HIS HIGHNESS MONSEIGNEUR LE DUC DE GUISE.
On Sunday the 10th of June, toward eleven o'clock in the day, the whole
court were assembled in the apartment leading to the cabinet in which,
since his meeting with Diana de Meridor, the Duc d'Anjou was dying by
slow but sure degrees. Neither the science of the physicians, nor his
mother's despair, nor the prayers which the king had desired to be
offered up, had been successful in averting the fatal termination.
Miron, on the morning of this same 10th of June, assured the king that
all chance of recovery was hopeless, and that Francois d'Anjou would not
outlive the day. The king pretended to display extreme grief, and
turning toward those who were present, said, "This will fill my enemies
full of hope."
To which remark the queen-mother replied: "Our destiny is in the hands
of Heaven, my son."
Whereupon Chicot, who was standing humbly and reverently near Henri
III., added in a low voice:
"Let us help Heaven when we can, sire."
Nevertheless, the dying man, toward half-past eleven, lost both color
and sight; his mouth, which, up to that moment, had remained open,
became closed; the flow of blood which for several days past had
terrified all who were near him, as the bloody sweat of Charles IX. had
similarly done at an earlier period, had suddenly ceased, and hands and
feet became icy cold. Henri was sitting beside the head of the couch
whereon his brother was extended. Catherine was standing in the recess
in which the bed was placed, holding her dying son's hand in hers.
The bishop of Chateau-Thierry and the Cardinal de Joyeuse repeated the
prayers for the dying, which were joined in by all who were present,
kneeling, and with their hands clasped reverently together. Toward
mid-day, the dying man opened his eyes; the sun's rays broke through a
cloud and inundated the bed with a flood of light. Francois, who, up to
that moment, had been unable to move a single finger, and whose mind had
been obscured like the sun which had just re-appeared, raised one of his
arms toward heaven with a horror-stricken gesture.
He looked all round the room, heard the murmuring of the prayers, grew
conscious of his illness as well as of his weakness, became aware of his
critical position, perhaps because he already caught a glimpse of that
unseen and terrible future, the abode of certain souls after they have
quitted their earthly prison.
He thereupon uttered a loud and piercing cry, and struck his forehead
with a force which made every one tremble.
Then, knitting his brows, as if one of the mysterious incidents of his
life had just recurred to him, he murmured:
"Bussy! Diana!"
This latter name had been overheard by none but Catherine, so weakened
had the dying man's voice become before pronouncing it.
With the last syllable of that name Francois d'Anjou breathed his last
sigh.
At this very moment, by a singular coincidence, the sun, which had
gilded with its rays the royal arms of France, and the golden
fleurs-de-lis, was again obscured: so that the fleurs-de-lis which had
been so brilliantly illumined but a moment before, became as dark and
gloomy as the azure ground which they had but recently studded with
constellations almost as resplendent as those whereon the eye of the
dreamer rests in his upward gaze toward heaven.
Catherine let her son's hand fall.
Henri III. shuddered, and leaned tremblingly on Chicot's shoulder, who
shuddered too, but from a feeling of awe which every Christian feels in
the presence of the dead.
Miron placed a golden spatula on Francois' lips; after a few seconds, he
looked at it carefully and said:
"Monseigneur is dead."
Whereupon a deep prolonged groan arose from the antechamber, like an
accompaniment to the psalm which the cardinal murmured: "Cedant
iniquitates meæ ad vocem deprecationis meæ."
"Dead," repeated the king, making the sign of the cross as he sat in his
fauteuil; "my brother, my brother!"
"The sole heir of the throne of France," murmured Catherine, who, having
quitted the bed whereon the corpse was lying, had placed herself beside
the only son who now remained to her.
"Oh!" said Henri, "this throne of France is indeed large for a king
without issue; the crown is indeed large for a single head. No children!
no heirs! Who will succeed me?"
Hardly had he pronounced these words when a loud noise was heard on the
staircase and in the apartments.
Nambu hurriedly entered the death chamber, and announced--"His Highness
Monseigneur le Duc de Guise."
Struck by this reply to the question which he had addressed to himself,
the king turned pale, rose, and looked at his mother. Catherine was
paler than her son. At the announcement of the horrible misfortune
which mere chance had foretold to his race, she grasped the king's hand,
and pressed it, as if to say--
"There lies the danger; but fear nothing, I am near you."
The son and mother, under the influence of the same terror and the same
menace, had comprehended each other.
The duke entered, followed by his officers. He entered, holding his head
loftily erect, although his eyes ranged from the king to the death-bed
of his brother with a glance not free from a certain embarrassment.
Henri III. stood up, and with that supreme majesty of carriage which, on
certain occasions, his singularly poetic nature enabled him to assume,
checked the duke's further progress by a kingly gesture, and pointed to
the royal corpse upon the bed, the covering of which was in disorder
from his brother's dying agonies. The duke bowed his head, and slowly
fell on his knees. All around him, too, bowed their heads and bent their
knees. Henri III., together with his mother, alone remained standing,
and bent a last look, full of pride, upon those around him. Chicot
observed this look, and murmured in a low tone of voice, "Dejiciet
potentes de sede et exaltabit humiles"--"He hath put down the mighty
from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek."
POSTSCRIPT.
A few words with reference to the principal characters in the novel of
the "Forty-five Guardsmen" are necessary to complete the story.
Diana de Monsoreau, having taken the vows at the Convent des
Hospitalières, survived the Duc d'Anjou only two years. Of Remy, her
faithful companion, we hear no more: he disappeared without leaving a
trace behind him.
History, however, informs us more fully as to the others. The Duc de
Guise, having at last broken into open rebellion against Henri III., was
so far successful, that with the aid of the League he compelled the king
to fly from Paris. A hollow reconciliation was, however, patched up
between them, the Duc de Guise stipulating that he should be appointed
lieutenant-general of the kingdom; but no sooner had the king returned
to the Louvre than he determined on the assassination of the duke. He
sounded Crillon, the leader of the "Forty-five," on the subject, but
this noble soldier refused to have anything to do with it, offering,
however, to challenge him to single combat. De Loignac was less
scrupulous, and we know the result; the Duc de Guise and his brother the
cardinal were both murdered. Ten days after this event, Catherine de
Medicis, the queen-mother, died, regretted by none.
The Parisians, exasperated by the murder of the Duc de Guise, declared
his brother, the Duc de Mayenne, the head of the League, and rose
against the king, who was again obliged to fly. He begged the king of
Navarre for aid, who promptly responded to the call, and they were
shortly before Paris with a united army of Catholics and Huguenots.
Henri III. was, however, pursued by the relentless hate of the clever
and unscrupulous Duchesse de Montpensier. She worked so skillfully on
the fanatical mind of the young Jacobin friar, Jacques Clement, that he
undertook the death of the king. He entered the camp with letters for
Henri, whom he stabbed while reading them. The king died on the 2d
August, 1589, after having declared Henri of Navarre his successor.
Of the subsequent life and adventures of Chicot, unfortunately nothing
authentic is known. TRANSLATOR.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Forty-Five Guardsmen, by Alexandre Dumas