La reine Margot. English

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE MASSACRE.

  The hotel occupied by the admiral, as we have said, was situated in theRue de Bethizy. It was a great mansion at the rear of a court and hadtwo wings giving on the street. A wall furnished with a large gate andtwo small grilled doors stretched from wing to wing.

  When our three Guisards reached the end of the Rue de Bethizy, which isa continuation of the Rue des Fosses Saint Germain l'Auxerrois, they sawthe hotel surrounded by Swiss, by soldiers, and by armed citizens; everyone had in his right hand either a sword or a pike or an arquebuse, andsome held in their left hands torches, shedding over the scene a fitfuland melancholy glare which, according as the throng moved, shifted alongthe street, climbed the walls; or spread over that living sea whereevery weapon cast its answering flash.

  All around the hotel and in the Rues Tirechappe, Etienne, and BertinPoiree the terrible work was proceeding. Long shouts were heard, therewas an incessant rattle of musketry, and from time to time some wretch,half naked, pale, and drenched in blood, leaped like a hunted stag intothe circle of lugubrious light where a host of fiends seemed to be atwork.

  In an instant Coconnas, Maurevel, and La Huriere, accredited by theirwhite crosses, and received with cries of welcome, were in the thickestof this struggling, panting mob. Doubtless they would not have been ableto advance had not some of the throng recognized Maurevel and made wayfor him. Coconnas and La Huriere followed him closely and the threetherefore contrived to get into the court-yard.

  In the centre of this court-yard, the three doors of which had beenburst open, a man, around whom the assassins formed a respectful circle,stood leaning on his drawn rapier, and eagerly looking up at a balconyabout fifteen feet above him, and extending in front of the principalwindow of the hotel.

  This man stamped impatiently on the ground, and from time to timequestioned those that were nearest to him.

  "Nothing yet!" murmured he. "No one!--he must have been warned and hasescaped. What do you think, Du Gast?"

  "Impossible, monseigneur."

  "Why? Did you not tell me that just before we arrived a man,bare-headed, a drawn sword in his hand, came running, as if pursued,knocked at the door, and was admitted?"

  "Yes, monseigneur; but M. de Besme came up immediately, the gates wereshattered, and the hotel was surrounded."

  "The man went in sure enough, but he has not gone out."

  "Why," said Coconnas to La Huriere, "if my eyes do not deceive me, Isee Monsieur de Guise."

  "You do see him, sir. Yes; the great Henry de Guise is come in person towatch for the admiral and serve him as he served the duke's father.Every one has his day, and it is our turn now."

  "Hola, Besme, hola!" cried the duke, in his powerful voice, "have younot finished yet?"

  And he struck his sword so forcibly against the stones that sparks flewout.

  At this instant shouts were heard in the hotel--then several shots--thena great shuffling of feet and a clashing of swords, and then all wasagain silent.

  The duke was about to rush into the house.

  "Monseigneur, monseigneur!" said Du Gast, detaining him, "your dignitycommands you to wait here."

  "You are right, Du Gast. I must stay here; but I am dying withimpatience and anxiety. If he were to escape me!"

  Suddenly the noise of feet came nearer--the windows of the first floorwere lighted up with what seemed the reflection of a conflagration.

  The window, to which the duke's eyes had been so many times lifted,opened, or, rather, was shattered to pieces, and a man, his pale faceand white neck stained with blood, appeared on the balcony.

  "Ah! at last, Besme!" cried the duke; "speak! speak!"

  "Louk! louk!" replied the German coldly, and stooping down he lifted upsomething which seemed like a heavy body.

  "But where are the others?" asked the duke, impatiently, "where are theothers?"

  "De udders are vinishing de udders!"

  "And what have you done?"

  "Vait! You shall peholt! Shtant pack a liddle."

  The duke fell back a step.

  At that instant the object Besme was dragging toward him with sucheffort became visible.

  It was the body of an old man.

  He lifted it above the balcony, held it suspended an instant, and thenflung it down at his master's feet.

  The heavy thud, the billows of blood spurting from the body andspattering the pavement all around, filled even the duke himself withhorror; but this feeling lasted only an instant, and curiosity causedevery one to crowd forward, so that the glare of the torches flickeredon the victim's body.

  They could see a white beard, a venerable face, and limbs contracted bydeath.

  "The admiral!" cried twenty voices, as instantaneously hushed.

  "Yes, the admiral, here he is!" said the duke, approaching the corpse,and contemplating it with silent ecstasy.

  "The admiral! the admiral!" repeated the witnesses of this terriblescene, crowding together and timidly approaching the old man, majesticeven in death.

  "Ah, at last, Gaspard!" said the Duke de Guise, triumphantly. "Murdererof my father! thus do I avenge him!"

  And the duke dared to plant his foot on the breast of the Protestanthero.

  But instantly the dying warrior opened his eyes, his bleeding andmutilated hand was clinched for the last time, and the admiral, thoughwithout stirring, said to the duke in a sepulchral voice:

  "Henry de Guise, some day the assassin's foot shall be felt on yourbreast. I did not kill your father. A curse upon you."

  The duke, pale, and trembling in spite of himself, felt a cold shuddercome over him. He passed his hand across his brow, as if to dispel thefearful vision; when he dared again to glance at the admiral his eyeswere closed, his hand unclinched, and a stream of black blood wasflowing from the mouth which had just pronounced such terrible words.

  The duke raised his sword with a gesture of desperate resolution.

  "Vell, monsir, are you gondent?"

  "Yes, my worthy friend, yes, for you have revenged"--

  "The Dugue Francois, haf I not?"

  "Our religion," replied Henry, in a solemn voice. "And now," he went on,addressing the Swiss, the soldiers, and citizens who filled the courtand street, "to work, my friends, to work!"

  "Good evening, M. de Besme," said Coconnas with a sort of admiration,approaching the German, who still stood on the balcony, calmly wipinghis sword.

  "So you settled him, did you?" cried La Huriere; "how did you manageit?"

  "Oh, zimbly, zimbly; he haf heerd de gommotion, he haf oben de door untI joost brick my rabier troo his potty. But I tink dey am gillingTeligny now. I hear his gries!"

  At that instant, in fact, several shrieks, apparently uttered by a womanin distress, were heard; the windows of the long gallery which formed awing of the hotel were lighted up with a red glare; two men were seenfleeing, pursued by a long line of assassins. An arquebuse-shot killedone; the other, finding an open window directly in his way, withoutstopping to look at the distance from the ground, sprang boldly into thecourtyard below, heeding not the enemies who awaited him there.

  "Kill! kill!" cried the assassins, seeing their prey about to escapethem.

  The fugitive picked up his sword, which as he stumbled had fallen fromhis hand, dashed headlong through the soldiers, upset three or four, ranone through the body, and amid the pistol-shots and curses of thesoldiers, rendered furious because they had missed him, darted likelightning in front of Coconnas, who was waiting for him at the gate withhis poniard in his hand.

  "Touched!" cried the Piedmontese, piercing his arm with his keen,delicate blade.

  "Coward!" replied the fugitive, striking his enemy in the face with theflat of his weapon, for want of room to thrust at him with its point.

  "A thousand devils!" cried Coconnas; "it's Monsieur de la Mole!"

  "Monsieur de la Mole!" re-echoed La Huriere and Maurevel.

  "He is the one who warned the admiral!" cried severa
l soldiers.

  "Kill him--kill him!" was shouted on all sides.

  Coconnas, La Huriere, and a dozen soldiers rushed in pursuit of La Mole,who, covered with blood, and having attained that state of exaltationwhich is the last resource of human strength, dashed through thestreets, with no other guide than instinct. Behind him, the footstepsand shouts of his enemies spurred him on and seemed to give him wings.Occasionally a bullet would whistle by his ears and suddenly add newswiftness to his flight just as it was beginning to slacken. He nolonger breathed; it was not breath, but a dull rattle, a hoarse panting,that came from his chest. Perspiration and blood wet his locks and rantogether down his face.

  His doublet soon became too oppressive for the beating of his heart andhe tore it off. Soon his sword became too heavy for his hand and heflung it far away. Sometimes it seemed to him that the footsteps of hispursuers were farther off and that he was about to escape them; but inresponse to their shouts, other murderers who were along his path andnearer to him left off their bloody occupations and started in pursuitof him.

  Suddenly he caught sight of the river flowing silently at his left; itseemed to him that he should feel, like a stag at bay, an ineffablepleasure in plunging into it, and only the supreme power of reason couldrestrain him.

  On his right was the Louvre, dark and motionless, but full of strangeand ominous sounds; soldiers on the drawbridge came and went, andhelmets and cuirasses glittered in the moonlight. La Mole thought of theKing of Navarre, as he had before thought of Coligny; they were his onlyprotectors. He collected all his strength, and inwardly vowing to abjurehis faith should he escape the massacre, by making a detour of a scoreor two of yards he misled the mob pursuing him, darted straight for theLouvre, leaped upon the drawbridge among the soldiers, received anotherponiard stab which grazed his side, and despite the cries of"Kill--kill!" which resounded on all sides, and the opposing weapons ofthe sentinels, darted like an arrow through the court, into thevestibule, mounted the staircase, then up two stories higher, recognizeda door, and leaning against it, struck it violently with his hands andfeet.

  "Who is there?" asked a woman's voice.

  "Oh, my God!" murmured La Mole; "they are coming, I hear them; 'tisI--'tis I!"

  "Who are you?" said the voice.

  La Mole recollected the pass-word.

  "Navarre--Navarre!" cried he.

  The door instantly opened. La Mole, without thanking, without evenseeing Gillonne, dashed into the vestibule, then along a corridor,through two or three chambers, until at last he entered a room lightedby a lamp suspended from the ceiling.

  Behind curtains of velvet with gold fleurs-de-lis, in a bed of carvedoak, a lady, half naked, leaning on her arm, stared at him with eyeswide open with terror.

  La Mole sprang toward her.

  "Madame," cried he, "they are killing, they are butchering mybrothers--they seek to kill me, to butcher me also! Ah! you are thequeen--save me!"

  And he threw himself at her feet, leaving on the carpet a large track ofblood.

  At the sight of a man pale, exhausted, and bleeding at her feet, theQueen of Navarre started up in terror, hid her face in her hands, andcalled for help.

  "Madame," cried La Mole, endeavoring to rise, "in the name of Heaven donot call, for if you are heard I am lost! Assassins are in mytrack--they are rushing up the stairs behind me. I hear them--there theyare! there they are!"

  "Help!" cried the queen, beside herself, "help!"

  "Ah!" said La Mole, despairingly, "you have killed me. To die by sosweet a voice, so fair a hand! I did not think it possible."

  At the same time the door flew open, and a troop of men, their facescovered with blood and blackened with powder, their swords drawn, andtheir pikes and arquebuses levelled, rushed into the apartment.

  Coconnas was at their head--his red hair bristling, his pale blue eyesextraordinarily dilated, his cheek cut open by La Mole's sword, whichhad ploughed its bloody furrow there. Thus disfigured, the Piedmontesewas terrible to behold.

  "By Heaven!" he cried, "there he is! there he is! Ah! this time we havehim at last!"

  La Mole looked round him for a weapon, but in vain; he glanced at thequeen, and saw the deepest pity depicted in her face; then he felt thatshe alone could save him; he threw his arms round her.

  Coconnas advanced, and with the point of his long rapier again woundedhis enemy's shoulder, and the crimson drops of warm blood stained thewhite and perfumed sheets of Marguerite's couch.

  Marguerite saw the blood flow; she felt the shudder that ran through LaMole's frame; she threw herself with him into the recess between the bedand the wall. It was time, for La Mole, whose strength was exhausted,was incapable of flight or resistance; he leaned his pallid head onMarguerite's shoulder, and his hand convulsively seized and tore thethin embroidered cambric which enveloped Marguerite's body in a billowof gauze.

  "Oh, madame," murmured he, in a dying voice, "save me."

  He could say no more. A mist like the darkness of death came over hiseyes, his head sunk back, his arms fell at his side, his legs gave way,and he sank on the floor, bathed in his blood, and dragging the queenwith him.

  At this moment Coconnas, excited by the shouts, intoxicated by the sightof blood, and exasperated by the long chase, advanced toward the recess;in another instant his sword would have pierced La Mole's heart, andperhaps Marguerite's also.

  At the sight of the bare steel, and even more moved at such brutalinsolence, the daughter of kings drew herself up to her full stature anduttered such a shriek of terror, indignation, and rage that thePiedmontese stood petrified by an unknown feeling; and yet undoubtedlyhad this scene been prolonged and no other actor taken part in it, hisfeeling would have vanished like a morning snow under an April sun. Butsuddenly a secret door in the wall opened, and a pale young man ofsixteen or seventeen, dressed in black and with his hair in disorder,rushed in.

  "Wait, sister!" he cried; "here I am, here I am!"

  "Francois! Francois!" cried Marguerite; "help! help!"

  "The Duc d'Alencon!" murmured La Huriere, grounding his arquebuse.

  "By Heaven! a son of France!" growled Coconnas, drawing back.

  The duke glanced round him. He saw Marguerite, dishevelled, more lovelythan ever, leaning against the wall, surrounded by men, fury in theireyes, sweat on their foreheads, and foam in their mouths.

  "Wretches!" cried he.

  "Save me, brother!" shrieked Marguerite. "They are going to kill me!"

  A flame flashed across the duke's pallid face.

  He was unarmed, but sustained, no doubt, by the consciousness of hisrank, he advanced with clinched fists toward Coconnas and hiscompanions, who retreated, terrified at the lightning darting from hiseyes.

  "Ha! and will you murder a son of France, too?" cried the duke. Then, asthey recoiled,--"Ho, there! captain of the guard! Hang every one ofthese ruffians!"

  More alarmed at the sight of this weaponless young man than he wouldhave been at the aspect of a regiment of reiters or lansquenets,Coconnas had already reached the door. La Huriere was leaping downstairslike a deer, and the soldiers were jostling and pushing one another inthe vestibule in their endeavors to escape, finding the door far toosmall for their great desire to be outside it. Meantime Marguerite hadinstinctively thrown the damask coverlid of her bed over La Mole, andwithdrawn from him.

  When the last murderer had departed the Duc d'Alencon came back:

  "Sister," he cried, seeing Marguerite all dabbled with blood, "are youwounded?" And he sprang toward his sister with a solicitude which wouldhave done credit to his affection if he had not been charged withharboring too deep an affection for a brother to entertain for a sister.

  "No," said she; "I think not, or, if so, very slightly."

  "But this blood," said the duke, running his trembling hands all overMarguerite's body. "Where does it come from?"

  "I know not," replied she; "one of those wretches laid his hand on me,and perhaps he was wounded."

 
"What!" cried the duke, "he dared to touch my sister? Oh, if you hadonly pointed him out to me, if you had told me which one it was, if Iknew where to find him"--

  "Hush!" said Marguerite.

  "And why?" asked Francois.

  "Because if you were seen at this time of night in my room"--

  "Can't a brother visit his sister, Marguerite?"

  The queen gave the duke a look so keen and yet so threatening that theyoung man drew back.

  "Yes, yes, Marguerite," said he, "you are right, I will go to my room;but you cannot remain alone this dreadful night. Shall I call Gillonne?"

  "No, no! leave me, Francois--leave me. Go by the way you came!"

  The young prince obeyed; and hardly had he disappeared when Marguerite,hearing a sigh from behind her bed, hurriedly bolted the door of thesecret passage, and then hastening to the other entrance closed it inthe same way, just as a troop of archers and soldiers like a hurricanedashed by in hot chase of some other Huguenot residents in the Louvre.

  After glancing round to assure herself that she was really alone, sheagain went to the "ruelle" of her bed, lifted the damask covering whichhad concealed La Mole from the Duc d'Alencon, and drawing the apparentlylifeless body, by great exertion, into the middle of the room, andfinding that the victim still breathed, sat down, placed his head on herknees, and sprinkled his face with water.

  Then as the water cleared away the mask of blood, dust, and gunpowderwhich had covered his face, Marguerite recognized the handsome cavalierwho, full of life and hope, had three or four hours before come to askher to look out for his interests with her protection and that of theKing of Navarre; and had gone away, dazzled by her beauty, leaving heralso impressed by his.

  Marguerite uttered a cry of terror, for now what she felt for thewounded man was more than mere pity--it was interest. He was no longer amere stranger: he was almost an acquaintance. By her care La Mole's finefeatures soon reappeared, free from stain, but pale and distorted bypain. A shudder ran through her whole frame as she tremblingly placedher hand on his heart. It was still beating. Then she took asmelling-bottle from the table, and applied it to his nostrils.

  La Mole opened his eyes.

  "Oh! _mon Dieu!_" murmured he; "where am I?"

  "Saved!" said Marguerite. "Reassure yourself--you are saved."

  La Mole turned his eyes on the queen, gazed earnestly for a moment, andmurmured,

  "Oh, how beautiful you are!"

  Then as if the vision were too much for him, he closed his lids and drewa sigh.

  Marguerite started. He had become still paler than before, if that werepossible, and for an instant that sigh was his last.

  "Oh, my God! my God!" she ejaculated, "have pity on him!"

  At this moment a violent knocking was heard at the door. Marguerite halfraised herself, still supporting La Mole.

  "Who is there?" she cried.

  "Madame, it is I--it is I," replied a woman's voice, "the Duchesse deNevers."

  "Henriette!" cried Marguerite. "There is no danger; it is a friend ofmine! Do you hear, sir?"

  La Mole with some effort got up on one knee.

  "Try to support yourself while I go and open the door," said the queen.

  La Mole rested his hand on the floor and succeeded in holding himselfupright.

  Marguerite took one step toward the door, but suddenly stopped,shivering with terror.

  "Ah, you are not alone!" she said, hearing the clash of arms outside.

  "No, I have twelve guards which my brother-in-law, Monsieur de Guise,assigned me."

  "Monsieur de Guise!" murmured La Mole. "The assassin--the assassin!"

  "Silence!" said Marguerite. "Not a word!"

  And she looked round to see where she could conceal the wounded man.

  "A sword! a dagger!" muttered La Mole.

  "To defend yourself--useless! Did you not hear? There are twelve ofthem, and you are alone."

  "Not to defend myself, but that I may not fall alive into their hands."

  "No, no!" said Marguerite. "No, I will save you. Ah! this cabinet! Come!come."

  La Mole made an effort, and, supported by Marguerite, dragged himself tothe cabinet. Marguerite locked the door upon him, and hid the key in heralms-purse.

  "Not a cry, not a groan, not a sigh," whispered she, through thepanelling, "and you are saved."

  Then hastily throwing a night-robe over her shoulders, she opened thedoor for her friend, who tenderly embraced her.

  "Ah!" cried Madame Nevers, "then nothing has happened to you, madame!"

  "No, nothing at all," replied Marguerite, wrapping the mantle still moreclosely round her to conceal the spots of blood on her peignoir.

  "'Tis well. However, as Monsieur de Guise has given me twelve of hisguards to escort me to his hotel, and as I do not need such a largecompany, I am going to leave six with your majesty. Six of the duke'sguards are worth a regiment of the King's to-night."

  Marguerite dared not refuse; she placed the soldiers in the corridor,and embraced the duchess, who then returned to the Hotel de Guise, whereshe resided in her husband's absence.