TWO APPEALS
Since the fatal tournament Gabriel had led a calm and retired but gloomy
life. This man of energetic movement and action, whose days had formerly
been so filled with life and excitement, now seemed to take delight only
in solitude and forgetfulness.
He never appeared at court, never saw a friend, and scarcely ever left
his house, where he passed the long, sad, and dreamy hours with his
faithful old nurse Aloyse and the page André, who had come back to him
when Diane de Castro had taken her sudden flight to the Benedictine
convent at St. Quentin.
Gabriel, still a young man in years, had grown old from grief. He
brooded over the past, and had no longer any hope.
How many times during those months, each of which was years long, had he
regretted that he was still alive! How many times did he wonder why the
Duc de Guise and Mary Stuart had placed themselves between him and the
anger of Catherine de Médicis, and had laid upon him the bitter burden
of life! What had he to do on earth? What was he good for? Could the
tomb be any more barren of result than this existence in which he was
languishing,--if, indeed, it could be called an existence!
There were moments, however, when his youthful vigor rose in protest in
spite of himself.
Then he would stretch his arms and raise his head and gaze at his sword.
At such times he would have a vague feeling that his life was not ended,
but that there was still a future for him, and that hours of hot
fighting, and perhaps of victory, might sooner or later enter again into
his destiny.
In view of everything, however, he could see only two chances of
returning to the life of action for which he was best fitted,--a foreign
war or religious persecution.
If France, if the king, should find themselves involved in some new war,
undertaken for conquest, or to repel invasion, the Comte de Montgommery
told himself that his youthful ardor would at once return, and that it
would be pleasant for him to die as he had lived,--fighting.
And then how glad he would be to pay the involuntary debt he owed the
Duc de Guise and young King François!
Again Gabriel would reflect that it would be a glorious thing to die in
defence of the new truths which had shed their light upon his soul
during the later days. The cause of the Reformation--in his eyes the
cause of justice and liberty--was also a noble and saintly cause to
serve.
The young count read assiduously the controversial books and sermons
which then abounded. He burned with excitement over the great principles
revealed in lofty and soul-stirring words by Luther, Melanchton, Calvin,
Theodore de Bèze, and so many others. The books of all these
untrammelled thinkers had fascinated and convinced him, and drawn him on
to adopt their principles. He would have been proud and happy to sign
the attestation of his faith with his blood.
It was always the noble instinct of this noble heart to devote his life
to some person or some cause.
Not long since he had risked his life a hundred times to save or to
avenge, it might be his father or his beloved Diane,--oh, memories
forever bleeding in that wounded heart!--and now, in default of those
cherished beings, he would have been glad to struggle in defence of
sacred ideas,--
His country in his father's place; his religion in place of his love.
Alas, alas! it is in vain to talk, for it is not the same thing; and
enthusiasm for abstract principles can never equal, either in its
suffering or its delight, the enthusiasm of fondness for our
fellow-creatures.
But yet for one or the other of these two causes, the Reformation or
France, Gabriel would have been content to sacrifice his life; and he
relied upon one of them to bring about the desired termination of his
career.
On the morning of the 6th of March Gabriel was leaning back in his chair
in the corner of his fireplace, brooding over the thoughts which had
become his very life, when Aloyse brought in to him a messenger, booted
and spurred and covered with mud, as if he had just travelled a long
way.
It was a rainy morning.
The courier had just arrived from Amboise, under a strong escort, the
bearer of several letters from Monsieur le Duc de Guise,
lieutenant-general of the kingdom.
One of the letters was addressed to Gabriel, and its contents were as
follows:--
MY DEAR COMPANION,--I am writing this to you in great haste, with
neither leisure nor possibility of explaining myself. You told the king
and myself that you were devoted to us, and that if ever we were in need
of your devoted service, we had only to call upon you.
We do call upon you to-day.
Set out at once for Amboise, where the king and queen are now installed
for some weeks. I will tell you on your arrival in what way you can be
of use.
It is always understood that you are quite at liberty to act or to hold
aloof. Your zeal is too valuable for me to wish to make a bad use of it,
or compromise you. But whether you are with us or prefer to remain
neutral, I should think I was neglecting a duty if I failed to have
confidence in you.
Come, therefore, in all haste, and you will be, as always, most welcome.
Your affectionate friend,
FRANÇOIS DE LORRAINE.
Amboise, the 4th March, 1560.
P.S. Herewith is a safe-conduct, for use in case you should be
questioned _en route_ by some royal troop.
The messenger from the Duc de Guise had already departed to execute his
other commissions when Gabriel finished the letter.
The eager youth rose at once, and said without hesitation to the
nurse,--
"Good Aloyse, call André, please, and tell him to have the dapple-gray
saddled and to prepare my travelling wallet."
"Are you going away, Monseigneur?" the good woman asked.
"Yes, nurse, to Amboise, within two hours."
There was nothing more to be said; and Aloyse, without a word, went
sadly from the room to see that her young master's orders were carried
out.
But while his preparations were being made, behold, another messenger
appeared, and demanded to speak with the Comte de Montgommery alone.
He made no commotion, and, unlike his predecessor, had no escort. He
came in silently and very modestly, and without uttering a sound, handed
Gabriel a letter which he had in charge.
Gabriel started as he thought that he recognized him as the same who had
formerly brought him La Renaudie's invitation to attend the Protestant
meeting in the Place Maubert.
It was in fact the same man; and the letter bore the same signature. It
said:--
FRIEND AND BROTHER,--I did not wish to leave Paris without having seen
you; but I had no time, for events came thick and fast, and hurried me
on. I must go now, and have not even pressed your hand, nor have I told
you our plans and our hopes.
But we know that you are with us, and I know what manner of man you are.
With such as you there is no need of preparation, of meetings, and
speech-making,--a word is sufficient.
This is the word: We need you. Come.
Be at Noizai near Amboise by the 10th or 12th of this month of March.
You will find there your brave and noble friend De Castelnau. He will
tell you what is going on, for I dare not trust it to paper.
It is agreed that you are in no wise bound; that you have a perfect
right to stand apart; and that you may always abstain from acting with
us without incurring the least suspicion or receiving the slightest
reproach.
But in any event come to Noizai, I will meet you there, and we will seek
your advice, if we cannot have your assistance.
Then, too, can anything be accomplished by our party unless you are
informed with regard to it?
So adieu till we meet at Noizai. We rely upon your presence, at all
events.
L. R.
P.S. If any troop of our friends should fall in with you _en route_, our
password is, once more, _Genève_, and our countersign, _Gloire de
Dieu_!
"In an hour I set out," said Gabriel to the silent messenger, who bowed
and took his leave.
"What does all this signify?" Gabriel asked himself when he was alone;
"and what is the meaning of these two appeals coming from parties so
hostile, and appointing a rendezvous at almost the same place? But it
makes no difference at all! My obligations toward the omnipotent duke
and toward the oppressed Reformers are equally certain. My duty is to
set out at once. Then come what come may! However difficult my position
may become, my conscience knows well that I shall never turn traitor."
An hour later Gabriel began his journey, accompanied only by André.
But he hardly foresaw the extraordinary and terrible alternative by
which his loyal soul was to be confronted.