THE FATAL JOUST
At sight of the solemn and ominous features of the young count, the king
felt an involuntary tremor of surprise, perhaps of terror, which set
every nerve quivering.
But he would not confess to himself, still less let others observe that
first shudder, which he at once repressed. His heart reacted against his
instinct; and just because he had been afraid for one second, he
afterward exhibited a degree of courage which amounted to recklessness.
Gabriel said again in his slow, grave tones,--
"I implore your Majesty not to persist in your desire!"
"Nevertheless I do persist in it, Monsieur de Montgommery," the king
replied.
His perception being obscured by so many contending emotions, Henri
imagined that he could detect a sort of challenge in Gabriel's words,
and the tone in which they were uttered. Alarmed by the sudden return of
that anxious feeling which Diane de Castro had relieved temporarily, he
bore up vigorously against his weakness, and determined to have done
with this dastardly terror, which he deemed unworthy of himself,--Henri
II., a son of France, and a king!
Therefore he said to Gabriel with a firmness that was almost overdone,--
"Make your preparations, Monsieur, to run a course against me."
Gabriel, whose whole being was in as confused and overwrought a state as
that of the king, bowed without replying.
At that moment, Monsieur de Boisy, the grand equerry, approached the
king and said to him that the queen had sent him to implore his Majesty
to tilt no more that day for love of her.
"Say to the queen," replied Henri, "that it is just for love of her that
I am going to run this one course."
Turning to Monsieur de Vieilleville, he said,--
"Come, Monsieur de Vieilleville, put on my armor at once."
In his preoccupation, he demanded from Monsieur de Vieilleville a
service which was an attribute of the office of Monsieur de Boisy, the
grand equerry, and Monsieur de Vieilleville in his surprise respectfully
reminded him of that fact.
"To be sure!" said the king, putting his hand to his forehead. "What has
become of my brains, I wonder?"
He met Gabriel's cold and statue-like glance, and continued
impatiently,--
"But no, I was right. Was it not Monsieur de Boisy's place to finish his
commission from the queen, by reporting my words to her? I knew
perfectly well what I was doing and what I said! Give me my armor,
Monsieur de Vieilleville."
"That being so, Sire," said Monsieur de Vieilleville, "and since your
Majesty is absolutely determined to break one lance more, I beg to
remind you that it is my turn to run against you, and I claim my right.
In fact, Monsieur de Montgommery did not present himself at the opening
of the lists, and only entered when he believed them closed."
"You are right, Monsieur," said Gabriel, earnestly; "and I will gladly
withdraw, and give place to you."
But in the count's eagerness to shun the combat with him, the king
persisted in fancying that he detected the insulting reflections of an
enemy upon his courage.
"No, no!" he replied, stamping his foot on the ground. "It is against
Monsieur de Montgommery and no other that I propose to run this course,
and there has been enough delay! Give me my armor."
He met the count's fixed, stern gaze with a proud and haughty glance,
and without more words he put his head forward that Monsieur de
Vieilleville might adjust his casque.
Clearly his destiny had blinded him.
Monsieur de Savoie came to renew Catherine de Médicis's entreaties that
the king would leave the field.
As Henri did not trouble himself to reply to these urgent
representations, the duke added in a low tone,--
"Madame Diane de Poitiers, Sire, also asked me to warn you secretly to
be on your guard against him with whom you are to dispute this bout."
At Diane's name, Henri started in spite of himself, but again he
repressed his emotion.
"Shall I show myself a craven, then, before my beloved?" he asked
himself.
And he maintained the dignified silence of one who is importuned to
depart from an unalterable resolution.
Meanwhile, Monsieur de Vieilleville, while adjusting his armor, took
occasion to say to him beneath his breath,--
"Sire, I swear by the living God that for three nights I have dreamed of
nothing but that some mishap would befall you to-day, and that this last
day of June would be a fatal one for you."[4]
But the king did not appear to have heard him; he was already armed, and
he seized his lance.
Gabriel was handed his, and also entered the lists.
The two combatants mounted their horses and took the field.
A deep, awful silence pervaded the entire assemblage; all eyes were so
intent upon the spectacle before them that breathing seemed almost to be
suspended.
However, the constable and Diane de Castro being absent, every one in
that vast throng, except Madame de Poitiers, was in ignorance of the
fact that there were between the king and the Comte de Montgommery any
causes of enmity or any wrongs to be avenged. No one clearly foreboded a
bloody issue to a mock combat. The king, accustomed to these sports
unattended with danger, had shown himself in the arena a hundred times
within three days, under conditions which apparently differed in no
respect from those existing at this moment.
And yet there was a vague sensation of something awe-inspiring and out
of the common course in this adversary who had remained shrouded in
mystery until the very end, in his significant reluctance to enter the
lists,--likewise in the king's stubborn obstinacy; and in the face of
this unknown danger, every one waited in breathless silence. Why? No one
could have told. But a stranger arriving at that moment, and observing
the expression on every face, would have said,--
"Some critical event is about to take place."
There was terror in the very air.
One extraordinary circumstance demonstrated clearly the sinister
complexion of the thoughts of the throng.
In ordinary combats, and as long as they lasted, the clarions and
trumpets never ceased their deafening flourishes. They were the very
incarnation of the spirit of enjoyment that pervaded the tournament.
But when the king and Gabriel entered the lists, the trumpets suddenly,
as if by common consent, were still; not a sound was to be heard from
one of them, and the pervading horrified expectancy became doubly
painful in that unwonted silence.
The two champions felt even more than the spectators the influence of
these extraordinary tokens of disquiet which seemed to fill the air, so
to speak.
Gabriel no longer thought or saw,--in fact, he hardly breathed. He went
on mechanically and as if in a dream, doing by instinct what he had
formerly done under similar circumstances, but guided in some measure by
a secret and potent will, which surely was not his own.
The king was even more passive and lost in abstraction than he. He also
seemed to have a sort of cloud before his eyes, and had the appearance
of acting and moving in a mental phantasmagoria, which was neither
reality nor a dream.
Every now and then a ray of light shone in upon his brain, so that he
reviewed clearly and all at once the predictions which the queen had
made two days before, as well as those of his horoscope, and those of
Forcatel. Suddenly, by the help of some awe-inspiring gleam of
intelligence, he understood the meaning and the correlation of all those
ominous auguries. A cold sweat bathed him from head to foot. For an
instant he felt an almost irresistible impulse to give up the combat and
leave the lists; but the thousands of eyes that were gazing eagerly upon
him nailed him to his place.
Moreover, Monsieur de Vieilleville was just giving the signal for the
onset.
The die was cast. Forward! and God's will be done!
The two horses set off at a gallop, at that moment being more
intelligent and less blinded perhaps than their riders, heavily barbed
and armored.
Gabriel and the king met in the centre of the arena. Their lances came
together and were shattered upon their shields, and they passed on
without any other mishap.
So the presentiments of evil had been false! There was a great murmur of
satisfaction uttered with one accord by all those lightened hearts. The
queen cast a grateful glance toward heaven.
But their rejoicing was premature.
The horsemen were still within the lists. After having galloped each to
the opposite end from that at which he had entered, they must return to
their respective points of departure, and thus meet a second time.
But what danger was to be apprehended now? They would pass without
coming in contact.
But whether because of his anxiety, whether it was by intention or by
accident (for who besides God can tell the reason?), Gabriel, when he
rode back, did not throw away, as the custom was, the broken shaft of
the lance, which had been left in his hand. He carried it lowered in
front of him.
As he rode along at a gallop, the shaft came in contact with Henri's
head.
The visor of the casque was broken by the force of the blow, and the
lance pierced the king's eye and came out at his ear.
Not more than half of the spectators, who were already rising to leave
the lists, witnessed that fearful blow; but those who did gave utterance
to a loud cry, which told the others.
Meanwhile Henri had let his reins drop from his hands, and clinging to
his horse's neck, had reached the end of the arena, where Messieurs de
Vieilleville and de Boisy were waiting to receive him.
"Ah, I am killed!" were the king's first words.
Then he muttered,--
"Let no one molest Monsieur de Montgommery! It was no more than just--I
forgive him."
And with that he lost consciousness.
We will not try to depict the confusion that ensued. Catherine de
Médicis was carried from the spot, half dead with grief and terror. The
king was at once borne to his own apartment at the Tournelles, without
regaining consciousness for an instant.
Gabriel dismounted and stood leaning against the barrier as motionless
as if turned to stone, and seemingly overcome with horror at the blow he
had struck.
The king's last words had been understood and repeated, and no one
ventured to molest Gabriel; but every one around was whispering, and
looking askance at him in awe.
Admiral de Coligny, who had been a spectator of the tournament, alone
had courage to approach the young count; and as he passed by at his left
side, he said to him in a low voice,--
"A terrible accident, my friend! I know well that it was all chance; our
ideas and the speeches you heard, as La Renaudie has informed me, at the
meeting in the Place Maubert, surely had no connection with this
fatality. No matter! although you cannot be punished for what was but an
accident, be on your guard. I advise you to disappear for a time, and to
get away from Paris, if not from France. Rely always upon me; _au
revoir_."
"Thanks," Gabriel replied without moving,
A mournful and feeble smile flickered about his colorless lips while the
Protestant leader was speaking to him.
Coligny nodded to him, and went on.
Some moments later, the Duc de Guise, who had superintended the king's
removal, also came toward Gabriel, as he was giving certain orders to
the attendants.
He passed very near the young count, on the right side, and as he
passed, whispered in his ear,--
"An unfortunate blow, Gabriel! But no one can blame you for it; you are
only to be pitied. But just think! if any one had overheard our
conversation at the Tournelles, what fearful conjectures the
evil-disposed might draw from this very easily explained but very
distressing accident! But it makes no difference, for I am powerful now;
and I am always your friend, as you know. However, do not show yourself
for a few days; but do not leave Paris,--that would be useless. If any
one should dare to make a criminal accusation against you, remember what
I say to you: rely upon me everywhere and always, and in any emergency."
"Thanks, Monseigneur," said Gabriel again, in the same tone, and with
the same melancholy smile.
It was very clear that both the Duc de Guise and Coligny had, not an
absolute conviction, but a vague suspicion, that the accident which they
pretended to deplore had not been altogether unintentional. In their
hearts, the religious zealot and the ambitious noble, without wishing to
do violence to their respective consciences, were satisfied,--the latter
that Gabriel had seized at any risk the opportunity to make himself
useful to the fortune of a patron whom he adored, and the former that
the fanaticism of the young Huguenot had attained sufficient strength to
urge him on to deliver his oppressed brethren from their persecutor.
Therefore both felt in duty bound to say a few words to their discreet
and devoted auxiliary: and that explains why they had, one after the
other, approached him as we have related, and Gabriel's appreciation of
their motives had made him receive their double error with that sad
smile.
Meanwhile the Duc de Guise had returned to the anxious groups who were
standing around. Gabriel cast a glance about him, saw the alarmed
curiosity with which he was regarded, and with a deep sigh determined to
leave the fatal spot.
He returned to his house in the Rue des Jardins St. Paul without
molestation or question.
At the Tournelles the king's apartment was closed to everybody except
the queen and their children and the surgeons who had come to the relief
of the royal patient.
But Fernel and all the other doctors very soon recognized the fact that
there was no hope, and that Henri II. must die.
Ambroise Paré was at Peronne, and it did not occur to the Duc de Guise
to send for him.
The king lay in an unconscious state for four days.
On the fifth day he came to himself sufficiently to give some
orders,--notably to command that his sister's marriage should be
celebrated at once.
He saw the queen also, and made certain suggestions to her concerning
his children and the affairs of the kingdom.
Then fever seized him; he became delirious, and suffered torments.
At last, on the 10th of July, 1559, on the day following that on which,
in accordance with his last wish, his weeping sister Marguerite had
married the Duke of Savoy, Henri II. breathed his last, after eleven
long days of agony.
The same day Madame Diane de Castro took her departure, or rather her
flight, for her old home,--the Benedictine convent at St. Quentin, which
had been reopened after the peace of Cateau-Cambrésis.
[Footnote 4: "Mémoires de Vincent Carloix," secretary to Monsieur
de Vieilleville.]