Then happy low, lie down;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV.
Forty men at arms, carrying alternately naked swords and blazing
torches, served as the escort, or rather the guard, of King Louis, from
the town hall of Peronne to the Castle; and as he entered within its
darksome and gloomy strength, it seemed as if a voice screamed in his
ear that warning which the Florentine has inscribed over the portal of
the infernal regions, “Leave all hope behind.”
[The Florentine (1265-1321): Dante Alighieri, the greatest of Italian
poets. The Divine Comedy, his chief work, describes his passage through
Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven; the inscription here referred to Dante
places at the entrance of Hell.]
At that moment, perhaps, some feeling of remorse might have crossed
the King's mind, had he thought on the hundreds, nay, thousands whom,
without cause, or on light suspicion, he had committed to the abysses
of his dungeons, deprived of all hope of liberty, and loathing even the
life to which they clung by animal instinct.
The broad glare of the torches outfacing the pale moon, which was more
obscured on this than on the former night, and the red smoky light which
they dispersed around the ancient buildings, gave a darker shade to that
huge donjon, called the Earl Herbert's Tower. It was the same that Louis
had viewed with misgiving presentiment on the preceding evening, and
of which he was now doomed to become an inhabitant, under the terror of
what violence soever the wrathful temper of his overgrown vassal might
tempt him to exercise in those secret recesses of despotism.
To aggravate the King's painful feelings, he saw, as he crossed the
courtyard, one or two bodies, over each of which had been hastily flung
a military cloak. He was not long in discerning that they were corpses
of slain Archers of the Scottish Guard, who having disputed, as the
Count Crevecoeur informed him, the command given them to quit the post
near the King's apartments, a brawl had ensued between them and the
Duke's Walloon bodyguards, and before it could be composed by the
officers on either side, several lives had been lost.
“My trusty Scots!” said the King as he looked upon this melancholy
spectacle; “had they brought only man to man, all Flanders, ay, and
Burgundy to boot, had not furnished champions to mate you.”
“Yes, an it please your Majesty,” said Balafre, who attended close
behind the King, “Maistery mows the meadow [maist, a Scotch form of
most. That is, there is strength in numbers]--few men can fight more
than two at once.--I myself never care to meet three, unless it be in
the way of special duty, when one must not stand to count heads.”
“Art thou there, old acquaintance,” said the King, looking behind him;
“then I have one true subject with me yet.”
“And a faithful minister, whether in your councils, or in his offices
about your royal person,” whispered Oliver le Dain.
“We are all faithful,” said Tristan l'Hermite gruffly; “for should they
put to death your Majesty, there is not one of us whom they would suffer
to survive you, even if we would.”
“Now, that is what I call good corporal bail for fidelity,” said Le
Glorieux, who, as already mentioned, with the restlessness proper to an
infirm brain, had thrust himself into their company.
Meanwhile the Seneschal, hastily summoned, was turning with laborious
effort the ponderous key which opened the reluctant gate of the huge
Gothic Keep, and was at last fain to call for the assistance of one of
Crevecoeur's attendants. When they had succeeded, six men entered
with torches, and showed the way through a narrow and winding passage,
commanded at different points by shot holes from vaults and casements
constructed behind, and in the thickness of the massive walls. At the
end of this passage arose a stair of corresponding rudeness, consisting
of huge blocks of stone, roughly dressed with the hammer, and of unequal
height. Having mounted this ascent, a strong iron clenched door admitted
them to what had been the great hall of the donjon, lighted but very
faintly even during the daytime (for the apertures, diminished, in
appearance by the excessive thickness of the walls, resembled slits
rather than windows), and now but for the blaze of the torches, almost
perfectly dark. Two or three bats, and other birds of evil presage,
roused by the unusual glare, flew against the lights, and threatened
to extinguish them; while the Seneschal formally apologized to the King
that the State Hall had not been put in order, such was the hurry of the
notice sent to him, adding that, in truth, the apartment had not been in
use for twenty years, and rarely before that time, so far as ever he had
heard, since the time of King Charles the Simple.
“King Charles the Simple!” echoed Louis; “I know the history of the
Tower now.--He was here murdered by his treacherous vassal, Herbert,
Earl of Vermandois.--So say our annals. I knew there was something
concerning the Castle of Peronne which dwelt on my mind, though I could
not recall the circumstance.--Here, then, my predecessor was slain!”
“Not here, not exactly here, and please your Majesty,” said the old
Seneschal, stepping with the eager haste of a cicerone who shows the
curiosities of such a place.
“Not here, but in the side chamber a little onward, which opens from
your Majesty's bedchamber.”
He hastily opened a wicket at the upper end of the hall, which led into
a bedchamber, small, as is usual in those old buildings; but, even for
that reason, rather more comfortable than the waste hall through which
they had passed. Some hasty preparations had been here made for the
King's accommodation. Arras had been tacked up, a fire lighted in the
rusty grate, which had been long unused, and a pallet laid down for
those gentlemen who were to pass the night in his chamber, as was then
usual.
“We will get beds in the hall for the rest of your attendants,” said the
garrulous old man; “but we have had such brief notice, if it please your
Majesty.--And if it please your Majesty to look upon this little wicket
behind the arras, it opens into the little old cabinet in the thickness
of the wall where Charles was slain; and there is a secret passage
from below, which admitted the men who were to deal with him. And your
Majesty, whose eyesight I hope is better than mine, may see the blood
still on the oak floor, though the thing was done five hundred years
ago.”
While he thus spoke, he kept fumbling to open the postern of which he
spoke, until the King said, “Forbear, old man--forbear but a little
while, when thou mayst have a newer tale to tell, and fresher blood to
show.--My Lord of Crevecoeur, what say you?”
“I can but answer, Sire, that these two interior apartments are as much
at your Majesty's disposal as those in your own Castle at Plessis, and
that Crevecoeur, a name never blackened by treachery or assassination,
has the guard of the exterior defences of it.”
“But the private passage into that closet, of which the old man speaks?”
This King Louis said in a low and anxious tone, holding Crevecoeur's arm
fast with one hand, and pointing to the wicket door with the other.
“It must be some dream of Mornay's,” said Crevecoeur, “or some old and
absurd tradition of the place; but we will examine.”
He was about to open the closet door, when Louis answered, “No,
Crevecoeur, no.--Your honour is sufficient warrant.--But what will your
Duke do with me, Crevecoeur? He cannot hope to keep me long a prisoner;
and--in short, give me your opinion, Crevecoeur.”
“My Lord, and Sire,” said the Count, “how the Duke of Burgundy must
resent this horrible cruelty on the person of his near relative and
ally, is for your Majesty to judge; and what right he may have to
consider it as instigated by your Majesty's emissaries, you only can
know. But my master is noble in his disposition, and made incapable,
even by the very strength of his passions, of any underhand practices.
Whatever he does, will be done in the face of day, and of the two
nations. And I can but add, that it will be the wish of every counsellor
around him--excepting perhaps one--that he should behave in this matter
with mildness and generosity, as well as justice.”
“Ah! Crevecoeur,” said Louis, taking his hand as if affected by some
painful recollections, “how happy is the Prince who has counsellors near
him, who can guard him against the effects of his own angry passions!
Their names will be read in golden letters, when the history of his
reign is perused.--Noble Crevecoeur, had it been my lot to have such as
thou art about my person!”
“It had in that case been your Majesty's study to have got rid of them
as fast as you could,” said Le Glorieux.
“Aha! Sir Wisdom, art thou there?” said Louis, turning round, and
instantly changing the pathetic tone in which he had addressed
Crevecoeur, and adopting with facility one which had a turn of gaiety in
it.--“Hast thou followed us hither?”
“Ay, Sir,” answered Le Glorieux, “Wisdom must follow, in motley, where
Folly leads the way in purple.”
“How shall I construe that, Sir Solomon?” answered Louis. “Wouldst thou
change conditions with me?”
“Not I, by my halidome,” quoth Le Glorieux, “if you would give me fifty
crowns to boot.”
“Why, wherefore so?--Methinks I could be well enough contented, as
princes go, to have thee for my king.”
“Ay, Sire,” replied Le Glorieux, “but the question is, whether, judging
of your Majesty's wit from its having lodged you here, I should not have
cause to be ashamed of having so dull a fool.”
“Peace, sirrah!” said the Count of Crevecoeur, “your tongue runs too
fast.”
“Let it take its course,” said the King, “I know of no such fair subject
of raillery as the follies of those who should know better.--Here, my
sagacious friend, take this purse of gold, and with it the advice never
to be so great a fool as to deem yourself wiser than other people.
Prithee, do me so much favour as to inquire after my astrologer, Martius
Galeotti, and send him hither to me presently.”
“I will, without fail, my Liege,” answered the jester; “and I wot well I
shall find him at Jan Dopplethur's, for philosophers, as well as fools,
know where the best wine is sold.”
“Let me pray for free entrance for this learned person through your
guards, Seignior de Crevecoeur,” said Louis.
“For his entrance, unquestionably,” answered the Count; “but it grieves
me to add that my instructions do not authorize me to permit any one to
quit your Majesty's apartments.--I wish your Majesty a goodnight,” he
subjoined, “and will presently make such arrangements in the outer hall,
as may put the gentlemen who are to inhabit it more at their ease.”
“Give yourself no trouble for them, Sir Count,” replied the King, “they
are men accustomed to set hardships at defiance; and, to speak truth,
excepting that I wish to see Galeotti, I would desire as little farther
communication from without this night as may be consistent with your
instructions.”
“These are, to leave your Majesty,” replied Crevecoeur, “undisputed
possession of your own apartments. Such are my master's orders.”
“Your Master, Count,” answered Louis, “whom I may also term mine, is a
right gracious master.--My dominions,” he added, “are somewhat shrunk
in compass, now that they have dwindled to an old hall and a bedchamber,
but they are still wide enough for all the subjects which I can at
present boast of.”
The Count of Crevecoeur took his leave, and shortly after, they could
hear the noise of the sentinels moving to their posts, accompanied with
the word of command from the officers, and the hasty tread of the guards
who were relieved. At length all became still, and the only sound which
filled the air was the sluggish murmur of the river Somme, as it glided,
deep and muddy, under the walls of the castle.
“Go into the hall, my mates,” said Louis to his train; “but do not
lie down to sleep. Hold yourselves in readiness, for there is still
something to be done tonight, and that of moment.”
Oliver and Tristan retired to the hall, accordingly, in which Le
Balafre and the two officers had remained, when the others entered the
bedchamber. They found that those without had thrown fagots enough upon
the fire to serve the purpose of light and heat at the same time, and,
wrapping themselves in their cloaks, had sat down on the floor, in
postures which variously expressed the discomposure and dejection of
their minds. Oliver and Tristan saw nothing better to be done than to
follow their example and, never very good friends in the days of their
court prosperity, they were both equally reluctant to repose confidence
in each other upon this strange and sudden reverse of fortune. So the
whole party sat in silent dejection.
Meanwhile their master underwent, in the retirement of his secret
chamber, agonies that might have atoned for some of those which had been
imposed by his command. He paced the room with short and unequal steps,
often stood still and clasped his hands together, and gave loose,
in short, to agitation, which in public he had found himself able to
suppress so successfully. At length, pausing and wringing his hands, he
planted himself opposite to the wicket door, which had been pointed
out by old Mornay as leading to the scene of the murder of one of his
predecessors, and gradually gave voice to his feelings in a broken
soliloquy.
“Charles the Simple--Charles the Simple!--what will posterity call the
Eleventh Louis, whose blood will probably soon refresh the stains of
thine! Louis the Fool--Louis the Driveller--Louis the Infatuated--are
all terms too slight to mark the extremity of my idiocy! To think these
hot headed Liegeois, to whom rebellion is as natural as their food,
would remain quiet--to dream that the Wild Beast of Ardennes would for
a moment be interrupted in his career of force and bloodthirsty
brutality--to suppose that I could use reason and arguments to any good
purpose with Charles of Burgundy, until I had tried the force of such
exhortations with success upon a wild bull. Fool, and double idiot that
I was! But the villain Martius shall not escape.--He has been at the
bottom of this, he and the vile priest, the detestable Balue. If I ever
get out of this danger, I will tear from his head the Cardinal's cap,
though I pull the scalp along with it! But the other traitor is in my
hands--I am yet King enough--have yet an empire roomy enough--for
the punishment of the quack salving, word mongering, star gazing, lie
coining impostor, who has at once made a prisoner and a dupe of me!--The
conjunction of the constellations--ay, the conjunction.--He must talk
nonsense which would scarce gull a thrice sodden sheep's head, and
I must be idiot enough to think I understand him! But we shall see
presently what the conjunction hath really boded. But first let me to my
devotions.”
[Louis kept his promise of vengeance against Cardinal La Balue, whom he
always blamed as having betrayed him to Burgundy. After he had returned
to his own kingdom, he caused his late favourite to be immured in one
of the iron cages at Loches. These were constructed with horrible
ingenuity, so that a person of ordinary size could neither stand up at
his full height, nor lie lengthwise in them. Some ascribe this horrid
device to Balue himself. At any rate, he was confined in one of these
dens for eleven years, nor did Louis permit him to be liberated till his
last illness. S.]
Above the little door, in memory perhaps of the deed which had been done
within, was a rude niche, containing a crucifix cut in stone. Upon this
emblem the King fixed his eyes, as if about to kneel, but stopped short,
as if he applied to the blessed image the principles of worldly policy,
and deemed it rash to approach its presence without having secured the
private intercession of some supposed favourite. He therefore turned
from the crucifix as unworthy to look upon it, and selecting from the
images with which, as often mentioned, his hat was completely garnished,
a representation of the Lady of Clery, knelt down before it, and made
the following extraordinary prayer; in which, it is to be observed, the
grossness of his superstition induced him, in some degree, to consider
the Virgin of Clery as a different person from the Madonna of Embrun, a
favourite idol, to whom he often paid his vows.
“Sweet Lady of Clery,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands and beating his
breast while he spoke, “blessed Mother of Mercy! thou who art omnipotent
with Omnipotence, have compassion with me, a sinner! It is true, that I
have something neglected thee for thy blessed sister of Embrun; but I am
a King, my power is great, my wealth boundless; and, were it otherwise,
I would double the gabelle on my subjects, rather than not pay my debts
to you both. Undo these iron doors--fill up these tremendous moats--lead
me, as a mother leads a child, out of this present and pressing danger!
If I have given thy sister the county of Boulogne, to be held of her for
ever, have I no means of showing devotion to thee also? Thou shalt have
the broad and rich province of Champagne, and its vineyards shall pour
their abundance into thy convent. I had promised the province to my
brother Charles; but he, thou knowest, is dead--poisoned by that wicked
Abbe of Saint John d'Angely, whom, if I live, I will punish!--I promised
this once before, but this time I will keep my word.--If I had any
knowledge of the crime, believe, dearest patroness, it was because I
knew no better method of quieting the discontents of my kingdom. Oh, do
not reckon that old debt to my account today; but be, as thou hast ever
been, kind, benignant, and easy to be entreated! Sweetest Lady, work
with thy child, that he will pardon all past sins, and one--one little
deed which I must do this night--nay, it is no sin, dearest Lady of
Clery--no sin, but an act of justice privately administered, for the
villain is the greatest impostor that ever poured falsehood into a
Prince's ear, and leans besides to the filthy heresy of the Greeks. He
is not deserving of thy protection, leave him to my care; and hold it as
good service that I rid the world of him, for the man is a necromancer
and wizard, that is not worth thy thought and care--a dog, the
extinction of whose life ought to be of as little consequence in thine
eyes as the treading out a spark that drops from a lamp, or springs from
a fire. Think not of this little matter, gentlest, kindest Lady, but
only consider how thou canst best aid me in my troubles! and I here,
bind my royal signet to thy effigy, in token that I will keep word
concerning the county of Champagne, and that this shall be the last time
I will trouble thee in affairs of blood, knowing thou art so kind, so
gentle, and so tender hearted.”
[As overheard and reported by the court jester this historic prayer
reads as follows: “Ah, my good Lady, my gentle mistress, my only friend,
in whom alone I have resource, I pray you to supplicate God in my
behalf, and to be my advocate with him that he may pardon me the death
of my brother whom I caused to be poisoned by that wicked Abbot of Saint
John. I confess my guilt to thee as to my good patroness and mistress.
But then what could I do? he was perpetually causing disorder in my
kingdom. Cause me then to be pardoned, my good Lady, and I know what a
reward I will give thee.”]
After this extraordinary contract with the object of his adoration,
Louis recited, apparently with deep devotion, the seven penitential
psalms [the 6th, 32d, 38th, 51st, 102d, 130th, and 143d, so called from
their penitential character] in Latin, and several aves and prayers
especially belonging to the service of the Virgin. He then arose,
satisfied that he had secured the intercession of the Saint to whom he
had prayed, the rather, as he craftily reflected, that most of the sins
for which he had requested her mediation on former occasions had been of
a different character, and that, therefore, the Lady of Clery was less
likely to consider him as a hardened and habitual shedder of blood than
the other saints whom he had more frequently made confidants of his
crimes in that respect.
When he had thus cleared his conscience, or rather whited it over like
a sepulchre, the King thrust his head out at the door of the hall, and
summoned Le Balafre into his apartment. “My good soldier,” he said,
“thou hast served me long, and hast had little promotion. We are here in
a case where I may either live or die; but I would not willingly die an
ungrateful man, or leave, so far as the Saints may place it in my power,
either a friend or an enemy unrecompensed. Now I have a friend to be
rewarded, that is thyself--an enemy to be punished according to his
deserts, and that is the base, treacherous villain; Martius Galeotti,
who, by his impostures and specious falsehoods, has trained me hither
into the power of my mortal enemy, with as firm a purpose of my
destruction as ever butcher had of slaying the beast which he drove to
the shambles.”
“I will challenge him on that quarrel, since they say he is a fighting
blade, though he looks somewhat unwieldy,” said Le Balafre. “I doubt not
but the Duke of Burgundy is so much a friend to men of the sword that
he will allow us a fair field within some reasonable space, and if your
Majesty live so long, and enjoy so much freedom, you shall behold me do
battle in your right, and take as proper a vengeance on this philosopher
as your heart could desire.”
“I commend your bravery and your devotion to my service,” said the King.
“But this treacherous villain is a stout man at arms, and I would not
willingly risk thy life, my brave soldier.”
“I were no brave soldier, if it please your Majesty,” said Balafre, “if
I dared not face a better man than he. A fine thing it would be for me,
who can neither read nor write, to be afraid of a fat lurdane, who has
done little else all his Life!”
“Nevertheless,” said the King, “it is not our pleasure so to put thee in
venture, Balafre. This traitor comes hither, summoned by our command. We
would have thee, so soon as thou canst find occasion, close up with him,
and smite him under the fifth rib.--Dost thou understand me?”
“Truly I do,” answered Le Balafre, “but, if it please your Majesty, this
is a matter entirely out of my course of practice. I could not kill you
a dog unless it were in hot assault, or pursuit, or upon defiance given,
or such like.”
“Why, sure, thou dost not pretend to tenderness of heart,” said the
King; “thou who hast been first in storm and siege, and most eager, as
men tell me, on the pleasures and advantages which are gained on such
occasions by the rough heart and the bloody hand?”
“My lord,” answered Le Balafre, “I have neither feared nor spared your
enemies, sword in hand. And an assault is a desperate matter, under
risks which raise a man's blood so that, by Saint Andrew, it will not
settle for an hour or two--which I call a fair license for plundering
after a storm. And God pity us poor soldiers, who are first driven mad
with danger, and then madder with victory. I have heard of a legion
consisting entirely of saints; and methinks it would take them all to
pray and intercede for the rest of the army, and for all who wear
plumes and corselets, buff coats and broadswords. But what your Majesty
purposes is out of my course of practice, though I will never deny that
it has been wide enough. As for the Astrologer, if he be a traitor, let
him e'en die a traitor's death--I will neither meddle nor make with it.
Your Majesty has your Provost and two of his Marshals men without, who
are more fit for dealing with him than a Scottish gentleman of my family
and standing in the service.”
“You say well,” said the King; “but, at least, it belongs to thy duty
to prevent interruption, and to guard the execution of my most just
sentence.”
“I will do so against all Peronne,” said Le Balafre. “Your Majesty need
not doubt my fealty in that which I can reconcile to my conscience,
which, for mine own convenience and the service of your royal Majesty,
I can vouch to be a pretty large one--at least, I know I have done some
deeds for your Majesty, which I would rather have eaten a handful of my
own dagger than I would have done for any one else.”
“Let that rest,” said the King, “and hear you--when Galeotti is
admitted, and the door shut on him, do you stand to your weapon,
and guard the entrance on the inside of the apartment. Let no one
intrude--that is all I require of you. Go hence, and send the Provost
Marshal to me.”
Balafre left the apartment accordingly, and in a minute afterwards
Tristan l'Hermite entered from the hall.
“Welcome, gossip,” said the King; “what thinkest thou of our situation?”
“As of men sentenced to death,” said the Provost Marshal, “unless there
come a reprieve from the Duke.”'
“Reprieved or not, he that decoyed us into this snare shalt go our
fourrier to the next world, to take up lodgings for us,” said the King,
with a grisly and ferocious smile. “Tristan, thou hast done many an
act of brave justice--finis--I should have said funis coronat opus [the
end--I should have said the rope--crowns the work]--thou must stand by
me to the end.”
“I will, my Liege,” said Tristan, “I am but a plain fellow, but I am
grateful. I will do my duty within these walls, or elsewhere; and
while I live, your Majesty's breath shall pour as potential a note of
condemnation, and your sentence be as literally executed, as when you
sat on your own throne. They may deal with me the next hour for it if
they will--I care not.”
“It is even what I expected of thee, my loving gossip,” said Louis; “but
hast thou good assistance?--The traitor is strong and able bodied, and
will doubtless be clamorous for aid. The Scot will do naught but keep
the door, and well that he can be brought to that by flattery and
humouring. Then Oliver is good for nothing but lying, flattering, and
suggesting dangerous counsels; and, Ventre Saint Dieu! I think is more
like one day to deserve the halter himself than to use it to another.
Have you men, think you, and means, to make sharp and sure work?”
“I have Trois Eschelles and Petit Andre with me,” said he, “men so
expert in their office that, out of three men, they would hang up one
ere his two companions were aware. And we have all resolved to live or
die with your Majesty, knowing we shall have as short breath to draw
when you are gone, as ever fell to the lot of any of our patients.--But
what is to be our present subject, an it please your Majesty? I love to
be sure of my man; for, as your Majesty is pleased sometimes to remind
me, I have now and then mistaken the criminal, and strung up in his
place an honest labourer, who had given your Majesty no offence.”
“Most true,” said the other. “Know then, Tristan, that the condemned
person is Martius Galeotti.--You start, but it is even as I say.
The villain hath trained us all hither by false and treacherous
representations, that he might put us into the hands of the Duke of
Burgundy without defence.”
“But not without vengeance!” said Tristan, “were it the last act of my
life, I would sting him home like an expiring wasp, should I be crushed
to pieces on the next instant!”
“I know thy trusty spirit,” said the King, “and the pleasure which,
like other good men, thou dost find in the discharge of thy duty, since
virtue, as the schoolmen say, is its own reward. But away and prepare
the priests, for the victim approaches.”
“Would you have it done in your own presence, my gracious Liege?” said
Tristan.
Louis declined this offer; but charged the Provost Marshal to have
everything ready for the punctual execution of his commands the moment
the Astrologer left his apartment.
“For,” said the King, “I will see the villain once more, just to observe
how he bears himself towards the master whom he has led into the toils.
I shall love to see the sense of approaching death strike the colour
from that ruddy cheek, and dim that eye which laughed as it lied.--Oh,
that there were but another with him, whose counsels aided his
prognostications! But if I survive this--look to your scarlet, my Lord
Cardinal! for Rome shall scarce protect you--be it spoken under
favour of Saint Peter and the blessed Lady of Clery, who is all over
mercy.--Why do you tarry? Go get your rooms ready. I expect the villain
instantly. I pray to Heaven he take not fear and come not!--that were
indeed a balk.--Begone, Tristan--thou wert not wont to be so slow when
business was to be done.”
“On the contrary, an it like your Majesty, you were ever wont to say
that I was too fast, and mistook your purpose, and did the job on the
wrong subject. Now, please your Majesty to give me a sign, just when you
part with Galeotti for the night, whether the business goes on or no. I
have known your Majesty once or twice change your mind, and blame me for
over dispatch.”
[The Provost Marshal was often so precipitate in execution as to slay
another person instead of him whom the King had indicated. This always
occasioned a double execution, for the wrath or revenge of Louis was
never satisfied with a vicarious punishment. S.]
“Thou suspicious creature,” answered King Louis, “I tell thee I will not
change my mind--but to silence thy remonstrances, observe, if I say
to the knave at parting, 'There is a Heaven above us!' then let the
business go on; but if I say 'Go in peace,' you will understand that my
purpose is altered.”
“My head is somewhat of the dullest out of my own department,” said
Tristan l'Hermite. “Stay, let me rehearse.--If you bid him depart in
peace, I am to have him dealt upon?”
“No, no--idiot, no,” said the King, “in that case, you let him pass
free. But if I say, 'There is a heaven above us,' up with him a yard or
two nearer the planets he is so conversant with.”
“I wish we may have the means here,” said the Provost.
“Then up with him, or down with him, it matters not which,” answered the
King, grimly smiling.
“And the body,” said the Provost, “how shall we dispose of it?”
“Let me see an instant,” said the King--“the windows of the hall are too
narrow; but that projecting oriel is wide enough. We will over with him
into the Somme, and put a paper on his breast, with the legend, 'Let the
justice of the King pass toll free.' The Duke's officers may seize it
for duties if they dare.”
The Provost Marshal left the apartment of Louis, and summoned his two
assistants to council in an embrasure in the great hall, where Trois
Eschelles stuck a torch against the wall to give them light. They
discoursed in whispers, little noticed by Oliver le Dain, who seemed
sunk in dejection, and Le Balafre, who was fast asleep.
“Comrades,” said the Provost to his executioners, “perhaps you have
thought that our vocation was over, or that, at least, we were more
likely to be the subjects of the duty of others than to have any more to
discharge on our own parts. But courage, my mates! Our gracious master
has reserved for us one noble cast of our office, and it must be
gallantly executed, as by men who would live in history.”
“Ay, I guess how it is,” said Trois Eschelles; “our patron is like the
old Kaisers of Rome, who, when things came to an extremity, or, as we
would say, to the ladder foot with them, were wont to select from their
own ministers of justice some experienced person, who might spare their
sacred persons from the awkward attempts of a novice, or blunderer
in our mystery. It was a pretty custom for Ethnics; but, as a good
Catholic, I should make some scruple at laying hands on the Most
Christian King.”
“Nay, but, brother, you are ever too scrupulous,” said Petit Andre. “If
he issues word and warrant for his own execution, I see not how we
can in duty dispute it. He that dwells at Rome must obey the Pope--the
Marshalsmen, must do their master's bidding, and he the King's.”
“Hush, you knaves!” said the Provost Marshal, “there is here no purpose
concerning the King's person, but only that of the Greek heretic pagan
and Mahomedan wizard, Martius Galeotti.”
“Galeotti!” answered Petit-Andre, “that comes quite natural. I never
knew one of these legerdemain fellows, who pass their lives, as one may
say, in dancing upon a tight rope, but what they came at length to caper
at the end of one--tchick.”
“My only concern is,” said Trois Eschelles, looking upwards, “that the
poor creature must die without confession.”
“Tush! tush!” said the Provost Marshal, in reply, “he is a rank heretic
and necromancer--a whole college of priests could not absolve him from
the doom he has deserved. Besides, if he hath a fancy that way, thou
hast a gift, Trois Eschelles, to serve him for ghostly father thyself.
But, what is more material, I fear you most use your poniards, my mates;
for you have not here the fitting conveniences for the exercise of your
profession.”
“Now our Lady of the Isle of Paris forbid,” said Trois Eschelles, “that
the King's command should find me destitute of my tools! I always wear
around my body Saint Francis's cord, doubled four times, with a handsome
loop at the farther end of it; for I am of the company of Saint Francis,
and may wear his cowl when I am in extremis [at the point of death]--I
thank God and the good fathers of Saumur.”
“And for me,” said Petit Andre, “I have always in my budget a handy
block and sheaf, or a pulley as they call it, with a strong screw for
securing it where I list, in case we should travel where trees are
scarce, or high branched from the ground. I have found it a great
convenience.”
“That will suit us well,” said the Provost Marshal. “You have but to
screw your pulley into yonder beam above the door, and pass the rope
over it. I will keep the fellow in some conversation near the spot until
you adjust the noose under his chin, and then--”
“And then we run up the rope,” said Petit Andre, “and, tchick, our
Astrologer is so far in Heaven that he hath not a foot on earth.”
“But these gentlemen,” said Trois Eschelles, looking towards the
chimney, “do not these help, and so take a handsel of our vocation?”
“Hem! no,” answered the Provost, “the barber only contrives mischief,
which he leaves other men to execute; and for the Scot, he keeps the
door when the deed is a-doing, which he hath not spirit or quickness
sufficient to partake in more actively--every one to his trade.”
[The author has endeavoured to give to the odious Tristan l'Hermite
a species of dogged and brutal fidelity to Louis, similar to the
attachment of a bulldog to his master. With all the atrocity of his
execrable character, he was certainly a man of courage, and was in his
youth made knight in the breach of Fronsac, with a great number of
other young nobles, by the honour giving hand of the elder Dunois, the
celebrated hero of Charles the Fifth's reign. S.]
With infinite dexterity, and even a sort of professional delight which
sweetened the sense of their own precarious situation, the worthy
executioners of the Provost's mandates adapted their rope and pulley for
putting in force the sentence which had been uttered against Galeotti by
the captive Monarch--seeming to rejoice that that last action was to be
one so consistent with their past lives. Tristan l'Hermite sat eyeing
their proceedings with a species of satisfaction; while Oliver paid no
attention to them whatever; and Ludovic Lesly, if, awaked by the bustle,
he looked upon them at all, considered them as engaged in matters
entirely unconnected with his own duty, and for which he was not to be
regarded as responsible in one way or other.