OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 34-5 tA 54 
 
 J52.S 
 
 v. <4 
 
Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. A 
 charge is made on all overdue 
 books. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 MAR ii 
 
 
 
 'N 27 
 
 f 1 1 
 
 MAY 30 1380 
 
 
 
 
 c$M 
 
 JAM 2:1 
 
 L)r* 
 
 ■' ‘- 1 V 
 
 
 
 . M "2 w 
 
 uCi 
 
 
 Mfit? 
 
 
 JUN 15 H 
 
 f 53 * ah 
 
 
 MU 21 
 
 f35< m 
 
 R 0? I9G8 
 
 FLc 
 
 133b Ki 2 
 
 9 m ‘ 
 
 "h 
 
 
 
 
 
 M 32 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/writingsofprospe06meri 
 
THE WRITINGS OF 
 
 PROSPER MERIMEE 
 
 COMPRISING HIS 
 
 NOVELS, TALES, AND LETTERS TO AN UNKNOWN 
 
 WITH 
 
 An Essay on the Genius and Achievement of the Author 
 
 By GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A. 
 
 COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES 
 
THE NOVELS, TALES AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 PROSPER MERIMEE 
 
 Edited by Pkof. George Saintsbury, M.A. 
 
 COVi » T'. j's IN Kit;: . »• v ; ■ v : - 
 
 I'HHONICLE OF 
 
 i REIGN OF 
 
 ii ARLES IX. 
 
 Translated by 
 
 PROF. GEORGE SAINTSBURV, M.A. 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 
 EDOUARD TOUDOUZE 
 
 ii o a' Hwy n yre - ” — 
 
 NEW TORlJ d . , 8i fclowa f4h^ u ' l ‘ 1 
 
 ” .bnuow g'nBiri ^nuov orfj oini ^rii«qni^8 
 
 J’ P - ^ r^VS’svmb v> mvovI 
 
 M C M V I 
 

 “ See, madam/’ said she, " this scorpion’s oil 
 with which I rub the sword is directed by virtue of 
 sympathy into the young man’s wound. ” 
 
 From a drawing bj Edouard Toudouze. 
 
THE NOVELS, TALES AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 PROSPER MERIMEE 
 
 Edited by Prof. George Saintsbury, M.A. 
 
 COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF 
 
 THE REIGN OF 
 CHARLES IX. 
 
 Translated by 
 
 PROF. GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A. 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 
 EDOUARD TOUDOUZE 
 
 NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA 
 
 FRANK S. HOLBY 
 
 MCMVI 
 
Copyright, 1905 
 By FRANK S. HOLBY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
845 M 54 
 TS2.B 
 V, k 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 VOLUME VI. 
 
 t( See, madam/’ said she, “ this scorpion’s oil with 
 which I rub the sword is directed by virtue of 
 sympathy into the young man’s wound. ’ ’ (p. 1 57) 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 From a drawing by Edouard Toudouze 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Captain returned the salute, and both looked at 
 
 each other for some time without speaking . . 8 
 
 From a drawing by Edouard Toudouze 
 
 The horsemen were not twenty paces off, when Mergy, 
 
 rising suddenly, shouted, “ Fire! ” . . . .312 
 
 From a drawing by Edouard Toudouze 
 
AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 I HAD been reading a considerable num- 
 ber of memoirs and pamphlets relating to 
 the end of the sixteenth century. I took 
 a fancy to extract some of the matter of my 
 reading; and the result of the process is the 
 present book. 
 
 Anecdotes are the only part of history that 
 I love; and among anecdotes I prefer those where 
 it seems to me that I find a true picture of man- 
 ners and character at a given time. This is 
 not a very dignified taste; but I confess to my 
 shame that I would willingly give Thucydides 
 for some authentic memoirs by Aspasia or by 
 a slave of Pericles. For memoirs alone, which 
 are as it were familiar conversations of an author 
 with his reader, furnish those portraits of human 
 beings which amuse and interest me. To form 
 an idea of the Frenchman of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury you must go, not to Mezeray, but to Mont- 
 luc, Brantome, D’Aubigne, Tavannes, La Noue, 
 and their likes. The very style of these contem- 
 porary authors teaches as much as their matter. 
 
VI 
 
 AUTHOR S PREFACE 
 
 For instance, I read in L’Estoile this short 
 note : — 
 
 “ The damsel of Chateauneuf, one of the 
 king’s favourites before he went to Poland, hav- 
 ing married for love a certain Florentine officer 
 of the galleys at Marseilles, named Antinotti, 
 and finding him in the act of infidelity, slew him, 
 manlike, with her own hands.” 
 
 By dint of this anecdote, and of many others 
 whereof Brantome is full, I can reconstruct a 
 whole character in my mind, and I can bring 
 to life again a lady of the Court of Henri III. 
 
 To my fancy, it is curious to compare these 
 manners with ours, and to note in the latter the 
 decadence of vigorous passions. Hence, no 
 doubt, a gain in quiet living, and perhaps in 
 happiness. But we have still to find out whether 
 we are better men than our ancestors; and this 
 question is not so easy to settle, for ideas have 
 greatly varied at different times on the subject 
 of the same actions. Thus, about 1500, a mur- 
 der by dagger or poison inspired nothing like 
 the horror that it does now. A gentleman killed 
 his enemy treacherously; he sued for pardon, 
 obtained it, and appeared in society without any- 
 one dreaming of frowning on him. Sometimes, 
 indeed, when the murderer had a legitimate 
 grievance, men spoke of him as they speak now 
 
AUTHOR S PREFACE 
 
 vn 
 
 of a man of honour who has, in a duel, killed 
 some scoundrel by whom he has been grievously 
 offended. 
 
 Thus it seems to me clear that we must not 
 use our nineteenth century ideas in judging six- 
 teenth century conduct. What is criminal in a 
 state of advanced civilization is only a bold deed 
 in a state more backward, and in a state of bar- 
 barism may perhaps be a laudable action. It is 
 generally felt that the judgment which is passed 
 on the same action must vary with countries as 
 well as with times, for between nation and na- 
 tion there is at least as much difference as be- 
 tween century and century.* Mehemet Ali, 
 with whom the Mameluke Beys vied for the con- 
 trol of Egypt, one day invites the principal 
 chiefs of his militia to a festival within his 
 palace walls; when they are inside the gates are 
 shut; Arnauts shoot them down from behind 
 cover on the top of the courtyard walls, and from 
 that time Mehemet Ali reigns alone in Egypt. 
 Well, we negotiate with Mehemet Ali; Euro- 
 peans even think very highly of him; he is held 
 a great man by all the newspapers ; they call him 
 Egypt’s benefactor. And yet what can be more 
 
 * May not this rule be extended to individuals ? Is the son of a thief, 
 who himself thieves, as culpable as an educated man who goes through a 
 fraudulent bankruptcy ? 
 
Vlll 
 
 AUTHOR S PREFACE 
 
 horrible than to butcher defenceless men in this 
 way? As a fact, murderous traps of this kind 
 are sanctioned by the custom of the country, and 
 by the impossibility of managing matters other- 
 wise. ’Tis then that the maxim of Figaro, Ma 
 per Dio , Vutilita , comes in. If a minister whom 
 I will not name had found Arnauts ready to 
 shoot at his orders, and if at a state dinner he had 
 despatched the chief members of the Left, the 
 action would have been, as far as actual fact went, 
 the same as that of the Pasha of Egypt, but 
 morally it would have been a hundred times more 
 blameworthy. Yet this minister turned into the 
 streets many Liberal electors who were small 
 government functionaries, frightened the rest, 
 and made the elections go as he wished. If Me- 
 hemet Ali had been a French minister he also 
 would have taken no stronger measures, and in 
 the same way the French minister would doubt- 
 less, in Egypt, have been obliged to take to the 
 fusillade, turnings out of office not being calcu- 
 lated to produce a sufficient moral effect on 
 Mamelukes. 
 
 The massacre of St. Bartholomew was a 
 great crime even for its own day; but, I repeat, 
 a massacre as such in the sixteenth century was 
 not the same crime as a massacre in the nine- 
 teenth. Let us add that the greater part of the 
 
AUTHOR S PREFACE 
 
 IX 
 
 nation took a share in it or sympathized with it, 
 and armed in a body to attack the Huguenots, 
 who were held to be strangers and enemies. St. 
 Bartholomew was, in short, a national uprising, 
 like that of the Spaniards in 1809; and the citi- 
 zens of Paris, when they cut the throats of the 
 heretics, had a firm belief that they were obeying 
 the voice of heaven. 
 
 It is no part of the business of a teller of 
 tales like myself to give in this volume a precis of 
 the historical incidents of 1572, but as I have 
 mentioned St. Bartholomew I cannot refrain 
 from setting forth certain thoughts that have 
 occurred to me as I read this bloody page of our 
 i history. Have the causes which brought about 
 the massacre been well understood? Was it long 
 premeditated, or was it not rather the result of 
 a sudden resolve, even of a chance? No historian 
 supplies me with satisfactory answers to any of 
 these questions. They all admit as evidence mere 
 street rumours and alleged conversations, of very 
 small weight in deciding a historical question of 
 such importance. Some of them represent 
 Charles IX. as a prodigy of dissimulation ; 
 others as a man of hasty, violent, and fantastic 
 temper. If, long before the 24th of August, 
 he broke out into threats against the Protes- 
 tants, it is proof that he had long been medi- 
 
X 
 
 AUTHOR S PREFACE 
 
 tating their destruction; if he paid attentions to 
 them, it is a proof that he was dissembling. I 
 will quote a single story only, one repeated in 
 all the books, and one which shows with what 
 levity the most improbable rumours are ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 About a year before St. Bartholomew’s Day, 
 it is said, a plan of massacre had been already 
 arranged; it was this. There was to be built 
 on the Pre-aux-Clercs a wooden tower; the 
 Duke of Guise, with a body of Catholic gentry 
 and soldiery, was to be posted therein, and the 
 Admiral with his Protestants was to have made 
 a sham attack, as if to give the King a siege in 
 spectacle. As soon as this kind of tournament 
 had begun, the Catholics were, at a signal, to 
 load their pieces and kill their surprised enemies 
 before they could possibly stand on their guard. 
 To improve the story, it is added that a favour- 
 ite of Charles IX., named Lignerolles, foolishly 
 revealed the plot by saying to the King, who 
 was using harsh language about the Protestant 
 lords, “Ah! Sire, wait a little longer; we have 
 a fort which will avenge us of all the heretics ” 
 (observe, if you please, that not a stick of this 
 fort was yet in position) ; whereupon the King 
 took care to have the blabber assassinated. The 
 plan, they say, was devised by the Chancellor 
 
AUTHORS PREFACE 
 
 xi 
 
 Birague, in whose mouth, however, a saying is 
 put which points to quite different projects — 
 the saying, that in order to deliver the King from 
 his enemies he wanted only a few cooks. This 
 last method was much more practical than the 
 other, which is so wild as to be nearly impossible. 
 How, indeed, could the suspicions of the Prot- 
 estants fail to be aroused by the preparations 
 for this mimic war, where the two parties, open 
 enemies just before, were to be set at one an- 
 other’s throats? while it was but an awkward 
 way of making the Huguenots an easy prey to 
 brigade them together and put arms in their 
 hands. Clearly, if the idea was to exterminate 
 them then, it would have been much better to 
 attack them in detail and disarmed. 
 
 But for my part I have a strong conviction 
 that the massacre was not premeditated, and I 
 cannot conceive how the opposite opinion has 
 been adopted by authors who at the same time 
 concur in representing Catherine as a very 
 wicked woman no doubt, but also as possessing 
 one of the most statesmanlike heads of the cen- 
 tury. Let us put morals aside for a moment, 
 and examine the supposed design from the point 
 of view of expediency. Now, I hold that it was 
 not expedient for the Court; and, moreover, that 
 it was so bunglingly carried out as to necessitate 
 
xii AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 the supposition that those who devised it were* 
 the most reckless of mankind. Let anyone ask 
 himself whether the King’s authority had to 
 gain or lose by this execution, and whether it 
 was the King’s interest to permit it. France was 
 divided into three great parties: that of the 
 Protestants, of which, since the death of Conde, 
 the Admiral was the head; that of the King (the 
 weakest), and that of the Guises and the ultra- 
 royalists of the day. It is clear that the King, 
 to whom the Guises and the Protestants were 
 equally objects of fear, was bound to seek to 
 uphold his own authority by keeping these two 
 parties at loggerheads. To crush one was to 
 put himself at the mercy of the other. Besides, 
 the see-saw plan was already well known. Louis 
 XI. had said, “ Divide in order to reign.” 
 
 And now let us see whether Charles IX. 
 was pious; for excessive piety might have sug- 
 gested to him steps contrary to his interest. But 
 all evidence goes to show the reverse; to show 
 that, if he was not a freethinker, he was at the 
 same time by no means a fanatic. Besides, his 
 mother, who governed him, would never have 
 hesitated to sacrifice her religious scruples, if 
 she had any, to her love of power.* 
 
 * A saying of Charles IX. has been quoted, as an instance of profound 
 dissimulation, which seems to me to be, on the contrary, only the coarse 
 
AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 xm 
 
 But let us suppose that Charles, or his 
 mother, or if anyone prefers it, his government, 
 had in the teeth of all the principles of statecraft 
 resolved to destroy the Protestants of France. 
 In that case, when the resolve was once formed, 
 it is probable that they would have given mature 
 consideration to the means most proper for as- 
 suring success. Now one thing suggests itself 
 at once, as essential to safety, to wit, that the 
 massacre should take place in all the towns of 
 the kingdom at the same time, so that the re- 
 formers, everywhere attacked by superior 
 forces,* might be everywhere unable to defend 
 themselves. A single day would have been 
 enough for their destruction; and it was thus 
 that Ahasuerus planned the massacre of the 
 Jews. Yet we read that the first royal orders 
 for massacring the Protestants are dated August 
 28 th, that is to say, four days after St. Bar- 
 tholomew, and when the news of that great 
 butchery must have got the start of the royal 
 
 sally of a man quite indifferent to religion. The Pope made a difficulty of 
 giving the necessary dispensation for the marriage of Marguerite de Valois, 
 sister of Charles IX., with Henri IV., who was then a Protestant. “If the 
 Holy Father refuses,” said the King, “I will tuck sister Margoton under 
 my arm and take her to be married in full meeting-house.” 
 
 * The population of France was about twenty million souls. It was cal- 
 culated that at the time of the second civil war the Protestants were not 
 more than a million and a half strong; but they were proportionally 
 stronger in wealth, warriors, and generals. 
 
XIV 
 
 AUTHOR S PREFACE 
 
 despatches and have alarmed all those of “ the 
 religion.” 
 
 Again, it would have been especially neces- 
 sary to seize the strongholds of the Protestants; 
 for while they retained control of these the royal 
 authority was not assured. Thus, supposing a 
 regular plot on the part of the Catholics to have 
 existed, it is clear that one of the most im- 
 portant steps would have been to seize Rochelle 
 by the 24th of August, and to have an army 
 simultaneously on foot in the south of France 
 to prevent any combined uprising of the re- 
 formers.* 
 
 Nothing of this sort was done; and I cannot 
 admit that the same men were likely at once to 
 conceive a crime the results of which must have 
 been so momentous, and to execute it so ill. So 
 badly indeed were measures taken, that a few 
 months after St. Bartholomew the war broke out 
 afresh, a war wherein the reformers won all the 
 credit, and from which they even obtained new 
 and solid advantage. 
 
 Lastly, does not the attempt to assassinate 
 Coligny, which was made two days before St. 
 Bartholomew, put the final touch to the refuta- 
 
 * During the second civil war the Protestants in a single day surprised 
 more than half the fortresses of France. The Catholics could have done 
 the same. 
 
AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 xv 
 
 tion of the supposed general scheme? Why kill 
 the chief before the general massacre? Was it 
 not the very way to scare the Huguenots, and 
 to force them to stand on their guard? 
 
 I know that some authors attribute this at- 
 tack on the Admiral’s person to Guise alone ; but, 
 not to mention that public opinion accused the 
 King of the deed,* and that the would-be 
 assassin received a formal royal recompense, I 
 should draw from the very fact of the outrage 
 an argument against the plot. Had it really 
 existed, the Duke of Guise must have had a hand 
 in it; and, if so, why not delay his private ven- 
 geance for a couple of days, so as to make its 
 success certain? Why risk the failure of the 
 whole enterprise in the sole hope of hastening his 
 enemy’s death by forty-eight hours? 
 
 Thus all evidence seems to me to show that 
 this great massacre was not the result of a con- 
 spiracy on the part of the King against a section 
 of his people. The massacre of St. Bartholomew 
 appears to me the result of a popular ris- 
 ing which could not be foreseen, and which 
 was in fact improvised; and I shall now, in 
 all humility, give my own explanation of the 
 riddle. 
 
 Coligny had thrice negotiated with his sov- 
 
 * Maurevel was surnamed “The King’s Butcher.” See Brantome. 
 
XVI 
 
 AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 ereign on equal terms, and that was reason 
 enough why the King should hate him. After 
 the death of Jeanne D’Albret, the two young 
 princes (the King of Navarre and the Prince of 
 Conde) being too young to exercise any in- 
 fluence, Coligny was, in truth and in fact, the 
 only chief of the reformed party. When he was 
 out of the way the two princes, in their enemy’s 
 camp, and quasi-prisoners there, were at the 
 King’s mercy. Thus the death of Coligny, and 
 of Coligny only, was important for assuring the 
 authority of Charles, who had perhaps not for- 
 gotten the saying of the Duke of Alva, “ A 
 salmon’s head is worth more than ten thousand 
 frogs.” 
 
 But if the King could get rid at once of 
 the Admiral and of Guise, he would clearly be- 
 come absolute master. The course therefore 
 that he ought to have taken was this: to get the 
 Admiral assassinated, or, if anyone prefers it, 
 to suggest the assassination to the Duke of Guise, 
 and then to have Guise himself prosecuted as 
 a murderer, making proclamation that the Duke 
 was abandoned to the vengeance of the Hugue- 
 nots. It is known that Guise, whether guilty or 
 not of Maurevel’s attempt, quitted Paris in a 
 hurry, and that the reformers, with the apparent 
 sanction of the King, set no bounds to their 
 
AUTHOR’S PREFACE 
 
 XVII 
 
 threats against the princes of the House of 
 Lorraine. 
 
 Now at this time the populace of Paris was 
 terribly fanatical. The citizens, in their trained 
 bands, formed a kind of national guard, ready 
 to take arms at the first sound of the tocsin. The 
 Huguenots, who had twice besieged the town, 
 were as much hated as the Duke of Guise, for 
 his own merits, and his father’s memory, was 
 beloved. The kind of favour which the re- 
 formers, at the moment of the marriage of the 
 King’s sister to a prince of their faith, enjoyed 
 at Court redoubled their own arrogance and the 
 hatred of their enemies. In short, there was but 
 need of a chief to put himself at the head of 
 these fanatics, and cry “ Strike! ” to make them 
 rush at the throats of their heretical countrymen. 
 The Duke, too, banished from Court, threatened 
 by the King and by the Protestants, had per- 
 force to seek support from the people. He 
 gathers the train-band chiefs, talks to them of 
 a plot of the heretics, bids them exterminate the 
 plotters before their plot is ripe, and then, and 
 then only, the massacre is meditated. As a few 
 hours only passed between plan and execution, the 
 mystery which surrounded the conspiracy and the 
 keeping of the secret by so large a number of 
 men is easily explained — a matter which otherwise 
 
XV111 
 
 AUTHOR S PREFACE 
 
 seems very extraordinary, for “ secrets travel 
 fast in Paris.” * 
 
 It is not easy to decide what part the King 
 took in the massacre; but if he did not approve 
 it beforehand, he did not interfere with it. After 
 two days of murder and outrage he disavowed the 
 whole thing and tried to stop the carnage. f But 
 the rage of the people had been let loose, and the 
 people’s thirst is not slaked with a little blood. 
 More than sixty thousand victims were called 
 for, and the King was obliged to swim with the 
 resistless stream. He revoked his orders of 
 mercy, and soon gave fresh ones for extending 
 assassination all over France. 
 
 Such is my opinion about the massacre of 
 St. Bartholomew; and in setting it forth I shall 
 say with Lord Byron: 
 
 “ I only say, suppose this supposition. ” 
 
 — Don Juan , cant. i. stan. 85. 
 
 1829. 
 
 * A saying of Napoleon. 
 
 f He attributed the attempt on Coligny and the massacre to the Duke 
 of Guise and the princes of the House of Lorraine. 
 
A CHRONICLE OF 
 THE REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE EEITEES 
 
 “ The black bands came over 
 The Alps and their snow; 
 
 With Bourbon, the Rover, 
 
 They passed the broad Po.” 
 
 Lord Byron, The Deformed Transformed. 
 
 N OT far from Etampes, on the Paris 
 road, there is still to be seen a large 
 square building with pointed windows 
 roughly sculptured. Above the gate is a niche 
 where was once a stone image of Our Lady, 
 but in the Revolution this shared the fate of 
 many saints of both sexes, and was solemnly 
 demolished by the president of the revolutionary 
 club of Larcy. They have since put in its place 
 another Virgin, which is no doubt only plaster, 
 but which, with a scrap or two of silk and some 
 
2 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 glass beads, plays the part fairly well, and gives 
 an almost venerable air to Claude Giraut’s 
 cabaret. 
 
 More than two centuries ago, to wit, in 1572, 
 the function of this building was, as now, to 
 receive thirsty travellers; but at that time its 
 appearance was altogether different. The walls 
 were covered with inscriptions bearing witness 
 to the varying incidents of a civil war. By 
 the side of “ Long Live the Prince! ”* you read 
 “ Long Live the Duke of Guise — Death to the 
 Huguenots!” A little further a soldier had 
 drawn with charcoal a gallows and its burden, 
 adding below, for fear of mistakes, the inscrip- 
 tion, “ Gaspard de Chatillon.” Yet it would 
 appear that the Protestants had later had the 
 upper hand in these quarters, for the name of 
 their chief had been struck out and replaced by 
 that of Guise. Other legends, half rubbed out, 
 difficult to read, and still more difficult to trans- 
 late decorously, showed that the King and his 
 mother had met with no more respect than these 
 partisan chiefs. But the poor Madonna her- 
 self seemed to have had most to suffer from 
 political and religious frenzy. The statue, chip- 
 ped by bullets in twenty places, proved the zeal 
 of the Huguenot soldiery in defacing what they 
 
 ♦The Prince of Conde. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 3 
 
 were pleased to call heathen images. While the 
 pious Catholic doffed his bonnet in veneration 
 when passing the statue, the Protestant trooper 
 thought it his duty to let fly his arquebuss at 
 it; and if he hit he plumed himself as much as 
 if he had brought down the Beast of the Revela- 
 tions and abolished idolatry. 
 
 For some months past there had been peace 
 between the rival sects; but the lips and not the 
 heart had sworn it. The hatred of the factions 
 was maintained in all its implacability. Every- 
 where there was a reminder that war had hardly 
 ceased, and a promise that peace would be of no 
 long duration. The Lion d’Or was full of 
 soldiers. They were easily known, by their for- 
 eign accent and outlandish costume, for those 
 German troopers known as Reiters,* who were 
 in the habit of off ering their services to the Prot- 
 estant party, especially when the Protestant 
 party was in case to pay them well. If skill 
 in horsemanship and dexterity in using firearms 
 made these strangers formidable on the day of 
 battle, they were on the other hand renowned, 
 and perhaps with still more justice, as accom- 
 plished plunderers, and for their ruthlessness 
 in the hour of victory. The squadron which 
 
 * By corruption from the German renter, “horseman.” [In French 
 retire.] 
 
4 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 had taken up its quarters in the inn numbered 
 fifty horsemen, who had left Paris the night 
 before, and were on their way to join the gar- 
 rison of Orleans. 
 
 While some of them groomed their horses 
 fastened to the wall, others made up the fire, 
 turned the spits, and generally attended to the 
 cooking. The unfortunate innkeeper, cap in 
 hand and tears in eye, gazed on the racket 
 which was going on in his kitchen. He saw the 
 poultry yard emptied, the cellar under contribu- 
 tion, bottles broken short off at the neck to save 
 the trouble of drawing the cork, and, worst of 
 all, he knew that, for all the King’s strict or- 
 dinances as to discipline in the army, there was 
 not the slightest compensation to expect from 
 those who were treating him as if they were in 
 a conquered country. It was an established 
 principle in these unlucky times that, in peace 
 or in war, armed men did what was right in 
 their own eyes wherever they found themselves. 
 
 Before a table of oak, blackened by grease 
 and smoke, sat the captain of the Reiters. He 
 was a tall and stout man of about fifty, with a 
 hooked nose and a high colour. His scanty and 
 grizzled hair scarcely covered a huge scar which 
 began at the left ear and lost itself in a thick 
 moustache. He had taken off his helm and his 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 5 
 
 cuirass, and wore only a jerkin of Hungarian 
 leather, stained by the friction of his armour, 
 and carefully patched in divers places. His 
 sabre and his pistols lay on a bench within reach ; 
 but he kept his large dagger, a weapon which 
 no prudent man then discarded till he went to 
 bed. At his left sat a young man, bright-com- 
 plexioned, tall, and well-made enough. His 
 doublet was embroidered, and the whole of his 
 dress was more careful than the captain’s. He 
 was, however, only a cornet. 
 
 Two girls of some twenty or twenty-five 
 years kept them company at table. Their gar- 
 ments, evidently not made for them, and gained 
 by chance of war, showed a mixture of shabbi- 
 ness and luxury. One was dressed in a kind 
 of bodice of damask brocaded with gold, but 
 this bodice was tarnished, and completed only 
 by a skirt of plain cloth. The other had a gown 
 of violet velvet, and a man’s hat of grey felt 
 adorned with a cock’s feather. Both were pretty ; 
 but their bold glances and free talk showed 
 the results of their association with soldiers. 
 The functions which they left Germany to dis- 
 charge were a little uncertain. Velvet-gown was 
 a gipsy: she could tell fortunes with cards and 
 play the mandolin. The other had some knowl- 
 edge of leech-craft, and appeared to be high in 
 
6 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 the cornet’s good graces. The quartet, each with 
 a large bottle and a glass before him or her, 
 chatted and drank together while waiting for 
 their dinner. 
 
 The conversation, as was natural between 
 very hungry people, was not lively at the mo- 
 ment that a young man of lofty stature and 
 dressed with some elegance halted his good chest- 
 nut horse before the inn door. The trumpeter 
 of the Reiters rose from a bench where he sat, 
 and coming towards the stranger took his bridle. 
 The stranger was about to thank him for his 
 supposed courtesy, but he was soon undeceived. 
 The trumpeter opened the horse’s mouth, ex- 
 amined his teeth like an expert, and then, step- 
 ping back and surveying the noble animal’s legs 
 and croup, shook his head with an air of satis- 
 faction. “You have a good horse between your 
 legs, sir,” he said in his jargon, and added in 
 German certain words which made his comrades 
 laugh as he returned and took his seat among 
 them. 
 
 This cool examination did not please the 
 traveller; but he contented himself with a con- 
 temptuous glance at the trumpeter, and dis- 
 mounted without the aid of anyone. The host, 
 however, who was just stepping out, took the 
 bridle from his hands respectfully, and whis- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 7 
 
 pered sufficiently low for the Reiters not to hear, 
 “ God be your speed, young sir, but you come 
 at an evil chance; for the company of these 
 heretics (may St. Christopher wring their 
 necks!) is not agreeable to good Christians like 
 you and me.” 
 
 The young man smiled bitterly. “ Are these 
 gentlemen,” said he, “ Protestant troopers? ” 
 
 “ Yes, and Reiters as well,” quoth the host. 
 “ Our Lady confound them! they have been here 
 but an hour, and they have broken half my gear. 
 They are all pitiless plunderers, like that devil’s 
 Admiral, their fine chief, M. de Chatillon.” 
 
 “ For a greybeard,” answered the young 
 man, “ you are not prudent. If perchance he 
 to whom you spoke were a Protestant, he might 
 give you a broken head for an answer.” And 
 he slashed his white leather boot with his horse- 
 whip as he spoke. 
 
 “ How? what? You a Huguenot — a Prot- 
 estant, I mean! ” cried the astounded host. He 
 stepped back and stared at the stranger from 
 head to foot, as if to discover in his dress some 
 symptom of his religion. This scrutiny and the 
 open laughing countenance of the young man 
 reassured him a little, and he began again in a 
 lower tone, “ A Protestant with a green velvet 
 coat! A Huguenot with a Spanish ruff! Im- 
 
8 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 possible, my good young lord. Heretics go not 
 so brave. St. Mary! a velvet doublet is too fine 
 for the dirty varlets.” 
 
 The whip whistled through the air at once, 
 and striking the poor Boniface across the cheek, 
 gave him as it were his guest’s confession of 
 faith. 
 
 “ Here, insolent chatterer, is something to 
 teach you to keep your tongue in order. Come, 
 take my horse to the stable, and see that he 
 lacks naught.” 
 
 The innkeeper hung his head sadly, and led 
 the horse under a kind of shed, muttering a 
 thousand curses against heretics, German and 
 French alike; and had not the young man fol- 
 lowed him to see how his horse was treated, the 
 poor beast would no doubt have been docked of 
 his supper as a misbeliever. 
 
 The stranger next entered the kitchen and 
 greeted the persons there assembled, lifting 
 gracefully the flap of his large hat, which was 
 crowned with a black and yellow plume. The 
 captain returned his salute, and both looked at 
 each other for some time without speaking. 
 
 “ Captain,” said the young stranger at last, 
 “ I am a Protestant gentleman, and rejoice to 
 meet some of my brethren in religion. If you 
 please, we will sup together.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 9 
 
 The captain, favourably impressed already 
 by the distinguished mien and elegant dress of 
 the stranger, answered that he was much hon- 
 oured. And forthwith Mademoiselle Mila, the 
 gipsy girl of whom we have spoken, made room 
 for the stranger on the bench beside her; and 
 being of a very obliging disposition, gave him 
 her own glass, which the captain promptly filled. 
 
 “ My name is Dietrich Hornstein,” said he 
 as he clinked glasses with the young man. “You 
 have doubtless heard of Captain Dietrich Horn- 
 stein. ’Twas I led the forlorn hope at the battle 
 of Dreux, and at Arnay-le-Duc afterwards.” 
 The stranger understood this indirect way 
 of asking him his own name, and answered, “ I 
 am sorry, captain, that I can not give you a name 
 as famous as your own — as famous, that is to 
 say, on my own account, for my father’s has 
 made noise enough in our civil wars. Men call 
 me Bernard de Mergy.” 
 
 “ You tell the name to the right ears,” cried 
 the captain, filling his glass to the brim. “ I 
 knew your father, M. Bernard de Mergy. I 
 have known him since the first civil war as one 
 knows an intimate friend. His health, Master 
 Bernard.” 
 
 The captain held out his glass and said a 
 few words in German to the troopers, who at 
 
10 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 the moment the wine touched his lips threw their 
 hats in the air with a shout. The host, who took 
 this for a signal of massacre, fell on his knees; 
 and Bernard himself was a little surprised at 
 the exceptional honour. But he thought it his 
 duty not to be behind this German politeness, 
 and gave the captain’s health. The bottles, al- 
 ready stoutly attacked before his arrival, could 
 not hold out at this fresh toast. 
 
 “ Get up, hypocrite,” said the captain, turn- 
 ing to the still kneeling host; “ get up, and fetch 
 us wine. See you not that the bottles are emp- 
 ty? ” And the cornet, to prove the fact, threw 
 one of them at the head of the host, who ran to 
 the cellar. 
 
 “ ’Tis an insolent rascal,” said Mergy; “ but 
 you might have done him more harm than you 
 meant if that bottle had gone straight.” 
 
 “Bah!” said the cornet with a loud laugh; 
 and Mila added, “ A Papist’s head, though it 
 be emptier than that bottle, is also harder;” 
 whereat the cornet laughed yet louder, and was 
 imitated by all, the company, even by Mergy, 
 whose smile, however, was rather for the gipsy’s 
 pretty mouth than for her cruel jest. They 
 brought the wine, the supper followed, and after 
 a moment’s silence the captain began again with 
 his mouth full: 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 11 
 
 “ I should think I did know M. de Mergy. 
 He was colonel of infantry when the prince 
 made his first attempt. We had the same 
 quarters for two months running at the first 
 siege of Orleans. And how is he now? ” 
 
 “ Well enough, thank God, seeing his great 
 age. He has talked to me often enough of the 
 Reiters and the gallant charges they made at 
 Dreux.” 
 
 “ I knew his elder son, too, your brother, 
 
 Captain George. I mean before ” 
 
 Mergy seemed embarrassed, but the captain 
 went on — 
 
 “ He was as brave as steel, but hotheaded 
 enough, plague on it! I am sorry for your fa- 
 ther; the apostasy must have grieved him much. ,, 
 
 Mergy blushed up to his eyes, and stammered 
 some words of excuse for his brother; but it 
 was clear that he judged him even more severely 
 than the captain of Reiters. 
 
 “ Ah, I see you are vexed,” said the captain; 
 “ let us drop the subject. He was a loss for 
 the religion and a gain for the King, who they 
 say pays him much honour.” 
 
 “ You come from Paris,” said Mergy, seek- 
 ing to change the conversation; “has the Ad- 
 miral arrived? You have doubtless seen him. 
 How goes it with him? ” 
 
12 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ He was just arriving with the Court from 
 Blois as we left. He is wonderfully well, fresh, 
 and lively; and is good for twenty civil wars yet, 
 honest man. His Majesty pays him so much at- 
 tention that the Papists are bursting with envy.” 
 
 “ Really? But the King can never do him 
 honour equal to his merit.” 
 
 “ Look you. I saw the King yesterday on 
 the Louvre staircase clasping the Admiral’s 
 hand. M. de Guise, who came behind, looked 
 like a whipped hound. And what do you think 
 I thought? It looked to me like the man who 
 shows off the lion at a fair. He makes him 
 give paw like a dog; but though Jack Lion-tamer 
 keeps a brave face on it, he never forgets the 
 claws of the paw he holds. Yes, by my beard, 
 a man might say the King felt the Admiral’s 
 claws.” 
 
 “ The Admiral has a long arm,” said the 
 cornet, repeating a catchword of the Protestant 
 army. 
 
 “ He is a handsome man for his years,” ob- 
 served Mademoiselle Mila. 
 
 “ I would rather have him for lover than a 
 young Papist,” retorted Mademoiselle Trud- 
 chen, the cornet’s friend. 
 
 “ He is a pillar of the faith,” quoth Mergy, 
 not wishing to be behindhand in praise. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 13 
 
 “ Yes, but he is devilishly strict on the point 
 of discipline,” said the captain with a shake of 
 the head. The cornet winked meaningly, and 
 his fat face crumpled itself up in a grimace 
 which he meant for a smile. 
 
 “ I did not expect,” said Mergy, “ to hear 
 an old soldier like you, captain, blame the 
 Admiral for keeping strict discipline in his 
 army.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, of course we must have discipline ; 
 but still soldiers ought to have credit for all the 
 sufferings they go through, and not be forbid- 
 den to enjoy themselves when fortune gives 
 them the chance. But, bah! every man has his 
 faults, and though he did hang me, let us drink 
 the Admiral’s health.” 
 
 . “ The Admiral hanged you! ” cried Mergy. 
 “ You seem to be in very good case for a hanged 
 man.” 
 
 “ Yes, sacrament! He hanged me, but I bear 
 no malice, so here’s to him.” 
 
 Before Mergy could repeat his question the 
 captain filled all the glasses, took off his hat, 
 and made his troopers give a “Hip! hip! hur- 
 rah! ” The glasses empty and the noise quieted, 
 Mergy began again : 
 
 “ Why did they hang you, captain? ” 
 
 “ For a mere trifle; a miserable convent in 
 
14 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Saintonge that was sacked, and then burnt by 
 accident.” 
 
 “ But the monks had not all got out of it,” 
 interrupted the cornet, roaring with laughter at 
 his own wit. 
 
 “ Well, what does it matter whether such ras- 
 cals burn a little sooner or a little later? Yet 
 the Admiral, would you believe it, M. de Mergy, 
 but the Admiral got seriously angry, had me ar- 
 rested, and the provost-marshal marked me for 
 his own in the most unceremonious manner. 
 Then all the gentlemen and noblemen of his 
 following, even M. de Lanoue, who, as all men 
 know, has no bowels for the poor soldier (‘the 
 knot [la noue\ ties and does not untie/ as they 
 say), all the captains, in short, begged for my 
 pardon, but he gave them a flat refusal. V entre 
 de loup! what a rage he was in! He chewed his 
 toothpick with fury; and you know the proverb, 
 ‘ God keep us from M. de Montmorency’s 
 prayer and the Admiral’s toothpick.’ ‘ God 
 pardon me,’ quoth he, ‘ we must kill Madam 
 Plunder when she is a little girl; if we let her 
 grow a great lady she will kill us.’ So there 
 comes me the minister, book under arm, and they 
 take the pair of us beneath a certain oak tree. 
 I can see it now, with a branch sticking out 
 that seemed to have grown on purpose. They 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 15 
 
 put the cord round my neck — and when I 
 think of that cord my throat grows dry as 
 tinder.” 
 
 “ Wet it then,” quoth Mila, and she filled 
 him a bumper. He drained it at a gulp, and 
 went on: 
 
 “ I set my life just at an acorn’s fee, and 
 no more, when it occurred to me to say to the 
 Admiral, ‘ Eh, Monseigneur, is this the way you 
 hang a man who led the forlorn hope at Dreux? ’ 
 He spat out his toothpick and took another, 
 which I said to myself was a good sign. Then 
 he called Captain Cormier, and whispered in his 
 ear; then he said to the provost, ‘ Come, up with 
 the fellow! ’ and turned on his heel. They ran 
 me up, sure enough; but Cormier, like a good 
 fellow, drew sword and slashed the rope, so 
 that I fell from my branch as red as a boiled 
 cray-fish.” 
 
 “ I congratulate you,” said Mergy, “ on hav- 
 ing escaped so cheaply.” But he looked at the 
 captain curiously, and seemed a little disturbed 
 at finding himself in company with a man who 
 had earned the gallows. In these unlucky times, 
 however, crime was so common that it was im- 
 possible to judge it as one would do nowadays. 
 Party atrocities justified reprisal, and religious 
 hatred almost smothered all national sentiment. 
 
16 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 [Besides, to tell the truth, the secret provocations 
 of Mademoiselle Mila, whom he began to 
 think very pretty indeed, and the fumes of 
 the wine, which had more power over his 
 young head than over the seasoned brains of 
 the Reiters, joined in making him feel unusually 
 indulgent towards his companions. 
 
 “ I kept the captain hidden in a tilted cart 
 for a week,” said Mila, “ and only let him out 
 at night-time.” 
 
 “ And I,” said Trudchen, “ I brought him 
 food and drink. He is there to say so.” 
 
 “ The Admiral pretended to be very wroth 
 with Cormier, but all that was only a game ar- 
 ranged between them. As for me, I followed 
 the army long, not daring to show myself to him, 
 till, at the siege of Longnac, he spied me in the 
 trenches, and said, ‘ Dietrich, my friend, as you 
 have not been hanged, go and get shot,’ and he 
 pointed to the breach. I knew what he meant 
 well enough, went stoutly to the assault, and 
 met him next day in the street with my hat in 
 my hand and a bullet-hole through my hat. 
 ‘ Monseigneur, ’ said I, ‘ shooting has the same 
 effect on me as hanging.’ So he smiled and 
 gave me his purse, saying, ‘ There is a new hat 
 for you.’ Since which time we have always been 
 good friends. Ah, what a sack that was at the 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 17 
 
 said town of Longnac! My mouth waters at 
 the mere thought of it.” 
 
 “ Such silk dresses ! ” cried Mila. 
 
 “ Such plenty of lovely linen ! ” cried Trud- 
 chen. 
 
 “ What a time we had with the nuns of the 
 great convent!” said the cornet. “Two hun- 
 dred horse-arquebusiers quartered on a hundred 
 nuns ! ” 
 
 “ More than twenty of them abjured Po- 
 pery,” said Mila, “ they found the Huguenots 
 so much to their taste.” 
 
 “ ’Twas there, too,” cried the captain, “ that 
 ’twas pretty to see our argoulets * watering their 
 horses with priests’ chasubles on their backs, our 
 horses eating their oats off the altar, and our- 
 selves drinking the priests’ good wine in their 
 silver chalices! ” 
 
 He turned his head to call for drink, and 
 caught the host clasping his hands and lifting 
 his eyes to heaven with an expression of un- 
 speakable horror. 
 
 “Idiot!” said the gallant Dietrich Horn- 
 stein, shrugging his shoulders ; “ how can a man 
 be such a fool as to believe all the nonsense 
 that Popish priests talk? Why, M. de Mergy, 
 at Montcontour I killed one of the Duke of 
 
 * Pioneers, light troops. 
 
18 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Anjou’s gentlemen with a pistol-shot, and when 
 I pulled off his doublet, what do you think I 
 found on his breast? — a great piece of silk em- 
 broidered all over with saints’ names ; he thought 
 it would keep off the balls. By Jove! I taught 
 him that a Protestant bullet will go through any 
 scapulary.” 
 
 “Yes, through scapularies,” said the cornet; 
 “ but in my country they sell parchments which 
 really keep you from shot and sword.” 
 
 “ I would rather have a good steel cuirass, 
 well hammered, like those that Jacob Leschot 
 makes in the Netherlands,” said Mergy. 
 
 “ Ah, but listen,” continued the captain; “ no 
 doubt it is possible to be made ball-proof. I 
 myself saw at Dreux a gentleman hit by an 
 arquebuss ball right in the centre of the chest; 
 he knew the receipt of a ball-proof ointment, and 
 had rubbed himself under his buff coat with it; 
 well, there was not even the red and black mark 
 of a bruise to be seen on him.” 
 
 “ And do not you think that the buff coat 
 you speak of was enough to turn the shot by 
 itself? ” 
 
 “ Ah, you believe in nothing, you Frenchmen. 
 But what would you say if you had seen, as I 
 have, a Silesian gendarme put his hand on the 
 table and the whole company try in vain to make 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 19 
 
 a wound in it with the full force of their dag- 
 gers? You laugh. You think it impossible. 
 Ask Mila, then. You see that young woman? 
 She comes from a country where wizards are as 
 common as monks here. She is the girl to tell 
 you horrible stories of them. Sometimes in the 
 long autumn evenings, round the camp-fire in 
 the open air, she makes my hair stand on end 
 with her legends.” 
 
 “ I should be charmed to hear one,” said 
 Mergy. “Do me that pleasure, fair Mila.” 
 
 “ Yes, Mila,” added the captain, “ tell us a 
 story while we finish these bottles.” 
 
 “ Listen then,” said Mila; “ and you, young 
 sir, who believe in nothing, will be good enough, 
 if you please, to keep your doubts to yourself.” 
 “ How can you say that I believe in noth- 
 ing? ” said Mergy in a low voice; “ faith, I be- 
 lieve you have bewitched me already, for I am 
 head-over-ears in love with you.” 
 
 Mila pushed him gently back, for his lips 
 nearly touched her cheek; and after glancing 
 slyly right and left to see that all were listening, 
 she thus began: 
 
 “ Captain, of course you have been at Hame- 
 lin? ” 
 
 “ Never.” 
 
 “Nor you, cornet?” 
 
20 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Nor L” 
 
 “ What! can I find no one who has been at 
 Hamelin? ” 
 
 “ I spent a year there,” said a trooper, com- 
 ing forward. 
 
 “Well, Fritz, you saw the church?” 
 
 “ Hundreds of times.” 
 
 “ And its stained-glass windows? ” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 “And what did you see painted there?” 
 
 “ On the windows? To the left, I think, 
 there is a tall black man who plays the flute, and 
 little children running after him.” 
 
 “ Just so. Well, I am going to tell you the 
 story of that black man and those children. 
 
 “Many years ago the people of Hamelin were 
 tormented by an innumerable multitude of rats, 
 who came from the north in swarms so thick that 
 the earth was black with them, and that a carter 
 would not have dared to drive his horses across 
 a road where the beasts were passing. Every- 
 thing was devoured in a moment; and it took 
 less time for the rats to eat a barrel of corn in a 
 barn than it takes me to drink a glass of this 
 good wine.” 
 
 She drank, wiped her mouth, and went on. 
 
 “ Mouse-traps, rat-traps, snares, poison, all 
 were useless. They brought a boat-load of eleven 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 21 
 
 hundred cats from Bremen, but it did no good at 
 all. For each thousand rats killed ten thousand 
 appeared, hungrier than the first. In short, if 
 the plague had not been stayed, not a grain of 
 corn would have remained in Hamelin town, and 
 all the dwellers therein must have died of 
 hunger. 
 
 “ Now on a certain Friday there came before 
 the burgomaster a tall man, swarthy and parched 
 of aspect, with large eyes, and a mouth from 
 ear to ear. He was dressed in a red jerkin, a 
 pointed hat, wide breeches trimmed with ribbons, 
 grey stockings, and shoes with flame-coloured 
 rosettes. He had a little leather wallet slung at 
 his side. I think I see him now.” 
 
 All eyes turned involuntarily to the wall at 
 which Mila was staring. 
 
 “ You saw him then? ” asked Mergy. 
 
 “ No, not I, ’twas my grandmother, and she 
 remembered him so well that she could have 
 drawn his portrait.” 
 
 “ And what said he to the burgomaster? ” 
 
 “ He offered, for a fee of a hundred ducats, 
 to deliver the city from its scourge; and, as you 
 may think, the burgomaster and the citizens said 
 ‘ Done ’ at once. Forthwith the stranger drew 
 from his wallet a flute of bronze, and taking up 
 his station in the market-place in front of the 
 
22 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 church (but with his back to it, mind) , he began 
 to play an air so strange that no German flute- 
 player has ever played the like. And as they 
 heard this air, there flocked around him from 
 garret and rat-hole, from rafter and tile, rats 
 and mice by hundreds and thousands. And the 
 stranger, piping still, bent his way to the river 
 Weser, and there, stripping off his hose, he went 
 into the water followed by all the rats of Hame- 
 lin, who were drowned straightway. But one 
 remained in all the city, and you shall hear where- 
 fore. The magician (for such he was) asked a 
 laggard rat who had not yet got into the water 
 why Klaus, the white rat, had not come. ‘ My 
 lord,’ said the rat, ‘ he is so old that he can not 
 walk.’ ‘ Go and fetch him yourself,’ said the 
 magician; and the rat turned tail, and went to 
 the town, whence he came back quickly with a 
 great old, old, white rat, so old that he could not 
 drag himself along; and the two rats, the young 
 one dragging the old by the tail, both plunged in 
 the Weser, and were drowned like their fellows. 
 And so the town was cleared. But when the 
 stranger appeared at the town-hall to draw the 
 promised recompense, the burgomaster and the 
 citizens, remembering that they had nothing 
 more to fear from the rats, and thinking that 
 they could make short work of a friendless man, 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 23 
 
 were not ashamed to offer him ten ducats in- 
 stead of the hundred that they had promised. 
 The stranger protested; they gave him a flat re- 
 fusal. He threatened them that he would exact 
 a far higher price if they did not carry out their 
 bargain. The citizens burst out laughing at the 
 threat, and showed him the door, calling him a 
 ‘ fine rat-catcher/ which insult the children of 
 the town repeated as they followed him up the 
 streets to the New Gate. Next Friday at noon- 
 day the stranger reappeared on the market- 
 place, but this time with a purple hat, cocked in 
 a singular fashion. He drew from his wallet a 
 flute quite different from the other, and as soon 
 as he had begun to play all the boys of the city 
 from six years old to fifteen followed him out 
 of the town precincts.” 
 
 “ And did the men of Hamelin let them be 
 carried off quietly? ” asked Mergy and the cap- 
 tain together. 
 
 “ They followed them to Koppenberg Hill, 
 close to a cavern which is now stopped up. The 
 flute-player entered the cave and all the children 
 with him. For a time they heard the sound of 
 the flute; little by little it died away; then they 
 heard nothing. The children had vanished, and 
 never afterwards was aught heard of them.” 
 
 The gipsy stopped to watch the effect of her 
 
24 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 story on the countenances of her hearers ; but the 
 Reiter who had been at Hamelin took up her 
 words and said, “ The story is so true, that when 
 they speak at Hamelin of anything out of the 
 way, they say, ‘ That happened ten or twenty 
 years after our children departed ;’ for instance, a 
 ‘ The lord of Falkenstein sacked the town sixty 
 years after our children departed.’ ” 
 
 “ But the strangest thing of all,” said Mila, 
 “ is that at the very same time there appeared, 
 far off in Transylvania, certain children who 
 spoke good German, and who could not tell from 
 whence they came. They married in the country, 
 and taught their tongue to their own offspring, 
 whence it comes that, at this day, men speak 
 German in Transylvania.” 
 
 “ And those were the Hamelin children, 
 transported thither by the devil? ” said Mergy, 
 smiling. 
 
 “ By heaven ’tis true,” said the captain, “ for 
 I have been in Transylvania myself, and I know; 
 that they talk German while all round men jab- 
 ber an infernal jargon.” And, indeed, there is 
 plenty of evidence produced every day which is 
 not a whit better than the captain’s. 
 
 “ Shall I tell you your fortune? ” said Mila 
 to Mergy. 
 
 “ By all means,” said he, putting his left arm 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 25 
 
 round the gipsy’s waist, while he held out his 
 right palm. 
 
 Mila looked at it for nearly five minutes with- 
 out speaking, but shaking her head now and then 
 with a thoughtful air. 
 
 “ Well, pretty child, shall I win the woman 
 I love? ” 
 
 Mila tapped his hand. “ Here is luck and 
 ill luck,” quoth she; “ blue eyes bring harm and 
 good. The worst of it is, you will shed your 
 own blood.” 
 
 The captain and the cornet both held their 
 tongues, seeming to be equally struck with the 
 sinister ending of the prophecy; and the host 
 crossed himself vigorously in the corner. 
 
 “ I will believe you are really a witch,” said 
 Mergy, “ if you can tell me what I am going to 
 do directly? ” 
 
 “ You are going to kiss me,” whispered the 
 gipsy in his ear. 
 
 “She is a witch,” cried Mergy, kissing her. 
 And he continued to talk low to the fair fortune- 
 teller, while they seemed to get on better and 
 better together each moment. 
 
 Trudchen took up a kind of mandolin, rea- 
 sonably well provided with strings, and played 
 a German march as overture. Then when a ring 
 of soldiers had gathered round her she sang in 
 
26 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 her own tongue a war song which the Reiters 
 chorussed at the top of their voices. But the 
 captain, not to be outdone, began to sing too, 
 at a pitch loud enough to break the glasses, an 
 old Huguenot song, of which the tune was as 
 barbarous as the words : 
 
 “Conde he is dead, 
 
 But the Admiral’s at our head, 
 
 And La Rochefoucauld so stout, 
 
 To drive the Papists out — 
 
 Out, out, out.” * 
 
 Whereat all the Reiters, heated with wine, began 
 to sing each a different air. The dishes and the 
 bottles covered the floor in fragments; the kitch- 
 en echoed with oaths, shouts of laughter, and 
 drinking songs. But soon sleep, helped by the 
 Orleans wine, made his power felt by most of 
 the actors in this scene of riot. The soldiers 
 stretched themselves on the benches; the cornet, 
 after posting two sentinels at the door, stag- 
 gered to bed; the captain, who still preserved a 
 respect for straight lines, climbed, without a 
 lurch, the staircase leading to the host’s chamber, 
 which he had chosen as the best in the inn. 
 
 But what had become of Mergy and the 
 gipsy? Before the captain began to sing they 
 had disappeared together. 
 
 * [Literally, “ The Prince of Conde, He has been killed; But M. 
 l’Amiral Is still on horseback, With La Rochefoucauld, To hunt all the 
 papists, Papists, papists, papists !”] — Translator s note. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE MORROW OF A REVEL 
 
 “ Chairman . I say I will have my money instantly.” 
 
 Moliere, Les Precieuses Ridicules . 
 
 D AY had long dawned when Mergy woke, 
 his head still something flustered with 
 the memories of the night before. His 
 clothes lay scattered about the chamber, and his 
 portmanteau was open on the floor. Sitting up 
 in bed, he gazed for some time at this scene of 
 confusion, rubbing his head as if to get his ideas 
 into order. His countenance expressed at once 
 weariness, astonishment, and anxiety. 
 
 Meanwhile, a heavy step was heard on the 
 stone stair that led to the room. The door was 
 opened without the formality of a knock, and 
 the host entered with an air even sulkier than 
 that of yesterday; but now his looks plainly 
 showed a touch of insolence which had taken 
 the place of fear. He glanced round the room, 
 and crossed himself as if horrified at such 
 disorder. 
 
 “Ah! my young sir,” he said, “still abed? 
 27 
 
28 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Come, get up, for there are accounts to settle 
 between us.” 
 
 Mergy, with an appalling yawn, put one leg 
 out of bed. “ What is all this muddle? Why is 
 my portmanteau open? ” he asked in a tone at 
 least as ill-tempered as the host’s. 
 
 “ Why? Why? ” answered he. “ How do I 
 know? What do I care for your portmanteau? 
 You have put my house in far worse plight. But 
 by my blessed patron Saint Eustace you shall 
 pay me for it.” 
 
 As he spoke, Mergy drew on his scarlet 
 breeches, and in the motion his pocket gaped, and 
 his purse fell out. The sound must have been 
 different from that which he expected, for he 
 picked it up at once anxiously and opened it. 
 
 “ I have been robbed! ” he cried, turning to 
 the host. For instead of twenty gold crowns 
 which his purse had held, there were but two. 
 But Master Eustace shrugged his shoulders and 
 smiled contemptuously. 
 
 “ I have been robbed! ” repeated Mergy, has- 
 tily buckling his belt. “ I had twenty gold 
 crowns in this purse, and I insist on having 
 them back. ’Twas in your house they were taken 
 from me.” 
 
 “ By my beard I am glad of it,” cried the 
 host insolently; “that will teach you to fore- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 29 
 
 gather with witches and thieves. But,” added he 
 in a lower tone, “ like draws to like. All these 
 gallow-birds of a feather — heretics, sorcerers, 
 and thieves — flock together.” 
 
 “ What do you say, scoundrel? ” cried 
 Mergy, all the more angry that he felt the 
 justice of the reproach, and, as a man usually 
 does when he is in the wrong, caught eagerly at 
 a cause of quarrel. 
 
 “ I say,” said the host, with arms akimbo and 
 uplifted voice, — “ I say that you have broken 
 everything in my house, and I insist that you 
 shall pay me to the last penny.” 
 
 “ I will pay my score, and not a farthing 
 over. Where is Captain Corn — Captain Horn- 
 stein? ” 
 
 “ Two hundred bottles,” cried Master 
 Eustace, still raising his voice, — “ two hundred 
 bottles of my good old wine have been drunk. 
 But you are answerable for them.” 
 
 Mergy was now completely dressed. 
 
 “ Where is the captain? ” he cried in a voice 
 of thunder. 
 
 “ He has been gone more than two hours ; and 
 may he go to the devil with all the other Hugue- 
 nots — till we can find time to burn them.” 
 
 A sound box on the ear was the only answer 
 that occurred to Mergy ; and the suddenness and 
 
30 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 force of the blow made the host fall back two 
 steps. His grasp sought the horn handle of a 
 great knife which protruded from his breeches 
 pocket, and had he yielded to this first motion 
 of wrath, some serious mischief would no doubt 
 have happened. But prudence arrested anger, 
 and made him notice that Mergy was stretching 
 out his own hand to the bed-head where hung a 
 long rapier. So he gave up the unequal contest, 
 and hurried downstairs yelling “ Murder! Fire! ” 
 
 In possession of the field of battle, but ex- 
 ceedingly anxious as to what would come after 
 the victory, Mergy finished buckling on his belt, 
 stuck his pistols therein, shut his portmanteau, 
 and, holding it in his hand, resolved to lodge his 
 complaint with the nearest magistrate. He 
 opened the door, and was setting foot on the 
 topmost stair, when a troop of enemies suddenly 
 presented itself. 
 
 The host led the way, an old halberd in hand ; 
 three scullions, armed with spits and sticks, fol- 
 lowed hard; a neighbour with a rusty arquebuss 
 brought up the rear. On both sides the meeting 
 was a surprise; for only five or six steps separated 
 the foes. 
 
 Mergy dropped his portmanteau at once and 
 drew a pistol, which hostile manoeuvre showed 
 Master Eustace and his suite how faulty their 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 31 
 
 order of battle was. Like the Persians at the 
 battle of Salamis, they had forgotten to take 
 up a position where their numbers could deploy 
 with advantage. The only one of them who 
 carried firearms could not use them without en- 
 dangering his companions in front, while the 
 Huguenot’s pistols, enfilading the staircase, 
 seemed likely to knock them all over. They 
 heard the click of the pistol as Mergy cocked it, 
 and an actual detonation could not have fright- 
 ened them more. With one accord the hostile 
 column turned tail and fled, to seek in the kitchen 
 a roomier and more advantageous battlefield. 
 In the disorder which inevitably accompanies a 
 hurried retreat, the host, wishing to shift his hal- 
 berd, entangled it in his legs and fell. Like a 
 generous foe, disdaining to make use of his ac- 
 tual weapons, Mergy contented himself with 
 hurling his portmanteau at the enemy, and this, 
 falling like a mass of rock, and moving faster as 
 it fell from stair to stair, finished the rout. The 
 staircase remained clear of foes, with the broken 
 halberd as a trophy. 
 
 Mergy at once made for the kitchen, where 
 the foe had re-formed in a single line. The 
 arquebusier had his weapon in position, and was 
 blowing his lighted match. The host, covered 
 with blood (for his nose had been badly bruised 
 
32 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 in the fall), remained behind his friends, like the 
 wounded Menelaus behind the Grecian ranks; 
 while, in default of Machaon or Podalirius, his 
 wife, with dishevelled hair and coif unbound, 
 staunched his face with a dirty napkin. There 
 was no hesitation in Mergy’s conduct. He 
 walked straight up to the man with the arquebuss 
 and held the muzzle of a pistol to his breast. 
 
 “ Drop your match, or you die! ” he said. 
 The match fell to earth, and Mergy, setting 
 his foot on the lighted end, extinguished it; 
 whereupon all the allies at once threw down their 
 arms. 
 
 “ As for you,” said Mergy to the innkeeper, 
 “ the small lesson I have given you will no doubt 
 teach you to treat strangers more politely. If 
 I chose I could have your license withdrawn by 
 the bailiff here; but I bear no malice. Come, 
 what do I owe you for my own score? ” 
 
 Master Eustace, observing that he had un- 
 cocked the terrible pistol, and was as he spoke 
 slipping it back into his belt, plucked up a little 
 courage, and while continuing to staunch his 
 wounds, muttered in a melancholy manner : 
 
 “ You break the dishes, you beat people, you 
 break good Christian noses, you make hell’s own 
 riot. After that, I do not see how you can make 
 it up to an honest man.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 33 
 
 “ Come,” went on Mergy smiling, “ I will 
 pay you for your nose at my valuation of it. 
 As for your broken crockery, you must go to 
 the Reiters for that; it is their business. And 
 now what do I owe you for my supper yester- 
 day? ” 
 
 The host looked at his wife, his scullions, and 
 his neighbours, as if to ask at once their counsel 
 and their help. 
 
 “The Reiters! the Reiters!” said he. “A 
 man does not easily see the colour of their money. 
 The captain gave me three livres and the cornet 
 a kick.” 
 
 Mergy took out one of the two gold crowns 
 which he had left. “ Come,” said he, “ we will 
 part good friends.” And he threw it to Master 
 Eustace, who, instead of catching it, scornfully 
 let it fall on the floor. 
 
 “A crown!” he cried. “A crown for a 
 hundred broken bottles! A crown for sacking 
 a house and beating its people! ” 
 
 “A crown — only a crown!” chimed in his 
 wife in an equally mournful tone. “ Catholic 
 gentlemen come here sometimes and make a dis- 
 turbance, but at least they know the value of 
 things.” 
 
 Had Mergy been more in funds he would 
 no doubt have kept up his party’s reputation 
 
A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 S4 
 
 for free-handedness. As it was, he replied drily, 
 “Very like; but these Catholic gentlemen have 
 not been robbed. Make up your minds,” he 
 added; “take the crown or you will have noth- 
 ing, and he made a step forward as if to pick 
 it up. The hostess seized it instantly. “ Come, 
 bring me my horse; and you, fellow, drop that 
 spit and carry my portmanteau.” 
 
 “ Your horse, sir? ” said one of Master 
 Eustace’s men, making a face. But the host him- 
 self lifted his head in spite of his vexation, and 
 his eyes sparkled with spiteful pleasure. 
 
 “ Oh, yes ! I will bring him myself, my good 
 lord; I will bring you your good horse.” And 
 he went out with the napkin still pressed to his 
 face, while Mergy followed. 
 
 You may guess his surprise when he saw in 
 the place of the bonny chestnut steed which had 
 carried him thither a little old broken-kneed pie- 
 bald, whose appearance was still further im- 
 proved by a great scar on the head; while in- 
 stead of his saddle of fine Flanders velvet he 
 beheld a leathern troop-saddle mounted with 
 iron. 
 
 “ What do you mean by that? ” he cried. 
 “ Where is my horse? ” 
 
 “ Your lordship must go and ask the Prot- 
 estant Reiter gentlemen that,” said the host 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 35 
 
 with feigned humility. “ The worthy strangers 
 carried him off with them, no doubt mistaking 
 the two, as they were so like one another.” 
 
 “ ’Tis a fine horse,” said a scullion; “ I would 
 bet he is not more than a twenty-year-old.” 
 
 “No one can say he is no charger,” quoth 
 another; “ look at the sword-wound on his fore- 
 head.” 
 
 “His coat stares finely,” said a third; “’tis 
 like a minister’s, black and white.” 
 
 Mergy went into the stable, which was quite 
 empty. 
 
 “ And why did you let them take my horse? ” 
 he cried in a fury. 
 
 “ By’r Lady, fair sir,” said the stableman, 
 “ the trumpeter took him away, and told me that 
 you had arranged to exchange him.” 
 
 Mergy, choking with rage, and not knowing 
 what to be at in this accumulation of mis- 
 fortunes, muttered between his teeth, “ I will 
 find the captain, and he shall do me justice on 
 this rascal thief.” 
 
 To which the host replied, “ Your lordship 
 will do well; for this Captain what’s-his-name 
 looked like a very honest fellow.” (Now Mergy 
 had himself been thinking that the captain, if 
 he had not ordered the theft, must have winked 
 at it.) “And,” added the host, “you can get 
 
36 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 back your gold crowns from the young lady at 
 the same time. She must have made a mistake, 
 no doubt, in packing up her things by owl’s 
 light.” 
 
 “ Shall I fasten your lordship’s portmanteau 
 on your lordship’s horse? ” said the ostler, with 
 the most intolerable air of mock respect. 
 
 Mergy understood that the longer he stayed 
 the more of these rascal’s jests he should have to 
 endure, so as soon as the portmanteau was fast- 
 ened on, he jumped into his awkward saddle; 
 but the horse, feeling that he had a new master, 
 conceived a malicious desire to find out whether 
 his new master could ride. He was not long, 
 however, in discovering that he had to do with a 
 skilful horseman, in less temper than usual to 
 stand any nonsense, and so, after lashing out a 
 little, and being well rewarded by the digging in 
 of some exceedingly sharp spurs, he wisely made 
 up his mind to submit, and broke into a steady 
 trot. But he had used up some of his strength 
 in the fight with his rider; and, as usually hap- 
 pens to jades in such a case, he fell, stumbling, 
 as they say, with all four feet at once. Our 
 hero picked himself up quickly, a little bruised, 
 but much more angry at the jeers which were 
 raised behind him. He even hesitated for a mo- 
 ment whether he should go and take vengeance 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 37 
 
 with the flat of his sword; but on reflection 
 he contented himself with making as though he 
 had not heard the distant insults, and took at a 
 slower pace the Orleans road, pursued for a 
 time by troops of children, the elders singing 
 the ballad of “ Jehan Petaquin,”* while the lit- 
 tle ones cried at the top of their voices, “ Fag- 
 gots! faggots for the Huguenot! ” 
 
 After riding in sufficiently bad spirits for 
 half a league or so he reflected that he would 
 not be likely to catch up the Reiters that day; 
 that his horse was probably by this time sold; 
 that at any rate it was scarcely doubtful that 
 these gentry would not give him up. Little by 
 little Mergy made up his mind to the loss; and 
 as in the case of his horse being gone for good 
 he had nothing to do on the way to Orleans, he 
 made once more for Paris, taking a cross road 
 so as to avoid passing the unlucky inn which had 
 witnessed his disasters. Little by little, having 
 accustomed himself early to look upon the bright 
 side of things, he came to the conclusion that 
 he was on the whole fortunate in getting off so 
 cheaply; for he might have been completely 
 stripped, not to say murdered, while as it was 
 he had a gold crown in his pocket, almost all 
 his clothes intact, and a horse who, ugly as he was, 
 
 * An absurd personage in an old folk-song. 
 
88 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 could carry him. Also, to tell the truth, the 
 memory of the fair Mila made him more than 
 once smile. Indeed, after a few hours’ ride and 
 a good breakfast, he felt positively affected by 
 the girl’s scrupulous delicacy in taking only 
 eighteen pieces from a purse that held twenty. 
 It was harder to stomach the loss of his good 
 chestnut; but he was bound to admit that a 
 thief more hardened than the trumpeter would 
 have taken his horse without leaving him another. 
 And so he reached Paris that evening, just be- 
 fore the gates shut, and took up his abode at an 
 inn in the Rue Saint Jacques. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE YOUNG COURTIERS 
 
 “ Iachimo . The ring is won. 
 
 Posthumus. The stone’s too hard to come by. 
 
 Iachimo. Not a whit, your lady being so easy.” 
 
 Shakespeare, Cymbeline. 
 
 M ERGY’S object in coming to Paris was 
 to obtain strong recommendations to 
 the Admiral Coligny, and a commis- 
 sion in the army which was about, men said, to 
 fight in Flanders under that great captain’s or- 
 ders. He hoped that certain friends of his 
 father’s, to whom he brought letters, would sup- 
 port his demands and would introduce him to 
 the King’s Court as well as to the Admiral, who 
 had a kind of court of his own. He knew that 
 his brother was high in favour; but he was as 
 yet quite undecided whether to seek an interview 
 with him or not. George de Mergy’s apostasy 
 had almost entirely cut him off from his rela- 
 tions, who regarded him as a stranger — a family 
 split which religious differences made by no 
 
 means uncommon at the time. For a great while 
 
 39 
 
40 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 George’s father had forbidden the apostate’s 
 name to be uttered in his hearing, and had justi- 
 fied his severity by the text, “If thy right eye 
 offend thee, pluck it out.” And although young 
 Bernard was by no means of the same inflexible 
 temper, his brother’s change of opinions ap- 
 peared to him a stain on the family honour, and 
 his fraternal affection had naturally suffered in 
 consequence. 
 
 But before deciding on the course which he 
 should take as regarded his brother, and even be- 
 fore presenting his letters of recommendation, 
 he thought he had better see to the filling of his 
 empty purse, and with this object set out from 
 his inn to visit a goldsmith on the Pont St. Mi- 
 chel, who owed the family moneys which he was 
 empowered to claim. 
 
 At the bridge-foot he met some elegantly 
 dressed young men, who, walking arm-in-arm, 
 almost entirely obstructed the narrow passage 
 left on the bridge by the throng of shops and 
 booths, which rose like two parallel walls, and 
 completely hid the view of the river from the 
 passers-by. Behind these gentlemen came their 
 lackeys, each holding sheathed in his hands one 
 of the long double-edged swords called “ duel- 
 lers,” and a dagger with so large a shell that 
 it could be used at need for a shield. Perhaps 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 41 
 
 the weight of these weapons was too much for 
 the young gentlemen, or else they were pleased 
 to show the world that they had richly-dressed 
 serving-men. They seemed in good humour, to 
 judge by their continual shouts of laughter. If 
 a well-dressed woman passed by, they saluted her 
 with a mixture of politeness and impertinence, 
 while several of the madcaps amused themselves 
 by rudely elbowing certain grave citizens in 
 black cloaks, who went off grumbling a thousand 
 curses on the insolence of the courtiers. One only 
 of the group walked with bowed head, and 
 seemed to take no share whatever in their amuse- 
 ments. 
 
 “Why, d e, George!” cried another, 
 
 clapping him on the shoulder, “ you are getting 
 desperately sulky. It is a full quarter of an 
 hour since you have opened your mouth. Are 
 you thinking of turning Carthusian? ” 
 
 The name “George” made Mergy start; 
 but he did not hear what the person so addressed 
 answered. 
 
 “ I will bet a hundred pistoles,” went on the 
 first speaker, “ that he is still in love with some 
 paragon of virtue. I am sorry for you, my poor 
 friend; it is certainly bad luck to find any mis- 
 tress unkind in Paris.” 
 
 “ Go to Rudbeck the wizard,” said another; 
 
42 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ he will give you a potion to make her love 
 you.” 
 
 “ Perhaps,” said a third, “ our friend the 
 captain is in love with a nun. These devils of 
 Huguenots, converted or unconverted, always 
 mean mischief to the spouses of Christ.” 
 
 A voice, which Mergy knew at once, replied 
 sadly — 
 
 “Faith! I should not be as miserable as I 
 am, if nothing but love-matters were at stake. 
 But,” he added, dropping his voice, “ De Pons, 
 to whom I gave a letter for my father, has re- 
 turned and tells me that he insists on having noth- 
 ing to do with me.” 
 
 “ Your father is a chip of the old block,” 
 said one of the young men. “ He was one of 
 the Huguenots who tried Amboise.” 
 
 At that moment Captain George, who had 
 turned his head, perceived Mergy, and with a 
 cry of surprise and open arms he sprang towards 
 him. Mergy lost not a moment in holding out his 
 own hands, and hugged him to his breast. It may 
 be that had the meeting been less sudden, he might 
 have tried to steel himself up; but the surprise 
 gave nature her rights. From that moment they 
 looked on each other as friends who meet after 
 a long journey. 
 
 After the first embrace and the first inquiries, 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 43 
 
 Captain George turned to his friends, some of 
 whom had stood still to contemplate the pro- 
 ceeding. 
 
 “ Sirs,” said he, “ you have been witness to 
 this unexpected meeting. Forgive me if I leave 
 you to entertain a brother whom I have not seen 
 for more than seven years.” 
 
 “ But we do not mean you to leave us at all 
 to-day. Dinner is ordered, and you must come.” 
 And he who spoke seized George at the same time 
 by his cloak. 
 
 “ Beville is right,” said another; “we will 
 not let you go.” 
 
 “ Why, mordieu! ” said Beville, “ let your 
 brother dine with us. Instead of one good fellow, 
 we shall have two.” 
 
 “ Pardon me,” thereupon said Mergy, “ but 
 I have much business to do to-day; I have let- 
 ters to deliver ” 
 
 “ You can deliver them to-morrow.” 
 
 “ They must be delivered to-day. And,” 
 added Mergy, smiling a little shamefacedly, “ I 
 must tell you that I am penniless, and I must 
 
 really go and look for some money ” 
 
 “A pretty excuse, good faith!” cried they 
 all. “We can not possibly let you refuse to dine 
 with good Christians like us that you may go and 
 borrow from Jews! ” 
 
44 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Come, my good friend,” said Beville, os- 
 tentatiously shaking a long silk purse which 
 swung at his girdle, “ look upon me as your 
 banker. The dice have dealt kindly with me for 
 a whole fortnight.” 
 
 “ Come along; let us not waste time, but go 
 and dine at the Black Boy,” said all the young 
 men. 
 
 Captain George looked at his brother, who 
 was still uncertain. “ After all, you will have 
 plenty of time to deliver your letters. As for 
 money, I have some; so come with us. You will 
 see how we live in Paris.” 
 
 Mergy allowed himself to be persuaded, and 
 his brother introduced him formally to all his 
 friends in turn: the Baron de Yaudreuil, the 
 Chevalier de Rheincy, the Vicomte de Beville, 
 and so on. They were prodigal of caresses to the 
 newcomer, who was obliged to embrace them all 
 one after the other. Beville was the last to ex- 
 change salutes with him. 
 
 “ Oh! oh! ” quoth he. “ Curse me, comrade, 
 but I smell a heretic. My gold chain to a pistole 
 that you are of the religion.” 
 
 “ ’Tis true, sir; though I am not as good a 
 member of it as I ought to be.” 
 
 “ There! can I not tell a Huguenot among 
 a thousand? Ventre de loup ! how serious our 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 45 
 
 Methodists look when they talk of their re- 
 ligion.” 
 
 “ I think one should never speak jestingly 
 on such a subject.” 
 
 “ M. de Mergy is right,” said Vaudreuil; 
 “ and as for you, Beville, this ill-timed pleasantry 
 of yours on sacred things will bring you ill luck.” 
 
 “ There is a saint for you! ” said Beville to 
 Mergy. “ He is the most outrageous libertine 
 of us all; and yet he gives us a sermon now and 
 then.” 
 
 “ Do not make me out worse than I am, Be- 
 ville,” said Vaudreuil. “ If I am a libertine it 
 is because I can not subdue the flesh ; but at least 
 I respect what ought to be respected.” 
 
 “For my part, I respect my mother; she is 
 the only honest woman I have ever known. For 
 the rest, my good fellow, Catholics, Huguenots, 
 Turks, and Jews are all the same to me; I rate 
 their quarrels at the price of a broken spur- 
 rowel.” 
 
 “Infidel!” muttered Vaudreuil; and he 
 crossed himself over the mouth, holding his hand- 
 kerchief to hide it meanwhile as much as he 
 could. 
 
 “ You must know, Bernard,” said Captain 
 George, “ that you must not look among us for 
 disputants like your and my learned master. 
 
46 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Theobald Wolfsteinius. We do not care much 
 for theological discussions, and, thank heaven, 
 we employ our time better.” 
 
 “ Yet perhaps,” said Mergy rather bitterly, 
 “ it might have been better for you had you lis- 
 tened attentively to the learned dissertations of 
 the worthy minister you have named.” 
 
 “ A truce to that, little brother; we may talk 
 of it again perchance. I know what you think 
 of me, but never mind. We are not here to talk 
 of such matters. I believe I am a man of honour, 
 and you will find it out some day. Drop the 
 subject; we must think now only of amusement.” 
 And he passed his hand over his brow as if ta 
 drive off painful thoughts. 
 
 Mergy only whispered, “ Dear brother ! ” 
 and pressed his hand. George replied by a sim- 
 ilar pressure, and both hurried after their com- 
 panions, who were somewhat in advance of them. 
 
 As they passed in front of the Louvre, whence 
 crowds of well-dressed people issued, the captain 
 and his friends gave bow or embrace to almost all 
 the noblemen they met, at the same time intro- 
 ducing young Mergy, who in this way made 
 prompt acquaintance with a vast number of 
 celebrated personages of the day. As he did so 
 he was told their nicknames (for everyone of 
 any note had his nickname then), as well as the 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 47 
 
 scandalous stories which were reported about 
 them. 
 
 “ Do you see,” they said, “ that counsellor, so 
 pale and so yellow? That is Master Petrus de 
 Finibus, otherwise Pierre Seguier, who makes 
 so much ado, and so cleverly, that in everything 
 he undertakes he always gains his ends. There 
 is Thore de Montmorency, ‘ little Captain Burn- 
 the-benches.’ There is his grace the Archbishop 
 of Bottles,* who is pretty steady on his mule, 
 because he has not dined yet. Here is one of 
 the heroes of your own party, the valiant Count 
 de la Rochefoucauld, surnamed the Cabbage- 
 killer. In the last war he riddled with shot an 
 unlucky plot of cabbages which his bad sight 
 made him take for Lanzknechts.” 
 
 In less than a quarter of an hour Mergy knew 
 the names of the lovers of almost all the Court 
 ladies, and the number of duels which had been 
 brought about by the beauty of each. He re- 
 marked that the more deaths a lady had been 
 the cause of, the higher did her fame rank. Thus 
 Madame de Courtavel, whose recognised lover 
 had killed two of his rivals, was far better re- 
 puted than the unlucky Countess de Pomerande, 
 who had but one miserable duel (with a mere 
 scratch as a result) to her name. 
 
 * The Archbishop of Guise. 
 
48 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 A lady of stately figure, mounted on a white 
 mule, which was led by an equerry and followed 
 by two lackeys, attracted Mergy’s attention. 
 Her dress was of the newest cut, and stiff with 
 embroidery. As far as he could judge she must 
 be beautiful; but at that time, as is well known, 
 ladies never went out of doors save masked. Her 
 mask was of black velvet, and you could see, or 
 rather guess from what showed through the eye- 
 holes, that she had skin of a dazzling whiteness 
 and eyes of a dark blue. She slackened her mule’s 
 pace as she passed the young men, and even 
 seemed to look somewhat attentively at Mergy, 
 whose face was strange to her. Plumed hats 
 swept the earth on the path before her; and she 
 bent her head gracefully to return the numerous 
 salutes of a double row of admirers as she passed. 
 As she disappeared a puff of wind lifted the 
 hem of her long satin gown, and showed, as by 
 a flash of lightning, a little slipper of white 
 velvet and some inches of pink silk stocking. 
 
 “ Who is that lady whom everyone salutes? ” 
 asked Mergy with some interest. 
 
 “ What! in love already?” cried Beville. 
 “ Ah, well, it is always her way; Huguenots and 
 Papists alike, all fall in love with Countess Diane 
 de Turgis.” 
 
 “ She is one of the Court beauties,” added 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 49 
 
 George ; “ one of the most dangerous of Circes 
 for our young gallants. Nor is the fortress easy 
 to carry, confound it.” 
 
 “ What is her record of duels? ” asked 
 Mergy, smiling. 
 
 “ Oh, she is only in her scores,” answered the 
 Raron de Vaudreuil. “ But the best of it is that 
 she wanted to fight herself. She sent a regular 
 challenge to another Court lady who had taken 
 precedence of her.” 
 
 “A pretty story!” cried Mergy. 
 
 “ She would not have been the first of our 
 time,” said George, “ if she had actually fought. 
 She sent, really sent, a perfectly regular, correct 
 challenge to Madame de Sainte-Foix, offering 
 a duel to the death with sword and dagger, 
 stripped to the shift, just as a r affine * duellist 
 would do.” 
 
 “ I should like to have been one of their 
 seconds to see them both in that costume,” said 
 the Chevalier de Rheincy. 
 
 “ And did the fight come off? ” said Mergy. 
 
 “No,” said George; “the matter was made 
 up.” 
 
 “ That is to say, he made it up,” said Vau- 
 dreuil, “ for he was Madame de Sainte-Foix’s 
 lover at the time.” 
 
 * The term of the day for a professional duellist. 
 
50 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “Fie! fie! no more than yourself,” quoth 
 George with a very discreet air. 
 
 “ Madame de Turgis is like Vaudreuil,” said 
 Beville, “ she hashes up religion and the way of 
 the world together; wants to fight a duel (which 
 is, I believe, mortal sin), and hears two masses 
 a day.” 
 
 “ Do let my mass and me alone! ” cried Vau- 
 dreuil. 
 
 “ Yes; she goes to mass,” said Rheincy, “ hut 
 it is to show herself unmasked.” 
 
 “ Why, ’tis just for that that so many women 
 go to mass,” remarked Mergy, pleased at finding 
 a chance of jesting at the religion which was not 
 his own. 
 
 “ And to meeting, too,” said Beville. “ When 
 the sermon is done, the lights are put out, and 
 then there are fine doings. ’Sdeath! it tempts me 
 terribly to turn Lutheran.” 
 
 “ And you believe those absurd stories? ” said 
 Mergy disdainfully. 
 
 “ Do I believe them? Why, little Ferrand, 
 whom we all know, used to go to meeting at 
 Orleans to see a notary’s wife. A very fine 
 woman, by Jove! He used to make my mouth 
 water by talking of her. He could see her no- 
 where else; and luckily a Huguenot friend of 
 his had given him the password, so he got into 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 51 
 
 the meeting-house; and I leave you to guess 
 whether our comrade employed his time well in 
 the dark or not.” 
 
 “ But that is impossible,” said Mergy drily. 
 “ Impossible? Pray why? ” 
 
 “ Because no Protestant would be so base as 
 to let a Papist into meeting.” 
 
 The answer was greeted with loud laughter. 
 “ What! ” said Vaudreuil. “You think that 
 because a man is a Huguenot he can neither be 
 a thief, nor a traitor, nor a pimp? ” 
 
 “ He must have fallen from the moon! ” cried 
 Rheincy. 
 
 “ For my part,” said Beville, “ if I had to 
 send a billet to a Huguenot beauty, I should 
 go straight to her minister.” 
 
 “ Because, I suppose,” answered Mergy, 
 “ you are accustomed to employ your priests in 
 the same way.” 
 
 “Our priests?” said Vaudreuil, reddening 
 angrily. 
 
 “ I pray you, leave off this tiresome talk,” 
 interrupted George, who noticed the offensive 
 sharpness of each repartee. “ Let us leave all 
 the canters of all the sects alone. I vote that 
 the first who says ‘ Huguenot,’ ‘ Papist,’ ‘ Prot- 
 estant,’ or ‘ Catholic ’ shall pay forfeit.” 
 
 “Agreed!” cried Beville. “He shall pay 
 
 i y OF MU* 
 
52 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 for a round of the good Cahors wine at the inn 
 where we are going to dine.” And there was 
 silence for a moment. 
 
 “ Since poor Lannoy was killed before Or- 
 leans, Madame de Turgis has had no known 
 lover,” said George, who wished to divert his 
 friends from theological ideas. 
 
 “ Who would dare to assert that a lady of 
 Paris has no lover? ” cried Seville. “ ’Tis certain 
 that Comminges presses her hard.” 
 
 “ That is the reason,” said Vaudreuil, “ that 
 young Navarette gave up; he was afraid of such 
 a redoubtable rival.” 
 
 “Is Comminges jealous, then?” asked the 
 captain. 
 
 “ Like a tiger,” answered Reville ; “ and he 
 declares he will kill anyone who dares love the 
 fair countess; so that in order not to be left 
 without any lover at all, she must make up her 
 mind to take Comminges.” 
 
 “ Who is this fire-eater? ” asked Mergy, who, 
 without quite knowing why, felt a lively curiosity 
 as to everything concerning the Countess de 
 Turgis. 
 
 “ He is,” answered Rheincy, “ one of our 
 most famous raffines; and as you come from the 
 country, I will explain our Court lingo to you. 
 A raffine is an accomplished gentleman — a man 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 53 
 
 who fights when another’s cloak touches his own, 
 when a man spits within four feet of him, 
 or, in short, for any other equally reasonable 
 reason.” 
 
 “ Comminges,” said Vaudreuil, “ took a man 
 one day to the Pre-aux-Clercs ; * they doff ed 
 their coats and drew swords. ‘ Are you not 
 Berny of Auvergne?’ said Comminges. ‘No,’ 
 said the other; ‘my name is Villequier, and I 
 come from Normandy.’ ‘ That is a pity,’ said 
 Comminges ; ‘ I have mistaken my man. But as 
 I have challenged you, we must fight.’ And he 
 killed him merrily.” 
 
 Each one added some instance of Comminges’ 
 skill or his quarrelsome temper; the subject was 
 fertile, and the conversation lasted them till they 
 were out of the town, at the Black Boy. This 
 was an inn placed in a garden near the site where 
 the Tuileries, begun in 1564, was in process of 
 building. Many more gentlemen of George’s 
 friends met them there, and they sat down to 
 table a numerous company. 
 
 Mergy, who sat by Vaudreuil’s side, noticed 
 that his neighbour in sitting down crossed him- 
 self and muttered with shut eyes and in a low 
 voice this singular grace: Laus Deo , pax viviSj 
 
 * The locus classicus of duels at the time. It lay in front of the Louvre, 
 in the space between the Rue des Petits-Augustins and the Rue du Bac. 
 
54 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 salutem de fundi, et beat a viscera virginis Marice 
 quce portaverunt ceterni Patris Filium. 
 
 “ Do you know Latin, Baron? ” asked 
 Mergy. 
 
 “ What! you heard my grace? ” 
 
 “Yes; but I confess that I did not under- 
 stand it.” 
 
 “ To tell you the truth, I do not understand 
 Latin myself, and have no clear idea what the 
 prayer means; but I learnt it from one of my 
 aunts, who found it very efficacious, and since 
 I have used it I have been well satisfied with 
 the result.” 
 
 “ I think it must be Catholic Latin, and there- 
 fore we Huguenots can not comprehend it.” 
 
 “A forfeit! a forfeit!” cried Beville and 
 Captain George at once. Mergy submitted with 
 a good grace; and fresh bottles, which promptly 
 put the company in good humour, were set on 
 the table. 
 
 The conversation soon became noisier, and 
 Mergy availed himself of the tumult to talk 
 to his brother without attending to what was 
 going on round them. But this aside was in- 
 terrupted at the end of the second course by the 
 noise of a violent dispute between two of the 
 guests. 
 
 “ ’Tis false! ” cried the Chevalier de Rheincy. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 55 
 
 “ False!” said Vaudreuil, his naturally pale 
 face becoming corpse-like in hue. 
 
 “ She is the most virtuous, the chastest of 
 women! ” went on the chevalier. 
 
 Vaudreuil smiled bitterly and shrugged his 
 shoulders. All eyes were fixed upon the dispu- 
 tants, and each man, in a sort of silent neutrality, 
 seemed to be waiting for the upshot of the 
 quarrel. 
 
 “What is the matter, sirs? and what is this 
 noise for? ” asked the captain, ready as usual 
 to prevent a breach of the peace. 
 
 “ Our friend the chevalier,” said Beville 
 placidly, “ insists that Madame de Sillery, his 
 mistress, is chaste; while our friend Vaudreuil 
 declares that she is not, and that he has reason 
 to know it.” 
 
 The laugh which followed increased Rheincy’s 
 rage, and he fixed eyes of fury on both Vaudreuil 
 and Beville. 
 
 “ I could show letters of hers,” said Vaudreuil. 
 
 “ I dare you to do so! ” cried the chevalier. 
 
 “Well,” said Vaudreuil, with a very evil 
 sneer on his face, “ I will read one to these gentle- 
 men; they may know her writing as well as my- 
 self, for I am not coxcomb enough to boast the 
 monopoly of her letters or her favours either. 
 Here is a note I received this very day,” and 
 
56 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 he made as if he would rummage his pocket for 
 a letter. 
 
 “ You lie in your throat! ” 
 
 The table was too broad for the baron’s hand 
 to reach his foe, who sat right opposite him; 
 but he cried, “ I will drive that ‘ lie ’ down your 
 own till it chokes you! ” And he flung a bottle 
 at his adversary’s head as he spoke. Rheincy 
 dodged the blow, and upsetting his chair in his 
 haste, sprang to the wall to take down his sword 
 which hung there. 
 
 All rose, some to interpose in the quarrel, 
 most to keep clear of it. 
 
 “ Stop, you madmen,” cried George, getting 
 in front of the baron, who was nearest him; 
 “ ought two friends to fight for the sake of a 
 wench? ” 
 
 “ A bottle flung at one’s head is as bad as a 
 blow,” said Beville coolly. “ Come, chevalier, 
 my friend, out with your sword.” 
 
 “ Fair play! fair play! a ring! ” cried almost 
 all the guests. 
 
 “ Shut the door, Jack,” calmly said the host 
 of the Black Boy, who was quite used to scenes 
 of this kind. “If the police were to pass it 
 might interrupt the gentlemen, and do harm 
 to the house.” 
 
 “ Will you fight in a tavern-room like 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 57 
 
 drunken Lanzknechts? ” persisted George, anx- 
 ious to gain time. “ At least wait till to- 
 morrow.” 
 
 “ To-morrow be it,” said Rheincy, offering 
 to sheath his sword. 
 
 “ Our little chevalier is afraid,” said Vau- 
 dreuil; whereat Rheincy, thrusting aside those 
 in his way, dashed on his enemy. Both attacked 
 furiously, but Vaudreuil had had time to twist 
 a napkin carefully round his left arm, and he 
 used this with skill to ward off cuts, while 
 Rheincy, who had neglected a similar precaution, 
 was wounded in the left hand at the first passes. 
 But he fought on bravely, shouting to his foot- 
 boy to bring him his poniard. Seville stopped 
 the lackey, declaring that as Vaudreuil had no 
 dagger his foe must have none. Some of the 
 chevalier’s friends protested, sharp words were 
 exchanged, and the duel might have turned into 
 a general affray if Vaudreuil had not ended it 
 by striking his enemy down with a severe wound 
 in the breast. He set his foot on Rheincy’s 
 sword to prevent his picking it up, and raised 
 his own to give the coup de grace — a piece of 
 savagery which the duelling rules of the time 
 permitted. 
 
 Kill a disarmed foe?” cried George; and 
 he wrested Vaudreuil’s sword from his hand. 
 
58 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 The chevalier’s wound was not mortal, but 
 he bled freely. They bandaged him up as best 
 they could with napkins, while he muttered with 
 a forced laugh that the matter was not at an 
 end. Soon there appeared a monk and a sur- 
 geon, who wrangled for some time as to which 
 should take charge of the wounded man. The 
 surgeon got the better, and having made them 
 carry his patient to the Seine-bank, he conveyed 
 him in a boat to his lodgings. Meanwhile some 
 of the servants took away the bloody napkins 
 and washed the floor, while others set fresh 
 bottles on the table. As for Vaudreuil, after 
 very carefully wiping his sword, he sheathed it, 
 crossed himself, and with unruffled calm drew 
 a letter from his pocket, requested silence, and 
 read the first line, which excited roars of laugh- 
 ter — 
 
 “ My darling, that troublesome chevalier who 
 pesters me ” 
 
 “ Let us go,” said Mergy to his brother, with 
 an expression of disgust. The captain followed 
 him, and the general attention paid to the letter 
 prevented their departure from being noticed. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE CONVERT 
 
 “ Don Juan. What ? You take what I have just said for 
 current coin; and you believe that my mouth speaks in unison 
 with my heart ? ” — Moliere, Le Festin de Pierre. 
 
 T HE captain returned to town with his 
 brother, and took him to his lodgings. 
 They spoke little as they walked thither ; 
 for the scene which they had just witnessed had 
 left on them a painful impression, which made 
 them silent in spite of themselves. Yet the quar- 
 rel, and the irregular duel which followed, were 
 nothing out of the way for the time. From one 
 end of France to the other the touchy suscepti- 
 bility of the nobles caused the most painful in- 
 cidents; so that at a moderate calculation the 
 rage for duels cost more lives under the reigns 
 of Henry III. and Henry IV. than ten years of 
 civil war. 
 
 The captain’s lodgings were furnished with 
 taste. Embroidered silk curtains, and carpets 
 of bright hue, at once caught the eyes of Mergy, 
 who was accustomed to simpler fashions. He 
 
 entered a small apartment which his brother 
 
 59 
 
60 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 called his oratory, the name of boudoir not having 
 been yet invented. A faldstool of oak elabo- 
 rately carved, a Madonna by an Italian master, 
 and a holy-water stoup with its thick spray of 
 box, seemed to justify the chamber’s sacred des- 
 ignation; while a sofa covered in black damask, 
 a mirror of Venice glass, a portrait of a lady, 
 weapons, and musical instruments, suggested 
 that the inmate was not unaccustomed to occupa- 
 tions something mundane in character. 
 
 Mergy cast a contemptuous eye on the holy- 
 water stoup and its sprig, which reminded him 
 disagreeably of his brother’s apostasy. A lackey 
 boy brought preserves, sweetmeats, and white 
 wine; for tea and coffee were not yet in use, and 
 the simple tastes of our ancestors put up with 
 wine in the place of all such modish drinks. 
 
 Mergy, glass in hand, still kept looking from 
 the Madonna to the stoup, and from the stoup 
 to the faldstool. He sighed deeply; and gazing 
 at his brother, who had stretched himself with a 
 nonchalant air on the couch, he said, “ Your 
 Popish equipment is complete. What would 
 our mother say if she were here? ” 
 
 The notion seemed to pain the captain. He 
 bent his bushy eyebrows, and waved his hand 
 as if to ask his brother not to broach such a 
 subject; but Mergy went on pitilessly: 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 61 
 
 “ Can you possibly have abjured our family 
 faith with your heart as you have with your 
 lips? ” 
 
 “ Our family faith? it was never mine! 
 What? I believe in the canting sermons that 
 your ministers twang through their noses? 
 I •" 
 
 “ And it is better of course to believe in pur- 
 gatory, in confession, in the infallibility of the 
 Pope? It is better to throw oneself before the 
 dusty sandals of a Capuchin? The time will 
 come when you will think you can not dine with- 
 out gabbling the Baron de Vaudreuirs grace.” 
 
 “ Listen to me, Bernard. I hate argument, 
 especially religious argument; but I must have 
 an explanation with you sooner or later, and since 
 we have begun let us finish. I will speak to you 
 without concealment.” 
 
 “ Then you do not believe in the absurd in- 
 ventions of the Papists? ” 
 
 The captain shrugged his shoulders, and let 
 one of his large spurs ring again as he dropped 
 his heel on the floor. “ Papists? ” he cried, “ Hu- 
 guenots? What is there on either side but su- 
 perstition? I can not believe what reason shows 
 me to be absurd. Our litanies and your psalms 
 are both nonsense; one as bad as the other. 
 Only,” he added, smiling, “ there is sometimes 
 
62 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 good music in our churches, while you wage im- 
 mortal war with ears of taste.” 
 
 “ A pretty advantage for your religion, and 
 a good reason for making proselytes to it! ” 
 
 “ Do not call it my religion, for I believe in 
 it no more than in yours. Since I could think 
 for myself, since my reason has been left un- 
 controlled ” 
 
 “ But ” 
 
 “ A truce with preachments. I know by heart 
 everything that you can say to me. I too have 
 had my hopes and my fears. Do you think I 
 have not striven my utmost to keep the happy 
 superstitions of childhood? I have read all the 
 divines to find solace for the doubts that fright- 
 ened me, and I but made them stronger. In 
 short, I could not and I can not believe. The 
 precious gift of faith has been refused me, hut 
 I would not for the world deprive others of it.” 
 “ I am sorry for you.” 
 
 “ There, you are right enough. As a Prot- 
 estant I did not believe in meeting; as a Catho- 
 lic I do not believe any more in the mass. Are 
 not the savageries of our civil wars enough, in 
 God’s name, to uproot the strongest faith? ” 
 
 “ But they are the work of men only, and of 
 men who have perverted the word of God.” 
 
 “ That answer is not original; but you must 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 63 
 
 not complain if I am still unconvinced. I do 
 not and I can not comprehend your Deity; and 
 if I did believe, it would be, as our friend Jodelle 
 says, ‘ with all rights reserved.’ ” 
 
 “ But if the two faiths are indifferent to you, 
 why that abjuration which has hurt your family 
 and your friends so much? ” 
 
 “ I have written at least a score of times to 
 my father to explain my reasons to him and 
 excuse myself ; but he has thrown my letters un- 
 opened into the fire, and has behaved to me more 
 harshly than if I had committed some great 
 crime.” 
 
 “ Neither my mother nor I approved this 
 excessive sternness of his; and if we had not 
 
 received positive orders ” 
 
 “I do not know what has been thought of 
 me, and I do not much care; but I will tell you 
 what made me take a sudden step, which, no 
 doubt, I should not take if the thing were to 
 be done afresh.” 
 
 “ Ah! I always thought you would repent of 
 it.” 
 
 “ Repent of it? No; for I do not think that 
 I did ill. When you were still at school, busy 
 with Latin and Greek, I had harness on back, 
 had donned the white scarf,* and was fighting 
 
 * The reformers had chosen this party colour. 
 
64 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 in our first civil war. Your little Prince of 
 Conde, who was responsible for so many of your 
 faction’s faults — your Prince of Conde, I say, 
 used to mind your business when his gallantries 
 gave him time. A lady loved me and the prince 
 wanted me to give her up to him; I refused, 
 and he became my mortal enemy. So he set 
 himself to inflict on me all possible mortifications. 
 ‘ The pretty little prince who is always kissing 
 his ladylove ’ pointed me out to the extremists 
 of the party as a monster of debauchery and 
 irreligion. Now I had but one mistress, and 
 I clave to her. As for irreligion, I let others 
 alone, why should they pick a quarrel with me? ” 
 
 “ I should have thought it impossible that 
 the prince could behave so ill.” 
 
 “ He is dead, and you have made a hero 
 of him, which is the way of the world. He was 
 not without merits. He died like a brave man, 
 and I have forgiven him. But at that time he 
 was all-powerful, and resistance on the part of 
 a poor gentleman like me seemed to him a 
 crime.” 
 
 The captain paced the chamber for some time, 
 and then continued in a voice of ever-increasing 
 passion : 
 
 “ Every minister, every fanatic in the army 
 was soon set upon me. I cared as little for their 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 65 
 
 snarling as for their sermons; but one of the 
 prince's gentlemen, to curry favour with his 
 master, called me ‘ Lecher ’ before all our cap- 
 tains. I boxed his ears first, and killed him 
 afterwards. There were at least a dozen duels 
 a day in the army, and our generals turned blind 
 eyes to them. But I was made an exception; 
 and the prince determined that I should be a 
 lesson to the whole army. The entreaties of all 
 the men of quality — including, I must own, the 
 Admiral — obtained my pardon; but the prince’s 
 hatred was not satisfied. At Jazeneuil fight I 
 was in command of a company of pistoliers; I 
 had been in the front of the melee; two musket- 
 ball dents in my cuirass and a lance-wound 
 through my left arm showed that I had not 
 spared myself. I had twenty men left, and a 
 full battalion of the King’s Swiss was marching 
 on us. The Prince of Conde bade me charge 
 them ; I asked him for two companies of Reiters, 
 and — he called me a coward! ” 
 
 Mergy started up and seized his brother’s 
 hand. But the captain continued, still pacing 
 up and down with eyes flashing fury. 
 
 “ He called me coward before all these gentry 
 in their gilded armour, who a few months after- 
 wards deserted him and left him to be killed at 
 J arnac. I felt that there was nothing to do but 
 
66 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 to die. I dashed at the Swiss, swearing that if 
 by any chance I came off with my life, I would 
 never draw sword again for so unjust a prince. 
 Wounded severely and unhorsed, I was on the 
 point of being killed, when one of the Duke of 
 Anjou’s gentlemen, Beville, the same madcap 
 with whom we dined to-day, saved my life, and 
 introduced me to the duke. I was well treated, 
 and I was thirsting for revenge. They made 
 much of me ; they urged me to take service with 
 my benefactor the duke; they quoted the line — 
 
 “Omne solum forti patria est, ut piscibus sequor.” 
 
 I was disgusted at the Protestants for calling 
 foreigners into our country. But why not con- 
 fess the one true reason which actuated me? I 
 longed for vengeance, and I turned Catholic in 
 hopes of meeting the Prince of Conde on the 
 battle-field and killing him. A coward under- 
 took the business of paying my debts; and the 
 way in which he was killed almost made me 
 forget my hatred. I saw him a bleeding 
 prey to the soldiers’ insults: I rescued his corpse 
 from their hands, and flung my own mantle over 
 it. But I was already pledged to the Catholics: 
 I had a troop in their cavalry, and I could not 
 leave them. Luckily, I think I may say I have 
 been of some service to my old side: I tried 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 67 
 
 whenever I could to soften the rage of a re- 
 ligious war, and I was fortunate enough to save 
 the lives of some old friends.” 
 
 “ Oliver de Basse ville tells everyone that he 
 owes his life to you.” 
 
 “ So I am a Catholic now,” said George in 
 a calmer tone. “It is as good a religion as 
 any other; for it is so easy to get on with their 
 pious people. You see that pretty Madonna? 
 ’Tis the portrait of an Italian courtesan; and 
 yet fanatics admire my piety, while they cross 
 themselves before her virginship. I warrant you 
 I have an easier time with them than with our 
 ministers. I can live as I please at the cost of 
 a very few sacrifices to the prejudices of the 
 vulgar. One must go to mass: I go now and 
 then — to look at the pretty women. One must 
 have a confessor: well, mine is a Franciscan, a 
 capital fellow, who has been a horse arque- 
 busier, and who for a crown gives me my con- 
 fession ticket, and carries my own billets to his 
 pretty penitents into the bargain. Death of my 
 fife! the mass for ever! ” 
 
 Mergy could not help smiling. 
 
 “ Here,” went on the captain, “ is my Church 
 Service,” and he threw him a book richly bound 
 in velvet cover and silver clasps ; “ these ‘ Hours ’ 
 are well worth your Prayer-books.” 
 
68 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Mergy read on the back, 44 Hours of the 
 Court.” 
 
 “ It is a pretty binding,” said he scornfully, 
 handing the book back. 
 
 The captain opened it, and returned it again 
 with a smile. Mergy read on the title-page, 
 44 The Very Horrific Life of the Great Gar- 
 gantua, Father of Pantagruel. Composed by 
 Master Alcof ribas, Extractor of Quintessence.” 
 “ That is the book for me,” cried the captain 
 laughing. “ I rate it higher than all the divinity 
 books in the Geneva Library.” 
 
 “ They say, no doubt, that the author was 
 learned enough, but he has hardly made a good 
 use of his learning.” 
 
 George shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 44 Read it, Bernard, and you shall tell me 
 what you think of it afterwards.” 
 
 Mergy took the book, but after a moment’s 
 silence : 
 
 44 1 am still sorry,” said he, 44 that mere dis- 
 gust, however well-founded, should have drawn 
 you into a step which you will certainly repent 
 some day.” 
 
 The captain’s head sank, and his eyes ap- 
 peared to be carefully tracing the pattern of the 
 carpet at his feet. 44 What is done is done,” 
 said he, smothering a sigh. 44 Perhaps,” he added 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 69 
 
 in a gayer tone, “ I shall come back to meeting 
 some day. Rut meanwhile let us drop the sub- 
 ject: promise me never to return to one so 
 tiresome.” 
 
 “ I hope your own conscience will do more 
 than my lectures or my advice.” 
 
 “ Be it so. And now let us talk of your busi- 
 ness. What was your object in coming to 
 Court? ” 
 
 “ I hope for strong enough recommendations 
 to the Admiral to obtain admission for me among 
 his gentlemen in the campaign he is going to 
 make in the Netherlands.” 
 
 “ I do not like your plan. No gentleman 
 who has a good heart in his breast and a sword 
 by his side ought of his own free will to make 
 a lackey of himself. Volunteer for the Royal 
 Guards; for my own company of light horse, 
 if you like. You will make the campaign, as 
 we all shall, under the Admiral’s orders; but at 
 least you will be no one’s body-servant.” 
 
 “ But I have no desire to join the King’s 
 Guard; I had even much rather not. It would 
 please me well enough to serve in your com- 
 pany; but my father wishes me to make my first 
 campaign under the Admiral’s immediate lead- 
 ing.” 
 
 “ That is like you Huguenot gentry. You 
 
70 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 preach union, and yet you bear old grudges 
 worse than we do ours.” 
 
 “ How so? ” 
 
 “ Why, you still look on the King as a 
 tyrant, an ‘ Ahab,’ as your ministers call him. 
 Nay, he is not even your king; he is an usurper; 
 and since the death of Louis XIII.,* ’tis Gas- 
 pard I. who is King of France.” 
 
 “ That is an idle jest.” 
 
 “Well, well; you may as well serve old 
 Gaspard as the Duke of Guise; for M. de Cha- 
 tillon is really a great captain, and you will learn 
 your trade under him.” 
 
 “ So even his enemies esteem him,” said 
 Mergy. 
 
 “ Hum! A certain pistol-shot was not quite 
 to his credit.” 
 
 “ He has proved his innocence; and besides, 
 his whole life is utterly out of harmony with 
 Poltrot’s cowardly crime.” 
 
 “ Yet,” said George, “ you know the Latin 
 axiom, ‘ He whom it profited did it.’ Without 
 that pistol-shot Orleans would have fallen.” 
 
 “ But after all, it was only a man the less 
 in the Catholic army.” 
 
 * Prince Louis of Conde, who was killed at Jarnac, was accused by the 
 Catholics of having designs on the crown. Admiral Coligny’s name was 
 Gaspard. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 71 
 
 “ Yes, but what a man! Did you never hear 
 two lines — bad verse enough, but as good as 
 your psalms — 
 
 “For so many Guisards as keep the dance, 
 
 So many Meres are still in France.” * 
 
 “ Idle threats, and nothing more,” answered 
 Mergy. “ It would be a long list if I were to 
 run over all the crimes of the Guisards them- 
 selves.” 
 
 “ As for me, if I were King of France, this 
 is what I would do to restore peace. I would 
 stow Guises and Chatillons both in a good 
 leathern bag, well sewn and well tied up, and 
 I would throw them into the sea with a thousand 
 quintals of iron for ballast, that not a soul might 
 escape. I could find room in the bag for some 
 other folk too.” 
 
 “It is lucky, then, that you are not King 
 of France.” 
 
 After this, the conversation took a livelier 
 turn, politics and theology both being dropped: 
 and the brothers told all the little matters that 
 had happened to them since they parted. Mergy 
 frankly told against himself the story of the 
 
 * Poltrot de Mere, who murdered the great Duke Francis of Guise at the 
 siege of Orleans, just as the town was at the last extremity. Coligny justi- 
 fied himself, not too successfully, from the charge of having allowed, or 
 not prevented, the crime. 
 
72 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Lion d’Or; and his brother, laughing heartily 
 at it, joked him not a little on the loss of his 
 eighteen crowns and his good chestnut. But 
 the bells of a neighbouring church broke in on 
 the talk. 
 
 “ Parbleu! ” said the captain. “ Come to 
 church this evening! I am sure it will amuse 
 you.” 
 
 “ Thank you, but I feel no desire to be con- 
 verted yet.” 
 
 “Do come: to-day’s preacher is Brother 
 Lubin, a cordelier who makes religion such a 
 joke that crowds flock to hear him. Besides, 
 the whole Court is going to St. Jacques to-day: 
 ’tis a sight to see.” 
 
 “ And will Madame de Turgis be there? and 
 will she take her mask off? ” 
 
 “Why, certainly: she is hound to be there. 
 If you want to enter your name for the stake, 
 do not forget when church is over to wait at the 
 door and offer her holy water. That is another 
 of the admirable ceremonies of the Catholic 
 Church. Heavens! how many pretty hands I 
 have squeezed! how many billets-doux I have 
 slipped in, while giving this same holy water!” 
 
 “ Somehow it is so disgusting to me, that I 
 do not think anything in the world would induce 
 me to dip my finger in it.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 73 
 
 But the captain interrupted him with a shout 
 of laughter; and both, having cloaked them- 
 selves, made for the church of St. Jacques, where 
 a fair and numerous company was already as- 
 sembled. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SERMON 
 
 “With mouth well open, a fine despatcher of Hours, good at 
 driving through a Mass, good at polishing off Vigils: and to put 
 the whole shortly, a true monk if ever there was one since a monk- 
 
 S Captain George and his brother crossed 
 
 the church to find a comfortable place 
 
 near the preacher, their attention was 
 
 caught by bursts of laughter coming from the 
 sacristy; and going in thither, they found a fat 
 man, with a cheerful and florid countenance, 
 clothed in the gown of St. Francis, and convers- 
 ing in a very lively manner with half-a-dozen 
 splendidly dressed young men. 
 
 “ Come, children,” said he, “ be quick. The 
 ladies are tired of waiting. Give me my text.” 
 “ Talk of the tricks these same ladies play 
 their husbands,” quoth one of the young men, 
 whom George recognised at once as Beville. 
 
 “ I grant you the subject is fertile, my boy; 
 but what can I say so good as the sermon of the 
 Pontoise preacher who cried: ‘I am going to 
 
 ing world monked its monkery.” 
 
 Rabelais. 
 
 74 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 75 
 
 throw my cap at the head of that woman among 
 you who has planted her husband’s brows thick- 
 est with horns’; whereat there was not a wife 
 in the church who did not shield her head with 
 arm or mantle, as if to ward off the blow.” 
 
 “ Oh, Father Lubin,” said another, “ I only 
 came to sermon for your sake! Prithee give us 
 something merry to-day. Talk of love. It is 
 a sin which is fashionable enough now.” 
 
 “ Fashionable, you call it? Fashionable for 
 you gentlemen who are twenty-five; but I am 
 well into my fifties. At my age one can not 
 talk of love; and for my part I have forgotten 
 what the sin means.” 
 
 “ Don’t make a prim mouth, Father Lubin. 
 You can talk about it just as well as ever. We 
 know you.” 
 
 “ Yes,” added Beville. “ Preach on Luxury. 
 The ladies will all say that you are very full of 
 your subject.” 
 
 To which jest the cordelier replied with a 
 sly wink, showing both the pride and the pleasure 
 he felt at being upbraided with a young man’s 
 vice. 
 
 “No, I will not preach about it; because 
 the Court dames would have no more of me for 
 confessor if I showed myself too severe on that 
 score: and in conscience, if I spoke at all on it. 
 
76 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 it would be to show how men risk their eternal 
 welfare — for what? — for a single minute of 
 pleasure! ” 
 
 “ Well then — But here is the captain. Come, 
 George, give us a text. Father Lubin has 
 promised to preach on the first subject we give 
 him. ,, 
 
 “ Yes,” said the monk. “ But death of my 
 life! be quick. I ought to be in the pulpit by 
 this time.” 
 
 “ Why, Father Lubin, you swear as well as 
 the King could do! ” cried George. 
 
 “ I bet he will not swear in his sermon,” said 
 Seville. 
 
 “Why not, if the fancy takes me?” an- 
 swered Father Lubin boldly. 
 
 “ I bet ten pistoles that you will not dare.” 
 
 “ Ten pistoles? — Done! ” 
 
 “ I will go shares with you, Beville,” said 
 the captain. 
 
 “ No, no! ” said he. “ I will have the good 
 father’s money all to myself: and if he swears, 
 faith! I shall not regret my own. Oaths from 
 a preacher are quite worth ten pistoles.” 
 
 “ And I tell you that the money is mine,” 
 said Father Lubin. “ I will begin my sermon 
 with three oaths. Ah, my good young gentle- 
 men, because you wear sword at side and plume 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 77 
 
 in hat, you think you alone know how to swear. 
 We shall see.” 
 
 And so speaking he went out of the sacristy 
 and mounted the pulpit. Forthwith a deep si- 
 lence fell on the assembly. 
 
 The preacher ran his eyes over the crowd 
 that thronged round the pulpit, as if to find out 
 the layer of the bet; and descrying him leaning 
 against a pillar immediately in front, he bent 
 his brows, set fist on hip, and in the tone of an 
 angry man began thus: 
 
 “My dear brethren, by the virtue! by the 
 death! by the blood! ” 
 
 A murmur of indignant surprise interrupted 
 him, or rather filled the pause which he designed- 
 ly made. 
 
 “ — of God,” continued the Franciscan, with 
 the most pious twang possible, “ we are saved and 
 delivered from hell.” 
 
 A roar of general laughter interrupted him 
 for the second time; and Beville, taking his purse 
 from his girdle, shook it ostentatiously before the 
 preacher as an admission that he had lost. 
 
 “Well, my brethren,” continued the unruf- 
 fled father, “ you think it is all right, do you not? 
 ‘ We are saved and delivered from hell.’ These 
 are comfortable words, think you? We can fold 
 our arms and take our ease. We have got rid 
 
78 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 of those nasty hell-flames. As for purgatory- 
 fire, it is only as it were a singeing with a taper, 
 to be cured by oil of masses — a dozen at most. 
 Come, let us eat, let us drink, let us go and 
 see Polly and Dolly. This is how you reckon, 
 hardened sinners that you are. Now I, Brother 
 Lubin — I tell you that you reckon without your 
 host! 
 
 “ You, for instance, you heretical gentry, 
 you Huguenots of the Huguenots, you think 
 that it was to deliver you from hell that our 
 Saviour deigned to let Himself be crucified? 
 F ools ! It is very likely, is it not, that He should 
 have shed His precious blood for rascals like 
 you? That would have been (not to speak ir- 
 reverently) throwing pearls to swine, and our 
 Saviour’s way was the other — to throw swine to 
 pearls, for there are pearls in the sea, and our 
 Lord threw into the sea two thousand swine. 
 And 4 Behold, the whole herd ran violently down 
 a steep place into the sea.’ A good journey to 
 you, my masters the pigs! and may all heretics 
 go the same way! ” 
 
 The speaker coughed, and stopped a minute 
 to see and enjoy the effect of his eloquence on 
 the faithful; then he went on: 
 
 “ Therefore, ye Huguenots, be converted, 
 and be quick about it, or else woe to you. You 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 79 
 
 are neither saved nor delivered from hell, so show 
 a clean pair of heels to meeting, and cry 4 The 
 mass for ever! ’ 
 
 44 But you, my dear Catholic brethren, you 
 rub your hands and lick your lips, thinking you 
 are in the pleasant suburbs of Paradise already. 
 To speak frankly, my brethren, it is farther from 
 the Court where you dwell to Paradise (even if 
 you take the short cut across) than it is from 
 Saint Lazare to the Porte St. Denis. 
 
 44 4 The virtue, the death, the blood of God 
 have saved you and delivered you from hell/ 
 Yes, I grant you, by freeing you from the bur- 
 den of original sin. But woe to you if Satan 
 catches you up again. And I tell you that he 
 goeth about seeking whom he may devour. Oh, 
 my dear brethren, Satan is one who could teach 
 a trick or two of fence to Big John, Little John, 
 and the Englishman himself ; and I tell you of 
 a truth, fierce are the attacks he makes on us. 
 
 44 For as soon as we doff our petticoats, and 
 are breeched — as soon, I say, as we are in case 
 to be guilty of mortal sin — Master Satan chal- 
 lenges us to the Pre-aux-Clercs of this life. Our 
 arms are the holy sacraments: as for him, he has 
 a whole arsenal of weapons, to wit, our sins, 
 which supply him with arms of offence and de- 
 fence at once. 
 
80 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ I can see him coming on the ground : his 
 cuirass of gluttony on his body, his spurs of 
 idleness at his heels, the long sword of luxury at 
 his girdle. His dagger is envy , he wears pride 
 on his head as a man-at-arms wears his morion; 
 he has avarice in his pocket to use at need; and 
 anger , with insults, and all that follow them, he 
 holds in his mouth: — whence it will be clear to 
 you that he is literally armed to the teeth. 
 
 “ When God has given the word, Satan does 
 not, like our punctilious duellists, say, 4 Sir, are 
 you ready? ’ but plunges headlong on the Chris- 
 tian without crying, ‘’Ware!’ But the Chris- 
 tian, seeing that he is going to receive a thrust 
 from gluttony in the belly, parries with fasting” 
 
 Here the preacher, to make his discourse 
 clearer, took a crucifix, and began to fence with 
 it, lunging and parrying exactly as a fencing- 
 master would use a foil to illustrate a difficult 
 stroke. 
 
 “ Satan, in the very act of recovery, puts in 
 a cut of anger, and then, feinting with hypocrisy , 
 thrusts in quart with pride . The Christian first 
 protects himself with patience, and then replies 
 to pride with a lunge from humility . Satan, 
 angry at this, tries at once a resolute stoccata 
 with luxury, but perceiving it to be parried with 
 mortification, he throws himself recklessly on his 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 81 
 
 foe, trying to trip up his heels with idleness , and 
 at the same time aiming a dagger blow of envy 
 at him, while he tries to slip avarice into his heart. 
 Then is there need of a firm foot and a quick 
 eye. With labour the trick of idleness is foiled; 
 the dagger of envy is blunted by love-of-our- 
 neighbour (not an easy parry, my friends) ; and 
 as for the privy thrust of avarice, nothing but 
 charity can ward off that. 
 
 “ But, my brethren, how many of you are 
 there who, when attacked thus in tierce and in 
 quart, with cut and with thrust, would be ever 
 ready with a parry for every pass of the Enemy? 
 Many a champion have I seen beat to the 
 ground: and then, if he has not swift recourse 
 to contrition , he is a lost man; and you can not 
 be too quick in using this last resort. You think, 
 you courtiers, that Peccavi is a short word to 
 say. Alas! my brethren, how many poor dying 
 sinners try to say it and their voice fails them 
 at the Pec! And then, presto! there is a soul 
 carried off by the devil ! Fetch it back who can.” 
 
 Brother Lubin continued his eloquent ha- 
 rangue for some considerable time ; and when he 
 came down the pulpit steps a connoisseur in 
 style observed, that though he had preached bare- 
 ly an hour, his discourse made thirty-seven dis- 
 tinct points, besides flashes of wit (such as those 
 
82 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 I have quoted) which no man could number. 
 Catholics and Protestants joined in applaud- 
 ing the preacher, who was long detained at 
 the foot of the pulpit by an eager crowd press- 
 ing from all parts of the church to congratulate 
 him. 
 
 During the sermon Mergy had several times 
 asked where Madame de Turgis was; and his 
 brother had looked for her in vain. Either the 
 fair countess was not in church, or she had hid- 
 den herself from admiration in some dark cor- 
 ner. 
 
 “ I wish,” said Mergy as he went out, “ that 
 all who were present at this absurd sermon could 
 this moment hear one of the simple exhortations 
 of our ministers.” 
 
 “ There she is! ” said the captain, whispering 
 and pressing his arm. 
 
 Mergy turned his head, and saw, passing like 
 lightning through the dark doorway, a lady mag- 
 nificently dressed, and conducted by a young 
 man of fair complexion and small stature, slight 
 in figure, effeminate in air, and dressed with 
 probably studied carelessness. The crowd made 
 way for them with a readiness that savoured 
 of alarm; for the cavalier was the redoubted 
 Comminges. 
 
 Mergy had scarce time to glance at the 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 83 
 
 countess. He could not even distinctly see her 
 features, though they made a great impression 
 on him as a whole. But to Comminges he had 
 taken a mortal dislike, though at the same time 
 without quite knowing why. He was indignant 
 at seeing such an insignificant appearance 
 coupled with such a reputation. “If the coun- 
 tess,” he thought, “ loved any one in this crowd, 
 that monster Comminges would kill him. He 
 has sworn to kill all whom she loves,” and he 
 grasped the hilt of his sword with an involuntary 
 and excited movement of which he was at once 
 ashamed. “ What does it matter to me, after 
 all? I have hardly seen his conquest, and do not 
 grudge her to him.” But his thoughts had left 
 a disagreeable impression, and he did not speak 
 from the church to the captain’s house. 
 
 They found supper on table; but Mergy ate 
 little, and as soon as the cloth was removed ex- 
 pressed a wish to return to his inn. The captain 
 made no objection to his going, on condition that 
 he would next day come and take up his quarters 
 definitely. 
 
 We need not say that Mergy was supplied 
 by his brother with money, a horse, and so forth; 
 together with the address of the court tailor, and 
 of the only shop where a gentleman who was 
 anxious to stand well with the ladies could buy 
 
84 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 his gloves, his ruffs a la confusion , and his shoes 
 a cric or a pont-levis. 
 
 At last, darkness having set in, he returned 
 to his inn, accompanied by two of his brother’s 
 serving-men well armed with sword and pistol; 
 for the streets of Paris after eight o’clock were 
 more dangerous then than the road from Seville 
 to Granada is now. 
 
CHAPTER YI 
 
 A PARTY LEADER 
 
 “Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold! 
 
 For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.” 
 
 Shakespeare, King Richard III. 
 
 W HEN Bernard de Mergy returned to 
 his modest hostelry he glanced in a 
 melancholy manner at the worn and 
 tarnished furniture. As he silently compared 
 the walls, once whitewashed, now blackened with 
 smoke, to the bright silken tapestries of the lodg- 
 ing he had just quitted — as he remembered the 
 beautiful painting of the Madonna, and saw 
 nothing on his own walls but an old image of 
 a saint, a base enough thought entered his mind. 
 All that luxury, all that elegance, the good graces 
 of ladies, the King’s favour — all these desirable 
 things had cost George but a word, a single 
 word, easy enough to pronounce, for it had to 
 come from the lips only, and no question was 
 asked about the heart. At the same time, there 
 occurred to him the names of divers Protestants 
 who, by abjuration, had raised themselves to 
 
 85 
 
86 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 the highest honours; and as the devil makes 
 strings to his bow out of anything, the parable 
 of the Prodigal Son also suggested itself, but 
 with this moral, foreign to the original, that 
 there would be more joy over a converted 
 Huguenot than over a consistent Catholic. 
 
 These thoughts, which occurred in divers 
 shapes, and as it were independently of his will, 
 haunted him constantly, despite his disgust at 
 them. He took a Geneva Bible which had be- 
 longed to his mother, and read it for some time, 
 until, calmed at length, he laid the book down, 
 and, before he closed his eyes, swore to himself to 
 live and die in the faith of his fathers. 
 
 Yet notwithstanding his reading and his 
 oath, his dreams showed the impress of the day’s 
 adventures. He had visions of curtains of pur- 
 ple silk, of golden plate: and then suddenly the 
 tables were upset, swords flashed, and blood 
 mingled with the wine. Again, the painted 
 Madonna became alive; she left her frame and 
 danced before him. He tried to register her 
 features in his memory; and only then noticed 
 that she was masked in black. But ah ! the dark 
 blue eyes and the glimpse of white skin that 
 shone through the opening of the mask! Next, 
 the mask-strings fell, and a face appeared — a 
 face of heavenly beauty, but still without clearly 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 87 
 
 distinguishable traits, like the reflection of a 
 nymph in troubled water. Against his will his 
 eyes drooped; but he raised them quickly, and 
 had before him only the redoubtable Comminges, 
 a bloody sword in his hand. 
 
 He rose early, caused his slender baggage to 
 be carried to his brother’s house, and, declining 
 George’s offer to show him the sights of the 
 town, went by himself to the Hotel de Chatillon 
 to present to the Admiral the letters with which 
 his father had charged him. 
 
 He found the courtyard of the hotel thronged 
 with servants and horses, and had some trouble 
 in making his way through these to a large ante- 
 room filled with squires and pages, who, though 
 only armed with their swords, made up an im- 
 posing body-guard around the Admiral. An 
 usher in black garments, after a glance at 
 Mergy’s lace collar and at a gold chain which 
 his brother had lent him, made no difficulty in 
 admitting him at once to the gallery where his 
 master was. 
 
 The Admiral was surrounded by nobles, gen- 
 tlemen, and ministers of the gospel, to the num- 
 ber of more than forty — all standing with un- 
 covered head and respectful attitude. He was 
 very simply dressed in a complete suit of black. 
 His stature was lofty, but slightly bowed, and 
 
88 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 his bald forehead was wrinkled rather by the 
 toils of war than by years. A long white beard 
 fell upon his breast. His cheeks, naturally hol- 
 low, appeared even more so, thanks to a wound, 
 the deep scar of which was hardly hidden by 
 his long moustache; for a pistol-ball at Mont- 
 contour had pierced his cheek and broken several 
 teeth. His countenance was sad rather than 
 severe, and men said that since the brave Dande- 
 lot’s * death none had seen him smile. He stood 
 with his hand resting on a table covered with 
 maps and plans, among which towered a huge 
 quarto Bible; while toothpicks scattered among 
 the charts and papers bore witness to a habit 
 which was often made the subject of jest. A 
 secretary, seated at one end of the table, seemed 
 hard at work writing letters, which he afterwards 
 presented to the Admiral for signature. 
 
 At the sight of the great man, who, in the eyes 
 of his co-religionists, was more than a king — 
 uniting in his own person both hero and saint — 
 Mergy felt so much veneration, that in present- 
 ing himself he, without intending it, bent one 
 knee to the ground. The Admiral, surprised 
 and vexed at this unusual mark of respect, signed 
 to him to rise, and took the letter which the 
 young enthusiast held out with a slight touch 
 
 * His brother. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 89 
 
 of impatience. Then, glancing at the arms on 
 the seal, “ It is,” he said, “ from my old com- 
 rade, the Baron de Mergy ; and you, young man, 
 are so like him, that you must be his son.” 
 
 “ Sir, my father would gladly, had his great 
 age permitted, have made the journey himself 
 to pay his respects to you.” 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said Coligny, turning to those 
 about him after he had read the letter, “ I pre- 
 sent to you the son of the Baron de Mergy, who 
 has come two hundred leagues and more to join 
 us. We shall have no lack, it seems, of volunteers 
 for Flanders. Gentlemen, I ask your friendship 
 for the son; you already know the high worth 
 of the father.” 
 
 And Mergy at once received a score of em- 
 braces and offers of assistance. “Are you a 
 soldier already, my friend Bernard? ” asked the 
 Admiral: “ have you ever heard a shot fired? ” 
 Mergy blushed as he answered that he had 
 not yet had the good luck to fight for the re- 
 ligion. 
 
 “ Congratulate yourself rather, young man,” 
 said Coligny gravely, “ that you have not yet 
 been obliged to shed your countrymen’s blood. 
 Thank God!” he added sighing, “civil war is 
 over, the religion has a breathing time, and you, 
 happier than we were, will only draw sword 
 
90 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 against the foes of your king and country.” 
 Then, putting his hand on the young man’s 
 shoulder, “ I am sure,” said he, “ you will not 
 belie the race from which you spring. As your 
 father wishes, you shall serve first among my 
 gentlemen; and when we meet the Spaniards, 
 capture one of their standards, and you 
 shall have a cornetcy in my regiment on the 
 spot.” 
 
 “ Then I swear,” cried Mergy resolvedly, 
 “ that at the first action I will be a cornet or my 
 father shall lose a son.” 
 
 “ Well said, brave boy! You speak like your 
 father;” and he called his steward. “ This,” he 
 said, “ is my steward, Master Samuel. If you 
 want money for outfit, talk to him.” 
 
 The steward bowed to Mergy, who quickly 
 returned his thanks, but declined the kindness. 
 “ My father and my brother,” he said, “ have 
 supplied my wants amply.” 
 
 “ Your brother? Is that Captain George 
 Mergy, who, at the first war, abjured his faith? ” 
 Mergy dropped his head sadly; and though 
 his lips moved his reply was inaudible. 
 
 “ ’Tis a brave soldier,” went on the Admiral; 
 “ but what is courage without the fear of God? 
 Young man, you have in your family an example 
 to shun as well as a pattern to follow.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 91 
 
 “ I will try to imitate my brother’s brave 
 deeds, and not his perversion.” 
 
 “ Well then, Bernard, come and see me often, 
 and count on me as your friend. The city you 
 are in is no good school of morals ; but I hope to 
 carry you soon where there will be glory to earn.” 
 Mergy bowed respectfully, and fell back into 
 the circle which surrounded the Admiral. 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said Coligny, resuming the 
 conversation which Mergy’s entrance had inter- 
 rupted, “ I hear good news from all sides. The 
 assassins at Rouen have been punished.” 
 
 “ But not those at Toulouse,” said an old 
 minister of gloomy and fanatic aspect. 
 
 “You mistake, sir; I have just heard the 
 news of their punishment. Moreover, the mixed 
 commission * is already appointed at Toulouse. 
 Every day his majesty gives proof that his 
 justice is equal for all.” 
 
 The old minister shook his head doubtingly, 
 and another greybeard, clothed in black velvet, 
 cried, “His justice is equal! Yes: Charles and 
 his worthy mother would like to strike all down — 
 Chatillons, Montmorencys and Guises all to- 
 gether — with a single blow.” 
 
 * By the treaty which ended the third civil war, chambers of justice had 
 been established in several provincial parliaments, half of whose members 
 professed Protestantism. These chambers were to try causes between 
 Protestants and Catholics. 
 
92 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Speak more respectfully of your King, M. 
 de Bonissan, ,, said Coligny sternly. “ Let us, 
 I pray you, at last forget our old grudges. Give 
 none cause to say that the Catholics practise bet- 
 ter than we do the divine precept of forgetful- 
 ness of injuries.” 
 
 “By the bones of my father!” muttered 
 Bonissan, “ they have the easier task! My mem- 
 ory does not so easily let slip twenty-three 
 martyrs of my kin.” 
 
 He was speaking thus bitterly when an old 
 and broken-looking man, of repulsive aspect, 
 wrapped in a worn grey mantle, entered the 
 gallery, threaded the press, and gave a sealed 
 paper to Coligny. j 
 
 “ Who are you? ” said the Admiral, without 
 breaking the seal. 
 
 “A friend,” replied the old man hoarsely; 
 and he left the room at once. 
 
 “ I saw that man come out of the Hotel 
 de Guise this very morning,” said one gentle- 
 man. 
 
 “ He is a wizard,” said another. 
 
 “ A poisoner,” cried a third. 
 
 “ The Duke of Guise has sent him to poison 
 the Admiral.” 
 
 “ To poison me? ” cried Coligny shrugging 
 his shoulders. “ To poison me in a letter! ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 93 
 
 “ Have you forgotten the Queen of Na- 
 varre’s gloves?” * cried Bonissan. 
 
 “ I no more believe in the poisoned gloves 
 than in the poisoned letter; but I do believe that 
 the Duke of Guise is incapable of such baseness.” 
 
 He was about to open the letter, when Bonis- 
 san flung himself upon him, and seized his 
 hands, crying — 
 
 “ Do not unseal it, or you will inhale some 
 mortal odour.” 
 
 All the company crowded round the Ad- 
 miral, who strove to get rid of Bonissan. 
 
 “ I see a black vapour arising from the let- 
 ter!” cried one. And the general cry was, 
 “ Throw it away! ” 
 
 “ Unhand me, madmen!” said the Admiral 
 struggling; and as they wrestled with him the 
 paper fell on the floor. 
 
 “ Samuel, my good fellow,” cried Bonissan, 
 “ show yourself a faithful servant. Open the 
 packet, and do not give it to your master till 
 you are sure that there is nothing wrong with it.” 
 
 The commission did not seem to be to the 
 steward’s taste; but Mergy, without hesitating, 
 picked up the letter and broke the seal. The 
 
 * “ Her death,” says D’Aubigne,“ was caused by poison, communicated 
 to the brain by perfumed gloves of the manufacture of Messer Rene the 
 Florentine, a wretch since execrated even by the Queen’s enemies.” — 
 Hist. Univ.y H. ii. 
 
94 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 circle at once fell widely away from him, each 
 man retiring as if a mine were about to be sprung 
 in the middle of the room. Yet no evil vapour 
 came forth, and no one even sneezed. Some 
 rather dirty paper, with a few lines of writing 
 on it, formed the sole contents of the terrible 
 packet. And the same individuals who had been 
 the first to retire were also the first to come for- 
 ward with smiling faces as soon as all appear- 
 ance of danger had vanished. 
 
 “ What means this insolence? ” cried Coligny 
 angrily, as he freed himself at length from Bo- 
 nissan’s grasp. “ Open a letter addressed to 
 me!” 
 
 “ My Lord Admiral, if it had happened that 
 this letter contained any poison subtle enough to 
 kill by inhalation, it were better that a youth 
 like myself fell victim, than you whose life is 
 so precious to the religion.” 
 
 A murmur of admiration rose around him. 
 Coligny pressed his hand with much feeling, 
 and after a moment’s silence said kindly — 
 
 “ As you have done the deed of unsealing 
 this letter, read us the contents.” 
 
 Mergy at once read as follows: 
 
 “ The western sky glows with bloody light. 
 Stars have fallen from the firmament, and flam- 
 ing swords have been seen in the air. All but 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 
 
 95 
 
 blind men must perceive what these things por- 
 tend. Gaspard! buckle on sword and spur, or 
 in a few days’ time the gleds shall glut them- 
 selves with thy flesh.” 
 
 “ By the ‘ gleds ’ he means the Guises! ” said 
 Bonissan. “ G. for G.” * 
 
 The Admiral raised his shoulders disdain- 
 fully, and no one spoke; but it was clear that 
 the prophecy had made a certain impression on 
 the company. 
 
 “ There be many folk,” said Coligny coolly, 
 “ at Paris who busy themselves with folly. Do 
 not men say that there are some ten thousand 
 rascals here who live by fortune-telling? ” 
 
 “ The warning, such as it is, is not to be 
 despised,” said a captain of infantry. “ The 
 Duke of Guise has said openly enough that he 
 shall never sleep sound till he has passed his 
 sword through your body.” 
 
 “ It is so easy,” added Bonissan, “ for an 
 assassin to obtain admission to you! Were I 
 in your place, I would never go to the Louvre 
 without a corslet on.” 
 
 “ Go to, comrade,” said the Admiral. “ It 
 
 * [It was necessary to be unfaithful here, the play on geai (“jay,” not 
 exactly “ gled ” or “kite,”) and the letter g as pronounced in French, being 
 unmanageable in English. I have therefore changed the bird, and para- 
 phrased Bonissan’s “ le nom d’un oiseau est mis la au lieu de la lettre qui 
 se prononce de meme.”] — Translator's note. 
 
96 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 is not with old soldiers like us that assassins med- 
 dle: they fear us more than we fear them.” 
 
 He talked for some time longer about the 
 Flanders campaign and the affairs of the re- 
 ligion. Divers persons brought him petitions to 
 present to the King, and he received them all 
 kindly, addressing some affable remark to each 
 suitor. At length, as ten o’clock struck, he called 
 for his hat and gloves, to go to the Louvre, and 
 some of the company took leave ; but the greater 
 number went with him, to serve at once as suite 
 and escort. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 T HE captain had no sooner caught sight 
 of his brother than he cried out — 
 
 “ Well, hav£ you seen Gaspard the 
 First? How did he receive you? ” 
 
 “With kindness that I shall never forget.” 
 “ I am very glad of it.” 
 
 “ Oh, George, what a man! ” 
 
 “ What a man? I take it he is a man much 
 like the rest of us; with, let us say, a little more 
 ambition and a little more faculty of endurance 
 than my footman, not to mention the difference 
 of their origin. M. de Chatillon’s birth has done 
 something for him.” 
 
 “Did his birth teach him the art of war or 
 make him the first captain of our time? ” 
 
 “ Why no : though his proficiency in that re- 
 spect has not saved him from being always 
 beaten. Rut there, let us talk of something else. 
 You have seen the Admiral to-day: ’tis very well, 
 Give every man his due of honour: and you 
 had to begin by paying your respects to M. de 
 Chatillon. Now, will you come and hunt to-mor- 
 row? If you will, I will introduce you there to 
 
 97 
 
98 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 some one who is also worth knowing; that is to 
 say, Charles, King of France.” 
 
 “What! You wish me to go to the royal 
 hunt? ” 
 
 “I do: and you shall there see the prettiest 
 ladies as well as the finest horses of the Court. 
 The meet is at the Chateau de Madrid, and we 
 must be there early to-morrow morning. I will 
 give you my dapple grey, and I warrant you 
 there will be no need of spurring to keep up 
 with the hounds.” 
 
 At this moment a lackey gave Mergy a let- 
 ter which one of the King’s pages had just 
 brought. Mergy opened it, and his brother’s 
 surprise equalled his own when they found en- 
 closed a cornet’s commission, drawn up in regular 
 form, and with the King’s seal attached. 
 
 “Plague take us!” said George; “here is 
 a prompt mark of favour! But why the devil 
 does Charles IX., who is not aware of your ex- 
 istence, send you a cornet’s commission? ” 
 
 “ I think,” said Mergy, “ that I owe it to 
 the Admiral.” And he told his brother the story 
 of the mysterious letter in opening which he had 
 shown so much courage. The captain laughed 
 consumedly at the end of the adventure, and 
 rallied him on it without mercy. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE READER AND THE 
 AUTHOR 
 
 “ A H ! Mr. Author, what an opportunity 
 r~\ have you here of drawing portraits — 
 and such portraits! You are going 
 to take us to the Chateau de Madrid, in the midst 
 of the Court — and such a Court! Will you ex- 
 hibit it thoroughly to us, French-Italian as it 
 was? Will you pass all its notables, one after the 
 other, before us? How much we shall learn, and 
 how interesting a day spent among so many 
 great personages will be ! ” 
 
 “Alas! master reader, what is this that you 
 ask? I wish I had the talent for writing a history 
 of France: in that case I should not spend my 
 time in writing romances. But tell me why you 
 wish me to introduce you to people who have no 
 part to play in my story? ” 
 
 “ But it is a shame of you not to make them 
 play a part in it! You drag me off to the year 
 1572, and then you want to sneak out of giving 
 the portraits of all these great men. Come, 
 
 99 
 
100 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 come, no shilly-shallying; begin at once. I will 
 tell you how: ‘ The door of the withdrawing 
 
 room opened , and there appeared ’ ” 
 
 “ But, good reader, there were no withdraw- 
 ing rooms at the Chateau de Madrid. Salons 
 only began ” 
 
 “Well, well — then: ‘ The great hall was 
 crowded, and among others might have been per - 
 ceived ’ ” 
 
 “ Perhaps you will be good enough to say 
 who? ” 
 
 “ Why, of course, Charles IX. in the first 
 place.” 
 
 “ And in the second? ” 
 
 “ Soft: not so fast. Tell me first what the 
 King wore; then sketch his person, and then 
 his character. That is the regular path that 
 every novelist has to trace nowadays.” 
 
 “ What he wore? It was a hunting dress, 
 with a great horn slung round his neck.” 
 
 “ You are laconic.” 
 
 “As for his looks, let us see it would be 
 
 much better for you to go and see his bust at the 
 Angouleme Museum, Room 2, Number 98.” 
 
 “But, good Mr. Author, I live in the country 
 and would you make me come to Paris on pur- 
 pose to see a bust of Charles IX.? ” 
 
 “ Well then, imagine a young man fairly well 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 101 
 
 made, but with his head set somewhat deep be- 
 tween his shoulders. His neck is stretched out 
 and his forehead leans forward in an awkward 
 fashion; his nose is rather thick, his lips are thin 
 and long, and the upper one protrudes ; his com- 
 plexion is pale, and his large greenish eyes never 
 look his interlocutor in the face. But you will 
 not see ‘ Saint Bartholomew,’ or anything like 
 it, written in his glance. Far from it: his ex- 
 pression is only rather stupid and wistful, not 
 harsh or ferocious. You may picture it well 
 enough by fancying a young Englishman who 
 makes his appearance in a large drawing-room 
 where every one is sitting down. He walks 
 through a double row of well-dressed women, 
 who are silent as he passes; he entangles himself 
 with the dress of one, jostles another’s chair, 
 and has the umost difficulty in reaching the lady 
 of the house. Then, and not till then, he sees 
 that in getting out of his carriage he has mud- 
 died the sleeve of his coat against the wheel. 
 You must have seen faces aghast in this fashion; 
 perhaps, indeed, you may have seen your own 
 reflected in some mirror before the habit of going 
 into society made you indifferent to the effect 
 
 of your entrance ” 
 
 “ And Catherine de Medicis? ” 
 
 “ Catherine de Medicis ! Deuce take me if 
 
102 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 I had so much as thought of her. I think I 
 shall never have to mention her name again ; but 
 if you must know, she was a stout woman, well 
 enough preserved, as the saying is, with a thick 
 nose, and lips pinched like those of a person who 
 feels the first approach of sea-sickness. Her 
 eyes are half shut, she is constantly yawning, 
 and her voice takes the same tone whether it 
 says, ‘ Who will rid me of that hateful Bearnese 
 woman? ’ or ‘ Madeleine, give my Naples lap- 
 dog some sugared cream.’ ” 
 
 “ Good : but please put something more note- 
 worthy in her mouth. She has just (so they say) 
 had Jeanne d’Albret poisoned, and there ought 
 to be some sign of that.” 
 
 “Not at all; for if any signs showed, what 
 would become of her famous power of dissimula- 
 tion? Besides, if my information is correct, 
 she talked of nothing but the weather all that 
 day.” 
 
 “And Henry IV.? and Marguerite of 
 Navarre? Show us Henry, the brave, gallant, 
 kind Henry; show us Marguerite slipping a bil- 
 let into a page’s hand, while her husband, for 
 his part, squeezes a maid of honour’s fingers.” 
 
 “ As for Henry, no one could guess in that 
 young featherhead the future hero and King 
 of France. He has forgotten his mother, but a 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 103 
 
 fortnight dead; and is talking to nobody but a 
 pricker, with whom he holds endless converse 
 about the slot of the stag who is about to be 
 started. I will spare you that, especially as I 
 hope you are no sportsman.” 
 
 “ And Marguerite? ” 
 
 “ She was not well that day, and kept her 
 room.” 
 
 “A neat way of getting rid of her! But 
 the Duke of Anjou, and Conde, and Guise, and 
 Tavannes, Retz, La Rochefoucauld, Teligny, 
 Thore, Meru, and all the rest? ” 
 
 “ You seem to know more about them than I 
 do. I am going to talk about my friend Mergy.” 
 “ Sir, I am sorry to perceive that I shall not 
 find what I sought in this story of yours.” 
 
 “Really, I am very much afraid you will 
 not.” 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE GLOVE 
 
 “There fell a slipper [glove] from the right hand of my Lady 
 Blanche (from the left it had been of no consequence), and made 
 Love let fly his shaft at the hidalgos.” — Lope de Vega, El guante 
 de Doha Blanca. 
 
 T HE Court was at the Chateau de Madrid, 
 and the Queen-Mother, surrounded by 
 her ladies, was in her chamber, ex- 
 pecting the King to come and breakfast with 
 her before getting in the saddle. The King him- 
 self, followed by the princes, was slowly crossing 
 a gallery where all the gentlemen who were about 
 to follow the hunt were assembled. He listened 
 with an inattentive air to the speeches which his 
 courtiers made to him, frequently answering with 
 abruptness. As he passed before the two 
 brothers the captain bent one knee and presented 
 the new cornet. Mergy, with a profound bow, 
 thanked his majesty for the honour which he 
 had received before doing anything to deserve 
 it. 
 
 “Ah! you are he of whom my father, the 
 
 104 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 105 
 
 Admiral spoke. You are Captain George’s 
 brother? ” 
 
 “ Yes, sire.” 
 
 “ Are you Catholic or Huguenot? ” 
 
 “ I am a Protestant, sire.” 
 
 “ I but asked you for curiosity’s sake. The 
 devil take me if I care of what religion 
 those are who serve me well.” With which 
 notable words the King turned into the Queen’s 
 apartments. 
 
 A few moments afterwards a bevy of ladies 
 spread themselves about the gallery, seemingly 
 sent to make the time appear less long to the in- 
 tending riders. I shall mention but a single 
 beauty in a Court fertile in beauties — the Coun- 
 tess de Turgis, who plays a great part in this 
 story. She wore a riding-habit of a dashing and 
 elegant fashion, and had not yet put on her 
 mask. Her complexion, of dazzling whiteness, 
 but tinged by no colour anywhere, set off her 
 jet-black hair; and her arched eyebrows, just 
 meeting in the midst, gave to her expression an 
 air of hardness, or rather of pride, without de- 
 stroying the attraction of her features as a 
 whole. The first impression that her large blue 
 eyes gave was one of haughty disdain; but when 
 she talked with interest the pupils were soon seen 
 to dilate like a cat’s, her glance lighted up, and 
 
108 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 it was difficult even for a hardened coxcomb to 
 resist their fascination for any length of time. 
 
 “Look at the Countess de Turgis! How 
 beautiful she is to-day! ” the courtiers muttered 
 to each other, pressing forward to see her better. 
 Mergy, who happened to be full in her path, 
 was so struck with her beauty that he remained 
 motionless, and had no thought of making way 
 for her till the countess’s wide silken sleeves 
 touched his doublet. 
 
 She noticed his emotion, perhaps with pleas- 
 ure, and deigned for a moment to fix her lovely 
 eyes on his, which fell at once, while his cheeks 
 reddened deeply. The countess smiled, and as 
 she passed, she dropped one of her gloves in 
 front of our hero, who, still entranced and mo- 
 tionless, never thought of picking it up. Im- 
 mediately a fair young man (none other than 
 Comminges) , who happened to be behind Mergy, 
 pushed rudely past him to seize the glove, which, 
 after kissing it devoutly, he returned to Madame 
 de Turgis. She did not thank him, but turned 
 to Mergy, gazed at him for a time with an 
 air of withering contempt, and then, noticing 
 Captain George near him, “ Captain,” said she, 
 “ tell me where this tall simpleton comes from? 
 to judge by his courtesy he must be some Hugue- 
 not.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 107 
 
 A general burst of laughter at the remark 
 completed the confusion of its unlucky object. 
 
 “ ’Tis my brother, lady,” replied George, not 
 quite so loud. “ He has been at Paris but three 
 days ; and on my honour he is not more awkward 
 than Lannoy was before you were good enough 
 to take him in hand.” 
 
 The countess blushed a little. “ Captain,” 
 said she, “ that is an unkind jest. Speak no ill 
 of the dead. But give me your hand; I have 
 a message to you from a lady who has somewhat 
 to complain of you.” 
 
 The captain took her hand ceremoniously, 
 and conducted her to a window seat at some 
 distance; but as she went she turned back once 
 more to look at Mergy. 
 
 He, still dazzled by the beautiful apparition 
 at which he burned to gaze, and to which he did 
 not dare to lift his eyes, felt a gentle tap on his 
 shoulder. Turning, he saw the Baron de Vau- 
 dreuil, who took his hand and led him aside, that 
 they might, as he said, talk without fear of in- 
 terruption. 
 
 “ My dear friend,” said the baron, “ you are 
 quite a newcomer in this region, and it is possible 
 that you do not yet know its rules of behaviour.” 
 
 Mergy looked at him with astonished eyes. 
 
 “ Your brother is busy and can not advise 
 
108 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 you; but if you will allow me I will endeavour 
 to supply his place.” 
 
 “ I am ignorant, sir, what occasion ” 
 
 “You have been grievously insulted; and, 
 seeing you in a thoughtful posture, I doubt not 
 that you are musing on the means of vengeance.” 
 “ Vengeance! on whom? ” said Mergy, blush- 
 ing to the whites of his eyes. 
 
 “ Did not little Comminges jostle you rudely 
 just now? The whole Court saw the business, 
 and expects you to take it seriously.” 
 
 “ But,” said Mergy, “ in so crowded a hall 
 it is nothing wonderful that some one should 
 have pushed me without intending it.” 
 
 “ M. de Mergy, I have not the honour to 
 know you well, but your brother is my intimate 
 friend, and he can tell you that I practise, as 
 well as I can, the divine precept as to forgiving 
 injuries. I should be very sorry to urge you 
 into an unnecessary quarrel ; but at the same time 
 I think it my duty to tell you that Comminges 
 did not push you by accident. He pushed you 
 because he wished to insult you; and if he had 
 not pushed you he would still have given you 
 cause of offence; for by picking up Madame de 
 Turgis’s glove he intruded upon a privilege 
 which belonged to you. The glove was at your 
 feet, therefore you only had the right to pick 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 109 
 
 it up. Besides, you have only to turn your head, 
 and you will see Comminges at the end of the 
 gallery pointing the finger of scorn at you. 
 
 Mergy turned, and did perceive Comminges 
 in the midst of a knot of young men telling 
 some story to which they listened with interest. 
 Nothing, it is true, showed that this group was 
 talking of him; but as his charitable adviser 
 spoke Mergy felt his heart filled with violent 
 rage. 
 
 “ I will meet him after the hunt,” said he, 
 “ and I will discover ” 
 
 “ Never postpone a good resolution of this 
 kind. Besides, it is much less of an offence to 
 God to challenge your adversary immediately 
 after the insult than to do it when you have had 
 time for reflection. If you arrange a meeting in 
 heat of the moment, that is only a venial sin; 
 and if you fight afterwards, it is only to escape 
 a much heavier crime, that of being false to your 
 word. But I beg your pardon; I had forgot that 
 I speak to a Protestant. Anyhow, arrange your 
 meeting; I will bring him to speak with you at 
 once.” 
 
 “ I trust he will not refuse me the apologies 
 to which I am entitled.” 
 
 “ Do not deceive yourself, my good friend : 
 Comminges has never pronounced the words ‘ I 
 
110 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 was wrong.’ But all the same, he is a man of 
 the nicest honour, and will give you every pos- 
 sible satisfaction.” 
 
 Mergy did what he could to choke down all 
 emotion and to assume a careless air. 
 
 “ If I have been insulted,” said he, “I must 
 have satisfaction ; and whatever it is I shall know 
 how to insist on it.” 
 
 “ ’Tis well, my hero; I am glad to see your 
 pluck; for you cannot be ignorant that Com- 
 minges is one of our best swordsmen. Faith ! ’tis 
 a gentleman whose weapons are much at home 
 in his hand. He learnt of Brambilla at Rome; 
 and Petit- Jean declines fencing with him any 
 more.” 
 
 And as he spoke he looked keenly at Mergy’s 
 face; a face somewhat pale, but, as it seemed, 
 rather with wrath at the insult than with fear 
 at its consequences. 
 
 “ I should like to be your second in the busi- 
 ness; but not to mention that to-morrow is my 
 day for taking the sacrament, I am pledged to 
 M. de Rheincy, and I can not draw sword with 
 any one else.” * 
 
 “ I thank you, sir; but if we come to ex- 
 tremities my brother will be my second.” 
 
 * It was a point of honour for a rafjine not to enter into any new quarrel 
 while had he one unsettled. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 111 
 
 “ The captain is a very experienced gentle- 
 man in this kind of affair. Meanwhile I will 
 bring Comminges to you for an explanation.” 
 Mergy bowed, and turning towards the wall, 
 he busied himself in arranging the terms of the 
 challenge and in settling his countenance. There 
 is a certain graceful manner of bidding defiance, 
 which, like a good many other graceful habits, 
 can only be learnt by practice. Now our hero 
 was a beginner, and he therefore felt a little 
 awkwardness; but for the moment he was much 
 less afraid of receiving a sword-thrust than of 
 saying something unbecoming a gentleman. He 
 had, however, scarcely hit upon words at once 
 resolute and polite, when the Baron de Vaudreuil, 
 putting his hand on his arm, sent them straight 
 out of his head. 
 
 Comminges, hat in hand, and bowing with 
 very insolent politeness, said to him in a honeyed 
 tone, “ You wish to speak to me, sir? ” 
 
 Mergy’s face flushed with anger; and he an- 
 swered at once, more firmly than he could have 
 hoped, “You have behaved to me in an insolent 
 manner, and I demand satisfaction.” 
 
 Vaudreuil nodded his head in approval; but 
 Comminges, at once resuming an upright pos- 
 ture, and setting (as was then proper in such 
 cases) fist on hip, observed with much gravity: 
 
112 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “You present yourself then, sir, as challenger: 
 and I as challenged have the choice of arms.” 
 
 “ Take those which please you best.” 
 Comminges appeared to reflect for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 “ The tuck,” * he said, “ is a good weapon, 
 but it makes ugly wounds; and at our age,” he 
 added, smiling, “ one does not care to show a 
 scar all over the face to one’s mistress. The 
 rapier makes but a small hole, but ’twill serve,” 
 and he smiled again. “ Rapier and dagger, then, 
 for me.” 
 
 “Very well,” said Mergy; and he made as 
 if he would depart. 
 
 “One moment,” said Vaudreuil; “you have 
 not agreed on a meeting-place.” 
 
 “ All the Court goes to the Pre-aux-Clercs,” 
 said Comminges; “ and if, sir, you do not prefer 
 
 another place ” 
 
 “ The Pre-aux-Clercs be it.” 
 
 “ Then for the hour? I shall not rise till eight 
 o’clock, for private reasons which you will un- 
 derstand. Nor do I sleep at home to-night, and 
 I could hardly be at the Pre before nine.” 
 
 “ At nine o’clock, then.” 
 
 As Mergy turned his eyes away, he saw close 
 
 * Estoc, a large double-edged sword. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 113 
 
 to him the Countess de Turgis, who had left the 
 captain in talk with another lady; and it will 
 he easily understood that at the sight of the fair 
 causer of these harms, our hero charged his 
 countenance with a double dose of solemnity and 
 affected indifference. 
 
 “ For some time past,” said Vaudreuil, “ the 
 fashion has been to fight in scarlet drawers. If 
 you have not got a pair ready made, I can lend 
 you one. They make neater work: blood does 
 not show on them.” 
 
 “ That seems to me childish,” said Com- 
 minges; and Mergy smiled a rather awkward 
 assent. 
 
 “ Well then, my friends,” said the baron, who 
 seemed quite in his element, “ we have nothing 
 more to do than to arrange the seconds and thirds 
 for the meeting.” * 
 
 “ M. de Mergy,” said Comminges, “ is a 
 newcomer at Court, and he might have some diffi- 
 culty in finding a third. So I will be content 
 with a second only, to oblige him.” 
 
 Mergy, with some little difficulty, forced his 
 lips into a sort of smile. 
 
 “ Courtesy can go no farther,” said the baron. 
 “ Indeed, it is a real pleasure to have to do 
 
 * The seconds were often not mere spectators, but fought themselves. 
 The phrases “to second” “to third” some one were in use. 
 
114 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 with a gentleman so obliging as M. de Com- 
 minges.” 
 
 “ As you will need a rapier of the same 
 length as mine,” continued Comminges, “ I 
 recommend you Laurent, at the Golden Sun, 
 in the Rue de la Ferronnerie. He is the best 
 armourer in town. Tell him that I have sent 
 you, and he will serve you well.” 
 
 As he finished, he turned on his heel, and 
 retired with much calmness to the knot of young 
 men he had just left. 
 
 “ I congratulate you, M. Bernard,” said Vau- 
 dreuil; “you managed your challenge excel- 
 lently. ’Tis well — ’tis very well! Comminges is 
 not accustomed to hear such language. He is 
 feared like a pestilence, especially since he killed 
 tall Canillac; for as for St. Michel, whom he 
 also killed two months ago, there was no great 
 honour in that. St. Michel could not fence much ; 
 while Canillac had already killed his man five or 
 six times without a scratch. He had studied at 
 Naples under Borelli; and they said that Lansac 
 on his deathbed had left him the secret of the 
 pass with which he did so much mischief. To tell 
 the truth, though,” added he as if to himself, 
 “ Canillac had plundered the church of Auxerre 
 and cast the host to earth, so there is no wonder 
 that he was punished.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 115 
 
 Mergy, who did not find these particulars 
 amusing, felt nevertheless constrained to keep up 
 the talk, for fear that some suspicion unfavour- 
 able to his gallantry should occur to Vaudreuil. 
 
 “ Happily,” said he, “ I never plundered a 
 church, and in my whole life have never even 
 touched the host, so I have the less to fear.” 
 
 “ One counsel more, though. When you 
 cross swords with Comminges, take special care 
 of one of his tricks, which cost Captain Tomaso 
 his life. He cried out that his sword-point was 
 broken, and Tomaso raised his own sword above 
 his head, expecting a cut ; but Comminges’s blade 
 was sound enough, for it went up to a foot from 
 the hilt in Tomaso’s breast, which he had left 
 unguarded, not expecting the point. But as you 
 are to use rapiers, there will be less danger of 
 this.” 
 
 “ I will do my best.” 
 
 “ Ah ! but listen. Mind you choose a dagger 
 with a stout shell; it is invaluable for parrying. 
 Do you see the scar on my left hand? I got that 
 by going out without a dagger one day. Young 
 Tallard and I quarrelled, and I was near losing 
 my left hand for lack of a poniard.” 
 
 “ Was Tallard wounded? ” asked Mergy 
 absently. 
 
 “ I killed him, thanks to a vow which I made 
 
116 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 to Monseigneur Saint Maurice, my patron. But 
 have some lint and some linen about you; ’twill 
 do no harm, for a man is not always killed out 
 of hand. And it would be well to have your 
 sword put on the altar during mass-time. But 
 there, again, you are a Protestant. One word 
 more: have no punctilio about breaking ground, 
 but give him as much exercise as possible. He is 
 not well-breathed ; pump him : and when you get 
 the chance, a good lunge in the chest, and your 
 man is done for.” 
 
 He might have gone on a long time with this 
 excellent advice, if a loud flourish on the horns 
 had not given warning that the King was about 
 to take horse. The door of the Queen’s apart- 
 ments opened, and Their Majesties, in hunting 
 costume, made for the entrance steps. 
 
 Captain George, who had just left his lady, 
 came to his brother, and clapping him on the 
 shoulder, said cheerfully: 
 
 “ By the mass you are a lucky rascal. Do you 
 see this young man with his kitten’s whiskers? 
 He no sooner shows himself than all the women 
 are mad after him. Know you that your fair 
 countess has been talking to me about you for a 
 full quarter of an hour? Come, pluck up your 
 spirits! Keep at her side during the hunt, and 
 be as gallant as you can. But what the devil is 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 117 
 
 the matter with you? You look ill, and your face 
 is as long as a minister’s at the stake. Be merry, 
 man, confound you! ” 
 
 “ I do not care much about the hunt, and I 
 should like ” 
 
 “ If you do not hunt,” whispered Yaudreuil, 
 “ Comminges will think you fear to meet him.” 
 
 “ Come along then,” said Mergy, passing his 
 hand over his heated brow, and reflecting that 
 he had better wait till the hunt was over before 
 telling his adventure to his brother. “ ’T would 
 be a shame,” thought he, “ if Madame de Turgis 
 thought me afraid, or if she believed that the 
 idea of a duel to come spoilt my pleasure in the 
 sport.” 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE HUNT 
 
 “The very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist, a 
 gentleman of the very first house — of the first and second cause : 
 ah! the immortal passado l the punto reverso /” — Shakespeare, 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 GREAT number of ladies and gentle- 
 
 men, richly dressed and splendidly 
 
 mounted, were passing in all directions 
 
 about the court of the chateau. The blare of 
 horns, the bay of the hounds, the loud jests of 
 the riders, made up a hubbub delightful to the 
 ears of a sportsman and hideous to those of 
 every other human being. 
 
 Mergy mechanically followed his brother into 
 the courtyard, and, hardly knowing what he did, 
 found himself near the fair countess, already 
 masked, and mounted on a fiery jennet, which 
 pawed and champed the bit with impatience. 
 But she, on a horse which would have tasked the 
 full attention of an ordinary rider, seemed as 
 much at her ease as though she were seated in an 
 arm-chair at home. The captain made his way 
 
 118 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 119 
 
 to her on the pretext of tightening the jennet’s 
 curb. 
 
 “ Here is my brother,” said he to the Amazon 
 in a half -whisper, but loud enough for Mergy 
 to catch his words. “ Be kind to the poor boy; 
 he has been hard hit ever since the day he saw 
 you at the Louvre.” 
 
 “ I have forgotten his name already,” she 
 said, rather shortly; “ what is it? ” 
 
 “ It is Bernard. Observe, madame, that his 
 scarf is of the same colour as your ribbons.” 
 
 “ Can he ride? ” 
 
 “ You shall see.” 
 
 He bowed, and hastened off to the side of 
 one of the Queen’s ladies, to whom for some time 
 past he had been paying his attentions ; and there, 
 leaning over his saddle-bow with his hand on the 
 fair one’s bridle, he soon forgot all about his 
 brother and his beautiful but haughty companion. 
 
 “ You know Comminges then, M. de 
 Mergy? ” asked Madame de Turgis. 
 
 “ I, madame? very little,” answered he hesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 “ Yet you were talking to him just now.” 
 
 “ It was for the first time.” 
 
 “ I think I guess what you said to him,” re- 
 plied she ; and her eyes, through her mask, seemed 
 to read to the bottom of Mergy’s soul. 
 
120 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Here, to his great satisfaction, for the con- 
 versation embarrassed him alarmingly, a lady 
 interrupted it by addressing the countess. But 
 he continued to follow her, hardly knowing why; 
 perhaps he thought it might annoy Comminges, 
 who was watching him from a distance. 
 
 They left the chateau : a stag was started, and 
 as he plunged into the forest all the hunt fol- 
 lowed him. Mergy observed, not without sur- 
 prise, the skill which Madame de Turgis showed 
 in managing her horse, and the boldness with 
 which she urged him across every obstacle in her 
 way. He owed it only to the goodness of his 
 own barb that he was not left behind; but to his 
 great annoyance the Count de Comminges, as 
 well mounted as himself, also accompanied her, 
 and despite the speed of a headlong gallop, de- 
 spite his own special attention to the chase itself, 
 frequently spoke to the fair horsewoman, while 
 Mergy silently envied his light and careless de- 
 portment, and especially his skill in saying pleas- 
 ant nothings which he thought must amuse the 
 countess as much as they annoyed himself. As 
 for other matters, the two rivals, urged by a 
 noble emulation, found neither hedges high 
 enough nor ditches wide enough to stop them, 
 and risked both their necks twenty times over. 
 
 Suddenly the countess, leaving the main body 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 121 
 
 of the hunt, struck into a ride diverging from 
 that which the King and his following had en- 
 tered. 
 
 “What are you doing?” cried Comminges; 
 “you are going wrong: do you not hear the 
 horns and hounds on the other side? ” 
 
 “ Well; take the other side if you like. Who 
 prevents you? ” 
 
 Comminges made no answer, and followed 
 her, as did Mergy. But when they had gone 
 some hundreds of yards up the ride the coun- 
 tess slackened her pace, a movement which was 
 imitated at once by Comminges to the right and 
 Mergy to the left of her. 
 
 “ That is a good charger of yours, M. de 
 Mergy,” said Comminges; “he has not turned 
 a hair.” 
 
 “ ’Tis a barb which my brother bought from 
 a Spaniard. You may see the scar of a sword- 
 wound he got at Montcontour.” 
 
 “ Have you served yourself? ” said the coun- 
 tess to Mergy. 
 
 “ No, madame.” 
 
 “ Then you have never received a shot- 
 wound? ” 
 
 “ Never, madame.” 
 
 “Nor a sword-thrust? ” 
 
 “Nor that either.” 
 
122 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Mergy thought he noticed a smile on her face. 
 As for Comminges, he pulled his moustache with 
 a sarcastic air. 
 
 “ Nothing is more becoming to a young gen- 
 tleman than a pretty wound,” said he. “Do you 
 not think so, madame? ” 
 
 “ Yes; if it is well won.” 
 
 “ What do you mean by well won? ” 
 
 “ I mean that a wound received on the battle- 
 field is glorious. But it is different in a duel; 
 I know nothing more despicable than that.” 
 
 “ I am to suppose that M. de Mergy had 
 some conversation with you before getting to 
 horse? ” 
 
 “ No,” said the countess drily. 
 
 Mergy rode his horse close to Comminges. 
 “ Sir,” whispered he, “ as soon as we have re- 
 joined the hunt we can turn into a thicket; and 
 I shall hope to prove to you there that I have 
 no desire of avoiding our meeting.” 
 
 Comminges looked at him with a mixture of 
 pity and approval. 
 
 “ Good ; I am very well disposed to believe 
 you,” answered he. “ But as for your sugges- 
 tion, I can not accede to it. We are not nobodies 
 to fight by ourselves; and our friends who are 
 to be of the party would never forgive us for 
 not waiting for them.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 123 
 
 “ As you like, sir,” said Mergy, and he rode 
 once more up to the side of Madame de Turgis, 
 whose horse had made some paces in front. She 
 rode with her head bowed on her breast, and 
 seemed lost in thought ; nor did the trio exchange 
 a word till they reached an open space at the end 
 of the ride into which they had struck. 
 
 “Is not that a bugle blast? ” asked Com- 
 minges. 
 
 “ I think it comes from the copse on our 
 left,” said Mergy. 
 
 “Yes, it is the horn; I am sure of it now; 
 and a Bologna horn too. May I perish if it is 
 not my friend Pompignan’s. You would hardly 
 believe, M. de Mergy, the difference between 
 a true Bologna horn and those which our 
 wretched Paris craftsmen make.” 
 
 “ That particular one certainly sends its 
 sound far.” 
 
 “ And what a sound! How full! The very 
 hounds as they hear it might forget that they 
 have run ten leagues. In fact, nothing is really 
 well made out of Italy and Flanders. What do 
 you think of this Walloon ruff of mine? It 
 suits a hunting dress well enough: I have ruffs 
 and collars a la confusion to go to balls in; but 
 this plain thing here, do you think they could 
 make it in Paris? Not a whit: I got it from 
 
124 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Breda. If you like, I can get you another from 
 
 a friend of mine who is in Flanders. But ” 
 
 and he broke off with a shout of laughter — 4 4 Be- 
 gad! how thoughtless I am. I had quite for- 
 gotten ” 
 
 The countess drew bridle. “ Comminges,” 
 she said, 4 4 the hunt is in front there, and to 
 judge by the horn the stag is at bay.” 
 
 44 1 think you are right, fair lady.” 
 
 44 And will you not be in at the death? ” 
 
 44 Why, certainly; otherwise our fame as 
 huntsmen and horsemen is gone.” 
 
 44 Then you must make haste.” 
 
 44 Yes; our horses have had time to breathe. 
 Come, give us the word.” 
 
 44 For my part, I am tired, and shall stay 
 here. M. de Mergy will bear me company. Now 
 go.” 
 
 44 But ” 
 
 44 Am I to tell you twice? Set spurs to 
 your horse.” 
 
 But Comminges did not stir: his cheeks 
 flushed, and he looked from Mergy to the coun- 
 tess with flaming eyes. 
 
 44 Madame de Turgis desires a tete-a-tete” 
 said he with a bitter smile. 
 
 The countess pointed to the plantation whence 
 came the sound of the horn, and with her finger- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 125 
 
 tips made a very significant motion of dis- 
 missal. But still Comminges seemed unable to 
 make up his mind to leave the coast clear to his 
 rival. 
 
 “ It would seem that one may not mince mat- 
 ters with you. Be kind enough to leave us, M. 
 de Comminges, for your company is troublesome. 
 Do you understand me now? 33 
 
 “ Entirely, madame,” said he in a rage. And 
 he added lower, “ But as for this carpet-knight 
 of yours, he will have no long time to amuse 
 you in. Farewell, M. de Mergy; we meet 
 again.” He laid a deep stress on the last words, 
 and spurring hard, set off at a gallop. 
 
 The countess checked her own steed, which 
 would have followed the example, brought him 
 to a walk, and for a time proceeded silently, 
 raising her head now and then and looking at 
 Mergy as though she were about to speak, then 
 turning her eyes away as if ashamed at being 
 unable to find a phrase wherewith to begin. 
 
 It seemed to Mergy that the obligation of 
 beginning rested with him. 
 
 “ I am proud, madame, of the preference you 
 have shown me,” said he. 
 
 “ Monsieur Bernard, can you fence? ” 
 
 “Of course, madame,” answered he with sur- 
 prise. 
 
126 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ But can you fence well — very well, I 
 mean? ” 
 
 “Well enough for a gentleman, and badly, 
 no doubt, for a fencing-master.” 
 
 “ But in our country gentlemen are too hard 
 with the sword for professional masters.” 
 
 “ True. I have heard that many of our youth 
 waste in fencing-rooms time they might better 
 spend elsewhere.” 
 
 " Better ?" 
 
 “ Why, yes. Is it not better worth while,” 
 said he smiling, “ to talk with a lady than to per- 
 spire in a fencing-room? ” 
 
 “ Tell me, have you been out often? ” 
 
 “ Never once, madame, thank God ! But why 
 all these questions? ” 
 
 “ Learn, for your future instruction, that you 
 should never ask a lady why she does this or that ; 
 such at least is the custom of well-bred gentle- 
 men.” 
 
 “ I am corrected, and will obey,” said Mergy, 
 smiling slightly, and bowing to his horse’s 
 mane. 
 
 “ Then, what will you do to-morrow? ” 
 
 “ To-morrow? ” 
 
 “Yes; do not affect astonishment.” 
 
 “ Madame ” 
 
 “Answer me; for I know all. Answer!” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 127 
 
 cried she, with a royal gesture of her hand to- 
 wards him. Her finger-tip just touched Mergy’s 
 sleeve, and sent a shiver through him. 
 
 “ I shall do my best,” said he at last. 
 
 “ I like the answer. ’Tis neither that of a 
 coward nor that of a swaggerer. But you must 
 know that you, a mere beginner, have to do with 
 a very formidable enemy.” 
 
 “ What would you have? I shall feel very 
 awkward, no doubt, as I do now,” added he 
 smiling. “ The only women I have seen have 
 been peasant girls, and at my entrance on cour- 
 tiership I find myself tete-a-tete with the fairest 
 lady in the Court of France.” 
 
 “ Let us speak seriously. Comminges is the 
 best swordsman of this Court, which is full 
 enough of rufflers. He is the king of the 
 rafjlnes " 
 
 “ So they say.” 
 
 “ Well, are you not anxious? ” 
 
 “ I can only repeat that I shall do my best. 
 One need never despair with a good sword, and, 
 above all, with the help of God.” 
 
 “The help of God!” said she scornfully. 
 “ Are you not a Huguenot, M. de Mergy? ” 
 
 “ I am, madame,” said he with an air of 
 gravity, as was his wont in reply to such a ques- 
 tion. 
 
128 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Then your risk is greater than another’s.” 
 
 “ Why?” 
 
 “ To endanger one’s life is nothing; but you 
 endanger more than your life — your soul.” 
 
 “You speak, madame, according to the ideas 
 of your own religion. Mine gives me more com- 
 fort.” 
 
 “You are about to play a terrible losing 
 game : eternity on one dice-throw, and sizes 
 against you.” 
 
 “But it would be the same, anyhow; for if 
 to-morrow I died a Catholic, I should die in 
 mortal sin.” 
 
 “ There is much to say on that head, and the 
 difference is great! ” cried she, vexed that Mergy 
 should turn her own beliefs against her. “ Our 
 doctors will prove to you ” 
 
 “ Oh, no doubt. They have proofs for every- 
 thing. They take the liberty of changing the 
 gospel itself to suit their fancies. For in- 
 stance ” 
 
 “ A truce with that ! One can not talk for a 
 moment with a Huguenot but he brings in the 
 Holy Scriptures on every subject.” 
 
 “Because we read them; while your very 
 priests know them not. But, as you say, let us 
 change the subject. Do you think the stag is 
 taken yet? ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 129 
 
 “ Then you are deeply attached to your re- 
 ligion? ” 
 
 “It is you who are beginning again, 
 madame.” 
 
 “ You think it a good one? ” 
 
 “ Much more : I think it the best, the only 
 good. I should change it else.” 
 
 “ But your brother has changed.” 
 
 “ He had his reasons for becoming a Catho- 
 lic; I have mine for remaining a Protestant.” 
 
 “ They are all obstinate, and deaf to the voice 
 of reason ! ” cried she angrily. 
 
 “ It will rain to-morrow,” said Mergy, look- 
 ing at the sky. 
 
 “ M. de Mergy, my friendship for your 
 brother and your own approaching danger make 
 me feel an interest in you.” 
 
 He bowed respectfully. 
 
 “ You heretics, you believe not in relics? ” 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 “ And you would think yourselves polluted 
 by touching them? ” continued she. “You would 
 refuse to wear them as we Roman Catholics are 
 wont to do? ” 
 
 “ The custom appears to us, to say the least, 
 useless.” 
 
 “ Listen. One of my cousins once tied a 
 relic to the neck of a hound, and then at twelve 
 
130 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 paces fired an arquebuss loaded with buck-shot 
 at him.” 
 
 “ And the dog was killed? ” 
 
 “ Not a shot touched him.” 
 
 “ That is really wonderful. I should like to 
 have a relic like that.” 
 
 “Indeed? And you would wear it?” 
 
 “ Certainly. As the relic protected a dog, 
 
 a fortiori But wait a minute, is it sure that 
 
 a heretic is worth a dog — a Catholic’s dog, of 
 course? ” 
 
 Madame de Turgis paid no attention to him, 
 but swiftly undid the buttons of her tight-fitting 
 bodice, and drew from her bosom a little box of 
 gold, quite flat in shape and fastened to a black 
 ribbon. 
 
 “There!” said she; “you have promised 
 to wear it; you must give it me back some 
 day.” 
 
 “ If I can, I certainly will.” 
 
 “ But listen. You will take care of it? — no 
 sacrilegious tricks! You will take the greatest 
 care of it? ” 
 
 “ It comes from you, madame! ” 
 
 She gave him the relic, which he took and put 
 round his neck. 
 
 “ A Catholic would have paid his thanks to 
 the hand which gave him that holy talisman.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 131 
 
 Mergy seized her hand, and tried to raise it 
 to his lips. 
 
 “ No, no; ’tis too late! ” 
 
 “ But think! I may never have such fortune 
 again ! ” 
 
 “ Take off my glove, then,” said she, holding 
 out the hand to him. 
 
 As he drew it off, he seemed to feel a slight 
 squeeze, and he pressed a burning kiss on the 
 white and lovely fingers. 
 
 “ Monsieur Bernard,” said the countess, in a 
 voice full of emotion, “ will you be headstrong 
 to the end, and can nothing touch you? Will you 
 at last be converted by my means? ” 
 
 “ I can not tell,” answered he, laughing. 
 “ But pray let your entreaties be strong and long. 
 One thing is certain, no one shall convert me but 
 you.” 
 
 “ Tell me frankly, if a woman — a woman who 
 knew ” 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 “ A woman who knew? ” 
 
 “ Yes. Is it possible that love But be 
 
 candid! Speak to me seriously!” 
 
 “ Seriously? ” And he tried once more to 
 seize her hand. 
 
 “ Yes. Could the love which you might feel 
 for a woman of another faith than yours — could 
 
132 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 not such a love make you change ? God employs 
 all sorts of means.” 
 
 “ And you would have me reply frankly and 
 seriously? ” 
 
 “ I insist on it.” 
 
 Mergy stooped his head, and was slow to 
 reply. In fact, he was seeking for an evasive 
 answer. He had no wish to repulse the advances 
 which Madame de Turgis was making to him; 
 but, on the other hand, a courtier of some hours’ 
 standing only, he still bore a country conscience 
 terribly full of scruples. 
 
 “ I hear the hallali ! " cried the countess sud- 
 denly, without waiting for this answer which was 
 so difficult to make. And touching her horse 
 with her whip, she galloped off, Mergy follow- 
 ing her, but without receiving from her word 
 or look. In a moment they had rejoined the 
 hunt. 
 
 The stag had at first plunged into the midst 
 of a pond, from which he was dislodged with diffi- 
 culty by several riders, who dismounted, armed 
 themselves with long poles, and obliged the poor 
 beast to start afresh. But the cold of the water 
 had completed the exhaustion of his strength. 
 He left the pond, panting, with tongue lolling 
 out, and running in irregular bounds. The 
 hounds, on the other hand, seemed to redouble 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 133 
 
 their eagerness; but, at a short distance from the 
 pond, the stag, feeling that escape by flight was 
 impossible, seemed resolved to make a last effort, 
 and, backing against a massive oak, headed to- 
 wards the hounds. The foremost to attack were 
 gored and tossed aloft, while a horse and his 
 rider were upset headlong. Warned by this, men, 
 dogs, and horses made a wide ring round the 
 stag without daring to come within reach of 
 his threatening antlers. 
 
 The King dismounted lightly, and slipping, 
 hunting-knife in hand, adroitly behind the oak, 
 houghed the stag with a back stroke. The beast 
 uttered a kind of hissing groan, and fell at once. 
 Immediately a score of hounds dashed on him; 
 and, seized by throat, muzzle, and tongue, he 
 was pinned down, the large tears rolling from his 
 eyes. 
 
 “ Call the ladies closer! ” cried the King; and 
 the ladies, almost all of whom had dismounted, 
 came near. 
 
 “ Take that, parpaillot! " said he, plunging 
 his hunting-knife, which he turned in the wound 
 to make it larger, into the stag’s side. The blood 
 gushed forth with violence, and covered the royal 
 face and hands and dress. Now parpaillot was 
 a term of contempt which Catholics often applied 
 to Calvinists, and the word and the way in which 
 
134 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 it was used offended many, while it was ap- 
 plauded by others. 
 
 “ The King looks like a butcher,” said young 
 Teligny, the Admiral’s son-in-law, pretty loud, 
 and with a disgusted air. Nor did charitable 
 souls, such as especially abound at Court, fail 
 to convey the observation to the monarch, who 
 did not forget it. 
 
 After enjoying the agreeable spectacle of the 
 dogs devouring the entrails of the deer, the Court 
 returned to Paris. On the way Mergy told his 
 brother of the insult he had received and the chal- 
 lenge which had followed. Advice and remon- 
 strance were in vain; and the captain promised 
 to bear him company in the morning. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE HAITINK AND THE PRE-AUX-CLERCS 
 
 “For one of us must yield his breath 
 Ere from the field one foot we flee.” 
 
 The Duel of Stuart and Wharton. 
 
 N otwithstanding the fatigues 
 
 of the chase, Mergy passed no small 
 part of the night without sleeping. 
 He turned feverishly from side to side in bed, 
 and his fancy became abominably active under 
 the excitement. A thousand thoughts, which had 
 only an accidental connection or no connection at 
 all with what was impending, beset and disturbed 
 his brain; and more than once he thought that 
 the feverish disturbance he felt was but the pre- 
 lude of a serious illness which would show itself 
 in a few hours and confine him to bed. What 
 would become of his honour then? what would 
 the world say? what, above all, would Madame 
 de Turgis and Comminges say? He would have 
 given much to hasten on the hour fixed for the 
 combat. 
 
 Luckily at sunrise he felt his blood course 
 
 more steadily, and he thought with less emotion 
 
 135 
 
136 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 of the coming meeting. He dressed himself 
 quietly, and even devoted some minute attention 
 to his toilet. He imagined the beautiful coun- 
 tess hastening to the battle-field, finding him 
 slightly wounded, dressing the wound with her 
 own hands, and making no secret of her love. 
 The stroke of eight on the clock of the Louvre 
 put these fancies to flight; and almost at the 
 same moment his brother entered the room. A 
 deep sadness marked his countenance, and it was 
 pretty clear that he had passed no better night; 
 yet he forced a pleasant and cheerful smile as 
 he grasped Mergy’s hand. 
 
 “ Here,” he said, “ is a rapier for you, and 
 a dagger with shell-hilt, both by Luno of Toledo ; 
 see if the weight of the sword suits you.” And 
 he threw on Mergy’s bed a long rapier and a 
 poniard. 
 
 Mergy drew the sword, bent it, looked at the 
 point, and seemed satisfied. Then he directed his 
 atention to the poniard, the hilt of which was 
 slashed with a vast number of small holes, in- 
 tended to catch the point of the adversary’s sword 
 and hold it so that it could not be easily disen- 
 gaged. 
 
 “ With such good tools as these,” said he, 
 “ I think I can hold my own.” Then, pointing 
 to the relic which Madame de Turgis had given 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 137 
 
 him, and which he had kept hidden in his bosom : 
 “ Here,” he added smiling, “ is a talisman as well, 
 which preserves one from sword-thrusts better 
 than any coat of mail.” 
 
 “ Where did you get that bauble? ” 
 
 “ You may guess.” And his pride in appear- 
 ing as a ladies’ darling made him for the moment 
 forget both Comminges and the duelling sword 
 which lay naked before him. 
 
 “ I will bet that that mad countess has given 
 it you. The devil take her and her box both.” 
 
 “ Don’t you know that it is a charm which 
 she has given me expressly for use to-day? ” 
 
 “ She had better have shown herself gloved 
 instead of seeking a chance of exhibiting her 
 pretty white hand! ” 
 
 “ God forbid,” said Mergy, blushing deeply, 
 “ that I should believe in these Papist relics. But 
 if I am to fall to-day I should like her to know 
 that I fell with her gage on my breast.” 
 
 “ Coxcomb! ” cried the captain, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 “ Here is a letter for my mother,” said Mergy, 
 in a voice that trembled somewhat. George took 
 it without a word, and, walking up to the table, 
 opened a little Bible and read in it to settle his 
 countenance, while his brother, completing his 
 toilet, was busy in trussing the multitude of 
 
138 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 points which were then worn. On the first page 
 that George opened he found these words in his 
 mother’s hand: “ On the first of May, 1547, my 
 son Bernard was born. Lord! keep him in Thy 
 ways. Lord! preserve him from all evil.” He 
 bit his lips savagely, and threw the book on the 
 table. Mergy, who saw the action, thought that 
 some impious fancy had crossed his brother’s 
 brain; he took up the Bible gravely, replaced it 
 in its embroidered case, and locked it up in a cabi- 
 net with every mark of reverence. “ ’Tis my 
 mother’s Bible,” he said. 
 
 The captain answered not, but paced up and 
 down the room. 
 
 “ Ought we not to go? ” said Mergy, buck- 
 ling the belt of his sword. 
 
 “Not yet; we have plenty of time for break- 
 fast.” 
 
 Both took their places before a table covered 
 with cakes of different kinds, which were flanked 
 by a great silver tankard of wine. As they ate 
 they argued at great length and with apparent 
 interest on the merits of the liquor as compared 
 with others in the captain’s cellar, each attempt- 
 ing under cover of this trivial conversation to 
 hide the real thoughts of his heart from his com- 
 panion. 
 
 The captain rose first. “Let us go!” said 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 139 
 
 he hoarsely; and crushing his hat over his eyes 
 he hastily went downstairs. 
 
 They took boat and crossed the Seine, their 
 boatman, who guessed by their appearance the 
 errand which took them to the Pre-aux-Clercs, 
 exhibiting great alacrity. As he pulled stoutly 
 across he recounted to them with much circum- 
 stance how, the month before, two gentlemen, 
 one of whom was called the Count de Comminges, 
 had done him the honour to hire his boat in order 
 to fight comfortably in it without fear of dis- 
 turbance. M. de Comminges’s adversary, whose 
 name he was sorry not to have heard, had been 
 run through the body and upset into the river 
 as well; nor had he, the boatman, ever been able 
 to fish him out. 
 
 As they touched land they saw a boat with 
 passengers crossing the river some score of yards 
 lower down. “ There are our men,” said the 
 captain; “ stay you here.” And he ran to meet 
 the boat, which carried Comminges and the Vis- 
 count de Beville. 
 
 “‘Ah! ” cried the latter, “ there you are! Is 
 it you or your brother that Comminges is going 
 to kill? ” And as he spoke he laughed and em- 
 braced him. 
 
 The captain and Comminges exchanged for- 
 mal bows. 
 
140 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Sir,” said the captain to Comminges, as 
 soon as he could disengage himself from Beville’s 
 embrace, “ I think it my duty to make a last 
 effort to prevent fatal consequences in a quarrel 
 which is founded on no point of honour. I am 
 sure that my friend will join his efforts to mine.” 
 He pointed to Beville; but Beville grinned 
 and shook his head. 
 
 “ My brother,” went on George, “ is very 
 young, and having no repute or experience in 
 arms, he is obliged in consequence to show him- 
 self more punctilious than another might. Your 
 reputation, sir, on the other hand, is made, and 
 your honour can only gain by it if you will be 
 good enough to admit, in my presence and M. de 
 
 Beville’s, that it was by oversight ” 
 
 Comminges interrupted him with a burst of 
 laughter. 
 
 “ Are you joking, my dear captain? or do you 
 think me the sort of man to leave my lady’s 
 bower at this time and cross the Seine in order 
 to beg pardon of a schoolboy? ” 
 
 “You forget, sir, that he of whom you speak 
 
 is my brother; and you insult ” 
 
 “ If he were your father, what does it matter 
 to me? I care nothing for the whole family.” 
 “Well then, sir, with your good leave, you 
 shall have to do with the whole family; and as 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 141 
 
 I am the eldest, you will please to begin with 
 me.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, sir captain, I am bound by all 
 the rules of the duello to fight with the person 
 who challenged me first. Your brother’s prior 
 right is imprescriptible, as they say in the Palace 
 of Justice. When I have finished with him I 
 am at your commands.” 
 
 “ That is quite right,” cried Beville ; “ and 
 for my part I will consent to no other course of 
 proceeding.” 
 
 Mergy, astonished at the length of the col- 
 loquy, had approached slowly. He came up 
 in time to hear his brother load Comminges 
 with insults, even to the point of calling him 
 coward, while Comminges replied with perfect 
 coolness — 
 
 “ After your brother’s turn I will attend to 
 you.” 
 
 Mergy seized his brother’s arm. 
 
 “ George! ” he cried, “ is this the way you do 
 me service? And would you wish me to take 
 your part as you are trying to take mine? Sir,” 
 added he, turning to Comminges, “ I am at your 
 orders. We will begin as soon as you like.” 
 
 “ Then let us not lose a moment,” said Com- 
 minges. 
 
 “Excellent, my dear fellow!” said Beville, 
 
142 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 grasping Mergy’s hand. “You will go far, my 
 boy, if we are lucky enough not to have to bury 
 you here.” 
 
 Comminges stripped off his doublet and un- 
 did the strings of his shoes, to signify that he 
 would not retreat a step, as was the fashion with 
 professional duellists. Mergy and Beville did 
 the same; the captain alone had not so much as 
 thrown off his cloak. 
 
 “ What are you at, George, my friend? ” said 
 Beville. Don’t you know that you and I must 
 have a turn together? We are none of the sec- 
 onds who stand with folded arms while their 
 friends fight. We follow the Spanish fashion.” 
 
 The captain shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 “You think I am joking? I swear to you, 
 by my honour, that you must fight with me. The 
 devil take me if you shall not!” 
 
 “ You are a madcap and a fool,” said the 
 captain coolly. 
 
 “ By Jove! you shall do me reason for those 
 two little words, or you will drive me to take 
 
 measures ” And he lifted his still sheathed 
 
 sword, as though he would strike George. 
 
 “ You will have it? ” said the captain. “ Be 
 it so ! ” And in a second he had stripped to his 
 shirt. 
 
 Comminges shook his sword in the air with 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 143 
 
 a studied elegance, and at a single stroke made 
 the scabbard fly twenty paces off. Beville tried 
 to do the like, but the scabbard stuck half-way 
 on the blade, which was held at the time to be 
 at once a proof of awkwardness and a bad omen. 
 The two brothers drew their swords with less 
 flourish, but they too flung down the scabbards, 
 which might have been in the way. Each man 
 faced his foe, naked sword in the right hand, 
 dagger in the left; and the four blades crossed 
 at the same moment. First of all, George (by 
 the device which Italian masters called then 
 Liscio di spada e cavare alia vita * and which con- 
 sists in meeting the weak part of the sword with 
 the strong, so as to deflect and beat down the 
 adversary’s blade) made Beville’s sword fly from 
 his hand, and set his own point at his antagonist’s 
 breast; but instead of running him through, he 
 coolly lowered his weapon. 
 
 “ You are no match for me,” he said. “ Do 
 not wait till I am angry.” 
 
 Beville had grown pale on seeing George’s 
 sword so close to his breast. A little out of coun- 
 tenance, he held out his hand to him; and both, 
 sticking their swords in the ground, fixed their 
 attention on the two principals. 
 
 * To strike the blade and disengage at the body. All fencing terms 
 were then borrowed from Italian. 
 
144 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Mergy was brave, and had plenty of coolness. 
 He fenced well enough, and his bodily strength 
 was much greater than that of Comminges, who 
 seemed not to have recovered his exertions of 
 the night before. For some time he confined him- 
 self to parrying with extreme care, breaking 
 ground when Comminges pressed him too hard, 
 and always keeping the point of his rapier at 
 his adversary’s face while he covered his own 
 breast with the dagger. This unexpected re- 
 sistance irritated Comminges, who grew visibly 
 paler; this paleness in so brave a man only in- 
 dicating excessive rage. His attacks grew faster 
 and more furious, till in making a pass he beat 
 up Mergy’s sword with much skill, and, lung- 
 ing fiercely, would certainly have run him 
 ^through and through, save for an almost miracu- 
 lous accident which spoilt the stroke. The point 
 of the rapier struck the polished gold reliquary, 
 which turned it and made it take an oblique direc- 
 tion; so that instead of penetrating Mergy’s 
 breast, the sword only pierced the skin, and, fol- 
 lowing a line parallel to the fifth rib, came out 
 some two inches from the first incision. Before 
 Comminges could draw back his sword, Mergy 
 struck him with his dagger on the head so vio- 
 lently that he himself lost his balance and fell 
 to the ground. Comminges dropped at the same 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 145 
 
 time, so that the seconds thought them both 
 dead. 
 
 Mergy was soon on his feet, and his first 
 motion was to pick up his sword which he had 
 let slip in his fall. Comminges did not stir. Be- 
 ville lifted him up, and wiping with a handker- 
 chief his face, which was drenched in blood, saw 
 that the dagger had entered the eye, and that 
 his friend had been killed on the spot, the steel 
 having beyond all doubt pierced the brain. 
 
 Mergy stared at the corpse with haggard eyes. 
 
 “ You are wounded, Bernard,” said the cap- 
 tain, running up to him. 
 
 “Wounded!” cried Mergy; and then only 
 did he notice that his shirt was bloody. 
 
 “ ’Tis nothing,” said the captain; “ the blow 
 slipped.” He stanched the blood with his hand- 
 kerchief, and asked for Beville’s to complete the 
 dressing. Beville let the body which he held 
 fall back on the sward, and at once gave, not 
 only his own handkerchief, but that of Com- 
 minges, which he fetched from his doublet. 
 
 “Zooks! friend,” cried he, “what a dagger- 
 stroke ! You have something like an arm ! Death 
 of my life! what will our gentlemen raffines of 
 Paris say if the provinces send up gallants of 
 your kidney? Pray you, tell me, how many duels 
 have you fought already? ” 
 
146 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Alas! ” said Mergy, “ this is the first. But 
 in God’s name look to your friend.” 
 
 “ He wants no looking to, by Jove! after the 
 way you have handled him. The dagger has 
 pierced the brain, and the blow was dealt so featly 
 and hard that — look at his cheek and eyebrow! 
 The shell of the poniard has stamped itself on 
 them like a seal of wax.” 
 
 Mergy shivered all over, and great tears be- 
 gan to trickle down his cheeks. 
 
 Beville picked up the dagger and looked 
 curiously at the flutings full of blood. “ Here 
 is a tool,” said he, “ to which Comminges’s 
 younger brother ought to burn a stout candle. 
 This pretty poniard estates him in a splendid 
 fortune.” 
 
 “ Let us go ; take me hence,” said Mergy in 
 a stifled voice, seizing his brother’s arm. 
 
 “ Do not distress yourself,” said George, as 
 he helped him to put on his doublet. “ After all, 
 the man you have killed is not particularly worth 
 mourning.” 
 
 “ Poor Comminges! ” cried Beville; “ to think 
 that you, who have fought a hundred times, were 
 killed by a youngster in his first duel! Poor 
 Comminges!” And this was the end of his 
 funeral sermon. 
 
 But as he cast a last look on his friend Beville 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 147 
 
 perceived the defunct’s watch hanging, as was 
 then the fashion, from his neck. “By Jove!” 
 cried he, “ you have no need to know the time of 
 day now.” And he undid and pocketed the 
 watch, remarking that Comminges’s brother 
 would be quite rich enough as it was, and that 
 he himself should like a keepsake of his friend. 
 
 As the two brothers were moving off, “ Wait 
 for me,” he cried out to them, putting on his 
 doublet hastily. “ Ah, Monsieur de Mergy, you 
 are forgetting your dagger. Do not lose that, 
 at any rate,” and he wiped the blade on the dead 
 man’s shirt and ran to catch up the young duel- 
 list. “ Console yourself, my dear fellow,” he 
 said, as he slipped into his boat. “ Do not pull 
 such a rueful countenance. Take my advice, and 
 instead of bemoaning yourself, pay a visit this 
 very day fresh from this business to your mis- 
 tress, and try if you can not give a citizen to 
 the State in the place of him of whom you have 
 deprived it. Then will the world have lost noth- 
 ing by you. Come, boatman, pull as if you 
 wished to earn a pistole. There are some gentry 
 with halberds coming towards us; they must be 
 the watch from the Tour de Nesle, and we do not 
 want to have anything to do with them.” 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHITE MAGIC 
 
 “Last night I dreamt of dead fish and broken eggs; and I have 
 learnt from Master Anaxarchus that broken eggs and dead fish 
 betoken ill-luck.” — Moliere, Les Amants Magnifiques. 
 
 r | AHE halberdiers were in fact some of the 
 I soldiers of the watch, a troop of whom 
 was always stationed in the neighbour- 
 hood of the Pre-aux-Clercs, so as to be ready to 
 interpose in the quarrels which were wont to be 
 settled on this ground sacred to duels. Accord- 
 ing to their custom, they had come up very 
 slowly, and so as not to reach the spot till all 
 was over. For, to tell the truth, their peace- 
 making intentions were often very ill received; 
 and more than once desperate enemies had been 
 known to suspend a mortal combat in order to 
 attack, side by side, the soldiers who tried to 
 part them. Thus the functions of the guard were 
 usually limited to helping the wounded or carry- 
 ing off the dead. In this instance the archers 
 had but the latter duty to accomplish, and they 
 
 did it according to their custom, that is to say, 
 
 148 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 149 
 
 after very carefully emptying the pockets and 
 dividing the garments of the unlucky Com- 
 minges. 
 
 “ My advice to you, my dear friend,” said 
 Seville, turning to Mergy, “is to have yourself 
 taken as quietly as possible to Master Ambrose 
 Pare, who is a precious man for sewing you 
 up a wound or putting a broken limb to rights. 
 Though he is as rank a heretic as Calvin him- 
 self, he is in such repute that the hottest Catholics 
 resort to him. Up to this time nobody but the 
 Marchioness de Boissieres has faced death 
 bravely rather than owe life to a Huguenot, for 
 which reason I will wager ten pistoles that she 
 is in Paradise.” 
 
 “ The wound is nothing,” said George; “ it 
 will be healed in three days. But Comminges has 
 relations at Paris, and I fear they may take his 
 death a little too seriously.” 
 
 “ Ah, yes; there is a mother, who will think 
 herself obliged by decency to prosecute our 
 friend. But there! get M. de Chatillon to beg 
 his pardon, and the King will grant it at once. 
 He is as wax in the Admiral’s hands.” 
 
 “ If it may be so,” said Mergy in a feeble 
 voice, “ I should prefer that the Admiral knew 
 nothing at all about the matter.” 
 
 “ Why? do you think the old greybeard will 
 
150 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 be vexed to hear what short work a Protestant 
 has made of a Catholic? ” 
 
 But Mergy only answered by a deep sigh. 
 
 “ Comminges was too well known at Court 
 for his death not to make some noise,” said the 
 captain. “ But you did your duty like a gentle- 
 man, and nothing but honour can redound to you 
 from the whole thing. It is long since I paid 
 old Chatillon a visit, and this will be an oppor- 
 tunity of renewing our acquaintance.” 
 
 “ As it is never pleasant to find oneself 
 clapped under the law’s bolts and bars, even for 
 an hour or two,” continued Beville, “ I will be- 
 stow your brother in a house where they will 
 not think of looking for him. He can be quite 
 quiet there till his business is settled; for as a 
 heretic they could perhaps hardly give him sanc- 
 tuary in a convent.” 
 
 “ Thanks for your offer, sir,” said Mergy; 
 “ but I can not accept it, for I might compromise 
 you by doing so.” 
 
 “Not a whit, not a whit, my dear fellow; 
 and if you did, a man must stand by his friends. 
 The house where I mean to lodge you belongs 
 to a cousin of mine who is away from Paris for 
 the time, and it is mine to do what I like with. 
 Indeed, there is some one there already to whom 
 I have given a lodging, and who will look after 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 151 
 
 you : an old lady who is very obliging to us youth, 
 and is devoted to me. She knows leechcraft, 
 magic, astronomy, heaven knows what; and her 
 most convenient talent of all is that of go- 
 between. Blast me, but she would take a love- 
 letter to the Queen herself if I asked her! ” 
 
 “ Well, then,” said the captain, “ we will take 
 him there as soon as Master Ambrose has given 
 him the first dressing.” They touched the right 
 bank as he spoke, and after hoisting Mergy with 
 some trouble on a horse, they took him to the 
 famous surgeon, and thence to a lonely house 
 in the Faubourg Saint Antoine. Nor did they 
 leave him till night saw him tucked up in a com- 
 fortable bed, and specially recommended to the 
 old woman’s care. 
 
 When you have killed a man, and when this 
 man is the first that you have killed, you are 
 haunted for some time, and especially at night- 
 fall, by the memory and the look of the last 
 struggle that ushered in his death. The mind is 
 so full of gloomy thoughts, that it is hard to 
 take part even in the most trivial conversation; 
 all talk wearies and annoys; while, on the other 
 hand, solitude is dreaded because it strengthens 
 the oppression of fancy. Despite the frequent 
 visits of Beville and the captain, Mergy spent the 
 days immediately succeeding his duel in the 
 
152 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 deepest sadness. A sharp touch of fever, 
 brought on by his wound, kept him sleepless at 
 night, and this was his worst time. Only the no- 
 tion that Madame de Turgis thought of him and 
 had admired his courage consoled him a little, 
 but did not restore him to calm. 
 
 One night, oppressed by the stifling heat (for 
 it was the month of July), he took a fancy to 
 leave his room, in order to walk and breathe the 
 air in a garden, full of trees, which surrounded 
 the house. He threw a cloak over his shoulders, 
 and was about to go forth, when he found that 
 his chamber door was locked on the outside. It 
 could only be, he thought, a slip of his old 
 nurse, and as she slept at a distance, and must 
 probably be fast asleep, he thought it quite use- 
 less to call her; besides, his window was near the 
 ground, which was soft below, having been re- 
 cently dug. In a moment he had dropped into 
 the garden. The night was dark; not a star 
 blinked; and scanty puffs of wind now and then, 
 and as though with difficulty, crossed the hot and 
 heavy atmosphere. It was about two o’clock in 
 the morning, and profound stillness reigned 
 around him. 
 
 Mergy paced for some time, absorbed in 
 thoughts, which were interrupted by a knock at 
 the street gate. It was a faint, and, as it were. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 153 
 
 mysterious stroke of the knocker, whosoever 
 struck it seeming assured that some one would be 
 ready to open. A visitor at a lonely house and 
 at such an hour was something surprising, and 
 Mergy kept himself motionless in a dark corner 
 of the garden, whence he could see everything 
 without being seen. A woman, who could not be 
 other than his old nurse, came out of the house 
 at once with a dark lantern in her hand; she 
 opened the gate and there entered some one 
 wrapped completely in a large black hooded 
 mantle. 
 
 Bernard’s curiosity was in a state of lively ex- 
 citement. The stature, and, so far as he could 
 judge, the garments, of the newcomer indicated 
 the other sex; and the old woman greeted her 
 visitor with every mark of respect, while Black- 
 mantle scarcely bowed her head in return. To 
 make amends she put something into the old 
 woman’s hand, which seemed to be received with 
 pleasure, while the sharp sound as of metal drop- 
 ping, and the eagerness with which the hag 
 stooped and looked about on the ground, con- 
 vinced Mergy that she had had money given to 
 her. The two women then walked towards the 
 garden, the crone going first and hiding her lan- 
 tern. At the garden’s end there was a kind of 
 arbour formed by limes, which were planted in 
 
154 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 a circle, and joined together by a very thick 
 hedge nearly as close as a wall. Two gates or 
 entries led into this green retreat, in the centre 
 of which was a small stone table. Into this the 
 old woman and the veiled visitor entered. Mergy, 
 holding his breath, and following them with 
 stealthy step, placed himself behind the hedge, 
 so that he could hear perfectly, and could see 
 as well as the scanty light illuminating the scene 
 permitted. 
 
 The old woman began by lighting something, 
 which burnt up at once, in a tripod placed on the 
 middle of the table, and gave a pale bluish light, 
 like that of salt and spirits of wine mingled 
 together. She forthwith extinguished or cov- 
 ered up her lantern, so that by the flickering light 
 of the tripod Mergy would have had difficulty 
 in recognising the stranger’s features, even if 
 they had not been hidden by veil and hood. As 
 for the old woman, it was easy to recognise her 
 stature and figure; but he noticed that her face 
 was smeared with some dark dye which made her, 
 under her white coif, look like a bronze statue. 
 The table was covered with singular objects which 
 he could hardly distinguish. They seemed ar- 
 ranged in regular though eccentric order; and 
 he thought he saw amongst them fruit, pieces of 
 bone, and some fragments of blood-stained linen. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 155 
 
 Above these soiled rags stood a little figure of 
 a man, of wax, as it seemed, and at most a foot 
 high. 
 
 “ Well, Camilla,” said the veiled lady in a 
 low voice which made Mergy start, “ you say he 
 is better? ” 
 
 “ A little better, madame,” said the hag, 
 “ thanks to our art. Still, with these scraps and 
 the little blood there is on the bandages, it has 
 been difficult for me to do much.” 
 
 “ And what says Master Ambrose Pare? ” 
 
 “ He, the dunce! What does it matter what 
 he says? I give you my word that the wound is 
 deep, dangerous, and terrible, and that it can only 
 be cured by the rules of magic sympathy. But 
 it is needful to do frequent sacrifice to the spirits 
 
 of earth and air; and for sacrifice ” 
 
 The lady understood at once. 
 
 “ If he is cured,” she said, “ you shall have 
 double what I have just given you.” 
 
 “ Be of good hope, and rely on me.” 
 
 “ Ah, Camilla! but if he should die? ” 
 
 “ Calm yourself! The spirits are favourable; 
 the stars protect us; and our last sacrifice of the 
 black ram has propitiated The Other” 
 
 “ I bring you something that has cost me 
 much pains to procure. I bought it of one of 
 the archers who stripped the corpse.” 
 
156 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 She drew an object from beneath her cloak, 
 and Mergy caught the glitter of a sword-blade. 
 The hag took it, and held it close to the light for 
 examination. 
 
 “ Thank heaven! there is blood and rust on 
 the blade ! Yes ! his blood is as that of the basilisk 
 of Cathay — it leaves an ineradicable trace on the 
 steel.” 
 
 She looked carefully at the blade; and it was 
 clear that the veiled lady felt more than ordinary 
 emotion. 
 
 “ See, Camilla! how near the blood is to the 
 hilt. The blow may be mortal.” 
 
 “ That blood is not heart’s blood: he will 
 recover.” 
 
 “ He will recover? ” 
 
 “Yes; but he will pay for his recovery by 
 catching an incurable disease.” 
 
 “ What disease? ” 
 
 “ Love.” 
 
 “ Ah, Camilla! are you speaking the truth? ” 
 
 “When did I ever fail to speak the truth? 
 When did my predictions fail in accomplishment? 
 Did I not tell you that he would be victorious in 
 the fight? Did I not inform you that the spirits 
 would fight on his side? Did I not bury, on the 
 very spot where the duel was to take place, a 
 black hen and a sword blessed by the priest? ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 157 
 
 “ It is true.” 
 
 “ Did you not yourself drive a dagger into 
 the heart of an image of his adversary, thus 
 directing the blows of him in whose behalf I 
 spent my skill? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Camilla, I did pierce the heart of 
 Comminges’s image. But they say that he died 
 of a wound in the head.” 
 
 “ Of course, the steel struck his head; but 
 did he not die because the blood stopped at his 
 heart? ” 
 
 The veiled lady seemed crushed by the weight 
 of this argument, and she was silent. Mean- 
 while the hag moistened the sword-blade with oil 
 and balsam, and wrapped it with the greatest 
 care in bandages. 
 
 “ See, madame,” she said, “ this scorpion’s oil 
 with which I rub the sword is directed by virtue 
 of sympathy into the young man’s wound. He 
 feels the effect of this African balsam just as if 
 I poured it on his hurt; and if I took a fancy 
 to let the sword-point grow red hot in the fire, 
 our poor patient would suffer as much as though 
 he were burnt alive.” 
 
 “ Oh ! think not of such a thing.” 
 
 “ One evening I sat by the hearth busily rub- 
 bing a sword with balsam to cure a young gentle- 
 man in whose head that sword had made two 
 
158 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 fearful wounds. I fell asleep at my task, when 
 suddenly the sick man’s lackey knocked at my 
 door to tell me that his master was suffering the 
 agonies of death, and that when he had left him 
 he felt as if stretched on blazing coals. Do you 
 know what had happened? I had carelessly let 
 the sword slip, and the blade was at the moment 
 on the embers. I snatched it off, and told the 
 lackey that he would at his return find his mas- 
 ter fully relieved. I plunged the sword at once 
 in iced water, with a mixture of certain drugs, and 
 went to see my patient. As I entered he cried to 
 me, ‘ Ah ! my good Camilla, what sweet relief I 
 feel now! It seems as though I were in a bath 
 of cool water, while just now I might have been 
 St. Laurence on his gridiron.’ ” 
 
 She finished dressing the sword, and said with 
 a satisfied air, “ ’Tis well: now I am sure of his 
 cure, and you may give your attention to the last 
 ceremony.” She threw some pinches of sweet- 
 smelling powder on the flame, and muttered 
 outlandish words, crossing herself continually. 
 Then the lady took the waxen image with a 
 trembling hand, and holding it above the tripod 
 she pronounced these words in a voice full of 
 passion: “ As this wax softens and burns in the 
 tripod flame ; so, O Bernard Mergy! may thy 
 heart grow soft and burn for love of me ! " 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 159 
 
 “ Good : now here is a green wax candle 
 moulded at midnight in accordance with the rules 
 of art. Light it to-morrow before the Virgin’s 
 altar.” 
 
 “ I will ; but in spite of all your promises I 
 am terribly anxious. I dreamt yesterday that he 
 was dead.” 
 
 “ Were you sleeping on your right side or 
 your left? ” 
 
 “ On but which side do true dreams 
 
 come? ” 
 
 “ Tell me first on which side you sleep. 
 I see that you wish to abuse and deceive your- 
 self.” 
 
 “ I always sleep on my right side.” 
 
 “ Then be composed. Your dream announces 
 nothing but good luck.” 
 
 “ God grant it! But I saw him pale, bleed- 
 ing, and wrapped in his shroud ” 
 
 As she spoke, she turned her head and saw 
 Mergy standing at one of the arbour doors. Her 
 astonishment made her shriek so piercingly that 
 Mergy himself was confounded. The hag, either 
 purposely or by accident, upset the tripod, and 
 at once there rose to the summit of the limes a 
 flash of brilliant light that blinded him for a 
 moment or two, during which the two women 
 escaped, without losing an instant, through the 
 
160 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 opposite entrance. As soon as Mergy could dis- 
 cern the opening in the hedge he tried to follow 
 them ; but at his first movement he scarcely saved 
 himself from a fall, something having got be- 
 tween his legs. This he recognised as the sword 
 to which he owed his cure. He lost some further 
 time in getting clear of it and exploring the way, 
 and when, reaching a wide straight alley, he 
 thought that there could be no more obstacles to 
 his catching the fugitives, he heard the street gate 
 shut. They were out of reach. 
 
 A little vexed at having let so fair a prey 
 slip through his fingers, he groped his way back 
 to his chamber, and threw himself on the bed. 
 All doleful thoughts were banished from his 
 mind, and both remorse, if he had had any, and 
 the anxiety which his condition had caused him, 
 disappeared as if by enchantment. He thought 
 of nothing but the happiness of loving and being 
 loved by the most beautiful woman in Paris: for 
 he could not doubt that the veiled lady was 
 Madame de Turgis. A little after sunrise he fell 
 asleep; and only woke when it had been broad 
 day for several hours. Upon his pillow he found 
 a sealed billet which had been placed there, he 
 knew not how; and opening it, he read these 
 words: “ Sir knight, a lady’s honour depends on 
 your discretion.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 161 
 
 A few moments afterwards the old woman 
 came in to bring him some broth. She wore for 
 the day, contrary to her custom, a rosary of large 
 beads, hung to her girdle. Her skin, carefully 
 washed, showed no longer like bronze, but like 
 smoked parchment, and she walked with slow 
 steps and downcast eyes, like a person who 
 fears to be troubled in her commerce with the 
 skies by the sight of earthly things. 
 
 Mergy thought that, for the more deserving 
 practice of the virtue recommended to him in the 
 mysterious note, he had better first acquire a 
 thorough knowledge as to what he was to keep 
 secret from the world. So holding the broth in 
 his hand, and giving old Martha no time to reach 
 the door, he said, “ You never told me that your 
 name was Camilla? ” 
 
 “ Camilla? My name is Martha, good gen- 
 tleman — Martha Micheli,” said the old woman, 
 affecting great surprise at his question. 
 
 “ Very well; so be it. You are to be called 
 Martha by men; but spirits know you under the 
 name of Camilla.” 
 
 “ Spirits? Sweet Jesus! What do you 
 mean? ” and she crossed herself all over. 
 
 “ Come; no tricks with me. I will tell no 
 one, and all this is between ourselves. Who is 
 the lady who takes such interest in my health? ” 
 
162 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ The lady who ? ” 
 
 “ Now, do not repeat my words, but speak 
 frankly. On the faith of a gentleman I will 
 not betray you.” 
 
 “ Truly, good gentleman, I know not what 
 you would say.” 
 
 Mergy could not help a laugh as he saw her 
 feign astonishment, and lay her hand on her 
 heart. He took a piece of gold from the purse 
 that hung at his bed-head and offered it to the 
 old woman. 
 
 “ Come, good Camilla, you take so much care 
 of me, and give yourself so much trouble in rub- 
 bing swords with scorpion’s balm, all for the sake 
 of curing me, that really I ought to have made 
 you a present long ago.” 
 
 “Alas! gentleman, indeed, indeed, I under- 
 stand no word of what you say.” 
 
 “ Confusion! Martha, or Camilla, if you like, 
 don’t make me angry, but answer. Who is the 
 lady for whom you performed all that pretty 
 witchcraft last night? ” 
 
 “ Oh! gracious Saviour! he is getting angry! 
 Can he be delirious? ” 
 
 Mergy, in a rage, seized his pillow and flung 
 it at her head. The old lady replaced it with 
 much humility on the bed, picked up the gold 
 crown from the floor where it had fallen, and, 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 163 
 
 as the captain entered at the same moment, she 
 was relieved of her fear of a cross-examina- 
 tion, which might have ended awkwardly for 
 her. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SLANDER 
 
 “ King Henry IV, Thou dost belie him , Percy; thou dost belie 
 him.” — Shakespeare, King Henry IV, 5 
 
 G EORGE had gone to see the Admiral 
 that same morning, in order to inform 
 him of his brother’s misadventure, and 
 had told the whole story in a few words. 
 
 The Admiral, as he listened, crunched the 
 toothpick which he had in his mouth — a sure 
 sign of ill-temper with him. 
 
 “ I knew this matter already,” said he; “ and 
 I am surprised that you should speak of it, for 
 it is notorious enough.” 
 
 “ If I trouble you, my Lord Admiral, it is 
 because I know the interest you condescend to 
 take in our family, and I venture to hope that 
 you will graciously solicit the King’s clemency 
 for my brother. Your credit with his Maj- 
 esty ” 
 
 “ My credit, if I have any,” broke in the 
 Admiral sharply, “ my credit depends upon the 
 fact that I never put any but just demands be- 
 
 164 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 165 
 
 fore his Majesty.” And as he spoke the last 
 word he lifted his hat reverentially. 
 
 “ The circumstance which makes it neces- 
 sary for my brother to have recourse to your 
 goodness is unfortunately one but too common 
 in these days. Last year the King signed more 
 than fifteen hundred writs of pardon, and Ber- 
 nard’s adversary himself has repeatedly enjoyed 
 the protection which these writs give.” 
 
 ‘‘Your brother was the aggressor; though, 
 perhaps, and I would it were true ” (he looked 
 steadily at George as he spoke), “he has but 
 followed pernicious advice.” 
 
 “ I did my best to prevent the fatal results 
 of this quarrel; but you know that M. de Com- 
 minges was of a temper to give no satisfaction 
 to any one but at point of sword. The honour 
 
 of a gentleman and the opinion of ladies ” 
 
 “ Then that is how you talk to the young 
 man? ” said the Admiral. “ Perhaps you hope 
 to make a r affine of him? How would his father 
 mourn if he knew in what manner his son despises 
 his counsel! Good God! ’tis but two years since 
 our civil wars were quenched, and men have al- 
 ready forgotten the oceans of blood shed in them. 
 Their thirst is not yet slaked. Every day some 
 Frenchmen must cut other Frenchmen’s 
 throats.” 
 
166 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ If I had known, sir, that my petition was 
 
 likely to displease you ” 
 
 “ Listen to me, M. de Mergy. I might, per- 
 haps, do violence to my sentiments as a Chris- 
 tian, and excuse your brother’s action in giving 
 the challenge. But according to public re- 
 port his conduct in the duel which followed was 
 not ” 
 
 “What mean you, Admiral?” 
 
 “ That the fight was not conducted in a loyal 
 manner and according to the custom of French 
 gentlemen.” 
 
 “ Who has dared to spread so infamous a 
 slander? ” cried George, his eyes flashing with 
 rage. 
 
 “ Be calm. You can send no challenge on 
 this score, for as yet we do not fight with wom- 
 en. Comminges’s mother has given the King 
 details which do not reflect credit on your brother, 
 and which may, perhaps, explain how so redoubt- 
 able a swordsman succumbed thus easily to the 
 blows of a boy scarcely out of pagehood.” 
 
 “ A mother’s sorrow is deep and sacred,” said 
 George. “Is it surprising that she can not see 
 the truth through eyes still bathed in tears? I 
 can not but hope, sir, that you will abstain from 
 condemning my brother on the faith of Madame 
 de Comminges’s story.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 167 
 
 Coligny seemed moved, and his voice lost 
 something of its sharply ironical tone. 
 
 “Yet you can not deny that Beville, Com- 
 minges’s second, is your own intimate friend? ” 
 
 “ I have indeed known him long, and owe 
 him something. But Comminges was as intimate 
 with him as I, and Comminges himself chose him 
 for his second. Besides, Beville’s gallantry and 
 honour put him above all suspicion of disloyal 
 conduct.” 
 
 The Admiral pursed his mouth in deep dis- 
 dain. 
 
 “The honour of Beville!” he repeated, 
 shrugging his shoulders. “ The honour of an 
 Atheist! of a man steeped in debauchery! ” 
 
 “Yes!” cried the captain, laying stress on 
 his words. “Beville is a man of honour. But 
 why all this talk? Was I not myself present at 
 this duel? Is it for you, Sir Admiral, to ques- 
 tion the honour of our house and accuse us of 
 assassination? ” 
 
 There was a touch of menace in his tone; 
 but Coligny either did not understand, or de- 
 spised, the allusion to the murder of Duke 
 Francis of Guise, which Catholics in their 
 hatred had attributed to himself. His features 
 even relapsed into unruffled calm. 
 
 “ M. de Mergy,” said he in a cold and con- 
 
168 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 temptuous tone, 4 4 a man who has denied his 
 faith has lost the right to talk of his honour, 
 for none would believe in it.” 
 
 The captain’s face first flushed purple, and 
 then turned deadly pale. He fell back a step, 
 as though to avoid the temptation of striking 
 the old man. 
 
 “ Sir!” he cried, 44 your age and your rank 
 allow you to insult with impunity the most pre- 
 cious possession of a poor gentleman. But I 
 beg of you to bid one of your followers, or more 
 than one, to endorse the words which you have 
 spoken. I swear, by God, that they shall swal- 
 low those words till they choke.” 
 
 44 That may be a practice with the gentry 
 called raffines . I follow not their manners, and 
 I discard those of my gentlemen who imitate 
 them.” 
 
 And he turned his back on George as he 
 spoke. The captain, with fury in his heart, left 
 the Hotel de Chatillon, sprang on his horse, and, 
 as if to relieve his wrath, made the poor animal 
 gallop at full speed by digging his spurs into 
 his sides. In his headlong career he just escaped 
 riding down no small number of peaceable 
 passers-by; and it may be considered lucky that 
 not a single specimen of the raffines themselves 
 met him, for in the temper in which he was he 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 169 
 
 would certainly have lost no occasion of draw- 
 ing sword. 
 
 When he had got as far as Vincennes his 
 heated blood began to cool. He turned bridle, 
 and brought his horse, drenched in sweat and 
 blood, back towards Paris. “ Poor friend! ” said 
 he, smiling bitterly, “ I am punishing you for his 
 insult to myself.” And patting the innocent 
 victim’s neck, he rode slowly back to his 
 brother’s house, where, omitting all the details 
 of the conversation, he simply told Mergy that 
 the Admiral refused to interfere. 
 
 But a few minutes afterwards Beville came 
 in, and, throwing himself forthwith on Mergy’s 
 neck, said, “ Congratulations, my dear fellow! 
 Here is your pardon, which you owe to the 
 Queen’s intercession.” 
 
 Mergy was less surprised than his brother, 
 and in his heart of hearts he ascribed this favour 
 to the veiled lady, that is to say, to Madame de 
 Turgis. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE ASSIGNATION 
 
 “Madame to this saloon will shortly walk, 
 
 And begs the favour of a moment’s talk.” 
 
 Moliere, Tartufe. 
 
 M ERGY resumed his share of his 
 brother’s apartments; he paid a visit 
 of thanks to the Queen-Mother, and 
 reappeared at Court. But he had scarcely set 
 foot in the Louvre when he perceived that he had 
 in some sort fallen heir to the consideration 
 which Comminges had enjoyed. People whom 
 he only knew by sight bowed to him with an air 
 of humble attempt at intimacy; men, as they 
 spoke to him, hid their envy but ill under a 
 markedly polite outside, and the ladies’ eyes 
 rained provocations upon him, for at that time 
 to obtain the reputation of a successful duellist 
 was the surest road to their hearts. To have 
 killed three or four men in single combat sup- 
 plied the want of good looks, of wealth, and 
 of wit. In short, as our hero showed himself 
 in the gallery of the Louvre, he heard whispered 
 
 170 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 171 
 
 remarks all round him. “ There is young 
 Mergy, who killed Comminges ! ” “ How young 
 he is!” “What a good figure!” “What an 
 air! ” “ What a well-curled moustache! ” “ Is 
 
 it known who his mistress is? ” 
 
 But Mergy looked in vain through the crowd 
 for the blue eyes and black eyebrows of Madame 
 de Turgis. He even made a visit at her house; 
 but he learnt that shortly after Comminges’s 
 death she had left for one of her estates, which 
 was some twenty leagues from Paris. If ill 
 tongues were to be believed, her sorrow at the 
 death of her lover had forced her to seek a re- 
 treat where she might nurse her grief undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 One morning, while the captain, stretched on 
 a sofa, was reading as he waited for breakfast 
 “ The Very Horrific Life of Pantagruel,” and 
 while his brother was taking a lesson on the 
 guitar from Signor Uberto Vinibella, a lackey 
 came to tell Bernard that an old woman, very 
 decently dressed, was waiting for him in the 
 lower hall, and that she had asked for an inter- 
 view with an air of mystery. He went down 
 at once, and received from the sunburnt hands 
 of a dame who was neither Martha nor Camilla, 
 a letter breathing sweet perfumes. It was 
 fastened with a golden thread and a large seal 
 
172 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 of green wax, whereon, instead of arms, nothing 
 was seen but a cupid with finger on lip, and the 
 Spanish motto “ Callao." * He opened it, and 
 found only one line in the same language, which 
 he construed with some difficulty : “ Esta noche > 
 una dama espera a V. 
 
 “ Who gave you this letter? ” said he to the 
 old woman. 
 
 “ A lady." 
 
 “ Her name? " 
 
 “I know not; she says she is a Spaniard." 
 
 “ How does she know me? " 
 
 The crone shrugged her shoulders. “ Your 
 reputation for gallantry has brought this ugly 
 affair on you," she said sarcastically. “ But an- 
 swer me, will you come? " 
 
 “ Where am I to go? " 
 
 “ Be this evening, at half -past eight o’clock, 
 in the church of St. Germain l’Auxerrois, to- 
 wards the left side of the nave." 
 
 “ And shall I see this lady at church? "’ 
 
 “No; some one will be there to conduct you 
 to her. But be discreet, and come alone." 
 
 “ Of course." 
 
 “ You promise? " 
 
 “ I pledge you my word." 
 
 * “ Be silent.” 
 
 t “ A lady expects you this evening.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 173 
 
 “ Farewell, then; and follow me not.” 
 
 She curtseyed low, and departed. 
 
 “ Well, what did my lady go-between want 
 with you? ” asked the captain, when his brother 
 had gone upstairs and the music-master had 
 taken his leave. 
 
 “ Oh, nothing,” said Mergy carelessly, and 
 examining attentively the Madonna of which 
 mention has been made. 
 
 “ Come, no secrets with me. Must I escort 
 you to an assignation? Shall I mount guard in 
 the street, and keep off rivals with the flat of my 
 sword? ” 
 
 “ Nothing of the kind, I tell you.” 
 
 “ Oh, just as you like. Keep your counsel if 
 you please; but I will bet that you are at least 
 as much dying to tell as I am to know.” 
 
 Mergy, with an absent air, twitched the 
 strings of his guitar. 
 
 “ By the way, George,” said he, “ I shall not 
 be able to go and sup to-night with M. de Vau- 
 dreuil.” 
 
 “ Oho! it is for to-night, then? Is she pretty? 
 Is she a Court lady, or a citizen’s wife, or a 
 trader’s? ” 
 
 “ Really I do not know. I am to be intro- 
 duced to a lady who is not of this country; but 
 who it is I know not.” 
 
174. A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ But you know at least where the meeting- 
 place is? ” 
 
 Bernard showed him the note, and repeated 
 what the crone had said. 
 
 “It is a feigned hand,” said the captain; 
 “ and I do not know what to think of all these 
 precautions.” 
 
 “ She must be some great lady, George.” 
 
 “How like these youngsters that is! To 
 fancy, on the least excuse, that queens and prin- 
 cesses are going to fling themselves at their 
 heads! ” 
 
 “ But smell the perfume which the letter 
 breathes.” 
 
 “ What on earth does that prove? ” 
 
 The captain’s brow suddenly darkened as a 
 sinister thought occurred to his mind. 
 
 “ The Comminges are not a forgiving fam- 
 ily,” said he; “and this letter may be only a 
 trick of theirs to decoy you into some out-of-the- 
 way corner, where they will make you pay dear 
 for the dagger-thrust which gave them their in- 
 heritance.” 
 
 “ A pretty notion! ” 
 
 “ It would not be the first time that Love 
 has been made to do Revenge’s work. You have 
 read your Bible: remember Samson and the 
 traitress Delilah.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 175 
 
 “ I should be a coward indeed if such an 
 improbable guess made me balk a meeting 
 which may be so charming. A Spanish lady!” 
 “ At any rate, go well armed. If you like, 
 you can have the two lackeys.” 
 
 “ Fie on you! What! call the whole town to 
 witness my good fortune? ” 
 
 “ It is quite usual now,” said George. “ I 
 have often seen my good friend D’Ardelay set- 
 ting out to visit his lady-love with a mail shirt on 
 his back, a pair of pistols in his belt, and four 
 soldiers of his company marching behind him, 
 each man with a loaded petronel. You don’t 
 know Paris yet, my friend; and you may take 
 my word for it, too much forethought never 
 does harm. You have nothing to do but to take 
 your mail shirt off when it is in the way.” 
 
 “ I do not feel the least anxiety. If Com- 
 minges’s relations had a grudge against me, they 
 could have attacked me any night in the streets.” 
 “ Well, then, I will let you go; but only on 
 condition that you take your pistols.” 
 
 “ As you like; but I shall be laughed at for 
 doing it.” 
 
 “Nor is that all. You must make a good 
 dinner, and eat two partridges and plenty of 
 cock’s-comb pasty, that you may do credit to 
 the race of Mergy to-night.” 
 
176 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Bernard retired to his room, where he spent 
 at least four hours in combing and curling his 
 hair, in perfuming himself, and finally in ar- 
 ranging eloquent discourse intended for the 
 benefit of the fair unknown. 
 
 I may leave my readers to guess whether he 
 was punctual at the meeting-place or not. He 
 had paced the church for full half an hour, and 
 had already thrice counted the candles, the pil- 
 lars, and the votive offerings, when an old 
 woman carefully enveloped in a brown cloak, 
 took his hand, and, without speaking a word, 
 led him into the street. She conducted him, still 
 in perfect silence, by several twists and turns 
 into a very narrow and apparently uninhabited 
 alley. At the very end of it, she stopped in 
 front of a door — small, arched, and very low — 
 which she opened with a key drawn from her 
 pocket. She led the way in, and Mergy fol- 
 lowed, holding her cloak to guide himself through 
 the darkness. Nor had he sooner entered than 
 he heard huge bolts drawn behind him. His 
 guide then warned him in a whisper that he was 
 at the foot of a staircase, and that there twenty- 
 seven steps to mount. The stair was very nar- 
 row, and the worn and irregular steps more than 
 once nearly brought him down; but at length, 
 after the twenty-seventh step and a small land- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 177 
 
 ing were passed, the old woman opened a door 
 from which a flood of light dazzled Mergy’s 
 eyes for the moment. Then he set foot in an 
 apartment much more elegantly furnished than 
 the external appearance of the house promised. 
 
 The walls were covered with flowered tapes- - 
 try, a little faded, perhaps, but still in perfectly 
 good condition. In the midst of the room he 
 saw a table, lighted with two candles of rose- 
 coloured wax, and covered with various kinds 
 of fruit and cakes, together with glasses and 
 flasks of crystal; the latter filled, as it seemed, 
 with different kinds of wine. Two large chairs, 
 placed at the two ends of the table, waited ap- 
 parently for the guests. In a recess, half closed 
 by silken curtains, was a bed of very ornate de- 
 sign, covered with crimson satin, while more than 
 one incense-burner shed a voluptuous perfume 
 over the apartment. 
 
 The crone took off her mantle; and Mergy, 
 doffing his cloak, at once recognised the mes- 
 senger who had brought him the letter. 
 
 “ Saint Mary! ” cried she, as he saw his sword 
 and pistols, “ do you think you have got to hew 
 down giants? There are no sword-blows, fair 
 knight, to deal here.” 
 
 “ I hope so; but it may be that some brothers 
 or an ill-tempered husband may disturb the meet- 
 
178 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 ing; and in that case here is something to keep 
 them quiet with.” 
 
 “ You need fear nothing of that kind here. 
 But tell me, how do you like the room? ” 
 
 “ It is a fair chamber, doubtless; yet should 
 I grow weary of it if I had to stay here alone.” 
 “You shall have company anon. But mean- 
 while you must promise me something.” 
 
 “ What? ” 
 
 “If you are a Catholic, you must lay your 
 hand on this crucifix,” and she took one from a 
 cupboard ; “ if you are a Huguenot, you must 
 swear by Luther, by Calvin, by all your gods — 
 in short ” 
 
 “ But what must I swear? ” said he smiling. 
 “ You must swear to make no attempt to 
 find out who is the lady who is coming here.” 
 
 “ ’Tis a hard condition.” 
 
 “ See, now: you must swear, or I shall take 
 you back into the street.” 
 
 “ There, then, you have my word for it, and 
 that is as good as the foolish oaths you propose.” 
 “ ’Tis well. Now wait patiently; eat and 
 drink, if you care to do so; and without delay 
 you shall see the Spanish lady come.” 
 
 She took her mantle and went out, double- 
 locking the door. 
 
 Mergy threwdiimself into a chair. His heart 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 179 
 
 beat violently; and he felt an emotion as strong 
 as that which he had experienced a few days 
 before, when about to meet his enemy in the 
 Pre-aux-Clercs, and perhaps of no very differ- 
 ent nature. A deep silence reigned throughout 
 the house; and a mortal quarter of an hour 
 passed, during which his fancy painted by turns 
 Venus stepping from the tapestry to throw her- 
 self into his arms, the Countess de Turgis in her 
 hunting habit, a princess of the blood royal, a 
 gang of assassins, and then — idea more hor- 
 rid still than this! — an old woman in love with 
 him. 
 
 Suddenly, without the least preliminary 
 noise to show that any one had entered the house, 
 the key turned quickly in the lock; the door 
 opened and shut, as if automatically, the mo- 
 ment a masked lady had stepped into the room. 
 
 Her stature was tall and well proportioned. 
 A gown fitting closely to her bust showed the 
 grace of her figure; but neither the tiny foot 
 slippered in white velvet, nor the little hand un- 
 luckily covered with an embroidered glove, 
 could give any clear indication of the incognita’s 
 age; yet something — magnetic influence, in- 
 stinct, or what not — made him guess that she was 
 not more than five-and-twenty. Her costume 
 united simplicity, splendour, and elegance. 
 
180 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Mergy rose at once, and bent knee before 
 her. The lady advanced one step, and then said 
 in a sweet voice: 
 
 “Dios os guarde , caballero. Sea V . M . el 
 bien venido ." * 
 
 Mergy gave a start of surprise. 
 
 “Habla V. M. espanol?”\ 
 
 But he spoke no Spanish, and could hardly 
 understand any. 
 
 The lady seemed vexed; but she allowed 
 Mergy to lead her to one of the chairs, in which 
 she sat, motioning to him to take the other. Then 
 she began the conversation in French, but with 
 a foreign accent, which was sometimes very 
 marked, and, as it were, exaggerated, while at 
 other times it did not appear at all. 
 
 “ Sir, your valiancy has made me forget the 
 reserve customary with my sex. I wished to 
 see so accomplished a cavalier, and I find him 
 none other than repute has asserted.” 
 
 Mergy blushed and bowed. “Will you, 
 madame,” said he, “be so cruel as to preserve 
 that mask, which like an envious cloud hides 
 from me the rays of the sun? ” Now he had 
 read this phrase in a book translated from the 
 Spanish. 
 
 “ Sir Cavalier, if I find your discretion to 
 
 * “ God keep you, Sir. Welcome.” 
 t “ Do you speak Spanish ? ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 181 
 
 be of proof, you shall see me more than once 
 face to face; but for to-day you must be con- 
 tent with the pleasures of conversation. ,, 
 
 “ Ah, madame, that pleasure, by its very 
 greatness, makes me long but more violently to 
 see you.” 
 
 He was kneeling at her feet, and seemed as 
 though he would raise the mask. 
 
 " Poco a poco * Sir Frenchman! You go too 
 fast. Resume your seat, or I leave you this 
 moment. If you knew who I am and what I 
 dare in order to see you, you would be content 
 with the mere honour that I do you in coming 
 hither.” 
 
 “ Truly, I think your voice is not unknown 
 to me.” 
 
 “ Yet you have never heard it before. Tell 
 me, could you love faithfully a woman who loved 
 you? ” 
 
 “ Since I have been with you I have felt ” 
 
 “ You have never seen me, so you can not 
 love me. You do not know whether I am fair 
 or foul.” 
 
 “ I am sure you are charming.” 
 
 The incognita withdrew her hand which he 
 had seized, and lifted it to her mask as though 
 she would take it off. 
 
 * “ Fair and softly.” 
 
182 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ But what would you do if you saw before 
 you a woman fifty years old and frightfully 
 hideous? ” 
 
 “ That is impossible.” 
 
 “ Yet at fifty one can love still.” She sighed 
 as she spoke, and the young man shuddered. 
 
 “ Your charming form, your hand that you 
 are trying in vain to rob me of, all things prove 
 your youth.” 
 
 But there was more gallantry than assurance 
 in this speech. 
 
 “Alas!” she sighed. 
 
 Mergy began to be really alarmed. 
 
 “ Love is not enough for you men,” she 
 said, “ you must have beauty too.” * And she 
 sighed once more. 
 
 “ Let me, I implore you, take off this 
 mask ” 
 
 “No, no!” and she repulsed him briskly. 
 “Remember your promise!” But then she 
 added in a gayer tone, “ I should run too much 
 risk in unmasking. I like to see you at my 
 feet; and if perchance I were neither young 
 nor fair — if you thought me neither — you might 
 leave me disconsolate.” 
 
 “ Show me then but that little hand of 
 yours! ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 183 
 
 She drew off a perfumed glove, and held out 
 to him a hand as white as snow. 
 
 “ I know that hand! ” cried he. “ There is 
 but one so fair in all Paris. ,, 
 
 “ Indeed! and whose is that?” 
 
 “A countess’s.” 
 
 “What countess?” 
 
 “ The Countess de Turgis.” 
 
 “ Ah ! I know what you mean. Madame de 
 Turgis has white hands enough, thanks to her 
 perfumer’s almond paste. But I think I can 
 boast that mine are softer than hers.” 
 
 All this was said very naturally ; and Mergy, 
 who had thought that he recognised the beauti- 
 ful countess’s voice, grew doubtful, and felt as 
 if he must give up the notion. 
 
 “ Two instead of one! ” thought he. “ Have 
 I a fairy godmother? ” And he strove to dis- 
 cover on the lovely hand the mark of a ring 
 which he had seen Madame de Turgis wear. 
 But the fingers, round and of perfect symmetry, 
 showed not the slightest mark of wear, not the 
 faintest trace of being out of shape. 
 
 “ Madame de Turgis ! ” again cried the in- 
 cognita, laughing. “ Truly you are kind to take 
 me for her. I trust, thanks to heaven, I have 
 a little the advantage of her! ” 
 
184 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Yet, on my honour, the countess is the most 
 beautiful woman I have even seen.” 
 
 “ You love her, then? ” asked she sharply. 
 
 “ Perhaps ; but I beg you, take off your 
 mask, and show me a still fairer woman.” 
 
 “ When I am sure that you love me, then you 
 shall see me face to face.” 
 
 “ Love you? But in God’s name, how am I 
 to love you without seeing you? ” 
 
 “This hand is pretty: fancy my face a 
 match for it.” 
 
 “Now I know you are charming; for you 
 have just betrayed yourself by dropping the dis- 
 guise of your voice. I am certain I recognised 
 it!” 
 
 “ And it is the voice of Madame de Turgis? ” 
 said she, laughing, and with a strong Spanish 
 accent.” 
 
 “ Exactly so.” 
 
 “ A mistake, a mistake of yours, Senor Ber- 
 nardo! My name is Dona Maria — Dona Maria 
 
 de but I will tell you my surname later. I 
 
 am a lady of Barcelona; my father, who keeps 
 stern watch over me, has been travelling for 
 some time, and I profit by his absence to amuse 
 myself and see the French Court. As for 
 Madame de Turgis, cease, I pray you, to men- 
 tion that woman to me; I hate her very name! 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 185 
 
 There is no spitefuller lady at Court. And do 
 you not know, too, how she became a widow? ” 
 “ I have heard something.” 
 
 “Well, then, speak! What did they tell 
 you? ” 
 
 “ That, finding her husband paying atten- 
 tions to her waiting-woman, she seized a pon- 
 iard, and dealt him such a blow with it that the 
 poor man died a month afterwards.” 
 
 “ And the deed seems horrible to you? ” 
 
 “ Nay, I confess that I can excuse her. They 
 say she loved her husband; and I think nobly 
 of jealousy.” 
 
 “You say that because you think yourself 
 in her presence, but at heart you despise her.” 
 There was a touch of sadness and melan- 
 choly in the voice, but it was not now that of 
 Madame de Turgis, and Mergy was completely 
 puzzled. 
 
 “ What! ” said he, “ you are Spanish and you 
 do not respect jealousy? ” 
 
 “No more of this. What is the black rib- 
 bon that you wear round your neck? ” 
 
 “ ’Tis a relic.” 
 
 “ I thought you were a Protestant.” 
 
 “ So I am, but this relic was given me by 
 a lady, and I wear it in memory of her.” 
 
 “ Ah ! if you wish to please me you will think 
 
186 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 no more of ladies. I would fain be more to you 
 than all women. Who gave you the reliquary? 
 Madame de Turgis again? ” 
 
 “ Nay, truly.” 
 
 “ ’Tis false.” 
 
 “ Then you are Madame de Turgis! ” 
 
 “ You have betrayed yourself, Senor Ber- 
 nardo.” 
 
 “ How? ” 
 
 “ When I see Madame de Turgis I shall ask 
 how she came to commit sacrilege by giving a 
 holy thing to a heretic.” 
 
 Mergy’s puzzlement grew deeper every mo- 
 ment. 
 
 “ But,” she continued, “ I want that re- 
 liquary. Give it me!” 
 
 “ No: I can not.” 
 
 “ I will have it. Dare you refuse me? ” 
 
 “ But I promised to return it to the giver.” 
 “Bah! a childish promise that! Promises 
 made to false women are not binding. Besides, 
 take heed! ’tis, perchance, a charm, a dangerous 
 talisman, that you wear. They say she is a great 
 enchantress.” 
 
 “ I believe not in witchcraft.” 
 
 “ Nor in wizards? ” 
 
 “ I believe a little in witches ” and he laid 
 stress on the last word. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 187 
 
 “ Listen ! Give me the relic, and perhaps 
 then I will take off my mask.” 
 
 “ That is her voice this time.” 
 
 “ Once more, will you give me that relic? ” 
 
 “ I will give it you bach , if you will doff 
 your mask.” 
 
 “ Ah! how sick I am of that Turgis of yours! 
 Love her as much as you like; what do I care? ” 
 She turned on her chair as if irritated; and 
 the satin which veiled her bosom heaved and sank 
 rapidly. For some moments she spoke not. 
 Then suddenly turning once more, she cried in 
 mocking tones, “ V ala me Dios! V . M. no es 
 Caballero > es un monge ! " * 
 
 With a wave of her hand she upset the two 
 tapers that burnt on the table, together with 
 half the bottles and dishes. As the lights went 
 out she tore off her mask, and in the deepest 
 gloom Mergy felt burning lips which sought his, 
 and a pair of arms closely embracing him. 
 
 * “ God forgive me ! You are no knight. You are a monk ! ’* 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 IN THE DARK 
 
 “ By night all cats are grey,” 
 
 T HE clock of a neighbouring church 
 struck four. 
 
 “ Good heavens! four? I shall hard- 
 ly have time to reach home before day! ” 
 
 “ Ah, cruel love ! you would leave me so 
 
 soon? ” 
 
 “I must; but we shall soon see each other 
 again.” 
 
 “We shall soon see each other? you forget, 
 dearest countess, that I have not seen you yet! ” 
 “ Never mind your countess, baby that you 
 are! I am Dona Maria; and when the light 
 comes you will see that I am not she for whom 
 you take me.” 
 
 “ Where is the door? I will call some one.” 
 “ No, Bernardo, let me go down by myself ; 
 I know the room, and I can find a match.” 
 
 “Take care not to step on the glass: you 
 broke enough last night.” 
 
 “ I can take care of myself, thank you.” 
 
 188 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 189 
 
 “ What have you got there? ” 
 
 “ Ah ! ’tis my corset ! Holy Virgin ! what shall 
 I do? I cut all the laces with your dagger! ” 
 “We must ask the old woman for some 
 more.” 
 
 “Do not stir, but leave it to me. Farewell, 
 beloved Bernardo! ” 
 
 The door opened and shut immediately; a 
 long burst of laughter sounding outside. Mergy 
 perceived that his conquest had escaped him, and 
 tried to pursue her. But in the darkness he 
 bumped against the furniture, he entangled him- 
 self with garments and curtains, and he never 
 could find the door. Suddenly it opened, and 
 a person entered holding a dark lantern. Mergy 
 seized the lantern-bearer at once. 
 
 “ Ah! ” cried he, with a tender embrace, “ I 
 have got you now; you can not escape me 
 again! ” 
 
 “ Let me alone, M. de Mergy,” said a gruff 
 voice. “ Is that the way you squeeze people? ” 
 He recognized the crone, and exclaimed, 
 “The devil take you!” 
 
 Then he dressed himself without speaking, 
 took up his weapons and his cloak, and left the 
 house in very much the temper of a man who, 
 after drinking fine Malaga wine, swallows by 
 his servant’s carelessness a glass of antiscorbutic 
 
190 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 syrup which has been forgotten for some years 
 in the cellar. 
 
 Mergy was cautious enough with his brother. 
 He told him of a Spanish lady of great beauty, 
 as far as he could judge in the absence of light; 
 but he did not so much as mention the suspicions 
 which had occurred to him about his incognita. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE CONFESSION 
 
 “ Amphitryon . No more of this, Alcmena, I beseech you. Let 
 us be serious.” — Moliere, Amphitryon. 
 
 T WO days passed without any message 
 from the pretended Spaniard, and on 
 the third the brothers learnt that Ma- 
 dame de Turgis had arrived the day before in 
 Paris, and that she would certainly go to pay 
 her respects to the Queen-Mother in the course 
 of the day. They went at once to the Louvre, 
 and found her in a gallery surrounded by ladies, 
 with whom she was conversing. The sight of 
 Mergy did not seem to cause her the slightest 
 emotion, nor did the faintest blush colour her 
 generally pale cheeks; but as soon as she saw 
 him, she nodded to him as to an old acquaintance, 
 and after the usual compliments were exchanged 
 she leant towards him and whispered: 
 
 “ I hope your Huguenot obstinacy is a little 
 shaken now. Miracles were necessary to convert 
 you” 
 
 191 
 
192 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ How so? ” 
 
 “ What! Have you not experienced in your 
 own person the marvellous effect of the virtue 
 of relics? ” 
 
 Mergy smiled incredulously. 
 
 “ The memory of the fair hand which gave 
 me this little box,” said he, “ and the love with 
 which it inspired me, no doubt doubled my 
 strength and my skill.” 
 
 She laughed; but shook her finger threaten- 
 ingly at him. 
 
 “You are becoming impertinent, master cor- 
 net! Do you know who it is to whom you speak 
 thus? ” 
 
 As she spoke she drew off her glove to ar- 
 range her hair. Mergy stared at the hand, and 
 from it carried his glance to the eyes, wide-awake 
 and wicked-looking, of the beautiful countess. 
 She burst out laughing at his astonished coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 “ Why do you laugh? ” said he. 
 
 “If you come to that, why do you look at me 
 with this astounded air?” 
 
 “ Pardon me, but for some days past I have 
 been living in a state of wonder.” 
 
 “ Indeed? That must be interesting. Tell 
 me quickly some of these wondrous things 
 which have been continually happening to you.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 193 
 
 “ I can not tell you now or here; besides, I 
 do not forget a certain Spanish motto which I 
 was taught three days ago.” 
 
 “ What motto is that? ” 
 
 “ A single word : Callad” 
 
 “ What does that mean? ” 
 
 “ Ah, you do not know Spanish,” said he, 
 observing her narrowly; but she bore his exam- 
 ination without the slightest appearance of per- 
 ceiving any hidden meaning in his words; and 
 the young man, after fixing his eyes on her, 
 had in fact to lower them soon in forced recogni- 
 tion of the more potent spirit in those which he 
 had ventured to challenge. 
 
 “ In my childhood,” said she, with an air of 
 complete unconcern, “ I knew a few words of 
 Spanish, but I think I have forgotten them now; 
 so talk French, if you wish me to understand 
 you. What does your motto mean? ” 
 
 “ It recommends discretion, madame.” 
 
 “ By my faith! it would be a good motto for 
 our young courtiers, especially if they could 
 manage to suit the deed to the word. But you 
 are very clever, M. de Mergy. Who taught you 
 Spanish? I will wager that it was a lady.” 
 
 Mergy looked at her tenderly, and with some- 
 thing of a smirk. 
 
 “ I know but a word or two of Spanish,” said 
 
194 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 he under his breath; “and it was love that en- 
 graved them on my memory.” 
 
 “Love!” repeated the countess mockingly. 
 And as she spoke quite loud, several ladies turned 
 their heads at the word, as if to ask what was 
 the matter. 
 
 Mergy, rather piqued at her satire, and an- 
 noyed at seeing himself treated thus, drew from 
 his pocket the Spanish letter which he had re- 
 ceived from the crone, and offered it to the 
 countess. 
 
 “ I have no doubt,” said he, “ that you are 
 as clever as I, and that you will have no difficulty 
 in construing this Spanish.” 
 
 Diane de Turgis snatched the billet, read it, 
 or pretended to read it, and, laughing consumed- 
 ly, handed it to the lady next her. 
 
 “ Come, Madame de Chateauvieux,” said 
 she, “ read this love-letter which M. de Mergy 
 has just received from his mistress, and which 
 he is good enough, as it appears, to lay at my 
 feet. The beauty of it is that I know the 
 hand.” 
 
 “Very likely,” said Mergy rather bitterly, 
 but still in a low tone. 
 
 Madame de Chateauvieux read the letter; 
 laughed, and passed it to a gentleman, who did 
 the same to another; and in a minute or two 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 195 
 
 every one in the gallery was acquainted with the 
 favour which a Spanish lady had shown to 
 Mergy. 
 
 When the laughter ceased, the countess de- 
 manded of Mergy whether he thought the lady 
 of the letter pretty. 
 
 “ On my honour, madame,” said he, “ I think 
 her not less pretty that yourself.” 
 
 “ Oh, heavens! what do you say? But you 
 must only have seen her at night ; for I know her 
 well. And faith! I congratulate you on your 
 good fortune.” And she began to laugh more 
 uncontrollably than ever.” 
 
 “ But, my pretty Diane,” said Madame de 
 Chateau vieux, “ why do you not tell us who this 
 Spanish dame is who is lucky enough to have 
 secured M. de Mergy ’s heart? ” 
 
 “ Before I name her, I beg you, M. de 
 Mergy, to declare before these ladies whether 
 you have seen your love by daylight?” 
 
 Mergy felt not a little awkward; and his 
 uneasiness and vexation were visible on his coun- 
 tenance in a sufficiently amusing manner. But 
 he held his tongue. 
 
 “ Not to make mysteries,” said the countess, 
 “ this note is from the Senora Dona Maria Rod- 
 riguez. I know her writing as well as my 
 father’s.” 
 
196 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “Maria Rodriguez!” cried all the ladies 
 with a shout of laughter. 
 
 Now Dona Rodriguez was a lady of more 
 than fifty summers. She had been a duenna at 
 Madrid; and I do not know either why she had 
 come to France, or why Marguerite de Valois 
 had given her a place in her household. Perhaps 
 she kept this kind of monster beside her in order 
 to set off her own charms by the contrast; just 
 as the painters of the time drew on the same 
 canvas the portrait of a beauty and the carica- 
 ture of her dwarf. But when Dona Rodriguez 
 appeared at the Louvre she was the butt of all 
 the Court ladies for her starched air and her 
 old-world costume. 
 
 Mergy shuddered. He had seen the duenna ; 
 and he remembered with horror that the masked 
 lady had given the name of “ Maria.” All his 
 memories became entangled ; he was visibly chop- 
 fallen, and the laugh redoubled. 
 
 “ She is a most discreet dame,” said Madame 
 de Turgis, “ and you could not have made a 
 better choice. She looks quite handsome when 
 she has her false teeth in and her black wig 
 on. Besides, she is certainly not more than 
 sixty.” 
 
 “ She must have bewitched him! ” cried Ma- 
 dame de Chateauvieux. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 197 
 
 “ Perhaps M. de Mergy is an antiquary? ” 
 asked another lady. 
 
 “ What a pity,” said one of the Queen’s 
 maidens, sighing low — “ what a pity that men 
 will take such ridiculous fancies! ” 
 
 Mergy was still trying his best to defend 
 himself, and was cutting a very foolish figure 
 under a shower of ironical congratulations when 
 the King appeared at the gallery’s end. All 
 smiles and jokes ceased at once; the company 
 drew up in rows to let him pass, and silence fol- 
 lowed the tumult. 
 
 The King was reconducting the Admiral, 
 with whom he had had a long interview in his 
 cabinet. His hand rested in familiar fashion on 
 the shoulder of Coligny, whose grey beard and 
 black garments contrasted sharply with Charles’s 
 youthful mien and his gaily embroidered dress. 
 To see them, men might have said that the young 
 King, with discretion rare on the throne, had 
 chosen the best and wisest of his subjects as a 
 favourite. 
 
 As they crossed the gallery, and all eyes were 
 fixed on them, Mergy heard the voice of the 
 countess murmuring low in his ear, “ Do not be 
 angry with me, and do not look at this till you 
 are outside.” 
 
 At the same moment there fell into his 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 198 
 
 hat, which he held in his hand, a sealed paper 
 with something hard inside. He pocketed it, 
 and ten minutes later, when he had left the 
 Louvre, he opened it, and found a small key, 
 with the words : “ This key opens my garden 
 gate. To-night at ten. I love you. I shall 
 never be masked for you again, and you shall 
 
 at last see Dona Maria and Diane.” 
 
 The King, after escorting the Admiral to 
 the end of the gallery, said, “ Farewell, father,” 
 clasping his hands. “ You know whether I love 
 you; and I know you are mine, body and soul.” 
 And he followed the words with a loud laugh. 
 Then, on his way back, he stopped before Cap- 
 tain George, and said, “ To-morrow, after mass, 
 come and speak to me in my cabinet.” He 
 turned his head and threw a half anxious glance 
 towards the door by which Coligny had just 
 departed; then he left the gallery to closet him- 
 self with the Marshal de Retz. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE PRIVATE AUDIENCE 
 
 “ Macbeth . Do you find 
 
 Your patience so predominant in your nature 
 That you can let this go ?” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 C APTAIN GEORGE betook himself 
 to the Louvre at the appointed time. 
 He had no sooner given his name than 
 the usher, raising a door-curtain of tapestry, 
 introduced him into the King’s closet. Charles, 
 who was sitting by a small table in the attitude 
 of one who writes, motioned to him with his 
 hand to be quiet, as if he feared to lose the thread 
 of the ideas which occupied him. So the captain 
 remained standing in a respectful posture half- 
 a-dozen paces from the table, and had leisure 
 to survey the apartment and to remark its or- 
 naments in detail. They were simple enough, 
 consisting of hardly anything but equipments 
 for the chase hung anyhow about the walls. A 
 fairly good picture of the Virgin, with a great 
 branch of box above it, hung between a long 
 
 199 
 
200 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 arquebuss and a hunting-horn. The table at 
 which the monarch wrote was covered with 
 papers and books. On the floor a rosary, and a 
 small book of “ Hours,” lay huddled up with 
 nets and hawks’ bells; while a large greyhound 
 slumbered on a cushion hard by. 
 
 Suddenly the King threw down his pen with 
 a gesture of rage and a muttered oath. His head 
 on his breast, he paced the length of the room 
 twice or thrice with ill-measured steps, and then, 
 suddenly halting in front of the captain, he 
 gazed at him in a startled fashion, as if he had 
 not noticed him before. 
 
 “ Ah! ’tis you! ” he cried, with a step back- 
 ward. 
 
 The captain bowed to the ground. 
 
 “ I am glad to see you. I had something to 
 say to you but ” And he stopped. 
 
 George, as he waited for the end of the sen- 
 tence, stood with his mouth slightly open, his 
 neck stretched forward, his left foot some inches 
 in advance of the right — in short, in the exact 
 position, I think, which a painter would give to 
 a figure of Attention. But the King’s head 
 dropped once more on his bosom, and he seemed 
 busy with some idea a thousand leagues away 
 from those which he had just been on the point 
 of putting into words. For some minutes there 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 201 
 
 was total silence, and Charles at last sat down 
 and put his hand to his brow as one wearied. 
 
 “ The deuce is in the rhyme! ” cried he, with 
 a stamp and a clang of the long spurs with which 
 his boots were garnished. The great hound woke 
 with a start, and taking the stamp for a signal 
 to himself, got up, came close to the King’s chair, 
 laid his two paws on the royal knees, and, lifting 
 his slender head, which rose far above the King’s, 
 opened his mouth wide and yawned in the most 
 unceremonious manner. So difficult is it to teach 
 dogs a courtly mode of behaviour. 
 
 But the King drove away the dog, who lay 
 down again with a sigh, and once more, his eyes 
 meeting the captain’s as if by chance, he said, 
 
 “ Excuse me, George, it is a * rhyme which 
 
 has driven me to desperation.” 
 
 “Perhaps I am in your Majesty’s way?” 
 said the captain, with another deep bow. 
 
 “ Not at all, not at all,” said the King, rising 
 and putting his hand on the captain’s shoulder 
 familiarly. He smiled as he did it, but his smile 
 was on the lips only, and his eyes, which were 
 far distraught, took no part therein. 
 
 “ Did the chase the other day tire you? ” 
 asked he at last, evidently finding some difficulty 
 
 ♦The reader may supply an epithet. Charles IX. frequently used 
 oaths, which were forcible enough in all conscience, but far from elegant. 
 
202 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 in starting his subject. “ The stag made a long 
 fight of it.” 
 
 “ Sire, I should hardly be worthy to com- 
 mand a troop of your Majesty’s light horse if 
 a day’s hunting like that of the day before yes- 
 terday tired me. In the late war M. de Guise 
 used to call me the Albanian, because he never 
 saw me out of the saddle.” 
 
 “ Yes, I have been told that you are a good 
 horseman. But tell me, are you a good shot? ” 
 “ I can use the arquebuss pretty well, sire, 
 though I am far from being your Majesty’s 
 equal at it. Such skill is not given to every one.” 
 “ Well, you see that long piece there. Load 
 
 it with a dozen buckshot, and me if at sixty 
 
 paces one of them goes wide of the breast of 
 the scoundrel you may have taken for mark!” 
 “ Sixty paces is a fair range; but I would 
 rather not try the experiment personally with a 
 marksman like your Majesty.” 
 
 “ And it would send a ball of the right calibre 
 into a man’s body at two hundred,” said the 
 King, putting the arquebuss into the captain’s 
 hands. 
 
 “ It seems as good as it is richly mounted,” 
 said George, after carefully examining it, and 
 trying the lock. 
 
 “ I see, brave captain, that you know some- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 203 
 
 thing about guns. Take aim with it, that I may 
 see how you go to work.” 
 
 The captain obeyed, and Charles went on 
 speaking slowly. “ A pretty tool is an arque- 
 buss! At a hundred paces, and with a crook of 
 the finger, thus, one can be sure of ridding one- 
 self of an enemy ; and neither mail shirt not cors- 
 let will keep out a good bullet.” 
 
 I have already said that Charles IX., either 
 from a trick acquired in youth, or from natural 
 timidity, scarcely ever looked his interlocutor 
 in the face. Rut this time he looked straight at 
 the captain with a singular expression in his eyes. 
 George dropped his own almost without intend- 
 ing it; and the King almost immediately did 
 the same. There was silence for a moment, but 
 George was the first to break it. 
 
 “ Still, however adroit a man may be with 
 firearms, lance and sword are the surer 
 weapons.” 
 
 “Yes, but the arquebuss ” and Charles 
 
 smiled oddly. Then he began again: “ They 
 
 say, George, that the Admiral has mortally in- 
 sulted you?” 
 
 “ Sire ” 
 
 “ I know it; I am certain of it. But I should 
 like you 1 could wish you to tell me the mat- 
 
 ter yourself.” 
 
204 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Sire, it is true: I was speaking to him of 
 an unlucky affair in which I had the deepest 
 interest ” 
 
 “ Your brother’s duel? Faith, ’tis a pretty 
 fellow who knows how to spit a man neatly; I 
 honour him for it: Comminges was a coxcomb 
 and got his deserts. But, death of my life! how 
 the devil did old greybeard find occasion in this 
 to pick a quarrel with you? ” 
 
 “I fear that certain hapless differences of 
 religion, and my conversion, which I thought had 
 been forgotten ” 
 
 “ Forgotten? ” 
 
 “ Your Majesty having set the example of 
 forgetting religious differences, and your Maj- 
 esty’s rare and impartial justice being ” 
 
 “ Learn, my good fellow, that the Admiral 
 never forgets.” 
 
 “ Sire, I have had occasion to perceive that,” 
 and George’s face darkened. 
 
 “ Tell me, captain, what do you mean to 
 do?” 
 
 “ I, sire? ” 
 
 “ Yes: speak frankly.” 
 
 “ Sire, I am too poor a gentleman, and the 
 Admiral is too old a man, for me to challenge 
 him; and besides, sire,” added he with a bow, and 
 an attempt to make good what he thought might 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 205 
 
 seem to the King too bold a speech by a courtly 
 phrase, “if a duel were possible, I should fear 
 to lose your Majesty’s favour by it.” 
 
 “Bah!” said the King, and he rested his 
 right hand on George’s shoulder. 
 
 “ Luckily,” went on the capt&in, “ my honour 
 is not in the Admiral’s hands ; and if any 
 one of my own rank suggested any doubt of 
 it, then I should ask for your Majesty’s per- 
 mission ” 
 
 “ That means that you will not take revenge 
 on the Admiral himself? yet the fellow grows 
 terribly insolent.” 
 
 George opened his eyes in amazement. 
 
 “ And yet further,” continued the King, 
 “ he has insulted you, has grievously insulted you, 
 may the devil take me! if they say truth. A 
 gentleman is not a footboy, and there are things 
 which can not be borne even from a prince.” 
 
 “But how can I avenge me? He would 
 think it below his birth to fight with me.” 
 
 “ Perhaps; but ” and the King lifted the 
 
 arquebuss, and took aim with it once more. 
 
 “ Do you understand me? ” said he. 
 
 The captain fell back two steps; for the 
 monarch’s gesture was plain enough, and the 
 diabolical expression of his countenance gave it 
 only too clear a comment. 
 
206 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ What! sire, you would advise me ? ” 
 
 The King struck the butt of the gun violently 
 on the floor, and cried, looking at the captain 
 with angry eyes: 
 
 “ I advise you! By the body of God! I ad- 
 vise you nothing! ” 
 
 Not knowing what to answer, George did 
 what many people would have done in his place. 
 He bowed, and looked at the ground. 
 
 But the King soon went on in a milder 
 tone: 
 
 “ Still,, if you happened to let fly at him in 
 order to avenge your honour, I can not say that 
 I should greatly care. By the Pope’s bowels! 
 a gentleman has no more precious possession 
 than his honour, and there is nothing he may not 
 do to make it safe and sound. Besides, these 
 Chatillons are as proud and insolent as the hang- 
 man’s understrappers. The rascals would twist 
 my neck, I know, if they could, and take my 
 place. Why, sometimes when I see the Admiral 
 my fingers itch to tear his beard out.” 
 
 But to this flow of language from a man 
 ordinarily sparing of speech, the captain an- 
 swered never a word. 
 
 “Well!” continued the King, “what in 
 God’s name are you going to do? In your place 
 I would wait for him as he comes from his ac- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 207 
 
 cursed meeting-house, and send a good arquebuss 
 charge from a window into his loins. My cousin 
 of Guise would be grateful enough to you, by 
 Jove! and you would have done much for the 
 peace of the kingdom. Do you not know that 
 this heretic is more king of France than I am 
 myself? I am sick of it; I tell you frankly 
 
 what I think; we must teach the not to 
 
 touch the honour of a gentleman. A hole drilled 
 through the skin is fair pay for a wound given 
 to honour.” 
 
 “ A gentleman’s honour is not mended but 
 ended by assassination.” 
 
 The answer came on the King like a thunder- 
 bolt. Motionless, his hands stretched towards 
 the captain, he still clutched the arquebuss which 
 he had seemed to offer as an instrument of ven- 
 geance. His lips were bloodless and half -parted 
 and his haggard eyes, fixed on those of George, 
 seemed at once to exercise and undergo a horrid 
 fascination. At last the gun dropped from his 
 quivering grasp, and echoed as it fell on the 
 floor. The captain darted at once to pick it up, 
 and the King sat down in his chair, dropping his 
 head in his sombre fashion on his breast, while 
 the twitching of his eyebrows and his mouth gave 
 evidence of the struggle which was going on in 
 his heart. 
 
208 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Captain,” said he after a long silence, 
 “ where is your troop of light horse? ” 
 
 “ At Meaux, sire.” 
 
 “ In a day or two you will join it and bring 
 
 it yourself to Paris. In yes, in a day or two 
 
 you will have your orders; farewell!” and his 
 voice still rang harsh and angrily. The captain 
 bowed deeply, and Charles, pointing to the closet 
 door, informed him that his audience was fin- 
 ished. 
 
 He was departing backwards with the usual 
 ceremonial bows, when the King, rising sharply, 
 seized his arm — 
 
 “ Keep your mouth shut at least! You un- 
 derstand? ” 
 
 George bowed once more, and laid his hand 
 on his heart. As he left the room he heard the 
 King harshly calling his greyhound, and crack- 
 ing his dog-whip, as if inclined to vent his wrath 
 on the innocent animal. 
 
 As soon as he was at home the captain wrote 
 the following missive, which he conveyed to the 
 Admiral: “ One who loves you not, but loves 
 
 honour, bids you beware of the Duke of Guise, 
 and, it may be, of some one mightier still. Your 
 life is in danger.” 
 
 But the letter produced no effect on Coligny’s 
 dauntless soul. All know that shortly after- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 209 
 
 wards, on the 22nd of August, 1572, he was 
 wounded with an arquebuss-shot by a wretch 
 named Maurevel, who received from the deed 
 the nickname of “ The King’s Butcher.” 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE CATECHUMEN 
 
 “ ’Tis pleasing to be schooled in a strange tongue 
 By female lips and eyes.” 
 
 Lord Byron, Don Juan , canto ii. 
 
 W HEN two lovers are very cautious, 
 sometimes a whole week or more 
 passes before the public is admitted 
 to their secret. At the end of that time pru- 
 dence gives herself a holiday; precaution begins 
 to appear ridiculous. Somebody intercepts a 
 glance with little difficulty, construes it with still 
 less, and then all is known. 
 
 Thus no long time passed before the con- 
 nection of the Countess de Turgis and the 
 younger Mergy ceased to be a secret for Cathe- 
 rine’s Court. A crowd of convincing proofs 
 would have been enough to open even blind 
 eyes. For instance, Madame de Turgis usually 
 wore lilac ribbons; and rosettes of lilac ribbons 
 adorned Bernard’s sword-hilt, the skirts of his 
 doublet, and his shoes. The countess had made 
 no secret of her dislike for a beard, and her 
 
 210 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 211 
 
 liking for a smartly turned-up moustache; now 
 for some short time Mergy’s chin had been al- 
 ways carefully shaved, while his moustache — 
 ferociously curled, stiffly pomaded, and combed 
 with a leaden comb — described a crescent, the 
 points of which soared considerably above his 
 nose. And people even had the impudence to 
 say that a certain gentleman, who had occasion 
 to go forth very early, and was passing through 
 the Rue des Assis, had seen the countess’s garden 
 gate open, and a man come forth, whom, not- 
 withstanding the fact that his face was com- 
 pletely enveloped in his cloak, he had had no 
 difficulty in recognising as the Seigneur de 
 Mergy. 
 
 But the most convincing proof of all, and 
 the most surprising to the world, was the sight 
 of the young Huguenot — the pitiless derider of 
 all the ceremonies of the Catholic faith — assidu- 
 ously frequenting the churches, never missing 
 a procession, and even dipping his fingers in 
 holy water, which a day or two earlier he would 
 have regarded as hideous sacrilege. Men whis- 
 pered that Diane had gained a soul for heaven; 
 and young gentlemen of the Protestant faith 
 made it known that they were not indisposed to 
 consider the question of conversion seriously, if, 
 instead of Capuchins and Franciscans, mission- 
 
212 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 aries to them were selected from youthful and 
 pious beauties like Madame de Turgis. 
 
 Yet Bernard was a long way from being 
 converted. Certainly he went to church with 
 the countess; but then he kept at her side, and 
 never ceased whispering in her ear during the 
 whole mass, to the great scandal of the faithful. 
 By this means he not only escaped listening to 
 the service himself, but also prevented devout 
 persons from attending to it as they ought to 
 have done. As for processions, it is well known 
 that in those days they were mere pleasure par- 
 ties, as full of amusement as a masquerade. And 
 lastly, Mergy had given up his scruple about 
 dipping his fingers in holy water, simply because 
 it gave him the occasion of publicly squeezing 
 a pretty hand which never touched his without a 
 quiver. However, if he kept his faith, he had 
 to fight stoutly for it; and Diane had all the 
 greater advantage in her controversies with him, 
 that she generally chose, for the purpose of the- 
 ological discussion, the particular moments when 
 it was hardest for Mergy to refuse her any- 
 thing. 
 
 “ Dear Bernard,” said she one evening, rest- 
 ing her head on her lover’s shoulder, while she 
 twined her long black tresses round his neck — 
 “ dear Bernard, you were at church to-day with 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 213 
 
 me. Did that beautiful sermon produce no ef- 
 fect on your heart? Will you always be stub- 
 born? ” 
 
 “ Ah, dearest ! how can you believe that a 
 whining Capuchin can do what you have not 
 done with your sweet voice, and with religious 
 arguments so well reinforced by my Diane’s lov- 
 ing looks? ” 
 
 “Sinner! I should like to strangle you!” 
 And pulling one of her locks a little tighter, 
 she drew him still closer to herself. 
 
 “ Do you know how I spent sermon-time? ” 
 asked he. “ In counting the pearls in your hair. 
 Only see how you have spilt them about the 
 room! ” 
 
 “I knew it! You did not listen to the ser- 
 mon! It is always the same story. Ah!” said 
 she a little sadly, “ well do I see that you love 
 me not as I love you. If you did, you would 
 have been converted long ago.” 
 
 “But Diane! why this eternal argument? 
 Let us leave it to the Sorbonne doctors and to 
 our preachers; and let us pass our own time 
 better!” 
 
 “ Let me go! If only I could save you, how 
 happy I should be! Why, my Bernardo, to do 
 that, I would double the number of years that 
 I shall have to spend in purgatory! ” 
 
214 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 He smiled, and pressed her in his arms; but 
 she repulsed him with an air of ineff able sadness. 
 
 “ You would not do that for me, Bernard. 
 You care nothing for the risk my soul runs when 
 I give myself thus to you! ” And the tears suf- 
 fused her beautiful eyes. 
 
 “ Dearest love, do you not know that for 
 love’s sake many sins are forgiven? ” 
 
 “ Yes, I know that. But if I could save you, 
 all my sins would be forgiven me: all those we 
 have done — all those we may do hereafter — all 
 would be pardoned. Nay, our very sins them- 
 selves would have been but the instruments of 
 our salvation ! ” 
 
 And as she spoke she tightened her arms 
 round him with all her strength: yet the pas- 
 sionate exaltation with which she spoke had, in 
 the particular situation, something so comical 
 about it, that Mergy felt some difficulty in pre- 
 venting a burst of laughter at this singular 
 fashion of exhorting. 
 
 “ Let us put our conversion off a little 
 longer, my Diane,” said he. “ When we are 
 both old; when we are too old to love, then ” 
 
 “Ah, wicked love! you drive me to despair! 
 Why this diabolical smile on your lips? Do you 
 think I long to kiss them when they look like 
 that? ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 215 
 
 “ But you see I am not smiling now.” 
 
 “ Come, be quiet ; and tell me, querido Ber- 
 nardo, did you read the book I gave you? ” 
 
 “ Yes. I finished it yesterday.” 
 
 “ Well, what do you think of it? There is 
 reasoning for you ! — reasoning to shut the mouth 
 of the infidel! ” 
 
 “ Your book, my beloved Diane, is only a 
 farrago of nonsense and irrelevance. It is the 
 foolishest that has yet come from your Popish 
 press; and I will bet that, boldly as you speak 
 of it, you have never read it.” 
 
 “No,” she answered, blushing a little; “I 
 have not read it yet. But I am sure it is full of 
 truth and reason. I do not want any other proof 
 than the persistence of the Huguenots in cry- 
 ing it down.” 
 
 “ Then shall I, to amuse you, go through it 
 Bible in hand? ” 
 
 “ Oh! never, Bernard! Mercy on me, I am 
 not a Bible-reader, like you heretics. I will not 
 have you weaken my faith. And, besides, you 
 would only lose your labour. You Huguenots 
 are always so desperately ready with your learn- 
 ing; you throw it in our teeth when you argue; 
 and we poor Catholics, who have not read 
 Aristotle and the Scriptures like you, do not 
 know what to answer.” 
 
216 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ That is because you choose to believe at 
 any cost, without giving yourselves the trouble 
 to find out whether belief is reasonable or not. 
 Now we at least study our religion before de- 
 fending it, and, above all, before trying to make 
 converts of others.” 
 
 “ I would I had the eloquence of Father 
 Giron, the Franciscan.” 
 
 “ He is a fool and a babbler. But he might 
 shout as loud as he liked six years ago in a pub- 
 lic discussion; our minister Houdart put him 
 down.” 
 
 “ A story — a heretic story! ” 
 
 “ What? Do you not know that in the course 
 of the debate great drops of perspiration were 
 seen to fall from the good father’s brow on the 
 Chrysostom he held in his hand? Whereon a 
 
 wit made these verses ” 
 
 “ I will not hear them! Do not poison my 
 ears with your heresy. Bernard! my beloved 
 Bernard! I adjure you listen not to all these 
 ministers of Satan, who deceive you and lead 
 you hellwards. I implore you, save your soul 
 and come back to the Church! ” And as, despite 
 her entreaties, she still read on her lover’s lips 
 the smile of unbelief — “ If you love me,” she 
 cried, “ renounce for me, for my sake, your 
 damnable beliefs.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 217 
 
 “ I could more easily, dearest, renounce my 
 life for you than what reason shows me to be 
 true. How can you wish even love to prevent 
 my believing that two and two make four? ” 
 
 “ Cruel!” she cried. But Bernard had an 
 infallible secret for putting a stop to discussions 
 of this kind, and he employed it. 
 
 “ Alas ! dear Bernardo,” said the countess in 
 a languishing voice, when dawning day made 
 it necessary for Mergy to leave her, “ I peril my 
 soul for you, and yet, I see too well, I shall not 
 have the consolation of saving yours.” 
 
 “ Come, come, my angel, Father Giron will 
 give us both a right absolution in articulo 
 mortis ” 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE FRANCISCAN 
 
 “A monk in the cloister 
 Is not worth an oyster, 
 
 But once set him free 
 He is worth thirty-three.” * 
 
 T HE day after the marriage of Mar- 
 guerite with the King of Navarre, 
 Captain George, by the orders of the 
 Court, left Paris in order to take the command 
 of his troop of light horse, then garrisoning 
 Meaux. His brother bade him farewell cheer- 
 fully enough; and, hoping to see him again be- 
 fore the end of the merrymaking, made up his 
 mind to keep house by himself for some days. 
 He was sufficiently busy with Madame de Turgis 
 not to be desperately afraid of a little solitude, 
 for he was never at home by night, and took his 
 sleep by day. 
 
 * In original — 
 
 “Monachus in claustro 
 Non valet ova duo; 
 
 Sed quando est extra 
 
 Bene valet triginta.” — Translator's Note. 
 
 218 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 219 
 
 On Friday, the 22nd of August, 1572, the 
 Admiral was severely wounded by an arquebuss- 
 shot from a scoundrel of the name of Maurevel. 
 And as public rumour set this cowardly attempt 
 at assassination to the credit of the Duke de 
 Guise, that lord quitted Paris the next day, as if 
 to be out of reach of the complaints and the 
 threats of the reformers. The King seemed at 
 first anxious to prosecute him with the utmost 
 severity; but he made no opposition to his re- 
 turn, which was to be marked by the terrible 
 massacre of the 24th. 
 
 It happened that a goodly company of well- 
 mounted young Protestant gentlemen, after 
 paying a visit of inquiry to the Admiral, spread 
 themselves about the streets with the intention 
 of searching out Guise or his friends and picking 
 a quarrel if they met them. Yet at first things 
 went quietly enough. The populace, alarmed at 
 their numbers, or perhaps biding another time, 
 were silent as they passed, and heard unmoved 
 their cries of “ Death to the Admiral’s assassins! ” 
 and “Down with the Guisards!” 
 
 At the corner of a street some dozen Catholic 
 youth of quality, among them more than one 
 follower of the House of Guise, suddenly faced 
 the Protestant party. A serious squabble seemed 
 likely; but nothing of the sort happened. The 
 
220 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Catholics, perhaps from prudence, perhaps act- 
 ing under orders, made no answer to the insulting 
 cries of the Huguenots; and a young man of 
 good appearance, who was at their head, ad- 
 vanced towards Mergy, bowed to him politely, 
 and said in a familiar and friendly tone, “ Good 
 day, M. de Mergy. You have seen M. de Cha- 
 tillon, of course? How is he? Have they caught 
 the assassin? ” 
 
 The two parties halted, and Mergy, recog- 
 nising the Baron de Yaudreuil, returned his 
 salutation and answered his questions. Other re- 
 marks were exchanged between individuals on 
 both sides; and as they were brief, the parting 
 took place without a quarrel. The Catholics 
 yielded the crown of the causeway, and each went 
 his way. 
 
 Vaudreuil had held Mergy back for some 
 time, so that he was separated from his com- 
 panions. As they parted, Vaudreuil looked at 
 Mergy’s saddle, and said, “ Take care! Unless 
 I mistake, your nag is ill-girthed. Look to it.” 
 Mergy dismounted and adjusted the girths; but 
 he was scarcely in the saddle again when he 
 heard a sharp trot behind him. He turned his 
 head, and saw a young man whose face he did 
 not know, but who had been one of the party 
 they had just met. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 221 
 
 “ me ! ” cried the newcomer, addressing 
 
 him, “ I would I could meet, man to man, one 
 of the fellows who just now cried ‘ Down with 
 the Guisards.’ ” 
 
 “ You need not go far to find one, sir,” an- 
 swered Mergy. “ What can I do to oblige 
 you? ” 
 
 “Ah! Are you one of the rascals?” 
 
 Mergy drew at once, and struck the Guises’ 
 friend over the face with the flat of his sword. 
 He seized a holster pistol and fired it point- 
 blank at Mergy. Luckily it flashed in the pan, 
 and Diane’s lover, replying with a stout sword- 
 blow on his foe’s head, stretched him, bathed in 
 his blood, at his horse’s feet. Instantly the popu- 
 lace, who had hitherto been neutral, took the side 
 of the wounded man. The young Huguenot was 
 assailed with sticks and stones; and as resistance 
 against such numbers was hopeless, he set spurs 
 to his steed and galloped off. But just as he 
 tried to cut a corner too sharply his horse fell, 
 and threw him without hurting him, but also 
 without giving him a chance of mounting again 
 quickly enough to save himself from being sur- 
 rounded by the enraged mob. So he set his back 
 to the wall, and for some time kept off those 
 who came within sword reach. But a mighty 
 bludgeon blow having shivered his blade, he was 
 
222 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 thrown to the ground, and would have been torn 
 in pieces if a cordelier, throwing himself in front 
 of those who were pressing on, had not covered 
 him with his own body. 
 
 “ What are you doing, children? ” cried he. 
 “ Let the man go ! He is not to blame. ,, 
 
 “ ? Tis a Huguenot! ” yelled a hundred furious 
 voices. 
 
 “Well! give him time to repent. He can 
 still do so.” 
 
 The hands which clutched Mergy let him go : 
 he rose, and picking up his broken sword, pre- 
 pared to sell his life dear if he should have 
 to sustain a new attack. 
 
 “Let the man live!” repeated the monk, 
 “ and be patient. The Huguenots will all come 
 to mass before long.” 
 
 “ Patience? patience? ” echoed some voices 
 angrily. “We have heard that for a long time 
 now, and yet every Sunday in their conventicles 
 their psalm-singing offends good Christians! ” 
 
 “ Well,” said the monk cheerfully, “ do ye 
 not know the proverb, ‘ The owl sings long, but 
 he grows hoarse at last ’ ? Let them bray a little 
 more; ye shall soon, by the grace of our Lady 
 of August, hear them sing mass in Latin. But 
 as for this young misbeliever, give him to me. 
 I’ll make a good Christian of him. Away with 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 223 
 
 you, and don’t burn the roast in your haste to 
 eat.” 
 
 The crowd dispersed grumbling, but off ering 
 Mergy not the least insult. They even caught 
 his horse for him. 
 
 “ This is the first time in my life, father,” 
 said he, “ that it has given me pleasure to see 
 that cloth of yours. Believe me that I am grate- 
 ful, and deign to take this purse.” 
 
 “ If you mean it for the poor, my boy, I 
 will take it. But know that I take an interest in 
 you. Your brother is my friend, and I wish 
 you well. Become a convert at once: come with 
 me, and your business shall soon he done.” 
 
 “ I thank you for the offer, father, but I 
 have not the least wish to be converted. How 
 do you know me? What is your name?” 
 
 “ They call me Brother Lubin, and I think, 
 young rogue, I have seen you pretty often hang- 
 ing about a certain house. But mum for that. 
 Tell me, M. de Mergy, do you believe now that 
 a monk can do a good deed? ” 
 
 “ I will publish your generous conduct every- 
 where, Brother Lubin.” 
 
 “Yet you will not quit meeting for mass? ” 
 “ Once more, no; and I will never go to 
 church except to hear your sermons.” 
 
 “ You are evidently a man of taste.” 
 
224 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 “ Yes; and an admirer of yours to boot.” 
 
 “ Then I am sincerely sorry that you persist 
 in your heresy. I have warned you ; I have done 
 what I could; what will come must come of it. 
 I wash my hands. Farewell, my child!” 
 
 “Farewell, father!” and Mergy, mounting 
 his horse, made his way back to his lodgings a 
 little bruised, but uncommonly well satisfied with 
 having got so cheaply out of so awkward an 
 affair. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE LIGHT HORSEMEN 
 
 “ Jaffier . He amongst us 
 
 That spares his father, brother, or his friend, 
 
 Is damned.” 
 
 Otway, Venice Preserved. 
 
 O N the evening of the 24th of August a 
 squadron of light horse entered Paris 
 by the gate of Saint Antoine, the dusty 
 boots and uniforms of the troopers showing that 
 they had had a long ride. Their bronzed coun- 
 tenances were lighted up by the last glow of day- 
 light; and upon these countenances might be 
 read the vague anxiety which is felt at the ap- 
 proach of a thing, as yet not fully known, but 
 suspected to be of evil nature. 
 
 The troop rode slowly towards a wide ex- 
 panse of ground, free from houses, which 
 stretched alongside of the old palace of the Tour- 
 nelles. There their captain bade them halt, sent 
 out a dozen men under his cornet to reconnoitre, 
 and himself posted sentinels at the mouth of each 
 adjoining street, with matches burning, as if in 
 
 225 
 
226 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 presence of the enemy. This unusual precaution 
 taken, he returned to the front of his lines. 
 
 “ Sergeant! ” cried he, in a harsher and more 
 imperious tone than was his wont; and an old 
 trooper, his hat adorned with a gold stripe, and 
 wearing an embroidered scarf, respectfully ap- 
 proached his chief. 
 
 “ Have all the troopers matches? ” 
 
 “ Yes, captain.” 
 
 “Are the powder-horns full? Is there store 
 of bullets? ” 
 
 “ Yes, captain.” 
 
 “ It is well.” And he walked his mare along 
 the front of his little force, the sergeant 
 following him a horse’s length in the rear. 
 He had perceived his captain’s ill-temper, and 
 was shy of addressing him; but at last he took 
 courage. 
 
 “ Captain,” said he, “ may I give the men 
 leave to feed their horses? you know that they 
 have not eaten since the morning.” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “ Not even a handful of oats? It would not 
 take long.” 
 
 “Not a horse is to be disbridled.” 
 
 “ Because if they are to have work to-night — 
 as men say — perhaps then : ” 
 
 The officer made a gesture of impatience. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 227 
 
 “ To your post!” said he drily, and as he con- 
 tinued his promenade the sergeant returned to 
 the midst of the soldiers. 
 
 “ Well, sergeant, is it true? What is going 
 to he done? What is up? What does the cap- 
 tain say? ” 
 
 A score of questions at once were addressed 
 to him by old soldiers, whom long service and 
 old habit privileged to use this liberty with their 
 superior officer. 
 
 “ We shall see fine doings,” said the sergeant 
 in the important tone of a man who knows more 
 than he says. 
 
 “ How? how? ” 
 
 “We are not to take the bridles off ; not for 
 a minute. For who knows? we may be needed 
 any moment.” 
 
 “Aha! there is going to be a fight then?” 
 said the trumpeter. “ With whom, an’t please 
 you? ” 
 
 “ With whom? ” said the sergeant, repeating 
 the question to give himself time to meditate 
 an answer. “ A pretty question, faith! With 
 whom would you fight except the King’s 
 enemies?” 
 
 “Yes; but who are these enemies of the 
 King?” continued the obstinate questioner. 
 
 “ The King’s enemies ! he does not know who 
 
228 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 the King’s enemies are,” cried the sergeant, 
 shrugging his shoulders compassionately. 
 
 “ The Spaniards are the King’s enemies,” said 
 a trooper; “but they can hardly have come up 
 like this, in a cloud of darkness, without any one 
 knowing it.” 
 
 “Hah!” retorted another, “I know plenty 
 of enemies of the King who are not Spaniards.” 
 
 “ Bertrand is right,” said the sergeant, “ and 
 I know whom he means.” 
 
 “ Who are they? ” 
 
 “ The Huguenots,” said Bertrand. “ One 
 need not be a wizard to see that. Everybody 
 knows that the Huguenots got their religion 
 from Germany; and I am sure the Germans are 
 our enemies, for I have often exchanged pistol- 
 shots with them — notably at St. Quentin, where 
 they fought like devils.” 
 
 “ That is all very fine,” said the trumpeter, 
 “ but peace has been made with them, and there 
 was fuss enough about it to make one remember 
 it.” 
 
 “ A proof that they are not our enemies,” 
 said a young trooper, more richly dressed than 
 the rest, “ is that the Count de la Rochefoucauld 
 is to head the light horse in the war which we 
 are going to wage in Flanders. Now everybody 
 knows that La Rochefoucauld is of the religion. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 229 
 
 Deuce take me if he is not of it from head to 
 foot, for he wears spurs a la Conde and a hat 
 d la Huguenote .” 
 
 “A plague on him!” cried the sergeant. 
 “ You do not know, Merlin; you had not joined 
 then. But it was La Rochefoucauld who com- 
 manded the ambush which nearly finished us off 
 at La Robraye in Poitou. He is a wily rascal 
 that!” 
 
 “ And he says,” added Bertrand, “ that a 
 squadron of Reiters is more than a match for 
 a squadron of light horse. I am as sure of it 
 as that yon horse is a roan. I heard it from 
 one of the Queen’s pages.” 
 
 His audience showed signs of wrath; but this 
 gave way soon to their curiosity to know against 
 whom the warlike preparations and the unusual 
 measures of precaution which they saw were 
 being taken. 
 
 “ Is it true, sergeant,” asked the trumpeter, 
 “ that there was an attempt to kill the King yes- 
 terday? ” 
 
 “ I will bet that ’twas these brutes of 
 heretics.” 
 
 “ The host at the Cross of St. Andrew, where 
 we breakfasted,” said Bertrand, “ told us how 
 they tried to put an end to the mass.” 
 
 “ In that case we could eat meat every day,” 
 
230 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 said Merlin with much philosophy. “ Bacon for 
 bean soup; there is not much to complain of 
 in that.” 
 
 “ Yes; but if the Huguenots rule the roast, 
 the first thing they will do will be to send all 
 our light horse troops packing, and put dogs 
 of German Reiters in our place.” 
 
 “If that be so, I will not be shy of skin- 
 cutting as far as they are concerned. Death of 
 my life ! it makes me a good Catholic again ! But 
 tell us, Bertrand, since you have served with 
 the Protestants, is it true that the Admiral gave 
 his troopers only eight sous a day? ” 
 
 “Not a denier more, the stingy old Jew! so 
 I left him after one campaign.” 
 
 “ How cross the captain is to-day,” said the 
 trumpeter. “ He, so good a fellow generally, 
 and so ready to talk with the men, has not opened 
 his lips the whole journey.” 
 
 “ The news vexes him,” said the sergeant. 
 
 “ What news? ” 
 
 “ Why, what the Huguenots mean to do.” 
 
 “ The civil war is going to begin again,” said 
 Bertrand. 
 
 “ So much the better for us,” said Merlin, 
 who always took things on their cheerful side. 
 “ There will be knocks to give, villages to burn, 
 and Huguenot girls to tousle.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 231 
 
 “It seems as though they were trying to play 
 their old Amboise trick again,” said the sergeant; 
 “ and that is why we have been sent for. We 
 will set that matter right enough.” 
 
 At this moment the cornet returned with his 
 detachment, and, coming close to the captain, 
 whispered to him, while his men joined their 
 companions. 
 
 “By my beard!” said one of the recon- 
 noitring party, “ I do not know what is going on 
 to-day in Paris. We have not seen so much as a 
 cat in the streets; while, to make amends, the Bas- 
 tille is full of troops. I saw the Swiss pikes in 
 the courtyard as thick as standing corn!” 
 
 “ There were some five hundred of them,” 
 said another. 
 
 “ What is certain,” said the first speaker, “ is 
 that the Huguenots tried to kill the King, and 
 that in the tussle the Admiral was wounded by 
 the great Duke of Guise’s own hand.” 
 
 “Ah, the scoundrel! Well done, Guise!” 
 cried the sergeant. 
 
 “ And the fact is,” added the trooper, “ the 
 Swiss were saying, in their devil’s jargon, that 
 the heretics have been put up with too long in 
 France.” 
 
 “ For some time past they have certainly been 
 giving themselves airs,” said Merlin. 
 
232 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ A man would say they had beaten us at 
 Jarnac and Montcontour, to judge by their 
 swashing and swaggering.” 
 
 “ They want,” said the trumpeter, “ to eat 
 the meat and leave us the bone.” 
 
 “ It is time,” quoth another, “ that good Cath- 
 olics should curry their hides for them.” 
 
 “ For my part,” said the sergeant, “ if the 
 King said to me, ‘Kill me these rascals!’ may 
 I be reduced to the ranks if I would wait for 
 him to say it twice ! ” 
 
 “ But, Belle-Rose, tell us what the cornet has 
 done? ” asked Merlin. 
 
 “ He spoke with some kind of Swiss officer ; 
 but I could not hear what he said. It must have 
 been something interesting, for he kept crying 
 out, ‘ Ah, mon Dieu! ah! mon Dieu\ 9 ” 
 
 “ Look ! here are riders coming up at full 
 gallop. They must be bringing us orders.” 
 
 “ There are but two, meseems ; and the cap- 
 tain and the cornet are going to meet them.” 
 Two horsemen were in fact riding rapidly 
 towards the squadron of light cavalry. One, 
 richly dressed and wearing a feathered hat and 
 a green scarf, bestrode a charger. His com- 
 panion was fat, and short, and squat; he was 
 dressed in a black gown, and carried a large 
 wooden crucifix. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 233 
 
 “ We are going to fight, for certain,” said 
 the sergeant. “ They have sent us a chaplain to 
 confess the wounded.” 
 
 “ It is not very pleasant to fight on an empty 
 stomach! ” muttered Merlin. 
 
 The two horsemen slackened the pace of 
 their steeds, so that on reaching the captain they 
 might halt them without difficulty. 
 
 “ I kiss M. de Mergy’s hands,” said the man 
 in the green scarf. “ Does he recognise his ser- 
 vant, Thomas de Maurevel?” 
 
 The captain was ignorant of Maurevel’s 
 latest crime, and knew him only as the assassin 
 of the brave Mouy. He replied very drily: 
 
 “ I do not know M. de Maurevel; but I sup- 
 pose that you have come to inform us at last why 
 we are here? ” 
 
 “ The business, sir, is to save our good King 
 and our holy religion from the danger which 
 threatens them.” 
 
 “ What is that danger?” asked George scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 “ The Huguenots have conspired against his 
 Majesty; but their guilty plots have been dis- 
 covered in time, thank God, and all good Chris- 
 tians meet to-night to cut them off in their 
 sleep.” 
 
 “ As the Midianites were cut off by Gideon 
 the mighty,” said the man in the black gown. 
 
234 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ What do I hear? ” cried Mergy, shudder- 
 ing with horror. 
 
 “ The citizens are in arms,” went on Mau- 
 revel; “ the Gardes Fran 9 aises and three thousand 
 Swiss are in the town. We are nearly sixty 
 thousand strong. At midnight the signal will 
 be given, and the ball will open.” 
 
 “ Cutthroat villian! What base imposture 
 are you talking? The King does not order mur- 
 ders — the most he does is to reward them.” 
 
 But as he spoke George remembered the 
 strange conversation he had a day or two before 
 with the King. 
 
 “No violence, Sir Captain. If the King’s 
 service did not demand all my care I should have 
 an answer for your insults. Listen to me. I 
 come, sent by his Majesty, to desire that you will 
 accompany me with your squadron. The Rue 
 Saint Antoine and the adjoining district are as- 
 signed to us, and I bring you an exact list of 
 the persons whom we must despatch. The rev- 
 erend Father Malebouche will deliver an ex- 
 hortation to your people, and will distribute 
 among them white crosses, such as all Catholics 
 will wear, lest in the darkness the faithful should 
 be taken for heretics.” 
 
 “ And I am expected to lend my hand to 
 cut the throats of sleeping men? ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 235 
 
 “ Are you a Catholic, and do you acknowledge 
 Charles IX as your King? Do you know the 
 writing of the Marshal de Retz, to whom you 
 owe obedience? ” And Maurevel handed him 
 a paper which he had in his belt. 
 
 Mergy called a trooper, and by the light of 
 a straw torch kindled from an arquebuss-match 
 he read a regular order enjoining upon Captain 
 de Mergy in the King’s name to support the 
 civil guard with armed forces, and to put him- 
 self under the orders of M. de Maurevel for a 
 purpose which the said Maurevel would explain 
 to him. A schedule to this order contained a 
 string of names, with the heading “ List of the 
 heretics to be put to death in the Quarter of 
 Saint Antoine.” By the light of the torch burn- 
 ing in the trooper’s hands all the cavalry could 
 see the deep emotion which this order, unknown 
 to them as yet, produced on their leader. 
 
 “ My troopers will never do the work of as- 
 sassins! ” said George, throwing the paper back 
 in Maurevel’s face. 
 
 “ There is no question of assassination,” said 
 the priest coolly. “ The matter concerns here- 
 tics; and what is to be done is to execute justice 
 on them.” 
 
 “ Good people ! ” cried Maurevel, raising his 
 voice and addressing himself to the horsemen, 
 
236 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “the Huguenots design the death of the King 
 and the Catholics. We must anticipate them. 
 To-night we shall kill them all in their sleep ; and 
 the King grants you the pillage of their houses.” 
 
 A shout of savage joy ran along the lines: 
 “ Long live the King! ” “ Death to the Hugue- 
 nots! ” 
 
 “ Silence in the ranks!” thundered the cap- 
 tain. “No one but I has the right to give 
 orders to these troopers. Comrades, this wretch’s 
 words can not be true, and had the King himself 
 ordered it, my troopers would never slay de- 
 fenceless men.” 
 
 The soldiers were silent, but Maurevel and 
 his companion shouted together, “ Long live the 
 King! ” “ Death to the Huguenots! ” And the 
 troopers an instant later echoed “ Long live the 
 King! ” “ Death to the Huguenots! ” 
 
 “ Well, captain, will you obey? ” said Mau- 
 revel. 
 
 “ I am no longer captain ! ” cried George, 
 tearing off his collar and scarf, the insignia of 
 his rank. 
 
 “ Seize the traitor! ” shouted Maurevel, draw- 
 ing his sword. “ Kill the rebel who disobeys his 
 King!” 
 
 But not a soldier dared to lift hand against 
 his chief. George struck Maurevel’s sword out 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 237 
 
 of his hand, but instead of stabbing him with his 
 own he merely smote him on the face with the hilt 
 so forcibly that he unhorsed him. Then he cried 
 out to the squadron, “Farewell, cowards! I 
 thought my men were soldiers, but they are only 
 assassins. For you, Alphonse,” turning to the 
 cornet, “ if you care to be captain, here is your 
 chance. Put yourself at the head of these 
 brigands.” 
 
 And with these words he set spurs to his 
 horse and galloped away towards the centre of 
 the city. The cornet followed him for a stride 
 or two; but soon he slackened his horse’s pace, 
 then fell into a walk, and at last halted, wheeled 
 round, and rejoined the troop, no doubt reflect- 
 ing that his captain’s advice, though given in 
 a moment of wrath, was none the less good to 
 follow. Maurevel, still dizzy from the blow he 
 had received, remounted cursing ; while the monk, 
 lifting his crucifix, exhorted the soldiers not to 
 give quarter to a single Huguenot, but to drown 
 heresy in its own blood. They had been stag- 
 gered for a moment by their captain’s re- 
 proaches ; but, relieved of his presence, and seeing 
 before them an alluring prospect of plunder, 
 they brandished their sabres over their heads, and 
 swore to do whatsoever Maurevel bade them. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A LAST ATTEMPT 
 
 “ Soothsayer . Beware the ides of March.’* 
 
 Shakespeare, Julius C oesar. 
 
 T HAT same evening, at the usual hour, 
 Mergy left his house, and, well 
 wrapped up in a stone-coloured cloak, 
 his hat pulled over his eyes, he bent his steps with 
 all due discreetness towards the countess’s abode. 
 He had scarcely made half-a-dozen steps when he 
 met the surgeon Ambrose Pare, whom he knew 
 from having been a patient of his while he was 
 wounded. Pare was evidently coming from the 
 Hotel de Chatillon, and Mergy, after making 
 himself known, asked him news of the Admiral. 
 
 “ He is better,” said the leech. “ The wound 
 is kindly, and the patient’s general health is ex- 
 cellent. With God’s grace he will get well. I 
 hope that the draught I have prescribed for him 
 this evening will do him good and give him a 
 quiet night.” 
 
 A man of the lower class who happened to 
 be passing heard them mention the Admiral’s 
 
 name. As soon as he was far enough off to risk 
 
 238 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 239 
 
 an insolence without fear of punishment, he 
 shouted, “ Your devil of an Admiral will dance 
 a jig at Montfaucon before long! ” and ran off 
 at full speed. 
 
 “ The rascal! ” said Mergy. “ ’Tis pity that 
 our great Admiral should be obliged to dwell 
 in a town so full of his enemies.” 
 
 “ Luckily his hotel is well garrisoned,” said 
 the surgeon. “ I left the stairs crowded with sol- 
 diers, who were lighting their matches. Ah, 
 Monsieur de Mergy, these townsfolk love us not. 
 But it is late, and I must return to the Louvre.” 
 
 They parted, wishing each other good even- 
 ing, and Mergy went on his way, absorbed in 
 rose-coloured reflections which soon made him 
 forget all about the Admiral and the hatred of 
 the Papists. Yet he could not help noticing a 
 singular bustle in the streets of Paris, which were 
 seldom much frequented so soon after nightfall. 
 Now he met porters carrying burdens of unusual 
 shape, which, dark as it was, he could not but 
 take for bundles of pikes; now it was a de- 
 tachment of soldiers marching in silence, with 
 ported arms and lighted matches ; elsewhere win- 
 dows were opening, figures showing themselves 
 for a moment, and retiring at once. 
 
 “Ho! good fellow,” cried he to a porter, 
 “ where are you carrying weapons so late? ” 
 
240 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ To the Louvre, fair sir! for to-night’s en- 
 tertainment,” said the man. 
 
 “ Comrade,” next said Mergy to a sergeant 
 in command of a patrol, “ where are you going 
 armed in that fashion? ” 
 
 “ To the Louvre, fair sir! for to-night’s en- 
 tertainment.” 
 
 “What! sir page? you are the King’s man, 
 are you not? Where are you and your fellows 
 taking these chargers harnessed for battle? ” 
 
 “ To the Louvre, fair sir! for to-night’s en- 
 tertainment.” 
 
 “ To-night’s entertainment! ” said Mergy to 
 himself. “ It seems as if everybody except my- 
 self were in the secret. However, it matters 
 little. The King can amuse himself without me, 
 and I have little curiosity to see his entertain- 
 ment.” 
 
 Somewhat farther on, he noticed a man in 
 shabby clothes, who kept stopping before certain 
 houses and marking the doors with a cross in 
 white chalk. 
 
 “What! my good man,” said he, “are you 
 a billet-master that you are marking doors like 
 that? ” But the stranger disappeared without 
 making any answer. 
 
 As he turned from one street into another, 
 that where the countess lived, he nearly ran into 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 241 
 
 a man, wrapped like himself in a large cloak, 
 who was turning the same corner in the opposite 
 direction. Dark as it was, and anxious as hot! 
 appeared to be to preserve their incognito, thej 
 recognised each other at once. 
 
 “ Good evening, M. de Beville,” said Mergy, 
 holding out his hand. 
 
 In order to give him his own, Beville seemed 
 to fumble under his cloak; he shifted something 
 heavy which he was carrying from his right hand 
 to his left, and as he did it the cloak flew a little 
 open. 
 
 “ Hail ! valiant champion, delight of ladies ! ” 
 said Beville. “ I bet that my noble friend is in 
 luck to-night! ” 
 
 “And you, my good sir? There must be 
 some jealous husbands in your neighbourhood; 
 for unless I am very much mistaken, you have a 
 mail shirt on your shoulders, and what you have 
 under your cloak looks remarkably like a pair 
 of pistols.” 
 
 “ One must be prudent, Monsieur Bernard,” 
 said Beville; “ one must be very prudent.” And 
 as he spoke he rearranged his cloak carefully, 
 so as to conceal the weapons he was carrying. 
 
 “ I am very sorry indeed not to be able to 
 offer you my help and sword to-night to keep 
 the street and stand sentinel at your lady’s door,” 
 
242 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 said Mergy. “ It is impossible now, but on every 
 possible opportunity you may reckon on me.” 
 “No; you can not come with me to-night, M. 
 de Mergy,” said Beville, and as he said this he 
 smiled oddly. 
 
 “ Well then; good luck and good-bye.” 
 
 “ I wish you good luck, too,” said Beville, and 
 again there was a certain emphasis in his way 
 of speaking. 
 
 They parted, and Mergy had gone some steps 
 further when he heard Beville call him. He 
 turned back and saw him also returning. 
 
 “ Is your brother in Paris? ” said Beville. 
 “No; but I expect him every day. Ah, but 
 tell me, do you make one in 4 to-night’s entertain- 
 ment ’? ” 
 
 “ To-night’s entertainment? ” 
 
 “Yes; every one says there is going to 
 be a great entertainment at Court to-night.” 
 Beville muttered something between his teeth. 
 “ Good-bye, once more,” said Mergy; “ I am 
 rather in a hurry, and — you know what I mean.” 
 “ Listen! listen! only a word,” cried Beville; 
 “ I can not let you go without one word of ad- 
 vice, which comes from a true friend.” 
 
 “What is that?” 
 
 “ Do not go to her to-night; believe me, you 
 will thank me to-morrow.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 243 
 
 “ Is that your advice? Then I do not under- 
 stand you. Who is she ? ” 
 
 “ Bah ! you know what I mean. If you are 
 wise cross the river to-night, and at once.” 
 
 “ Is this the joke,” said Mergy, “ to which 
 you were leading up all this time? ” 
 
 “ Not in the least. I never was more serious. 
 Cross the Seine, I tell you. If the devil is too 
 strong for you, go to the Rue Saint Jacques, 
 near the Jacobin Convent. Two doors off you 
 will see a large wooden crucifix nailed on the 
 wall of a mean-looking house. The sign is an odd 
 one for the business — but never mind that. 
 Knock, and you will find a very obliging old 
 lady, who will receive you well for my sake. Go, 
 I say, and get reasonable on the other side of 
 the Seine. Mother Brulard has divers pretty and 
 well-bred nieces. You understand me?” 
 
 “ You are really too good. I kiss your 
 hands.” 
 
 “No, no! pray take the advice I give you. 
 On the word of a gentleman you will not be 
 sorry.” 
 
 “A thousand thanks; I will avail myself of 
 it another time. To-night I am expected.” And 
 Mergy began to step forward. 
 
 “ Cross the Seine, brave friend; that is my 
 last word. If you come to harm by neglecting 
 my advice I wash my hands of it.” 
 
244 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Seville’s voice was so unusually serious that 
 it struck Mergy, who caught hold of him, though 
 he had already turned away. “ What the devil 
 do you mean? Pray speak plainly, M. de Be- 
 ville, and drop riddles.” 
 
 “ My dear fellow, probably I ought not to 
 speak so plainly as I do. But cross the water be - 
 fore midnight , and God be with you.” 
 
 “ But ” 
 
 But Beville was far away as he said it. 
 Mergy made as though to follow him, but 
 soon, ashamed of wasting time which might 
 be so much better employed, he retraced 
 his steps, and neared the garden where he 
 had to enter. He was obliged to walk up 
 and down for some time, to give certain 
 passers-by (who he feared might be some- 
 what surprised at seeing him enter a garden gate 
 at such an hour) time to disappear. The night 
 was fine; a soft breeze had allayed the heat, and 
 the moon alternately dipped into and emerged 
 from faint white clouds. It was a night made 
 for love. 
 
 At last the street was clear for a minute: he 
 opened the garden gate and closed it again 
 noiselessly. His heart beat fast; but he only 
 thought of the joy awaiting him with his Diane, 
 and all the sinister fancies whch Beville’s strange 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 245 
 
 words had awakened were soon distant. He 
 stepped on tiptoe to the house, where a lamp 
 burnt behind a red curtain at a half -opened 
 window. It was the appointed signal, and 
 in a moment he was within his mistress’s 
 oratory. 
 
 She was half -lying, half -sitting, on a low 
 couch covered with deep blue damask; and her 
 dark and dishevelled tresses covered the whole 
 of the pillow on which her head rested. Her eyes 
 were closed, and she seemed to be keeping them 
 so with some effort. The room was lighted by a 
 single lamp of silver hanging from the ceiling, 
 which threw its whole light on the pale face and 
 glowing lips of Diane de Turgis. She was not 
 asleep, but she looked as though she were suffer- 
 ing from a painful nightmare. Mergy’s boots 
 had no sooner creaked on the floor of the oratory 
 than she raised her head, opened her eyes and 
 her mouth, shuddered, and scarcely checked a 
 shriek of terror. 
 
 “ Did I frighten you, my angel? ” said 
 Mergy, kneeling beside her, and stooping over 
 the cushion on which the fair countess had al- 
 lowed her head once more to drop. 
 
 “ Thank God,” said she, “ you are here at 
 last! ” 
 
 “ Am I late? It is still not nearly midnight.” 
 
246 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Ah, do not touch me, Bernard! Did any 
 one see you enter? ” 
 
 “No one. But what is the matter with you, 
 love? Why do these sweet little lips shun 
 mine? 
 
 “ Ah, Bernard, if you only knew! Oh, pray 
 do not torment me! I am horribly ill; my 
 head aches terribly — my brows are on fire ! ” 
 
 “ Poor darling! ” 
 
 “ Sit down close to me; and, I beg you, ask 
 nothing of me to-night! I am very ill!” And 
 she hid her lovely face in one of the sofa cushions, 
 letting a moan of anguish escape. Then sud- 
 denly she raised herself on her elbows, shook off 
 the thick tresses which covered her face, and 
 grasping Mergy’s hand placed it on her own 
 temples, where he felt the violent throbbing of 
 the veins. “ Your hand is cool — it does me 
 good,” said she. 
 
 “ Dearest Diane,” answered he, kissing the 
 burning brow, “ how I wish I could take the 
 headache in your stead ! ” 
 
 “ Ah, yes ; and I wish But put the tips 
 
 of your fingers on my eyelids ; it will soothe me. 
 I think if I could weep, I should suffer less; 
 but I can shed no tear.” 
 
 There was a long silence, interrupted only 
 by the irregular and heavy breathing of the coun- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 247 
 
 tess. Mergy, kneeling by the couch, gently 
 stroked and sometimes kissed the closed eyelids 
 of his beautiful Diane. His left hand rested on 
 the pillow, and his mistress’s fingers, entwined in 
 his own, clutched them from time to time as if 
 by a convulsive movement, while her breath, at 
 once sweet and burning, touched his lips with a 
 voluptuous caress. 
 
 “ Dearest,” said he at last, “ you seem to me 
 to be suffering from something worse than head- 
 ache. Has anything grieved you? Why do you 
 not tell me what it is? Do you not know that 
 love obliges us to share our pains as well as our 
 pleasures? ” 
 
 The countess shook her head, but did not open 
 her eyes. Her lips moved, but made no articulate 
 sound; and then, as if exhausted by even this 
 effort, she let her head sink back on Mergy’s 
 shoulder. As she did so, the clock struck half- 
 past eleven. Diane started, and sat up trem- 
 bling. 
 
 “ But really,” said Mergy, “ you terrify me, 
 my beautiful one! ” 
 
 “Nothing — nothing yet!” said she, in a 
 muffled tone. “ How hideous that clock sounds! 
 At each stroke I feel as it were a red-hot iron 
 piercing my heart! ” 
 
 Mergy could not devise any better cure, or 
 
248 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 any better answer, than to kiss her forehead as 
 she leant it towards him. Suddenly she stretched 
 out her hands, and laid them on her lover’s shoul- 
 ders; while still half -lying back, she bent on him 
 a gaze so glittering that it seemed as if it would 
 pierce him through. 
 
 “ Bernard,” said she, “ when are you going 
 to he converted? ” 
 
 44 Dear angel! let us not talk of that to-day; 
 it will make you still more unwell.” 
 
 44 It is your stubbornness that makes me ill; 
 hut that matters little to you. Besides, time 
 presses; and were I dying, I could gladly spend 
 my last breath in exhorting you.” 
 
 Mergy tried to shut her mouth with a kiss, — 
 a very good argument of its kind, and one which 
 serves as an answer to every possible question 
 which can be put to a lover by his mistress. But 
 Diane, who as a rule met him half-way on such 
 occasions, repulsed him this time vigorously, and 
 almost indignantly. 
 
 44 Hear me, M. de Mergy!” she cried. 
 44 Every day I weep tears of blood as I think 
 of you and the error of your ways. You know 
 whether I love you or not. Judge what I 
 must suffer when I think that he who is far 
 dearer to me than life may, perhaps at any mo- 
 ment, perish body and soul! ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 249 
 
 “ Diane, you know that we agreed never to 
 talk on such subjects again.” 
 
 “ But we must, unhappy man! How do you 
 know that you have even an hour left for re- 
 pentance? ” 
 
 The unusual tone of her voice and her singu- 
 lar expressions reminded Mergy, against his 
 will, of the strange advice which he had just re- 
 ceived from Beville. He could not hinder a feel- 
 ing of emotion; but he restrained himself, and 
 set down this excess of zeal for proselytizing to 
 mere religious fervour. 
 
 “What do you mean, fair love?” asked he. 
 “ Do you think the ceiling is going to fall in 
 order to kill a Huguenot, as the canopy of your 
 couch did yesterday? It was lucky we escaped 
 then at the expense of a little dust ! ” 
 
 “Your obstinacy drives me to despair!” 
 she replied. “Listen: I dreamt just now that 
 your foes were making ready to kill you; I saw 
 you torn and bleeding in their hands ; I saw you 
 give up the ghost before I could bring my con- 
 fessor to your side!” 
 
 “My foes? I did not know I had any.” 
 
 “ Madman! are not all those who hate heresy 
 your enemies? Is not that all France? Yes! all 
 Frenchmen must be your foes, so long as you 
 are the foe of God and His Church! ” 
 
250 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “No more of this, my queen! As for your 
 dreams, you must go to old Camilla to expound 
 them ; I have no skill in that. But let us change 
 the subject. You have been to Court to-day, I 
 suppose? It must have been there you caught 
 this headache which tortures you and maddens 
 me.” 
 
 “ Yes, Bernard, I have been at Court. I have 
 seen the Queen; and I left her with my mind 
 made up to make a last attempt at bringing about 
 a change in you. You must — you absolutely 
 must abjure! ” 
 
 “ I think,” interrupted Bernard, “ that since, 
 my fair love, you are strong enough to preach so 
 earnestly, despite your illness, we might, we really 
 might, if you would permit it, employ our time 
 better still.” 
 
 She received the pleasantry with a glance half- 
 scornful, half -angry. 
 
 “ Hardened man! ” said she in a low voice, 
 and as if speaking to herself ; “ why am I so weak 
 with him? ” Then continuing louder, “ I see 
 clearly enough that you do not love me, and I 
 rank with you not even a little dearer than your 
 horse. Provided I minister to your pleasure, 
 what does it matter if I am miserable? For you 
 — for you alone — I have consented to suffer the 
 torments of conscience, beside which all torments 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 251 
 
 of man’s invention and man’s hatred are nothing. 
 A word of your mouth would restore the peace 
 of my soul, and this word you will not speak! 
 You will not sacrifice for my sake a single preju- 
 dice of your own! ” 
 
 “ Dear Diane, how you persecute me! ” said 
 Mergy. “Be just, and let not your zeal for your 
 religion blind you. Answer me. Will you ever 
 find a slave more docile than I in everything 
 that body or soul can do for you? But if I must 
 repeat it once more, I can die for you, but I 
 can not, for you, believe in certain things.” 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders as she heard him 
 speak, and she looked at him with an expression 
 almost akin to hatred. 
 
 “ I can not,” he went on, “ change for you my 
 brown locks to fair; I can not alter the shape of 
 my limbs to please you. My religion is a part of 
 me, dearest, and a part which can only be torn 
 from me with my life. They might preach to 
 me for twenty years, but never make me believe 
 that a morsel of unleavened bread ” 
 
 “ Silence! ” interrupted she in a tone of com- 
 mand. “No blasphemies! I have tried every- 
 thing without effect. You — all of you who are 
 infected with the poison of heresy — are a people 
 hardened in head and heart, and you shut your 
 ears and eyes to the truth lest you should see 
 
252 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 and hear with them. Well, the time has come 
 when you shall neither hear nor see. There was 
 but one means left to cauterize this wound in the 
 Church, and that means is to be employed.” 
 
 She paced the chamber with a troubled mien, 
 and then went on: 
 
 “ In less than an hour the seven heads of the 
 dragon of heresy will be lopped off. The sword 
 is sharpened, the faithful are ready, the in- 
 fidels shall be swept from the face of the 
 earth!” Then, stretching her finger to the 
 clock in the corner of the room — “See!” she 
 said, “ you have still a quarter of an hour for 
 repentance. When the hand reaches that figure 
 your fate will be sealed!” 
 
 She was still speaking, when a dull sound like 
 to that of a crowd hovering round a mighty fire 
 began to make itself heard, at first indistinctly; 
 hut it seemed to grow quickly, and after a very 
 few minutes the tolling of bells and the report 
 of firearms were heard afar off. 
 
 “ What hideous news is this? ” cried Mergy. 
 But the countess had darted to the window 
 and had opened it. Then the noise, hitherto 
 muffled by the glass and the curtains, came in 
 more clearly. Shrieks of pain and yells of joy 
 seemed to be distinguishable in it. A crimson 
 smoke rose to the sky, and appeared to hang over 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 253 
 
 every part of the city as far as the eye could 
 reach. It would have seemed a vast conflagra- 
 tion, if a smell of resin, which could only have 
 been produced by thousands of lighted torches, 
 had not quickly filled the chamber. At the same 
 time the flash of a musket which seemed to have 
 been discharged in the street itself lit up for 
 a moment the windows of an adjoining house. 
 
 “ The massacre has begun! ” cried the coun- 
 tess, putting her hands in horror to her head. 
 
 “ What massacre? What do you mean? ” 
 
 “ To-night all the Huguenots are to be 
 slain by the King’s orders. All Catholics are 
 under arms, and not a heretic is to be spared. 
 France and the Church are saved. But you — 
 you are lost if you do not abjure your false 
 belief.” 
 
 Mergy felt all his limbs covered with cold 
 sweat. He stared with haggard eyes at Diane 
 de Turgis, whose features expressed a singular 
 mixture of anguish and triumph. The hideous 
 din which echoed in his ears, and filled all the 
 town, sufficiently attested the truth of the ap- 
 palling news he had just heard. For some mo- 
 ments the countess remained motionless, her 
 eyes fixed speechlessly on him, her finger still 
 stretched towards the window. She seemed to 
 appeal to Mergy’s fancy to show him the bloody 
 
254 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 scenes, as of a cannibal feast, which the howlings 
 and torchlights suggested. By degrees her ex- 
 pression softened, its savage joy passed, the hor- 
 ror in it remained. At last, falling on her knees, 
 and with an imploring voice, “ Bernard !” she 
 cried, “ I conjure you, save your life! Be con- 
 verted! Save your life, save mine, which is 
 bound up in yours ! ” 
 
 Mergy glared fiercely at her as she followed 
 him, still on her knees and with outstretched 
 arms, through the chamber. Answering never 
 a word, he rushed to the end of the oratory and 
 seized his sword, which at his entrance he had 
 placed on a chair. 
 
 “ Miserable man ! ” cried the countess, hasten- 
 ing to him, “ what would you do? ” 
 
 “ Defend myself,” he answered. “ They will 
 not kill me like a sheep ! ” 
 
 “Madman! A thousand swords could not 
 save you. The whole town is in arms. The 
 King’s Guards, the Swiss, the citizens, the 
 populace, all are engaged in the massacre; and 
 not a Huguenot but has at this moment a dozen 
 daggers at his breast. There is one only means 
 of rescue from death. Become a Catholic! ” 
 Mergy was a brave man; but as he thought 
 of the dangers which the night seemed to 
 threaten, he felt, for a moment, base fear 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 255 
 
 thrilling to the bottom of his heart, and even 
 the notion of saving himself by apostasy flashed 
 like lightning across his mind. 
 
 “ I can answer for your life if you abjure! ” 
 said Diane, clasping her hands. 
 
 “If I do so ,” thought he, “I shall despise 
 myself for the rest of it.” And the thought 
 restored his courage, which was doubled by very 
 shame at his own momentary wavering. He 
 crushed his hat on his head, drew his belt tight, 
 and rolling his cloak round his left arm buckler- 
 wise, he made a steady stride towards the door. 
 
 “ Where are you going, wretch? ” cried she. 
 
 “ Into the street. I should not like you to 
 have the grief of seeing me butchered under 
 your eyes and in your house.” 
 
 There was so deep a tone of contempt in his 
 voice that the countess was overwhelmed. She 
 had thrown herself in his way, and he repulsed 
 her roughly enough. But she seized the skirt 
 of his doublet, and dragged herself on her knees 
 behind him. 
 
 “ Unhand me! ” he cried. “ Would you de- 
 liver me yourself to the assassins’ daggers? A 
 Huguenot’s mistress can ransom her sins by 
 sacrificing her lover’s blood to her Deity! ” 
 
 “ Stay, Bernard, I implore you! It is only 
 your soul’s health I desire. Live for me, dear 
 
256 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 angel ! Save yourself in the name of our love — 
 consent to pronounce a single word, and I swear 
 you are safe! ” 
 
 “ What? I accept the faith of brigands and 
 of murderers! Holy martyrs of the Gospel, I 
 come to join you! ” 
 
 And he tore himself so fiercely from her that 
 the countess fell sharply on the floor. He was 
 about to open the door and depart, when Diane, 
 rising with the agility of a tigress, sprang upon 
 him and clasped him in her arms and with a grip 
 stronger than that of a strong man. 
 
 “Bernard!” she cried in a transport, and 
 with streaming eyes, “ I love you more than if 
 you had abjured!” and dragging him to the 
 couch, she flung herself and him upon it, and 
 covered him with kisses and with tears. 
 
 “ Stay here, my only love! Stay with me, 
 my brave Bernard! ” she said, hugging him, and 
 twining her body round him like a serpent en- 
 lacing its prey. “ They will not seek you here : 
 not in my arms: and did they so, they must kill 
 me to reach your breast ! Pardon me, dear love ! 
 I could not warn you sooner of the danger which 
 threatened: I was bound by a terrible oath, but 
 I will save you now or perish with you! ” 
 
 At this moment a loud knock at the street 
 gate was heard. The countess uttered a piercing 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 257 
 
 shriek, and Mergy, disengaging himself from 
 her embrace, with his cloak still wrapped round 
 his left arm, felt so full of strength and resolu- 
 tion, that he would have plunged headlong on 
 a band of a hundred assassins if they had showed 
 themselves. 
 
 In the entrance gate of almost all Parisian 
 houses there was a small wicket, closely barred 
 with iron, so that the inmates could reconnoitre 
 beforehand whether it was safe for them to 
 open. Sometimes even heavy oaken gates, 
 strengthened with nails and bands of iron, were 
 not enough to reassure careful folk, who did not 
 want to surrender before they were regularly 
 besieged. Narrow loopholes were therefore 
 worked at each side of the gate, and from these, 
 without being seen, they could comfortably rake 
 the assailants. An old confidential equerry of 
 the countess, after examining the person who 
 had presented himself through some such a 
 barred wicket, and after duly interrogating him, 
 came back and told his mistress that Captain 
 George de Mergy pressed for instant admit- 
 tance. All fear thus passed away, and the gate 
 was opened. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE TWENTY-FOURTH OF AUGUST 
 
 “Bleed them! bleed them!” ( Words of the Marshal de 
 Tavannes.) 
 
 A FTER leaving his squadron, Captain 
 George hastened home, hoping to 
 find his brother there; but he had al- 
 ready gone out, telling his servant that he should 
 be away all night. George had had no difficulty 
 in guessing that he was with the countess, and 
 had made all haste to seek him there. But the 
 massacre had already begun ; and the tumult, the 
 throng of butchers, and the chains stretched 
 across the streets, checked him at every step. He 
 was obliged to pass by the Louvre, and there 
 fanaticism showed its madness to the full. Many 
 Protestants inhabited the quarter, which was now 
 invaded by the Papist citizens and the soldiers 
 of the Guards, sword and torch in hand. There, 
 according to the striking expression of a con- 
 temporary writer, “ blood ran in all directions, 
 seekings its way to the river,” * and it was impos- 
 
 * D’Aubigne, “Histoire Universelle.” 
 
 258 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 259 
 
 sible to pass along the streets without risk of 
 being crushed at every minute by corpses flung 
 from the windows. By a devilish precaution, 
 most of the boats, which as a rule were moored 
 along the Louvre front, had been taken across 
 the stream; so that many fugitives who ran to 
 the Seine bank, hoping there to take boat and 
 escape from their enemies’ blows, found no 
 more choice but betwixt the water and the hal- 
 berds of the soldiers who chased them. Mean- 
 while, at one of the palace windows, men saw, 
 it is said, Charles IX., armed with a long arque- 
 buss, and “ potting like game ”f the unfortunate 
 passers-by. 
 
 The captain, striding over dead bodies and 
 splashing himself with their blood, made good 
 his way, at the risk, every moment, of being 
 sacrificed to some assassin’s mistake. He had 
 noticed that every soldier and armed citizen 
 wore a white scarf on his arm and a white cross 
 in his hat. He might easily have adopted the 
 badge ; but his horror of the murderers ex- 
 tended even to the signs by which they recog- 
 nised each other. On the river bank, near the 
 Chatelet, he heard his name called; he turned 
 his head, and saw a man who, armed to the 
 teeth, but apparently making no use of his 
 
 t Ibid. [“Qui giboyait.” — Translator .] 
 
260 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 weapons, wore the white cross in his hat, and 
 was twisting a scrap of paper in his fingers with 
 a wholly unconcerned air. It was Beville, 
 placidly gazing at the bodies, dead and alive, 
 which were being flung into the Seine from the 
 Miller’s Bridge. 
 
 “ What the devil are you doing here, 
 George?” said he. “ Is it a miracle? or is it 
 special grace which inspires you with this holy 
 zeal? for you look as if you had joined the Hu- 
 guenot hunt.” 
 
 “ What are you doing yourself amid these 
 wretches?” answered George. 
 
 “ I? I am looking on. By Jove! it is some- 
 thing to see. And do you know, I have done a 
 good stroke of business. You know old Michael 
 Cornabon, the Huguenot money-lender, who 
 has plucked me so clean? ” 
 
 “ Wretch! have you killed him? ” 
 
 “I? fie on you! I have nothing to do with 
 religious affairs. So far from killing him, I 
 have hidden him in my cellar, and for his part 
 he has given me a receipt in full for all I owe 
 him. Thus I have both done a noble deed and 
 have been rewarded therefor. It is true that, 
 in order to make him sign the receipt more easily, 
 I had to hold a pistol twice to his head ; but may 
 the devil take me if I meant to pull the trigger. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 261 
 
 Ah ! now : look at that woman who has caught by 
 her skirts on one of the bridge beams. She will 
 fall — no she won’t! Plague on it, that is a curi- 
 ous sight, and deserves to be looked at closer.” 
 
 George left him, and as he did so, struck 
 his forehead, crying, “ And to think that that is 
 one of the honestest gentlemen I know in this 
 town to-night ! ” 
 
 He now set foot in the Rue St. Josse, which 
 was deserted and dark: clearly none of the 
 dwellers there were Protestants. Yet the noise 
 from the neighbouring streets was quite dis- 
 tinctly heard, and suddenly the ruddy glow of 
 torches lit up the white walls. He heard pierc- 
 ing cries, and saw a woman, who fled with super- 
 human speed, half naked, with dishevelled hair, 
 and holding a child in her arms. Pursuing her 
 were two men, cheering each other on with 
 savage cries, like huntsmen after a wild beast. 
 She was just about to rush into an open pas- 
 sage, when one of her pursuers fired an arque- 
 buss, with which he was armed, at her. The shot 
 struck her in the back, and brought her down: 
 but she rose quickly, made one step towards 
 George, and fell once more on her knees. Then, 
 with a supreme effort, she lifted her child to- 
 wards the captain, as though relying on his gen- 
 erosity, and died without a word. 
 
262 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Another heretic baggage down! ” cried the 
 marksman ; “ I will not rest till I have made up 
 the dozen ! ” 
 
 “Wretch!” cried the captain, and he fired 
 a pistol point-blank at him. The scoundrel’s head 
 struck the wall hard by, his eyes gave one ter- 
 rible glare, and his heels slipping from beneath 
 him, he fell like a log of wood with its support 
 struck away, plump and stone-dead on the 
 ground. 
 
 “ What ! kill a Catholic ! ” cried his com- 
 panion, who held a torch in one hand, and a 
 bloody sword in the other. “ Who are you? 
 By the mass! you are one of the King’s light 
 horse! Good sir, you mistake!” 
 
 The captain drew a second pistol from his 
 belt, and cocked it. The motion and the click 
 were perfectly understood, and the murderer, 
 dropping his torch, fled at full speed. George, 
 not condescending to fire after him, stooped, 
 examined the woman who was stretched on the 
 ground, and saw that she was dead. The ball 
 had pierced her through and through; but her 
 child, whose arms clasped his mother’s neck, 
 wailed and wept : he was covered with blood, but 
 he had miraculously escaped a wound. With 
 some difficulty the captain tore him from his 
 mother, to whom the child clung with all his 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 263 
 
 strength, and wrapped him up in his own cloak. 
 Then, taking warning by the recent brush, he 
 picked up the dead man’s hat, and taking the 
 white cross out of it placed it on his own. In 
 which fashion he made his way without further 
 hindrance to the countess’s house. 
 
 The two brothers fell into each other’s arms, 
 and for some time remained in this embrace 
 without speaking. At last the captain in few 
 words described the state of the town. Bernard, 
 cursing the King, the Guises, and the priests, 
 expressed his anxiety to go forth and to seek to 
 join his brethren in the faith, on the chance that 
 they might somewhere try to make head against 
 their enemies. The countess wept and held him 
 back; while the child cried and asked for his 
 mother. 
 
 After spending a considerable time in ex- 
 clamations, groans, and tears, they felt it neces- 
 sary to fix on some course of action. As for 
 the child, the countess’s equerry undertook the 
 business of finding a woman to take charge of 
 him. It was impossible for Mergy to depart at 
 such a moment; and, besides, where was he to 
 go? and how did any one know whether or no 
 the massacre was spreading all over France? 
 Strong parties had certainly occupied the bridges 
 over which the Protestants might have passed 
 
264 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 into the Faubourg St. Germain, and thence have 
 escaped from the town and gained the southern 
 provinces, always inclined to their cause. On 
 the other hand, to ask the King’s mercy at a 
 moment when, in the heat of slaughter, he 
 thought of nothing but new victims, seemed 
 doubtfully wise, and even certainly foolish. 
 The countess’s house, thanks to her repute for 
 devotion, was not likely to be narrowly searched 
 by the murderers; and Diane thought she might 
 answer for her own people. So Mergy could 
 not fix on any place of retreat where he ran 
 less risk, and it was decided that he should hide 
 himself there and see what would happen. 
 
 Daylight, so far from putting a stop to the 
 massacres, seemed only to increase them and 
 make them more businesslike. Every Catholic, 
 under penalty of being suspected of heresy, had 
 to mount the white cross, and either take arms 
 or denounce such Huguenots as were still liv- 
 ing. The King, shutting himself up in his 
 palace, gave access to no one but the chiefs of 
 the murderers; the populace, induced by hope 
 of pillage, had joined the trained bands and the 
 soldiers ; while preachers in the churches ex- 
 horted the faithful to redoubled excesses of 
 cruelty. “ Let us,” said they, “ once for all 
 crush the hydra’s heads, and for ever put an 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 265 
 
 end to civil war!” And, in order to persuade 
 the bloodthirsty and miracle-craving mob that 
 heaven approved its rage and had encouraged it 
 by a striking prodigy, “ Go,” cried they, “ to the 
 Cemetery of the Innocents; go and see the haw- 
 thorn which has just blossomed a second time 
 with a new and vigorous youth as having been 
 watered with heretic blood!” 
 
 Numerous processions of armed murderers 
 marched with all ceremony to worship the Holy 
 Thorn, and left the cemetery flushed with fresh 
 zeal to discover and slay those whom heaven thus 
 clearly sentenced. A saying of Catherine’s was 
 in every mouth, and was repeated by those who 
 were butchering women and children: “Che 
 pieta lor ser crudele, che crudelta lor ser 
 pietoso "■ — “ To-day there is mercy in being 
 cruel; there is cruelty in being merciful.” 
 
 Strange to say, though there were few 
 among all these Protestants who had not seen 
 war — who had not taken part in desperate bat- 
 tles, where they had endeavoured, and often suc- 
 cessfully, to make valour atone for want of num- 
 bers — yet during this butchery two only at- 
 tempted any resistance to their murderers. Of 
 these two, one only was a soldier. It may be that 
 the habit of fighting in bodies, and after a reg- 
 ular fashion, had robbed them of the individual 
 
266 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 energy which might have prompted each Hugue- 
 not to defend himself in his house as in a castle. 
 But old warriors were seen, like victims devoted 
 to sacrifice, holding out their throats to rascals 
 who, the day before, would have trembled before 
 them — taking, as it were, resignation for cour- 
 age, and preferring the renown of martyrs to a 
 soldier’s honourable death. 
 
 When the first thirst of blood was quenched, 
 the more merciful of the butchers commonly 
 offered life to their victims at the price of ab- 
 juration; but a very small number of Calvinists 
 availed themselves of the offer, and consented 
 to ransom themselves from death and torture by 
 a perhaps excusable falsehood. Even women 
 and children repeated their confession of faith 
 beneath the drawn swords and died without a 
 murmur. 
 
 After two days of such slaughter the King 
 tried to stop it; but when the reins have been 
 thrown on the neck of popular passions it is 
 impossible to check them. Not only did the dag- 
 gers continue active, hut the King himself, ac- 
 cused of unorthodox compassion, was obliged to 
 withdraw his suggestion of mercy, and even to 
 exaggerate the malevolence which at all times 
 was more or less natural to his character. 
 
 During the first few days after the Saint 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 267 
 
 Bartholomew Mergy was regularly visited in 
 his hiding-place by his brother, who gave him 
 each time fresh particulars of the horrible scenes 
 he had witnessed. 
 
 4 4 Ah! when shall I be able to quit this coun- 
 try of crime and murder? ” cried George. 44 1 
 would rather live among wild beasts than among 
 Frenchmen.” 
 
 44 Come with me to La Rochelle,” said 
 Mergy; 44 1 have good hope that the assassins 
 have not won it yet. Come and die with me, ob- 
 literating your apostasy by defending the last 
 bulwark of our faith.” 
 
 44 Ah ! and what is to become of me ? ” Diane 
 would cry. 
 
 44 Then let us go to Germany or England,” 
 answered George. 44 There, at any rate, we need 
 be neither murdered nor murderers.” 
 
 But nothing came of these schemes. George 
 was thrown into prison for disobedience to the 
 King’s orders; and the countess, in terror lest 
 her lover should be discovered, had no thought 
 but how to get him out of Paris. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE TWO MONKS 
 
 “And thus they made of him a monk 
 By putting a cowl upon him.” 
 
 Folk-Song * 
 
 I N a tavern on the banks of the Loire, not 
 far from Orleans, as you go down towards 
 Beaugency, a young monk, in a brown 
 robe with a large hood half -drawn over his face, 
 was seated before a table, his eyes fixed on his 
 breviary with the most edifying attention, though 
 the corner which he had chosen was a little dark 
 for reading in. He had at his girdle a rosary, 
 the beads of which were rather larger than 
 pigeons’ eggs, while an abundant supply of 
 medals, with the effigies of saints, were hung to 
 the same girdle, and clinked at every movement 
 that he made. When he lifted his head to look 
 in the direction of the door, there might have 
 been seen a very well-shaped mouth, adorned 
 with a moustache twisted into the shape of a 
 
 * “Lui mettant un Capuchon 
 11s en firent un moine.” 
 
 Chanson Populaire. — [Translator’s Note,] 
 268 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 269 
 
 Turkish bow, and modish enough to do credit to 
 a captain of gendarmes. His hands were very 
 white, his nails long and carefully trimmed; nor 
 was there any sign to show that the young broth- 
 er had ever, as by the rule of his order he should 
 have done, wielded a spade or a rake. 
 
 A plump and chubby-cheeked peasant wom- 
 an, who doubled the parts of waitress and cook 
 in the tavern, being also the mistress herself, 
 drew near the young monk, and curtseying awk- 
 wardly, said: 
 
 “ Well, father, are you going to order some- 
 thing for your dinner? Do you know that it is 
 past noon? ” 
 
 “ Will the Beaugency boat be long before it 
 is here? ” answered he. 
 
 “ Who knows? ” said she. “ The water is 
 low, and they can not take their own time. Be- 
 sides, anyhow, it is not due yet. I should dine 
 here if I were you.” 
 
 “ So I will: but have you no other room than 
 this to eat in? There is a smell here that I do 
 not like.” 
 
 “ You are very particular, father. I can not 
 smell anything at all.” 
 
 “ Then are you singeing pigs close to the 
 inn? ” 
 
 “Pigs? Ha! ha! That is funny. Pigs? 
 
270 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 Yes ; or something like it. They are pigs in their 
 way, for, as the saying is, they were dressed in 
 silk * in their lifetime; but they are not pigs good 
 to eat. These, saving your reverence, father, 
 are Huguenots whom they are burning on the 
 river bank, some hundred yards off, and it is 
 the scent of them that you perceive.” 
 
 “ Huguenots? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Huguenots. Do you mind that? It 
 need not take away your appetite. And as for 
 changing your dining-room, I have no other; so 
 you must make the best of this. Ah! the smell 
 of roasted Huguenot is not so bad! Besides, 
 if they were not burnt they might smell worse. 
 There was a heap of them on the bank this 
 morning — a heap as high as our chimney-piece! ” 
 “ And do you go and look at these corpses? ” 
 “ Ah, you mean because they were naked? 
 Dead men do not count, holy father; I did not 
 think any more of them than if I had seen a 
 heap of dead frogs. But all the same, they 
 must have done a fine business at Orleans yester- 
 day, for the Loire has brought us shoals of these 
 heretic fish ; and as the river is low they are found 
 high and dry on the shingle every day. Why 
 yesterday, when our miller’s man looked to see 
 
 * [A play, not by any device to be kept in English, between soie “silk,” 
 and soie “pig’s bristle.”] — Translator's Note. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 271 
 
 how many tench were in his net, look you, there 
 was a dead woman in it, with a halberd wound 
 right in the middle of her! It went in at her 
 waist and came out at her shoulders. Marry, 
 but he would rather have found a fine carp 
 though! But what is the matter with your rev- 
 erence? Are you going to swoon? Shall I fill 
 you a cup of Beaugency wine while you wait 
 for your dinner? That will set you right inside.” 
 “ Thank you, no.” 
 
 “ Well then, what will you have for dinner? ” 
 “ Whatever comes to hand — I care little.” 
 “Yes; but what? My larder is well fur- 
 nished, look you ! ” 
 
 “Well then, give me a chicken, and leave me 
 to read my breviary.” 
 
 “A chicken! your reverence. A chicken! 
 that is a pretty thing ! The spiders need not look 
 to weave their webs over your teeth on fast days. 
 Have you got a dispensation from the Pope to 
 eat chickens on Friday? ” 
 
 “Bah! how absent-minded I am!” said he. 
 “Of course, to-day is Friday. ‘ On Friday thou 
 shalt not eat flesh.’ Give me some eggs, and take 
 my best thanks for reminding me in time to 
 prevent so great a sin.” 
 
 “ Look you now,” said the hostess half to 
 herself, “ these gentry will eat chickens on a 
 
272 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 I 
 
 fast day if you do not remind them, and yet 
 will make a fuss to make your blood run cold 
 if they find a morsel of bacon in poor folks’ 
 broth!” Which said, she set to work to cook 
 her eggs, and the monk returned to his breviary. 
 
 “ Ave Maria! my sister,” said another monk, 
 who entered the tavern at the very moment that 
 Dame Marguerite, frying-pan handle in hand, 
 was about to turn an omelet of large dimen- 
 sions. 
 
 The newcomer was a handsome old man, 
 grey-bearded, tall, strongly made, and stout. 
 His face was very highly complexioned ; but its 
 most remarkable feature was a huge patch, 
 which hid one eye and half covered the cheek. 
 He spoke French glibly enough, but with a 
 slight though noticeable foreign accent. 
 
 As he came in the younger monk drew his 
 hood still closer, so that his face could not be 
 seen; but Dame Marguerite was even more sur- 
 prised to perceive that the last comer, who had 
 thrown his hood back because of the heat, pulled 
 it on the moment that he had spied his brother in 
 orders. 
 
 “ Faith, father,” said the hostess, “ you have 
 come in the nick of time for dinner. You will 
 not have to wait, and you will find yourself 
 among friends.” Then turning to the younger 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 273 
 
 monk, “ You will be delighted, your reverence, 
 will you not, to dine with his reverence here? 
 The smell of my omelet has brought him, 
 and no wonder, for by Our Lady I do not spare 
 butter.” 
 
 The young monk replied shyly and stammer- 
 ing, “ I am afraid I shall be in the gentleman’s 
 way;” while the elder, stooping his head still 
 lower, answered, “ I am a poor monk of Alsace; 
 I speak French badly, and I fear my company 
 will not please my brother.” 
 
 “Come, come!” cried Dame Marguerite; 
 “how polite you both are! Monks, and monks 
 of the same order, ought to have but one board 
 and one bed,” and she thrust a stool up to the 
 table, right opposite the young friar. The elder 
 seated himself, apparently much embarrassed, 
 and struggling between hunger and a certain 
 dislike to face his colleague. She dished the 
 omelet, and said, “ Now, good fathers, be quick 
 with your grace, and then tell me whether my 
 omelet is good.” 
 
 But the mere word “ grace ” seemed to put 
 the two monks still less at their ease. The 
 younger said to the elder, “It is for you to say 
 grace. You are my senior, and the honour is 
 yours.” 
 
 “ Nay,” quoth he, “ not at all. You were 
 
274 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 here before me, and you have the right to 
 say it.” 
 
 “ I pray you set me the example.” 
 
 “ I could not think of doing so.” 
 
 “ But really you must.” 
 
 “Look at them,” said Dame Marguerite; 
 “ they will let my omelet get cold ! Did any one 
 ever see two of Saint Francis’s children so 
 scrupulous? Let the old one bless the meat, and 
 the young one shall give thanks afterwards. 
 
 “ I can only say grace in my own tongue,” 
 said the old monk. The younger looked much 
 surprised, and stole a glance at his companion. 
 He, however, clasping his hands most devoutly, 
 began to mutter in his hood certain words which 
 conveyed no meaning to any one, then he sat 
 down, and, without another word, he had in no 
 time devoured three parts of the omelet and 
 drained the bottle set before him. His fellow, 
 with his nose in his plate, never opened his mouth, 
 save to eat ; and when the omelet was finished he 
 rose, clasped his hands, and uttered hastily, slur- 
 ring them over, certain Latin words, the last of 
 which were et beata viscera virginis Marice. 
 Marguerite heard these last, and these only. 
 
 “What a queer grace (with reverence be it 
 spoken) you said then, father? It is not like 
 those that our cure says.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 275 
 
 “ That is the grace used in our convent,” said 
 the young Franciscan. 
 
 “ Will the boat soon come? ” said the elder. 
 
 “Patience!” answered Dame Marguerite; 
 “ it is not nearly here yet.” 
 
 The younger monk seemed to be vexed, as 
 far as could be judged by a twitch of his head. 
 But he did not make the slightest remark; and 
 taking up his breviary, began to read it with 
 increased attention. The Alsatian, on his part, 
 turned his back to his companion, and began to 
 pass the beads of his rosary between his finger 
 and thumb, moving his lips, but without pro- 
 ducing the least sound from them. 
 
 “ These are the strangest and most silent 
 monks that ever I saw,” thought Dame Mar- 
 guerite, sitting down to her wheel, which she soon 
 set going. 
 
 No sound save the whirring of the wheel had 
 broken the silence for a good quarter of an hour, 
 when four ill-looking fellows, well armed, en- 
 tered the inn. They touched their hats slightly 
 at sight of the monks, and one of them, address- 
 ing Marguerite familiarly as “my little Meg,” 
 bade her give them wine at once and dinner 
 soon. “ For,” said he, “ the moss is growing in 
 my throat, so long is it since my jaws were in 
 motion.” 
 
276 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “Wine? wine?” grumbled Marguerite; 
 “ that is easily said, Master Bois-Dauphin, but 
 are you going to pay the shot? Jack Trust-Me 
 is dead, you know; and besides, you owe me 
 already, for wine, dinners, and suppers, six 
 crowns and more, as I am an honest woman.” 
 
 “ The one thing is as true as the other,” said 
 Bois-Dauphin laughing; “ that is to say, Mother 
 Meg, I owe you two crowns, and not a penny 
 more.” His actual words were somewhat 
 stronger than these. 
 
 “ O Jesus! O Mary! how can you say 
 so?” 
 
 “ Come, come, no noise, old lady. Let it 
 be six crowns, if you like. I will pay you, Mag- 
 gie, and our score torday as well, for I have the 
 chinks in my pocket, though this present busi- 
 ness is a scurvy one for profit. I can not think 
 what the racsals do with their money.” 
 
 “ Perhaps they swallow it, like the Germans,” 
 said one of his comrades. 
 
 “ A plague! ” cried Bois-Dauphin; “ we must 
 look to that. Good coins in a heretic carcass 
 are a good joke, but not one that ought to be 
 thrown to the dogs.” 
 
 “ How the minister’s daughter shrieked this 
 morning,” said the third fellow. 
 
 “Yes! and the fat parson too!” added the 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 277 
 
 fourth. 4 4 How I did laugh at him ! he was so 
 fat he would not sink.” 
 
 “ Then you worked hard to-day? ” said Mar- 
 guerite, coming back from the cellar with her 
 bottles full. 
 
 44 Pretty fair,” said Bois-Dauphin. 44 What 
 with men, women, and children, we made up a 
 dozen, thrown into the water or into the fire. 
 But the worst of it was, Maggie, that they had 
 not a rap: except the woman, who had some 
 trinkets, the whole bag was not worth a hound’s 
 four shoes. Yes, father,” added he, addressing 
 the younger monk, 44 we earned plenty of in- 
 dulgences this morning by killing your enemies, 
 the dog heretics.” 
 
 The monk gazed at him a moment, and then 
 returned to his reading ; but his breviary quivered 
 in his left hand, and his right was clenched like 
 that of a man in strong emotion. 
 
 44 And talking of indulgences,” said Bois- 
 Dauphin, turning to his comrades, 44 do you 
 know I should like one to eat meat to-day? 
 There are some chickens in our dame’s poultry- 
 yard which are desperately tempting.” 
 
 44 Let us eat them,” said one of the wretches; 
 44 we shall not be damned for that. We will 
 go to confession to-morrow, and that will make 
 it right.” 
 
278 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “Listen, brothers,” said another; “I have 
 an idea; let us ask these plump f rocked gentry 
 here to give us a license for meat.” 
 
 “ As if they could ! ” said his comrade. 
 
 “By Our Lady’s body!” cried Bois-Dau- 
 phin, “ I know a better way than that, and I’ll 
 whisper it to you.” 
 
 The four rascals laid their heads together, 
 and Bois-Dauphin explained to them, in an un- 
 dertone, his plan, which was received with shouts 
 of laugther. But one of the bravos seemed 
 to hesitate. 
 
 “ That is an ill device of yours, Bois- 
 Dauphin,” said he, “ and it may bring us bad 
 luck. I will not make one.” 
 
 “Hold your tongue, Guillemain! ’Tis a 
 mighty sin, forsooth, to make a man smell the 
 blade of a dagger.” 
 
 “Yes; but a shaveling! ” 
 
 They were conversing in a low tone, and the 
 two monks seemed to be trying to guess their 
 topic of conversation by the words caught here 
 and there. 
 
 “Bah! it makes no difference,” replied Bois- 
 Dauphin speaking a little louder; “ and besides, 
 in this way the sin will lie on him not on 
 me.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes! Bois-Dauphin is right,” cried the 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 279 
 
 other. So he rose at once and left the room. A 
 moment later the poultry were heard making a 
 noise, and the ruffian soon reappeared with a 
 dead chicken in each hand. 
 
 “Ah! son of perdition!” cried Dame Mar- 
 guerite; “kill my chickens, and on Friday too? 
 What are you going to do with them, wretch? ” 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, Dame Maggie, and 
 don’t make my ears burn. You know that I 
 am an ugly customer. Get your spits ready and 
 leave me alone.” Then, drawing near to the 
 Alsatian friar, he said, “Now, father, you see 
 these two animals? I want you to be so good 
 as to christen them.” 
 
 The monk started back in surprise; his rev- 
 erend brother closed his book, and Dame Mar- 
 guerite showered strong language on Bois- 
 Dauphin. 
 
 “ You want me to christen them? ” said the 
 monk. 
 
 “ Yes, my father. I will be their godfather, 
 Meg here shall be godmother; and these are 
 the names I give my godchildren; this shall be 
 called Carp, and this Perch. There be two very 
 pretty names.” 
 
 “ Christen chickens? ” cried the monk with a 
 laugh. 
 
 “ Yes, father. Come, set to work.” 
 
280 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Wretch! ” cried Marguerite, “ do you think 
 I will allow such work as this in my house? Do 
 you think you are among Jews, or at a witch’s 
 sabbath, that you christen beasts? ” 
 
 “ Take this chatterbox off me,” said Bois- 
 Dauphin to his fellows; “ and as for you, father, 
 perhaps you could read the name of the cutler 
 who forged this blade? ” 
 
 As he spoke he passed his bare poniard under 
 the old monk’s nose. The younger half rose on 
 his bench, but almost immediately, as though 
 after discreet reflection, he sat down again, de- 
 termined to abide patiently. 
 
 “ But how am I to baptize poultry, my son? ” 
 said the elder. 
 
 “Easily enough, God wot; just as you 
 baptize us of woman born. Sprinkle their heads 
 with water, and say : ‘ I baptize thee, Carp, and 
 thee, Perch.’ Only say it in your own jargon. 
 Come, Little- John, hand over that glass of 
 water, and, all of ye, hats off and attend piously 
 in God’s name.” 
 
 To the general surprise the old cordelier took 
 some water, shed it on the fowls’ heads, and pro- 
 nouncing very rapidly and very indistinctly 
 something which sounded like a prayer, ended 
 with baptizo te Carpam et Percham. Then he 
 sat down again, and told his beads once more 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 281 
 
 with great tranquillity, as if he had done some- 
 thing quite in the common way. Dame Mar- 
 guerite stood dumb with amazement; but Bois- 
 Dauphin was in his glory. “ Come, Meg! ” said 
 he, throwing the chickens to her, “ dress us this 
 carp and this perch. They will make a capital 
 fast-day dinner.” But notwithstanding the 
 baptism, Dame Marguerite still refused to con- 
 sider them fit food for Christians, and the 
 ruffians had to threaten her with personal vio- 
 lence before she could make up her mind to 
 spit the improvised fishes. 
 
 Bois-Dauphin and his companions meanwhile 
 drank copiously, toasting healths, and making 
 a great clatter. 
 
 “ Listen,” said Bois-Dauphin at last, smiting 
 the table hard to enjoin silence. “ I am going to 
 drink a health to our Holy Father the Pope and 
 death to all Huguenots. These two cowled gen- 
 try and Dame Marguerite shall join us.” 
 
 The suggestion was received by his comrades 
 with applause, and he rose, staggering some- 
 what ( for he was more than half drunk already) , 
 and filled the young monk’s glass from the bot- 
 tle in his hand. 
 
 “ Come, good father,” said he, “ to the Holi- 
 ness of his health! Bah! a slip of the tongue. 
 To the health of his Holiness, and to the 
 death ” 
 
282 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ I never drink between meals,” said the 
 young man coolly. 
 
 “Ah! but you shall drink now, devil take 
 me! or tell the reason why.” 
 
 So speaking, he set the bottle on the table, 
 and seizing the glass, held it to the lips of the 
 monk, who was leaning over his breviary in 
 great apparent calm. Some drops of wine fell 
 on the book. Then the monk rose, clutched the 
 glass, and instead of drinking it, flung its con- 
 tents full in Bois-Dauphin’s face. 
 
 The company roared with laughter; and the 
 monk, his back to the wall, and his arms crossed, 
 gazed at the ruffian. 
 
 “Do you know, little father, that I do not 
 like that joke? By God ! if you were not a monk, 
 I would pay you, by teaching you to know with 
 whom you are dealing.” And as he spoke, he 
 thrust his hand close to the young man’s face, 
 and just twitched his moustache with his finger 
 ends. 
 
 Then the monk’s countenance flamed scarlet. 
 With one hand he collared the insolent scoundrel, 
 and with the other he grasped the bottle and 
 smashed it on Bois-Dauphin’s head with such 
 force that he fell senseless on the floor, drenched 
 at once with wine and blood. 
 
 “ Well done, my boy! ” cried the old monk. 
 “ You have a heavy hand for one of the cloth! ” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 283 
 
 “ Bois-Dauphin is killed!” cried the three 
 assassins, seeing that their comrade did not stir. 
 “ Scoundrel ! We will curry your hide f or you ! ” 
 and they grasped their swords. But the young 
 monk, with surprising alertness, tucked up the 
 long sleeves of his gown, got possession of Bois- 
 Dauphin’s sword, and threw himself into a 
 posture of defence, in the most resolute way in 
 the world. At the same moment, his brother 
 monk drew from beneath his cassock a dagger 
 with a blade half-a-yard long, and took position 
 by the other’s side with an air not less soldierly. 
 “ Now, blackguards! ” cried he, “ we will teach 
 you how to behave, and give you a lesson in your 
 own business.” And in the twinkling of an eye 
 the three scoundrels, wounded or disarmed, were 
 driven to jump through the window. 
 
 “ Jesu Maria!” cried Dame Marguerite, 
 “ you are stout men-at-arms, holy fathers! You 
 do religion credit! Still there is a man killed, 
 and that is awkward for my house’s reputation.” 
 
 “Not a bit of it,” said the old monk. “ He 
 is not killed. I see him wriggling. But I will 
 give him extreme unction.” Then, drawing near 
 the wounded man, he caught him by his hair, set 
 the edge of the dagger to his throat, and would 
 have cut his head off if Dame Marguerite and 
 his fellow monk had not stopped him. 
 
284 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “Good God!” said Marguerite, “what are 
 you doing? Kill a man? And a man who passes 
 for a good Catholic? — though, as you have seen, 
 he is nothing of the kind.” 
 
 “ I guess,” said the young monk to his broth- 
 er, “ that urgent business calls you, as it does me, 
 to Beaugency. There is the boat; let us lose no 
 time.” 
 
 “You are right; I am with you,” said he; 
 and wiping his dagger, he replaced it under his 
 gown. Then the two valiant monks, after pay- 
 ing their score, went side by side to the Loire, 
 leaving Bois-Dauphin in Marguerite’s hands. 
 She began by rummaging his pockets, and pay- 
 ing herself : then she set to work to pick out the 
 bits of glass with which his face bristled, and to 
 dress his wounds according to the regular fashion 
 of good women in such cases. 
 
 “ Unless I am much mistaken, I have seen 
 you somewhere,” said the young man to the old 
 Franciscan. 
 
 “ And may the devil take me if I do not know 
 
 your face too. But ” 
 
 “ When I saw you first I do not think you 
 wore that cassock.” 
 
 “ And how about yourself? ” 
 
 “ Then you are a captain ” 
 
 “ Dietrich Hornstein, at your service. And 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 285 
 
 you are the gentleman with whom I dined once 
 near Etampes? ” 
 
 “ I am.” 
 
 “ Then your name is Mergy.” 
 
 “ It is: but not just now. I am Friar Am- 
 brose.” 
 
 “ And I am Friar Anthony of Alsace.” 
 
 “ Very well. And where are you going? ” 
 “ To La Rochelle, if I can get there.” 
 
 “ So am I.” 
 
 “ I am charmed to meet you. But, the devil ! 
 you put me in a desperate fix with your ‘ grace ’ ! 
 I did not know a word of it ; and I took you for 
 a real monk if ever there was one.” 
 
 “ I can return the compliment.” 
 
 “ But where did you escape from? ” said 
 Hornstein. 
 
 “ From Paris. And you? ” 
 
 “ From Orleans; I had to hide for more than 
 a week. My poor troopers, cornet and all, are 
 in the Loire.” 
 
 “ And Mila? ” 
 
 “ She turned Catholic.” 
 
 “ And my horse, captain? ” 
 
 “Ah: your horse? Well, I made the rascal 
 trumpeter who robbed you run the gantlet. 
 But as I did not know where you lived, I could 
 not send the horse back; and so you see I kept 
 
286 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 him till I should have the honour of meeting 
 you. Now, no doubt, he belongs to some scoun- 
 drelly Papist.” 
 
 “ Hush, captain! Do not say that word so 
 loud. But come, let us join our fortunes to- 
 gether, and be allies as we were just now.” 
 
 “ So be it: as long as Dietrich Hornstein has 
 a drop of blood in his veins he will be ready 
 to play a good knife at your side.” And they 
 struck hands thereon joyfully. 
 
 “ But now I think on it, tell me what they 
 meant with their chickens and their Caryam, 
 Percham? Truly these Papists are a pack of 
 idiots.” 
 
 “ Hush, again! here is the boat.” 
 
 Talking thus, they came to the vessel, went 
 on board, and reached Beaugency without 
 farther accident, except meeting divers corpses 
 of their brethren in the faith floating on the 
 Loire. 
 
 One of the boatmen observed that most of 
 these corpses floated face upwards. “ They are 
 imploring vengeance from heaven!” whispered 
 Mergy to the captain of Reiters, and Dietrich 
 squeezed his hand in answer. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE SIEGE OF LA ROCHELLE 
 
 “Still hope and suffer all who can!” 
 
 Moore, The Fudge Family. 
 
 L A ROCHELLE, almost the entire popu- 
 lation of which professed the Reformed 
 Faith, was at this time a kind of capital 
 to the provinces of the south, and the staunchest 
 bulwark of the Protestant party. Extensive com- 
 mercial relations with Spain and England had 
 brought to the town considerable wealth and the 
 spirit of independence which wealth begets and 
 fosters. The inhabitants, fishers or sailors by 
 trade, not uncommonly privateersmen, accus- 
 tomed from their earliest years to the hazards of 
 an adventurous life, were imbued with an energy 
 which stood them instead of discipline and prac- 
 tice in regular war. Therefore, when the news 
 of the massacre of the 24th of August came, the 
 men of Rochelle were far from giving themselves 
 up to the stolid resignation which, seizing upon 
 most Protestants, had made them despair of their 
 cause; but were, on the contrary, inflamed with 
 
 that active and formidable courage which despair 
 
 287 
 
288 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 sometimes supplies. With one accord they made 
 up their minds to stand the last extremities, rather 
 than open their gates to an enemy who had just 
 given so striking a proof of perfidious savagery. 
 While the ministers fed the flames of this zeal 
 by fanatical preachings, women, children, and 
 old men vied with each other in working at the 
 repair of the old fortifications and the construc- 
 tion of new ones. Provisions and arms were col- 
 lected; boats and ships were put in commission; 
 in short, not a moment was lost in getting into 
 order all the means of defence which the city 
 possessed. Many gentlemen who had escaped the 
 massacres came to join the Rochellese, and in- 
 spired the most timid with courage by the picture 
 which they drew of the atrocities of Saint Bar- 
 tholomew. To men who had just escaped a seem- 
 ingly certain death the chances of ordinary war 
 were like a capful of wind to sailors who have 
 just weathered a hurricane. Mergy and his com- 
 panion were among the number of the fugitives 
 who thus came to swell the garrison of La 
 Rochelle. 
 
 The Court of Paris, alarmed by these prepar- 
 ations, regretted that it had not anticipated them, 
 and the Marshal de Biron approached Rochelle 
 bearing proposals for an understanding. The 
 King had some ground for hoping that his choice 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 289 
 
 of Biron would please the Rochellese; for the 
 marshal had not only taken no part in the mas- 
 sacre of Saint Batholomew, but had saved several 
 distinguished Protestants, and had even levelled 
 the guns of the Arsenal, where he commanded, at 
 assassins bearing the royal cognizance. His only 
 demand was to be received into the town and 
 acknowledged there as the King’s governor, with 
 a promise to respect all the rights and privileges 
 of the inhabitants, and to leave them the free 
 exercise of their religion. But how was it pos- 
 sible again to put faith in Charles IX.’s promises 
 after the slaughter of sixty thousand Protes- 
 tants? Besides, during the very course of the 
 negotiations, the massacres continued at Bor- 
 deaux, Biron’s soldiery plundered the territory of 
 Rochelle, and a royal fleet seized merchant ships 
 and blockaded the port. 
 
 The Rochellese refused admission to Biron, 
 and answered that they could not negotiate with 
 the King so long as he remained the Guises’ 
 prisoner: perhaps because they really believed 
 that this family was the sole author of the woes 
 of Calvinism, perhaps because by a fiction, often 
 repeated since, they wished to set at ease the 
 consciences of those who might otherwise have 
 held that loyalty to the King ought to have the 
 precedence over sectarian interests. Thencefor- 
 
290 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 ward an understanding became impossible. Yet 
 the King bethought him of another agent, and 
 sent La Noue. 
 
 La Noue, surnamed Iron-arm, because of an 
 artificial arm with which he had replaced one 
 lost in battle, was a zealous Calvinist, who in the 
 late civil wars had shown the utmost courage and 
 great military skill. The Admiral, whose friend 
 he was, had had no more able and no more faith- 
 ful lieutenant. At the time of the massacre he 
 was in the Netherlands organizing the irregular 
 bands of insurgent Flemings against the Spanish 
 forces. Ill-served by fortune, he had been ob- 
 liged to yield himself prisoner to the Duke of 
 Alva, by whom he had been kindly treated. 
 Later, and when the vast effusion of blood had 
 excited some remorse, Charles IX. demanded 
 him from the Spaniards, and, contrary to expec- 
 tation, gave him a most flattering reception. The 
 King, always in extremes, heaped favours on one 
 Protestant just after he had caused the murder 
 of scores of thousands. Indeed, La Noue’s fate 
 seemed to be under some special Providence, for he 
 had already been made prisoner twice during the 
 third civil war, once at Jarnac and once at Mont- 
 contour, and had on each occasion been set free 
 without ransom by the King’s brother,* against 
 the representations of many of his officers, who 
 
 * The Duke of Anjou, afterwards Henri HI. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 291 
 
 urged him to make an example of a man too 
 dangerous to be spared and too honest to be 
 corrupted. Charles thought that La Noue would 
 be mindful of his clemency, and intrusted him 
 with the task of exhorting the Rochellese to sub- 
 mit. La Noue accepted the commission (stipu- 
 lating, however, that the King should not demand 
 of him anything dishonourable), and set out ac- 
 companied by an Italian priest, whose duty was 
 to keep an eye on his conduct. 
 
 From the very first he had the mortification 
 of finding that he was not trusted. He could not 
 gain admission to La Rochelle; but a village in 
 the neighbourhood was designated as a place of 
 conference, and here, at Tadon, he met the depu- 
 ties of the city. He knew them all as a man 
 knows his old brethern in arms ; but when he ap- 
 peared not a man held out the hand of friendship 
 to him, not a man appeared even to know who he 
 was. He had to announce himself, and then set 
 forth the King’s proposals, the substance of his 
 speech being, “Trust the King’s promises; for 
 civil war is the worst of evils.” But the Mayor 
 of La Rochelle answered, with a bitter smile, 
 “We see before us a man who is like La Noue, 
 but La Noue would not have suggested that his 
 brethren should submit to assassins. La Noue 
 loved our late lord the Admiral, and would have 
 been bent on avenging him rather than on bar- 
 
292 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 gaining with his murderers. No; you are not La 
 Noue!” The unlucky ambassador, cut to the 
 heart by these reproaches, recalled the services 
 which he had done to the Calvinist cause, showed 
 his maimed arm, and protested his devotion to # 
 religion. Little by little the mistrust of the 
 Rochellese melted; they opened their gates to 
 La Noue, they showed him what means of de- 
 fence they had, and even urged him to put him- 
 self at their head. The offer was very tempting 
 to an old soldier, and his oath to Charles included 
 a qualification which might be conscientiously 
 construed in different ways. La Noue thought 
 that by putting himself at the head of the Rochel- 
 lese he should be in better case to bring them 
 back to peaceful sentiments; and he also thought 
 that he might reconcile the allegiance he had 
 shown to his King with that which he owed to 
 his religion. But he deceived himself. The royal 
 troops came to attack Rochelle; La Noue headed 
 every sortie, and killed plenty of Catholics. 
 Then, returning to the city, he exhorted the 
 townsmen to come to terms. The result was that 
 the Catholics vowed he had broken his vow to 
 the King, and the Protestants accused him of 
 wishing to betray them. 
 
 In this plight La Noue, with every kind of 
 disgust heaped upon him, tried to put an end 
 to it by exposing his life twenty times a day. 
 
CHAPTER XXY 
 
 LA NOUE 
 
 “Foeneste. Cap de you! Cet homme ne se mouche pas du 
 talon!” 
 
 D’Aubigne, Le Baron de Foeneste. 
 
 T HE besieged had just made a successful 
 sally against the advanced works of 
 the Catholic army. They had filled up 
 many yards of trench, overset divers gabions, and 
 killed some hundred men or so, and the detach- 
 ment which had gained this success was returning 
 into town by the Tadon gate. First marched 
 Captain Dietrich and a company of arquebusiers, 
 all with heated countenances, panting breath, and 
 loudly calling for drink, which showed that they 
 had not spared themselves in the fight. Then 
 came a numerous troop of townsmen, among 
 whom were to be noticed more than one woman, 
 who seemed to have borne a share in the battle. 
 These were followed by some twoscore prisoners, 
 most of them covered with wounds, and guarded 
 by a double file of soldiers, who had much ado 
 
 293 
 
294 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 to defend them from the rage of the people as 
 they passed. The rearguard was formed by some 
 twenty mounted men, with La Noue, to whom 
 Mergy acted as aide-de-camp, last of all. His 
 cuirass was indented by a bullet, and his horse 
 was wounded in two places. In his left hand 
 he held a discharged pistol, and he managed 
 his horse by the aid of a hook which issued, in 
 place of a hand, from his right arm-piece. 
 
 “Let the prisoners pass, good friends!” he 
 cried every instant. “ Be merciful, good Roch- 
 ellese! They are wounded; they are defenceless; 
 they are enemies no longer ! ” 
 
 But the mob answered by fierce cries of “ To 
 the gibbet with the Papists! to the gallows with 
 them! and long live La Noue! ” Mergy and the 
 horsemen, with some well-timed blows of their 
 lance-butts, emphasized the generous rcommen- 
 dations of their leader, and the prisoners were 
 at last conducted to the city gaol and installed, 
 under a strong guard, in a place where they had 
 nothing to fear from popular fury. The de- 
 tachment dispersed; and La Noue, with no other 
 following save a few gentlemen, dismounted 
 before the townhall at the same time that the 
 mayor came forth, followed by some citizens and 
 an old minister of the name of Laplace. 
 
 “Well, brave La Noue,” said the mayor, 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 295 
 
 holding out his hand, “ you have just shown these 
 cut-throats that all brave men did not die with 
 the Admiral!” 
 
 “ The affair went fortunately enough, sir,” 
 said La Noue modestly; “ we lost but five killed 
 and few wounded.” 
 
 “As it was you who led the sally, M. de la 
 Noue,” returned the mayor, “ we were sure of 
 victory beforehand.” 
 
 “ And what could La Noue do without the 
 help of God? ” cried the old minister sourly. “ It 
 is the mighty God who has fought for us to-day: 
 He has heard our prayers! ” 
 
 “ It is God,” said La Noue in his calm voice, 
 “ who gives victory and withholds it as He wills; 
 and Him only must we thank for success in war.” 
 Then turning to the mayor, “ Well, Master 
 Mayor, has the council deliberated on his Majes- 
 ty’s last offers? ” 
 
 “ It has,” answered the mayor. “We have 
 just sent the trumpeter back to Monsieur, beg- 
 ging him to spare himself the trouble of sum- 
 moning us afresh to surrender. Henceforward 
 we shall answer only with musket-shots.” 
 
 “Ye should have hanged the trumpeter,” 
 remarked the minister. “ For is it not written, 
 4 There be men of Belial come out of the midst 
 of you who have striven to seduce the men of 
 
296 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 their city. . . . Rut thou shalt not spare to 
 
 slay them; thy hand shall be first on them, and 
 then the hand of all the people ’ ? ” 
 
 La Noue sighed and looked to heaven, but 
 made no answer. 
 
 “ What! ” continued the mayor, “ surrender? 
 Surrender, when the walls are standing? when 
 the foe does not even dare to attack them close, 
 while we beard him in his trenches every day? 
 Take my word for it, M. de la Noue, were there 
 not a soldier in Rochelle, the women would be 
 strong enough by themselves to keep off these 
 Parisian butchers ! ” 
 
 “ Sir, the stronger party should speak mod- 
 erately of his enemy; and the weaker ” 
 
 “ Who told you that we were the weaker? ” 
 interrupted Laplace. “ Does not God fight for 
 us? and was not Gideon, with three hundred men 
 of Israel, too strong for all the host of the Mid- 
 ianites? ” 
 
 “ You know, Master Mayor,” continued La 
 Noue, “ better than any man, how insufficient are 
 our stores. Powder is running low, and I have 
 had to forbid the arquebusiers to risk long shots.” 
 
 “ Montgomery will send us some from Eng- 
 land,” said the mayor. 
 
 “ The fire of heaven will fall on the Papists,” 
 said the minister. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 297 
 
 “ But bread grows dearer every day, Master 
 Mayor.” 
 
 “ In a day or two the English fleet will be 
 here, and then the town will have plenty.” 
 
 “ God will cause manna to fall, if it be 
 needed ! ” cried Laplace vehemently. 
 
 “ As for the succour you speak of,” went on 
 La Noue, “ a few days’ southerly wind will make 
 it impossible for it to enter the harbour. Be- 
 sides, it may be taken. ” 
 
 “ The wind will blow from the north. I 
 prophesy it, O man of little faith! ” said the min- 
 ister. “ Thou hast lost thy courage at the same 
 time as thy right arm! ” 
 
 La Noue seemed to have made up his mind 
 to return him no answer. He went on, still ad- 
 dressing the mayor only: 
 
 “ The loss of a single man falls heavier on 
 us than the loss of ten on the enemy. I fear 
 lest, if the Catholics press the siege with activity, 
 we be forced to accept terms harder far than 
 those which you have just scornfully rejected. 
 And if, as I hope, the King deigns to content 
 himself with having his authority recognised by 
 the town, without demanding sacrifices which 
 we can not make, I believe it to be our duty 
 to open our gates to him; for after all, he 
 is our master.” 
 
298 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “We have no other master than Christ! And 
 none but the impious can call Charles — the savage 
 Ahab, who drinks the blood of the prophets — 
 their master!” Thus cried the minister, whose 
 rage seemed to redouble as he beheld La Noue’s 
 imperturbable calm. 
 
 “ For my part,” said the mayor, “ I remem- 
 ber very well how, the last time the Admiral 
 passed through our town, he said to us, ‘ The 
 King has pledged me his word that all his sub- 
 jects, Protestant and Catholic, shall be treated 
 alike.’ Six months later this same King, who 
 pledged his word to the Admiral, had him mur- 
 dered. If we open our gates, we shall have a 
 Saint Bartholomew here as they had at Paris.” 
 “ The King was deceived by the Guises,” 
 said La Noue. “ He repents it now, and would 
 gladly make atonement for the bloodshed. If 
 you provoke the Catholics by your obstinate re- 
 fusal to treat, you will have to deal with all the 
 forces of the kingdom, and the sole refuge of 
 the reformed faith will be destroyed. Be per- 
 suaded by me, Master Mayor — peace! peace!” 
 “Coward!” cried the minister. “Thou de- 
 sirest peace because thou fearest for thy life!” 
 “Oh, Master Laplace!” said the mayor. 
 
 “ In short,” went on La Noue coolly, “ my 
 last word is, that if the King will consent to 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 299 
 
 put no garrison in La Rochelle, and to leave our 
 meetings free, we ought to offer him the keys 
 and assure him of our submission.” 
 
 “Thou art a traitor!” said Laplace; “and 
 thou hast been corrupted by the tyrants! ” 
 
 “Good God! Master Laplace!” said the 
 mayor again, “ what are you saying? ” 
 
 La Noue smiled slightly and contemptuously. 
 “ You see, Master Mayor,” said he, “ the 
 times we live in are strange: men of war speak 
 of peace, and ministers preach war. My good 
 sir,” he continued, at last addressing Laplace, 
 “ it is dinner-time, I think, and your wife must 
 be expecting you at home.” 
 
 These last words put the finishing touch to 
 the divine’s fury. He could not hit on any verbal 
 insult ; and as a box on the ear is a good substitute 
 for a reasonable answer, he dealt one on the old 
 soldier’s cheek. 
 
 “ In God’s name what are you doing? ” cried 
 the mayor. “ Strike M. de la Noue! — the best 
 citizen and the bravest soldier of Rochelle ! ” 
 Mergy, who was present, was about to ad- 
 minister to Laplace a correction which he would 
 not soon have forgotten, but La Noue held him 
 back. For a single moment, when his grizzled 
 beard was touched by the old madman’s hand, 
 there passed with the speed of thought over his 
 
300 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 eyes a flash of furious indignation. But his 
 countenance at once recovered its impassive air. 
 It might have been thought that the minister 
 had struck the marble bust of a Roman senator, 
 or that La Noue himself had been touched by 
 some inanimate thing driven accidentally against 
 him. 
 
 “ Take the old man back to his wife,” said he 
 to one of the townsmen, who were dragging the 
 minister away. “ Tell her to have a care of him; 
 he is surely not well to-day. And you, Master 
 Mayor, I pray you have me ready a hundred and 
 fifty citizen volunteers; for I would make a sally 
 to-morrow at break of day, just when the sol- 
 diers, who have spent the night in the trenches, 
 are stiff with cold, like bears attacked at the thaw. 
 I have often noticed that folk who have slept 
 under a good roof have easy work at morning- 
 tide with those who have passed the night in the 
 open air. Monsieur de Mergy, if you are not in 
 a great hurry for dinner, will you take a turn 
 with me to the Gospel Bastion? I should like 
 to see how the enemy’s works are getting on.” 
 Then, saluting the mayor, and resting his hand 
 on the young man’s shoulder, he bent his steps 
 to the bastion. 
 
 They entered it the moment after two men 
 had been mortally wounded by a gunshot; the 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 301 
 
 stones were dyed with blood, and one of the 
 wretches was imploring his comrades to put him 
 out of his misery. La Noue, his elbow on the 
 parapet, gazed silently for some time at the be- 
 siegers’ works; then he turned towards Mergy. 
 “ All war is hideous,” said he, “ but a civil war! 
 That ball was rammed into a French cannon; 
 it was a Frenchman who levelled the gun, and 
 held the match, and those whom the ball has 
 killed are two Frenchmen. And yet, to cause 
 death half a mile off is nothing; but M. de 
 Mergy, when one has to plunge a sword into the 
 bosom of a man who cries for quarter in your 
 own tongue . . . ! And we have done that 
 
 very thing this very morning! ” 
 
 “ Ah, sir, but if you had seen the massacres 
 on the twenty- fourth! If you had passed the 
 Seine when it ran red, and carried more corpses 
 than it floats down iceblocks in winter when the 
 frost breaks, you would feel little pity for those 
 with whom we are fighting. To me every Papist 
 is a murderer.” 
 
 “ Do not slander your country,” said La 
 Noue. “ In yonder besieging army there are 
 very few of the wretches of whom you speak. 
 The soldiers are French peasants, who have 
 quitted their ploughs to earn the King’s pay : the 
 gentlemen and the captains fight because of their 
 
302 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 oath of allegiance to the King. It may be that 
 they are right and that we are rebels! ” 
 
 “ Rebels? But our cause is just: we fight for 
 faith and life.” 
 
 “ I see you are not much troubled with 
 scruples, M. de Mergy; you are a happy war- 
 rior,” and the old hero sighed deeply. 
 
 “By the Lord! ” said a soldier, who had just 
 let off his piece, “ that devil there must bear a 
 charmed life. I have been marking him down 
 for three days, and I have never even grazed 
 him.” 
 
 “ Whom do you mean? ” asked Mergy. 
 
 “ There! do you see the spark in the white 
 doublet, with a red scarf and feather? Every 
 day he paces up and down, maugre our beards, 
 as if to brave us. It is one of the gilt-swords of 
 the Court, who came with Monsieur.” 
 
 “ It is a long shot,” said Mergy; “ but never 
 mind. Give me an arquebuss.” 
 
 A soldier handed him his piece ; Mergy rested 
 the end of the barrel on the parapet, and took 
 a careful aim. 
 
 “ Suppose he were a friend of yours? ” said 
 , La Noue. “ Why do you want to play the mus- 
 keteer thus? ” 
 
 Mergy, who was about to draw trigger, held 
 his hand. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 303 
 
 “ I have no friends,” he said, “ but one, 
 among the Catholics, and he, I am sure, is not 
 among our besiegers.” 
 
 “ But suppose your brother were in Mon- 
 sieur’s suite, and it were he? ” 
 
 The arquebuss went off, but Mergy’s finger 
 had trembled, and the dust sent up by the bullet 
 rose at some distance from the promenader. 
 Mergy did not believe that his brother could be 
 in the Catholic camp; but he was not sorry to 
 see that he had missed. The person at whom he 
 had shot continued his slow walk, and at last 
 disappeared behind one of the piles of fresh- 
 heaped earth which were rising around the city 
 on all sides. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE SALLY 
 
 “ Hamlet . Dead for a ducat, dead!” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 COLD drizzling rain, which had fallen 
 
 uninterruptedly throughout the whole 
 
 night, had just ceased when the dawn- 
 
 ing day was heralded in the sky by a pale light 
 in the east. This light struggled through a heavy 
 fog, which clung close to the earth, though the 
 wind dispersed it here and there, making large 
 gaps. But the grey fleecy masses soon coalesced 
 again, as the waves, cloven by a ship, fall back 
 and fill up the wake it has left. The champaign, 
 covered with this dense mist, through which tree- 
 trunks peered at intervals, looked like one great 
 inundation. 
 
 In the town, the uncertain light of dawn, 
 aided by the flare of torches, shone upon a pretty 
 numerous troop of soldiers and volunteers, who 
 were gathered in the street leading to the Gospel 
 Bastion. They were stamping their feet on the 
 pavement, and shuffling about without changing 
 
 304 
 
A CHRONICLE 
 
 305 
 
 their actual position, as men do who are pierced 
 by the damp and searching cold of a winter sun- 
 rise. They did not spare oaths and vigorous 
 execrations against the leader who had put them 
 under arms so early; but despite the strength 
 of their language, there was to be detected in 
 it the cheerful hope which animates soldiers led 
 by a chief whom they value. They kept saying, 
 in tones half -jesting and half-angry, “ This con- 
 founded Iron-arm, this Jack Never-sleep, can not 
 eat his breakfast till he has beat up the quarters 
 of the babe-bolters yonder. — A plague on him! 
 one never can make sure of a night’s rest with 
 a devil of a fellow like that. — By our dead lord 
 the Admiral’s beard ! if I do not hear the muskets 
 talk soon, I shall go to sleep, as if I were in 
 bed — Thank God! here is a dram coming to 
 wake our hearts in our bodies, and save us from 
 catching cold in this diabolical fog.” 
 
 While the brandy was being served out to the 
 soldiers, the officers, clustering around La Noue, 
 who was standing under the penthouse of a shop, 
 listened with interest to the plan of the attack 
 which he proposed to make on the besieging 
 army. The roll of the drums was heard, each 
 fell into his place, and a minister came forward 
 and blessed the soldiers, exhorting them to do 
 their duty, and promising them eternal life if, for 
 
306 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 too good reasons, they were not able to come back 
 to the town and receive the rewards and thanks 
 of their fellow-citizens. The sermon was a short 
 one; but La Noue thought it too long. He was 
 not the same man who the evening before de- 
 plored every drop of French blood shed in the 
 war ; he was simply a soldier, and seemed eager to 
 revisit the scene of carnage. No sooner was the 
 minister’s discourse finished; no sooner had the 
 soldiers returned their “ Amen,” then he cried in 
 tones firm and even harsh, “ Comrades! the good 
 man has said well. Let us trust in God and our 
 Lady of the Hardhitters! I will kill the first 
 man who fires before a Papist’s stomach is within 
 range of his wad, if I come out alive myself ! ” 
 
 “ Sir,” whispered Mergy to him, “ this is 
 different talk from last night’s.” 
 
 “ Do you know Latin? ” asked La Noue 
 brusquely. 
 
 “ Yes, sir,” said Mergy. 
 
 “ Then remember that admirable maxim, Age 
 quod agis ” 
 
 He gave the signal. A cannon-shot was fired, 
 and the whole body set out at quick march for 
 the open, while at the same time small parties of 
 soldiers, sallying by different gates, went to beat 
 up different parts of the hostile lines, that the 
 Catholics, thinking themselves assailed on all 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 307 
 
 sides, might not dare to send reinforcements to 
 the scene of the grand assault, for fear of de- 
 serting works which seemed everywhere threat- 
 ened. 
 
 The Gospel Bastion, against which the en- 
 gineers of the Catholic army had been concen- 
 trating their efforts, was especially exposed to 
 a battery of five guns, established on a knoll, 
 crowned by some ruined buildings, which had 
 before the siege been those of a mill. A ditch 
 and an earthwork guarded the approach to this 
 from the city; and in front of the ditch several 
 arquebusiers stood sentinel. But, as the Prot- 
 estant leader had foreseen, their guns, exposed 
 to the damp for several hours, were sure to be 
 almost useless, and the attacking party, well 
 equipped in all respects, and ready for the as- 
 sault, had a great advantage over men taken by 
 surprise, weary with watching, drenched with 
 rain, and shivering with cold. The first sentinels 
 were despatched with the cold steel, but some 
 musket-shots, which had had the luck to go off, 
 woke the battery guards in time to see the enemy 
 already over the parapet, and climbing the ascent 
 of the mill-hill. Some resistance was attempted, 
 but weapons dropped from hands stiff with cold, 
 and almost every arquebuss missed fire, while not 
 a shot or blow of the assailants was lost. Victory 
 
308 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 ceased to be doubtful, and already the Protes- 
 tants, masters of the battery, began to shout 
 savagely: “No quarter! Remember the twenty- 
 fourth of August! ” 
 
 Some fifty soldiers with their captain occupied 
 the mill-tower; and the officer, in his night gar- 
 ments, with a pillow in one hand and his sword 
 in the other, opened the gate and came out, ask- 
 ing what the disturbance was. So far was he 
 from even thinking of a sally on the enemy’s 
 part, that he fancied the noise to be due to some 
 squabble among his own soldiers. He was 
 cruelly undeceived; for a halberd-blow stretched 
 him on the ground bathed in his own blood. His 
 men had time to shut and barricade the gate of 
 the tower, and for some minutes they made good 
 their defence by firing from the windows. But 
 there happened to be stacked against the building 
 a great mass of straw and hay, as well as of 
 brushwood for the gabions. The Protestants set 
 fire to this, and in a moment the flames had en- 
 veloped the tower and climbed to its summit. 
 Soon horrible cries came forth; the roof had 
 caught, and was ready to fall on the wretches 
 whom it had sheltered. The gate was on fire, 
 and the barricades they had made themselves pre- 
 vented their exit that way. If they attempted to 
 jump from the windows they fell into the burn- 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 309 
 
 ing pile or were spitted on pike-points. Then 
 was seen a hideous sight. An ensign, sheathed 
 in complete armour, tried, like the rest, to leap 
 from a narrow window. His corslet ended, as 
 was then a common enough fashion, in a sort 
 of iron skirt * covering the thighs and belly, and 
 widening like a funnel-mouth so as to give easy 
 room for walking. The window was not wide 
 enough to let this part of the armour pass; and 
 the ensign, in his excitement, had thrust himself 
 so violently in, that the greater part of his body 
 was outside without its being possible for him, 
 held as he was in a sort of vice, to move further. 
 Meanwhile, the flames rose to him, heated his 
 armour, and roasted him in it slowly as in a 
 furnace or in the famous brazen bull invented 
 by f Phalaris. The wretch uttered horrible cries, 
 and vainly waved his arms as if imploring suc- 
 cour. For a moment there was silence among 
 the attacking party; then together, and as if by 
 common consent, they shouted a war-cry as 
 though to divert their own attention and drown 
 the groans of the burning man. He soon dis- 
 
 * Armour like this can be seen at the Artillery Museum. A very fine 
 sketch of a tournament by Rubens shows how, notwithstanding this iron 
 skirt, it was still possible to mount a horse. The saddles have on them a 
 sort of small stool, which goes under the skirt and raises the rider till his 
 knees are almost on a level with his horse’s head. For the man burnt in 
 his armour see D’Aubigne’s “Histoire Universelle.” 
 
 t [“For,” not “by,” a slip of Merimee’s.] — Translator's Note. 
 
310 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 appeared in a blast of flame and smoke, and a 
 helmet, red-hot and smoking, was seen to fall 
 in the midst of the ruins of the tower. 
 
 In the heat of combat emotions of horror and 
 grief last not long; the instinct of self-preserva- 
 tion speaks to the soldier’s mind too forcibly for 
 him to be able long to attend to the miseries of 
 others. While some of the Rochellese pursued 
 the fugitives others spiked the guns, smashed 
 their wheels, and hurled into the ditch the gabions 
 of the battery and the corpses of its garrison. 
 
 Mergy, who had been one of the first in the 
 escalade of the ditch and the rampart, took 
 breath for a moment, just long enough to scratch 
 the name of Diane on one of the battery guns. 
 Then he helped the others to destroy the be- 
 seigers’ works. Meanwhile a soldier had lifted 
 up the head of the Catholic captain, who gave no 
 sign of life, while another took his feet, and both 
 swinging him between them in cadence, were 
 about to hurl him into the ditch. Suddenly the 
 apparent corpse, opening its eyes, recognised 
 Mergy and cried, “ Quarter, Mergy! I am a 
 prisoner, save me! Do you not know your friend 
 Beville? ” The poor fellow’s face was covered 
 with blood, and Mergy had some difficulty in 
 recognising in this dying man the young cour- 
 tier whom he had left full of life and mirth. He 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 311 
 
 had him stretched carefully on the grass, him- 
 self bound up his wounds, and after laying him 
 across a horse, gave orders that he should be 
 taken gently into the town. In the act of bid-, 
 ding him farewell and helping to lead the horse 
 out of the battery, he saw through an opening 
 of the fog a body of cavalry advancing at a trot, 
 between the city and the mill. To all appear- 
 ance it was a detachment of Catholic troops try- 
 ing to cut off their retreat. Mergy at once 
 hastened to warn La Noue, and said, “ If you 
 will give me only twoscore arquebusiers, I will 
 throw myself behind the hollow way through 
 which they must pass, and if they do not turn 
 tail promptly I will give you leave to hang 
 me!” 
 
 “ Excellent, my boy! ” said La Noue. “ You 
 will make a good general some of these days. 
 Come, men, follow this gentleman and do what 
 he tells you.” 
 
 In a very short time Mergy had ensconced 
 his arquebusiers along the hedge. He made them 
 kneel on one knee and get their weapons ready; 
 but above all he forbade a single shot to be fired 
 till he gave the word. The hostile cavalry rode 
 rapidly up, and already their horse-hoofs were 
 clearly heard in the mud of the hollow way. 
 
 “ Their captain,” whispered Mergy, “ is the 
 
312 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 red-plumed rascal whom we missed yesterday. 
 Do not let us miss him to-day.” 
 
 A The arquebusier on his right nodded as 
 though to say he would take care of that. The 
 horsemen were not twenty paces off, and their 
 leader, turning to his men, seemed about to give 
 an order, when Mergy, rising suddenly, shouted 
 “ Fire! ” 
 
 The captain with the red plume turned his 
 head, and Mergy recognised his brother. He 
 darted his hand towards his neighbour’s piece 
 to strike it aside; but before he touched it the 
 shot sped. The horsemen, startled at the un- 
 expected volley, fled in different directions over 
 the plain; but Captain George fell pierced with 
 two bullets. 
 
The horsemen were not twenty paces off, when 
 Mergy, rising suddenly, shouted, “ Fire ! 
 
 j From a drawing by Edouard loudouze. 
 
912 A CHRONICLE 
 
 ' 
 
 k pi ned rascal whom we missed yesterday, 
 i • not Jet us miss him to-day.” 
 
 * The arquebusier on his right nodded as 
 though to say he would take care of that. The 
 horsemen were not twenty paces off, and their 
 leader, turning to his men, seemed about to give 
 
 “Fire r WhCn Mergy ’ rising suddenl y> shouted 
 
 lue captain with the red plume turned his 
 head, and Mergy recognised his brother. He 
 arted his hand towards his neighbour’s piece 
 to stnke.it aside; but before he touched it the 
 shot sped. The horsemen, startled at the un- 
 expected volley, fled in different directions over 
 
 le P d1 *^ ; Captain George fell pierced with 
 two bullets. 
 
 
 
 
 iwilw 3o aaojsq ton aiaw ircmi^giorf *jdT 
 
 ", ! '* ,b‘jiuofIg t y Inijbbu* $ni«n 
 
 .5s.moWoa \yumso\VA \\A •o\\nuv\Vt v> rnoVA. 
 
The Captain returned the salute, and both 
 looked at each other for some time without speaking. 
 From a drawing by Edouard Toudouze. 
 
dJod briK adi bamuJjyr nbdqjsO a/IT 
 
 gnidi^qg Juod jiw amii araog icd nadio doss J* badool 
 .ssmoV»ioT hruutohSl \uV ^kVs«y\Yj » wo^ 
 
f |1f§ 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE HOSPITAL 
 
 “Father. 
 
 Why are you so obstinate ? 
 
 Pierre. Why you so troublesome, that a poor wretch 
 Can’t die in peace. 
 
 But you, like ravens, will be croaking round him ?” 
 
 FORMER monastery, sequestrated 
 
 some time before by the Town Council 
 
 of La Rochelle, had been, during the 
 
 siege, turned into a hospital for the wounded. 
 The pavement of the chapel (whence benches, 
 altar, and all other furniture had been removed) 
 was covered with hay and straw, and hither they 
 carried the rank and file. The refectory was set 
 apart for officers and gentlemen. It was a 
 spacious apartment, handsomely panelled with 
 old oak, and its walls were pierced with wide 
 pointed windows, giving light enough for the 
 surgical operations which unceasingly went on 
 within it. 
 
 Here Captain George lay on a mattress, 
 stained with his own blood and with that of many 
 other unfortunates who had preceded him in this 
 place of pain. A truss of straw served him as 
 
 Otway, Venice Preserved. 
 
 313 
 
314 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 pillow; he was naked to the waist, for they had 
 just taken off his corslet and torn his shirt and 
 doublet open; but his right arm still bore the 
 steel armpiece and gauntlet. A soldier was 
 stanching the blood which flowed from his 
 wounds, one in the belly just below the cuirass, 
 the other, of less importance, in the left arm. 
 Mergy was so overwhelmed by grief that he 
 was unable to be of any effectual assistance. 
 Now weeping on his knees in front of the cap- 
 tain, now rolling on the ground with cries of 
 despair, he reproached himself unceasingly with 
 having slain the kindest of brothers and the best 
 of friends. But the captain was calm enough 
 meanwhile and tried to moderate his transports. 
 
 A few feet from his mattress was another on 
 which the luckless Beville lay in equally evil 
 case. But his features did not exhibit the same 
 quiet resignation which was noticeable on the 
 captain’s. From time to time he let slip a 
 muffled groan and turned his eyes to his neigh- 
 bour as if to beg a share of his courage and 
 fortitude. 
 
 A man of some forty years, dry, thin, bald, 
 and covered with wrinkles, entered the hall and 
 drew near Captain George, holding in his hand 
 a green bag, whence there issued a certain rattle 
 very terrible to poor wounded men. It was 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 315 
 
 Master Brisart, a surgeon skilful enough for 
 the time, and a friend and pupil of the famous 
 Ambrose Pare. He had just operated; for his 
 arms were bare to the elbow, and he was still girt 
 with a large apron all stained with blood. 
 
 “ Who are you and what do you want with 
 me? ” asked George of him. 
 
 “ I am a surgeon, my good sir, and if you 
 do not know the name of Master Brisart, there 
 must be many things of which you are ignorant. 
 Come, pluck up a sheep’s courage, as the saying 
 is. I know something of gun-shot wounds, thank 
 God! And I would I had as many bags of a 
 thousand livres each as I have extracted bullets 
 from folks who are as hale to-day as I am 
 myself.” 
 
 “ Well then, doctor, tell me the truth. The 
 wound is mortal, if I know anything about it.” 
 
 The surgeon examined the left arm first, and 
 said, “A trifle!” Then he began to probe the 
 other wound, a proceeding which soon forced the 
 patient to grin horribly. He had strength 
 enough left to push the doctor’s hand away 
 stoutly enough with his own right hand. 
 
 “No further, doctor, in God’s name and the 
 Devil’s!” cried he. “I see by your face that 
 my business is done.” 
 
 “ Well, sir, you see, I fear much that the 
 
316 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 bullet has crossed the small hypogastric intestine, 
 and striking upwards has lodged in the spine, 
 which we otherwise call in Greek, rachis. What 
 makes me think so is that your legs are motion- 
 less and cold already — a pathological symptom 
 
 which rarely deceives. In which case ” 
 
 “ A gun-shot at point-blank and a ball in the 
 spine! Plague on it, doctor, that is more than 
 enough to lay one poor devil with his fathers. 
 There, torture me no more, and let me die 
 quietly.” 
 
 “No! he shall live! He will live!” cried 
 Mergy, fixing wild eyes on the surgeon and 
 clutching his arm hard. 
 
 “Yes; he will live an hour longer — perhaps 
 two, for he is a strong man,” said Master Brisart 
 coolly. 
 
 Mergy fell once more on his knees, seized the 
 captain’s right hand, and drenched the gauntlet 
 which covered it, with tears. 
 
 “Two hours!” answered George. “So 
 much the better; I feared I had longer to suffer.” 
 “ No! it is impossible! ” cried Mergy sobbing. 
 “ George, you must not die. A brother can not 
 die by his brother’s hand!” 
 
 “ There, there, Bernard, calm yourself, and 
 do not shake me so. I feel every motion of yours 
 here. The pain is not too bad for the moment, 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 317 
 
 if only it will last, as the fool said while he was 
 falling from the steeple.” 
 
 Mergy sat down by the mattress, his head 
 resting on his knees and his face hidden by his 
 hands. He did not move, and seemed stupefied; 
 only now and then convulsive twitches made his 
 whole body shake as though in the shivering fit 
 of a fever, and groans unlike the sound of a 
 human voice struggled from his breast. 
 
 As for the surgeon, after fixing a bandage 
 or two merely to arrest the bleeding, he wiped 
 his probe with great coolness. 
 
 “ I should advise you strongly to set your 
 affairs in order,” he said. “ If you want a min- 
 ister, there are plenty here, and if you prefer 
 a priest you can have one. I saw a monk just 
 now, whom our people had taken prisoner. See, 
 he is yonder, confessing that Popish officer who 
 lies at the point of death. 
 
 “ Give me something to drink,” said the 
 captain. 
 
 “ Do nothing of the kind,” replied the doc- 
 tor, “or you will die an hour sooner.” 
 
 “ An hour of life is not worth a glass of 
 wine. Come, good-bye, doctor; my friend here 
 at my side is waiting for you impatiently.” 
 
 “ Then shall I send you a minister or the 
 monk? ” 
 
318 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Neither one nor the other.” 
 
 “ What do you mean? ” 
 
 “ Let me alone.” 
 
 The surgeon shrugged his shoulders and 
 turned to Beville. 
 
 “By my beard ! ” cried he, “ this is a beauti- 
 ful wound! These devils of volunteers strike 
 like madmen ! ” 
 
 “ But I shall recover, shall I not? ” asked the 
 wounded man feebly. 
 
 “ Draw your breath,” said Master Brisart. 
 
 Then they heard a sort of low whistle, pro- 
 duced by the air which left Beville’s lungs by his 
 wound as well as by his mouth, while the blood 
 ran from the opening like crimson froth. The 
 surgeon whistled himself, as if in echo of this 
 strange sound ; and then he hastily bandaged the 
 place, and without a word picked up his instru- 
 ment-case and prepared to depart. Meanwhile 
 Beville’s eyes, glittering like torches, had fol- 
 lowed all his movements. 
 
 “ Well, doctor? ” asked he, in trembling 
 tones. 
 
 “ Pack up your traps,” said the surgeon 
 coolly, as he turned away. 
 
 “ Alas! to die so young! ” cried the unhappy 
 Beville, letting his head fall hack on the straw 
 which served him as pillow. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 319 
 
 Captain George still asked for drink; but 
 no one would give him so much as a glass of 
 water, for fear of hastening his end — a singular 
 kind of humanity, which serves only to prolong 
 misery. At this moment La Noue, attended by 
 Captain Dietrich and several other officers, en- 
 tered the hall to visit the wounded. They all 
 halted before George’s mattress; and La Noue, 
 leaning on his sword-hilt, looked from one 
 brother to the other with eyes in which all the 
 sympathy with which the sad scene inspired him 
 was depicted. A flask slung at the German sol- 
 dier’s side attracted George’s notice. 
 
 “ Captain,” said he, “ you are an old sol- 
 dier? ” J 
 
 “Yes; as a soldier I am old enough. The 
 smoke of powder grizzles a man’s beard faster 
 than years. My name is Captain Dietrich 
 Hornstein.” 
 
 “ Tell me, then,” said George, “ what you 
 would do if you had my wound? ” 
 
 Captain Dietrich considered the injuries for 
 a moment, like a man accustomed to the sight 
 and to judge their importance. 
 
 “ I should put my conscience in order,” an- 
 swered he, “ and then I should ask for a good 
 glass of Rhenish, if there were a bottle any- 
 where about.” 
 
320 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ Well, I only ask them for a glass of their 
 wretched Rochelle wine, and the fools will not 
 give it me.” 
 
 Dietrich unslung his flask, which was of very 
 goodly size, and made as though he would hand 
 it to the wounded man. 
 
 “What are you doing, captain? ” cried a 
 musketeer. “ The doctor says he will die at 
 once if he drinks.” 
 
 “What matter?” replied Dietrich; “he will 
 at least have a little solace before death. Here, 
 brave sir; I am only sorry not to have better 
 wine to offer you.” 
 
 “ You are a gentleman, Captain Dietrich,” 
 said George, when he had drunk. Then handing 
 the flask to his neighbour, “ And you, my poor 
 Beville, will you do me reason? ” 
 
 But Beville shook his head and answered not. 
 
 “ Ah ! ah ! ” said George, “ here comes more 
 torment! What! will they never let me die in 
 peace? ” 
 
 He saw a minister coming forward, Bible un- 
 der arm. 
 
 “ My son,” said the minister, “ when you 
 
 go ” 
 
 “ Enough! enough! ” answered George. “ I 
 know what you would say ; but it is lost labour — 
 I am a Catholic.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 321 
 
 “ A Catholic ! ” cried Beville. “ Then you 
 are a Freethinker no longer? ” 
 
 “ But once/’ said the minister, “ you were 
 bred in the reformed faith; and at this solemn 
 and terrible moment, when you are about to ap- 
 pear before the supreme Judge of deeds and of 
 consciences ’ ’ 
 
 “I am a Catholic! By the devil’s horns! 
 leave me alone ! ” 
 
 “ But ” 
 
 “ Captain Dietrich,” said George, “ will you 
 not take pity on me? You have done me one 
 great service ; I beg you do me yet another. See 
 that I am allowed to die without preachments 
 and jeremiads.” 
 
 “ You had better withdraw,” said the captain 
 to the minister. “You see he is in no mood to 
 listen to you.” 
 
 La Noue beckoned to the monk, who at once 
 approached. 
 
 “ Here is a priest of your own religion,” said 
 La Noue to Captain George. “We make no 
 pretensions to force men’s consciences.” 
 
 “ Monk or minister, let them all go to the 
 devil!” answered the wounded man. 
 
 But the two divines stood on each side of 
 his bed, and seemed ready to fight for the dying 
 patient. 
 
322 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 “ This gentleman is a Catholic,” said the 
 monk. 
 
 “ But he was born a Protestant,” said the 
 minister; “he belongs to me.” 
 
 “ He was converted,” said the one. 
 
 “ But he wishes to die in the faith of his 
 fathers,” retorted the other. 
 
 “ Confess, my son.” 
 
 “ Repeat your Creed, my son.” 
 
 “ Do you not die a good Catholic? ” asked 
 the monk. 
 
 “ Take away this messenger of Antichrist! ” 
 cried the minister, feeling that the majority of 
 the audience was on his side; and immediately a 
 zealous Huguenot soldier grasped the monk by 
 
 his girdle, and thrust him back crying 
 
 “Hence, shaveling gallows-bird! ’tis long 
 since mass has ceased to be said at Rochelle! ” 
 “Hold, there!” said La Noue. “If this 
 gentleman wishes to confess himself, I pledge 
 my word that none shall interfere.” 
 
 “ Very many thanks, M. de la Noue,” said 
 the dying man faintly. 
 
 “ You are all witnesses,” interrupted the 
 monk, “ he wishes to confess! ” 
 
 “No! may the devil take me, no! ” 
 
 “ He returns to the faith of his ancestors! ” 
 cried the minister. 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 323 
 
 “No! A thousand thunders! Leave me, 
 both of you ! Am I dead already, that the ravens 
 are quarrelling over my carcass? I will have 
 neither your mass nor your psalms.” 
 
 “ He blasphemes ! ” cried in unison the two 
 ministers of the rival faiths. 
 
 “ It is well to believe in something,” observed 
 Captain Dietrich with unruffled calmness. 
 
 “ I believe,” said George, “that you are a 
 good fellow who will deliver me from these 
 harpies. There ! get away with you both, and let 
 me die like a dog ! ” 
 
 “Yea! die like a dog!” said the minister, 
 turning away in a rage. The monk crossed him- 
 self, and drew near Beville’s couch, while La 
 Noue and Mergy held the Protestant divine 
 back. “Make one more effort!” said Mergy. 
 “ Pity him, pity me! ” 
 
 “ Sir,” said La Noue to the dying man, “ take 
 an old soldier’s word for it, the exhortations of 
 a servant of God can soothe dying hours. Do 
 not hearken to the counsels of a guilty vanity, 
 and do not lose your soul out of idle bravado.” 
 
 “ Sir,” replied the captain, “ I have not 
 thought of death to-day for the first time. I 
 need no one’s exhortations to prepare for it. I 
 never loved bravado, and I love it now less than 
 ever. But in the devil’s name, I will have noth- 
 
324 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 in g to do with their nonsense.’ * The minis- 
 ter shrugged his shoulders, and La Noue 
 sighed. Both departed slowly and with bowed 
 heads. 
 
 “ Comrade,” said Dietrich, “ you must be in 
 the devil’s own pain to speak as you do.” 
 
 “ Yes, captain, I am.” 
 
 “ Then I hope that the good God will not 
 be offended at your words, though they sound 
 desperately like blasphemy. With a gun-shot 
 right through the body, confound it, one may 
 swear a little to keep one’s heart up.” 
 
 George smiled and took the flask once more. 
 “ Your health, captain! You are the best nurse 
 a wounded soldier can have,” and as he spoke 
 he held out his hand. Dietrich clasped it, not 
 without certain signs of emotion. “ The devil! ” 
 he murmured to himself, “ suppose my brother 
 Hennig were a Catholic, and I had shot him 
 through the body! This, then, was what Mila’s 
 prophecy meant.” 
 
 “ George, my friend,” said Beville in a 
 piteous tone, “ speak to me once! We are going 
 to die. ’Tis a terrible moment. Are you still 
 minded as you used to be when you converted 
 me to Atheism? ” 
 
 “ Of course I am. Take courage ; in a min- 
 ute or two our sufferings will be over.” 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 325 
 
 “ But this monk tells me of flames — of devils 
 — of all sorts of things. Meseems all this is not 
 comforting.” 
 
 “ Nonsense! ” 
 
 “ But suppose it were all true? ” 
 
 “ Captain,” said George, “ I bequeath to you 
 my corslet and my sword; and I would I had 
 something better to offer you for the good wine 
 you have given me so kindly.” 
 
 “ George, my friend,” began Beville once 
 more, “ it would be terrible if what he says were 
 true . . . eternity ! ” 
 
 “You poltroon!” 
 
 “Yes, it is very easy to say ‘ poltroon,’ but 
 poltroonery is allowable when it is a case of 
 suff ering everlasting. ’ ’ 
 
 “ Well then, confess yourself.” 
 
 “ But — but — I pray you tell me, are you 
 sure there is no hell? ” 
 
 “ Bah!” 
 
 “Nay, but answer. Are you sure? Give me 
 your word that there is none.” 
 
 “ I am sure of nothing. If there be a devil, 
 we shall see whether he is as black as they paint 
 him.” 
 
 “ What! You are not sure? ” 
 
 “ Confess, confess, I tell you.” 
 
 “ But you will laugh at me? ” 
 
326 A CHRONICLE OF THE 
 
 The captain could not repress a smile, but 
 then he said in a serious tone, “ If I were in 
 your place I should make confession; for it is 
 the safest game after all, and once shriven and 
 anointed, one is ready for anything.” 
 
 “ Well, I will do as you do. Confess your- 
 self first.” 
 
 “ Not I.” 
 
 “ Faith, then, you may say what you like, 
 I will die a good Catholic. Come, father, hear 
 me say my confiteor , and prompt me a little, for 
 I have half forgotten it.” 
 
 As he confessed himself Captain George 
 drank another sip of wine, stretched his head 
 on his uneasy pillow, and shut his eyes, remain- 
 ing quiet for some quarter of an hour. Then 
 he clenched his lips and shuddered as he gave 
 vent to a long groan, wrenched from him by 
 pain. Mergy, thinking him dying, uttered a 
 cry and lifted his head. But the captain opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 “ What, again? ” said he gently, pushing 
 him back. “ Pray, Bernard, be calm.” 
 
 “ George! George! and you are dying by my 
 hand! ” 
 
 “ What then? I am not the first Frenchman 
 killed by a brother, and I do not think I shall 
 be the last. Besides, I have none but myself to 
 
REIGN OF CHARLES IX 327 
 
 blame. When Monsieur, after delivering me 
 from prison, took me with him, I swore that I 
 would never draw sword. But they told me that 
 this poor fellow Beville was attacked, and when 
 I heard the firing, I took a fancy to see the 
 thing too close.” 
 
 He shut his eyes again, but opened them 
 once more to say to Mergy, “ Madame de Turgis 
 bade me tell you that she loves you still.” And 
 he smiled kindly. 
 
 These were his last words, and he died some 
 quarter of an hour later without seeming to suf- 
 fer much. In a minute or two Beville expired 
 in the arms of the monk, who afterwards as- 
 sured his hearers that he had distinctly heard 
 in the air the joyful cries of the angels who 
 received the soul of this repentant sinner, while 
 the devils returned a howl of triumph from 
 underground as they carried off the spirit of 
 Captain George. 
 
 It may be seen in any history of France how 
 La Noue, sick of civil war, and tormented by his 
 conscience with reproaches for fighting against 
 his King, quitted Rochelle; how the Catholic 
 army was forced to raise the siege; and how 
 the fourth peace was soon followed by the death 
 of Charles IX. 
 
 But did Mergy console himself? And did 
 
328 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 Diane take another lover? I leave these ques- 
 tions to the decision of the reader, who can thus 
 in every case suit the conclusion of the story 
 to his own taste. 
 

 
UNIVERSfTY OF ILLINOIS-URBAN A 
 
 3 0112 078706469