CHAPTER XX.

JANUARY 21, 1535.

January 21, 1535! Alas, that date must remain inscribed in characters of

blood in our plebeian annals, O, sons of Joel! If there is justice on

earth or in heaven--and I, Christian Lebrenn, who trace these lines,

believe in an avenging, an expiatory justice--some day, on that distant

day predicted by Victoria the Great, the 21st of January may be also a

day fatal to the race of crowned executioners, the princes, the nobles,

and the infamous Romish priests.

You are about to contemplate, O, sons of Joel--you are about to

contemplate the pious work of that King Francis I, that chivalrous King,

that Very Christian King, as the court popinjays love to style him. A

chivalrous King--he is false to his troth! A knightly King--he sells

under the auctioneer's hammer the seats on the courts of justice and in

the tribunals of religion! A very Christian King--he wallows in the

filthiest of debauches! In order to impart a flavor of incest to

adultery, he shares with one of his own sons, the husband of Catherine

De Medici, the bed of the Duchess of Etampes. Finally, he expires

tainted with a loathsome disease after ten years of frightful

sufferings! At this season, however, the miscreant is still in full

health, and is engaged in honoring God, his saints and his Church with a

human holocaust. Hypocrisy and ferocity!

A magnificent solemnity was that day to be the object of edification to

all the good Catholics of Paris, as the inn-keeper announced to the

Franc-Taupin. Read, O sons of Joel, the ordinance posted in Paris by

order of the Very Christian King Francis I:

On Thursday the 21st day of January, 1535, a solemn procession will

take place in the honor of God our Creater, of the glorious Virgin

Mary, and of all the blessed Saints in Paradise. Our Seigneur, King

Francis I, has been informed of the errors that are rife in these

days, and of the placards and heretical books that are posted or

scattered around the streets and thoroughfares of Paris by the

vicious sectarians of Luther, and other blasphemers of the sacred

Sacrament of the altar, the which accursed scum of society aims at

the destruction of our Catholic faith and of the constitutions of

our mother, the Holy Church of God.

Therefore, our said Seigneur Francis I has held a Council, and, in

order to repair the injury done to God, has decided to order a

general procession, the same to close with the torture and

execution of several heretics. At the head of the procession shall

be carried the sacred Eucharist and the most precious relics of the

city of Paris.

First, on the 17th day of the said month of January, proclamation

shall be made to the sound of trumpets, throughout the

thoroughfares of Paris, ordering that the streets through which the

said procession is to pass shall be swept clean, and all the houses

ornamented with beautiful tapestry. The owners of the said houses

shall stand before their doors, bare-headed and holding a lighted

taper in their hands.--_Item_, on the Wednesday following, the 20th

of the said month, the principals of all the Universities of Paris

shall meet and orders shall be issued to them to cause the students

of the said Colleges to be locked up, with the express injunction

that the same shall not be allowed outside until the procession

shall have passed, in order to obviate confusion and tumult.

Furthermore the students shall fast on the eve and the day of the

procession.--_Item_, provosts of the merchant guilds and the

aldermen of the city of Paris shall cause barriers to be raised at

the crossing of the streets through which the said procession is to

pass, in order to prevent the people from crossing the lines of the

marchers. Two soldiers and two archers shall be placed in charge of

each one of the said barriers.--_Item._ halting places shall be

erected in the middle of St. Denis and St. Honore Streets, at the

Cross-of-Trahoir, and at the further end of the Notre Dame Bridge,

the latter of which shall be decorated with a gilded lanthorn,

historical paintings of the holy Sacrament, and a dais of evergreen

from which shall hang a number of crowns, and bannerets bearing the

following sacred device: IPSI PERIBUNT, TU AUTEM PERMANEBIS (_They

shall perish, but you, Holy Mother Church, shall remain forever_).

The same device shall be inscribed on the cards attached to the

swarm of little birds that are to be set free along the passage of

the said procession.[39]

The program of the ceremony was followed out point by point. The

Franc-Taupin and Odelin entered Paris by the Gate of the Bastille of St.

Antoine. They were wrapped in their Capuchin hoods, and took the route

of St. Honore Street. That thoroughfare was lighted by the tapers which,

obedient to the royal decree, the householders held at the doors of

their dwellings. Lavish tapestries, hangings and rich cloths ornamented

with greens carpeted the walls of the houses from top to bottom. Men,

women and children crowded the windows. A lively stream of people moved

about gaily, loudly admiring the splendors of the feast. Arrived near

the Arcade of Eschappes, which ran into St. Honore Street, the

Franc-Taupin and Odelin were forced to halt until the procession had

passed before they could cross the street. All the crossings were closed

with barriers and guarded by soldiers and archers.

Thanks to the respect that their monastic garb inspired, Josephin and

his nephew were allowed to clear the barrier which separated them from

the first ranks of the procession, and finally to fall in line with the

same.

Romish idolatry and royal pride exhibited themselves in the midst of the

pomp and circumstance of the occasion. King, Queen, Princes, Princesses,

Cardinals, Archbishops, Marshals, courtiers, ladies in waiting, high

dignitaries of the courts of justice, magistrates, consuls, bourgeois,

guilds of artisans--all were about to batten upon the torture and death

of the heretics, whose only crime consisted in the practice of the

Evangelical doctrine in its pristine purity.

Read, O, sons of Joel, the narrative of this execrable ceremony,

transmitted by a spectator, an ardent Catholic and fervent royalist, Dom

Felibien. Preserve the pages in our family annals, they are the

irrefutable witnesses of the religious fanaticism of those days of

ignorance, under clerical domination and monarchic despotism. Dom

Felibien says:

"At the head of the procession marched the Swiss of the King's

guard. They preceded the Queen, who was richly attired in a robe of

black velvet lined with lynx skin. She rode a white palfrey with

housings of frizzled gold cloth, and was accompanied by mesdames

the King's daughters, likewise richly accoutred in robes of crimson

satin embroidered with gold thread, and riding beautiful and

splendidly caparisoned palfreys. Many other dames and princesses,

besides a troop of knights, seneschals and palace dignitaries on

horseback, pages, lackeys and Swiss Guards on foot marched beside

the Queen.

"After her came the Cordelier monks in large numbers, carrying many

relics, each holding a little lighted taper with profound devotion.

"After these came the preaching Jacobin friars, also carrying many

relics. Each bore a chaplet of Notre Dame, and all were devoutly

engaged in prayer to God.

"After these, the Augustinian monks, marching in similar order, and

also carrying many relics.

"After these, the Carmelites, in the same order, and, in their wake

all the parish priests of the city of Paris, each with his cross,

robed in their capes, and carrying relics surrounded with numerous

tapers.

"After these, the collegiates of the churches, carrying many relics

and holy bodies, the latter surrounded by many tapers.

"After these, the Mathurins, dressed all in white. They marched

devoutly wrapped in prayer and holding tapers.

"After these, the friars of St. Magloire carrying the shrine of

Monsieur St. Magloire.

"After these, the friars of St. Germain-des-Prez, carrying the

shrine of Monsieur St. Germain-le-Vieil, who, as far back as man's

memory went, had never before been known to leave the precincts of

St. Germain. To the right of the holy body, the said friars, each

with a lighted white wax candle; to the left, the friars of St.

Martin-of-the-Fields, carrying the shrine of St. Paxant, a martyr.

The two shrines abreast and beside each other.

"After these the relics of Monsieur St. Eloi in the shrine of the

said Saint, carried by locksmiths, each wearing a hat of flowers.

"After these, Monsieur St. Benoit, with other shrines containing

the bodies of Saints belonging to the said city.

"After that, a huge relic of solid gold and inestimable value,

studded with precious stones and enclosing the bones of several

Saints, the whole carried on the shoulders of sixteen bourgeois of

the city of Paris. Beside this relic was to be seen that of the

great St. Philip, an exquisite coffer from Notre Dame of Paris.

"After these, came in beautiful order the shrines of Madam St.

Genevieve, carried by eighteen men, naked (except for their

shirts), with hats of flowers on their heads, and by four monks,

also in their shirts, with bare legs and feet. Then the shrine of

Monsieur St. Martel, reverently carried by the goldsmiths, dressed

in dress of state. That shrine also had not in the memory of man

been carried beyond the bridge of Notre Dame. In order to secure

the safe and orderly carriage of these shrines through the large

concourse of people, all of whom were curious to see and draw near

them, a number of archers and other officers were detailed to

escort the same.

"After these, the monks of St. Genevieve and St. Victor,

barefooted, each holding a lighted taper and praying to God with

great devotion.

"After these, the canons and priests of St. Germain-of-Auxerre,

chanting canticles of praise put to music.

"After these, the secular doctors and regulars of the four

faculties of the University of Paris. The rector and his beadles,

the latter carrying before him their maces of gold and silver.

"After these, the doctors of theology and medicine in large numbers

dressed in their sacerdotal and other garbs, each holding a lighted

wax candle.

"After these came, marching in beautiful order on both sides of the

street, the Swiss Guards of the King, dressed in the velvet of his

livery, each armed with his halberd. The fifers and war drummers

marched two by two at the head of the said Swiss Guards, beating

upon their drums and blowing their fifes in funeral notes.

"After these, the hautboys, trumpets, cornet and clarion players,

all in the King's livery, and melodiously intoning the beautiful

hymn _Pange, lingua, gloriosi corporis mysterium_, etc., which is

the hymn of the holy Sacrament, and which moved all the bystanders

to tears, such was its power.

"After these, Monsieur Savigny, one of the captains of the King's

guards, establishing order and preventing tumult during the

procession.

"After him, came the King's heralds-at-arms, clad in their jackets

of silver cloth.

"After them, the choristers of the same Seigneur, those attached to

the domestic service as well as those attached to the holy chapel

of the palace. They marched together, singing: _O salutaris

Hostia_, and other beautiful anthems.

"After these, ten priests robed in chasubles, their heads bare, and

carrying the relic of Monsieur St. Louis, once King of France,

encased and studded with quantities of precious stones of

inestimable value.

"After these, the holy and precious relic of the holy CROWN OF

THORNS of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, an inestimable relic

which, as far back as the memory of man runs, was never before

carried in any procession whatever, and caused the hair to stand on

end of all those who saw it, and rendered them charmed with God, as

they considered His blessed passion.

"After this, the TRUE CROSS on which our Lord Jesus Christ was

crucified. It was taken from the Holy Chapel, besides another piece

of the said TRUE CROSS from Notre Dame of Paris.

"After that the ROD OF AARON, an old relic; the holy IRON of the

lance wherewith Longus pierced the precious side of our Savior

Jesus Christ; one of the HOLY NAILS with which He was nailed to the

cross; the SPONGE, the CARCAN, the CHAIN with which our Lord was

fastened to the pillar; His IMMACULATE ROBE; the SHEET in which He

was wrapped in the tomb as in a winding-cloth; the NAPKINS of His

babyhood; the REED stuck into His hand when He was crowned with

thorns; the TABLE OF STONE which the children of Israel hewed in

the desert; a DROP OF THE PRECIOUS BLOOD of our Lord Jesus; finally

a DROP OF MILK of the glorious Virgin Mary, Mother of God. The

which beautiful relics, all taken from the treasury of the Holy

Chapel, were accompanied and carried by ten archbishops and bishops

dressed in their pontifical vestments, and marching two by two.

"After these, the ambassadors from the Emperor, from the King of

England, from Venice, and other potentates and seigneurs.

"After these, and marching abreast, the Cardinals of Tournon,

Veneur and Givry; the Bishop of Soissons; and Monsieur Gabriel of

Saluces, carrying a beautiful relic of a cross studded with several

precious stones.

"After these, Knights with their battle-axes escorting the precious

and sacred body of our Lord Jesus Christ at the sacrament of the

altar, which was carried by Monsieur the Bishop of Paris on a cross

under a canopy of crimson velvet spangled with gold fleur-de-lis,

the canopy being borne aloft by our Seigneurs, the King's sons, to

wit, Monsieur the Dauphin, Monsieur of Orleans, Monsieur of

Angouleme, and Monsieur of Vendosme, all the said Princes

bareheaded, and clad in robes of black velvet with heavy gold

borders and lined with white satin, and near them several counts

and barons to relieve them.

"After these, came the KING OUR SIRE, bareheaded, in great

reverence. He was clad in a robe of black velvet lined with black

silk, girded with a girdle of taffeta, and in his hand a large

white wax candle furnished with a holder of crimson velvet. Beside

him, the Cardinal of Lorraine, to whom, every time the holy

sacrament rested at the halting places, the said Seigneur our King

passed the wax candle, while he himself made his prayers with his

hands joined. Seeing the which, there was none among the

spectators, whether grown or little, who did not weep warm tears,

and who did not pray to God for the King whom the said people saw

in such great devotion, and performing so devout an act and so

worthy of remembrance for all time. And it may well be presumed

that neither Jew nor infidel present, seeing the example of the

King and his good people, failed of being converted to the Catholic

faith.

"After these, the parliaments, with the ushers walking before, each

with a staff in his hands; the four notaries; the clerks of the

criminal courts, dressed in scarlet gowns and wearing their furred

hats; messieurs the presidents with their mantles over their

shoulders and their mortars on their heads; the chiefs of

departments, and the counsellors, in red robes.

"After these, the Chief Justices, and heads of the treasury and the

mint; the comptrollers of the city of Paris, each with a lighted

white wax candle in his hand, and clad in their parti-colored robes

of red and blue, the city colors.

"Finally, the archers, the cross-bowmen, and the arquebusiers of

Paris, dressed in their uniforms, and each holding a wax

candle."[40]

Such was that great Catholic procession!

The procession wound its way through St. Honore, St. Denis and St.

James-of-the-Slaughterhouse Streets, and then crossed the Notre Dame

Bridge.

Cages full of birds were opened, and the little feathered brood flew

from their prisons with open wings. The procession deployed on the

square before the parvise of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. All the

surrounding houses, tapestried from top to bottom, were lined with

spectators at the windows, on the cornices, the shafts of pillars and

the roofs. As they stood waiting for the procession to go by near the

Arcade of Eschappes, the Franc-Taupin and his nephew caught sight of

Herve among the Cordelier monks, whose garb he wore.

"My brother!" cried Odelin, making to rush forward towards Herve and

embrace him. "There is my brother!"

But Josephin seized his nephew by the arm, and whispered to him:

"My boy, if a single move made by you draws attention upon us, we shall

be discovered and arrested."

Odelin's exclamation, being drowned by the psalmody of the Cordeliers,

did not reach the ears of Herve. The latter did not even notice his

brother, whose face was partially covered by his cowl. The Cordeliers

passed by, then the Augustinians, the Carmelites, the Dominicans, the

Genevievians, the Jacobins, and many other monks of differently shaped

and colored garbs. Josephin sought to place the greatest distance

possible between himself and Herve. He fell in line with the Mathurins,

who brought up the rear of the division of monks.

Odelin began to feel disturbed in mind. The events in which he had

already that day participated, his apprehensions regarding his family,

the sight of his brother in the habits of a Cordelier monk, the

preparations for the torture and death of the heretics, a spectacle that

he now saw himself forced to witness--everything combined to harass his

mind with perplexities. At times Odelin imagined himself under the

obsession of a nightmare. His uncertain and almost stumbling step was

noticed by the Superior of the Mathurins, who expressed his surprise

thereat to Josephin. The Franc-Taupin merely answered that this was the

first time the novice attended an execution of heretics.

The procession having arrived before the parvise of Notre Dame, each

division of which it was composed took the place assigned to it. A

stage, covered with rich tent-cloth was prepared for King Francis I, the

Queen, the Princes and Princesses of the royal family, the court ladies,

the Cardinals, the Archbishops, the Marshals, the presidents of the

parliaments, and the principal courtiers. The pyre faced the royal

platform at a convenient distance, in order that the noble assemblage be

annoyed neither by the heat nor smoke of the fire, and yet could follow

closely the cruel details of the tragedy. The pyre consisted of a heap

of fagots from fifteen to twenty feet long, and about six or seven feet

high. Close to the pyre rose six machines. Each consisted of a

perpendicular beam, the bottom driven into the earth and the top

furnished with an iron clamp in the socket of which a cross-beam was

attached. This beam could be made to tip forward over the fagots. At the

forward extremity of the cross-beam, and hanging from chains, was an

iron chair provided with a back and foot-board after the fashion of a

swing. To the rear extremity of the cross-beam ropes and pulleys were

attached, holding it down to the ground.

The Franc-Taupin contemplated with horror those implements of torture,

while he gave his support to poor Odelin, who shook convulsively. The

Superior of the Mathurins, who happened to stand near Josephin,

addressed him with a smile:

"Perhaps you do not understand the value of those machines which we

shall shortly see put into operation?"

"No, dear brother, you are right. I have no idea of what those machines

are for in this affair."

"They are an invention due to the genius of our Sire the King, to whom

the men put to the torture for coining false money already owe the rack

on which they are executed.[41] To-day the application of these new

machines, which you are contemplating with so much interest, is

inaugurated in our good city of Paris. The process is very simple,

besides ingenious. When the pyre is well aflame, the patient is chained

fast to the chair which you see there, dangling from the end of that

cross-beam; then, the beam acting as a lever, he is, by slacking and

pulling in the ropes at the other end, alternately sunk down into the

flames and pulled out again, to be re-plunged, and so on, until, after

being plunged and re-plunged, death ensues. Do you now understand the

process?"

"Clearly, my reverend. Death by fire, as formerly practiced, put too

speedy an end to the patient's torture."

"Altogether too speedy. A few minutes of torture and all was over, and

the heretic breathed his last breath--"

"And now," broke in the Franc-Taupin, "thanks to this royal invention by

our Sire Francis I, whom may God guard, the patient is afforded leisure

to burn slowly--he can relish the fagot and inhale the flame! How superb

and meritorious an invention!"

"It is that, my dear brother! Your expressions are correct--quite

so--_relish_ the fagot--_inhale_ the flame. It is calculated that the

agony of the patients will now last from twenty to thirty minutes.

"There are to-night three such pyres raised in Paris," the Superior of

the Mathurins proceeded to explain. "The one before us, a second at the

market place, and the third at the Cross-of-Trahoir. After our good Sire

shall have assisted at the executions in this place, he will be able to

visit the two others on his way back to the Louvre."[42]

The colloquy with the monk was interrupted by a great noise. From mouth

to mouth ran the word: "Silence! Silence! The King wishes to speak!"

During the Franc-Taupin's conversation with the Mathurin, the King, his

family, the court, the high dignitaries of the Church and of the kingdom

had taken their seats on the platform. Anne of Pisseleu, Duchess of

Etampes, who shared her favors between Francis I and his eldest son,

drew the eyes of the multitude upon herself with the costliness of her

apparel, which was as dazzling as her beauty, then at its prime. The

royal courtesan cast from time to time a look of superb triumph upon her

two rivals--the Queen of France, and Catherine De Medici, the wife of

Henry, the King's son. The young Princess, at that season barely sixteen

years of age, born in Florence, the daughter of Laurent De Medici and

niece of Pope Clement VII, presented a perfect type of Italian beauty.

Pale with chestnut hair, and white of skin, her black, passionate and

crafty eyes frequently lingered surreptitiously with an expression of

suppressed hatred upon the Duchess of Etampes. Whenever their eyes met

accidentally, Catherine De Medici had for her a charming smile.

Conspicuous among the great seigneurs seated on the platform were the

Constable of Montmorency, Duke Claude of Guise and his brother Cardinal

John of Lorraine, the crapulous, dissolute Prince immortalized by

Rabelais under the name of "Panurge." These Guises--Princes of Lorraine,

ambitious, greedy, haughty and turbulent--whom Francis I at once

flattered and curbed, inspired him with so much apprehension that he was

wont to allude to them in his conversations with the Dauphin in these

words: "Be on your guard; I shall leave you clothed in a coat, they will

leave you in your shirt." In close proximity to the Guises stood John

Lefevre, the disciple of Ignatius Loyola, chatting with great

familiarity with Cardinal Duprat. Already the Jesuits had gained a

footing at the court of Francis I; they dominated the Chancellor, the

evil genius of that King. And what was that sovereign, physically and

morally? Here is his picture, as left by the writers of his time: "Six

feet high; broad-shouldered, wide of girth, round faced, fat, ruddy of

complexion, with short cropped hair, long beard, and a prominent

nose"--features that betray sensual appetites. The Sire walked towards

his throne, swaying to right and left. The heavy colossus affected the

gait and postures of a gladiator. He sat down, or rather dropped into

his seat. All present on the platform rose to their feet with heads

uncovered, the women excepted. He addressed himself to the Princes, the

Princesses of his family, and the dignitaries of the Church and the

kingdom:

"It will not seem strange to you, messieurs, if you do not find in me

the mien, the countenance and the words, which I have been in the habit

of being seen in and of using on previous occasions when I called you

together. To-day, I do not address you as a King and Master addresses

his subjects and servitors. I speak as being myself the subject and

servitor of the King of Kings, of the Master of Masters--the

All-powerful God.

"Some wicked blasphemers, people of little note and of less doctrine,

have, contrary to the honor of the holy Sacrament, machinated, said,

proffered and written many great blasphemies. On account thereof I have

willed that this solemn procession be held, in order to invoke the grace

of our Redeemer. I order that rigorous punishment be inflicted upon the

heretics, as a warning to all others not to fall into the said damnable

opinions, while admonishing the faithful to persevere in their

doctrines, the wavering to become firm, and those who have strayed away

to return to the path of the holy Catholic faith, in which they see me

persevere, together with the spiritual prelates.

"Therefore, messieurs, I entreat and admonish you--let all my subjects

keep watch and guard, not only over themselves, but also over their

families, and especially over their children, and cause these to be so

properly instructed that they may not fall into evil doctrines. I also

order that each and all shall denounce whomsoever they may happen to

know, or to suspect, of being adherents to the heresy, without regard

to any bonds, whether of family or of friendship. As to myself," added

Francis I in a thundering voice, "on the same principle that, had I an

arm infected with putrefaction, I would cause it to be separated from my

body, so if ever, should it unhappily so befall, any child of mine

relapse into the said damnable heresies, I shall be ready to immolate,

and to deliver him as a sacrifice to God."[43]

The discourse of Francis I was listened to amid religious silence, and

applauded enthusiastically.

The prostituted pack of clergymen, courtiers and warriors who surrounded

the Very Christian King knew the trick how to inherit the property of

heretics. To burn or massacre the reformers was to coin money for the

royal pack, the sovereign having the right to transmit to the good

Catholics the wealth confiscated from condemned heretics. But, to kill

the heretics, to torture them, to burn them alive, that did not satisfy

the pious monarch. Human thought was to be shackled. The sovereign

proceeded with his allocution:

"It is notorious that the pestilence of heresy spreads in all directions

with the aid of the printing press. My Chancellor shall now read a

decree issued by me abolishing the printing press in my estates under

pain of death."

The Chancellor, Cardinal Duprat, read in a loud voice the decree of that

_Father of Letters_, as the court popinjays styled Francis I with

egregious adulation:

"We, Francis I, by the grace of God, King of France.--It is our

will, and we so order, and it pleases us to prohibit and forbid all

printers in general, and of whatever rank and condition they may

be, TO PRINT ANYTHING, UNDER PAIN OF HANGING.

"Such is our good pleasure.

FRANCIS."[44]

Come! One more effort; listen to the end of this tale, O, sons of Joel.

My hand trembles as I trace these lines, my eyes are veiled in tears, my

heart bleeds. But I must proceed with my story.

After the reading of the edict which prohibited the printing press in

France under pain of death, the Criminal Lieutenant stepped forward to

receive the orders of the Chancellor. He turned to the King, and the

King commanded that the heretics be put to the torture and death without

further delay. The gallant chat among the courtiers was hushed, and the

eyes of the royal assembly turned towards the pyre.

The Franc-Taupin and Odelin stood in the midst of the Mathurins, close

to the spot of execution. Not far from them were ranked the Cordeliers.

Standing between Fra Girard and the Superior General of his Order, Herve

seemed to be the object of the dignitary's special solicitude. Both the

sons of Christian Lebrenn were about to witness the execution. Their

sister Hena, sentenced together with Ernest Rennepont to the flames as a

relapsed and sacrilegious heretic, was to figure, along with her

bridegroom, among the victims. The frightful spectacle passed before

the eyes of Odelin like a vision of death. Without making a single

motion, without experiencing a shiver, without dropping a tear,

petrified with terror, the lad gazed--like him, who, a prey to some

stupefying dream, remains motionless, stretched upon his bed. It was a

horrible nightmare!

The order to proceed having gone from Francis I and been transmitted to

the Mathurin monks, several of these proceeded to the portico of the

Basilica of Notre Dame, whither the culprits had first been taken to

make the _amende honorable_ on their knees before the church. One of the

patients had his tongue cut out for preferring charges against the

Catholic clergy on his way from prison to the parvise.[45] The Mathurins

led the victims in procession to the pyre. As they approached, all the

religious Orders intoned in a sonorous voice the funeral psalmody--

_De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine!_

The heretics, to the number of six, marched two by two, bareheaded and

barefooted, holding lighted tapers in their hands. John Dubourg and his

friend Etienne Laforge led; behind them came St. Ernest-Martyr

supporting the architect Poille. The wretched man had his tongue cut

out. Blood streamed from his mouth, and dyed his long white shirt red.

Mary La Catelle and Hena, called in religion Sister St.

Frances-in-the-Tomb, came next. Their feet were bare, their hair hung

down loose upon their shoulders. They were clad in long white shifts

held at the waist with a cord. Hena pressed against her heart a little

pocket Bible which Christian had printed in the establishment of Robert

Estienne, and which she was allowed to keep. It was a cherished volume

from which the Lebrenn family often read together of an evening, and

which recalled to Hena a whole world of sweet remembrances.

Herve recognized his sister among the condemned heretics. A thrill ran

through his frame, a deadly pallor overcast his countenance, and,

turning his face away, he leaned for support on the arm of Fra Girard.

The executioners had set fire to the fagots, which soon presented the

sight of a sheet of roaring flames. As the prisoners arrived at the

place of their torture and death, and caught sight of the seats swaying

over the lambent flames, they readily surmised the cruel torments to

which they were destined. In her terror, poor Hena began to emit

heartrending cries, and she clung to the arm of Mary La Catelle. The

taper and the little pocket Bible which she held rolled to the ground.

The holy book fell upon a burning ember and began to blaze. One of the

executioners stamped out the fire with his heels and threw the book

aside. It fell near the Franc-Taupin. Josephin stooped down quickly,

picked up the precious token and dropped it into the pocket of his wide

frock. Petrified with terror, Odelin only gazed into space. The

frightful cries of his sister were hardly heard by him, drowned as they

were by the buzz and throb of the arteries in his own temples. The

executioners were at work. Hena and the other five martyrs were seized,

placed in their respective seats, and chained fast. All the six levers

were then set in motion at once, and dipped over the fire. It was a

spectacle, an atrocious spectacle--well worthy of a King! The victims

were plunged into the furnace, then raised up high in the air with

clothes and hair ablaze, to be again swallowed up in the flaming abyss,

again to be raised out of it, in order once more to be precipitated into

its fiery embrace![46]

Odelin still gazed, motionless, his arms crossed over his breast, and

rigid as if in a state of catalepsy. The Franc-Taupin looked at his

unhappy niece Hena every time the lever raised her in the air, and also

every time it hurled her down into the abyss of flames. He counted the

_plungings_, as the Superior of the Mathurins humorously called them. He

counted twenty-five of them. At the first few descents poor Hena twisted

and writhed in her seat while emitting piercing cries; in the course of

a few subsequent descents the cries subsided into moans; when she

disappeared in the burning crater for the sixteenth time she was heard

to moan no more. She was either expiring or dead. The machine continued

to dip twenty-five times--it was only a blackened, half naked corpse,

the head of which hung loose and beat against the back of the seat. The

Franc-Taupin followed also with his eyes Ernest Rennepont, who was

placed face to face with Hena. The unhappy youth did not emit a single

cry during his torment, he did not even utter a wail. His eyes remained

fixed upon his bride. Etienne Laforge, John Dubourg and Mary La Catelle

gave proof of the sublimest courage. They were heard singing psalms

amidst the flames that devoured them. Of these latter, only Anthony

Poille, whose tongue had been cut out, was silent. The death rattle

finally silenced the voice of the heretics. It was but charred corpses

that the executioners were raising and dropping.

When the frightful vision ceased, Odelin dropped to the ground, a prey

to violent convulsions. Two monks helped the Franc-Taupin carry the

young novice into a neighboring house. But before leaving the spot of

Hena's torture and death, Josephin stopped an instant before the brazier

which was finishing the work of consuming the corpses. There the

Franc-Taupin pronounced the following silent imprecation:

"Hate and execration for the papist executioners, Kings, priests and

monks! War, implacable war upon this infamous religion that tortures and

burns to death those who are refractory to its creed! Reprisals and

vengeance! By my sister's death; by the agony of her daughter, plunged

twenty-five times into the fiery furnace--I swear to put twenty-five

papist priests to death!"

After Odelin recovered consciousness, uncle and nephew resumed their way

to the place of refuge on St. Honore Street, where Robert Estienne was

found waiting for them. The generous friend was proscribed. The next day

he was to wander into exile to Geneva. It was with great difficulty

that Princess Marguerite had obtained grace for his life. He informed

Odelin of his father's flight to La Rochelle and of Bridget's death. He

pressed upon Josephin the necessity of leaving Paris with Odelin and

proceeding on the spot to La Rochelle, lest he fall into the clutches of

the police spies who were on the search for them. At the same time he

placed in Josephin's hands the necessary funds for the journey, and took

charge of notifying Master Raimbaud should he also be willing to take

refuge in La Rochelle.

It was agreed between the three that the Franc-Taupin and his nephew

would wait two days for Master Raimbaud at Etampes. The directions of

Robert Estienne were instantly put into execution. That same night

Odelin and Josephin left Paris, and reached Etampes without difficulty,

thanks to the monastic garb which cleared the way for them. At Etampes

Master Raimbaud and his wife joined them before the expiration of the

second day, and the four immediately took the road to La Rochelle, where

they arrived on February 17, 1535. The four fugitives inquired for the

dwelling of Christian Lebrenn. His family, alas! was now reduced to

three members--father, son and the brave Josephin. The Franc-Taupin

delivered to his brother-in-law the pocket Bible which he picked up near

the pyre, the tomb of Hena--that Bible is now added to the relics of the

Lebrenn family.

END OF VOLUME ONE.

PART II.

THE HUGUENOTS.

INTRODUCTION.

Thirty-four years have elapsed since the martyrdom of Hena Lebrenn,

Ernest Rennepont and the other heretics who were burned alive before the

parvise of Notre Dame, in the presence of King Francis I and his court

on January 21, 1535. To-day, I, Antonicq Lebrenn, son of Odelin and

grandson of Christian the printer, proceed with the narrative broken off

above.

Safely established at La Rochelle, Christian was joined in that city by

his son Odelin and Josephin, the Franc-Taupin. Already shattered in body

on account of the profound sorrow caused by the death of his wife

Bridget and the revelation concerning the incestuous attempt made by his

son Herve, the news of the frightful death of his daughter Hena

overwhelmed my grandfather. He did not long survive that last blow. He

languished about a year longer, wrote the narrative of which the

following one is the sequel, and died on December 17 of the same year at

La Rochelle, where he exercised his printer's trade at the establishment

of Master Auger, a friend of Robert Estienne. The latter himself ended

his days in exile at Geneva.

Odelin Lebrenn, my father, devoted himself, as in his youth, to the

armorer's trade. He worked in the establishment of Master Raimbaud, who

also settled down in La Rochelle in 1535. The old armorer drove a

lucrative trade in his beautiful arms, with England. Thanks to their

energy and their municipal franchises, the Rochelois, partisans of the

Reformation by an overwhelming majority, and protected by the well-nigh

impregnable position of their city, experienced but slightly the

persecutions that dyed red the other provinces of Gaul until the day

when the Protestants took up arms against their oppressors. The hour of

revolt having sounded, the Rochelois were bound to be the first to take

the field. Having married in 1545 Marcienne, the sister of Captain

Mirant, one of the ablest and most daring sailors of La Rochelle, my

father had three children from this marriage--Theresa, born in 1546; me,

Antonicq, born in 1549; and Marguerite, born in 1551. I embraced the

profession of my father, who, upon the death of Master Raimbaud,

deceased without heirs, succeeded to the latter's business.

About four years ago, the hardship of the times brought to La Rochelle,

where, together with other Protestants he sought refuge, Louis

Rennepont, a nephew of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, the bridegroom of

Hena, who was burned together with her. Informed by his father of the

tragic death of the Augustinian monk, Louis Rennepont conceived a horror

for the creed of Rome, in whose name such atrocities were committed, and

after his father's death he entered the Evangelical church. An advocate

in the parliament of Paris, and indicted for heresy, he escaped the

stake by his flight to La Rochelle. One day, as he strolled along the

quay before our house, my father's sign--_Odelin Lebrenn,

Armorer_--caught his eye. He stepped in to inquire into our

relationship with Hena Lebrenn. From us he gathered the information that

Hena was his uncle's wife, married to him by a Reformed pastor. Louis

Rennepont, from that time almost a relative of ours, continued to visit

the house. He soon seemed smitten with the grace and virtues of my

sister Theresa. His love was reciprocated. He was a young man of noble

heart, and of a modest and industrious disposition. Stripped of his

patrimony by the sentence of heresy, he earned his living at La Rochelle

with his profession of advocate. My father appreciated the merits of

Louis Rennepont, and granted him my sister Theresa. They were married in

1568. Their happiness justifies my father's hopes.

My youngest sister Marguerite disappeared from the paternal home at the

age of eight, under rather mysterious circumstances which I shall here

state.

Since his establishment at La Rochelle, my father was animated by a

lively desire to take us all--mother, sisters and myself--to Brittany,

on a kind of pious pilgrimage to the scene of our family's origin, near

the sacred stones of Karnak. The journey by land was short, but the

religious war included in those days Brittany also in its ravages. My

father feared to risk himself and family among the warring factions. His

brother-in-law Mirant, the sailor, having to cross from La Rochelle to

Dover, proposed that my father take ship with him on his brigantine. The

vessel was to touch at Vannes, the port nearest Karnak. Our pilgrimage

accomplished, we were to set sail for Dover, whither my father

frequently consigned arms, and where he would have the opportunity of a

personal interview with his correspondent in that place. After that, my

uncle Mirant was to return to France with a cargo of merchandise. Our

absence would not exceed three weeks. My father accepted the proposition

with joy. Shortly before the day of our departure my sister Marguerite

was taken sick. The distemper was not dangerous, but it prevented her

from joining in the trip, the day for which was set and could not be

postponed. My parents left her behind in the charge of her god-mother,

an excellent woman, the wife of John Barbot, a master copper-smith. We

departed for Vannes on board the brigantine of Captain Mirant. My sister

Marguerite recovered soon after. Her god-mother frequently took her out

for a walk beyond the ramparts. One day the child was playing with other

little girls near a clump of trees, and strayed away from Dame Barbot.

When her god-mother looked for her to take her home, the child was

nowhere to be found. The most diligent searches, instituted for weeks

and months after the occurrence, were all in vain. The child had been

abducted; the kidnappers remained undiscovered. Marguerite was wept and

her loss grieved over by us all.

Our pilgrimage to Karnak, the cradle of the family of Joel, left a

profound, an indelible impression upon me. I shall later return to some

of the consequences of that trip. Captain Mirant, my mother's brother, a

widower after only a few years' marriage, had a daughter named Cornelia.

I loved her from early infancy as a sister. As we grew up our affection

for each other waxed warmer. Our parents expected to see us man and

wife. Cornelia gave promise by her virtue and bravery of resembling one

of those women belonging to the heroic age of Gaul, and of approving

herself worthy of her ancestry. Having lost her mother when still a

child, my cousin occasionally accompanied her father on his rough sea

voyages. The character of the young girl, like her beauty, presented a

mixture of virility, grace and strength. At the time when this narrative

commences, Cornelia was sixteen years of age, myself twenty. We were

betrothed, and our families had decided that we were to be united in

wedlock three or four years later.

My grand-uncle the Franc-Taupin yielded, shortly after his arrival at La

Rochelle, to the solicitations of my grandfather Christian, who, feeling

his approaching dissolution, entreated the brave soldier of adventure

not to separate himself from his nephew, soon surely to be an orphan.

The Franc-Taupin adjourned the execution of his resolution to avenge the

death of Bridget and Hena. He remained near my father Odelin and

enrolled himself with the archers of the city. As a consequence of our

family sorrows, he gave up his former disorderly life. The guardianship

of his nephew, then still a lad, brought him new duties. He earned by

his merit the post of sergeant of the city militia. But when the

massacre of Vassy caused the Protestants to rise from one end of Gaul to

the other, and these finally ran to arms, the Franc-Taupin departed to

join the insurgents. He was elected the chief of his band, and proved

himself pitiless in his acts of reprisal. He had sworn to revenge the

papist atrocities committed upon his sister and niece. The provinces of

Anjou and Saintonge took a large part in the religious ware that broke

out. My father, although married several years before, left his

establishment to enlist himself among the volunteers of the Protestant

army, and deported himself bravely under the orders of Coligny, Conde,

Lanoue and Dandelot. He was twice wounded. I accompanied him in the

second armed uprising of 1568, when, alas! I had the misfortune of

losing him. I took the field at his side as a volunteer, leaving in La

Rochelle my mother, my sister Theresa, then the wife of Louis Rennepont,

and my cousin Cornelia, who desired to join her father, Captain Mirant,

on a cruise against the royal ships, while I was to combat on land in

the army of Coligny.

CHAPTER I.

THE QUEEN'S "FLYING SQUADRON."

The Abbey of St. Severin, situated on the Limoges road not far from the

town of Malraye, belonged to the Order of St. Bernard. Before the

beginning of the religious wars, the abbey was a splendid monument,

built by the hands of _Jacques Bonhomme_,[47] like so many other

monasteries that dot the soil of France. As a church vassal, Jacques

Bonhomme transported either upon his own back, or, to the still greater

injury of field agriculture, with the help of oxen, the stones, the

lumber, the sand and the lime requisite for the erection of these

pretentious monastic residences. He thereupon carried to the idling

monks the tithes on his corn, on his cattle, on his poultry, on his

eggs, on his butter, on his wine, on his oil, on the fleece of his

sheep, on his honey, on his linen, in short, the prime of all that he

produced with the sweat of his brow. Then came the corvee[48]--to till

the convent lands, to sow, weed and gather the crops thereon; to keep

the convent roads in repair; to irrigate its meadows; to dredge its

ponds; to serve as watchman; and finally to lay down his life in its

defense against the roving bands of vagabonds and robbers. In return

for all these services--when either old, or sick, or exhausted with

toil, Jacques Bonhomme could work no more--he was allowed to hold out

his bowl at the gate of the monastery, when the monks would occasionally

deign to fill it with greasy water from their kitchen. When the church

vassal was at his last breath, stretched upon the straw in his hut, the

good Fathers came to assist and solace him with their _Oremus_.[49] "God

created man for sorrow and poverty," they would say to him; "you have

suffered--God is pleased; you shall enjoy a famous seat in Paradise.

Yours will be the delights of the celestial mansion."

When the spirit of the Reformation penetrated some of the provinces,

Jacques Bonhomme began to lend an ear to a new theory. "Poor, ignorant

people, poor duped and defrauded people," said the pastors of the new

church; "offerings to saints, masses, and purgatory are idolatries,

tricks, frauds, sacrilegious inventions with the aid of which the

priests and monks appropriate to themselves the silver laid by fools

upon the altars and at the feet of wooden and stone images. Good men!

Read the sacred Book. You will discover that God forbids the traffic on

which thousands of frocked and tonsured idlers grow fat." In sight of

such a revelation, based as it was upon the texts of Holy Writ, Jacques

Bonhomme said to himself in his own rustic common sense: "'Tis so! I

have been cheated, duped and robbed all these centuries by the Church of

Rome!" Thereupon Jacques Bonhomme turned himself loose upon the

convents and churches; he overthrew, broke and profaned the altars, the

relics and the statues of saints that had so long been the objects of

his veneration.

On the other hand, in the provinces where the population remained under

the mental domination of the clergy, Jacques Bonhomme turned himself

loose upon the houses of Huguenots, set them on fire, slaughtered the

men, violated the women, and dashed the brains of old men and children

against the walls.

Occupied before the religious wars by the Bernardine monks, the Abbey of

St. Severin had been repeatedly sacked, like so many other monastic

resorts in the districts of Poitou, Berri and Limousin. Reared on an

admirable site--the slope of a hill shaded by a thick forest--the

convent clearly revealed the traces of a sack, freshly undergone:

shattered windows, doors broken open or torn from their hinges, portions

of the walls blackened by fire, and the capitals of the columns

mutilated by the discharge of arquebuses and the fury of the

devastators.

One day, towards the middle of the month of June, 1569, as the sun drew

near the western horizon, the silence around the ruins of the Abbey of

St. Severin was disturbed by the arrival of two squadrons of light

cavalry belonging to the Catholic army. The cavalcade escorted a long

convoy of pack-mules, the men in charge of whom wore the colors and arms

of the royal house of France and of the house of Lorraine. The convoy

entered the yard of the cloister. The lackeys unloaded the mules and

took possession of the deserted abbey. True to their name, the horsemen

were armed in the lightest manner, with Burgundian helmets and

breastplates, together with armlets and gauntlets, besides thigh-pieces

partly covered by their boots; small arquebuses, only three feet long

and well polished, hung from their saddle pommels, and short swords and

iron maces completed their outfit.

The armed corps had for its commandant Count Neroweg of Plouernel, a man

beyond sixty years of age, of rough, haughty and martial mien. From head

to foot he was covered with armor damascened in gold. His Turkish

silver-grey horse was cased at the neck, chest and crupper in light

flexible sheets of chiseled and richly gilt steel. Its orange-colored

velvet housings and saddle were ornamented with green and silver lace,

the heraldic colors of the house of Plouernel. The jacket or floating

coat that the Count wore above his armor was also of orange-colored

velvet, and likewise embroidered with green and silver thread. The

commandant of the detachment alighted from his horse; ordered the

monastery to be searched; set up watches and sent out pickets over the

principal roads that led to the place. He then remounted and rode away

in the direction of Limoges, escorted by only one of the two squadrons.

Immediately after the departure of the Count, the quartermasters of

Queen Catherine De Medici, assisted by her serving-men and those of

Charles of Guise, Cardinal of Lorraine, fell to work on the task of

imparting to the devastated halls of the abbey the most presentable

appearance possible, with the view of lodging the Queen and the prelate

whose arrival they expected. The mules, to the number of more than

sixty, carried a complete traveling equipment on their pack-saddles, or

in large trunks strapped to their backs--tent cloths, lambrequins,

tapestry, easels, dismantled beds, curtains, mattresses, silver vessels,

besides an abundance of eatables and wines with the necessary kitchen

utensils, and even ice, in leather bags. The valets set to work with a

will, and with a promptitude truly marvelous they tapestried the

apartments destined for the Queen and for the Cardinal by hanging rich

cloths, provided in advance with gilt hooks, from nails that they deftly

drove along the upper edges of the walls. They then fitted out the two

rooms with the necessary furniture brought by the mules. A chamber,

separated from that of the Queen by a small passage was likewise

prepared for the reception of the sovereign's four maids of honor. The

pages, the knights, the chamberlains, the officers and the equerries

were all quartered, as in time of war, in the outhouses of the abbey,

the vast kitchen of which was invaded by the master cook and his aides,

who prepared supper, while the stewards spread the royal table in the

refectory of the monastery. Shortly before sunset forerunners announced

the approach of the Queen. Upon the heels of the forerunners came a

vanguard, and immediately after, several armed squadrons, in the center

of which was the royal litter, enclosed with hangings of

gold-embroidered violet velvet and carried by two mules, likewise in

trappings of violet velvet. A second litter, not so richly decorated and

empty at the time, was reserved for those maids of honor who might tire

of riding. These maids, however, together with their governess, had

preferred to cover the distance on the backs of their richly caparisoned

palfreys, the necks, flanks and cruppers of which were decked in

embroidered velvet emblazoned with the arms of the royal house of

France. Pages and equerries followed the maids of honor. The rear was

brought up by the litter of the Cardinal of Lorraine, wrapped in purple

taffeta hangings and surrounded by several leading dignitaries and

Princes of the Church.

Before entering the yard of the abbey the prelate put his head out of

his litter, and ordered one of his gentlemen-in-waiting to summon before

him the commandant of the escort. Charles of Guise, Cardinal of

Lorraine, was at that time forty-six years of age. His otherwise

handsome features, now marred by debauchery, reflected shrewdness,

craft, and above all haughtiness, these being the dominant traits of his

character. Count Neroweg of Plouernel, who was summoned by the prelate,

approached the litter.

"Monsieur," said the Cardinal in an imperious tone, "do you answer for

the safety of the Queen and myself?"

"Yes, Monsieur Cardinal."

"Have you taken sufficient precautions against any surprise on the part

of the Huguenot band known by the name of the 'Avengers of Israel' and

captained by a felon nicknamed the 'One-Eyed'?"

"Monsieur Cardinal, I answer with my life for the safety of the Queen.

The Huguenot forces need not alarm us. His Majesty's army covers our

escort. Marshal Tavannes is notified of the Queen's arrival; he has

undoubtedly kept clear the route followed by her Majesty. I told your

Eminence before that it would have been better to push straight ahead

until we joined the army of Marshal Tavannes, instead of spending the

night at this abbey."

"Do you imagine the Queen and I can travel like a couple of troopers,

without alighting for rest?"

"Monsieur Cardinal," replied Count Neroweg of Plouernel haughtily, "it

is not for others to remind me of the respect I owe her Majesty."

"Monsieur!" exclaimed the Cardinal angrily, "you seem to forget that you

are addressing a Prince of the house of Lorraine. Be more respectful!"

"Monsieur Cardinal, if you know the history of your house, I know the

history of mine. Pepin of Heristal, the grandfather of Charlemagne, from

whom you pretend to descend, was but a rather insignificant specimen

when the house of Neroweg, illustrious in Germany long before the

Frankish conquest, was already established in Gaul for two centuries on

its Salic domains of Auvergne, which it held from the sword of one of

its own ancestors, a leude of Clovis--"

"Lower your tone, monsieur! Do not oblige me to remind you that Colonel

Plouernel, your brother, is one of the military chiefs of the rebels who

have risen in arms against the Church and the Crown."

The colloquy was interrupted at this point by the arrival of a page who

hurried to announce to the Cardinal the entry of the Queen into the

cloister.

Leaving Count Neroweg under the stigma of insinuated treason, the

prelate stepped down from his litter in order to hasten to the Queen's

side and render her his homage. Catherine De Medici was then in her

fiftieth year. Not now was she, as on that fateful January 21, 1535,

merely a Princess, and the young butt of the arrows of the Duchess of

Etampes. Since then, Francis I had died and had been succeeded to the

throne by her husband as Henry II, who, dying later from the

consequences of an accident at a tourney, left her Queen

Regent--absolute monarch. In point of appearance also Catherine De

Medici was now her complete self. She preserved the traces of her

youthful beauty. A slight corpulence impaired in nothing the majesty of

her stature. Her shoulders, arms and hands--all of a dazzling

whiteness--would, thanks to the perfection of their lines, have

presented a noble model for a sculptor. Her hair preserved its pristine

blackness, and was on this evening covered by the hood of a damask

mantle, violet like her trailing robe, which exposed a front of brass.

Cunning, perfidy, cruelty, were stamped upon her striking countenance.

Catherine De Medici leaned upon the arm of her lover, the Cardinal of

Lorraine, and entered the abbey, followed by her maids of honor, a bevy

of ravishing young girls.

The maids of honor of Catherine De Medici indulged in these days, and by

express orders of their mistress, in the strangest of doings. The

ironical title was given them of the "Queen's Flying Squadron." Indeed,

according as her policy might require, Catherine De Medici commanded

her maids of honor to prostitute themselves and take for their lovers

the young seigneurs whom she wished to attract to her party, or whose

secrets she wished to fathom. Occasionally the Queen even pointed out to

her nymphs such court folks as she wished to be rid of. In such

instances, Rene, the court perfumer, prepared the most subtle poisons

and the surest to boot, wherewith the young maids impregnated the gloves

of their lovers, or the petals of a flower, or smelling boxes, or the

sugar plums which they offered to the victims designated to them. It was

a customary saying of Catherine De Medici to her new female recruits:

"My little one, you are free to worship at the shrine of Diana, or at

that of Venus, but if you sacrifice to the little god Cupid, have an eye

to the breadth of your waist."[50]

After supper the Cardinal of Lorraine remained alone with the Queen. The

maids of honor entertained themselves in a chamber adjoining the royal

apartment. There were four of them, each of a different type of beauty.

The youngest was eighteen years of age. A veneer of grace and elegance

concealed the precocious degradation of the four beauties. They were

superbly dressed. Catherine De Medici loved luxury; on their travels the

members of her suite took with them, laden in trunks strapped to the

backs of mules, complete outfits of splendid apparel. One of the maids

of honor, Blanche of Verceil, was temporarily absent. Diana of

Sauveterre, the senior of the Queen's squadron, was a white and pink

beauty of the blonde type. She wore a blue waist ornamented with open

gold lace-work; her coif, made of white taffeta and surmounted with

little curled feathers of blue and silver, marked with its point the

middle of her forehead, whence, widening in two rounded wings to either

side over her temples, it exposed an opulent growth of blonde hair

combed back from the roots. Clorinde of Vaucernay, a dainty little

creature with black hair and blue eyes, was clad in a waist and skirt of

pale yellow damask threaded with silver; her bonnet, made of the same

material, was embroidered with pearls. Finally, Anna Bell, the youngest

and most beautiful of all, seemed to unite in her single person the

different charms of the other maids of honor. Elegant of stature and

with a skin of dazzling white, her thick light-brown hair contrasted

marvelously with her eye-brows, jet-black like the long eyelashes which

partly veiled her large, soft, brown eyes. The maid's rose-colored satin

coat fell in graceful folds upon her robe of white satin. Her pink

bonnet was surmounted by little white frizzled feathers. Anna Bell

seemed to be in a mood of profound melancholy. Seated slightly apart

from her companions, with her elbows leaning on a window that opened

upon the enclosure of the abbey, she dreamily contemplated the starry

sky, lending but an absentminded attention to the conversation of her

sister maids of honor.

"Did I understand you to say there were philters that could make men

amorous?" asked Clorinde of Vaucernay.

"Yes, indeed," replied Diana of Sauveterre. "The effectiveness of

certain philters is indisputable. In support of what I say I shall quote

Madam Noirmoutier. She succeeded in pouring a few drops of a certain

liquid into Monsieur Langeais's glass. Before the repast was over, the

young seigneur was crazy in love with her."

"And yet there are people who remain incredulous concerning the efficacy

of love potions," returned the first speaker. "What about you, Anna

Bell, are you among the unbelievers?"

"Sincere love is the only philter that can effect prodigies," Anna Bell

sighed as she answered.

At that moment Blanche of Verceil joined her companions. Hers was a

masculine, brown-complexioned and tall type of beauty. The maid's

abundant black hair and thick eyebrows would have imparted the stamp of

harshness to her face were it not for the smile of merry raillery that

habitually flitted over her cherry-red lips, which were accentuated by a

light-brown down. She held in her hand several sheets of paper, and said

gaily to her companions:

"I have come to share with you, my darlings, a bit of good luck that has

befallen me."

"Good! Distribute your good things," cried Diana of Sauveterre.

"This morning, just as we were mounting our horses," began Blanche of

Verceil, "a page arrived from Paris, sent to me by my dear Brissac. The

page brought me sugar plums, fresh flowers wonderfully preserved, and a

letter full of love. But that is not all. The letter, which I could not

read until a few minutes ago, contained a treasure--an inestimable

treasure--the newest _pasquils_, the most daring and most biting that

have yet appeared! They are a true intellectual treat."

"What a windfall! And against whom are they directed?" asked Diana of

Sauveterre.

"Innocent creature that you are!" Blanche of Verceil returned. "Against

whom can they be written if not against the Queen, against the Cardinal,

against the court, and against the maids of honor of the Queen's 'Flying

Squadron'? It is all of us who are the butts of the satirists."

"Those vicious people treat us with scant courtesy," exclaimed the

black-haired Clorinde of Vaucernay. "But, at any rate, we are sung in

superb and royal company. By Venus and Cupid, we should feel proud."

"Come, Blanche, read us the verses," Diana of Sauveterre suggested. "The

Queen may send for us any moment before she retires."

Instead of complying at once with Diana's request, Blanche of Verceil

pointed to Anna Bell, who remained in silent abstraction, and in a low

voice said to her companions: "Decidedly, the little one is in love. Her

ears do not prick up at the sound of that tickling word _pasquil_--a

divine tid-bit of wit and wickedness the salt of which is worth a

hundred fold, a thousand fold more than all the sugar of the candies."

"I wager she is dreaming awake of the German Prince of whom she speaks

in her slumbers. How indiscreet sleep is! Poor thing, she thinks her

secret is well kept," rejoined Clorinde of Vaucernay.

"Blanche, the pasquils," again cried Diana, impatiently. "I burn with

curiosity to hear them."

"Honor to whom honor is due. We shall commence with our good dame the

Queen;" and with these words Blanche read:

"People ask, What's the resemblance

'Tween Catherine and Jesebel:

One, the latter, ruined Israel,

And the former ruins France;

Extreme malice marked the latter,

Malice's self the former is;

Finally, the judgment fell

Of a Providence divine

Caused the dogs to eat up Jesebel,

While the carcass rank of Catherine

In this point doth differ much:

It not even the dogs will munch."[51]

The maids of honor broke out into peals of laughter. Anna Bell, still

pensively seated apart at the open casement, let her eyes wander over

space, a stranger to the hilarity of her companions. She paid no

attention to the reading of the verses.

"You will yet see, in the event of our good Dame Catherine's being taken

unawares and swallowing some of the sugar plums destined for her

victims, that the rascally dogs may fear the remains of our venerable

sovereign are poisoned--and will run away from her carcass," said

Clorinde of Vaucernay.

"That pasquil should be read to the Queen. If she is in a good humor she

will have a good laugh over it," put in Diana of Sauveterre.

"Indeed, few things amuse her more than bold and witty verses,"

acquiesced Blanche. "Do you remember how, when she read the 'Marvelous

Discourses' from the satirical pen of the famous printer Robert

Estienne, the good dame laughed heartily and said: 'There is some truth

in that! But they do not know it all--how would it be if they were more

fully posted!'[52] Now, listen. After the Queen, Monsieur the Cardinal,

that is a matter of course. He is supposed to be dead--they wish he

were--that also is natural. Here is his epitaph written in advance:

"The Cardinal, who, in his hours of life

Kept heaven, sea and earth all seething o'er,

In hell now carries on his furious strife,

And 'mong the damned, as erst 'mong us makes war.

"Why is it that upon his tomb is showered

The holy water in such rare profusion?

It is that there the torch of war lies lowered,

And all fear lest it flare to new confusion."[53]

"Poor Monsieur Cardinal!" exclaimed Diana of Sauveterre. "What a

villainous calumny! He, such a poltroon as he, for a Guise--he is the

most craven of all cravens--to compare him with a bolt of war!"

"No, not a bolt, but a torch," Blanche corrected. "He rests satisfied

with holding the torch of war, like Madam Gondi, the governess of the

royal Princes and Princesses, held the torch of Venus to light the

amours of the late King Henry II, whose worthy go-between, or, to speak

more plainly, whose Cyprian, she was."

"As for me," said Clorinde of Vaucernay, "I highly commend the Queen for

having placed, as governess over her children, her own husband's

go-between. It is a sort of hereditary office which can not be entrusted

to hands too worthy, and should be perpetuated in titled families."

"Accordingly," said Blanche, "Gondi, faithful to the duties of her

Cyprian employment, took charge of carrying the first love letter from

Mademoiselle Margot[54] to young Henry of Guise, whom we are about to

meet in the army of Marshal Tavannes. Hence evil tongues are saying: 'In

these days, it is not the men who fall on their knees before the women,

but the women who fall on their knees before the men and entreat them

for amorous mercy.'"[55]

"Nothing wonderful in that!" replied Clorinde. "Is it not for a Queen to

take the first step towards her subjects? What are we? Queens. What are

the men? Our subjects. Besides that, Henry of Guise is so handsome, so

brave, so amorous! Although he is barely eighteen years old, all the

women are crazy over him--I first of all. My arms are open to him."

"Oh, Clorinde! If Biron were to hear you!" cried Diana of Sauveterre.

"He has heard me," answered Clorinde. "He knows that in pledging

constancy, exception is always implied for an encounter with Henry of

Guise. But let us hear the other pasquils, Blanche!"

"The next one," announced Blanche, "is piquant. It alludes to the new

custom that the Queen has borrowed from Spain. It alludes to the title

of _Majesty_ that she wishes to be addressed by, as well as her

children:

"The Kingdom of France, to perdition while lagging,

Has seized from the Spaniard his heathenish bragging:

It rigs up a mortal in godhead's travesty,

And when his estate with hypocrisy's smelling,

I plainly can see, and without any telling,

Our Majesty's booked--to be stript of majesty."[56]

"That last line is humorous," laughed Clorinde. "'Our Majesty's

booked--to be stript of majesty.'"

"For want of the thing we take the name--that is enough to impose upon

the fools," said Diana of Sauveterre.

Blanche pointed to their companion who was still seated by the window,

now with her forehead resting on her hands, and said: "Look at Anna

Bell. In what black melancholy is she plunged?"

"To the devil with melancholy!" answered Diana. "One has to fall in love

with some German Prince in order to look so pitiful!"

"Who may the Prince Charming be?" Blanche inquired. "We know nothing of

the secrets of that languishing maid, except a few words uttered by her

in her sleep--'Prince--Germany!--Germany!--My heart is all yours. Alas,

my love can not be shared.'"

"Can Anna Bell be German?" asked Clorinde.

"Ask our good Dame Catherine about that. She is no doubt acquainted with

the mystery of Anna Bell's birth, and may enlighten you on what you want

to know. As for me, I know nothing about it."

"The German Prince has turned her head and made her forget poor Solange

altogether," said Clorinde.

"The most famous preachers, among them Burning-Fire and Fra Herve the

Cordelier, failed to draw the Marquis of Solange back to the fold of the

Church. Anna Bell undertook his conversion, and, by grace from above--or

from below--by virtue of her blue eyes or of her charming hips, the

Huguenot became an ardent Catholic."

"But to whom does he render his devotions?" asked Clorinde, meaningly.

"To the Church, or to the chapel of our little friend?" The maids of

honor laughed uproariously and Clorinde continued: "But let us return to

our pasquils."

"This one," resumed Blanche of Verceil, "is odd on account of its

form--and the climax is droll. Judge for yourselves:

"The poor people endure everything;

The men-at-arms ravage everything;

The Holy Church pensions everything;

The favorites demand everything;

The Cardinal grants everything;

The Parliament registers everything;

The Chancellor seals everything;

The Queen-Mother runs everything;

And only the Devil laughs at everything;

Because the Devil will take everything."[57]

The loud hilarity of the maids of honor, whom the wind-up of the last

pasquil amused intensely, finally attracted the attention of Anna Bell.

Her face bore the impress of profound sadness; her eyes were moist.

Fearing that she was the object of her companions' jests, the maid

furtively wiped away her tears, stepped slowly towards the other young

women, and let herself down beside Blanche of Verceil.

"We are somewhat after the fashion of the devil--we laugh about

everything," said Clorinde to her. "You alone, Anna Bell, among us all,

are as sad as a wife who sees her husband return from a long voyage, or

beholds her gallant depart for the wars. What is the reason of your

despondency?"

Anna Bell forced a smile, and answered: "Forget me, as the wife forgets

her husband. To-day I feel in a sad humor."

"The remembrance, perhaps, of a bad dream?" suggested Blanche of

Verceil, ironically. "Or perhaps bad news from a handsome and absent

friend?"

"No, dear Blanche," replied Anna Bell, blushing, "I am affected only by

a vague sorrow--without cause or object. Besides, as you are aware, I am

not of a gay disposition."

"Oh, God!" broke in Diana of Sauveterre, excitedly. "By the way of

dreams, I must tell you I had a most frightful one last night. I saw our

escort attacked by the Huguenot bandits called the Avengers of Israel."

"Their chief is said to be a devilish one-eyed man, who attacks monks

and priests by choice," said Blanche, "and, when he takes them prisoner,

flays their skulls. He calls that raising them to the cardinalate,

coifing them with the red cap!"

"It is enough to make one shiver with terror. One hears nothing but

reports of such atrocities," exclaimed Clorinde.

"We need not fear that we shall fall into the hands of that reprobate,"

said Diana reassuringly. "We have attended a special mass for the

success of our journey."

"I place but slight reliance upon the mass, my dear Diana, but a very

strong one upon Count Neroweg of Plouernel, who commands our escort,"

replied Blanche. "The Huguenot bandits will not dare to approach our

armed squadrons and light cavalry. The saber is a better protection to

us than the priest's cowl."

"May God preserve us!" laughed Diana. "All the same, I would not regret

undergoing a scare, or even running a certain degree of risk of being

carried off, together with the accessory consequences--anything to see

the frightened face of the Cardinal, who is as lily-livered as a hare."

"To tell the truth, I do not understand these charges of cowardice that

you fling at the Cardinal, after so many proofs of valor given by him,"

said Blanche.

Diana of Sauveterre burst out laughing again. "You must be joking," she

said, "when you speak of the 'bravery' of the Cardinal, and of the

'proofs of valor' given by him."

"No, indeed, my dear Diana," replied Blanche. "I am talking seriously.

First of all, did he not carry bravery to the point of charging old

Diana of Poitiers, as he would have done a citadel? Did he not

accomplish another exploit in passing from the arms of Diana into those

of our good Queen Catherine, though she be loaded with years and

corpulence? Besides, we know," she added with a sinister smile, "that to

play the gallant with Catherine is at times to court death. These are

the reasons why I look upon the Cardinal as a Caesar."

"You would be talking to the point, my dear, if, instead of braving the

one-eyed man, who has such a reputation for ferocity, the Cardinal were

now to turn to the assault of some one-eyed woman," said Clorinde of

Vaucernay.

"If heaven is just," said Diana, "it will yet place the Huguenot bandit

face to face with the Cordelier Herve. Then would we see terrible

things. The monk commands a company of Catholics, all desperate men. For

arms he has a chaplet, the beads of which are arquebus balls, and a

heavy iron crucifix which he uses for a mace. All heretics who fall into

the hands of the troop of Fra Herve are put to death with all manner of

refined tortures, whether they be men or women, old men or children. But

do let us return to our pasquils."

"The best are still to come. They are the cleverest and drollest, but

they are in prose;" and Blanche continued reading:

"NEW WORKS BELONGING TO THE COURT LIBRARY.

"The _Pot-pourri of the Affairs of France_, translated from the

Italian into French by the Queen of France.

"The _General Goslings' Record_, by the Cardinal of Bourbon. A

collection of racy stories.

"The _History of Ganymede_, by the Duke of Anjou, the Queen's

favorite son."

"The dear Prince surely did not write that book without a collaborator,"

cried Diana of Sauveterre, laughing. "I wager the lovely Odet, the son

of Count Neroweg of Plouernel, his aide-de-camp, must have helped the

Duke of Anjou in his work. The two youngsters have become inseparable,

day--and night!"

"_O, Italiam! Italiam!_ O, Italy, the rival of Gomorrah and of Lesbos!"

exclaimed Clorinde, laughing boisterously.

"You speak Latin, my dear?" asked Diana, amused.

"Simply out of shame," replied Clorinde, "in order not to frighten the

modesty of the maids of honor, my pretty chickens."

"I have a horror of the little hermaphrodites," agreed Blanche. "They

are decked out like women--gaudy ruffles, jewelry in their ears, fans in

their hands! May Venus protect us from the reign of those favorites! May

the fires of hell consume the popinjays! But to proceed with the

pasquil. Attention, my dears:

"_Singular Treatise on Incest_, by Monsignor the Archbishop of

Lyons, recently published and dedicated to Mademoiselle Grisolles,

his sister. A pretty couple!

"Monsignor Archbishop studies reserved cases--in the confessional, in

order to put them into practice.

"_Sermons_, by the reverend Father Burning-Fire, faithfully

compiled by the street-porters of Paris.

"_The Perfect Pig_, by Monsieur Villequier, revised, corrected and

considerably enlarged by Madam Villequier. Boar and sow!"

The maids of honor roared out aloud as they heard the burlesque title,

and they repeated in chorus--"The Perfect Pig!"[58]

"Now comes the last and best," proceeded Blanche. "We are again the

theme, together with our good Dame Catherine. Ours the honors, as ever.

Meditate upon these dainties:

"MANIFESTO OF THE COURT LADIES.

"_Be it known to all by these presents that the Court Ladies have

no less repentance than sins, as appears from the following

lamentations_.

"CATHERINE DE MEDICI, THE KING'S MOTHER.

"My God, my heart, feeling the approach of death, apprehends Thy

wrath and my eternal damnation when I consider how many sins I have

committed, as well with my body as through the violent death of

others, even of near relatives--all in order to reign. How I have

raised my children in vice, blasphemy and perfidy, and my daughters

in unchaste licence, to the point of tolerating and even

authorizing a brothel at my Court. France made me what I am. I

unmake her all I can. With the good King David I say--_Tibi soli

peccavi_."[59]

"That is carrying fiction to great lengths," laughed Diana of

Sauveterre. "I do not believe our good Dame Catherine is capable of

repenting any of the things laid to her door by the malignant

pasquil--neither her debaucheries nor any of her other evil

deeds--unchastities or assassinations."

"The word 'brothel' is rather impertinent when applied to us!" Clorinde

exclaimed. "They should have said, like our dear Rabelais, 'an Abbey of

Thalamia,' or 'a Monastery of Cyprus, of which the Queen is the Mother

Abbess.' That would have been elegant--without doing violence to the

truth. A 'brothel'--fie! fie! Nasty word! We are the priestesses of

Venus--only that!"

"I was not aware, dearest, that you had become a model of prudishness!"

returned Blanche of Verceil with exquisite mockery. "When you ply a

trade you must be willing to accept its name, and be indifferent to the

word with which it is designated;" and she proceeded to read:

"MANIFESTO OF THE MAIDS OF HONOR.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! My God! What is to become of us, Lord! Oh, what will

be of us, if Thou dost not extend to us Thy vast, very vast mercy!

We cry out to Thee in a loud voice that it may please Thee to

forgive us the many carnal sins we have committed with Kings,

Cardinals, Princes, knights, abbots, preachers, poets, musicians

and all manner of other folks of all conditions, trades and

quality, down to muleteers, pages and lackeys, and even further

down--people corroded with disease and soaked in preservatives!

Therefore do we say with the good Madam Villequier: 'Oh, Lord,

mercy! Grant us mercy! And if we can not find a husband, let us

join the Order of the Magdalens!'

"Done at Chercheau, voyage to Nerac.

"_Signed_, CUCUFIN.

"(With the permission of Monsignor the Archbishop of Lyons.)"[60]

Such was the cynicism and moral turpitude of the wretched girls,

corrupted and gangrened to the core as they were since early childhood

by the perversions of an infamous court and the example as well as the

advice of Catherine De Medici, that this scorching satire, more than any

of the other pasquils, provoked the boundless hilarity of the "Flying

Squadron." All sense of decorum was blotted out. Anna Bell alone blushed

and dropped her eyes.

The gay guffaws of the beautiful sinners were interrupted by the solemn

entrance of their governess.

"Silence!" she commanded. "Silence, young ladies! Her Majesty is close

by, in conference with Monseigneur the Cardinal."

"Oh, dear Countess!" answered Blanche of Verceil, endeavoring to smother

the outbursts of her laughter. "If you only knew what a wicked pasquil

we have just read! According to the author it would seem that we emerge

from our dormitory like the goddess Truth out of her fountain, or with

as scant clothing on our limbs as Madam Eve in her paradise."

"Less noise, you crazy lasses! Less noise!" ordered the governess; and

addressing Anna Bell: "Come, dearest, the Queen wishes to have a talk

with you after her conference with his Excellency the Cardinal. You are

to wait for her summons in a cabinet, which is separated from the

Queen's apartment by the little corridor. When you hear her bell ring

three times, the usual summons, you are to go in."

Anna Bell went out with the governess, leaving her lightheaded and

lighthearted companions in the room laughing and exchanging witticisms

upon the pasquils.

CHAPTER II.

ANNA BELL.

Catherine De Medici and Cardinal Charles of Lorraine were in the midst

of a conversation that started immediately after supper. The prelate,

complaisant, sly and attentive to the slightest word of the Italian

woman, showed himself alternately reserved and familiar, according to

the turn that the conversation took. The Queen, on the other hand,

intent, not so much upon what the retainer of the Guises said, as upon

fathoming what he suppressed, at once hated and feared him, and sought

to surprise upon his face the hidden secrets of his thoughts. Both the

one and the other stood on their guard, the two accomplices in intrigue

and crime vying with each other in dissimulation and perfidy, the

Italian woman crafty, the prelate cautious.

"Monsignor Cardinal," remarked Catherine De Medici with a touch of irony

in her tone, "you remind me at this moment--you must excuse the

comparison, I am a huntress you know--"

"Your Majesty unites all the deities--Juno on her throne, Diana in the

woods, Venus in her temple of Cytheria--"

"Mercy, Monsignor Cardinal, let us drop those mythological queens. They

are old, they have lived their time--Diana, with the rest of them; they

now inhabit the empyrean."

The pointed allusion to his amours with old Diana of Poitiers, Duchess

of Valentinois, stung the haughty prelate to the quick. He meant to give

tit for tat, and, in his turn hinting at his present amours with the

Queen herself, he replied:

"I perceive, madam, that the death of the Duchess of Valentinois has not

yet disarmed your jealousy. And yet, I feel hope re-rising in my

heart--"

Catherine De Medici had yielded herself to the prelate out of political

calculation, the same as he himself had laid siege to her out of

political ambition. The Italian woman affected not to have understood

the Cardinal's hint at their intimate relations, and darting upon him

her viper's glance, proceeded:

"As I was saying, monsignor, when I begged you to excuse a comparison

which I borrow from falconry, your oratorical circumlocutions remind me

of a falcon's evolutions when he rises in the air to swoop down upon his

prey. I have been searching through the mists of your discourse for the

prey you are in pursuit of, and am unable to discover it. You induced me

to join my son of Anjou in the army with the view of reviving the

spirits of the Catholic chiefs. Meseems my faithful subjects should be

sufficiently encouraged by the deaths of the Duke of Deux-Ponts, of

Monsieur Conde, and of Dandelot, the brother of Coligny,--three of the

most prominent chiefs of the Huguenot party, and all three carried off

within a month. These are all fortunate events."[61]

"We see God's hand in that, madam," observed the Cardinal. "These three

sudden deaths are providential. They are utterances from God."

"'Providential,' as you say Monsignor Cardinal," pursued the Queen.

"Nevertheless, the Huguenots are pushing the campaign with great vigor,

while the Catholic chiefs are flagging. You thought my presence at the

camp of Roche-la-Belle would exert a favorable influence upon the fate

of the campaign. Accordingly, I am on the way to join our army. Now,

however, you indicate to me that this journey might lead to unexpected

discoveries. You even dropped the word 'treason.' Once more I must say

to you, Monsignor Cardinal, I see in all this the evolutions of the

falcon, but not yet the prey that it threatens. In short, if there is

treason, tell me where it lies. If there is a traitor, name him. Speak

out plainly."

"Very well, madam. There is a plot concocted by Marshal Tavannes. The

revelation seems to cause your Majesty to start. I beg your leave to go

into the details of the affair. You will then be instructed upon its

purpose."

"Monsignor Cardinal, no act of treason can surprise me. All I care to

understand is the cause that brings the treason about. Please continue

your revelations."

"I have it from good authority that Marshal Tavannes is negotiating with

Monsieur Coligny. In present circumstances, negotiations smack of

treason."

"And what do you presume, Monsignor Cardinal, is the purpose of the

negotiations between Tavannes and Coligny?"

"To induce your Majesty's son, the Duke of Anjou, to embrace the

Reformation and join the Huguenots."

"Is my son of Anjou supposed to be implicated in the plot? That, indeed,

would mightily surprise me."

"Yes, madam. The Emperor of Germany and Monsieur Coligny have promised

to the Duke of Anjou, in case he consents to go over to the reformers,

the sovereignty of the Low Countries, of Saintonge and of Poitou. They

hope to drive the young Prince into open revolt against his reigning

brother, his Majesty Charles IX."

"Monsignor Cardinal, your insinuations, affecting as they do a son of

the royal house of France, are of so grave a nature that I am bound to

presume you have, ready at hand, the proofs of the plot which you are

revealing to me. I demand that you produce the proofs instantly."

"I am at the orders of my Queen. I now hasten to spread before your

Majesty's eyes the correspondence relating to the plot. Here is a letter

from his Majesty Philip II of Spain, who was the first to get wind of

the scheme, through one of his agents in the Low Countries.

Furthermore, here are the written propositions from his Catholic

Majesty and the Holy Father for common action with your Majesty against

the Huguenot rebellion and heresy."

"What are the propositions of his Catholic Majesty and venerated

Pontiff?"

"King Philip II and our Holy Father Pius V offer to your Majesty,

besides the five thousand Walloon and Italian soldiers that now

reinforce our army, a new corps of six thousand men--under the condition

that your Majesty remove Marshal Tavannes and place the supreme command

of the troops in the hands of the Duke of Alva."

"Accordingly," replied Catherine De Medici, fixing her eyes upon the

Cardinal, "our two allies, His Holiness and King Philip II demand that

the Duke of Alva, a Spanish general, be the commandant in chief of the

French forces?"

"That is their condition, madam. But it is also agreed that the Duke of

Alva is to exercise a nominal command only, and that the military

operations shall be conducted by my brother of Aumale and my nephew

Henry of Guise, who are to be his immediate subalterns."

Catherine De Medici remained impassive, betraying neither astonishment

nor anger at the proposition to deliver the command of the French royal

troops to the Duke of Alva, the pestiferous menial of Philip II, and to

strengthen the Duke's hand with the support of the brother and the

nephew of the prelate. The Queen seemed to reflect. After a short pause

she said to the Cardinal:

"The proposition is not inacceptable. It may serve as the basis for some

combination that we may offer later."

Despite his self-control, the Cardinal's face betrayed his secret joy.

The Queen seemed not to notice it, and proceeded:

"The first thing to do would then be to withdraw my son of Anjou from

the command of the army."

"The principal thing to do, madam, would be to remonstrate with the

young Prince, and to separate him from his present evil advisers."

"That, indeed, would be the wisest course to pursue, if that plot

exists, as I very much fear it can not be doubted in sight of the proofs

you have presented to me. And yet, I must be frank to confess, I feel

some repugnance against placing the Duke of Alva at the head of our

army. I would be afraid, above all, of displeasing the other military

chiefs and high dignitaries of our court. The measure will seem an

outrage to them."

"I have the honor of reminding your Majesty that, in that case, my

brother and my nephew will be joined to the Duke of Alva."

"You may feel certain, Monsignor Cardinal, that, without the express

condition of Messieurs of Aumale and Guise being joined to the Spanish

generalissimo, I would not for a moment have lent an ear to the scheme."

Thrown off the scent by the Queen, the prelate answered

enthusiastically:

"Oh, madam, I swear to God the throne has not a more faithful supporter

than the house of Guise."

"The fraud! The scamp!" said the Italian woman to herself. "I have

probed his thoughts! I scent his treason! But I am compelled to conceal

my feelings and to humor his family, however heartily I abhor it."

One of the Queen's pages, posted outside the door of the apartment and

authorized at certain emergencies of the service to enter the Queen's

cabinet without being called, parted the portieres, and bowing

respectfully, said:

"Madam, the Count of La Riviere, captain of the guards of the Duke of

Anjou, has just arrived from camp, and requests to be introduced to your

Majesty immediately."

"Bring him in," answered Catherine De Medici. And as the page was about

to withdraw, she added: "Should Monsieur Gondi arrive this evening, or

even later in the night, let me be notified without delay."

The page bowed a second time, and withdrew. The Queen's last words

seemed to cause the Cardinal some uneasiness. He asked with surprise:

"Does madam expect Monsieur Gondi?"

"Gondi must have received a letter from me at Poitiers, in which I

ordered him to meet me at the camp of my son, instead of pursuing his

route to Paris."

The Guisard had not quite recovered from his surprise when the Count of

La Riviere, captain of the guards of the Duke of Anjou, was ushered in

by the page. Catherine De Medici said to the prelate with a sweet smile:

"We shall see each other again to-night, Monsignor Cardinal. I shall

need the advice of my friends in these sad complications. I shall want

yours."

Charles of Lorraine understood that he was expected to withdraw; he

bowed respectfully to the Queen and left the apartment, a prey to

racking apprehensions.

The captain of the guards of the Duke of Anjou stepped forward, and

presenting a letter to Catherine De Medici, said:

"Madam, my master ordered me to place this letter in your Majesty's own

hands."

"Is my son's health good?" inquired the Queen, taking the missive. "What

is the news in the army?"

"My master is in admirable health, madam. Yesterday there was a skirmish

of vanguards between us and the Huguenots. The affair was of little

importance--only a few men killed on either side."

Catherine broke the seal on the letter. As her eyes ran over its

contents, her face, which at first was rigid with apprehension,

gradually relaxed, and reflected gladness and profound satisfaction.

"The Guisard," she muttered to herself, "dared accuse my son of

negotiating with Admiral Coligny. The infamous calumniator!" And turning

to her son's ambassador: "My son informs me of your plan, monsieur. You

wish to serve God, the King and France. Your arm and your heart are at

our disposal?"

"Madam, I am anxious to emulate Monsieur Montesquiou--and to rid the

King of one of his most dangerous enemies."

"You will surpass Monsieur Montesquiou if you succeed! One Coligny is

worth ten Condes. But are you sure of the man whom my son mentions?"

"The man swore by his soul that he would not falter. He received six

thousand livres on account of the fifty thousand promised to him. The

rest is not to be paid until the thing is done. That is our guarantee."

"Provided he is not assailed with some silly qualms of conscience. But

how did you become acquainted with the fellow?"

"Yesterday, as I just had the honor of advising your Majesty, there was

a skirmish at our outposts. Admiral Coligny charged in person, and

Dominic, that is the name of the man in question, led one of his

master's relay horses by the reins--"

"He is, then, in the service of Monsieur Coligny?"

"Yes, madam; since infancy he has been attached to the Admiral's house.

During the engagement he was separated from him. Two of our armed men

were on the point of despatching Dominic, as we despatch all Huguenots,

when, seeing me, he cried out 'Quarter!' 'Who are you?' I asked him. 'I

am a servant of Monsieur the Admiral,' he answered. It suddenly flashed

through my mind what profit we could draw from the man. Relying upon

attaching him to me by the bonds of gratitude, I granted him his life.

Later the proposition was made to him of causing the Admiral to drink a

potion that we would furnish him with, and of a rich reward for

himself."

"If your prisoner agreed readily to all," said the Queen, raising her

head, "there is reason to suspect him."

"On the contrary, madam, he hesitated long. It was the magnitude of the

promised sum that silenced his scruples. My master placed a certain

powder in his hands and instucted him how to use it. The thing may be

considered done."

"How is our man to explain his return to the heretic camp?"

"Very easily, madam. He will say that he was made a prisoner by us and

escaped. The Admiral will not suspect a servant who was raised in his

house."

"I hardly dare hope for success! In one month we have been rid of three

enemies--the Duke of Deux-Ponts, Conde and Dandelot. Now it will be

Coligny's turn! When is the man to leave our camp and rejoin the

Huguenots?"

"This very night."

"Accordingly--to-morrow--"

"If it shall please God, madam, our holy Church and the kingdom will

have triumphed over a redoubtable enemy."

"How I wish it were to-morrow!" exclaimed Catherine De Medici in a

hollow voice, as the page, reappearing at the portiere, announced:

"Madam, Monsieur Gondi and another rider are alighting from their

horses. Obedient to your Majesty's orders I have hastened to give you

the news, and await your orders."

"Summon Gondi to me," said the Italian woman; and addressing the Count

of La Riviere: "Go and take rest, monsieur; you may depart early in the

morning; you shall have a letter from me for my son. Whether the scheme

succeed or not, we shall reward your zeal for the triumph of the

Catholic faith and the service of the King--two sacred interests."