enter into his views in antagonism to the Guises?"
"I did not see him."
"Take care. One of your accomplices, la Renaudie, is arrested. Strong as he
is, he could not resist the torture that awaits you, and at last confessed
that he, as well as the Prince, had had speech with you. If you wish to
escape the anguish of torture, I beg you to tell the simple truth. Then
perhaps you may win your pardon."
Christophe replied that he could not tell anything of which he had no
knowledge, nor betray accomplices, when he had none. On hearing this, the
provost nodded to the executioner, and went back into the adjoining room.
On seeing this, Christophe knit his brows, wrinkling his forehead with a
nervous spasm, and preparing to endure. He clenched his fists with such a
rigid clutch that the nails ran into the flesh without his feeling it. The
three men took him up, carried him to the camp bed, and laid him there, his
legs hanging down. While the executioner tied him fast with stout ropes,
his two men each fitted a leg into a boot; the cords were tightened by
means of a wrench without giving the victim any great pain. When each leg
was thus held in a vise, the executioner took up his mallet and his wedges,
and looked alternately at the sufferer and the clerk.
"Do you persist in your denial?" said the clerk.
"I have told the truth," replied Christophe.
"Then go on," said the clerk, shutting his eyes.
The cords were tightened to the utmost, and this moment, perhaps, was the
most agonizing of all the torture; the flesh was so suddenly compressed
that the blood was violently thrown back into the trunk. The poor boy could
not help screaming terribly; he seemed about to faint. The doctor was
called back. He felt Christophe's pulse, and desired the executioner to
wait for a quarter of an hour before driving in the wedges, to give time
for the blood to recover its circulation and sensation to return.
The clerk charitably told Christophe that if he could not better endure
even the beginnings of the suffering he could not escape, he would do
better to reveal all he knew; but Christophe's only reply was:
"The King's tailor! the King's tailor!"
"What do you mean by saying that?" asked the clerk.
"Foreseeing the torments I shall go through," said Christophe, slowly, to
gain time and to rest, "I am summoning all my strength, and trying to
reinforce it by remembering the martyrdom endured for the sacred cause of
the Reformation by the late King's tailor, who was tortured in the presence
of the King and of Madame de Valentinois; I will try to be worthy of him!"
While the physician was advising the hapless man not to drive his torturers
to extremities, the Cardinal and the Duke, impatient to know the results of
this examination, came in and desired Christophe to reveal the truth at
once. The furrier's son repeated the only confession he would allow himself
to make, implicating nobody but Chaudieu.
The Princes nodded. On this, the executioner and his foreman seized their
mallets, each took a wedge and drove it home between the boots, one
standing on the right, and the other on the left. The executioner stood at
the knees, the assistant at the ankles, opposite. The eyes of the witnesses
of this hideous act were fixed on Christophe's, who, excited no doubt by
the presence of these grand personages, flashed such a look at them that
his eyes sparkled like flame.
At the two next wedges a horrible groan escaped him. Then when he saw the
men take up the wedges for the severer torture, he remained silent; but his
gaze assumed such dreadful fixity, and flashed at the two Princes such a
piercing magnetic fluid, that the Duke and the Cardinal were both obliged
to look down. Philippe le Bel had experienced the same defeat when he
presided at the torture by hammer, inflicted in his presence on the
Templars. This consisted in hitting the victim on the chest with one arm of
the balanced hammer used to coin money, which was covered with a leather
pad. There was one knight whose eyes were so fixed on the King that he was
fascinated, and could not take his gaze off the sufferer. At the third blow
the King rose and went away, after hearing himself called upon to appear
before the judgment of God within a year--as he did.
At the fifth wedge, the first of the greater torture, Christophe said to
the Cardinal:
"Cut my misery short, monseigneur; it is useless."
The Cardinal and the Duke withdrew, and Christophe could hear from the next
room these words, spoken by Queen Catherine:
"Go on, go on; after all, he is only a heretic!"
She thought it prudent to appear more severe to her accomplice than his
executioners were.
The sixth and seventh wedges were driven in, and Christophe complained no
more, his face shone with a strange radiance, due, no doubt, to the immense
strength he derived from fanatical excitement. In what else but in feeling
can we hope to find the fulcrum enabling a man to endure such anguish? At
last, when the executioner was about to insert the eighth wedge, Christophe
smiled. This dreadful torment had lasted one hour.
The clerk went to fetch the leech, to know whether the eighth wedge could
be driven in without endangering the sufferer's life. The Duke meanwhile
came in again to see Christophe.
"By our Lady! you are a fine fellow," said he, leaning down to speak in his
ear. "I like a brave man. Enter my service, you shall be happy and rich, my
favors will heal your bruised limbs; I will ask you to do nothing cowardly,
like rejoining your own party to betray their plans; there are always
plenty of traitors, and the proof is to be found in the prisons of Blois.
Only tell me on what terms are the Queen-mother and the Prince de Conde."
"I know nothing about it, monseigneur," cried Lecamus.
The doctor came in, examined the victim, and pronounced that he could bear
the eighth wedge.
"Drive it in," said the Cardinal. "After all, as the Queen says, he is only
a heretic," he added, with a hideous smile at Christophe.
Catherine herself slowly came in from the adjoining room, stood in front of
Christophe, and gazed at him coldly. She was the object of attentive
scrutiny to the two brothers, who looked alternately at the Queen-mother
and her accomplice. The whole future life of this ambitious woman depended
on this solemn scrutiny; she felt the greatest admiration for Christophe's
courage, and she looked at him sternly; she hated the Guises, and she
smiled upon them.
"Come," said she, "young man, confess that you saw the Prince de Conde; you
will be well rewarded."
"Oh, madame, what a part you are playing!" cried Christophe, in pity for
her.
The Queen started.
"He is insulting me! Is he not to be hanged?" said she to the two brothers,
who stood lost in thought.
"What a woman!" cried the Grand Master, who was consulting his brother in
the window recess.
"I will stay in France and be revenged," thought the Queen. "Proceed, he
must confess or let him die!" she exclaimed, addressing Monsieur de
Montresor.
The provost turned away, the executioners were busy, Catherine had an
opportunity of giving the martyr a look, which no one else saw, and which
fell like dew on Christophe. The great Queen's eyes seemed to glisten with
moisture; they were, in fact, full of tears, two tears at once repressed
and dry. The wedge was driven home, one of the boards between which it was
inserted split. Christophe uttered a piercing cry; then his face became
radiant; he thought he was dying.
"Let him die," said the Cardinal, echoing Queen Catherine's words with a
sort of irony. "No, no," he added to the provost, "do not let us lose this
clue."
The Duke and the Cardinal held a consultation in a low voice.
"What is to be done with him?" asked the executioner.
"Send him to prison at Orleans," said the Duke.--"And, above all," he said
to Monsieur de Montresor, "do not hang him without orders from me."
The excessive sensitiveness of every internal organ, strung to the highest
pitch by the endurance which worked upon every nerve in his frame, no less
affected every sense in Christophe. He alone heard these words spoken by
the Duc de Guise in the Cardinal's ear:
"I have not given up all hope of hearing the truth from this little man."
As soon as the two Princes had left the room, the executioners unpacked the
victim's legs, with no attempt at gentle handling.
"Did you ever see a criminal with such fortitude?" said the head man to his
assistants. "The rogue has lived through the infliction of the eighth
wedge; he ought to have died. I am the loser of the price of his body."
"Untie me without hurting me, my good friends," said poor Christophe. "Some
day I will reward you."
"Come, show some humanity," said the doctor. "Monseigneur the Duke esteems
the young man, and commended him to my care," cried the leech.
"I am off to Amboise with my men," said the executioner roughly. "Take care
of him yourself. And here is the jailer."
The executioner went off, leaving Christophe in the hands of the
smooth-spoken doctor, who, with the help of Christophe's warder, lifted him
on to a bed, gave him some broth, which he made him swallow, sat down by
his side, felt his pulse, and tried to comfort him.
"You are not dying," he said, "and you must feel a comfort to your mind
when you reflect that you have done your duty. The Queen charged me to take
good care of you," he added, in a low voice.
"The Queen is very good," said Christophe, in whom acute anguish had
developed wonderful lucidity of mind, and who, after enduring so much, was
determined not to spoil the results of his devotion. "But she might have
saved me so much suffering by not delivering me to my tormentors, and by
telling them herself the secrets, of which I know nothing."
On hearing this reply, the doctor put on his cap and cloak and left
Christophe to his fate, thinking it vain to hope to gain anything from a
man of that temper. The jailer had the poor boy carried on a litter by four
men to the town prison, where Christophe fell asleep, in that deep slumber
which, it is said, comes upon almost every mother after the dreadful pains
of childbirth.
* * * * *
The two Princes of Lorraine, when they transferred the Court to Amboise,
had no hope of finding there the leader of the Reformed party, the Prince
de Conde, whom they had ordered to appear in the King's name to take him in
a snare. As a vassal of the Crown, and as a Prince of the Blood, Conde was
bound to obey the behest of the King. Not to come to Amboise would be a
felony; but, by coming, he would place himself in the power of the Crown.
Now, at this moment, the Crown, the Council, the Court, and every kind of
power, were in the hands of the Duc de Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine.
In this difficult dilemma, the Prince de Conde showed the spirit of
decisiveness and astuteness, which made him a worthy representative of
Jeanne d'Albret and the brave General of the Reformers' forces. He traveled
at the heels of the last conspirators to Vendome to support them in case
of success. But when this first rush to arms ended in the brief skirmish in
which the flower of the nobility whom Calvin had misled all perished, the
Prince, and a following of fifty gentlemen, arrived at the chateau
d'Amboise the very day after this affair, which the Guises, with crafty
policy, spoke of as the riots at Amboise. On hearing of the Prince's
advance, the Duke sent out the Marechal de Saint-Andre to receive him with
an escort of a hundred men-at-arms. When the Bearnais came to the gate of
the chateau, the marshal in command refused to admit the Prince's suite.
"You must come in alone, sir," said the Chancellor Olivier, Cardinal de
Tournon, and Birague, who awaited him outside the portcullis.
"And why?"
"You are suspected of felony," replied the Chancellor.
The Prince, who saw that his party was being cut off by the Duc de Nemours,
quietly replied:
"If that is the case, I will go in to my cousin alone and prove my
innocence."
He dismounted and conversed with perfect freedom with Birague, Tournon, the
Chancellor Olivier, and the Duc de Nemours, from whom he asked details of
the riot.
"Monseigneur," said the Duc de Nemours, "the rebels had sympathizers inside
Amboise. Captain Lanoue had got in some men-at-arms, who opened the gate to
them through which they got into the town, and of which they had the
command----"
"That is to say, you got them into a sack," replied the Prince, looking at
Birague.
"If they had been supported by the attack that was to have been made on the
Porte des Bons-Hommes by Captain Chaudieu, the preacher's brother, they
would have succeeded," said the Duc de Nemours, "but, from the position I
had taken up, in obedience to the Duc de Guise, Captain Chaudieu was
obliged to make a detour to avoid fighting me. Instead of arriving at night
like the rest, that rebel did not come up till daybreak, just as the
King's troops had crushed those who had got into the town."
"And you had a reserve to recapture the gate that had been given up to
them?"
"Monsieur le Marechal de Saint-Andre was on the spot with five hundred
men."
The Prince warmly praised these military manoeuvres.
"To have acted thus," said he in conclusion, "the Lieutenant-General must
have known the Reformers' secrets. They have evidently been betrayed."
The Prince was treated with greater strictness at each step. After being
parted from his followers on entering the chateau, the Cardinal and the
Chancellor stood in his way when he turned to the stairs leading to the
King's apartments.
"We are instructed by the King, sir, to conduct you to your own rooms."
"Am I then a prisoner?"
"If that were the King's purpose, you would not be attended by a Prince of
the Church and by me," replied the Chancellor.
The two functionaries led the Prince to an apartment where a guard--of
honor so called--was allotted to him, and where he remained for several
hours without seeing any one. From his window he looked out on the Loire,
the rich country which makes such a beautiful valley between Amboise and
Tours, and he was meditating on his situation, wondering what the Guises
might dare to do to his person, when he heard the door of his room open,
and saw the King's fool come in, Chicot, who had once been in his service.
"I heard you were in disgrace," said the Prince.
"You cannot think how sober the Court has become since the death of Henri
II."
"And yet the King loves to laugh, surely."
"Which King? Francis II. or Francis of Lorraine?"
"Are you so fearless of the Duke that you speak so?"
"He will not punish me for that, sir," replied Chicot, smiling.
"And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
"Was it not due to you after your coming here? I have brought you my cap
and bauble."
"I cannot get out then?"
"Try!"
"And if I do get out?"
"I will confess that you have won the game by playing against the rules."
"Chicot, you frighten me.--Have you been sent by some one who is interested
in my fate?"
Chicot nodded "Yes." He went nearer to the Prince, and conveyed to him that
they were watched and overheard.
"What have you to say to me?" asked Monsieur de Conde.
"That nothing but daring can get you out of the scrape," said the fool,
whispering the words into his ear. "And this is from the Queen-mother."
"Tell those who have sent you," replied the Prince, "that I should never
have come to this chateau if I had anything to blame myself for, or to
fear."
"I fly to carry your bold reply," said the fool.
Two hours later, at one in the afternoon, before the King's dinner, the
Chancellor and Cardinal de Tournon came to fetch the Prince to conduct him
to Francis II. in the great hall where the Council had sat. There, before
all the Court, the Prince de Conde affected surprise at the cool reception
the King had given him, and he asked the reason.
"You are accused, cousin," said the Queen-mother sternly, "of having
meddled with the plots of the Reformers, and you must prove yourself a
faithful subject and a good Catholic if you wish to avert the King's anger
from your House."
On hearing this speech, spoken by Catherine in the midst of hushed silence,
as she stood with her hand in the King's arm and with the Duc d'Orleans on
her left hand, the Prince de Conde drew back three steps, and with an
impulse of dignified pride laid his hand on his sword, looking at the
persons present.
"Those who say so, madame, lie in their throat!" he exclaimed in angry
tones.
He flung his glove at the King's feet, saying:
"Let the man who will maintain his calumny stand forth!"
A shiver ran through the whole Court when the Duc de Guise was seen to quit
his place; but instead of picking up the glove as they expected, he went up
to the intrepid hunchback.
"If you need a second, Prince, I beg of you to accept my services," said
he. "I will answer for you, and will show the Reformers how greatly they
deceive themselves if they hope to have you for their leader."
The Prince de Conde could not help offering his hand to the
Lieutenant-General of the kingdom. Chicot picked up the glove and restored
it to Monsieur de Conde.
"Cousin," said the boy-King, "you should never draw your sword but in
defence of your country.--Come to dinner."
The Cardinal de Lorraine, puzzled by his brother's action, led him off to
their rooms. The Prince de Conde, having weathered the worst danger, gave
his hand to Queen Mary Stuart to lead her to the dining-room; but, while
making flattering speeches to the young Queen, he was trying to discern
what snare was at this moment being laid for him by the Balafre's policy.
In vain he racked his brain, he could not divine the Guises' scheme; but
Queen Mary betrayed it.
"It would have been a pity," said she, laughing, "to see so clever a head
fall; you must allow that my uncle is magnanimous."
"Yes, madame, for my head fits no shoulders but my own, although one is
larger than the other.--But is it magnanimity in your uncle? Has he not
rather gained credit at a cheap rate? Do you think it such an easy matter
to have the law of a Prince of the Blood?"
"We have not done yet," replied she. "We shall see how you behave at the
execution of the gentlemen, your friends, over which the Council have
determined to make the greatest display."
"I shall do as the King does," said Conde.
"The King, the Queen-mother, and I shall all be present, with all the Court
and the Ambassadors----"
"Quite a high day?" said the Prince ironically.
"Better than that," said the young Queen, "an _auto-da-fe_, a function of
high political purport. The gentlemen of France must be subjugated by the
Crown; they must be cured of their taste for faction and manoeuvring----"
"You will not cure them of their warlike temper by showing them their
danger, madame, and at this game you risk the Crown itself," replied the
Prince.
At the end of this dinner, which was gloomy enough, Queen Mary was so
unfortunately daring as to turn the conversation publicly on the trial
which the nobles, taken under arms, were at that moment undergoing, and to
speak of the necessity for giving the utmost solemnity to their execution.
"But, madame," said Francis II., "is it not enough for the King of France
to know that the blood of so many brave gentlemen must be shed? Must it be
a cause of triumph?"
"No, sir, but an example," replied Catherine.
"Your grandfather and your father were in the habit of seeing heretics
burned," said Mary Stuart.
"The kings who reigned before me went their way," said Francis, "and I mean
to go mine."
"Philip II.," Catherine went on, "who is a great king lately, when he was
in the Netherlands, had an _auto-da-fe_ postponed till he should have
returned to Valladolid."
"What do you think about it, cousin?" said the King to the Prince de Conde.
"Sir, you cannot avoid going; the Papal Nuncio and the Ambassadors must be
present. For my part, I am delighted to go if the ladies are to be of the
party."
The Prince, at a glance from Catherine de' Medici, had boldly taken his
line.
While the Prince de Conde was being admitted to the chateau of Amboise, the
furrier to the two Queens was also arriving from Paris, brought thither by
the uneasiness produced by the reports of the Rebellion, not only in
himself and his family, but also in the Lalliers.
At the gate of the chateau, when the old man craved admission, the captain
of the Guard, at the words "Queen's furrier," answered at once:
"My good man, if you want to be hanged, you have only to set foot in the
courtyard."
On hearing this, the unhappy father sat down on a rail a little way off, to
wait till some attendant on either of the Queens, or some woman of the
Court, should pass him, to ask for some news of his son; but he remained
there the whole day without seeing anybody he knew, and was at last obliged
to go down into the town, where he found a lodging, not without difficulty,
in an inn on the Square where the executions were to take place. He was
obliged to pay a livre a day to secure a room looking out on the Square.
On the following day, he was brave enough to look on from his window at the
rebels who had been condemned to the wheel, or to be hanged, as men of
minor importance; and the Syndic of the Furriers' Guild was glad enough not
to find his son among the sufferers.
When it was all over, he went to place himself in the clerk's way. Having
mentioned his name, and pressed a purse full of crown-pieces into the man's
hand, he begged him to see whether, in the three former days of execution,
the name of Christophe Lecamus had occurred. The registrar, touched by the
despairing old father's manners and tone of voice, conducted him to his own
house. After carefully comparing notes, he could assure the old man that
the said Christophe was not among those who had hitherto been executed, nor
was he named among those who were to die within the next few days.
"My dear master," said the clerk to the furrier, "the Parlement is now
engaged in trying the lords and gentlemen concerned in the business, and
the principal leaders. So, possibly, your son is imprisoned in the chateau,
and will be one in the magnificent execution for which my lords the Duc de
Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine are making great preparations.
Twenty-seven barons are to be beheaded, with eleven counts and seven
marquises, fifty gentlemen in all, and leaders of the Reformers. As the
administration of justice in Touraine has no connection with that of the
Paris Parlement, if you positively must have some news of your son, go to
my Lord the Chancellor Olivier, who, by the orders of the
Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, has the management of the proceedings."
Three times did the poor old man go to the Chancellor's house and stand in
a file of people in the courtyard, in common with an immense number of
people who had come to pray for their relations' lives; but as titled folks
were admitted before the middle class, he was obliged to give up all hope
of speaking with the Chancellor, though he saw him several times coming out
of his house to go either to the chateau or to the Commission appointed by
the Parlement, along a way cleared for him by soldiers, between two hedges
of petitioners who were thrust aside.
It was a dreadful scene of misery, for among this crowd were wives,
daughters, and mothers, whole families in tears. Old Lecamus gave a great
deal of gold to the servants at the chateau, enjoining on them that they
should deliver certain letters he wrote to la Dayelle, Queen Mary's
waiting-woman, or to the Queen-mother's woman; but the lackeys took the
good man's money, and then, by the Cardinal's orders, handed all letters to
the Provost of the Law Court. As a consequence of their unprecedented
cruelty, the Princes of Lorraine had cause to fear revenge; and they never
took greater precautions than during the stay of the Count at Amboise, so
that neither the most effectual bribery, that of gold, nor the most
diligent inquiries brought the furrier any light as to his son's fate. He
wandered about the little town in a melancholy way, watching the tremendous
preparations that the Cardinal was making for the shocking spectacle at
which the Prince de Conde was to be present.
Public curiosity was being stimulated, by every means in use at the time,
from Paris to Nantes. The execution had been announced from the pulpit by
every preacher, in a breath with the King's victory over the heretics.
Three elegant stands, the centre one apparently to be the finest of the
three, were being erected against the curtain-wall of the chateau, at the
foot of which the execution was to take place. All round the open space
raised wooden seats were being put up, after the fashion of an
amphitheatre, to accommodate the enormous crowd attracted by the notoriety
of this _auto-da-fe_. About ten thousand persons were camping out in the
fields on the day before this hideous spectacle. The roofs were crowded
with spectators, and windows were let for as much as ten livres, an
enormous sum at that time.
The unhappy father had, as may be supposed, secured one of the best places
for commanding a view of the Square where so many men of family were to
perish, on a huge scaffold erected in the middle, and covered with black
cloth. On the morning of the fatal day, the headsman's block, on which the
victim laid his head, kneeling in front of it, was placed on the scaffold,
and an armchair, hung with black, for the Recorder of the Court, whose duty
it was to call the condemned by name and read their sentence. The enclosure
was guarded from early morning by the Scotch soldiers and the men-at-arms
of the King's household, to keep the crowd out till the hour of the
executions.
After a solemn mass in the chapel of the chateau and in every church in the
town, the gentlemen were led forth, the last survivors of all the
conspirators. These men, some of whom had been through the torture chamber,
were collected round the foot of the scaffold, and exhorted by monks, who
strove to persuade them to renounce the doctrines of Calvin. But not one
would listen to these preachers, turned on to them by the Cardinal de
Lorraine, among whom, no doubt, these gentlemen feared that there might be
some spies on behalf of the Guises.
To escape being persecuted with these exhortations, they began to sing a
psalm turned into French verse by Clement Marot. Calvin, as is well known,
had decreed that God should be worshiped in the mother-tongue of every
country, from motives of common sense as well as from antagonism to the
Roman Church. It was a pathetic moment for all those among the throng, who
felt for these gentlemen, when they heard this verse sung at the moment
when the Court appeared on the scene:
Lord, help us in our need!
Lord, bless us with Thy grace!
And on the saints in sore distress
Let shine Thy glorious face!
The eyes of the Reformers all centered on the Prince de Conde, who was
intentionally placed between Queen Mary and the Duc d'Orleans. Queen
Catherine de' Medici sat next her son, with the Cardinal on her left. The
Papal Nuncio stood behind the two Queens. The Lieutenant-General of the
kingdom was on horseback, below the Royal stand, with two marshals of
France and his captains. As soon as the Prince de Conde appeared, all the
gentlemen sentenced to death, to whom he was known, bowed to him, and the
brave hunchback returned the salutation.
"It is hard," said he to the Duc d'Orleans, "not to be civil to men who are
about to die."
The two other grand stands were filled by invited guests, by courtiers, and
the attendants on their Majesties; in short, the rank and fashion of the
chateau from Blois, who thus rushed from festivities to executions, just as
they afterwards rushed from the pleasures of Court life to the perils of
war, with a readiness which to foreigners will always be one of the
mainsprings of their policy in France. The poor Syndic of the Furriers'
Guild felt the keenest joy at failing to discern his son among the
fifty-seven gentlemen condemned to death.
At a signal from the Duc de Guise, the clerk, from the top of the scaffold,
called out at once, in a loud voice:
"Jean-Louis-Alberic, Baron de Raunay, guilty of heresy, of the crime of
high treason, and of bearing arms against the King's Majesty."
A tall, handsome man mounted the scaffold with a firm step, bowed to the
people and to the Court, and said:
"The indictment is false; I bore arms to deliver the King from his enemies
of Lorraine!"
He laid his head on the block, and it fell.
The Reformers sang:
Thou, Lord, hast proved our faith
And searched our soul's desire,
And purified our froward hearts,
As silver proved by fire.
"Robert-Jean-Rene Briquemaut, Comte de Villemongis, guilty of high treason
and rebellion against the King," cried the Recorder.
The Count dipped his hands in the Baron de Raunay's blood, and said:
"May this blood be on the head of those who are truly guilty!"
The Reformers sang on:
Thou, Lord, hast led our feet
Where foes had laid their snare;
To Thee, O Lord, the glory be,
Though we should perish there.
"Confess, my lord Nuncio," said the Prince de Conde, "that if French
gentlemen know how to plot, they also know how to die."
"What hatred you are entailing on the heads of your children, brother,"
said the Duchesse de Guise to the Cardinal de Lorraine.
"The sight makes me feel sick," said the young King, who had turned pale at
the sight of all this bloodshed.
"Pooh! Rebels!" said Catherine de' Medici.
Still the hymn went on, still the axe was plied. At last the sublime
spectacle of men who could die singing, and, above all, the impression
produced on the crowd by the gradual dwindling of the voices, became
stronger than the terror inspired by the Guises.
"Mercy!" cried the mob, when they heard at last only the feeble chant of a
single victim, reserved till the last, as being the most important.
He was standing alone at the foot of the steps leading up to the scaffold,
and sang:
Lord, help us in our need!
Lord, bless us with Thy grace!
And on the saints in sore distress
Let shine Thy glorious face!
"Come, Duc de Nemours," said the Prince de Conde, who was tired of his
position; "you, to whom the securing of the victory is due, and who helped
to entrap all these people,--do not you feel that you ought to ask the life
of this one? It is Castelnau, who, as I was told, had your promise for
courteous treatment when he surrendered----"
"Did I wait to see him here before trying to save him?" said the Duc de
Nemours, stung by this bitter reproof.
The clerk spoke slowly, intentionally, no doubt:
"Michel-Jean-Louis, Baron de Castelnau-Chalosse, accused and convicted of
the crime of high treason, and of fighting against his Majesty the King."
"No," retorted Castelnau haughtily; "it can be no crime to oppose the
tyranny and intended usurpation of the Guises!"
The headsman, who was tired, seeing some stir in the royal seats, rested on
his axe.
"Monsieur le Baron," said he, "I should be glad not to hurt you. One minute
may perhaps save you."
And all the people shouted again for mercy.
"Come," said the King, "a pardon for poor Castelnau, who saved the Duc
d'Orleans."
The Cardinal intentionally misinterpreted the word "Come." He nodded to the
executioner, and Castelnau's head fell at the moment when the King
pronounced his pardon.
"That one goes to your account, Cardinal," said Catherine.
On the day after this horrible massacre, the Prince de Conde set out for
Navarre.
This affair made a great sensation throughout France and in every foreign
Court. The torrents of noble blood then shed caused the Chancellor Olivier
such deep grief, that this admirable judge, seeing the end at which the
Guises were aiming, felt that he was not strong enough to hold his own
against them. Although they had made him what he was, he would not
sacrifice his duty and the Monarchy to them; he retired from public life,
suggesting that l'Hopital should be his successor. Catherine, on hearing of
Olivier's choice, proposed Birague for the post of Chancellor, and urged
her request with great pertinacity. The Cardinal, who knew nothing of the
note written to Catherine by l'Hopital, and who believed him still faithful
to the House of Lorraine, upheld him as Birague's rival, and the
Queen-mother affected to be overridden.
L'Hopital was no sooner appointed than he took steps to prevent the
introduction into France of the Holy Office, which the Cardinal de Lorraine
wished to establish; and he so effectually opposed the Anti-Gallican
measures and policy of the Guises, and showed himself so sturdy a
Frenchman, that within three months of his appointment he was exiled, to
reduce his spirit, to his estate of le Vignay, near Etampes.
Old Lecamus impatiently waited till the Court should leave Amboise, for he
could find no opportunity of speaking to either Queen Mary or Queen
Catherine; but he hoped to be able to place himself in their way at the
time when the Court should be moving along the river-bank on the way back
to Blois. The furrier dressed himself as a poor man, at the risk of being
seized as a spy, and favored by this disguise, he mingled with the beggars
who stood by the wayside.
After the departure of the Prince de Conde, the Duke and the Cardinal
thought that they had silenced the Reformed party, and they left the
Queen-mother a little more liberty. Lecamus knew that Catherine, instead of
traveling in a litter, liked to ride on horseback on a _planchette_, as it
was called, a side saddle with a foot-rest. This sort of stirrup was
invented by or for Catherine, who, having hurt her leg, rested both feet on
a velvet sling, sitting sideways, and supporting one knee in a hollow cut
in the saddle. As the Queen had very fine legs, she was accused of having
hit on this device for displaying them.
Thus the old man was able to place himself in sight of the Queen-mother;
but when she saw him, she affected anger.
"Go away from hence, good man, and let no one see you speaking to me," she
said with some anxiety. "Get yourself appointed delegate to the
States-General from the corporation of Paris Guilds, and be on my side in
the Assembly at Orleans, you will then hear something definite about your
son----"
"Is he alive?" said the old man.
"Alas!" said the Queen, "I hope it."
And Lecamus was obliged to return home with this sad reply, and the secret
as to the convocation of the States-General, which the Queen had told him.
* * * * *
Some days before this, the Cardinal de Lorraine had received information as
to the guilt of the Court of Navarre. At Lyons, and at Mouvans in Dauphine,
the Reformers, commanded by the most enterprising of the Bourbon princes,
had tried to inflame the population. This daring attempt, after the
dreadful executions at Amboise, astonished the Guises, who, to put an end
to heresy, no doubt, by some means of which they kept the secret, proposed
to assemble the States-General at Orleans. Catherine de' Medici, who saw a
support for her own policy in the representations of the nation, consented
with joy. The Cardinal, who aimed at recapturing his prey, and overthrowing
the House of Bourbon, convoked the States solely to secure the presence of
the Prince de Conde and of the King of Navarre, Antoine de Bourbon, father
of Henri IV. He then meant to make use of Christophe to convict the Prince
of high treason if he were able once more to get him into the King's power.
After spending two months in the prison of Blois, Christophe one morning
was carried out on a litter lying on a mattress, was embarked on a barge,
and taken up the river to Orleans before a westerly breeze. He reached that
town the same evening, and was taken to the famous tower of Saint-Aignan.
Christophe, who knew not what to make of his transfer, had time enough for
meditation on his behavior and on his future prospects. There he remained
two months more, on his bed, unable to use his legs. His bones were
crushed. When he begged to be allowed the help of a surgeon, the jailer
told him that his orders with regard to his prisoner were so strict that he
dared not allow any one else even to bring him his food. This severity, of
which the effect was absolutely solitary confinement, surprised Christophe.
His idea was that he must be either hanged or released; he knew nothing
whatever of the events happening at Amboise.
In spite of the secret warnings to remain at home sent to them by Catherine
de' Medici, the two chiefs of the House of Bourbon determined to appear at
the meeting of the States-General, since autograph letters from the King
were reassuring; and when the Court was settling at Orleans, Groslot, the
Chancellor of Navarre, announced their advent, to the surprise of all.
Francis II. took up his quarters in the house of the Chancellor of Navarre,
who was also the Bailli or Recorder of Orleans. This man Groslot, whose
double appointment is one of the odd features of a time when Reformers were
in possession of abbeys--Groslot, the Jacques Coeur of Orleans, one of
the richest citizens of his day, did not leave his name to his house. It
came to be known as the _Bailliage_, having been purchased, no doubt, from
his heirs, by the Crown, or by the provincial authorities, to be the seat
of that tribunal. This elegant structure, built by the citizens of the
sixteenth century, adds a detail to the history of a time when the King,
the nobility, and the middle class vied with each other in wealth,
elegance, and splendor; especially in their dwellings--as may be seen at
Varangeville, Ango's magnificent manor-house, and the Hotel d'Hercules, as
it is called, in Paris, which still exists, but in a condition that is the
despair of archaeologists and of lovers of mediaeval art.
Those who have been to Orleans can hardly have failed to observe the Hotel
de Ville in the Place de l'Estape. This townhall is the Old Bailli's Court,
the Hotel Groslot, the most illustrious and most neglected house in
Orleans.
The remains of this hotel plainly show to the archaeologist's eye how
magnificent it must once have been, at a time when citizens built their
houses more of wood than of stone, and the upper ranks alone had the right
to build manor-houses, a word of special meaning. Since it served as the
King's residence at a time when the Court made so much display of pomp and
luxury, the Hotel Groslot must then have been the largest and finest house
in Orleans.
It was on the Place de l'Estape that the Guises and the King held a review
of the municipal guard, to which Monsieur de Cypierre was nominated captain
during the King's visit. At that time, the Cathedral of
Sainte-Croix--afterwards finished by Henri IV., who desired to set the seal
to his conversion--was being built, and the surrounding ground, strewn with
blocks of stone and encumbered with piles of timber, was held by the
Guises, who lodged in the Bishop's palace, now destroyed.
The town was in military occupation, and the measures adopted by the Guises
plainly showed how little liberty they intended to give to the
States-General, while the delegates flocked into the town and raised the
rents of the most wretched lodgings. The Court, the municipal militia, the
nobles, and the citizens all alike expected some _Coup d'Etat_; and their
expectations were fulfilled when the Princes of the Blood arrived.
As soon as the two Princes entered the King's room, the Court saw with
dismay how insolent was the behavior of the Cardinal de Lorraine, who, to
assert his audacious pretensions, kept his head covered, while the King of
Navarre before him was bareheaded. Catherine de' Medici stood with downcast
eyes, not to betray her indignation. A solemn explanation then took place
between the young King and the two heads of the younger branch. It was
brief, for at the first words spoken by the Prince de Conde, Francis II.
closed the discussion by saying:
"My lords and cousins, I fancied the incident of Amboise was at an end; it
is not so, and we shall see cause to regret our indulgence!"
"It is not the King who speaks thus," said the Prince de Conde, "but
Messieurs de Guise."
"Good-day, monsieur," said the little King, crimson with rage.
As he went through the great hall, the Prince was stopped by the two
captains of the Guards. When the officer of the French Guard stepped
forward, the Prince took a letter out of the breast of his doublet and
said, in the presence of all the Court:
"Can you read me this, Monsieur de Maille-Breze?"
"With pleasure," said the French captain:--
"'Cousin, come in all security; I give you my royal
word that you may. If you need a safe conduct, these
presents will serve you.'"
"And signed----?" said the bold and mischievous hunchback.
"Signed 'Francois,'" said Maille.
"Nay, nay," replied the Prince, "it is signed 'Your good cousin and friend,
Francois!'--Gentlemen," he went on, turning to the Scotch Guard, "I will
follow you to the prison whither you are to escort me by the King's orders.
There is enough noble spirit in this room to understand that."
The utter silence that reigned in the room might have enlightened the
Guises, but silence is the last thing that princes listen to.
"Monseigneur," said the Cardinal de Tournon, who was following the Prince,
"since the day at Amboise you have taken steps in opposition to royal
authority at Lyons and at Mouvans in Dauphine--things of which the King
knew nothing when he addressed you in those terms."
"Rascals!" cried the Prince, laughing.
"You made a public declaration against the Mass, and in favor of
heresy----"
"We are masters in Navarre," said the Prince.
"In Bearn, you mean! But you owe homage to the Crown," replied the
President de Thou.
"Ah, you are here, President!" exclaimed the Prince ironically. "And is all
the Parlement with you?"
With these words the Prince flashed a look of contempt at the Cardinal and
left the room; he understood that his head was in peril.
On the following day, when Messieurs de Thou, de Viole, d'Espesse, Bourdin
the public prosecutor, and du Tillet, the chief clerk, came into his
prison, he kept them standing, and expressed his regrets at seeing them
engaged on a business which did not concern them; then he said to the
clerk:
"Write."
And he dictated as follows:
"I, Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Conde, peer of the realm, Marquis de Conti,
Comte de Soissons, Prince of the Blood of France, formally refuse to
recognize any Commission appointed to try me, inasmuch as that by virtue of
my rank and the privileges attaching to every member of the Royal Family, I
can only be attainted, heard, and judged by a Parlement of all the peers in
their places, the Chambers in full assembly, and the King seated on the bed
of justice.--You ought to know this better than any one, gentlemen, and
this is all you will get of me. For the rest, I trust in God and my Right."
The magistrates proceeded nevertheless, in spite of the determined silence
of the Prince.
The King of Navarre was at liberty, but closely watched; his prison was a
wider one than the Prince's, and that was the whole difference between his
position and his brother's; for the heads of the King and the Prince were
to be felled at the same time.
So Christophe was so closely confined by order of the Cardinal and the
Lieutenant-General of the kingdom only to afford proof to the judges of the
Prince's guilt. The letters found on the person of La Sagne, the Prince's
secretary, intelligible to a statesman, were not clear enough for the
judges. The Cardinal had thought of bringing the Prince accidentally face
to face with Christophe, who had been placed, not without a purpose, in a
lower room of the tower of Saint-Aignan, and the window looked out on the
yard. Each time he was examined by the magistrates, Christophe entrenched
himself in systematic denial, which naturally prolonged the affair till the
meeting of the States-General.
Lecamus, who had made a point of getting himself elected by the citizens of
Paris as a deputy for the "Third Estate," came to Orleans a few days after
the Prince's arrest. This event, of which he had news at Etampes, increased
his alarms, for he understood--he who alone in the world knew of his son's
interview with the Prince under the Pont au Change--that Christophe's fate
was bound up with that of the rashly daring head of the Reformation party.
So he determined to study the mysterious interests which had become so
entangled at Court since the States had met, so as to hit upon some plan
for rescuing his son. It was in vain to think of having recourse to Queen
Catherine, who refused to receive the furrier. No one of the Court to whom
he had access could give him any satisfactory information with regard to
Christophe, and he had sunk to such depths of despair that he was about to
address himself to the Cardinal, when he heard that Monsieur de Thou had
accepted the office of one of the judges of the Prince de Conde--a blot on
the good fame of that great jurist. The Syndic went to call on his son's
patron, and learned that Christophe was alive but a prisoner.
Tourillon, the glover, to whose house la Renaudie had sent Christophe, had
offered a room to the Sieur Lecamus for the whole time during which the
States-General should be sitting. He believed the furrier to be, like
himself, secretly attached to the Reformed religion; but he soon perceived
that a father who fears for his son's life thinks no more of shades of
religious dogma; he throws himself soul and body on the mercy of God, never
thinking of the badge he wears before men.
The old man, repulsed at every attempt, wandered half-witless about the
streets. Against all his expectations, his gold was of no avail; Monsieur
de Thou had warned him that even if he should bribe some servant of the
Guise household, he would only be so much out of pocket, for the Duke and
the Cardinal allowed nothing to be known concerning Christophe. This judge,
whose fair fame is somewhat tarnished by the part he played at this
juncture, had tried to give the unhappy father some hope; but he himself
trembled for his godson's life, and his consolations only added to the
furrier's alarm. The old man was always prowling round the house; in three
months he grew quite thin.
His only hope now lay in the warm friendship which had so long bound him to
the Hippocrates of the sixteenth century. Ambroise Pare tried to say a word
to Queen Mary as he came out of the King's room; but the instant he
mentioned Christophe, the daughter of the Stuarts, annoyed by the prospect
before her in the event of any ill befalling the King, whom she believed to
have been poisoned by the Reformers, as he had been taken suddenly ill,
replied:
"If my uncles would take my opinion, such a fanatic would have been hanged
before now."
On the evening when this ominous reply had been repeated to Lecamus by his
friend Pare, on the Place de l'Estape, he went home half dead, and retired
to his room, refusing to eat any supper.
Tourillon, very uneasy, went upstairs, and found the old man in tears; and
as the poor furrier's feeble eyes showed the reddened and wrinkled linings
of the lids, the glover believed that they were tears of blood.
"Be comforted, father," said the Huguenot, "the citizens of Orleans are
enraged at seeing their town treated as if it had been taken by assault,
and guarded by Monsieur de Cypierre's soldiery. If the Prince de Conde's
life should be in danger, we should very soon demolish the tower of
Saint-Aignan, for the whole town is on the Reformers' side, and would rise
in rebellion, you may be quite certain."
"But even if the Guises were seized, would their death give me back my
son?" said the unhappy father.
At this instant there was a timid rap at the outer door; Tourillon went
down to open it. It was quite dark. In these troubled times the master of
every household took elaborate precautions. Tourillon looked out through
the bars of a wicket in the door, and saw a stranger, whose accent betrayed
him as an Italian. This man, dressed in black, asked to see Lecamus on
matters of business, and Tourillon showed him in. At the sight of the
stranger the old furrier quaked visibly, but the visitor had time to lay a
finger on his lips. Lecamus, understanding the gesture, immediately said:
"You have come to offer furs for sale, I suppose?"
"_Si_," replied the stranger in Italian, with an air of privity.
This man was, in fact, the famous Ruggieri, the Queen-mother's astrologer.
Tourillon went downstairs, perceiving that he was not wanted.
"Where can we talk without fear of being overheard?" said the astute
Florentine.
"Only in the open fields," replied Lecamus. "But we shall not be allowed
out of the town; you know how strictly the gates are guarded. No one can
pass out without an order from Monsieur de Cypierre, not even a member of
the Assembly like myself. Indeed, at to-morrow's sitting we all intend to
complain of this restriction on our liberty."
"Work like a mole, never let your paws be seen in any kind of business,"
replied the wily Florentine. "To-morrow will no doubt be a decisive day.
From my calculations, to-morrow, or soon after, you will perhaps see your
son."
"God grant it! Though you are said to deal only with the Devil!"
"Come and see me at home," said the astrologer, smiling. "I watch the stars
from the tower belonging to the Sieur Touchet du Beauvais, the Lieutenant
of the Bailiwick, whose daughter has found favor in the eyes of the little
Duc d'Orleans. I have cast the girl's horoscope, and it does in fact
portend that she will become a great lady and be loved by a King. The
Lieutenant is a clever fellow, he is interested in science, and the Queen
found me lodgings with the good man, who is cunning enough to be a rabid
Guisard till Charles IX. comes to the throne."
The furrier and the astrologer made their way to the Sieur du Beauvais'
house without being seen or interfered with; and in the event of Lecamus
being discovered, Ruggieri meant to afford him a pretext in his desire to
consult the astrologer as to his son's fate.
When they had climbed to the top of the turret where the astrologer had
established himself, Lecamus said:
"Then my son is really alive?"
"At present," said the Italian. "But we must make haste to save him.
Remember, O seller of skins, that I would not give two farthings for yours
if in the whole course of your life you breathe one word of what I am about
to tell you."
"The warning is not needed, master. I have been furrier to the Court since
the time of the late King Louis XII., and this is the fourth reign I have
lived under."
"And you may soon say the fifth," replied Ruggieri.
"What do you know of my son?"
"Well, he has been through the torture-chamber."
"Poor boy!" sighed the old man, looking up to heaven.
"His knees and ankles are a little damaged, but he has gained royal
protection, which will be over him as long as he lives," the Florentine
added, on seeing the father's horror. "Your little Christophe has done good
service to our great Queen Catherine. If we can get your son out of the
clutches of the Cardinal, you will see him Councillor in the Parlement
yet. And a man would let his bones be broken three times over to find
himself in the good graces of that beloved sovereign--a real genius she,
who will triumph over every obstacle.
"I have cast the horoscope of the Duc de Guise: he will be killed within a
year. Come now, Christophe did meet the Prince de Conde----"
"You know the future, do not you know the past?" the furrier put in.
"I am not questioning you, I am informing you, good man. Well, your son
will be placed to-morrow where the Prince will pass by. If he recognizes
him, or if the Prince recognizes your son, Monsieur de Conde forfeits his
head. As to what would become of his accomplice--God only knows! But be
easy. Neither your son nor the Prince is doomed to die; I have read their
destiny; they will live. But by what means they may escape I know not. Now
we will do what we can, apart from the certainty of my calculations.
Monsieur de Conde shall get a prayer-book to-morrow, delivered to him by a
safe hand, in which he shall find a warning. God grant that your son may be
secretive, for he can have no warning! And a mere flash of recognition
would cost the Prince his life. Thus, although the Queen-mother has every
reason to depend on Christophe's fidelity----"
"He has been put to cruel tests," cried the furrier.
"Do not speak in that way. Do you suppose that the Queen is dancing for
joy? She is indeed going to take her measures exactly as though the Guises
had decided on the Prince's death; and she is wise, that shrewd and prudent
Queen! Now she counts on you to help her in every way. You have some
influence in the 'Third Estate,' where you are the representative of the
Guilds of Paris; and even if the Guisards should promise to set your son at
liberty, try to deceive them and stir up your class against the Princes of
Lorraine. Vote for the Queen-mother as Regent; the King of Navarre will
give his assent to that publicly, to-morrow, in the Assembly."
"But the King?"
"The King will die," said Ruggieri; "I have read it in the stars. What the
Queen requires of you in the Assembly is very simple; but she needs a
greater service from you than that. You maintained the great Ambroise Pare
while he was a student; you are his friend----"
"Ambroise loves the Duc de Guise in these days better than he loves me,"
said the furrier. "And he is right; he owes his place to him. Still, he is
faithful to the King. And, although he has a leaning towards the
Reformation, he will do nothing but his duty."
"A plague on all honest men!" cried the Florentine. "Ambroise boasted this
evening that he could pull the little King through. If the King recovers
his health, the Guises must triumph, the Princes are dead men, the House of
Bourbon is extinct, we go back to Florence, your son is hanged, and the
Guises will make short work of the rest of the Royal Family----"
"Great God!" cried Lecamus.
"Do not exclaim in that way; it is like a citizen who knows nothing of
Court manners; but go forthwith to Ambroise, and find out what he means to
do to save the King. If it seems at all certain, come and tell me what the
operation is in which he has such faith."
"But----" Lecamus began.
"Obey me blindly, my good friend, otherwise you will be dazzled."
"He is right," thought the furrier.
And he went off to the King's surgeon, who lived in an inn in the Place du
Martroi.
* * * * *
At this juncture Catherine de' Medici found herself, politically speaking,
in the same extremities as she had been in when Christophe had seen her at
Blois. Though she had inured herself to the struggle, and had exerted her
fine intellect in that first defeat, her situation, though precisely the
same now as then, was even more critical and dangerous than at the time of
the riots at Amboise. Events had grown in magnitude, and the Queen had
grown with them. Though she seemed to proceed in agreement with the Princes
of Lorraine, Catherine held the threads of a conspiracy skilfully plotted
against her terrible associates, and was only waiting for a favorable
moment to drop her mask.
The Cardinal had just found himself deceived by Catherine. The crafty
Italian had seen in the younger branch of the Royal Family an obstacle she
could use to check the pretensions of the Guises; and, in spite of the
counsel of the two Gondis, who advised her to leave the Guises to act with
what violence they could against the Bourbons, she had, by warning the
Queen of Navarre, brought to nought the plot to seize Bearn concerted by
the Guises with the King of Spain. As this State secret was known only to
themselves and to Catherine, the Princes of Lorraine were assured of her
betrayal, and they wished to send her back to Florence; but to secure
proofs of Catherine's treachery to the State--the House of Lorraine was the
State--the Duke and Cardinal had just made her privy to their scheme for
making away with the King of Navarre.
The precautions which were immediately taken by Antoine de Bourbon proved
to the brothers that this secret, known but to three people, had been
divulged by the Queen-mother. The Cardinal de Lorraine accused Catherine of
her breach of faith in the presence of the King, threatening her with
banishment if any fresh indiscretions on her part should imperil the State.
Catherine, seeing herself in imminent danger, was compelled to act as a
high-handed sovereign. She gave ample proof indeed of her fine abilities,
but it must also be confessed that she was well served by the friends she
trusted.
L'Hopital sent her a letter in these terms:
"Do not allow a Prince of the Blood to be killed by a
committee, or you will soon be carried off yourself."
Catherine sent Birague to le Vignay, desiring the Chancellor to come to
the Assembly of the States-General, although he was in banishment. Birague
returned the same evening with l'Hopital, halting within three leagues of
Orleans, and the Chancellor thus declared himself on the side of the
Queen-mother.
Chiverni, whose fidelity was with good reason regarded as doubtful by the
Guises, had fled from Orleans, and by a forced march, which nearly was his
death, he reached Ecouen in ten hours. He there told the Connetable de
Montmorency of the danger his nephew the Prince de Conde was in, and of the
encroachments of the Guises. Anne de Montmorency, furious at learning that
the Prince owed his life merely to the sudden illness of which Francis II.
was dying, marched up with fifteen hundred horse and a hundred gentlemen
under arms. The more effectually to surprise the Guises, he had avoided
Paris, coming from Ecouen to Corbeil, and from Corbeil to Pithiviers by the
Valley of the Essonne.
"Man to man, and both to pull, leaves each but little wool!" he said, on
the occasion of this dashing advance.
Anne de Montmorency, who had been the preserver of France when Charles V.
invaded Provence, and the Duc de Guise, who had checked the Emperor's
second attempt at Metz, were, in fact, the two greatest French warriors of
their time.
Catherine had waited for the right moment to stir up the hatred of the man
whom the Guises had overthrown. The Marquis de Simeuse, in command of the
town of Gien, on hearing of the advance of so considerable a force as the
Connetable brought with him, sprang to horse, hoping to warn the Duke in
time. The Queen-mother, meanwhile, certain that the Connetable would come
to his nephew's rescue, and confident of the Chancellor's devotion to the
royal cause, had fanned the hopes and encouraged the spirit of the Reformed
party. The Colignys and the adherents of the imperiled House of Bourbon had
made common cause with the Queen-mother's partisans; a coalition between
various antagonistic interests, attacked by a common foe, was silently
formed in the Assembly of the States, where the question was boldly
broached of making Catherine Regent of France in the event of the young
King's death. Catherine herself, whose faith in astrology was far greater
than her belief in Church dogmas, had ventured to extremes against her foes
when she saw her son dying at the end of the time fixed as his term of life
by the famous soothsayer brought to the chateau de Chaumont by Nostradamus.
A few days before the terrible close of his reign, Francis II. had chosen
to go out on the Loire, so as not to be in the town at the hour of the
Prince de Conde's intended execution. Having surrendered the Prince's head
to the Cardinal de Lorraine, he feared a riot quite as much as he dreaded
the supplications of the Princesse de Conde. As he was embarking, a fresh
breeze, such as often sweeps the Loire at the approach of winter, gave him
so violent an earache that he was forced to return home; he went to bed,
never to leave it alive.
In spite of the disagreement of the physicians, who, all but Chapelain,
were his enemies and opponents, Ambroise Pare maintained that an abscess
had formed in the head, and that if no outlet were pierced the chances of
the King's death were greater every day.
In spite of the late hour and the rigorous enforcement of the curfew at
that time in Orleans, which was ruled as in a state of siege, Pare's lamp
was shining in his window where he was studying. Lecamus called to him from
below; and when he had announced his name, the surgeon gave orders that his
old friend should be admitted.
"You give yourself no rest, Ambroise, and while saving the lives of others
you will wear out your own," said the furrier as he went in.
Indeed, there sat the surgeon, his books open, his instruments lying about,
and before him a skull not long since buried, dug up from the grave, and
perforated.
"I must save the King."
"Then you are very sure you can, Ambroise?" said the old man, shuddering.
"As sure as I am alive. The King, my good old friend, has some evil humor
festering on his brain, which will fill it up, and the danger is pressing;
but by piercing the skull I let the matter out and free his head. I have
already performed this operation three times; it was invented by a
Piedmontese, and I have been so lucky as to improve upon it. The first time
it was at the siege of Metz, on Monsieur de Pienne, whom I got out of the
scrape, and who has only been all the wiser for it; the second time it
saved the life of a poor man on whom I wished to test the certainty of this
daring operation to which Monsieur de Pienne had submitted; the third time
was on a gentleman in Paris, who is now perfectly well. Trepanning--for
that is the name given to it--is as yet little known. The sufferers object
to it on the score of the imperfection of the instrument, but that I have
been able to improve. So now I am experimenting on this head, to be sure of
not failing to-morrow on the King's."
"You must be very sure of yourself, for your head will be in danger if
you----"
"I will wager my life that he is cured," replied Pare, with the confidence
of genius. "Oh, my good friend, what is it to make a hole in a skull with
due care? It is what soldiers do every day with no care at all."
"But do you know, my boy," said the citizen, greatly daring, "that if you
save the King, you ruin France? Do you know that your instrument will place
the crown of the Valois on the head of a Prince of Lorraine, calling
himself the direct heir of Charlemagne? Do you know that surgery and
politics are, at this moment, at daggers drawn? Yes, the triumph of your
genius will be the overthrow of your religion. If the Guises retain the
Regency, the blood of the Reformers will flow in streams! Be a great
citizen rather than a great surgeon, and sleep through to-morrow morning,
leaving the King's room free to those leeches who, if they do not save the
King, will save France."
"I!" cried Pare. "I--leave a man to die when I can cure him? Never! If I am
to be hanged for a Calvinist, I will go to the chateau, all the same,
right early to-morrow. Do not you know that the only favor I mean to ask,
when I have saved the King, is your Christophe's life? There will surely be
a moment when Queen Mary can refuse me nothing?"
"Alas, my friend, has not the little King already refused the Princesse de
Conde any pardon for her husband? Do not kill your religion by enabling the
man to live who ought to die."
"Are you going to puzzle yourself by trying to find out how God means to
dispose of things in the future?" said Pare. "Honest folks have but one
motto--'Do your duty, come what may.'--I did this at the siege of Calais
when I set my foot on the Grand Master; I risked being cut down by all his
friends and attendants, and here I am, surgeon to the King; I am a
Reformer, and yet I can call the Guises my friends.--I will save the King!"
cried the surgeon, with the sacred enthusiasm of conviction that genius
knows, "and God will take care of France!"
There was a knock at the door, and a few minutes later one of Ambroise
Pare's servants gave a note to Lecamus, who read aloud these ominous words:
"A scaffold is being erected at the Convent of the
Recollets for the beheading of the Prince de Conde
to-morrow."
Ambroise and Lecamus looked at each other, both overpowered with horror.
"I will go and make sure," said the furrier.
Out on the square, Ruggieri took Lecamus by the arm, asking what was Pare's
secret for saving the King; but the old man, fearing some treachery,
insisted on going to see the scaffold. So the astrologer and the furrier
went together to the Recollets, where, in fact, they found carpenters at
work by torchlight.
"Hey day, my friend," said Lecamus to one of them; "what business is
this?"
"We are preparing to hang some heretics, since the bleeding at Amboise did
not cure them," said a young friar, who was superintending the workmen.
"Monseigneur the Cardinal does well," said the prudent Ruggieri. "But in my
country we do even better."
"What do you do?"
"We burn them, brother."
Lecamus was obliged to lean on the astrologer; his legs refused to carry
him, for he thought that his son might next day be swinging to one of those
gibbets. The poor old man stood between two sciences--astrology and
medicine; each promised to save his son, for whom the scaffold was visibly
rising. In this confusion of mind he was as wax in the hands of the
Florentine.
"Well, my most respectable vendor of _vair_, what have you to say to these
pleasantries of Lorraine?" said Ruggieri.
"Woe the day! You know I would give my own skin to see my boy's safe and
sound."
"That is what I call talking like a skinner," replied the Italian. "But if
you will explain to me the operation that Ambroise proposes to perform on
the King, I will guarantee your son's life."
"Truly?" cried the old furrier.
"What shall I swear by?" said Ruggieri.
On this the unhappy old man repeated his conversation with Pare to the
Italian, who was off, leaving the disconsolate father in the road the
instant he had heard the great surgeon's secret.
"Whom the devil does he mean mischief to?" cried Lecamus, as he saw
Ruggieri running at his utmost speed towards the Place de l'Estape.
* * * * *
Lecamus knew nothing of the terrible scene which was going on by the King's
bedside, and which had led to the order being given for the erection of the
scaffold for the Prince, who had been sentenced in default, as it were,
though his execution was postponed for the moment by the King's illness.
There was no one in the hall, on the stairs, or in the courtyard of the
Bailli's house but those on actual duty. The crowd of courtiers had
resorted to the lodgings of the King of Navarre, who, by the law of the
land, was Regent. The French nobles, terrified indeed by the insolence of
the Guises, felt an impulse to close their ranks round the chief of the
younger branch, seeing that the Queen-mother was subservient to the Guises,
and not understanding her Italian policy. Antoine de Bourbon, faithful to
his secret compact with Catherine, was not to renounce his claim to the
regency in her favor till the States-General should have voted on the
question.
This absolute desertion had struck the Grand Master when, on his return
from a walk through the town--as a precautionary measure--he found no one
about the King but the friends dependent on his fortunes. The room where
Francis II.'s bed had been placed adjoins the great hall of the bailiff's
residence, and was at that time lined with oak paneling. The ceiling,
formed of narrow boards, skilfully adjusted and painted, showed an
arabesque pattern in blue on a gold ground, and a piece of it, pulled down
about fifty years ago, has been preserved by a collector of antiquities.
This room, hung with tapestry, and the floor covered with a carpet, was so
dark that the burning tapers scarcely gave it light. The enormous bedstead,
with four columnar posts and silk curtains, looked like a tomb. On one side
of the bed, by the King's pillow, were Queen Mary and the Cardinal de
Lorraine; on the other sat Catherine in an armchair. The
physician-in-ordinary, the famous Jean Chapelain, afterwards in attendance
on Charles IX., was standing by the fireplace. Perfect silence reigned.
The young King, pale and slight, lost in the sheets, was hardly to be seen,
with his small, puckered face on the pillow. The Duchesse de Guise, seated
on a stool, was supporting Mary Stuart; and near Catherine, in a window
recess, Madame de Fieschi was watching the Queen-mother's looks and
gestures, for she understood the perils of her position.
In the great hall, notwithstanding the late hour, Monsieur de Cypierre, the
Duc d'Orleans' tutor, appointed to be governor of the town, occupied a
chimney corner with the two Gondis. Cardinal de Tournon, who at this crisis
had taken part with Queen Catherine, on finding himself treated as an
inferior by the Cardinal de Lorraine, whose equal he undoubtedly was in the
Church, was conversing in a low voice with the brothers Gondi. The Marechal
de Vieilleville and Monsieur de Saint-Andre, Keeper of the Seals, were
discussing in whispers the imminent danger of the Guises.
The Duc de Guise crossed the hall, glancing hastily about him, and bowed to
the Duc d'Orleans, whom he recognized.
"Monseigneur," said he, "this may give you a lesson in the knowledge of
men. The Catholic nobility of the kingdom have crowded round a heretic
prince, believing that the States assembled will place the Regency in the
hands of the heir to the traitor who so long kept your illustrious
grandfather a prisoner."
And after this speech, which was calculated to make a deep impression on
the prince's mind, he went into the bedroom where the young King was lying,
not so much asleep as heavily drowsy. As a rule, the Duc de Guise had the
art of overcoming, by his affable expression, the sinister appearance of
his scarred features; but at this moment he could not force a smile, seeing
the instrument of power quite broken. The Cardinal, whose civic courage was
equal to his brother's military valor, came forward a step or two to meet
the Lieutenant-General.
"Robertet believes that little Pinard has been bought over by the
Queen-mother," he said in his ear, as he led him back into the hall. "He
has been made use of to work on the members of the Assembly."
"Bah! what matters our being betrayed by a secretary, when there is treason
everywhere?" cried the Duke. "The town is for the Reformers, and we are on
the eve of a revolt. Yes! the _Guepins_ are malcontents," he added, giving
the people of Orleans their common nickname, "and if Pare cannot save the
King, we shall see a desperate outbreak. Before long we shall have to lay
siege to Orleans, which is a vermin's nest of Huguenots."
"In the last minute," said the Cardinal, "I have been watching that Italian
woman, who sits there without a spark of feeling. She is waiting for her
son's death, God forgive her!--I wonder whether it would not be well to
arrest her and the King of Navarre too."
"It is more than enough to have the Prince de Conde in prison," replied the
Duke.
The sound of a horse ridden at top-speed came up from the gate. The two
Princes went to the window, and by the light of the gatekeeper's torch and
of the cresset that was always burning under the gateway, the Duke
recognized in the rider's hat the famous cross of Lorraine, which the
Cardinal had made the badge of their partisans. He sent one of the
men-at-arms, who stood in the ante-room, to say that the newcomer was to be
admitted; and he went to the head of the stairs to meet him, followed by
his brother.
"What is the news, my dear Simeuse?" asked the Duke, with the charming
manner he always had for a soldier, as he recognized the Commandant of
Gien.
"The Connetable is entering Pithiviers; he left Ecouen with fifteen hundred
horse and a hundred gentlemen----"
"Have they any following?" said the Duke.
"Yes, monseigneur," replied Simeuse. "There are two thousand six hundred of
them in all. Some say that Thore is behind with a troop of infantry. If
Montmorency amuses himself with waiting for his son, you have time before
you to undo him."
"And is that all you know? Are his motives for this rush to arms commonly
reported?"
"Anne speaks as little as he writes; do you go and meet him, brother, while
I will greet him here with his nephew's head," said the Cardinal, ordering
an attendant to fetch Robertet.
"Vieilleville," cried the Duke to the Marshal, who came in, "the
Connetable de Montmorency has dared to take up arms. If I go out to meet
him, will you be responsible for keeping order in the town?"
"The instant you are out of it, the townsfolk will rise; and who can
foresee the issue of a fray between horsemen and citizens in such narrow
streets?" replied the Marshal.
"My Lord!" said Robertet, flying up the stairs, "the Chancellor is at the
gates, and insists on coming in; are we to admit him?"
"Yes, admit him," said the Cardinal de Lorraine. "The Constable and the
Chancellor together would be too dangerous; we must keep them apart. We
were finely tricked by the Queen-mother when we elected l'Hopital to that
office."
Robertet nodded to a captain who awaited the reply at the foot of the
stairs, and returned quickly to take the Cardinal's orders.
"My Lord," said he, making a last effort, "I take the liberty of
representing to you that the sentence requires the approval of the King in
Council. If you violate the law for a Prince of the Blood, it will not be
respected in favor of a Cardinal or of a Duc de Guise."
"Pinard has disturbed your mind, Robertet," said the Cardinal sternly. "Do
you not know that the King signed the warrant on the day when he went out,
leaving it to us to carry it out?"
"Though you are almost requiring my head of me when you give me this
duty--which, however, will be that of the town-provost--I obey, my Lord."
The Grand Master heard the debate without wincing; but he took his brother
by the arm, and led him to a corner of the hall.
"Of course," said he, "the direct heirs of Charlemagne have the right to
take back the crown which was snatched from their family by Hugues Capet;
but--can they? The pear is not ripe.--Our nephew is dying, and all the
Court is gone over to the King of Navarre."
"The King's heart failed him; but for that, the Bearnais would have been
stabbed," replied the Cardinal, "and we could easily have disposed of the
children."
"We are in a bad position here," said the Duke. "The revolt in the town
will be supported by the States-General. L'Hopital, whom we have befriended
so well, and whose elevation Queen Catherine opposed, is now our foe, and
we need the law on our side. The Queen-mother has too many adherents now to
allow of our sending her away.--And besides, there are three more boys!"
"She is no longer a mother; she is nothing but a queen," said the Cardinal.
"In my opinion, this is the very moment to be rid of her. Energy, and again
energy! that is what I prescribe."
Having said this, the Cardinal went back into the King's room, and the Duke
followed him. The prelate went straight up to Catherine.
"The papers found on La Sagne, the Prince de Conde's secretary, have been
communicated to you," said he. "You know that the Bourbons mean to dethrone
your children?"
"I know it all," said the Queen.
"Well, then, will you not have the King of Navarre arrested?"
"There is a Lieutenant-General of the kingdom," replied she.
At this moment Francis complained of the most violent pain in his ear, and
began to moan lamentably. The physician left the fireplace, where he was
warming himself, and came to examine the patient's head.
"Well, monsieur?" said the Grand Master, addressing him.
"I dare not apply a compress to draw the evil humors. Master Ambroise has
undertaken to save his Majesty by an operation, and I should annoy him by
doing so."
"Put it off till to-morrow," said Catherine calmly, "and be present, all of
you medical men; for you know what calumnies the death of a prince gives
ground for."
She kissed her son's hands and withdrew.
"How coolly that audacious trader's daughter can speak of the Dauphin's
death, poisoned as he was by Montecuculi, a Florentine of her suite!" cried
Mary Stuart.
"Marie," said the little King, "my grandfather never cast a suspicion on
her innocence."
"Cannot we hinder that woman from coming here to-morrow?" said the Queen in
an undertone to her two uncles.
"What would become of us if the King should die?" replied the Cardinal.
"Catherine would hurl us all into his grave."
And so that night the question stood plainly stated between Catherine de'
Medici and the House of Lorraine. The arrival of the Chancellor and the
Connetable de Montmorency pointed to rebellion, and the dawn of the morrow
would prove decisive.
On the following day the Queen-mother was the first to appear. She found no
one in her son's room but Mary Stuart, pale and fatigued from having passed
the night in prayer by the bedside. The Duchesse de Guise had kept the
Queen company, and the maids of honor had relieved each other. The young
King was asleep.
Neither the Duke nor the Cardinal had yet appeared. The prelate, more
daring than the soldier, had spent this last night, it is said, in vehement
argument, without being able to induce the Duke to proclaim himself King.
With the States-General sitting in the town, and the prospect of a battle
to be fought with the Constable, the "Balafre" did not think the
opportunity favorable; he refused to arrest the Queen-mother, the
Chancellor, Cardinal de Tournon, the Gondis, Ruggieri, and Birague, in face
of the revolt that would inevitably result from such violent measures. He
made his brother's schemes dependent on the life of Francis II.
Perfect silence reigned in the King's bedchamber. Catherine, attended by
Madame de Fieschi, came to the bedside and gazed at her son with an
admirable assumption of grief. She held her handkerchief to her eyes, and
retreated to the window, where Madame de Fieschi brought her a chair. From
thence she could look down into the courtyard.
It had been agreed between Catherine and Cardinal de Tournon that if
Montmorency got safely into the town, he, the Cardinal, would come to her,
accompanied by the two Gondis; in case of disaster, he was to come alone.
At nine in the morning the two Princes of Lorraine, accompanied by their
suite, who remained in the hall, came to the King's room. The captain on
duty had informed them that Ambroise Pare had but just arrived with
Chapelain and three other physicians, prompted by Catherine, and all hating
Ambroise.
In a few minutes the great hall of the Bailliage presented precisely the
same appearance as the guardroom at Blois on the day when the Duc de Guise
was appointed Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, and when Christophe was
tortured; with only this difference, that then love and glee reigned in the
royal rooms, and that the Guises were triumphant; whereas now death and
grief prevailed, and the Princes of Lorraine felt the power slipping from
their grasp.
The maids of honor of the two Queens were grouped on opposite sides of the
great fireplace, where an immense fire was blazing. The room was full of
courtiers.
The news, repeated no one knows by whom, of a bold plan of Ambroise Pare's
for saving the King's life, brought in every gentleman who had any right to
appear at Court. The outer steps of the house and the courtyard were
thronged with anxious groups. The scaffold erected for the Prince, opposite
the Convent of the Recollets, astonished all the nobles. People spoke in
whispers, and here, as at Blois, the conversation was a medley of serious
and frivolous subjects, of grave and trivial talk. They were beginning to
feel used to turmoils, to sudden rebellion, to a rush to arms, to revolts,
to the great and sudden events which marked the long period during which
the House of Valois was dying out, in spite of Queen Catherine's efforts.
Deep silence was kept for some distance outside the bedroom door, where two
men-at-arms were on guard, with two pages, and the captain of the Scotch
company.
Antoine de Bourbon, a prisoner in his lodgings, finding himself neglected,
understood the hopes of the courtiers; he was overwhelmed at hearing of the
preparations made during the night for his brother's execution.
In front of the hall fireplace stood one of the finest and grandest figures
of his time, the Chancellor de l'Hopital, in his crimson robes bordered
with ermine, and wearing his square cap, in right of his office. This brave
man, regarding his benefactors as the leaders of a rebellion, had espoused
the cause of his king, as represented by the Queen-mother; and at the risk
of his head he had gone to Ecouen to consult the Connetable de Montmorency.
No one dared to disturb the meditations in which he was plunged. Robertet,
the Secretary of State, two marshals of France, Vieilleville and
Saint-Andre, and the Keeper of the Seals, formed a group in front of the
Chancellor.
The men of the Court were not actually laughing, but their tone was
sprightly, especially among those who were disaffected to the Guises.
The Cardinal had at last secured Stuart, the Scotchman who had murdered
President Minard, and was arranging for his trial at Tours. He had also
confined in the chateaux of Blois and of Tours a considerable number of
gentlemen who had seemed compromised, to inspire a certain degree of terror
in the nobles; they, however, were not terrified, but saw in the
Reformation a fulcrum for the love of resistance they derived from a
feeling of their inborn equality with the King. Now, the prisoners at Blois
had contrived to escape, and, by a singular fatality, those who had been
shut up at Tours had just followed their example.
"Madame," said the Cardinal de Chatillon to Madame de Fieschi, "if any one
takes an interest in the prisoners from Tours, they are in the greatest
danger."
On hearing this speech, the Chancellor looked round at the group of the
elder Queen's maids of honor.
"Yes, for young Desvaux, the Prince de Conde's equerry, who was imprisoned
at Tours, added a bitter jest to his escape. He is said to have written a
note to Messieurs de Guise to this effect:
"'We have heard of the escape of your prisoners at
Blois; it has grieved us so much, that we are about to
run after them; we will bring them back to you as soon
as we have arrested them.'"
Though he relished this pleasantry, the Chancellor looked sternly at
Monsieur de Chatillon.
At this instant louder voices were heard in the King's bedchamber. The two
marshals, with Robertet and the Chancellor, went forward, for it was not
merely a question of life and death to the King; everybody was in the
secret of the danger to the Chancellor, to Catherine, and to her adherents.
The silence that ensued was absolute.
Ambroise had examined the King; the moment seemed favorable for the
operation; if it were not performed, he might die at any moment. As soon as
the brothers de Guise came in, he explained to them the causes of the
King's sufferings, and demonstrated that in such extremities trepanning was
absolutely necessary. He only awaited the decision of the physicians.
"Pierce my son's skull as if it were a board, and with that horrible
instrument!" cried Catherine de' Medici. "Maitre Ambroise, I will not
permit it."
The doctors were consulting, but Catherine spoke so loud that, as she
intended, her words were heard in the outer room.
"But, madame, if that is the only hope of saving him?" said Mary Stuart,
weeping.
"Ambroise," said Catherine, "remember that you answer for the King with
your head."
"We are opposed to the means proposed by Maitre Ambroise," said the three
physicians. "The King may be saved by injecting a remedy into the ear which
will release the humors through that passage."
The Duc de Guise, who was studying Catherine's face, suddenly went up to
her, and led her into the window-bay.
"You, madame," said he, "wish your son to die; you are in collusion with
your enemies, and that since we came from Blois. This morning Councillor
Viole told your furrier's son that the Prince de Conde was to be beheaded.
That young man, who, under torture, had denied all knowledge of the Prince
de Conde, gave him a farewell greeting as he passed the window of the lad's
prison. You looked on at your hapless accomplice's sufferings with royal
indifference. Now, you are opposed to your eldest son's life being saved.
You will force us to believe that the death of the Dauphin, which placed
the crown on the head of the late King, was not natural, but that
Montecuculi was your----"
"Monsieur le Chancelier!" Catherine called out, and at this signal Madame
de Fieschi threw open the double doors of the bedchamber.
The persons assembled in the hall could thus see the whole scene in the
King's room: the little King, deadly pale, his features sunk, his eyes dim,
but repeating the word "Marie," while he held the hand of the young Queen,
who was weeping; the Duchesse de Guise standing, terrified by Catherine's
audacity; the two Princes of Lorraine, not less anxious, but keeping close
to the Queen-mother, and resolved to have her arrested by Maille-Breze; and
finally, the great surgeon Ambroise Pare, with the King's physician. He
stood holding his instruments, but not daring to perform the operation, for
which perfect quiet was as necessary as the approbation of the medical
authorities.
"Monsieur le Chancelier," said Catherine, "Messieurs de Guise wish to
authorize a strange operation on the King's person. Ambroise proposes to
perforate his head. I, as his mother, and one of the commission of Regency,
protest against what seems to me to be high treason. The three physicians
are in favor of an injection which, to me, seems quite as efficacious and
less dangerous than the cruel process recommended by Ambroise."
At these words there was a dull murmur in reply. The Cardinal admitted the
Chancellor, and then shut the bedroom doors.
"But I am Lieutenant-General of the realm," said the Duc de Guise, "and you
must understand, Monsieur le Chancelier, that Ambroise, surgeon to his
Majesty, answers for the King's life."
"Well, since this is the state of affairs," said the great Ambroise Pare,
"I know what to be doing."
He put out his arm over the bed.
"This bed and the King are mine," said he. "I constitute myself the sole
master, and singly responsible; I know the duties of my office, and I will
operate on the King without the physicians' sanction."
"Save him!" cried the Cardinal, "and you shall be the richest man in
France."
"Only go on!" said Mary Stuart, pressing Pare's hand.
"I cannot interfere," said the Chancellor, "but I shall record the
Queen-mother's protest."
"Robertet," the Duc de Guise called out.
Robertet came in, and the Duke pointed to the Chancellor.