What will the King do?
The morning of August 23 broke bright and clear, but I rose from my bed
with a troubled and unquiet feeling. I had passed a restless night,
dreaming that all Paris was ablaze, and that the streets of the city
were running with blood, and I could not get rid of the thought that
some terrible calamity was about to happen.
Directly it was light the house began to fill with Huguenot gentlemen,
asking eagerly how it fared with their beloved chief. He was still
extremely weak, but Paré spoke hopefully, declaring there was no cause
for alarm, and that his illustrious patient required only rest and
quietness.
"In a few days he will be able to leave Paris," said the famous surgeon,
"and his recovery is certain. I have not the slightest anxiety about
him."
This was cheering news, but as the day wore on strange and alarming
rumours began to reach us from the city. Our spies reported that the
streets were thronged with excited people, cheering for Guise and
threatening the Huguenots with death.
"There is some one behind all this," said Felix, "some one working in
secret to stir up the passions of the citizens. Unless the king
interferes there will be a terrible outbreak shortly."
About noon--we had not long risen from dinner--a man arrived bearing
news that, to our heated imaginations, was startling indeed. A great
meeting was taking place at the _Hôtel de Guise_, where our bitterest
enemies had assembled. The spy brought a list of the names, and as he
recounted them one by one our feeling of uneasiness deepened.
"'Tis a plot against us," said one, "with Guise at the head, and Anjou
secretly favouring it."
"Are we to wait to be killed like sheep?" demanded Felix. "Have we not
swords of our own? Shall we keep them in their scabbards? Out upon us
for timid hares! We deserve to die, if we have not the courage to strike
a blow in our own defence!"
"What can we do?" asked Carnaton, who had just come from the sick-room.
"The Admiral is helpless, and Henry of Navarre is being closely watched.
We have no leaders, and it would be folly for us to break the peace."
"Let us wait," laughed Felix mockingly, "till this dog of a Guise has
murdered us all! Then, perhaps, it will be time to strike."
"The king has pledged his word to protect us," said La Bonne; "let us
ask him to send a guard for our chief."
"A guard for Coligny!" cried Felix in a bitter tone; "a guard for
Coligny, and a thousand Huguenot gentlemen in Paris! Let us summon our
comrades and guard our chief with our own lives!"
We spoke angrily, and many sharp words passed between us, the more fiery
of the speakers upholding Felix, the cooler and wiser ones supporting La
Bonne, and finally it was agreed to despatch a messenger to the king.
"When the troops arrive," said Felix, "we will give them our weapons to
take care of for us!"
I did not hold altogether with my hot-headed comrade, but when in the
course of an hour or two the king's soldiers marched into the street I
began to think we had committed a serious blunder. There were fifty of
them, and at their head marched Cosseins, the Admiral's determined
enemy.
"Faith!" exclaimed Felix, as the soldiers posted themselves in two
houses close at hand, "I have heard that Charles loves a practical joke,
but this must be one of the grimmest that even he has played!"
"He could have bettered it," said Yolet, our beloved chief's trusty
esquire, "only by sending Guise himself!"
Presently a man, threading his way through the crowd in front of the
courtyard, ran up to Carnaton, and whispered something in his ear.
"More bad news?" said I, noticing his look of surprise.
"I fear it is not good at any rate," he replied slowly. "Charles has
sent for Guise to the Louvre."
"Guise at the Louvre!" cried Felix, "and we stay here with our arms
folded! Now this is downright madness!"
"It may be," suggested La Bonne mildly, "that the king wishes to give
him orders not to break the peace."
"It seems to me," said Felix, "that we might employ our time better than
in inventing excuses for our enemies. This visit to the Louvre means
that Charles has gone over to the side of Anjou and Guise."
"It may be so," agreed Carnaton, "but we have no proof."
"Proof!" cried my comrade with a mocking laugh, "it will be sufficient
proof when one of Anjou's troopers runs a sword through your heart!"
Carnaton was about to reply when he was summoned to attend the Admiral,
and we settled down to wait doggedly for the next piece of information.
It was not long in coming. A messenger despatched by La Bonne returned a
few minutes before three o'clock. His face was pale, and he had a
frightened look which was far from reassuring.
"Well?" exclaimed La Bonne, "what news?" "Ill news, monsieur," replied
the man. "Guise has left the Louvre and is in the city. The streets are
crowded and the citizens are wild with excitement. He is stirring them
up against us, and they are cheering him, and crying that the Huguenots
ought not to live."
We gazed at each other blankly; this certainly did not appear as if
Charles had given him any peaceful commands. Nor was our alarm lessened
when an hour later another spy reported that Anjou and Angoulême were
following Guise's example, and doing their best to rouse the passions of
the people.
"They are telling the citizens," our messenger said, "that a plot to
take the king's life, and to slay Monseigneur has been discovered, and
the citizens are crying for vengeance on the Huguenots."
"Guise and Anjou will see to it that they get their vengeance," I
remarked, for it was no longer possible to doubt that our enemies had
determined on our destruction. We had put our trust in Charles; if he
deserted us it was all over.
"At least," said La Bonne, "if we have to die, we will die like men."
"With our swords in our hands, and not in their scabbards!" exclaimed
Felix, and a fierce growl of approval greeted his words.
As the day wore to a close it became more and more plain that, as my
comrade had declared, we were like hunted animals caught in a trap. We
might sell our lives dearly, but we could not hope to fight successfully
against the royal troops and a city in arms.
Only one chance of escape presented itself. By banding together and
making a determined rush we might force a passage through the streets,
and seek safety in flight; but to do this we must abandon our
illustrious chief, whose weakness prevented him from being moved. I hope
it is needless to add that every Huguenot gentleman in Paris would have
lost his life fifty times over rather than have agreed to such a base
proceeding.
About seven o'clock in the evening many of Navarre's gentlemen left the
house, and some of us accompanied them to the end of the street. La
Bonne having received favourable news from the palace, our alarm, in
consequence, had begun to subside, though we still remained a trifle
anxious.
We were returning in a body to the _hôtel_, Felix and I being the last
of the company, when a man slipped a paper into my hand and instantly
disappeared.
"Another warning from your strange friend, I suppose," said Felix.
I opened the paper and read hurriedly: "Bring Monsieur Bellièvre with
you shortly after midnight, and meet me at the little gate of the Louvre
where I saw you before. Wrap yourselves up closely, and attract as
little attention as possible. Do not fail to come, as I have important
news.--D'ANGELY."
"Are you sure this is not a second invitation from the lawyer?" my
comrade asked.
"It appears to be L'Estang's handwriting."
"So did the other note."
"True, but Etienne Cordel would not bait a trap for you. He bears you no
grudge, and besides you would only be in his way!"
"Yes," said my comrade, "there is something in that. Will you go?"
"Why not? We may learn something that will be useful to our chief.
L'Estang wishes me well, and in order to save my life he may be tempted
to disclose what he knows of Guise's conspiracy; for I feel sure there
is one."
"If it will serve the Admiral," said Felix hesitatingly.
"It may. I cannot tell, but it is worth running a little risk to
discover."
"He has chosen an odd time and an odd place."
"He cannot meet us in broad day, and a thousand causes may prevent him
from coming to this quarter. You must remember he is Anjou's servant,
and he will not wish to draw suspicion upon himself."
"Very well," said my comrade, "we will go. Carnaton and La Bonne are on
duty to-night."
As the evening closed in the streets began to empty; our comrades went
off to their lodgings, and by nine o'clock there were few of us left in
the _hôtel_. Teligny and De Guerchy were in the sick-room, and with them
Paré, the surgeon, and the Admiral's chaplain, Pastor Merlin; Carnaton
and La Bonne dozed in the ante-chamber, while Yolet was posting the five
Switzers who formed part of Navarre's bodyguard.
"It seems as if we shall have a quiet night, Yolet," I remarked.
"The danger has blown over," he answered. "Charles was frightened into
believing we intended to murder him, but the King of Navarre has opened
his eyes. The real plotters will have an unwelcome surprise in a day or
two. I heard De Guerchy telling the Admiral."
"Oh," said I, quite relieved by this information, "if the king keeps
firm, we have nothing to fear."
"Trusting to the king," remarked my comrade, who always spoke of
Charles as a puppet in the hands of his mother and brother, "is trusting
to a broken reed. For my part I hope the instant our chief is strong
enough to travel he will hasten to Rochelle. I have more faith in a keen
blade than in a king's promise," and from Yolet's face one would have
judged he was of the same opinion.
About a quarter before midnight he came with us to open the front gate,
and to fasten it after our departure. We had told him something of our
errand, and he advised us to go to work very warily, saying, "Do not
forget that a dog isn't dead because he has ceased barking!"
We slipped into the street and he fastened the gate quietly. It was
fairly dark now, and being closely muffled in our mantles there was
little chance of our being recognized. Cossein's soldiers were
apparently asleep; no lights gleamed anywhere; the Rue des Fossés de St.
Germain was empty.
On approaching nearer the Louvre, however, we observed a body of
citizens, armed, and marching with some sort of military discipline. We
had barely time to conceal ourselves in a doorway before they came by,
so close to us that we could almost count their numbers.
"What does that mean?" asked my comrade when at last we ventured out
again. "Where are those fellows going? Edmond, I don't like the look of
that; it is suspicious."
"On the contrary, it has helped to remove my suspicion," I answered.
"They are under the provost's orders, and he would not dare to muster
them except by the king's instructions."
"From which you think----?"
"That Charles is taking measures in our favour on his own account."
"I hope you will prove a true prophet, though I do not feel very
sanguine."
The delay caused us to be a trifle late in keeping our appointment, and
when we reached the place of meeting no one was to be seen. For half an
hour we walked softly to and fro, keeping in the shadow of the wall,
watching keenly, and listening for the sound of a footstep.
It was strange that L'Estang should not be there, and I had a vague,
uneasy feeling that it was impossible to banish. Felix, too, became
fidgety, and at last said in a whisper, "Edmond, let us return; there is
something wrong, I am sure of it!"
"Nonsense," I replied, more to keep up my own spirits than for any other
reason; "a hundred things may have kept the man from coming. Besides,
what is there to fear?"
"I don't know," he admitted, "but I am certain there is mischief afoot.
It may be the darkness and the silence. Listen!" and he caught me by the
arm, "do you hear that? Horses, Edmond, and horsemen! Where are they?"
Listening intently I recognized the sounds. Soldiers were gathering
inside the grounds. Where could they be going at this time? Once more I
slipped back to the little gate, calling softly "D'Angely!" but there
was no response. The adventurer for once had failed me. I returned to
my comrade, who was now trembling with excitement.
"There is some terrible business on hand!" said he. "What can it mean?"
"Let us wait here; we may discover the secret."
"Yes," he answered bitterly, "when it is too late! We have all been
blind fools, Edmond, from Navarre downwards. Ah, they are coming
out--horse and foot."
It was too dark for us to distinguish them closely, but we could make
out a group of officers riding a little ahead, a number of troopers, and
two or three score foot-soldiers. They proceeded at a walking pace,
making scarcely any sound.
"Let us follow," whispered Felix, and he was in such a restless state
that, although unwilling to leave without having met L'Estang, I offered
no objection.
Silently, and keeping well in the shadow of the houses, we stole after
them, creeping like unquiet spirits through the streets of the sleeping
city. At first we imagined they were going to the _Hôtel de Guise_, and
it was only on entering the Rue des Fossés de St. Germain that the
dreadful truth flashed across our minds.
"They are going to murder the Admiral!" whispered my comrade with a
groan. "Edmond, can we do nothing? Is there no way of warning La Bonne?"
"I fear not, we cannot get past the troops."
Even had that been possible it would have proved of but little service.
The leaders quickened their pace; the whole body swept round the corner;
they were in front of the building; only by the roof could any one
escape; and the Admiral, alas! could not walk even across his chamber.
The blood ran cold in my veins; it seemed as if my heart had ceased to
beat. Death was calling for my beloved chief, and I was powerless to
keep the grisly visitor at bay. I felt Felix fumbling at his sword, and,
gripping him firmly by the wrist, whispered, "Keep still! What can you
do?"
"Die with him!" he answered fiercely.
"Nonsense!" I said coldly, for I had no wish to see him butchered
uselessly before my eyes, "you cannot do even that! You will be slain
before you have moved three yards. And I will not let you throw your
life away. Live, my friend, live to avenge him!"
"Ah," he whispered, "that is well said, Edmond. Take your hand off me. I
am calm enough now. Ah, they are knocking at the gate. Listen! 'In the
king's name!' That is Guise's voice. Will they open, think you, Edmond?"
I had dragged him into a doorway, so that the troopers might not see us,
but by this time there was little danger of detection; the noise had
aroused the neighbourhood, and many citizens were already in the street.
"Yes," I said, "they will think it is a messenger from Charles. See!"
for the dawn was breaking now, "there is Guise!"
"And Angoulême! And Cosseins! He has come to defend the Admiral! Let us
go nearer, Edmond; they will not bother about us!"
Leaving the shelter of the doorway we mingled with the crowd, pressing
close upon the heels of the troops. For several minutes we waited in
breathless suspense; then the gate was opened; there was a wild rush; a
cry of warning, stifled suddenly, rang out, and the troopers surged into
the courtyard.
"That was La Bonne's voice," I said with a shudder, "he has learned the
value of a king's promise."
Drawing our mantles up to our faces, we ran with the rest to the
courtyard. Already the house was filled with soldiers, and several
shrieks of agony told us that they were killing even the poor servants.
We heard sterner shouts also, and hoped in our hearts that Carnaton,
Yolet, and the few Switzers were making Guise's butchers pay dearly for
their cruel treachery.
Guise and Angoulême had not entered the house; they were standing in the
courtyard, beneath the window of the Admiral's room, awaiting the
completion of the brutal work. We heard the crashing of timber, the
cries of the Switzers, and then the tramp of feet up the stairway.
Suddenly the sound ceased, and Felix, turning to me, whispered, "They
have broken into his room!"
An awful silence fell upon us in the courtyard as we stood there waiting
for the end of the ghastly tragedy.