Copyright Story. My Other Self,

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue XIX, 7 November 1903, Page 9

Copyright Story. My Other Self,

By

JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON.

(Author of “The Hispaniola Plate,” Ete.)

The extraordinary facts relating to the escape of the Sieur Ralf Lastour from the Louvre during the massacres of St. Bartholomew were written by him after he had reached England in safety, and. a year or two later, had become an English subject, which he and his descendents have ever continued to be. The narrative has never been made public before, though well-known to all of his family who have come after him (he having married an Englishwoman and left many descendants), since it has often been scanned by the eager eyes of several generations. It may interest those who now read the story, done more or less into modern English by me —the present writer—■ who claims, not descent from, but connection with, Ralf—to know that the document itself is written on parchment and signed by the writer. The parchment had previously been used, on one side, for engrossing a very old transfer of land in Kent from the lord of the manor to some yeoman, and Ralf Blondel Lastour seems to have understood that, it being no longer of any use owing to the antiquity, even in his days, of the transfer, he might well avail himself of the bac-k of the parchment sheets for the purpose of his narrative. Perhaps he did this knowing the durability of parchment in comparison with the paper of the day, or, perhaps, he may have grown economical when settled in England as a domestic man. It remains to add, before giving Ralf's remarkable story, that the MS. itself, some trinkets, a chain of office, a small bauble, or badge, in gold, and two or three other trifles, were presented about twenty-five years ago to the musuem of the town in Picardy from which he. as well as other members of the same family, originally came, and are now to be seen in that museum.

Here is the story done by me, as aforesaid, into modern English.

I. Ralf Blondel Lastour. living at the time of which I write (namely, the month of August in the year of our Lord one thousand five hundred and seventy-two. and the twelfth year of the reign of King Charles the Ninth of France, and twelfth king of the line of Valois,, a gentleman of the bodv-guard of the Due d’Alencon, a brother to the king. was. as my duty required me at the time, on guard in the Louvre.

Now. this duty caused me to pass most of my time in either sitting in the ante-room of the Duke’s apartments, or in. patrolling the corridor between those apartments and others allotted to the Lady Princess Marguerite. sister to the King, who, on the very day of which I now write, had been married to Henry the Gascon. Prince of Bearn. He was then called, as ail the world knows, the King of Navarre, and has since been King Henry the Fourth, of France. He is now dead, stabbed to the heart as his predecessor and brother-in-law, King Henry—the Third, was; and the son. King Louis, the Thirteenth, reigns in that laud, as I write this in a far more tranquil one. in which I hope to live long and. at last, die in peace.

Yet, on that day of August in the above year, there was. although I did net know it, very little likelihood that I. a simple gentleman of Picardy, would live many more hours. For. all around this devilish palace which Philip Augustus had built, and in which more crimes had been committed than in. it may be. any other spot in the world—more murders done and blood shed, more plots and sqjicmes concocted—more husbands and wives deceived, there was being plotted and planned now one of the most awful pieces of wickedness the world ever did hear of. And I, as I say, a simple gentleman, a young man of twenty-three, comely enough to look at (as the maids of honour sometimes hinted in my ear as they went by), fairly well shaped and a little over common tall, was one who, if the

Fates had not intervened, was doomed to death.

Doomed because, first of all. I was a Protestant, a Huguenot, and it was against all of our good creed that the infernal plot was being brewed—and the brew was almost made- And doomed secondly, because I had a foolish habit or custom of speaking the truth and of refusing to betray a confidence, which habit or custom was the very last of al! habits or customs which were like to be good for one’s welfare in such a scorpion's nest as the Louvre was and had been for yqarsNow. on this day of the marriage of the Princess Marguerite, I. who was on duty in the corridor, did sec coming down that corridor the Queen Mother. Catherine (of the House of Medicis). a woman of darkness, a woman who wrought evil in everything she did; a woman before whom passers by crossed themselves as though she were the. Fiend himself. And. if she were not. she was near allied to him. With her came her son, my master, the Due d’Alencon, a Mine- back-bent, cadaverous creature whom I. in common with everyone else, mistrusted, and who by his ugliness made people wonder how it could be that he and the Princess Marguerite were brother and sister. For she was beautiful and bright and sunny, although in her heart, and in another way as evil as her mother. But hers was a way that compelled love and the Queen Mother's was a way that- caused fears and shuddering and hate. “Ha!” said the latter, on seeing me in the corridor, where I stood saluting her respectfully. “Ha! It is Monsieur Lastour. Of all men I do most desire to speak with him. Monseigneur.'’ turning to her son. “leave me. I have a word with Monsieur Lastour. Later, I will come to your apartment.” Whereupon the Due d'Aleneon. with a sickly grimace and a bow to his mother, passed on down the corridor leaving me alone with the Queen. “Monsieur Lastour.” said Her Majesty now. bending her brows as she looked at me. “Who took the guard outside the Duke’s apartments last night? Was it you r” “It was I. your Majesty.” “Ha. And—and—did the King of Navarre visit the Duke?” “He did.” “Are you sure?” “Since I saw him, your Majesty.”

*Ha!” The Queen Mother almost alwars spakv thus, begiuning ever her words with Ha!) “You saw him. And the rooms of the Priucess- now at this time made the Queen of Navarre? Yon did not see anyone visit Ser rooms? DM you?” For a moment I hesitated ere replying, since, by the Queen’s tone. I understood very well that she wished me to say that I bad seen no one go near the then Princess' rooms- But there was something in me. something that was half fear and half hate of this woman, though more ha(e than fear, which prompted me to tell the truth and disappoint her- She was not used to hear the truth —of widen she was no friend —-and few dared thwart or disappoint her. Yet, now. I determine.! to tell it to her. If all accounts were true, her wickedness and cruelty, her tyrannies and poisonings had wrung the hearts of thousands: now. T determined I would wring hers and observe bow she could bear pain. “Yes, inadnme.” I answered. “1 dal see someone. The Due de Guise.” As I spoke she turned her head away for a moment, though not so fast but that I heard her murmur. “Malheur a toils. They plot against me. AU. . AHYet I plot only for them anil." she added. blaspheming, “for God-” Then, suddenly. she turned back and looking me straight in the eyes white it seemed as though a film had come over her own, she said: “You are still a Protestant. Monsieur Blondel Lastour. are you not?” One of the ’Religion.’ as you term yourselves ?“ "Always, niadame- And always shall be. Protestants, Huguenots. never change?’ "Ha! Yet your chief, Henry: this king without a country and without a gold piece, who has married my daughter, a daughter of France, will change ere long.’’ “I hope not, madame.” “You hope not! You. Monsieur Blondel Lastour. how dare you have any hope, on the subject! How dare you speak so to me? Do you know that I rule all in France, that the King, my son. rules only as I bid him? That punishments and rewards are in my hands and mine alone. Do you know—” “I should do so. your Majesty,” I answered. “All reports say so.” “Insolent!” she said, taking a threatening step nearer to me. “Insolent! Do you. a beggarly offshoot of a Picardy squire dare to speak thus to me. a Queen? Ha! And do all reports tell you bow I can punish? Answer. Answer! Or by the blood of—” But suddenly. ere she could continue. I saw a change come over her face. I saw her eyes, which a moment before had been covered with that film of which I spoke, now glistened brightly as she stood nt my right side; I saw her give a gasp —- and heard her give it. too—ami then mutter some incoherent words. Presently. however, she became coherent, and. though white as death, as white as she would ever be when she was in her

shroud, she whispered, "What is that? Who is that by your side? Who? Who?" "Madame dreams," I ventured to say while staring at her. "There is no one by my side.”

•'No one.” she said, whispering still and shuddering age.in. "No one! Are you a liar or a sorcerer? Which! There is another man. another you, standing by your side now. Dressed, accoutred exactly as you are. moving as you move. God I” she almost shrieked. -It is you —yet —yet-—you are there before me. too. What does it mean? ■What! What! tell me your secret. Tell it me. Tell me hew it is dene. There are three hundred gold crowns in a coffer in my rooms; you shall plunge your hands in asain and again and again till you are surfeited. Only tell me. tell me. I will dismiss Rene, my Florentine magician. I will give you his office. Make you noble, illustrious. Only teil me.” “I cannot tell your Majesty ."I said. “I can see nothing myself, nothing. Your Majesty dreams. I am alone on my guard. But the corridor is dark, there are strange shadows cast by the lamps. Your Majesty is deceived.” *T am not deceived.” she muttered. "I ears touch you.” and she put out her finger and laid it on my arm. -But him! Him I cannot touch.” and again she put out one finger and pushed it towards where that other was supposed to be. While I. following it. saw that it encountered nothing. And strain Catherine de Medici shuddered with fear. n. - Now you who read this have, it may be, wondered why I did not shudder too. and feel as though my blood was running ice within my veins at there being such a haunting th 'ng as this, my ov-n ghostly shape, standing by my side. Yet easy is it for me to explain this thing or. rather, what I deemed this thing to be.

When I was born I came not into the world alone, there being born an hour before me a twin babe. But he was born sa dead as I was bom alive. His death grieved my mother sore, and, in truth, I do think it caused her also to die, which she did forty eight hours after the birth. But before she went she spake words to my father, felling him that, as that Ettle child would doubtless have found heaven, so she hoped to find it. and that, if she did so. then she would plead with the angels to let him play that part which, had he lived, he would beyond all doubt have played on earth. The cart of elder brother, of protector, comforter and guardian to the one left behind. These wanderings. for so my father deemed them. were. I say it in shame, forgotten by him ‘after he had soon ta«en a second wife), and. by me, unthought of when I grew toward mins estate. Nor would they ever have been remembered er recalled again by him or me if, at the rime when I was become a man. strange things had n<_: happened to sharpen our memory. In brief, such things as these. Onee a maraud, a vagabond, did attack me on the king's road with his sword, yet, wondrous to relate, as he made pass after pass at me I perceived that, in solemn truth, he was not tenting full st me, but instead, at about • fe--'t off my side. \\ he raon, after two er three of Ids l-na*s, I dave him through, and. a= he died. I heard him murmur. “I Imre fought the foul fiend himsed. He whom I should have run through easily is unharmed, he whose presence I did not see has res me through. Satan has claimed me.”

Tien. I begin dimly to remember mv toother's words and dimly also to wonder at these and other wondrous esaap"«. Yet sine- I must get on with what I have to fell I will give no more inwsnere of past days but come to there of this time, the feast of St Bartholomew.

AH of us n- v in Fnsdard Bring under her great Quera Elizabeth fa peace and em:.aun»nt—and there are sixty thouBead of us they do say, in her’dominio»‘—do very weii remember the hid-e-acs massacres of the Protestant* at

that time which, also, are very wellkwewn to her own born subjects Therefore I need no* tell of how that evil woman. the Queen Mother of France and her cruel son. the King—who died soon afterwards raving mad—and her friend the Duke «f Guise, a firm friend. since her daughter had long loved him in ■ •met!—did ma ma ere thousands of our faith until the Brine was red with blood.

and the streets were splashed with blood up to the balconies of the windows above the walks. Nor how contagion did spring out from the dead bodies festering in toe August sun. until the murderers were soon like to be as dead aa their victims —from another cause. Let me come to myself.

I had heard rumours of what was a» doing. Ay! even in that wicked Louvre I bad heard them. The King's nurse, herself a Huguenot, but safe since she had suckled him and ever afterwards stayed by his side until death, passed me in the corridor on the day before the murders began, and whispered in my ear, "Begone while there is time.” Once, too. the young King of Navarre, passing me in the same place, whispered in his ttock Gascon voice. "Flee away or hide,” and once De Mouhey. that brave Huguenot captain, sent me a paper on vhich was written the words “All of our faith are to be murdered to-night as the cathedral bell tolls twelve.” Wherefore I decided to go.

Outside the Louvre none knew me for a Huguenot, or very few; if I could get a mile away from that. place I might be safe. Nay. I might pass out of the gates and so begone from Paris, if I could have given the password which would surely be demanded. But of this, I derided, I must trust to chance to inform me.

That night, the Due d'Alencon told me he did not require my services until twelve, yet. as he spoke, he smiled one of his smiles which showed me as plain as might be what I should be required for. I knew, and especially I knew and understood, when he told me that I need not come armed, since I should only he needd at his toucher, that I was required as a victim. Some of the King’s, or Guise’s. men would slay me as I passed down the corridor: I should be one aevursed Protestant less. But at twelve of the dock I was not in the Louvre, but, instead, in the street known as that of the Arbre See, endeavouring to make my way to the North Gate. The North Gate, beeansa I had derided that, if all was ss I feared, I had best get to my father's, tell the old man what was a doing in the Capital. and endeavour to protect him if the murderers swept his way. And I found ent the password for the night. It was “Guise.” Passing out of the Rue St. Hencre, I had come near two arquebusfers. who were blowing up their matches ss though work was near at hand, and, as I passed, one of them, taking me, I do think, for one of their own body, exclaimed. “Sc? Back so soon! And didst tell Pierre the word is “Guise?” to which, be very sure, I answered that I had told Pierre. But now the bell of St. Germain I’Auxerrois was tolling the twelve: the tocsin was pealing from other churches, and men were running hither and thither crying and shrieking: the Comte de Tavanues was riding down the street, swinging a great sword, and calling out: ‘■Tavanr.es. A moi. A Tsvannes;” the bastard of Angouleme, the Due de. Nevers and the Comte de Rets went by howling. *~Ki<i all the Protestants. Burn all,” and the wicked Dudsesse de Nevers shrieked from the balcony of her window, “A kiss, an embmee, to every man who slays a Protestant, man, woman, or babe ” Then I passed. down the street where Coligny's house was; I saw the old man's body flung out into it, headless: I saw that bril-dog. the Due de Guise, take out his lace kerchief and dip it in his victim's blood and mutter. “It is he and he is gone,” and heard him laugh long and loud.

Now for myif. Be sure I bsd taken good care to procure a white favour or badge for my arm—the badge of the murderers!—sad so I went on, thinking myself safe. But suddenly, as I stopped at seeing that foul wretch, the Comte de Coconas, a Piedmontais, stabbing twenty kne-efing Protestants in the eyes with his darker —he having bought toe poor wretAes from their captors to make him sport—there came along a band of soldiers from the Louvre: men of the King’s Guni, And they were dose to me ere I could move, and I feared my hour was eome. For all of them knew me. and had taunt cd me before now with being a Huguenot.

But I resolved I would sell my life dear, wherefore I whipped my hand beneath my cloak and loosed my RapaerEapada within its sheath and fared them, though knowing that in doing so I was betraying myself, for the moon -bore

fall in my eyes. Yet, lo! this saved me. For, as the moon did so shine, the foremoat man, one Gilles, a great brawny creature front Guiecne, stepped back with a gasp that was almost a howl, and shrieked "His ghost! His ghost!” While another fell on his knees before me, and three or four more turned and fled. But one there was bolder than all the others, who cried “His ghost! Nay, it is he. The man we stabbed through and tteough in the Louvre could not have been he. That man had a dozen wounds, and this one is here alive —for the present.” “ TKs he,” a third, shuddering, cried. “ Yis he. Tis his spirit. Away, ere he freezes me to death. Away!”

"Not I," said the other, "oor not until I have made a trial of mt sword on him." whereon he whipped out his rapier, and made a pass at —no! net at rue—but at the empty space a foot off on my right side. .Ind as he did sc. staggering and tailing forward through lack of finding resistance to his blade. I. drawing my

sword, ran him through from side to side. While, as he fell at my feet, I, looking round for one er two more to spit—for my blood was up now—saw that all of them were gone. Yet hardly had they lied and I about to leave the dead carrion at my feet—from whose mouth the blood and troth were bubbling ever on to my boots, than, as I leant against the corner of the Rue St. Eonore and that of the Kue Coroset, I did see another sight n.arvcdcus to observe. A rapier darted out from the end of the last-named street, encountered nothing but air and then —travelling forward, just as the dead man at my feet had done, since the owner met with no resistance to his lunges — there fell -prawling on his hands and kneees one of those who had run away.

“So,” says I, jumping on his back as he lay there, “you, too, want your supper, mon ami. Well, you shall have it” Whereon I drew my shell-dag (a huge dagger) from my belt and I may well aver that that man tried to kill no more poor Protestants that night or ever after.

My children, you who live happy under the Great Queen, she who is now our Queen as much as of those bom in her or her father's reign, the very writing of this story tells yon that I escaped out of France and so came to England. My father, who was old and feeble, came with me, meaning to go back in God's good time, but, as you know, that time never came for him. Ere Henry of Navarre became Henry of France and these of our religion could live free and at peace, the old man was gone. You pray every Sunday beneath the monument I have put up to hts memory, therefore this you know too. For many a day the old man and I would talk over my wondrous escape from death in that accursed Paris, and though we did well consrder that my mother’s prayer in dying had been heard. we did not at first understand all. Briefly, we could understand that when I was threatened—ay, with death—my brother stood by me and, tsemg at my side, did draw off the attack on to himself which thing could do no harm to him. being a spirit. Yet how was it that they saw him and did always attack him. while, as we could not doubt, they did not see or attack me? Did the good God give him the power to render me invisible even as he himself became visible? I do not know nor can I ever say; only do I know that it was so.

But even when this resolved thus, what must I think of who or what that man could be whom the murderers stabbed to death in the corridor of the Louvre, while thinking they were astabbing me- Was this form there to take my place so that I should not be thought to be missing and, next, hunted for* Did he, this goodly spirit, the minute after he had personated me. fly to where I then was. on<e more to stand by my side, to again draw off the attack on me, to again, as my other self, preserve and save me? Once more I say I do not know. But one thing Ido Snow. When under King Henry's reign (not he of ' alois but he of Navarre), I returned to France in safety for a time In an endeavour to save some of my father's belongings. I went to the Louvre to wait on the King- And mere I found more than one man who had known mo in the wicked days of Charles of Valois and of his mother Catherine, and each and every of those men did flee away before me. crossing themselves and muttering. with fright in their eyes and horror unparalleled on their countenances.

And when I did see King Ilenrv the Fourth, he stared aghast at me for a moment, then stepped swiftly towards me. struck me heavily on the shoulder and breast, and next said in an awestruck whisper: “Ventre Saint Gris! Why. man. I sstw yon 1> ing dead n the corridor that very night as I passed to my wife's room. Dead, with twenty wounds in you. Yet, stay, I remember. You were gone—your body was sene, when I locked out afterwards. What does it mean* Sneak, I command you. Are you Blonde! de Lastour. or. did be have- nerchanee. a twin brother?”

“See.” I murmured. “Blondel de Lasfour did have a twin brother once. But—”

‘’Explain. I order you.” So. stammering and halting. I did endeavour to explain.