CHAPTER X.
DEATH, MASS, OR THE BASTILLE.
Marguerite, as we have said, had shut the door and returned to herchamber. But as she entered, panting, she saw Gillonne, who,terror-struck, was leaning against the door of the closet, staring atthe traces of blood on the bed, the furniture, and the carpet.
"Ah! madame!" she cried when she saw the queen. "Oh! madame! tell me, ishe dead?"
"Silence!" said Marguerite in that tone of voice which gives someindication of the importance of the command.
Gillonne was silent.
Marguerite then took from her purse a tiny gilded key, opened the closetdoor, and showed the young man to the servant. La Mole had succeeded ingetting to his feet and making his way to the window. A small poniard,such as women at that time were in the habit of carrying, was at hand,and when he heard the door opening he had seized it.
"Fear nothing, sir," said Marguerite; "for, on my soul, you are insafety!"
La Mole sank on his knees.
"Oh, madame," he cried, "you are more than a queen--you are a goddess!"
"Do not agitate yourself, sir," said Marguerite, "your blood is stillflowing. Oh, look, Gillonne, how pale he is--let us see where you arewounded."
"Madame," said La Mole, trying to fix on certain parts of his body thepain which pervaded his whole frame, "I think I have a dagger-thrust inmy shoulder, another in my chest,--the other wounds are not worthbothering about."
"We will see," said Marguerite. "Gillonne, bring me my balsam casket."
Gillonne obeyed, and returned holding in one hand a casket, and in theother a silver-gilt ewer and some fine Holland linen.
"Help me to lift him, Gillonne," said Queen Marguerite; "for inattempting to get up the poor gentleman has lost all his strength."
"But, madame," said La Mole, "I am wholly confused. Indeed, I cannotallow"--
"But, sir, you will let us do for you, I think," said Marguerite. "Whenwe may save you, it would be a crime to let you die."
"Oh!" cried La Mole, "I would rather die than see you, the queen, stainyour hands with blood as unworthy as mine. Oh, never, never!"
And he drew back respectfully.
"Your blood, sir," replied Gillonne, with a smile, "has already stainedher majesty's bed and chamber."
Marguerite folded her mantle over her cambric peignoir, all bespatteredwith small red spots. This movement, so expressive of feminine modesty,caused La Mole to remember that he had held in his arms and pressed tohis heart this beautiful, beloved queen, and at the recollection afugitive glow of color came into his pallid cheeks.
"Madame," stammered La Mole, "can you not leave me to the care of thesurgeon?"
"Of a Catholic surgeon, perhaps," said the queen, with an expressionwhich La Mole understood and which made him shudder. "Do you not know,"continued the queen in a voice and with a smile of incomparablesweetness, "that we daughters of France are trained to know thequalities of herbs and to make balsams? for our duty as women and asqueens has always been to soften pain. Therefore we are equal to thebest surgeons in the world; so our flatterers say! Has not myreputation in this regard come to your ears? Come, Gillonne, let us towork!"
La Mole again endeavored to resist; he repeated that he would rather diethan occasion the queen labor which, though begun in pity, might end indisgust; but this exertion completely exhausted his strength, andfalling back, he fainted a second time.
Marguerite, then seizing the poniard which he had dropped, quickly cutthe lace of his doublet; while Gillonne, with another blade, ripped openthe sleeves.
Next Gillonne, with a cloth dipped in fresh water, stanched the bloodwhich escaped from his shoulder and breast, and Marguerite, with asilver needle with a round point, probed the wounds with all thedelicacy and skill that Maitre Ambroise Pare could have displayed insuch a case.
"A dangerous but not mortal wound, _acerrimum humeri vulnus, non autemlethale_," murmured the lovely and learned lady-surgeon; "hand me thesalve, Gillonne, and get the lint ready."
Meantime Gillonne, to whom the queen had just given this new order, hadalready dried and perfumed the young man's chest and arms, which werelike an antique model, as well as his shoulders, which fell gracefullyback; his neck shaded by thick, curling locks, and which seemed ratherto belong to a statue of Parian marble than the mangled frame of a dyingman.
"Poor young man!" whispered Gillonne, looking not so much at her work asat the object of it.
"Is he not handsome?" said Marguerite, with royal frankness.
"Yes, madame; but it seems to me that instead of leaving him lying thereon the floor, we should lift him on this couch against which he isleaning."
"Yes," said Marguerite, "you are right."
And the two women, bending over, uniting their strength, raised La Mole,and laid him on a kind of great sofa in front of the window, which theyopened in order to give them fresh air.
This movement aroused La Mole, who drew a long sigh, and opening hiseyes, began to experience that indescribable sensation of well-beingwhich comes to a wounded man when on his return to consciousness hefinds coolness instead of burning heat, and the perfumes of balsamsinstead of the nauseating odor of blood.
He muttered some disconnected words, to which Marguerite replied with asmile, placing her finger on her lips.
At this moment several raps on the door were heard.
"Some one knocks at the secret passage," said Marguerite.
"Who can be coming, madame?" asked Gillonne, in a panic.
"I will go and see who it is," said Marguerite; "remain here, and do notleave him for a single instant."
Marguerite went into the chamber, and closing the closet door, openedthat of the passage which led to the King's and queen mother'sapartments.
"Madame de Sauve!" she exclaimed, suddenly drawing back with anexpression which resembled hatred, if not terror, so true it is that awoman never forgives another for taking from her even a man whom shedoes not love,--"Madame de Sauve!"
"Yes, your majesty!" she replied, clasping her hands.
"You here, madame?" exclaimed Marguerite, more and more surprised, whileat the same time her voice grew more and more imperative.
Charlotte fell on her knees.
"Madame," she said, "pardon me! I know how guilty I am toward you; butif you knew--the fault is not wholly mine; an express command of thequeen mother"--
"Rise!" said Marguerite, "and as I do not suppose you have come with theintention of justifying yourself to me, tell me why you have come atall."
"I have come, madame," said Charlotte, still on her knees, and with alook of wild alarm, "I came to ask you if he were not here?"
"Here! who?--of whom are you speaking, madame? for I really do notunderstand."
"Of the king!"
"Of the king? What, do you follow him to my apartments? You know verywell that he never comes here."
"Ah, madame!" continued the Baronne de Sauve, without replying to theseattacks, or even seeming to comprehend them, "ah, would to Heaven hewere here!"
"And why so?"
"Eh, _mon Dieu_! madame, because they are murdering the Huguenots, andthe King of Navarre is the chief of the Huguenots."
"Oh!" cried Marguerite, seizing Madame de Sauve by the hand, andcompelling her to rise; "ah! I had forgotten; besides, I did not think aking could run the same dangers as other men."
"More, madame,--a thousand times more!" cried Charlotte.
"In fact, Madame de Lorraine had warned me; I had begged him not toleave the Louvre. Has he done so?"
"No, no, madame, he is in the Louvre; but if he is not here"--
"He is not here!"
"Oh!" cried Madame de Sauve, with an outburst of agony, "then he is adead man, for the queen mother has sworn his destruction!"
"His destruction! ah," said Marguerite, "you terrify me--impossible!"
"Madame," replied Madame de Sauve, with that energy which passion alonecan give, "I tell you that no one knows where the King of Navarre i
s."
"And where is the queen mother?"
"The queen mother sent me to find Monsieur de Guise and Monsieur deTavannes, who were in her oratory, and then dismissed me. Then--pardonme, madame--I went to my room and waited as usual."
"For my husband, I suppose."
"He did not come, madame. Then I sought for him everywhere and askedevery one for him. One soldier told me he thought he had seen him in themidst of the guards who accompanied him, with his sword drawn in hishand, some time before the massacre began, and the massacre has begun anhour ago."
"Thanks, madame," said Marguerite; "and although perhaps the sentimentwhich impels you is an additional offence toward me,--yet, again, Ithank you!"
"Oh, forgive me, madame!" she said, "and I will return to my apartmentsstronger for your pardon, for I dare not follow you, even at adistance."
Marguerite extended her hand to her.
"I will go to Queen Catharine," she said. "Return to your room. The Kingof Navarre is under my protection; I have promised him my alliance and Iwill be faithful to my promise."
"But suppose you cannot obtain access to the queen mother, madame?"
"Then I will go to my brother Charles, and I will speak to him."
"Go, madame, go," said Charlotte, leaving Marguerite room to pass, "andmay God guide your majesty!"
Marguerite darted down the corridor, but when she reached the end of itshe turned to make sure that Madame de Sauve was not lingering behind.Madame de Sauve was following her.
The Queen of Navarre saw her go upstairs to her own apartment, and thenshe herself went toward the queen's chamber.
All was changed here. Instead of the crowd of eager courtiers, whousually opened their ranks before the queen and respectfully salutedher, Marguerite met only guards with red partisans and garments stainedwith blood, or gentlemen in torn cloaks,--their faces blackened withpowder, bearing orders and despatches,--some going in, others going out,and all this movement back and forth made a great and terrible confusionin the galleries.
Marguerite, however, went boldly on until she reached the queen mother'santechamber. But this room was guarded by a double file of soldiers, whoallowed only those who had a certain countersign to enter. Marguerite invain tried to pass this living barrier; several times she saw the dooropen and shut, and each time she saw Catharine, her youth restored byaction, as alert as if she were only twenty years of age, writing,receiving letters, opening them, addressing a word to one, a smile toanother; and those on whom she smiled most graciously were those whowere the most covered with dust and blood.
Amid this vast tumult which reigned in the Louvre and filled it withfrightful clamors, could be heard the rattling of musketry more and moreinsistently repeated.
"I shall never get to her," said Marguerite to herself after she hadmade three ineffectual attempts to pass the halberdiers. "Rather thanwaste my time here, I must go and find my brother."
At this moment M. de Guise passed; he had just informed the queen of themurder of the admiral, and was returning to the butchery.
"Oh, Henry!" cried Marguerite, "where is the King of Navarre?"
The duke looked at her with a smile of astonishment, bowed, and withoutany reply passed out with his guards.
Marguerite ran to a captain who was on the point of leaving the Louvreand was engaged in having his men's arquebuses loaded.
"The King of Navarre!" she exclaimed; "sir, where is the King ofNavarre?"
"I do not know, madame," replied the captain, "I do not belong to hismajesty's guards."
"Ah, my dear Rene," said the queen, recognizing Catharine's perfumer,"is that you?--you have just left my mother. Do you know what has becomeof my husband?"
"His majesty the King of Navarre is no friend of mine, madame, you oughtto remember that. It is even said," he added, with a contraction of hisfeatures more like a grimace than a smile, "it is even said that heventures to accuse me of having been the accomplice, with MadameCatharine, in poisoning his mother."
"No, no!" cried Marguerite, "my good Rene, do not believe that!"
"Oh, it is of little consequence, madame!" said the perfumer; "neitherthe King of Navarre nor his party is any longer to be feared!"
And he turned his back on Marguerite.
"Ah, Monsieur de Tavannes!" cried Marguerite, "one word, I beseech you!"
Tavannes, who was going by, stopped.
"Where is Henry of Navarre?"
"Faith," he replied, in a loud voice, "I believe he is somewhere in thecity with the Messieurs d'Alencon and de Conde."
And then he added, in a tone so low that the queen alone could hear:
"Your majesty, if you would see him,--to be in whose place I would givemy life,--go to the king's armory."
"Thanks, Tavannes, thanks!" said Marguerite, who, of all that Tavanneshad said, had heard only the chief direction; "thank you, I will gothere."
And she went on her way, murmuring:
"Oh, after all I promised him--after the way in which he behaved to mewhen that ingrate, Henry de Guise, was concealed in the closet--I cannotlet him perish!"
And she knocked at the door of the King's apartments; but they wereencompassed within by two companies of guards.
"No one is admitted to the King," said the officer, coming forward.
"But I"--said Marguerite.
"The order is general."
"I, the Queen of Navarre!--I, his sister!"
"My orders admit of no exception, madame; I pray you to pardon me."
And the officer closed the door.
"Oh, he is lost!" exclaimed Marguerite, alarmed at the sight of allthose sinister faces, which even if they did not breathe vengeance,expressed sternness of purpose. "Yes, yes! I comprehend all. I have beenused as a bait. I am the snare which has entrapped the Huguenots; but Iwill enter, if I am killed in the attempt!"
And Marguerite ran like a mad creature through the corridors andgalleries, when suddenly, as she passed by a small door, she heard asweet song, almost melancholy, so monotonous it was. It was aCalvinistic psalm, sung by a trembling voice in the next room.
"My brother the king's nurse--the good Madelon--she is there!" exclaimedMarguerite. "God of the Christians, aid me now!"
And, full of hope, Marguerite knocked at the little door.
* * * * *
Soon after the counsel which Marguerite had conveyed to him, after hisconversation with Rene, and after leaving the queen mother's chamber, inspite of the efforts of the poor little Phoebe,--who like a goodgenius tried to detain him,--Henry of Navarre had met several Catholicgentlemen, who, under a pretext of doing him honor, had escorted him tohis apartments, where a score of Huguenots awaited him, who had ralliedround the young prince, and, having once rallied, would not leavehim--so strongly, for some hours, had the presentiment of that fatalnight weighed on the Louvre. They had remained there, without any oneattempting to disturb them. At last, at the first stroke of the bell ofSaint-Germain l'Auxerrois, which resounded through all hearts like afuneral knell, Tavannes entered, and, in the midst of a death-likesilence, announced that King Charles IX. desired to speak to Henry.
It was useless to attempt resistance, and no one thought of it. Theyheard the ceilings, galleries, and corridors creaking beneath the feetof the assembled soldiers, who were in the court-yards, as well as inthe apartments, to the number of two thousand. Henry, after having takenleave of his friends, whom he was never again to see, followed Tavannes,who led him to a small gallery next the King's apartments, where he lefthim alone, unarmed, and a prey to mistrust.
The King of Navarre counted here alone, minute by minute, two mortalhours; listening, with increasing alarm, to the sound of the tocsin andthe discharge of fire-arms; seeing through a small window, by the lightof the flames and flambeaux, the refugees and their assassins pass;understanding nothing of these shrieks of murder, these cries ofdistress,--not even suspecting, in spite of his knowledge of CharlesIX., the queen mother, and the Duc de
Guise, the horrible drama at thismoment enacting.
Henry had not physical courage, but he had better than that--he hadmoral fortitude. Though he feared danger, yet he smiled at it and facedit; but it was danger in the field of battle--danger in the openair--danger in the eyes of all, and attended by the noisy harmony oftrumpets and the loud and vibrating beat of drums; but now he wasweaponless, alone, locked in, shut up in a semi-darkness where he couldscarcely see the enemy that might glide toward him, and the weapon thatmight be raised to strike him.
These two hours were, perhaps, the most agonizing of his life.
In the hottest of the tumult, and as Henry was beginning to understandthat, in all probability, this was some organized massacre, a captaincame to him, and conducted the prince along a corridor to the King'srooms. As they approached, the door opened and closed behind them as ifby magic. The captain then led Henry to the King, who was in his armory.
When they entered, the King was seated in a great arm-chair, his twohands placed on the two arms of the seat, and his head falling on hischest. At the noise made by their entrance Charles looked up, and Henryobserved the perspiration dropping from his brow like large beads.
"Good evening, Harry," said the young King, roughly. "La Chastre, leaveus."
The captain obeyed.
A gloomy silence ensued. Henry looked around him with uneasiness, andsaw that he was alone with the King.
Charles IX. suddenly arose.
"_Par la mordieu!_" said he, passing his hands through his light brownhair, and wiping his brow at the same time, "you are glad to be with me,are you not, Harry?"
"Certainly, sire," replied the King of Navarre, "I am always happy to bewith your Majesty."
"Happier than if you were down there, eh?" continued Charles, followinghis own thoughts rather than replying to Henry's compliment.
"I do not understand, sire," replied Henry.
"Look out, then, and you will soon understand."
And with a quick movement Charles stepped or rather sprang to thewindow, and drawing with him his brother-in-law, who became more andmore terror-stricken, he pointed to him the horrible outlines of theassassins, who, on the deck of a boat, were cutting the throats ordrowning the victims brought them at every moment.
"In the name of Heaven," cried Henry; "what is going on to-night?"
"To-night, sir," replied Charles IX., "they are ridding me of all theHuguenots. Look yonder, over the Hotel de Bourbon, at the smoke andflames: they are the smoke and flames of the admiral's house, which ison fire. Do you see that body, which these good Catholics are drawing ona torn mattress? It is the corpse of the admiral's son-in-law--thecarcass of your friend, Teligny."
"What means this?" cried the King of Navarre, seeking vainly by his sidefor the hilt of his dagger, and trembling equally with shame and anger;for he felt that he was at the same time laughed at and threatened.
"It means," cried Charles IX., becoming suddenly furious, and turningfrightfully pale, "it means that I will no longer have any Huguenotsabout me. Do you hear me, Henry?--Am I King? Am I master?"
"But, your Majesty"--
"My Majesty kills and massacres at this moment all that is not Catholic;it is my pleasure. Are you a Catholic?" exclaimed Charles, whose angerwas rising higher and higher, like an awful tide.
"Sire," replied Henry, "do you remember your own words, 'What mattersthe religion of those who serve me well'?"
"Ha! ha! ha!" cried Charles, bursting into a ferocious laugh; "you askme if I remember my words, Henry! '_Verba volant_,' as my sister Margotsays; and had not all those"--and he pointed to the city with hisfinger--"served me well, also? Were they not brave in battle, wise incouncil, deeply devoted? They were all useful subjects--but they wereHuguenots, and I want none but Catholics."
Henry remained silent.
"Do you understand me now, Harry?" asked Charles.
"I understand, sire."
"Well?"
"Well, sire, I do not see why the King of Navarre should not do what somany gentlemen and poor folk have done. For if they all die, poorunfortunates, it is because the same terms have been proposed to themwhich your Majesty proposes to me, and they have refused, as I refuse."
Charles seized the young prince's arm, and fixed on him a look thevacancy of which suddenly changed into a fierce and savage scowl.
"What!" he said, "do you believe that I have taken the trouble to offerthe mass to those whose throats we are cutting yonder?"
"Sire," said Henry, disengaging his arm, "will you not die in thereligion of your fathers?"
"Yes, _par la mordieu_! and you?"
"Well, sire, I will do the same!" replied Henry.
Charles uttered a roar of rage and, with trembling hand, seized hisarquebuse, which lay on the table.
Henry, who stood leaning against the tapestry, with the perspiration onhis brow, and nevertheless, owing to his presence of mind, calm to allappearance, followed every movement of the terrible king with the greedystupefaction of a bird fascinated by a serpent.
Charles cocked his arquebuse, and stamping with blind rage cried, as hedazzled Henry's eyes with the polished barrel of the deadly gun:
"Will you accept the mass?"
Henry remained mute.
Charles IX. shook the vaults of the Louvre with the most terrible oaththat ever issued from the lips of man, and grew even more livid thanbefore.
"Death, mass, or the Bastille!" he cried, taking aim at the King ofNavarre.
"Oh, sire!" exclaimed Henry, "will you kill me--me, your brother?"
Henry thus, by his incomparable cleverness, which was one of thestrongest faculties of his organization, evaded the answer which CharlesIX. expected, for undoubtedly had his reply been in the negative Henryhad been a dead man.
As immediately after the climax of rage, reaction begins, Charles IX.did not repeat the question he had addressed to the Prince of Navarre;and after a moment's hesitation, during which he uttered a hoarse kindof growl, he went back to the open window, and aimed at a man who wasrunning along the quay in front.
"I must kill some one!" cried Charles IX., ghastly as a corpse, his eyessuffused with blood; and firing as he spoke, he struck the man who wasrunning.
Henry uttered a groan.
Then, animated by a frightful ardor, Charles loaded and fired hisarquebuse without cessation, uttering cries of joy every time his aimwas successful.
"It is all over with me!" said the King of Navarre to himself; "when hesees no one else to kill, he will kill me!"
"Well," said a voice behind the princes, suddenly, "is it done?"
It was Catharine de Medicis, who had entered unobserved just as the Kingwas firing his last shot.
"No, thousand thunders of hell!" said the King, throwing his arquebuseacross the room. "No, the obstinate blockhead--he will not consent!"
Catharine made no reply. She turned her eyes slowly where Henry stood asmotionless as one of the figures of the tapestry against which he wasleaning. She then gave a glance at the King, which seemed to say:
"Then why he is alive?"
"He is alive, he is alive!" murmured Charles IX., who perfectlyunderstood the glance, and replied to it without hesitation,--"he isalive--because he is my relative."
Catharine smiled.
Henry saw the smile, and realized that his struggle was to be withCatharine.
"Madame," he said to her, "the whole thing comes from you, I see verywell, and my brother-in-law Charles is not to blame. You laid the planfor drawing me into a snare. You made your daughter the bait which wasto destroy us all. You separated me from my wife that she might not seeme killed before her eyes"--
"Yes, but that shall not be!" cried another voice, breathless andimpassioned, which Henry instantly recognized and which made Charlesstart with surprise and Catharine with rage.
"Marguerite!" exclaimed Henry.
"Margot!" said Charles IX.
"My daughter!" muttered Catharine.
"Sire," said Margu
erite to Henry, "your last words were an accusationagainst me, and you were both right and wrong,--right, for I am themeans by which they attempted to destroy you; wrong, for I did not knowthat you were going to your destruction. I, sire, owe my own life tochance--to my mother's forgetfulness, perhaps; but as soon as I learnedyour danger I remembered my duty, and a wife's duty is to share herhusband's fortunes. If you are exiled, sire, I will follow you intoexile; if you are put into prison I will be your fellow-captive; if theykill you, I will also die."
And she offered her husband her hand, which he eagerly seized, if notwith love, at least with gratitude.
"Oh, my poor Margot!" said Charles, "you had much better bid him becomea Catholic!"
"Sire," replied Marguerite, with that lofty dignity which was so naturalto her, "for your own sake do not ask any prince of your house to commita cowardly act."
Catharine darted a significant glance at Charles.
"Brother," cried Marguerite, who equally well with Charles IX.understood Catharine's ominous pantomime, "my brother, remember! youmade him my husband!"
Charles IX., at bay between Catharine's commanding eyes and Marguerite'ssupplicating look, as if between the two opposing principles of good andevil, stood for an instant undecided; at last Ormazd won the day.
"In truth," said he, whispering in Catharine's ear, "Margot is right,and Harry is my brother-in-law."
"Yes," replied Catharine in a similar whisper in her son's ear,"yes--but supposing he were not?"