Norbert’s journey was almost too safe, and quite too uneventful, to please him. What should happen to a young clerk traveling from the territory of Berne with business communications for his master, an honest citizen of St. Gall, domiciled in Lyons? Unless, indeed, it occurred to someone to think he had money with him, and to murder him for the sake of it. But this was not likely, as he went by frequented roads, lodged at respectable inns, and, when he could, kept company with other travelers.
On reaching Lyons, he put up at an inn recommended by no less a person than the Maire of Bellay, who was coming to the town with his wife and daughters to attend the wedding of a relative, and had obligingly allowed him to ride in his company for a stage or two. He saw his horse well bestowed in the stable of the Green Dragon, for he had some pride in the animal, the first — save a pony at Gourgolles — that he had ever called his own. Then he had his supper, and asked the garcon who waited on him where dwelt Maître Jean Lyne, the silk-merchant of St. Gall. The lad did not know, and everyone else was too busy to listen to him, a party of the maire’s kinsfolk having come to welcome him and to sup with him. Rashly confident in his own ability to find whatever he wanted, and to ask for whatever he did not know, he went out gaily to explore.
But knowing, as he did, no town except Geneva (which was not nearly so large), he found Lyons difficult and bewildering. Not one of the citizens whom he asked knew anything about Maître Jean Lyne, merchant of St. Gall. At last, however, some one directed him to the quarter where the silk-merchants lived. But he mistook the name of the street which he was to pass through, Lyonnese French, sounding different from Genevan. Growing perplexed, he wandered on aimlessly, and came at last to a wide place with large and handsome houses, each in its own courtyard.
“Ah,” thought he, “this is where the great and noble dwell. Were I to knock at one of these gates and ask for a silk-merchant, the porter would take it for an insult, and kick me into the street. Well, at all events, I am seeing the town. I wonder how these places look inside. I wish the gate of one of them might stand open.”
His wish was gratified. He came presently to an open gate, which allowed him to look into a pleasant court, with a fountain in the midst and flowers growing around it. He stood a moment enjoying the sight, and enjoying still more the sweet sounds of a mandoline, which was being played, and with unusual skill, by someone he could not see. It was marvelous, indeed, that such sounds could be evoked from an instrument so poor and narrow in its range. Norbert loved music with all his soul, and his taste had been well cultivated in Geneva, where, though dance music and profane songs were forbidden, all the graver kinds, which could minister to devotion, were much esteemed. This music was delicious! He told himself it must come from a soul attuned to harmony. Drawn unawares by its charm, he stepped inside the gate, and advanced cautiously, hoping to see the musician.
He was successful. On a seat, so placed as to catch the full benefit of the evening breeze, sat a young man, dressed fashionably in lace and velvet, his sword at his side, and his short cloak hanging on the back of the bench. He seemed too much absorbed in his playing to notice the intruder.
Thus emboldened, Norbert drew nearer, and stood listening, until the cessation of the sweet sounds surprised him with a sudden pang.
The musician laid down his quill, raised his eyes, and looked, not at Norbert, but straight before him. Norbert thought it strange, but fortunate, that he did not notice him, and quietly turned to go.
“Whose step is that?” asked the musician.
“I am a stranger. Will it please you, sir, to excuse me? The gate was open, and drawn by the music, I ventured to come in and listen.”
“There is naught to excuse. But, I pray thee, who is it that speaks to me? lad or lady? You see — I am blind.”
“I am sorry for you, sir,” said Norbert. “I am a young man from Switzerland, clerk and servitor of one Master Lyne, a merchant of St. Gall. I only arrived this evening, and am now in search of his dwelling. I was passing by with this intent when the music drew me, and I came.”
The blind man laid down his mandoline, and said, with the air of one much surprised, “You are looking for Master Lyne? Strange — strange! Surely you were sent to me.”
“No, sir, pardon me. No one hast sent me to you. I have not even the honor of knowing to whom I speak.”
“You would rather know your way to the dwelling of Master Lyne? That which meseemeth passing strange is that thither I want to go, I also. Come, we will help each other. I will name the streets to you in their proper order, and you shall lead me. Give me thine hand.” And he rose from his seat.
Norbert acquiesced, well pleased, though he could not help wondering that a young gentleman, evidently so wealthy, had not attendants at hand ready to do his bidding, in place of depending on the chance kindness of a stranger. Which of us is the guide? “he thought, as he took the hand of the blind youth, which was soft and white as a girl’s. “This surely a case of the blind leading, though happily not leading the blind, which might be awkward.”
“To the right,” said his companion, when they passed out of the gate. Then, a little later, “To the left, down that street with the Madonna at the corner.”
As they turned into the street, two gentlemen passed by. One of them saluted, and cried out, “Ho là, De Marsac, what brings you out so late?”
“De Marsac!” Norbert had almost cried the name out loud in his amazement. He did not listen to the answer, “I am taking a walk for my pleasure, this fine evening.” Nor to the rejoinder, “But what has become of your Shadow, Grillet?” But he heard his new friend say, “He is ill,” and felt a touch on his arm that meant evidently, “Pass on.”
He obeyed, walking on mechanically, absorbed in thought. What should he say — what do? How could he find out if this gentleman were, or were not, a kinsman of his friend? Still more important, was he of one mind with him? At last he hazarded a remark. “I think, noble sir, my master hath much regard for some one of your name.”
“How know you that, being but new in his service, and, as I understood you to say, never here before?”
“Where I come from there be many Frenchmen who have friends here,” Norbert said cautiously.
“Not many Frenchmen, I think, “in St. Gall, a few more perhaps in Berne. Now, if haply thou welt from Geneva — ”
“ “If I were from Geneva, noble sir, I would scarce proclaim it on the housetops. Not here, at least, where the Genevese, on account of their religion, are well hated.” “Ye shall be hated of all men, for My Name’s sake,” the blind youth quoted softly.
Norbert, whose verbal acquaintance with Scripture left little to be desired (no thanks to himself I), made haste to add —
“But he that shall endure to the end, the same shall be saved.”“
“Ah, that enduring to the end!” his companion sighed. Then, not certain yet whether he might wholly trust, he added: “You of Berne, or the other “praiseworthy cantons,” need not be much afraid here, even on the score of religion. Berne is a good friend to France, and if the folk she sends us are a little lax at Mass and Confession, the clearest-sighted Lyonnese will show themselves nearly as blind as I am.”
“But it is tar otherwise,” said Norbert, “with the men of Geneva. Especially with the French exiles, if they dare to return.”
“ I know it. Unhappily for me, one such bear my name. Two that bear my name are suffering.”
“ Two?” cried Norbert.
“Not so loud — remember the passers-by. Yes, it is true, and one of them is my own brother.” His voice sank low, and there was in it a thrill of pain.
“ Louis de Marsac, who is my best friend,” said Norbert, with emotion, “had never sister nor brother.”
“I speak not of him, my cousin — but of Henri de Marsac, my dear brother.”
“And Louis, sir — your cousin — know you aught of him now?”
“I know he is in the dungeon, like to be doomed to die. There, too, and in like case — that I should say it! — is my dear brother, the light and joy of my life.”
“Is there no hope for them?” asked Norbert. He could not help asking, though he knew the answer too well.
“None — save on the terms they will not accept.” There was a pause, then he added: “You say my cousin was your best friend?”
“ “Is my best friend,” said Norbert. “Sir, I see that I may tell you all the truth. I am a child of Geneva, though I came hither from Gex, which is in Bernese territory, and with a Bernese passport. I have come hoping to see, though it be for the last time, the face of Louis de Marsac.”
“As I also, with the help of Master Lyne, desire to see my brother.”
“I should have thought, sir, that a noble gentleman, such as you — ”
“I am powerless without my father, who will do nothing, for he hates the religion, and with hate intensified a hundred-fold, now that it is costing him, as he thinks, his first-born son. Yet he still hopes that loneliness and suffering, and the lack of all things, joined with the terrors of the death of fire, will so work upon the soul of Henri that he may yield, and be saved. Ah me, I know better!”
“Are they together in the dungeon?”
“Even that comfort is denied them. But they will be together soon — in heaven, while I — unhappy — ” There were tears in the blind eyes, but he drove them back with an effort. Presently he resumed: I ought to tell you how it all came about. Louis came here, and was preaching in secret to the little congregation of heretics. But he did not show himself to us, his kinsfolk, lest it should make trouble. However, my brother found him out, and must needs bring him home with him. My father, though he is so devout and though he knew Louis came from Geneva, winked at it at first, for his brother, the father of Louis, had been very dear to him. We De Marsacs have our faults like other men, but we are good brothers always. So Louis came in and out, and spoke much to Henri and to me. Also, he gave Henri the New Testament in French. Henri was used to read to me — romances, books of chivalry, and such like; now, instead of these, he read the words of our Lord and of His apostles. They are good words, and we learned to love them, I as well as he. “O God, why should he be taken, and I — the blind and useless — left?”
Norbert had no answer to give. For some minutes they walked on in silence; then Ambrose de Marsac asked “Where are we?”
Norbert described the place.
“We are almost there,” described the other. “This is the street. Look at the third door from the corner.”
Over that door hung a sign bearing the arms of the Canton of St. Gall, and the name of Jean Lyne, dealer in silk and velvet.
“You are right, sir,” said Norbert.
“The shop is shut, of course. Knock thou at the door, and when one answers, give my name, “The Sieur Ambrose de Marsac.”“
Norbert obeyed, and both were presently invited to enter. They were brought into a matted Chamber on the ground floor, and had hardly three minutes to wait ere the honest citizen of St. Gall made his appearance, a man of middle age, with a shrewd, kindly face. Without looking at Norbert, whom he thought a mere attendant, he addressed himself to De Marsac in a tone of much concern.
“I have tidings for you, sir,” he said. “Shall I send your boy to the hall to drink a cup of wine with my servitors?”
“He is your servitor, Master Lyne. A new clerk — and something more, if I mistake not. I am thankful for his help in bringing me here, the one man in our household I can trust being ill. You may speak freely before him. And I pray of you to tell me all.”
But, seeing that the merchant hesitated to speak (as he well might do, since the blind man might be easily imposed upon), Norbert, anxious as he was, had the sense to withdraw unbidden, closing the door behind him.
Some time elapsed, during which he thought he heard the sound of weeping.
At last the door opened, and Master Lyne called aloud: “Sylvester?” A gray-haired serving-man appeared, and was desired to get a lantern, and wait at the door for the Sieur Ambrose de Marsac.
As the blind man passed through the entry with Master Lyne’s hand in his, he asked —
“Is my guide here?”
Norbert noticed the trembling of his voice.
“Here, sir,” he answered.
“I thank you,” said Ambrose. “We shall meet again. But I can say no more now, for — I have heard heavy tidings.”
When he was gone, the merchant brought Norbert into the matted parlor.
“Now, my lad,” he said, “who are you, and what is your errand?”
“I am Norbert de Caulaincourt, from Geneva; and as for my errand, this will explain it.” He took from its hiding-place beneath his inner vest, and gave to Master Lyne, the letter of John Calvin.
The merchant knew the writing, and with an involuntary gesture of respect, bowed his head. It was a royal dispatch. He took out his side-knife, cut the silk that bound it, and broke the seals. An enclosure fell out, of which Norbert could read the superscription, “A Messiurs Louis de Marsac et Denis Peloquin.”
It took the worthy merchant some time to decipher Master Calvin’s letter, though it was not long. At last he looked up and spoke —
“Master Calvin says you have come here at your own request, and that you can be trusted.”
Norbert felt a glow of pride and pleasure, but also a thrill of surprise. “How could he say it?” he asked himself. Hitherto he has only known me as a froward, ill-guided boy. True; but the great general of the armies of Reform was, like other great generals, a keen judge of character. He knew, when “he saw him, the man to send on a forlorn hope.
“Why did you want to come?” pursued the merchant. “Partly because I must be doing something. But more because — I must see Louis again.”
“If you can. You are just in time; their sentence was pronounced to-day.”
The two looked in silence at each other; the merchant sad, but calm, Norbert’s young heart burning with a passion of wrath and pity and sorrow. But he did not ask, “What? “ — only “When?”
“The day is not fixed. Denis Peloquin, who does not belong to this province, is to be sent elsewhere. The two De Marsacs and a brother in the Faith, one Stephen Gynet die here.”
“Oh, master, I pray of you, get leave for me to see Louis. He is my dearest friend. Besides, I have a message for him, and a token.”
“From a relative?”
“No; from a young maiden. They were not betrothed, but — Oh! I pray of you, get leave for me to see him.” cannot get leave for thee; we manage things otherwise here. But see him thou shalt, if I can do anything. The head jailor is my very good friend, for reasons of his own. I will send you to him as my servitor, with alms for the prisoners, and at my request he will manage the rest. Let me see. To-morrow being Sunday, we might — but no — Rondel goes to-morrow to see his friends, and without him we are powerless. Then, poor Monsieur Ambrose pleads also, and must not be denied. But, perhaps, now the sentence is actually pronounced, the father will interfere, and my help will not be needed there. And we must think of Monsieur Louis, as well as of his cousin.” Then, in a different tone, “Monsieur, have you supped?” (He said “Monsieur,” for the visitor’s name showed he was of noble birth and his own social superior.)
“Yes,” said Norbert; “I put up at the Green Dragon.”
“I hope you will honor me by putting up here? When Sylvester comes back, with you leave, I will send him for your baggage.”
Norbert thanked him. “I have only a saddle-bag,” he said.
“And a horse? Since it is late, we may leave that till the morning.”
So Norbert was comfortably settled under the hospitable roof of the merchant of St. Gall.
“Go to-morrow,” said his host, “and see the town. For the present you are nothing but a young Swiss, a merchant’s clerk, newly come to Lyons.”