The morning of the fourteenth of March broke through a sky filled with
scattered clouds, the light fragments of the past-by storm, which,
borne away by a quick soft wind, hurried shadowy over the laughing
sunshine of the early day, like the momentary woes and cares of
infancy. After a night of watchfulness and inquietude, the soldiers of
Henry IV. rose not the less full of hope and courage, for all they had
endured. Marching out from the villages in which they had been
quartered, they advanced to a position which the king had chosen some
time before, and which his army had occupied the greater part of the
preceding day, in expectation of being attacked by the forces of
Mayenne, whose army had been in sight during the whole afternoon.
Some apprehension had been entertained in the Royalist camp during the
night, lest the enemy should have retired across the Eure, to avoid a
combat which bade fair to decide the fate of France; but the first
dawn of the morning effaced this fear, by showing the outposts of
Mayenne, still occupying the edge of the gentle slope which terminated
the plain towards Monçeaux and La Neuvillette. The main body of the
Leaguers had, indeed, withdrawn to a little from the position they had
occupied on the preceding day; but this movement had only taken place
in order that they might pass the inclement night which followed in
the shelter afforded by the villages towards Ivry; and ere the monarch
had been long on his ground, the heavy masses of cavalry and infantry
which supported Mayenne were seen congregating on the upland,
considerably increased in number by reinforcements which had arrived
during the night, and early in the morning.
Some small bodies also had joined the forces of the king; and although
the rolls of the League presented at least double the number of names
which the list of Henry's followers could display, yet upon the part
of the Royalists there was that undoubting, confident resolution,
which so often commands success, joined to that cautious energy which
insures it against almost every chance.
Towards ten o'clock, the position of the royal army was taken up, the
squadrons of cavalry formed along the whole line, and the infantry
disposed in masses between the small bodies of the horse. On the right
appeared the squadron of the Marechal d'Aumont, with several infantry
regiments; towards the centre were the cannon, few in number, but well
placed, and directed by officers of skill and activity; and on the
left was the squadron of the king himself, with the reserve of the
Marechal de Biron. The appearance of the royal host offered nothing
very brilliant; for every leader amongst the Royalists had been so
long expelled from the gay capital, and so many of them had suffered
in fortune by their attachment to the monarch, that steel--cold grey
steel--was the only ornament that the ranks of Henry IV. presented.
The king himself appeared amongst his troops without that surcoat of
arms which was borne even by the poorest gentleman on the other side;
but in order that he might be known and distinguished in the _mêlée_,
a large white plume of feathers rose above his casque, and a similar
mark was placed in the head of his battle charger. It was thus he
appeared in the front of the squadron he particularly commanded, when
the young Marquis of St. Real and several other gentlemen rode up, and
sought permission to fight near the person of his Majesty.
"No, no, St. Real," replied the king; "you will be required at the
head of your own troops."
"I can perfectly trust my lieutenant, sire," replied St. Real. "If you
will grant me my request, I will answer for his conducting the troops
as well as I could myself."
"No, St. Real, no!" answered the monarch, again smiling gaily upon
him; "I must not have all my best officers in one place. I am vain
enough to think that my own hand is here a host, and I must have my
gallant friends posted where they may do as much. Besides, I have
other work for you. Here is my noble Rosny, who has brought me up
James's arquebusiers from Passy: I wish you to join them to your
force, and hold yourself as the commander of my own especial reserve.
If you see my squadron broken, come to my aid,--but not otherwise,
mind. You won glory enough at Arques, St. Real, and you must let us
have our share here. But stay; were you not in the room last night
when Schomberg came to ask for his men's pay, and I spoke somewhat
harshly to him in reply?"
"I was, sire," replied St. Real, bowing his head gravely; for he had
thought at the time, that the king had treated the veteran unkindly.
"Well, then, come with me!" said Henry: "you witnessed the fault, you
must witness the reparation." Thus saying, he rode along the line,
followed by St. Real and about twenty other horsemen, sometimes
pausing to gaze upon the swarming host of Mayenne, which, crowning the
opposite slope, was making every disposition for immediate battle;
sometimes turning towards his own army to address the heads of the
squadrons he passed, or the gentlemen who accompanied him. "Ha! there
is the white standard and black _fleurs de lis_ of the Guises!" he
exclaimed, speaking to St. Real. "Our good cousin of Mayenne must be
in person on the field already. 'Tis a wonder he is so soon up! How
mild the day is, De Givry! Well! you and your brave fellows, I see,
run no risk of overheating yourselves before the battle; for, by my
faith, we have none of us much over-clothing besides cold steel. Ah!
Monsieur de Brigneux, you have a good view of the enemy, and will not
lose sight of them till they have tasted the quality of your steel,
I'll warrant. They must be two to one, Vignoles! I am sure I hope they
are; for I would not have to defeat a less force for one half of
Burgundy. They tell me our friends from Picardy are within two miles;
but faith, I shall not wait till they come up, lest we should have too
many to share our glory. Ha! here we are, St. Real; do me the favour
of putting your foot to the ground with me."
St. Real instantly flung his rein to an attendant, and followed the
king on foot to the head of a regiment, where sat a strong elderly
man, whose countenance--the features of which were bland and
mild--wore a stern and sullen air, and whose cheek, showing here and
there the red lines of florid health, was now, nevertheless, pale in
its general hue. He dismounted from his horse as the monarch
approached, and rendered him a military salute with the same grave
sternness which had marked his aspect ere the king came up. Henry,
however, instantly laid his hand upon his arm in silence and led
him back--for he had advanced a few steps--to the head of his
regiment; and then, when every soldier in the ranks could hear, he
said,--"Colonel Schomberg, we are now on what will soon be a field of
battle, and it is very possible that I may remain upon it. I gave you
hard words last night; and it is not fair that I should carry out of
the world with me the honour of a brave gentleman like you. I come,
therefore, to recall what I said, and publicly to declare, that I hold
you for as good a man, and as gallant a soldier, as at this time
lives." Thus saying, he took the veteran in his mailed arms, and
pressed him to his bosom, while the warm tears streamed down the rough
cheek of the old soldier.
"Ah, sire!" cried Schomberg; "in restoring me the honour which your
words took from me, you now take from me life, for I should be
unworthy if I did not cast it away in your service; and if I had a
thousand, I should wish to pour them forth at the feet of such a
king."
"No, no!" said Henry, again embracing him; "spend your blood,
Schomberg, as I will mine, when there is need of it; but still keep it
as long as you can, for the service of your master. And now, my
friends, we will all do our duty. St. Real, my friend, to your post!
Schomberg, farewell! Monsieur de Vicq, have the kindness to tell the
Baron de Biron to advance the squadrons on the right for about two
hundred paces; for I see the front of the enemy begin to shake, and
the battle must be no longer delayed than sufficient to enable us to
get the sun and wind behind us, otherwise we shall be blinded with the
smoke and glare."
Henry now rode back to his squadron; and St. Real returned to the head
of his own forces, which had by this time been reinforced, according
to the king's command, by James's horse arquebusiers. Here the young
leader, now well accustomed to scenes of battle and victory, fixed his
eyes upon the squadron of the king; and though anxious, with all the
fire of a chivalrous heart, to take an active share in the coming
contest, he yet determined to observe to the letter the orders he had
received; well knowing that they had been dictated by experience and
skill, such as he had not the vanity to believe he himself possessed.
Although the thought of danger or the thrill of fear never crossed his
bosom for a moment, yet the countenance of St. Real was grave and sad.
No man felt more for the suffering people of his native country, no
one regretted more deeply every fresh act of the great tragedy which
day after day deluged France with blood; but at the present moment, it
must be owned, St. Real's feelings were personal. He thought of
Eugenie de Menancourt; and his heart sunk, when, contemplating the
loss of the present battle, he suffered imagination to dwell on all to
which she might be exposed if the League were triumphant. Her real
situation he knew not, nor had he more than a vague idea of the
circumstances that attended her flight from Paris, for nought but
rumours of the event had reached him during his long service with the
royal army. But on that very morning he had learned from a trumpet,
who had brought him an insulting defiance from his cousin D'Aubin,
that the vassals of Menancourt were now led by the Count; that Eugenie
was still a fugitive from her home; and that it was generally supposed
amongst the Leaguers she had sought refuge with him. These tidings, at
least, taught him to believe that she was unprotected in the wide
world with which she was so little fitted to cope; and the letter of
his cousin showed him that misery and violence waited her, if fortune
favoured the arms of those who had already oppressed her.
Such thoughts called a pang into his bosom, and a cloud upon his brow;
but feeling that even his individual exertion might aid in winning a
field on which so much was staked, he sternly bent his thoughts to the
events immediately before him, and watched, as we have said, the
squadron of the king with steadfast and eager attention. Scarcely had
the monarch rejoined that squadron, when the army was put in motion;
and taking its left as a centre, wheeled a little, so as to gain the
advantage of the sun and wind. When this was completed, the troops
again halted in a position decidedly better than the former ground;
and the next moment, a horseman, riding from the side of the king,
galloped at full speed to the artillery. Only four cannon and two
culverines were on the ground upon the side of Henry IV; but they
instantly opened against the enemy, and were recharged and fired with
such rapidity, that ere Mayenne could bring his guns to bear, those of
the Royalists had nine times poured death and confusion into the midst
of his ranks. The squadrons of the League could be seen to shake and
waver under that terrible fire; and horseman after horseman, parting
from the spot where Mayenne and his officers were placed, galloped up
to the tardy cannoneers, as if to hasten them in the execution of
their duty. An ill-directed volley at length followed; and at the same
moment the light cavalry of the League advanced to charge the left of
the Royalists. They were met, however, half way, by the impetuous
D'Aumont; whose squadron, passing through them like a thunderbolt,
turned and charged them again. The battle then became general; troop
after squadron was hurried into the fight; the smoke rolled in heavy
masses over the plain; and one of the dense clouds thereof, sweeping
between the troops of St. Real and the squadron of the king, for
several minutes prevented the young noble from seeing aught but
indistinct forms of dark whirling masses, now lost, now appearing
again in the white wreaths of vapour. Anxious to fulfil his charge
exactly, he led his squadron a few yards in advance; and at the same
moment the smoke clearing away, allowed him to perceive the principal
mass of the enemy, in which appeared the standard, or cornet, as it
was called, of the Duke of Mayenne, in the very act of charging the
small square of cavalry headed by the king.
Wheeling the horse arquebusiers which had been joined to the troops of
St. Real, upon the flank of the advancing column, the English officer
who commanded them poured a volley into the ranks of the Leaguers,
which shook them severely; but still they came on at a thundering
pace, numbering nearly two thousand men; and the handful of gallant
gentlemen who surrounded the monarch were soon lost to the sight. The
heart of St. Real beat quick for his king; but the moment after, the
dark and struggling mass of Leaguers seemed rent by some mighty power
within. It reeled, it wavered; the clash of arms grew louder and
louder, and the flashing of pistols and the shouts of the combatants
were more distinctly heard where St. Real sat. The next moment forth
burst the unbroken squadron of the king, and wheeling rapidly, the
white plume pressed onward against the very front of the repulsed
enemy.
At that instant, however, Count Egmont, the brave but unworthy son of
a noble and patriotic father, cast himself in the way of the horsemen
of the League, who were in the very act of turning their bridles to
fly; rallied them with words of fire and indignation, and brought them
back in fury to the charge. Already somewhat disarrayed by the
fierceness of the combat, the king's squadron was broken in every
part; and though the white plume was still seen towering over the
thickest of the strife, St. Real felt that he had abstained enough,
and led on his squadron to the support of the monarch. In the very act
of charging, however, he observed a strong body of horse draw out from
behind a little wood, called _La Haye des Prés_, on the left of the
army of the League, and bear directly down upon him. A moment's glance
showed him the arms of Aubin and Menancourt; and the next instant he
beheld his cousin giving the order to charge. St. Real instantly
halted, so as not to expose his flank; and the troops of his cousin
galloped furiously towards him, till they were within the distance of
a hundred yards, when some hesitation was seen in their ranks.
"Thank God!" thought St. Real; "his heart is touched, and he will seek
some other foe."
But the next moment this hope was done away, and the hesitation was
otherwise explained. The forces of Aubin approached still nearer, but
at a slower pace; and at length the whole of the horsemen levied on
the lands of Menancourt halted short.
"Charge!" cried D'Aubin, with a gesture of furious indignation.
"Traitors, do you refuse to charge?" And galloping across the front,
he struck the headmost horseman of that troop a blow with his clenched
gauntlet that made him reel in the saddle. The man instantly recovered
himself, and shouting "For St. Real! for St Real! Vive Henri Quatre!"
galloped forward, followed by all the rest of the vassals of
Menancourt, who ranged themselves in good order by the troops of the
young Marquis.
The forces composed of D'Aubin's own followers, small in proportion,
had halted in some disarray while their leader had crossed them to
chastise the refractory trooper; and they now found themselves
suddenly opposed to a body of more than double their own number.
D'Aubin himself, it would seem, was taken by surprise, although it was
evident that the defection of the retainers of De Menancourt was a
premeditated act, and although he had long remarked a coolness in
their service, and a disposition to quarrel with his own followers. He
paused then in doubt, glaring with eyes of rage and hatred over the
powerful squadron before him. Then whispering a word to his
lieutenant, he rode two or three yards forward, and shaking his
clenched fist, exclaimed, "St. Real, you are a traitor, and have
practised on my troops; but I will meet you yet, and force you to give
me reason." Thus saying, he turned his horse and rejoined his troops,
who were already slowly, and in better order than before, withdrawing
from the perilous position in which they stood.
St. Real hesitated for a moment as to whether he should overwhelm
them, as he felt he could, by a single charge of his powerful
squadron; and duty struggled for a moment with the kindlier feelings
of his heart: but turning his head, a glance towards the king's
division saved him from farther hesitation, by showing him the
reitters of the League pouring down upon the monarch, in support of
the force under Mayenne; and he immediately wheeled his troops, and
met, in full charge, the superior body thus offered. Although the
heavier horses and armour of his own men-at-arms enabled them to break
the first rush of the German horse, the superior numbers of the latter
for a time prevailed, and the squadron of St. Real was borne back upon
that of the king. The ranks, however, on all parts, were by this time
broken; and, perhaps, never was a more complete exemplification of the
word _mêlée_ than the centre of the field of Ivry at that moment. Man
to man, and hand to hand, the fight was now continued. The lance had
fallen quite into disuse amongst the royal forces before this period;
the sword, the pistol, and the mace decided all; and so mingled and
perplexed were friends and foes, that more than one man-at-arms was
struck down by others fighting on the same part. The sounds of the
cannon still pealed from other parts of the plain; and, together with
the shouts, the pistol shots, the discharges of musketry, and the
clash of steel, rendered the words of the loudest voices
unintelligible, even when vociferating words of command to any
handfuls of men that still held together; while from time to time a
cloud of smoke rolled in amongst the combatants, hiding everything
else from their eyes, except the little group of horsemen fighting
around them. In the midst of the enemy's troopers, and only
accompanied by two or three of his most devoted followers, St. Real's
personal strength, skill, and valour, wrought over again the deeds of
chivalrous times. The reitters fell back before the sweep of his
tremendous sword; and plunging his strong battle-horse in amongst
them, he dealt death and terror around; while his own soldiers began
once more to gather and to form by twos and threes behind him. At the
moment when about a third of his squadron had rallied, through the
rolling smoke, he caught a glimpse of the white plume dancing still in
the midst of a dark group of horsemen, while a hundred weapons, waving
around it, seemed aimed at that life on which hung the destinies of
France.
Without pausing even to think, St. Real spurred towards the
king: the reitters closed in behind him; and the next moment his
path was crossed by the man of all others whom he least desired to
encounter--his cousin.
"Out of the way, Philip d'Aubin!" he cried, heated with the strife of
the moment; "out of the way! By the soul of my father, you will urge
me too far!"
D'Aubin probably heard not what he said; at least his reply was too
indistinct to convey any definite meaning to the ear of St. Real,
though the furious gesture by which it was accompanied spoke for
itself. The Count spurred on upon his cousin; and St. Real, with his
beaver up, paused to see whether one in whose veins flowed the same
blood as in his own, would really raise the hand against his life. He
himself, however, was, as we have said, heated with the combat; and
when he saw D'Aubin gallop on, with the point of his heavy sword aimed
directly at his face, he lost patience, and spurred forward to meet
him. Dropping his sword, however, by the thong that attached it to his
wrist, he seized the mace, which, according to the old customs
cherished by his family, he carried at his saddle bow; and, parrying
the weapon of his kindred adversary wherever it attempted to strike
him, he made the mass of iron play round his head like a willow
wand--without, however, returning one blow of all the many that were
aimed against him.
"Leave me, D'Aubin!" he exclaimed at length, as they wheeled their
horses close together, and he perceived that his cousin was bleeding
from several wounds he had previously received: "leave me, I say; you
are wounded, and no match for me.--Leave me, or you will provoke me
too far!"
D'Aubin felt, however, that his cousin used not either his strength or
his skill against him; and his pride was more hurt to be spared than
it would have been to be vanquished. He replied nothing but "Traitor!"
and snatching a pistol from his saddle, levelled it at St. Real's
head. But the Marquis had marked the movement of his hand towards the
holster; and exclaiming, "Take that then, to cure your folly!" he
struck him full on the casque a blow that he intended to be slight,
but which drove in the steel, and laid him prostrate on the plain.
St. Real paused for an instant, to see whether the ill-fated D'Aubin
would rise; but a cry of "_Au Roi! au Roi!_" struck his ear; and
turning, he perceived the Baron de Rosny, covered with wounds,
pointing to a spot where the white plume of Henry Quatre was still
floating in the midst of the foe. It still floated; but nevertheless
there was about it that uncertain wavering, that staggering rise and
fall, which showed St. Real at once that his sovereign was hard
pressed by the multitude that surrounded him. Every other thought was
instantly cast aside before the feeling of superior duty; and calling
to some of his troopers who were near to follow, he galloped on, and
cleft his way like a thunderbolt into the press around the king. Ere
he could reach him, however, a loud shout echoed from the midst of the
crowd, and the white plume disappeared. Two sweeps of St. Real's sword
dealt death to the reitters that lay in his path; and the next moment
he reached the spot where Henry was struggling up from the carcass of
his gallant charger, who had fallen dead beneath him, after receiving
a multitude of wounds.
The young cavalier instantly sprang to the ground, exclaiming, "Mount
my horse, sire!" and held the stirrup while the monarch sprang into
the saddle. At the same moment a pistol shot struck him on the casque,
and made him reel, but it did not penetrate the well-tried steel; and,
looking round, he saw that in the brief space of time which had
elapsed since he came up, the spot on which they stood had become
comparatively clear, with none but one or two of his own and the
king's attendants very near, while on the slope of the hill appeared a
confused mass of the enemy, with their backs to the field of battle,
and their faces towards the Eure.
The next instant his own ecuyer led him forward a horse, while the
king, exclaiming, "They fly, St. Real, they fly! Mount and follow with
what men you can collect!" struck his spurs into the charger's side,
and galloped on to gain the horsemen who were in the act of pursuing
the fugitives. St. Real hastened to obey, and springing on the
charger's back, in a moment gathered together about fifty of his own
troopers, and spurred after the king. As he reached the top of the
slope, the whole field of battle lay open before his eyes; and a
strange and confused, but not unpicturesque, sight it was. Three dark
masses of the Leaguers and their pursuers were seen hurrying over the
distant country towards the river; while, as the broken clouds were
borne rapidly over the sky by a quick wind, the different groups of
Royalists and fugitives, dashing on in fury after each other, were at
one moment covered with deep shadow which hid all the several parts;
at another, exposed, with the sunshine picking out in bright relief
each individual horseman as he scoured across the upland. On the other
side lay the plain where that fierce and bloody fight had taken place,
covered with knots of fugitives, prisoners, wounded and dead, with the
artillery playing upon a village in which the Leaguers were making a
last effort; and the clouds of smoke still rolling solemnly over the
field, after the fierce flash was gone, like heavy remorse following
the eager act of angry passion. Small bodies of the Royalists too were
seen, dispersing any group of the Leaguers who attempted to
reassemble, and taking those prisoners whose horses were incapable of
bearing them away; while the reserve under Marshal Biron, dark and
heavy, hung upon the opposite slope, advancing slowly like a lurid
thundercloud, borne along by the slow breath of the summer wind.
Near the same spot whence St. Real took a hurried glance over the
field, the king himself had stopped for the same purpose; and the
moment after he turned back. "St. Real," he said, as he came near the
young noble, "the battle might be lost yet! Do you see the Walloons
have still possession of the village?--and that strong body of Swiss
there on the left still holds a good position. Come with me; we must
make sure of the victory ere we urge too far the pursuit." Thus
saying, he rode back at full speed towards the spot where his own
squadron had been originally placed.
Lost sight of in the _mêlée_, his long absence had caused it to be
very generally believed that the king was dead; and his approach was
greeted by long and reiterated cries of "_Vive le Roy!_" from a number
of his chief officers, who were engaged in rallying and reforming the
squadrons which had been broken in the beginning of the battle.
"Thanks, gentlemen, thanks!" cried Henry, taking off his casque. "Look
to those Swiss, Monsieur de Biron: they may give us some trouble yet."
"Shall I send the infantry of the right wing to break them?" demanded
the Baron de Biron.
"No," said Henry, thoughtfully; "no! the Swiss have always been good
friends to the crown of France: nor would I shed the blood of any
fellow-creature, could it be helped. Some one take a white flag, and
offer them their lives if they lay down their arms and submit quietly.
Beseech them to spare more bloodshed--for they must fall if they
resist."
The Swiss, however, were too wise to protract resistance when
resistance was vain. The offer of the victorious monarch was gladly
accepted; the last of Mayenne's army that kept the field, laid down
their arms. Henry then gave instant orders for a speedy and vigorous
pursuit of the fugitives: and thus ended the battle of Ivry.
On the field where it had been fought, and on the spot where he
himself had contended hand to hand with his cousin, St. Real caused
diligent search to be made for Philip d'Aubin, superintending the
examination himself, and gazing anxiously upon every corpse that was
raised, until it became clear that the Count had not remained upon the
field of battle. It was late in the evening ere this task was over;
but when at length, after much useless labour, taken in order to leave
not a painful doubt behind, St. Real was at length convinced, he
returned to his quarters with a lightened heart and a thankful spirit.