poor souls." And, without further thoughtof the burning edifice, he plied his oars again, and the boat cut herway smoothly through the glassy waters, leaving long, fiery ripplesbehind her.

  Two miles more of hard rowing brought the party to a small farm, wheretwo or three of the same huts of mud, bushes, and reeds appeared closetogether on the bank; and the rower paused before the largest of thehumble edifices, calling, in a loud voice, to persons who might not bewithout ear-shot but who were certainly not within sight, to informthem that he would not be home till daybreak. "The rain is falling," hesaid, as if speaking to himself, "but the whole abbey will be down: thatis clear."

  He then rowed on, pursuing for some three hundred yards the largercanal; but at the end of that distance he turned into a very narrow andsinuous channel, where he laid down his oars and propelled the boatsolely with the pole. The labor seemed hard, and the progress slow, andEdward took the occasion to ask quietly whither they were going.

  "To La Caponniere, to-be-sure," replied the man. "Did you not knowthat?"

  "No," replied the youth: "Monsieur Brin merely told me that he wouldprocure me a boat at two o'clock to carry us to a place of safety."

  "Well, here is the boat," answered the man, "and La Caponniere is aplace of safety. There are no better people in the world than old MadameBrin and her sons and daughters. They are cousins of his, you know, andby this time they are ready to receive you. She was his cousin beforeher marriage, you know, and then she married his first-cousin, who leftNiort in the time of the troubles; and so they are doubly cousins, youknow."

  But, as Edward did not know any thing about it, he thought it better notto show his ignorance, and resumed his English conversation withLucette.

  The voyage--for we cannot call that a journey which was performed atnight upon the water--was somewhat long and fatiguing to the boatman;but at length,--it must have been at least four o'clock in themorning,--after turning and twisting, and sometimes grating against thebanks, the boat reached a spot where suddenly appeared a small,star-like light from what seemed the window of a better house than anythey had yet passed, which, skipping over various indistinct objects,rested more fully on a small skiff at the shore. Some one started up asthey approached: their boatman threw him a rope, and they were speedilydrawn up to the bank and moored.

  "Come this way," said the lad who had been waiting for them, holdingout a great coarse hand to Lucette. "Here, mother; they are come." And,leading the poor girl on, followed by Edward, he conducted her through alittle garden in which various kitchen-vegetables were more plentifulthan flowers. Half-way between the house and the canal they were met bya goodly-sized dame of forty and a girl of some sixteen or seventeen,who took Lucette frankly in their arms and gave her a warm embrace. "Sothis is your young man, poor thing?" said the elder, looking at Edward;but then, immediately turning to the boatman, she inquired, eagerly,"What has been the meaning of all that red light out by the abbey?"

  "There's no abbey by this time," answered the man. "But come, good dame,let us in to your kitchen-fire, if you've got one, and I will tell youall about it. We are all as wet as bull-frogs, except the girl; and Igave her my _peau de bique_."

  Thus saying, he pushed past the rest and entered a large, roomy kitchen,well stored with every sort of salted and dried provisions, dependentfrom great racks suspended from the ceiling.

  There a hearty welcome awaited the poor wayfarers: the fire, which hadnearly gone out, was soon blown up into a cheerful blaze; warm soup wasproduced; and to Lucette the good dame of the house, though she weighedat least two hundred pounds, showed the tenderness and gentlenessassociated by poets and romance-writers solely with sylphlike forms andnymphlike graces. Her two good, buxom girls, who to very pretty facesadded in form a promise of future extent worthy of the stock from whichthey sprang, joined in, somewhat more shyly, but with real kindness;and, for the first time since they left Rochelle, Edward and Lucetteexperienced that feeling of security which--to plagiarize alittle--"wraps the whole heart up like a blanket."