CELEBRATED CRIMES, COMPLETE

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, PERE

IN EIGHT VOLUMES

CONTENTS:

 THE BORGIAS THE CENCI MASSACRES OF THE SOUTH MARY STUART KARL-LUDWIG SAND URBAIN GRANDIER NISIDA DERUES LA CONSTANTIN JOAN OF NAPLES THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK (The Essay, not the Novel) MARTIN GUERRE ALI PACHA THE COUNTESS DE SAINT GERAN MURAT THE MARQUISE DE BRINVILLIERS VANINKA THE MARQUISE DE GANGES

NOTE:

Dumas's 'Celebrated Crimes' was not written for children. The novelisthas spared no language--has minced no words--to describe the violentscenes of a violent time. 

In some instances facts appear distorted out of their true perspective, and in others the author makes unwarranted charges. It is not within ourprovince to edit the historical side of Dumas, any more than it would beto correct the obvious errors in Dickens's Child's History of England. The careful, mature reader, for whom the books are intended, willrecognize, and allow for, this fact. 

INTRODUCTION

The contents of these volumes of 'Celebrated Crimes', as well as themotives which led to their inception, are unique. They are a series ofstories based upon historical records, from the pen of Alexandre Dumas, pere, when he was not "the elder, " nor yet the author of D'Artagnan orMonte Cristo, but was a rising young dramatist and a lion in the literaryset and world of fashion. 

Dumas, in fact, wrote his 'Crimes Celebres' just prior to launching uponhis wonderful series of historical novels, and they may therefore beconsidered as source books, whence he was to draw so much of thatfar-reaching and intimate knowledge of inner history which hasperennially astonished his readers. The Crimes were published in Paris, in 1839-40, in eight volumes, comprising eighteen titles--all of whichnow appear in the present carefully translated text. The success of theoriginal work was instantaneous. Dumas laughingly said that he thoughthe had exhausted the subject of famous crimes, until the work was off thepress, when he immediately became deluged with letters from everyprovince in France, supplying him with material upon other deeds ofviolence! The subjects which he has chosen, however, are of bothhistoric and dramatic importance, and they have the added value of givingthe modern reader a clear picture of the state of semi-lawlessness whichexisted in Europe, during the middle ages. "The Borgias, the Cenci, Urbain Grandier, the Marchioness of Brinvilliers, the Marchioness ofGanges, and the rest--what subjects for the pen of Dumas!" exclaimsGarnett. 

Space does not permit us to consider in detail the material herecollected, although each title will be found to present points of specialinterest. The first volume comprises the annals of the Borgias and theCenci. The name of the noted and notorious Florentine family has becomea synonym for intrigue and violence, and yet the Borgias have not beenwithout stanch defenders in history. 

Another famous Italian story is that of the Cenci. The beautifulBeatrice Cenci--celebrated in the painting of Guido, the sixteenthcentury romance of Guerrazi, and the poetic tragedy of Shelley, not tomention numerous succeeding works inspired by her hapless fate--willalways remain a shadowy figure and one of infinite pathos. 

The second volume chronicles the sanguinary deeds in the south of France, carried on in the name of religion, but drenching in blood the faircountry round about Avignon, for a long period of years. 

The third volume is devoted to the story of Mary Queen of Scots, anotherwoman who suffered a violent death, and around whose name an endlesscontroversy has waged. Dumas goes carefully into the dubious episodes ofher stormy career, but does not allow these to blind his sympathy for herfate. Mary, it should be remembered, was closely allied to France byeducation and marriage, and the French never forgave Elizabeth the partshe played in the tragedy. 

The fourth volume comprises three widely dissimilar tales. One of thestrangest stories is that of Urbain Grandier, the innocent victim of acunning and relentless religious plot. His story was dramatised byDumas, in 1850. A famous German crime is that of Karl-Ludwig Sand, whosemurder of Kotzebue, Councillor of the Russian Legation, caused aninternational upheaval which was not to subside for many years. 

An especially interesting volume is number six, containing, among othermaterial, the famous "Man in the Iron Mask. " This unsolved puzzle ofhistory was later incorporated by Dumas in one of the D'Artagnan Romancesa section of the Vicomte de Bragelonne, to which it gave its name. Butin this later form, the true story of this singular man doomed to wear aniron vizor over his features during his entire lifetime could only betreated episodically. While as a special subject in the Crimes, Dumasindulges his curiosity, and that of his reader, to the full. Hugo'sunfinished tragedy, 'Les Jumeaux', is on the same subject; as also areothers by Fournier, in French, and Zschokke, in German. 

Other stories can be given only passing mention. The beautiful poisoner, Marquise de Brinvilliers, must have suggested to Dumas his later portraitof Miladi, in the Three Musketeers, the mast celebrated of his womancharacters. The incredible cruelties of Ali Pacha, the Turkish despot, should not be charged entirely to Dumas, as he is said to have beenlargely aided in this by one of his "ghosts, " Mallefille. 

"Not a mere artist"--writes M. De Villemessant, founder of theFigaro, --"he has nevertheless been able to seize on those dramaticeffects which have so much distinguished his theatrical career, and togive those sharp and distinct reproductions of character which alone canpresent to the reader the mind and spirit of an age. Not a merehistorian, he has nevertheless carefully consulted the original sourcesof information, has weighed testimonies, elicited theories, and . . . Has interpolated the poetry of history with its most thorough prose. "

THE BORGIAS

PROLOGUE

On the 8th of April, 1492, in a bedroom of the Carneggi Palace, aboutthree miles from Florence, were three men grouped about a bed whereon afourth lay dying. 

The first of these three men, sitting at the foot of the bed, and halfhidden, that he might conceal his tears, in the gold-brocaded curtains, was Ermolao Barbaro, author of the treatise 'On Celibacy', and of'Studies in Pliny': the year before, when he was at Rome in the capacityof ambassador of the Florentine Republic, he had been appointed Patriarchof Aquileia by Innocent VIII. 

The second, who was kneeling and holding one hand of the dying manbetween his own, was Angelo Poliziano, the Catullus of the fifteenthcentury, a classic of the lighter sort, who in his Latin verses mighthave been mistaken for a poet of the Augustan age. 

The third, who was standing up and leaning against one of the twistedcolumns of the bed-head, following with profound sadness the progress ofthe malady which he read in the face of his departing friend, was thefamous Pico della Mirandola, who at the age of twenty could speaktwenty-two languages, and who had offered to reply in each of theselanguages to any seven hundred questions that might be put to him by thetwenty most learned men in the whole world, if they could be assembled atFlorence. 

The man on the bed was Lorenzo the Magnificent, who at the beginning ofthe year had been attacked by a severe and deep-seated fever, to whichwas added the gout, a hereditary ailment in his family. He had found atlast that the draughts containing dissolved pearls which the quackdoctor, Leoni di Spoleto, prescribed for him (as if he desired to adapthis remedies rather to the riches of his patient than to his necessities)were useless and unavailing, and so he had come to understand that hemust part from those gentle-tongued women of his, those sweet-voicedpoets, his palaces and their rich hangings; therefore he had summoned togive him absolution for his sins--in a man of less high place they mightperhaps have been called crimes--the Dominican, Giralamo FrancescoSavonarola. 

It was not, however, without an inward fear, against which the praises ofhis friends availed nothing, that the pleasure-seeker and usurper awaitedthat severe and gloomy preacher by whose word's all Florence was stirred, and on whose pardon henceforth depended all his hope far another world. 

Indeed, Savonarola was one of those men of stone, coming, like the statueof the Commandante, to knock at the door of a Don Giovanni, and in themidst of feast and orgy to announce that it is even now the moment tobegin to think of Heaven. He had been barn at Ferrara, whither hisfamily, one of the most illustrious of Padua, had been called by Niccolo, Marchese d'Este, and at the age of twenty-three, summoned by anirresistible vocation, had fled from his father's house, and had takenthe vows in the cloister of Dominican monks at Florence. There, where hewas appointed by his superiors to give lessons in philosophy, the youngnovice had from the first to battle against the defects of a voice thatwas both harsh and weak, a defective pronunciation, and above all, thedepression of his physical powers, exhausted as they were by too severeabstinence. 

Savonarala from that time condemned himself to the most absoluteseclusion, and disappeared in the depths of his convent, as if the slabof his tomb had already fallen over him. There, kneeling on the flags, praying unceasingly before a wooden crucifix, fevered by vigils andpenances, he soon passed out of contemplation into ecstasy, and began tofeel in himself that inward prophetic impulse which summoned him topreach the reformation of the Church. 

Nevertheless, the reformation of Savonarola, more reverential thanLuther's, which followed about five-and-twenty years later, respected thething while attacking the man, and had as its aim the altering ofteaching that was human, not faith that was of God. He did not work, like the German monk, by reasoning, but by enthusiasm. With him logicalways gave way before inspiration: he was not a theologian, but aprophet. Yet, although hitherto he had bowed his head before theauthority of the Church, he had already raised it against the temporalpower. To him religion and liberty appeared as two virgins equallysacred; so that, in his view, Lorenzo in subjugating the one was asculpable as Pope Innocent VIII in dishonouring the other. The result ofthis was that, so long as Lorenzo lived in riches, happiness, andmagnificence, Savonarola had never been willing, whatever entreaties weremade, to sanction by his presence a power which he consideredillegitimate. But Lorenzo on his deathbed sent for him, and that wasanother matter. The austere preacher set forth at once, bareheaded andbarefoot, hoping to save not only the soul of the dying man but also theliberty of the republic. 

Lorenzo, as we have said, was awaiting the arrival of Savonarola with animpatience mixed with uneasiness; so that, when he heard the sound of hissteps, his pale face took a yet more deathlike tinge, while at the sametime he raised himself on his elbow and ordered his three friends to goaway. They obeyed at once, and scarcely had they left by one door thanthe curtain of the other was raised, and the monk, pale, immovable, solemn, appeared on the threshold. When he perceived him, Lorenzo deiMedici, reading in his marble brow the inflexibility of a statue, fellback on his bed, breathing a sigh so profound that one might havesupposed it was his last. 

The monk glanced round the room as though to assure himself that he wasreally alone with the dying man; then he advanced with a slow and solemnstep towards the bed. Lorenzo watched his approach with terror; then, when he was close beside him, he cried:

"O my father, I have been a very great sinner!"

"The mercy of God is infinite, " replied the monk; "and I come into yourpresence laden with the divine mercy. "

"You believe, then, that God will forgive my sins?" cried the dying man, renewing his hope as he heard from the lips of the monk such unexpectedwords. 

"Your sins and also your crimes, God will forgive them all, " repliedSavonarola. "God will forgive your vanities, your adulterous pleasures, your obscene festivals; so much for your sins. God will forgive you forpromising two thousand florins reward to the man who should bring you thehead of Dietisalvi, Nerone Nigi, Angelo Antinori, Niccalo Soderini, andtwice the money if they were handed over alive; God will forgive you fordooming to the scaffold or the gibbet the son of Papi Orlandi, Francescodi Brisighella, Bernardo Nardi, Jacopo Frescobaldi, AmorettoBaldovinetti, Pietro Balducci, Bernardo di Banding, FrancescoFrescobaldi, and more than three hundred others whose names were none theless dear to Florence because they were less renowned; so much far yourcrimes. " And at each of these names which Savonarala pronounced slowly, his eyes fixed on the dying man, he replied with a groan which proved themonk's memory to be only too true. Then at last, when he had finished, Lorenzo asked in a doubtful tone:

"Then do you believe, my father, that God will forgive me everything, both my sins and my crimes?"

"Everything, " said Savonarola, "but on three conditions. "

"What are they?" asked the dying man. 

"The first, " said Savonarola, "is that you feel a complete faith in thepower and the mercy of God. "

"My father, " replied Lorenzo eagerly, "I feel this faith in the verydepths of my heart. "

"The second, " said Savonarola, "is that you give back the property ofothers which you have unjustly confiscated and kept. "

"My father, shall I have time?" asked the dying man. 

"God will give it to you, " replied the monk. 

Lorenzo shut his eyes, as though to reflect more at his ease; then, aftera moment's silence, he replied:

"Yes, my father, I will do it. "

"The third, " resumed Savonarola, "is that you restore to the republic herancient independence end her farmer liberty. "

Lorenzo sat up on his bed, shaken by a convulsive movement, andquestioned with his eyes the eyes of the Dominican, as though he wouldfind out if he had deceived himself and not heard aright. Savonarolarepeated the same words. 

"Never! never!" exclaimed Lorenzo, falling back on his bed and shakinghis head, --"never!"

The monk, without replying a single word, made a step to withdraw. 

"My father, my father, " said the dying man, "do not leave me thus: havepity on me!"

"Have pity on Florence, " said the monk. 

"But, my father, " cried Lorenzo, "Florence is free, Florence is happy. "

"Florence is a slave, Florence is poor, " cried Savonarola, "poor ingenius, poor in money, and poor in courage; poor in genius, because afteryou, Lorenzo, will come your son Piero; poor in money, because from thefunds of the republic you have kept up the magnificence of your familyand the credit of your business houses; poor in courage, because you haverobbed the rightful magistrates of the authority which wasconstitutionally theirs, and diverted the citizens from the double pathof military and civil life, wherein, before they were enervated by yourluxuries, they had displayed the virtues of the ancients; and therefore, when the day shall dawn which is not far distant, " continued the mark, his eyes fixed and glowing as if he were reading in the future, "whereonthe barbarians shall descend from the mountains, the walls of our towns, like those of Jericho, shall fall at the blast of their trumpets. "

"And do you desire that I should yield up on my deathbed the power thathas made the glory of my whole life?" cried Lorenzo dei Medici. 

"It is not I who desire it; it is the Lord, " replied Savonarola coldly. 

"Impossible, impossible!" murmured Lorenzo. 

"Very well; then die as you have lived!" cried the monk, "in the midst ofyour courtiers and flatterers; let them ruin your soul as they haveruined your body!" And at these words, the austere Dominican, withoutlistening to the cries of the dying man, left the room as he had enteredit, with face and step unaltered; far above human things he seemed tosoar, a spirit already detached from the earth. 

At the cry which broke from Lorenzo dei Medici when he saw him disappear, Ermolao, Poliziano, and Pico delta Mirandola, who had heard all, returnedinto the room, and found their friend convulsively clutching in his armsa magnificent crucifix which he had just taken dawn from the bed-head. In vain did they try to reassure him with friendly words. Lorenzo theMagnificent only replied with sobs; and one hour after the scene which wehave just related, his lips clinging to the feet of the Christ, hebreathed his last in the arms of these three men, of whom the mostfortunate--though all three were young--was not destined to survive himmore than two years. "Since his death was to bring about manycalamities, " says Niccolo Macchiavelli, "it was the will of Heaven toshow this by omens only too certain: the dome of the church of SantaRegarata was struck by lightning, and Roderigo Borgia was elected pope. "

CHAPTER I

Towards the end of the fifteenth century--that is to say, at the epochwhen our history opens the Piazza of St. Peter's at Rome was far frompresenting so noble an aspect as that which is offered in our own day toanyone who approaches it by the Piazza dei Rusticucci. 

In fact, the Basilica of Constantine existed no longer, while that ofMichael Angelo, the masterpiece of thirty popes, which cost the labour ofthree centuries and the expense of two hundred and sixty millions, existed not yet. The ancient edifice, which had lasted for elevenhundred and forty-five years, had been threatening to fall in about 1440, and Nicholas V, artistic forerunner of Julius II and Leo X, had had itpulled down, together with the temple of Probus Anicius which adjoinedit. In their place he had had the foundations of a new temple laid bythe architects Rossellini and Battista Alberti; but some years later, after the death of Nicholas V, Paul II, the Venetian, had not been ableto give more than five thousand crowns to continue the project of hispredecessor, and thus the building was arrested when it had scarcelyrisen above the ground, and presented the appearance of a still-bornedifice, even sadder than that of a ruin. 

As to the piazza itself, it had not yet, as the reader will understandfrom the foregoing explanation, either the fine colonnade of Bernini, orthe dancing fountains, or that Egyptian obelisk which, according toPliny, was set up by the Pharaoh at Heliopolis, and transferred to Romeby Caligula, who set it up in Nero's Circus, where it remained till 1586. Now, as Nero's Circus was situate on the very ground where St. Peter'snow stands, and the base of this obelisk covered the actual site wherethe vestry now is, it looked like a gigantic needle shooting up from themiddle of truncated columns, walls of unequal height, and half-carvedstones. 

On the right of this building, a ruin from its cradle, arose the Vatican, a splendid Tower of Babel, to which all the celebrated architects of theRoman school contributed their work for a thousand years: at this epochthe two magnificent chapels did not exist, nor the twelve great halls, the two-and-twenty courts, the thirty staircases, and the two thousandbedchambers; for Pope Sixtus V, the sublime swineherd, who did so manythings in a five years' reign, had not yet been able to add the immensebuilding which on the eastern side towers above the court of St. Damasius; still, it was truly the old sacred edifice, with its venerableassociations, in which Charlemagne received hospitality when he wascrowned emperor by Pope Leo III. 

All the same, on the 9th of August, 1492, the whole of Rome, from thePeople's Gate to the Coliseum and from the Baths of Diocletian to thecastle of Sant' Angelo, seemed to have made an appointment on thispiazza: the multitude thronging it was so great as to overflow into allthe neighbouring streets, which started from this centre like the rays ofa star. The crowds of people, looking like a motley moving carpet, wereclimbing up into the basilica, grouping themselves upon the stones, hanging on the columns, standing up against the walls; they entered bythe doors of houses and reappeared at the windows, so numerous and sodensely packed that one might have said each window was walled up withheads. Now all this multitude had its eyes fixed on one single point inthe Vatican; for in the Vatican was the Conclave, and as Innocent VIIIhad been dead for sixteen days, the Conclave was in the act of electing apope. 

Rome is the town of elections: since her foundation down to our ownday--that is to say, in the course of nearly twenty-six centuries--shehas constantly elected her kings, consuls, tribunes, emperors, and popes:thus Rome during the days of Conclave appears to be attacked by a strangefever which drives everyone to the Vatican or to Monte Cavallo, accordingas the scarlet-robed assembly is held in one or the other of these twopalaces: it is, in fact, because the raising up of a new pontiff is agreat event far everybody; for, according to the average established inthe period between St. Peter and Gregory XVI, every pope lasts abouteight years, and these eight years, according to the character of the manwho is elected, are a period either of tranquillity or of disorder, ofjustice or of venality, of peace or of war. 

Never perhaps since the day when the first successor of St. Peter tookhis seat on the, pontifical throne until the interregnum which nowoccurred, had so great an agitation been shown as there was at thismoment, when, as we have shown, all these people were thronging on thePiazza of St. Peter and in the streets which led to it. It is true thatthis was not without reason; for Innocent VIII--who was called the fatherof his people because he had added to his subjects eight sons and thesame number of daughters--had, as we have said, after living a life ofself-indulgence, just died, after a death-struggle during which, if thejournal of Stefano Infessura may be believed, two hundred and twentymurders were committed in the streets of Rome. The authority had thendevolved in the customary way upon the Cardinal Camerlengo, who duringthe interregnum had sovereign powers; but as he had been obliged tofulfil all the duties of his office--that is, to get money coined in hisname and bearing his arms, to take the fisherman's ring from the fingerof the dead pope, to dress, shave and paint him, to have the corpseembalmed, to lower the coffin after nine days' obsequies into theprovisional niche where the last deceased pope has to remain until hissuccessor comes to take his place and consign him to his final tomb;lastly, as he had been obliged to wall up the door of the Conclave andthe window of the balcony from which the pontifical election isproclaimed, he had not had a single moment for busying himself with thepolice; so that the assassinations had continued in goodly fashion, andthere were loud cries for an energetic hand which should make all theseswords and all these daggers retire into their sheaths. 

Now the eyes of this multitude were fixed, as we have said, upon theVatican, and particularly upon one chimney, from which would come thefirst signal, when suddenly, at the moment of the 'Ave Maria'--that is tosay, at the hour when the day begins to decline--great cries went up fromall the crowd mixed with bursts of laughter, a discordant murmur ofthreats and raillery, the cause being that they had just perceived at thetop of the chimney a thin smoke, which seemed like a light cloud to go upperpendicularly into the sky. This smoke announced that Rome was stillwithout a master, and that the world still had no pope; for this was thesmoke of the voting tickets which were being burned, a proof that thecardinals had not yet come to an agreement. 

Scarcely had this smoke appeared, to vanish almost immediately, when allthe innumerable crowd, knowing well that there was nothing else to waitfor, and that all was said and done until ten o'clock the next morning, the time when the cardinals had their first voting, went off in a tumultof noisy joking, just as they would after the last rocket of a fireworkdisplay; so that at the end of one minute nobody was there where aquarter of an hour before there had been an excited crowd, except a fewcurious laggards, who, living in the neighbourhood or on the very piazzaitself; were less in a hurry than the rest to get back to their homes;again, little by little, these last groups insensibly diminished; forhalf-past nine had just struck, and at this hour the streets of Romebegan already to be far from safe; then after these groups followed somesolitary passer-by, hurrying his steps; one after another the doors wereclosed, one after another the windows were darkened; at last, when teno'clock struck, with the single exception of one window in the Vaticanwhere a lamp might be seen keeping obstinate vigil, all the houses, piazzas, and streets were plunged in the deepest obscurity. 

At this moment a man wrapped in a cloak stood up like a ghost against oneof the columns of the uncompleted basilica, and gliding slowly andcarefully among the stones which were lying about round the foundationsof the new church, advanced as far as the fountain which, formed thecentre of the piazza, erected in the very place where the obelisk is nowset up of which we have spoken already; when he reached this spot hestopped, doubly concealed by the darkness of the night and by the shadeof the monument, and after looking around him to see if he were reallyalone, drew his sword, and with its point rapping three times on thepavement of the piazza, each time made the sparks fly. This signal, forsignal it was, was not lost: the last lamp which still kept vigil in theVatican went out, and at the same instant an object thrown out of thewindow fell a few paces off from the young man in the cloak: he, guidedby the silvery sound it had made in touching the flags, lost no time inlaying his hands upon it in spite of the darkness, and when he had it inhis possession hurried quickly away. 

Thus the unknown walked without turning round half-way along the BorgoVecchio; but there he turned to the right and took a street at the otherend of which was set up a Madonna with a lamp: he approached the light, and drew from his pocket the object he had picked up, which was nothingelse than a Roman crown piece; but this crown unscrewed, and in a cavityhollowed in its thickness enclosed a letter, which the man to whom it wasaddressed began to read at the risk of being recognised, so great was hishaste to know what it contained. 

We say at the risk of being recognised, for in his eagerness therecipient of this nocturnal missive had thrown back the hood of hiscloak; and as his head was wholly within the luminous circle cast by thelamp, it was easy to distinguish in the light the head of a handsomeyoung man of about five or six and twenty, dressed in a purple doubletslashed at the shoulder and elbow to let the shirt come through, andwearing on his head a cap of the same colour with a long black featherfalling to his shoulder. It is true that he did not stand there long;for scarcely had he finished the letter, or rather the note, which he hadjust received in so strange and mysterious a manner, when he replaced itin its silver receptacle, and readjusting his cloak so as to hide all thelower part of his face, resumed his walk with a rapid step, crossed BorgoSan Spirito, and took the street of the Longara, which he followed as faras the church of Regina Coeli. When he arrived at this place, he gavethree rapid knocks on the door of a house of good appearance, whichimmediately opened; then slowly mounting the stairs he entered a roomwhere two women were awaiting him with an impatience so unconcealed thatboth as they saw him exclaimed together:

"Well, Francesco, what news?"

"Good news, my mother; good, my sister, " replied the young man, kissingthe one and giving his hand to the other. "Our father has gained threevotes to-day, but he still needs six to have the majority. "

"Then is there no means of buying them?" cried the elder of the twowomen, while the younger, instead of speaking, asked him with a look. 

"Certainly, my mother, certainly, " replied the young man; "and it is justabout that that my father has been thinking. He is giving CardinalOrsini his palace at Rome and his two castles of Monticello and Soriano;to Cardinal Colanna his abbey of Subiaca; he gives Cardinal Sant' Angelothe bishopric of Porto, with the furniture and cellar; to the Cardinal ofParma the town of Nepi; to the Cardinal of Genoa the church of SantaMaria-in-Via-Lata; and lastly, to Cardinal Savelli the church of SantaMaria Maggiore and the town of Civita Castellana; as to CardinalAscanio-Sforza, he knows already that the day before yesterday we sent tohis house four mules laden with silver and plate, and out of thistreasure he has engaged to give five thousand ducats to the CardinalPatriarch of Venice. "

"But how shall we get the others to know the intentions of Roderigo?"asked the elder of the two women. 

"My father has provided for everything, and proposes an easy method; youknow, my mother, with what sort of ceremonial the cardinals' dinner iscarried in. "

"Yes, on a litter, in a large basket with the arms of the cardinal farwhom the meal is prepared. "

"My father has bribed the bishop who examines it: to-morrow is afeast-day; to the Cardinals Orsini, Colonna, Savelli, Sant' Angelo, andthe Cardinals of Parma and of Genoa, chickens will be sent for hot meat, and each chicken will contain a deed of gift duly drawn up, made by me inmy father's name, of the houses, palaces, or churches which are destinedfor each. "

"Capital!" said the elder of the two women; "now, I am certain, all willgo well. "

"And by the grace of God, " added the younger, with a strangely mockingsmile, "our father will be pope. "

"Oh, it will be a fine day for us!" cried Francesco. 

"And for Christendom, " replied his sister, with a still more ironicalexpression. 

"Lucrezia, Lucrezia, " said the mother, "you do not deserve the happinesswhich is coming to us. "

"What does that matter, if it comes all the same? Besides, you know theproverb; mother: 'Large families are blessed of the Lord'; and still moreso our family, which is so patriarchal. "

At the same time she cast on her brother a look so wanton that the youngman blushed under it: but as at the moment he had to think of otherthings than his illicit loves, he ordered that four servants should beawakened; and while they were getting armed to accompany him, he drew upand signed the six deeds of gift which were to be carried the next day tothe cardinals; for, not wishing to be seen at their houses, he thought hewould profit by the night-time to carry them himself to certain personsin his confidence who would have them passed in, as had been arranged, atthe dinner-hour. Then, when the deeds were quite ready and the servantsalso, Francesco went out with them, leaving the two women to dream goldendreams of their future greatness. 

From the first dawn of day the people hurried anew, as ardent andinterested as on the evening before, to the Piazza of the Vatican, where;at the ordinary time, that is, at ten o'clock in the morning, --the smokerose again as usual, evoking laughter and murmuring, as it announced thatnone of the cardinals had secured the majority. A report, however, beganto be spread about that the chances were divided between threecandidates, who were Roderigo Borgia, Giuliano delta Rovera, and AscanioSforza; for the people as yet knew nothing of the four mules laden withplate and silver which had been led to Sforza's house, by reason of whichhe had given up his own votes to his rival. In the midst of theagitation excited in the crowd by this new report a solemn chanting washeard; it proceeded from a procession, led by the Cardinal Camerlengo, with the object of obtaining from Heaven the speedy election of a pope:this procession, starting from the church of Ara Coeli at the Capitol, was to make stations before the principal Madannas and the mostfrequented churches. As soon as the silver crucifix was perceived whichwent in front, the most profound silence prevailed, and everyone fell onhis knees; thus a supreme calm followed the tumult and uproar which hadbeen heard a few minutes before, and which at each appearance of thesmoke had assumed a more threatening character: there was a shrewdsuspicion that the procession, as well as having a religious end in view, had a political object also, and that its influence was intended to be asgreat on earth as in heaven. In any case, if such had been the design ofthe Cardinal Camerlengo, he had not deceived himself, and the effect waswhat he desired: when the procession had gone past, the laughing andjoking continued, but the cries and threats had completely ceased. 

The whole day passed thus; for in Rome nobody works. You are either acardinal or a lacquey, and you live, nobody knows how. The crowd wasstill extremely numerous, when, towards two o'clock in the afternoon, another procession, which had quite as much power of provoking noise asthe first of imposing silence, traversed in its turn the Piazza of St. Peter's: this was the dinner procession. The people received it with theusual bursts of laughter, without suspecting, for all their irreverence, that this procession, more efficacious than the former, had just settledthe election of the new pope. 

The hour of the Ave Maria came as on the evening before; but, as on theevening before, the waiting of the whole day was lost; for, as half-pasteight struck, the daily smoke reappeared at the top of the chimney. Butwhen at the same moment rumours which came from the inside of the Vaticanwere spread abroad, announcing that, in all probability, the electionwould take place the next day, the good people preserved their patience. Besides, it had been very hot that day, and they were so broken withfatigue and roasted by the sun, these dwellers in shade and idleness, that they had no strength left to complain. 

The morning of the next day, which was the 11th of August, 1492, arosestormy and dark; this did not hinder the multitude from thronging thepiazzas, streets, doors, houses, churches. Moreover, this disposition ofthe weather was a real blessing from Heaven; for if there were heat, atleast there would be no sun. Towards nine o'clock threateningstorm-clouds were heaped up over all the Trastevere; but to this crowdwhat mattered rain, lightning, or thunder? They were preoccupied with aconcern of a very different nature; they were waiting for their pope: apromise had been made them for to-day, and it could be seen by the mannerof all, that if the day should pass without any election taking place, the end of it might very well be a riot; therefore, in proportion as thetime advanced, the agitation grew greater. Nine o'clock, half-past nine, a quarter to ten struck, without anything happening to confirm or destroytheir hopes. At last the first stroke of ten was heard; all eyes turnedtowards the chimney: ten o'clock struck slowly, each stroke vibrating inthe heart of the multitude. At last the tenth stroke trembled, thenvanished shuddering into space, and, a great cry breaking simultaneouslyfrog a hundred thousand breasts followed the silence "Non v'e fumo!There is no smoke!" In other words, "We have a pope. "

At this moment the rain began to fall; but no one paid any attention toit, so great were the transports of joy and impatience among all thepeople. At last a little stone was detached from the walled window whichgave on the balcony and upon which all eyes were fixed: a general shoutsaluted its fall; little by little the aperture grew larger, and in a fewminutes it was large enough to allow a man to come out on the balcony. 

The Cardinal Ascanio Sforza appeared; but at the moment when he was onthe point of coming out, frightened by the rain and the lightning, hehesitated an instant, and finally drew back: immediately the multitude intheir turn broke out like a tempest into cries, curses, howls, threatening to tear down the Vatican and to go and seek their popethemselves. At this noise Cardinal Sforza, more terrified by the popularstorm than by the storm in the heavens, advanced on the balcony, andbetween two thunderclaps, in a moment of silence astonishing to anyonewho had just heard the clamour that went before, made the followingproclamation:

"I announce to you a great joy: the most Eminent and most Reverend SignorRoderigo Lenzuolo Borgia, Archbishop of Valencia, Cardinal-Deacon of SanNicolao-in-Carcere, Vice-Chancellor of the Church, has now been electedPage, and has assumed the name of Alexander VI. "

The news of this nomination was received with strange joy. RoderigoBorgia had the reputation of a dissolute man, it is true, but libertinismhad mounted the throne with Sixtus IV and Innocent VIII, so that for theRomans there was nothing new in the singular situation of a pope with amistress and five children. The great thing for the moment was that thepower fell into strong hands; and it was more important for thetranquillity of Rome that the new pope inherited the sword of St. Paulthan that he inherited the keys of St. Peter. 

And so, in the feasts that were given on this occasion, the dominantcharacter was much more warlike than religious, and would have appearedrather to suit with the election of some young conqueror than theexaltation of an old pontiff: there was no limit to the pleasantries andprophetic epigrams on the name of Alexander, which for the second timeseemed to promise the Romans the empire of the world; and the sameevening, in the midst of brilliant illuminations and bonfires, whichseemed to turn the town into a lake of flame, the following epigram wasread, amid the acclamation of the people:

 "Rome under Caesar's rule in ancient story At home and o'er the world victorious trod; But Alexander still extends his glory: Caesar was man, but Alexander God. "

As to the new pope, scarcely had he completed the formalities ofetiquette which his exaltation imposed upon him, and paid to each man theprice of his simony, when from the height of the Vatican he cast his eyesupon Europe, a vast political game of chess, which he cherished the hopeof directing at the will of his own genius. 

CHAPTER II

The world had now arrived at one of those supreme moments of history whenevery thing is transformed between the end of one period and thebeginning of another: in the East Turkey, in the South Spain, in the WestFrance, and in the North German, all were going to assume, together withthe title of great Powers, that influence which they were destined toexert in the future over the secondary States. Accordingly we too, withAlexander VI, will cast a rapid glance over them, and see what were theirrespective situations in regard to Italy, which they all coveted as aprize. 

Constantine, Palaeologos Dragozes, besieged by three hundred thousandTurks, after having appealed in vain for aid to the whole of Christendom, had not been willing to survive the loss of his empire, and had beenfound in the midst of the dead, close to the Tophana Gate; and on the30th of May, 1453, Mahomet II had made his entry into Constantinople, where, after a reign which had earned for him the surname of 'Fatile', orthe Conqueror, he had died leaving two sons, the elder of whom hadascended the throne under the name of Bajazet II. 

The accession of the new sultan, however, had not taken place with thetranquillity which his right as elder brother and his father's choice ofhim should have promised. His younger brother, D'jem, better known underthe name of Zizimeh, had argued that whereas he was born in thepurple--that is, born during the reign of Mahomet--Bajazet was bornprior to his epoch, and was therefore the son of a private individual. This was rather a poor trick; but where force is all and right is naught, it was good enough to stir up a war. The two brothers, each at the headof an army, met accordingly in Asia in 1482. D'jem was defeated after aseven hours' fight, and pursued by his brother, who gave him no time torally his army: he was obliged to embark from Cilicia, and took refuge inRhodes, where he implored the protection of the Knights of St. John. They, not daring to give him an asylum in their island so near to Asia, sent him to France, where they had him carefully guarded in one of theircommanderies, in spite of the urgency of Cait Bey, Sultan of Egypt, who, having revolted against Bajazet, desired to have the young prince in hisarmy to give his rebellion the appearance of legitimate warfare. Thesame demand, moreover, with the same political object, had been madesuccessively by Mathias Corvinus, King of Hungary, by Ferdinand, King ofAragon and Sicily, and by Ferdinand, King of Naples. 

On his side Bajazet, who knew all the importance of such a rival, if heonce allied himself with any one of the princes with whom he was at war, had sent ambassadors to Charles VIII, offering, if he would consent tokeep D'jem with him, to give him a considerable pension, and to give toFrance the sovereignty of the Holy Land, so soon as Jerusalem should beconquered by the Sultan of Egypt. The King of France had accepted theseterms. 

But then Innocent VIII had intervened, and in his turn had claimed D'jem, ostensibly to give support by the claims of the refugee to a crusadewhich he was preaching against the Turks, but in reality to appropriatethe pension of 40, 000 ducats to be given by Bajazet to any one of theChristian princes who would undertake to be his brother's gaoler. Charles VIII had not dared to refuse to the spiritual head of Christendoma request supported by such holy reasons; and therefore D'jem had quittedFrance, accompanied by the Grand Master d'Aubusson, under whose directcharge he was; but his guardian had consented, for the sake of acardinal's hat, to yield up his prisoner. Thus, on the 13th of March, 1489, the unhappy young man, cynosure of so many interested eyes, madehis solemn entry into Rome, mounted on a superb horse, clothed in amagnificent oriental costume, between the Prior of Auvergne, nephew ofthe Grand Master d'Aubusson, and Francesco Cibo, the son of the pope. 

After this he had remained there, and Bajazet, faithful to promises whichit was so much his interest to fulfil, had punctually paid to thesovereign pontiff a pension of 40, 000 ducats. 

So much for Turkey. 

Ferdinand and Isabella were reigning in Spain, and were laying thefoundations of that vast power which was destined, five-and-twenty yearslater, to make Charles V declare that the sun never set on his dominions. In fact, these two sovereigns, on whom history has bestowed the name ofCatholic, had reconquered in succession nearly all Spain, and driven theMoors out of Granada, their last entrenchment; while two men of genius, Bartolome Diaz and Christopher Columbus, had succeeded, much to theprofit of Spain, the one in recovering a lost world, the other inconquering a world yet unknown. They had accordingly, thanks to theirvictories in the ancient world and their discoveries in the new, acquiredan influence at the court of Rome which had never been enjoyed by any oftheir predecessors. 

So much for Spain. 

In France, Charles VIII had succeeded his father, Louis XI, on the 30thof August, 1483. Louis by dint of executions, had tranquillised hiskingdom and smoothed the way for a child who ascended the throne underthe regency of a woman. And the regency had been a glorious one, and hadput down the pretensions of princes of the blood, put an end to civilwars, and united to the crown all that yet remained of the greatindependent fiefs. The result was that at the epoch where we now are, here was Charles VIII, about twenty-two years of age, a prince (if we areto believe La Tremouille) little of body but great of heart; a child (ifwe are to believe Commines) only now making his first flight from thenest, destitute of both sense and money, feeble in person, full ofself-will, and consorting rather with fools than with the wise; lastly, if we are to believe Guicciardini, who was an Italian, might well havebrought a somewhat partial judgment to bear upon the subject, a young manof little wit concerning the actions of men, but carried away by anardent desire for rule and the acquisition of glory, a desire based farmore on his shallow character and impetuosity than on any consciousnessof genius: he was an enemy to all fatigue and all business, and when hetried to give his attention to it he showed himself always totallywanting in prudence and judgment. If anything in him appeared at firstsight to be worthy of praise, on a closer inspection it was found to besomething nearer akin to vice than to virtue. He was liberal, it istrue, but without thought, with no measure and no discrimination. He wassometimes inflexible in will; but this was through obstinacy rather thana constant mind; and what his flatterers called goodness deserved farmore the name of insensibility to injuries or poverty of spirit. 

As to his physical appearance, if we are to believe the same author, itwas still less admirable, and answered marvellously to his weakness ofmind and character. He was small, with a large head, a short thick neck, broad chest, and high shoulders; his thighs and legs were long and thin;and as his face also was ugly--and was only redeemed by the dignity andforce of his glance--and all his limbs were disproportionate with oneanother, he had rather the appearance of a monster than a man. Such washe whom Fortune was destined to make a conqueror, for whom Heaven wasreserving more glory than he had power to carry. 

So much for France. 

The Imperial throne was occupied by Frederic III, who had been rightlynamed the Peaceful, not for the reason that he had always maintainedpeace, but because, having constantly been beaten, he had always beenforced to make it. The first proof he had given of this veryphilosophical forbearance was during his journey to Rome, whither hebetook himself to be consecrated. In crossing the Apennines he wasattacked by brigands. They robbed him, but he made no pursuit. And so, encouraged by example and by the impunity of lesser thieves, the greaterones soon took part in the robberies. Amurath seized part of Hungary. Mathias Corvinus took Lower Austria, and Frederic consoled himself forthese usurpations by repeating the maxim, Forgetfulness is the best curefor the losses we suffer. At the time we have now reached, he had just, after a reign of fifty-three years, affianced his son Maximilian to Marieof Burgundy and had put under the ban of the Empire his son-in-law, Albert of Bavaria, who laid claim to the ownership of the Tyrol. He wastherefore too full of his family affairs to be troubled about Italy. Besides, he was busy looking for a motto for the house of Austria, anoccupation of the highest importance for a man of the character ofFrederic III. This motto, which Charles V was destined almost to rendertrue, was at last discovered, to the great joy of the old emperor, who, judging that he had nothing more to do on earth after he had given thislast proof of sagacity, died on the 19th of August, 1493; leaving theempire to his son Maximilian. 

This motto was simply founded on the five vowels, a, e, i, o, u, theinitial letters of these five words

 "AUSTRIAE EST IMPERARE ORBI UNIVERSO. "

This means

"It is the destiny of Austria to rule over the whole world. "

So much for Germany. 

Now that we have cast a glance over the four nations which were on theway, as we said before, to become European Powers, let us turn ourattention to those secondary States which formed a circle more contiguousto Rome, and whose business it was to serve as armour, so to speak, tothe spiritual queen of the world, should it please any of these politicalgiants whom we have described to make encroachments with a view to anattack, on the seas or the mountains, the Adriatic Gulf or the Alps, theMediterranean or the Apennines. 

These were the kingdom of Naples, the duchy of Milan, the magnificentrepublic of Florence, and the most serene republic of Venice. 

The kingdom of Naples was in the hands of the old Ferdinand, whose birthwas not only illegitimate, but probably also well within the prohibiteddegrees. His father, Alfonso of Aragon, received his crown from Giovannaof Naples, who had adopted him as her successor. But since, in the fearof having no heir, the queen on her deathbed had named two instead ofone, Alfonso had to sustain his rights against Rene. The two aspirantsfor some time disputed the crown. At last the house of Aragon carried theday over the house of Anjou, and in the course of the year 1442, Alfonsodefinitely secured his seat on the throne. Of this sort were the claimsof the defeated rival which we shall see Charles VIII maintaining lateron. Ferdinand had neither the courage nor the genius of his father, andyet he triumphed over his enemies, one after another he had two rivals, both far superior in merit to him self. The one was his nephew, theCount of Viana, who, basing his claim on his uncle's shameful birth, commanded the whole Aragonese party; the other was Duke John of Calabria, who commanded the whole Angevin party. Still he managed to hold the twoapart, and to keep himself on the throne by dint of his prudence, whichoften verged upon duplicity. He had a cultivated mind, and had studiedthe sciences--above all, law. He was of middle height, with a largehandsome head, his brow open and admirably framed in beautiful whitehair, which fell nearly down to his shoulders. Moreover, though he hadrarely exercised his physical strength in arms, this strength was sogreat that one day, when he happened to be on the square of the MercatoNuovo at Naples, he seized by the horns a bull that had escaped andstopped him short, in spite of all the efforts the animal made to escapefrom his hands. Now the election of Alexander had caused him greatuneasiness, and in spite of his usual prudence he had not been able torestrain himself from saying before the bearer of the news that not onlydid he fail to rejoice in this election, but also that he did not thinkthat any Christian could rejoice in it, seeing that Borgia, having alwaysbeen a bad man, would certainly make a bad pope. To this he added that, even were the choice an excellent one and such as would please everybodyelse, it would be none the less fatal to the house of Aragon, althoughRoderigo was born her subject and owed to her the origin and progress ofhis fortunes; for wherever reasons of state come in, the ties of bloodand parentage are soon forgotten, and, 'a fortiori', relations arisingfrom the obligations of nationality. 

Thus, one may see that Ferdinand judged Alexander VI with his usualperspicacity; this, however, did not hinder him, as we shall soonperceive, from being the first to contract an alliance with him. 

The duchy of Milan belonged nominally to John Galeazzo, grandson ofFrancesco Sforza, who had seized it by violence on the 26th of February, 1450, and bequeathed it to his son, Galeazzo Maria, father of the youngprince now reigning; we say nominally, because the real master of theMilanese was at this period not the legitimate heir who was supposed topossess it, but his uncle Ludovico, surnamed 'il Moro', because of themulberry tree which he bore in his arms. After being exiled with his twobrothers, Philip who died of poison in 1479, and Ascanio who became thecardinal, he returned to Milan some days after the assassination ofGaleazzo Maria, which took place on the 26th of December 1476, in St. Stephen's Church, and assumed the regency for the young duke, who at thattime was only eight years old. From now onward, even after his nephewhad reached the age of two-and-twenty, Ludovico continued to rule, andaccording to all probabilities was destined to rule a long time yet; for, some days after the poor young man had shown a desire to take the reinshimself, he had fallen sick, and it was said, and not in a whisper, thathe had taken one of those slow but mortal poisons of which princes madeso frequent a use at this period, that, even when a malady was natural, acause was always sought connected with some great man's interests. However it may have been, Ludovico had relegated his nephew, now too weakto busy himself henceforward with the affairs of his duchy, to the castleof Pavia, where he lay and languished under the eyes of his wifeIsabella, daughter of King Ferdinand of Naples. 

As to Ludovico, he was an ambitious man, full of courage and astuteness, familiar with the sword and with poison, which he used alternately, according to the occasion, without feeling any repugnance or anypredilection for either of them; but quite decided to be his nephew'sheir whether he died or lived. 

Florence, although she had preserved the name of a republic, had littleby little lost all her liberties, and belonged in fact, if not by right, to Piero dei Medici, to whom she had been bequeathed as a paternal legacyby Lorenzo, as we have seen, at the risk of his soul's salvation. 

The son, unfortunately, was far from having the genius of his father: hewas handsome, it is true, whereas Lorenzo, on the contrary, wasremarkably ugly; he had an agreeable, musical voice, whereas Lorenzo hadalways spoken through his nose; he was instructed in Latin and Greek, hisconversation was pleasant and easy, and he improvised verses almost aswell as the so-called Magnificent; but he was both ignorant of politicalaffairs and haughtily insolent in his behaviour to those who had madethem their study. Added to this, he was an ardent lover of pleasure, passionately addicted to women, incessantly occupied with bodilyexercises that should make him shine in their eyes, above all withtennis, a game at which he very highly excelled: he promised himselfthat, when the period of mourning was fast, he would occupy the attentionnot only of Florence but of the whole of Italy, by the splendour of hiscourts and the renown of his fetes. Piero dei Medici had at any rateformed this plan; but Heaven decreed otherwise. 

As to the most serene republic of Venice, whose doge was AgostinoBarbarigo, she had attained, at the time we have reached, to her highestdegree of power and splendour. From Cadiz to the Palus Maeotis, therewas no port that was not open to her thousand ships; she possessed inItaly, beyond the coastline of the canals and the ancient duchy ofVenice, the provinces of Bergamo, Brescia, Crema, Verona, Vicenza, andPadua; she owned the marches of Treviso, which comprehend the districtsof Feltre, Belluno, Cadore, Polesella of Rovigo, and the principality ofRavenna; she also owned the Friuli, except Aquileia; Istria, exceptTrieste; she owned, on the east side of the Gulf, Zara, Spalatra, and theshore of Albania; in the Ionian Sea, the islands of Zante and Corfu; inGreece, Lepanto and Patras; in the Morea, Morone, Corone, Neapolis, andArgos; lastly, in the Archipelago, besides several little towns andstations on the coast, she owned Candia and the kingdom of Cyprus. 

Thus from the mouth of the Po to the eastern extremity of theMediterranean, the most serene republic was mistress of the wholecoastline, and Italy and Greece seemed to be mere suburbs of Venice. 

In the intervals of space left free between Naples, Milan, Florence, andVenice, petty tyrants had arisen who exercised an absolute sovereigntyover their territories: thus the Colonnas were at Ostia and at Nettuna, the Montefeltri at Urbino, the Manfredi at Faenza, the Bentivogli atBologna, the Malatesta family at Rimini, the Vitelli at Citta diCastello, the Baglioni at Perugia, the Orsini at Vicovaro, and theprinces of Este at Ferrara. 

Finally, in the centre of this immense circle, composed of great Powers, of secondary States, and of little tyrannies, Rome was set on high, themost exalted, yet the weakest of all, without influence, without lands, without an army, without gold. It was the concern of the new pope tosecure all this: let us see, therefore, what manner of man was thisAlexander VI, for undertaking and accomplishing such a project. 

CHAPTER III

RODERIGO LENZUOLO was barn at Valencia, in Spain, in 1430 or 1431, and onhis mother's side was descended, as some writers declare, of a family ofroyal blood, which had cast its eyes on the tiara only after cherishinghopes of the crowns of Aragon and Valencia. Roderigo from his infancy hadshown signs of a marvellous quickness of mind, and as he grew older heexhibited an intelligence extremely apt far the study of sciences, especially law and jurisprudence: the result was that his firstdistinctions were gained in the law, a profession wherein he soon made agreat reputation by his ability in the discussion of the most thornycases. All the same, he was not slow to leave this career, and abandonedit quite suddenly far the military profession, which his father hadfollowed; but after various actions which served to display his presenceof mind and courage, he was as much disgusted with this profession aswith the other; and since it happened that at the very time he began tofeel this disgust his father died, leaving a considerable fortune, heresolved to do no more work, but to live according to his own fancies andcaprices. About this time he became the lover of a widow who had twodaughters. The widow dying, Roderigo took the girls under his protection, put one into a convent, and as the other was one of the loveliest womenimaginable, made her his mistress. This was the notorious Rosa Vanozza, by whom he had five children--Francesco, Caesar, Lucrezia, and Goffredo;the name of the fifth is unknown. 

Roderigo, retired from public affairs, was given up entirely to theaffections of a lover and a father, when he heard that his uncle, wholoved him like a son, had been elected pope under the name of CalixtusIII. But the young man was at this time so much a lover that loveimposed silence on ambition; and indeed he was almost terrified at theexaltation of his uncle, which was no doubt destined to force him oncemore into public life. Consequently, instead of hurrying to Rome, asanyone else in his place would have done, he was content to indite to HisHoliness a letter in which he begged for the continuation of his favours, and wished him a long and happy reign. 

This reserve on the part of one of his relatives, contrasted with theambitious schemes which beset the new pope at every step, struck CalixtusIII in a singular way: he knew the stuff that was in young Roderigo, andat a time when he was besieged on all sides by mediocrities, thispowerful nature holding modestly aside gained new grandeur in his eyes sohe replied instantly to Roderigo that on the receipt of his letter hemust quit Spain for Italy, Valencia for Rome. 

This letter uprooted Roderigo from the centre of happiness he had createdfor himself, and where he might perhaps have slumbered on like anordinary man, if fortune had not thus interposed to drag him forciblyaway. Roderigo was happy, Roderigo was rich; the evil passions whichwere natural to him had been, if not extinguished, --at least lulled; hewas frightened himself at the idea of changing the quiet life he wasleading for the ambitious, agitated career that was promised him; andinstead of obeying his uncle, he delayed the preparations for departure, hoping that Calixtus would forget him. It was not so: two months after hereceived the letter from the pope, there arrived at Valencia a prelatefrom Rome, the bearer of Roderigo's nomination to a benefice worth 20, 000ducats a year, and also a positive order to the holder of the post tocome and take possession of his charge as soon as possible. 

Holding back was no longer feasible: so Roderigo obeyed; but as he didnot wish to be separated from the source whence had sprung eight years ofhappiness, Rosa Vanozza also left Spain, and while he was going to Rome, she betook herself to Venice, accompanied by two confidential servants, and under the protection of a Spanish gentleman named Manuel Melchior. 

Fortune kept the promises she had made to Roderigo: the pope received himas a son, and made him successively Archbishop of Valencia, Cardinal-Deacon, and Vice-Chancellor. To all these favours Calixtusadded a revenue of 20, 000 ducats, so that at the age of scarcelythirty-five Roderigo found himself the equal of a prince in riches andpower. 

Roderigo had had some reluctance about accepting the cardinalship, whichkept him fast at Rome, and would have preferred to be General of theChurch, a position which would have allowed him more liberty for seeinghis mistress and his family; but his uncle Calixtus made him reckon withthe possibility of being his successor some day, and from that moment theidea of being the supreme head of kings and nations took such hold ofRoderigo, that he no longer had any end in view but that which his unclehad made him entertain. 

From that day forward, there began to grow up in the young cardinal thattalent for hypocrisy which made of him the most perfect incarnation ofthe devil that has perhaps ever existed; and Roderigo was no longer thesame man: with words of repentance and humility on his lips, his headbowed as though he were bearing the weight of his past sins, disparagingthe riches which he had acquired and which, according to him, were thewealth of the poor and ought to return to the poor, he passed his life inchurches, monasteries, and hospitals, acquiring, his historian tells us, even in the eyes of his enemies, the reputation of a Solomon for wisdom, of a Job for patience, and of a very Moses for his promulgation of theword of God: Rosa Vanozza was the only person in the world who couldappreciate the value of this pious cardinal's conversion. 

It proved a lucky thing for Roderiga that he had assumed this piousattitude, for his protector died after a reign of three years threemonths and nineteen days, and he was now sustained by his own merit aloneagainst the numerous enemies he had made by his rapid rise to fortune: soduring the whole of the reign of Pius II he lived always apart frompublic affairs, and only reappeared in the days of Sixtus IV, who madehim the gift of the abbacy of Subiaco, and sent him in the capacity ofambassador to the kings of Aragon and Portugal. On his return, whichtook place during the pontificate of Innocent VIII, he decided to fetchhis family at last to Rome: thither they came, escorted by Don ManuelMelchior, who from that moment passed as the husband of Rosa Vanozza, andtook the name of Count Ferdinand of Castile. The Cardinal Roderigoreceived the noble Spaniard as a countryman and a friend; and he, whoexpected to lead a most retired life, engaged a house in the street ofthe Lungara, near the church of Regina Coeli, on the banks of the Tiber. There it was that, after passing the day in prayers and pious works, Cardinal Roderigo used to repair each evening and lay aside his mask. And it was said, though nobody could prove it, that in this houseinfamous scenes passed: Report said the dissipations were of so dissolutea character that their equals had never been seen in Rome. With a viewto checking the rumours that began to spread abroad, Roderigo sent Caesarto study at Pisa, and married Lucrezia to a young gentleman of Aragon;thus there only remained at home Rosa Vanozza and her two sons: such wasthe state of things when Innocent VIII died and Roderigo Borgia wasproclaimed pope. 

We have seen by what means the nomination was effected; and so the fivecardinals who had taken no part in this simony--namely, the Cardinals ofNaples, Sierra, Portugal, Santa Maria-in-Porticu, and St. Peter-in-Vinculis--protested loudly against this election, which theytreated as a piece of jobbery; but Roderigo had none the less, however itwas done, secured his majority; Roderigo was none the less the twohundred and sixtieth successor of St. Peter. 

Alexander VI, however, though he had arrived at his object, did not darethrow off at first the mask which the Cardinal Bargia had worn so long, although when he was apprised of his election he could not dissimulatehis joy; indeed, on hearing the favourable result of the scrutiny, helifted his hands to heaven and cried, in the accents of satisfiedambition, "Am I then pope? Am I then Christ's vicar? Am I then thekeystone of the Christian world?"

"Yes, holy father, " replied Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, the same who hadsold to Roderigo the nine votes that were at his disposal at the Conclavefor four mules laden with silver; "and we hope by your election to giveglory to God, repose to the Church, and joy to Christendom, seeing thatyou have been chosen by the Almighty Himself as the most worthy among allyour brethren. "

But in the short interval occupied by this reply, the new pope hadalready assumed the papal authority, and in a humble voice and with handscrossed upon his breast, he spoke:

"We hope that God will grant us His powerful aid, in spite of ourweakness, and that He will do for us that which He did for the apostlewhen aforetime He put into his hands the keys of heaven and entrusted tohim the government of the Church, a government which without the aid ofGod would prove too heavy a burden for mortal man; but God promised thatHis Spirit should direct him; God will do the same, I trust, for us; andfor your part we fear not lest any of you fail in that holy obediencewhich is due unto the head of the Church, even as the flock of Christ wasbidden to follow the prince of the apostles. "

Having spoken these words, Alexander donned the pontifical robes, andthrough the windows of the Vatican had strips of paper thrown out onwhich his name was written in Latin. These, blown by the wind, seemed toconvey to the whole world the news of the great event which was about tochange the face of Italy. The same day couriers started far all thecourts of Europe. 

Caesar Borgia learned the news of his father's election at the Universityof Pisa, where he was a student. His ambition had sometimes dreamed ofsuch good fortune, yet his joy was little short of madness. He was thena young man, about twenty-two or twenty-four years of age, skilful in allbodily exercises, and especially in fencing; he could ride barebacked themost fiery steeds, could cut off the head of a bull at a singlesword-stroke; moreover, he was arrogant, jealous, and insincere. According to Tammasi, he was great among the godless, as his brotherFrancesco was good among the great. As to his face, even contemporaryauthors have left utterly different descriptions; for same have paintedhim as a monster of ugliness, while others, on the contrary, extol hisbeauty. This contradiction is due to the fact that at certain times ofthe year, and especially in the spring, his face was covered with aneruption which, so long as it lasted, made him an object of horror anddisgust, while all the rest of the year he was the sombre, black-hairedcavalier with pale skin and tawny beard whom Raphael shows us in the fineportrait he made of him. And historians, both chroniclers and painters, agree as to his fixed and powerful gaze, behind which burned a ceaselessflame, giving to his face something infernal and superhuman. Such wasthe man whose fortune was to fulfil all his desires. He had taken forhis motto, 'Aut Caesar, aut nihil': Caesar or nothing. 

Caesar posted to Rome with certain of his friends, and scarcely was herecognised at the gates of the city when the deference shown to him gaveinstant proof of the change in his fortunes: at the Vatican the respectwas twice as great; mighty men bowed down before him as before onemightier than themselves. And so, in his impatience, he stayed not tovisit his mother or any other member of his family, but went straight tothe pope to kiss his feet; and as the pope had been forewarned of hiscoming, he awaited him in the midst of a brilliant and numerousassemblage of cardinals, with the three other brothers standing behindhim. His Holiness received Caesar with a gracious countenance; still, hedid not allow himself any demonstration of his paternal love, but, bending towards him, kissed him an the forehead, and inquired how he wasand how he had fared on his journey. Caesar replied that he waswonderfully well, and altogether at the service of His Holiness: that, asto the journey, the trifling inconveniences and short fatigue had beencompensated, and far mare than compensated, by the joy which he felt inbeing able to adore upon the papal throne a pope who was so worthy. Atthese words, leaving Caesar still on his knees, and reseatinghimself--for he had risen from his seat to embrace him--the pope assumeda grave and composed expression of face, and spoke as follows, loudenough to be heard by all, and slowly enough far everyone present to beable to ponder and retain in his memory even the least of his words:

"We are convinced, Caesar, that you are peculiarly rejoiced in beholdingus on this sublime height, so far above our deserts, whereto it haspleased the Divine goodness to exalt us. This joy of yours is first ofall our due because of the love we have always borne you and which webear you still, and in the second place is prompted by your own personalinterest, since henceforth you may feel sure of receiving from ourpontifical hand those benefits which your own good works shall deserve. But if your joy--and this we say to you as we have even now said to yourbrothers--if your joy is founded on ought else than this, you are verygreatly mistaken, Caesar, and you will find yourself sadly deceived. Perhaps we have been ambitious--we confess this humbly before the face ofall men--passionately and immoderately ambitious to attain to thedignity of sovereign pontiff, and to reach this end we have followedevery path that is open to human industry; but we have acted thus, vowingan inward vow that when once we had reached our goal, we would follow noother path but that which conduces best to the service of God and to theadvancement of the Holy See, so that the glorious memory of the deedsthat we shall do may efface the shameful recollection of the deeds wehave already done. Thus shall we, let us hope, leave to those who followus a track where upon if they find not the footsteps of a saint, they mayat least tread in the path of a true pontiff. God, who has furthered themeans, claims at our hands the fruits, and we desire to discharge to thefull this mighty debt that we have incurred to Him; and accordingly werefuse to arouse by any deceit the stern rigour of His judgments. Onesole hindrance could have power to shake our good intentions, and thatmight happen should we feel too keen an interest in your fortunes. Therefore are we armed beforehand against our love, and therefore have weprayed to God beforehand that we stumble not because of you; for in thepath of favouritism a pope cannot slip without a fall, and cannot fallwithout injury and dishonour to the Holy See. Even to the end of ourlife we shall deplore the faults which have brought this experience hometo us; and may it please Gad that our uncle Calixtus of blessed memorybear not this day in purgatory the burden of our sins, more heavy, alas, than his own! Ah, he was rich in every virtue, he was full of goodintentions; but he loved too much his own people, and among them he lovedme chief. And so he suffered this love to lead him blindly astray, allthis love that he bore to his kindred, who to him were too truly flesh ofhis flesh, so that he heaped upon the heads of a few persons only, andthose perhaps the least worthy, benefits which would more fittingly haverewarded the deserts of many. In truth, he bestowed upon our housetreasures that should never have been amassed at the expense of the poor, or else should have been turned to a better purpose. He severed from theecclesiastical State, already weak and poor, the duchy of Spoleto andother wealthy properties, that he might make them fiefs to us; heconfided to our weak hands the vice-chancellorship, the vice-prefectureof Rome, the generalship of the Church, and all the other most importantoffices, which, instead of being monopolised by us, should have beenconferred on those who were most meritorious. Moreover, there werepersons who were raised on our recommendation to posts of great dignity, although they had no claims but such as our undue partiality accordedthem; others were left out with no reason for their failure except thejealousy excited in us by their virtues. To rob Ferdinand of Aragon ofthe kingdom of Naples, Calixtus kindled a terrible war, which by a happyissue only served to increase our fortune, and by an unfortunate issuemust have brought shame and disaster upon the Holy See. Lastly, byallowing himself to be governed by men who sacrificed public good totheir private interests, he inflicted an injury, not only upon thepontifical throne and his own reputation, but what is far worse, far moredeadly, upon his own conscience. And yet, O wise judgments of God! hardand incessantly though he toiled to establish our fortunes, scarcely hadhe left empty that supreme seat which we occupy to-day, when we were castdown from the pinnacle whereon we had climbed, abandoned to the fury ofthe rabble and the vindictive hatred of the Roman barons, who chose tofeel offended by our goodness to their enemies. Thus, not only, we tellyou, Caesar, not only did we plunge headlong from the summit of ourgrandeur, losing the worldly goods and dignities which our uncle hadheaped at our feet, but for very peril of our life we were condemned to avoluntary exile, we and our friends, and in this way only did we contriveto escape the storm which our too good fortune had stirred up against us. Now this is a plain proof that God mocks at men's designs when they arebad ones. How great an error is it for any pope to devote more care tothe welfare of a house, which cannot last more than a few years, than tothe glory of the Church, which will last for ever! What utter folly forany public man whose position is not inherited and cannot be bequeathedto his posterity, to support the edifice of his grandeur on any otherbasis than the noblest virtue practised for the general good, and tosuppose that he can ensure the continuance of his own fortune otherwisethan by taking all precautions against sudden whirlwinds which are wantto arise in the midst of a calm, and to blow up the storm-clouds I meanthe host of enemies. Now any one of these enemies who does his worst cancause injuries far more powerful than any help that is at all likely tocome from a hundred friends and their lying promises. If you and yourbrothers walk in the path of virtue which we shall now open for you, every wish of your heart shall be instantly accomplished; but if you takethe other path, if you have ever hoped that our affection will wink atdisorderly life, then you will very soon find out that we are truly pope, Father of the Church, not father of the family; that, vicar of Christ aswe are, we shall act as we deem best for Christendom, and not as you deembest for your own private good. And now that we have come to a thoroughunderstanding, Caesar, receive our pontifical blessing. " And with thesewords, Alexander VI rose up, laid his hands upon his son's head, forCaesar was still kneeling, and then retired into his apartments, withoutinviting him to follow. 

The young man remained awhile stupefied at this discourse, so utterlyunexpected, so utterly destructive at one fell blow to his most cherishedhopes. He rose giddy and staggering like a drunken man, and at onceleaving the Vatican, hurried to his mother, whom he had forgotten before, but sought now in his despair. Rosa Vanozza possessed all the vices andall the virtues of a Spanish courtesan; her devotion to the Virginamounted to superstition, her fondness for her children to weakness, andher love for Roderigo to sensuality. In the depth of her heart she reliedon the influence she had been able to exercise over him for nearly thirtyyears; and like a snake, she knew haw to envelop him in her coils whenthe fascination of her glance had lost its power. Rosa knew of old theprofound hypocrisy of her lover, and thus she was in no difficulty aboutreassuring Caesar. 

Lucrezia was with her mother when Caesar arrived; the two young peopleexchanged a lover-like kiss beneath her very eyes: and before he leftCaesar had made an appointment for the same evening with Lucrezia, whowas now living apart from her husband, to whom Roderigo paid a pension inher palace of the Via del Pelegrino, opposite the Campo dei Fiori, andthere enjoying perfect liberty. 

In the evening, at the hour fixed, Caesar appeared at Lucrezia's; but hefound there his brother Francesco. The two young men had never beenfriends. Still, as their tastes were very different, hatred withFrancesco was only the fear of the deer for the hunter; but with Caesarit was the desire for vengeance and that lust for blood which lurksperpetually in the heart of a tiger. The two brothers none the lessembraced, one from general kindly feeling, the other from hypocrisy; butat first sight of one another the sentiment of a double rivalry, first intheir father's and then in their sister's good graces, had sent the bloodmantling to the cheek of Francesco, and called a deadly pallor intoCaesar's. So the two young men sat on, each resolved not to be the firstto leave, when all at once there was a knock at the door, and a rival wasannounced before whom both of them were bound to give way: it was theirfather. 

Rosa Vanazza was quite right in comforting Caesar. Indeed, althoughAlexander VI had repudiated the abuses of nepotism, he understood verywell the part that was to be played for his benefit by his sons and hisdaughter; for he knew he could always count on Lucrezia and Caesar, ifnot on Francesco and Goffredo. In these matters the sister was quiteworthy of her brother. Lucrezia was wanton in imagination, godless bynature, ambitious and designing: she had a craving for pleasure, admiration, honours, money, jewels, gorgeous stuffs, and magnificentmansions. A true Spaniard beneath her golden tresses, a courtesanbeneath her frank looks, she carried the head of a Raphael Madonna, andconcealed the heart of a Messalina. She was dear to Roderigo both asdaughter and as mistress, and he saw himself reflected in her as in amagic mirror, every passion and every vice. Lucrezia and Caesar wereaccordingly the best beloved of his heart, and the three composed thatdiabolical trio which for eleven years occupied the pontifical throne, like a mocking parody of the heavenly Trinity. 

Nothing occurred at first to give the lie to Alexander's professions ofprinciple in the discourse he addressed to Caesar, and the first year ofhis pontificate exceeded all the hopes of Rome at the time of hiselection. He arranged for the provision of stores in the publicgranaries with such liberality, that within the memory of man there hadnever been such astonishing abundance; and with a view to extending thegeneral prosperity to the lowest class, he organised numerous doles to bepaid out of his private fortune, which made it possible for the very poorto participate in the general banquet from which they had been excludedfor long enough. The safety of the city was secured, from the very firstdays of his accession, by the establishment of a strong and vigilantpolice force, and a tribunal consisting of four magistrates ofirreproachable character, empowered to prosecute all nocturnal crimes, which during the last pontificate had been so common that their verynumbers made impunity certain: these judges from the first showed aseverity which neither the rank nor the purse of the culprit couldmodify. This presented such a great contrast to the corruption of thelast reign, --in the course of which the vice-chamberlain one day remarkedin public, when certain people were complaining of the venality ofjustice, "God wills not that a sinner die, but that he live andpay, "--that the capital of the Christian world felt for one brief momentrestored to the happy days of the papacy. So, at the end of a year, Alexander VI had reconquered that spiritual credit, so to speak, whichhis predecessors lost. His political credit was still to be established, if he was to carry out the first part of his gigantic scheme. To arriveat this, he must employ two agencies--alliances and conquests. His planwas to begin with alliances. The gentleman of Aragon who had marriedLucrezia when she was only the daughter of Cardinal Roderigo Borgia wasnot a man powerful enough, either by birth and fortune or by intellect, to enter with any sort of effect into the plots and plans of AlexanderVI; the separation was therefore changed into a divorce, and LucreziaBorgia was now free to remarry. Alexander opened up two negotiations atthe same time: he needed an ally to keep a watch on the policy of theneighbouring States. John Sforza, grandson of Alexander Sforza, brotherof the great Francis I, Duke of Milan, was lord of Pesaro; thegeographical situation of this place, an the coast, on the way betweenFlorence and Venice, was wonderfully convenient for his purpose; soAlexander first cast an eye upon him, and as the interest of both partieswas evidently the same, it came about that John Sforza was very soonLucrezia's second husband. 

At the same time overtures had been made to Alfonso of Aragon, heirpresumptive to the crown of Naples, to arrange a marriage between DanaSancia, his illegitimate daughter, and Goffreda, the pope's third son;but as the old Ferdinand wanted to make the best bargain he could out ofit; he dragged on the negotiations as long as possible, urging that thetwo children were not of marriageable age, and so, highly honoured as hefelt in such a prospective alliance, there was no hurry about theengagement. Matters stopped at this point, to the great annoyance ofAlexander VI, who saw through this excuse, and understood that thepostponement was nothing more or less than a refusal. AccordinglyAlexander and Ferdinand remained in statu quo, equals in the politicalgame, both on the watch till events should declare for one or other. Theturn of fortune was for Alexander. 

Italy, though tranquil, was instinctively conscious that her calm wasnothing but the lull which goes before a storm. She was too rich and toohappy to escape the envy of other nations. As yet the plains of Pisa hadnot been reduced to marsh-lands by the combined negligence and jealousyof the Florentine Republic, neither had the rich country that lay aroundRome been converted into a barren desert by the wars of the Colonna andOrsini families; not yet had the Marquis of Marignan razed to the grounda hundred and twenty villages in the republic of Siena alone; and thoughthe Maremma was unhealthy, it was not yet a poisonous marsh: it is a factthat Flavio Blando, writing in 1450, describes Ostia as being merely lessflourishing than in the days of the Romans, when she had numbered 50, 000inhabitants, whereas now in our own day there are barely 30 in all. 

The Italian peasants were perhaps the most blest on the face of theearth: instead of living scattered about the country in solitary fashion, they lived in villages that were enclosed by walls as a protection fortheir harvests, animals, and farm implements; their houses--at any ratethose that yet stand--prove that they lived in much more comfortable andbeautiful surroundings than the ordinary townsman of our day. Further, there was a community of interests, and many people collected together inthe fortified villages, with the result that little by little theyattained to an importance never acquired by the boorish French peasantsor the German serfs; they bore arms, they had a common treasury, theyelected their own magistrates, and whenever they went out to fight, itwas to save their common country. 

Also commerce was no less flourishing than agriculture; Italy at thisperiod was rich in industries--silk, wool, hemp, fur, alum, sulphur, bitumen; those products which the Italian soil could not bring forth wereimported, from the Black Sea, from Egypt, from Spain, from France, andoften returned whence they came, their worth doubled by labour and fineworkmanship. The rich man brought his merchandise, the poor hisindustry: the one was sure of finding workmen, the other was sure offinding work. 

Art also was by no means behindhand: Dante, Giotto, Brunelleschi, andDonatello were dead, but Ariosto, Raphael, Bramante, and Michael Angelowere now living. Rome, Florence, and Naples had inherited themasterpieces of antiquity; and the manuscripts of AEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides had come (thanks to the conquest of Mahomet II) to rejointhe statue of Xanthippus and the works of Phidias and Praxiteles. Theprincipal sovereigns of Italy had come to understand, when they let theireyes dwell upon the fat harvests, the wealthy villages, the flourishingmanufactories, and the marvellous churches, and then compared with themthe poor and rude nations of fighting men who surrounded them on allsides, that some day or other they were destined to become for othercountries what America was for Spain, a vast gold-mine for them to work. In consequence of this, a league offensive and defensive had been signed, about 1480, by Naples, Milan, Florence, and Ferrara, prepared to take astand against enemies within or without, in Italy or outside. LudovicoSforza, who was more than anyone else interested in maintaining thisleague, because he was nearest to France, whence the storm seemed tothreaten, saw in the new pope's election means not only of strengtheningthe league, but of making its power and unity conspicuous in the sight ofEurope. 

CHAPTER IV

On the occasion of each new election to the papacy, it is the custom forall the Christian States to send a solemn embassy to Rome, to renew theiroath of allegiance to the Holy Father. Ludovico Sforza conceived theidea that the ambassadors of the four Powers should unite and make theirentry into Rome on the same day, appointing one of their envoy, viz. Therepresentative of the King of Naples, to be spokesman for all four. Unluckily, this plan did not agree with the magnificent projects of Pierodei Medici. That proud youth, who had been appointed ambassador of theFlorentine Republic, had seen in the mission entrusted to him by hisfellow-citizens the means of making a brilliant display of his ownwealth. From the day of his nomination onwards, his palace wasconstantly filled with tailors, jewellers, and merchants of pricelessstuffs; magnificent clothes had been made for him, embroidered withprecious stones which he had selected from the family treasures. All hisjewels, perhaps the richest in Italy, were distributed about the liveriesof his pages, and one of them, his favourite, was to wear a collar ofpearls valued by itself at 100, 000 ducats, or almost, a million of ourfrancs. In his party the Bishop of Arezzo, Gentile, who had once beenLorenzo dei Medici's tutor, was elected as second ambassador, and it washis duty to speak. Now Gentile, who had prepared his speech, counted onhis eloquence to charm the ear quite as much as Piero counted on hisriches to dazzle the eye. But the eloquence of Gentile would be lostcompletely if nobody was to speak but the ambassador of the King ofNaples; and the magnificence of Piero dei Medici would never be noticedat all if he went to Rome mixed up with all the other ambassadors. Thesetwo important interests, compromised by the Duke of Milan's proposition, changed the whole face of Italy. 

Ludovico Sforza had already made sure of Ferdinand's promise to conformto the plan he had invented, when the old king, at the solicitation ofPiero, suddenly drew back. Sforza found out how this change had comeabout, and learned that it was Piero's influence that had overmasteredhis own. He could not disentangle the real motives that had promised thechange, and imagined there was some secret league against himself: heattributed the changed political programme to the death of Lorenzo deiMedici. But whatever its cause might be, it was evidently prejudicial tohis own interests: Florence, Milan's old ally, was abandoning her forNaples. He resolved to throw a counter weight into the scales; so, betraying to Alexander the policy of Piero and Ferdinand, he proposed toform a defensive and offensive alliance with him and admit the republicof Venice; Duke Hercules III of Ferrara was also to be summoned topronounce for one or other of the two leagues. Alexander VI, wounded byFerdinand's treatment of himself, accepted Ludovico Sforza's proposition, and an Act of Confederation was signed on the 22nd of April, 1493, bywhich the new allies pledged themselves to set on foot for themaintenance of the public peace an army of 20, 000 horse and 6, 000infantry. 

Ferdinand was frightened when he beheld the formation of this league; buthe thought he could neutralise its effects by depriving Ludovico Sforzaof his regency, which he had already kept beyond the proper time, thoughas yet he was not strictly an usurper. Although the young Galeazzo, hisnephew, had reached the age of two-and-twenty, Ludovico Sforza none theless continued regent. Now Ferdinand definitely proposed to the Duke ofMilan that he should resign the sovereign power into the hands of hisnephew, on pain of being declared an usurper. 

This was a bold stroke; but there was a risk of inciting Ludovico Sforzato start one of those political plots that he was so familiar with, neverrecoiling from any situation, however dangerous it might be. This wasexactly what happened: Sforza, uneasy about his duchy, resolved tothreaten Ferdinand's kingdom. 

Nothing could be easier: he knew the warlike nations of Charles VIII, andthe pretensions of the house of France to the kingdom of Naples. He senttwo ambassadors to invite the young king to claim the rights of Anjouusurped by Aragon; and with a view to reconciling Charles to so distantand hazardous an expedition, offered him a free and friendly passagethrough his own States. 

Such a proposition was welcome to Charles VIII, as we might suppose fromour knowledge of his character; a magnificent prospect was opened to himas by an enchanter: what Ludovica Sforza was offering him was virtuallythe command of the Mediterranean, the protectorship of the whole ofItaly; it was an open road, through Naples and Venice, that well mightlead to the conquest of Turkey or the Holy Land, if he ever had the fancyto avenge the disasters of Nicapolis and Mansourah. So the propositionwas accepted, and a secret alliance was signed, with Count Charles diBelgiojasa and the Count of Cajazza acting for Ludovica Sforza, and theBishop of St. Malo and Seneschal de Beaucaire far Charles VIII. By thistreaty it was agreed:--

That the King of France should attempt the conquest of the kingdom ofNaples;

That the Duke of Milan should grant a passage to the King of Francethrough his territories, and accompany him with five hundred lances;

That the Duke of Milan should permit the King of France to send out asmany ships of war as he pleased from Genoa;

Lastly, that the Duke of Milan should lend the King of France 200, 000ducats, payable when he started. 

On his side, Charles VIII agreed:--

To defend the personal authority of Ludowico Sforza over the duchy ofMilan against anyone who might attempt to turn him out;

To keep two hundred French lances always in readiness to help the houseof Sforza, at Asti, a town belonging to the Duke of Orleans by theinheritance of his mother, Valentina Visconti;

Lastly, to hand over to his ally the principality of Tarentum immediatelyafter the conquest of Naples was effected. 

This treaty was scarcely concluded when Charles VIII, who exaggerated itsadvantages, began to dream of freeing himself from every let or hindranceto the expedition. Precautions were necessary; for his relations withthe great Powers were far from being what he could have wished. 

Indeed, Henry VII had disembarked at Calais with a formidable army, andwas threatening France with another invasion. 

Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, if they had not assisted at the fall ofthe house of Anjou, had at any rate helped the Aragon party with men andmoney. 

Lastly, the war with the emperor acquired a fresh impetus when CharlesVIII sent back Margaret of Burgundy to her father Maximilian, andcontracted a marriage with Anne of Brittany. 

By the treaty of Etaples, on the 3rd of November, 1492, Henry VIIcancelled the alliance with the King of the Romans, and pledged himselfnot to follow his conquests. 

This cost Charles VIII 745, 000 gold crowns and the expenses of the warwith England. 

By the treaty of Barcelona, dated the 19th of January, 1493, Ferdinandthe Catholic and Isabella agreed never to grant aid to their cousin, Ferdinand of Naples, and never to put obstacles in the way of the Frenchking in Italy. 

This cost Charles VIII Perpignan, Roussillon, and the Cerdagne, which hadall been given to Louis XI as a hostage for the sum of 300, 000 ducats byJohn of Aragon; but at the time agreed upon, Louis XI would not give themup for the money, for the old fox knew very well how important were thesedoors to the Pyrenees, and proposed in case of war to keep them shut. 

Lastly, by the treaty of Senlis, dated the 23rd of May, 1493, Maximiliangranted a gracious pardon to France for the insult her king had offeredhim. 

It cost Charles VIII the counties of Burgundy, Artois, Charalais, and theseigniory of Noyers, which had come to him as Margaret's dowry, and alsothe towns of Aire, Hesdin, and Bethune, which he promised to deliver upto Philip of Austria on the day he came of age. 

By dint of all these sacrifices the young king made peace with hisneighbours, and could set on foot the enterprise that Ludavico Sforza hadproposed. We have already explained that the project came into Sforza'smind when his plan about the deputation was refused, and that the refusalwas due to Piero dei Medici's desire to make an exhibition of hismagnificent jewels, and Gentile's desire to make his speech. 

Thus the vanity of a tutor and the pride of his scholar together combinedto agitate the civilized world from the Gulf of Tarentum to the Pyrenees. 

Alexander VI was in the very centre of the impending earthquake, andbefore Italy had any idea that the earliest shocks were at hand he hadprofited by the perturbed preoccupation of other people to give the lieto that famous speech we have reported. He created cardinal John Borgia, a nephew, who during the last pontificate had been elected Archbishop ofMontreal and Governor of Rome. This promotion caused no discontent, because of John's antecedents; and Alexander, encouraged by the successof this, promised to Caesar Borgia the archbishopric of Valencia, abenefice he had himself enjoyed before his elevation to the papacy. Buthere the difficulty arose an the side of the recipient. The young man, full-blooded, with all the vices and natural instincts of a captain ofcondottieri, had very great trouble in assuming even the appearance of aChurchman's virtue; but as he knew from his own father's mouth that thehighest secular dignities were reserved far his elder brother, he decidedto take what he could get, for fear of getting nothing; but his hatredfor Francesco grew stronger, for from henceforth he was doubly his rival, both in love and ambition. 

Suddenly Alexander beheld the old King Ferdinand returning to his side, and at the very moment when he least expected it. The pope was tooclever a politician to accept a reconciliation without finding out thecause of it; he soon learned what plots were hatching at the French courtagainst the kingdom of Naples, and the whole situation was explained. 

Now it was his turn to impose conditions. 

He demanded the completion of a marriage between Goffreda, his third son, and Dada Sancia, Alfonso's illegitimate daughter. 

He demanded that she should bring her husband as dowry the principalityof Squillace and the county of Cariati, with an income of 10, 000 ducatsand the office of protonotary, one of the seven great crown offices whichare independent of royal control. 

He demanded for his eldest son, whom Ferdinand the Catholic had just madeDuke of Gandia, the principality of Tricarico, the counties ofChiaramonte, Lauria, and Carinola, an income of 12, 000 ducats, and thefirst of the seven great offices which should fall vacant. 

He demanded that Virginio Orsini, his ambassador at the Neapolitan court, should be given a third great office, viz. That of Constable, the mostimportant of them all. 

Lastly, he demanded that Giuliano delta Rovere, one of the five cardinalswho had opposed his election and was now taking refuge at Ostia, wherethe oak whence he took his name and bearings is still to be seen carvedon all the walls, should be driven out of that town, and the town itselfgiven over to him. 

In exchange, he merely pledged himself never to withdraw from the houseof Aragon the investiture of the kingdom of Naples accorded by hispredecessors. Ferdinand was paying somewhat dearly for a simple promise;but on the keeping of this promise the legitimacy of his power whollydepended. For the kingdom of Naples was a fief of the Holy See; and tothe pope alone belonged the right of pronouncing on the justice of eachcompetitor's pretensions; the continuance of this investiture wastherefore of the highest conceivable importance to Aragon just at thetime when Anjou was rising up with an army at her back to dispossess her. 

For a year after he mounted the papal throne, Alexander VI had made greatstrides, as we see, in the extension of his temporal power. In his ownhands he held, to be sure, only the least in size of the Italianterritories; but by the marriage of his daughter Lucrezia with the lordof Pesaro he was stretching out one hand as far as Venice, while by themarriage of the Prince of Squillace with Dona Sancia, and the territoriesconceded to the Duke of Sandia, he was touching with the other hand theboundary of Calabria. 

When this treaty, so advantageous for himself, was duly signed, he madeCaesar Cardinal of Santa Maria Novella, for Caesar was always complainingof being left out in the distribution of his father's favours. 

Only, as there was as yet no precedent in Church history for a bastard'sdonning the scarlet, the pope hunted up four false witnesses who declaredthat Caesar was the son of Count Ferdinand of Castile; who was, as weknow, that valuable person Don Manuel Melchior, and who played thefather's part with just as much solemnity as he had played the husband's. 

The wedding of the two bastards was most splendid, rich with the doublepomp of Church and King. As the pope had settled that the young bridalpair should live near him, Caesar Borgia, the new cardinal, undertook tomanage the ceremony of their entry into Rome and the reception, andLucrezia, who enjoyed at her father's side an amount of favour hithertounheard of at the papal court, desired on her part to contribute all thesplendour she had it in her power to add. He therefore went to receivethe young people with a stately and magnificent escort of lords andcardinals, while she awaited them attended by the loveliest and noblestladies of Rome, in one of the halls of the Vatican. A throne was thereprepared for the pope, and at his feet were cushions far Lucrezia andDona Sancia. "Thus, " writes Tommaso Tommasi, "by the look of theassembly and the sort of conversation that went on for hours, you wouldsuppose you were present at some magnificent and voluptuous royalaudience of ancient Assyria, rather than at the severe consistory of aRoman pontiff, whose solemn duty it is to exhibit in every act thesanctity of the name he bears. But, " continues the same historian, "ifthe Eve of Pentecost was spent in such worthy functions, the celebrationsof the coming of the Holy Ghost on the following day were no lessdecorous and becoming to the spirit of the Church; for thus writes themaster of the ceremonies in his journal:

"'The pope made his entry into the Church of the Holy Apostles, andbeside him on the marble steps of the pulpit where the canons of St. Peter are wont to chant the Epistle and Gospel, sat Lucrezia his daughterand Sancia his son's wife: round about them, a disgrace to the Church anda public scandal, were grouped a number of other Roman ladies far morefit to dwell in Messalina's city than in St. Peter's. '"

So at Rome and Naples did men slumber while ruin was at hand; so did theywaste their time and squander their money in a vain display of pride; andthis was going on while the French, thoroughly alive, were busy layinghands upon the torches with which they would presently set Italy on fire. 

Indeed, the designs of Charles VIII for conquest were no longer foranybody a matter of doubt. The young king had sent an embassy to thevarious Italian States, composed of Perrone dei Baschi, Brigonnet, d'Aubigny, and the president of the Provencal Parliament. The mission ofthis embassy was to demand from the Italian princes their co-operation inrecovering the rights of the crown of Naples for the house of Anjou. 

The embassy first approached the Venetians, demanding aid and counsel forthe king their master. But the Venetians, faithful to their politicaltradition, which had gained for them the sobriquet of "the Jews ofChristendom, " replied that they were not in a position to give any aid tothe young king, so long as they had to keep ceaselessly on guard againstthe Turks; that, as to advice, it would be too great a presumption inthem to give advice to a prince who was surrounded by such experiencedgenerals and such able ministers. 

Perrone dei Baschi, when he found he could get no other answer, next madefor Florence. Piero dei Medici received him at a grand council, for hesummoned on this occasion not only the seventy, but also the gonfalonieriwho had sat for the last thirty-four years in the Signoria. The Frenchambassador put forward his proposal, that the republic should permittheir army to pass through her States, and pledge herself in that case tosupply for ready money all the necessary victual and fodder. Themagnificent republic replied that if Charles VIII had been marchingagainst the Turks instead of against Ferdinand, she would be only tooready to grant everything he wished; but being bound to the house ofAragon by a treaty, she could not betray her ally by yielding to thedemands of the King of France. 

The ambassadors next turned their steps to Siena. The poor littlerepublic, terrified by the honour of being considered at all, repliedthat it was her desire to preserve a strict neutrality, that she was tooweak to declare beforehand either for or against such mighty rivals, forshe would naturally be obliged to join the stronger party. Furnishedwith this reply, which had at least the merit of frankness, the Frenchenvoys proceeded to Rome, and were conducted into the pope's presence, where they demanded the investiture of the kingdom of Naples for theirking. 

Alexander VI replied that, as his predecessors had granted thisinvestiture to the house of Aragon, he could not take it away, unless itwere first established that the house of Anjou had a better claim thanthe house that was to be dispossessed. Then he represented to Perronedei Baschi that, as Naples was a fief of the Holy See, to the pope alonethe choice of her sovereign properly belonged, and that in consequence toattack the reigning sovereign was to attack the Church itself. 

The result of the embassy, we see, was not very promising for CharlesVIII; so he resolved to rely on his ally Ludovico Sforza alone, and torelegate all other questions to the fortunes of war. 

A piece of news that reached him about this time strengthened him in thisresolution: this was the death of Ferdinand. The old king had caught asevere cold and cough on his return from the hunting field, and in twodays he was at his last gasp. On the 25th of January, 1494, he passedaway, at the age of seventy, after a thirty-six years' reign, leaving thethrone to his elder son, Alfonso, who was immediately chosen as hissuccessor. 

Ferdinand never belied his title of "the happy ruler. " His deathoccurred at the very moment when the fortune of his family was changing. 

The new king, Alfonso, was not a novice in arms: he had already foughtsuccessfully against Florence and Venice, and had driven the Turks out ofOtranto; besides, he had the name of being as cunning as his father inthe tortuous game of politics so much in vogue at the Italian courts. Hedid not despair of counting among his allies the very enemy he was at warwith when Charles VIII first put forward his pretensions, we mean BajazetII. So he despatched to Bajazet one of his confidential ministers, Camillo Pandone, to give the Turkish emperor to understand that theexpedition to Italy was to the King of France nothing but a blind forapproaching the scene of Mahomedan conquests, and that if Charles VIIIwere once at the Adriatic it would only take him a day or two to getacross and attack Macedonia; from there he could easily go by land toConstantinople. Consequently he suggested that Bajazet for themaintenance of their common interests should supply six thousand horseand six thousand infantry; he himself would furnish their pay so long asthey were in Italy. It was settled that Pandone should be joined atTarentum by Giorgia Bucciarda, Alexander VI's envoy, who was commissionedby the pope to engage the Turks to help him against the Christians. Butwhile he was waiting for Bajazet's reply, which might involve a delay ofseveral months, Alfonso requested that a meeting might take place betweenPiero dei Medici, the pope, and himself, to take counsel together aboutimportant affairs. This meeting was arranged at Vicovaro, near Tivoli, and the three interested parties duly met on the appointed day. 

The intention of Alfonso, who before leaving Naples had settled thedisposition of his naval forces, and given his brother Frederic thecommand of a fleet that consisted of thirty-six galleys, eighteen largeand twelve small vessels, with injunctions to wait at Livorno and keep awatch on the fleet Charles VIII was getting ready at the port of Genoa, was above all things to check with the aid of his allies the progress ofoperations on land. Without counting the contingent he expected hisallies to furnish, he had at his immediate disposal a hundred squadronsof heavy cavalry, twenty men in each, and three thousand bowmen and lighthorse. He proposed, therefore, to advance at once into Lombardy, to getup a revolution in favour of his nephew Galeazzo, and to drive LudovicoSforza out of Milan before he could get help from France; so that CharlesVIII, at the very time of crossing the Alps, would find an enemy to fightinstead of a friend who had promised him a safe passage, men, and money. 

This was the scheme of a great politician and a bold commander; but aseverybody had came in pursuit of his own interests, regardless of thecommon this plan was very coldly received by Piero dei Medici, who wasafraid lest in the war he should play only the same poor part he had beenthreatened with in the affair of the embassy; by Alexander VI it wasrejected, because he reckoned on employing the troops of Alfonso an hisown account. He reminded the King of Naples of one of the conditions ofthe investiture he had promised him, viz. That he should drive out theCardinal Giuliano delta Rovere from the town of Ostia, and give up thetown to him, according to the stipulation already agreed upon. Besides, the advantages that had accrued to Virginio Orsini, Alexander'sfavourite, from his embassy to Naples had brought upon him the ill-willof Prospero and Fabrizio Colonna, who owned nearly all the villages roundabout Rome. Now the pope could not endure to live in the midst of suchpowerful enemies, and the most important matter was to deliver him fromall of them, seeing that it was really of moment that he should be atpeace who was the head and soul of the league whereof the others wereonly the body and limbs. 

Although Alfonso had clearly seen through the motives of Piero'scoldness, and Alexander had not even given him the trouble of seekinghis, he was none the less obliged to bow to the will of his allies, leaving the one to defend the Apennines against the French, and helpingthe other to shake himself free of his neighbours in the Romagna. Consequently he, pressed on the siege of Ostia, and added to Virginio'sforces, which already amounted to two hundred men of the papal army, abody of his own light horse; this little army was to be stationed roundabout Rome, and was to enforce obedience from the Colonnas. The rest ofhis troops Alfonso divided into two parties: one he left in the hands ofhis son Ferdinand, with orders to scour the Romagna and worry, the pettyprinces into levying and supporting the contingent they had promised, while with the other he himself defended the defiles of the Abruzzi. 

On the 23rd of April, at three o'clock in the morning, Alexander VI wasfreed from the first and fiercest of his foes; Giuliano delta Rovere, seeing the impossibility of holding out any longer against Alfonso'stroops, embarked on a brigantine which was to carry him to Savona. 

From that day forward Virginio Orsini began that famous partisan warfarewhich reduced the country about Rome to the most pathetic desolation theworld has ever seen. During all this time Charles VIII was at Lyons, notonly uncertain as to the route he ought to take for getting into Italy, but even beginning to reflect a little on the chances and risks of suchan expedition. He had found no sympathy anywhere except with LudovicoSforza; so it appeared not unlikely that he would have to fight not thekingdom of Naples alone, but the whole of Italy to boot. In hispreparations for war he had spent almost all the money at his disposal;the Lady of Beaujeu and the Duke of Bourbon both condemned hisenterprise; Briconnet, who had advised it, did not venture to support itnow; at last Charles, more irresolute than ever, had recalled severalregiments that had actually started, when Cardinal Giuliano delta Rovere, driven out of Italy by the pope, arrived at Lyons, and presented himselfbefore the king. 

The cardinal, full of hatred, full of hope, hastened to Charles, andfound him on the point of abandoning that enterprise on which, asAlexander's enemy, delta Rovere rested his whole expectation ofvengeance. He informed Charles of the quarrelling among his enemies; heshowed him that each of them was seeking his own ends--Piero dei Medicithe gratification of his pride, the pope the aggrandisement of his house. He pointed out that armed fleets were in the ports of Villefranche, Marseilles, and Genoa, and that these armaments would be lost; hereminded him that he had sent Pierre d'Urfe, his grand equerry, on inadvance, to have splendid accommodation prepared in the Spinola and Doriapalaces. Lastly, he urged that ridicule and disgrace would fall on himfrom every side if he renounced an enterprise so loudly vauntedbeforehand, for whose successful execution, moreover, he had been obligedto sign three treaties of peace that were all vexatious enough, viz. WithHenry VII, with Maximilian, and with Ferdinand the Catholic. Giulianodella Rovere had exercised true insight in probing the vanity of theyoung king, and Charles did not hesitate for a single moment. He orderedhis cousin, the Duke of Orleans (who later on became Louis XII) to takecommand of the French fleet and bring it to Genoa; he despatched acourier to Antoine de Bessay, Baron de Tricastel, bidding him take toAsti the 2000 Swiss foot-soldiers he had levied in the cantons; lastly, he started himself from Vienne, in Dauphine, on the 23rd of August, 1494, crossed the Alps by Mont Genevre, without encountering a single body oftroops to dispute his passage, descended into Piedmont and Monferrato, both just then governed by women regents, the sovereigns of bothprincipalities being children, Charles John Aime and William John, agedrespectively six and eight. 

The two regents appeared before Charles VIII, one at Turin, one atCasale, each at the head of a numerous and brilliant court, and bothglittering with jewels and precious stones. Charles, although he quitewell knew that for all these friendly demonstrations they were both boundby treaty to his enemy, Alfonso of Naples, treated them all the same withthe greatest politeness, and when they made protestations of friendship, asked them to let him have a proof of it, suggesting that they shouldlend him the diamonds they were covered with. The two regents could dono less than obey the invitation which was really a command. They tookoff necklaces, rings, and earrings. Charles VIII gave them a receiptaccurately drawn up, and pledged the jewels for 20, 000 ducats. Then, enriched by this money, he resumed his journey and made his way towardsAsti. The Duke of Orleans held the sovereignty of Asti, as we saidbefore, and hither came to meet Charles both Ludovico Sforza and hisfather-in-law, Hercules d'Este, Duke of Ferrara. They brought with themnot only the promised troops and money, but also a court composed of theloveliest women in Italy. 

The balls, fetes, and tourneys began with a magnificence surpassinganything that Italy had ever seen before. But suddenly they wereinterrupted by the king's illness. This was the first example in Italyof the disease brought by Christopher Columbus from the New World, andwas called by Italians the French, by Frenchmen the Italian disease. Theprobability is that some of Columbus's crew who were at Genoa orthereabouts had already brought over this strange and cruel complaintthat counter balanced the gains of the American gold-mines. 

The king's indisposition, however, did not prove so grave as was at firstsupposed. He was cured by the end of a few weeks, and proceeded on hisway towards Pavia, where the young Duke John Galeazzo lay dying. He andthe King of France were first cousins, sons of two sisters of the houseof Savoy. So Charles VIII was obliged to see him, and went to visit himin the castle where he lived more like prisoner than lord. He found himhalf reclining on a couch, pale and emaciated, some said in consequenceof luxurious living, others from the effects of a slow but deadly poison. But whether or not the poor young man was desirous of pouring out acomplaint to Charles, he did not dare say a word; for his uncle, LudovicoSforza, never left the King of France for an instant. But at the verymoment when Charles VIII was getting up to go, the door opened, and ayoung woman appeared and threw herself at the king's feet; she was thewife of the unlucky John Galeazzo, and came to entreat his cousin to donothing against her father Alfonso, nor against her brother Ferdinand. At sight of her; Sforza scowled with an anxious and threatening aspect, far he knew not what impression might be produced on his ally by thisscene. But he was soon reassured; far Charles replied that he hadadvanced too far to draw back now, and that the glory of his name was atstake as well as the interests of his kingdom, and that these two motiveswere far too important to be sacrificed to any sentiment of pity he mightfeel, however real and deep it might be and was. The poor young woman, who had based her last hope an this appeal, then rose from her knees andthrew herself sobbing into her husband's arms. Charles VIII and LudavicoSforza, took their leave: John Galeazzo was doomed. 

Two days after, Charles VIII left for Florence, accompanied by his ally;but scarcely had they reached Parma when a messenger caught them up, andannounced to Ludovico that his nephew was just dead: Ludovico at oncebegged Charles to excuse his leaving him to finish the journey alone; theinterests which called him back to Milan were so important, he said, thathe could not under the circumstances stay away a single day longer. As afact he had to make sure of succeeding the man he had assassinated. 

But Charles VIII continued his road not without some uneasiness. Thesight of the young prince on his deathbed had moved him deeply, for atthe bottom of his heart he was convinced that Ludovico Sforza was hismurderer; and a murderer might very well be a traitor. He was goingforward into an unfamiliar country, with a declared enemy in front of himand a doubtful friend behind: he was now at the entrance to themountains, and as his army had no store of provisions and only lived fromhand to mouth, a forced delay, however short, would mean famine. Infront of him was Fivizzano, nothing, it is true, but a village surroundedby walls, but beyond Fivizzano lay Sarzano and Pietra Santa, both of themconsidered impregnable fortresses; worse than this, they were coming intoa part of the country that was especially unhealthy in October, had nonatural product except oil, and even procured its own corn fromneighbouring provinces; it was plain that a whole army might perish therein a few days either from scarcity of food or from the unwholesome air, both of which were more disastrous than the impediments offered at everystep by the nature of the ground. The situation was grave; but the prideof Piero dei Medici came once more to the rescue of the fortunes ofCharles VIII. 

CHAPTER V

PIERO DEI MEDICI had, as we may remember, undertaken to hold the entranceto Tuscany against the French; when, however, he saw his enemy comingdawn from the Alps, he felt less confident about his own strength, anddemanded help from the pope; but scarcely had the rumour of foreigninvasion began to spread in the Romagna, than the Colonna family declaredthemselves the French king's men, and collecting all their forces seizedOstia, and there awaited the coming of the French fleet to offer apassage through Rome. The pope, therefore, instead of sending troops toFlorence, was obliged to recall all his soldiers to be near the capital;the only promise he made to Piero was that if Bajazet should send him thetroops that he had been asking for, he would despatch that army for himto make use of. Piero dei Medici had not yet taken any resolution orformed any plan, when he suddenly heard two startling pieces of news. Ajealous neighbour of his, the Marquis of Torderiovo, had betrayed to theFrench the weak side of Fivizzano, so that they had taken it by storm, and had put its soldiers and inhabitants to the edge of the sword; onanother side, Gilbert of Montpensier, who had been lighting up thesea-coast so as to keep open the communications between the French armyand their fleet, had met with a detachment sent by Paolo Orsini toSarzano, to reinforce the garrison there, and after an hour's fightinghad cut it to pieces. No quarter had been granted to any of theprisoners; every man the French could get hold of they had massacred. 

This was the first occasion on which the Italians, accustomed as theywere to the chivalrous contests of the fifteenth century, foundthemselves in contact with savage foreigners who, less advanced incivilisation, had not yet come to consider war as a clever game, butlooked upon it as simply a mortal conflict. So the news of these twobutcheries produced a tremendous sensation at Florence, the richest cityin Italy, and the most prosperous in commerce and in art. EveryFlorentine imagined the French to be like an army of those ancientbarbarians who were wont to extinguish fire with blood. The propheciesof Savonarola, who had predicted the foreign invasion and the destructionthat should follow it, were recalled to the minds of all; and so muchperturbation was evinced that Piero dei Medici, bent on getting peace atany price, forced a decree upon the republic whereby she was to send anembassy to the conqueror; and obtained leave, resolved as he was todeliver himself in person into the hands of the French monarch, to act asone of the ambassadors. He accordingly quitted Florence, accompanied byfour other messengers, and an his arrival at Pietra Santa, sent to askfrom Charles VIII a safe-conduct for himself alone. The day after hemade this request, Brigonnet and de Piennes came to fetch him, and ledhim into the presence of Charles VIII. 

Piero dei Medici, in spite of his name and influence, was in the eyes ofthe French nobility, who considered it a dishonourable thing to concernoneself with art or industry, nothing more than a rich merchant, withwhom it would be absurd to stand upon any very strict ceremony. SoCharles VIII received him on horseback, and addressing him with a haughtyair, as a master might address a servant, demanded whence came this prideof his that made him dispute his entrance into Tuscany. Piero dei Medicireplied, that, with the actual consent of Louis XI, his father Lorenzohad concluded a treaty of alliance with Ferdinand of Naples; thataccordingly he had acted in obedience to prior obligations, but as hedid, not wish to push too far his devotion to the house of Aragon or hisopposition to France, he was ready to do whatever Charles VIII mightdemand of him. The king, who had never looked for such humility in hisenemy, demanded that Sarzano should be given up to him: to this Piero deiMedici at once consented. Then the conqueror, wishing to see how far theambassador of the magnificent republic would extend his politeness, replied that this concession was far from satisfying him, and that hestill must have the keys of Pietra Santa, Pisa, Librafatta, and Livorno. Piero saw no more difficulty about these than about Sarzano, andconsented on Charles's mere promise by word of mouth to restore the townwhen he had achieved the conquest of Naples. At last Charles VIII, seeing that this man who had been sent out to negotiate with him was veryeasy to manage, exacted as a final condition, a 'sine qua non', however, of his royal protection, that the magnificent republic should lend himthe sum of 200, 000 florins. Piero found it no harder to dispose of moneythan of fortresses, and replied that his fellow-citizens would be happyto render this service to their new ally. Then Charles VIII set him onhorseback, and ordered him to go on in front, so as to begin to carry outhis promises by yielding up the four fortresses he had insisted onhaving. Piero obeyed, and the French army, led by the grandson of Cosimothe Great and the son of Lorenzo the Magnificent, continued its triumphalmarch through Tuscany. 

On his arrival at Lucca, Piero dei Medici learnt that his concessions tothe King of France were making a terrible commotion at Florence. Themagnificent republic had supposed that what Charles VIII wanted wassimply a passage through her territory, so when the news came there was ageneral feeling of discontent, which was augmented by the return of theother ambassadors, whom Piero had not even consulted when he took actionas he did. Piero considered it necessary that he should return, so heasked Charles's permission to precede him to the capital. As he hadfulfilled all his promises, except the matter of the loan, which couldnot be settled anywhere but at Florence, the king saw no objection, andthe very evening after he quitted the French army Piero returnedincognito to his palace in the Via Largo. 

The next day he proposed to present himself before the Signoria, but whenhe arrived at the Piazza del Palazzo Vecchio, he perceived thegonfaloniere Jacopo de Nerli coming towards him, signalling to him thatit was useless to attempt to go farther, and pointing out to him thefigure of Luca Corsini standing at the gate, sword in hand: behind himstood guards, ordered, if need-were, to dispute his passage. Piero deiMedici, amazed by an opposition that he was experiencing for the firsttime in his life, did not attempt resistance. He went home, and wrote tohis brother-in-law, Paolo Orsini, to come and help him with hisgendarmes. Unluckily for him, his letter was intercepted. The Signoriaconsidered that it was an attempt at rebellion. They summoned thecitizens to their aid; they armed hastily, sallied forth in crowds, andthronged about the piazza of the palace. Meanwhile Cardinal Gian deiMedici had mounted on horseback, and under the impression that the Orsiniwere coming to the rescue, was riding about the streets of Florence, accompanied by his servants and uttering his battle cry, "Palle, Palle. "But times had changed: there was no echo to the cry, and when thecardinal reached the Via dei Calizaioli, a threatening murmur was theonly response, and he understood that instead of trying to arouseFlorence he had much better get away before the excitement ran too high. He promptly retired to his own palace, expecting to find there his twobrothers, Piero and Giuliano. But they, under the protection of Orsiniand his gendarmes, had made their escape by the Porto San Gallo. Theperil was imminent, and Gian dei Medici wished to follow their example;but wherever he went he was met by a clamour that grew more and morethreatening. At last, as he saw that the danger was constantlyincreasing, he dismounted from his horse and ran into a house that hefound standing open. This house by a lucky chance communicated with aconvent of Franciscans; one of the friars lent the fugitive his dress, and the cardinal, under the protection of this humble incognito, contrived at last to get outside Florence, and joined his two brothers inthe Apennines. 

The same day the Medici were declared traitors and rebels, andambassadors were sent to the King of France. They found him at Pisa, where he was granting independence to the town which eighty-seven yearsago had fallen under the rule of the Florentines. Charles VIII made noreply to the envoys, but merely announced that he was going to march onFlorence. 

Such a reply, one may easily understand, terrified the republic. Florence, had no time to prepare a defence, and no strength in herpresent state to make one. But all the powerful houses assembled andarmed their own servants and retainers, and awaited the issue, intendingnot to begin hostilities, but to defend themselves should the French makean attack. It was agreed that if any necessity should arise for takingup arms, the bells of the various churches in the town should ring a pealand so serve as a general signal. Such a resolution was perhaps of moresignificant moment in Florence than it could have been in any other town. For the palaces that still remain from that period are virtuallyfortresses and the eternal fights between Guelphs and Ghibellines hadfamiliarised the Tuscan people with street warfare. 

The king appeared, an the 17th of November, in the evening, at the gateof San Friano. He found there the nobles of Florence clad in their mostmagnificent apparel, accompanied by priests chanting hymns, and by a mobwho were full of joy at any prospect of change, and hoped for a return ofliberty after the fall of the Medici. Charles VIII stopped for a momentunder a sort of gilded canopy that had been prepared for him, and repliedin a few evasive words to the welcoming speeches which were addressed tohim by the Signoria; then he asked for his lance, he set it in rest, andgave the order to enter the town, the whole of which he paraded with hisarmy following him with arms erect, and then went down to the palace ofthe Medici, which had been prepared for him. 

The next day negotiations commenced; but everyone was out of hisreckoning. The Florentines had received Charles VIII as a guest, but hehad entered the city as a conqueror. So when the deputies of theSignoria spoke of ratifying the treaty of Piero dei Medici, the kingreplied that such a treaty no longer existed, as they had banished theman who made it; that he had conquered Florence, as he proved the nightbefore, when he entered lance in hand; that he should retain thesovereignty, and would make any further decision whenever it pleased himto do so; further, he would let them know later on whether he wouldreinstate the Medici or whether he would delegate his authority to theSignoria: all they had to do was to come back the next day, and he wouldgive them his ultimatum in writing. 

This reply threw Florence into a great state of consternation; but theFlorentines were confirmed in their resolution of making a stand. Charles, for his part, had been astonished by the great number of theinhabitants; not only was every street he had passed through thicklylined with people, but every house from garret to basement seemedoverflowing with human beings. Florence indeed, thanks to her rapidincrease in population, could muster nearly 150, 000 souls. 

The next day, at the appointed hour, the deputies made their appearanceto meet the king. They were again introduced into his presence, and thediscussion was reopened. At last, as they were coming to no sort ofunderstanding, the royal secretary, standing at the foot of the throneupon which Charles viii sat with covered head, unfolded a paper and beganto read, article by article, the conditions imposed by the King ofFrance. But scarcely had he read a third of the document when thediscussion began more hotly than ever before. Then Charles VIII saidthat thus it should be, or he would order his trumpets to be sounded. Hereupon Piero Capponi, secretary to the republic, commonly called theScipio of Florence, snatched from the royal secretary's hand the shamefulproposal of capitulation, and tearing it to pieces, exclaimed:--

"Very good, sire; blow your trumpets, and we will ring our bells. "

He threw the pieces in the face of the amazed reader, and dashed out ofthe room to give the terrible order that would convert the street ofFlorence into a battlefield. 

Still, against all probabilities, this bold answer saved the town. TheFrench supposed, from such audacious words, addressed as they were to menwho so far had encountered no single obstacle, that the Florentines werepossessed of sure resources, to them unknown: the few prudent men whoretained any influence over the king advised him accordingly to abate hispretensions; the result was that Charles VIII offered new and morereasonable conditions, which were accepted, signed by both parties, andproclaimed on the 26th of November during mass in the cathedral of SantaMaria Del Fiore. 

These were the conditions:

The Signoria were to pay to Charles VIII, as subsidy, the sum of 120, 000florins, in three instalments;

The Signoria were to remove the sequestration imposed upon the propertyof the Medici, and to recall the decree that set a price on their heads;

The Signoria were to engage to pardon the Pisans, on condition of theiragain submitting to the rule of Florence;

Lastly, the Signoria were to recognise the claims of the Duke of Milanover Sarzano and Pietra Santa, and these claims thus recognised, were tobe settled by arbitration. 

In exchange for this, the King of France pledged himself to restore thefortresses that had been given up to him, either after he had madehimself master of the town of Naples, or when this war should be ended bya peace or a two years' truce, or else when, for any reason whatsoever, he should have quitted Italy. 

Two days after this proclamation, Charles VIII, much to the joy of theSignoria, left Florence, and advanced towards Rome by the route ofPoggibondi and Siena. 

The pope began to be affected by the general terror: he had heard of themassacres of Fivizzano, of Lunigiane, and of Imola; he knew that Pierodei Medici had handed over the Tuscan fortresses, that Florence hadsuccumbed, and that Catherine Sforza had made terms with the conqueror;he saw the broken remnants of the Neapolitan troops pass disheartenedthrough Rome, to rally their strength in the Abruzzi, and thus he foundhimself exposed to an enemy who was advancing upon him with the whole ofthe Romagna under his control from one sea to the other, in a line ofmarch extending from Piombina to Ancona. 

It was at this juncture that Alexander VI received his answer fromBajazet II: the reason of so long a delay was that the pope's envoy andthe Neapolitan ambassador had been stopped by Gian della Rovere, theCardinal Giuliano's brother, just as they were disembarking atSinigaglia. They were charged with a verbal answer, which was that thesultan at this moment was busied with a triple war, first with the Sultanof Egypt, secondly with the King of Hungary, and thirdly with the Greeksof Macedonia and Epirus; and therefore he could not, with all the will inthe world, help His Holiness with armed men. But the envoys wereaccompanied by a favourite of the sultan's bearing a private letter toAlexander VI, in which Bajazet offered on certain conditions to help himwith money. Although, as we see, the messengers had been stopped on theway, the Turkish envoy had all the same found a means of getting hisdespatch sent to the pope: we give it here in all its naivete. 

"Bajazet the Sultan, son of the Sultan Mahomet II, by the grace of GodEmperor of Asia and Europe, to the Father and Lord of all the Christians, Alexander VI, Roman pontiff and pope by the will of heavenly Providence, first, greetings that we owe him and bestow with all our heart. We makeknown to your Highness, by the envoy of your Mightiness, GiorgioBucciarda, that we have been apprised of your convalescence, and receivedthe news thereof with great joy and comfort. Among other matters, thesaid Bucciarda has brought us word that the King of France, now marchingagainst your Highness, has shown a desire to take under his protectionour brother D'jem, who is now under yours--a thing which is not onlyagainst our will, but which would also be the cause of great injury toyour Highness and to all Christendom. In turning the matter over withyour envoy Giorgio we have devised a scheme most conducive to peace andmost advantageous and honourable for your Highness; at the same timesatisfactory to ourselves personally; it would be well if our aforesaidbrother D'jem, who being a man is liable to death, and who is now in thehands of your Highness, should quit this world as soon as possible, seeing that his departure, a real good to him in his position, would beof great use to your Highness, and very conducive to your peace, while atthe same time it would be very agreeable to us, your friend. If thisproposition is favourably received, as we hope, by your Highness, in yourdesire to be friendly towards us, it would be advisable both in theinterests of your Highness and for our own satisfaction that it shouldoccur rather sooner than later, and by the surest means you might bepleased to employ; so that our said brother D'jem might pass from thepains of this world into a better and more peaceful life, where at lasthe may find repose. If your Highness should adapt this plan and send usthe body of our brother, We, the above-named Sultan Bajazet, pledgeourselves to send to your Highness, wheresoever and by whatsoever handsyou please, the sum of 300, 000 ducats, With which sum you could purchasesome fair domain for your children. In order to facilitate thispurchase, we would be willing, while awaiting the issue, to place the300, 000 ducats in the hands of a third party, so that your Highness mightbe quite certain of receiving the money on an appointed day, in returnfor the despatch of our brother's body. Moreover, we promise yourHighness herewith, for your greater satisfaction, that never, so long asyou shall remain on the pontifical throne, shall there be any hurt doneto the Christians, neither by us, nor by our servants, nor by any of ourcompatriots, of whatsoever kind or condition they may be, neither on seanor on land. And for the still further satisfaction of your Highness, and in order that no doubt whatever may remain concerning the fulfilmentof our promises, we have sworn and affirmed in the presence of Bucciarda, your envoy, by the true God whom we adore and by our holy Gospels, thatthey shall be faithfully kept from the first point unto the last. Andnow for the final and complete assurance of your Highness, in order thatno doubt may still remain in your heart, and that you may be once againand profoundly convinced of our good faith, we the aforesaid SultanBajazet do swear by the true God, who has created the heavens and theearth and all that therein is, that we will religiously observe all thathas been above said and declared, and in the future will do nothing andundertake nothing that may be contrary to the interests of your Highness. 

"Given at Constantinople, in our palace, on the 12th of September A. D. 1494. "

This letter was the cause of great joy to the Holy Father: the aid offour or five thousand Turks would be insufficient under the presentcircumstances, and would only serve to compromise the head ofChristendom, while the sum of 300, 000 ducats--that is, nearly a millionfrancs--was good to get in any sort of circumstances. It is true that, so long as D'jem lived, Alexander was drawing an income of 180, 000livres, which as a life annuity represented a capital of nearly twomillions; but when one needs ready mangy, one ought to be able to make asacrifice in the way of discount. All the same, Alexander formed nodefinite plan, resolved on acting as circumstances should indicate. 

But it was a more pressing business to decide how he should behave to theKing of France: he had never anticipated the success of the French inItaly, and we have seen that he laid all the foundations of his family'sfuture grandeur upon his alliance with the house of Aragon. But here wasthis house tattering, and a volcano more terrible than her own Vesuviuswas threatening to swallow up Naples. He must therefore change hispolicy, and attach himself to the victor, --no easy matter, for CharlesVIII was bitterly annoyed with the pope for having refused him theinvestiture and given it to Aragon. 

In consequence, he sent Cardinal Francesco Piccolomini as an envoy to theking. This choice looked like a mistake at first, seeing that theambassador was a nephew of Pius II, who had vigorously opposed the houseof Anjou; but Alexander in acting thus had a second design, which couldnot be discerned by those around him. In fact, he had divined thatCharles would not be quick to receive his envoy, and that, in theparleyings to which his unwillingness must give rise, Piccolomini wouldnecessarily be brought into contact with the young king's advisers. Now, besides his ostensible mission to the king, Piccalamini had also secretinstructions for the more influential among his counsellors. These wereBriconnet and Philippe de Luxembourg; and Piccolomini was authorised topromise a cardinal's hat to each of them. The result was just whatAlexander had foreseen: his envoy could not gain admission to Charles, and was obliged to confer with the people about him. This was what thepope wished. Piccolomini returned to Rome with the king's refusal, butwith a promise from Briconnet and Philippe de Luxembourg that they woulduse all their influence with Charles in favour of the Holy Father, andprepare him to receive a fresh embassy. 

But the French all this time were advancing, and never stopped more thanforty-eight hours in any town, so that it became more and more urgent toget something settled with Charles. The king had entered Siena andViterbo without striking a blow; Yves d' Alegre and Louis de Ligny hadtaken over Ostia from the hands of the Colonnas; Civita Vecchia andCorneto had opened their gates; the Orsini had submitted; even GianSforza, the pope's son-in-law, had retired from the alliance with Aragon. Alexander accordingly judged that the moment had came to abandon hisally, and sent to Charles the Bishops of Concordia and Terni, and hisconfessor, Mansignore Graziano. They were charged to renew to Briconnetand Philippe de Luxembourg the promise of the cardinalship, and had fullpowers of negotiation in the name of their master, both in case Charlesshould wish to include Alfonso II in the treaty, and in case he shouldrefuse to sign an agreement with any other but the pope alone. Theyfound the mind of Charles influenced now by the insinuation of Giulianodella Ravere, who, himself a witness of the pope's simony, pressed theking to summon a council and depose the head of the Church, and now bythe secret support given him by the Bishops of Mans and St. Malo. Theend of it was that the king decided to form his own opinion about thematter and settle nothing beforehand, and continued this route, sendingthe ambassadors back to the pope, with the addition of the Marechal deGie, the Seneschal de Beaucaire, and Jean de Gannay, first president ofthe Paris Parliament. They were ordered to say to the pope--

(1) That the king wished above all things to be admitted into Romewithout resistance; that, an condition of a voluntary, frank, and loyaladmission, he would respect the authority of the Holy Father and theprivileges of the Church;

(2) That the king desired that D'jem should be given up to him, in orderthat he might make use of him against the sultan when he should carry thewar into Macedonia or Turkey or the Holy Land;

(3) That the remaining conditions were so unimportant that they could bebrought forward at the first conference. 

The ambassadors added that the French army was now only two days distantfrom Rome, and that in the evening of the day after next Charles wouldprobably arrive in person to demand an answer from His Holiness. 

It was useless to think of parleying with a prince who acted in suchexpeditious fashion as this. Alexander accordingly warned Ferdinand toquit Rome as soon as possible, in the interests of his own personalsafety. But Ferdinand refused to listen to a word, and declared that hewould not go out at one gate while Charles VIII came in at another. Hissojourn was not long. Two days later, about eleven o'clock in themorning, a sentinel placed on a watch-tower at the top of the Castle S. Angelo, whither the pope had retired, cried out that the vanguard of theenemy was visible on the horizon. At once Alexander and the Duke ofCalabria went up an the terrace which tops the fortress, and assuredthemselves with their own eyes that what the soldier said was true. Then, and not till then, did the duke of Calabria mount an horseback, and, to use his own words, went out at the gate of San Sebastiana, at thesame moment that the French vanguard halted five hundred feet from theGate of the People. This was on the 31st of December 1494. 

At three in the afternoon the whole army had arrived, and the vanguardbegan their march, drums beating, ensigns unfurled. It was composed, says Paolo Giove, an eye-witness (book ii, p. 41 of his History), ofSwiss and German soldiers, with short tight coats of various colours:they were armed with short swords, with steel edges like those of theancient Romans, and carried ashen lances ten feet long, with straight andsharp iron spikes: only one-fourth of their number bore halberts insteadof lances, the spikes cut into the form of an axe and surmounted by afour-cornered spike, to be used both for cutting like an axe and piercinglike a bayonet: the first row of each battalion wore helmets andcuirasses which protected the head and chest, and when the men were drawnup for battle they presented to the enemy a triple array of iron spikes, which they could raise or lower like the spines of a porcupine. To eachthousand of the soldiery were attached a hundred fusiliers: theirofficers, to distinguish them from the men, wore lofty plumes on theirhelmets. 

After the Swiss infantry came the archers of Gascony: there were fivethousand of them, wearing a very simple dress, that contrasted with therich costume of the Swiss soldiers, the shortest of whom would have beena head higher than the tallest of the Gascons. But they were excellentsoldiers, full of courage, very light, and with a special reputation forquickness in stringing and drawing their iron bows. 

Behind them rode the cavalry, the flower of the French nobility, withtheir gilded helmets and neck bands, their velvet and silk surcoats, their swords each of which had its own name, their shields each tellingof territorial estates, and their colours each telling of a lady-love. Besides defensive arms, each man bore a lance in his hand, like anItalian gendarme, with a solid grooved end, and on his saddle bow aquantity of weapons, some for cutting and same for thrusting. Theirhorses were large and strong, but they had their tails and ears croppedaccording to the French custom. These horses, unlike those of theItalian gendarmes, wore no caparisons of dressed leather, which made themmore exposed to attack. Every knight was followed by three horses--thefirst ridden by a page in armour like his own, the two others byequerries who were called lateral auxiliaries, because in a fray theyfought to right and left of their chief. This troop was not only themost magnificent, but the most considerable in the whole army; for asthere were 2500 knights, they formed each with their three followers atotal of 10, 000 men. Five thousand light horse rode next, who carriedhuge wooden bows, and shot long arrows from a distance like Englisharchers. They were a great help in battle, for moving rapidly whereveraid was required, they could fly in a moment from one wing to another, from the rear to the van, then when their quivers were empty could go offat so swift a gallop that neither infantry or heavy cavalry could pursuethem. Their defensive armour consisted of a helmet and half-cuirass; someof them carried a short lance as well, with which to pin their strickenfoe to the ground; they all wore long cloaks adorned with shoulder-knots, and plates of silver whereon the arms of their chief were emblazoned. 

At last came the young king's escort; there were four hundred archers, among whom a hundred Scots formed a line on each side, while two hundredof the most illustrious knights marched on foot beside the prince, carrying heavy arms on their shoulders. In the midst of this magnificentescort advanced Charles VIII, both he and his horse covered with splendidarmour; an his right and left marched Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, the Dukeof Milan's brother, and Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, of whom we havespoken so often, who was afterwards Pope Julius II. The CardinalsColonna and Savelli followed immediately after, and behind them cameProspero and Fabrizia Colonna, and all the Italian princes and generalswho had thrown in their lot with the conqueror, and were marchingintermingled with the great French lords. 

For a long time the crowd that had collected to see all these foreignsoldiers go by, a sight so new and strange, listened uneasily to a dullsound which got nearer and nearer. The earth visibly trembled, the glassshook in the windows, and behind the king's escort thirty-six bronzecannons were seen to advance, bumping along as they lay on theirgun-carriages. These cannons were eight feet in length; and as theirmouths were large enough to hold a man's head, it was supposed that eachof these terrible machines, scarcely known as yet to the Italians, weighed nearly six thousand pounds. After the cannons came culverinssixteen feet long, and then falconets, the smallest of which shot ballsthe size of a grenade. This formidable artillery brought up the rear ofthe procession, and formed the hindmost guard of the French army. 

It was six hours since the front guard entered the town; and as it wasnow night and for every six artillery-men there was a torch-bearer, thisillumination gave to the objects around a more gloomy character than theywould have shown in the sunlight. The young king was to take up hisquarters in the Palazzo di Venezia, and all the artillery was directedtowards the plaza and the neighbouring streets. The remainder of thearmy was dispersed about the town. The same evening, they brought to theking, less to do honour to him than to assure him of his safety, the keysof Rome and the keys of the Belvedere Garden just the same thing had beendone for the Duke of Calabria. 

The pope, as we said, had retired to the Castle S. Angelo with only sixcardinals, so from the day after his arrival the young king had aroundhim a court of very different brilliance from that of the head of theChurch. Then arose anew the question of a convocation to proveAlexander's simony and proceed to depose him; but the king's chiefcounsellors, gained over, as we know, pointed out that this was a badmoment to excite a new schism in the Church, just when preparations werebeing made for war against the infidels. As this was also the king'sprivate opinion, there was not much trouble in persuading him, and hemade up his mind to treat with His Holiness. 

But the negotiations had scarcely begun when they had to be broken off;for the first thing Charles VIII demanded was the surrender of the CastleS. Angelo, and as the pope saw in this castle his only refuge, it was thelast thing he chose to give up. Twice, in his youthful impatience, Charles wanted to take by force what he could not get by goodwill, andhad his cannons directed towards the Holy Father's dwelling-place; butthe pope was unmoved by these demonstrations; and obstinate as he was, this time it was the French king who gave way. 

This article, therefore, was set aside, and the following conditions wereagreed upon:

That there should be from this day forward between His Majesty the Kingof France and the Holy Father a sincere friendship and a firm alliance;

Before the completion of the conquest of the kingdom of Naples, the Kingof France should occupy, for the advantage and accommodation of his army, the fortresses of Civita Vecchia, Terracina, and Spoleto;

Lastly, the Cardinal Valentino (this was now the name of Caesar Borgia, after his archbishopric of Valencia) should accompany the king in thecapacity of apostolic ambassador, really as a hostage. 

These conditions fixed, the ceremonial of an interview was arranged. Theking left the Palazzo di Venezia and went to live in the Vatican. At theappointed time he entered by the door of a garden that adjoined thepalace, while the pope, who had not had to quit the Castle S. Angelo, thanks to a corridor communicating between the two palaces, came downinto the same garden by another gate. The result of this arrangement wasthat the king the next moment perceived the pope, and knelt down, but thepope pretended not to see him, and the king advancing a few paces, knelta second time; as His Holiness was at that moment screened by somemasonry, this supplied him with another excuse, and the king went on withthe performance, got up again, once mare advanced several steps, and wason the point of kneeling down the third time face to face, when the HolyFather at last perceived him, and, walking towards him as though he wouldprevent him from kneeling, took off his own hat, and pressing him to hisheart, raised him up and tenderly kissed his forehead, refusing to coveruntil the king had put his cap upon his head, with the aid of the pope'sown hands. Then, after they had stood for a moment, exchanging politeand friendly speeches, the king lost no time in praying His Holiness tobe so good as to receive into the Sacred College William Bricannet, theBishop of St. Malo. As this matter had been agreed upon beforehand bythat prelate and His Holiness, though the king was not aware of it, Alexander was pleased to get credit by promptly granting the request; andhe instantly ordered one of his attendants to go to the house of his son, Cardinal Valentino, and fetch a cape and hat. Then taking the king bythe hand, he conducted him into the hall of Papagalli, where the ceremonywas to take place of the admission of the new cardinal. The solemn oathof obedience which was to be taken by Charles to His Holiness as supremehead of the Christian Church was postponed till the following day. 

When that solemn day arrived, every person important in Rome, noble, cleric, or soldier, assembled around His Holiness. Charles, on his side, made his approach to the Vatican with a splendid following of princes, prelates, and captains. At the threshold of the palace he found fourcardinals who had arrived before him: two of them placed. Themselves oneon each side of him, the two others behind him, and all his retinuefollowing, they traversed a long line of apartments full of guards andservants, and at last arrived in the reception-room, where the pope wasseated on his throne, with his son, Caesar Borgia; behind him. On hisarrival at the door, the King of France began the usual ceremonial, andwhen he had gone on from genuflexions to kissing the feet, the hand, andthe forehead, he stood up, while the first president of the Parliament ofParis, in his turn stepping forward, said in a loud voice:

"Very Holy Father, behold my king ready to offer to your Holiness thatoath of obedience that he owes to you; but in France it is customary thathe who offers himself as vassal to his lord shall receive in exchangetherefor such boons as he may demand. His Majesty, therefore, while hepledges himself for his own part to behave unto your Holiness with amunificence even greater than that wherewith your Holiness shall behaveunto him, is here to beg urgently that you accord him three favours. These favours are: first, the confirmation of priveleges already grantedto the king, to the queen his wife, and to the dauphin his son; secondly, the investiture, for himself and his successors, of the kingdom ofNaples; lastly, the surrender to him of the person of the sultan D'jem, brother of the Turkish emperor. "

At this address the pope was for a moment stupefied, for he did notexpect these three demands, which were moreover made so publicly byCharles that no manner of refusal was possible. But quickly recoveringhis presence of mind, he replied to the king that he would willinglyconfirm the privileges that had been accorded to the house of France byhis predecessors; that he might therefore consider his first demandgranted; that the investiture of the kingdom was an affair that requireddeliberation in a council of cardinals, but he would do all he possiblycould to induce them to accede to the king's desire; lastly, he mustdefer the affair of the sultan's brother till a time more opportune fordiscussing it with the Sacred College, but would venture to say that, asthis surrender could not fail to be for the good of Christendom, as itwas demanded for the purpose of assuring further the success of acrusade, it would not be his fault if on this point also the king shouldnot be satisfied. 

At this reply, Charles bowed his head in sign of satisfaction, and thefirst president stood up, uncovered, and resumed his discourse asfollows. 

"Very Holy Father, it is an ancient custom among Christian kings, especially the Most Christian kings of France, to signify, through theirambassadors, the respect they feel for the Holy See and the sovereignpontiffs whom Divine Providence places thereon; but the Most Christianking, having felt a desire to visit the tombs of the holy apostles, hasbeen pleased to pay this religious debt, which he regards as a sacredduty, not by ambassadors or by delegates, but in his own person. This iswhy, Very Holy Father, His Majesty the King of France is here toacknowledge you as the true vicar of Christ, the legitimate successor ofthe apostles St. Peter and St. Paul, and with promise and vow renders youthat filial and respectful devotion which the kings his predecessors havebeen accustomed to promise and vow, devoting himself and all his strengthto the service of your Holiness and the interests of the Holy See. "

The pope arose with a joyful heart; for this oath, so publicly made, removed all his fears about a council; so inclined from this moment toyield to the King of France anything he might choose to ask, he took himby his left hand and made him a short and friendly reply, dubbing him theChurch's eldest son. The ceremony over, they left the hall, the popealways holding the king's hand in his, and in this way they walked as faras the room where the sacred vestments are put off; the pope feigned awish to conduct the king to his own apartments, but the king would notsuffer this, and, embracing once more, they separated, each to retire tohis own domicile. 

The king remained eight days longer at the Vatican, then returned to thePalazzo San Marco. During these eight days all his demands were debatedand settled to his satisfaction. The Bishop of Mans was made cardinal;the investiture of the kingdom of Naples was promised to the conqueror;lastly, it was agreed that on his departure the King of France shouldreceive from the pope's hand the brother of the Emperor ofConstantinople, for a sum of 120, 000 livres. But--the pope, desiring toextend to the utmost the hospitality he had been bestowing, invited D'jemto dinner on the very day that he was to leave Rome with his newprotector. 

When the moment of departure arrived, Charles mounted his horse in fullarmour, and with a numerous and brilliant following made his way to theVatican; arrived at the door, he dismounted, and leaving his escort atthe Piazza of St. Peter, went up with a few gentlemen only. He found HisHoliness waiting for him, with Cardinal Valentino on his right, and onhis left D'jem, who, as we said before, was dining with him, and roundthe table thirteen cardinals. The king at once, bending on his knee, demanded the pope's benediction, and stooped to kiss his feet. But thisAlexander would not suffer; he took him in his arms, and with the lips ofa father and heart of an enemy, kissed him tenderly on his forehead. Then the pope introduced the son of Mahomet II, who was a fine young man, with something noble and regal in his air, presenting in his magnificentoriental costume a great contrast in its fashion and amplitude to thenarrow, severe cut of the Christian apparel. D'jem advanced to Charleswithout humility and without pride, and, like an emperor's son treatingwith a king, kissed his hand and then his shoulder; then, turning towardsthe Holy Father, he said in Italian, which he spoke very well, that heentreated he would recommend him to the young king, who was prepared totake him under his protection, assuring the pontiff that he should neverhave to repent giving him his liberty, and telling Charles that he hopedhe might some day be proud of him, if after taking Naples he carried outhis intention of going on to Greece. These words were spoken with somuch dignity and at the same time with such gentleness, that the King ofFrance loyally and frankly grasped the young sultan's hand, as though hewere his companion-in-arms. Then Charles took a final farewell of thepope, and went down to the piazza. There he was awaited by CardinalValentino, who was about to accompany him, as we know, as a hostage, andwho had remained behind to exchange a few words with his father. In amoment Caesar Borgia appeared, riding on a splendidly harnessed mule, andbehind him were led six magnificent horses, a present from the HolyFather to the King of France. Charles at once mounted one of these, todo honour to the gift. The pope had just conferred on him, and leavingRome with the rest of his troops, pursued his way towards Marino, wherehe arrived the same evening. 

He learned there that Alfonso, belying his reputation as a cleverpolitician and great general, had just embarked with all his treasures ina flotilla of four galleys, leaving the care of the war and themanagement of his kingdom to his son Ferdinand. Thus everything wentwell for the triumphant march of Charles: the gates of towns opened ofthemselves at his approach, his enemies fled without waiting for hiscoming, and before he had fought a single battle he had won for himselfthe surname of Conqueror. 

The day after at dawn the army started once more, and after marching thewhole day, stopped in the evening at Velletri. There the king, who hadbeen on horseback since the morning, with Cardinal Valentine and D'jem, left the former at his lodging, and taking D'jem with him, went on to hisown. Then Caesar Borgia, who among the army baggage had twenty veryheavy waggons of his own, had one of these opened, took out a splendidcabinet with the silver necessary for his table, and gave orders for hissupper to be prepared, as he had done the night before. Meanwhile, nighthad come on, and he shut himself up in a private chamber, where, stripping off his cardinal's costume, he put on a groom's dress. Thanksto this disguise, he issued from the house that had been assigned for hisaccommodation without being recognised, traversed the streets, passedthrough the gates, and gained the open country. Nearly half a leagueoutside the town, a servant awaited him with two swift horses. Caesar, who was an excellent rider, sprang to the saddle, and he and hiscompanion at full gallop retraced the road to Rome, where they arrived atbreak of day. Caesar got down at the house of one Flores, auditor of therota, where he procured a fresh horse and suitable clothes; then he flewat once to his mother, who gave a cry of joy when she saw him; for sosilent and mysterious was the cardinal for all the world beside, and evenfor her, that he had not said a word of his early return to Rome. Thecry of joy uttered by Rosa Vanozza when she beheld her son was far mare acry of vengeance than of love. One evening, while everybody was at therejoicings in the Vatican, when Charles VIII and Alexander VI wereswearing a friendship which neither of them felt, and exchanging oathsthat were broken beforehand, a messenger from Rosa Vanozza had arrivedwith a letter to Caesar, in which she begged him to come at once to herhouse in the Via delta Longara. Caesar questioned the messenger, but heonly replied that he could tell him nothing, that he would learn all hecared to know from his mother's own lips. So, as soon as he was atliberty, Caesar, in layman's dress and wrapped in a large cloak, quittedthe Vatican and made his way towards the church of Regina Coeli, in theneighbourhood of which, it will be remembered, was the house where thepope's mistress lived. 

As he approached his mother's house, Caesar began to observe the signs ofstrange devastation. The street was scattered with the wreck offurniture and strips of precious stuffs. As he arrived at the foot ofthe little flight of steps that led to the entrance gate, he saw that thewindows were broken and the remains of torn curtains were fluttering infront of them. Not understanding what this disorder could mean, herushed into the house and through several deserted and wreckedapartments. At last, seeing light in one of the rooms, he went in, andthere found his mother sitting on the remains of a chest made of ebonyall inlaid with ivory and silver. When she saw Caesar, she rose, paleand dishevelled, and pointing to the desolation around her, exclaimed:

"Look, Caesar; behold the work of your new friends. "

"But what does it mean, mother?" asked the cardinal. "Whence comes allthis disorder?"

"From the serpent, " replied Rosa Vanozza, gnashing her teeth, --"from theserpent you have warmed in your bosom. He has bitten me, fearing nodoubt that his teeth would be broken on you. "

"Who has done this?" cried Caesar. "Tell me, and, by Heaven, mother, heshall pay, and pay indeed!"

"Who?" replied Rosa. "King Charles VIII has done it, by the hands of hisfaithful allies, the Swiss. It was well known that Melchior was away, and that I was living alone with a few wretched servants; so they cameand broke in the doors, as though they were taking Rome by storm, andwhile Cardinal Valentino was making holiday with their master, theypillaged his mother's house, loading her with insults and outrages whichno Turks or Saracens could possibly have improved upon. "

"Very good, very good, mother, " said Caesar; "be calm; blood shall washout disgrace. Consider a moment; what we have lost is nothing comparedwith what we might lose; and my father and I, you may be quite sure, willgive you back more than they have stolen from you. "

"I ask for no promises, " cried Rosa; "I ask for revenge. "

"My mother, " said the cardinal, "you shall be avenged, or I will lose thename of son. "

Having by these words reassured his mother, he took her to Lucrezia'spalace, which in consequence of her marriage with Pesaro was unoccupied, and himself returned to the Vatican, giving orders that his mother'shouse should be refurnished more magnificently than before the disaster. These orders were punctually executed, and it was among her new luxurioussurroundings, but with the same hatred in her heart, that Caesar on thisoccasion found his mother. This feeling prompted her cry of joy when shesaw him once more. 

The mother and son exchanged a very few words; then Caesar, mounting onhorseback, went to the Vatican, whence as a hostage he had departed twodays before. Alexander, who knew of the flight beforehand, and not onlyapproved, but as sovereign pontiff had previously absolved his son of theperjury he was about to commit, received him joyfully, but all the sameadvised him to lie concealed, as Charles in all probability would not beslow to reclaim his hostage:

Indeed, the next day, when the king got up, the absence of CardinalValentino was observed, and as Charles was uneasy at not seeing him, hesent to inquire what had prevented his appearance. When the messengerarrived at the house that Caesar had left the evening before, he learnedthat he had gone out at nine o'clock in the evening and not returnedsince. He went back with this news to the king, who at once suspectedthat he had fled, and in the first flush of his anger let the whole armyknow of his perjury. The soldiers then remembered the twenty waggons, soheavily laden, from one of which the cardinal, in the sight of all, hadproduced such magnificent gold and silver plate; and never doubting thatthe cargo of the others was equally precious, they fetched them down andbroke them to pieces; but inside they found nothing but stones and sand, which proved to the king that the flight had been planned a long timeback, and incensed him doubly against the pope. So without loss of timehe despatched to Rome Philippe de Bresse, afterwards Duke of Savoy, withorders to intimate to the Holy Father his displeasure at this conduct. But the pope replied that he knew nothing whatever about his son'sflight, and expressed the sincerest regret to His Majesty, declaring thathe knew nothing of his whereabouts, but was certain that he was not inRome. As a fact, the pope was speaking the truth this time, for Caesarhad gone with Cardinal Orsino to one of his estates, and was temporarilyin hiding there. This reply was conveyed to Charles by two messengersfrom the pope, the Bishops of Nepi and of Sutri, and the people also sentan ambassador in their own behalf. He was Monsignore Porcari, dean ofthe rota, who was charged to communicate to the king the displeasure ofthe Romans when they learned of the cardinal's breach of faith. Littleas Charles was disposed to content himself with empty words, he had toturn his attention to mare serious affairs; so he continued his march toNaples without stopping, arriving there on Sunday, the 22nd of February, 1495. 

Four days later, the unlucky D'jem, who had fallen sick at Capua died atCastel Nuovo. When he was leaving, at the farewell banquet, Alexanderhad tried on his guest the poison he intended to use so often later onupon his cardinals, and whose effects he was destined to feelhimself, --such is poetical justice. In this way the pope had secured adouble haul; for, in his twofold speculation in this wretched young man, he had sold him alive to Charles for 120, 000 livres and sold him dead toBajazet for 300, 00 ducats. . . . 

But there was a certain delay about the second payment; for the Turkishemperor, as we remember, was not bound to pay the price of fratricidetill he received the corpse, and by Charles's order the corpse had beenburied at Gaeta. 

When Caesar Borgia learned the news, he rightly supposed that the kingwould be so busy settling himself in his new capital that he would havetoo much to think of to be worrying about him; so he went to Rome again, and, anxious to keep his promise to his mother, he signalised his returnby a terrible vengeance. 

Cardinal Valentino had in his service a certain Spaniard whom he had madethe chief of his bravoes; he was a man of five-and-thirty or forty, whosewhole life had been one long rebellion against society's laws; herecoiled from no action, provided only he could get his price. This DonMichele Correglia, who earned his celebrity for bloody deeds under thename of Michelotto, was just the man Caesar wanted; and whereasMichelotto felt an unbounded admiration for Caesar, Caesar had unlimitedconfidence in Michelotto. It was to him the cardinal entrusted theexecution of one part of his vengeance; the other he kept for himself. 

Don Michele received orders to scour the Campagna and cut every Frenchthroat he could find. He began his work at once; and very few dayselapsed before he had obtained most satisfactory results: more than ahundred persons were robbed or assassinated, and among the last the sonof Cardinal de St. Malo, who was en his way back to France, and on whomMichelotto found a sum of 3000 crowns. 

For himself, Caesar reserved the Swiss; for it was the Swiss inparticular who had despoiled his mother's house. The pope had in hisservice about a hundred and fifty soldiers belonging to their nation, whohad settled their families in Rome, and had grown rich partly by theirpay and partly in the exercise of various industries. The cardinal hadevery one of them dismissed, with orders to quit Rome within twenty-fourhours and the Roman territories within three days. The poor wretches hadall collected together to obey the order, with their wives and childrenand baggage, on the Piazza of St. Peter, when suddenly, by CardinalValentino's orders, they were hemmed in on all sides by two thousandSpaniards, who began to fire on them with their guns and charge them withtheir sabres, while Caesar and his mother looked down upon the carnagefrom a window. In this way they killed fifty or perhaps sixty; but therest coming up, made a charge at the assassins, and then, withoutsuffering any loss, managed to beat a retreat to a house, where theystood a siege, and made so valiant a defense that they gave the popetime--he knew nothing of the author of this butchery--to send the captainof his guard to the rescue, who, with a strong detachment, succeeded ingetting nearly forty of them safely out of the town: the rest had beenmassacred on the piazza or killed in the house. 

But this was no real and adequate revenge; for it did not touch Charleshimself, the sole author of all the troubles that the pope and his familyhad experienced during the last year. So Caesar soon abandoned vulgarschemes of this kind and busied himself with loftier concerns, bendingall the force of his genius to restore the league of Italian princes thathad been broken by the defection of Sforza, the exile of Piero deiMedici, and the defeat of Alfonso. The enterprise was more easilyaccomplished than the pope could have anticipated. The Venetians werevery uneasy when Charles passed so near, and they trembled lest, when hewas once master of Naples, he might conceive the idea of conquering therest of Italy. Ludovico Sforza, on his side, was beginning to tremble, seeing the rapidity with which the King of France had dethroned the houseof Aragon, lest he might not make much difference between his allies andhis enemies. Maximilian, for his part, was only seeking an occasion tobreak the temporary peace which he had granted for the sake of theconcession made to him. Lastly, Ferdinand and Isabella were allies ofthe dethroned house. And so it came about that all of them, fordifferent reasons, felt a common fear, and were soon in agreement as tothe necessity of driving out Charles VIII, not only from Naples, but fromItaly, and pledged themselves to work together to this end, by everymeans in their power, by negotiations, by trickery, or by actual force. The Florentines alone refused to take part in this general levy of arms, and remained faithful to their promises. 

According to the articles of the treaty agreed upon by the confederates, the alliance was to last for five-and-twenty years, and had forostensible object the upholding of the majority of the pope, and theinterests of Christendom; and these preparations might well have beentaken for such as would precede a crusade against the Turks, if Bajazet'sambassador had not always been present at the deliberations, although theChristian princes could not have dared for very shame to admit the, sultan by name into their league. Now the confederates had to set onfoot an army of 30, 000 horse and 20, 000 infantry, and each of them wastaxed for a contingent; thus the pope was to furnish 4000 horse, Maximilian 6000, the King of Spain, the Duke of Milan, and the republicof Venice, 8000 each. Every confederate was, in addition to this, to levyand equip 4000 infantry in the six weeks following the signature of thetreaty. The fleets were to be equipped by the Maritime States; but anyexpenses they should incur later on were to be defrayed by all in equalshares. 

The formation of this league was made public on the 12th of April, 1495, Palm Sunday, and in all the Italian States, especially at Rome, was madethe occasion of fetes and immense rejoicings. Almost as soon as thepublicly known articles were announced the secret ones were put intoexecution. These obliged Ferdinand and Isabella to send a fleet of sixtygalleys to Ischia, where Alfonso's son had retired, with six hundredhorsemen on board and five thousand infantry, to help him to ascend thethrone once more. Those troops were to be put under the command ofGonzalvo of Cordova, who had gained the reputation of the greatestgeneral in Europe after the taking of Granada. The Venetians with afleet of forty galleys under the command of Antonio Grimani, were toattack all the French stations on the coast of Calabria and Naples. TheDuke of Milan promised for his part to check all reinforcements as theyshould arrive from France, and to drive the Duke of Orleans out of Asti. 

Lastly, there was Maximilian, who had promised to make invasions on thefrontiers, and Bajazet, who was to help with money, ships, and soldierseither the Venetians or the Spaniards, according as he might be appealedto by Barberigo or by Ferdinand the Catholic. 

This league was all the more disconcerting for Charles, because of thespeedy abatement of the enthusiasm that had hailed his first appearance. What had happened to him was what generally happens to a conqueror whohas more good luck than talent; instead of making himself a party amongthe great Neapolitan and Calabrian vassals, whose roots would be embeddedin the very soil, by confirming their privileges and augmenting theirpower, he had wounded their feelings by bestowing all the titles, offices, and fiefs on those alone who had followed him from France, sothat all the important positions in the kingdom were filled by strangers. 

The result was that just when the league was made known, Tropea andAmantea, which had been presented by Charles to the Seigneur de Precy, rose in revolt and hoisted the banner of Aragon; and the Spanish fleethad only to present itself at Reggio, in Calabria, for the town to throwopen its gates, being more discontented with the new rule than the old;and Don Federiga, Alfonso's brother and Ferdinand's uncle, who hadhitherto never quitted Brindisi, had only to appear at Tarentum to bereceived there as a liberator. 

CHAPTER VI

Charles learned all this news at Naples, and, tired of his lateconquests, which necessitated a labour in organisation for which he wasquite unfitted, turned his eyes towards France, where victorious fetesand rejoicings were awaiting the victor's return. So he yielded at thefirst breath of his advisers, and retraced his road to his kingdom, threatened, as was said, by the Germans on the north and the Spaniards onthe south. Consequently, he appointed Gilbert de Montpensier, of thehouse of Bourbon, viceroy; d'Aubigny, of the Scotch Stuart family, lieutenant in Calabria; Etienne de Vese, commander at Gaeta; and DonJuliano, Gabriel de Montfaucon, Guillaume de Villeneuve, George de Lilly, the bailiff of Vitry, and Graziano Guerra respectively governors of Sant'Angelo, Manfredonia, Trani, Catanzaro, Aquila, and Sulmone; then leavingbehind in evidence of his claims the half of his Swiss, a party of hisGascons, eight hundred French lances, and about five hundred Italianmen-at-arms, the last under the command of the prefect of Rome, Prosperoand Fabrizio Colonna, and Antonio Savelli, he left Naples on the 20th ofMay at two o'clock in the afternoon, to traverse the whole of the Italianpeninsula with the rest of his army, consisting of eight hundred Frenchlances, two hundred gentlemen of his guard, one hundred Italianmen-at-arms, three thousand Swiss infantry, one thousand French and onethousand Gascon. He also expected to be joined by Camillo Vitelli andhis brothers in Tuscany, who were to contribute two hundred and fiftymen-at-arms. 

A week before he left Naples, Charles had sent to Rome Monseigneur deSaint-Paul, brother of Cardinal de Luxembourg; and just as he wasstarting he despatched thither the new Archbishop of Lyons. They bothwere commissioned to assure Alexander that the King of France had themost sincere desire and the very best intention of remaining his friend. In truth, Charles wished for nothing so much as to separate the pope fromthe league, so as to secure him as a spiritual and temporal support; buta young king, full of fire, ambition, and courage, was not the neighbourto suit Alexander; so the latter would listen to nothing, and as thetroops he had demanded from the doge and Ludavico Sforza had not beensent in sufficient number for the defense of Rome, he was content withprovisioning the castle of S. Angelo, putting in a formidable garrison, and leaving Cardinal Sant' Anastasio to receive Charles while he himselfwithdrew with Caesar to Orvieto. Charles only stayed in Rome three days, utterly depressed because the pope had refused to receive him in spite ofhis entreaties. And in these three days, instead of listening toGiuliano delta Rovere, who was advising him once more to call a counciland depose the pope, he rather hoped to bring the pope round to his sideby the virtuous act of restoring the citadels of Terracina and CivitaVecchia to the authorities of the Romagna, only keeping for himselfOstia, which he had promised Giuliano to give back to him. At last, whenthe three days had elapsed, he left Rome, and resumed his march in threecolumns towards Tuscany, crossed the States of the Church, and on the13th reached Siena, where he was joined by Philippe de Commines, who hadgone as ambassador extraordinary to the Venetian Republic, and nowannounced that the enemy had forty thousand men under arms and werepreparing for battle. This news produced no other effect an the king andthe gentlemen of his army than to excite their amusement beyond measure;for they had conceived such a contempt for their enemy by their easyconquest, that they could not believe that any army, however numerous, would venture to oppose their passage. 

Charles, however, was forced to give way in the face of facts, when heheard at San Teranza that his vanguard, commanded by Marechal de Gie, andcomposed of six hundred lances and fifteen hundred Swiss, when it arrivedat Fornova had come face to face with the confederates, who had encampedat Guiarole. The marechal had ordered an instant halt, and he too hadpitched his tents, utilising for his defence the natural advantages ofthe hilly ground. When these first measures had been taken, he sent out, first, a herald to the enemy's camp to ask from Francesco di Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, generalissimo of the confederate troops, a passage forhis king's army and provisions at a reasonable price; and secondly, hedespatched a courier to Charles VIII, pressing him to hurry on his marchwith the artillery and rearguard. The confederates had given an evasiveanswer, for they were pondering whether they ought to jeopardise thewhole Italian force in a single combat, and, putting all to the hazard, attempt to annihilate the King of France and his army together, sooverwhelming the conqueror in the ruins of his ambition. The messengerfound Charles busy superintending the passage of the last of his cannonover the mountain of Pontremoli. This was no easy matter, seeing thatthere was no sort of track, and the guns had to be lifted up and loweredby main farce, and each piece needed the arms of as many as two hundredmen. At last, when all the artillery had arrived without accident on theother side of the Apennines, Charles started in hot haste for Fornovd, where he arrived with all his following on the morning of the next day. 

From the top of the mountain where the Marechai de Gie had pitched histents, the king beheld both his own camp and the enemy's. Both were onthe right bank of the Taro, and were at either end of a semicircularchain of hills resembling an amphitheatre; and the space between the twocamps, a vast basin filled during the winter floods by the torrent whichnow only marked its boundary, was nothing but a plain covered withgravel, where all manoeuvres must be equally difficult for horse andinfantry. Besides, on the western slope of the hills there was a littlewood which extended from the enemy's army to the French, and was in thepossession of the Stradiotes, who, by help of its cover, had alreadyengaged in several skirmishes with the French troops during the two daysof halt while they were waiting for the king. 

The situation was not reassuring. From the top of the mountain whichoverlooked Fornovo, one could get a view, as we said before, of the twocamps, and could easily calculate the numerical difference between them. The French army, weakened by the establishment of garrisons in thevarious towns and fortresses they had won in Italy, were scarcely eightthousand strong, while the combined forces of Milan and Venice exceeded atotal of thirty-five thousand. So Charles decided to try once more themethods of conciliation, and sent Commines, who, as we know, had joinedhim in Tuscany, to the Venetian 'proveditori', whose acquaintance he hadmade when on his embassy; he having made a great impression on these men, thanks to a general high opinion of his merits. He was commissioned totell the enemy's generals, in the name of the King of France, that hismaster only desired to continue his road without doing or receiving anyharm; that therefore he asked to be allowed a free passage across thefair plains of Lombardy, which he could see from the heights where he nowstood, stretching as far as the eye could reach, away to the foot of theAlps. Commines found the confederate army deep in discussion: the wishof the Milanese and Venetian party being to let the king go by, and notattack him; they said they were only too happy that he should leave Italyin this way, without causing any further harm; but the ambassadors ofSpain and Germany took quite another view. As their masters had notroops in the army, and as all the money they had promised was alreadypaid, they must be the gainer in either case from a battle, whichever wayit went: if they won the day they would gather the fruits of victory, andif they lost they would experience nothing of the evils of defeat. Thiswant of unanimity was the reason why the answer to Commines was deferreduntil the following day, and why it was settled that on the next day heshould hold another conference with a plenipotentiary to be appointed inthe course of that night. The place of this conference was to be betweenthe two armies. 

The king passed the night in great uneasiness. All day the weather hadthreatened to turn to rain, and we have already said how rapidly the Tarocould swell; the river, fordable to-day, might from tomorrow onwardsprove an insurmountable obstacle; and possibly the delay had only beenasked for with a view to putting the French army in a worse position. Asa fact the night had scarcely come when a terrible storm arose, and solong as darkness lasted, great rumblings were heard in the Apennines, andthe sky was brilliant with lightning. At break of day, however, itseemed to be getting a little calmer, though the Taro, only a streamletthe day before, had become a torrent by this time, and was rapidlyrising. So at six in the morning, the king, ready armed and onhorseback, summoned Commines and bade him make his way to the rendezvousthat the Venetian 'proveditori' had assigned. But scarcely had hecontrived to give the order when loud cries were heard coming from theextreme right of the French army. The Stradiotes, under cover of thewood stretching between the two camps, had surprised an outpost, andfirst cutting the soldiers' throats, were carrying off their heads intheir usual way at the saddle-bow. A detachment of cavalry was sent inpursuit; but, like wild animals, they had retreated to their lair in thewoods, and there disappeared. 

This unexpected engagement, in all probability arranged beforehand by theSpanish and German envoys, produced on the whole army the effect of aspark applied to a train of gunpowder. Commines and the Venetian'proveditori' each tried in vain to arrest the combat an either side. Light troops, eager for a skirmish, and, in the usual fashion of thosedays, prompted only by that personal courage which led them on to danger, had already come to blows, rushing down into the plain as though it werean amphitheatre where they might make a fine display of arms. Far amoment the young king, drawn on by example, was an the point offorgetting the responsibility of a general in his zeal as a soldier; butthis first impulse was checked by Marechal de Gie, Messire Claude de laChatre de Guise, and M. De la Trimauille, who persuaded Charles to adoptthe wiser plan, and to cross the Taro without seeking a battle, --at thesame time without trying to avoid it, should the enemy cross the riverfrom their camp and attempt to block his passage. The king accordingly, following the advice of his wisest and bravest captains, thus arrangedhis divisions. 

The first comprised the van and a body of troops whose duty it was tosupport them. The van consisted of three hundred and fifty men-at-arms, the best and bravest of the army, under the command of Marechal de Gieand Jacques Trivulce; the corps following them consisted of threethousand Swiss, under the command of Engelbert der Cleves and de Larnay, the queen's grand equerry; next came three hundred archers of the guard, whom the king had sent to help the cavalry by fighting in the spacesbetween them. 

The second division, commanded by the king in person and forming themiddle of the army, was composed of the artillery, under Jean deLagrange, a hundred gentlemen of the guard with Gilles Carrone farstandard-bearer, pensioners of the king's household under Aymar de Prie, some Scots, and two hundred cross-bowmen an horseback, with Frencharchers besides, led by M. De Crussol. 

Lastly, the third division, i. E. The rear, preceded by six thousandbeasts of burden bearing the baggage, was composed of only three hundredmen-at-arms, commanded by de Guise and by de la Trimouille: this was theweakest part of the army. 

When this arrangement was settled, Charles ordered the van to cross theriver, just at the little town of Fornovo. This was done at once, theriders getting wet up to their knees, and the footmen holding to thehorses' tails. As soon as he saw the last soldiers of his first divisionon the opposite bank, he started himself to follow the same road andcross at the same ford, giving orders to de Guise and de la Trimouille toregulate the march of the rear guard by that of the centre, just as hehad regulated their march by that of the van. His orders were punctuallycarried out; and about ten o'clock in the morning the whole French armywas on the left bank of the Taro: at the same time, when it seemedcertain from the enemy's arrangements that battle was imminent, thebaggage, led by the captain, Odet de Reberac, was separated from the rearguard, and retired to the extreme left. 

Now, Francisco de Gonzaga, general-in-chief of the confederate troops, had modelled his plans on those of the King of France; by his orders, Count de Cajazzo, with four hundred men-at-arms and two thousandinfantry, had crossed the Taro where the Venetian camp lay, and was toattack the French van; while Gonzaga himself, following the right bank asfar as Fornovo, would go over the river by the same ford that Charles hadused, with a view to attacking his rear. Lastly, he had placed theStradiotes between these two fords, with orders to cross the river intheir turn, so soon as they saw the French army attacked both in van andin the rear, and to fall upon its flank. Not content with offensivemeasures, Gonzaga had also made provision for retreat by leaving threereserve corps on the right bank, one to guard the camp under theinstruction of the Venetian 'provveditori', and the other two arranged inechelon to support each other, the first commanded by Antonio diMontefeltro, the second by Annibale Bentivoglio. 

Charles had observed all these arrangements, and had recognised thecunning Italian strategy which made his opponents the finest generals inthe world; but as there was no means of avoiding the danger, he haddecided to take a sideway course, and had given orders to continue thematch; but in a minute the French army was caught between Count diCajazzo, barring the way with his four hundred men-at-arms and his twothousand infantry, and Gonzaga in pursuit of the rear, as we said before;leading six hundred men-at-arms, the flower of his army, a squadron ofStradiotes, and more than five thousand infantry: this division alone wasstronger than the whole of the French army. 

When, however, M. De Guise and M. De la Trimouille found themselvespressed in this way, they ordered their two hundred men-at-arms to turnright about face, while at the opposite end--that is, at the head of thearmy-Marechal de Gie and Trivulce ordered a halt and lances in rest. Meanwhile, according to custom, the king, who, as we said, was in thecentre, was conferring knighthood on those gentlemen who had earned thefavour either by virtue of their personal powers or the king's specialfriendship. 

Suddenly there was heard a terrible clash behind it was the Frenchrearguard coming to blows with the Marquis of Mantua. In this encounter, where each man had singled out his own foe as though it were atournament, very many lances were broken, especially those of the Italianknights; for their lances were hollowed so as to be less heavy, and inconsequence had less solidity. Those who were thus disarmed at onceseized their swords. As they were far more numerous than the French, theking saw them suddenly outflanking his right wing and apparently preparedto surround it; at the same moment loud cries were heard from a directionfacing the centre: this meant that the Stradiotes were crossing the riverto make their attack. 

The king at once ordered his division into two detachments, and givingone to Bourbon the bastard, to make head against the Stradiotes, hehurried with the second to the rescue of the van, flinging himself intothe very midst of the melee, striking out like a king, and doing assteady work as the lowest in rank of his captains. Aided by thereinforcement, the rearguard made a good stand, though the enemy werefive against one, and the combat in this part continued to rage withwonderful fury. 

Obeying his orders, Bourbon had thrown himself upon the Stradiotes; butunfortunately, carried off by his horse, he had penetrated so far intothe enemy's ranks that he was lost to sight: the disappearance of theirchief, the strange dress of their new antagonists, and the peculiarmethod of their fighting produced a considerable effect on those who wereto attack them; and for the moment disorder was the consequence in thecentre, and the horse men scattered instead of serrying their ranks andfighting in a body. This false move would have done them serious harm, had not most of the Stradiotes, seeing the baggage alone and undefended, rushed after that in hope of booty, instead of following up theiradvantage. A great part of the troop nevertheless stayed behind tofight, pressing on the French cavalry and smashing their lances withtheir fearful scimitars. Happily the king, who had just repulsed theMarquis of Mantua's attack, perceived what was going on behind him, andriding back at all possible speed to the succour of the centre, togetherwith the gentlemen of his household fell upon the Stradiotes, no longerarmed with a lance, for that he had just broken, but brandishing his longsword, which blazed about him like lightning, and--either because he waswhirled away like Bourbon by his own horse, or because he had allowed hiscourage to take him too far--he suddenly found himself in the thickestranks of the Stradiotes, accompanied only by eight of the knights he hadjust now created, one equerry called Antoine des Ambus, and hisstandard-bearer. "France, France!" he cried aloud, to rally round himall the others who had scattered; they, seeing at last that the dangerwas less than they had supposed, began to take their revenge and to payback with interest the blows they had received from the Stradiotes. Things were going still better, for the van, which the Marquis de Cajazzowas to attack; for although he had at first appeared to be animated witha terrible purpose, he stopped short about ten or twelve feet from theFrench line and turned right about face without breaking a single lance. The French wanted to pursue, but the Marechal de Gie, fearing that thisflight might be only a trick to draw off the vanguard from the centre, ordered every man to stay in his place. But the Swiss, who were German, and did not understand the order, or thought it was not meant for them, followed upon their heels, and although on foot caught them up and killeda hundred of them. This was quite enough to throw them into disorder, sothat some were scattered about the plain, and others made a rush for thewater, so as to cross the river and rejoin their camp. 

When the Marechal de Gie saw this, he detached a hundred of his own mento go to the aid of the king, who was continuing to fight with unheard-ofcourage and running the greatest risks, constantly separated as he wasfrom his gentlemen, who could not follow him; for wherever there wasdanger, thither he rushed, with his cry of "France, " little troublinghimself as to whether he was followed or not. And it was no longer withhis sword that he fought; that he had long ago broken, like his lance, but with a heavy battle-axe, whose every blow was mortal whether cut orpierced. Thus the Stradiotes, already hard pressed by the king'shousehold and his pensioners, soon changed attack for defence and defencefor flight. It was at this moment that the king was really in thegreatest danger; for he had let himself be carried away in pursuit of thefugitives, and presently found himself all alone, surrounded by thesemen, who, had they not been struck with a mighty terror, would have hadnothing to do but unite and crush him and his horse together; but, asCommines remarks, "He whom God guards is well guarded, and God wasguarding the King of France. "

All the same, at this moment the French were sorely pressed in the rear;and although de Guise and de la Trimouille held out as firmly as it waspossible to hold, they would probably have been compelled to yield tosuperior numbers had not a double aid arrived in time: first theindefatigable Charles, who, having nothing more to do among thefugitives, once again dashed into the midst of the fight, next theservants of the army, who, now that they were set free from theStradiotes and saw their enemies put to flight, ran up armed with theaxes they habitually used to cut down wood for building their huts: theyburst into the middle of the fray, slashing at the horses' legs anddealing heavy blows that smashed in the visors of the dismountedhorsemen. 

The Italians could not hold out against this double attack; the 'furiafrancese' rendered all their strategy and all their calculations useless, especially as for more than a century they had abandoned their fights ofblood and fury for a kind of tournament they chose to regard as warfare;so, in spite of all Gonzaga's efforts, they turned their backs upon theFrench rear and took to flight; in the greatest haste and with muchdifficulty they recrossed the torrent, which was swollen even more now bythe rain that had been falling during the whole time of the battle. 

Some thought fit to pursue the vanquished, for there was now suchdisorder in their ranks that they were fleeing in all directions from thebattlefield where the French had gained so glorious a victory, blockingup the roads to Parma and Bercetto. But Marechal de Gie and de Guise andde la Trimouille, who had done quite enough to save them from thesuspicion of quailing before imaginary dangers, put a stop to thisenthusiasm, by pointing out that it would only be risking the loss oftheir present advantage if they tried to push it farther with men andhorses so worn out. This view was adopted in spite of the opinion ofTrivulce, Camillo Vitelli, and Francesco Secco, who were all eager tofollow up the victory. 

The king retired to a little village an the left bank of the Taro, andtook shelter in a poor house. There he disarmed, being perhaps among allthe captains and all the soldiers the man who had fought best. 

During the night the torrent swelled so high that the Italian army couldnot have pursued, even if they had laid aside their fears. The king didnot propose to give the appearance of flight after a victory, andtherefore kept his army drawn up all day, and at night went on to sleepat Medesano, a little village only a mile lower down than the hamletwhere he rested after the fight. But in the course of the night hereflected that he had done enough for the honour of his arms in fightingan army four times as great as his own and killing three thousand men, and then waiting a day and a half to give them time to take theirrevenge; so two hours before daybreak he had the fires lighted, that theenemy might suppose he was remaining in camp; and every man mountingnoiselessly, the whole French army, almost out of danger by this time, proceeded on their march to Borgo San Donnino. 

While this was going on, the pope returned to Rome, where news highlyfavourable to his schemes was not slow to reach his ears. He learnedthat Ferdinand had crossed from Sicily into Calabria with six thousandvolunteers and a considerable number of Spanish horse and foot, led, atthe command of Ferdinand and Isabella, by the famous Gonzalva de Cordova, who arrived in Italy with a great reputation, destined to suffer somewhatfrom the defeat at Seminara. At almost the same time the French fleethad been beaten by the Aragonese; moreover, the battle of the Taro, though a complete defeat for the confederates, was another victory forthe pope, because its result was to open a return to France for that manwhom he regarded as his deadliest foe. So, feeling that he had nothingmore to fear from Charles, he sent him a brief at Turin, where he hadstopped for a short time to give aid to Novara, therein commanding him, by virtue of his pontifical authority, to depart out of Italy with hisarmy, and to recall within ten days those of his troops that stillremained in the kingdom of Naples, on pain of excommunication, and asummons to appear before him in person. 

Charles VIII replied:

(1) That he did not understand how the pope, the chief of the league, ordered him to leave Italy, whereas the confederates had not only refusedhim a passage, but had even attempted, though unsuccessfully, as perhapsHis Holiness knew, to cut off his return into France;

(2) That, as to recalling his troops from Naples, he was not soirreligious as to do that, since they had not entered the kingdom withoutthe consent and blessing of His Holiness;

(3) That he was exceedingly surprised that the pope should require hispresence in person at the capital of the Christian world just at thepresent time, when six weeks previously, at the time of his return fromNaples, although he ardently desired an interview with His Holiness, thathe might offer proofs of his respect and obedience, His Holiness, insteadof according this favour, had quitted Rome so hastily on his approachthat he had not been able to come up with him by any efforts whatsoever. On this point, however, he promised to give His Holiness the satisfactionhe desired, if he would engage this time to wait for him: he wouldtherefore return to Rome so soon as the affairs that brought him back tohis own kingdom had been satisfactorily, settled. 

Although in this reply there was a touch of mockery and defiance, Charleswas none the less compelled by the circumstances of the case to obey thepope's strange brief. His presence was so much needed in France that, inspite of the arrival of a Swiss reinforcement, he was compelled toconclude a peace with Ludovico Sforza, whereby he yielded Novara to him;while Gilbert de Montpensier and d'Aubigny, after defending, inch byinch, Calabria, the Basilicate, and Naples, were obliged to sign thecapitulation of Atella, after a siege of thirty-two days, on the 20th ofJuly, 1496. This involved giving back to Ferdinand II, King of Naples, all the palaces and fortresses of his kingdom; which indeed he did butenjoy for three months, dying of exhaustion on the 7th of Septemberfollowing, at the Castello della Somma, at the foot of Vesuvius; all theattentions lavished upon him by his young wife could not repair the evilthat her beauty had wrought. 

His uncle Frederic succeeded; and so, in the three years of his papacy, Alexander VI had seen five kings upon the throne of Naples, while he wasestablishing himself more firmly upon his own pontifical seat--FerdinandI, Alfonso I, Charles VIII, Ferdinand II, and Frederic. All thisagitation about his throne, this rapid succession of sovereigns, was thebest thing possible for Alexander; for each new monarch became actuallyking only on condition of his receiving the pontifical investiture. Theconsequence was that Alexander was the only gainer in power and credit bythese changes; for the Duke of Milan and the republics of Florence andVenice had successively recognised him as supreme head of the Church, inspite of his simony; moreover, the five kings of Naples had in turn paidhim homage. So he thought the time had now come for founding a mightyfamily; and for this he relied upon the Duke of Gandia, who was to holdall the highest temporal dignities; and upon Caesar Borgia, who was to beappointed to all the great ecclesiastical offices. The pope made sure ofthe success of these new projects by electing four Spanish cardinals, whobrought up the number of his compatriots in the Sacred College totwenty-two, thus assuring him a constant and certain majority. 

The first requirement of the pope's policy was to clear away from theneighbourhood of Rome all those petty lords whom most people call vicarsof the Church, but whom Alexander called the shackles of the papacy. Wesaw that he had already begun this work by rousing the Orsini against theColonna family, when Charles VIII's enterprise compelled him toconcentrate all his mental resources, and also the forces of his States, so as to secure his own personal safety. 

It had come about through their own imprudent action that the Orsini, thepope's old friends, were now in the pay of the French, and had enteredthe kingdom of Naples with them, where one of them, Virginio, a veryimportant member of their powerful house, had been taken prisoner duringthe war, and was Ferdinand II's captive. Alexander could not let thisopportunity escape him; so, first ordering the King of Naples not torelease a man who, ever since the 1st of June, 1496, had been a declaredrebel, he pronounced a sentence of confiscation against Virginio Orsiniand his whole family in a secret consistory, which sat on the 26th ofOctober following--that is to say, in the early days of the reign ofFrederic, whom he knew to be entirely at his command, owing to the King'sgreat desire of getting the investiture from him; then, as it was notenough to declare the goods confiscated, without also dispossessing theowners, he made overtures to the Colonna family, saying he wouldcommission them, in proof of their new bond of friendship, to execute theorder given against their old enemies under the direction of his sonFrancesco, Duke of Gandia. In this fashion he contrived to weaken hisneighbours each by means of the other, till such time as he could safelyattack and put an end to conquered and conqueror alike. 

The Colonna family accepted this proposition, and the Duke of Gandia wasnamed General of the Church: his father in his pontifical robes bestowedon him the insignia of this office in the church of St. Peter's at Rome. 

CHAPTER VII

Matters went forward as Alexander had wished, and before the end of theyear the pontifical army had, seized a great number of castles andfortresses that belonged to the Orsini, who thought themselves alreadylost when Charles VIII came to the rescue. They had addressed themselvesto him without much hope that he could be of real use to there, with hiswant of armed troops and his preoccupation with his own affairs. He, however, sent Carlo Orsini, son of Virginio, the prisoner, and VitellozzoVitelli, brother of Camillo Vitelli, one of the three valiant Italiancondottieri who had joined him and fought for him at the crossing of theTaro: These two captains, whose courage and skill were well known, brought with them a considerable sum of money from the liberal coffers ofCharles VIII. Now, scarcely had they arrived at Citta di Castello, thecentre of their little sovereignty, and expressed their intention ofraising a band of soldiers, when men presented themselves from all sidesto fight under their banner; so they very soon assembled a small army, and as they had been able during their stay among the French to studythose matters of military organisation in which France excelled, they nowapplied the result of their learning to their own troops: theimprovements were mainly certain changes in the artillery which madetheir manoeuvres easier, and the substitution for their ordinary weaponsof pikes similar in form to the Swiss pikes, but two feet longer. Thesechanges effected, Vitellozzo Vitelli spent three or four months inexercising his men in the management of their new weapons; then, when hethought them fit to make good use of these, and when he had collectedmore or less help from the towns of Perugia, Todi, and Narni, where theinhabitants trembled lest their turn should come after the Orsini's, asthe Orsini's had followed on the Colonnas', he marched towardsBraccianno, which was being besieged by the Duke of Urbino, who had beenlent to the pope by the Venetians, in virtue of the treaty quoted above. 

The Venetian general, when he heard of Vitelli's approach, thought hemight as well spare him half his journey, and marched out to confronthim: the two armies met in the Soriano road, and the battle straightwaybegan. The pontifical army had a body of eight hundred Germans, on whichthe Dukes of Urbino and Gandia chiefly relied, as well they might, forthey were the best troops in the world; but Vitelli attacked these pickedmen with his infantry, who, armed with their formidable pikes, ran themthrough, while they with arms four feet shorter had no chance even ofreturning the blows they received; at the same time Vitelli's lighttroops wheeled upon the flank, following their most rapid movements, andsilencing the enemy's artillery by the swiftness and accuracy of theirattack. The pontifical troops were put to flight, though after a longerresistance than might have been expected when they had to sustain theattack of an army so much better equipped than their own; with them theybore to Ronciglione the Duke of Gandia, wounded in the face by apike-thrust, Fabrizia Calonna, and the envoy; the Duke of Urbino, who wasfighting in the rear to aid the retreat, was taken prisoner with all hisartillery and the baggage of the conquered army. But this success, greatas it was, did not so swell the pride of Vitellozza Vitelli as to makehim oblivious of his position. He knew that he and the Orsini togetherwere too weak to sustain a war of such magnitude; that the little storeof money to which he owed the existence of his army would very soon beexpended and his army would disappear with it. So he hastened to getpardoned far the victory by making propositions which he would verylikely have refused had he been the vanquished party; and the popeaccepted his conditions without demur; during the interval having heardthat Trivulce had just recrossed the Alps and re-entered Italy with threethousand Swiss, and fearing lest the Italian general might only be theadvance guard of the King of France. So it was settled that the Orsinishould pay 70, 000 florins for the expenses of the war, and that all theprisoners on both sides should be exchanged without ransom with thesingle exception of the Duke of Urbino. As a pledge for the futurepayment of the 70, 000 florins, the Orsini handed over to the CardinalsSforza and San Severino the fortresses of Anguillara and Cervetri; then, when the day came and they had not the necessary money, they gave uptheir prisoner, the Duke of Urbino, estimating his worth at 40, 000ducats--nearly all the sum required--and handed him over to Alexander onaccount; he, a rigid observer of engagements, made his own general, takenprisoner in his service, pay, to himself the ransom he owed to the enemy. 

Then the pope had the corpse of Virginio sent to Carlo Orsini andVitellozzo Vitelli, as he could not send him alive. By a strangefatality the prisoner had died, eight days before the treaty was signed, of the same malady--at least, if we may judge by analogy--that hadcarried off Bajazet's brother. 

As soon as the peace was signed, Prospero Calonna and Gonzalvo deCordova, whom the Pope had demanded from Frederic, arrived at Rome withan army of Spanish and Neapolitan troops. Alexander, as he could notutilise these against the Orsini, set them the work of recapturing Ostia, not desiring to incur the reproach of bringing them to Rome far nothing. Gonzalvo was rewarded for this feat by receiving the Rose of Gold fromthe pope's hand--that being the highest honour His Holiness can grant. He shared this distinction with the Emperor Maximilian, the King ofFrance, the Doge of Venice, and the Marquis of Mantua. 

In the midst of all this occurred the solemn festival of the Assumption;in which Ganzalvo was invited to take part. He accordingly left hispalace, proceeded in great pomp in the front of the pontifical cavalry, and took his place on the Duke of Gandia's left hand. The duke attractedall eyes by his personal beauty, set off as it was by all the luxury hethought fit to display at this festival. He had a retinue of pages andservants, clad in sumptuous liveries, incomparable for richness withanything heretofore seen in Rome, that city of religious pomp. All thesepages and servants rode magnificent horses, caparisoned in velvet trimmedwith silver fringe, and bells of silver hanging down every here andthere. He himself was in a robe of gold brocade, and wore at his neck astring of Eastern pearls, perhaps the finest and largest that everbelonged to a Christian prince, while on his cap was a gold chain studdedwith diamonds of which the smallest was worth more than 20, 000 ducats. This magnificence was all the more conspicuous by the contrast itpresented to Caesar's dress, whose scarlet robe admitted of no ornaments. The result was that Caesar, doubly jealous of his brother, felt a newhatred rise up within him when he heard all along the way the praises ofhis fine appearance and noble equipment. From this moment CardinalValentino decided in his own mind the fate of this man, this constantobstacle in the path of his pride, his love, and his ambition. Very goodreason, says Tommaso, the historian, had the Duke of Gandia to leavebehind him an impression on the public mind of his beauty and hisgrandeur at this fete, for this last display was soon to be followed bythe obsequies of the unhappy young man. 

Lucrezia also had come to Rome, on the pretext of taking part in thesolemnity, but really, as we shall see later, with the view of serving asa new instrument for her father's ambition. As the pope was notsatisfied with an empty triumph of vanity and display for his son, and ashis war with the Orsini had failed to produce the anticipated results, hedecided to increase the fortune of his firstborn by doing the very thingwhich he had accused Calixtus in his speech of doing for him, viz. , alienating from the States of the Church the cities of Benevento, Terracino, and Pontecorvo to form, a duchy as an appanage to his son'shouse. Accordingly this proposition was put forward in a fullconsistory, and as the college of cardinals was entirely Alexander's, there was no difficulty about carrying his point. This new favour to hiselder brother exasperated Caesar, although he was himself getting a shareof the paternal gifts; for he had just been named envoy 'a latere' atFrederic's court, and was appointed to crown him with his own hands asthe papal representative. But Lucrezia, when she had spent a few days ofpleasure with her father and brothers, had gone into retreat at theconvent of San Sisto. No one knew the real motive of her seclusion, andno entreaties of Caesar, whose love for her was strange and unnatural, had induced her to defer this departure from the world even until the dayafter he left for Naples. His sister's obstinacy wounded him deeply, forever since the day when the Duke of Gandia had appeared in the processionso magnificently attired, he fancied he had observed a coldness in themistress of his illicit affection, and so far did this increase hishatred of his rival that he resolved to be rid of him at all costs. Sohe ordered the chief of his sbirri to come and see him the same night. 

Michelotto was accustomed to these mysterious messages, which almostalways meant his help was wanted in some love affair or some act ofrevenge. As in either case his reward was generally a large one, he wascareful to keep his engagement, and at the appointed hour was broughtinto the presence of his patron. 

Caesar received him leaning against a tall chimney-piece, no longerwearing his cardinal's robe and hat, but a doublet of black velvetslashed with satin of the same colour. One hand toyed mechanically withhis gloves, while the other rested an the handle of a poisoned daggerwhich never left his side. This was the dress he kept for his nocturnalexpeditions, so Michelotto felt no surprise at that; but his eyes burnedwith a flame more gloomy than their want, and his cheeks, generally pale, were now livid. Michelotto had but to cast one look upon his master tosee that Caesar and he were about to share some terrible enterprise. 

He signed to him to shut the door. Michelotto obeyed. Then, after amoment's silence, during which the eyes of Borgia seemed to burn into thesoul of the bravo, who with a careless air stood bareheaded before ham, he said, in a voice whose slightly mocking tone gave the only sign of hisemotion. 

"Michelotto, how do you think this dress suits me?"

Accustomed as he was to his master's tricks of circumlocution, the bravowas so far from expecting this question, that at first he stood mute, andonly after a few moments' pause was able to say:

"Admirably, monsignore; thanks to the dress, your Excellency has theappearance as well as the true spirit of a captain. "

"I am glad you think so, " replied Caesar. "And now let me ask you, doyou know who is the cause that, instead of wearing this dress, which Ican only put an at night, I am forced to disguise myself in the daytimein a cardinal's robe and hat, and pass my time trotting about from churchto church, from consistory to consistory, when I ought properly to beleading a magnificent army in the battlefield, where you would enjoy acaptain's rank, instead of being the chief of a few miserable sbirri?"

"Yes, monsignore, " replied Michelotto, who had divined Caesar's meaningat his first word; "the man who is the cause of this is Francesco, Dukeof Gandia, and Benevento, your elder brother. "

"Do you know, " Caesar resumed, giving no sign of assent but a nod and abitter smile, --"do you know who has all the money and none of the genius, who has the helmet and none of the brains, who has the sword and no handto wield it?"

"That too is the Duke of Gandia, " said Michelotto. 

"Do you know;" continued Caesar, "who is the man whom I find continuallyblocking the path of my ambition, my fortune, and my love?"

"It is the same, the Duke of Gandia, " said Michelotto. 

"And what do you think of it?" asked Caesar. 

"I think he must die, " replied the man coldly. 

"That is my opinion also, Michelotto, " said Caesar, stepping towards himand grasping his hand; "and my only regret is that I did not think of itsooner; for if I had carried a sword at my side in stead of a crosier inmy hand when the King of France was marching through Italy, I should nowhave been master of a fine domain. The pope is obviously anxious toaggrandise his family, but he is mistaken in the means he adopts: it is Iwho ought to have been made duke, and my brother a cardinal. There is nodoubt at all that, had he made me duke, I should have contributed adaring and courage to his service that would have made his power farweightier than it is. The man who would make his way to vast dominionsand a kingdom ought to trample under foot all the obstacles in his path, and boldly grasp the very sharpest thorns, whatever reluctance his weakflesh may feel; such a man, if he would open out his path to fortune, should seize his dagger or his sword and strike out with his eyes shut;he should not shrink from bathing his hands in the blood of his kindred;he should follow the example offered him by every founder of empire fromRomulus to Bajazet, both of whom climbed to the throne by the ladder offratracide. Yes, Michelotto, as you say, such is my condition, and I amresolved I will not shrink. Now you know why I sent for you: am I wrongin counting upon you?"

As might have been expected, Michelotto, seeing his own fortune in thiscrime, replied that he was entirely at Caesar's service, and that he hadnothing to do but to give his orders as to time, place, and manner ofexecution. Caesar replied that the time must needs be very soon, sincehe was on the point of leaving Rome for Naples; as to the place and themode of execution, they would depend on circumstances, and each of themmust look out for an opportunity, and seize the first that seemedfavourable. 

Two days after this resolution had been taken, Caesar learned that theday of his departure was fixed for Thursday the 15th of June: at the sametime he received an invitation from his mother to come to supper with heron the 14th. This was a farewell repast given in his honour. Michelottoreceived orders to be in readiness at eleven o'clock at night. 

The table was set in the open air in a magnificent vineyard, a propertyof Rosa Vanozza's in the neighbourhood of San Piero-in-Vinculis: theguests were Caesar Borgia, the hero of the occasion; the Duke of Gandia;Prince of Squillace; Dona Sancha, his wife; the Cardinal of Monte Reale, Francesco Borgia, son of Calixtus III; Don Roderigo Borgia, captain ofthe apostolic palace; Don Goffredo, brother of the cardinal; Gian Borgia, at that time ambassador at Perugia; and lastly, Don Alfonso Borgia, thepope's nephew: the whole family therefore was present, except Lucrezia, who was still in retreat, and would not come. 

The repast was magnificent: Caesar was quite as cheerful as usual, andthe Duke of Gandia seemed more joyous than he had ever been before. 

In the middle of supper a man in a mask brought him a letter. The dukeunfastened it, colouring up with pleasure; and when he had read itanswered in these words, "I will come": then he quickly hid the letter inthe pocket of his doublet; but quick as he was to conceal it from everyeye, Caesar had had time to cast a glance that way, and he fancied herecognised the handwriting of his sister Lucrezia. Meanwhile themessenger had gone off with his answer, no one but Caesar paying theslightest attention to him, for at that period it was the custom for havemessages to be conveyed by men in domino or by women whose faces wereconcealed by a veil. 

At ten o'clock they rose from the table, and as the air was sweet andmild they walked about a while under the magnificent pine trees thatshaded the house of Rosa Vanozza, while Caesar never for an instant lethis brother out of his sight. At eleven o'clock the Duke of Gandia badegood-night to his mother. Caesar at once followed suit, alleging hisdesire to go to the Vatican to bid farewell to the pope, as he would notbe able to fulfil this duty an the morrow, his departure being fixed atdaybreak. This pretext was all the more plausible since the pope was inthe habit of sitting up every night till two or three o'clock in themorning. 

The two brothers went out together, mounted their horses, which werewaiting for them at the door, and rode side by side as far as the PalazzoBorgia, the present home of Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, who had taken it asa gift from Alexander the night before his election to the papacy. Therethe Duke of Gandia separated from his brother, saying with a smile thathe was not intending to go home, as he had several hours to spend firstwith a fair lady who was expecting him. Caesar replied that he was nodoubt free to make any use he liked best of his opportunities, and wishedhim a very good night. The duke turned to the right, and Caesar to theleft; but Caesar observed that the street the duke had taken led in thedirection of the convent of San Sisto, where, as we said, Lucrezia was inretreat; his suspicions were confirmed by this observation, and hedirected his horse's steps to the Vatican, found the pope, took his leaveof him, and received his benediction. 

From this moment all is wrapped in mystery and darkness, like that inwhich the terrible deed was done that we are now to relate. 

This, however, is what is believed. 

The Duke of Gandia, when he quitted Caesar, sent away his servants, andin the company of one confidential valet alone pursued his course towardsthe Piazza della Giudecca. There he found the same man in a mask who hadcome to speak to him at supper, and forbidding his valet to follow anyfarther, he bade him wait on the piazza where they then stood, promisingto be on his way back in two hours' time at latest, and to take him up ashe passed. And at the appointed hour the duke reappeared, took leavethis time of the man in the mask, and retraced his steps towards hispalace. But scarcely had he turned the corner of the Jewish Ghetto, whenfour men on foot, led by a fifth who was on horseback, flung themselvesupon him. Thinking they were thieves, or else that he was the victim ofsome mistake, the Duke of Gandia mentioned his name; but instead of thename checking the murderers' daggers, their strokes were redoubled, andthe duke very soon fell dead, his valet dying beside him. 

Then the man on horseback, who had watched the assassination with no signof emotion, backed his horse towards the dead body: the four murdererslifted the corpse across the crupper, and walking by the side to supportit, then made their way down the lane that leads to the Church of SantaMaria-in-Monticelli. The wretched valet they left for dead upon thepavement. But he, after the lapse of a few seconds, regained some smallstrength, and his groans were heard by the inhabitants of a poor littlehouse hard by; they came and picked him up, and laid him upon a bed, where he died almost at once, unable to give any evidence as to theassassins or any details of the murder. 

All night the duke was expected home, and all the next morning; thenexpectation was turned into fear, and fear at last into deadly terror. The pope was approached, and told that the Duke of Gandia had never comeback to his palace since he left his mother's house. But Alexander triedto deceive himself all through the rest of the day, hoping that his sonmight have been surprised by the coming of daylight in the midst of anamorous adventure, and was waiting till the next night to get away inthat darkness which had aided his coming thither. But the night, likethe day, passed and brought no news. On the morrow, the pope, tormentedby the gloomiest presentiments and by the raven's croak of the 'voxpopuli', let himself fall into the depths of despair: amid sighs and sobsof grief, all he could say to any one who came to him was but thesewords, repeated a thousand times: "Search, search; let us know how myunhappy son has died. "

Then everybody joined in the search; for, as we have said, the Duke ofGandia was beloved by all; but nothing could be discovered from scouringthe town, except the body of the murdered man, who was recognised as theduke's valet; of his master there was no trace whatever: it was thenthought, not without reason, that he had probably been thrown into theTiber, and they began to follow along its banks, beginning from the Viadella Ripetta, questioning every boatman and fisherman who might possiblyhave seen, either from their houses or from their boats, what hadhappened on the river banks during the two preceding nights. At firstall inquiries were in vain; but when they had gone up as high as the Viadel Fantanone, they found a man at last who said he had seen somethinghappen on the night of the 14th which might very possibly have somebearing on the subject of inquiry. He was a Slav named George, who wastaking up the river a boat laden with wood to Ripetta. The following arehis own words:

"Gentlemen, " he said, "last Wednesday evening, when I had set down myload of wood on the bank, I remained in my boat, resting in the coolnight air, and watching lest other men should come and take away what Ihad just unloaded, when, about two o'clock in the morning, I saw comingout of the lane on the left of San Girolamo's Church two men on foot, whocame forward into the middle of the street, and looked so carefully allaround that they seemed to have come to find out if anybody was goingalong the street. When they felt sure that it was deserted, they wentback along the same lane, whence issued presently two other men, who usedsimilar precautions to make sure that there was nothing fresh; they, whenthey found all as they wished, gave a sign to their companions to comeand join them; next appeared one man on a dapple-grey horse, which wascarrying on the crupper the body of a dead man, his head and arms hangingover on one side and his feet on the other. The two fellows I had firstseen exploring were holding him up by the arms and legs. The other threeat once went up to the river, while the first two kept a watch on thestreet, and advancing to the part of the bank where the sewers of thetown are discharged into the Tiber, the horseman turned his horse, backing on the river; then the two who were at either side taking thecorpse, one by the hands, the other by the feet, swung it three times, and the third time threw it out into the river with all their strength;then at the noise made when the body splashed into the water, thehorseman asked, 'Is it done?' and the others answered, 'Yes, sir, ' and heat once turned right about face; but seeing the dead man's cloakfloating, he asked what was that black thing swimming about. 'Sir, ' saidone of the men, 'it is his cloak'; and then another man picked up somestones, and running to the place where it was still floating, threw themso as to make it sink under; as soon, as it had quite disappeared, theywent off, and after walking a little way along the main road, they wentinto the lane that leads to San Giacomo. That was all I saw, gentlemen, and so it is all I can answer to the questions you have asked me. "

At these words, which robbed of all hope any who might yet entertain it, one of the pope's servants asked the Slav why, when he was witness ofsuch a deed, he had not gone to denounce it to the governor. But theSlav replied that, since he had exercised his present trade on theriverside, he had seen dead men thrown into the Tiber in the same way ahundred times, and had never heard that anybody had been troubled aboutthem; so he supposed it would be the same with this corpse as the others, and had never imagined it was his duty to speak of it, not thinking itwould be any more important than it had been before. 

Acting on this intelligence, the servants of His Holiness summoned atonce all the boatmen and fishermen who were accustomed to go up and downthe river, and as a large reward was promised to anyone who should findthe duke's body, there were soon mare than a hundred ready for the job;so that before the evening of the same day, which was Friday, two menwere drawn out of the water, of whom one was instantly recognised as thehapless duke. At the very first glance at the body there could be nodoubt as to the cause of death. It was pierced with nine wounds, thechief one in the throat, whose artery was cut. The clothing had not beentouched: his doublet and cloak were there, his gloves in his waistband, gold in his purse; the duke then must have been assassinated not for gainbut for revenge. 

The ship which carried the corpse went up the Tiber to the Castello Sant'Angelo, where it was set down. At once the magnificent dress was fetchedfrom the duke's palace which he had worn on the day of the procession, and he was clothed in it once more: beside him were placed the insigniaof the generalship of the Church. Thus he lay in state all day, but hisfather in his despair had not the courage to came and look at him. Atlast, when night had fallen, his most trusty and honoured servantscarried the body to the church of the Madonna del Papala, with all thepomp and ceremony that Church and State combined could devise for thefuneral of the son of the pope. 

Meantime the bloodstained hands of Caesar Borgia were placing a royalcrown upon the head of Frederic of Aragon. 

This blow had pierced Alexander's heart very deeply. As at first he didnot know on whom his suspicions should fall, he gave the strictest ordersfor the pursuit of the murderers; but little by little the infamous truthwas forced upon him. He saw that the blow which struck at his house camefrom that very house itself and then his despair was changed to madness:he ran through the rooms of the Vatican like a maniac, and entering theconsistory with torn garments and ashes on his head, he sobbingly avowedall the errors of his past life, owning that the disaster that struck hisoffspring through his offspring was a just chastisement from God; then heretired to a secret dark chamber of the palace, and there shut himselfup, declaring his resolve to die of starvation. And indeed for more thansixty hours he took no nourishment by day nor rest by night, making noanswer to those who knocked at his door to bring him food except with thewailings of a woman or a roar as of a wounded lion; even the beautifulGiulia Farnese, his new mistress, could not move him at all, and wasobliged to go and seek Lucrezia, that daughter doubly loved to conquerhis deadly resolve. Lucrezia came out from the retreat were she wasweeping for the Duke of Gandia, that she might console her father. Ather voice the door did really open, and it was only then that the Duke ofSegovia, who had been kneeling almost a whole day at the threshold, begging His Holiness to take heart, could enter with servants bearingwine and food. 

The pope remained alone with Lucrezia for three days and nights; then hereappeared in public, outwardly calm, if not resigned; for Guicciardiniassures us that his daughter had made him understand how dangerous itwould be to himself to show too openly before the assassin, who wascoming home, the immoderate love he felt for his victim. 

CHAPTER VIII

Caesar remained at Naples, partly to give time to the paternal grief tocool down, and partly to get on with another business he had lately beencharged with, nothing else than a proposition of marriage betweenLucrezia and Don Alfonso of Aragon, Duke of Bicelli and Prince ofSalerno, natural son of Alfonso II and brother of Dona Sancha. It wastrue that Lucrezia was already married to the lord of Pesaro, but she wasthe daughter of an father who had received from heaven the right ofuniting and disuniting. There was no need to trouble about so trifling amatter: when the two were ready to marry, the divorce would be effected. Alexander was too good a tactician to leave his daughter married to ason-in-law who was becoming useless to him. 

Towards the end of August it was announced that the ambassador was comingback to Rome, having accomplished his mission to the new king to hisgreat satisfaction. And thither he returned an the 5th ofSeptember, --that is, nearly three months after the Duke of Gandia'sdeath, --and on the next day, the 6th, from the church of Santa MariaNovella, where, according to custom, the cardinals and the Spanish andVenetian ambassadors were awaiting him on horseback at the door, heproceeded to the Vatican, where His Holiness was sitting; there heentered the consistory, was admitted by the pope, and in accordance withthe usual ceremonial received his benediction and kiss; then, accompaniedonce more in the same fashion by the ambassadors and cardinals, he wasescorted to his own apartments. Thence he proceeded to, the pope's, assoon as he was left alone; for at the consistory they had had no speechwith one another, and the father and son had a hundred things to talkabout, but of these the Duke of Gandia was not one, as might have beenexpected. His name was not once spoken, and neither on that day norafterwards was there ever again any mention of the unhappy young man: itwas as though he had never existed. 

It was the fact that Caesar brought good news, King Frederic gave hisconsent to the proposed union; so the marriage of Sforza and Lucrezia wasdissolved on a pretext of nullity. Then Frederic authorised theexhumation of D'jem's body, which, it will be remembered, was worth300, 000 ducats. 

After this, all came about as Caesar had desired; he became the man whowas all-powerful after the pope; but when he was second in command it wassoon evident to the Roman people that their city was making a new stridein the direction of ruin. There was nothing but balls, fetes, masquerades; there were magnificent hunting parties, when Caesar--who hadbegun to cast off is cardinal's robe, --weary perhaps of the colour, appeared in a French dress, followed, like a king by cardinals, envoysand bodyguard. The whole pontifical town, given up like a courtesan toorgies and debauchery, had never been more the home of sedition, luxury, and carnage, according to the Cardinal of Viterba, not even in the daysof Nero and Heliogabalus. Never had she fallen upon days more evil; neverhad more traitors done her dishonour or sbirri stained her streets withblood. The number of thieves was so great, and their audacity such, thatno one could with safety pass the gates of the town; soon it was not evensafe within them. No house, no castle, availed for defence. Right andjustice no longer existed. Money, farce, pleasure, ruled supreme. 

Still, the gold was melting as in a furnace at these Fetes; and, byHeaven's just punishment, Alexander and Caesar were beginning to covetthe fortunes of those very men who had risen through their simony totheir present elevation. The first attempt at a new method of coiningmoney was tried upon the Cardinal Cosenza. The occasion was as follows. A certain dispensation had been granted some time before to a nun who hadtaken the vows: she was the only surviving heir to the throne ofPortugal, and by means of the dispensation she had been wedded to thenatural son of the last king. This marriage was more prejudicial thancan easily be imagined to the interests of Ferdinand and Isabella ofSpain; so they sent ambassadors to Alexander to lodge a complaint againsta proceeding of this nature, especially as it happened at the very momentwhen an alliance was to be formed between the house of Aragon and theHoly See. Alexander understood the complaint, and resolved that allshould be set right. So he denied all knowledge of the papal brief thoughhe had as a fact received 60, 000 ducats for signing it--and accused theArchbishop of Cosenza, secretary for apostolic briefs, of having granteda false dispensation. By reason of this accusation, the archbishop wastaken to the castle of Sant' Angelo, and a suit was begun. 

But as it was no easy task to prove an accusation of this nature, especially if the archbishop should persist in maintaining that thedispensation was really granted by the pope, it was resolved to employ atrick with him which could not fail to succeed. One evening theArchbishop of Cosenza saw Cardinal Valentino come into his prison; withthat frank air of affability which he knew well how to assume when itcould serve his purpose, he explained to the prisoner the embarrassingsituation in which the pope was placed, from which the archbishop alone, whom His Holiness looked upon as his best friend, could save him. 

The archbishop replied that he was entirely at the service of HisHoliness. 

Caesar, on his entrance, found the captive seated, leaning his elbows ona table, and he took a seat opposite him and explained the pope'sposition: it was an embarrassing one. At the very time of contracting soimportant an alliance with the house of Aragon as that of Lucrezia andAlfonso, His Holiness could not avow to Ferdinand and Isabella that, forthe sake of a few miserable ducats, he had signed a dispensation whichwould unite in the husband and wife together all the legitimate claims toa throne to which Ferdinand and Isabella had no right at all but that ofconquest. This avowal would necessarily put an end to all negotiations, and the pontifical house would fall by the overthrow of that verypedestal which was to have heightened its grandeur. Accordingly thearchbishop would understand what the pope expected of his devotion andfriendship: it was a simple and straight avowal that he had supposed hemight take it upon himself to accord the dispensation. Then, as thesentence to be passed on such an error would be the business ofAlexander, the accused could easily imagine beforehand how truly paternalsuch a sentence would be. Besides, the reward was in the same hands, andif the sentence was that of a father, the recompense would be that of aking. In fact, this recompense would be no less than the honour ofassisting as envoy, with the title of cardinal, at the marriage ofLucrezia and Alfonso--a favour which would be very appropriate, since itwould be thanks to his devotion that the marriage could take place. 

The Archbishop of Cosenza knew the men he was dealing with; he knew thatto save their own ends they would hesitate at nothing; he knew they had apoison like sugar to the taste and to the smell, impossible to discoverin food--a poison that would kill slowly or quickly as the poisonerwilled and would leave no trace behind; he knew the secret of thepoisoned key that lay always on the pope's mantelpiece, so that when HisHoliness wished to destroy some one of his intimates, he bade him open acertain cupboard: on the handle of the key there was a little spike, andas the lock of the cupboard turned stiffly the hand would naturallypress, the lock would yield, and nothing would have come of it but atrifling scratch: the scratch was mortal. He knew, too, that Caesar worea ring made like two lions' heads, and that he would turn the stone onthe inside when he was shaking hands with a friend. Then the lions'teeth became the teeth of a viper, and the friend died cursing Borgia. So he yielded, partly through fear, partly blinded by the thought of thereward; and Caesar returned to the Vatican armed with a precious paper, in which the Archbishop of Cosenza admitted that he was the only personresponsible for the dispensation granted to the royal nun. 

Two days later, by means of the proofs kindly furnished by thearchbishop, the pope; in the presence of the governor of Rome, theauditor of the apostolic chamber, the advocate, and the fiscal attorney, pronounced sentence, condemning the archbishop to the loss of all hisbenefices and ecclesiastical offices, degradation from his orders, andconfiscation of his goods; his person was to be handed over to the civilarm. Two days later the civil magistrate entered the prison to fulfilhis office as received from the pope, and appeared before the archbishop, accompanied by a clerk, two servants, and four guards. The clerkunrolled the paper he carried and read out the sentence; the two servantsuntied a packet, and, stripping the prisoner of his ecclesiasticalgarments, they reclothed him in a dress of coarse white cloth which onlyreached down to his knees, breeches of the same, and a pair of clumsyshoes. Lastly, the guards took him, and led him into one of the deepestdungeons of the castle of Sant' Angelo, where for furniture he foundnothing but a wooden crucifix, a table, a chair, and a bed; foroccupation, a Bible and a breviary, with a lamp to read by; fornourishment, two pounds of bread and a little cask of water, which wereto be renewed every three days, together with a bottle of oil for burningin his lamp. 

At the end of a year the poor archbishop died of despair, not before hehad gnawed his own arms in his agony. 

The very same day that he was taken into the dungeon, Caesar Borgia, whohad managed the affair so ably, was presented by the pope with all thebelongings of the condemned prisoner. 

But the hunting parties, balls, and masquerades were not the onlypleasures enjoyed by the pope and his family: from time to time strangespectacles were exhibited. We will only describe two--one of them a caseof punishment, the other no more nor less than a matter of the stud farm. But as both of these give details with which we would not have ourreaders credit our imagination, we will first say that they are literallytranslated from Burchard's Latin journal. 

"About the same time--that is, about the beginning of 1499--a certaincourtesan named La Corsetta was in prison, and had a lover who came tovisit her in woman's clothes, a Spanish Moor, called from his disguise'the Spanish lady from Barbary!' As a punishment, both of them were ledthrough the town, the woman without petticoat or skirt, but wearing onlythe Moor's dress unbuttoned in front; the man wore his woman's garb; hishands were tied behind his back, and the skirt fastened up to his middle, with a view to complete exposure before the eyes of all. When in thisattire they had made the circuit of the town, the Corsetta was sent backto the prison with the Moor. But on the 7th of April following, the Moorwas again taken out and escorted in the company of two thieves towardsthe Campo dei Fiori. The three condemned men were preceded by aconstable, who rode backwards on an ass, and held in his hand a longpole, on the end of which were hung, still bleeding, the amputated limbsof a poor Jew who had suffered torture and death for some trifling crime. When the procession reached the place of execution, the thieves werehanged, and the unfortunate Moor was tied to a stake piled round withwood, where he was to have been burnt to death, had not rain fallen insuch torrents that the fire would not burn, in spite of all the effortsof the executioner. "

This unlooked for accident, taken as a miracle by the people, robbedLucrezia of the most exciting part of the execution; but her father washolding in reserve another kind of spectacle to console her with later. We inform the reader once more that a few lines we are about to setbefore him are a translation from the journal of the worthy GermanBurchard, who saw nothing in the bloodiest or most wanton performancesbut facts for his journal, which he duly registered with theimpassibility of a scribe, appending no remark or moral reflection. 

"On the 11th of November a certain peasant was entering Rome with twostallions laden with wood, when the servants of His Holiness, just as hepassed the Piazza of St. Peter's, cut their girths, so that their loadsfell on the ground with the pack-saddles, and led off the horses to acourt between the palace and the gate; then the stable doors were opened, and four stallions, quite free and unbridled, rushed out and in aninstant all six animals began kicking, biting and fighting each otheruntil several were killed. Roderigo and Madame Lucrezia, who sat at thewindow just over the palace gate, took the greatest delight in thestruggle and called their courtiers to witness the gallant battle thatwas being fought below them. "

Now Caesar's trick in the matter of the Archbishop of Cosenza had had thedesired result, and Isabella and Ferdinand could no longer impute toAlexander the signature of the brief they had complained of: so nothingwas now in the way of the marriage of Lucrezia and Alfonso; thiscertainty gave the pope great joy, for he attached all the moreimportance to this marriage because he was already cogitating a second, between Caesar and Dona Carlota, Frederic's daughter. 

Caesar had shown in all his actions since his brother's death his want ofvocation for the ecclesiastical life; so no one was astonished when, aconsistory having been summoned one morning by Alexander, Caesar entered, and addressing the pope, began by saying that from his earliest years hehad been drawn towards secular pursuits both by natural inclination andability, and it had only been in obedience to the absolute commands ofHis Holiness that he entered the Church, accepted the cardinal's scarlet, other dignities, and finally the sacred order of the diaconate; butfeeling that in his situation it was improper to follow his passions, andat his age impossible to resist them, he humbly entreated His Holinessgraciously to yield to the desire he had failed to overcome, and topermit him to lay aside the dress and dignities of the Church, and enteronce more into the world, thereto contract a lawful marriage; also heentreated the lord cardinals to intercede for him with His Holiness, towhom he would freely resign all his churches, abbeys, and benefices, aswell as every other ecclesiastical dignity and preferment that had beenaccorded him. The cardinals, deferring to Caesar's wishes, gave aunanimous vote, and the pope, as we may suppose, like a good father, notwishing to force his son's inclinations, accepted his resignation, andyielded to the petition; thus Caesar put off the scarlet robe, which wassuited to him, says his historian Tommaso Tommasi, in one particularonly--that it was the colour of blood. 

In truth, the resignation was a pressing necessity, and there was no timeto lose. Charles VIII one day after he had came home late and tired fromthe hunting-field, had bathed his head in cold water; and going straightto table, had been struck dawn by an apoplectic seizure directly afterhis supper; and was dead, leaving the throne to the good Louis XII, a manof two conspicuous weaknesses, one as deplorable as the other: the firstwas the wish to make conquests; the second was the desire to havechildren. Alexander, who was on the watch far all political changes, hadseen in a moment what he could get from Louis XII's accession to thethrone, and was prepared to profit by the fact that the new king ofFrance needed his help for the accomplishment of his twofold desire. Louis needed, first, his temporal aid in an expedition against the duchyof Milan, on which, as we explained before, he had inherited claims fromValentina Visconti, his grandmother; and, secondly, his spiritual aid todissolve his marriage with Jeanne, the daughter of Louis XI; a childlessand hideously deformed woman, whom he had only married by reason of thegreat fear he entertained far her father. Now Alexander was willing todo all this far Louis XII and to give in addition a cardinal's hat to hisfriend George d'Amboise, provided only that the King of France would usehis influence in persuading the young Dona Carlota, who was at his court, to marry his son Caesar. 

So, as this business was already far advanced on the day when Caesardoffed his scarlet and donned a secular garb, thus fulfilling theambition so long cherished, when the lord of Villeneuve, sent by Louisand commissioned to bring Caesar to France, presented himself before theex-cardinal on his arrival at Rome, the latter, with his usualextravagance of luxury and the kindness he knew well how to bestow onthose he needed, entertained his guest for a month, and did all thehonours of Rome. After that, they departed, preceded by one of thepope's couriers, who gave orders that every town they passed through wasto receive them with marks of honour and respect. The same order hadbeen sent throughout the whole of France, where the illustrious visitorsreceived so numerous a guard, and were welcomed by a populace so eager tobehold them, that after they passed through Paris, Caesar'sgentlemen-in-waiting wrote to Rome that they had not seen any trees inFrance, or houses, or walls, but only men, women and sunshine. 

The king, on the pretext of going out hunting, went to meet his guest twoleagues outside the town. As he knew Caesar was very fond of the name ofValentine, which he had used as cardinal, and still continued to employwith the title of Count, although he had resigned the archbishopric whichgave him the name, he there and then bestowed an him the investiture ofValence, in Dauphine, with the title of Duke and a pension of 20, 000francs; then, when he had made this magnificent gift and talked with himfor nearly a couple of hours, he took his leave, to enable him to preparethe splendid entry he was proposing to make. 

It was Wednesday, the 18th of December 1498, when Caesar Borgia enteredthe town of Chinon, with pomp worthy of the son of a pope who is about tomarry the daughter of a king. The procession began with four-and-twentymules, caparisoned in red, adorned with escutcheons bearing the duke'sarms, laden with carved trunks and chests inlaid with ivory and silver;after them came four-and-twenty mare, also caparisoned, this time in thelivery of the King of France, yellow and red; next after these came tenother mules, covered in yellow satin with red crossbars; and lastlyanother ten, covered with striped cloth of gold, the stripes alternatelyraised and flat gold. 

Behind the seventy mules which led the procession there pranced sixteenhandsome battle-horses, led by equerries who marched alongside; thesewere followed by eighteen hunters ridden by eighteen pages, who wereabout fourteen or fifteen years of age; sixteen of them were dressed incrimson velvet, and two in raised gold cloth; so elegantly dressed werethese two children, who were also the best looking of the little band, that the sight of them gave rise to strange suspicions as to the reasonfor this preference, if one may believe what Brantome says. Finally, behind these eighteen horses came six beautiful mules, all harnessed withred velvet, and led by six valets, also in velvet to match. 

The third group consisted of, first, two mules quite covered with clothof gold, each carrying two chests in which it was said that the duke'streasure was stored, the precious stones he was bringing to his fiancee, and the relics and papal bulls that his father had charged him to conveyfor him to Louis XII. These were followed by twenty gentlemen dressed incloth of gold and silver, among whom rode Paul Giordano Orsino andseveral barons and knights among the chiefs of the state ecclesiastic. 

Next came two drums, one rebeck, and four soldiers blowing trumpets andsilver clarions; then, in the midst of a party of four-and-twentylacqueys, dressed half in crimson velvet and half in yellow silk, rodeMessire George d'Amboise and Monseigneur the Duke of Valentinois. Caesarwas mounted on a handsome tall courser, very richly harnessed, in a robehalf red satin and half cloth of gold, embroidered all over with pearlsand precious stones; in his cap were two rows of rubies, the size ofbeans, which reflected so brilliant a light that one might have fanciedthey were the famous carbuncles of the Arabian Nights; he also wore onhis neck a collar worth at least 200, 000 livres; indeed, there was nopart of him, even down to his boots, that was not laced with gold andedged with pearls. His horse was covered with a cuirass in a pattern ofgolden foliage of wonderful workmanship, among which there appeared togrow, like flowers, nosegays of pearls and clusters of rubies. 

Lastly, bringing up the rear of the magnificent cortege, behind the dukecame twenty-four mules with red caparisons bearing his arms, carrying hissilver plate, tents, and baggage. 

What gave to all the cavalcade an air of most wonderful luxury andextravagance was that the horses and mules were shod with golden shoes, and these were so badly nailed on that more than three-quarters of theirnumber, were lost on the road For this extravagance Caesar was greatlyblamed, for it was thought an audacious thing to put on his horses' feeta metal of which king's crowns are made. 

But all this pomp had no effect on the lady for whose sake it had beendisplayed; for when Dona Carlota was told that Caesar Bargia had come toFrance in the hope of becoming her husband, she replied simply that shewould never take a priest far her husband, and, moreover, the son of apriest; a man who was not only an assassin, but a fratricide; not only aman of infamous birth, but still more infamous in his morals and hisactions. 

But, in default of the haughty lady of Aragon, Caesar soon found anotherprincess of noble blood who consented to be his wife: this wasMademoiselle d'Albret, daughter of the King of Navarre. The marriage, arranged on condition that the pope should pay 200, 000 ducats dowry tothe bride, and should make her brother cardinal, was celebrated on the10th of May; and on the Whitsunday following the Duke of Valentoisreceived the order of St. Michael, an order founded by Louis XI, andesteemed at this period as the highest in the gift of the kings ofFrance. The news of this marriage, which made an alliance with Louis XIIcertain, was received with great joy by the pope, who at once gave ordersfar bonfires and illuminations all over the town. 

Louis XII was not only grateful to the pope for dissolving his marriagewith Jeanne of France and authorizing his union with Anne of Brittany, but he considered it indispensable to his designs in Italy to have thepope as his ally. So he promised the Duke of Valentinois to put threehundred lances at his disposal, as soon as he had made an entry intoMilan, to be used to further his own private interests, and againstwhomsoever he pleased except only the allies of France. The conquest ofMilan should be undertaken so soon as Louis felt assured of the supportof the Venetians, or at least of their neutrality, and he had sent themambassadors authorised to promise in his name the restoration of Cremonaand Ghiera d'Adda when he had completed the conquest of Lombardy. 

CHAPTER IX

Everything from without was favouring Alexander's encroaching policy, when he was compelled to turn his eyes from France towards the centre ofItaly: in Florence dwelt a man, neither duke, nor king, nor soldier, aman whose power was in his genius, whose armour was his purity, who ownedno offensive weapon but his tongue, and who yet began to grow moredangerous for him than all the kings, dukes, princes, in the whole worldcould ever be; this man was the poor Dominican monk Girolamo Savonarola, the same who had refused absolution to Lorenzo dei Medici because hewould not restore the liberty of Florence. 

Girolamo Savonarola had prophesied the invasion of a force from beyondthe Alps, and Charles VIII had conquered Naples; Girolamo Savonarola hadprophesied to Charles VIII that because he had failed to fulfil themission of liberator entrusted to him by God, he was threatened with agreat misfortune as a punishment, and Charles was dead; lastly, Savonarola had prophesied his own fall like the man who paced around theholy city for eight days, crying, "Woe to Jerusalem!" and on the ninthday, "Woe be on my own head!" None the less, the Florentine reformer, who could not recoil from any danger, was determined to attack thecolossal abomination that was seated on St. Peter's holy throne; eachdebauch, each fresh crime that lifted up its brazen face to the light ofday or tried to hide its shameful head beneath the veil of night, he hadnever failed to paint out to the people, denouncing it as the off springof the pope's luxurious living and lust of power. Thus had hestigmatised Alexander's new amour with the beautiful Giulia Farnese, whoin the preceding April a added another son to the pope's family; thus hadhe cursed the Duke of Gandia's murderer, the lustful, jealous fratricide;lastly, he had pointed out to the Florentines, who were excluded from theleague then forming, what sort of future was in store far them when theBorgias should have made themselves masters of the small principalitiesand should come to attack the duchies and republics. It was clear that inSavonarola, the pope had an enemy at once temporal and spiritual, whoseimportunate and threatening voice must be silenced at any cost. 

But mighty as the pope's power was, to accomplish a design like this wasno easy matter. Savonarola, preaching the stern principles of liberty, had united to his cause, even in the midst of rich, pleasure-lovingFlorence, a party of some size, known as the 'Piagnoni', or thePenitents: this band was composed of citizens who were anxious for reformin Church and State, who accused the Medici of enslaving the fatherlandand the Borgias of upsetting the faith, who demanded two things, that therepublic should return to her democratic principles, and religion to aprimitive simplicity. Towards the first of these projects considerableprogress had been made, since they had successively obtained, first, anamnesty for all crimes and delinquencies committed under othergovernments; secondly, the abolition of the 'balia', which was anaristocratic magistracy; thirdly, the establishment of a sovereigncouncil, composed of 1800 citizens; and lastly, the substitution ofpopular elections for drawing by lot and for oligarchical nominations:these changes had been effected in spite of two other factions, the'Arrabiati', or Madmen, who, consisting of the richest and noblest youthsof the Florentine patrician families, desired to have an oligarchicalgovernment; and the 'Bigi', or Greys, so called because they always heldtheir meetings in the shade, who desired the return of the Medici. 

The first measure Alexander used against the growing power of Savonarolawas to declare him heretic, and as such banished from the pulpit; butSavonarola had eluded this prohibition by making his pupil and friend, Domenico Bonvicini di Pescia, preach in his stead. The result was thatthe master's teachings were issued from other lips, and that was all; theseed, though scattered by another hand, fell none the less on fertilesoil, where it would soon burst into flower. Moreover, Savonarola nowset an example that was followed to good purpose by Luther, when, twenty-two years later, he burned Leo X's bull of excommunication atWittenberg; he was weary of silence, so he declared, on the authority ofPope Pelagius, that an unjust excommunication had no efficacy, and thatthe person excommunicated unjustly did not even need to get absolution. So on Christmas Day, 1497, he declared that by the inspiration of God herenounced his obedience to a corrupt master; and he began to preach oncemore in the cathedral, with a success that was all the greater for theinterruption, and an influence far more formidable than before, becauseit was strengthened by that sympathy of the masses which an unjustpersecution always inspires. 

Then Alexander made overtures to Leonardo dei Medici, vicar of thearchbishopric of Florence, to obtain the punishment of the rebel:Leonardo, in obedience to the orders he received, from Rome, issued amandate forbidding the faithful to attend at Savonarola's sermons. Afterthis mandate, any who should hear the discourses of the excommunicatedmonk would be refused communion and confession; and as when they diedthey would be contaminated with heresy, in consequence of their spiritualintercourse with a heretic, their dead bodies would be dragged on ahurdle and deprived of the rights of sepulture. Savonarola appealed fromthe mandate of his superior both to the people and to the Signoria, andthe two together gave orders to the episcopal vicar to leave Florencewithin two hours: this happened at the beginning of the year 1498. 

The expulsion of Leonard's dei Medici was a new triumph for Savonarola, so, wishing to turn to good moral account his growing influence, heresolved to convert the last day of the carnival, hitherto given up toworldly pleasures, into a day of religious sacrifice. So actually onShrove Tuesday a considerable number of boys were collected in front ofthe cathedral, and there divided into bands, which traversed the wholetown, making a house-to-house visitation, claiming all profane books, licentious paintings, lutes, harps, cards and dice, cosmetics andperfumes--in a word, all the hundreds of products of a corrupt societyand civilisation, by the aid of which Satan at times makes victorious waron God. The inhabitants of Florence obeyed, and came forth to the Piazzaof the Duoma, bringing these works of perdition, which were soon piled upin a huge stack, which the youthful reformers set on fire, singingreligious psalms and hymns the while. On this pile were burned manycopies of Boccaccio and of Margante Maggiore, and pictures by FroBartalommeo, who from that day forward renounced the art of this world toconsecrate his brush utterly and entirely to the reproduction ofreligious scenes. 

A reform such as this was terrifying to Alexander; so he resolved onfighting Savonarola with his own weapons--that is, by the force ofeloquence. He chose as the Dominican's opponent a preacher of recognisedtalent, called Fra Francesco di Paglia; and he sent him to Florence, where he began to preach in Santa Croce, accusing Savonarola of heresyand impiety. At the same time the pope, in a new brief, announced to theSignaria that unless they forbade the arch-heretic to preach, all thegoods of Florentine merchants who lived on the papal territory would beconfiscated, and the republic laid under an interdict and declared thespiritual and temporal enemy of the Church. The Signoria, abandoned byFrance, and aware that the material power of Rome was increasing in afrightful manner, was forced this time to yield, and to issue toSavonarola an order to leave off preaching. He obeyed, and bade farewellto his congregation in a sermon full of strength and eloquence. 

But the withdrawal of Savonarola, so far from calming the ferment, hadincreased it: there was talk about his prophecies being fulfilled; andsome zealots, more ardent than their mastery added miracle toinspiration, and loudly proclaimed that Savonarola had offered to go downinto the vaults of the cathedral with his antagonist, and there bring adead man to life again, to prove that his doctrine was true, promising todeclare himself vanquished if the miracle were performed by hisadversary. These rumours reached the ears of Fra Francesco, and as hewas a man of warm blood, who counted his own life as nothing if it mightbe spent to help his cause, he declared in all humility that he felt hewas too great a sinner for God to work a miracle in his behalf; but heproposed another challenge: he would try with Savonarola the ordeal offire. He knew, he said, that he must perish, but at least he shouldperish avenging the cause of religion, since he was certain to involve inhis destruction the tempter who plunged so many souls beside his own intoeternal damnation. 

The proposition made by Fra Francesco was taken to Savanarola; but as hehad never proposed the earlier challenge, he hesitated to accept thesecond; hereupon his disciple, Fra Domenico Bonvicini, more confidentthan his master in his own power, declared himself ready to accept thetrial by fire in his stead; so certain was he that God would perform amiracle by the intercession of Savonarola, His prophet. 

Instantly the report spread through Florence that the mortal challengewas accepted; Savonarola's partisans, all men of the strongestconvictions, felt no doubt as to the success of their cause. His enemieswere enchanted at the thought of the heretic giving himself to theflames; and the indifferent saw in the ordeal a spectacle of real andterrible interest. 

But the devotion of Fra Bonvicini of Pescia was not what Fra Francescowas reckoning with. He was willing, no doubt, to die a terrible death, but on condition that Savanarola died with him. What mattered to him thedeath of an obscure disciple like Fra Bonvicini? It was the master hewould strike, the great teacher who must be involved in his own ruin. Sohe refused to enter the fire except with Savonarola himself, and, playingthis terrible game in his own person, would not allow his adversary toplay it by proxy. 

Then a thing happened which certainly no one could have anticipated. Inthe place of Fra Francesco, who would not tilt with any but the master, two Franciscan monks appeared to tilt with the disciple. These were FraNicholas de Pilly and Fra Andrea Rondinelli. Immediately the partisans ofSavonarala, seeing this arrival of reinforcements for their antagonist, came forward in a crowd to try the ordeal. The Franciscans wereunwilling to be behindhand, and everybody took sides with equal ardourfor one or other party. All Florence was like a den of madmen; everyonewanted the ordeal, everyone wanted to go into the fire; not only did menchallenge one another, but women and even children were clamouring to beallowed to try. At last the Signoria, reserving this privilege for thefirst applicants, ordered that the strange duel should take place onlybetween Fra Domenico Bonvicini and Fra Andrea Rondinelli; ten of thecitizens were to arrange all details; the day was fixed for the 7th ofApril, 1498, and the place the Piazza del Palazzo. 

The judges of the field made their arrangements conscientiously. Bytheir orders scaffolding was erected at the appointed place, five feet inheight, ten in width, and eighty feet long. This scaffolding was coveredwith faggots and heath, supported by cross-bars of the very driest woodthat could be found. Two narrow paths were made, two feet wide at most, their entrance giving an the Loggia dei Lanzi, their exit exactlyopposite. The loggia was itself divided into two by a partition, so thateach champion had a kind of room to make his preparations in, just as inthe theatre every actor has his dressing-room; but in this instance thetragedy that was about to be played was not a fictitious one. 

The Franciscans arrived on the piazza and entered the compartmentreserved for them without making any religious demonstration; whileSavonarola, on the contrary, advanced to his own place in the procession, wearing the sacerdotal robes in which he had just celebrated the HolyEucharist, and holding in his hand the sacred host for all the world tosee, as it was enclosed in a crystal tabernacle. Fra Domenico di Pescia, the hero of the occasion, followed, bearing a crucifix, and all theDominican monks, their red crosses in their hands, marched behind singinga psalm; while behind them again followed the most considerable of thecitizens of their party, bearing torches, for, sure as they were of thetriumph of their cause, they wished to fire the faggots themselves. Thepiazza was so crowded that the people overflowed into all the streetsaround. In every door and window there was nothing to be seen but headsranged one above the other; the terraces were covered with people, andcurious spectators were observed an the roof of the Duomo and on the tapof the Campanile. 

But, brought face to face with the ordeal, the Franciscans raised suchdifficulties that it was very plain the heart of their champion wasfailing him. The first fear they expressed was that Fra Bonvicini was anenchanter, and so carried about him some talisman or charm which wouldsave him from the fire. So they insisted that he should be stripped ofall has clothes and put on others to be inspected by witnesses. FraBonvicini made no objection, though the suspicion was humiliating; hechanged shirt, dress, and cowl. Then, when the Franciscans observed thatSavanarola was placing the tabernacle in his hands, they protested thatit was profanation to expose the sacred host to the risk of burning, thatthis was not in the bond, and if Bonvicini would not give up thissupernatural aid, they far their part would give up the trial altogether. Savonarola replied that it was not astonishing that the champion ofreligion who put his faith in God should bear in his hands that very Godto whom he entrusted his salvation. But this reply did not satisfy theFranciscans, who were unwilling to let go their contention. Savonarolaremained inflexible, supporting his own right, and thus nearly four hourspassed in the discussion of points which neither party would give up, andaffairs remained in 'statu quo'. Meanwhile the people, jammed togetherin the streets, on the terraces, on the roofs, since break of day, weresuffering from hunger and thirst and beginning to get impatient: theirimpatience soon developed into loud murmurs, which reached even thechampions' ears, so that the partisans of Savonarala, who felt such faithin him that they were confident of a miracle, entreated him to yield toall the conditions suggested. To this Savonarola replied that if it werehimself making the trial he would be less inexorable; but since anotherman was incurring the danger; he could not take too many precautions. Two more hours passed, while his partisans tried in vain to combat hisrefusals. At last, as night was coming on and the people grew ever moreand more impatient and their murmurs began to assume a threatening tone, Bonvicini declared that he was ready to walk through the fire, holdingnothing in his hand but a crucifix. No one could refuse him this; so FraRondinelli was compelled to accept his proposition. The announcement wasmade to the populace that the champions had come to terms and the trialwas about to take place. At this news the people calmed down, in the hopeof being compensated at last for their long wait; but at that very momenta storm which had long been threatening brake over Florence with suchfury that the faggots which had just been lighted were extinguished bythe rain, leaving no possibility of their rekindling. From the momentwhen the people suspected that they had been fooled, their enthusiasm waschanged into derision. They were ignorant from which side thedifficulties had arisen that had hindered the trial, so they laid theresponsibility on both champions without distinction. The Signoria, foreseeing the disorder that was now imminent, ordered the assembly toretire; but the assembly thought otherwise, and stayed on the piazza, waiting for the departure of the two champions, in spite of the fearfulrain that still fell in torrents. Rondinelli was taken back amid shoutsand hootings, and pursued with showers of stones. Savonarola, thanks tohis sacred garments and the host which he still carried, passed calmlyenough through the midst of the mob--a miracle quite as remarkable as ifhe had passed through the fire unscathed. 

But it was only the sacred majesty of the host that had protected thisman, who was indeed from this moment regarded as a false prophet: thecrowd allowed Savonarola to return to his convent, but they regretted thenecessity, so excited were they by the Arrabbiati party, who had alwaysdenounced him as a liar and a hypocrite. So when the next morning, PalmSunday, he stood up in the pulpit to explain his conduct, he could notobtain a moment's silence for insults, hooting, and loud laughter. Thenthe outcry, at first derisive, became menacing: Savonarola, whose voicewas too weak to subdue the tumult, descended from his pulpit, retiredinto the sacristy, and thence to his convent, where he shut himself up inhis cell. At that moment a cry was heard, and was repeated by everybodypresent:

"To San Marco, to San Marco!" The rioters, few at first, were recruitedby all the populace as they swept along the streets, and at last reachedthe convent, dashing like an angry sea against the wall. 

The doors, closed on Savonarala's entrance, soon crashed before thevehement onset of the powerful multitude, which struck down on theinstant every obstacle it met: the whole convent was quickly flooded withpeople, and Savonarola, with his two confederates, Domenico Bonvicini andSilvestro Maruffi, was arrested in his cell, and conducted to prison amidthe insults of the crowd, who, always in extremes, whether of enthusiasmor hatred, would have liked to tear them to pieces, and would not bequieted till they had exacted a promise that the prisoners should beforcibly compelled to make the trial of fire which they had refused tomake of their own free will. 

Alexander VI, as we may suppose, had not been without influence inbringing about this sudden and astonishing reaction, although he was notpresent in person; and had scarcely learned the news of Savonarola's falland arrest when he claimed him as subject to ecclesiastical jurisdiction. But in spite of the grant of indulgences wherewith this demand wasaccompanied, the Signoria insisted that Savonarola's trial should takeplace at Florence, adding a request so as not to appear to withdraw theaccused completely from the pontifical authority--that the pope wouldsend two ecclesiastical judges to sit in the Florentine tribunal. Alexander, seeing that he would get nothing better from the magnificentrepublic, sent as deputies Gioacchino Turriano of Venice, General of theDominicans, and Francesco Ramolini, doctor in law: they practicallybrought the sentence with them, declaring Savonarola and his accomplicesheretics, schismatics, persecutors of the Church and seducers of thepeople. 

The firmness shown by the Florentines in claiming their rights ofjurisdiction were nothing but an empty show to save appearances; thetribunal, as a fact, was composed of eight members, all known to befervent haters of Savonarola, whose trial began with the torture. Theresult was that, feeble in body constitutionally nervous and irritable, he had not been able to endure the rack, and, overcome by agony just atthe moment when the executioner had lifted him up by the wrists and thendropped him a distance of two feet to the ground, he had confessed, inorder to get some respite, that his prophecies were nothing mare thanconjectures. If is true that, so soon as he went back to prison, heprotested against the confession, saying that it was the weakness of hisbodily organs and his want of firmness that had wrested the lie from him, but that the truth really was that the Lord had several times appeared tohim in his ecstasies and revealed the things that he had spoken. Thisprotestation led to a new application of the torture, during whichSavonarola succumbed once more to the dreadful pain, and once moreretracted. But scarcely was he unbound, and was still lying on the bedof torture, when he declared that his confessions were the fault of historturers, and the vengeance would recoil upon their heads; and heprotested yet once mare against all he had confessed and might confessagain. A third time the torture produced the same avowals, and therelief that followed it the same retractions. The judges therefore, whenthey condemned him and his two disciples to the flames, decided that hisconfession should not be read aloud at the stake, according to custom, feeling certain that an this occasion also he would give it the lie, andthat publicly, which, as anyone must see who knew the versatile spirit ofthe public, would be a most dangerous proceeding. 

On the 23rd of May, the fire which had been promised to the people beforewas a second time prepared on the Piazza del Palazzo, and this time thecrowd assembled quite certain that they would not be disappointed of aspectacle so long anticipated. And towards eleven o'clock in themorning, Girolamo Savonarola, Domenico Bonvicini, and Silvestro Maruffiwere led to the place of execution, degraded of their orders by theecclesiastical judges, and bound all three to the same stake in thecentre of an immense pile of wood. Then the bishop Pagnanoli told thecondemned men that he cut them off from the Church. "Ay, from the Churchmilitant, " said Savonarola, who from that very hour, thanks to hismartyrdom, was entering into the Church triumphant. No other words werespoken by the condemned men, for at this moment one of the Arrabbiati, apersonal enemy of Savonarola, breaking through the hedge of guards aroundthe scaffold, snatched the torch from the executioner's hand and himselfset fire to the four corners of the pile. Savonarola and his disciples, from the moment when they saw the smoke arise, began to sing a psalm, andthe flames enwrapped them on all sides with a glowing veil, while theirreligious song was yet heard mounting upward to the gates of heaven. 

Pope Alexander VI was thus set free from perhaps the most formidableenemy who had ever risen against him, and the pontifical vengeancepursued the victims even after their death: the Signoria, yielding to hiswishes, gave orders that the ashes of the prophet and his disciplesshould be thrown into the Arno. But certain half-burned fragments werepicked up by the very soldiers whose business it was to keep the peopleback from approaching the fire, and the holy relics are even now shown, blackened by the flames, to the faithful, who if they no longer regardSavonarola as a prophet, revere him none the less as a martyr. 

CHAPTER X

The French army was now preparing to cross the Alps a second time, underthe command of Trivulce. Louis XII had come as far as Lyons in thecompany of Caesar Borgia and Giuliano della Rovere, on whom he had forceda reconciliation, and towards the beginning of the month of May had senthis vanguard before him, soon to be followed by the main body of thearmy. The forces he was employing in this second campaign of conquestwere 1600, lances, 5000 Swiss, 9000 Gascons, and 3500 infantry, raisedfrom all parts of France. On the 13th of August this whole body, amounting to nearly 15, 000 men, who were to combine their forces with theVenetians, arrived beneath the walls of Arezzo, and immediately laidsiege to the town. 

Ludovico Sforza's position was a terrible one: he was now suffering fromhis imprudence in calling the French into Italy; all the allies he hadthought he might count upon were abandoning him at the same moment, either because they were busy about their own affairs, or because theywere afraid of the powerful enemy that the Duke of Milan had made forhimself. Maximilian, who had promised him a contribution of 400 lances, to make up for not renewing the hostilities with Louis XII that had beeninterrupted, had just made a league with the circle of Swabia to waragainst the Swiss, whom he had declared rebels against the Empire. TheFlorentines, who had engaged to furnish him with 300 men-at-arms and 2000infantry, if he would help them to retake Pisa, had just retracted theirpromise because of Louis XII's threats, and had undertaken to remainneutral. Frederic, who was holding back his troops for the defence of hisown States, because he supposed, not without reason, that, Milan onceconquered, he would again have to defend Naples, sent him no help, nomen, no money, in spite of his promises. Ludovico Sforza was thereforereduced to his own proper forces. 

But as he was a man powerful in arms and clever in artifice, he did notallow himself to succumb at the first blow, and in all haste fortifiedAnnona, Novarro, and Alessandria, sent off Cajazzo with troops to thatpart of the Milanese territory which borders on the states of Venice, andcollected on the Po as many troops as he could. But these precautionsavailed him nothing against the impetuous onslaught of the French, who ina few days had taken Annona, Arezzo, Novarro, Voghiera, Castelnuovo, Ponte Corona, Tartone, and Alessandria, while Trivulce was on the marchto Milan. 

Seeing the rapidity of this conquest and their numerous victories, Ludovico Sforza, despairing of holding out in his capital, resolved toretire to Germany, with his children, his brother, Cardinal AscanioSforza, and his treasure, which had been reduced in the course of eightyears from 1, 500, 000 to 200, 000 ducats. But before he went he leftBernardino da Carte in charge of the castle of Milan. In vain did hisfriends warn him to distrust this man, in vain did his brother Ascaniooffer to hold the fortress himself, and offer to hold it to the verylast; Ludovico refused to make any change in his arrangements, andstarted on the 2nd of September, leaving in the citadel three thousandfoot and enough provisions, ammunition, and money to sustain a siege ofseveral months. 

Two days after Ludovico's departure, the French entered Milan. Ten dayslater Bernardino da Come gave up the castle before a single gun had beenfired. Twenty-one days had sufficed for the French to get possession ofthe various towns, the capital, and all the territories of their enemy. 

Louis XII received the news of this success while he was at Lyons, and heat once started for Milan, where he was received with demonstrations ofjoy that were really sincere. Citizens of every rank had come out threemiles' distance from the gates to receive him, and forty boys, dressed incloth of gold and silk, marched before him singing hymns of victorycomposed by poets of the period, in which the king was styled theirliberator and the envoy of freedom. The great joy of the Milanese peoplewas due to the fact that friends of Louis had been spreading reportsbeforehand that the King of France was rich enough to abolish all taxes. And so soon as the second day from his arrival at Milan the conquerormade some slight reduction, granted important favours to certain Milanesegentlemen, and bestowed the town of Vigavano on Trivulce as a reward forhis swift and glorious campaign. But Caesar Borgia, who had followedLouis XII with a view to playing his part in the great hunting-ground ofItaly, scarcely waited for him to attain his end when he claimed thefulfilment of his promise, which the king with his accustomed loyaltyhastened to perform. He instantly put at the disposal of Caesar threehundred lances under the command of Yves d'Alegre, and four thousandSwiss under the command of the bailiff of Dijon, as a help in his work ofreducing the Vicars of the Church. 

We must now explain to our readers who these new personages were whom weintroduce upon the scene by the above name. 

During the eternal wars of Guelphs and Ghibelines and the long exile ofthe popes at Avignon, most of the towns and fortresses of the Romagna hadbeen usurped by petty tyrants, who for the most part hard received fromthe Empire the investiture of their new possessions; but ever sinceGerman influence had retired beyond the Alps, and the popes had againmade Rome the centre of the Christian world, all the small princes, robbed of their original protector, had rallied round the papal see, andreceived at the hands of the pope a new investiture, and now they paidannual dues, for which they received the particular title of duke, count, or lord, and the general name of Vicar of the Church. 

It had been no difficult matter for Alexander, scrupulously examining theactions and behaviour of these gentlemen during the seven years that hadelapsed since he was exalted to St. Peter's throne, to find in theconduct of each one of them something that could be called an infractionof the treaty made between vassals and suzerain; accordingly he broughtforward his complaints at a tribunal established for the purpose, andobtained sentence from the judges to the effect that the vicars of theChurch, having failed to fulfil the conditions of their investiture, weredespoiled of their domains, which would again become the property of theHoly See. As the pope was now dealing with men against whom it waseasier to pass a sentence than to get it carried out, he had nominated ascaptain-general the new Duke of Valentinois, who was commissioned torecover the territories for his own benefit. The lords in question werethe Malatesti of Rimini, the Sforza of Pesaro, the Manfredi of Faenza, the Riarii of Imola and Farli, the Variani of Camerina, the Montefeltriof Urbino, and the Caetani of Sermoneta. 

But the Duke of Valentinois, eager to keep as warm as possible his greatfriendship with his ally and relative Louis XII, was, as we know, stayingwith him at Milan so long as he remained there, where, after a month'soccupation, the king retraced his steps to his own capital, the Duke ofValentinois ordered his men-at-arms and his Swiss to await him betweenParma and Modena, and departed posthaste for Rome, to explain his plansto his father viva voce and to receive his final instructions. When hearrived, he found that the fortune of his sister Lucrezia had beengreatly augmented in his absence, not from the side of her husbandAlfonso, whose future was very uncertain now in consequence of Louis'ssuccesses, which had caused some coolness between Alfonso and the pope, but from her father's side, upon whom at this time she exercised aninfluence mare astonishing than ever. The pope had declared LucreziaBorgia of Aragon life-governor of Spoleto and its duchy, with allemoluments, rights, and revenues accruing thereunto. This had so greatlyincreased her power and improved her position, that in these days shenever showed herself in public without a company of two hundred horsesridden by the most illustrious ladies and noblest knights of Rome. Moreover, as the twofold affection of her father was a secret to nobody, the first prelates in the Church, the frequenters of the Vatican, thefriends of His Holiness, were all her most humble servants; cardinalsgave her their hands when she stepped from her litter or her horse, archbishops disputed the honour of celebrating mass in her privateapartments. 

But Lucrezia had been obliged to quit Rome in order to take possession ofher new estates; and as her father could not spend much time away fromhis beloved daughter, he resolved to take into his hands the town ofNepi, which on a former occasion, as the reader will doubtless remember, he had bestowed on Ascanio Sforza in exchange for his suffrage. Ascaniohad naturally lost this town when he attached himself to the fortunes ofthe Duke of Milan, his brother; and when the pope was about to take itagain, he invited his daughter Lucrezia to join him there and be presentat the rejoicings held in honour of his resuming its possession. 

Lucrezia's readiness in giving way to her father's wishes brought her anew gift from him: this was the town and territory of Sermoneta, whichbelonged to the Caetani. Of course the gift was as yet a secret, becausethe two owners of the seigneury, had first to be disposed of, one beingMonsignore Giacomo Caetano, apostolic protonotary, the other ProsperoCaetano, a young cavalier of great promise; but as both lived at Rome, and entertained no suspicion, but indeed supposed themselves to be inhigh favour with His Holiness, the one by virtue of his position, theother of his courage, the matter seemed to present no great difficulty. So directly after the return of Alexander to Rome, Giacomo Caetano wasarrested, on what pretext we know not, was taken to the castle of Sant'Angelo, and there died shortly after, of poison: Prospero Caetano wasstrangled in his own house. After these two deaths, which both occurredso suddenly as to give no time for either to make a will, the popedeclared that Sermoneta and all of her property appertaining to theCaetani devolved upon the apostolic chamber; and they were sold toLucrezia for the cum of 80, 000 crowns, which her father refunded to herthe day after. Though Caesar hurried to Rome, he found when he arrivedthat his father had been beforehand with him, and had made a beginning ofhis conquests. 

Another fortune also had been making prodigious strides during Caesar'sstay in France, viz. The fortune of Gian Borgia, the pope's nephew, whohad been one of the most devoted friends of the Duke of Gandia up to thetime of his death. It was said in Rome, and not in a whisper, that theyoung cardinal owed the favours heaped upon him by His Holiness less tothe memory of the brother than to the protection of the sister. Boththese reasons made Gian Borgia a special object of suspicion to Caesar, and it was with an inward vow that he should not enjoy his new dignitiesvery long that the Duke of Valentinois heard that his cousin Gian hadjust been nominated cardinal 'a latere' of all the Christian world, andhad quitted Rome to make a circuit through all the pontifical states witha suite of archbishops, bishops, prelates, and gentlemen, such as wouldhave done honour to the pope himself. 

Caesar had only come to Rome to get news; so he only stayed three days, and then, with all the troops His Holiness could supply, rejoined hisforces on the borders of the Euza, and marched at once to Imola. Thistown, abandoned by its chiefs, who had retired to Forli, was forced tocapitulate. Imola taken, Caesar marched straight upon Forli. There hemet with a serious check; a check, moreover, which came from a woman. Caterina Sforza, widow of Girolamo and mother of Ottaviano Riario, hadretired to this town, and stirred up the courage of the garrison byputting herself, her goods and her person, under their protection. Caesar saw that it was no longer a question of a sudden capture, but of aregular siege; so he began to make all his arrangements with a view toit, and placing a battery of cannon in front of the place where the wallsseemed to him weakest, he ordered an uninterrupted fire, to be continueduntil the breach was practicable. 

When he returned to the camp after giving this order, he found there GianBorgia, who had gone to Rome from Ferrara and was unwilling to be so nearCaesar without paying him a visit: he was received with effusion andapparently the greatest joy, and stayed three days; on the fourth day allthe officers and members of the court were invited to a grand farewellsupper, and Caesar bade farewell to his cousin, charging him withdespatches for the pope, and lavishing upon him all the tokens ofaffection he had shown on his arrival. 

Cardinal Gian Bargia posted off as soon as he left the supper-table, buton arriving at Urbino he was seized with such a sudden and strangeindisposition that he was forced to stop; but after a few minutes, feeling rather better, he went an; scarcely, however, had he enteredRocca Cantrada when he again felt so extremely ill that he resolved to gono farther, and stayed a couple of days in the town. Then, as he thoughthe was a little better again, and as he had heard the news of the takingof Forli and also that Caterina Sforza had been taken prisoner while shewas making an attempt to retire into the castle, he resolved to go backto Caesar and congratulate him on his victory; but at Fassambrane he wasforced to stop a third time, although he had given up his carriage for alitter. This was his last halt: the same day he sought his bed, never torise from it again; three days later he was dead. 

His body was taken to Rome and buried without any ceremony in the churchof Santa Maria del Populo, where lay awaiting him the corpse of hisfriend the Duke of Gandia; and there was now no more talk of the youngcardinal, high as his rank had been, than if he had never existed. Thusin gloom and silence passed away all those who were swept to destructionby the ambition of that terrible trio, Alexander, Lucrezia, and Caesar. 

Almost at the same time Rome was terrified by another murder. DonGiovanni Cerviglione, a gentleman by birth and a brave soldier, captainof the pope's men-at-arms, was attacked one evening by the sbirri, as hewas on his way home from supping with Dan Elisio Pignatelli. One of themen asked his name, and as he pronounced it, seeing that there was nomistake, plunged a dagger into his breast, while a second man with a backstroke of his sword cut off his head, which lay actually at his feetbefore his body had time to fall. 

The governor of Rome lodged a complaint against this assassination withthe pope; but quickly perceiving, by the way his intimation was received, that he would have done better to say nothing, he stopped the inquirieshe had started, so that neither of the murderers was ever arrested. Butthe rumour was circulated that Caesar, in the short stay he had made atRome, had had a rendezvous with Cerviglione's wife, who was a Borgia bybirth, and that her husband when he heard of this infringement ofconjugal duty had been angry enough to threaten her and her lover, too:the threat had reached Caesar's ears, who, making a long arm ofMichelotto, had, himself at Forli, struck down Cerviglione in the streetsof Rome. 

Another unexpected death followed so quickly on that of Don GiovanniCerviglione that it could not but be attributed to the same originator, if not to the same cause. Monsignore Agnelli of Mantua, archbishop ofCosenza, clerk of the chamber and vice-legate of Viterbo, having falleninto disgrace with His Holiness, how it is not known, was poisoned at hisown table, at which he had passed a good part of the night in cheerfulconversation with three or four guests, the poison gliding meanwhilethrough his veins; then going to bed in perfect health, he was found deadin the morning. His possessions were at once divided into threeportions: the land and houses were given to the Duke of Valentinois; thebishopric went to Francesco Borgia, son of Calixtus III; and the officeof clerk of the chamber was sold for 5000 ducats to Ventura Bonnassai, amerchant of Siena, who produced this sum for Alexander, and settled downthe very same day in the Vatican. 

This last death served the purpose of determining a point of law hithertouncertain: as Monsignore Agnelli's natural heirs had made some difficultyabout being disinherited, Alexander issued a brief; whereby he took fromevery cardinal and every priest the right of making a will, and declaredthat all their property should henceforth devolve upon him. 

But Caesar was stopped short in the midst of his victories. Thanks tothe 200, 000 ducats that yet remained in his treasury, Ludovico Sforza hadlevied 500 men-at-arms from Burgundy and 8000 Swiss infantry, with whomhe had entered Lombardy. So Trivulce, to face this enemy, had beencompelled to call back Yves d'Alegre and the troops that Louis XII hadlent to Caesar; consequently Caesar, leaving behind a body of pontificalsoldiery as garrison at Forli and Imola, betook himself with the rest ofhis force to Rome. 

It was Alexander's wish that his entry should be a triumph; so when helearned that the quartermasters of the army were only a few leagues fromthe town, he sent out runners to invite the royal ambassadors, thecardinals, the prelates, the Roman barons, and municipal dignitaries tomake procession with all their suite to meet the Duke of Valentinois; andas it always happens that the pride of those who command is surpassed bythe baseness of those who obey, the orders were not only fulfilled to theletter, but beyond it. 

The entry of Caesar took place on the 26th of February, 1500. Althoughthis was the great Jubilee year, the festivals of the carnival began nonethe less for that, and were conducted in a manner even more extravagantand licentious than usual; and the conqueror after the first day prepareda new display of ostentation, which he concealed under the veil of amasquerade. As he was pleased to identify himself with the glory, genius, and fortune of the great man whose name he bore, he resolved on arepresentation of the triumph of Julius Caesar, to be given on the Piazzidi Navona, the ordinary place for holding the carnival fetes. The nextday, therefore, he and his retinue started from that square, andtraversed all the streets of Rome, wearing classical costumes and ridingin antique cars, on one of which Caesar stood, clad in the robe of anemperor of old, his brow crowned with a golden laurel wreath, surroundedby lictors, soldiers, and ensign-bearers, who carried banners whereon wasinscribed the motto, 'Aut Caesar aut nihil'. 

Finally, an the fourth Sunday, in Lent, the pope conferred upon Caesarthe dignity he had so long coveted, and appointed him general andgonfaloniere of the Holy Church. 

In the meanwhile Sforza had crossed the Alps and passed the Lake of Como, amid acclamations of joy from his former subjects, who had quickly lostthe enthusiasm that the French army and Louis's promises had inspired. These demonstrations were so noisy at Milan, that Trivulce, judging thatthere was no safety for a French garrison in remaining there, made hisway to Navarra. Experience proved that he was not deceived; for scarcelyhad the Milanese observed his preparations for departure when asuppressed excitement began to spread through the town, and soon thestreets were filled with armed men. This murmuring crowd had to bepassed through, sword in hand and lance in rest; and scarcely had theFrench got outside the gates when the mob rushed out after the army intothe country, pursuing them with shouts and hooting as far as the banks ofthe Tesino. Trivulce left 400 lances at Novarra as well as the 3000 Swissthat Yves d'Alegre had brought from the Romagna, and directed his coursewith the rest of the army towards Mortara, where he stopped at last toawait the help he had demanded from the King of France. Behind himCardinal Ascanio and Ludovico entered Milan amid the acclamations of thewhole town. 

Neither of them lost any time, and wishing to profit by this enthusiasm, Ascanio undertook to besiege the castle of Milan while Ludovico shouldcross the Tesino and attack Novarra. 

There besiegers and besieged were sons of the same nation; for Yvesd'Alegre had scarcely as many as 300 French with him, and Ludovico 500Italians. In fact, for the last sixteen years the Swiss had beenpractically the only infantry in Europe, and all the Powers came, pursein hand, to draw from the mighty reservoir of their mountains. Theconsequence was that these rude children of William Tell, put up toauction by the nations, and carried away from the humble, hardy life of amountain people into cities of wealth and pleasure, had lost, not theirancient courage, but that rigidity of principle for which they had beendistinguished before their intercourse with other nations. From beingmodels of honour and good faith they had become a kind of marketableware, always ready for sale to the highest bidder. The French were thefirst to experience this venality, which later-on proved so fatal toLudovico Sforza. 

Now the Swiss in the garrison at Novarra had been in communication withtheir compatriots in the vanguard of the ducal army, and when they foundthat they, who as a fact were unaware that Ludavico's treasure was nearlyexhausted, were better fed as well as better paid than themselves, theyoffered to give up the town and go over to the Milanese, if they could becertain of the same pay. Ludovico, as we may well suppose, closed withthis bargain. The whole of Novarra was given up to him except thecitadel, which was defended by Frenchmen: thus the enemy's army wasrecruited by 3000 men. Then Ludovico made the mistake of stopping tobesiege the castle instead of marching on to Mortara with the newreinforcement. The result of this was that Louis XII, to whom runnershad been sent by Trivulce, understanding his perilous position, hastenedthe departure of the French gendarmerie who were already collected tocross into Italy, sent off the bailiff of Dijon to levy new Swiss forces, and ordered Cardinal Amboise, his prime minister, to cross the Alps andtake up a position at Asti, to hurry on the work of collecting thetroops. There the cardinal found a nest-egg of 3000 men. La Trimouilleadded 1500 lances and 6000 French infantry; finally, the bailiff of Dijonarrived with 10, 000 Swiss; so that, counting the troops which Trivulcehad at Mortara, Louis XII found himself master on the other side of theAlps of the first army any French king had ever led out to battle. Soon, by good marching, and before Ludovico knew the strength or even theexistence of this army, it took up a position between Novarra and Milan, cutting off all communication between the duke and his capital. He wastherefore compelled, in spite of his inferior numbers, to prepare for apitched battle. 

But it so happened that just when the preparations for a decisiveengagement were being made on both sides, the Swiss Diet, learning thatthe sons of Helvetia were on the paint of cutting one another's throats, sent orders to all the Swiss serving in either army to break theirengagements and return to the fatherland. But during the two months thathad passed between the surrender of Novarra and the arrival of the Frencharmy before the town, there had been a very great change in the face ofthings, because Ludovico Sforza's treasure was now exhausted. Newconfabulations had gone on between the outposts, and this time, thanks tothe money sent by Louis XII, it was the Swiss in the service of Francewho were found to be the better fed and better paid. The worthyHelvetians, since they no longer fought far their own liberty, knew thevalue of their blood too well to allow a single drop of it to be spilledfor less than its weight in gold: the result was that, as they had, betrayed Yves d'Alegre, they resolved to betray Ludovico Sforza too; andwhile the recruits brought in by the bailiff of Dijon were standingfirmly by the French flag, careless of the order of the Diet, Ludovico'sauxiliaries declared that in fighting against their Swiss brethren theywould be acting in disobedience to the Diet, and would risk capitalpunishment in the end--a danger that nothing would induce them to incurunless they immediately received the arrears of their pay. The duke, whoa spent the last ducat he had with him, and was entirely cut off from hiscapital, knew that he could not get money till he had fought his waythrough to it, and therefore invited the Swiss to make one last effort, promising them not only the pay that was in arrears but a double hire. But unluckily the fulfilment of this promise was dependent on thedoubtful issue of a battle, and the Swiss replied that they had far toomuch respect for their country to disobey its decree, and that they lovedtheir brothers far too well to consent to shed their blood withoutreward; and therefore Sforza would do well not to count upon them, sinceindeed the very next day they proposed to return to their homes. Theduke then saw that all was lost, but he made a last appeal to theirhonour, adjuring them at least to ensure his personal safety by making ita condition of capitulation. But they replied that even if a conditionof such a kind, would not make capitulation impossible, it wouldcertainly deprive them of advantages which they had aright to expect, andon which they counted as indemnification for the arrears of their pay. They pretended, however, at last that they were touched by the prayers ofthe man whose orders they had obeyed so long, and offered to conceal himdressed in their clothes among their ranks. This proposition was barelyplausible; far Sforza was short and, by this time an old man, and hecould not possibly escape recognition in the midst of an army where theoldest was not past thirty and the shortest not less than five foot six. Still, this was his last chance, and he did not reject it at once, buttried to modify it so that it might help him in his straits. His planwas to disguise himself as a Franciscan monk, so that mounted an a shabbyhorse he might pass for their chaplain; the others, Galeazzo di SanSevering, who commanded under him, and his two brothers, were all tallmen, so, adopting the dress of common soldiers, they hoped they mightescape detection in the Swiss ranks. 

Scarcely were these plans settled when the duke heard that thecapitulation was signed between Trivulce and the Swiss, who had made nostipulation in favour of him and his generals. They were to go over thenext day with arms and baggage right into the French army; so the lasthope of the wretched Ludovico and his generals must needs be in theirdisguise. And so it was. San Severino and his brothers took their placein the ranks of the infantry, and Sforza took his among the baggage, cladin a monk's frock, with the hood pulled over his eyes. 

The army marched off; but the Swiss, who had first trafficked in theirblood, now trafficked in their honour. The French were warned of thedisguise of Sforza and his generals, and thus they were all fourrecognised, and Sforza was arrested by Trimouille himself. It is saidthat the price paid for this treason was the town of Bellinzona; far itthen belonged to the French, and when the Swiss returned to theirmountains and took possession of it, Louis XII took no steps to get itback again. 

When Ascanio Sforza, who, as we know, had stayed at Milan, learned thenews of this cowardly desertion, he supposed that his cause was lost andthat it would be the best plan for him to fly, before he found himself aprisoner in the hand's of his brother's old subjects: such a change offace on the people's part would be very natural, and they might proposeperhaps to purchase their own pardon at the price of his liberty; so hefled by night with the chief nobles of the Ghibelline party, taking theroad to Piacenza, an his way to the kingdom of Naples. But when hearrived at Rivolta, he remembered that there was living in that town anold friend of his childhood, by name Conrad Lando, whom he had helped tomuch wealth in his days of power; and as Ascanio and his companions wereextremely; tired, he resolved to beg his hospitality for a single night. Conrad received them with every sign of joy, putting all his house andservants at their disposal. But scarcely had they retired to bed when hesent a runner to Piacenza, to inform Carlo Orsini, at that timecommanding the Venetian garrison, that he was prepared to deliver upCardinal Ascanio and the chief men of the Milanese army. Carlo Orsinidid not care to resign to another so important an expedition, andmounting hurriedly with twenty-five men, he first surrounded Conradshouse, and then entered sword in hand the chamber wherein Ascanio and hiscompanions lay, and being surprised in the middle of their sleep, theyyielded without resistance. The prisoners were taken to Venice, butLouis XII claimed them, and they were given up. Thus the King of Francefound himself master of Ludovico Sforza and of Ascania, of a legitimatenephew of the great Francesco Sforza named Hermes, of two bastards namedAlessandro and Cortino, and of Francesco, son of the unhappy GianGaleazza who had been poisoned by his uncle. 

Louis XII, wishing to make an end of the whole family at a blow, forcedFrancesco to enter a cloister, shut up Cardinal Ascanio in the tower ofBaurges, threw into prison Alessandro, Cartino, and Hermes, and finally, after transferring the wretched Ludovico from the fortress ofPierre-Eucise to Lys-Saint-George he relegated him for good and all tothe castle of Loches, where he lived for ten years in solitude and utterdestitution, and there died, cursing the day when the idea first cameinto his head of enticing the French into Italy. 

The news of the catastrophe of Ludovica and his family caused thegreatest joy at Rome, for, while the French were consolidating theirpower in Milanese territory, the Holy See was gaining ground in theRomagna, where no further opposition was offered to Caesar's conquest. So the runners who brought the news were rewarded with valuable presents, and it was published throughout the whole town of Rome to the sound ofthe trumpet and drum. The war-cry of Louis, France, France, and that ofthe Orsini, Orso, Orso, rang through all the streets, which in theevening were illuminated, as though Constantinople or Jerusalem had beentaken. And the pope gave the people fetes and fireworks, withouttroubling his head the least in the world either about its being HolyWeek, or because the Jubilee had attracted more than 200, 000 people toRome; the temporal interests of his family seeming to him far moreimportant than the spiritual interests of his subjects. 

CHAPTER XI

One thing alone was wanting to assure the success of the vast projectsthat the pope and his son were founding upon the friendship of Louis andan alliance with him--that is, --money. But Alexander was not the man tobe troubled about a paltry worry of that kind; true, the sale ofbenefices was by now exhausted, the ordinary and extraordinary taxes hadalready been collected for the whole year, and the prospect ofinheritance from cardinals and priests was a poor thing now that therichest of them had been poisoned; but Alexander had other means at hisdisposal, which were none the less efficacious because they were lessoften used. 

The first he employed was to spread a, report that the Turks werethreatening an invasion of Christendom, and that he knew for a positivefact that before the end of the summer Bajazet would land twoconsiderable armies, one in Romagna, the other in Calabria; he thereforepublished two bulls, one to levy tithes of all ecclesiastical revenues inEurope of whatever nature they might be, the other to force the Jews intopaying an equivalent sum: both bulls contained the severest sentences ofexcommunication against those who refused to submit, or attemptedopposition. 

The second plan was the selling of indulgences, a thing which had neverbeen done before: these indulgences affected the people who had beenprevented by reasons of health or business from coming to Rome for theJubilee; the journey by this expedient was rendered unnecessary, and sinswere pardoned for a third of what it would have cost, and just ascompletely as if the faithful had fulfilled every condition of thepilgrimage. For gathering in this tax a veritable army of collectors wasinstituted, a certain Ludovico delta Torre at their head. The sum thatAlexander brought into the pontifical treasury is incalculable, and sameidea of it may be gathered from the fact that 799, 000 livres in gold waspaid in from the territory of Venice alone. 

But as the Turks did as a fact make some sort of demonstration from theHungarian side, and the Venetians began to fear that they might be comingin their direction, they asked for help from the pope, who gave ordersthat at twelve o'clock in the day in all his States an Ave Maria shouldbe said, to pray God to avert the danger which was threatening the mostserene republic. This was the only help the Venetians got from HisHoliness in exchange for the 799, 000 livres in gold that he had got fromthem. 

But it seemed as though God wished to show His strange vicar on earththat He was angered by the mockery of sacred things, and on the Eve ofSt. Peter's Day, just as the pope was passing the Capanile on his way tothe tribune of benedictions, a enormous piece of iron broke off and fellat his feet; and then, as though one warning had not been enough, on thenext day, St. Peter's, when the pope happened to be in one of the roomsof his ordinary dwelling with Cardinal Capuano and Monsignare Poto, hisprivate chamberlain, he saw through the open windows that a very blackcloud was coming up. Foreseeing a thunderstorm, he ordered the cardinaland the chamberlain to shut the windows. He had not been mistaken; foreven as they were obeying his command, there came up such a furious gustof wind that the highest chimney of the Vatican was overturned, just as atree is rooted up, and was dashed upon the roof, breaking it in; smashingthe upper flooring, it fell into the very room where they were. Terrified by the noise of this catastrophe, which made the whole palacetremble, the cardinal and Monsignore Poto turned round, and seeing theroom full of dust and debris, sprang out upon the parapet and shouted tothe guards at the gate, "The pope is dead, the pope is dead!" At thiscry, the guards ran up and discovered three persons lying in the rubbishon the floor, one dead and the other two dying. The dead man was agentleman of Siena ailed Lorenzo Chigi, and the dying were two residentofficials of the Vatican. They had been walking across the floor above, and had been flung down with the debris. But Alexander was not to befound; and as he gave no answer, though they kept on calling to him, thebelief that he had perished was confirmed, and very soon spread about thetown. But he had only fainted, and at the end of a certain time he beganto come to himself, and moaned, whereupon he was discovered, dazed withthe blow, and injured, though not seriously, in several parts of hisbody. He had been saved by little short of a miracle: a beam had brokenin half and had left each of its two ends in the side walls; and one ofthese had formed a sort of roof aver the pontifical throne; the pope, whowas sitting there at the time, was protected by this overarching beam, and had received only a few contusions. 

The two contradictory reports of the sudden death and the miraculouspreservation of the pope spread rapidly through Rome; and the Duke ofValentinois, terrified at the thought of what a change might be wroughtin his own fortunes by any slight accident to the Holy Father, hurried tothe Vatican, unable to assure himself by anything less than the evidenceof his own eyes. Alexander desired to render public thanks to Heaven forthe protection that had been granted him; and on the very same day wascarried to the church of Santa Maria del Popalo, escorted by a numerousprocession of prelates and men-at arms, his pontifical seat borne by twovalets, two equerries, and two grooms. In this church were buried theDuke of Gandia and Gian Borgia, and perhaps Alexander was drawn thitherby same relics of devotion, or may be by the recollection of his love forhis former mistress, Rosa Vanazza, whose image, in the guise of theMadonna, was exposed for the veneration of the faithful in a chapel onthe left of the high altar. Stopping before this altar, the pope offeredto the church the gift of a magnificent chalice in which were threehundred gold crowns, which the Cardinal of Siena poured out into a silverpaten before the eyes of all, much to the gratification of the pontificalvanity. 

But before he left Rome to complete the conquest of the Romagna, the Dukeof Valentinois had been reflecting that the marriage, once so ardentlydesired, between Lucrezia and Alfonso had been quite useless to himselfand his father. There was more than this to be considered: Louis XII'srest in Lombardy was only a halt, and Milan was evidently but the stagebefore Naples. It was very possible that Louis was annoyed about themarriage which converted his enemy's nephew into the son-in-law of hisally. Whereas, if Alfonso were dead, Lucrezia would be the position tomarry some powerful lord of Ferrara or Brescia, who would be able to helphis brother-in-law in the conquest of Romagna. Alfonso was now not onlyuseless but dangerous, which to anyone with the character of the Borgiasperhaps seemed worse, the death of Alfonso was resolved upon. ButLucrezia's husband, who had understand for a long time past what dangerhe incurred by living near his terrible father-in-law, had retired toNaples. Since, however, neither Alexander nor Caesar had changed intheir perpetual dissimulation towards him, he was beginning to lose hisfear, when he received an invitation from the pope and his son to takepart in a bull-fight which was to be held in the Spanish fashion inhonour of the duke before his departure: In the present precariousposition of Naples it would not have been good policy far Alfonso toafford Alexander any sort of pretext for a rupture, so he could notrefuse without a motive, and betook himself to Rome. It was thought ofno use to consult Lucrezia in this affair, for she had two or three timesdisplayed an absurd attachment for her husband, and they left herundisturbed in her government of Spoleto. 

Alfonso was received by the pope and the duke with every demonstration ofsincere friendship, and rooms in the Vatican were assigned to him that hehad inhabited before with Lucrezia, in that part of the building which isknown as the Torre Nuova. 

Great lists were prepared on the Piazza of St. Peter's; the streets aboutit were barricaded, and the windows of the surrounding houses served asboxes for the spectators. The pope and his court took their places onthe balconies of the Vatican. 

The fete was started by professional toreadors: after they had exhibitedtheir strength and skill, Alfonso and Caesar in their turn descended tothe arena, and to offer a proof of their mutual kindness, settled thatthe bull which pursued Caesar should be killed by Alfonso, and the bullthat pursued Alfonso by Caesar. 

Then Caesar remained alone an horseback within the lists, Alfonso goingout by an improvised door which was kept ajar, in order that he might goback on the instant if he judged that his presence was necessary. At thesame time, from the opposite side of the lists the bull was introduced, and was at the same moment pierced all over with darts and arrows, someof them containing explosives, which took fire, and irritated the bull tosuch a paint that he rolled about with pain, and then got up in a fury, and perceiving a man on horseback, rushed instantly upon him. It wasnow, in this narrow arena, pursued by his swift enemy, that Caesardisplayed all that skill which made him one of the finest horsemen of theperiod. Still, clever as he was, he could not have remained safe long inthat restricted area from an adversary against whom he had no otherresource than flight, had not Alfonso appeared suddenly, just when thebull was beginning to gain upon him, waving a red cloak in his left hand, and holding in his right a long delicate Aragon sword. It was high time:the bull was only a few paces distant from Caesar, and the risk he wasrunning appeared so imminent that a woman's scream was heard from one ofthe windows. But at the sight of a man on foot the bull stopped short, and judging that he would do better business with the new enemy than theold one, he turned upon him instead. For a moment he stood motionless, roaring, kicking up the dust with his hind feet, and lashing his sideswith his tail. Then he rushed upon Alfonso, his eyes all bloodshot, hishorns tearing up the ground. Alfonso awaited him with a tranquil air;then, when he was only three paces away, he made a bound to one sides andpresented instead of his body his sword, which disappeared at once to thehilt; the bull, checked in the middle of his onslaught, stopped oneinstant motionless and trembling, then fell upon his knees, uttered onedull roar, and lying down on the very spot where his course had beenchecked, breathed his last without moving a single step forward. 

Applause resounded an all sides, so rapid and clever had been the blow. Caesar had remained on horseback, seeking to discover the fair spectatorwho had given so lively a proof of her interest in him, without troublinghimself about what was going on: his search had not been unrewarded, farhe had recognized one of the maids of honour to Elizabeth, Duchess ofUrbino, who was betrothed to Gian Battista Carraciualo, captain-generalof the republic of Venice. 

It was now Alfonso's turn to run from the bull, Caesar's to fight him:the young men changed parts, and when four mules had reluctantly draggedthe dead bull from the arena, and the valets and other servants of HisHoliness had scattered sand over the places that were stained with blood, Alfonso mounted a magnificent Andalusian steed of Arab origin, light asthe wind of Sahara that had wedded with his mother, while Caesar, dismounting, retired in his turn, to reappear at the moment when Alfonsoshould be meeting the same danger from which he had just now rescued him. 

Then a second bull was introduced upon the scene, excited in the samemanner with steeled darts and flaming arrows. Like his predecessor, whenhe perceived a man on horseback he rushed upon him, and then began amarvellous race, in which it was impossible to see, so quickly did theyfly over the ground, whether the horse was pursuing the bull or the bullthe horse. But after five or six rounds, the bull began to gain upon theson of Araby, for all his speed, and it was plain to see who fled and whopursued; in another moment there was only the length of two lancesbetween them, and then suddenly Caesar appeared, armed with one of thoselong two handed swords which the French are accustomed to use, and justwhen the bull, almost close upon Don Alfonso, came in front of Caesar hebrandished the sword, which flashed like lightning, and cut off his head, while his body, impelled by the speed of the run, fell to the ground tenpaces farther on. This blow was so unexpected, and had been performedwith such dexterity, that it was received not with mere clapping but withwild enthusiasm and frantic outcry. Caesar, apparently rememberingnothing else in his hour of triumph but the scream that had been causedby his former danger, picked up the bull's head, and, giving it to one ofhis equerries, ordered him to lay it as an act of homage at the feet ofthe fair Venetian who had bestowed upon him so lively a sign of interest. This fete, besides affording a triumph to each of the young men, hadanother end as well; it was meant to prove to the populace that perfectgoodwill existed between the two, since each had saved the life of theother. The result was that, if any accident should happen to Caesar, nobody would dream of accusing Alfanso; and also if any accident shouldhappen to Alfonso, nobody would dream, of accusing Caesar. 

There was a supper at the Vatican. Alfonso made an elegant toilet, andabout ten o'clock at night prepared to go from the quarters he inhabitedinto those where the pope lived; but the door which separated the twocourts of the building was shut, and knock as he would, no one came toopen it. Alfonso then thought that it was a simple matter for him to goround by the Piazza of St. Peter's; so he went out unaccompanied throughone of the garden gates of the Vatican and made his way across the gloomystreets which led to the stairway which gave on the piazza. But scarcelyhad he set his foot on the first step when he was attacked by a band ofarmed men. Alfonso would have drawn his sword; but before it was out ofthe scabbard he had received two blows from a halberd, one on his head, the other on his shoulder; he was stabbed in the side, and wounded bothin the leg and in the temple. Struck down by these five blows, he losthis footing and fell to the ground unconscious; his assassins, supposinghe was dead, at once remounted the stairway, and found on the piazzaforty horsemen waiting for them: by them they were calmly escorted fromthe city by the Porta Portesa. Alfonso was found at the point of death, but not actually dead, by some passers-by, some of whom recognised him, and instantly conveyed the news of his assassination to the Vatican, while the others, lifting the wounded man in their arms, carried him tohis quarters in the Torre Nuova. The pope and Caesar, who learned thisnews just as they were sitting down to table, showed great distress, andleaving their companions, at once went to see Alfonso, to be quitecertain whether his wounds were fatal or not; and an the next morning, todivert any suspicion that might be turned towards themselves, theyarrested Alfonso's maternal uncle, Francesco Gazella, who had come toRome in his nephew's company. Gazella was found guilty on the evidenceof false witnesses, and was consequently beheaded. 

But they had only accomplished half of what they wanted. By some means, fair or foul, suspicion had been sufficiently diverted from the trueassassins; but Alfonso was not dead, and, thanks to the strength of hisconstitution and the skill of his doctors, who had taken the lamentationsof the pope and Caesar quite seriously, and thought to please them bycuring Alexander's son-in-law, the wounded man was making progresstowards convalescence: news arrived at the same time that Lucrezia hadheard of her husband's accident, and was starting to come and nurse himherself. There was no time to lose, and Caesar summoned Michelotto. 

"The same night, " says Burcardus, "Don Alfonso, who would not die of hiswounds, was found strangled in his bed. "

The funeral took place the next day with a ceremony not unbecoming initself, though, unsuited to his high rank. Dan Francesca Bargia, Archbishop of Cosenza, acted as chief mourner at St. Peter's, where thebody was buried in the chapel of Santa Maria delle Febbre. 

Lucrezia arrived the same evening: she knew her father and brother toowell to be put on the wrong scent; and although, immediately afterAlfonso's death, the Duke of Valentinois had arrested the doctors, thesurgeons, and a poor deformed wretch who had been acting as valet, sheknew perfectly well from what quarter the blow had proceeded. In fear, therefore, that the manifestation of a grief she felt this time too wellmight alienate the confidence of her father and brother, she retired toNepi with her whole household, her whole court, and more than six hundredcavaliers, there to spend the period of her mourning. 

This important family business was now settled, and Lucrezia was again awidow, and in consequence ready to be utilized in the pope's newpolitical machinations. Caesar only stayed at Rome to receive theambassadors from France and Venice; but as their arrival was somewhatdelayed, and consider able inroads had been made upon the pope's treasuryby the recent festivities, the creation of twelve new cardinals wasarranged: this scheme was to have two effects, viz. , to bring 600, 000ducats into the pontifical chest, each hat having been priced at 50, 000ducats, and to assure the pope of a constant majority in the sacredcouncil. 

The ambassadors at last arrived: the first was M. De Villeneuve, the samewho had come before to see the Duke of Valentinois in the name of France. Just as he entered Rome, he met on the road a masked man, who, withoutremoving his domino, expressed the joy he felt at his arrival. This manwas Caesar himself, who did not wish to be recognised, and who took hisdeparture after a short conference without uncovering his face. M. DeVilleneuve then entered the city after him, and at the Porta del Populofound the ambassadors of the various Powers, and among them those ofSpain and Naples, whose sovereigns were not yet, it is true, in declaredhostility to France, though there was already some coolness. Thelast-named, fearing to compromise themselves, merely said to theircolleague of France, by way of complimentary address, "Sir, you arewelcome"; whereupon the master of the ceremonies, surprised at thebrevity of the greeting, asked if they had nothing else to say. Whenthey replied that they had not, M. De Villeneuve turned his back uponthem, remarking that those who had nothing to say required no answer; hethen took his place between the Archbishop of Reggia, governor of Rome, and the Archbishop of Ragusa, and made his way to the palace of the HolyApostles, which had been, got ready far his reception. 

Same days later, Maria Giorgi, ambassador extraordinary of Venice, madehis arrival. He was commissioned not only to arrange the business onhand with the pope, but also to convey to Alexander and Caesar the titleof Venetian nobles, and to inform them that their names were inscribed inthe Golden Book--a favour that both of them had long coveted, less farthe empty honour's sake than for the new influence that this title mightconfer. Then the pope went on to bestow the twelve cardinals' hats thathad been sold. The new princes of the Church were Don Diego de Mendoza, archbishop of Seville; Jacques, archbishop of Oristagny, the Pope'svicar-general; Thomas, archbishop of Strigania; Piero, archbishop ofReggio, governor of Rome; Francesco Bargia, archbishop of Cosenza, treasurer-general; Gian, archbishop of Salerno, vice-chamberlain; LuigiBargia, archbishop of Valencia, secretary to His Holiness, and brother ofthe Gian Borgia whom Caesar had poisoned; Antonio, bishop of Coma; GianBattista Ferraro, bishop of Modem; Amedee d'Albret, son of the King ofNavarre, brother-in-law of the Duke of Valentinois; and Marco Cornaro, aVenetian noble, in whose person His Holiness rendered back to the mostserene republic the favour he had just received. 

Then, as there was nothing further to detain the Duke of Valentinois atRome, he only waited to effect a loan from a rich banker named AgostinoChigi, brother of the Lorenzo Chigi who had perished on the day when thepope had been nearly killed by the fall of a chimney, and departed farthe Romagna, accompanied by Vitellozzo Vitelli, Gian Paolo Baglione, andJacopo di Santa Croce, at that time his friends, but later on hisvictims. 

His first enterprise was against Pesaro: this was the polite attention ofa brother-in-law, and Gian Sforza very well knew what would be itsconsequences; for instead of attempting to defend his possessions bytaking up arms, or to venture an negotiations, unwilling moreover toexpose the fair lands he had ruled so long to the vengeance of anirritated foe, he begged his subjects, to preserve their former affectiontowards himself, in the hope of better days to come; and he fled intoDalmatia. Malatesta, lord of Rimini, followed his example; thus the Dukeof Valentinois entered both these towns without striking a single blow. Caesar left a sufficient garrison behind him, and marched on to Faenza. 

But there the face of things was changed: Faenza at that time was underthe rule of Astor Manfredi, a brave and handsome young man of eighteen, who, relying on the love of his subjects towards his family, had resolvedon defending himself to the uttermost, although he had been forsaken bythe Bentivagli, his near relatives, and by his allies, the Venetian andFlorentines, who had not dared to send him any aid because of theaffection felt towards Caesar by the King of France. Accordingly, whenhe perceived that the Duke of Valentinois was marching against him, heassembled in hot haste all those of his vassals who were capable ofbearing arms, together with the few foreign soldiers who were willing tocome into his pay, and collecting victual and ammunition, he took up hisposition with them inside the town. 

By these defensive preparations Caesar was not greatly, disconcerted; hecommanded a magnificent army, composed of the finest troops of France andItaly; led by such men as Paolo and Giulio Orsini, Vitellozzo Vitelli andPaolo Baglione, not to steak of himself--that is to say, by the firstcaptains of the period. So, after he had reconnoitred, he at once beganthe siege, pitching his camp between the two rivers, Amana and Marziano, placing his artillery on the side which faces on Forli, at which pointthe besieged party had erected a powerful bastion. 

At the end of a few days busy with entrenchments, the breach becamepracticable, and the Duke of Valentinois ordered an assault, and gave theexample to his soldiers by being the first to march against the enemy. But in spite of his courage and that of his captains beside him, AstorManfredi made so good a defence that the besiegers were repulsed withgreat loss of men, while one of their bravest leaders, Honario Savella;was left behind in the trenches. 

But Faenza, in spite of the courage and devotion of her defenders, couldnot have held out long against so formidable an army, had not winter cometo her aid. Surprised by the rigour of the season, with no houses forprotection and no trees for fuel, as the peasants had destroyed bothbeforehand, the Duke of Valentinois was forced to raise the siege andtake up his winter quarters in the neighbouring towns, in order to bequite ready for a return next spring; for Caesar could not forgive theinsult of being held in check by a little town which had enjoyed a longtime of peace, was governed by a mere boy, and deprived of all outsideaid, and had sworn to take his revenge. He therefore broke up his armyinto three sections, sent one-third to Imola, the second to Forli, andhimself took the third to Cesena, a third-rate town, which was thussuddenly transformed into a city of pleasure and luxury. 

Indeed, for Caesar's active spirit there must needs be no cessation ofwarfare or festivities. So, when war was interrupted, fetes began, asmagnificent and as exciting as he knew how to make them: the days werepassed in games and displays of horsemanship, the nights in dancing andgallantry; for the loveliest women of the Romagna--and that is to say ofthe whole world had come hither to make a seraglio for the victor whichmight have been envied by the Sultan of Egypt or the Emperor ofConstantinople. 

While the Duke of Valentinois was making one of his excursions in theneighbourhood of the town with his retinue of flattering nobles andtitled courtesans, who were always about him, he noticed a cortege an theRimini road so numerous that it must surely indicate the approach ofsomeone of importance. Caesar, soon perceiving that the principal personwas a woman, approached, and recognised the very same lady-in-waiting tothe Duchess of Urbino who, on the day of the bull-fight, had screamedwhen Caesar was all but touched by the infuriated beast. At this time shewas betrothed, as we mentioned, to Gian Carracciuola, general of theVenetians. Elizabeth of Gonzaga, her protectress and godmother, was nowsending her with a suitable retinue to Venice, where the marriage was totake place. 

Caesar had already been struck by the beauty of this young girl, when atRome; but when he saw her again she appeared more lovely than on thefirst occasion, so he resolved on the instant that he would keep thisfair flower of love for himself: having often before reproached himselffor his indifference in passing her by. Therefore he saluted her as anold acquaintance, inquired whether she were staying any time at Cesena, and ascertained that she was only passing through, travelling by longstages, as she was awaited with much impatience, and that she would spendthe coming night at Forli. This was all that Caesar cared to knew; hesummoned Michelotto, and in a low voice said a few wards to him, whichwere heard by no one else. 

The cortege only made a halt at the neighbouring town, as the fair bridehad said, and started at once for Forli, although the day was already faradvanced; but scarcely had a league been revered when a troop of horsemenfrom Cesena overtook and surrounded them. Although the soldiers in theescort were far from being in sufficient force, they were eager to defendtheir general's bride; but soon same fell dead, and ethers, terrified, took to flight; and when the lady came dawn from her litter to try toescape, the chief seized her in his arms and set her in front of him onhis horse; then, ordering his men to return to Cesena without him, he puthis horse to the gallop in a cross direction, and as the shades ofevening were now beginning to fall, he soon disappeared into thedarkness. 

Carracciuolo learned the news through one of the fugitives, who declaredthat he had recognised among the ravishers the Duke of Valentinois'soldiers. At first he thought his ears had deceived him, so hard was itto believe this terrible intelligence; but it was repeated, and he stoodfor one instant motionless, and, as it were, thunderstruck; thensuddenly, with a cry of vengeance, he threw off his stupor and dashedaway to the ducal palace, where sat the Doge Barberigo and the Council ofTen; unannounced, he rushed into their midst, the very moment after theyhad heard of Caesar's outrage. 

"Most serene lords, " he cried, "I am come to bid you farewell, for I amresolved to sacrifice my life to my private vengeance, though indeed Ihad hoped to devote it to the service of the republic. I have beenwounded in the soul's noblest part--in my honour. The dearest thing Ipossessed, my wife, has been stolen from me, and the thief is the mosttreacherous, the most impious, the most infamous of men, it isValentinois! My lords, I beg you will not be offended if I speak thus ofa man whose boast it is to be a member of your noble ranks and to enjoyyour protection: it is not so; he lies, and his loose and criminal lifehas made him unworthy of such honours, even as he is unworthy of the lifewhereof my sword shall deprive him. In truth, his very birth was asacrilege; he is a fratricide, an usurper of the goods of other men, anoppressor of the innocent, and a highway assassin; he is a man who willviolate every law, even, the law of hospitality respected by the veriestbarbarian, a man who will do violence to a virgin who is passing throughhis own country, where she had every right to expect from him not onlythe consideration due to her sex and condition, but also that which isdue to the most serene republic, whose condottiere I am, and which isinsulted in my person and in the dishonouring of my bride; this man, Isay, merits indeed to die by another hand than mine. Yet, since he whoought to punish him is not for him a prince and judge, but only a fatherquite as guilty as the son, I myself will seek him out, and I willsacrifice my own life, not only in avenging my own injury and the bloodof so many innocent beings, but also in promoting the welfare of the mostserene republic, on which it is his ambition to trample when he hasaccomplished the ruin of the other princes of Italy. "

The doge and the senators, who, as we said, were already apprised of theevent that had brought Carracciuolo before them, listened with greatinterest and profound indignation; for they, as he told them, werethemselves insulted in the person of their general: they all swore, ontheir honour, that if he would put the matter in their hands, and notyield to his rage, which could only work his own undoing, either hisbride should be rendered up to him without a smirch upon her bridal veil, or else a punishment should be dealt out proportioned to the affront. And without delay, as a proof of the energy wherewith the noble tribunalwould take action in the affair, Luigi Manenti, secretary to the Ten, wassent to Imola, where the duke was reported to be, that he might explainto him the great displeasure with which the most serene republic viewedthe outrage perpetrated upon their candottiere. At the same time theCouncil of Ten and the doge sought out the French ambassador, entreatinghim to join with them and repair in person with Manenti to the Duke ofValentinois, and summon him, in the name of King Louis XII, immediatelyto send back to Venice the lady he had carried off. 

The two messengers arrived at Imola, where they found Caesar, wholistened to their complaint with every mark of utter astonishment, denying that he had been in any way connected with the crime, nay, authorising Manenti and the French ambassador to pursue the culprits andpromising that he would himself have the most active search carried on. The duke appeared to act in such complete good faith that the envoys werefor the moment hoodwinked, and themselves undertook a search of the mostcareful nature. They accordingly repaired to the exact spot and began toprocure information. On the highroad there had been found dead andwounded. A man had been seen going by at a gallop, carrying a woman indistress on his saddle; he had soon left the beaten track and plungedacross country. A peasant coming home from working in the fields hadseen him appear and vanish again like a shadow, taking the direction of alonely house. An old woman declared that she had seen him go into thishouse. But the next night the house was gone, as though by enchantment, and the ploughshare had passed over where it stood; so that none couldsay, what had become of her whom they sought, far those who had dwelt inthe house, and even the house itself, were there no longer. 

Manenti and the French ambassador returned to Venice, and related whatthe duke had said, what they had done, and how all search had been invain. No one doubted that Caesar was the culprit, but no one could proveit. So the most serene republic, which could not, considering their warwith the Turks, be embroiled with the pope, forbade Caracciuala to takeany sort of private vengeance, and so the talk grew gradually less, andat last the occurrence was no more mentioned. 

But the pleasures of the winter had not diverted Caesar's mind from hisplans about Faenza. Scarcely did the spring season allow him to go intothe country than he marched anew upon the town, camped opposite thecastle, and making a new breach, ordered a general assault, himself goingup first of all; but in spite of the courage he personally displayed, andthe able seconding of his soldiers, they were repulsed by Astor, who, atthe head of his men, defended the breach, while even the women, at thetop of the rampart, rolled down stones and trunks of trees upon thebesiegers. After an hour's struggle man to man, Caesar was forced toretire, leaving two thousand men in the trenches about the town, andamong the two thousand one of his bravest condottieri, Valentino Farnese. 

Then, seeing that neither excommunications nor assaults could help him, Caesar converted the siege into a blockade: all the roads leading toFaenza were cut off, all communications stopped; and further, as varioussigns of revolt had been remarked at Cesena, a governor was installedthere whose powerful will was well known to Caesar, Ramiro d'Orco, withpowers of life and death over the inhabitants; he then waited quietlybefore Faenza, till hunger should drive out the citizens from those wallsthey defended with such vehement enthusiasm. At the end of a month, during which the people of Faenza had suffered all the horrors of famine, delegates came out to parley with Caesar with a view to capitulation. Caesar, who still had plenty to do in the Romagna, was less hard tosatisfy than might have been expected, and the town yielded an conditionthat he should not touch either the persons or the belongings of theinhabitants, that Astor Manfredi, the youthful ruler, should have theprivilege of retiring whenever he pleased, and should enjoy the revenueof his patrimony wherever he might be. 

The conditions were faithfully kept so far as the inhabitants wereconcerned; but Caesar, when he had seen Astor, whom he did not knowbefore, was seized by a strange passion for this beautiful youth, who waslike a woman: he kept him by his side in his own army, showing himhonours befitting a young prince, and evincing before the eyes of all thestrongest affection for him: one day Astor disappeared, just asCaracciuolo's bride had disappeared, and no one knew what had become ofhim; Caesar himself appeared very uneasy, saying that he had no doubtmade his escape somewhere, and in order to give credence to this story, he sent out couriers to seek him in all directions. 

A year after this double disappearance, there was picked up in the Tiber, a little below the Castle Sant' Angelo, the body of a beautiful youngwoman, her hands bound together behind her back, and also the corpse of ahandsome youth with the bowstring he had been strangled with tied roundhis neck. The girl was Caracciuolo's bride, the young man was Astor. 

During the last year both had been the slaves of Caesar's pleasures; now, tired of them, he had had them thrown into the Tiber. 

The capture of Faenza had brought Caesar the title of Duke of Romagna, which was first bestowed on him by the pope in full consistory, andafterwards ratified by the King of Hungary, the republic of Venice, andthe Kings of Castile and Portugal. The news of the ratification arrivedat Rome on the eve of the day on which the people are accustomed to keepthe anniversary of the foundation of the Eternal City; this fete, whichwent back to the days of Pomponius Laetus, acquired a new splendour intheir eyes from the joyful events that had just happened to theirsovereign: as a sign of joy cannon were fired all day long; in theevening there were illuminations and bonfires, and during part of thenight the Prince of Squillace, with the chief lords of the Romannobility, marched about the streets, bearing torches, and exclaiming, "Long live Alexander! Long live Caesar! Long live the Borgias! Longlive the Orsini! Long live the Duke of Romagna!"

CHAPTER XII

Caesar's ambition was only fed by victories: scarcely was he master ofFaenza before, excited by the Mariscotti, old enemies of the Bentivogliofamily, he cast his eyes upon Bologna; but Gian di Bentivoglio, whoseancestors had possessed this town from time immemorial, had not only madeall preparations necessary for a long resistance, but he had also puthimself under the protection of France; so, scarcely had he learned thatCaesar was crossing the frontier of the Bolognese territory with hisarmy, than he sent a courier to Louis XII to claim the fulfilment of hispromise. Louis kept it with his accustomed good faith; and when Caesararrived before Bologna, he received an intimation from the King of Francethat he was not to enter on any undertaking against his ally Bentivoglio;Caesar, not being the man to have his plans upset for nothing, madeconditions for his retreat, to which Bentivoglio consented, only toohappy to be quit of him at this price: the conditions were the cession ofCastello Bolognese, a fortress between Imola and Faenza, the payment of atribute of 9000 ducats, and the keeping for his service of a hundredmen-at-arms and two thousand infantry. In exchange for these favours, Caesar confided to Bentivoglio that his visit had been due to thecounsels of the Mariscotti; then, reinforced by his new ally'scontingent, he took the road for Tuscany. But he was scarcely out ofsight when Bentivoglio shut the gates of Bologna, and commanded his sonHermes to assassinate with his own hand Agamemnon Mariscotti, the head ofthe family, and ordered the massacre of four-and-thirty of his nearrelatives, brothers, sons, daughters, and nephews, and two hundred otherof his kindred and friends. The butchery was carried out by the noblestyouths of Bologna; whom Bentivoglio forced to bathe their hands in thisblood, so that he might attach them to himself through their fear ofreprisals. 

Caesar's plans with regard to Florence were now no longer a mystery:since the month of January he had sent to Pisa ten or twelve hundred menunder the Command of Regniero della Sassetta and Piero di Gamba Corti, and as soon as the conquest of the Romagna was complete, he had furtherdespatched Oliverotto di Fermo with new detachments. His own army he hadreinforced, as we have seen, by a hundred men-at-arms and two thousandinfantry; he had just been joined by Vitellozzo Vitelli, lord of Citta, di Castello, and by the Orsini, who had brought him another two or threethousand men; so, without counting the troops sent to Pisa, he had underhis control seven hundred men-at-arms and five thousand infantry. 

Still, in spite of this formidable company, he entered Tuscany declaringthat his intentions were only pacific, protesting that he only desired topass through the territories of the republic on his way to Rome, andoffering to pay in ready money for any victual his army might require. But when he had passed the defiles of the mountains and arrived atBarberino, feeling that the town was in his power and nothing could nowhinder his approach, he began to put a price on the friendship he had atfirst offered freely, and to impose his own conditions instead ofaccepting those of others. These were that Piero dei Medici, kinsman andally of the Orsini, should be reinstated in his ancient power; that sixFlorentine citizens, to be chosen by Vitellozzo, should be put into hishands that they might by their death expiate that of Paolo Vitelli, unjustly executed by the Florentines; that the Signoria should engage togive no aid to the lord of Piombino, whom Caesar intended to dispossessof his estates without delay; and further, that he himself should betaken into the service of the republic, for a pay proportionate to hisdeserts. But just as Caesar had reached this point in his negotiationswith Florence, he received orders from Louis XII to get ready, so soon ashe conveniently could, to follow him with his army and help in theconquest of Naples, which he was at last in a position to undertake. Caesar dared not break his word to so powerful an ally; he thereforereplied that he was at the king's orders, and as the Florentines were notaware that he was quitting them on compulsion, he sold his retreat forthe sum of 36, 000 ducats per annum, in exchange for which sum he was tohold three hundred men-at-arms always in readiness to go to the aid ofthe republic at her earliest call and in any circumstances of need. 

But, hurried as he was, Caesar still hoped that he might find time toconquer the territory of Piombino as he went by, and take the capital bya single vigorous stroke; so he made his entry into the lands of JacopoIV of Appiano. The latter, he found, however, had been beforehand withhim, and, to rob him of all resource, had laid waste his own country, burned his fodder, felled his trees, torn down his vines, and destroyed afew fountains that produced salubrious waters. This did not hinder Caesarfrom seizing in the space of a few days Severeto, Scarlino, the isle ofElba, and La Pianosa; but he was obliged to stop short at the castle, which opposed a serious resistance. As Louis XII's army was continuingits way towards Rome, and he received a fresh order to join it, he tookhis departure the next day, leaving behind him, Vitellozzo and Gian PaoloBagliani to prosecute the siege in his absence. 

Louis XII was this time advancing upon Naples, not with the incautiousardour of Charles VIII, but, on the contrary, with that prudence andcircumspection which characterised him. Besides his alliance withFlorence and Rome, he had also signed a secret treaty with Ferdinand theCatholic, who had similar pretensions, through the house of Duras, to thethrone of Naples to those Louis himself had through the house of Anjou. By this treaty the two kings were sharing their conquests beforehand:Louis would be master of Naples, of the town of Lavore and the Abruzzi, and would bear the title of King of Naples and Jerusalem; Ferdinandreserved for his own share Apulia and Calabria, with the title of Duke ofthese provinces; both were to receive the investiture from the pope andto hold them of him. This partition was all the more likely to be made, in fact, because Frederic, supposing all the time that Ferdinand was hisgood and faithful friend, would open the gates of his towns, only toreceive into his fortresses conquerors and masters instead of allies. Allthis perhaps was not very loyal conduct on the part of a king who had solong desired and had just now received the surname of Catholic, but itmattered little to Louis, who profited by treasonable acts he did nothave to share. 

The French army, which the Duke of Valentinois had just joined, consistedof 1000 lances, 4000 Swiss, and 6000 Gascons and adventurers; further, Philip of Rabenstein was bringing by sea six Breton and Provencalvessels, and three Genoese caracks, carrying 6500 invaders. 

Against this mighty host the King of Naples had only 700 men-at-arms, 600light horse, and 6000 infantry under the command of the Colonna, whom hehad taken into his pay after they were exiled by the pope from the Statesof the Church; but he was counting on Gonsalvo of Cordova, who was tojoin him at Gaeta, and to whom he had confidingly opened all hisfortresses in Calabria. 

But the feeling of safety inspired by Frederic's faithless ally was notdestined to endure long: on their arrival at Rome, the French and Spanishambassadors presented to the pope the treaty signed at Grenada on the11th of November, 1500, between Louis XII and Ferdinand the Catholic, atreaty which up, to that time had been secret. Alexander, foreseeing theprobable future, had, by the death of Alfonso, loosened all the bondsthat attached him to the house of Aragon, and then began by making somedifficulty about it. It was demonstrated that the arrangement had onlybeen undertaken to provide the Christian princes with another weapon forattacking the Ottoman Empire, and before this consideration, one mayreadily suppose, all the pope's scruples vanished; on the 25th of June, therefore, it was decided to call a consistory which was to declareFrederic deposed from the throne of Naples. When Frederic heard all atonce that the French army had arrived at Rome, that his ally Ferdinandhad deceived him, and that Alexander had pronounced the sentence of hisdownfall, he understood that all was lost; but he did not wish it to besaid that he had abandoned his kingdom without even attempting to saveit. So he charged his two new condottieri, Fabrizio Calonna and Ranuziadi Marciano, to check the French before Capua with 300 men-at-arms, somelight horse, and 3000 infantry; in person he occupied Aversa with anotherdivision of his army, while Prospero Colonna was sent to defend Napleswith the rest, and make a stand against the Spaniards on the side ofCalabria. 

These dispositions were scarcely made when d'Aubigny, having passed theVolturno, approached to lay siege to Capua, and invested the town on bothsides of the river. Scarcely were the French encamped before theramparts than they began to set up their batteries, which were soon inplay, much to the terror of the besieged, who, poor creatures, werealmost all strangers to the town, and had fled thither from every side, expecting to find protection beneath the walls. So, although bravelyrepulsed by Fabrizio Colonna, the French, from the moment of their firstassault, inspired so great and blind a terror that everyone began to talkof opening the gates, and it was only with great difficulty that Calonnamade this multitude understand that at least they ought to reap somebenefit from the check the besiegers had received and obtain good termsof capitulation. When he had brought them round to his view, he sent outto demand a parley with d'Aubigny, and a conference was fixed for thenext day but one, in which they were to treat of the surrender of thetown. 

But this was not Caesar Borgia's idea at all: he had stayed behind toconfer with the pope, and had joined the French army with some of histroops on the very day on which the conference had been arranged for twodays later: and a capitulation of any nature would rob him of his shareof the booty and the promise of such pleasure as would come from thecapture of a city so rich and populous as Capua. So he opened upnegotiations on his own account with a captain who was on guard at one ofthe gates such negotiations, made with cunning supported by bribery, proved as usual more prompt and efficacious than any others. At the verymoment when Fabrizio Colonna in a fortified outpost was discussing theconditions of capitulation with the French captains, suddenly great criesof distress were heard. These were caused by Borgia, who without a wordto anyone had entered the town with his faithful army from Romagna, andwas beginning to cut the throats of the garrison, which had naturallysomewhat relaxed their vigilance in the belief that the capitulation wasall but signed. The French, when they saw that the town was half taken, rushed on the gates with such impetuosity that the besieged did not evenattempt to defend themselves any longer, and forced their way into Capuaby three separate sides: nothing more could be done then to stop theissue. Butchery and pillage had begun, and the work of destruction mustneeds be completed: in vain did Fabrizio Colonna, Ranuzio di Marciano, and Don Ugo di Cardona attempt to make head against the French andSpaniards with such men as they could get together. Fabrizia Calonna andDon Ugo were made prisoners; Ranuzia, wounded by an arrow, fell into thehands of the Duke of Valentinois; seven thousand inhabitants weremassacred in the streets among them the traitor who had given up thegate; the churches were pillaged, the convents of nuns forced open; andthen might be seen the spectacle of some of these holy virgins castingthemselves into pits or into the river to escape the soldiers. Threehundred of the noblest ladies of the town took refuge in a tower. TheDuke of Valentinois broke in the doors, chased out for himself forty ofthe most beautiful, and handed over the rest to his army. 

The pillage continued for three days. 

Capua once taken, Frederic saw that it was useless any longer to attemptdefence. So he shut himself up in Castel Nuovo and gave permission toGaeta and to Naples to treat with the conqueror. Gaeta bought immunityfrom pillage with 60, 000 ducats; and Naples with the surrender of thecastle. This surrender was made to d'Aubigny by Frederic himself, ancondition that he should be allowed to take to the island of Ischia hismoney, jewels, and furniture, and there remain with his family for sixmonths secure from all hostile attack. The terms of this capitulationwere faithfully adhered to on both sides: d'Aubigny entered Naples, andFrederic retired to Ischia. 

Thus, by a last terrible blow, never to rise again, fell this branch ofthe house of Aragon, which had now reigned for sixty-five years. Frederic, its head, demanded and obtained a safe-conduct to pass intoFrance, where Louis XII gave him the duchy of Anjou and 30, 000 ducats ayear, an condition that he should never quit the kingdom; and there, infact, he died, an the 9th of September 1504. His eldest son, DanFerdinand, Duke of Calabria, retired to Spain, where he was permitted tomarry twice, but each time with a woman who was known to be barren; andthere he died in 1550. Alfonso, the second son, who had followed hisfather to France, died, it is said, of poison, at Grenoble, at the age oftwenty-two; lastly Caesar, the third son, died at Ferrara, before he hadattained his eighteenth birthday. 

Frederic's daughter Charlotte married in France Nicholas, Count of Laval, governor and admiral of Brittany; a daughter was born of this marriage, Anne de Laval, who married Francois de la Trimauille. Through her thoserights were transmitted to the house of La Trimouille which were usedlater on as a claim upon the kingdom of the Two Sicilies. 

The capture of Naples gave the Duke of Valentinois his liberty again; sohe left the French army, after he had received fresh assurances on hisown account of the king's friendliness, and returned to the siege ofPiombino, which he had been forced to interrupt. During this intervalAlexander had been visiting the scenes of his son's conquests, andtraversing all the Romagna with Lucrezia, who was now consoled for herhusband's death, and had never before enjoyed quite so much favour withHis Holiness; so, when she returned to Rome. She no longer had separaterooms from him. The result of this recrudescence of affection was theappearance of two pontifical bulls, converting the towns of Nepi andSermoneta into duchies: one was bestowed on Gian Bargia, an illegitimatechild of the pope, who was not the son of either of his mistresses, RosaVanozza or Giulia Farnese, the other an Don Roderigo of Aragon, son ofLucrezia and Alfonso: the lands of the Colonna were in appanage to thetwo duchies. 

But Alexander was dreaming of yet another addition to his fortune; thiswas to came from a marriage between Lucrezia and Don Alfonso d'Este, sonof Duke Hercules of Ferrara, in favour of which alliance Louis XII hadnegotiated. 

His Holiness was now having a run of good fortune, and he learned on thesame day that Piombino was taken and that Duke Hercules had given theKing of France his assent to the marriage. Both of these pieces of newswere good for Alexander, but the one could not compare in importance withthe other; and the intimation that Lucrezia was to marry the heirpresumptive to the duchy of Ferrara was received with a joy so great thatit smacked of the humble beginnings of the Borgian house. The Duke ofValentinois was invited to return to Rome, to take his share in thefamily rejoicing, and on the day when the news was made public thegovernor of St. Angelo received orders that cannon should be fired everyquarter of an hour from noon to midnight. At two o'clock, Lucrezia, attired as a fiancee, and accompanied by her two brothers, the Dukes ofValentinois and Squillace, issued from the Vatican, followed by all thenobility of Rome, and proceeded to the church of the Madonna del Papalo, where the Duke of Gandia and Cardinal Gian Borgia were buried, to renderthanks for this new favour accorded to her house by God; and in theevening, accompanied by the same cavalcade, which shone the more brightlyunder the torchlight and brilliant illuminations, she made processionthrough the whale town, greeted by cries of "Long live Pope Alexander VI!Lang live the Duchess of Ferrara!" which were shouted aloud by heraldsclad in cloth of gold. 

The next day an announcement was made in the town that a racecourse forwomen was opened between the castle of Sant' Angelo and the Piazza of St. Peter's; that on every third day there would be a bull-fight in theSpanish fashion; and that from the end of the present month, which wasOctober, until the first day of Lent, masquerades would be permitted inthe streets of Rome. 

Such was the nature of the fetes outside; the programme of those going onwithin the Vatican was not presented to the people; for by the account ofBucciardo, an eye-witness, this is what happened--

"On the last Sunday of the month of October, fifty courtesans supped inthe apostolic palace in the Duke of Valentinois' rooms, and after supperdanced with the equerries and servants, first wearing their usualgarments, afterwards in dazzling draperies; when supper was over, thetable was removed, candlesticks were set on the floor in a symmetricalpattern, and a great quantity of chestnuts was scattered on the ground:these the fifty women skilfully picked up, running about gracefully, inand out between the burning lights; the pope, the Duke of Valentinois, and his sister Lucrezia, who were looking on at this spectacle from agallery, encouraged the most agile and industrious with their applause, and they received prizes of embroidered garters, velvet boots, goldencaps, and laces; then new diversions took the place of these. "

We humbly ask forgiveness of our readers, and especially of our ladyreaders; but though we have found words to describe the first part of thespectacle, we have sought them in vain for the second; suffice it to saythat just as there had been prizes for feats of adroitness, others weregiven now to the dancers who were most daring and brazen. 

Some days after this strange night, which calls to mind the Romanevenings in the days of Tiberius, Nero, and Heliogabalus, Lucrezia, cladin a robe of golden brocade, her train carried by young girls dressed inwhite and crowned with roses, issued from her palace to the sound oftrumpets and clarions, and made her way over carpets that were laid downin the streets through which she had to pass. Accompanied by the noblestcavaliers and the loveliest women in Rome, she betook herself to theVatican, where in the Pauline hall the pope awaited her, with the Duke ofValentinois, Don Ferdinand, acting as proxy for Duke Alfonso, and hiscousin, Cardinal d'Este. The pope sat on one side of the table, whilethe envoys from Ferrara stood on the other: into their midst cameLucrezia, and Don Ferdinand placed on her finger the nuptial ring; thisceremony over, Cardinal d'Este approached and presented to the bride fourmagnificent rings set with precious stones; then a casket was placed onthe table, richly inlaid with ivory, whence the cardinal drew forth agreat many trinkets, chains, necklaces of pearls and diamonds, ofworkmanship as costly as their material; these he also begged Lucrezia toaccept, before she received those the bridegroom was hoping to offerhimself, which would be more worthy of her. Lucrezia showed the utmostdelight in accepting these gifts; then she retired into the next room, leaning on the pope's arm, and followed by the ladies of her suite, leaving the Duke of Valentinois to do the honours of the Vatican to themen. That evening the guests met again, and spent half the night indancing, while a magnificent display of fireworks lighted up the Piazzaof San Paolo. 

The ceremony of betrothal over, the pope and the Duke busied themselveswith making preparations for the departure. The pope, who wished thejourney to be made with a great degree of splendour, sent in hisdaughter's company, in addition to the two brothers-in-law and thegentlemen in their suite, the Senate of Rome and all the lords who, byvirtue of their wealth, could display most magnificence in their costumesand liveries. Among this brilliant throng might be seen Olivero andRamiro Mattei, sons of Piero Mattel, chancellor of the town, and adaughter of the pope whose mother was not Rosa Vanozza; besides these, the pope nominated in consistory Francesco Borgia, Cardinal of Sosenza, legate a latere, to accompany his daughter to the frontiers of theEcclesiastical States. 

Also the Duke of Valentinois sent out messengers into all the cities ofRomagna to order that Lucrezia should be received as sovereign lady andmistress: grand preparations were at once set on foot for the fulfilmentof his orders. But the messengers reported that they greatly feared thatthere would be some grumbling at Cesena, where it will be remembered thatCaesar had left Ramiro d'Orco as governor with plenary powers, to calmthe agitation of the town. Now Ramiro d'Orco had accomplished his taskso well that there was nothing more to fear in the way of rebellion; forone-sixth of the inhabitants had perished on the scaffold, and the resultof this situation was that it was improbable that the same demonstrationsof joy could be expected from a town plunged in mourning that were lookedfor from Imala, Faenza, and Pesaro. The Duke of Valentinais averted thisinconvenience in the prompt and efficacious fashion characteristic of himalone. One morning the inhabitants of Cesena awoke to find a scaffoldset up in the square, and upon it the four quarters of a man, his head, severed from the trunk, stuck up on the end of a pike. 

This man was Ramiro d'Orco. 

No one ever knew by whose hands the scaffold had been raised by night, nor by what executioners the terrible deed had been carried out; but whenthe Florentine Republic sent to ask Macchiavelli, their ambassador atCesena, what he thought of it, he replied:

"MAGNIFICENT LORDS, -I can tell you nothing concerning the execution ofRamiro d'Orco, except that Caesar Borgia is the prince who best knows howto make and unmake men according to their deserts. NICCOLO MACCHIAVELLI"

The Duke of Valentinois was not disappointed, and the future Duchess ofFerrara was admirably received in every town along her route, andparticularly at Cesena. 

While Lucrezia was on her way to Ferrara to meet her fourth husband, Alexander and the Duke of Valentinois resolved to make a progress in theregion of their last conquest, the duchy of Piombino. The apparentobject of this journey was that the new subjects might take their oath toCaesar, and the real object was to form an arsenal in Jacopo d'Appiano'scapital within reach of Tuscany, a plan which neither the pope nor hisson had ever seriously abandoned. The two accordingly started from theport of Corneto with six ships, accompanied by a great number ofcardinals and prelates, and arrived the same evening at Piombina. Thepontifical court made a stay there of several days, partly with a view ofmaking the duke known to the inhabitants, and also in order to be presentat certain ecclesiastical functions, of which the most important was aservice held on the third Sunday in Lent, in which the Cardinal ofCosenza sang a mass and the pope officiated in state with the duke andthe cardinals. After these solemn functions the customary pleasuresfollowed, and the pope summoned the prettiest girls of the country andordered them to dance their national dances before him. 

Following on these dances came feasts of unheard of magnificence, duringwhich the pope in the sight of all men completely ignored Lent and didnot fast. The abject of all these fetes was to scatter abroad a greatdeal of money, and so to make the Duke of Valentinois popular, while poorJacopo d'Appiano was forgotten. 

When they left Piombino, the pope and his son visited the island of Elba, where they only stayed long enough to visit the old fortifications andissue orders for the building of new ones. 

Then the illustrious travellers embarked on their return journey to Rome;but scarcely had they put out to sea when the weather became adverse, andthe pope not wishing to put in at Porto Ferrajo, they remained five dayson board, though they had only two days' provisions. During the lastthree days the pope lived on fried fish that were caught under greatdifficulties because of the heavy weather. At last they arrived in sightof Corneto, and there the duke, who was not on the same vessel as thepope, seeing that his ship could not get in, had a boat put out, and sowas taken ashore. The pope was obliged to continue on his way towardsPontercole, where at last he arrived, after encountering so violent atempest that all who were with him were utterly subdued either bysickness or by the terror of death. The pope alone did not show oneinstant's fear, but remained on the bridge during the storm, sitting onhis arm-chair, invoking the name of Jesus and making the sign of thecross. At last his ship entered the roads of Pontercole, where helanded, and after sending to Corneto to fetch horses, he rejoined theduke, who was there awaiting him. They then returned by slow stages, byway of Civita Vecchia and Palo, and reached Rome after an absence of amonth. Almost at the same time d'Albret arrived in quest of hiscardinal's hat. He was accompanied by two princes of the house ofNavarre, who were received with not only those honours which beseemedtheir rank, but also as brothers-in-law to whom the, duke was eager toshow in what spirit he was contracting this alliance. 

CHAPTER XIII

The time had now come for the Duke of Valentinois to continue the pursuitof his conquests. So, since on the 1st of May in the preceding year thepope had pronounced sentence of forfeiture in full consistory againstJulius Caesar of Varano, as punishment for the murder of his brotherRudolph and for the harbouring of the pope's enemies, and he hadaccordingly been mulcted of his fief of Camerino, which was to be handedover to the apostolic chamber, Caesar left Rome to put the sentence inexecution. Consequently, when he arrived on the frontiers of Perugia, which belonged to his lieutenant, Gian Paolo Baglioni, he sent Oliverottada Fermo and Orsini of Gravina to lay waste the March of Camerino, at thesame time petitioning Guido d'Ubaldo di Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino, tolend his soldiers and artillery to help him in this enterprise. This theunlucky Duke of Urbino, who enjoyed the best possible relations with thepope, and who had no reason for distrusting Caesar, did not dare refuse. But on the very same day that the Duke of Urbina's troops started forCamerino, Caesar's troops entered the duchy of Urbino, and tookpossession of Cagli, one of the four towns of the little State. The Dukeof Urbino knew what awaited him if he tried to resist, and fledincontinently, disguised as a peasant; thus in less than eight daysCaesar was master of his whole duchy, except the fortresses of Maiolo andSan Leone. 

The Duke of Valentinois forthwith returned to Camerino, where theinhabitants still held out, encouraged by the presence of Julius Caesardi Varano, their lord, and his two sons, Venantio and Hannibal; theeldest son, Gian Maria, had been sent by his father to Venice. 

The presence of Caesar was the occasion of parleying between thebesiegers and besieged. A capitulation was arranged whereby Varanoengaged to give up the town, on condition that he and his sons wereallowed to retire safe and sound, taking with them their furniture, treasure, and carriages. But this was by no means Caesar's intention;so, profiting by the relaxation in vigilance that had naturally comeabout in the garrison when the news of the capitulation had beenannounced, he surprised the town in the night preceding the surrender, and seized Caesar di Varano and his two sons, who were strangled a shorttime after, the father at La Pergola and the sons at Pesaro, by DonMichele Correglio, who, though he had left the position of sbirro forthat of a captain, every now and then returned to his first business. 

Meanwhile Vitellozzo Vitelli, who had assumed the title of General of theChurch, and had under him 800 men-at-arms and 3, 000 infantry, wasfollowing the secret instructions that he had received from Caesar byword of mouth, and was carrying forward that system of invasion which wasto encircle Florence in a network of iron, and in the end make herdefence an impossibility. A worthy pupil of his master, in whose schoolhe had learned to use in turn the cunning of a fox and the strength of alion, he had established an understanding between himself and certainyoung gentlemen of Arezzo to get that town delivered into his hands. Butthe plot had been discovered by Guglielma dei Pazzi, commissary of theFlorentine Republic, and he had arrested two of the conspirators, whereupon the others, who were much more numerous than was supposed; hadinstantly dispersed about the town summoning the citizens to arms. Allthe republican faction, who saw in any sort of revolution the means ofsubjugating Florence, joined their party, set the captives at liberty, and seized Guglielmo; then proclaiming the establishment of the ancientconstitution, they besieged the citadel, whither Cosimo dei Pazzi, Bishopof Arezzo, the son of Guglielmo, had fled for refuge; he, finding himselfinvested on every side, sent a messenger in hot haste to Florence to askfor help. 

Unfortunately for the cardinal, Vitellozzo's troops were nearer to thebesiegers than were the soldiers of the most serene republic to thebesieged, and instead of help--the whole army of the enemy came down uponhim. This army was under the command of Vitellozzo, of Gian PaoloBaglioni, and of Fabio Orsino, and with them were the two Medici, everready to go wherever there was a league against Florence, and ever readyat the command of Borgia, on any conditions whatever, to re-enter thetown whence they had been banished. The next day more help in the formof money and artillery arrived, sent by Pandolfo Petrucci, and on the18th of June the citadel of Arezzo, which had received no news fromFlorence, was obliged to surrender. 

Vitellozzo left the men of Arezzo to look after their town themselves, leaving also Fabio Orsina to garrison the citadel with a thousand men. Then, profiting by the terror that had been spread throughout all thispart of Italy by the successive captures of the duchy of Urbino, ofCamerino, and of Arezzo, he marched upon Monte San Severino, Castiglione, Aretino, Cortone, and the other towns of the valley of Chiana, whichsubmitted one after the other almost without a struggle. When he wasonly ten or twelve leagues from Florence, and dared not an his ownaccount attempt anything against her, he made known the state of affairsto the Duke of Valentinois. He, fancying the hour had came at last farstriking the blow so long delayed, started off at once to deliver hisanswer in person to his faithful lieutenants. 

But the Florentines, though they had sent no help to Guglielmo dei Pazzi, had demanded aid from Chaumont dumbest, governor of the Milanese, anbehalf of Louis XII, not only explaining the danger they themselves werein but also Caesar's ambitious projects, namely that after firstovercoming the small principalities and then the states of the secondorder, he had now, it seemed, reached such a height of pride that hewould attack the King of France himself. The news from Naples wasdisquieting; serious differences had already occurred between the Countof Armagnac and Gonzalva di Cordova, and Louis might any day needFlorence, whom he had always found loyal and faithful. He thereforeresolved to check Caesar's progress, and not only sent him orders toadvance no further step forwards, but also sent off, to give effect tohis injunction, the captain Imbaut with 400 lances. The Duke ofValentinais on the frontier of Tuscany received a copy of the treatysigned between the republic and the King of France, a treaty in which theking engaged to help his ally against any enemy whatsoever, and at thesame moment the formal prohibition from Louis to advance any further. Caesar also learned that beside the 400 lances with the captain Imbaut, which were on the road to Florence, Louis XII had as soon as he reachedAsti sent off to Parma Louis de la Trimouille and 200 men-at-arms, 3000Swiss, and a considerable train of artillery. In these two movementscombined he saw hostile intentions towards himself, and turning rightabout face with his usual agility, he profited by the fact that he hadgiven nothing but verbal instructions to all his lieutenants, and wrote afurious letter to Vitellozzo, reproaching him for compromising his masterwith a view to his own private interest, and ordering the instantsurrender to the Florentines of the towns and fortresses he had taken, threatening to march down with his own troops and take them if hehesitated for a moment. 

As soon as this letter was written, Caesar departed for Milan, whereLouis XII had just arrived, bringing with him proof positive that he hadbeen calumniated in the evacuation of the conquered towns. He also wasentrusted with the pope's mission to renew for another eighteen monthsthe title of legate 'a latere' in France to Cardinal dumbest, the friendrather than the minister of Louis XII. Thus, thanks to the public proofof his innocence and the private use of his influence, Caesar soon madehis peace with the King of France. 

But this was not all. It was in the nature of Caesar's genius to divertan impending calamity that threatened his destruction so as to come outof it better than before, and he suddenly saw the advantage he might takefrom the pretended disobedience of his lieutenants. Already he had beendisturbed now and again by their growing power, and coveted their towns, now he thought the hour had perhaps came for suppressing them also, andin the usurpation of their private possessions striking a blow atFlorence, who always escaped him at the very moment when he thought totake her. It was indeed an annoying thing to have these fortresses andtowns displaying another banner than his own in the midst of thebeautiful Romagna which he desired far his own kingdom. For Vitellozzopossessed Citta di Castello, Bentivoglio Bologna, Gian Paolo Baglioni wasin command of Perugia, Oliverotto had just taken Fermo, and PandolfoPetrucci was lord of Siena; it was high time that all these returned:into his own hands. The lieutenants of the Duke of Valentinois, likeAlexander's, were becoming too powerful, and Borgia must inherit fromthem, unless he were willing to let them become his own heirs. Heobtained from Louis XII three hundred lances wherewith to march againstthem. As soon as Vitellozzo Vitelli received Caesar's letter heperceived that he was being sacrificed to the fear that the King ofFrance inspired; but he was not one of those victims who suffer theirthroats to be cut in the expiation of a mistake: he was a buffalo ofRomagna who opposed his horns to the knife of the butcher; besides, hehad the example of Varano and the Manfredi before him, and, death fordeath, he preferred to perish in arms. 

So Vitellozzo convoked at Maggione all whose lives or lands werethreatened by this new reversal of Caesar's policy. These were PaoloOrsino, Gian Paolo Baglioni, Hermes Bentivoglio, representing his fatherGian, Antonio di Venafro, the envoy of Pandolfo Petrucci, Olivertoxo daFermo, and the Duke of Urbino: the first six had everything to lose, andthe last had already lost everything. 

A treaty of alliance was signed between the confederates: they engaged toresist whether he attacked them severally or all together. 

Caesar learned the existence of this league by its first effects: theDuke of Urbino, who was adored by his subjects, had come with a handfulof soldiers to the fortress of San Leone, and it had yielded at once. Inless than a week towns and fortresses followed this example, and all theduchy was once more in the hands of the Duke of Urbino. 

At the same time, each member of the confederacy openly proclaimed hisrevolt against the common enemy, and took up a hostile attitude. 

Caesar was at Imola, awaiting the French troops, but with scarcely anymen; so that Bentivoglio, who held part of the country, and the Duke ofUrbino, who had just reconquered the rest of it, could probably haveeither taken him or forced him to fly and quit the Romagna, had theymarched against him; all the more since the two men on whom he counted, viz. , Don Ugo di Cardona, who had entered his service after Capua wastaken, and Michelotto had mistaken his intention, and were all at onceseparated from him. He had really ordered them to fall back upon Rimini, and bring 200 light horse and 500 infantry of which they had the command;but, unaware of the urgency of his situation, at the very moment whenthey were attempting to surprise La Pergola and Fossombrone, they weresurrounded by Orsino of Gravina and Vitellozzo. Ugo di Cardona andMichelotto defended themselves like lions; but in spite of their utmostefforts their little band was cut to pieces, and Ugo di Cardona takenprisoner, while Michelotto only escaped the same fate by lying down amongthe dead; when night came on, he escaped to Fano. 

But even alone as he was, almost without troops at Imola, theconfederates dared attempt nothing against Caesar, whether because of thepersonal fear he inspired, or because in him they respected the ally ofthe King of France; they contented themselves with taking the towns andfortresses in the neighbourhood. Vitellozzo had retaken the fortressesof Fossombrone, Urbino, Cagli, and Aggobbio; Orsino of Gravina hadreconquered Fano and the whole province; while Gian Maria de Varano, thesame who by his absence had escaped being massacred with the rest of hisfamily, had re-entered Camerino, borne in triumph by his people. Noteven all this could destroy Caesar's confidence in his own good fortune, and while he was on the one hand urging on the arrival of the Frenchtroops and calling into his pay all those gentlemen known as "brokenlances, " because they went about the country in parties of five or sixonly, and attached themselves to anyone who wanted them, he had opened upnegotiations with his enemies, certain that from that very day when heshould persuade them to a conference they were undone. Indeed, Caesarhad the power of persuasion as a gift from heaven; and though theyperfectly well knew his duplicity, they had no power of resisting, not somuch his actual eloquence as that air of frank good-nature whichMacchiavelli so greatly admired, and which indeed more than once deceivedeven him, wily politician as he was. In order to get Paolo Orsino totreat with him at Imola, Caesar sent Cardinal Borgia to the confederatesas a hostage; and on this Paolo Orsino hesitated no longer, and on the25th of October, 1502, arrived at Imola. 

Caesar received him as an old friend from whom one might have beenestranged a few days because of some slight passing differences; hefrankly avowed that all the fault was no doubt on his side, since he hadcontrived to alienate men who were such loyal lords and also such bravecaptains; but with men of their nature, he added, an honest, honourableexplanation such as he would give must put everything once more in statuquo. To prove that it was goodwill, not fear, that brought him back tothem, he showed Orsino the letters from Cardinal Amboise which announcedthe speedy arrival of French troops; he showed him those he had collectedabout him, in the wish, he declared, that they might be thoroughlyconvinced that what he chiefly regretted in the whole matter was not somuch the loss of the distinguished captains who were the very soul of hisvast enterprise, as that he had led the world to believe, in a way sofatal to his own interest, that he could for a single instant fail torecognise their merit; adding that he consequently relied upon him, PaoloOrsino, whom he had always cared for most, to bring back the confederatesby a peace which would be as much for the profit of all as a war washurtful to all, and that he was ready to sign a treaty in consonance withtheir wishes so long as it should not prejudice his own honour. 

Orsino was the man Caesar wanted: full of pride and confidence inhimself, he was convinced of the truth of the old proverb that says, "Apope cannot reign eight days, if he has hath the Colonnas and the Orsiniagainst him. " He believed, therefore, if not in Caesar's good faith, atany rate in the necessity he must feel for making peace; accordingly hesigned with him the following conventions--which only neededratification--on the 18th of October, 1502, which we reproduce here asMacchiavelli sent them to the magnificent republic of Florence. 

"Agreement between the Duke of Valentinois and the Confederates. 

"Let it be known to the parties mentioned below, and to all who shall seethese presents, that His Excellency the Duke of Romagna of the one partand the Orsini of the other part, together with their confederates, desiring to put an end to differences, enmities, misunderstandings, andsuspicions which have arisen between them, have resolved as follows:

"There shall be between them peace and alliance true and perpetual, witha complete obliteration of wrongs and injuries which may have taken placeup to this day, both parties engaging to preserve no resentment of thesame; and in conformity with the aforesaid peace and union, HisExcellency the Duke of Romagna shall receive into perpetualconfederation, league, and alliance all the lords aforesaid; and each ofthem shall promise to defend the estates of all in general and of each inparticular against any power that may annoy or attack them for any causewhatsoever, excepting always nevertheless the Pope Alexander VI and hisVery Christian Majesty Louis XII, King of France: the lords above namedpromising on the other part to unite in the defence of the person andestates of His Excellency, as also those of the most illustrious lards, Don Gaffredo Bargia, Prince of Squillace, Don Roderigo Bargia, Duke ofSermaneta and Biselli, and Don Gian Borgia, Duke of Camerino and Negi, all brothers or nephews of the Duke of Romagna. 

"Moreover, since the rebellion and usurpation of Urbino have occurredduring the above-mentioned misunderstandings, all the confederatesaforesaid and each of them shall bind themselves to unite all theirforces for the recovery of the estates aforesaid and of such other placesas have revolted and been usurped. 

"His Excellency the Duke of Romagna shall undertake to continue to theOrsini and Vitelli their ancient engagements in the way of militaryservice and an the same conditions. 

"His Excellency promises further not to insist on the service in personof more than one of them, as they may choose: the service that the othersmay render shall be voluntary. 

"He also promises that the second treaty shall be ratified by thesovereign pontiff, who shall not compel Cardinal Orsino to reside in Romelonger than shall seem convenient to this prelate. 

"Furthermore, since there are certain differences between the Pope andthe lord Gian Bentivoglio, the confederates aforesaid agree that theyshall be put to the arbitration of Cardinal Orsino, of His Excellency theDuke of Romagna, and of the lord Pandolfo Petrucci, without appeal. 

"Thus the confederates engage, each and all, so soon as they may berequired by the Duke of Romagna, to put into his hands as a hostage oneof the legitimate sons of each of them, in that place and at that timewhich he may be pleased to indicate. 

"The same confederates promising moreover, all and each, that if anyproject directed against any one of them come to their knowledge, to givewarning thereof, and all to prevent such project reciprocally. 

"It is agreed, over and above, between the Duke of Romagna and theconfederates aforesaid, to regard as a common enemy any who shall fail tokeep the present stipulations, and to unite in the destruction of anyStates not conforming thereto. 

 "(Signed) CAESAR, PAOLO ORSINO. "AGAPIT, Secretary. "

At the same time, while Orsino was carrying to the confederates thetreaty drawn up between him and the duke, Bentivoglio, not willing tosubmit to the arbitration indicated, made an offer to Caesar of settlingtheir differences by a private treaty, and sent his son to arrange theconditions: after some parleying, they were settled as follows:--

Bentivaglio should separate his fortunes from the Vitelli and Orsini;

He should furnish the Duke of Valentinois with a hundred men-at-arms anda hundred mounted archers for eight years;

He should pay 12, 000 ducats per annum to Caesar, for the support of ahundred lances;

In return for this, his son Hannibal was to marry the sister of theArchbishop of Enna, who was Caesar's niece, and the pope was to recognisehis sovereignty in Bologna;

The King of France, the Duke of Ferrara, and the republic of Florencewere to be the guarantors of this treaty. 

But the convention brought to the confederates by Orsino was the cause ofgreat difficulties on their part. Vitellozza Vitelli in particular, whoknew Caesar the best, never ceased to tell the other condottieri that soprompt and easy a peace must needs be the cover to some trap; but sinceCaesar had meanwhile collected a considerable army at Imala, and the fourhundred lances lent him by Louis XII had arrived at last, Vitellozzo andOliverotto decided to sign the treaty that Orsino brought, and to let theDuke of Urbino and the lord of Camerino know of it; they, seeing plainlythat it was henceforth impassible to make a defence unaided, had retired, the one to Citta di Castello and the other into the kingdom of Naples. 

But Caesar, saying nothing of his intentions, started on the 10th ofDecember, and made his way to Cesena with a powerful army once more underhis command. Fear began to spread on all sides, not only in Romagna butin the whole of Northern Italy; Florence, seeing him move away from her, only thought it a blind to conceal his intentions; while Venice, seeinghim approach her frontiers, despatched all her troops to the banks of thePo. Caesar perceived their fear, and lest harm should be done to himselfby the mistrust it might inspire, he sent away all French troops in hisservice as soon as he reached Cesena, except a hundred men with M. DeCandale, his brother-in-law; it was then seen that he only had 2000cavalry and 2000 infantry with him. Several days were spent inparleying, for at Cesena Caesar found the envoys of the Vitelli andOrsini, who themselves were with their army in the duchy of Urbino; butafter the preliminary discussions as to the right course to follow incarrying on the plan of conquest, there arose such difficulties betweenthe general-in-chief and these agents, that they could not but see theimpossibility of getting anything settled by intermediaries, and theurgent necessity of a conference between Caesar and one of the chiefs. So Oliverotto ran the risk of joining the duke in order to make proposalsto him, either to march an Tuscany or to take Sinigaglia, which was theonly place in the duchy of Urbino that had not again fallen into Caesar'spower. Caesar's reply was that he did not desire to war upon Tuscany, because the Tuscans were his friends; but that he approved of thelieutenants' plan with regard to Sinigaglia, and therefore was marchingtowards Fano. 

But the daughter of Frederic, the former Duke of Urbino, who held thetown of Sinigaglia, and who was called the lady-prefect, because she hadmarried Gian delta Rovere, whom his uncle, Sixtus IV, had made prefect ofRome, judging that it would be impossible to defend herself against theforces the Duke of Valentinais was bringing, left the citadel in thehands of a captain, recommending him to get the best terms he could forthe town, and took boat for Venice. 

Caesar learned this news at Rimini, through a messenger from Vitelli andthe Orsini, who said that the governor of the citadel, though refusing toyield to them, was quite ready to make terms with him, and consequentlythey would engage to go to the town and finish the business there. Caesar's reply was that in consequence of this information he was sendingsome of his troops to Cesena and Imola, for they would be useless to him, as he should now have theirs, which together with the escort he retainedwould be sufficient, since his only object was the complete pacificationof the duchy of Urbino. He added that this pacification would not bepossible if his old friends continued to distrust him, and to discussthrough intermediaries alone plans in which their own fortunes wereinterested as well as his. The messenger returned with this answer, andthe confederates, though feeling, it is true, the justice of Caesar'sremarks, none the less hesitated to comply with his demand. VitellozzoVitelli in particular showed a want of confidence in him which nothingseemed able to subdue; but, pressed by Oliverotto, Gravina, and Orsino, he consented at last to await the duke's coming; making concession ratherbecause he could not bear to appear more timid than his companions, thanbecause of any confidence he felt in the return of friendship that Borgiawas displaying. 

The duke learned the news of this decision, so much desired, when hearrived at Fano on the 20th of December 1502. At once he summoned eightof his most faithful friends, among whom were d'Enna, his nephew, Michelotto, and Ugo di Cardona, and ordered them, as soon as they arrivedat Sinigaglia, and had seen Vitellozzo, Gravina, Oliveratta, and Orsinocome out to meet them, on a pretext of doing them honour, to placethemselves on the right and left hand of the four generals, two besideeach, so that at a given signal they might either stab or arrest them;next he assigned to each of them his particular man, bidding them notquit his side until he had reentered Sinigaglia and arrived at thequarters prepared far him; then he sent orders to such of the soldiers aswere in cantonments in the neighbourhood to assemble to the number of8000 on the banks of the Metaurus, a little river of Umbria which runsinto the Adriatic and has been made famous by the defeat of Hannibal. 

The duke arrived at the rendezvous given to his army on the 31st ofDecember, and instantly sent out in front two hundred horse, andimmediately behind them his infantry; following close in the midst of hismen-at-arms, following the coast of the Adriatic, with the mountains onhis right and the sea on his left, which in part of the way left onlyspace for the army to march ten abreast. 

After four hours' march, the duke at a turn of the path perceivedSinigaglia, nearly a mile distant from the sea, and a bowshot from themountains; between the army and the town ran a little river, whose bankshe had to follow far some distance. At last he found a bridge opposite asuburb of the town, and here Caesar ordered his cavalry to stop: it wasdrawn up in two lines, one between the road and the river, the other onthe side of the country, leaving the whole width of the road to theinfantry: which latter defiled, crossed the bridge, and entering thetown, drew themselves up in battle array in the great square. 

On their side, Vitellazzo, Gravina, Orsino, and Oliverotto, to make roomfor the duke's army, had quartered their soldiers in little towns orvillages in the neighbourhood of Sinigaglia; Oliverotto alone had keptnearly 1000 infantry and 150 horse, who were in barracks in the suburbthrough which the duke entered. 

Caesar had made only a few steps towards the town when he perceivedVitellozzo at the gate, with the Duke of Gravina and Orsina, who all cameout to meet him; the last two quite gay and confident, but the first sogloomy and dejected that you would have thought he foresaw the fate thatwas in store for him; and doubtless he had not been without samepresentiments; for when he left his army to came to Sinigaglia, he hadbidden them farewell as though never to meet again, had commended thecare of his family to the captains, and embraced his children withtears--a weakness which appeared strange to all who knew him as a bravecondottiere. 

The duke marched up to them holding out his hand, as a sign that all wasover and forgotten, and did it with an air at once so loyal and sosmiling that Gravina and Orsina could no longer doubt the genuine returnof his friendship, and it was only Vitellozza still appeared sad. At thesame moment, exactly as they had been commanded, the duke's accomplicestook their pasts on the right and left of those they were to watch, whowere all there except Oliverotto, whom the duke could not see, and beganto seek with uneasy looks; but as he crossed the suburb he perceived himexercising his troops on the square. Caesar at once despatchedMichelotto and d'Enna, with a message that it was a rash thing to havehis troops out, when they might easily start some quarrel with the duke'smen and bring about an affray: it would be much better to settle them inbarracks and then come to join his companions, who were with Caesar. Oliverotto, drawn by the same fate as his friends, made no abjection, ordered his soldiers indoors, and put his horse to the gallop to join theduke, escorted on either side by d'Enna and Michelotto. Caesar, onseeing him, called him, took him by the hand, and continued his march tothe palace that had been prepared for him, his four victims followingafter. 

Arrived on the threshold, Caesar dismounted, and signing to the leader ofthe men-at-arms to, await his orders, he went in first, followed byOliverotto, Gravina, Vitellozzo Vitelli, and Orsino, each accompanied byhis two satellites; but scarcely had they gone upstairs and into thefirst room when the door was shut behind them, and Caesar turned round, saying, "The hour has come!" This was the signal agreed upon. Instantlythe former confederates were seized, thrown down, and forced to surrenderwith a dagger at their throat. Then, while they were being carried to adungeon, Caesar opened the window, went out on the balcony and cried outto the leader of his men-at-arms, "Go forward!" The man was in thesecret, he rushed on with his band towards the barracks whereOliverotto's soldiers had just been consigned, and they, suddenlysurprised and off their guard, were at once made prisoners; then theduke's troops began to pillage the town, and he summoned Macchiavelli. 

Caesar and the Florentine envoy were nearly two hours shut up together, and since Macchiavelli himself recounts the history of this interview, wewill give his own words. 

"He summoned me, " says the Florentine ambassador, "and in the calmestmanner showed me his joy at the success of this enterprise, which heassured me he had spoken of to me the evening before; I remember that hedid, but I did not at that time understand what he meant; next heexplained, in terms of much feeling and lively affection for our city, the different motives which had made him desire your alliance, a desireto which he hopes you will respond. He ended with charging me to laythree proposals before your lordships: first, that you rejoice with himin the destruction at a single blow of the mortal enemies of the king, himself, and you, and the consequent disappearance of all seeds oftrouble and dissension likely to waste Italy: this service of his, together with his refusal to allow the prisoners to march against you, ought, he thinks, to excite your gratitude towards him; secondly, he begsthat you will at this juncture give him a striking proof of yourfriendliness, by urging your cavalry's advance towards Borgo, and thereassembling some infantry also, in order that they may march with him, should need arise, on Castello or on Perugia. Lastly, he desires--andthis is his third condition--that you arrest the Duke of Urbino, if heshould flee from Castello into your territories, when he learns thatVitellozzo is a prisoner. 

"When I objected that to give him up would not beseem the dignity of therepublic, and that you would never consent, he approved of my words, andsaid that it would be enough for you to keep the duke, and not give himhis liberty without His Excellency's permission. I have promised to giveyou all this information, to which he awaits your reply. "

The same night eight masked men descended to the dungeon where theprisoners lay: they believed at that moment that the fatal hour hadarrived for all. But this time the executioners had to do withVitellozzo and Oliverotto alone. When these two captains heard that theywere condemned, Oliverotto burst forth into reproaches againstVitellozzo, saying that it was all his fault that they had taken up armsagainst the duke: not a word Vitellozzo answered except a prayer that thepope might grant him plenary indulgence for all his sins. Then the maskedmen took them away, leaving Orsino and Gravina to await a similar fate, and led away the two chosen out to die to a secluded spot outside theramparts of the town, where they were strangled and buried at once in twotrenches that had been dug beforehand. 

The two others were kept alive until it should be known if the pope hadarrested Cardinal Orsino, archbishop of Florence and lord of Santa Croce;and when the answer was received in the affirmative from His Holiness, Gravina and Orsina, who had been transferred to a castle, were likewisestrangled. 

The duke, leaving instructions with Michelotto, set off for Sinigaglia assoon as the first execution was over, assuring Macchiavelli that he hadnever had any other thought than that of giving tranquillity to theRomagna and to Tuscany, and also that he thought he had succeeded bytaking and putting to death the men who had been the cause of all thetrouble; also that any other revolt that might take place in the futurewould be nothing but sparks that a drop of water could extinguish. 

The pope had barely learned that Caesar had his enemies in his power, when, eager to play the same winning game himself, he announced toCardinal Orsino, though it was then midnight, that his son had takenSinigaglia, and gave him an invitation to come the next morning and talkover the good news. The cardinal, delighted at this increase of favour, did not miss his appointment. So, in the morning, he started anhorseback for the Vatican; but at a turn of the first street he met thegovernor of Rome with a detachment of cavalry, who congratulated himselfon the happy chance that they were taking the same road, and accompaniedhim to the threshold of the Vatican. There the cardinal dismounted, andbegan to ascend the stairs; scarcely, however, had he reached the firstlanding before his mules and carriages were seized and shut in the palacestables. When he entered the hall of the Perropont, he found that he andall his suite were surrounded by armed men, who led him into anotherapartment, called the Vicar's Hall, where he found the Abbate Alviano, the protonotary Orsino, Jacopo Santa Croce, and Rinaldo Orsino, who wereall prisoners like himself; at the same time the governor received ordersto seize the castle of Monte Giardino, which belonged to the Orsini, andtake away all the jewels, all the hangings, all the furniture, and allthe silver that he might find. 

The governor carried out his orders conscientiously, and brought to theVatican everything he seized, down to the cardinal's account-book. Onconsulting this book, the pope found out two things: first, that a sum of2000 ducats was due to the cardinal, no debtor's name being mentioned;secondly, that the cardinal had bought three months before, for 1500Roman crowns, a magnificent pearl which could not be found among theobjects belonging to him: on which Alexander ordered that from that verymoment until the negligence in the cardinal's accounts was repaired, themen who were in the habit of bringing him food twice a day on behalf ofhis mother should not be admitted into the Castle Sant' Angelo. The sameday, the cardinal's mother sent the pope the 2000 ducats, and the nextday his mistress, in man's attire, came in person to bring the missingpearl. His Holiness, however, was so struck with her beauty in thiscostume, that, we are told, he let her keep the pearl for the same priceshe had paid for it. 

Then the pope allowed the cardinal to have his food brought as before, and he died of poison on the 22nd of February--that is, two days afterhis accounts had been set right. 

That same night the Prince of Squillace set off to take possession, inthe pope's name, of the lands of the deceased. 

CHAPTER XIV

The Duke of Valentinois had continued, his road towards Citta di Castelloand Perugia, and had seized these two towns without striking a blow; forthe Vitelli had fled from the former, and the latter had been abandonedby Gian Paolo Baglione with no attempt whatever at resistance. Therestill remained Siena, where Pandolfo Petrucci was shut up, the only manremaining of all who had joined the league against Caesar. 

But Siena was under the protection of the French. Besides, Siena was notone of the States of the Church, and Caesar had no rights there. Therefore he was content with insisting upon Pandolfo Petrucci's leavingthe town and retiring to Lucca, which he accordingly did. 

Then all on this side being peaceful and the whole of Romagna insubjection, Caesar resolved to return to Rome and help the pope todestroy all that was left of the Orsini. 

This was all the easier because Louis XII, having suffered reverses inthe kingdom of Naples, had since then been much concerned with his ownaffairs to disturb himself about his allies. So Caesar, doing for theneighbourhood of the Holy See the same thing that he had done far theRomagna, seized in succession Vicovaro, Cera, Palombera, Lanzano, andCervetti; when these conquests were achieved, having nothing else to donow that he had brought the pontifical States into subjection from thefrontiers of Naples to those of Venice, he returned to Rome to concertwith his father as to the means of converting his duchy into a kingdom. 

Caesar arrived at the right moment to share with Alexander the propertyof Cardinal Gian Michele, who had just died, having received a poisonedcup from the hands of the pope. 

The future King of Italy found his father preoccupied with a grandproject: he had resolved, for the Feast of St. Peter's, to create ninecardinals. What he had to gain from these nominations is as follows:

First, the cardinals elected would leave all their offices vacant; theseoffices would fall into the hands of the pope, and he would sell them;

Secondly, each of them would buy his election, more or less dearaccording to his fortune; the price, left to be settled at the pope'sfancy, would vary from 10, 000 to 40, 000 ducats;

Lastly, since as cardinals they would by law lose the right of making awill, the pope, in order to inherit from them, had only to poison them:this put him in the position of a butcher who, if he needs money, hasonly to cut the throat of the fattest sheep in the flock. 

The nomination came to pass: the new cardinals were Giovanni CastellaroValentine, archbishop of Trani; Francesco Remolini, ambassador from theKing of Aragon; Francesco Soderini, bishop of Volterra; Melchiore Copis, bishop of Brissina; Nicolas Fiesque, bishop of Frejus; Francesco diSprate, bishop of Leome; Adriano Castellense, clerk of the chamber, treasurer-general, and secretary of the briefs; Francesco Boris, bishopof Elva, patriarch of Constantinople, and secretary to the pope; andGiacomo Casanova, protonotary and private chamberlain to His Holiness. 

The price of their simony paid and their vacated offices sold, the popemade his choice of those he was to poison: the number was fixed at three, one old and two new; the old one was Cardinal Casanova, and the new onesMelchiore Copis and Adriano Castellense, who had taken the name of Adrianof Carneta from that town where he had been born, and where, in thecapacity of clerk of the chamber, treasurer-general, and secretary ofbriefs, he had amassed an immense fortune. 

So, when all was settled between Caesar and the pope, they invited theirchosen guests to supper in a vineyard situated near the Vatican, belonging to the Cardinal of Corneto. In the morning of this day, the2nd of August, they sent their servants and the steward to make allpreparations, and Caesar himself gave the pope's butler two bottles ofwine prepared with the white powder resembling sugar whose mortalproperties he had so often proved, and gave orders that he was to servethis wine only when he was told, and only to persons specially indicated;the butler accordingly put the wine an a sideboard apart, bidding thewaiters on no account to touch it, as it was reserved for the pope'sdrinking. 

[The poison of the Borgias, say contemporary writers, was of two kinds, powder and liquid. The poison in the form of powder was a sort of whiteflour, almost impalpable, with the taste of sugar, and called Contarella. Its composition is unknown. 

The liquid poison was prepared, we are told in so strange a fashion thatwe cannot pass it by in silence. We repeat here what we read, and vouchfor nothing ourselves, lest science should give us the lie. 

A strong dose of arsenic was administered to a boar; as soon as thepoison began to take effect, he was hung up by his heels; convulsionssupervened, and a froth deadly and abundant ran out from his jaws; it wasthis froth, collected into a silver vessel and transferred into a bottlehermetically sealed, that made the liquid poison. ]

Towards evening Alexander VI walked from the Vatican leaning on Caesar'sarm, and turned his steps towards the vineyard, accompanied by CardinalCaraffa; but as the heat was great and the climb rather steep, the pope, when he reached the top, stopped to take breath; then putting his hand onhis breast, he found that he had left in his bedroom a chain that healways wore round his neck, which suspended a gold medallion thatenclosed the sacred host. He owed this habit to a prophecy that anastrologer had made, that so long as he carried about a consecratedwafer, neither steel nor poison could take hold upon him. Now, findinghimself without his talisman, he ordered Monsignors Caraffa to hurry backat once to the Vatican, and told him in which part of his room he hadleft it, so that he might get it and bring it him without delay. Then, as the walk had made him thirsty, he turned to a valet, giving signs withhis hand as he did so that his messenger should make haste, and asked forsomething to drink. Caesar, who was also thirsty, ordered the man tobring two glasses. By a curious coincidence, the butler had just goneback to the Vatican to fetch some magnificent peaches that had been sentthat very day to the pope, but which had been forgotten when he camehere; so the valet went to the under butler, saying that His Holiness andMonsignors the Duke of Romagna were thirsty and asking for a drink. Theunder butler, seeing two bottles of wine set apart, and having heard thatthis wine was reserved for the pope, took one, and telling the valet tobring two glasses on a tray, poured out this wine, which both drank, little thinking that it was what they had themselves prepared to poisontheir guests. 

Meanwhile Caraffa hurried to the Vatican, and, as he knew the palacewell, went up to the pope's bedroom, a light in his hand and attended byno servant. As he turned round a corridor a puff of wind blew out hislamp; still, as he knew the way, he went on, thinking there was no needof seeing to find the object he was in search of; but as he entered theroom he recoiled a step, with a cry of terror: he beheld a ghastlyapparition; it seemed that there before his eyes, in the middle of theroom, between the door and the cabinet which held the medallion, Alexander VI, motionless and livid, was lying on a bier at whose fourcorners there burned four torches. The cardinal stood still for amoment, his eyes fixed, and his hair standing on end, without strength tomove either backward or forward; then thinking it was all a trick offancy or an apparition of the devil's making, he made the sign of thecross, invoking God's holy name; all instantly vanished, torches, bier, and corpse, and the seeming mortuary, chamber was once more in darkness. 

Then Cardinal Caraffa, who has himself recorded this strange event, andwho was afterwards Pope Paul IV, entered baldly, and though an icy sweatran dawn his brow, he went straight to the cabinet, and in the drawerindicated found the gold chain and the medallion, took them, and hastilywent out to give them to the pope. He found supper served, the guestsarrived, and His Holiness ready to take his place at table; as soon asthe cardinal was in sight, His Holiness, who was very pale, made one steptowards him; Caraffa doubled his pace, and handed the medallion to him;but as the pope stretched forth his arm to take it, he fell back with acry, instantly followed by violent convulsions: an instant later, as headvanced to render his father assistance, Caesar was similarly seized;the effect of the poison had been more rapid than usual, for Caesar haddoubled the dose, and there is little doubt that their heated conditionincreased its activity. 

The two stricken men were carried side by side to the Vatican, where eachwas taken to his own rooms: from that moment they never met again. 

As soon as he reached his bed, the pope was seized with a violent fever, which did not give way to emetics or to bleeding; almost immediately itbecame necessary to administer the last sacraments of the Church; but hisadmirable bodily constitution, which seemed to have defied old age, wasstrong enough to fight eight days with death; at last, after a week ofmortal agony, he died, without once uttering the name of Caesar orLucrezia, who were the two poles around which had turned all hisaffections and all his crimes. His age was seventy-two, and he hadreigned eleven years. 

Caesar, perhaps because he had taken less of the fatal beverage, perhapsbecause the strength of his youth overcame the strength of the poison, ormaybe, as some say, because when he reached his own rooms he hadswallowed an antidote known only to himself, was not so prostrated as tolose sight for a moment of the terrible position he was in: he summonedhis faithful Michelotto, with those he could best count on among his men, and disposed this band in the various rooms that led to his own, orderingthe chief never to leave the foot of his bed, but to sleep lying on arug, his hand upon the handle of his sward. 

The treatment had been the same for Caesar as for the pope, but inaddition to bleeding and emetics strange baths were added, which Caesarhad himself asked for, having heard that in a similar case they had oncecured Ladislaus, King of Naples. Four posts, strongly welded to thefloor and ceiling, were set up in his room, like the machines at whichfarriers shoe horses; every day a bull was brought in, turned over on hisback and tied by his four legs to the four posts; then, when he was thusfixed, a cut was made in his belly a foot and a half long, through whichthe intestines were drawn out; then Caesar slipped into this living bathof blood: when the bull was dead, Caesar was taken out and rolled up inburning hot blankets, where, after copious perspirations, he almostalways felt some sort of relief. 

Every two hours Caesar sent to ask news of his father: he hardly waitedto hear that he was dead before, though still at death's door himself, hesummoned up all the force of character and presence of mind thatnaturally belonged to him. He ordered Michelotto to shut the doors ofthe Vatican before the report of Alexander's decease could spread aboutthe town, and forbade anyone whatsoever to enter the pope's apartmentsuntil the money and papers had been removed. Michelotto obeyed at once, went to find Cardinal Casanova, held a dagger at his throat, and made himdeliver up the keys of the pope's rooms and cabinets; then, under hisguidance, took away two chests full of gold, which perhaps contained100, 000 Roman crowns in specie, several boxes full of jewels, much silverand many precious vases; all these were carried to Caesar's chamber; theguards of the room were doubled; then the doors of the Vatican were oncemore thrown open, and the death of the pope was proclaimed. 

Although the news was expected, it produced none the less a terribleeffect in Rome; for although Caesar was still alive, his condition lefteveryone in suspense: had the mighty Duke of Romagna, the powerfulcondottiere who had taken thirty towns and fifteen fortresses in fiveyears, been seated, sword in hand, upon his charger, nothing would havebeen uncertain of fluctuating even for a moment; far, as Caesarafterwards told Macchiavelli, his ambitious soul had provided for allthings that could occur on the day of the pope's death, except the onethat he should be dying himself; but being nailed down to his bed, sweating off the effects the poison had wrought; so, though he had kepthis power of thinking he could no longer act, but must needs wait andsuffer the course of events, instead of marching on in front andcontrolling them. 

Thus he was forced to regulate his actions no longer by his own plans butaccording to circumstances. His most bitter enemies, who could press himhardest, were the Orsini and the Colonnas: from the one family he hadtaken their blood, from the other their goods. 

So he addressed himself to those to whom he could return what he hadtaken, and opened negotiations with the Colonnas. 

Meanwhile the obsequies of the pope were going forward: thevice-chancellor had sent out orders to the highest among the clergy, thesuperiors of convents, and the secular orders, not to fail to appear, according to regular custom, on pain of being despoiled of their officeand dignities, each bringing his own company to the Vatican, to bepresent at the pope's funeral; each therefore appeared on the day and atthe hour appointed at the pontifical palace, whence the body was to beconveyed to the church of St. Peter's, and there buried. The corpse wasfound to be abandoned and alone in the mortuary chamber; for everyone ofthe name of Borgia, except Caesar, lay hidden, not knowing what mightcome to pass. This was indeed well justified; for Fabio Orsino, meetingone member of the family, stabbed him, and as a sign of the hatred theyhad sworn to one another, bathed his mouth and hands in the blood. 

The agitation in Rome was so great, that when the corpse of Alexander VIwas about to enter the church there occurred a kind of panic, such aswill suddenly arise in times of popular agitation, instantly causing sogreat a disturbance in the funeral cortege that the guards drew up inbattle array, the clergy fled into the sacristy, and the bearers droppedthe bier. 

The people, tearing off the pall which covered it, disclosed the corpse, and everyone could see with impunity and close at hand the man who, fifteen days before, had made princes, kings and emperors tremble, fromone end of the world to the other. 

But in accordance with that religious feeling towards death which all meninstinctively feel, and which alone survives every other, even in theheart of the atheist, the bier was taken up again and carried to the footof the great altar in St. Peter's, where, set on trestles, it was exposedto public view; but the body had become so black, so deformed andswollen, that it was horrible to behold; from its nose a bloody matterescaped, the mouth gaped hideously, and the tongue was so monstrouslyenlarged that it filled the whole cavity; to this frightful appearancewas added a decomposition so great that, although at the pope's funeralit is customary to kiss the hand which bore the Fisherman's ring, not oneapproached to offer this mark of respect and religious reverence to therepresentative of God on earth. 

Towards seven o'clock in the evening, when the declining day adds so deepa melancholy to the silence of a church, four porters and two workingcarpenters carried the corpse into the chapel where it was to beinterred, and, lifting it off the catafalque, where it lay in state, putit in the coffin which was to be its last abode; but it was found thatthe coffin was too short, and the body could not be got in till the legswere bent and thrust in with violent blows; then the carpenters put onthe lid, and while one of them sat on the top to force the knees to bend, the others hammered in the nails: amid those Shakespearian pleasantriesthat sound as the last orison in the ear of the mighty; then, saysTommaso Tommasi, he was placed on the right of the great altar of St. Peter's, beneath a very ugly tomb. 

The next morning this epitaph was found inscribed upon the tomb:

 "VENDIT ALEXANDER CLAVES, ALTARIA, CHRISTUM: EMERAT ILLE PRIUS, VENDERE JUKE POTEST";

that is, "Pope Alexander sold the Christ, the altars, and the keys: But anyone who buys a thing may sell it if he please. "

CHAPTER XV

From the effect produced at Rome by Alexander's death, one may imaginewhat happened not only in the whole of Italy but also in the rest of theworld: for a moment Europe swayed, for the column which supported thevault of the political edifice had given way, and the star with eyes offlame and rays of blood, round which all things had revolved for the lasteleven years, was now extinguished, and for a moment the world, on asudden struck motionless, remained in silence and darkness. 

After the first moment of stupefaction, all who had an injury to avengearose and hurried to the chase. Sforza retook Pesaro, Bagloine Perugia, Guido and Ubaldo Urbino, and La Rovere Sinigaglia; the Vitelli enteredCitta di Castello, the Appiani Piombino, the Orsini Monte Giordano andtheir other territories; Romagna alone remained impassive and loyal, forthe people, who have no concern with the quarrels of the great, providedthey do not affect themselves, had never been so happy as under thegovernment of Caesar. 

The Colonnas were pledged to maintain a neutrality, and had beenconsequently restored to the possession of their castles and the citiesof Chiuzano, Capo d'Anno, Frascati, Rocca di Papa, and Nettuno, whichthey found in a better condition than when they had left them, as thepope had had them embellished and fortified. 

Caesar was still in the Vatican with his troops, who, loyal to him in hismisfortune, kept watch about the palace, where he was writhing on his bedof pain and roaring like a wounded lion. The cardinals, who had in theirfirst terror fled, each his own way, instead of attending the pope'sobsequies, began to assemble once more, some at the Minerva, othersaround Cardinal Caraffa. Frightened by the troops that Caesar still had, especially since the command was entrusted to Michelotto, they collectedall the money they could to levy an army of 2000 soldiers with. CharlesTaneo at their head, with the title of Captain of the Sacred College. Itwas then hoped that peace was re-established, when it was heard thatProspero Colonna was coming with 3000 men from the side of Naples, andFabio Orsino from the side of Viterbo with 200 horse and more than 1000infantry. Indeed, they entered Rome at only one day's interval one fromanother, by so similar an ardour were they inspired. 

Thus there were five armies in Rome: Caesar's army, holding the Vaticanand the Borgo; the army of the Bishop of Nicastro, who had received fromAlexander the guardianship of the Castle Sant' Angelo and had shuthimself up there, refusing to yield; the army of the Sacred College, which was stationed round about the Minerva; the army of ProsperoColonna, which was encamped at the Capitol; and the army of Fabio Orsino, in barracks at the Ripetta. 

On their side, the Spaniards had advanced to Terracino, and the French toNepi. The cardinals saw that Rome now stood upon a mine which the leastspark might cause to explode: they summoned the ambassadors of theEmperor of Germany, the Kings of France and Spain, and the republic ofVenice to raise their voice in the name of their masters. Theambassadors, impressed with the urgency of the situation, began bydeclaring the Sacred College inviolable: they then ordered the Orsini, the Colonnas, and the Duke of Valentinois to leave Rome and go each hisown, way. 

The Orsini were the first to submit: the next morning their example wasfollowed by the Colonnas. No one was left but Caesar, who said he waswilling to go, but desired to make his conditions beforehand: the Vaticanwas undermined, he declared, and if his demands were refused he and thosewho came to take him should be blown up together. 

It was known that his were never empty threats they came to terms withhim. 

[Caesar promised to remain ten miles away from Rome the whole time theConclave lasted, and not to take any action against the town or any otherof the Ecclesiastical States: Fabio Orsino and. Prospero Colonna hadmade the same promises. ]

[It was agreed that Caesar should quit Rome with his army, artillery, andbaggage; and to ensure his not being attacked or molested in the streets, the Sacred College should add to his numbers 400 infantry, who, in caseof attack or insult, would fight for him. The Venetian ambassadoranswered for the Orsini, the Spanish ambassador for the Colonnas, theambassador of France for Caesar. ]

At the day and hour appointed Caesar sent out his artillery, whichconsisted of eighteen pieces of cannon, and 400 infantry of the SacredCollege, on each of whom he bestowed a ducat: behind the artillery came ahundred chariots escorted by his advance guard. 

The duke was carried out of the gate of the Vatican: he lay on a bedcovered with a scarlet canopy, supported by twelve halberdiers, leaningforward on his cushions so that no one might see his face with its purplelips and bloodshot eyes: beside him was his naked sword, to show that, feeble as he was, he could use it at need: his finest charger, caparisoned in black velvet embroidered with his arms, walked beside thebed, led by a page, so that Caesar could mount in case of surprise orattack: before him and behind, both right and left, marched his army, their arms in rest, but without beating of drums or blowing of trumpets:this gave a sombre, funereal air to the whole procession, which at thegate of the city met Prospero Colonna awaiting it with a considerableband of men. 

Caesar thought at first that, breaking his word as he had so often donehimself, Prospero Colonna was going to attack him. He ordered a halt, and prepared to mount his horse; but Prospera Colonna, seeing the statehe was in, advanced to his bedside alone: he came, against expectation, to offer him an escort, fearing an ambuscade on the part of Fabio Orsino, who had loudly sworn that he would lose his honour or avenge the death ofPaolo Orsina, his father. Caesar thanked Colanna, and replied that fromthe moment that Orsini stood alone he ceased to fear him. Then Colonnasaluted the duke, and rejoined his men, directing them towards Albano, while Caesar took the road to Citta Castellana, which had remained loyal. 

When there, Caesar found himself not only master of his own fate but ofothers as well: of the twenty-two votes he owned in the Sacred Collegetwelve had remained faithful, and as the Conclave was composed in all ofthirty-seven cardinals, he with his twelve votes could make the majorityincline to whichever side he chose. Accordingly he was courted both bythe Spanish and the French party, each desiring the election of a pope oftheir own nation. Caesar listened, promising nothing and refusingnothing: he gave his twelve votes to Francesco Piccolomini, Cardinal ofSiena, one of his father's creatures who had remained his friend, and thelatter was elected on the 8th of October and took the name of Pius III. 

Caesar's hopes did not deceive him: Pius III was hardly elected before hesent him a safe-conduct to Rome: the duke came back with 250 men-at-arms, 250 light horse, and 800 infantry, and lodged in his palace, the soldierscamping round about. 

Meanwhile the Orsini, pursuing their projects of vengeance againstCaesar, had been levying many troops at Perugia and the neighbourhood tobring against him to Rome, and as they fancied that France, in whoseservice they were engaged, was humouring the duke for the sake of thetwelve votes which were wanted to secure the election of Cardinal Amboiseat the next Conclave, they went over to the service of Spain. 

Meanwhile Caesar was signing a new treaty with Louis XII, by which heengaged to support him with all his forces, and even with his person, sosoon as he could ride, in maintaining his conquest of Naples: Louis, onhis side, guaranteed that he should retain possession of the States hestill held, and promised his help in recovering those he had lost. 

The day when this treaty was made known, Gonzalvo di Cordovo proclaimedto the sound of a trumpet in all the streets of Rome that every Spanishsubject serving in a foreign army was at once to break his engagement onpain of being found guilty of high treason. 

This measure robbed Caesar of ten or twelve of his best officers and ofnearly 300 men. 

Then the Orsini, seeing his army thus reduced, entered Rome, supported bythe Spanish ambassador, and summoned Caesar to appear before the pope andthe Sacred College and give an account of his crimes. 

Faithful to his engagements, Pius III replied that in his quality ofsovereign prince the duke in his temporal administration was quiteindependent and was answerable for his actions to God alone. 

But as the pope felt he could not much longer support Caesar against hisenemies for all his goodwill, he advised him to try to join the Frencharmy, which was still advancing on Naples, in the midst of which he wouldalone find safety. Caesar resolved to retire to Bracciano, where GianGiordano Orsino, who had once gone with him to France, and who was theonly member of the family who had not declared against him, offered himan asylum in the name of Cardinal dumbest: so one morning he ordered histroops to march for this town, and, taking his place in their midst, heleft Rome. 

But though Caesar had kept his intentions quiet, the Orsini had beenforewarned, and, taking out all the troops they had by the gate of SanPancracio, they had made along detour and blocked Caesar's way; so, whenthe latter arrived at Storta, he found the Orsini's army drawn upawaiting him in numbers exceeding his own by at least one-half. 

Caesar saw that to come to blows in his then feeble state was to rush oncertain destruction; so he ordered his troops to retire, and, being afirst-rate strategist, echelonned his retreat so skilfully that hisenemies, though they followed, dared not attack him, and he re-enteredthe pontifical town without the loss of a single man. 

This time Caesar went straight to the Vatican, to put himself moredirectly under the pope's protection; he distributed his soldiers aboutthe palace, so as to guard all its exits. Now the Orsini, resolved tomake an end of Caesar, had determined to attack him wheresoever he mightbe, with no regard to the sanctity of the place: this they attempted, butwithout success, as Caesar's men kept a good guard on every side, andoffered a strong defence. 

Then the Orsini, not being able to force the guard of the Castle Sant'Angelo, hoped to succeed better with the duke by leaving Rome and thenreturning by the Torione gate; but Caesar anticipated this move, and theyfound the gate guarded and barricaded. None the less, they pursued theirdesign, seeking by open violence the vengeance that they had hoped toobtain by craft; and, having surprised the approaches to the gate, setfire to it: a passage gained, they made their way into the gardens of thecastle, where they found Caesar awaiting them at the head of his cavalry. 

Face to face with danger, the duke had found his old strength: and he wasthe first to rush upon his enemies, loudly challenging Orsino in the hopeof killing him should they meet; but either Orsino did not hear him ordared not fight; and after an exciting contest, Caesar, who wasnumerically two-thirds weaker than his enemy, saw his cavalry cut topieces; and after performing miracles of personal strength and courage, was obliged to return to the Vatican. There he found the pope in mortalagony: the Orsini, tired of contending against the old man's word ofhonour pledged to the duke, had by the interposition of PandolfoPetrucci, gained the ear of the pope's surgeon, who placed a poisonedplaster upon a wound in his leg. 

The pope then was actually dying when Caesar, covered with dust andblood, entered his room, pursued by his enemies, who knew no check tillthey reached the palace walls, behind which the remnant of his army stillheld their ground. 

Pius III, who knew he was about to die, sat up in his bed, gave Caesarthe key of the corridor which led to the Castle of Sant' Angelo, and anorder addressed to the governor to admit him and his family, to defendhim to the last extremity, and to let him go wherever he thought fit; andthen fell fainting on his bed. 

Caesar took his two daughters by the hand, and, followed by the littledukes of Sermaneta and Nepi, took refuge in the last asylum open to him. 

The same night the pope died: he had reigned only twenty-six days. 

After his death, Caesar, who had cast himself fully dressed upon his bed, heard his door open at two o'clock in the morning: not knowing whatanyone might want of him at such an hour, he raised himself on one elbowand felt for the handle of his sword with his other hand; but at thefirst glance he recognised in his nocturnal visitor Giuliano dellaRovere. 

Utterly exhausted by the poison, abandoned by his troops, fallen as hewas from the height of his power, Caesar, who could now do nothing forhimself, could yet make a pope: Giuliano delta Rovere had come to buy thevotes of his twelve cardinals. 

Caesar imposed his conditions, which were accepted. 

If elected, Giuliano delta Ravere was to help Caesar to recover histerritories in Romagna; Caesar was to remain general of the Church; andFrancesco Maria delta Rovere, prefect of Rome, was to marry one ofCaesar's daughters. 

On these conditions Caesar sold his twelve cardinals to Giuliano. 

The next day, at Giuliano's request, the Sacred College ordered theOrsini to leave Rome for the whole time occupied by the Conclave. 

On the 31st of October 1503, at the first scrutiny, Giuliano delta Roverewas elected pope, and took the name of Julius II. 

He was scarcely installed in the Vatican when he made it his first careto summon Caesar and give him his former rooms there; then, since theduke was fully restored to health, he began to busy himself with there-establishment of his affairs, which had suffered sadly of late. 

The defeat of his army and his own escape to Sant' Angelo, where he wassupposed to be a prisoner, had brought about great changes in Romagna. Sesena was once more in the power of the Church, as formerly it had been;Gian Sforza had again entered Pesaro; Ordelafi had seized Forli;Malatesta was laying claim to Rimini; the inhabitants of Imola hadassassinated their governor, and the town was divided between twoopinions, one that it should be put into the hands of the Riani, theother, into the hands of the Church; Faenza had remained loyal longerthan any other place; but at last, losing hope of seeing Caesar recoverhis power, it had summoned Francesco, a natural son of Galeotto Manfredi, the last surviving heir of this unhappy family, all whose legitimatedescendants had been massacred by Borgia. 

It is true that the fortresses of these different places had taken nopart in these revolutions, and had remained immutably faithful to theDuke of Valentinois. 

So it was not precisely the defection of these towns, which, thanks totheir fortresses, might be reconquered, that was the cause of uneasinessto Caesar and Julius II, it was the difficult situation that Venice hadthrust upon them. Venice, in the spring of the same year, had signed atreaty of peace with the Turks: thus set free from her eternal enemy, shehad just led her forces to the Romagna, which she had always coveted:these troops had been led towards Ravenna, the farthermost limit of thePapal estates, and put under the command of Giacopo Venieri, who hadfailed to capture Cesena, and had only failed through the courage of itsinhabitants; but this check had been amply compensated by the surrenderof the fortresses of Val di Lamane and Faenza, by the capture ofFarlimpopoli, and the surrender of Rimini, which Pandolfo Malatesta, itslard, exchanged for the seigniory of Cittadella, in the State of Padua, and far the rank of gentleman of Venice. 

Then Caesar made a proposition to Julius II: this was to make a momentarycession to the Church of his own estates in Romagna, so that the respectfelt by the Venetians for the Church might save these towns from theiraggressors; but, says Guicciardini, Julius II, whose ambition, so naturalin sovereign rulers, had not yet extinguished the remains of rectitude, refused to accept the places, afraid of exposing himself to thetemptation of keeping them later on, against his promises. 

But as the case was urgent, he proposed to Caesar that he should leaveRome, embark at Ostia, and cross over to Spezia, where Michelotto was tomeet him at the head of 100 men-at-arms and 100 light horse, the onlyremnant of his magnificent army, thence by land to Ferrara, and fromFerrara to Imala, where, once arrived, he could utter his war-cry so loudthat it would be heard through the length and breadth of Romagna. 

This advice being after Caesar's own heart, he accepted it at once. 

The resolution submitted to the Sacred College was approved, and Caesarleft for Ostia, accompanied by Bartolommeo della Rovere, nephew of HisHoliness. 

Caesar at last felt he was free, and fancied himself already on his goodcharger, a second time carrying war into all the places where he hadformerly fought. When he reached Ostia, he was met by the cardinals ofSorrento and Volterra, who came in the name of Julius II to ask him togive up the very same citadels which he had refused three days before:the fact was that the pope had learned in the interim that the Venetianshad made fresh aggressions, and recognised that the method proposed byCaesar was the only one that would check them. But this time it wasCaesar's turn, to refuse, for he was weary of these tergiversations, andfeared a trap; so he said that the surrender asked for would be useless, since by God's help he should be in Romagna before eight days were past. So the cardinals of Sorrento and Volterra returned to Rome with arefusal. 

The next morning, just as Caesar was setting foot on his vessel, he wasarrested in the name of Julius II. 

He thought at first that this was the end; he was used to this mode ofaction, and knew how short was the space between a prison and a tomb; thematter was all the easier in his case, because the pope, if he chose, would have plenty of pretext for making a case against him. But the heartof Julius was of another kind from his; swift to anger, but open toclemency; so, when the duke came back to Rome guarded, the momentaryirritation his refusal had caused was already calmed, and the popereceived him in his usual fashion at his palace, and with his ordinarycourtesy, although from the beginning it was easy for the duke to seethat he was being watched. In return for this kind reception, Caesarconsented to yield the fortress of Cesena to the pope, as being a townwhich had once belonged to the Church, and now should return; giving thedeed, signed by Caesar, to one of his captains, called Pietro d'Oviedo, he ordered him to take possession of the fortress in the name of the HolySee. Pietro obeyed, and starting at once for Cesena, presented himselfarmed with his warrant before Don Diego Chinon; a noble condottiere ofSpain, who was holding the fortress in Caesar's name. But when he hadread over the paper that Pietro d'Oviedo brought, Don Diego replied thatas he knew his lord and master was a prisoner, it would be disgraceful inhim to obey an order that had probably been wrested from him by violence, and that the bearer deserved to die for undertaking such a cowardlyoffice. He therefore bade his soldiers seize d'Oviedo and fling him downfrom the top of the walls: this sentence was promptly executed. 

This mark of fidelity might have proved fatal to Caesar: when the popeheard how his messenger had been treated, he flew into such a rage thatthe prisoner thought a second time that his hour was come; and in orderto receive his liberty, he made the first of those new propositions toJulius II, which were drawn up in the form of a treaty and sanctioned bya bull. By these arrangements, the Duke of Valentinois was bound to handover to His Holiness, within the space of forty days, the fortresses ofCesena and Bertinoro, and authorise the surrender of Forli. Thisarrangement was guaranteed by two bankers in Rome who were to beresponsible for 15, 000 ducats, the sum total of the expenses which thegovernor pretended he had incurred in the place on the duke's account. The pope on his part engaged to send Caesar to Ostia under the sole guardof the Cardinal of Santa Croce and two officers, who were to give him hisfull liberty on the very day when his engagements were fulfilled: shouldthis not happen, Caesar was to be taken to Rome and imprisoned in theCastle of Sant' Angelo. In fulfilment of this treaty, Caesar went downthe Tiber as far as Ostia, accompanied by the pope's treasurer and manyof his servants. The Cardinal of Santa Croce followed, and the next dayjoined him there. 

But as Caesar feared that Julius II might keep him a prisoner, in spiteof his pledged word, after he had yielded up the fortresses, he asked, through the mediation of Cardinals Borgia and Remolina, who, not feelingsafe at Rome, had retired to Naples, for a safe-conduct to Gonzalva ofCordova, and for two ships to take him there; with the return of thecourier the safe-conduct arrived, announcing that the ships would shortlyfollow. 

In the midst of all this, the Cardinal of Santa Croce, learning that bythe duke's orders the governors of Cesena and Bertinoro had surrenderedtheir fortresses to the captains of His Holiness, relaxed his rigour, andknowing that his prisoner would some day or other be free, began to lethim go out without a guard. Then Caesar, feeling some fear lest when hestarted with Gonzalvo's ships the same thing might happen as on theoccasion of his embarking on the pope's vessel--that is, that he might bearrested a second time--concealed himself in a house outside the town;and when night came on, mounting a wretched horse that belonged to apeasant, rode as far as Nettuno, and there hired a little boat, in whichhe embarked for Monte Dragone, and thence gained Naples. Gonzalvoreceived him with such joy that Caesar was deceived as to his intention, and this time believed that he was really saved. His confidence wasredoubled when, opening his designs to Gonzalvo, and telling him that hecounted upon gaining Pisa and thence going on into Romagna, Ganzalvaallowed him to recruit as many soldiers at Naples as he pleased, promising him two ships to embark with. Caesar, deceived by theseappearances, stopped nearly six weeks at Naples, every day seeing theSpanish governor and discussing his plans. But Gonzalvo was only waitingto gain time to tell the King of Spain that his enemy was in his hands;and Caesar actually went to the castle to bid Gonzalvo good-bye, thinkinghe was just about to start after he had embarked his men on the twoships. The Spanish governor received him with his accustomed courtesy, wished him every kind of prosperity, and embraced him as he left; but atthe door of the castle Caesar found one of Gonzalvo's captains, NunoCampeja by name, who arrested him as a prisoner of Ferdinand theCatholic. Caesar at these words heaved a deep sigh, cursing the ill luckthat had made him trust the word of an enemy when he had so often brokenhis own. 

He was at once taken to the castle, where the prison gate closed behindhim, and he felt no hope that anyone would come to his aid; for the onlybeing who was devoted to him in this world was Michelotto, and he hadheard that Michelotto had been arrested near Pisa by order of Julius II. While Caesar was being taken to prison an officer came to him to deprivehim of the safe-conduct given him by Gonzalvo. 

The day after his arrest, which occurred on the 27th of May, 1504, Caesarwas taken on board a ship, which at once weighed anchor and set sail forSpain: during the whole voyage he had but one page to serve him, and assoon as he disembarked he was taken to the castle of Medina del Campo. 

Ten years later, Gonzalvo, who at that time was himself proscribed, ownedto Loxa on his dying bed that now, when he was to appear in the presenceof God, two things weighed cruelly on his conscience: one was his treasonto Ferdinand, the other his breach of faith towards Caesar. 

CHAPTER XVI

Caesar was in prison for two years, always hoping that Louis XII wouldreclaim him as peer of the kingdom of France; but Louis, much disturbedby the loss of the battle of Garigliano, which robbed him of the kingdomof Naples, had enough to do with his own affairs without busying himselfwith his cousin's. So the prisoner was beginning to despair, when oneday as he broke his bread at breakfast he found a file and a littlebottle containing a narcotic, with a letter from Michelotto, saying thathe was out of prison and had left Italy for Spain, and now lay in hidingwith the Count of Benevento in the neighbouring village: he added thatfrom the next day forward he and the count would wait every night on theroad between the fortress and the village with three excellent horses; itwas now Caesar's part to do the best he could with his bottle and file. When the whole world had abandoned the Duke of Romagna he had beenremembered by a sbirro. 

The prison where he had been shut up for two years was so hateful toCaesar that he lost not a single moment: the same day he attacked one ofthe bars of a window that looked out upon an inner court, and sooncontrived so to manipulate it that it would need only a final push tocome out. But not only was the window nearly seventy feet from theground, but one could only get out of the court by using an exit reservedfor the governor, of which he alone had the key; also this key never lefthim; by day it hung at his waist, by night it was under his pillow: thisthen was the chief difficulty. 

But prisoner though he was, Caesar had always been treated with therespect due to his name and rank: every day at the dinner-hour he wasconducted from the room that served as his prison to the governor, whodid the honours of the table in a grand and courteous fashion. The factwas that Dan Manuel had served with honour under King Ferdinand, andtherefore, while he guarded Caesar rigorously, according to orders, hehad a great respect for so brave a general, and took pleasure inlistening to the accounts of his battles. So he had often insisted thatCaesar should not only dine but also breakfast with him; happily theprisoner, yielding perhaps to some presentiment, had till now refusedthis favour. This was of great advantage to him, since, thanks to hissolitude, he had been able to receive the instruments of escape sent byMichelotto. The same day he received them, Caesar, on going back to hisroom, made a false step and sprained his foot; at the dinner-hour hetried to go down, but he pretended to be suffering so cruelly that hegave it up. The governor came to see him in his room, and found himstretched upon the bed. 

The day after, he was no better; the governor had his dinner sent in, andcame to see him, as on the night before; he found his prisoner sodejected and gloomy in his solitude that he offered to come and sup withhim: Caesar gratefully accepted. 

This time it was the prisoner who did the honours: Caesar was charminglycourteous; the governor thought he would profit by this lack of restraintto put to him certain questions as to the manner of his arrest, and askedhim as an Old Castilian, for whom honour is still of some account, whatthe truth really was as to Gonzalvo's and Ferdinand's breach of faith, with him. Caesar appeared extremely inclined to give him his entireconfidence, but showed by a sign that the attendants were in the way. This precaution appeared quite natural, and the governor took no offense, but hastened to send them all away, so as to be sooner alone with hiscompanion. When the door was shut, Caesar filled his glass and thegovernor's, proposing the king's health: the governor honoured the toast:Caesar at once began his tale; but he had scarcely uttered a third partof it when, interesting as it was, the eyes of his host shut as though bymagic, and he slid under the table in a profound sleep. 

After half a hour had passed, the servants, hearing no noise, entered andfound the two, one on the table, the other under it: this event was notso extraordinary that they paid any great attention to it: all they didwas to carry Don Manuel to his room and lift Caesar on the bed; then theyput away the remnant of the meal for the next day's supper, shut the doorvery carefully, and left their prisoner alone. 

Caesar stayed for a minute motionless and apparently plunged in thedeepest sleep; but when he had heard the steps retreating, he quietlyraised his head, opened his eyes, slipped off the bed, walked to thedoor, slowly indeed, but not to all appearance feeling the accident ofthe night before, and applied his ear for some minutes to the keyhole;then lifting his head with an expression of indescribable pride, he wipedhis brow with his hand, and for the first time since his guards went out, breathed freely with full-drawn breaths. 

There was no time to lose: his first care was to shut the door assecurely on the inside as it was already shut on the outside, to blow outthe lamp, to open the window, and to finish sawing through the bar. Whenthis was done, he undid the bandages on his leg, took down the window andbed curtains, tore them into strips, joined the sheets, table napkins andcloth, and with all these things tied together end to end, formed a ropefifty or sixty feet long, with knots every here and there. This rope hefixed securely to the bar next to the one he had just cut through; thenhe climbed up to the window and began what was really the hardest part ofhis perilous enterprise, clinging with hands and feet to this fragilesupport. Luckily he was both strong and skilful, and he went down thewhole length of the rope without accident; but when he reached the endand was hanging on the last knot, he sought in vain to touch the groundwith his feet; his rope was too short. 

The situation was a terrible one: the darkness of the night prevented thefugitive from seeing how far off he was from the ground, and his fatigueprevented him from even attempting to climb up again. Caesar put up abrief prayer, whether to Gad or Satan he alone could say; then letting gothe rope, he dropped from a height of twelve or fifteen feet. 

The danger was too great for the fugitive to trouble about a few triflingcontusions: he at once rose, and guiding himself by the direction of hiswindow, he went straight to the little door of exit; he then put his handinto the pocket of his doublet, and a cold sweat damped his brow; eitherhe had forgotten and left it in his room or had lost it in his fall;anyhow, he had not the key. 

But summoning his recollections, he quite gave up the first idea for thesecond, which was the only likely one: again he crossed the court, looking for the place where the key might have fallen, by the aid of thewall round a tank on which he had laid his hand when he got up; but theobject of search was so small and the night so dark that there was littlechance of getting any result; still Caesar sought for it, for in this keywas his last hope: suddenly a door was opened, and a night watchappeared, preceded by two torches. Caesar far the moment thought he waslost, but remembering the tank behind him, he dropped into it, and withnothing but his head above water anxiously watched the movements of thesoldiers, as they advanced beside him, passed only a few feet away, crossed the court, and then disappeared by an opposite door. But shortas their luminous apparition had been, it had lighted up the ground, andCaesar by the glare of the torches had caught the glitter of thelong-sought key, and as soon as the door was shut behind the men, wasagain master of his liberty. 

Half-way between the castle and the village two cavaliers and a led horsewere waiting for him: the two men were Michelotto and the Count ofBenevento. Caesar sprang upon the riderless horse, pressed with fervourthe hand of the count and the sbirro; then all three galloped to thefrontier of Navarre, where they arrived three days later, and werehonourably received by the king, Jean d'Albret, the brother of Caesar'swife. 

From Navarre he thought to pass into France, and from France to make anattempt upon Italy, with the aid of Louis XII; but during Caesar'sdetention in the castle of Medina del Campo, Louis had made peace withthe King of Spain; and when he heard of Caesar's flight; instead ofhelping him, as there was some reason to expect he would, since he was arelative by marriage, he took away the duchy of Valentinois and also hispension. Still, Caesar had nearly 200, 000 ducats in the charge ofbankers at Genoa; he wrote asking for this sum, with which he hoped tolevy troops in Spain and in Navarre, and make an attempt upon Pisa: 500men, 200, 000 ducats, his name and his word were more than enough to savehim from despair. 

The bankers denied the deposit. 

Caesar was at the mercy of his brother-in-law. 

One of the vassals of the King of Navarre, named Prince Alarino, had justthen revolted: Caesar then took command of the army which Jean d'Albretwas sending out against him, followed by Michelotto, who was as faithfulin adversity as ever before. Thanks to Caesar's courage and skilfultactics, Prince Alarino was beaten in a first encounter; but the dayafter his defeat he rallied his army, and offered battle about threeo'clock in the afternoon. Caesar accepted it. 

For nearly four hours they fought obstinately on both sides; but atlength, as the day was going down, Caesar proposed to decide the issue bymaking a charge himself, at the head of a hundred men-at-arms, upon abody of cavalry which made his adversary's chief force. To his greatastonishment, this cavalry at the first shock gave way and took flight inthe direction of a little wood, where they seemed to be seeking refuge. Caesar followed close on their heels up to the edge of the forest; thensuddenly the pursued turned right about face, three or four hundredarchers came out of the wood to help them, and Caesar's men, seeing thatthey had fallen into an ambush, took to their heels like cowards, andabandoned their leader. 

Left alone, Caesar would not budge one step; possibly he had had enoughof life, and his heroism was rather the result of satiety than courage:however that may be, he defended himself like a lion; but, riddled witharrows and bolts, his horse at last fell, with Caesar's leg under him. His adversaries rushed upon him, and one of them thrusting a sharp andslender iron pike through a weak place in his armour, pierced his breast;Caesar cursed God and died. 

But the rest of the enemy's army was defeated, thanks to the courage ofMichelotto, who fought like a valiant condottiere, but learned, onreturning to the camp in the evening, from those who had fled; that theyhad abandoned Caesar and that he had never reappeared. Then only toocertain, from his master's well-known courage, that disaster hadoccurred, he desired to give one last proof of his devotion by notleaving his body to the wolves and birds of prey. Torches were lighted, for it was dark, and with ten or twelve of those who had gone with Caesaras far as the little wood, he went to seek his master. On reaching thespot they pointed out, he beheld five men stretched side by side; four ofthem were dressed, but the fifth had been stripped of his clothing andlay completely naked. Michelotto dismounted, lifted the head upon hisknees, and by the light of the torches recognised Caesar. 

Thus fell, on the 10th of March, 1507, on an unknown field, near anobscure village called Viane, in a wretched skirmish with the vassal of apetty king, the man whom Macchiavelli presents to all princes as themodel of ability, diplomacy, and courage. 

As to Lucrezia, the fair Duchess of Ferrara, she died full of years, andhonours, adored as a queen by her subjects, and sung as a goddess byAriosto and by Bembo. 

EPILOGUE

There was once in Paris, says Boccaccio, a brave and good merchant namedJean de Civigny, who did a great trade in drapery, and was connected inbusiness with a neighbour and fellow-merchant, a very rich man calledAbraham, who, though a Jew, enjoyed a good reputation. Jean de Civigny, appreciating the qualities of the worthy Israelite; feared lest, good manas he was, his false religion would bring his soul straight to eternalperdition; so he began to urge him gently as a friend to renounce hiserrors and open his eyes to the Christian faith, which he could see forhimself was prospering and spreading day by day, being the only true andgood religion; whereas his own creed, it was very plain, was so quicklydiminishing that it would soon disappear from the face of the earth. TheJew replied that except in his own religion there was no salvation, thathe was born in it, proposed to live and die in it, and that he knewnothing in the world that could change his opinion. Still, in hisproselytising fervour Jean would not think himself beaten, and never aday passed but he demonstrated with those fair words the merchant uses toseduce a customer, the superiority of the Christian religion above theJewish; and although Abraham was a great master of Mosaic law, he beganto enjoy his friend's preaching, either because of the friendship he feltfor him or because the Holy Ghost descended upon the tongue of the newapostle; still obstinate in his own belief, he would not change. Themore he persisted in his error, the more excited was Jean aboutconverting him, so that at last, by God's help, being somewhat shaken byhis friend's urgency, Abraham one day said--

"Listen, Jean: since you have it so much at heart that I should beconverted, behold me disposed to satisfy you; but before I go to Rome tosee him whom you call God's vicar on earth, I must study his manner oflife and his morals, as also those of his brethren the cardinals; and if, as I doubt not, they are in harmony with what you preach, I will admitthat, as you have taken such pains to show me, your faith is better thanmine, and I will do as you desire; but if it should prove otherwise, Ishall remain a Jew, as I was before; for it is not worth while, at myage, to change my belief for a worse one. "

Jean was very sad when he heard these words; and he said mournfully tohimself, "Now I have lost my time and pains, which I thought I had spentso well when I was hoping to convert this unhappy Abraham; for if heunfortunately goes, as he says he will, to the court of Rome, and theresees the shameful life led by the servants of the Church, instead ofbecoming a Christian the Jew will be more of a Jew than ever. " Thenturning to Abraham, he said, "Ah, friend, why do you wish to incur suchfatigue and expense by going to Rome, besides the fact that travelling bysea or by land must be very dangerous for so rich a man as you are? Doyou suppose there is no one here to baptize you? If you have any doubtsconcerning the faith I have expounded, where better than here will youfind theologians capable of contending with them and allaying them? So, you see, this voyage seems to me quite unnecessary: just imagine that thepriests there are such as you see here, and all the better in that theyare nearer to the supreme pastor. If you are guided by my advice, youwill postpone this toil till you have committed some grave sin and needabsolution; then you and I will go together. "

But the Jew replied--

"I believe, dear Jean, that everything is as you tell me; but you knowhow obstinate I am. I will go to Rome, or I will never be a Christian. "

Then Jean, seeing his great wish, resolved that it was no use trying tothwart him, and wished him good luck; but in his heart he gave up allhope; for it was certain that his friend would come back from hispilgrimage more of a Jew than ever, if the court of Rome was still as hehad seen it. 

But Abraham mounted his horse, and at his best speed took the road toRome, where on his arrival he was wonderfully well received by hiscoreligionists; and after staying there a good long time, he began tostudy the behaviour of the pope, the cardinals and other prelates, and ofthe whole court. But much to his surprise he found out, partly by whatpassed under his eyes and partly by what he was told, that all from thepope downward to the lowest sacristan of St. Peter's were committing thesins of luxurious living in a most disgraceful and unbridled manner, withno remorse and no shame, so that pretty women and handsome youths couldobtain any favours they pleased. In addition to this sensuality whichthey exhibited in public, he saw that they were gluttons and drunkards, so much so that they were more the slaves of the belly than are thegreediest of animals. When he looked a little further, he found them soavaricious and fond of money that they sold for hard cash both humanbodies and divine offices, and with less conscience than a man in Pariswould sell cloth or any other merchandise. Seeing this and much morethat it would not be proper to set down here, it seemed to Abraham, himself a chaste, sober, and upright man, that he had seen enough. So heresolved to return to Paris, and carried out the resolution with hisusual promptitude. Jean de Civigny held a great fete in honour of hisreturn, although he had lost hope of his coming back converted. But heleft time for him to settle down before he spoke of anything, thinkingthere would be plenty of time to hear the bad news he expected. But, after a few days of rest, Abraham himself came to see his friend, andJean ventured to ask what he thought of the Holy Father, the cardinals, and the other persons at the pontifical court. At these words the Jewexclaimed, "God damn them all! I never once succeeded in finding amongthem any holiness, any devotion, any good works; but, on the contrary, luxurious living, avarice, greed, fraud, envy, pride, and even worse, ifthere is worse; all the machine seemed to be set in motion by an impulseless divine than diabolical. After what I saw, it is my firm convictionthat your pope, and of course the others as well, are using all theirtalents, art, endeavours, to banish the Christian religion from the faceof the earth, though they ought to be its foundation and support; andsince, in spite of all the care and trouble they expend to arrive at thisend, I see that your religion is spreading every day and becoming morebrilliant and more pure, it is borne in upon me that the Holy SpiritHimself protects it as the only true and the most holy religion; this iswhy, deaf as you found me to your counsel and rebellious to your wish, Iam now, ever since I returned from this Sodom, firmly resolved onbecoming a Christian. So let us go at once to the church, for I am quiteready to be baptized. "

There is no need to say if Jean de Civigny, who expected a refusal, waspleased at this consent. Without delay he went with his godson to NotreDame de Paris, where he prayed the first priest he met to administerbaptism to his friend, and this was speedily done; and the new convertchanged his Jewish name of Abraham into the Christian name of Jean; andas the neophyte, thanks to his journey to Rome, had gained a profoundbelief, his natural good qualities increased so greatly in the practiceof our holy religion, that after leading an exemplary life he died in thefull odour of sanctity. 

This tale of Boccaccio's gives so admirable an answer to the charge ofirreligion which some might make against us if they mistook ourintentions, that as we shall not offer any other reply, we have nothesitated to present it entire as it stands to the eyes of our readers. 

And let us never forget that if the papacy has had an Innocent VIII andan Alexander VI who are its shame, it has also had a Pius VII and aGregory XVI who are its honour and glory. 

THE CENCI--1598

Should you ever go to Rome and visit the villa Pamphili, no doubt, afterhaving sought under its tall pines and along its canals the shade andfreshness so rare in the capital of the Christian world, you will descendtowards the Janiculum Hill by a charming road, in the middle of which youwill find the Pauline fountain. Having passed this monument, and havinglingered a moment on the terrace of the church of St. Peter Montorio, which commands the whole of Rome, you will visit the cloister ofBramante, in the middle of which, sunk a few feet below the level, isbuilt, on the identical place where St. Peter was crucified, a littletemple, half Greek, half Christian; you will thence ascend by a side doorinto the church itself. There, the attentive cicerone will show you, inthe first chapel to the right, the Christ Scourged, by Sebastian delPiombo, and in the third chapel to the left, an Entombment by Fiammingo;having examined these two masterpieces at leisure, he will take you toeach end of the transverse cross, and will show you--on one side apicture by Salviati, on slate, and on the other a work by Vasari; then, pointing out in melancholy tones a copy of Guido's Martyrdom of St. Peteron the high altar, he will relate to you how for three centuries thedivine Raffaelle's Transfiguration was worshipped in that spot; how itwas carried away by the French in 1809, and restored to the pope by theAllies in 1814. As you have already in all probability admired thismasterpiece in the Vatican, allow him to expatiate, and search at thefoot of the altar for a mortuary slab, which you will identify by a crossand the single word; Orate; under this gravestone is buried BeatriceCenci, whose tragical story cannot but impress you profoundly. 

She was the daughter of Francesco Cenci. Whether or not it be true thatmen are born in harmony with their epoch, and that some embody its goodqualities and others its bad ones, it may nevertheless interest ourreaders to cast a rapid glance over the period which had just passed whenthe events which we are about to relate took place. Francesco Cenci willthen appear to them as the diabolical incarnation of his time. 

On the 11th of August, 1492, after the lingering death-agony of InnocentVIII, during which two hundred and twenty murders were committed in thestreets of Rome, Alexander VI ascended the pontifical throne. Son of asister of Pope Calixtus III, Roderigo Lenzuoli Borgia, before beingcreated cardinal, had five children by Rosa Vanozza, whom he afterwardscaused to be married to a rich Roman. These children were:

Francis, Duke of Gandia;

Caesar, bishop and cardinal, afterwards Duke of Valentinois;

Lucrezia, who was married four times: her first husband was GiovanniSforza, lord of Pesaro, whom she left owing to his impotence; the second, Alfonso, Duke of Bisiglia, whom her brother Caesar caused to beassassinated; the third, Alfonso d'Este, Duke of Ferrara, from whom asecond divorce separated her; finally, the fourth, Alfonso of Aragon, whowas stabbed to death on the steps of the basilica of St. Peter, andafterwards, three weeks later, strangled, because he did not die soonenough from his wounds, which nevertheless were mortal;

Giofre, Count of Squillace, of whom little is known;

And, finally, a youngest son, of whom nothing at all is known. 

The most famous of these three brothers was Caesar Borgia. He had madeevery arrangement a plotter could make to be King of Italy at the deathof his father the pope, and his measures were so carefully taken as toleave no doubt in his own mind as to the success of this vast project. Every chance was provided against, except one; but Satan himself couldhardly have foreseen this particular one. The reader will judge forhimself. 

The pope had invited Cardinal Adrien to supper in his vineyard on theBelvidere; Cardinal Adrien was very rich, and the pope wished to inherithis wealth, as he already had acquired that of the Cardinals of Sant'Angelo, Capua, and Modena. To effect this, Caesar Borgia sent twobottles of poisoned wine to his father's cup-bearer, without taking himinto his confidence; he only instructed him not to serve this wine tillhe himself gave orders to do so; unfortunately, during supper thecup-bearer left his post for a moment, and in this interval a carelessbutler served the poisoned wine to the pope, to Caesar Borgia, and toCardinal Corneto. 

Alexander VI died some hours afterwards; Caesar Borgia was confined tobed, and sloughed off his skin; while Cardinal Corneto lost his sight andhis senses, and was brought to death's door. 

Pius III succeeded Alexander VI, and reigned twenty-five days; on thetwenty-sixth he was poisoned also. 

Caesar Borgia had under his control eighteen Spanish cardinals who owedto him their places in the Sacred College; these cardinals were entirelyhis creatures, and he could command them absolutely. As he was in amoribund condition and could make no use of them for himself, he soldthem to Giuliano della Rovere, and Giuliano della Rovere was electedpope, under the name of Julius II. To the Rome of Nero succeeded theAthens of Pericles. 

Leo X succeeded Julius II, and under his pontificate Christianity assumeda pagan character, which, passing from art into manners, gives to thisepoch a strange complexion. Crimes for the moment disappeared, to giveplace to vices; but to charming vices, vices in good taste, such as thoseindulged in by Alcibiades and sung by Catullus. Leo X died after havingassembled under his reign, which lasted eight years, eight months, andnineteen days, Michael Angelo, Raffaelle, Leonardo da Vinci, Correggio, Titian, Andrea del Sarto, Fra Bartolommeo, Giulio Romano, Ariosto, Guicciardini, and Macchiavelli. 

Giulio di Medici and Pompeo Colonna had equal claims to succeed him. Asboth were skilful politicians, experienced courtiers, and moreover ofreal and almost equal merit, neither of them could obtain a majority, andthe Conclave was prolonged almost indefinitely, to the great fatigue ofthe cardinals. So it happened one day that a cardinal, more tired thanthe rest, proposed to elect, instead of either Medici or Colonna, theson, some say of a weaver, others of a brewer of Utrecht, of whom no onehad ever thought till then, and who was for the moment acting head ofaffairs in Spain, in the absence of Charles the Fifth. The jestprospered in the ears of those who heard it; all the cardinals approvedtheir colleague's proposal, and Adrien became pope by a mere accident. 

He was a perfect specimen of the Flemish type a regular Dutchman, andcould not speak a word of Italian. When he arrived in Rome, and saw theGreek masterpieces of sculpture collected at vast cost by Leo X, hewished to break them to pieces, exclaiming, "Suet idola anticorum. " Hisfirst act was to despatch a papal nuncio, Francesco Cherigato, to theDiet of Nuremberg, convened to discuss the reforms of Luther, withinstructions which give a vivid notion of the manners of the time. 

"Candidly confess, " said he, "that God has permitted this schism and thispersecution on account of the sins of man, and especially those ofpriests and prelates of the Church; for we know that many abominablethings have taken place in the Holy See. "

Adrien wished to bring the Romans back to the simple and austere mannersof the early Church, and with this object pushed reform to the minutestdetails. For instance, of the hundred grooms maintained by Leo X, heretained only a dozen, in order, he said, to have two more than thecardinals. 

A pope like this could not reign long: he died after a year'spontificate. The morning after his death his physician's door was founddecorated with garlands of flowers, bearing this inscription: "To theliberator of his country. "

Giulio di Medici and Pompeo Colonna were again rival candidates. Intrigues recommenced, and the Conclave was once more so divided that atone time the cardinals thought they could only escape the difficulty inwhich they were placed by doing what they had done before, and electing athird competitor; they were even talking about Cardinal Orsini, whenGiulio di Medici, one of the rival candidates, hit upon a very ingeniousexpedient. He wanted only five votes; five of his partisans each offeredto bet five of Colonna's a hundred thousand ducats to ten thousandagainst the election of Giulio di Medici. At the very first ballot afterthe wager, Giulio di Medici got the five votes he wanted; no objectioncould be made, the cardinals had not been bribed; they had made a bet, that was all. 

Thus it happened, on the 18th of November, 1523, Giulio di Medici wasproclaimed pope under the name of Clement VII. The same day, hegenerously paid the five hundred thousand ducats which his five partisanshad lost. 

It was under this pontificate, and during the seven months in which Rome, conquered by the Lutheran soldiers of the Constable of Bourbon, saw holythings subjected to the most frightful profanations, that Francesco Cenciwas born. 

He was the son of Monsignor Nicolo Cenci, afterwards apostolic treasurerduring the pontificate of Pius V. Under this venerable prelate, whooccupied himself much more with the spiritual than the temporaladministration of his kingdom, Nicolo Cenci took advantage of hisspiritual head's abstraction of worldly matters to amass a net revenue ofa hundred and sixty thousand piastres, about f32, 000 of our money. Francesco Cenci, who was his only son, inherited this fortune. 

His youth was spent under popes so occupied with the schism of Lutherthat they had no time to think of anything else. The result was, thatFrancesco Cenci, inheriting vicious instincts and master of an immensefortune which enabled him to purchase immunity, abandoned himself to allthe evil passions of his fiery and passionate temperament. Five timesduring his profligate career imprisoned for abominable crimes, he onlysucceeded in procuring his liberation by the payment of two hundredthousand piastres, or about one million francs. It should be explainedthat popes at this time were in great need of money. 

The lawless profligacy of Francesco Cenci first began seriously toattract public attention under the pontificate of Gregory XIII. Thisreign offered marvellous facilities for the development of a reputationsuch as that which this reckless Italian Don Juan seemed bent onacquiring. Under the Bolognese Buoncampagno, a free hand was given tothose able to pay both assassins and judges. Rape and murder were socommon that public justice scarcely troubled itself with these triflingthings, if nobody appeared to prosecute the guilty parties. The goodGregory had his reward for his easygoing indulgence; he was spared torejoice over the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. 

Francesco Cenci was at the time of which we are speaking a man offorty-four or forty-five years of age, about five feet four inches inheight, symmetrically proportioned, and very strong, although ratherthin; his hair was streaked with grey, his eyes were large andexpressive, although the upper eyelids drooped somewhat; his nose waslong, his lips were thin, and wore habitually a pleasant smile, exceptwhen his eye perceived an enemy; at this moment his features assumed aterrible expression; on such occasions, and whenever moved or evenslightly irritated, he was seized with a fit of nervous trembling, whichlasted long after the cause which provoked it had passed. An adept inall manly exercises and especially in horsemanship, he sometimes used toride without stopping from Rome to Naples, a distance of forty-oneleagues, passing through the forest of San Germano and the Pontinemarshes heedless of brigands, although he might be alone and unarmed savefor his sword and dagger. When his horse fell from fatigue, he boughtanother; were the owner unwilling to sell he took it by force; ifresistance were made, he struck, and always with the point, never thehilt. In most cases, being well known throughout the Papal States as afree-handed person, nobody tried to thwart him; some yielding throughfear, others from motives of interest. Impious, sacrilegious, andatheistical, he never entered a church except to profane its sanctity. It was said of him that he had a morbid appetite for novelties in crime, and that there was no outrage he would not commit if he hoped by so doingto enjoy a new sensation. 

At the age of about forty-five he had married a very rich woman, whosename is not mentioned by any chronicler. She died, leaving him sevenchildren--five boys and two girls. He then married Lucrezia Petroni, aperfect beauty of the Roman type, except for the ivory pallor of hercomplexion. By this second marriage he had no children. 

As if Francesco Cenci were void of all natural affection, he hated hischildren, and was at no pains to conceal his feelings towards them: onone occasion, when he was building, in the courtyard of his magnificentpalace, near the Tiber, a chapel dedicated to St. Thomas, he remarked tothe architect, when instructing him to design a family vault, "That iswhere I hope to bury them all. " The architect often subsequently admittedthat he was so terrified by the fiendish laugh which accompanied thesewords, that had not Francesco Cenci's work been extremely profitable, hewould have refused to go on with it. 

As soon as his three eldest boys, Giacomo, Cristoforo, and Rocco, wereout of their tutors' hands, in order to get rid of them he sent them tothe University of Salamanca, where, out of sight, they were out of mind, for he thought no more about them, and did not even send them the meansof subsistence. In these straits, after struggling for some monthsagainst their wretched plight, the lads were obliged to leave Salamanca, and beg their way home, tramping barefoot through France and Italy, tillthey made their way back to Rome, where they found their father harsherand more unkind than ever. 

This happened in the early part of the reign of Clement VIII, famed forhis justice. The three youths resolved to apply to him, to grant them anallowance out of their father's immense income. They consequentlyrepaired to Frascati, where the pope was building the beautifulAldobrandini Villa, and stated their case. The pope admitted the justiceof their claims, and ordered Francesco, to allow each of them twothousand crowns a year. He endeavoured by every possible means to evadethis decree, but the pope's orders were too stringent to be disobeyed. 

About this period he was for the third time imprisoned for infamouscrimes. His three sons them again petitioned the pope, alleging thattheir father dishonoured the family name, and praying that the extremerigour of the law, a capital sentence, should be enforced in his case. The pope pronounced this conduct unnatural and odious, and drove themwith ignominy from his presence. As for Francesco, he escaped, as on thetwo previous occasions, by the payment of a large sum of money. 

It will be readily understood that his sons' conduct on this occasion didnot improve their father's disposition towards them, but as theirindependent pensions enabled them to keep out of his way, his rage fellwith all the greater intensity on his two unhappy daughters. Theirsituation soon became so intolerable, that the elder, contriving to eludethe close supervision under which she was kept, forwarded to the pope apetition, relating the cruel treatment to which she was subjected, andpraying His Holiness either to give her in marriage or place her in aconvent. Clement VIII took pity on her; compelled Francesco Cenci togive her a dowry of sixty thousand crowns, and married her to CarloGabrielli, of a noble family of Gubbio. Francesco driven nearly franticwith rage when he saw this victim released from his clutches. 

About the same time death relieved him from two other encumbrances: hissons Rocco and Cristoforo were killed within a year of each other; thelatter by a bungling medical practitioner whose name is unknown; theformer by Paolo Corso di Massa, in the streets of Rome. This came as arelief to Francesco, whose avarice pursued his sons even after theirdeath, far he intimated to the priest that he would not spend a farthingon funeral services. They were accordingly borne to the paupers' graveswhich he had caused to be prepared for them, and when he saw them bothinterred, he cried out that he was well rid of such good-for-nothingchildren, but that he should be perfectly happy only when the remainingfive were buried with the first two, and that when he had got rid of thelast he himself would burn down his palace as a bonfire to celebrate theevent. 

But Francesco took every precaution against his second daughter, BeatriceCenci, following the example of her elder sister. She was then a childof twelve or thirteen years of age, beautiful and innocent as an angel. Her long fair hair, a beauty seen so rarely in Italy, that Raffaelle, believing it divine, has appropriated it to all his Madonnas, curtained alovely forehead, and fell in flowing locks over her shoulders. Her azureeyes bore a heavenly expression; she was of middle height, exquisitelyproportioned; and during the rare moments when a gleam of happinessallowed her natural character to display itself, she was lively, joyous, and sympathetic, but at the same time evinced a firm and decideddisposition. 

To make sure of her custody, Francesco kept her shut up in a remoteapartment of his palace, the key of which he kept in his own possession. There, her unnatural and inflexible gaoler daily brought her some food. Up to the age of thirteen, which she had now reached, he had behaved toher with the most extreme harshness and severity; but now, to poorBeatrice's great astonishment, he all at once became gentle and eventender. Beatrice was a child no longer; her beauty expanded like aflower; and Francesco, a stranger to no crime, however heinous, hadmarked her for his own. 

Brought up as she had been, uneducated, deprived of all society, eventhat of her stepmother, Beatrice knew not good from evil: her ruin wascomparatively easy to compass; yet Francesco, to accomplish hisdiabolical purpose, employed all the means at his command. Every nightshe was awakened by a concert of music which seemed to come fromParadise. When she mentioned this to her father, he left her in thisbelief, adding that if she proved gentle and obedient she would berewarded by heavenly sights, as well as heavenly sounds. 

One night it came to pass that as the young girl was reposing, her headsupported on her elbow, and listening to a delightful harmony, thechamber door suddenly opened, and from the darkness of her own room shebeheld a suite of apartments brilliantly illuminated, and sensuous withperfumes; beautiful youths and girls, half clad, such as she had seen inthe pictures of Guido and Raffaelle, moved to and fro in theseapartments, seeming full of joy and happiness: these were the ministersto the pleasures of Francesco, who, rich as a king, every night revelledin the orgies of Alexander, the wedding revels of Lucrezia, and theexcesses of Tiberius at Capri. After an hour, the door closed, and theseductive vision vanished, leaving Beatrice full of trouble andamazement. 

The night following, the same apparition again presented itself, only, onthis occasion, Francesco Cenci, undressed, entered his daughter's roamand invited her to join the fete. Hardly knowing what she did, Beatriceyet perceived the impropriety of yielding to her father's wishes: shereplied that, not seeing her stepmother, Lucrezia Petroni, among allthese women, she dared not leave her bed to mix with persons who wereunknown to her. Francesco threatened and prayed, but threats and prayerswere of no avail. Beatrice wrapped herself up in the bedclothes, andobstinately refused to obey. 

The next night she threw herself on her bed without undressing. At theaccustomed hour the door opened, and the nocturnal spectacle reappeared. This time, Lucrezia Petroni was among the women who passed beforeBeatrice's door; violence had compelled her to undergo this humiliation. Beatrice was too far off to see her blushes and her tears. Francescopointed out her stepmother, whom she had lacked for in vain the previousevening; and as she could no longer make any opposition, he led her, covered with blushes and confusion, into the middle of this orgy. 

Beatrice there saw incredible and infamous things. . . . 

Nevertheless, she resisted a long time: an inward voice told her thatthis was horrible; but Francesco had the slaw persistence of a demon. Tothese sights, calculated to stimulate her passions, he added heresiesdesigned to warp her mind; he told her that the greatest saints veneratedby the Church were the issue of fathers and daughters, and in the endBeatrice committed a crime without even knowing it to be a sin. 

His brutality then knew no bounds. He forced Lucrezia and Beatrice toshare the same bed, threatening his wife to kill her if she disclosed tohis daughter by a single word that there was anything odious in such anintercourse. So matters went on for about three years. 

At this time Francesco was obliged to make a journey, and leave the womenalone and free. The first thing Lucrezia did was to enlighten Beatricean the infamy of the life they were leading; they then together prepareda memorial to the pope, in which they laid before him a statement of allthe blows and outrages they had suffered. But, before leaving, FrancescoCenci had taken precautions; every person about the pope was in his pay, or hoped to be. The petition never reached His Holiness, and the twopoor women, remembering that Clement VIII had on a farmer occasion drivenGiacomo, Cristaforo, and Rocco from his presence, thought they wereincluded in the same proscription, and looked upon themselves asabandoned to their fate. 

When matters were in this state, Giacomo, taking advantage of hisfather's absence, came to pay them a visit with a friend of his, an abbenamed Guerra: he was a young man of twenty-five or twenty-six, belongingto one of the most noble families in Rome, of a bold, resolute, andcourageous character, and idolised by all the Roman ladies for hisbeauty. To classical features he added blue eyes swimming in poeticsentiment; his hair was long and fair, with chestnut beard and eyebrows;add to these attractions a highly educated mind, natural eloquenceexpressed by a musical and penetrating voice, and the reader may formsome idea of Monsignor the Abbe Guerra. 

No sooner had he seen Beatrice than he fell in love with her. On herside, she was not slow to return the sympathy of the young priest. TheCouncil of Trent had not been held at that time, consequentlyecclesiastics were not precluded from marriage. It was therefore decidedthat on the return of Francesco the Abbe Guerra should demand the hand ofBeatrice from her father, and the women, happy in the absence of theirmaster, continued to live on, hoping for better things to come. 

After three or four months, during which no one knew where he was, Francesco returned. The very first night, he wished to resume hisintercourse with Beatrice; but she was no longer the same person, thetimid and submissive child had become a girl of decided will; strong inher love for the abbe, she resisted alike prayers, threats, and blows. 

The wrath of Francesco fell upon his wife, whom he accused of betrayinghim; he gave her a violent thrashing. Lucrezia Petroni was a veritableRoman she-wolf, passionate alike in love and vengeance; she endured all, but pardoned nothing. 

Some days after this, the Abbe Guerra arrived at the Cenci palace tocarry out what had been arranged. Rich, young, noble, and handsome, everything would seem to promise him success; yet he was rudely dismissedby Francesco. The first refusal did not daunt him; he returned to thecharge a second time and yet a third, insisting upon the suitableness ofsuch a union. At length Francesco, losing patience, told this obstinatelover that a reason existed why Beatrice could be neither his wife norany other man's. Guerra demanded what this reason was. Francescoreplied:

"Because she is my mistress. "

Monsignor Guerra turned pale at this answer, although at first he did notbelieve a word of it; but when he saw the smile with which FrancescoCenci accompanied his words, he was compelled to believe that, terriblethough it was, the truth had been spoken. 

For three days he sought an interview with Beatrice in vain; at length hesucceeded in finding her. His last hope was her denial of this horriblestory: Beatrice confessed all. Henceforth there was no human hope forthe two lovers; an impassable gulf separated them. They parted bathed intears, promising to love one another always. 

Up to that time the two women had not formed any criminal resolution, andpossibly the tragical incident might never have happened, had not Francesone night returned into his daughter's room and violently forced her intothe commission of fresh crime. 

Henceforth the doom of Francesco was irrevocably pronounced. 

As we have said, the mind of Beatrice was susceptible to the best and theworst influences: it could attain excellence, and descend to guilt. Shewent and told her mother of the fresh outrage she had undergone; thisroused in the heart of the other woman the sting of her own wrongs; and, stimulating each other's desire for revenge, they, decided upon themurder of Francesco. 

Guerra was called in to this council of death. His heart was a prey tohatred and revenge. He undertook to communicate with Giacomo Cenci, without whose concurrence the women would not act, as he was the head ofthe family, when his father was left out of account. 

Giacomo entered readily into the conspiracy. It will be remembered whathe had formerly suffered from his father; since that time he had married, and the close-fisted old man had left him, with his wife and children, tolanguish in poverty. Guerra's house was selected to meet in and concertmatters. 

Giacomo hired a sbirro named Marzio, and Guerra a second named Olympio. 

Both these men had private reasons for committing the crime--one beingactuated by love, the other by hatred. Marzio, who was in the service ofGiacomo, had often seen Beatrice, and loved her, but with that silent andhopeless love which devours the soul. When he conceived that theproposed crime would draw him nearer to Beatrice, he accepted his part init without any demur. 

As for Olympio, he hated Francesco, because the latter had caused him tolose the post of castellan of Rocco Petrella, a fortified stronghold inthe kingdom of Naples, belonging to Prince Colonna. Almost every yearFrancesco Cenci spent some months at Rocco Petrella with his family; forPrince Colonna, a noble and magnificent but needy prince, had much esteemfor Francesco, whose purse he found extremely useful. It had so happenedthat Francesco, being dissatisfied with Olympio, complained about him toPrince Colonna, and he was dismissed. 

After several consultations between the Cenci family, the abbe and thesbirri, the following plan of action was decided upon. 

The period when Francesco Cenci was accustomed to go to Rocco Petrellawas approaching: it was arranged that Olympio, conversant with thedistrict and its inhabitants, should collect a party of a dozenNeapolitan bandits, and conceal them in a forest through which thetravellers would have to pass. Upon a given signal, the whole familywere to be seized and carried off. A heavy ransom was to be demanded, and the sons were to be sent back to Rome to raise the sum; but, underpretext of inability to do so, they were to allow the time fixed by thebandits to lapse, when Francesco was to be put to death. Thus allsuspicions of a plot would be avoided, and the real assassins wouldescape justice. 

This well-devised scheme was nevertheless unsuccessful. When Francescoleft Rome, the scout sent in advance by the conspirators could not findthe bandits; the latter, not being warned beforehand, failed to come downbefore the passage of the travellers, who arrived safe and sound at RoccoPetreila. The bandits, after having patrolled the road in vain, came tothe conclusion that their prey had escaped, and, unwilling to stay anylonger in a place where they had already spent a week, went off in questof better luck elsewhere. 

Francesco had in the meantime settled down in the fortress, and, to bemore free to tyrannise over Lucrezia and Beatrice, sent back to RomeGiacomo and his two other sons. He then recommenced his infamousattempts upon Beatrice, and with such persistence, that she resolvedherself to accomplish the deed which at first she desired to entrust toother hands. 

Olympio and Marzio, who had nothing to fear from justice, remainedlurking about the castle; one day Beatrice saw them from a window, andmade signs that she had something to communicate to them. The same nightOlympio, who having been castellan knew all the approaches to thefortress, made his way there with his companion. Beatrice awaited themat a window which looked on to a secluded courtyard; she gave themletters which she had written to her brother and to Monsignor Guerra. The former was to approve, as he had done before, the murder of theirfather; for she would do nothing without his sanction. As for MonsignorGuerra, he was to pay Olympio a thousand piastres, half the stipulatedsum; Marzio acting out of pure love for Beatrice, whom he worshipped as aMadonna; which observing, the girl gave him a handsome scarlet mantle, trimmed with gold lace, telling him to wear it for love of her. As forthe remaining moiety, it was to be paid when the death of the old man hadplaced his wife and daughter in possession of his fortune. 

The two sbirri departed, and the imprisoned conspirators anxiouslyawaited their return. On the day fixed, they were seen again. MonsignorGuerra had paid the thousand piastres, and Giacomo had given his consent. Nothing now stood in the way of the execution of this terrible deed, which was fixed for the 8th of September, the day of the Nativity of theVirgin; but Signora Lucrezia, a very devout person, having noticed thiscircumstance, would not be a party to the committal of a double sin; thematter was therefore deferred till the next day, the 9th. 

That evening, the 9th of September, 1598, the two women, supping with theold man, mixed some narcotic with his wine so adroitly that, suspiciousthough he was, he never detected it, and having swallowed the potion, soon fell into a deep sleep. 

The evening previous, Marzio and Olympio had been admitted into thecastle, where they had lain concealed all night and all day; for, as willbe remembered, the assassination would have been effected the day beforehad it not been for the religious scruples of Signora Lucrezia Petroni. Towards midnight, Beatrice fetched them out of their hiding-place, andtook them to her father's chamber, the door of which she herself opened. The assassins entered, and the two women awaited the issue in the roomadjoining. 

After a moment, seeing the sbirri reappear pale and nerveless, shakingtheir heads without speaking, they at once inferred that nothing had beendone. 

"What is the matter?" cried Beatrice; "and what hinders you?"

"It is a cowardly act, " replied the assassins, "to kill a poor old man inhis sleep. At the thought of his age, we were struck with pity. "

Then Beatrice disdainfully raised her head, and in a deep firm . Voicethus reproached them. 

"Is it possible that you, who pretend to be brave and strong, have notcourage enough to kill a sleeping old man? How would it be if he wereawake? And thus you steal our money! Very well: since your cowardicecompels me to do so, I will kill my father myself; but you will not longsurvive him. "

Hearing these words, the sbirri felt ashamed of their irresolution, and, indicating by signs that they would fulfil their compact, they enteredthe room, accompanied by the two women. As they had said, a ray ofmoonlight shone through the open window, and brought into prominence thetranquil face of the old man, the sight of whose white hair had soaffected them. 

This time they showed no mercy. One of them carried two great nails, such as those portrayed in pictures of the Crucifixion; the other bore amallet: the first placed a nail upright over one of the old man's eyes;the other struck it with the hammer, and drove it into his head. Thethroat was pierced in the same way with the second nail; and thus theguilty soul, stained throughout its career with crimes of violence, wasin its turn violently torn from the body, which lay writhing on the floorwhere it had rolled. 

The young girl then, faithful to her word, handed the sbirri a largepurse containing the rest of the sum agreed upon, and they left. Whenthey found themselves alone, the women drew the nails out of the wounds, wrapped the corpse in a sheet, and dragged it through the rooms towards asmall rampart, intending to throw it down into a garden which had beenallowed to run to waste. They hoped that the old man's death would beattributed to his having accidentally fallen off the terrace on his wayin the dark to a closet at the end of the gallery. But their strengthfailed them when they reached the door of the last room, and, whileresting there, Lucrezia perceived the two sbirri, sharing the moneybefore making their escape. At her call they came to her, carried thecorpse to the rampart, and, from a spot pointed out by the women, wherethe terrace was unfenced by any parapet, they threw it into an elder treebelow, whose branches retained' it suspended. 

When the body was found the following morning hanging in the branches ofthe elder tree, everybody supposed, as Beatrice and her stepmother hadforeseen, that Francesco, stepping over the edge of the 386 terrace inthe dark, had thus met his end. The body was so scratched and disfiguredthat no one noticed the wounds made by the two nails. The ladies, as soonas the news was imparted to them, came out from their rooms, weeping andlamenting in so natural a manner as to disarm any suspicions. The onlyperson who formed any was the laundress to whom Beatrice entrusted thesheet in which her father's body had been wrapped, accounting for itsbloody condition by a lame explanation, which the laundress acceptedwithout question, or pretended to do so; and immediately after thefuneral, the mourners returned to Rome, hoping at length to enjoyquietude and peace. For some time, indeed, they did enjoy tranquillity, perhaps poisoned by remorse, but ere long retribution pursued them. Thecourt of Naples, hearing of the sudden and unexpected death of FrancescoCenci, and conceiving some suspicions of violence, despatched a royalcommissioner to Petrella to exhume the body and make minute inquiries, ifthere appeared to be adequate grounds for doing so. On his arrival allthe domestics in the castle were placed under arrest and sent in chainsto Naples. No incriminating proofs, however, were found, except in theevidence of the laundress, who deposed that Beatrice had given her abloodstained sheet to wash. This, clue led to terrible consequences;for, further questioned she declared that she could not believe theexplanation given to account for its condition. The evidence was sent tothe Roman court; but at that period it did not appear strong enough towarrant the arrest of the Cenci family, who remained undisturbed for manymonths, during which time the youngest boy died. Of the five brothersthere only remained Giacomo, the eldest, and Bernardo, the youngest butone. Nothing prevented them from escaping to Venice or Florence; butthey remained quietly in Rome. 

Meantime Monsignor Guerra received private information that, shortlybefore the death of Francesco, Marzio and Olympio had been seen prowlinground the castle, and that the Neapolitan police had received orders toarrest them. 

The monsignor was a most wary man, and very difficult to catch nappingwhen warned in time. He immediately hired two other sbirri toassassinate Marzio and Olympio. The one commissioned to put Olympio outof the way came across him at Terni, and conscientiously did his workwith a poniard, but Marzio's man unfortunately arrived at Naples toolate, and found his bird already in the hands of the police. 

He was put to the torture, and confessed everything. His deposition wassent to Rome, whither he shortly afterwards followed it, to be confrontedwith the accused. Warrants were immediately issued for the arrest ofGiacomo, Bernardo, Lucrezia, and Beatrice; they were at first confined inthe Cenci palace under a strong guard, but the proofs against thembecoming stronger and stronger, they were removed to the castle of CorteSavella, where they were confronted with Marzio; but they obstinatelydenied both any complicity in the crime and any knowledge of theassassin. Beatrice, above all, displayed the greatest assurance, demanding to be the first to be confronted with Marzio; whose mendacityshe affirmed with such calm dignity, that he, more than ever smitten byher beauty, determined, since he could not live for her, to save her byhis death. Consequently, he declared all his statements to be false, andasked forgiveness from God and from Beatrice; neither threats nortortures could make him recant, and he died firm in his denial, underfrightful tortures. The Cenci then thought themselves safe. 

God's justice, however, still pursued them. The sbirro who had killedOlympio happened to be arrested for another crime, and, making a cleanbreast, confessed that he had been employed by Monsignor Guerra--to putout of the way a fellow-assassin named Olympio, who knew too many of themonsignor's secrets. 

Luckily for himself, Monsignor Guerra heard of this opportunely. A manof infinite resource, he lost not a moment in timid or irresolute plans, but as it happened that at the very moment when he was warned, thecharcoal dealer who supplied his house with fuel was at hand, he sent forhim, purchased his silence with a handsome bribe, and then, buying foralmost their weight in gold the dirty old clothes which he wore, heassumed these, cut off all his beautiful cherished fair hair, stained hisbeard, smudged his face, bought two asses, laden with charcoal, andlimped up and down the streets of Rome, crying, "Charcoal! charcoal!"Then, whilst all the detectives were hunting high and low for him, he gotout of the city, met a company of merchants under escort, joined them, and reached Naples, where he embarked. What ultimately became of him wasnever known; it has been asserted, but without confirmation, that hesucceeded--in reaching France, and enlisted in a Swiss regiment in thepay of Henry IV. 

The confession of the sbirro and the disappearance of Monsignor Guerraleft no moral doubt of the guilt of the Cenci. They were consequentlysent from the castle to the prison; the two brothers, when put to thetorture, broke down and confessed their guilt. Lucrezia Petroni's fullhabit of body rendered her unable to bear the torture of the rope, and, on being suspended in the air, begged to be lowered, when she confessedall she knew. 

As for Beatrice, she continued unmoved; neither promises, threats, nortorture had any effect upon her; she bore everything unflinchingly, andthe judge Ulysses Moscati himself, famous though he was in such matters, failed to draw from her a single incriminating word. Unwilling to takeany further responsibility, he referred the case to Clement VIII; and thepope, conjecturing that the judge had been too lenient in applying thetorture to, a young and beautiful Roman lady, took it out of his handsand entrusted it to another judge, whose severity and insensibility toemotion were undisputed. 

This latter reopened the whole interrogatory, and as Beatrice up to thattime had only been subjected to the ordinary torture, he gaveinstructions to apply both the ordinary and extraordinary. This was therope and pulley, one of the most terrible inventions ever devised by themost ingenious of tormentors. 

To make the nature of this horrid torture plain to our readers, we give adetailed description of it, adding an extract of the presiding judge'sreport of the case, taken from the Vatican manuscripts. 

Of the various forms of torture then used in Rome the most common werethe whistle, the fire, the sleepless, and the rope. 

The mildest, the torture of the whistle, was used only in the case ofchildren and old persons; it consisted in thrusting between the nails andthe flesh reeds cut in the shape of whistles. 

The fire, frequently employed before the invention of the sleeplesstorture, was simply roasting the soles of the feet before a hot fire. 

The sleepless torture, invented by Marsilius, was worked by forcing theaccused into an angular frame of wood about five feet high, the suffererbeing stripped and his arms tied behind his back to the frame; two men, relieved every five hours, sat beside him, and roused him the moment heclosed his eyes. Marsilius says he has never found a man proof againstthis torture; but here he claims more than he is justly entitled to. Farinacci states that, out of one hundred accused persons subjected toit, five only refused to confess--a very satisfactory result for theinventor. 

Lastly comes the torture of the rope and pulley, the most in vogue ofall, and known in other Latin countries as the strappado. 

It was divided into three degrees of intensity--the slight, the severe, and the very severe. 

The first, or slight torture, which consisted mainly in the apprehensionsit caused, comprised the threat of severe torture, introduction into thetorture chamber, stripping, and the tying of the rope in readiness forits appliance. To increase the terror these preliminaries excited, apang of physical pain was added by tightening a cord round the wrists. This often sufficed to extract a confession from women or men of highlystrung nerves. 

The second degree, or severe torture, consisted in fastening thesufferer, stripped naked, and his hands tied behind his back, by thewrists to one end of a rope passed round a pulley bolted into the vaultedceiling, the other end being attached to a windlass, by turning which hecould be hoisted, into the air, and dropped again, either slowly or witha jerk, as ordered by the judge. The suspension generally lasted duringthe recital of a Pater Noster, an Ave Maria, or a Miserere; if theaccused persisted in his denial, it was doubled. This second degree, thelast of the ordinary torture, was put in practice when the crime appearedreasonably probable but was not absolutely proved. 

The third, or very severe, the first of the extraordinary forms oftorture, was so called when the sufferer, having hung suspended by thewrists, for sometimes a whole hour, was swung about by the executioner, either like the pendulum of a clock, or by elevating him with thewindlass and dropping him to within a foot or two of the ground. If hestood this torture, a thing almost unheard of, seeing that it cut theflesh of the wrist to the bone and dislocated the limbs, weights wereattached to the feet, thus doubling the torture. This last form oftorture was only applied when an atrocious crime had been proved to havebeen committed upon a sacred person, such as a priest, a cardinal, aprince, or an eminent and learned man. 

Having seen that Beatrice was sentenced to the torture ordinary andextraordinary, and having explained the nature of these tortures, weproceed to quote the official report:--

"And as in reply to every question she would confess nothing, we causedher to be taken by two officers and led from the prison to the torturechamber, where the torturer was in attendance; there, after cutting offher hair, he made her sit on a small stool, undressed her, pulled off hershoes, tied her hands behind her back, fastened them to a rope passedover a pulley bolted into the ceiling of the aforesaid chamber, and woundup at the other end by a four lever windlass, worked by two men. "

"Before hoisting her from the ground we again interrogated her touchingthe aforesaid parricide; but notwithstanding the confessions of herbrother and her stepmother, which were again produced, bearing theirsignatures, she persisted in denying everything, saying, 'Haul me aboutand do what you like with me; I have spoken the truth, and will tell younothing else, even if I were torn to pieces. '

"Upon this we had her hoisted in the air by the wrists to the height ofabout two feet from the ground, while we recited a Pater Noster; and thenagain questioned her as to the facts and circumstances of the aforesaidparricide; but she would make no further answer, only saying, 'You arekilling me! You are killing me!'

"We then raised her to the elevation of four feet, and began an AveMaria. But before our prayer was half finished she fainted away; orpretended to do so. 

"We caused a bucketful of water to be thrown over her head; feeling itscoolness, she recovered consciousness, and cried, 'My God! I am dead!You are killing me! My God!' But this was all she would say. 

"We then raised her higher still, and recited a Miserere, during which, instead of joining in the prayer, she shook convulsively and criedseveral times, 'My God! My God!'

"Again questioned as to the aforesaid parricide, she would confessnothing, saying only that she was innocent, and then again fainted away. 

"We caused more water to be thrown over her; then she recovered hersenses, opened her eyes, and cried, 'O cursed executioners! You arekilling me! You are killing me!' But nothing more would she say. 

"Seeing which, and that she persisted in her denial, we ordered thetorturer to proceed to the torture by jerks. 

"He accordingly hoisted her ten feet from the ground, and when there weenjoined her to tell the truth; but whether she would not or could notspeak, she answered only by a motion of the head indicating that shecould say nothing. 

"Seeing which, we made a sign to the executioner, to let go the rope, andshe fell with all her weight from the height of ten feet to that of twofeet; her arms, from the shock, were dislocated from their sockets; sheuttered a loud cry, and swooned away. 

"We again caused water to be dashed in her face; she returned to herself, and again cried out, 'Infamous assassins! You are killing me; but wereyou to tear out my arms, I would tell you nothing else. '

"Upon this, we ordered a weight of fifty pounds to be fastened to herfeet. But at this moment the door opened, and many voices cried, 'Enough! Enough! Do not torture her any more!'"

These voices were those of Giacomo, Bernardo, and Lucrezia Petroni. Thejudges, perceiving the obstinacy of Beatrice, had ordered that theaccused, who had been separated for five months, should be confronted. 

They advanced into the torture chamber, and seeing Beatrice hanging bythe wrists, her arms disjointed, and covered with blood, Giacomo criedout:--

"The sin is committed; nothing further remains but to save our souls byrepentance, undergo death courageously, and not suffer you to be thustortured. "

Then said Beatrice, shaking her head as if to cast off grief--

"Do you then wish to die? Since you wish it, be it so. "

Then turning to the officers:--

"Untie me, " said she, "read the examination to me; and what I have toconfess, I will confess; what I have to deny, I will deny. "

Beatrice was then lowered and untied; a barber reduced the dislocation ofher arms in the usual manner; the examination was read over to her, and, as she had promised, she made a full confession. 

After this confession, at the request of the two brothers, they were allconfined in the same prison; but the next day Giacomo and Bernardo weretaken to the cells of Tordinona; as for the women, they remained wherethey were. 

The pope was so horrified on reading the particulars of the crimecontained in the confessions, that he ordered the culprits to be draggedby wild horses through the streets of Rome. But so barbarous a sentenceshocked the public mind, so much so that many persons of princely rankpetitioned the Holy Father on their knees, imploring him to reconsiderhis decree, or at least allow the accused to be heard in their defence. 

"Tell me, " replied Clement VIII, "did they give their unhappy father timeto be heard in his own defence, when they slew him in so merciless anddegrading a fashion?"

At length, overcome by so many entreaties, he respited them for threedays. 

The most eloquent and skilful advocates in Rome immediately busiedthemselves in preparing pleadings for so emotional a case, and on the dayfixed for hearing appeared before His Holiness. 

The first pleader was Nicolo degli Angeli, who spoke with such force andeloquence that the pope, alarmed at the effect he was producing among theaudience, passionately interrupted him. 

"Are there then to be found, " he indignantly cried, "among the Romannobility children capable of killing their parents, and among Romanlawyers men capable of speaking in their defence? This is a thing weshould never have believed, nor even for a moment supposed it possible!"

All were silent upon this terrible rebuke, except Farinacci, who, nervinghimself with a strong sense of duty, replied respectfully but firmly--

"Most Holy Father, we are not here to defend criminals, but to save theinnocent; for if we succeeded in proving that any of the accused acted inself-defence, I hope that they will be exonerated in the eyes of yourHoliness; for just as the law provides for cases in which the father maylegally kill the child, so this holds good in the converse. We willtherefore continue our pleadings on receiving leave from your Holiness todo so. "

Clement VIII then showed himself as patient as he had previously beenhasty, and heard the argument of Farinacci, who pleaded that FrancescoCenci had lost all the rights of a father from, the day that he violatedhis daughter. In support of his contention he wished to put in thememorial sent by Beatrice to His Holiness, petitioning him, as her sisterhad done, to remove her from the paternal roof and place her in aconvent. Unfortunately, this petition had disappeared, andnotwithstanding the minutest search among the papal documents, no traceof it could be found. 

The pope had all the pleadings collected, and dismissed the advocates, who then retired, excepting d'Altieri, who knelt before him, saying--

"Most Holy Father, I humbly ask pardon for appearing before you in thiscase, but I had no choice in the matter, being the advocate of the poor. "

The pope kindly raised him, saying:

"Go; we are not surprised at your conduct, but at that of others, whoprotect and defend criminals. "

As the pope took a great interest in this case, he sat up all night overit, studying it with Cardinal di San Marcello, a man of much acumen andgreat experience in criminal cases. Then, having summed it up, he sent adraft of his opinion to the advocates, who read it with greatsatisfaction, and entertained hopes that the lives of the convictedpersons would be spared; for the evidence all went to prove that even ifthe children had taken their father's life, all the provocation came fromhim, and that Beatrice in particular had been dragged into the part shehad taken in this crime by the tyranny, wickedness, and brutality of herfather. Under the influence of these considerations the pope mitigatedthe severity of their prison life, and even allowed the prisoners to hopethat their lives would not be forfeited. 

Amidst the general feeling of relief afforded to the public by thesefavours, another tragical event changed the papal mind and frustrated allhis humane intentions. This was the atrocious murder of the Marchese diSanta Croce, a man seventy years of age, by his son Paolo, who stabbedhim with a dagger in fifteen or twenty places, because the father wouldnot promise to make Paolo his sole heir. The murderer fled and escaped. 

Clement VIII was horror-stricken at the increasing frequency of thiscrime of parricide: for the moment, however, he was unable to takeaction, having to go to Monte Cavallo to consecrate a cardinal titularbishop in the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli; but the day following, on Friday the 10th of September 1599, at eight o'clock in the morning, hesummoned Monsignor Taverna, governor of Rome, and said to him--

"Monsignor, we place in your hands the Cenci case, that you may carry outthe sentence as speedily as possible. "

On his return to his palace, after leaving His Holiness, the governorconvened a meeting of all the criminal judges in the city, the result ofthe council being that all the Cenci were condemned to death. 

The final sentence was immediately known; and as this unhappy familyinspired a constantly increasing interest, many cardinals spent the wholeof the night either on horseback or in their carriages, making interestthat, at least so far as the women were concerned, they should be put todeath privately and in the prison, and that a free pardon should begranted to Bernardo, a poor lad only fifteen years of age, who, guiltlessof any participation in the crime, yet found himself involved in itsconsequences. The one who interested himself most in the case wasCardinal Sforza, who nevertheless failed to elicit a single gleam ofhope, so obdurate was His Holiness. At length Farinacci, working on thepapal conscience, succeeded, after long and urgent entreaties, and onlyat the last moment, that the life of Bernardo should be spared. 

From Friday evening the members of the brotherhood of the Conforteria hadgathered at the two prisons of Corte Savella and Tordinona. Thepreparations for the closing scene of the tragedy had occupied workmen onthe bridge of Sant' Angelo all night; and it was not till five o'clock inthe morning that the registrar entered the cell of Lucrezia and Beatriceto read their sentences to them. 

Both were sleeping, calm in the belief of a reprieve. The registrar wokethem, and told them that, judged by man, they must now prepare to appearbefore God. 

Beatrice was at first thunderstruck: she seemed paralysed and speechless;then she rose from bed, and staggering as if intoxicated, recovered herspeech, uttering despairing cries. Lucrezia heard the tidings with morefirmness, and proceeded to dress herself to go to the chapel, exhortingBeatrice to resignation; but she, raving, wrung her, hands and struck herhead against the wall, shrieking, "To die! to die! Am I to dieunprepared, on a scaffold! on a gibbet! My God! my God!" This fit ledto a terrible paroxysm, after which the exhaustion of her body enabledher mind to recover its balance, and from that moment she became an angelof humility and an example of resignation. 

Her first request was for a notary to make her will. This wasimmediately complied with, and on his arrival she dictated its provisionswith much calmness and precision. Its last clause desired her intermentin the church of San Pietro in Montorio, for which she always had astrong attachment, as it commanded a view of her father's palace. Shebequeathed five hundred crowns to the nuns of the order of the Stigmata, and ordered that her dowry; amounting to fifteen thousand crowns, shouldbe distributed in marriage portions to fifty poor girls. She selectedthe foot of the high altar as the place where she wished to be buried, over which hung the beautiful picture of the Transfiguration, so oftenadmired by her during her life. 

Following her example, Lucrezia in her turn, disposed of her property:she desired to be buried in the church of San Giorgio di Velobre, andleft thirty-two thousand crowns to charities, with other pious legacies. Having settled their earthly affairs, they joined in prayer, recitingpsalms, litanies, and prayers far the dying. 

At eight o'clock they confessed, heard mass, and received the sacraments;after which Beatrice, observing to her stepmother that the rich dressesthey wore were out of place on a scaffold, ordered two to be made innun's fashion--that is to say, gathered at the neck, with long widesleeves. That for Lucrezia was made of black cotton stuff, Beatrice's oftaffetas. In addition she had a small black turban made to place on herhead. These dresses, with cords for girdles, were brought them; theywere placed on a chair, while the women continued to pray. 

The time appointed being near at hand, they were informed that their lastmoment was approaching. Then Beatrice, who was still on her knees, rosewith a tranquil and almost joyful countenance. "Mother, " said she, "themoment of our suffering is impending; I think we had better dress inthese clothes, and help one another at our toilet for the last time. "They then put on the dresses provided, girt themselves with the cords;Beatrice placed her turban on her head, and they awaited the lastsummons. 

In the meantime, Giacomo and Bernardo, whose sentences had been read tothem, awaited also the moment of their death. About ten o'clock themembers of the Confraternity of Mercy, a Florentine order, arrived at theprison of Tordinona, and halted on the threshold with the crucifix, awaiting the appearance of the unhappy youths. Here a serious accidenthad nearly happened. As many persons were at the prison windows to seethe prisoners come out, someone accidentally threw down a largeflower-pot full of earth, which fell into the street and narrowly missedone of the Confraternity who was amongst the torch-bearers just beforethe crucifix. It passed so close to the torch as to extinguish the flamein its descent. 

At this moment the gates opened, and Giacomo appeared first on thethreshold. He fell on his knees, adoring the holy crucifix with greatdevotion. He was completely covered with a large mourning cloak, underwhich his bare breast was prepared to be torn by the red-hot pincers ofthe executioner, which were lying ready in a chafing-dish fixed to thecart. Having ascended the vehicle, in which the executioner placed himso as more readily to perform this office, Bernardo came out, and wasthus addressed on his appearance by the fiscal of Rome--

"Signor Bernardo Cenci, in the name of our blessed Redeemer, our HolyFather the Pope spares your life; with the sole condition that youaccompany your relatives to the scaffold and to their death, and neverforget to pray for those with whom you were condemned to die. "

At this unexpected intelligence, a loud murmur of joy spread among thecrowd, and the members of the Confraternity immediately untied the smallmask which covered the youth's eyes; for, owing to his tender age, it hadbeen thought proper to conceal the scaffold from his sight. 

Then the executioner; having disposed of Giacomo, came down from the cartto take Bernardo; whose pardon being formally communicated to him, hetook off his handcuffs, and placed him alongside his brother, coveringhim up with a magnificent cloak embroidered with gold, for the neck andshoulders of the poor lad had been already bared, as a preliminary to hisdecapitation. People were surprised to see such a rich cloak in thepossession of the executioner, but were told that it was the one given byBeatrice to Marzio to pledge him to the murder of her father, which fellto the executioner as a perquisite after the execution of the assassin. The sight of the great assemblage of people produced such an effect uponthe boy that he fainted. 

The procession then proceeded to the prison of Corte Savella, marching tothe sound of funeral chants. At its gates the sacred crucifix halted forthe women to join: they soon appeared, fell on their knees, andworshipped the holy symbol as the others had done. The march to thescaffold was then resumed. 

The two female prisoners followed the last row of penitents in singlefile, veiled to the waist, with the distinction that Lucrezia, as awidow, wore a black veil and high-heeled slippers of the same hue, withbows of ribbon, as was the fashion; whilst Beatrice, as a young unmarriedgirl, wore a silk flat cap to match her corsage, with a plush hood, whichfell over her shoulders and covered her violet frock; white slippers withhigh heels, ornamented with gold rosettes and cherry-coloured fringe. The arms of both were untrammelled, except far a thin slack cord whichleft their hands free to carry a crucifix and a handkerchief. 

During the night a lofty scaffold had been erected on the bridge of Sant'Angelo, and the plank and block were placed thereon. Above the block washung, from a large cross beam, a ponderous axe, which, guided by twogrooves, fell with its whole weight at the touch of a spring. 

In this formation the procession wended its way towards the bridge ofSant' Angela. Lucrezia, the more broken down of the two, wept bitterly;but Beatrice was firm and unmoved. On arriving at the open space beforethe bridge, the women were led into a chapel, where they were shortlyjoined by Giacomo and Bernardo; they remained together for a few moments, when the brothers were led away to the scaffold, although one was to beexecuted last, and the other was pardoned. But when they had mounted theplatform, Bernardo fainted a second time; and as the executioner wasapproaching to his assistance, some of the crowd, supposing that hisobject was to decapitate him, cried loudly, "He is pardoned!" Theexecutioner reassured them by seating Bernardo near the block, Giacomokneeling on the other side. 

Then the executioner descended, entered the chapel, and reappearedleading Lucrezia, who was the first to suffer. At the foot of thescaffold he tied her hands behind her back, tore open the top of hercorsage so as to uncover her shoulders, gave her the crucifix to kiss, and led her to the step ladder, which she ascended with great difficulty, on account of her extreme stoutness; then, on her reaching the platform, he removed the veil which covered her head. On this exposure of herfeatures to the immense crowd, Lucrezia shuddered from head to foot;then, her eyes full of tears, she cried with a loud voice--

"O my God, have mercy upon me; and do you, brethren, pray for my soul!"

Having uttered these words, not knowing what was required of her, sheturned to Alessandro, the chief executioner, and asked what she was todo; he told her to bestride the plank and lie prone upon it; which shedid with great trouble and timidity; but as she was unable, on account ofthe fullness of her bust, to lay her neck upon the block, this had to beraised by placing a billet of wood underneath it; all this time the poorwoman, suffering even more from shame than from fear, was kept insuspense; at length, when she was properly adjusted, the executionertouched the spring, the knife fell, and the decapitated head, falling onthe platform of the scaffold, bounded two or three times in the air, tothe general horror; the executioner then seized it, showed it to themultitude, and wrapping it in black taffetas, placed it with the body ona bier at the foot of the scaffold. 

Whilst arrangements were being made for the decapitation of Beatrice, several stands, full of spectators, broke down; some people were killedby this accident, and still more lamed and injured. 

The machine being now rearranged and washed, the executioner returned tothe chapel to take charge of Beatrice, who, on seeing the sacredcrucifix, said some prayers for her soul, and on her hands being tied, cried out, "God grant that you be binding this body unto corruption, andloosing this soul unto life eternal!" She then arose, proceeded to theplatform, where she devoutly kissed the stigmata; then leaving herslippers at the foot of the scaffold, she nimbly ascended the ladder, andinstructed beforehand, promptly lay down on the plank, without exposingher naked shoulders. But her precautions to shorten the bitterness ofdeath were of no avail, for the pope, knowing her impetuous disposition, and fearing lest she might be led into the commission of some sin betweenabsolution and death, had given orders that the moment Beatrice wasextended on the scaffold a signal gun should be fired from the castle ofSant' Angelo; which was done, to the great astonishment of everybody, including Beatrice herself, who, not expecting this explosion, raisedherself almost upright; the pope meanwhile, who was praying at MonteCavallo, gave her absolution 'in articulo mortis'. About five minutesthus passed, during which the sufferer waited with her head replaced onthe block; at length, when the executioner judged that the absolution hadbeen given, he released the spring, and the axe fell. 

A gruesome sight was then afforded: whilst the head bounced away on oneside of the block, on the other the body rose erect, as if about to stepbackwards; the executioner exhibited the head, and disposed of it and thebody as before. He wished to place Beatrice's body with that of herstepmother, but the brotherhood of Mercy took it out of his hands, and asone of them was attempting to lay it on the bier, it slipped from him andfell from the scaffold to the ground below; the dress being partiallytorn from the body, which was so besmeared with dust and blood that muchtime was occupied in washing it. Poor Bernardo was so overcome by thishorrible scene that he swooned away for the third time, and it wasnecessary to revive him with stimulants to witness the fate of his elderbrother. 

The turn of Giacomo at length arrived: he had witnessed the death of hisstepmother and his sister, and his clothes were covered with their blood;the executioner approached him and tore off his cloak, exposing his barebreast covered with the wounds caused by the grip of red-hot pincers; inthis state, and half-naked, he rose to his feet, and turning to hisbrother, said--

"Bernardo, if in my examination I have compromised and accused you, Ihave done so falsely, and although I have already disavowed thisdeclaration, I repeat, at the moment of appearing before God, that youare innocent, and that it is a cruel abuse of justice to compel you towitness this frightful spectacle. "

The executioner then made him kneel down, bound his legs to one of thebeams erected on the scaffold, and having bandaged his eyes, shatteredhis head with a blow of his mallet; then, in the sight of all, he hackedhis body into four quarters. The official party then left, taking withthem Bernardo, who, being in a state of high fever, was bled and put tobed. 

The corpses of the two ladies were laid out each on its bier under thestatue of St. Paul, at the foot of the bridge, with four torches of whitewax, which burned till four o'clock in the afternoon; then, along withthe remains of Giacomo, they were taken to the church of San GiovanniDecollato; finally, about nine in the evening, the body of Beatrice, covered with flowers, and attired in the dress worn at her execution, wascarried to the church of San Pietro in Montorio, with fifty lightedtorches, and followed by the brethren of the order of the Stigmata andall the Franciscan monks in Rome; there, agreeably to her wish, it wasburied at the foot of the high altar. 

The same evening Signora Lucrezia was interred, as she had desired to be, in the church of San Giorgio di Velobre. 

All Rome may be said to have been present at this tragedy, carriages, horses, foot people, and cars crowding as it were upon one another. Theday was unfortunately so hot, and the sun so scorching, that many personsfainted, others returned home stricken with fever, and some even diedduring the night, owing to sunstroke from exposure during the three hoursoccupied by the execution. 

The Tuesday following, the 14th of September; being the Feast of the HolyCross, the brotherhood of San Marcello, by special licence of the pope, set at liberty the unhappy Bernardo Cenci, with the condition of payingwithin the year two thousand five hundred Roman crowns to the brotherhoodof the most Holy Trinity of Pope Sixtus, as may be found to-day recordedin their archives. 

Having now seen the tomb, if you desire to form a more vivid impressionof the principal actors in this tragedy than can be derived from anarrative, pay a visit to the Barberini Gallery, where you will see, withfive other masterpieces by Guido, the portrait of Beatrice, taken, somesay the night before her execution, others during her progress to thescaffold; it is the head of a lovely girl, wearing a headdress composedof a turban with a lappet. The hair is of a rich fair chestnut hue; thedark eyes are moistened with recent tears; a perfectly farmed nosesurmounts an infantile mouth; unfortunately, the loss of tone in thepicture since it was painted has destroyed the original fair complexion. The age of the subject may be twenty, or perhaps twenty-two years. 

Near this portrait is that of Lucrezia Petrani the small head indicates aperson below the middle height; the attributes are those of a Romanmatron in her pride; her high complexion, graceful contour, straightnose, black eyebrows, and expression at the same time imperious andvoluptuous indicate this character to the life; a smile still seems tolinger an the charming dimpled cheeks and perfect mouth mentioned by thechronicler, and her face is exquisitely framed by luxuriant curls fallingfrom her forehead in graceful profusion. 

As for Giacomo and Bernardo, as no portraits of them are in existence, weare obliged to gather an idea of their appearance from the manuscriptwhich has enabled us to compile this sanguinary history; they are thusdescribed by the eye-witness of the closing scene--Giacomo was short, well-made and strong, with black hair and beard; he appeared to be abouttwenty-six years of age. 

Poor Bernardo was the image of his sister, so nearly resembling her, thatwhen he mounted the scaffold his long hair and girlish face led people tosuppose him to be Beatrice herself: he might be fourteen or fifteen yearsof age. 

The peace of God be with them!

MASSACRES OF THE SOUTH--1551-1815

CHAPTER I

It is possible that our reader, whose recollections may perhaps go backas far as the Restoration, will be surprised at the size of the framerequired for the picture we are about to bring before him, embracing asit does two centuries and a half; but as everything, has its precedent, every river its source, every volcano its central fire, so it is that thespot of earth on which we are going to fix our eyes has been the scene ofaction and reaction, revenge and retaliation, till the religious annalsof the South resemble an account-book kept by double entry, in whichfanaticism enters the profits of death, one side being written with theblood of Catholics, the other with that of Protestants. 

In the great political and religious convulsions of the South, theearthquake-like throes of which were felt even in the capital, Nimes hasalways taken the central place; Nimes will therefore be the pivot roundwhich our story will revolve, and though we may sometimes leave it for amoment, we shall always return thither without fail. 

Nimes was reunited to France by Louis VIII, the government being takenfrom its vicomte, Bernard Athon VI, and given to consuls in the year1207. During the episcopate of Michel Briconnet the relics of St. Bauzilewere discovered, and hardly were the rejoicings over this event at an endwhen the new doctrines began to spread over France. It was in the Souththat the persecutions began, and in 1551 several persons were publiclyburnt as heretics by order of the Seneschal's Court at Nimes, amongstwhom was Maurice Secenat, a missionary from the Cevennes, who was takenin the very act of preaching. Thenceforth Nimes rejoiced in two martyrsand two patron saints, one revered by the Catholics, and one by theProtestants; St. Bauzile, after reigning as sole protector fortwenty-four years, being forced to share the honours of his guardianshipwith his new rival. 

Maurice Secenat was followed as preacher by Pierre de Lavau; these twonames being still remembered among the crowd of obscure and forgottenmartyrs. He also was put to death on the Place de la Salamandre, all thedifference being that the former was burnt and the latter hanged. 

Pierre de Lavau was attended in his last moments by Dominique Deyron, Doctor of Theology; but instead of, as is usual, the dying man beingconverted by the priest, it was the priest who was converted by deLavau, and the teaching which it was desired should be suppressed burstforth again. Decrees were issued against Dominique Deyron; he waspursued and tracked down, and only escaped the gibbet by fleeing to themountains. 

The mountains are the refuge of all rising or decaying sects; God hasgiven to the powerful on earth city, plain, and sea, but the mountainsare the heritage of the oppressed. 

Persecution and proselytism kept pace with each other, but the blood thatwas shed produced the usual effect: it rendered the soil on which it fellfruitful, and after two or three years of struggle, during which two orthree hundred Huguenots had been burnt or hanged, Nimes awoke one morningwith a Protestant majority. In 1556 the consuls received a sharpreprimand on account of the leaning of the city towards the doctrines ofthe Reformation; but in 1557, one short year after this admonition, HenriII was forced to confer the office of president of the Presidial Court onWilliam de Calviere, a Protestant. At last a decision of the seniorjudge having declared that it was the duty of the consuls to sanction theexecution of heretics by their presence, the magistrates of the cityprotested against this decision, and the power of the Crown wasinsufficient to carry it out. 

Henri II dying, Catherine de Medicis and the Guises took possession ofthe throne in the name of Francois II. There is a moment when nationscan always draw a long breath, it is while their kings are awaitingburial; and Nimes took advantage of this moment on the death of Henri II, and on September 29th, 1559, Guillaume Moget founded the first Protestantcommunity. 

Guillaume Moget came from Geneva. He was the spiritual son of Calvin, and came to Nimes with the firm purpose of converting all the remainingCatholics or of being hanged. As he was eloquent, spirited, and wily, too wise to be violent, ever ready to give and take in the matter ofconcessions, luck was on his side, and Guillaume Moget escaped hanging. 

The moment a rising sect ceases to be downtrodden it becomes a queen, andheresy, already mistress of three-fourths of the city, began to hold upits head with boldness in the streets. A householder called GuillaumeRaymond opened his house to the Calvinist missionary, and allowed him topreach in it regularly to all who came, and the wavering were thusconfirmed in the new faith. Soon the house became too narrow to containthe crowds which flocked thither to imbibe the poison of therevolutionary doctrine, and impatient glances fell on the churches. 

Meanwhile the Vicomte de Joyeuse, who had just been appointed governor ofLanguedoc in the place of M. De Villars, grew uneasy at the rapidprogress made by the Protestants, who so far from trying to conceal itboasted of it; so he summoned the consuls before him, admonished themsharply in the king's name, and threatened to quarter a garrison in thetown which would soon put an end to these disorders. The consulspromised to stop the evil without the aid of outside help, and to carryout their promise doubled the patrol and appointed a captain of the townwhose sole duty was to keep order in the streets. Now this captain whoseoffice had been created solely for the repression of heresy, happened tobe Captain Bouillargues, the most inveterate Huguenot who ever existed. 

The result of this discriminating choice was that Guillaume Moget beganto preach, and once when a great crowd had gathered in a garden to hearhim hold forth, heavy rain came on, and it became necessary for thepeople either to disperse or to seek shelter under a roof. As thepreacher had just reached the most interesting part of his sermon, thecongregation did not hesitate an instant to take the latter alternative. The Church of St. Etienne du Capitole was quite near: someone presentsuggested that this building, if not the most suitable, as at least themost spacious for such a gathering. 

The idea was received with acclamation: the rain grew heavier, the crowdinvaded the church, drove out the priests, trampled the Holy Sacramentunder foot, and broke the sacred images. This being accomplished, Guillaume Moget entered the pulpit, and resumed his sermon with sucheloquence that his hearers' excitement redoubled, and not satisfied withwhat had already been done, rushed off to seize on the Franciscanmonastery, where they forthwith installed Moget and the two women, who, according to Menard the historian of Languedoc, never left him day ornight; all which proceedings were regarded by Captain Bouillargues withmagnificent calm. 

The consuls being once more summoned before M. De Villars, who had againbecome governor, would gladly have denied the existence of disorder; butfinding this impossible, they threw themselves on his mercy. He beingunable to repose confidence in them any longer, sent a garrison to thecitadel of Nimes, which the municipality was obliged to support, appointed a governor of the city with four district captains under him, and formed a body of military police which quite superseded the municipalconstabulary. Moget was expelled from Nimes, and Captain Bouillarguesdeprived of office. 

Francis II dying in his turn, the usual effect was produced, --that is, the persecution became less fierce, --and Moget therefore returned toNimes. This was a victory, and every victory being a step forward, thetriumphant preacher organised a Consistory, and the deputies of Nimesdemanded from the States-General of Orleans possession of the churches. No notice was taken of this demand; but the Protestants were at no losshow to proceed. On the 21st December 1561 the churches of Ste. Eugenie, St. Augustin, and the Cordeliers were taken by assault, and cleared oftheir images in a hand's turn; and this time Captain Bouillargues was notsatisfied with looking on, but directed the operations. 

The cathedral was still safe, and in it were entrenched the remnant ofthe Catholic clergy; but it was apparent that at the earliest opportunityit too would be turned into a meeting-house; and this opportunity was notlong in coming. 

One Sunday, when Bishop Bernard d'Elbene had celebrated mass, just as theregular preacher was about to begin his sermon, some children who wereplaying in the close began to hoot the 'beguinier' [a name of contemptfor friars]. Some of the faithful being disturbed in their meditations, came out of the church and chastised the little Huguenots, whose parentsconsidered themselves in consequence to have been insulted in the personsof their children. A great commotion ensued, crowds began to form, andcries of "To the church! to the church!" were heard. CaptainBouillargues happened to be in the neighbourhood, and being verymethodical set about organising the insurrection; then putting himself atits head, he charged the cathedral, carrying everything before him, inspite of the barricades which had been hastily erected by the Papists. The assault was over in a few moments; the priests and their flock fledby one door, while the Reformers entered by another. The building was inthe twinkling of an eye adapted to the new form of worship: the greatcrucifix from above the altar was dragged about the streets at the end ofa rope and scourged at every cross-roads. In the evening a large firewas lighted in the place before the cathedral, and the archives of theecclesiastical and religious houses, the sacred images, the relics of thesaints, the decorations of the altar, the sacerdotal vestments, even theHost itself, were thrown on it without any remonstrance from the consuls;the very wind which blew upon Nimes breathed heresy. 

For the moment Nimes was in full revolt, and the spirit of organisationspread: Moget assumed the titles of pastor and minister of the ChristianChurch. Captain Bouillargues melted down the sacred vessels of theCatholic churches, and paid in this manner the volunteers of Nimes andthe German mercenaries; the stones of the demolished religious houseswere used in the construction of fortifications, and before anyonethought of attacking it the city was ready for a siege. It was at thismoment that Guillaume Calviere, who was at the head of the PresidialCourt, Moget being president of the Consistory, and Captain Bouillarguescommander-in-chief of the armed forces, suddenly resolved to create a newauthority, which, while sharing the powers hitherto vested solely in theconsuls, should be, even more than they, devoted to Calvin: thus theoffice of les Messieurs came into being. This was neither more nor lessthan a committee of public safety, and having been formed in the stressof revolution it acted in a revolutionary spirit, absorbing the powers ofthe consuls, and restricting the authority of the Consistory to thingsspiritual. In the meantime the Edict of Amboise, was promulgated, and itwas announced that the king, Charles IX, accompanied by Catherine deMedicis, was going to visit his loyal provinces in the South. 

Determined as was Captain Bouillargues, for once he had to give way, sostrong was the party against him; therefore, despite the murmurs of thefanatics, the city of Nimes resolved, not only to open its gates to itssovereign, but to give him such a reception as would efface the badimpression which Charles might have received from the history of recentevents. The royal procession was met at the Pont du Gare, where younggirls attired as nymphs emerged from a grotto bearing a collation, whichthey presented to their Majesties, who graciously and heartily partook ofit. The repast at an end, the illustrious travellers resumed theirprogress; but the imagination of the Nimes authorities was not to berestrained within such narrow bounds: at the entrance to the city theking found the Porte de la Couronne transformed into a mountain-side, covered with vines and olive trees, under which a shepherd was tendinghis flock. As the king approached the mountain parted as if yielding tothe magic of his power, the most beautiful maidens and the most noblecame out to meet their sovereign, presenting him the keys of the citywreathed with flowers, and singing to the accompaniment of the shepherd'spipe. Passing through the mountain, Charles saw chained to a palm treein the depths of a grotto a monster crocodile from whose jaws issuedflames: this was a representation of the old coat of arms granted to thecity by Octavius Caesar Augustus after the battle of Actium, and whichFrancis I had restored to it in exchange for a model in silver of theamphitheatre presented to him by the city. Lastly, the king found in thePlace de la Salamandre numerous bonfires, so that without waiting to askif these fires were made from the remains of the faggots used at themartyrdom of Maurice Secenat, he went to bed very much pleased with thereception accorded him by his good city of Nimes, and sure that all theunfavourable reports he had heard were calumnies. 

Nevertheless, in order that such rumours, however slight theirfoundation, should not again be heard, the king appointed Damvillegovernor of Languedoc, installing him himself in the chief city of hisgovernment; he then removed every consul from his post without exception, and appointed in their place Guy-Rochette, doctor and lawyer; JeanBeaudan, burgess; Francois Aubert, mason; and Cristol Ligier, farmlabourer--all Catholics. He then left for Paris, where a short timeafter he concluded a treaty with the Calvinists, which the people withits gift of prophecy called "The halting peace of unsure seat, " and whichin the end led to the massacre of St. Bartholomew. 

Gracious as had been the measures taken by the king to secure the peaceof his good city of Nimes, they had nevertheless been reactionary;consequently the Catholics, feeling the authorities were now on theirside, returned in crowds: the householders reclaimed their houses, thepriests their churches; while, rendered ravenous by the bitter bread ofexile, both the clergy and the laity pillaged the treasury. Their returnwas not, however; stained by bloodshed, although the Calvinists werereviled in the open street. A few stabs from a dagger or shots from anarquebus might, however, have been better; such wounds heal while mockingwords rankle in the memory. 

On the morrow of Michaelmas Day--that is, on the 31st September 1567--anumber of conspirators might have been seen issuing from a house andspreading themselves through the streets, crying "To arms! Down with thePapists!" Captain Bouillargues was taking his revenge. 

As the Catholics were attacked unawares, they did not make even a show ofresistance: a number of Protestants--those who possessed the bestarms--rushed to the house of Guy-Rochette, the first consul, and seizedthe keys of the city. Guy Rochette, startled by the cries of the crowds, had looked out of the window, and seeing a furious mob approaching hishouse, and feeling that their rage was directed against himself, hadtaken refuge with his brother Gregoire. There, recovering his courageand presence of mind, he recalled the important responsibilities attachedto his office, and resolving to fulfil them whatever might happen, hastened to consult with the other magistrates, but as they all gave himvery excellent reasons for not meddling, he soon felt there was nodependence to be placed on such cowards and traitors. He next repairedto the episcopal palace, where he found the bishop surrounded by theprincipal Catholics of the town, all on their knees offering up earnestprayers to Heaven, and awaiting martyrdom. Guy-Rochette joined them, andthe prayers were continued. 

A few instants later fresh noises were heard in the street, and the gatesof the palace court groaned under blows of axe and crowbar. Hearing thesealarming sounds, the bishop, forgetting that it was his duty to set abrave example, fled through a breach in the wall of the next house; butGuy-Rochette and his companions valiantly resolved not to run away, butto await their fate with patience. The gates soon yielded, and thecourtyard and palace were filled with Protestants: at their head appearedCaptain Bouillargues, sword in hand. Guy-Rochette and those with himwere seized and secured in a room under the charge of four guards, andthe palace was looted. Meantime another band of insurgents had attackedthe house of the vicar-general, John Pebereau, whose body pierced byseven stabs of a dagger was thrown out of a window, the same fate as wasmeted out to Admiral Coligny eight years later at the hands of theCatholics. In the house a sum of 800 crowns was found and taken. Thetwo bands then uniting, rushed to the cathedral, which they sacked forthe second time. 

Thus the entire day passed in murder and pillage: when night came thelarge number of prisoners so imprudently taken began to be felt as anencumbrance by the insurgent chiefs, who therefore resolved to takeadvantage of the darkness to get rid of them without causing too muchexcitement in the city. They were therefore gathered together from thevarious houses in which they had been confined, and were brought to alarge hall in the Hotel de Ville, capable of containing from four to fivehundred persons, and which was soon full. An irregular tribunalarrogating to itself powers of life and death was formed, and a clerk wasappointed to register its decrees. A list of all the prisoners was givenhim, a cross placed before a name indicating that its bearer wascondemned to death, and, list in hand, he went from group to groupcalling out the names distinguished by the fatal sign. Those thus sortedout were then conducted to a spot which had been chosen beforehand as theplace of execution. 

This was the palace courtyard in the middle of which yawned a welltwenty-four feet in circumference and fifty deep. The fanatics thusfound a grave ready-digged as it were to their hand, and to save time, made use of it. 

The unfortunate Catholics, led thither in groups, were either stabbedwith daggers or mutilated with axes, and the bodies thrown down the well. Guy-Rochette was one of the first to be dragged up. For himself he askedneither mercy nor favour, but he begged that the life of his youngbrother might be spared, whose only crime was the bond of blood whichunited them; but the assassins, paying no heed to his prayers, struckdown both man and boy and flung them into the well. The corpse of thevicar-general, who had been killed the day before, was in its turndragged thither by a rope and added to the others. All night themassacre went on, the crimsoned water rising in the well as corpse aftercorpse was thrown in, till, at break of day, it overflowed, one hundredand twenty bodies being then hidden in its depths. 

Next day, October 1st, the scenes of tumult were renewed: from early dawnCaptain Bouillargues ran from street to street crying, "Courage, comrades! Montpellier, Pezenas, Aramon, Beaucaire, Saint-Andeol, andVilleneuve are taken, and are on our side. Cardinal de Lorraine is dead, and the king is in our power. " This aroused the failing energies of theassassins. They joined the captain, and demanded that the houses roundthe palace should be searched, as it was almost certain that the bishop, who had, as may be remembered, escaped the day before, had taken refugein one of them. This being agreed to, a house-to-house visitation wasbegun: when the house of M. De Sauvignargues was reached, he confessedthat the bishop was in his cellar, and proposed to treat with CaptainBouillargues for a ransom. This proposition being considered reasonable, was accepted, and after a short discussion the sum of 120 crowns wasagreed on. The bishop laid down every penny he had about him, hisservants were despoiled, and the sum made up by the Sieur deSauvignargues, who having the bishop in his house kept him caged. Theprelate, however, made no objection, although under other circumstanceshe would have regarded this restraint as the height of impertinence; butas it was he felt safer in M. De Sauvignargues' cellar than in thepalace. 

But the secret of the worthy prelate's hiding place was but badly kept bythose with whom he had treated; for in a few moments a second crowdappeared, hoping to obtain a second ransom. Unfortunately, the Sieur deSauvignargues, the bishop, and the bishop's servants had strippedthemselves of all their ready money to make up the first, so the masterof the house, fearing for his own safety, having barricaded the doors, got out into a lane and escaped, leaving the bishop to his fate. TheHuguenots climbed in at the windows, crying, "No quarter! Down with thePapists!" The bishop's servants were cut down, the bishop himselfdragged out of the cellar and thrown into the street. There his ringsand crozier were snatched from him; he was stripped of his clothes andarrayed in a grotesque and ragged garment which chanced to be at hand;his mitre was replaced by a peasant's cap; and in this condition he wasdragged back to the palace and placed on the brink of the well to bethrown in. One of the assassins drew attention to the fact that it wasalready full. "Pooh!" replied another, "they won't mind a little crowdingfor a bishop. " Meantime the prelate, seeing he need expect no mercy fromman, threw himself on his knees and commended his soul to God. Suddenly, however, one of those who had shown himself most ferocious during themassacre, Jean Coussinal by name, was touched as if by miracle with afeeling of compassion at the sight of so much resignation, and threwhimself between the bishop and those about to strike, and declaring thatwhoever touched the prelate must first overcome himself, took him underhis protection, his comrades retreating in astonishment. Jean Coussinalraising the bishop, carried him in his arms into a neighbouring house, and drawing his sword, took his stand on the threshold. 

The assassins, however, soon recovered from their surprise, andreflecting that when all was said and done they were fifty to one, considered it would be shameful to let themselves be intimidated by asingle opponent, so they advanced again on Coussinal, who with aback-handed stroke cut off the head of the first-comer. The cries uponthis redoubled, and two or three shots were fired at the obstinatedefender of the poor bishop, but they all missed aim. At that momentCaptain Bouillargues passed by, and seeing one man attacked by fifty, inquired into the cause. He was told of Coussinal's odd determination tosave the bishop. "He is quite right, " said the captain; "the bishop haspaid ransom, and no one has any right to touch him. " Saying this, hewalked up to Coussinal, gave him his hand, and the two entered the house, returning in a few moments with the bishop between them. In this orderthey crossed the town, followed by the murmuring crowd, who were, however, afraid to do more than murmur; at the gate the bishop wasprovided with an escort and let go, his defenders remaining there till hewas out of sight. 

The massacres went on during the whole of the second day, though towardsevening the search for victims relaxed somewhat; but still many isolatedacts of murder took place during the night. On the morrow, being tiredof killing, the people began to destroy, and this phase lasted a longtime, it being less fatiguing to throw stones about than corpses. Allthe convents, all the monasteries, all the houses of the priests andcanons were attacked in turn; nothing was spared except the cathedral, before which axes and crowbars seemed to lose their power, and the churchof Ste. Eugenie, which was turned into a powder-magazine. The day of thegreat butchery was called "La Michelade, " because it took place the dayafter Michaelmas, and as all this happened in the year 1567 the Massacreof St. Bartholomew must be regarded as a plagiarism. 

At last, however, with the help of M. Damville; the Catholics again gotthe upper hand, and it was the turn of the Protestants to fly. They tookrefuge in the Cevennes. From the beginning of the troubles the Cevenneshad been the asylum of those who suffered for the Protestant faith; andstill the plains are Papist, and the mountains Protestant. When theCatholic party is in the ascendant at Nimes, the plain seeks themountain; when the Protestants come into power, the mountain comes downinto the plain. 

However, vanquished and fugitive though they were, the Calvinists did notlose courage: in exile one day, they felt sure their luck would turn thenext; and while the Catholics were burning or hanging them in effigy forcontumacy, they were before a notary, dividing the property of theirexecutioners. 

But it was not enough for them to buy or sell this property amongst eachother, they wanted to enter into possession; they thought of nothingelse, and in 1569--that is, in the eighteenth month of their exile--theyattained their wish in the following manner:

One day the exiles perceived a carpenter belonging to a little villagecalled Cauvisson approaching their place of refuge. He desired to speakto M. Nicolas de Calviere, seigneur de St. Cosme, and brother of thepresident, who was known to be a very enterprising man. To him thecarpenter, whose name was Maduron, made the following proposition:

In the moat of Nimes, close to the Gate of the Carmelites, there was agrating through which the waters from the fountain found vent. Maduronoffered to file through the bars of this grating in such a manner thatsome fine night it could be lifted out so as to allow a band of armedProtestants to gain access to the city. Nicolas de Calviere approving ofthis plan, desired that it should be carried out at once; but thecarpenter pointed out that it would be necessary to wait for stormyweather, when the waters swollen by the rain would by their noise drownthe sound of the file. This precaution was doubly necessary as the boxof the sentry was almost exactly above the grating. M. De Calviere triedto make Maduron give way; but the latter, who was risking more thananyone else, was firm. So whether they liked it or not, de Calviere andthe rest had to await his good pleasure. 

Some days later rainy weather set in, and as usual the fountain becamefuller; Maduron seeing that the favourable moment had arrived, glided atnight into the moat and applied his file, a friend of his who was hiddenon the ramparts above pulling a cord attached to Maduron's arm every timethe sentinel, in pacing his narrow round, approached the spot. Beforebreak of day the work was well begun. Maduron then obliterated all tracesof his file by daubing the bars with mud and wax, and withdrew. Forthree consecutive nights he returned to his task, taking the sameprecautions, and before the fourth was at an end he found that by meansof a slight effort the grating could be removed. That was all that wasneeded, so he gave notice to Messire Nicolas de Calviere that the momenthad arrived. 

Everything was favourable to the undertaking: as there was no moon, thenext night was chosen to carry out the plan, and as soon as it was darkMessire Nicolas de Calviere set out with his men, who, slipping down intothe moat without noise, crossed, the water being up to their belts, climbed up the other side, and crept along at the foot of the wall tillthey reached the grating without being perceived. There Maduron waswaiting, and as soon as he caught sight of them he gave a slight blow tothe loose bars; which fell, and the whole party entered the drain, led byde Calviere, and soon found themselves at the farther end--that is tosay, in the Place de la Fontaine. They immediately formed into companiestwenty strong, four of which hastened to the principal gates, while theothers patrolled the streets shouting, "The city taken! Down with thePapists! A new world!" Hearing this, the Protestants in the cityrecognised their co-religionists, and the Catholics their opponents: butwhereas the former had been warned and were on the alert, the latter weretaken by surprise; consequently they offered no resistance, which, however, did not prevent bloodshed. M. De St. Andre, the governor of thetown, who during his short period of office had drawn the bitter hatredof the Protestants on him, was shot dead in his bed, and his body beingflung out of the window, was torn in pieces by the populace. The work ofmurder went on all night, and on the morrow the victors in their turnbegan an organised persecution, which fell more heavily on the Catholicsthan that to which they had subjected the Protestants; for, as we haveexplained above, the former could only find shelter in the plain, whilethe latter used the Cevennes as a stronghold. 

It was about this time that the peace, which was called, as we have said, "the insecurely seated, " was concluded. Two years later this name wasjustified by the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. 

When this event took place, the South, strange as it may seem, looked on:in Nimes both Catholics and Protestants, stained with the other's blood, faced each other, hand on hilt, but without drawing weapon. It was as ifthey were curious to see how the Parisians would get through. Themassacre had one result, however, the union of the principal cities ofthe South and West: Montpellier, Uzes, Montauban, and La Rochelle, withNimes at their head, formed a civil and military league to last, as isdeclared in the Act of Federation, until God should raise up a sovereignto be the defender of the Protestant faith. In the year 1775 theProtestants of the South began to turn their eyes towards Henri IV as thecoming defender. 

At that date Nimes, setting an example to the other cities of the League, deepened her moats, blew up her suburbs, and added to the height of herramparts. Night and day the work of perfecting the means of defence wenton; the guard at every gate was doubled, and knowing how often a city hadbeen taken by surprise, not a hole through which a Papist could creep wasleft in the fortifications. In dread of what the future might bring, Nimes even committed sacrilege against the past, and partly demolishedthe Temple of Diana and mutilated the amphitheatre--of which one giganticstone was sufficient to form a section of the wall. During one truce thecrops were sown, during another they were garnered in, and so things wenton while the reign of the Mignons lasted. At length the prince raised upby God, whom the Huguenots had waited for so long, appeared; Henri IVascended the, throne. 

But once seated, Henri found himself in the same difficulty as hadconfronted Octavius fifteen centuries earlier, and which confronted LouisPhilippe three centuries later--that is to say, having been raised tosovereign power by a party which was not in the majority, he soon foundhimself obliged to separate from this party and to abjure his religiousbeliefs, as others have abjured or will yet abjure their politicalbeliefs; consequently, just as Octavius had his Antony, and LouisPhilippe was to have his Lafayette, Henri IV was to have his Biron. Whenmonarchs are in this position they can no longer have a will of their ownor personal likes and dislikes; they submit to the force ofcircumstances, and feel compelled to rely on the masses; no sooner arethey freed from the ban under which they laboured than they are obligedto bring others under it. 

However, before having recourse to extreme measures, Henri IV withsoldierly frankness gathered round him all those who had been hiscomrades of old in war and in religion; he spread out before them a mapof France, and showed them that hardly a tenth of the immense number ofits inhabitants were Protestants, and that even that tenth was shut up inthe mountains; some in Dauphine, which had been won for them by theirthree principal leaders, Baron des Adrets, Captain Montbrun, andLesdiguieres; others in the Cevennes, which had become Protestant throughtheir great preachers, Maurice Secenat and Guillaume Moget; and the restin the mountains of Navarre, whence he himself had come. He recalled tothem further that whenever they ventured out of their mountains they hadbeen beaten in every battle, at Jarnac, at Moncontour, and at Dreux. Heconcluded by explaining how impossible it was for him, such being thecase, to entrust the guidance of the State to their party; but he offeredthem instead three things, viz. , his purse to supply their present needs, the Edict of Nantes to assure their future safety, and fortresses todefend themselves should this edict one day be revoked, for with profoundinsight the grandfather divined the grandson: Henri IV feared Louis XIV. 

The Protestants took what they were offered, but of course like all whoaccept benefits they went away filled with discontent because they hadnot been given more. 

Although the Protestants ever afterwards looked on Henri IV as arenegade, his reign nevertheless was their golden age, and while itlasted Nines was quiet; for, strange to say, the Protestants took norevenge for St. Bartholomew, contenting themselves with debarring theCatholics from the open exercise of their religion, but leaving them freeto use all its rites and ceremonies in private. They even permitted theprocession of the Host through the streets in case of illness, providedit took place at night. Of course death would not always wait fordarkness, and the Host was sometimes carried to the dying during the day, not without danger to the priest, who, however, never let himself bedeterred thereby from the performance of his duty; indeed, it is of theessence of religious devotion to be inflexible; and few soldiers, howeverbrave, have equalled the martyrs in courage. 

During this time, taking advantage of the truce to hostilities and theimpartial protection meted out to all without distinction by theConstable Damville, the Carmelites and Capuchins, the Jesuits and monksof all orders and colours, began by degrees to return to Nines; withoutany display, it is true, rather in a surreptitious manner, preferringdarkness to daylight; but however this may be, in the course of three orfour years they had all regained foothold in the town; only now they werein the position in which the Protestants had been formerly, they werewithout churches, as their enemies were in possession of all the placesof worship. It also happened that a Jesuit high in authority, named PereCoston, preached with such success that the Protestants, not wishing tobe beaten, but desirous of giving word for word, summoned to their aidthe Rev. Jeremie Ferrier, of Alais, who at the moment was regarded as themost eloquent preacher they had. Needless to say, Alais was situated inthe mountains, that inexhaustible source of Huguenot eloquence. At oncethe controversial spirit was aroused; it did not as yet amount to war, but still less could it be called peace: people were no longerassassinated, but they were anathematised; the body was safe, but thesoul was consigned to damnation: the days as they passed were used byboth sides to keep their hand in, in readiness for the moment when themassacres should again begin. 

CHAPTER II

The death of Henri IV led to new conflicts, in which although at firstsuccess was on the side of the Protestants it by degrees went over to theCatholics; for with the accession of Louis XIII Richelieu had takenpossession of the throne: beside the king sat the cardinal; under thepurple mantle gleamed the red robe. It was at this crisis that Henri deRohan rose to eminence in the South. He was one of the most illustriousrepresentatives of that great race which, allied as it was to the royalhouses of Scotland, France, Savoy, and Lorraine; had taken as theirdevice, "Be king I cannot, prince I will not, Rohan I am. "

Henri de Rohan was at this time about forty years of age, in the prime oflife. In his youth, in order to perfect his education, he had visitedEngland, Scotland, and Italy. In England Elizabeth had called him herknight; in Scotland James VI had asked him to stand godfather to his son, afterwards Charles I; in Italy he had been so deep in the confidence ofthe leaders of men, and so thoroughly initiated into the politics of theprincipal cities, that it was commonly said that, after Machiavel, he wasthe greatest authority in these matters. He had returned to France inthe lifetime of Henry IV, and had married the daughter of Sully, andafter Henri's death had commanded the Swiss and the Grison regiments--atthe siege of Juliers. This was the man whom the king was so imprudent asto offend by refusing him the reversion of the office of governor ofPoitou, which was then held by Sully, his father-in-law. In order torevenge himself for the neglect he met with at court, as he states in hisMemoires with military ingenuousness, he espoused the cause of Conde withall his heart, being also drawn in this direction by his liking forConde's brother and his consequent desire to help those of Conde'sreligion. 

From this day on street disturbances and angry disputes assumed anotheraspect: they took in a larger area and were not so readily appeased. Itwas no longer an isolated band of insurgents which roused a city, butrather a conflagration which spread over the whole South, and a generaluprising which was almost a civil war. 

This state of things lasted for seven or eight years, and during thistime Rohan, abandoned by Chatillon and La Force, who received as thereward of their defection the field marshal's baton, pressed by Conde, his old friend, and by Montmorency, his consistent rival, performedprodigies of courage and miracles of strategy. At last, withoutsoldiers, without ammunition, without money, he still appeared toRichelieu to be so redoubtable that all the conditions of surrender hedemanded were granted. The maintenance of the Edict of Nantes wasguaranteed, all the places of worship were to be restored to theReformers, and a general amnesty granted to himself and his partisans. Furthermore, he obtained what was an unheard-of thing until then, anindemnity of 300, 000 livres for his expenses during the rebellion; ofwhich sum he allotted 240, 000 livres to his co-religionists--that is tosay, more than three-quarters of the entire amount--and kept, for thepurpose of restoring his various chateaux and setting his domesticestablishment, which had been destroyed during the war, again on foot, only 60, 000 livres. This treaty was signed on July 27th, 1629. 

The Duc de Richelieu, to whom no sacrifice was too great in order toattain his ends, had at last reached the goal, but the peace cost himnearly 40, 000, 000 livres; on the other hand, Saintonge, Poitou, andLanguedoc had submitted, and the chiefs of the houses of La Tremouille, Conde, Bouillon, Rohan, and Soubise had came to terms with him; organisedarmed opposition had disappeared, and the lofty manner of viewing mattersnatural to the cardinal duke prevented him from noticing private enmity. He therefore left Nimes free to manage her local affairs as she pleased, and very soon the old order, or rather disorder, reigned once more withinher walls. At last Richelieu died, and Louis XIII soon followed him, andthe long minority of his successor, with its embarrassments, left toCatholics and Protestants in the South more complete liberty than ever tocarry on the great duel which down to our own days has never ceased. 

But from this period, each flux and reflux bears more and more thepeculiar character of the party which for the moment is triumphant; whenthe Protestants get the upper hand, their vengeance is marked bybrutality and rage; when the Catholics are victorious, the retaliation isfull of hypocrisy and greed. The Protestants pull down churches andmonasteries, expel the monks, burn the crucifixes, take the body of somecriminal from the gallows, nail it on a cross, pierce its side, put acrown of thorns round its temples and set it up in the market-place--aneffigy of Jesus on Calvary. The Catholics levy contributions, take backwhat they had been deprived of, exact indemnities, and although ruined byeach reverse, are richer than ever after each victory. The Protestantsact in the light of day, melting down the church bells to make cannon tothe sound of the drum, violate agreements, warm themselves with woodtaken from the houses of the cathedral clergy, affix their theses to thecathedral doors, beat the priests who carry the Holy Sacrament to thedying, and, to crown all other insults, turn churches intoslaughter-houses and sewers. 

The Catholics, on the contrary, march at night, and, slipping in at thegates which have been left ajar for them, make their bishop president ofthe Council, put Jesuits at the head of the college, buy converts withmoney from the treasury, and as they always have influence at court, begin by excluding the Calvinists from favour, hoping soon to deprivethem of justice. 

At last, on the 31st of December, 1657, a final struggle took place, inwhich the Protestants were overcome, and were only saved from destructionbecause from the other side of the Channel, Cromwell exerted himself intheir favour, writing with his own hand at the end of a despatch relativeto the affairs of Austria, "I Learn that there have been populardisturbances in a town of Languedoc called Nimes, and I beg that ordermay be restored with as much mildness as possible, and without sheddingof blood. " As, fortunately for the Protestants, Mazarin had need ofCromwell at that moment, torture was forbidden, and nothing allowed butannoyances of all kinds. These henceforward were not only innumerable, but went on without a pause: the Catholics, faithful to their system ofconstant encroachment, kept up an incessant persecution, in which theywere soon encouraged by the numerous ordinances issued by Louis XIV. Thegrandson of Henri IV could not so far forget all ordinary respect as todestroy at once the Edict of Nantes, but he tore off clause after clause. 

In 1630--that is, a year after the peace with Rohan had been signed inthe preceding reign--Chalons-sur-Saone had resolved that no Protestantshould be allowed to take any part in the manufactures of the town. 

In 1643, six months after the accession of Louis XIV, the laundresses ofParis made a rule that the wives and daughters of Protestants wereunworthy to be admitted to the freedom of their respectable guild. 

In 1654, just one year after he had attained his majority, Louis XIVconsented to the imposition of a tax on the town of Nimes of 4000 francstowards the support of the Catholic and the Protestant hospitals; andinstead of allowing each party to contribute to the support of its ownhospital, the money was raised in one sum, so that, of the money paid bythe Protestants, who were twice as numerous as the Catholics, two-sixthswent to their enemies. On August 9th of the same year a decree of theCouncil ordered that all the artisan consuls should be Catholics; on the16th September another decree forbade Protestants to send deputations tothe king; lastly, on the 20th of December, a further decree declared thatall hospitals should be administered by Catholic consuls alone. 

In 1662 Protestants were commanded to bury their dead either at dawn orafter dusk, and a special clause of the decree fixed the number ofpersons who might attend a funeral at ten only. 

In 1663 the Council of State issued decrees prohibiting the practice oftheir religion by the Reformers in one hundred and forty-two communes inthe dioceses of Nimes, Uzes, and Mendes; and ordering the demolition oftheir meetinghouses. 

In 1664 this regulation was extended to the meeting-houses of Alencon andMontauban, as Well as their small place of worship in Nimes. On the 17thJuly of the same year the Parliament of Rouen forbade the master-mercersto engage any more Protestant workmen or apprentices when the numberalready employed had reached the proportion of one Protestant, to fifteenCatholics; on the 24th of the same month the Council of State declaredall certificates of mastership held by a Protestant invalid from whateversource derived; and in October reduced to two the number of Protestantswho might be employed at the mint. 

In 1665 the regulation imposed on the mercers was extended to thegoldsmiths. 

In 1666 a royal declaration, revising the decrees of Parliament, waspublished, and Article 31 provided that the offices of clerk to theconsulates, or secretary to a guild of watchmakers, or porter in amunicipal building, could only be held by Catholics; while in Article 33it was ordained that when a procession carrying the Host passed a placeof worship belonging to the so-called Reformers, the worshippers shouldstop their psalm-singing till the procession had gone by; and lastly, inArticle 34 it was enacted that the houses and other buildings belongingto those who were of the Reformed religion might, at the pleasure of thetown authorities, be draped with cloth or otherwise decorated on anyreligious Catholic festival. 

In 1669 the Chambers appointed by the Edict of Nantes in the Parliamentsof Rouen and Paris were suppressed, as well as the articled clerkshipsconnected therewith, and the clerkships in the Record Office; and inAugust of the same year, when the emigration of Protestants was justbeginning, an edict was issued, of which the following is a clause:

"Whereas many of our subjects have gone to foreign countries, where theycontinue to follow their various trades and occupations, even working asshipwrights, or taking service as sailors, till at length they feel athome and determine never to return to France, marrying abroad andacquiring property of every description: We hereby forbid any member ofthe so-called Reformed Church to leave this kingdom without ourpermission, and we command those who have already left France to returnforthwith within her boundaries. "

In 1670 the king excluded physicians of the Reformed faith from theoffice of dean of the college of Rouen, and allowed only two Protestantdoctors within its precincts. In 1671 a decree was published commandingthe arms of France to be removed from all the places of worship belongingto the pretended Reformers. In 1680 a proclamation from the king closedthe profession of midwife to women of the Reformed faith. In 1681 thosewho renounced the Protestant religion were exempted for two years fromall contributions towards the support of soldiers sent to their town, andwere for the same period relieved from the duty of giving them board andlodging. In the same year the college of Sedan was closed--the onlycollege remaining in the entire kingdom at which Calvinist children couldreceive instruction. In 1682 the king commanded Protestant notaries;procurators, ushers, and serjeants to lay down their offices, declaringthem unfit for such professions; and in September of the same year threemonths only were allowed them for the sale of the reversion of the saidoffices. In 1684 the Council of State extended the preceding regulationsto those Protestants holding the title of honorary secretary to the king, and in August of the same year Protestants were declared incapable ofserving on a jury of experts. 

In 1685 the provost of merchants in Paris ordered all Protestantprivileged merchants in that city to sell their privileges within amonth. And in October of the same year the long series of persecutions, of which we have omitted many, reached its culminating point--the:Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Henri IV, who foresaw this result, had hoped that it would have occurred in another manner, so that hisco-religionists would have been able to retain their fortresses; but whatwas actually done was that the strong places were first taken away, andthen came the Revocation; after which the Calvinists found themselvescompletely at the mercy of their mortal enemies. 

From 1669, when Louis first threatened to aim a fatal blow at the civilrights of the Huguenots, by abolishing the equal partition of theChambers between the two parties, several deputations had been sent tohim praying him to stop the course of his persecutions; and in order notto give him any fresh excuse for attacking their party, these deputationsaddressed him in the most submissive manner, as the following fragmentfrom an address will prove:

"In the name of God, sire, " said the Protestants to the king, "listen tothe last breath of our dying liberty, have pity on our sufferings, havepity on the great number of your poor subjects who daily water theirbread with their tears: they are all filled with burning zeal andinviolable loyalty to you; their love for your august person is onlyequalled by their respect; history bears witness that they contributed inno small degree to place your great and magnanimous ancestor on hisrightful throne, and since your miraculous birth they have never doneanything worthy of blame; they might indeed use much stronger terms, butyour Majesty has spared their modesty by addressing to them on manyoccasions words of praise which they would never have ventured to applyto themselves; these your subjects place their sole trust in your sceptrefor refuge and protection on earth, and their interest as well as theirduty and conscience impels them to remain attached to the service of yourMajesty with unalterable devotion. "

But, as we have seen, nothing could restrain the triumvirate which heldthe power just then, and thanks to the suggestions of Pere Lachaise andMadame de Maintenon, Louis XIV determined to gain heaven by means ofwheel and stake. 

As we see, for the Protestants, thanks to these numerous decrees, persecution began at the cradle and followed them to the grave. 

As a boy, a Huguenot could--enter no public school; as a youth, no careerwas open to him; he could become neither mercer nor concierge, neitherapothecary nor physician, neither lawyer nor consul. As a man, he had nosacred house, of prayer; no registrar would inscribe his marriage or thebirth of his children; hourly his liberty and his conscience wereignored. If he ventured to worship God by the singing of psalms, he hadto be silent as the Host was carried past outside. When a Catholicfestival occurred, he was forced not only to swallow his rage but to lethis house be hung with decorations in sign of joy; if he had inherited afortune from his fathers, having neither social standing nor civilrights, it slipped gradually out of his hands, and went to support theschools and hospitals of his foes. Having reached the end of his life, his deathbed was made miserable; for dying in the faith of his fathers, he could not be laid to rest beside them, and like a pariah he would becarried to his grave at night, no more than ten of those near and dear tohim being allowed to follow his coffin. 

Lastly, if at any age whatever he should attempt to quit the cruel soilon which he had no right to be born, to live, or to die, he would bedeclared a rebel, his goads would be confiscated, and the lightestpenalty that he had to expect, if he ever fell into the hands of hisenemies, was to row for the rest of his life in the galleys of the king, chained between a murderer and a forger. 

Such a state of things was intolerable: the cries of one man are lost inspace, but the groans of a whole population are like a storm; and thistime, as always, the tempest gathered in the mountains, and the rumblingsof the thunder began to be heard. 

First there were texts written by invisible hands on city walls, on thesignposts and cross-roads, on the crosses in the cemeteries: thesewarnings, like the 'Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin' of Belshazzar, evenpursued the persecutors into the midst of their feasts and orgies. 

Now it was the threat, "Jesus came not to send peace, but a sword. " Thenthis consolation, "For where two or three are gathered together in Myname, there am I in the midst of them. " Or perhaps it was this appealfor united action which was soon to become a summons to revolt, "Thatwhich we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may havefellowship with us. "

And before these promises, taken from the New Testament, the persecutedpaused, and then went home inspired by faith in the prophets, who spake, as St. Paul says in his First Epistle to the Thessalonians, "not the wordof men but the word of God. "

Very soon these words became incarnate, and what the prophet Joelforetold came to pass: "Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, yourold men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions, . . . And Iwill show wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood and fire, . . . Andit shall come to pass that whosoever shall call on the name of the Lordshall be delivered. "

In 1696 reports began to circulate that men had had visions; being ableto see what was going on in the most distant parts, and that the heavensthemselves opened to their eyes. While in this ecstatic state they wereinsensible to pain when pricked with either pin or blade; and when, onrecovering consciousness, they were questioned they could remembernothing. 

The first of these was a woman from Vivarais, whose origin was unknown. She went about from town to town, shedding tears of blood. M. De Baville, intendant of Languedoc, had her arrested and brought to Montpellier. There she was condemned to death and burnt at the stake, her tears ofblood being dried by fire. 

After her came a second fanatic, for so these popular prophets werecalled. He was born at Mazillon, his name was Laquoite, and he wastwenty years of age. The gift of prophecy had come to him in a strangemanner. This is the story told about him:--"One day, returning fromLanguedoc, where he had been engaged in the cultivation of silkworms, onreaching the bottom of the hill of St. Jean he found a man lying on theground trembling in every limb. Moved by pity, he stopped and asked whatailed him. The man replied, 'Throw yourself on your knees, my son, andtrouble not yourself about me, but learn how to attain salvation and saveyour brethren. This can only be done by the communion of the Holy Ghost, who is in me, and whom by the grace of God I can bestow on you. Approachand receive this gift in a kiss. ' At these words the unknown kissed theyoung man on the mouth, pressed his hand and disappeared, leaving theother trembling in his turn; for the spirit of God was in him, and beinginspired he spread the word abroad. "

A third fanatic, a prophetess, raved about the parishes of St. Andeol deClerguemont and St. Frazal de Vantalon, but she addressed herselfprincipally to recent converts, to whom she preached concerning theEucharist that in swallowing the consecrated wafer they had swallowed apoison as venomous as the head of the basilisk, that they had bent theknee to Baal, and that no penitence on their part could be great enoughto save them. These doctrines inspired such profound terror that theRev. Father Louvreloeil himself tells us that Satan by his effortssucceeded in nearly emptying the churches, and that at the followingEaster celebrations there were only half as many communicants as thepreceding year. 

Such a state of licence, which threatened to spread farther and farther, awoke the religious solicitude of Messire Francois Langlade de Duchayla, Prior of Laval, Inspector of Missions of Gevaudan, and Arch-priest of theCevennes. He therefore resolved to leave his residence at Mende and tovisit the parishes in which heresy had taken the strongest hold, in orderto oppose it by every mean's which God and the king had put in his power. 

The Abbe Duchayla was a younger son of the noble house of Langlade, andby the circumstances of his birth, in spite of his soldierly instincts, had been obliged to leave epaulet and sword to his elder brother, andhimself assume cassock and stole. On leaving the seminary, he espousedthe cause of the Church militant with all the ardour of his temperament. Perils to encounter; foes to fight, a religion to force on others, werenecessities to this fiery character, and as everything at the moment wasquiet in France, he had embarked for India with the fervent resolution ofa martyr. 

On reaching his destination, the young missionary had found himselfsurrounded by circumstances which were wonderfully in harmony with hiscelestial longings: some of his predecessors had been carried so far byreligious zeal that the King of Siam had put several to death by tortureand had forbidden any more missionaries to enter his dominions; but this, as we can easily imagine, only excited still more the abbe's missionaryfervour; evading the watchfulness of the military, and regardless of theterrible penalties imposed by the king, he crossed the frontier, andbegan to preach the Catholic religion to the heathen, many of whom wereconverted. 

One day he was surprised by a party of soldiers in a little village inwhich he had been living for three months, and in which nearly all theinhabitants had abjured their false faith, and was brought before thegovernor of Bankan, where instead of denying his faith, he nobly defendedChristianity and magnified the name of God. He was handed over to theexecutioners to be subjected to torture, and suffered at their hands withresignation everything that a human body can endure while yet retaininglife, till at length his patience exhausted their rage; and seeing himbecome unconscious, they thought he was dead, and with mutilated hands, his breast furrowed with wounds, his limbs half warn through by heavyfetters, he was suspended by the wrists to a branch of a tree andabandoned. A pariah passing by cut him down and succoured him, andreports of his martyrdom having spread, the French ambassador demandedjustice with no uncertain voice, so that the King of Siam, rejoicing thatthe executioners had stopped short in time, hastened to send back to M. De Chaumont, the representative of Louis XIV, a mutilated though stillliving man, instead of the corpse which had been demanded. 

At the time when Louis XIV was meditating the Revocation of the Edict ofNantes he felt that the services of such a man would be invaluable tohim, so about 1632, Abbe Duchayla was recalled from India, and a yearlater was sent to Mende, with the titles of Arch-priest of the Cevennesand Inspector of Missions. 

Soon the abbe, who had been so much persecuted, became a persecutor, showing himself as insensible to the sufferings of others as he had beeninflexible under his own. His apprenticeship to torture stood him insuch good stead that he became an inventor, and not only did he enrichthe torture chamber by importing from India several scientificallyconstructed machines, hitherto unknown in Europe, but he also designedmany others. People told with terror of reeds cut in the form ofwhistles which the abbe pitilessly forced under the nails of malignants;of iron pincers for tearing out their beards, eyelashes, and eyebrows; ofwicks steeped in oil and wound round the fingers of a victim's hands, andthen set on fire so as to form a pair of five-flamed candelabra; of acase turning on a pivot in which a man who refused to be converted wassometimes shut up, the case being then made to revolve rapidly till thevictim lost consciousness; and lastly of fetters used when takingprisoners from one town to another, and brought to such perfection, thatwhen they were on the prisoner could neither stand nor sit. 

Even the most fervent panegyrists of Abbe Duchayla spoke of him withbated breath, and, when he himself looked into his own heart and recalledhow often he had applied to the body the power to bind and loose whichGod had only given him over the soul, he was seized with strange tremors, and falling on his knees with folded hands and bowed head he remained forhours wrapt in thought, so motionless that were it not for the drops ofsweat which stood on his brow he might have been taken for a marblestatue of prayer over a tomb. 

Moreover, this priest by virtue of the powers with which he was invested, and feeling that he had the authority of M. De Baville, intendant ofLanguedoc, and M. De Broglie, commander of the troops, behind him, haddone other terrible things. 

He had separated children from father and mother, and had shut them up inreligious houses, where they had been subjected to such severechastisement, by way of making them do penance for the heresy of theirparents, that many of them died under it. 

He had forced his way into the chamber of the dying, not to bringconsolation but menaces; and bending over the bed, as if to keep back theAngel of Death, he had repeated the words of the terrible decree whichprovided that in case of the death of a Huguenot without conversion, hismemory should be persecuted, and his body, denied Christian burial, should be drawn on hurdles out of the city, and cast on a dungheap. 

Lastly, when with pious love children tried to shield their parents inthe death-agony from his threats, or dead from his justice, by carryingthem, dead or dying, to some refuge in which they might hope to drawtheir last breath in peace or to obtain Christian burial, he declaredthat anyone who should open his door hospitably to such disobedience wasa traitor to religion, although among the heathen such pity would havebeen deemed worthy of an altar. 

Such was the man raised up to punish, who went on his way, preceded byterror, accompanied by torture, and followed by death, through a countryalready exhausted by long and bloody oppression, and where at every stephe trod on half repressed religious hate, which like a volcano was everready to burst out afresh, but always prepared for martyrdom. Nothingheld him back, and years ago he had had his grave hollowed out in thechurch of St. Germain, choosing that church for his last long sleepbecause it had been built by Pope Urban IV when he was bishop of Mende. 

Abbe Duchayla extended his visitation over six months, during which everyday was marked by tortures and executions: several prophets were burnt atthe stake; Francoise de Brez, she who had preached that the Hostcontained a more venomous poison than a basilisk's head, was hanged; andLaquoite, who had been confined in the citadel of Montpellier, was on thepoint of being broken on the wheel, when on the eve of his execution hiscell was found empty. No one could ever discover how he escaped, andconsequently his reputation rose higher than ever, it being currentlybelieved that, led by the Holy Spirit as St. Peter by the angel, he hadpassed through the guards invisible to all, leaving his fetters behind. 

This incomprehensible escape redoubled the severity of the Arch-priest, till at last the prophets, feeling that their only chance of safety layin getting rid of him, began to preach against him as Antichrist, andadvocate his death. The abbe was warned of this, but nothing could abatehis zeal. In France as in India, martyrdom was his longed-for goal, andwith head erect and unfaltering step he "pressed toward the mark. "

At last, on the evening of the 24th of July, two hundred conspirators metin a wood on the top of a hill which overlooked the bridge of Montvert, near which was the Arch-priest's residence. Their leader was a man namedLaporte, a native of Alais, who had become a master-blacksmith in thepass of Deze. He was accompanied by an inspired man, a formerwool-carder, born at Magistavols, Esprit Seguier by name. This man was, after Laquoite, the most highly regarded of the twenty or thirty prophetswho were at that moment going up and down the Cevennes in everydirection. The whole party was armed with scythes, halberts, and swords;a few had even pistols and guns. 

On the stroke of ten, the hour fixed for their departure, they all kneltdown and with uncovered heads began praying as fervently as if they wereabout to perform some act most pleasing to God, and their prayers ended, they marched down the hill to the town, singing psalms, and shoutingbetween the verses to the townspeople to keep within their homes, and notto look out of door or window on pain of death. 

The abbe was in his oratory when he heard the mingled singing andshouting, and at the same moment a servant entered in great alarm, despite the strict regulation of the Arch-priest that he was never to beinterrupted at his prayers. This man announced that a body of fanaticswas coming down the hill, but the abbe felt convinced that it was only anunorganised crowd which was going to try and carry off six prisoners, atthat moment in the 'ceps. ' [ A terrible kind of stocks--a beam split intwo, no notches being made for the legs: the victim's legs were placedbetween the two pieces of wood, which were then, by means of a vice ateach end, brought gradually together. Translators Note. ]

These prisoners were three young men and three girls in men's clothes, who had been seized just as they were about to emigrate. As the abbe wasalways protected by a guard of soldiers, he sent for the officer incommand and ordered him to march against, the fanatics and disperse them. But the officer was spared the trouble of obeying, for the fanatics werealready at hand. On reaching the gate of the courtyard he heard themoutside, and perceived that they were making ready to burst it in. Judging of their numbers by the sound of their voices, he considered thatfar from attacking them, he would have enough to do in preparing fordefence, consequently he bolted and barred the gate on the inside, andhastily erected a barricade under an arch leading to the apartments ofthe abbe. Just as these preparations were complete, Esprit Seguiercaught sight of a heavy beam of wood lying in a ditch; this was raised bya dozen men and used as a battering-ram to force in the gate, which soonshowed a breach. Thus encouraged, the workers, cheered by the chants oftheir comrades, soon got the gate off the hinges, and thus the outsidecourt was taken. The crowd then loudly demanded the release of theprisoners, using dire threats. 

The commanding officer sent to ask the abbe what he was to do; the abbereplied that he was to fire on the conspirators. This imprudent orderwas carried out; one of the fanatics was killed on the spot, and twowounded men mingled their groans with the songs and threats of theircomrades. 

The barricade was next attacked, some using axes, others darting theirswords and halberts through the crevices and killing those behind; as forthose who had firearms, they climbed on the shoulders of the others, andhaving fired at those below, saved themselves by tumbling down again. Atthe head of the besiegers were Laporte and Esprit Seguier, one of whomhad a father to avenge and the other a son, both of whom had been done todeath by the abbe. They were not the only ones of the party who werefired by the desire of vengeance; twelve or fifteen others were in thesame position. 

The abbe in his room listened to the noise of the struggle, and findingmatters growing serious, he gathered his household round him, and makingthem kneel down, he told them to make their confession, that he might, bygiving them absolution, prepare them for appearing before God. Thesacred words had just been pronounced when the rioters drew near, havingcarried the barricade, and driven the soldiers to take refuge in a hallon the ground floor just under the Arch-priest's room. 

But suddenly, the assault was stayed, some of the men going to surroundthe house, others setting out on a search for the prisoners. These wereeasily found, for judging by what they could hear that their brethren hadcome to their rescue, they shouted as loudly as they could. 

The unfortunate creatures had already passed a whole week with their legscaught and pressed by the cleft beams which formed these inexpressiblypainful stocks. When the unfortunate victims were released, the fanaticsscreamed with rage at the sight of their swollen bodies and half-brokenbones. None of the unhappy people were able to stand. The attack on thesoldiers was renewed, and these being driven out of the lower hall, filled the staircase leading to the abbe's apartments, and offered suchdetermine. Resistance that their assailants were twice forced to fallback. Laporte, seeing two of his men killed and five or six wounded, called out loudly, "Children of God, lay down your arms: this way ofgoing to work is too slow; let us burn the abbey and all in it. To work!to work!" The advice was good, and they all hastened to follow it:benches, chairs, and furniture of all sorts were heaped up in the hall, apalliasse thrown on the top, and the pile fired. In a moment the wholebuilding was ablaze, and the Arch-priest, yielding to the entreaties ofhis servants, fastened his sheets to the window-bars, and by their helpdropped into the garden. The drop was so great that he broke one of histhigh bones, but dragging himself along on his hands and one knee, he, with one of his servants, reached a recess in the wall, while anotherservant was endeavouring to escape through the flames, thus falling intothe hands of the fanatics, who carried him before their captain. Thencries of "The prophet! the prophet!" were heard on all sides. EspritSeguier, feeling that something fresh had taken place, came forward, still holding in his hand the blazing torch with which he had set fire tothe pile. 

"Brother, " asked Laporte, pointing to the prisoner, "is this man to die?"

Esprit Seguier fell on his knees and covered his face with his mantle, like Samuel, and sought the Lord in prayer, asking to know His will. 

In a short time he rose and said, "This man is not to die; for inasmuchas he has showed mercy to our brethren we must show mercy to him. "

Whether this fact had been miraculously revealed to Seguier, or whetherhe had gained his information from other sources, the newly releasedprisoners confirmed its truth, calling out that the man had indeedtreated them with humanity. Just then a roar as of a wild beast washeard: one of the fanatics, whose brother had been put to death by theabbe, had just caught sight of him, the whole neighbourhood being lit upby the fire; he was kneeling in an angle of the wall, to which he haddragged himself. 

"Down with the son of Belial!" shouted the crowd, rushing towards thepriest, who remained kneeling and motionless like a marble statue. Hisvalet took advantage of the confusion to escape, and got off easily; forthe sight of him on whom the general hate was concentrated made theHuguenots forget everything else:

Esprit Seguier was the first to reach the priest, and spreading his handsover him, he commanded the others to hold back. "God desireth not thedeath of a sinner, '" said he, "'but rather that he turn from hiswickedness and live. '"

"No, no!" shouted a score of voices, refusing obedience for the firsttime, perhaps, to an order from the prophet; "let him die without mercy, as he struck without pity. Death to the son of Belial, death!"

"Silence!" exclaimed the prophet in a terrible voice, "and listen to theword of God from my mouth. If this man will join us and take upon himthe duties of a pastor, let us grant him his life, that he mayhenceforward devote it to the spread of the true faith. "

"Rather a thousand deaths than apostasy!" answered the priest. 

"Die, then!" cried Laporte, stabbing him; "take that for having burnt myfather in Nimes. "

And he passed on the dagger to Esprit Seguier. 

Duchayla made neither sound nor gesture: it would have seemed as if thedagger had been turned by the priest's gown as by a coat of mail were itnot that a thin stream of blood appeared. Raising his eyes to heaven, herepeated the words of the penitential psalm: "Out of the depths have Icried unto Thee, O Lord! Lord, hear my voice!"

Then Esprit Seguier raised his arm and struck in his turn, saying, "Takethat for my son, whom you broke on the wheel at Montpellier. "

And he passed on the dagger. 

But this blow also was not mortal, only another stream of blood appeared, and the abbe said in a failing voice, "Deliver me, O my Saviour, out ofmy well-merited sufferings, and I will acknowledge their justice; far Ihave been a man of blood. "

The next who seized the dagger came near and gave his blow, saying, "Takethat for my brother, whom you let die in the 'ceps. '"

This time the dagger pierced the heart, and the abbe had only time toejaculate, "Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy!"before he fell back dead. 

But his death did not satisfy the vengeance of those who had not beenable to strike him living; one by one they drew near and stabbed, eachinvoking the shade of some dear murdered one and pronouncing the samewords of malediction. 

In all, the body of the abbe received fifty-two dagger thrusts, of whichtwenty-four would have been mortal. 

Thus perished, at the age of fifty-five, Messire Francois de LangladeDuchayla, prior of Laval, inspector of missions in Gevaudan, andArch-priest of the Cevennes and Mende. 

Their vengeance thus accomplished, the murderers felt that there was nomore safety for them in either city or plain, and fled to the mountains;but in passing near the residence of M. De Laveze, a Catholic nobleman ofthe parish of Molezon, one of the fugitives recollected that he had heardthat a great number of firearms was kept in the house. This seemed alucky chance, for firearms were what the Huguenots needed most of all. They therefore sent two envoys to M. De Laveze to ask him to give themat, least a share of his weapons; but he, as a good Catholic, repliedthat it was quite true that he had indeed a store of arms, but that theywere destined to the triumph and not to the desecration of religion, andthat he would only give them up with his life. With these words, hedismissed the envoys, barring his doors behind them. 

But while this parley was going on the conspirators had approached thechateau, and thus received the valiant answer to their demands soonerthan M. De Laveze had counted on. Resolving not to leave him time totake defensive measures, they dashed at the house, and by standing oneach other's shoulders reached the room in which M. De Laveze and hisentire family had taken refuge. In an instant the door was forced, andthe fanatics, still reeking with the life-blood of Abbe Duchayla, beganagain their work of death. No one was spared; neither the master of thehouse, nor his brother, nor his uncle, nor his sister, who knelt to theassassins in vain; even his old mother, who was eighty years of age, having from her bed first witnessed the murder of all her family, was atlast stabbed to the heart, though the butchers might have reflected thatit was hardly worth while thus to anticipate the arrival of Death, whoaccording to the laws of nature must have been already at hand. 

The massacre finished, the fanatics spread over the castle, supplyingthemselves with arms and under-linen, being badly in need of the latter;for when they left their homes they had expected soon to return, and hadtaken nothing with them. They also carried off the copper kitchenutensils, intending to turn them into bullets. Finally, they seized on asum of 5000 francs, the marriage-portion of M. De Laveze's sister, whowas just about to be married, and thus laid the foundation of a war fund. 

The news of these two bloody events soon reached not only Nimes but allthe countryside, and roused the authorities to action. M. Le Comte deBroglie crossed the Upper Cevennes, and marched down to the bridge ofMontvert, followed by several companies of fusiliers. From anotherdirection M. Le Comte de Peyre brought thirty-two cavalry and threehundred and fifty infantry, having enlisted them at Marvejols, LaCanourgue, Chiac, and Serverette. M. De St. Paul, Abbe Duchayla'sbrother, and the Marquis Duchayla, his nephew, brought eighty horsemenfrom the family estates. The Count of Morangiez rode in from St. Aubanand Malzieu with two companies of cavalry, and the town of Mende by orderof its bishop despatched its nobles at the head of three companies offifty men each. 

But the mountains had swallowed up the fanatics, and nothing was everknown of their fate, except that from time to time a peasant would relatethat in crossing the Cevennes he had heard at dawn or dusk, on mountainpeak or from valley depths, the sound going up to heaven of songs ofpraise. It was the fanatic assassins worshipping God. 

Or occasionally at night, on the tops of the lofty mountains, fires shoneforth which appeared to signal one to another, but on looking the nextnight in the same direction all was dark. 

So M. De Broglie, concluding that nothing could be done against enemieswho were invisible, disbanded the troops which had come to his aid, andwent back to Montpellier, leaving a company of fusiliers at Collet, another at Ayres, one at the bridge of Montvert, one at Barre, and one atPompidon, and appointing Captain Poul as their chief, This choice of such a man as chief showed that M. De Broglie was a goodjudge of human nature, and was also perfectly acquainted with thesituation, for Captain Poul was the very man to take a leading part inthe coming struggle. "He was, " says Pere Louvreloeil, priest of theChristian doctrine and cure of Saint-Germain de Calberte, "an officer ofmerit and reputation, born in Ville-Dubert, near Carcassonne, who hadwhen young served in Hungary and Germany, and distinguished himself inPiedmont in several excursions against the Barbets, [ A name appliedfirst to the Alpine smugglers who lived in the valleys, later to theinsurgent peasants in the Cevennes. --Translator's Note. ] notably in oneof the later ones, when, entering the tent of their chief, Barbanaga, hecut off his head. His tall and agile figure, his warlike air, his loveof hard work, his hoarse voice, his fiery and austere character, hiscarelessness in regard to dress, his mature age, his tried courage, histaciturn habit, the length and weight of his sword, all combined torender him formidable. Therefore no one could have been chosen moresuitable for putting down the rebels, for forcing their entrenchments, and for putting them to flight. "

Hardly had he taken up a position in the market town of Labarre, whichwas to be his headquarters, than he was informed that a gathering offanatics had been seen on the little plain of Fondmorte, which formed apass between two valleys. He ordered out his Spanish steed, which he wasaccustomed to ride in the Turkish manner--that is, with very shortstirrups, so that he could throw himself forward to the horse's ears, orbackward to the tail, according as he wished to give or avoid a mortalblow. Taking with him eighteen men of his own company and twenty-fivefrom the town, he at once set off for the place indicated, notconsidering any larger number necessary to put to rout a band ofpeasants, however numerous. 

The information turned out to be correct: a hundred Reformers led byEsprit Seguier had encamped in the plain of Fondmorte, and about eleveno'clock in the morning one of their sentinels in the defile gave thealarm by firing off his gun and running back to the camp, shouting, "Toarms!" But Captain Poul, with his usual impetuosity, did not give theinsurgents time to form, but threw himself upon them to the beat of thedrum, not in the least deterred by their first volley. As he hadexpected, the band consisted of undisciplined peasants, who oncescattered were unable to rally. They were therefore completely routed. Poul killed several with his own hand, among whom were two whose heads hecut off as cleverly as the most experienced executioner could have done, thanks to the marvellous temper of his Damascus blade. At this sight allwho had till then stood their ground took to flight, Poul at their heels, slashing with his sword unceasingly, till they disappeared among themountains. He then returned to the field of battle, picked up the twoheads, and fastening them to his saddlebow, rejoined his soldiers withhis bloody trophies, --that is to say, he joined the largest group ofsoldiers he could find; for the fight had turned into a number of singlecombats, every soldier fighting for himself. Here he found threeprisoners who were about to be shot; but Poul ordered that they shouldnot be touched: not that he thought for an instant of sparing theirlives, but that he wished to reserve them for a public execution. Thesethree men were Nouvel, a parishioner of Vialon, Moise Bonnet ofPierre-Male, and Esprit Seguier the prophet. 

Captain Poul returned to Barre carrying with him his two heads and histhree prisoners, and immediately reported to M. Just de Baville, intendant of Languedoc, the important capture he had made. The prisonerswere quickly tried. Pierre Nouvel was condemned to be burnt alive at thebridge of Montvert, Molise Bonnet to be broken on the wheel at Deveze, and Esprit Seguier to be hanged at Andre-de-Lancise. Thus those who wereamateurs in executions had a sufficient choice. 

However, Moise Bonnet saved himself by becoming Catholic, but PierreNouvel and Esprit Seguier died as martyrs, making profession of the newfaith and praising God. 

Two days after the sentence on Esprit Seguier had been carried out, thebody disappeared from the gallows. A nephew of Laporte named Roland hadaudaciously carried it off, leaving behind a writing nailed to thegibbet. This was a challenge from Laporte to Poul, and was dated fromthe "Camp of the Eternal God, in the desert of Cevennes, " Laporte signinghimself "Colonel of the children of God who seek liberty of conscience. "Poul was about to accept the challenge when he learned that theinsurrection was spreading on every side. A young man of Vieljeu, twenty-six years of age, named Solomon Couderc, had succeeded EspritSeguier in the office of prophet, and two young lieutenants had joinedLaporte. One of these was his nephew Roland, a man of about thirty, pock-marked, fair, thin, cold, and reserved; he was not tall, but verystrong, and of inflexible courage. The other, Henri Castanet ofMassevaques, was a keeper from the mountain of Laygoal, whose skill as amarksman was so well known that it was said he never missed a shot. Eachof these lieutenants had fifty men under him. 

Prophets and prophetesses too increased apace, so that hardly a daypassed without reports being heard of fresh ones who were rousing wholevillages by their ravings. 

In the meantime a great meeting of the Protestants of Languedoc had beenheld in the fields of Vauvert, at which it had been resolved to joinforces with the rebels of the Cevennes, and to send a messenger thitherto make this resolution known. 

Laporte had just returned from La Vaunage, where he had been makingrecruits, when this good news arrived; he at once sent his nephew Rolandto the new allies with power to pledge his word in return for theirs, andto describe to them, in order to attract them, the country which he hadchosen as the theatre of the coming war, and which, thanks to itshamlets, its woods, its defiles, its valleys, its precipices, and itscaves, was capable of affording cover to as many bands of insurgents asmight be employed, would be a good rallying-ground after repulse, andcontained suitable positions for ambuscades. Roland was so successful inhis mission that these new "soldiers of the Lord, " as they calledthemselves, on learning that he had once been a dragoon, offered him thepost of leader, which he accepted, and returned to his uncle at the headof an army. 

Being thus reinforced, the Reformers divided themselves into three bands, in order to spread abroad their beliefs through the entire district. Onewent towards Soustele and the neighbourhood of Alais, another towards St. Privat and the bridge of Montvert, while the third followed the mountainslope down to St. Roman le Pompidou, and Barre. 

The first was commanded by Castanet, the second by Roland, and the thirdby Laporte. 

Each party ravaged the country as it passed, returning deathblow fordeathblow and conflagration for conflagration, so that hearing one afteranother of these outrages Captain Poul demanded reinforcements from M. DeBroglie and M. De Baville, which were promptly despatched. 

As soon as Captain Poul found himself at the head of a sufficient numberof troops, he determined to attack the rebels. He had receivedintelligence that the band led by Laporte was just about to pass throughthe valley of Croix, below Barre, near Temelague. In consequence of thisinformation, he lay in ambush at a favourable spot on the route. As soonas the Reformers who were without suspicion, were well within the narrowpass in which Poul awaited them, he issued forth at the head of hissoldiers, and charged the rebels with such courage and impetuosity thatthey, taken by surprise, made no attempt at resistance, but, thoroughlydemoralised, spread over the mountain-side, putting a greater and greaterdistance at, every instant between themselves and the enemy, despite theefforts of Laporte to make them stand their ground. At last, seeinghimself deserted, Laporte began to think of his own safety. But it wasalready too late, for he was surrounded by dragoons, and the only way ofretreat open to him lay over a large rock. This he successfully scaled, but before trying to get down the other side he raised his hands insupplication to Heaven; at that instant a volley was fired, two bulletsstruck him, and he fell head foremost down the precipice. 

When the dragoons reached the foot of the rock, they found him dead. Asthey knew he was the chief of the rebels, his body was searched: sixtyLouis was found in his pockets, and a sacred chalice which he was in thehabit of using as an ordinary drinking-cup. Poul cut off his head andthe heads of twelve other Reformers found dead on the field of battle, and enclosing them in a wicker basket, sent them to M. Just de Baville. 

The Reformers soon recovered from this defeat and death, joined all theirforces into one body, and placed Roland at their head in the place ofLaporte. Roland chose a young man called Couderc de Mazel-Rozade, whohad assumed the name of Lafleur, as his lieutenant, and the rebel forceswere not only quickly reorganised, but made complete by the addition of ahundred men raised by the new lieutenant, and soon gave a sign that theywere again on the war-path by burning down the churches of Bousquet, Cassagnas, and Prunet. 

Then first it was that the consuls of Mende began to realise that it wasno longer an insurrection they had on hand but a war, and Mende being thecapital of Gevaudan and liable to be attacked at any moment, they setthemselves to bring into repair their counterscarps, ravelins, bastions, gates, portcullises, moats, walls, turrets, ramparts, parapets, watchtowers, and the gear of their cannon, and having laid in a stock offirearms, powder and ball, they formed eight companies each fifty strong, composed of townsmen, and a further band of one hundred and fiftypeasants drawn from the neighbouring country. Lastly, the States of theprovince sent an envoy to the king, praying him graciously to takemeasures to check the plague of heresy which was spreading from day today. The king at once sent M. Julien in answer to the petition. Thus itwas no longer simple governors of towns nor even chiefs of provinces whowere engaged in the struggle; royalty itself had come to the rescue. 

M. De Julien, born a Protestant, was a, member of the nobility of Orange, and in his youth had served against France and borne arms in England andIreland when William of Orange succeeded James II as King of England, Julien was one of his pages, and received as a reward for his fidelity inthe famous campaign of 1688 the command of a regiment which was sent tothe aid of the Duke of Savoy, who had begged both England and Holland tohelp him. He bore himself so gallantly that it was in great part due tohim that the French were forced to raise the siege of Cony. 

Whether it was that he expected too much from this success, or that theDuke of Savoy did not recognise his services at their worth, he withdrewto Geneva, where Louis XIV hearing of his discontent, caused overtures tobe made to him with a view to drawing him into the French service. Hewas offered the same rank in the French army as he had held in theEnglish, with a pension of 3000 livres. 

M. De Julien accepted, and feeling that his religious belief would be inthe way of his advancement, when he changed his master he changed hisChurch. He was given the command of the valley of Barcelonnette, whencehe made many excursions against the Barbets; then he was transferred tothe command of the Avennes, of the principality of Orange, in order toguard the passes, so that the French Protestants could not pass over thefrontier for the purpose of worshipping with their Dutch Protestantbrethren; and after having tried this for a year, he went to Versaillesto report himself to the king. While he was there, it chanced that theenvoy from Gevaudan arrived, and the king being satisfied with deJulien's conduct since he had entered his service, made himmajor-general, chevalier of the military order of St. Louis; andcommander-in-chief in the Vivarais and the Cevennes. 

M. De Julien from the first felt that the situation was very grave, andsaw that his predecessors had felt such great contempt for the hereticsthat they had not realised the danger of the revolt. He immediatelyproceeded to inspect in person the different points where M. De Brogliehad placed detachments of the Tournon and Marsily regiments. It is truethat he arrived by the light of thirty burning village churches. 

M. De Broglie, M. De Baville, M. De Julien, and Captain Poul met togetherto consult as to the best means of putting an end to these disorders. Itwas agreed that the royal troops should be divided into two bodies, oneunder the command of M. De Julien to advance on Alais, where it wasreported large meetings of the rebels were taking place, and the otherunder M. De Brogue, to march about in the neighbourhood of Nimes. 

Consequently, the two chiefs separated. M. Le Comte de Broglie at thehead of sixty-two dragoons and some companies of foot, and having underhim Captain Poul and M. De Dourville, set out from Cavayrac on the 12thof January at 2 a. M. , and having searched without finding anything thevineyards of Nimes and La Garrigue de Milhau, took the road to the bridgeof Lunel. There he was informed that those he was in search of had beenseen at the chateau of Caudiac the day before; he therefore at once setout for the forest which lies around it, not doubting to find thefanatics entrenched there; but, contrary to his expectations, it wasvacant. He then pushed on to Vauvert, from Vauvert to Beauvoisin, fromBeauvoisin to Generac, where he learned that a troop of rebels had passedthe night there, and in the morning had left for Aubore. Resolved togive them no rest, M, de Broglie set out at once for this village. 

When half-way there, a member of his staff thought he could distinguish acrowd of men near a house about half a league distant; M. De Broglieinstantly ordered Sieur de Gibertin, Captain Paul's lieutenant, who wasriding close by, at the head of his company, to take eight dragoons andmake a reconnaissance, in order to ascertain who these men were, whilethe rest of the troops would make a halt. 

This little band, led by its officer, crossed a clearing in the wood, andadvanced towards the farmhouse, which was called the Mas de Gafarel, andwhich now seemed deserted. But when they were within half a gun-shot ofthe wall the charge was sounded behind it, and a band of rebels rushedtowards them, while from a neighbouring house a second troop emerged, andlooking round, he perceived a third lying on their faces in a small wood. These latter suddenly stood up and approached him, singing psalms. As itwas impossible for M. De Gibertin to hold his ground against so large aforce, he ordered two shots to be fired as a warning to de Brogue toadvance to meet him, and fell back on his comrades. Indeed, the rebelshad only pursued him till they had reached a favourable position, onwhich they took their stand. 

M. De Brogue having surveyed the whole position with the aid of atelescope, held a council of war, and it was decided that an attackshould be made forthwith. They therefore advanced on the rebels in line:Captain Poul on the right, M. De Dourville on the left, and Count Brogliein the centre. 

As they got near they could see that the rebels had chosen their groundwith an amount of strategical sagacity they had never till thendisplayed. This skill in making their dispositions was evidently due totheir having found a new leader whom no one knew, not even Captain Poul, although they could see him at the head of his men, carbine in hand. 

However, these scientific preparations did not stop M. De Brogue: he gavethe order to charge, and adding example to precept, urged his horse to agallop. The rebels in the first rank knelt on one knee, so that the rankbehind could take aim, and the distance between the two bodies of troopsdisappeared rapidly, thanks to the impetuosity of the dragoons; butsuddenly, when within thirty paces of the enemy, the royals foundthemselves on the edge of a deep ravine which separated them from theenemy like a moat. Some were able to check their horses in time, butothers, despite desperate efforts, pressed upon by those behind, werepushed into the ravine, and rolled helplessly to the bottom. At the samemoment the order to fire was given in a sonorous voice, there was arattle of musketry, and several dragoons near M. De Broglie fell. 

"Forward!" cried Captain Poul, "forward!" and putting his horse at a partof the ravine where the sides were less steep, he was soon struggling upthe opposite side, followed by a few dragoons. 

"Death to the son of Belial!" cried the same voice which had given theorder to fire. At that moment a single shot rang out, Captain Poul threwup his hands, letting his sabre go, and fell from his horse, whichinstead of running away, touched his master with its smoking nostrils, then lifting its head, neighed long and low. The dragoons retreated. 

"So perish all the persecutors of Israel!" cried the leader, brandishinghis carbine. He then dashed down into the ravine, picked up CaptainPoul's sabre and jumped upon his horse. The animal, faithful to its oldmaster, showed some signs of resistance, but soon felt by the pressure ofits rider's knees that it had to do with one whom it could not readilyunseat. Nevertheless, it reared and bounded, but the horseman kept hisseat, and as if recognising that it had met its match, the noble animaltossed its head, neighed once more, and gave in. While this was goingon, a party of Camisards [Name given to the insurgent Calvinists afterthe Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. --Translator's Note. ] and one ofthe dragoons had got down into the ravine, which had in consequence beenturned into a battlefield; while those who remained above on either sidetook advantage of their position to fire down at their enemies. M. DeDourville, in command of the dragoons, fought among the others like asimple soldier, and received a serious wound in the head; his menbeginning to lose ground, M. De Brogue tried to rally them, but withoutavail, and while he was thus occupied his own troop ran away; so seeingthere was no prospect of winning the battle, he and a few valiant men whohad remained near him dashed forward to extricate M. Dourville, who, taking advantage of the opening thus made, retreated, his wound bleedingprofusely. On the other hand, the Camisards perceiving at some distancebodies of infantry coming up to reinforce the royals, instead of pursuingtheir foes, contented themselves with keeping up a thick andwell-directed musketry-fire from the position in which they had won sucha quick and easy victory. 

As soon as the royal forces were out of reach of their weapons, the rebelchief knelt down and chanted the song the Israelites sang when, havingcrossed the Red Sea in safety, they saw the army of Pharaoh swallowed upin the waters, so that although no longer within reach of bullets thedefeated troops were still pursued by songs of victory. Theirthanksgivings ended, the Calvinists withdrew into the forest, led bytheir new chief, who had at his first assay shown the great extent of hisknowledge, coolness, and courage. 

This new chief, whose superiors were soon to become his lieutenants, wasthe famous Jean Cavalier. 

Jean Cavalier was then a young man of twenty-three, of less than mediumheight, but of great strength. His face was oval, with regular features, his eyes sparkling and beautiful; he had long chestnut hair falling onhis shoulders, and an expression of remarkable sweetness. He was born in1680 at Ribaute, a village in the diocese of Alais, where his father hadrented a small farm, which he gave up when his son was about fifteen, coming to live at the farm of St. Andeol, near Mende. 

Young Cavalier, who was only a peasant and the son of a peasant, beganlife as a shepherd at the Sieur de Lacombe's, a citizen of Vezenobre, butas the lonely life dissatisfied a young man who was eager for pleasure, Jean gave it up, and apprenticed himself to a baker of Anduze. 

There he developed a great love for everything connected with themilitary; he spent all his free time watching the soldiers at theirdrill, and soon became intimate with some of them, amongst others with afencing-master who gave him lessons, and a dragoon who taught him toride. 

On a certain Sunday, as he was taking a walk with his sweetheart on hisarm, the young girl was insulted by a dragoon of the Marquis de Florae'sregiment. Jean boxed the dragoon's ears, who drew his sword. Cavalierseized a sword from one of the bystanders, but the combatants wereprevented from fighting by Jean's friends. Hearing of the quarrel, anofficer hurried up: it was the Marquis de Florae himself, captain of theregiment which bore his name; but when he arrived on the scene he found, not the arrogant peasant who had dared to attack a soldier of the king, but only the young girl, who had fainted, the townspeople havingpersuaded her lover to decamp. 

The young girl was so beautiful that she was commonly called la belleIsabeau, and the Marquis de Florac, instead of pursuing Jean Cavalier, occupied himself in reviving Isabeau. 

As it was, however, a serious affair, and as the entire regiment hadsworn Cavalier's death, his friends advised him to leave the country fora time. La belle Isabeau, trembling for the safety of her lover, joinedher entreaties to those of his friends, and Jean Cavalier yielded. Theyoung girl promised him inviolable fidelity, and he, relying on thispromise, went to Geneva. 

There he made the acquaintance of a Protestant gentleman called Du Serre, who having glass-works at the Mas Arritas, quite near the farm of St. Andeol, had undertaken several times, at the request of Jean's father, Jerome, to convey money to Jean; for Du Serre went very often to Geneva, professedly on business affairs, but really in the interests of theReformed faith. Between the outlaw and the apostle union was natural. Du Serre found in Cavalier a young man of robust nature, activeimagination, and irreproachable courage; he confided to him his hopes ofconverting all Languedoc and Vivarais. Cavalier felt himself drawn backthere by many ties, especially by patriotism and love. He crossed thefrontier once more, disguised as a servant, in the suite of a Protestantgentleman; he arrived one night at Anduze, and immediately directed hissteps to the house of Isabeau. 

He was just about to knock, although it was one o'clock in the morning, when the door was opened from within, and a handsome young man came out, who took tender leave of a woman on the threshold. The handsome youngman was the Marquis de Florac; the woman was Isabeau. The promised wifeof the peasant had become the mistress of the noble. 

Our hero was not the man to suffer such an outrage quietly. He walkedstraight up to the marquis and stood right in his way. The marquis triedto push him aside with his elbow, but Jean Cavalier, letting fall thecloak in which he was wrapped, drew his sword. The marquis was brave, and did not stop to inquire if he who attacked him was his equal or not. Sword answered sword, the blades crossed, and at the end of a fewinstants the marquis fell, Jean's sword piercing his chest. 

Cavalier felt sure that he was dead, for he lay at his feet motionless. He knew he had no time to lose, for he had no mercy to hope for. Hereplaced his bloody sword in the scabbard, and made for the open country;from the open country he hurried into the mountains, and at break of dayhe was in safety. 

The fugitive remained the whole day in an isolated farmhouse whoseinmates offered him hospitality. As he very soon felt that he was in thehouse of a co-religionist, he confided to his host the circumstances inwhich he found himself, and asked where he could meet with an organisedband in which he could enrol himself in order to fight for thepropagation of the Reformed religion. The farmer mentioned Generac asbeing a place in which he would probably find a hundred or so of thebrethren gathered together. Cavalier set out the same evening for thisvillage, and arrived in the middle of the Camisards at the very momentwhen they had just caught sight of M. De Broglie and his troops in thedistance. The Calvinists happening to have no leader, Cavalier withgoverning faculty which some men possess by nature, placed himself attheir head and took those measures for the reception of the royal forcesof which we have seen the result, so that after the victory to which hishead and arm had contributed so much he was confirmed in the title whichhe had arrogated to himself, by acclamation. 

Such was the famous Jean Cavalier when the Royalists first learned of hisexistence, through the repulse of their bravest troops and the death oftheir most intrepid captain. 

The news of this victory soon spread through the Cevennes, and freshconflagrations lit up the mountains in sign of joy. The beacons wereformed of the chateau de la Bastide, the residence of the Marquis deChambonnas, the church of Samson, and the village of Grouppieres, whereof eighty houses only seven were left standing. 

Thereupon M. De Julien wrote to the king, explaining the serious turnthings had taken, and telling him that it was no longer a few fanaticswandering through the mountains and flying at the sight of a dragoon whomthey had to put down, but organised companies well led and officered, which if united would form an army twelve to fifteen hundred strong. Theking replied by sending M. Le Comte de Montrevel to Nimes. He was theson of the Marechal de Montrevel, chevalier of the Order of the HolySpirit, major-general, lieutenant of the king in Bresse and Charolais, and captain of a hundred men-at-arms. 

In their struggle against shepherds, keepers, and peasants, M. De Brogue, M. De Julien, and M. De Baville were thus joined together with the headof the house of Beaune, which had already at this epoch produced twocardinals, three archbishops, two bishops, a viceroy of Naples, severalmarshals of France, and many governors of Savoy, Dauphine, and Bresse. 

He was followed by twenty pieces of ordnance, five thousand bullets, fourthousand muskets, and fifty thousand pounds of powder, all of which wascarried down the river Rhone, while six hundred of the skilful mountainmarksmen called 'miquelets' from Roussillon came down into Languedoc. 

M. De Montrevel was the bearer of terrible orders. Louis XIV wasdetermined, no matter what it cost, to root out heresy, and set aboutthis work as if his eternal salvation depended on it. As soon as M. DeBaville had read these orders, he published the following proclamation:

"The king having been informed that certain people without religionbearing arms have been guilty of violence, burning down churches andkilling priests, His Majesty hereby commands all his subjects to huntthese people down, and that those who are taken with arms in their handsor found amongst their bands, be punished with death without any trialwhatever, that their houses be razed to the ground and their goodsconfiscated, and that all buildings in which assemblies of these peoplehave been held, be demolished. The king further forbids fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and other relations of the fanatics, or ofother rebels, to give them refuge, food, stores, ammunition, or otherassistance of any kind, under any pretext whatever, either directly orindirectly, on pain of being reputed accessory to the rebellion, and hecommands the Sieur de Baville and whatever officers he may choose toprosecute such and pronounce sentence of death on them. Furthermore, HisMajesty commands that all the inhabitants of Languedoc who may be absentat the date of the issue of this proclamation, return home within a week, unless their absence be caused by legitimate business, in which case theyshall declare the same to the commandant, the Sieur de Montrevel, or tothe intendant, the Sieur de Baville, and also to the mayors and consulsof the places where they may be, receiving from the latter certificatesthat there is a sufficient reason for their delay, which certificatesthey shall forward to the above-mentioned commandant or intendant. AndHis Majesty furthermore commands the said commandant and intendant toadmit no foreigner or inhabitant of any other province into Languedoc forcommercial purposes or for any other reason whatsoever, unless providedwith certificates from the commandants or intendants of the provinceswhence they come, or from the judges of the royal courts in the placeswhence they come, or from the nearest place containing such courts. Foreigners must be provided with passports from the ambassadors orministers of the king accredited to the countries to which they belong, or from the commandants or intendants of the provinces, or from thejudges of the royal courts of the places in which they may be at the dateof this proclamation. Furthermore, it is His Majesty's will that thosewho are found in the, aforesaid province of Languedoc without suchcertificates be regarded as fanatics and rebels, and that they beprosecuted as such, and punished with death, and that they be brought forthis purpose before the aforesaid Sieur de Baville or the officers whomhe may choose. 

"(Signed) "(Countersigned)"LOUIS PHILIPPEAU

"Given at Versailles the 25th day, of the month of February 1703. "

M. De Montrevel obeyed this proclamation to the letter. For instance, one day--the 1st of April 1703--as he was seated at dinner it wasreported to him that about one hundred and fifty Reformers were assembledin a mill at Carmes, outside Nimes, singing psalms. Although he was toldat the same time that the gathering was composed entirely of old peopleand children, he was none the less furious, and rising from the table, gave orders that the call to horse should be sounded. Putting himself atthe head of his dragoons, he advanced on the mill, and before theHuguenots knew that they were about to be attacked they were surroundedon every side. It was no combat which ensued, for the Huguenots wereincapable of resistance, it was simply a massacre; a certain number ofthe dragoons entered the mill sword in hand, stabbing all whom they couldreach, whilst the rest of the force stationed outside before the windowsreceived those who jumped out on the points of their swords. But soonthis butchery tired the butchers, and to get over the business morequickly, the marshal, who was anxious to return to his dinner, gaveorders that the mill should be set on fire. This being done, thedragoons, the marshal still at their head, no longer exerted themselvesso violently, but were satisfied with pushing back into the flames thefew unfortunates who, scorched and burnt, rushed out, begging only for aless cruel death. 

Only one victim escaped. A beautiful young girl of sixteen was saved bythe marshal's valet: both were taken and condemned to death; the younggirl was hanged, and the valet was on the point of being executed whensome Sisters of Mercy from the town threw themselves at the marshal'sfeet end begged for his life: after long supplication, he granted theirprayer, but he banished the valet not only from his service, but fromNimes. 

The very same evening at supper word was brought to the marshal thatanother gathering had been discovered in a garden near the still smokingmill. The indefatigable marshal again rose from table, and taking withhim his faithful dragoons, surrounded the garden, and caught and shot onthe spot all those who were assembled in it. The next day it turned outthat he had made a mistake: those whom he had shot were Catholics who hadgathered together to rejoice over the execution of the Calvinists. It istrue that they had assured the marshal that they were Catholics, but hehad refused to listen to them. Let us, however, hasten to assure thereader that this mistake caused no further annoyance to the marshal, except that he received a paternal remonstrance from the Bishop of Nimes, begging him in future not to confound the sheep with the wolves. 

In requital of these bloody deeds, Cavalier took the chateau of Serras, occupied the town of Sauve, formed a company of horse, and advancing toNimes, took forcible possession of sufficient ammunition for hispurposes. Lastly, he did something which in the eyes of the courtiersseemed the most incredible thing of all, he actually wrote a long letterto Louis XIV himself. This letter was dated from the "Desert, Cevennes, "and signed "Cavalier, commander of the troops sent by God"; its purposewas to prove by numerous passages from Holy Writ that Cavalier and hiscomrades had been led to revolt solely from a sense of duty, feeling thatliberty of conscience was their right; and it dilated on the subject ofthe persecutions under which Protestants had suffered, and asserted thatit was the infamous measures put in force against them which had driventhem to take up arms, which they were ready to lay down if His Majestywould grant them that liberty in matters of religion which they soughtand if he would liberate all who were in prison for their faith. If thiswere accorded, he assured the king His Majesty would have no morefaithful subjects than themselves, and would henceforth be ready to shedtheir last drop of blood in his service, and wound up by saying that iftheir just demands were refused they would obey God rather than the king, and would defend their religion to their last breath. 

Roland, who, whether in mockery or pride, began now to call himself"Comte Roland, " did not lag behind his young brother either as warrior orcorrespondent. He had entered the town of Ganges, where a wonderfulreception awaited him; but not feeling sure that he would be equally wellreceived at St. Germain and St. Andre, he had written the followingletters:--

"Gentlemen and officers of the king's forces, and citizens of St. Germain, make ready to receive seven hundred troops who have vowed to setBabylon on fire; the seminary and the houses of MM. De Fabregue, deSarrasin, de Moles, de La Rouviere, de Musse, and de Solier, will beburnt to the ground. God, by His Holy Spirit, has inspired my brotherCavalier and me with the purpose of entering your town in a few days;however strongly you fortify yourselves, the children of God will bearaway the victory. If ye doubt this, come in your numbers, ye soldiers ofSt. Etienne, Barre, and Florac, to the field of Domergue; we shall bethere to meet you. Come, ye hypocrites, if your hearts fail not. "COMTE ROLAND. "

The second letter was no less violent. It was as follows:--

"We, Comte Roland, general of the Protestant troops of France assembledin the Cevennes in Languedoc, enjoin on the inhabitants of the town ofSt. Andre of Valborgne to give proper notice to all priests andmissionaries within it, that we forbid them to say mass or to preach inthe afore-mentioned town, and that if they will avoid being burnt alivewith their adherents in their churches and houses, they are to withdrawto some other place within three days. "COMTE ROLAND. "

Unfortunately for the cause of the king, though the rebels met with someresistance in the villages of the plain, such as St. Germain and St. Andre, it was otherwise with those situated in the mountains; in those, when beaten, the Protestants found cover, when victorious rest; so thatM. De Montrevel becoming aware that while these villages existed heresywould never be extirpated, issued the following ordinance:--

"We, governor for His most Christian Majesty in the provinces ofLanguedoc and Vivarais, do hereby make known that it has pleased the kingto command us to reduce all the places and parishes hereinafter named tosuch a condition that they can afford no assistance to the rebel troops;no inhabitants will therefore be allowed to remain in them. His Majesty, however, desiring to provide for the subsistence of the afore-mentionedinhabitants, orders them to conform to the following regulations. Heenjoins on the afore-mentioned inhabitants of the hereinafter-mentionedparishes to repair instantly to the places hereinafter appointed, withtheir furniture, cattle, and in general all their movable effects, declaring that in case of disobedience their effects will be confiscatedand taken away by the troops employed to demolish their houses. And itis hereby forbidden to any other commune to receive such rebels, underpain of having their houses also razed to the ground and their goodsconfiscated, and furthermore being regarded and treated as rebels to thecommands of His Majesty. "

To this proclamation were appended the following instructions:--

"I. The officers who may be appointed to perform the above task shallfirst of all make themselves acquainted with the position of the parishesand villages which are to be destroyed and depopulated, in order to aneffective disposition of the troops, who are to guard the militia engagedin the work of destruction. 

"II. The attention of the officers is called to the following:--Whentwo or more villages or hamlets are so near together that they may beprotected at the same time by the same troops, then in order to save timethe work is to be carried on simultaneously in such villages or hamlets. 

"III. When inhabitants are found still remaining in any of theproscribed places, they are to be brought together, and a list made ofthem, as well as an inventory taken of their stock and corn. 

"IV. Those inhabitants who are of the most consequence among them shallbe selected to guide the others to the places assigned. 

"V. With regard to the live stock, the persons who may be found incharge of it shall drive it to the appointed place, save and except mulesand asses, which shall be employed in the transport of corn to whateverplaces it may be needed in. Nevertheless, asses may be given to the veryold, and to women with child who may be unable to walk. 

"VI. A regular distribution of the militia is to be made, so that eachhouse to be destroyed may have a sufficient number, for the task; thefoundations of such houses may be undermined or any other method employedwhich may be most convenient; and if the house can be destroyed by noother means, it is to be set on fire. 

"VII. No damage is to be done to the houses of former Catholics untilfurther notice, and to ensure the carrying out of this order a guard isto be placed in them, and an inventory of their contents taken and sentto Marechal de Montrevel. 

"VIII. The order forbidding the inhabitants to return to their houses isto be read to the inhabitants of each village; but if any do return theyshall not be harmed, but simply driven away with threats; for the kingdoes not desire that blood be shed; and the said order shall be affixedto a wall or tree in each village. 

"IX. Where no inhabitants are found, the said order shall simply beaffixed as above-mentioned in each place. 

"(Signed) "MARECHAL DE MONTREVEL"

Under these instructions the list of the villages to be destroyed wasgiven. It was as follows:

 18 in the parish of Frugeres, 5 " " Fressinet-de-Lozere, 4 " " Grizac, 15 " " Castagnols, 11 " " Vialas, 6 " " Saint-Julien, 8 " " Saint-Maurice de Vantalon, 14 " " Frezal de Vantalon, 7 " " Saint-Hilaire de Laret, 6 " " Saint-Andeol de Clergues, 28 " " Saint-Privat de Vallongues, 10 " " Saint-Andre de Lancise, 19 " " Saint-Germain de Calberte, 26 " " Saint-Etienne de Valfrancesque, 9 " " parishes of Prunet and Montvaillant, 16 " " parish of Florac. --- 202

A second list was promised, and was shortly afterwards published: itincluded the parishes of Frugeres, Pompidon, Saint-Martin, Lansuscle, Saint-Laurent, Treves, Vebron, Ronnes, Barre, Montluzon, Bousquet, LaBarthes, Balme, Saint-Julien d'Aspaon Cassagnas, Sainte-Croix deValfrancesque, Cabriac, Moissac, Saint-Roman, Saint Martin de Robaux, LaMelouse, le Collet de Deze, Saint-Michel de Deze, and the villages ofSalieges, Rampon, Ruas, Chavrieres, Tourgueselle, Ginestous, Fressinet, Fourques, Malbos, Jousanel, Campis, Campredon, Lous-Aubrez, La Croix deFer, Le Cap de Coste, Marquayres, Le Cazairal, and Le Poujal. 

In all, 466 market towns, hamlets, and villages, with 19, 500 inhabitants, were included. 

All these preparations made Marechal de Montrevel set out for Aix, September 26th, 1703, in order that the work might be carried out underhis personal supervision. He was accompanied by MM. De Vergetot and deMarsilly, colonels of infantry, two battalions of the Royal-Comtois, twoof the Soissonnais infantry, the Languedoc regiment of dragoons, and twohundred dragoons from the Fimarcon regiment. M. De Julien, on his side, set out for the Pont-de-Montvert at the same time with two battalionsfrom Hainault, accompanied by the Marquis of Canillac, colonel ofinfantry, who brought two battalions of his own regiment, which wasstationed in Rouergue, with him, and Comte de Payre, who broughtfifty-five companies of militia from Gevaudan, and followed by a numberof mules loaded with crowbars, axes, and other iron instruments necessaryfor pulling down houses. 

The approach of all these troops following close on the terribleproclamations we have given above, produced exactly the contrary effectto that intended. The inhabitants of the proscribed districts wereconvinced that the order to gather together in certain places was giventhat they might be conveniently massacred together, so that all thosecapable of bearing arms went deeper into the mountains, and joined theforces of Cavalier and Roland, thus reinforcing them to the number offifteen hundred men. Also hardly had M. De Julien set his hand to thework than he received information from M. De Montrevel, who had heard thenews through a letter from Flechier, that while the royal troops werebusy in the mountains the Camisards had come down into the plain, swarmedover La Camargue, and had been seen in the neighbourhood of Saint-Gilles. At the same time word was sent him that two ships had been seen in theoffing, from Cette, and that it was more than probable that theycontained troops, that England and Holland were sending to help theCamisards. 

M. De Montrevel; leaving the further conduct of the expedition to MM. DeJulien and de Canillac, hastened to Cette with eight hundred men and tenguns. The ships were still in sight, and were really, as had beensurmised, two vessels which had been detached from the combined fleets ofEngland and Holland by Admiral Schowel, and were the bearers of money, arms, and ammunition to the Huguenots. They continued to cruise aboutand signal, but as the rebels were forced by the presence of M. DeMontrevel to keep away from the coast, and could therefore make noanswer, they put off at length into the open, and rejoined the fleet. AsM. De Montrevel feared that their retreat might be a feint, he orderedall the fishermen's huts from Aigues-Morte to Saint-Gilles to bedestroyed, lest they should afford shelter to the Camisards. At the sametime he carried off the inhabitants of the district of Guillan and shutthem up in the chateau of Sommerez, after having demolished theirvillages. Lastly, he ordered all those who lived in homesteads, farms, or hamlets, to quit them and go to some large town, taking with them allthe provisions they were possessed of; and he forbade any workman whowent outside the town to work to take more than one day's provisions withhim. 

These measures had the desired effect, but they were terrible in theirresults; they deprived the Camisards of shelter indeed, but they ruinedthe province. M. De Baville, despite his well-known severity triedremonstrances, but they were taken in bad part by M. De Montrevel, whotold the intendant to mind his own business, which was confined to civilmatters, and to leave military matters in his, M. De Montrevel's, hands;whereupon the commandant joined M. De Julien, who was carrying on thework of destruction with indefatigable vigour. 

In spite of all the enthusiasm with which M. De Julien went to work toaccomplish his mission, and being a new convert, it was, of course, verygreat. Material hindrances hampered him at every step. Almost all thedoomed houses were built on vaulted foundations, and were thereforedifficult to lay low; the distance of one house from another, too, theiralmost inaccessible position, either on the peak of a high mountain or inthe bottom of a rocky valley, or buried in the depths of the forest whichhid then like a veil, made the difficulty still greater; whole days wereoften lost by the workmen and militia in searching for the dwellings theycame to destroy. 

The immense size of the parishes also caused delay: that of Saint-Germainde Calberte, for instance, was nine leagues in circumference, andcontained a hundred and eleven hamlets, inhabited by two hundred andseventy-five families, of which only nine were Catholic; that ofSaint-Etienne de Valfrancesque was of still greater extent, and itspopulation was a third larger, so that obstacles to the work multipliedin a remarkable manner. For the first few days the soldiers and workmenfound food in and around the villages, but this was soon at an end, andas they could hardly expect the peasants to keep up the supply, and theprovisions they had brought with them being also exhausted, they weresoon reduced to biscuit and water; and they were not even able to make itinto a warm mess by heating the water, as they had no vessels; moreover, when their hard day's work was at an end, they had but a handful of strawon which to lie. These privations, added to their hard and laboriouslife, brought on an endemic fever, which incapacitated for work manysoldiers and labourers, numbers of whom had to be dismissed. Very soonthe unfortunate men, who were almost as much to be pitied as those whomthey were persecuting, waited no longer to be sent away, but deserted innumbers. 

M. De Julien soon saw that all his efforts would end in failure if hecould not gain the king's consent to a slight change in the originalplan. He therefore wrote to Versailles, and represented to the king howlong the work would take if the means employed were only iron tools andthe human hand, instead of fire, the only true instrument employed byHeaven in its vengeance. He quoted in support of his petition the caseof Sodom and Gomorrah--those cities accursed of the Lord. Louis XIV, impressed by the truth of this comparison, sent him back a messengerpost-haste authorising him to employ the suggested means. 

"At once, " says Pere Louvreloeil, "the storm burst, and soon of all thehappy homesteads nothing was left: the hamlets, with their barns andouthouses, the isolated farmhouses, the single huts and cottages, everyspecies of building in short, disappeared before the swift advancingflames as wild flowers, weeds, and roots fall before the ploughshare. "

This destruction was accompanied by horrible cruelty. For instance, twenty-five inhabitants of a certain village took refuge in a chateau;the number consisted of children and very old people, and they were allthat was left of the entire population. Palmerolle, in command of themiquelets, hearing of this, hastened thither, seized the first eight hecould lay hold of, and shot them on the spot, "to teach them, " as he saysin his report, "not to choose a shelter which was not on the list ofthose permitted to them. "

The Catholics also of St. Florent, Senechas, Rousson, and other parishes, becoming excited at seeing the flames which enveloped the houses of theirold enemies, joined together, and arming themselves with everything thatcould be made to serve as an instrument of death, set out to hunt theconscripts down; they carried off the flocks of Perolat, Fontareche, andPajolas, burned down a dozen houses at the Collet-de-Deze, and from therewent to the village of Brenoux, drunk with the lust of destruction. There they massacred fifty-two persons, among them mothers with unbornchildren; and with these babes, which they tore from them, impaled ontheir pikes and halberts, they continued their march towards the villagesof St. Denis and Castagnols. 

Very soon these volunteers organised themselves into companies, andbecame known under the name of Cadets de la Croix, from a small whitecross which they wore on their coats; so the poor Huguenots had a newspecies of enemy to contend with, much more bloodthirsty than thedragoons and the miquelets; for while these latter simply obeyed ordersfrom Versailles, Nimes, or Montpellier, the former gratified a personalhate--a hate which had come down to them from their fathers, and whichthey would pass on to their children. 

On the other hand, the young Huguenot leader, who every day gained moreinfluence over his soldiers, tried to make the dragoons and Cadets de laCroix suffer in return everything they inflicted on the Huguenots, exceptthe murders. In the night from the 2nd to the 3rd October, about teno'clock, he came down into the plain and attacked Sommieres from twodifferent points, setting fire to the houses. The inhabitants seizingtheir arms, made a sortie, but Cavalier charged them at the head of theCavalry and forced them to retreat. Thereupon the governor, whosegarrison was too small to leave the shelter of the walls, turned his gunson them and fired, less in the hope of inflicting injury on them than inthat of being heard by the neighbouring garrisons. 

The Camisards recognising this danger, retired, but not before they hadburnt down the hotels of the Cheval-Blanc, the Croix-d'Or, theGrand-Louis, and the Luxembourg, as well as a great number of otherhouses, and the church and the presbytery of Saint-Amand. 

Thence the Camisards proceeded to Cayla and Vauvert, into which theyentered, destroying the fortifications. There they provided themselvesabundantly with provisions for man and beast. In Vauvert, which wasalmost entirely inhabited by his co-religionists, Cavalier assembled theinhabitants in the market-place, and made them join with him in prayer toGod, that He would prevent the king from following evil counsel; he alsoexhorted his brethren to be ready to sacrifice their goods and theirlives for the re-establishment of their religion, affirming that the HolySpirit had revealed to him that the arm of the Lord, which had alwayscome to their aid, was still stretched out over them. 

Cavalier undertook these movements in the hope of interrupting the workof destruction going on in Upper Cevennes; and partly obtained thedesired result; for M. De Julien received orders to come down into theopen country and disperse the Camisards. 

The troops tried to fulfil this task, but, thanks to the knowledge thatthe rebels had of the country, it was impossible to come up with them, sothat Fleshier, who was in the thick of the executions, conflagrations, and massacres, but who still found time to write Latin verse and gallantletters, said, in speaking of them, "They were never caught, and did allthe damage they wished to do without let or hindrance. We laid theirmountains waste, and they laid waste our plain. There are no morechurches left in our dioceses, and not being able either to plough or sowour lands, we have no revenues. We dread serious revolt, and desire toavoid a religious civil war; so all our efforts are relaxing, we let ourarms fall without knowing why, and we are told, 'You must have patience;it is not possible to fight against phantoms. '" Nevertheless, from timeto time, these phantoms became visible. Towards the end of October, Cavalier came down to Uzes, carried off two sentinels who were guardingthe gates, and hearing the call to arms within, shouted that he wouldawait the governor of the city, M. De Vergetot, near Lussan. 

And indeed Cavalier, accompanied by his two lieutenants, Ravanel andCatinat, took his way towards this little town, between Uzes and Bargeac, which stands upon an eminence surrounded upon all sides by cliffs, whichserve it as ramparts and render it very difficult of access. Havingarrived within three gun-shots of Lussan, Cavalier sent Ravanel to demandprovisions from the inhabitants; but they, proud of their naturalramparts, and believing their town impregnable, not only refused tocomply with the requisition, but fired several shots on the envoy, one ofwhich wounded in the arm a Camisard of the name of La Grandeur, who hadaccompanied Ravanel. Ravanel withdrew, supporting his wounded comrade, followed by shots and the hootings of the inhabitants. When theyrejoined Cavalier and made their report, the young commander issuedorders to his soldiers to make ready to take the town the next morning;for, as night was already falling, he did not venture to start in thedark. In the meantime the besieged sent post-haste to M. De Vergetot towarn him of their situation; and resolving to defend themselves as longas they could, while waiting for a response to their message they setabout barricading their gates, turned their scythes into weapons, fastened large hooks on long poles, and collected all the instrumentsthey could find that could be used in attack or defence. As to theCamisards, they encamped for the night near an old chateau called Fan, about a gun-shot from Lussan. 

At break of day loud shouts from the town told the Camisards that theexpected relief was in sight, and looking out they saw in the distance atroop of soldiers advancing towards them; it was M. De Vergetat at thehead of his regiment, accompanied by forty Irish officers. 

The Protestants prepared themselves, as usual, by reciting psalms andprayers, notice without taking of the shouts and threats of any of thetownspeople, and having finished their invocations, they marched out tomeet the approaching column. The cavalry, commanded by Catinat, made adetour, taking a sheltered way to an unguarded bridge over a small rivernot far off, so as to outflank the royal forces, which they were toattack in the rear as soon as Cavalier and Ravanel should have engagedthem in front. 

M. De Vergetot, on his side, continued to advance, so that the Calvinistsand the Catholics were soon face to face. The battle began on both sidesby a volley; but Cavalier having seen his cavalry emerging from aneighbouring wood, and counting upon their assistance, charged the enemyat the double quick. Catinat judging by the noise of the firing that hispresence was necessary, charged also at a gallop, falling on the flank ofthe Catholics. 

In this charge, one of M. De Vergetot's captains was killed by a bullet, and the other by a sabre-cut, and the grenadiers falling into disorder, first lost ground and then fled, pursued by Catinat and his horsemen, who, seizing them by the hair, despatched them with their swords. Havingtried in vain to rally his men, M, de Vergetot, surrounded by a fewIrish, was forced in his turn to fly; he was hotly pursued, and on thepoint of being taken, when by good luck he reached the height of Gamene, with its walls of rock. Jumping off his horse, he entered the narrowpathway which led to the top, and entrenched himself with about a hundredmen in this natural fort. Cavalier perceiving that further pursuit wouldbe dangerous, resolved to rest satisfied with his victory; as he knew byhis own experience that neither men nor horses had eaten for eighteenhours, he gave the signal far retreat, and retired on Seyne, where hehoped to find provisions. 

This defeat mortified the royal forces very deeply, and they resolved totake their revenge. Having learnt by their spies that on a certain nightin November Cavalier and his band intended to sleep on a mountain calledNages, they surrounded the mountain during the night, so that at dawnCavalier found himself shut in on every side. As he wished to see withhis own eyes if the investment was complete, he ordered his troops tofall into rank on the top of the mountain, giving the command to Ravaneland Catinat, and with a pair of pistols in his belt and his carbine onhis shoulder, he glided from bush to bush and rock to rock, determined, if any weak spot existed, to discover it; but the information he hadreceived was perfectly correct, every issue was guarded. 

Cavalier now set off to rejoin his troops, passing through a ravine, buthe had hardly taken thirty steps when he found himself confronted by acornet and two dragoons who were lying in ambush. There was no time torun away, and indeed such a thought never entered the young commander'shead; he walked straight up to them. On their side, the dragoonsadvanced towards him, and the cornet covering him with his pistol, calledout, "Halt! you are Cavalier; I know you. It is not possible for you toescape; surrender at discretion. " Cavalier's answer was to blow out thecornet's brains with a shot from his carbine, then throwing it behind himas of no further use, he drew his two pistols from his belt, walked up tothe two dragoons, shot them both dead, and rejoined his comradesunwounded. These, who had believed him lost, welcomed him with cheers. 

But Cavalier had something else to do than to celebrate his return;mounting his horse, he put himself at the head of his men, and fell uponthe royal troops with such impetuosity that they gave way at the firstonset. Then a strange incident occurred. About thirty women who hadcome to the camp with provisions, carried away by their enthusiasm at thesight of this success, threw themselves upon the enemy, fighting likemen. One young girl of about seventeen, Lucrese Guigon by name, distinguished herself amongst the others by her great valour. Notcontent with encouraging her brethren by the cry of "The sword of theLord and of Gideon!" she tore sabres from the hands of the dead dragoonsto despatch the dying. Catinat, followed by ten of his men, pursued theflying troops as far as the plain of Calvisson. There they were able torally, thanks to the advance of the garrison to meet them. 

Eighty dragoons lay dead on the field of battle, while Cavalier had onlylost five men. 

As we shall see, Cavalier was not only a brave soldier and a skilfulcaptain, but also a just judge. A few days after the deed of arms whichwe have just related, he learned that a horrible murder had beencommitted by four Camisards, who had then retired into the forest ofBouquet. He sent a detachment of twenty men with orders to arrest themurderers and bring them before him. The following are the details ofthe crime:

The daughter of Baron Meyrargues, who was not long married to a gentlemannamed M. De Miraman, had set out on the 29th November for Ambroix to joinher husband, who was waiting for her there. She was encouraged to dothis by her coachman, who had often met with Camisards in theneighbourhood, and although a Catholic, had never received any harm fromthem. She occupied her own carriage, and was accompanied by a maid, anurse, a footman, and the coachman who had persuaded her to undertake thejourney. Two-thirds of the way already lay safely behind them, whenbetween Lussan and Vaudras she was stopped by four, men, who made her getout of her carriage and accompany them into the neighbouring forest. Theaccount of what then happened is taken from the deposition of the maid. We copy it word for word:

"These wretches having forced us, " says she, "to walk into the foresttill we were at some distance from the high road, my poor mistress grewso tired that she begged the man who walked beside her to allow her tolean on his shoulder. He looking round and seeing that they had reacheda lonely spot, replied, 'We need hardly go any farther, ' and made us sitdawn on a plot of grass which was to be the scene of our martyrdom. Mypoor mistress began to plead with the barbarians in the most touchingmanner, and so sweetly that she would have softened the heart of a demon. She offered them her purse, her gold waistband, and a fine diamond whichshe drew from her finger; but nothing could move these tigers, and one ofthem said, 'I am going to kill all the Catholics at once, and shall begin with you. ' 'What will you gain by my death?' asked my mistress. 'Spare my life. '--'No; shut up!' replied he. 'You shall die by myhand. Say your prayers. ' My good mistress threw herself at once on herknees and prayed aloud that God would show mercy to her and to hermurderers, and while she was thus praying she received a pistol-shot inher left breast, and fell; a second assassin cut her across the face withhis sword, and a third dropped a large stone on her head, while thefourth killed the nurse with a shot from his pistol. Whether it was thatthey had no more loaded firearms, or that they wished to save theirammunition, they were satisfied with only giving me several bayonetwounds. I pretended to be dead: they thought it was really the case, andwent away. Some time after, seeing that everything had become quiet, andhearing no sound, I dragged myself, dying as I was, to where my dearmistress lay, and called her. As it happened, she was not quite dead, and she said in a faint voice, 'Stay with me, Suzon, till I die. ' Sheadded, after a short pause, for she was hardly able to speak, 'I die formy religion, and I hope that God will have pity on me. Tell my husbandthat I confide our little one to his care. ' Having said this, she turnedher thoughts from the world, praying to God in broken and tender words, and drew her last breath as the night fell. "

In obedience to Cavalier's orders, the four criminals were taken andbrought before him. He was then with his troops near Saint-Maurice deCasevielle; he called a council of war, and having had the prisonerstried for their atrocious deed, he summed up the evidence in as clear amanner as any lawyer could have done, and called upon the judges topronounce sentence. All the judges agreed that the prisoners should beput to death, but just as the sentence was made known one of theassassins pushed aside the two men who guarded him, and jumping down arock, disappeared in the forest before any attempt could be made to stophim. The three others were shot. 

The Catholics also condemned many to be executed, but the trialsconducted by then were far from being as remarkable for honour andjustice as was that which we have just described. We may instance thetrial of a poor boy of fourteen, the son of a miller of Saint-Christolwho had been broken the wheel just a month before. For a moment thejudges hesitated to condemn so young a boy to death, but a witnesspresented himself who testified that the little fellow was employed bythe fanatics to strangle Catholic children. Although no one believed theevidence, yet it was seized-on as a pretext: the unfortunate boy wascondemned to death, and hanged without mercy an hour later. 

A great many people from the parishes devastated by M. De Julien hadtaken refuge in Aussilargues, in the parish of St. Andre. Driven byhunger and misery, they went beyond the prescribed limits in search ofmeans of subsistence. Planque hearing of this, in his burning zeal forthe Catholic faith resolved not to leave such a crime unpunished. Hedespatched a detachment of soldiers to arrest the culprits: the task waseasy, for they were all once more inside the barrier and in their beds. They were seized, brought to St. Andre's Church and shut in; then, without trial of any kind, --they were taken, five at a time, andmassacred: some were shot and some cut down with sword or axe; all werekilled without exception--old and young women and children. One of thelatter, who had received three shots was still able to raise his head andcry, "Where is father? Why doesn't he come and take me away. "

Four men and a young girl who had taken refuge in the town of Lasalle, one of the places granted to the houseless villagers as an asylum, askedand received formal permission from the captain of the Soissonaisregiment, by name Laplace, to go home on important private business, oncondition that they returned the same night. They promised, and in theintention of keeping this promise they all met on their way back at asmall farmhouse. Just as they reached it a terrible storm came on. Themen were for continuing their way in spite of the weather, but the younggirl besought them to wait till daylight, as she did not dare to ventureout in the dark during such a storm, and would die of fright if leftalone at the farm. The men, ashamed to desert their companion, who wasrelated to one of them, yielded to her entreaties and remained, hopingthat the storm would be a sufficient excuse for the delay. As soon as itwas light, the five resumed their journey. But the news of their crimehad reached the ears of Laplace before they got back. They werearrested, and all their excuses were of no avail. Laplace ordered themen to be taken outside the town and shot. The young girl was condemnedto be hanged; and the sentence was to be carried out that very day, butsome nuns who had been sent for to prepare her for death, having vainlybegged Laplace to show mercy, entreated the girl to declare that shewould soon become a mother. She indignantly refused to save her life atthe cost of her good name, so the nuns took the lie on themselves andmade the necessary declaration before the captain, begging him if he hadno pity for the mother to spare the child at least, by granting areprieve till it should be born. The captain was not for a momentdeceived, but he sent for a midwife and ordered her to examine the younggirl. At the end of half an hour she declared that the assertion of thenuns was true. 

"Very well, " said the captain: "let them both be kept in prison for threemonths; if by the end of that time the truth of this assertion is notself-evident, both shall be hanged. " When this decision was made knownto the poor woman, she was overcome by fear, and asked to see the, captain again, to whom she confessed that, led away by the entreaties ofthe nuns, she had told a lie. 

Upon this, the woman was sentenced to be publicly whipped, and the younggirl hanged on a gibbet round which were placed the corpses of the fourmen of whose death she was the cause. 

As may easily be supposed, the "Cadets of the Cross" vied with bothCatholics and Protestants in the work of destruction. One of their bandsdevoted itself to destroying everything belonging to the new convertsfrom Beaucaire to Nimes. They killed a woman and two children atCampuget, an old man of eighty at a farm near Bouillargues, severalpersons at Cicure, a young girl at Caissargues, a gardener at Nimes, andmany other persons, besides carrying off all the flocks, furniture, andother property they could lay hands on, and burning down the farmhousesof Clairan, Loubes, Marine, Carlot, Campoget Miraman, La Bergerie, andLarnac--all near St. Gilies and Manduel. "They stopped travellers on thehighways, " says Louvreloeil, "and by way of finding out whether they wereCatholic or not, made them say in Latin the Lord's Prayer, the Ave Maria, the Symbol of the Faith, and the General Confession, and those who wereunable to do this were put to the sword. In Dions nine corpses werefound supposed to have been killed by their hands, and when the body of ashepherd who had been in the service of the Sieur de Roussiere, a formerminister, was found hanging to a tree, no one doubted who were themurderers. At last they went so far that one of their bands meeting theAbbe de Saint Gilles on the road, ordered him to deliver up to them oneof his servants, a new convert, in order to put him to death. It was invain that the abbe remonstrated with them, telling them it was a shame toput such an affront on a man of his birth and rank; they persisted nonethe less in their determination, till at last the abbe threw his armsround his servant and presented his own body to the blows directed at theother. "

The author of The Troubles in the Cevennes relates something surpassingall this which took place at Montelus on the 22nd February "There were afew Protestants in the place, " he says, "but they were far outnumbered bythe Catholics; these being roused by a Capuchin from Bergerac, formedthemselves into a body of 'Cadets of the Cross, ' and hastened to servetheir apprenticeship to the work of assassination at the cost of theircountrymen. They therefore entered the house of one Jean Bernoin, cutoff his ears and further mutilated him, and then bled him to death like apig. On coming out of this house they met Jacques Clas, and shot him inthe abdomen, so that his intestines obtruded; pushing them back, hereached his house in a terrible condition, to the great alarm of hiswife, who was near her confinement, and her children, who hastened to thehelp of husband and father. But the murderers appeared on the threshold, and, unmoved by the cries and tears of the unfortunate wife and the poorlittle children, they finished the wounded man, and as the wife made aneffort to prevent them, they murdered her also, treating her dead body, when they discovered her condition, in a manner too revolting fordescription; while a neighbour, called Marie Silliot, who tried to rescuethe children, was shot dead; but in her case they did not pursue theirvengeance any further. They then went into the open country and meetingPierre and Jean Bernard, uncle and nephew, one aged forty-five and theother ten, seized on them both, and putting a pistol into the hands ofthe child, forced him to shoot his uncle. In the meantime the boy'sfather had come up, and him they tried to constrain to shoot his son; butfinding that no threats had any effect, they ended by killing both, oneby the sword, the other by the bayonet. 

"The reason why they put an end to father and son so quickly was thatthey had noticed three young girls of Bagnols going towards a grove ofmulberry trees, where they were raising silk-worms. The men followedthem, and as it was broad daylight and the girls were therefore notafraid, they soon came up with them. Having first violated them, theyhung them by the feet to a tree, and put them to death in a horriblemanner. "

All this took place in the reign of Louis the Great, and for the greaterglory of the Catholic religion. 

History has preserved the names of the five wretches who perpetratedthese crimes: they were Pierre Vigneau, Antoine Rey, Jean d'Hugon, Guillaume, and Gontanille. 

CHAPTER III

Such crimes, of which we have only described a few, inspired horror inthe breasts of those who were neither maddened by fanaticism nor devouredby the desire of vengeance. One of these, a Protestant, Barond'Aygaliers, without stopping to consider what means he had at hiscommand or what measures were the best to take to accomplish his object, resolved to devote his life to the pacification of the Cevennes. Thefirst thing to be considered was, that if the Camisards were everentirely destroyed by means of Catholic troops directed by de Baville, deJulien, and de Montrevel, the Protestants, and especially the Protestantnobles who had never borne arms, would be regarded as cowards, who hadbeen prevented by fear of death or persecution from openly taking thepart of the Huguenots: He was therefore convinced that the only course topursue was to get, his co-religionists to put an end to the strugglethemselves, as the one way of pleasing His Majesty and of showing him howgroundless were the suspicions aroused in the minds of men by theCatholic clergy. 

This plan presented, especially to Baron d'Aygaliers, two apparentlyinsurmountable difficulties, for it could only be carried out by inducingthe king to relax his rigorous measures and by inducing the Camisards tosubmit. Now the baron had no connection with the court, and was notpersonally acquainted with a single Huguenot chief. 

The first thing necessary to enable the baron to begin his efforts was apassport for Paris, and he felt sure that as he was a Protestant neitherM. De Baville nor M. De Montrevel would give him one. A lucky accident, however, relieved his embarrassment and strengthened his resolution, forhe thought he saw in this accident the hand of Providence. 

Baron d'Aygaliers found one day at the house of a friend a M. De Paratte, a colonel in the king's army, and who afterwards became major-general, but who at the time we are speaking of was commandant at Uzes. He was ofa very impulsive disposition, and so zealous in matters relating to theCatholic religion and in the service of the king, that he never couldfind himself in the presence of a Protestant without expressing hisindignation at those who had taken up arms against their prince, and alsothose who without taking up arms encouraged the rebels in their designs. M. D'Aygaliers understood that an allusion was meant to himself, and heresolved to take advantage of it. 

So the next day he paid a visit to M. De Paratte, and instead ofdemanding satisfaction, as the latter quite expected, for the rudeness ofhis remarks on the previous day, he professed himself very much obligedfor what he had said, which had made such a deep impression on him thathe had made up his mind to give proof of his zeal and loyalty by going toParis and petitioning the king for a position at court. De Paratte, charmed with what he had heard, and enchanted with his convert, embracedd'Aygaliers, and gave him, says the chronicler, his blessing; and withthe blessing a passport, and wished him all the success that a fathercould wish for his son. D'Aygaliers had now attained his object, andfurnished with the lucky safe-conduct, he set out for Paris, withouthaving communicated his intentions to anyone, not even to his mother. 

On reaching Paris he put up at a friend's house, and drew up a statementof his plan: it was very short and very clear. 

"The undersigned has the honour to point out humbly to His Majesty:

"That the severities and the persecutions which have been employed bysome of the village priests have caused many people in the countrydistricts to take up arms, and that the suspicions which new convertsexcited have driven a great many of them to join the insurgents. Intaking this step they were also impelled by the desire to avoidimprisonment or removal from their homes, which were the remedies chosento keep them in the old faith. This being the case, he thinks that thebest means of putting an end to this state of things would be to takemeasures exactly the contrary of those which produced it, such as puttingan end to the persecutions and permitting a certain number of those ofthe Reformed religion to bear arms, that they might go to the rebels andtell them that far from approving of their actions the Protestants as awhole wished to bring them back to the right way by setting them a goodexample, or to fight against them in order to show the king and France, at the risk of their lives, that they disapproved of the conduct of theirco-religionists, and that the priests had been in the wrong in writing tothe court that all those of the Reformed religion were in favour ofrevolt. "

D'Aygaliers hoped that the court would adopt this plan; for if they did, one of two things must happen: either the Camisards, by refusing toaccept the terms offered to them, would make themselves odious to theirbrethren (for d'Aygaliers intended to take with him on his mission ofpersuasion only men of high reputation among the Reformers, who would berepelled by the Camisards if they refused to submit), or else; by layingdown their arms and submitting, they would restore peace to the South ofFrance, obtain liberty of worship, set free their brethren from theprisons and galleys, and come to the help of the king in his war againstthe allied powers, by supplying him in a moment with a large body ofdisciplined troops ready to take the field against his enemies; for notonly would the Camisards, if they were supplied with officers, beavailable for this purpose, but also those troops which were at themoment employed in hunting down the Camisards would be set free for thisimportant duty. 

This proposition was so clear and promised to produce such usefulresults, that although the prejudice against the Reformers was verystrong, Baron d'Aygaliers found supporters who were at once intelligentand genuine in the Duke de Chevreuse and the Duke de Montfort, his son. These two gentlemen brought about a meeting between the baron andChamillard, and the latter presented him to the Marechal de Villars, towhom he showed his petition, begging him to bring it to the notice of theking; but M, de Villars, who was well acquainted with the obstinacy ofLouis, who, as Baron de Peken says, "only saw the Reformers through thespectacles of Madame de Maintenon, " told d'Aygaliers that the last thinghe should do would be to give the king any hint of his plans, unless hewished to see them come to nothing; on the contrary, he advised him to goat once to Lyons and wait there for him, M. De Villars; for he wouldprobably be passing through that town in a few days, being almost certainto be appointed governor of Languedoc in place of M. De Montrevel, whohad fallen under the king's displeasure and was about to be recalled. Inthe course of the three interviews which d'Aygaliers had had with M. DeVillars, he had become convinced that de Villars was a man capable ofunderstanding his object; he therefore followed his advice, as hebelieved his knowledge of the king to be correct, and left Paris forLyons. 

The recall of M. De Montrevel had been brought about in the followingmanner:--M. De Montrevel having just come to Uzes, learned that Cavalierand his troops were in the neighbourhood of Sainte-Chatte; he immediatelysent M. De La Jonquiere, with six hundred picked marines and somecompanies of dragoons from the regiment of Saint-Sernin, but half an hourlater, it having occurred to him that these forces were not sufficient, he ordered M. De Foix, lieutenant of the dragoons of Fimarqon, to join M. De La Jonquiere at Sainte-Chatte with a hundred soldiers of his regiment, and to remain with him if he were wanted; if not, to return the samenight. 

M. De Foix gave the necessary orders, chose a hundred of his bravest men, put himself at their head, and joined M. De La Jonquiere, showing him hisorders; but the latter, confiding in the courage of his soldiers andunwilling to share with anyone the glory of a victory of which he feltassured, not only sent away M. De Foix, but begged him to go back toUzes, declaring to him that he had enough troops to fight and conquer allthe Camisards whom he might encounter; consequently the hundred dragoonswhom the lieutenant had brought with him were quite useless atSainte-Chatte, while on the contrary they might be very necessarysomewhere else. M. De Foix did not consider that it was his duty toinsist on remaining under these circumstances, and returned to Uzes, while M. De La Jonquiere continued his route in order to pass the nightat Moussac. Cavalier left the town by one gate just as M. De LaJonquiere entered at the other. The wishes of the young Catholiccommander were thus in a fair way to be fulfilled, for in all probabilityhe would come up with his enemy the next day. 

As the village was inhabited for the most part by new converts, the nightinstead of being spent in repose was devoted to pillage. 

The next day the Catholic troops reached Moussac, which they founddeserted, so they went on to Lascours-de-Gravier, a little villagebelonging to the barony of Boucairan, which M. De La Jonquiere gave up topillage, and where he had four Protestants shot--a man, a woman, and twoyoung girls. He then resumed his route. As it had rained, he soon cameon the trail of the Camisards, the terrible game which he was huntingdown. For three hours he occupied himself in this pursuit, marching atthe head of his troops, lest someone else less careful than he shouldmake some mistake, when, suddenly raising his eyes, he perceived theCamisards on a small eminence called Les Devois de Maraignargues. Thiswas the spot they had chosen to await attack in, being eager for theapproaching combat. 

As soon as Cavalier saw the royals advancing, he ordered his men, according to custom, to offer up prayers to God, and when these werefinished he disposed his troops for battle. His plan was to take upposition with the greater part of his men on the other side of a ravine, which would thus form a kind of moat between him and the king's soldiers;he also ordered about thirty horsemen to make a great round, thusreaching unseen a little wood about two hundred yards to his left, wherethey could conceal themselves; and lastly, he sent to a point on theright sixty foot-soldiers chosen from his best marksmen, whom he orderednot to fire until the royal forces were engaged in the struggle with him. 

M. De La Jonquiere having approached to within a certain distance, halted, and sent one of his lieutenants named de Sainte-Chatte to make areconnaissance, which he did, advancing beyond the men in ambush, whogave no sign of their existence, while the officer quietly examined theground. But Sainte-Chatte was an old soldier of fortune and not easilytaken in, so on his return, while explaining the plan of the groundchosen by Cavalier for the disposition of his troops to M. De LaJonquiere, he added that he should be very much astonished if the youngCamisard had not employed the little wood on his left and the lie of theground on his right as cover for soldiers in ambush; but M. De LaJonquiere returned that the only thing of importance was to know theposition of the principal body of troops in order to attack it at once. Sainte-Chatte told him that the principal body was that which was beforehis eyes, and that on this subject there could be no mistake; for he hadapproached near enough to recognise Cavalier himself in the front rank. 

This was enough for M. De La Jonquiere: he put himself at the head of hismen and rode straight to the ravine, beyond which Cavalier and hiscomrades awaited him in order of battle. Having got within apistol-shot, M. De La Jonquiere gave the order to fire, but he was sonear that Cavalier heard the words and saw the motion made by the men asthey made ready; he therefore gave a rapid sign to his men, who threwthemselves on their faces, as did their leader, and the bullets passedover them without doing any harm M. M. De La Jonquiere, who believed themall dead, was astonished when Cavalier and his Camisards rose up andrushed upon the royal troops, advancing to the sound of a psalm. At adistance of ten paces they fired, and then charged the enemy at the pointof the bayonet. At this moment the sixty men in ambush to the rightopened fire, while the thirty horsemen to the left, uttering loud shouts, charged at a gallop. Hearing this noise, and seeing death approach themin three different directions, the royals believed themselves surrounded, and did not attempt to make a stand; the men, throwing away theirweapons, took to their heels, the officers alone and a few dragoons whomthey had succeeded in rallying making a desperate resistance. 

Cavalier was riding over the field of battle, sabring all the fugitiveswhom he met, when he caught sight of a group, composed of ten navalofficers; standing close together and back to back, spontoon in hand, facing the Camisards, who surrounded them. He spurred up to them, passing through the ranks of his soldiers, and not pausing till he waswithin fifteen paces of them, although they raised their weapons to fire. Then making a sign with his hand that he wished to speak to them, hesaid, "Gentlemen, surrender. I shall give quarter, and in return for theten lives I now spare you, will ask that my father, who is in prison atNimes, be released. "

For sole answer, one of the officers fired and wounded the young chief'shorse in the head. Cavalier drew a pistol from his belt, took aim at theofficer and killed him, then turning again to the others, he asked, "Gentlemen, are you as obstinate as your comrade, or do you accept myoffer?" A second shot was the reply, and a bullet grazed his shoulder. Seeing that no other answer was to be hoped for, Cavalier turned to hissoldiers. "Do your duty, " said he, and withdrew, to avoid seeing themassacre. The nine officers were shot. 

M. De La Jonquiere, who had received a slight wound in the cheek, abandoned his horse in order to climb over a wall. On the other side hemade a dragoon dismount and give him his horse, on which he crossed theriver Gardon, leaving behind him on the battlefield twenty-five officersand six hundred soldiers killed. This defeat was doubly disastrous tothe royal cause, depriving it of the flower of its officers, almost allof those who fell belonging to the noblest families of France, and alsobecause the Camisards gained what they so badly needed, muskets, swords, and bayonets in great quantities, as well as eighty horses, these latterenabling Cavalier to complete the organisation of a magnificent troop ofcavalry. 

The recall of the Marechal de Montrevel was the consequence of thisdefeat, and M. De Villars, as he had anticipated, was appointed in hisplace. But before giving up his governorship Montrevel resolved toefface the memory of the check which his lieutenant's foolhardiness hadcaused, but for which, according to the rules of war, the general had topay the penalty. His plan was by spreading false rumours and makingfeigned marches to draw the Camisards into a trap in which they, in theirturn, would be caught. This was the less difficult to accomplish astheir latest great victory had made Cavalier over confident both inhimself and his men. 

In fact, since the incident connected with the naval officers the troopsof Cavalier had increased enormously in numbers, everyone desiring toserve under so brave a chief, so that he had now under him over onethousand infantry and two hundred cavalry; they were furnished, besides, just like regular troops, with a bugler for the cavalry, and eight drumsand a fife for the infantry. 

The marechal felt sure that his departure would be the signal for someexpedition into the level country under Cavalier, so it was given outthat he had left for Montpellier, and had sent forward some of hisbaggage-waggons to that place. On April 15th he was informed thatCavalier, deceived by the false news, had set out on the 16th April, intending to pass the night at Caveyrac, a small town about a league fromNimes, that he might be ready next day to make a descent on La Vannage. This news was brought to M. De Montrevel by a village priest calledVerrien, who had in his pay vigilant and faithful spies in whom he hadevery confidence. 

Montrevel accordingly ordered the commandant of Lunel, M. De Grandval, toset out the next day, very early in the morning, with the Charolaisregiment and five companies of the Fimarcon and Saint-Sernin dragoons, and to repair to the heights of Boissieres, where instructions wouldawait him. Sandricourt, governor of Nimes, was at the same time directedto withdraw as many men as possible from the garrison, both Swiss anddragoons, and send them by night towards Saint-Come and Clarensac;lastly, he himself set out, as he had said, but instead of going on toMontpellier, he stopped at Sommieres, whence he could observe themovements of Cavalier. 

Cavalier, as M. De Montrevel already knew, was to sleep on the 15th atCaveyrac. On this day Cavalier reached the turning-point in hismagnificent career. As he entered the town with his soldiers, drumsbeating and flags flying, he was at the zenith of his power. He rode thesplendid horse M. De La Jonquiere had abandoned in his flight; behindhim, serving as page, rode his young brother, aged ten, followed by fourgrooms; he was preceded by twelve guards dressed in red; and as hiscolleague Roland had taken the title of Comte, he allowed himself to becalled Duke of the Cevennes. 

At his approach half of the garrison, which was commanded by M. DeMaillan, took possession of the church and half of the citadel; but asCavalier was more bent on obtaining food and rest for his soldiers thanof disturbing the town, he billeted his men on the townspeople, andplaced sentinels at the church and fortress, who exchanged shots all thenight through with the royal troops. The next morning, having destroyedthe fortifications, he marched out of the town again, drums beating andflags flying as before. When almost in sight of Nimes he made histroops, which had never before been so numerous or so brilliant, performa great many evolutions, and then continued his way towards Nages. 

M. De Montrevel received a report at nine o'clock in the morning of thedirection Cavalier and his troops had taken, and immediately leftSommieres, followed by six companies of Fimarqon dragoons, one hundredIrish free-lances, three hundred rank and file of the Hainault regiment, and one company each of the Soissonnais, Charolais, and Menon regiments, forming in all a corps over nine hundred strong. They took the directionof Vaunages, above Clarensac; but suddenly hearing the rattle of musketrybehind them, they wheeled and made for Langlade. 

They found that Grandval had already encountered the Camisards. Thesebeing fatigued had withdrawn into a hollow between Boissieres and thewindmill at Langlade, in order to rest. The infantry lay down, theirarms beside them; the cavalry placed themselves at the feet of theirhorses, the bridle on arm. Cavalier himself, Cavalier the indefatigable, broken by the fatigues of the preceding days, had fallen asleep, with hisyoung brother watching beside him. Suddenly he felt himself shaken bythe arm, and rousing up, he heard on all sides cries of "Kill! Kill!"and "To arms! To arms!" Grandval and his men, who had been sent to findout where the Camisards were, had suddenly come upon them. 

The infantry formed, the cavalry sprang to their saddles, Cavalier leapedon his horse, and drawing his sword, led his soldiers as usual againstthe dragoons, and these, as was also usual, ran away, leaving twelve oftheir number dead on the field. The Camisard cavalry soon gave up thepursuit, as they found themselves widely separated from the infantry andfrom their leader; for Cavalier had been unable to keep up with them, hishorse having received a bullet through its neck. 

Still they followed the flying dragoons for a good hour, from time totime a wounded dragoon falling from his horse, till at last the Camisardcavalry found itself confronted by the Charolais regiment, drawn up inbattle array, and behind them the royal dragoons, who had taken refugethere, and were re-forming. 

Carried on by the rapidity of their course, the Camisards could not pullup till they were within a hundred yards of the enemy; they fired once, killing several, then turned round and retreated. 

When a third of the way, back had been covered, they met their chief, whohad found a fresh horse by the wayside standing beside its dead master. He arrived at full gallop, as he was anxious to unite his cavalry andinfantry at once, as he had seen the forces of the marechal advancing, who, as we have already said, had turned in the direction of the firing. Hardly had Cavalier effected the desired junction of his forces than heperceived that his retreat was cut off. He had the royal troops bothbefore and behind him. 

The young chief saw that a desperate dash to right or left was all thatremained to him, and not knowing this country as well as the Cevennes, heasked a peasant the way from Soudorgues to Nages, that being the only oneby which he could escape. There was no time to inquire whether thepeasant was Catholic or Protestant; he could only trust to chance, andfollow the road indicated. But a few yards from the spot where the roadfrom Doudorgues to Nages joins the road to Nimes he found himself in faceof Marechal Montrevel's troops under the command of Menon. However, asthey hardly outnumbered the Camisards, these did not stop to look foranother route, but bending forward in their saddles, they dashed throughthe lines at full gallop, taking the direction of Nages, hoping to reachthe plain round Calvisson. But the village, the approaches, the issueswere all occupied by royal troops, and at the same time Grandval and themarechal joined forces, while Menon collected his men together and pushedforward. Cavalier was completely surrounded: he gave the situation acomprehensive glance--his foes, were five to one. 

Rising in his stirrups, so that he could see over every head, Cavaliershouted so loud that not only his own men heard but also those of theenemy: "My children, if our hearts fail us now, we shall be taken andbroken on the wheel. There is only one means of safety: we must cut ourway at full gallop through these people. Follow me, and keep closeorder!"

So speaking, he dashed on the nearest group, followed by all his men, whoformed a compact mass; round which the three corps of royal troopsclosed. Then there was everywhere a hand-to-hand battle there was notime to load and fire; swords flashed and fell, bayonets stabbed, theroyals and the Camisards took each other by the throat and hair. For anhour this demoniac fight lasted, during which Cavalier lost five hundredmen and slew a thousand of the enemy. At last he won through, followedby about two hundred of his troops, and drew a long breath; but findinghimself in the centre of a large circle of soldiers, he made for abridge, where alone it seemed possible to break through, it being onlyguarded by a hundred dragoons. 

He divided his men into two divisions, one to force the bridge, the otherto cover the retreat. Then he faced his foes like a wild boar driven tobay. 

Suddenly loud shouts behind him announced that the bridge was forced; butthe Camisards, instead of keeping the passage open for their leader, scattered over the plain and sought safety in flight. But a child threwhimself before them, pistol in hand. It was Cavalier's young brother, mounted on one of the small wild horses of Camargues of that Arab breedwhich was introduced into Languedoc by the Moors from Spain. Carrying asword and carbine proportioned to his size, the boy addressed the flyingmen. "Where are you going?" he cried, "Instead of running away likecowards, line the river banks and oppose the enemy to facilitate mybrother's escape. " Ashamed of having deserved such reproaches, theCamisards stopped, rallied, lined the banks of the river, and by keepingup a steady fire, covered Cavalier's retreat, who crossed without havingreceived a single wound, though his horse was riddled with bullets and hehad been forced to change his sword three times. 

Still the combat raged; but gradually Cavalier managed to retreat: aplain cut by trenches, the falling darkness, a wood which afforded cover, all combined to help him at last. Still his rearguard, harassed by theenemy, dotted the ground it passed over with its dead, until at last bothvictors and vanquished were swallowed up by night. The fight had lastedten hours, Cavalier had lost more than five hundred men, and the royalsabout a thousand. 

"Cavalier, " says M. De Villars, in his Memoirs, "acted on this day in away which astonished everyone. For who could help being astonished tosee a nobody, inexperienced in the art of warfare, bear himself in suchdifficult and trying circumstances like some great general? At oneperiod of the day he was followed everywhere by a dragoon; Cavalier shotat him and killed his horse. The dragoon returned the shot, but missed. Cavalier had two horses killed under him; the first time he caught adragoon's horse, the second time he made one of his own men dismount andgo on foot. "

M. De Montrevel also showed himself to be a gallant soldier; whereverthere was danger there was he, encouraging officers and soldiers by hisexample: one Irish captain was killed at his side, another fatallywounded, and a third slightly hurt. Grandval, on his part, had performedmiracles: his horse was shot under him, and M. De Montrevel replaced itby one of great value, on which he joined in the pursuit of theCamisards. After this affair M, de Montrevel gave up his place to M. DeVillars, leaving word for Cavalier that it was thus he took leave of hisfriends. 

Although Cavalier came out of this battle with honour, compelling evenhis enemies to regard him as a man worthy of their steel, it hadnevertheless destroyed the best part of his hopes. He made a halt-nearPierredon to gather together the remnant of his troops, and truly it wasbut a remnant which remained. Of those who came back the greater numberwere without weapons, for they had thrown them away in their flight. Many were incapacitated for service by their wounds; and lastly, thecavalry could hardly be said to exist any longer, as the few men whosurvived had been obliged to abandon their horses, in order to get acrossthe high ditches which were their only cover from the dragoons during theflight. 

Meantime the royalists were very active, and Cavalier felt that it wouldbe imprudent to remain long at Pierredon, so setting out during thenight, and crossing the Gardon, he buried himself in the forest ofHieuzet, whither he hoped his enemies would not venture to follow him. And in fact the first two days were quiet, and his troops benefitedgreatly by the rest, especially as they were able to draw stores of allkinds--wheat, hay, arms, and ammunition--from an immense cave which theCamisards had used for a long time as a magazine and arsenal. Cavaliernow also employed it as a hospital, and had the wounded carried there, that their wounds might receive attention. 

Unfortunately, Cavalier was soon obliged to quit the forest, in spite ofhis hopes of being left in peace; for one day on his way back from avisit to the wounded in the cave, whose existence was a secret, he cameacross a hundred miquelets who had penetrated thus far, and who wouldhave taken him prisoner if he had not, with his, accustomed presence ofmind and courage, sprung from a rock twenty feet high. The miqueletsfired at him, but no bullet reached him. Cavalier rejoined his troops, but fearing to attract the rest of the royalists to the place, --retreatedto some distance from the cave, as it was of the utmost importance thatit should not be discovered, since it contained all his resources. 

Cavalier had now reached one of those moments when Fortune, tired ofconferring favours, turns her back on the favourite. The royalists hadoften noticed an old woman from the village of Hieuzet going towards theforest, sometimes carrying a basket in her hand, sometimes with a hamperon her head, and it occurred to them that she was supplying the hiddenCamisards with provisions. She was arrested and brought before GeneralLalande, who began his examination by threatening that he would have herhanged if she did not at once declare the object of her frequent journeysto the forest without reserve. At first she made use of all kinds ofpretexts, which only strengthened the suspicions of Lalande, who, ceasinghis questions, ordered her to be taken to the gallows and hanged. Theold woman walked to the place of execution with such a firm step that thegeneral began to think he would get no information from her, but at thefoot of the ladder her courage failed. She asked to be taken back beforethe general, and having been promised her life, she revealed everything. 

M. De Lalande put himself at once at the head of a strong detachment ofmiquelets, and forced the woman to walk before them till they reached thecavern, which they never would have discovered without a guide, socleverly was the entrance hidden by rocks and brushwood. On entering, thefirst thing that met their eye was the wounded, about thirty in number. The miquelets threw themselves upon them and slaughtered them. This deedaccomplished, they went farther into the cave, which to their greatsurprise contained a thousand things they never expected to findthere--heaps of grain, sacks of flour, barrels of wine, casks of brandy, quantities of chestnuts and potatoes; and besides all this, chestscontaining ointments, drugs and lint, and lastly a complete arsenal ofmuskets, swords, and bayonets, a quantity of powder ready-made, andsulphur, saltpetre, and charcoal-in short, everything necessary for themanufacture of more, down to small mills to be turned by hand. Lalandekept his word: the life of an old woman was not too much to give inreturn for such a treasure. 

Meantime M. De Villars, as he had promised, took up Baron d'Aygaliers inpassing through Lyons, so that during the rest of the journey thepeacemaker had plenty of time to expatiate on his plans. As M. DeVillars was a man of tact and a lover of justice, and desired above allthings to bring a right spirit to bear on the performance of the dutiesof his new office, in which his two predecessors had failed, he promisedthe baron "to keep, " as he expressed himself, his "two ears open" andlisten to both sides, and as a first proof of impartiality--he refused togive any opinion until he had heard M, de Julien, who was coming to meethim at Tournon. 

When they arrived at Tournon, M. De Julien was there to receive them, andhad a very different story to tell from that which M. De Villars hadheard from d'Aygaliers. According to him, the only pacific rationpossible was the complete extermination of the Camisards. He felthimself very hardly treated in that he had been allowed to destroy onlyfour hundred villages and hamlets in the Upper Cevennes, --assuring deVillars with the confidence of a man who had studied the matterprofoundly, that they should all have been demolished without exception, and all the peasants killed to the last man. 

So it came to pass that M. De Villars arrived at Beaucaire placed likeDon Juan between the spirits of good and evil, the one advising clemencyand the other murder. M. De Villars not being able to make up his mind, on reaching Nimes, d'Aygaliers assembled the principal Protestants of thetown, told them of his plan, showing them its practicability, so thatalso joined in the good work, and drew up a document in which they askedthe marechal to allow them to take up arms and march against the rebels, as they were determined either to bring them back into the good way byforce of example or to fight them as a proof of their loyalty. 

This petition, which was signed by several nobles and by almost all thelawyers and merchants of the city of Nimes, was presented to M. DeVillars on Tuesday, 22nd April, 1704, by M. De Albenas, at the head ofseven or eight hundred persons of the Reformed religion. M. De Villarsreceived the request kindly, thanked its bearer and those who accompaniedhim, assuring them that he had no doubt of the sincerity of theirprofessions, and that if he were in want of help he would have recourseto them with as much confidence as if they were old Catholics. He hoped, however, to win the rebels back by mildness, and he begged them to secondhis efforts in this direction by spreading abroad the fact that anamnesty was offered to all those who would lay down arms and return totheir houses within a week. The very next day but one, M. De Villars setout from Nimes to visit all the principal towns, in order to make himselfacquainted with men, things, and places. 

Although the answer to the petition had been a delicate refusal, d'Aygaliers was not discouraged, but followed M. De Villars everywhere. When the latter arrived at Alais, the new governor sent for MM. DeLalande and de Baville, in order to consult them as to the best means ofinducing the Camisards to lay down their arms. Baron d'Aygaliers wassummoned to this consultation, and described his plan to the twogentlemen. As he expected, both were opposed to it; however, he tried tobring them over to his side by presenting to them what seemed to him tobe cogent reasons for its adoption. But de Lalande and de Baville madelight of all his reasons, and rejected his proposals with such vehemence, that the marechal, however much inclined to the side of d'Aygaliers, didnot venture to act quite alone, and said he would not decide on anycourse until he reached Uzes. 

D'Aygaliers saw clearly that until he had obtained the approbation ofeither the general or the intendant, he would get nothing from themarechal. He therefore considered which of the two he should try topersuade, and although de Baville was his personal enemy, having severaltimes shown his hatred for him and his family, he decided to addresshimself to him. 

In consequence, the next day, to the great astonishment of M. De Baville, d'Aygaliers paid him a visit. The intendant received him coldly butpolitely, asked him to sit down, and when he was seated begged to knowthe motive which had brought him. "Sir, " replied the baron, "you havegiven my family and me such cause of offence that I had come to the firmresolution never to ask a favour of you, and as perhaps you may haveremarked during the journey we have taken with M. Le marechal, I wouldrather have died of thirst than accept a glass of water from you. But Ihave come here to-day not upon any private matter, to obtain my own ends, but upon a matter which concerns the welfare of the State. I thereforebeg you to put out of your mind the dislike which you have to me andmine, and I do this the more earnestly that your dislike can only havebeen caused by the fact that our religion is different from yours--athing which could neither have been foreseen nor prevented. My entreatyis that you do not try to set M. Le marechal against the course which Ihave proposed to him, which I am convinced would bring the disorders inour province to an end, stop the occurrence of the many unfortunateevents which I am sure you look on with regret, and spare you muchtrouble and embarrassment. "

The intendant was much touched by this calm speech, and above all by theconfidence which M. D'Aygaliers had shown him, and replied that he hadonly offered opposition to the plan of pacification because he believedit to be impracticable. M. D'Aygaliers then warmly pressed him to try itbefore rejecting it for ever, and in the end M. De Baville withdrew hisopposition. 

M, d'Aygaliers hastened to the marechal, who finding himself no longeralone in his favourable opinion, made no further delay, but told thebaron to call together that very day all the people whom he thoughtsuitable for the required service, and desired that they should bepresented to him the next morning before he set out for Nimes. 

The next day, instead of the fifty men whom the marachal had thoughtcould be gathered together, d'Aygaliers came to him followed by eighty, who were almost all of good and many of noble family. The meeting tookplace, by the wish of the baron, in the courtyard of the episcopalpalace. "This palace, " says the baron in his Memoirs, "which was ofgreat magnificence, surrounded by terraced gardens and superblyfurnished, was occupied by Monseigneur Michel Poncet de La Riviere. Hewas a man passionately devoted to pleasures of all kinds, especially tomusic, women, and good cheer. There were always to be found in his housegood musicians, pretty women, and excellent wines. These latter suitedhim so well that he never left the table without being in a pleasanthumour, and at such a moment if it came into his head that anyone in hisdiocese was not as good a Christian as himself, he would sit down andwrite to M. De Baville, urging that the delinquent ought to be sent intoexile. He often did this honour to my late father. " M. D'Aygaliers goeson to say that "on seeing such a great number of Huguenots in the courtwho were all declaring that they were better servants of the king thanthe Catholics, he almost fell from his balcony with vexation andsurprise. This vexation increased when he saw M. De Villars and M. DeBaville, who had apartments in the palace, come down into the court andtalk to these people. One hope still remained to him: it was that themarechal and the intendant had come down to send them away; but this lasthope was cruelly disappointed when he heard M. De Villars say that heaccepted their service and expected them to obey d'Aygaliers in allmatters concerning the service of the king. "

But this was not all that had to be accomplished arms were necessary forthe Protestants, and though their number was not great, there was adifficulty in finding them weapons. The unfortunate Calvinists had beendisarmed so often that even their table-knives had been carried off, soit was useless to search their houses for guns and sabres. D'Aygaliersproposed that they should take the arms of the townspeople, but M. DeVillars considered that it would offend the Catholics to have their armstaken from them and given to the Protestants. In the end, however, thiswas the course that had to be adopted: M. De Paratte was ordered to givefifty muskets and the same number of bayonets to M. D'Aygaliers, who alsoreceived, as the reward of his long patience, from M. De Villars, beforethe latter left for Nimes, the following commission:

"We, Marechal de Villars, general in the armies of the king, etc. , etc. , have given permission to M. D'Aygaliers, nobleman and Protestant of thetown of Uzes, and to fifty men chosen by him, to make war on theCamisards. 

"(Signed) "VILLARS

"(Countersigned) "MORETON

"Given at Uzes, the 4th of May 1704"

Hardly had M. De Villars set out for Nimes than d'Aygaliers met withfresh difficulties. The bishop, who could not forget that his episcopalpalace had been turned into barracks for Huguenots, went from house tohouse threatening those who had promised to countenance d'Aygaliers'plans, and strictly forbidding the captains of the town troops to deliverany weapons to the Protestants. Fortunately, d'Aygaliers had notaccomplished so much without having learned not to draw back when theroad grew rough, so he also on his side went about confirming the strongand encouraging the feeble, and called on M. De Paratte to beg him tocarry out the orders of M. De Villars. De Paratte was happily an oldsoldier, whose one idea was that discipline should be maintained, so thathe gave the guns and bayonets to d'Aygaliers on the spot, without a wordof objection, and thus enabled the latter to start at five o'clock nextmorning with his little band. 

Meantime de Baville and de Lalande had been reflecting what greatinfluence d'Aygaliers would gain in the province should he succeed in hisaims, and their jealousy had made them resolve to forestall him in hiswork, by themselves inducing Cavalier to abandon his present course. They did not conceal from themselves that this would be difficult, but asthey could command means of corruption which were not within the power ofd'Aygaliers, they did not despair of success. 

They therefore sent for a countryman called Lacombe, in order to enlisthim on their side; for Cavalier, when a boy, had been his shepherd fortwo years, and both had remained friends ever since: this man undertookto try and bring about a meeting between the two gentlemen andCavalier--an enterprise which would have been dangerous for anyone else. He promised first of all to explain to Cavalier the offers of MM. DeBaville and de Lalande. 

Lacombe kept his word: he set off the same day, and two days laterappeared before Cavalier. The first feeling of the young chief wasastonishment, the second pleasure. Lacombe could not have chosen abetter moment to speak of peace to his former shepherd. 

"Indeed, " says Cavalier in his Memoirs, "the loss which I had justsustained at Nages was doubly painful to me because it was irreparable. I had lost at one blow not only a great number of weapons, all myammunition, and all my money, but also a body of men, inured to dangerand fatigue, and capable of any undertaking;--besides all this, I hadbeen robbed of my stores--a loss which made itself felt more than all theothers put together, because as long as the secret of the cavern waskept, in all our misfortunes we were never without resources; but fromthe moment it got into the possession of our enemies we were quitedestitute. The country was ravaged, my friends had grown cold, theirpurses were empty, a hundred towns had been sacked and burned, theprisons were full of Protestants, the fields were uncultivated. Added toall this, the long promised help from England had never arrived, and thenew marechal had appeared in the province accompanied by fresh troops. "

Nevertheless, in spite of his desperate position, Cavalier listened tothe propositions laid before him by Lacombe with cold and haughty front, and his reply was that he would never lay down arms till the Protestantshad obtained the right to the free exercise of their religion. 

Firm as was this answer, Lalande did not despair of inducing Cavalier tocome to terms: he therefore wrote him a letter with his own hand, askinghim for an interview, and pledging his word that if they came to noagreement Cavalier should be free to retire without any harm being donehim; but he added that, if he refused this request, he should regard himas an enemy to peace, and responsible for all the blood which might beshed in future. 

This overture, made with a soldier's frankness, had a great effect onCavalier, and in order that neither his friends nor his enemies shouldhave the least excuse for blaming him, he resolved to show everyone thathe was eager to seize the first chance of making peace on advantageousterms. 

He therefore replied to Lalande, that he would come to the bridge ofAvene on that very day, the 12th May, at noon, and sent his letter byCatinat, ordering him to deliver it into the hands of the Catholicgeneral himself. 

Catinat was worthy of his mission. He was a peasant from Cayla, whosereal name was Abdias Maurel. He had served under Marshal Catinat inItaly, the same who had maintained so gallant a struggle against PrinceEugene. When Maurel returned home he could talk of nothing but hismarshal and his campaigns, so that he soon went among his neighbours bythe name of "Catinat. " He was, as we have seen, Cavalier's right hand, who had placed him in command of his cavalry, and who now entrusted himwith a still more dangerous post, that of envoy to a man who had oftensaid that he would give 2000 livres to him who would bring him the headof Cavalier, and 1000 livres each for the heads of his two lieutenants. Catinat was quite well aware of this offer of Lalande's, yet he appearedbefore the general perfectly cool and calm; only, either from a feelingof propriety or of pride, he was dressed in full uniform. 

The bold and haughty expression of the man who presented Cavalier'sletter astonished the general, who asked him his name. 

"I am Catinat, " he answered. 

"Catinat!" exclaimed Lalande in surprise. 

"Yes, Catinat, commander of the cavalry of Cavalier. "

"What!" said Lalande, "are you the Catinat who massacred so many peoplein Beaucaire?"

"Yes, I am. I did it, but it was my duty. "

"Well, " exclaimed M. De Lalande, "you show great hardihood in daring toappear before me. "

"I came, " said Catinat proudly, "trusting to your honour and to thepromise that Brother Cavalier gave me that nothing should happen to me. "

"He was quite right, " returned Lalande, taking the letter. Having readit, he said, "Go back to Cavalier and assure him that I shall be at thebridge of Avene at noon, accompanied only by a few officers and thirtydragoons. I expect to find him there with a similar number of men. "

"But, " answered Catinat, "it is possible that Brother Cavalier may notwish-to come with so poor a following. "

"If so, " returned Lalande, "then tell him that he may bring his wholearmy if he likes, but that I shall not take a single man with me morethan I have said; as Cavalier has confidence in me, I have confidence inhim. "

Catinat reported Lalande's answer to his chief it was of a kind that heunderstood and liked, so leaving the rest of his troops at Massanes, hechose sixty men from his infantry, and eight horsemen as escort. Oncoming in sight of the bridge, he saw Lalande approaching from the otherside. He at once ordered his sixty men to halt, went a few steps fartherwith his eight horsemen, and then ordered them in their turn to stop, andadvanced alone towards the bridge. Lalande had acted in the same mannerwith regard to his dragoons and officers, and now dismounting, cametowards Cavalier. 

The two met in the middle of the bridge, and saluted with the courtesy ofmen who had learned to esteem each other on the field of battle. Thenafter a short silence, during which they examined each other, Lalandespoke. 

"Sir, " said he, "the king in his clemency desires to put an end to thewar which is going on between his subjects, and which can only result inthe ruin of his kingdom. As he knows that this war has been instigatedand supported by the enemies of France, he hopes to meet no opposition tohis wishes among those of his subjects who were momentarily led astray, but to whom he now offers pardon. "

"Sir, " answered Cavalier, "the war not having been begun by theProtestants, they are always ready for peace--but a real peace, withoutrestriction or reserve. They have no right, I know, to lay downconditions, but I hope they will be permitted to discuss those which maybe laid down for them. Speak openly, sir, and let me know what theoffers are that you have been authorised to make to us, that I may judgeif we can accept them. "

"But how would it be, " said Lalande, "if you were mistaken, and if theking desired to know what conditions you would consider reasonable?"

"If that is so, " answered Cavalier, "I will tell you our conditions atonce, in order not to prolong the negotiations; for every minute's delay, as you know, costs someone his life or fortune. "

"Then tell me what your conditions are, " returned Lalande. 

"Well, " said Cavalier, "our demands are three first, liberty ofconscience; secondly, the release of all prisoners who have beencondemned to imprisonment or the galleys because of their religion; andthirdly, that if we are not granted liberty of conscience we may be atleast permitted to leave the kingdom. "

"As far as I can judge, " replied Lalande, "I do not believe that the kingwill accept the first proposition, but it is possible that he may accedeto the third. In that case, how many Protestants would you take withyou?"

"Ten thousand of all ages and both sexes. "

"The number is excessive, sir. I believe that His Majesty is notdisposed to go beyond three thousand. "

"Then, " replied Cavalier, "there is nothing more to be said, for I couldnot accept passports for any smaller number, and I could accept for theten thousand only on condition that the king would grant us three monthsin which to dispose of our possessions and withdraw from the countrywithout being molested. Should His Majesty, however, not be pleased toallow us to leave the kingdom, then we beg that our edicts be re-enactedand our privileges restored, whereupon we shall become once more, what wewere formerly, His Majesty's loyal and obedient servants. "

"Sir, " said Lalande, "I shall lay your conditions before M. Le Marechal, and if no satisfactory conclusion can be arrived at, it will be to me amatter of profound regret. And now, sir, will you permit me to inspectmore closely the gallant men with whose help you have done suchastounding deeds?" Cavalier smiled; for these "gallant men" when caughthad been broken on the wheel, burnt at the stake, or hanged likebrigands. His sole answer was an inclination of the head as he turnedand led the way to his little escort. M. De Lalande followed him withperfect confidence, and, passing by the eight horsemen who were groupedon the road, he walked up to the infantry, and taking out of his pocket ahandful of gold, he scattered it before them, saying:

"There, my men! that is to drink the king's health with. "

Not a man stooped to pick the money up, and one of them said, shaking hishead, "It is not money we want, but liberty of conscience. "

"My men, " answered Lalande, "it is unfortunately not in my power to grantyour demand, but I advise you to submit to the king's will and trust inhis clemency. "

"Sir, " answered Cavalier, "we are all ready to obey him, provided that hegraciously grant us our just demands; if not, we shall die weapon inhand, rather than expose ourselves once more to such outrages as havealready been inflicted on us. "

"Your demands shall be transmitted word for word to M. De Villars, whowill lay them before the king, " said Lalande, "and you may be sure, sir, that my most sincere wish is that His Majesty may not find themexorbitant. "

With these words, M. De Lalande saluted Cavalier, and turned to rejoinhis escort; but Cavalier, wishing to return confidence with confidence, crossed the bridge with him, and accompanied the general to where hissoldiers had halted. There, with another salute, the two chiefs parted, M. De Lalande taking the road to Uzes, while Cavalier rejoined hiscomrades. 

Meantime d'Aygaliers, who, as we have seen, had not left Uzes until the5th May, in order to join Cavalier, did not come up with him until the13th, that is to say, the day after his conference with Lalande. D'Aygaliers gives us an account of their interview, and we cannot dobetter than quote it. 

"Although it was the first time that we had met face to face, we embracedeach other as if we were old acquaintances. My little band mixed withhis and sang psalms together, while Cavalier and I talked. I was verymuch pleased with what, he said, and convinced him without difficultythat he should submit for the sake of the brethren, who could then choosewhichever course best suited them, and either leave the kingdom or servethe king. I said that I believed the last course to be the best, provided we were allowed to worship God according to our consciences;because I hoped that, seeing their faithful service, His Majesty wouldrecognise that he had been imposed upon by those who had described us asdisloyal subjects, and that we should thus obtain for the whole nationthat liberty of conscience which had been granted to us; that in no otherway, as far as I could see, could our deplorable condition beameliorated, for although Cavalier and his men might be able to exist forsome time longer in the forests and mountains, they would never be strongenough to save the inhabitants of towns and other enclosed places fromperishing. 

"Upon this he replied, that although the Catholics seldom kept a promisemade to those of our religion, he was willing to risk his life for thewelfare of his brethren and the province but that he trusted if heconfided in the clemency of the king for whom he had never ceased topray, no harm would happen him. "

Thereupon d'Aygaliers, delighted to find him so well inclined, begged himto give him a letter for M. De Villars, and as Cavalier knew the marechalto be loyal and zealous, and had great confidence in him, he wrotewithout any hesitation the following letter:

"MONSEIGNEUR, --Permit me to address your Excellency in order to beghumbly for the favour of your protection for myself and for my soldiers. We are filled with the most ardent desire to repair the fault which wehave committed by bearing arms, not against the king, as our enemies haveso falsely asserted, but to defend our lives against those who persecutedus, attacking us so fiercely that we believed it was done by order of HisMajesty. We know that it was written by St. Paul that subjects ought tosubmit themselves to their king, and if in spite of these sincereprotestations our sovereign should still demand our blood, we shall soonbe ready to throw ourselves on his justice or his mercy; but we should, Monseigneur, regard ourselves as happy, if His Majesty, moved by ourrepentance, would grant us his pardon and receive us into his service, according to the example of the God of mercy whose representative HisMajesty is on earth. We trust, Monseigneur, by our faithfulness and zealto acquire the honour of your protection, and we glory in the thought ofbeing permitted, under the command of such an illustrious andnoble-minded general as yourself, to shed our blood for the king; thisbeing so, I hope that your Excellency will be pleased to allow me toinscribe myself with profound respect and humility, Monseigneur, yourmost humble and obedient servant, "CAVALIER. "

D'Aygaliers, as soon as he got possession of this letter, set out forNimes in the best of spirits; for he felt sure that he was bringing M. DeVillars more than he had expected. And, indeed, as soon as the marechalsaw how far things had gone, in spite of everything that Lalande couldsay, who in his jealousy asserted that d'Aygaliers would spoileverything, he sent him back to Cavalier with an invitation to come toNimes. D'Aygaliers set out at once, promising to bring the young chiefback with him, at which Lalande laughed loudly, pretending to be verymuch amused at the baron's confident way of speaking, and protesting thatCavalier would not come. 

In the meantime events were happening in the mountains which might easilyhave changed the state of mind of the young chief. The Comte de Tournan, who was in command at Florae, had encountered Roland's army in the plainof Fondmortes, and had lost two hundred men, a considerable sum of money, and eighty mules loaded with provisions. The anxiety which this newscaused to M. De Villars was soon relieved; for six days after the defeathe received a letter from Cavalier by the hands of Lacombe, the same whohad brought about the interview on the bridge of Avenes. In this letterCavalier expressed the greatest regret for what had just happened. 

D'Aygaliers therefore found Cavalier in the best of humours when hejoined him at Tarnac. The first feeling that the young chief felt onreceiving the invitation was one of stupefaction; for an interview withthe marechal was an honour so unexpected and so great, that hisimpression was that some treason lay behind it; but he was soon reassuredwhen he recalled the character for loyalty which the marechal bore, andhow impossible it was that d'Aygaliers should lend himself to treachery. So Cavalier sent back word that he would obey the marechal's orders; andthat he put himself entirely into his hands in what concerned thearrangements for the interview. M. De Villars let him know that he wouldexpect him on the 16th in the garden of the convent of the Recollets ofNimes, which lay just outside the city, between the gates of Beaucaireand the Madeleine, and that Lalande would meet him beyond Carayrac toreceive him and to bring him hostages. 

CHAPTER IV

On the 15th May Cavalier set out from Tarnac at the head of one hundredand sixty foot-soldiers and fifty horse; he was accompanied by his youngbrother and by d'Aygaliers and Lacombe. They all passed the night atLanglade. 

The next day they set out for Nimes, and, as had been agreed upon, weremet by Lalande between Saint-Cesaire and Carayrac. Lalande advanced togreet Cavalier and present the hostages to him. These hostages were M. DeLa Duretiere, captain of the Fimarcon regiment, a captain of infantry, several other officers, and ten dragoons. Cavalier passed them over tohis lieutenant, Ravanel, who was in command of the infantry, and leftthem in his charge at Saint-Cesaire. The cavalry accompanied him towithin a musket-shot of Nimes, and encamped upon the heights. Besidesthis, Cavalier posted sentinels and mounted orderlies at all theapproaches to the camp, and even as far off as the fountain of Diana andthe tennis-court. These precautions taken, he entered the city, accompanied by his brother, d'Aygaliers, Lacombe, and a body-guard ofeighteen cavalry, commanded by Catinat. Lalande rode on before toannounce their arrival to the marechal, whom he found waiting with MM. DeBaville and Sandricourt, in the garden of the Recollets, dreading everymoment to receive word that Cavalier had refused to come; for he expectedgreat results from this interview. Lalande, however, reassured him bytelling him the young Huguenot was behind. 

In a few minutes a great tumult was heard: it was the people hastening towelcome their hero. Not a Protestant, except paralytic old people andinfants in the cradle, remained indoors; for the Huguenots, who had longlooked on Cavalier as their champion, now considered him their saviour, so that men and women threw themselves under the feet of his horse intheir efforts to kiss the skirts of his coat. It was more like a victormaking his entry into a conquered town than a rebel chief coming to begfor an amnesty for himself and his adherents. M. De Villars heard theoutcry from the garden of Recollets, and when he learned its cause hisesteem for Cavalier rose higher, for every day since his arrival asgovernor had showed him more and more clearly how great was the youngchief's influence. The tumult increased as Cavalier came nearer, and itflashed through the marechal's mind that instead of giving hostages heshould have claimed them. At this moment Cavalier appeared at the gate, and seeing the marechal's guard drawn up in line, he caused his own toform a line opposite them. The memoirs of the time tell us that he wasdressed in a coffee-coloured coat, with a very full white muslin cravat;he wore a cross-belt from which depended his sword, and on his head agold-laced hat of black felt. He was mounted on a magnificent bay horse, the same which he had taken from M. De La Jonquiere on the bloody day ofVergenne. 

The lieutenant of the guard met him at the gate. Cavalier quicklydismounted, and throwing the bridle of his horse to one of his men, heentered the garden, and advanced towards the expectant group, which wascomposed, as we have said, of Villars, Baville, and Sandricourt. As hedrew near, M. De Villars regarded him with growing astonishment; for hecould not believe that in the young man, or rather boy, before him he sawthe terrible Cevenol chief, whose name alone made the bravest soldierstremble. Cavalier at this period had just completed his twenty-fourthyear, but, thanks to his fair hair which fell in long locks over hisshoulders, and to the gentle expression of his eyes he did not appearmore than eighteen. Cavalier was acquainted with none of the men in whosepresence he stood, but he noticed M. De Villars' rich dress and air ofcommand. He therefore saluted him first; afterwards, turning towards theothers, he bowed to each, but less profoundly, then somewhat embarrassedand with downcast eyes he stood motionless and silent. The marechal stillcontinued to look at him in silent astonishment, turning from time totime to Baville and Sandricourt, as if to assure himself that there wasno mistake and that it was really the man whom they expected who stoodbefore them. At last, doubting still, in spite of the signs they made toreassure him, he asked--

"Are you really Jean Cavalier?"

"Yes, monseigneur, " was the reply, given in an unsteady voice. 

"But I mean Jean Cavalier, the Camisard general, he who has assumed thetitle of Duke of the Cevennes. "

"I have not assumed that title, monseigneur, only some people call me soin joke: the king alone has the right to confer titles, and I rejoiceexceedingly, monseigneur, that he has given you that of governor ofLanguedoc. "

"When you are speaking of the king, why do you not say 'His Majesty'?"said M. De Baville. "Upon my soul, the king is too good to treat thuswith a rebel. "

The blood rushed to Cavalier's head, his face flamed, and after amoment's pause, fixing his eye boldly upon M. De Baville, and speaking ina voice which was now as firm as it had been tremulous a moment before, he said, "If you have only brought me here, sir, to speak to me in such amanner, you might better have left me in my mountains, and come thereyourself to take a lesson in hospitality. If I am a rebel, it is not Iwho am answerable, for it was the tyranny and cruelty of M. De Bavillewhich forced us to have recourse to arms; and if history takes exceptionto anything connected with the great monarch for whose pardon I sueto-day, it will be, I hope, not that he had foes like me, but friendslike him. "

M. De Baville grew pale with anger; for whether Cavalier knew to whom hewas speaking or not, his words had the effect of a violent blow full inhis face; but before he could reply M. De Villars interposed. 

"Your business is only with me, sir, " he said; "attend to me alone, Ibeg: I speak in the name of the king; and the king, of his clemency, wishes to spare his subjects by treating them with tenderness. "

Cavalier opened his mouth to reply, but the intendant cut him short. 

"I should hope that that suffices, " he said contemptuously: "as pardon ismore than you could have hoped for, I suppose you are not going to insiston the other conditions you laid down?"

"But it is precisely those other conditions, " said Cavalier, addressinghimself to M. De Villars, and not seeming to see that anyone else waspresent, "for which we have fought. If I were alone, sir, I should givemyself up, bound hand and foot, with entire confidence in your goodfaith, demanding no assurances and exacting no conditions; but I standhere to defend the interests of my brethren and friends who trust me; andwhat is more, things have gone so far that we must either die weapon inhand, or obtain our rights. "

The intendant was about to speak, but the marechal stopped him with suchan imperative gesture that he stepped back as if to show that he washedhis hands of the whole matter. 

"What are those rights? Are they those which M. Lalande has transmittedto me by word of mouth?"

"Yes, sir. "

"It would be well to commit them to writing. "

"I have done so, monseigneur, and sent a copy to M. D'Aygaliers. "

"I have not seen it, sir; make me another copy and place it in my hands, I beg. "

"I shall go and set about it directly, monseigneur, " stepping back as ifabout to withdraw. 

"One moment!" said the marechal, detaining him by a smile. "Is it truethat you are willing to enter the king's army?"

"I am more than willing, I desire it with all my heart, " exclaimedCavalier, with the frank enthusiasm natural to his age, "but I cannot doso till our just demands are granted. "

"But if they were granted--?"

"Then, sir, " replied Cavalier, "the king has never had more loyalsubjects than we shall be. "

"Well, have a little patience and everything will be arranged, I hope. "

"May God grant it!" said Cavalier. "He is my witness that we desirepeace beyond everything. " And he took another step backwards. 

"You will not go too far away, I hope, " said the marechal. 

"We shall remain wherever your excellency may appoint, " said Cavalier. 

"Very well, " continued M. De Villars; "halt at Calvisson, and try all youcan to induce the other leaders to follow your example. "

"I shall do my best, monseigneur; but while we await His Majesty's replyshall we be allowed to fulfil our religious duties unimpeded?"

"Yes, I shall give orders that you are to have full liberty in thatrespect. "

"Thanks, monseigneur. "

Cavalier bowed once more, and was about to go; but M. De Villarsaccompanied him and Lalande, who had now joined them, and who stood withhis hand on Cavalier's shoulder, a few steps farther. Catinat seeingthat the conference was at an end, entered the garden with his men. Thereupon M. De Villars took leave, saying distinctly, "Adieu, SeigneurCavalier, " and withdrew, leaving the young chief surrounded by a dozenpersons all wanting to speak to him at once. For half an hour he wasdetained by questions, to all of which he replied pleasantly. On onefinger was an emerald taken from a naval officer named Didier, whom hehad killed with his own hand in the action at Devois de Martignargues; hekept time by a superb watch which had belonged to M. D'Acqueville, thesecond in command of the marines; and he offered his questioners fromtime to time perfumed snuff from a magnificent snuffbox, which he hadfound in the holsters when he took possession of M. De La Jonquiere'shorse. He told everyone who wished to listen that he had never intendedto revolt against the king; and that he was now ready to shed the lastdrop of his blood in his service; that he had several times offered tosurrender on condition that liberty of conscience was granted to those ofthe new faith, but that M. De Montrevel had always rejected his offers, so that he had been obliged to remain under arms, in order to deliverthose who were in prison, and to gain permission for those who were freeto worship God in their own way. 

He said these things in an unembarrassed and graceful manner, hat inhand; then passing through the crowd which had gathered outside thegarden of the Recollets, he repaired to the Hotel de la Poste for lunch, and afterwards walked along the Esplanade to the house of one GuyBillard, a gardener, who was his head prophet's father. As he thus movedabout he was preceded by two Camisards with drawn swords, who made wayfor him; and several ladies were presented to him who were happy to touchhis doublet. The visit over, he once again passed along the Esplanade, still preceded by his two Camisards, and just as he passed the LittleConvent he and those with him struck up a psalm tune, and continuedsinging till they reached Saint-Cesaire, where the hostages were. Thesehe at once sent back. 

Five hundred persons from Nimes were awaiting him; refreshments wereoffered to him, which he accepted gratefully, thanking all those who hadgathered together to meet him. At last he went off to St. Denoise, wherehe was to sup and sleep; but before going to bed he offered upsupplications in a loud voice for the king, for M. De Villars, for M. DeLalande, and even for M. De Baville. 

The next morning, Cavalier, according to promise, sent a copy of hisdemands to M. De Villars, who caused it to be laid before the king, alongwith a full report of all that had passed at the interview at Nimes. Assoon as the young chief had sent off his missive, he rejoined his troopsat Tarnac, and related all that had passed to Roland, urging him tofollow his example. That night he slept at Sauves, having passed throughDurfort at the head of his men; a captain of dragoons named Montgros, with twenty-five soldiers, accompanying him everywhere, by M. De Villars'orders, and seeing that the villages through which they passed furnishedhim with all that was needed. They left Sauves on May 16th very early inthe morning, in order to get to Calvisson, which, as our readers mayremember, was the place appointed for the residence of Cavalier duringthe truce. In passing through Quissac, where they stopped forrefreshments, they were joined by Castanet who delivered a long sermon, at which all the Protestants of the neighbourhood were present. 

The two battalions of the Charolais regiment which were quartered atCalvisson had received orders on the evening of the 17th to march outnext morning, so as to make room for the Camisards. 

On the 18th the head of the commissary department, Vincel, orderedsuitable accommodation to be provided for Cavalier and his troops; themuster roll being in the hands of M. D'Aygaliers, it would be sent by himor brought in the course of the day. In the meantime, vans were arrivingfilled with all sorts of provisions, followed by droves of cattle, whilea commissary and several clerks, charged with the distribution ofrations, brought up the rear. 

On the 19th, Catinat, accompanied by twelve Camisards, rode into thetown, and was met at the barrier by the commandant and eightytownspeople. As soon as the little band came in sight the commandantreiterated his orders that nothing should be said or done in the town, onpain of corporal punishment, that could offend the Camisards. 

At one o'clock P. M. Baron d'Aygaliers arrived, followed in his turn bythe chief of the commissariat, Vincel, by Captain Cappon, two otherofficers named Viala and Despuech, and six dragoons. These were thehostages Cavalier had given. 

At six o'clock there was heard a great noise; and shouts of "Cavalier!Cavalier!" resounded on all sides. The young Cevenol was in sight, andthe whole population hastened to meet him. He rode at the head of hiscavalry, the infantry following, and the whole number--about six hundredmen--sang psalms in a loud voice. 

When they reached the church, Cavalier drew up before it with all his menin review order, and for some time the singing went on. When it stopped, a long prayer was offered up, which was most edifying to all thebystanders; and this being over, Cavalier went to the quarters assignedhim, which were in the best house in Calvisson. Arrived there, he sentout for a dozen loaves that he might judge how his men were going to befed; not finding them white enough, he complained to M. Vincel, whom hesent for, and who promised that in future the bread should be of a betterquality. Having received this assurance, Cavalier gave orders that theloaves in hand should be distributed for that day, but probably fearingpoison, he first made M. De Vincel and his clerks taste them in hispresence. These duties accomplished, he visited in person all the gatesof the town, placed guards and posted sentinels at all the entrances andalong all the avenues, the most advanced being three-quarters of a leaguefrom the town. Besides this, he placed guards in the streets, and asentinel at each door of the house he occupied; in addition, thirtyguards always slept outside the door of his bedroom, and theseaccompanied him as an escort when he went out; not that he was afraid, for he was not of a mistrustful character, but that he thought it politicto give people an exalted idea of his importance. As to his soldiers, they were billeted on the inhabitants, and received each as daily rationsa pound of meat, a quart of wine, and two and a half pounds of bread. 

The same day a convocation was held on the site of the old meeting-housewhich had been destroyed by the Catholics. It was a very numerousassembly, to which crowds of people came from all parts; but on thefollowing days it was still more numerous; for, as the news spread, people ran with great eagerness to hear the preaching of the word ofwhich they had been so long deprived. D'Aygaliers tells us in his Memoirsthat--"No one could help being touched to see a whole people just escapedfrom fire and sword, coming together in multitudes to mingle their tearsand sighs. So famished were they for the manna divine, that they werelike people coming out of a besieged city, after a long and cruel famine, to whom peace has brought food in abundance, and who, first devouring itwith their eyes, then throw themselves on it, devouring it bodily--meat, bread, and fruit--as it comes to hand. So it was with the unfortunateinhabitants of La Vannage, and even of places more distant still. Theysaw their brethren assembling in the meadows and at the gates ofCalvisson, gathering in crowds and pressing round anyone who startedsinging a psalm, until at last four or five thousand persons, singing, weeping, and praying, were gathered together, and remained there all day, supplicating God with a devotion that went to every heart and made a deepimpression. All night the same things went on; nothing was to be heardbut preaching, singing, praying, and prophesying. "

But if it was a time of joy for the Protestants, it was a time ofhumiliation for the Catholics. "Certainly, " says a contemporaryhistorian, "it was a very surprising thing, and quite a novelty, to seein a province like Languedoc, where so many troops were quartered, such alarge number of villains--all murderers, incendiaries, and guilty ofsacrilege--gathered together in one place by permission of those incommand of the troops; tolerated in their eccentricities, fed at thepublic expense, flattered by everyone, and courteously, received bypeople sent specially to meet them. "

One of those who was most indignant at this state of things was M. DeBaville. He was so eager to put an end to it that he went to see thegovernor, and told him the scandal was becoming too great in his opinion:the assemblies ought to be put an end to by allowing the troops to fallupon them and disperse them; but the governor thought quite otherwise, and told Baville that to act according to his advice would be to set fireto the province again and to scatter for ever people whom they had gottogether with such difficulty. In any case, he reminded Baville thatwhat he objected to would be over in a few days. His opinion was that deBaville might stifle the expression of his dissatisfaction for a little, to bring about a great good. "More than that, " added the marechal, "theimpatience of the priests is most ridiculous. Besides yourremonstrances, of which I hope I have now heard the last, I have receivednumberless letters full of such complaints that it would seem as if theprayers of the Camisards not only grated on the ears of the clergy butflayed them alive. I should like above everything to find out thewriters of these letters, in order to have them flogged; but they havetaken good care to put no signatures. I regard it as a very greatimpertinence for those who caused these disturbances to grumble andexpress their disapproval at my efforts to bring them to an end. " Afterthis speech, M, de Baville saw there was nothing for him to do but to letthings take their course. 

The course that they took turned Cavalier's head more and more; forthanks to the injunctions of M. De Villars, all the orders that Cavaliergave were obeyed as if they had been issued by the governor himself. Hehad a court like a prince, lieutenants like a general, and secretarieslike a statesman. It was the duty of one secretary to give leave ofabsence to those Camisards who had business to attend to or who desiredto visit their relations. The following is a copy of the form used forthese passports:

"We, the undersigned, secretary to Brother Cavalier, generalissimo ofthe Huguenots, permit by this order given by him to absent himself onbusiness for three days. "(Signed) DUPONT. "Calvisson, this----"

And these safe-conducts were as much respected as if they had been signed"Marechal de Villars. "

On the 22nd M. De Saint-Pierre arrived from the court, bringing the replyof the king to the proposals which Cavalier had submitted to M. DeLalande. What this reply was did not transpire; probably it was not inharmony with the pacific intentions of the marechal. At last, on the25th, the answer to the demands which Cavalier had made to M. De Villarshimself arrived. The original paper written by the Camisard chief himselfhad been sent to Louis XIV, and he returned it with notes in his ownwriting; thus these two hands, to one of which belonged the shepherd'scrook and to the other the sceptre, had rested on the same sheet ofpaper. The following is the text of the agreement as given by Cavalierin his Memoirs:

 "THE HUMBLE PETITION OF THE REFORMERS OF LANGUEDOC TO THE KING

"1. That it may please the king to grant us liberty of consciencethroughout the province, and to permit us to hold religious meetings inevery suitable place, except fortified places and walled cities. 

'Granted, on condition that no churches be built. 

"2. That all those in prison or at the galleys who have been sent theresince the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, because of their religion, be set at liberty within six weeks from the date of this petition. 

'Granted. 

"3. That all those who have left the kingdom because of their religion beallowed to return in freedom and safety, and that their goods andprivileges be restored to them. 

'Granted on condition that they take the oath of fidelity to the king. 

"4. That the Parliament of Languedoc be reestablished on its ancientfooting, and with all its former privileges. 

'The king reserves decision on this point. 

"5. That the province of Languedoc be exempted from the poll tax for tenyears, this to apply, to Catholics and Protestants alike, both sideshaving equally suffered. 

'Refused. 

"6. That the cities of Perpignan, Montpellier, Cette, and Aiguemortes beassigned us as cities of refuge. 

'Refused. 

"7. That the inhabitants of the Cevennes whose houses were burnt orotherwise destroyed during the war be exempt from taxes for seven years. 

'Granted. 

"8. That it may please His Majesty to permit Cavalier to choose 2000men, both from among his own troops and from among those who may bedelivered from the prisons and galleys, to form a regiment of dragoonsfor the service of His Majesty, and that this regiment when formed may atonce be ordered to serve His Majesty in Portugal. 

'Granted: and on condition that all the Huguenots everywhere lay downtheir arms, the king will permit them to live quietly in the freeexercise of their religion. '"

"I had been a week at Calvisson, " says Cavalier in his Memoirs, "when Ireceived a letter from M. Le Marechal de Villars ordering me to repair toNimes, as he wished to see me, the answer to my demands. Having arrived. I obeyed at once, and was very much displeased to find that several of mydemands, and in particular the one relating to the cities of refuge, hadbeen refused; but M. Le marechal assured me that the king's word wasbetter than twenty cities of refuge, and that after all the trouble wehad given him we should regard it as showing great clemency on his partthat he had granted us the greater part of what we had asked. Thisreasoning was not entirely convincing, but as there was no more time fordeliberation, and as I was as anxious for peace as the king himself, Idecided to accept gracefully what was offered. "

All the further advantage that Cavalier could obtain from M. De Villarswas that the treaty should bear the date of the day on which it had beendrawn up; in this manner the prisoners who were to be set at liberty insix weeks gained one week. 

M. De Villars wrote at the bottom of the treaty, which was signed thesame day by him and M. De Baville on the part of the king, and byCavalier and Daniel Billard on the part of the Protestants, the followingratification:

"In virtue of the plenary powers which we have received from the king, wehave granted to the Reformers of Languedoc the articles above made known. "MARECHAL DE VILLARS J. CAVALIER"LAMOIGNON DE BAVILLE DANIEL BILLARD

"Given at Nimes, the 17th of May 1704"

These two signatures, all unworthy as they were to stand beside theirown, gave such great delight to MM. De Villars and de Baville, that theyat once sent off fresh orders to Calvisson that the wants of theCamisards should be abundantly supplied until the articles of the treatywere executed--that is to say, until the prisoners and the galley slaveswere set at liberty, which, according to article 2 of the treaty, wouldbe within the next six weeks. As to Cavalier, the marechal gave him onthe spot a commission as colonel, with a pension of 1200 livres attached, and the power of nominating the subordinate officers in his regiment, andat the same time he handed him a captain's commission for his youngbrother. 

Cavalier drew up the muster-roll of the regiment the same day, and gaveit to the marechal. It was to consist of seven hundred and twelve men, forming fifteen companies, with sixteen captains, sixteen lieutenants, asergeant-major, and a surgeon-major. 

While all this was happening, Roland, taking advantage of the suspensionof hostilities, was riding up and down the province as if he were viceroyof the Cevennes, and wherever he appeared he had a magnificent reception. Like Cavalier, he gave leave of absence and furnished escorts, and heldhimself haughtily, sure that he too would soon be negotiating treaties onterms of equality with marshals of France and governors of provinces. But Roland was much mistaken: M. De Villars had made great concessions tothe popularity of Cavalier, but they were the last he intended to make. So, instead of being in his turn summoned to Nimes, or Uzes, to conferwith M. De Villars, Roland merely received an intimation from Cavalierthat he desired to speak with him on important business. 

They met near Anduze, and Cavalier, faithful to the promise given to M. De Villars, neglected no argument that he could think of to induce Rolandto follow his example; but Roland would listen to nothing. Then, whenCavalier saw that arguments and promises were of no avail, he raised hisvoice in anger; but Roland, laying his hand on his shoulder, told himthat his head was turned, that he should remember that he, Roland, washis senior in command, and therefore bound by nothing that had beenpromised in his name by his junior, and that he had registered a vow inHeaven that nothing would persuade him to make peace unless completeliberty of conscience were granted to all. The young Cevenol, who wasunaccustomed to such language, laid his hand on the hilt of his sword, Roland, stepping back, drew his, and the consultation would have ended ina duel if the prophets had not thrown themselves between them, andsucceeded in getting Roland to consent to one of their number, a man muchesteemed among the Huguenots, named Salomon, going back to Nimes withCavalier to learn from M. De Villars' own mouth what the exact terms werewhich Cavalier had accepted and now offered to Roland. 

In a couple of hours Cavalier and Salomon set out together, and arrivedat Nimes on the 27th May, escorted by twenty-five men; they halted at thetower of Magne, and the Protestants of the city came out to meet them, bringing refreshments; then, after prayers and a hasty meal, theyadvanced to the barracks and crossed the courtyards. The concourse ofpeople and the enthusiasm was no whit less than on Cavalier's firstentry, more than three hundred persons kissing his hands and knees. Cavalier was dressed on this occasion in a doublet of grey cloth, and abeaver hat, laced with gold, and adorned with a white feather. 

Cavalier and his travelling-companion went direct to the garden of theRecollets, and hardly had they got there than MM. De Villars and deBaville, accompanied by Lalande and Sandricourt, came out to meet them:the conference lasted three hours, but all that could be learned of theresult was that Salomon had declared that his brethren would never laydown their arms till full liberty of conscience had been secured to them. In consequence of this declaration, it was decided that Cavalier and hisregiment should be despatched to Spain without delay, in order to weakenthe Calvinist forces to that extent; meantime Salomon was sent back toRoland with a positive promise that if he would surrender, as Cavalierhad done, he would be granted the same conditions--that is to say, receive a commission as colonel, have the right to name the officers ofhis regiment, and receive a pension of 1200 livres. On quitting thegarden of the Recollets, Cavalier found as great a crowd as ever waitingfor him, and so closely did they press on him that two of his men wereobliged to ride before him with drawn sabres to clear a way for him tillthe Montpellier road was reached. He lay that night at Langlade, inorder to rejoin his troops early next morning. 

But during his absence things had happened among these men, who hadhitherto obeyed him blindly, which he little expected. He had left, asusual, Ravanel in command; but hardly had he ridden away when Ravanelbegan to take all kinds of precautions, ordering the men not to lay asidetheir arms. The negotiations with M. De Villars had made him mostanxious; he looked upon all the promises given as snares, and he regardedthe compromise favoured by his chief as a defection on Cavalier's part. He therefore called all the officers and men together, told them of hisfears, and ended by imbuing them with his suspicions. This was all themore easily done, as it was very well known that Cavalier had joined theHuguenots less from devotion to the cause than to avenge a private wrong, and on many occasions had given rise to the remark that he had moregenius than religion. 

So, on getting back to Calvisson, the young chief found his principalofficers, Ravanel at their head, drawn up in the market-place, waitingfor him. As soon as he drew near they told him that they were determinedto know at once what were the conditions of the treaty he had signed withthe marechal; they had made up their minds to have a plain answer withoutdelay. Such a way of speaking to him was so strange and unexpected, thatCavalier shrugged his shoulders and replied that such matters were nobusiness of theirs, being too high for their intelligence; that it washis business to decide what course to take and theirs to take it; it hadalways been so in the past, and with the help of God and his own, Cavalier's, goodwill, it should still be so in future; and having sospoken, he told them to disperse. Ravanel upon this came forward, and inthe name of all the others said they would not go away until they knewwhat orders Cavalier was about to give the troops, that they mightconsult among themselves whether they should obey them or not. Thisinsubordination was too much for Cavalier's patience. 

"The orders are, " he said, "to put on the uniforms that are being madefor you, and to follow me to Portugal. "

The effect of such words on men who were expecting nothing less than there-enactment of the Edict of Nantes, can be easily imagined; the words"coward" and "traitor" could be distinguished above the murmurs, asCavalier noticed with increasing astonishment. Raising himself in hisstirrups, and glancing round with that look before which they had beenused to tremble, he asked in a voice as calm as if all the demons ofanger were not raging in his heart, "Who called Jean Cavalier traitor andcoward?"

"I, " said Ravanel, crossing his arms on his breast. 

Cavalier drew a pistol from his holsters, and striking those near himwith the butt end, opened a way towards his lieutenant, who drew hissword; but at this moment the commissary-general, Vincel, and CaptainCappon threw themselves between the two and asked the cause of thequarrel. 

"The cause, " said Ravanel, "is that the Cadets of the Cross, led by the'Hermit, ' have just knocked out the brains of two of our brethren, whowere coming to join us, and are hindering others front attending ourmeetings to worship God: the conditions of the truce having been thusbroken, is it likely they will keep those of the treaty? We refuse toaccept the treaty. "

"Sir, " said Vincel, "if the 'Hermit' has done what you say, it is againstthe orders of the marachal, and the misdoer will be punished; besides, the large number of strangers at present in Calvisson ought to besufficient proof that no attempt has been made to prevent the newconverts from coming to the town, and it seems to me that you have beentoo easily led to believe everything that malicious people have toldyou. "

"I believe what I choose to believe, " said Ravanel impatiently; "but whatI know and say is, that I shall never lay down arms till the king grantsus full liberty of conscience, permission to rebuild our places ofworship, and sends us back all prisoners and exiles. "

"But, judging by your tone, " said Cavalier, who had till now remainedsilent while toying with his pistol, "you seem to be in command here;have we changed, parts without my being aware?"

"It is possible, " said Ravanel. 

Cavalier burst out laughing. 

"It seems to astonish you, " said Ravanel, "but it is true. Make peacefor yourself, lay down what conditions suit you, sell yourself forwhatever you will bring; my only reply is, You are a coward and atraitor. But as to the troops, they will not lay down arms except on theconditions formulated by me. "

Cavalier tried to get at Ravanel, but seeing from his paleness and hissmile that terrible things would happen if he reached his lieutenant, Vincel and Cappon, backed by some Camisards, threw themselves before hishorse. Just then the whole band shouted with one voice, "No peace! nopeace! no reconciliation till our temples are restored!" Cavalier thensaw for the first time that things were more serious than he hadbelieved, but Vincel, Cappon, Berlie, and about twenty Camisardssurrounded the young chief and forced him to enter a house; it was thehouse of Vincel. 

They had hardly got indoors when the 'generale' was sounded: resistingall entreaties, Cavalier sprang to the door, but was detained by Berlie, who said that the first thing he ought to do was to write M. De Villarsan account of what had happened, who would then take measures to putthings straight. 

"You are right, " said Cavalier; "as I have so many enemies, the generalmight be told if I were killed that I had broken my word. Give me pen andink. "

Writing materials were brought, and he wrote to M. De Villars. 

"Here, " he said, giving the letter unsealed to Vincel, "set out for Nimesand give this to the marechal, and tell him, if I am killed in theattempt I am about to make, I died his humble servant. "

With these words, he darted out of the house and mounted his horse, beingmet at the door by twelve to fifteen men who had remained faithful tohim. He asked them where Ravanel and his troops were, not seeing asingle Camisard in the streets; one of the soldiers answered that theywere probably still in town, but that they were moving towards LesGarrigues de Calvisson. Cavalier set off at a gallop to overtake them. 

In crossing the market-place he met Catinat, walking between twoprophets, one called Moses and the other Daniel Guy; Catinat was justback from a visit to the mountains, so that he had taken no part in thescene of insubordination that had so lately been enacted. 

Cavalier felt a ray of hope; he was sure he could depend on Catinat as onhimself. He hurried to greet him, holding out his hand; but Catinat drewback his. 

"What does this mean?" cried Cavalier, the blood mounting to hisforehead. 

"It means, " answered Catinat, "that you are a traitor, and I cannot givemy hand to a traitor. "

Cavalier gave a cry of rage, and advancing on Catinat, raised his cane tostrike him; but Moses and Daniel Guy threw themselves between, so thatthe blow aimed at Catinat fell on Moses. At the same moment Catinat, seeing Cavalier's gesture, drew a pistol from his belt. As it was atfull cock, it went off in his hand, a bullet piercing Guy's hat, without, however, wounding him. 

At the noise of the report shouts were heard about a hundred yards away. It was the Camisards, who had been on the point of leaving the town, buthearing the shot had turned back, believing that some of their brethrenwere being murdered. On seeing them appear, Cavalier forgot Catinat, androde straight towards them. As soon as they caught sight of him theyhalted, and Ravanel advanced before them ready for every danger. 

"Brethren, " he cried, "the traitor has come once more to tempt us. Begone, Judas! You have no business here. "

"But I have, " exclaimed Cavalier. "I have to punish a scoundrel calledRavanel, if he has courage to follow me. "

"Come on, then, " cried Ravanel, darting down a small side-street, "andlet us have done with it. " The Camisards made a motion as if to followthem, but Ravanel turning towards them ordered them to remain where theywere. 

They obeyed, and thus Cavalier could see that, insubordinate as they hadbeen towards him, they were ready to obey another. 

Just at the moment as he turned into the narrow street where the disputewas to be settled once for all, Moses and Guy came up, and seizing thebridle of his horse stopped him, while the Camisards who were on the sideof Cavalier surrounded Ravanel and forced him to return to his soldiers. The troops struck up a psalm, and resumed their march, while Cavalier washeld back by force. 

At last, however, the young Cevenol succeeded in breaking away from thosewho surrounded him, and as the street by which the Camisards had retiredwas blocked, he dashed down another. The two prophets suspecting hisintention, hurried after the troops by the most direct route, and got upwith them, just as Cavalier, who had made the circuit of the town, camegalloping across the plain to intercept their passage. The troopshalted, and Ravanel gave orders to fire. The first rank raised theirmuskets and took aim, thus indicating that they were ready to obey. Butit was not a danger of this kind that could frighten Cavalier; hecontinued to advance. Then Moses seeing his peril, threw himself betweenthe Camisards and him, stretching out his arms and shouting, "Stop! stop!misguided men! Are you going to kill Brother Cavalier like a highwaymanand thief? You must pardon him, my brethren! you must pardon him! If hehas done wrong in the past, he will do better in future. "

Then those who had taken aim at Cavalier grounded their muskets, andCavalier changing menace for entreaty, begged them not to break thepromise that he had made in their name; whereupon the prophets struck upa psalm, and the rest of the soldiers joining in, his voice wascompletely drowned. Nevertheless, Cavalier did not lose heart, butaccompanied them on their march to Saint-Esteve, about a league fartheron, unable to relinquish all hope. On reaching Saint-Esteve the singingceased for a moment, and he made another attempt to recall them toobedience. Seeing, however, that it was all in vain, he gave up hope, and calling out, "At least defend yourselves as well as you can, for thedragoons will soon be on you, " he set his horse's head towards the town. Then turning to them for the last time, he said, "Brethren, let those wholove me follow me!" He pronounced these words in tones so full of griefand affection that many were shaken in their resolution; but Ravanel andMoses seeing the effect he had produced, began to shout, "The sword ofthe Lord!" Immediately all the troops turned their back on Cavalierexcept about forty men who had joined him on his first appearance. 

Cavalier went into a house near by, and wrote another letter to M. DeVillars, in which he told him what had just taken place, the efforts hehad made to win back his troops, and the conditions they demanded. Heended by assuring him that he would make still further efforts, andpromised the marechal that he would keep him informed of everything thatwent on. He then withdrew to Cardet, not venturing to return toCalvisson. 

Both Cavalier's letters reached M. De Villars at the same time; in thefirst impulse of anger aroused by this unexpected check, he issued thefollowing order:

"Since coming to this province and taking over the government by order ofthe king, our sole thought has been how to put an end to the disorders wefound existing here by gentle measures, and to restore peace and topreserve the property of those who had taken no part in the disturbances. To that end we obtained His Majesty's pardon for those rebels who had, bythe persuasion of their chiefs, been induced to lay down their arms; theonly condition exacted being that they should throw themselves on theking's clemency and beg his permission to expiate their crime byadventuring their lives in his service. But, being informed that insteadof keeping the engagements they had made by signing petitions, by writingletters, and by speaking words expressing their intentions, some amongthem have been trying to delude the minds of the people with false hopesof full liberty for the exercise of this so-called Reformed religion, which there has never been any intention of granting, but which we havealways declared as clearly as we could, to be contrary to the will of theking and likely to bring about great evils for which it would bedifficult to find a remedy, it becomes necessary to prevent those whogive belief to these falsehoods from expecting to escape fromwell-deserved chastisement. We therefore declare hereby that allreligious assemblies are expressly forbidden under the penaltiesproclaimed in the edicts and ordinances of His Majesty, and that thesewill be more strictly enforced in the future than in the past. 

"Furthermore, we order all the troops under our command to break up suchassemblies by force, as having been always illegal, and we desire toimpress on the new converts of this province that they are to give theirobedience where it is due, and we forbid them to give any credence to thefalse reports which the enemies of their repose are spreading abroad. Ifthey let themselves be led astray, they will soon find themselvesinvolved in troubles and misfortunes, such as the loss of their lands, the ruin of their families, and the desolation of their country; and weshall take care that the true authors of these misfortunes shall receivepunishment proportioned to their crime. "MARECHAL DE VILLARS

"Given at Nimes the 27th day of May 1704"

This order, which put everything back upon the footing on which it hadbeen in the time of M. De Montrevel, had hardly been issued thand'Aygaliers, in despair at seeing the result of so much labour destroyedin one day, set off for the mountains to try and find Cavalier. He foundhim at Cardet, whither, as we have said, he had retired after the day ofCalvisson. Despite the resolution which Cavalier had taken never to showhis face again to the marechal, the baron repeated to him so many timesthat M. De Villars was thoroughly convinced that what had happened hadnot been his fault, he having done everything that he could to preventit, that the young chief began to feel his self-confidence and couragereturning, and hearing that the marachal had expressed himself as verymuch pleased with his conduct, to which Vincel had borne high testimony, made up his mind to return to Nimes. They left Cardet at once, followedby the forty men who had remained true to Cavalier, ten on horse andthirty on foot, and arrived on the 31st May at Saint-Genies, whither M. De Villars had come to meet them. 

The assurances of d'Aygaliers were justified. The marechal receivedCavalier as if he were still the chief of a powerful party and able tonegotiate with him on terms of equality. At Cavalier's request, in orderto prove to him that he stood as high in his good opinion as ever, themarechal returned once more to gentle methods, and mitigated the severityof his first proclamation by a second, granting an extension of theamnesty:

"The principal chiefs of the rebels, with the greater number of theirfollowers, having surrendered, and having received the king's pardon, wedeclare that we give to all those who have taken up arms until nextThursday, the 5th instant inclusive, the opportunity of receiving thelike pardon, by surrendering to us at Anduze, or to M. Le Marquis deLalande at Alais, or to M. De Menon at Saint Hippolyte, or to thecommandants of Uzes, Nimes, and Lunel. But the fifth day passed, weshall lay a heavy hand on all rebels, pillaging and burning all theplaces which have given them refuge, provisions, or help of any kind; andthat they may not plead ignorance of this proclamation, we order it to bepublicly read and posted up in every suitable place. "MARECHAL DE VILLARS

"At Saint-Genies, the 1st June 1704"

The next day, in order to leave no doubt as to his good intentions, themarechal had the gibbets and scaffolds taken down, which until then hadbeen permanent erections. 

At the same time all the Huguenots were ordered to make a last effort toinduce the Camisard chiefs to accept the conditions offered them by M. DeVillars. The towns of Alais, Anduze, Saint-Jean, Sauve, Saint-Hippolyte, and Lasalle, and the parishes of Cros, Saint-Roman, Manoblet, Saint-Felix, Lacadiere, Cesas, Cambo, Colognac, and Vabre were ordered tosend deputies to Durfort to confer as to the best means of bringing aboutthat peace which everyone desired. These deputies wrote at once to M. DeVillars to beg him to send them M. D'Aygaliers, and to M. D'Aygaliers torequest him to come. 

Both consented to do as they were asked, and M. D'Aygaliers arrived atDurfort on the 3rd of June 1704. 

The deputies having first thanked him for the trouble which he had takento serve the common cause during the past year, resolved to divide theirassembly into two parts, one of which, was to remain permanently sitting, while the other went to seek Roland and Ravanel to try and obtain acessation of hostilities. The deputies charged with this task wereordered to make it quite clear to the two chiefs that if they did notaccept the proposals made by M. De Villars, the Protestants in generalwould take up arms and hunt them down, and would cease to supply themwith the means of subsistence. 

On hearing this, Roland made reply that the deputies were to go back atonce to those who sent them, and threatened, should they ever show himtheir faces again, to fire on them. 

This answer put an end to the assembly, the deputies dispersed, andd'Aygaliers returned to the Marechal de Villars to make his report. 

Hardly had he done this when a letter from Roland arrived, in which theCamisard chief asked M. De Villars to grant him an interview, such as hehad granted to Cavalier. This letter was addressed to d'Aygaliers, whoimmediately communicated its contents to the marechal, from whom hereceived orders to set out at once to find Roland and to spare no painsto bring him round. 

D'Aygaliers, who was always indefatigable when working for his country, started the same day, and went to a mountain about three-quarters of aleague from Anduze, where Roland awaited him. After a conference of twohours, it was agreed that hostages should be exchanged and negotiationsentered upon. 

Consequently, M. De Villars on his side sent Roland M. De Montrevel, anofficer commanding a battalion of marines, and M. De la Maison-Blanche, captain of the Froulay regiment; while Roland in return sent M. DeVillars four of his principal officers with the title ofplenipotentiaries. 

Unskilled in diplomacy as these envoys were, and laughable as theyappeared to contemporary historians, they received nevertheless themarechal's consent to the following conditions:

1. That Cavalier and Roland should each be placed in charge of aregiment serving abroad, and that each of them should be allowed aminister. 

2. That all the prisoners should be released and the exiles recalled. 

3. That the Protestants should be permitted to leave the kingdom, takingtheir effects with them. 

4. That those Camisards who desired to remain might do so, on giving uptheir arms. 

5. That those who were abroad might return. 

6. That no one should be molested on account of his religion providedeveryone remained quietly at home. 

7. That indemnities should be borne by the whole province, and notexacted specially from the Protestants. 

8. That a general amnesty should be granted to all without reserve. 

These articles were laid before Roland and Ravanel by d'Aygaliers. Cavalier, who from the day he went back to Nimes had remained in thegovernor's suite, asked leave to return with the baron, and was permittedto do so. D'Aygaliers and he set out together in consequence for Anduze, and met Roland and Ravanel about a quarter of a league from the town, waiting to know the result of the negotiations. They were accompanied byMM. De Montbel and de Maison-Blanche, the Catholic hostages. 

As soon as Cavalier and Roland met they burst out into recriminations andreproaches, but through the efforts of d'Aygaliers they soon became morefriendly, and even embraced on parting. 

But Ravanel was made of harder stuff: as soon as he caught sight ofCavalier he called him "traitor, " saying that for his part he would neversurrender till the Edict of Nantes was re-enacted; then, having warnedthem that the governor's promises were not to be trusted, and havingpredicted that a day would come when they would regret their too greatconfidence in him, he left the conference and rejoined his troops, which, with those of Roland, were drawn up on a mountain about three-quarters ofa league distant. 

The negotiators did not, however, despair. Ravanel had gone away, butRoland had debated with them at some length, so they determined to speakto "the brethren"--that is, to the troops under Roland and Ravanel, whoseheadquarters at the moment were at Leuzies, in order that they might knowexactly what articles had been agreed on between Roland's envoys and themarechal. Those who made up their minds to take this step were, Cavalier, Roland, Moise, Saint-Paul, Laforet, Maille, and d'Aygaliers. We take the following account of what happened in consequence of thisdecision from d'Aygaliers' Memoirs:

"We had no sooner determined on this plan, than, anxious to carry it out, we set off. We followed a narrow mountain path on the face of the cliffwhich rose up to our right; to our left flowed the Gardon. 

"Having gone about a league, we came in sight of the troops, about 3000strong; an advanced post barred our way. 

"Thinking it was placed there in our honour, I was advancingunsuspiciously, when suddenly we found our road cut off by Camisards toright and left, who threw themselves on Roland and forced him in amongtheir troops. Maille and Malplach were dragged from their horses. As toCavalier, who was somewhat behind, as soon as he saw people comingtowards him with uplifted sabres and shouting Traitor! he put spurs tohis horse and went off at full gallop, followed by some townspeople fromAnduze who had come with us, and who, now that they saw the reception wemet with, were ready to die with fear. 

"I was too far forward to escape: five or six muskets rested on my breastand a pistol pressed each ear; so I made up my mind to be bold. I toldthe troopers to fire; I was willing to die in the service of my prince, my country, and my religion, as well as for themselves, whom I was tryingto benefit by procuring them the king's goodwill. 

"These words, which I repeated several times in the midst of the greatestuproar, gave them pause. 

"They commanded me to retire, as they did not want to kill me. I said Ishould do nothing of the kind: I was going into the middle of the troopsto defend Roland against the charge of treason, or be put to deathmyself, unless I could convince them that what I had proposed to him andCavalier was for the good of the country, of our religion, and thebrethren; and having thus expostulated at the top of my voice againstthirty voices all trying to drown mine for about an hour, I offered tofight the man who had induced them to oppose us. 

"At this offer they pointed their muskets at me once more; but Maille, Malplach, and some others threw themselves before me, and although theywere unarmed, had enough influence to hinder my being insulted; I wasforced, however, to retreat. 

"In leaving, I warned them that they were about to bring greatmisfortunes on the province, whereupon a man named Claris stepped outfrom among the troops, and approaching me exclaimed, 'Go on, sir, and Godbless you! We know that you mean well, and were the first to be takenin. But go on working for the good of the country, and God will blessyou. '"

D'Aygaliers returned to the marechal, who, furious at the turn things hadtaken, resolved instantly to break off all negotiations and have recourseonce more to measures of severity. However, before actually carrying outthis determination, he wrote the following letter to the king:

"SIRE, --It is always my glory to execute faithfully your Majesty'sorders, whatever those orders may be; but I should have been able, onmany occasions since coming here, to display my zeal for your Majesty'sservice in other ways if I had not had to deal with madmen on whom nodependence could be placed. As soon as we were ready to attack them, they offered to submit, but a little later changed their minds again. Nothing could be a greater proof of madness than their hesitation toaccept a pardon of which they were unworthy, and which was so generouslyoffered by your Majesty. If they do not soon make up their minds, Ishall bring them back to the paths of duty by force, and thus restorethis province to that state of peace which has been disturbed by thesefools. "

The day after writing this letter to the king, Roland sent Maille to M. De Villars to beg him to wait till Saturday and Sunday the 7th and the8th June were over, before resorting to severity, that being the end ofthe truce. He gave him a solemn promise that he would, in the interval, either bring in his troops to the last man, or would himself surrenderalong with a hundred and fifty followers. The marechal consented to waittill Saturday morning, but as soon as Saturday arrived he gave orders toattack the Camisards, and the next day led a considerable body of troopsto Carnoulet, intending to take the Huguenots by surprise, as word hadbeen brought that they were all gathered there. They, however, receivedintelligence of his plan, and evacuated the village during the night. 

The village had to pay dearly for its sin of hospitality; it was pillagedand burnt down: the miquelets even murdered two women whom they foundthere, and d'Aygaliers failed to obtain any satisfaction for this crime. In this manner M, de Villars kept the fatal promise he had given, andinternecine war raged once more. 

Furious at having missed the Camisards, de Menon having heard from hisscouts that Roland was to sleep next night at the chateau de Prade, wentto M. De Villars and asked leave to conduct an expedition against thechief. He was almost sure of taking Roland by surprise, having procureda guide whose knowledge of the country was minute. The marechal gave himcarte blanche. In the evening Menon set out with two hundred grenadiers. He had already put three-quarters of the way behind him without beingdiscovered, when an Englishman met them by chance. This man was servingunder Roland, but had been visiting his sweetheart in a neighbouringvillage, and was on his way home when he fell among Menon's grenadiers. Without a thought for his own safety, he fired off his gun, shouting, "Fly! fly! The royals are upon you!"

The sentinels took up the cry, Roland jumped out of bed, and, withoutstaying for clothes or horse, ran off in his shirt, escaping by a posterngate which opened on the forest just as de Menon entered by another. Hefound Roland's bed still warm, and took possession of his clothes, finding in a coat pocket a purse containing thirty-five Louis, and in thestables three superb horses. The Camisards answered this beginning ofhostilities by a murder. Four of them, thinking they had reasons fordispleasure against one of M. De Baville's subordinates, named Daude, whowas both mayor and magistrate; at Le Vigan, hid in a corn-field which hehad to pass on his way back from La Valette, his country place. Theirmeasures were successful: Daude came along just as was expected, and ashe had not the slightest suspicion of the impending danger, he continuedconversing with M, de Mondardier, a gentleman of the neighbourhood whohad asked for the; hand of Daude's daughter in marriage that very day. Suddenly he found himself surrounded by four men, who, upbraiding him forhis exactions and cruelties, shot him twice through the head with apistol. They offered no violence to M. De Mondardier except to deprivehim of his laced hat and sword. The day on which M. De Villars heard ofits murder he set a price on the heads of Roland, Ravanel, and Catinat. Still the example set by Cavalier, joined to the resumption ofhostilities, was not without influence on the Camisards; every dayletters arrived from single troopers offering to lay down their arms, andin one day thirty rebels came in and put themselves into Lalande's hands, while twenty surrendered to Grandval; these were accorded not onlypardon, but received a reward, in hopes that they might be able to induceothers to do like them; and on the 15th June eight of the troops whichhad abandoned Cavalier at Calvisson made submission; while twelve othersasked to be allowed to return to their old chief to follow him whereverhe went. This request was at once granted: they were sent toValabregues, where they found forty-two of their old comrades, amongstwhom were Duplan and Cavalier's young brother, who had been ordered therea few days before. As they arrived they were given quarters in thebarracks, and received good pay--the chiefs forty sous a day, and theprivates ten. So they felt as happy as possible, being well fed and welllodged, and spent their time preaching, praying, and psalm-singing, inseason and out of season. All this, says La Baume, was so disagreeableto the inhabitants of the place, who were Catholics, that if they had notbeen guarded by the king's soldiers they would have been pitched into theRhone. 

CHAPTER V

Meantime the date of Cavalier's departure drew near. A town was to benamed in which he was to reside at a sufficient distance from the theatreof war to prevent the rebels from depending on him any more; in this townhe was to organise his regiment, and as soon as it was complete it was togo, under his command, to Spain, and fight for the king. M. De Villarswas still on the same friendly terms with him, treating him, not like arebel, but according to his new rank in the French army. On the 21stJune he told him that he was to get ready to leave the next day, and atthe same time he handed him an advance on their future pay--fifty Louisfor himself, thirty for Daniel Billard, who had been madelieutenant-colonel in the place of Ravanel, ten for each captain, fivefor each lieutenant, two for each sergeant, and one for each private. The number of his followers had then reached one hundred and fifty, onlysixty of whom were armed. M. De Vassiniac, major in the Fimarcn regiment, accompanied them with fifty dragoons and fifty of the rank and file fromHainault. 

All along the road Cavalier and his men met with a courteous reception;at Macon they found orders awaiting them to halt. Cavalier at once wroteto M. De Chamillard to tell him that he had things of importance tocommunicate to him, and the minister sent a courier of the Cabinet calledLavallee to bring Cavalier to Versailles. This message more thanfulfilled all Cavalier's hopes: he knew that he had been greatly talkedabout at court, and in spite of his natural modesty the reception he hadmet with at Times had given him new ideas, if not of his own merit, atleast of his own importance. Besides, he felt that his services to theking deserved some recognition. 

The way in which Cavalier was received by Chamillard did not disturbthese golden dreams: the minister welcomed the young colonel like a manwhose worth he appreciated, and told him that the great lords and ladiesof the court were not less favourably disposed towards him. The next dayChamillard announced to Cavalier that the king desired to see him, andthat he was to keep himself prepared for a summons to court. Two dayslater, Cavalier received a letter from the minister telling him to be atthe palace at four o'clock in the afternoon, and he would place him onthe grand staircase, up which the king would pass. 

Cavalier put on his handsomest clothes, for the first time in his lifeperhaps taking trouble with his toilet. He had fine features, to whichhis extreme youth, his long fair hair, and the gentle expression of hiseyes lent much charm. Two years of warfare had given him a martial air;in short, even among the most elegant, he might pass as a beau cavalier. 

At three o'clock he reached Versailles, and found Chamillard waiting forhim; all the courtiers of every rank were in a state of great excitement, for they had learned that the great Louis had expressed a wish to meetthe late Cevenol chief, whose name had been pronounced so loud and sooften in the mountains of Languedoc that its echoes had resounded in thehalls of Versailles. Cavalier had not been mistaken in thinking thateveryone was curious to see him, only as no one yet knew in what lightthe king regarded him, the courtiers dared not accost him for fear ofcompromising their dignity; the manner of his reception by His Majestywould regulate the warmth of his reception by everyone else. 

Met thus by looks of curiosity and affected silence, the young colonelfelt some embarrassment, and this increased when Chamillard, who hadaccompanied him to his appointed place, left him to rejoin the king. However, in a few moments he did what embarrassed people so often do, hidhis shyness under an air of disdain, and, leaning on the balustrade, crossed his legs and played with the feather of his hat. 

When half an hour had passed in this manner, a great commotion was heard:Cavalier turned in the direction from which it came, and perceived theking just entering the vestibule. It was the first time he had seen him, but he recognized him at once. Cavalier's knees knocked together and hisface flushed. 

The king mounted the stairs step by step with his usual dignity, stoppingfrom time to time to say a word or make a sign with head or hand. Behindhim, two steps lower, came Chamillard, moving and stopping as the kingmoved and stopped, and answering the questions which His Majesty put tohim in a respectful but formal and precise manner. 

Reaching the level on which Cavalier stood, the king stopped underpretext of pointing out to Chamillard a new ceiling which Le Brun hadjust finished, but really to have a good look at the singular man who hadmaintained a struggle against two marshals of France and treated with athird on equal terms. When he had examined him quite at his ease, heturned to Chamillard, pretending he had only just caught sight of thestranger, and asked:

"Who is this young gentleman?"

"Sire, " answered the minister, stepping forward to present him to theking, "this is Colonel Jean Cavalier. "

"Ah yes, " said the king contemptuously, "the former baker of Anduze!"

And shrugging his shoulders disdainfully, he passed on. 

Cavalier on his side had, like Chamillard, taken a step forward, when thescornful answer of the great king changed him into a statue. For aninstant he stood motionless and pale as death, then instinctively he laidhis hand on his sword, but becoming conscious that he was lost if heremained an instant longer among these people, whom not one of hismotions escaped, although they pretended to despise him too much to beaware of his presence, he dashed down the staircase and through the hall, upsetting two or three footmen who were in his way, hurried into thegarden, ran across it at full speed, and regaining his room at the hotel, threw himself on the floor, where he rolled like a maniac, uttering criesof rage, and cursing the hour when, trusting to the promises of M. DeVillars, he had abandoned the mountains where he was as much a king asLouis XIV at Versailles. The same evening he received orders to leaveParis and rejoin his regiment at Macon. He therefore set out the nextmorning, without seeing M. De Chamillard again. 

Cavalier on arriving at Macon found that his comrades had had a visitfrom M. D'Aygaliers, who had come again to Paris, in the hope ofobtaining more from the king than M. De Villars could or would grant. 

Cavalier, without telling his comrades of the strange manner in which theking had received him, gave them to understand that he was beginning tofear that not only would the promises they had received be broken, butthat some strange trick would be played upon them. 

Thereupon these men, whose chief and oracle he had been for so long, asked him what they ought to do; Cavalier replied that if they wouldfollow him, their best course and his would be to take the firstopportunity of gaining the frontier and leaving the country. They alldeclared themselves ready to follow him anywhere. This caused Cavalier anew pang of regret, for he could not help recollecting that he had oncehad under his command fifteen hundred men like these. 

The next day Cavalier and his comrades set out on their march withoutknowing whither they were being taken, not having been able to obtain anyinformation as to their destination from their escort--a silence whichconfirmed them in their resolution. As soon, therefore, as they reachedOnnan, Cavalier declared that he considered that the looked-foropportunity had arrived, asking them if they were still in the same mind:they returned that they would do whatever he advised. Cavalier thenordered them to hold themselves in readiness, Daniel offered up a prayer, and the prayer ended, the whole company deserted in a body, and, crossingMont Belliard, entered Porentruy, and took the road to Lausanne. 

Meantime d'Aygaliers, in his turn, arrived at Versailles, with lettersfrom M. De Villars for the Duke of Beauvilliers, president of the king'scouncil, and for Chamillard. The evening of his arrival he deliveredthese letters to those to whom they were addressed, and both gentlemenpromised to present him to the king. 

Four days later, Chamillard sent word to d'Aygaliers that he was to benext day at the door of the king's chamber at the time when the councilentered. D'Aygaliers was punctual, the king appeared at the usual hour, and as he paused before d'Aygaliers, Chamillard came forward and said:

"Baron d'Aygaliers, sire. "

"I am very glad to see you, sir, " said the king, "for I am very muchpleased with the zeal you have displayed in Languedoc in myservice--very much pleased indeed. "

"Sire, " answered d'Aygaliers, "I consider myself most unfortunate in thatI have been able to accomplish nothing deserving of the gracious wordswhich your Majesty deigns to address me, and I pray God of His grace togrant me in the future an opportunity of proving my zeal and loyalty inyour Majesty's service more clearly than hitherto. "

"Never mind, never mind, " said the king. "I repeat, sir, that I am verymuch pleased with what you have done. "

And he entered the room where the council was waiting. 

D'Aygaliers went away only half satisfied: he had not come so far only toreceive commendation from the king, but in the hope of obtaining someconcession for his brethren; but with Louis XIV it was impossible eitherto intercede or complain, one could only wait. 

The same evening Chamillard sent for the baron, and told him that asMarechal Villars had mentioned in his letter that the Camisards had greatconfidence in him, d'Aygaliers, he wished to ask him if he were willingto go once more to them and try and bring them back to the path of duty. 

"Certainly I am willing; but I fear things have now got so far that therewill be great difficulty in calming the general perturbation of mind. "

"But what can these people want?" asked Chamillard, as if he had justheard them spoken of for the first time, "and by what means can we pacifythem?"

"In my opinion, " said the baron, "the king should allow to all hissubjects the free exercise of their religion. "

"What! legalise once more the exercise of the so-called Reformedreligion!" exclaimed the minister. "Be sure you never mention such athing again. The king would rather see his kingdom destroyed thanconsent to such a measure. "

"Monseigneur, " replied the baron, "if that is the case, then I must saywith great regret that I know of no other way to calm the discontentwhich will ultimately result in the ruin of one of the fairest provincesin France. "

"But that is unheard-of obstinacy, " said the minister, lost inastonishment; "these people will destroy themselves, and drag theircountry down with them. If they cannot conform to our religion, why dothey not worship God in their own way at home? No one will disturb themas long as they don't insist on public worship. "

"At first that was all they wanted, monseigneur; and I am convinced thatif people had not been dragged to confession and communion by force, itwould have been easy to keep them in that submissive frame of mind fromwhich they were only driven by despair; but at present they say that itis not enough to pray at home, they want to be married, to have theirchildren baptised and instructed, and to die and be buried according tothe ordinances of their own faith. "

"Where may you have seen anyone who was ever made to communicate byforce?" asked Chamillard. 

D'Aygaliers looked at the minister in surprise, thinking he spoke injoke; but seeing he was quite serious, he answered:

"Alas, monseigneur, my late father and my mother, who is still living, are both instances of people subjected to this indignity. "

"Are you, then, not a Catholic?" asked Chamillard. 

"No, monseigneur, " replied d'Aygaliers. 

"Then how did you manage to return to France?"

"To speak the truth, sir, I only came back to help my mother to escape;but she never could make up her mind to leave France, as such a step wassurrounded by many difficulties which she feared she could neversurmount. So she asked my other relations to persuade me to remain. Iyielded to their importunities on condition that they would neverinterfere with my beliefs. To accomplish this end they got a priest withwhom they were intimate to say that I had changed my views once more, andI did not contradict the report. It was a great sin on my part, and Ideeply repent it. I must add, however, that whenever anyone has asked methe question your Excellency asked me just now I have always given thesame reply. "

The minister did not seem to take the baron's frankness in bad part; onlyhe remarked, when dismissing him, that he hoped he would find out someway of ridding the kingdom of those who refused to think in religiousmatters as His Majesty commanded. 

D'Aygaliers replied that it was a problem to which he had given muchthought, but without ever being able to find a solution, but that hewould think about it more earnestly in future. He then withdrew. 

Some days later, Chamillard sent ward to d'Aygaliers that the king wouldgraciously give him a farewell audience. The baron relates what tookplace at this second interview, as follows. 

"His Majesty, " says he, "received me in the council chamber, and was sogood as to repeat once more in the presence of all his ministers that hewas very much pleased with my services, but that there was one thingabout me he should like to correct. I begged His Majesty to tell me whatthe fault was, and I should try to get rid of it at, the peril of mylife. "

"'It is your religion, ' said the king. 'I should like to have you becomea good Catholic, so that I might be able to grant you favours and enableyou to serve me better. ' His Majesty added that I ought to seekinstruction, and that then I should one day recognise what a greatbenefit he desired to bring within my reach. 

"I answered that I would esteem myself happy if at the cost of my life Icould prove the burning zeal with which I was filled for the service ofthe greatest of earthly kings, but that I should be unworthy of the leastof his favours if I obtained it by hypocrisy or by anything of which myconscience did not approve, but that I was grateful for the goodnesswhich made him anxious for my salvation. I told him also that I hadalready taken every opportunity of receiving instruction, and had triedto put aside the prejudices arising from my birth, such as often hinderedpeople from recognising the truth, with the result that I had at one timealmost lost all sense of religion, until God, taking pity on me, hadopened my eyes and brought me out of that deplorable condition, making mesee that the faith in which I had been born was the only one for me. 'And I can assure your Majesty, ' I added, 'that many of the Languedocbishops who ought, it seems to me, to try to make us Catholics, are theinstruments which Providence uses to prevent us from becoming so. Forinstead of attracting us by gentleness and good example, they ceaselesslysubject us to all kinds of persecutions, as if to convince us that God ispunishing us for our cowardice in giving up a religion which we know tobe good, by delivering us up to pastors who, far from labouring to assureour salvation, use all their efforts to drive us to despair. "

"At this the king shrugged his shoulders and said, 'Enough, do not sayany more. ' I asked for his blessing as the king and father of all hissubjects. The king burst out laughing, and told me that M. De Chamillardwould give me his orders. "

In virtue of this intimation d'Aygaliers went next day to the minister'scountry house; for Chamillard had given him that address, and there helearned that the king had granted him a pension of 800 livres. The baronremarked that, not having worked for money, he had hoped for a betterreward; as far as money was concerned, he desired only the reimbursementof the actual expenses of his journeys to and from, but Chamillardanswered that the king expected all that he offered and whatever heoffered to be accepted with gratitude. To this there was no possiblereply, so the same evening d'Aygaliers set out on his return toLanguedoc. 

Three months later, Chamillard forwarded him an order to leave thekingdom, telling him that he was to receive a pension of four hundredcrowns per annum, and enclosing the first quarter in advance. 

As there was no means of evading this command, D'Aygaliers set out forGeneva, accompanied by thirty-three followers, arriving there on the 23rdof September. Once rid of him, Louis the Magnificent thought that he haddone his part nobly and that he owed him nothing further, so thatd'Aygaliers waited a whole year in vain for the second quarter of hispension. 

At the end of this time, as his letters to Chamillard remainedunanswered, and finding himself without resources in a foreign country, he believed himself justified in returning to France and taking up hisresidence on his family estate. Unfortunately, on his way through Lyons, the provost of merchants, hearing of his return, had him arrested, andsent word to the king, who ordered him to be taken to the chateau deLoches. After a year's imprisonment, d'Aygaliers, who had just enteredon his thirty-fifth year, resolved to try and escape, preferring to diein the attempt rather than remain a prisoner for life. He succeeded ingetting possession of a file with which he removed one of the bars of hiswindow, and by means of knotting his sheets together, he got down, takingthe loosened bar with him to serve, in case of need, as a weapon. Asentinel who was near cried, "Who goes there?" but d'Aygaliers stunnedhim with his bar. The cry, however, had given the alarm: a secondsentinel saw a man flying, fired at him, and killed him on the spot. 

Such was the reward of the devoted patriotism of Baron d'Aygaliers!

Meantime Roland's troops had increased greatly in number, having beenjoined by the main body of those who had once been commanded by Cavalier, so that he had, about eight hundred men at his disposal. Some distanceaway, another chief, named Joanny, had four hundred; Larose, to whomCastanet had transferred his command, found himself at the head of threehundred; Boizeau de Rochegude was followed by one hundred, Saltet deSoustel by two hundred, Louis Coste by fifty, and Catinat by forty, sothat, in spite of the victory of Montrevel and the negotiations of M. DeVillars, the Camisards still formed an effective force of eighteenhundred and ninety men, not to speak of many single troopers who owned nocommander but acted each for himself, and were none the less mischievousfor that. All these troops, except these latter, obeyed Roland, whosince the defection of Cavalier had been recognised as generalissimo ofthe forces. M. De Villars thought if he could separate Roland from histroops as he had separated Cavalier, his plans would be more easy tocarry out. 

So he made use of every means within his reach to gain over Roland, andas soon as one plan failed he tried another. At one moment he was almostsure of obtaining his object by the help of a certain Jourdan de Mianet, a great friend of his, who offered his services as an intermediary, butwho failed like all the others, receiving from Roland a positive refusal, so that it became evident that resort must be had to other means thanthose of persuasion. A sum of 100 Louis had already been set on Roland'shead: this sum was now doubled. 

Three days afterwards, a young man from Uzes, by name Malarte, in whomRoland had every confidence, wrote to M. De Paratte that the Camisardgeneral intended to pass the night of the 14th of August at the chateauCastelnau. 

De Paratte immediately made his dispositions, and ordered Lacoste-Badie, at the head of two companies of dragoons, and all the officers at Uzeswho were well mounted, to hold themselves in readiness to start on anexpedition at eight o'clock in the evening, but not revealing its objectto them till the time came. At eight o'clock, having been told what theyhad to do, they set off at such a pace that they came in sight of thechateau within an hour, and were obliged to halt and conceal themselves, lest they should appear too soon, before Roland had retired for thenight. But they need not have been afraid; the Camisard chief, who wasaccustomed to rely on all his men as on himself, had gone to bed withoutany suspicion, having full confidence in the vigilance of one of hisofficers, named Grimaud, who had stationed himself as sentinel on theroof of the chateau. Led by Malarte, Lacoste-Badie and his dragoons tooka narrow covered way, which led them to the foot of the walls, so thatwhen Grimaud saw them it was already too late, the chateau beingsurrounded on all sides. Firing off his gun, he cried, "To arms!"Roland, roused by the cry and the shot, leaped out of bed, and taking hisclothes in one hand and his sword in the other, ran out of his room. Atthe door he met Grimaud, who, instead of thinking of his own safety, hadcome to watch over that of his chief. They both ran to the stables toget horses, but three of their men--Marchand, Bourdalie, and Bayos--hadbeen before them and had seized on the best ones, and riding thembare-backed had dashed through the front gates before the dragoons couldstop them. The horses that were left were so wretched that Roland feltthere was no chance of out-distancing the dragoons by their help, so heresolved to fly on foot, thus avoiding the open roads and being able totake refuge in every ravine and every bush as cover. He thereforehastened with Grimaud and four other officers who had gathered round himtowards a small back gate which opened on the fields, but as there was, besides the troops which entered the chateau, a ring of dragoons roundit, they fell at once into the hands of some men who had been placed inambush. Seeing himself surrounded, Roland let fall the clothes which hehad not yet had time to put on, placed his back against a tree, drew hissword, and challenged the boldest, whether officer or private, toapproach. His features expressed such resolution, that when he thus, alone and half naked, defied them all, there was a moment's hesitation, during which no one ventured to take a forward step; but this pause wasbroken by the report of a gun: the arm which Roland had stretched outagainst his adversaries fell to his side, the sword with which he hadthreatened them escaped from his hand, his knees gave way, so that hisbody, which was only supported by the tree against which he leaned, afterremaining an instant erect, gradually sank to the ground. Collecting allhis strength, Roland raised his two hands to Heaven, as if to call downthe vengeance of God upon his murderers, then, without having uttered asingle word, he fell forward dead, shot through the heart. The name ofthe dragoon who killed him was Soubeyrand. 

Maillie, Grimaud, Coutereau, Guerin, and Ressal, the five Camisardofficers, seeing their chief dead, let themselves be taken as if theywere children, without thinking of making any resistance. 

The dead body of Roland was carried back in triumph to Uzes, and fromthere to Nimes, where it was put upon trial as if still alive. It wassentenced to be dragged on hurdles and then burnt. The execution of thissentence was carried out with such pomp as made it impossible for the oneparty to forget the punishment and for the other to forget the martyrdom. At the end the ashes of Roland were scattered to the four winds ofheaven. 

The execution of the five officers followed close on that of theirchief's body; they were condemned to be broken on the wheel, and thesentence was carried out on all at once. But their death, instead ofinspiring the Calvinists with terror, gave them rather fresh courage, for, as an eye-witness relates, the five Camisards bore their torturesnot only with fortitude, but with a light-heartedness which surprised allpresent, especially those who had never seen a Camisard executed before. 

Malarte received his 200 Louis, but to-day his name is coupled with thatof Judas in the minds of his countrymen. 

From this time on fortune ceased to smile on the Camisards. Genius hadgone with Cavalier, and, faith with Roland. The very day of the death ofthe latter, one of their stores, containing more than eighty sacks ofcorn, had been taken at Toiras. The next day, Catinat, who, with a dozenmen, was in hiding in a vineyard of La Vaunage, was surprised by adetachment of Soissonnais; eleven of his men were killed, the twelfthmade prisoner, and he himself barely escaped with a severe wound. The25th of the same month, a cavern near Sauve, which the rebels used as astore, and which contained one hundred and fifty sacks of fine wheat, wasdiscovered; lastly, Chevalier de Froulay had found a third hiding-placenear Mailet. In this, which had been used not only as a store but as ahospital, besides a quantity of salt beef, wine, and flour, six woundedCamisards were found, who were instantly shot as they lay. 

The only band which remained unbroken was Ravanel's, but since thedeparture of Cavalier things had not gone well with his lieutenant. 

In consequence of this, and also on account of the successive checkswhich the other bodies of Camisard troops had met with, Ravanelproclaimed a solemn fast, in order to intercede with God to protect theHuguenot cause. On Saturday, the 13th September, he led his entire forceto the wood of St. Benazet, intending to pass the whole of the next daywith them there in prayer. But treason was rife. Two peasants who knewof this plan gave information to M. Lenoir, mayor of Le Vigan, and hesent word to the marechal and M. De Saville, who were at Anduze. 

Nothing could have been more welcome to the governor than this importantinformation: he made the most careful disposition of his forces, hopingto destroy the rebellion at one blow. He ordered M. De Courten, abrigadier-colonel in command at Alais, to take a detachment of the troopsunder him and patrol the banks of the Gardon between Ners and Castagnols. He was of opinion that if the Camisards were attacked on the other sideby a body of soldiers drawn from Anduze, which he had stationed duringthe night at Dommersargues, they would try to make good their retreattowards the river. The force at Dommersargues might almost be called asmall army; for it was composed of a Swiss battalion, a battalion of theHainault regiment, one from the Charolais regiment, and four companies ofdragoons from Fimarcon and Saint-Sernin. 

Everything took place as the peasants had said: on Saturday the 13th, theCamisards entered, as we have seen, the wood of St. Benazet, and passedthe night there. 

At break of day the royals from Dommersargues began their advance. TheCamisard outposts soon perceived the movement, and warned Ravanel, whoheld his little council of war. Everyone was in favour of instantretreat, so they retired towards Ners, intending to cross the Gardonbelow that town: just as M. De Villars had foreseen, the Camisards dideverything necessary for the success of his plans, and ended by walkingright into the trap set for them. 

On emerging from the wood of St. Benazet, they caught sight of adetachment of royals drawn up and waiting for them between Marvejols anda mill called the Moulin-du-Pont. Seeing the road closed in thisdirection, they turned sharp to the left, and gained a rocky valley whichran parallel to the Gardon. This they followed till they came out belowMarvejols, where they crossed the river. They now thought themselves outof danger, thanks to this manoeuvre, but suddenly they saw anotherdetachment of royals lying on the grass near the mill of La Scie. Theyat once halted again, and then, believing themselves undiscovered, turnedback, moving as noiselessly as possible, intending to recross the riverand make for Cardet. But they only avoided one trap to fall intoanother, for in this direction they were met by the Hainault battalion, which swooped down upon them. A few of these ill-fated men rallied at thesound of Ravanel's voice and made an effort to defend themselves in spiteof the prevailing confusion; but the danger was so imminent, the foes sonumerous, and their numbers decreased so rapidly under the fierceassault, that their example failed of effect, and flight became general:every man trusted to chance for guidance, and, caring nothing for thesafety of others, thought only of his own. 

Then it ceased to be a battle and become a massacre, for the royals wereten to one; and among those they encountered, only sixty had firearms, the rest, since the discovery of their various magazines, having beenreduced to arm themselves with bad swords, pitchforks, and bayonetsattached to sticks. Hardly a man survived the fray. Ravanel himself onlysucceeded in escaping by throwing himself into the river, where heremained under water between two rocks for seven hours, only coming tothe surface to breathe. When night fell and the dragoons had retired, healso fled. 

This was the last battle of the war, which had lasted four years. WithCavalier and Roland, those two mountain giants, the power of the rebelsdisappeared. As the news of the defeat spread, the Camisard chiefs andsoldiers becoming convinced that the Lord had hidden His face from them, surrendered one by one. The first to set an example was Castanet. OnSeptember 6th, a week after the defeat of Ravanel, he surrendered to themarechal. On the 19th, Catinat and his lieutenant, Franqois Souvayre, tendered their submission; on the 22nd, Amet, Roland's brother, came in;on October 4th, Joanny; on the 9th, Larose, Valette, Salomon, Laforet, Moulieres, Salles, Abraham and Marion; on the 20th, Fidele; and on the25th, Rochegude. 

Each made what terms he could; in general the conditions were favourable. Most of those who submitted received rewards of money, some more, someless; the smallest amount given being 200 livres. They all receivedpassports, and were ordered to leave the kingdom, being sent, accompaniedby an escort and at the king's expense, to Geneva. The following is theaccount given by Marion of the agreement he came to with the MarquisLalande; probably all the others were of the same nature. 

"I was deputed, " he says, "to treat with this lieutenant-general inregard to the surrender of my own troops and those of Larose, and toarrange terms for the inhabitants of thirty-five parishes who hadcontributed to our support during the war. The result of thenegotiations was that all the prisoners from our cantons should be set atliberty, and be reinstated in their possessions, along with all theothers. The inhabitants of those parishes which had been ravaged by firewere to be exempt from land-tax for three years; and in no parish werethe inhabitants to be taunted with the past, nor molested on the subjectof religion, but were to be free to worship God in their own housesaccording to their consciences. "

These agreements were fulfilled with such punctuality, that Larose waspermitted to open the prison doors of St. Hippolyte to forty prisonersthe very day he made submission. 

As we have said, the Camisards, according as they came in, were sent offto Geneva. D'Aygaliers, whose fate we have anticipated, arrived there onSeptember 23rd, accompanied by Cavalier's eldest brother, Malpach, Roland's secretary, and thirty-six Camisards. Catinat and Castanetarrived there on the 8th October, along with twenty-two other persons, while Larose, Laforet, Salomon, Moulieres, Salles, Marion, and Fidelereached it under the escort of forty dragoons from Fimarcon in the monthof November. 

Of all the chiefs who had turned Languedoc for four years into a vastarena, only Ravanel remained, but he refused either to surrender or toleave the country. On the 8th October the marechal issued an orderdeclaring he had forfeited all right to the favour of an amnesty, andoffering a reward of 150 Louis to whoever delivered him up living, and2400 livres to whoever brought in his dead body, while any hamlet, village, or town which gave him refuge would be burnt to the ground andthe inhabitants put to the sword. 

The revolt seemed to be at an end and peace established. So the marechalwas recalled to court, and left Nimes on January the 6th. Before hisdeparture he received the States of Languedoc, who bestowed on him notonly the praise which was his due for having tempered severity withmercy, but also a purse of 12, 000 livres, while a sum of 8000 livres waspresented to his wife. But all this was only a prelude to the favoursawaiting him at court. On the day he returned to Paris the kingdecorated him with all the royal orders and created him a duke. On thefollowing day he received him, and thus addressed him: "Sir, your pastservices lead me to expect much of those you will render me in thefuture. The affairs of my kingdom would be better conducted if I hadseveral Villars at my disposal. Having only one, I must always send himwhere he is most needed. It was for that reason I sent you to Languedoc. You have, while there, restored tranquillity to my subjects, you must nowdefend them against their enemies; for I shall send you to command myarmy on the Moselle in the next campaign. "

The, Duke of Berwick arrived at Montpellier on the 17th March to replaceMarechal Villars. His first care was to learn from M. De Baville theexact state of affairs. M. De Baville told him that they were not at allsettled as they appeared to be on the surface. In fact, England andHolland, desiring nothing so much as that an intestine war should wasteFrance, were making unceasing efforts to induce the exiles to returnhome, promising that this time they would really support them by lendingarms, ammunition, and men, and it was said that some were already ontheir way back, among the number Castanet. 

And indeed the late rebel chief, tired of inaction, had left Geneva inthe end of February, and arrived safely at Vivarais. He had held areligious meeting in a cave near La Goree, and had drawn to his sideValette of Vals and Boyer of Valon. Just as the three had determined topenetrate into the Cevennes, they were denounced by some peasants beforea Swiss officer named Muller, who was in command of a detachment oftroops in the village of Riviere. Muller instantly mounted his horse, and guided by the informers made his way into the little wood in whichthe Camisards had taken refuge, and fell upon them quite unexpectedly. Boyer was killed in trying to escape; Castanet was taken and brought tothe nearest prison, where he was joined the next day by Valette, who hadalso been betrayed by some peasants whom he had asked for assistance. 

The first punishment inflicted on Castanet was, that he was compelled tocarry in his hand the head of Boyer all the way from La Goree toMontpellier. He protested vehemently at first, but in vain: it wasfastened to his wrist by the hair; whereupon he kissed it on both cheeks, and went through the ordeal as if it were a religious act, addressingwords of prayer to the head as he might have done to a relic of a martyr. 

Arrived at Montpellier, Castanet was examined, and at first persisted insaying that he had only returned from exile because he had not thewherewithal to live abroad. But when put to the torture he was made toendure such agony that, despite his courage and constancy, he confessedthat he had formed a plan to introduce a band of Huguenot soldiers withtheir officers into the Cevennes by way of Dauphine or by water, andwhile waiting for their arrival he had sent on emissaries in advance torouse the people to revolt; that he himself had also shared in this work;that Catinat was at the moment in Languedoc or Vivarais engaged in thesame task, and provided with a considerable sum of money sent him byforeigners for distribution, and that several persons of still greaterimportance would soon cross the frontier and join him. 

Castanet was condemned to be broken on the wheel. As he was about to beled to execution, Abbe Tremondy, the cure of Notre-Dame, and Abbe Plomet, canon of the cathedral, came to his cell to make a last effort to converthim, but he refused to speak. They therefore went on before, and awaitedhim on the scaffold. There they appeared to inspire Castanet with morehorror than the instruments of torture, and while he addressed theexecutioner as "brother, " he called out to the priests, "Go away out ofmy sight, imps from the bottomless pit! What are you doing here, youaccursed tempters? I will die in the religion in which I was born. Leave me alone, ye hypocrites, leave me alone!" But the two abbes wereunmoved, and Castanet expired cursing, not the executioner but the twopriests, whose presence during his death-agony disturbed his soul, turning it away from things which should have filled it. 

Valette was sentenced to be hanged, and was executed on the same day asCastanet. 

In spite of the admissions wrung from Castanet in March, nearly a monthpassed without any sign of fresh intrigues or any attempt at rebellion. But on the 17th of April, about seven o'clock in the evening, M. DeBaville received intelligence that several Camisards had lately returnedfrom abroad, and were in hiding somewhere, though their retreat was notknown. This information was laid before the Duke of Berwick, and he andM. De Baville ordered certain houses to be searched, whose owners were intheir opinion likely to have given refuge to the malcontents. Atmidnight all the forces which they could collect were divided into twelvedetachments, composed of archers and soldiers, and at the head of eachdetachment was placed a man that could be depended upon. Dumayne, theking's lieutenant, assigned to each the districts they were to search, and they all set out at once from the town hall, at half-past twelve, marching in silence, and separating at signs from their leaders, soanxious were they to make no noise. At first all their efforts were ofno avail, several houses being searched without any result; but at lengthJausserand, the diocesan provost, having entered one of the houses whichhe and Villa, captain of the town troops, had had assigned to them, theyfound three men sleeping on mattresses laid on the floor. The provostroused them by asking them who they were, whence they came, and what theywere doing at Montpellier, and as they, still half asleep, did not replyquite promptly, he ordered them to dress and follow him. 

These three men were Flessiere, Gaillard, and Jean-Louis. Flessiere wasa deserter from the Fimarcon regiment: he it was who knew most about theplot. Gaillard had formerly served in the Hainault regiment; andJean-Louis, commonly called "the Genevois, " was a deserter from theCourten regiment. 

Flessiere, who was the leader, felt that it would be a great disgrace tolet themselves be taken without resistance; he therefore pretended toobey, but in lifting up his clothes, which lay upon a trunk, he managedto secure two pistols, which he cocked. At the noise made by the hammersthe provost's suspicions were aroused, and throwing himself on Flessiere, he seized him round the waist from behind. Flessiere, unable to turn, raised his arm and fired over his shoulder. The shot missed the provost, merely burning a lock of his hair, but slightly wounded one of hisservants, who was carrying a lantern. He then tried to fire a secondshot, but Jausserand, seizing him by the wrist with one hand, blew outhis brains with the other. While Jausserand and Flessiere were thusstruggling, Gaillard threw himself on Villa, pinning his arms to hissides. As he had no weapons, he tried to push him to the wall, in orderto stun him by knocking his head against it; but when the servant, beingwounded, let the lantern fall, he took advantage of the darkness to makea dash for the door, letting go his hold of his antagonist. Unfortunatelyfor him, the doors, of which there were two, were guarded, and theguards, seeing a half-naked man running away at the top of his speed, ranafter him, firing several shots. He received a wound which, though notdangerous, impeded his flight, so that he was boon overtaken andcaptured. They brought him back a prisoner to the town hall, whereFlessiere's dead body already lay. 

Meanwhile Jean-Louis had had better luck. While the two struggles asrelated above were going on, he slipped unnoticed to an open window andgot out into the street. He ran round the corner of the house, anddisappeared like a shadow in the darkness before the eyes of the guards. For a long time he wandered from street to street, running down one andup another, till chance brought him near La Poissonniere. Here heperceived a beggar propped against a post and fast asleep; he awoke him, and proposed that they should exchange clothes. As Jean-Louis' suit wasnew and the beggar's in rags, the latter thought at first it was a joke. Soon perceiving, however, that the offer was made in all seriousness, heagreed to the exchange, and the two separated, each delighted with hisbargain. Jean-Louis approached one of the gates of the town, in order tobe able to get out as soon as it was opened, and the beggar hastened offin another direction, in order to get away from the man who had let himhave so good a bargain, before he had time to regret the exchange he hadmade. 

But the night's adventures were far from being over. The beggar wastaken a prisoner, Jean-Louis' coat being recognised, and brought to thetown hall, where the mistake was discovered. The Genevois meantime gotinto a dark street, and lost his way. Seeing three men approach, one ofwhom carried a lantern, he went towards the light, in order to find outwhere he was, and saw, to his surprise, that one of the men was theservant whom Flessiere had wounded, and who was now going to have hiswound dressed. The Genevois tried to draw back into the shade, but itwas too late: the servant had recognised him. He then tried to fly; butthe wounded man soon overtook him, and although one of his hands wasdisabled, he held him fast with the other, so that the two men who werewith him ran up and easily secured him. He also was brought to the townhall, where he found the Duke of Berwick and M. De Baville, who wereawaiting the result of the affray. 

Hardly had the prisoner caught sight of them than, seeing himself alreadyhanged, which was no wonder considering the marvellous celerity withwhich executions were conducted at that epoch, he threw himself on hisknees, confessed who he was, and related for what reason he had joinedthe fanatics. He went on to say that as he had not joined them of hisown free will, but had been forced to do so, he would, if they wouldspare his life, reveal important secrets to them, by means of which theycould arrest the principal conspirators. 

His offer was so tempting and his life of so little worth that the dukeand de Baville did not long hesitate, but pledged their word to spare hislife if the revelations he was about to make proved to be of realimportance. The bargain being concluded, the Genevois made the followingstatement:

"That several letters having arrived from foreign countries containingpromises of men and money, the discontented in the provinces had leaguedtogether in order to provoke a fresh rebellion. By means of these lettersand other documents which were scattered abroad, hopes were raised thatM. De Miremont, the last Protestant prince of the house of Bourbon, wouldbring them reinforcements five or six thousand strong. Thesereinforcements were to come by sea and make a descent on Aigues-Mortes orCette, --and two thousand Huguenots were to arrive at the same time by wayof Dauphine and join the others as they disembarked. 

"That in this hope Catinat, Clary, and Jonquet had left Geneva andreturned to France, and having joined Ravanel had gone secretly throughthose parts of the country known to be infected with fanaticism, and madeall necessary arrangements, such as amassing powder and lead, munitionsof war, and stores of all kinds, as well as enrolling the names of allthose who were of age to bear arms. Furthermore, they had made anestimate of what each city, town, and village ought to contribute inmoney or in kind to the--League of the Children of God, so that theycould count on having eight or ten thousand men ready to rise at thefirst signal. They had furthermore resolved that there should be risingsin several places at the same time, which places were already chosen, andeach of those who were to take part in the movement knew his exact duty. At Montpellier a hundred of the most determined amongst the disaffectedwere to set fire in different quarters to the houses of the Catholics, killing all who attempted to extinguish the fires, and with the help ofthe Huguenot inhabitants were, to slaughter the garrison, seize thecitadel, and carry off the Duke of Berwick and M. De Baville. The samethings were to be done at Nimes, Uzes, Alais, Anduze, Saint-Hippolyte, and Sommieres. Lastly, he said, this conspiracy had been going on formore than three months, and the conspirators, in order not to be foundout, had only revealed their plans to those whom they knew to be ready tojoin them: they had not admitted a single woman to their confidence, orany man whom it was possible to suspect. Further, they had only met atnight and a few persons at a time, in certain country houses, to whichadmittance was gained by means of a countersign; the 25th of April wasthe day fixed for the general rising and the execution of theseprojects. "

As may be seen, the danger was imminent, as there was only six days'interval between the revelation and the expected outburst; so theGenevois was consulted, under renewed promises of safety for himself, asto the best means of seizing on the principal chiefs in the shortestpossible time. He replied that he saw no other way but to accompany themhimself to Nimes, where Catinat and Ravanel were in hiding, in a house ofwhich he did not know the number and in a street of which he did not knowthe name, but which he was sure of recognising when he saw them. If thisadvice were to be of any avail, there was no time to be lost, for Ravaneland Catinat were to leave Nimes on the 20th or the 21st at latest;consequently, if they did not set off at once, the chiefs would no longerbe there when they arrived. The advice seemed good, so the marechal andthe intendant hastened to follow it: the informer was sent to Nimesguarded by six archers, the conduct of the expedition was given toBarnier, the provost's lieutenant, a man of intellect and common sense, and in whom the provost had full confidence. He carried letters for theMarquis of Sandricourt. 

As they arrived late on the evening of the 19th, the Genevois was at onceled up and down the streets of Nimes, and, as he had promised, he pointedout several houses in the district of Sainte-Eugenie. Sandricourt at onceordered the garrison officers, as well as those of the municipal andCourten regiments, to put all their soldiers under arms and to stationthem quietly throughout the town so as to surround that district. At teno'clock, the Marquis of Sandricourt, having made certain that hisinstructions had been carefully carried out, gave orders to MM. DeL'Estrade, Barnier, Joseph Martin, Eusebe, the major of the Swissregiment, and several other officers, along with ten picked men, torepair to the house of one Alison, a silk merchant, this house havingbeen specially pointed out by the prisoner. This they did, but seeingthe door open, they had little hope of finding the chiefs of a conspiracyin a place so badly guarded; nevertheless, determined to obey theirinstructions, they glided softly into the hall. In a few moments, duringwhich silence and darkness reigned, they heard people speaking ratherloudly in an adjoining room, and by listening intently they caught thefollowing words: "It is quite sure that in less than three weeks the kingwill be no longer master of Dauphine, Vivarais, and Languedoc. I ambeing sought for everywhere, and here I am in Nimes, with nothing tofear. "

It was now quite clear to the listeners that close at hand were some atleast of those for whom they were looking. They ran to the door, whichwas ajar, and entered the room, sword in hand. They found Ravanel, Jonquet, and Villas talking together, one sitting on a table, anotherstanding on the hearth, and the third lolling on a bed. 

Jonquet was a young man from Sainte-Chatte, highly thought of among theCamisards. He had been, it may be remembered, one of Cavalier'sprincipal officers. Villas was the son of a doctor in Saint-Hippolyte;he was still young, though he had seen ten years' service, having beencornet in England in the Galloway regiment. As to Ravanel, he issufficiently known to our readers to make any words of introductionunnecessary. 

De l'Estrade threw himself on the nearest of the three, and, withoutusing his sword, struck him with his fist. Ravanel (for it was he) beinghalf stunned, fell back a step and asked the reason of this violentassault; while Barnier exclaimed, "Hold him fast, M. De l'Estrade; it isRavanel!" "Well, yes, I am Ravanel, " said the Camisard, "but that is noreason for making so much noise. " As he said these words he made anattempt to reach his weapons, but de l'Estrade and Barnier prevented himby throwing themselves on him, and succeeded in knocking him down after afierce struggle. While, this was going on, his two companions weresecured, and the three were removed to the fort, where their guard neverleft them night or day. 

The Marquis of Sandricourt immediately sent off a courier to the Duke ofBerwick and M. De Baville to inform them of the important capture he hadmade. They were so delighted at the news that they came next day toNimes. 

They found the town intensely excited, soldiers with fixed bayonets atevery street corner, all the houses shut up, and the gates of the townclosed, and no one allowed to leave without written permission fromSandricourt. On the 20th, and during the following night, more thanfifty persons were arrested, amongst whom were Alison, the merchant inwhose house Ravanel, Villas, and Jonquet were found; Delacroix, Alison'sbrother-in-law, who, on hearing the noise of the struggle, had hidden onthe roof and was not discovered till next day; Jean Lauze, who wasaccused of having prepared Ravanel's supper; Lauze's mother, a widow;Tourelle, the maid-servant; the host of the Coupe d'Or, and a preachernamed La Jeunesse. 

Great, however, as was the joy felt by the duke, the marquis, and deBaville, it fell short of full perfection, for the most dangerous manamong the rebels was still at large; in spite of every effort, Catinat'shiding-place had not till now been discovered. 

Accordingly, the duke issued a proclamation offering a reward of onehundred Louis-d'or to whoever would take Catinat, or cause him to betaken prisoner, and granting a free pardon to anyone who had shelteredhim, provided that he was denounced before the house-to-house visitationwhich was about to be made took place. After the search began, the masterof the house in which he might be found would be hung at his own door, his family thrown into prison, his goods confiscated, his house razed tothe ground, without any form of trial whatever. 

This proclamation had the effect expected by the duke: whether the man inwhose house Catinat was concealed grew frightened and asked him to leave, or whether Catinat thought his best course would be to try and get awayfrom the town, instead of remaining shut up in it, he dressed himself onemorning in suitable clothes, and went to a barber's, who shaved him, cuthis hair, and made up his face so as to give him as much the appearanceof a nobleman as possible; and then with wonderful assurance he went outinto the streets, and pulling his hat over his eyes and holding a paperin his hand as if reading it, he crossed the town to the gate of St. Antoine. He was almost through when Charreau, the captain of the guard, having his attention directed to Catinat by a comrade to whom he wastalking, stopped him, suspecting he was trying to escape. Catinat askedwhat he wanted with him, and Charreau replied that if he would enter theguard-house he would learn; as under such circumstances any examinationwas to be avoided, Catinat tried to force his way out; whereupon he wasseized by Charreau and his brother-officer, and Catinat seeing thatresistance would be not only useless but harmful, allowed himself to betaken to the guard-room. 

He had been there about an hour without being recognised by any of thosewho, drawn by curiosity, came to look at him, when one of the visitors ingoing out said he bore a strong resemblance to Catinat; some childrenhearing these words, began to shout, "Catinat is taken! Catinat istaken!" This cry drew a large crowd to the guard-house, among others aman whose name was Anglejas, who, looking closely at the prisoner, recognised him and called him by name. 

Instantly the guard was doubled, and Catinat searched: a psalm-book witha silver clasp and a letter addressed to "M. Maurel, called Catinat, "were found on him, leaving no doubt as to his identity; while he himself, growing impatient, and desiring to end all these investigations, acknowledged that he was Catinat and no other. 

He was at once taken to the palace, where the Presidial Court wassitting, M. De Baville and the president being occupied in tryingRavanel, Villas, and Jonquet. On hearing the news of this importantcapture, the intendant, hardly daring to believe his ears, rose and wentout to meet the prisoner, in order to convince himself that it was reallyCatinat. 

From the Presidial Court he was brought before the Duke of Berwick, whoaddressed several questions to him, which Catinat answered; he then toldthe duke he had something of importance to impart to him and to himalone. The duke was not very anxious for a tete-a-tete with Catinat;however, having ordered his hands to be securely bound, and tellingSandricourt not to go away, he consented to hear what the prisoner had tosay. 

Catinat then, in the presence of the duke and Sandricourt, proposed thatan exchange of prisoners should be made, the Marechal de Tallard, who wasa prisoner of war in England, being accepted in his place. Catinat addedthat if this offer was not accepted, the marechal would meet the sametreatment from the English as might be meted out to him, Catinat, inFrance. The duke, full of the aristocratic ideas to which he was born, found the proposal insolent, and said, "If that is all you have topropose, I can assure you that your hours are numbered. "

Thereupon Catinat was promptly sent back to the palace, where truly histrial did not occupy much time. That of the three others was alreadyfinished, and soon his was also at an end, and it only remained topronounce sentence on all four. Catinat and Ravanel, as the most guilty, were condemned to be burnt at the stake. Some of the councillors thoughtCatinat should have been torn apart by four horses, but the majority werefor the stake, the agony lasting longer, being more violent and moreexquisite than in the of other case. 

Villars and Jonquet were sentenced to be broken on the wheel alive--theonly difference between them being that Jonquet was to be to taken whilestill living and thrown into the fire lit round Catinat and Ravael. Itwas also ordered that the four condemned men before their executionshould be put to the torture ordinary and extraordinary. Catinat, whosetemper was fierce, suffered with courage, but cursed his torturers. Ravanel bore all the torments that could be inflicted on him with afortitude that was more than human, so that the torturers were exhaustedbefore he was. Jonquet spoke little, and the revelations he made were ofslight importance. Villas confessed that the conspirators had theintention of carrying off the duke and M. De Baville when they were outwalking or driving, and he added that this plot had been hatched at thehouse of a certain Boeton de Saint-Laurent-d'Aigozre, at Milhaud, inRouergue. 

Meanwhile all this torturing and questioning had taken so much time thatwhen the stake and the scaffold were ready it was almost dark, so thatthe duke put off the executions until the next day, instead of carryingthem out by torchlight. Brueys says that this was done in order that themost disaffected amongst the fanatics should not be able to say that itwas not really Catinat, Ravanel, Villas, and Jonquet who had beenexecuted but some other unknown men; but it is more probable that theduke and Baville were afraid of riots, as was proved by their orderingthe scaffold and the stake to be erected at the end of the Cours andopposite the glacis of the fortress, so that the garrison might be athand in case of any disturbance. 

Catinat was placed in a cell apart, and could be, heard cursing andcomplaining all night through. Ravanel, Villas, and Jonquet wereconfined together, and passed the night singing and praying. 

The next day, the 22nd April, 1705, they were taken from the prison anddrawn to the place of execution in two carts, being unable to walk, onaccount of the severe torture to which they had been subjected, and whichhad crushed the bones of their legs. A single pile of wood had beenprepared for Catinat and Ravanel, who were to be burnt together; theywere in one cart, and Villas and Jonquet, for whom two wheels had beenprepared, were in the other. 

The first operation was to bind Catinat and Ravanel back to back to thesame stake, care being taken to place Catinat with his face to windward, so that his agony might last longer, and then the pile was lit underRavanel. 

As had been foreseen, this precaution gave great pleasure to those peoplewho took delight in witnessing executions. The wind being rather high, blew the flames away from Catinat, so that at first the fire burnt hislegs only--a circumstance which, the author of the History of theCamisards tells us, aroused Catinat's impatience. Ravanel, however, boreeverything to the end with the greatest heroism, only pausing in hissinging to address words of encouragement to his companion in suffering, whom he could not see, but whose groans and curses he could hear; hewould then return to his psalms, which he continued to sing until hisvoice was stifled in the flames. Just as he expired, Jonquet was removedfrom the wheel, and carried, his broken limbs dangling, to the burningpile, on which he was thrown. From the midst of the flames his voice washeard saying, "Courage, Catinat; we shall soon meet in heaven. " A fewmoments later, the stake, being burnt through at the base, broke, andCatinat falling into the flames, was quickly suffocated. That thisaccident had not been forseen and prevented by proper precautions causedgreat displeasure to spectators who found that the three-quarter of anhour which the spectacle had lasted was much too brief a time. 

Villas lived three hours longer on his wheel, and expired without havinguttered a single complaint. 

Two days later, there was another trial, at which six persons werecondemned to death and one to the galleys; these were the two Alisons, inwhose house Villas, Ravanel, and Jonquet had been found; Alegre, who wasaccused of having concealed Catinat, and of having been the Camisardtreasurer; Rougier, an armourer who was found guilty of having repairedthe muskets of the rebels; Jean Lauze, an innkeeper who had preparedmeals for Ravanel; La Jeunesse, a preacher, convicted of having preachedsermons and sung psalms; and young Delacroix, brother-in-law to one ofthe Alisons. The first three were condemned to be broken on the wheel, their houses demolished, and their goods confiscated. The next threewere to be hanged. Jean Delacroix, partly because of his youth, but morebecause of the revelations he made, was only sent to the galleys. Severalyears later he was liberated and returned to Arles, and was carried offby the plague in 1720. 

All these sentences were carried out with the utmost rigour. 

Thus, as may be seen, the suppression of the revolt proceeded apace; onlytwo young Camisard chiefs were still at large, both of whom had formerlyserved under Cavalier and Catinat. The name of the one was Brun and ofthe other Francezet. Although neither of them possessed the genius andinfluence of Catinat and Ravanel, yet they were both men to be feared, the one on account of his personal strength, the other for his skill andagility. Indeed, it was said of him that he never missed a shot, andthat one day being pursued by dragoons he had escaped by jumping over theGardon at a spot where it was twenty-two feet wide. 

For a long time all search was in vain, but one day the wife of a millernamed Semenil came into town ostensibly to buy provisions, but really todenounce them as being concealed, with two other Camisards, in herhusband's house. 

This information was received with an eager gratitude, which showed theimportance which the governor of Nimes attached to their capture. Thewoman was promised a reward of fifty Louis if they were taken, and theChevalier de la Valla, Grandidier, and fifty Swiss, the major of theSaint-Sernin regiment, a captain, and thirty dragoons, were sent off tomake the capture. When they were within a quarter of a league of themill, La Valla, who was in command of the expedition, made the woman givehim all the necessary topographical information. 

Having learned that besides the door by which they hoped to effect anentrance, the mill possessed only one other, which opened on a bridgeover the Vistre, he despatched ten dragoons and five Swiss to occupy thisbridge, whilst he and the rest of the troops bore down on the mainentrance. As soon as the four Camisards perceived the approach of thesoldiers, their first thought was to escape by the bridge, but one ofthem having gone up to the roof to make sure that the way was clear, camedown exclaiming that the bridge was occupied. On hearing this, the fourfelt that they were lost, but nevertheless resolved to defend themselvesas valiantly and to sell their lives as dearly as possible. As soon asthe royals were within musket range of the mill, four shots were fired, and two dragoons, one Swiss, and one horse, fell. M. De Valla thereuponordered the troops to charge at full gallop, but before the mill door wasreached three other shots were heard, and two more men killed. Nevertheless, seeing they could not long hold out against such numbers, Francezet gave the signal for retreat, calling out, "Sauve qui petit!" atthe same instant he jumped out of a lattice window twenty feet from theground, followed by Brun. Neither of them being hurt, both set offacross country, one trusting to his strength and the other to hisfleetness of foot. The two other Camisards, who had tried to escape bythe door, were captured. 

The soldiers, horse and foot, being now free to give all their attentionto Brun and Francezet, a wonderful race began; for the two fugitives, being strong and active, seemed to play with their pursuers, stoppingevery now and then, when they had gained sufficient headway, to shoot atthe nearest soldiers; when Francezet, proving worthy of his reputation, never missed a single shot. Then, resuming their flight and loadingtheir weapons as they ran, they leaped rivers and ditches, takingadvantage of the less direct road which the troops were obliged tofollow, to stop and take breath, instead of making for some cover wherethey might have found safety. Two or three times Brun was on the point ofbeing caught, but each time the dragoon or Swiss who had got up to himfell, struck by Francezet's unerring bullet. The chase lasted fourhours, during which time five officers, thirty dragoons, and fifty Swisswere baffled by two men, one of whom Francezet was almost a boy, beingonly twenty years old! Then the two Camisards, having exhausted theirammunition, gave each other the name of a village as a rendezvous, andeach taking a different direction, bounded away with the lightness of astag. Francezet ran in the direction of Milhaud with such rapidity thathe gained on the dragoons, although they put their horses at full speed. He was within an inch of safety, when a peasant named La Bastide, who washoeing in a field, whence he had watched the contest with interest fromthe moment he had first caught sight of it, seeing the fugitive make foran opening in a wall, ran along at the foot of the wall on the otherside, and, just as Francezet dashed through the opening like a flash oflightning, struck him such a heavy blow on the head with his hoe that theskull was laid open, and he fell bathed in blood. 

The dragoons, who had seen in the distance what had happened, now cameup, and rescued Francezet from the hands of his assailant, who hadcontinued to rain blows upon him, desiring to put an end to him. Theunconscious Camisard was carried to Milhaud, where his wounds werebandaged, and himself revived by means of strong spirits forced intomouth and nostrils. 

We now return to Brun. At first it seemed as if he were more fortunatethan his comrade; for, meeting with no obstacle, he was soon not only outof reach, but out of sight of his enemies. He now, however, felt brokenby fatigue, and taught caution by the treachery to which he had almostfallen a victim, he dared not ask for an asylum, so, throwing himselfdown in a ditch, he was soon fast asleep. The dragoons, who had notgiven up the search, presently came upon him, and falling on him as helay, overpowered him before he was well awake. 

When both Camisards met before the governor, Francezet replied to allinterrogations that since the death of brother Catinat his sole desirehad been to die a martyr's death like him; while Brun said that he wasproud and happy to die in the cause of the Lord along with such a bravecomrade as Francezet. This manner of defence led to the application ofthe question both ordinary and extraordinary, and to the stake; and ourreaders already know what such a double sentence meant. Francezet andBrun paid both penalties on the 30th of April, betraying no secrets anduttering no complaints. 

Boeton, who had been denounced by Villas when under torture (and whothereby abridged his agony) as the person in whose house the plot tocarry off the Duke of Berwick and de Baville had been arranged, stillremained to be dealt with. 

He was moderate in his religious views, but firm and full of faith; hisprinciples resembled those of the Quakers in that he refused to carryarms; he was, however, willing to aid the good cause by all other meanswithin his reach. He was at home waiting, with that calm which perfecttrust in God gives, for the day to come which had been appointed for theexecution of the plan, when suddenly his house was surrounded during thenight by the royals. Faithful to his principles, he offered noresistance, but held out his hands to be bound. He was taken in triumphto Nimes, and from there to the citadel of Montpellier. On the way heencountered his wife and his son, who were going to the latter town tointercede for him. When they met him, they dismounted from their horse, for the mother was riding on a pillion behind the son, and kneeling onthe highroad, asked for Boeton's blessing. Unfeeling though the soldierswere, they yet permitted their prisoner to stop an instant, while he, raising his fettered hands to heaven, gave the double blessing asked for. So touched was Baron Saint-Chatte by the scene (be it remarked in passingthat the baron and Boeton were cousins by marriage) that he permittedthem to embrace one another, so for a few moments they stood, the husbandand father clasped to the hearts of his dear ones; then, on a sign fromBoeton, they tore themselves away, Boeton commanding them to pray for M. De Saint-Chatte, who had given them this consolation. As he resumed hismarch the prisoner set them the example by beginning to sing a psalm forthe benefit of M. De Saint-Chatte. 

The next day, despite the intercession of his wife and son, Boeton wascondemned to torture both ordinary and extraordinary, and then to bebroken on the wheel. On hearing this cruel sentence, he said that he wasready to suffer every ill that God might send him in order to prove thesteadfastness of his faith. 

And indeed he endured his torture with such firmness, that M. De Baville, who was present in the hope of obtaining a confession, became moreimpatient than the sufferer, and, forgetting his sacred office, the judgestruck and insulted the prisoner. Upon this Baeton raised his eyes toheaven and cried, "Lord, Lord! how long shall the wicked triumph? Howlong shall innocent blood be shed? How long wilt Thou not judge andavenge our blood with cries to Thee? Remember Thy jealousy, O Lord, andThy loving-kindness of old!" Then M. De Baville withdrew, giving ordersthat he was to be brought to the scaffold. 

The scaffold was erected on the Esplanade: being, as was usual when thissort of death was to be inflicted, a wooden platform five or six feethigh, on which was fastened flat a St. Andrew's cross, formed of twobeams of wood in the form of an X. In each of the four arms two squarepieces were cut out to about half the depth of the beam, and about a footapart, so that when the victim was bound on the cross the outstretchedlimbs were easy to break by a blow at these points, having no supportbeneath. Lastly, near the cross, at one corner of the scaffold anupright wooden post was fixed, on which was fastened horizontally a smallcarriage wheel, as on a pivot, the projecting part of the nave being sawnoff to make it flat. On this bed of pain the sufferer was laid, so thatthe spectators might enjoy the sight of his dying convulsions when, theexecutioner having accomplished his part, the turn of death arrived. 

Boeton was carried to execution in a cart, and drums were beaten that hisexhortations might not be heard. But above the roll of drums his voicerose unfalteringly, as he admonished his brethren to uphold theirfellowship in Christ. 

Half-way to the Esplanade a friend of the condemned man, who happened tobe in the street, met the procession, and fearing that he could notsupport the sight, he took refuge in a shop. When Boeton was oppositethe door, he stopped the cart and asked permission of the provost tospeak to his friend. The request being granted, he called him out, andas he approached, bathed in tears, Boeton said, "Why do you run away fromme? Is it because you see me covered with the tokens of Jesus Christ?Why do you weep because He has graciously called me to Himself, and allunworthy though I be, permits me to seal my faith with my blood?" Then, as the friend threw himself into Boeton's arms and some signs ofsympathetic emotion appeared among the crowd; the procession was abruptlyordered to move on; but though the leave-taking was thus roughly brokenshort, no murmur passed the lips of Boeton. 

In turning out of the first street, the scaffold came in sight; thecondemned man raised his hands towards heaven, and exclaimed in acheerful voice, while a smile lit up his face, "Courage, my soul! I seethy place of triumph, whence, released from earthly bonds, thou shah takeflight to heaven. "

When he got to the foot of the scaffold, it was found he could not mountwithout assistance; for his limbs, crushed in the terrible "boot, " couldno longer sustain his weight. While they were preparing to carry him up, he exhorted and comforted the Protestants, who were all weeping roundhim. When he reached the platform he laid himself of his own accord onthe cross; but hearing from the executioner that he must first beundressed, he raised himself again with a smile, so that theexecutioner's assistant could remove his doublet and small-clothes. Ashe wore no stockings, his legs being bandaged the man also unwound thesebandages, and rolled up Boeton's shirts-sleeves to the elbow, and thenordered him to lay himself again on the cross. Boeton did so withunbroken calm. All his limbs were then bound to the beams with cords atevery joint; this accomplished, the assistant retired, and theexecutioner came forward. He held in his hand a square bar of iron, aninch and a half thick, three feet long, and rounded at one end so as toform a handle. 

When Boeton saw it he began singing a psalm, but almost immediately themelody was interrupted by a cry: the executioner had broken a bone ofBoeton's right leg; but the singing was at once resumed, and continuedwithout interruption till each limb had been broken in two places. Thenthe executioner unbound the formless but still living body from thecross, and while from its lips issued words of faith in God he laid it onthe wheel, bending it back on the legs in such a manner that the heelsand head met; and never once during the completion of this atrociousperformance did the voice of the sufferer cease to sound forth thepraises of the Lord. 

No execution till then had ever produced such an effect on the crowd, sothat Abbe Massilla, who was present, seeing the general emotion, hastenedto call M. De Baville's attention to the fact that, far from Boeton'sdeath inspiring the Protestants with terror, they were only encouraged tohold out, as was proved by their tears, and the praises they lavished onthe dying man. 

M, de Baville, recognising the truth of this observation, ordered thatBoeton should be put out of misery. This order being conveyed to theexecutioner, he approached the wheel to break in Boeton's chest with onelast blow; but an archer standing on the scaffold threw himself beforethe sufferer, saying that the Huguenot had not yet suffered half enough. At this, Boeton, who had heard the dreadful dispute going on beside him, interrupted his prayers for an instant, and raising his head, which hungdown over the edge of the wheel, said, "Friend, you think I suffer, andin truth I do; but He for whom I suffer is beside me and gives mestrength to bear everything joyfully. " Just then M. De Baville's orderwas repeated, and the archer, no longer daring to interfere, allowed theexecutioner to approach. Then Boeton, seeing his last moment had come, said, "My dear friends, may my death be an example to you, to incite youto preserve the gospel pure; bear faithful testimony that I died in thereligion of Christ and His holy apostles. " Hardly had these words passedhis lips, than the death-blow was given and his chest crushed; a fewinarticulate sounds, apparently prayers, were heard; the head fell back, the martyrdom was ended. 

This execution ended the war in Languedoc. A few imprudent preachersstill delivered belated sermons, to which the rebels listened tremblingwith fear, and for which the preachers paid on the wheel or gibbet. There were disturbances in Vivarais, aroused by Daniel Billard, duringwhich a few Catholics were found murdered on the highway; there were afew fights, as for instance at Sainte-Pierre-Ville, where the Camisards, faithful to the old traditions which had come to them from Cavalier, Catinat, and Ravenal, fought one to twenty, but they were all withoutimportance; they were only the last quiverings of the dying civil strife, the last shudderings of the earth when the eruption of the volcano isover. 

Even Cavalier understood that the end had come, for he left Holland forEngland. There Queen Anne distinguished him by a cordial welcome; sheinvited him to enter her service, an offer which he accepted, and he wasplaced in command of a regiment of refugees; so that he actually receivedin England the grade of colonel, which he had been offered in France. Atthe battle of Almanza the regiment commanded by Cavalier found itselfopposed by a French regiment. The old enemies recognised each other, andwith a howl of rage, without waiting for the word of command or executingany military evolutions, they hurled themselves at each other with suchfury that, if we may believe the Duke of Berwick, who was present, theyalmost annihilated each other in the conflict. Cavalier, however, survived the slaughter, in which he had performed his part with energy;and for his courage was made general and governor of the island ofJersey. He died at Chelsea in May 1740, aged sixty years. "I mustconfess, " says Malesherbes, "that this soldier, who without trainingbecame a great general by means of his natural gifts; this Camisard, whodared in the face of fierce troopers to punish a crime similar to thoseby which the troopers existed; this rude peasant, who, admitted into thebest society; adopted its manners and gained its esteem and love; thisman, who though accustomed to an adventurous life, and who might justlyhave been puffed up by success, had yet enough philosophy to lead forthirty-five years a tranquil private existence, appears to me to be oneof the rarest characters to be met with in the pages of history. "

CHAPTER VI

At length Louis XIV, bowed beneath the weight of a reign of sixty years, was summoned in his turn to appear before God, from whom, as some said, he looked for reward, and others for pardon. But Nimes, that city withthe heart of fire, was quiet; like the wounded who have lost the bestpart of their blood, she thought only, with the egotism of aconvalescent, of being left in peace to regain the strength which hadbecome exhausted through the terrible wounds which Montrevel and the Dukeof Berwick had dealt her. For sixty years petty ambition had taken theplace of sublime self-sacrifice, and disputes about etiquette succeededmortal combats. Then the philosophic era dawned, and the sarcasms of theencyclopedists withered the monarchical intolerance of Louis XIV andCharles IX. Thereupon the Protestants resumed their preaching, baptizedtheir children and buried their dead, commerce flourished once more, andthe two religions lived side by side, one concealing under a peacefulexterior the memory of its martyrs, the other the memory of its triumphs. Such was the mood on which the blood-red orb of the sun of '89 rose. TheProtestants greeted it with cries of joy, and indeed the promised libertygave them back their country, their civil rights, and the status ofFrench citizens. 

Nevertheless, whatever were the hopes of one party or the fears of theother, nothing had as yet occurred to disturb the prevailingtranquillity, when, on the 19th and 20th of July, 1789, a body of troopswas formed in the capital of La Gard which was to bear the name of theNimes Militia: the resolution which authorised this act was passed by thecitizens of the three orders sitting in the hall of the palace. 

It was as follows:--

"Article 10. The Nimes Legion shall consist of a colonel, alieutenant-colonel, a major, a lieutenant-major, an adjutant, twenty-fourcaptains, twenty-four lieutenants, seventy-two sergeants, seventy-twocorporals, and eleven hundred and fifty-two privates--in all, thirteenhundred and forty-nine men, forming eighty companies. 

"Article 11. The place of general assembly shall be, the Esplanade. 

"Article 12. The eighty companies shall be attached to the four quartersof the town mentioned below--viz. , place de l'Hotel-de-Ville, place de laMaison-Carree, place Saint-Jean, and place du Chateau. 

"Article 13. The companies as they are formed by the permanent councilshall each choose its own captain, lieutenant, sergeants and corporals, and from the date of his nomination the captain shall have a seat on thepermanent council. "

The Nimes Militia was deliberately formed upon certain lines whichbrought Catholics and Protestants closely together as allies, withweapons in their hands; but they stood over a mine which was bound toexplode some day, as the slightest friction between the two parties wouldproduce a spark. 

This state of concealed enmity lasted for nearly a year, being augmentedby political antipathies; for the Protestants almost to man wereRepublicans, and the Catholics Royalists. 

In the interval--that is to say, towards January, 1790--a Catholic calledFrancois Froment was entrusted by the Marquis de Foucault with the taskof raising, organising, and commanding a Royalist party in the South. This we learn from one of his own letters to the marquis, which wasprinted in Paris in 1817. He describes his mode of action in thefollowing words:--

It is not difficult to understand that being faithful to my religion andmy king, and shocked at the seditious ideas which were disseminated onall sides, I should try to inspire others with the same spirit with whichI myself was animated, so, during the year 1789, I published severalarticles in which I exposed the dangers which threatened altar andthrone. Struck with the justice of my criticisms, my countrymendisplayed the most zealous ardor in their efforts to restore to the kingthe full exercise of all his rights. Being anxious to take advantage ofthis favourable state of feeling, and thinking that it would be dangerousto hold communication with the ministers of Louis XVI, who were watchedby the conspirators, I went secretly to Turin to solicit the approbationand support of the French princes there. At a consultation which washeld just after my arrival, I showed them that if they would arm not onlythe partisans of the throne, but those of the altar, and advance theinterests of religion while advancing the interests of royalty, it wouldbe easy to save both. 

"My plan had for sole object to bind a party together, and give it as faras I was able breadth and stability. 

"As the revolutionists placed their chief dependence on force, I feltthat they could only be met by force; for then as now I was convinced ofthis great truth, that one strong passion can only be overcome by anotherstronger, and that therefore republican fanaticism could only be drivenout by religious zeal. 

"The princes being convinced of the correctness of my reasoning and theefficacy of my remedies, promised me the arms and supplies necessary tostem the tide of faction, and the Comte d'Artois gave me letters ofrecommendation to the chief nobles in Upper Languedoc, that I mightconcert measures with them; for the nobles in that part of the countryhad assembled at Toulouse to deliberate on the best way of inducing theother Orders to unite in restoring to the Catholic religion its usefulinfluence, to the laws their power, and to the king his liberty andauthority. 

"On my return to Languedoc, I went from town to town in order to meetthose gentlemen to whom the Comte d'Artois had written, among whom weremany of the most influential Royalists and some members of the States ofParliament. Having decided on a general plan, and agreed on a method ofcarrying on secret correspondence with each other, I went to Nimes towait for the assistance which I had been promised from Turin, but which Inever received. While waiting, I devoted myself to awakening andsustaining the zeal of the inhabitants, who at my suggestion, on the 20thApril, passed a resolution, which was signed by 5, 000 inhabitants. "

This resolution, which was at once a religious and political manifesto, was drafted by Viala, M. Froment's secretary, and it lay for signature inhis office. Many of the Catholics signed it without even reading it, forthere was a short paragraph prefixed to the document which contained allthe information they seemed to desire. 

"GENTLEMEN, --The aspirations of a great number of our Catholic andpatriotic fellow-citizens are expressed in the resolution which we havethe honour of laying before you. They felt that under presentcircumstances such a resolution was necessary, and they feel convincedthat if you give it your support, as they do not doubt you will, knowingyour patriotism, your religious zeal, and your love for our augustsovereign, it will conduce to the happiness of France, the maintenance ofthe true religion, and the rightful authority of the king. 

"We are, gentlemen, with respect, your very humble and obedient servants, the President and Commissioners of the Catholic Assembly of Nimes. 

"(Signed)

"FROMENT, Commissioner LAPIERRE, President FOLACHER, " LEVELUT, Commissioner FAURE, MELCHIOND, " ROBIN, " VIGNE, " "

At the same time a number of pamphlets, entitled Pierre Roman to theCatholics of Nines, were distributed to the people in the streets, containing among other attacks on the Protestants the following passages:

"If the door to high positions and civil and military honours were closedto the Protestants, and a powerful tribunal established at Nimes to seethat this rule were strictly kept, you would soon see Protestantismdisappear. 

"The Protestants demand to share all the privileges which you enjoy, butif you grant them this, their one thought will then be to dispossess youentirely, and they will soon succeed. 

"Like ungrateful vipers, who in a torpid state were harmless, they willwhen warmed by your benefits turn and kill you. 

"They are your born enemies: your fathers only escaped as by a miraclefrom their blood-stained hands. Have you not often heard of thecruelties practised on them? It was a slight thing when the Protestantsinflicted death alone, unaccompanied by the most horrible tortures. Suchas they were such they are. "

It may easily be imagined that such attacks soon embittered minds alreadydisposed to find new causes for the old hatred, and besides the Catholicsdid not long confine themselves to resolutions and pamphlets. Froment, who had already got himself appointed Receiver-General of the Chapter andcaptain of one of the Catholic companies, insisted on being present atthe installation of the Town Council, and brought his company with himarmed with pitchforks, in spite of the express prohibition of the colonelof the legion. These forks were terrible weapons, and had beenfabricated in a particular form for the Catholics of Nimes, Uzes, andAlais. But Froment and his company paid no attention to the prohibition, and this disobedience made a great impression on the Protestants, whobegan to divine the hostility of their adversaries, and it is verypossible that if the new Town Council had not shut their eyes to this actof insubordination, civil war might have burst forth in Nimes that veryday. 

The next day, at roll-call, a sergeant of another company, one Allien, acooper by trade, taunted one of the men with having carried a pitchforkthe day before, in disobedience to orders. He replied that the mayor hadpermitted him to carry it; Allien not believing this, proposed to some ofthe men to go with him to the mayor's and ask if it were true. When theysaw M. Marguerite, he said that he had permitted nothing of the kind, andsent the delinquent to prison. Half an hour later, however, he gaveorders for his release. 

As soon as he was free he set off to find his comrades, and told themwhat had occurred: they, considering that an insult to one was an insultto the whole company, determined on having satisfaction at once, so abouteleven o'clock P. M. They went to the cooper's house, carrying with them agallows and ropes ready greased. But quietly as they approached, Allienheard them, for his door being bolted from within had to be forced. Looking out of the window, he saw a great crowd, and as he suspected thathis life was in danger, he got out of a back window into the yard and soescaped. The militia being thus disappointed, wreaked their vengeance onsome passing Protestants, whose unlucky stars had led them that way;these they knocked about, and even stabbed one of them three times with aknife. 

On the 22nd April, 1790, the royalists--that is to say, theCatholics--assumed the white cockade, although it was no longer thenational emblem, and on the 1st May some of the militia who had planted amaypole at the mayor's door were invited to lunch with him. On the 2nd, the company which was on guard at the mayor's official residence shoutedseveral times during the day, "Long live the king! Up with the Cross anddown with the black throats!" (This was the name which they had given tothe Calvinists. ) "Three cheers for the white cockade! Before we aredone, it will be red with the blood of the Protestants!" However, on the5th of May they ceased to wear it, replacing it by a scarlet tuft, whichin their patois they called the red pouf, which was immediately adoptedas the Catholic emblem. 

Each day as it passed brought forth fresh brawls and provocations: libelswere invented by the Capuchins, and spread abroad by three of theirnumber. Meetings were held every day, and at last became so numerousthat the town authorities called in the aid of the militia-dragoons todisperse them. Now these gatherings consisted chiefly of those tillersof the soil who are called cebets, from a Provencal word cebe, whichmeans "onion, " and they could easily be recognised as Catholics by theirred pouf, which they wore both in and out of uniform. On the other hand, the dragoons were all Protestants. 

However, these latter were so very gentle in their admonitions, thatalthough the two parties found themselves, so to speak, constantly faceto face and armed, for several days the meetings were dispersed withoutbloodshed. But this was exactly what the cebets did not want, so theybegan to insult the dragoons and turn them into ridicule. Consequently, one morning they gathered together in great numbers, mounted on asses, and with drawn swords began to patrol the city. 

At the same time, the lower classes, who were nearly all Catholics, joined the burlesque patrols in complaining loudly of the dragoons, somesaying that their horses had trampled on their children, and others thatthey had frightened their wives. 

The Protestants contradicted them, both parties grew angry, swords werehalf drawn, when the municipal authorities came on the scene, and insteadof apprehending the ringleaders, forbade the dragoons to patrol the townany more, ordering them in future to do nothing more than send twenty menevery day to mount guard at the episcopal palace and to undertake noother duty except at the express request of the Town Council. Althoughit was expected that the dragoons would revolt against such ahumiliation, they submitted, which was a great disappointment to thecebets, who had been longing for a chance to indulge in new outrages. For all that, the Catholics did not consider themselves beaten; they feltsure of being able to find some other way of driving their quarry to bay. 

Sunday, the 13th of June, arrived. This day had been selected by theCatholics for a great demonstration. Towards ten o'clock in the morning, some companies wearing the red tuft, under pretext of going to mass, marched through the city armed and uttering threats. The few dragoons, on the other hand, who were on guard at the palace, had not even asentinel posted, and had only five muskets in the guard-house. At twoo'clock P. M. There was a meeting held in the Jacobin church, consistingalmost exclusively of militia wearing the red tuft. The mayor pronounceda panegyric on those who wore it, and was followed by Pierre Froment, whoexplained his mission in much the same words as those quoted above. Hethen ordered a cask of wine to be broached and distributed among thecebets, and told them to walk about the streets in threes, and to disarmall the dragoons whom they might meet away from their post. About sixo'clock in the evening a red-tuft volunteer presented himself at the gateof the palace, and ordered the porter to sweep the courtyard, saying thatthe volunteers were going to get up a ball for the dragoons. After thispiece of bravado he went away, and in a few moments a note arrived, couched in the following terms:

"The bishop's porter is warned to let no dragoon on horse or on footenter or leave the palace this evening, on pain of death. 

"13th June 1790. "

This note being brought to the lieutenant, he came out, and reminded thevolunteer that nobody but the town authorities could give orders to theservants at the palace. The volunteer gave an insolent answer, thelieutenant advised him to go away quietly, threatening if he did not toput him out by force. This altercation attracted a great many of thered-tufts from outside, while the dragoons, hearing the noise, came downinto the yard; the quarrel became more lively, stones were thrown, thecall to arms was heard, and in a few moments about forty cebets, who wereprowling around in the neighbourhood of the palace, rushed into the yardcarrying guns and swords. The lieutenant, who had only about a dozendragoons at his back, ordered the bugle to sound, to recall those who hadgone out; the volunteers threw themselves upon the bugler, dragged hisinstrument from his hands, and broke it to pieces. Then several shotswere fired by the militia, the dragoons returned them, and a regularbattle began. The lieutenant soon saw that this was no mere street row, but a deliberate rising planned beforehand, and realising that veryserious consequences were likely to ensue, he sent a dragoon to the townhall by a back way to give notice to the authorities. 

M. De Saint-Pons, major of the Nimes legion, hearing some noise outside, opened his window, and found the whole city in a tumult: people wererunning in every direction, and shouting as they ran that the dragoonswere being killed at the palace. The major rushed out into the streetsat once, gathered together a dozen to fifteen patriotic citizens withoutweapons, and hurried to the town hall: There he found two officials ofthe town, and begged them to go at once to the place de l'Eveche, escorted by the first company, which was on guard at the town hall. Theyagreed, and set off. On the way several shots were fired at them, but noone was hit. When they arrived at the square, the cebets fired a volleyat them with the same negative result. Up the three principal streetswhich led to the palace numerous red-tufts were hurrying; the firstcompany took possession of the ends of the streets, and being fired atreturned the fire, repulsing the assailants and clearing the square, withthe loss of one of their men, while several of the retreating cebets werewounded. 

While this struggle was going on at the palace, the spirit of murderbroke loose in the town. 

At the gate of the Madeleine, M. De Jalabert's house was broken into bythe red-tufts; the unfortunate old man came out to meet them and askedwhat they wanted. "Your life and the lives of all the other dogs ofProtestants!" was the reply. Whereupon he was seized and dragged throughthe streets, fifteen insurgents hacking at him with their swords. 

At last he managed to escape from their hands, but died two days later ofhis wounds. 

Another old man named Astruc, who was bowed beneath the weight ofseventy-two years and whose white hair covered his shoulders, was met ashe was on his way to the gate of Carmes. Being recognised as aProtestant, he received five wounds from some of the famous pitchforksbelonging to the company of Froment. He fell, but the assassins pickedhim up, and throwing him into the moat, amused themselves by flingingstones at him, till one of them, with more humanity than his fellows, puta bullet through his head. 

Three electors--M. Massador from near Beaucaire, M. Vialla from thecanton of Lasalle, and M. Puech of the same place-were attacked byred-tufts on their way home, and all three seriously wounded. The captainwho had been in command of the detachment on guard at the ElectoralAssembly was returning to his quarters, accompanied by a sergeant andthree volunteers of his own company, when they were stopped on thePetit-Cours by Froment, commonly called Damblay, who, pressing the barrelof a pistol to the captain's breast, said, "Stand, you rascal, and giveup your arms. " At the same time the red-tufts, seizing the captain frombehind by the hair, pulled him down. Froment fired his pistol, butmissed. As he fell the captain drew his sword, but it was torn from hishands, and he received a cut from Froment's sword. Upon this the captainmade a great effort, and getting one of his arms free, drew a pistol fromhis pocket, drove back his assassins, fired at Froment, and missed him. One of the men by his side was wounded and disarmed. 

A patrol of the regiment of Guienne, attached to which was M. Boudon, adragoon officer, was passing the Calquieres. M. Boudon was attacked by aband of red-tufts and his casque and his musket carried off. Severalshots were fired at him, but none of them hit him; the patrol surroundedhim to save him, but as he had received two bayonet wounds, he desiredrevenge, and, breaking through his protectors, darted forward to regainpossession of his musket, and was killed in a moment. One of his fingerswas cut off to get at a diamond ring which he wore, his pockets wererifled of his purse and watch, and his body was thrown into the moat. 

Meantime the place-des-Recollets, the Cours, the place-des-Carmes, theGrand-Rue, and rue de Notre Dame-de-l'Esplanade were filled with menarmed with guns, pitchforks, and swords. They had all come fromFroment's house, which overlooked that part of Nimes called LesCalquieres, and the entrance to which was on the ramparts near theDominican Towers. The three leaders of the insurrection--Froment. Folacher, and Descombiez--took possession of these towers, which formed apart of the old castle; from this position the Catholics could sweep theentire quay of Les Calquieres and the steps of the Salle de Spectaclewith their guns, and if it should turn out that the insurrection they hadexcited did not attain the dimensions they expected nor gain suchenthusiastic adherents, it would be quite feasible for them to defendthemselves in such a position until relief came. 

These arrangements were either the result of long meditation or were theinspiration of some clever strategist. The fact is that everything leadsone to believe that it was a plan which had been formed with great care, for the rapidity with which all the approaches to the fortress were linedwith a double row of militiamen all wearing the red tuft, the care whichwas taken to place the most eager next the barracks in which the park ofartillery was stationed, and lastly, the manner in which the approach tothe citadel was barred by an entire company (this being the only placewhere the patriots could procure arms), combine to prove that this planwas the result of much forethought; for, while it appeared to be onlydefensive, it enabled the insurrectionists to attack without much, danger; it caused others to believe that they had been first attacked. It was successfully carried out before the citizens were armed, and untilthen only a part of the foot guard and the twelve dragoons at the palacehad offered any resistance to the conspirators. 

The red flag round which, in case of civil war, all good citizens wereexpected to gather, and which was kept at the town hall, and which shouldhave been brought out at the first shot, was now loudly called for. TheAbbe de Belmont, a canon, vicar-general, and municipal official, waspersuaded, almost forced, to become standard-bearer, as being the mostlikely on account of his ecclesiastical position to awe rebels who hadtaken up arms in the name of religion. The abbe himself gives thefollowing account of the manner in which he fulfilled this mandate:

"About seven o'clock in the evening I was engaged with MM. Porthier andFerrand in auditing accounts, when we heard a noise in the court, andgoing out on the lobby, we saw several dragoons coming upstairs, amongstwhom was M. Paris. They told us that fighting was going on in the placede-l'Eveche, because some one or other had brought a note to the porterordering him to admit no more dragoons to the palace on pain of death. At this point I interrupted their story by asking why the gates had notbeen closed and the bearer of the letter arrested, but they replied to methat it had not been possible; thereupon MM. Ferrand and Ponthier put ontheir scarfs and went out. 

"A few instants later several dragoons, amongst whom I recognised nonebut MM. Lezan du Pontet, Paris junior, and Boudon, accompanied by a greatnumber of the militia, entered, demanding that the red flag should bebrought out. They tried to open the door of the council hall, andfinding it locked, they called upon me for the key. I asked that one ofthe attendants should be sent for, but they were all out; then I went tothe hall-porter to see if he knew where the key was. He said M. Berdinghad taken it. Meanwhile, just as the volunteers were about to force anentrance, someone ran up with the key. The door was opened, and the redflag seized and forced into my hands. I was then dragged down into thecourtyard, and from thence to the square. 

"It was all in vain to tell them that they ought first to get authority, and to represent to them that I was no suitable standard-bearer onaccount of my profession; but they would not listen to any objection, saying that my life depended upon my obedience, and that my professionwould overawe the disturbers of the public peace. So I went on, followedby a detachment of the Guienne regiment, part of the first company of thelegion, and several dragoons; a young man with fixed bayonet kept alwaysat my side. Rage was depicted on the faces of all those who accompaniedme, and they indulged in oaths and threats, to which I paid no attention. 

"In passing through the rue des Greffes they complained that I did notcarry the red flag high enough nor unfurl it fully. When we got to theguardhouse at the Crown Gate, the guard turned out, and the officer wascommanded to follow us with his men. He replied that he could not dothat without a written order from a member of the Town Council. Thereupon those around me told me I must write such an order, but I askedfor a pen and ink; everybody was furious because I had none with me. Sooffensive were the remarks indulged in by the volunteers and somesoldiers of the Guienne regiment, and so threatening their gestures, thatI grew alarmed. I was hustled and even received several blows; but atlength M. De Boudon brought me paper and a pen, and I wrote:--'I requirethe troops to assist us to maintain order by force if necessary. ' Uponthis, the officer consented to accompany us. We had hardly taken half adozen steps when they all began to ask what had become of the order I hadjust written, for it could not be found. They surrounded me, saying thatI had not written it at all, and I was on the point of being trampledunderfoot, when a militiaman found it all crumpled up in his pocket. Thethreats grew louder, and once more it was because I did not carry theflag high enough, everyone insisting that I was quite tall enough todisplay it to better advantage. 

"However, at this point the militiamen with the red tufts made theirappearance, a few armed with muskets but the greater number with swords;shots were exchanged, and the soldiers of the line and the National Guardarranged themselves in battle order, in a kind of recess, and desired meto go forward alone, which I refused to do, because I should have beenbetween two fires. 

"Upon this, curses, threats, and blows reached their height. I wasdragged out before the troops and struck with the butt ends of theirmuskets and the flat of their swords until I advanced. One blow that Ireceived between the shoulders filled my mouth with blood. 

"All this time those of the opposite party were coming nearer, and thosewith whom I was continued to yell at me to go on. I went on until I metthem. I besought them to retire, even throwing myself at their feet. But all persuasion was in vain; they swept me along with them, making meenter by the Carmelite Gate, where they took the flag from me and allowedme to enter the house of a woman whose name I have never known. I wasspitting such a quantity of blood that she took pity on me and brought meeverything she could think of as likely to do me good, and as soon as Iwas a little revived I asked to be shown the way to M. Ponthier's. "

While Abbe de Belmont was carrying the red flag the militia forced theTown Councillors to proclaim martial law. This had just been done whenword was brought that the first red flag had been carried off, so M. Ferrand de Missol got out another, and, followed by a considerableescort, took the same road as his colleague, Abbe de Belmont. When hearrived at the Calquieres, the red-tufts, who still adorned the rampartsand towers, began to fire upon the procession, and one of the militia wasdisabled; the escort retreated, but M. Ferrand advanced alone to theCarmelite Gate, like M. De Belmont, and like him, he too, was takenprisoner. 

He was brought to the tower, where he found Froment in a fury, declaringthat the Council had not kept its promise, having sent no relief, andhaving delayed to give up the citadel to him. 

The escort, however, had only retreated in order to seek help; theyrushed tumultuously to the barracks, and finding the regiment of Guiennedrawn up in marching order in command of Lieutenant-Colonel Bonne, theyasked him to follow them, but he refused without a written order from aTown Councillor. Upon this an old corporal shouted, "Brave soldiers ofGuienne! the country is in danger, let us not delay to do our duty. ""Yes, yes, " cried the soldiers; "let us march" The lieutenant colonel nolonger daring to resist, gave the word of command, and they set off forthe Esplanade. 

As they came near the rampart with drums beating, the firing ceased, butas night was coming on the new-comers did not dare to risk attacking, andmoreover the silence of the guns led them to think that the rebels hadgiven up their enterprise. Having remained an hour in the square, thetroops returned to their quarters, and the patriots went to pass thenight in an inclosure on the Montpellier road. 

It almost seemed as if the Catholics were beginning to recognise thefutility of their plot; for although they had appealed to fanaticism, forced the Town Council to do their will, scattered gold lavishly andmade wine flow, out of eighteen companies only three had joined them. "Fifteen companies, " said M. Alquier in his report to the NationalAssembly, "although they had adopted the red tuft, took no part in thestruggle, and did not add to the number of crimes committed either onthat day or during the days that followed. But although the Catholicsgained few partisans among their fellow-citizens, they felt certain thatpeople from the country would rally to their aid; but about ten o'clockin the evening the rebel ringleaders, seeing that no help arrived fromthat quarter either, resolved to apply a stimulus to those without. Consequently, Froment wrote the following letter to M. De Bonzols, under-commandant of the province of Languedoc, who was living at Lunel:

"SIR, Up to the present all my demands, that the Catholic companiesshould be put under arms, have been of no avail. In spite of the orderthat you gave at my request, the officials of the municipality were ofopinion that it would be more prudent to delay the distribution of themuskets until after the meeting of the Electoral Assembly. This day theProtestant dragoons have attacked and killed several of our unarmedCatholics, and you may imagine the confusion and alarm that prevail inthe town. As a good citizen and a true patriot, I entreat you to send anorder to the regiment of royal dragoons to repair at once to Nimes torestore tranquillity and put down all who break the peace. The TownCouncil does not meet, none of them dares to leave his house; and if youreceive no requisition from them just now, it is because they go interror of their lives and fear to appear openly. Two red flags have beencarried about the streets, and municipal officers without guards havebeen obliged to take refuge in patriotic houses. Although I am only aprivate citizen, I take the liberty of asking for aid from you, knowingthat the Protestants have sent to La Vannage and La Gardonninque to askyou for reinforcements, and the arrival of fanatics from these districtswould expose all good patriots to slaughter. Knowing as I do of yourkindness and justice, I have full trust that my prayer will receive yourfavourable attention. 

"FROMENT, Captain of Company No. 39

"June 13, 1790, 11 o'c. P. M. "

Unfortunately for the Catholic party, Dupre and Lieutaud, to whom thisletter was entrusted for delivery, and for whom passports were made outas being employed on business connected with the king and the State, werearrested at Vehaud, and their despatches laid before the ElectoralAssembly. Many other letters of the same kind were also intercepted, andthe red-tufts went about the town saying that the Catholics of Nimes werebeing massacred. 

The priest of Courbessac, among others, was shown a letter saying that aCapuchin monk had been murdered, and that the Catholics were in need ofhelp. The agents who brought this letter to him wanted him to put hisname to it that they might show it everywhere, but were met by a positiverefusal. 

At Bouillargues and Manduel the tocsin was sounded: the two villagesjoined forces, and with weapons in their hands marched along the roadfrom Beaucaire to Nimes. At the bridge of Quart the villagers ofRedressan and Marguerite joined them. Thus reinforced, they were able tobar the way to all who passed and subject them to examination; if a mancould show he was a Catholic, he was allowed to proceed, but theProtestants were murdered then and there. We may remind our readers thatthe "Cadets de la Croix" pursued the same method in 1704. 

Meantime Descombiez, Froment, and Folacher remained masters of theramparts and the tower, and when very early one morning their forces wereaugmented by the insurgents from the villages (about two hundred men), they took advantage of their strength to force a way into the house of acertain Therond, from which it was easy to effect an entrance to theJacobin monastery, and from there to the tower adjoining, so that theirline now extended from the gate at the bridge of Calquieres to that atthe end of College Street. From daylight to dusk all the patriots whocame within range were fired at whether they were armed or not. 

On the 14th June, at four o'clock in the morning, that part of the legionwhich was against the Catholics gathered together in the square of theEsplanade, where they were joined by the patriots from the adjacent townsand villages, who came in in small parties till they formed quite anarmy. At five A. M. M. De St. Pons, knowing that the windows of theCapuchin monastery commanded the position taken up by the patriots, wentthere with a company and searched the house thoroughly, and also theAmphitheatre, but found nothing suspicious in either. 

Immediately after, news was heard of the massacres that had taken placeduring the night. 

The country-house belonging to M. And Mme. Noguies had been broken into, the furniture destroyed, the owners killed in their beds, and an old manof seventy who lived with them cut to pieces with a scythe. 

A young fellow of fifteen, named Payre, in passing near the guard placedat the Pont des files, had been asked by a red-tuft if he were Catholicor Protestant. On his replying he was Protestant, he was shot dead onthe spot. "That was like killing a lamb, " said a comrade to themurderer. "Pooh!" said he, "I have taken a vow to kill four Protestants, and he may pass for one. "

M. Maigre, an old man of eighty-two, head of one of the most respectedfamilies in the neighbourhood, tried to escape from his house along withhis son, his daughter-in-law, two grandchildren, and two servants; butthe carriage was stopped, and while the rebels were murdering him and hisson, the mother and her two children succeeded in escaping to an inn, whither the assassins pursued them, Fortunately, however, the twofugitives having a start, reached the inn a few minutes before theirpursuers, and the innkeeper had enough presence of mind to conceal themand open the garden gate by which he said they had escaped. TheCatholics, believing him, scattered over the country to look for them, and during their absence the mother and children were rescued by themounted patrol. 

The exasperation of the Protestants rose higher and higher as reports ofthese murders came in one by one, till at last the desire for vengeancecould no longer be repressed, and they were clamorously insisting onbeing led against the ramparts and the towers, when without warning aheavy fusillade began from the windows and the clock tower of theCapuchin monastery. M. Massin, a municipal officer, was killed on thespot, a sapper fatally wounded, and twenty-five of the National Guardwounded more or less severely. The Protestants immediately rushedtowards the monastery in a disorderly mass; but the superior, instead ofordering the gates to be opened, appeared at a window above the entrance, and addressing the assailants as the vilest of the vile, asked them whatthey wanted at the monastery. "We want to destroy it, we want to pull itdown till not one stone rests upon another, " they replied. Upon this, the reverend father ordered the alarm bells to be rung, and from themouths of bronze issued the call for help; but before it could arrive, the door was burst in with hatchets, and five Capuchins and several ofthe militia who wore the red tuft were killed, while all the otheroccupants of the monastery ran away, taking refuge in the house of aProtestant called Paulhan. During this attack the church was respected;a man from Sornmieres, however, stole a pyx which he found in thesacristy, but as soon as his comrades perceived this he was arrested andsent to prison. 

In the monastery itself, however, the doors were broken in, the furnituresmashed, the library and the dispensary wrecked. The sacristy itself wasnot spared, its presses being broken into, its chests destroyed, and twomonstrances broken; but nothing further was touched. The storehouses andthe small cloth-factory connected with the monastery remained intact, like the church. 

But still the towers held out, and it was round them that the realfighting took place, the resistance offered from within being all themore obstinate that the besieged expected relief from moment to moment, not knowing that their letters had been intercepted by the enemy. Onevery side the rattling of shot was heard, from the Esplanade, from thewindows, from the roofs; but very little effect was produced by theProtestants, for Descombiez had told his men to put their caps with thered tufts on the top of the wall, to attract the bullets, while theyfired from the side. Meantime the conspirators, in order to get a bettercommand of the besiegers, reopened a passage which had been long walledup between the tower Du Poids and the tower of the Dominicans. Descombiez, accompanied by thirty men, came to the door of the monasterynearest the fortifications and demanded the key of another door which ledto that part of the ramparts which was opposite the place des Carmes, where the National Guards were stationed. In spite of the remonstrancesof the monks, who saw that it would expose them to great danger, thedoors were opened, and Froment hastened to occupy every post of vantage, and the battle began in that quarter, too, becoming fiercer as theconspirators remarked that every minute brought the Protestantsreinforcements from Gardonninque and La Vaunage. The firing began at teno'clock in the morning, and at four o'clock in the afternoon it was goingon with unabated fury. 

At four o'clock, however, a servant carrying a flag of truce appeared; hebrought a letter from Descombiez, Fremont, and Folacher, who styledthemselves "Captains commanding the towers of the Castle. " It was couchedin the following words:--

"To the Commandant of the troops of the line, with the request that thecontents be communicated to the militia stationed in the Esplanade. 

"SIR, --We have just been informed that you are anxious for peace. Wealso desire it, and have never done anything to break it. If those whohave caused the frightful confusion which at present prevails in the cityare willing to bring it to an end, we offer to forget the past and tolive with them as brothers. 

"We remain, with all the frankness and loyalty of patriots and Frenchmen, your humble servants, "The Captains of the Legion of Nimes, in command of the towers of theCastle, "FROMENT, DESCOMBIEZ, FOLACHER NIMES, the 14th June 1790, 4. 00 P. M. "

On the receipt of this letter, the city herald was sent to the towers tooffer the rebels terms of capitulation. The three "captains in command"came out to discuss the terms with the commissioners of the electoralbody; they were armed and followed by a great number of adherents. However, as the negotiators desired peace before all things, theyproposed that the three chiefs should surrender and place themselves inthe hands of the Electoral Assembly. This offer being refused, theelectoral commissioners withdrew, and the rebels retired behind theirfortifications. About five o'clock in the evening, just as thenegotiations were broken off, M. Aubry, an artillery captain who had beensent with two hundred men to the depot of field artillery in the country, returned with six pieces of ordnance, determined to make a breach in thetower occupied by the conspirators, and from which they were firing insafety at the soldiers, who had no cover. At six o'clock, the guns beingmounted, their thunder began, first drowning the noise of the musketryand then silencing it altogether; for the cannon balls did their workquickly, and before long the tower threatened to fall. Thereupon theelectoral commissioners ordered the firing to cease for a moment, in thehope that now the danger had become so imminent the leaders would acceptthe conditions which they had refused one hour before; and not desiringto drive them to desperation, the commissioners advanced again downCollege Street, preceded by a bugler, and the captains were once moresummoned to a parley. Froment and Descombiez came out to meet them, andseeing the condition of the tower, they agreed to lay down their arms andsend them for the palace, while they themselves would proceed to theElectoral Assembly and place themselves under its protection. Theseproposals being accepted, the commissioners waved their hats as a signthat the treaty was concluded. 

At that instant three shots were fired from the ramparts, and cries of"Treachery! treachery!" were heard on every side. The Catholic chiefsreturned to the tower, while the Protestants, believing that thecommissioners were being assassinated, reopened the cannonade; butfinding that it took too long to complete the breach, ladders werebrought, the walls scaled, and the towers carried by assault. Some of theCatholics were killed, the others gained Froment's house, where, encouraged by him, they tried to organise a resistance; but theassailants, despite the oncoming darkness, attacked the place with suchfury that doors and windows were shattered in an instant. Froment and hisbrother Pierre tried to escape by a narrow staircase which led to theroof, but before they reached it Pierre was wounded in the hip and fell;but Froment reached the roof, and sprang upon an adjacent housetop, andclimbing from roof to roof, reached the college, and getting into it by agarret window, took refuge in a large room which was always unoccupied atnight, being used during the day as a study. 

Froment remained hidden there until eleven o'clock. It being thencompletely dark, he got out of the window, crossed the city, gained theopen country, and walking all night, concealed himself during the day inthe house of a Catholic. The next night he set off again, and reachedthe coast, where he embarked on board a vessel for Italy, in order toreport to those who had sent him the disastrous result of his enterprise. 

For three whole days the carnage lasted. The Protestants losing allcontrol over themselves, carried on the work of death not only withoutpity but with refined cruelty. More than five hundred Catholics losttheir lives before the 17th, when peace was restored. 

For a long time recriminations went on between Catholics and Protestants, each party trying to fix on the other the responsibility for thosedreadful three days; but at last Franqois Froment put an end to all doubton the subject, by publishing a work from which are set forth many of thedetails just laid before our readers, as well as the reward he met withwhen he reached Turin. At a meeting of the French nobles in exile, aresolution was passed in favour of M. Pierre Froment and his children, inhabitants of Nimes. 

We give a literal reproduction of this historic document:

"We the undersigned, French nobles, being convinced that our Order wasinstituted that it might become the prize of valour and the encouragementof virtue, do declare that the Chevalier de Guer having given us proof ofthe devotion to their king and the love of their country which have beendisplayed by M. Pierre Froment, receiver of the clergy, and his threesons, Mathieu Froment citizen, Jacques Froment canon, Francois Fromentadvocate, inhabitants of Nimes, we shall henceforward regard them andtheir descendants as nobles and worthy to enjoy all the distinctionswhich belong to the true nobility. Brave citizens, who perform suchdistinguished actions as fighting for the restoration of the monarchy, ought to be considered as the equals of those French chevaliers whoseancestors helped to found it. Furthermore, we do declare that as soon ascircumstances permit we shall join together to petition His Majesty togrant to this family, so illustrious through its virtue, all the honoursand prerogatives which belong to those born noble. 

"We depute the Marquis de Meran, Comte d'Espinchal, the Marquis d'Escars, Vicomte de Pons, Chevalier de Guer, and the Marquis de la Feronniere togo to Mgr. Le Comte d'Artois, Mgr. Le Duc d'Angouleme, Mgr. Le Duc deBerry, Mgr. Le Prince de Conde, Mgr. Le Due de Bourbon, and Mgr. Le Ducd'Enghien, to beg them to put themselves at our head when we request HisMajesty to grant to MM. Froment all the distinctions and advantagesreserved for the true nobility. 

"At TURIN, 12th September 1790. "

The nobility of Languedoc learned of the honours conferred on theircountryman, M. Froment, and addressed the following letter to him:

"LORCH, July 7, 1792

"MONSIEUR, The nobles of Languedoc hasten to confirm the resolutionadopted in your favour by the nobles assembled at Turin. They appreciatethe zeal and the courage which have distinguished your conduct and thatof your family; they have therefore instructed us to assure you of thepleasure with which they will welcome you among those nobles who areunder the orders of Marshal de Castries, and that you are at liberty torepair to Lorch to assume your proper rank in one of the companies. 

"We have the honour to be, monsieur, your humble and obedient servants, "COMTE DE TOULOUSE-LAUTREC

"MARQUIS DE LA JONQUIERE "ETC. "

CHAPTER VII

The Protestants, as we have said, hailed the golden dawn of therevolution with delight; then came the Terror, which struck at allwithout distinction of creed. A hundred and thirty-eight heads fell onthe scaffold, condemned by the revolutionary tribunal of the Gard. Ninety-one of those executed were Catholic, and forty-seven Protestants, so that it looked as if the executioners in their desire for impartialityhad taken a census of the population. 

Then came the Consulate: the Protestants being mostly tradesmen andmanufacturers, were therefore richer than the Catholics, and had more tolose; they seemed to see more chance of stability in this form ofgovernment than in those preceding it, and it was evident that it had amore powerful genius at its head, so they rallied round it withconfidence and sincerity. The Empire followed, with its inclination toabsolutism, its Continental system, and its increased taxation; and theProtestants drew back somewhat, for it was towards them who had hoped somuch from him that Napoleon in not keeping the promises of Bonaparte wasmost perjured. 

The first Restoration, therefore, was greeted at Nimes with a universalshout of joy; and a superficial-observer might have thought that alltrace of the old religious leaven had disappeared. In fact, forseventeen years the two faiths had lived side by side in perfect peaceand mutual good-will; for seventeen years men met either for business orfor social purposes without inquiring about each other's religion, sothat Nimes on the surface might have been held up as an example of unionand fraternity. 

When Monsieur arrived at Nimes, his guard of honour was drawn from thecity guard, which still retained its organisation of 1812, being composedof citizens without distinction of creed. Six decorations were conferredon it--three on Catholics, and three on Protestants. At the same time, M. Daunant, M. Olivier Desmonts, and M. De Seine, the first the mayor, thesecond the president of the Consistory, and the third a member of thePrefecture, all three belonging to the Reformed religion, received thesame favour. 

Such impartiality on the part of Monsieur almost betrayed a preference, and this offended the Catholics. They muttered to one another that inthe past there had been a time when the fathers of those who had justbeen decorated by the hand of the prince had fought against his faithfuladherents. Hardly had Monsieur left the town, therefore, than it becameapparent that perfect harmony no longer existed. 

The Catholics had a favorite cafe, which during the whole time the Empirelasted was also frequented by Protestants without a single dispute causedby the difference of religion ever arising. But from this time forth theCatholics began to hold themselves aloof from the Protestants; the latterperceiving this, gave up the cafe by degrees to the Catholics, beingdetermined to keep the peace whatever it might cost, and went to a cafewhich had been just opened under the sign of the "Isle of Elba. " Thename was enough to cause them to be regarded as Bonapartists, and as toBonapartists the cry "Long live the king!" was supposed to be offensive, they were saluted at every turn with these words, pronounced in a tonewhich became every day more menacing. At first they gave back the samecry, "Long live the king!" but then they were called cowards whoexpressed with their lips a sentiment which did not come from theirhearts. Feeling that this accusation had some truth in it, they weresilent, but then they were accused of hating the royal family, till atlength the cry which at first had issued from full hearts in a universalchorus grew to be nothing but an expression of party hatred, so that onthe 21st February, 1815, M. Daunant the mayor, by a decree, prohibitedthe public from using it, as it had become a means of exciting sedition. Party feeling had reached this height at Nimes when, on the 4th March, the news of the landing of Napoleon arrived. 

Deep as was the impression produced, the city remained calm, but somewhatsullen; in any case, the report wanted confirmation. Napoleon, who knewof the sympathy that the mountaineers felt for him, went at once into theAlps, and his eagle did not as yet take so high a flight that it could beseen hovering above Mount Geneve. 

On the 12th, the Duc d'Angouleme arrived: two proclamations calling thecitizens to arms signalised his presence. The citizens answered the callwith true Southern ardour: an army was formed; but although Protestantsand Catholics presented themselves for enrolment with equal alacrity, theProtestants were excluded, the Catholics denying the right of defendingtheir legitimate sovereign to any but themselves. 

This species of selection apparently went on without the knowledge of theDuc d'Angouleme. During his stay in Nimes he received Protestants andCatholics with equal cordiality, and they set at his table side by side. It happened once, on a Friday, at dinner, that a Protestant general tookfish and a Catholic general helped himself to fowl. The duke beingamused, drew attention to this anomaly, whereupon the Catholic generalreplied, "Better more chicken and less treason. " This attack was sodirect, that although the Protestant general felt that as far as he wasconcerned it had no point, he rose from table and left the room. It wasthe brave General Gilly who was treated in this cruel manner. 

Meanwhile the news became more disastrous every day: Napoleon was movingabout with the rapidity of his eagles. On the 24th March it was reportedin Nimes that Louis XVIII had left Paris on the 19th and that Napoleonhad entered on the 20th. This report was traced to its source, and itwas found that it had been spread abroad by M. Vincent de Saint-Laurent, a councillor of the Prefecture and one of the most respected men inNimes. He was summoned at once before the authorities and asked whencehe had this information; he replied, "From a letter received from M. Bragueres, " producing the letter. But convincing as was this proof, itavailed him nothing: he was escorted from brigade to brigade till hereached the Chateau d'If. The Protestants sided with M. Vincent deSaint-Laurent, the Catholics took the part of the authorities who werepersecuting him, and thus the two factions which had been so longquiescent found themselves once more face to face, and their dormanthatred awoke to new life. For the moment, however, there was noexplosion, although the city was at fever heat, and everyone felt that acrisis was at hand. 

On the 22nd March two battalions of Catholic volunteers had already beenenlisted at Nimes, and had formed part of the eighteen hundred men whowere sent to Saint-Esprit. Just before their departure fleurs-de-lys hadbeen distributed amongst them, made of red cloth; this change in thecolour of the monarchical emblem was a threat which the Protestants wellunderstood. 

The prince left Nimes in due course, taking with him the rest of theroyal volunteers, and leaving the Protestants practically masters ofNimes during the absence of so many Catholics. The city, however, continued calm, and when provocations began, strange to say they camefrom the weaker party. 

On the 27th March six men met in a barn; dined together, and then agreedto make the circuit of the town. These men were Jacques Dupont, wholater acquired such terrible celebrity under the name of Trestaillons, Truphemy the butcher, Morenet the dog shearer, Hours, Servant, andGilles. They got opposite the cafe "Isle of Elba, " the name of whichindicated the opinion of those who frequented it. This cafe was faced bya guard-house which was occupied by soldiers of the 67th Regiment. Thesix made a halt, and in the most insulting tones raised the cry of "Longlive the king!" The disturbance that ensued was so slight that we onlymention it in order to give an idea of the tolerance of the Protestants, and to bring upon the stage the men mentioned above, who were threemonths later to play such a terrible part. 

On April 1st the mayor summoned to a meeting at his official residencethe municipal council, the members of all the variously constitutedadministrative bodies in Nimes, the officers of the city guards, thepriests, the Protestant pastors, and the chief citizens. At this meeting, M. Trinquelague, advocate of the Royal Courts, read a powerful address, expressing the love, of the citizens for their king and country, andexhorting them to union and peace. This address was unanimously adoptedand signed by all present, and amongst the signatures were those of theprincipal Protestants of Nimes. But this was not all: the next day itwas printed and published, and copies sent to all the communes in thedepartment over which the white flag still floated. And all thishappened, as we have said, on April and, eleven days after Napoleon'sreturn to Paris. 

The same day word arrived that the Imperial Government had beenproclaimed at Montpellier. 

The next day, April 3rd, all the officers on half-pay assembled at thefountain to be reviewed by a general and a sub-inspector, and as theseofficers were late, the order of the, day issued by General Ambert, recognising the Imperial Government, was produced and passed along theranks, causing such excitement that one of the officers drew his swordand cried, "Long live the emperor!" These magic words were re-echoedfrom every side, and they all hastened to the barracks of the 63rdRegiment, which at once joined the officers. At this juncture MarshalPelissier arrived, and did not appear to welcome the turn things hadtaken; he made an effort to restrain the enthusiasm of the crowd, but wasimmediately arrested by his own soldiers. The officers repaired in abody to the headquarters of General Briche, commandant of the garrison, and asked for the official copy of the order of the day. He replied thathe had received none, and when questioned as to which side he was on herefused to answer. The officers upon this took him prisoner. Just asthey had consigned him to the barracks for confinement, a post-officeofficial arrived bringing a despatch from General Ambert. Learning thatGeneral Briche was a prisoner, the messenger carried his packet to thecolonel of the 63rd Regiment, who was the next in seniority after thegeneral. In opening it, it was found to contain the order of the day. 

Instantly the colonel ordered the 'gineyale' to sound: the town guardsassumed arms, the troops left the barracks and formed in line, theNational Guards in the rear of the regular troops, and when they were allthus drawn up; the order of the day was read; it was then snatched out ofthe colonel's hands, printed on large placards, and in less time thanseemed possible it was posted up in every street and at every streetcorner; the tricolour replaced the white cockade, everyone being obligedto wear the national emblem or none at all, the city was proclaimed in astate of seige, and the military officers formed a vigilance committeeand a police force. 

While the Duc d'Angouleme had been staying at Nimes, General Gilly hadapplied for a command in that prince's army, but in spite of all hisefforts obtained nothing; so immediately after the dinner at which he wasinsulted he had withdrawn to Avernede, his place in the country. He wasawoke in the night of the 5th-6th April by a courier from General Ambert, who sent to offer him the command of the 2nd Subdivision. On the 6th, General Gilly went to Nimes, and sent in his acceptance, whereby thedepartments of the Gard, the Lozere, and Ardeche passed under hisauthority. 

Next day General Gilly received further despatches from General Ambert, from which he learned that it was the general's intention, in order toavoid the danger of a civil war, to separate the Duc d'Angouleme's armyfrom the departments which sympathised with the royal cause; he hadtherefore decided to make Pont-Saint-Esprit a military post, and hadordered the 10th Regiment of mounted chasseurs, the 13th artillery, and abattalion of infantry to move towards this point by forced marches. These troops were commanded by Colonel Saint-Laurent, but General Ambertwas anxious that if it could be done without danger, General Gilly shouldleave Nimes, taking with him part of the 63rd Regiment, and joining theother forces under the command of Colonel Saint-Laurent, should assumethe chief command. As the city was quite tranquil, General Gilly did nothesitate to obey this order: he set out from Nimes on the 7th, passed thenight at Uzes, and finding that town abandoned by the magistrates, declared it in a state of siege, lest disturbances should arise in theabsence of authority. Having placed M. De Bresson in command, a retiredchief of battalion who was born in Uzes, and who usually lived there, hecontinued his march on the morning of the 8th. 

Beyond the village of Conans, General Gilly met an orderly sent to him byColonel Saint-Laurent to inform him that he, the colonel, had occupiedPont Saint-Esprit, and that the Duc d'Angouleme, finding himself thuscaught between two fires, had just sent General d'Aultanne, chief ofstaff in the royal army, to him, to enter into negotiations for asurrender. Upon this, General Gilly quickened his advance, and onreaching Pont-Saint-Esprit found General d'Aultanne and ColonelSaint-Laurent conferring together at the Hotel de la Poste. 

As Colonel Saint-Laurent had received his instructions directly from thecommander-in-chief, several points relating to the capitulation hadalready been agreed upon; of these General Gilly slightly altered some, and approved of the others, and the same day the following convention wassigned:

"Convention concluded between General Gilly and Baron de Damas

"S. A. R. Mgr. Le Duc d'Angouleme, Commander-in-Chief of the royal army inthe South, and Baron de Gilly, General of Division and Commander-in-Chiefof the first corps of the Imperial Army, being most anxiously desirous toprevent any further effusion of French blood, have given plenary powersto arrange the terms of a convention to S. A. R. M. Le Baron de Damas, Field-Marshal and Under-Chief of Staff, and General de Gilly and AdjutantLefevre, Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, and Chief of the Staff of thefirst Army Corps; who, having shown each other their respectivecredentials, have agreed on the following terms:--

"Art. 1. The royal army is to be disbanded; and the National Guardswhich are enrolled in it, under whatever name they may have been levied, will return to their homes, after laying down their arms. Safe conductswill be provided, and the general of division commanding-in-chiefguarantees that they shall never be molested for anything they may havesaid or done in connection with the events preceding the presentconvention. 

"The officers will retain their swords; the troops of the line who formpart of this army will repair to such garrisons as may be assigned tothem. 

"Art. 2. The general officers, superior staff officers and others of allbranches of the service, and the chiefs and subordinates of theadministrative departments, of whose names a list will be furnished tothe general-in-chief, will retire to their homes and there await theorders of His Majesty the Emperor. 

"Art. 3. Officers of every rank who wish to resign their commissions arecompetent to do so. They will receive passports for their homes. 

"Art. 4. The funds of the army and the lists of the paymaster-generalwill be handed over at once to commissioners appointed for that purposeby the commander-in-chief. 

"Art. 5. The above articles apply to the corps commanded by Mgr. Le Ducd'Angouleme in person, and also to those who act separately but under hisorders, and as forming part of the royal army of the South. 

"Art. 6. H. R. H. Will post to Cette, where the vessels necessary for himand his suite will be waiting to take him wherever he may desire. Detachments of the Imperial Army will be placed at all the relays on theroad to protect His Royal Highness during the journey, and the honoursdue to his rank will be everywhere paid him, if he so desire. 

"Art. 7. All the officers and other persons of His Royal Highness' suitewho desire to follow him will be permitted to do so, and they may eitherembark with him at once or later, should their private affairs need timefor arrangement. 

"Art. 8. The present treaty will be kept secret until His Royal Highnesshave quitted the limits of the empire. 

"Executed in duplicate and agreed upon between the above-mentionedplenipotentiaries the 8th day of April in the year 1815, with theapproval of the general commanding-in-chief, and signed, "At the headquarters at Pont-Saint-Esprit on the day and year abovewritten. 

"(Signed) LEFEVRE Adjutant and Chief of Staff of the First Corps of theImperial Army of the South

"(Signed) BARON DE DAMAS Field-Marshal and Under-Chief of Staff

"The present convention is approved of by the General of DivisionCommanding-in-Chief the Imperial Army of the South. 

"(Signed) GILLY"

After some discussion between General Gilly and General Grouchy, thecapitulation was carried into effect. On the 16th April, at eighto'clock in the morning, the Duc d'Angouleme arrived at Cette, and went onboard the Swedish vessel Scandinavia, which, taking advantage of afavourable wind, set sail the same day. 

Early in the morning of the 9th an officer of high rank had been sent toLa Palud to issue safe-conducts to the troops, who according to Article Iof the capitulation were to return home "after laying down their arms. "But during the preceding day and night some of the royal volunteers hadevaded this article by withdrawing with their arms and baggage. As thisinfraction of the terms led to serious consequences, we propose, in orderto establish the fact, to cite the depositions of three royal volunteerswho afterwards gave evidence. 

"On leaving the army of the Duc d'Angouleme after the capitulation, " saysJean Saunier, "I went with my officers and my corps toSaint-Jean-des-Anels. From there we marched towards Uzes. In the middleof a forest, near a village, the name of which I have forgotten, ourGeneral M. De Vogue told us that we were all to return to our own homes. We asked him where we should deposit the flag. Just then Commandant Magnedetached it from the staff and put it in his pocket. We then asked thegeneral where we should deposit our arms; he replied, that we had betterkeep them, as we should probably find use for them before long, and alsoto take our ammunition with us, to ensure our safety on the road. 

"From that time on we all did what we thought best: sixty-four of usremained together, and took a guide to enable us to avoid Uzes. "

Nicholas Marie, labourer, deposed as follows:

"On leaving the army of the Duc d'Angouleme after the capitulation, Iwent with my officers and my corps to Saint-Jean-des-Anels. We marchedtowards Uzes, but when we were in the middle of a forest, near a villagethe name of which I have forgotten, our general, M. De Vogue, told usthat we were to go to our own homes as soon as we liked. We sawCommandant Magne loose the flag from its staff, roll it up and put it inhis pocket. We asked the general what we were to do with our arms; hereplied that we were to keep both them and our ammunition, as we shouldfind them of use. Upon this, our chiefs left us, and we all got away asbest we could. "

"After the capitulation of the Duc d'Angouleme I found myself, " deposesPaul Lambert, lace-maker of Nimes, "in one of several detachments underthe orders of Commandant Magne and General Vogue. In the middle of aforest near a village, the name of which I do not know, M. De Vogue andthe other officer, told us we might go home. The flag was folded up, andM. Magne put it in his pocket. We asked our chiefs what we were to dowith our arms. M. De Vogue told us that we had better keep them, as weshould need them before very long; and in any case it would be well tohave them with us on the road, lest anything should happen to us. "

The three depositions are too much alike to leave room for any doubt. Theroyal volunteers contravened Article I of the convention. 

Being thus abandoned by their chiefs, without general and without flag, M. De Vogue's soldiers asked no further counsel of anyone but themselves, and, as one of them has already told us, sixty-four of them joinedtogether to hire a guide who was to show them how to get by Uzes withoutgoing through it, for they were afraid of meeting with insult there. Theguide brought them as far as Montarem without anyone opposing theirpassage or taking notice of their arms. 

Suddenly a coachman named Bertrand, a confidential servant of Abbe Rafin, former Grand-Vicar of Alais, and of Baroness Arnaud-Wurmeser (for theabbe administered the estate of Aureillac in his own name and that of thebaroness), galloped into the village of Arpaillargues, which was almostentirely Protestant and consequently Napoleonist, announcing that themiquelets (for after one hundred and ten years the old name given to theroyal troops was revived) were on the way from Montarem, pillaginghouses, murdering magistrates, outraging women, and then throwing themout of the windows. It is easy to understand the effect of such a story. The people gathered together in groups; the mayor and his assistant beingabsent, Bertrand was taken before a certain Boucarut, who on receivinghis report ordered the generale to be beaten and the tocsin to be rung. Then the consternation became general: the men seized their muskets, thewomen and children stones and pitchforks, and everyone made ready to facea danger which only existed in the imagination of Bertrand, for there wasnot a shadow of foundation for the story he had told. 

While the village was in this state of feverish excitement the royalvolunteers came in sight. Hardly were they seen than the cry, "Therethey are! There they are!" arose on all sides, the streets werebarricaded with carts, the tocsin rang out with redoubled frenzy, andeveryone capable of carrying arms rushed to the entrance of the village. 

The volunteers, hearing the uproar and seeing the hostile preparations, halted, and to show that their intentions were peaceful, put their shakoson their musket stocks and waved them above their heads, shouting that noone need fear, for they would do no harm to anyone. But alarmed as theywere by the terrible stories told by Bertrand, the villagers shouted backthat they could not trust to such assurances, and that if they wanted topass through the village they must first give up their weapons. It mayeasily be imagined that men who had broken the convention in order tokeep their weapons were not likely to give them up to these villagers--infact, they obstinately refused to let them out of their hands, and bydoing so increased the suspicions of the people. A parley of a veryexcited character took place between M. Fournier for the royal guards andM. Boucarut, who was chosen spokesman by the villagers. From words theycame to deeds: the miquelets tried to force their way through, some shotswere fired, and two miquelets, Calvet and Fournier, fell. The othersscattered, followed by a lively discharge, and two more miquelets wereslightly wounded. Thereupon they all took to flight through the fieldson either side of the road, pursued for a short distance by thevillagers, but soon returned to examine the two wounded men, and a reportwas drawn up by Antoine Robin, advocate and magistrate of the canton ofUzes, of the events just related. 

This accident was almost the only one of its kind which happened duringthe Hundred Days: the two parties remained face to face, threatening butself-controlled. But let there be no mistake: there was no peace; theywere simply awaiting a declaration of war. When the calm was broken, itwas from Marseilles that the provocation came. We shall efface ourselvesfor a time and let an eye-witness speak, who being a Catholic cannot besuspected of partiality for the Protestants. 

"I was living in Marseilles at the time of Napoleon's landing, and I wasa witness of the impression which the news produced upon everyone. Therewas one great cry; the enthusiasm was universal; the National Guardwanted to join him to the last man, but Marshal Massena did not give hisconsent until it was too late, for Napoleon had already reached themountains, and was moving with such swiftness that it would have beenimpossible to overtake him. Next we heard of his triumphal entry intoLyons, and of his arrival in Paris during the night. Marseillessubmitted like the rest of France; Prince d'Essling was recalled to thecapital, and Marshal Brune, who commanded the 6th corps of observation, fixed his headquarters at Marseilles. 

"With quite incomprehensible fickleness, Marseilles, whose name duringthe Terror had been, as one may say, the symbol of the most advancedopinions, had become almost entirely Royalist in 1815. Nevertheless, itsinhabitants saw without a murmur the tricolour flag after a year'sabsence floating once more above the walls. No arbitrary interference onthe part of the authorities, no threats, and no brawling between thecitizens and the soldiers, troubled the peace of old Phocea; norevolution ever took place with such quietness and facility. 

"It must, however, be said, that Marshal Brune was just the man toaccomplish such a transformation without friction; in him the franknessand loyalty of an old soldier were combined with other qualities moresolid than brilliant. Tacitus in hand, he looked on at modernrevolutions as they passed, and only interfered when the, voice of hiscountry called him to her defence. The conqueror of Harlem and Bakkunhad been for four years forgotten in retirement, or rather in exile, whenthe same voice which sent him away recalled him, and at the summonsCincinnatus left his plough and grasped his weapons. Physically he wasat this period a man of about fifty-five, with a frank and open faceframed by large whiskers; his head was bald except for a little grizzledhair at the temples; he was tall and active, and had a remarkablysoldierly bearing. 

"I had been brought into contact with him by a report which one of myfriends and I had drawn up on the opinions of the people of the South, and of which he had asked to have a copy. In a long conversation withus, he discussed the subject with the impartiality of a man who brings anopen mind to a debate, and he invited us to come often to see him. Weenjoyed ourselves so much in his society that we got into the habit ofgoing to his house nearly every evening. 

"On his arrival in the South an old calumny which had formerly pursuedhim again made its appearance, quite rejuvenated by its long sleep. Awriter whose name I have forgotten, in describing the Massacres of theSecond of September and the death of the unfortunate Princesse deLamballe, had said, 'Some people thought they recognised in the man whocarried her head impaled on a pike, General Brune in disguise, ' and thisaccusation; which had been caught up with eagerness under the Consulate, still followed him so relentlessly in 1815, that hardly a day passedwithout his receiving an anonymous letter, threatening him with the samefate which had overtaken the princess. One evening while we were withhim such a letter arrived, and having read it he passed it on to us. Itwas as follows:

"'Wretch, --We are acquainted with all your crimes, for which you willsoon receive the chastisement you well deserve. It was you who duringthe revolution brought about the death of the Princesse de Lamballe; itwas you who carried her head on a pike, but your head will be impaled onsomething longer. If you are so rash as to be present at the review ofthe Allies it is all up with you, and your head will be stuck on thesteeple of the Accoules. Farewell, SCOUNDREL!'

"We advised him to trace this calumny to its source, and then to takesignal vengeance on the authors. He paused an instant to reflect, andthen lit the letter at a candle, and looking at it thoughtfully as itturned to ashes in his hand, said, --Vengeance! Yes, perhaps by seekingthat I could silence the authors of these slanders and preserve thepublic tranquillity which they constantly imperil. But I preferpersuasion to severity. My principle is, that it is better to bringmen's heads back to a right way of thinking than to cut them off, and tobe regarded as a weak man rather than as a bloodthirsty one. '

"The essence of Marshal Brune's character was contained in these words. 

"Public tranquillity was indeed twice endangered at Marseilles during theHundred Days, and both times in the same manner. The garrison officersused to gather at a coffee-house in the place Necker, and sing songssuggested by passing events. This caused an attack by the townspeople, who broke the windows by throwing stones, some of which struck theofficers. These rushed out, crying, 'To arms!' The townspeople were notslow to respond, but the commandant ordered the 'geneydle' to beat, sentout numerous patrols, and succeeded in calming the excitement andrestoring quietness without any casualties. 

"The day of the Champ du Mai orders for a general illumination weregiven, and that the tricolour flag should be displayed from the windows. The greater number of the inhabitants paid no attention to the desires ofthe authorities, and the officers being annoyed at this neglect, indulgedin reprehensible excesses, which, however, resulted in nothing mareserious than some broken windows belonging to houses which had notilluminated, and in some of the householders being forced to illuminateaccording to order. 

"In Marseilles as in the rest of France, people began to despair of thesuccess of the royal cause, and those who represented this cause, whowere very numerous at Marseilles, gave up annoying the military andseemed to resign themselves to their fate. Marshal Brune had left thecity to take up his post on the frontier, without any of the dangers withwhich he was threatened having come across his path. 

"The 25th of June arrived, and the news of the successes obtained atFleurus and at Ligny seemed to justify the hopes of the soldiers, when, in the middle of the day, muttered reports began to spread in the town, the distant reverberations of the cannon of Waterloo. The silence of theleaders, the uneasiness of the soldiers, the delight of the Royalists, foretold the outbreak of a new struggle, the, results of which it waseasy to anticipate. About four o'clock in the afternoon, a man, who hadprobably got earlier information than his fellow-townspeople, tore offhis tricoloured cockade and trampled it under foot, crying, "Long livethe king!" The angry soldiers seized him and were about to drag him tothe guard-house, but the National Guards prevented them, and theirinterference led to a fight. Shouts were heard on all sides, a largering was formed round the soldiers, a few musket shots heard, othersanswered, three or four men fell, and lay there weltering in their blood. Out of this confused uproar the word "Waterloo" emerged distinct; andwith this unfamiliar name pronounced for the first time in the resoundingvoice of history, the news of the defeat of the French army and thetriumph of the Allies spread apace. Then General Verdier, who held thechief command in the absence of Marshal Brune, tried to harangue thepeople, but his voice was drowned by the shouts of the mob who hadgathered round a coffee-house where stood a bust of the emperor, whichthey insisted should be given up to them. Verdier, hoping to calm, whathe took to be a simple street row, gave orders that the bust should bebrought out, and this concession, so significant on the part of a generalcommanding in the emperor's name, convinced the crowd that his cause waslost. The fury of the populace grew greater now that they felt that theycould indulge it with impunity; they ran to the Town Hall, and tearingdown and burning the tricoloured, raised the white flag. The roll of thegenerale, the clang of the tocsin were heard, the neighbouring villagespoured in their populations and increased the throng in the streets;single acts of violence began to occur, wholesale massacres wereapproaching. I had arrived in the town with my friend M____ the verybeginning of the tumult, so we had seen the dangerous agitation andexcitement grow under our eyes, but we were still ignorant of its truecause, when, in the rue de Noailles, we met an acquaintance, who, although his political opinions did not coincide with ours, had alwaysshown himself very friendly to us. 'Well, ' said I, 'what news?' 'Goodfor me and bad for you, ' he answered;' I advise you to go away at once. 'Surprised and somewhat alarmed at these words, we begged him to explain. 'Listen, ' said he; 'there are going to be riots in the town; it is wellknown that you used to go to Brune's nearly every evening, and that youare in consequence no favourite with your neighbours; seek safety in thecountry. ' I addressed some further question to him, but, turning his backon me, he left me without another word. 

"M______ and I were still looking at each other in stupefaction, when theincreasing uproar aroused us to a sense that if we desired to follow theadvice just given we had not a moment to lose. We hastened to my house, which was situated in the Allees de Meilhan. My wife was just going out, but I stopped her. 

"'We are not safe here, ' I said; 'we must get away into the country. '

"'But where can we go?'

"'Wherever luck takes us. Let us start. '

"She was going to put on her bonnet, but I told her to leave it behind;for it was most important that no one should think we suspected anything, but were merely going for a stroll. This precaution saved us, for welearned the next day that if our intention to fly had been suspected weshould have been stopped. 

"We walked at random, while behind us we heard musket shots from everypart of the town. We met a company of soldiers who were hurrying to therelief of their comrades, but heard later that they had not been allowedto pass the gate. 

"We recollected an old officer of our acquaintance who had quitted theservice and withdrawn from the world some years before, and had taken aplace in the country near the village of Saint-Just; we directed ourcourse towards his house. 

"'Captain, ' said I to him, 'they are murdering each other in the town, weare pursued and without asylum, so we come to you. ' 'That's right, mychildren, ' said he; 'come in and welcome. I have never meddled withpolitical affairs, and no one can have anything against me. No one willthink of looking for you here. '

"The captain had friends in the town, who, one after another, reached hishouse, and brought us news of all that went on during that dreadful day. Many soldiers had been killed, and the Mamelukes had been annihilated. Anegress who had been in the service of these unfortunates had been takenon the quay. 'Cry "Long live the king!' shouted the mob. 'No, ' shereplied. 'To Napoleon I owe my daily bread; long live Napoleon!' Abayonet-thrust in the abdomen was the answer. 'Villains!' said she, covering the wound with her hand to keep back the protruding entrails. 'Long live Napoleon!' A push sent her into the water; she sank, but roseagain to the surface, and waving her hand, she cried for the last time, 'Long live Napoleon!' a bullet shot putting an end to her life. 

"Several of the townspeople had met with shocking deaths. For instance, M. Angles, a neighbour of mine, an old man and no inconsiderable scholar, having unfortunately, when at the palace some days before, givenutterance before witnesses to the sentiment that Napoleon was a greatman, learned that for this crime he was about to be arrested. Yieldingto the prayers of his family, he disguised himself, and, getting into awaggon, set off to seek safety in the country. He was, however, recognised and brought a prisoner to the place du Chapitre, where, afterbeing buffeted about and insulted for an hour by the populace, he was atlast murdered. 

"It may easily be imagined that although no one came to disturb us we didnot sleep much that night. The ladies rested on sofas or in arm-chairswithout undressing, while our host, M______ and myself took turns inguarding the door, gun in hand. 

"As soon as it was light we consulted what course we should take: I wasof the opinion that we ought to try to reach Aix by unfrequented paths;having friends there, we should be able to procure a carriage and get toNimes, where my family lived. But my wife did not agree with me. 'Imust go back to town for our things, ' said she; 'we have no clothes butthose on our backs. Let us send to the village to ask if Marseilles isquieter to-day than yesterday. ' So we sent off a messenger. 

"The news he brought back was favourable; order was completely restored. I could not quite believe this, and still refused to let my wife returnto the town unless I accompanied her. But in that everyone was againstme: my presence would give rise to dangers which without me had noexistence. Where were the miscreants cowardly enough to murder a womanof eighteen who belonged to no-party and had never injured anyone? Asfor me, my opinions were well known. Moreover, my mother-in-law offeredto accompany her daughter, and both joined in persuading me that therewas no danger. At last I was forced to consent, but only on onecondition. 

"'I cannot say, ' I observed, 'whether there is any foundation for thereassuring tidings we have heard, but of one thing you may be sure: it isnow seven o'clock in the morning, you can get to Marseilles in an hour, pack your trunks in another hour, and return in a third; let us allow onehour more for unforeseen delays. If you are not back by eleven o'clock, Ishall believe something has happened, and take steps accordingly. ' 'Verywell, ' said my wife; 'if I am not back by then, you may think me dead, and do whatever you think best. ' And so she and her mother left me. 

"An hour later, quite different news came to hand. Fugitives, seekinglike ourselves safety in the country, told us that the rioting, far fromceasing, had increased; the streets were encumbered with corpses, and twopeople had been murdered with unheard-of cruelty. 

"An old man named Bessieres, who had led a simple and blameless life, andwhose only crime was that he had served under the Usurper, anticipatingthat under existing circumstances this would be regarded as a capitalcrime, made his will, which was afterwards found among his papers. Itbegan with the following words:

"'As it is possible that during this revolution I may meet my death, as apartisan of Napoleon, although I have never loved him, I give andbequeath, etc. , etc. 

"The day before, his brother-in-law, knowing he had private enemies, hadcome to the house and spent the night trying to induce him to flee, butall in vain. But the next morning, his house being attacked, he yielded, and tried to escape by the back door. He was stopped by some of theNational Guard, and placed himself under their protection. 

"They took him to the Cours St. Louis, where, being hustled by the crowdand very ineffectually defended by the Guards, he tried to enter the CafeMercantier, but the door was shut in his face. Being broken by fatigue, breathless, and covered with dust and sweat, he threw himself on one ofthe benches placed against the wall, outside the house. Here he waswounded by a musket bullet, but not killed. At the sight of his bloodshrieks of joy were heard, and then a young man with a pistol in eachhand forced his way through the throng and killed the old man by twoshots fired point blank in his face. 

"Another still more atrocious murder took place in the course of the samemorning. A father and son, bound back to back, were delivered over tothe tender mercies of the mob. Stoned and beaten and covered with eachother's blood, for two long hours their death-agony endured, and all thewhile those who could not get near enough to strike were dancing roundthem. 

"Our time passed listening to such stories; suddenly I saw a friendrunning towards the house. I went to meet him. He was so pale that Ihardly dared to question him. He came from the city, and had been at myhouse to see what had become of me. There was no one in it, but acrossthe door lay two corpses wrapped in a blood-stained sheet which he hadnot dared to lift. 

"At these terrible words nothing could hold me back. I set off forMarseilles. M______ who would not consent to let me return alone, accompanied me. In passing through the village of Saint-Just weencountered a crowd of armed peasants in the main street who appeared tobelong to the free companies. Although this circumstance was ratheralarming, it would have been dangerous to turn back, so we continued ourway as if we were not in the least uneasy. They examined our bearing andour dress narrowly, and then exchanged some sentences in a low, voice, ofwhich we only caught the word austaniers. This was the name by which theBonapartists were called by the peasants, and means 'eaters ofchestnuts, ' this article of food being brought from Corsica to France. However, we were not molested in any way, for as we were going towardsthe city they did not think we could be fugitives. A hundred yardsbeyond the village we came up with a crowd of peasants, who were, likeus, on the way to Marseilles. It was plain to see that they had justbeen pillaging some country house, for they were laden with rich stuffs, chandeliers and jewels. It proved to be that of M. R____, inspector ofreviews. Several carried muskets. I pointed out to my companion a stainof blood on the trousers of one of the men, who began to laugh when hesaw what we were looking at. Two hundred yards outside the city I met awoman who had formerly been a servant in my house. She was very muchastonished to see me, and said, 'Go away at once; the massacre ishorrible, much worse than yesterday. '

"'But my wife, ' I cried, 'do you know anything about her?'

"'No, sir, ' she replied; 'I was going to knock at the door, but somepeople asked me in a threatening manner if I could tell them where thefriend of that rascal Brine was, as they were going to take away hisappetite for bread. So take my advice, ' she continued, 'and go back towhere you came from. '

"This advice was the last I could make up my mind to follow, so we wenton, but found a strong guard at the gate, and saw that it would beimpossible to get through without being recognised. At the same time, the cries and the reports of firearms from within were coming nearer; itwould therefore have been to court certain death to advance, so weretraced our steps. In passing again through the village of Saint-Justwe met once more our armed peasants. But this time they burst out intothreats on seeing us, shouting, 'Let us kill them! Let us kill them!'Instead of running away, we approached them, assuring them that we wereRoyalists. Our coolness was so convincing that we got through safe andsound. 

"On getting back to the captain's I threw myself on the sofa, quiteovercome by the thought that only that morning my wife had been beside meunder my protection, and that I had let her go back to the town to acruel and inevitable death. I felt as if my heart would break, andnothing that our host and my friend could say gave me the slightestcomfort. I was like a madman, unconscious of everything round me. 

"M______ went out to try to pick up some news, but in an instant weheard him running back, and he dashed into the room, calling out:

"'They are coming! There they are!'

"'Who are coming?' we asked. 

"'The assassins!'

"My first feeling, I confess, was one of joy. I pounced upon a pair ofdouble-barrelled pistols, resolved not to let myself be slaughtered likea sheep. Through the window I could see some men climbing over the walland getting down into the garden. We had just sufficient time to escapeby a back staircase which led to a door, through which we passed, shutting it behind us. We found ourselves on a road, at the other sideof which was a vineyard. We crossed the road and crept under the vines, which completely concealed us. 

"As we learned later, the captain's house had been denounced as aBonapartist nest, and the assassins had hoped to take it by surprise;and, indeed, if they had come a little sooner we had been lost, forbefore we had been five minutes in our hiding-place the murderers rushedout on the road, looking for us in every direction, without the slightestsuspicion that we were not six yards distant. Though they did not see usI could see them, and I held my pistols ready cocked, quite determined tokill the first who came near. However, in a short time they went away. 

"As soon as they were out of hearing we began to consider our situationand weigh our chances. There was no use in going back to the captain's, for he was no longer there, having also succeeded in getting away. If wewere to wander about the country we should be recognised as fugitives, and the fate that awaited us as such was at that moment brought home tous, for a few yards away we suddenly heard the shrieks of a man who wasbeing murdered. They were the first cries of agony I had ever heard, andfor a few moments, I confess, I was frozen with terror. But soon aviolent reaction took place within me, and I felt that it would be betterto march straight to meet peril than to await its coming, and although Iknew the danger of trying to go through Saint-Just again, I resolved torisk it, and to get to Marseilles at all costs. So, turning to M____, Isaid:

"'You can remain here without danger until the evening, but I am going toMarseilles at once; for I cannot endure this uncertainty any longer. IfI find Saint-Just clear, I shall come back and rejoin you, but if not Ishall get away as best I can alone. '

"Knowing the danger that we were running, and how little chance there wasthat we should ever see each other again, he held out his hand to me, butI threw myself into his arms and gave him a last embrace. 

"I started at once: when I reached Saint-Just I found the freebootersstill there; so I walked up to them, trolling a melody, but one of themseized me by the collar and two others took aim at me with their muskets. 

"If ever in my life I shouted 'Long live the king!' with less enthusiasmthan the cry deserves, it was then: to assume a rollicking air, to laughwith cool carelessness when there is nothing between you and death butthe more or less strong pressure of a highwayman's finger on the triggerof a musket, is no easy task; but all this I accomplished, and once moregot through the village with a whole skin indeed, but with theunalterable resolution to blow my brains out rather than again try suchan experiment. 

"Having now a village behind me which I had vowed never to re-enter, andthere being no road available by which I could hope to get roundMarseilles, the only course open to me was to make my way into the city. At that moment this was a thing of difficulty, for many small bodies oftroops, wearing the white cockade, infested the approaches. I soonperceived that the danger of getting in was as great as ever, so Idetermined to walk up and down till night, hoping the darkness would cometo my aid; but one of the patrols soon gave me to understand that myprowling about had aroused suspicion, and ordered me either to go on tothe city, in which by all accounts there was small chance of safety forme, or back to the village; where certain death awaited me. A happyinspiration flashed across my mind, I would get some refreshment, andseeing an inn near by, I went in and ordered a mug of beer, sitting downnear the window, faintly hoping that before the necessity for a finaldecision arrived, someone who knew me would pass by. After waiting halfan hour, I did indeed see an acquaintance--no other than M______, whom Ihad left in the vineyard. I beckoned him, and he joined me. He told methat, being too impatient to await my return, he had soon made up hismind to follow me, and by joining a band of pillagers was lucky enough toget safely through Saint-Just. We consulted together as to what we hadbetter do next, and having applied to our host, found he could supply uswith a trusty messenger, who would carry the news of our whereabouts tomy brother-in-law. After an anxious wait of three hours, we saw himcoming. I was about to run out to meet him, but M____ held me back, pointing out the danger of such a step; so we sat still our eyes fixed onthe approaching figure. But when my brother-in-law reached the inn, Icould restrain my impatience no longer, but rushing out of the room methim on the stairs. 

"'My wife?' I cried. 'Have you seen my wife?'

"'She is at my house, ' was the reply, and with a cry of joy I threwmyself into his arms. 

"My wife, who had been threatened, insulted, and roughly treated becauseof my opinions, had indeed found safety at my brother-in-law's. 

"Night was coming on. My brother-in-law, who wore the uniform of theNational Guard, which was at that moment a safeguard, took us each by anarm, and we passed the barrier without anyone asking us who we were. Choosing quiet streets, we reached his house unmolested; but in fact thewhole city was quiet, for the carnage was practically at an end. 

"My wife safe! this thought filled my heart with joy almost too great tobear. 

"Her adventures were the following:

"My wife and her mother had gone to our house, as agreed upon, to packour trunks. As they left their rooms, having accomplished their task, they found the landlady waiting on the staircase, who at once overwhelmedmy wife with a torrent of abuse. 

"The husband, who until then had known nothing of their tenant's return, hearing the noise, came out of his room, and, seizing his wife by thearm, pulled her in and shut the door. She, however, rushed to thewindow, and just as my wife and her mother reached the street, shouted toa free band who were on guard across the way, 'Fire! they areBonapartists!' Fortunately the men, more merciful than the woman, seeingtwo ladies quite alone, did not hinder their passage, and as just then mybrother-in-law came by, whose opinions were well known and whose uniformwas respected, he was allowed to take them under his protection andconduct them to his house in safety. 

"A young man, employed at the Prefecture, who had called at my house theday before, I having promised to help him in editing the Journal desBouches-du-Rhone, was not so lucky. His occupation and his visit to melaid him under suspicion of possessing dangerous opinions, and hisfriends urged him to fly; but it was too late. He was attacked at thecorner of the rue de Noailles, and fell wounded by a stab from a dagger. Happily, however, he ultimately recovered. 

"The whole day was passed in the commission of deeds still more bloodythan those of the day before; the sewers ran blood, and every hundredyards a dead body was to be met. But this sight, instead of satiatingthe thirst for blood of the assassins, only seemed to awaken a generalfeeling of gaiety. In the evening the streets resounded with song androundelay, and for many a year to come that which we looked back on as'the day of the massacre' lived in the memory of the Royalists as 'theday of the farce. '

"As we felt we could not live any longer in the midst of such scenes, even though, as far as we were concerned, all danger was over, we set outfor Nimes that same evening, having been offered the use of a carriage. 

"Nothing worthy of note happened on the road to Orgon, which we reachednext day; but the isolated detachments of troops which we passed fromtime to time reminded us that the tranquillity was nowhere perfect. Aswe neared the town we saw three men going about arm in arm; thisfriendliness seemed strange to us after our recent experiences, for oneof them wore a white cockade, the second a tricolour, and the third noneat all, and yet they went about on the most brotherly terms, eachawaiting under a different banner the outcome of events. Their wisdomimpressed me much, and feeling I had nothing to fear from suchphilosophers, I went up to them and questioned them, and they explainedtheir hopes to me with the greatest innocence, and above all, their firmdetermination to belong to what ever party got the upper hand. As wedrove into Orgon we saw at a glance that the whole town was simmeringwith excitement. Everybody's face expressed anxiety. A man who, we weretold, was the mayor, was haranguing a group. As everyone was listening, with the greatest attention, we drew near and asked them the cause of theexcitement. 

"'Gentlemen, ' said he, 'you ought to know the news: the king is in hiscapital, and we have once more hoisted the white flag, and there has notbeen a single dispute to mar the tranquillity of the day; one party hastriumphed without violence, and the other has submitted with resignation. But I have just learned that a band of vagabonds, numbering about threehundred, have assembled on the bridge over the Durance, and are preparingto raid our little town to-night, intending by pillage or extortion toget at what we possess. I have a few guns left which I am about todistribute, and each man will watch over the safety of all. '

"Although he had not enough arms to go round, he offered to supply us, but as I had my double-barrelled pistols I did not deprive him of hisweapons. I made the ladies go to bed, and, sitting at their door, triedto sleep as well as I could, a pistol in each hand. But at every instantthe noise of a false alarm sounded through the town, and when day dawnedmy only consolation was that no one else in Orgon had slept any betterthan I. 

"The next day we continued our journey to Tarascon, where new excitementsawaited us. As we got near the town we heard the tocsin clanging anddrums beating the generale. We were getting so accustomed to the uproarthat we were not very much astonished. However, when we got in we askedwhat was going on, and we were told that twelve thousand troops fromNimes had marched on Beaucaire and laid it waste with fire and sword. Iinsinuated that twelve thousand men was rather a large number for onetown to furnish, but was told that that included troops from theGardonninque and the Cevennes. Nimes still clung to the tricolour, butBeaucaire had hoisted the white flag, and it was for the purpose ofpulling it down and scattering the Royalists who were assembling innumbers at Beaucaire that Nimes had sent forth her troops on thisexpedition. Seeing that Tarascon and Beaucaire are only separated by theRhone, it struck me as peculiar that such quiet should prevail on onebank, while such fierce conflict was raging on the other. I did notdoubt that something had happened, but not an event of such gravity aswas reported. We therefore decided to push on to Beaucaire, and when wegot there we found the town in the most perfect order. The expedition oftwelve thousand men was reduced to one of two hundred, which had beeneasily repulsed, with the result that of the assailants one had beenwounded and one made prisoner. Proud of this success, the people ofBeaucaire entrusted us with a thousand objurgations to deliver to theirinveterate enemies the citizens of Nimes. 

"If any journey could give a correct idea of the preparations for civilwar and the confusion which already prevailed in the South, I shouldthink that without contradiction it would be that which we took that day. Along the four leagues which lie between Beaucaire and Nimes were postedat frequent intervals detachments of troops displaying alternately thewhite and the tricoloured cockade. Every village upon our route exceptthose just outside of Nimes had definitely joined either one party or theother, and the soldiers, who were stationed at equal distances along theroad, were now Royalist and now Bonapartist. Before leaving Beaucaire wehad all provided ourselves, taking example by the men we had seen atOrgon, with two cockades, one white, and one tricoloured, and by peepingout from carriage windows we were able to see which was worn by thetroops we were approaching in time to attach a similar one to our hatsbefore we got up to them, whilst we hid the other in our shoes; then aswe were passing we stuck our heads, decorated according to circumstances, out of the windows, and shouted vigorously, 'Long live the king!' or'Long live the emperor!' as the case demanded. Thanks to this concessionto political opinions on the highway, and in no less degree to the moneywhich we gave by way of tips to everybody everywhere, we arrived atlength at the barriers of Nimes, where we came up with the NationalGuards who had been repulsed by the townspeople of Beaucaire. 

"This is what had taken place just before we arrived in the city:

"The National Guard of Nimes and the troops of which the garrison wascomposed had resolved to unite in giving a banquet on Sunday, the 28th ofJune, to celebrate the success of the French army. The news of thebattle of Waterloo travelled much more quickly to Marseilles than toNimes, so the banquet took place without interruption. A bust ofNapoleon was carried in procession all over the town, and then theregular soldiers and the National Guard devoted the rest of the day torejoicings, which were followed by no excess. 

"But the day was not quite finished before news came that numerousmeetings were taking place at Beaucaire, so although the news of thedefeat at Waterloo reached Nimes on the following Tuesday, the troopswhich we had seen returning at the gates of the city had been despatchedon Wednesday to disperse these assemblies. Meantime the Bonapartists, under the command of General Gilly, amongst whom was a regiment ofchasseurs, beginning to despair of the success of their cause, felt thattheir situation was becoming very critical, especially as they learntthat the forces at Beaucaire had assumed the offensive and were about tomarch upon Nimes. As I had had no connection with anything that hadtaken place in the capital of the Gard, I personally had nothing to fear;but having learned by experience how easily suspicions arise, I wasafraid that the ill-luck which had not spared either my friends or myfamily might lead to their being accused of having received a refugeefrom Marseilles, a word which in itself had small significance, but whichin the mouth of an enemy might be fatal. Fears for the future being thusaroused by my recollections of the past, I decided to give up thecontemplation of a drama which might become redoubtable, asked to burymyself in the country with the firm intention of coming back to Nimes assoon as the white flag should once more float from its towers. 

"An old castle in the Cevennes, which from the days when the Albigenseswere burnt, down to the massacre of La Bagarre, had witnessed many arevolution and counter revolution, became the asylum of my wife, mymother, M______, and myself. As the peaceful tranquillity of our lifethere was unbroken by any event of interest, I shall not pause to dwellon it. But at length we grew weary, for such is man, of our life ofcalm, and being left once for nearly a week without any news fromoutside, we made that an excuse for returning to Nimes in order to seewith our own eyes how things were going on. 

"When we were about two leagues on our way we met the carriage of afriend, a rich landed proprietor from the city; seeing that he was in it, I alighted to ask him what was happening at Nimes. 'I hope you do notthink of going there, ' said he, 'especially at this moment; theexcitement is intense, blood has already flowed, and a catastrophe isimminent. ' So back we went to our mountain castle, but in a few daysbecame again a prey to the same restlessness, and, not being able toovercome it, decided to go at all risks and see for ourselves thecondition of affairs; and this time, neither advice nor warning havingany effect, we not only set out, but we arrived at our destination thesame evening. 

"We had not been misinformed, frays having already taken place in thestreets which had heated public opinion. One man had been killed on theEsplanade by a musket shot, and it seemed as if his death would be onlythe forerunner of many. The Catholics were awaiting with impatience thearrival of those doughty warriors from Beaucaire on whom they placedtheir chief reliance. The Protestants went about in painful silence, andfear blanched every face. At length the white flag was hoisted and theking proclaimed without any of the disorders which had been dreadedtaking place, but it was plainly visible that this calm was only a pausebefore a struggle, and that on the slightest pretext the pent-up passionswould break loose again. 

"Just at this time the memory of our quiet life in the mountains inspiredus with a happy idea. We had learned that the obstinate resolution ofMarshal Brune never to acknowledge Louis XVIII as king had been softened, and that the marshal had been induced to hoist the white flag at Toulon, while with a cockade in his hat he had formally resigned the command ofthat place into the hands of the royal authorities. 

"Henceforward in all Provence there was no spot where he could liveunmarked. His ultimate intentions were unknown to us, indeed hismovements seemed to show great hesitation on his part, so it occurred tous to offer him our little country house as a refuge where he could awaitthe arrival of more peaceful times. We decided that M____ and anotherfriend of ours who had just arrived from Paris should go to him and makethe offer, which he would at once accept all the more readily because itcame from the hearts which were deeply devoted to him. They set out, butto my great surprise returned the same day. They brought us word thatMarshal Brune had been assassinated at Avignon. 

"At first we could not believe the dreadful news, and took it for one ofthose ghastly rumours which circulate with such rapidity during periodsof civil strife; but we were not left long in uncertainty, for thedetails of the catastrophe arrived all too soon. "

CHAPTER VIII

For some days Avignon had its assassins, as Marseilles had had them, andas Nimes was about to have them; for some days all Avignon shuddered atthe names of five men--Pointu, Farges, Roquefort, Naudaud, and Magnan. 

Pointu was a perfect type of the men of the South, olive-skinned andeagle-eyed, with a hook nose, and teeth of ivory. Although he was hardlyabove middle height, and his back was bent from bearing heavy burdens, his legs bowed by the pressure of the enormous masses which he dailycarried, he was yet possessed of extraordinary strength and dexterity. He could throw over the Loulle gate a 48-pound cannon ball as easily as achild could throw its ball. He could fling a stone from one bank of theRhone to the other where it was two hundred yards wide. And lastly, hecould throw a knife backwards while running at full speed with suchstrength and precision of aim that this new kind of Parthian arrow wouldgo whistling through the air to hide two inches of its iron head in atree trunk no thicker than a man's thigh. When to these accomplishmentsare added an equal skill with the musket, the pistol, and thequarter-staff, a good deal of mother wit, a deep hatred for Republicans, against whom he had vowed vengeance at the foot of the scaffold on whichhis father and mother had perished, an idea can be formed of the terriblechief of the assassins of Avignon, who had for his lieutenants, Fargesthe silk-weaver, Roquefort the porter, Naudaud the baker, and Magnan thesecondhand clothes dealer. 

Avignon was entirely in the power of these five men, whose brutal conductthe civil and military authorities would not or could not repress, whenword came that Marshal Brune, who was at Luc in command of six thousandtroops, had been summoned to Paris to give an account of his conduct tothe new Government. 

The marshal, knowing the state of intense excitement which prevailed inthe South, and foreseeing the perils likely to meet him on the road, asked permission to travel by water, but met with an official refusal, and the Duc de Riviere, governor of Marseilles, furnished him with asafe-conduct. The cut-throats bellowed with joy when they learned that aRepublican of '89, who had risen to the rank of marshal under theUsurper, was about to pass through Avignon. At the same time sinisterreports began to run from mouth to mouth, the harbingers of death. Oncemore the infamous slander which a hundred times had been proved to befalse, raised its voice with dogged persistence, asserting that Brune, who did not arrive at Paris until the 5th of September, 1792, had on the2nd, when still at Lyons, carried the head of the Princesse de Lamballeimpaled on a pike. Soon the news came that the marshal had just escapedassassination at Aix, indeed he owed his safety to the fleetness of hishorses. Pointu, Forges, and Roquefort swore that they would manage thingsbetter at Avignon. 

By the route which the marshal had chosen there were only two ways openby which he could reach Lyons: he must either pass through Avignon, oravoid it by taking a cross-road, which branched off the Pointet highway, two leagues outside the town. The assassins thought he would take thelatter course, and on the 2nd of August, the day on which the marshal wasexpected, Pointu, Magnan, and Naudaud, with four of their creatures, tooka carriage at six o'clock in the morning, and, setting out from the Rhonebridge, hid themselves by the side of the high road to Pointet. 

When the marshal reached the point where the road divided, having beenwarned of the hostile feelings so rife in Avignon, he decided to take thecross-road upon which Pointu and his men were awaiting him; but thepostillion obstinately refused to drive in this direction, saying that healways changed horses at Avignon, and not at Pointet. One of themarshal's aides-de-camp tried, pistol in hand, to force him to obey; butthe marshal would permit no violence to be offered him, and gave himorders to go on to Avignon. 

The marshal reached the town at nine o'clock in the morning, and alightedat the Hotel du Palais Royal, which was also the post-house. While freshhorses were being put to and the passports and safe-conduct examined atthe Loulle gate, the marshal entered the hotel to take a plate of soup. In less than five minutes a crowd gathered round the door, and M. Moulinthe proprietor noticing the sinister and threatening expression many ofthe faces bore, went to the marshal's room and urged him to leaveinstantly without waiting for his papers, pledging his word that he wouldsend a man on horseback after him, who would overtake him two or threeleagues beyond the town, and bring him his own safe-conduct and thepassports of his aides-de-camp. The marshal came downstairs, and findingthe horses ready, got into the carriage, on which loud murmurs arose fromthe populace, amongst which could be distinguished the terrible word'zaou!' that excited cry of the Provencal, which according to the tonein which it is uttered expresses every shade of threat, and which meansat once in a single syllable, "Bite, rend, kill, murder!"

The marshal set out at a gallop, and passed the town gates unmolested, except by the howlings of the populace, who, however, made no attempt tostop him. He thought he had left all his enemies behind, but when hereached the Rhone bridge he found a group of men armed with musketswaiting there, led by Farges and Roquefort. They all raised their gunsand took aim at the marshal, who thereupon ordered the postillion todrive back. The order was obeyed, but when the carriage had gone aboutfifty yards it was met by the crowd from the "Palais Royal, " which hadfollowed it, so the postillion stopped. In a moment the traces were cut, whereupon the marshal, opening the door, alighted, followed by his valet, and passing on foot through the Loulle gate, followed by a secondcarriage in which were his aides-de-camp, he regained the "Palais Royal, "the doors of which were opened to him and his suite, and immediatelysecured against all others. 

The marshal asked to be shown to a room, and M. Moulin gave him No. 1, tothe front. In ten minutes three thousand people filled the square; itwas as if the population sprang up from the ground. Just then thecarriage, which the marshal had left behind, came up, the postillionhaving tied the traces, and a second time the great yard gates wereopened, and in spite of the press closed again and barricaded by theporter Vernet, and M. Moulin himself, both of whom were men of colossalstrength. The aides-de-camp, who had remained in the carriage untilthen, now alighted, and asked to be shown to the marshal; but Moulinordered the porter to conceal them in an outhouse. Vernet taking one ineach hand, dragged them off despite their struggles, and pushing thembehind some empty barrels, over which he threw an old piece of carpet, said to them in a voice as solemn as if he were a prophet, "If you move, you are dead men, " and left them. The aides-de-camp remained theremotionless and silent. 

At that moment M. De Saint-Chamans, prefect of Avignon, who had arrivedin town at five o'clock in the morning, came out into the courtyard. Bythis time the crowd was smashing the windows and breaking in the streetdoor. The square was full to overflowing, everywhere threatening crieswere heard, and above all the terrible zaou, which from moment to momentbecame more full of menace. M. Moulin saw that if they could not hold outuntil the troops under Major Lambot arrived, all was lost; he thereforetold Vernet to settle the business of those who were breaking in thedoor, while he would take charge of those who were trying to get in atthe window. Thus these two men, moved by a common impulse and of equalcourage, undertook to dispute with a howling mob the possession of theblood for which it thirsted. 

Both dashed to their posts, one in the hall, the other in thedining-room, and found door and windows already smashed, and several menin the house. At the sight of Vernet, with whose immense strength theywere acquainted, those in the hall drew back a step, and Vernet, takingadvantage of this movement, succeeded in ejecting them and in securingthe door once more. Meantime M. Moulin, seizing his double-barrelledgun, which stood in the chimney-corner, pointed it at five men who hadgot into the dining-room, and threatened to fire if they did notinstantly get out again. Four obeyed, but one refused to budge;whereupon Moulin, finding himself no longer outnumbered, laid aside hisgun, and, seizing his adversary round the waist, lifted him as if he werea child and flung him out of the window. The man died three weeks later, not from the fall but from the squeeze. 

Moulin then dashed to the window to secure it, but as he laid his hand onit he felt his head seized from behind and pressed violently down on hisleft shoulder; at the same instant a pane was broken into splinters, andthe head of a hatchet struck his right shoulder. M. De Saint-Chamans, whohad followed him into the room, had seen the weapon thrown at Moulin'shead, and not being able to turn aside the iron, had turned aside theobject at which it was aimed. Moulin seized the hatchet by the handleand tore it out of the hands of him who had delivered the blow, whichfortunately had missed its aim. He then finished closing the window, andsecured it by making fast the inside shutters, and went upstairs to seeafter the marshal. 

Him he found striding up and down his room, his handsome and noble faceas calm as if the voices of all those shouting men outside were notdemanding his death. Moulin made him leave No. 1 for No. 3, which, beinga back room and looking out on the courtyard, seemed to offer morechances of safety than the other. The marshal asked for writingmaterials, which Moulin brought, whereupon the marshal sat down at alittle table and began to write. 

Just then the cries outside became still more uproarious. M. DeSaint-Chamans had gone out and ordered the crowd to disperse, whereupon athousand people had answered him with one voice, asking who he was thathe should give such an order. He announced his rank and authority, towhich the answer was, "We only know the prefect by his clothes. " Now ithad unfortunately happened that M. De Chamans having sent his trunks bydiligence they had not yet arrived, and being dressed in a green coat;nankeen trousers, and a pique vest, it could hardly be expected that insuch a suit he should overawe the people under the circumstances; so, when he got up on a bench to harangue the populace, cries arose of "Downwith the green coat! We have enough of charlatans like that!" and he wasforced to get down again. As Vernet opened the door to let him in, several men took advantage of the circumstance to push in along with him;but Vernet let his fist fall three times, and three men rolled at hisfeet like bulls struck by a club. The others withdrew. A dozenchampions such as Vernet would have saved the marshal. Yet it must notbe forgotten that this man was a Royalist, and held the same opinions asthose against whom he fought; for him as for them the marshal was amortal enemy, but he had a noble heart, and if the marshal were guilty hedesired a trial and not a murder. Meantime a certain onlooker had heardwhat had been said to M. De Chamans about his unofficial costume, and hadgone to put on his uniform. This was M. De Puy, a handsome and venerableold man, with white hair, pleasant expression, and winning voice. Hesoon came back in his mayor's robes, wearing his scarf and his doublecross of St. Louis and the Legion of Honour. But neither his age nor hisdignity made the slightest impression on these people; they did not evenallow him to get back to the hotel door, but knocked him down andtrampled him under foot, so that he hardly escaped with torn clothes andhis white hair covered with dust and blood. The fury of the mob had nowreached its height. 

At this juncture the garrison of Avignon came in sight; it was composedof four hundred volunteers, who formed a battalion known as the RoyalAngouleme. It was commanded by a man who had assumed the title ofLieutenant-General of the Emancipating Army of Vaucluse. These forcesdrew up under the windows of the "Palais Royal. " They were composedalmost entirely of Provenceaux, and spoke the same dialect as the peopleof the lower orders. The crowd asked the soldiers for what they hadcome, why they did not leave them to accomplish an act of justice inpeace, and if they intended to interfere. "Quite the contrary, " said oneof the soldiers; "pitch him out of the window, and we will catch him onthe points of our bayonets. " Brutal cries of joy greeted this answer, succeeded by a short silence, but it was easy to see that under theapparent calm the crowd was in a state of eager expectation. Soon newshouts were heard, but this time from the interior of the hotel; a smallband of men led by Forges and Roquefort had separated themselves from thethrong, and by the help of ladders had scaled the walls and got on theroof of the house, and, gliding down the other side, had dropped into thebalcony outside the windows of the rooms where the marshal was writing. 

Some of these dashed through the windows without waiting to open them, others rushed in at the open door. The marshal, thus taken by surprise, rose, and not wishing that the letter he was writing to the Austriancommandant to claim his protection should fall into the hands of thesewretches, he tore it to pieces. Then a man who belonged to a betterclass than the others, and who wears to-day the Cross of the Legion ofHonour, granted to him perhaps for his conduct on this occasion, advancedtowards the marshal, sword in hand, and told him if he had any lastarrangements to make, he should make them at once, for he had only tenminutes to live. 

"What are you thinking of?" exclaimed Forges. "Ten minutes! Did he givethe Princesse de Lamballe ten minutes?" and he pointed his pistol at themarshal's breast; but the marshal striking up the weapon, the shot missedits aim and buried itself in the ceiling. 

"Clumsy fellow!" said the marshal, shrugging his shoulders, "not to beable to kill a man at such close range. "

"That's true, " replied Roquefort in his patois. "I'll show you how to doit"; and, receding a step, he took aim with his carbine at his victim, whose back was partly towards him. A report was heard, and the marshalfell dead on the spot, the bullet which entered at the shoulder goingright through his body and striking the opposite wall. 

The two shots, which had been heard in the street, made the howling mobdance for joy. One cowardly fellow, called Cadillan, rushed out on oneof the balconies which looked on the square, and, holding a loaded pistolin each hand, which he had not dared to discharge even into the dead bodyof the murdered man, he cut a caper, and, holding up the innocentweapons, called out, "These have done the business!" But he lied, thebraggart, and boasted of a crime which was committed by braver cutthroatsthan he. 

Behind him came the general of the "Emancipating Army of Vaucluse, " who, graciously saluting the crowd, said, "The marshal has carried out an actof justice by taking his own life. " Shouts of mingled joy, revenge, andhatred rose from the crowd, and the king's attorney and the examiningmagistrate set about drawing up a report of the suicide. 

Now that all was over and there was no longer any question of saving themarshal, M. Moulin desired at least to save the valuables which he had inhis carriage. He found in a cash box 40, 000 francs, in the pockets asnuff-box set with diamonds, and a pair of pistols and two swords; thehilt of one of these latter was studded with precious stones, a gift fromthe ill-starred Selim. M. Moulin returned across the court, carryingthese things. The Damascus blade was wrenched from his hands, and therobber kept it five years as a trophy, and it was not until the year 1820that he was forced to give it up to the representative of the marshal'swidow. Yet this man was an officer, and kept his rank all through theRestoration, and was not dismissed the army till 1830. When M. Moulinhad placed the other objects in safety, he requested the magistrate tohave the corpse removed, as he wished the crowds to disperse, that hemight look after the aides-de camp. While they were undressing themarshal, in order to certify the cause of death, a leathern belt wasfound on him containing 5536 francs. The body was carried downstairs bythe grave-diggers without any opposition being offered, but hardly hadthey advanced ten yards into the square when shouts of "To the Rhone! tothe Rhone!" resounded on all sides. A police officer who tried tointerfere was knocked down, the bearers were ordered to turn round; theyobeyed, and the crowd carried them off towards the wooden bridge. Whenthe fourteenth arch was reached, the bier was torn from the bearers'hands, and the corpse was flung into the river. "Military honours!"shouted some one, and all who had guns fired at the dead body, which wastwice struck. "Tomb of Marshal Brune" was then written on the arch, andthe crowd withdrew, and passed the rest of the day in holiday-making. 

Meanwhile the Rhone, refusing to be an accomplice in such a crime, boreaway the corpse, which the assassins believed had been swallowed up forever. Next day it was found on the sandy shore at Tarascon, but the newsof the murder had preceded it, and it was recognised by the wounds, andpushed back again into the waters, which bore it towards the sea. 

Three leagues farther on it stopped again, this time by a grassy bank, and was found by a man of forty and another of eighteen. They alsorecognised it, but instead of shoving it back into the current, they drewit up gently on the bank and carried it to a small property belonging toone of them, where they reverently interred it. The elder of the two wasM. De Chartruse, the younger M. Amedee Pichot. 

The body was exhumed by order of the marshal's widow, and brought to hercastle of Saint-Just, in Champagne; she had it embalmed, and placed in abedroom adjoining her own, where it remained, covered only by a veil, until the memory of the deceased was cleansed from the accusation ofsuicide by a solemn public trial and judgment. Then only it was finallyinterred, along with the parchment containing the decision of the Courtof Riom. 

The ruffians who killed Marshal Brune, although they evaded the justiceof men, did not escape the vengeance of God: nearly every one of themcame to a miserable end. Roquefort and Farges were attacked by strangeand hitherto unknown diseases, recalling the plagues sent by God on thepeoples whom He desired to punish in bygone ages. In the case of Farges, his skin dried up and became horny, causing him such intense irritation, that as the only means of allaying it he had to be kept buried up to theneck while still alive. The disease under which Roquefort sufferedseemed to have its seat in the marrow, for his bones by degrees lost allsolidity and power of resistance, so that his limbs refused to bear hisweight, and he went about the streets crawling like a serpent. Both diedin such dreadful torture that they regretted having escaped the scaffold, which would have spared them such prolonged agony. 

Pointu was condemned to death, in his absence, at the Assizes Court of LaDrome, for having murdered five people, and was cast off by his ownfaction. For some time his wife, who was infirm and deformed, might beseen going from house to house asking alms for him, who had been for twomonths the arbiter of civil war and assassination. Then came a day whenshe ceased her quest, and was seen sitting, her head covered by a blackrag: Pointu was dead, but it was never known where or how. In somecorner, probably, in the crevice of a rock or in the heart of the forest, like an old tiger whose talons have been clipped and his teeth drawn. 

Naudaud and Magnan were sentenced to the galleys for ten years. Naudauddied there, but Magnan finished his time and then became a scavenger, and, faithful to his vocation as a dealer of death, a poisoner of straydogs. 

Some of these cut-throats are still living, and fill good positions, wearing crosses and epaulets, and, rejoicing in their impunity, imaginethey have escaped the eye of God. 

We shall wait and see!

CHAPTER IX

It was on Saturday that the white flag was hoisted at Nimes. The nextday a crowd of Catholic peasants from the environs marched into the city, to await the arrival of the Royalist army from Beaucaire. Excitement wasat fever heat, the desire of revenge filled every breast, the hereditaryhatred which had slumbered during the Empire again awoke stronger thanever. Here I may pause to say that in the account which follows of theevents which took place about this time, I can only guarantee the factsand not the dates: I relate everything as it happened; but the day onwhich it happened may sometimes have escaped my memory, for it is easierto recollect a murder to which one has been an eye-witness, than torecall the exact date on which it happened. 

The garrison of Nimes was composed of one battalion of the 13th Regimentof the line, and another battalion of the 79th Regiment, which not beingup to its full war-strength had been sent to Nimes to complete itsnumbers by enlistment. But after the battle of Waterloo the citizens hadtried to induce the soldiers to desert, so that of the two battalions, even counting the officers, only about two hundred men remained. 

When the news of the proclamation of Napoleon II reached Nimes, Brigadier-General Malmont, commandant of the department, had himproclaimed in the city without any disturbance being caused thereby. Itwas not until some days later that a report began to be circulated that aroyal army was gathering at Beaucaire, and that the populace would takeadvantage of its arrival to indulge in excesses. In the face of thistwo-fold danger, General Malmont had ordered the regular troops, and apart of the National Guard of the Hundred Days, to be drawn up under armsin the rear of the barracks upon an eminence on which he had mounted fivepieces of ordnance. This disposition was maintained for two days and anight, but as the populace remained quiet, the troops returned to thebarracks and the Guards to their homes. 

But on Monday a concourse of people, who had heard that the army fromBeaucaire would arrive the next day, made a hostile demonstration beforethe barracks, demanding with shouts and threats that the five cannonsshould be handed over to them. The general and the officers who werequartered in the town, hearing of the tumult, repaired at once to thebarracks, but soon came out again, and approaching the crowd tried topersuade it to disperse, to which the only answer they received was ashower of bullets. Convinced by this, as he was well acquainted with thecharacter of the people with whom he had to deal, that the struggle hadbegun in earnest and must be fought out to the bitter end, the generalretreated with his officers, step by step, to the barracks, and havinggot inside the gates, closed and bolted them. 

He then decided that it was his duty to repulse force by force, foreveryone was determined to defend, at no matter what cost, a positionwhich, from the first moment of revolt, was fraught with such peril. So, without waiting for orders, the soldiers, seeing that some of theirwindows had been broken by shots from without, returned the fire, and, being better marksmen than the townspeople, soon laid many low. Uponthis the alarmed crowd retired out of musket range, and entrenchedthemselves in some neighbouring houses. 

About nine o'clock in the evening, a man bearing something resembling awhite flag approached the walls and asked to speak to the general. Hebrought a message inquiring on what terms the troops would consent toevacuate Nimes. The general sent back word that the conditions were, that the troops should be allowed to march out fully armed and with alltheir baggage; the five guns alone would be left behind. When the forcesreached a certain valley outside the city they would halt, that the menmight be supplied with means sufficient to enable them either to rejointhe regiments to which they belonged, or to return to their own homes. 

At two o'clock A. M. The same envoy returned, and announced to thegeneral that the conditions had been accepted with one alteration, whichwas that the troops, before marching out, should lay down their arms. The messenger also intimated that if the offer he had brought were notquickly accepted--say within two hours--the time for capitulation wouldhave gone by, and that he would not be answerable for what the peoplemight then do in their fury. The general accepted the conditions asamended, and the envoy disappeared. 

When the troops heard of the agreement, that they should be disarmedbefore being allowed to leave the town, their first impulse was to refuseto lay down their weapons before a rabble which had run away from a fewmusket shots; but the general succeeded in soothing their sense ofhumiliation and winning their consent by representing to them that therecould be nothing dishonourable in an action which prevented the childrenof a common fatherland from shedding each other's blood. 

The gendarmerie, according to one article of the treaty, were to close inat, the rear of the evacuating column; and thus hinder the populace frommolesting the troops of which it was composed. This was the onlyconcession obtained in return for the abandoned arms, and the farce inquestion was already drawn up in field order, apparently waiting toescort the troops out of the city. 

At four o'clock P. M. The troops got ready, each company stacking its armsin the courtyard before: marching out; but hardly had forty or fifty menpassed the gates than fire was opened on them at such close range thathalf of them were killed or disabled at the first volley. Upon this, those who were still within the walls closed the courtyard gates, thuscutting off all chance of retreat from their comrades. In the event;however, it turned out that several of the latter contrived to escapewith their lives and that they lost nothing through being prevented fromreturning; for as soon as the mob saw that ten or twelve of their victimshad slipped through their hands they made a furious attack on thebarracks, burst in the gates, and scaled the walls with such rapidity, that the soldiers had no time to repossess themselves of their muskets, and even had they succeeded in seizing them they would have been oflittle use, as ammunition was totally wanting. The barracks being thuscarried by assault, a horrible massacre ensued, which lasted for threehours. Some of the wretched men, being hunted from room to room, jumpedout of the first window they could reach, without stopping to measure itsheight from the ground, and were either impaled on the bayonets held inreadiness below, or, falling on the pavement, broke their limbs and werepitilessly despatched. 

The gendarmes, who had really been called out to protect the retreat ofthe garrison, seemed to imagine they were there to witness a judicialexecution, and stood immovable and impassive while these horrid deedswent on before their eyes. But the penalty of this indifference wasswiftly exacted, for as soon as the soldiers were all done with, the mob, finding their thirst for blood still unslacked, turned on the gendarmes, the greater number of whom were wounded, while all lost their horses, andsome their lives. 

The populace was still engaged at its bloody task when news came that thearmy from Beaucaire was within sight of the town, and the murderers, hastening to despatch some of the wounded who still showed signs of life, went forth to meet the long expected reinforcements. 

Only those who saw the advancing army with their own eyes can form anyidea of its condition and appearance, the first corps excepted. Thiscorps was commanded by M. De Barre, who had put himself at its head withthe noble purpose of preventing, as far as he could, massacre andpillage. In this he was seconded by the officers under him, who wereactuated by the same philanthropic motives as their general inidentifying themselves with the corps. Owing to their exertions, the menadvanced in fairly regular order, and good discipline was maintained. All the men carried muskets. 

But the first corps was only a kind of vanguard to the second, which wasthe real army, and a wonderful thing to see and hear. Never were broughttogether before or since so many different kinds of howl, so many threatsof death, so many rags; so many odd weapons, from the matchlock of thetime of the Michelade to the steel-tipped goad of the bullock drovers ofLa Camargue, so that when the Nimes mob; which in all conscience washowling and ragged enough, rushed out to offer a brotherly welcome to thestrangers, its first feeling was one of astonishment and dismay as itcaught sight of the motley crew which held out to it the right hand offellowship. 

The new-comers soon showed that it was through necessity and not choicethat their outer man presented such a disreputable appearance; for theywere hardly well within the gates before demanding that the houses of themembers of the old Protestant National Guard should be pointed out tothem. 

This being done, they promptly proceeded to exact from each household amusket, a coat, a complete kit, or a sum of money, according to theirhumour, so that before evening those who had arrived naked and pennilesswere provided with complete uniforms and had money in their pockets. These exactions were levied under the name of a contribution, but beforethe day was ended naked and undisguised pillage began. 

Someone asserted that during the assault on the barracks a certainindividual had fired out of a certain house on the assailants. Theindignant people now rushed to the house indicated, and soon left nothingof it in existence but its walls. A little later it was clearly provedthat the individual accused was quite innocent of the crime laid to hischarge. 

The house of a rich merchant lay in the path of the advancing army. A cryarose that the owner was a Bonapartist, and nothing more was needed. Thehouse was broken into and pillaged, and the furniture thrown out of thewindows. 

Two days later it turned out that not only was the merchant noBonapartist, but that his son had been one of those who had accompaniedthe Duc d'Angouleme to Cette when he left the country. The pillagersexcused themselves by saying they had been misled by a resemblancebetween two names, and this excuse, as far as appears, was accepted asvalid by the authorities. 

It was not long before the populace of Nimes began to think they might aswell follow the example set them by their brothers from Beaucaire. Intwenty-four hours free companies were formed, headed by Trestaillons, Trupheny, Graffan, and Morinet. These bands arrogated to themselves thetitle of National Guard, and then what took place at Marseilles in theexcitement of the moment was repeated at Nimes with deliberation andmethod, inspired by hate and the desire of vengeance. A revolt broke outwhich followed the ordinary course: first pillage, then fire, thenmurder, laid waste the city. 

M. V______'s house, which stood in the middle of the town, was sacked andthen burnt to the ground, without a hand being raised to prevent thecrime. 

M. T______'s house, on the road to Montpellier, was sacked and wreckedand a bonfire made of the furniture, round which the crowd danced; as ifit had been an occasion of public rejoicing. Then cries were raised forthe proprietor, that he might be killed, and as he could not be found thebaffled fury of the mob vented itself on the dead. A child three monthsburied was dragged from its grave, drawn by the feet through the sewersand wayside puddles, and then flung on a dung-heap; and, strange to say, while incendiarism and sacrilege thus ran riot, the mayor of the placeslept so sound that when he awoke he was "quite astonished, " to use hisown expression, to hear what had taken place during the night. 

This expedition completed, the same company which had brought thisexpedition to a successful issue next turned their attention to a smallcountry house occupied by a widow, whom I had often begged to take refugewith us. But, secure in her insignificance, she had always declined ouroffers, preferring to live solitary and retired in her own home. But thefreebooters sought her out, burst in her doors, drove her away with blowsand insults, destroyed her house and burnt her furniture. They thenproceeded to the vault in which lay the remains of her family, draggedthem out of their coffins and scattered them about the fields. The nextday the poor woman-ventured back, collected the desecrated remains withpious care, and replaced them in the vault. But this was counted to heras a crime; the company returned, once more cast forth the contents ofthe coffins, and threatened to kill her should she dare to touch themagain. She was often seen in the days that followed shedding bittertears and watching over the sacred relics as they lay exposed on theground. 

The name of this widow was Pepin, and the scene of the sacrilege was asmall enclosure on the hill of the Moulins-a-Vent. 

Meantime the people in the Faubourg des Bourgades had invented a new sortof game, or rather, had resolved to vary the serious business of thedrama that was being enacted by the introduction of comic scenes. Theyhad possessed themselves of a number of beetles such as washerwomen use, and hammered in long nails, the points of which projected an inch on theother side in the form of a fleur-de-lis. Every Protestant who fell intotheir hands, no matter what his age or rank, was stamped with the bloodyemblem, serious wounds being inflicted in many cases. 

Murders were now becoming common. Amongst other names of victimsmentioned were Loriol, Bigot, Dumas, Lhermet, Heritier, Domaison, Combe, Clairon, Begomet, Poujas, Imbert, Vigal, Pourchet, Vignole. Details moreor less shocking came to light as to the manner in which the murdererswent to work. A man called Dalbos was in the custody of two armed men;some others came to consult with them. Dalbos appealed for mercy to thenew-comers. It was granted, but as he turned to go he was shot dead. Another of the name of Rambert tried to escape by disguising himself as awoman, but was recognised and shot down a few yards outside his own door. A gunner called Saussine was walking in all security along the road toUzes, pipe in mouth, when he was met by five men belonging toTrestaillon's company, who surrounded him and stabbed him to the heartwith their knives. The elder of two brothers named Chivas ran acrosssome fields to take shelter in a country house called Rouviere, which, unknown to him, had been occupied by some of the new National Guard. These met him on the threshold and shot him dead. 

Rant was seized in his own house and shot. Clos was met by a company, and seeing Trestaillons, with whom he had always been friends, in itsranks, he went up to him and held out his hand; whereupon Trestaillonsdrew a pistol from his belt and blew his brains out. Calandre beingchased down the rue des Soeurs-Grises, sought shelter in a tavern, butwas forced to come out, and was killed with sabres. Courbet was sent toprison under the escort of some men, but these changed their minds on theway as to his punishment, halted, and shot him dead in the middle of thestreet. 

A wine merchant called Cabanot, who was flying from Trestaillons, raninto a house in which there was a venerable priest called Cure Bonhomme. When the cut-throat rushed in, all covered with blood, the priestadvanced and stopped him, crying:

"What will happen, unhappy man, when you come to the confessional withblood-stained hands?"

"Pooh!" replied Trestaillons, "you must put on your wide gown; thesleeves are large enough to let everything pass. "

To the short account given above of so many murders I will add thenarrative of one to which I was an eye-witness, and which made the mostterrible impression on me of, anything in my experience. 

It was midnight. I was working beside my wife's bed; she was justbecoming drowsy, when a noise in the distance caught our attention. Itgradually became more distinct, and drums began to beat the 'generale' inevery direction. Hiding my own alarm for fear of increasing hers, Ianswered my wife, who was asking what new thing was about to happen, thatit was probably troops marching in or out of garrison. But soon reportsof firearms, accompanied by an uproar with which we were so familiar thatwe could no longer mistake its meaning, were heard outside. Opening mywindow, I heard bloodcurdling imprecations, mixed with cries of "Longlive the king!" going on. Not being able to remain any longer in thisuncertainty, I woke a captain who lived in the same house. He rose, tookhis arms, and we went out together, directing our course towards thepoint whence the shouts seemed to come. The moon shone so bright that wecould see everything almost as distinctly as in broad daylight. 

A concourse of people was hurrying towards the Cours yelling like madmen;the greater number of them, half naked, armed with muskets, swords, knives, and clubs, and swearing to exterminate everything, waved theirweapons above the heads of men who had evidently been torn from theirhouses and brought to the square to be put to death. The rest of thecrowd had, like ourselves, been drawn thither by curiosity, and wereasking what was going on. "Murder is abroad, " was the answer; "severalpeople have been killed in the environs, and the patrol has been firedon. " While this questioning was going on the noise continued toincrease. As I had really no business to be on a spot where such thingswere going on, and feeling that my place was at my wife's side, toreassure her for the present and to watch over her should the rioterscome our way, I said good-bye to the captain, who went on to thebarracks, and took the road back to the suburb in which I lived. 

I was not more than fifty steps from our house when I heard loud talkingbehind me, and, turning, saw gun barrels glittering in the moonlight. Asthe speakers seemed to be rapidly approaching me, I kept close in theshadow of the houses till I reached my own door, which I laid softly tobehind me, leaving myself a chink by which I could peep out and watch themovements of the group which was drawing near. Suddenly I felt somethingtouch my hand; it was a great Corsican dog, which was turned loose atnight, and was so fierce that it was a great protection to our house. Ifelt glad to have it at my side, for in case of a struggle it would be nodespicable ally. 

Those approaching turned out to be three armed men leading a fourth, disarmed and a prisoner. They all stopped just opposite my door, which Igently closed and locked, but as I still wished to see what they wereabout, I slipped into the garden, which lay towards the street, stillfollowed by my dog. Contrary to his habit, and as if he understood thedanger, he gave a low whine instead of his usual savage growl. I climbedinto a fig tree the branches of which overhung the street, and, hidden bythe leaves, and resting my hands on the top of the wall, I leaned farenough forward to see what the men were about. 

They were still on the same spot, but there was a change in theirpositions. The prisoner was now kneeling with clasped hands before thecut-throats, begging for his life for the sake of his wife and children, in heartrending accents, to which his executioners replied in mockingtones, "We have got you at last into our hands, have we? You dog of aBonapartist, why do you not call on your emperor to come and help you outof this scrape?" The unfortunate man's entreaties became more pitiful andtheir mocking replies more pitiless. They levelled their muskets at himseveral times, and then lowered them, saying; "Devil take it, we won'tshoot yet; let us give him time to see death coming, " till at last thepoor wretch, seeing there was no hope of mercy, begged to be put out ofhis misery. 

Drops of sweat stood on my forehead. I felt my pockets to see if I hadnothing on me which I could use as a weapon, but I had not even a knife. I looked at my dog; he was lying flat at the foot of the tree, andappeared to be a prey to the most abject terror. The prisoner continuedhis supplications, and the assassins their threats and mockery. Iclimbed quietly down out of the fig tree, intending to fetch my pistols. My dog followed me with his eyes, which seemed to be the only livingthings about him. Just as my foot touched the ground a double reportrang out, and my dog gave a plaintive and prolonged howl. Feeling thatall was over, and that no weapons could be of any use, I climbed up againinto my perch and looked out. The poor wretch was lying face downwardswrithing in his blood; the assassins were reloading their muskets as theywalked away. 

Being anxious to see if it was too late to help the man whom I had notbeen able to save, I went out into the street and bent over him. He wasbloody, disfigured, dying, but was yet alive, uttering dismal groans. Itried to lift him up, but soon saw that the wounds which he had receivedfrom bullets fired at close range were both mortal, one being in thehead, and the other in the loins. Just then a patrol, of the NationalGuard turned round the corner of the street. This, instead of being arelief, awoke me to a sense of my danger, and feeling I could do nothingfor the wounded man, for the death rattle had already begun, I entered myhouse, half shut the door, and listened. 

"Qui vive?" asked the corporal. 

"Idiot!" said someone else, "to ask 'Qui vive?' of a dead man!"

"He is not dead, " said a third voice; "listen to him singing"; and indeedthe poor fellow in his agony was giving utterance to dreadful groans. 

"Someone has tickled him well, " said a fourth, "but what does it matter?We had better finish the job. "

Five or six musket shots followed, and the groans ceased. 

The name of the man who had just expired was Louis Lichaire; it was notagainst him, but against his nephew, that the assassins had had a grudge, but finding the nephew out when they burst into the house, and a victimbeing indispensable, they had torn the uncle from the arms of his wife, and, dragging him towards the citadel, had killed him as I have justrelated. 

Very early next morning I sent to three commissioners of police, oneafter the other, for permission to have the corpse carried to thehospital, but these gentlemen were either not up or had already gone out, so that it was not until eleven o'clock and after repeated applicationsthat they condescended to give me the needed authorisation. 

Thanks to this delay, the whole town came to see the body of theunfortunate man. Indeed, the day which followed a massacre was alwayskept as a holiday, everyone leaving his work undone and coming out tostare at the slaughtered victims. In this case, a man wishing to amusethe crowd took his pipe out of his mouth and put it between the teeth ofthe corpse--a joke which had a marvellous success, those presentshrieking with laughter. 

Many murders had been committed during the night; the companies hadscoured the streets singing some doggerel, which one of the bloodywretches, being in poetic vein, had composed, the chorus of which was--, "Our work's well done, We spare none!"

Seventeen fatal outrages were committed, and yet neither the reports ofthe firearms nor the cries of the victims broke the peaceful slumbers ofM, le Prefet and M. Le Commissaire General de la Police. But if the civilauthorities slept, General Lagarde, who had shortly before come to townto take command of the city in the name of the king, was awake. He hadsprung from his bed at the first shot, dressed himself, and made a roundof the posts; then sure that everything was in order, he had formedpatrols of chasseurs, and had himself, accompanied by two officers only, gone wherever he heard cries for help. But in spite of the strictness ofhis orders the small number of troops at his disposition delayed thesuccess of his efforts, and it was not until three o'clock in the morningthat he succeeded in securing Trestaillons. When this man was taken hewas dressed as usual in the uniform of the National Guard, with a cockedhat and captain's epaulets. General Lagarde ordered the gens d'armes whomade the capture to deprive him of his sword and carbine, but it was onlyafter a long struggle that they could carry out this order, forTrestaillons protested that he would only give up his carbine with hislife. However, he was at last obliged to yield to numbers, and whendisarmed was removed to the barracks; but as there could be no peace inthe town as long as he was in it, the general sent him to the citadel ofMontpellier next morning before it was light. 

The disorders did not, however, cease at once. At eight o'clock A. M. They were still going on, the mob seeming to be animated by the spirit ofTrestaillons, for while the soldiers were occupied in a distant quarterof the town a score of men broke into the house of a certain ScipionChabrier, who had remained hidden from his enemies for a long time, butwho had lately returned home on the strength of the proclamationspublished by General Lagarde when he assumed the position of commandantof the town. He had indeed been sure that the disturbances in Nimes wereover, when they burst out with redoubled fury on the 16th of October; onthe morning of the 17th he was working quietly at home at his trade of asilk weaver, when, alarmed by the shouts of a parcel of cut-throatsoutside his house, he tried to escape. He succeeded in reaching the"Coupe d'Or, " but the ruffians followed him, and the first who came upthrust him through the thigh with his bayonet. In consequence of thiswound he fell from top to bottom of the staircase, was seized and draggedto the stables, where the assassins left him for dead, with seven woundsin his body. 

This was, however, the only murder committed that day in the town, thanksto the vigilance and courage of General Lagarde. 

The next day a considerable crowd gathered, and a noisy deputation wentto General Lagarde's quarters and insolently demanded that Trestaillonsshould be set at liberty. The general ordered them to disperse, but noattention was paid to this command, whereupon he ordered his soldiers tocharge, and in a moment force accomplished what long-continued persuasionhad failed to effect. Several of the ringleaders were arrested and takento prison. 

Thus, as we shall see, the struggle assumed a new phase: resistance tothe royal power was made in the name of the royal power, and both thosewho broke or those who tried to maintain the public peace used the samecry, "Long live the king!"

The firm attitude assumed by General Lagarde restored Nimes to a state ofsuperficial peace, beneath which, however, the old enmities werefermenting. An occult power, which betrayed itself by a kind of passiveresistance, neutralised the effect of the measures taken by the militarycommandant. He soon became cognisant of the fact that the essence ofthis sanguinary political strife was an hereditary religious animosity, and in order to strike a last blow at this, he resolved, after havingreceived permission from the king, to grant the general request of theProtestants by reopening their places of worship, which had been closedfor more than four months, and allowing the public exercise of theProtestant religion, which had been entirely suspended in the city forthe same length of time. 

Formerly there had been six Protestant pastors resident in Nimes, butfour of them, had fled; the two who remained were MM. Juillerat andOlivier Desmonts, the first a young man, twenty-eight years of age, thesecond an old man of seventy. 

The entire weight of the ministry had fallen during this period ofproscription on M. Juillerat, who had accepted the task and religiouslyfulfilled it. It seemed as if a special providence had miraculouslyprotected him in the midst of the many perils which beset his path. Although the other pastor, M. Desmonts, was president of the Consistory, his life was in much less danger; for, first, he had reached an age whichalmost everywhere commands respect, and then he had a son who was alieutenant in, one of the royal corps levied at Beaucaire, who protectedhim by his name when he could not do so by his presence. M. Desmonts hadtherefore little cause for anxiety as to his safety either in the streetsof Nimes or on the road between that and his country house. 

But, as we have said, it was not so with M. Juillerat. Being young andactive, and having an unfaltering trust in God, on him alone devolved allthe sacred duties of his office, from the visitation of the sick anddying to the baptism of the newly born. These latter were often broughtto him at night to be baptized, and he consented, though unwillingly, tomake this concession, feeling that if he insisted on the performance ofthe rite by day he would compromise not only his own safety but that ofothers. In all that concerned him personally, such as consoling thedying or caring for the wounded, he acted quite openly, and no dangerthat he encountered on his way ever caused him to flinch from the path ofduty. 

One day, as M. Juillerat was passing through the rue des Barquettes onhis way to the prefecture to transact some business connected with hisministry, he saw several men lying in wait in a blind alley by which hehad to pass. They had their guns pointed at him. He continued his waywith tranquil step and such an air of resignation that the assassins wereoverawed, and lowered their weapons as he approached, without firing asingle shot. When M. Juillerat reached the prefecture, thinking that theprefect ought to be aware of everything connected with the public order, he related this incident to M. D'Arbaud-Jouques, but the latter did notthink the affair of enough importance to require any investigation. 

It was, as will be seen, a difficult enterprise to open once again theProtestant places of worship, which had been so long closed, in presentcircumstances, and in face of the fact that the civil authoritiesregarded such a step with disfavour, but General Lagarde was one of thosedetermined characters who always act up to their convictions. Moreover, to prepare people's minds for this stroke of religious policy, he reliedon the help of the Duc d'Angouleme, who in the course of a tour throughthe South was almost immediately expected at Nimes. 

On the 5th of November the prince made his entry into the city, andhaving read the reports of the general to the King Louis XVIII, andhaving received positive injunctions from his uncle to pacify the unhappyprovinces which he was about to visit, he arrived full of the desire todisplays whether he felt it or not, a perfect impartiality; so when thedelegates from the Consistory were presented to him, not only did hereceive them most graciously, but he was the first to speak of theinterests of their faith, assuring them that it was only a few days sincehe had learned with much regret that their religious services had been;suspended since the 16th of July. The delegates replied that in such atime of agitation the closing of their places of worship was, a measureof prudence which they had felt ought to be borne, and which had beenborne, with resignation. The prince expressed his approval of thisattitude with regard to the past, but said that his presence was aguarantee for the future, and that on Thursday the 9th inst. The twomeeting-houses should be reopened and restored to their proper use. TheProtestants were alarmed at, having a favour accorded to them which wasmuch more than they would have dared to ask and for which they werehardly prepared. But the prince reassured them by saying that allneedful measures would be taken to provide against any breach of thepublic peace, and at the same time invited M. Desmonts, president, and M. Roland-Lacoste, member of the Consistory, to dine with him. 

The next deputation to arrive was a Catholic one, and its object was toask that Trestaillons might be set at liberty. The prince was soindignant at this request that his only answer was to turn his back onthose who proffered it. 

The next day the duke, accompanied by General Lagarde, left forMontpellier; and as it was on the latter that the Protestants placedtheir sole reliance for the maintenance of those rights guaranteed forthe future by the word of the prince, they hesitated to take any new stepin his absence, and let the 9th of November go by without attempting toresume public worship, preferring to wait for the return of theirprotector, which took place on Saturday evening the 11th of November. 

When the general got back, his first thought was to ask if the commandsof the prince had been carried out, and when he heard that they had not, without waiting to hear a word in justification of the delay, he sent apositive order to the president of the Consistory to open both places ofworship the next morning. 

Upon this, the president carrying self-abnegation and prudence to theirextreme limits, went to the general's quarters, and having warmly thankedhim, laid before him the dangers to which he would expose himself byrunning counter to the opinions of those who had had their own way in thecity for the last four months. But General Lagarde brushed all theseconsiderations aside: he had received an order from the prince, and to aman of his military cast of mind no course was open but to carry thatorder out. 

Nevertheless, the president again expressed his doubts and fears. 

"I will answer with my head, " said the general, "that nothing happens. "Still the president counselled prudence, asking that only one place ofworship at first be opened, and to this the general gave his consent. 

This continued resistance to the re-establishment of public worship onthe part of those who most eagerly desired it enabled the general at lastto realise the extent of the danger which would be incurred by thecarrying out of this measure, and he at once took all possibleprecautions. Under the pretext that he was going to-have a generalreview, he brought the entire civil and military forces of Nimes underhis authority, determined, if necessary, to use the one to suppress theother. As early as eight o'clock in the morning a guard of gens d'armeswas stationed at the doors of the meeting-house, while other members ofthe same force took up their positions in the adjacent streets. On theother hand, the Consistory had decided that the doors were to be openedan hour sooner than usual, that the bells were not to be rung, and thatthe organ should be silent. 

These precautions had both a good and a bad side. The gens d'armes atthe door of the meetinghouse gave if not a promise of security at least apromise of support, but they showed to the citizens of the other partywhat was about to be done; so before nine o'clock groups of Catholicsbegan to form, and as it happened to be Sunday the inhabitants of theneighbouring villages arriving constantly by twos and threes soon unitedthese groups into a little army. Thus the streets leading to the churchbeing thronged, the Protestants who pushed their way through were greetedwith insulting remarks, and even the president of the Consistory, whosewhite, hair and dignified expression had no effect upon the mob, heardthe people round him saying, "These brigands of Protestants are goingagain to their temple, but we shall soon give them enough of it. "

The anger of the populace soon grows hot; between the first bubble andthe boiling-point the interval is short. Threats spoken in a low voicewere soon succeeded by noisy objurgations. Women, children, and menbrake out into yells, "Down with the broilers!" (for this was one of thenames by which the Protestants were designated). "Down with thebroilers! We do not want to see them using our churches: let them giveus back our churches; let them give us back our churches, and go to thedesert. Out with them! Out with them! To the desert! To the desert!"

As the crowd did not go beyond words, however insulting, and as theProtestants were long inured to much worse things, they plodded along totheir meeting-house, humble and silent, and went in, undeterred by thedispleasure they aroused, whereupon the service commenced. 

But some Catholics went in with them, and soon the same shouts which hadbeen heard without were heard also within. The general, however, was onthe alert, and as soon as the shouts arose inside the gens d'armesentered the church and arrested those who had caused the disturbance. The crowds tried to rescue them on their way to prison, but the generalappeared at the head of imposing forces, at the sight of which theydesisted. An apparent cam succeeded the tumult, and the public worshipwent on without further interruption. 

The general, misled by appearances, went off himself to attend a militarymass, and at eleven o'clock returned to his quarters for lunch. Hisabsence was immediately perceived and taken advantage of. In the:twinkling of an eye, the crowds, which had dispersed, gathered togetherin even greater numbers and the Protestants, seeing themselves once morein danger, shut the doors from within, while the gens d'armes guardedthem without. The populace pressed so closely round the gens d'armes, and assumed such a threatening attitude, that fearing he and his menwould not be able to hold their own in such a throng, the captain orderedM. Delbose, one of his officers, to ride off and warn the general. Heforced his way through the crowd with great trouble, and went off at agallop. On seeing this, the people felt there was no time to be lost;they knew of what kind the general was, and that he would be on the spotin a quarter of an hour. A large crowd is invincible through itsnumbers; it has only to press forward, and everything gives way, men, wood, iron. At this moment the crowd, swayed by a common impulse, sweptforward, the gens d'armes and their horses were crushed against the wall, doors gave way, and instantly with a tremendous roar a living waveflooded the church. Cries of terror and frightful imprecations wereheard on all sides, everyone made a weapon of whatever came to hand, chairs and benches were hurled about, the disorder was at its height; itseemed as if the days of the Michelade and the Bagarre were about toreturn, when suddenly the news of a terrible event was spread abroad, andassailants and assailed paused in horror. General Lagarde had just beenassassinated. 

As the crowd had foreseen, no sooner did the messenger deliver hismessage than the general sprang on his horse, and, being too brave, orperhaps too scornful, to fear such foes, he waited for no escort, but, accompanied by two or three officers, set off at full gallop towards thescene of the tumult. He had passed through the narrow streets which ledto the meeting-house by pushing the crowd aside with his horse's chest, when, just as he got out into the open square, a young man named Boisson, a sergeant in the Nimes National Guard, came up and seemed to wish tospeak to him. The general seeing a man in uniform, bent down without athought of danger to listen to what he had to say, whereupon Boisson drewa pistol out and fired at him. The ball broke the collar-bone and lodgedin the neck behind the carotid artery, and the general fell from hishorse. 

The news of this crime had a strange and unexpected effect; howeverexcited and frenzied the crowd was, it instantly realised theconsequences of this act. It was no longer like the murder of MarshalBrune at Avignon or General Ramel at Toulouse, an act of vengeance on afavourite of Napoleon, but open and armed rebellion against the king. Itwas not a simple murder, it was high treason. 

A feeling of the utmost terror spread through the town; only a fewfanatics went on howling in the church, which the Protestants, fearingstill greater disasters, had by this time resolved to abandon. The firstto come out was President Olivier Desmonts, accompanied by M. Vallongues, who had only just arrived in the city, but who had immediately hurried tothe spot at the call of duty. 

M. Juillerat, his two children in his arms, walked behind them, followedby all the other worshippers. At first the crowd, threatening andireful, hooted and threw stones at them, but at the voice of the mayorand the dignified aspect of the president they allowed them to pass. During this strange retreat over eighty Protestants were wounded, but notfatally, except a young girl called Jeannette Cornilliere, who had beenso beaten and ill-used that she died of her injuries a few days later. 

In spite of the momentary slackening of energy which followed theassassination of General Lagarde, the Catholics did not remain long in astate of total inaction. During the rest of the day the excited populaceseemed as if shaken by an earthquake. About six o'clock in the evening, some of the most desperate characters in the town possessed themselves ofa hatchet, and, taking their way to the Protestant church, smashed thedoors, tore the pastors' gowns, rifled the poor-box, and pulled the booksto pieces. A detachment of troops arrived just in time to prevent theirsetting the building on fire. 

The next day passed more quietly. This time the disorders were of tooimportant a nature for the prefect to ignore, as he had ignored so manybloody acts in the past; so in due time a full report was laid before theking. It became know the same evening that General Lagarde was stillliving, and that those around him hoped that the wound would not provemortal. Dr. Delpech, who had been summoned from Montpellier, hadsucceeded in extracting the bullet, and though he spoke no word of hope, he did not expressly declare that the case was hopeless. 

Two days later everything in the town had assumed its ordinary aspect, and on the 21st of November the king issued the following edict:--

"Louis, by the grace of God, King of France and of Navarre, "To all those to whom these presents shall come, greeting:

"An abominable crime has cast a stain on Our city of Nimes. A seditiousmob has dared to oppose the opening of the Protestant place of worship, in contempt of the constitutional charter, which while it recognises theCatholic religion as the religion of the State, guarantees to the otherreligious bodies protection and freedom of worship. Our militarycommandant, whilst trying to disperse these crowds by gentle means beforehaving resort to force, was shot down, and his assassin has till nowsuccessfully evaded the arm of the law. If such an outrage were toremain unpunished, the maintenance of good government and public orderwould be impossible, and Our ministers would be guilty of neglecting thelaw. 

"Wherefore We have ordered and do order as follows:

"Art. 1. Proceedings shall be commenced without delay by Our attorney, and the attorney-general, against the perpetrator of the murderous attackon the person of Sieur Lagarde, and against the authors, instigators, andaccomplices of the insurrection which took place in the city of Nimes onthe 12th of the present month. 

"Art. 2. A sufficient number of troops shall be quartered in the saidcity, and shall remain there at the cost of the inhabitants, until theassassin and his accomplices have been produced before a court of law. 

"Art. 3. All those citizens whose names are not entitled to be on theroll of the National Guard shall be disarmed. 

"Our Keeper of the Seals, Our Minister of War, Our Minister of theInterior, and Our Minister of Police, are entrusted with the execution ofthis edict. 

"Given at Paris at Our Castle of the Tuileries on the 21st of November inthe year of grace 1815, and of Our reign the 21st. 

"(Signed) Louis"

Boissin was acquitted. 

This was the last crime committed in the South, and it led fortunately tono reprisals. 

Three months after the murderous attempt to which he had so nearly fallena victim, General Lagarde left Nimes with the rank of ambassador, and wassucceeded as prefect by M. D'Argont. 

During the firm, just, and independent administration of the latter, thedisarming of the citizens decreed by the royal edict was carried outwithout bloodshed. 

Through his influence, MM. Chabot-Latour, Saint-Aulaire, and Lascour wereelected to the Chamber of Deputies in place of MM. De Calviere, De Vogue, and De Trinquelade. 

And down to the present time the name of M. D'Argont is held inveneration at Nimes, as if he had only quitted the city yesterday. 

MARY STUART--1587

CHAPTER I

Some royal names are predestined to misfortune: in France, there is thename "Henry". Henry I was poisoned, Henry II was killed in a tournament, Henry III and Henry IV were assassinated. As to Henry V, for whom thepast is so fatal already, God alone knows what the future has in storefor him. 

In Scotland, the unlucky name is "Stuart". Robert I, founder of therace, died at twenty-eight of a lingering illness. Robert II, the mostfortunate of the family, was obliged to pass a part of his life, notmerely in retirement, but also in the dark, on account of inflammation ofthe eyes, which made them blood-red. Robert III succumbed to grief, thedeath of one son and the captivity of other. James I was stabbed byGraham in the abbey of the Black Monks of Perth. James II was killed atthe siege of Roxburgh, by a splinter from a burst cannon. James III wasassassinated by an unknown hand in a mill, where he had taken refugeduring the battle of Sauchie. James IV, wounded by two arrows and a blowfrom a halberd, fell amidst his nobles on the battlefield of Flodden. James V died of grief at the loss of his two sons, and of remorse for theexecution of Hamilton. James VI, destined to unite on his head the twocrowns of Scotland and England, son of a father who had beenassassinated, led a melancholy and timorous existence, between thescaffold of his mother, Mary Stuart, and that of his son, Charles I. Charles II spent a portion of his life in exile. James II died in it. The Chevalier Saint-George, after having been proclaimed King of Scotlandas James VIII, and of England and Ireland as James III, was forced toflee, without having been able to give his arms even the lustre of adefeat. His son, Charles Edward, after the skirmish at Derby and thebattle of Culloden, hunted from mountain to mountain, pursued from rockto rock, swimming from shore to shore, picked up half naked by a Frenchvessel, betook himself to Florence to die there, without the Europeancourts having ever consented to recognise him as a sovereign. Finally, his brother, Henry Benedict, the last heir of the Stuarts, having livedon a pension of three thousand pounds sterling, granted him by GeorgeIII, died completely forgotten, bequeathing to the House of Hanover allthe crown jewels which James II had carried off when he passed over tothe Continent in 1688--a tardy but complete recognition of the legitimacyof the family which had succeeded his. 

In the midst of this unlucky race, Mary Stuart was the favourite ofmisfortune. As Brantome has said of her, "Whoever desires to write aboutthis illustrious queen of Scotland has, in her, two very, large subjects, the one her life, the other her death, " Brantome had known her on one ofthe most mournful occasions of her life--at the moment when she wasquitting France for Scotland. 

It was on the 9th of August, 1561, after having lost her mother and herhusband in the same year, that Mary Stuart, Dowager of France and Queenof Scotland at nineteen, escorted by her uncles, Cardinals Guise andLorraine, by the Duke and Duchess of Guise, by the Duc d'Aumale and M. DeNemours, arrived at Calais, where two galleys were waiting to take her toScotland, one commanded by M. De Mevillon and the other by CaptainAlbize. She remained six days in the town. At last, on the 15th of themonth, after the saddest adieus to her family, accompanied by Messieursd'Aumale, d'Elboeuf, and Damville, with many nobles, among whom wereBrantome and Chatelard, she embarked in M. Mevillon's galley, which wasimmediately ordered to put out to sea, which it did with the aid of oars, there not being sufficient wind to make use of the sails. 

Mary Stuart was then in the full bloom of her beauty, beauty even morebrilliant in its mourning garb--a beauty so wonderful that it shed aroundher a charm which no one whom she wished to please could escape, andwhich was fatal to almost everyone. About this time, too, someone madeher the subject of a song, which, as even her rivals confessed, containedno more than the truth. It was, so it was said, by M. De Maison-Fleur, acavalier equally accomplished in arms and letters: Here it is:--

"In robes of whiteness, lo, Full sad and mournfully, Went pacing to andfro Beauty's divinity; A shaft in hand she bore From Cupid's cruel store, And he, who fluttered round, Bore, o'er his blindfold eyes And o'er hishead uncrowned, A veil of mournful guise, Whereon the words were wrought:'You perish or are caught. '"

Yes, at this moment, Mary Stuart, in her deep mourning of white, was morelovely than ever; for great tears were trickling down her cheeks, as, weaving a handkerchief, standing on the quarterdeck, she who was sogrieved to set out, bowed farewell to those who were so grieved toremain. 

At last, in half an hour's time, the harbour was left behind; the vesselwas out at sea. Suddenly, Mary heard loud cries behind her: a boatcoming in under press of sail, through her pilot's ignorance had struckupon a rock in such a manner that it was split open, and after havingtrembled and groaned for a moment like someone wounded, began to beswallowed up, amid the terrified screams of all the crew. Mary, horror-stricken, pale, dumb, and motionless, watched her gradually sink, while her unfortunate crew, as the keel disappeared, climbed into theyards and shrouds, to delay their death-agony a few minutes; finally, keel, yards, masts, all were engulfed in the ocean's gaping jaws. For amoment there remained some black specks, which in turn disappeared oneafter another; then wave followed upon wave, and the spectators of thishorrible tragedy, seeing the sea calm and solitary as if nothing hadhappened, asked themselves if it was not a vision that had appeared tothem and vanished. 

"Alas!" cried Mary, falling on a seat and leaning both arms an thevessel's stern, "what a sad omen for such a sad voyage!" Then, once morefixing on the receding harbour her eyes, dried for a moment by terror, and beginning to moisten anew, "Adieu, France!" she murmured, "adieu, France!" and for five hours she remained thus, weeping and murmuring, "Adieu, France! adieu, France!"

Darkness fell while she was still lamenting; and then, as the view wasblotted out and she was summoned to supper, "It is indeed now, dearFrance, " said she, rising, "that I really lose you, since jealous nightheaps mourning upon mourning, casting a black veil before my sight. Adieu then, one last time, dear France; for never shall I see you more. "

With these words, she went below, saying that she was the very oppositeof Dido, who, after the departure of AEneas, had done nothing but look atthe waves, while she, Mary, could not take her eyes off the land. Theneveryone gathered round her to try to divert and console her. But she, growing sadder, and not being able to respond, so overcome was she withtears, could hardly eat; and, having had a bed got ready on the sterndeck, she sent for the steersman, and ordered him if he still saw land atdaybreak, to come and wake her immediately. On this point Mary wasfavoured; for the wind having dropped, when daybreak came the vessel wasstill within sight of France. 

It was a great joy when, awakened by the steersman, who had not forgottenthe order he had received, Mary raised herself on her couch, and throughthe window that she had had opened, saw once more the beloved shore. Butat five o'clock in the morning, the wind having freshened, the vesselrapidly drew farther away, so that soon the land completely disappeared. Then Mary fell back upon her bed, pale as death, murmuring yet onceagain--"Adieu, France! I shall see thee no more. "

Indeed, the happiest years of her life had just passed away in thisFrance that she so much regretted. Born amid the first religioustroubles, near the bedside of her dying father, the cradle mourning wasto stretch for her to the grave, and her stay in France had been a ray ofsunshine in her night. Slandered from her birth, the report was sogenerally spread abroad that she was malformed, and that she could notlive to grow up, that one day her mother, Mary of Guise, tired of thesefalse rumours, undressed her and showed her naked to the Englishambassador, who had come, on the part of Henry VIII, to ask her inmarriage for the Prince of Wales, himself only five years old. Crownedat nine months by Cardinal Beaton, archbishop of St. Andrews, she wasimmediately hidden by her mother, who was afraid of treacherous dealingin the King of England, in Stirling Castle. Two years later, not findingeven this fortress safe enough, she removed her to an island in themiddle of the Lake of Menteith, where a priory, the only building in theplace, provided an asylum for the royal child and for four young girlsborn in the same year as herself, having like her the sweet name which isan anagram of the word "aimer, " and who, quitting her neither in her goodnor in her evil fortune, were called the "Queen's Marys". They were MaryLivingston, Mary Fleming, Mary Seyton, and Mary Beaton. Mary stayed inthis priory till Parliament, having approved her marriage with the Frenchdauphin, son of Henry II, she was taken to Dumbarton Castle, to await themoment of departure. There she was entrusted to M. De Breze, sent byHenry II to-fetch her. Having set out in the French galleys anchored atthe mouth of the Clyde, Mary, after having been hotly pursued by theEnglish fleet, entered Brest harbour, 15th August, 1548, one year afterthe death of Francis! Besides the queen's four Marys, the vessels alsobrought to France three of her natural brothers, among whom was the Priorof St. Andrews, James Stuart, who was later to abjure the Catholic faith, and with the title of Regent, and under the name of the Earl of Murray, to become so fatal to poor Mary. From Brest, Mary went to St. Germain-en-Laye, where Henry II, who had just ascended the throne, overwhelmed her with caresses, and then sent her to a convent where theheiresses of the noblest French houses were brought up. There Mary'shappy qualities developed. Born with a woman's heart and a man's head, Mary not only acquired all the accomplishments which constituted theeducation of a future queen, but also that real knowledge which is theobject of the truly learned. 

Thus, at fourteen, in the Louvre, before Henry II, Catherine de Medici, and the whole court, she delivered a discourse in Latin of her owncomposition, in which she maintained that it becomes women to cultivateletters, and that it is unjust and tyrannical to deprive flowery of theirperfumes, by banishing young girls from all but domestic cares. One canimagine in what manner a future queen, sustaining such a thesis, waslikely to be welcomed in the most lettered and pedantic court in Europe. Between the literature of Rabelais and Marot verging on their decline, and that of Ronsard and Montaigne reaching their zenith, Mary became aqueen of poetry, only too happy never to have to wear another crown thanthat which Ronsard, Dubellay, Maison-Fleur, and Brantome placed daily onher head. But she was predestined. In the midst of those fetes which awaning chivalry was trying to revive came the fatal joust of Tournelles:Henry II, struck by a splinter of a lance for want of a visor, sleptbefore his time with his ancestors, and Mary Stuart ascended the throneof France, where, from mourning for Henry, she passed to that for hermother, and from mourning for her mother to that for her husband. Maryfelt this last loss both as woman and as poet; her heart burst forth intobitter tears and plaintive harmonies. Here are some lines that shecomposed at this time:--

"Into my song of woe, Sung to a low sad air, My cruel grief I throw, Forloss beyond compare; In bitter sighs and tears Go by my fairest years. 

Was ever grief like mine Imposed by destiny? Did ever lady pine, In highestate, like me, Of whom both heart and eye Within the coffin lie?

Who, in the tender spring And blossom of my youth, Taste all thesorrowing Of life's extremest ruth, And take delight in nought Save inregretful thought. 

All that was sweet and gay Is now a pain to see; The sunniness of day Isblack as night to me; All that was my delight Is hidden from my sight. 

My heart and eye, indeed, One face, one image know, The which thismournful weed On my sad face doth show, Dyed with the violet's tone Thatis the lover's own. 

Tormented by my ill, I go from place to place, But wander as I will Mywoes can nought efface; My most of bad and good I find in solitude. 

But wheresoe'er I stay, In meadow or in copse, Whether at break of day Orwhen the twilight drops, My heart goes sighing on, Desiring one that'sgone. 

If sometimes to the skies My weary gaze I lift, His gently shining eyesLook from the cloudy drift, Or stooping o'er the wave I see him in thegrave. 

Or when my bed I seek, And-sleep begins to steal, Again I hear him speak, Again his touch I feel; In work or leisure, he Is ever near to me. 

No other thing I see, However fair displayed, By which my heart will be Atributary made, Not having the perfection Of that, my lost affection. 

Here make an end, my verse, Of this thy sad lament, Whose burden shallrehearse Pure love of true intent, Which separation's stress Will neverrender less. "

"It was then, " says Brantorne, "that it was delightful to see her; forthe whiteness of her countenance and of her veil contended together; butfinally the artificial white yielded, and the snow-like pallor of herface vanquished the other. For it was thus, " he adds, "that from themoment she became a widow, I always saw her with her pale hue, as long asI had the honour of seeing her in France, and Scotland, where she had togo in eighteen months' time, to her very great regret, after herwidowhood, to pacify her kingdom, greatly divided by religious troubles. Alas! she had neither the wish nor the will for it, and I have oftenheard her say so, with a fear of this journey like death; for shepreferred a hundred times to dwell in France as a dowager queen, and tocontent herself with Touraine and Poitou for her jointure, than to go andreign over there in her wild country; but her uncles, at least some ofthem, not all, advised her, and even urged her to it, and deeply repentedtheir error. "

Mary was obedient, as we have seen, and she began her journey under suchauspices that when she lost sight of land she was like to die. Then itwas that the poetry of her soul found expression in these famous lines:

 "Farewell, delightful land of France, My motherland, The best beloved! Foster-nurse of my young years! Farewell, France, and farewell my happy days! The ship that separates our loves Has borne away but half of me; One part is left thee and is throe, And I confide it to thy tenderness, That thou may'st hold in mind the other part. "'

[Translator's note. -It has not been found possible to make a rhymedversion of these lines without sacrificing the simplicity which is theirchief charm. ]

This part of herself that Mary left in France was the body of the youngking, who had taken with him all poor Mary's happiness into his tomb. 

Mary had but one hope remaining, that the sight of the English fleetwould compel her little squadron to turn back; but she had to fulfil herdestiny. This same day, a fog, a very unusual occurrence in summer-time, extended all over the Channel, and caused her to escape the fleet; for itwas such a dense fog that one could not see from stern to mast. Itlasted the whole of Sunday, the day after the departure, and did not lifttill the following day, Monday, at eight o'clock in the morning. Thelittle flotilla, which all this time had been sailing haphazard, had gotamong so many reefs that if the fog had lasted some minutes longer thegalley would certainly have grounded on some rock, and would haveperished like the vessel that had been seen engulfed on leaving port. But, thanks to the fog's clearing, the pilot recognised the Scottishcoast, and, steering his four boats with great skill through all thedangers, on the 20th August he put in at Leith, where no preparation hadbeen made for the queen's reception. Nevertheless, scarcely had shearrived there than the chief persons of the town met together and came tofelicitate her. Meanwhile, they hastily collected some wretched nags, with harness all falling in pieces, to conduct the queen to Edinburgh. 

At sight of this, Mary could not help weeping again; for she thought ofthe splendid palfreys and hackneys of her French knights and ladies, andat this first view Scotland appeared to-her in all its poverty. Next dayit was to appear to her in all its wildness. 

After having passed one night at Holyrood Palace, "during which, " saysBrantome, "five to six hundred rascals from the town, instead of lettingher sleep, came to give her a wild morning greeting on wretched fiddlesand little rebecks, " she expressed a wish to hear mass. Unfortunately, the people of Edinburgh belonged almost entirely to the Reformedreligion; so that, furious at the queen's giving such a proof of papistryat her first appearance, they entered the church by force, armed withknives, sticks and stones, with the intention of putting to death thepoor priest, her chaplain. He left the altar, and took refuge near thequeen, while Mary's brother, the Prior of St. Andrews, who was moreinclined from this time forward to be a soldier than an ecclesiastic, seized a sword, and, placing himself between the people and the queen, declared that he would kill with his own hand the first man who shouldtake another step. This firmness, combined with the queen's imposing anddignified air, checked the zeal of the Reformers. 

As we have said, Mary had arrived in the midst of all the heat of thefirst religious wars. A zealous Catholic, like all her family on thematernal side, she inspired the Huguenots with the gravest fears:besides, a rumour had got about that Mary, instead of landing at Leith, as she had been obliged by the fog, was to land at Aberdeen. There, itwas said, she would have found the Earl of Huntly, one of the peers whohad remained loyal to the Catholic faith, and who, next to the family ofHamilton, was, the nearest and most powerful ally of the royal house. Seconded by him and by twenty thousand soldiers from the north, she wouldthen have marched upon Edinburgh, and have re-established the Catholicfaith throughout Scotland. Events were not slow to prove that thisaccusation was false. 

As we have stated, Mary was much attached to the Prior of St. Andrews, ason of James V and of a noble descendant of the Earls of Mar, who hadbeen very handsome in her youth, and who, in spite of the well-known lovefor her of James V, and the child who had resulted, had none the lesswedded Lord Douglas of Lochleven, by whom she had had two other sons, theelder named William and the younger George, who were thus half-brothersof the regent. Now, scarcely had she reascended the throne than Mary hadrestored to the Prior of St. Andrews the title of Earl of Mar, that ofhis maternal ancestors, and as that of the Earl of Murray had lapsedsince the death of the famous Thomas Randolph, Mary, in her sisterlyfriendship for James Stuart, hastened to add, this title to those whichshe had already bestowed upon him. 

But here difficulties and complications arose; for the new Earl ofMurray, with his character, was not a man to content himself with abarren title, while the estates which were crown property since theextinction of the male branch of the old earls, had been graduallyencroached upon by powerful neighbours, among whom was the famous Earl ofHuntly, whom we have already mentioned: the result was that, as the queenjudged that in this quarter her orders would probably encounteropposition, under pretext of visiting her possessions in the north, sheplaced herself at the head of a small army, commanded by her brother, theEarl of Mar and Murray. 

The Earl of Huntly was the less duped by the apparent pretext of thisexpedition, in that his son, John Cordon, for some abuse of his powers, had just been condemned to a temporary imprisonment. He, notwithstanding, made every possible submission to the queen, sendingmessengers in advance to invite-her to rest in his castle; and followingup the messengers in person, to renew his invitation viva voce. Unfortunately, at the very moment when he was about to join the queen, the governor of Inverness, who was entirely devoted to him, was refusingto allow Mary to enter this castle, which was a royal one. It is truethat Murray, aware that it does not do to hesitate in the face of suchrebellions, had already had him executed for high treason. 

This new act of firmness showed Huntly that the young queen was notdisposed to allow the Scottish lords a resumption of the almost sovereignpower humbled by her father; so that, in spite of the extremely kindreception she accorded him, as he learned while in camp that his son, having escaped from prison, had just put himself at the head of hisvassals, he was afraid that he should be thought, as doubtless he was, aparty to the rising, and he set out the same night to assume command ofhis troops, his mind made up, as Mary only had with her seven to eightthousand men, to risk a battle, giving out, however, as Buccleuch haddone in his attempt to snatch James V from the hands of the Douglases, that it was not at the queen he was aiming, but solely at the regent, whokept her under his tutelage and perverted her good intentions. 

Murray, who knew that often the entire peace of a reign depends on thefirmness one displays at its beginning, immediately summoned all thenorthern barons whose estates bordered on his, to march against Huntly. All obeyed, for the house of Cordon was already so powerful that eachfeared it might become still more so; but, however, it was clear that ifthere was hatred for the subject there was no great affection for thequeen, and that the greater number came without fixed intentions and withthe idea of being led by circumstances. 

The two armies encountered near Aberdeen. Murray at once posted thetroops he had brought from Edinburgh, and of which he was sure, on thetop of rising ground, and drew up in tiers on the hill slope all hisnorthern allies. Huntly advanced resolutely upon them, and attacked hisneighbours the Highlanders, who after a short resistance retired indisorder. His men immediately threw away their lances, and, drawingtheir swords, crying, "Cordon, Cordon!" pursued the fugitives, andbelieved they had already gained the battle, when they suddenly ran rightagainst the main body of Murray's army, which remained motionless as arampart of iron, and which, with its long lances, had the advantage ofits adversaries, who were armed only with their claymores. It was thenthe turn of the Cordons to draw back, seeing which, the northern clansrallied and returned to the fight, each soldier having a sprig of heatherin his cap that his comrades might recognise him. This unexpectedmovement determined the day: the Highlanders ran down the hillside like atorrent, dragging along with them everyone who could have wished tooppose their passage. Then Murray seeing that the moment had come forchanging the defeat into a rout, charged with his entire cavalry: Huntly, who was very stout and very heavily armed, fell and was crushed beneaththe horses' feet; John Cordon, taken prisoner in his flight, was executedat Aberdeen three days afterwards; finally, his brother, too young toundergo the same fate at this time, was shut up in a dungeon and executedlater, the day he reached the age of sixteen. 

Mary had been present at the battle, and the calm and courage shedisplayed had made a lively impression on her wild defenders, who allalong the road had heard her say that she would have liked to be a man, to pass her days on horseback, her nights under a tent, to wear a coat ofmail, a helmet, a buckler, and at her side a broadsword. 

Mary made her entry into Edinburgh amid general enthusiasm; for thisexpedition against the Earl of Huntly, who was a Catholic, had been verypopular among the inhabitants, who had no very clear idea of the realmotives which had caused her to undertake it: They were of the Reformedfaith, the earl was a papist, there was an enemy the less; that is allthey thought about. Now, therefore; the Scotch, amid their acclamations, whether viva voce or by written demands, expressed the wish that theirqueen, who was without issue by Francis II, should re-marry: Mary agreedto this, and, yielding to the prudent advice of those about her, shedecided to consult upon this marriage Elizabeth, whose heir she was, inher title of granddaughter of Henry VII, in the event of the Queen ofEngland's dying without posterity. Unfortunately, she had not alwaysacted with like circumspection; for at the death of Mary Tudor, known asBloody. Mary, she had laid claim to the throne of Henry VIII, and, relying on the illegitimacy of Elizabeth's birth, had with the dauphinassumed sovereignty over Scotland, England, and Ireland, and had hadcoins struck with this new title, and plate engraved with these newarmorial bearings. 

Elizabeth was nine years older than Mary--that is to say, that at thistime she had not yet attained her thirtieth year; she was not merely herrival as queen, then, but as woman. As regards education, she couldsustain comparison with advantage; for if she had less charm of mind, shehad more solidity of judgment: versed in politics, philosophy, history;rhetoric, poetry and music, besides English, her maternal tongue, shespoke and wrote to perfection Greek, Latin, French, Italian and Spanish;but while Elizabeth excelled Mary on this point, in her turn Mary wasmore beautiful, and above all more attractive, than her rival. Elizabethhad, it is true, a majestic and agreeable appearance, bright quick eyes, a dazzlingly white complexion; but she had red hair, a largefoot, --[Elizabeth bestowed a pair of her shoes on the University ofOxford; their size would point to their being those of a man of averagestature. ]--and a powerful hand, while Mary, on the contrary, with herbeautiful ashy-fair hair, --[Several historians assert that Mary Stuarthad black hair; but Brantome, who had seen it, since, as we have said, heaccompanied her to Scotland, affirms that it was fair. And, so saying, he (the executioner) took off her headdress, in a contemptuous manner, todisplay her hair already white, that while alive, however, she feared notto show, nor yet to twist and frizz as in the days when it was sobeautiful and so fair. ]--her noble open forehead, eyebrows which could beonly blamed for being so regularly arched that they looked as if drawn bya pencil, eyes continually beaming with the witchery of fire, a nose ofperfect Grecian outline, a mouth so ruby red and gracious that it seemedthat, as a flower opens but to let its perfume escape, so it could notopen but to give passage to gentle words, with a neck white and gracefulas a swan's, hands of alabaster, with a form like a goddess's and a footlike a child's, Mary was a harmony in which the most ardent enthusiastfor sculptured form could have found nothing to reproach. 

This was indeed Mary's great and real crime: one single imperfection inface or figure, and she would not have died upon the scaffold. Besides, to Elizabeth, who had never seen her, and who consequently could onlyjudge by hearsay, this beauty was a great cause of uneasiness and ofjealousy, which she could not even disguise, and which showed itselfunceasingly in eager questions. One day when she was chatting with JamesMelville about his mission to her court, Mary's offer to be guided byElizabeth in her choice of a husband, --a choice which the queen ofEngland had seemed at first to wish to see fixed on the Earl ofLeicester, --she led the Scotch ambassador into a cabinet, where sheshowed him several portraits with labels in her own handwriting: thefirst was one of the Earl of Leicester. As this nobleman was preciselythe suitor chosen by Elizabeth, Melville asked the queen to give it himto show to his mistress; but Elizabeth refused, saying that it was theonly one she had. Melville then replied, smiling, that being inpossession of the original she might well part with the copy; butElizabeth would on no account consent. This little discussion ended, sheshowed him the portrait of Mary Stuart, which she kissed very tenderly, expressing to Melville a great wish to see his mistress. "That is veryeasy, madam, " he replied: "keep your room, on the pretext that you areindisposed, and set out incognito for Scotland, as King James V set outfor France when he wanted to see Madeleine de Valois, whom he afterwardsmarried. "

"Alas!" replied Elizabeth, "I would like to do so, but it is not so easyas you think. Nevertheless, tell your queen that I love her tenderly, and that I wish we could live more in friendship than we have done up tothe present". Then passing to a subject which she seemed to have wantedto broach for a long time, "Melville, " she continued, "tell me frankly, is my sister as beautiful as they say?"

"She has that reputation, " replied Melville; "but I cannot give yourMajesty any idea of hex beauty, having no point of comparison. "

"I will give you one, " the queen said. "Is she more beautiful than I?"

"Madam, " replied Melville, "you are the most beautiful woman in England, and Mary Stuart is the most beautiful woman in Scotland. "

"Then which of the two is the taller?" asked Elizabeth, who was notentirely satisfied by this answer, clever as it was. 

"My mistress, madam, " responded Melville; "I am obliged to confess it. "

"Then she is too tall, " Elizabeth said sharply, "for I am tall enough. And what are her favourite amusements?" she continued. 

"Madam, " Melville replied, "hunting, riding, performing on the lute andthe harpischord. "

"Is she skilled upon the latter?" Elizabeth inquired. "Oh yes, madam, "answered Melville; "skilled enough for a queen. "

There the conversation stopped; but as Elizabeth was herself an excellentmusician, she commanded Lord Hunsdon to bring Melville to her at a timewhen she was at her harpischord, so that he could hear her without herseeming to have the air of playing for him. In fact, the same day, Hunsdon, agreeably to her instructions, led the ambassador into a galleryseparated from the queen's apartment merely by tapestry, so that hisguide having raised it. Melville at his leisure could hear Elizabeth, who did not turn round until she had finished the piece, which, however, she was playing with much skill. When she saw Melville, she pretended tofly into a passion, and even wanted to strike him; but her anger calmeddown by little and little at the ambassador's compliments, and ceasedaltogether when he admitted that Mary Stuart was not her equal. But thiswas not all: proud of her triumph, Elizabeth desired also that Melvilleshould see her dance. Accordingly, she kept back her despatches for twodays that he might be present at a ball that she was giving. Thesedespatches, as we have said, contained the wish that Mary Stuart shouldespouse Leicester; but this proposal could not be taken seriously. Leicester, whose personal worth was besides sufficiently mediocre, was ofbirth too inferior to aspire to the hand of the daughter of so manykings; thus Mary replied that such an alliance would not become her. Meanwhile, something strange and tragic came to pass. 

CHAPTER II

Among the lords who had followed Mary Stuart to Scotland was, as we havementioned, a young nobleman named Chatelard, a true type of the nobilityof that time, a nephew of Bayard on his mother's side, a poet and aknight, talented and courageous, and attached to Marshal Damville, ofwhose household he formed one. Thanks to this high position, Chatelard, throughout her stay in France, paid court to Mary Stuart, who, in thehomage he rendered her in verse, saw nothing more than those poeticaldeclarations of gallantry customary in that age, and with which sheespecially was daily overwhelmed. But it happened that about the timewhen Chatelard was most in love with the queen she was obliged to leaveFrance, as we have said. Then Marshal Damville, who knew nothing ofChatelard's passion, and who himself, encouraged by Mary's kindness, wasamong the candidates to succeed Francis II as husband, set out forScotland with the poor exile, taking Chatelard with him, and, notimagining he would find a rival in him, he made a confidant of him, andleft him with Mary when he was obliged to leave her, charging the youngpoet to support with her the interests of his suit. This post asconfidant brought Mary and Chatelard more together; and, as in hercapacity as poet, the queen treated him like a brother, he made bold inhis passion to risk all to obtain another title. Accordingly, oneevening he got into Mary Stuart's room, and hid himself under the bed;but at the moment when the queen was beginning to undress, a little dogshe had began to yelp so loudly that her women came running at hisbarking, and, led by this indication, perceived Chatelard. A womaneasily pardons a crime for which too great love is the excuse: MaryStuart was woman before being queen--she pardoned. 

But this kindness only increased Chatelard's confidence: he put down thereprimand he had received to the presence of the queen's women, andsupposed that if she had been alone she would have forgiven him stillmore completely; so that, three weeks after, this same scene wasrepeated. But this time, Chatelard, discovered in a cupboard, when thequeen was already in bed, was placed under arrest. 

The moment was badly chosen: such a scandal, just when the queen wasabout to re-marry, was fatal to Mary, let alone to Chatelard. Murraytook the affair in hand, and, thinking that a public trial could alonesave his sister's reputation, he urged the prosecution with such vigour, that Chatelard, convicted of the crime of lese-majeste, was condemned todeath. Mary entreated her brother that Chatelard might be sent back toFrance; but Murray made her see what terrible consequences such a use ofher right of pardon might have, so that Mary was obliged to let justicetake its course: Chatelard was led to execution. Arrived on thescaffold, which was set up before the queen's palace, Chatelard, who haddeclined the services of a priest, had Ronsard's Ode on Death read; andwhen the reading, which he followed with evident pleasure, was ended, heturned--towards the queen's windows, and, having cried out for the lasttime, "Adieu, loveliest and most cruel of princesses!" he stretched outhis neck to the executioner, without displaying any repentance oruttering any complaint. This death made all the more impression uponMary, that she did not dare to show her sympathy openly. 

Meanwhile there was a rumour that the queen of Scotland was consenting toa new marriage, and several suitors came forward, sprung from theprincipal reigning families of Europe: first, the Archduke Charles, thirdson of the Emperor of Germany; then the Duke of Anjou, who afterwardsbecame Henry III. But to wed a foreign prince was to give up her claimsto the English crown. So Mary refused, and, making a merit of this toElizabeth, she cast her eyes on a relation of the latter's, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, son of the Earl of Lennox. Elizabeth, who had nothingplausible to urge against this marriage, since the Queen of Scotland notonly chose an Englishman for husband, but was marrying into her ownfamily, allowed the Earl of Lennox and his son to go to the Scotch court, reserving it to herself, if matters appeared to take a serious turn, torecall them both--a command which they would be constrained to obey, since all their property was in England. 

Darnley was eighteen years of age: he was handsome, well-made, elegant;he talked in that attractive manner of the young nobles of the French andEnglish courts that Mary no longer heard since her exile in Scotland; shelet herself be deceived by these appearances, and did not see that underthis brilliant exterior Darnley hid utter insignificance, dubiouscourage, and a fickle and churlish character. It is true that he came toher under the auspices of a man whose influence was as striking as therisen fortune which gave him the opportunity to exert it. We refer toDavid Rizzio. 

David Rizzio, who played such a great part in the life of Mary Stuart, whose strange favour for him has given her enemies, probably without anycause, such cruel weapons against her, was the son of a Turin musicianburdened with a numerous family, who, recognising in him a pronouncedmusical taste, had him instructed in the first principles of the art. Atthe age of fifteen he had left his father's house and had gone on foot toNice, where the Duke of Savoy held his court; there he entered theservice of the Duke of Moreto, and this lord having been appointed, someyears afterwards, to the Scottish embassy, Rizzio followed him toScotland. As this young man had a very fine voice, and accompanied onthe viol and fiddle songs of which both the airs and the words were ofhis own composition, the ambassador spoke of him to Mary, who wished tosee him. Rizzio, full of confidence in himself, and seeing in thequeen's desire a road to success, hastened to obey her command, sangbefore her, and pleased her. She begged him then of Moreto, making nomore of it than if she had asked of him a thoroughbred dog or awell-trained falcon. Moreta presented him to her, delighted at findingsuch an opportunity to pay his court; but scarcely was Rizzio in herservice than Mary discovered that music was the least of his gifts, thathe possessed, besides that, education if not profound at least varied, asupple mind, a lively imagination, gentle ways, and at the same time muchboldness and presumption. He reminded her of those Italian artists whomshe had seen at the French court, and spoke to her the tongue of Marotand Ronsard, whose most beautiful poems he knew by heart: this was morethan enough to please Mary Stuart. In a short time he became herfavourite, and meanwhile the place of secretary for the French despatchesfalling vacant, Rizzio was provided for with it. 

Darnley, who wished to succeed at all costs, enlisted Rizzio in hisinterests, unconscious that he had no need of this support; and as, onher side, Mary, who had fallen in love with him at first sight, fearingsome new intrigue of Elizabeth's, hastened on this union so far as theproprieties permitted, the affair moved forward with wonderful rapidity;and in the midst of public rejoicing, with the approbation of thenobility, except for a small minority, with Murray at its head, themarriage was solemnised under the happiest auspices, 29th July 1565. Twodays before, Darnley and his father, the Earl of Lennox, had received acommand to return to London, and as they had not obeyed it, a week afterthe celebration of the marriage they learned that the Countess of Lennox, the only one of the family remaining in Elizabeth's power, had beenarrested and taken to the Tower. Thus Elizabeth, in spite of herdissimulation, yielding to that first impulse of violence that she alwayshad such trouble to overcome, publicly displayed her resentment. 

However, Elizabeth was not the woman to be satisfied with uselessvengeance: she soon released the countess, and turned her eyes towardsMurray, the most discontented of the nobles in opposition, who by thismarriage was losing all his personal influence. It was thus easy forElizabeth to put arms in his hand. In fact, when he had failed in hisfirst attempt to seize Darnley, he called to his aid the Duke ofChatellerault, Glencairn, Argyll, and Rothes, and collecting whatpartisans they could, they openly rebelled against the queen. This wasthe first ostensible act of that hatred which was afterwards so fatal toMary. 

The queen, on her side, appealed to her nobles, who in response hastenedto rally to her, so that in a month's time she found herself at the headof the finest army that ever a king of Scotland had raised. Darnleyassumed the command of this magnificent assembly, mounted on a superbhorse, arrayed in gilded armour; and accompanied by the queen, who, in ariding habit, with pistols at her saddle-bow, wished to make the campaignwith him, that she might not quit his side for a moment. Both wereyoung, both were handsome, and they left Edinburgh amidst the cheers ofthe people and the army. 

Murray and his accomplices did not even try to stand against them, andthe campaign consisted of such rapid and complex marches andcounter-marches, that this rebellion is called the Run-about Raid-that isto say, the run in every sense of the word. Murray and the rebelswithdrew into England, where Elizabeth, while seeming to condemn theirunlucky attempt, afforded them all the assistance they needed. 

Mary returned to Edinburgh delighted at the success of her two firstcampaigns, not suspecting that this new good fortune was the last shewould have, and that there her short-lived prosperity would cease. Indeed, she soon saw that in Darnley she had given herself not a devotedand very attentive husband, as she had believed, but an imperious andbrutal master, who, no longer having any motive for concealment, showedhimself to her just as he was, a man of disgraceful vices, of whichdrunkenness and debauchery was the least. Accordingly, seriousdifferences were not long in springing up in this royal household. 

Darnley in wedding Mary had not become king, but merely the queen'shusband. To confer on him authority nearly equalling a regent's, it wasnecessary that Mary should grant him what was termed the crownmatrimonial--a crown Francis II had worn during his short royalty, andthat Mary, after Darnley's conduct to herself, had not the slightestintention of bestowing on him. Thus, to whatever entreaties he made, inwhatever form they were wrapped, Mary merely replied with an unvaried andobstinate refusal. Darnley, amazed at this force of will in a youngqueen who had loved him enough to raise him to her, and not believingthat she could find it in herself, sought in her entourage for somesecret and influential adviser who might have inspired her with it. Hissuspicions fell on Rizzio. 

In reality, to whatever cause Rizzio owed his power (and to even the mostclear-sighted historians this point has always remained obscure), be itthat he ruled as lover, be it that he advised as minister, his counselsas long as he lived were always given for the greater glory of the queen. Sprung from so low, he at least wished to show himself worthy, of havingrisen so high, and owing everything to Mary, he tried to repay her withdevotion. Thus Darnley was not mistaken, and it was indeed Rizzio who, in despair at having helped to bring about a union which he foresaw mustbecome so unfortunate, gave Mary the advice not to give up any of herpower to one who already possessed much more than he deserved, inpossessing her person. 

Darnley, like all persons of both weak and violent character, disbelievedin the persistence of will in others, unless this will was sustained byan outside influence. He thought that in ridding himself of Rizzio hecould not fail to gain the day, since, as he believed, he alone wasopposing the grant of this great desire of his, the crown matrimonial. Consequently, as Rizzio was disliked by the nobles in proportion as hismerits had raised him above them, it was easy for Darnley to organise aconspiracy, and James Douglas of Morton, chancellor of the kingdom, consented to act as chief. 

This is the second time since the beginning of our narrative that weinscribe this name Douglas, so often pronounced, in Scottish history, andwhich at this time, extinct in the elder branch, known as the BlackDouglases, was perpetuated in the younger branch, known as the RedDouglases. It was an ancient, noble, and powerful family, which, whenthe descent in the male line from Robert Bruce had lapsed, disputed theroyal title with the first Stuart, and which since then had constantlykept alongside the throne, sometimes its support, sometimes its enemy, envying every great house, for greatness made it uneasy, but above allenvious of the house of Hamilton, which, if not its equal, was at anyrate after itself the next most powerful. 

During the whole reign of James V, thanks to the hatred which the kingbore them, the Douglases had: not only lost all their influence, but hadalso been exiled to England. This hatred was on account of their havingseized the guardianship of the young prince and kept him prisoner till hewas fifteen. Then, with the help of one of his pages, James V hadescaped from Falkland, and had reached Stirling, whose governor was inhis interests. Scarcely was he safe in the castle than he madeproclamation that any Douglas who should approach within a dozen miles ofit would be prosecuted for high treason. This was not all: he obtained adecree from Parliament, declaring them guilty of felony, and condemningthem to exile; they remained proscribed, then, during the king'slifetime, and returned to Scotland only upon his death. The result wasthat, although they had been recalled about the throne, and though, thanks to the past influence of Murray, who, one remembers, was a Douglason the mother's side, they filled the most important posts there, theyhad not forgiven to the daughter the enmity borne them by the father. 

This was why James Douglas, chancellor as he was, and consequentlyentrusted with the execution of the laws, put himself at the head of aconspiracy which had for its aim the violation of all laws; human anddivine. 

Douglas's first idea had been to treat Rizzio as the favourites of JamesIII had been treated at the Bridge of Lauder--that is to say, to make ashow of having a trial and to hang him afterwards. But such a death didnot suffice for Darnley's vengeance; as above everything he wished topunish the queen in Rizzio's person, he exacted that the murder shouldtake place in her presence. 

Douglas associated with himself Lord Ruthven, an idle and dissolutesybarite, who under the circumstances promised to push his devotion sofar as to wear a cuirass; then, sure of this important accomplice, hebusied himself with finding other agents. 

However, the plot was not woven with such secrecy but that something ofit transpired; and Rizzio received several warnings that he despised. Sir James Melville, among others, tried every means to make himunderstand the perils a stranger ran who enjoyed such absolute confidencein a wild, jealous court like that of Scotland. Rizzio received thesehints as if resolved not to apply them to himself; and Sir JamesMelville, satisfied that he had done enough to ease his conscience, didnot insist further. Then a French priest, who had a reputation as aclever astrologer, got himself admitted to Rizzio, and warned him thatthe stars predicted that he was in deadly peril, and that he shouldbeware of a certain bastard above all. Rizzio replied that from the daywhen he had been honoured with his sovereign's confidence, he hadsacrificed in advance his life to his position; that since that time, however, he had had occasion to notice that in general the Scotch wereready to threaten but slow to act; that, as to the bastard referred to, who was doubtless the Earl of Murray, he would take care that he shouldnever enter Scotland far enough for his sword to reach him, were it aslong as from Dumfries to Edinburgh; which in other words was as much asto say that Murray should remain exiled in England for life, sinceDumfries was one of the principal frontier towns. 

Meanwhile the conspiracy proceeded, and Douglas and Ruthven, havingcollected their accomplices and taken their measures, came to Darnley tofinish the compact. As the price of the bloody service they rendered theking, they exacted from him a promise to obtain the pardon of Murray andthe nobles compromised with him in the affair of the "run in everysense". Darnley granted all they asked of him, and a messenger was sentto Murray to inform him of the expedition in preparation, and to invitehim to hold himself in readiness to reenter Scotland at the first noticehe should receive. Then, this point settled, they made Darnley sign apaper in which he acknowledged himself the author and chief of theenterprise. The other assassins were the Earl of Morton, the Earl ofRuthven, George Douglas the bastard of Angus, Lindley, and Andrew, Carew. The remainder were soldiers, simple murderers' tools, who did not evenknow what was afoot. Darnley reserved it for himself to appoint thetime. 

Two days after these conditions were agreed upon, Darnley having beennotified that the queen was alone with Rizzio, wished to make himselfsure of the degree of her favour enjoyed by the minister. He accordinglywent to her apartment by a little door of which he always kept the keyupon him; but though the key turned in the lock, the door did not open. Then Darnley knocked, announcing himself; but such was the contempt intowhich he had fallen with the queen, that Mary left him outside, although, supposing she had been alone with Rizzio, she would have had time to sendhim away. Darnley, driven to extremities by this, summoned Morton, Ruthven, Lennox, Lindley, and Douglas's bastard, and fixed theassassination of Rizzio for two days later. 

They had just completed all the details, and had, distributed the partsthat each must play in this bloody tragedy, when suddenly, and at themoment when they least expected it, the door opened and, Mary Stuartappeared on the threshold. 

"My lords, " said she, "your holding these secret counsels is useless. Iam informed of your plots, and with God's help I shall soon apply aremedy". 

With these words, and before the conspirators hid had time to collectthemselves, she shut the door again, and vanished like a passing butthreatening vision. All remained thunderstruck. Morton was the first tofind his tongue. 

"My lords, " said he, "this is a game of life and death, and the winnerwill not be the cleverest or the strongest, but the readiest. If we donot destroy this man, we are lost. We must strike him down, this veryevening, not the day after to-morrow. "

Everyone applauded, even Ruthven, who, still pale and feverish fromriotous living, promised not to be behindhand. The only point changed, on Morton's suggestion, was that the murder should take place next day;for, in the opinion of all, not less than a day's interval was needed tocollect the minor conspirators, who numbered not less than five hundred. 

The next day, which was Saturday, March 9th, 1566, Mary Stuart, who hadinherited from her father, James V, a dislike of ceremony and the need ofliberty, had invited to supper with her six persons, Rizzio among thenumber. Darnley, informed of this in the morning, immediately gavenotice of it to the conspirators, telling them that he himself would letthem into the palace between six and seven o'clock in the evening. Theconspirators replied that they would be in readiness. 

The morning had been dark and stormy, as nearly all the first days ofspring are in Scotland, and towards evening the snow and wind redoubledin depth and violence. So Mary had remained shut up with Rizzio, andDarnley, who had gone to the secret door several times, could hear thesound of instruments and the voice of the favourite, who was singingthose sweet melodies which have come down to our time, and whichEdinburgh people still attribute to him. These songs were for Mary areminder of her stay in France, where the artists in the train of theMedicis had already brought echoes from Italy; but for Darnley they werean insult, and each time he had withdrawn strengthened in his design. 

At the appointed time, the conspirators, who had been given the passwordduring the day, knocked at the palace gate, and were received there somuch the more easily that Darnley himself, wrapped in a great cloak, awaited them at the postern by which they were admitted. The fivehundred soldiers immediately stole into an inner courtyard, where theyplaced themselves under some sheds, as much to keep themselves from thecold as that they might not be seen on the snow-covered ground. Abrightly lighted window looked into this courtyard; it was that of thequeen's study: at the first signal give them from this window, thesoldiers were to break in the door and go to the help of the chiefconspirators. 

These instructions given, Darnley led Morton, Ruthven, Lennox, Lindley, Andrew Carew, and Douglas's bastard into the room adjoining the study, and only separated from it by a tapestry hanging before the door. Fromthere one could overhear all that was being said, and at a single boundfall upon the guests. 

Darnley left them in this room, enjoining silence; then, giving them as asignal to enter the moment when they should hear him cry, "To me, Douglas!" he went round by the secret passage, so that seeing him come inby his usual door the queen's suspicions might not be roused by hisunlooked-for visit. 

Mary was at supper with six persons, having, say de Thou and Melville, Rizzio seated on her right; while, on the contrary, Carapden assures usthat he was eating standing at a sideboard. The talk was gay andintimate; for all were giving themselves up to the ease one feels atbeing safe and warm, at a hospitable board, while the snow is beatingagainst the windows and the wind roaring in the chimneys. Suddenly Mary, surprised that the most profound silence had succeeded to the lively andanimated flow of words among her guests since the beginning of supper, and suspecting, from their glances, that the cause of their uneasinesswas behind her, turned round and saw Darnley leaning on the back of herchair. The queen shuddered; for although her husband was smiling whenlooking at Rizzio, this smile lead assumed such a strange expression thatit was clear that something terrible was about to happen. At the samemoment, Mary heard in the next room a heavy, dragging step drew near thecabinet, then the tapestry was raised, and Lord Ruthven, in armour ofwhich he could barely support the weight, pale as a ghost, appeared onthe threshold, and, drawing his sword in silence, leaned upon it. 

The queen thought he was delirious. 

"What do you want, my lord?" she said to him; "and why do you come to thepalace like this?"

"Ask the king, madam, " replied Ruthven in an indistinct voice. "It is forhim to answer. "

"Explain, my lord, " Mary demanded, turning again towards Darnley; "whatdoes such a neglect of ordinary propriety mean?"

"It means, madam, " returned Darnley, pointing to Rizzio, "that that manmust leave here this very minute. "

"That man is mine, my lord, " Mary said, rising proudly, "and consequentlytakes orders only from me. "

"To me, Douglas!" cried Darnley. 

At these words, the conspirators, who for some moments had drawn nearerRuthven, fearing, so changeable was Darnley's character, lest he hadbrought them in vain and would not dare to utter the signal--at thesewords, the conspirators rushed into the room with such haste that theyoverturned the table. Then David Rizzio, seeing that it was he alonethey wanted, threw himself on his knees behind the queen, seizing the hemof her robe and crying in Italian, "Giustizia! giustizia!" Indeed, thequeen, true to her character, not allowing herself to be intimidated bythis terrible irruption, placed herself in front of Rizzio and shelteredhim behind her Majesty. But she counted too much on the respect of anobility accustomed to struggle hand to hand with its kings for fivecenturies. Andrew Carew held a dagger to her breast and threatened tokill her if she insisted on defending any longer him whose death wasresolved upon. Then Darnley, without consideration for the queen'spregnancy, seized her round the waist and bore her away from Rizzio, whoremained on his knees pale and trembling, while Douglas's bastard, confirming the prediction of the astrologer who had warned Rizzio tobeware of a certain bastard, drawing the king's own dagger, plunged itinto the breast of the minister, who fell wounded, but not dead. Mortonimmediately took him by the feet and dragged him from the cabinet intothe larger room, leaving on the floor that long track of blood which isstill shown there; then, arrived there, each rushed upon him as upon aquarry, and set upon the corpse, which they stabbed in fifty-six places. Meanwhile Darnley held the queen, who, thinking that all was not over, did not cease crying for mercy. But Ruthven came back, paler than atfirst, and at Darnley's inquiry if Rizzio were dead, he nodded in theaffirmative; then, as he could not bear further fatigue in hisconvalescent state, he sat down, although the queen, whom Darnley had atlast released, remained standing on the same spot. At this Mary couldnot contain herself. 

"My lord, " cried she, "who has given you permission to sit down in mypresence, and whence comes such insolence?"

"Madam, " Ruthven answered, "I act thus not from insolence, but fromweakness; for, to serve your husband, I have just taken more exercisethan my doctors allow". Then turning round to a servant, "Give me aglass of wine, " said he, showing Darnley his bloody dagger before puttingit back in its sheath, "for here is the proof that I have well earnedit". The servant obeyed, and Ruthven drained his glass with as muchcalmness as if he had just performed the most innocent act. 

"My lord, " the queen then said, taking a step towards him, "it may bethat as I am a woman, in spite of my desire and my will, I never find anopportunity to repay you what you are doing to me; but, " she added, energetically striking her womb with her hand, "he whom I bear there, andwhose life you should have respected, since you respect my Majesty solittle, will one day revenge me for all these insults". Then, with agesture at once superb and threatening, she withdrew by Darnley's door, which she closed behind her. 

At that moment a great noise was heard in the queen's room. Huntly, Athol, and Bothwell, who, we are soon about to see, play such animportant part in the sequel of this history, were supping together inanother hall of the palace, when suddenly they had heard outcries and theclash of arms, so that they had run with all speed. When Athol, who camefirst, without knowing whose it was, struck against the dead body ofRizzio, which was stretched at the top of the staircase, they believed, seeing someone assassinated, that the lives of the king and queen werethreatened, and they had drawn their swords to force the door that Mortonwas guarding. But directly Darnley understood what was going on, hedarted from the cabinet, followed by Ruthven, and showing himself to thenewcomers--

"My lords, " he said, "the persons of the queen and myself are safe, andnothing has occurred here but by our orders. Withdraw, then; you willknow more about it in time. As to him, " he added, holding up Rizzio'shead by the hair, whilst the bastard of Douglas lit up the face with atorch so that it could be recognised, "you see who it is, and whether itis worth your while to get into trouble for him". 

And in fact, as soon as Huntly, Athol, and Bothwell had recognised themusician-minister, they sheathed their swords, and, having saluted theking, went away. 

Mary had gone away with a single thought in her heart, vengeance. But sheunderstood that she could not revenge herself at one and the same time onher husband and his companions: she set to work, then, with all thecharms of her wit and beauty to detach the kind from his accomplices. Itwas not a difficult task: when that brutal rage which often carriedDarnley beyond all bounds was spent, he was frightened himself at thecrime he had committed, and while the assassins, assembled by Murray, were resolving that he should have that greatly desired crownmatrimonial, Darnley, as fickle as he was violent, and as cowardly as hewas cruel, in Mary's very room, before the scarcely dried blood, madeanother compact, in which he engaged to deliver up his accomplices. Indeed, three days after the event that we have just related, themurderers learned a strange piece of news--that Darnley and Mary, accompanied by Lord Seyton, had escaped together from Holyrood Palace. Three days later still, a proclamation appeared, signed by Mary and datedfrom Dunbar, which summoned round the queen, in her own name and theking's, all the Scottish lords and barons, including those who had beencompromised in the affair of the "run in every sense, " to whom she notonly granted full and complete pardon, but also restored her entireconfidence. In this way she separated Murray's cause from that of Mortonand the other assassins, who, in their turn, seeing that there was nolonger any safety for them in Scotland, fled to England, where all thequeen's enemies were always certain to find a warm welcome, in spite ofthe good relations which reigned in appearance between Mary andElizabeth. As to Bothwell, who had wanted to oppose the assassination, he was appointed Warden of all the Marches of the Kingdom. 

Unfortunately for her honour, Mary, always more the woman than the queen, while, on the contrary, Elizabeth was always more the queen than thewoman, had no sooner regained her power than her first royal act was toexhume Rizzio, who had been quietly buried on the threshold of the chapelnearest Holyrood Palace, and to have him removed to the burial-place ofthe Scottish kings, compromising herself still more by the honours shepaid him dead than by the favour she had granted him living. 

Such an imprudent demonstration naturally led to fresh quarrels betweenMary and Darnley: these quarrels were the more bitter that, as one canwell understand, the reconciliation between the husband and wife, atleast on the latter's side, had never been anything but a pretence; sothat, feeling herself in a stronger position still on account of herpregnancy, she restrained herself no longer, and, leaving Darnley, shewent from Dunbar to Edinburgh Castle, where on June 19th, 1566, threemonths after the assassination of Rizzio, she gave birth to a son whoafterwards became James VI. 

CHAPTER III

Directly she was delivered, Mary sent for James Melville, her usual envoyto Elizabeth, and charged him to convey this news to the Queen ofEngland, and to beg her to be godmother to the royal child at the sametime. On arriving in London, Melville immediately presented himself atthe palace; but as there was a court ball, he could not see the queen, and contented himself with making known the reason for his journey to theminister Cecil, and with begging him to ask his mistress for an audiencenext day. Elizabeth was dancing in a quadrille at the moment when Cecil, approaching her, said in a low voice, "Queen Mary of Scotland has justgiven birth to a son". At these words she grew frightfully pale, and, looking about her with a bewildered air, and as if she were about tofaint, she leaned against an arm-chair; then, soon, not being able tostand upright, she sat down, threw back her head, and plunged into amournful reverie. Then one of the ladies of her court, breaking throughthe circle which had formed round the queen, approached her, ill at ease, and asked her of what she was thinking so sadly. "Ah! madam, " Elizabethreplied impatiently, "do you not know that Mary Stuart has given birth toa son, while I am but a barren stock, who will die without offspring?"

Yet Elizabeth was too good a politician, in spite of her liability to becarried away by a first impulse, to compromise herself by a longerdisplay of her grief. The ball was not discontinued on that account, andthe interrupted quadrille was resumed and finished. 

The next day, Melville had his audience. Elizabeth received him toperfection, assuring him of all the pleasure that the news he brought hadcaused her, and which, she said, had cured her of a complaint from whichshe had suffered for a fortnight. Melville replied that his mistress hadhastened to acquaint her with her joy, knowing that she had no betterfriend; but he added that this joy had nearly cost Mary her life, sogrievous had been her confinement. As he was returning to this point forthe third time, with the object of still further increasing the queen ofEngland's dislike to marriage--

"Be easy, Melville, " Elizabeth answered him; "you need not insist uponit. I shall never marry; my kingdom takes the place of a husband for me, and my subjects are my children. When I am dead, I wish graven on mytombstone: 'Here lies Elizabeth, who reigned so many years, and who dieda virgin. '"

Melville availed himself of this opportunity to remind Elizabeth of thedesire she had shown to see Mary, three or four years before; butElizabeth said, besides her country's affairs, which necessitated herpresence in the heart of her possessions, she did not care, after all shehad heard said of her rival's beauty, to expose herself to a comparisondisadvantageous to her pride. She contented herself, then, with choosingas her proxy the Earl of Bedford, who set out with several other noblemenfor Stirling Castle, where the young prince was christened with greatpomp, and received the name of Charles James. 

It was remarked that Darnley did not appear at this ceremony, and thathis absence seemed to scandalise greatly the queen of England's envoy. On the contrary, James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, had the most importantplace there. 

This was because, since the evening when Bothwell, at Mary's cries, hadrun to oppose the murder of Rizzio, he had made great way in the queen'sfavour; to her party he himself appeared to be really attached, to theexclusion of the two others, the king's and the Earl of Murray's. Bothwell was already thirty-five years old, head of the powerful familyof Hepburn, which had great influence in East Lothian and the county ofBerwick; for the rest, violent, rough, given to every kind of debauchery, and capable of anything to satisfy an ambition that he did not even givehimself the trouble to hide. In his youth he had been reputedcourageous, but for long he had had no serious opportunity to draw thesword. 

If the king's authority had been shaken by Rizzio's influence, it wasentirely upset by Bothwell's. The great nobles, following thefavourite's example, no longer rose in the presence of Darnley, andceased little by little to treat him as their equal: his retinue was cutdown, his silver plate taken from him, and some officers who remainedabout him made him buy their services with the most bitter vexations. Asfor the queen, she no longer even took the trouble to conceal her dislikefor him, avoiding him without consideration, to such a degree that oneday when she had gone with Bothwell to Alway, she left there againimmediately, because Darnley came to join her. The king, however, stillhad patience; but a fresh imprudence of Mary's at last led to theterrible catastrophe that, since the queen's liaison with Bothwell, somehad already foreseen. 

Towards the end of the month of October, 1566, while the queen washolding a court of justice at Jedburgh, it was announced to her thatBothwell, in trying to seize a malefactor called John Elliot of Park, hadbeen badly wounded in the hand; the queen, who was about to attend thecouncil, immediately postponed the sitting till next day, and, havingordered a horse to be saddled, she set out for Hermitage Castle, whereBothwell was living, and covered the distance at a stretch, although itwas twenty miles, and she had to go across woods, marshes, and rivers;then, having remained some hours tete-a-tete with him, she set out againwith the same sped for Jedburgh, to which she returned in the night. 

Although this proceeding had made a great deal of talk, which wasinflamed still more by the queen's enemies, who chiefly belonged to theReformed religion, Darnley did not hear of it till nearly two monthsafterwards--that is to say, when Bothwell, completely recovered, returnedwith the queen to Edinburgh. 

Then Darnley thought that he ought not to put up any longer with suchhumiliations. But as, since his treason to his accomplices, he had notfound in all Scotland a noble who would have drawn the sword for him, heresolved to go and seek the Earl of Lennox, his father, hoping thatthrough his influence he could rally the malcontents, of whom there werea great number since Bothwell had been in favour. Unfortunately, Darnley, indiscreet and imprudent as usual, confided this plan to some of hisofficers, who warned Bothwell of their master's intention. Bothwell didnot seem to oppose the journey in any way; but Darnley was scarcely amile from Edinburgh when he felt violent pains none the less, hecontinued his road, and arrived very ill at Glasgow. He immediately sentfor a celebrated doctor, called James Abrenets, who found his bodycovered with pimples, and declared without any hesitation that he hadbeen poisoned. However, others, among them Walter Scott, state that thisillness was nothing else than smallpox. 

Whatever it may have been, the queen, in the presence of the danger herhusband ran, appeared to forget her resentment, and at the risk of whatmight prove troublesome to herself, she went to Darnley, after sendingher doctor in advance. It is true that if one is to believe in thefollowing letters, dated from Glasgow, which Mary is accused of havingwritten to Bothwell, she knew the illness with which he was attacked toowell to fear infection. As these letters are little known, and seem tous very singular we transcribe them here; later we shall tell how theyfell into the power of the Confederate lords, and from their hands passedinto Elizabeth's, who, quite delighted, cried on receiving them, "God'sdeath, then I hold her life and honour in my hands!"FIRST LETTER

"When I set out from the place where I had left my heart, judge in what acondition I was, poor body without a soul: besides, during the whole ofdinner I have not spoken to anyone, and no one has dared to approach me, for it was easy to see that there was something amiss. When I arrivedwithin a league of the town, the Earl of Lennox sent me one of hisgentlemen to make me his compliments, and to excuse himself for nothaving come in person; he has caused me to be informed, moreover, that hedid not dare to present himself before me after the reprimand that I gaveCunningham. This gentleman begged me, as if of his own accord, toexamine his master's conduct, to ascertain if my suspicions were wellfounded. I have replied to him that fear was an incurable disease, thatthe Earl of Lennox would not be so agitated if his conscience reproachedhim with nothing, and that if some hasty words had escaped me, they werebut just reprisals for the letter he had written me. 

"None of the inhabitants visited me, which makes me think they are all inhis interests; besides, they speak of him very favourably, as well as ofhis son. The king sent for Joachim yesterday, and asked him why I didnot lodge with him, adding that my presence would soon cure him, andasked me also with what object I had come: if it were to be reconciledwith him; if you were here; if I had taken Paris and Gilbert assecretaries, and if I were still resolved to dismiss Joseph? I do notknow who has given him such accurate information. There is nothing, downto the marriage of Sebastian, with which he has not made himselfacquainted. I have asked him the meaning of one of his letters, in whichhe complains of the cruelty of certain people. He replied that hewas--stricken, but that my presence caused him so much joy that hethought he should die of it. He reproached me several times for beingdreamy; I left him to go to supper; he begged me to return: I went back. Then he told me the story of his illness, and that he wished to make awill leaving me everything, adding that I was a little the cause of histrouble, and that he attributed it to my coldness. 'You ask me, ' addedhe, 'who are the people of whom I complain: it is of you, cruel one, ofyou, whom I have never been able to appease by my tears and myrepentance. I know that I have offended you, but not on the matter thatyou reproach me with: I have also offended some of your subjects, butthat you have forgiven me. I am young, and you say that I always relapseinto my faults; but cannot a young man like me, destitute of experience, gain it also, break his promises, repent directly, and in time improve?If you will forgive me yet once more, I will promise to offend you neveragain. All the favour I ask of you is that we should live together likehusband and wife, to have but one bed and one board: if you areinflexible, I shall never rise again from here. I entreat you, tell meyour decision: God alone knows what I suffer, and that because I occupymyself with you only, because I love and adore only you. If I haveoffended you sometimes, you must bear the reproach; for when someoneoffends me, if it were granted me to complain to you, I should notconfide my griefs to others; but when we are on bad terms, I am obligedto keep them to myself, and that maddens me. '

"He then urged me strongly to stay with him and lodge in his house; but Iexcused myself, and replied that he ought to be purged, and that he couldnot be, conveniently, at Glasgow; then he told me that he knew I hadbrought a letter for him, but that he would have preferred to make thejourney with me. He believed, I think, that I meant to send him to someprison: I replied that I should take him to Craigmiller, that he wouldfind doctors there, that I should remain near him, and that we should bewithin reach of seeing my son. He has answered that he will go where Iwish to take him, provided that I grant him what he has asked. He doesnot, however, wish to be seen by anyone. 

"He has told me more than a hundred pretty things that I cannot repeat toyou, and at which you yourself would be surprised: he did not want to letme go; he wanted to make me sit up with him all night. As for me, Ipretended to believe everything, and I seemed to interest myself reallyin him. Besides, I have never seen him so small and humble; and if I hadnot known how easily his heart overflows, and how mine is impervious toevery other arrow than those with which you have wounded it, I believethat I should have allowed myself to soften; but lest that should alarmyou, I would die rather than give up what I have promised you. As foryou, be sure to act in the same way towards those traitors who will doall they can to separate you from me. I believe that all those peoplehave been cast in the same mould: this one always has a tear in his eye;he bows down before everyone, from the greatest to the smallest; hewishes to interest them in his favour, and make himself pitied. Hisfather threw up blood to-day through the nose and mouth; think what thesesymptoms mean. I have not seen him yet, for he keeps to the house. Theking wants me to feed him myself; he won't eat unless I do. But, whatever I may do, you will be deceived by it no more than I shall bedeceiving myself. We are united, you and I, to two kinds of verydetestable people [Mary means Miss Huntly, Bothwell's wife, whom herepudiated, at the king's death, to marry the queen. ]: that hell maysever these knots then, and that heaven may form better ones, thatnothing can break, that it may make of us the most tender and faithfulcouple that ever was; there is the profession of faith in which I woulddie. 

"Excuse my scrawl: you must guess more than the half of it, but I know nohelp for this. I am obliged to write to you hastily while everyone isasleep here: but be easy, I take infinite pleasure in my watch; for Icannot sleep like the others, not being able to sleep as I wouldlike--that is to say, in your arms. 

"I am going to get into bed; I shall finish my letter tomorrow: I havetoo many things to tell to you, the night is too far advanced: imagine mydespair. It is to you I am writing, it is of myself that I converse withyou, and I am obliged to make an end. 

"I cannot prevent myself, however, from filling up hastily the rest of mypaper. Cursed be the crazy creature who torments me so much! Were it notfor him, I could talk to you of more agreeable things: he is not greatlychanged; and yet he has taken a great deal o f %t. But he has nearlykilled me with the fetid smell of his breath; for now his is still worsethan your cousin's: you guess that this is a fresh reason for my notapproaching him; on the contrary, I go away as far as I can, and sit on achair at the foot of his bed. 

"Let us see if I forget anything. 

 "His father's messenger on the road; The question about Joachim; The-state of my house; The people of my suite; Subject of my arrival; Joseph; Conversation between him and me; His desire to please me and his repentance; The explanation of his letter; Mr. Livingston. 

"Ah! I was forgetting that. Yesterday Livingston during supper told deRere in a low voice to drink to the health of one I knew well, and to begme to do him the honour. After supper, as I was leaning on his shouldernear the fire, he said to me, 'Is it not true that there are visits veryagreeable for those who pay them and those who receive them? But, however satisfied they seem with your arrival, I challenge their delightto equal the grief of one whom you have left alone to-day, and who willnever be content till he sees you again. ' I asked him of whom he wishedto speak to me. He then answered me by pressing my arm: 'Of one of thosewho have not followed you; and among those it is easy for you to guess ofwhom I want to speak. '

"I have worked till two o'clock at the bracelet; I have enclosed a littlekey which is attached by two strings: it is not as well worked as Ishould like, but I have not had time to make it better; I will make you afiner one on the first occasion. Take care that it is not seen on you;for I have worked at it before everyone, and it would be recognised to acertainty. 

"I always return, in spite of myself, to the frightful attempt that youadvise. You compel me to concealments, and above all to treacheries thatmake me shudder; I would rather die, believe me, than do such things; forit makes my heart bleed. He does not want to follow me unless I promisehim to have the selfsame bed and board with him as before, and not toabandon him so often. If I consent to it, he says he will do all I wish, and will follow me everywhere; but he has begged me to put off mydeparture for two days. I have pretended to agree to all he wishes; butI have told him not to speak of our reconciliation to anyone, for fear itshould make some lords uneasy. At last I shall take him everywhere Iwish. . . . Alas! I have never deceived anyone; but what would I not do toplease you? Command, and whatever happens, I shall obey. But seeyourself if one could not contrive some secret means in the shape of aremedy. He must purge himself at Craigmiller and take baths there; hewill be some days without going out. So far as I can see, he is veryuneasy; but he has great trust in what I tell him: however, hisconfidence does not go so far as to allow him to open his mind to me. Ifyou like, I will tell him every thing: I can have no pleasure indeceiving someone who is trusting. However, it will be just as you wish:do not esteem me the less for that. It is you advised it; never wouldvengeance have taken me so far. Sometimes he attacks me in a verysensitive place, and he touches me to the quick when he tells me that hiscrimes are known, but that every day greater ones are committed that oneuselessly attempts to hide, since all crimes, whatsoever they be, greator small, come to men's knowledge and form the common subject of theirdiscourse. He adds sometimes, in speaking to me of Madame de Rere, 'Iwish her services may do you honour. ' He has assured me that many peoplethought, and that he thought himself, that I was not my own mistress;this is doubtless because I had rejected the conditions he offered me. Finally, it is certain that he is very uneasy about you know what, andthat he even suspects that his life is aimed at. He is in despairwhenever the conversation turns on you, Livingston, and my brother. However, he says neither good nor ill of absent people; but, on thecontrary, he always avoids speaking of them. His father keeps to thehouse: I have not seen him yet. A number of the Hamiltons are here, andaccompany me everywhere; all the friends of the other one follow me eachtime I go to see him. He has begged me to be at his rising to-morrow. My messenger will tell you the rest. 

"Burn my letter: there would be danger in keeping it. Besides, it ishardly worth the trouble, being filled only with dark thoughts. 

"As for you, do not be offended if I am sad and uneasy to-day, that toplease you I rise above honour, remorse, and dangers. Do not take in badpart what I tell you, and do not listen to the malicious explanations ofyour wife's brother; he is a knave whom you ought not to hear to theprejudice of the most tender and most faithful mistress that ever was. Above all, do not allow yourself to be moved by that woman: her shamtears are nothing in comparison with the real tears that I shed, and withwhat love and constancy make me suffer at succeeding her; it is for thatalone that in spite of myself I betray all those who could cross my love. God have mercy on me, and send you all the prosperity that a humble andtender friend who awaits from you soon another reward wishes you. It isvery late; but it is always with regret that I lay down my pen when Iwrite to you; however, I shall not end my letter until I shall havekissed your hands. Forgive me that it is so ill-written: perhaps I do soexpressly that you may be obliged to re-read it several times: I havetranscribed hastily what I had written down on my tablets, and my paperhas given out. Remember a tender friend, and write to her often: love meas tenderly as I love you, and remember

 "Madame de Rere's words; The English; His mother; The Earl of Argyll; The Earl of Bothwell; The Edinburgh dwelling. "

SECOND LETTER

"It seems that you have forgotten me during your absence, so much themore that you had promised me, at setting out, to let me know in detaileverything fresh that should happen. The hope of receiving your news wasgiving me almost as much delight as your return could have brought me:you have put it off longer than you promised me. As for me, although youdo not write, I play my part always. I shall take him to Craigmiller onMonday, and he will spend the whole of Wednesday there. On that day Ishall go to Edinburgh to be bled there, unless you arrange otherwise atleast. He is more cheerful than usual, and he is better than ever. 

"He says everything he can to persuade me that he loves me; he has athousand attentions for me, and he anticipates me in everything: all thatis so pleasant for me, that I never go to him but the pain in my sidecomes on again, his company weighs on me so much. If Paris brought mewhat I asked him, I should be soon cured. If you have not yet returnedwhen I go you know where, write to me, I beg you, and tell me what youwish me to do; for if you do not manage things prudently, I foresee thatthe whole burden will fall on me: look into everything and weigh theaffair maturely. I send you my letter by Beaton, who will set out theday which has been assigned to Balfour. It only remains for me to beg youto inform me of your journey. 

"Glasgow, this Saturday morning. "THIRD LETTER

"I stayed you know where longer than I should have done, if it had notbeen to get from him something that the bearer of these presents willtell you it was a good opportunity for covering up our designs: I havepromised him to bring the person you know to-morrow. Look after therest, if you think fit. Alas! I have failed in our agreement, for youhave forbidden me to write to you, or to despatch a messenger to you. However, I do not intend to offend you: if you knew with what fears I amagitated, you would not have yourself so many doubts and suspicions. ButI take them in good part, persuaded as I am that they have no other causethan love--love that I esteem more than anything on earth. 

"My feelings and my favours are to me sure warrants for that love, andanswer to me for your heart; my trust is entire on this head: but explainyourself, I entreat you, and open your soul to me; otherwise, I shallfear lest, by the fatality of my star, and by the too fortunate influenceof the stars on women less tender and less faithful than I, I may besupplanted in your heart as Medea was in Jason's; not that I wish tocompare you to a lover as unfortunate as Jason, and to parallel myselfwith a monster like Medea, although you have enough influence over me toforce me to resemble her each time our love exacts it, and that itconcerns me to keep your heart, which belongs to me, and which belongs tome only. For I name as belonging to me what I have purchased with thetender and constant love with which I have burned for you, a love morealive to-day than ever, and which will end only with my life; a love, inshort, which makes me despise both the dangers and the remorse which willbe perhaps its sad sequel. As the price of this sacrifice, I ask you butone favour, it is to remember a spot not far from here: I do not exactthat you should keep your promise to-morrow; but I want to see you todisperse your suspicions. I ask of God only one thing: it is that Heshould make you read my heart, which is less mine than yours, and that Heshould guard you from every ill, at least during my life: this life isdear to me only in so far as it pleases you, and as I please you myself. I am going to bed: adieu; give me your news to-morrow morning; for Ishall be uneasy till I have it. Like a bird escaped from its cage, orthe turtle-dove which has lost her mate, I shall be alone, weeping yourabsence, short as it may be. This letter, happier than I, will go thisevening where I cannot go, provided that the messenger does not find youasleep, as I fear. I have not dared to write it in the presence ofJoseph, of Sebastian, and of Joachim, who had only just left me when Ibegan it. "

Thus, as one sees, and always supposing these letters to be genuine, Maryhad conceived for Bothwell one of those mad passions, so much thestronger in the women who are a prey to them, that one the lessunderstands what could have inspired them. Bothwell was no longer young, Bothwell was not handsome, and yet Mary sacrificed for him a younghusband, who was considered one of the handsomest men of his century. Itwas like a kind of enchantment. Darnley, the sole obstacle to the union, had been already condemned for a long time, if not by Mary, at least byBothwell; then, as his strong constitution had conquered the poison, another kind of death was sought for. 

The queen, as she announces in her letter to Bothwell, had refused tobring back Darnley with her, and had returned alone to Edinburgh. Arrivedthere, she gave orders for the king to be moved, in his turn, in alitter; but instead of taking him to Stirling or Holyrood, she decided tolodge him in the abbey of the Kirk of Field. The king made someobjections when he knew of this arrangement; however, as he had no powerto oppose it, he contented himself with complaining of the solitude ofthe dwelling assigned him; but the queen made answer that she could notreceive him at that moment, either at Holyrood or at Stirling, for fear, if his illness were infectious, lest he might give it to his son: Darnleywas then obliged to make the best of the abode allotted him. 

It was an isolated abbey, and little calculated by its position todissipate the fears that the king entertained; for it was situatedbetween two ruined churches and two cemeteries: the only house, which wasdistant about a shot from a cross-bow, belonged to the Hamiltons, and asthey were Darnley's mortal enemies the neighbourhood was none the morereassuring: further, towards the north, rose some wretched huts, calledthe "Thieves' cross-roads". In going round his new residence, Darnleynoticed that three holes, each large enough for a man to get through, hadbeen made in the walls; he asked that these holes, through whichill-meaning persons could get in, should be stopped up: it was promisedthat masons should be sent; but nothing was done, and the holes remainedopen. 

The day after his arrival at Kirk of Field, the king saw a light in thathouse near his which lie believed deserted; next day he asked AlexanderDurham whence it came, and he heard that the Archbishop of St. Andrew'shad left his palace in Edinburgh and had housed there since the precedingevening, one didn't know why: this news still further increased theking's uneasiness; the Archbishop of St. Andrew's was one of his mostdeclared enemies. 

The king, little by little abandoned by all his servants lived on thefirst floor of an isolated pavilion, having about him only this sameAlexander Durham, whom we have mentioned already, and who was his valet. Darnley, who had quite a special friendship for him, and who besides, aswe have said, feared some attack on his life at every moment, had madehim move his bed into his own apartment, so that both were sleeping inthe same room. 

On the night of the 8th February, Darnley awoke Durham: he thought heheard footsteps in the apartment beneath him. Durham rose, took a swordin one hand, a taper in the other, and went down to the ground floor; butalthough Darnley was quite certain he had not been deceived, Durham cameup again a moment after, saying he had seen no one. 

The morning of the next day passed without bringing anything fresh. Thequeen was marrying one of her servants named Sebastian: he was anAuvergnat whom she had brought with her from France, and whom she likedvery much. However, as the king sent word that he had not seen her fortwo days, she left the wedding towards six o'clock in the evening, andcame to pay him a visit, accompanied by the Countess of Argyll and theCountess of Huntly. While she was there, Durham, in preparing his bed, set fire to his palliasse, which was burned as well as a part of themattress; so that, having thrown them out of the window all in flames, for fear lest the fire should reach the rest of the furniture, he foundhimself without a bed, and asked permission to return to the town tosleep; but Darnley, who remembered his terror the night before, and whowas surprised at the promptness that had made Durham throw all hisbedding out of the window, begged him not to go away, offering him one ofhis mattresses, or even to take him into his own bed. However, in spiteof this offer, Durham insisted, saying that he felt unwell, and that heshould like to see a doctor the same evening. So the queen intercededfor Durham, and promised Darnley to send him another valet to spend thenight with him: Darnley was then obliged to yield, and, making Maryrepeat that she would send him someone, he gave Durham leave for thatevening. At that moment Paris; of whom the queen speaks in her letters, came in: he was a young Frenchman who had been in Scotland for someyears, and who, after having served with Bothwell and Seyton, was atpresent with the queen. Seeing him, she got up, and as Darnley stillwished to keep her--

"Indeed, my lord, it is impossible, " said she, "to come and see you. Ihave left this poor Sebastian's wedding, and I must return to it; for Ipromised to came masked to his ball. "

The king dared not insist; he only reminded her of the promise that shehad made to send him a servant: Mary renewed it yet once again, and wentaway with her attendants. As for Durham, he had set out the moment hereceived permission. 

It was nine o'clock in the evening. Darnley, left alone, carefully shutthe doors within, and retired to rest, though in readiness to rise to letin the servant who should come to spend the night with him. Scarcely washe in bed than the same noise that he had heard the night beforerecommenced; this time Darnley listened with all the attention feargives, and soon he had no longer any doubt but that several men werewalking about beneath him. It was useless to call, it was dangerous togo out; to wait was the only course that remained to the king. He madesure again that the doors were well fastened, put his sword under hispillow, extinguished his lamp for fear the light might betray him, andawaited in silence for his servant's arrival; but the hours passed away, and the servant did not come. At one o'clock in the morning, Bothwell, after having talked some while with the queen, in the presence of thecaptain of the guard, returned home to change his dress; after someminutes, he came out wrapped up in the large cloak of a German hussar, went through the guard-house, and had the castle gate opened. Onceoutside, he took his way with all speed to Kirk of Field, which heentered by the opening in the wall: scarcely had he made a step in thegarden than he met James Balfour, governor of the castle. 

"Well, " he said to him, "how far have we got?

"Everything is ready, " replied Balfour, "and we were waiting for you toset fire to the fuse". "That is well, " Bothwell answered--"but first Iwant to make sure that he is in his room. "

At these words, Bothwell opened the pavilion door with a false key, and, having groped his way up the stairs; he went to listen at Darnley's door. Darnley, hearing no further noise, had ended by going to sleep; but heslept with a jerky breathing which pointed to his agitation. Littlemattered it to Bothwell what kind of sleep it was, provided that he wasreally in his room. He went down again in silence, then, as he had comeup, and taking a lantern from one of the conspirators, he went himselfinto the lower room to see if everything was in order: this room was fullof barrels of powder, and a fuse ready prepared wanted but a spark to setthe whole on fire. Bothwell withdrew, then, to the end of the garden withBalfour, David, Chambers, and three or four others, leaving one man toignite the fuse. In a moment this man rejoined them. 

There ensued some minutes of anxiety, during which the five men looked atone another in silence and as if afraid of themselves; then, seeing thatnothing exploded, Bothwell impatiently turned round to the engineer, reproaching him for having, no doubt through fear, done his work badly. He assured his master that he was certain everything was all right, andas Bothwell, impatient, wanted to return to the house himself, to makesure, he offered to go back and see how things stood. In fact, he wentback to the pavilion, and, putting his head through a kind of air-hole, he saw the fuse, which was still burning. Some seconds afterwards, Bothwell saw him come running back, making a sign that all was goingwell; at the same moment a frightful report was heard, the pavilion wasblown to pieces, the town and the firth were lit up with a clearnessexceeding the brightest daylight; then everything fell back into night, and the silence was broken only by the fall of stones and joists, whichcame down as fast as hail in a hurricane. 

Next day the body of the king was found in a garden in the neighbourhood:it had been saved from the action of the fire by the mattresses on whichhe was lying, and as, doubtless, in his terror he had merely thrownhimself on his bed wrapped in his dressing-gown and in his slippers, andas he was found thus, without his slippers, which were flung some pacesaway, it was believed that he had been first strangled, then carriedthere; but the most probable version was that the murderers simply reliedupon powder--an auxiliary sufficiently powerful in itself for them tohave no fear it would fail them. 

Was the queen an accomplice or not? No one has ever known save herself, Bothwell, and God; but, yes or no, her conduct, imprudent this time asalways, gave the charge her enemies brought against her, if notsubstance, at least an appearance of truth. Scarcely had she heard thenews than she gave orders that the body should be brought to her, and, having had it stretched out upon a bench, she looked at it with morecuriosity than sadness; then the corpse, embalmed, was placed the sameevening, without pomp, by the side of Rizzio's. 

Scottish ceremonial prescribes for the widows of kings retirement forforty days in a room entirely closed to the light of day: on the twelfthday Mary had the windows opened, and on the fifteenth set out withBothwell for Seaton, a country house situated five miles from thecapital, where the French ambassador, Ducroc, went in search of her, andmade her remonstrances which decided her to return to Edinburgh; butinstead of the cheers which usually greeted her coming, she was receivedby an icy silence, and a solitary woman in the crowd called out, "Godtreat her as she deserves!"

The names of the murderers were no secret to the people. Bothwell havingbrought a splendid coat which was too large for him to a tailor, askinghim to remake it to his measure, the man recognised it as having belongedto the king. "That's right, " said he; "it is the custom for theexecutioner to inherit from the-condemned". Meanwhile, the Earl ofLennox, supported by the people's murmurs, loudly demanded justice forhis son's death, and came forward as the accuser of his murderers. Thequeen was then obliged, to appease paternal clamour and publicresentment, to command the Earl of Argyll, the Lord Chief Justice of thekingdom, to make investigations; the same day that this order was given, a proclamation was posted up in the streets of Edinburgh, in which thequeen promised two thousand pounds sterling to whoever would make knownthe king's murderers. Next day, wherever this letter had been affixed, another placard was found, worded thus:

"As it has been proclaimed that those who should make known the king'smurderers should have two thousand pounds sterling, I, who have made astrict search, affirm that the authors of the murder are the Earl ofBothwell, James Balfour, the priest of Flisk, David, Chambers, Blackmester, Jean Spens, and the queen herself. "

This placard was torn down; but, as usually happens, it had already beenread by the entire population. 

The Earl of Lennox accused Bothwell, and public opinion, which alsoaccused him, seconded the earl with such violence, that Mary wascompelled to bring him to trial: only every precaution was taken todeprive the prosecutor of the power of convicting the accused. On the28th March, the Earl of Lennox received notice that the 12th April wasfixed for the trial: he was granted a fortnight to collect decisiveproofs against the most powerful man in all Scotland; but the Earl ofLennox, judging that this trial was a mere mockery, did not appear. Bothwell, on the contrary, presented himself at the court, accompanied byfive thousand partisans and two hundred picked fusiliers, who guarded thedoors directly he had entered; so that he seemed to be rather a king whois about to violate the law than an accused who comes to submit to it. Of course there happened what was certain to happen--that is to say, thejury acquitted Bothwell of the crime of which everyone, the judgesincluded, knew him to be guilty. 

The day of the trial, Bothwell had this written challenge placarded:

"Although I am sufficiently cleared of the murder of the king, of which Ihave been falsely accused, yet, the better to prove my innocence, I am, ready to engage in combat with whomsoever will dare to maintain that Ihave killed the king. "

The day after, this reply appeared:

"I accept the challenge, provided that you select neutral ground. "

However, judgment had been barely given, when rumours of a marriagebetween the queen and the Earl of Bothwell were abroad. However strangeand however mad this marriage, the relations of the two lovers were sowell known that no one doubted but that it was true. But as everyonesubmitted to Bothwell, either through fear or through ambition, two menonly dared to protest beforehand against this union: the one was LordHerries, and the other James Melville. 

Mary was at Stirling when Lord Herries, taking advantage of Bothwell'smomentary absence, threw himself at her feet, imploring her not to loseher honour by marrying her husband's murderer, which could not fail toconvince those who still doubted it that she was his accomplice. But thequeen, instead of thanking Herries for this devotion, seemed very muchsurprised at his boldness, and scornfully signing to him to rise, shecoldly replied that her heart was silent as regarded the Earl ofBothwell, and that, if she should ever re-marry, which was not probable, she would neither forget what she owed to her people nor what she owed toherself. 

Melville did not allow himself to be discouraged by this experience, andpretended, to have received a letter that one of his friends, ThomasBishop, had written him from England. He showed this letter to thequeen; but at the first lines Mary recognised the style, and above allthe friendship of her ambassador, and giving the letter to the Earl ofLivingston, who was present, "There is a very singular letter, " said she. "Read it. It is quite in Melvine's manner. "

Livingston glanced through the letter, but had scarcely read the half ofit when he took Melville by the hand, and drawing him into the embrasureof a window, "My dear Melville, " said he, "you were certainly mad when you just nowimparted this letter to the queen: as soon as the Earl of Bothwell getswind of it, and that will not be long, he will have you assassinated. You have behaved like an honest man, it is true; but at court it isbetter to behave as a clever man. Go away, then, as quickly as possible;it is I who recommend it. "

Melville did not require to be told twice, and stayed away for a week. Livingston was not mistaken: scarcely had Bothwell returned to the queenthan he knew all that had passed. He burst out into curses againstMelville, and sought for him everywhere; but he could not find him. 

This beginning of opposition, weak as it was, none the less disquietedBothwell, who, sure of Mary's love, resolved to make short work ofthings. Accordingly, as the queen was returning from Stirling toEdinburgh some days after the scenes we have just related, Bothwellsuddenly appeared at the Bridge of Grammont with a thousand horsemen, and, having disarmed the Earl of Huntly, Livingston, and Melville, whohad returned to his mistress, he seized the queen's horse by the bridle, and with apparent violence he forced Mary to turn back and follow him toDunbar; which the queen did without any resistance--a strange thing forone of Mary's character. 

The day following, the Earls of Huntly, Livingston, Melville, and thepeople in their train were set at liberty; then, ten days afterwards, Bothwell and the queen, perfectly reconciled, returned to Edinburghtogether. 

Two days after this return, Bothwell gave a great dinner to the nobleshis partisans in a tavern. When the meal was ended, on the very sametable, amid half-drained glasses and empty bottles, Lindsay, Ruthven, Morton, Maitland, and a dozen or fifteen other noblemen signed a bondwhich not only set forth that upon their souls and consciences Bothwellwas innocent, but which further denoted him as the most suitable husbandfor the queen. This bond concluded with this sufficiently strangedeclaration:

"After all, the queen cannot do otherwise, since the earl has carried heroff and has lain with her. "

Yet two circumstances were still opposed to this marriage: the first, that Bothwell had already been married three times, and that his threewives were living; the second, that having carried off the queen, thisviolence might cause to be regarded as null the alliance which she shouldcontract with him: the first of these objections was attended to, tobegin with, as the one most difficult to solve. 

Bothwell's two first wives were of obscure birth, consequently he scornedto disquiet himself about them; but it was not so with the third, adaughter of that Earl of Huntly who been trampled beneath the horses'feet, and a sister of Gordon, who had been decapitated. Fortunately forBothwell, his past behaviour made his wife long for a divorce with aneagerness as great as his own. There was not much difficulty, then, inpersuading her to bring a charge of adultery against her husband. Bothwell confessed that he had had criminal intercourse with a relativeof his wife, and the Archbishop of St. Andrews, the same who had taken uphis abode in that solitary house at Kirk of Field to be present atDarnley's death, pronounced the marriage null. The case was begun, pushed on, and decided in ten days. 

As to the second obstacle, that of the violence used to the queen, Maryundertook to remove it herself; for, being brought before the court, shedeclared that not only did she pardon Bothwell for his conduct asregarded her, but further that, knowing him to be a good and faithfulsubject, she intended raising him immediately to new honours. In fact, some days afterwards she created him Duke of Orkney, and on the 15th ofthe same month--that is to say, scarcely four months after the death ofDarnley--with levity that resembled madness, Mary, who had petitioned fora dispensation to wed a Catholic prince, her cousin in the third degree, married Bothwell, a Protestant upstart, who, his divorce notwithstanding, was still bigamous, and who thus found himself in the position of havingfour wives living, including the queen. 

The wedding was dismal, as became a festival under such outrageousauspices. Morton, Maitland, and some base flatterers of Bothwell alonewere present at it. The French ambassador, although he was a creature ofthe House of Guise, to which the queen belonged, refused to attend it. 

Mary's delusion was short-lived: scarcely was she in Bothwell's powerthan she saw what a master she had given herself. Gross, unfeeling, andviolent, he seemed chosen by Providence to avenge the faults of which hehad been the instigator or the accomplice. Soon his fits of passionreached such a point, that one day, no longer able to endure them, Maryseized a dagger from Erskine, who was present with Melville at one ofthese scenes, and would have struck herself, saying that she would ratherdie than continue living unhappily as she did; yet, inexplicable as itseems, in spite of these miseries, renewed without ceasing, Mary, forgetting that she was wife and queen, tender and submissive as a child, was always the first to be reconciled with Bothwell. 

Nevertheless, these public scenes gave a pretext to the nobles, who onlysought an opportunity for an outbreak. The Earl of Mar, the youngprince's tutor, Argyll, Athol, Glencairn, Lindley, Boyd, and even Mortonand Maitland themselves, those eternal accomplices of Bothwell, rose, they said, to avenge the death of the king, and to draw the son fromhands which had killed the father and which were keeping the mothercaptive. As to Murray, he had kept completely in the background duringall the last events; he was in the county of Fife when the king wasassassinated, and three days before the trial of Bothwell he had askedand obtained from his sister permission to take a journey on theContinent. 

The insurrection took place in such a prompt and instantaneous manner, that the Confederate lords, whose plan was to surprise and seize bothMary and Bothwell, thought they would succeed at the first attempt. 

The king and queen were at table with Lord Borthwick, who wasentertaining them, when suddenly it was announced that a large body ofarmed men was surrounding the castle: Bothwell and Mary suspected thatthey were aimed at, and as they had no means of resistance, Bothwelldressed himself as a squire, Mary as a page, and both immediately takinghorse, escaped by one door just as the Confederates were coming in by theother. The fugitives withdrew to Dunbar. 

There they called together all Bothwell's friends, and made them sign akind of treaty by which they undertook to defend the queen and herhusband. In the midst of all this, Murray arrived from France, andBothwell offered the document to him as to the others; but Murray refusedto put his signature to it, saying that it was insulting him to think heneed be bound by a written agreement when it was a question of defendinghis sister and his queen. This refusal having led to an altercationbetween him and Bothwell, Murray, true to his system of neutrality, withdrew into his earldom, and let affairs follow without him the fataldecline they had taken. 

In the meantime the Confederates, after having failed at Borthwick, notfeeling strong enough to attack Bothwell at Dunbar, marched uponEdinburgh, where they had an understanding with a man of whom Bothwellthought himself sure. This man was James Balfour, governor of thecitadel, the same who had presided over the preparation of the mine whichhad blown up Darnley, and whom Bothwell had, met on entering the gardenat Kirk of Field. Not only did Balfour deliver Edinburgh Castle into thehands of the Confederates, but he also gave them a little silver cofferof which the cipher, an "F" crowned, showed that it had belonged toFrancis II; and in fact it was a gift from her first husband, which thequeen had presented to Bothwell. Balfour stated that this coffercontained precious papers, which in the present circumstances might be ofgreat use to Mary's enemies. The Confederate lords opened it, and foundinside the three genuine or spurious letters that we have quoted, themarriage contract of Mary and Bothwell, and twelve poems in the queen'shandwriting. As Balfour had said, therein lay, for her enemies, a richand precious find, which was worth more than a victory; for a victorywould yield them only the queen's life, while Balfour's treachery yieldedthem her honour. 

CHAPTER IV

Meanwhile Bothwell had levied some troops, and thought himself in aposition to hold the country: accordingly, he set out with his army, without even waiting for the Hamiltons, who were assembling theirvassals, and June 15th, 1567, the two opposed forces were face to face. Mary, who desired to try to avoid bloodshed, immediately sent the Frenchambassador to the Confederate lords to exhort them to lay aside theirarms; but they replied "that the queen deceived herself in taking themfor rebels; that they were marching not against her, but againstBothwell. " Then the king's friends did what they could to break off thenegotiations and give battle: it was already too late; the soldiers knewthat they were defending the cause of one man, and that they were goingto fight for a woman's caprice, and not for the good of the country: theycried aloud, then, that "since Bothwell alone was aimed at, it was forBothwell to defend his cause". And he, vain and blustering as usual, gave out that he was ready to prove his innocence in person againstwhomsoever would dare to maintain that he was guilty. Immediatelyeveryone with any claim to nobility in the rival camp accepted thechallenge; and as the honour was given to the bravest, Kirkcaldy ofGrange, Murray of Tullibardine, and Lord Lindsay of Byres defied himsuccessively. But, be it that courage failed him, be it that in themoment of danger he did not himself believe in the justice of his cause, he, to escape the combat, sought such strange pretexts that the queenherself was ashamed; and his most devoted friends murmured. 

Then Mary, perceiving the fatal humour of men's minds, decided not to runthe risk of a battle. She sent a herald to Kirkcaldy of Grange, who wascommanding an outpost, and as he was advancing without distrust toconverse with the queen, Bothwell, enraged at his own cowardice, ordereda soldier to fire upon him; but this time Mary herself interposed, forbidding him under pain of death to offer the least violence. In themeanwhile, as the imprudent order given by Bothwell spread through thearmy, such murmurs burst forth that he clearly saw that his cause was forever lost. 

That is what the queen thought also; for the result of her conferencewith Lord Kirkcaldy was that she should abandon Bothwell's cause, andpass over into the camp of the Confederates, on condition that they wouldlay down their arms before her and bring her as queen to Edinburgh. Kirkcaldy left her to take these conditions to the nobles, and promisedto return next day with a satisfactory answer. But at the moment ofleaving Bothwell, Mary was seized again with that fatal love for him thatshe was never able to surmount, and felt herself overcome with suchweakness, that, weeping bitterly, and before everyone, she wantedKirkcaldy to be told that she broke off all negotiations; however, asBothwell had understood that he was no longer safe in camp, it was he whoinsisted that things should remain as they were; and, leaving Mary intears, he mounted, and setting off at full speed, he did not stop till hereached Dunbar. 

Next day, at the time appointed, the arrival of Lord Kirkcaldy of Grangewas announced by the trumpeters preceding him. Mary mounted directly andwent to meet him; them, as he alighted to greet her, "My lord;" said she, "I surrender to you, on the conditions that you have proposed to me onthe part of the nobles, and here is my hand as a sign of entireconfidence". Kirkcaldy then knelt down, kissed, the queen's handrespectfully; and, rising, he took her horse by the bridle and led ittowards the Confederates' camp. 

Everyone of any rank in the army received her with such marks of respectas entirely to satisfy her; but it was not so at all with the soldiersand common people. Hardly had the queen reached the second line, formedby them, than great murmurs arose, and several voices cried, "To thestake, the adulteress! To the stake, the parricide!" However, Mary borethese outrages stoically enough but a more terrible trial yet was instore for her. Suddenly she saw rise before her a banner, on which wasdepicted on one side the king dead and stretched out in the fatal garden, and on the other the young prince kneeling, his hands joined and his eyesraised to heaven, with this inscription, "O Lord! judge and revenge mycause!" Mary reined in her horse abruptly at this sight, and wanted toturn back; but she had scarcely moved a few paces when the accusingbanner again blocked her passage. Wherever she went, she met thisdreadful apparition. For two hours she had incessantly under her eyes theking's corpse asking vengeance, and the young prince her son praying Godto punish the murderers. At last she could endure it no longer, and, crying out, she threw herself back, having completely lost consciousness, and would have fallen, if someone had not caught hold of her. In theevening she entered Edinburgh, always preceded by the cruel banner, andshe already had rather the air of a prisoner than of a queen; for, nothaving had a moment during the day to attend to her toilet, her hair wasfalling in disorder about her shoulders, her face was pale and showedtraces of tears; and finally, her clothes were covered with dust and mud. As she proceeded through the town, the hootings of the people and thecurses of the crowd followed her. At last, half dead with fatigue, wornout with grief, bowed down with shame, she reached the house of the LordProvost; but scarcely had she got there when the entire population ofEdinburgh crowded into the square, with cries that from time to timeassumed a tone of terrifying menace. Several times, then, Mary wished togo to the window, hoping that the sight of her, of which she had so oftenproved the influence, would disarm this multitude; but each time she sawthis banner unfurling itself like a bloody curtain between herself andthe people--a terrible rendering of their feelings. 

However, all this hatred was meant still more for Bothwell than for her:they were pursuing Bothwell in Darnley's widow. The curses were forBothwell: Bothwell was the adulterer, Bothwell was the murderer, Bothwellwas the coward; while Mary was the weak, fascinated woman, who, that sameevening, gave afresh proof of her folly. 

In fact, directly the falling night had scattered the crowd and a littlequiet was regained, Mary, ceasing to be uneasy on her own account, turnedimmediately to Bothwell, whom she had been obliged to abandon, and whowas now proscribed and fleeing; while she, as she believed, was about toreassume her title and station of queen. With that eternal confidence ofthe woman in her own love, by which she invariably measures the love ofanother, she thought that Bothwell's greatest distress was to have lost, not wealth and power, but to have lost herself. So she wrote him a longletter, in which, forgetful of herself, she promised him with the mosttender expressions of love never to desert him, and to recall him to herdirectly the breaking up of the Confederate lords should give her powerto do so; then, this letter written, she called a soldier, gave him apurse of gold, and charged him to take this letter to Dunbar, whereBothwell ought to be, and if he were already gone, to follow him until hecame up with him. 

Then she went to bed and slept more calmly; for, unhappy as she was, shebelieved she had just sweetened misfortunes still greater than hers. 

Next day the queen was awakened by the step of an armed man who enteredher room. Both astonished and frightened at this neglect of propriety, which could augur nothing good, Mary sat up in bed, and parting thecurtains, saw standing before her Lord Lindsay of Byres: she knew he wasone of her oldest friends, so she asked him in a voice which she vainlytried to make confident, what he wanted of her at such a time. 

"Do you know this writing, madam?" Lord Lindsay asked in a rough voice, presenting to the queen the letter she had written to Bothwell at night, which the soldier had carried to the Confederate lords, instead of takingto its address. 

"Yes, doubtless, my lord, " the queen answered; "but am I already aprisoner, then, that my correspondence is intercepted? or is it no longerallowed to a wife to write to her husband?"

"When the husband is a traitor, " replied Lindsay, "no, madam, it is nolonger allowed to a wife to write to her husband--at least, however, ifthis wife have a part in his treason; which seems to me, besides, quiteproved by the promise you make to this wretch to recall him to you. "

"My lord, " cried Mary, interrupting Lindsay, "do you forget that you arespeaking to your queen. "

"There was a time, madam, " Lindsay replied, "when I should have spoken toyou in a more gentle voice, and bending the knee, although it is not inthe nature of us old Scotch to model ourselves on your French courtiers;but for some time, thanks to your changing loves, you have kept us sooften in the field, in harness, that our voices are hoarse from the coldnight air, and our stiff knees can no longer bend in our armour: you mustthen take me just as I am, madam; since to-day, for the welfare ofScotland, you are no longer at liberty to choose your favourites. "

Mary grew frightfully pale at this want of respect, to which she was notyet accustomed; but quickly containing her anger, as far as possible--

"But still, my lord, " said she, "however disposed I may be to take you asyou are, I must at least know by what right you come here. That letterwhich you are holding in your hand would lead me to think it is as a spy, if the ease with which you enter my room without being asked did not makeme believe it is as a gaoler. Have the goodness, then, to inform me bywhich of these two names I must call you. "

"Neither by one nor the other, madam; for I am simply yourfellow-traveller, chef of the escort which is to take you to LochlevenCastle, your future residence. And yet, scarcely have I arrived therethan I shall be obliged to leave you to go and assist the Confederatelords choose a regent for the kingdom. "

"So, " said Mary, "it was as prisoner and not as queen that I surrenderedto Lord Kirkcaldy. It seems to me that things were agreed uponotherwise; but I am glad to see how much time Scotch noblemen need tobetray their sworn undertakings". 

"Your Grace forgets that these engagements were made on one condition, "Lindsay answered. 

"On which?" Mary asked. 

"That you should separate for ever from your husband's murderer; andthere is the proof, " he added, showing the letter, "that you hadforgotten your promise before we thought of revoking ours. "

"And at what o'clock is my departure fixed?" said Mary, whom thisdiscussion was beginning to fatigue. 

"At eleven o'clock, madam. "

"It is well, my lord; as I have no desire to make your lordship wait, youwill have the goodness, in withdrawing, to send me someone to help medress, unless I am reduced to wait upon myself. "

And, in pronouncing these words, Mary made a gesture so imperious, thatwhatever may have been Lindsay's wish to reply, he bowed and went out. Behind him entered Mary Seyton. 

CHAPTER V

At the time appointed the queen was ready: she had suffered so much atEdinburgh that she left it without any regret. Besides, whether to spareher the humiliations of the day before, or to conceal her departure fromany partisans who might remain to her, a litter had been made ready. Mary got into it without any resistance, and after two hours' journey shereached Duddington; there a little vessel was waiting for her, which setsail directly she was on board, and next day at dawn she disembarked onthe other side of the Firth of Forth in the county of Fife. 

Mary halted at Rosythe Castle only just long enough to breakfast, andimmediately recommenced her journey; for Lord Lindsay had declared thathe wished to reach his destination that same evening. Indeed, as the sunwas setting, Mary perceived gilded with his last rays the high towers ofLochleven Castle, situated on an islet in the midst of the lake of thesame name. 

No doubt the royal prisoner was already expected at Lochleven Castle, for, on reaching the lake side, Lord Lindsay's equerry unfurled hisbanner, which till then had remained in its case, and waved it from rightto left, while his master blew a little hunting bugle which he worehanging from his neck. A boat immediately put off from the island andcame towards the arrivals, set in motion by four vigorous oarsmen, whohad soon propelled it across the space which separated it from the bank. Mary silently got into it, and sat down at the stern, while Lord Lindsayand his equerry stood up before her; and as her guide did not seem anymore inclined to speak than she was herself to respond, she had plenty oftime to examine her future dwelling. 

The castle, or rather the fortress of Lochleven, already somewhat gloomyin its situation and architecture, borrowed fresh mournfulness still fromthe hour at which it appeared to the queen's gaze. It was, so far as shecould judge amid the mists rising from the lake, one of those massivestructures of the twelfth century which seem, so fast shut up are they, the stone armour of a giant. As she drew near, Mary began to make outthe contours of two great round towers, which flanked the corners andgave it the severe character of a state prison. A clump of ancient treesenclosed by a high wall, or rather by a rampart, rose at its north front, and seemed vegetation in stone, and completed the general effect of thisgloomy abode, while, on the contrary, the eye wandering from it andpassing from islands to islands, lost itself in the west, in the north, and in the south, in the vast plain of Kinross, or stopped southwards atthe jagged summits of Ben Lomond, whose farthest slopes died down on theshores of the lake. 

Three persons awaited Mary at the castle door: Lady Douglas, WilliamDouglas her son, and a child of twelve who was called Little Douglas, andwho was neither a son nor a brother of the inhabitants of the castle, butmerely a distant relative. As one can imagine, there were fewcompliments between Mary and her hosts; and the queen, conducted to herapartment, which was on the first floor, and of which the windowsoverlooked the lake, was soon left with Mary Seyton, the only one of thefour Marys who had been allowed to accompany her. 

However, rapid as the interview had been, and short and measured thewords exchanged between the prisoner and her gaolers, Mary had had time, together with what she knew of them beforehand, to construct for herselfa fairly accurate idea of the new personages who had just mingled in herhistory. 

Lady Lochleven, wife of Lord William Douglas, of whom we have alreadysaid a few words at the beginning of this history, was a woman of fromfifty-five to sixty years of age, who had been handsome enough in heryouth to fix upon herself the glances of King James V, and who had had ason by him, who was this same Murray whom we have already seen figuringso often in Mary's history, and who, although his birth was illegitimate, had always been treated as a brother by the queen. 

Lady Lochleven had had a momentary hope, so great was the king's love forher, of becoming his wife, which upon the whole was possible, the familyof Mar, from which she was descended, being the equal of the most ancientand the noblest families in Scotland. But, unluckily, perhapsslanderously, certain talk which was circulating among the young noblemenof the time came to James's ears; it was said that together with herroyal lover the beautiful favourite had another, whom she had chosen, nodoubt from curiosity, from the very lowest class. It was added that thisPorterfeld, or Porterfield, was the real father of the child who hadalready received the name of James Stuart, and whom the king waseducating as his son at the monastery of St. Andrews. These rumours, well founded or not, had therefore stopped James V at the moment when, ingratitude to her who had given him a son, he was on the point of raisingher to the rank of queen; so that, instead of marrying her himself, hehad invited her to choose among the nobles at court; and as she was veryhandsome, and the king's favour went with the marriage, this choice, which fell on Lord William Douglas of Lochleven, did not meet with anyresistance on his part. However, in spite of this direct protection, that James V preserved for her all his life, Lady Douglas could neverforget that she had fingered higher fortune; moreover, she had a hatredfor the one who, according to herself, had usurped her place, and poorMary had naturally inherited the profound animosity that Lady Douglasbore to her mother, which had already come to light in the few words thatthe two women had exchanged. Besides, in ageing, whether from repentancefor her errors or from hypocrisy, Lady Douglas had become a prude and apuritan; so that at this time she united with the natural acrimony of hercharacter all the stiffness of the new religion she had adopted. 

William Douglas, who was the eldest son of Lord Lochleven, on hismother's side half-brother of Murray, was a man of from thirty-five tothirty-six years of age, athletic, with hard and strongly pronouncedfeatures, red-haired like all the younger branch, and who had inheritedthat paternal hatred that for a century the Douglases cherished againstthe Stuarts, and which was shown by so many plots, rebellions, andassassinations. According as fortune had favoured or deserted Murray, William Douglas had seen the rays of the fraternal star draw near or awayfrom him; he had then felt that he was living in another's life, and wasdevoted, body and soul, to him who was his cause of greatness or ofabasement. Mary's fall, which must necessarily raise Murray, was thus asource of joy for him, and the Confederate lords could not have chosenbetter than in confiding the safe-keeping of their prisoner to theinstinctive spite of Lady Douglas and to the intelligent hatred of herson. 

As to Little Douglas, he was, as we have said, a child of twelve, forsome months an orphan, whom the Lochlevens had taken charge of, and whomthey made buy the bread they gave him by all sorts of harshness. Theresult was that the child, proud and spiteful as a Douglas, and knowing, although his fortune was inferior, that his birth was equal to his proudrelatives, had little by little changed his early gratitude into lastingand profound hatred: for one used to say that among the Douglases therewas an age for loving, but that there was none for hating. It resultsthat, feeling his weakness and isolation, the child was self-containedwith strength beyond his years, and, humble and submissive in appearance, only awaited the moment when, a grown-up young man, he could leaveLochleven, and perhaps avenge himself for the proud protection of thosewho dwelt there. But the feelings that we have just expressed did notextend to all the members of the family: as much as from the bottom ofhis heart the little Douglas detested William and his mother, so much heloved George, the second of Lady Lochleven's sons, of whom we have notyet spoken, because, being away from the castle when the queen arrived, we have not yet found an opportunity to present him to our readers. 

George, who at this time might have been about twenty-five or twenty-sixyears old, was the second son of Lord Lochleven; but by a singularchance, that his mother's adventurous youth had caused Sir William tointerpret amiss, this second son had none of the characteristic featuresof the Douglases' full cheeks, high colour, large ears, and red hair. The result was that poor George, who, on the contrary, had been given bynature pale cheeks, dark blue eyes, and black hair, had been since cominginto the world an object of indifference to his father and of dislike tohis elder brother. As to his mother, whether she were indeed in goodfaith surprised like Lord Douglas at this difference in race, whether sheknew the cause and inwardly reproached herself, George had never been, ostensibly at least, the object of a very lively maternal affection; sothe young man, followed from his childhood by a fatality that he couldnot explain, had sprung up like a wild shrub, full of sap and strength, but uncultivated and solitary. Besides, from the time when he wasfifteen, one was accustomed to his motiveless absences, which theindifference that everyone bore him made moreover perfectly explicable;from time to time, however, he was seen to reappear at the castle, likethose migratory birds which always return to the same place but only staya moment, then take their way again without one's knowing towards whatspot in the world they are directing their flight. 

An instinct of misfortune in common had drawn Little Douglas to George. George, seeing the child ill-treated by everyone, had conceived anaffection for him, and Little Douglas, feeling himself loved amid theatmosphere of indifference around him, turned with open arms and heart toGeorge: it resulted from this mutual liking that one day, when the childhad committed I do not know what fault, and that William Douglas raisedthe whip he beat his dogs with to strike him, that George, who wassitting on a stone, sad and thoughtful, had immediately sprung up, snatched the whip from his brother's hands and had thrown it far fromhim. At this insult William had drawn his sword, and George his, so thatthese two brothers, who had hated one another for twenty years like twoenemies, were going to cut one another's throats, when Little Douglas, who had picked up the whip, coming back and kneeling before William, offered him the ignominious weapon, saying, "Strike, cousin; I have deserved it. "

This behaviour of the child had caused some minutes' reflection to thetwo young men, who, terrified at the crime they were about to commit, hadreturned their swords to their scabbards and had each gone away insilence. Since this incident the friendship of George and Little Douglashad acquired new strength, and on the child's side it had becomeveneration. 

We dwell upon all these details somewhat at length, perhaps, but no doubtour readers will pardon us when they see the use to be made of them. 

This is the family, less George, who, as we have said, was absent at thetime of her arrival, into the midst of which the queen had fallen, passing in a moment from the summit of power to the position of aprisoner; for from the day following her arrival Mary saw that it was bysuch a title she was an inmate of Lochleven Castle. In fact, LadyDouglas presented herself before her as soon as it was morning, and withan embarrassment and dislike ill disguised beneath an appearance ofrespectful indifference, invited Mary to follow her and take stock of theseveral parts of the fortress which had been chosen beforehand for herprivate use. She then made her go through three rooms, of which one wasto serve as her bedroom, the second as sitting-room, and the third asante-chamber; afterwards, leading the way down a spiral staircase, whichlooked into the great hall of the castle, its only outlet, she hadcrossed this hall, and had taken Mary into the garden whose trees thequeen had seen topping the high walls on her arrival: it was a littlesquare of ground, forming a flower-bed in the midst of which was anartificial fountain. It was entered by a very low door, repeated in theopposite wall; this second door looked on to the lake and, like all thecastle doors, whose keys, however, never left the belt or the pillow ofWilliam Douglas, it was guarded night and day by a sentinel. This wasnow the whole domain of her who had possessed the palaces, the plains, and the mountains of an entire kingdom. 

Mary, on returning to her room, found breakfast ready, and WilliamDouglas standing near the table he was going to fulfil about the queenthe duties of carver and taster. 

In spite of their hatred for Mary, the Douglases would have considered itan eternal blemish on their honour if any accident should have befallenthe queen while she was dwelling in their castle; and it was in orderthat the queen herself should not entertain any fear in this respect thatWilliam Douglas, in his quality of lord of the manor, had not onlydesired to carve before the queen, but even to taste first in herpresence, all the dishes served to her, as well as the water and theseveral wines to be brought her. This precaution saddened Mary more thanit reassured her; for she understood that, while she stayed in thecastle, this ceremony would prevent any intimacy at table. However, itproceeded from too noble an intention for her to impute it as a crime toher hosts: she resigned herself, then, to this company, insupportable asit was to her; only, from that day forward, she so cut short her mealsthat all the time she was at Lochleven her longest dinners barely lastedmore than a quarter of an hour. 

Two days after her arrival, Mary, on sitting down to table for breakfast, found on her plate a letter addressed to her which had been put there byWilliam Douglas. Mary recognised Murray's handwriting, and her firstfeeling was one of joy; for if a ray of hope remained to her, it camefrom her brother, to whom she had always been perfectly kind, whom fromPrior of St. Andrew's she had made an earl in bestowing on him thesplendid estates which formed part of the old earldom of Murray, and towhom, which was of more importance, she had since pardoned, or pretendedto pardon, the part he had taken in Rizzio's assassination. 

Her astonishment was great, then, when, having opened the letter, shefound in it bitter reproaches for her conduct, an exhortation to dopenance, and an assurance several times repeated that she should neverleave her prison. He ended his letter in announcing to her that, inspite of his distaste for public affairs, he had been obliged to acceptthe regency, which he had done less for his country than for his sister, seeing that it was the sole means he had of standing in the way of theignominious trial to which the nobles wished to bring her, as author, orat least as chief accomplice, of Darnley's death. This imprisonment wasthen clearly a great good fortune for her, and she ought to thank Heavenfor it, as an alleviation of the fate awaiting her if he had notinterceded for her. 

This letter was a lightning stroke for Mary: only, as she did not wish togive her enemies the delight of seeing her suffer, she contained hergrief, and, turning to William Douglas--

"My lord, " said she, "this letter contains news that you doubtless knowalready, for although we are not children by the same mother, he whowrites to me is related to us in the same degree, and will not havedesired to write to his sister without writing to his brother at the sametime; besides, as a good son, he will have desired to acquaint his motherwith the unlooked-for greatness that has befallen him. "

"Yes, madam, " replied William, "we know since yesterday that, for thewelfare of Scotland, my brother has been named regent; and as he is a sonas respectful to his mother as he is devoted to his country, we hope thathe will repair the evil that for five years favourites of every sort andkind have done to both. "

"It is like a good son, and at the same time like a courteous host, to goback no farther into the history of Scotland, " replied Mary Stuart, "andnot to make the daughter blush for the father's errors; for I have heardsay that the evil which your lordship laments was prior to the time towhich you assign it, and that King James V. Also had formerly favourites, both male and female. It is true that they add that the ones as illrewarded his friendship as the others his love. In this, if you areignorant of it, my lord, you can be instructed, if he is still living, bya certain. Porterfeld or Porterfield, I don't know which, understandingthese names of the lower classes too ill to retain and pronounce them, but about which, in my stead, your noble mother could give youinformation. "

With these words, Mary Stuart rose, and, leaving William Douglas crimsonwith rage, she returned into her bedroom, and bolted the door behind her. 

All that day Mary did not come down, remaining at her window, from whichshe at least enjoyed a splendid view over the plains and village ofKinross; but this vast extent only contracted her heart the more, when, bringing her gaze back from the horizon to the castle, she beheld itswalls surrounded on all sides by the deep waters of the lake, on whosewide surface a single boat, where Little Douglas was fishing, was rockinglike a speck. For some moments Mary's eyes mechanically rested on thischild, whom she had already seen upon her arrival, when suddenly a hornsounded from the Kinross side. At the same moment Little Douglas threwaway his line, and began to row towards the shore whence the signal hadcome with skill and strength beyond his years. Mary, who had let hergaze rest on him absently, continued to follow him with her eyes, and sawhim make for a spot on the shore so distant that the boat seemed to herat length but an imperceptible speck; but soon it reappeared, growinglarger as it approached, and Mary could then observe that it was bringingback to the castle a new passenger, who, having in his turn taken theoars, made the little skiff fly over the tranquil water of the lake, where it left a furrow gleaming in the last rays of the sun. Very soon, flying on with the swiftness of a bird, it was near enough for Mary tosee that the skilful and vigorous oarsman was a young man fromtwenty-five to twenty-six years of age, with long black hair, clad in aclose coat of green cloth, and wearing a Highlander's cap, adorned withan eagle's feather; then, as with his back turned to the window he drewnearer, Little Douglas, who was leaning on his shoulder, said a few wordswhich made him turn round towards the queen: immediately Mary, with aninstinctive movement rather than with the dread of being an object ofidle curiosity, drew back, but not so quickly, however, but that she hadbeen able to see the handsome pale face of the unknown, who, when shereturned to the window, had disappeared behind one of the corners of thecastle. 

Everything is a cause of conjecture to a prisoner: it seemed to Mary thatthis young man's face was not unknown to her, and that he had seen heralready; but though great the care with which she questioned her memory, she could not recall any distinct remembrance, so much so that the queenended in thinking it the play of her imagination, or that some vague anddistinct resemblance had deceived her. 

However, in spite of Mary, this idea had taken an important place in hermind: she incessantly saw this little boat skimming the water, and theyoung man and the child who were in it drawing near her, as if to bringher help. It followed that, although there had been nothing real in allthese captive's dreams, she slept that night a calmer sleep than she hadyet done since she had been in Lochleven Castle. 

Next day, on rising, Mary ran to her window: the weather was fine, andeverything seemed to smile on her, the water, the heavens and the earth. But, without being able to account for the restraining motive, she didnot want to go down into the ga den before breakfast. When the dooropened, 'she turned quickly round: it was, as on the day before, WilliamDouglas, who came to fulfil his duty as taster. 

The breakfast was a short and silent one; then, as soon as Douglas hadwithdrawn, Mary descended in her turn: in crossing the courtyard she sawtwo horses ready saddled, which pointed to the near departure of a masterand a squire. Was it the young man with the black hair already settingout again? This is what Mary did not dare or did not wish to ask. Sheconsequently went her way, and entered the garden: at the first glanceshe took it in in its full extent; it was deserted. 

Mary walked there a moment; then, soon tiring of the promenade, she wentup again to her room: in passing back through the courtyard she hadnoticed that the horses were no longer there. Directly she returned intoher apartment, she went then to the window to see if she could discoveranything upon the lake to guide her in her conjectures: a boat was infact receding, and in this boat were the two horses and the two horsemen;one was William Douglas, the other a simple squire from the house. 

Mary continued watching the boat until it had touched the shore. Arrivedthere, the two horsemen got out, disembarked their horses, and went awayat full gallop, taking the same road by which the queen had come; sothat, as the horses were prepared for a long journey, Mary thought thatWilliam Douglas was going to Edinburgh. As to the boat, scarcely had itlanded its two passengers on the opposite shore than it returned towardsthe castle. 

At that moment Mary Seyton announced to the queen that Lady Douglas wasasking permission to visit her. 

It was the second time, after long hatred on Lady Douglas's part andcontemptuous indifference on the queen's, that the two women were face toface; therefore the queen, with that instinctive impulse of coquetrywhich urges women, in whatever situation they find themselves, to desireto be beautiful, above all for women, made a sign to Mary Seyton, and, going to a little mirror fastened to the wall in a heavy Gothic frame, she arranged her curls, and readjusted the lace of her collar; then;having seated herself in the pose most favourable to her, in a greatarm-chair, the only one in her sitting-room, she said smilingly to MarySeyton that she might admit Lady Douglas, who was immediately introduced. 

Mary's expectation was not disappointed: Lady Douglas, in spite of herhatred for James Vs daughter, and mistress of herself as she thought sheas, could not prevent herself from showing by a movement of surprise theimpression that this marvelous beauty was making on her: she thought sheshould find Mary crushed by her unhappiness, pallid from her fatigues, humbled by captivity, and she saw hers calm, lovely, and haughty asusual. Mary perceived the effect that she was producing, and addressingherself with an ironical smile partly to Mary Seyton, who was leaning onthe back of her chair, and partly to her who was paying her thisunforeseen visit, "We are fortunate to-day, " said she, "for we are going as it seems toenjoy the society of our good hostess, whom we thank besides for havingkindly maintained with us the empty ceremony of announcing herself--aceremony with which, having the keys of our apartment, she could havedispensed. "

"If my presence is inconvenient to your grace, " replied Lady Lochleven, "I am all the more sorry for it, as circumstances will oblige me toimpose it twice daily, at least during the absence of my son, who issummoned to Edinburgh by the regent; this is of what I came to informyour grace, not with the empty ceremonial of the court, but with theconsideration which Lady Lochleven owes to everyone who has receivedhospitality in her castle. "

"Our good hostess mistakes our intention, " Mary answered, with affectedgood-nature; "and the regent himself can bear witness to the pleasure wehave always had in bringing nearer to us the persons who can recall tous, even indirectly, our well-beloved father, James V. It will betherefore unjustly that Lady Douglas will interpret in a mannerdisagreeable to herself our surprise at seeing her; and the hospitalitythat she offers us so obligingly does not promise us, in spite of hergoodwill, sufficient distractions that we should deprive ourselves ofthose that her visits cannot fail to procure us. "

"Unfortunately, madam, " replied Lady Lochleven, whom Mary was keepingstanding before her, "whatever pleasure I myself derive from thesevisits, I shall be obliged to deprive myself of, except at the times Ihave mentioned. I am now too old to bear fatigue, and I have, always beentoo proud to endure sarcasms. "

"Really, Seyton, " cried Mary, seeming to recollect herself, "we had notdreamed that Lady Lochleven, having won her right to a stool at the courtof the king my father, would have need to preserve it in the prison ofthe queen his daughter. Bring forward a seat, Seyton, that we be notdeprived so soon, and by a failure of memory on our part, of our gracioushostess's company; or even, " went on Mary, rising and pointing out herown seat to Lady Lochleven, who was making a motion to withdraw, "if astool does not suit you, my lady, take this easy-chair: you will not bethe first member of your family to sit in my place. "

At this last allusion, which recalled to her Murray's usurpation, LadyLochleven was no doubt about to make some exceedingly bitter reply, whenthe young man with the dark hair appeared on the threshold, without beingannounced, and, advancing towards Lady Lochleven, without saluting Mary--

"Madam, " said he, bowing to the former, "the boat which took my brotherhas just returned, and one of the men in it is charged with a pressingcharge that Lord William forgot to make to you himself. "

Then, saluting the old lady with the same respect, he immediately wentout of the room, without even glancing at the queen, who, hurt by thisimpertinence, turned round to Mary Seyton, and, with her usual calm--

"What have they told us, Seyton, of injurious rumours which were spreadabout our worthy hostess apropos of a child with a pale face and darkhair? If this child, as I have every reason to believe, has become theyoung man who just went out of the room, I am ready to affirm to all theincredulous that he is a true Douglas, if not for courage, of which wecannot judge, then for insolence, of which he has just given us proofs. Let us return, darling, " continued the queen, leaning on Mary Seyton'sarm; "for our good hostess, out of courtesy, might think herself obligedto keep us company longer, while we know that she is impatiently awaitedelsewhere. "

With these words, Mary went into her bedroom; while the old lady, stillquite stunned with the shower of sarcasms that the queen had rained onher, withdrew, murmuring, "Yes, yes, he is a Douglas, and with God's helphe will prove it, I hope. "

The queen had had strength as long as she was sustained by her enemy'spresence, but scarcely was she alone than she sank into a chair, and nolonger having any witness of her weakness than Mary Seyton, burst intotears. Indeed, she had just been cruelly wounded: till then no man hadcome near her who had not paid homage either to the majesty of her rankor to the beauty of her countenance. But precisely he, on whom she hadreckoned, without knowing why, with instinctive hopes, insulted her atone and the same time in her double pride of queen and woman: thus sheremained shut up till evening. 

At dinner-time, just as Lady Lochleven had informed Mary, she ascended tothe queen's apartment, in her dress of honour, and preceding fourservants who were carrying the several dishes composing the prisoner'srepast, and who, in their turn, were followed by the old castle steward, having, as on days of great ceremony, his gold chain round his neck andhis ivory stick in his hand. The servants' placed the dishes on thetable, and waited in silence for the moment when it should please thequeen to come out of her room; but at this moment the door opened, and inplace of the queen Mary Seyton appeared. 

"Madam, " said she on entering, "her grace was indisposed during the day, and will take nothing this evening; it will be useless, then, for you towait longer. "

"Permit me to hope, " replied Lady Lochleven, "that she will change herdecision; in any case, see me perform my office. "

At these words, a servant handed Lady Lochleven bread and salt on asilver salver, while the old steward, who, in the absence of WilliamDouglas, fulfilled the duties of carver, served to her on a plate of thesame metal a morsel from each of the dishes that had been brought; then, this transaction ended. 

"So the queen will not appear to-day?" Lady Lochleven inquired. 

"It is her Majesty's resolve, " replied Mary Seyton. 

"Our presence is then needless, " said the old lady; "but in any case thetable is served, and if her grace should have need of anything else, shewould have but to name it. "

With these words, Lady Lochleven, with the same stiffness and the samedignity with which she had come, withdrew, followed by her four servantsand her steward. 

As Lady Lochleven had foreseen, the queen, yielding to the entreaties ofMary Seyton, came out of her room at last, towards eight o'clock in theevening, sat down to table, and, served by the only maid of honour lefther, ate a little; then, getting up, she went to the window. 

It was one of those magnificent summer evenings on which the whole ofnature seems making holiday: the sky was studded with stars, which werereflected in the lake, and in their midst, like a more fiery star, theflame of the chafing-dish shone, burning at the stern of a little boat:the queen, by the gleam of the light it shed, perceived George Douglasand Little Douglas, who were fishing. However great her wish to profitby this fine evening to breathe the pure night air, the sight of thisyoung man who had so grossly insulted her this very day made such a keenimpression on her that she shut her window directly, and, retiring intoher room, went to bed, and made her companion in captivity read severalprayers aloud; then, not being able to sleep, so greatly was sheagitated, she rose, and throwing on a mantle went again to the window theboat had disappeared. 

Mary spent part of the night gazing into the immensity of the heavens, orinto the depths of the lake; but in spite of the nature of the thoughtsagitating her, she none the less found very great physical alleviation incontact with this pure air and in contemplation of this peaceful andsilent night: thus she awoke next day calmer and more resigned. Unfortunately, the sight of Lady Lochleven, who presented herself atbreakfast-time, to fulfil her duties as taster, brought back herirritability. Perhaps, however, things would have gone on smoothly ifLady Lochleven, instead of remaining standing by the sideboard, hadwithdrawn after having tasted the various dishes of the courses; but thisinsisting on remaining throughout the meal, which was at bottom a mark ofrespect, seemed to the queen unbearable tyranny. 

"Darling, " said she, speaking to Mary Seyton, "have you already forgottenthat our good hostess complained yesterday of the fatigue she felt innstanding? Bring her, then, one of the two stools which compose our royalfurniture, and take care that it is not the one with the leg broken". "If the furniture of Lochleven Castle is in such bad condition, madam, "the old lady replied, "it is the fault of the kings of Scotland: the poorDouglases for nearly a century have had such a small part of theirsovereigns' favour, that they have not been able to keep up the splendourof their ancestors to the level of that of private individuals, andbecause there was in Scotland a certain musician, as I am informed, whospent their income for a whole year in one month. "

"Those who know how to take so well, my lady, " the queen answered, "haveno need of being given to: it seems to me the Douglases have lost nothingby waiting, and there is not a younger son of this noble family who mightnot aspire to the highest alliances; it is truly vexatious that oursister the queen of England has taken a vow of virginity; as is stated. "

"Or rather, " interrupted Lady Lochleven, "that the Queen of Scotland isnot a widow by her third husband. But, " continued the old lady, pretending to recollect herself, "I do not say that to reproach yourgrace. Catholics look upon marriage as a sacrament, and on this headreceive it as often as they can. "

"This, then, " returned Mary, "is the difference between them and theHuguenots; for they, not having the same respect for it, think it isallowed them to dispense with it in certain circumstances. "

At this terrible sarcasm Lady Lochleven took a step towards Mary Stuart, holding in her hand the knife which she had just been using to cut off apiece of meat brought her to taste; but the queen rose up with so great acalm and with such majesty, that either from involuntary respect or shameof her first impulse, she let fall the weapon she was holding, and notfinding anything sufficiently strong in reply to express her feelings, she signed to the servants to follow her, and went out of the apartmentwith all the dignity that anger permitted her to summon to her aid. 

Scarcely had Lady Lochleven left the room than the queen sat down again, joyful and triumphant at the victory she had just gained, and ate with abetter appetite than she had yet done since she was a prisoner, whileMary Seyton deplored in a low tone and with all possible respect thisfatal gift of repartee that Mary had received, and which, with herbeauty, was one of the causes of all her misfortunes; but the queen didnothing but laugh at all her observations, saying she was curious to seethe figure her good hostess would cut at dinnertime. 

After breakfast, the queen went down into the garden: her satisfied pridehad restored some of her cheerfulness, so much so that, seeing, whilecrossing the hall, a mandolin lying forgotten on a chair, she told MarySeyton to take it, to see, she said, if she could recall her old talent. In reality the queen was one of the best musicians of the time, andplayed admirably, says Brantome, on the lute and viol d'amour, aninstrument much resembling the mandolin. 

Mary Seyton obeyed. 

Arrived in the garden, the queen sat down in the deepest shade, andthere, having tuned her instrument, she at first drew from it lively andlight tones, which soon darkened little by little, at the same time thather countenance assumed a hue of deep melancholy. Mary Seyton looked ather with uneasiness, although for a long time she had been used to thesesudden changes in her mistress's humour, and she was about to ask thereason of this gloomy veil suddenly spread over her face, when, regulating her harmonies, Mary began to sing in a low voice, and as iffor herself alone, the following verses:--

 "Caverns, meadows, plains and mounts, Lands of tree and stone, Rivers, rivulets and founts, By which I stray alone, Bewailing as I go, With tears that overflow, Sing will I The miserable woe That bids me grieve and sigh. 

 Ay, but what is here to lend Ear to my lament? What is here can comprehend My dull discontent? Neither grass nor reed, Nor the ripples heed, Flowing by, While the stream with speed Hastens from my eye. 

 Vainly does my wounded heart Hope, alas, to heal; Seeking, to allay its smart, Things that cannot feel. Better should my pain Bitterly complain, Crying shrill, To thee who dost constrain My spirit to such ill. 

 Goddess, who shalt never die, List to what I say; Thou who makest me to lie Weak beneath thy sway, If my life must know Ending at thy blow, Cruellest! Own it perished so But at thy behest. 

 Lo! my face may all men see Slowly pine and fade, E'en as ice doth melt and flee Near a furnace laid. Yet the burning ray Wasting me away Passion's glow, Wakens no display Of pity for my woe. 

 Yet does every neighbour tree, Every rocky wall, This my sorrow know and see; So, in brief, doth all Nature know aright This my sorry plight; Thou alone Takest thy delight To hear me cry and moan. 

 But if it be thy will, To see tormented still Wretched me, Then let my woful ill Immortal be. "

This last verse died away as if the queen were exhausted, and at the sametime the mandolin slipped from her hands, and would have fallen to theground had not Mary Seyton thrown herself on her knees and prevented it. The young girl remained thus at her mistress's feet for some time, gazingat her silently, and as she saw that she was losing herself more and morein gloomy reverie--

"Have those lines brought back to your Majesty some sad remembrance?" sheasked hesitatingly. 

"Oh, yes, " answered the queen; "they reminded me of the unfortunate beingwho composed them. "

"And may I, without indiscretion, inquire of your grace who is theirauthor?"

"Alas! he was a noble, brave, and handsome young man, with a faithfulheart and a hot head, who would defend me to-day, if I had defended himthen; but his boldness seemed to me rashness, and his fault a crime. What was to be done? I did not love him. Poor Chatelard! I was verycruel to him. "

"But you did not prosecute him, it was your brother; you did not condemnhim, the judges did. "

"Yes, yes; I know that he too was Murray's victim, and that is no doubtthe reason that I am calling him to mind just now. But I was able topardon him, Mary, and I was inflexible; I let ascend the scaffold a manwhose only crime was in loving me too well; and now I am astonished andcomplain of being abandoned by everyone. Listen, darling, there is onething that terrifies me: it is, that when I search within myself I findthat I have not only deserved my fate, but even that God did not punishme severely enough. "

"What strange thoughts for your grace!" cried Mary; "and see where thoseunlucky lines which returned to your mind have led you, the very day whenyou were beginning to recover a little of your cheerfulness. "

"Alas!" replied the queen, shaking her head and uttering a deep sigh, "for six years very few days have passed that I have not repeated thoselines to myself, although it may be for the first time to-day that Irepeat them aloud. He was a Frenchman too, Mary: they have exiled fromme, taken or killed all who came to me from France. Do you remember thatvessel which was swallowed up before our eyes when we came out of Calaisharbour? I exclaimed then that it was a sad omen: you all wanted toreassure me. Well, who was right, now, you or I?"

The queen was in one of those fits of sadness for which tears are thesole remedy; so Mary Seyton, perceiving that not only would everyconsolation be vain, but also unreasonable, far from continuing to reactagainst her mistress's melancholy, fully agreed with her: it followedthat the queen, who was suffocating, began to weep, and that her tearsbrought her comfort; then little by little she regained self-control, andthis crisis passed as usual, leaving her firmer and more resolute thanever, so that when she went up to her room again it was impossible toread the slightest alteration in her countenance. 

The dinner-hour was approaching, and Mary, who in the morning was lookingforward impatiently to the enjoyment of her triumph over Lady Lochleven, now saw her advance with uneasiness: the mere idea of again facing thiswoman, whose pride one was always obliged to oppose with insolence, was, after the moral fatigues of the day, a fresh weariness. So she decidednot to appear for dinner, as on the day before: she was all the more gladshe had taken this resolution, that this time it was not Lady Lochlevenwho came to fulfil the duties enjoined on a member of the family to makethe queen easy, but George Douglas, whom his mother in her displeasure atthe morning scene sent to replace her. Thus, when Mary Seyton told thequeen that she saw the young man with dark hair cross the courtyard onhis way to her, Mary still further congratulated herself on her decision;for this young man's insolence had wounded her more deeply than all hismother's haughty insults. The queen was not a little astonished, then, when in a few minutes Mary Seyton returned and informed her that GeorgeDouglas, having sent away the servants, desired the honour of speaking toher on a matter of importance. At first the queen refused; but MarySeyton told her that the young man's air and manner this time were sodifferent from what she had seen two days before, that she thought hermistress would be wrong to refuse his request. 

The queen rose then, and with the pride and majesty habitual to her, entered the adjoining room, and, having taken three steps, stopped with adisdainful air, waiting for George to address her. 

Mary Seyton had spoken truly: George Douglas was now another man. To-dayhe seemed to be as respectful and timid as the preceding day he hadseemed haughty and proud. He, in his turn, made a step towards thequeen; but seeing Mary Seyton standing behind her--

"Madam, " said he, "I wished to speak with your Majesty alone: shall I notobtain this favour?"

"Mary Seyton is not a stranger to me, Sir: she is my sister, my friend;she is more than all that, she is my companion in captivity. "

"And by all these claims, madam, I have the utmost veneration for her;but what I have to tell you cannot be heard by other ears than yours. Thus, madam, as the opportunity furnished now may perhaps never presentitself again, in the name of what is dearest to you, grant me what Iask. "

There was such a tone of respectful prayer in George's voice that Maryturned to the young girl, and, making her a friendly sign with her hand--

"Go, then, darling, " said she; "but be easy, you will lose nothing by nothearing. Go. "

Mary Seyton withdrew; the queen smilingly looked after her, till the doorwas shut; then, turning to George--

"Now, sir, " said she, "we are alone, speak. "

But George, instead of replying, advanced to the queen, and, kneeling onone knee, drew from his breast a paper which he presented to her. Marytook it with amazement, unfolded it, glancing at Douglas, who remained inthe same posture, and read as follows:

We, earls, lords, and barons, in consideration that our queen is detainedat Lochleven, and that her faithful subjects cannot have access to herperson; seeing, on the other hand, that our duty pledges us to providefor her safety, promise and swear to employ all reasonable means whichwill depend on us to set her at liberty again on conditions compatiblewith the honour of her Majesty, the welfare of the kingdom, and even withthe safety of those who keep her in prison, provided that they consent togive her up; that if they refuse, we declare that we are prepared to makeuse of ourselves, our children, our friends, our servants, our vassals, our goods, our persons, and our lives, to restore her to liberty, toprocure the safety of the prince, and to co-operate in punishing the lateking's murderers. If we are assailed for this intent, whether as a bodyor in private, we promise to defend ourselves, and to aid one another, under pain of infamy and perjury. So may God help us. 

"Given with our own hands at Dumbarton, "St. Andrews, Argyll, Huntly, Arbroath, Galloway, Ross, Fleming, Herries, Stirling, Kilwinning, Hamilton, and Saint-Clair, Knight. "

"And Seyton!" cried Mary, "among all these signatures, I do not see thatof my faithful Seyton. "

Douglas, still kneeling, drew from his breast a second paper, andpresented it to the queen with the same marks of respect. It containedonly these few words:

"Trust George Douglas; for your Majesty has no more devoted friend in theentire kingdom. "SEYTON. "

Mary lowered her eyes to Douglas with an expression which was hers only;then, giving him her hand to raise him--

"Ah!" said she, with a sigh more of joy than of sadness, "now I see thatGod, in spite of my faults, has not yet abandoned me. But how is it, inthis castle, that you, a Douglas. . . . Oh! it is incredible!"

"Madam, " replied George, "seven years have passed since I saw you inFrance for the first time, and for seven years I have loved you". Marymoved; but Douglas put forth his hand and shook his head with an air ofsuch profound sadness, that she understood that she might hear what theyoung man had to say. He continued: "Reassure yourself, madam; I shouldnever have made this confession if, while explaining my conduct to you, this confession would not have given you greater confidence in me. Yes, for seven years I have loved you, but as one loves a star that one cannever reach, a madonna to whom one can only pray; for seven years I havefollowed you everywhere without you ever having paid attention to me, without my saying a word or making a gesture to attract your notice. Iwas on the knight of Mevillon's galley when you crossed to Scotland; Iwas among the regent's soldiers when you beat Huntly; I was in the escortwhich accompanied you when you went to see the sick king at Glasgow; Ireached Edinburgh an hour after you had left it for Lochleven; and thenit seemed to me that my mission was revealed to me for the first time, and that this love for which till then, I had reproached myself as acrime, was on the contrary a favour from God. I learned that the lordswere assembled at Dumbarton: I flew thither. I pledged my name, Ipledged my honour, I pledged my life; and I obtained from them, thanks tothe facility I had for coming into this fortress, the happiness ofbringing you the paper they have just signed. Now, madam, forget all Ihave told you, except the assurance of my devotion and respect: forgetthat I am near you; I am used to not being seen: only, if you have needof my life, make a sign; for seven years my life has been yours. "

"Alas!" replied Mary, "I was complaining this morning of no longer beingloved, and I ought to complain, on the contrary, that I am still loved;for the love that I inspire is fatal and mortal. Look back, Douglas, andcount the tombs that, young as I am, I have already left on mypath--Francis II, Chatelard, Rizzio, Darnley. . . . Oh to attach one's selfto my fortunes more than love is needed now heroism and devotion arerequisite so much the more that, as you have said, Douglas, it is lovewithout any possible reward. Do you understand?"

"Oh, madam, madam, " answered Douglas, "is it not reward beyond my desertsto see you daily, to cherish the hope that liberty will be restored toyou through me, and to have at least, if I do not give it you, thecertainty of dying in your sight?"

"Poor young man!" murmured Mary, her eyes raised to heaven, as if shewere reading there beforehand the fate awaiting her new defender. 

"Happy Douglas, on the contrary, " cried George, seizing the queen's handand kissing it with perhaps still more respect than love, "happy Douglas!for in obtaining a sigh from your Majesty he has already obtained morethan he hoped. "

"And upon what have you decided with my friends?" said the queen, raisingDouglas, who till then had remained on his knees before her. 

"Nothing yet, " George replied; "for we scarcely had time to see oneanother. Your escape, impossible without me, is difficult even with me;and your Majesty has seen that I was obliged publicly to fail in respect, to obtain from my mother the confidence which gives me the good fortuneof seeing you to-day: if this confidence on my mother's or my brother'spart ever extends to giving up to me the castle keys, then you are saved!Let your Majesty not be surprised at anything, then: in the presence ofothers, I shall ever be always a Douglas, that is an enemy; and exceptyour life be in danger, madam, I shall not utter a word, I shall not makea gesture which might betray the faith that I have sworn you; but, onyour side, let your grace know well, that present or absent, whether I amsilent or speak, whether I act or remain inert, all will be in appearanceonly, save my devotion. Only, " continued Douglas, approaching the windowand showing to the queen a little house on Kinross hill, --"only, lookevery evening in that direction, madam, and so long as you see a lightshine there, your friends will be keeping watch for you, and you need notlose hope. "

"Thanks, Douglas, thanks, " said the queen; "it does one good to meet witha heart like yours from time to time--oh! thanks. "

"And now, madam, " replied the young man, "I must leave your Majesty; toremain longer with you would be to raise suspicions, and a single doubtof me, think of it well, madam, and that light which is your sole beaconis extinguished, and all returns into night. "

With these words, Douglas bowed more respectfully than he had yet done, and withdrew, leaving Mary full of hope, and still more full of pride;for this time the homage that she had just received was certainly for thewoman and not for the queen. 

As the queen had told him, Mary Seyton was informed of everything, eventhe love of Douglas, and, the two women impatiently awaited the eveningto see if the promised star would shine on the horizon. Their hope wasnot in vain: at the appointed time the beacon was lit. The queen trembledwith joy, for it was the confirmation of her hopes, and her companioncould not tear her from the window, where she remained with her gazefastened on the little house in Kinross. At last she yielded to MarySeyton's prayers, and consented to go to bed; but twice in the night sherose noiselessly to go to the window: the light was always shining, andwas not extinguished till dawn, with its sisters the stars. 

Next day, at breakfast, George announced to the queen the return of hisbrother, William Douglas: he arrived the same evening; as to himself, George, he had to leave Lochleven next morning, to confer with the nobleswho had signed the declaration, and who had immediately separated toraise troops in their several counties. The queen could not attempt togood purpose any escape but at a time when she would be sure of gatheringround her an army strong enough to hold the country; as to him, Douglas, one was so used to his silent disappearances and to his unexpectedreturns, that there was no reason to fear that his departure wouldinspire any suspicion. 

All passed as George had said: in the evening the sound of a bugleannounced the arrival of William Douglas; he had with him Lord Ruthven, the son of him who had assassinated Rizzio, and who, exiled with Mortonafter the murder, died in England of the sickness with which he wasalready attacked the day of the terrible catastrophe in which we haveseen him take such a large share. He preceded by one day Lord Lindsay ofByres and Sir Robert Melville, brother of Mary's former ambassador toElizabeth: all three were charged with a mission from the regent to thequeen. 

On the following day everything fell back into the usual routine, andWilliam Douglas reassumed his duties as carver. Breakfast passed withoutMary's having learned anything of George's departure or Ruthven'sarrival. On rising from the table she went to her window: scarcely wasshe there than she heard the sound of a horn echoing on the shores of thelake, and saw a little troop of horsemen halt, while waiting for the boatto came and take those who were going to the castle. 

The distance was too great for Mary to recognise any of the visitors; butit was clear, from the signs of intelligence exchanged between the littletroop and the inhabitants of the fortress, that the newcomers were herenemies. This was a reason why the queen, in her uneasiness, should notlose sight for a moment of the boat which was going to fetch them. Shesaw only two men get into it; and immediately it put off again for thecastle. 

As the boat drew nearer, Mary's presentiments changed to real fears, forin one of the men coming towards her she thought she made out LordLindsay of Byres, the same who, a week before, had brought her to herprison. It was indeed he himself, as usual in a steel helmet without avisor, which allowed one to see his coarse face designed to expressstrong passions, and his long black beard with grey hairs here and there, which covered his chest: his person was protected, as if it were in timeof war, with his faithful suit of armour, formerly polished and wellgilded, but which, exposed without ceasing to rain and mist, was noweaten up with rust; he had slung on his back, much as one slings aquiver, a broadsword, so heavy that it took two hands to manage it, andso long that while the hilt reached the left shoulder the point reachedthe right spur: in a word, he was still the same soldier, brave torashness but brutal to insolence, recognising nothing but right andforce, and always ready to use force when he believed himself in theright. 

The queen was so much taken up with the sight of Lord Lindsay of Byres, that it was only just as the boat reached the shore that she glanced athis companion and recognised Robert Melville: this was some consolation, for, whatever might happen, she knew that she should find in him if notostensible at least secret sympathy. Besides, his dress, by which onecould have judged him equally with Lord Lindsay, was a perfect contrastto his companion's. It consisted of a black velvet doublet, with a capand a feather of the same hue fastened to it with a gold clasp; his onlyweapon, offensive or defensive, was a little sword, which he seemed towear rather as a sign of his rank than for attack or defence. As to hisfeatures and his manners, they were in harmony with this peacefulappearance: his pale countenance expressed both acuteness andintelligence; his quick eye was mild, and his voice insinuating; hisfigure slight and a little bent by habit rather than by years, since hewas but forty-five at this time, indicated an easy and conciliatorycharacter. 

However, the presence of this man of peace, who seemed entrusted withwatching over the demon of war, could not reassure the queen, and as toget to the landing-place, in front of the great door of the castle, theboat had just disappeared behind the corner of a tower, she told MarySeyton to go down that she might try to learn what cause brought LordLindsay to Lochleven, well knowing that with the force of character withwhich she was endowed, she need know this cause but a few minutesbeforehand, whatever it might be, to give her countenance that calm andthat majesty which she had always found to influence her enemies. 

Left alone, Mary let her glance stray back to the little house inKinross, her sole hope; but the distance was too great to distinguishanything; besides, its shutters remained closed all day, and seemed toopen only in the evening, like the clouds, which, having covered the skyfor a whole morning, scatter at last to reveal to the lost sailor asolitary star. She had remained no less motionless, her gaze alwaysfixed on the same object, when she was drawn from this mute contemplationby the step of Mary Seyton. 

"Well, darling?" asked the queen, turning round. 

"Your Majesty is not mistaken, " replied the messenger: "it really was SirRobert Melville and Lord Lindsay; but there came yesterday with SirWilliam Douglas a third ambassador, whose name, I am afraid, will bestill more odious to your Majesty than either of the two I have justpronounced. "

"You deceive yourself, Mary, " the queen answered: "neither the name ofMelville nor that of Lindsay is odious to me. Melville's, on thecontrary, is, in my present circumstances, one of those which I have mostpleasure in hearing; as to Lord Lindsay's, it is doubtless not agreeableto me, but it is none the less an honourable name, always borne by menrough and wild, it is true, but incapable of treachery. Tell me, then, what is this name, Mary; for you see I am calm and prepared. "

"Alas! madam, " returned Mary, "calm and prepared as you may be, collectall your strength, not merely to hear this name uttered, but also toreceive in a few minutes the man who bears it; for this name is that ofLord Ruthven. "

Mary Seyton had spoken truly, and this name had a terrible influence uponthe queen; for scarcely had it escaped the young girl's lips than MaryStuart uttered a cry, and turning pale, as if she were about to faint, caught hold of the window-ledge. 

Mary Seyton, frightened at the effect produced by this fatal name, immediately sprang to support the queen; but she, stretching one handtowards her, while she laid the other on her heart--

"It is nothing, " said she; "I shall be better in a moment. Yes, Mary, yes, as you said, it is a fatal name and mingled with one of my mostbloody memories. What such men are coming to ask of me must be dreadfulindeed. But no matter, I shall soon be ready to receive my brother'sambassadors, for doubtless they are sent in his name. You, darling, prevent their entering, for I must have some minutes to myself: you knowme; it will not take me long. "

With these words the queen withdrew with a firm step to her bedchamber. 

Mary Seyton was left alone, admiring that strength of character whichmade of Mary Stuart, in all other respects so completely woman-like, aman in the hour of danger. She immediately went to the door to close itwith the wooden bar that one passed between two iron rings, but the barhad been taken away, so that there was no means of fastening the doorfrom within. In a moment she heard someone coming up the stairs, andguessing from the heavy, echoing step that this must be Lord Lindsay, shelooked round her once again to see if she could find something to replacethe bar, and finding nothing within reach, she passed her arm through therings, resolved to let it be broken rather than allow anyone to approachher mistress before it suited her. Indeed, hardly had those who werecoming up reached the landing than someone knocked violently, and a harshvoice cried:

"Come, come, open the door; open directly. "

"And by what right, " said Mary Seyton, "am I ordered thus insolently toopen the Queen of Scotland's door?"

"By the right of the ambassador of the regent to enter everywhere in hisname. I am Lord Lindsay, and I am come to speak to Lady Mary Stuart. "

"To be an ambassador, " answered Mary Seyton, "is not to be exempted fromhaving oneself announced in visiting a woman, and much more a queen; andif this ambassador is, as he says, Lord Lindsay, he will await hissovereign's leisure, as every Scottish noble would do in his place. "

"By St. Andrew!" cried Lord Lindsay, "open, or I will break in the door. "

"Do nothing to it, my lord, I entreat you, " said another voice, whichMary recognised as Meville's. "Let us rather wait for Lord Ruthven, whois not yet ready. "

"Upon my soul, " cried Lindsay, shaking the door, "I shall not wait asecond". Then, seeing that it resisted, "Why did you tell me, then, youscamp, " Lindsay went on, speaking to the steward, "that the bar had beenremoved?

"It is true, " replied he. 

"Then, " returned Lindsay, "with what is this silly wench securing thedoor?"

"With my arm, my lord, which I have passed through the rings, as aDouglas did for King James I, at a time when Douglases had dark hairinstead of red, and were faithful instead of being traitors. "

"Since you know your history so well, " replied Lindsay, in a rage, " youshould remember that that weak barrier did not hinder Graham, thatCatherine Douglas's arm was broken like a willow wand, and that James Iwas killed like a dog. "

"But you, my lord, " responded the courageous young girl, "ought also toknow the ballad that is still sung in our time--

"'Now, on Robert Gra'am, The king's destroyer, shame! To Robert Grahamcling Shame, who destroyed our king. '"

"Mary, " cried the queen, who had overheard this altercation from herbedroom, --"Mary, I command you to open the door directly: do you hear?"

Mary obeyed, and Lord Lindsay entered, followed by Melville, who walkedbehind him, with slow steps and bent head. Arrived in the middle of thesecond room, Lord Lindsay stopped, and, looking round him--

"Well, where is she, then?" he asked; "and has she not already kept uswaiting long enough outside, without making us wait again inside? Or doesshe imagine that, despite these walls and these bars, she is alwaysqueen?"

"Patience, my lord, " murmured Sir Robert: "you see that Lord Ruthven hasnot come yet, and since we can do nothing without him, let us wait. "

"Let wait who will, " replied Lindsay, inflamed with anger; "but it willnot be I, and wherever she may be, I shall go and seek her. "

With these words, he made some steps towards Mary Stuart's bedroom; butat the same moment the queen opened the door, without seeming movedeither at the visit or at the insolence of the visitors, and so lovelyand so full of majesty, that each, even Lindsay himself, was silent ather appearance, and, as if in obedience to a higher power, bowedrespectfully before her. 

"I fear I have kept you waiting, my lord, " said the queen, withoutreplying to the ambassador's salutation otherwise than by a slightinclination of the head; "but a woman does not like to receive evenenemies without having spent a few minutes over her toilet. It is truethat men are less tenacious of ceremony, " added she, throwing asignificant glance at Lord Lindsay's rusty armour and soiled and pierceddoublet. "Good day, Melville, " she continued, without paying attentionto some words of excuse stammered by Lindsay; "be welcome in my prison, as you were in my palace; for I believe you as devoted to the one as tothe other". 

Then, turning to Lindsay, who was looking interrogatively at the door, impatient as he was for Ruthven to come--

"You have there, my lord, " said she, pointing to the sword he carriedover his shoulder, "a faithful companion, though it is a little heavy:did you expect, in coming here, to find enemies against whom to employit? In the contrary case, it is a strange ornament for a lady'spresence. But no matter, my lord, I, am too much of a Stuart to fear thesight of a sword, even if it were naked, I warn you. "

"It is not out of place here, madam, " replied Lindsay, bringing itforward and leaning his elbow on its cross hilt, "for it is an oldacquaintance of your family. "

"Your ancestors, my lord, were brave and loyal enough for me not torefuse to believe what you tell me. Besides, such a good blade must haverendered them good service. "

"Yes, madam, yes, surely it has done so, but that kind of service thatkings do not forgive. He for whom it was made was ArchibaldBell-the-Cat, and he girded himself with it the day when, to justify hisname, he went to seize in the very tent of King James III, yourgrandfather, his un worthy favourites, Cochran, Hummel, Leonard, andTorpichen, whom he hanged on Louder Bridge with the halters of hissoldiers' horses. It was also with this sword that he slew at one blow, in the lists, Spens of Kilspindie, who had insulted him in the presenceof King James IV, counting on the protection his master accorded him, andwhich did not guard him against it any more than his shield, which itsplit in two. At his master's death, which took place two years afterthe defeat of Flodden, on whose battlefield he left his two sons and twohundred warriors of the name of Douglas, it passed into the hands of theEarl of Angus, who drew it from the scabbard when he drove the Hamiltonsout of Edinburgh, and that so quickly and completely that the affair wascalled the 'sweeping of the streets. ' Finally, your father James V sawit glisten in the fight of the bridge over the Tweed, when Buccleuch, stirred up by him, wanted to snatch him from the guardianship of theDouglases, and when eighty warriors of the name of Scott remained on thebattlefield. "

"But, " said the queen, "how is it that this weapon, after such exploits, has not remained as a trophy in the Douglas family? No doubt the Earl ofAngus required a great occasion to decide him to-renounce in your favourthis modern Excalibur". [History of Scotland, by Sir Walter Scott. --"TheAbbott": historical part. ]

"Yes, no doubt, madam, it was upon a great occasion, " replied Lindsay, inspite of the imploring signs made by Melville, "and this will have atleast the advantage of the others, in being sufficiently recent for youto remember. It was ten days ago, on the battlefield of Carberry Hill, madam, when the infamous Bothwell had the audacity to make a publicchallenge in which he defied to single combat whomsoever would dare tomaintain that he was not innocent of the murder of the king your husband. I made him answer then, I the third, that he was an assassin. And as herefused to fight with the two others under the pretext that they wereonly barons, I presented myself in my turn, I who am earl and lord. Itwas on that occasion that the noble Earl of Morton gave me this goodsword to fight him to the death. So that, if he had been a little morepresumptuous or a little less cowardly, dogs and vultures would be eatingat this moment the pieces that, with the help of this good sword, Ishould have carved for them from that traitor's carcass. "

At these words, Mary Seyton and Robert Melville looked at each other interror, for the events that they recalled were so recent that they were, so to speak, still living in the queen's heart; but the queen, withincredible impassibility and a smile of contempt on her lips--

"It is easy, my lord, " said she, "to vanquish an enemy who does notappear in the lists; however, believe me, if Mary had inherited theStuarts' sword as she has inherited their sceptre, your sword, long as itis, would yet have seemed to you too short. But as you have only torelate to us now, my lord, what you intended doing, and not what you havedone, think it fit that I bring you back to something of more reality;for I do not suppose you have given yourself the trouble to come herepurely and simply to add a chapter to the little treatise DesRodomontades Espagnolles by M. De Brantome. "

"You are right, madam, " replied Lindsay, reddening with anger, "and youwould already know the object of our mission if Lord Ruthven did not soridiculously keep us waiting. But, " added he, "have patience; the matterwill not be long now, for here he is. "

Indeed, at that moment they heard steps mounting the staircase andapproaching the room, and at the sound of these steps, the queen, who hadborne with such firmness Lindsay's insults, grew so perceptibly paler, that Melville, who did not take his eyes off her, --put out his handtowards the arm-chair as if to push it towards her; but the queen made asign that she had no need of it, and gazed at the door with apparentcalm. Lord Ruthven appeared; it was the first time that she had seen theson since Rizzio had been assassinated by the father. 

Lord Ruthven was both a warrior and a statesman, and at this moment hisdress savoured of the two professions: it consisted of a close coat ofembroidered buff leather, elegant enough to be worn as a court undress, and on which, if need were, one could buckle a cuirass, for battle: likehis father, he was pale; like his father, he was to die young, and, evenmore than his father, his countenance wore that ill-omened melancholy bywhich fortune-tellers recognise those who are to die a violent death. 

Lord Ruthven united in himself the polished dignity of a courtier and theinflexible character of a minister; but quite resolved as he was toobtain from Mary Stuart, even if it were by violence, what he had come todemand in the regent's name, he none the less made her, on entering, acold but respectful greeting, to which the queen responded with acourtesy; then the steward drew up to the empty arm-chair a heavy tableon which had been prepared everything necessary for writing, and at asign from the two lords he went out, leaving the queen and her companionalone with the three ambassadors. Then the queen, seeing that this tableand this arm-chair were put ready for her, sat down; and after a moment, herself breaking this silence more gloomy than any word could have been--

"My lords, " said she, "you see that I wait: can it be that this messagewhich you have to communicate to me is so terrible that two soldiers asrenowned as Lord Lindsay and Lord Ruthven hesitate at the moment oftransmitting it?"

"Madam, " answered Ruthven, "I am not of a family, as you know, which everhesitates to perform a duty, painful as it may be; besides, we hope thatyour captivity has prepared you to hear what we have to tell you on thepart of the Secret Council. "

"The Secret Council!" said the queen. "Instituted by me, by what rightdoes it act without me? No matter, I am waiting for this message: Isuppose it is a petition to implore my mercy for the men who have daredto reach to a power that I hold only from God. "

"Madam, " replied Ruthven, who appeared to have undertaken the painfulrole of spokesman, while Lindsay, mute and impatient, fidgeted with thehilt of his long sword, "it is distressing to me to have to undeceive youon this point: it is not your mercy that I come to ask; it is, on thecontrary, the pardon of the Secret Council that I come to offer you. "

"To me, my lord, to me!" cried Mary: "subjects offer pardon to theirqueen! Oh! it is such a new and wonderful thing, that my amazementoutweighs my indignation, and that I beg you to continue, instead ofstopping you there, as perhaps I ought to do. "

"And I obey you so much the more willingly, madam, " went on Ruthvenimperturbably, "that this pardon is only granted on certain conditions, stated in these documents, destined to re-establish the tranquillity ofthe State, so cruelly compromised by the errors that they are going torepair. "

"And shall I be permitted, my lord, to read these documents, or must I, allured by my confidence in those who present them to me, sign them withmy eyes shut?"

"No, madam, " Ruthven returned; "the Secret Council desire, on thecontrary, that you acquaint yourself with them, for you must sign themfreely. "

"Read me these documents, my lord; for such a reading is, I think, included in the strange duties you have accepted. "

Lord Ruthven took one of the two papers that he had in his hand, and readwith the impassiveness of his usual voice the following:

"Summoned from my tenderest youth to the government of the kingdom and tothe crown of Scotland, I have carefully attended to the administration;but I have experienced so much fatigue and trouble that I no longer findmy mind free enough nor my strength great enough to support the burden ofaffairs of State: accordingly, and as Divine favour has granted us a sonwhom we desire to see during our lifetime bear the crown which he hasacquired by right of birth, we have resolved to abdicate, and we abdicatein his favour, by these presents, freely and voluntarily, all our rightsto the crown and to the government of Scotland, desiring that he mayimmediately ascend the throne, as if he were called to it by our naturaldeath, and not as the effect of our own will; and that our presentabdication may have a more complete and solemn effect, and that no oneshould put forward the claim of ignorance, we give full powers to ourtrusty and faithful cousins, the lords Lindsay of Byres and WilliamRuthven, to appear in our name before the nobility, the clergy, and theburgesses of Scotland, of whom they will convoke an assembly at Stirling, and to there renounce, publicly and solemnly, on our part, all our claimsto the crown and to the government of Scotland. 

"Signed freely and as the testimony of one of our last royal wishes, inour castle of Lochleven, the ___ June 1567". (The date was left blank. )

There was a moment's silence after this reading, then

"Did you hear, madam?" asked Ruthven. 

"Yes, " replied Mary Stuart, --"yes, I have heard rebellious words that Ihave not understood, and I thought that my ears, that one has tried toaccustom for some time to a strange language, still deceived me, and thatI have thought for your honour, my lord William Ruthven, and my lordLindsay of Byres. "

"Madam, " answered Lindsay, out of patience at having kept silence solong, "our honour has nothing to do with the opinion of a woman who hasso ill known how to watch over her own. "

"My lord!" said Melville, risking a word. 

"Let him speak, Robert, " returned the queen. "We have in our consciencearmour as well tempered as that with which Lord Lindsay is so prudentlycovered, although, to the shame of justice, we no longer have a sword. Continue, my lord, " the queen went on, turning to Lord Ruthven: "is thisall that my subjects require of me? A date and a signature? Ah!doubtless it is too little; and this second paper, which you have kept inorder to proceed by degrees, probably contains some demand more difficultto grant than that of yielding to a child scarcely a year old a crownwhich belongs to me by birthright, and to abandon my sceptre to take adistaff. "

"This other paper, " replied Ruthven, without letting himself beintimidated by the tone of bitter irony adopted by the queen, "is thedeed by which your Grace confirms the decision of the Secret Councilwhich has named your beloved brother, the Earl of Murray, regent of thekingdom. "

"Indeed!" said Mary. "The Secret Council thinks it needs my confirmationto an act of such slight importance? And my beloved brother, to bear itwithout remorse, needs that it should be I who add a fresh title to thoseof Earl of Mar and of Murray that I have already bestowed upon him? Butone cannot desire anything more respectful and touching than all this, and I should be very wrong to complain. My lords, " continued the queen, rising and changing her tone, "return to those who have sent you, andtell them that to such demands Mary Stuart has no answer to give. "

"Take care, madam, " responded Ruthven; "for I have told you it is only onthese conditions that your pardon can be granted you. "

"And if I refuse this generous pardon, " asked Mary, "what will happen?"

"I cannot pronounce beforehand, madam; but your Grace has enoughknowledge of the laws, and above all of the history of Scotland andEngland, to know that murder and adultery are crimes for which more thanone queen has been punished with death. "

"And upon what proofs could such a charge be founded, my lord? Pardon mypersistence, which takes up your precious time; but I am sufficientlyinterested in the matter to be permitted such a question. "

"The proof, madam?" returned Ruthven. "There is but one, I know; butthat one is unexceptionable: it is the precipitate marriage of the widowof the assassinated with the chief assassin, and the letters which havebeen handed over to us by James Balfour, which prove that the guiltypersons had united their adulterous hearts before it was permitted themto unite their bloody hands. "

"My lord, " cried the queen, "do you forget a certain repast given in anEdinburgh tavern, by this same Bothwell, to those same noblemen who treathim to-day as an adulterer and a murderer; do you forget that at the endof that meal, and on the same table at which it had been given, a paperwas signed to invite that same woman, to whom to-day you make the hasteof her new wedding a crime, to leave off a widow's mourning to reassume amarriage robe? for if you have forgotten it, my lords, which would do nomore honour to your sobriety than to your memory, I undertake to show itto you, I who have preserved it; and perhaps if we search well we shallfind among the signatures the names of Lindsay of Byres and WilliamRuthven. O noble Lord Herries, " cried Mary, "loyal James Melville, youalone were right then, when you threw yourselves at my feet, entreatingme not to conclude this marriage, which, I see it clearly to-day, wasonly a trap set for an ignorant woman by perfidious advisers or disloyallords. "

"Madam, " cried Ruthven, in spite of his cold impassivity beginning tolose command of himself, while Lindsay was giving still more noisy andless equivocal signs of impatience, "madam, all these discussions arebeside our aim: I beg you to return to it, then, and inform us if, yourlife and honour guaranteed, you consent to abdicate the crown ofScotland. "

"And what safeguard should I have that the promises you here make me willbe kept?"

"Our word, madam, " proudly replied Ruthven. 

"Your word, my lord, is a very feeble pledge to offer, when one soquickly forgets one's signature: have you not some trifle to add to it, to make me a little easier than I should be with it alone?"

"Enough, Ruthven, enough, " cried Lindsay. "Do you not see that for anhour this woman answers our proposals only by insults?"

"Yes, let us go, " said Ruthven; "and thank yourself only, madam, for theday when the thread breaks which holds the sword suspended over yourhead. "

"My lords, " cried Melville, "my lords, in Heaven's name, a littlepatience, and forgive something to her who, accustomed to command, istoday forced to obey. "

"Very well, " said Lindsay, turning round, "stay with her, then, and tryto obtain by your smooth words what is refused to our frank and loyaldemand. In a quarter of an hour we shall return: let the answer be readyin a quarter of an hour!"

With these words, the two noblemen went out, leaving Melville with thequeen; and one could count their footsteps, from the noise that Lindsay'sgreat sword made, in resounding on each step of the staircase. 

Scarcely were they alone than Melville threw himself at the queen's feet. 

"Madam, " said he, "you remarked just now that Lord Herries and my brotherhad given your Majesty advice that you repented not having followed;well, madam, reflect on that I in my turn give you; for it is moreimportant than the other, for you will regret with still more bitternessnot having listened to it. Ah! you do not know what may happen, you areignorant of what your brother is capable. "

"It seems to me, however, " returned the queen, "that he has justinstructed me on that head: what more will he do than he has donealready? A public trial! Oh! it is all I ask: let me only plead mycause, and we shall see what judges will dare to condemn me. "

"But that is what they will take good care not to do, madam; for theywould be mad to do it when they keep you here in this isolated castle, inthe care of your enemies, having no witness but God, who avenges crime, but who does not prevent it. Recollect, madam, what Machiavelli hassaid, 'A king's tomb is never far from his prison. ' You come of a familyin which one dies young, madam, and almost always of a sudden death: twoof your ancestors perished by steel, and one by poison. "

"Oh, if my death were sudden and easy, " cried Mary, "yes, I should acceptit as an expiation for my faults; for if I am proud when I compare myselfwith others, Melville, I am humble when I judge myself. I am unjustlyaccused of being an accomplice of Darnley's death, but I am justlycondemned for having married Bothwell. "

"Time presses, madam; time presses, " cried Melville, looking at the sand, which, placed on the table, was marking the time. "They are coming back, they will be here in a minute; and this time you must give them ananswer. Listen, madam, and at least profit by your situation as much asyou can. You are alone here with one woman, without friends, withoutprotection, without power: an abdication signed at such a juncture willnever appear to your people to have been freely given, but will alwayspass as having been torn from you by force; and if need be, madam, if theday comes when such a solemn declaration is worth something, well, thenyou will have two witnesses of the violence done you: the one will beMary Seyton, and the other, " he added in a low voice and looking uneasilyabout him, --"the other will be Robert Melville. "

Hardly had he finished speaking when the footsteps of the two nobles wereagain heard on the staircase, returning even before the quarter of anhour had elapsed; a moment afterwards the door opened, and Ruthvenappeared, while over his shoulder was seen Lindsay's head. 

"Madam, " said Ruthven, "we have returned. Has your Grace decided? Wecome for your answer. "

"Yes, " said Lindsay, pushing aside Ruthven, who stood in his way, andadvancing to the table, --"yes, an answer, clear, precise, positive, andwithout dissimulation. "

"You are exacting, my lord, " said the queen: "you would scarcely have theright to expect that from me if I were in full liberty on the other sideof the lake and surrounded with a faithful escort; but between thesewalls, behind these bars, in the depths of this fortress, I shall nottell you that I sign voluntarily, lest you should not believe it. But nomatter, you want my signature; well, I am going to give it to you. Melville, pass me the pen. "

"But I hope, " said Lord Ruthven, "that your Grace is not counting onusing your present position one day in argument to protest against whatyou are going to do?"

The queen had already stooped to write, she had already set her hand tothe paper, when Ruthven spoke to her. But scarcely had he done so, thanshe rose up proudly, and letting fall the pen, "My lord, " said she, "whatyou asked of me just now was but an abdication pure and simple, and I wasgoing to sign it. But if to this abdication is joined this marginalnote, then I renounce of my own accord, and as judging myself unworthy, the throne of Scotland. I would not do it for the three united crownsthat I have been robbed of in turn. "

"Take care, madam, " cried Lord Lindsay, seizing the queen's wrist withhis steel gauntlet and squeezing it with all his angry strength--"takecare, for our patience is at an end, and we could easily end by breakingwhat would not bend. "

The queen remained standing, and although a violent flush had passed likea flame over her countenance, she did not utter a word, and did not move:her eyes only were fixed with such a great expression of contempt onthose of the rough baron, that he, ashamed of the passion that hadcarried him away, let go the hand he had seized and took a step back. Then raising her sleeve and showing the violet marks made on her arm byLord Lindsay's steel gauntlet, "This is what I expected, my lords, " said she, "and nothing prevents meany longer from signing; yes, I freely abdicate the throne and crown ofScotland, and there is the proof that my will has not been forced. "

With these words, she took the pen and rapidly signed the two documents, held them out to Lord Ruthven, and bowing with great dignity, withdrewslowly into her room, accompanied by Mary Seyton. Ruthven looked afterher, and when she had disappeared, "It doesn't matter, " he said; "she hassigned, and although the means you employed, Lindsay, may be obsoleteenough in diplomacy, it is not the less efficacious, it seems. "

"No joking, Ruthven, " said Lindsay; "for she is a noble creature, and ifI had dared, I should have thrown myself at her feet to ask herforgiveness. "

"There is still time, " replied Ruthven, "and Mary, in her presentsituation, will not be severe upon you: perhaps she has resolved toappeal to the judgment of God to prove her innocence, and in that case achampion such as you might well change the face of things. "

"Do not joke, Ruthven, " Lindsay answered a second time, with moreviolence than the first; "for if I were as well convinced of herinnocence as I am of her crime, I tell you that no one should touch ahair of her head, not even the regent. "

"The devil! my lord, " said Ruthven. "I did not know you were sosensitive to a gentle voice and a tearful eye; you know the story ofAchilles' lance, which healed with its rust the wounds it made with itsedge: do likewise my lord, do likewise. "

"Enough, Ruthven, enough, " replied Lindsay; "you are like a corselet ofMilan steel, which is three times as bright as the steel armour ofGlasgow, but which is at the same time thrice as hard: we know oneanother, Ruthven, so an end to railleries or threats; enough, believe me, enough. "

And after these words, Lord Lindsay went out first, followed by Ruthvenand Melville, the first with his head high and affecting an air ofinsolent indifference, and the second, sad, his brow bent, and not eventrying to disguise the painful impression which this scene had made onhim. ' ["History of Scotland, by Sir Walter Scott. --'The Abbott":historical part. ]

CHAPTER VI

The queen came out of her room only in the evening, to take her place atthe window which looked over the lake: at the usual time she saw thelight which was henceforth her sole hope shine in the little house inKinross; for a whole long month she had no other consolation than seeingit, every night, fixed and faithful. 

At last, at the end of this time, and as she was beginning to despair ofseeing George Douglas again, one morning, on opening the window, sheuttered a cry. Mary Seyton ran to her, and the queen, without havingstrength to speak, showed her in the middle of the lake the tiny boat atanchor, and in the boat Little Douglas and George, who were absorbed infishing, their favourite amusement. The young man had arrived the daybefore, and as everyone was accustomed to his unexpected returns, thesentinel had not even blown the horn, and the queen had not known that atlast a friend had come. 

However, she was three days yet without seeing this friend otherwise thanshe had just done-that is, on the lake. It is true that from morningtill evening he did not leave that spot, from which he could view thequeen's windows and the queen herself, when, to gaze at a wider horizon, she leaned her face against the bars. At last, on the morning of thefourth day, the queen was awakened by a great noise of dogs and horns:she immediately ran to the window, for to a prisoner everything is anevent, and she saw William Douglas, who was embarking with a pack ofhounds and some huntsmen. In fact, making a truce, for a day, with hisgaoler's duties, to enjoy a pleasure more in harmony with his rank andbirth, he was going to hunt in the woods which cover the last ridge ofBen Lomond, and which, ever sinking, die down on the banks of the lake. 

The queen trembled with delight, for she hoped that Lady Lochleven wouldmaintain her ill-will, and that then George would replace his brother:this hope was not disappointed. At the usual time the queen heard thefootsteps of those who were bringing her her breakfast; the door opened, and she saw George Douglas enter, preceded by the servants who werecarrying the dishes. George barely bowed; but the queen, warned by himnot to be surprised at anything, returned him his greeting with adisdainful air; then the servants performed their task and went out, asthey were accustomed. 

"At last, " said the queen, "you are back again, then. "

George motioned with his finger, went to the door to listen if all theservants had really gone away, and if no one had remained to spy. Then, returning more at ease, and bowing respectfully--

"Yes, madam, " returned he; "and, Heaven be thanked, I bring good news. "

"Oh, tell me quickly!" cried the queen; "for staying in this castle ishell. You knew that they came, did you not, and that they made me signan abdication?"

"Yes, madam, " replied Douglas; "but we also knew that your signature hadbeen obtained from you by violence alone, and our devotion to yourMajesty is increased thereby, if possible. "

"But, after all, what have you done?"

"The Seytons and the Hamiltons, who are, as your Majesty knows, your mostfaithful servants, "--Mary turned round, smiling, and put out her hand toMary Seyton, --"have already, " continued George, "assembled their troops, who keep themselves in readiness for the first signal; but as they alonewould not be sufficiently numerous to hold the country, we shall make ourway directly to Dumbarton, whose governor is ours, and which by itsposition and its strength can hold out long enough against all theregent's troops to give to the faithful hearts remaining to you time tocome and join us. "

"Yes, yes, " said the queen; "I see clearly what we shall do once we getout of this; but how are we to get out?"

"That is the occasion, madam, " replied Douglas, "for which your Majestymust call to your aid that courage of which you have given such greatproofs. "

"If I have need only of courage and coolness, " replied the queen, "beeasy; neither the one nor the other will fail me. "

"Here is a file, " said George, giving Mary Seyton that instrument whichhe judged unworthy to touch the queen's hands, "and this evening I shallbring your Majesty cords to construct a ladder. You will cut through oneof the bars of this window, it is only at a height of twenty feet; Ishall come up to you, as much to try it as to support you; one of thegarrison is in my pay, he will give us passage by the door it is his dutyto guard, and you will be free. "

"And when will that be?" cried the queen. 

"We must wait for two things, madam, " replied Douglas: "the first, tocollect at Kinross an escort sufficient for your Majesty's safety; thesecond, that the turn for night watch of Thomas Warden should happen tobe at an isolated door that we can reach without being seen. "

"And how will you know that? Do you stay at the castle, then?"

"Alas! no, madam, " replied George; "at the castle I am a useless and evena dangerous fried for you, while once beyond the lake I can serve you inan effectual manner. "

"And how will you know when Warden's turn to mount guard has come?"

"The weathercock in the north tower, instead of turning in the wind withthe others, will remain fixed against it. "

"But I, how shall I be warned?"

"Everything is already provided for on that side: the light which shineseach night in the little house in Kinross incessantly tells you that yourfriends keep watch for you; but when you would like to know if the hourof your deliverance approaches or recedes, in your turn place a light inthis window. The other will immediately disappear; then, placing yourhand on your breast, count your heartbeats: if you reach the numbertwenty without the light reappearing, nothing is yet settled; if you onlyreach ten, the moment approaches; if the light does not leave you time tocount beyond five, your escape is fixed for the following night; if itreappears no more, it is fixed for the same evening; then the owl's cry, repeated thrice in the courtyard, will be the signal; let down the ladderwhen you hear it". 

"Oh, Douglas, " cried the queen, "you alone could foresee and calculateeverything thus. Thank you, thank you a hundred times!" And she gave himher hand to kiss. 

A vivid red flushed the young man's cheeks; but almost directly masteringhis emotion, he kneeled down, and, restraining the expression of thatlove of which he had once spoken to the queen, while promising her nevermore to speak of it, he took the hand that Mary extended, and kissed itwith such respect that no one could have seen in this action anything butthe homage of devotion and fidelity. 

Then, having bowed to the queen, he went out, that a longer stay with hershould not give rise to any suspicions. 

At the dinner-hour Douglas brought, as he had said, a parcel of cord. Itwas not enough, but when evening came Mary Seyton was to unroll it andlet fall the end from the window, and George would fasten the remainderto it: the thing was done as arranged, and without any mishap, an hourafter the hunters had returned. 

The following day George left the castle. 

The queen and Mary Seyton lost no time in setting about the rope ladder, and it was finished on the third day. The same evening, the queen in herimpatience, and rather to assure herself of her partisans' vigilance thanin the hope that the time of her deliverance was so near, brought herlamp to the window: immediately, and as George Douglas had told her, thelight in the little house at Kinross disappeared: the queen then laid herhand on her heart and counted up to twenty-two; then the lightreappeared; they were ready for everything, but nothing was yet settled. For a week the queen thus questioned the light and her heart-beatswithout their number changing; at last, on the eighth day, she countedonly as far as ten; at the eleventh the light reappeared. 

The queen believed herself mistaken: she did not dare to hope what thisannounced. She withdrew the lamp; then, at the end of a quarter of anhour, showed it again: her unknown correspondent understood. With hisusual intelligence that a fresh trial was required of him, and the lightin the little house disappeared in its turn. Mary again questioned thepulsations of her heart, and, fast as it leaped, before the twelfth beatthe propitious star was shining on the horizon: there was no longer anydoubt; everything was settled. 

Mary could not sleep all night: this persistency of her partisansinspired her with gratitude to the point of tears. The day came, and thequeen several times questioned her companion to assure herself that itwas not all a dream; at every sound it seemed to her that the scheme onwhich her liberty hung was discovered, and when, at breakfast and atdinner time, William Douglas entered as usual, she hardly dared look athim, for fear of reading on his face the announcement that all was lost. 

In the evening the queen again questioned the light: it made the sameanswer; nothing had altered; the beacon was always one of hope. 

For four days it thus continued to indicate that the moment of escape wasat hand; on the evening of the fifth, before the queen had counted fivebeats, the light reappeared: the queen leaned upon Mary Seyton; she wasnearly fainting, between dread and 'delight. Her escape was fixed forthe next evening. 

The queen tried once more, and obtained the same reply: there was nolonger a doubt; everything was ready except the prisoner's courage, forit failed her for a moment, and if Mary Seyton had not drawn up a seat intime, she would have fallen prone; but, the first moment over, shecollected herself as usual, and was stronger and more resolute than ever. 

Till midnight the queen remained at the window, her eyes fixed on thatstar of good omen: at last Mary Seyton persuaded her to go to bed, offering, if she had no wish to sleep, to read her some verses by M. Ronsard, or some chapters from the Mer des Histoires; but Mary had nodesire now for any profane reading, and had her Hours read, making theresponses as she would have done if she had been present at a mass saidby a Catholic priest: towards dawn, however, she grew drowsy, and as MarySeyton, for her part, was dropping with fatigue, she fell asleep directlyin the arm-chair at the head of the queen's bed. 

Next day she awoke, feeling that someone was tapping her on the shoulder:it was the queen, who had already arisen. 

"Come and see, darling, " said she, --"come and see the fine day that Godis giving us. Oh! how alive is Nature! How happy I shall be to be oncemore free among those plains and mountains! Decidedly, Heaven is on ourside. "

"Madam, " replied Mary, "I would rather see the weather less fine: itwould promise us a darker night; and consider, what we need is darkness, not light. "

"Listen, " said the queen; "it is by this we are going to see if God isindeed for us; if the weather remains as it is, yes, you are right, Heabandons us; but if it clouds over, oh! then, darling, this will be acertain proof of His protection, will it not?"

Mary Seyton smiled, nodding that she adopted her mistress's superstition;then the queen, incapable of remaining idle in her great preoccupation ofmind, collected the few jewels that she had preserved, enclosed them in acasket, got ready for the evening a black dress, in order to be stillbetter hidden in the darkness: and, these preparations made, she sat downagain at the window, ceaselessly carrying her eyes from the lake to thelittle house in Kinross, shut up and dumb as usual. 

The dinner-hour arrived: the queen was so happy that she received WilliamDouglas with more goodwill than was her wont, and it was with difficultyshe remained seated during the time the meal lasted; but she restrainedherself, and William Douglas withdrew, without seeming to have noticedher agitation. 

Scarcely had he gone than Mary ran to the window; she had need of air, and her gaze devoured in advance those wide horizons which she was aboutto cross anew; it seemed to her that once at liberty she would never shutherself up in a palace again, but would wander about the countrysidecontinually: then, amid all these tremors of delight, from time to timeshe felt unexpectedly heavy at heart. She then turned round to MarySeyton, trying to fortify her strength with hers, and the young girl keptup her hopes, but rather from duty than from conviction. 

But slow as they seemed to the queen, the hours yet passed: towards theafternoon some clouds floated across the blue sky; the queen remarkedupon them joyfully to her companion; Mary Seyton congratulated her uponthem, not on account of the imaginary omen that the queen sought in them, but because of the real importance that the weather should be cloudy, that darkness might aid them in their flight. While the two prisonerswere watching the billowy, moving vapours, the hour of dinner arrived;but it was half an hour of constraint and dissimulation, the more painfulthat, no doubt in return for the sort of goodwill shown him by the queenin the morning, William Douglas thought himself obliged, in his turn, toaccompany his duties with fitting compliments, which compelled the queento take a more active part in the conversation than her preoccupationallowed her; but William Douglas did not seem in any way to observe thisabsence of mind, and all passed as at breakfast. 

Directly he had gone the queen ran to the window: the few clouds whichwere chasing one another in the sky an hour before had thickened andspread, and--all the blue was blotted out, to give place to a hue dulland leaden as pewter. Mary Stuart's presentiments were thus realised: asto the little house in Kinross, which one could still make out in thedusk, it remained shut up, and seemed deserted. 

Night fell: the light shone as usual; the queen signalled, itdisappeared. Mary Stuart waited in vain; everything remained indarkness: the escape was for the same evening. The queen heard eighto'clock, nine o'clock, and ten o'clock strike successively. At teno'clock the sentinels were relieved; Mary Stuart heard the patrols passbeneath her windows, the steps of the watch recede: then all returned tosilence. Half an hour passed away thus; suddenly the owl's cry resoundedthrice, the queen recognised George Douglas's signal: the supreme momenthad come. 

In these circumstances the queen found all her strength revive: shesigned to Mary Seyton to take away the bar and to fix the rope ladder, while, putting out the lamp, she felt her way into the bedroom to seekthe casket which contained her few remaining jewels. When she came back, George Douglas was already in the room. 

"All goes well, madam, " said he. "Your friends await you on the otherside of the lake, Thomas Warden watches at the postern, and God has sentus a dark night. "

The queen, without replying, gave him her hand. George bent his knee andcarried this hand to his lips; but on touching it, he felt it cold andtrembling. 

"Madam, " said he, "in Heaven's name summon all your courage, and do notlet yourself be downcast at such a moment. "

"Our Lady-of-Good-Help, " murmured Seyton, "come to our aid!"

"Summon to you the spirit of the kings your ancestors, " responded George, "for at this moment it is not the resignation of a Christian that yourequire, but the strength and resolution of a queen"

"Oh, Douglas! Douglas, " cried Mary mournfully, "a fortune-tellerpredicted to me that I should die in prison and by a violent death: hasnot the hour of the prediction arrived?"

"Perhaps, " George said, "but it is better to die as a queen than to livein this ancient castle calumniated and a prisoner. "

"You are right, George, " the queen answered; "but for a woman the firststep is everything: forgive me". Then, after a moment's pause, "Come, "said she; "I am ready. "

George immediately went to the window, secured the ladder again and morefirmly, then getting up on to the sill and holding to the bars with onehand, he stretched out the other to the queen, who, as resolute as shehad been timid a moment before, mounted on a stool, and had already setone foot on the window-ledge, when suddenly the cry, "Who goes there?"rang out at the foot of the tower. The queen sprang quickly back, partlyinstinctively and partly pushed by George, who, on the contrary, leanedout of the window to see whence came this cry, which, twice againrenewed, remained twice unanswered, and was immediately followed by areport and the flash of a firearm: at the same moment the sentinel onduty on the tower blew his bugle, another set going the alarm bell, andthe cries, "To arms, to arms!" and "Treason, treason!" resoundedthroughout the castle. 

"Yes, yes, treason, treason!" cried George Douglas, leaping down into theroom. "Yes, the infamous Warden has betrayed us!" Then, advancing toMary, cold and motionless as a statue, "Courage, madam, " said he, "courage! Whatever happens, a friend yet remains for you in the castle;it is Little Douglas. "

Scarcely had he finished speaking when the door of the queen's apartmentopened, and William Douglas and Lady Lochleven, preceded by servantscarrying torches and armed soldiers, appeared on the threshold: the roomwas immediately filled with people and light. 

"Mother, " said William Douglas, pointing to his brother standing beforeMary Stuart and protecting her with his body, "do you believe me now?Look!"

The old lady was for a moment speechless; then finding a word at last, and taking a step forward--

"Speak, George Douglas, " cried she, "speak, and clear yourself at once ofthe charge which weighs on your honour; say but these words, 'A Douglaswas never faithless to his trust, ' and I believe you". 

"Yes, mother, " answered William, "a Douglas!. . . But he--he is not aDouglas. "

"May God grant my old age the strength needed to bear on the part of oneof my sons such a misfortune, and on the part of the other such aninjury!" exclaimed Lady Lochleven. "O woman born under a fatal star, "she went on, addressing the queen, "when will you cease to be, in theDevil's hands, an instrument of perdition and death to all who approachyou? O ancient house of Lochleven, cursed be the hour when thisenchantress crossed thy threshold!"

"Do not say that, mother, do not say that, " cried George; "blessed be, onthe contrary, the moment which proves that, if there are Douglases who nolonger remember what they owe to their sovereigns, there are others whohave never forgotten it. "

"Douglas! Douglas!" murmured Mary Stuart, "did I not tell you?"

"And I, madam, " said George, "what did I reply then? That it was anhonour and a duty to every faithful subject of your Majesty to die foryou. "

"Well, die, then!" cried William Douglas, springing on his brother withraised sword, while he, leaping back, drew his, and with a movement quickas thought and eager as hatred defended himself. But at the same momentMary Stuart darted between the two young people. 

"Not another step, Lord Douglas, " said she. "Sheathe your sword, George, or if you use it, let be to go hence, and against everyone but your bother. I still have need of your life; take care of it. "

"My life, like my arm and my honour, is at your service, madam, and fromthe moment you command it I shall preserve it for you. "

With these words, rushing to the door with a violence and resolve whichprevented anyone's stopping him--

"Back!" cried he to the domestics who were barring the passage; "make wayfor the young master of Douglas, or woe to you!". 

"Stop him!" cried William. "Seize him, dead or alive! Fire upon him!Kill him like a dog!"

Two or three soldiers, not daring to disobey William, pretended to pursuehis brother. Then some gunshots were heard, and a voice crying thatGeorge Douglas had just thrown himself into the lake. 

"And has he then escaped?" cried William. 

Mary Stuart breathed again; the old lady raised her hands to Heaven. 

"Yes, yes, " murmured William, --"yes, thank Heaven for your son's flight;for his flight covers our entire house with shame; counting from thishour, we shall be looked upon as the accomplices of his treason. "

"Have pity on me, William!" cried Lady Lochleven, wringing her hands. "Have compassion o your old mother! See you not that I am dying?"

With these words, she fell backwards, pale and tottering; the steward anda servant supported er in their arms. 

"I believe, my lord, " said Mary Seyton, coming forward, "that your motherhas as much need of attention just now as the queen has need of repose:do you not consider it is time for you to withdraw?"

"Yes, yes, " said William, "to give you time to spin fresh webs, Isuppose, and to seek what fresh flies you can take in them? It is well, go on with your work; but you have just seen that it is not easy todeceive William Douglas. Play your game, I shall play mine". Thenturning to the servants, "Go out, all of you, " said he; "and you, mother, come. "

The servants and the soldiers obeyed; then William Douglas went out last, supporting Lady Lochleven, and the queen heard him shut behind him anddouble-lock the two doors of her prison. 

Scarcely was Mary alone, and certain that she was no longer seen orheard, than all her strength deserted her, and, sinking into anarm-chair, she burst out sobbing. 

Indeed, all her courage had been needed to sustain her so far, and thesight of her enemies alone had given her this courage; but hardly hadthey gone than her situation appeared before her in all its fatalhardship. Dethroned, a prisoner, without another fiend in thisimpregnable castle than a child to whom she had scarce given attention, and who was the sole and last thread attaching her past hopes to herhopes for the future, what remained to Mary Stuart of her two thrones andher double power? Her name, that was all; her, name with which, free, she had doubtless stirred Scotland, but which little by little was aboutto be effaced in the hearts of her adherents, and which during herlifetime oblivion was to cover perhaps as with a shroud. Such an ideawas insupportable to a soul as lofty as Mary Stuart's, and to anorganisation which, like that of the flowers, has need, beforeeverything, of air, light, and sun. 

Fortunately there remained to her the best beloved of her four Marys, who, always devoted and consoling, hastened to succour and comfort her;but this time it was no easy matter, and the queen let her act and speakwithout answering her otherwise than with sobs and tears; when suddenly, looking through the window to which she had drawn up her mistress'sarmchair--

"The light!" cried she, "madam, the light!"

At the same time she raised the queen, and with arm outstretched from thewindow, she showed her the beacon, the eternal symbol of hope, relightedin the midst of this dark night on Kinross hill: there was no mistakepossible, not a star was shining in the sky. 

"Lord God, I give Thee thanks, " said the queen, falling on her knees andraising her arms to heaven with a gesture of gratitude: "Douglas hasescaped, and my friends still keep watch. "

Then, after a fervent prayer, which restored to her a little strength, the queen re-entered her room, and, tired out by her varied successiveemotions, she slept an uneasy, agitated sleep, over which theindefatigable Mary Seyton kept watch till daybreak. 

As William Douglas had said, from this time forward the queen was aprisoner indeed, and permission to go down into the garden was no longergranted but under the surveillance of two soldiers; but this annoyanceseemed to her so unbearable that she preferred to give up the recreation, which, surrounded with such conditions, became a torture. So she shutherself up in her apartments, finding a certain bitter and haughtypleasure in the very excess of her misfortune. 

CHAPTER VII

A week after the events we have related, as nine o'clock in the eveninghad just sounded from the castle bell, and the queen and Mary Seyton weresitting at a table where they were working at their tapestry, a stonethrown from the courtyard passed through the window bars, broke a pane ofglass, and fell into the room. The queen's first idea was to believe itaccidental or an insult; but Mary Seyton, turning round, noticed that thestone was wrapped up in a paper: she immediately picked it up. The paperwas a letter from George Douglas, conceived in these terms:

"You have commanded me to live, madam: I have obeyed, and your Majestyhas been able to tell, from the Kinross light, that your servantscontinue to watch over you. However, not to raise suspicion, thesoldiers collected for that fatal night dispersed at dawn, and will notgather again till a fresh attempt makes their presence necessary. But, alas! to renew this attempt now, when your Majesty's gaolers are on theirguard, would be your ruin. Let them take every precaution, then, madam;let them sleep in security, while we, we, in our devotion, shall go onwatching. 

"Patience and courage!"

"Brave and loyal heart!" cried Mary, "more constantly devoted tomisfortune than others are to prosperity! Yes, I shall have patience andcourage, and so long as that light shines I shall still believe inliberty. "

This letter restored to the queen all her former courage: she had meansof communication with George through Little Douglas; for no doubt it washe who had thrown that stone. She hastened, in her turn, to write aletter to George, in which she both charged him to express her gratitudeto all the lords who had signed the protestation; and begged them, in thename of the fidelity they had sworn to her, not to cool in theirdevotion, promising them, for her part, to await the result with thatpatience and courage they asked of her. 

The queen was not mistaken: next day, as she was at her window, LittleDouglas came to play at the foot of the tower, and, without raising hishead, stopped just beneath her to dig a trap to catch birds. The queenlooked to see if she were observed, and assured that that part of thecourtyard was deserted, she let fall the stone wrapped in her letter: atfirst she feared to have made a serious error; for Little Douglas did noteven turn at the noise, and it was only after a moment, during which theprisoner's heart was torn with frightful anxiety, that indifferently, andas if he were looking for something else, the child laid his hand on thestone, and without hurrying, without raising his head, without indeedgiving any sign of intelligence to her who had thrown it, he put theletter in his pocket, finishing the work he had begun with the greatestcalm, and showing the queen, by this coolness beyond his years, whatreliance she could place in him. 

From that moment the queen regained fresh hope; but days, weeks, monthspassed without bringing any change in her situation: winter came; theprisoner saw snow spread over the plains and mountains, and the lakeafforded her, if she had only been able to pass the door, a firm road togain the other bank; but no letter came during all this time to bring herthe consoling news that they were busy about her deliverance; thefaithful light alone announced to her every evening that a friend waskeeping watch. 

Soon nature awoke from her death-sleep: some forward sun-rays brokethrough the clouds of this sombre sky of Scotland; the snow melted, thelake broke its ice-crust, the first buds opened, the green turfreappeared; everything came out of its prison at the joyous approach ofspring, and it was a great grief to Mary to see that she alone wascondemned to an eternal winter. 

At last; one evening, she thought she observed in the motions of thelight that something fresh was happening: she had so often questionedthis poor flickering star, and she had so often let it count herheart-beats more than twenty times, that to spare herself the pain ofdisappointment, for a long time she had no longer interrogated it;however, she resolved to make one last attempt, and, almost hopeless, sheput her light near the window, and immediately took it away; still, faithful to the signal, the other disappeared at the same moment, andreappeared at the eleventh heart-beat of the queen. At the same time, bya strange coincidence, a stone passing through the window fell at MarySeyton's feet. It was, like the first, wrapped in a letter from George:the queen took it from her companion's hands, opened it, and read:

"The moment draws near; your adherents are assembled; summon all yourcourage. "

"To-morrow, at eleven o'clock in the evening, drop a cord from yourwindow, and draw up the packet that will be fastened to it. "

There remained in the queen's apartments the rope over and above what hadserved for the ladder taken away by the guards the evening of thefrustrated escape: next day, at the appointed hour, the two prisonersshut up the lamp in the bedroom, so that no light should betray them, andMary Seyton, approaching the window, let down the cord. After a minute, she felt from its movements that something was being attached to it. Mary Seyton pulled, and a rather bulky parcel appeared at the bars, whichit could not pass on account of its size. Then the queen came to hercompanion's aid. The parcel was untied, and its contents, separately, got through easily. The two prisoners carried them into the bedroom, and, barricaded within, commenced an inventory. There were two completesuits of men's clothes in the Douglas livery. The queen was at a loss, when she saw a letter fastened to the collar of one of the two coats. Eager to know the meaning of this enigma, she immediately opened it, andread as follows:

"It is only by dint of audacity that her Majesty can recover her liberty:let her Majesty read this letter, then, and punctually follow, if shedeign to adopt them, the instructions she will find therein. 

"In the daytime the keys of the castle do not leave the belt of the oldsteward; when curfew is rung and he has made his rounds to make sure thatall the doors are fast shut, he gives them up to William Douglas, who, ifhe stays up, fastens them to his sword-belt, or, if he sleeps, puts themunder his pillow. For five months, Little Douglas, whom everyone isaccustomed to see working at the armourer's forge of the castle, has beenemployed in making some keys like enough to the others, once they aresubstituted for them, for William to be deceived. Yesterday LittleDouglas finished the last. 

"On the first favourable opportunity that her Majesty will know to beabout to present itself, by carefully questioning the light each day, Little Douglas will exchange the false keys for the true, will enter thequeen's room, and will find her dressed, as well as Miss Mary Seyton, intheir men's clothing, and he will go before them to lead them, by the waywhich offers the best chances for their escape; a boat will be preparedand will await them. 

"Till then, every evening, as much to accustom themselves to these newcostumes as to give them an appearance of having been worn, her Majestyand Miss Mary Seyton will dress themselves in the suits, which they mustkeep on from nine o'clock till midnight. Besides, it is possible that, without having had time to warn them, their young guide may suddenly cometo seek them: it is urgent, then, that he find them ready. 

"The garments ought to fit perfectly her Majesty and her companion, themeasure having been taken on Miss Mary Fleming and Miss Mary Livingston, who are exactly their size. 

"One cannot too strongly recommend her Majesty to summon to her aid onthe supreme occasion the coolness and courage of which she has given suchfrequent proofs at other times. "

The two prisoners were astounded at the boldness of this plan: at firstthey looked at one another in consternation, for success seemedimpossible. They none the less made trial of their disguise: as Georgehad said, it fitted each of them as if they had been measured for it. 

Every evening the queen questioned the light, as George had urged, andthat for a whole long month, during which each evening the queen and MarySeyton, although the light gave no fresh tidings, arrayed themselves intheir men's clothes, as had been arranged, so that they both acquiredsuch practice that they became as familiar to them as those of their ownsex. 

At last, the 2nd May, 1568, the queen was awakened by the blowing of ahorn: uneasy as to what it announced, she slipped on a cloak and ran tothe window, where Mary Seyton joined her directly. A rather numerousband of horsemen had halted on the side of the lake, displaying theDouglas pennon, and three boats were rowing together and vying with eachother to fetch the new arrivals. 

This event caused the queen dismay: in her situation the least change inthe castle routine was to be feared, for it might upset all the concertedplans. This apprehension redoubled when, on the boats drawing near, thequeen recognised in the elder Lord Douglas, the husband of LadyLochleven, and the father of William and George. The venerable knight, who was Keeper of the Marches in the north, was coming to visit hisancient manor, in which he had not set foot for three years. 

It was an event for Lochleven; and, some minutes after the arrival of theboats, Mary Stuart heard the old steward's footsteps mounting the stairs:he came to announce his master's arrival to the queen, and, as it mustneeds be a time of rejoicing to all the castle inhabitants when itsmaster returned, he came to invite the queen to the dinner in celebrationof the event: whether instinctively or from distaste, the queen declined. 

All day long the bell and the bugle resounded: Lord Douglas, like a truefeudal lord, travelled with the retinue of a prince. One saw nothing butnew soldiers and servants passing and repassing beneath the queen'swindows: the footmen and horsemen were wearing, moreover, a liverysimilar to that which the queen and Mary Seyton had received. 

Mary awaited the night with impatience. The day before, she hadquestioned her light, and it had informed her as usual, in reappearing ather eleventh or twelfth heart-beat, that the moment of escape was near;but she greatly feared that Lord Douglas's arrival might have upseteverything, and that this evening's signal could only announce apostponement. But hardly had she seen the light shine than she placedher lamp in the window; the other disappeared directly, and Mary Stuart, with terrible anxiety, began to question it. This anxiety increased whenshe had counted more than fifteen beats. Then she stopped, cast down, her eyes mechanically fixed on the spot where the light had been. Buther astonishment was great when, at the end of a few minutes, she did notsee it reappear, and when, half an hour having elapsed, everythingremained in darkness. The queen then renewed her signal, but obtained noresponse: the escape was for the same evening. 

The queen and Mary Seyton were so little expecting this issue, that, contrary to their custom, they had not put on their men's clothes thatevening. They immediately flew to the queen's bed-chamber, bolted thedoor behind them, and began to dress. 

They had hardly finished their hurried toilette when they heard a keyturn in the lock: they immediately blew out the lamp. Light stepsapproached the door. The two women leaned one against the other; forthey both were near falling. Someone tapped gently. The queen asked whowas there, and Little Douglas's voice answered in the two first lines ofan old ballad--

"Douglas, Douglas, Tender and true. "

Mary opened, directly: it was the watchword agreed upon with GeorgeDouglas. 

The child was without a light. He stretched out his hand and encounteredthe queen's: in the starlight, Mary Stuart saw him kneel down; then shefelt the imprint of his lips on her fingers. 

"Is your Majesty ready to follow me?" he asked in a low tone, rising. 

"Yes, my child, " the queen answered: "it is for this evening, then?"

"With your Majesty's permission, yes, it is for this evening. "

"Is everything ready?"

"Everything. "

"What are we to do?"

"Follow me everywhere. "

"My God! my God!" cried Mary Stuart, "have pity on us!" Then, havingbreathed a short prayer in a low voice, while Mary Seyton was taking thecasket in which were the queen's jewels, "I am ready, " said she: "andyou, darling?"

"I also, " replied Mary Seyton. 

"Come, then, " said Little Douglas. 

The two prisoners followed the child; the queen going first, and MarySeyton after. Their youthful guide carefully shut again the door behindhim, so that if a warder happened to pass he would see nothing; then hebegan to descend the winding stair. Half-way down, the noise of thefeast reached them, a mingling of shouts of laughter, the confusion ofvoices, and the clinking of glasses. The queen placed her hand on heryoung guide's shoulder. 

"Where are you leading us?" she asked him with terror. 

"Out of the castle, " replied the child. 

"But we shall have to pass through the great hall?"

"Without a doubt; and that is exactly what George foresaw. Among thefootmen, whose livery your Majesty is wearing, no one will recogniseyou. "

"My God! my God!" the queen murmured, leaning against the wall. 

"Courage, madam, " said Mary Seyton in a low voice, "or we are lost. "

"You are right, " returned the queen; "let us go". And they started againstill led by their guide. 

At the foot of the stair he stopped, and giving the queen a stone pitcherfull of wine--

"Set this jug on your right shoulder, madam, " said he; "it will hide yourface from the guests, and your Majesty will give rise to less suspicionif carrying something. You, Miss Mary, give me that casket, and put onyour head this basket of bread. Now, that's right: do you feel you havestrength?"

"Yes, " said the queen. 

"Yes, " said Mary Seyton. 

"Then follow me. "

The child went on his way, and after a few steps the fugitives foundthemselves in a kind of antechamber to the great hall, from whichproceeded noise and light. Several servants were occupied there withdifferent duties; not one paid attention to them, and that a littlereassured the queen. Besides, there was no longer any drawing back:Little Douglas had just entered the great hall. 

The guests, seated on both sides of a long table ranged according to therank of those assembled at it, were beginning dessert, and consequentlyhad reached the gayest moment of the repast. Moreover, the hall was solarge that the lamps and candles which lighted it, multiplied as theywere, left in the most favourable half-light both sides of the apartment, in which fifteen or twenty servants were coming and going. The queen andMary Seyton mingled with this crowd, which was too much occupied tonotice them, and without stopping, without slackening, without lookingback, they crossed the whole length of the hall, reached the other door, and found themselves in the vestibule corresponding to the one they hadpassed through on coming in. The queen set down her jug there, MarySeyton her basket, and both, still led by the child, entered a corridorat the end of which they found themselves in the courtyard. A patrol waspassing at the moment, but he took no notice of them. 

The child made his way towards the garden, still followed by the twowomen. There, for no little while, it was necessary to try which of allthe keys opened the door; it--was a time of inexpressible anxiety. Atlast the key turned in the lock, the door opened; the queen and MarySeyton rushed into the garden. The child closed the door behind them. 

About two-thirds of the way across, Little Douglas held out his hand as asign to them to stop; then, putting down the casket and the keys on theground, he placed his hands together, and blowing into them, thriceimitated the owl's cry so well that it was impossible to believe that ahuman voice was uttering the sounds; then, picking up the casket and thekeys, he kept on his way on tiptoe and with an attentive ear. On gettingnear the wall, they again stopped, and after a moment's anxious waitingthey heard a groan, then something like the sound of a falling body. Some seconds later the owl's cry was--answered by a tu-whit-tu-whoo. 

"It is over, " Little Douglas said calmly; "come. "

"What is over?" asked the queen; "and what is that groan we heard?"

"There was a sentry at the door on to the lake, " the child answered, "buthe is no longer there. "

The queen felt her heart's blood grow cold, at the same tine that achilly sweat broke out to the roots of her hair; for she perfectlyunderstood: an unfortunate being had just lost his life on her account. Tottering, she leaned on Mary Seyton, who herself felt her strengthgiving way. Meanwhile Little Douglas was trying the keys: the secondopened the door. 

"And the queen?" said in a low voice a man who was waiting on the otherside of the wall. 

"She is following me, " replied the child. 

George Douglas, for it was he, sprang into the garden, and, taking thequeen's arm on one side and Mary Seyton's on the other, he hurried themaway quickly to the lake-side. When passing through the doorway MaryStuart could not help throwing an uneasy look about her, and it seemed toher that a shapeless object was lying at the bottom of the wall, and asshe was shuddering all over. 

"Do not pity him, " said George in a low voice, "for it is a judgment fromheaven. That man was the infamous Warden who betrayed us. "

"Alas!" said the queen, "guilty as he was, he is none the less dead on myaccount. "

"When it concerned your safety, madam, was one to haggle over drops ofthat base blood? But silence! This way, William, this way; let us keepalong the wall, whose shadow hides us. The boat is within twenty steps, and we are saved. "

With these words, George hurried on the two women still more quickly, andall four, without having been detected, reached the banks of the lake. 'As Douglas had said, a little boat was waiting; and, on seeing thefugitives approach, four rowers, couched along its bottom, rose, and oneof them, springing to land, pulled the chain, so that the queen and MarySeyton could get in. Douglas seated them at the prow, the child placedhimself at the rudder, and George, with a kick, pushed off the boat, which began to glide over the lake. 

"And now, " said he, "we are really saved; for they might as well pursue asea swallow on Solway Firth as try to reach us. Row, children, row;never mind if they hear us: the main thing is to get into the open. "

"Who goes there?" cried a voice above, from the castle terrace. 

"Row, row, " said Douglas, placing himself in front of the queen. 

"The boat! the boat!" cried the same voice; "bring to the boat!" Then, seeing that it continued to recede, "Treason! treason!" cried thesentinel. "To arms!"

At the same moment a flash lit up the lake; the report of a firearm washeard, and a ball passed, whistling. The queen uttered a little cry, although she had run no danger, George, as we have said, having placedhimself in front of her, quite protecting her with his body. 

The alarm bell now rang, and all the castle lights were seen moving andglancing about, as if distracted, in the rooms. 

"Courage, children!" said Douglas. "Row as if your lives depended oneach stroke of the oar; for ere five minutes the skiff will be out afterus. "

"That won't be so easy for them as you think, George, " said LittleDouglas; "for I shut all the doors behind me, and some time will elapsebefore the keys that I have left there open them. As to these, " addedhe, showing those he had so skilfully abstracted, "I resign them to theKelpie, the genie of the lake, and I nominate him porter of LochlevenCastle. "

The discharge of a small piece of artillery answered William's joke; butas the night was too dark for one to aim to such a distance as thatalready between the castle and the boat, the ball ricochetted at twentypaces from the fugitives, while the report died away in echo after echo. Then Douglas drew his pistol from his belt, and, warning the ladies tohave no fear, he fired in the air, not to answer by idle bravado thecastle cannonade, but to give notice to a troop of faithful friends, whowere waiting for them on the other shore of the lake, that the queen hadescaped. Immediately, in spite of the danger of being so near Kinross, cries of joy resounded on the bank, and William having turned the rudder, the boat made for land at the spot whence they had been heard. Douglasthen gave his hand to the queen, who sprang lightly ashore, and who, falling on her knees, immediately began to give thanks to God for herhappy deliverance. 

On rising, the queen found herself surrounded by her most faithfulservants--Hamilton, Herries, and Seyton, Mary's father. Light-headedwith joy, the queen extended her hands to them, thanking them with brokenwords, which expressed her intoxication and her gratitude better than thechoicest phrases could have done, when suddenly, turning round, sheperceived George Douglas, alone and melancholy. Then, going to him andtaking him by the hand--

"My lords, " said she, presenting George to them, and pointing to William, "behold my two deliverers: behold those to whom, as long as I live, Ishall preserve gratitude of which nothing will ever acquit me. "

"Madam, " said Douglas, "each of us has only done what he ought, and hewho has risked most is the happiest. But if your Majesty will believeme, you will not lose a moment in needless words. "

"Douglas is right, " said Lord Seyton. "To horse! to horse!"

Immediately, and while four couriers set out in four different directionsto announce to the queen's friends her happy escape, they brought her ahorse saddled for her, which she mounted with her usual skill; then thelittle troop, which, composed of about twenty persons, was escorting thefuture destiny of Scotland, keeping away from the village of Kinross, towhich the castle firing had doubtless given the alarm, took at a gallopthe road to Seyton's castle, where was already a garrison large enough todefend the queen from a sudden attack. 

The queen journeyed all night, accompanied on one side by Douglas, on theother by Lord Seyton; then, at daybreak, they stopped at the gate of thecastle of West Niddrie, belonging to Lord Seyton, as we have said, andsituated in West Lothian. Douglas sprang from his horse to offer hishand to Mary Stuart; but Lord Seyton claimed his privilege as master ofthe house. The queen consoled Douglas with a glance, and entered thefortress. 

"Madam, " said Lord Seyton, leading her into a room prepared for her fornine months, "your Majesty must have need of repose, after the fatigueand the emotions you have gone through since yesterday morning; you maysleep here in peace, and disquiet yourself for nothing: any noise you mayhear will be made by a reinforcement of friends which we are expecting. As to our enemies, your Majesty has nothing to fear from them so long asyou inhabit the castle of a Seyton. "

The queen again thanked all her deliverers, gave her hand to Douglas tokiss one last time, kissed Little William on the forehead, and named himher favourite page for the future; then, profiting by the advice givenher, entered her room where Mary Seyton, to the exclusion of every otherwoman, claimed the privilege of performing about her the duties withwhich she had been charged during their eleven months' captivity inLochleven Castle. 

On opening her eyes, Mary Stuart thought she had had one of those dreamsso gainful to prisoners, when waking they see again the bolts on theirdoors and the bars on their windows. So the queen, unable to believe theevidence of her senses, ran, half dressed, to the window. The courtyardwas filled with soldiers, and these soldiers all friends who had hastenedat the news of her escape; she recognised the banners of her faithfulfriends, the Seytons, the Arbroaths, the Herries, and the Hamiltons, andscarcely had she been seen at the window than all these banners bentbefore her, with the shouts a hundred times repeated of "Long live Maryof Scotland! Long live our queen!" Then, without giving heed to thedisarray of her toilet, lovely and chaste with her emotion and herhappiness, she greeted them in her turn, her eyes full of tears; but thistime they were tears of joy. However, the queen recollected that she wasbarely covered, and blushing at having allowed herself to be thus carriedaway in her ecstasy, she abruptly drew back, quite rosy with confusion. 

Then she had an instant's womanly fright: she had fled from LochlevenCastle in the Douglas livery, and without either the leisure or theopportunity for taking women's clothes with her. But she could notremain attired as a man; so she explained her uneasiness to Mary Seyton, who responded by opening the closets in the queen's room. They werefurnished, not only with robes, the measure for which, like that of thesuit, had been taken from Mary Fleming, but also with all the necessariesfor a woman's toilet. The queen was astonished: it was like being in afairy castle. 

"Mignonne, " said she, looking one after another at the robes, all thestuffs of which were chosen with exquisite taste, "I knew your father wasa brave and loyal knight, but I did not think him so learned in thematter of the toilet. We shall name him groom of the wardrobe. "

"Alas! madam, " smilingly replied Mary Seyton, "you are not mistaken: myfather has had everything in the castle furbished up to the lastcorselet, sharpened to the last sword, unfurled to the last banner; butmy father, ready as he is to die for your Majesty, would not have dreamedfor an instant of offering you anything but his roof to rest under, orhis cloak to cover you. It is Douglas again who has foreseen everything, prepared everything--everything even to Rosabelle, your Majesty'sfavourite steed, which is impatiently awaiting in the stable the momentwhen, mounted on her, your Majesty will make your triumphal re-entry intoEdinburgh. "

"And how has he been able to get her back again?" Mary asked. "I thoughtthat in the division of my spoils Rosabelle had fallen to the fair Alice, my brother's favourite sultana?"

"Yes, yes, " said Mary Seyton, "it was so; and as her value was known, shewas kept under lock and key by an army of grooms; but Douglas is the manof miracles, and, as I have told you, Rosabelle awaits your Majesty. "

"Noble Douglas!" murmured the queen, with eyes full of tears; then, as ifspeaking to herself, "And this is precisely one of those devotions thatwe can never repay. The others will be happy with honours, places, money; but to Douglas what matter all these things?"

"Come, madam, come, " said Mary Seyton, "God takes on Himself the debts ofkings; He will reward Douglas. As to your Majesty, reflect that they arewaiting dinner for you. I hope, " added she, smiling, "that you will notaffront my father as you did Lord Douglas yesterday in refusing topartake of his feast on his fortunate home-coming. "

"And luck has come to me for it, I hope, " replied Mary. "But you areright, darling: no more sad thoughts; we will consider when we haveindeed become queen again what we can do for Douglas. "

The queen dressed and went down. As Mary Seyton had told her, the chiefnoblemen of her party, already gathered round her, were waiting for herin the great hall of the castle. Her arrival was greeted withacclamations of the liveliest enthusiasm, and she sat down to table, withLord Seyton on her right hand, Douglas on her left, and behind her LittleWilliam, who the same day was beginning his duties as page. 

Next morning the queen was awakened by the sound of trumpets and bugles:it had been decided the day before that she should set out that day forHamilton, where reinforcements were looked for. The queen donned anelegant riding-habit, and soon, mounted on Rosabelle, appeared amid herdefenders. The shouts of joy redoubled: her beauty, her grace, and hercourage were admired by everyone. Mary Stuart became her own self oncemore, and she felt spring up in her again the power of fascination shehad always exercised on those who came near her. Everyone was in goodhumour, and the happiest of all was perhaps Little William, who for thefirst time in his life had such a fine dress and such a fine horse. 

Two or three thousand men were awaiting the queen at Hamilton, which shereached the same evening; and during the night following her arrival thetroops increased to six thousand. The 2nd of May she was a prisoner, without another friend but a child in her prison, without other means ofcommunication with her adherents than the flickering and uncertain lightof a lamp, and three days afterwards--that is to say, between the Sundayand the Wednesday--she found herself not only free, but also at the headof a powerful confederacy, which counted at its head nine earls, eightpeers, nine bishops, and a number of barons and nobles renowned among thebravest of Scotland. 

The advice of the most judicious among those about the queen was to shutherself up in the strong castle of Dumbarton, which, being impregnable, would give all her adherents time to assemble together, distant andscattered as they were: accordingly, the guidance of the troops who wereto conduct the queen to that town was entrusted to the Earl of Argyll, and the 11th of May she took the road with an army of nearly ten thousandmen. 

Murray was at Glasgow when he heard of the queen's escape: the place wasstrong; he decided to hold it, and summoned to him his bravest and mostdevoted partisans. Kirkcaldy of Grange, Morton, Lindsay of Byres, LordLochleven, and William Douglas hastened to him, and six thousand of thebest troops in the kingdom gathered round them, while Lord Ruthven in thecounties of Berwick and Angus raised levies with which to join them. 

The 13th May, Morton occupied from daybreak the village of Langside, through which the queen must pass to get to Dumbarton. The news of theoccupation reached the queen as the two armies were yet seven milesapart. Mary's first instinct was to escape an engagement: she rememberedher last battle at Carberry Hill, at the end of which she had beenseparated from Bothwell and brought to Edinburgh; so she expressed aloudthis opinion, which was supported by George Douglas, who, in blackarmour, without other arms, had continued at the queen's side. 

"Avoid an engagement!" cried Lord Seyton, not daring to answer hissovereign, and replying to George as if this opinion had originated withhim. "We could do it, perhaps, if we were one to ten; but we shallcertainly not do so when we are three to two. You speak a strangetongue, my young master, " continued he, with some contempt; "and youforget, it seems to me, that you are a Douglas and that you speak to aSeyton. "

"My lord, " returned George calmly, "when we only hazard the lives ofDouglases and Seytons, you will find me, I hope, as ready to fight asyou, be it one to ten, be it three to two; but we are now answerable foran existence dearer to Scotland than that of all the Seytons and all theDouglases. My advice is then to avoid battle. "

"Battle! battle!" cried all the chieftains. 

"You hear, madam?" said Lord Seyton to Mary Stuart: "I believe that towish to act against such unanimity would be dangerous. In Scotland, madam, there is an ancient proverb which has it that 'there is mostprudence in courage. '"

"But have you not heard that the regent has taken up an advantageousposition?" the queen said. 

"The greyhound hunts the hare on the hillside as well as in the plain, "replied Seyton: "we will drive him out, wherever he is. "

"Let it be as you desire, then, my lords. It shall not be said that MaryStuart returned to the scabbard the sword her defenders had drawn forher. "

Then, turning round to Douglas

"George, " she said to him, "choose a guard of twenty men for me, and takecommand of them: you will not quit me. "

George bent low in obedience, chose twenty from among the bravest men, placed the queen in their midst, and put himself at their head; then thetroops, which had halted, received the order to continue their road. Intwo hours' time the advance guard was in sight of the enemy; it halted, and the rest of the army rejoined it. 

The queen's troops then found themselves parallel with the city ofGlasgow, and the heights which rose in front of them were alreadyoccupied by a force above which floated, as above that of Mary, the royalbanners of Scotland, On the other side, and on the opposite slope, stretched the village of Langside, encircled with enclosures and gardens. The road which led to it, and which followed all the variations of theground, narrowed at one place in such a way that two men could hardlypass abreast, then, farther on, lost itself in a ravine, beyond which itreappeared, then branched into two, of which one climbed to the villageof Langside, while the other led to Glasgow. 

On seeing the lie of the ground, the Earl of Argyll immediatelycomprehended the importance of occupying this village, and, turning toLord Seyton, he ordered him to gallop off and try to arrive there beforethe enemy, who doubtless, having made the same observation as thecommander of the royal forces, was setting in motion at that very momenta considerable body of cavalry. 

Lord Seyton called up his men directly, but while he was ranging themround his banner, Lord Arbroath drew his sword, and approaching the Earlof Argyll--

"My lord, " said he, "you do me a wrong in charging Lord Seyton to seizethat post: as commander of the vanguard, it is to me this honour belongs. Allow me, then, to use my privilege in claiming it. "

"It is I who received the order to seize it; I will seize it!" criedSeyton. 

"Perhaps, " returned Lord Arbroath, "but not before me!"

"Before you and before every Hamilton in the world!" exclaimed Seyton, putting his horse to the gallop and rushing down into the hollow road--

"Saint Bennet! and forward!"

"Come, my faithful kinsmen!" cried Lord Arbroath, dashing forward on hisside with the same object; "come, my men-at-arms! For God and the queen!"

The two troops precipitated themselves immediately in disorder and ranagainst one another in the narrow way, where, as we have said, two mencould hardly pass abreast. There was a terrible collision there, and theconflict began among friends who should have been united against theenemy. Finally, the two troops, leaving behind them some corpses stifledin the press, or even killed by their companions, passed through thedefile pell-mell and were lost sight of in the ravine. But during thisstruggle Seyton and Arbroath had lost precious time, and the detachmentsent by Murray, which had taken the road by Glasgow, had reached thevillage beforehand; it was now necessary not to take it, but to retakeit. 

Argyll saw that the whole day's struggle would be concentrated there, and, understanding more and more the importance of the village, immediately put himself at the head of the body of his army, commanding arearguard of two thousand men to remain there and await further orders totake part in the fighting. But whether the captain who commanded themhad ill understood, or whether he was eager to distinguish himself in theeyes of the queen, scarcely had Argyll vanished into the ravine, at theend of which the struggle had already commenced between Kirkcaldy ofGrange and Morton on the one side, and on the other between Arbroath andSeyton, than, without regarding the cries of Mary Stuart, he set off inhis turn at a gallop, leaving the queen without other guard than thelittle escort of twenty men which Douglas had chosen for her. Douglassighed. 

"Alas!" said the queen, hearing him, "I am not a soldier, but there itseems to me is a battle very badly begun. "

"What is to be done?" replied Douglas. "We are every one of usinfatuated, from first to last, and all these men are behaving to-daylike madmen or children. "

"Victory! victory!" said the queen; "the enemy is retreating, fighting. I see the banners of Seyton and Arbroath floating near the first housesin the village. Oh! my brave lords, " cried she, clapping her hands. "Victory! victory!"

But she stopped suddenly on perceiving a body of the enemy's armyadvancing to charge the victors in flank. 

"It is nothing, it is nothing, " said Douglas; "so long as there is onlycavalry we have nothing much to fear, and besides the Earl of Argyll willfall in in time to aid them. "

"George, " said Little William. 

"Well?" asked Douglas. 

"Don't you see?" the child went on, stretching out his arms towards theenemy's force, which was coming on at a gallop. 

"What?"

"Each horseman carries a footman armed with an arquebuse behind him, sothat the troop is twice as numerous as it appears. "

"That's true; upon my soul, the child has good sight. Let someone go atonce full gallop and take news of this to the Earl or Argyll. "

"I! I!" cried Little William. "I saw them first; it is my right to bearthe tidings. "

"Go, then, my child, " said Douglas; "and may God preserve thee!"

The child flew, quick as lightning, not hearing or feigning not to hearthe queen, who was recalling him. He was seen to cross the gorge andplunge into the hollow road at the moment when Argyll was debouching atthe end and coming to the aid of Seyton and Arbroath. Meanwhile, theenemy's detachment had dismounted its infantry, which, immediately formedup, was scattering on the sides of the ravine by paths impracticable forhorses. 

"William will come too late!" cried Douglas, "or even, should he arrivein time, the news is now useless to them. Oh madmen, madmen that we are!This is how we have always lost all our battles!"

"Is the battle lost, then?" demanded Mary, growing pale. 

"No, madam, no, " cried Douglas; "Heaven be thanked, not yet; but throughtoo great haste we have begun badly. "

"And William?" said Mary Stuart. 

"He is now serving his apprenticeship in arms; for, if I am not mistaken, he must be at this moment at the very spot where those marksmen aremaking such quick firing. "

"Poor child!" cried the queen; "if ill should befall him, I shall neverconsole myself. "

"Alas! madam, " replied Douglas, "I greatly fear that his first battle ishis last, and that everything is already over for him; for, unless Imistake, there is his horse returning riderless. "

"Oh, my God! my God!" said the queen, weeping, and raising her hands toheaven, "it is then decreed that I should be fatal to all around me!"

George was not deceived: it was William's horse coming back without hisyoung master and covered with blood. 

"Madam, " said Douglas, "we are ill placed here; let us gain that hillockon which is the Castle of Crookstone: from thence we shall survey thewhole battlefield. "

"No, not there! not there!" said the queen in terror: "within that castleI came to spend the first days of my marriage with Darnley; it will bringme misfortune. "

"Well, beneath that yew-tree, then, " said George, pointing to anotherslight rise near the first; "but it is important for us to lose no detailof this engagement. Everything depends perhaps for your Majesty on anill-judged manoeuvre or a lost moment. "

"Guide me, then, " the queen said; "for, as for me, I no longer see it. Each report of that terrible cannonade echoes to the depths of my heart. "

However well placed as was this eminence for overlooking from its summitthe whole battlefield, the reiterated discharge of cannon and musketrycovered it with such a cloud of smoke that it was impossible to make outfrom it anything but masses lost amid a murderous fog. At last, when anhour had passed in this desperate conflict, through the skirts of thissea of smoke the fugitives were seen to emerge and disperse in alldirections, followed by the victors. Only, at that distance, it wasimpossible to make out who had gained or lost the battle, and thebanners, which on both sides displayed the Scottish arms, could in no wayclear up this confusion. 

At that moment there was seen coming down from the Glasgow hillsides allthe remaining reserve of Murray's army; it was coming at full speed toengage in the fighting; but this manoeuvre might equally well have forits object the support of defeated friends as to complete the rout of theenemy. However, soon there was no longer any doubt; for this reservecharged the fugitives, amid whom it spread fresh confusion. The queen'sarmy was beaten. At the same time, three or four horsemen appeared onthe hither side of the ravine, advancing at a gallop. Douglas recognisedthem as enemies. 

"Fly, madam, " cried George, "fly without loss of a second; for those whoare coming upon us are followed by others. Gain the road, while I go tocheck them. And you, " added he, addressing the escort, "be killed to thelast man rather than let them take your queen. "

"George! George!" cried the queen, motionless, and as if riveted to thespot. 

But George had already dashed away with all his horse's speed, and as hewas splendidly mounted, he flew across the space with lightning rapidity, and reached the gorge before the enemy. There he stopped, put his lancein rest, and alone against five bravely awaited the encounter. 

As to the queen, she had no desire to go; but, on the contrary, as ifturned to stone, she remained in the same place, her eyes fastened onthis combat which was taking place at scarcely five hundred paces fromher. Suddenly, glancing at her enemies, she saw that one of them bore inthe middle of his shield a bleeding heart, the Douglas arms. Then sheuttered a cry of pain, and drooping her head--

"Douglas against Douglas; brother against brother!" she murmured: "itonly wanted this last blow. "

"Madam, madam, " cried her escort, "there is not an instant to lose: theyoung master of Douglas cannot hold out long thus alone against five; letus fly! let us fly!" And two of them taking the queen's horse by thebridle, put it to the gallop, at the moment when George, after havingbeaten down two of his enemies and wounded a third, was thrown down inhis turn in the dust, thrust to the heart by a lance-head. The queengroaned on seeing him fall; then, as if he alone had detained her, and asif he being killed she had no interest in anything else, she putRosabelle to the gallop, and as she and her troop were splendidlymounted, they had soon lost sight of the battlefield. 

She fled thus for sixty miles, without taking any rest, and withoutceasing to weep or to sigh: at last, having traversed the counties ofRenfrew and Ayr, she reached the Abbey of Dundrennan, in Galloway, andcertain of being, for the time at least, sheltered from every danger, shegave the order to stop. The prior respectfully received her at the gateof the convent. 

"I bring you misfortune and ruin, father, " said the queen, alighting fromher horse. 

"They are welcome, " replied the prior, "since they come accompanied byduty. "

The queen gave Rosabelle to the care of one of the men-at-arms who hadaccompanied her, and leaning on Mary Seyton, who had not left her for amoment, and on Lord Herries, who had rejoined her on the road, sheentered the convent. 

Lord Herries had not concealed her position from Mary Stuart: the day hadbeen completely lost, and with the day, at least for the present, allhope of reascending the throne of Scotland. There remained but threecourses for the queen to take to withdraw into France, Spain or England. On the advice of Lord Herries, which accorded with her own feeling, shedecided upon the last; and that same night she wrote this double missivein verse and in prose to Elizabeth:

"MY DEAR SISTER, --I have often enough begged you to receive mytempest-tossed vessel into your haven during the storm. If at this passshe finds a safe harbour there, I shall cast anchor there for ever:otherwise the bark is in God's keeping, for she is ready and caulked fordefence on her voyage against all storms. I have dealt openly with you, and still do so: do not take it in bad part if I write thus; it is not indefiance of you, as it appears, for in everything I rely on yourfriendship. "

"This sonnet accompanied the letter:--

"One thought alone brings danger and delight; Bitter and sweet changeplaces in my heart, With doubt, and then with hope, it takes its part, Till peace and rest alike are put to flight. 

Therefore, dear sister, if this card pursue That keen desire by which Iam oppressed, To see you, 'tis because I live distressed, Unless someswift and sweet result ensue. 

Beheld I have my ship compelled by fate To seek the open sea, when closeto port, And calmest days break into storm and gale; Wherefore fullgrieved and fearful is my state, Not for your sake, but since, in evilsort, Fortune so oft snaps strongest rope and sail. "

Elizabeth trembled with joy at receiving this double letter; for theeight years that her enmity had been daily increasing to Mary Stuart, shehad followed her with her eyes continually, as a wolf might a gazelle; atlast the gazelle sought refuge in the wolf's den. Elizabeth had neverhoped as much: she immediately despatched an order to the Sheriff ofCumberland to make known to Mary that she was ready to receive her. Onemorning a bugle was heard blowing on the sea-shore: it was QueenElizabeth's envoy come to fetch Queen Mary Stuart. 

Then arose great entreaties to the fugitive not to trust herself thus toa rival in power, glory, and beauty; but the poor dispossessed queen wasfull of confidence in her she called her good sister, and believedherself going, free and rid of care, to take at Elizabeth's court theplace due to her rank and her misfortunes: thus she persisted, in spiteof all that could be said. In our time, we have seen the sameinfatuation seize another royal fugitive, who like Mary Stuart confidedhimself to the generosity of his enemy England: like Mary Stuart, he wascruelly punished for his confidence, and found in the deadly climate ofSt. Helena the scaffold of Fotheringay. 

Mary Stuart set out on her journey, then, with her little following. Arrived at the shore of Solway Firth, she found there the Warden of theEnglish Marches: he was a gentleman named Lowther, who received the queenwith the greatest respect, but who gave her to understand that he couldnot permit more than three of her women to accompany her. Mary Seytonimmediately claimed her privilege: the queen held out to her her hand. 

"Alas! mignonne, " said she, "but it might well be another's turn: youhave already suffered enough for me and with me. "

But Mary, unable to reply, clung to her hand, making a sign with her headthat nothing in the world should part her from her mistress. Then all whohad accompanied the queen renewed their entreaties that she should notpersist in this fatal resolve, and when she was already a third of theway along the plank placed for her to enter the skiff, the Prior ofDundrennan, who had offered Mary Stuart such dangerous and touchinghospitality, entered the water up to his knees, to try to detain her; butall was useless: the queen had made up her mind. 

At that, moment Lowther approached her. "Madam, " said he, "accept anewmy regrets that I cannot offer a warm welcome in England to all who wouldwish to follow you there; but our queen has given us positive orders, andwe must carry them out. May I be permitted to remind your Majesty thatthe tide serves?"

"Positive orders!" cried the prior. "Do you hear, madam? Oh! you arelost if you quit this shore! Back, while there is yet time! Back; madam, in Heaven's name! To me, sir knights, to me!" he cried, turning to LordHerries and the other lords who had accompanied Mary Stuart; "do notallow your queen to abandon you, were it needful to struggle with her andthe English at the same time. Hold her back, my lords, in Heaven's name!withhold her!"

"What means this violence, sir priest?" said the Warden of the Marches. "I came here at your queen's express command; she is free to return toyou, and there is no need to have recourse to force for that". Then, addressing the queen--

"Madam, " said he, "do you consent to follow me into England in fullliberty of choice? Answer, I entreat you; for my honour demands that thewhole world should be aware that you have followed me freely. "

"Sir, " replied Mary Stuart, "I ask your pardon, in the name of thisworthy servant of God and his queen, for what he may have said of offenceto you. Freely I leave Scotland and place myself in your hands, trustingthat I shall be free either to remain in England with my royal sister, orto return to France to my worthy relatives". Then, turning to the priest, "Your blessing, father, and God protect you!"

"Alas! alas!" murmured the abbot, obeying the queen, "it is not we whoare in need of God's protection, but rather you, my daughter. May theblessing of a poor priest turn aside from you the misfortunes I foresee!Go, and may it be with you as the Lord has ordained in His wisdom and inHis mercy!"

Then the queen gave her hand to the sheriff, who conducted her to theskiff, followed by Mary Seyton and two other women only. The sails wereimmediately unfurled, and the little vessel began to recede from theshores of Galloway, to make her way towards those of Cumberland. So longas it could be seen, they who had accompanied the queen lingered on thebeach, waving her signs of adieu, which, standing on the deck of theshallop which was bearing her, away, she returned with her handkerchief. Finally, the boat disappeared, and all burst into lamentations or intosobbing. They were right, for the good Prior of Dundrennan'spresentiments were only too true, and they had seen Mary Stuart for thelast time. 

CHAPTER VIII

On landing on the shores of England, the Queen of Scotland foundmessengers from Elizabeth empowered to express to her all the regrettheir mistress felt in being unable to admit her to her presence, or togive her the affectionate welcome she bore her in her heart. But it wasessential, they added, that first of all the queen should clear herselfof the death of Darnley, whose family, being subjects of the Queen ofEngland, had a right to her protection and justice. 

Mary Stuart was so blinded that she did not see the trap, and immediatelyoffered to prove her innocence to the satisfaction of her sisterElizabeth; but scarcely had she in her hands Mary Stuart's letter, thanfrom arbitress she became judge, and, naming commissioners to hear theparties, summoned Murray to appear and accuse his sister. Murray, whoknew Elizabeth's secret intentions with regard to her rival, did nothesitate a moment. He came to England, bringing the casket containingthe three letters we have quoted, some verses and some other papers whichproved that the queen had not only been Bothwell's mistress during thelifetime of Darnley, but had also been aware of the assassination of herhusband. On their side, Lord Herries and the Bishop of Ross, the queen'sadvocates, maintained that these letters had been forged, that thehandwriting was counterfeited, and demanded, in verification, expertswhom they could not obtain; so that this great controversy, remainedpending for future ages, and to this hour nothing is yet affirmativelysettled in this matter either by scholars or historians. 

After a five months' inquiry, the Queen of England made known to theparties, that not having, in these proceedings, been able to discoveranything to the dishonour of accuser or accused, everything would remainin statu quo till one or the other could bring forward fresh proofs. 

As a result of this strange decision, Elizabeth should have sent back theregent to Scotland, and have left Mary Stuart free to go where she would. But, instead of that, she had her prisoner removed from Bolton Castle toCarlisle Castle, from whose terrace, to crown her with grief, poor MaryStuart saw the blue mountains of her own Scotland. 

However, among the judges named by Elizabeth to examine into MaryStuart's conduct was Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk. Be it that he wasconvinced of Mary's innocence, be it that he was urged by the ambitiousproject which since served as a ground for his prosecution, and which wasnothing else than to wed Mary Stuart, to affiance his daughter to theyoung king, and to become regent of Scotland, he resolved to extricateher from her prison. Several members of the high nobility of England, among whom were the Earls of Westmoreland and Northumberland, enteredinto the plot and under, took to support it with all their forces. Buttheir scheme had been communicated to the regent: he denounced it toElizabeth, who had Norfolk arrested. Warned in time, Westmoreland andNorthumberland crossed the frontiers and took refuge in the Scottishborders which were favourable to Queen Mary. The former reachedFlanders, where he died in exile; the latter, given up to Murray, wassent to the castle of Lochleven, which guarded him more faithfully thanit had done its royal prisoner. As to Norfolk, he was beheaded. As onesees, Mary Stuart's star had lost none of its fatal influence. 

Meanwhile the regent had returned to Edinburgh, enriched with presentsfrom Elizabeth, and having gained, in fact, his case with her, since Maryremained a prisoner. He employed himself immediately in dispersing theremainder of her adherents, and had hardly shut the gates of LochlevenCastle upon Westmoreland than, in the name of the young King James VI, hepursued those who had upheld his mother's cause, and among them moreparticularly the Hamiltons, who since the affair of "sweeping the streetsof Edinburgh, " had been the mortal enemies of the Douglases personally;six of the chief members of this family were condemned to death, and onlyobtained commutation of the penalty into an eternal exile on theentreaties of John Knox, at that time so powerful in Scotland that Murraydared not refuse their pardon. 

One of the amnestied was a certain Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, a man ofancient Scottish times, wild and vindictive as the nobles in the time ofJames I. He had withdrawn into the highlands, where he had found anasylum, when he learned that Murray, who in virtue of the confiscationpronounced against exiles had given his lands to one of his favourites, had had the cruelty to expel his sick and bedridden wife from her ownhouse, and that without giving her time to dress, and although it was inthe winter cold. The poor woman, besides, without shelter, withoutclothes, and without food, had gone out of her mind, had wandered aboutthus for some time, an object of compassion but equally of dread; foreveryone had been afraid of compromising himself by assisting her. Atlast, she had returned to expire of misery and cold on the thresholdwhence she had been driven. 

On learning this news, Bothwellhaugh, despite the violence of hischaracter, displayed no anger: he merely responded, with a terriblesmile, "It is well; I shall avenge her. "

Next day, Bothwellhaugh left his highlands, and came down, disguised, into the plain, furnished with an order of admission from the Archbishopof St. Andrews to a house which this prelate--who, as one remembers, hadfollowed the queen's fortunes to the last moment--had at Linlithgow. This house, situated in the main street, had a wooden balcony looking onto the square, and a gate which opened out into the country. Bothwellhaugh entered it at night, installed himself on the first floor, hung black cloth on the walls so that his shadow should not be seen fromwithout, covered the floor with mattresses so that his footsteps mightnot be heard on the ground floor, fastened a racehorse ready saddled andbridled in the garden, hollowed out the upper part of the little gatewhich led to the open country so that he could pass through it at agallop, armed himself with a loaded arquebuse, and shut himself up in theroom. 

All these preparations had been made, one imagines, because Murray was tospend the following day in Linlithgow. But, secret as they were, theywere to be rendered useless, for the regent's friends warned him that itwould not be safe for him to pass through the town, which belonged almostwholly to the Hamiltons, and advised him to go by it. However, Murraywas courageous, and, accustomed not to give way before a real danger, hedid nothing but laugh at a peril which he looked upon as imaginary, andboldly followed his first plan, which was not to go out of his way. Consequently, as the street into which the Archbishop of St. Andrews'balcony looked was on his road, he entered upon it, not going rapidly andpreceded by guards who would open up a passage for him, as his friendsstill counselled, but advancing at a foot's pace, delayed as he was bythe great crowd which was blocking up the streets to see him. Arrived infront of the balcony, as if chance had been in tune with the murderer, the crush became so great that Murray was obliged to halt for a moment:this rest gave Bothwellhaugh time to adjust himself for a steady shot. He leaned his arquebuse on the balcony, and, having taken aim with thenecessary leisure and coolness, fired. Bothwellhaugh had put such acharge into the arquebuse, that the ball, having passed through theregent's heart, killed the horse of a gentleman on his right. Murrayfell directly, saying, "My God! I am killed. "

As they had seen from which window the shot was fired, the persons in theregent's train had immediately thrown themselves against the great doorof the house which looked on to the street, and had smashed it in; butthey only arrived in time to see Bothwellhaugh fly through the littlegarden gate on the horse he had got ready: they immediately remounted thehorses they had left in the street, and, passing through the house, pursued him. Bothwellhaugh had a good horse and the lead of his enemies;and yet, four of them, pistol in hand, were so well mounted that theywere beginning to gain upon him. Then Bothwellhaugh; seeing that whip andspur were not enough, drew his dagger and used it to goad on his horse. His horse, under this terrible stimulus, acquired fresh vigour, and, leaping a gully eighteen feet deep, put between his master and hispursuers a barrier which they dared not cross. 

The murderer sought an asylum in France, where he retired under theprotection of the Guises. There, as the bold stroke he had attempted hadacquired him a great reputation, some days before the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, they made him overtures to assassinate Admiral Coligny. ButBothwellhaugh indignantly repulsed these proposals, saying that he wasthe avenger of abuses and not an assassin, and that those who had tocomplain of the admiral had only to come and ask him how he had done, andto do as he. 

As to Murray, he died the night following his wound, leaving the regencyto the Earl of Lennox, the father of Darnley: on learning the news of hisdeath, Elizabeth wrote that she had lost her best friend. 

While these events were passing in Scotland, Mary Stuart was still aprisoner, in spite of the pressing and successive protests of Charles IXand Henry III. Taking fright at the attempt made in her favour, Elizabeth even had her removed to Sheffield Castle, round which freshpatrols were incessantly in motion. 

But days, months, years passed, and poor Mary, who had borne soimpatiently her eleven months' captivity in Lochleven Castle, had beenalready led from prison to prison for fifteen or sixteen years, in spiteof her protests and those of the French and Spanish ambassadors, when shewas finally taken to Tutbury Castle and placed under the care of SirAmyas Paulet, her last gaoler: there she found for her sole lodging twolow and damp rooms, where little by little what strength remained to herwas so exhausted that there were days on which she could not walk, onaccount of the pain in all her limbs. Then it was that she who had beenthe queen of two kingdoms, who was born in a gilded cradle and brought upin silk and velvet, was forced to humble herself to ask of her gaoler asofter bed and warmer coverings. This request, treated as an affair ofstate, gave rise to negotiations which lasted a month, after which theprisoner was at length granted what she asked. And yet theunhealthiness, cold, and privations of all kinds still did not workactively enough on that healthy and robust organisation. They tried toconvey to Paulet what a service he would render the Queen of England incutting short the existence of her who, already condemned in her rival'smind, yet delayed to die. But Sir Amyas Paulet, coarse and harsh as hewas to Mary Stuart, declared that, so long as she was with him she wouldhave nothing to fear from poison or dagger, because he would taste allthe dishes served to his prisoner, and that no one should approach herbut in his presence. In fact, some assassins, sent by Leicester, thevery same who had aspired for a moment to the hand of the lovely MaryStuart, were driven from the castle directly its stern keeper had learnedwith what intentions they had entered it. Elizabeth had to be patient, then, in contenting herself with tormenting her whom she could not kill, and still hoping that a fresh opportunity would occur for bringing her totrial. That opportunity, so long delayed, the fatal star of Mary Stuartat length brought. 

A young Catholic gentleman, a last scion of that ancient chivalry whichwas already dying out at that time, excited by the excommunication ofPius V, which pronounced Elizabeth fallen from her kingdom on earth andher salvation in heaven, resolved to restore liberty to Mary, whothenceforth was beginning to be looked upon, no longer as a politicalprisoner, but as a martyr for her faith. Accordingly, braving the lawwhich Elizabeth had had made in 1585, and which provided that, if anyattempt on her person was meditated by, or for, a person who thought hehad claims to the crown of England, a commission would be appointedcomposed of twenty-five members, which, to the exclusion of every othertribunal, would be empowered to examine into the offence, and to condemnthe guilty persons, whosoever they might be. Babington, not at alldiscouraged by the example of his predecessors, assembled five of hisfriends, Catholics as zealous as himself, who engaged their life andhonour in the plot of which he was the head, and which had as its aim toassassinate Elizabeth, and as a result to place Mary Stuart on theEnglish throne. But this scheme, well planned as it was, was revealed toWalsingham, who allowed the conspirators to go as far as he thought hecould without danger, and who, the day before that fixed for theassassination, had them arrested. 

This imprudent and desperate attempt delighted Elizabeth, for, accordingto the letter of the law, it finally gave her rival's life into herhands. Orders were immediately given to Sir Amyas Paulet to seize theprisoner's papers and to move her to Fotheringay Castle. The gaoler, then, hypocritically relaxing his usual severity, suggested to MaryStuart that she should go riding, under the pretext that she had need ofan airing. The poor prisoner, who for three years had only seen thecountry through her prison bars, joyfully accepted, and left Tutburybetween two guards, mounted, for greater security, on a horse whose feetwere hobbled. These two guards took her to Fotheringay Castle, her newhabitation, where she found the apartment she was to lodge in alreadyhung in black. Mary Stuart had entered alive into her tomb. As toBabington and his accomplices, they had been already beheaded. 

Meanwhile, her two secretaries, Curle and Nau, were arrested, and all herpapers were seized and sent to Elizabeth, who, on her part, ordered theforty commissioners to assemble, and proceed without intermission to thetrial of the prisoner. They arrived at Fotheringay the 14th October1586; and next day, being assembled in the great hall of the castle, theybegan the examination. 

At first Mary refused to appear before them, declaring that she did notrecognise the commissioners as judges, they not being her peers, and notacknowledging the English law, which had never afforded her protection, and which had constantly abandoned her to the rule of force. But seeingthat they proceeded none the less, and that every calumny was allowed, noone being there to refute it, she resolved to appear before thecommissioners. We quote the two interrogatories to which Mary Stuartsubmitted as they are set down in the report of M. De Bellievre to M. DeVilleroy. M. De Bellievre, as we shall see later, had been speciallysent by King Henry III to Elizabeth. [Intelligence for M. Villeroy ofwhat was done in England by M. De Bellievre about the affairs of theQueen of Scotland, in the months of November and December 1586 andJanuary 1587. ]

The said lady being seated at the end of the table in the said hall, andthe said commissioners about her--

The Queen of Scotland began to speak in these terms:

"I do not admit that any one of you here assembled is my peer or my judgeto examine me upon any charge. Thus what I do, and now tell you, is ofmy own free will, taking God to witness that I am innocent and pure inconscience of the accusations and slanders of which they wish to accuseme. For I am a free princess and born a queen, obedient to no one, saveto God, to whom alone I must give an account of my actions. This is whyI protest yet again that my appearance before you be not prejudicialeither to me, or to the kings, princes and potentates, my allies, nor tomy son, and I require that my protest be registered, and I demand therecord of it. "

Then the chancellor, who was one of the commissioners, replied in histurn, and protested against the protestation; then he ordered that thereshould be read over to the Queen of Scotland the commission in virtue ofwhich they were proceeding--a commission founded on the statutes and lawof the kingdom. 

But to this Mary Stuart made answer that she again protested; that thesaid statutes and laws were without force against her, because thesestatutes and laws are not made for persons of her condition. 

To this the chancellor replied that the commission intended to proceedagainst her, even if she refused to answer, and declared that the trialshould proceed; for she was doubly subject to indictment, theconspirators having not only plotted in her favour, but also with herconsent: to which the said Queen of Scotland responded that she had nevereven thought of it. 

Upon this, the letters it was alleged she had written to Babington andhis answers were read to her. 

Mary Stuart then affirmed that she had never seen Babington, that she hadnever had any conference with him, had never in her life received asingle letter from him, and that she defied anyone in the world tomaintain that she had ever done anything to the prejudice of the saidQueen of England; that besides, strictly guarded as she was, away fromall news, withdrawn from and deprived of those nearest her, surroundedwith enemies, deprived finally of all advice, she had been unable toparticipate in or to consent to the practices of which she was accused;that there are, besides, many persons who wrote to her what she had noknowledge of, and that she had received a number of letters withoutknowing whence they came to her. 

Then Babington's confession was read to her; but she replied that she didnot know what was meant; that besides, if Babington and his accompliceshad said such things, they were base men, false and liars. 

"Besides, " added she, "show me my handwriting and my signature, since yousay that I wrote to Babington, and not copies counterfeited like thesewhich you have filled at your leisure with the falsehoods it has pleasedyou to insert. "

Then she was shown the letter that Babington, it was said, had writtenher. She glanced at it; then said, "I have no knowledge of this letter". Upon this, she was shown her reply, and she said again, "I have no moreknowledge of this answer. If you will show me my own letter and my ownsignature containing what you say, I will acquiesce in all; but up to thepresent, as I have already told you, you have produced nothing worthy ofcredence, unless it be the copies you have invented and added to withwhat seemed good to you. "

With these words, she rose, and with her eyes full of tears--

"If I have ever, " said she, "consented to such intrigues, having forobject my sister's death, I pray God that He have neither pity nor mercyon me. I confess that I have written to several persons, that I haveimplored them to deliver me from my wretched prisons, where I languished, a captive and ill-treated princess, for nineteen years and seven months;but it never occurred to me, even in thought, to write or even to desiresuch things against the queen. Yes, I also confess to having exertedmyself for the deliverance of some persecuted Catholics, and if I hadbeen able, and could yet, with my own blood, protect them and save themfrom their pains, I would have done it, and would do it for them with allmy power, in order to save them from destruction. "

Then, turning to the secretary, Walsingham--

"But, my lord, " said she, "from the moment I see you here, I know whencecomes this blow: you have always been my greatest enemy and my son's, andyou have moved everyone against me and to my prejudice. "

Thus accused to his face, Walsingham rose. 

"Madam, " he replied, "I protest before God, who is my witness, that youdeceive yourself, and that I have never done anything against youunworthy of a good man, either as an individual or as a publicpersonage. "

This is all that was said and done that day in the proceedings, till thenext day, when the queen was again obliged to appear before thecommissioners. 

And, being seated at the end of the table of the said hall, and the saidcommissioners about her, she began to speak in a loud voice. 

"You are not unaware, my lords and gentlemen, that I am a sovereignqueen, anointed and consecrated in the church of God, and cannot, andought not, for any reason whatever, be summoned to your courts, or calledto your bar, to be judged by the law and statutes that you lay down; forI am a princess and free, and I do not owe to any prince more than heowes to me; and on everything of which I am accused towards my saidsister, I cannot, reply if you do not permit me to be assisted bycounsel. And if you go further, do what you will; but from all yourprocedure, in reiterating my protestations, I appeal to God, who is theonly just and true judge, and to the kings and princes, my allies andconfederates. "

This protestation was once more registered, as she had required of thecommissioners. Then she was told that she had further written severalletters to the princes of Christendom, against the queen and the kingdomof England. 

"As to that, " replied Mary Stuart, "it is another matter, and I do notdeny it; and if it was again to do, I should do as I have done, to gainmy liberty; for there is not a man or woman in the world, of less rankthan I, who would not do it, and who would not make use of the help andsuccour of their friends to issue from a captivity as harsh as mine was. You charge me with certain letters from Babington: well, I do not denythat he has written to me and that I have replied to him; but if you findin my answers a single word about the queen my sister, well, yes, therewill be good cause to prosecute me. I replied to him who wrote to methat he would set me at liberty, that I accepted his offer, if he coulddo it without compromising the one or the other of us: that is all. 

"As to my secretaries, " added the queen, "not they, but torture spoke bytheir mouths: and as to the confessions of Babington and his accomplices, there is not much to be made of them; for now that they are dead you cansay all that seems good to you; and let who will believe you. "

With these words, the queen refused to answer further if she were notgiven counsel, and, renewing her protestation, she withdrew into herapartment; but, as the chancellor had threatened, the trial was continueddespite her absence. 

However, M. De Chateauneuf, the French ambassador to London, saw matterstoo near at hand to be deceived as to their course: accordingly, at thefirst rumour which came to him of bringing Mary Stuart to trial, he wroteto King Henry III, that he might intervene in the prisoner's favour. Henry III immediately despatched to Queen Elizabeth an embassyextraordinary, of which M. De Bellievre was the chief; and at the sametime, having learned that James VI, Mary's son, far from interestinghimself in his mother's fate, had replied to the French minister, Courcelles, who spoke to him of her, "I can do nothing; let her drinkwhat she has spilled, " he wrote him the following letter, to decide theyoung prince to second him in the steps he was going to take:

"21st November, 1586. 

"COURCELLES, I have received your letter of the 4th October last, inwhich I have seen the discourse that the King of Scotland has held withyou concerning what you have witnessed to him of the good affection Ibear him, discourse in which he has given proof of desiring toreciprocate it entirely; but I wish that that letter had informed me alsothat he was better disposed towards the queen his mother, and that he hadthe heart and the desire to arrange everything in a way to assist her inthe affliction in which she now is, reflecting that the prison where shehas been unjustly detained for eighteen years and more has induced her tolend an ear to many things which have been proposed to her for gainingher liberty, a thing which is naturally greatly desired by all men, andmore still by those who are born sovereigns and rulers, who bear beingkept prisoners thus with less patience. He should also consider that ifthe Queen of England, my good sister, allows herself to be persuaded bythe counsels of those who wish that she should stain herself with QueenMary's blood, it will be a matter which will bring him to greatdishonour, inasmuch as one will judge that he will have refused hismother the good offices that he should render her with the said Queen ofEngland, and which would have perhaps been sufficient to move her, if hewould have employed them, as warmly, and as soon as his natural dutycommanded him. Moreover, it is to be feared for him, that, his motherdead, his own turn may come, and that one may think of doing as much forhim, by some violent means, to make the English succession easier toseize for those who are likely to have it after the said Queen Elizabeth, and not only to defraud the said King of Scotland of the claim he can putforward, but to render doubtful even that which he has to his own crown. I do not know in what condition the affairs of my said sister-in-law willbe when you receive this letter; but I will tell you that in every case Iwish you to rouse strongly the said King of Scotland, with remonstrances, and everything else which may bear on this subject, to embrace thedefence and protection of his said mother, and to express to him, on mypart, that as this will be a matter for which he will be greatly praisedby all the other kings and sovereign princes, he must be assured that ifhe fails in it there will be great censure for him, and perhaps notableinjury to himself in particular. Furthermore, as to the state of my ownaffairs, you know that the queen, madam and mother, is about to see verysoon the King of Navarre, and to confer with him on the matter of thepacification of the troubles of this kingdom, to which, if he bear asmuch good affection as I do for my part, I hope that things may come to agood conclusion, and that my subjects will have some respite from thegreat evils and calamities that the war occasions them: supplicating theCreator, Courcelles, that He may have you in His holy keeping. 

"Written at St. Germain-en-Laye, the 21st day of November 1586. (Signed)HENRI, "And below, BRULART. "

This letter finally decided James VI to make a kind of demonstration inhis mother's favour: he sent Gray, Robert Melville, and Keith to QueenElizabeth. But although London was nearer Edinburgh than was Paris, theFrench envoys reached it before the Scotch. 

It is true that on reaching Calais, the 27th of November, M. De Bellievrehad found a special messenger there to tell him not to lose an instant, from M. De Chateauneuf, who, to provide for every difficulty, hadchartered a vessel ready in the harbour. But however great the speedthese noble lords wished to make, they were obliged to await the wind'sgood-will, which did not allow them to put to sea till Friday 28th atmidnight; next day also, on reaching Dover at nine o'clock, they were soshaken by sea-sickness that they were forced to stay a whole day in thetown to recover, so that it was not till Sunday 30th that M. DeBellievre was able to set out in the coach that M. Chateauneuf sent himby M. De Brancaleon, and take the road to London, accompanied by thegentlemen of his suite, who rode on post-horses; but resting only a fewhours on the way to make up for lost time, they at last arrived inLondon, Sunday the 1st of December at midday. M. De Bellievreimmediately sent one of the gentlemen of his suite, named M. DeVilliers, to the Queen of England, who was holding her court at RichmondCastle: the decree had been secretly pronounced already six days, andsubmitted to Parliament, which was to deliberate upon it with closeddoors. 

The French ambassadors could not have chosen a worse moment to approachElizabeth; and to gain time she declined to receive M. De Villiers, returning the answer that he would himself know next day the reason forthis refusal. And indeed, next day, the rumour spread in London that theFrench Embassy had contagion, and that two of the lords in it having diedof the plague at Calais, the queen, whatever wish she might have to beagreeable to Henry III, could not endanger her precious existence byreceiving his envoys. Great was the astonishment of M. De Bellievre atlearning this news he protested that the queen was led into error by afalse report, and insisted on being received. Nevertheless, the delayslasted another six days; but as the ambassadors threatened to departwithout waiting longer, and as, upon the whole, Elizabeth, disquieted bySpain, had no desire to embroil herself with France, she had M. DeBellievre informed on the morning of the 7th of December that she wasready to receive him after dinner at Richmond Castle, together with thenoblemen of his suite. 

At the appointed time the French ambassadors presented themselves at thecastle gates, and, having been brought to the queen, found her seated onher throne and surrounded by the greatest lords in her kingdom. Then MM. De Chateauneuf and de Bellievre, the one the ambassador in ordinary andthe other the envoy extraordinary, having greeted her on the part of theKing of France, began to make her the remonstrances with which they werecharged. Elizabeth replied, not only in the same French tongue, but alsoin the most beautiful speech in use at that time, and, carried away bypassion, pointed out to the envoys of her brother Henry that the Queen ofScotland had always proceeded against her, and that this was the thirdtime that she had wished to attempt her life by an infinity of ways;which she had already borne too long and with too much patience, but thatnever had anything so profoundly cut her to the heart as her lastconspiracy; that event, added she with sadness, having caused her to sighmore and to shed more tears than the loss of all her relations, so muchthe more that the Queen of Scotland was her near relative and closelyconnected with the King of France; and as, in their remonstrances, MM. DeChateauneuf and de Bellievre had brought forward several examples drawnfrom history, she assumed, in reply to them on this occasion, thepedantic style which was usual with her, and told them that she had seenand read a great many books in her life, and a thousand more than othersof her sex and her rank were wont to, but that she had never found inthem a single example of a deed like that attempted on her--a deedpursued by a relative, whom the king her brother could not and ought notto support in her wickedness, when it was, on the contrary, his duty tohasten the just punishment of it: then she added, addressing herselfspecially to M. De Bellievre, and coming down again from the height ofher pride to a gracious countenance, that she greatly regretted he wasnot deputed for a better occasion; that in a few days she would reply toKing Henry her brother, concerning whose health she was solicitous, aswell as that of the queen mother, who must experience such great fatiguefrom the trouble she took to restore peace to her son's kingdom; andthen, not wishing to hear more, she withdrew into her room. 

The envoys returned to London, where they awaited the promised reply; butwhile they were expecting it unavailingly, they heard quietly thesentence of death given against Queen Mary, which decided them to returnto Richmond to make fresh remonstrances to Queen Elizabeth. After two orthree fruitless journeys, they were at last, December 15th, admitted forthe second time to the royal presence. 

The queen did not deny that the sentence had been pronounced, and as itwas easy to see that she did not intend in this case to use her right ofpardon, M. De Bellievre, judging that there was nothing to be done, askedfor a safe-conduct to return to his king: Elizabeth promised it to himwithin two or three days. 

On the following Tuesday, the 17th of the same month of December, Parliament as well as the chief lords of the realm were convoked at thePalace of Westminster, and there, in full court and before all, sentenceof death was proclaimed and pronounced against Mary Stuart: then thissame sentence, with great display and great solemnity, was read in thesquares and at the cross-roads of London, whence it spread throughout thekingdom; and upon this proclamation the bells rang for twenty-four hours, while the strictest orders were given to each of the inhabitants to lightbonfires in front of their houses, as is the custom in France on the Eveof St. John the Baptist. 

Then, amid this sound of bells, by the light of these bonfires, M. DeBellievre, wishing to make a last effort, in order to have nothing withwhich to reproach himself, wrote the following letter to Queen Elizabeth:

"MADAM:--We quitted your Majesty yesterday, expecting, as it had pleasedyou to inform us, to receive in a few days your reply touching the prayerthat we made you on behalf of our good master, your brother, for theQueen of Scotland, his sister in-law and confederate; but as this morningwe have been informed that the judgment given against the said queen hasbeen proclaimed in London, although we had promised ourselves anotherissue from your clemency and the friendship your bear to the said lordking your good brother, nevertheless, to neglect no part of our duty, andbelieving in so doing to serve the intentions of the king our master, wehave not wanted to fail to write to you this present letter, in which wesupplicate you once again, very humbly, not to refuse his Majesty thevery pressing and very affectionate prayer that he has made you, that youwill be pleased to preserve the life of the said lady Queen of Scotland, which the said lord king will receive as the greatest pleasure yourMajesty could do him; while, on the contrary, he could not imagineanything which would cause him more displeasure, and which would woundhim more, than if he were used harshly with regard to the said ladyqueen, being what she is to him: and as, madam, the said king our master, your good brother, when for this object he despatched us to your Majesty, had not conceived that it was possible, in any case, to determine sopromptly upon such an execution, we implore you, madam, very humbly, before permitting it to go further, to grant us some time in which we canmake known to him the state of the affairs of the said Queen of Scotland, in order that before your Majesty takes a final resolution, you may knowwhat it may please his very Christian Majesty to tell you and point outto you on the greatest affair which, in our memory, has been submitted tomen's judgment. Monsieur de Saint-Cyr, who will give these presents toyour Majesty, will bring us, if it pleases you, your good reply. 

"London, this 16th day of December 1586. 

"(Signed) DE BELLIEVRE, "And DE L'AUBESPINE CHATEAUNEUF. "

The same day, M. De Saint-Cyr and the other French lords returned toRichmond to take this letter; but the queen would not receive them, alleging indisposition, so that they were obliged to leave the letterwith Walsingham, her first Secretary of State, who promised them to sendthe queen's answer the following day. 

In spite of this promise, the French lords waited two days more: at last, on the second day, towards evening, two English gentlemen sought out M. De Fellievre in London, and, viva voce, without any letter to confirmwhat they were charged to say, announced to him, on behalf of theirqueen, that in reply to the letter that they had written her, and to dojustice to the desire they had shown to obtain for the condemned areprieve during which they would make known the decision to the King ofFrance, her Majesty would grant twelve days. As this was Elizabeth's lastword, and it was useless to lose time in pressing her further, M. DeGenlis was immediately despatched to his Majesty the King of France, towhom, besides the long despatch of M. De Chateauneuf and de Bellievrewhich he was charged to remit, he was to say 'viva voce' what he had seenand heard relative to the affairs of Queen Mary during the whole time hehad been in England. 

Henry III responded immediately with a letter containing freshinstructions for MM. De Chateauneuf and de Bellievre; but in spite of allthe haste M. De Genlis could make, he did not reach London till thefourteenth day--that is to say, forty-eight hours after the expiration ofthe delay granted; nevertheless, as the sentence had not yet been putinto execution, MM. De Bellievre and de Chateauneuf set out at once forGreenwich Castle, some miles from London, where the queen was keepingChristmas, to beg her to grant them an audience, in which they couldtransmit to her Majesty their king's reply; but they could obtain nothingfor four or five days; however, as they were not disheartened, andreturned unceasingly to the charge, January 6th, MM. De Bellievre and deChateauneuf were at last sent for by the queen. 

As on the first occasion, they were introduced with all the ceremonial inuse at that time, and found Elizabeth in an audience-chamber. Theambassadors approached her, greeted her, and M. De Bellievre began toaddress to her with respect, but at the same time with firmness, hismaster's remonstrances. Elizabeth listened to them with an impatientair, fidgeting in her seat; then at last, unable to control herself, sheburst out, rising and growing red with anger--

"M. De Bellievre, " said she, "are you really charged by the king, mybrother, to speak to me in such a way?"

"Yes, madam, " replied M. De Bellievre, bowing; "I am expressly commandedto do so. "

"And have you this command under his hand?" continued Elizabeth. 

"Yes, madam, " returned the ambassador with the same calmness; "and theking, my master, your good brother, has expressly charged me, in letterssigned by his own hand, to make to your Majesty the remonstrances which Ihave had the honour to address to you. "

"Well, " cried Elizabeth, no longer containing herself, "I demand of you acopy of that letter, signed by you; and reflect that you will answer foreach word that you take away or add. "

"Madam, " answered M. De Bellievre, "it is not the custom of the kings ofFrance, or of their agents, to forge letters or documents; you will havethe copies you require to-morrow morning, and I pledge their accuracy onmy honour. "

"Enough, sir, enough!" said the queen, and signing to everyone in theroom to go out, she remained nearly an hour with MM. De Chateauneuf andde Bellievre. No one knows what passed in that interview, except thatthe queen promised to send an ambassador to the King of France, who, shepromised, would be in Paris, if not before, at least at the same time asM. De Bellievre, and would be the bearer of her final resolve as to theaffairs of the Queen of Scotland; Elizabeth then withdrew, giving theFrench envoys to understand that any fresh attempt they might make to seeher would be useless. 

On the 13th of January the ambassadors received their passports, and atthe same time notice that a vessel of the queen's was awaiting them atDover. 

The very day of their departure a strange incident occurred. A gentlemannamed Stafford, a brother of Elizabeth's ambassador to the King ofFrance, presented himself at M. De Trappes's, one of the officials in theFrench chancellery, telling him that he was acquainted with a prisonerfor debt who had a matter of the utmost importance to communicate to him, and that he might pay the greater attention to it, he told him that thismatter was connected with the service of the King of France, andconcerned the affairs of Queen Mary of Scotland. M. De Trappes, although mistrusting this overture from the first, did not want, in casehis suspicions deceived him, to have to reproach himself for any neglecton such a pressing occasion. He repaired, then, with; Mr. Stafford to theprison, where he who wished to converse with him was detained. When hewas with him, the prisoner told him that he was locked up for a debt ofonly twenty crowns, and that his desire to be at liberty was so greatthat if M. De Chateauneuf would pay that sum for him he would undertaketo deliver the Queen of Scotland from her danger, by stabbing Elizabeth:to this proposal, M. De Trappes, who saw the pitfall laid for the Frenchambassador, was greatly astonished, and said that he was certain that M. De Chateauneuf would consider as very evil every enterprise having as itsaim to threaten in any way the life of Queen Elizabeth or the peace ofthe realm; then, not desiring to hear more, he returned to M. DeChateauneuf and related to him what had just happened. M. DeChateauneuf, who perceived the real cause of this overture, immediatelysaid to Mr. Stafford that he thought it strange that a gentleman likehimself should undertake with another gentleman such treachery, andrequested him to leave the Embassy at once, and never to set foot thereagain. Then Stafford withdrew, and, appearing to think himself a lostman, he implored M. De Trappes to allow him to cross the Channel with himand the French envoys. M. De Trappes referred him to M. De Chateauneuf, who answered Mr. Stafford directly that he had not only forbidden him hishouse, but also all relations with any person from the Embassy, that hemust thus very well see that his request could not be granted; he addedthat if he were not restrained by the consideration he desired to keepfor his brother, the Earl of Stafford, his colleague, he would at oncedenounce his treason to Elizabeth. The same day Stafford was arrested. 

After this conference, M. De Trappes set out to rejoin his travellingcompanions, who were some hours in advance of him, when, on reachingDover he was arrested in his turn and brought hack to prison in London. Interrogated the same day, M. De Trappes frankly related what hadpassed, appealing to M. De Chateauneuf as to the truth of what he said. 

The day following there was a second interrogatory, and great was hisamazement when, on requesting that the one of the day before should beshown him, he was merely shown, according to custom in English law, counterfeit copies, in which were avowals compromising him as well as M. De Chateauneuf: he objected and protested, refused to answer or to signanything further, and was taken back to the Tower with redoubledprecaution, the object of which was the appearance of an importantaccusation. 

Next day, M. De Chateauneuf was summoned before the queen, and thereconfronted with Stafford, who impudently maintained that he had treatedof a plot with M. De Trappes and a certain prisoner for debt--a plotwhich aimed at nothing less than endangering the Queen's life. M. DeChateauneuf defended himself with the warmth of indignation, butElizabeth had too great an interest in being unconvinced even to attendto the evidence. She then said to M. De Chateauneuf that his characterof ambassador alone prevented her having him arrested like his accompliceM. De Trappes; and immediately despatching, as she had promised, anambassador to King Henry III, she charged him not to excuse her for thesentence which had just been pronounced and the death which must soonfollow, but to accuse M. De Chateauneuf of having taken part in a plot ofwhich the discovery alone had been able to decide her to consent to thedeath of the Queen of Scotland, certain as she was by experience, that solong as her enemy lived her existence would be hourly threatened. 

On the same day, Elizabeth made haste to spread, not only in London, butalso throughout England, the rumour of the fresh danger from which shehad just escaped, so that, when, two days after the departure of theFrench envoys, the Scottish ambassadors, who, as one sees, had not usedmuch speed, arrived, the queen answered them that their request cameunseasonably, at a time when she had just had proof that, so long as MaryStuart existed, her own (Elizabeth's) life was in danger. RobertMelville wished to reply to this; but Elizabeth flew into a passion, saying that it was he, Melville, who had given the King of Scotland thebad advice to intercede for his mother, and that if she had such anadviser she would have him beheaded. To which Melville answered--

"That at the risk of his life he would never spare his master goodadvice; and that, on the contrary, he who would counsel a son to let hismother perish, would deserve to be beheaded. "

Upon this reply, Elizabeth ordered the Scotch envoys to withdrew, tellingthem that she would let them have her answer. 

Three or four days passed, and as they heard nothing further, they askedagain for a parting audience to hear the last resolve of her to whom theywere sent: the queen then decided to grant it, and all passed, as with M. De Bellievre, in recriminations and complaints. Finally, Elizabeth askedthem what guarantee they would give for her life in the event of herconsenting to pardon the Queen of Scotland. The envoys responded thatthey were authorised to make pledges in the name of the King of Scotland, their master, and all the lords of his realm, that Mary Stuart shouldrenounce in favour of her son all her claims upon the English crown, andthat she should give as security for this undertaking the King of France, and all the princes and lords, his relations and friends. 

To this answer, the queen, without her usual presence of mind, cried, "What are you saying, Melville? That would be to arm my enemy with twoclaims, while he has only one". 

"Does your Majesty then regard the king, my master, as your enemy?"replied Melville. "He believed himself happier, madam, and thought hewas your ally. "

"No, no, " Elizabeth said, blushing; "it is a way of speaking: and if youfind a means of reconciling everything, gentlemen, to prove to you, onthe contrary, that I regard King James VI as my good and faithful ally, Iam quite ready to incline to mercy. Seek, then, on your side" added she, "while I seek on mine. "

With these words, she went out of the room, and the ambassadors retired, with the light of the hope of which she had just let them catch aglimpse. 

The same evening, a gentleman at the court sought out the Master of Gray, the head of the Embassy, as if to pay him a civil visit, and whileconversing said to him, "That it was very difficult to reconcile thesafety of Queen Elizabeth with the life of her prisoner; that besides, ifthe Queen of Scotland were pardoned, and she or her son ever came to theEnglish throne, there would be no security for the lords commissionerswho had voted her death; that there was then only one way of arrangingeverything, that the King of Scotland should himself give up his claimsto the kingdom of England; that otherwise, according to him, there was nosecurity for Elizabeth in saving the life of the Scottish queen". TheMaster of Gray then, looking at him fixedly, asked him if his sovereignhad charged him to come to him with this talk. But the gentleman deniedit, saying that all this was on his own account and in the way ofopinion. 

Elizabeth received the envoys from Scotland once more, and then toldthem--

"That after having well considered, she had found no way of saving thelife of the Queen of Scotland while securing her own, that accordinglyshe could not grant it to them". To this declaration, the Master of Grayreplied: "That since it was thus, he was, in this case, ordered by hismaster to say that they protested in the name of King James that all thathad been done against his mother was of no account, seeing that QueenElizabeth had no authority over a queen, as she was her equal in rank andbirth; that accordingly they declared that immediately after theirreturn, and when their master should know the result of their mission, hewould assemble his Parliament and send messengers to all the Christianprinces, to take counsel with them as to what could be done to avenge herwhom they could not save. "

Then Elizabeth again flew into a passion, saying that they had certainlynot received from their king a mission to speak to her in such a way; butthey thereupon offered to give her this protest in writing under theirsignatures; to which Elizabeth replied that she would send an ambassadorto arrange all that with her good friend and ally, the King of Scotland. But the envoys then said that their master would not listen to anyonebefore their return. Upon which Elizabeth begged them not to go away atonce, because she had not yet come to her final decision upon thismatter. On the evening following this audience, Lord Hingley having cometo see the Master of Gray, and having seemed to notice some handsomepistols which came from Italy, Gray, directly he had gone, asked thisnobleman's cousin to take them to him as a gift from him. Delighted withthis pleasant commission, the young man wished to perform it the sameevening, and went to the queen's palace, where his relative was staying, to give him the present which he had been told to take to him. Buthardly had he passed through a few rooms than he was arrested, searched, and the arms he was taking were found upon him. Although these were notloaded, he was immediately arrested; only he was not taken to the Tower, but kept a prisoner in his own room. 

Next day there was a rumour that the Scotch ambassadors had wanted toassassinate the queen in their turn, and that pistols, given by theMaster of Gray himself, had been found on the assassin. 

This bad faith could not but open the envoys' eyes. Convinced at lastthat they could do nothing for poor Mary Stuart, they left her to herfate, and set out next day for Scotland. 

Scarcely were they gone than Elizabeth sent her secretary, Davison, toSir Amyas Paulet. He was instructed to sound him again with regard tothe prisoner; afraid, in spite of herself, of a public execution, thequeen had reverted to her former ideas of poisoning or assassination; butSir Amyas Paulet declared that he would let no one have access to Marybut the executioner, who must in addition be the bearer of a warrantperfectly in order, Davison reported this answer to Elizabeth, who, whilelistening to him, stamped her foot several times, and when he hadfinished, unable to control herself, cried, "God's death! there's adainty fellow, always talking of his fidelity and not knowing how toprove it!"

Elizabeth was then obliged to make up her mind. She asked Davison forthe warrant; he gave it to her, and, forgetting that she was the daughterof a queen who had died on the scaffold, she signed it without any traceof emotion; then, having affixed to it the great seal of England, "Go, "said she, laughing, "tell Walsingham that all is ended for Queen Mary;but tell him with precautions, for, as he is ill, I am afraid he will dieof grief when he hears it. "

The jest was the more atrocious in that Walsingham was known to be theQueen of Scotland's bitterest enemy. 

Towards evening of that day, Saturday the 14th, Beale, Walsingham'sbrother-in-law, was summoned to the palace! The queen gave into hishands the death warrant, and with it an order addressed to the Earls ofShrewsbury, Kent, Rutland, and other noblemen in the neighbourhood ofFotheringay, to be present at the execution. Beale took with him theLondon executioner, whom Elizabeth had had dressed in black velvet forthis great occasion; and set out two hours after he had received hiswarrant. 

CHAPTER IX

Queen Mary had known the decree of the commissioners these two months. The very day it had been pronounced she had learned the news through herchaplain, whom they had allowed her to see this once only. Mary Stuarthad taken advantage of this visit to give him three letters she had justwritten-one for Pope Sixtus V, the other to Don Bernard Mendoza, thethird to the Duke of Guise. Here is that last letter:--

14th December, 1586

"My Good Cousin, whom I hold dearest in the world, I bid you farewell, being prepared to be put to death by an unjust judgment, and to a deathsuch as no one of our race, thanks to God, and never a queen, and stillless one of my rank, has ever suffered. But, good cousin, praise theLord; for I was useless to the cause of God and of His Church in thisworld, prisoner as I was; while, on the contrary, I hope that my deathwill bear witness to my constancy in the faith and to my willingness tosuffer for the maintenance and the restoration of the Catholic Church inthis unfortunate island. And though never has executioner dipped hishand in our blood, have no shame of it, my friend; for the judgment ofheretics who have no authority over me, a free queen, is profitable inthe sight of God to the children of His Church. If I adhered, moreover, to what they propose to me, I should not suffer this stroke. All of ourhouse have been persecuted by this sect, witness your good father, through whose intercession I hope to be received with mercy by the justjudge. I commend to you, then, my poor servants, the discharge of mydebts, and the founding of some annual mass for my soul, not at yourexpense, but that you may make the arrangements, as you will be requiredwhen you learn my wishes through my poor and faithful servants, who areabout to witness my last tragedy. God prosper you, your wife, children, brothers and cousins, and above all our chief, my good brother andcousin, and all his. The blessing of God and that which I shall give tomy children be on yours, whom I do not commend less to God than my ownson, unfortunate and ill-treated as he is. You will receive some ringsfrom me, which will remind you to pray God for the soul of your poorcousin, deprived of all help and counsel except that of the Lord, whogives me strength and courage to alone to resist so many wolves howlingafter me. To God be the glory. 

"Believe particularly what will be told you by a person who will give youa ruby ring from me; for I take it on my conscience that the truth willbe told you of what I have charged him to tell, and especially in whatconcerns my poor servants and the share of any. I commend this person toyou for his simple sincerity and honesty, that he may be placed in somegood place. I have chosen him as the least partial and as the one whowill most simply bring you my commands. Ignore, I beg you, that he toldyou anything in particular; for envy might injure him. I have suffered agreat deal for two years and more, and have not been able to let youknow, for an important reason. God be praised for all, and give yougrace to persevere in the service of His Church as long as you live, andnever may this honour pass from our race, while so many men and women areready to shed their blood to maintain the fight for the faith, all otherworldly considerations set aside. And as to me, I esteem myself born onboth father's and mother's sides, that I should offer up my blood forthis cause, and I have no intention of degenerating. Jesus, crucifiedfor us, and all the holy martyrs, make us by their intercession worthy ofthe voluntary offering we make of our bodies to their glory!

"From Fotheringay, this Thursday, 24th November. 

"They have, thinking to degrade me, pulled down my canopy of state, andsince then my keeper has come to offer to write to their queen, sayingthis deed was not done by his order, but by the advice of some of theCouncil. I have shown them instead of my arms on the said canopy thecross of Our Lord. You will hear all this; they have been more gentlesince. --Your affectionate cousin and perfect friend, "MARY, Queen of Scotland, Dowager of France"

From this day forward, when she learned the sentence delivered by thecommissioners, Mary Stuart no longer preserved any hope; for as she knewElizabeth's pardon was required to save her, she looked upon herselfthenceforward as lost, and only concerned herself with preparing to diewell. Indeed, as it had happened to her sometimes, from the cold anddamp in her prisons, to become crippled for some time in all her limbs, she was afraid of being so when they would come to take her, which wouldprevent her going resolutely to the scaffold, as she was counting ondoing. So, on Saturday the 14th February, she sent for her doctor, Bourgoin, and asked him, moved by a presentiment that her death was athand, she said, what she must do to prevent the return of the pains whichcrippled her. He replied that it would be good for her to medicineherself with fresh herbs. "Go, then, " said the queen, "and ask Sir AmyasPaulet from me permission to seek them in the fields. "

Bourgoin went to Sir Amyas, who, as he himself was troubled withsciatica, should have understood better than anyone the need of theremedies for which the queen asked. But this request, simple as it was, raised great difficulties. Sir Amyas replied that he could do nothingwithout referring to his companion, Drury; but that paper and ink mightbe brought, and that he, Master Bourgoin, could then make a list of theneedful plants, which they would try to procure. Bourgoin answered thathe did not know English well enough, and that the village apothecariesdid not know enough Latin, for him to risk the queen's life for someerror by himself or others. Finally, after a thousand hesitations, Paulet allowed Bourgoin to go out, which he did, accompanied by theapothecary Gorjon; so that the following day the queen was able to beginto doctor herself. 

Mary Stuart's presentiments had not deceived her: Tuesday, February 17th, at about two o'clock in the afternoon, the Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury, and Beale sent word to the queen that they desired to speak with her. The queen answered that she was ill and in bed, but that ifnotwithstanding what they had to tell her was a matter of importance, andthey would give her a little time, she would get up. They made answerthat the communication they had to make admitted of no delay, that theybegged her then to make ready; which the queen immediately did, andrising from her bed and cloaking herself, she went and seated herself ata little table, on the same spot where she was wont to be great part ofthe day. 

Then the two earls, accompanied by Beale, Arnyas Paulet, and Drue Drury, entered. Behind them, drawn by curiosity, full of terrible anxiety, cameher dearest ladies and most cherished servants. These were, ofwomenkind, the Misses Renee de Really, Gilles Mowbray, Jeanne Kennedy, Elspeth Curle, Mary Paget, and Susan Kercady; and of men-kind, DominiqueBourgoin her doctor, Pierre Gorjon her apothecary, Jacques Gervais hersurgeon, Annibal Stewart her footman, Dither Sifflart her butler, JeanLaudder her baker, and Martin Huet her carver. 

Then the Earl of Shrewsbury, with head bared like all those present, whoremained thus as long as they were in the queen's room, began to say inEnglish, addressing Mary--

"Madam, the Queen of England, my august mistress, has sent me to you, with the Earl of Kent and Sir Robert Beale, here present, to make knownto you that after having honourably proceeded in the inquiry into thedeed of which you are accused and found guilty, an inquiry which hasalready been submitted to your Grace by Lord Buckhurst, and havingdelayed as long as it was in her power the execution of the sentence, shecan no longer withstand the importunity of her subjects, who press her tocarry it out, so great and loving is their fear for her. For thispurpose we have come the bearers of a commission, and we beg very humbly, madam, that it may please you to hear it read. "

"Read, my lord; I am listening, " replied Mary Stuart, with the greatestcalmness. Then Robert Beale unrolled the said commission, which was onparchment, sealed with the Great Seal in yellow wax, and read as follows:

"Elizabeth, by the grace of God, Queen of England, France, and Ireland, etc. , to our beloved and faithful cousins, George, Earl of Shrewsbury, Grand Marshal of England; Henry, Earl of Kent; Henry, Earl of Derby;George, Earl of Cumberland; Henry, Earl of Pembroke, greeting: [The Earlsof Cumberland, Derby, and Pembroke did not attend to the queen's orders, and were present neither at the reading of the sentence nor at theexecution. ]

"Considering the sentence by us given, and others of our Council, nobility, and judges, against the former Queen of Scotland, bearing thename of Mary, daughter and heiress of James v, King of Scotland, commonlycalled Queen of Scotland and Dowager of France, which sentence all theestates of our realm in our last Parliament assembled not only concluded, but, after mature deliberation, ratified as being just and reasonable;considering also the urgent prayer and request of our subjects, beggingus and pressing us to proceed to the publication thereof, and to carry itinto execution against her person, according as they judge it dulymerited, adding in this place that her detention was and would be daily acertain and evident danger, not only to our life, but also to themselvesand their posterity, and to the public weal of this realm, as much onaccount of the Gospel and the true religion of Christ as of the peace andtranquillity of this State, although the said sentence has beenfrequently delayed, so that even until this time we abstained fromissuing the commission to execute it: yet, for the complete satisfactionof the said demands made by the Estates of our Parliament, through whichdaily we hear that all our friends and subjects, as well as the nobility, the wisest, greatest, and most pious, nay, even those of inferiorcondition, with all humility and affection from the care they have of ourlife, and consequently from the fear they have of the destruction of thepresent divine and happy state of the realm if we spare the finalexecution, consenting and desiring the said execution; though the generaland continual demands, prayers, counsels, and advice were in such thingscontrary to our natural inclination; yet, being convinced of the urgentweight of their continual intercessions tending to the safety of ourperson, and also to the public and private state of our realm, we have atlast consented and suffered that justice have its course, and for itsexecution, considering the singular confidence we have in your fidelityand loyalty together for the love and affection that you have toward us, particularly to the safe-guarding of our person and our country of whichyou are very noble and chief members; we summon, and, for the dischargeof it we enjoin you, that at sight of these presents you go to the castleof Fotheringay, where the former Queen of Scotland is, in the care of ourfriend and faithful servant and counsellor, Sir Amyas Paulet, and theretake into your keeping and do that by your command execution be done onher person, in the presence of yourselves and the said Sir Amyas Paulet, and of all the other officers of justice whom you command to be there: inthe meantime we have for this end and this execution given warrant insuch a way and manner, and in such a time and place, and by such persons, that you five, four, three, or two, find expedient in your discretion;notwithstanding all laws, statutes, and ordinances whatsoever, contraryto these presents, sealed with our Great Seal of England, which willserve for each of you, and all those who are present, or will make byyour order anything pertaining to the execution aforesaid full andsufficient discharge for ever. 

"Done and given in our house at Greenwich, the first day of February(10th February New Style), in the twenty-ninth year of our reign. "

Mary listened to this reading with great calmness and great dignity;then, when it was ended, making the sign of the cross--

"Welcome, " said she, "to all news which comes in the name of God! Thanks, Lord, for that You deign to put an end to all the ills You have seen mesuffer for nineteen years and more. "

"Madam, " said the Earl of Kent, "have no ill-will towards us on accountof your death; it was necessary to the peace of the State and theprogress of the new religion. "

"So, " cried Mary with delight, "so I shall have the happiness of dyingfor the faith of my fathers; thus God deigns to grant me the glory ofmartyrdom. Thanks, God, " added she, joining her hands with lessexcitement but with more piety, "thanks that You have deigned to destinefor me such an end, of which I was not worthy. That, O my God, is indeeda proof of Your love, and an assurance that You will receive me in thenumber of Your servants; for although this sentence had been notified tome, I was afraid, from the manner in which they have dealt with me fornineteen years, of not yet being so near as I am to such a happy end, thinking that your queen would not dare to lay a hand on me, who, by thegrace of God, am a queen as she is, the daughter of a queen as she is, crowned as she is, her near relative, granddaughter of King Henry VII, and who has had the honour of being Queen of France, of which I am stillDowager; and this fear was so much the greater, " added she, laying herhand on a New Testament which was near her on the little table, "that, Iswear on this holy book, I have never attempted, consented to, or evendesired the death of my sister, the Queen of England. "

"Madam, " replied the Earl of Kent, taking a step towards her and pointingto the New Testament; "this book on which you have sworn is not genuine, since it is the papist version; consequently, your oath cannot beconsidered as any more genuine than the book on which it has been taken. "

"My lord, " answered the queen, "what you say may befit you, but not me, who well know that this book is the true and faithful version of the wordof the Lord, a version made by a very wise divine, a very good man, andapproved by the Church. "

"Madam, " the Earl of Kent returned, "your Grace stopped at what you weretaught in your youth, without inquiry as to whether it was good or bad:it is not surprising, then, that you have remained in your error, forwant of having heard anyone who could make known the truth to you; thisis why, as your Grace has but a few hours longer to remain in this world, and consequently has no time to lose, with your permission we shall sendfor the Dean of Peterborough, the most learned man there is on thesubject of religion, who, with his word, will prepare you for yoursalvation, which you risk to our great grief and that of our augustqueen, by all the papistical follies, abominations, and childish nonsensewhich keep Catholics away from the holy word of God and the knowledge ofthe truth. "

"You mistake, my lord, " replied the queen gently, "if you have believedthat I have grown up careless in the faith of my fathers, and withoutseriously occupying myself with a matter so important as religion. Ihave, on the contrary, spent my life with learned and wise men who taughtme what one must learn on this subject, and I have sustained myself byreading their works, since the means of hearing them has been taken fromme. Besides, never having doubted in my lifetime, doubt is not likely toseize me in my death-hour. And there is the Earl of Shrewsbury, herepresent, who will tell you that, since my arrival in England, I have, foran entire Lent, of which I repent, heard your wisest doctors, withouttheir arguments having made any impression on my mind. It will beuseless, then, my lord, " she added, smiling, "to summon to one sohardened as I the Dean of Peterborough, learned as he is. The only thingI ask you in exchange, my lord, and for which I shall be grateful to youbeyond expression, is that you will send me my almoner, whom you keepshut up in this house, to console me and prepare me for death, or, in hisstead, another priest, be he who he may; if only a poor priest from apoor village, I being no harder to please than God, and not asking thathe have knowledge, provided that he has faith. "

"It is with regret, madam, " replied the Earl of Kent, "that I find myselfobliged to refuse your Grace's, request; but it would be contrary to ourreligion and our conscience, and we should be culpable in doing it; thisis why we again offer you the venerable Dean of Peterborough, certainthat your Grace will find more consolation and content in him than in anybishop, priest, or vicar of the Catholic faith. "

"Thank you, my lord, " said the queen again, "but I have nothing to-dowith him, and as I have a conscience free of the crime for which I amabout to die, with God's help, martyrdom will take the place ofconfession for me. And now, I will remind you, my lord, of what you toldme yourself, that I have but a few hours to live; and these few hours, toprofit me, should be passed in prayer and meditation, and not in idledisputes. "

With these words, she rose, and, bowing to the earls, Sir Robert Beale, Amyas, and Drury, she indictated, by a gesture full of dignity, that shewished to be alone and in peace; then, as they prepared to go out--

"Apropos, my lords, " said she, "for what o'clock should I make ready todie?"

"For eight o'clock to-morrow, madam, " answered the Earl of Shrewsbury, stammering. 

"It is well, " said Mary; "but have you not some reply to make me, from mysister Elizabeth, relative to a letter which I wrote to her about a monthago?"

"And of what did this letter treat, if it please you, madam?" asked theEarl of Kent. 

"Of my burial and my funeral ceremony, my lord: I asked to be interred inFrance, in the cathedral church of Rheims, near the late queen mymother. "

"That may not be, madam, " replied the Earl of Kent; "but do not troubleyourself as to all these details: the queen, my august mistress, willprovide for them as is suitable. Has your grace anything else to askus?"

"I would also like to know, " said Mary, "if my servants will be allowedto return, each to his own country, with the little that I can give him;which will hardly be enough, in any case, for the long service they havedone me, and the long imprisonment they have borne on my account. "

"We have no instructions on that head, madam, " the Earl of Kent said, "but we think that an order will be given for this as for the otherthings, in accordance with your wishes. Is this all that your Grace hasto say to us?"

"Yes, my lord, " replied the queen, bowing a second time, "and now you maywithdraw. "

"One moment, my lords, in Heaven's name, one moment!" cried the oldphysician, coming forward and throwing himself on his knees before thetwo earls. 

"What do you want?" asked Lord Shrewsbury. 

"To point out to you, my lords, " replied the aged Bourgoin, weeping, "that you have granted the queen but a very short time for such animportant matter as this of her life. Reflect, my lords, what rank anddegree she whom you have condemned has held among the princes of thisearth, and consider if it is well and seemly to treat her as an ordinarycondemned person of middling estate. And if not for the sake of thisnoble queen, my lords, do this for the sake of us her poor servants, who, having had the honour of living near her so long, cannot thus part fromher so quickly and without preparation. Besides, my lords, think of it, awoman of her state and position ought to have some time in which to setin order her last affairs. And what will become of her, and of us, ifbefore dying, our mistress has not time to regulate her jointure and heraccounts and to put in order her papers and her title-deeds? She hasservices to reward and offices of piety to perform. She should notneglect the one or the other. Besides, we know that she will onlyconcern herself with us, and, through this, my lords, neglect her ownsalvation. Grant her, then, a few more days, my lords; and as ourmistress is too proud to ask of you such a favour, I ask you in all ournames, and implore you not to refuse to poor servants a request whichyour august queen would certainly not refuse them, if they had the goodfortune to be able to lay it at her feet. "

"Is it then true, madam, " Sir Robert Beale asked, "that you have not yetmade a will?"

"I have not, sir, " the queen answered. 

"In that case, my lords, " said Sir Robert Beale, turning to the twoearls, "perhaps it would be a good thing to put it off for a day or two. "

"Impossible, sir, " replied the Earl of Shrewsbury: "the time is fixed, and we cannot change anything, even by a minute, now. "

"Enough, Bourgoin, enough, " said the queen; "rise, I command you. "

Bourgoin obeyed, and the Earl of Shrewsbury, turning to Sir Amyas Paulet, who was behind him--

"Sir Amyas, " said he, "we entrust this lady to your keeping: you willcharge yourself with her, and keep her safe till our return. "

With these words he went out, followed by the Earl of Kent, Sir RobertBeale, Amyas Paulet, and Drury, and the queen remained alone with herservants. 

Then, turning to her women with as serene a countenance as if the eventwhich had just taken place was of little importance--

"Well, Jeanne, " said she, speaking to Kennedy, "have I not always toldyou, and was I not right, that at the bottom of their hearts they wantedto do this? and did I not see clearly through all their procedure the endthey had in view, and know well enough that I was too great an obstacleto their false religion to be allowed to live? Come, " continued she, "hasten supper now, that I may put my affairs in order". Then, seeingthat instead of obeying her, her servants were weeping and lamenting, "Mychildren, " said she, with a sad smile, but without a tear in her eye, "itis no time for weeping, quite the contrary; for if you love me, you oughtto rejoice that the Lord, in making me die for His cause, relieves mefrom the torments I have endured for nineteen years. As for me, I thankHim for allowing me to die for the glory of His faith and His Church. Let each have patience, then, and while the men prepare supper, we womenwill pray to God. "

The men immediately went out, weeping and sobbing, and the queen and herwomen fell on their knees. When they had recited some prayers, Maryrose, and sending for all the money she had left, she counted it anddivided it into portions, which she put into purses with the name of thedestined recipient, in her handwriting, with the money. 

At that moment, supper being served, she seated herself at table with herwomen as usual, the other servants standing or coming and going, herdoctor waiting on her at table as he was accustomed since her steward hadbeen taken from her. She ate no more nor less than usual, speaking, throughout supper, of the Earl of Kent, and of the way in which hebetrayed himself with respect to religion, by his insisting on wanting togive the queen a pastor instead of a priest. "Happily, " she added, laughing, "one more skilful than he was needed to change me". MeanwhileBourgoin was weeping behind the queen, for he was thinking that he wasserving her for the last time, and that she who was eating, talking, andlaughing thus, next day at the same hour would be but a cold andinsensible corpse. 

When the meal was over, the queen sent for all her servants; then; beforethe table was cleared of anything, she poured out a cup of wine, rose anddrank to their health, asking them if they would not drink to hersalvation. Then she had a glass given to each one: all kneeled down, andall, says the account from which we borrow these details, drank, minglingtheir tears with the wine, and asking pardon of the queen for any wrongsthey had done her. The queen granted it heartily, and asked them to doas much for her, and to forget her impatient ways, which she begged themto put down to her imprisonment. Then, having given them a longdiscourse, in which she explained to them their duties to God, andexhorted them to persevere in the Catholic faith, she begged them, afterher death, to live together in peace and charity, forgetting all thepetty quarrels and disputes which they had had among one another in thepast. 

This speech ended, the queen rose from table, and desired to go into herwardrobe-room, to see the clothes and jewels she wished to dispose of;but Bourgoin observed that it would be better to have all these separateobjects brought into her chamber; that there would be a double advantagein this, she would be less tired for one thing, and the English would notsee them for another. This last reason decided her, and while theservants were supping, she had brought into her ante-room, first of all, all her robes, and took the inventory from her wardrobe attendant, andbegan to write in the margin beside each item the name of the person itwas to be given to. Directly, and as fast as she did it, that person towhom it was given took it and put it aside. As for the things which weretoo personal to her to be thus bestowed, she ordered that they should besold, and that the purchase-money should be used for her servants'travelling expenses, when they returned to their own countries, wellknowing how great the cost would be and that no one would have sufficientmeans. This memorandum finished, she signed it, and gave it as adischarge to her wardrobe attendant. 

Then, that done, she went into her room, where had been brought herrings, her jewels, and her most valuable belongings; inspected them all, one after the other, down to the very least; and distributed them as shehad done her robes, so that, present or absent, everyone had something. Then she furthermore gave, to her most faithful people, the jewels sheintended for the king and queen of France, for the king her son, for thequeen-mother, for Messieurs de Guise and de Lorraine, without forgettingin this distribution any prince or princess among her relatives. Shedesired, besides, that each should keep the things then in his care, giving her linen to the young lady who looked after it, her silkembroideries to her who took charge of them, her silver plate to herbutler, and so on with the rest. 

Then, as they were asking her for a discharge, "It is useless, " said she;"you owe an account to me only, and to-morrow, therefore, you will nolonger owe it to anyone"; but, as they pointed out that the king her soncould claim from them, "You are right, " said she; and she gave them whatthey asked. 

That done, and having no hope left of being visited by her confessor, shewrote him this letter:

"I have been tormented all this day on account of my religion, and urgedto receive the consolations of a heretic: you will learn, throughBourgoin and the others, that everything they could say on this matterhas been useless, that I have faithfully made protestation of the faithin which I wish to die. I requested that you should be allowed toreceive my confession and to give me the sacrament, which has beencruelly refused, as well as the removal of my body, and the power to makemy will freely; so that I cannot write anything except through theirhands, and with the good pleasure of their mistress. For want of seeingyou, then, I confess to you my sins in general, as I should have done inparticular, begging you, in God's name, to watch and pray this night withme, for the remission of my sins, and to send me your absolution andforgiveness for all the wrongs I have done you. I shall try to see youin their presence, as they permitted it to my steward; and if it isallowed, before all, and on my knees, I shall ask your blessing. Send methe best prayers you know for this night and for to-morrow morning; forthe time is short, and I have not the leisure to write; but be calm, Ishall recommend you like the rest of my servants, and your beneficesabove all will be secured to you. Farewell, for I have not much moretime. Send to me in writing everything you can find, best for mysalvation, in prayers and exhortations, I send you my last little ring. "

Directly she had written this letter the queen began to make her will, and at a stroke, with her pen running on and almost without lifting itfrom the paper, she wrote two large sheets, containing severalparagraphs, in which no one was forgotten, present as absent, distributing the little she had with scrupulous fairness, and still moreaccording to need than according to service. The executors she chosewere: the Duke of Guise, her first cousin; the Archbishop of Glasgow, herambassador; the Bishop of Ross, her chaplain in chief; and M. DuRuysseau, her chancellor, all four certainly very worthy of the charge, the first from his authority; the two bishops by piety and conscience, and the last by his knowledge of affairs. Her will finished, she wrotethis letter to the King of France:

SIR MY BROTHER-IN-LAW, --Having, by God's permission and for my sins, Ibelieve, thrown myself into the arms of this queen, my cousin, where Ihave had much to endure for more than twenty years, I am by her and byher Parliament finally condemned to death; and having asked for mypapers, taken from me, to make my will, I have not been able to obtainanything to serve me, not even permission to write my last wishes freely, nor leave that after my death my body should be transported, as was mydearest desire, into your kingdom, where I had had the honour of beingqueen, your sister and your ally. To-day, after dinner, without morerespect, my sentence has been declared to me, to be executed to-morrow, like a criminal, at eight o'clock in the morning. I have not the leisureto give you a full account of what has occurred; but if it please you tobelieve my doctor and these others my distressed servants, you will hearthe truth, and that, thanks to God, I despise death, which I protest Ireceive innocent of every crime, even if I were their subject, which Inever was. But my faith in the Catholic religion and my claims to thecrown of England are the real causes for my condemnation, and yet theywill not allow me to say that it is for religion I die, for my religionkills theirs; and that is so true, that they have taken my chaplain fromme, who, although a prisoner in the same castle, may not come either toconsole me, or to give me the holy sacrament of the eucharist; but, onthe contrary, they have made me urgent entreaties to receive theconsolations of their minister whom they have brought for this purpose. He who will bring you this letter, and the rest of my servants, who areyour subjects for the most part, will bear you witness of the way inwhich I shall have performed my last act. Now it remains to me toimplore you, as a most Christian king, as my brother-in-law, as myancient ally, and one who has so often done me the honour to protest yourfriendship for me, to give proof of this friendship, in your virtue andyour charity, by helping me in that of which I cannot without youdischarge my conscience--that is to say, in rewarding my good distressedservants, by giving them their dues; then, in having prayers made to Godfor a queen who has been called most Christian, and who dies a Catholicand deprived of all her goods. As to my son, I commend him to you asmuch as he shall deserve, for I cannot answer for him; but as to myservants, I commend them with clasped hands. I have taken the liberty ofsending you two rare stones good for the health, hoping that yours may beperfect during a long life; you will receive them as coming from yourvery affectionate sister-in-law, at the point of death and giving proofof her, good disposition towards you. 

"I shall commend my servants to you in a memorandum, and will order you, for the good of my soul, for whose salvation it will be employed, to payme a portion of what you owe me, if it please you, and I conjure you forthe honour of Jesus, to whom I shall pray to-morrow at my death, that youleave me the wherewithal to found a mass and to perform the necessarycharities. 

"This Wednesday, two hours after midnight--Your affectionate and goodsister, "MARY, R. . . . "

Of all these recommendations, the will and the letters, the queen at oncehad copies made which she signed, so that, if some should be seized bythe English, the others might reach their destination. Bourgoin pointedout to her that she was wrong to be in such a hurry to close them, andthat perhaps in two or three hours she would remember that she had leftsomething out. But the queen paid no attention, saying she was sure shehad not forgotten anything, and that if she had, she had only time now topray and to look to her conscience. So she shut up all the severalarticles in the drawers of a piece of furniture and gave the key toBourgoin; then sending for a foot-bath, in which she stayed for about tenminutes, she lay down in bed, where she was not seen to sleep, butconstantly to repeat prayers or to remain in meditation. 

Towards four o'clock in the morning, the queen, who was accustomed, afterevening prayers, to have the story of some male or female saint readaloud to her, did not wish to depart from this habit, and, after havinghesitated among several for this solemn occasion, she chose the greatestsinner of all, the penitent thief, saying humbly--

"If, great sinner as he was, he has yet sinned less than I, I desire tobeg of him, in remembrance of the passion of Jesus Christ; to, have pityon me in the hour of my death, as Our Lord had pity on him. "

Then, when the reading was over, she had all her handkerchiefs brought, and chose the finest, which was of delicate cambric all embroidered ingold, to bandage her eyes with. 

At daybreak, reflecting that she had only two hours to live, she rose andbegan dressing, but before she had finished, Bourgoin came into her room, and, afraid lest the absent servants might murmur against the queen, ifby chance they were discontented at the will, and might accuse those whohad been present of having taken away from their share to add to theirown, he begged Mary to send for them all and to read it in theirpresence; to which Mary agreed, and consented to do so at once. 

All the servants were then summoned, and the queen read her testament, saying that it was done of her own free, full and entire will, writtenand signed with her own hand, and that accordingly she begged thosepresent to give all the help in their power in seeing it carried outwithout change or omission; then, having read it over, and havingreceived a promise from all, she gave it to Bourgoin, charging him tosend it to M. De Guise, her chief executor, and at the same time toforward her letters to the king and her principal papers and memorandums:after this, she had the casket brought in which she had put the purseswhich we mentioned before; she opened them one after another, and seeingby the ticket within for whom each was intended, she distributed themwith her own hand, none of the recipients being aware of their contents. These gifts varied from twenty to three hundred crowns; and to these sumsshe added seven hundred livres for the poor, namely, two hundred for thepoor of England and five hundred for the poor of France; then she gave toeach man in her suite two rose nobles to be distributed in alms for hersake, and finally one hundred and fifty crowns to Bourgoin to be dividedamong them all when they should separate; and thus twenty-six ortwenty-seven people had money legacies. 

The queen performed all this with great composure and calmness, with noapparent change of countenance; so that it seemed as if she were onlypreparing for a journey or change of dwelling; then she again bade herservants farewell, consoling them and exhorting them to live in peace, all this while finishing dressing as well and as elegantly as she could. 

Her toilet ended, the queen went from her reception-room to herante-room, where there was an altar set up and arranged, at which, beforehe had been taken from her, her chaplain used to say mass; and kneelingon the steps, surrounded by all her servants, she began the communionprayers, and when they were ended, drawing from a golden box a hostconsecrated by Pius V, which she had always scrupulously preserved forthe occasion of her death, she told Bourgoin to take it, and, as he wasthe senior, to take the priest's place, old age being holy and sacred;and in this manner in spite of all the precautions taken to deprive herof it, the queen received the holy sacrament of the eucharist. 

This pious ceremony ended, Bourgoin told the queen that in her will shehad forgotten three people--Mesdemoiselles Beauregard, de Montbrun, andher chaplain. The queen was greatly astonished at this oversight, whichwas quite involuntary, and, taking back her will, she wrote her wisheswith respect to them in the first empty margin; then she kneeled downagain in prayer; but after a moment, as she suffered too much in thisposition, she rose, and Bourgoin having had brought her a little breadand wine, she ate and drank, and when she had finished, gave him her handand thanked him for having been present to help her at her last meal ashe was accustomed; and feeling stronger, she kneeled down and began topray again. 

Scarcely had she done so, than there was a knocking at the door: thequeen understood what was required of her; but as she had not finishedpraying, she begged those who were come to fetch her to wait a moment, and in a few minutes' she would be ready. 

The Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury, remembering the resistance she had madewhen she had had to go down to the commissioners and appear before thelawyers, mounted some guards in the ante-room where they were waitingthemselves, so that they could take her away by force if necessary, should she refuse to come willingly, or should her servants want todefend her; but it is untrue that the two barons entered her room, assome have said. They only set foot there once, on the occasion which wehave related, when they came to apprise her of her sentence. 

They waited some minutes, nevertheless, as the queen had begged them;then, about eight o'clock, they knocked again, accompanied by the guards;but to their great surprise the door was opened immediately, and theyfound Mary on her knees in prayer. Upon this, Sir Thomas Andrew, who wasat the time sheriff of the county of Nottingham, entered alone, a whitewand in his hand, and as everyone stayed on their knees praying, hecrossed the room with a slow step and stood behind the queen: he waited amoment there, and as Mary Stuart did not seem to see him--

"Madam, " said he, "the earls have sent me to you. "

At these words the queen turned round, and at once rising in the middleof her prayer, "Let us go, " she replied, and she made ready to followhim; then Bourgoin, taking the cross of black wood with an ivory Christwhich was over the altar, said--

"Madam, would you not like to take this little cross?"

"Thank you for having reminded me, " Mary answered; "I had intended to, but I forgot". Then, giving it to Annibal Stewart, her footman, that hemight present it when she should ask for it, she began to move to thedoor, and on account of the great pain in her limbs, leaning on Bourgoin, who, as they drew near, suddenly let her go, saying--

"Madam, your Majesty knows if we love you, and all, such as we are, areready to obey you, should you command us to die for you; but I, I havenot the strength to lead you farther; besides, it is not becoming thatwe, who should be defending you to the last drop of our blood, shouldseem to be betraying you in giving you thus into the hands of theseinfamous English. "

"You are right, Bourgoin, " said the queen; "moreover, my death would be asad sight for you, which I ought to spare your age and your friendship. Mr. Sheriff, " added she, "call someone to support me, for you see that Icannot walk. "

The sheriff bowed, and signed to two guards whom he had kept hiddenbehind the door to lend him assistance in case the queen should resist, to approach and support her; which they at once did; and Mary Stuart wenton her way, preceded and followed by her servants weeping and wringingtheir hands. But at the second door other guards stopped them, tellingthem they must go no farther. They all cried out against such aprohibition: they said that for the nineteen years they had been shut upwith the queen they had always accompanied her wherever she went; that itwas frightful to deprive their mistress of their services at the lastmoment, and that such an order had doubtless been given because theywanted to practise some shocking cruelty on her, of which they desired nowitnesses. Bourgoin, who was at their head, seeing that he could obtainnothing by threats or entreaties, asked to speak with the earls; but thisclaim was not allowed either, and as the servants wanted to pass byforce, the soldiers repulsed them with blows of their arquebuses; then, raising her voice--

"It is wrong of you to prevent my servants following me, " said the queen, "and I begin to think, like them, that you have some ill designs upon mebeyond my death. "

The sheriff replied, "Madam, four of your servants are chosen to followyou, and no more; when you have come down, they will be fetched, and willrejoin you. "

"What!" said the queen, "the four chosen persons cannot even follow menow?"

"The order is thus given by the earls, " answered the sheriff, "and, to mygreat regret, madam, I can do nothing. "

Then the queen turned to them, and taking the cross from Annibal Stewart, and in her other hand her book of Hours and her handkerchief, "Mychildren, " said she, "this is one more grief to add to our other griefs;let us bear it like Christians, and offer this fresh sacrifice to God. "

At these words sobs and cries burst forth on all sides: the unhappyservants fell on their knees, and while some rolled on the ground, tearing their hair, others kissed her hands, her knees, and the hem ofher gown, begging her forgiveness for every possible fault, calling hertheir mother and bidding her farewell. Finding, no doubt, that thisscene was lasting too long, the sheriff made a sign, and the soldierspushed the men and women back into the room and shut the door on them;still, fast as was the door, the queen none the less heard their criesand lamentations, which seemed, in spite of the guards, as if they wouldaccompany her to the scaffold. 

At the stair-head, the queen found Andrew Melville awaiting her: he wasthe Master of her Household, who had been secluded from her for sometime, and who was at last permitted to see her once more to say farewell. The queen, hastening her steps, approached him, and kneeling down toreceive his blessing, which he gave her, weeping--

"Melville, " said she, without rising, and addressing him as "thou" forthe first time, "as thou hast been an honest servant to me, be the sameto my son: seek him out directly after my death, and tell him of it inevery detail; tell him that I wish him well, and that I beseech God tosend him His Holy Spirit. "

"Madam, " replied Melville, "this is certainly the saddest message withwhich a man can be charged: no matter, I shall faithfully fulfil it, Iswear to you. "

"What sayest thou, Melville?" responded the queen, rising; "and whatbetter news canst thou bear, on the contrary, than that I am deliveredfrom all my ills? Tell him that he should rejoice, since the sufferingsof Mary Stuart are at an end; tell him that I die a Catholic, constant inmy religion, faithful to Scotland and France, and that I forgive thosewho put me to death. Tell him that I have always desired the union ofEngland and Scotland; tell him, finally, that I have done nothinginjurious to his kingdom, to his honour, or to his rights. And thus, good Melville, till we meet again in heaven. "

Then, leaning on the old man, whose face was bathed in tears, shedescended the staircase, at the foot of which she found the two earls, Sir Henry Talbot, Lord Shrewsbury's son, Amyas Paulet, Drue Drury, RobertBeale, and many gentlemen of the neighbourhood: the queen, advancingtowards them without pride, but without humility, complained that herservants had been refused permission to follow her, and asked that itshould be granted. The lords conferred together; and a moment after theEarl of Kent inquired which ones she desired to have, saying she might beallowed six. So the queen chose from among the men Bourgoin, Gordon, Gervais, and Didier; and from the women Jeanne Kennedy and Elspeth Curle, the ones she preferred to all, though the latter was sister to thesecretary who had betrayed her. But here arose a fresh difficulty, theearls saying that this permission did not extend to women, women notbeing used to be present at such sights, and when they were, usuallyupsetting everyone with cries and lamentations, and, as soon as thedecapitation was over, rushing to the scaffold to staunch the blood withtheir handkerchiefs--a most unseemly proceeding. 

"My lords, " then said the queen, "I answer and promise for my servants, that they will not do any of the things your honours fear. Alas! poorpeople! they would be very glad to bid me farewell; and I hope that yourmistress, being a maiden queen, and accordingly sensitive for the honourof women, has not given you such strict orders that you are unable togrant me the little I ask; so much the more, " added she in a profoundlymournful tone, "that my rank should be taken into consideration; forindeed I am your queen's cousin, granddaughter of Henry VII, QueenDowager of France and crowned Queen of Scotland. "

The lords consulted together for another moment, and granted her demands. Accordingly, two guards went up immediately to fetch the chosenindividuals. 

The queen then moved on to the great hall, leaning on two of Sir AmyasPaulet's gentlemen, accompanied and followed by the earls and lords, thesheriff walking before her, and Andrew Melville bearing her train. Herdress, as carefully chosen as possible, as we have said, consisted of acoif of fine cambric, trimmed with lace, with a lace veil thrown back andfalling to the ground behind. She wore a cloak of black stamped satinlined with black taffetas and trimmed in front with sable, with a longtrain and sleeves hanging to the ground; the buttons were of jet in theshape of acorns and surrounded with pearls, her collar in the Italianstyle; her doublet was of figured black satin, and underneath she worestays, laced behind, in crimson satin, edged with velvet of the samecolour; a gold cross hung by a pomander chain at her neck, and tworosaries at her girdle: it was thus she entered the great hall where thescaffold was erected. 

It was a platform twelve feet wide, raised about two feet from the floor, surrounded with barriers and covered with black serge, and on it were alittle chair, a cushion to kneel on, and a block also covered in black. Just as, having mounted the steps, she set foot on the fatal boards, theexecutioner came forward, and; asking forgiveness for the duty he wasabout to perform, kneeled, hiding behind him his axe. Mary saw it, however, and cried--

"Ah! I would rather have been beheaded in the French way, with asword!. . . "

"It is not my fault, madam, " said the executioner, "if this last wish ofyour Majesty cannot be fulfilled; but, not having been instructed tobring a sword, and having found this axe here only, I am obliged to useit. Will that prevent your pardoning me, then?"

"I pardon you, my friend, " said Mary, "and in proof of it, here is myhand to kiss. "

The executioner put his lips to the queen's hand, rose and approached thechair. Mary sat down, and the Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury standing onher left, the sheriff and his officers before her, Amyas Paulet behind, and outside the barrier the lords, knights, and gentlemen, numberingnearly two hundred and fifty, Robert Beale for the second time read thewarrant for execution, and as he was beginning the servants who had beenfetched came into the hall and placed themselves behind the scaffold, themen mounted upon a bench put back against the wall, and the womenkneeling in front of it; and a little spaniel, of which the queen wasvery fond, came quietly, as if he feared to be driven away, and lay downnear his mistress. 

The queen listened to the reading of the warrant without seeming to paymuch attention, as if it had concerned someone else, and with acountenance as calm and even as joyous as if it had been a pardon and nota sentence of death; then, when Beale had ended, and having ended, criedin a loud voice, "God save Queen Elizabeth!" to which no one made anyresponse, Mary signed herself with the cross, and, rising without anychange of expression, and, on the contrary, lovelier than ever--

"My lords, " said she, "I am a queen-born sovereign princess, and notsubject to law, --a near relation of the Queen of England, and herrightful heir; for a long time I have been a prisoner in this country, Ihave suffered here much tribulation and many evils that no one had theright to inflict, and now, to crown all, I am about to lose my life. Well, my lords, bear witness that I die in the Catholic faith, thankingGod for letting me die for His holy cause, and protesting, to-day asevery day, in public as in private, that I have never plotted, consentedto, nor desired the queen's death, nor any other thing against herperson; but that, on the contrary, I have always loved her, and havealways offered her good and reasonable conditions to put an end to thetroubles of the kingdom and deliver me from my captivity, without myhaving ever been honoured with a reply from her; and all this, my lords, you well know. Finally, my enemies have attained their end, which was toput me to death: I do not pardon them less for it than I pardon all thosewho have attempted anything against me. After my, death, the authors ofit will be known. But I die without accusing anyone, for fear the Lordshould hear me and avenge me. "

Upon this, whether he was afraid that such a speech by so great a queenshould soften the assembly too much, or whether he found that all thesewords were making too much delay, the Dean of Peterborough placed himselfbefore Mary, and, leaning on the barrier--

"Madam, " he said, "my much honoured mistress has commanded me to come toyou--" But at these words, Mary, turning and interrupting him:

"Mr. Dean, " she answered in a loud voice, "I have nothing to do with you;I do not wish to hear you, and beg you to withdraw. "

"Madam, " said the dean, persisting in spite of this resolve expressed insuch firm and precise terms, "you have but a moment longer: change youropinions, abjure your errors, and put your faith in Jesus Christ alone, that you may be saved through Him. "

"Everything you can say is useless, " replied the queen, "and you willgain nothing by it; be silent, then, I beg you, and let me die in peace. "

And as she saw that he wanted to go on, she sat down on the other side ofthe chair and turned her back to him; but the dean immediately walkedround the scaffold till he faced her again; then, as he was going tospeak, the queen turned about once more, and sat as at first. Seeingwhich the Earl of Shrewsbury said--

"Madam, truly I despair that you are so attached to this folly of papacy:allow us, if it please you, to pray for you. "

"My lord, " the queen answered, "if you desire to pray for me, I thankyou, for the intention is good; but I cannot join in your prayers, for weare not of the same religion. "

The earls then called the dean, and while the queen, seated in her littlechair, was praying in a low tone, he, kneeling on the scaffold steps, prayed aloud; and the whole assembly except the queen and her servantsprayed after him; then, in the midst of her orison, which she said withher Agnus Dei round her neck, a crucifix in one hand, and her book ofHours in the other, she fell from her seat on to, her knees, prayingaloud in Latin, whilst the others prayed in English, and when the otherswere silent, she continued in English in her turn, so that they couldhear her, praying for the afflicted Church of Christ, for an end to thepersecution of Catholics, and for the happiness of her son's reign; thenshe said, in accents full of faith and fervour, that she hoped to besaved by the merits of Jesus Christ, at the foot of whose cross she wasgoing to shed her blood. 

At these words the Earl of Kent could no longer contain himself, andwithout respect for the sanctity of the moment--

"Oh, madam, " said he, "put Jesus Christ in your heart, and reject allthis rubbish of popish deceptions. "

But she, without listening, went on, praying the saints to intercede withGod for her, and kissing the crucifix, she cried--

"Lord! Lord! receive me in Thy arms out stretched on the cross, andforgive me all my sins!"

Thereupon, --she being again seated in the chair, the Earl of Kent askedher if she had any confession to make; to which she replied that, notbeing guilty of anything, to confess would be to give herself, the lie. 

"It is well, " the earl answered; "then, madam, prepare. "

The queen rose, and as the executioner approached to assist her disrobe--

"Allow me, my friend, " said she; "I know how to do it better than you, and am not accustomed to undress before so many spectators, nor to beserved by such valets. "

And then, calling her two women, she began to unpin her coiffure, and asJeanne Kennedy and Elspeth Curle, while performing this last service fortheir mistress, could not help weeping bitterly--

"Do not weep, " she said to them in French; "for I have promised andanswered for you. "

With these words, she made the sign of the cross upon the forehead ofeach, kissed them, and recommended them to pray for her. 

Then the queen began to undress, herself assisting, as she was wont to dowhen preparing for bed, and taking the gold cross from her neck, shewished to give it to Jeanne, saying to the executioner--

"My friend, I know that all I have upon me belongs to you; but this isnot in your way: let me bestow it, if you please, on this young lady, andshe will give you twice its value in money. "

But the executioner, hardly allowing her to finish, snatched it from herhands with--

"It is my right. "

The queen was not moved much by this brutality, and went on taking offher garments until she was simply in her petticoat. 

Thus rid of all her garb, she again sat down, and Jeanne Kennedyapproaching her, took from her pocket the handkerchief ofgold-embroidered cambric which she had prepared the night before, andbound her eyes with it; which the earls, lords; and gentlemen looked uponwith great surprise, it not being customary in England, and as shethought that she was to be beheaded in the French way--that is to say, seated in the chair--she held herself upright, motionless, and with herneck stiffened to make it easier for the executioner, who, for his part, not knowing how to proceed, was standing, without striking, axe in hand:at last the man laid his hand on the queen's head, and drawing herforward, made her fall on her knees: Mary then understood what wasrequired of her, and feeling for the block with her hands, which werestill holding her book of Hours and her crucifix, she laid her neck onit, her hands joined beneath her chin, that she might pray till the lastmoment: the executioner's assistant drew them away, for fear they shouldbe cut off with her head; and as the queen was saying, "In manes teas, Domine, " the executioner raised his axe, which was simply an axe farchopping wood, and struck the first blow, which hit too high, andpiercing the skull, made the crucifix and the book fly from thecondemned's hands by its violence, but which did not sever the head. However, stunned with the blow, the queen made no movement, which gavethe executioner time to redouble it; but still the head did not fall, anda third stroke was necessary to detach a shred of flesh which held it tothe shoulders. 

At last, when the head was quite severed, the executioner held it up toshow to the assembly, saying:

"God save Queen Elizabeth!"

"So perish all Her Majesty's enemies!" responded the Dean ofPeterborough. 

"Amen, " said the Earl of Kent; but he was the only one: no other voicecould respond, for all were choked with sobs. 

At that moment the queen's headdress falling, disclosed her hair, cutvery short, and as white as if she had been aged seventy: as to her face, it had so changed during her death-agony that no one would haverecognised it had he not known it was hers. The spectators cried outaloud at this sign; for, frightful to see, the eyes were open, and thelids went on moving as if they would still pray, and this muscularmovement lasted for more than a quarter of an hour after the head hadbeen cut off. 

The queen's servants had rushed upon the scaffold, picking up the book ofHours and the crucifix as relics; and Jeanne Kennedy, remembering thelittle dog who had come to his mistress, looked about for him on allsides, seeking him and calling him, but she sought and called in vain. He had disappeared. 

At that moment, as one of the executioners was untying the queen'sgarters, which were of blue satin embroidered in silver, he saw the poorlittle animal, which had hidden in her petticoat, and which he wasobliged to bring out by force; then, having escaped from his hands, ittook refuge between the queen's shoulders and her head, which theexecutioner had laid down near the trunk. Jeanne took him then, in spiteof his howls, and carried him away, covered with blood; for everyone hadjust been ordered to leave the hall. Bourgoin and Gervais stayed behind, entreating Sir Amyas Paulet to let them take the queen's heart, that theymight carry it to France, as they had promised her; but they were harshlyrefused and pushed out of the hall, of which all the doors were closed, and there there remained only the executioner and the corpse. 

Brantome relates that something infamous took place there!

CHAPTER X

Two hours after the execution, the body and the head were taken into thesame hall in which Mary Stuart had appeared before the commissioners, setdown on a table round which the judges had sat, and covered over with ablack serge cloth; and there remained till three o'clock in theafternoon, when Waters the doctor from Stamford and the surgeon fromFotheringay village came to open and embalm them--an operation which theycarried out under the eyes of Amyas Paulet and his soldiers, without anyrespect for the rank and sex of the poor corpse, which was thus exposedto the view of anyone who wanted to see it: it is true that thisindignity did not fulfil its proposed aim; for a rumour spread about thatthe queen had swollen limbs and was dropsical, while, on the contrary, there was not one of the spectators but was obliged to confess that hehad never seen the body of a young girl in the bloom of health purer andlovelier than that of Mary Stuart, dead of a violent death after nineteenyears of suffering and captivity. 

When the body was opened, the spleen was in its normal state, with theveins a little livid only, the lungs yellowish in places, and the brainone-sixth larger than is usual in persons of the same age and sex; thuseverything promised a long life to her whose end had just been so cruellyhastened. 

A report having been made of the above, the body was embalmed after afashion, put in a leaden coffin and that in another of wood, which wasleft on the table till the first day of August--that is, for nearly fivemonths--before anyone was allowed to come near it; and not only that, butthe English having noticed that Mary Stuart's unhappy servants, who werestill detained as prisoners, went to look at it through the keyhole, stopped that up in such a way that they could not even gaze at the coffinenclosing the body of her whom they had so greatly loved. 

However, one hour after Mary Stuart's death, Henry Talbot, who had beenpresent at it, set out at full speed for London, carrying to Elizabeththe account of her rival's death; but at the very first lines she read, Elizabeth, true to her character, cried out in grief and indignation, saying that her orders had been misunderstood, that there had been toogreat haste, and that all this was the fault of Davison the Secretary ofState, to whom she had given the warrant to keep till she had made up hermind, but not to send to Fotheringay. Accordingly, Davison was sent tothe Tower and condemned to pay a fine of ten thousand pounds sterling, for having deceived the queen. Meanwhile, amid all this grief, an embargowas laid on all vessels in all the ports of the realm, so that the newsof the death should not reach abroad, especially France, except throughskilful emissaries who could place the execution in the leastunfavourable light for Elizabeth. At the same time the scandalouspopular festivities which had marked the announcement of the sentenceagain celebrated the tidings of the execution. London was illuminated, bonfires lit, and the enthusiasm was such that the French Embassy wasbroken into and wood taken to revive the fires when they began to diedown. 

Crestfallen at this event, M. De Chateauneuf was still shut up at theEmbassy, when, a fortnight later, he received an invitation fromElizabeth to visit her at the country house of the Archbishop ofCanterbury. M. De Chateauneuf went thither with the firm resolve to sayno word to her on what had happened; but as soon as she saw him, Elizabeth, dressed in black, rose, went to him, and, overwhelming himwith kind attentions, told him that she was ready to place all thestrength of her kingdom at Henry III's disposal to help him put down theLeague. Chateauneuf received all these offers with a cold and severeexpression, without saying, as he had promised himself, a single wordabout the event which had put both the queen and himself into mourning. But, taking him by the hand, she drew him aside, and there, with deepsighs, said--

"Ah! sir, since I saw you the greatest misfortune which could befall mehas happened: I mean the death of my good sister, the Queen of Scotland, of which I swear by God Himself, my soul and my salvation, that I amperfectly innocent. I had signed the order, it is true; but mycounsellors have played me a trick for which I cannot calm myself; and Iswear to God that if it were not for their long service I would have thembeheaded. I have a woman's frame, sir, but in this woman's frame beats aman's heart. "

Chateauneuf bowed without a response; but his letter to Henry III andHenry's answer prove that neither the one nor the other was the dupe ofthis female Tiberius. 

Meanwhile, as we have said, the unfortunate servants were prisoners, andthe poor body was in that great hall waiting for a royal interment. Things remained thus, Elizabeth said, to give her time to order asplendid funeral for her good sister Mary, but in reality because thequeen dared not place in juxtaposition the secret and infamous death andthe public and royal burial; then, was not time needed for the firstreports which it pleased Elizabeth to spread to be credited before thetruth should be known by the mouths of the servants? For the queen hopedthat once this careless world had made up its mind about the death of theQueen of Scots, it would not take any further trouble to change it. Finally, it was only when the warders were as tired as the prisoners, that Elizabeth, having received a report stating that the ill-embalmedbody could no longer be kept, at last ordered the funeral to take place. 

Accordingly, after the 1st of August, tailors and dressmakers arrived atFotheringay Castle, sent by Elizabeth, with cloth and black silk stuffs, to clothe in mourning all Mary's servants. But they refused, not havingwaited for the Queen of England's bounty, but having made their funeralgarments at their own expense, immediately after their mistress's death. The tailors and dressmakers, however, none the less set so actively towork that on the 7th everything was finished. 

Next day, at eight o'clock in the evening, a large chariot, drawn by fourhorses in mourning trappings, and covered with black velvet like thechariot, which was, besides, adorned with little streamers on which wereembroidered the arms of Scotland, those of the queen, and the arms ofAragon, those of Darnley, stopped at the gate of Fotheringay Castle. Itwas followed by the herald king, accompanied by twenty gentlemen onhorseback, with their servants and lackeys, all dressed in mourning, who, having alighted, mounted with his whole train into the room where thebody lay, and had it brought down and put into the chariot with allpossible respect, each of the spectators standing with bared head and inprofound silence. 

This visit caused a great stir among the prisoners, who debated a whilewhether they ought not to implore the favour of being allowed to followtheir mistress's body, which they could not and should not let go alonethus; but just as they were about to ask permission to speak to theherald king, he entered the room where they were assembled, and told themthat he was charged by his mistress, the august Queen of England, to givethe Queen of Scotland the most honourable funeral he could; that, notwishing to fail in such a high undertaking, he had already made most ofthe preparations for the ceremony, which was to take place on the 10th ofAugust, that is to say, two days later, --but that the leaden shell inwhich the body was enclosed being very heavy, it was better to move itbeforehand, and that night, to where the grave was dug, than to await theday of the interment itself; that thus they might be easy, this burial ofthe shell being only a preparatory ceremony; but that if some of themwould like to accompany the corpse, to see what was done with it, theywere at liberty, and that those who stayed behind could follow thefuneral pageant, Elizabeth's positive desire being that all, from firstto last, should be present in the funeral procession. This assurancecalmed the unfortunate prisoners, who deputed Bourgoin, Gervais, and sixothers to follow their mistress's body: these were Andrew Melville, Stewart, Gorjon, Howard, Lauder, and Nicholas Delamarre. 

At ten o'clock at night they set out, walking behind the chariot, preceded by the herald, accompanied by men on foot, who carried torchesto light the way, and followed by twenty gentlemen and their servants. In this manner, at two o'clock in the morning, they reached Peterborough, where there is a splendid cathedral built by an ancient Saxon king, andin which, on the left of the choir, was already interred good QueenCatharine of Aragon, wife of Henry VIII, and where was her tomb, stilldecked with a canopy bearing her arms. 

On arriving, they found the cathedral all hung with black, with a domeerected in the middle of the choir, much in the way in which 'chapellesardentes' are set up in France, except that there were no lighted candlesround it. This dome was covered with black velvet, and overlaid with thearms of Scotland and Aragon, with streamers like those on the chariot yetagain repeated. The state coffin was already set up under this dome: itwas a bier, covered like the rest in black velvet fringed with silver, onwhich was a pillow of the same supporting a royal crown. 

To the right of this dome, and in front of the burial-place of QueenCatharine of Aragon, Mary of Scotland's sepulchre had been dug: it was agrave of brick, arranged to be covered later with a slab or a marbletomb, and in which was to be deposited the coffin, which the Bishop ofPeterborough, in his episcopal robes, but without his mitre, cross, orcope, was awaiting at the door, accompanied by his dean and several otherclergy. The body was brought into the cathedral, without chant orprayer, and was let down into the tomb amid a profound silence. Directlyit was placed there, the masons, who had stayed their hands, set to workagain, closing the grave level with the floor, and only leaving anopening of about a foot and a half, through which could be seen what waswithin, and through which could be thrown on the coffin, as is customaryat the obsequies of kings, the broken staves of the officers and theensigns and banners with their arms. This nocturnal ceremony ended, Melville, Bourgoin, and the other deputies were taken to the bishop'spalace, where the persons appointed to take part in the funeralprocession were to assemble, in number more than three hundred and fifty, all chosen, with the exception of the servants, from among theauthorities, the nobility, and Protestant clergy. 

The day following, Thursday, August the 9th, they began to hang thebanqueting halls with rich and sumptuous stuffs, and that in the sight ofMelville, Bourgoin, and the others, whom they had brought thither, lessto be present at the interment of Queen Mary than to bear witness to themagnificence of Queen Elizabeth. But, as one may suppose, the unhappyprisoners were indifferent to this splendour, great and extraordinary asit was. 

On Friday, August 10th, all the chosen persons assembled at the bishop'spalace: they ranged themselves in the appointed order, and turned theirsteps to the cathedral, which was close by. When they arrived there, they took the places assigned them in the choir, and the choristersimmediately began to chant a funeral service in English and according toProtestant rites. At the first words of this service, when he saw it wasnot conducted by Catholic priests, Bourgoin left the cathedral, declaringthat he would not be present at such sacrilege, and he was followed byall Mary's servants, men and women, except Melville and Barbe Mowbray, who thought that whatever the tongue in which one prayed, that tongue washeard by the Lord. This exit created great scandal; but the bishoppreached none the less. 

The sermon ended, the herald king went to seek Bourgoin and hiscompanions, who were walking in the cloisters, and told them that thealmsgiving was about to begin, inviting them to take part in thisceremony; but they replied that being Catholics they could not makeofferings at an altar of which they disapproved. So the herald kingreturned, much put out at the harmony of the assembly being disturbed bythis dissent; but the alms-offering took place no less than the sermon. Then, as a last attempt, he sent to them again, to tell them that theservice was quite over, and that accordingly they might return for theroyal ceremonies, which belonged only to the religion of the dead; andthis time they consented; but when they arrived, the staves were broken, and the banners thrown into the grave through the opening that theworkmen had already closed. 

Then, in the same order in which it had come, the procession returned tothe palace, where a splendid funeral repast had been prepared. By astrange contradiction, Elizabeth, who, having punished the living womanas a criminal, had just treated the dead woman as a queen, had alsowished that the honours of the funeral banquet should be for theservants, so long forgotten by her. But, as one can imagine, these illaccommodated themselves to that intention, did not seem astonished atthis luxury nor rejoiced at this good cheer, but, on the contrary, drowned their bread and wine in tears, without otherwise responding tothe questions put to them or the honours granted them. And as soon asthe repast was ended, the poor servants left Peterborough and took theroad back to Fotheringay, where they heard that they were free at last towithdraw whither they would. They did not need to be told twice; for theylived in perpetual fear, not considering their lives safe so long as theyremained in England. They therefore immediately collected all theirbelongings, each taking his own, and thus went out of Fotheringay Castleon foot, Monday, 13th August, 1587. 

Bourgoin went last: having reached the farther side of the drawbridge, heturned, and, Christian as he was, unable to forgive Elizabeth, not forhis own sufferings, but for his mistress's, he faced about to thoseregicide walls, and, with hands outstretched to them, said in a loud andthreatening voice, those words of David: "Let vengeance for the blood ofThy servants, which has been shed, O Lord God, be acceptable in Thysight". The old man's curse was heard, and inflexible history isburdened with Elizabeth's punishment. 

We said that the executioner's axe, in striking Mary Stuart's head, hadcaused the crucifix and the book of Hours which she was holding to flyfrom her hands. We also said that the two relics had been picked up bypeople in her following. We are not aware of what became of thecrucifix, but the book of Hours is in the royal library, where thosecurious about these kinds of historical souvenirs can see it: twocertificates inscribed on one of the blank leaves of the volumedemonstrate its authenticity. These are they:

 FIRST CERTIFICATE

"We the undersigned Vicar Superior of the strict observance of the Orderof Cluny, certify that this book has been entrusted to us by order of thedefunct Dom Michel Nardin, a professed religious priest of our saidobservance, deceased in our college of Saint-Martial of Avignon, March28th, 1723, aged about eighty years, of which he has spent about thirtyamong us, having lived very religiously: he was a German by birth, andhad served as an officer in the army a long time. 

"He entered Cluny, and made his profession there, much detached from allthis world's goods and honours; he only kept, with his superior'spermission, this book, which he knew had been in use with Mary Stuart, Queen of England and Scotland, to the end of her life. 

"Before dying and being parted from his brethren, he requested that, tobe safely remitted to us, it should be sent us by mail, sealed. Just aswe have received it, we have begged M. L'abbe Bignon, councillor of stateand king's librarian, to accept this precious relic of the piety of aQueen of England, and of a German officer of her religion as well as ofours. 

"(Signed)BROTHER GERARD PONCET, "Vicar-General Superior. "

 SECOND CERTIFICATE

"We, Jean-Paul Bignon, king's librarian, are very happy to have anopportunity of exhibiting our zeal, in placing the said manuscript in HisMajesty's library. 

"8th July, 1724. "

"(Signed) JEAN-PAUL BIGNAN. "

This manuscript, on which was fixed the last gaze of the Queen ofScotland, is a duodecimo, written in the Gothic character and containingLatin prayers; it is adorned with miniatures set off with gold, representing devotional subjects, stories from sacred history, or fromthe lives of saints and martyrs. Every page is encircled with arabesquesmingled with garlands of fruit and flowers, amid which spring upgrotesque figures of men and animals. 

As to the binding, worn now, or perhaps even then, to the woof, it is inblack velvet, of which the flat covers are adorned in the centre with anenamelled pansy, in a silver setting surrounded by a wreath, to which arediagonally attached from one corner of the cover to the other, twotwisted silver-gilt knotted cords, finished by a tuft at the two ends. 

KARL-LUDWIG SAND--1819

On the 22nd of March, 1819, about nine o'clock in the morning, a youngman, some twenty-three or twenty-four years old, wearing the dress of aGerman student, which consists of a short frock-coat with silk braiding, tight trousers, and high boots, paused upon a little eminence that standsupon the road between Kaiserthal and Mannheim, at about three-quarters ofthe distance from the former town, and commands a view of the latter. Mannheim is seen rising calm and smiling amid gardens which once wereramparts, and which now surround and embrace it like a girdle of foliageand flowers. Having reached this spot, he lifted his cap, above the peakof which were embroidered three interlaced oak leaves in silver, anduncovering his brow, stood bareheaded for a moment to feel the fresh airthat rose from the valley of the Neckar. At first sight his irregularfeatures produced a strange impression; but before long the pallor of hisface, deeply marked by smallpox, the infinite gentleness of his eyes, andthe elegant framework of his long and flowing black hair, which grew inan admirable curve around a broad, high forehead, attracted towards himthat emotion of sad sympathy to which we yield without inquiring itsreason or dreaming of resistance. Though it was still early, he seemedalready to have come some distance, for his boots were covered with dust;but no doubt he was nearing his destination, for, letting his cap drop, and hooking into his belt his long pipe, that inseparable companion ofthe German Borsch, he drew from his pocket a little note-book, and wrotein it with a pencil: "Left Wanheim at five in the morning, came in sightof Mannheim at a quarter-past nine. " Then putting his note-book backinto his pocket, he stood motionless for a moment, his lips moving asthough in mental prayer, picked up his hat, and walked on again with afirm step towards Mannheim. 

This young Student was Karl-Ludwig Sand, who was coming from Jena, by wayof Frankfort aid Darmstadt, in order to assassinate Kotzebue. 

Now, as we are about to set before our readers one of those terribleactions for the true appreciation of which the conscience is the solejudge, they must allow us to make them fully acquainted with him whomkings regarded as an assassin, judges as a fanatic, and the youth ofGermany as a hero. Charles Louis Sand was born on the 5th of October, 1795, at Wonsiedel, in the Fichtel Wald; he was the youngest son ofGodfrey Christopher Sand, first president and councillor of justice tothe King of Prussia, and of Dorothea Jane Wilheltmina Schapf, his wife. Besides two elder brothers, George, who entered upon a commercial careerat St, Gall, and Fritz, who was an advocate in the Berlin court ofappeal, he had an elder sister named Caroline, and a younger sistercalled Julia. 

While still in the cradle he had been attacked by smallpox of the mostmalignant type. The virus having spread through all his body, laid barehis ribs, and almost ate away his skull. For several months he laybetween life and death; but life at last gained the upper hand. Heremained weak and sickly, however, up to his seventh year, at which timea brain fever attacked him; and again put his life in danger. As acompensation, however, this fever, when it left him, seemed to carry awaywith it all vestiges of his former illness. From that moment his healthand strength came into existence; but during these two long illnesses hiseducation had remained very backward, and it was not until the age ofeight that he could begin his elementary studies; moreover, his physicalsufferings having retarded his intellectual development, he needed towork twice as hard as others to reach the same result. 

Seeing the efforts that young Sand made, even while still quite a child, to conquer the defects of his organisation, Professor Salfranck, alearned and distinguished man, rector of the Hof gymnasium [college], conceived such an affection for him, that when, at a later time, he wasappointed director of the gymnasium at Ratisbon, he could not part fromhis pupil, and took him with him. In this town, and at the age of elevenyears, he gave the first proof of his courage and humanity. One day, when he was walking with some young friends, he heard cries for help, andran in that direction: a little boy, eight or nine years old, had justfallen into a pond. Sand immediately, without regarding his best clothes, of which, however, he was very proud, sprang into the water, and, afterunheard-of efforts for a child of his age, succeeded in bringing thedrowning boy to land. 

At the age of twelve or thirteen, Sand, who had become more active, skilful, and determined than many of his elders, often amused himself bygiving battle to the lads of the town and of the neighbouring villages. The theatre of these childish conflicts, which in their pale innocencereflected the great battles that were at that time steeping Germany inblood, was generally a plain extending from the town of Wonsiedel to themountain of St. Catherine, which had ruins at its top, and amid the ruinsa tower in excellent preservation. Sand, who was one of the most eagerfighters, seeing that his side had several times been defeated on accountof its numerical inferiority, resolved, in order to make up for thisdrawback, to fortify the tower of St. Catherine, and to retire into it atthe next battle if its issue proved unfavourable to him. He communicatedthis plan to his companions, who received it with enthusiasm. A week wasspent, accordingly, in collecting all possible weapons of defence in thetower and in repairing its doors and stairs. These preparations weremade so secretly that the army of the enemy had no knowledge of them. 

Sunday came: the holidays were the days of battle. Whether because theboys were ashamed of having been beaten last time, or for some otherreason, the band to which Sand belonged was even weaker than usual. Sure, however, of a means of retreat, he accepted battle, notwithstanding. The struggle was not a long one; the one party was tooweak in numbers to make a prolonged resistance, and began to retire inthe best order that could be maintained to St. Catherine's tower, whichwas reached before much damage had been felt. Having arrived there, someof the combatants ascended to the ramparts, and while the others defendedthemselves at the foot of the wall, began to shower stones and pebblesupon the conquerors. The latter, surprised at the new method of defencewhich was now for the first time adopted, retreated a little; the rest ofthe defenders took advantage of the moment to retire into the fortressand shut the door. Great was the astonishment an the part of thebesiegers: they had always seen that door broken down, and lo! all atonce it was presenting to them a barrier which preserved the besiegedfrom their blows. Three or four went off to find instruments with whichto break it down and meanwhile the rest of the attacking farce kept thegarrison blockaded. 

At the end of half an hour the messengers returned not only with leversand picks, but also with a considerable reinforcement composed of ladsfrom, the village to which they had been to fetch tools. 

Then began the assault: Sand and his companions defended themselvesdesperately; but it was soon evident that, unless help came, the garrisonwould be forced to capitulate. It was proposed that they should drawlots, and that one of the besieged should be chosen, who in spite of thedanger should leave the tower, make his way as best he might through theenemy's army, and go to summon the other lads of Wonsiedel, who hadfaint-heartedly remained at home. The tale of the peril in which theirComrades actually were, the disgrace of a surrender, which would fallupon all of them, would no doubt overcome their indolence and induce themto make a diversion that would allow the garrison to attempt sortie. This suggestion was adopted; but instead of leaving the decision tochance, Sand proposed himself as the messenger. As everybody knew hiscourage, his skill, and his lightness of foot, the proposition wasunanimously accepted, and the new Decius prepared to execute his act ofdevotion. The deed was not free from danger: there were but two means ofegress, one by way of the door, which would lead to the fugitive'sfalling immediately into the hands of the enemy; the other by jumpingfrom a rampart so high that the enemy had not set a guard there. Sandwithout a moment's hesitation went to the rampart, where, alwaysreligious, even in his childish pleasures, he made a short prayer; then, without fear, without hesitation, with a confidence that was almostsuperhuman, he sprang to the ground: the distance was twenty-two feet. Sand flew instantly to Wonsiedel, and reached it, although the enemy haddespatched their best runners in pursuit. Then the garrison, seeing thesuccess of their enterprise, took fresh courage, and united their effortsagainst the besiegers, hoping everything from Sand's eloquence, whichgave him a great influence over his young companions. And, indeed, inhalf an hour he was seen reappearing at the head of some thirty boys ofhis own age, armed with slings and crossbows. The besiegers, on thepoint of being attacked before and behind, recognised the disadvantage oftheir position and retreated. The victory remained with Sand's party, andall the honours of the day were his. 

We have related this anecdote in detail, that our readers may understandfrom the character of the child what was that of the man. Besides, weshall see him develop, always calm and superior amid small events as amidlarge ones. 

About the same time Sand escaped almost miraculously from two dangers. One day a hod full of plaster fell from a scaffold and broke at his feet. Another day the Price of Coburg, who during the King of Prussia's stay atthe baths of Alexander, was living in the house of Sand's parents, wasgalloping home with four horses when he came suddenly upon young Karl ina gateway; he could not escape either on the right or the left, withoutrunning the risk of being crushed between the wall and the wheels, andthe coachman could not, when going at such a pace, hold in his horses:Sand flung himself on his face, and the carriage passed over him withouthis receiving so much as a single scratch either from the horses or thewheels. From that moment many people regarded him as predestined, andsaid that the hand of God was upon him. 

Meanwhile political events were developing themselves around the boy, andtheir seriousness made him a man before the age of manhood. Napoleonweighed upon Germany like another Sennacherib. Staps had tried to playthe part of Mutius Scaevola, and had died a martyr. Sand was at Hof atthat time, and was a student of the gymnasium of which his good tutorSalfranck was the head. He learned that the man whom he regarded as theantichrist was to come and review the troops in that town; he left it atonce and went home to his parents, who asked him for what reason he hadleft the gymnasium. 

"Because I could not have been in the same town with Napoleon, " heanswered, "without trying to kill him, and I do not feel my hand strongenough for that yet. "

This happened in 1809; Sand was fourteen years old. Peace, which wassigned an the 15th of October, gave Germany some respite, and allowed theyoung fanatic to resume his studies without being distracted by politicalconsiderations; but in 1811 he was occupied by them again, when helearned that the gymnasium was to be dissolved and its place taken by aprimary school. To this the rector Salfranck was appointed as a teacher, but instead of the thousand florins which his former appointment broughthim, the new one was worth only five hundred. Karl could not remain in aprimary school where he could not continue his education; he wrote to hismother to announce this event and to tell her with what equanimity theold German philosopher had borne it. Here is the answer of Sand'smother; it will serve to show the character of the woman whose mightyheart never belied itself in the midst of the severest suffering; theanswer bears the stamp of that German mysticism of which we have no ideain France:--

"MY DEAR KARL, --You could not have given me a more grievous piece of newsthan that of the event which has just fallen upon your tutor and fatherby adoption; nevertheless, terrible though it may be, do not doubt thathe will resign himself to it, in order to give to the virtue of hispupils a great example of that submission which every subject owes to theking wham God has set over him. Furthermore, be well assured that inthis world there is no other upright and well calculated policy than thatwhich grows out of the old precept, 'Honour God, be just and fear not. 'And reflect also that when injustice against the worthy becomes crying, the public voice makes itself heard, and uplifts those who are cast down. 

"But if, contrary to all probability, this did not happen, --if God shouldimpose this sublime probation upon the virtue of our friend, if the worldwere to disown him and Providence were to became to that, degree hisdebtor, --yet in that case there are, believe me, supreme compensations:all the things and all the events that occur around us and that act uponus are but machines set in motion by a Higher Hand, so as to complete oureducation for a higher world, in which alone we shall take our trueplace. Apply yourself, therefore, my dear child, to watch over yourselfunceasingly and always, so that you may not take great and fine isolatedactions for real virtue, and may be ready every moment to do all thatyour duty may require of you. Fundamentally nothing is great, you see, and nothing small, when things are, looked at apart from one another, andit is only the putting of things together that produces the unity of evilor of good. 

"Moreover, God only sends the trial to the heart where He has putstrength, and the manner in which you tell me that your master has bornethe misfortune that has befallen him is a fresh proof of this great andeternal truth. You must form yourself upon him, my dear child, and ifyou are obliged to leave Hof for Bamberg you must resign yourself to itcourageously. Man has three educations: that which he receives from hisparents, that which circumstances impose upon him, and lastly that whichhe gives himself; if that misfortune should occur, pray to God that youmay yourself worthily complete that last education, the most important ofall. 

"I will give you as an example the life and conduct of my father, of whomyou have not heard very much, for he died before you were born, but whosemind and likeness are reproduced in you only among all your brothers andsisters. The disastrous fire which reduced his native town to ashesdestroyed his fortune and that of his relatives; grief at having losteverything--for the fire broke out in the next house to his--cost hisfather his life; and while his mother, who for six years had beenstretched an a bed of pain, where horrible convulsions held her fast, supported her three little girls by the needlework that she did in theintervals of suffering, he went as a mere clerk into one of the leadingmercantile houses of Augsburg, where his lively and yet even temper madehim welcome; there he learned a calling, for which, however, he was notnaturally adapted, and came back to the home of his birth with a pure andstainless heart, in order to be the support of his mother and hissisters. 

"A man can do much when he wishes to do much: join your efforts to myprayers, and leave the rest in the hands of God. "

The prediction of this Puritan woman was fulfilled: a little timeafterwards rector Salfranck was appointed professor at Richembourg, whither Sand followed him; it was there that the events of 1813 foundhim. In the month of March he wrote to his mother:--

"I can scarcely, dear mother, express to you how calm and happy I beginto feel since I am permitted to believe in the enfranchisement of mycountry, of which I hear on every side as being so near at hand, --of thatcountry which, in my faith in God, I see beforehand free and mighty, thatcountry for whose happiness I would undergo the greatest sufferings, andeven death. Take strength for this crisis. If by chance it should reachour good province, lift your eyes to the Almighty, then carry them backto beautiful rich nature. The goodness of God which preserved andprotected so many men during the disastrous Thirty Years' War can do andwill do now what it could and did then. As for me, I believe and hope. "

Leipzig came to justify Sand's presentiments; then the year 1814 arrived, and he thought Germany free. 

On the 10th of December in the same year he left Richembourg with thiscertificate from his master:--

"Karl Sand belongs to the small number of those elect young men who aredistinguished at once by the gifts of the mind and the faculties of thesoul; in application and work he surpasses all his fellow-students, andthis fact explains his rapid progress in all the philosophical andphilological sciences; in mathematics only there are still some furtherstudies which he might pursue. The most affectionate wishes of histeacher follow him on his departure. 

"J. A. KEYN, "Rector, and master of the first class. "Richembourg, Sept. 15, 1814"

But it was really the parents of Sand, and in particular his mother, whohad prepared the fertile soil in which his teachers had sowed the seedsof learning; Sand knew this well, for at the moment of setting out forthe university of Tubingen, where he was about to complete thetheological studies necessary for becoming a pastor, as he desired to do, he wrote to them:--

"I confess that, like all my brothers and sisters, I owe to you thatbeautiful and great part of my education which I have seen to be lackingto most of those around me. Heaven alone can reward you by a convictionof having so nobly and grandly fulfilled your parental duties, amid manyothers. "

After having paid a visit to his brother at St. Gall, Sand reachedTubingen, to which he had been principally attracted by the reputation ofEschenmayer; he spent that winter quietly, and no other incident befellthan his admission into an association of Burschen, called the Teutonic;then came tester of 1815, and with it the terrible news that Napoleon hadlanded in the Gulf of Juan. Immediately all the youth of Germany able tobear arms gathered once more around the banners of 1813 and 1814. Sandfollowed the general example; but the action, which in others was aneffect of enthusiasm, was in him the result of calm and deliberateresolution. He wrote to Wonsiedel on this occasion:--

"April 22, 1813

"MY DEAR PARENTS, --Until now you have found me submissive to yourparental lessons and to the advice of my excellent masters; until now Ihave made efforts to render myself worthy of the education that God hassent me through you, and have applied myself to become capable ofspreading the word of the Lord through my native land; and for thisreason I can to-day declare to you sincerely the decision that I lavetaken, assured that as tender and affectionate parents you will calmyourselves, and as German parents and patriots you will rather praise myresolution than seek to turn me from it. 

"The country calls once more for help, and this time the call isaddressed to me, too, for now I have courage and strength. It cast me agreat in ward struggle, believe me, to abstain when in 1813 she gave herfirst cry, and only the conviction held me back that thousands of otherswere then fighting and conquering for Germany, while I had to live farthe peaceful calling to which I was destined. Now it is a question ofpreserving our newly re-established liberty, which in so many places hasalready brought in so rich a harvest. The all-powerful and merciful Lordreserves for us this great trial, which will certainly be the last; it isfor us, therefore, to show that we are worthy of the supreme gift whichHe has given us, and capable of upholding it with strength and firmness. 

"The danger of the country has never been so great as it is now, that iswhy, among the youth of Germany, the strong should support the wavering, that all may rise together. Our brave brothers in the north are alreadyassembling from all parts under their banners; the State of Wurtemburgis, proclaiming a general levy, and volunteers are coming in from everyquarter, asking to die for their country. I consider it my duty, too, tofight for my country and for all the dear ones whom I love. If I werenot profoundly convinced of this truth, I should not communicate myresolution to you; but my family is one that has a really German heart, and that would consider me as a coward and an unworthy son if I did notfollow this impulse. I certainly feel the greatness of the sacrifice; itcosts me something, believe me, to leave my beautiful studies and go toput myself under the orders of vulgar, uneducated people, but this onlyincreases my courage in going to secure the liberty of my brothers;moreover, when once that liberty is secured, if God deigns to allow, Iwill return to carry them His word. 

"I take leave, therefore, for a time of you, my most worthy parents, ofmy brothers, my sisters, and all who are dear to me. As, after maturedeliberation, it seems the most suitable thing for me to serve with theBavarians. I shall get myself enrolled, for as long as the war may last, with a company of that nation. Farewell, then; live happily; far awayfrom you as I shall be, I shall follow your pious exhortations. In thisnew track I shall still I hope, remain pure before God, and I shallalways try to walk in the path that rises above the things of earth andleads to those of heaven, and perhaps in this career the bliss of savingsome souls from their fall may be reserved for me. 

"Your dear image will always be about me; I will always have the Lordbefore my eyes and in my heart, so that I may endure joyfully the painsand fatigues of this holy war. Include me in your Prayers; God will sendyou the hope of better times to help you in bearing the unhappy time inwhich we now are. We cannot see one another again soon, unless weconquer; and if we should be conquered (which God forbid!), then my lastwish, which I pray you, I conjure you, to fulfil, my last and supremewish would be that you, my dear and deserving German relatives, shouldleave an enslaved country for some other not yet under the yoke. 

"But why should we thus sadden one another's hearts? Is not our causejust and holy, and is not God just and holy? How then should we not bevictors? You see that sometimes I doubt, so, in your letters, which I amimpatiently expecting, have pity on me and do not alarm my soul, far inany case we shall meet again in another country, and that one will alwaysbe free and happy. 

"I am, until death, your dutiful and grateful son, "KARL SAND. "

These two lines of Korner's were written as a postscript:--

 "Perchance above our foeman lying dead We may behold the star of liberty. "

With this farewell to his parents, and with Korner's poems on his lips, Sand gave up his books, and on the 10th of May we find him in arms amongthe volunteer chasseurs enrolled under the command of Major Falkenhausen, who was at that time at Mannheim; here he found his second brother, whohad preceded him, and they underwent all their drill together. 

Though Sand was not accustomed to great bodily fatigues, he endured thoseof the campaign with surprising strength, refusing all the alleviationsthat his superiors tried to offer him; for he would allow no one to outdohim in the trouble that he took for the good of the country. On themarch he invariably shared: anything that he possessed fraternally withhis comrades, helping those who were weaker than himself to carry theirburdens, and, at once priest and soldier, sustaining them by his wordswhen he was powerless to do anything more. 

On the 18th of June, at eight o'clock in the evening, he arrived upon thefield of battle at Waterloo, On the 14th of July he entered Paris. 

On the 18th of December, 1815, Karl Sand and his brother were back atWonsiedel, to the great joy of their family. He spent the Christmasholidays and the end of the year with them, but his ardour for his newvacation did not allow him to remain longer, and an the 7th of January hereached Erlangen. Then, to make up for lost time, he resolved to subjecthis day to fixed and uniform rules, and to write down every evening whathe had done since the morning. It is by the help of this journal that weare able to follow the young enthusiast, not only in all the actions ofhis life, but also in all the thoughts of his mind and all thehesitations of his conscience. In it we find his whole self, simple tonaivete, enthusiastic to madness, gentle even to weakness towards others, severe even to asceticism towards himself. One of his great griefs wasthe expense that his education occasioned to his parents, and everyuseless and costly pleasure left a remorse in his heart. Thus, on the9th of February 1816, he wrote:--

"I meant to go and visit my parents. Accordingly I went to the'Commers-haus', and there I was much amused. N. And T. Began upon mewith the everlasting jokes about Wonsiedel; that went on until eleveno'clock. But afterwards N. And T. Began to torment me to go to thewine-shop; I refused as long as I could. But as, at last, they seemed tothink that it was from contempt of them that I would not go and drink aglass of Rhine wine with them, I did not dare resist longer. Unfortunately, they did not stop at Braunberger; and while my glass wasstill half full, N. Ordered a bottle of champagne. When the first haddisappeared, T. Ordered a second; then, even before this second battlewas drunk, both of them ordered a third in my name and in spite of me. Ireturned home quite giddy, and threw myself on the sofa, where I sleptfor about an hour, and only went to bed afterwards. 

"Thus passed this shameful day, in which I have not thought enough of mykind and worthy parents, who are leading a poor and hard life, and inwhich I suffered myself to be led away by the example of people who havemoney into spending four florins--an expenditure which was useless, andwhich would have kept the whole family for two days. Pardon me, my God, pardon me, I beseech Thee, and receive the vow that I make never to fallinto the same fault again. In future I will live even more abstemiouslythan I usually do, so as to repair the fatal traces in my poor cash-boxof my extravagance, and not to be obliged to ask money of my motherbefore the day when she thinks of sending me some herself. "

Then, at the very time when the poor young man reproaches himself as ifwith a crime with having spent four florins, one of his cousins, a widow, dies and leaves three orphan children. He runs immediately to carry thefirst consolations to the unhappy little creatures, entreats his motherto take charge of the youngest, and overjoyed at her answer, thanks herthus:--

"Far the very keen joy that you have given me by your letter, and for thevery dear tone in which your soul speaks to me, bless you, O my mother!As I might have hoped and been sure, you have taken little Julius, andthat fills me afresh with the deepest gratitude towards you, the ratherthat, in my constant trust in your goodness, I had already in herlifetime given our good little cousin the promise that you are fulfillingfor me after her death. "

About March, Sand, though he did not fall ill, had an indisposition thatobliged him to go and take the waters; his mother happened at the time tobe at the ironworks of Redwitz, same twelve or fifteen miles fromWonsiedel, where the mineral springs are found. Sand established himselfthere with his mother, and notwithstanding his desire to avoidinterrupting his work, the time taken up by baths, by invitations todinners, and even by the walks which his health required, disturbed theregularity of his usual existence and awakened his remorse. Thus we findthese lines written in his journal for April 13th:

"Life, without some high aim towards which all thoughts and actions tend, is an empty desert: my day yesterday is a proof of this; I spent it withmy own people, and that, of course, was a great pleasure to me; but howdid I spend it? In continual eating, so that when I wanted to work Icould do nothing worth doing. Full of indolence and slackness, I draggedmyself into the company of two or three sets of people, and came fromthem in the same state of mind as I went to them. "

Far these expeditions Sand made use of a little chestnut horse whichbelonged to his brother, and of which he was very fond. This littlehorse had been bought with great difficulty; for, as we have said, thewhole family was poor. The following note, in relation to the animal, will give an idea of Sand's simplicity of heart:--

"19th April "To-day I have been very happy at the ironworks, and veryindustrious beside my kind mother. In the evening I came home on thelittle chestnut. Since the day before yesterday, when he got a strainand hurt his foot, he has been very restive and very touchy, and when hegot home he refused his food. I thought at first that he did not fancyhis fodder, and gave him some pieces of sugar and sticks of cinnamon, which he likes very much; he tasted them, but would not eat them. Thepoor little beast seems to have same other internal indisposition besideshis injured foot. If by ill luck he were to become foundered or ill, everybody, even my parents, would throw the blame on me, and yet I havebeen very careful and considerate of him. My God, my Lord, Thou who canstdo things both great and small, remove from me this misfortune, and lethim recover as quickly as possible. If, however, Thou host willedotherwise, and if this fresh trouble is to fall upon us, I will try tobear it with courage, and as the expiation of same sin. Meanwhile, O myGad, I leave this matter in Thy hands, as I leave my life and my soul. "

On the 20th of April he wrote:--"The little horse is well; God hashelped me. "

German manners and customs are so different from ours, and contrastsoccur so frequently in the same man, on the other side of the Rhine, thatanything less than all the quotations which we have given would have beeninsufficient to place before our readers a true idea of that charactermade up of artlessness and reason, childishness and strength, depressionand enthusiasm, material details and poetic ideas, which renders Sand aman incomprehensible to us. We will now continue the portrait, whichstill wants a few finishing touches. 

When he returned to Erlangen, after the completion of his "cure, " Sandread Faust far the first time. At first he was amazed at that work, which seemed to him an orgy of genius; then, when he had entirelyfinished it, he reconsidered his first impression, and wrote:--

"4th May

"Oh, horrible struggle of man and devil! What Mephistopheles is in me Ifeel far the first time in this hour, and I feel it, O God, withconsternation!

"About eleven at night I finished reading the tragedy, and I felt and sawthe fiend in myself, so that by midnight, amid my tears and despair, Iwas at last frightened at myself. "

Sand was falling by degrees into a deep melancholy, from which nothingcould rouse him except his desire to purify and preach morality to thestudents around him. To anyone who knows university life such a taskwill seem superhuman. Sand, however, was not discouraged, and if hecould not gain an influence over everyone, he at least succeeded informing around him a considerable circle of the most intelligent and thebest; nevertheless, in the midst of these apostolic labours strangelongings for death would overcome him; he seemed to recall heaven andwant to return to it; he called these temptations "homesickness for thesoul's country. "

His favourite authors were Lessing, Schiller, Herder, and Goethe; afterre-reading the two last for the twentieth time, this is what he wrote:

"Good and evil touch each other; the woes of the young Werther andWeisslingen's seduction, are almost the same story; no matter, we mustnot judge between what is good and what is evil in others; for that iswhat God will do. I have just been spending much time over this thought, and have become convinced that in no circumstances ought we to allowourselves to seek for the devil in others, and that we have no right tojudge; the only creature over wham we have received the power to judgeand condemn is ourself, and that gives us enough constant care, business, and trouble. 

"I have again to-day felt a profound desire to quit this world and entera higher world; but this desire is rather dejection than strength, alassitude than an upsoaring. "

The year 1816 was spent by Sand in these pious attempts upon his youngcomrades, in this ceaseless self-examination, and in the perpetual battlewhich he waged with the desire for death that pursued him; every day hehad deeper doubts of himself; and on the 1st of January, 1817, he wrotethis prayer in his diary:--

"Grant to me, O Lord, to me whom Thou halt endowed, in sending me onearth, with free will, the grace that in this year which we are nowbeginning I may never relax this constant attention, and not shamefullygive up the examination of my conscience which I have hitherto made. Give me strength to increase the attention which I turn upon my own life, and to diminish that which I turn upon the life of others; strengthen mywill that it may become powerful to command the desires of the body andthe waverings of the soul; give me a pious conscience entirely devoted toThy celestial kingdom, that I may always belong to Thee, or afterfailing, may be able to return to Thee. "

Sand was right in praying to God for the year 1817, and his fears were apresentiment: the skies of Germany, lightened by Leipzig and Waterloo, were once more darkened; to the colossal and universal despotism ofNapoleon succeeded the individual oppression of those little princes whomade up the Germanic Diet, and all that the nations had gained byoverthrowing the giant was to be governed by dwarfs. This was the timewhen secret societies were organised throughout Germany; let us say a fewwords about them, for the history that we are writing is not only that ofindividuals, but also that of nations, and every time that occasionpresents itself we will give our little picture a wide horizon. 

The secret societies of Germany, of which, without knowing them, we haveall heard, seem, when we follow them up, like rivers, to originate insome sort of affiliation to those famous clubs of the 'illumines' and thefreemasons which made so much stir in France at the close of theeighteenth century. At the time of the revolution of '89 these differentphilosophical, political, and religious sects enthusiastically acceptedthe republican doctrines, and the successes of our first generals haveoften been attributed to the secret efforts of the members. WhenBonaparte, who was acquainted with these groups, and was even said tohave belonged to them, exchanged his general's uniform for an emperor'scloak, all of them, considering him as a renegade and traitor, not onlyrose against him at home, but tried to raise enemies against him abroad;as they addressed themselves to noble and generous passions, they found aresponse, and princes to whom their results might be profitable seemedfor a moment to encourage them. Among others, Prince Louis of Prussiawas grandmaster of one of these societies. 

The attempted murder by Stops, to which we have already referred, was oneof the thunderclaps of the storm; but its morrow brought the peace ofVienna, and the degradation of Austria was the death-blow of the oldGermanic organisation. These societies, which had received a mortalwound in 1806 and were now controlled by the French police, instead ofcontinuing to meet in public, were forced to seek new members in thedark. In 1811 several agents of these societies were arrested in Berlin, but the Prussian authorities, following secret orders of Queen Louisa, actually protected them, so that they were easily able to deceive theFrench police about their intentions. About February 1815 the disastersof the French army revived the courage of these societies, for it wasseen that God was helping their cause: the students in particular joinedenthusiastically in the new attempts that were now begun; many collegesenrolled themselves almost entire, anal chose their principals andprofessors as captains; the poet, Korner, killed on the 18th of Octoberat Liegzig, was the hero of this campaign. 

The triumph of this national movement, which twice carried the Prussianarmy--largely composed of volunteers--to Paris, was followed, when thetreaties of 1815 and the new Germanic constitution were made known, by aterrible reaction in Germany. All these young men who, exiled by theirprinces, had risen in the name of liberty, soon perceived that they hadbeen used as tools to establish European despotism; they wished to claimthe promises that had been made, but the policy of Talleyrand andMetternich weighed on them, and repressing them at the first words theyuttered, compelled them to shelter their discontent and their hopes inthe universities, which, enjoying a kind of constitution of their own, more easily escaped the investigations made by the spies of the HolyAlliance; but, repressed as they were, these societies continuednevertheless to exist, and kept up communications by means of travellingstudents, who, bearing verbal messages, traversed Germany under thepretence of botanising, and, passing from mountain to mountain, sowedbroadcast those luminous and hopeful words of which peoples are alwaysgreedy and kings always fear. 

We have seen that Sand, carried away by the general movement, had gonethrough the campaign of 1815 as a volunteer, although he was then onlynineteen years old. On his return, he, like others, had found his goldenhopes deceived, and it is from this period that we find his journalassuming the tone of mysticism and sadness which our readers must haveremarked in it. He soon entered one of these associations, the Teutonia;and from that moment, regarding the great cause which he had taken up asa religious one, he attempted to make the conspirators worthy of theirenterprise, and thus arose his attempts to inculcate moral doctrines, inwhich he succeeded with some, but failed with the majority. Sand hadsucceeded, however, in forming around him a certain circle of Puritans, composed of about sixty to eighty students, all belonging to the group ofthe 'Burschenschaft' which continued its political and religious coursedespite all the jeers of the opposing group--the 'Landmannschaft'. One ofhis friends called Dittmar and he were pretty much the chiefs, andalthough no election had given them their authority, they exercised somuch influence upon what was decided that in any particular case theirfellow-adepts were sure spontaneously to obey any impulse that they mightchoose to impart. The meetings of the Burschen took place upon a littlehill crowned by a ruined castle, which was situated at some distance fromErlangen, and which Sand and Dittmar had called the Ruttli, in memory ofthe spot where Walter Furst, Melchthal, and Stauffacher had made theirvow to deliver their country; there, under the pretence of students'games, while they built up a new house with the ruined fragments, theypassed alternately from symbol to action and from action to symbol. 

Meanwhile the association was making such advances throughout Germanythat not only the princes and kings of the German confederation, but alsothe great European powers, began to be uneasy. France sent agents tobring home reports, Russia paid agents on the spot, and the persecutionsthat touched a professor and exasperated a whole university often arosefrom a note sent by the Cabinet of the Tuileries or of St. Petersburg. 

It was amid the events that began thus that Sand, after commendinghimself to the protection of God, began the year 1817, in the sad mood inwhich we have just seen him, and in which he was kept rather by a disgustfor things as they were than by a disgust for life. On the 8th of May, preyed upon by this melancholy, which he cannot conquer, and which comesfrom the disappointment of all his political hopes, he writes in hisdiary:

"I shall find it impassible to set seriously to work, and this idletemper, this humour of hypochondria which casts its black veil overeverything in life, --continues and grows in spite of the moral activitywhich I imposed on myself yesterday. "

In the holidays, fearing to burden his parents with any additionalexpense, he will not go home, and prefers to make a walking tour with hisfriends. No doubt this tour, in addition to its recreative side, had apolitical aim. Be that as it may, Sand's diary, during the period of hisjourney, shows nothing but the names of the towns through which hepassed. That we may have a notion of Sand's dutifulness to his parents, it should be said that he did not set out until he had obtained hismother's permission. On their return, Sand, Dittmar, and their friendsthe Burschen, found their Ruttli sacked by their enemies of theLandmannschaft; the house that they had built was demolished and itsfragments dispersed. Sand took this event for an omen, and was greatlydepressed by it. 

"It seems to me, O my God!" he says in his journal, "that everythingswims and turns around me. My soul grows darker and darker; my moralstrength grows less instead of greater; I work and cannot achieve; walktowards my aim and do not reach it; exhaust myself, and do nothing great. The days of life flee one after another; cares and uneasiness increase; Isee no haven anywhere for our sacred German cause. The end will be thatwe shall fall, for I myself waver. O Lord and Father! protect me, saveme, and lead me to that land from which we are for ever driven back bythe indifference of wavering spirits. "

About this time a terrible event struck Sand to the heart; his friendDittmar was drowned. This is what he wrote in his diary on the verymorning of the occurrence:

"Oh, almighty God! What is going to become of me? For the lastfortnight I have been drawn into disorder, and have not been able tocompel myself to look fixedly either backward or forward in my life, sothat from the 4th of June up to the present hour my journal has remainedempty. Yet every day I might have had occasion to praise Thee, O my God, but my soul is in anguish. Lord, do not turn from me; the more are theobstacles the more need is there of strength. "

In the evening he added these few words to the lines that he had writtenin the morning:--

"Desolation, despair, and death over my friend, over my very deeply lovedDittmar. "

This letter which he wrote to his family contains the account of thetragic event:--

"You know that when my best friends, A. , C. , and Z. , were gone, I becameparticularly intimate with my well-beloved Dittmar of Anspach; Dittmar, that is to say a true and worthy German, an evangelical Christian, something more, in short, than a man! An angelic soul, always turnedtoward the good, serene, pious, and ready for action; he had come to livein a room next to mine in Professor Grunler's house; we loved each other, upheld each other in our efforts, and, well or ill, bare our good or evilfortune in common. On this last spring evening, after having worked inhis room and having strengthened ourselves anew to resist all thetorments of life and to advance towards the aim that we desired toattain; we went, about seven in the evening, to the baths of Redwitz. Avery black storm was rising in the sky, but only as yet appeared on thehorizon. E. , who was with us, proposed to go home, but Dittmarpersisted, saying that the canal was but a few steps away. God permittedthat it should not be I who replied with these fatal words. So he wenton. The sunset was splendid: I see it still; its violet clouds allfringed with gold, for I remember the smallest details of that evening. 

"Dittmar went down first; he was the only one of us who knew how to swim;so he walked before us to show us the depth. The water was about up toour chests, and he, who preceded us, was up to his shoulders, when hewarned us not to go farther, because he was ceasing to feel the bottom. He immediately gave up his footing and began to swim, but scarcely had hemade ten strokes when, having reached the place where the river separatesinto two branches, he uttered a cry, and as he was trying to get afoothold, disappeared. We ran at once to the bank, hoping to be able tohelp him more easily; but we had neither poles nor ropes within reach, and, as I have told you, neither of us could swim. Then we called forhelp with all our might. At that moment Dittmar reappeared, and by anunheard-of effort seized the end of a willow branch that was hanging overthe water; but the branch was not strong enough to resist, and our friendsank again, as though he had been struck by apoplexy. Can you imaginethe state in which we were, we his friends, bending over the river, ourfixed and haggard eyes trying to pierce its depth? My God, my God! howwas it we did not go mad?

"A great crowd, however, had run at our cries. For two hours they soughtfar him with boats and drag-hooks; and at last they succeeded in drawinghis body from the gulf. Yesterday we bore it solemnly to the field ofrest. 

"Thus with the end of this spring has begun the serious summer of mylife. I greeted it in a grave and melancholy mood, and you behold menow, if not consoled, at least strengthened by religion, which, thanks tothe merits of Christ, gives me the assurance of meeting my friend inheaven, from the heights of which he will inspire me with strength tosupport the trials of this life; and now I do not desire anything moreexcept to know you free from all anxiety in regard to me. "

Instead of serving to unite the two groups of students in a common grief, this accident, on the contrary, did but intensify their hatred of eachother. Among the first persons who ran up at the cries of Sand and hiscompanion was a member of the Landmannschaft who could swim, but insteadof going to Dittmar's assistance he exclaimed, "It seems that we shallget rid of one of these dogs of Burschen; thank God!" Notwithstandingthis manifestation of hatred, which, indeed, might be that of anindividual and not of the whole body, the Burschen invited their enemiesto be present at Dittmar's funeral. A brutal refusal, and a threat todisturb the ceremony by insults to the corpse, formed their sole reply. The Burschen then warned the authorities, who took suitable measures, andall Dittmar's friends followed his coffin sword in hand. Beholding thiscalm but resolute demonstration, the Landmannschaft did not dare to carryout their threat, and contented themselves with insulting the processionby laughs and songs. 

Sand wrote in his journal:

"Dittmar is a great loss to all of us, and particularly to me; he gave methe overflow of his strength and life; he stopped, as it were, with anembankment, the part of my character that is irresolute and undecided. From him it is that I have learned not to dread the approaching storm, and to know how to fight and die. "

Some days after the funeral Sand had a quarrel about Dittmar with one ofhis former friends, who had passed over from the Burschen to theLandmannschaft, and who had made himself conspicuous at the time of thefuneral by his indecent hilarity. It was decided that they should fightthe next day, and on the same day Sand wrote in his journal. 

"To-morrow I am to fight with P. G. ; yet Thou knowest, O my God, whatgreat friends we formerly were, except for a certain mistrust with whichhis coldness always inspired me; but on this occasion his odious conducthas caused me to descend from the tenderest pity to the profoundesthatred. 

"My God, do not withdraw Thy hand either from him or from me, since weare both fighting like men! Judge only by our two causes, and give thevictory to that which is the more just. If Thou shouldst call me beforeThy supreme tribunal, I know very well that I should appear burdened withan eternal malediction; and indeed it is not upon myself that I reckonbut upon the merits of our Saviour Jesus Christ. 

"Come what may, be praised and blessed, O my God!

"My dear parents, brothers, and friends, I commend you to the protectionof God. "

Sand waited in vain for two hours next day: his adversary did not come tothe meeting place. 

The loss of Dittmar, however, by no means produced the result upon Sandthat might have been expected, and that he himself seems to indicate inthe regrets he expressed for him. Deprived of that strong soul uponwhich he rested, Sand understood that it was his task by redoubled energyto make the death of Dittmar less fatal to his party. And indeed hecontinued singly the work of drawing in recruits which they had beencarrying on together, and the patriotic conspiracy was not for a momentimpeded. 

The holidays came, and Sand left Erlangen to return no more. FromWonsiedel he was to proceed to Jena, in order to complete his theologicalstudies there. After some days spent with his family, and indicated inhis journal as happy, Sand went to his new place of abode, where hearrived some time before the festival of the Wartburg. This festival, established to celebrate the anniversary of the battle of Leipzig, wasregarded as a solemnity throughout Germany, and although the princes wellknew that it was a centre for the annual renewal of affiliation to thevarious societies, they dared not forbid it. Indeed, the manifesto ofthe Teutonic Association was exhibited at this festival and signed bymore than two thousand deputies from different universities in Germany. This was a day of joy for Sand; for he found in the midst of new friendsa great number of old ones. 

The Government, however, which had not 'dared to attack the Associationby force, resolved to undermine it by opinion. M. De Stauren published aterrible document, attacking the societies, and founded, it was said, upon information furnished by Kotzebue. This publication made a greatstir, not only at Jena, but throughout all Germany. Here is the trace ofthis event that we find in Sand's journal:--

24th November "Today, after working with much ease and assiduity, I wentout about four with E. As we crossed the market-place we heardKotzebue's new and venomous insult read. By what a fury that man ispossessed against the Burschen and against all who love Germany!"

Thus far the first time and in these terms Sand's journal presents thename of the man who, eighteen months later, he was to slay. 

The Government, however, which had not 'dared to attack the Associationby force, resolved to undermine it by opinion. M. De Stauren published aterrible document, attacking the societies, and founded, it was said, upon information furnished by Kotzebue. This publication made a greatstir, not only at Jena, but throughout all Germany. Here is the trace ofthis event that we find in Sand's journal:

24th November

"To-day, after working with much ease and assiduity, I went out aboutfour with E. As we crossed the market-place we heard Kotzebue's new andvenomous insult read. By what a fury that man is possessed against theBurschen and against all who love Germany!"

Thus for the first time and in these terms Sand's journal presents thename of the man who, eighteen months later, he was to slay. 

On the 29th, in the evening, Sand writes again:

"To-morrow I shall set out courageously and joyfully from this place fora pilgrimage to Wonsiedel; there I shall find my large-hearted mother andmy tender sister Julia; there I shall cool my head and warm my heart. Probably I shall be present at my good Fritz's marriage with Louisa, andat the baptism of my very dear Durchmith's first-born. God, O my Father, as Thou hast been with me during my sad course, be with me still on myhappy road. "

This journey did in fact greatly cheer Sand. Since Dittmar's death hisattacks of hypochondria had disappeared. While Dittmar lived he mightdie; Dittmar being dead, it was his part to live. 

On the 11th of December he left Wonsiedel, to return to Jena, and on the31st of the same month he wrote this prayer in his journal. 

"O merciful Saviour! I began this year with prayer, and in these lastdays I have been subject to distraction and ill-disposed. When I lookbackward, I find, alas! that I have not become better; but I have enteredmore profoundly into life, and, should occasion present, I now feelstrength to act. 

"It is because Thou hast always been with me, Lord, even when I was notwith Thee. "

If our readers have followed with some attention the different extractsfrom the journal that we have placed before them, they must have seenSand's resolution gradually growing stronger and his brain becomingexcited. From the beginning of the year 1818, one feels his view, whichlong was timid and wandering, taking in a wider horizon and fixing itselfon a nobler aim. He is no longer ambitious of the pastor's simple life orof the narrow influence which he might gain in a little community, andwhich, in his juvenile modesty, had seemed the height of good fortune andhappiness; it is now his native land, his German people, nay, allhumanity, which he embraces in his gigantic plans of politicalregeneration. Thus, on the flyleaf of his journal for the year 1818, hewrites:

"Lord, let me strengthen myself in the idea that I have conceived of thedeliverance of humanity by the holy sacrifice of Thy Son. Grant that Imay be a Christ of Germany, and that, like and through Jesus, I may bestrong and patient in suffering. "

But the anti-republican pamphlets of Kotzebue increased in number andgained a fatal influence upon the minds of rulers. Nearly all thepersons who were attacked in these pamphlets were known and esteemed atJena; and it may easily be comprehended what effects were produced bysuch insults upon these young heads and noble hearts, which carriedconviction to the paint of blindness and enthusiasm to that offanaticism. 

Thus, here is what Sand wrote in his diary on the 5th of May. 

"Lord, what causes this melancholy anguish which has again takenpossession of me? But a firm and constant will surmounts everything, andthe idea of the country gives joy and courage to the saddest and theweakest. When I think of that, I am always amazed that there is noneamong us found courageous enough to drive a knife into the breast ofKotzebue or of any other traitor. "

Still dominated by the same thought, he continues thus on the 18th ofMay:--

"A man is nothing in comparison with a nation; he is a unity comparedwith millions, a minute compared with a century. A man, whom nothingprecedes and nothing follows, is born, lives, and dies in a longer orshorter time, which, relatively to eternity, hardly equals the durationof a lightning flash. A nation, on the contrary, is immortal. "

From time to time, however, amid these thoughts that bear the impress ofthat political fatality which was driving him towards the deed ofbloodshed, the kindly and joyous youth reappears. On the 24th of June hewrites to his mother:--

"I have received your long and beautiful letter, accompanied by the verycomplete and well-chosen outfit which you send me. The sight of thisfine linen gave me back one of the joys of my childhood. These are freshbenefits. My prayers never remain unfulfilled, and I have continualcause to thank you and God. I receive, all at once, shirts, two pairs offine sheets, a present of your work, and of Julia's and Caroline's work, dainties and sweetmeats, so that I am still jumping with joy and I turnedthree times on my heels when I opened the little parcel. Receive thethanks of my heart, and share, as giver, in the joy of him who hasreceived. 

"Today, however, is a very serious day, the last day of spring and theanniversary of that on which I lost my noble and good Dittmar. I am aprey to a thousand different and confused feelings; but I have only twopassions left in me which remain upright and like two pillars of brasssupport this whole chaos--the thought of God and the love of my country. "

During all this time Sand's life remains apparently calm and equal; theinward storm is calmed; he rejoices in his application to work and hischeerful temper. However, from time to time, he makes great complaintsto himself of his propensity to love dainty food, which he does notalways find it possible to conquer. Then, in his self-contempt, he callshimself "fig-stomach" or "cake-stomach. " But amid all this the religiousand political exaltation and visits all the battlefields near to the roadthat he follows. On the 18th of October he is back at Jena, where heresumes his studies with more application than ever. It is among suchuniversity studies that the year 1818 closes far him, and we shouldhardly suspect the terrible resolution which he has taken, were it notthat we find in his journal this last note, dated the 31st of December:

"I finish the last day of this year 1818, then, in a serious and solemnmood, and I have decided that the Christmas feast which has just gone bywill be the last Christmas feast that I shall celebrate. If anything isto come of our efforts, if the cause of humanity is to assume the upperhand in our country, if in this faithless epoch any noble feelings canspring up afresh and make way, it can only happen if the wretch, thetraitor, the seducer of youth, the infamous Kotzebue, falls! I am fullyconvinced of this, and until I have accomplished the work upon which Ihave resolved, I shall have no rest. Lord, Thou who knowest that I havedevoted my life to this great action, I only need, now that it is fixedin my mind, to beg of Thee true firmness and courage of soul. "

Here Sand's diary ends; he had begun it to strengthen himself; he hadreached his aim; he needed nothing more. From this moment he wasoccupied by nothing but this single idea, and he continued slowly tomature the plan in his head in order to familiarise himself with itsexecution; but all the impressions arising from this thought remained inhis own mind, and none was manifested on the surface. To everyone elsehe was the same; but for some little time past, a complete and unalteredserenity, accompanied by a visible and cheerful return of inclinationtowards life, had been noticed in him. He had made no charge in thehours or the duration of his studies; but he had begun to attend theanatomical classes very assiduously. One day he was seen to give evenmore than his customary attention to a lesson in which the professor wasdemonstrating the various functions of the heart; he examined with thegreatest care the place occupied by it in the chest, asking to have someof the demonstrations repeated two or three times, and when he went out, questioning some of the young men who were following the medical courses, about the susceptibility of the organ, which cannot receive ever soslight a blow without death ensuing from that blow: all this with soperfect an indifference and calmness that no one about him conceived anysuspicion. 

Another day, A. S. , one of his friends, came into his room. Sand, whohad heard him coming up, was standing by the table, with a paper-knife inhis hand, waiting for him; directly the visitor came in, Sand flunghimself upon him, struck him lightly on the forehead; and then, as he putup his hands to ward off the blow, struck him rather more violently inthe chest; then, satisfied with this experiment, said:--

"You see, when you want to kill a man, that is the way to do it; youthreaten the face, he puts up his hands, and while he does so you thrusta dagger into his heart. "

The two young men laughed heartily over this murderous demonstration, andA. S. Related it that evening at the wine-shop as one of thepeculiarities of character that were common in his friend. After theevent, the pantomime explained itself. 

The month of March arrived. Sand became day by day calmer, moreaffectionate, and kinder; it might be thought that in the moment ofleaving his friends for ever he wished to leave them an ineffaceableremembrance of him. At last he announced that on account of severalfamily affairs he was about to undertake a little journey, and set aboutall his preparations with his usual care, but with a serenity neverpreviously seen in him. Up to that time he had continued to work asusual, not relaxing for an instant; for there was a possibility thatKotzebue might die or be killed by somebody else before the term thatSand had fixed to himself, and in that case he did not wish to have losttime. On the 7th of March he invited all his friends to spend theevening with him, and announced his departure for the next day but one, the 9th. All of them then proposed to him to escort him for someleagues, but Sand refused; he feared lest this demonstration, innocentthough it were, might compromise them later on. He set forth alone, therefore, after having hired his lodgings for another half-year, inorder to obviate any suspicion, and went by way of Erfurt and Eisenach, in order to visit the Wartburg. From that place he went to Frankfort, where he slept on the 17th, and on the morrow he continued his journey byway of Darmstadt. At last, on the 23rd, at nine in the morning, hearrived at the top of the little hill where we found him at the beginningof this narrative. Throughout the journey he had been the amiable andhappy young man whom no one could see without liking. 

Having reached Mannheim, he took a room at the Weinberg, and wrote hisname as "Henry" in the visitors' list. He immediately inquired whereKotzebue lived. The councillor dwelt near the church of the Jesuits; hishouse was at the corner of a street, and though Sand's informants couldnot tell him exactly the letter, they assured him it was not possible tomistake the house. [At Mannheim houses are marked by letters, not bynumbers. ]

Sand went at once to Kotzebue's house: it was about ten o'clock; he wastold that the councillor went to walk for an hour or two every morning inthe park of Mannheim. Sand inquired about the path in which he generallywalked, and about the clothes he wore, for never having seen him he couldonly recognise him by the description. Kotzebue chanced to take anotherpath. Sand walked about the park for an hour, but seeing no one whocorresponded to the description given him, went back to the house. 

Kotzebue had come in, but was at breakfast and could not see him. 

Sand went back to the Weinberg, and sat down to the midday table d'hote, where he dined with an appearance of such calmness, and even of suchhappiness, that his conversation, which was now lively, now simple, andnow dignified, was remarked by everybody. At five in the afternoon hereturned a third time to the house of Kotzebue, who was giving a greatdinner that day; but orders had been given to admit Sand. He was showninto a little room opening out of the anteroom, and a moment after, Kotzebue came in. 

Sand then performed the drama which he had rehearsed upon his friend A. S. Kotzebue, finding his face threatened, put his hands up to it, andleft his breast exposed; Sand at once stabbed him to the heart; Kotzebuegave one cry, staggered, and fell back into an arm-chair: he was dead. 

At the cry a little girl of six years old ran in, one of those charmingGerman children, with the faces of cherubs, blue-eyed, with long flowinghair. She flung herself upon the body of Kotzebue, calling her fatherwith piercing cries. Sand, standing at the door, could not endure thissight, and without going farther, he thrust the dagger, still coveredwith Kotzebue's blood, up to the hilt into his own breast. Then, seeingto his surprise that notwithstanding the terrible wound--he had justgiven himself he did not feel the approach of death, and not wishing tofall alive into the hands of the servants who were running in, he rushedto the staircase. The persons who were invited were just coming in;they, seeing a young man, pale and bleeding with a knife in his breast, uttered loud cries, and stood aside, instead of stopping him. Sandtherefore passed down the staircase and reached the street below; tenpaces off, a patrol was passing, on the way to relieve the sentinels atthe castle; Sand thought these men had been summoned by the cries thatfollowed him; he threw himself on his knees in the middle of the street, and said, "Father, receive my soul!"

Then, drawing the knife from the wound, he gave himself a second blowbelow the former, and fell insensible. 

Sand was carried to the hospital and guarded with the utmost strictness;the wounds were serious, but, thanks to the skill of the physicians whowere called in, were not mortal; one of them even healed eventually; butas to the second, the blade having gone between the costal pleura and thepulmonary pleura, an effusion of blood occurred between the two layers, so that, instead of closing the wound, it was kept carefully open, inorder that the blood extravasated during the night might be drawn offevery morning by means of a pump, as is done in the operation forempyaemia. 

Notwithstanding these cares, Sand was for three months between life anddeath. 

When, on the 26th of March, the news of Kotzebue's assassination camefrom Mannheim to Jena, the academic senate caused Sand's room to beopened, and found two letters--one addressed to his friends of theBurschenschaft, in which he declared that he no longer belonged to theirsociety, since he did not wish that their brotherhood should include aman about to die an the scaffold. The other letter, which bore thissuperscription, "To my nearest and dearest, " was an exact account of whathe meant to do, and the motives which had made him determine upon thisact. Though the letter is a little long, it is so solemn and so antiquein spirit, that we do not hesitate to present it in its entirety to ourreaders:--

"To all my own "Loyal and eternally cherished souls

"Why add still further to your sadness? I asked myself, and I hesitatedto write to you; but my silence would have wounded the religion of theheart; and the deeper a grief the more it needs, before it can be blottedout, to drain to the dregs its cup of bitterness. Forth from my agonisedbreast, then; forth, long and cruel torment of a last conversation, whichalone, however, when sincere, can alleviate the pain of parting. 

"This letter brings you the last farewell of your son and your brother. 

"The greatest misfortune of life far any generous heart is to see thecause of God stopped short in its developments by our fault; and the mostdishonouring infamy would be to suffer that the fine things acquiredbravely by thousands of men, and far which thousands of men have joyfullysacrificed themselves, should be no more than a transient dream, withoutreal and positive consequences. The resurrection of our German life wasbegun in these last twenty years, and particularly in the sacred year1813, with a courage inspired by God. But now the house of our fathersis shaken from the summit to the base. Forward! let us raise it, newand fair, and such as the true temple of the true God should be. 

"Small is the number of those who resist, and who wish to opposethemselves as a dyke against the torrent of the progress of higherhumanity among the German people. Why should vast whole masses bowbeneath the yoke of a perverse minority? And why, scarcely healed, should we fall back into a worse disease than that which we are leavingbehind?

"Many of these seducers, and those are the most infamous, are playing thegame of corruption with us; among them is Kotzebue, the most cunning andthe worst of all, a real talking machine emitting all sorts of detestablespeech and pernicious advice. His voice is skillful in removing from usall anger and bitterness against the most unjust measures, and is justsuch as kings require to put us to sleep again in that old hazy slumberwhich is the death of nations. Every day he odiously betrays his country, and nevertheless, despite his treason, remains an idol for half Germany, which, dazzled by him, accepts unresisting the poison poured out by himin his periodic pamphlets, wrapped up and protected as he is by theseductive mantle of a great poetic reputation. Incited by him, theprinces of Germany, who have forgotten their promises, will allow nothingfree or good to be accomplished; or if anything of the kind isaccomplished in spite of them, they will league themselves with theFrench to annihilate it. That the history of our time may not be coveredwith eternal ignominy, it is necessary that he should fall. 

"I have always said that if we wish to find a great and supreme remedyfor the state of abasement in which we are, none must shrink from combatnor from suffering; and the real liberty of the German people will onlybe assured when the good citizen sets himself or some other stake uponthe game, and when every true son of the country, prepared for thestruggle for justice, despises the good things of this world, and onlydesires those celestial good things which death holds in charge. 

"Who then will strike this miserable hireling, this venal traitor?

"I have long been waiting in fear, in prayer, and in tears--I who am notborn for murder--for some other to be beforehand with me, to set me free, and suffer me to continue my way along the sweet and peaceful path that Ihad chosen for myself. Well, despite my prayers and my tears, he whoshould strike does not present himself; indeed, every man, like myself, has a right to count upon some other, and everyone thus counting, everyhour's delay, but makes our state worse; far at any moment--and how deepa shame would that be for us! Kotzebue may leave Germany, unpunished, andgo to devour in Russia the treasures for which he has exchanged hishonour, his conscience, and his German name. Who can preserve us fromthis shame, if every man, if I myself, do not feel strength to makemyself the chosen instrument of God's justice? Therefore, forward! Itshall be I who will courageously rush upon him (do not be alarmed), onhim, the loathsome seducer; it shall be I who will kill the traitor, sothat his misguiding voice, being extinguished, shall cease to lead usastray from the lessons of history and from the Spirit of God. Anirresistible and solemn duty impels me to this deed, ever since I haverecognised to what high destinies the German; nation may attain duringthis century, and ever since I have come to know the dastard andhypocrite who alone prevents it from reaching them; for me, as for everyGerman who seeks the public good, this desire has became a strict andbinding necessity. May I, by this national vengeance, indicate to allupright and loyal consciences where the true danger lies, and save ourvilified and calumniated societies from the imminent danger thatthreatens them! May I, in short, spread terror among the cowardly andwicked, and courage and faith among the good! Speeches and writings leadto nothing; only actions work. 

"I will act, therefore; and though driven violently away from my fairdreams of the future, I am none the less full of trust in God; I evenexperience a celestial joy, now that, like the Hebrews when they soughtthe promised land, I see traced before me, through darkness and death, that road at the end of which I shall have paid my debt to my country. 

"Farewell, then, faithful hearts: true, this early separation is hard;true, your hopes, like my wishes, are disappointed; but let us beconsoled by the primary thought that we have done what the voice of ourcountry called upon us to do; that, you knew, is the principle accordingto which I have always lived. You will doubtless say among yourselves, 'Yes, thanks to our sacrifices, he had learned to know life and to tastethe joys of earth, and he seemed: deeply to love his native country andthe humble estate to which he was called'. Alas, yes, that is true!Under your protection, and amid your numberless sacrifices, my nativeland and life had become profoundly dear to me. Yes, thanks to you, Ihave penetrated into the Eden of knowledge, and have lived the free lifeof thought; thanks to you, I have looked into history, and have thenreturned to my own conscience to attach myself to the solid pillars offaith in the Eternal. 

"Yes, I was to pass gently through this life as a preacher of the gospel;yes, in my constancy to my calling I was to be sheltered from the stormsof this existence. But would that suffice to avert the danger thatthreatens Germany? And you yourselves, in your infinite lave, should younot rather push me on to risk my life for the good of all? So manymodern Greeks have fallen already to free their country from the yoke ofthe Turks, and have died almost without any result and without any hope;and yet thousands of fresh martyrs keep up their courage and are ready tofall in their turn; and should I, then, hesitate to die?

"That I do not recognise your love, or that your love is but a triflingconsideration with me, you will not believe. What else should impel meto die if not my devotion to you and to Germany, and the need of provingthis devotion to my family and my country?

"You, mother, will say, 'Why have I brought up a son whom I loved and wholoved me, for whom I have undergone a thousand cares and toils, who, thanks to my prayers and my example, was impressionable to goodinfluences, and from whom, after my long and weary course, I hoped toreceive attentions like those which I have given him? Why does he nowabandon me?'

"Oh, my kind and tender mother! Yes, you will perhaps say that; butcould not the mother of anyone else say the same, and everything go offthus in words when there is need to act for the country? And if no onewould act, what would become of that mother of us all who is calledGermany?

"But no; such complaints are far from you, you noble woman! I understoodyour appeal once before, and at this present hour, if no one came forwardin the German cause, you yourself would urge me to the fight. I have twobrothers and two sisters before me, all noble and loyal. They willremain to you, mother; and besides you will have for sons all thechildren of Germany who love their country. 

"Every man has a destiny which he has to accomplish: mine is devoted tothe action that I am about to undertake; if I were to live another fiftyyears, I could not live more happily than I have done lately. Farewell, mother: I commend you to the protection of God; may He raise you to thatjoy which misfortunes can no longer trouble! Take your grandchildren, towhom I should so much have liked to be a loving friend, to the top of ourbeautiful mountains soon. There, on that altar raised by the LordHimself in the midst of Germany, let them devote themselves, swearing totake up the sword as soon as they have strength to lift it, and to lay itdown only when our brethren are all united in liberty, when all Germans, having a liberal constitution; are great before the Lord, powerfulagainst their neighbours, and united among themselves. 

"May my country ever raise her happy gaze to Thee, Almighty Father! MayThy blessing fall abundantly upon her harvests ready to be cut and herarmies ready for battle, and recognising the blessings that Thou hostshowered upon us, may the German nation ever be first among nations torise and uphold the cause of humanity, which is Thy image upon earth!

"Your eternally attached son, brother and friend, "KARL-LUDWIG SAND. "JENA, the beginning of March, 1819. "

Sand, who, as we have said, had at first been taken to the hospital, wasremoved at the end of three months to the prison at Mannheim, where thegovernor, Mr. G----, had caused a room to be prepared for him. There heremained two months longer in a state of extreme weakness: his left armwas completely paralysed; his voice was very weak; every movement gavehim horrible pain, and thus it was not until the 11th of August--that isto say, five months after the event that we have narrated--that he wasable to write to his family the following letter:--

"MY VERY DEAR PARENTS:--The grand-duke's commission of inquiry informedme yesterday that it might be possible I should have the intense joy of avisit from you, and that I might perhaps see you here and embraceyou--you, mother, and some of my brothers and sisters. 

"Without being surprised at this fresh proof of your motherly love, Ihave felt an ardent remembrance reawaken of the happy life that we spentgently together. Joy and grief, desire and sacrifice, agitate my heartviolently, and I have had to weigh these various impulses one against theother, and with the force of reason, in order to resume mastery of myselfand to take a decision in regard to my wishes. 

"The balance has inclined in the direction of sacrifice. 

"You know, mother, how much joy and courage a look from your eyes, dailyintercourse with you, and your pious and high-minded conversation, mightbring me during my very short time. But you also know my position, andyou are too well acquainted with the natural course of all these painfulinquiries, not to feel as I do, that such annoyance, continuallyrecurring, would greatly trouble the pleasure of our companionship, if itdid not indeed succeed in entirely destroying it. Then, mother, afterthe long and fatiguing journey that you would be obliged to make in orderto see me, think of the terrible sorrow of the farewell when the momentcame to part in this world. Let us therefore abide by the sacrifice, according to God's will, and let us yield ourselves only to that sweetcommunity of thought which distance cannot interrupt, in which I find myonly joys, and which, in spite of men, will always be granted us by theLord, our Father. 

"As for my physical state, I knew nothing about it. You see, however, since at last I am writing to you myself, that I have come past my firstuncertainties. As for the rest, I know too little of the structure of myown body to give any opinion as to what my wounds may determine for it. Except that a little strength has returned to me, its state is still thesame, and I endure it calmly and patiently; for God comes to my help, andgives me courage and firmness. He will help me, believe me, to find allthe joys of the soul and to be strong in mind. Amen. 

"May you live happy!--Your deeply respectful son, "KARL-LUDWIG SAND. "

A month after this letter came tender answers from all the family. Wewill quote only that of Sand's mother, because it completes the ideawhich the reader may have formed already of this great-hearted woman, asher son always calls her. 

"DEAR, INEXPRESSIBLY DEAR KARL, --How Sweet it was to me to see thewriting of your beloved hand after so long a time! No journey would havebeen so painful and no road so long as to prevent me from coming to you, and I would go, in deep and infinite love, to any end of the earth in themere hope of catching sight of you. 

"But, as I well know both your tender affection and your profound anxietyfor me, and as you give me, so firmly and upon such manly reflection, reasons against which I can say nothing, and which I can but honour, itshall be, my well-beloved Karl, as you have wished and decided. We willcontinue, without speech, to communicate our thoughts; but be satisfied, nothing can separate us; I enfold you in my soul, and my materialthoughts watch over you. 

"May this infinite love which upholds us, strengthens us, and leads usall to a better life, preserve, dear Karl, your courage and firmness. 

"Farewell, and be invariably assured that I shall never cease to love youstrongly and deeply. 

"Your faithful mother, who loves you to eternity. "

Sand replied:--

January 1820, from my isle of Patmos. "MY DEAR PARENTS, BROTHERS, AND SISTERS, --

"In the middle of the month of September last year I received, throughthe grand-duke's special commission of inquiry, whose humanity you havealready appreciated, your dear letters of the end of August and thebeginning of September, which had such magical influence that theyinundated me with joy by transporting me into the inmost circle of yourhearts. 

"You, my tender father, you write to me on the sixty-seventh anniversaryof your birth, and you bless me by the outpouring of your most tenderlove. 

"You, my well-beloved mother, you deign to promise the continuance ofyour maternal affection, in which I have at all times constantlybelieved; and thus I have received the blessings of both of you, which, in my present position, will exercise a more beneficent influence upon methan any of the things that all the kings of the earth, united together, could grant me. Yes, you strengthen me abundantly by your blessed love, and I render thanks to you, my beloved parents, with that respectfulsubmission that my heart will always inculcate as the first duty of ason. 

"But the greater your love and the more affectionate your letters, themore do I suffer, I must acknowledge, from the voluntary sacrifice thatwe have imposed upon ourselves in not seeing one another; and the onlyreason, my dear parents, why I have delayed to reply to you, was to givemyself time to recover the strength which I have lost. 

"You too, dear brother-in-law and dear sister, assure me of your sincereand uninterrupted attachment. And yet, after the fright that I havespread among you all, you seem not to know exactly what to think of me;but my heart, full of gratitude for your past kindness, comforts itself;for your actions speak and tell me that, even if you wished no longer tolove me as I love you, you would not be able to do otherwise. Theseactions mean more to me at this hour than any possible protestations, nay, than even the tenderest words. 

"And you also, my kind brother, you would have consented to hurry withour beloved mother to the shores of the Rhine, to this place where thereal links of the soul were welded between us, where we were doublybrothers; but tell me, are you not really here, in thought and in spirit, when I consider the rich fountain of consolation brought me by yourcordial and tender letter?

"And, you, kind sister-in-law, as you showed yourself from the first, inyour delicate tenderness, a true sister, so I find you again at present. There are still the same tender relations, still the same sisterlyaffection; your consolations, which emanate from a deep and submissivepiety, have fallen refreshingly into the depths of my heart. But, dearsister-in-law, I must tell you, as well as the others, that you are tooliberal towards me in dispensing your esteem and praises, and yourexaggeration has cast me back face to face with my inmost judge, who hasshown me in the mirror of my conscience the image of my every weakness. 

"You, kind Julia, you desire nothing else but to save me from the fatethat awaits me; and you assure me in your own name and in that of youall, that you, like the others, would rejoice to endure it in my place;in that I recognise you fully, and I recognise, too, those sweet andtender relations in which we have been brought up from childhood. Oh, becomforted, dear Julia; thanks to the protection of God, I promise you:that it will be easy for me, much easier than I should have thought, tobear what falls to my lot. Receive, then, all of you, my warm andsincere thanks for having thus rejoiced my heart. 

"Now that I know from these strengthening letters that, like the prodigalson, the love and goodness of my family are greater on my return than atmy departure, I will, as carefully as possible, paint for you my physicaland moral state, and I pray God to supplement my words by His strength, so that my letter may contain an equivalent of what yours brought to me, and may help you to reach that state of calm and serenity to which I havemyself attained. 

"Hardened, by having gained power over myself, against the good and illof this earth, you knew already that of late years I have lived only formoral joys, and I must say that, touched by my efforts, doubtless, theLord, who is the sacred fount of all that is good, has rendered me apt inseeking them and in tasting them to the full. God is ever near me, asformerly, and I find in Him the sovereign principle of the creation ofall things; in Him, our holy Father, not only consolation and strength, but an unalterable Friend, full of the holiest love, who will accompanyme in all places where I may need His consolations. Assuredly, if He hadturned from me, or if I had turned away my eyes from Him, I should nowfind myself very unfortunate and wretched; but by His grace, on thecontrary, lowly and weak creature as I am, He makes me strong andpowerful against whatever can befall me. 

"What I have hitherto revered as sacred, what I have desired as good whatI have aspired to as heavenly, has in no respect changed now. And I thankGod for it, for I should now be in great despair if I were compelled torecognise that my heart had adored deceptive images and enwrapped itselfin fugitive chimeras. Thus my faith in these ideas and my pure love farthem, guardian angels of my spirit as they are, increase moment bymoment, and will go on increasing to my end, and I hope that I may passall the more easily from this world into eternity. I pass my silent lifein Christian exaltation and humility, and I sometimes have those visionsfrom above through which I have, from my birth, adored heaven upon earth, and which give me power to raise myself to the Lord upon the eager wingsof my prayers. My illness, though long, painful, and cruel, has alwaysbeen sufficiently mastered by my will to let me busy myself to someresult with history, positive sciences, and the finer parts of religiouseducation, and when my suffering became more violent and for a timeinterrupted these occupations, I struggled successfully, nevertheless, against ennui; for the memories of the past, my resignation to thepresent, and my faith in the future were rich enough and strong enough inme and round me to prevent my falling from my terrestrial paradise. According to my principles, I would never, in the position in which I amand in which I have placed myself, have been willing to ask anything formy own comfort; but so much kindness and care have been lavished upon me, with so much delicacy and humanity, --which alas! I am unable toreturn--by every person with whom I have been brought into contact, thatwishes which I should not have dared to frame in the mast privaterecesses of my heart have been more than exceeded. I have never been somuch overcome by bodily pains that I could not say within myself, while Ilifted my thoughts to heaven, 'Come what may of this ray. ' And great asthese gains have been, I could not dream of comparing them with thosesufferings of the soul that we feel so profoundly and poignantly in therecognition of our weaknesses and faults. 

"Moreover, these pains seldom now cause me to lose consciousness; theswelling and inflammation never made great headway, and the fever hasalways been moderate, though for nearly ten months I have been forced toremain lying on my back, unable to raise myself, and although more thanforty pints of matter have come from my chest at the place where theheart is. No, an the contrary, the wound, though still open, is in agood state; and I owe that not only to the excellent nursing around me, but also to the pure blood that I received from you, my mother. Thus Ihave lacked neither earthly assistance nor heavenly encouragement. Thus, on the anniversary of my birth, I had every reason--oh, not to curse thehour in which I was born, but, on the contrary, after seriouscontemplation of the world, to thank God and you, my dear parents, forthe life that you have given me! I celebrated it, on the 18th ofOctober, by a peaceful and ardent submission to the holy will of God. OnChristmas Day I tried to put myself into the temper of children who aredevoted to the Lord; and with God's help the new year will pass like itspredecessor, in bodily pain, perhaps, but certainly in spiritual joy. And with this wish, the only one that I form, I address myself to you, mydear parents, and to you and yours, my dear brothers and sisters. 

"I cannot hope to see a twenty-fifth new year; so may the prayer that Ihave just made be granted! May this picture of my present state affordyou some tranquillity, and may this letter that I write to you from thedepths of my heart not only prove to you that I am not unworthy of theinexpressible love that you all display, but, on the contrary, ensurethis love to me for eternity. 

"Within the last few days I have also received your dear letter of the2nd of December, my kind mother, and the grind-duke's commission hasdeigned to let me also read my kind brother's letter which accompaniedyours. You give me the best of news in regard to the health of all ofyou, and send me preserved fruits from our dear home. I thank you forthem from the bottom of my heart. What causes me most joy in the matteris that you have been solicitously busy about me in summer as in winter, and that you and my dear Julia gathered them and prepared them for me athome, and I abandon my whole soul to that sweet enjoyment. 

"I rejoice sincerely at my little cousin's coming into the world; Ijoyfully congratulate the good parents and the grandparents; I transportmyself, for his baptism, into that beloved parish, where I offer him myaffection as his Christian brother, and call down on him all theblessings of heaven. 

"We shall be obliged, I think, to give up this correspondence, so as notto inconvenience the grand-duke's commission. I finish, therefore, byassuring you, once more, but for the last time, perhaps, of my profoundfilial submission and of my fraternal affection. --Your most tenderlyattached"KARL-LUDWIG SAND. "

Indeed, from that moment all correspondence between Karl and his familyceased, and he only wrote to them, when he knew his fate, one moreletter, which we shall see later on. 

We have seen by what attentions Sand was surrounded; their humanity neverflagged for an instant. It is the truth, too, that no one saw in him anordinary murderer, that many pitied him under their breath, and that someexcused him aloud. The very commission appointed by the grand-dukeprolonged the affair as much as possible; for the severity of Sand'swounds had at first given rise to the belief that there would be no needof calling in the executioner, and the commission was well pleased thatGod should have undertaken the execution of the judgment. But theseexpectations were deceived: the skill of the doctor defeated, not indeedthe wound, but death: Sand did not recover, but he remained alive; and itbegan to be evident that it would be needful to kill him. 

Indeed, the Emperor Alexander, who had appointed Kotzebue his councillor, and who was under no misapprehension as to the cause of the murder, urgently demanded that justice should take its course. The commission ofinquiry was therefore obliged to set to work; but as its members weresincerely desirous of having some pretext to delay their proceedings, they ordered that a physician from Heidelberg should visit Sand and makean exact report upon his case; as Sand was kept lying down and as hecould not be executed in his bed, they hoped that the physician's report, by declaring it impossible for the prisoner to rise, would come to theirassistance and necessitate a further respite. 

The chosen doctor came accordingly to Mannheim, and introducing himselfto Sand as though attracted by the interest that he inspired, asked himwhether he did not feel somewhat better, and whether it would beimpossible to rise. Sand looked at him for an instant, and then said, with a smile--

"I understand, sir; they wish to know whether I am strong enough to mounta scaffold: I know nothing about it myself, but we will make theexperiment together. "

With these words he rose, and accomplishing, with superhuman courage, what he had not attempted for fourteen months, walked twice round theroom, came back to his bed, upon which he seated himself, and said:

"You see, sir, I am strong enough; it would therefore be wasting precioustime to keep my judges longer about my affair; so let them deliver theirjudgment, for nothing now prevents its execution. "

The doctor made his report; there was no way of retreat; Russia wasbecoming more and more pressing, and an the 5th of May 1820 the highcourt of justice delivered the following judgment, which was confirmed onthe 12th by His Royal Highness the Grand-Duke of Baden:

"In the matters under investigation and after administration of theinterrogatory and hearing the defences, and considering the unitedopinions of the court of justice at Mannheim and the furtherconsultations of the court of justice which declare the accused, KarlSand of Wonsiedel, guilty of murder, even on his own confession, upon theperson of the Russian imperial Councillor of State, Kotzebue; it isordered accordingly, for his just punishment and for an example that maydeter other people, that he is to be put from life to death by the sword. 

"All the costs of these investigations, including these occasioned by hispublic execution, will be defrayed from the funds of the law department, on account of his want of means. "

We see that, though it condemned the accused to death, which indeed couldhardly be avoided, the sentence was both in form and substance as mild aspossible, since, though Sand was convicted, his poor family was notreduced by the expenses of a long and costly trial to complete ruin. 

Five days were still allowed to elapse, and the verdict was not announceduntil the 17th. When Sand was informed that two councillors of justicewere at the door, he guessed that they were coming to read his sentenceto him; he asked a moment to rise, which he had done but once before, inthe instance already narrated, during fourteen months. And indeed he wasso weak that he could not stand to hear the sentence, and after havinggreeted the deputation that death sent to him, he asked to sit down, saying that he did so not from cowardice of soul but from weakness ofbody; then he added, "You are welcome, gentlemen; far I have suffered somuch for fourteen months past that you come to me as angels ofdeliverance. "

He heard the sentence quite unaffectedly and with a gentle smile upon hislips; then, when the reading was finished, he said--

"I look for no better fate, gentlemen, and when, more than a year ago, Ipaused on the little hill that overlooks the town, I saw beforehand theplace where my grave would be; and so I ought to thank God and man farhaving prolonged my existence up to to-day. "

The councillors withdrew; Sand stood up a second time to greet them ontheir departure, as he had done on their entrance; then he sat down againpensively in his chair, by which Mr. G, the governor of the prison, wasstanding. After a moment of silence, a tear appeared at each of thecondemned man's eyelids, and ran down his cheeks; then, turning suddenlyto Mr. G----, whom he liked very much, he said, "I hope that my parentswould rather see me die by this violent death than of some slow andshameful disease. As for me, I am glad that I shall soon hear the hourstrike in which my death will satisfy those who hate me, and those wham, according to my principles, I ought to hate. "

Then he wrote to his family. "MANNHEIM

"17th of the month of spring, 1820

"DEAR PARENTS, BROTHERS, AND SISTERS, --You should have received my lastletters through the grand-duke's commission; in them I answered yours, and tried to console you for my position by describing the state of mysoul as it is, the contempt to which I have attained for everythingfragile and earthly, and by which one must necessarily be overcome whensuch matters are weighed against the fulfilment of an idea, or thatintellectual liberty which alone can nourish the soul; in a word, I triedto console you by the assurance that the feelings, principles, andconvictions of which I formerly spoke are faithfully preserved in me andhave remained exactly the same; but I am sure all this was an unnecessaryprecaution on my part, for there was never a time when you asked anythingelse of me than to have God before my eyes and in my heart; and you haveseen how, under your guidance, this precept so passed into my soul thatit became my sole object of happiness for this world and the next; nodoubt, as He was in and near me, God will be in and near you at themoment when this letter brings you the news of my sentence. I diewillingly, and the Lord will give me strength to die as one ought to die. 

"I write to you perfectly quiet and calm about all things, and I hopethat your lives too will pass calmly and tranquilly until the moment whenour souls meet again full of fresh force to love one another and to shareeternal happiness together. 

"As for me, such as I have lived as long as I have known myself--that isto say, in a serenity full of celestial desires and a courageous andindefatigable love of liberty, such I am about to die. 

"May God be with you and with me!--Your son, brother, and friend, "KARL-LUDWIG SAND. "

From that moment his serenity remained un troubled; during the whole dayhe talked more gaily than usual, slept well, did not awake untilhalf-past seven, said that he felt stronger, and thanked God for visitinghim thus. 

The nature of the verdict had been known since the day before, and it hadbeen learned that the execution was fixed for the 20th of May--that isto say, three full days after the sentence had been read to the accused. 

Henceforward, with Sand's permission, persons who wished to speak to himand whom he was not reluctant to see, were admitted: three among thesepaid him long and noteworthy visits. 

One was Major Holzungen, of the Baden army, who was in command of thepatrol that had arrested him, or rather picked him up, dying, and carriedhim to the hospital. He asked him whether he recognised him, and Sand'shead was so clear when he stabbed himself, that although he saw the majoronly for a moment and had never seen him again since, he remembered theminutest details of the costume which he had been wearing fourteen monthspreviously, and which was the full-dress uniform. When the talk fellupon the death to which Sand was to submit at so early an age, the majorpitied him; but Sand answered, with a smile, "There is only onedifference between you and me, major; it is that I shall die far myconvictions, and you will die for someone else's convictions. "

After the major came a young student from Jena whom Sand had known at theuniversity. He happened to be in the duchy of Baden and wished to visithim. Their recognition was touching, and the student wept much; but Sandconsoled him with his usual calmness and serenity. 

Then a workman asked to be admitted to see Sand, on the plea that he hadbeen his schoolfellow at Wonsiedel, and although he did not remember hisname, he ordered him to be let in: the workman reminded him that he hadbeen one of the little army that Sand had commanded on the day of theassault of St. Catherine's tower. This indication guided Sand, whorecognised him perfectly, and then spoke with tender affection of hisnative place and his dear mountains. He further charged him to greet hisfamily, and to beg his mother, father, brothers, and sisters once morenot to be grieved on his account, since the messenger who undertook todeliver his last wards could testify in how calm and joyful a temper hewas awaiting death. 

To this workman succeeded one of the guests whom Sand had met on thestaircase directly after Kotzebue's death. He asked him whether heacknowledged his crime and whether he felt any repentance. Sand replied, "I had thought about it during a whole year. I have been thinking of itfor fourteen months, and my opinion has never varied in any respect: Idid what I should have done. "

After the departure of this last visitor, Sand sent for Mr. G----, thegovernor of the prison, and told him that he should like to talk to theexecutioner before the execution, since he wished to ask for instructionsas to how he should hold himself so as to render the operation mostcertain and easy. Mr. G----made some objections, but Sand insisted withhis usual gentleness, and Mr. G----at last promised that the man inquestion should be asked to call at the prison as soon as he arrived fromHeidelberg, where he lived. 

The rest of the day was spent in seeing more visitors and inphilosophical and moral talks, in which Sand developed his social andreligious theories with a lucidity of expression and an elevation ofthought such as he had, perhaps, never before shown. The governor of theprison from whom I heard these details, told me that he should all hislife regret that he did not know shorthand, so that he might have notedall these thoughts, which would have formed a pendant to the Phaedo. 

Night came. Sand spent part of the evening writing; it is thought thathe was composing a poem; but no doubt he burned it, for no trace of itwas found. At eleven he went to bed, and slept until six in the morning. Next day he bore the dressing of his wound, which was always verypainful, with extraordinary courage, without fainting, as he sometimesdid, and without suffering a single complaint to escape him: he hadspoken the truth; in the presence of death God gave him the grace ofallowing his strength to return. The operation was over; Sand was lyingdown as usual, and Mr. G----was sitting on the foot of his bed, when thedoor opened and a man came in and bowed to Sand and to Mr. G----. Thegovernor of the prison immediately stood up, and said to Sand in a voicethe emotion of which he could not conceal, "The person who is bowing toyou is Mr. Widemann of Heidelberg, to whom you wished to speak. "

Then Sand's face was lighted up by a strange joy; he sat up and said, "Sir, you are welcome. " Then, making his visitor sit down by his bed, and taking his hand, he began to thank him for being so obliging, andspoke in so intense a tone and so gentle a voice, that Mr. Widemann, deeply moved, could not answer. Sand encouraged him to speak and to givehim the details for which he wished, and in order to reassure him, said, "Be firm, sir; for I, on my part, will not fail you: I will not move; andeven if you should need two or three strokes to separate my head from mybody, as I am told is sometimes the case, do not be troubled on thataccount. "

Then Sand rose, leaning on Mr. G----, to go through with the executionerthe strange and terrible rehearsal of the drama in which he was to playthe leading part on the morrow. Mr. Widemann made him sit in a chair andtake the required position, and went into all the details of theexecution with him. Then Sand, perfectly instructed, begged him not tohurry and to take his time. Then he thanked him beforehand; "for, " addedhe, "afterwards I shall not be able. " Then Sand returned to his bed, leaving the executioner paler and more trembling than himself. All thesedetails have been preserved by Mr. G----; for as to the executioner, hisemotion was so great that he could remember nothing. 

After Mr. Widemann, three clergymen were introduced, with whom Sandconversed upon religious matters: one of them stayed six hours with him, and on leaving him told him that he was commissioned to obtain from him apromise of not speaking to the people at the place of execution. Sandgave the promise, and added, "Even if I desired to do so, my voice hasbecome so weak that people could not hear it. "

Meanwhile the scaffold was being erected in the meadow that extends onthe left of the road to Heidelberg. It was a platform five to six feethigh and ten feet wide each way. As it was expected that, thanks to theinterest inspired by the prisoner and to the nearness to Whitsuntide, thecrowd would be immense, and as some movement from the universities wasapprehended, the prison guards had been trebled, and General Neustein hadbeen ordered to Mannheim from Carlsruhe, with twelve hundred infantry, three hundred and fifty cavalry, and a company of artillery with guns. 

On, the afternoon of the 19th there arrived, as had been foreseen, somany students, who took up their abode in the neighbouring villages, thatit was decided to put forward the hour of the execution, and to let ittake place at five in the morning instead of at eleven, as had beenarranged. But Sand's consent was necessary for this; for he could not beexecuted until three full days after the reading of his sentence, and asthe sentence had not been read to him till half-past ten Sand had a rightto live till eleven o'clock. 

Before four in the morning the officials went into the condemned man'sroom; he was sleeping so soundly that they were obliged to awaken him. He opened his eyes with a smile, as was his custom, and guessing why theycame, asked, "Can I have slept so well that it is already eleven in themorning?" They told him that it was not, but that they had come to askhis permission to put forward the time; for, they told him, samecollision between the students and the soldiers was feared, and as themilitary preparations were very thorough, such a collision could not beotherwise than fatal to his friends. Sand answered that he was readythat very moment, and only asked time enough to take a bath, as theancients were accustomed to do before going into battle. But as theverbal authorisation which he had given was not sufficient, a pen andpaper were given to Sand, and he wrote, with a steady hand and in hisusual writing:

"I thank the authorities of Mannheim for anticipating my most eagerwishes by making my execution six hours earlier. 

"Sit nomen Domini benedictum. 

"From the prison room, May 20th, day of my deliverance. "KARL-LUDWIG SAND. "

When Sand had given these two lines to the recorder, the physician cameto him to dress his wound, as usual. Sand looked at him with a smile, and then asked, "Is it really worth the trouble?"

"You will be stronger for it, " answered the physician. 

"Then do it, " said Sand. 

A bath was brought. Sand lay down in it, and had his long and beautifulhair arranged with the greatest care; then his toilet being completed, heput on a frock-coat of the German shape--that is to say, short and withthe shirt collar turned back aver the shoulders, close white trousers, and high boots. Then Sand seated himself on his bed and prayed some timein a low voice with the clergy; then, when he had finished, he said thesetwo lines of Korner's:

 "All that is earthly is ended, And the life of heaven begins. "

He next took leave of the physician and the priests, saying to them, "Donot attribute the emotion of my voice to weakness but to gratitude. "Then, upon these gentlemen offering to accompany him to the scaffold, hesaid, "There is no need; I am perfectly prepared, at peace with God andwith my conscience. Besides, am I not almost a Churchman myself?" Andwhen one of them asked whether he was not going out of life in a spiritof hatred, he returned, "Why, good heavens! have I ever felt any?"

An increasing noise was audible from the street, and Sand said again thathe was at their disposal and that he was ready. At this moment theexecutioner came in with his two assistants; he was dressed in a longwadded black coat, beneath which he hid his sword. Sand offered him hishand affectionately; and as Mr. Widemann, embarrassed by the sword whichhe wished to keep Sand from seeing, did not venture to come forward, Sandsaid to him, "Come along and show me your sword; I have never seen one ofthe kind, and am curious to know what it is like. "

Mr. Widemann, pale and trembling, presented the weapon to him; Sandexamined it attentively, and tried the edge with his finger. 

"Come, " said he, "the blade is good; do not tremble, and all will gowell. " Then, turning to Mr. G----, who was weeping, he said to him, "Youwill be good enough, will you not, to do me the service of leading me tothe scaffold?"

Mr. G----made a sign of assent with his head, for he could not answer. Sand took his arm, and spoke for the third time, saying once more, "Well, what are you waiting for, gentlemen? I am ready. "

When they reached the courtyard, Sand saw all the prisoners weeping attheir windows. Although he had never seen them, they were old friends ofhis; for every time they passed his door, knowing that the student whohad killed Kotzebue lay within, they used to lift their chain, that hemight not be disturbed by the noise. 

All Mannheim was in the streets that led to the place of execution, andmany patrols were passing up and down. On the day when the sentence wasannounced the whole town had been sought through for a chaise in which toconvey Sand to the scaffold, but no one, not even the coach-builders, would either let one out or sell one; and it had been necessary, therefore, to buy one at Heidelberg without saying for what purpose. 

Sand found this chaise in the courtyard, and got into it with Mr. G----. Turning to him, he whispered in his ear, "Sir, if you see me turn pale, speak my name to me, my name only, do you hear? That will be enough. "

The prison gate was opened, and Sand was seen; then every voice criedwith one impulse, "Farewell, Sand, farewell!"

And at the same time flowers, some of which fell into the carriage, werethrown by the crowd that thronged the street, and from the windows. Atthese friendly cries and at this spectacle, Sand, who until then hadshown no moment of weakness, felt tears rising in spite of himself, andwhile he returned the greetings made to him on all sides, he murmured ina low voice, "O my God, give me courage!"

This first outburst over, the procession set out amid deep silence; onlynow and again same single voice would call out, "Farewell, Sand!" and ahandkerchief waved by some hand that rose out of the crowd would showfrom what paint the last call came. On each side of the chaise walkedtwo of the prison officials, and behind the chaise came a secondconveyance with the municipal authorities. 

The air was very cold: it had rained all night, and the dark and cloudysky seemed to share in the general sadness. Sand, too weak to remainsitting up, was half lying upon the shoulder of Mr. G-----, hiscompanion; his face was gentle, calm and full of pain; his brow free andopen, his features, interesting though without regular beauty, seemed tohave aged by several years during the fourteen months of suffering thathad just elapsed. The chaise at last reached the place of execution, which was surrounded by a battalion of infantry; Sand lowered his eyesfrom heaven to earth and saw the scaffold. At this sight he smiledgently, and as he left the carriage he said, "Well, God has given mestrength so far. "

The governor of the prison and the chief officials lifted him that hemight go up the steps. During that short ascent pain kept him bowed, butwhen he had reached the top he stood erect again, saying, "Here then isthe place where I am to die!"

Then before he came to the chair on which he was to be seated for theexecution, he turned his eyes towards Mannheim, and his gaze travelledover all the throng that surrounded him; at that moment a ray of sunshinebroke through the clouds. Sand greeted it with a smile and sat down. 

Then, as, according to the orders given, his sentence was to be read tohim a second time, he was asked whether he felt strong enough to hear itstanding. Sand answered that he would try, and that if his physicalstrength failed him, his moral strength would uphold him. He roseimmediately from the fatal chair, begging Mr. G----to stand near enoughto support him if he should chance to stagger. The precaution wasunnecessary, Sand did not stagger. 

After the judgment had been read, he sat down again and said in a laudvoice, "I die trusting in God. "

But at these words Mr. G------interrupted him. 

"Sand, " said he, "what did you promise?"

"True, " he answered; "I had forgotten. " He was silent, therefore, to thecrowd; but, raising his right hand and extending it solemnly in the air, he said in a low voice, so that he might be heard only by those who werearound him, "I take God to witness that I die for the freedom ofGermany. "

Then, with these words, he did as Conradin did with his glove; he threwhis rolled-up handkerchief over the line of soldiers around him, into themidst of the people. 

Then the executioner came to cut off his hair; but Sand at firstobjected. 

"It is for your mother, " said Mr. Widemann. 

"On your honour, sir?" asked Sand. 

"On my honour. "

"Then do it, " said Sand, offering his hair to the executioner. 

Only a few curls were cut off, those only which fell at the back, theothers were tied with a ribbon on the top of the head. The executionerthen tied his hands on his breast, but as that position was oppressive tohim and compelled him an account of his wound to bend his head, his handswere laid flat on his thighs and fixed in that position with ropes. Then, when his eyes were about to be bound, he begged Mr. Widemann toplace the bandage in such a manner that he could see the light to hislast moment. His wish was fulfilled. 

Then a profound and mortal stillness hovered over the whole crowd andsurrounded the scaffold. The executioner drew his sword, which flashedlike lightning and fell. Instantly a terrible cry rose at once fromtwenty thousand bosoms; the head had not fallen, and though it had sunktowards the breast still held to the neck. The executioner struck asecond time, and struck off at the same blow the head and a part of thehand. 

In the same moment, notwithstanding the efforts of the soldiers, theirline was broken through; men and women rushed upon the scaffold, theblood was wiped up to the last drop with handkerchiefs; the chair uponwhich Sand had sat was broken and divided into pieces, and those whocould not obtain one, cut fragments of bloodstained wood from thescaffold itself. 

The head and body were placed in a coffin draped with black, and carriedback, with a large military escort, to the prison. At midnight the bodywas borne silently, without torches or lights, to the Protestantcemetery, in which Kotzebue had been buried fourteen months previously. A grave had been mysteriously dug; the coffin was lowered into it, andthose who were present at the burial were sworn upon the New Testamentnot to reveal the spot where Sand was buried until such time as they werefreed from their oath. Then the grave was covered again with the turf, that had been skilfully taken off, and that was relaid on the same spat, so that no new grave could be perceived; then the nocturnal gravediggersdeparted, leaving guards at the entrance. 

There, twenty paces apart, Sand and Kotzebue rest: Kotzebue opposite thegate in the most conspicuous spot of the cemetery, and beneath a tombupon which is engraved this inscription:

"The world persecuted him without pity, Calumny was his sad portion, Hefound no happiness save in the arms of his wife, And no repose save inthe bosom of death. Envy dogged him to cover his path with thorns, Lovebade his roses blossom; May Heaven pardon him As he pardons earth!"

In contrast with this tall and showy monument, standing, as we have said, in the most conspicuous spot of the cemetery, Sand's grave must be lookedfar in the corner to the extreme left of the entrance gate; and a wildplum tree, some leaves of which every passing traveller carries away, rises alone upon the grave, which is devoid of any inscription. 

As far the meadow in which Sand was executed, it is still called by thepeople "Sand's Himmelsfartsweise, " which signifies "The manner of Sand'sascension. "

Toward the end of September, 1838, we were at Mannheim, where I hadstayed three days in order to collect all the details I could find aboutthe life and death of Karl-Ludwig Sand. But at the end of these threedays, in spite of my active investigations, these details still remainedextremely incomplete, either because I applied in the wrong quarters, orbecause, being a foreigner, I inspired same distrust in those to whom Iapplied. I was leaving Mannheim, therefore, somewhat disappointed, andafter having visited the little Protestant cemetery where Sand andKotzebue are buried at twenty paces from each other, I had ordered mydriver to take the road to Heidelberg, when, after going a few yards, he, who knew the object of my inquiries, stopped of himself and asked mewhether I should not like to see the place where Sand was executed. Atthe same time he pointed to a little mound situated in the middle of ameadow and a few steps from a brook. I assented eagerly, and althoughthe driver remained on the highroad with my travelling companions, I soonrecognised the spot indicated, by means of some relics of cypressbranches, immortelles, and forget-me-nots scattered upon the earth. Itwill readily be understood that this sight, instead of diminishing mydesire for information, increased it. I was feeling, then, more thanever dissatisfied at going away, knowing so little, when I saw a man ofsome five-and-forty to fifty years old, who was walking a little distancefrom the place where I myself was, and who, guessing the cause that drewme thither, was looking at me with curiosity. I determined to make a lasteffort, and going up to him, I said, "Oh, sir, I am a stranger; I amtravelling to collect all the rich and poetic traditions of your Germany. By the way in which you look at me, I guess that you know which of themattracts me to this meadow. Could you give me any information about thelife and death of Sand?"

"With what object, sir?" the person to whom I spoke asked me in almostunintelligible French. 

"With a very German object, be assured, sir, " I replied. "From thelittle I have learned, Sand seems to me to be one of those ghosts thatappear only the greater and the more poetic for being wrapped in a shroudstained with blood. But he is not known in France; he might be put onthe same level there with a Fieschi or a Meunier, and I wish, to the bestof my ability, to enlighten the minds of my countrymen about him. "

"It would be a great pleasure to me, sir, to assist in such anundertaking; but you see that I can scarcely speak French; you do notspeak German at all; so that we shall find it difficult to understandeach other. "

"If that is all, " I returned, "I have in my carriage yonder aninterpreter, or rather an interpretress, with whom you will, I hope, bequite satisfied, who speaks German like Goethe, and to whom, when youhave once begun to speak to her, I defy you not to tell everything. "

"Let us go, then, sir, " answered the pedestrian. "I ask no better thanto be agreeable to you. "

We walked toward the carriage, which was still waiting on the highroad, and I presented to my travelling companion the new recruit whom I hadjust gained. The usual greetings were exchanged, and the dialogue beganin the purest Saxon. Though I did not understand a word that was said, it was easy for me to see, by the rapidity of the questions and thelength of the answers, that the conversation was most interesting. Atlast, at the end of half an hours growing desirous of knowing to whatpoint they had come, I said, "Well?"

"Well, " answered my interpreter, "you are in luck's way, and you couldnot have asked a better person. "

"The gentleman knew Sand, then?"

"The gentleman is the governor of the prison in which Sand was confined. "

"Indeed?"

"For nine months--that is to say, from the day he left the hospital--this gentleman saw him every day. "

"Excellent!"

"But that is not all: this gentleman was with him in the carriage thattook him to execution; this gentleman was with him on the scaffold;there's only one portrait of Sand in all Mannheim, and this gentleman hasit. "

I was devouring every word; a mental alchemist, I was opening my crucibleand finding gold in it. 

"Just ask, " I resumed eagerly, "whether the gentleman will allow us totake down in writing the particulars that he can give me. "

My interpreter put another question, then, turning towards me, said, "Granted. "

Mr. G----got into the carriage with us, and instead of going on toHeidelberg, we returned to Mannheim, and alighted at the prison. 

Mr. G---did not once depart from the ready kindness that he had shown. In the most obliging manner, patient over the minutest trifles, andremembering most happily, he went over every circumstance, puttinghimself at my disposal like a professional guide. At last, when everyparticular about Sand had been sucked dry, I began to ask him about themanner in which executions were performed. "As to that, " said he, "I canoffer you an introduction to someone at Heidelberg who can give you allthe information you can wish for upon the subject. "

I accepted gratefully, and as I was taking leave of Mr. G----, afterthanking him a thousand times, he handed me the offered letter. It borethis superscription: "To Herr-doctor Widemann, No. III High Street, Heidelberg. "

I turned to Mr. G----once more. 

"Is he, by chance, a relation of the man who executed Sand?" I asked. 

"He is his son, and was standing by when the head fell. ". 

"What is his calling, then?"

"The same as that of his father, whom he succeeded. "

"But you call him 'doctor'?"

"Certainly; with us, executioners have that title. "

"But, then, doctors of what?"

"Of surgery. "

"Really?" said I. "With us it is just the contrary; surgeons are calledexecutioners. "

"You will find him, moreover, " added Mr. G----, "a very distinguishedyoung man, who, although he was very young at that time, has retained avivid recollection of that event. As for his poor father, I think hewould as willingly have cut off his own right hand as have executed Sand;but if he had refused, someone else would have been found. So he had todo what he was ordered to do, and he did his best. "

I thanked Mr. G----, fully resolving to make use of his letter, and weleft for Heidelberg, where we arrived at eleven in the evening. 

My first visit next day was to Dr. Widernann. It was not without someemotion, which, moreover, I saw reflected upon, the faces of mytravelling companions, that I rang at the door of the last judge, as theGermans call him. An old woman opened the door to us, and ushered usinto a pretty little study, on the left of a passage and at the foot of astaircase, where we waited while Mr. Widemann finished dressing. Thislittle room was full of curiosities, madrepores, shells, stuffed birds, and dried plants; a double-barrelled gun, a powder-flask, and a game-bagshowed that Mr. Widemann was a hunter. 

After a moment we heard his footstep, and the door opened. Mr. Widemannwas a very handsome young man, of thirty or thirty-two, with blackwhiskers entirely surrounding his manly and expressive face; his morningdress showed a certain rural elegance. He seemed at first not onlyembarrassed but pained by our visit. The aimless curiosity of which heseemed to be the object was indeed odd. I hastened to give him Mr. G----'s letter and to tell him what reason brought me. Then he graduallyrecovered himself, and at last showed himself no less hospitable andobliging towards us than he to whom we owed the introduction had been, the day before. 

Mr. Widemann then gathered together all his remembrances; he, too, hadretained a vivid recollection of Sand, and he told us among other thingsthat his father, at the risk of bringing himself into ill odour, hadasked leave to have a new scaffold made at his own expense, so that noother criminal might be executed upon the altar of the martyr's death. Permission had been given, and Mr. Widemann had used the wood of thescaffold for the doors and windows of a little country house standing ina vineyard. Then for three or four years this cottage became a shrinefor pilgrims; but after a time, little by little, the crowd grew less, and at the present day, when some of those who wiped the blood from thescaffold with their handkerchiefs have became public functionaries, receiving salaries from Government, only foreigners ask, now and again, to see these strange relics. 

Mr. Widemann gave me a guide; for, after hearing everything, I wanted tosee everything. The house stands half a league away from Heidelberg, onthe left of the road to Carlsruhe, and half-way up the mountain-side. Itis perhaps the only monument of the kind that exists in the world. 

Our readers will judge better from this anecdote than from anything morewe could say, what sort of man he was who left such a memory in thehearts of his gaoler and his executioner. 

URBAIN GRANDIER--1634

CHAPTER I

On Sunday, the 26th of November, 1631, there was great excitement in thelittle town of Loudun, especially in the narrow streets which led to thechurch of Saint-Pierre in the marketplace, from the gate of which thetown was entered by anyone coming from the direction of the abbey ofSaint-Jouin-les-Marmes. This excitement was caused by the expectedarrival of a personage who had been much in people's mouths latterly inLoudun, and about whom there was such difference of opinion thatdiscussion on the subject between those who were on his side and thosewho were against him was carried on with true provincial acrimony. Itwas easy to see, by the varied expressions on the faces of those whoturned the doorsteps into improvised debating clubs, how varied were thefeelings with which the man would be welcomed who had himself formallyannounced to friends and enemies alike the exact date of his return. 

About nine o'clock a kind of sympathetic vibration ran through the crowd, and with the rapidity of a flash of lightning the words, "There he is!there he is!" passed from group to group. At this cry some withdrew intotheir houses and shut their doors and darkened their windows, as if itwere a day of public mourning, while others opened them wide, as if tolet joy enter. In a few moments the uproar and confusion evoked by thenews was succeeded by the deep silence of breathless curiosity. 

Then, through the silence, a figure advanced, carrying a branch of laurelin one hand as a token of triumph. It was that of a young man of fromthirty-two to thirty-four years of age, with a graceful and well-knitframe, an aristocratic air and faultlessly beautiful features of asomewhat haughty expression. Although he had walked three leagues toreach the town, the ecclesiastical garb which he wore was not onlyelegant but of dainty freshness. His eyes turned to heaven, and singingin a sweet voice praise to the Lord, he passed through the streetsleading to the church in the market-place with a slow and solemn gait, without vouchsafing a look, a word, or a gesture to anyone. The entirecrowd, falling into step, marched behind him as he advanced, singing likehim, the singers being the prettiest girls in Loudun, for we haveforgotten to say that the crowd consisted almost entirely of women. 

Meanwhile the object of all this commotion arrived at length at the porchof the church of Saint-Pierre. Ascending the steps, he knelt at the topand prayed in a low voice, then rising he touched the church doors withhis laurel branch, and they opened wide as if by magic, revealing thechoir decorated and illuminated as if for one of the four great feasts ofthe year, and with all its scholars, choir boys, singers, beadles, andvergers in their places. Glancing around, he for whom they were waitingcame up the nave, passed through the choir, knelt for a second time atthe foot of the altar, upon which he laid the branch of laurel, thenputting on a robe as white as snow and passing the stole around his neck, he began the celebration of the mass before a congregation composed ofall those who had followed him. At the end of the mass a Te Deum wassung. 

He who had just rendered thanks to God for his own victory with all thesolemn ceremonial usually reserved for the triumphs of kings was thepriest Urbain Grandier. Two days before, he had been acquitted, invirtue of a decision pronounced by M. D'Escoubleau de Sourdis, Archbishopof Bordeaux, of an accusation brought against him of which he had beendeclared guilty by a magistrate, and in punishment of which he had beencondemned to fast on bread and water every Friday for three months, andforbidden to exercise his priestly functions in the diocese of Poitiersfor five years and in the town of Loudun for ever. 

These are the circumstances under which the sentence had been passed andthe judgment reversed. 

Urbain Grandier was born at Rovere, a village near Sable, a little townof Bas-Maine. Having studied the sciences with his father Pierre and hisuncle Claude Grandier, who were learned astrologers and alchemists, heentered, at the age of twelve, the Jesuit college at Bordeaux, havingalready received the ordinary education of a young man. The professorssoon found that besides his considerable attainments he had great naturalgifts for languages and oratory; they therefore made of him a thoroughclassical scholar, and in order to develop his oratorical talentencouraged him to practise preaching. They soon grew very fond of apupil who was likely to bring them so much credit, and as soon as he wasold enough to take holy orders they gave him the cure of souls in theparish of Saint-Pierre in Loudun, which was in the gift of the college. When he had been some months installed there as a priest-in-charge, hereceived a prebendal stall, thanks to the same patrons, in the collegiatechurch of Sainte-Croix. 

It is easy to understand that the bestowal of these two positions on soyoung a man, who did not even belong to the province, made him seem insome sort a usurper of rights and privileges belonging to the people ofthe country, and drew upon him the envy of his brother-ecclesiastics. There were, in fact, many other reasons why Urbain should be an object ofjealousy to these: first, as we have already said, he was very handsome, then the instruction which he had received from his father had opened theworld of science to him and given him the key to a thousand things whichwere mysteries to the ignorant, but which he fathomed with the greatestease. Furthermore, the comprehensive course of study which he hadfollowed at the Jesuit college had raised him above a crowd ofprejudices, which are sacred to the vulgar, but for which he made nosecret of his contempt; and lastly, the eloquence of his sermons haddrawn to his church the greater part of the regular congregations of theother religious communities, especially of the mendicant orders, who hadtill then, in what concerned preaching, borne away the palm at Loudun. As we have said, all this was more than enough to excite, first jealousy, and then hatred. And both were excited in no ordinary degree. 

We all know how easily the ill-natured gossip of a small town can rousethe angry contempt of the masses for everything which is beyond or abovethem. In a wider sphere Urbain would have shone by his many gifts, but, cooped up as he was within the walls of a little town and deprived of airand space, all that might have conduced to his success in Paris led tohis destruction at Loudun. 

It was also unfortunate for Urbain that his character, far from winningpardon for his genius, augmented the hatred which the latter inspired. Urbain, who in his intercourse with his friends was cordial andagreeable, was sarcastic, cold, and haughty to his enemies. When he hadonce resolved on a course, he pursued it unflinchingly; he jealouslyexacted all the honour due to the rank at which he had arrived, defendingit as though it were a conquest; he also insisted on enforcing all hislegal rights, and he resented the opposition and angry words of casualopponents with a harshness which made them his lifelong enemies. 

The first example which Urbain gave of this inflexibility was in 1620, when he gained a lawsuit against a priest named Meunier. He caused thesentence to be carried out with such rigour that he awoke aninextinguishable hatred in Meunier's mind, which ever after burst forthon the slightest provocation. 

A second lawsuit, which he likewise gained; was one which he undertookagainst the chapter of Sainte-Croix with regard to a house, his claim towhich the chapter, disputed. Here again he displayed the samedetermination to exact his strict legal rights to the last iota, andunfortunately Mignon, the attorney of the unsuccessful chapter, was arevengeful, vindictive, and ambitious man; too commonplace ever to arriveat a high position, and yet too much above his surroundings to be contentwith the secondary position which he occupied. This man, who was a canonof the collegiate church of Sainte-Croix and director of the Ursulineconvent, will have an important part to play in the following narrative. Being as hypocritical as Urbain was straightforward, his ambition was togain wherever his name was known a reputation for exalted piety; hetherefore affected in his life the asceticism of an anchorite and theself-denial of a saint. As he had much experience in ecclesiasticallawsuits, he looked on the chapter's loss of this one, of which he had insome sort guaranteed the success, as a personal humiliation, so that whenUrbain gave himself airs of triumph and exacted the last letter of hisbond, as in the case of Meunier, he turned Mignon into an enemy who wasnot only more relentless but more dangerous than the former. 

In the meantime, and in consequence of this lawsuit, a certain Barot, anuncle of Mignon and his partner as well, got up a dispute with Urbain, but as he was a man below mediocrity, Urbain required in order to crushhim only to let fall from the height of his superiority a few of thosedisdainful words which brand as deeply as a red-hot iron. This man, though totally wanting in parts, was very rich, and having no childrenwas always surrounded by a horde of relatives, every one of whom wasabsorbed in the attempt to make himself so agreeable that his name wouldappear in Barot's will. This being so, the mocking words which wererained down on Barot spattered not only himself but also all those whohad sided with him in the quarrel, and thus added considerably to thetale of Urbain's enemies. 

About this epoch a still graver event took place. Amongst the mostassiduous frequenters of the confessional in his church was a young andpretty girl, Julie by name, the daughter of the king's attorney, Trinquant--Trinquant being, as well as Barot, an uncle of Mignon. Now ithappened that this young girl fell into such a state of debility that shewas obliged to keep her room. One of her friends, named MarthePelletier, giving up society, of which she was very fond, undertook tonurse the patient, and carried her devotion so far as to shut herself upin the same room with her. When Julie Trinquant had recovered and wasable again to take her place in the world, it came out that MarthePelletier, during her weeks of retirement, had given birth to a child, which had been baptized and then put out to nurse. Now, by one of thoseodd whims which so often take possession of the public mind, everyone inLoudun persisted in asserting that the real mother of the infant was notshe who had acknowledged herself as such--that, in short, MarthePelletier had sold her good name to her friend Julie for a sum of money;and of course it followed as a matter about which there could be nopossible doubt, that Urbain was the father. 

Trinquant hearing of the reports about his daughter, took upon himself asking's attorney to have Marthe Pelletier arrested and imprisoned. Beingquestioned about the child, she insisted that she was its mother, andwould take its maintenance upon herself. To have brought a child intothe world under such circumstances was a sin, but not a crime; Trinquantwas therefore obliged to set Marthe at liberty, and the abuse of justiceof which he was guilty served only to spread the scandal farther and tostrengthen the public in the belief it had taken up. 

Hitherto, whether through the intervention of the heavenly powers, or bymeans of his own cleverness, Urbain Grandier had come out victor in everystruggle in which he had engaged, but each victor had added to the numberof his enemies, and these were now so numerous that any other than hewould have been alarmed, and have tried either to conciliate them or totake precautions against their malice; but Urbain, wrapped in his pride, and perhaps conscious of his innocence, paid no attention to the counselsof his most faithful followers, but went on his way unheeding. 

All the opponents whom till now Urbain had encountered had been entirelyunconnected with each other, and had each struggled for his ownindividual ends. Urbain's enemies, believing that the cause of hissuccess was to be found in the want of cooperation among themselves, nowdetermined to unite in order to crush him. In consequence, a conferencewas held at Barot's, at which, besides Barot himself, Meunier, Trinquant, and Mignon took part, and the latter had also brought with him oneMenuau, a king's counsel and his own most intimate friend, who was, however, influenced by other motives than friendship in joining theconspiracy. The fact was, that Menuau was in love with a woman who hadsteadfastly refused to show him any favour, and he had got firmly fixedin his head that the reason for her else inexplicable indifference anddisdain was that Urbain had been beforehand with him in finding anentrance to her heart. The object of the meeting was to agree as to thebest means of driving the common enemy out of Loudon and itsneighbourhood. 

Urbain's life was so well ordered that it presented little which hisenemies could use as a handle for their purpose. His only foible seemedto be a predilection for female society; while in return all the wivesand daughters of the place, with the unerring instinct of their sex, seeing, that the new priest was young, handsome, and eloquent, chose him, whenever it was possible, as their spiritual director. As thispreference had already offended many husbands and fathers, the decisionthe conspirators arrived at was that on this side alone was Grandiervulnerable, and that their only chance of success was to attack him wherehe was weakest. Almost at once, therefore, the vague reports which hadbeen floating about began to attain a certain definiteness: there wereallusions made, though no name was mentioned, to a young girl in Loudun;who in spite of Grandier's frequent unfaithfulness yet remained hismistress-in-chief; then it began to be whispered that the young girl, having had conscientious scruples about her love for Urbain, he hadallayed them by an act of sacrilege--that is to say, he had, as priest, in the middle of the night, performed the service of marriage betweenhimself and his mistress. The more absurd the reports, the more credencedid they gain, and it was not long till everyone in Loudun believed themtrue, although no one was able to name the mysterious heroine of the talewho had had the courage to contract a marriage with a priest; andconsidering how small Loudun was, this was most extraordinary. 

Resolute and full of courage as was Grandier, at length he could notconceal from himself that his path lay over quicksands: he felt thatslander was secretly closing him round, and that as soon as he was wellentangled in her shiny folds, she would reveal herself by raising herabhorred head, and that then a mortal combat between them would begin. But it was one of his convictions that to draw back was to acknowledgeone's guilt; besides, as far as he was concerned, it was probably toolate for him to retrace his steps. He therefore went on his way, asunyielding, as scornful, and as haughty as ever. 

Among those who were supposed to be most active in spreading the slandersrelative to Urbain was a man called Duthibaut, a person of importance inthe province, who was supposed by the townspeople to hold very advancedviews, and who was a "Sir Oracle" to whom the commonplace and vulgarturned for enlightenment. Some of this man's strictures on Grandier werereported to the latter, especially some calumnies to which Duthibaut hadgiven vent at the Marquis de Bellay's; and one day, Grandier, arrayed inpriestly garments, was about to enter the church of Sainte-Croix toassist in the service, he encountered Duthibaut at the entrance, and withhis usual haughty disdain accused him of slander. Duthibaut, who had gotinto the habit of saying and doing whatever came into his head withoutfear of being called to account, partly because of his wealth and partlybecause of the influence he had gained over the narrow-minded, who are sonumerous in a small provincial town, and who regarded him as being muchabove them, was so furious at this public reprimand, that he raised hiscane and struck Urbain. 

The opportunity which this affront afforded Grandier of being revenged onall his enemies was too precious to be neglected, but, convinced, withtoo much reason, that he would never obtain justice from the localauthorities, although the respect due to the Church had been infringed, in his person he decided to appeal to King Louis XIII, who deigned toreceive him, and deciding that the insult offered to a priest robed inthe sacred vestments should be expiated, sent the cause to the high courtof Parliament, with instructions that the case against Duthibaut shouldbe tried and decided there. 

Hereupon Urbain's enemies saw they had no time to lose, and tookadvantage of his absence to make counter accusations against him. Twoworthies beings, named Cherbonneau and Bugrau, agreed to becomeinformers, and were brought before the ecclesiastical magistrate atPoitiers. They accused Grandier of having corrupted women and girls, ofindulging in blasphemy and profanity, of neglecting to read his breviarydaily, and of turning God's sanctuary into a place of debauchery andprostitution. The information was taken down, and Louis Chauvet, thecivil lieutenant, and the archpriest of Saint-Marcel and the Loudenois, were appointed to investigate the matter, so that, while Urbain wasinstituting proceedings against Duthibaut in Paris, information was laidagainst himself in Loudun. This matter thus set going was pushed forwardwith all the acrimony so common in religious prosecutions; Trinquantappeared as a witness, and drew many others after him, and whateveromissions were found in the depositions were interpolated according tothe needs of the prosecution. The result was that the case when fullygot up appeared to be so serious that it was sent to the Bishop ofPoitiers for trial. Now the bishop was not only surrounded by thefriends of those who were bringing the accusations against Grandier, buthad himself a grudge against him. It had happened some time before thatUrbain, the case being urgent, had dispensed with the usual notice of amarriage, and the bishop, knowing this, found in the papers laid beforehim, superficial as they were, sufficient evidence against Urbain tojustify him in issuing a warrant for his apprehension, which was drawn upin the following words:

"Henri-Louis, Chataignier de la Rochepezai, by divine mercy Bishop ofPoitiers, in view of the charges and informations conveyed to us by thearchpriest of Loudun against Urbain Grandier, priest-in-charge of theChurch of Saint-Pierre in the Market-Place at Loudun, in virtue of acommission appointed by us directed to the said archpriest, or in hisabsence to the Prior of Chassaignes, in view also of the opinion given byour attorney upon the said charges, have ordered and do hereby order thatUrbain Grandier, the accused, be quietly taken to the prison in ourpalace in Poitiers, if it so be that he be taken and apprehended, and ifnot, that he be summoned to appear at his domicile within three days, bythe first apparitor-priest, or tonsured clerk, and also by the firstroyal sergeant, upon this warrant, and we request the aid of the secularauthorities, and to them, or to any one of them, we hereby give power andauthority to carry out this decree notwithstanding any opposition orappeal, and the said Grandier having been heard, such a decision will begiven by our attorney as the facts may seem to warrant. 

"Given at Dissay the 22nd day of October 1629, and signed in the originalas follows:

"HENRI-LOUIS, Bishop of Poitiers. "

Grandier was, as we have said, at Paris when these proceedings were takenagainst him, conducting before the Parliament his case against Duthibaut. The latter received a copy of the decision arrived at by the bishop, before Grandier knew of the charges that had been formulated against him, and having in the course of his defence drawn a terrible picture of theimmorality of Grandier's life, he produced as a proof of the truth of hisassertions the damning document which had been put into his hands. Thecourt, not knowing what to think of the turn affairs had taken, decidedthat before considering the accusations brought by Grandier, he mustappear before his bishop to clear himself of the charges, brought againsthimself. Consequently he left Paris at once, and arrived at Loudun, where he only stayed long enough to learn what had happened in hisabsence, and then went on to Poitiers in order to draw up his defence. He had, however, no sooner set foot in the place than he was arrested bya sheriff's officer named Chatry, and confined in the prison of theepiscopal palace. 

It was the middle of November, and the prison was at all times cold anddamp, yet no attention was paid to Grandier's request that he should betransferred to some other place of confinement. Convinced by this thathis enemies had more influence than he had supposed, he resolved topossess his soul in patience, and remained a prisoner for two months, during which even his warmest friends believed him lost, while Duthibautopenly laughed at the proceedings instituted against himself, which henow believed would never go any farther, and Barot had already selectedone of his heirs, a certain Ismael Boulieau, as successor to Urbain aspriest and prebendary. 

It was arranged that the costs of the lawsuit should be defrayed out of afund raised by the prosecutors, the rich paying for the poor; for as allthe witnesses lived at Loudun and the trial was to take place atPoitiers, considerable expense would be incurred by the necessity ofbringing so many people such a distance; but the lust of vengeance provedstronger than the lust of gold; the subscription expected from each beingestimated according to his fortune, each paid without a murmur, and atthe end of two months the case was concluded. 

In spite of the evident pains taken by the prosecution to strain theevidence against the defendant, the principal charge could not besustained, which was that he had led astray many wives and daughters inLoudun. No one woman came forward to complain of her ruin by Grandier;the name of no single victim of his alleged immorality was given. Theconduct of the case was the most extraordinary ever seen; it was evidentthat the accusations were founded on hearsay and not on fact, and yet adecision and sentence against Grandier were pronounced on January 3rd, 1630. The sentence was as follows: For three months to fast each Fridayon bread and water by way of penance; to be inhibited from theperformance of clerical functions in the diocese of Poitiers for fiveyears, and in the town of Loudun for ever. 

Both parties appealed from this decision: Grandier to the Archbishop ofBordeaux, and his adversaries, on the advice of the attorney to thediocese, pleading a miscarriage of justice, to the Parliament of Paris;this last appeal being made in order to overwhelm Grandier and break hisspirit. But Grandier's resolution enabled him to face this attackboldly: he engaged counsel to defend his case before the Parliament, while he himself conducted his appeal to the Archbishop of Bordeaux. Butas there were many necessary witnesses, and it was almost impossible tobring them all such a great distance, the archiepiscopal court sent theappeal to the presidial court of Poitiers. The public prosecutor ofPoitiers began a fresh investigation, which being conducted withimpartiality was not encouraging to Grandier's accusers. There had beenmany conflicting statements made by the witnesses, and these were nowrepeated: other witnesses had declared quite openly that they had beenbribed; others again stated that their depositions had been tamperedwith; and amongst these latter was a certain priest named Mechin, andalso that Ishmael Boulieau whom Barot had been in such a hurry to selectas candidate for the reversion of Grandier's preferments. Boulieau'sdeposition has been lost, but we can lay Mechin's before the reader, forthe original has been preserved, just as it issued from his pen:

"I, Gervais Mechin, curate-in-charge of the Church of Saint-Pierre in theMarket Place at Loudun, certify by these presents, signed by my hand, torelieve my conscience as to a certain report which is being spreadabroad, that I had said in support of an accusation brought by GillesRobert, archpriest, against Urbain Grandier, priest-in-charge ofSaint-Pierre, that I had found the said Grandier lying with women andgirls in the church of Saint Pierre, the doors being closed. 

"ITEM, that on several different occasions, at unsuitable hours both dayand night, I had seen women and girls disturb the said Grandier by goinginto his bedroom, and that some of the said women remained with him fromone o'clock in the after noon till three o'clock the next morning, theirmaids bringing them their suppers and going away again at once. 

"ITEM, that I had seen the said Grandier in the church, the doors beingopen, but that as soon as some women entered he closed them. 

"As I earnestly desire that such reports should cease, I declare by thesepresents that I have never seen the said Grandier with women or girls inthe church, the doors being closed; that I have never found him therealone with women or girls; that when he spoke to either someone else wasalways present, and the doors were open; and as to their posture, I thinkI made it sufficiently clear when in the witness-box that Grandier wasseated and the women scattered over the church; furthermore, I have neverseen either women or girls enter Grandier's bedroom either by day ornight, although it is true that I have heard people in the corridorcoming and going late in the evening, who they were I cannot say, but abrother of the said Grandier sleeps close by; neither have I anyknowledge that either women or girls, had their suppers brought to thesaid room. I have also never said that he neglected the reading of hisbreviary, because that would be contrary to the truth, seeing that onseveral occasions he borrowed mine and read his hours in it. I alsodeclare that I have never seen him close the doors of the church, andthat whenever I have seen him speaking to women I have never noticed anyimpropriety; I have not ever seen him touch them in any way, they haveonly spoken together; and if anything is found in my deposition contraryto the above, it is without my knowledge, and was never read to me, for Iwould not have signed it, and I say and affirm all this in homage to thetruth. 

"Done the last day of October 1630, "(Signed) G. MECHIN. "

In the face of such proofs of innocence none of the accusations could beconsidered as established and so, according to the decision of thepresidial court of Poitiers, dated the 25th of May 1634, the decision ofthe bishop's court was reversed, and Grandier was acquitted of thecharges brought against him. However, he had still to appear before theArchbishop of Bordeaux, that his acquittal might be ratified. Grandiertook advantage of a visit which the archbishop paid to his abbey atSaint-Jouin-les-Marmes, which was only three leagues from Loudun, to makethis appearance; his adversaries, who were discouraged by the result ofthe proceedings at Poitiers, scarcely made any defence, and thearchbishop, after an examination which brought clearly to light theinnocence of the accused, acquitted and absolved him. 

The rehabilitation of Grandier before his bishop had two importantresults: the first was that it clearly established his innocence, and thesecond that it brought into prominence his high attainments and eminentqualities. The archbishop seeing the persecutions to which he wassubjected, felt a kindly interest in him, and advised him to exchangeinto some other diocese, leaving a town the principal inhabitants ofwhich appeared to have vowed him a relentless hate. But such anabandonment of his rights was foreign to the character of Urbain, and hedeclared to his superior that, strong in His Grace's approbation and thetestimony of his own conscience, he would remain in the place to whichGod had called him. Monseigneur de Sourdis did not feel it his duty tourge Urbain any further, but he had enough insight into his character toperceive that if Urbain should one day fall, it would be, like Satan, through pride; for he added another sentence to his decision, recommending him to fulfil the duties of his office with discretion andmodesty, according to the decrees of the Fathers and the canonicalconstitutions. The triumphal entry of Urbain into Loudun with which webegan our narrative shows the spirit in which he took his recommendation. 

CHAPTER II

Urbain Granadier was not satisfied with the arrogant demonstration bywhich he signalised his return, which even his friends had felt to be illadvised; instead of allowing the hate he had aroused to die away or atleast to fall asleep by letting the past be past, he continued with morezeal than ever his proceedings against Duthibaut, and succeeded inobtaining a decree from the Parliament of La Tournelle, by whichDuthibaut was summoned before it, and obliged to listen bareheaded to areprimand, to offer apologies, and to pay damages and costs. 

Having thus got the better of one enemy, Urbain turned on the others, andshowed himself more indefatigable in the pursuit of justice than they hadbeen in the pursuit of vengeance. The decision of the archbishop hadgiven him a right to a sum of money for compensation, and interestthereon, as well as to the restitution of the revenues of his livings, and there being some demur made, he announced publicly that he intendedto exact this reparation to the uttermost farthing, and set aboutcollecting all the evidence which was necessary for the success of a newlawsuit for libel and forgery which he intended to begin. It was in vainthat his friends assured him that the vindication of his innocence hadbeen complete and brilliant, it was in vain that they tried to convincehim of the danger of driving the vanquished to despair, Urbain repliedthat he was ready to endure all the persecutions which his enemies mightsucceed in inflicting on him, but as long as he felt that he had rightupon his side he was incapable of drawing back. 

Grandier's adversaries soon became conscious of the storm which wasgathering above their heads, and feeling that the struggle betweenthemselves and this man would be one of life or death, Mignon, Barot, Meunier, Duthibaut, and Menuau met Trinquant at the village of Pindadane, in a house belonging to the latter, in order to consult about the dangerswhich threatened them. Mignon had, however, already begun to weave thethreads of a new intrigue, which he explained in full to the others; theylent a favourable ear, and his plan was adopted. We shall see it unfolditself by degrees, for it is the basis of our narrative. 

We have already said that Mignon was the director of the convent ofUrsulines at Loudun: Now the Ursuline order was quite modern, for thehistoric controversies to which the slightest mention of the martyrdom ofSt. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins gave rise, had long hinderedthe foundation of an order in the saint's honour. However, in 1560 MadameAngele de Bresse established such an order in Italy, with the same rulesas the Augustinian order. This gained the approbation of Pope GregoryXIII in 1572. In 1614, Madeleine Lhuillier, with the approval of PopePaul V, introduced this order into France, by founding a convent atParis, whence it rapidly spread over the whole kingdom, so-that in 1626, only six years before the time when the events just related took place, asisterhood was founded in the little town of Loudun. 

Although this community at first consisted entirely of ladies of goodfamily, daughters of nobles, officers, judges, and the better class ofcitizens, and numbered amongst its founders Jeanne de Belfield, daughterof the late Marquis of Cose, and relative of M. De Laubardemont, Mademoiselle de Fazili, cousin of the cardinal-duke, two ladies of thehouse of Barbenis de Nogaret, Madame de Lamothe, daughter of the MarquisLamothe-Barace of Anjou, and Madame d'Escoubleau de Sourdis, of the samefamily as the Archbishop of Bordeaux, yet as these nuns had almost allentered the convent because of their want of fortune, the community founditself at the time of its establishment richer in blood than in money, and was obliged instead of building to purchase a private house. Theowner of this house was a certain Moussaut du Frene, whose brother was apriest. This brother, therefore, naturally became the first director ofthese godly women. Less than a year after his appointment he died, andthe directorship became vacant. 

The Ursulines had bought the house in which they lived much below itsnormal value, for it was regarded as a haunted house by all the town. Thelandlord had rightly thought that there was no better way of getting ridof the ghosts than to confront them with a religious sisterhood, themembers of which, passing their days in fasting and prayer, would behardly likely to have their nights disturbed by bad spirits; and intruth, during the year which they had already passed in the house, noghost had ever put in an appearance--a fact which had greatly increasedthe reputation of the nuns for sanctity. 

When their director died, it so happened that the boarders took advantageof the occasion to indulge in some diversion at the expense of the oldernuns, who were held in general detestation by the youth of theestablishment on account of the rigour with which they enforced the rulesof the order. Their plan was to raise once more those spirits which hadbeen, as everyone supposed, permanently relegated to outer darkness. Sonoises began to be heard on the roof of the house, which resolvedthemselves into cries and groans; then growing bolder, the spiritsentered the attics and garrets, announcing their presence by clanking ofchains; at last they became so familiar that they invaded thedormitories, where they dragged the sheets off the sisters and abstractedtheir clothes. 

Great was the terror in the convent, and great the talk in the town, sothat the mother superior called her wisest, nuns around her and askedthem what, in their opinion, would be the best course to take in thedelicate circumstances in which they found themselves. Without adissentient voice, the conclusion arrived at was, that the late directorshould be immediately replaced by a man still holier than he, if such aman could be found, and whether because he possessed a reputation forsanctity, or for some other reason, their choice fell on Urbain Grandier. When the offer of the post was brought to him, he answered that he wasalready responsible for two important charges, and that he therefore hadnot enough time to watch over the snow-white flock which they wished toentrust to him, as a good shepherd should, and he recommended the ladysuperior to seek out another more worthy and less occupied than himself. 

This answer, as may be supposed, wounded the self-esteem of the sisters:they next turned their eyes towards Mignon, priest and canon of thecollegiate church of Sainte-Croix, and he, although he felt deeply hurtthat they had not thought first of him, accepted the position eagerly;but the recollection that Grandier had been preferred before himself keptawake in, him one of those bitter hatreds which time, instead ofsoothing, intensifies. From the foregoing narrative the reader can seeto what this hate led. 

As soon as the new director was appointed, the mother superior confidedto him the kind of foes which he would be expected to vanquish. Insteadof comforting her by the assurance that no ghosts existing, it could notbe ghosts who ran riot in the house, Mignon saw that by pretending to laythese phantoms he could acquire the reputation for holiness he so muchdesired. So he answered that the Holy Scriptures recognised theexistence of ghosts by relating how the witch of Endor had made the shadeof Samuel appear to Saul. He went on to say that the ritual of theChurch possessed means of driving away all evil spirits, no matter howpersistent they were, provided that he who undertook the task were purein thought and deed, and that he hoped soon, by the help of God, to ridthe convent of its nocturnal visitants, whereupon as a preparation fortheir expulsion he ordered a three days' fast, to be followed by ageneral confession. 

It does not require any great cleverness to understand how easily Mignonarrived at the truth by questioning the young penitents as they camebefore him. The boarders who had played at being ghosts confessed theirfolly, saying that they had been helped by a young novice of sixteenyears of age, named Marie Aubin. She acknowledged that this was true; itwas she who used to get up in the middle of the night, and open thedormitory door, which her more timid room-mates locked most carefullyfrom within every night, before going to bed--a fact which greatlyincreased their terror when, despite their precautions, the ghosts stillgot in. Under pretext of not exposing them to the anger of the superior, whose suspicions would be sure to be awakened if the apparitions were todisappear immediately after the general confession, Mignon directed themto renew their nightly frolics from time to time, but at longer andlonger intervals. He then sought an interview with the superior, andassured her that he had found the minds of all those under her charge sochaste and pure that he felt sure through his earnest prayers he wouldsoon clear the convent of the spirits which now pervaded it. 

Everything happened as the director had foretold, and the reputation forsanctity of the holy man, who by watching and praying had delivered theworthy Ursulines from their ghostly assailants, increased enormously inthe town of Loudun. 

CHAPTER III

Hardly had tranquillity been restored when Mignon, Duthibaut, Menuau, Meunier, and Barot, having lost their cause before the Archbishop ofBordeaux, and finding themselves threatened by Grandier with aprosecution for libel and forgery, met together to consult as to the bestmeans of defending themselves before the unbending severity of this man, who would, they felt, destroy them if they did not destroy him. 

The result of this consultation was that very shortly afterwards queerreports began to fly about; it was whispered that the ghosts whom thepious director had expelled had again invaded the convent, under aninvisible and impalpable form, and that several of the nuns had given, bytheir words and acts, incontrovertible proofs of being possessed. 

When these reports were mentioned to Mignon, he, instead of denying theirtruth, cast up his eyes to heaven and said that God was certainly a greatand merciful God, but it was also certain that Satan was very clever, especially when he was barked by that false human science called magic. However, as to the reports, though they were not entirely withoutfoundation, he would not go so far as to say that any of the sisters werereally possessed by devils, that being a question which time alone coulddecide. 

The effect of such an answer on minds already prepared to listen to themost impossible things, may easily be guessed. Mignon let the gossip goits rounds for several months without giving it any fresh food, but atlength, when the time was ripe, he called on the priest of Saint-Jacquesat Chinon, and told him that matters had now come to such a pass in theUrsuline convent that he felt it impossible to bear up alone under theresponsibility of caring for the salvation of the afflicted nuns, and hebegged him to accompany him to the convent. This priest, whose name wasPierre Barre, was exactly the man whom Mignon needed in such a crisis. He was of melancholy temperament, and dreamed dreams and saw visions; hisone ambition was to gain a reputation for asceticism and holiness. Desiring to surround his visit with the solemnity befitting such animportant event, he set out for Loudun at the head of all hisparishioners, the whole procession going on foot, in order to arouseinterest and curiosity; but this measure was quite needless it took lessthan that to set the town agog. 

While the faithful filled the churches offering up prayers for thesuccess of the exorcisms, Mignon and Barre entered upon their task at theconvent, where they remained shut up with the nuns for six hours. At theend of this time Barre appeared and announced to his parishioners thatthey might go back to Chinon without him, for he had made up his mind toremain for the present at Loudun, in order to aid the venerable directorof the Ursuline convent in the holy work he had undertaken; he enjoinedon them to pray morning and evening, with all possible fervour, that, inspite of the serious dangers by which it was surrounded, the good causemight finally triumph. This advice, unaccompanied as it was by anyexplanation, redoubled the curiosity of the people, and the belief gainedground that it was not merely one or two nuns who were possessed ofdevils, but the whole sisterhood. It was not very long before the nameof the magician who had worked this wonder began to be mentioned quiteopenly: Satan, it was said, had drawn Urbain Grandier into his power, through his pride. Urbain had entered into a pact with the Evil Spiritby which he had sold him his soul in return for being made the mostlearned man on earth. Now, as Urbain's knowledge was much greater thanthat of the inhabitants of Loudun, this story gained general credence inthe town, although here and there was to be found a man sufficientlyenlightened to shrug his shoulders at these absurdities, and to laugh atthe mummeries, of which as yet he saw only the ridiculous side, For the next ten or twelve days Mignon and Barre spent the greater partof their time at the convent; sometimes remaining there for six hours ata stretch, sometimes the entire day. At length, on Monday, the 11th ofOctober, 1632, they wrote to the priest of Venier, to Messire GuillaumeCerisay de la Gueriniere, bailiff of the Loudenois, and to Messire LouisChauvet, civil lieutenant, begging them to visit the Ursuline convent, inorder to examine two nuns who were possessed by evil spirits, and toverify the strange and almost incredible manifestations of thispossession. Being thus formally appealed to, the two magistrates couldnot avoid compliance with the request. It must be confessed that theywere not free from curiosity, and felt far from sorry at being able toget to the bottom of the mystery of which for some time the whole townwas talking. They repaired, therefore, to the convent, intending to makea thorough investigation as to the reality of the possession and as tothe efficacy of the exorcisms employed. Should they judge that the nunswere really possessed, and that those who tried to deliver them were inearnest, they would authorise the continuation of the efforts atexorcism; but if they were not satisfied on these two points, they wouldsoon put an end to the whole thing as a comedy. When they reached thedoor, Mignon, wearing alb and stole, came to meet them. He told themthat the feelings of the nuns had for more than two weeks been harrowedby the apparition of spectres and other blood-curdling visions, that themother superior and two nuns had evidently been possessed by evil spiritsfor over a week; that owing to the efforts of Barre and same Carmelitefriars who were good enough to assist him against their common enemies, the devils had been temporarily driven out, but on the previous Sundaynight, the 10th of October, the mother superior, Jeanne de Belfield, whose conventual name was Jeanne des Anges, and a lay sister calledJeanne Dumagnoux, had again been entered into by the same spirits. Ithad, however, been discovered by means of exorcisms that a new compact, of which the symbol and token was a bunch of roses, had been concluded, the symbol and token of the first having been three black thorns. Headded that during the time of the first possession the demons had refusedto give their names, but by the power of his exorcisms this reluctancehad been overcome, the spirit which had resumed possession of the mothersuperior having at length revealed that its name was Ashtaroth, one ofthe greatest enemies of God, while the devil which had entered into thelay sister was of a lower order, and was called Sabulon. Unfortunately, continued Mignon, just now the two afflicted nuns were resting, and herequested the bailiff and the civil lieutenant to put off theirinspection till a little later. The two magistrates were just about togo away, when a nun appeared, saying that the devils were again doingtheir worst with the two into whom they had entered. Consequently, theyaccompanied Mignon and the priest from Venier to an upper room, in whichwere seven narrow beds, of which two only were occupied, one by themother superior and the other by the lay sister. The superior, who wasthe more thoroughly possessed of the two, was surrounded by the Carmelitemonks, the sisters belonging to the convent, Mathurin Rousseau, priestand canon of Sainte-Croix, and Mannouri, a surgeon from the town. 

No sooner did the two magistrates join the others than the superior wasseized with violent convulsions, writhing and uttering squeals in exactimitation of a sucking pig. The two magistrates looked on in profoundastonishment, which was greatly increased when they saw the patient nowbury herself in her bed, now spring right out of it, the wholeperformance being accompanied by such diabolical gestures and grimacesthat, if they were not quite convinced that the possession was genuine, they were at least filled with admiration of the manner in which it wassimulated. Mignon next informed the bailiff and the civil lieutenant, that although the superior had never learned Latin she would reply inthat language to all the questions addressed to her, if such were theirdesire. The magistrates answered that as they were there in order toexamine thoroughly into the facts of the case, they begged the exorciststo give them every possible proof that the possession was real. Uponthis, Mignon approached the mother superior, and, having ordered everyoneto be silent, placed two of his fingers in her mouth, and, having gonethrough the form of exorcism prescribed by the ritual, he asked thefollowing questions word for word as they are given, D. Why have you entered into the body of this young girl?R. Causa animositatis. Out of enmity. D. Per quod pactum? By what pact?R. Per flores. By flowers. D. Quales? What flowers?R. Rosas. Roses. D. Quis misfit? By whom wert thou sent?

At this question the magistrates remarked that the superior hesitatedto reply; twice she opened her mouth in vain, but the third time shesaid in a weak voice--

D. Dic cognomen? What is his surname?R. Urbanus. Urbain. 

Here there was again the same hesitation, but as if impelled by thewill of the exorcist she answered--

R. Grandier. Grandier. D. Dic qualitatem? What is his profession?R. Sacerdos. A priest. D. Cujus ecclesiae? Of what church?R. Sancti Petri. Saint-Pierre. D. Quae persona attulit flores? Who brought the flowers?R. Diabolica. Someone sent by the devil. 

As the patient pronounced the last word she recovered her senses, andhaving repeated a prayer, attempted to swallow a morsel of bread whichwas offered her; she was, however, obliged to spit it out, saying it wasso dry she could not get it down. 

Something more liquid was then brought, but even of that she couldswallow very little, as she fell into convulsions every few minutes. 

Upon this the two officials, seeing there was nothing more to be got outof the superior, withdrew to one of the window recesses and began toconverse in a low tone; whereupon Mignon, who feared that they had notbeen sufficiently impressed, followed them, and drew their attention tothe fact that there was much in what they had just seen to recall thecase of Gaufredi, who had been put to death a few years before inconsequence of a decree of the Parliament of Aix, in Provence. Thisill-judged remark of Mignon showed so clearly what his aim was that themagistrates made no reply. The civil lieutenant remarked that he hadbeen surprised that Mignon had not made any attempt to find out the causeof the enmity of which the superior had spoken, and which it was soimportant to find out; but Mignon excused himself by saying that he hadno right to put questions merely to gratify curiosity. The civillieutenant was about to insist on the matter being investigated, when thelay sister in her turn went into a fit, thus extricating Mignon from hisembarrassment. The magistrates approached the lay sister's bed at once, and directed Mignon to put the same questions to her as to the superior:he did so, but all in vain; all she would reply was, "To the other! Tothe other!"

Mignon explained this refusal to answer by saying that the evil spiritwhich was in her was of an inferior order, and referred all questionersto Ashtaroth, who was his superior. As this was the only explanation, good or bad, offered them by Mignon, the magistrates went away, and drewup a report of all they had seen and heard without comment, merelyappending their signatures. 

But in the town very few people showed the same discretion and reticenceas the magistrates. The bigoted believed, the hypocrites pretended tobelieve; and the worldly-minded, who were numerous, discussed thedoctrine of possession in all its phases, and made no secret of their ownentire incredulity. They wondered, and not without reason it must beconfessed, what had induced the devils to go out of the nuns' bodies fortwo days only, and then come back and resume possession, to the confusionof the exorcists; further, they wanted to know why the mother superior'sdevil spoke Latin, while the lay sister's was ignorant of that tongue;for a mere difference of rank in the hierarchy of hell did not seem asufficient explanation of such a difference in education; Mignon'srefusal to go on with his interrogations as to the cause of the enmitymade them, they said, suspect that, knowing he had reached the end ofAshtaroth's classical knowledge, he felt it useless to try to continuethe dialogue in the Ciceronian idiom. Moreover, it was well known thatonly a few days before all Urbain's worst enemies had met in conclave inthe village of Puidardane; and besides, how stupidly Mignon had shown hishand by mentioning Gaufredi, the priest who had been executed at Aix:lastly, why had not a desire for impartiality been shown by calling inother than Carmelite monks to be present at the exorcism, that orderhaving a private quarrel with Grandier? It must be admitted that thisway of looking at the case was not wanting in shrewdness. 

On the following day, October 12th, the bailiff and the civil lieutenant, having heard that exorcisms had been again tried without their havingbeen informed beforehand, requested a certain Canon Rousseau to accompanythem, and set out with him and their clerk for the convent. On arriving, they asked for Mignon, and on his appearance they told him that thismatter of exorcism was of such importance that no further steps were tobe taken in it without the authorities being present, and that in futurethey were to be given timely notice of every attempt to get rid of theevil spirits. They added that this was all the more necessary asMignon's position as director of the sisterhood and his well-known hatefor Grandier would draw suspicions on him unworthy of his cloth, suspicions which he ought to be the first to wish to see dissipated, andthat quickly; and that, therefore, the work which he had so piously begunwould be completed by exorcists appointed by the court. 

Mignon replied that, though he had not the slightest objection to themagistrates being present at all the exorcisms, yet he could not promisethat the spirits would reply to anyone except himself and Barre. Just atthat moment Barre came on the scene, paler and more gloomy than ever, andspeaking with the air of a man whose word no one could help believing, heannounced that before their arrival some most extraordinary things hadtaken place. The magistrates asked what things, and Barre replied thathe had learned from the mother superior that she was possessed, not byone, but by seven devils, of whom Ashtaroth was the chief; that Grandierhad entrusted his pact with the devil, under the symbol of a bunch ofroses, to a certain Jean Pivart, to give to a girl who had introduced itinto the convent garden by throwing it over the wall; that this tookplace in the night between Saturday and Sunday "hora secunda nocturna"(two hours after midnight); that those were the very words the superiorhad used, but that while she readily named Pivart, she absolutely refusedto give the name of the girl; that on asking what Pivart was; she hadreplied, "Pauper magus" (a poor magician); that he then had pressed heras to the word magus, and that she had replied "Magicianus et civis"(magician and citizen); and that just as she said those words themagistrates had arrived, and he had asked no more questions. 

The two officials listened to this information with the seriousnessbefitting men entrusted with high judicial functions, and announced tothe two priests that they proposed to visit the possessed women andwitness for themselves the miracles that were taking place. The clericsoffered no opposition, but said they feared that the devils were fatiguedand would refuse to reply; and, in fact, when the officials reached thesickroom the two patients appeared to have regained some degree of calm. Mignon took advantage of this quiet moment to say mass, to which the twomagistrates listened devoutly and tranquilly, and while the sacrifice wasbeing offered the demons did not dare to move. It was expected that theywould offer some opposition at the elevation of the Host, but everythingpassed off without disturbance, only the lay sister's hands and feettwitched a great deal; and this was the only fact which the magistratesthought worthy of mention in their report for that morning. Barreassured them, however, that if they would return about three o'clock thedevils would probably have recovered sufficiently from their fatigue togive a second performance. 

As the two gentlemen had determined to see the affair to the end, theyreturned to the convent at the hour named, accompanied by Messire Ireneede Sainte-Marthe, sieur Deshurneaux; and found the room in which thepossessed were lying full of curious spectators; for the exorcists hadbeen true prophets--the devils were at work again. 

The superior, as always, was the more tormented of the two, as was onlyto be expected, she having seven devils in her all at once; she wasterribly convulsed, and was writhing and foaming at the mouth as if shewere mad. No one could long continue in such a condition without seriousinjury to health; Barre therefore asked the devil-in-chief how soon hewould come out. "Cras mane" (To-morrow morning), he replied. Theexorcist then tried to hurry him, asking him why he would not come out atonce; whereupon the superior murmured the word "Pactum" (A pact); andthen "Sacerdos" (A priest), and finally "Finis, " or "Finit, " for eventhose nearest could not catch the word distinctly, as the devil, afraiddoubtless of perpetrating a barbarism, spoke through the nun's closelyclenched teeth. This being all decidedly unsatisfying, the magistratesinsisted that the examination should continue, but the devils had againexhausted themselves, and refused to utter another word. The priest eventried touching the superior's head with the pyx, while prayers andlitanies were recited, but it was all in vain, except that some of thespectators thought that the contortions of the patient became moreviolent when the intercessions of certain saints were invoked, as forinstance Saints Augustine Jerome, Antony, and Mary Magdalene. Barre nextdirected the mother superior to dedicate her heart and soul to God, whichshe did without difficulty; but when he commanded her to dedicate herbody also, the chief devil indicated by fresh convulsions that he was notgoing to allow himself to be deprived of a domicile without resistance, and made those who had heard him say that he would leave the next morningfeel that he had only said so under compulsion; and their curiosity as tothe result became heightened. At length, however, despite the obstinateresistance of the demon, the superior succeeded in dedicating her bodyalso to God, and thus victorious her features resumed their usualexpression, and smiling as if nothing had happened, she turned to Barreand said that there was no vestige of Satan left in her. The civillieutenant then asked her if she remembered the questions she had beenasked and the answers she had given, but she replied that she rememberednothing; but afterwards, having taken some refreshment, she said to thosearound her that she recollected perfectly how the first possession, overwhich Mignon had triumphed, had taken place: one evening about teno'clock, while several nuns were still in her room, although she wasalready in bed, it seemed to her that someone took her hand and laidsomething in it, closing her fingers; at that instant she felt a sharppain as if she had been pricked by three pins, and hearing her scream, the nuns came to her bedside to ask what ailed her. She held out herhand, and they found three black thorns sticking in it, each having madea tiny wound. Just as she had told this tale, the lay sister, as if toprevent all commentary, was seized with convulsions, and Barrerecommenced his prayers and exorcisms, but was soon interrupted byshrieks; for one of the persons present had seen a black cat come downthe chimney and disappear. Instantly everyone concluded it must be thedevil, and began to seek it out. It was not without great difficultythat it was caught; for, terrified at the sight of so many people and atthe noise, the poor animal had sought refuge under a canopy; but at lastit was secured and carried to the superior's bedside, where Barre beganhis exorcisms once more, covering the cat with signs of the cross, andadjuring the devil to take his true shape. Suddenly the 'touriere', (thewoman who received the tradespeople, ) came forward, declaring thesupposed devil to be only her cat, and she immediately took possession ofit, lest some harm should happen to it. 

The gathering had been just about to separate, but Barry fearing that theincident of the cat might throw a ridiculous light upon the evil spirits, resolved to awake once more a salutary terror by announcing that he wasgoing to burn the flowers through which the second spell had been made towork. Producing a bunch of white roses, already faded, he ordered alighted brazier to be brought. He then threw the flowers on the glowingcharcoal, and to the general astonishment they were consumed without anyvisible effect: the heavens still smiled, no peal of thunder was heard, and no unpleasant odour diffused itself through the room. Barre feelingthat the baldness of this act of destruction had had a bad effect, predicted that the morrow would bring forth wondrous things; that thechief devil would speak more distinctly than hitherto; that he wouldleave the body of the superior, giving such clear signs of his passagethat no one would dare to doubt any longer that it was a case of genuinepossession. Thereupon the criminal lieutenant, Henri Herve, who had beenpresent during the exorcism, said they must seize upon the moment of hisexit to ask about Pivart, who was unknown at Loudun, although everyonewho lived there knew everybody else. Barre replied in Latin, "Et hocdicet epuellam nominabit" (He will not only tell about him, but he willalso name the young girl). The young girl whom the devil was to namewas, it may be recollected, she who had introduced the flowers into theconvent, and whose name the demon until now had absolutely refused togive. On the strength of these promises everyone went home to await themorrow with impatience. 

CHAPTER IV

That evening Grandier asked the bailiff for an audience. At first he hadmade fun of the exorcisms, for the story had been so badly concocted, andthe accusations were so glaringly improbable, that he had not felt theleast anxiety. But as the case went on it assumed such an importantaspect, and the hatred displayed by his enemies was so intense, that thefate of the priest Gaufredi, referred to by Mignon, occurred to Urbain'smind, and in order to be beforehand with his enemies he determined tolodge a complaint against them. This complaint was founded on the factthat Mignon had performed the rite of exorcism in the presence of thecivil lieutenant, the bailiff, and many other persons, and had caused thenuns who were said to be possessed, in the hearing of all these people, to name him, Urbain, as the author of their possession. This being afalsehood and an attack upon his honour, he begged the bailiff, in whosehands the conduct of the affair had been specially placed, to order thenuns to be sequestered, apart from the rest of the sisterhood and fromeach other, and then to have each separately examined. Should thereappear to be any evidence of possession, he hoped that the bailiff wouldbe pleased to appoint clerics of well-known rank and upright character toperform whatever exorcisms were needful; such men having no bias againsthim would be more impartial than Mignon and his adherents. He alsocalled upon the bailiff to have an exact report drawn up of everythingthat took place at the exorcisms, in order that, if necessary, he aspetitioner might be able to lay it before anyone to whose judgment hemight appeal. The bailiff gave Grandier a statement of the conclusionsat which he had arrived, and told him that the exorcisms had beenperformed that day by Barre, armed with the authority of the Bishop ofPoitiers himself. Being, as we have seen, a man of common sense andentirely unprejudiced in the matter, the bailiff advised Grandier to layhis complaint before his bishop; but unfortunately he was under theauthority of the Bishop of Poitiers, who was so prejudiced against himthat he had done everything in his power to induce the Archbishop ofBordeaux to refuse to ratify the decision in favour of Grandier, pronounced by the presidial court. Urbain could not hide from themagistrate that he had nothing to hope for from this quarter, and it wasdecided that he should wait and see what the morrow would bring forth, before taking any further step. 

The impatiently expected day dawned at last, and at eight o'clock in themorning the bailiff, the king's attorney, the civil lieutenant, thecriminal lieutenant, and the provost's lieutenant, with their respectiveclerks, were already at the convent. They found the outer gate open, butthe inner door shut. In a few moments Mignon came to them and broughtthem into a waiting-room. There he told them that the nuns werepreparing for communion, and that he would be very much obliged to themif they would withdraw and wait in a house across the street, justopposite the convent, and that he would send them word when they couldcome back. The magistrates, having first informed Mignon of Urbain'spetition, retired as requested. 

An hour passed, and as Mignon did not summon them, in spite of hispromise, they all went together to the convent chapel, where they weretold the exorcisms were already over. The nuns had quitted the choir, and Mignon and Barre came to the grating and told them that they had justcompleted the rite, and that, thanks to their conjurations, the twoafflicted ones were now quite free from evil spirits. They went on tosay that they had been working together at the exorcism from seveno'clock in the morning, and that great wonders, of which they had drawnup an account, had come to pass; but they had considered it would not beproper to allow any one else to be present during the ceremony besidesthe exorcists and the possessed. The bailiff pointed out that theirmanner of proceedings was not only illegal, but that it laid them undersuspicion of fraud and collusion, in the eyes of the impartial:Moreover, as the superior had accused Grandier publicly, she was bound torenew and prove her accusation also publicly, and not in secret;furthermore, it was a great piece of insolence on the part of theexorcists to invite people of their standing and character to come to theconvent, and having kept them waiting an hour, to tell them that theyconsidered them unworthy to be admitted to the ceremony which they. Hadbeen requested to attend; and he wound up by saying that he would draw upa report, as he had already done on each of the preceding days, settingforth the extraordinary discrepancy between their promises and theirperformance. Mignon replied that he and Barre had had only one thing inview, viz. The expulsion of the, demons, and that in that they hadsucceeded, and that their success would be of great benefit to the holyCatholic faith, for they had got the demons so thoroughly into theirpower that they had been able to command them to produce within a weekmiraculous proofs of the spells cast on the nuns by Urbain Grandier andtheir wonderful deliverance therefrom; so that in future no one would beable to doubt as to the reality of the possession. Thereupon themagistrates drew up a report of all that had happened, and of what Barreand Mignon had said. This was signed by all the officials present, except the criminal lieutenant, who declared that, having perfectconfidence in the statements of the exorcists, he was anxious to donothing to increase the doubting spirit which was unhappily so prevalentamong the worldly. 

The same day the bailiff secretly warned Urbain of the refusal of thecriminal lieutenant to join with the others in signing the report, andalmost at the same moment he learned that the cause of his adversarieswas strengthened by the adhesion of a certain Messire Rene Memin, seigneur de Silly, and prefect of the town. This gentleman was held ingreat esteem not only on account of his wealth and the many offices whichhe filled, but above all on account of his powerful friends, among whomwas the cardinal-duke himself, to whom he had formerly been of use whenthe cardinal was only a prior. The character of the conspiracy had nowbecome so alarming that Grandier felt it was time to oppose it with allhis strength. Recalling his conversation with the bailiff the precedingday, during which he had advised him to lay his complaint before theBishop of Poitiers, he set out, accompanied by a priest of Loudun, namedJean Buron, for the prelate's country house at Dissay. The bishop, anticipating his visit, had already given his orders, and Grandier wasmet by Dupuis, the intendant of the palace, who, in reply to Grandier'srequest to see the bishop, told him that his lordship was ill. Urbainnext addressed himself to the bishop's chaplain, and begged him to informthe prelate that his object in coming was to lay before him the officialreports which the magistrates had drawn up of the events which had takenplace at the Ursuline convent, and to lodge a complaint as to theslanders and accusations of which he was the victim. Grandier spoke sourgently that the chaplain could not refuse to carry his message; hereturned, however, in a few moments, and told Grandier, in the presenceof Dupuis, Buron, and a certain sieur Labrasse, that the bishop advisedhim to take his case to the royal judges, and that he earnestly hoped hewould obtain justice from them. Grandier perceived that the bishop hadbeen warned against him, and felt that he was becoming more and moreentangled in the net of conspiracy around him; but he was not a man toflinch before any danger. He therefore returned immediately to Loudun, and went once more to the bailiff, to whom he related all that hadhappened at Dissay; he then, a second time, made a formal complaint as tothe slanders circulated with regard to him, and begged the magistrates tohave recourse to the king's courts in the business. He also said that hedesired to be placed under the protection of the king and his justice, asthe accusations made against him were aimed at his honour and his life. The bailiff hastened to make out a certificate of Urbain's protest, whichforbade at the same time the repetition of the slanders or the inflictionon Urbain of any injury. 

Thanks to this document, a change of parts took place: Mignon, theaccuser, became the accused. Feeling that he had powerful support behindhim, he had the audacity to appear before the bailiff the same day. Hesaid that he did not acknowledge his jurisdiction, as in what concernedGrandier and himself, they being both priests, they could only be judgedby their bishop; he nevertheless protested against the complaint lodgedby Grandier, which characterised him as a slanderer, and declared that hewas ready to give himself up as a prisoner, in order to show everyonethat he did not fear the result of any inquiry. Furthermore, he hadtaken an oath on the sacred elements the day before, in the presence ofhis parishioners who had come to mass, that in all he had hitherto donehe had been moved, not by hatred of Grandier, but by love of the truth, and by his desire for the triumph of the Catholic faith; and he insistedthat the bailiff should give him a certificate of his declaration, andserved notice of the same on Grandier that very day. 

CHAPTER V

Since October 13th, the day on which the demons had been expelled, lifeat the convent seemed to have returned to its usual quiet; but Grandierdid not let himself be lulled to sleep by the calm: he knew those withwhom he was contending too well to imagine for an instant that he wouldhear no more of them; and when the bailiff expressed pleasure at thisinterval of repose, Grandier said that it would not last long, as thenuns were only conning new parts, in order to carry on the drama in amore effective manner than ever. And in fact, on November 22nd, ReneMannouri, surgeon to the convent, was sent to one of his colleagues, named Gaspard Joubert, to beg him to come, bringing some of thephysicians of the town with him, to visit the two sisters, who were againtormented by evil spirits. Mannouri, however, had gone to the wrong man, for Joubert had a frank and loyal character, and hated everything thatwas underhand. Being determined to take no part in the business, exceptin a public and judicial manner, he applied at once to the bailiff toknow if it was by his orders that he was called in. The bailiff said itwas not, and summoned Mannouri before him to ask him by whose authorityhe had sent for Joubert. Mannouri declared that the 'touriere' had runin a fright to his house, saying that the nuns had never been worsepossessed than now, and that the director, Mignon, begged him to come atonce to the convent, bringing with him all the doctors he could find. 

The bailiff, seeing that fresh plots against Grandier were being formed, sent for him and warned him that Barre had come over from Chinon the daybefore, and had resumed his exorcisms at the convent, adding that it wascurrently reported in the town that the mother superior and Sister Clairewere again tormented by devils. The news neither astonished nordiscouraged Grandier, who replied, with his usual smile of disdain, thatit was evident his enemies were hatching new plots against him, and thatas he had instituted proceedings against them for the former ones, hewould take the same course with regard to these. At the same time, knowing how impartial the bailiff was, he begged him to accompany thedoctors and officials to the convent, and to be present at the exorcisms, and should any sign of real possession manifest itself, to sequester theafflicted nuns at once, and cause them to be examined by other personsthan Mignon and Barre, whom he had such good cause to distrust. 

The bailiff wrote to the king's attorney, who, notwithstanding his biasagainst Grandier, was forced to see that the conclusions arrived at werecorrect, and having certified this in writing, he at once sent his clerkto the convent to inquire if the superior were still possessed. In caseof an affirmative reply being given, the clerk had instructions to warnMignon and Barre that they were not to undertake exorcisms unless inpresence of the bailiff and of such officials and doctors as he mightchoose to bring with him, and that they would disobey at their peril; hewas also to tell them that Grandier's demands to have the nunssequestered and other exorcists called in were granted. 

Mignon and Barre listened while the clerk read his instructions, and thensaid they refused to recognise the jurisdiction of the bailiff in thiscase; that they had been summoned by the mother superior and SisterClaire when their strange illness returned, an illness which they wereconvinced was nothing else than possession by evil spirits; that they hadhitherto carried out their exorcisms under the authority of a commissiongiven them by the Bishop of Poitiers; and as the time for which they hadpermission had not yet expired; they would continue to exorcise as oftenas might be necessary. They had, however, given notice to the worthyprelate of what was going on, in order that he might either come himselfor send other exorcists as best suited him, so that a valid opinion as tothe reality, of the possession might be procured, for up to the presentthe worldly and unbelieving had taken upon themselves to declare in anoff-hand manner that the whole affair was a mixture of fraud anddelusion, in contempt of the glory of God and the Catholic religion. Asto the rest of the message, they would not, in any way prevent thebailiff and the other officials, with as many medical men as they choseto bring, from seeing the nuns, at least until they heard from thebishop, from whom they expected a letter next day. But it was for thenuns themselves to say whether it was convenient for them to receivevisitors; as far as concerned themselves, they desired to renew theirprotest, and declared they could not accept the bailiff as their judge, and did not think that it could be legal for them to refuse to obey acommand from their ecclesiastical superiors, whether with relation toexorcism or any other thing of which the ecclesiastical courts properlytook cognisance. The clerk brought this answer to the bailiff, and he, thinking it was better to wait for the arrival of the bishop or of freshorders from him, put off his visit to the convent until the next day. But the next day came without anything being heard of the prelate himselfor of a messenger from him. 

Early in the morning the bailiff went to the convent, but was notadmitted; he then waited patiently until noon, and seeing that no newshad arrived from Dissay, and that the convent gates were still closedagainst him, he granted a second petition of Grandier's, to the effectthat Byre and Mignon should be prohibited from questioning the superiorand the other nuns in a manner tending to blacken the character of thepetitioner or any other person. Notice of this prohibition was servedthe same day on Barre and on one nun chosen to represent the community. Barre did not pay the slightest attention to this notice, but kept onasserting that the bailiff had no right to prevent his obeying thecommands of his bishop, and declaring that henceforward he would performall exorcisms solely under ecclesiastical sanction, without any referenceto lay persons, whose unbelief and impatience impaired the solemnity withwhich such rites should be conducted. 

The best part of the day having gone over without any sign of eitherbishop or messenger, Grandier presented a new petition to the bailiff. The bailiff at once summoned all the officers of the bailiwick and theattorneys of the king, in order to lay it before them; but the king'sattorneys refused to consider the matter, declaring upon their honourthat although they did not accuse Grandier of being the cause, yet theybelieved that the nuns were veritably possessed, being convinced by thetestimony of the devout ecclesiastics in whose presence the evil spiritshad come out. This was only the ostensible reason for their refusal, thereal one being that the advocate was a relation of Mignon's, and theattorney a son-in-law of Trinquant's, to whose office he had succeeded. Thus Grandier, against whom were all the ecclesiastical judges, began tofeel as if he were condemned beforehand by the judges of the royalcourts, for he knew how very short was the interval between therecognition of the possession as a fact and the recognition of himself asits author. 

Nevertheless, in spite of the formal declarations of the king's advocateand attorney, the bailiff ordered the superior and the lay sister to beremoved to houses in town, each to be accompanied by a nun as companion. During their absence from the convent they were to be looked after byexorcists, by women of high character and position, as well as byphysicians and attendants, all of whom he himself would appoint, allothers being forbidden access to the nuns without his permission. 

The clerk was again sent to the convent with a copy of this decision, butthe superior having listened to the reading of the document, answeredthat in her own name and that of the sisterhood she refused to recognisethe jurisdiction of the bailiff; that she had already received directionsfrom the Bishop of Poitiers, dated 18th November, explaining the measureswhich were to be taken in the matter, and she would gladly send a copy ofthese directions to the bailiff, to prevent his pleading ignorance ofthem; furthermore, she demurred to the order for her removal, havingvowed to live always secluded in a convent, and that no one coulddispense her from this vow but the bishop. This protest having been madein the presence of Madame de Charnisay, aunt of two of the nuns, andSurgeon Mannouri, who was related to another, they both united in drawingup a protest against violence, in case the bailiff should insist onhaving his orders carried out, declaring that, should he make theattempt, they would resist him, as if he were a mere private individual. This document being duly signed and witnessed was immediately sent to thebailiff by the hand of his own clerk, whereupon the bailiff ordered thatpreparations should be made with regard to the sequestration, andannounced that the next day, the 24th November, he would repair to theconvent and be present at the exorcisms. 

The next day accordingly, at the appointed hour, the bailiff summonedDaniel Roger, Vincent de Faux, Gaspard Joubert, and Matthieu Fanson, allfour physicians, to his presence, and acquainting them with his reasonsfor having called them, asked them to accompany him to the convent toexamine, with the most scrupulous impartiality, two nuns whom he wouldpoint out, in order to discover if their illness were feigned, or arosefrom natural or supernatural causes. Having thus instructed them as tohis wishes, they all set out for the convent. 

They were shown into the chapel and placed close to the altar, beingseparated by a grating from the choir, in which the nuns who sang usuallysat. In a few moments the superior was carried in on a small bed, whichwas laid down before the grating. Barre then said mass, during which thesuperior went into violent convulsions. She threw her arms about, herfingers were clenched, her cheeks enormously inflated, and her eyesturned up so that only the whites could be seen. 

The mass finished, Barre approached her to administer the holy communionand to commence the exorcism. Holding the holy wafer in his hand, hesaid--

"Adora Deum tuum, creatorem tuum" (Adore God, thy Creator). 

The superior hesitated, as if she found great difficulty in making thisact of love, but at length she said--

"Adoro te" (I adore Thee). 

"Quem adoras?" (Whom dost thou adore?)

"Jesus Christus" (Jesus Christ), answered the nun, quite unconscious thatthe verb adorn governs accusative. 

This mistake, which no sixth-form boy would make, gave rise to bursts oflaughter in the church; and Daniel Douin, the provost's assessor, wasconstrained to say aloud--

"There's a devil for you, who does not know much about transitive verbs. "

Barre perceiving the bad impression that the superior's nominative hadmade, hastened to ask her--

"Quis est iste quem adoras?" (Who is it whom thou dost adore?)

His hope was that she would again reply "Jesus Christus, " but he wasdisappointed. 

"Jesu Christe, " was her answer. 

Renewed shouts of laughter greeted this infraction of one of the mostelementary rules of syntax, and several of those present exclaimed:

"Oh, your reverence, what very poor Latin!"

Barre pretended not to hear, and next asked what was the name of thedemon who had taken possession of her. The poor superior, who wasgreatly confused by the unexpected effect of her last two answers, couldnot speak for a long time; but at length with great trouble she broughtout the name Asmodee, without daring to latinise it. The exorcist theninquired how many devils the superior had in her body, and to thisquestion she replied quite fluently:

"Sex" (Six). 

The bailiff upon this requested Barre to ask the chief devil how manyevil spirits he had with him. But the need for this answer had beenforeseen, and the nun unhesitatingly returned--

"Quinque" (Five). 

This answer raised Asmodee somewhat in the opinion of those present; butwhen the bailiff adjured the superior to repeat in Greek what she hadjust said in Latin she made no reply, and on the adjuration being renewedshe immediately recovered her senses. 

The examination of the superior being thus cut short, a little nun whoappeared for the first time in public was brought forward. She began bytwice pronouncing the name of Grandier with a loud laugh; then turning tothe bystanders, called out--

"For all your number, you can do nothing worth while. "

As it was easy to see that nothing of importance was to be expected fromthis new patient, she was soon suppressed, and her place taken by the laysister Claire who had already made her debut in the mother superior'sroom. 

Hardly had she entered the choir than she uttered a groan, but as soon asthey placed her on the little bed on which the other nuns had lain, shegave way to uncontrollable laughter, and cried out between theparoxysms--

"Grandier, Grandier, you must buy some at the market. "

Barre at once declared that these wild and whirling words were a proof ofpossession, and approached to exorcise the demon; but Sister Claireresisted, and pretending to spit in the face of the exorcist, put out hertongue at him, making indecent gestures, using a word in harmony with heractions. This word being in the vernacular was understood by everyoneand required no interpretation. 

The exorcist then conjured her to give the name of the demon who was inher, and she replied--

"Grandier. "

But Barre by repeating his question gave her to understand that she hadmade a mistake, whereupon she corrected herself and said--

"Elimi. "

Nothing in the world could induce her to reveal the number of evilspirits by whom Elimi was accompanied, so that Barre, seeing that it wasuseless to press her on this point, passed on to the next question. 

"Quo pacto ingressus est daemon"(By what pact did the demon get in?). 

"Duplex" (Double), returned Sister Claire. 

This horror of the ablative, when the ablative was absolutely necessary, aroused once more the hilarity of the audience, and proved that SisterClaire's devil was just as poor a Latin scholar as the superior's, andBarre, fearing some new linguistic eccentricity on the part of the evilspirit, adjourned the meeting to another day. 

The paucity of learning shown in the answers of the nuns being sufficientto convince any fairminded person that the whole affair was a ridiculouscomedy, the bailiff felt encouraged to persevere until he had unravelledthe whole plot. Consequently, at three o'clock in the afternoon, hereturned to the convent, accompanied by his clerk, by severalmagistrates, and by a considerable number of the best known people ofLoudun, and asked to see the superior. Being admitted, he announced toBarre that he had come to insist on the superior being separated fromSister Claire, so that each could be exorcised apart. Barre dared notrefuse before such a great number of witnesses, therefore the superiorwas isolated and the exorcisms begun all over again. Instantly theconvulsions returned, just as in the morning, only that now she twistedher feet into the form of hooks, which was a new accomplishment. 

Having adjured her several times, the exorcist succeeded in making herrepeat some prayers, and then sounded her as to the name and number ofthe demons in possession, whereupon she said three times that there wasone called Achaos. The bailiff then directed Barre to ask if she werepossessed 'ex pacto magi, aut ex Aura voluntate Dei' (by a pact with asorcerer or by the pure will of God), to which the superior answered

"Non est voluutas Dei" (Not by the will of God). 

Upon this, Barre dreading more questions from the bystanders, hastilyresumed his own catechism by asking who was the sorcerer. 

"Urbanus, " answered the superior. 

"Est-ne Urbanus papa" (Is it Pope Urban?), asked the exorcist. 

"Grandier, " replied the superior. 

"Quare ingressus es in corpus hujus puellae" (Why did you enter the bodyof this maiden?), said Barre. 

"Propter praesentiam tuum" (Because of your presence), answered thesuperior. 

At this point the bailiff, seeing no reason why the dialogue betweenBarre and the superior should ever come to an end, interposed anddemanded that questions suggested by him and the other officials presentshould be put to the superior, promising that if she answered three offour such questions correctly, he, and those with him, would believe inthe reality of the possession, and would certify to that effect. Barreaccepted the challenge, but unluckily just at that moment the superiorregained consciousness, and as it was already late, everyone retired. 

CHAPTER VI

The next day, November 25th, the bailiff and the majority of the officersof the two jurisdictions came to the convent once more, and were allconducted to the choir. In a few moments the curtains behind the gratingwere drawn back, and the superior, lying on her bed, came to view. Barrebegan, as usual, by the celebration of mass, during which the superiorwas seized with convulsions, and exclaimed two or three times, "Grandier!Grandier! false priest!" When the mass was over, the celebrant wentbehind the grating, carrying the pyx; then, placing it on his head andholding it there, he protested that in all he was doing he was actuatedby the purest motives and the highest integrity; that he had no desire toharm anyone on earth; and he adjured God to strike him dead if he hadbeen guilty of any bad action or collusion, or had instigated the nuns toany deceit during the investigation. 

The prior of the Carmelites next advanced and made the same declaration, taking the oath in the same manner, holding the pyx over his head; andfurther calling down on himself and his brethren the curse of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram if they had sinned during this inquiry. Theseprotestations did not, however, produce the salutary effect intended, some of those present saying aloud that such oaths smacked of sacrilege. 

Barre hearing the murmurs, hastened to begin the exorcisms, firstadvancing to the superior to offer her the holy sacrament: but as soon asshe caught sight of him she became terribly convulsed, and attempted todrag the pyx from his hands. Barre, however, by pronouncing the sacredwords, overcame the repulsion of the superior, and succeeded in placingthe wafer in her mouth; she, however, pushed it out again with hertongue, as if it made her sick; Barge caught it in his fingers and gaveit to her again, at the same time forbidding the demon to make her vomit, and this time she succeeded in partly swallowing the sacred morsel, butcomplained that it stuck in her throat. At last, in order to get itdown, Barge three times gave her water to drink; and then, as alwaysduring his exorcisms, he began by interrogating the demon. 

"Per quod pactum ingressus es in corpus hujus puellae?" (By what pactdidst thou enter the body of this maiden?)

"Aqua" ( By water), said the superior. 

One of those who had accompanied the bailiff was a Scotchman calledStracan, the head of the Reformed College of Loudun. Hearing thisanswer, he called on the demon to translate aqua into Gaelic, saying ifhe gave this proof of having those linguistic attainments which all badspirits possess, he and those with him would be convinced that thepossession was genuine and no deception. Barre, without being in theleast taken aback, replied that he would make the demon say it if Godpermitted, and ordered the spirit to answer in Gaelic. But though herepeated his command twice, it was not obeyed; on the third repetitionthe superior said--

"Nimia curiositas" (Too much curiosity), and on being asked again, said--

"Deus non volo. "

This time the poor devil went astray in his conjugation, and confusingthe first with the third person, said, "God, I do not wish, " which in thecontext had no meaning. "God does not wish, " being the appointed answer. 

The Scotchman laughed heartily at this nonsense, and proposed to Barre tolet his devil enter into competition with the boys of his seventh form;but Barre, instead of frankly accepting the challenge in the devil'sname, hemmed and hawed, and opined that the devil was justified in notsatisfying idle curiosity. 

"But, sir, you must be aware, " said the civil lieutenant, "and if you arenot, the manual you hold in your hand will teach you, that the gift oftongues is one of the unfailing symptoms of true possession, and thepower to tell what is happening at a distance another. "

"Sir, " returned Barre, "the devil knows the language very well, but, doesnot wish to speak it; he also knows all your sins, in proof of which, ifyou so desire, I shall order him to give the list. "

"I shall be delighted to hear it, " said the civil lieutenant; "be so goodas to try the experiment. "

Barre was about to approach the superior, when he was held back by thebailiff, who remonstrated with him on the impropriety of his conduct, whereupon Barre assured the magistrate that he had never really intendedto do as he threatened. 

However, in spite of all Barre's attempts to distract the attention ofthe bystanders from the subject, they still persisted in desiring todiscover the extent of the devil's knowledge of foreign languages, and attheir suggestion the bailiff proposed to Barre to try him in Hebrewinstead of Gaelic. Hebrew being, according to Scripture, the mostancient language of all, ought to be familiar to the demon, unless indeedhe had forgotten it. This idea met with such general applause that Barrewas forced to command the possessed nun to say aqua in Hebrew. The poorwoman, who found it difficult enough to repeat correctly the few Latinwords she had learned by rote, made an impatient movement, and said--

"I can't help it; I retract" (Je renie). 

These words being heard and repeated by those near her produced such anunfavourable impression that one of the Carmelite monks tried to explainthem away by declaring that the superior had not said "Je renie, " but"Zaquay, " a Hebrew word corresponding to the two Latin words, "Effudiaquam" (I threw water about). But the words "Je renie" had been heard sodistinctly that the monk's assertion was greeted with jeers, and thesub-prior reprimanded him publicly as a liar. Upon this, the superiorhad a fresh attack of convulsions, and as all present knew that theseattacks usually indicated that the performance was about to end, theywithdrew, making very merry over a devil who knew neither Hebrew norGaelic, and whose smattering of Latin was so incorrect. 

However, as the bailiff and civil lieutenant were determined to clear upevery doubt so far as they still felt any, they went once again to theconvent at three o'clock the same afternoon. Barre came out to meetthem, and took them for a stroll in the convent grounds. During theirwalk he said to the civil lieutenant that he felt very much surprisedthat he, who had on a former occasion, by order of the Bishop ofPoitiers, laid information against Grandier should be now on his side. The civil lieutenant replied that he would be ready to inform against himagain if there were any justification, but at present his object was toarrive at the truth, and in this he felt sure he should be successful. Such an answer was very unsatisfactory to Barre; so, drawing the bailiffaside, he remarked to him that a man among whose ancestors were manypersons of condition, several of whom had held positions of much dignityin the Church, and who himself held such an important judicial position, ought to show less incredulity in regard to the possibility of a devilentering into a human body, since if it were proved it would redound tothe glory of God and the good of the Church and of religion. The bailiffreceived this remonstrance with marked coldness, and replied that hehoped always to take justice for his guide, as his duty commanded. Uponthis, Barre pursued the subject no farther, but led the way to thesuperior's apartment. 

Just as they entered the room, where a large number of people werealready gathered, the superior, catching sight of the pyx which Barre hadbrought with him, fell once more into convulsions. Barre went towardsher, and having asked the demon as usual by what pact he had entered themaiden's body, and received the information that it was by water, continued his examination as follows:

"Quis finis pacti" (What is the object of this pact?)

"Impuritas" (Unchastity). 

At these words the bailiff interrupted the exorcist and ordered him tomake the demon say in Greek the three words, 'finis, pacti, impuritas'. But the superior, who had once already got out of her difficulties by anevasive answer, had again recourse to the same convenient phrase, "Nimiacuriositas, " with which Barre agreed, saying that they were indeed toomuch given to curiosity. So the bailiff had to desist from his attemptto make the demon speak Greek, as he had before been obliged to give uptrying to make him speak Hebrew and Gaelic. Barre then continued hisexamination. 

"Quis attulit pactum?" (Who brought the pact?)

"Magus" (The sorcerer). 

"Quale nomen magi?" (What is the sorcerer's name?)

"Urbanus" (Urban). 

"Quis Urbanus? Est-ne Urbanus papa?"

(What Urban? Pope Urban?)

"Grandier. "

"Cujus qualitatis?" (What is his profession?)

"Curcatus. "

The enriching of the Latin language by this new and unknown word produceda great effect on the audience; however, Barre did not pause long enoughto allow it to be received with all the consideration it deserved, butwent on at once. 

"Quis attulit aquam pacti?" (Who brought the water of the pact?)

"Magus" (The magician). 

"Qua hora?" (At what o'clock?)

"Septima" (At seven o'clock). 

"An matutina?" (In the morning?)

"Sego" (In the evening). 

"Quomodo intravit?" (How did he enter?)

"Janua" (By the door). 

"Quis vidit?" (Who saw him?)

"Tres" (Three persons). 

Here Barre stopped, in order to confirm the testimony of the devil, assuring his hearers that the Sunday after the superior's deliverancefrom the second possession he along with Mignon and one of the sisterswas sitting with her at supper, it being about seven o'clock in theevening, when she showed them drops of water on her arm, and no one couldtell where they came from. He had instantly washed her arm in holy waterand repeated some prayers, and while he was saying them the breviary ofthe superior was twice dragged from her hands and thrown at his feet, andwhen he stooped to pick it up for the second time he got a box on the earwithout being able to see the hand that administered it. Then Mignoncame up and confirmed what Barre had said in a long discourse, which hewound up by calling down upon his head the most terrible penalties ifevery word he said were not the exact truth. He then dismissed theassembly, promising to drive out the evil spirit the next day, andexhorting those present to prepare themselves, by penitence and receivingthe holy communion, for the contemplation of the wonders which awaitedthem. 

CHAPTER VII

The last two exorcisms had been so much talked about in the town, thatGrandier, although he had not been present, knew everything that hadhappened, down to the smallest detail, so he once more laid a complaintbefore the bailiff, in which he represented that the nuns maliciouslycontinued to name him during the exorcisms as the author of theirpretended possession, being evidently influenced thereto by his enemies, whereas in fact not only had he had no communication with them, but hadnever set eyes on them; that in order to prove that they acted underinfluence it was absolutely necessary that they should be sequestered, itbeing most unjust that Mignon and Barre, his mortal enemies, should haveconstant access to them and be able to stay with them night and day, their doing so making the collusion evident and undeniable; that thehonour of God was involved, and also that of the petitioner, who had someright to be respected, seeing that he was first in rank among theecclesiastics of the town. 

Taking all this into consideration, he consequently prayed the bailiff tobe pleased to order that the nuns buffering from the so-called possessionshould at once be separated from each other and from their presentassociates, and placed under the control of clerics assisted byphysicians in whose impartiality the petitioner could have confidence;and he further prayed that all this should be performed in spite of anyopposition or appeal whatsoever (but without prejudice to the right ofappeal), because of the importance of the matter. And in case thebailiff were not pleased to order the sequestration, the petitioner wouldenter a protest and complaint against his refusal as a withholding ofjustice. 

The bailiff wrote at the bottom of the petition that it would be at oncecomplied with. 

After Urbain Grandier had departed, the physicians who had been presentat the exorcisms presented themselves before the bailiff, bringing theirreport with them. In this report they said that they had recognisedconvulsive movements of the mother superior's body, but that one visitwas not sufficient to enable them to make a thorough diagnosis, as themovements above mentioned might arise as well from a natural as fromsupernatural causes; they therefore desired to be afforded opportunityfor a thorough examination before being called on to pronounce anopinion. To this end they required permission to spend several days andnights uninterruptedly in the same room with the patients, and to treatthem in the presence of other nuns and some of the magistrates. Further, they required that all the food and medicine should pass through thedoctors' hands, and that no one, should touch the patients except quiteopenly, or speak to them except in an audible voice. Under theseconditions they would undertake to find out the true cause of theconvulsions and to make a report of the same. 

It being now nine o'clock in the morning, the hour when the exorcismsbegan, the bailiff went over at once to the convent, and found Barre halfway through the mass, and the superior in convulsions. The magistrateentered the church at the moment of the elevation of the Host, andnoticed among the kneeling Catholics a young man called Dessentierstanding up with his hat on. He ordered him either to uncover or to goaway. At this the convulsive movements of the superior became moreviolent, and she cried out that there were Huguenots in the church, whichgave the demon great power over her. Barre asked her how many there werepresent, and she replied, "Two, " thus proving that the devil was nostronger in arithmetic than in Latin; for besides Dessentier, CouncillorAbraham Gauthier, one of his brothers, four of his sisters, ReneFourneau, a deputy, and an attorney called Angevin, all of the Reformedfaith, were present. 

As Barre saw that those present were greatly struck, by this numericalinaccuracy, he tried to turn their thoughts in another direction byasking the superior if it were true that she knew no Latin. On herreplying that she did not know a single word, he held the pyx before herand ordered her to swear by the holy sacrament. She resisted at first, saying loud enough for those around her to hear--

"My father, you make me take such solemn oaths that I fear God willpunish me. "

To this Barre replied--

"My daughter, you must swear for the glory of God. "

And she took the oath. 

Just then one of the bystanders remarked that the mother superior was inthe habit of interpreting the Catechism to her scholars. This shedenied, but acknowledged that she used to translate the Paternoster andthe Creed for them. As the superior felt herself becoming somewhatconfused at this long series of embarrassing questions, she decided ongoing into convulsions again, but with only moderate success, for thebailiff insisted that the exorcists should ask her where Grandier was atthat very moment. Now, as the ritual teaches that one of the proofs ofpossession is the faculty of telling, when asked, where people are, without seeing them, and as the question was propounded in the prescribedterms, she was bound to answer, so she said that Grandier was in thegreat hall of the castle. 

"That is not correct, " said the bailiff, "for before coming here Ipointed out a house to Grandier and asked him to stay in it till I cameback. If anybody will go there, they will be sure to find him, for hewished to help me to discover the truth without my being obliged toresort to sequestration, which is a difficult measure to take with regardto nuns. "

Barre was now ordered to send some of the monks present to the castle, accompanied by a magistrate and a clerk. Barre chose the Carmeliteprior, and the bailiff Charles Chauvet, assessor of the bailiwick, IsmaelBoulieau a priest, and Pierre Thibaut, an articled clerk, who all set outat once to execute their commission, while the rest of those present wereto await their return. 

Meanwhile the superior, who had not spoken a word since the bailiff'sdeclaration, remained, in spite of repeated exorcisms, dumb, so Barresent for Sister Claire, saying that one devil would encourage the other. The bailiff entered a formal protest against this step, insisting thatthe only result of a double exorcism would be to cause confusion, duringwhich suggestions might be conveyed to the superior, and that the properthing to do was, before beginning new conjurations, to await the returnof the messengers. Although the bailiff's suggestion was mostreasonable, Barre knew better than to adopt it, for he felt that nomatter what it cost he must either get rid of the bailiff and all theother officials who shared his doubts, or find means with the help ofSister Claire to delude them into belief. The lay sister was thereforebrought in, in spite of the opposition of the bailiff and the othermagistrates, and as they did not wish to seem to countenance a fraud, they all withdrew, declaring that they could no longer look on at such adisgusting comedy. In the courtyard they met their messengers returning, who told them they had gone first to the castle and had searched thegreat hall and all the other rooms without seeing anything of Grandier;they had then gone to the house mentioned by the bailiff, where theyfound him for whom they were looking, in the company of Pere Veret, theconfessor of the nuns, Mathurin Rousseau, and Nicolas Benoit, canons, andConte, a doctor, from whom they learned that Grandier had not been aninstant out of their sight for the last two hours. This being all themagistrates wanted to know, they went home, while their envoys wentupstairs and told their story, which produced the effect which might beexpected. Thereupon a Carmelite brother wishing to weaken theimpression, and thinking that the devil might be more lucky in his, second guess than the first, asked the superior where Grandier was justthen. She answered without the slightest hesitation that he was walkingwith the bailiff in the church of Sainte-Croix. A new deputation was atonce sent off, which finding the church empty, went on to the palace, andsaw the bailiff presiding at a court. He had gone direct from theconvent to the palace, and had not yet seen Grandier. The same day thenuns sent word that they would not consent to any more exorcisms beingperformed in the presence of the bailiff and the officials who usuallyaccompanied him, and that for the future they were determined to answerno questions before such witnesses. 

Grandier learning of this piece of insolence, which prevented the onlyman on whose impartiality he could reckon from being henceforward presentat the exorcisms, once more handed in a petition to the bailiff, beggingfor the sequestration of the two nuns, no matter at what risk. Thebailiff, however, in the interests of the petitioner himself, did notdare to grant this request, for he was afraid that the ecclesiasticalauthorities would nullify his procedure, on the ground that the conventwas not under his jurisdiction. 

He, however, summoned a meeting of the principal inhabitants of the town, in order to consult with them as to the best course to take for thepublic good. The conclusion they arrived at was to write to theattorney-general and to the Bishop of Poitiers, enclosing copies of thereports which had been drawn up, and imploring them to use theirauthority to put an end to these pernicious intrigues. This was done, but the attorney-general replied that the matter being entirelyecclesiastical the Parliament was not competent to take cognisance of it. As for the bishop, he sent no answer at all. 

He was not, however, so silent towards Grandier's enemies; for theill-success of the exorcisms of November 26th having made increasedprecautions necessary, they considered it would be well to apply to thebishop for a new commission, wherein he should appoint certainecclesiastics to represent him during the exorcisms to come. Barrehimself went to Poitiers to make this request. It was immediatelygranted, and the bishop appointed Bazile, senior-canon of Champigny, andDemorans, senior canon of Thouars, both of whom were related to some ofGrandier's adversaries. The following is a copy of the new commission:

"Henri-Louis le Chataignier de la Rochepezai, by the divine will Bishopof Poitiers, to the senior canons of the Chatelet de Saint-Pierre deThouars et de Champigny-sur-Vese, greeting:

"We by these presents command you to repair to the town of Loudun, to theconvent of the nuns of Sainte-Ursule, to be present at the exorcismswhich will be undertaken by Sieur Barre upon some nuns of the saidconvent who are tormented by evil spirits, we having thereto authorisedthe said Barre. You are also to draw up a report of all that takesplace, and for this purpose are to take any clerk you may choose withyou. 

"Given and done at Poitiers, November 28th, 1632. 

"(Signed) HENRI LOUIS, Bishop of Poitiers. "(Countersigned) By order ofthe said Lord Bishop, "MICHELET"

These two commissioners having been notified beforehand, went to Loudun, where Marescot, one of the queen's chaplains, arrived at the same time;for the pious queen, Anne of Austria, had heard so many conflictingaccounts of the possession of the Ursuline nuns, that she desired, forher own edification, to get to the bottom of the affair. We can judgewhat importance the case was beginning to assume by its being alreadydiscussed at court. 

In spite of the notice which had been sent them that the nuns would notreceive them, the bailiff and the civil lieutenant fearing that the royalenvoy would allow himself to be imposed on, and would draw up an accountwhich would cast doubt on the facts contained in their reports, betookthemselves to the convent on December 1st, the day on which the exorcismswere to recommence, in the presence of the new commissioners. They wereaccompanied by their assessor, by the provost's lieutenant, and a clerk. They had to knock repeatedly before anyone seemed to hear them, but atlength a nun opened the door and told them they could not enter, beingsuspected of bad faith, as they had publicly declared that the possessionwas a fraud and an imposture. The bailiff, without wasting his timearguing with the sister, asked to see Barre, who soon appeared arrayed inhis priestly vestments, and surrounded by several persons, among whom wasthe queen's chaplain. The bailiff complained that admittance had beenrefused to him and those with him, although he had been authorised tovisit the convent by the Bishop of Poitiers. Barre' replied that hewould not hinder their coming in, as far as it concerned him. 

"We are here with the intention of entering, " said the bailiff, "and alsofor the purpose of requesting you to put one or two questions to thedemon which we have drawn up in terms which are in accordance with whatis prescribed in the ritual. I am sure you will not refuse, " he added, turning with a bow to Marescot, "to make this experiment in the presenceof the queen's chaplain, since by that means all those suspicions ofimposture can be removed which are unfortunately so rife concerning thisbusiness. "

"In that respect I shall do as I please, and not as you order me, " wasthe insolent reply of the exorcist. 

"It is, however, your duty to follow legal methods in your procedure, "returned the bailiff, "if you sincerely desire the truth; for it would bean affront to God to perform a spurious miracle in His honour, and awrong to the Catholic faith, whose power is in its truth, to attempt togive adventitious lustre to its doctrines by the aid of fraud anddeception. "

"Sir, " said Barre, "I am a man of honour, I know my duty and I shalldischarge it; but as to yourself, I must recall to your recollection thatthe last time you were here you left the chapel in anger and excitement, which is an attitude of mind most unbecoming in one whose duty it is toadminister justice. "

Seeing that these recriminations would have no practical result, themagistrates cut them short by reiterating their demand for admittance;and on this being refused, they reminded the exorcists that they wereexpressly prohibited from asking any questions tending to cast a slur onthe character of any person or persons whatever, under pain of beingtreated as disturbers of the public peace. At this warning Barre, sayingthat he did not acknowledge the bailiff's jurisdiction, shut the door inthe faces of the two magistrates. 

As there was no time to lose if the machinations of his enemies were tobe brought to nought, the bailiff and the civil lieutenant advisedGrandier to write to the Archbishop of Bordeaux, who had once alreadyextricated him from imminent danger, setting forth at length his presentpredicament; this letter; accompanied by the reports drawn up by thebailiff and the civil lieutenant, were sent off at once by a trustymessenger to His Grace of Escoubleau de Sourdis. As soon as he receivedthe despatches, the worthy prelate seeing how grave was the crisis, andthat the slightest delay might be fatal to Grandier, set out at once forhis abbey of Saint-Jouinles-Marmes, the place in which he had alreadyvindicated in so striking a manner the upright character of the poorpersecuted priest by a fearless act of justice. 

It is not difficult to realise what a blow his arrival was to those whoheld a brief for the evil spirits in possession; hardly had he reachedSaint-Jouin than he sent his own physician to the convent with orders tosee the afflicted nuns and to test their condition, in order to judge ifthe convulsions were real or simulated. The physician arrived, armedwith a letter from the archbishop, ordering Mignon to permit the bearerto make a thorough examination into the position of affairs. Mignonreceived the physician with all the respect due to him who sent him, butexpressed great regret that he had not come a little sooner, as, thanksto his (Mignon's) exertions and those of Barre, the devils had beenexorcised the preceding day. He nevertheless introduced the archbishop'senvoy to the presence of the superior and Sister Claire, whose demeanourwas as calm as if they had never been disturbed by any agitating'experiences. Mignon's statement being thus confirmed, the doctor returnedto Saint-Jouin, the only thing to which he could bear testimony being thetranquillity which reigned at the moment in the convent. 

The imposture being now laid so completely bare, the archbishop wasconvinced that the infamous persecutions to which it had led would ceaseat once and for ever; but Grandier, better acquainted with the characterof his adversaries, arrived on the 27th of December at the abbey and laida petition at the archbishop's feet. In this document he set forth thathis enemies having formerly brought false and slanderous accusations, against him of which, through the justice of the archbishop, he had beenable to clear himself, had employed themselves during the last threemonths in inventing and publishing as a fact that the petitioner had sentevil spirits into the bodies of nuns in the Ursuline convent of Loudun, although he had never spoken to any of the sisterhood there; that theguardianship of the sisters who, it was alleged, were possessed, and thetask of exorcism, had been entrusted to Jean Mignon and Pierre Barre, whohad in the most unmistakable manner shown themselves to be the mortalenemies of the petitioner; that in the reports drawn up by the said JeanMignon and Pierre Barre, which differed so widely from those made by thebailiff and the civil lieutenant, it was boastfully alleged that three orfour times devils had been driven out, but that they had succeeded inreturning and taking possession of their victims again and again, invirtue of successive pacts entered into between the prince of darknessand the petitioner; that the aim of these reports and allegations was todestroy the reputation of the petitioner and excite public opinionagainst him; that although the demons had been put to flight by thearrival of His Grace, yet it was too probable that as soon as he was gonethey would return to the charge; that if, such being the case, thepowerful support of the archbishop were not available, the innocence ofthe petitioner, no matter how strongly established, would by the cunningtactics of his inveterate foes be obscured and denied: he, thepetitioner, therefore prayed that, should the foregoing reasons prove onexamination to be cogent, the archbishop would be pleased to prohibitBarre, Mignon, and their partisans, whether among the secular or theregular clergy, from taking part in any future exorcisms, should such benecessary, or in the control of any persons alleged to be possessed;furthermore, petitioner prayed that His Grace would be pleased to appointas a precautionary measure such other clerics and lay persons as seemedto him suitable, to superintend the administration of food and medicineand the rite of exorcism to those alleged to be possessed, and that allthe treatment should be carried out in the presence of magistrates. 

The archbishop accepted the petition, and wrote below it:

"The present petition having been seen by us and the opinion of ourattorney having been taken in the matter, we have sent the petitioner inadvance of our said attorney back to Poitiers, that justice may be donehim, and in the meantime we have appointed Sieur Barre, Pere l'Escaye, aJesuit residing in Poitiers, Pere Gaut of the Oratory, residing at Tours, to conduct the exorcisms, should such be necessary, and have given theman order to this effect. 

"It is forbidden to all others to meddle with the said exorcisms, on painof being punished according to law. "

It will be seen from the above that His Grace the Archbishop of Bordeaux, in his enlightened and generous exercise of justice, had foreseen andprovided for every possible contingency; so that as soon as his orderswere made known to the exorcists the possession ceased at once andcompletely, and was no longer even talked of. Barre withdrew to Chinon, the senior canons rejoined their chapters, and the nuns, happily rescuedfor the time, resumed their life of retirement and tranquillity. Thearchbishop nevertheless urged on Grandier the prudence of effecting anexchange of benefices, but he replied that he would not at that momentchange his simple living of Loudun for a bishopric. 

CHAPTER VIII

The exposure of the plot was most prejudicial to the prosperity of theUrsuline community: spurious possession, far from bringing to theirconvent an increase of subscriptions and enhancing their reputation, asMignon had promised, had ended for them in open shame, while in privatethey suffered from straitened circumstances, for the parents of theirboarders hastened to withdraw their daughters from the convent, and thenuns in losing their pupils lost their sole source of income. Their, fall in the estimation of the public filled them with despair, and itleaked out that they had had several altercations with their director, during which they reproached him for having, by making them commit such agreat sin, overwhelmed them with infamy and reduced them to misery, instead of securing for them the great spiritual and temporal advantageshe had promised them. Mignon, although devoured by hate, was obliged toremain quiet, but he was none the less as determined as ever to haverevenge, and as he was one of those men who never give up while a gleamof hope remains, and whom no waiting can tire, he bided his time, avoiding notice, apparently resigned to circumstances, but keeping hiseyes fixed on Grandier, ready to seize on the first chance of recoveringpossession of the prey that had escaped his hands. And unluckily thechance soon presented itself. 

It was now 1633: Richelieu was at the height of his power, carrying outhis work of destruction, making castles fall before him where he couldnot make heads fall, in the spirit of John Knox's words, "Destroy thenests and the crows will disappear. " Now one of these nests was thecrenellated castle of Loudun, and Richelieu had therefore ordered itsdemolition. 

The person appointed to carry out this order was a man such as those whomLouis XI. Had employed fifty years earlier to destroy the feudal system, and Robespierre one hundred and fifty years later to destroy thearistocracy. Every woodman needs an axe, every reaper a sickle, andRichelieu found the instrument he required in de Laubardemont, Councillorof State. 

But he was an instrument full of intelligence, detecting by the manner inwhich he was wielded the moving passion of the wielder, and adapting hiswhole nature with marvellous dexterity to gratify that passion accordingto the character of him whom it possessed; now by a rough and readyimpetuosity, now by a deliberate and hidden advance; equally willing tostrike with the sword or to poison by calumny, as the man who moved himlusted for the blood or sought to accomplish the dishonour of his victim. 

M. De Laubardemont arrived at Loudun during the month of August 1633, andin order to carry out his mission addressed himself to Sieur Memin deSilly, prefect of the town, that old friend of the cardinal's whom Mignonand Barre, as we have said, had impressed so favourably. Memin saw inthe arrival of Laubardemont a special intimation that it was the will ofHeaven that the seemingly lost cause of those in whom he took such a warminterest should ultimately triumph. He presented Mignon and all hisfriends to M. Laubardemont, who received them with much cordiality. Theytalked of the mother superior, who was a relation, as we have seen, of M. De Laubardemont, and exaggerated the insult offered her by the decree ofthe archbishop, saying it was an affront to the whole family; and beforelong the one thing alone which occupied the thoughts of the conspiratorsand the councillor was how best to draw down upon Grandier the anger ofthe cardinal-duke. A way soon opened. 

The Queen mother, Marie de Medici, had among her attendants a womancalled Hammon, to whom, having once had occasion to speak, she had takena fancy, and given a post near her person. In consequence of this whim, Hammon came to be regarded as a person of some importance in the queen'shousehold. Hammon was a native of Loudun, and had passed the greaterpart of her youth there with her own people, who belonged to the lowerclasses. Grandier had been her confessor, and she attended his church, and as she was lively and clever he enjoyed talking to her, so that atlength an intimacy sprang up between them. It so happened at a time whenhe and the other ministers were in momentary disgrace, that a satire fullof biting wit and raillery appeared, directed especially against thecardinal, and this satire had been attributed to Hammon, who was known toshare, as was natural, her mistress's hatred of Richelieu. Protected asshe was by the queen's favour, the cardinal had found it impossible topunish Hammon, but he still cherished a deep resentment against her. 

It now occurred to the conspirators to accuse Grandier of being the realauthor of the satire; and it was asserted that he had learned from Hammonall the details of the cardinal's private life, the knowledge of whichgave so much point to the attack on him; if they could once succeed inmaking Richelieu believe this, Grandier was lost. 

This plan being decided on, M. De Laubardemont was asked to visit theconvent, and the devils knowing what an important personage he was, flocked thither to give him a worthy welcome. Accordingly, the nuns hadattacks of the most indescribably violent convulsions, and M. DeLaubardemont returned to Paris convinced as to the reality of theirpossession. 

The first word the councillor of state said to the cardinal about UrbainGrandier showed him that he had taken useless trouble in inventing thestory about the satire, for by the bare mention of his name he was ableto arouse the cardinal's anger to any height he wished. The fact was, that when Richelieu had been Prior of Coussay he and Grandier had had aquarrel on a question of etiquette, the latter as priest of Loudun havingclaimed precedence over the prior, and carried his point. The cardinalhad noted the affront in his bloodstained tablets, and at the first hintde Laubardemont found him as eager to bring about Grandier's ruin as wasthe councillor himself. 

De Laubardemont was at once granted the following commission:

"Sieur de Laubardemont, Councillor of State and Privy Councillor, willbetake himself to Loudun, and to whatever other places may be necessary, to institute proceedings against Grandier on all the charges formerlypreferred against him, and on other facts which have since come to light, touching the possession by evil spirits of the Ursuline nuns of Loudun, and of other persons, who are said like wise to be tormented of devilsthrough the evil practices of the said Grandier; he will diligentlyinvestigate everything from the beginning that has any bearing either onthe said possession or on the exorcisms, and will forward to us hisreport thereon, and the reports and other documents sent in by formercommissioners and delegates, and will be present at all future exorcisms, and take proper steps to obtain evidence of the said facts, that they maybe clearly established; and, above all, will direct, institute, and carrythrough the said proceedings against Grandier and all others who havebeen involved with him in the said case, until definitive sentence bepassed; and in spite of any appeal or countercharge this cause will notbe delayed (but without prejudice to the right of appeal in othercauses), on account of the nature of the crimes, and no regard will bepaid to any request for postponement made by the said Grandier. Hismajesty commands all governors, provincial lieutenant-generals, bailiffs, seneschals, and other municipal authorities, and all subjects whom it mayconcern, to give every assistance in arresting and imprisoning allpersons whom it may be necessary to put under constraint, if they shallbe required so to do. "

Furnished with this order, which was equivalent to a condemnation, deLaubardemont arrived at Laudun, the 5th of December, 1633, at nineo'clock in the evening; and to avoid being seen he alighted in a suburbat the house of one maitre Paul Aubin, king's usher, and son-in-law ofMemin de Silly. His arrival was kept so secret that neither Grandier norhis friends knew of it, but Memin, Herve Menuau, and Mignon werenotified, and immediately called on him. De Laubardemont received them, commission in hand, but broad as it was, it did not seem to themsufficient, for it contained no order for Grandier's arrest, and Grandiermight fly. De Laubardemont, smiling at the idea that he could be so muchin fault, drew from his pocket an order in duplicate, in case one copyshould be lost, dated like the commission, November 30th, signed LOUIS, and countersigned PHILIPPEAUX. It was conceived in the following terms:

LOUIS, etc. Etc. "We have entrusted these presents to Sieur deLaubardemont, Privy Councillor, to empower the said Sieur de Laubardemontto arrest Grandier and his accomplices and imprison them in a secureplace, with orders to all provosts, marshals, and other officers, and toall our subjects in general, to lend whatever assistance is necessary tocarry out above order; and they are commanded by these presents to obeyall orders given by the said Sieur; and all governors andlieutenants-general are also hereby commanded to furnish the said Sieurwith whatever aid he may require at their hands. "

This document being the completion of the other, it was immediatelyresolved, in order to show that they had the royal authority at theirback, and as a preventive measure, to arrest Grandier at once, withoutany preliminary investigation. They hoped by this step to intimidate anyofficial who might still be inclined to take Grandier's part, and anywitness who might be disposed to testify in his favour. Accordingly, they immediately sent for Guillaume Aubin, Sieur de Lagrange andprovost's lieutenant. De Laubardemont communicated to him the commissionof the cardinal and the order of the king, and requested him to arrestGrandier early next morning. M. De Lagrange could not deny the twosignatures, and answered that he would obey; but as he foresaw from theirmanner of going to work that the proceedings about to be instituted wouldbe an assassination and not a fair trial, he sent, in spite of being adistant connection of Memin, whose daughter was married to his(Lagrange's) brother, to warn Grandier of the orders he had received. But Grandier with his usual intrepidity, while thanking Lagrange for hisgenerous message, sent back word that, secure in his innocence andrelying on the justice of God, he was determined to stand his ground. 

So Grandier remained, and his brother, who slept beside him, declaredthat his sleep that night was as quiet as usual. The next morning herose, as was his habit, at six o'clock, took his breviary in his hand, and went out with the intention of attending matins at the church ofSainte-Croix. He had hardly put his foot over the threshold beforeLagrange, in the presence of Memin, Mignon, and the other conspirators, who had come out to gloat over the sight, arrested him in the name of theking. He was at once placed in the custody of Jean Pouguet, an archer inHis Majesty's guards, and of the archers of the provosts of Loudun andChinon, to be taken to the castle at Angers. Meanwhile a search wasinstituted, and the royal seal affixed to the doors of his apartments, tohis presses, his other articles of furniture-in fact, to every thing andplace in the house; but nothing was found that tended to compromise him, except an essay against the celibacy of priests, and two sheets of paperwhereon were written in another hand than his, some love-poems in thetaste of that time. 

CHAPTER IX

For four months Grandier languished in prison, and, according to thereport of Michelon, commandant of Angers, and of Pierre Bacher, hisconfessor, he was, during the whole period, a model of patience andfirmness, passing his days in reading good books or in writing prayersand meditations, which were afterwards produced at his trial. Meanwhile, in spite of the urgent appeals of Jeanne Esteye, mother of the accused, who, although seventy years of age, seemed to recover her youthfulstrength and activity in the desire to save her son, Laubardemontcontinued the examination, which was finished on April 4th. Urbain wasthen brought back from Angers to Loudun. 

An extraordinary cell had been prepared for him in a house belonging toMignon, and which had formerly been occupied by a sergeant named Bontems, once clerk to Trinquant, who had been a witness for the prosecution inthe first trial. It was on the topmost story; the windows had beenwalled up, leaving only one small slit open, and even this opening wassecured by enormous iron bars; and by an exaggeration of caution themouth of the fireplace was furnished with a grating, lest the devilsshould arrive through the chimney to free the sorcerer from his chains. Furthermore, two holes in the corners of the room, so formed that theywere unnoticeable from within, allowed a constant watch to be kept overGrandier's movements by Bontem's wife, a precaution by which they hopedto learn something that would help them in the coming exorcisms. In thisroom, lying on a little straw, and almost without light, Grandier wrotethe following letter to his mother:

"MY MOTHER, --I received your letter and everything you sent me except thewoollen stockings. I endure any affliction with patience, and feel morepity for you than for myself. I am very much inconvenienced for want ofa bed; try and have mine brought to me, for my mind will give way if mybody has no rest: if you can, send me a breviary, a Bible, and a St. Thomas for my consolation; and above all, do not grieve for me. I trustthat, God will bring my innocence to light. Commend me to my brother andsister, and all our good friends. --I am, mother, your dutiful son andservant, "GRANDIER"

While Grandier had been in prison at Angers the cases of possession atthe convent had miraculously multiplied, for it was no longer only thesuperior and Sister Claire who had fallen a prey to the evil spirits, butalso several other sisters, who were divided into three groups asfollows, and separated:--

The superior, with Sisters Louise des Anges and Anne de Sainte-Agnes, were sent to the house of Sieur Delaville, advocate, legal adviser to thesisterhood; Sisters Claire and Catherine de la Presentation were placedin the house of Canon Maurat; Sisters Elisabeth de la Croix, Monique deSainte-Marthe, Jeanne du Sainte-Esprit, and Seraphique Archer were in athird house. 

A general supervision was undertaken by Memin's sister, the wife ofMoussant, who was thus closely connected with two of the greatest enemiesof the accused, and to her Bontems' wife told all that the superiorneeded to know about Grandier. Such was the manner of the sequestration!

The choice of physicians was no less extraordinary. Instead of callingin the most skilled practitioners of Angers, Tours, Poitiers, or Saumur, all of them, except Daniel Roger of Loudun, came from the surroundingvillages, and were men of no education: one of them, indeed, had failedto obtain either degree or licence, and had been obliged to leave Saumurin consequence; another had been employed in a small shop to take goodshome, a position he had exchanged for the more lucrative one of quack. 

There was just as little sense of fairness and propriety shown in thechoice of the apothecary and surgeon. The apothecary, whose name wasAdam, was Mignon's first cousin, and had been one of the witnesses forthe prosecution at Grandier's first trial; and as on that occasion--hehad libelled a young girl of Loudun, he had been sentenced by a decree ofParliament to make a public apology. And yet, though his hatred ofGrandier in consequence of this humiliation was so well known, --perhapsfor that very reason, it was to him the duty of dispensing andadministering the prescriptions was entrusted, no one supervising thework even so far as to see that the proper doses were given, or takingnote whether for sedatives he did not sometimes substitute stimulatingand exciting drugs, capable of producing real convulsions. The surgeonMannouri was still more unsuitable, for he was a nephew of Memin deSilly, and brother of the nun who had offered the most determinedopposition to Grandier's demand for sequestration of the possessedsisters, during the second series of exorcisms. In vain did the motherand brother of the accused present petitions setting forth the incapacityof the doctors and the hatred of Grandier professed by the apothecary;they could not, even at their own expense, obtain certified copies of anyof these petitions, although they had witnesses ready to prove that Adamhad once in his ignorance dispensed crocus metallorum for crocusmantis--a mistake which had caused the death of the patient for whom theprescription was made up. In short, so determined were the conspiratorsthat this time Grandier should be done to death, that they had not eventhe decency to conceal the infamous methods by which they had arranged toattain this result. 

The examination was carried on with vigour. As one of the firstformalities would be the identification of the accused, Grandierpublished a memorial in which he recalled the case of Saint-Anastasius atthe Council of Tyre, who had been accused of immorality by a fallen womanwhom he had never seen before. When this woman entered the hall ofjustice in order to swear to her deposition, a priest named Timothy wentup to her and began to talk to her as if he were Anastasius; falling intothe trap, she answered as if she recognised him, and thus the innocenceof the saint was shown forth. Grandier therefore demanded that two orthree persons of his own height and complexion should be dressed exactlylike himself, and with him should be allowed to confront the nuns. As hehad never seen any of them, and was almost certain they had never seenhim, they would not be able, he felt sure, to point him out withcertainty, in spite of the allegations of undue intimacy with themselvesthey brought against him. This demand showed such conscious innocencethat it was embarrassing to answer, so no notice was taken of it. 

Meanwhile the Bishop of Poitiers, who felt much elated at getting thebetter of the Archbishop of Bordeaux, who of course was powerless againstan order issued by the cardinal-duke, took exception to Pere l'Escaye andPere Gaut, the exorcists appointed by his superior, and named instead hisown chaplain, who had been judge at Grandier's first trial, and hadpassed sentence on him, and Pere Lactance, a Franciscan monk. These two, making no secret of the side with which they sympathised, put up on theirarrival at Nicolas Moussant's, one of Grandier's most bitter enemies; onthe following day they went to the superior's apartments and began theirexorcisms. The first time the superior opened her lips to reply, PereLactance perceived that she knew almost no Latin, and consequently wouldnot shine during the exorcism, so he ordered her to answer in French, although he still continued to exorcise her in Latin; and when someonewas bold enough to object, saying that the devil, according to theritual, knew all languages living and dead, and ought to reply in thesame language in which he was addressed, the father declared that theincongruity was caused by the pact, and that moreover some devils weremore ignorant than peasants. 

Following these exorcists, and two Carmelite monks, named Pierre deSaint-Thomas and Pierre de Saint-Mathurin, who had, from the verybeginning, pushed their way in when anything was going on, came fourCapuchins sent by Pere Joseph, head of the Franciscans, "His greyEminence, " as he was called, and whose names were Peres Luc, Tranquille, Potais, and Elisee; so that a much more rapid advance could be made thanhitherto by carrying on the exorcisms in four different places atonce--viz. , in the convent, and in the churches of Sainte-Croix, Saint-Pierre du Martroy, and Notre-Dame du Chateau. Very little ofimportance took place, however, on the first two occasions, the 15th and16th of April; for the declarations of the doctors were most vague andindefinite, merely saying that the things they had seen weresupernatural, surpassing their knowledge and the rules of medicine. 

The ceremony of the 23rd April presented, however, some points ofinterest. The superior, in reply to the interrogations of Pere Lactance, stated that the demon had entered her body under the forms of a cat, adog, a stag, and a buck-goat. 

"Quoties?" (How often?), inquired the exorcist. 

"I didn't notice the day, " replied the superior, mistaking the wordquoties for quando (when). 

It was probably to revenge herself for this error that the superiordeclared the same day that Grandier had on his body five marks made bythe devil, and that though his body was else insensible to pain, he wasvulnerable at those spots. Mannouri, the surgeon, was therefore orderedto verify this assertion, and the day appointed for the verification wasthe 26th. 

In virtue of this mandate Mannouri presented himself early on that day atGrandier's prison, caused him to be stripped naked and cleanly shaven, then ordered him to be laid on a table and his eyes bandaged. But thedevil was wrong again: Grandier had only two marks, instead of five--oneon the shoulder-blade, and the other on the thigh. 

Then took place one of the most abominable performances that can beimagined. Mannouri held in his hand a probe, with a hollow handle, intowhich the needle slipped when a spring was touched: when Mannouri appliedthe probe to those parts of Grandier's body which, according to thesuperior, were insensible, he touched the spring, and the needle, whileseeming to bury itself in the flesh, really retreated into the handle, thus causing no pain; but when he touched one of the marks said to bevulnerable, he left the needle fixed, and drove it in to the depth ofseveral inches. The first time he did this it drew from poor Grandier, who was taken unprepared, such a piercing cry that it was heard in thestreet by the crowd which had gathered round the door. From the mark onthe shoulder-blade with which he had commenced, Mannouri passed to thaton the thigh, but though he plunged the needle in to its full depthGrandier uttered neither cry nor groan, but went on quietly repeating aprayer, and notwithstanding that Mannouri stabbed him twice more througheach of the two marks, he could draw nothing from his victim but prayersfor his tormentors. 

M. De Laubardemont was present at this scene. 

The next day the devil was addressed in such forcible terms that anacknowledgment was wrung from him that Grandier's body bore, not five, but two marks only; and also, to the vast admiration of the spectators, he was able this time to indicate their precise situation. 

Unfortunately for the demon, a joke in which he indulged on this occasiondetracted from the effect of the above proof of cleverness. Having beenasked why he had refused to speak on the preceding Saturday, he said hehad not been at Loudun on that day, as the whole morning he had beenoccupied in accompanying the soul of a certain Le Proust, attorney to theParliament of Paris, to hell. This answer awoke such doubts in thebreasts of some of the laymen present that they took the trouble toexamine the register of deaths, and found that no one of the name of LeProust, belonging to any profession whatever, had died on that date. This discovery rendered the devil less terrible, and perhaps lessamusing. 

Meantime the progress of the other exorcisms met with like interruptions. Pere Pierre de Saint Thomas, who conducted the operations in theCarmelite church, asked one of the possessed sisters where Grandier'sbooks of magic were; she replied that they were kept at the house of acertain young girl, whose name she gave, and who was the same to whomAdam had been forced to apologise. De Laubardemont, Moussant, Herve, andMeunau hastened at once to the house indicated, searched the rooms andthe presses, opened the chests and the wardrobes and all the secretplaces in the house, but in vain. On their return to the church, theyreproached the devil for having deceived them, but he explained that aniece of the young woman had removed the books. Upon this, they hurriedto the niece's dwelling, but unluckily she was not at home, having spentthe whole day at a certain church making her devotions, and when theywent thither, the priests and attendants averred that she had not goneout all day; so notwithstanding the desire of the exorcists to obligeAdam they were forced to let the matter drop. 

These two false statements increased the number of unbelievers; but itwas announced that a most interesting performance would take place on May4th; indeed, the programme when issued was varied enough to arousegeneral curiosity. Asmodeus was to raise the superior two feet from theground, and the fiends Eazas and Cerberus, in emulation of their leader, would do as much for two other nuns; while a fourth devil, named Beherit, would go farther still, and, greatly daring, would attack M. DeLaubardemont himself, and, having spirited his councillor's cap from hishead, would hold it suspended in the air for the space of a Misereye. Furthermore, the exorcists announced that six of the strongest men in thetown would try to prevent the contortions of the, weakest of theconvulsed nuns, and would fail. 

It need hardly be said that the prospect of such an entertainment filledthe church on the appointed day to overflowing. Pere Lactance began bycalling on Asmodeus to fulfil his promise of raising the superior fromthe ground. She began, hereupon, to perform various evolutions on hermattress, and at one moment it seemed as if she were really suspended inthe air; but one of the spectators lifted her dress and showed that shewas only standing on tiptoe, which, though it might be clever, was notmiraculous. Shouts of laughter rent the air, which had such anintimidating effect on Eazas and Cerberus that not all the adjurations ofthe exorcists could extract the slightest response. Beherit was theirlast hope, and he replied that he was prepared to lift up M. DeLaubardemont's cap, and would do so before the expiration of a quarter ofan hour. 

We must here remark that this time the exorcisms took place in theevening, instead of in the morning as hitherto; and it was now growingdark, and darkness is favourable to illusions. Several of theunbelieving ones present, therefore, began to call attention to the factthat the quarter of an hour's delay would necessitate the employment ofartificial light during the next scene. They also noticed that M. DeLaubardemont had seated himself apart and immediately beneath one of thearches in the vaulted roof, through which a hole had been drilled forthe passage of the bell-rope. They therefore slipped out of the church, and up into the belfry, where they hid. In a few moments a man appearedwho began to work at something. They sprang on him and seized hiswrists, and found in one of his hands a thin line of horsehair, to oneend of which a hook was attached. The holder being frightened, droppedthe line and fled, and although M. De Laubardemont, the exorcists, andthe spectators waited, expecting every moment that the cap would riseinto the air, it remained quite firm on the owner's head, to the no smallconfusion of Pere Lactance, who, all unwitting of the fiasco, continuedto adjure Beherit to keep his word--of course without the least effect. 

Altogether, this performance of May 4th, went anything but smoothly. Tillnow no trick had succeeded; never before had the demons been suchbunglers. But the exorcists were sure that the last trick would go offwithout a hitch. This was, that a nun, held by six men chosen for theirstrength, would succeed in extricating herself from their grasp, despitetheir utmost efforts. Two Carmelites and two Capuchins went through theaudience and selected six giants from among the porters and messengers ofthe town. 

This time the devil answered expectations by showing that if he was notclever he was strong, for although the six men tried to hold her downupon her mattress, the superior was seized with such terrible convulsionsthat she escaped from their hands, throwing down one of those who triedto detain her. This experiment, thrice renewed, succeeded thrice, andbelief seemed about to return to the assembly, when a physician of Saumurnamed Duncan, suspecting trickery, entered the choir, and, ordering thesix men to retire, said he was going to try and hold the superior downunaided, and if she escaped from his hands he would make a public apologyfor his unbelief. M. De Laubardemont tried to prevent this test, byobjecting to Duncan as an atheist, but as Duncan was greatly respected onaccount of his skill and probity, there was such an outcry at thisinterference from the entire audience that the commissioner was forced tolet him have his way. The six porters were therefore dismissed, butinstead of resuming their places among the spectators they left thechurch by the sacristy, while Duncan approaching the bed on which thesuperior had again lain down, seized her by the wrist, and making certainthat he had a firm hold, he told the exorcists to begin. 

Never up to that time had it been so clearly shown that the conflictgoing on was between public opinion and the private aims of a few. Ahush fell on the church; everyone stood motionless in silent expectancy. 

The moment Pere Lactance uttered the sacred words the convulsions of thesuperior recommenced; but it seemed as if Duncan had more strength thanhis six predecessors together, for twist and writhe and struggle as shewould, the superior's wrist remained none the less firmly clasped inDuncan's hand. At length she fell back on her bed exhausted, exclaiming!"

"It's no use, it's no use! He's holding me!"

"Release her arm!" shouted Pere Lactance in a rage. "How can theconvulsions take place if you hold her that way?"

"If she is really possessed by a demon, " answered Duncan aloud, "heshould be stronger than I; for it is stated in the ritual that among thesymptoms of possession is strength beyond one's years, beyond one'scondition, and beyond what is natural. "

"That is badly argued, " said Lactance sharply: "a demon outside the bodyis indeed stronger than you, but when enclosed in a weak frame such asthis it cannot show such strength, for its efforts are proportioned tothe strength of the body it possesses. "

"Enough!" said M. De Laubardemont; "we did not come here to argue withphilosophers, but to build up the faith of Christians. "

With that he rose up from his chair amidst a terrible uproar, and theassembly dispersed in the utmost disorder, as if they were leaving atheatre rather than a church. 

The ill success of this exhibition caused a cessation of events ofinterest for some days. The result was that a great number of noblemenand other people of quality who had come to Loudun expecting to seewonders and had been shown only commonplace transparent tricks, began tothink it was not worth while remaining any longer, and went their severalways--a defection much bewailed by Pere Tranquille in a little work whichhe published on this affair. 

"Many, " he says, "came to see miracles at Loudun, but finding the devilsdid not give them the signs they expected, they went away dissatisfied, and swelled the numbers of the unbelieving. "

It was determined, therefore, in order to keep the town full, to predictsome great event which would revive curiosity and increase faith. PereLactance therefore announced that on the 20th of May three of the sevendevils dwelling in the superior would come out, leaving three wounds inher left side, with corresponding holes in her chemise, bodice, anddress. The three parting devils were Asmodeus, Gresil des Trones, andAman des Puissances. He added that the superior's hands would be boundbehind her back at the time the wounds were given. 

On the appointed day the church of Sainte-Croix was filled to overflowingwith sightseers curious to know if the devils would keep their promisesbetter this time than the last. Physicians were invited to examine thesuperior's side and her clothes; and amongst those who came forward wasDuncan, whose presence guaranteed the public against deception; but noneof the exorcists ventured to exclude him, despite the hatred in whichthey held him--a hatred which they would have made him feel if he had notbeen under the special protection of Marshal Breze. The physicianshaving completed their examination, gave the following certificate:--

"We have found no wound in the patient's side, no rent in her vestments, and our search revealed no sharp instrument hidden in the folds of herdress. "

These preliminaries having been got through, Pere Lactance questioned herin French for nearly two hours, her answers being in the same language. Then he passed from questions to adjurations: on this, Duncan cameforward, and said a promise had been given that the superior's handsshould be tied behind her back, in order that there might be no room forsuspicion of fraud, and that the moment had now arrived to keep thatpromise. Pere Lactance admitted the justice of the demand, but said asthere were many present who had never seen the superior in convulsionssuch as afflicted the possessed, it would be only fair that she should beexorcised for their satisfaction before binding her. Accordingly hebegan to repeat the form of exorcism, and the superior was immediatelyattacked by frightful convulsions, which in a few minutes producedcomplete exhaustion, so that she fell on her face to the ground, andturning on her left arm and side, remained motionless some instants, after which she uttered a low cry, followed by a groan. The physiciansapproached her, and Duncan seeing her take away her hand from her leftside, seized her arm, and found that the tips of her fingers were stainedwith blood. They then examined her clothing and body, and found herdress, bodice, and chemise cut through in three places, the cuts beingless than an inch long. There were also three scratches beneath the leftbreast, so slight as to be scarcely more than skin deep, the middle onebeing a barleycorn in length; still, from all three a sufficient quantityof blood had oozed to stain the chemise above them. 

This time the fraud was so glaring that even de Laubardemont exhibitedsome signs of confusion because of the number and quality of thespectators. He would not, however, allow the doctors to include in theirreport their opinion as to the manner in which the wounds were inflicted;but Grandier protested against this in a Statement of Facts, which hedrew up during the night, and which was distributed next day. 

It was as follows:

"That if the superior had not groaned the physicians would not haveremoved her clothes, and would have suffered her to be bound, withouthaving the least idea that the wounds were already made; that then theexorcists would have commanded the devils to come forth, leaving thetraces they had promised; that the superior would then have gone throughthe most extraordinary contortions of which she was capable, and have hada long fit of, convulsions, at the end of which she would have beendelivered from the three demons, and the wounds would have been found inher body; that her groans, which had betrayed her, had by God's willthwarted the best-laid plans of men and devils. Why do you suppose, " hewent on to ask, "that clean incised wounds, such as a sharp blade wouldmake, 'were chosen for a token, seeing that the wounds left by devilsresemble burns? Was it not because it was easier for the superior toconceal a lancet with which to wound herself slightly, than to concealany instrument sufficiently heated to burn her? Why do you think theleft side was chosen rather than the forehead and nose, if not becauseshe could not give herself a wound in either of those places withoutbeing seen by all the spectators? Why was the left side rather than theright chosen, if it were not that it was easier for the superior to woundherself with her right hand, which she habitually used, in the left sidethan in the right? Why did she turn on her left side and arm and remainso long in that position, if it were not to hide from the bystanders theinstrument with which she wounded herself? What do you think caused herto groan, in spite of all her resolution, if it were not the pain of thewound she gave herself? for the most courageous cannot repress a shudderwhen the surgeon opens a vein. Why were her finger-tips stained withblood, if it were not that the secreted blade was so small that thefingers which held it could not escape being reddened by the blood itcaused to flow? How came it that the wounds were so superficial thatthey barely went deeper than the cuticle, while devils are known to rendand tear demoniacs when leaving them, if it were not that the superiordid not hate herself enough to inflict deep and dangerous wounds?"

Despite this logical protest from Grandier and the barefaced knavery ofthe exorcist, M. De Laubardemont prepared a report of the expulsion ofthe three devils, Asmodeus, Gresil, and Aman, from the body of sisterJeanne des Anges, through three wounds below the region of the heart; areport which was afterwards shamelessly used against Grandier, and ofwhich the memorandum still exists, a monument, not so much of credulityand superstition, as of hatred and revenge. Pere Lactance, in order toallay the suspicions which the pretended miracle had aroused among theeye-wittnesses, asked Balaam, one of the four demons who still remainedin the superior's body, the following day, why Asmodeus and his twocompanions had gone out against their promise, while the superior's faceand hands were hidden from the people. 

"To lengthen the incredulity of certain people, " answered Balaam. 

As for Pere Tranquille, he published a little volume describing the wholeaffair, in which, with the irresponsible frivolity of a true Capuchin, hepoked fun at those who could not swallow the miracles wholesale. 

"They had every reason to feel vexed, " he said, "at the small courtesy orcivility shown by the demons to persons of their merit and station; butif they had examined their consciences, perhaps they would have found thereal reason of their discontent, and, turning their anger againstthemselves, would have done penance for having come to the exorcisms ledby a depraved moral sense and a prying spirit. "

Nothing remarkable happened from the 20th May till the 13th June, a daywhich became noteworthy by reason of the superior's vomiting a quill afinger long. It was doubtless this last miracle which brought the Bishopof Poitiers to Loudun, "not, " as he said to those who came to pay theirrespects to him, "to examine into the genuineness of the possession, butto force those to believe who still doubted, and to discover the classeswhich Urbain had founded to teach the black art to pupils of both sexes. "

Thereupon the opinion began to prevail among the people that it would beprudent to believe in the possession, since the king, the cardinal-duke, and the bishop believed in it, and that continued doubt would lay themopen to the charges of disloyalty to their king and their Church, and ofcomplicity in the crimes of Grandier, and thus draw down upon them theruthless punishment of Laubardemont. 

"The reason we feel so certain that our work is pleasing to God is thatit is also pleasing to the king, " wrote Pere Lactance. 

The arrival of the bishop was followed by a new exorcism; and of this aneye-witness, who was a good Catholic and a firm believer in possession, has left us a written description, more interesting than any we couldgive. We shall present it to our readers, word for word, as it stands:--

"On Friday, 23rd June 1634, on the Eve of Saint John, about 3 p. M. , theLord Bishop of Poitiers and M. De Laubardemont being present in thechurch of Sainte-Croix of Loudun, to continue the exorcisms of theUrsuline nuns, by order of M, de Laubardemont, commissioner, UrbainGrandier, priest-in-charge, accused and denounced as a magician by thesaid possessed nuns, was brought from his prison to the said church. 

"There were produced by the said commissioner to the said Urbain Grandierfour pacts mentioned several times by the said possessed nuns at thepreceding exorcisms, which the devils who possessed the nuns declaredthey had made with the said Grandier on several occasions: there was onein especial which Leviathan gave up on Saturday the 17th inst. , composedof an infant's heart procured at a witches' sabbath, held in Orleans in1631; the ashes of a consecrated wafer, blood, etc. , of the saidGrandier, whereby Leviathan asserted he had entered the body of thesister, Jeanne des Anges, the superior of the said nuns, and tookpossession of her with his coadjutors Beherit, Eazas, and Balaam, onDecember 8th, 1632. Another such pact was composed of the pips ofGrenada oranges, and was given up by Asmodeus and a number of otherdevils. It had been made to hinder Beherit from keeping his promise tolift the commissioner's hat two inches from his head and to hold it therethe length of a Miseyere, as a sign that he had come out of the nun. Onall these pacts being shown to the said Grandier, he said, withoutastonishment, but with much firmness and resolution, that he had noknowledge of them whatever, that he had never made them, and had not theskill by which to make them, that he had held no communication withdevils, and knew nothing of what they were talking about. A report ofall this being made and shown to him, he signed it. 

"This done, they brought all the possessed nuns, to the number of elevenor twelve, including three lay sisters, also possessed, into the choir ofthe said church, accompanied by a great many monks, Carmelites, Capuchins, and Franciscans; and by three physicians and a surgeon. Thesisters on entering made some wanton remarks, calling Grandier theirmaster, and exhibiting great delight at seeing him. 

"Thereupon Pere Lactance and Gabriel, a Franciscan brother, and one ofthe exorcists, exhorted all present with great fervour to lift up theirhearts to God and to make an act of contrition for the offences committedagainst His divine majesty, and to pray that the number of their sinsmight not be an obstacle to the fulfilment of the plans which He in Hisprovidence had formed for the promotion of His glory on that occasion, and to give outward proof of their heartfelt grief by repeating theConfiteor as a preparation for the blessing of the Lord Bishop ofPoitiers. This having been done, he went on to say that the matter inquestion was of such moment and so important in its relation to the greattruths of the Roman Catholic Church, that this consideration alone oughtto be sufficient to excite their devotion; and furthermore, that theaffliction of these poor sisters was so peculiar and had lasted so long, that charity impelled all those who had the right to work for theirdeliverance and the expulsion of the devils, to employ the powerentrusted to them with their office in accomplishing so worthy a task bythe forms of exorcism prescribed by the Church to its ministers; thenaddressing Grandier, he said that he having been anointed as a priestbelonged to this number, and that he ought to help with all his power andwith all his energy, if the bishop were pleased to allow him to do so, and to remit his suspension from authority. The bishop having grantedpermission, the Franciscan friar offered a stole to Grandier, who, turning towards the prelate, asked him if he might take it. On receivinga reply in the affirmative, he passed it round his neck, and on beingoffered a copy of the ritual, he asked permission to accept it as before, and received the bishop's blessing, prostrating himself at his feet tokiss them; whereupon the Veni Creator Spiritus having been sung, he rose, and addressing the bishop, asked--

"'My lord, whom am I to exorcise?'"

The said bishop having replied--

"'These maidens. '

"Grandier again asked--

"'What maidens?'

"'The possessed maidens, ' was the answer. 

"'That is to say, my lord, ' said he; 'that I am obliged to believe in thefact of possession. The Church believes in it, therefore I too believe;but I cannot believe that a sorcerer can cause a Christian to bepossessed unless the Christian consent. '

"Upon this, some of those present exclaimed that it was heretical toprofess such a belief; that the contrary was indubitable, believed by thewhole Church and approved by the Sorbonne. To which he replied that hismind on that point was not yet irrevocably made up, that what he had saidwas simply his own idea, and that in any case he submitted to the opinionof the whole body of which he was only a member; that nobody was declareda heretic for having doubts, but only for persisting in them, and thatwhat he had advanced was only for the purpose of drawing an assurancefrom the bishop that in doing what he was about to do he would not beabusing the authority of the Church. Sister Catherine having beenbrought to him by the Franciscan as the most ignorant of all the nuns, and the least open to the suspicion of being acquainted with Latin, hebegan the exorcism in the form prescribed by the ritual. But as soon ashe began to question her he was interrupted, for all the other nuns wereattacked by devils, and uttered strange and terrible noises. Amongst therest, Sister Claire came near, and reproached him for his blindness andobstinacy, so that he was forced to leave the nun with whom he had begun, and address his words to the said Sister Claire, who during the entireduration of the exorcism continued to talk at random, without paying anyheed to Grandier's words, which were also interrupted by the mothersuperior, to whom he of last gave attention, leaving Sister Claire. Butit is to be noted that before beginning to exorcise the superior, hesaid, speaking in Latin as heretofore, that knowing she understood Latin, he would question her in Greek. To which the devil replied by the mouthof the possessed:

"'Ah! how clever you are! You know it was one of the first conditions ofour pact that I was not to answer in Greek. '

"Upon this, he cried, 'O pulchra illusio, egregica evasio!' ( O superbfraud, outrageous evasion!)

"He was then told that he was permitted to exorcise in Greek, provided hefirst wrote down what he wished to say, and the superior hereupon saidthat he should be answered in what language he pleased; but it wasimpossible, for as soon as he opened his mouth all the nuns recommencedtheir shrieks and paroxysms, showing unexampled despair, and giving wayto convulsions, which in each patient assumed a new form, and persistingin accusing Grandier of using magic and the black art to torment them;offering to wring his neck if they were allowed, and trying to outragehis feelings in every possible way. But this being against theprohibitions of the Church, the priests and monks present worked with theutmost zeal to calm the frenzy which had seized on the nuns. Grandiermeanwhile remained calm and unmoved, gazing fixedly at the maniacs, protesting his innocence, and praying to God for protection. Thenaddressing himself to the bishop and M. De Laubardemont, he implored themby the ecclesiastical and royal authority of which they were theministers to command these demons to wring his neck, or at least to put amark in his forehead, if he were guilty of the crime of which theyaccused him, that the glory of God might be shown forth, the authority ofthe Church vindicated, and himself brought to confusion, provided thatthe nuns did not touch him with their hands. But to this the bishop andthe commissioner would not consent, because they did not want to beresponsible for what might happen to him, neither would they expose theauthority of the Church to the wiles of the devils, who might have madesome pact on that point with Grandier. Then the exorcists, to the numberof eight, having commanded the devils to be silent and to cease theirtumult, ordered a brazier to be brought, and into this they threw thepacts one by one, whereupon the convulsions returned with such awfulviolence and confused cries, rising into frenzied shrieks, andaccompanied by such horrible contortions, that the scene might have beentaken for an orgy of witches, were it not for the sanctity of the placeand the character of those present, of whom Grandier, in outward seemingat least, was the least amazed of any, although he had the most reason. The devils continued their accusations, citing the places, the days, andthe hours of their intercourse with him; the first spell he cast on them, his scandalous behaviour, his insensibility, his abjurations of God andthe faith. To all this he calmly returned that these accusations werecalumnies, and all the more unjust considering his profession; that herenounced Satan and all his fiends, having neither knowledge norcomprehension of them; that in spite of all he was a Christian, and whatwas more, an anointed priest; that though he knew himself to be a sinfulman, yet his trust was in God and in His Christ; that he had neverindulged in such abominations, end that it would be impossible to furnishany pertinent and convincing proof of his guilt. 

"At this point no words could express what the senses perceived; eyes andears received an impression of being surrounded by furies such as hadnever been gathered together before; and unless accustomed to suchghastly scenes as those who sacrifice to demons, no one could keep hismind free from astonishment and horror in the midst of such a spectacle. Grandier alone remained unchanged through it all, seemingly insensible tothe monstrous exhibitions, singing hymns to the Lord with the rest of thepeople, as confident as if he were guarded by legions of angels. One ofthe demons cried out that Beelzebub was standing between him and PereTranquille the Capuchin, upon which Grandier said to the demon--

"'Obmutescas!' (Hold thy peace). 

"Upon this the demon began to curse, and said that was their watchword;but they could not hold their peace, because God was infinitely powerful, and the powers of hell could not prevail against Him. Thereupon they allstruggled to get at Grandier, threatening to tear him limb from limb, topoint out his marks, to strangle him although he was their master;whereupon he seized a chance to say he was neither their master nor theirservant, and that it was incredible that they should in the same breathacknowledge him for their master and express a desire to strangle him: onhearing this, the frenzy of the nuns reached its height, and they kickedtheir slippers into his face. 

"'Just look!' said he; 'the shoes drop from the hoofs of their ownaccord. '

"At length, had it not been for the help and interposition of people inthe choir, the nuns in their frenzy would have taken the life of thechief personage in this spectacle; so there was no choice but to take himaway from the church and the furies who threatened his life. He wastherefore brought back to prison about six o'clock in the evening, andthe rest of the day the exorcists were employed in calming the poorsisters--a task of no small difficulty. "

Everyone did not regard the possessed sisters with the indulgent eye ofthe author of the above narrative, and many saw in this terribleexhibition of hysteria and convulsions an infamous and sacrilegious orgy, at which revenge ran riot. There was such difference of opinion about itthat it was considered necessary to publish the following proclamation bymeans of placards on July 2nd:

"All persons, of whatever rank or profession, are hereby expresslyforbidden to traduce, or in any way malign, the nuns and other persons atLoudun possessed by evil spirits; or their exorcists; or those whoaccompany them either to the places appointed for exorcism or elsewhere;in any form or manner whatever, on pain of a fine of ten thousand livres, or a larger sum and corporal punishment should the case so require; andin order that no one may plead ignorance hereof, this proclamation willbe read and published to-day from the pulpits of all the churches, andcopies affixed to the church doors and in other suitable public places. 

"Done at Loudun, July 2nd, 1634. "

This order had great influence with worldly folk, and from that moment, whether their belief was strengthened or not, they no longer dared toexpress any incredulity. But in spite of that, the judges were put toshame, for the nuns themselves began to repent; and on the day followingthe impious scene above described, just as Pere Lactanee began toexorcise Sister Claire in the castle chapel, she rose, and turningtowards the congregation, while tears ran down her cheeks, said in avoice that could be heard by all present, that she was going to speak thetruth at last in the sight of Heaven. Thereupon she confessed that allthat she had said during the last fortnight against Grandier wascalumnious and false, and that all her actions had been done at theinstigation of the Franciscan Pere Lactance, the director, Mignon, andthe Carmelite brothers. Pere Lactance, not in the least taken aback, declared that her confession was a fresh wile of the devil to save hermaster Grandier. She then made an urgent appeal to the bishop and to M. De Laubardemont, asking to be sequestered and placed in charge of otherpriests than those who had destroyed her soul, by making her bear falsewitness against an innocent man; but they only laughed at the pranks thedevil was playing, and ordered her to be at once taken back to the housein which she was then living. When she heard this order, she darted outof the choir, trying to escape through the church door, imploring thosepresent to come to her assistance and save her from everlastingdamnation. But such terrible fruit had the proclamation borne that noondared respond, so she was recaptured and taken back to the house in whichshe was sequestered, never to leave it again. 

CHAPTER X

The next day a still more extraordinary scene took place. While M. DeLaubardemont was questioning one of the nuns, the superior came down intothe court, barefooted; in her chemise, and a cord round her neck; andthere she remained for two hours, in the midst of a fearful storm, notshrinking before lightning, thunder, or rain, but waiting till M. DeLaubardemont and the other exorcists should come out. At length the dooropened and the royal commissioner appeared, whereupon Sister Jeanne desAnges, throwing herself at his feet, declared she had not sufficientstrength to play the horrible part they had made her learn any longer, and that before God and man she declared Urbain Grandier innocent, sayingthat all the hatred which she and her companions had felt against himarose from the baffled desires which his comeliness awoke--desires whichthe seclusion of conventional life made still more ardent. M. DeLaubardemont threatened her with the full weight of his displeasure, butshe answered, weeping bitterly, that all she now dreaded was her sin, forthough the mercy of the Saviour was great, she felt that the crime shehad committed could never be pardoned. M. De Laubardemont exclaimed thatit was the demon who dwelt in her who was speaking, but she replied thatthe only demon by whom she had even been possessed was the spirit ofvengeance, and that it was indulgence in her own evil thoughts, and not apact with the devil, which had admitted him into her heart. 

With these words she withdrew slowly, still weeping, and going into thegarden, attached one end of the cord round her neck to the branch of atree, and hanged herself. But some of the sisters who had followed hercut her down before life was extinct. 

The same day an order for her strict seclusion was issued for her as forSister Claire, and the circumstances that she was a relation of M. DeLaubardemont did not avail to lessen her punishment in view of thegravity of her fault. 

It was impossible to continue the exorcisms other nuns might be temptedto follow the example, of the superior and Sister Claire, and in thatcase all would be lost. And besides, was not Urbain Grandier well andduly convicted? It was announced, therefore, that the examination hadproceeded far enough, and that the judges would consider the evidence anddeliver judgment. 

This long succession of violent and irregular breaches of law procedure, the repeated denials of his claim to justice, the refusal to let hiswitnesses appear, or to listen to his defence, all combined to convinceGrandier that his ruin was determined on; for the case had gone so farand had attained such publicity that it was necessary either to punishhim as a sorcerer and magician or to render a royal commissioner, abishop, an entire community of nuns, several monks of various orders, many judges of high reputation, and laymen of birth and standing, liableto the penalties incurred by calumniators. But although, as thisconviction grew, he confronted it with resignation, his courage did notfail, --and holding it to be his duty as a man and a Christian to defendhis life and honour to the end, he drew up and published anothermemorandum, headed Reasons for Acquittal, and had copies laid before hisjudges. It was a weighty and, impartial summing up of the whole case, such as a stranger might have written, and began, with these words. 

"I entreat you in all humility to consider deliberately and withattention what the Psalmist says in Psalm 82, where he exhorts judges tofulfil their charge with absolute rectitude; they being themselves meremortals who will one day have to appear before God, the sovereign judgeof the universe, to give an account of their administration. The Lord'sAnointed speaks to you to-day who are sitting in judgment, and says--

"'God standeth in the congregation of the mighty: He judgeth among thegods. 

"'How long will ye judge unjustly, and accept the persons of the wicked?

"'Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy. 

"'Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked. 

"'I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the Most High. 

"'But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes. '"

But this appeal, although convincing and dignified, had no influence uponthe commission; and on the 18th of August the following verdict andsentence was pronounced:--

"We have declared, and do hereby declare, Urbain Grandier duly accusedand convicted of the crimes of magic and witchcraft, and of causing thepersons of certain Ursuline nuns of this town and of other females tobecome possessed of evil spirits, wherefrom other crimes and offenceshave resulted. By way of reparation therefor, we have sentenced, and dohereby sentence, the said Grandier to make public apology, bareheaded, with a cord around his neck, holding a lighted torch of two pounds weightin his hand, before the west door of the church of Saint-Pierre in theMarket Place and before--that of Sainte-Ursule, both of this town, andthere on bended knee to ask pardon of God and the king and the law, andthis done, to be taken to the public square of Sainte-Croix and there tobe attached to a stake, set in the midst of a pile of wood, both of whichto be prepared there for this purpose, and to be burnt alive, along withthe pacts and spells which remain in the hands of the clerk and themanuscript of the book written by the said Grandier against a celibatepriesthood, and his ashes, to be scattered to the four winds of heaven. And we have declared, and do hereby declare, all and every part of hisproperty confiscate to the king, the sum of one hundred and fifty livresbeing first taken therefrom to be employed in the purchase of a copperplate whereon the substance of the present decree shall be engraved, thesame to be exposed in a conspicuous place in the said church ofSainte-Ursule, there to remain in perpetuity; and before this sentence iscarried out, we order the said Grandier to be put to the questionordinary and extraordinary, so that his accomplices may become known. 

"Pronounced at Loudun against the said Grandier this 18th day of August1634. "

On the morning of the day on which this sentence was passed, M. DeLaubardemont ordered the surgeon Francois Fourneau to be arrested at hisown house and taken to Grandier's cell, although he was ready to go thereof his own free will. In passing through the adjoining room he heard thevoice of the accused saying:--

"What do you want with me, wretched executioner? Have you come to killme? You know how cruelly you have already tortured my body. Well I amready to die. "

On entering the room, Fourneau saw that these words had been addressed tothe surgeon Mannouri. 

One of the officers of the 'grand privot de l'hotel', to whom M. DeLaubardemont lent for the occasion the title of officer of the king'sguard, ordered the new arrival to shave Grandier, and not leave a singlehair on his whole body. This was a formality employed in cases ofwitchcraft, so that the devil should have no place to hide in; for it wasthe common belief that if a single hair were left, the devil could renderthe accused insensible to the pains of torture. From this Urbainunderstood that the verdict had gone against him and that he wascondemned to death. 

Fourneau having saluted Grandier, proceeded to carry out his orders, whereupon a judge said it was not sufficient to shave the body of theprisoner, but that his nails must also be torn out, lest the devil shouldhide beneath them. Grandier looked at the speaker with an expression ofunutterable pity, and held out his hands to Fourneau; but Forneau putthem gently aside, and said he would do nothing of the kind, even werethe order given by the cardinal-duke himself, and at the same time beggedGrandier's pardon for shaving him. At, these words Grandier, who had forso long met with nothing but barbarous treatment from those with whom hecame in contact, turned towards the surgeon with tears in his eyes, saying--

"So you are the only one who has any pity for me. "

"Ah, sir, " replied Fourneau, "you don't see everybody. "

Grandier was then shaved, but only two marks found on him, one as we havesaid on the shoulder blade, and the other on the thigh. Both marks werevery sensitive, the wounds which Mannouri had made not having yet healed. This point having been certified by Fourneau, Grandier was handed, nothis own clothes, but some wretched garments which had probably belongedto some other condemned man. 

Then, although his sentence had been pronounced at the Carmelite convent, he was taken by the grand provost's officer, with two of his archers, accompanied by the provosts of Loudun and Chinon, to the town hall, whereseveral ladies of quality, among them Madame de Laubardemont, led bycuriosity, were sitting beside the judges, waiting to hear the sentenceread. M. De Laubardemont was in the seat usually occupied by the clerk, and the clerk was standing before him. All the approaches were linedwith soldiers. 

Before the accused was brought in, Pere Lactance and another Franciscanwho had come with him exorcised him to oblige the devils to leave him;then entering the judgment hall, they exorcised the earth, the air, "andthe other elements. " Not till that was done was Grandier led in. 

At first he was kept at the far end of the hall, to allow time for theexorcisms to have their full effect, then he was brought forward to thebar and ordered to kneel down. Grandier obeyed, but could remove neitherhis hat nor his skull-cap, as his hands were bound behind his back, whereupon the clerk seized on the one and the provost's officer on theother, and flung them at de Laubardemont's feet. Seeing that the accusedfixed his eyes on the commissioner as if waiting to see what he was aboutto do, the clerk said:

"Turn your head, unhappy man, and adore the crucifix above the bench. "

Grandier obeyed without a murmur and with great humility, and remainedsunk in silent prayer for about ten minutes; he then resumed his formerattitude. 

The clerk then began to read the sentence in a trembling voice, whileGrandier listened with unshaken firmness and wonderful tranquillity, although it was the most terrible sentence that could be passed, condemning the accused to be burnt alive the same day, after theinfliction of ordinary and extraordinary torture. When the clerk hadended, Grandier said, with a voice unmoved from its usual calm--

"Messeigneurs, I aver in the name of the Father, the Son, and the HolyGhost, and the Blessed Virgin, my only hope, that I have never been amagician, that I have never committed sacrilege, that I know no othermagic than that of the Holy Scriptures, which I have always preached, andthat I have never held any other belief than that of our Holy Mother theCatholic Apostolic Church of Rome; I renounce the devil and all hisworks; I confess my Redeemer, and I pray to be saved through the blood ofthe Cross; and I beseech you, messeigneurs, to mitigate the rigour of mysentence, and not to drive my soul to despair. "

The concluding words led de Laubardemont to believe that he could obtainsome admission from Grandier through fear of suffering, so he ordered thecourt to be cleared, and, being left alone with Maitre Houmain, criminallieutenant of Orleans, and the Franciscans, he addressed Grandier in astern voice, saying there was only one way to obtain any mitigation ofhis sentence, and that was to confess the names of his accomplices and tosign the confession. Grandier replied that having committed no crime hecould have no accomplices, whereupon Laubardemont ordered the prisoner tobe taken to the torture chamber, which adjoined the judgment hall--anorder which was instantly obeyed. 

CHAPTER XI

The mode of torture employed at Loudun was a variety of the boot, and oneof the most painful of all. Each of the victim's legs below the knee wasplaced between two boards, the two pairs were then laid one above theother and bound together firmly at the ends; wedges were then driven inwith a mallet between the two middle boards; four such wedges constitutedordinary and eight extraordinary torture; and this latter was seldominflicted, except on those condemned to death, as almost no one eversurvived it, the sufferer's legs being crushed to a pulp before he leftthe torturer's bands. In this case M. De Laubardemont on his owninitiative, for it had never been done before, added two wedges to thoseof the extraordinary torture, so that instead of eight, ten were to bedriven in. 

Nor was this all: the commissioner royal and the two Franciscansundertook to inflict the torture themselves. 

Laubardemont ordered Grandier to be bound in the usual manner, I and thensaw his legs placed between the boards. He then dismissed theexecutioner and his assistants, and directed the keeper of theinstruments to bring the wedges, which he complained of as being toosmall. Unluckily, there were no larger ones in stock, and in spite ofthreats the keeper persisted in saying he did not know where to procureothers. M. De Laubardemont then asked how long it would take to makesome, and was told two hours; finding that too long to wait, he wasobliged to put up with those he had. 

Thereupon the torture began. Pere Lactance having exorcised theinstruments, drove in the first wedge, but could not draw a murmur fromGrandier, who was reciting a prayer in a low voice; a second was drivenhome, and this time the victim, despite his resolution, could not avoidinterrupting his devotions by two groans, at each of which Pere Lactancestruck harder, crying, "Dicas! dicas!" (Confess, confess!), a word whichhe repeated so often and so furiously, till all was over, that he wasever after popularly called "Pere Dicas. "

When the second wedge was in, de Laubardemont showed Grandier hismanuscript against the celibacy of the priests, and asked if heacknowledged it to be in his own handwriting. Grandier answered in theaffirmative. Asked what motive he had in writing it, he said it was anattempt to restore peace of mind to a poor girl whom he had loved, as wasproved by the two lines written at the end--

 "Si ton gentil esprit prend bien cette science, Tu mettras en repos ta bonne conscience. "

 [If thy sensitive mind imbibe this teaching, It will give ease to thy tender conscience]

Upon this, M. De Laubardemont demanded the girl's name; but Grandierassured him it should never pass his lips, none knowing it but himselfand God. Thereupon M. De Laubardemont ordered Pere Lactance to insertthe third wedge. While it was being driven in by the monk's lusty arm, each blow being accompanied by the word "'Dicas'!" Grandier exclaimed--

"My God! they are killing me, and yet I am neither a sorcerer norsacrilegious!"

At the fourth wedge Grandier fainted, muttering--

"Oh, Pere Lactance, is this charity?"

Although his victim was unconscious, Pere Lactance continued to strike;so that, having lost consciousness through pain, pain soon brought himback to life. 

De Laubardemont took advantage of this revival to take his turn atdemanding a confession of his crimes; but Grandier said--

"I have committed no crimes, sir, only errors. Being a man, I have oftengone astray; but I have confessed and done penance, and believe that myprayers for pardon have been heard; but if not, I trust that God willgrant me pardon now, for the sake of my sufferings. "

At the fifth wedge Grandier fainted once more, but they restored him toconsciousness by dashing cold water in his face, whereupon he moaned, turning to M. De Laubardemont--

"In pity, sir, put me to death at once! I am only a man, and I cannotanswer for myself that if you continue to torture me so I shall not giveway to despair. "

"Then sign this, and the torture shall cease, " answered the commissionerroyal, offering him a paper. 

"My father, " said Urbain, turning towards the Franciscan, "can you assureme on your conscience that it is permissible for a man, in order toescape suffering, to confess a crime he has never committed?"

"No, " replied the monk; "for if he die with a lie on his lips he dies inmortal sin. "

"Go on, then, " said Grandier; "for having suffered so much in my body, Idesire to save my soul. "

As Pere Lactance drove in the sixth wedge Grandier fainted anew. 

When he had been revived, Laubardemont called upon him to confess that acertain Elisabeth Blanchard had been his mistress, as well as the girlfor whom he had written the treatise against celibacy; but Grandierreplied that not only had no improper relations ever existed betweenthem, but that the day he had been confronted with her at his trial wasthe first time he had ever seen her. 

At the seventh wedge Grandier's legs burst open, and the blood spurtedinto Pere Lactance's face; but he wiped it away with the sleeve of hisgown. 

"O Lord my God, have mercy on me! I die!" cried Grandier, and faintedfor the fourth time. Pere Lactance seized the opportunity to take ashort rest, and sat down. 

When Grandier had once more come to himself, he began slowly to utter aprayer, so beautiful and so moving that the provost's lieutenant wrote itdown; but de Laubardemont noticing this, forbade him ever to show it toanyone. 

At the eighth wedge the bones gave way, and the marrow oozed out of thewounds, and it became useless to drive in any more wedges, the legs beingnow as flat as the boards that compressed them, and moreover PereLactance was quite worn out. 

Grandier was unbound and laid upon the flagged floor, and while his eyesshone with fever and agony he prayed again a second prayer--a veritablemartyr's prayer, overflowing with faith and enthusiasm; but as he endedhis strength failed, and he again became unconscious. The provost'slieutenant forced a little wine between his lips, which brought him to;then he made an act of contrition, renounced Satan and all his works onceagain, and commended his soul to God. 

Four men entered, his legs were freed from the boards, and the crushedparts were found to be a mere inert mass, only attached to the knees bythe sinews. He was then carried to the council chamber, and laid on alittle straw before the fire. 

In a corner of the fireplace an Augustinian monk was seated. Urbainasked leave to confess to him, which de Laubardemont refused, holding outthe paper he desired to have signed once more, at which Grandier said--

"If I would not sign to spare myself before, am I likely to give way nowthat only death remains?"

"True, " replied Laubardemont; "but the mode of your death is in ourhands: it rests with us to make it slow or quick, painless or agonising;so take this paper and sign?"

Grandier pushed the paper gently away, shaking his head in sign ofrefusal, whereupon de Laubardemont left the room in a fury, and orderedPeres Tranquille and Claude to be admitted, they being the confessors hehad chosen for Urbain. When they came near to fulfil their office, Urbain recognised in them two of his torturers, so he said that, as itwas only four days since he had confessed to Pere Grillau, and he did notbelieve he had committed any mortal sin since then, he would not troublethem, upon which they cried out at him as a heretic and infidel, butwithout any effect. 

At four o'clock the executioner's assistants came to fetch him; he wasplaced lying on a bier and carried out in that position. On the way hemet the criminal lieutenant of Orleans, who once more exhorted him toconfess his crimes openly; but Grandier replied--

"Alas, sir, I have avowed them all; I have kept nothing back. "

"Do you desire me to have masses said for you?" continued the lieutenant. 

"I not only desire it, but I beg for it as a great favour, " said Urbain. 

A lighted torch was then placed in his hand: as the procession started hepressed the torch to his lips; he looked on all whom he met with modestconfidence, and begged those whom he knew to intercede with God for him. On the threshold of the door his sentence was read to him, and he wasthen placed in a small cart and driven to the church of St. Pierre in themarket-place. There he was awaited by M. De Laubardemont, who orderedhim to alight. As he could not stand on his mangled limbs, he was pushedout, and fell first on his knees and then on his face. In this positionhe remained patiently waiting to be lifted. He was carried to the top ofthe steps and laid down, while his sentence was read to him once more, and just as it was finished, his confessor, who had not been allowed tosee him for four days, forced a way through the crowd and threw himselfinto Grandier's arms. At first tears choked Pere Grillau's voice, but atlast he said, "Remember, sir, that our Saviour Jesus Christ ascended toHis Father through the agony of the Cross: you are a wise man, do notgive way now and lose everything. I bring you your mother's blessing; sheand I never cease to pray that God may have mercy on you and receive youinto Paradise. "

These words seemed to inspire Grandier with new strength; he lifted hishead, which pain had bowed, and raising his eyes to heaven, murmured ashort prayer. Then turning towards the worthy, friar, he said--

"Be a son to my mother; pray to God for me constantly; ask all our goodfriars to pray for my soul; my one consolation is that I die innocent. Itrust that God in His mercy may receive me into Paradise. "

"Is there nothing else I can do for you?" asked Pere Grillau. 

"Alas, my father!" replied Grandier, "I am condemned to die a most crueldeath; ask the executioner if there is no way of shortening what I mustundergo. "

"I go at once, " said the friar; and giving him absolution in 'articulomortis', he went down the steps, and while Grandier was making hisconfession aloud the good monk drew the executioner aside and asked ifthere were no possibility of alleviating the death-agony by means of ashirt dipped in brimstone. The executioner answered that as the sentenceexpressly stated that Grandier was to be burnt alive, he could not employan expedient so sure to be discovered as that; but that if the friarwould give him thirty crowns he would undertake to strangle Grandierwhile he was kindling the pile. Pere Grillau gave him the money, and theexecutioner provided himself with a rope. The Franciscan then placedhimself where he could speak to his penitent as he passed, and as heembraced him for the last time, whispered to him what he had arrangedwith the executioner, whereupon Grandier turned towards the latter andsaid in a tone of deep gratitude--

"Thanks, my brother. "

At that moment, the archers having driven away Pere Grillau, by order ofM. De Laubardemont, by beating him with their halberts, the processionresumed its march, to go through the same ceremony at the Ursulinechurch, and from there to proceed to the square of Sainte-Croix. On theway Urbain met and recognised Moussant, who was accompanied by his wife, and turning towards him, said--

"I die your debtor, and if I have ever said a word that could offend youI ask you to forgive me. "

When the place of execution was reached, the provost's lieutenantapproached Grandier and asked his forgiveness. 

"You have not offended me, " was the reply; "you have only done what yourduty obliged you to do. "

The executioner then came forward and removed the back board of the cart, and ordered his assistants to carry Grandier to where the pile wasprepared. As he was unable to stand, he was attached to the stake by aniron hoop passed round his body. At that moment a flock of pigeonsseemed to fall from the sky, and, fearless of the crowd, which was sogreat that the archers could not succeed even by blows of their weaponsin clearing a way for the magistrates, began to fly around Grandier, while one, as white as the driven snow, alighted on the summit of thestake, just above his head. Those who believed in possession exclaimedthat they were only a band of devils come to seek their master, but therewere many who muttered that devils were not wont to assume such a form, and who persisted in believing that the doves had come in default of mento bear witness to Grandier's innocence. 

In trying next day to combat this impression, a monk asserted that he hadseen a huge fly buzzing round Grandier's head, and as Beelzebub meant inHebrew, as he said, the god of flies, it was quite evident that it wasthat demon himself who, taking upon him the form of one of his subjects, had come to carry off the magician's soul. 

When everything was prepared, the executioner passed the rope by which hemeant to strangle him round Grandier's neck; then the priests exorcisedthe earth, air, and wood, and again demanded of their victim if he wouldnot publicly confess his crimes. Urbain replied that he had nothing tosay, but that he hoped through the martyr's death he was about to die tobe that day with Christ in Paradise. 

The clerk then read his sentence to him for the fourth time, and asked ifhe persisted in what he said under torture. 

"Most certainly I do, " said Urbain; "for it was the exact truth. "

Upon this, the clerk withdrew, first informing Grandier that if he hadanything to say to the people he was at liberty to speak. 

But this was just what the exorcists did not want: they knew Grandier'seloquence and courage, and a firm, unshaken denial at the moment of deathwould be most prejudicial to their interests. As soon, therefore, asGrandier opened his lips to speak, they dashed such a quantity of holywater in his face that it took away his breath. It was but for a moment, however, and he recovered himself, and again endeavoured to speak, a monkstooped down and stifled the words by kissing him on the lips. Grandier, guessing his intention, said loud enough for those next the pile to hear, "That was the kiss of Judas!"

At these words the monks become so enraged that one of them struckGrandier three times in the face with a crucifix, while he appeared to begiving it him to kiss; but by the blood that flowed from his nose andlips at the third blow those standing near perceived the truth: allGrandier could do was to call out that he asked for a Salve Regina and anAve Maria, which many began at once to repeat, whilst he with claspedhands and eyes raised to heaven commended himself to God and the Virgin. The exorcists then made one more effort to get him to confess publicly, but he exclaimed--

"My fathers, I have said all I had to say; I hope in God and in Hismercy. "

At this refusal the anger of the exorcists surpassed all bounds, and PereLactance, taking a twist of straw, dipped it in a bucket of pitch whichwas standing beside the pile, and lighting it at a torch, thrust it intohis face, crying--

"Miserable wretch! will nothing force you to confess your crimes andrenounce the devil?"

"I do not belong to the devil, " said Grandier, pushing away the strawwith his hands; "I have renounced the devil, I now renounce him and allhis works again, and I pray that God may have mercy on me. "

At this, without waiting for the signal from the provost's lieutenant, Pere Lactance poured the bucket of pitch on one corner of the pile ofwood and set fire to it, upon which Grandier called the executioner tohis aid, who, hastening up, tried in vain to strangle him, while theflames spread apace. 

"Ah! my brother, " said the sufferer, "is this the way you keep yourpromise?"

"It's not my fault, " answered the executioner; "the monks have knottedthe cord, so that the noose cannot slip. "

"Oh, Father Lactance! Father Lactance! have you no charity?" criedGrandier. 

The executioner by this time was forced by the increasing heat to jumpdown from the pile, being indeed almost overcome; and seeing this, Grandier stretched forth a hand into the flames, and said--

"Pere Lactance, God in heaven will judge between thee and me; I summonthee to appear before Him in thirty days. "

Grandier was then seen to make attempts to strangle himself, but eitherbecause it was impossible, or because he felt it would be wrong to endhis life by his own hands, he desisted, and clasping his hands, prayedaloud--

"Deus meus, ad te vigilo, miserere me. "

A Capuchin fearing that he would have time to say more, approached thepile from the side which had not yet caught fire, and dashed theremainder of the holy water in his face. This caused such smoke thatGrandier was hidden for a moment from the eyes of the spectators; when itcleared away, it was seen that his clothes were now alight; his voicecould still be heard from the midst of the flames raised in prayer; thenthree times, each time in a weaker voice, he pronounced the name ofJesus, and giving one cry, his head fell forward on his breast. 

At that moment the pigeons which had till then never ceased to circleround the stake, flew away, and were lost in the clouds. 

Urbain Grandier had given up the ghost. 

CHAPTER XII

This time it was not the man who was executed who was guilty, but theexecutioners; consequently we feel sure that our readers will be anxiousto learn something of their fate. 

Pere Lactance died in the most terrible agony on September 18th, 1634, exactly a month from the date of Grandier's death. His brother-monksconsidered that this was due to the vengeance of Satan; but others werenot wanting who said, remembering the summons uttered by Grandier, thatit was rather due to the justice of God. Several attendant circumstancesseemed to favour the latter opinion. The author of the History of theDevils of Loudzin gives an account of one of these circumstances, for theauthenticity of which he vouches, and from which we extract thefollowing:

"Some days after the execution of Grandier, Pere Lactance fell ill of thedisease of which he died. Feeling that it was of supernatural origin, hedetermined to take a pilgrimage to Notre Dame des Andilliers de Saumur, where many miracles were wrought, and which was held in high estimationin the neighbourhood. A place in the carriage of the Sieur de Canaye wasoffered him for the journey; for this gentleman, accompanied by a largeparty on pleasure bent, was just then setting out for his estate of GrandFonds, which lay in the same direction. The reason for the offer wasthat Canaye and his friends, having heard that the last words of Grandierhad affected Pere Lactance's mind, expected to find a great deal ofamusement in exciting the terrors of their travelling-companion. And intruth, for a day or two, the boon companions sharpened their wits at theexpense of the worthy monk, when all at once, on a good road and withoutapparent cause, the carriage overturned. Though no one was hurt, theaccident appeared so strange to the pleasure-seekers that it put an endto the jokes of even the boldest among them. Pere Lactance himselfappeared melancholy and preoccupied, and that evening at supper refusedto eat, repeating over and over again--

"'It was wrong of me to deny Grandier the confessor he asked for; God ispunishing me, God is punishing me!'

"On the following morning the journey was resumed, but the evidentdistress of mind under which Pere Lactance laboured had so damped thespirits of the party that all their gaiety had disappeared. Suddenly, just outside Fenet, where the road was in excellent condition and noobstacle to their progress apparent, the carriage upset for the secondtime. Although again no one was hurt, the travellers felt that there wasamong them someone against whom God's anger was turned, and theirsuspicions pointing to Pere Lactance, they went on their way, leaving himbehind, and feeling very uncomfortable at the thought that they had spenttwo or three days in his society. 

"Pere Lactance at last reached Notre-Dame des Andilliers; but howevernumerous were the miracles there performed, the remission of the doompronounced by the martyr on Pere Lactance was not added to their number;and at a quarter-past six on September 18th, exactly a month to the veryminute after Grandier's death, Pere Lactance expired in excruciatingagony. "

Pere Tranquille's turn came four years later. The malady which attackedhim was so extraordinary that the physicians were quite at a loss, andforced to declare their ignorance of any remedy. His shrieks andblasphemies were so distinctly heard in the streets, that his brotherFranciscans, fearing the effect they would have on his after-reputation, especially in the minds of those who had seen Grandier die with words ofprayer on his lips, spread abroad the report that the devils whom he hadexpelled from the bodies of the nuns had entered into the body of theexorcist. He died shrieking--

"My God! how I suffer! Not all the devils and all the damned togetherendure what I endure!" His panegyrist, in whose book we find all thehorrible details of his death employed to much purpose to illustrate theadvantages of belonging to the true faith, remarks--

"Truly big generous heart must have been a hot hell for those fiends whoentered his body to torment it. "

The following epitaph which was placed over his grave was interpreted, according to the prepossessions of those who read it, either as atestimony to his sanctity or as a proof of his punishment:--

"Here lies Pere Tranquille, of Saint-Remi; a humble Capuchin preacher. The demons no longer able to endure his fearlessly exercised power as anexorcist, and encouraged by sorcerers, tortured him to death, on May31st, 1638. "

But a death about which there could be no doubt as to the cause was thatof the surgeon Mannouri, the same who had, as the reader may recollect, been the first to torture Grandier. One evening about ten o'clock he wasreturning from a visit to a patient who lived on the outskirts of thetown, accompanied by a colleague and preceded by his surgery attendantcarrying a lantern. When they reached the centre of the town in the rueGrand-Pave, which passes between the walls of the castle grounds and thegardens of the Franciscan monastery, Mannouri suddenly stopped, and, staring fixedly at some object which was invisible to his companions, exclaimed with a start--

"Oh! there is Grandier!

"Where? where?" cried the others. 

He pointed in the direction towards which his eyes were turned, andbeginning to tremble violently, asked--

"What do you want with me, Grandier? What do you want?"

A moment later he added

"Yes-yes, I am coming. "

Immediately it seemed as if the vision vanished from before his eyes, butthe effect remained. His brother-surgeon and the servant brought himhome, but neither candles nor the light of day could allay his fears; hisdisordered brain showed him Grandier ever standing at the foot of hisbed. A whole week he continued, as was known all over the town, in thiscondition of abject terror; then the spectre seemed to move from itsplace and gradually to draw nearer, for he kept on repeating, "He iscoming! he is coming!" and at length, towards evening, at about the samehour at which Grandier expired, Surgeon Mannouri drew his last breath. 

We have still to tell of M. De Laubardemont. All we know is thus relatedin the letters of M. De Patin:--

"On the 9th inst. , at nine o'clock in the evening, a carriage wasattacked by robbers; on hearing the noise the townspeople ran to thespot, drawn thither as much by curiosity as by humanity. A few shotswere exchanged and the robbers put to flight, with the exception of oneman belonging to their band who was taken prisoner, and another who laywounded on the paving-stones. This latter died next day without havingspoken, and left no clue behind as to who he was. His identity was, however, at length made clear. He was the son of a high dignitary namedde Laubardemont, who in 1634, as royal commissioner, condemned UrbainGrandier, a poor, priest of Loudun, to be burnt alive, under the pretencethat he had caused several nuns of Loudun to be possessed by devils. These nuns he had so tutored as to their behaviour that many peoplefoolishly believed them to be demoniacs. May we not regard the fate ofhis son as a chastisement inflicted by Heaven on this unjust judge--anexpiation exacted for the pitilessly cruel death inflicted on his victim, whose blood still cries unto the Lord from the ground?"

Naturally the persecution of Urbain Grandier attracted the attentionnot only of journalists but of poets. Among the many poems whichwere inspired by it, the following is one of the best. Urbainspeaks:--

 "From hell came the tidings that by horrible sanctions I had made a pact with the devil to have power over women: Though not one could be found to accuse me. In the trial which delivered me to torture and the stake, The demon who accused me invented and suggested the crime, And his testimony was the only proof against me. 

 The English in their rage burnt the Maid alive; Like her, I too fell a victim to revenge; We were both accused falsely of the same crime; In Paris she is adored, in London abhorred; In Loudun some hold me guilty of witchcraft, Some believe me innocent; some halt between two minds. 

 Like Hercules, I loved passionately; Like him, I was consumed by fire; But he by death became a god. The injustice of my death was so well concealed That no one can judge whether the flames saved or destroyed me; Whether they blackened me for hell, or purified me for heaven. 

 In vain did I suffer torments with unshaken resolution; They said that I felt no pain, being a sorcerer died unrepentant; That the prayers I uttered were impious words; That in kissing the image on the cross I spat in its face; That casting my eyes to heaven I mocked the saints; That when I seemed to call on God, I invoked the devil

 Others, more charitable, say, in spite of their hatred of my crime, That my death may be admired although my life was not blameless; That my resignation showed that I died in hope and faith; That to forgive, to suffer without complaint or murmur, Is perfect love; and that the soul is purified From the sins of life by a death like mine. "

NISIDA--1825

If our readers, tempted by the Italian proverb about seeing Naples andthen dying, were to ask us what is the most favourable moment forvisiting the enchanted city, we should advise them to land at the mole, or at Mergellina, on a fine summer day and at the hour when some solemnprocession is moving out of the cathedral. Nothing can give an idea ofthe profound and simple-hearted emotion of this populace, which hasenough poetry in its soul to believe in its own happiness. The wholetown adorns herself and attires herself like a bride for her wedding; thedark facades of marble and granite disappear beneath hangings of silk andfestoons of flowers; the wealthy display their dazzling luxury, the poordrape themselves proudly in their rags. Everything is light, harmony, and perfume; the sound is like the hum of an immense hive, interrupted bya thousandfold outcry of joy impossible to describe. The bells repeattheir sonorous sequences in every key; the arcades echo afar with thetriumphal marches of military bands; the sellers of sherbet andwater-melons sing out their deafening flourish from throats of copper. People form into groups; they meet, question, gesticulate; there aregleaming looks, eloquent gestures, picturesque attitudes; there is ageneral animation, an unknown charm, an indefinable intoxication. Earthis very near to heaven, and it is easy to understand that, if God were tobanish death from this delightful spot, the Neapolitans would desire noother paradise. 

The story that we are about to tell opens with one of these magicalpictures. It was the Day of the Assumption in the year 1825; the sun hadbeen up some four or five hours, and the long Via da Forcella, lightedfrom end to end by its slanting rays, cut the town in two, like a ribbonof watered silk. The lava pavement, carefully cleaned, shone like anymosaic, and the royal troops, with their proudly waving plumes, made adouble living hedge on each side of the street. The balconies, windows, and terraces, the stands with their unsubstantial balustrades, and thewooden galleries set up during the night, were loaded with spectators, and looked not unlike the boxes of a theatre. An immense crowd, forminga medley of the brightest colours, invaded the reserved space and brokethrough the military barriers, here and there, like an overflowingtorrent. These intrepid sightseers, nailed to their places, would havewaited half their lives without giving the least sign of impatience. 

At last, about noon, a cannon-shot was heard, and a cry of generalsatisfaction followed it. It was the signal that the procession hadcrossed the threshold of the church. In the same moment a charge ofcarabineers swept off the people who were obstructing the middle of thestreet, the regiments of the line opened floodgates for the overflowingcrowd, and soon nothing remained on the causeway but some scared dog, shouted at by the people, hunted off by the soldiers, and fleeing at fullspeed. The procession came out through the Via di Vescovato. First camethe guilds of merchants and craftsmen, the hatters, weavers, bakers, butchers, cutlers, and goldsmiths. They wore the prescribed dress: blackcoats, knee breeches, low shoes and silver buckles. As the countenancesof these gentlemen offered nothing very interesting to the multitude, whisperings arose, little by little, among the spectators, then some boldspirits ventured a jest or two upon the fattest or the baldest of thetownsmen, and at last the boldest of the lazzaroni slipped between thesoldiers' legs to collect the wax that was running down from the lightedtapers. 

After the craftsmen, the religious orders marched past, from theDominicans to the Carthusians, from the Carmelites to the Capuchins. Theyadvanced slowly, their eyes cast down, their step austere, their hands ontheir hearts; some faces were rubicund and shining, with largecheek-hones and rounded chins, herculean heads upon bullnecks; some, thinand livid, with cheeks hollowed by suffering and penitence, and with thelook of living ghosts; in short, here were the two sides of monasticlife. 

At this moment, Nunziata and Gelsomina, two charming damsels, takingadvantage of an old corporal's politeness, pushed forward their prettyheads into the first rank. The break in the line was conspicuous; butthe sly warrior seemed just a little lax in the matter of discipline. 

"Oh, there is Father Bruno!" said Gelsomina suddenly. "Good-day, FatherBruno. "

"Hush, cousin! People do not talk to the procession. "

"How absurd! He is my confessor. May I not say good-morning to myconfessor?"

"Silence, chatterboxes!"

"Who was that spoke?"

"Oh, my dear, it was Brother Cucuzza, the begging friar. "

"Where is he? Where is he?"

"There he is, along there, laughing into his beard. How bold he is!"

"Ah, God in heaven! If we were to dream of him---"

While the two cousins were pouring out endless comments upon theCapuchins and their beards, the capes of the canons and the surplices ofthe seminarists, the 'feroci' came running across from the other side tore-establish order with the help of their gun-stocks. 

"By the blood of my patron saint, " cried a stentorian voice, "if I catchyou between my finger and thumb, I will straighten your back for the restof your days. "

"Who are you falling out with, Gennaro?"

"With this accursed hunchback, who has been worrying my back for the lasthour, as though he could see through it. "

"It is a shame, " returned the hunchback in a tone of lamentation; "I havebeen here since last night, I slept out of doors to keep my place, andhere is this abominable giant comes to stick himself in front of me likean obelisk. "

The hunchback was lying like a Jew, but the crowd rose unanimouslyagainst the obelisk. He was, in one way, their superior, and majoritiesare always made up of pigmies. 

"Hi! Come down from your stand!"

"Hi! get off your pedestal!"

"Off with your hat!"

"Down with your head!"

"Sit down!"

"Lie down!"

This revival of curiosity expressing itself in invectives evidentlybetokened the crisis of the show. And indeed the chapters of canons, theclergy and bishops, the pages and chamberlains, the representatives ofthe city, and the gentlemen of the king's chamber now appeared, andfinally the king himself, who, bare-headed and carrying a taper, followedthe magnificent statue of the Virgin. The contrast was striking: afterthe grey-headed monks and pale novices came brilliant young captains, affronting heaven with the points of their moustaches, riddling thelatticed windows with killing glances, following the procession in anabsent-minded way, and interrupting the holy hymns with scraps of mostunorthodox conversation. 

"Did you notice, my dear Doria, how like a monkey the old Marchesad'Acquasparta takes her raspberry ice?"

"Her nose takes the colour of the ice. What fine bird is showing off toher?"

"It is the Cyrenian. "

"I beg your pardon! I have not seen that name in the Golden Book. "

"He helps the poor marquis to bear his cross. "

The officer's profane allusion was lost in the prolonged murmur ofadmiration that suddenly rose from the crowd, and every gaze was turnedupon one of the young girls who was strewing flowers before the holyMadonna. She was an exquisite creature. Her head glowing in the sunshine, her feet hidden amid roses and broom-blossom, she rose, tall andfair, from a pale cloud of incense, like some seraphic apparition. Herhair, of velvet blackness, fell in curls half-way down her shoulders; herbrow, white as alabaster and polished as a mirror, reflected the rays ofthe sun; her beautiful and finely arched black eye-brows melted into theopal of her temples; her eyelids were fast down, and the curled blackfringe of lashes veiled a glowing and liquid glance of divine emotion;the nose, straight, slender, and cut by two easy nostrils, gave to herprofile that character of antique beauty which is vanishing day by dayfrom the earth. A calm and serene smile, one of those smiles that havealready left the soul and not yet reached the lips, lifted the corners ofher mouth with a pure expression of infinite beatitude and gentleness. Nothing could be more perfect than the chin that completed the faultlessoval of this radiant countenance; her neck of a dead white, joined herbosom in a delicious curve, and supported her head gracefully like thestalk of a flower moved by a gentle breeze. A bodice of crimson velvetspotted with gold outlined her delicate and finely curved figure, andheld in by means of a handsome gold lace the countless folds of a fulland flowing skirt, that fell to her feet like those severe robes in whichthe Byzantine painters preferred to drape their angels. She was indeed amarvel, and so rare and modest of beauty had not been seen within thememory of man. 

Among those who had gazed most persistently at her was observed the youngPrince of Brancaleone, one of the foremost nobles of the kingdom. Handsome, rich, and brave, he had, at five-and-twenty, outdone the listsof all known Don Juans. Fashionable young women spoke very ill of himand adored him in secret; the most virtuous made it their rule to flyfrom him, so impossible did resistance appear. All the young madcaps hadchosen him for their model; for his triumphs robbed many a Miltiades ofsleep, and with better cause. In short, to get an idea of this luckyindividual, it will be enough to know that as a seducer he was the mostperfect thing that the devil had succeeded in inventing in thisprogressive century. The prince was dressed out for the occasion in asufficiently grotesque costume, which he wore with ironic gravity andcavalier ease. A black satin doublet, knee breeches, embroideredstockings, and shoes with gold buckles, formed the main portions of hisdress, over which trailed a long brocaded open-sleeved robe lined withermine, and a magnificent diamond-hilted sword. On account of his rankhe enjoyed the rare distinction of carrying one of the six gilded stavesthat supported the plumed and embroidered canopy. 

As soon as the procession moved on again, Eligi of Brancaleone gave aside glance to a little man as red as a lobster, who was walking almostat his side, and carrying in his right hand, with all the solemnity thathe could muster, his excellency's hat. He was a footman in gold-lacedlivery, and we beg leave to give a brief sketch of his history. Trespolowas the child of poor but thieving parents, and on that account was earlyleft an orphan. Being at leisure, he studied life from an eminentlysocial aspect. If we are to believe a certain ancient sage, we are allin the world to solve a problem: as to Trespolo, he desired to livewithout doing anything; that was his problem. He was, in turn, asacristan, a juggler, an apothecary's assistant, and a cicerone, and hegot tired of all these callings. Begging was, to his mind, too hard work, and it was more trouble to be a thief than to be an honest man. Finallyhe decided in favour of contemplative philosophy. He had a passionatepreference for the horizontal position, and found the greatest pleasurein the world in watching the shooting of stars. Unfortunately, in thecourse of his meditations this deserving man came near to dying ofhunger; which would have been a great pity, for he was beginning toaccustom himself not to eat anything. But as he was predestined bynature to play a small part in our story, God showed him grace for thattime, and sent to his assistance--not one of His angels, the rogue wasnot worthy of that, but--one of Brancaleone's hunting dogs. The nobleanimal sniffed round the philosopher, and uttered a little charitablegrowl that would have done credit to one of the brethren of Mount St. Bernard. The prince, who was returning in triumph from hunting, and who, by good luck, had that day killed a bear and ruined a countess, had anodd inclination to do a good deed. He approached the plebeian who wasabout to pass into the condition of a corpse, stirred the thing with hisfoot, and seeing that there was still a little hope, bade his peoplebring him along. 

From that day onward, Trespolo saw the dream of his life nearly realised. Something rather above a footman and rather below a house steward, hebecame the confidant of his master, who found his talents most useful;for this Trespolo was as sharp as a demon and almost as artful as awoman. The prince, who, like an intelligent man as he was, had divinedthat genius is naturally indolent, asked nothing of him but advice; whentiresome people wanted thrashing, he saw to that matter himself, and, indeed, he was the equal of any two at such work. As nothing in thislower world, however, is complete, Trespolo had strange moments amid thislife of delights; from time to time his happiness was disturbed by panicsthat greatly diverted his master; he would mutter incoherent words, stifle violent sighs, and lose his appetite. The root of the matter wasthat the poor fellow was afraid of going to hell. The matter was verysimple: he was afraid of everything; and, besides, it had often beenpreached to him that the Devil never allowed a moment's rest to those whowere ill-advised enough to fall into his clutches. Trespolo was in oneof his good moods of repentance, when the prince, after gazing on theyoung girl with the fierce eagerness of a vulture about to swoop upon itsprey, turned to speak to his intimate adviser. The poor servantunderstood his master's abominable design, and not wishing to share theguilt of a sacrilegious conversation, opened his eyes very wide andturned them up to heaven in ecstatic contemplation. The prince coughed, stamped his foot, moved his sword so as to hit Trespolo's legs, but couldnot get from him any sign of attention, so absorbed did he appear incelestial thoughts. Brancaleone would have liked to wring his neck, butboth his hands were occupied by the staff of the canopy; and besides, theking was present. 

At last they were drawing nearer to the church of St. Clara, where theNeapolitan kings were buried, and where several princesses of the blood, exchanging the crown for the veil, have gone to bury themselves alive. The nuns, novices, and abbess, hidden behind shutters, were throwingflowers upon the procession. A bunch fell at the feet of the Prince ofBrancaleone. 

"Trespolo, pick up that nosegay, " said the prince, so audibly that hisservant had no further excuse. "It is from Sister Theresa, " he added, ina low voice; "constancy is only to be found, nowadays, in a convent. "

Trespolo picked up the nosegay and came towards his master, looking likea man who was being strangled. 

"Who is that girl?" the latter asked him shortly. 

"Which one?" stammered the servant. 

"Forsooth! The one walking in front of us. "

"I don't know her, my lord. "

"You must find out something about her before this evening. "

"I shall have to go rather far afield. "

"Then you do know her, you intolerable rascal! I have half a mind tohave you hanged like a dog. "

"For pity's sake, my lord, think of the salvation of your soul, of youreternal life. "

"I advise you to think of your temporal life. What is her name?"

"She is called Nisida, and is the prettiest girl in the island that sheis named after. She is innocence itself. Her father is only a poorfisherman, but I can assure your excellency that in his island he isrespected like a king. "

"Indeed!" replied the prince, with an ironical smile. "I must own, to mygreat shame, that I have never visited the little island of Nisida. Youwill have a boat ready for me to-morrow, and then we will see. "

He interrupted himself suddenly, for the king was looking at him; andcalling up the most sonorous bass notes that he could find in the depthsof his throat, he continued with an inspired air, "Genitori genitoquelaus et jubilatio. "

"Amen, " replied the serving-man in a ringing voice. 

Nisida, the beloved daughter of Solomon, the fisherman, was, as we havesaid, the loveliest flower of the island from which she derived her name. That island is the most charming spot, the most delicious nook with whichwe are acquainted; it is a basket of greenery set delicately amid thepure and transparent waters of the gulf, a hill wooded with orange treesand oleanders, and crowned at the summit by a marble castle. All aroundextends the fairy-like prospect of that immense amphitheatre, one of themightiest wonders of creation. There lies Naples, the voluptuous syren, reclining carelessly on the seashore; there, Portici, Castellamare, andSorrento, the very names of which awaken in the imagination a thousandthoughts of poetry and love; there are Pausilippo, Baiae, Puozzoli, andthose vast plains, where the ancients fancied their Elysium, sacredsolitudes which one might suppose peopled by the men of former days, where the earth echoes under foot like an empty grave, and the air hasunknown sounds and strange melodies. 

Solomon's hut stood in that part of the island which, turning its back tothe capital, beholds afar the blue crests of Capri. Nothing could besimpler or brighter. The brick walls were hung with ivy greener thanemeralds, and enamelled with white bell-flowers; on the ground floor wasa fairly spacious apartment, in which the men slept and the family tooktheir meals; on the floor above was Nisida's little maidenly room, fullof coolness, shadows, and mystery, and lighted by a single casement thatlooked over the gulf; above this room was a terrace of the Italian kind, the four pillars of which were wreathed with vine branches, while itsvine-clad arbour and wide parapet were overgrown with moss and wildflowers. A little hedge of hawthorn, which had been respected for ages, made a kind of rampart around the fisherman's premises, and defended hishouse better than deep moats and castellated walls could have done. Theboldest roisterers of the place would have preferred to fight before theparsonage and in the precincts of the church rather than in front ofSolomon's little enclosure. Otherwise, this was the meeting place of thewhole island. Every evening, precisely at the same hour, the good womenof the neighbourhood came to knit their woollen caps and tell the news. Groups of little children, naked, brown, and as mischievous as littleimps, sported about, rolling on the grass and throwing handfuls of sandinto the other's eyes, heedless of the risk of blinding, while theirmothers were engrossed in that grave gossip which marks the dwellers invillages. These gatherings occurred daily before the fisherman's house;they formed a tacit and almost involuntary homage, consecrated by custom, and of which no one had ever taken special account; the envy that rulesin small communities would soon have suppressed them. The influencewhich old Solomon had over his equals had grown so simply and naturally, that no one found any fault with it, and it had only attracted noticewhen everyone was benefiting by it, like those fine trees whose growth isonly observed when we profit by their shade. If any dispute arose in theisland, the two opponents preferred to abide by the judgment of thefisherman instead of going before the court; he was fortunate enough orclever enough to send away both parties satisfied. He knew what remediesto prescribe better than any physician, for it seldom happened that he orhis had not felt the same ailments, and his knowledge, founded onpersonal experience, produced the most excellent results. Moreover, hehad no interest, as ordinary doctors have, in prolonging illnesses. Formany years past the only formality recognised as a guarantee for theinviolability of a contract had been the intervention of the fisherman. Each party shook hands with Solomon, and the thing was done. They wouldrather have thrown themselves into Vesuvius at the moment of its mostviolent eruption than have broken so solemn an agreement. At the periodwhen our story opens, it was impossible to find any person in the islandwho had not felt the effects of the fisherman's generosity, and thatwithout needing to confess to him any necessities. As it was the customfor the little populace of Nisida to spend its leisure hours beforeSolomon's cottage, the old man, while he walked slowly among thedifferent groups, humming his favourite song, discovered moral andphysical weaknesses as he passed; and the same evening he or his daughterwould certainly be seen coming mysteriously to bestow a benefit uponevery sufferer, to lay a balm upon every wound. In short, he united inhis person all those occupations whose business is to help mankind. Lawyers, doctors, and the notary, all the vultures of civilisation, hadbeaten a retreat before the patriarchal benevolence of the fisherman. Even the priest had capitulated. 

On the morrow of the Feast of the Assumption, Solomon was sitting, as hishabit was, on a stone bench in front of his house, his legs crossed andhis arms carelessly stretched out. At the first glance you would havetaken him for sixty at the outside, though he was really over eighty. Hehad all his teeth, which were as white as pearls, and showed themproudly. His brow, calm and restful beneath its crown of abundant whitehair, was as firm and polished as marble; not a wrinkle ruffled thecorner of his eye, and the gem-like lustre of his blue orbs revealed afreshness of soul and an eternal youth such as fable grants to thesea-gods. He displayed his bare arms and muscular neck with an old man'svanity. Never had a gloomy idea, an evil prepossession, or a keenremorse, arisen to disturb his long and peaceful life. He had never seena tear flow near him without hurrying to wipe it; poor though he was, hehad succeeded in pouring out benefits that all the kings of the earthcould not have bought with their gold; ignorant though he was, he hadspoken to his fellows the only language that they could understand, thelanguage of the heart. One single drop of bitterness had mingled withhis inexhaustible stream of happiness; one grief only had clouded hissunny life--the death of his wife--and moreover he had forgotten that. 

All the affections of his soul were turned upon Nisida, whose birth hadcaused her mother's death; he loved her with that immoderate love thatold people have for the youngest of their children. At the presentmoment he was gazing upon her with an air of profound rapture, andwatching her come and go, as she now joined the groups of children andscolded them for games too dangerous or too noisy; now seated herself onthe grass beside their mothers and took part with grave and thoughtfulinterest in their talk. Nisida was more beautiful thus than she had beenthe day before; with the vaporous cloud of perfume that had folded herround from head to foot had disappeared all that mystic poetry which puta sort of constraint upon her admirers and obliged them to lower theirglances. She had become a daughter of Eve again without losing anythingof her charm. Simply dressed, as she usually was on work-days, she wasdistinguishable among her companions only by her amazing beauty and bythe dazzling whiteness of her skin. Her beautiful black hair was twistedin plaits around the little dagger of chased silver, that has lately beenimported into Paris by that right of conquest which the pretty women ofParis have over the fashions of all countries, like the English over thesea. 

Nisida was adored by her young friends, all the mothers had adopted herwith pride; she was the glory of the island. The opinion of hersuperiority was shared by everyone to such a degree, that if some boldyoung man, forgetting the distance which divided him from the maiden, dared speak a little too loudly of his pretensions, he became thelaughing-stock of his companions. Even the past masters of tarentelladancing were out of countenance before the daughter of Solomon, and didnot dare to seek her as a partner. Only a few singers from Amalfi orSorrento, attracted by the rare beauty of this angelic creature, venturedto sigh out their passion, carefully veiled beneath the most delicateallusions. But they seldom reached the last verse of their song; atevery sound they stopped short, threw down their triangles and theirmandolines, and took flight like scared nightingales. 

One only had courage enough or passion enough to brave the mockery; thiswas Bastiano, the most formidable diver of that coast. He also sang, butwith a deep and hollow voice; his chant was mournful and his melodiesfull of sadness. He never accompanied himself upon any instrument, andnever retired without concluding his song. That day he was gloomier thanusual; he was standing upright, as though by enchantment, upon a bare andslippery rock, and he cast scornful glances upon the women who werelooking at him and laughing. The sun, which was plunging into the sealike a globe of fire, shed its light full upon his stern features, andthe evening breeze, as it lightly rippled the billows, set the flutteringreeds waving at his feet. Absorbed by dark thoughts, he sang, in themusical language of his country, these sad words:--

"O window, that wert used to shine in the night like an open eye, howdark thou art! Alas, alas! my poor sister is ill. 

"Her mother, all in tears, stoops towards me and says, 'Thy poor sisteris dead and buried. '

"Jesus! Jesus! Have pity on me! You stab me to the heart. 

"Tell me, good neighbours, how it happened; repeat to me her last words. 

"She had a burning thirst, and refused to drink because thou wast notthere to give her water from thy hand. 

"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!

"She refused her mother's kiss, because thou wast not there to embraceher. 

"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!

"She wept until her last breath, because thou wast not there to dry hertears. 

"Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister!

"We placed on her brow her wreath of orangeflowers, we covered her with aveil as white as snow; we laid her gently in her coffin. 

"Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her. 

"Two angels came down from heaven and bore her away on their wings. MaryMagdalene came to meet her at the gate of heaven. 

"Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her. 

"There, she was seated in a place of glory, a chaplet of rubies was givento her, and she is singing her rosary with the Virgin. 

"Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her. "

As he finished the last words of his melancholy refrain, he flung himselffrom the top of his rock into the sea, as though he really desired toengulf himself. Nisida and the other women gave a cry of terror, forduring some minutes the diver failed to reappear upon the surface. 

"Are you out of your senses?" cried a young man who had suddenlyappeared, unobserved among the women. "Why, what are you afraid of? Youknow very well that Bastiano is always doing things of this sort. But donot be alarmed: all the fishes in the Mediterranean will be drownedbefore any harm comes to him. Water is his natural element. Good-day, sister; good-day, father. "

The young fisherman kissed Nisida on the forehead, drew near to hisfather, and, bowing his handsome head before him, took off his red capand respectfully kissed the old man's hand. He came thus to ask hisblessing every evening before putting out to sea, where he often spentthe night fishing from his boat. 

"May God bless thee, my Gabriel!" said the old man in a tone of emotion, as he slowly passed his hand over his son's black curls, and a tear cameinto his eye. Then, rising solemnly and addressing the groups aroundhim, he added in a voice full of dignity and of gentleness. "Come, mychildren, it is time to separate. The young to work, the old to rest. There is the angelus ringing. "

Everybody knelt, and after a short prayer each went on his way. Nisida, after having given her father the last daily attentions, went up to herroom, replenished the oil in the lamp that burned day and night beforethe Virgin, and, leaning her elbow on the window ledge, divided thebranches of jasmine which hung like perfumed curtains, began to gaze outat the sea, and seemed lost in a deep, sweet reverie. 

At this very time, a little boat, rowed silently by two oarsmen, touchedshore on the other side of the island. It had become quite dark. Alittle man first landed cautiously, and respectfully offered his hand toanother individual, who, scorning that feeble support, leapt easilyashore. 

"Well, knave, " he cried, "are my looks to your taste?"

"Your lordship is perfect. "

"I flatter myself I am. It is true that, in order to make thetransformation complete, I chose the very oldest coat that displayed itsrags in a Jew's shop. "

"Your lordship looks like a heathen god engaged in a love affair. Jupiterhas sheathed his thunderbolts and Apollo has pocketed his rays. "

"A truce to your mythology. And, to begin with, I forbid you to call me'your lordship. '"

"Yes, your lordship. "

"If my information that I have procured during the day is correct, thehouse must be on the other side of the island, in a most remote andlonely spot. Walk at a certain distance, and do not trouble yourselfabout me, for I know my part by heart. "

The young Prince of Brancaleone, whom, in spite of the darkness of thenight, our readers will already have recognised, advanced towards thefisherman's house, with as little noise as possible, walked up and downseveral times upon the shore, and, after having briefly reconnoitred theplace that he wished to attack, waited quietly for the moon to rise andlight up the scene that he had prepared. He was not obliged to exercisehis patience very long, for the darkness gradually disappeared, andSolomon's little house was bathed in silvery light. Then he approachedwith timid steps, lifted towards the casement a look of entreaty, andbegan to sigh with all the power of his lungs. The young girl, calledsuddenly from her meditations by the appearance of this strange person, raised herself sharply and prepared to close the shutters. 

"Stay, charming Nisida!" cried the prince, in the manner of a manovercome by irresistible passion. 

"What do you want with me, signor?" answered the maiden, amazed to hearherself called by name. 

"To adore you as a Madonna is adored, and to make you aware of my sighs. "

Nisida looked at him steadily, and, after a moment or two of reflection, asked suddenly, as though in response to some secret thought, "Do youbelong to this country, or are you a foreigner?"

"I arrived in this island, " replied the prince without hesitation, "atthe moment when the sun was writing his farewell to the earth and dippingthe rays that serves as his pen into the shadow that serves as hisinkstand. "

"And who are you?" returned the young girl, not at all understandingthese strange words. 

"Alas! I am but a poor student, but I may become a great poet likeTasso, whose verses you often hear sung by a departing fisherman whosends his thrilling music as a last farewell that returns to die on thebeach. "

"I do not know whether I am doing wrong to speak to you, but at least Iwill be frank with you, " said Nisida, blushing; "I have the misfortune tobe the richest girl on the island. "

"Your father will not be inexorable, " returned the prince ardently; "oneword from you, light of my eyes, goddess of my heart, and I will worknight and day, never pausing nor slackening, and will render. Myselfworthy to possess the treasure that God has revealed to my dazzled eyes, and, from being poor and obscure as you see me, I will become rich andpowerful. "

"I have stayed too long listening to talk that a maiden should not hear;permit me, signor, to withdraw. "

"Have pity on me, my cruel enemy! What have I done to you that youshould thus leave me with death in my soul? You do not know that, formonths past, I have been following you everywhere like a shadow, that Iprowl round your home at night, stifling my sighs lest they shoulddisturb your peaceful slumber. You are afraid, perhaps, to let yourselfbe touched, at a first meeting, by a poor wretch who adores you. Alas!Juliet was young and beautiful like you, and she did not need manyentreaties to take pity on Romeo. "

Nisida suffered a sad and thoughtful look to fall upon this handsomeyoung man who spoke to her in so gentle a voice, and withdrew withoutfurther reply, that she might not humiliate his poverty. 

The prince made great efforts to suppress a strong inclination towardslaughter, and, very well satisfied with this opening, turned his stepstowards the spot where he had left his servant. Trespolo, after havingemptied a bottle of lacryma with which he had provided himself for anyemergency, had looked long around him to choose a spot where the grasswas especially high and thick, and had laid himself down to a soundsleep, murmuring as he did so, this sublime observation, "O laziness, butfor the sin of Adam you would be a virtue!"

The young girl could not close her eyes during the whole night after theconversation that she had held with the stranger. His sudden appearance, his strange dress and odd speech, had awakened in her an uncertainfeeling that had been lying asleep in the bottom of her heart. She wasat this time in all the vigour of her youth and of her resplendentbeauty. Nisida was not one of the weak and timid natures that are brokenby suffering or domineered over by tyranny. Far otherwise: everythingaround her had contributed towards shaping for her a calm and serenedestiny; her simple, tender soul had unfolded in an atmosphere of peaceand happiness. If she had not hitherto loved, it was the fault, not ofher coldness but of the extreme timidity shown by the inhabitants of herisland. The blind depth of respect that surrounded the old fisherman haddrawn around his daughter a barrier of esteem and submission that no onedared to cross. By means of thrift and labour Solomon had succeeded increating for himself a prosperity that put the poverty of the otherfishermen to the blush. No one had asked for Nisida because no onethought he deserved her. The only admirer who had dared to show hispassion openly was Bastiano, the most devoted and dearest friend ofGabriel; but Bastiano did not please her. So, trusting in her beauty, upheld by the mysterious hope that never deserts youth, she had resignedherself to wait, like some princess who knows that her betrothed willcome from a far country. 

On the day of the Assumption she had left her island for the first timein her life, chance having chosen her among the maidens of the kingdomvowed by their mothers to the special protection of the Virgin. But, overwhelmed by the weight of a position so new to her, blushing andconfused under the eyes of an immense crowd, she had scarcely dared toraise her wondering looks, and the splendours of the town had passedbefore her like a dream, leaving but a vague remembrance. 

When she perceived the presence of this handsome young man, so slenderlyand elegantly built, whose noble and calm demeanour contrasted with thetimidity and awkwardness of her other admirers, she felt herself inwardlydisturbed, and no doubt she would have believed that her prince had come, if she had been unpleasantly struck by the poverty of his dress. Shehad, nevertheless, allowed herself to listen to him longer than she oughtto have done, and she drew back with her bosom heavy, her cheek on fire, and her heart rent by an ache that was both dull and sharp. 

"If my father does not wish me to marry him, " she said to herself, tormented by the first remorseful feeling of her life. "I shall havedone wrong to speak to him. And yet he is so handsome!"

Then she knelt before the Virgin, who was her only confidante, the poorchild having never known her mother, and tried to tell her the tormentsof her soul; but she could not achieve her prayer. The thoughts becameentangled within her brain, and she surprised herself uttering strangewords. But, assuredly, the Holy Virgin must have taken pity upon herlovely devotee, for she rose with the impression of a consoling thought, resolved to confide everything to her father. 

"I cannot have a moment's doubt, " she said to herself, as she unlaced herbodice, "of my father's affection. Well, then, if he forbids me to speakto him, it will be for my good. And indeed, I have seen him but thisonce, " she added, as she threw herself upon the bed, "and now I think ofit, I consider him very bold to dare to speak to me. I am almost inclinedto laugh at him. How confidently he brought out his nonsense, howabsurdly he rolled his eyes! They are really very fine, those eyes ofhis, and so is his mouth, and his forehead and his hair. He does notsuspect that I noticed his hands, which are really very white, when heraised them to heaven, like a madman, as he walked up and down by thesea. Come, come, is he going to prevent my sleeping? I will not see himagain!" she cried, drawing the sheet over her head like an angry child. Then she began to laugh to herself over her lover's dress, and meditatedlong upon what her companions would say to it. Suddenly her browcontracted painfully, a frightful thought had stolen into her mind, sheshuddered from head to foot. "Suppose he were to think someone elseprettier than me? Men are so foolish! Certainly, it is too hot, and Ishall not sleep to-night. "

Then she sat up in her bed, and continued her monologue--which we willspare the reader--till the morning. Scarcely had the first rays of lightfiltered through the interlacing branches of jasmine and wavered into theroom, when Nisida dressed herself hurriedly, and went as usual to presenther forehead to her father's kiss. The old man at once observed thedepression and weariness left by a sleepless night upon his daughter'sface, and parting with an eager and anxious hand the beautiful black hairthat fell over her cheeks, he asked her, "What is the matter, my child?Thou hast not slept well?"

"I have not slept at all, " answered Nisida, smiling, to reassure herfather; "I am perfectly well, but I have something to confess to you. "

"Speak quickly, child; I am dying with impatience. "

"Perhaps I have done wrong; but I want you to promise beforehand not toscold me. "

"You know very well that I spoil you, " said the old man, with a caress;"I shall not begin to be stern to-day. "

"A young man who does not belong to this island, and whose name I do notknow, spoke to me yesterday evening when I was taking the air at mywindow. "

"And what was he so eager to say to you, my dear Nisida?"

"He begged me to speak to you in his favour. "

"I am listening. What can I do for him?"

"Order me to marry him. "

"And should you obey willingly?"

"I think so, father, " the girl candidly replied. "As to other things, you yourself must judge in your wisdom; for I wanted to speak to youbefore coming to know him, so as not to go on with a conversation thatyou might not approve. But there is a hindrance. "

"You know that I do not recognise any when it is a question of making mydaughter happy. "

"He is poor, father. "

"Well, all the more reason for me to like him. There is work here foreverybody, and my table can spare a place for another son. He is young, he has arms; no doubt he has some calling. "

"He is a poet. "

"No matter; tell him to come and speak to me, and if he is an honest lad, I promise you, my child, that I will do anything in the world to promoteyour happiness. "

Nisida embraced her father effusively, and was beside herself with joyall day, waiting impatiently for the evening in order to give the youngman such splendid news. Eligi Brancaleone was but moderately flattered, as you will easily believe, by the fisherman's magnanimous intentionstowards him; but like the finished seducer that he was, he appearedenchanted at them. Recollecting his character as a fantastical studentand an out-at-elbows poet, he fell upon his knees and shouted athanksgiving to the planet Venus; then, addressing the young girl, headded, in a calmer voice, that he was going to write immediately to hisown father, who in a week's time would come to make his formal proposal;until then, he begged, as a favour, that he might not present himself toSolomon nor to any person at all in the island, and assigned as a pretexta certain degree of shame which he felt on account of his old clothes, assuring his beloved that his father would bring him a complete outfitfor the wedding-day. 

While the ill-starred girl was thus walking in terrifying security at theedge of the precipice, Trespolo, following his master's wishes, hadestablished himself in the island as a pilgrim from Jerusalem. Playinghis part and sprinkling his conversation with biblical phrases, whichcame to him readily, in his character of ex-sacristan, he distributedabundance of charms, wood of the true Cross and milk of the BlessedVirgin, and all those other inexhaustible treasures on which the eagerdevotion of worthy people daily feeds. His relics were the moreevidently authentic in that he did not sell any of them, and, bearing hispoverty in a holy manner, thanked the faithful and declined their alms. Only, out of regard for the established virtue of Solomon, he hadconsented to break bread with the fisherman, and went to take meals withhim with the regularity of a cenobite. His abstinence aroused universalsurprise: a crust dipped in water, a few nuts or figs sufficed to keepthis holy man alive--to prevent him, that is to say, from dying. Furthermore, he entertained Nisida by his tales of his travels and by hismysterious predictions. Unfortunately, he only appeared towards evening;for he spent the rest of the day in austerities and in prayers--in otherwords, in drinking like a Turk and snoring like a buffalo. 

On the morning of the seventh day, after the promise given by the princeto the fisherman's daughter, Brancaleone came into his servant's room, and, shaking hint roughly, cried in his ear, "Up, odious marmot!"

Trespolo, awakened suddenly, rubbed his eyes in alarm. The dead, sleeping peacefully at the bottom of their coffins, will be less annoyedat the last day when the trump of Judgment comes to drag them from theirslumbers. Fear having, however, immediately dispersed the dark cloudsthat overspread his countenance, he sat up, and asked with an appearanceof bewilderment--

"What is the matter, your excellency?"

"The matter is that I will have you flayed alive a little if you do notleave off that execrable habit of sleeping twenty hours in the day. "

"I was not asleep, prince!" cried the servant boldly, as he sprang out ofbed; "I was reflecting---"

"Listen to me, " said the prince in a severe tone; "you were onceemployed, I believe, in a chemist's shop?"

"Yes, my lord, and I left because my employer had the scandalousbarbarity to make me pound drugs, which tired my arms horribly. "

"Here is a phial containing a solution of opium. "

"Mercy!" cried Trespolo, falling on his knees. 

"Get up, idiot, and pay great attention to what I am going to say to you. This little fool of a Nisida persists in wanting me to speak to herfather. I made her believe that I was going away this evening to fetchmy papers. There is no time to lose. They know you very well at thefisherman's. You will pour this liquid into their wine; your life willanswer for your not giving them a larger dose than enough to produce adeep sleep. You will take care to prepare me a good ladder for to-night;after which you will go and wait for me in my boat, where you will findNuma and Bonaroux. They have my orders. I shall not want you in scalingthe fortress; I have my Campo Basso dagger. "

"But, my lord---" stammered Trespolo, astounded. 

"No difficulties!" cried the prince, stamping his foot furiously, "or, bymy father's death, I will cure you, once for all, of your scruples. " Andhe turned on his heel with the air of a man who is certain that peoplewill be very careful not to disobey his orders. 

The unhappy Trespolo fulfilled his master's injunctions punctually. Withhim fear was the guiding principle. That evening the fisherman's suppertable was hopelessly dull, and the sham pilgrim tried in vain to enlivenit by factitious cheerfulness. Nisida was preoccupied by her lover'sdeparture, and Solomon, sharing unconsciously in his daughter's grief, swallowed but a drop or two of wine, to avoid resisting the repeatedurgency of his guest. Gabriel had set out in the morning for Sorrentoand was not to return for two or three days; his absence tended toincrease the old man's melancholy. As soon as Trespolo had retired, thefisherman yielded to his fatigue. Nisida, with her arms hanging by hersides, her head heavy and her heart oppressed by a sad presentiment, hadscarcely strength to go up to her room, and after having mechanicallytrimmed the lamp, sank on her bed as pale and stiff as a corpse. 

The storm was breaking out with violence; one of those terrible stormsseen only in the South, when the congregated clouds, parting suddenly, shed torrents of rain and of hail, and threaten another deluge. The roarof the thunder drew nearer and was like the noise of a cannonade. Thegulf, lately so calm and smooth that the island was reflected as in amirror, had suddenly darkened; the furiously leaping waves flungthemselves together like wild horses; the island quaked, shaken byterrible shocks. Even the boldest fishermen had drawn their boatsashore, and, shut within their cabins, encouraged as best they couldtheir frightened wives and children. 

Amid the deep darkness that overspread the sea Nisida's lamp could beseen gleaming clear and limpid, as it burned before the Madonna. Twoboats, without rudders, sails, or oars, tossed by the waves, beaten bythe winds, were whirling above the abyss; two men were in these twoboats, their muscles tense, their breasts bare, their hair flying. Theygazed haughtily on the sea, and braved the tempest. 

"Once more, I beg you, " cried one of these men, "fear not for me, Gabriel; I promise you that with my two broken oars and a littleperseverance I shall get to Torre before daybreak. "

"You are mad, Bastiano; we have not been able ever since the morning toget near Vico, and have been obliged to keep tacking about; your skilland strength have been able to do nothing against this frightfulhurricane which has driven us back to this point. "

"It is the first time you have ever refused to go with me, " remarked theyoung man. 

"Well, yes, my dear Bastiano, I do not know how it is, but to-night Ifeel drawn to the island by an irresistible power. The winds have beenunchained to bring me back to it in spite of myself, and I will own toyou, even though it should make me seem like a madman in your eyes, thatthis simple and ordinary event appears to me like an order from heaven. Do you see that lamp shining over there?"

"I know it, " answered Bastiano, suppressing a sigh. 

"It was lighted before the Virgin one the day when my sister was born, and for eighteen year it has never ceased to burn, night and day. It wasmy mother's vow. You do not know, my dear Bastiano, you cannot know howmany torturing thoughts that vow recalls to me. My poor mother called meto her deathbed and told me a frightful tale, a horrible secret, whichweighs on my soul like a cloak of lead, and of which I can only relievemyself by confiding it to a friend. When her painful story was ended sheasked to see and to embrace my sister, who was just born; then with hertrembling hand, already chilled by the approach of death, she desired tolight the lamp herself. 'Remember, ' these were her last words, 'remember, Gabriel, that your sister is vowed to the Madonna. As long asthis light shines before the blessed image of the Virgin, your sisterwill be in no danger. ' You can understand now why, at night, when we arecrossing the gulf, my eyes are always fixed on that lamp. I have abelief that nothing could shake, which is that on the day that light goesout my sister's soul will have taken flight to heaven. "

"Well, " cried Bastiano in an abrupt tone that betrayed the emotion of hisheart, "if you prefer to stay, I will go alone. "

"Farewell, " said Gabriel, without turning aside his eyes from the windowtowards which he felt himself drawn by a fascination for which he couldnot account. Bastiano disappeared, and Nisida's brother, assisted by thewaves, was drawing nearer and nearer to the shore, when, at all once, heuttered a terrible cry which sounded above the noise of the tempest. 

The star had just been extinguished; the lamp had been blown out. 

"My sister is dead!" cried Gabriel and, leaping into the sea, he cleftthe waves with the rapidity of lightning. 

The storm had redoubled its intensity; long lines of lightning, rendingthe sides of the clouds, bathed everything in their tawny andintermittent light. The fisherman perceived a ladder leaning against thefront of his home, seized it with a convulsive hand, and in three boundsflung himself into the room. The prince felt himself strangely moved onmaking his way into this pure and silent retreat. The calm and gentlegaze of the Virgin who seemed to be protecting the rest of the sleepinggirl, that perfume of innocence shed around the maidenly couch, thatlamp, open-eyed amid the shadows, like a soul in prayer, had inspired theseducer with an unknown distress. Irritated by what he called an absurdcowardice, he had extinguished the obtrusive light, and was advancingtowards the bed, and addressing unspoken reproaches to himself, whenGabriel swooped upon him with a wounded tiger's fierce gnashing of theteeth. 

Brancaleone, by a bold and rapid movement that showed no common degree ofskill and bravery, while struggling in the grasp of his powerfuladversary, drew forth in his right hand a long dagger with a fine barbedblade. Gabriel smiled scornfully, snatched the weapon from him, and evenas he stooped to break it across his knee, gave the prince a furious blowwith his head that made him stagger and sent him rolling on the floor, three paces away; then, leaning over his poor sister and gazing on herwith hungry eyes, by the passing gleam of a flash, "Dead!" he repeated, wringing his arms in despair, --"dead!"

In the fearful paroxysm that compressed his throat he could find no otherwords to assuage his rage or to pour forth his woe. His hair, which thestorm had flattened, rose on his head, the marrow of his bones waschilled, and he felt his tears rush back upon his heart. It was aterrible moment; he forgot that the murderer still lived. 

The prince, however, whose admirable composure did not for a momentdesert him, had risen, bruised and bleeding. Pale and trembling withrage, he sought everywhere for a weapon with which to avenge himself. Gabriel returned towards him gloomier and more ominous than ever, andgrasping his neck with an iron hand, dragged him into the room where theold man was sleeping. 

"Father! father! father!" he cried in a piercing voice, "here is theBastard who Has just murdered Nisida!"

The old man, who had drunk but a few drops of the narcotic potion, wasawakened by this cry which echoed through his soul; he arose as thoughmoved by a spring, flung off his coverings, and with that promptitude ofaction that God has bestowed upon mothers in moments of danger, event upto his daughter's room, found a light, knelt on the edge of the bed, andbegan to test his child's pulse and watch her breathing with mortalanxiety. 

All! this had passed in less time than we have taken in telling it. Brancaleone by an unheard-of effort had freed himself from the hands ofthe young fisherman, and suddenly resuming his princely pride, said in aloud voice, "You shall not kill me without listening to me. "

Gabriel would have overwhelmed him with Bitter reproaches, but, unable toutter a single word, he burst into tears. 

"Your sifter is not dead, " said the prince, with cold dignity; "she ismerely asleep. You can assure yourself of it, and meanwhile I undertake, upon my Honour, not to move a single step away. "

These words were pronounced with such an accent of truth that thefisherman was struck by them. An unexpected gleam of hope suddenlydawned in his thoughts; he cast upon the stranger a glance of hate anddistrust, and muttered in a muffled voice, "Do not flatter yourself, inany case, that you will be able to escape me. "

Then he went up to his sister's room, and approaching the old man, askedtremblingly, "Well, father?"

Solomon thrust him gently aside with the solicitude of a mother removingsome buzzing insect from her child's cradle, and, making a sign to enjoinsilence, added in a low voice, "She is neither dead nor poisoned. Somephiltre has been given to her for a bad purpose. Her breathing is even, and she cannot fail to recover from her lethargy. "

Gabriel, reassured about Nisida's life, returned silently to the groundfloor where he had left the seducer. His manner was grave and gloomy; hewas coming now not to rend the murderer of his sister with his hands, butto elucidate a treacherous and infamous mystery, and to avenge his honourwhich had been basely attacked. He opened wide the double entrance doorthat admitted daylight to the apartment in which, on the few nights thathe spent at home, he was accustomed to sleep with his father. The rainhad just stopped, a ray of moonlight pierced the clouds, and all at oncemade its way into the room. The fisherman adjusted his drippinggarments, walked towards the stranger, who awaited him without stirring, and after having gazed upon him haughtily, said, "Now you are going toexplain your presence in our house. "

"I confess, " said the prince, in an easy tone and with the most insolentassurance, "that appearances are against me. It is the fate of lovers tobe treated as thieves. But although I have not the advantage of beingknown to you, I am betrothed to the fair Nisida--with your father'sapproval, of course. Now, as I have the misfortune to possess veryhardhearted parents, they have had the cruelty to refuse me theirconsent. Love led me astray, and I was about to be guilty of a fault forwhich a young man like you ought to have some indulgence. Furthermore, it was nothing but a mere attempt at an abduction, with the bestintentions in the world, I swear, and I am ready to atone for everythingif you will agree to give me your hand and call me your brother. "

"I will agree to call you a coward and a betrayer!" replied Gabriel, whose face had begun to glow, as he heard his sister spoken of with suchimpudent levity. "If it is thus that insults are avenged in towns, wefishers have a different plan. Ah! so you flattered yourself with thethought of bringing desolation aid disgrace into our home, and of payinginfamous assassins to come and share an old man's bread so as to poisonhis daughter, of stealing by night, like a brigand, armed with a dagger, into my sister's room, and of being let off by marrying the mostbeautiful woman in the kingdom!"

The prince made a movement. 

"Listen, " continued Gabriel: "I could break you as I broke your daggerjust now; but I have pity on you. I see that you can do nothing withyour hands, neither defend yourself nor work. Go, I begin to understand;you are a braggart, my fine sir; your poverty is usurped; you have deckedyourself in these poor clothes, but you are unworthy of them. "

He suffered a glance of crushing contempt to fall upon the prince, thengoing to a cupboard hidden in the wall, he drew out a rifle and an axe. 

"Here, " said he, "are all the weapons in the house; choose. "

A flash of joy illuminated the countenance of the prince, who hadhitherto suppressed his rage. He seized the rifle eagerly, drew threesteps backward, and drawing himself up to his full height, said, "Youwould have done better to lend me this weapon at the beginning; for thenI would have been spared from witnessing your silly vapourings andfrantic convulsions. Thanks, young-man; one of my servants will bringyou back your gun. Farewell. "

And he threw him his purse, which fell heavily at the fisherman's feet. 

"I lent you that rifle to fight with me, " cried Gabriel, whom surprisehad rooted to the spot. 

"Move aside, my lad; you are out of your senses, " said the prince, takinga step towards the door. 

"So you refuse to defend yourself?" asked Gabriel in a determined voice. 

"I have told you already that I cannot fight with you. "

"Why not?"

"Because such is the will of God; because you were born to crawl and I totrample you under my feet; because all the blood that I could shed inthis island would not purchase one drop of my blood; because a thousandlives of wretches like you are not equal to one hour of mine; because youwill kneel at my name that I, am now going to utter; because, in short, you are but a poor fisherman and my name is Prince of Brancaleone. "

At this dreaded name, which the young nobleman flung, like a thunderbolt, at his head, the fisherman bounded like a lion. He drew a deep breath, as though he had lifted a weight that had long rested on his heart. 

"Ah!" he cried, "you have given yourself into my hands, my lord! Betweenthe poor fisherman and the all-powerful prince there is a debt of blood. You shall pay for yourself and for your father. We are going to settleour accounts, your excellency, " he added, rising his axe over the head ofthe prince, who was aiming at him. "Oh! you were in too great haste tochoose: the rifle is not loaded. " The prince turned pale. 

"Between our two families, " Gabriel continued, "there exists a horriblesecret which my mother confided to me on the brink of the grave, of whichmy father himself is unaware, and that no man in the world must learn. You are different, you are going to die. "

He dragged him into the space outside the house. 

"Do you know why my sister, whom you wished to dishonour, was vowed tothe Madonna? Because your father, like you, wished to dishonour mymother. In your accursed house there is a tradition of infamy. You donot know what slow and terrible torments my poor mother endured-tormentsthat broke her strength and caused her to die in early youth, and thather angelic soul dared confide to none but her son in that supreme hourand in order to bid me watch over my sister. "

The fisherman wiped away a burning tear. "One day, before we were born, a fine lady, richly dressed, landed in our island from a splendid boat;she asked to see my mother, who was as young and beautiful as my Nisidais to-day. She could not cease from admiring her; she blamed theblindness of fate which had buried this lovely jewel in the bosom of anobscure island; she showered praises, caresses, and gifts upon my mother, and after many indirect speeches, finally asked her parents for her, thatshe might make her her lady-in-waiting. The poor people, foreseeing inthe protection of so great a lady a brilliant future for their daughter, were weak enough to yield. That lady was your mother; and do you knowwhy she came thus to seek that poor innocent maiden? Because your motherhad a lover, and because she wished to make sure, in this infamousmanner, of the prince's indulgence. "

"Silence, wretch!"

"Oh, your excellency will hear me out. At the beginning, my poor motherfound herself surrounded by the tenderest care: the princess could not beparted from her for a moment; the most flattering words, the finestclothes, the richest ornaments were hers; the servants paid her as muchrespect as though she were a daughter of the house. When her parents wentto see her and to inquire whether she did not at all regret having leftthem, they found her so lovely and so happy, that they blessed theprincess as a good angel sent them from God. Then the prince conceived aremarkable affection for my mother; little by little his manners becamemore familiar and affectionate. At last the princess went away for a fewdays, regretting that she could not take with her her dear child, as shecalled her. Then the prince's brutality knew no further barriers; he nolonger concealed his shameful plans of seduction; he spread before thepoor girl's eyes pearl necklaces and caskets of diamonds; he passed fromthe most glowing passion to the blackest fury, from the humblest prayersto the most horrible threats. The poor child was shut up in a cellarwhere there was hardly a gleam of daylight, and every morning a frightfulgaoler came and threw her a bit of black bread, repeating with oaths thatit only depended upon herself to alter all this by becoming the prince'smistress. This cruelty continued for two years. The princess had goneon a long journey, and my mother's poor parents believed that theirdaughter was still happy with her protectress. On her return, having; nodoubt fresh sins for which she needed forgiveness, she took my motherfrom her dungeon, assumed the liveliest indignation at this horribletreatment, about which she appeared to have known nothing, wiped hertears, and by an abominable refinement of perfidy received the thanks ofthe victim whom she was about to sacrifice. 

"One evening--I have just finished, my lord--the princess chose to supalone with her lady-in-waiting: the rarest fruits, the most exquisitedishes, and the most delicate wines were served to my poor mother, whoseprolonged privations had injured her health and weakened her reason; shegave way to a morbid gaiety. Diabolical philtres were poured into hercup; that is another tradition in your family. My mother felt uplifted, her eyes shone with feverish brilliance, her cheeks were on fire. Thenthe prince came in--oh! your excellency will see that God protects thepoor. My darling mother, like a frightened dove, sheltered herself inthe bosom of the princess, who pushed her away, laughing. The poordistraught girl, trembling, weeping, knelt down in the midst of thatinfamous room. It was St. Anne's Day; all at once the house shook, thewalls cracked, cries of distress rang out in the streets. My mother wassaved. It was the earthquake that destroyed half Naples. You know allabout it, my lord, since your old palace is no longer habitable. "

"What are you driving at?" cried Brancaleone in terrible agitation. 

"Oh, I merely wish to persuade you that you must fight with me, " answeredthe fisherman coldly, as he offered him a cartridge. "And now, " headded, in an excited tone, "say your prayers, my lord; for I warn you, you will die by my hand; justice must be done. "

The prince carefully examined the powder and shot, made sure that hisrifle was in good condition; loaded it, and, eager to make an end, tookaim at the fisherman; but, either because he had been so much disturbedby his opponent's terrible tale, or, because the grass was wet from thestorm, at the moment when he put forward his left foot to steady hisshot, he slipped, lost his balance and fell on one knee. He fired intothe air. 

"That does not count, my lord, " cried Gabriel instantly, and handed him asecond charge. 

At the noise of the report Solomon had appeared at the window, and, understanding what was going on, had lifted his hands to heaven, in orderto address to God a dumb and fervent prayer. Eligi uttered a frightfulinprecation, and hastily reloaded his rifle; but, struck by the calmconfidence of the young man, who stood motionless before him, and by theold man, who, impassive and undisturbed, seemed to be conjuring God inthe name of a father's authority, disconcerted by his fall, his kneesshaking and his arm jarred, he felt the chills of death running in hisveins. Attempting, nevertheless, to master his emotion, he took aim asecond time; the bullet whistled by the fisherman's ear and buried itselfin the stem of a poplar. 

The prince, with the energy of despair, seized the barrel of his weaponin both hands; but Gabriel was coming forward with his axe, a terriblefoe, and his first stroke carried away the butt of the rifle. He wasstill hesitating, however, to kill a defenceless man, when two armedservants appeared at the end of the pathway. Gabriel did not see themcoming; but at the moment when they would have seized him by theshoulders, Solomon uttered a cry and rushed to his son's assistance. 

"Help, Numa! help, Bonaroux! Death to the ruffians! They want to murderme. "

"You lie, Prince of Brancaleone!" cried Gabriel, and with one blow of theaxe he cleft his skull. 

The two bravoes who were coming to their master's assistance, when theysaw him fall, took flight; Solomon and his son went up to Nisida's room. The young girl had just shaken off her heavy slumber; a slightperspiration moistened her brow, and she opened her eyes slowly to thedawning day. 

"Why are you looking at me in that way, father?" she said, her mind stillwandering a littler and she passed her hand over her forehead. 

The old man embraced her tenderly. 

"You have just passed through a great danger, my poor Nisida, " said he;"arise, and let us give thanks to the Madonna. "

Then all three, kneeling before the sacred image of the Virgin, began torecite litanies. But at that very instant a noise of arms sounded in theenclosure, the house was surrounded by soldiers, and a lieutenant ofgendarmes, seizing Gabriel, said in a loud voice, "In the name of thelaw, I arrest you for the murder that you have just committed upon theperson of his excellency and illustrious lordship, the Prince ofBrancaleone. "

Nisida, struck by these words, remained pale and motionless like a marblestatue kneeling on a tomb; Gabriel was already preparing to make anunreasoning resistance, when a gesture from his father stopped him. 

"Signor tenente, " said the old man, addressing himself to the officer, "my son killed the prince in lawful defence, for the latter had scaledour house and made his way in at night and with arms in his hand. Theproofs are before your eyes. Here is a ladder set up against the window;and here, " he proceeded, picking up the two pieces of the broken blade, "is a dagger with the Brancaleone arms. However, we do not refuse tofollow you. "

The last words of the fisherman were drowned by cries of "Down with thesbirri! down with the gendarmes!" which were repeated in everydirection. The whole island was up in arms, and the fisher-folk wouldhave suffered themselves to be cut up to the last man before allowing asingle hair of Solomon or of his son to be touched; but the old manappeared upon his threshold, and, stretching out his arm with a calm andgrave movement that quieted the anger of the crowd, he said, "Thanks, mychildren; the law must be respected. I shall be able, alone, to defendthe innocence of my son before the judges. "

Hardly three months have elapsed since the day upon which we first beheldthe old fisherman of Nisida sitting before the door of his dwelling, irradiated by all the happiness that he had succeeded in creating aroundhim, reigning like a king, on his throne of rock, and blessing his twochildren, the most beautiful creatures in the island. Now the wholeexistence of this man, who was once so happy and so much envied, ischanged. The smiling cottage, that hung over the gulf like a swan over atransparent lake, is sad and desolate; the little enclosure, with itshedges of lilac and hawthorn, where joyous groups used to come and sit atthe close of day, is silent and deserted. No human sound dares totrouble the mourning of this saddened solitude. Only towards evening thewaves of the sea, compassionating such great misfortunes, come to murmurplaintive notes upon the beach. 

Gabriel has been condemned. The news of the high-born Prince ofBrancaleone's death, so young, so handsome, and so universally adored, not only fluttered the aristocracy of Naples, but excited profoundindignation in all classes of people. He was mourned by everybody, and aunanimous cry for vengeance was raised against the murderer. 

The authorities opened the inquiry with alarming promptness. Themagistrates whom their office called to judge this deplorable affairdisplayed, however, the most irreproachable integrity. No considerationoutside their duty, no deference due to so noble and powerful a family, could shake the convictions of their conscience. History has kept arecord of this memorable trial; and has, no reproach to make to men whichdoes not apply equally to the imperfection of human laws. The appearanceof things, that fatal contradiction which the genius of evil so oftenhere on earth gives to truth, overwhelmed the poor fisherman with themost evident proofs. 

Trespolo, in whom fear had destroyed all scruples, being first examined, as having been the young prince's confidant, declared with cool impudencethat, his master having shown a wish to escape for a few days from theimportunities of a young married lady whose passion was beginning to tirehim, had followed him to the island with three or four of his mostfaithful servants, and that he himself had adopted the disguise of apilgrim, not wishing to betray his excellency's incognito to thefisher-people, who would certainly have tormented so powerful a person byall sorts of petitions. Two local watch men, who had happened to be onthe hillside at the moment of the crime, gave evidence that confirmed thevalet's lengthy statement; hidden by some under wood, they had seenGabriel rush upon the prince, and had distinctly heard the last words ofthe dying man; calling "Murder!" All the witnesses, even those summonedat the request of the prisoner, made his case worse by their statements, which they tried to make favourable. Thus the court, with its usualperspicacity and its infallible certainty, succeeded in establishing thefact that Prince Eligi of Brancaleone, having taken a temporary disliketo town life, had retired to the little island of Nisida, there to givehimself up peaceably to the pleasure of fishing, for which he had at alltimes had a particular predilection (a proof appeared among the documentsof the case that the prince had regularly been present every other yearat the tunny-fishing on his property at Palermo); that when once he wasthus hidden in the island, Gabriel might have recognised him, having gonewith his sister to the procession, a few days before, and had, no doubt, planned to murder him. On the day before the night of the crime, theabsence of Gabriel and the discomposure of his father and sister had beenremarked. Towards evening the prince had dismissed his servant, and goneout alone, as his custom was, to walk by the seashore. Surprised by thestorm and not knowing the byways of the island, he had wandered round thefisherman's house, seeking a shelter; then Gabriel, encouraged by thedarkness and by the noise of the tempest, which seemed likely to coverthe cries of his victim, had, after prolonged hesitation, resolved tocommit his crime, and having fired two shots at the unfortunate young manwithout succeeding in wounding him, had put an end to him by blows of theaxe; lastly, at the moment when, with Solomon's assistance, he was aboutto throw the body into the sea, the prince's servants having appeared, they had gone up to the girl's room, and, inventing their absurd tale, had cast themselves on their knees before the Virgin, in order to misleadthe authorities. All the circumstances that poor Solomon cited in hisson's favour turned against him: the ladder at Nisida's window belongedto the fisherman; the dagger which young Brancaleone always carried uponhim to defend himself had evidently been taken from him after his death, and Gabriel had hastened to break it, so as to destroy, to the best ofhis power, the traces of his crime. Bastiano's evidence did not receive aminute's consideration: he, to destroy the idea of premeditation, declared that the young fisherman had left him only at the moment whenthe storm broke over the island; but, in the first place, the young diverwas known to be Gabriel's most devoted friend and his sister's warmestadmirer, and, in the second, he had been seen to land at Torre during thesame hour in which he had affirmed that he was near to Nisida. As forthe prince's passion for the poor peasant girl, the magistrates simplyshrugged their shoulders at the ridiculous assertion of that, andespecially at the young girl's alleged resistance and the extrememeasures to which the prince was supposed to have resorted to conquer thevirtue of Nisida. Eligi of Brancaleone was so young, so handsome, soseductive, and at the same time so cool amid his successes, that he hadnever been suspected of violence, except in getting rid of hismistresses. Finally, an overwhelming and unanswerable proof overthrewall the arguments for the defence: under the fisherman's bed had beenfound a purse with the Brancaleone arms, full of gold, the purse which, if our readers remember, the prince had flung as a last insult atGabriel's feet. 

The old man did not lose heart at this fabric of lies; after thepleadings of the advocates whose ruinous eloquence he had bought withheavy gold, he defended his son himself, and put so much truth, so muchpassion, and so many tears into his speech, that the whole audience wasmoved, and three of the judges voted for an acquittal; but the majoritywas against it, and the fatal verdict was pronounced. 

The news at once spread throughout the little island, and caused thedeepest dejection there. The fishers who, at the first irruption offorce, had risen as one man to defend their comrade's cause, bowed theirheads without a murmur before the unquestioned authority of a legaljudgment. Solomon received unflinchingly the stab that pierced hisheart. No sigh escaped his breast; no tear came to his eyes; his wounddid not bleed. Since his son's arrest he had sold all he possessed inthe world, even the little silver cross left by his wife at her death, even the pearl necklace that flattered his fatherly pride by losing itswhiteness against his dear Nisida's throat; the pieces of gold gained bythe sale of these things he had sewn into his coarse woollen cap, and hadestablished himself in the city. He ate nothing but the bread thrown tohim by the pity of passers-by, and slept on the steps of churches or atthe magistrates' door. 

To estimate at its full value the heroic courage of this unhappy father, one must take a general view of the whole extent of his misfortune. Overwhelmed by age and grief, he looked forward with solemn calmness tothe terrible moment which would bear his son, a few days before him, tothe grave. His sharpest agony was the thought of the shame that wouldenvelop his family. The first scaffold erected in that gently manneredisland would arise for Gabriel, and that ignominious punishment tarnishthe whole population and imprint upon it the first brand of disgrace. Bya sad transition, which yet comes so easily in the destiny of man, thepoor father grew to long for those moments of danger at which he hadformerly trembled, those moments in which his son might have died nobly. And now all was lost: a long life of work, of abnegation, and of gooddeeds, a pure and stainless reputation that had extended beyond the gulfinto distant countries, and the traditional admiration, rising almost toworship, of several generations; all these things only served to deepenthe pit into which the fisherman had fallen, at one blow, from his kinglyheight. Good fame, that divine halo without which nothing here on earthis sacred, had disappeared. Men no longer dared to defend the poorwretch, they pitied him. His name would soon carry horror with it, andNisida, poor orphan, would be nothing to anyone but the sister of a manwho had been condemned to death. Even Bastiano turned away his face andwept. Thus, when every respite was over, when poor Solomon's everyattempt had failed, people in the town who saw him smile strangely, asthough under the obsession of some fixed idea, said to one another thatthe old man had lost his reason. 

Gabriel saw his last day dawn, serenely and calmly. His sleep had beendeep; he awoke full of unknown joy; a cheerful ray of sunlight, fallingthrough the loophole, wavered over the fine golden straw in his cell; anautumn breeze playing around him, brought an agreeable coolness to hisbrow, and stirred in his long hair. The gaoler, who while he had had himin his charge had always behaved humanely, struck by his happy looks, hesitated to announce the priest's visit, in fear of calling the poorprisoner from his dream. Gabriel received the news with pleasure; heconversed for two hours with the good priest, and shed sweet tears onreceiving the last absolution. The priest left the prison with tears inhis eyes, declaring aloud that he had never in his life met with a morebeautiful, pure, resigned, and courageous spirit. 

The fisherman was still under the influence of this consoling emotionwhen his sister entered. Since the day when she had been carried, fainting, from the room where her brother had just been arrested, thepoor girl, sheltered under the roof of an aunt, and accusing herself ofall the evil that had befallen, had done nothing but weep at the feet ofher holy protectress. Bowed by grief like a young lily before the storm, she would spend whole hours, pale, motionless, detached from earthlythings, her tears flowing silently upon her beautiful clasped hands. When the moment came to go and embrace her brother for the last time, Nisida arose with the courage of a saint. She wiped away the traces ofher tears, smoothed her beautiful black hair, and put on her best whitedress. Poor child, she tried to hide her grief by an angelic deception. She had the strength to smile! At the sight of her alarming pallorGabriel felt his heart wrung, a cloud passed over his eyes; he would haverun to meet her, but, held back by the chain which fettered him to apillar of his prison, stepped back sharply and stumbled. Nisida flew toher brother and upheld him in her arms. The young girl had understoodhim; she assured him that she was well. Fearing to remind him of histerrible position, she spoke volubly of all manner of things--her aunt, the weather, the Madonna. Then she stopped suddenly, frightened at herown words, frightened at her own silence; she fixed her burning gaze uponher brother's brow as though to fascinate him. Little by littleanimation returned to her; a faint colour tinted her hollowed cheeks, andGabriel, deceived by the maiden's super human efforts, thought her stillbeautiful, and thanked God in his heart for having spared this tendercreature. Nisida, as though she had followed her brother's secretthoughts, came close to him, pressed his hand with an air ofunderstanding, and murmured low in his ear, "Fortunately our father hasbeen away for two days; he sent me word that he would be detained intown. For us, it is different; we are young, we have courage!"

The poor young girl was trembling like a leaf. 

"What will become of you, my poor Nisida?"

"Bah! I will pray to the Madonna. Does she not watch over us?" Thegirl stopped, struck by the sound of her own words, which thecircumstances so cruelly contradicted. But looking at her brother, shewent on in a low tone: "Assuredly she does watch over us. She appearedto me last night in a dream. She held her child Jesus on her arm, andlooked at me with a mother's tenderness. She wishes to make saints ofus, for she loves us; and to be a saint, you see, Gabriel, one mustsuffer. "

"Well, go and pray for me, my kind sister; go away from the view of thissad place, which will eventually shake your firmness, and perhaps mine. Go; we shall see each other again in heaven above, where our mother iswaiting for us--our mother whom you have not known, and to whom I shalloften speak of you. Farewell, my sister, until we meet again!"

And he kissed her on the forehead. 

The young girl called up all her strength into her heart for this suprememoment; she walked with a firm step; having reached the threshold, sheturned round and waved him a farewell, preventing herself by a nervouscontraction from bursting into tears, but as soon as she was in thecorridor, a sob broke from her bosom, and Gabriel, who heard it echo fromthe vaulted roof, thought that his heart would break. 

Then he threw himself on his knees, and, lifting his hands to heaven, cried, "I have finished suffering; I have nothing more that holds me tolife. I thank Thee, my God! Thou hast kept my father away, and hastbeen willing to spare the poor old man a grief that would have beenbeyond his strength. "

It was at the hour of noon, after having exhausted every possible means, poured out his gold to the last piece, and embraced the knees of thelowest serving man, that Solomon the fisherman took his way to his son'sprison. His brow was so woebegone that the guards drew back, seized withpity, and the gaoler wept as he closed the door of the cell upon him. The old man remained some moments without advancing a step, absorbed incontemplation of his son. By the tawny gleam of his eye might be divinedthat the soul of the man was moved at that instant by some dark project. He seemed nevertheless struck by the-beauty of Gabriel's face. Threemonths in prison had restored to his skin the whiteness that the sun hadturned brown; his fine dark hair fell in curls around his neck, his eyesrested on his father with a liquid and brilliant gaze. Never had thishead been so beautiful as now, when it was to fall. 

"Alas, my poor son!" said the old man, "there is no hope left; you mustdie. "

"I know it, " answered Gabriel in a tone of tender reproach, "and it isnot that which most afflicts me at this moment. But you, too, why do youwish to give me pain, at your age? Why did you not stay in the town?"

"In the town, " the old man returned, "they have no pity; I cast myself atthe king's feet, at everybody's feet; there is no pardon, no mercy forus. "

"Well, in God's name, what is death to me? I meet it daily on the sea. My greatest, my only torment is the pain that they are causing you. "

"And I, do you think, my Gabriel, that I only suffer in seeing you die?Oh, it is but a parting for a few days; I shall soon go to join you. Buta darker sorrow weighs upon me. I am strong, I am a man". He stopped, fearing that he had said too much; then drawing near to his son, he saidin a tearful voice, "Forgive me, my Gabriel; I am the cause of yourdeath. I ought to have killed the prince with my own hand. In ourcountry, children and old men are not condemned to death. I am overeighty years old; I should have been pardoned; they told me that when, with tears, I asked pardon for you; once more, forgive me, Gabriel; Ithought my daughter was dead; I thought of nothing else; and besides, Idid not know the law. "

"Father, father!" cried Gabriel, touched, "what are you saying? I wouldhave given my life a thousand times over to purchase one day of yours. Since you are strong enough to be present at my last hour, fear not; youwill not see me turn pale; your son will be worthy of you. "

"And he is to die, to die!" cried Solomon, striking his forehead indespair, and casting on the walls of the dungeon a look of fire thatwould fain have pierced them. 

"I am resigned, father, " said Gabriel gently; did not Christ ascend thecross?"

"Yes, " murmured the old man in a muffled voice, "but He did not leavebehind a sister dishonoured by His death. "

These words, which escaped the old fisherman in spite of himself, threw asudden and terrible light into the soul of Gabriel. For the first timehe perceived all the infamous manner of his death: the shameless populacecrowding round the scaffold, the hateful hand of the executioner takinghim by the Hair, and the drops of his blood besprinkling the whiteraiment of his sister and covering her with shame. 

"Oh, if I could get a weapon!" cried Gabriel, his haggard eyes roamingaround. 

"It is not the weapon that is lacking, " answered Solomon, carrying hishand to the hilt of a dagger that he had hidden in his breast. 

"Then kill me, father, " said Gabriel in a low tone, but with anirresistible accent of persuasion and entreaty; "oh yes, I confess itnow, the executioner's hand frightens me. My Nisida, my poor Nisida, Ihave seen her; she was here just now, as beautiful and as pale as theMadonna Dolorosa; she smiled to hide from me her sufferings. She washappy, poor girl, because she believed you away. Oh, how sweet it willbe to me to die by your hand! You gave me life; take it back, father, since God will have it so. And Nisida will be saved. Oh, do nothesitate! It would be a cowardice on the part of both of us; she is mysister, she is your daughter. "

And seeing that his powerful will had subjugated the old man, he said, "Help! help, father!" and offered his breast to the blow. The poorfather lifted his hand to strike; but a mortal convulsion ran through allhis limbs; he fell into his son's arms, and both burst into tears. 

"Poor father!" said Gabriel. "I ought to have foreseen that. Give methat dagger and turn away; I am young and my arm will not tremble. "

"Oh no!" returned Solomon solemnly, "no, my son, for then you would be asuicide! Let your soul ascend to heaven pure! God will give me Hisstrength. Moreover, we have time yet. "

And a last ray of hope shone in the eyes of the fisherman. 

Then there passed in that dungeon one of those scenes that words cannever reproduce. The poor father sat down on the straw at his son's sideand laid his head gently upon his knees. He smiled to him through histears, as one smiles to a sick child; he passed his hand slowly throughthe silky curls of his hair, and asked him countless questions, intermingled with caresses. In order to give him a distaste for thisworld he kept on talking to him of the other. Then, with a sudden change, he questioned him minutely about all sorts of past matters. Sometimes hestopped in alarm, and counted the beatings of his heart, which werehurriedly marking the passage of time. 

"Tell me everything, my child; have you any desire, any wish that couldbe satisfied before you die? Are you leaving any woman whom you lovedsecretly? Everything we have left shall be hers. "

"I regret nothing on earth but you and my sister. You are the onlypersons whom I have loved since my mother's death. "

"Well, be comforted. Your sister will be saved. "

"Oh, yes! I shall die happy. "

"Do you forgive our enemies?"

"With all the strength of my heart. I pray God to have mercy on thewitnesses who accused me. May He forgive me my sins!"

"How old is it that you will soon be?" the old man asked suddenly, forhis reason was beginning to totter, and his memory had failed him. 

"I was twenty-five on All Hallows' Day. "

"True; it was a sad day, this year; you were in prison. "

"Do you remember how, five years ago, on that same day I got the prize inthe regatta at Venice?"

"Tell me about that, my child. "

And he listened, his neck stretched forward, his mouth half open, hishands in his son's. A sound of steps came in from the corridor, and adull knock was struck upon the door. It was the fatal hour. The poorfather had forgotten it. 

The priests had already begun to sing the death hymn; the executioner wasready, the procession had set out, when Solomon the fisherman appearedsuddenly on the threshold of the prison, his eyes aflame and his browradiant with the halo of the patriarchs. The old man drew himself up tohis full height, and raising in one hand the reddened knife, said in asublime voice, "The sacrifice is fulfilled. God did not send His angelto stay the hand of Abraham. "

The crowd carried him in triumph!

[The details of this case are recorded in the archives of the CriminalCourt at Naples. We have changed nothing in the age or position of thepersons who appear in this narrative. One of the most celebratedadvocates at the Neapolitan bar secured the acquittal of the old man. ]

DERUES

One September afternoon in 1751, towards half-past five, about a score ofsmall boys, chattering, pushing, and tumbling over one another like acovey of partridges, issued from one of the religious schools ofChartres. The joy of the little troop just escaped from a long andwearisome captivity was doubly great: a slight accident to one of theteachers had caused the class to be dismissed half an hour earlier thanusual, and in consequence of the extra work thrown on the teaching staffthe brother whose duty it was to see all the scholars safe home wascompelled to omit that part of his daily task. Therefore not only thirtyor forty minutes were stolen from work, but there was also unexpected, uncontrolled liberty, free from the surveillance of that black-cassockedoverseer who kept order in their ranks. Thirty minutes! at that age itis a century, of laughter and prospective games! Each had promisedsolemnly, under pain of severe punishment, to return straight to hispaternal nest without delay, but the air was so fresh and pure, thecountry smiled all around! The school, or preferably the cage, which hadjust opened, lay at the extreme edge of one of the suburbs, and it onlyrequired a few steps to slip under a cluster of trees by a sparklingbrook beyond which rose undulating ground, breaking the monotony of avast and fertile plain. Was it possible to be obedient, to refrain fromthe desire to spread one's wings? The scent of the meadows mounted tothe heads of the steadiest among them, and intoxicated even the mosttimid. It was resolved to betray the confidence of the reverend fathers, even at the risk of disgrace and punishment next morning, supposing theescapade were discovered. 

A flock of sparrows suddenly released from a cage could not have flownmore wildly into the little wood. They were all about the same age, theeldest might be nine. They flung off coats and waistcoats, and the grassbecame strewn with baskets, copy-books, dictionaries, and catechisms. While the crowd of fair-haired heads, of fresh and smiling faces, noisilyconsulted as to which game should be chosen, a boy who had taken no partin the general gaiety, and who had been carried away by the rush withoutbeing able to escape sooner, glided slyly away among the trees, and, thinking himself unseen, was beating a hasty retreat, when one of hiscomrades cried out--

"Antoine is running away!"

Two of the best runners immediately started in pursuit, and the fugitive, notwithstanding his start, was speedily overtaken, seized by his collar, and brought back as a deserter. 

"Where were you going?" the others demanded. 

"Home to my cousins, " replied the boy; "there is no harm in that. "

"You canting sneak!" said another boy, putting his fist under thecaptive's chin; "you were going to the master to tell of us. "

"Pierre, " responded Antoine, "you know quite well I never tell lies. "

"Indeed!--only this morning you pretended I had taken a book you hadlost, and you did it because I kicked you yesterday, and you didn't dareto kick me back again. "

Antoine lifted his eyes to heaven, and folding his arms on his breast--

"Dear Buttel, " he said, "you are mistaken; I have always been taught toforgive injuries. "

"Listen, listen! he might be saying his prayers!" cried the other boys;and a volley of offensive epithets, enforced by cuffs, was hurled at theculprit. 

Pierre Buttel, whose influence was great, put a stop to this onslaught. 

"Look here, Antoine, you are a bad lot, that we all know; you are a sneakand a hypocrite. It's time we put a stop to it. Take off your coat andfight it out. If you like, we will fight every morning and evening tillthe end of the month. "

The proposition was loudly applauded, and Pierre, turning up his sleevesas far as his elbows, prepared to suit actions to words. 

The challenger assuredly did not realise the full meaning, of his words;had he done so, this chivalrous defiance would simply have been an act ofcowardice on his part, for there could be no doubt as to the victor insuch a conflict. The one was a boy of alert and gallant bearing, strongupon his legs, supple and muscular, a vigorous man in embryo; while theother, not quite so old, small, thin, of a sickly leaden complexion, seemed as if he might be blown away by a strong puff of wind. His skinnyarms and legs hung on to his body like the claws of a spider, his fairhair inclined to red, his white skin appeared nearly bloodless, and theconsciousness of weakness made him timid, and gave a shifty, uneasy lookto his eyes. His whole expression was uncertain, and looking only at hisface it was difficult at first sight to decide to which sex he belonged. This confusion of two natures, this indefinable mixture of feminineweakness without grace, and of abortive boyhood, seemed to stamp him assomething exceptional, unclassable, and once observed, it was difficultto take one's eyes from him. Had he been endowed with physical strengthhe would have been a terror to his comrades, exercising by fear theascendancy which Pierre owed to his joyous temper and unwearied gaiety, for this mean exterior concealed extraordinary powers of will anddissimulation. Guided by instinct, the other children hung about Pierreand willingly accepted his leadership; by instinct also they avoidedAntoine, repelled by a feeling of chill, as if from the neighbourhood ofa reptile, and shunning him unless to profit in some way by theirsuperior strength. Never would he join their games without compulsion;his thin, colourless lips seldom parted for a laugh, and even at thattender age his smile had an unpleasantly sinister expression. 

"Will you fight?" again demanded Pierre. 

Antoine glanced hastily round; there was no chance of escape, a doublering enclosed him. To accept or refuse seemed about equally risky; heran a good chance of a thrashing whichever way he decided. Although hisheart beat loudly, no trace of emotion appeared on his pallid cheek; anunforeseen danger would have made him shriek, but he had had time tocollect himself, time to shelter behind hypocrisy. As soon as he couldlie and cheat he recovered courage, and the instinct of cunning, onceroused, prevailed over everything else. Instead of answering this secondchallenge, he knelt down and said to Pierre--

"You are much stronger than I am. "

This submission disarmed his antagonist. "Get up, " he replied; "I won'ttouch you, if you can't defend yourself. 

"Pierre, " continued Antoine, still on his knees, "I assure you, by Godand the Holy Virgin, I was not going to tell. I was going home to mycousins to learn my lessons for to-morrow; you know how slow I am. Ifyou think I have done you any harm, I ask your forgiveness. "

Pierre held out his hand and made him get up. 

"Will you be a good fellow, Antoine, and play with us?"

"Yes, I will. "

"All right, then; let us forget all about it. "

"What are we to play at?" asked Antoine, taking off his coat. 

"Thieves and archers, " cried one of the boys. . . . 

"Splendid!" said Pierre; and using his acknowledged authority, he dividedthem into two sides--ten highwaymen, whom he was to command, and tenarchers of the guard, who were to pursue them; Antoine was among thelatter. 

The highwaymen, armed with swords and guns obtained from the willowswhich grew along the brook, moved off first, and gained the valleysbetween the little hills beyond the wood. The fight was to be serious, and any prisoner on either side was to be tried immediately. The robbersdivided into twos and threes, and hid themselves in the ravines. 

A few minutes later the archers started in pursuit. There wereencounters, surprises, skirmishes; but whenever it came to closequarters, Pierre's men, skilfully distributed, united on hearing hiswhistle, and the Army of justice had to retreat. But there came a timewhen this magic signal was no longer heard, and the robbers becameuneasy, and remained crouching in their hiding-places. Pierre, over-daring, had undertaken to defend alone the entrance of a dangerouspassage and to stop the whole hostile troop there. Whilst he kept themengaged, half of his men, concealed on the left, were to come round thefoot of the hill and make a rush on hearing his whistle; the other half, also stationed at some, little distance, were to execute the samemanoeuvre from above. The archers would be caught in a trap, andattacked both in front and rear, would be obliged to surrender atdiscretion. Chance, which not unfrequently decides the fate of a battle, defeated this excellent stratagem. Watching intently; Pierre failed toperceive that while his whole attention was given to the ground in front, the archers had taken an entirely different road from the one they oughtto have followed if his combination were to succeed. They suddenly fellupon him from behind, and before he could blow his whistle, they gaggedhim with a handkerchief and tied his hands. Six remained to keep thefield of battle and disperse the hostile band, now deprived of its chief;the remaining four conveyed Pierre to the little wood, while the robbers, hearing no signal, did not venture to stir. According to agreement, Pierre Buttel was tried by the archers, who promptly transformedthemselves into a court of justice, and as he had been taken red-handed, and did not condescend to defend himself, the trial was not a longaffair. He was unanimously sentenced to be hung, and the execution wasthen and there carried out, at the request of the criminal himself, whowanted the game to be properly played to the end, and who actuallyselected a suitable tree for his own execution. 

"But, Pierre, " said one of the judges, "how can you be held up there?"

"How stupid you are!" returned the captive. "I shall only pretend to behung, of course. See here!" and he fastened together several piecesstrong string which had tied some of the other boys' books, piled thelatter together, and standing on tiptoe on this very insecure basis, fastened one end of the cord to a horizontal bough, and put his neck intoa running knot at the other end, endeavouring to imitate the contortionsof an actual sufferer. Shouts of laughter greeted him, and the victimlaughed loudest of all. Three archers went to call the rest to beholdthis amusing spectacle; one, tired out, remained with the prisoner. 

"Ah, Hangman, " said Pierre, putting out his tongue at him, "are the booksfirm? I thought I felt them give way. "

"No, " replied Antoine; it was he who remained. "Don't be afraid, Pierre. "

"It is a good thing; for if they fell I don't think the cord is longenough. "

"Don't you really think so?"

A horrible thought showed itself like a flash on the child's face. Heresembled a young hyena scenting blood for the first time. He glanced atthe pile of books Pierre was standing on, and compared it with the lengthof the cord between the branch and his neck. It was already nearly dark, the shadows were deepening in the wood, gleams of pale light penetratedbetween the trees, the leaves had become black and rustled in the wind. Antoine stood silent and motionless, listening if any sound could beheard near them. 

It would be a curious study for the moralist to observe how the firstthought of crime develops itself in the recesses of the human heart, andhow this poisoned germ grows and stifles all other sentiments; animpressive lesson might be gathered from this struggle of two opposingprinciples, however weak it may be, in perverted natures. In cases wherejudgment can discern, where there is power to choose between good andevil, the guilty person has only himself to blame, and the most heinouscrime is only the action of its perpetrator. It is a human action, theresult of passions which might have been controlled, and one's mind isnot uncertain, nor one's conscience doubtful, as to the guilt. But howcan one conceive this taste for murder in a young child, how imagine it, without being tempted to exchange the idea of eternal sovereign justicefor that of blind-fatality? How can one judge without hesitationbetween the moral sense which has given way and the instinct whichdisplays itself? how not exclaim that the designs of a Creator whoretains the one and impels the other are sometimes mysterious andinexplicable, and that one must submit without understanding?

"Do you hear them coming?" asked Pierre. 

"I hear nothing, " replied Antoine, and a nervous shiver ran through allhis members. 

"So much the worse. I am tired of being dead; I shall come to life andrun after them. Hold the books, and I will undo the noose. "

"If you move, the books will separate; wait, I will hold them. "

And he knelt down, and collecting all his strength, gave the pile aviolent push. 

Pierre endeavoured to raise his hands to his throat. "What are youdoing?" he cried in a suffocating voice. 

"I am paying you out;" replied Antoine, folding his arms. 

Pierre's feet were only a few inches from the ground, and the weight ofhis body at first bent the bough for a moment; but it rose again, and theunfortunate boy exhausted himself in useless efforts. At every movementthe knot grew tighter, his legs struggled, his arms sought vainlysomething to lay hold of; then his movements slackened, his limbsstiffened, and his hands sank down. Of so much life and vigour nothingremained but the movement of an inert mass turning round and round uponitself. 

Not till then did Antoine cry for help, and when the other boys hastenedup they found him crying and tearing his hair. So violent indeed werehis sobs and his despair that he could hardly be understood as he triedto explain how the books had given way under Pierre, and how he hadvainly endeavoured to support him in his arms. 

This boy, left an orphan at three years old, had been brought up at firstby a relation who turned him out for theft; afterwards by two sisters, his cousins, who were already beginning to take alarm at his abnormalperversity. This pale and fragile being, an incorrigible thief, aconsummate hypocrite, and a cold-blooded assassin, was predestined to animmortality of crime, and was to find a place among the most execrablemonsters for whom humanity has ever had to blush; his name wasAntoine-Francois Derues. 

Twenty years had gone by since this horrible and mysterious event, whichno one sought to unravel at the time it occurred. One June evening, 1771, four persons were sitting in one of the rooms of a modestlyfurnished, dwelling on the third floor of a house in the rueSaint-Victor. The party consisted of three women and an ecclesiastic, who boarded, for meals only, with the woman who tenanted the dwelling;the other two were near neighbours. They were all friends, and often metthus in the evening to play cards. They were sitting round thecard-table, but although it was nearly ten o'clock the cards had not yetbeen touched. They spoke in low tones, and a half-interrupted confidencehad, this evening, put a check on the usual gaiety. 

Someone knocked gently at the door, although no sound of steps on thecreaking wooden staircase had been heard, and a wheedling voice asked foradmittance. The occupier of the room, Madame Legrand, rose, and admitteda man of about six-and-twenty, at whose appearance the four friendsexchanged glances, at once observed by the new-comer, who affected, however, not to see them. He bowed successively to the three women, andseveral times with the utmost respect to the abbe, making signs ofapology for the interruption caused by his appearance; then, coughingseveral times, he turned to Madame Legrand, and said in a feeble voice, which seemed to betoken much suffering--

"My kind mistress, will you and these other ladies excuse my presentingmyself at such an hour and in such a costume? I am ill, and I wasobliged to get up. "

His costume was certainly singular enough: he was wrapped in a largedressing-gown of flowered chintz; his head was adorned by a nightcapdrawn up at the top and surmounted by a muslin frill. His appearance didnot contradict his complaint of illness; he was barely four feet six inheight, his limbs were bony, his face sharp, thin, and pale. Thusattired, coughing incessantly, dragging his feet as if he had no strengthto lift them, holding a lighted candle in one hand and an egg in theother, he suggested a caricature-some imaginary invalid just escaped fromM. Purgon. Nevertheless, no one ventured to smile, notwithstanding hisvaletudinarian appearance and his air of affected humility. Theperpetual blinking of the yellow eyelids which fell over the round andhollow eyes, shining with a sombre fire which he could never entirelysuppress, reminded one of a bird of prey unable to face the light, andthe lines of his face, the hooked nose, and the thin, constantlyquivering, drawn-in lips suggested a mixture of boldness and baseness, ofcunning and sincerity. But there is no book which can instruct one toread the human countenance correctly; and some special circumstance musthave roused the suspicions of these four persons so much as to cause themto make these observations, and they were not as usual deceived by thehumbug of this skilled actor, a past master in the art of deception. 

He continued after a moment's silence, as if he did not wish to interrupttheir mute observation--

"Will you oblige me by a neighbourly kindness?"

"What is it, Derues?" asked Madame Legrand. A violent cough, whichappeared to rend his chest, prevented him from answering immediately. When it ceased, he looked at the abbe, and said, with a melancholysmile--

"What I ought to ask in my present state of health is your blessing, myfather, and your intercession for the pardon of my sins. But everyoneclings to the life which God has given him. We do not easily abandonhope; moreover, I have always considered it wrong to neglect such meansof preserving our lives as are in our power, since life is for us only atime of trial, and the longer and harder the trial the greater ourrecompense in a better world. Whatever befalls us, our answer should bethat of the Virgin Mary to the angel who announced the mystery of theIncarnation: 'Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according toThy word. '"

"You are right, " said the abbe, with a severe and inquisitorial look, under which Derues remained quite untroubled; "it is an attribute of Godto reward and to punish, and the Almighty is not deceived by him whodeceives men. The Psalmist has said, 'Righteous art Thou, O Lord, andupright are Thy judgments. '"

"He has said also, 'The judgments of the Lord are true and righteousaltogether, '" Derues promptly replied. This exchange of quotations fromScripture might have lasted for hours without his being at a loss, hadthe abbe thought fit to continue in this strain; but such a style ofconversation, garnished with grave and solemn words, seemed almostsacrilegious in the mouth of a man of such ridiculous appearance--aprofanation at once sad and grotesque. Derues seemed to comprehend theimpression it produced, and tuning again to Madame Legrand, he said--

"We have got a long way from what I came to ask you, my kind friend. Iwas so ill that I went early to bed, but I cannot sleep, and I have nofire. Would you have the kindness to have this egg mulled for me?"

"Cannot your servant do that for you?" asked Madame Legrand. 

"I gave her leave to go out this evening, and though it is late she hasnot yet returned. If I had a fire, I would not give you so much trouble, but I do not care to light one at this hour. You know I am always afraidof accidents, and they so easily happen!"

"Very well, then, " replied Madame Legrand; "go back to your room, and myservant will bring it to you. "

"Thank you, " said Derues, bowing, --"many thanks. "

As he turned to depart, Madame Legrand spoke again. 

"This day week, Derues, you have to pay me half the twelve hundred livresdue for the purchase of my business. "

"So soon as that?"

"Certainly, and I want the money. Have you forgotten the date, then?"

"Oh dear, I have never looked at the agreement since it was drawn up. Idid not think the time was so near, it is the fault of my bad memory; butI will contrive to pay you, although trade is very bad, and in three daysI shall have to pay more than fifteen thousand livres to differentpeople. "

He bowed again and departed, apparently exhausted by the effort ofsustaining so long a conversation. 

As soon as they were alone, the abbe exclaimed--

"That man is assuredly an utter rascal! May God forgive him hishypocrisy! How is it possible we could allow him to deceive us for solong?"

"But, my father, " interposed one of the visitors, "are you really sure ofwhat you have just said?"

"I am not now speaking of the seventy-nine Louis d'or which have beenstolen from me, although I never mentioned to anyone but you, and he wasthen present, that I possessed such a sum, and although that very day hemade a false excuse for coming to my rooms when I was out. Theft isindeed infamous, but slander is not less so, and he has slandered youdisgracefully. Yes, he has spread a report that you, Madame Legrand, you, his former mistress and benefactress, have put temptation in hisway, and desired to commit carnal sin with him. This is now whispered theneighbourhood all round us, it will soon be said aloud, and we have beenso completely his dupes, we have helped him so much to acquire areputation for uprightness, that it would now be impossible to destroyour own work; if I were to accuse him of theft, and you charged him withlying, probably neither of us would be believed. Beware, these odioustales have not been spread without a reason. Now that your eyes areopen, beware of him. "

"Yes, " replied Madame Legrand, "my brother-in-law warned me three yearsago. One day Derues said to my sister-in-law, --I remember the wordsperfectly, --'I should like to be a druggist, because one would always beable to punish an enemy; and if one has a quarrel with anyone it would beeasy to get rid of him by means of a poisoned draught. ' I neglectedthese warnings. I surmounted the feeling of repugnance I first felt atthe sight of him; I have responded to his advances, and I greatly fear Imay have cause to repent it. But you know him as well as I do, who wouldnot have thought his piety sincere?--who would not still think so? Andnotwithstanding all you have said, I still hesitate to feel seriousalarm; I am unwilling to believe in such utter depravity. "

The conversation continued in this strain for some time, and then, as itwas getting late, the party separated. 

Next morning early, a large and noisy crowd was assembled in the rueSaint-Victor before Derues' shop of drugs and groceries. There was aconfusion of cross questions, of inquiries which obtained no answer, ofanswers not addressed to the inquiry, a medley of sound, a pell-mell ofunconnected words, of affirmations, contradictions, and interruptednarrations. Here, a group listened to an orator who held forth in hisshirt sleeves, a little farther there were disputes, quarrels, exclamations of "Poor man!" "Such a good fellow!" "My poor gossipDerues!" "Good heavens! what will he do now?" "Alas! he is quite donefor; it is to be hoped his creditors will give him time!" Above all thisuproar was heard a voice, sharp and piercing like a cat's, lamenting, andrelating with sobs the terrible misfortune of last night. At about threein the morning the inhabitants of the rue St. Victor had been startledout of their sleep by the cry of "Fire, fire!" A conflagration had burstforth in Derues' cellar, and though its progress had been arrested andthe house saved from destruction, all the goods stored therein hadperished. It apparently meant a considerable loss in barrels of oil, casks of brandy, boxes of soap, etc. , which Derues estimated at not lessthan nine thousand livres. 

By what unlucky chance the fire had been caused he had no idea. Herecounted his visit to Madame Legrand, and pale, trembling, hardly ableto sustain himself, he cried--

"I shall die of grief! A poor man as ill as I am! I am lost! I amruined!"

A harsh voice interrupted his lamentations, and drew the attention of thecrowd to a woman carrying printed broadsides, and who forced a passagethrough the crowd up to the shop door. She unfolded one of her sheets, and cried as loudly and distinctly as her husky voice permitted--

"Sentence pronounced by the Parliament of Paris against John RobertCassel, accused and convicted of Fraudulent Bankruptcy!"

Derues looked up and saw a street-hawker who used to come to his shop fora drink, and with whom he had had a violent quarrel about a monthpreviously, she having detected him in a piece of knavery, and abused himroundly in her own style, which was not lacking in energy. He had notseen her since. The crowd generally, and all the gossips of the quarter, who held Derues in great veneration, thought that the woman's cry wasintended as an indirect insult, and threatened to punish her for thisirreverence. But, placing one hand on her hip, and with the otherwarning off the most pressing by a significant gesture--

"Are you still befooled by his tricks, fools that you are? Yes, no doubtthere was a fire in the cellar last night, no doubt his creditors will begeese enough to let him off paying his debts! But what you don't knowis, that he didn't really lose by it at all!"

"He lost all his goods!" the crowd cried on all sides. "More than ninethousand livres! Oil and brandy, do you think those won't burn? The oldwitch, she drinks enough to know! If one put a candle near her she wouldtake fire, fast enough!"

"Perhaps, " replied the woman, with renewed gesticulations, "perhaps; butI don't advise any of you to try. Anyhow, this fellow here is a rogue;he has been emptying his cellar for the last three nights; there wereonly old empty casks in it and empty packing-cases! Oh yes! I haveswallowed his daily lies like everybody else, but I know the truth bynow. He got his liquor taken away by Michael Lambourne's son, thecobbler in the rue de la Parcheminerie. How do I know? Why, because theyoung man came and told me!"

"I turned that woman out of my shop a month ago, for stealing, " saidDerues. 

Notwithstanding this retaliatory accusation, the woman's bold assertionmight have changed the attitude of the crowd and chilled the enthusiasm, but at that moment a stout man pressed forward, and seizing the hawker bythe arm, said--

"Go, and hold your tongue, backbiting woman!"

To this man, the honour of Derues was an article of faith; he had not yetceased to wonder at the probity of this sainted person, and to doubt itin the least was as good as suspecting his own. 

"My dear friend, " he said, "we all know what to think of you. I know youwell. Send to me tomorrow, and you shall have what goods you want, oncredit, for as long as is necessary. Now, evil tongue, what do you sayto that?"

"I say that you are as great a fool as the rest. Adieu, friend Derues;go on as you have begun, and I shall be selling your 'sentence' someday"; and dispersing the crowd with a few twirls of her right arm, shepassed on, crying--

"Sentence pronounced by the Parliament of Paris against John RobertCassel, accused and convicted of Fraudulent Bankruptcy!"

This accusation emanated from too insignificant a quarter to have anyeffect on Derues' reputation. However resentful he may have been at thetime, he got over it in consequence of the reiterated marks of interestshown by his neighbours and all the quarter on account of his supposedruin, and the hawker's attack passed out of his mind, or probably shemight have paid for her boldness with her life. 

But this drunken woman had none the less uttered a prophetic word; it wasthe grain of sand on which, later, he was to be shipwrecked. 

"All passions, " says La Bruyere, --"all passions are deceitful; theydisguise themselves as much as possible from the public eye; they hidefrom themselves. There is no vice which has not a counterfeitresemblance to some virtue, and which does not profit by it. "

The whole life of Derues bears testimony to the truth of thisobservation. An avaricious poisoner, he attracted his victims by thepretence of fervent and devoted piety, and drew them into the snare wherehe silently destroyed them. His terrible celebrity only began in 1777, caused by the double murder of Madame de Lamotte and her son, and hisname, unlike those of some other great criminals, does not at firstrecall a long series of crimes, but when one examines this low, crooked, and obscure life, one finds a fresh stain at every step, and perhaps noone has ever surpassed him in dissimulation, in profound hypocrisy, inindefatigable depravity. Derues was executed at thirty-two, and hiswhole life was steeped in vice; though happily so short, it is full ofhorror, and is only a tissue of criminal thoughts and deeds, a veryessence of evil. He had no hesitation, no remorse, no repose, norelaxation; he seemed compelled to lie, to steal, to poison!Occasionally suspicion is aroused, the public has its doubts, and vaguerumours hover round him; but he burrows under new impostures, andpunishment passes by. When he falls into the hands of human justice hisreputation protects him, and for a few days more the legal sword isturned aside. Hypocrisy is so completely a part of his nature, that evenwhen there is no longer any hope, when he is irrevocably sentenced, andhe knows that he can no longer deceive anyone, neither mankind nor Himwhose name he profanes by this last sacrilege, he yet exclaims, "OChrist! I shall suffer even as Thou. " It is only by the light of hisfuneral pyre that the dark places of his life can be examined, that thisbloody plot is unravelled, and that other victims, forgotten and lost inthe shadows, arise like spectres at the foot of the scaffold, and escortthe assassin to his doom. 

Let us trace rapidly the history of Derues' early years, effaced andforgotten in the notoriety of his death. These few pages are not writtenfor the glorification of crime, and if in our own days, as a result ofthe corruption of our manners, and of a deplorable confusion of allnotions of right and wrong, it has been sought to make him an object; ofpublic interest, we, on our part, only wish to bring him into notice, andplace him momentarily on a pedestal, in order to cast him still lower, that his fall may be yet greater. What has been permitted by God may berelated by man. Decaying and satiated communities need not be treated aschildren; they require neither diplomatic handling nor precaution, and itmay be good that they should see and touch the putrescent sores whichcanker them. Why fear to mention that which everyone knows? Why dread tosound the abyss which can be measured by everyone? Why fear to bringinto the light of day unmasked wickedness, even though it confronts thepublic gaze unblushingly? Extreme turpitude and extreme excellence areboth in the schemes of Providence; and the poet has summed up eternalmorality for all ages and nations in this sublime exclamation--

 "Abstulit hunc tandem Rufini poem tumultum. "

Besides, and we cannot insist too earnestly that our intention must notbe mistaken, if we had wished to inspire any other sentiment than that ofhorror, we should have chosen a more imposing personage from the annalsof crime. There have been deeds which required audacity, a sort ofgrandeur, a false heroism; there have been criminals who held in checkall the regular and legitimate forces of society, and whom one regardedwith a mixture of terror and pity. There is nothing of that in Derues, not even a trace of courage; nothing but a shameless cupidity, exercisingitself at first in the theft of a few pence filched from the poor;nothing but the illicit gains and rascalities of a cheating shopkeeperand vile money-lender, a depraved cowardice which dared not strikeopenly, but slew in the dark. It is the story of an unclean reptilewhich drags itself underground, leaving everywhere the trail of itspoisonous saliva. 

Such was the man whose life we have undertaken to narrate, a man whorepresents a complete type of wickedness, and who corresponds to the mosthideous sketch ever devised by poet or romance-writer: Facts withoutimportance of their own, which would be childish if recorded of anyoneelse, obtain a sombre reflection from other facts which precede them, andthenceforth cannot be passed over in silence. The historian is obligedto collect and note them, as showing the logical development of thisdegraded being: he unites them in sequence, and counts the successivesteps of the ladder mounted by the criminal. 

We have seen the early exploit of this assassin by instinct; we find him, twenty years later, an incendiary and a fraudulent bankrupt. What hadhappened in the interval? With how much treachery and crime had hefilled this space of twenty years? Let us return to his infancy. 

His unconquerable taste for theft caused him to be expelled by therelations who had taken charge of him. An anecdote is told which showshis impudence and incurable perversity. One day he was caught takingsome money, and was soundly whipped by his cousins. When this was over, the child, instead of showing any sorrow or asking forgiveness, ran awaywith a sneer, and seeing they were out of breath, exclaimed--

"You are tired, are you? Well, I am not!"

Despairing of any control over this evil disposition, the relationsrefused to keep him, and sent him to Chartres, where two other cousinsagreed to have him, out of charity. They were simpleminded women, ofgreat and sincere piety, who imagined that good example and religiousteaching might have a happy influence on their young relation. Theresult was contrary to their expectation: the sole fruit of theirteaching was that Derues learnt to be a cheat and a hypocrite, and toassume the mask of respectability. 

Here also repeated thefts insured him sound corrections. Knowing hiscousins' extreme economy, not to say avarice, he mocked them when theybroke a lath over his shoulders: "There now, I am so glad; that will costyou two farthings!"

His benefactresses' patience becoming exhausted, he left their house, andwas apprenticed to a tinman at Chartres. His master died, and anironmonger of the same town took him as shop-boy, and from this he passedon to a druggist and grocer. Until now, although fifteen years old, hehad shown no preference for one trade more than another, but it was nownecessary he should choose some profession, and his share in the familyproperty amounted to the modest sum of three thousand five hundredlivres. His residence with this last master revealed a decided taste, but it was only another evil instinct developing itself: the poisoner hadscented poison, being always surrounded with drugs which werehealth-giving or hurtful, according to the use made of them. Derueswould probably have settled at Chartres, but repeated thefts obliged himto leave the town. The profession of druggist and grocer being one whichpresented most chances of fortune, and being, moreover, adapted to histastes, his family apprenticed him to a grocer in the rue Comtessed'Artois, paying a specified premium for him. 

Derues arrived in Paris in 1760. It was a new horizon, where he wasunknown; no suspicion attached to him, and he felt much at his ease. Lostin the noise and the crowd of this immense receptacle for every vice, hehad time to found on hypocrisy his reputation as an honest man. When hisapprenticeship expired, his master proposed to place him with hissister-in-law, who kept a similar establishment in the rue St. Victor, and who had been a widow for several years. He recommended Derues as ayoung man whose zeal and intelligence might be useful in her business, being ignorant of various embezzlements committed by his late apprentice, who was always clever enough to cast suspicion on others. But thenegotiation nearly fell through, because, one day, Derues so far forgothis usual prudence and dissimulation as to allow himself to make theobservation recorded above to his mistress. She, horrified, ordered himto be silent, and threatened to ask her husband to dismiss him. Itrequired a double amount of hypocrisy to remove this unfavourableimpression; but he spared no pains to obtain the confidence of thesister-in-law, who was much influenced in his favour. Every day heinquired what could be done for her, every evening he took a basket-loadof the goods she required from the rue Comtesse d'Artois; and it excitedthe pity of all beholders to see this weakly young man, panting andsweating under his heavy burden, refusing any reward, and labouringmerely for the pleasure of obliging, and from natural kindness of heart!The poor widow, whose spoils he was already coveting, was completelyduped. She rejected the advice of her brother-in-law, and only listenedto the concert of praises sung by neighbours much edified by Derues'conduct, and touched by the interest he appeared to show her. Often hefound occasion to speak of her, always with the liveliest expressions ofboundless devotion. These remarks were repeated to the good woman, andseemed all the more sincere to her as they appeared to have been madequite casually, and she never suspected they were carefully calculatedand thought out long before. 

Derues carried dishonesty as far as possible, but he knew how to stopwhen suspicion was likely to be aroused, and though always planningeither to deceive or to hurt, he was never taken by surprise. Like thespider which spreads the threads of her web all round her, he concealedhimself in a net of falsehood which one had to traverse before arrivingat his real nature. The evil destiny of this poor woman, mother of fourchildren, caused her to engage him as her shopman in the year 1767, thereby signing the warrant for her own ruin. 

Derues began life under his new mistress with a master-stroke. Hisexemplary piety was the talk of the whole quarter, and his first care hadbeen to request Madame Legrand to recommend him a confessor. She senthim to the director of her late husband, Pere Cartault, of the Carmeliteorder, who, astonished at the devotion of his penitent, never failed, ifhe passed the shop, to enter and congratulate Madame Legrand on theexcellent acquisition she had made in securing this young man, who wouldcertainly bring her a blessing along with him. Derues affected thegreatest modesty, and blushed at these praises, and often, when he sawthe good father approaching, appeared not to see him, and found somethingto do elsewhere; whereby the field was left clear for his too credulouspanegyrists. 

But Pere Cartault appeared too indulgent, and Derues feared that his sinswere too easily pardoned; and he dared not find peace in an absolutionwhich was never refused. Therefore, before the year was out, he chose asecond confessor, Pere Denys, a Franciscan, consulting both alternately, and confiding his conscientious scruples to them. Every penance appearedtoo easy, and he added to those enjoined by his directors continualmortifications of his own devising, so that even Tartufe himself wouldhave owned his superiority. 

He wore about him two shrouds, to which were fastened relics of Madame deChantal, also a medal of St. Francois de Saps, and occasionally scourgedhimself. His mistress related that he had begged her to take a sittingat the church of St. Nicholas, in order that he might more easily attendservice when he had a day out, and had brought her a small sum which hehad saved, to pay half the expense. 

Moreover, he had slept upon straw during the whole of Lent, and took carethat Madame Legrand heard of this through the servant, pretending atfirst to hide it as if it were something wrong. He tried to prevent themaid from going into his room, and when she found out the straw heforbade her to mention it--which naturally made her more anxious torelate her discovery. Such a piece of piety, combined with suchmeritorious humility, such dread of publicity, could only increase theexcellent opinion which everyone already had of him. 

Every day was marked by some fresh hypocrisy. One of his sisters, anovice in the convent of the Ladies of the Visitation of the Virgin, wasto take the veil at Easter. Derues obtained permission to be present atthe ceremony, and was to start on foot on Good Friday. When he departed, the shop happened to be full of people, and the gossips of theneighbourhood inquired where he was going. Madame Legrand desired him tohave a glass of liqueur (wine he never touched) and something to eatbefore starting. 

"Oh, madame!" he exclaimed, "do you think I could eat on a day like this, the day on which Christ was crucified! I will take a piece of bread withme, but I shall only eat it at the inn where I intend to sleep: I mean tofast the whole way. "

But this kind of thing was not sufficient. He wanted an opportunity toestablish a reputation for honesty on a firm basis. Chance provided one, and he seized it immediately, although at the expense of a member of hisown family. 

One of his brothers, who kept a public-house at Chartres, came to seehim. Derues, under pretence of showing him the sights of Paris, which hedid not know, asked his mistress to allow him to take in the brother fora few days, which she granted. The last evening of his stay, Derues wentup to his room, broke open the box which contained his clothes, turnedover everything it contained, examined the clothes, and discovering twonew cotton nightcaps, raised a cry which brought up the household. Hisbrother just then returned, and Derues called him an infamous thief, declaring that he had stolen the money for these new articles out of theshop the evening before. His brother defended himself, protesting hisinnocence, and, indignant at such incomprehensible treachery, endeavouredto turn the tables by relating some of Antoine's early misdeeds. Thelatter, however, stopped him, by declaring on his honour that he had seenhis brother the evening before go to the till, slip his hand in, and takeout some money. The brother was confounded and silenced by so audaciousa lie; he hesitated, stammered, and was turned out of the house. Deruesworthily crowned this piece of iniquity by obliging his mistress toaccept the restitution of the stolen money. It cost him three livres, twelve sons, but the interest it brought him was the power of stealingunsuspected. That evening he spent in prayer for the pardon of hisbrother's supposed guilt. 

All these schemes had succeeded, and brought him nearer to the desiredgoal, for not a soul in the quarter ventured to doubt the word of thissaintly individual. His fawning manners and insinuating language variedaccording to the people addressed. He adapted himself to all, contradicting no one, and, while austere himself, he flattered the tastesof others. In the various houses where he visited his conversation wasserious, grave, and sententious; and, as we have seen, he could quoteScripture with the readiness of a theologian. In the shop, when he hadto deal with the lower classes, he showed himself acquainted with theirmodes of expression, and spoke the Billingsgate of the market-women, which he had acquired in the rue Comtesse d'Artois, treating themfamiliarly, and they generally addressed him as "gossip Denies. " By hisown account he easily judged the characters of the various people withwhom he came in contact. 

However, Pere Cartault's prophecy was not fulfilled: the blessing ofHeaven did not descend on the Legrand establishment. There seemed to bea succession of misfortunes which all Derues' zeal and care as shopmancould neither prevent nor repair. He by no means contented himself withparading an idle and fruitless hypocrisy, and his most abominabledeceptions were not those displayed in the light of day. He watched bynight: his singular organisation, outside the ordinary laws of nature, appeared able to dispense with sleep. Gliding about on tiptoe, openingdoors noiselessly, with all the skill of an accomplished thief, hepillaged shop and cellar, and sold his plunder in remote parts of thetown under assumed names. It is difficult to understand how his strengthsupported the fatigue of this double existence; he had barely arrived atpuberty, and art had been obliged to assist the retarded development ofnature. But he lived only for evil, and the Spirit of Evil supplied thephysical vigour which was wanting. An insane love of money (the onlypassion he knew) brought him by degrees back to his starting-point ofcrime; he concealed it in hiding-places wrought in the thick walls, inholes dug out by his nails. As soon as he got any, he brought it exactlyas a wild beast brings a piece of bleeding flesh to his lair; and often, by the glimmer of a dark lantern, kneeling in adoration before thisshameful idol, his eyes sparkling with ferocious joy, with a smile whichsuggested a hyena's delight over its prey, he would contemplate hismoney, counting and kissing it. 

These continual thefts brought trouble into the Legrand affairs, cancelled all profits, and slowly brought on ruin. The widow had nosuspicion of Derues' disgraceful dealings, and he carefully referred thedamage to other causes, quite worthy of himself. Sometimes it was abottle of oil, or of brandy, or some other commodity, which was foundspilt, broken, or damaged, which accidents he attributed to the enormousquantity of rats which infested the cellar and the house. At length, unable to meet her engagements, Madame Legrand made the business over tohim in February, 1770. He was then twenty-five years and six months old, and was accepted as a merchant grocer in August the same year. By anagreement drawn up between them, Derues undertook to pay twelve hundredlivres for the goodwill, and to lodge her rent free during the remainderof her lease, which had still nine years to run. Being thus obliged togive up business to escape bankruptcy, Madame Legrand surrendered to hercreditors any goods remaining in her warehouse; and Derues easily madearrangements to take them over very cheaply. The first step thus made, he was now able to enrich himself safely and to defraud with impunityunder the cover of his stolen reputation. 

One of his uncles, a flour merchant at Chartres, came habitually twice ayear to Paris to settle accounts with his correspondents. A sum oftwelve hundred francs, locked up in a drawer, was stolen from him, and, accompanied by his nephew, he went to inform the police. On investigationbeing made, it was found that the chest of drawers had been broken at thetop. As at the time of the theft of the seventy-nine Louis from theabbe, Derues was the only person known to have entered his uncle's room. The innkeeper swore to this, but the uncle took pains to justify hisnephew, and showed his confidence shortly after by becoming surety forhim to the extent of five thousand livres. Derues failed to pay when thetime expired, and the holder of the note was obliged to sue the suretyfor it. 

He made use of any means, even the most impudent, which enabled him toappropriate other people's property. A provincial grocer on one occasionsent him a thousand-weight of honey in barrels to be sold on commission. Two or three months passed, and he asked for an account of the sale. Derues replied that he had not yet been able to dispose of itadvantageously, and there ensued a fresh delay, followed by the samequestion and the same reply. At length, when more than a year hadpassed, the grocer came to Paris, examined his barrels, and found thatfive hundred pounds were missing. He claimed damages from Derues, whodeclared he had never received any more, and as the honey had been sentin confidence, and there was no contract and no receipt to show, theprovincial tradesman could not obtain compensation. 

As though having risen by the ruin of Madame Legrand and her fourchildren was not enough, Derues grudged even the morsel of bread he hadbeen obliged to leave her. A few days after the fire in the cellar, which enabled him to go through a second bankruptcy, Madame Legrand, nowundeceived and not believing his lamentations, demanded the money due toher, according to their agreement. Derues pretended to look for his copyof the contract, and could not find it. "Give me yours, madame, " saidhe; "we will write the receipt upon it. Here is the money. "

The widow opened her purse and took out her copy; Derues snatched it, andtore it up. "Now, " he exclaimed, "you are paid; I owe you nothing now. If you like, I will declare it on oath in court, and no one willdisbelieve my word. "

"Wretched man, " said the unfortunate widow, "may God forgive your soul;but your body will assuredly end on the gallows!"

It was in vain that she complained, and told of this abominable swindle;Derues had been beforehand with her, and the slander he had disseminatedbore its fruits. It was said that his old mistress was endeavouring byan odious falsehood to destroy the reputation of a man who had refused tobe her lover. Although reduced to poverty, she left the house where shehad a right to remain rent free, preferring the hardest and dreariestlife to the torture of remaining under the same roof with the man who hadcaused her ruin. 

We might relate a hundred other pieces of knavery, but it must not besupposed that having begun by murder, Derues would draw back and remaincontented with theft. Two fraudulent bankruptcies would have sufficedfor most people; for him they were merely a harmless pastime. Here wemust place two dark and obscure stories, two crimes of which he isaccused, two victims whose death groans no one heard. 

The hypocrite's excellent reputation had crossed the Parisian bounds. Ayoung man from the country, intending to start as a grocer in thecapital, applied to Derues for the necessary information and begged foradvice. He arrived at the latter's house with a sum of eight thousandlivres, which he placed in Derues' hands, asking him for assistance infinding a business. The sight of gold was enough to rouse the instinctof crime in Derues, and the witches who hailed Macbeth with the promiseof royalty did not rouse the latter's ambitious desires to a greaterheight than the chance of wealth did the greed of the assassin; whosehands, once closed over the eight thousand livres, were never againrelaxed. He received them as a deposit, and hid them along with hisprevious plunder, vowing never to return them. Several days had elapsed, when one afternoon Derues returned home with an air of such unusualcheerfulness that the young man questioned him. "Have you heard somegood news for me?" he asked, "or have you had some luck yourself?"

"My young friend, " answered Derues, "as for me, success depends on my ownefforts, and fortune smiles on me. But I have promised to be useful toyou, your parents have trusted me, and I must prove that their confidenceis well founded. I have heard to-day of a business for disposal in oneof the best parts of Paris. You can have it for twelve thousand livres, and I wish I could lend you the amount you want. But you must write toyour father, persuade him, reason with him; do not lose so good a chance. He must make a little sacrifice, and he will be grateful to me later. "

In accordance with their son's request, the young man's parentsdespatched a sum of four thousand livres, requesting Derues to lose notime in concluding the purchase. 

Three weeks later, the father, very uneasy, arrived in Paris. He came toinquire about his son, having heard nothing from him. Derues receivedhim with the utmost astonishment, appearing convinced that the young manhad returned home. One day, he said, the youth informed him that he hadheard from his father, who had given up all idea of establishing him inParis, having arranged an advantageous marriage for him near home; and hehad taken his twelve thousand livres, for which Derues produced areceipt, and started on his return journey. 

One evening, when nearly dark, Derues had gone out with his guest, whocomplained of headache and internal pains. Where did they go? No oneknew; but Denies only returned at daybreak, alone, weary and exhausted, and the young man was never again heard of. 

One of his apprentices was the constant object of reproof. The boy wasaccused of negligence, wasting his time, of spending three hours over atask which might have been done in less than one. When Derues hadconvinced the father, a Parisian bourgeois, that his son was a bad boyand a good-for-nothing, he came to this man one day in a state of wildexcitement. 

"Your son, " he said, "ran away yesterday with six hundred livres, withwhich I had to meet a bill to-day. He knew where I kept this money, andhas taken it. "

He threatened to go before a magistrate and denounce the thief, and wasonly appeased by being paid the sum he claimed to have lost. But he hadgone out with the lad the evening before, and returned alone in the earlyhours of the morning. 

However, the veil which concealed the truth was becoming more and moretransparent every day. Three bankruptcies had diminished theconsideration he enjoyed, and people began to listen to complaints andaccusations which till now had been considered mere inventions designedto injure him. Another attempt at trickery made him feel it desirable toleave the neighbourhood. 

He had rented a house close to his own, the shop of which had beentenanted for seven or eight years by a wine merchant. He required fromthis man, if he wished to remain where he was, a sum of six hundredlivres as a payment for goodwill. Although the wine merchant consideredit an exorbitant charge, yet on reflection he decided to pay it ratherthan go, having established a good business on these premises, as waswell known. Before long a still mare arrant piece of dishonesty gave himan opportunity for revenge. A young man of good family, who was boardingwith him in order to gain some business experience, having gone intoDerues' shop to make some purchases, amused himself while waiting by idlywriting his name on a piece of blank paper lying on the counter; which heleft there without thinking more about it. Derues, knowing the young manhad means, as soon as he had gone, converted the signed paper into apromissory note for two thousand livres, to his order, payable at themajority of the signer. The bill, negotiated in trade, arrived when dueat the wine merchant's, who, much surprised, called his young boarder andshowed him the paper adorned with his signature. The youth was utterlyconfounded, having no knowledge of the bill whatever, but neverthelesscould not deny his signature. On examining the paper carefully, thehandwriting was recognised as Derues'. The wine merchant sent for him, and when he arrived, made him enter a room, and having locked the door, produced the promissory note. Derues acknowledged having written it, andtried various falsehoods to excuse himself. No one listened to him, andthe merchant threatened to place the matter in the hands of the police. Then Derues wept, implored, fell on his knees, acknowledged his guilt, and begged for mercy. He agreed to restore the six hundred livresexacted from the wine merchant, on condition that he should see the notedestroyed and that the matter should end there. He was then about to bemarried, and dreaded a scandal. 

Shortly after, he married Marie-Louise Nicolais; daughter of aharness-maker at Melun. 

One's first impression in considering this marriage is one of profoundsorrow and utmost pity for the young girl whose destiny was linked withthat of this monster. One thinks of the horrible future; of youth andinnocence blighted by the tainting breath of the homicide; of candourunited to hypocrisy; of virtue to wickedness; of legitimate desireslinked to disgraceful passions; of purity mixed with corruption. Thethought of these contrasts is revolting, and one pities such a dreadfulfate. But we must not decide hastily. Madame Denies has not beenconvicted of any active part in her husband's later crimes, but herhistory, combined with his, shows no trace of suffering, nor of anyrevolt against a terrible complicity. In her case the evidence isdoubtful, and public opinion must decide later. 

In 1773, Derues relinquished retail business, and left the Saint Victorneighbourhood, having taken an apartment in the rue des Deux Boules, nearthe rue Bertin-Poiree, in the parish of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, where hehad been married. He first acted on commission for theBenedictine-Camalduian fathers of the forest of Senart, who had heard ofhim as a man wholly given to piety; then, giving himself up to usury, heundertook what is known as "business affairs, " a profession which, insuch hands, could not fail to be lucrative, being aided by his exemplarymorals and honest appearance. It was the more easy for him to impose onothers, as he could not be accused of any of the deadly vices which sooften end in ruin--gaming, wine, and women. Until now he had displayedonly one passion, that of avarice, but now another developed itself, thatof ambition. He bought houses and land, and when the money was due, allowed himself to be sued for it; he bought even lawsuits, which hemuddled with all the skill of a rascally attorney. Experienced inbankruptcy, he undertook the management of failures, contriving to makedishonesty appear in the light of unfortunate virtue. When this demonwas not occupied with poison, his hands were busy with every socialiniquity; he could only live and breathe in an atmosphere of corruption. 

His wife, who had already presented him with a daughter, gave birth to ason in February 1774. Derues, in order to better support the airs ofgrandeur and the territorial title which he had assumed, invited personsof distinction to act as sponsors. The child was baptized Tuesday, February 15th. We give the text of the baptismal register, as acuriosity:--

"Antoine-Maximilian-Joseph, son of Antoine-Francois Derues, gentleman, seigneur of Gendeville, Herchies, Viquemont, and other places, formerlymerchant grocer; and of Madame Marie-Louise Nicolais, his wife. Godfathers, T. H. And T. P. , lords of, etc. Etc. Godmothers, Madame M. Fr. C. D. V. , etc. Etc. 

 "(Signed) A. F. DERUES, Senior. "

But all this dignity did not exclude the sheriff's officers, whom, asbefitted so great a man, he treated with the utmost insolence, overwhelming them with abuse when they came to enforce an execution. Suchscandals had several times aroused the curiosity of his neighbours, anddid not redound to his credit. His landlord, wearied of all thisclamour, and most especially weary of never getting any rent without afight for it, gave him notice to quit. Derues removed to the rueBeaubourg, where he continued to act as commission agent under the nameof Cyrano Derues de Bury. 

And now we will concern ourselves no more with the unravelling of thistissue of imposition; we will wander no longer in this labyrinth offraud, of low and vile intrigue, of dark crime of which the cluedisappears in the night, and of which the trace is lost in a doubtfulmixture of blood and mire; we will listen no longer to the cry of thewidow and her four children reduced to beggary, to the groans of obscurevictims, to the cries of terror and the death-groan which echoed onenight through the vaults of a country house near Beauvais. Behold othervictims whose cries are yet louder, behold yet other crimes and apunishment which equals them in terror! Let these nameless ghosts, thesesilent spectres, lose themselves in the clear daylight which now appears, and make room for other phantoms which rend their shrouds and issue fromthe tomb demanding vengeance. 

Derues was now soon to have a chance of obtaining immortality. Hithertohis blows had been struck by chance, henceforth he uses all the resourcesof his infernal imagination; he concentrates all his strength on onepoint--conceives and executes his crowning piece of wickedness. Heemploys for two years all his science as cheat, forger, and poisoner inextending the net which was to entangle a whole family; and, taken in hisown snare, he struggles in vain; in vain does he seek to gnaw through themeshes which confine him. The foot placed on the last rung of thisladder of crime, stands also on the first step by which he mounts thescaffold. 

About a mile from Villeneuve-le-Roi-les-Sens, there stood in 1775 ahandsome house, overlooking the windings of the Yonne on one side, and onthe other a garden and park belonging to the estate of Buisson-Souef. Itwas a large property, admirably situated, and containing productivefields, wood, and water; but not everywhere kept in good order, andshowing something of the embarrassed fortune of its owner. During someyears the only repairs had been those necessary in the house itself andits immediate vicinity. Here and there pieces of dilapidated wallthreatened to fall altogether, and enormous stems of ivy had invaded andstifled vigorous trees; in the remoter portions of the park briers barredthe road and made walking almost impossible. This disorder was notdestitute of charm, and at an epoch when landscape gardening consistedchiefly in straight alleys, and in giving to nature a cold and monotonoussymmetry, one's eye rested with pleasure on these neglected clumps, onthese waters which had taken a different course to that which art hadassigned to them, on these unexpected and picturesque scenes. 

A wide terrace, overlooking the winding river, extended along the frontof the house. Three men were walking on it-two priests, and the owner ofBuisson-Souef, Monsieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte. One priest was thecure of Villeneuve-le-Roi-lez-Sens, the other was a Camaldulian monk, whohad come to see the cure about a clerical matter, and who was spendingsome days at the presbytery. The conversation did not appear to belively. Every now and then Monsieur de Lamotte stood still, and, shadinghis eyes with his hand from the brilliant sunlight which flooded theplain, and was strongly reflected from the water, endeavoured to see ifsome new object had not appeared on the horizon, then slowly resumed hiswalk with a movement of uneasy impatience. The tower clock struck with anoisy resonance. 

"Six o'clock already!" he exclaimed. "They will assuredly not arriveto-day. "

"Why despair?" said the cure. "Your servant has gone to meet them; wemight see their boat any moment. "

"But, my father, " returned Monsieur de Lamotte, "the long days arealready past. In another hour the mist will rise, and then they wouldnot venture on the river. "

"Well, if that happens, we shall have to be patient; they will stay allnight at some little distance, and you will see them to-morrow morning. "

"My brother is right, " said the other priest. "Come, monsieur; do not beanxious. "

"You both speak with the indifference of persons to whom family troublesare unknown. "

"What!" said the cure, "do you really think that because our sacredprofession condemns us both to celibacy, we are therefore unable tocomprehend an affection such as yours, on which I myself pronounced thehallowing benediction of the Church--if you remember--nearly fifteenyears ago?"

"Is it perhaps intentionally, my father, that you recall the date of mymarriage? I readily admit that the love of one's neighbour may enlightenyou as to another love to which you have yourself been a stranger. Idaresay it seems odd to you that a man of my age should be anxious aboutso little, as though he were a love-sick youth; but for some time past Ihave had presentiments of evil, and I am really becoming superstitious!"

He again stood still, gazing up the river, and, seeing nothing, resumedhis place between the two priests, who had continued their walk. 

"Yes, " he continued, "I have presentiments which refuse to be shaken off. I am not so old that age can have weakened my powers and reduced me tochildishness, I cannot even say what I am afraid of, but separation ispainful and causes an involuntary terror. Strange, is it not? Formerly, I used to leave my wife for months together, when she was young and myson only, an infant; I loved her passionately, yet I could go withpleasure. Why, I wonder, is it so different now? Why should a journeyto Paris on business, and a few hours' delay, make, me so terriblyuneasy? Do you remember, my father, " he resumed, after a pause, turningto the cure, "do you remember how lovely Marie looked on our wedding-day?Do you remember her dazzling complexion and the innocent candour of herexpression?--the sure token of the most truthful and purest of minds!That is why I love her so much now; we do not now sigh for one another, but the second love is stronger than the first, for it is founded onrecollection, and is tranquil and confident in friendship . . . . Itis strange that they have not returned; something must have happened! Ifthey do not return this evening, and I do not now think it possible, Ishall go to Paris myself to-morrow. "

"I think;" said the other priest, "that at twenty you must indeed havebeen excitable, a veritable tinder-box, to have retained so much energy!Come, monsieur, try to calm yourself and have patience: you yourselfadmit it can only be a few hours' delay. "

"But my son accompanied his mother, and he is our only one, and sodelicate! He alone remains of our three children, and you do not realisehow the affection of parents who feel age approaching is concentrated onan only child! If I lost Edouard I should die!"

"I suppose, then, as you let him go, his presence at Paris wasnecessary?"

"No; his mother went to obtain a loan which is needed for theimprovements required on the estate. "

"Why, then, did you let him go?"

"I would willingly have kept him here, but his mother wished to take him. A separation is as trying to her as to me, and we all but quarrelled overit. I gave way. "

"There was one way of satisfying all three--you might have gone also. "

"Yes, but Monsieur le cure will tell you that a fortnight ago I waschained to my arm-chair, swearing under my breath like a pagan, andcursing the follies of my youth!--Forgive me, my father; I mean that Ihad the gout, and I forgot that I am not the only sufferer, and that itracks the old age of the philosopher quite as much as that of thecourtier. "

The fresh wind which often rises just at sunset was already rustling inthe leaves; long shadows darkened the course of the Yonne and stretchedacross the plain; the water, slightly troubled, reflected a confusedoutline of its banks and the clouded blue of the sky. The threegentlemen stopped at the end of the terrace and gazed into the alreadyfading distance. A black spot, which they had just observed in themiddle of the river, caught a gleam of light in passing a low meadowbetween two hills, and for a moment took shape as a barge, then was lostagain, and could not be distinguished from the water. Another moment, andit reappeared more distinctly; it was indeed a barge, and now the horsecould be seen towing it against the current. Again it was lost at a bendof the river shaded by willows, and they had to resign themselves toincertitude for several minutes. Then a white handkerchief was waved onthe prow of the boat, and Monsieur de Lamotte uttered a joyfulexclamation. 

"It is indeed they!" he cried. "Do you see them, Monsieur le cure? I seemy boy; he is waving the handkerchief, and his mother is with him. But Ithink there is a third person--yes, there is a man, is there not? Lookwell. "

"Indeed, " said the cure, "if my bad sight does not deceive me, I shouldsay there was someone seated near the rudder; but it looks like a child. "

"Probably someone from the neighbourhood, who has profited by the chanceof a lift home. "

The boat was advancing rapidly; they could now hear the cracking of thewhip with which the servant urged on the tow-horse. And now it stopped, at an easy landing-place, barely fifty paces from the terrace. Madame deLamotte landed with her son and the stranger, and her husband descendedfrom the terrace to meet her. Long before he arrived at the garden gate, his son's arms were around his neck. 

"Are you quite well, Edouard ?"

"Oh yes, perfectly. "

"And your mother?"

"Quite well too. She is behind, in as great a hurry to meet you as I am. But she can't run as I do, and you must go half-way. "

"Whom have you brought with you?"

"A gentleman from Paris. "

"From Paris?"

"Yes, a Monsieur Derues. But mamma will tell you all about that. Hereshe is. "

The cure and the monk arrived just as Monsieur de Lamotte folded his wifein his arms. Although she had passed her fortieth year, she was stillbeautiful enough to justify her husband's eulogism. A moderate plumpnesshad preserved the freshness and softness of her skin; her smile wascharming, and her large blue eyes expressed both gentleness and goodness. Seen beside this smiling and serene countenance, the appearance of thestranger was downright repulsive, and Monsieur de Lamotte could hardlyrepress a start of disagreeable surprise at the pitiful and sordid aspectof this diminutive person, who stood apart, looking overwhelmed byconscious inferiority. He was still more astonished when he saw his sontake him by the hand with friendly kindness, and heard him say--

"Will you come with me, my friend? We will follow my father and mother. "

Madame de Lamotte, having greeted the cure, looked at the monk, who was astranger to her. A word or two explained matters, and she took herhusband's arm, declining to answer any questions until she reached thelouse, and laughing at his curiosity. 

Pierre-Etienne de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, one of the king's equerries, seigneur of Grange-Flandre, Valperfond, etc. , had married Marie-FrancoisePerier in 1760. Their fortune resembled many others of that period: itwas more nominal than actual, more showy than solid. Not that thehusband and wife had any cause for self-reproach, or that their estateshad suffered from dissipation; unstained by the corrupt manners of theperiod, their union had been a model of sincere affection, of domesticvirtue and mutual confidence. Marie-Francoise was quite beautiful enoughto have made a sensation in society, but she renounced it of her ownaccord, in order to devote herself to the duties of a wife and mother. The only serious grief she and her husband had experienced was the lossof two young children. Edouard, though delicate from his birth, hadnevertheless passed the trying years of infancy and early adolescence; hewas them nearly fourteen. With a sweet and rather effeminate expression, blue eyes and a pleasant smile, he was a striking likeness of his mother. His father's affection exaggerated the dangers which threatened the boy, and in his eyes the slightest indisposition became a serious malady; hismother shared these fears, and in consequence of this anxiety Edouard'seducation had been much neglected. He had been brought up atBuisson-Souef, and allowed to run wild from morning till night, like ayoung fawn, exercising the vigour and activity of its limbs. He hadstill the simplicity and general ignorance of a child of nine or ten. 

The necessity of appearing at court and suitably defraying the expensesof his office had made great inroads on Monsieur de Lamotte's fortune. He had of late lived at Buisson-Souef in the most complete retirement;but notwithstanding this too long deferred attention to his affairs, hisproperty was ruining him, for the place required a large expenditure, andabsorbed a large amount of his income without making any tangible return. He had always hesitated to dispose of the estate on account of itsassociations; it was there he had met, courted, and married his belovedwife; there that the happy days of their youth had been spent; there thatthey both wished to grow old together. 

Such was the family to which accident had now introduced Derues. Theunfavourable impression made on Monsieur de Lamotte had not passedunperceived by him; but, being quite accustomed to the instinctiverepugnance which his first appearance generally inspired, Derues had madea successful study of how to combat and efface this antagonistic feeling, and replace it by confidence, using different means according to thepersons he had to deal with. He understood at once that vulgar methodswould be useless with Monsieur de Lamotte, whose appearance and mannersindicated both the man of the world and the man of intelligence, and alsohe had to consider the two priests, who were both observing himattentively. Fearing a false step, he assumed the most simple andinsignificant deportment he could, knowing that sooner or later a thirdperson would rehabilitate him in the opinion of those present. Nor didhe wait long. 

Arrived at the drawing-room, Monsieur de Lamotte requested the company tobe seated. Derues acknowledged the courtesy by a bow, and there was amoment of silence, while Edouard and his mother looked at each other andsmiled. The silence was broken by Madame de Lamotte. 

"Dear Pierre, " she said, "you are surprised to see us accompanied by astranger, but when you hear what he has done for us you will thank me forhaving induced him to return here with us. "

"Allow me, " interrupted Derues, "allow me to tell you what happened. Thegratitude which madame imagines she owes me causes her to exaggerate asmall service which anybody would have been delighted to render. "

"No, monsieur; let me tell it. "

"Let mamma tell the story, " said Edouard. 

"What is it, then? What happened?" said Monsieur de Lamotte. 

"I am quite ashamed, " answered Derues; "but I obey your wishes, madame. "

"Yes, " replied Madame de Lamotte, "keep your seat, I wish it. Imagine, Pierre, just six days ago, an accident happened to Edouard and me whichmight have had serious consequences. "

"And you never wrote to me, Marie?"

"I should only have made you anxious, and to no purpose. I had somebusiness in one of the most crowded parts of Paris; I took a chair, andEdouard walked beside me. In the rue Beaubourg we were suddenlysurrounded by a mob of low people, who were quarrelling. Carriagesstopped the way, and the horses of one of these took fright in theconfusion and uproar, and bolted, in spite of the coachman's endeavoursto keep them in hand. It was a horrible tumult, and I tried to get outof the chair, but at that moment the chairmen were both knocked down, andI fell. It is a miracle I was not crushed. I was dragged insensiblefrom under the horses' feet and carried into the house before which allthis took place. There, sheltered in a shop and safe from the crowdwhich encumbered the doorway, I recovered my senses, thanks to theassistance of Monsieur Derues, who lives there. But that is not all:when I recovered I could not walk, I had been so shaken by the fright, the fall, and the danger I had incurred, and I had to accept his offer offinding me another chair when the crowd should disperse, and meanwhile totake shelter in his rooms with his wife, who showed me the kindestattention. "

"Monsieur--" said Monsieur de Lamotte, rising. But his wife stopped him. 

"Wait a moment; I have not finished yet. Monsieur Derues came back in anhour, and I was then feeling better; but before, I left I was stupidenough to say that I had been robbed in the confusion; my diamondearrings, which had belonged to my mother, were gone. You cannot imaginethe trouble Monsieur Derues took to discover the thief, and all theappeals he made to the police--I was really ashamed!"

Although Monsieur de Lamotte did not yet understand what motive, otherthan gratitude, had induced his wife to bring this stranger home withher, he again rose from his seat, and going to Derues, held out his hand. 

"I understand now the attachment my son shows for you. You are wrong intrying to lessen your good deed in order to escape from our gratitude, Monsieur Derues. "

"Monsieur Derues?" inquired the monk. 

"Do you know the name, my father?" asked Madame de Lamotte eagerly. 

"Edouard had already told me, " said the monk, approaching Derues. 

"You live in the, rue Beaubourg, and you are Monsieur Derues, formerly aretail grocer?"

"The same, my brother. "

"Should you require a reference, I can give it. Chance, madame, has madeyou acquainted with a man whose, reputation for piety and honour is wellestablished; he will permit me to add my praises to yours. "

"Indeed, I do not know how I deserve so much honour. "

"I am, Brother Marchois, of the Camaldulian order. You see that I knowyou well. "

The monk then proceeded to explain that his community had confided theiraffairs to Derues' honesty, he undertaking to dispose of the articlesmanufactured by the monks in their retreat. He then recounted a numberof good actions and of marks of piety, which were heard with pleasure andadmiration by those present. Derues received this cloud of incense withan appearance of sincere modesty and humility, which would have deceivedthe most skilful physiognomist. 

When the eulogistic warmth of the good brother began to slacken it wasalready nearly dark, and the two priests had barely time to regain thepresbytery without incurring the risk of breaking their necks in therough road which led to it. They departed at once, and a room was gotready for Derues. 

"To-morrow, " said Madame de Lamotte as they separated, "you can discusswith my husband the business on which you came: to-morrow, or anotherday, for I beg that you will make yourself at home here, and the longeryou will stay the better it will please us. "

The night was a sleepless one for Derues, whose brain was occupied by aconfusion of criminal plans. The chance which had caused hisacquaintance with Madame de Lamotte, and even more the accident ofBrother Marchois appearing in the nick of time, to enlarge upon thepraises which gave him so excellent a character, seemed like favourableomens not to be neglected. He began to imagine fresh villanies, tooutline an unheard-of crime, which as yet he could not definitely traceout; but anyhow there would be plunder to seize and blood to spill, andthe spirit of murder excited and kept him awake, just as remorse mighthave troubled the repose of another. 

Meanwhile Madame de Lamotte, having retired with her husband, was sayingto the latter--

"Well, now! what do you think of my protege, or rather, of the protectorwhich Heaven sent me?"

"I think that physiognomy is often very deceptive, for I should have beenquite willing to hang him on the strength of his. "

"It is true that his appearance is not attractive, and it led me into afoolish mistake which I quickly regretted. When I recoveredconsciousness, and saw him attending on me, much worse and morecarelessly dressed than he is to-day. "

"You were frightened?"

"No, not exactly; but I thought I must be indebted to a man of the lowestclass, to some poor fellow who was really starving, and my first effortat gratitude was to offer him a piece of gold. "

"Did he refuse it?"

"No; he accepted it for the poor of the parish. Then he told me hisname, Cyrano Derues de Bury, and told me that the shop and the goods itcontained were his own property, and that he occupied an apartment in thehouse. I floundered in excuses, but he replied that he blessed themistake, inasmuch as it would enable him to relieve some unfortunatepeople. I was so touched with his goodness that I offered him a secondpiece of gold. "

"You were quite right, my dear; but what induced you to bring him toBuisson? I should have gone to see and thank him the first time I wentto Paris, and meanwhile a letter would have been sufficient. Did he carryhis complaisance and interest so far as to offer you his escort?"

"Ah! I see you cannot get over your first impression--honestly, is it notso?"

"Indeed, " exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte, laughing heartily, "it is trulyunlucky for a decent man to have such a face as that! He ought to giveProvidence no rest until he obtains the gift of another countenance. "

"Always these prejudices! It is not the poor man's fault that he wasborn like that. "

"Well, you said something about business we were to discuss together--what is it?"

"I believe he can help us to obtain the money we are in want of. "

"And who told him that we wanted any?"

"I did. "

"You! Come, it certainly seems that this gentleman is to be a familyfriend. And pray what induced you to confide in him to this extent?"

"You would have known by now, if you did not interrupt. Let me tell youall in order. The day after my accident I went out with Edouard aboutmidday, and I went to again express my gratitude for his kindness. I wasreceived by Madame Derues, who told me her husband was out, and that hehad gone to my hotel to inquire after me and my son, and also to see ifanything had been heard of my stolen earrings. She appeared a simple andvery ordinary sort of person, and she begged me to sit down and wait forher husband. I thought it would be uncivil not to do so, and MonsieurDerues appeared in about two hours. The first thing he did, after havingsaluted me and inquired most particularly after my health, was to ask forhis children, two charming little things, fresh and rosy, whom he coveredwith kisses. We talked about indifferent matters, then he offered me hisservices, placed himself at my disposal, and begged me to spare neitherhis time nor his trouble. I then told him what had brought me to Paris, and also the disappointments I had encountered, for of all the people Ihad seen not one had given me a favourable answer. He said that he mightpossibly be of some use to me, and the very next day told 'me that he hadseen a capitalist, but could do nothing without more precise information. Then I thought it might be better to bring him here, so that he mighttalk matters over with you. When I first asked him, he refusedaltogether, and only yielded to my earnest entreaties and Edouard's. This is the history, dear, of the circumstances under which I madeMonsieur Derues' acquaintance. I hope you do not think I have actedfoolishly?"

"Very well, " said Monsieur de Lamotte, "I will talk to him to-morrow, andin any case I promise you I will be civil to him. I will not forget thathe has been useful to you. " With which promise the conversation came toa close. 

Skilled in assuming any kind of mask and in playing every sort of part, Derues did not find it difficult to overcome Monsieur de Lamotte'sprejudices, and in order to obtain the goodwill of the father he made askilful use of the friendship which the, son had formed with him. Onecan hardly think that he already meditated the crime which he carried outlater; one prefers to believe that these atrocious plots were notinvented so long beforehand. But he was already a prey to the idea, andnothing henceforth could turn him from it. By what route he shouldarrive at the distant goal which his greed foresaw, he knew not as yet, but he had said to himself, "One day this property shall be mine. " Itwas the death-warrant of those who owned it. 

We have no details, no information as to Derues' first visit toBuisson-Souef, but when he departed he had obtained the completeconfidence of the family, and a regular correspondence was carried onbetween him and the Lamottes. It was thus that he was able to exercisehis talent of forgery, and succeeded in imitating the writing of thisunfortunate lady so as to be able even to deceive her husband. Severalmonths passed, and none of the hopes which Derues had inspired wererealised; a loan was always on the point of being arranged, and regularlyfailed because of some unforeseen circumstance. These pretendednegotiations were managed by Derues with so much skill and cunning thatinstead of being suspected, he was pitied for having so much uselesstrouble. Meanwhile, Monsieur de Lamotte's money difficulties increased, and the sale of Buisson-Souef became inevitable. Derues offered himselfas a purchaser, and actually acquired the property by private contract, dated December, 1775. It was agreed between the parties that thepurchase-money of one hundred and thirty thousand livres should not bepaid until 1776, in order to allow Derues to collect the various sums athis disposal. It was an important purchase, which, he said, he only madeon account of his interest in Monsieur de Lamotte, and his wish to put anend to the latter's difficulties. 

But when the period agreed on arrived, towards the middle of 1776, Deruesfound it impossible to pay. It is certain that he never meant to do so;and a special peculiarity of this dismal story is the avarice of the man, the passion for money which overruled all his actions, and occasionallycaused him to neglect necessary prudence. Enriched by three bankruptcies, by continual thefts, by usury, the gold he acquired promptly seemed todisappear. He stuck at nothing to obtain it, and once in his grasp, henever let it go again. Frequently he risked the loss of his character forhonest dealing rather than relinquish a fraction of his wealth. According to many credible people, it was generally believed by hiscontemporaries that this monster possessed treasures which he had buriedin the ground, the hiding-place of which no one knew, not even his wife. Perhaps it is only a vague and unfounded rumour, which should berejected; or is it; perhaps, a truth which failed to reveal itself? Itwould be strange if after the lapse of half a century the hiding-placewere to open and give up the fruit of his rapine. Who knows whether someof this treasure, accidentally discovered, may not have founded fortuneswhose origin is unknown, even to their possessors?

Although it was of the utmost importance not to arouse Monsieur deLamotte's suspicions just at the moment when he ought to be paying him solarge a sum, Derues was actually at this time being sued by hiscreditors. But in those days ordinary lawsuits had no publicity; theystruggled and died between the magistrates and advocates without causingany sound. In order to escape the arrest and detention with which he wasthreatened, he took refuge at Buisson-Souef with his family, and remainedthere from Whitsuntide till the end of November. After being treated allthis time as a friend, Derues departed for Paris, in order, he said, toreceive an inheritance which would enable him to pay the requiredpurchase-money. 

This pretended inheritance was that of one of his wife's relations, Monsieur Despeignes-Duplessis, who had been murdered in his countryhouse, near Beauvais. It has been strongly suspected that Derues wasguilty of this crime. There are, however, no positive proofs, and weprefer only to class it as a simple possibility. 

Derues had made formal promises to Monsieur de Lamotte, and it was nolonger possible for him to elude them. Either the payment must now bemade, or the contract annulled. A new correspondence began between thecreditors and the debtor; friendly letters were exchanged, full ofprotestations on one side and confidence on the other. But all Derues'skill could only obtain a delay of a few months. At length Monsieur deLamotte, unable to leave Buisson-Souef himself, on account of importantbusiness which required his presence, gave his wife a power of attorney, consented to another separation, and sent her to Paris, accompanied byEdouard, and as if to hasten their misfortunes, sent notice of theircoming to the expectant murderer. 

We have passed quickly over the interval between the first meeting ofMonsieur de Lamotte and Derues, and the moment when the victims fell intothe trap: we might easily have invented long conversations, and episodeswhich would have brought Derues' profound hypocrisy into greater relief;but the reader now knows all that we care to show him. We have purposelylingered in our narration in the endeavour to explain the perversities ofthis mysterious organisation; we have over-loaded it with all the factswhich seem to throw any light upon this sombre character. But now, afterthese long preparations, the drama opens, the scenes become rapid andlifelike; events, long impeded, accumulate and pass quickly before us, the action is connected and hastens to an end. We shall see Derues likean unwearied Proteus, changing names, costumes, language, multiplyinghimself in many forms, scattering deceptions and lies from one end ofFrance to the other; and finally, after so many efforts, such prodigiesof calculation and activity, end by wrecking himself against a corpse. 

The letter written at Buisson-Souef arrived at Paris the morning of the14th of December. In the course of the day an unknown man presentedhimself at the hotel where Madame de Lamotte and her son had stayedbefore, and inquired what rooms were vacant. There were four, and heengaged them for a certain Dumoulin, who had arrived that morning fromBordeaux, and who had passed through Paris in order to meet, at somelittle distance, relations who would return with him. A part of the rentwas paid in advance, and it was expressly stipulated that until hisreturn the rooms should not be let to anyone, as the aforesaid Dumoulinmight return with his family and require them at any moment. The sameperson went to other hotels in the neighbourhood and engaged vacantrooms, sometimes for a stranger he expected, sometimes for friends whomhe could not accommodate himself. 

At about three o'clock, the Place de Greve was full of people, thousandsof heads crowded the windows of the surrounding houses. A parricide wasto pay the penalty of his crime--a crime committed under atrociouscircumstances, with an unheard-of refinement of barbarity. Thepunishment corresponded to the crime: the wretched man was broken on thewheel. The most complete and terrible silence prevailed in the multitudeeager for ghastly emotions. Three times already had been heard the heavythud of the instrument which broke the victim's limbs, and a loud cryescaped the sufferer which made all who heard it shudder with horror, Oneman only, who, in spite of all his efforts, could not get through thecrowd and cross the square, remained unmoved, and looking contemptuouslytowards the criminal, muttered, "Idiot! he was unable to deceive anyone!"

A few moments later the flames began to rise from the funeral pile, thecrowd began to move, and the than was able to make his way through andreach one of the streets leading out of the square. 

The sky was overcast, and the grey daylight hardly penetrated the narrowlane, hideous and gloomy as the name it bore, and which; only a few yearsago, still wound like a long serpent through the mire of this quarter. Just then it was deserted, owing to the attraction of the execution closeby. The man who had just left the square proceeded slowly, attentivelyreading all the inscriptions on the doors. He stopped at Number 75, where on the threshold of a shop sat a stout woman busily knitting, overwhom one read in big yellow letters, "Widow Masson. " He saluted thewoman, and asked--

"Is there not a cellar to let in this house?"

"There is, master, " answered the widow. 

"Can I speak to the owner?"

"And that is myself, by your leave. "

"Will you show me the cellar? I am a provincial wine merchant, mybusiness often brings me to Paris, and I want a cellar where I coulddeposit wine which I sell on commission. "

They went down together. After examining the place, and ascertainingthat it was not too damp for the expensive wine which he wished to leavethere, the man agreed about the rent, paid the first term in advance, andwas entered on the widow Masson's books under the name of Ducoudray. Itis hardly necessary to remark that it should have been Derues. 

When he returned home in the evening, his wife told him that a large boxhad arrived. 

"It is all right, " he said, "the carpenter from whom I ordered it is aman of his word. " Then he supped, and caressed his children. The nextday being Sunday, he received the communion, to the great edification ofthe devout people of the neighbourhood. 

On Monday the 16th Madame de Lamotte and Edouard, descending from theMontereau stagecoach, were met by Derues and his wife. 

"Did my husband write to you, Monsieur Derues?" inquired Madame deLamotte. 

"Yes, madame, two days ago; and I have arranged our dwelling for yourreception. "

"What! but did not Monsieur de Lamotte ask you to engage the rooms I havehad before at the Hotel de France?"

"He did not say so, and if that was your idea I trust you will change it. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of offering you the hospitality whichfor so long I have accepted from you. Your room is quite ready, also onefor this dear boy, " and so saying he took Edouard's hand; "and I am sureif you ask his opinion, he will say you had better be content to staywith me. "

"Undoubtedly, " said the boy; "and I do not see why there need be anyhesitation between friends. "

Whether by accident, or secret presentiment, or because she foresaw apossibility of business discussions between them, Madame de Lamotteobjected to this arrangement. Derues having a business appointment whichhe was bound to keep, desired his wife to accompany the Lamottes to theHotel de France, and in case of their not being able to find rooms there, mentioned three others as the only ones in the quarter where they couldbe comfortably accommodated. Two hours later Madame de Lamotte and herson returned to his house in the rue Beaubourg. 

The house which Derues occupied stood opposite the rue des Menoriers, andwas pulled down quite lately to make way for the rue Rambuteau. In 1776it was one of the finest houses of the rue Beaubourg, and it required acertain income to be able to live there, the rents being tolerably high. A large arched doorway gave admittance to a passage, lighted at the otherend by a small court, on the far side of which was the shop into whichMadame de Lamotte had been taken on the occasion of the accident. Thehouse staircase was to the right of the passage; and the Derues' dwellingon the entresol. The first room, lighted by a window looking into thecourt, was used as a dining room, and led into a simply furnishedsitting-room, such as was generally found among the bourgeois andtradespeople of this period. To the right of the sitting-room was alarge closet, which could serve as a small study or could hold a bed; tothe left was a door opening into the Derues' bedroom, which had beenprepared for Madame de Lamotte. Madame Derues would occupy one of thetwo beds which stood in the alcove. Derues had a bed made up in thesitting-room, and Edouard was accommodated in the little study. 

Nothing particular happened during the first few days which followed theLamottes' arrival. They had not come to Paris only on account of theBuisson-Souef affairs. Edouard was nearly sixteen, and after muchhesitation his parents had decided on placing him in some school wherehis hitherto neglected education might receive more attention. Deruesundertook to find a capable tutor, in whose house the boy would bebrought up in the religious feeling which the cure of Buisson and his ownexhortations had already tended to develop. These proceedings, added toMadame de Lamotte's endeavours to collect various sums due to herhusband, took some time. Perhaps, when on the point of executing aterrible crime, Derues tried to postpone the fatal moment, although, considering his character, this seems unlikely, for one cannot do him thehonour of crediting him with a single moment of remorse, doubt, or pity. Far from it, it appears from all the information which can be gathered, that Derues, faithful to his own traditions, was simply experimenting onhis unfortunate guests, for no sooner were they in his house than bothbegan to complain of constant nausea, which they had never suffered frombefore. While he thus ascertained the strength of their constitution, hewas able, knowing the cause of the malady, to give them relief, so thatMadame de Lamotte, although she grew daily weaker, had so much confidencein him as to think it unnecessary to call in a doctor. Fearing to alarmher husband, she never mentioned her sufferings, and her letters onlyspoke of the care and kind attention which she received. 

On the 15th of January, 1777, Edouard was placed in a school in the ruede l'Homme Arme. His mother never saw him again. She went out once moreto place her husband's power of attorney with a lawyer in the rue dePaon. On her return she felt so weak and broken-down that she wasobliged to go to bed and remain there for several days. On January 29ththe unfortunate lady had risen, and was sitting near the window whichoverlooked the deserted rue des Menetriers, where clouds of snow weredrifting before the wind. Who can guess the sad thoughts which may havepossessed her?--all around dark, cold, and silent, tending to producepainful depression and involuntary dread. To escape the gloomy ideaswhich besieged her, her mind went back to the smiling times of her youthand marriage. She recalled the time when, alone at Buisson during herhusband's enforced absences, she wandered with her child in the cool andshaded walks of the park, and sat out in the evening, inhaling the scentof the flowers, and listening to the murmur of the water, or the sound ofthe whispering breeze in the leaves. Then, coming back from these sweetrecollections to reality, she shed tears, and called on her husband andson. So deep was her reverie that she did not hear the room door open, did not perceive that darkness had come on. The light of a candle, dispersing the shadows, made her start; she turned her head, and sawDerues coming towards her. He smiled, and she made an effort to keepback the tears which were shining in her eyes, and to appear calm. 

"I am afraid I disturb you, " he said. "I came to ask a favour, madame. "

"What is it, Monsieur Derues?" she inquired. 

"Will you allow me to have a large chest brought into this room? I oughtto pack some valuable things in it which are in my charge, and are now inthis cupboard. I am afraid it will be in your way. "

"Is it not your own house, and is it not rather I who am in the way and acause of trouble? Pray have it brought in, and try to forget that I amhere. You are most kind to me, but I wish I could spare you all thistrouble and that I were fit to go back to Buisson. I had a letter frommy husband yesterday----"

"We will talk about that presently, if you wish it, " said Derues. "I willgo and fetch the servant to help me to carry in this chest. I have put itoff hitherto, but it really must be sent in three days. "

He went away, and returned in a few minutes. The chest was carried in, and placed before the cupboard at the foot of the bed. Alas! the poorlady little thought it was her own coffin which stood before her!

The maid withdrew, and Derues assisted Madame de Lamotte to a seat nearthe fire, which he revived with more fuel. He sat down opposite to her, and by the feeble light of the candle placed on a small table betweenthem could contemplate at leisure the ravages wrought by poison on herwasted features. 

"I saw your son to-day, " he said: "he complains that you neglect him, andhave not seen him for twelve days. He does not know you have been ill, nor did I tell him. The dear boy! he loves you so tenderly. "

"And I also long to see him. My friend, I cannot tell you what terriblepresentiments beset me; it seems as if I were threatened with some greatmisfortune; and just now, when you came in, I could think only of death. What is the cause of this languor and weakness? It is surely no temporaryailment. Tell me the truth: am I not dreadfully altered? and do you notthink my husband will be shocked when he sees me like this?"

"You are unnecessarily anxious, " replied Derues; "it is rather a failingof yours. Did I not see you last year tormenting yourself aboutEdouard's health, when he was not even thinking of being ill? I am not sosoon alarmed. My own old profession, and that of chemistry, which Istudied in my youth, have given me some acquaintance with medicine. Ihave frequently been consulted, and have prescribed for patients whosecondition was supposed to be desperate, and I can assure you I have neverseen a better and stronger constitution than yours. Try to calmyourself, and do not call up chimeras; because a mind at ease is thegreatest enemy of illness. This depression will pass, and then you willregain your strength. "

"May God grant it! for I feel weaker every day. "

"We have still some business to transact together. The notary atBeauvais writes that the difficulties which prevented his paying over theinheritance of my wife's relation, Monsieur Duplessis, have mostlydisappeared. I have a hundred thousand livres at my disposal, --that isto say, at yours, --and in a month at latest I shall be able to pay off mydebt. You ask me to be sincere, " he continued, with a tinge ofreproachful irony; "be sincere in your turn, madame, and acknowledge thatyou and your husband have both felt uneasy, and that the delays I havebeen obliged to ask for have not seemed very encouraging to you?"

"It is true, " she replied; "but we never questioned your good faith. "

"And you were right. One is not always able to carry out one'sintentions; events can always upset our calculations; but what really isin our power is the desire to do right--to be honest; and I can say thatI never intentionally wronged anyone. And now. I am happy in being ableto fulfil my promises to you. I trust when I am the owner ofBuisson-Souef you will not feel obliged to leave it. "

"Thank you; I should like to come occasionally, for all my happyrecollections are connected with it. Is it necessary for me to accompanyyou to Beauvais?"

"Why should you not? The change would do you good. "

She looked up at him and smiled sadly. "I am not in a fit state toundertake it. "

"Not if you imagine that you are unable, certainly. Come, have you anyconfidence in me?"

"The most complete confidence, as you know. "

"Very well, then: trust to my care. This very evening I will prepare adraught for you to take to-morrow morning, and I will even now fix theduration of this terrible malady which frightens you so much. In twodays I shall fetch Edouard from his school to celebrate the beginning ofyour convalescence, and we will start, at latest, on February 1st. Youare astonished at what I say, but you shall see if I am not a gooddoctor, and much cleverer than many who pass for such merely because thehave obtained a diploma. "

"Then, doctor, I will place myself in your hands. "

"Remember what I say. You will leave this on February 1st. "

"To begin this cure, can you ensure my sleeping to-night?"

"Certainly. I will go now, and send my wife to you. She will bring adraught, which you must promise to take. "

"I will exactly follow your prescriptions. Goodnight, my friend. "

"Good-night, madame; and take courage"; and bowing low, he left the room. 

The rest of the evening was spent in preparing the fatal medicine. Thenext morning, an hour or two after Madame de Lamotte had swallowed it, the maid who had given it to her came and told Derues the invalid wassleeping very heavily and snoring, and asked if she ought to be awoke. He went into the room, and, opening the curtains, approached the bed. Helistened for some time, and recognised that the supposed snoring wasreally he death-rattle. He sent the servant off into the country with aletter to one of his friends, telling her not to return until the Mondayfollowing, February 3rd. He also sent away his wife, on some unknownpretext, and remained alone with his victim. 

So terrible a situation ought to have troubled the mind of the mosthardened criminal. A man familiar with murder and accustomed to shedblood might have felt his heart sink, and, in the absence of pity, mighthave experienced disgust at the sight of this prolonged and uselesstorture; but Derues, calm and easy, as if unconscious of evil, sat coollybeside the bed, as any doctor might have done. From time to time he feltthe slackening pulse, and looked at the glassy and sightless eyes whichturned in their orbits, and he saw without terror the approach of night, which rendered this awful 'tete-a-tete' even more horrible. The mostprofound silence reigned in the house, the street was deserted, and theonly sound heard was caused by an icy rain mixed with snow driven againstthe glass, and occasionally the howl of the wind, which penetrated thechimney and scattered the ashes. A single candle placed behind thecurtains lighted this dismal scene, and the irregular flicker of itsflame cast weird reflections and dancing shadows an the walls of thealcove. There came a lull in the wind, the rain ceased, and during thisinstant of calm someone knocked, at first gently, and then sharply, atthe outer door. Derues dropped the dying woman's hand and bent forwardto listen. The knock was repeated, and he grew pale. He threw thesheet, as if it were a shroud, over his victim's head drew the curtainsof the alcove, and went to the door. "Who is there?" he inquired. 

"Open, Monsieur Derues, " said a voice which he recognised as that of awoman of Chartres whose affairs he managed, and who had entrusted himwith sundry deeds in order that he might receive the money due to her. This woman had begun to entertain doubts as to Derues' honesty, and asshe was leaving Paris the next day, had resolved to get the papers out ofhis hands. 

"Open the door, " she repeated. "Don't you know my voice?"

"I am sorry I cannot let you in. My servant is out: she has taken thekey and locked the door outside. "

"You must let me in, " the woman continued; "it is absolutely necessary Ishould speak to you. "

"Come to-morrow. "

"I leave Paris to-morrow, and I must have those papers to-night. "

He again refused, but she spoke firmly and decidedly. "I must come in. The porter said you were all out, but, from the rue des Menetriers Icould see the light in your room. My brother is with me, and I left himbelow. I shall call him if you don't open the door. "

"Come in, then, " said Derues; "your papers are in the sitting-room. Waithere, and I will fetch them. " The woman looked at him and took his hand. "Heavens! how pale you are! What is the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter: will you wait here? "But she would not releasehis arm, and followed him into the sitting-room, where Derues began toseek hurriedly among the various papers which covered a table. "Herethey are, " he said; "now you can go. "

"Really, " said the woman, examining her deeds carefully, "never yet did Isee you in such a hurry to give up things which don't belong to you. Butdo hold that candle steadily; your hand is shaking so that I cannot seeto read. "

At that moment the silence which prevailed all round was broken by a cryof anguish, a long groan proceeding from the chamber to the right of thesitting-room. 

"What is that?" cried the woman. "Surely it is a dying person!"

The sense of the danger which threatened made Derues pull himselftogether. "Do not be alarmed, " he said. "My wife has been seized with aviolent fever; she is quite delirious now, and that is why I told theporter to let no one come up. "

But the groans in the next room continued, and the unwelcome visitor, overcome by terror which she could neither surmount nor explain, took ahasty leave, and descended the staircase with all possible rapidity. Assoon as he could close the door, Derues returned to the bedroom. 

Nature frequently collects all her expiring strength at the last momentof existence. The unhappy lady struggled beneath her coverings; theagony she suffered had given her a convulsive energy, and inarticulatesounds proceeded from her mouth. Derues approached and held her on thebed. She sank back on the pillow, shuddering convulsively, her handsplucking and twisting the sheets, her teeth chattering and biting theloose hair which fell over her face and shoulders. "Water! water!" shecried; and then, "Edouard, --my husband!--Edouard!--is it you?" Thenrising with a last effort, she seized her murderer by the arm, repeating, "Edouard!--oh!" and then fell heavily, dragging Derues down with her. His face was against hers; he raised his head, but the dying hand, clenched in agony, had closed upon him like a vise. The icy fingersseemed made of iron and could not be opened, as though the victim hadseized on her assassin as a prey, and clung to the proof of his crime. 

Derues at last freed himself, and putting his hand on her heart, "It isover, " he remarked; "she has been a long time about it. What o'clock isit? Nine! She has struggled against death for twelve hours!"

While the limbs still retained a little warmth, he drew the feettogether, crossed the hands on the breast, and placed the body in thechest. When he had locked it up, he remade the bed, undressed himself, and slept comfortably in the other one. 

The next day, February 1st, the day he had fixed for the "going out" ofMadame de Lamotte, he caused the chest to be placed on a hand-cart andcarried at about ten o'clock in the morning to the workshop of acarpenter of his acquaintance called Mouchy, who dwelt near the Louvre. The two commissionaires employed had been selected in distant quarters, and did not know each other. They were well paid, and each presentedwith a bottle of wine. These men could never be traced. Deruesrequested the carpenter's wife to allow the chest to remain in the largeworkshop, saying he had forgotten something at his own house, and wouldreturn to fetch it in three hours. But, instead of a few hours, he leftit for two whole days--why, one does not know, but it may be supposedthat he wanted the time to dig a trench in a sort of vault under thestaircase leading to the cellar in the rue de la Mortellerie. Whateverthe cause, the delay might have been fatal, and did occasion anunforeseen encounter which nearly betrayed him. But of all the actors inthis scene he alone knew the real danger he incurred, and his coolnessnever deserted him for a moment. 

The third day, as he walked alongside the handcart on which the chest wasbeing conveyed, he was accosted at Saint Germain l'Auxerrois by acreditor who had obtained a writ of execution against him, and at theimperative sign made by this man the porter stopped. The creditorattacked Derues violently, reproaching him for his bad faith in languagewhich was both energetic and uncomplimentary; to which the latter repliedin as conciliatory a manner as he could assume. But it was impossible tosilence the enemy, and an increasing crowd of idlers began to assembleround them. 

"When will you pay me?" demanded the creditor. "I have an executionagainst you. What is there in that box? Valuables which you cart awaysecretly, in order to laugh at my just claims, as you did two years ago?"

Derues shuddered all over; he exhausted himself in protestations; but theother, almost beside himself, continued to shout. 

"Oh!" he said, turning to the crowd, "all these tricks and grimaces andsigns of the cross are no good. I must have my money, and as I know whathis promises are worth, I will pay myself! Come, you knave, make haste. Tell me what there is in that box; open it, or I will fetch the police. "

The crowd was divided between the creditor and debtor, and possibly afree fight would have begun, but the general attention was distracted bythe arrival of another spectator. A voice heard above all the tumultcaused a score of heads to turn, it was the voice of a woman crying:

"The abominable history of Leroi de Valine, condemned to death at the ageof sixteen for having poisoned his entire family!"

Continually crying her wares, the drunken, staggering woman approachedthe crowd, and striking out right and left with fists and elbows, forcedher way to Derues. 

"Ah! ah!" said she, after looking him well over, "is it you, my gossipDerues! Have you again a little affair on hand like the one when you setfire to your shop in the rue Saint-Victor?"

Derues recognised the hawker who had abused him on the threshold of hisshop some years previously, and whom he had never seen since. "Yes, yes, "she continued, "you had better look at me with your little round cat'seyes. Are you going to say you don't know me?"

Derues appealed to his creditor. "You see, " he said, "to what insultsyou are exposing me. I do not know this woman who abuses me. "

"What!--you don't know me! You who accused me of being a thief! Butluckily the Maniffets have been known in Paris as honest people forgenerations, while as for you----"

"Sir, " said Derues, "this case contains valuable wine which I amcommissioned to sell. To-morrow I shall receive the money for it;to-morrow, in the course of the day, I will pay what I owe you. But I amwaited for now, do not in Heaven's name detain me longer, and thusdeprive me of the means of paying at all. "

"Don't believe him, my good man, " said the hawker; "lying comes naturalto him always. "

"Sir, I promise on my oath you shall be paid tomorrow; you had bettertrust the word of an honest man rather than the ravings of a drunkenwoman. "

The creditor still hesitated, but, another person now spoke in Derues'favour; it was the carpenter Mouchy, who had inquired the cause of thequarrel. 

"For God's sake, " he exclaimed, "let the gentleman go on. That chestcame from my workshop, and I know there is wine inside it; he told mywife so two days ago. "

"Will you be surety for me, my friend?" asked Derues. 

"Certainly I will; I have not known you for ten years in order to leaveyou in trouble and refuse to answer for you. What the devil arerespectable people to be stopped like this in a public place? Come, sir, believe his word, as I do. "

After some more discussion, the porter was at last allowed to proceedwith his hand-cart. The hawker wanted to interfere, but Mouchy warnedher off and ordered her to be silent. "Ah! ah!" she cried, "what does itmatter to me? Let him sell his wine if he can; I shall not drink any onhis premises. This is the second time he has found a surety to myknowledge; the beggar must have some special secret for encouraging thegrowth of fools. Good-bye, gossip Derues; you know I shall be sellingyour history some day. Meanwhile----

"The abominable history of Leroi de Valine, condemned to death at the ageof sixteen for having poisoned his entire family!"

Whilst she amused the people by her grimaces and grotesque gestures, andwhile Mouchy held forth to some of them, Derues made his escape. Severaltimes between Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois and the rue de la Mortellerie henearly fainted, and was obliged to stop. While the danger lasted, he hadhad sufficient self-control to confront it coolly, but now that hecalculated the depth of the abyss which for a moment had opened beneathhis feet, dizziness laid hold on him. 

Other precautions now became necessary. His real name had been mentionedbefore the commissionaire, and the widow Masson, who owned the cellar, only knew him as Ducoudray. He went on in front, asked for the keys, which till then had been left with her, and the chest was got downstairswithout any awkward questions. Only the porter seemed astonished thatthis supposed wine, which was to be sold immediately, should be put insuch a place, and asked if he might come the next day and move it again. Derues replied that someone was coming for it that very day. Thisquestion, and the disgraceful scene which the man had witnessed, made itnecessary to get rid of him without letting him see the pit dug under thestaircase. Derues tried to drag the chest towards the hole, but all hisstrength was insufficient to move it. He uttered terrible imprecationswhen he recognised his own weakness, and saw that he would be obliged tobring another stranger, an informer perhaps, into this charnel-house, where; as yet, nothing betrayed his crimes. No sooner escaped from oneperil than he encountered another, and already he had to struggle againsthis own deeds. He measured the length of the trench, it was too short. Derues went out and repaired to the place where he had hired the labourerwho had dug it out, but he could not find the man, whom he had only seenonce, and whose name he did not know. Two whole days were spent in thisfruitless search, but on the third, as he was wandering on one of thequays at the time labourers were to be found there, a mason, thinking hewas looking for someone, inquired what he wanted. Derues looked well atthe man, and concluding from his appearance that he was probably rathersimpleminded, asked--

"Would you like to earn a crown of three livres by an easy job?"

"What a question, master!" answered the mason. "Work is so scarce that Iam going back into the country this very evening. "

"Very well! Bring your tools, spade, and pickaxe, and follow me. "

They both went down to the cellar, and the mason was ordered to dig outthe pit till it was five and a half feet deep. While the man worked, Derues sat beside the chest and read. When it was half done, the masonstopped for breath, and leaning on his spade, inquired why he wanted atrench of such a depth. Derues, who had probably foreseen the question, answered at once, without being disconcerted--

"I want to bury some bottled wine which is contained in this case. "

"Wine!" said the other. "Ah! you are laughing at me, because you thinkI look a fool! I never yet heard of such a recipe for improving wine. "

"Where do you come from?"

"D'Alencon. "

"Cider drinker! You were brought up in Normandy, that is clear. Well, you can learn from me, Jean-Baptiste Ducoudray, a wine grower of Tours, and a wine merchant for the last ten years, that new wine thus buried fora year acquires the quality and characteristics of the oldest brands. "

"It is possible, " said the mason, again taking his spade, "but all thesame it seems a little odd to me. "

When he had finished, Derues asked him to help to drag the chestalongside the trench, so that it might be easier to take out the bottlesand arrange them: The mason agreed, but when he moved the chest thefoetid odour which proceeded from it made him draw back, declaring that asmell such as that could not possibly proceed from wine. Derues tried topersuade him that the smell came from drains under the cellar, the pipeof which could be seen. It appeared to satisfy him, and he again tookhold of the chest, but immediately let it go again, and said positivelythat he could not execute Derues' orders, being convinced that the chestmust contain a decomposing corpse. Then Derues threw himself at theman's feet and acknowledged that it was the dead body of a woman who hadunfortunately lodged in his house, and who had died there suddenly froman unknown malady, and that, dreading lest he should be accused of havingmurdered her, he had decided to conceal the death and bury her here. 

The mason listened, alarmed at this confidence, and not knowing whetherto believe it or not. Derues sobbed and wept at his feet, beat hisbreast and tore out his hair, calling on God and the saints as witnessesof his good faith and his innocence. He showed the book he was readingwhile the mason excavated: it was the Seven Penitential Psalms. "Howunfortunate I am!" he cried. "This woman died in my house, I assureyou--died suddenly, before I could call a doctor. I was alone; I mighthave been accused, imprisoned, perhaps condemned for a crime I did notcommit. Do not ruin me! You leave Paris to-night, you need not beuneasy; no one would know that I employed you, if this unhappy affairshould ever be discovered. I do not know your name, I do not wish toknow it, and I tell you mine, it is Ducoudray. I give myself up to you, but have some pity!--if not for me, yet for my wife and my two littlechildren--for these poor creatures whose only support I am!"

Seeing that the mason was touched, Derues opened the chest. 

"Look, " he said, "examine the body of this woman, does it show any markof violent death? My God!" he continued, joining his hands and in tonesof despairing agony, --"my God, Thou who readest all hearts, and whoknowest my innocence, canst Thou not ordain a miracle to save an honestman? Wilt Thou not command this dead body to bear witness for me?"

The mason was stupefied by this flow of language. Unable to restrain histears, he promised to keep silence, persuaded that Derues was innocent, and that appearances only were against him. The latter, moreover, didnot neglect other means of persuasion; he handed the mason two goldpieces, and between them they buried the body of Madame de Lamotte. 

However extraordinary this fact, which might easily be supposedimaginary, may appear, it certainly happened. In the examination at histrial. Derues himself revealed it, repeating the story which hadsatisfied the mason. He believed that this man had denounced him: he wasmistaken, for this confidant of his crime, who might have been the firstto put justice on his track, never reappeared, and but for Derues'acknowledgment his existence would have remained unknown. 

This first deed accomplished, another victim was already appointed. Trembling at first as to the consequences of his forced confession, Derues waited some days, paying, however, his creditor as promised. Heredoubles his demonstrations of piety, he casts a furtive glance oneveryone he meets, seeking for some expression of distrust. But no oneavoids him, or points him out with a raised finger, or whispers on seeinghim; everywhere he encounters the customary expression of goodwill. Nothing has changed; suspicion passes over his head without alightingthere. He is reassured, and resumes his work. Moreover, had he wishedto remain passive, he could not have done so; he was now compelled tofollow that fatal law of crime which demands that blood must be effacedwith blood, and which is compelled to appeal again to death in order tostifle the accusing voice already issuing from the tomb. 

Edouard de Lamotte, loving his mother as much as she loved him, becameuneasy at receiving no visits, and was astonished at this suddenindifference. Derues wrote to him as follows:

"I have at length some good news for you, my dear boy, but you must nottell your mother I have betrayed her secret; she would scold me, becauseshe is planning a surprise for you, and the various steps and carenecessary in arranging this important matter have caused her absence. You were to know nothing until the 11th or 12th of this month, but nowthat all is settled, I should blame myself if I prolonged the uncertaintyin which you have been left, only you must promise me to look as muchastonished as possible. Your mother, who only lives for you, is going topresent you with the greatest gift a youth of your age can receive--thatof liberty. Yes, dear boy, we thought we had discovered that you have novery keen taste for study, and that a secluded life will suit neitheryour character nor your health. In saying this I utter no reproach, forevery man is born with his own decided tastes, and the way to success andhappiness is-often-to allow him to follow these instincts. We have hadlong discussions on this subject--your mother and I--and we have thoughtmuch about your future; she has at last come to a decision, and for thelast ten days has been at Versailles, endeavouring to obtain youradmission as a royal page. Here is the mystery, this is the reason whichhas kept her from you, and as she knew you would hear it with delight, she wished to have the pleasure of telling you herself. Therefore, onceagain, when you see her, which will be very soon, do not let her see Ihave told you; appear to be greatly surprised. It is true that I amasking you to tell a lie, but it is a very innocent one, and its goodintention will counteract its sinfulness--may God grant we never haveworse upon our consciences! Thus, instead of lessons and the solemnprecepts of your tutors, instead of a monotonous school-life, you aregoing to enjoy your liberty; also the pleasures of the court and theworld. All that rather alarms me, and I ought to confess that I at firstopposed this plan. I begged your mother to reflect, to consider that inthis new existence you would run great risk of losing the religiousfeeling which inspires you, and which I have had the happiness, during mysojourn at Buisson-Souef, of further developing in your mind. I stillrecall with emotion your fervid and sincere aspirations towards theCreator when you approached the Sacred Table for the first time, andwhen, kneeling beside you, and envying the purity of heart and innocenceof soul which appeared to animate your countenance as with a divineradiance, I besought God that, in default of my own virtue, the love forheavenly Truth with which I have inspired you might be reckoned to myaccount. Your piety is my work, Edouard, and I defended it against yourmother's plans; but she replied that in every career a man is master ofhis own good or evil actions; and as I have no authority over you, andfriendship only gives me the right to advise, I must give way. If thisbe your vocation, then follow it. 

"My occupations are so numerous (I have to collect from different sourcesthis hundred thousand livres intended to defray the greater part of theBuisson purchase) that I have not a moment in which to come and see youthis week. Spend the time in reflection, and write to me fully what youthink about this plan. If, like me, you feel any scruples, you must tellthem to your mother, who decidedly wants only to make you happy. Speakto me freely, openly. It is arranged that I am to fetch you on the 11thof this month, and escort you to Versailles, where Madame de Lamotte willbe waiting to receive you with the utmost tenderness. Adieu, dear boy;write to me. Your father knows nothing as yet; his consent will be askedafter your decision. "

The answer to this letter did not have to be waited for: it was such asDerues expected; the lad accepted joyfully. The answer was, for themurderer, an arranged plea of defence, a proof which, in a given case, might link the present with the past. 

On the morning of February 11th, Shrove Tuesday, he went to fetch theyoung de Lamotte from his school, telling the master that he was desiredby the youth's mother to conduct him to Versailles. But, instead, hetook him to his own house, saying that he had a letter from Madame deLamotte asking them not to come till the next day; so they started onAsh Wednesday, Edouard having breakfasted on chocolate. Arrived atVersailles, they stopped at the Fleur-de-lys inn, but there the sicknesswhich the boy had complained of during the journey became very serious, and the innkeeper, having young children, and believing that herecognised symptoms of smallpox, which just then was ravaging Versailles, refused to receive them, saying he had no vacant room. This might havedisconcerted anyone but Derues, but his audacity, activity, and resourceseemed to increase with each fresh obstacle. Leaving Edouard in a roomon the ground floor which had no communication with the rest of the inn, he went at once to look for lodgings, and hastily explored the town. After a fruitless search, he found at last, at the junction of the rueSaint-Honore with that of the Orangerie, a cooper named Martin, who had afurnished room to spare. This he hired at thirty sous per day forhimself and his nephew, who had been taken suddenly ill, under the nameof Beaupre. To avoid being questioned later, he informed the cooper ina few words that he was a doctor; that he had come to Versailles in orderto place his nephew in one of the offices of the town; that in a few daysthe latter's mother would arrive to join him in seeing and makingapplication to influential persons about the court, to whom he hadletters of introduction. As soon as he had delivered this fable with allthe appearance of truth with which he knew so well how to disguise hisfalsehoods, he went back to the young de Lamotte, who was already soexhausted that he was hardly able to drag himself as far as the cooper'shouse. He fainted on arrival, and was carried into the hired room, whereDerues begged to be left alone with him, and only asked for certainbeverages which he told the people how to prepare. 

Whether it was that the strength of youth fought against the poison, orthat Derues took pleasure in watching the sufferings of his victim, theagony of the poor lad was prolonged until the fourth day. The sicknesscontinuing incessantly, he sent the cooper's wife for a medicine which heprepared and administered himself. It produced terrible pain, andEdouard's cries brought the cooper and his wife upstairs. Theyrepresented to Derues that he ought to call in a doctor and consult withhim, but he refused decidedly, saying that a doctor hastily fetched mightprove to be an ignorant person with whom he could not agree, and that hecould not allow one so dear to him to be prescribed for and nursed byanyone but himself. 

"I know what the malady is, " he continued, raising his eyes to heaven;"it is one that has to be concealed rather than acknowledged. Poor youth!whom I love as my own son, if God, touched by my tears and thy suffering, permits me to save thee, thy whole life will be too short for thyblessings and thy gratitude!" And as Madame Martin asked what thismalady might be, he answered with hypocritical blushes--

"Do not ask, madame; there are things of which you do not know even thename. "

At another time, Martin expressed his surprise that the young man'smother had not yet appeared, who, according to Derues, was to have methim at Versailles. He asked how she could know that they were lodging inhis house, and if he should send to meet her at any place where she waslikely to arrive. 

"His mother, " said Derues, looking compassionately at Edouard, who laypale, motionless, and as if insensible, --"his mother! He calls for herincessantly. Ah! monsieur, some families are greatly to be pitied! Myentreaties prevailed on her to decide on coming hither, but will she keepher promise? Do not ask me to tell you more; it is too painful to haveto accuse a mother of having forgotten her duties in the presence of herson . . . There are secrets which ought not to be told--unhappywoman!"

Edouard moved, extended his arms, and repeated, "Mother! . . . Mother!"

Derues hastened to his side and took his hands in his, as if to warmthem. 

"My mother!" the youth repeated. "Why have I not seen her? She was tohave met me. "

You shall soon see her, dear boy; only keep quiet. "

"But just now I thought she was dead. "

"Dead!" cried Derues. "Drive away these sad thoughts. They are causedby the fever only. "

"No! oh no! . . . I heard a secret voice which said, 'Thy mother isdead!' . . . And then I beheld a livid corpse before me . . . It wasshe! . . . I knew her well! and she seemed to have suffered somuch----"

"Dear boy, your mother is not dead . . . . My God! what terriblechimeras you conjure up! You will see her again, I assure you; she hasarrived already. Is it not so, madame?" he asked, turning towards theMartins, who were both leaning against the foot of the bed, and signingto them to support this pious falsehood, in order to calm the young man. "Did she not arrive and come to his bedside and kiss him while he slept, and she will soon come again?"

"Yes, yes, " said Madame Martin, wiping her eyes; "and she begged myhusband and me to help your uncle to take great care of you--"

The youth moved again, and looking round him with a dazed expression, said, "My uncle--?"

"You had better go, " said Derues in a whisper to the Martins. "I amafraid he is delirious again; I will prepare a draught, which will givehim a little rest and sleep. "

"Adieu, then, adieu, " answered Madame Martin; "and may Heaven bless youfor the care you bestow on this poor young man!"

On Friday evening violent vomiting appeared to have benefited thesufferer. He had rejected most of the poison, and had a fairly quietnight. But on the Saturday morning Derues sent the cooper's little girlto buy more medicine, which he prepared, himself, like the first. Theday was horrible, and about six in the evening, seeing his victim was atthe last gasp, he opened a little window overlooking the shop andsummoned the cooper, requesting him to go at once for a priest. When thelatter arrived he found Derues in tears, kneeling at the dying boy'sbedside. And now, by the light of two tapers placed on a table, flankingthe holy water-stoup, there began what on one side was an abominable andsacrilegious comedy, a disgraceful parody of that which Christiansconsider most sacred and most dear; on the other, a pious and consolingceremony. The cooper and his wife, their eyes bathed in tears, knelt inthe middle of the room, murmuring such prayers as they could remember. 

Derues gave up his place to the priest, but as Edouard did not answer thelatter's questions, he approached the bed, and bending over the sufferer, exhorted him to confession. 

"Dear boy, " he said, "take courage; your sufferings here will be countedto you above: God will weigh ahem in the scales of His infinite mercy. Listen to the words of His holy minister, cast your sins into His bosom, and obtain from Him forgiveness for your faults. "

"I am in such terrible pain!" cried Edouard. "Water! water! Extinguishthe fire which consumes me!"

A violent fit came on, succeeded by exhaustion and the death-rattle. Derues fell on his knees, and the priest administered extreme unction. There was then a moment of absolute silence, more impressive than criesand sobs. The priest collected himself for a moment, crossed himself, and began to pray. Derues also crossed himself, and repeated in a lowvoice, apparently choked by grief

"Go forth, O Christian soul, from this world, in the name of God theFather Almighty, who created thee; in the name of Jesus Christ, the Sonof the living God, who suffered for thee; in the name of the Holy Ghost, who was poured out upon thee. "

The youth struggled in his bed, and a convulsive movement agitated hislimbs. Derues continued--

"When thy soul departs from this body may it be admitted to the holyMountain of Sion, to the Heavenly Jerusalem, to the numerous company ofAngels, and to the Church of the First-born, whose names are written inHeaven----"

"Mother! . . . My mother!" cried Edouard. Derues resumed--

"Let God arise, and let the Powers of Darkness be dispersed! let theSpirits of Evil, who reign over the air, be put to flight; let them notdare to attack a soul redeemed by the precious blood of Jesus Christ. "

"Amen, " responded the priest and the Martins. 

There was another silence, broken only by the stifled sobs of Derues. Thepriest again crossed himself and took up the prayer. 

"We beseech Thee, O beloved and only Son of God, by the merits of Thysacred Passion, Thy Cross and Thy Death, to deliver this Thy servant fromthe pains of Hell, and to lead him to that happy place whither Thou didstvouchsafe to lead the thief, who, with Thee, was bound upon the Cross:Thou, who art God, living and reigning with the Father and the HolyGhost. "

"Amen, " repeated those present. Derues now took up the prayer, and hisvoice mingled with the dying gasps of the sufferer. 

"And there was a darkness over all the earth----

"To Thee, O Lord, we commend the soul of this Thy servant, that, beingdead to the world, he may, live to Thee: and the sins he hath committedthrough the frailty of his mortal nature, do Thou in Thy most mercifulgoodness, forgive and wash away. Amen. "

After which all present sprinkled holy water on the body. . . . 

When the priest had retired, shown out by Madame Martin, Derues said toher husband--

"This unfortunate young man has died without the consolation of beholdinghis mother. . . . His last thought was for her. . . . There now remains thelast duty, a very painful one to accomplish, but my poor nephew imposedit on me. A few hours ago, feeling that his end was near, he asked me, as a last mark of friendship, not to entrust these final duties to thehands of strangers. "

While he applied himself to the necessary work in presence of the cooper, who was much affected by the sight of such sincere and profoundaffliction, Derues added, sighing--

"I shall always grieve for this dear boy. Alas! that evil living shouldhave caused his early death!"

When he had finished laying out the body, he threw some little packetsinto the fire which he professed to have found in the youth's pockets, telling Martin, in order to support this assertion, that they containeddrugs suitable to this disgraceful malady. 

He spent the night in the room with the corpse, as he had done in thecase of Madame de Lamotte, and the next day, Sunday, he sent Martin tothe parish church of St. Louis, to arrange for a funeral of the simplestkind; telling him to fill up the certificate in the name of Beaupre, bornat Commercy, in Lorraine. He declined himself either to go to the churchor to appear at the funeral, saying that his grief was too great. Martin, returning from the funeral, found him engaged in prayer. Deruesgave him the dead youth's clothes and departed, leaving some money to begiven to the poor of the parish, and for masses to be said for the reposeof the soul of the dead. 

He arrived at home in the evening, found his wife entertaining somefriends; and told them he had just come from Chartres, where he had beensummoned on business. Everyone noticed his unusual air of satisfaction, and he sang several songs during supper. 

Having accomplished these two crimes, Derues did not remain idle. Whenthe murderer's part of his nature was at rest, the thief reappeared. Hisextreme avarice now made him regret the expense' caused by the deaths ofMadame de Lamotte and her son, and he wished to recoup himself. Two daysafter his return from Versailles, he ventured to present himself atEdouard's school. He told the master that he had received a letter fromMadame de Lamotte, saying that she wished to keep her son, and asking himto obtain Edouard's belongings. The schoolmaster's wife, who waspresent, replied that that could not be; that Monsieur de Lamotte wouldhave known of his wife's intention; that she would not have taken such astep without consulting him; and that only the evening before, they hadreceived a present of game from Buisson-Souef, with a letter in whichMonsieur de Lamotte entreated them to take great, care of his son. 

"If what you say is true, " she continued, "Madame de Lamotte is no doubtacting on your advice in taking away her son. But I will write toBuisson. "

"You had better not do anything in the matter;" said Derues, turning tothe schoolmaster. "It is quite possible that Monsieur de Lamotte doesnot know. I am aware that his wife does not always consult him. She isat Versailles, where I took Edouard to her, and I will inform her of yourobjection. "

To insure impunity for these murders, Derues had resolved on the death ofMonsieur de Lamotte; but before executing this last crime, he wished forsome proof of the recent pretended agreements between himself and Madamede Lamotte. He would not wait for the disappearance of the whole familybefore presenting himself as the lawful proprietor, of Buisson-Souef. Prudence required him to shelter himself behind a deed which should havebeen executed by that lady. On February 27th he appeared at the officeof Madame de Lamotte's lawyer in the rue du Paon, and, with all thepersuasion of an artful tongue, demanded the power of attorney on thatlady's behalf, saying that he had, by private contract, just paid ahundred thousand livres on the total amount of purchase, which money wasnow deposited with a notary. The lawyer, much astonished that an affairof such importance should have been arranged without any reference tohimself, refused to give up the deed to anyone but Monsieur or Madame deLamotte, and inquired why the latter did not appear herself. Deruesreplied that she was at Versailles, and that he was to send the deed toher there. He repeated his request and the lawyer his refusal, untilDerues retired, saying he would find means to compel him to give up thedeed. He actually did, the same day, present a petition to the civilauthority, in which Cyrano Derues de Bury sets forth arrangements, madewith Madame de Lamotte, founded on the deed given by her husband, andrequires permission to seize and withdraw said deed from the custody inwhich it remains at present. The petition is granted. The lawyerobjects that he can only give up the deed to either Monsieur or Madame deLamotte, unless he be otherwise ordered. Derues has the effrontery toagain appeal to the civil authority, but, for the reasons given by thatpublic officer, the affair is adjourned. 

These two futile efforts might have compromised Derues had they beenheard of at Buisson-Souef; but everything seemed to conspire in thecriminal's favour: neither the schoolmaster's wife nor the lawyer thoughtof writing to Monsieur de Lamotte. The latter, as yet unsuspecting, wastormented by other anxieties, and kept at home by illness. 

In these days, distance is shortened, and one can travel fromVilleneuve-le-Roi-les-Sens to Paris in a few hours. This was not thecase in 1777, when private industry and activity, stifled by routine andprivilege, had not yet experienced the need of providing the means forrapid communication. Half a day was required to go from the capital toVersailles; a journey of twenty leagues required at least two days and anight, and bristled with obstacles ind delays of all kinds. Thesedifficulties of transport, still greater during bad weather, and a longand serious attack of gout, explain why Monsieur ale Lamotte, who was soready to take alarm, had remained separated from his wife from the middleof December to the end of February. He had received reassuring lettersfrom her, written at first with freedom and simplicity; but he thought henoticed a gradual change in the later ones, which appeared to proceedmore from the mind than the heart. A style which aimed at being naturalwas interspersed with unnecessary expressions of affection, unusualbetween married people well assured of their mutual love. Monsieur deLamotte observed and exaggerated these peculiarities, and thoughendeavouring to persuade himself that he was mistaken, he could notforget them, or regain his usual tranquility. Being somewhat ashamed ofhis anxiety, he kept his fears to himself. 

One morning, as he was sunk in a large armchair by the fire, hissitting-room door opened, and the cure entered, who was surprised by hisdespondent, sad, and pale appearance. "What is the matter?" he inquired, "Have you had an extra bad night?"

"Yes, " answered Monsieur de Lamotte. 

"Well, have you any news from Paris?"

"Nothing for a whole week: it is odd, is it not?"

"I am always hoping that this sale may fall through; it drags on for sovery long; and I believe that Monsieur Derues, in spite of what your wifewrote a month ago, has not as much money as he pretends to have. Do youknow that it is said that Monsieur Despeignes-Duplessis, Madame Derues'relative, whose money they inherited, was assassinated?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"It is a common report in the country, and was brought here by a man whocame recently from Beauvais. "

"Have the murderers been discovered?"

"Apparently not; justice seems unable to discover anything at all. "

Monsieur de Lamotte hung his head, and his countenance assumed anexpression of painful thought, as though this news affected himpersonally. 

"Frankly, " resumed the cure, "I believe you will remain Seigneur duBuisson-Souef, and that I shall be spared the pain of writing anothername over your seat in the church of Villeneuve. "

"The affair must be settled in a few days, for I can wait no longer; ifthe purchaser be not Monsieur Derues, it will have to be someone else. What makes you think he is short of money?"

"Oh! oh!" said the cure, "a man who has money either pays his debts, oris a cheat. Now Heaven preserve me from suspecting Monsieur Derues'honesty!"

"What do you know about him?"

"Do you remember Brother Marchois of the Camaldulians, who came to see melast spring, and who was here the day Monsieur Derues arrived, with yourwife and Edouard?"

"Perfectly. Well?"

"Well, I happened to tell him in one of my letters that Monsieur Derueshad become the purchaser of Buisson-Souef, and that I believed thearrangements were concluded. Thereupon Brother Marchois wrote asking meto remind him that he owes them a sum of eight hundred livres, and that, so far, they have not seen a penny of it. "

"Ah!" said Monsieur de Lamotte, "perhaps I should have done better not tolet myself be deluded by his fine promises. He certainly has money onhis tongue, and when once one begins to listen to him, one can't helpdoing what he wants. All the same, I had rather have had to deal withsomeone else. "

"And is it this which worries you, and makes you seem so anxious?"

"This and other things. "

"What, then?"

"I am really ashamed to own it, but I am a credulous and timid as any oldwoman. Now do not laugh at me too much. Do you believe in dreams?"

"Monsieur, " said the cure, smiling, "you should never ask a cowardwhether he is afraid, you only risk his telling a lie. He will say 'No, 'but he means 'Yes. '"

"And are you a coward, my father?"

"A little. I don't precisely believe all the nursery, tales, or in thefavourable or unfavourable meaning of some object seen during our sleep, but--"

A sound of steps interrupted them, a servant entered, announcing MonsieurDerues. 

On hearing the name, Monsieur de Lamotte felt troubled in spite ofhimself, but, overcoming the impression, he rose to meet the visitor. 

"You had better stay, " he said to the cure, who was also rising to takeleave. "Stay; we have probably nothing to say which cannot be saidbefore you. "

Derues entered the room, and, after the usual compliments, sat down bythe fire, opposite Monsieur de Lamotte. 

"You did not expect me, " he said, "and I ought to apologise forsurprising you thus. "

"Give me some news of my wife, " asked Monsieur de Lamotte anxiously. 

"She has never been better. Your son is also to perfect health. "

"But why are you alone? Why does not Marie accompany you? It is tenweeks since she went to Paris. "

"She has not yet quite finished the business with which you entrustedher. Perhaps I am partly the cause of this long absence, but one cannottransact business as quickly as one would wish. But, you have no doubtheard from her, that all is finished, or nearly so, between us. We havedrawn up a second private contract, which annuls the former agreement, and I have paid over a sum of one hundred thousand livres. "

"I do not comprehend, " said Monsieur de Lamotte. "What can induce mywife not to inform me of this?"

"You did not know?"

"I know nothing. I was wondering just now with Monsieur le cure why Idid not hear from her. "

"Madame de Lamotte was going to write to you, and I do not know what canhave hindered her. "

"When did you leave her?"

"Several days ago. I have not been at Paris; I am returning fromChartres. I believed you were informed of everything. "

Monsieur de Lamotte remained silent for some moments. Then, fixing hiseyes upon Derues' immovable countenance, he said, with some emotion--

"You are a husband and father, sir; in the name of this double and sacredaffection which is, not unknown to you, do not hide anything from me: Ifear some misfortune has happened to my wife which you are concealing. "

Derues' physiognomy expressed nothing but a perfectly naturalastonishment. 

"What can have suggested such ideas to you; dear sir?" In saying this heglanced at the cure; wishing to ascertain if this distrust was Monsieurde Lamotte's own idea, or had been suggested to him. The movement was sorapid that neither of the others observed it. Like all knaves, obliged bytheir actions to be continually on the watch, Derues possessed to aremarkable extent the art of seeing all round him without appearing toobserve anything in particular. He decided that as yet he had only tocombat a suspicion unfounded on proof, and he waited till he should beattacked more seriously. 

"I do not know, " he said, "what may have happened during my absence; prayexplain yourself, for you are making me share your disquietude. "

"Yes, I am exceedingly anxious; I entreat you, tell me the whole truth. Explain this silence, and this absence prolonged beyond all expectation. You finished your business with Madame de Lamotte several days ago: onceagain, why did she not write? There is no letter, either from her or myson! To-morrow I shall send someone to Paris. "

"Good heavens!" answered Derues, "is there nothing but an accident whichcould cause this delay? . . . Well, then, " he continued, with theembarrassed look of a man compelled to betray a confidence, --"well, then, I see that in order to reassure you, I shall have to give up asecret entrusted to me. "

He then told Monsieur de Lamotte that his wife was no longer at Paris, but at Versailles, where she was endeavouring to obtain an important andlucrative appointment, and that, if she had left him in ignorance of herefforts in this direction; it was only to give him an agreeable surprise. He added that she had removed her son from the school, and hoped to placehim either in the riding school or amongst the royal pages. To prove hiswords, he opened his paper-case, and produced the letter written byEdouard in answer to the one quoted above. 

All this was related so simply, and with such an appearance of goodfaith, that the cure was quite convinced. And to Monsieur de Lamotte theplans attributed to his wife were not entirely improbably. Derues hadlearnt indirectly that such a career for Edouard had been actually underconsideration. However, though Monsieur de Lamotte's entire ignoranceprevented him from making any serious objection, his fears were notentirely at rest, but for the present he appeared satisfied with theexplanation. 

The cure resumed the conversation. "What you tell us ought to drive awaygloomy ideas. Just now, when you were announced, Monsieur de Lamotte wasconfiding his troubles to me. I was as concerned as he was, and I couldsay nothing to help him; never did visitor arrive more apropos. Well, myfriend, what now remains of your vain terrors? What was it you weresaying just as Monsieur Derues arrived? . . . Ah! we were discussingdreams, you asked if I believed in them. "

Monsieur, de Lamotte, who had sunk back in his easy-chair and seemed lostin his reflections, started on hearing these words. He raised his headand looked again at Derues. But the latter had had time to note theimpression produced by the cure's remark, and this renewed examinationdid not disturb him. 

"Yes, " said Monsieur de Lamotte, "I had asked that question. "

"And I was going to answer that there are certain secret warnings whichcan be received by the soul long before they are intelligible to thebodily senses-revelations not understood at first, but which laterconnect themselves with realities of which they are in some way theprecursors. Do you agree with me, Monsieur Derues?"

"I have no opinion on such a subject, and must leave the discussion tomore learned people than myself. I do not know whether such apparitionsreally mean anything or not, and I have not sought to fathom thesemysteries, thinking them outside the realm of human intelligence. "

"Nevertheless, " said the cure, "we are obliged to recognise theirexistence. "

"Yes, but without either understanding or explaining them, like manyother eternal truths. I follow the rule given in the Imitation o f JesusChrist: 'Beware, my son, of considering too curiously the things beyondthine intelligence. '"

"And I also submit, and avoid too curious consideration. But has not thesoul knowledge of many wondrous things which we can yet neither see nortouch? I repeat, there are things which cannot be denied. "

Derues listened attentively, continually on his guard; and afraid, heknew not why, of becoming entangled in this conversation, as in a trap. He carefully watched Monsieur de Lamotte, whose eyes never left him. Thecure resumed--

"Here is an instance which I was bound to accept, seeing it happened tomyself. I was then twenty, and my mother lived in the neighbourhood ofTours, whilst I was at the seminary of Montpellier. After several yearsof separation, I had obtained permission to go and see her. I wrote, telling her of this good news, and I received her answer--full of joy andtenderness. My brother and sister were to be informed, it was to be afamily meeting, a real festivity; and I started with a light and joyousheart. My impatience was so great, that, having stopped for supper at avillage inn some ten leagues from Tours, I would not wait till the nextmorning for the coach which went that way, but continued the journey onfoot and walked all night. It was a long and difficult road, buthappiness redoubled my strength. About an hour after sunrise I sawdistinctly the smoke and the village roofs, and I hurried on to surprisemy family a little sooner. I never felt more active, more light-heartedand gay; everything seemed to smile before and around me. Turning acorner of the hedge, I met a peasant whom I recognised. All at once itseemed as if a veil spread over my sight, all my hopes and joy suddenlyvanished, a funereal idea took possession of me, and I said, taking thehand of the man, who had not yet spoken--

"'My mother is dead, I am convinced my mother is dead!'

"He hung down his head and answered--

"'She is to be buried this morning!'

"Now whence came this revelation? I had seen no one, spoken to no one; amoment before I had no idea of it!"

Derues made a gesture of surprise. Monsieur de Lamotte put his hand tohis eyes, and said to the cure--

"Your presentiments were true; mine, happily, are unfounded. But listen, and tell me if in the state of anxiety which oppressed me I had not goodreason for alarm and for fearing some fatal misfortune. "

His eyes again sought Derues. "Towards the middle of last night I atlength fell asleep, but, interrupted every moment, this sleep was more afatigue than a rest; I seemed to hear confused noises all round me. Isaw brilliant lights which dazzled me, and then sank back into silenceand darkness. Sometimes I heard someone weeping near my bed; againplaintive voices called to me out of the darkness. I stretched out myarms, but nothing met them, I fought with phantoms; at length a cold handgrasped mine and led me rapidly forward. Under a dark and damp vault awoman lay on the ground, bleeding, inanimate--it was my wife! At thesame moment, a groan made me look round, and I beheld a man striking myson with a dagger. I cried out and awoke, bathed in cold perspiration, panting under this terrible vision. I was obliged to get up, walk about, and speak aloud, in order to convince myself it was only a dream. Itried to go to sleep again, but the same visions still pursued me. I sawalways the same man armed with two daggers streaming with blood; I heardalways the cries of his two victims. When day came, I felt utterlybroken, worn-out; and this morning, you, my father, could see by mydespondency what an impression this awful night had made upon me. "

During this recital Derues' calmness never gave way for a single moment, and the most skilful physiognomist could only have discovered anexpression of incredulous curiosity on his countenance. 

"Monsieur le cure's story, " said he, "impressed me much; yours onlybrings back my uncertainty. It is less possible than ever to deliver anyopinion on this serious question of dreams, since the second instancecontradicts the first. "

"It is true, " answered the cure, "no possible conclusion can be drawnfrom two facts which contradict each other, and the best thing we can dois to choose a less dismal subject of conversation. "

"Monsieur Derues;" asked Monsieur de Lamatte, "if you are not too tiredwith your journey, shall we go and look at the last improvements I havemade? It is now your affair to decide upon them, since I shall shortlybe only your guest here. "

"Just as I have been yours for long enough, and I trust you will oftengive me the opportunity of exercising hospitality in my turn. But you areill, the day is cold and damp; if you do not care to go out, do not letme disturb you. Had you not better stay by the fire with Monsieur lecure? For me, Heaven be thanked! I require no assistance. I will lookround the park, and come back presently to tell you what I think. Besides, we shall have plenty of time to talk about it. With yourpermission, I should like to stay two or three days. "

"I shall be pleased if you will do so. "

Derues went out, sufficiently uneasy in his mind, both on account of hisreception of Monsieur de Lamotte's fears and of the manner in which thelatter had watched him during the conversation. He walked quickly up anddown the park--

"I have been foolish, perhaps; I have lost twelve or fifteen days, anddelayed stupidly from fear of not foreseeing everything. But then, howwas I to imagine that this simple, easily deceived man would all at oncebecome suspicious? What a strange dream! If I had not been on my guard, I might have been disconcerted. Come, come, I must try to disperse theseideas and give him something else to think about. "

He stopped, and after a few minutes consideration turned back towards thehouse. 

As soon as he had left the room, Monsieur de Lamotte had bent overtowards the cure, and had said--

"He did not show any emotion, did--he?"

"None whatever. "

"He did not start when I spoke of the man armed with those two daggers?"

"No. But put aside these ideas; you must see they are mistaken. "

"I did not tell everything, my father: this murderer whom I saw in mydream--was Derues himself! I know as well as you that it must be adelusion, I saw as well as you did that he remained quite calm, but, inspite of myself, this terrible dream haunts me . . . . There, do notlisten to me, do not let me talk about it; it only makes me blush formyself. "

Whilst Derues remained at Buisson-Souef, Monsieur de Lamotte receivedseveral letters from his wife, some from Paris, some from Versailles. Sheremarked that her son and herself were perfectly well. . . . The writingwas so well imitated that no one could doubt their genuineness. However, Monsieur de Lamotte's suspicions continually increased and he ended bymaking the cure share his fears. He also refused to go with Derues toParis, in spite of the latter's entreaties. Derues, alarmed at thecoldness shown him, left Buisson-Souef, saying that he intended to takepossession about the middle of spring. 

Monsieur de Lamotte was, in spite of himself, still detained byill-health. But a new and inexplicable circumstance made him resolve togo to Paris and endeavour to clear up the mystery which appeared tosurround his wife and son. He received an unsigned letter in unknownhandwriting, and in which Madame de Lamotte's reputation was attackedwith a kind of would-be reticence, which hinted that she was anunfaithful wife and that in this lay the cause of her long absence. Herhusband did not believe this anonymous denunciation, but the fate of thetwo beings dearest to him seemed shrouded in so much obscurity that hecould delay no longer, and started for Paris. 

His resolution not to accompany Derues had saved his life. The lattercould not carry out his culminating crime at Buisson-Souef; it was onlyin Paris that his victims would disappear without his being called toaccount. Obliged to leave hold of his prey, he endeavoured to bewilderhim in a labyrinth where all trace of truth might be lost. Already, ashe had arranged beforehand, he had called calumny to his help, andprepared the audacious lie which was to vindicate himself should anaccusation fall upon his head. He had hoped that Monsieur de Lamottewould fall defenceless into his hands; but now a careful examination ofhis position, showing the impossibility of avoiding an explanation hadbecome inevitable, made him change all his plans, and compelled him todevise an infernal plot, so skilfully laid that it bid fair to defeat allhuman sagacity. 

Monsieur de Lamotte arrived in Paris early in March. Chance decided thathe should lodge in the rue de la Mortellerie, in a house not far from theone where his wife's body lay buried. He went to see Derues, hoping tosurprise him, and determined to make him speak, but found he was not athome. Madame Derues, whether acting with the discretion of an accompliceor really ignorant of her husband's proceedings, could not say where hewas likely to be found. She said that he told her nothing about hisactions, and that Monsieur de Lamotte must have observed during theirstay at Buisson (which was true) that she never questioned him, butobeyed his wishes in everything; and that he had now gone away withoutsaying where he was going. She acknowledged that Madame de Lamotte hadlodged with them for six weeks, and that she knew that lady had been atVersailles, but since then she had heard nothing. All Monsieur deLamotte's questions, his entreaties, prayers, or threats, obtained noother answer. He went to the lawyer in the rue de Paon, to theschoolmaster, and found the same uncertainty, the same ignorance. Hiswife and his son had gone to Versailles, there the clue ended which oughtto guide his investigations. He went to this town; no one could give himany information, the very name of Lamotte was unknown. He returned toParis, questioned and examined the people of the quarter, the proprietorof the Hotel de France, where his wife had stayed on her former visit; atlength, wearied with useless efforts, he implored help from justice. Then his complaints ceased; he was advised to maintain a prudent silence, and to await Derues' return. 

The latter thoroughly understood that, having failed to dissipateMonsieur de Lamotte's fears, there was no longer an instant to lose, andthat the pretended private contract of February 12th would not of itselfprove the existence of Madame de Lamotte. This is how he employed thetime spent by the unhappy husband in fruitless investigation. 

On March 12th, a woman, her face hidden in the hood of her cloak, or"Therese, " as it was then called, appeared in the office of MaitreN-----, a notary at Lyons. She gave her name as Marie FrancoisePerffier, wife of Monsieur Saint-Faust de Lamotte, but separated, as togoods and estate, from him. She caused a deed to be drawn up, authorising her husband to receive the arrears of thirty thousand livresremaining from the price of the estate of Buisson-Souef, situated nearVilleneuve-le-Roi-lez-Sens. The deed was drawn up and signed by Madamede Lamotte, by the notary, and one of his colleagues. 

This woman was Derues. If we remember that he only arrived at BuissonFebruary 28th, and remained there for some days, it becomes difficult tounderstand how at that period so long a journey as that from Paris toLyons could have been accomplished with such rapidity. Fear must havegiven him wings. We will now explain what use he intended to make of it, and what fable, a masterpiece of cunning and of lies, he had invented. 

On his arrival in Paris he found a summons to appear before themagistrate of police. He expected this, and appeared quite tranquil, ready to answer any questions. Monsieur de Lamotte was present. It wasa formal examination, and the magistrate first asked why he had leftParis. 

"Monsieur, " replied Derues, "I have nothing to hide, and none of myactions need fear the daylight, but before replying, I should like tounderstand my position. As a domiciled citizen I have a right to requirethis. Will you kindly inform me why I have been summoned to appearbefore you, whether on account of anything personal to myself, or simplyto give information as to something which may be within my knowledge?"

"You are acquainted with this gentleman, and cannot therefore be ignorantof the cause of the present inquiry. "

"I am, nevertheless, quite in ignorance of it. "

"Be good enough to answer my question. Why did you leave Paris? Andwhere have you been?"

"I was absent for business reasons. "

"What business?"

"I shall say no more. "

"Take care! you have incurred serious suspicions, and silence will nottend to clear you. "

Derues hung down his head with an air of resignation; and Monsieur deLamotte, seeing in this attitude a silent confession of crime, exclaimed, "Wretched man! what have you done with my wife and my son?"

"Your son!--" said Derues slowly and with peculiar emphasis. He againcast down his eyes. 

The magistrate conducting the inquiry was struck by the expression ofDerues' countenance and by this half answer, which appeared to hide amystery and to aim at diverting attention by offering a bait tocuriosity. He might have stopped Derues at the moment when he sought toplunge into a tortuous argument, and compelled him to answer with thesame clearness and decision which distinguished Monsieur de Lamotte'squestion; but he reflected that the latter's inquiries, unforeseen, hasty, and passionate, were perhaps more likely to disconcert a prepareddefence than cooler and more skilful tactics. He therefore changed hisplans, contenting "himself for the moment with the part of an observeronly, and watching a duel between two fairly matched antagonists. 

"I require: you to tell me what has become of them, " repeated Monsieur deLamotte. "I have been to Versailles, you assured me they were there. "

"And I told you the truth, monsieur. "

"No one has seen them, no one knows them; every trace is lost. YourHonour, this man must be compelled to answer, he must say what has becomeof my wife and son!"

"I excuse your anxiety, I understand your trouble, but why appeal to me?Why am I supposed to know what may have happened to them?"

"Because I confided them to your care. "

"As a friend, yes, I agree. Yes, it is quite true that last December Ireceived a letter from you informing me of the impending arrival of yourwife and son. I received them in my own house, and showed them the samehospitality which I had received from you. I saw them both, your sonoften, your wife every day, until the day she left me to go toVersailles. Yes, I also took Edouard to his mother, who was negotiatingan appointment for him. I have already told you all this, and I repeatit because it is the truth. You believed me then: why do you not believeme now? Why has what I say become strange and incredible? If your wifeand your son have disappeared, am I responsible? Did you transmit yourauthority to me? And now, in what manner are you thus calling me toaccount? Is it to the friend who might have pitied, who might have aidedyour search, that you thus address yourself? Have you come to confide inme, to ask for advice, for consolation? No, you accuse me; very well!then I refuse to speak, because, having no proofs, you yet accuse anhonest man; because your fears, whether real or imaginary, do not excuseyou for casting, I know not what odious suspicions, on a blamelessreputation, because I have the right to be offended. Monsieur" hecontinued, turning to the magistrate, "I believe you will appreciate mymoderation, and will allow me to retire. If charges are brought againstme, I am quite ready to meet them, and to show what they are reallyworth. I shall remain in Paris, I have now no business which requires mypresence elsewhere. "

He emphasised these last words, evidently intending to draw attention tothem. It did not escape the magistrate, who inquired--

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing beyond my words, your Honour, Have I your permission to retire?"

"No, remain; you are pretending not to understand. "

"I do not understand these insinuations so covertly made. "

Monsieur de Lamotte rose, exclaiming--

"Insinuations! What more can I say to compel you to answer? My wife andson have disappeared. It is untrue that, as you pretend, they have beenat Versailles. You deceived me at Buisson-Souef, just as you aredeceiving me now, as you are endeavouring to deceive justice by inventingfresh lies. Where are they? What has become of them? I am tormented byall the fears possible to a husband and father; I imagine all the mostterrible misfortunes, and I accuse you to your face of having causedtheir death! Is this sufficient, or do you still accuse me of covertinsinuations?"

Derues turned to the magistrate. "Is this charge enough to place me inthe position of a criminal if I do not give a satisfactory explanation?"

"Certainly; you should have thought of that sooner. "

"Then, " he continued, addressing Monsieur de Lamotte, "I understand youpersist in this odious accusation?"

"I certainly persist in it. "

"You have forgotten our friendship, broken all bonds between us: I am inyour eyes only a miserable assassin? You consider my silence as guilty, you will ruin me if I do not speak?"

"It is true. "

"There is still time for reflection; consider what you are doing; I willforget your insults and your anger. Your trouble is great enough withoutmy reproaches being added to it. But you desire that I should speak, youdesire it absolutely?"

"I do desire it. "

"Very well, then; it shall be as you wish. "

Derues surveyed Monsieur de Lamotte with a look which seemed to say, "Ipity you. " He then added, with a sigh--

"I am now ready to answer. Your Honour, will you have the kindness toresume my examination?"

Derues had succeeded in taking up an advantageous position. If he hadbegun narrating the extraordinary romance he had invented, the leastpenetrating eye must have perceived its improbability, and one would havefelt it required some support at every turn. But since he had resistedbeing forced to tell it, and apparently only ceded to Monsieur deLamotte's violent persistency, the situation was changed; and thisrefusal to speak, coming from a man who thereby compromised his personalsafety, took the semblance of generosity, and was likely to arouse themagistrate's curiosity and prepare his mind for unusual and mysteriousrevelations. This was exactly what Derues wanted, and he awaited theinterrogation with calm and tranquillity. 

"Why did you leave Paris?" the magistrate demanded a second time. 

"I have already had the honour to inform you that important businessnecessitated my absence. "

"But you refused to explain the nature of this business. Do you stillpersist in this refusal?"

"For the moment, yes. I will explain it later. "

"Where have you been? Whence do you return?"

"I have been to Lyons, and have returned thence. "

"What took you there?

"I will tell you later. "

"In the month of December last, Madame de Lamotte and her son came toParis?

"That is so. "

"They both lodged in your house?"

"I have no reason to deny it. "

"But neither she herself, nor Monsieur de Lamotte, had at first intendedthat she should accept a lodging in the house which you occupied. "

"That is quite true. We had important accounts to settle, and Madame deLamotte told me afterwards that she feared some dispute on the questionof money might arise between us--at least, that is the reason she gaveme. She was mistaken, as the event proved, since I always intended topay, and I have paid. But she may have had another reason which shepreferred not to give. "

"It was the distrust of this man which she felt, " exclaimed Monsieur deLamotte. Derues answered only with a melancholy smile. 

"Silence, monsieur, " said the magistrate, "silence; do not interrupt. "Then addressing Derues--

"Another motive? What motive do you suppose?"

"Possibly she preferred to be more free, and able to receive any visitorshe wished. "

"What do you mean?"

"It is only supposition on my part, I do not insist upon it. "

"But the supposition appears to contain a hint injurious to Madame deLamotte's reputation?"

"No, oh no!" replied Derues, after a moment's silence. 

This sort of insinuation appeared strange to the magistrate, who resolvedto try and force Derues to abandon these treacherous reticences behindwhich he sheltered himself. Again recommending silence to Monsieur deLamotte, he continued to question Derues, not perceiving that he was onlyfollowing the lead skilfully given by the latter, who drew him graduallyon by withdrawing himself, and that all the time thus gained was anadvantage to the accused. 

"Well, " said the magistrate, "whatever Madame de Lamotte's motives mayhave been, it ended in her coming to stay with you. How did you persuadeher to take this step?"

"My wife accompanied her first to the Hotel de France, and then to otherhotels. I said no more than might be deemed allowable in a friend; Icould not presume to persuade her against her will. When I returnedhome, I was surprised to find her there with her son. She could not finda disengaged room in any of the hotels she tried, and she then acceptedmy offer. "

"What date was this?"

"Monday, the 16th of last December. "

"And when did she leave your house?"

"On the 1st of February. "

"The porter cannot remember having seen her go out on that day. "

"That is possible. Madame de Lamotte went and came as her affairsrequired. She was known, and no more attention would be paid to her thanto any other inmate. "

"The porter also says that for several days before this date she was ill, and obliged to keep her room?"

"Yes, it was a slight indisposition, which had no results, so slight thatit seemed unnecessary to call in a doctor. Madame de Lamotte appearedpreoccupied and anxious. I think her mental attitude influenced herhealth. "

"Did you escort her to Versailles?"

"No; I went there to see her later. "

"What proof can you give of her having actually stayed there?"

"None whatever, unless it be a letter which I received from her. "

"You told Monsieur de, Lamotte that she was exerting herself to procureher son's admission either as a king's page or into the riding school. Now, no one at Versailles has seen this lady, or even heard of her. "

"I only repeated what she told me. "

"Where was she staying?"

"I do not know. "

"What! she wrote to you, you went to see her, and yet you do not knowwhere she was lodging?"

"That is so. "

"But it is impossible. "

"There are many things which would appear impossible if I were to relatethem, but which are true, nevertheless. "

"Explain yourself. "

"I only received one letter from Madame de Lamotte, in which she spoke ofher plans for Edouard, requesting me to send her her son on a day shefixed, and I told Edouard of her projects. Not being able to go to theschool to see him, I wrote, asking if he would like to give up hisstudies and become a royal page. When I was last at Buisson-Souef, Ishowed his answer to Monsieur de Lamotte; it is here. "

And he handed over a letter to the magistrate, who read it, and passingit on to Monsieur de Lamotte, inquired--

"Did you then, and do you now, recognise your son's handwriting?"

"Perfectly, monsieur. "

"You took Edouard to Versailles?"

"I did. "

"On what day?"

"February 11th, Shrove Tuesday. It is the only time I have been toVersailles. The contrary might be supposed; for I have allowed it to beunderstood that I have often seen Madame de Lamotte since she left myhouse, and was acquainted with all her actions, and that the formerconfidence and friendship still existed between us. In allowing this, Ihave acted a lie, and transgressed the habitual sincerity of my wholelife. "

This assertion produced a bad impression on the magistrate. Deruesperceived it, and to avert evil consequences, hastened to add--

"My conduct can only be appreciated when it is known in entirety. Imisunderstood the meaning of Madame de Lamotte's letter. She asked me tosend her her son, I thought to oblige her by accompanying him, and notleaving him to go alone. So we travelled together, and arrived atVersailles about midday. As I got down from the coach I saw Madame deLamotte at the palace gate, and observed, to my astonishment, that mypresence displeased her. She was not alone. "

He stopped, although he had evidently reached the most interesting pointof his story. 

"Go on, " said the magistrate; "why do you stop now?"

"Because what I have to say is so painful--not to me, who have to justifymyself, but for others, that I hesitate. "

"Go on. "

"Will you then interrogate me, please?"

"Well, what happened in this interview?"

Derues appeared to collect himself for a moment, and then said with theair of a man who has decide on speaking out at last--

"Madame de Lamotte was not alone; she was attended by a gentleman whom Idid not know, whom I never saw either at Buisson-Souef or in Paris, andwhom I have never seen again since. I will ask you to allow me torecount everything; even to the smallest details. This man's face struckme at once, on account of a singular resemblance; he paid no attention tome at first, and I was able to examine him at leisure. His manners werethose of a man belonging to the highest classes of society, and his dressindicated wealth. On seeing Edouard, he said to Madame de Lamotte--

"'So this is he?' and he then kissed him tenderly. This and the marks ofundisguised pleasure which he evinced surprised me, and I looked atMadame de Lamotte, who then remarked with some asperity--

"'I did not expect to see you, Monsieur Derues. I had not asked you toaccompany my son. '

"Edouard seemed quite as much surprised as I was. The stranger gave me alook of haughty annoyance, but seeing I did not avoid his glance hiscountenance assumed a more gentle expression, and Madame de Lamotteintroduced him as a person who took great interest in Edouard. "

"It is a whole tissue of imposture!" exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte. 

"Allow me to finish, " answered Derues. "I understand your doubts, andthat you are not anxious to believe what I say, but I have been broughthere by legal summons to tell the truth, and I am going to tell it. Youcan then weigh the two accusations in the balance, and choose betweenthem. The reputation of an honourable man is as sacred, as important, asworthy of credit as the reputation of a woman, and I never heard that thevirtue of the one was more fragile than that of the other. "

Monsieur de Lamotte, thunderstruck by such a revelation, could notcontain his impatience and indignation. 

"This, then, " he said, "is the explanation of an anonymous letter which Ireceived, and of the injurious suggestions' concerning my wife's honourwhich it contained; it was written to give an appearance of probabilityto this infamous legend. The whole thing is a disgraceful plot, and nodoubt Monsieur Derues wrote the letter himself. "

"I know nothing about it, " said Derues unconcernedly, "and theexplanation which you profess to find in it I should rather refer tosomething else I am going to mention. I did not know a secret warninghad been sent to you: I now learn it from you, and I understand perfectlythat such a letter, may have been written. But that you have receivedsuch a warning ought surely to be a reason for listening patiently andnot denouncing all I say as imposture. "

While saying this Derues mentally constructed the fresh falsehoodnecessitated by the interruption, but no variation of countenancebetrayed his thought. He had an air of dignity natural to his position. He saw that, in spite of clear-headedness and long practice in studyingthe most deceptive countenances, the magistrate so far had not scentedany of his falsehoods, and was getting bewildered in the windings of thislong narrative, through which Derues led him as he chose; and he resumedwith confidence--

"You know that I made Monsieur de Lamotte's acquaintance more than a yearago, and I had reason to believe his friendship as sincere as my own. Asa friend, I could not calmly accept the suspicion which then entered mymind, nor could I conceal my surprise. Madame de Lamotte saw this, andunderstood from my looks that I was not satisfied with the explanationshe wished me to accept. A glance of intelligence passed between her andher friend, who was still holding Edouard's hand. The day, though cold, was fine, and she proposed a walk in the park. I offered her my arm, andthe stranger walked in front with Edouard. We had a short conversation, which has remained indelibly fixed in my memory. 

"'Why did you come?' she inquired. 

"I did not answer, but looked sternly at her, in order to discompose her. At length I said--

"'You should have written, madame, and warned me that my coming would beindiscreet. '

"She seemed much disconcerted, and exclaimed--

"'I am lost! I see you guess everything, and will tell my husband. I aman unhappy woman, and a sin once committed can never be erased from thepages of a woman's life! Listen, Monsieur Derues, listen, I implore you!You see this man, I shall not tell you who he is, I shall not give hisname . . . But I loved him long ago; I should have been his wife, andhad he not been compelled to leave France, I should have married no oneelse. '"

Monsieur de Lamotte started, and grew pale. 

"What is the matter?" the magistrate inquired. 

"Oh! this dastardly wretch is profiting by his knowledge of secrets whicha long intimacy has enabled him to discover. Do not believe him, Ientreat you, do not believe him!"

Derues resumed. "Madame de Lamotte continued: 'I saw him again sixteenyears ago, always in hiding, always proscribed. To-day he reappearsunder a name which is not his own: he wishes to link my fate with his; hehas insisted on seeing Edouard. But I shall escape him. I have inventedthis fiction of placing my son among the, royal pages to account for mystay here. Do not contradict me, but help me; for a little time ago Imet one of Monsieur de Lamotte's friends, I am afraid he suspectedsomething. Say you have seen me several times; as you have come, let itbe known that you brought Edouard here. I shall return to Buisson assoon as possible, but will you go first, see my husband, satisfy him ifhe is anxious? I am in your hands; my honour, my reputation, my verylife, are at your mercy; you can either ruin or help to save me. I maybe guilty, but I am not corrupt. I have wept for my sin day after day, and I have already cruelly expiated it. '"

This execrable calumny was not related without frequent interruptions onthe part of Monsieur de Lamotte. He was, however, obliged to own tohimself that it was quite true that Marie Perier had really been promisedto a man whom an unlucky affair had driven into exile, and whom he hadsupposed to be dead. This revelation, coming from Derues, who had thestrongest interest in lying, by no means convinced him of his wife'sdishonour, nor destroyed the feelings of a husband and father; but Derueswas not speaking for him lone, and what appeared incredible to Monsieurde Lamotte might easily seem less improbable to the colder and lessinterested judgment of the magistrate. 

"I was wrong, " Derues continued, "in allowing myself to be touched by hertears, wrong in believing in her repentance, more wrong still in going toBuisson to satisfy her husband. But I only consented on conditions:Madame de Lamotte promised me to return shortly to Paris, vowing that herson should never know the truth, and that the rest of her life should bedevoted to atoning for her sin by a boundless devotion. She then beggedme to leave her, and told me she would write to me at Paris to fix theday of her return. This is what happened, and this is why I went toBuissan and gave my support to a lying fiction. With one word I mighthave destroyed the happiness of seventeen years. I did not wish to doso. I believed in the remorse; I believe in it still, in spite of allappearances; I have refused to speak this very day, and made every effortto prolong an illusion which I know it will be terrible to lose. "

There was a moment of silence. This fable, so atrociously ingenious, wassimply and impressively narrated, and with an air of candour wellcontrived to impose on the magistrate, or, at least, to suggest gravedoubts to his mind. Derues, with his usual cunning, had conformed hislanguage to the quality of his listener. Any tricks, profession ofpiety, quotations from sacred books, so largely indulged in when hewished to bamboozle people of a lower class, would here have told againsthim. He knew when to abstain, and carried the art of deception farenough to be able to lay aside the appearance of hypocrisy. He haddescribed all the circumstances without affectation, and if thisunexpected accusation was wholly unproved, it yet rested on a possiblefact, and did not appear absolutely incredible. The magistrate wentthrough it all again, and made him repeat every detail, without beingable to make him contradict himself or show the smallest embarrassment. While interrogating Derues, he kept his eyes fixed upon him; and thisdouble examination being quite fruitless, only increased his perplexity. However, he never relaxed the incredulous severity of his demeanour, northe imperative and threatening tone of his voice. 

"You acknowledge having been at Lyons?" he asked. 

"I have been there. "

"At the beginning of this examination you said you would explain thereason of this journey later. "

"I am ready to do so, for the journey is connected with the facts I havejust narrated; it was caused by them. "

"Explain it. "

"I again ask permission to relate fully. I did not hear from Versailles:I began to fear Monsieur de Lamotte's anxiety would bring him to Paris. Bound by the promise I had made to his wife to avert all suspicion and tosatisfy any doubts he might conceive, and, must I add, also rememberingthat it was important for me to inform him of our new arrangements, andof this payment of a hundred thousand livres. "

"That payment is assuredly fictitious, " interrupted Monsieur de Lamotte;"we must have some proof of it. "

"I will prove it presently, " answered Derues. "So I went to Buisson, asI have already told you. On my return I found a letter from Madame deLamotte, a letter with a Paris stamp, which had arrived that morning. Iwas surprised that she should write, when actually in Paris; I opened theletter, and was still more surprised. I have not the letter with me, butI recollect the sense of it perfectly, if not the wording, and I canproduce it if necessary. Madame de Lamotte was at Lyons with her son andthis person whose name I do not know, and whom I do not care to mentionbefore her husband. She had confided this letter to a person who wascoming to Paris, and who was to bring it me; but this individual, whosename was Marquis, regretted that having to start again immediately, hewas obliged to entrust it to the post. This is the sense of itscontents. Madame de Lamotte wrote that she found herself obliged tofollow this nameless person to Lyons; and she begged me to send her newsof her husband and of the state of his affairs, but said not one singleword of any probable return. I became very uneasy at the news of thisclandestine departure. I had no security except a private contractannulling our first agreement on the payment of one hundred thousandlivres, and that this was not a sufficient and regular receipt I knew, because the lawyer had already refused to surrender Monsieur de Lamotte'spower of attorney. I thought over all the difficulties which thisflight, which would have to be kept secret, was likely to produce, and Istarted for Lyons without writing or giving any notice of my intention. I had no information, I did not even know whether Madame de Lamotte waspassing by another name, as at Versailles, but chance decreed that I mether the very day of my arrival. She was alone, and complained bitterlyof her fate, saying she had been compelled to follow this individual toLyons, but that very soon she would be free and would return to Paris. But I was struck by the uncertainty of her manner, and said I should notleave her without obtaining a deed in proof of our recent arrangements. She refused at first, saying it was unnecessary, as she would so soonreturn; but I insisted strongly. I told her I had already com promisedmyself by telling Monsieur de Lamotte that she was at Versailles, endeavouring to procure an appointment for her son; that since she hadbeen compelled to come to Lyons, the same person might take herelsewhere, so that she might disappear any day, might leave Francewithout leaving any trace, without any written acknowledgment of her owndishonour; and that when all these falsehoods were discovered, I shouldappear in the light of an accomplice. I said also that, as she hadunfortunately lodged in my house in Paris, and had requested me to removeher son from his school, explanations would be required from me, andperhaps I should be accused of this double disappearance. Finally, Ideclared that if she did not give me some proofs of her existence, willingly or unwillingly, I would go at once to a magistrate. Myfirmness made her reflect. 'My good Monsieur Derues, ' she said, 'I askyour forgiveness for all the trouble I have caused you. I will give youthis deed to-morrow, to-day it is too late; but come to this same placeto-morrow, and you shall see me again. ' I hesitated, I confess, to lether go. 'Ah, ' she said, grasping my hands, 'do not suspect me ofintending to deceive you! I swear that I will meet you here at fouro'clock. It is enough that I have ruined myself, and perhaps my son, without also entangling you in my unhappy fate. Yes, you are right; thisdeed is important, necessary for you, and you shall have it. But do notshow yourself here; if you were seen, I might not be able to do what Iought to do. To-morrow you shall see me again, I swear it. ' She thenleft me. The next day, the 12th, of March, I was exact at the rendezvous, and Madame de Lamotte arrived a moment later. She gave me a deed, authorising her husband to receive the arrears of thirty thousand livresremaining from the purchase-money of Buisson-Souef. I endeavoured againto express my opinion of her conduct; she listened in silence, as if mywords affected her deeply. We were walking together, when she told meshe had some business in a house we were passing, and asked me to waitfor her. I waited more than an hour, and then discovered that thishouse, like many others in Lyons, had an exit in another street; and Iunderstood that Madame de Lamotte had escaped by this passage, and that Imight wait in vain. Concluding that trying to follow her would beuseless, and seeing also that any remonstrance would be made in vain, Ireturned to Paris, deciding to say nothing as yet, and to conceal thetruth as long as possible. I still had hopes, and I did not count onbeing so soon called on to defend myself: I thought that when I had tospeak, it would be as a friend, and not as an accused person. This, sir, is the explanation of my conduct, and I regret that this justification, so easy for myself, should be so cruelly painful for another. You haveseen the efforts which I made to defer it. "

Monsieur de Lamotte had heard this second part of Derues' recital with amore silent indignation, not that he admitted its probability, but he wasconfounded by this monstrous imposture, and, as it were, terror-strickenby such profound hypocrisy. His mind revolted at the idea of his wifebeing accused of adultery; but while he repelled this charge withdecision, he saw the confirmation of his secret terrors andpresentiments, and his heart sank within him at the prospect of exploringthis abyss of iniquity. He was pale, gasping for breath, as though hehimself had been the criminal, while scorching tears furrowed his cheeks. He tried to speak, but his voice failed; he wanted to fling back atDerues the names of traitor and assassin, and he was obliged to bear insilence the look of mingled grief and pity which the latter bestowed uponhim. 

The magistrate, calmer, and master of his emotions, but tolerablybewildered in this labyrinth of cleverly connected lies, thought itdesirable to ask some further questions. 

"How, " said he, "did you obtain this sum of a hundred thousand livreswhich you say you paid over to Madame de Lamotte?"

"I have been engaged in business for several years, and have acquiredsome fortune. "

"Nevertheless, you have postponed the obligation of making this paymentseveral times, so that Monsieur de Lamotte had begun to feel uneasinesson the subject. This was the chief reason of his wife's coming toParis. "

"One sometimes experiences momentary difficulties, which presentlydisappear. "

"You say you have a deed given you at Lyons by Madame de Lamotte, whichyou were to give to her husband?"

"It is here. "

The magistrate examined the deed carefully, and noted the name of thelawyer in whose office it had been drawn up. 

"You may go, " he said at last. 

"What!" exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte. 

Derues stopped, but the magistrate signed to him to go, intimating, however, that he was on no account to leave Paris. 

"But, " said Monsieur de Lamotte, when they were alone, "this man isindeed guilty. My wife has not betrayed me! She!--forget her duties asa wife! she was virtue incarnate! Ah! I assure you these terriblecalumnies are invented to conceal double crime! I throw myself at yourfeet, --I implore your justice!"

"Rise, monsieur. This is only a preliminary examination, and I confessthat, so far, he comes well out of it, for imagination can hardlyunderstand such a depth of deceit. I watched him closely the whole time, and I could discover no sign of alarm, no contradiction, in either faceor language; if guilty, he must be the greatest hypocrite that everexisted. But I shall neglect nothing: if a criminal is allowed toflatter himself with impunity, he frequently forgets to be prudent, and Ihave seen many betray themselves when they thought they had nothing tofear. Patience, and trust to the justice of both God and man. "

Several days passed, and Derues flattered him self the danger was over:his every action mean while was most carefully watched, but so that heremained unaware of the surveillance. A police officer named Mutel, distinguished for activity and intelligence beyond his fellows, wascharged with collecting information and following any trail. All hisbloodhounds were in action, and hunted Paris thoroughly, but could tracenothing bearing on the fate of Madame de Lamotte and her son. Mutel, however, soon discovered that in the rue Saint Victor, Derues hadfailed--three successive times, that he had been pursued by numerouscreditors, and been often near imprisonment for debt, and that in 1771 hehad been publicly accused of incendiarism. He reported on these variouscircumstances, and then went himself to Derues' abode, where he obtainedno results. Madame Derues declared that she knew nothing whatever, andthe police, having vainly searched the whole house, had to retire. Derues himself was absent; when he returned he found another order toappear before the magistrate. 

His first success had encouraged him. He appeared before the magistrateaccompanied by a lawyer and full of confidence, complaining loudly thatthe police, in searching during his absence, had offended against therights of a domiciled burgess, and ought to have awaited his return. Affecting a just indignation at Monsieur de Lamotte's conduct towardshim, he presented a demand that the latter should be declared acalumniator, and should pay damages for the injury caused to hisreputation. But this time his effrontery and audacity were of littleavail, the magistrate easily detected him in flagrant lies. He declaredat first that he had paid the hundred thousand livres with his own moneybut when reminded of his various bankruptcies, the claims of hiscreditors, and the judgments obtained against him as an insolvent debtor, he made a complete volte-face, and declared he had borrowed the moneyfrom an advocate named Duclos, to whom he had given a bond in presence ofa notary. In spite of all his protestations, the magistrate committedhim to solitary confinement at Fort l'Eveque. 

As yet, nothing was publicly known; but vague reports and gossip, carriedfrom shop to shop, circulated among the people, and began to reach thehigher classes of society. The infallible instinct which is arousedamong the masses is truly marvellous; a great crime is committed, whichseems at first likely to defeat justice, and the public conscience isaroused. Long before the tortuous folds which envelop the mystery can bepenetrated, while it is still sunk in profound obscurity, the voice ofthe nation, like an excited hive, buzzes around the secret; though themagistrates doubt, the public curiosity fixes itself, and never leavesgo; if the criminal's hiding-place is changed, it follows the track, points it out, descries it in the gloom. This is what happened on thenews of Derues' arrest. The affair was everywhere discussed, althoughthe information was incomplete, reports inexact, and no real publicity tobe obtained. The romance which Derues had invented by way of defence, and which became known as well as Monsieur de Lamotte's accusation, obtained no credence whatever; on the contrary, all the reports to hisdiscredit were eagerly adopted. As yet, no crime could be traced, butthe public presentiment divined an atrocious one. Have we not often seensimilar agitations? The names of Bastide, of Castaing, of Papavoine, hadhardly been pronounced before they completely absorbed all the publicattention, and this had to be satisfied, light had to be thrown on thedarkness: society demanded vengeance. 

Derues felt some alarm in his dungeon, but his presence of mind and hisdissimulation in no wise deserted him, and he swore afresh every day tothe truth of his statements. But his last false assertion turned againsthim: the bond for a hundred thousand livres which he professed to havegiven to Duclos was a counterfeit which Duclos had annulled by a sort ofcounter declaration made the same day. Another circumstance, intended toensure his safety, only redoubled suspicion. On April 8th, notes payableto order to the amount of seventy-eight thousand livres, were received byMonsieur de Lamotte's lawyer, as if coming from Madame de Lamotte. Itappeared extraordinary that these notes, which arrived in an ordinarystamped envelope, should not be accompanied by any letter of advice, andsuspicion attached to Madame Derues, who hitherto had remained unnoticed. An inquiry as to where the packet had been posted soon revealed theoffice, distinguished by a letter of the alphabet, and the postmasterdescribed a servant-maid who had brought the letter and paid for it. Thedescription resembled the Derues' servant; and this girl, much alarmed, acknowledged, after a great deal of hesitation, that she had posted theletter in obedience to her mistress's orders. Whereupon Madame Derueswas sent as a prisoner to Fort l'Eveque, and her husband transferred tothe Grand-Chatelet. On being interrogated, she at length owned that shehad sent these notes to Monsieur de Lamotte's lawyer, and that herhusband had given them her in an envelope hidden in the soiled linen forwhich she had brought him clean in exchange. 

All this certainly amounted to serious presumptive evidence of guilt, andif Derues had shown himself to the multitude, which followed every phaseof the investigation with increasing anxiety, a thousand arms would havewillingly usurped the office of the executioner; but the distance thenceto actual proof of murder was enormous for the magistracy. Deruesmaintained his tranquillity, always asserting that Madame de Lamotte andher son were alive, and would clear him by their reappearance. Neitherthreats nor stratagems succeeded in making him contradict himself, andhis assurance shook the strongest conviction. A new difficulty was addedto so much uncertainty. 

A messenger had been sent off secretly with all haste to Lyons; hisreturn was awaited for a test which it was thought would be decisive. 

One morning Derues was fetched from his prison and taken to a lower hallof the Conciergerie. He received no answers to the questions addressedto his escort, and this silence showed him the necessity of being on hisguard and preserving his imperturbable demeanour whatever might happen. On arriving, he found the commissioner of police, Mutel, and some otherpersons. The hall being very dark, had been illuminated with severaltorches, and Derues was so placed that the light fell strongly on hisface, and was then ordered to look towards a particular part of the hall. As he did so, a door opened, and a man entered. Derues beheld him withindifference, and seeing that the stranger was observing him attentively, he bowed to him as one might bow to an unknown person whose curiosityseems rather unusual. 

It was impossible to detect the slightest trace of emotion, a hand placedon his heart would not have felt an increased pulsation, yet thisstranger's recognition would be fatal!

Mutel approached the new-comer and whispered--

"Do you recognise him?"

"No, I do not. "

"Have the kindness to leave the room for a moment; we will ask you toreturn immediately. "

This individual was the lawyer in whose office at Lyons the deed had beendrawn up which Derues had signed, disguised as a woman, and under thename of Marie-Francoise Perier, wife of the Sieur de Lamotte. 

A woman's garments were brought in, and Derues was ordered to put themon, which he did readily, affecting much amusement. As he was assistedto disguise himself, he laughed, stroked his chin and assumed mincingairs, carrying effrontery so far as to ask for a mirror. 

"I should like to see if it is becoming, " he said; "perhaps I might makesome conquests. "

The lawyer returned: Derues was made to pass before him, to sit at atable, sign a paper, in fact to repeat everything it was imagined hemight have said or done in the lawyer's office. This second attempt atidentification succeeded no better than the first. The lawyer hesitated;then, understanding all the importance of his deposition, he refused toswear to anything, and finally declared that this was not the person whohad come to him at Lyons. 

"I am sorry, sir, " said Derues, as they removed him, "that you shouldhave been troubled by having to witness this absurd comedy. Do not blameme for it; but ask Heaven to enlighten those who do not fear to accuseme. As for me, knowing that my innocence will shortly be made clear, Ipardon them henceforth. "

Although justice at this period was generally expeditious, and the livesof accused persons were by no means safe-guarded as they now are, it wasimpossible to condemn Derues in the absence of any positive proofs ofguilt. He knew this, and waited patiently in his prison for the momentwhen he should triumph over the capital accusation which weighed againsthim. The storm no longer thundered over his head, the most terribletrials were passed, the examinations became less frequent, and there wereno more surprises to dread. The lamentations of Monsieur de Lamotte wentto the hearts of the magistrates, but his certainty could not establishtheirs, and they pitied, but could not avenge him. In certain minds asort of reaction favourable to the prisoner began to set in. Among thedupes of Derues' seeming piety, many who at first held their peace underthese crushing accusations returned to their former opinion. The bigotsand devotees, all who made a profession of kneeling in the churches, ofpublicly crossing themselves and dipping their fingers in the holy water, and who lived on cant and repetitions of "Amen" and "Alleluia, " talked ofpersecution, of martyrdom, until Derues nearly became a saint destined bythe Almighty to find canonisation in a dungeon. Hence arose quarrels andarguments; and this abortive trial, this unproved accusation, kept thepublic imagination in a constant ferment. 

To the greater part of those who talk of the "Supreme Being, " and whoexpect His intervention in human affairs, "Providence" is only a word, solemn and sonorous, a sort of theatrical machine which sets all right inthe end, and which they glorify with a few banalities proceeding from thelips, but not from the heart. It is true that this unknown andmysterious Cause which we call "God" or "Chance" often appears soexceedingly blind and deaf that one may be permitted to wonder whethercertain crimes are really set apart for punishment, when so many othersapparently go scot-free. How many murders remain buried in the night ofthe tomb! how many outrageous and avowed crimes have slept peacefully inan insolent and audacious prosperity! We know the names of manycriminals, but who can tell the number of unknown and forgotten victims?The history of humanity is twofold, and like that of the invisible world, which contains marvels unexplored by the science of the visible one, thehistory recounted in books is by no means the most curious and strange. But without delaying over questions such as these, without protestinghere against sophistries which cloud the conscience and hide the presenceof an avenging Deity, we leave the facts to the general judgment, andhave now to relate the last episode in this long and terrible drama. 

Of all the populous quarters of Paris which commented on the "affaireDerues, " none showed more excitement than that of the Greve, and amongstall the surrounding streets none could boast more numerous crowds thanthe rue de la Mortellerie. Not that a secret instinct magnetised thecrowd in the very place where the proof lay buried, but that each day itsattention was aroused by a painful spectacle. A pale and grief-strickenman, whose eyes seemed quenched in tears, passed often down the street, hardly able to drag himself along; it was Monsieur de Lamotte, wholodged, as we have said, in the rue de la Mortellerie, and who seemedlike a spectre wandering round a tomb. The crowd made way and uncoveredbefore him, everybody respected such terrible misfortune, and when he hadpassed, the groups formed up again, and continued discussing the mysteryuntil nightfall. 

On April 17th, about four in the afternoon, a score of workmen andgossiping women had collected in front of a shop. A stout woman, standing on the lowest step, like an orator in the tribune, held forthand related for the twentieth time what she knew, or rather, did notknow. There were listening ears and gaping mouths, even a slight shudderran through the group; for the widow Masson, discovering a gift ofeloquence at the age of sixty, contrived to mingle great warmth and muchindignation in her recital. All at once silence fell on the crowd, and apassage was made for Monsieur de Lamotte. One man ventured to ask--

"Is there anything fresh to-day?"

A sad shake of the head was the only answer, and the unhappy mancontinued his way. 

"Is that Monsieur de Lamotte?" inquired a particularly dirty woman, whosecap, stuck on the side of her, head, allowed locks of grey hair tostraggle from under it. "Ah! is that Monsieur de Lamotte?"

"Dear me!" said a neighbour, "don't you know him by this time? He passesevery day. "

"Excuse me! I don't belong to this quarter, and--no offence--but it isnot so beautiful as to bring one out of curiosity! Nothing personal--butit is rather dirty. "

Madame is probably accustomed to use a carriage. "

"That would suit you better than me, my dear, and would save your havingto buy shoes to keep your feet off the ground!"

The crowd seemed inclined to hustle the speaker, --

"Wait a moment!" she continued, "I didn't mean to offend anyone. I am apoor woman, but there's no disgrace in that, and I can afford a glass ofliqueur. Eh, good gossip, you understand, don't you? A drop of the bestfor Mother Maniffret, and if my fine friend there will drink with me tosettle our difference, I will stand her a glass. "

The example set by the old hawker was contagious, and instead of fillingtwo little glasses only, widow Masson dispensed a bottleful. 

"Come, you have done well, " cried Mother Maniffret; "my idea has broughtyou luck. "

"Faith! not before it was wanted, either!"

"What! are you complaining of trade too?"

"Ah! don't mention it; it is miserable!"

"There's no trade at all. I scream myself hoarse all day, and chokemyself for twopence halfpenny. I don't know what's to come of it all. But you seem to have a nice little custom. "

"What's the good of that, with a whole house on one's hands? It's justmy luck; the old tenants go, and the new ones don't come. "

"What's the matter, then?"

"I think the devil's in it. There was a nice man on the firstfloor-gone; a decent family on the third, all right except that the manbeat his wife every night, and made such a row that no one couldsleep--gone also. I put up notices--no one even looks at them! A fewmonths ago--it was the middle of December, the day of the lastexecution--"

"The 15th, then, " said the hawker. "I cried it, so I know; it's mytrade, that. "

"Very well, then, the 15th, " resumed widow Masson. "On that day, then, Ilet the cellar to a man who said he was a wine merchant, and who paid aterm in advance, seeing that I didn't know him, and wouldn't have lenthim a farthing on the strength of his good looks. He was a little bit ofa man, no taller than that, "--contemptuously holding out her hand, --"andhe had two round eyes which I didn't like at, all. He certainly paid, hedid that, but we are more than half through the second term and I have nonews of my tenant. "

"And have you never seen him since?"

"Yes, once--no, twice. Let's see--three times, I am sure. He came witha hand-cart and a commissionaire, and had a big chest taken downstairs--acase which he said contained wine in bottles. . . . 

"No, he came before that, with a workman I think. 

"Really, I don't know if it was before or after--doesn't matter. Anyhow, it was bottled wine. The third time he brought a mason, and I am surethey quarreled. I heard their voices. He carried off the key, and Ihave seen neither him nor his wine again. I have another key, and I wentdown one day; perhaps the rats have drunk the wine and eaten the chest, for there certainly is nothing there any more than there is in my handnow. Nevertheless, I saw what I saw. A big chest, very big, quite new, and corded all round with strong rope. "

"Now, what day was that?" asked the hawker. 

"What day? Well, it was--no, I can't remember. "

"Nor I either; I am getting stupid. Let's have another littleglass-shall we? just to clear our memories!"

The expedient was not crowned with success, the memories failed torecover themselves. The crowd waited, attentive, as may be supposed. Suddenly the hawker exclaimed:

"What a fool I am! I am going to find that, if only I have still gotit. "

She felt eagerly in the pocket of her underskirt, and produced severalpieces of dirty, crumpled paper. As she unfolded one after another, sheasked:

"A big chest, wasn't it?"

"Yes, very big. "

"And quite new?"

"Quite new. "

"And corded?"

"Yes, I can see it now. "

"So can I, good gracious! It was the day when I sold the history ofLeroi de Valines, the 1st of February. "

"Yes, it was a Saturday; the next day was Sunday. "

"That's it, that's it!--Saturday, February 1st. Well, I know that chesttoo! I met your wine merchant on the Place du Louvre, and he wasn'tprecisely enjoying himself: one of his creditors wanted to seize thechest, the wine, the whole kettle of fish! A little man, isn't he?--ascarecrow?"

"Just SO. "

"And has red hair?"

"That's the man. "

"And looks a hypocrite?"

"You've hit it exactly. "

"And he is a hypocrite! enough to make one shudder! No doubt he can'tpay his rent! A thief, my dears, a beggarly thief, who set fire to hisown cellar, and who accused me of trying to steal from him, while it washe who cheated me, the villain, out of a piece of twenty-four sous. It'slucky I turned up here! Well, well, we shall have some fun! Here'sanother little business on your hands, and you will have to say wherethat wine has got to, my dear gossip Derues. "

"Derues!" cried twenty voices all at once. 

"What! Derues who is in Prison?"

"Why, that's Monsieur de Lamotte's man. "

"The man who killed Madame de Lamotte?"

"The man who made away with her son?"

"A scoundrel, my dears, who accused me of stealing, an absolute monster!"

"It is just a little unfortunate, " said widow Masson, "that it isn't theman. My tenant calls himself Ducoudray. There's his name on theregister. "

"Confound it, that doesn't look like it at all, " said the hawker: "nowthat's a bore! Oh yes, I have a grudge against that thief, who accusedme of stealing. I told him I should sell his history some day. Whenthat happens, I'll treat you all round. "

As a foretaste of the fulfilment of this promise, the company disposed ofa second bottle of liqueur, and, becoming excited, they chattered atrandom for some time, but at length slowly dispersed, and the streetrelapsed into the silence of night. But, a few hours later, theinhabitants were surprised to see the two ends occupied by unknownpeople, while other sinister-looking persons patrolled it all night, asif keeping guard. The next morning a carriage escorted by police stoppedat the widow Masson's door. An officer of police got out and entered aneighbouring house, whence he emerged a quarter of an hour later withMonsieur de Lamotte leaning on his arm. The officer demanded the key ofthe cellar which last December had been hired from the widow Masson by aperson named Ducoudray, and went down to it with Monsieur de Lamotte andone of his subordinates. 

The carriage standing at the door, the presence of the commissionerMutel, the chatter of the previous evening, had naturally rousedeverybody's imagination. But this excitement had to be kept for homeuse: the whole street was under arrest, and its inhabitants wereforbidden to leave their houses. The windows, crammed with anxiousfaces, questioning each other, in the expectation of something wonderful, were a curious sight; and the ignorance in which they remained, thesemysterious preparations, these orders silently executed, doubled thecuriosity, and added a sort of terror: no one could see the persons whohad accompanied the police officer; three men remained in the carriage, one guarded by the two others. When the heavy coach turned into the ruede la Mortellerie, this man had bent towards the closed window andasked--

"Where are we?"

And when they answered him, he said--

"I do not know this street; I was never in it. "

After saying this quite quietly, he asked--

"Why am I brought here?"

As no one replied, he resumed his look of indifference, and betrayed noemotion, neither when the carriage stopped nor when he saw Monsieur deLamotte enter the widow Masson's house. 

The officer reappeared on the threshold, and ordered Derues to be broughtin. 

The previous evening, detectives, mingling with the crowd, had listenedto the hawker's story of having met Derues near the Louvre escorting alarge chest. The police magistrate was informed in the course of theevening. It was an indication, a ray of light, perhaps the actual truth, detached from obscurity by chance gossip; and measures were instantlytaken to prevent anyone either entering or leaving the street withoutbeing followed and examined. Mutel thought he was on the track, but thecriminal might have accomplices also on the watch, who, warned in time, might be able to remove the proofs of the crime, if any existed. 

Derues was placed between two men who each held an arm. A third wentbefore, holding a torch. The commissioner, followed by men also carryingtorches, and provided with spades and pickaxes, came behind, and in thisorder they descended to the vault. It was a dismal and terrifyingprocession; anyone beholding these dark and sad countenances, this paleand resigned man, passing thus into these damp vaults illuminated by theflickering glare of torches, might well have thought himself the victimof illusion and watching some gloomy execution in a dream. But all wasreal and when light penetrated this dismal charnel-house it seemed atonce to illuminate its secret depths, so that the light of truth might atlength penetrate these dark shadows, and that the voice of the dead wouldspeak from the earth and the walls. 

"Wretch!" exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte, when he saw Derues appear, "isit here that you murdered my wife and my son?"

Derues looked calmly at him, and replied--

"I beg you, sir, not to add insult to the misfortunes you have alreadycaused. If you stood in my place and I were in yours, I should feel somepity and respect for so terrible a position. What do you want me? andwhy am I brought here?"

He did not know the events of last evening, and could only mentallyaccuse the mason who had helped to bury the chest. He felt that he waslost, but his audacity never forsook him. 

"You are here, in the first place, to be confronted with this woman, "said the officer, causing the widow Masson to stand opposite to him. 

"I do not know her. "

"But I know you, and know you well. It was you who hired this cellarunder the name of Ducoudray. "

Derues shrugged his shoulders and answered bitterly--

"I can understand a man being condemned to the torture if he is guilty, but that in order to accomplish one's mission as accuser, and to discovera criminal, false witnesses who can give no evidence should be brought ahundred leagues, that the rabble should be roused up, that divers facesand imaginary names should be bestowed on an innocent man, in order toturn a movement of surprise or an indignant gesture to his disadvantage, all this is iniquitous, and goes beyond the right of judgment bestowedupon men by God. I do not know this woman, and no matter what she saysor does, I shall say no more. "

Neither the skill nor threats of the police officer could shake thisresolution. It was to no purpose that the widow Masson repeated andasseverated that she recognised him as her tenant Ducoudray, and that hehad had a large case of wine taken down into the cellar; Derues foldedhis arms, and remained as motionless as if he had been blind and deaf. 

The walls were sounded, the stones composing them carefully examined, thefloor pierced in several places, but nothing unusual was discovered. 

Would they have to give it up? Already the officer was making signs tothis effect, when the man who had remained at first below with Monsieurde Lamotte, and who, standing in shadow, had carefully watched Derueswhen he was brought down, came forward, and pointing to the recess underthe stairs, said--

"Examine this corner. The prisoner glanced involuntarily in thisdirection when he came down; I have watched him, and it is the only signhe has given. I was the only person who could see him, and he did notsee me. He is very clever, but one can't be for ever on one's guard, andmay the devil take me if I haven't scented the hiding-place. "

"Wretch!" said Derues to himself, "then you have had your hand on me fora whole hour, and amused yourself by prolonging my agony! Oh! I ought tohave known it; I have found my master. Never mind, you shall learnnothing from my face, nor yet from the decaying body you will find; wormsand poison can only have left an unrecognisable corpse. "

An iron rod sunk into the ground, encountered a hard substance some fourfeet below. Two men set to work, and dug with energy. Every eye wasfixed upon this trench increasing in depth with every shovelful of earthwhich the two labourers cast aside. Monsieur de Lamotte was nearlyfainting, and his emotion impressed everyone except Derues. At lengththe silence was broken by the spades striking heavily on wood, and thenoise made everyone shudder. The chest was uncovered and hoisted out ofthe trench; it was opened, and the body of a woman was seen, clad only ina chemise, with a red and white headband, face downwards. The body wasturned over, and Monsieur de Lamotte recognised his wife, not yetdisfigured. 

The feeling of horror was so great that no one spoke or uttered a sound. Derues, occupied in considering the few chances which remained to him, had not observed that, by the officer's order, one of the guards had leftthe cellar before the men began to dig. Everybody had drawn back bothfrom the corpse and the murderer, who alone had not moved, and who wasrepeating prayers. The flame of the torches placed on the ground cast areddish light on this silent and terrible scene. 

Derues started and turned round on hearing a terrified cry behind him. His wife had just been brought to the cellar. The commissioner seizedher with one hand, and taking a torch in the other, compelled her to lookdown on the body. 

"It is Madame de Lamotte!" she exclaimed. 

"Yes, yes, " she answered, overwhelmed with terror, --"yes, I recogniseher!"

Unable to support the sight any longer, she grew pale and fainted away. She and her husband were removed separately. One would have supposed thediscovery was already known outside, for the people showered curses andcries of "Assassin!" and "Poisoner!" on the carriage which conveyedDerues. He remained silent during the drive, but before re-entering hisdungeon, he said--

"I must have been mad when I sought to hide the death and burial ofMadame de Lamotte from public knowledge. It is the only sin I havecommitted, and, innocent of aught else, I resign myself as a Christian tothe judgment of God. "

It was the only line of defence which remained open to him, and he clungto it, with the hope of imposing on the magistrates by redoubledhypocrisy and pious observances. But all this laboriously constructedscaffolding of lies was shaken to its base and fell away piece by piece. Every moment brought fresh and overwhelming revelations. He professedthat Madame de Lamotte had died suddenly in his house, and that, fearingsuspicion, he had buried her secretly. But the doctors called on toexamine the body declared that she had been poisoned with corrosivesublimate and opium. The pretended payment was clearly an odiousimposture, the receipt a forgery! Then, like a threatening spectre, arose another question, to which he found no reply, and his own inventionturned against him. 

Why, knowing his mother was no more, had he taken young de Lamotte toVersailles? What had become of the youth? What had befallen, him? Onceon the track, the cooper with whom he had lodged on the 12th of Februarywas soon discovered, and an Act of Parliament ordered the exhumation ofthe corpse buried under the name of Beaupre, which the cooper identifiedby a shirt which he had given for the burial. Derues, confounded by theevidence, asserted that the youth died of indigestion and venerealdisease. But the doctors again declared the presence of corrosivesublimate and opium. All this evidence of guilt he met with assumedresignation, lamenting incessantly for Edouard, whom he declared he hadloved as his own son. "Alas!" he said, "I see that poor boy every night!But it softens my grief to know that he was not deprived of the lastconsolations of religion! God, who sees me, and who knows my innocence, will enlighten the magistrates, and my honour will be vindicated. "

The evidence being complete, Derues was condemned by sentence of theChatelet, pronounced April 30th, and confirmed by Parliament, May 5th. We give the decree as it is found in the archives:

"This Court having considered the trial held before the Provost of Paris, or his Deputy-Lieutenant at the Chatelet, for the satisfaction of theaforesaid Deputy at the aforesaid Chatelet, at the request of the Deputyof the King's Attorney General at the aforesaid Court, summoner andplaintiff, against Antoine-Francois Derues, and Marie-Louise Nicolais, his wife, defendants and accused, prisoners in the prisons of theConciergerie of the Palace at Paris, who have appealed from the sentencegiven at the aforesaid trial, the thirtieth day of April 1777, by whichthe aforesaid Antoine-Francois Derues has been declared duly attaintedand convicted of attempting unlawfully to appropriate without payment, the estate of Buissony Souef, belonging to the Sieur and Dame de SaintFaust de Lamotte, from whom he had bought the said estate by privatecontract on the twenty-second day of December 1775, and also of havingunworthily abused the hospitality shown by him since the sixteenth day ofDecember last towards the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte, who arrived in Parison the aforesaid day in order to conclude with him the bargain agreed onin December 1775, and who, for this purpose, and at his request, lodgedwith her son in the house of the said Derues, who of premeditated designpoisoned the said Dame de Lamotte, whether by a medicine composed andprepared by him on the thirtieth day of January last, or by the beveragesand drinks administered by him after the aforesaid medicine (he havingtaken the precaution to send his servant into the country for two orthree days), and to keep away strangers from the room where the said Damede Lamotte was lying), from the effects of which poison the said Dame deLamotte died on the night of the said thirty-first day of January last;also of having kept her demise secret, and of having himself enclosed ina chest the body of the said Dame de Lamotte, which he then caused to besecretly transported to a cellar in the rue de la Mortellerie hired byhim for this purpose, under the assumed name of Ducoudray, wherein heburied it himself, or caused it to be buried; also of having persuadedthe son of the above Dame de Lamotte (who, with his mother, had lodged inhis house from the time of their arrival in Paris until the fifteenth dayof January, last, --and who had then been placed in a school that theaforesaid Dame de Lamotte was at Versailles and desired him to join herthere, and, under this pretence, of having conducted the said youngerSieur de Lamotte, the twelfth day of February (after having given himsome chocolate), to the aforesaid town of Versailles, to a lodging hiredat a cooper's, and of having there wilfully poisoned him, either in thechocolate taken by the said younger Sieur de Lamotte before starting, orin beverages and medicaments which the said Derues himself prepared, mixed, and administered to the aforesaid Sieur de Lamotte the younger, during the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth days of Februarylast, having kept him lying ill in the aforesaid hired room, and havingrefused to call in physicians or surgeons, notwithstanding the progressof the malady, and the representations made to him on the subject, sayingthat he himself was a physician and surgeon; from which poison the saidSieur de Lamotte the younger died on the fifteenth day of February last, at nine o'clock in the evening, in the arms of the aforesaid Derues, who, affecting the deepest grief, and shedding tears, actually exhorted theaforesaid Sieur de Lamotte to confession, and repeated the prayers forthe dying; after which he himself laid out the body for burial, sayingthat the deceased had begged him to do so, and telling the people of thehouse that he had died of venereal disease; also of having caused him tobe buried the next day in the churchyard of the parish church of SaintLouis at the aforesaid Versailles, and of having entered the deceased inthe register of the said parish under a false birthplace, and the falsename of Beaupre, which name the said Derues had himself assumed onarriving at the said lodging, and had given to the said Sieur de Lamottethe younger, whom he declared to be his nephew. Also, to cover theseatrocities, and in order to appropriate to himself the aforesaid estateof Buisson-Souef, he is convicted of having calumniated the aforesaidDame de Lamotte, and of having used various manoeuvres and practisedseveral deceptions, to wit--

"First, in signing, or causing to be signed, the names of the above Damede Lamotte to a deed of private contract between the said Derues and hiswife on one side and the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte by right of a power ofattorney given by her husband on the other (the which deed is dated thetwelfth day of February, and was therefore written after the decease ofthe said Dame de Lamotte); by which deed the said Dame de Lamotte appearsto change the previous conventions agreed on in the first deed of thetwenty-second of December in the year 1775, and acknowledges receipt fromthe said Derues of a sum of one hundred thousand livres, as being theprice of the estate of Buisson;

"Secondly, in signing before a notary, the ninth day of February last, afeigned acknowledgment for a third part of a hundred thousand livres, inorder to give credence to the pretended payment made by him;

"Thirdly, in announcing and publishing, and attesting even by oath at thetime of an examination before the commissioner Mutel, that he had reallypaid in cash to the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte the aforesaid hundredthousand livres, and that she, being provided with this money, had fledwith her son and a certain person unknown;

"Fourthly, in depositing with a notary the deed of private contractbearing the pretended receipt for the above sum of one hundred thousandlivres, end pursuing at law the execution of this deed and of his claimto the possession of the said estate;

"Fifthly, in signing or causing to be signed by another person, beforethe notaries of the town of Lyons, whither he had gone for this purpose, a deed dated the twelfth day of March, by which the supposed Dame deLamotte appeared to accept the payment of the hundred thousand livres, and to give authority to the Sieur de Lamotte, her husband, to receivethe arrears of the remainder of the price of the said estate, the whichdeed he produced as a proof of the existence of the said Dame de Lamotte;

"Sixthly, in causing to be sent, by other hands, under the name of theaforesaid Dame de Lamotte, to a lawyer, on the eighth day o f April 1777(at a time when he was in prison, and had been compelled to abandon thefable that he had paid the aforesaid sum of one hundred thousand livresin hard cash, and had substituted a pretended payment made in notes), thenotes pretended to have been given by him in payment to the said Dame deLamotte;

"Seventh, and finally, in maintaining constantly, until the discovery ofthe body of the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte, that the said Dame was stillalive, and that he had seen her at the town of Lyons, as has been statedabove. 

"In atonement has been condemned, etc. Etc. Etc. 

"His goods are hereby declared acquired and confiscated to the King, orto whomsoever His Majesty shall appoint, first deducting the sum of twohundred livres as fine for the King, in case the confiscation is not tothe sole profit of His Majesty; and also the sum of six hundred livresfor masses to be said for the repose of the souls of the aforesaid Damede Lamotte and her son. And, before being executed, the saidAntoine-Francois Derues shall suffer the question ordinary andextraordinary, in order that from his mouth may be learned the truth ofthese facts, and also the names of his accomplices. And the decision ofthe judges in the proceedings with regard to the above-mentionedMarie-Louise Nicolais, wife of Derues, is delayed until after theexecution of the above sentence. It is also decreed that the mortuaryact of the aforesaid de Lamotte the younger, dated the sixteenth day ofFebruary last, in the register of deaths belonging to the parish churchof Saint-Louis at Versailles, be amended, and his correct names besubstituted, in order that the said Sieur de Lamotte, the father, andother persons interested, may produce said names before the magistratesif required. And it is also decreed that this sentence be printed andpublished by the deputy of the Attorney-General at the Chatelet, andaffixed to the walls in the usual places and cross roads of the town, provostship and viscounty of Paris, and wherever else requisite. 

"With regard to the petition of Pierre-Etienne de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, a Royal Equerry, Sieur de Grange-Flandre, Buisson-Souef, Valperfond, andother places, widower and inheritor of Marie Francois Perier, his wife, according to their marriage contract signed before Baron and partner, notaries at Paris, the fifth day of September 1762, whereby he desires tointervene in the action brought against Derues and his accomplices, concerning the assassination and poisoning committed on the persons ofthe wife and son of the said Sieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, on theaccusation made by him to the Deputy Attorney-General of the King at theChatelet at present pending in the Court, on the report of the finaljudgment given in the said action the 30th of April last, and whichallowed the intervention; it is decreed that there shall be levied on thegoods left by the condemned, before the rights of the Treasury, andseparate from them, the sum of six thousand livres, or such other sum asit shall please the Court to award; from which sum the said Saint-Faustde Lamotte shall consent to deduct the sum of two thousand seven hundredand forty-eight livres, which he acknowledges has been sent or remittedto him by the said Derues and his wife at different times; which firstsum of six thousand livres, or such other, shall be employed by the saidSieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, who is authorised to found therewith, inthe parish church of Saint Nicholas de Villeneuve-le-Roy, in which parishthe estate of Buisson-Souef is situate, and which is mentioned in theaction, an annual and perpetual service for the repose of the souls ofthe wife and son of the said Sieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, of which anact shall be inserted in the decree of intervention, and a copy of thisact or decree shall be inscribed upon a stone which shall be set in thewall of the said church of Saint Nicholas de Villeneuve-le-Roy, in suchplace as is expedient. And the deed of contract for private sale, madebetween the late spouse of the said Sieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte andthe above-named Derues and his wife, is hereby declared null and void, ashaving had no value in absence of any payment or realisation of contractbefore a notary; and the pretended agreement of the twelfth day ofFebruary last, as also all other deeds fabricated by the said Derues orothers, named in the above action, as also any which may hereafter bepresented, are hereby declared to be null and void. 

"The Court declares the judgment pronounced by the magistrates of theChatelet against the above named Derues to be good and right, and hisappeal against the same to be bad and ill-founded. 

"It is decreed that the sentence shall lose its full and entire effectwith regard to Marie-Louise Nicolais, who is condemned to the ordinaryfine of twelve livres. The necessary relief granted on the petition ofPierre-Etienne de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, the second day of May thispresent month, and delay accorded until after the suspended judgmentpronounced with regard to the said Marie-Louise Nicolais. 

 "(Signed) De Gourgues, President. "OUTREMONT, Councillor. "

Derues' assurance and calmness never deserted him for one moment. Forthree-quarters of an hour he harangued the Parliament, and his defencewas remarkable both for its presence of mind and the art with which hemade the most of any circumstances likely to suggest doubts to themagistrates and soften the severity of the first sentence. Found guiltyon every point, he yet protested that he was innocent of poisoning. Remorse, which often merely means fear of punishment, had no place in hissoul, and torture he seemed not to dread. As strong in will as he wasweak in body, he desired to die like a martyr in the faith of hisreligion, which was hypocrisy, and the God whom he gloried on thescaffold was the god of lies. 

On May 6th, at seven in the morning, the sentence of execution was readto him. He listened calmly, and when it was finished, remarked:

"I had not anticipated so severe a sentence. "

A few hours later the instruments of torture were got ready. He was toldthat this part of his punishment would be remitted if he would confesshis crimes and the names of his accomplices. He replied:

"I have no more to say. I know what terrible torture awaits me, I know Imust die to-day, but I have nothing to confess. "

He made no resistance when his knees and legs were bound, and endured thetorture courageously. Only, in a moment of agony, he exclaimed:

"Accursed money! has thou reduced me to this?"

Thinking that pain would overcome his resolution, the presidingmagistrate bent towards him, and said:

"Unhappy man! confess thy crime, since death is near at hand. "

He recovered his firmness, and, looking at the magistrate, replied:

"I know it, monseigneur; I have perhaps not three hours to live. "

Thinking that his apparently feeble frame could not endure the lastwedges, the executioner was ordered to stop. He was unbound and laid ona mattress, and a glass of wine was brought, of which he only drank a fewdrops; after this, he made his confession to the priest. For, dinner, they brought him soup and stew, which he ate eagerly, and inquiring ofthe gaoler if he could have something more, an entree was brought inaddition. One might have thought that this final repast heralded, notdeath but deliverance. At length three o'clock struck the hour appointedfor leaving the prison. 

According to the report of credible persons whom we have consulted, Parison this occasion presented a remarkable appearance, which those who sawit were never able to forget. The great anthill was troubled to its verylowest depth. Whether by accident or design, the same day had been fixedfor a function which ought to have proved a considerable counterattraction. A great festival in honour of a German prince was given onthe Plaine de Grenelle, at which all the court was present; and probablymore than one great lady regretted missing the emotions of the Place deGreve, abandoned to the rabble and the bourgeoisie. The rest of the citywas deserted, the streets silent, the houses closed. A strangertransported suddenly into such a solitude might have reasonably thoughtthat during the night the town had been smitten by the Angel of Death, and that only a labyrinth of vacant buildings remained, testifying to thelife and turmoil of the preceding day. A dark and dense atmosphere hungover the abandoned town; lightning furrowed the heavy motionless clouds;in the distance the occasional rumble of thunder was heard, answered bythe cannon of the royal fete. The crowd was divided between the powersof heaven and earth: the terrible majesty of the Eternal on one side, onthe other the frivolous pomp of royalty--eternal punishment and transientgrandeur in opposition. Like the waters of a flood leaving dry thefields which they have covered, so the waves of the multitude forsooktheir usual course. Thousands of men and women crowded together alongthe route which the death-cart would take; an ocean of heads undulatedlike the ears in a wheatfield. The old houses, hired at high rates, quivered under the weight of eager spectators, and the window sashes hadbeen removed to afford a better view. 

Attired in the shirt worn by condemned criminals, and bearing a placardboth in front and behind, with the words "Wilful Poisoner, " Deruesdescended the great staircase of the Chatelet with a firm step. It wasat this moment, on seeing the crucifix, that he exclaimed, "O Christ, Ishall suffer like Thee!" He mounted the tumbril, looking right and leftamongst the crowd. During the progress he recognised and bowed toseveral of his old associates, and bade adieu in a clear voice to theformer mistress of his 'prentice days, who has recorded that she neversaw him look so pleasant. Arrived at the door of Notre Dame, where theclerk was awaiting him, he descended from the tumbril without assistance, took a lighted wax taper weighing two pounds in his hand, and didpenance, kneeling, bareheaded and barefooted, a rope round his neck, repeating the words of the death-warrant. He then reascended the cart inthe midst of the cries and execrations of the populace, to which heappeared quite insensible. One voice only, endeavouring to dominate thetumult, caused him to turn his head: it was that of the hawker who wascrying his sentence, and who broke off now and then to say--

"Well! my poor gossip Derues, how do you like that fine carriage you'rein? Oh yes, mutter your prayers and look up to heaven as much as youlike, you won't take us in now. Ah! thief who said I stole from you!Wasn't I right when I said I should be selling your sentence some day?"

Then, adding her own wrongs to the list of crimes, she declared that theParliament had condemned him as much for having falsely accused her oftheft as for having poisoned Madame de Lamotte and her son!

When arrived at the scaffold, he gazed around him, and a sort of shiverof impatience ran through the crowd. He smiled, and as if anxious totrick mankind for the last time, asked to be taken to the Hotel de Ville, which was granted, in the hope that he would at last make someconfession; but he only persisted in saying that he was guiltless ofpoisoning. He had an interview with his wife, who nearly fainted onseeing him, and remained for more than a quarter of an hour unable to saya word. He lavished tender names upon her, and professed much afflictionat seeing her in so miserable a condition. 

When she was taken away, he asked permission to embrace her, and took amost touching farewell. His last words have been preserved. 

"My dear wife, " he said, "I recommend our beloved children to your care:bring them up in the fear of God. You must go to Chartres, you willthere see the bishop, on whom I had the honour of waiting when I wasthere last, and who has always been kind to me; I believe he has thoughtwell of me, and that I may hope he will take pity on you and on ourchildren. "

It was now seven in the evening, and the crowd began to murmur at thelong delay. At length the criminal reappeared. An onlooker who saw himgo to the Hotel de Ville, and who was carried by the movement of thecrowd to the foot of the scaffold, says that when handed over to theexecutioner he took off his clothes himself. He kissed the instrument ofpunishment with devotion, then extended himself on the St. Andrew'scross, asking with a resigned smile that they would make his sufferingsas short as possible. As soon as his head was covered, the executionergave the signal. One would have thought a very few blows would havefinished so frail a being, but he seemed as hard to kill as the venomousreptiles which must be crushed and cut to pieces before life is extinct, and the coup de grace was found necessary. The executioner uncovered hishead and showed the confessor that the eyes were closed and that theheart had ceased to beat. The body was then removed from the cross, thehands and feet fastened together, and it was thrown on the funeral pile. 

While the execution was proceeding the people applauded. On the morrowthey bought up the fragments of bone, and hastened to buy lotterytickets, in the firm conviction that these precious relics would bringluck to the fortunate possessors!

In 1777, Madame Derues was sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, andconfined at the Salpetriere. She was one of the first victims whoperished in the prison massacres. 

LA CONSTANTIN--1660

CHAPTER I

Before beginning our story, we must warn the reader that it will not beworth his while to make researches among contemporary or other records asto the personage whose name it bears. For in truth neither Marie Leroux, widow of Jacques Constantin, nor her accomplice, Claude Perregaud, was ofsufficient importance to find a place on any list of great criminals, although it is certain that they were guilty of the crimes with whichthey were charged. It may seem strange that what follows is more ahistory of the retribution which overtook the criminals than acircumstantial description of the deeds for which they were punished; butthe crimes were so revolting, and so unsuitable for discussion, that itwas impossible for us to enter into any details on the subject, so thatwhat we offer in these pages is, we confess quite openly, not a full, true, and particular account of a certain series of events leading up toa certain result; it is not even a picture wherein that result isdepicted with artistic completeness, it is only an imperfect narrativeimperfectly rounded off. We feel sure, however, that the healthy-mindedreader will be grateful for our reticence and total disregard ofproportion. In spite of the disadvantage which such a theme imposes onany writer with a deep sense of responsibility, we have resolved to letin some light on these obscure figures; for we can imagine no moreeffective way of throwing into high relief the low morals and deepcorruption into which all classes of society had sunk at the terminationof the factious dissensions of the Fronde, which formed such a fittingprelude to the licence of the reign of the grand roi. 

After this explanation, we shall, without further preamble, introduce thereader to a little tavern in Paris, situated in the rueSaint-Andre-des-Arts, on an evening in November 1658. 

It was about seven o'clock. Three gentlemen were seated at one of thetables in a low, smoky room. They had already emptied several bottles, and one of them seemed to have just suggested some madcap scheme to theothers, the thought of which sent them off into shouts of laughter. 

"Pardu!" said one of them, who was the first to recover his breath, "Imust say it would be an excellent trick. "

"Splendid!" said another; "and if you like, Commander de Jars, we can tryit this very evening. "

"All right, my worthy king's treasurer, provided my pretty nephew herewon't be too much shocked, " and as he spoke de Jars gave to the youngestof the three a caressing touch on the cheek with the back of his hand. 

"That reminds me, de Jars!" said the treasurer, "that word you have justsaid piques my curiosity. For some months now this little fellow here, Chevalier de Moranges, follows you about everywhere like your shadow. You never told us you had a nephew. Where the devil did you get him?"

The commander touched the chevalier's knee under the table, and he, as ifto avoid speaking, slowly filled and emptied his glass. 

"Look here, " said the treasurer, "do you want to hear a few plain words, such as I shall rap out when God takes me to task about the peccadilloesof my past life? I don't believe a word about the relationship. Anephew must be the son of either a brother or a sister. Now, your onlysister is an abbess, and your late brother's marriage was childless. There is only one way of proving the relationship, and that is to confessthat when your brother was young and wild he and Love met, or else Madamel'Abbesse----. "

"Take care, Treasurer Jeannin! no slander against my sister!"

"Well, then, explain; you can't fool me! May I be hanged if I leave thisplace before I have dragged the secret out of you! Either we are friendsor we are not. What you tell no one else you ought to tell me. What!would you make use of my purse and my sword on occasion and yet havesecrets from me? It's too bad: speak, or our friendship is at an end! Igive you fair warning that I shall find out everything and publish itabroad to court and city: when I strike a trail there's no turning measide. It will be best for you to whisper your secret voluntarily intomy ear, where it will be as safe as in the grave. "

"How full of curiosity you are, my good friend!" said de Jars, leaningone elbow on the table, and twirling the points of his moustache with hishand; "but if I were to wrap my secret round the point of a dagger wouldyou not be too much afraid of pricking your fingers to pull it off?"

"Not I, " said the king's treasurer, beginning to twirl his moustachealso: "the doctors have always told me that I am of too full a complexionand that it would do me all the good in the world to be bled now andthen. But what would be an advantage to me would be dangerous to you. It's easy to see from your jaundiced phiz that for you blood-letting isno cure. "

"And you would really go that length? You would risk a duel if I refusedto let you get to the bottom of my mystery?"

"Yes, on my honour! Well, how is it to be?"

"My dear boy, " said de Jars to the youth, "we are caught, and may as wellyield gracefully. You don't know this big fellow as well as I do. He'sobstinacy itself. You can make the most obstinate donkey go on bypulling its tail hard enough, but when Jeannin gets a notion into hispate, not all the legions of hell can get it out again. Besides that, he's a skilful fencer, so there's nothing for it but to trust him. "

"Just as you like, " said the young man; "you know all my circumstancesand how important it is that my secret should be kept. "

"Oh! among Jeannin's many vices there are a few virtues, and of thesediscretion is the greatest, so that his curiosity is harmless. A quarterof an hour hence he will let himself be killed rather than reveal whatjust now he is ready to risk his skin to find out, whether we will orno. "

Jeannin nodded approvingly, refilled the glasses, and raising his to hislips, said in a tone of triumph--

"I am listening, commander. "

"Well, if it must be, it must. First of all, learn that my nephew is notmy nephew at all. "

"Go on. "

"That his name is not Moranges. "

"And the next?"

"I am not going to reveal his real name to you. "

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know it myself, and no more does the chevalier. "

"What' nonsense!"

"No nonsense at all, but the sober truth. A few months ago the chevaliercame to Paris, bringing me a letter of introduction from a German whom Iused to know years ago. This letter requested me to look after thebearer and help him in his investigations. As you said just now, Loveand someone once met somewhere, and that was about all was known as tohis origin. Naturally the young man wants to cut a figure in the world, and would like to discover the author of his existence, that he may havesomeone at hand to pay the debts he is going to incur. We have broughttogether every scrap of information we could collect as to this person, hoping to find therein a clue that we could follow up. To be quite openwith you, and convince you at the same time how extremely prudent anddiscreet we must be, I must tell you that we think we have found one, andthat it leads to no less a dignitary than a Prince of the Church. But ifhe should get wind of our researches too soon everything would be at anend, don't you see? So keep your tongue between your teeth. "

"Never fear, " said Jeannin. 

"Now, that's what I call speaking out as a friend should. I wish youluck, my gallant Chevalier de Moranges, and until you unearth yourfather, if you want a little money, my purse is at your service. On myword, de Jars, you must have been born with a caul. There never was yourequal for wonderful adventures. This one promises well-spicy intrigues, scandalous revelations, and you'll be in the thick of it all. You're alucky fellow! It's only a few months since you had the most splendidpiece of good fortune sent you straight from heaven. A fair lady fallsin love with you and makes you carry her off from the convent of LaRaquette. But why do you never let anyone catch a glimpse of her? Areyou jealous? Or is it that she is no such beauty, after all, but old andwrinkled, like that knave of a Mazarin?"

"I know what I'm about, " answered de Jars, smiling; "I have my very goodreasons. The elopement caused a great deal of indignation, and it's noteasy to get fanatics to listen to common sense. No, I am not in theleast jealous; she is madly in love with me. Ask my nephew. "

"Does he know her?"

"We have no secrets from each other; the confidence between us is withouta flaw. The fair one, believe me, is good to look on, and is worth allthe ogling, fan-flirting baggages put together that one sees at court oron the balconies of the Palais Roy: ah! I'll answer for that. Isn't she, Moranges?"

"I'm quite of your opinion, " said the youth; exchanging with de jars asingularly significant look; "and you had better treat her well, uncle, or I shall play you some trick. "

"Ah! ah!" cried Jeannin. "You poor fellow! I very much fear that youare warming a little serpent in your bosom. Have an eye to this dandywith the beardless chin! But joking apart, my boy, are you really ongood terms with the fair lady?"

"Certainly I am. "

"And you are not uneasy, commander?"

"Not the least little bit. "

"He is quite right. I answer for her as for my self, you know; as long ashe loves her she will love him; as long as he is faithful she will befaithful. Do you imagine that a woman who insists on her lover carryingher off can so easily turn away from the man of her choice? I know herwell; I have had long talks with her, she and I alone: she isfeather-brained, given to pleasure, entirely without prejudices and thosestupid scruples which spoil the lives of other women; but a good sort onthe whole; devoted to my uncle, with no deception about her; but at thesame time extremely jealous, and has no notion of letting herself besacrificed to a rival. If ever she finds herself deceived, good-bye toprudence and reserve, and then--"

A look and a touch of the commander's knee cut this panegyric short, towhich the treasurer was listening with open-eyed astonishment. 

"What enthusiasm!" he exclaimed. "Well, and then----"

"Why, then, " went on the young man, with a laugh, "if my uncle behavesbadly, I, his nephew, will try to make up for his wrong-doing: he can'tblame me then. But until then he may be quite easy, as he well knows. "

"Oh yes, and in proof of that I am going to take Moranges with meto-night. He is young and inexperienced, and it will be a good lessonfor him to see how a gallant whose amorous intrigues did not beginyesterday sets about getting even with a coquette. He can turn it toaccount later on. 

"On my word, " said Jeannin, "my notion is that he is in no great need ofa teacher; however, that's your business, not mine. Let us return towhat we were talking about just now. Are we agreed; and shall we amuseourselves by paying out the lady in, her own coin?"

"If you like. "

"Which of us is to begin?"

De Jars struck the table with the handle of his dagger. 

"More wine, gentlemen?" said the drawer, running up. 

"No, dice; and be quick about it. "

"Three casts each and the highest wins, " said Jeannin. "You begin. "

"I throw for myself and nephew. " The dice rolled on the table. 

"Ace and three. "

"It's my turn now. Six and five. "

"Pass it over. Five and two. "

"We're equal. Four and two. "

"Now let me. Ace and blank. "

"Double six. "

"You have won. "

"And I'm off at once, " said Jeannin, rising, and muffling himself in hismantle, "It's now half-past seven. We shall see each other again ateight, so I won't say good-bye. "

"Good luck to you!"

Leaving the tavern and turning into the rue Pavee, he took the directionof the river. 

CHAPTER II

In 1658, at the corner of the streets Git-le-Coeur and Le Hurepoix (thesite of the latter being now occupied by the Quai des Augustins as far asPont Saint-Michel), stood the great mansion which Francis I had boughtand fitted up for the Duchesse d'Etampes. It was at this period if notin ruins at least beginning to show the ravages of time. Its richinterior decorations had lost their splendour and become antiquated. Fashion had taken up its abode in the Marais, near the Place Royale, andit was thither that profligate women and celebrated beauties now enticedthe humming swarm of old rakes and young libertines. Not one of them allwould have thought of residing in the mansion, or even in the quarter, wherein the king's mistress had once dwelt. It would have been a stepdownward in the social scale, and equivalent to a confession that theircharms were falling in the public estimation. Still, the old palace wasnot empty; it had, on the contrary, several tenants. Like the provincesof Alexander's empire, its vast suites of rooms had been subdivided; andso neglected was it by the gay world that people of the commonestdescription strutted about with impunity where once the proudest nobleshad been glad to gain admittance. There in semi-isolation and despoiledof her greatness lived Angelique-Louise de Guerchi, formerly companion toMademoiselle de Pons and then maid of honour to Anne of Austria. Herlove intrigues and the scandals they gave rise to had led to herdismissal from court. Not that she was a greater sinner than many whoremained behind, only she was unlucky enough or stupid enough to be foundout. Her admirers were so indiscreet that they had not left her a shredof reputation, and in a court where a cardinal is the lover of a queen, ahypocritical appearance of decorum is indispensable to success. SoAngelique had to suffer for the faults she was not clever enough to hide. Unfortunately for her, her income went up and down with the number andwealth of her admirers, so when she left the court all her possessionsconsisted of a few articles she had gathered together out of the wreck ofher former luxury, and these she was now selling one by one to procurethe necessaries of life, while she looked back from afar with an enviouseye at the brilliant world from which she had been exiled, and longed forbetter days. All hope was not at an end for her. By a strange law whichdoes not speak well for human nature, vice finds success easier to attainthan virtue. There is no courtesan, no matter how low she has fallen, who cannot find a dupe ready to defend against the world an honour ofwhich no vestige remains. A man who doubts the virtue of the mostvirtuous woman, who shows himself inexorably severe when he discovers thelightest inclination to falter in one whose conduct has hitherto beenabove reproach, will stoop and pick up out of the gutter a blighted andtarnished reputation and protect and defend it against all slights, anddevote his life to the attempt to restore lustre to the unclean thingdulled by the touch of many fingers. In her days of prosperity Commanderde Jars and the king's treasurer had both fluttered round Mademoiselle deGuerchi, and neither had fluttered in vain. Short as was the periodnecessary to overcome her scruples, in as short a period it dawned on thetwo candidates for her favour that each had a successful rival in theother, and that however potent as a reason for surrender the doubloons ofthe treasurer had been, the personal appearance of the commander hadproved equally cogent. As both had felt for her only a passing fancy andnot a serious passion, their explanations with each other led to noquarrel between them; silently and simultaneously they withdrew from hercircle, without even letting her know they had found her out, but quitedetermined to revenge, themselves on her should a chance ever offer. However, other affairs of a similar nature had intervened to preventtheir carrying out this laudable intention; Jeannin had laid siege to amore inaccessible beauty, who had refused to listen to his sighs for lessthan 30 crowns, paid in advance, and de Jars had become quite absorbed byhis adventure with the convent boarder at La Raquette, and the businessof that young stranger whom he passed off as his nephew. Mademoiselle deGuerchi had never seen them again; and with her it was out of sight outof mind. At the moment when she comes into our story she was weaving hertoils round a certain Duc de Vitry, whom she had seen at court, but whoseacquaintance she had never made, and who had been absent when thescandalous occurrence which led to her disgrace came to light. He was aman of from twenty-five to twenty-six years of age, who idled his lifeaway: his courage was undoubted, and being as credulous as an oldlibertine, he was ready to draw his sword at any moment to defend thelady whose cause he had espoused, should any insolent slanderer dare tohint there was a smirch on her virtue. Being deaf to all reports, heseemed one of those men expressly framed by heaven to be the consolationof fallen women; such a man as in our times a retired opera-dancer or asuperannuated professional beauty would welcome with open arms. He hadonly one fault--he was married. It is true he neglected his wife, according to the custom of the time, and it is probably also true thathis wife cared very little about his infidelities. But still she was aninsurmountable obstacle to the fulfilment of Mademoiselle de Guerchi'shopes, who but for her might have looked forward to one day becoming aduchess. 

For about three weeks, however, at the time we are speaking of, the dukehad neither crossed her threshold nor written. He had told her he wasgoing for a few days to Normandy, where he had large estates, but hadremained absent so long after the date he had fixed for his return thatshe began to feel uneasy. What could be keeping him? Some new flame, perhaps. The anxiety of the lady was all the more keen, that until nownothing had passed between them but looks of languor and words of love. The duke had laid himself and all he possessed at the feet of Angelique, and Angelique had refused his offer. A too prompt surrender would havejustified the reports so wickedly spread against her; and, made wise byexperience, she was resolved not to compromise her future as she hadcompromised her past. But while playing at virtue she had also to playat disinterestedness, and her pecuniary resources were consequentlyalmost exhausted. She had proportioned the length of her resistance tothe length of her purse, and now the prolonged absence of her loverthreatened to disturb the equilibrium which she had established betweenher virtue and her money. So it happened that the cause of the lovelornDuc de Vitry was in great peril just at the moment when de Jars andJeannin resolved to approach the fair one anew. She was sitting lost inthought, pondering in all good faith on the small profit it was to awoman to be virtuous, when she heard voices in the antechamber. Then herdoor opened, and the king's treasurer walked in. 

As this interview and those which follow took place in the presence ofwitnesses, we are obliged to ask the reader to accompany us for a time toanother part of the same house. 

We have said there were several tenants: now the person who occupied therooms next to those in which Mademoiselle de Guerchi lived was ashopkeeper's widow called Rapally, who was owner of one of the thirty-twohouses which then occupied the bridge Saint-Michel. They had all beenconstructed at the owner's cost, in return for a lease for ever. Thewidow Rapally's avowed age was forty, but those who knew her longestadded another ten years to that: so, to avoid error, let us say she wasforty-five. She was a solid little body, rather stouter than wasnecessary for beauty; her hair was black, her complexion brown, her eyesprominent and always moving; lively, active, and if one once yielded toher whims, exacting beyond measure; but until then buxom and soft, andinclined to pet and spoil whoever, for the moment, had arrested hervolatile fancy. Just as we make her acquaintance this happy individualwas a certain Maitre Quennebert, a notary of Saint Denis, and the comedyplayed between him and the widow was an exact counterpart of the onegoing on in the rooms of Mademoiselle de Guerchi, except that the roleswere inverted; for while the lady was as much in love as the Duc deVitry, the answering devotion professed by the notary was as insincere asthe disinterested attachment to her lover displayed by the whilom maid ofhonour. 

Maitre Quennebert was still young and of attractive appearance, but hisbusiness affairs were in a bad way. For long he had been pretending notto understand the marked advances of the widow, and he treated her with areserve and respect she would fain have dispensed with, and whichsometimes made her doubt of his love. But it was impossible for her as awoman to complain, so she was forced to accept with resignation thepersistent and unwelcome consideration with which he surrounded her. Maitre Quennebert was a man of common sense and much experience, and hadformed a scheme which he was prevented from carrying out by an obstaclewhich he had no power to remove. He wanted, therefore, to gain time, forhe knew that the day he gave the susceptible widow a legal right over himhe would lose his independence. A lover to whose prayers the adored oneremains deaf too long is apt to draw back in discouragement, but a womanwhose part is restricted to awaiting those prayers, and answering with ayes or no, necessarily learns patience. Maitre Quennebert wouldtherefore have felt no anxiety as to the effect of his dilatoriness onthe widow, were it not for the existence of a distant cousin of the lateMonsieur Rapally, who was also paying court to her, and that with awarmth much greater than had hitherto been displayed by himself. Thisfact, in view of the state of the notary's affairs, forced him at last todisplay more energy. To make up lost ground and to outdistance his rivalonce more, he now began to dazzle the widow with fine phrases and delighther with compliments; but to tell the truth all this trouble wassuperfluous; he was beloved, and with one fond look he might have wonpardon for far greater neglect. 

An hour before the treasurer's arrival there had been a knock at the doorof the old house, and Maitre Quennebert, curled, pomaded, and preparedfor conquest, had presented himself at the widow's. She received himwith a more languishing air than usual, and shot such arrows at him frothher eyes that to escape a fatal wound he pretended to give way by degreesto deep sadness. The widow, becoming alarmed, asked with tenderness--

"What ails you this evening?"

He rose, feeling he had nothing to fear from his rival, and, being masterof the field, might henceforth advance or recede as seemed best for hisinterests. 

"What ails me?" he repeated, with a deep sigh. "I might deceive you, might give you a misleading answer, but to you I cannot lie. I am ingreat trouble, and how to get out of it I don't know. "

"But tell me what it is, " said the widow, standing up in her turn. 

Maitre Quennebert took three long strides, which brought him to the farend of the room, and asked--

"Why do you want to know? You can't help me. My trouble is of a kind aman does not generally confide to women. "

"What is it? An affair of honour?

"Yes. "

"Good God! You are going to fight!" she exclaimed, trying to seize himby the arm. "You are going to fight!"

"Ah! if it were nothing worse than that!" said Quennebert, pacing up anddown the room: "but you need not be alarmed; it is only a money trouble. I lent a large sum, a few months ago, to a friend, but the knave has runaway and left me in the lurch. It was trust money, and must be replacedwithin three days. But where am I to get two thousand francs?"

"Yes, that is a large sum, and not easy to raise at such short notice. "

"I shall be obliged to have recourse to some Jew, who will drain me dry. But I must save my good name at all costs. "

Madame Rapally gazed at him in consternation. Maitre Quennebert, divining her thought, hastened to add--

"I have just one-third of what is needed. "

"Only one-third?"

"With great care, and by scraping together all I possess, I can make upeight hundred livres. But may I be damned in the next world, or punishedas a swindler in this, and one's as bad as the other to me, if I canraise one farthing more. "

"But suppose someone should lend you the twelve hundred francs, whatthen?"

"Pardieu! I should accept them, " cried the notary as if he had not theleast suspicion whom she could mean. "Do you happen to know anyone, mydear Madame Rapally?"

The widow nodded affirmatively, at the same time giving him a passionateglance. 

"Tell me quick the name of this delightful person, and I shall go to himto-morrow morning. You don't know what a service you are rendering me. And I was so near not telling you of the fix I was in, lest you shouldtorment yourself uselessly. Tell me his name. "

"Can you not guess it?"

"How should I guess it?"

"Think well. Does no one occur to you?"

"No, no one, " said Quennebert, with the utmost innocence. 

"Have you no friends?"

"One or two. "

"Would they not be glad to help you?"

"They might. But I have mentioned the matter to no one. "

"To no one?"

"Except you. "

"Well?"

"Well, Madame Rapally--I hope I don't understand you; it's not possible;you would not humiliate me. Come, come, it's a riddle, and I am toostupid to solve it. I give it up. Don't tantalise me any longer; tellme the name. "

The widow, somewhat abashed by this exhibition of delicacy on the part ofMaitre Quennebert, blushed, cast down her eyes, and did not venture tospeak. 

As the silence lasted some time, it occurred to the notary that he hadbeen perhaps too hasty in his supposition, and he began to cast round forthe best means of retrieving his blunder. 

"You do not speak, " he said; "I see it was all a joke. "

"No, " said the widow at last in a timid voice, "it was no joke; I wasquite in earnest. But the way you take things is not very encouraging. "

"What do you mean?"

"Pray, do you imagine that I can go on while you glare at me with thatangry frown puckering your forehead, as if you had someone before you whohad tried to insult you?"

A sweet smile chased the frown from the notary's brow. Encouraged by thesuspension of hostilities, Madame Rapally with sudden boldness approachedhim, and, pressing one of his hands in both her own, whispered--

"It is I who am going to lend you the money. "

He repulsed her gently, but with an air of great dignity, and said--

"Madame, I thank you, but I cannot accept. "

"Why can't you?"

At this he began to walk round and round the room, while the widow, whostood in the middle, turned as upon a pivot, keeping him always in view. This circus-ring performance lasted some minutes before Quennebert stoodstill and said--

"I cannot be angry with you, Madame Rapally, I know your offer was madeout of the kindness of your heart, --but I must repeat that it isimpossible for me to accept it. "

"There you go again! I don't understand you at all! Why can't youaccept? What harm would it do?"

"If there were no other reason, because people might suspect that Iconfided my difficulties to you in the hope of help. "

"And supposing you did, what then? People speak hoping to be understood. You wouldn't have minded asking anyone else. "

"So you really think I did come in that hope?"

"Mon Dieu! I don't think anything at all that you don't want. It was Iwho dragged the confidence from you by my questions, I know that verywell. But now that you have told me your secret, how can you hinder mefrom sympathising with you, from desiring to aid you? When I learned yourdifficulty, ought I to have been amused, and gone into fits of laughter?What! it's an insult to be in a position to render you a service! That'sa strange kind of delicacy!"

"Are you astonished that I should feel so strongly about it?"

"Nonsense! Do you still think I meant to offend you? I look on you asthe most honourable man in the world. If anyone were to tell me that hehad seen you commit a base action, I should reply that it was a lie. Does that satisfy you?"

"But suppose they got hold of it in the city, suppose it were reportedthat Maitre Quennebert had taken money from Madame de Rapally, would itbe the same as if they said Maitre Quennebert had borrowed twelve hundredlivres from Monsieur Robert or some other business man?"

"I don't see what difference it could make. "

"But I do. "

"What then?"

"It's not easy to express, but----"

"But you exaggerate both the service and the gratitude you ought to feel. I think I know why you refuse. You're ashamed to take it as a gift, aren't you. "

"Yes, I am. "

"Well, I'm not going to make you a gift. Borrow twelve hundred livresfrom me. For how long do you want the money?"

"I really don't know how soon I can repay you. "

"Let's say a year, and reckon the interest. Sit down there, you baby, and write out a promissory note. "

Maitre Quennebert made some further show of resistance, but at lastyielded to the widow's importunity. It is needless to say that the wholething was a comedy on his part, except that he really needed the money. But he did not need it to replace a sum of which a faithless friend hadrobbed him, but to satisfy his own creditors, who, out of all patiencewith him, were threatening to sue him, and his only reason for seekingout Madame de Rapally was to take advantage of her generous dispositiontowards himself. His feigned delicacy was intended to induce her toinsist so urgently, that in accepting he should not fall too much in heresteem, but should seem to yield to force. And his plan met withcomplete success, for at the end of the transaction he stood higher thanever in the opinion of his fair creditor, on account of the noblesentiments he had expressed. The note was written out in legal form andthe money counted down on the spot. 

"How glad I am!" said she then, while Quennebert still kept up somepretence of delicate embarrassment, although he could not resist castinga stolen look at the bag of crowns lying on the table beside his cloak. "Do you intend to go back to Saint Denis to-night?"

Even had such been his intention, the notary would have taken very goodcare not to say so; for he foresaw the accusations of imprudence thatwould follow, the enumeration of the dangers by the way; and it was quiteon the cards even that, having thus aroused his fears, his fair hostessshould in deference to them offer him hospitality for the night, and hedid not feel inclined for an indefinitely prolonged tete-a-tete. 

"No;" he said, "I am going to sleep at Maitre Terrasson's, rue desPoitevins; I have sent him word to expect me. But although his house isonly a few yards distant, I must leave you earlier than I could havewished, on account of this money. "

"Will you think of me?"

"How can you ask?" replied Quennebert, with a sentimental expression. "You have compelled me to accept the money, but--I shall not be happytill I have repaid you. Suppose this loan should make us fall out?"

"You may be quite sure that if you don't pay when the bill falls due, Ishall have recourse to the law. "

"Oh, I know that very well. "

"I shall enforce all my rights as a creditor. "

"I expect nothing else. "

"I shall show no pity. "

And the widow gave a saucy laugh and shook her finger at him. 

"Madame Rapally, " said the notary, who was most anxious to bring thisconversation to an end, dreading every moment that it would take alanguishing tone, -"Madame Rapally, will you add to your goodness bygranting me one more favour?"

"What is it?"

"The gratitude that is simulated is not difficult to bear, but genuine, sincere gratitude, such as I feel, is a heavy burden, as I can assureyou. It is much easier to give than to receive. Promise me, then, thatfrom now till the year is up there shall be no more reference between usto this money, and that we shall go on being good friends as before. Leave it to me to make arrangements to acquit myself honourably of myobligations towards you. I need say no more; till a year's up, mum's theword. "

"It shall be as you desire, Maitre Quennebert, " answered Madame Rapally, her eyes shining with delight. "It was never my intention to lay youunder embarrassing obligations, and I leave it all to you. Do you knowthat I am beginning to believe in presentiments?"

"You becoming superstitious! Why, may I ask?"

"I refused to do a nice little piece of ready-money business thismorning. "

"Did you?"

"Yes, because I had a sort of feeling that made me resist all temptationto leave myself without cash. Imagine! I received a visit to-day from agreat lady who lives in this house--in the suite of apartments next tomine. "

"What is her name?"

"Mademoiselle de Guerchi. "

"And what did she want with you?"

"She called in order to ask me to buy, for four hundred livres, some ofher jewels which are well worth six hundred, for I understand suchthings; or should I prefer it to lend her that sum and keep the jewels assecurity? It appears that mademoiselle is in great straits. DeGuerchi--do you know the name?"

"I think I have heard it. "

"They say she has had a stormy past, and has been greatly talked of; butthen half of what one hears is lies. Since she came to live here she hasbeen very quiet. No visitors except one--a nobleman, a duke--wait amoment! What's his name? The Duc-Duc de Vitry; and for over three weekseven he hasn't been near her. I imagine from this absence that they havefallen out, and that she is beginning to feel the want of money. "

"You seem to be intimately acquainted with this young woman's affairs. "

"Indeed I am, and yet I never spoke to her till this morning. "

"How did you get your information, then?"

"By chance. The room adjoining this and one of those she occupies wereformerly one large room, which is now divided into two by a partitionwall covered with tapestry; but in the two corners the plaster hascrumbled away with time, and one can see into the room through slits inthe tapestry without being seen oneself. Are you inquisitive?"

"Not more than you, Madame Rapally. "

"Come with me. Someone knocked at the street door a few moments ago;there's no one else in the douse likely to have visitors at this hour. Perhaps her admirer has come back. "

"If so, we are going to witness a scene of recrimination orreconciliation. How delightful!"

Although he was not leaving the widow's lodgings, Maitre Quennebert tookup his hat and cloak and the blessed bag of crown pieces, and followedMadame Rapally on tiptoe, who on her side moved as slowly as a tortoiseand as lightly as she could. They succeeded in turning the handle of thedoor into the next room without making much noise. 

"'Sh!" breathed the widow softly; "listen, they are speaking. "

She pointed to the place where he would find a peep-hole in one corner ofthe room, and crept herself towards the corresponding corner. Quennebert, who was by no means anxious to have her at his side, motionedto her to blow out the light. This being done, he felt secure, for heknew that in the intense darkness which now enveloped them she could notmove from her place without knocking against the furniture between them, so he glued his face to the partition. An opening just large enough forone eye allowed him to see everything that was going on in the next room. Just as he began his observations, the treasurer at Mademoiselle deGuerchi's invitation was about to take a seat near her, but not too nearfor perfect respect. Both of them were silent, and appeared to labourunder great embarrassment at finding themselves together, andexplanations did not readily begin. The lady had not an idea of themotive of the visit, and her quondam lover feigned the emotion necessaryto the success of his undertaking. Thus Maitre Quennebert had full timeto examine both, and especially Angelique. The reader will doubtlessdesire to know what was the result of the notary's observation. 

CHAPTER III

ANGELIQUE-LOUISE DE GUERCHI was a woman of about twenty-eight years ofage, tall, dark, and well made. The loose life she had led had, it istrue, somewhat staled her beauty, marred the delicacy of her complexion, and coarsened the naturally elegant curves of her figure; but it is suchwomen who from time immemorial have had the strongest attraction forprofligate men. It seems as if dissipation destroyed the power toperceive true beauty, and the man of pleasure must be aroused toadmiration by a bold glance and a meaning smile, and will only seeksatisfaction along the trail left by vice. Louise-Angelique wasadmirably adapted for her way of life; not that her features wore anexpression of shameless effrontery, or that the words that passed herlips bore habitual testimony to the disorders of her existence, but thatunder a calm and sedate demeanour there lurked a secret and indefinablecharm. Many other women possessed more regular features, but none ofthem had a greater power of seduction. We must add that she owed thatpower entirely to her physical perfections, for except in regard to thedevices necessary to her calling, she showed no cleverness, beingignorant, dull and without inner resources of any kind. As hertemperament led her to share the desires she excited, she was reallyincapable of resisting an attack conducted with skill and ardour, and ifthe Duc de Vitry had not been so madly in love, which is the same assaying that he was hopelessly blind, silly, and dense to everythingaround him, he might have found a score of opportunities to overcome herresistance. We have already seen that she was so straitened in moneymatters that she had been driven to try to sell her jewels that very, morning. 

Jeannin was the first to 'break silence. 

"You are astonished at my visit, I know, my charming Angelique. But youmust excuse my thus appearing so unexpectedly before you. The truth is, I found it impossible to leave Paris without seeing you once more. "

"Thank you for your kind remembrance, " said she, "but I did not at allexpect it. "

"Come, come, you are offended with me. "

She gave him a glance of mingled disdain and resentment; but he went on, in a timid, wistful tone--

"I know that my conduct must have seemed strange to you, and Iacknowledge that nothing can justify a man for suddenly leaving the womanhe loves--I do not dare to say the woman who loves him--without a word ofexplanation. But, dear Angelique, I was jealous. "

"Jealous!" she repeated incredulously. 

"I tried my best to overcome the feeling, and I hid my suspicions fromyou. Twenty times I came to see you bursting with anger and determinedto overwhelm you with reproaches, but at the sight of your beauty Iforgot everything but that I loved you. My suspicions dissolved before asmile; one word from your lips charmed me into happiness. But when I wasagain alone my terrors revived, I saw my rivals at your feet, and ragepossessed me once more. Ah! you never knew how devotedly I loved you. "

She let him speak without interruption; perhaps the same thought was inher mind as in Quennebert's, who, himself a past master in the art oflying; was thinking--

"The man does not believe a word of what he is saying. "

But the treasurer went on--

"I can see that even now you doubt my sincerity. "

"Does my lord desire that his handmaiden should be blunt? Well, I knowthat there is no truth in what you say. "

"Oh! I can see that you imagine that among the distractions of the worldI have kept no memory of you, and have found consolation in the love ofless obdurate fair ones. I have not broken in on your retirement; I havenot shadowed your steps; I have not kept watch on your actions; I havenot surrounded you with spies who would perhaps have brought me theassurance, 'If she quitted the world which outraged her, she was notdriven forth by an impulse of wounded pride or noble indignation; she didnot even seek to punish those who misunderstood her by her absence; sheburied herself where she was unknown, that she might indulge in stolenloves. ' Such were the thoughts that came to me, and yet I respected yourhiding-place; and to-day I am ready to believe you true, if you willmerely say, 'I love no one else!'"

Jeannin, who was as fat as a stage financier, paused here to gasp; forthe utterance of this string of banalities, this rigmarole ofcommonplaces, had left him breathless. He was very much dissatisfiedwith his performance; and ready to curse his barren imagination. Helonged to hit upon swelling phrases and natural and touching gestures, but in vain. He could only look at Mademoiselle de Guerchi with amiserable, heart-broken air. She remained quietly seated, with the sameexpression of incredulity on her features. 

So there was nothing for it but to go on once more. 

"But this one assurance that I ask you will not give. So what Ihave--been told is true: you have given your love to him. "

She could not check a startled movement. 

"You see it is only when I speak of him that I can overcome in you theinsensibility which is killing me. My suspicions were true after all:you deceived me for his sake. Oh! the instinctive feeling of jealousywas right which forced me to quarrel with that man, to reject theperfidious friendship which he tried to force upon me. He has returnedto town, and we shall meet! But why do I say 'returned'? Perhaps heonly pretended to go away, and safe in this retreat has flouted withimpunity, my despair and braved my vengeance!"

Up to this the lady had played a waiting game, but now she grew quiteconfused, trying to discover the thread of the treasurer's thoughts. Towhom did he refer? The Duc de Vitry? That had been her firstimpression. But the duke had only been acquainted with her for a fewmonths--since she had--left Court. He could not therefore have excitedthe jealousy of her whilom lover; and if it were not he, to whom did thewords about rejecting "perfidious friendship, " and "returned to town, "and so on, apply? Jeannin divined her embarrassment, and was not alittle proud of the tactics which would, he was almost sure; force her toexpose herself. For there are certain women who can be thrown into cruelperplexity by speaking to them of their love-passages without affixing aproper name label to each. They are placed as it were on the edge of anabyss, and forced to feel their way in darkness. To say "You have loved"almost obliges them to ask "Whom?"

Nevertheless, this was not the word uttered by Mademoiselle de Guerchiwhile she ran through in her head a list of possibilities. Her answerwas--

"Your language astonishes me; I don't understand what you mean. "

The ice was broken, and the treasurer made a plunge. Seizing one ofAngelique's hands, he asked--

"Have you never seen Commander de Jars since then?"

"Commander de Jars!" exclaimed Angelique. 

"Can you swear to me, Angelique, that you love him not?"

"Mon Dieu! What put it into your head that I ever cared for him? It'sover four months since I saw him last, and I hadn't an idea whether hewas alive or dead. So he has been out of town? That's the first I heardof it. "

"My fortune is yours, Angelique! Oh! assure me once again that you donot love him--that you never loved him!" he pleaded in a faltering voice, fixing a look of painful anxiety upon her. 

He had no intention of putting her out of countenance by the course hetook; he knew quite well that a woman like Angelique is never more at herease than when she has a chance of telling an untruth of this nature. Besides, he had prefaced this appeal by the magic words, "My fortune' isyours!" and the hope thus aroused was well worth a perjury. So sheanswered boldly and in a steady voice, while she looked straight into hiseyes--

"Never!"

"I believe you!" exclaimed Jeannin, going down on his knees and coveringwith his kisses the hand he still held. "I can taste happiness again. Listen, Angelique. I am leaving Paris; my mother is dead, and I am goingback to Spain. Will you follow me thither?"

"I---follow you?"

"I hesitated long before finding you out, so much did I fear a repulse. I set out to-morrow. Quit Paris, leave the world which has slanderedyou, and come with me. In a fortnight we shall be man and wife. "

"You are not in earnest!"

"May I expire at your feet if I am not! Do you want me to sign the oathwith my blood?"

"Rise, " she said in a broken voice. "Have I at last found a man to loveme and compensate me for all the abuse that has been showered on my head?A thousand times I thank you, not for what you are doing for me, but forthe balm you pour on my wounded spirit. Even if you were to say to menow, 'After all, I am obliged to give you up' the pleasure of knowing youesteem me would make up for all the rest. It would be another happymemory to treasure along with my memory of our love, which wasineffaceable, although you so ungratefully suspected me of havingdeceived you. "

The treasurer appeared fairly intoxicated with joy. He indulged in athousand ridiculous extravagances and exaggerations, and declared himselfthe happiest of men. Mademoiselle de Guerchi, who was desirous of beingprepared for every peril, asked him in a coaxing tone--

"Who can have put it into your head to be jealous of the commander? Hashe been base enough to boast that I ever gave him my love?"

"No, he never said anything about you; but someway I was afraid. "

She renewed her assurances. The conversation continued some time in asentimental tone. A thousand oaths, a thousand protestations of lovewere, exchanged. Jeannin feared that the suddenness of their journeywould inconvenience his mistress, and offered to put it off for somedays; but to this she would not consent, and it was arranged that thenext day at noon a carriage should call at the house and take Angeliqueout of town to an appointed place at which the treasurer was to join her. 

Maitre Quennebert, eye and ear on the alert, had not lost a word of thisconversation, and the last proposition of the treasurer changed hisideas. 

"Pardieu!" he said to himself, "it looks as if this good man were reallygoing to let himself be taken in and done for. It is singular how veryclear-sighted we can be about things that don't touch us. This poor flyis going to let himself be caught by a very clever spider, or I'm muchmistaken. Very likely my widow is quite of my opinion, and yet in whatconcerns herself she will remain stone-blind. Well, such is life! Wehave only two parts to choose between: we must be either knave or fool. What's Madame Rapally doing, I wonder?"

At this moment he heard a stifled whisper from the opposite corner of theroom, but, protected by the distance and the darkness, he let the widowmurmur on, and applied his eye once more to his peephole. What he sawconfirmed his opinion. The damsel was springing up and down, laughing, gesticulating, and congratulating herself on her unexpected good fortune. 

"Just imagine! He loves me like that!" she was saying to herself. "PoorJeannin! When I remember how I used to hesitate. How fortunate thatCommander de Jars, one of the most vain and indiscreet of men, neverbabbled about me! Yes, we must leave town to-morrow without fail. Imust not give him time to be enlightened by a chance word. But the Ducde Vitry? I am really sorry for him. However, why did he go away, andsend no word? And then, he's a married man. Ah! if I could only get backagain to court some day!. . . Who would ever have expected such a thing?Good God! I must keep talking to myself, to be sure I'm not dreaming. Yes, he was there, just now, at my feet, saying to me, 'Angelique, youare going to become my wife. ' One thing is sure, he may safely entrusthis honour to my care. It would be infamous to betray a man who loves meas he does, who will give me his name. Never, no, never will I give himcause to reproach me! I would rather----"

A loud and confused noise on the stairs interrupted this soliloquy. Atone moment bursts of laughter were heard, and the next angry voices. Then a loud exclamation, followed by a short silence. Being alarmed atthis disturbance in a house which was usually so quiet, Mademoiselle deGuerchi approached the door of her room, intending either to call forprotection or to lock herself in, when suddenly it was violently pushedopen. She recoiled with fright, exclaiming--

"Commander de Jars!"

"On my word!" said Quennebert behind the arras, "'tis as amusing as aplay! Is the commander also going to offer to make an honest woman ofher? But what do I see?"

He had just caught sight of the young man on whom de Jars had bestowedthe title and name of Chevalier de Moranges, and whose acquaintance thereader has already made at the tavern in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. His appearance had as great an effect on the notary as a thunderbolt. Hestood motionless, trembling, breathless; his knees ready to give waybeneath him; everything black before his eyes. However, he soon pulledhimself together, and succeeded in overcoming the effects of his surpriseand terror. He looked once more through the hole in the partition, andbecame so absorbed that no one in the whole world could have got a wordfrom him just then; the devil himself might have shrieked into his earsunheeded, and a naked sword suspended over his head would not haveinduced him to change his place. 

CHAPTER IV

Before Mademoiselle de Guerchi had recovered from her fright thecommander spoke. 

"As I am a gentleman, my beauty, if you were the Abbess of Montmartre, you could not be more difficult of access. I met a blackguard on thestairs who tried to stop me, and whom I was obliged to thrash soundly. Is what they told me on my return true? Are you really doing penance, and do you intend to take the veil?"

"Sir, " answered Angelique, with great dignity, "whatever may be my plans, I have a right to be surprised at your violence and at your intrusion atsuch an hour. "

"Before we go any farther, " said de Jars, twirling round on his heels, "allow me to present to you my nephew, the Chevalier de Moranges. "

"Chevalier de Moranges!" muttered Quennebert, on whose memory in thatinstant the name became indelibly engraven. 

"A young man, " continued the commander, "who has come back with me fromabroad. Good style, as you see, charming appearance. Now, you younginnocent, lift up your great black eyes and kiss madame's hand; I allowit. "

"Monsieur le commandeur, leave my room; begone, or I shall call----"

"Whom, then? Your lackeys? But I have beaten the only one you keep, asI told you, and it will be some time before he'll be in a condition tolight me downstairs: 'Begone, ' indeed! Is that the way you receive anold friend? Pray be seated, chevalier. "

He approached Mademoiselle de Guerchi, and, despite her resistance, seized hold of one of her hands, and forcing her to sit down, seatedhimself beside her. 

"That's right, my girl, " said he; "now let us talk sense. I understandthat before a stranger you consider yourself obliged to appearastonished at my ways of going on. But he knows all about us, andnothing he may see or hear will surprise him. So a truce to prudery! Icame back yesterday, but I could not make out your hiding-place tillto-day. Now I'm not going to ask you to tell me how you have gone on inmy absence. God and you alone know, and while He will tell me nothing, you would only tell me fibs, and I want to save you from that venial sinat least. But here I am, in as good spirits as ever, more in love thanever, and quite ready to resume my old habits. "

Meantime the lady, quite subdued by his noisy entrance and ruffianlyconduct, and seeing that an assumption of dignity would only draw down onher some fresh impertinence, appeared to resign herself to her position. All this time Quennebert never took his eyes from the chevalier, who satwith his face towards the partition. His elegantly cut costumeaccentuated his personal advantages. His jet black hair brought intorelief the whiteness of his forehead; his large dark eyes with theirveined lids and silky lashes had a penetrating and peculiar expression--amixture of audacity and weakness; his thin and somewhat pale lips wereapt to curl in an ironical smile; his hands were of perfect beauty, hisfeet of dainty smallness, and he showed with an affectation ofcomplaisance a well-turned leg above his ample boots, the turned downtops of which, garnished with lace, fell in irregular folds aver hisankles in the latest fashion. He did not appear to be more than eighteenyears of age, and nature had denied his charming face the distinctivesign of his sex for not the slightest down was visible on his chin, though a little delicate pencilling darkened his upper lip: His slightlyeffeminate style of beauty, the graceful curves of his figure, hisexpression, sometimes coaxing, sometimes saucy, reminding one of a page, gave him the appearance of a charming young scapegrace destined toinspire sudden passions and wayward fancies. While his pretended unclewas making himself at home most unceremoniously, Quennebert remarked thatthe chevalier at once began to lay siege to his fair hostess, bestowingtender and love-laden glances on her behind that uncle's back. Thisredoubled his curiosity. 

"My dear girl, " said the commander, "since I saw you last I have comeinto a fortune of one hundred thousand livres, neither more nor less. Oneof my dear aunts took it into her head to depart this life, and hertemper being crotchety and spiteful she made me her sole heir, in orderto enrage those of her relatives who had nursed her in her illness. Onehundred thousand livres! It's a round sum--enough to cut a great figurewith for two years. If you like, we shall squander it together, capitaland interest. Why do you not speak? Has anyone else robbed me by anychance of your heart? If that were so, I should be in despair, upon myword-for the sake of the fortunate individual who had won your favour;for I will brook no rivals, I give you fair warning. "

"Monsieur le commandeur, " answered Angelique, "you forget, in speaking tome in that manner, I have never given you any right to control myactions. "

"Have we severed our connection?"

At this singular question Angelique started, but de Jars continued--

"When last we parted we were on the best of terms, were we not? I knowthat some months have elapsed since then, but I have explained to you thereason of my absence. Before filling up the blank left by the departedwe must give ourselves space to mourn. Well, was I right in my guess?Have you given me a successor?"

Mademoiselle de Guerchi had hitherto succeeded in controlling herindignation, and had tried to force herself to drink the bitter cup ofhumiliation to the dregs; but now she could bear it no longer. Havingthrown a look expressive of her suffering at the young chevalier, whocontinued to ogle her with great pertinacity, she decided on burstinginto tears, and in a voice broken by sobs she exclaimed that she wasmiserable at being treated in this manner, that she did not deserve it, and that Heaven was punishing her for her error in yielding to theentreaties of the commander. One would have sworn she was sincere andthat the words came from her heart. If Maitre Quennebert had notwitnessed the scene with Jeannin, if he had not known how frail was thevirtue of the weeping damsel, he might have been affected by her touchingplaint. The chevalier appeared to be deeply moved by Angelique's grief, and while his, uncle was striding up and down the room and swearing likea trooper, he gradually approached her and expressed by signs thecompassion he felt. 

Meantime the notary was in a strange state of mind. He had not yet madeup his mind whether the whole thing was a joke arranged between de Jarsand Jeannin or not, but of one thing he was quite convinced, the sympathywhich Chevalier de Moranges was expressing by passionate sighs andglances was the merest hypocrisy. Had he been alone, nothing would haveprevented his dashing head foremost into this imbroglio, in scorn ofconsequence, convinced that his appearance would be as terrible in itseffect as the head of Medusa. But the presence of the widow restrainedhim. Why ruin his future and dry up the golden spring which had justbegun to gush before his eyes, for the sake of taking part in amelodrama? Prudence and self-interest kept him in the side scenes. 

The tears of the fair one and the glances of the chevalier awoke norepentance in the breast of the commander; on the contrary, he began tovent his anger in terms still more energetic. He strode up and down theoaken floor till it shook under his spurred heels; he stuck his plumedhat on the side of his head, and displayed the manners of a bully in aSpanish comedy. Suddenly he seemed to have come to a swift resolution:the expression of his face changed from rage to icy coldness, and walkingup to Angelique, he said, with a composure more terrible than the wildestfury--

"My rival's name?"

"You shall never learn it from me!"

"Madame, his name?"

"Never! I have borne your insults too long. I am not responsible to youfor my actions. "

"Well, I shall learn it, in spite of you, and I know to whom to apply. Do you think you can play fast and loose with me and my love? No, no! Iused to believe in you; I turned, a deaf ear to your traducers. My madpassion for you became known; I was the jest and the butt of the town. But you have opened my eyes, and at last I see clearly on whom myvengeance ought to fall. He was formerly my friend, and I would believenothing against him; although I was often warned, I took no notice. Butnow I will seek him out, and say to him, 'You have stolen what was mine;you are a scoundrel! It must be your life, or mine!' And if, there isjustice in heaven, I shall kill him! Well, madame, you don't ask me thename of this man! You well know whom I mean!"

This threat brought home to Mademoiselle de Guerchi how imminent was herdanger. At first she had thought the commander's visit might be a snarelaid to test her, but the coarseness of his expressions, the cynicism ofhis overtures in the presence of a third person, had convinced her shewas wrong. No man could have imagined that the revolting method ofseduction employed could meet with success, and if the commander haddesired to convict her of perfidy he would have come alone and made useof more persuasive weapons. No, he believed he still had claims on her, but even if he had, by his manner of enforcing them he had rendered themvoid. However, the moment he threatened to seek out a rival whoseidentity he designated quite clearly, and reveal to him the secret it wasso necessary to her interests to keep hidden, the poor girl lost herhead. She looked at de Jars with a frightened expression, and said in atrembling voice--

"I don't know whom you mean. "

"You don't know? Well, I shall commission the king's treasurer, Jeanninde Castille, to come here to-morrow and tell you, an hour before ourduel. "

"Oh no! no! Promise me you will not do that!" cried she, clasping herhands. 

"Adieu, madame. "

"Do not leave me thus! I cannot let you go till you give me yourpromise!"

She threw herself on her knees and clung with both her hands to de Jars'cloak, and appealing to Chevalier de Moranges, said--

"You are young, monsieur; I have never done you any harm; protect me, have pity on me, help me to soften him!"

"Uncle, " said the chevalier in a pleading tone, "be generous, and don'tdrive this woman to despair. "

"Prayers are useless!" answered the commander. 

"What do you want me to do?" said Angelique. "Shall I go into a conventto atone? I am ready to go. Shall I promise never to see him again?For God's sake, give me a little time; put off your vengeance for onesingle day! To-morrow evening, I swear to you, you will have nothingmore to fear from me. I thought myself forgotten by you and abandoned;and how should I think otherwise? You left me without a word offarewell, you stayed away and never sent me a line! And how do you knowthat I did not weep when you deserted me, leaving me to pass my days inmonotonous solitude? How do you know that I did not make every effort tofind out why you were so long absent from my side? You say you had lefttown but how was I to know that? Oh! promise me, if you love me, to giveup this duel! Promise me not to seek that man out to-morrow!"

The poor creature hoped to work wonders with her eloquence, her tears, her pleading glances. On hearing her prayer for a reprieve oftwenty-four hours, swearing that after that she would never see Jeanninagain, the commander and the chevalier were obliged to bite their lips tokeep from laughing outright. But the former soon regained hisself-possession, and while Angelique, still on her knees before him, pressed his hands to her bosom, he forced her to raise her head, andlooking straight into her eyes, said--

"To-morrow, madame, if not this evening, he shall know everything, and ameeting shall take place. "

Then pushing her away, he strode towards the door. 

"Oh! how unhappy I am!" exclaimed Angelique. 

She tried to rise and rush after him, but whether she was really overcomeby her feelings, or whether she felt the one chance of prevailing lefther was to faint, she uttered a heartrending cry, and the chevalier hadno choice but to support her sinking form. 

De Jars, on seeing his nephew staggering under this burden, gave a loudlaugh, and hurried away. Two minutes later he was once more at thetavern in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. 

"How's this? Alone?" said Jeannin. 

"Alone. "

"What have you done with the chevalier?"

"I left him with our charmer, who was unconscious, overcome with grief, exhausted Ha! ha! ha! She fell fainting into his arms! Ha! ha! ha!"

"It's quite possible that the young rogue, being left with her in such acondition, may cut me out. "

"Do you think so?--Ha! ha! ha!"

And de Jars laughed so heartily and so infectiously that his worthyfriend was obliged to join in, and laughed till he choked. 

In the short silence which followed the departure of the commander, Maitre Quennebert could hear the widow still murmuring something, but hewas less disposed than ever to attend to her. 

"On my word, " said he, "the scene now going on is more curious than allthat went before. I don't think that a man has ever found himself insuch a position as mine. Although my interests demand that I remain hereand listen, yet my fingers are itching to box the ears of that Chevalierde Moranges. If there were only some way of getting at a proof of allthis! Ah! now we shall hear something; the hussy is coming to herself. "

And indeed Angelique had opened her eyes and was casting wild looksaround her; she put her hand to her brow several times, as if trying torecall clearly what had happened. 

"Is he gone?" she exclaimed at last. "Oh, why did you let him go? Youshould not have minded me, but kept him here. "

"Be calm, " answered the chevalier, "be calm, for heaven's sake. I shallspeak to my uncle and prevent his ruining your prospects. Only don'tweep any more, your tears break my heart. Ah, my God! how cruel it isto distress you so! I should never be able to withstand your tears; nomatter what reason I had for anger, a look from you would make me forgiveyou everything. "

"Noble young man!" said Angelique. 

"Idiot!" muttered Maitre Quennebert; "swallow the honey of his words, doBut how the deuce is it going to end? Not Satan himself ever inventedsuch a situation. "

"But then I could never believe you guilty without proof, irrefutableproof; and even then a word from you would fill my mind with doubt anduncertainty again. Yes, were the whole world to accuse you and swear toyour guilt, I should still believe your simple word. I am young, madam, I have never known love as yet--until an instant ago I had no idea thatmore quickly than an image can excite the admiration of the eye, athought can enter the heart and stir it to its depths, and features thatone may never again behold leave a lifelong memory behind. But even if awoman of whom I knew absolutely nothing were to appeal to me, exclaiming, 'I implore your help, your protection!' I should, without stopping toconsider, place my sword and my arm at her disposal, and devote myself toher service. How much more eagerly would I die for you, madam, whosebeauty has ravished my heart! What do you demand of me? Tell me whatyou desire me to do. "

"Prevent this duel; don't allow an interview to take place between youruncle and the man whom he mentioned. Tell me you will do this, and Ishall be safe; for you have never learned to lie; I know. "

"Of course he hasn't, you may be sure of that, you simpleton!" mutteredMaitre Quennebert in his corner. "If you only knew what a mere noviceyou are at that game compared with the chevalier! If you only knew whomyou had before you!"

"At your age, " went on Angelique, "one cannot feign--the heart is not yethardened, and is capable of compassion. But a dreadful idea occurs tome--a horrible suspicion! Is it all a devilish trick--a snare arrangedin joke? Tell me that it is not all a pretence! A poor woman encountersso much perfidy. Men amuse themselves by troubling her heart andconfusing her mind; they excite her vanity, they compass her round withhomage, with flattery, with temptation, and when they grow tired offooling her, they despise and insult her. Tell me, was this all apreconcerted plan? This love, this jealousy, were they only acted?"

"Oh, madame, " broke in the chevalier, with an expression of the deepestindignation, "how can you for an instant imagine that a human heart couldbe so perverted? I am not acquainted with the man whom the commanderaccused you of loving, but whoever he may be I feel sure that he isworthy of your love, and that he would never have consented to such adastardly joke. Neither would my uncle; his jealousy mastered him anddrove him mad--

"But I am not dependent on him; I am my own master, and can do as Iplease. I will hinder this duel; I will not allow the illusion andignorance of him who loves you and, alas that I must say it, whom youlove, to be dispelled, for it is in them he finds his happiness. Behappy with him! As for me, I shall never see you again; but therecollection of this meeting, the joy of having served you, will be myconsolation. "

Angelique raised her beautiful eyes, and gave the chevalier a long lookwhich expressed her gratitude more eloquently than words. 

"May I be hanged!" thought Maitre Quennebert, "if the baggage isn'tmaking eyes at him already! But one who is drowning clutches at astraw. "

"Enough, madam, " said the chevalier; "I understand all you would say. Youthank me in his name, and ask me to leave you: I obey-yes, madame, I amgoing; at the risk of my life I will prevent this meeting, I will stiflethis fatal revelation. But grant me one last prayer-permit me to lookforward to seeing you once more before I leave this city, to which I wishI had never come. But I shall quit it in a day or two, to-morrowperhaps--as soon as I know that your happiness is assured. Oh! do notrefuse my last request; let the light of your eyes shine on me for thelast time; after that I shall depart--I shall fly far away for ever. Butif perchance, in spite of every effort, I fail, if the commander'sjealousy should make him impervious to my entreaties--to my tears, if hewhom you love should come and overwhelm you with reproaches and thenabandon you, would you drive me from your presence if I should then say, 'I love you'? Answer me, I beseech you. "

"Go!" said she, "and prove worthy of my gratitude--or my love. "

Seizing one of her hands, the chevalier covered it with passionatekisses. 

"Such barefaced impudence surpasses everything I could have imagined!"murmured Quennebert: "fortunately, the play is over for to-night; if ithad gone on any longer, I should have done something foolish. The ladyhardly imagines what the end of the comedy will be. "

Neither did Quennebert. It was an evening of adventures. It was writtenthat in the space of two hours Angelique was to run the gamut of all theemotions, experience all the vicissitudes to which a life such as she ledis exposed: hope, fear, happiness, mortification, falsehood, love thatwas no love, intrigue within intrigue, and, to crown all, a totallyunexpected conclusion. 

CHAPTER V

The chevalier was still holding Angelique's hand when a step resoundedoutside, and a voice was heard. 

"Can it be that he has come back?" exclaimed the damsel, hastily freeingherself from the passionate embrace of the chevalier. "It's notpossible! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! it's his voice!"

She grew pale to the lips, and stood staring at the door withoutstretched arms, unable to advance or recede. 

The chevalier listened, but felt sure the approaching voice belongedneither to the commander nor to the treasurer. 

"'His voice'?" thought Quennebert to himself. "Can this be yet anotheraspirant to her favour?"

The sound came nearer. 

"Hide yourself!" said Angelique, pointing to a door opposite to thepartition behind which the widow and the notary were ensconced. "Hideyourself there!--there's a secret staircase--you can get out that way. "

"I hide myself!" exclaimed Moranges, with a swaggering air. "What areyou thinking of? I remain. "

It would have been better for him to have followed her advice, as mayvery well have occurred to the youth two minutes later, as a tall, muscular young man entered in a state of intense excitement. Angeliquerushed to meet him, crying--

"Ah! Monsieur le duc, is it you?"

"What is this I hear, Angelique?" said the Duc de Vitry. "I was toldbelow that three men had visited you this evening; but only two have goneout--where is the third? Ha! I do not need long to find him, " he added, as he caught sight of the chevalier, who stood his ground bravely enough. 

"In Heaven's name!" cried Angelique, --"in Heaven's name, listen to me!"

"No, no, not a word. Just now I am not questioning you. Who are you, sir?"

The chevalier's teasing and bantering disposition made him even at thatcritical moment insensible to fear, so he retorted insolently--

"Whoever I please to be, sir; and on my word I find the tone in which youput your question delightfully amusing. "

The duke sprang forward in a rage, laying his hand on his sword. Angelique tried in vain to restrain him. 

"You want to screen him from my vengeance, you false one!" said he, retreating a few steps, so as to guard the door. "Defend your life, sir!"

"Do you defend yours!"

Both drew at the same moment. 

Two shrieks followed, one in the room, the other behind the tapestry, forneither Angelique nor the widow had been able to restrain her alarm asthe two swords flashed in air. In fact the latter had been so frightenedthat she fell heavily to the floor in a faint. 

This incident probably saved the young man's life; his blood had alreadybegun to run cold at the sight of his adversary foaming with rage andstanding between him and the door, when the noise of the fall distractedthe duke's attention. 

"What was that?" he cried. "Are there other enemies concealed here too?"And forgetting that he was leaving a way of escape free, he rushed in thedirection from which the sound came, and lunged at the tapestry-coveredpartition with his sword. Meantime the chevalier, dropping all his airsof bravado, sprang from one end of the room to the other like a catpursued by a dog; but rapid as were his movements, the duke perceived hisflight, and dashed after him at the risk of breaking both his own neckand the chevalier's by a chase through unfamiliar rooms and down stairswhich were plunged in darkness. 

All this took place in a few seconds, like a flash of lightning. Twice, with hardly any interval, the street door opened and shut noisily, andthe two enemies were in the street, one pursued and the other pursuing. 

"My God! Just to think of all that has happened is enough to make onedie of fright!" said Mademoiselle de Guerchi. "What will come next, Ishould like to know? And what shall I say to the duke when he comesback?"

Just at this instant a loud cracking sound was heard in the room. Angelique stood still, once more struck with terror, and recollecting thecry she had heard. Her hair, which was already loosened, escapedentirely from its bonds, and she felt it rise on her head as the figureson the tapestry moved and bent towards her. Falling on her knees andclosing her eyes, she began to invoke the aid of God and all the saints. But she soon felt herself raised by strong arms, and looking round, shefound herself in the presence of an unknown man, who seemed to haveissued from the ground or the walls, and who, seizing the only light leftunextinguished in the scuffle, dragged her more dead than alive into thenext room. 

This man was, as the reader will have already guessed, Maitre Quennebert. As soon as the chevalier and the duke had disappeared, the notary had runtowards the corner where the widow lay, and having made sure that she wasreally unconscious, and unable to see or hear anything, so that it wouldbe quite safe to tell her any story he pleased next day, he returned tohis former position, and applying his shoulder to the partition, easilysucceeded in freeing the ends of the rotten laths from the nails whichheld there, and, pushing them before him, made an aperture large enoughto allow of his passing through into the next apartment. He appliedhimself to this task with such vigour, and became so absorbed in itsaccomplishment, that he entirely forgot the bag of twelve hundred livreswhich the widow had given him. 

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" cried Mademoiselle de Guerchi, struggling to free herself. 

"Silence!" was Quennebert's answer. 

"Don't kill me, for pity's sake!"

"Who wants to kill you? But be silent; I don't want your shrieks to callpeople here. I must be alone with you for a few moments. Once more Itell you to be quiet, unless you want me to use violence. If you do whatI tell you, no harm shall happen to you. "

"But who are you, monsieur?"

"I am neither a burglar nor a murderer; that's all you need to know; therest is no concern of yours. Have you writing materials at hand?"

"Yes, monsieur; there they are, on that table. "

"Very well. Now sit down at the table. "

"Why?"

"Sit down, and answer my questions. "

"The first man who visited you this evening was M. Jeannin, was he not?"

"Yes, M. Jeannin de Castille. "

"The king's treasurer?"

"Yes. "

"All right. The second was Commander de Jars, and the young man hebrought with him was his nephew, the Chevalier de Moranges. The lastcomer was a duke; am I not right?"

"The Duc de Vitry. "

"Now write from my dictation. "

He spoke very slowly, and Mademoiselle de Guerchi, obeying his commands, took up her pen. 

"'To-day, '" dictated Quennebert, --"'to-day, this twentieth day of themonth of November, in the year of the Lord 1658, I--

"What is your full name?"

"Angelique-Louise de Guerchi. "

"Go on! 'I, Angelique-Louise de Guerchi, was visited, in the roomswhich--I occupy, in the mansion of the Duchesse d'Etampes, corner of thestreets Git-le-Coeur and du Hurepoix, about half-past seven o'clock inthe evening, in the first place, by Messire Jeannin de Castille, King'sTreasurer; in the second place, by Commander de Jars, who was accompaniedby a young man, his nephew, the Chevalier de Moranges; in the thirdplace, after the departure of Commander de Jars, and while I was alonewith the Chevalier de Moranges, by the Duc de Vitry, who drew his swordupon the said chevalier and forced him to take flight. '

"Now put in a line by itself, and use capitals"'DESCRIPTION OF THE CHEVALIER DE MORANGES. "

"But I only saw him for an instant, " said Angelique, "and I can'trecall----

"Write, and don't talk. I can recall everything, and that is all that iswanted. "

"'Height about five feet. ' The chevalier, " said Quennebert, interruptinghimself, "is four feet eleven inches three lines and a half, but I don'tneed absolute exactness. " Angelique gazed at him in utter stupefaction. 

"Do you know him, then?" she asked. 

"I saw him this evening for the first time, but my eye is very accurate. 

"'Height about five feet; hair black, eyes ditto, nose aquiline, mouthlarge, lips compressed, forehead high, face oval, complexion pale, nobeard. '

"Now another line, and in capitals:"'SPECIAL MARKS. '

"'A small mole on the neck behind the right ear, a smaller mole on theleft hand. '

"Have you written that? Now sign it with your full name. "

"What use are you going to make of this paper?"

"I should have told you before, if I had desired you to know. Anyquestions are quite useless. I don't enjoin secrecy on you, however, "added the notary, as he folded the paper and put it into his doubletpocket. "You are quite free to tell anyone you like that you havewritten the description of the Chevalier de Moranges at the dictation ofan unknown man, who got into your room you don't know how, by the chimneyor through the ceiling perhaps, but who was determined to leave it by amore convenient road. Is there not a secret staircase? Show me where itis. I don't want to meet anyone on my way out. "

Angelique pointed out a door to him hidden by a damask curtain, andQuennebert saluting her, opened it and disappeared, leaving Angeliqueconvinced that she had seen the devil in person. Not until the next daydid the sight of the displaced partition explain the apparition, but eventhen so great was her fright, so deep was the terror which therecollection of the mysterious man inspired, that despite the permissionto tell what had happened she mentioned her adventure to no one, and didnot even complain to her neighbour, Madame Rapally, of theinquisitiveness which had led the widow to spy on her actions. 

CHAPTER VI

We left de Jars and Jeannin, roaring with laughter, in the tavern in therue Saint Andre-des-Arts. 

"What!" said the treasurer, "do you really think that Angelique thought Iwas in earnest in my offer?--that she believes in all good faith I intendto marry her?"

"You may take my word for it. If it were not so, do you imagine shewould have been in such desperation? Would she have fainted at my threatto tell you that I had claims on her as well as you? To get married!Why, that is the goal of all such creatures, and there is not one of themwho can understand why a man of honour should blush to give her his name. If you had only seen her terror, her tears! They would have either brokenyour heart or killed you with laughter. "

"Well, " said Jeannin, "it is getting late. Are we going to wait for thechevalier?"

"Let us call, for him. "

"Very well. Perhaps he has made up his mind to stay. If so, we shallmake a horrible scene, cry treachery and perjury, and trounce your nephewwell. Let's settle our score and be off. "

They left the wine-shop, both rather the worse for the wine they had solargely indulged in. They felt the need of the cool night air, soinstead of going down the rue Pavee they resolved to follow the rueSaint-Andre-des-Arts as far as the Pont Saint-Michel, so as to reach themansion by a longer route. 

At the very moment the commander got up to leave the tavern the chevalierhad run out of the mansion at the top of his speed. It was not that hehad entirely lost his courage, for had he found it impossible to avoidhis assailant it is probable that he would have regained the audacitywhich had led him to draw his sword. But he was a novice in the use ofarms, had not reached full physical development, and felt that thechances were so much against him that he would only have faced theencounter if there were no possible way of escape. On leaving the househe had turned quickly into the rue Git-le-Coeur; but on hearing the doorclose behind his pursuer he disappeared down the narrow and crooked ruede l'Hirondelle, hoping to throw the Duc de Vitry off the scent. Theduke, however, though for a moment in doubt, was guided by the sound ofthe flying footsteps. The chevalier, still trying to send him off on afalse trail, turned to the right, and so regained the upper end of therue Saint-Andre, and ran along it as far as the church, the site of whichis occupied by the square of the same name to-day. Here he thought hewould be safe, for, as the church was being restored and enlarged, heapsof stone stood all round the old pile. He glided in among these, andtwice heard Vitry searching quite close to him, and each time stood onguard expecting an onslaught. This marching and counter-marching lastedfor some minutes; the chevalier began to hope he had escaped the danger, and eagerly waited for the moment when the moon which had broken throughthe clouds should again withdraw behind them, in order to steal into someof the adjacent streets under cover of the darkness. Suddenly a shadowrose before him and a threatening voice cried--

"Have I caught you at last, you coward?"

The danger in which the chevalier stood awoke in him a flickering energy, a feverish courage, and he crossed blades with his assailant. A strangecombat ensued, of which the result was quite uncertain, dependingentirely on chance; for no science was of any avail on a ground so roughthat the combatants stumbled at every step, or struck against immovablemasses, which were one moment clearly lit up, and the next in shadow. Steel clashed on steel, the feet of the adversaries touched each other, several times the cloak of one was pierced by the sword of the other, more than once the words "Die then!" rang out. But each time theseemingly vanquished combatant sprang up unwounded, as agile and as litheand as quick as ever, while he in his turn pressed the enemy home. Therewas neither truce nor pause, no clever feints nor fencer's tricks couldbe employed on either side; it was a mortal combat, but chance, notskill, would deal the death-blow. Sometimes a rapid pass encounteredonly empty air; sometimes blade crossed blade above the wielders' heads;sometimes the fencers lunged at each other's breast, and yet the blowsglanced aside at the last moment and the blades met in air once more. Atlast, however, one of the two, making a pass to the right which left hisbreast unguarded, received a deep wound. Uttering a loud cry, herecoiled a step or two, but, exhausted by the effort, tripped and fellbackward over a large stone, and lay there motionless, his arms extendedin the form of a cross. 

The other turned and fled. 

"Hark, de Jars!" said Jeannin, stopping, "There's fighting going onhereabouts; I hear the clash of swords. "

Both listened intently. 

"I hear nothing now. "

"Hush! there it goes again. It's by the church. "

"What a dreadful cry!"

They ran at full speed towards the place whence it seemed to come, butfound only solitude, darkness, and silence. They looked in everydirection. 

"I can't see a living soul, " said Jeannin, "and I very much fear that thepoor devil who gave that yell has mumbled his last prayer, "

"I don't know why I tremble so, " replied de Jars; "that heart-rending crymade me shiver from head to foot. Was it not something like thechevalier's voice?"

"The chevalier is with La Guerchi, and even if he had left her this wouldnot have been his way to rejoin us. Let us go on and leave the dead inpeace. "

"Look, Jeannin! what is that in front of us?"

"On that stone? A man who has fallen!"

"Yes, and bathed in blood, " exclaimed de Jars, who had darted to hisside. "Ah! it's he! it's he! Look, his eyes are closed, his hands cold!My child he does not hear me! Oh, who has murdered him?"

He fell on his knees, and threw himself on the body with every mark ofthe most violent despair. 

"Come, come, " said Jeannin, surprised at such an explosion of grief froma man accustomed to duels, and who on several similar occasions had beenfar from displaying much tenderness of heart, "collect yourself, anddon't give way like a woman. Perhaps the wound is not mortal. Let ustry to stop the bleeding and call for help. "

"No, no--"

"Are you mad?"

"Don't call, for Heaven's sake! The wound is here, near the heart. Yourhandkerchief, Jeannin, to arrest the flow of blood. There--now help meto lift him. "

"What does that mean?" cried Jeannin, who had just laid his hand on thechevalier. "I don't know whether I'm awake or asleep! Why, it's a---"

"Be silent, on your life! I shall explain everything--but now be silent;there is someone looking at us. "

There was indeed a man wrapped in a mantle standing motionless some stepsaway. 

"What are you doing here?" asked de Jars. 

"May I ask what you are doing, gentlemen?" retorted Maitre Quennebert, ina calm and steady voice. 

"Your curiosity may cost you dear, monsieur; we are not in the habit ofallowing our actions to be spied on. "

"And I am not in the habit of running useless risks, most noblecavaliers. You are, it is true, two against one; but, " he added, throwing back his cloak and grasping the hilts of a pair of pistolstucked in his belt, "these will make us equal. You are mistaken as to myintentions. I had no thought of playing the spy; it was chance alonethat led me here; and you must acknowledge that finding you in thislonely spot, engaged as you are at this hour of the night, was quiteenough to awake the curiosity of a man as little disposed to provoke aquarrel as to submit to threats. "

"It was chance also that brought us here. We were crossing the square, my friend and I, when we heard groans. We followed the sound, and foundthis young gallant, who is a stranger to us, lying here, with a wound inhis breast. "

As the moon at that moment gleamed doubtfully forth, Maitre Quennebertbent for an instant over the body of the wounded man, and said:

"I know him more than you. But supposing someone were to come upon ushere, we might easily be taken for three assassins holding a consultationover the corpse of our victim. What were you going to do?"

"Take him to a doctor. It would be inhuman to leave him here, and whilewe are talking precious time is being lost. "

"Do you belong to this neighbourhood?"

"No, " said the treasurer. 

"Neither do I, " said Quennebert. "but I believe I have heard the name ofa surgeon who lives close by, in the rue Hauteville. "

"I also know of one, " interposed de Jars, "a very skilful man. "

"You may command me. "

"Gladly, monsieur; for he lives some distance from here. "

"I am at your service. "

De Jars and Jeannin raised the chevalier's shoulders, and the strangersupported his legs, and carrying their burden in this order, they setoff. 

They walked slowly, looking about them carefully, a precaution renderednecessary by the fact that the moon now rode in a cloudless sky. Theyglided over the Pont Saint-Michel between the houses that lined bothsides, and, turning to the right, entered one of the narrow streets ofthe Cite, and after many turnings, during which they met no one, theystopped at the door of a house situated behind the Hotel-de-Ville. 

"Many thanks, monsieur, " said de Jars, --"many thanks; we need no furtherhelp. "

As the commander spoke, Maitre Quennebert let the feet of the chevalierfall abruptly on the pavement, while de Jars and the treasurer stillsupported his body, and, stepping back two paces, he drew his pistolsfrom his belt, and placing a finger on each trigger, said--

"Do not stir, messieurs, or you are dead men. " Both, although encumberedby their burden, laid their hands upon their swords. 

"Not a movement, not a sound, or I shoot. "

There was no reply to this argument, it being a convincing one even fortwo duellists. The bravest man turns pale when he finds himself face toface with sudden inevitable death, and he who threatened seemed to be onewho would, without hesitation, carry out his threats. There was nothingfor it but obedience, or a ball through them as they stood. 

"What do you want with us, sir?" asked Jeannin. 

Quennebert, without changing his attitude, replied--

"Commander de Jars, and you, Messire Jeannin de Castille, king'streasurer, --you see, my gentles, that besides the advantage of arms whichstrike swiftly and surely, I have the further advantage of knowing whoyou are, whilst I am myself unknown, --you will carry the wounded man intothis house, into which I will not enter, for I have nothing to do within;but I shall remain here; to await your return. After you have handed overthe patient to the doctor, you will procure paper and write---now paygreat attention--that on November 20th, 1658, about midnight, you, aidedby an unknown man, carried to this house, the address of which you willgive, a young man whom you call the Chevalier de Moranges, and pass offas your nephew--"

"As he really is. "

"Very well. "

"But who told you--?"

"Let me go on: who had been wounded in a fight with swords on the samenight behind the church of Saint-Andre-des-Arts by the Duc de Vitry. "

"The Duc de Vitry!--How do you know that?"

"No matter how, I know it for a fact. Having made this declaration, youwill add that the said Chevalier de Moranges is no other thanJosephine-Charlotte Boullenois, whom you, commander, abducted four monthsago from the convent of La Raquette, whom you have made your mistress, and whom you conceal disguised as a man; then you will add yoursignature. Is my information correct?"

De Jars and Jeannin were speechless with surprise for a few instants;then the former stammered--

"Will you tell us who you are?"

"The devil in person, if you like. Well, will you do as I order?Supposing that I am awkward enough not to kill you at two paces, do youwant me to ask you in broad daylight and aloud what I now ask at nightand in a whisper? And don't think to put me off with a falsedeclaration, relying on my not being able to read it by the light of themoon; don't think either that you can take me by surprise when you handit me: you will bring it to me with your swords sheathed as now. If thiscondition is not observed, I shall fire, and the noise will bring a crowdabout us. To-morrow I shall speak differently from to-day: I shallproclaim the truth at all the street corners, in the squares, and underthe windows of the Louvre. It is hard, I know, for men of spirit toyield to threats, but recollect that you are in my power and that thereis no disgrace in paying a ransom for a life that one cannot defend. What do you say?"

In spite of his natural courage, Jeannin, who found himself involved inan affair from which he had nothing to gain, and who was not at alldesirous of being suspected of having helped in an abduction, whisperedto the commander--

"Faith! I think our wisest course is to consent. "

De Jars, however, before replying, wished to try if he could by anychance throw his enemy off his guard for an instant, so as to take himunawares. His hand still rested on the hilt of his sword, motionless, but ready to draw. 

"There is someone coming over yonder, " he cried, --"do you hear?"

"You can't catch me in that way, " said Quennebert. "Even were thereanyone coming, I should not look round, and if you move your hand all isover with you. "

"Well, " said Jeannin, "I surrender at discretion--not on my own account, but out of regard for my friend and this woman. However, we are entitleto some pledge of your silence. This statement that you demand, oncewritten, --you can ruin us tomorrow by its means. "

"I don't yet know what use I shall make of it, gentlemen. Make up yourminds, or you will have nothing but a dead body to place--in the doctor'shands. There is no escape for you. "

For the first time the wounded man faintly groaned. 

"I must save her!" cried de Jars, --"I yield. "

"And I swear upon my honour that I will never try to get this woman outof your hands, and that I will never interfere with your conquest. Knock, gentlemen, and remain as long as may be necessary. I am patient. Pray to God, if you will, that she may recover; my one desire is that shemay die. "

They entered the house, and Quennebert, wrapping himself once more in hismantle, walked up and down before it, stopping to listen from time totime. In about two hours the commander and the treasurer came out again, and handed him a written paper in the manner agreed on. 

"I greatly fear that it will be a certificate of death, " said de Jars. 

"Heaven grant it, commander! Adieu, messieurs. "

He then withdrew, walking backwards, keeping the two friends covered withhis pistols until he had placed a sufficient distance between himself andthem to be out of danger of an attack. 

The two gentlemen on their part walked rapidly away, looking round fromtime to time, and keeping their ears open. They were very much mortifiedat having been forced to let a mere boor dictate to them, and anxious, especially de Jars, as to the result of the wound. 

CHAPTER VII

On the day following this extraordinary series of adventures, explanations between those who were mixed up in them, whether as actorsor spectators, were the order of the day. It was not till MaitreQuennebert reached the house of the friend who had offered to put him upfor the night that it first dawned on him, that the interest which theChevalier de Moranges had awakened in his mind had made him utterlyforget the bag containing the twelve hundred livres which he owed to thegenerosity of the widow. This money being necessary to him, he went backto her early next morning. He found her hardly recovered from herterrible fright. Her swoon had lasted far beyond the time when thenotary had left the house; and as Angelique, not daring to enter thebewitched room, had taken refuge in the most distant corner of herapartments, the feeble call of the widow was heard by no one. Receivingno answer, Madame Rapally groped her way into the next room, and findingthat empty, buried herself beneath the bedclothes, and passed the rest ofthe night dreaming of drawn swords, duels, and murders. As soon as itwas light she ventured into the mysterious room once more; withoutcalling her servants, and found the bag of crowns lying open on thefloor, with the coins scattered all around, the partition broken, and thetapestry hanging from it in shreds. The widow was near fainting again:she imagined at first she saw stains of blood everywhere, but a closerinspection having somewhat reassured her, she began to pick up the coinsthat had rolled to right and left, and was agreeably surprised to findthe tale complete. But how and why had Maitre Quennebert abandoned them?What had become of him? She had got lost in the most absurdsuppositions and conjectures when the notary appeared. Discovering fromthe first words she uttered that she was in complete ignorance of allthat had taken place, he explained to her that when the interview betweenthe chevalier and Mademoiselle de Guerchi had just at the mostinteresting moment been so unceremoniously interrupted by the arrival ofthe duke, he had become so absorbed in watching them that he had notnoticed that the partition was bending before the pressure of his body, and that just as the duke drew his sword it suddenly gave way, and he, Quennebert, being thus left without support, tumbled head foremost intothe next room, among a perfect chaos of overturned furniture and lamps;that almost before he could rise he was forced to draw in self-defence, and had to make his escape, defending himself against both the duke andthe chevalier; that they had pursued him so hotly, that when he foundhimself free he was too far from the house and the hour was too advancedto admit of his returning, Quennebert added innumerable protestations offriendship, devotion, and gratitude, and, furnished with his twelvehundred crowns, went away, leaving the widow reassured as to his safety, but still shaken from her fright. 

While the notary was thus soothing the widow, Angelique was exhaustingall the expedients her trade had taught her in the attempt to remove theduke's suspicions. She asserted she was the victim of an unforeseenattack which nothing in her conduct had ever authorised. The youngChevalier de Moranges had, gained admittance, she declared, under thepretext that he brought her news from the duke, the one man who occupiedher thoughts, the sole object of her love. The chevalier had seen herlover, he said, a few days before, and by cleverly appealing to thingsback, he had led her to fear that the duke had grown tired of her, andthat a new conquest was the cause of his absence. She had not believedthese insinuations, although his long silence would have justified themost mortifying suppositions, the most cruel doubts. At length thechevalier had grown bolder, and had declared his passion for her;whereupon she had risen and ordered him to leave her. Just at thatmoment the duke had entered, and had taken the natural agitation andconfusion of the chevalier as signs of her guilt. Some explanation wasalso necessary to account for the presence of the two other visitors ofwhom he had been told below stairs. As he knew nothing at all aboutthem, the servant who admitted them never having seen either of thembefore, she acknowledged that two gentlemen had called earlier in theevening; that they had refused to send in their names, but as they hadsaid they had come to inquire about the duke, she suspected them ofhaving been in league with the chevalier in the attempt to ruin herreputation, perhaps they had even promised to help him to carry her off, but she knew nothing positive about them or their plans. The duke, contrary to his wont, did not allow himself to be easily convinced bythese lame explanations, but unfortunately for him the lady knew how toassume an attitude favourable to her purpose. She had been induced, shesaid, with the simple confidence born of love, to listen to people whohad led her to suppose they could give her news of one so dear to her asthe duke. From this falsehood she proceeded to bitter reproaches:instead of defending herself, she accused him of having left her a preyto anxiety; she went so far as to imply that there must be somefoundation for the hints of the chevalier, until at last the duke, although he was not guilty of the slightest infidelity, and had excellentreasons to give in justification of his silence, was soon reduced to apenitent mood, and changed his threats into entreaties for forgiveness. As to the shriek he had heard, and which he was sure had been uttered bythe stranger who had forced his way into her room after the departure ofthe others, she asserted that his ears must have deceived him. Feelingthat therein lay her best chance of making things smooth, she exertedherself to convince him that there was no need for other information thanshe could give, and did all she could to blot the whole affair from hismemory; and her success was such that at the end of the interview theduke was more enamoured and more credulous than ever, and believing hehad done her wrong, he delivered himself up to her, bound hand and foot. Two days later he installed his mistress in another dwelling. . . . 

Madame Rapally also resolved to give up her rooms, and removed to a housethat belonged to her, on the Pont Saint-Michel. 

The commander took the condition of Charlotte Boullenois very much toheart. The physician under whose care he had placed her, after examiningher wounds, had not given much hope of her recovery. It was not that deJars was capable of a lasting love, but Charlotte was young and possessedgreat beauty, and the romance and mystery surrounding their connectiongave it piquancy. Charlotte's disguise, too, which enabled de Jars toconceal his success and yet flaunt it in the face, as it were, of publicmorality and curiosity, charmed him by its audacity, and above all he wascarried away by the bold and uncommon character of the girl, who, notcontent with a prosaic intrigue, had trampled underfoot all socialprejudices and proprieties, and plunged at once into unmeasured andunrestrained dissipation; the singular mingling in her nature of thevices of both sexes; the unbridled licentiousness of the courtesancoupled with the devotion of a man for horses, wine, and fencing; inshort, her eccentric character, as it would now be called, kept a passionalive which would else have quickly died away in his blase heart. Nothing would induce him to follow Jeannin's advice to leave Paris for atleast a few weeks, although he shared Jeannin's fear that the statementthey had been forced to give the stranger would bring them into trouble. The treasurer, who had no love affair on hand, went off; but thecommander bravely held his ground, and at the end of five or six days, during which no one disturbed him, began to think the only result of theincident would be the anxiety it had caused him. 

Every evening as soon as it was dark he betook himself to the doctor's, wrapped in his cloak, armed to the teeth, and his hat pulled down overhis eyes. For two days and nights, Charlotte, whom to avoid confusion weshall continue to call the Chevalier de Moranges, hovered between lifeand death. Her youth and the strength of her constitution enabled her atlast to overcome the fever, in spite of the want of skill of the surgeonPerregaud. 

Although de Jars was the only person who visited the chevalier, he wasnot the only one who was anxious about the patient's health. MaitreQuennebert, or men engaged by him to watch, for he did not want toattract attention, were always prowling about the neighbourhood, so thathe was kept well informed of everything that went on: The instructions hegave to these agents were, that if a funeral should leave the house, theywere to find out the name of the deceased, and then to let him knowwithout delay. But all these precautions seemed quite useless: he alwaysreceived the same answer to all his questions, "We know nothing. " So atlast he determined to address himself directly to the man who could givehim information on which he could rely. 

One night the commander left the surgeon's feeling more cheerful thanusual, for the chevalier had passed a good day, and there was every hopethat he was on the road to complete recovery. Hardly had de Jars gonetwenty paces when someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and sawa man whom, in the darkness, he did not recognise. 

"Excuse me for detaining you, Commander de Jars, " said Quennebert, "but Ihave a word to say to you. "

"Ali! so it's you, sir, " replied the commander. "Are you going at lastto give me the opportunity I was so anxious for?"

"I don't understand. "

"We are on more equal terms this time; to-day you don't catch meunprepared, almost without weapons, and if you are a man of honour youwill measure swords with me. "

"Fight a duel with you! why, may I ask? You have never insulted me. "

"A truce to pleasantry, sir; don't make me regret that I have shownmyself more generous than you. I might have killed you just now had Iwished. I could have put my pistol to your breast and fired, or said toyou, 'Surrender at discretion!' as you so lately said to me. "

"And what use would that have been?"

"It would have made a secret safe that you ought never to have known. "

"It would have been the most unfortunate thing for you that could havehappened, for if you had killed me the paper would have spoken. So! youthink that if you were to assassinate me you would only have to stoopover my dead body and search my pockets, and, having found theincriminating document, destroy it. You seem to have formed no very highopinion of my intelligence and common sense. You of the upper classesdon't need these qualities, the law is on, your side. But when a humbleindividual like myself, a mere nobody, undertakes to investigate a pieceof business about which those in authority are not anxious to beenlightened, precautions are necessary. It's not enough for him to haveright on his side, he must, in order to secure his own safety, make gooduse of his skill, courage, and knowledge. I have no desire to humiliateyou a second time, so I will say no more. The paper is in the hands ofmy notary, and if a single day passes without his seeing me he has ordersto break the seal and make the contents public. So you see chance isstill on my side. But now that you are warned there is no need for me tobluster. I am quite prepared to acknowledge your superior rank, and ifyou insist upon it, to speak to you uncovered. "

"What do you desire to know, sir?"

"How is the Chevalier de Moranges getting on?"

"Very badly, very badly. "

"Take care, commander; don't deceive me. One is so easily tempted tobelieve what one hopes, and I hope so strongly that I dare not believewhat you say. I saw you coming out of the house, not at all with the airof a man who had just heard bad news, (quite the contrary) you looked atthe sky, and rubbed your hands, and walked with a light, quick step, thatdid not speak of grief. "

"You're a sharp observer, sir. "

"I have already explained to you, sir, that when one of us belonging to aclass hardly better than serfs succeeds by chance or force of characterin getting out of the narrow bounds in which he was born, he must keepboth eyes and ears open. If I had doubted your word as you have doubtedmine on the merest suspicion, you would have said to your servants, 'Chastise this rascal. ' But I am obliged to prove to you that you didnot tell me the truth. Now I am sure that the chevalier is out ofdanger. "

"If you were so well informed why did you ask me?"

"I only knew it by your asserting the contrary. "

"What do you mean?" cried de Jars, who was growing restive under thiscold, satirical politeness. 

"Do me justice, commander. The bit chafes, but yet you must acknowledgethat I have a light hand. For a full week you have been in my power. Have I disturbed your quiet? Have I betrayed your secret? You know Ihave not. And I shall continue to act in the same manner. I hope withall my heart, however great would be your grief; that the chevalier maydie of his wound. I have not the same reasons for loving him that youhave, so much you can readily understand, even if I do not explain thecause of my interest in his fate. But in such a matter hopes count fornothing; they cannot make his temperature either rise or fall. I havetold you I have no wish to force the chevalier to resume his real name. I may make use of the document and I may not, but if I am obliged to useit I shall give you warning. Will you, in return, swear to me upon yourhonour that you will keep me informed as to the fate of the chevalier, whether you remain in Paris or whether you leave? But let this agreementbe a secret between us, and do not mention it to the so-called Moranges. "

"I have your oath, monsieur, that you will give me notice before you usethe document I have given you against me, have I? But what guaranteehave I that you will keep your word?"

"My course of action till to-day, and the fact that I have pledged you myword of my own free will. "

"I see, you hope not to have long to wait for the end. "

"I hope not; but meantime a premature disclosure would do me as much harmas you. I have not the slightest rancour against you, commander; youhave robbed me of no treasure; I have therefore no compensation todemand. What you place such value on would be only a burden to me, as itwill be to you later on. All I want is, to know as soon as it is nolonger in your possession, whether it has been removed by the will of Godor by your own, I am right in thinking that to-day there is some hope ofthe chevalier's recovery, am I not?"

"Yes, Sir, "

"Do you give me your promise that if ever he leave this house safe andsound you will let me know?"

"I give you my promise, "

"And if the result should be different, you will also send me word?"

"Certainly. But to whom shall I address my message?"

"I should have thought that since our first meeting you would have foundout all about me, and that to tell you my name would be superfluous. ButI have no reason to hide it: Maitre Quennebert, notary, Saint-Denis. Iwill not detain you any longer now, commander; excuse a simple citizenfor dictating conditions to a noble such as you. For once chance hasbeen on my side although a score of times it has gone against me. "

De Jars made no reply except a nod, and walked away quickly, mutteringwords of suppressed anger between his teeth at all the--humiliations towhich he had been obliged to submit so meekly. 

"He's as insolent as a varlet who has no fear of a larruping before hiseyes: how the rapscallion gloried in taking advantage of his position!Taking-off his hat while putting his foot on my neck! If ever I can beeven with you, my worthy scrivener, you'll pass a very bad quarter of anhour, I can tell you. "

Everyone has his own idea of what constitutes perfect honour. De Jars, for instance, would have allowed himself to be cut up into little piecesrather than have broken the promise he had given Quennebert a week ago, because it was given in exchange for his life, and the slightestpaltering with his word under those circumstances would have beendastardly. But the engagement into which he had just entered had in hiseyes no such moral sanction; he had not been forced into it by threats, he had escaped by its means no serious danger, and therefore in regard toit his conscience was much more accommodating. What he should best haveliked to do, would have been to have sought out the notary and provokedhim by insults to send him a challenge. 

That a clown such as that could have any chance of leaving the groundalive never entered his head. But willingly as he would have encompassedhis death in this manner, the knowledge that his secret would not diewith Quennebert restrained him, for when everything came out he felt thatthe notary's death would be regarded as an aggravation of his originaloffence, and in spite of his rank he was not at all certain that if hewere put on his trial even now he would escape scot free, much less if anew offence were added to the indictment. So, however much he mightchafe against the bit, he felt he must submit to the bridle. 

"By God!" said he, "I know what the clodhopper is after; and even if Imust suffer in consequence, I shall take good care that he cannot shakeoff his bonds. Wait a bit! I can play the detective too, and be down onhim without letting him see the hand that deals the blows. It'll be awonder if I can't find a naked sword to suspend above his head. "

However, while thus brooding over projects of vengeance, Commander deJars kept his word, and about a month after the interview above relatedhe sent word to Quennebert that the Chevalier de Moranges had leftPerregaud's completely recovered from his wound. But the nearly fatalresult of the chevalier's last prank seemed to have subdued hisadventurous spirit; he was no longer seen in public, and was soonforgotten by all his acquaintances with the exception of Mademoiselle deGuerchi. She faithfully treasured up the memory of his words of passion, his looks of love, the warmth of his caresses, although at first shestruggled hard to chase his image from her heart. But as the Due deVitry assured her that he had killed him on the spot, she considered itno breach of faith to think lovingly of the dead, and while she took thegoods so bounteously provided by her living lover, her gentlest thoughts, her most enduring regrets, were given to one whom she never hoped to seeagain. 

CHAPTER VIII

With the reader's permission, we must now jump over an interval of rathermore than a year, and bring upon the stage a person who, though only ofsecondary importance, can no longer be left behind the scenes. 

We have already said that the loves of Quennebert and Madame Rapally wereregarded with a jealous eye by a distant cousin of the lady's latehusband. The love of this rejected suitor, whose name was Trumeau, wasno more sincere than the notary's, nor were his motives more honourable. Although his personal appearance was not such as to lead him to expectthat his path would be strewn with conquests, he considered that hischarms at least equalled those of his defunct relative; and it may besaid that in thus estimating them he did not lay himself--open to thecharge of overweening vanity. But however persistently he preened himself before the widow, she vouchsafed him not one glance. Her heart wasfilled with the love of his rival, and it is no easy thing to tear arooted passion out of a widow's heart when that widow's age is forty-six, and she is silly enough to believe that the admiration she feels isequalled by the admiration she inspires, as the unfortunate Trumeau foundto his cost. All his carefully prepared declarations of love, all hisskilful insinuations against Quennebert, brought him nothing but scornfulrebuffs. But Trumeau was nothing if not persevering, and he could nothabituate himself to the idea of seeing the widow's fortune pass intoother hands than his own, so that every baffled move only increased hisdetermination to spoil his competitor's game. He was always on the watchfor a chance to carry tales to the widow, and so absorbed did he becomein this fruitless pursuit, that he grew yellower and more dried up fromday to day, and to his jaundiced eye the man who was at first simply hisrival became his mortal enemy and the object of his implacable hate, sothat at length merely to get the better of him, to outwit him, would, after so long-continued and obstinate a struggle and so many defeats, have seemed to him too mild a vengeance, too incomplete a victory. 

Quennebert was well aware of the zeal with which the indefatigableTrumeau sought to injure him. But he regarded the manoeuvres of hisrival with supreme unconcern, for he knew that he could at any time sweepaway the network of cunning machinations, underhand insinuations, andmalicious hints, which was spread around him, by allowing the widow toconfer on him the advantages she was so anxious to bestow. The goal, heknew, was within his reach, but the problem he had to solve was how tolinger on the way thither, how to defer the triumphal moment, how to keephope alive in the fair one's breast and yet delay its fruition. Hisaffairs were in a bad way. Day by day full possession of the fortunethus dangled before his eyes, and fragments of which came to himoccasionally by way of loan, was becoming more and more indispensable, and tantalising though it was, yet he dared not put out his hand to seizeit. His creditors dunned him relentlessly: one final reprieve had beengranted him, but that at an end, if he could not meet their demands, itwas all up with his career and reputation. 

One morning in the beginning of February 1660, Trumeau called to see hiscousin. He had not been there for nearly a month, and Quennebert and thewidow had begun to think that, hopeless of success, he had retired fromthe contest. But, far from that, his hatred had grown more intense thanever, and having come upon the traces of an event in the past life of hisrival which if proved would be the ruin of that rival's hopes, he sethimself to gather evidence. He now made his appearance with beaminglooks, which expressed a joy too great for words. He held in one hand asmall scroll tied with a ribbon. He found the widow alone, sitting in alarge easy-chair before the fire. She was reading for the twentieth timea letter which Quenriebert had written her the evening before. To judgeby the happy and contented expression of the widow's face, it must havebeen couched in glowing terms. Trumeau guessed at once from whom themissive came, but the sight of it, instead of irritating him, calledforth a smile. 

"Ah! so it's you, cousin?" said the widow, folding the precious paperand slipping it into the bosom of her dress. "How do you do? It's a longtime since I saw you, more than a fortnight, I think. Have you been ill?"

"So you remarked my absence! That is very flattering, my dear cousin;you do not often spoil me by such attentions. No, I have not been ill, thank God, but I thought it better not to intrude upon you so often. Afriendly call now and then such as to-day's is what you like, is it not?By the way, tell me about your handsome suitor, Maitre Quennebert; how ishe getting along?"

"You look very knowing, Trumeau: have you heard of anything happening tohim?"

"No, and I should be exceedingly sorry to hear that anything unpleasanthad happened to him. "

Now you are not saying what you think, you know you can't bear him. "

"Well, to speak the truth, I have no great reason to like him. If itwere not for him, I should perhaps have been happy to-day; my love mighthave moved your heart. However, I have become resigned to my loss, andsince your choice has fallen on him, "--and here he. Sighed, --"well, all Ican say is, I hope you may never regret it. "

"Many thanks for your goodwill, cousin; I am delighted to find you insuch a benevolent mood. You must not be vexed because I could not giveyou the kind of love you wanted; the heart, you know, is not amenable toreason. "

"There is only one thing I should like to ask. "

"What is it?"

"I mention it for your good more than for my own. If you want to behappy, don't let this handsome quill-driver get you entirely into hishands. You are saying to yourself that because of my ill-success withyou I am trying to injure him; but what if I could prove that he does notlove you as much as he pretends--?"

"Come, come, control your naughty tongue! Are you going to beginbackbiting again? You are playing a mean part, Trumeau. I have neverhinted to Maitre Quennebert all the nasty little ways in which you havetried to put a spoke in his wheel, for if he knew he would ask you toprove your words, and then you would look very foolish. ". 

"Not at all, I swear to you. On the contrary, if I were to tell all Iknow in his presence, it is not I who would be disconcerted. Oh! I amweary of meeting with nothing from you but snubs, scorn, and abuse. Youthink me a slanderer when I say, 'This gallant wooer of widows does notlove you for yourself but for your money-bags. He fools you by finepromises, but as to marrying you--never, never!'"

"May I ask you to repeat that?" broke in Madame Rapally, "Oh! I know what I am saying. You will never be Madame Quennebert. "

"Really?"

"Really. "

"Jealousy has eaten away whatever brains you used to possess, Trumeau. Since I saw you last, cousin, important changes have taken place: I wasjust going to send you to-day an invitation to my wedding. "

"To your wedding?"

"Yes; I am to be married to-morrow. "

"To-morrow? To Quennebert?" stammered Trumeau. 

"To Quennebert, " repeated the widow in a tone of triumph. 

"It's not possible!" exclaimed Trumeau. 

"It is so possible that you will see us united tomorrow. And for thefuture I must beg of you to regard Quennebert no longer as a rival but asmy husband, whom to offend will be to offend me. "

The tone in which these words were spoken no longer left room for doubtas to the truth of the news. Trumeau looked down for a few moments, asif reflecting deeply before definitely making up his mind. He twistedthe little roll of papers between his fingers, and seemed to be in doubtwhether to open it and give it to Madame Rapally to read or not. In theend, however, he put it in his pocket, rose, and approaching his cousin, said--

"I beg your pardon, this news completely changes my opinion. From themoment Maitre Quennebert becomes your husband I shall not have a word tosay against him. My suspicions were unjust, I confess it frankly, and Ihope that in consideration of the motives which prompted me you willforget the warmth of my attacks. I shall make no protestations, butshall let the future show how sincere is my devotion to your interests. "

Madame Rapally was too happy, too certain of being loved, not to pardoneasily. With the self-complacency and factitious generosity of a womanwho feels herself the object of two violent passions, she was so good asto feel pity for the lover who was left out in the cold, and offered himher hand. Trumeau kissed it with every outward mark of respect, whilehis lips curled unseen in a smite of mockery. The cousins parted, apparently the best of friends, and on the understanding that Trumeauwould be present at the nuptial benediction, which was to be given in achurch beyond the town hall, near the house in which the newly-marriedcouple were to live; the house on the Pont Saint-Michel having latelybeen sold to great advantage. 

"On my word, " said Trumeau, as he went off, "it would have been a greatmistake to have spoken. I have got that wretch of a Quennebert into myclutches at last; and there is nobody but himself to blame. He is takingthe plunge of his own free will, there is no need for me to shove him offthe precipice. "

The ceremony took place next day. Quennebert conducted his interestingbride to the altar, she hung with ornaments like the shrine of a saint, and, beaming all over with smiles, looked so ridiculous that the handsomebridegroom reddened to the roots of his hair with shame. Just as theyentered the church, a coffin, on which lay a sword, and which wasfollowed by a single mourner, who from his manners and dress seemed tobelong to the class of nobles, was carried in by the same door. Thewedding guests drew back to let the funeral pass on, the living givingprecedence to the dead. The solitary mourner glanced by chance atQuennebert, and started as if the sight of him was painful. 

"What an unlucky meeting!" murmured Madame Rapally; "it is sure to be abad omen. "

"It's sure to be the exact opposite, " said Quennebert smiling. 

The two ceremonies took place simultaneously in two adjoining chapels;the funeral dirges which fell on the widow's ear full of sinisterprediction seemed to have quite another meaning for Quennebert, for hisfeatures lost their look of care, his wrinkles smoothed themselves out, till the guests, among whom was Trumeau, who did not suspect the secretof his relief from suspense, began to believe, despite their surprise, that he was really rejoiced at obtaining legal possession of the charmingMadame Rapally. 

As for her, she fleeted the daylight hours by anticipating the joyfulmoment when she would have her husband all to herself. When night came, hardly had she entered the nuptial chamber than she uttered a piercingshriek. She had just found and read a paper left on the bed by Trumeau, who before leaving had contrived to glide into the room unseen. Itscontents were of terrible import, so terrible that the new-made wife fellunconscious to the ground. 

Quennebert, who, without a smile, was absorbed in reflections on thehappiness at last within his grasp, heard the noise from the next room, and rushing in, picked up his wife. Catching sight of the paper, he alsouttered a cry of anger and astonishment, but in whatever circumstances hefound himself he was never long uncertain how to act. Placing MadameQuennebert, still unconscious, on the bed, he called her maid, and, having impressed on her that she was to take every care of her mistress, and above all to tell her from him as soon as she came to herself thatthere was no cause for alarm, he left the house at once. An hour later, in spite of the efforts of the servants, he forced his way into thepresence of Commander de Jars. Holding out the fateful document to him, he said:

"Speak openly, commander! Is it you who in revenge for your longconstraint have done this? I can hardly think so, for after what hashappened you know that I have nothing to fear any longer. Still, knowingmy secret and unable to do it in any other way, have you perchance takenyour revenge by an attempt to destroy my future happiness by sowingdissension and disunion between me and my wife?"

The commander solemnly assured him that he had had no hand in bringingabout the discovery. 

'Then if it's not you, it must be a worthless being called Trumeau, who, with the unerring instinct of jealousy, has run the truth to earth. Buthe knows only half: I have never been either so much in love or so stupidas to allow myself to be trapped. I have given you my promise to bediscreet and not to misuse my power, and as long as was compatible withmy own safety I have kept my word. But now you must see that I am boundto defend myself, and to do that I shall be obliged to summon you as awitness. So leave Paris tonight and seek out some safe retreat where noone can find you, for to-morrow I shall speak. Of course if I am quitfor a woman's tears, if no more difficult task lies before me than tosoothe a weeping wife, you can return immediately; but if, as is tooprobable, the blow has been struck by the hand of a rival furious athaving been defeated, the matter will not so easily be cut short; the armof the law will be invoked, and then I must get my head out of the noosewhich some fingers I know of are itching to draw tight. "

"You are quite right, sir, " answered the commander; "I fear that myinfluence at court is not strong enough to enable me to brave the matterout. Well, my success has cost me dear, but it has cured me for ever ofseeking out similar adventures. My preparations will not take long, andto-morrow's dawn will find me far from Paris. "

Quennebert bowed and withdrew, returning home to console his Ariadne. 

CHAPTER IX

The accusation hanging over the head of Maitre Quennebert was a veryserious one, threatening his life, if proved. But he was not uneasy; heknew himself in possession of facts which would enable him to refute ittriumphantly. 

The platonic love of Angelique de Guerchi for the handsome Chevalier deMoranges had resulted, as we have seen, in no practical wrong to the Ducde Vitry. After her reconciliation with her lover, brought about by theeminently satisfactory explanations she was able to give of her conduct, which we have already laid before our readers, she did not consider itadvisable to shut her heart to his pleadings much longer, and theconsequence was that at the end of a year she found herself in acondition which it was necessary to conceal from everyone. To Angeliqueherself, it is true, the position was not new, and she felt neither griefnor shame, regarding the coming event as a means of making her futuremore secure by forging a new link in the chain which bound the duke toher. But he, sure that but for himself Angelique would never havestrayed from virtue's path, could not endure the thought of her losingher reputation and becoming an object for scandal to point her finger at;so that Angelique, who could not well seem less careful of her good namethan he, was obliged to turn his song of woe into a duet, and consent tocertain measures being taken. 

One evening, therefore, shortly before Maitre Quennebert's marriage, thefair lady set out, ostensibly on a journey which was to last a fortnightor three weeks. In reality she only made a circle in a post-chaise roundParis, which she re-entered at one of the barriers, where the dukeawaited her with a sedan-chair. In this she was carried to the veryhouse to which de Jars had brought his pretended nephew after the duel. Angelique, who had to pay dearly for her errors, remained there onlytwenty-four hours, and then left in her coffin, which was hidden in acellar under the palace of the Prince de Conde, the body being coveredwith quicklime. Two days after this dreadful death, Commander de Jarspresented himself at the fatal house, and engaged a room in which heinstalled the chevalier. 

This house, which we are about to ask the reader to enter with us, stoodat the corner of the rue de la Tixeranderie and the rue Deux-Portes. There was nothing in the exterior of it to distinguish it from any other, unless perhaps two brass plates, one of which bore the words MARIELEROUX-CONSTANTIN, WIDOW, CERTIFIED MIDWIFE, and the other CLAUDEPERREGAUD, SURGEON. These plates were affixed to the blank wall in therue de la Tixeranderie, the windows of the rooms on that side lookinginto the courtyard. The house door, which opened directly on the firststeps of a narrow winding stair, was on the other side, just beyond thelow arcade under whose vaulted roof access was gained to that end of therue des Deux-Portes. This house, though dirty, mean, and out of repair, received many wealthy visitors, whose brilliant equipages waited for themin the neighbouring streets. Often in the night great ladies crossed itsthreshold under assumed names and remained there for several days, duringwhich La Constantin and Claude Perregaud, by an infamous use of theirprofessional knowledge, restored their clients to an outward appearanceof honour, and enabled them to maintain their reputation for virtue. Thefirst and second floors contained a dozen rooms in which these abominablemysteries were practised. The large apartment, which served as waitingand consultation room, was oddly furnished, being crowded with objects ofstrange and unfamiliar form. It resembled at once the operating-room ofa surgeon, the laboratory of a chemist and alchemist, and the den of asorcerer. There, mixed up together in the greatest confusion, layinstruments of all sorts, caldrons and retorts, as well as bookscontaining the most absurd ravings of the human mind. There were thetwenty folio volumes of Albertus Magnus; the works of his disciple, Thomas de Cantopre, of Alchindus, of Averroes, of Avicenna, ofAlchabitius, of David de Plaine-Campy, called L'Edelphe, surgeon to LouisXIII and author of the celebrated book The Morbific Hydra Exterminated bythe Chemical Hercules. Beside a bronze head, such as the monk RogerBacon possessed, which answered all the questions that were addressed toit and foretold the future by means of a magic mirror and the combinationof the rules of perspective, lay an eggshell, the same which had beenused by Caret, as d'Aubigne tells us, when making men out of germs, mandrakes, and crimson silk, over a slow fire. In the presses, which hadsliding-doors fastening with secret springs, stood Jars filled withnoxious drugs, the power of which was but too efficacious; in prominentpositions, facing each other, hung two portraits, one representingHierophilos, a Greek physician, and the other Agnodice his pupil, thefirst Athenian midwife. 

For several years already La Constantin and Claude Perregaud had carriedon their criminal practices without interference. A number of personswere of course in the secret, but their interests kept them silent, andthe two accomplices had at last persuaded themselves that they wereperfectly safe. One evening, however, Perregaud came home, his facedistorted by terror and trembling in every limb. He had been warnedwhile out that the suspicions of the authorities had been aroused inregard to him and La Constantin. It seemed that some little time ago, the Vicars-General had sent a deputation to the president of the chiefcourt of justice, having heard from their priests that in one year alonesix hundred women had avowed in the confessional that they had takendrugs to prevent their having children. This had been sufficient toarouse the vigilance of the police, who had set a watch on Perregaud'shouse, with the result that that very night a raid was to be made on it. The two criminals took hasty counsel together, but, as usual under suchcircumstances, arrived at no practical conclusions. It was only when thedanger was upon them that they recovered their presence of mind. In thedead of night loud knocking at the street door was heard, followed by thecommand to open in the name of the king. 

"We can yet save ourselves!" exclaimed surgeon, with a sudden flash ofinspiration. 

Rushing into the room where the pretended chevalier was lying, he calledout--

"The police are coming up! If they discover your sex you are lost, andso am I. Do as I tell you. "

At a sign from him, La Constantin went down and opened the door. Whilethe rooms on the first floor were being searched, Perregaud made with alancet a superficial incision in the chevalier's right arm, which gavevery little pain, and bore a close resemblance to a sword-cut. Surgeryand medicine were at that time so inextricably involved, required suchapparatus, and bristled with such scientific absurdities, that noastonishment was excited by the extraordinary collection of instrumentswhich loaded the tables and covered the floors below: even the titles ofcertain treatises which there had been no time to destroy, awoke nosuspicion. 

Fortunately for the surgeon and his accomplice, they had only onepatient--the chevalier--in their house when the descent was made. Whenthe chevalier's room was reached, the first thing which the officers ofthe law remarked were the hat, spurred boots, and sword of the patient. Claude Perregaud hardly looked up as the room was invaded; he only made asign to those--who came in to be quiet, and went on dressing the wound. Completely taken in, the officer in command merely asked the name of thepatient and the cause of the wound. La Constantin replied that it' wasthe young Chevalier de Moranges, nephew of Commander de Jars, who had hadan affair of honour that same night, and being sightly wounded had beenbrought thither by his uncle hardly an hour before. These questions andthe apparently trustworthy replies elicited by them being duly takendown, the uninvited visitors retired, having discovered nothing tojustify their visit. 

All might have been well had there been nothing the matter but the woundon the chevalier's sword-arm. But at the moment when Perregaud gave itto him the poisonous nostrums employed by La Constantin were alreadyworking in his blood. Violent fever ensued, and in three days thechevalier was dead. It was his funeral which had met Quennebert'swedding party at the church door. 

Everything turned out as Quennebert had anticipated. Madame Quennebert, furious at the deceit which had been practised on her, refused to listento her husband's justification, and Trumeau, not letting the grass growunder his feet, hastened the next day to launch an accusation of bigamyagainst the notary; for the paper which had been found in the nuptialcamber was nothing less than an attested copy of a contract of marriageconcluded between Quennebert and Josephine-Charlotte Boullenois. It wasby the merest chance that Trumeau had come on the record of the marriage, and he now challenged his rival to produce a certificate of the death ofhis first wife. Charlotte Boullenois, after two years of marriage, haddemanded a deed of separation, which demand Quennebert had opposed. While the case was going on she had retired to the convent of LaRaquette, where her intrigue with de Jars began. The commander easilyinduced her to let herself be carried off by force. He then concealedhis conquest by causing her to adopt male attire, a mode of dress whichaccorded marvellously well with her peculiar tastes and rather masculineframe. At first Quennebert had instituted an active but fruitless searchfor his missing wife, but soon became habituated to his state of enforcedsingle blessedness, enjoying to the full the liberty it brought with it. But his business had thereby suffered, and once having made theacquaintance of Madame Rapally, he cultivated it assiduously, knowing herfortune would be sufficient to set him straight again with the world, though he was obliged to exercise the utmost caution and reserve in hasintercourse with her, as she on her side displayed none of thesequalities. At last, however, matters came to such a pass that he musteither go to prison or run the risk of a second marriage. So hereluctantly named a day for the ceremony, resolving to leave Paris withMadame Rapally as soon as he had settled with his creditors. 

In the short interval which ensued, and while Trumeau was hugging theknowledge of the discovery he had made, a stroke of luck had brought thepretended chevalier to La Constantin. As Quennebert had kept an eye onde Jars and was acquainted with all his movements, he was aware ofeverything that happened at Perregaud's, and as Charlotte's deathpreceded his second marriage by one day, he knew that no seriousconsequences would ensue from the legal proceedings taken against him. He produced the declarations made by Mademoiselle de Guerchi and thecommander, and had the body exhumed. Extraordinary and improbable as hisdefence appeared at first to be, the exhumation proved the truth of hisassertions. These revelations, however, drew the eye of justice again onPerregaud and his partner in crime, and this time their guilt was broughthome to them. They were condemned by parliamentary decree to "be hangedby the neck till they were dead, on a gallows erected for that purpose atthe cross roads of the Croix-du-Trahoir; their bodies to remain there fortwenty-four hours, then to be cut down and brought back to Paris, wherethey were to be exposed an a gibbet, " etc. , etc. 

It was proved that they had amassed immense fortunes in the exercise oftheir infamous calling. The entries in the books seized at their house, though sparse, would have led, if made public, to scandals, involvingmany in high places; it was therefore judged best to limit the accusationto the two deaths by blood-poisoning of Angelique de Querchi andCharlotte Boullenois. 

JOAN OF NAPLES--1343-1382

CHAPTER I

In the night of the 15th of January 1343, while the inhabitants of Napleslay wrapped in peaceful slumber, they were suddenly awakened by the bellsof the three hundred churches that this thrice blessed capital contains. In the midst of the disturbance caused by so rude a call the first thoughtin the mind of all was that the town was on fire, or that the army ofsome enemy had mysteriously landed under cover of night and could put thecitizens to the edge of the sword. But the doleful, intermittent soundsof all these fills, which disturbed the silence at regular and distantintervals, were an invitation to the faithful to pray for a passing soul, and it was soon evident that no disaster threatened the town, but thatthe king alone was in danger. 

Indeed, it had been plain for several days past that the greatestuneasiness prevailed in Castel Nuovo; the officers of the crown wereassembled regularly twice a day, and persons of importance, whose rightit was to make their way into the king's apartments, came out evidentlybowed down with grief. But although the king's death was regarded as amisfortune that nothing could avert, yet the whole town, on learning forcertain of the approach of his last hour, was affected with a sinceregrief, easily understood when one learns that the man about to die, aftera reign of thirty-three years, eight months, and a few days, was Robertof Anjou, the most wise, just, and glorious king who had ever sat on thethrone of Sicily. And so he carried with him to the tomb the eulogiesand regrets of all his subjects. 

Soldiers would speak with enthusiasm of the long wars he had waged withFrederic and Peter of Aragon, against Henry VII and Louis of Bavaria; andfelt their hearts beat high, remembering the glories of campaigns inLombardy and Tuscany; priests would gratefully extol his constant defenceof the papacy against Ghibelline attacks, and the founding of convents, hospitals, and churches throughout his kingdom; in the world of lettershe was regarded as the most learned king in Christendom; Petrarch, indeed, would receive the poet's crown from no other hand, and had spentthree consecutive days answering all the questions that Robert haddeigned to ask him on every topic of human knowledge. The men of law, astonished by the wisdom of those laws which now enriched the Neapolitancode, had dubbed him the Solomon of their day; the nobles applauded himfor protecting their ancient privileges, and the people were eloquent ofhis clemency, piety, and mildness. In a word, priests and soldiers, philosophers and poets, nobles and peasants, trembled when they thoughtthat the government was to fall into the hands of a foreigner and of ayoung girl, recalling those words of Robert, who, as he followed in thefuneral train of Charles, his only son, turned as he reached thethreshold of the church and sobbingly exclaimed to his barons about him, "This day the crown has fallen from my head: alas for me! alas for you!"

Now that the bells were ringing for the dying moments of the good king, every mind was full of these prophetic words: women prayed fervently toGod; men from all parts of the town bent their steps towards the royalpalace to get the earliest and most authentic news, and after waitingsome moments, passed in exchanging sad reflections, were obliged toreturn as they had come, since nothing that went on in the privacy of thefamily found its way outside--the castle was plunged in completedarkness, the drawbridge was raised as usual, and the guards were attheir post. 

Yet if our readers care to be present at the death of the nephew of SaintLouis and the grandson of Charles of Anjou, we may conduct them into thechamber of the dying man. An alabaster lamp suspended from the ceilingserves to light the vast and sombre room, with walls draped in blackvelvet sewn with golden fleur-de-lys. Near the wall which faces the twoentrance doors that at this moment are both shut close, there standsbeneath a brocaded canopy an ebony bed, supported on four twisted columnscarved with symbolic figures. The king, after a struggle with a violentparoxysm, has fallen swooning in the arms of his confessor and hisdoctor, who each hold one of his dying hands, feeling his pulse anxiouslyand exchanging looks of intelligence. At the foot of the bed stands awoman about fifty years of age, her hands clasped, her eyes raised toheaven, in an attitude of resigned grief: this woman is the queen, Notears dim her eyes: her sunken cheek has that waxen yellow tinge that onesees on the bodies of saints preserved by miracle. In her look is thatmingling of calm and suffering that points to a soul at once tried bysorrow and imbued with religion. After the lapse of an hour, while nomovement had disturbed the profound silence which reigned about the bedof death, the king trembled slightly; opened his eyes, and endeavouredfeebly to raise his head. They thanking the physician and priest with asmile, who had both hastened to arrange his pillows, he begged the queento come near, and told her in a low voice that he would speak with her amoment alone. The doctor and confessor retired, deeply bowing, and theking followed them with his eyes up to the moment when one of the doorsclosed behind them. He passed his hand across his brow, as thoughseeking to collect his thoughts, and rallying all his forces for thesupreme effort, pronounced these words:

"What I must say to you, Sancha, has no concern with those two goodpersons who were here a moment ago: their task is ended. One has doneall for my body that human science could teach him, and all that has comeof it is that my death is yet a little deferred; the other has nowabsolved me of all my sins, and assured me of God's forgiveness, yetcannot keep from me those dread apparitions which in this terrible hourarise before me. Twice have you seen me battling with a superhumanhorror. My brow has been bathed in sweat, my limbs rigid, my cries havebeen stifled by a hand of iron. Has God permitted the Evil Spirit totempt me? Is this remorse in phantom shape? These two conflicts I havesuffered have so subdued my strength that I can never endure a third. Listen then, my Sandra, for I have instructions to give you on whichperhaps the safety of my soul depends. "

"My lord and my master, " said the queen in the most gentle accents ofsubmission, "I am ready to listen to your orders; and should it be thatGod, in the hidden designs of His providence, has willed to call you toHis glory while we are plunged in grief, your last wishes shall befulfilled here on earth most scrupulously and exactly. But, " she added, with all the solicitude of a timid soul, "pray suffer me to sprinkledrops of holy water and banish the accursed one from this chamber, andlet me offer up some part of that service of prayer that you composed inhonour of your sainted brother to implore God's protection in this hourwhen we can ill afford to lose it. "

Then opening a richly bound book, she read with fervent devotion certainverses of the office that Robert had written in a very pure Latin for hisbrother Louis, Bishop of Toulouse, which was in use in the Church aslate as the time of the Council of Trent. 

Soothed by the charm of the prayers he had himself composed, the king wasnear forgetting the object of the interview he had so solemnly andeagerly demanded and letting himself lapse into a state of vaguemelancholy, he murmured in a subdued voice, "Yes, yes, you are right;pray for me, for you too are a saint, and I am but a poor sinful man. "

"Say not so, my lord, " interrupted Dona Sancha; "you are the greatest, wisest, and most just king who has ever sat upon the throne of Naples. "

"But the throne is usurped, " replied Robert in a voice of gloom; "youknow that the kingdom belonged to my elder brother, Charles Martel; andsince Charles was on the throne of Hungary, which he inherited from hismother, the kingdom of Naples devolved by right upon his eldest son, Carobert, and not on me, who am the third in rank of the family. And Ihave suffered myself to be crowned in my nephew's stead, though he wasthe only lawful-king; I have put the younger branch in the place of theelder, and for thirty-three years I have stifled the reproaches of myconscience. True, I have won battles, made laws, founded churches; but asingle word serves to give the lie to all the pompous titles showeredupon me by the people's admiration, and this one word rings out clearerin my ears than all the flattery of courtiers, all the songs of poets, all the orations of the crowd:--I am an usurper!"

"Be not unjust towards yourself, my lord, and bear in mind that if youdid not abdicate in favour of the rightful heir, it was because youwished to save the people from the worst misfortunes. Moreover, "continued the queen, with that air of profound conviction that anunanswerable argument inspires, "you have remained king by the consentand authority of our Holy Father the sovereign pontiff, who disposes ofthe throne as a fief belonging to the Church. "

"I have long quieted my scruples thus, " replied the dying man, "and thepope's authority has kept me silent; but whatever security one maypretend to feel in one's lifetime, there yet comes a dreadful solemn hourwhen all illusions needs must vanish: this hour for me has come, and nowI must appear before God, the one unfailing judge. "

"If His justice cannot fail, is not His mercy infinite?" pursued thequeen, with the glow of sacred inspiration. "Even if there were goodreason for the fear that has shaken your soul, what fault could not beeffaced by a repentance so noble? Have you not repaired the wrong youmay have done your nephew Carobert, by bringing his younger son Andre toyour kingdom and marrying him to Joan, your poor Charles's elderdaughter? Will not they inherit your crown?"

"Alas!" cried Robert, with a deep sigh, "God is punishing me perhaps forthinking too late of this just reparation. O my good and noble Sandra, you touch a chord which vibrates sadly in my heart, and you anticipatethe unhappy confidence I was about to make. I feel a gloomypresentiment--and in the hour of death presentiment is prophecy--that thetwo sons of my nephew, Louis, who has been King of Hungary since hisfather died, and Andre, whom I desired to make King of Naples, will provethe scourge of my family. Ever since Andre set foot in our castle, astrange fatality has pursued and overturned my projects. I had hopedthat if Andre and Joan were brought up together a tender intimacy wouldarise between the two children; and that the beauty of our skies, ourcivilisation, and the attractions of our court would end by softeningwhatever rudeness there might be in the young Hungarian's character; butin spite of my efforts all has tended to cause coldness, and evenaversion, between the bridal pair. Joan, scarcely fifteen, is far aheadof her age. Gifted with a brilliant and mobile mind, a noble and loftycharacter, a lively and glowing fancy, now free and frolicsome as achild, now grave and proud as a queen, trustful and simple as a younggirl, passionate and sensitive as a woman, she presents the most strikingcontrast to Andre, who, after a stay of ten years at our court, iswilder, more gloomy, more intractable than ever. His cold, regularfeatures, impassive countenance, and indifference to every pleasure thathis wife appears to love, all this has raised between him and Joan abarrier of indifference, even of antipathy. To the tenderest effusionhis reply is no more than a scornful smile or a frown, and he never seemshappier than when on a pretext of the chase he can escape from the court. These, then, are the two, man and wife, on whose heads my crown shallrest, who in a short space will find themselves exposed to every passionwhose dull growl is now heard below a deceptive calm, but which onlyawaits the moment when I breathe my last, to burst forth upon them. "

"O my God, my God!" the queen kept repeating in her grief: her arms fellby her side, like the arms of a statue weeping by a tomb. 

"Listen, Dona Sandra. I know that your heart has never clung to earthlyvanities, and that you only wait till God has called me to Himself towithdraw to the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce, founded by yourselfin the hope that you might there end your days. Far be it from me todissuade you from your sacred vocation, when I am myself descending intothe tomb and am conscious of the nothingness of all human greatness. Only grant me one year of widowhood before you pass on to your bridalwith the Lord, one year in which you will watch over Joan and herhusband, to keep from them all the dangers that threaten. Already thewoman who was the seneschal's wife and her son have too much influenceover our grand-daughter; be specially careful, and amid the manyinterests, intrigues, and temptations that will surround the young queen, distrust particularly the affection of Bertrand d'Artois, the beauty ofLouis of Tarentum; and the ambition of Charles of Durazzo. "

The king paused, exhausted by the effort of speaking; then turning on hiswife a supplicating glance and extending his thin wasted hand, he addedin a scarcely audible voice:

"Once again I entreat you, leave not the court before a year has passed. Do you promise me?"

"I promise, my lord. "

"And now, " said Robert, whose face at these words took on a newanimation, "call my confessor and the physician and summon the family, for the hour is at hand, and soon I shall not have the strength to speakmy last words. "

A few moments later the priest and the doctor re-entered the room, theirfaces bathed, in tears. The king thanked them warmly for their care ofhim in his last illness, and begged them help to dress him in the coarsegarb of a Franciscan monk, that God, as he said, seeing him die inpoverty, humility, and penitence, might the more easily grant him pardon. The confessor and doctor placed upon his naked feet the sandals worn bymendicant friars, robed him in a Franciscan frock, and tied the ropeabout his waist. Stretched thus upon his bed, his brow surmounted by hisscanty locks, with his long white beard, and his hands crossed upon hisbreast, the King of Naples looked like one of those aged anchorites whospend their lives in mortifying the flesh, and whose souls, absorbed inheavenly contemplation, glide insensibly from out their last ecstasy intoeternal bliss. Some time he lay thus with closed eyes, putting up asilent prayer to God; then he bade them light the spacious room as for agreat solemnity, and gave a sign to the two persons who stood, one at thehead, the other at the foot of the bed. The two folding doors opened, and the whole of the royal family, with the queen at their head and thechief barons following, took their places in silence around the dyingking to hear his last wishes. 

His eyes turned toward Joan, who stood next him on his right hand, withan indescribable look of tenderness and grief. She was of a beauty sounusual and so marvellous, that her grandfather was fascinated by thedazzling sight, and mistook her for an angel that God had sent to consolehim on his deathbed. The pure lines of her fine profile, her great blackliquid eyes, her noble brow uncovered, her hair shining like the raven'swing, her delicate mouth, the whole effect of this beautiful face on themind of those who beheld her was that of a deep melancholy and sweetness, impressing itself once and for ever. Tall and slender, but without theexcessive thinness of some young girls, her movements had that carelesssupple grace that recall the waving of a flower stalk in the breeze. Butin spite of all these smiling and innocent graces one could yet discernin Robert's heiress a will firm and resolute to brave every obstacle, andthe dark rings that circled her fine eyes plainly showed that her heartwas already agitated by passions beyond her years. 

Beside Joan stood her younger sister, Marie, who was twelve or thirteenyears of age, the second daughter of Charles, Duke of Calabria, who haddied before her birth, and whose mother, Marie of Valois, had unhappilybeen lost to her from her cradle. Exceedingly pretty and shy, she seemeddistressed by such an assembly of great personages, and quietly drew nearto the widow of the grand seneschal, Philippa, surnamed the Catanese, theprincesses' governess, whom they honoured as a mother. Behind theprincesses and beside this lady stood her son, Robert of Cabane, ahandsome young man, proud and upright, who with his left hand played withhis slight moustache while he secretly cast on Joan a glance of audaciousboldness. The group was completed by Dona Cancha, the young chamberwomanto the princesses, and by the Count of Terlizzi, who exchanged with hermany a furtive look and many an open smile. The second group wascomposed of Andre, Joan's husband, and Friar Robert, tutor to the youngprince, who had come with him from Budapesth, and never left him for aminute. Andre was at this time perhaps eighteen years old: at firstsight one was struck by the extreme regularity of his features, hishandsome, noble face, and abundant fair hair; but among all these Italianfaces, with their vivid animation, his countenance lacked expression, hiseyes seemed dull, and something hard and icy in his looks revealed hiswild character and foreign extraction. His tutor's portrait Petrarch hasdrawn for us: crimson face, hair and beard red, figure short and crooked;proud in poverty, rich and miserly; like a second Diogenes, with hideousand deformed limbs barely concealed beneath his friar's frock. 

In the third group stood the widow of Philip, Prince of Tarentum, theking's brother, honoured at the court of Naples with the title of Empressof Constantinople, a style inherited by her as the granddaughter ofBaldwin II. Anyone accustomed to sound the depths of the human heartwould at one glance have perceived that this woman under her ghastlypallor concealed an implacable hatred, a venomous jealousy, and anall-devouring ambition. She had her three sons about her--Robert, Philip, and Louis, the youngest. Had the king chosen out from among his nephewsthe handsomest, bravest, and most generous, there can be no doubt thatLouis of Tarentum would have obtained the crown. At the age oftwenty-three he had already excelled the cavaliers of most renown infeats of arms; honest, loyal, and brave, he no sooner conceived a projectthan he promptly carried it out. His brow shone in that clear lightwhich seems to serve as a halo of success to natures so privileged ashis; his fine eyes, of a soft and velvety black, subdued the hearts ofmen who could not resist their charm, and his caressing smile madeconquest sweet. A child of destiny, he had but to use his will; somepower unknown, some beneficent fairy had watched over his birth, andundertaken to smooth away all obstacles, gratify all desires. 

Near to him, but in the fourth group, his cousin Charles of Duras stoodand scowled. His mother, Agnes, the widow of the Duke of Durazzo andAlbania, another of the king's brothers, looked upon him affrighted, clutching to her breast her two younger sons, Ludovico, Count of Gravina, and Robert, Prince of Morea. Charles, pale-faced, with short hair andthick beard, was glancing with suspicion first at his dying uncle andthen at Joan and the little Marie, then again at his cousins, apparentlyso excited by tumultuous thoughts that he could not stand still. Hisfeverish uneasiness presented a marked contrast with the calm, dreamyface of Bertrand d'Artois, who, giving precedence to his father Charles, approached the queen at the foot of the bed, and so found himself face toface with Joan. The young man was so absorbed by the beauty of theprincess that he seemed to see nothing else in the room. 

As soon as Joan and Andre, the Princes of Tarentum and Durazzo, theCounts of Artois, and Queen Sancha had taken their places round the bedof death, forming a semicircle, as we have just described, thevice-chancellor passed through the rows of barons, who according to theirrank were following closely after the princes of the blood; and bowinglow before the king, unfolded a parchment sealed with the royal seal, andread in a solemn voice, amid a profound silence:

"Robert, by the grace of God King of Sicily and Jerusalem, Count ofProvence, Forcalquier, and Piedmont, Vicar of the Holy Roman Church, hereby nominates and declares his sole heiress in the kingdom of Sicilyon this side and the other side of the strait, as also in the counties ofProvence, Forcalquier, and Piedmont, and in all his other territories, Joan, Duchess of Calabria, elder daughter of the excellent lord Charles, Duke of Calabria, of illustrious memory. 

"Moreover, he nominates and declares the honourable lady Marie, youngerdaughter of the late Duke of Calabria, his heiress in the county of Albaand in the jurisdiction of the valley of Grati and the territory ofGiordano, with all their castles and dependencies; and orders that thelady thus named receive them in fief direct from the aforesaid duchessand her heirs; on this condition, however, that if the duchess give andgrant to her illustrious sister or to her assigns the sum of 10, 000ounces of gold by way of compensation, the county and jurisdictionaforesaid--shall remain in the possession of the duchess and her heirs. 

"Moreover, he wills and commands, for private and secret reasons, thatthe aforesaid lady Marie shall contract a marriage with the veryillustrious prince, Louis, reigning King of Hungary. And in case anyimpediment should appear to this marriage by reason of the union said tobe already arranged and signed between the King of Hungary and the Kingof Bohemia and his daughter, our lord the king commands that theillustrious lady Marie shall contract a marriage with the elder son ofthe mighty lord Don Juan, Duke of Normandy, himself the elder son of thereigning King of France. "

At this point Charles of Durazzo gave Marie a singularly meaning look, which escaped the notice of all present, their attention being absorbedby the reading of Robert's will. The young girl herself, from the momentwhen she first heard her own name, had stood confused and thunderstruck, with scarlet cheeks, not daring to raise her eyes. 

The vice-chancellor continued:

"Moreover, he has willed and commanded that the counties of Forcalquierand Provence shall in all perpetuity be united to his kingdom, and shallform one sole and inseparable dominion, whether or not there be severalsons or daughters or any other reason of any kind for its partition, seeing that this union is of the utmost importance for the security andcommon prosperity of the kingdom and counties aforesaid. 

"Moreover, he has decided and commanded that in case of the death of theDuchess Joan--which God avert!--without lawful issue of her body, themost illustrious lord Andre, Duke of Calabria, her husband, shall havethe principality of Salerno, with the title, fruits, revenues, and all therights thereof, together with the revenue of 2000 ounces of gold formaintenance. 

"Moreover, he has decided and ordered that the Queen above all, and alsothe venerable father Don Philip of Cabassole, Bishop of Cavaillon, vice-chancellor of the kingdom of Sicily, and the magnificent lordsPhilip of Sanguineto, seneschal of Provence, Godfrey of Marsan, Count ofSquillace, admiral of the kingdom, and Charles of Artois, Count of Aire, shall be governors, regents, and administrators of the aforesaid lordAndre and the aforesaid ladies Joan and Marie, until such time as theduke, the duchess, and the very illustrious lady Marie shall haveattained their twenty-fifth year, " etc. Etc. 

When the vice-chancellor had finished reading, the king sat up, andglancing round upon his fair and numerous family, thus spoke:

"My children, you have heard my last wishes. I have bidden you all to mydeathbed, that you may see how the glory of the world passes away. Thosewhom men name the great ones of the earth have more duties to perform, and after death more accounts to render: it is in this that theirgreatness lies. I have reigned thirty-three years, and God before whom Iam about to appear, God to whom my sighs have often arisen during my longand painful life, God alone knows the thoughts that rend my heart in thehour of death. Soon shall I be lying in the tomb, and all that remainsof me in this world will live in the memory of those who pray for me. But before I leave you for ever, you, oh, you who are twice my daughters, whom I have loved with a double love, and you my nephews who have hadfrom me all the care and affection of a father, promise me to be everunited in heart and in wish, as indeed you are in my love. I have livedlonger than your fathers, I the eldest of all, and thus no doubt God haswished to tighten the bonds of your affection, to accustom you to live inone family and to pay honour to one head. I have loved you all alike, asa father should, without exception or preference. I have disposed of mythrone according to the law of nature and the inspiration of myconscience: Here are the heirs of the crown of Naples; you, Joan, andyou, Andre, will never forget the love and respect that are due betweenhusband and wife, and mutually sworn by you at the foot of the altar; andyou, my nephews all; my barons, my officers, render homage to your lawfulsovereigns; Andre of Hungary, Louis of Tarentum, Charles of Durazzo, remember that you are brothers; woe to him who shall imitate the perfidyof Cain! May his blood fall upon his own head, and may he be accursed byHeaven as he is by the mouth of a dying man; and may the blessing of theFather, the Son, and the Holy Spirit descend upon that man whose heart isgood, when the Lord of mercy shall call to my soul Himself!"

The king remained motionless, his arms raised, his eyes fixed on heaven, his cheeks extraordinarily bright, while the princes, barons, andofficers of the court proffered to Joan and her husband the oath offidelity and allegiance. When it was the turn of the Princes of Duras toadvance, Charles disdainfully stalked past Andre, and bending his kneebefore the princess, said in a loud voice, as he kissed her hand--

"To you, my queen, I pay my homage. "

All looks were turned fearfully towards the dying man, but the good kingno longer heard. Seeing him fall back rigid and motionless, Dona Sanchaburst into sobs, and cried in a voice choked with tears--

"The king is dead; let us pray for his soul. "

At the very same moment all the princes hurried from the room, and everypassion hitherto suppressed in the presence of the king now found itsvent like a mighty torrent breaking through its banks. 

"Long live Joan!" Robert of Cabane, Louis of Tarentum, and Bertrand ofArtois were the first to exclaim, while the prince's tutor, furiouslybreaking through the crowd and apostrophising the various members of thecouncil of regency, cried aloud in varying tones of passion, "Gentlemen, you have forgotten the king's wish already; you must cry, 'Long liveAndre!' too;" then, wedding example to precept, and himself making morenoise than all the barons together, he cried in a voice of thunder--

"Long live the King of Naples!"

But there was no echo to his cry, and Charles of Durazzo, measuring theDominican with a terrible look, approached the queen, and taking her bythe hand, slid back the curtains of the balcony, from which was seen thesquare and the town of Naples. So far as the eye could reach therestretched an immense crowd, illuminated by streams of light, andthousands of heads were turned upward towards Castel Nuovo to gather anynews that might be announced. Charles respectfully drawing back andindicating his fair cousin with his hand, cried out--

"People of Naples, the King is dead: long live the Queen!"

"Long live Joan, Queen of Naples!" replied the people, with a singlemighty cry that resounded through every quarter of the town. 

The events that on this night had followed each other with the rapidityof a dream had produced so deep an impression on Joan's mind, that, agitated by a thousand different feelings, she retired to her own rooms, and shutting herself up in her chamber, gave free vent to her grief. Solong as the conflict of so many ambitions waged about the tomb, the youngqueen, refusing every consolation that was offered her, wept bitterly forthe death of her grandfather, who had loved her to the point of weakness. The king was buried with all solemnity in the church of Santa Chiara, which he had himself founded and dedicated to the Holy Sacrament, enriching it with magnificent frescoes by Giotto and other preciousrelics, among which is shown still, behind the tribune of the high altar, two columns of white marble taken from Solomon's temple. There stilllies Robert, represented on his tomb in the dress of a king and in amonk's frock, on the right of the monument to his son Charles, the Dukeof Calabria. 

CHAPTER II

As soon as the obsequies were over, Andre's tutor hastily assembled thechief Hungarian lords, and it was decided in a council held in thepresence of the prince and with his consent, to send letters to hismother, Elizabeth of Poland, and his brother, Louis of Hungary, to makeknown to them the purport of Robert's will, and at the same time to lodgea complaint at the court of Avignon against the conduct of the princesand people of Naples in that they had proclaimed Joan alone Queen ofNaples, thus overlooking the rights of her husband, and further to demandfor him the pope's order for Andre's coronation. Friar Robert, who hadnot only a profound knowledge of the court intrigues, but also theexperience of a philosopher and all a monk's cunning, told his pupil thathe ought to profit by the depression of spirit the king's death hadproduced in Joan, and ought not to suffer her favourites to use this timein influencing her by their seductive counsels. 

But Joan's ability to receive consolation was quite as ready as her griefhad at first been impetuous; the sobs which seemed to be breaking herheart ceased all at once; new thoughts, more gentle, less lugubrious, took possession of the young queen's mind; the trace of tears vanished, and a smile lit up her liquid eyes like the sun's ray following on rain. This change, anxiously awaited, was soon observed by Joan's chamberwoman:she stole to the queen's room, and falling on her knees, in accents offlattery and affection, she offered her first congratulations to herlovely mistress. Joan opened her arms and held her in a long embrace, for Dona Cancha was far more to her than a lady-in-waiting; she was thecompanion of infancy, the depositary of all her secrets, the confidanteof her most private thoughts. One had but to glance at this young girlto understand the fascination she could scarcely fail to exercise overthe queen's mind. She had a frank and smiling countenance, such asinspires confidence and captivates the mind at first sight. Her face hadan irresistible charm, with clear blue eyes, warm golden hair, mouthbewitchingly turned up at the corners, and delicate little chin. Wild, happy, light of heart, pleasure and love were the breath of her being;her dainty refinement, her charming inconstancies, all made her atsixteen as lovely as an angel, though at heart she was corrupt. Thewhole court was at her feet, and Joan felt more affection for her thanfor her own sister. 

"Well, my dear Cancha, " she murmured, with a sigh, "you find me very sadand very unhappy!"

"And you find me, fair queen, " replied the confidante, fixing an admiringlook on Joan, --"you find me just the opposite, very happy that I can layat your feet before anyone else the proof of the joy that the people ofNaples are at this moment feeling. Others perhaps may envy you the crownthat shines upon your brow, the throne which is one of the noblest in theworld, the shouts of this entire town that sound rather like worship thanhomage; but I, madam, I envy you your lovely black hair, your dazzlingeyes, your more than mortal grace, which make every man adore you. "

"And yet you know, my Cancha, I am much to be pitied both as a queen andas a woman: when one is fifteen a crown is heavy to wear, and I have notthe liberty of the meanest of my subjects--I mean in my affections; forbefore I reached an age when I could think I was sacrificed to a man whomI can never love. "

"Yet, madam, " replied Cancha in a more insinuating voice, "in this courtthere is a young cavalier who might by virtue of respect, love, anddevotion have made you forget the claims of this foreigner, alikeunworthy to be our king and to be your husband. "

The queen heaved a heavy sigh. 

"When did you lose your skill to read my heart?" she cried. "Must Iactually tell you that this love is making me wretched? True, at thevery first this unsanctioned love was a keen joy: a new life seemed towake within my heart; I was drawn on, fascinated by the prayers, thetears, and the despair of this man, by the opportunities that his motherso easily granted, she whom I had always looked upon as my own mother; Ihave loved him. . . . O my God, I am still so young, and my past is sounhappy. At times strange thoughts come into my mind: I fancy he nolonger loves me, that he never did love me; I fancy he has been led on byambition, by self-interest, by some ignoble motive, and has only feigneda feeling that he has never really felt. I feel myself a coldness Icannot account for; in his presence I am constrained, I am troubled byhis look, his voice makes me tremble: I fear him; I would sacrifice ayear of my life could I never have listened to him. "

These words seemed to touch the young confidante to the very depths ofher soul; a shade of sadness crossed her brow, her eyelids dropped, andfor some time she answered nothing, showing sorrow rather than surprise. Then, lifting her head gently, she said, with visible embarrassment--

"I should never have dared to pass so severe a judgment upon a man whommy sovereign lady has raised above other men by casting upon him a lookof kindness; but if Robert of Cabane has deserved the reproach ofinconstancy and ingratitude, if he has perjured himself like a coward, hemust indeed be the basest of all miserable beings, despising a happinesswhich other men might have entreated of God the whole time of their lifeand paid for through eternity. One man I know, who weeps both night andday without hope or consolation, consumed by a slow and painful malady, when one word might yet avail to save him, did it come from the lips ofmy noble mistress. "

"I will not hear another word, " cried Joan, suddenly rising; "there shallbe no new cause for remorse in my life. Trouble has come upon me throughmy loves, both lawful and criminal; alas! no longer will I try to controlmy awful fate, I will bow my head without a murmur. I am the queen, and Imust yield myself up for the good of my subjects. "

"Will you forbid me, madam, " replied Dona Cancha in a kind, affectionatetone--"will you forbid me to name Bertrand of Artois in your presence, that unhappy man, with the beauty of an angel and the modesty of a girl?Now that you are queen and have the life and death of your subjects inyour own keeping, will you feel no kindness towards an unfortunate onewhose only fault is to adore you, who strives with all his mind andstrength to bear a chance look of yours without dying of his joy?"

"I have struggled hard never to look on him, " cried the queen, urged byan impulse she was not strong enough to conquer: then, to efface theimpression that might well have been made on her friend's mind, she addedseverely, "I forbid you to pronounce his name before me; and if he shouldever venture to complain, I bid you tell him from me that the first timeI even suspect the cause of his distress he will be banished for everfrom my presence. "

"Ah, madam, dismiss me also; for I shall never be strong enough to do sohard a bidding: the unhappy man who cannot awake in your heart so much asa feeling of pity may now be struck down by yourself in your wrath, forhere he stands; he has heard your sentence, and come to die at yourfeet. "

The last words were spoken in a louder voice, so that they might be heardfrom outside, and Bertrand of Artois came hurriedly into the room andfell on his knees before the queen. For a long time past the younglady-in-waiting had perceived that Robert of Cabane had, through his ownfault, lost the love of Joan; for his tyranny had indeed become moreunendurable to her than her husband's. 

Dona Cancha had been quick enough to perceive that the eyes of her youngmistress were wont to rest with a kind of melancholy gentleness onBertrand, a young man of handsome appearance but with a sad and dreamyexpression; so when she made up her mind to speak in his interests, shewas persuaded that the queen already loved him. Still, a bright colouroverspread Joan's face, and her anger would have fallen on both culpritsalike, when in the next room a sound of steps was heard, and the voice ofthe grand seneschal's widow in conversation with her son fell on the earsof the three young people like a clap of thunder. Dona Cancha, pale asdeath, stood trembling; Bertrand felt that he was lost--all the morebecause his presence compromised the queen; Joan only, with thatwonderful presence of mind she was destined to preserve in the mostdifficult crises of her future life, thrust the young man against thecarved back of her bed, and concealed him completely beneath the amplecurtain: she then signed to Cancha to go forward and meet the governessand her son. 

But before we conduct into the queen's room these two persons, whom ourreaders may remember in Joan's train about the bed of King Robert, wemust relate the circumstances which had caused the family of the Cataneseto rise with incredible rapidity from the lowest class of the people tothe highest rank at court. When Dona Violante of Aragon, first wife ofRobert of Anjou, became the mother of Charles, who was later on the Dukeof Calabria, a nurse was sought for the infant among the most handsomewomen of the people. After inspecting many women of equal merit asregards beauty, youth and health, the princess's choice lighted onPhilippa, a young Catanese woman, the wife of a fisherman of Trapani, and by condition a laundress. This young woman, as she washed her linenon the bank of a stream, had dreamed strange dreams: she had fanciedherself summoned to court, wedded to a great personage, and receiving thehonours of a great lady. Thus when she was called to Castel Nuovo herjoy was great, for she felt that her dreams now began to be realised. Philippa was installed at the court, and a few months after she began tonurse the child the fisherman was dead and she was a widow. MeanwhileRaymond of Cabane, the major-domo of King Charles II's house, had boughta negro from some corsairs, and having had him baptized by his own name, had given him his liberty; afterwards observing that he was able andintelligent, he had appointed him head cook in the king's kitchen; andthen he had gone away to the war. During the absence of his patron thenegro managed his own affairs at the court so cleverly, that in a shorttime he was able to buy land, houses, farms, silver plate, and horses, and could vie in riches with the best in the kingdom; and as heconstantly won higher favour in the royal family, he passed on from thekitchen to the wardrobe. The Catanese had also deserved very well of heremployers, and as a reward for the care she had bestowed on the child, the princess married her to the negro, and he, as a wedding gift, wasgranted the title of knight. 

From this day forward, Raymond of Cabane and Philippa the laundress rosein the world so rapidly that they had no equal in influence at court. After the death of Dona Violante, the Catanese became the intimate friendof Dona Sandra, Robert's second wife, whom we introduced to our readersat the beginning of this narrative. Charles, her foster son, loved her asa mother, and she was the confidante of his two wives in turn, especiallyof the second wife, Marie of Valois. And as the quondam laundress had inthe end learned all the manners and customs of the court, she was chosenat the birth of Joan and her sister to be governess and mistress over theyoung girls, and at this juncture Raymond was created major-domo. Finally, Marie of Valois on her deathbed commended the two youngprincesses to her care, begging her to look on them as her own-daughters. Thus Philippa the Catanese, honoured in future as foster mother of theheiress to the throne of Naples, had power to nominate her husband grandseneschal, one of the seven most important offices in the kingdom, and toobtain knighthood for her sons. Raymond of Cabane was buried like a kingin a marble tomb in the church of the Holy Sacrament, and there wasspeedily joined by two of his sons. The third, Robert, a youth ofextraordinary strength and beauty, gave up an ecclesiastical career, andwas himself made major-domo, his two sisters being married to the Countof Merlizzi and the Count of Morcone respectively. This was now thestate of affairs, and the influence of the grand seneschal's widow seemedfor ever established, when an unexpected event suddenly occurred, causingsuch injury as might well suffice to upset the edifice of her fortunesthat had been raised stone by stone patiently and slowly: this edificewas now undermined and threatened to fall in a single day. It was thesudden apparition of Friar Robert, who followed to the court of Rome hisyoung pupil, who from infancy had been Joan's destined husband, whichthus shattered all the designs of the Catanese and seriously menaced herfuture. The monk had not been slow to understand that so long as sheremained at the court, Andre would be no more than the slave, possiblyeven the victim, of his wife. Thus all Friar Robert's thoughts wereobstinately concentrated on a single end, that of getting rid of theCatanese or neutralising her influence. The prince's tutor and thegoverness of the heiress had but to exchange one glance, icy, penetrating, plain to read: their looks met like lightning flashes ofhatred and of vengeance. The Catanese, who felt she was detected, lackedcourage to fight this man in the open, and so conceived the hope ofstrengthening her tottering empire by the arts of corruption anddebauchery. She instilled by degrees into her pupil's mind the poison ofvice, inflamed her youthful imagination with precocious desires, sowed inher heart the seeds of an unconquerable aversion for her husband, surrounded the poor child with abandoned women, and especially attachedto her the beautiful and attractive Dona Cancha, who is branded bycontemporary authors with the name of a courtesan; then summed up allthese lessons in infamy by prostituting Joan to her own son. The poorgirl, polluted by sin before she knew what life was, threw her whole selfinto this first passion with all the ardour of youth, and loved Robert ofCabane so violently, so madly, that the Catanese congratulated herself onthe success of her infamy, believing that she held her prey so fast inher toils that her victim would never attempt to escape them. 

A year passed by before Joan, conquered by her infatuation, conceived thesmallest suspicion of her lover's sincerity. He, more ambitious thanaffectionate, found it easy to conceal his coldness under the cloak of abrotherly intimacy, of blind submission, and of unswerving devotion;perhaps he would have deceived his mistress for a longer time had notBertrand of Artois fallen madly in love with Joan. Suddenly the bandagefell from the young girl's eyes; comparing the two with the naturalinstinct of a woman beloved which never goes astray, she perceived thatRobert of Cabane loved her for his own sake, while Bertrand of Artoiswould give his life to make her happy. A light fell upon her past: shementally recalled the circumstances that preceded and accompanied herearliest love; and a shudder went through her at the thought that she hadbeen sacrificed to a cowardly seducer by the very woman she had lovedmost in the world, whom she had called by the name of mother. 

Joan drew back into herself, and wept bitterly. Wounded by a single blowin all her affections, at first her grief absorbed her; then, roused tosudden anger, she proudly raised her head, for now her love was changedto scorn. Robert, amazed at her cold and haughty reception of him, following on so great a love, was stung by jealousy and wounded pride. He broke out into bitter reproach and violent recrimination, and, lettingfall the mask, once for all lost his place in Joan's heart. 

His mother at last saw that it was time to interfere: she rebuked herson, accusing him of upsetting all her plans by his clumsiness. 

"As you have failed to conquer her by love, " she said, "you must nowsubdue her by fear. The secret of her honour is in our hands, and shewill never dare to rebel. She plainly loves Bertrand of Artois, whoselanguishing eyes and humble sighs contrast in a striking manner with yourhaughty indifference and your masterful ways. The mother of the Princesof Tarentum, the Empress of Constantinople, will easily seize an occasionof helping on the princess's love so as to alienate her more and morefrom her husband: Cancha will be the go between, and sooner or later weshall find Bertrand at Joan's feet. Then she will be able to refuse usnothing. "

While all this was going on, the old king died, and the Catanese, who hadunceasingly kept on the watch for the moment she had so plainly foreseen, loudly called to her son, when she saw Bertrand slip into Joan'sapartment, saying as she drew him after her--

"Follow me, the queen is ours. "

It was thus that she and her son came to be there. Joan, standing in themiddle of the chamber, pallid, her eyes fixed on the curtains of the bed, concealed her agitation with a smile, and took one step forward towardsher governess, stooping to receive the kiss which the latter bestowedupon her every morning. The Catanese embraced her with affectedcordiality, and turning, to her son, who had knelt upon one knee, said, pointing to Robert--

"My fair queen, allow the humblest of your subjects to offer his sincerecongratulations and to lay his homage at your feet. "

"Rise, Robert, " said Joan, extending her hand kindly, and with no show ofbitterness. "We were brought up together, and I shall never forget thatin our childhood--I mean those happy days when we were both innocent--Icalled you my brother. "

"As you allow me, madam, " said Robert, with an ironical smile, "I tooshall always remember the names you formerly gave me. "

"And I, " said the Catanese, "shall forget that I speak to the Queen ofNaples, in embracing once more my beloved daughter. Come, madam, awaywith care: you have wept long enough; we have long respected your grief. It is now time to show yourself to these good Neapolitans who blessHeaven continually for granting them a queen so beautiful and good; it istime that your favours fall upon the heads of your faithful subjects, and my son, who surpasses all in his fidelity, comes first to ask afavour of you, in order that he may serve you yet more zealously. "

Joan cast on Robert a withering look, and, speaking to the Catanese, saidwith a scornful air--

"You know, madam, I can refuse your son nothing. "

"All he asks, " continued the lady, "is a title which is his due, andwhich he inherited from his father--the title of Grand Seneschal of theTwo Sicilies: I trust, my daughter, you will have no difficulty ingranting this. "

"But I must consult the council of regency. "

"The council will hasten to ratify the queen's wishes, " replied Robert, handing her the parchment with an imperious gesture: "you need only speakto the Count of Artois. "

And he cast a threatening glance at the curtain, which had slightlymoved. 

"You are right, " said the queen at once; and going up to a table shesigned the parchment with a trembling hand. 

"Now, my daughter, I have come in the name of all the care I bestowed onyour infancy, of all the maternal love I have lavished on you, to implorea favour that my family will remember for evermore. "

The queen recoiled one step, crimson with astonishment and rage; butbefore she could find words to reply, the lady continued in a voice thatbetrayed no feeling--

"I request you to make my son Count of Eboli. "

"That has nothing to do with me, madam; the barons of this kingdom wouldrevolt to a man if I were on my own authority to exalt to one of thefirst dignities the son of a---"

"A laundress and a negro; you would say, madam?" said Robert, with asneer. "Bertrand of Artois would be annoyed perhaps if I had a titlelike his. "

He advanced a step towards the bed, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. 

"Have mercy, Robert!" cried the queen, checking him: "I will do all youask. "

And she signed the parchment naming him Count of Eboli. 

"And now, " Robert went on impudently, "to show that my new title is notillusory, while you are busy about signing documents, let me have theprivilege of taking part in the councils of the crown: make a declarationthat, subject to your good pleasure, my mother and I are to have adeliberative voice in the council whenever an important matter is underdiscussion. "

"Never!" cried Joan, turning pale. "Philippa and Robert, you abuse myweakness and treat your queen shamefully. In the last few days I havewept and suffered continually, overcome by a terrible grief; I have nostrength to turn to business now. Leave me, I beg: I feel my strengthgives way. "

"What, my daughter, " cried the Catanese hypocritically, "are you feelingunwell? Come and lie down at once. " And hurrying to the bed, she tookhold of the curtain that concealed the Count of Artois. 

The queen uttered a piercing cry, and threw herself before Philippa withthe fury of a lioness. "Stop!" she cried in a choking voice; "take theprivilege you ask, and now, if you value your own life, leave me. "

The Catanese and her son departed instantly, not even waiting to reply, for they had got all they wanted; while Joan, trembling, ran desperatelyup to Bertrand, who had angrily drawn his dagger, and would have fallenupon the two favourites to take vengeance for the insults they hadoffered to the queen; but he was very soon disarmed by the lovely shiningeyes raised to him in supplication, the two arms cast about him, and thetears shed by Joan: he fell at her feet and kissed them rapturously, withno thought of seeking excuse for his presence, with no word of love, forit was as if they had loved always: he lavished the tenderest caresses onher, dried her tears, and pressed his trembling lips upon her lovelyhead. Joan began to forget her anger, her vows, and her repentance:soothed by the music of her lover's speech, she returned uncomprehendingmonosyllables: her heart beat till it felt like breaking, and once moreshe was falling beneath love's resistless spell, when a new interruptionoccurred, shaking her roughly out of her ecstasy; but this time the youngcount was able to pass quietly and calmly into a room adjoining, and Joanprepared to receive her importunate visitor with severe and frigiddignity. 

The individual who arrived at so inopportune a moment was littlecalculated to smooth Joan's ruffled brow, being Charles, the eldest sonof the Durazzo family. After he had introduced his fair cousin to thepeople as their only legitimate sovereign, he had sought on variousoccasions to obtain an interview with her, which in all probability wouldbe decisive. Charles was one of those men who to gain their end recoilat nothing; devoured by raging ambition and accustomed from his earliestyears to conceal his most ardent desires beneath a mask of carelessindifference, he marched ever onward, plot succeeding plot, towards theobject he was bent upon securing, and never deviated one hair's-breadthfrom the path he had marked out, but only acted with double prudenceafter each victory, and with double courage after each defeat. His cheekgrew pale with joy; when he hated most, he smiled; in all the emotions ofhis life, however strong, he was inscrutable. He had sworn to sit on thethrone of Naples, and long had believed himself the rightful heir, asbeing nearest of kin to Robert of all his nephews. To him the hand ofJoan would have been given, had not the old king in his latter daysconceived the plan of bringing Andre from Hungary and re-establishing theelder branch in his person, though that had long since been forgotten. But his resolution had never for a moment been weakened by the arrival ofAndre in the kingdom, or by the profound indifference wherewith Joan, preoccupied with other passion, had always received the advances of hercousin Charles of Durazzo. Neither the love of a woman nor the life of aman was of any account to him when a crown was weighed in the other scaleof the balance. 

During the whole time that the queen had remained invisible, Charles hadhung about her apartments, and now came into her presence with respectfuleagerness to inquire for his cousin's health. The young duke had been atpains to set off his noble features and elegant figure by a magnificentdress covered with golden fleur-de-lys and glittering with preciousstones. His doublet of scarlet velvet and cap of the same showed up, bytheir own splendour, the warm colouring of his skin, while his face seemedillumined by his black eyes that shone keen as an eagle's. 

Charles spoke long with his cousin of the people's enthusiasm on heraccession and of the brilliant destiny before her; he drew a hasty buttruthful sketch of the state of the kingdom; and while he lavishedpraises on the queen's wisdom, he cleverly pointed out what reforms weremost urgently needed by the country; he contrived to put so much warmth, yet so much reserve, into his speech that he destroyed the disagreeableimpression his arrival had produced. In spite of the irregularities ofher youth and the depravity brought about by her wretched education, Joan's nature impelled her to noble action: when the welfare of hersubjects was concerned, she rose above the limitations of her age andsex, and, forgetting her strange position, listened to the Duke ofDurazzo with the liveliest interest and the kindliest attention. He thenhazarded allusions to the dangers that beset a young queen, spoke vaguelyof the difficulty in distinguishing between true devotion and cowardlycomplaisance or interested attachment; he spoke of the ingratitude ofmany who had been loaded with benefits, and had been most completelytrusted. Joan, who had just learned the truth of his words by sadexperience, replied with a sigh, and after a moment's silence added--

"May God, whom I call to witness for the loyalty and uprightness of myintentions, may God unmask all traitors and show me my true friends! Iknow that the burden laid upon me is heavy, and I presume not on mystrength, but I trust that the tried experience of those counsellors towhom my uncle entrusted me, the support of my family, and your warm andsincere friendship above all, my dear cousin, will help me to accomplishmy duty. "

"My sincerest prayer is that you may succeed, my fair cousin, and I willnot darken with doubts and fears a time that ought to be given up to joy;I will not mingle with the shouts of gladness that rise on all sides toproclaim you queen, any vain regrets over that blind fortune which hasplaced beside the woman whom we all alike adore, whose single glancewould make a man more blest than the angels, a foreigner unworthy of yourlove and unworthy of your throne. "

"You forget, Charles, " said the queen, putting out her hand as though tocheck his words, "Andre is my husband, and it was my grandfather's willthat he should reign with me. "

"Never!" cried the duke indignantly; "he King of Naples! Nay, dream thatthe town is shaken to its very foundations, that the people rise as oneman, that our church bells sound a new Sicilian vespers, before thepeople of Naples will endure the rule of a handful of wild Hungariandrunkards, a deformed canting monk, a prince detested by them even as youare beloved!"

"But why is Andre blamed? What has he done?"

"What has he done? Why is he blamed, madam? The people blame him asstupid, coarse, a savage; the nobles blame him for ignoring theirprivileges and openly supporting men of obscure birth; and I, madam, "--here he lowered his voice, "I blame him for making you unhappy. "

Joan shuddered as though a wound had been touched by an unkind hand; buthiding her emotion beneath an appearance of calm, she replied in a voiceof perfect indifference--

"You must be dreaming, Charles; who has given you leave to suppose I amunhappy?"

"Do not try to excuse him, my dear cousin, " replied Charles eagerly;"you will injure yourself without saving him. "

The queen looked fixedly at her cousin, as though she would read himthrough and through and find out the meaning of his words; but as shecould not give credence to the horrible thought that crossed her mind, she assumed a complete confidence in her cousin's friendship, with a viewto discovering his plans, and said carelessly--

"Well, Charles, suppose I am not happy, what remedy could you offer methat I might escape my lot?"

"You ask me that, my dear cousin? Are not all remedies good when yousuffer, and when you wish for revenge?"

"One must fly to those means that are possible. Andre will not readilygive up his pretensions: he has a party of his own, and in case of openrupture his brother the King of Hungary may declare war upon us, andbring ruin and desolation upon our kingdom. "

The Duke of Duras faintly smiled, and his countenance assumed a sinisterexpression. 

"You do not understand me, " he said. 

"Then explain without circumlocution, " said the queen, trying to concealthe convulsive shudder that ran through her limbs. 

"Listen, Joan, " said Charles, taking his cousin's hand and laying it uponhis heart: "can you feel that dagger?"

"I can, " said Joan, and she turned pale. 

"One word from you--and--"

"Yes?"

"To-morrow you will be free. "

"A murder!" cried Joan, recoiling in horror: "then I was not deceived; itis a murder that you have proposed. "

"It is a necessity, " said the duke calmly: "today I advise; later on youwill give your orders. "

"Enough, wretch! I cannot tell if you are more cowardly or more rash:cowardly, because you reveal a criminal plot feeling sure that I shallnever denounce you; rash, because in revealing it to me you cannot tellwhat witnesses are near to hear it all. "

"In any case, madam, since I have put myself in your hands, you mustperceive that I cannot leave you till I know if I must look upon myselfas your friend or as your enemy. "

"Leave me, " cried Joan, with a disdainful gesture; "you insult yourqueen. "

"You forget, my dear cousin, that some day I may very likely have a claimto your kingdom. "

"Do not force me to have you turned out of this room, " said Joan, advancing towards the door. 

"Now do not get excited, my fair cousin; I am going: but at leastremember that I offered you my hand and you refused it. Remember what Isay at this solemn moment: to-day I am the guilty man; some day perhaps Imay be the judge. "

He went away slowly, twice turning his head, repeating in the language ofsigns his menacing prophecy. Joan hid her face in her hands, and for along time remained plunged in dismal reflections; then anger got thebetter of all her other feelings, and she summoned Dona Cancha, biddingher not to allow anybody to enter, on any pretext whatsoever. 

This prohibition was not for the Count of Artois, for the reader willremember that he was in the adjoining room. 

CHAPTER III

Night fell, and from the Molo to the Mergellina, from the Capuano Castleto the hill of St. Elmo, deep silence had succeeded the myriad soundsthat go up from the noisiest city in the world. Charles of Durazzo, quickly walking away from the square of the Correggi, first casting onelast look of vengeance at the Castel Nuovo, plunged into the labyrinth ofdark streets that twist and turn, cross and recross one another, in thisancient city, and after a quarter of an hour's walking, that was firstslow, then very rapid, arrived at his ducal palace near the church of SanGiovanni al Mare. He gave certain instructions in a harsh, peremptorytone to a page who took his sword and cloak. Then Charles shut himselfinto his room, without going up to see his poor mother, who was weeping, sad and solitary over her son's ingratitude, and like every other mothertaking her revenge by praying God to bless him. 

The Duke of Durazzo walked up and down his room several times like a lionin a cage, counting the minutes in a fever of impatience, and was on thepoint of summoning a servant and renewing his commands, when two dullraps on the door informed him that the person he was waiting for hadarrived. He opened at once, and a man of about fifty, dressed in blackfrom head to foot, entered, humbly bowing, and carefully shut the doorbehind him. Charles threw himself into an easy-chair, and gazing fixedlyat the man who stood before him, his eyes on the ground and his armscrossed upon his breast in an attitude of the deepest respect and blindobedience, he said slowly, as though weighing each word--

"Master Nicholas of Melazzo, have you any remembrance left of theservices I once rendered you?"

The man to whom these words were addressed trembled in every limb, as ifhe heard the voice of Satan come to claim his soul; then lifting a lookof terror to his questioner's face, he asked in a voice of gloom--

"What have I done, my lord, to deserve this reproach?"

"It is not a reproach: I ask a simple question. "

"Can my lord doubt for a moment of my eternal gratitude? Can I forgetthe favours your Excellency showed me? Even if I could so lose my reasonand my memory, are not my wife and son ever here to remind me that to youwe owe all our life, our honour, and our fortune? I was guilty of aninfamous act, " said the notary, lowering his voice, "a crime that wouldnot only have brought upon my head the penalty of death, but which meantthe confiscation of my goods, the ruin of my family, poverty and shamefor my only son--that very son, sire, for whom I, miserable wretch, hadwished to ensure a brilliant future by means of my frightful crime: youhad in your hands the proofs of this!

"I have them still. "

"And you will not ruin me, my lord, " resumed the notary, trembling; "I amat your feet, your Excellency; take my life and I will die in tormentwithout a murmur, but save my son since you have been so merciful as tospare him till now; have pity on his mother; my lord, have pity!"

"Be assured, " said Charles, signing to him to rise; "it is nothing to dowith your life; that will come later, perhaps. What I wish to ask of younow is a much simpler, easier matter. "

"My lord, I await your command. "

"First, " said the duke, in a voice of playful irony, "you must draw up aformal contract of my marriage. "

"At once, your Excellency. "

"You are to write in the first article that my wife brings me as dowrythe county of Alba, the jurisdiction of Grati and Giordano, with allcastles, fiefs, and lands dependent thereto. "

"But, my lord--" replied the poor notary, greatly embarrassed. 

"Do you find any difficulty, Master Nicholas?"

"God forbid, your Excellency, but--"

"Well, what is it?"

"Because, if my lord will permit, because there is only one person inNaples who possesses that dowry your Excellency mentions. "

"And so?"

"And she, " stammered the notary, embarrassed more and more, "--she is thequeen's sister. "

"And in the contract you will write the name of Marie of Anjou. "

"But the young maiden, " replied Nicholas timidly, "whom your Excellencywould marry is destined, I thought, under the will of our late king ofblessed memory, to become the wife of the King of Hungary or else of thegrandson of the King of France. "

"Ah, I understand your surprise: you may learn from this that an uncle'sintentions are not always the same as his nephew's. "

"In that case, sire, if I dared--if my lord would deign to give meleave--if I had an opinion I might give, I would humbly entreat yourExcellency to reflect that this would mean the abduction of a minor. "

"Since when did you learn to be scrupulous, Master Nicholas?"

These words were uttered with a glance so terrible that the poor notarywas crushed, and had hardly the strength to reply--

"In an hour the contract will be ready. "

"Good: we agree as to the first point, " continued Charles, resuming hisnatural tone of voice. "You now will hear my second charge. You haveknown the Duke of Calabria's valet for the last two years prettyintimately?"

"Tommaso Pace; why, he is my best friend. "

"Excellent. Listen, and remember that on your discretion the safety orruin of your family depends. A plot will soon be on foot against thequeen's husband; the conspirators no doubt will gain over Andre's valet, the man you call your best friend; never leave him for an instant, try tobe his shadow; day by day and hour by hour come to me and report theprogress of the plot, the names of the plotters. "

"Is this all your Excellency's command?"

"All. "

The notary respectfully bowed, and withdrew to put the orders at onceinto execution. Charles spent the rest of that night writing to hisuncle the Cardinal de Perigord, one of the most influential prelates atthe court of Avignon. He begged him before all things to use hisauthority so as to prevent Pope Clement from signing the bull that wouldsanction Andre's coronation, and he ended his letter by earnestlyentreating his uncle to win the pope's consent to his marriage with thequeen's sister. 

"We shall see, fair cousin, " he said as he sealed his letter, "which ofus is best at understanding where our interest lies. You would not haveme as a friend, so you shall have me as an enemy. Sleep on in the armsof your lover: I will wake you when the time comes. I shall be Duke ofCalabria perhaps some day, and that title, as you well know, belongs tothe heir to the throne. "

The next day and on the following days a remarkable change took place inthe behaviour of Charles towards Andre: he showed him signs of greatfriendliness, cleverly flattering his inclinations, and even persuadingFriar Robert that, far from feeling any hostility in the matter ofAndre's coronation, his most earnest desire was that his uncle's wishesshould be respected; and that, though he might have given the impressionof acting contrary to them, it had only been done with a view toappeasing the populace, who in their first excitement might have beenstirred up to insurrection against the Hungarians. He declared with muchwarmth that he heartily detested the people about the queen, whosecounsels tended to lead her astray, and he promised to join Friar Robertin the endeavour to get rid of Joan's favourites by all such means asfortune might put at his disposal. Although the Dominican did notbelieve in the least in the sincerity of his ally's protestations, he yetgladly welcomed the aid which might prove so useful to the prince'scause, and attributed the sudden change of front to some recent rupturebetween Charles and his cousin, promising himself that he would makecapital out of his resentment. Be that as it might, Charles wormedhimself into Andre's heart, and after a few days one of them could hardlybe seen without the other. If Andre went out hunting, his greatestpleasure in life, Charles was eager to put his pack or his falcons at hisdisposal; if Andre rode through the town, Charles was always ambling byhis side. He gave way to his whims, urged him to extravagances, andinflamed his angry passions: in a word, he was the good angel--or the badone--who inspired his every thought and guided his every action. 

Joan soon understood this business, and as a fact had expected it. Shecould have ruined Charles with a single word; but she scorned so base arevenge, and treated him with utter contempt. Thus the court was splitinto two factions: the Hungarians with Friar Robert at their head andsupported by Charles of Durazzo; on the other side all the nobility ofNaples, led by the Princes of Tarentum. Joan, influenced by the grandseneschal's widow and her two daughters, the Countesses of Terlizzi andMorcone, and also by Dona Cancha and the Empress of Constantinople, tookthe side of the Neapolitan party against the pretensions of her husband. The partisans of the queen made it their first care to have her nameinscribed upon all public acts without adding Andre's; but Joan, led byan instinct of right and justice amid all the corruption of her court, had only consented to this last after she had taken counsel with Andred'Isernia, a very learned lawyer of the day, respected as much for hislofty character as for his great learning. The prince, annoyed at beingshut out in this way, began to act in a violent and despotic manner. Onhis own authority he released prisoners; he showered favours uponHungarians, and gave especial honours and rich gifts to Giovanni Pipino, Count of Altanuera, the enemy of all others most dreaded and detested bythe Neapolitan barons. Then the Counts of San Severino, Mileto, Terlizziand Balzo, Calanzaro and Sant' Angelo, and most of the grandees, exasperated by the haughty insolence of Andre's favourite, which grewevery day more outrageous, decided that he must perish, and his masterwith him, should he persist in attacking their privileges and defyingtheir anger. 

Moreover, the women who were about Joan at the court egged her on, eachone urged by a private interest, in the pursuit of her fresh passion. Poor Joan, --neglected by her husband and betrayed by Robert of Cabane--gave way beneath the burden of duties beyond her strength to bear, andfled for refuge to the arms of Bertrand of Artois, whose love she did noteven attempt to resist; for every feeling for religion and virtue hadbeen destroyed in her own set purpose, and her young inclinations hadbeen early bent towards vice, just as the bodies of wretched children arebent and their bones broken by jugglers when they train them. Bertrandhimself felt an adoration for her surpassing ordinary human passion. When he reached the summit of a happiness to which in his wildest dreamshe had never dared to aspire, the young count nearly lost his reason. Invain had his father, Charles of Artois (who was Count of Aire, a directdescendant of Philip the Bold, and one of the regents of the kingdom), attempted by severe admonitions to stop him while yet on the brink of theprecipice: Bertrand would listen to nothing but his love for Joan and hisimplacable hatred for all the queen's enemies. Many a time, at the closeof day, as the breeze from Posilippo or Sorrento coming from far away wasplaying in his hair, might Bertrand be seen leaning from one of thecasements of Castel Nuovo, pale and motionless, gazing fixedly from hisside of the square to where the Duke of Calabria and the Duke of Durazzocame galloping home from their evening ride side by side in a cloud ofdust. Then the brows of the young count were violently contracted, asavage, sinister look shone in his blue eyes once so innocent, likelightning a thought of death and vengeance flashed into his mind; hewould all at once begin to tremble, as a light hand was laid upon hisshoulder; he would turn softly, fearing lest the divine apparition shouldvanish to the skies; but there beside him stood a young girl, with cheeksaflame and heaving breast, with brilliant liquid eyes: she had come totell how her past day had been spent, and to offer her forehead for thekiss that should reward her labours and unwilling absence. This woman, dictator of laws and administrator of justice among grave magistrates andstern ministers, was but fifteen years old; this man; who knew hergriefs, and to avenge them was meditating regicide, was not yet twenty:two children of earth, the playthings of an awful destiny!

Two months and a few days after the old king's death, on the morning ofFriday the 28th of March of the same year, 1343, the widow of the grandseneschal, Philippa, who, had already contrived to get forgiven for theshameful trick she had used to secure all her son's wishes, entered thequeen's apartments, excited by a genuine fear, pale and distracted, thebearer of news that spread terror and lamentation throughout the court:Marie, the queen's younger sister, had disappeared. 

The gardens and outside courts had been searched for any trace of her;every corner of the castle had been examined; the guards had beenthreatened with torture, so as to drag the truth from them; no one hadseen anything of the princess, and nothing could be found that suggestedeither flight or abduction. Joan, struck down by this new blow in themidst of other troubles, was for a time utterly prostrated; then, whenshe had recovered from her first surprise, she behaved as all people doif despair takes the place of reason: she gave orders for what wasalready done to be done again, she asked the same questions that couldonly bring the same answers, and poured forth vain regrets and unjustreproaches. The news spread through the town, causing the greatestastonishment: there arose a great commotion in the castle, and themembers of the regency hastily assembled, while couriers were sent out inevery direction, charged to promise 12, 000 ducats to whomsoever shoulddiscover the place where the princess was concealed. Proceedings were atonce taken against the soldiers who were on guard at the fortress at thetime of the disappearance. 

Bertrand of Artois drew the queen apart, telling her his suspicions, which fell directly upon Charles of Durazzo; but Joan lost no time inpersuading him of the improbability of his hypothesis: first of all, Charles had never once set his foot in Castel Nuovo since the day of hisstormy interview with the queen, but had made a point of always leavingAndre by the bridge when he came to the town with him; besides, it hadnever been noticed, even in the past, that the young duke had spoken toMarie or exchanged looks with her: the result of all attainable evidencewas that no stranger had entered the castle the evening before except anotary named Master Nicholas of Melazzo, an old person, half silly, halffanatical, for whom Tommaso Pace, valet de chambre to the Duke ofCalabria, was ready to answer with his life. Bertrand yielded to thequeen's reasoning, and day by day advanced new suggestions, each lessprobable than the last, to draw his mistress on to feel a hope that hewas far from feeling himself. 

But a month later, and precisely on the morning of Monday the 30th ofApril, a strange and unexpected scene took place, an exhibition ofboldness transcending all calculations. The Neapolitan people werestupefied in astonishment, and the grief of Joan and her friends waschanged to indignation. Just as the clock of San Giovanni struck twelve, the gate of the magnificent palace of the Durazzo flung open its foldingdoors, and there came forth to the sound of trumpets a double file ofcavaliers on richly caparisoned horses, with the duke's arms on theirshields. They took up their station round the house to prevent thepeople outside from disturbing a ceremony which was to take place beforethe eyes of an immense crowd, assembled suddenly, as by a miracle, uponthe square. At the back of the court stood an altar, and upon the stepslay two crimson velvet cushions embroidered with the fleur-de-lys ofFrance and the ducal crown. Charles came forward, clad in a dazzlingdress, and holding by the hand the queen's sister, the Princess Marie, atthat time almost thirteen years of age. She knelt down timidly on one ofthe cushions, and when Charles had done the same, the grand almoner ofthe Duras house asked the young duke solemnly what was his intention inappearing thus humbly before a minister of the Church. At these wordsMaster Nicholas of Melazzo took his place on the left of the altar, andread in a firm, clear voice, first, the contract of marriage betweenCharles and Marie, and then the apostolic letters from His Holiness thesovereign pontiff, Clement VI, who in his own name removing all obstaclesthat might impede the union, such as the age of the young bride and thedegrees of affinity between the two parties, authorised his dearlybeloved son Charles, Duke of Durazzo and Albania, to take in marriage themost illustrious Marie of Anjou, sister of Joan, Queen of Naples andJerusalem, and bestowed his benediction on the pair. 

The almoner then took the young girl's hand, and placing it in that ofCharles, pronounced the prayers of the Church. Charles, turning halfround to the people, said in a loud voice--

"Before God and man, this woman is my wife. "

"And this man is my husband, " said Marie, trembling. 

"Long live the Duke and Duchess of Durazzo!" cried the crowd, clappingtheir hands. And the young pair, at once mounting two beautiful horsesand followed by their cavaliers and pages, solemnly paraded through thetown, and re-entered their palace to the sound of trumpets and cheering. 

When this incredible news was brought to the queen, her first feeling wasjoy at the recovery of her sister; and when Bertrand of Artois was eagerto head a band of barons and cavaliers and bent on falling upon thecortege to punish the traitor, Joan put up her hand to stop him with avery mournful look. 

"Alas!" she said sadly, "it is too late. They are legally married, forthe head of the Church--who is moreover by my grandfather's will the headof our family--has granted his permission. I only pity my poor sister; Ipity her for becoming so young the prey of a wretched man who sacrificesher to his own ambition, hoping by this marriage to establish a claim tothe throne. O God! what a strange fate oppresses the royal house ofAnjou! My father's early death in the midst of his triumphs; my mother'sso quickly after; my sister and I, the sole offspring of Charles I, bothbefore we are women grown fallen into the hands of cowardly men, who useus but as the stepping-stones of their ambition!" Joan fell backexhausted on her chair, a burning tear trembling on her eyelid. 

"This is the second time, " said Bertrand reproachfully, "that I havedrawn my sword to avenge an insult offered to you, the second time Ireturn it by your orders to the scabbard. But remember, Joan, the thirdtime will not find me so docile, and then it will not be Robert of Cabaneor Charles of Durazzo that I shall strike, but him who is the cause ofall your misfortunes. "

"Have mercy, Bertrand! do not you also speak these words; whenever thishorrible thought takes hold of me, let me come to you: this threat ofbloodshed that is drummed into my ears, this sinister vision that hauntsmy sight; let me come to you, beloved, and weep upon your bosom, beneathyour breath cool my burning fancies, from your eyes draw some littlecourage to revive my perishing soul. Come, I am quite unhappy enoughwithout needing to poison the future by an endless remorse. Tell merather to forgive and to forget, speak not of hatred and revenge; show meone ray of hope amid the darkness that surrounds me; hold up my waveringfeet, and push me not into the abyss. "

Such altercations as this were repeated as often as any fresh wrong arosefrom the side of Andre or his party; and in proportion as the attacksmade by Bertrand and his friends gained in vehemence--and we must add, injustice--so did Joan's objections weaken. The Hungarian rule, as itbecame more and more arbitrary and unbearable, irritated men's minds tosuch a point that the people murmured in secret and the noblesproclaimed aloud their discontent. Andre's soldiers indulged in alibertinage which would have been intolerable in a conquered city: theywere found everywhere brawling in the taverns or rolling aboutdisgustingly drunk in the gutters; and the prince, far from rebuking suchorgies, was accused of sharing them himself. His former tutor, who oughtto have felt bound to drag him away from so ignoble a mode of life, rather strove to immerse him in degrading pleasures, so as to keep himout of business matters; without suspecting it, he was hurrying on thedenouement of the terrible drama that was being acted behind the scenesat Castel Nuovo. Robert's widow, Dona Sancha of Aragon, the good andsainted lady whom our readers may possibly have forgotten, as her familyhad done, seeing that God's anger was hanging over her house, and that nocounsels, no tears or prayers of hers could avail to arrest it, afterwearing mourning for her husband one whole year, according to herpromise, had taken the veil at the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce, and deserted the court and its follies and passions, just as the prophetsof old, turning their back on some accursed city, would shake the dustfrom off their sandals and depart. Sandra's retreat was a sad omen, andsoon the family dissensions, long with difficulty suppressed, sprangforth to open view; the storm that had been threatening from afar brokesuddenly over the town, and the thunderbolt was shortly to follow. 

On the last day of August 1344, Joan rendered homage to Americ, Cardinalof Saint Martin and legate of Clement VI, who looked upon the kingdom ofNaples as being a fief of the Church ever since the time when hispredecessors had presented it to Charles of Anjou, and overthrown andexcommunicated the house of Suabia. For this solemn ceremony the churchof Saint Clara was chosen, the burial-place of Neapolitan kings, and butlately the tomb of the grandfather and father of the young queen, whoreposed to right and left of the high altar. Joan, clad in the royalrobe, with the crown upon her head, uttered her oath of fidelity betweenthe hands of the apostolic legate in the presence of her husband, whostood behind her simply as a witness, just like the other princes of theblood. Among the prelates with their pontifical insignia who formed thebrilliant following of the envoy, there stood the Archbishops of Pisa, Bari, Capua, and Brindisi, and the reverend fathers Ugolino, Bishop ofCastella, and Philip, Bishop of Cavaillon, chancellor to the queen. Allthe nobility of Naples and Hungary were present at this ceremony, whichdebarred Andre from the throne in a fashion at once formal and striking. Thus, when they left the church the excited feelings of both parties madea crisis imminent, and such hostile glances, such threatening words wereexchanged, that the prince, finding himself too weak to contend againsthis enemies, wrote the same evening to his mother, telling her that hewas about to leave a country where from his infancy upwards he hadexperienced nothing but deceit and disaster. 

Those who know a mother's heart will easily guess that Elizabeth ofPoland was no sooner aware of the danger that threatened her son than shetravelled to Naples, arriving there before her coming was suspected. Rumour spread abroad that the Queen of Hungary had come to take her sonaway with her, and the unexpected event gave rise to strange comments:the fever of excitement now blazed up in another direction. The Empressof Constantinople, the Catanese, her two daughters, and all thecourtiers, whose calculations were upset by Andre's departure, hurried tohonour the arrival of the Queen of Hungary by offering a very cordial andrespectful reception, with a view to showing her that, in the midst of acourt so attentive and devoted, any isolation or bitterness of feeling onthe young prince's part must spring from his pride, from an unwarrantablemistrust, and his naturally savage and untrained character. Joanreceived her husband's mother with so much proper dignity in herbehaviour that, in spite of preconceived notions, Elizabeth could nothelp admiring the noble seriousness and earnest feeling she saw in herdaughter-in-law. To make the visit more pleasant to an honoured guest, fetes and tournaments were given, the barons vying with one another indisplay of wealth and luxury. The Empress of Constantinople, theCatanese, Charles of Duras and his young wife, all paid the utmostattention to the mother of the prince. Marie, who by reason of herextreme youth and gentleness of character had no share in any intrigues, was guided quite as much by her natural feeling as by her husband'sorders when she offered to the Queen of Hungary those marks of regard andaffection that she might have felt for her own mother. In spite, however, of these protestations of respect and love, Elizabeth of Polandtrembled for her son, and, obeying a maternal instinct, chose to abide byher original intention, believing that she should never feel safe untilAndre was far away from a court in appearance so friendly but in realityso treacherous. The person who seemed most disturbed by the departure, and tried to hinder it by every means in his power, was Friar Robert. Immersed in his political schemes, bending over his mysterious plans withall the eagerness of a gambler who is on the point of gaining, theDominican, who thought himself on the eve of a tremendous event, who bycunning, patience, and labour hoped to scatter his enemies and to reignas absolute autocrat, now falling suddenly from the edifice of his dream, stiffened himself by a mighty effort to stand and resist the mother ofhis pupil. But fear cried too loud in the heart of Elizabeth for all thereasonings of the monk to lull it to rest: to every argument he advancedshe simply said that while her son was not king and had not entireunlimited power, it was imprudent to leave him exposed to his enemies. The monk, seeing that all was indeed lost and that he could not contendagainst the fears of this woman, asked only the boon of three days'grace, at the end of which time, should a reply he was expecting have notarrived, he said he would not only give up his opposition to Andre'sdeparture, but would follow himself, renouncing for ever a scheme towhich he had sacrificed everything. 

Towards the end of the third day, as Elizabeth was definitely making herpreparations for departure, the monk entered radiant. Showing her aletter which he had just hastily broken open, he cried triumphantly--

"God be praised, madam! I can at last give you incontestable proofs ofmy active zeal and accurate foresight. "

Andre's mother, after rapidly running through the document, turned hereyes on the monk with yet some traces of mistrust in her manner, notventuring to give way to her sudden joy. 

"Yes, madam, " said the monk, raising his head, his plain features lightedup by his glance of intelligence--"yes, madam, you will believe youreyes, perhaps, though you would never believe my words: this is not thedream of an active imagination, the hallucination of a credulous mind, the prejudice of a limited intellect; it is a plan slowly conceived, painfully worked out, my daily thought and my whole life's work. I havenever ignored the fact that at the court of Avignon your son had powerfulenemies; but I knew also that on the very day I undertook a certainsolemn engagement in the prince's name, an engagement to withdraw thoselaws that had caused coldness between the pope and Robert; who was ingeneral so devoted to the Church, I knew very well that my offer wouldnever be rejected, and this argument of mine I kept back for the last. See, madam, my calculations are correct; your enemies are put to shameand your son is triumphant. "

Then turning to Andre, who was just corning in and stood dumbfounded atthe threshold on hearing the last words, he added--

"Come, my son, our prayers are at last fulfilled: you are king. "

"King!" repeated Andre, transfixed with joy, doubt, and amazement. 

"King of Sicily and Jerusalem: yes, my lord; there is no need for you toread this document that brings the joyful, unexpected news. You can seeit in your mother's tears; she holds out her arms to press you to herbosom; you can see it in the happiness of your old teacher; he falls onhis knees at your feet to salute you by this title, which he would havepaid for with his own blood had it been denied to you much longer. "

"And yet, " said Elizabeth, after a moment's mournful reflection, "if Iobey my presentiments, your news will make no difference to our plans fordeparture. "

"Nay, mother, " said Andre firmly, "you would not force me to quit thecountry to the detriment of my honour. If I have made you feel some ofthe bitterness and sorrow that have spoiled my own young days because ofmy cowardly enemies, it is not from a poor spirit, but because I waspowerless, and knew it, to take any sort of striking vengeance for theirsecret insults, their crafty injuries, their underhand intrigues. It wasnot because my arm wanted strength, but because my head wanted a crown. I might have put an end to some of these wretched beings, the leastdangerous maybe; but it would have been striking in the dark; theringleaders would have escaped, and I should never have really got to thebottom of their infernal plots. So I have silently eaten out my own heartin shame and indignation. Now that my sacred rights are recognised by theChurch, you will see, my mother, how these terrible barons, the queen'scounsellors, the governors of the kingdom, will lower their heads in thedust: for they are threatened with no sword and no struggle; no peer oftheir own is he who speaks, but the king; it is by him they are accused, by the law they shall be condemned, and shall suffer on the scaffold. "

"O my beloved son, " cried the queen in tears, "I never doubted your noblefeelings or the justice of your claims; but when your life is in danger, to what voice can I listen but the voice of fear? what can move mycounsels but the promptings of love?"

"Mother, believe me, if the hands and hearts alike of these cowards hadnot trembled, you would have lost your son long ago. "

"It is not violence that I fear, my son, it is treachery. "

"My life, like every man's, belongs to God, and the lowest of sbirri maytake it as I turn the corner of the street; but a king owes something tohis people. "

The poor mother long tried to bend the resolution of Andre by reason andentreaties; but when she had spoken her last word and shed her last tear, she summoned Bertram de Baux, chief-justice of the kingdom, and Marie, Duchess of Durazzo. Trusting in the old man's wisdom and the girl'sinnocence, she commended her son to them in the tenderest and mostaffecting words; then drawing from her own hand a ring richly wrought, and taking the prince aside, she slipped it upon his finger, saying in avoice that trembled with emotion as she pressed him to her heart--

"My son, as you refuse to come with me, here is a wonderful talisman, which I would not use before the last extremity. So long as you wearthis ring on your finger, neither sword nor poison will have poweragainst you. "

"You see then, mother, " said the prince, smiling, "with this protectionthere is no reason at all to fear for my life. "

"There are other dangers than sword or poison, " sighed the queen. 

"Be calm, mother: the best of all talismans is your prayer to God for me:it is the tender thought of you that will keep me for ever in the path ofduty and justice; your maternal love will watch over me from afar, andcover me like the wings of a guardian angel. "

Elizabeth sobbed as she embraced her son, and when she left him she felther heart was breaking. At last she made up her mind to go, and wasescorted by the whole court, who had never changed towards her for amoment in their chivalrous and respectful devotion. The poor mother, pale, trembling, and faint, leaned heavily upon Andre's arm, lest sheshould fall. On the ship that was to take her for ever from her son, shecast her arms for the last time about his neck, and there hung a longtime, speechless, tearless, and motionless; when the signal for departurewas given, her women took her in their arms half swooning. Andre stoodon the shore with the feeling of death at his heart: his eyes were fixedupon the sail that carried ever farther from him the only being he lovedin the world. Suddenly he fancied he beheld something white moving along way off: his mother had recovered her senses by a great effort, andhad dragged herself up to the bridge to give a last signal of farewell:the unhappy lady knew too well that she would never see her son again. 

At almost the same moment that Andre's mother left the kingdom, theformer queen of Naples, Robert's widow, Dona Sancha, breathed her lastsigh. She was buried in the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce, underthe name of Clara, which she had assumed on taking her vows as a nun, asher epitaph tells us, as follows:

"Here lies, an example of great humility, the body of the sainted sisterClara, of illustrious memory, otherwise Sancha, Queen of Sicily andJerusalem, widow of the most serene Robert, King of Jerusalem and Sicily, who, after the death of the king her husband, when she had completed ayear of widowhood, exchanged goods temporary for goods eternal. Adoptingfor the love of God a voluntary poverty, and distributing her goods tothe poor, she took upon her the rule of obedience in this celebratedconvent of Santa Croce, the work of her own hands, in the year 1344, onthe gist of January of the twelfth indiction, where, living a life ofholiness under the rule of the blessed Francis, father of the poor, sheended her days religiously in the year of our Lord 1345, on the 28th ofJuly of the thirteenth indiction. On the day following she was buried inthis tomb. "

The death of Dona Sancha served to hasten on the catastrophe which was tostain the throne of Naples with blood: one might almost fancy that Godwished to spare this angel of love and resignation the sight of soterrible a spectacle, that she offered herself as a propitiatorysacrifice to redeem the crimes of her family. 

CHAPTER IV

Eight days after the funeral of the old queen, Bertrand of Artois came toJoan, distraught, dishevelled, in a state of agitation and confusionimpossible to describe. 

Joan went quickly up to her lover, asking him with a look of fear toexplain the cause of his distress. 

"I told you, madam, " cried the young baron excitedly, "you will end byruining us all, as you will never take any advice from me. "

"For God's sake, Bertrand, speak plainly: what has happened? What advicehave I neglected?"

"Madam, your noble husband, Andre of Hungary, has just been made King ofJerusalem and Sicily, and acknowledged by the court of Avignon, sohenceforth you will be no better than his slave. "

"Count of Artois, you are dreaming. "

"No, madam, I am not dreaming: I have this fact to prove the truth of mywords, that the pope's ambassadors are arrived at Capua with the bull forhis coronation, and if they do not enter Castel Nuovo this very evening, the delay is only to give the new king time to make his preparations. "

The queen bent her head as if a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet. 

"When I told you before, " said the count, with growing fury, "that weought to use force to make a stand against him, that we ought to breakthe yoke of this infamous tyranny and get rid of the man before he hadthe means of hurting you, you always drew back in childish fear, with awoman's cowardly hesitation. "

Joan turned a tearful look upon her lover. 

"God, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands in desperation, "am I tohear for ever this awful cry of death! You too, Bertrand, you too saythe word, like Robert of Cabane, like Charles of Duras? Wretched man, why would you raise this bloody spectre between us, to check with icyhand our adulterous kisses? Enough of such crimes; if his wretchedambition makes him long to reign, let him be king: what matters his powerto me, if he leaves me with your love?"

"It is not so sure that our love will last much longer. "

"What is this, Bertrand? You rejoice in this merciless torture. "

"I tell you, madam, that the King of Naples has a black flag ready, andon the day of his coronation it will be carried before him. "

"And you believe, " said Joan, pale as a corpse in its shroud, "--youbelieve that this flag is a threat?"

"Ay, and the threat begins to be put in execution. "

The queen staggered, and leaned against a table to save herself fromfalling. 

"Tell me all, " she cried in a choking voice; "fear not to shock me; see, I am not trembling. O Bertrand, I entreat you!"

"The traitors have begun with the man you most esteemed, the wisestcounsellor of the crown, the best of magistrates, the noblest-hearted, most rigidly virtuous----"

"Andrea of Isernia!"

"Madam, he is no more. "

Joan uttered a cry, as though the noble old man had been slain before hereyes: she respected him as a father; then, sinking back, she remainedprofoundly silent. 

"How did they kill him?" she asked at last, fixing her great eyes interror on the count. 

"Yesterday evening, as he left this castle, on the way to his own home, aman suddenly sprang out upon him before the Porta Petruccia: it was oneof Andre's favourites, Conrad of Gottis chosen no doubt because he had agrievance against the incorruptible magistrate on account of somesentence passed against him, and the murder would therefore be put downto motives of private revenge. The cowardly wretch gave a sign to two orthree companions, who surrounded the victim and robbed him of all meansof escape. The poor old man looked fixedly at his assassin, and askedhim what he wanted. 'I want you to lose your life at my hands, as I lostmy case at yours!' cried the murderer, and leaving him no time to answer, he ran him through with his sword. Then the rest fell upon the poor man, who did not even try to call for help, and his body was riddled withwounds and horribly mutilated, and then left bathed in its blood. "

"Terrible!" murmured the queen, covering her face. 

"It was only their first effort; the proscription lists are already full:Andre must needs have blood to celebrate his accession to the throne ofNaples. And do you know, Joan, whose name stands first in the doomedlist?"

"Whose?" cried the queen, shuddering from head to foot. 

"Mine, " said the count calmly. 

"Yours!" cried Joan, drawing herself up to her full height; "are you tobe killed next! Oh, be careful, Andre; you have pronounced your owndeath-sentence. Long have I turned aside the dagger pointing to yourbreast, but you put an end to all my patience. Woe to you, Prince ofHungary! the blood which you have spilt shall fall on your own head. "

As she spoke she had lost her pallor; her lovely face was fired withrevenge, her eyes flashed lightning. This child of sixteen was terribleto behold; she pressed her lover's hand with convulsive tenderness, andclung to him as if she would screen him with her own body. 

"Your anger is awakened too late, " said he gently and sadly; for at thismoment Joan seemed so lovely that he could reproach her with nothing. "You do not know that his mother has left him a talisman preserving himfrom sword and poison?"

"He will die, " said Joan firmly; the smile that lighted up her face wasso unnatural that the count was dismayed, and dropped his eyes. 

The next day the young Queen of Naples, lovelier, more smiling than ever, sitting carelessly in a graceful attitude beside a window which lookedout on the magnificent view of the bay, was busy weaving a cord of silkand gold. The sun had run nearly two-thirds of his fiery course, and wasgradually sinking his rays in the clear blue waters where Posilippo'shead is reflected with its green and flowery crown. A warm, balmy breezethat had passed over the orange trees of Sorrento and Amalfi feltdeliciously refreshing to the inhabitants of the capital, who hadsuccumbed to torpor in the enervating softness of the day. The wholetown was waking from a long siesta, breathing freely after a sleepyinterval; the Molo was covered with a crowd of eager people dressed outin the brightest colours; the many cries of a festival, joyous songs, love ditties sounded from all quarters of the vast amphitheatre, which isone of the chief marvels of creation; they came to the ears of Joan, andshe listened as she bent over her work, absorbed in deep thought. Suddenly, when she seemed most busily occupied, the indefinable feelingof someone near at hand, and the touch of something on her shoulder, madeher start: she turned as though waked from a dream by contact with aserpent, and perceived her husband, magnificently dressed, carelesslyleaning against the back of her chair. For a long time past the princehad not come to his wife in this familiar fashion, and to the queen thepretence of affection and careless behaviour augured ill. Andre did notappear to notice the look of hatred and terror that had escaped Joan inspite of herself, and assuming the best expression of gentleness as thathis straight hard features could contrive to put on in such circumstancesas these, he smilingly asked--

"Why are you making this pretty cord, dear dutiful wife?"

"To hang you with, my lord, " replied the queen, with a smile. 

Andre shrugged his shoulders, seeing in the threat so incredibly rashnothing more than a pleasantry in rather bad taste. But when he saw thatJoan resumed her work, he tried to renew the conversation. 

"I admit, " he said, in a perfectly calm voice, "that my question is quiteunnecessary: from your eagerness to finish this handsome piece of work, Iought to suspect that it is destined for some fine knight of yours whomyou propose to send on a dangerous enterprise wearing your colours. Ifso, my fair queen, I claim to receive my orders from your lips: appointthe time and place for the trial, and I am sure beforehand of carryingoff a prize that I shall dispute with all your adorers. "

"That is not so certain, " said Joan, "if you are as valiant in war as inlove. " And she cast on her husband a look at once seductive andscornful, beneath which the young man blushed up to his eyes. 

"I hope, " said Andre, repressing his feelings, "I hope soon to give yousuch proofs of my affection that you will never doubt it again. "

"And what makes you fancy that, my lord?"

"I would tell you, if you would listen seriously. "

"I am listening. "

"Well, it is a dream I had last night that gives me such confidence inthe future. "

"A dream! You surely ought to explain that. "

"I dreamed that there was a grand fete in the town: an immense crowdfilled the streets like an overflowing torrent, and the heavens wereringing with their shouts of joy; the gloomy granite facades were hiddenby hangings of silk and festoons of flowers; the churches were decoratedas though for some grand ceremony. I was riding side by side with you. "Joan made a haughty movement: "Forgive me, madam, it was only a dream: Iwas on your right, riding a fine white horse, magnificently caparisoned, and the chief-justice of the kingdom carried before me a flag unfolded insign of honour. After riding in triumph through the main thoroughfaresof the city, we arrived, to the sound of trumpets and clarions, at theroyal church of Saint Clara, where your grandfather and my uncle areburied, and there, before the high altar, the pope's ambassador laid yourhand in mine and pronounced a long discourse, and then on our two headsin turn placed the crown of Jerusalem and Sicily; after which the noblesand the people shouted in one voice, 'Long live the King and Queen ofNaples!' And I, wishing to perpetuate the memory of so glorious a day, proceeded to create knights among the most zealous in our court. "

"And do you not remember the names of the chosen persons whom you judgedworthy of your royal favours?"

"Assuredly, madam: Bertrand, Count of Artois. "

"Enough, my lord; I excuse you from naming the rest: I always supposedyou were loyal and generous, but you give me fresh proof of it by showingfavour to men whom I most honour and trust. I cannot tell if your wishesare likely soon to be realised, but in any case feel sure of my perpetualgratitude. "

Joan's voice did not betray the slightest emotion; her look had becamekind, and the sweetest smile was on her lips. But in her heart Andre'sdeath was from that moment decided upon. The prince, too muchpreoccupied with his own projects of vengeance, and too confident in hisall-powerful talisman and his personal valour, had no suspicion that hisplans could be anticipated. He conversed a long time with his wife in achatting, friendly way, trying to spy out her secret, and exposing hisown by his interrupted phrases and mysterious reserves. When he fanciedthat every cloud of former resentment, even the lightest, had disappearedfrom Joan's brow, he begged her to go with her suite on a magnificenthunting expedition that he was organising for the 20th of August, addingthat such a kindness on her part would be for him a sure pledge of theirreconciliation and complete forgetfulness of the past. Joan promisedwith a charming grace, and the prince retired fully satisfied with theinterview, carrying with him the conviction that he had only to threatento strike a blow at the queen's favourite to ensure her obedience, perhaps even her love. 

But on the eve of the 20th of August a strange and terrible scene wasbeing enacted in the basement storey of one of the lateral towers ofCastel Nuovo. Charles of Durazzo, who had never ceased to brood secretlyover his infernal plans, had been informed by the notary whom he hadcharged to spy upon the conspirators, that on that particular eveningthey were about to hold a decisive meeting, and therefore, wrapped in ablack cloak, he glided into the underground corridor and hid himselfbehind a pillar, there to await the issue of the conference. After twodreadful hours of suspense, every second marked out by the beating of hisheart, Charles fancied he heard the sound of a door very carefullyopened; the feeble ray of a lantern in the vault scarcely served todispel the darkness, but a man coming away from the wall approached himwalking like a living statue. Charles gave a slight cough, the signagreed upon. The man put out his light and hid away the dagger he haddrawn in case of a surprise. 

"Is it you, Master Nicholas?" asked the duke in a low voice. 

"It is I, my lord. "

"What is it?"

"They have just fixed the prince's death for tomorrow, on his way to thehunt. "

"Did you recognise every conspirator?"

"Every one, though their faces were masked; when they gave their vote fordeath, I knew them by their voices. "

"Could you point out to me who they are?"

"Yes, this very minute; they are going to pass along at the end of thiscorridor. And see, here is Tommaso Pace walking in front of them tolight their way. "

Indeed, a tall spectral figure, black from head to foot, his facecarefully hidden under a velvet mask, walked at the end of the corridor, lamp in hand, and stopped at the first step of a staircase which led tothe upper floors. The conspirators advanced slowly, two by two, like aprocession of ghosts, appeared for one moment in the circle of light madeby the torch, and again disappeared into shadow. 

"See, there are Charles and Bertrand of Artois, " said the notary; "thereare the Counts of Terlizzi and Catanzaro; the grand admiral and grandseneschal, Godfrey of Marsan, Count of Squillace, and Robert of Cabane, Count of Eboli; the two women talking in a low voice with the eagergesticulations are Catherine of Tarentum, Empress of Constantinople, andPhilippa the Catanese, the queen's governess and chief lady; there isDona Cancha, chamberwoman and confidante of Joan; and there is theCountess of Morcone. "

The notary stopped on beholding a shadow alone, its head bowed, with armshanging loosely, choking back her sobs beneath a hood of black. 

"Who is the woman who seems to drag herself so painfully along in theirtrain?" asked the duke, pressing his companion's arm. 

"That woman, " said the notary, "is the queen. " "Ah, now I see, " thoughtCharles, breathing freely, with the same sort of satisfaction that Satanno doubt feels when a long coveted soul falls at length into his power. 

"And now, my lord, " continued Master Nicholas, when all had returned oncemore into silence and darkness, "if you have bidden me spy on theseconspirators with a view to saving the young prince you are protectingwith love and vigilance, you must hurry forward, for to-morrow maybe itwill be too late. "

"Follow me, " cried the duke imperiously; "it is time you should know myreal intention, and then carry out my orders with scrupulous exactness. "

With these words he drew him aside to a place opposite to where theconspirators had just disappeared. The notary mechanically followedthrough a labyrinth of dark corridors and secret staircases, quite at aloss how to account for the sudden change that had come over hismaster--crossing one of the ante-chambers in the castle, they came uponAndre, who joyfully accosted them; grasping the hand of his cousin Durasin his affectionate manner, he asked him in a pressing way that wouldbrook no refusal, "Will you be of our hunting party to-morrow, duke?"

"Excuse me, my lord, " said Charles, bowing down to the ground; "it willbe impossible for me to go to-morrow, for my wife is very unwell; but Ientreat you to accept the best falcon I have. "

And here he cast upon the notary a petrifying glance. 

The morning of the 20th of August was fine and calm--the irony of naturecontrasting cruelly with the fate of mankind. From break of day mastersand valets, pages and knights, princes and courtiers, all were on foot;cries of joy were heard on every side when the queen arrived on asnow-white horse, at the head of the young and brilliant throng. Joanwas perhaps paler than usual, but that might be because she had beenobliged to rise very early. Andre, mounted on one of the most fiery ofall the steeds he had tamed, galloped beside his wife, noble and proud, happy in his own powers, his youth, and the thousand gilded hopes that abrilliant future seemed to offer. Never had the court of Naples shown sobrave an aspect: every feeling of distrust and hatred seemed entirelyforgotten; Friar Robert himself, suspicious as he was by nature, when hesaw the joyous cavalcade go by under his window, looked out with pride, and stroking his beard, laughed at his own seriousness. 

Andre's intention was to spend several days hunting between Capua andAversa, and only to return to Naples when all was in readiness for hiscoronation. Thus the first day they hunted round about Melito, and wentthrough two or three villages in the land of Labore. Towards evening thecourt stopped at Aversa, with a view to passing the night there, andsince at that period there was no castle in the place worthy ofentertaining the queen with her husband and numerous court, the conventof St. Peter's at Majella was converted into a royal residence: thisconvent had been built by Charles II in the year of our Lord 1309. 

While the grand seneschal was giving orders for supper and thepreparation of a room for Andre and his wife, the prince, who during thewhole day had abandoned himself entirely to his favourite amusement, wentup on the terrace to enjoy the evening air, accompanied by the goodIsolda, his beloved nurse, who loved him more even than his mother, andwould not leave his side for a moment. Never had the prince appeared soanimated and happy: he was in ecstasies over the beauty of the country, the clear air, the scent of the trees around; he besieged his nurse witha thousand queries, never waiting for an answer; and they were indeedlong in coming, for poor Isolda was gazing upon him with that appearanceof fascination which makes a mother absent-minded when her child istalking: Andre was eagerly telling her about a terrible boar he hadchased that morning across the woods, how it had lain foaming at hisfeet, and Isolda interrupted him to say he had a grain of dust in hiseye. Then Andre was full of his plans for the future, and Isolda strokedhis fair hair, remarking that he must be feeling very tired. Then, heeding nothing but his own joy and excitement, the young prince hurleddefiance at destiny, calling by all his gods on dangers to come forward, so that he might have the chance of quelling them, and the poor nurseexclaimed, in a flood of tears, "My child, you love me no longer. "

Out of all patience with these constant interruptions, Andre scolded herkindly enough, and mocked at her childish fears. Then, paying noattention to a sort of melancholy that was coming over him, he bade hertell him old tales of his childhood, and had a long talk about hisbrother Louis, his absent mother, and tears were in his eyes when herecalled her last farewell. Isolda listened joyfully, and answered allhe asked; but no fell presentiment shook her heart: the poor woman lovedAndre with all the strength of her soul; for him she would have given upher life in this world and in the world to come; yet she was not hismother. 

When all was ready, Robert of Cabane came to tell the prince that thequeen awaited him; Andre cast one last look at the smiling fields beneaththe starry heavens, pressed his nurse's hand to his lips and to hisheart, and followed the grand seneschal slowly and, it seemed, with someregret. But soon the brilliant lights of the room, the wine thatcirculated freely, the gay talk, the eager recitals of that day'sexploits served to disperse the cloud of gloom that had for a momentoverspread the countenance of the prince. The queen alone, leaning onthe table with fixed eyes and lips that never moved, sat at this strangefeast pale and cold as a baleful ghost summoned from the tomb to disturbthe joy of the party. Andre, whose brain began to be affected by thedraughts of wine from Capri and Syracuse, was annoyed at his wife's look, and attributing it to contempt, filled a goblet to the brim and presentedit to the queen. Joan visibly trembled, her lips moved convulsively; butthe conspirators drowned in their noisy talk the involuntary groan thatescaped her. In the midst of a general uproar, Robert of Cabane proposedthat they should serve generous supplies of the same wine drunk at theroyal table to the Hungarian guards who were keeping watch at theapproaches to the convent, and this liberality evoked frenzied applause. The shouting of the soldiers soon gave witness to their gratitude for theunexpected gift, and mingled with the hilarious toasts of the banqueters. To put the finishing touch to Andre's excitement, there were cries onevery side of "Long live the Queen! Long live His Majesty the King ofNaples!"

The orgy lasted far into the night: the pleasures of the next day werediscussed with enthusiasm, and Bertrand of Artois protested in a loudvoice that if they were so late now some would not rise early on themorrow. Andre declared that, for his part, an hour or two's rest wouldbe enough to get over his fatigue, and he eagerly protested that it wouldbe well for others to follow his example. The Count of Terlizzi seemedto express some doubt as to the prince's punctuality. Andre insisted, andchallenging all the barons present to see who would be up first, heretired with the queen to the room that had been reserved for them, wherehe very soon fell into a deep and heavy sleep. About two o'clock in themorning, Tommaso Pace, the prince's valet and first usher of the royalapartments, knocked at his master's door to rouse him for the chase. At the first knock, all was silence; at the second, Joan, who had notclosed her eyes all night, moved as if to rouse her husband and warn himof the threatened danger; but at the third knock the unfortunate youngman suddenly awoke, and hearing in the next room sounds of laughter andwhispering, fancied that they were making a joke of his laziness, andjumped out of bed bareheaded, in nothing but his shirt, his shoes half onand half off. He opened the door; and at this point we translateliterally the account of Domenico Gravina, a historian of much esteem. As soon as the prince appeared, the conspirators all at once fell uponhim, to strangle him with their hands; believing he could not die bypoison or sword, because of the charmed ring given him by his poormother. But Andre was so strong and active, that when he perceived theinfamous treason he defended himself with more than human strength, andwith dreadful cries got free from his murderers, his face all bloody, hisfair hair pulled out in handfuls. The unhappy young man tried to gain hisown bedroom, so as to get some weapon and valiantly resist the assassins;but as he reached the door, Nicholas of Melazzo, putting his dagger likea bolt into the lock, stopped his entrance. The prince, calling aloudthe whole time and imploring the protection of his friends, returned tothe hall; but all the doors were shut, and no one held out a helpinghand; for the queen was silent, showing no uneasiness about her husband'sdeath. 

But the nurse Isolda, terrified by the shouting of her beloved son andlord, leapt from her bed and went to the window, filling the house withdreadful cries. The traitors, alarmed by the mighty uproar, although theplace was lonely and so far from the centre of the town that nobody couldhave come to see what the noise was, were on the point of letting theirvictim go, when Bertrand of Artois, who felt he was more guilty than theothers, seized the prince with hellish fury round the waist, and after adesperate struggle got him down; then dragging him by the hair of hishead to a balcony which gave upon the garden, and pressing one knee uponhis chest, cried out to the others--

"Come here, barons: I have what we want to strangle him with. "

And round his neck he passed a long cord of silk and gold, while thewretched man struggled all he could. Bertrand quickly drew up the knot, and the others threw the body over the parapet of the balcony, leaving ithanging between earth and sky until death ensued. When the Count ofTerlizzi averted his eyes from the horrid spectacle, Robert of Cabanecried out imperiously--

"What are you doing there? The cord is long enough for us all to hold:we want not witnesses, we want accomplices!"

As soon as the last convulsive movements of the dying man had ceased, they let the corpse drop the whole height of the three storeys, andopening the doors of the hall, departed as though nothing had happened. 

Isolda, when at last she contrived to get a light, rapidly ran to thequeen's chamber, and finding the door shut on the inside, began to callloudly on her Andre. There was no answer, though the queen was in theroom. The poor nurse, distracted, trembling, desperate, ran down all thecorridors, knocked at all the cells and woke the monks one by one, begging them to help her look for the prince. The monks said that theyhad indeed heard a noise, but thinking it was a quarrel between soldiersdrunken perhaps or mutinous, they had not thought it their business tointerfere. Isolda eagerly, entreated: the alarm spread through theconvent; the monks followed the nurse, who went on before with a torch. She entered the garden, saw something white upon the grass, advancedtrembling, gave one piercing cry, and fell backward. 

The wretched Andre was lying in his blood, a cord round his neck asthough he were a thief, his head crushed in by the height from which hefell. Then two monks went upstairs to the queen's room, and respectfullyknocking at the door, asked in sepulchral tones--

"Madam, what would you have us do with your husband's corpse?"

And when the queen made no answer, they went down again slowly to thegarden, and kneeling one at the head, the other at the foot of the deadman, they began to recite penitential psalms in a low voice. When theyhad spent an hour in prayer, two other monks went up in the same way toJoan's chamber, repeating the same question and getting no answer, whereupon they relieved the first two, and began themselves to pray. Next a third couple went to the door of this inexorable room, and comingaway perturbed by their want of success, perceived that there was adisturbance of people outside the convent, while vengeful cries wereheard amongst the indignant crowd. The groups became more and morethronged, threatening voices were raised, a torrent of invadersthreatened the royal dwelling, when the queen's guard appeared, lance inreadiness, and a litter closely shut, surrounded by the principal baronsof the court, passed through the crowd, which stood stupidly gazing. Joan, wrapped in a black veil, went back to Castel Nuovo, amid herescort; and nobody, say the historians, had the courage to say a wordabout this terrible deed. 

CHAPTER V

The terrible part that Charles of Durazzo was to play began as soon asthis crime was accomplished. The duke left the corpse two whole daysexposed to the wind and the rain, unburied and dishonoured, the corpse ofa man whom the pope had made King of Sicily and Jerusalem, so that theindignation of the mob might be increased by the dreadful sight. On thethird he ordered it to be conveyed with the utmost pomp to the cathedralof Naples, and assembling all the Hungarians around the catafalque, hethus addressed them, in a voice of thunder:--

"Nobles and commoners, behold our king hanged like a dog by infamoustraitors. God will soon make known to us the names of all the guilty:let those who desire that justice may be done hold up their hands andswear against murderers bloody persecution, implacable hatred, everlasting vengeance. "

It was this one man's cry that brought death and desolation to themurderers' hearts, and the people dispersed about the town, shrieking, "Vengeance, vengeance!"

Divine justice, which knows naught of privilege and respects no crown, struck Joan first of all in her love. When the two lovers first met, both were seized alike with terror and disgust; they recoiled trembling, the queen seeing in Bertrand her husband's executioner, and he in her thecause of his crime, possibly of his speedy punishment. Bertrand's lookswere disordered, his cheeks hollow, his eyes encircled with black rings, his mouth horribly distorted; his arm and forefinger extended towards hisaccomplice, he seemed to behold a frightful vision rising before him. The same cord he had used when he strangled Andre, he now saw round thequeen's neck, so tight that it made its way into her flesh: an invisibleforce, a Satanic impulse, urged him to strangle with his own hands thewoman he had loved so dearly, had at one time adored on his knees. Thecount rushed out of the room with gestures of desperation, mutteringincoherent words; and as he shewed plain signs of mental aberration, hisfather, Charles of Artois, took him away, and they went that same eveningto their palace of St. Agatha, and there prepared a defence in case theyshould be attacked. 

But Joan's punishment, which was destined to be slow as well as dreadful, to last thirty-seven years and end in a ghastly death, was now onlybeginning. All the wretched beings who were stained with Andre's deathcame in turn to her to demand the price of blood. The Catanese and herson, who held in their hands not only the queen's honour but her life, now became doubly greedy and exacting. Dona Cancha no longer put anybridle on her licentiousness, and the Empress of Constantinople orderedher niece to marry her eldest son, Robert, Prince of Tarentum. Joan, consumed by remorse, full of indignation and shame at the arrogantconduct of her subjects, dared scarcely lift her head, and stooped toentreaties, only stipulating for a few days' delay before giving heranswer: the empress consented, on condition that her son should come toreside at Castel Nuovo, with permission to see the queen once a day. Joan bowed her head in silence, and Robert of Tarentum was installed atthe castle. 

Charles of Durazzo, who by the death of Andre had practically become thehead of the family, and, would, by the terms of his grandfather's will, inherit the kingdom by right of his wife Marie in the case of Joan'sdying without lawful issue, sent to the queen two commands: first, thatshe should not dream of contracting a new marriage without firstconsulting him in the choice of a husband; secondly, that she shouldinvest him at once with the title of Duke of Calabria. To compel hiscousin to make these two concessions, he added that if she should be soill advised as to refuse either of them, he should hand over to justicethe proofs of the crime and the names of the murderers. Joan, bendingbeneath the weight of this new difficulty, could think of no way to avoidit; but Catherine, who alone was stout enough to fight this nephew ofhers, insisted that they must strike at the Duke of Durazzo in hisambition and hopes, and tell him, to begin with--what was the fact--thatthe queen was pregnant. If, in spite of this news, he persisted in hisplans, she would find some means or other, she said, of causing troubleand discord in her nephew's family, and wounding him in his most intimateaffections or closest interests, by publicly dishonouring him through hiswife or his mother. 

Charles smiled coldly when his aunt came to tell him from the queen thatshe was about to bring into the world an infant, Andre's posthumouschild. What importance could a babe yet unborn possibly have--as a fact, it lived only a few months--in the eyes of a man who with such admirablecoolness got rid of people who stood in his wary, and that moreover bythe hand of his own enemies? He told the empress that the happy news shehad condescended to bring him in person, far from diminishing hiskindness towards his cousin, inspired him rather with more interest andgoodwill; that consequently he reiterated his suggestion, and renewed hispromise not to seek vengeance for his dear Andre, since in a certainsense the crime was not complete should a child be destined to survive;but in case of a refusal he declared himself inexorable. He cleverlygave Catherine to understand that, as she had some interest herself inthe prince's death, she ought for her own sake to persuade the queen tostop legal proceedings. 

The empress seemed to be deeply impressed by her nephew's threateningattitude, and promised to do her best to persuade the queen to grant allhe asked, on condition, however, that Charles should allow the necessarytime for carrying through so delicate a business. But Catherine profitedby this delay to think out her own plan of revenge, and ensure the meansof certain success. After starting several projects eagerly and thenregretfully abandoning them, she fixed upon an infernal and unheard-ofscheme, which the mind would refuse to believe but for the unanimoustestimony of historians. Poor Agnes of Duras, Charles's mother, had forsome few days been suffering with an inexplicable weariness, a slowpainful malady with which her son's restlessness and violence may havehad not a little to do. The empress resolved that the first effect ofher hatred was to fall upon this unhappy mother. She summoned the Countof Terlizzi and Dona Cancha, his mistress, who by the queen's orders hadbeen attending Agnes since her illness began. Catherine suggested to theyoung chamberwoman, who was at that time with child, that she shoulddeceive the doctor by representing that certain signs of her owncondition really belonged to the sick woman, so that he, deceived by thefalse indications, should be compelled to admit to Charles of Durazzothat his mother was guilty and dishonoured. The Count of Terlizzi, whoever since he had taken part in the regicide trembled in fear ofdiscovery, had nothing to oppose to the empress's desire, and DonaCancha, whose head was as light as her heart was corrupt, seized with afoolish gaiety on any chance of taking her revenge on the prudery of theonly princess of the blood who led a pure life at a court that wasrenowned for its depravity. Once assured that her accomplices would beprudent and obedient, Catherine began to spread abroad certain vague anddubious but terribly serious rumours, only needing proof, and soon afterthe cruel accusation was started it was repeated again and again inconfidence, until it reached the ears of Charles. 

At this amazing revelation the duke was seized with a fit of trembling. He sent instantly for the doctor, and asked imperiously what was thecause of his mother's malady. The doctor turned pale and stammered; butwhen Charles grew threatening he admitted that he had certain grounds forsuspecting that the duchess was enceinte, but as he might easily havebeen deceived the first time, he would make a second investigation beforepronouncing his opinion in so serious a matter. The next day, as thedoctor came out of the bedroom, the duke met him, and interrogating himwith an agonised gesture, could only judge by the silence that his fearswere too well confirmed. But the doctor, with excess of caution, declaredthat he would make a third trial. Condemned criminals can suffer noworse than Charles in the long hours that passed before that fatal momentwhen he learned that his mother was indeed guilty. On the third day thedoctor stated on his soul and conscience that Agnes of Durazzo waspregnant. 

"Very good, " said Charles, dismissing the doctor with no sign of emotion. 

That evening the duchess took a medicine ordered by the doctor; and when, half an hour later, she was assailed with violent pains, the duke waswarned that perhaps other physicians ought to be consulted, as theprescription of the ordinary doctor, instead of bringing about animprovement in her state, had only made her worse. 

Charles slowly went up to the duchess's room, and sending away all thepeople who were standing round her bed, on the pretext that they wereclumsy and made his mother worse, he shut the door, and they were alone. Then poor Agnes, forgetting her internal agony when she saw her son, pressed his hand tenderly and smiled through her tears. 

Charles, pale beneath his bronzed complexion, his forehead moist with acold sweat, and his eyes horribly dilated, bent over the sick woman andasked her gloomily--

"Are you a little better, mother?"

"Ah, I am in pain, in frightful pain, my poor Charles. I feel as thoughI have molten lead in my veins. O my son, call your brothers, so that Imay give you all my blessing for the last time, for I cannot hold outlong against this pain. I am burning. Mercy! Call a doctor: I know Ihave been poisoned. "

Charles did not stir from the bedside. 

"Water!" cried the dying woman in a broken voice, --"water! A doctor, aconfessor! My children--I want my children!"

And as the duke paid no heed, but stood moodily silent, the poor mother, prostrated by pain, fancied that grief had robbed her son of all power ofspeech or movement, and so, by a desperate effort, sat up, and seizinghim by the arm, cried with all the strength she could muster--

"Charles, my son, what is it? My poor boy, courage; it is nothing, Ihope. But quick, call for help, call a doctor. Ah, you have no idea ofwhat I suffer. "

"Your doctor, " said Charles slowly and coldly, each word piercing hismother's heart like a dagger, --"your doctor cannot come. "

"Oh why?" asked Agnes, stupefied. 

"Because no one ought to live who knows the secret of our shame. "

"Unhappy man!" she cried, overwhelmed with, pain and terror, "you havemurdered him! Perhaps you have poisoned your mother too! Charles, Charles, have mercy on your own soul!"

"It is your doing, " said Charles, without show of emotion: "you havedriven me into crime and despair; you have caused my dishonour in thisworld and my damnation in the next. "

"What are you saying? My own Charles, have mercy! Do not let me die inthis horrible uncertainty; what fatal delusion is blinding you? Speak, myson, speak: I am not feeling the poison now. What have I done? Of whathave I been accused?"

She looked with haggard eyes at her son: her maternal love stillstruggled against the awful thought of matricide; at last, seeing thatCharles remained speechless in spite of her entreaties, she repeated, with a piercing cry--

"Speak, in God's name, speak before I die!"

"Mother, you are with child. "

"What!" cried Agnes, with a loud cry, which broke her very heart. "O God, forgive him! Charles, your mother forgives and blesses you in death. "

Charles fell upon her neck, desperately crying for help: he would nowhave gladly saved her at the cost of his life, but it was too late. Heuttered one cry that came from his heart, and was found stretched outupon his mother's corpse. 

Strange comments were made at the court on the death of the Duchess ofDurazzo and her doctor's disappearance; but there was no doubt at allthat grief and gloom were furrowing wrinkles on Charles's brow, which wasalready sad enough. Catherine alone knew the terrible cause of hernephew's depression, for to her it was very plain that the duke at oneblow had killed his mother and her physician. But she had never expecteda reaction so sudden and violent in a man who shrank before no crime. She had thought Charles capable of everything except remorse. Hisgloomy, self absorbed silence seemed a bad augury for her plans. She haddesired to cause trouble for him in his own family, so that he might haveno time to oppose the marriage of her son with the queen; but she hadshot beyond her mark, and Charles, started thus on the terrible path ofcrime, had now broken through the bonds of his holiest affections, andgave himself up to his bad passions with feverish ardour and a savagedesire for revenge. Then Catherine had recourse to gentleness andsubmission. She gave her son to understand that there was only one way ofobtaining the queen's hand, and that was by flattering the ambition ofCharles and in some sort submitting himself to his patronage. Robert ofTarentum understood this, and ceased making court to Joan, who receivedhis devotion with cool kindness, and attached himself closely to Charles, paying him much the same sort of respect and deference that he himselfhad affected for Andre, when the thought was first in his mind of causinghis ruin. But the Duke of Durazzo was by no means deceived as to thedevoted friendship shown towards him by the heir of the house ofTarentum, and pretending to be deeply touched by the unexpected change offeeling, he all the time kept a strict guard on Robert's actions. 

An event outside all human foresight occurred to upset the calculationsof the two cousins. One day while they were out together on horseback, as they often were since their pretended reconciliation, Louis ofTarentum, Robert's youngest brother, who had always felt for Joan achivalrous, innocent love, --a love which a young man of twenty is apt tolock up in his heart as a secret treasure, --Louis, we say, who had heldaloof from the infamous family conspiracy and had not soiled his handswith Andre's blood, drawn on by an irrepressible passion, all at onceappeared at the gates of Castel Nuovo; and while his brother was wastingprecious hours in asking for a promise of marriage, had the bridge raisedand gave the soldiers strict orders to admit no one. Then, nevertroubling himself about Charles's anger or Robert's jealousy, he hurriedto the queen's room, and there, says Domenico Gravina, without anypreamble, the union was consummated. 

On returning from his ride, Robert, astonished that the bridge was not atonce lowered for him, at first loudly called upon the soldiers on guardat the fortress, threatening severe punishment for their unpardonablenegligence; but as the gates did not open and the soldiers made no signof fear or regret, he fell into a violent fit of rage, and swore he wouldhang the wretches like dogs for hindering his return home. But theEmpress of Constantinople, terrified at the bloody quarrel beginningbetween the two brothers, went alone and on foot to her son, and makinguse of her maternal authority to beg him to master his feelings, there inthe presence of the crowd that had come up hastily to witness the strangescene, she related in a low voice all that had passed in his absence. 

A roar as of a wounded tiger escaped from Robert's breast: all but blindwith rage, he nearly trampled his mother under the feet of his horse, which seemed to feel his master's anger, and plunging violently, breathedblood from his nostrils. When the prince had poured every possibleexecration on his brother's head, he turned and galloped away from theaccursed castle, flying to the Duke of Durazzo, whom he had only justleft, to tell him of this outrage and stir him to revenge. Charles wastalking carelessly with his young wife, who was but little used to suchtranquil conversation and expansiveness, when the Prince of Tarentum, exhausted, out of breath, bathed in perspiration, came up with hisincredible tale. Charles made him say it twice over, so impossible didLouis's audacious enterprise appear to him. Then quickly changing fromdoubt to fury, he struck his brow with his iron glove, saying that as thequeen defied him he would make her tremble even in her castle and in herlover's arms. He threw one withering look on Marie, who intercededtearfully for her sister, and pressing Robert's hand with warmth, vowedthat so long as he lived Louis should never be Joan's husband. 

That same evening he shut himself up in his study, and wrote letterswhose effect soon appeared. A bull, dated June 2, 1346, was addressed toBertram de Baux, chief-justice of the kingdom of Sicily and Count ofMonte Scaglioso, with orders to make the most strict inquiries concerningAndre's murderers, whom the pope likewise laid under his anathema, and topunish them with the utmost rigour of the law. But a secret note wasappended to the bull which was quite at variance with the designs ofCharles: the sovereign pontiff expressly bade the chief-justice not toimplicate the queen in the proceedings or the princes of the blood, so asto avoid worse disturbances, reserving, as supreme head of the Church andlord of the kingdom, the right of judging them later on, as his wisdommight dictate. 

For this imposing trial Bertram de Baux made great preparations. Aplatform was erected in the great hall of tribunal, and all the officersof the crown and great state dignitaries, and all the chief barons, had aplace behind the enclosure where the magistrates sat. Three days afterClement VI's bull had been published in the capital, the chief-justicewas ready for a public examination of two accused persons. The twoculprits who had first fallen into the hands of justice were, as one mayeasily suppose, those whose condition was least exalted, whose lives wereleast valuable, Tommaso Pace and Nicholas of Melazzo. They were ledbefore the tribunal to be first of all tortured, as the custom was. Asthey approached the judges, the notary passing by Charles in the streethad time to say in a low voice--

"My lord, the time has come to give my life for you: I will do my duty; Icommend my wife and children to you. "

Encouraged by a nod from his patron, he walked on firmly anddeliberately. The chief-justice, after establishing the identity of theaccused, gave them over to the executioner and his men to be tortured inthe public square, so that their sufferings might serve as a show and anexample to the crowd. But no sooner was Tommaso Pace tied to the rope, when to the great disappointment of all he declared that he would confesseverything, and asked accordingly to be taken back before his judges. Atthese words, the Count of Terlizzi, who was following every movement ofthe two men with mortal anxiety, thought it was all over now with him andhis accomplices; and so, when Tommaso Pace was turning his steps towardsthe great hall, led by two guards, his hands tied behind his back, andfollowed by the notary, he contrived to take him into a secluded house, and squeezing his throat with great force, made him thus put his tongueout, whereupon he cut it off with a sharp razor. 

The yells of the poor wretch so cruelly mutilated fell on the ears of theDuke of Durazzo: he found his way into the room where the barbarous acthad been committed just as the Count of Terlizzi was coming out, andapproached the notary, who had been present at the dreadful spectacle andhad not given the least sign of fear or emotion. Master Nicholas, thinking the same fate was in store for him, turned calmly to the duke, saying with a sad smile--

"My lord, the precaution is useless; there is no need for you to cut outmy tongue, as the noble count has done to my poor companion. The lastscrap of my flesh may be torn off without one word being dragged from mymouth. I have promised, my lord, and you have the life of my wife andthe future of my children as guarantee for my word. "

"I do not ask for silence, " said the duke solemnly; "you can free me fromall my enemies at once, and I order you to denounce them at thetribunal. "

The notary bowed his head with mournful resignation; then raising it inaffright, made one step up to the duke and murmured in a choking voice--

"And the queen?"

"No one would believe you if you ventured to denounce her; but when theCatanese and her son, the Count of Terlizzi and his wife and her mostintimate friends, have been accused by you, when they fail to endure thetorture, and when they denounce her unanimously--"

"I see, my lord. You do not only want my life; you would have my soultoo. Very well; once more I commend to you my children. "

With a deep sigh he walked up to the tribunal. The chief-justice askedTommaso Pace the usual questions, and a shudder of horror passed throughthe assembly when they saw the poor wretch in desperation opening hismouth, which streamed with blood. But surprise and terror reached theirheight when Nicholas of Melazzo slowly and firmly gave a list of Andre'smurderers, all except the queen and the princes of the blood, and went onto give all details of the assassination. 

Proceedings were at once taken for the arrest of the grand seneschal, Robert of Cabane, and the Counts of Terlizzi and Morcone, who werepresent and had not ventured to make any movement in self-defence. Anhour later, Philippa, her two daughters, and Dona Cancha joined them inprison, after vainly imploring the queen's protection. Charles andBertrand of Artois, shut up in their fortress of Saint Agatha, badedefiance to justice, and several others, among them the Counts of Meletoand Catanzaro, escaped by flight. 

As soon as Master Nicholas said he had nothing further to confess, andthat he had spoken the whole truth and nothing but the truth, thechief-justice pronounced sentence amid a profound silence; andwithout delay Tommaso Pace and the notary were tied to the tails of twohorses, dragged through the chief streets of the town, and hanged in themarket place. 

The other prisoners were thrown into a subterranean vault, to bequestioned and put to the torture on the following day. In the evening, finding themselves in the same dungeon, they reproached one another, eachpretending he had been dragged into the crime by someone else. Then DonaCancha, whose strange character knew no inconsistencies, even face toface with death and torture, drowned with a great burst of laughter thelamentations of her companions, and joyously exclaimed--

"Look here, friends, why these bitter recriminations--this ill-manneredraving? We have no excuses to make, and we are all equally guilty. I amthe youngest of all, and not the ugliest, by your leave, ladies, but if Iam condemned, at least I will die cheerfully. For I have never deniedmyself any pleasure I could get in this world, and I can boast that muchwill be forgiven me, for I have loved much: of that you, gentlemen, knowsomething. You, bad old man, " she continued to the Count of Terlizzi, "do you not remember lying by my side in the queen's ante-chamber? Come, no blushes before your noble family; confess, my lord, that I am withchild by your Excellency; and you know how we managed to make up thestory of poor Agnes of Durazzo and her pregnancy--God rest her soul! Formy part, I never supposed the joke would take such a serious turn all atonce. You know all this and much more; spare your lamentations, for, bymy word, they are getting very tiresome: let us prepare to die joyously, as we have lived. "

With these words she yawned slightly, and, lying down on the straw, fellinto a deep sleep, and dreamed as happy dreams as she had ever dreamed inher life. 

On the morrow from break of day there was an immense crowd on the seafront. During the night an enormous palisade had been put up to keep thepeople away far enough for them to see the accused without hearinganything. Charles of Durazzo, at the head of a brilliant cortege ofknights and pages, mounted on a magnificent horse, all in black, as asign of mourning, waited near the enclosure. Ferocious joy shone in hiseyes as the accused made their way through the crowd, two by two, theirwrists tied with ropes; for the duke every minute expected to hear thequeen's name spoken. But the chief-justice, a man of experience, hadprevented indiscretion of any kind by fixing a hook in the tongue of eachone. The poor creatures were tortured on a ship, so that nobody shouldhear the terrible confessions their sufferings dragged from them. 

But Joan, in spite of the wrongs that most of the conspirators had doneher, felt a renewal of pity for the woman she had once respected as amother, for her childish companions and her friends, and possibly alsosome remains of love for Robert of Cabane, and sent two messengers to begBertram de Baux to show mercy to the culprits. But the chief-justiceseized these men and had them tortured; and on their confession that theyalso were implicated in Andre's murder, he condemned them to the samepunishment as the others. Dona Cancha alone, by reason of her situation, escaped the torture, and her sentence was deferred till the day of herconfinement. 

As this beautiful girl was returning to prison, with many a smile for allthe handsomest cavaliers she could see in the crowd, she gave a sign toCharles of Durazzo as she neared him to come forward, and since hertongue had not been pierced (for the same reason) with an ironinstrument, she said some words to him a while in a low voice. 

Charles turned fearfully pale, and putting his hand to his sword, cried--

"Wretched woman!"

"You forget, my lord, I am under the protection of the law. "

"My mother!--oh, my poor mother!" murmured Charles in a choked voice, andhe fell backward. 

The next morning the people were beforehand with the executioner, loudlydemanding their prey. All the national troops and mercenaries that thejudicial authorities could command were echelonned in the streets, opposing a sort of dam to the torrent of the raging crowd. The suddeninsatiable cruelty that too often degrades human nature had awaked in thepopulace: all heads were turned with hatred and frenzy; all imaginationsinflamed with the passion for revenge; groups of men and women, roaringlike wild beasts, threatened to knock down the walls of the prison, ifthe condemned were not handed over to them to take to the place ofpunishment: a great murmur arose, continuous, ever the same, like thegrowling of thunder: the queen's heart was petrified with terror. 

But, in spite of the desire of Bertram de Baux to satisfy the popularwish, the preparations for the solemn execution were not completed tillmidday, when the sun's rays fell scorchingly upon the town. There went upa mighty cry from ten thousand palpitating breasts when a report firstran through the crowd that the prisoners were about to appear. There wasa moment of silence, and the prison doors rolled slowly back on theirhinges with a rusty, grating noise. A triple row of horsemen, withlowered visor and lance in rest, started the procession, and amid yellsand curses the condemned prisoners came out one by one, each tied upon acart, gagged and naked to the waist, in charge of two executioners, whoseorders were to torture them the whole length of their way. On the firstcart was the former laundress of Catana, afterwards wife of the grandseneschal and governess to the queen, Philippa of Cabane: the twoexecutioners at right and left of her scourged her with such fury thatthe blood spurting up from the wounds left a long track in all thestreets passed by the cortege. 

Immediately following their mother on separate carts came the Countessesof Terlizzi and Morcone, the elder no more than eighteen years of age. The two sisters were so marvellously beautiful that in the crowd a murmurof surprise was heard, and greedy eyes were fixed upon their nakedtrembling shoulders. But the men charged to torture them gazed withferocious smiles upon their forms of seductive beauty, and, armed withsharp knives, cut off pieces of their flesh with a deliberate enjoymentand threw them out to the crowd, who eagerly struggled to get them, signing to the executioners to show which part of the victims' bodiesthey preferred. 

Robert of Cabane, the grand seneschal, the Counts of Terlizzi andMorcone, Raymond Pace, brother of the old valet who had been executed theday before, and many more, were dragged on similar carts, and bothscourged with ropes and slashed with knives; their flesh was torn outwith red-hot pincers, and flung upon brazen chafing-dishes. No cry ofpain was heard from the grand seneschal, he never stirred once in hisfrightful agony; yet the torturers put such fury into their work that thepoor wretch was dead before the goal was reached. 

In the centre of the square of Saint Eligius an immense stake was set up:there the prisoners were taken, and what was left of their mutilatedbodies was thrown into the flames. The Count of Terlizzi and the grandseneschal's widow were still alive, and two tears of blood ran down thecheeks of the miserable mother as she saw her son's corpse and thepalpitating remains of her two daughters cast upon the fire--they bytheir stifled cries showed that they had not ceased to suffer. Butsuddenly a fearful noise overpowered the groans of the victims; theenclosure was broken and overturned by the mob. Like madmen, they rushedat the burning pile, --armed with sabres, axes, and knives, and snatchingthe bodies dead or alive from the flames, tore them to pieces, carryingoff the bones to make whistles or handles for their daggers as a souvenirof this horrible day. 

CHAPTER VI

The spectacle of this frightful punishment did not satisfy the revenge ofCharles of Durazzo. Seconded by the chief-justice, he daily broughtabout fresh executions, till Andre's death came to be no more than apretext for the legal murder of all who opposed his projects. But Louisof Tarentum, who had won Joan's heart, and was eagerly trying to get thenecessary dispensation for legalising the marriage, from this timeforward took as a personal insult every act of the high court of justicewhich was performed against his will and against the queen's prerogative:he armed all his adherents, increasing their number by all theadventurers he could get together, and so put on foot a strong enoughforce to support his own party and resist his cousin. Naples was thussplit up into hostile camps, ready to come to blows on the smallestpretext, whose daily skirmishes, moreover, were always followed by somescene of pillage or death. 

But Louis had need of money both to pay his mercenaries and to hold hisown against the Duke of Durazzo and his own brother Robert, and one dayhe discovered that the queen's coffers were empty. Joan was wretched anddesperate, and her lover, though generous and brave and anxious toreassure her so far as he could, did not very clearly see how toextricate himself from such a difficult situation. But his motherCatherine, whose ambition was satisfied in seeing one of her sons, nomatter which, attain to the throne of Naples, came unexpectedly to theiraid, promising solemnly that it would only take her a few days to be ableto lay at her niece's feet a treasure richer than anything she had everdreamed of, queen as she was. 

The empress then took half her son's troops, made for Saint Agatha, andbesieged the fortress where Charles and Bertrand of Artois had takenrefuge when they fled from justice. The old count, astonished at thesight of this woman, who had been the very soul of the conspiracy, andnot in the least understanding her arrival as an enemy, sent out to askthe intention of this display of military force. To which Catherinereplied in words which we translate literally:

"My friends, tell Charles, our faithful friend, that we desire to speakwith him privately and alone concerning a matter equally interesting tous both, and he is not to be alarmed at our arriving in the guise of anenemy, for this we have done designedly, as we shall explain in thecourse of our interview. We know he is confined to bed by the gout, andtherefore feel no surprise at his not coming out to meet us. Have thegoodness to salute him on our part and reassure him, telling him that wedesire to come in, if such is his good pleasure, with our intimatecounsellor, Nicholas Acciajuoli, and ten soldiers only, to speak with himconcerning an important matter that cannot be entrusted to go-betweens. "

Entirely reassured by these frank, friendly explanations, Charles ofArtois sent out his son Bertrand to the empress to receive her with therespect due to her rank and high position at the court of Naples. Catherine went promptly to the castle with many signs of joy, andinquiring after the count's health and expressing her affection, as soonas they were alone, she mysteriously lowered her voice and explained thatthe object of her visit was to consult a man of tried experience on theaffairs of Naples, and to beg his active cooperation in the queen'sfavour. As, however, she was not pressed for time, she could wait atSaint Agatha for the count's recovery to hear his views and tell him ofthe march of events since he left the court. She succeeded so well ingaining the old man's confidence and banishing his suspicions, that hebegged her to honour them with her presence as long as she was able, andlittle by little received all her men within the walls. This was whatCatherine was waiting for: on the very day when her army was installed atSaint Agatha, she suddenly entered the count's room, followed by foursoldiers, and seizing the old man by the throat, exclaimed wrathfully--

"Miserable traitor, you will not escape from our hands before you havereceived the punishment you deserve. In the meanwhile, show me whereyour treasure is hidden, if you would not have me throw your body out tofeed the crows that are swooping around these dungeons. "

The count, half choking, the dagger at his breast, did not even attemptto call for help; he fell on his knees, begging the empress to save atleast the life of his son, who was not yet well from the terrible attackof melancholia that had shaken his reason ever since the catastrophe. Then he painfully dragged himself to the place where he had hidden histreasure, and pointing with his finger, cried--

"Take all; take my life; but spare my son. "

Catherine could not contain herself for joy when she saw spread out ather feet exquisite and incredibly valuable cups, caskets of pearls, diamonds and rubies of marvellous value, coffers full of gold ingots, andall the wonders of Asia that surpass the wildest imagination. But whenthe old man, trembling, begged for the liberty of his son as the price ofhis fortune and his own life, the empress resumed her cold, pitilessmanner, and harshly replied--

"I have already given orders for your son to be brought here; but preparefor an eternal farewell, for he is to be taken to the fortress of Melfi, and you in all probability will end your days beneath the castle of SaintAgatha. "

The grief of the poor count at this violent separation was so great, thata few days later he was found dead in his dungeon, his lips covered witha bloody froth, his hands gnawed in despair. Bertrand did not longsurvive him. He actually lost his reason when he heard of his father'sdeath, and hanged himself on the prison grating. Thus did the murderersof Andre destroy one another, like venomous animals shut up in the samecage. 

Catherine of Tarentum, carrying off the treasure she had so gained, arrived at the court of Naples, proud of her triumph and contemplatingvast schemes. But new troubles had come about in her absence. Charlesof Durazzo, for the last time desiring the queen to give him the duchy ofCalabria, a title which had always belonged to the heir presumptive, andangered by her refusal, had written to Louis of Hungary, inviting him totake possession of the kingdom, and promising to help in the enterprisewith all his own forces, and to give up the principal authors of hisbrother's death, who till now had escaped justice. 

The King of Hungary eagerly accepted these offers, and got ready an armyto avenge Andre's death and proceed to the conquest of Naples. The tearsof his mother Elizabeth and the advice of Friar Robert, the old minister, who had fled to Buda, confirmed him in his projects of vengeance. He hadalready lodged a bitter complaint at the court of Avignon that, while theinferior assassins had been punished, she who was above all others guiltyhad been shamefully let off scot free, and though still stained with herhusband's blood, continued to live a life of debauchery and adultery. The pope replied soothingly that, so far as it depended upon him, hewould not be found slow to give satisfaction to a lawful grievance; butthe accusation ought to be properly formulated and supported by proof;that no doubt Joan's conduct during and after her husband's death wasblamable; but His Majesty must consider that the Church of Rome, whichbefore all things seeks truth and justice, always proceeds with theutmost circumspection, and in so grave a matter more especially must notjudge by appearances only. 

Joan, frightened by the preparations for war, sent ambassadors to theFlorentine Republic, to assert her innocence of the crime imputed to herby public opinion, and did not hesitate to send excuses even to theHungarian court; but Andre's brother replied in a letter laconic andthreatening:--

"Your former disorderly life, the arrogation to yourself of exclusivepower, your neglect to punish your husband's murderers, your marriage toanother husband, moreover your own excuses, are all sufficient proofsthat you were an accomplice in the murder. "

Catherine would not be put out of heart by the King of Hungary's threats, and looking at the position of the queen and her son with a coolness thatwas never deceived, she was convinced that there was no other means ofsafety except a reconciliation with Charles, their mortal foe, whichcould only be brought about by giving him all he wanted. It was one oftwo things: either he would help them to repulse the King of Hungary, andlater on they would pay the cost when the dangers were less pressing, orhe would be beaten himself, and thus they would at least have thepleasure of drawing him down with them in their own destruction. 

The agreement was made in the gardens of Castel Nuovo, whither Charleshad repaired on the invitation of the queen and her aunt. To her cousinof Durazzo Joan accorded the title so much desired of Duke of Calabria, and Charles, feeling that he was hereby made heir to the kingdom, marchedat once on Aquila, which town already was flying the Hungarian colours. The wretched man did not foresee that he was going straight to hisdestruction. 

When the Empress of Constantinople saw this man, whom she hated above allothers, depart in joy, she looked contemptuously upon him, divining by awoman's instinct that mischief would befall him; then, having no furthermischief to do, no further treachery on earth, no further revenge tosatisfy, she all at once succumbed to some unknown malady, and diedsuddenly, without uttering a cry or exciting a single regret. 

But the King of Hungary, who had crossed Italy with a formidable army, now entered the kingdom from the side of Aquila: on his way he hadeverywhere received marks of interest and sympathy; and Alberto andMertino delta Scala, lords of Verona, had given him three hundred horseto prove that all their goodwill was with him in his enterprise. Thenews of the arrival of the Hungarians threw the court into a state ofconfusion impossible to describe. They had hoped that the king would bestopped by the pope's legate, who had come to Foligno to forbid him, inthe name of the Holy Father, and on pain of excommunication to proceedany further without his consent; but Louis of Hungary replied to thepope's legate that, once master of Naples, he should consider himself afeudatory of the Church, but till then he had no obligations except toGod and his own conscience. Thus the avenging army fell like athunderbolt upon the heart of the kingdom, before there was any thoughtof taking serious measures for defence. There was only one planpossible: the queen assembled the barons who were most strongly attachedto her, made them swear homage and fidelity to Louis of Tarentum, whomshe presented to them as her husband, and then leaving with many tearsher most faithful subjects, she embarked secretly, in the middle of thenight, on a ship of Provence, and made for Marseilles. Louis ofTarentum, following the prompting of his adventure-loving character, leftNaples at the head of three thousand horse and a considerable number offoot, and took up his post on the banks of the Voltorno, there to contestthe enemy's passage; but the King of Hungary foresaw the stratagem, andwhile his adversary was waiting for him at Capua, he arrived atBeneventum by the mountains of Alife and Morcone, and on the same dayreceived Neapolitan envoys: they in a magnificent display of eloquencecongratulated him on his entrance, offered the keys of the town, andswore obedience to him as being the legitimate successor of Charles ofAnjou. The news of the surrender of Naples soon reached the queen'scamp, and all the princes of the blood and the generals left Louis ofTarentum and took refuge in the capital. Resistance was impossible. Louis, accompanied by his counsellor, Nicholas Acciajuoli, went to Napleson the same evening on which his relatives quitted the town to get awayfrom the enemy. Every hope of safety was vanishing as the hours passedby; his brothers and cousins begged him to go at once, so as not to drawdown upon the town the king's vengeance, but unluckily there was no shipin the harbour that was ready to set sail. The terror of the princes wasat its height; but Louis, trusting in his luck, started with the braveAcciajuoli in an unseaworthy boat, and ordering four sailors to row withall their might, in a few minutes disappeared, leaving his family in agreat state of anxiety till they learned that he had reached Pisa, whither he had gone to join the queen in Provence. Charles of Durazzoand Robert of Tarentum, who were the eldest respectively of the twobranches of the royal family, after hastily consulting, decided to softenthe Hungarian monarch's wrath by a complete submission. Leaving theiryoung brothers at Naples, they accordingly set off for Aversa, where theking was. Louis received them with every mark of friendship, and askedwith much interest why their brothers were not with them. The princesreplied that their young brothers had stayed at Naples to prepare aworthy reception for His Majesty. Louis thanked them for their kindintentions, but begged them to invite the young princes now, saying thatit would be infinitely more pleasant to enter Naples with all his family, and that he was most anxious to see his cousins. Charles and Robert, toplease the king, sent equerries to bid their brothers come to Aversa; butLouis of Durazzo, the eldest of the boys, with many tears begged theothers not to obey, and sent a message that he was prevented by a violentheadache from leaving Naples. So puerile an excuse could not fail toannoy Charles, and the same day he compelled the unfortunate boys toappear before the king, sending a formal order which admitted of nodelay. Louis of Hungary embraced them warmly one after the other, askedthem several questions in an affectionate way, kept them to supper, andonly let them go quite late at night. 

When the Duke of Durazzo reached his room, Lello of Aquila and the Countof Fondi slipped mysteriously to the side of his bed, and making surethat no one could hear, told him that the king in a council held thatmorning had decided to kill him and to imprison the other princes. Charles heard them out, but incredulously: suspecting treachery, he drylyreplied that he had too much confidence in his cousin's loyalty tobelieve such a black calumny. Lello insisted, begging him in the name ofhis dearest friends to listen; but the duke was impatient, and harshlyordered him to depart. 

The next day there was the same kindness on the king's part, the sameaffection shown to the children, the same invitation to supper. Thebanquet was magnificent; the room was brilliantly lighted, and thereflections were dazzling: vessels of gold shone on the table; theintoxicating perfume of flowers filled the air; wine foamed in thegoblets and flowed from the flagons in ruby streams; conversation, excited and discursive, was heard on every side; all faces beamed withjoy. 

Charles of Durazzo sat opposite the king, at a separate table among hisbrothers. Little by little his look grew fixed, his brow pensive. Hewas fancying that Andre might have supped in this very hall on the eve ofhis tragic end, and he thought how all concerned in that death had eitherdied in torment or were now languishing in prison; the queen, an exileand a fugitive, was begging pity from strangers: he alone was free. Thethought made him tremble; but admiring his own cleverness in pursuing hisinfernal schemes, and putting away his sad looks, he smiled again with anexpression of indefinable pride. The madman at this moment was scoffingat the justice of God. But Lello of Aquila, who was waiting at thetable, bent down, whispering gloomily--

"Unhappy duke, why did you refuse to believe me? Fly, while there is yettime. "

Charles, angered by the man's obstinacy, threatened that if he were sucha fool as to say any more, he would repeat every word aloud. 

"I have done my duty, " murmured Lello, bowing his head; "now it musthappen as God wills. "

As he left off speaking, the king rose, and as the duke went up to takehis leave, his face suddenly changed, and he cried in an awful voice--

"Traitor! At length you are in my hands, and you shall die as youdeserve; but before you are handed over to the executioner, confess withyour own lips your deeds of treachery towards our royal majesty: so shallwe need no other witness to condemn you to a punishment proportioned toyour crimes. Between our two selves, Duke of Durazzo, tell me first why, by your infamous manoeuvring, you aided your uncle, the Cardinal ofPerigord, to hinder the coronation of my brother, and so led him on, since he had no royal prerogative of his own, to his miserable end? Oh, make no attempt to deny it. Here is the letter sealed with your seal; insecret you wrote it, but it accuses you in public. Then why, afterbringing us hither to avenge our brother's death, of which you beyond alldoubt were the cause, --why did you suddenly turn to the queen's partyand march against our town of Aquila, daring to raise an army against ourfaithful subjects? You hoped, traitor, to make use of us as a footstoolto mount the throne withal, as soon as you were free from every otherrival. Then you would but have awaited our departure to kill the viceroywe should have left in our place, and so seize the kingdom. But this timeyour foresight has been at fault. There is yet another crime worse thanall the rest, a crime of high treason, which I shall remorselesslypunish. You carried off the bride that our ancestor King Robert designedfor me, as you knew, by his will. Answer, wretch what excuse can youmake for the rape of the Princess Marie?"

Anger had so changed Louis's voice that the last words sounded like theroar of a wild beast: his eyes glittered with a feverish light, his lipswere pale and trembling. Charles and his brothers fell upon their knees, frozen by mortal terror, and the unhappy duke twice tried to speak, buthis teeth were chattering so violently that he could not articulate asingle word. At last, casting his eyes about him and seeing his poorbrothers, innocent and ruined by his fault, he regained some sort ofcourage, and said--

"My lord, you look upon me with a terrible countenance that makes metremble. But on my knees I entreat you, have mercy on me if I have donewrong, for God is my witness that I did not call you to this kingdom withany criminal intention: I have always desired, and still desire, yoursupremacy in all the sincerity of my soul. Some treacherous counsellors, I am certain, have contrived to draw down your hatred upon me. If it istrue, as you say, that I went with an armed force to Aquila I wascompelled by Queen Joan, and I could not do otherwise; but as soon as Iheard of your arrival at Fermo I took my troops away again. I hope forthe love of Christ I may obtain your mercy and pardon, by reason of myformer services and constant loyalty. But as I see you are now angrywith me, I say no more waiting for your fury to pass over. Once again, mylord, have pity upon us, since we are in the hands of your Majesty. "

The king turned away his head, and retired slowly, confiding theprisoners to the care of Stephen Vayvoda and the Count of Zornic, whoguarded them during the night in a room adjoining the king's chamber. Thenext day Louis held another meeting of his council, and ordered thatCharles should have his throat cut on the very spot where poor Andre hadbeen hanged. He then sent the other princes of the blood, loaded withchains, to Hungary, where they were long kept prisoners. Charles, quitethunderstruck by such an unexpected blow, overwhelmed by the thought ofhis past crimes, trembled like a coward face to face with death, andseemed completely crushed. Bowed, upon his knees, his face half hiddenin his hands, from time to time convulsive sobs escaped him, as he triedto fix the thoughts that chased each other through his mind like theshapes of a monstrous dream. Night was in his soul, but every now andthen light flashed across the darkness, and over the gloomy background ofhis despair passed gilded figures fleeing from him with smiles ofmockery. In his ears buzzed voices from the other world; he saw a longprocession of ghosts, like the conspirators whom Nicholas of Melazzo hadpointed out in the vaults of Castel Nuovo. But these phantoms each heldhis head in his hand, and shaking it by the hair, bespattered him withdrops of blood. Some brandished whips, some knives: each threatenedCharles with his instrument of torture. Pursued by the nocturnal train, the hapless man opened his mouth for one mighty cry, but his breath wasgone, and it died upon his lips. Then he beheld his mother stretchingout her arms from afar, and he fancied that if he could but reach her hewould be safe. But at each step the path grew more and more narrow, piecesof his flesh were torn off by the approaching walls; at last, breathless, naked and bleeding, he reached his goal; but his mother glided fartheraway, and it was all to begin over again. The phantoms pursued him, grinning and screaming in his ears:--

"Cursed be he who slayeth his mother!"

Charles was roused from these horrors by the cries of his brothers, whohad come to embrace him for the last time before embarking. The duke ina low voice asked their pardon, and then fell back into his state ofdespair. The children were dragged away, begging to be allowed to sharetheir brother's fate, and crying for death as an alleviation of theirwoes. At length they were separated, but the sound of their lamentationsounded long in the heart of the condemned man. After a few moments, twosoldiers and two equerries came to tell the duke that his hour had come. 

Charles followed them, unresisting, to the fatal balcony where Andre hadbeen hanged. He was there asked if he desired to confess, and when hesaid yes, they brought a monk from the sane convent where the terriblescene had been enacted: he listened to the confession of all his sins, and granted him absolution. The duke at once rose and walked to theplace where Andre had been thrown down for the cord to be put round hisneck, and there, kneeling again, he asked his executioners--

"Friends, in pity tell me, is there any hope for my life?"

And when they answered no, Charles exclaimed:

"Then carry out your instructions. "

At these words, one of the equerries plunged his sword into his breast, and the other cut his head off with a knife, and his corpse was thrownover the balcony into the garden where Andre's body had lain for threedays unburied. 

CHAPTER VII

The King of Hungary, his black flag ever borne before him, started forNaples, refusing all offered honours, and rejecting the canopy beneathwhich he was to make his entry, not even stopping to give audience to thechief citizens or to receive the acclamations of the crowd. Armed at allpoints, he made for Castel Nuovo, leaving behind him dismay and fear. His first act on entering the city was to order Dona Cancha to be burnt, her punishment having been deferred by reason of her pregnancy. Like theothers, she was drawn on a cart to the square of St. Eligius, and thereconsigned to the flames. The young creature, whose suffering had notimpaired her beauty, was dressed as for a festival, and laughing like amad thing up to the last moment, mocked at her executioners and threwkisses to the crowd. 

A few days later, Godfrey of Marsana, Count of Squillace and grandadmiral of the kingdom, was arrested by the king's orders. His life waspromised him on condition of his delivering up Conrad of Catanzaro, oneof his relatives, accused of conspiring against Andre. The grand admiralcommitted this act of shameless treachery, and did not shrink fromsending his own son to persuade Conrad to come to the town. The poorwretch was given over to the king, and tortured alive on a wheel madewith sharp knives. The sight of these barbarities, far from calming theking's rage, seemed to inflame it the more. Every day there were newaccusations and new sentences. The prisons were crowded: Louis'spunishments were redoubled in severity. A fear arose that the town, andindeed the whole kingdom, were to be treated as having taken part inAndre's death. Murmurs arose against this barbarous rule, and all men'sthoughts turned towards their fugitive queen. The Neapolitan barons hadtaken the oath of fidelity with no willing hearts; and when it came tothe turn of the Counts of San Severino, they feared a trick of some kind, and refused to appear all together before the Hungarian, but took refugein the town of Salerno, and sent Archbishop Roger, their brother, to makesure of the king's intentions beforehand. Louis received himmagnificently, and appointed him privy councillor and grand proto notary. Then, and not till then, did Robert of San Severino and Roger, Count ofChiaramonte, venture into the king's presence; after doing homage, theyretired to their homes. The other barons followed their example ofcaution, and hiding their discontent under a show of respect, awaited afavourable moment for shaking off the foreign yoke. But the queen hadencountered no obstacle in her flight, and arrived at Nice five dayslater. Her passage through Provence was like a triumph. Her beauty, youth, and misfortunes, even certain mysterious reports as to heradventures, all contributed to arouse the interest of the Provencalpeople. Games and fetes were improvised to soften the hardship of exilefor the proscribed princess; but amid the outbursts of joy from everytown, castle, and city, Joan, always sad, lived ever in her silent griefand glowing memories. 

At the gates of Aix she found the clergy, the nobility, and the chiefmagistrates, who received her respectfully but with no signs ofenthusiasm. As the queen advanced, her astonishment increased as she sawthe coldness of the people and the solemn, constrained air of the greatmen who escorted her. Many anxious thoughts alarmed her, and she evenwent so far as to fear some intrigue of the King of Hungary. Scarcely hadher cortege arrived at Castle Arnaud, when the nobles, dividing into tworanks, let the queen pass with her counsellor Spinelli and two women;then closing up, they cut her off from the rest of her suite. Afterthis, each in turn took up his station as guardian of the fortress. 

There was no room for doubt: the queen was a prisoner; but the cause ofthe manoeuvre it was impossible to guess. She asked the highdignitaries, and they, protesting respectful devotion, refused to explaintill they had news from Avignon. Meanwhile all honours that a queencould receive were lavished on Joan; but she was kept in sight andforbidden to go out. This new trouble increased her depression: she didnot know what had happened to Louis of Tarentum, and her imagination, always apt at creating disasters, instantly suggested that she would soonbe weeping for his loss. 

But Louis, always with his faithful Acciajuoli, had after many fatiguingadventures been shipwrecked at the port of Pisa; thence he had takenroute for Florence, to beg men and money; but the Florentines decided tokeep an absolute neutrality, and refused to receive him. The prince, losing his last hope, was pondering gloomy plans, when NicholasAcciajuoli thus resolutely addressed him:

"My lord, it is not given to mankind to enjoy prosperity for ever: thereare misfortunes beyond all human foresight. You were once rich andpowerful, and you are now a fugitive in disguise, begging the help ofothers. You must reserve your strength for better days. I still have aconsiderable fortune, and also have relations and friends whose wealth isat my disposal: let us try to make our way to the queen, and at oncedecide what we can do. I myself shall always defend you and obey you asmy lord and master. "

The prince received these generous offers with the utmost gratitude, andtold his counsellor that he placed his person in his hands and all thatremained of his future. Acciajuoli, not content with serving his masteras a devoted servant, persuaded his brother Angelo, Archbishop ofFlorence, who was in great favour at Clement VI's court, to join withthem in persuading the pope to interest himself in the cause of Louis ofTarentum. So, without further delay, the prince, his counsellor, and thegood prelate made their way to the port of Marseilles, but learning thatthe queen was a prisoner at Aix, they embarked at Acque-Morte, and wentstraight to Avignon. It soon appeared that the pope had a real affectionand esteem for the character of the Archbishop of Florence, for Louis wasreceived with paternal kindness at the court of Avignon; which was farmore than he had expected: when he kneeled before the sovereign pontiff, His Holiness bent affectionately towards him and helped him to rise, saluting him by the title of king. 

Two days later, another prelate, the Archbishop of Aix, came into thequeen's presence, --

"Most gracious and dearly beloved sovereign, permit the most humble anddevoted of your servants to ask pardon, in the name of your subjects, forthe painful but necessary measure they have thought fit to takeconcerning your Majesty. When you arrived on our coast, your loyal townof Aix had learned from a trustworthy source that the King of France wasproposing to give our country to one of his own sons, making good thisloss to you by the cession of another domain, also that the Duke ofNormandy had come to Avignon to request this exchange in person. We werequite decided, madam, and had made a vow to God that we would give upeverything rather than suffer the hateful tyranny of the French. Butbefore spilling blood we thought it best to secure your august person asa sacred hostage, a sacred ark which no man dared touch but was smittento the ground, which indeed must keep away from our walls the scourge ofwar. We have now read the formal annulment of this hateful plan, in abrief sent by the sovereign pontiff from Avignon; and in this brief hehimself guarantees your good faith. 

"We give you your full and entire liberty, and henceforth we shall onlyendeavour to keep you among us by prayers and protestations. Go then, madam, if that is your pleasure, but before you leave these lands, whichwill be plunged into mourning by your withdrawal, leave with us some hopethat you forgive the apparent violence to which we have subjected you, only in the fear that we might lose you; and remember that on the daywhen you cease to be our queen you sign the death-warrant of all yoursubjects. "

Joan reassured the archbishop and the deputation from her good town ofAix with a melancholy smile, and promised that she would always cherishthe memory of their affection. For this time she could not be deceivedas to the real sentiments of the nobles and people; and a fidelity souncommon, revealed with sincere tears, touched her heart and made herreflect bitterly upon her past. But a league's distance from Avignon amagnificent triumphal reception awaited her. Louis of Tarentum and allthe cardinals present at the court had come out to meet her. Pages indazzling dress carried above Joan's head a canopy of scarlet velvet, ornamented with fleur-de-lys in gold and plumes. Handsome youths andlovely girls, their heads crowned with flowers, went before her singingher praise. The streets were bordered with a living hedge of people; thehouses were decked out; the bells rang a triple peal, as at the greatChurch festivals. Clement VI first received the queen at the castle ofAvignon with all the pomp he knew so well how to employ on solemnoccasions, then she was lodged in the palace of Cardinal Napoleon of theOrsini, who on his return from the Conclave at Perugia had built thisregal dwelling at Villeneuve, inhabited later by the popes. 

No words could give an idea of the strangely disturbed condition ofAvignon at this period. Since Clement V had transported the seat of thepapacy to Provence, there had sprung up, in this rival to Rome, squares, churches, cardinals' palaces, of unparalleled splendour. All the businessof nations and kings was transacted at the castle of Avignon. Ambassadors from every court, merchants of every nation, adventurers ofall kinds, Italians, Spaniards, Hungarians, Arabs, Jews, soldiers, Bohemians, jesters, poets, monks, courtesans, swarmed and clustered here, and hustled one another in the streets. There was confusion of tongues, customs, and costumes, an inextricable mixture of splendour and rags, riches and misery, debasement and grandeur. The austere poets of theMiddle Ages stigmatised the accursed city in their writings under thename of the New Babylon. 

There is one curious monument of Joan's sojourn at Avignon and theexercise of her authority as sovereign. She was indignant at theeffrontery of the women of the town, who elbowed everybody shamelessly inthe streets, and published a notable edict, the first of its kind, whichhas since served as a model in like cases, to compel all unfortunatewomen who trafficked in their honour to live shut up together in a house, that was bound to be open every day in the year except the last threedays of Holy Week, the entrance to be barred to Jews at all times. Anabbess, chosen once a year, had the supreme control over this strangeconvent. Rules were established for the maintenance of order, and severepenalties inflicted for any infringement of discipline. The lawyers ofthe period gained a great reputation by this salutary institution; thefair ladies of Avignon were eager in their defence of the queen in spiteof the calumnious reports that strove to tarnish her reputation: with onevoice the wisdom of Andre's widow was extolled. The concert of praiseswas disturbed, however, by murmurs from the recluses themselves, who, intheir own brutal language, declared that Joan of Naples was impedingtheir commerce so as to get a monopoly for herself. 

Meanwhile Marie of Durazzo had joined her sister. After her husband'sdeath she had found means to take refuge in the convent of Santa Crocewith her two little daughters; and while Louis of Hungary was busyburning his victims, the unhappy Marie had contrived to make her escapein the frock of an old monk, and as by a miracle to get on board a shipthat was setting sail for Provence. She related to her sister thefrightful details of the king's cruelty. And soon a new proof of hisimplacable hatred confirmed the tales of the poor princess. 

Louis's ambassadors appeared at the court of Avignon to demand formallythe queen's condemnation. 

It was a great day when Joan of Naples pleaded her own cause before thepope, in the presence of all the cardinals then at Avignon, all theambassadors of foreign powers, and all the eminent persons come fromevery quarter of Europe to be present at this trial, unique in the annalsof history. We must imagine a vast enclosure, in whose midst upon araised throne, as president of the august tribunal, sat God's vicar onearth, absolute and supreme judge, emblem of temporal and spiritualpower, of authority human and divine. To right and left of the sovereignpontiff, the cardinals in their red robes sat in chairs set round in acircle, and behind these princes of the Sacred College stretched rows ofbishops extending to the end of the hall, with vicars, canons, deacons, archdeacons, and the whole immense hierarchy of the Church. Facing thepontifical throne was a platform reserved for the Queen of Naples and hersuite. At the pope's feet stood the ambassadors from the King ofHungary, who played the part of accusers without speaking a word, thecircumstances of the crime and all the proofs having been discussedbeforehand by a committee appointed for the purpose. The rest of thehall was filled by a brilliant crowd of high dignitaries, illustriouscaptains, and noble envoys, all vying with one another in proud display. Everyone ceased to breathe, all eyes were fixed on the dais whence Joanwas to speak her own defence. A movement of uneasy curiosity made thiscompact mass of humanity surge towards the centre, the cardinals aboveraised like proud peacocks over a golden harvest-field shaken in thebreeze. 

The queen appeared, hand in hand with her uncle, the old Cardinal ofPerigord, and her aunt, the Countess Agnes. Her gait was so modest andproud, her countenance so melancholy and pure, her looks so open andconfident, that even before she spoke every heart was hers. Joan was nowtwenty years of age; her magnificent beauty was fully developed, but anextreme pallor concealed the brilliance of her transparent satin skin, and her hollow cheek told the tale of expiation and suffering. Among thespectators who looked on most eagerly there was a certain young man withstrongly marked features, glowing eyes, and brown hair, whom we shallmeet again later on in our narrative; but we will not divert our readers'attention, but only tell them that his name was James of Aragon, that hewas Prince of Majorca, and would have been ready to shed every drop ofhis blood only to check one single tear that hung on Joan's eyelids. Thequeen spoke in an agitated, trembling voice, stopping from time to timeto dry her moist and shining eyes, or to breathe one of those deep sighsthat go straight to the heart. She told the tale of her husband's deathpainfully and vividly, painted truthfully the mad terror that had seizedupon her and struck her down at that frightful time, raised her hands toher brow with the gesture of despair, as though she would wrest themadness from her brain--and a shudder of pity and awe passed through theassembled crowd. It is a fact that at this moment, if her words werefalse, her anguish was both sincere and terrible. An angel soiled bycrime, she lied like Satan himself, but like him too she suffered all theagony of remorse and pride. Thus, when at the end of her speech sheburst into tears and implored help and protection against the usurper ofher kingdom, a cry of general assent drowned her closing words, severalhands flew to their sword-hilts, and the Hungarian ambassadors retiredcovered with shame and confusion. 

That same evening the sentence, to the great joy of all, was proclaimed, that Joan was innocent and acquitted of all concern in the assassinationof her husband. But as her conduct after the event and the indifferenceshe had shown about pursuing the authors of the crime admitted of novalid excuse, the pope declared that there were plain traces of magic, and that the wrong-doing attributed to Joan was the result of somebaneful charm cast upon her, which she could by no possible means resist. At the same time, His Holiness confirmed her marriage with Louis ofTarentum, and bestowed on him the order of the Rose of Gold and the titleof King of Sicily and Jerusalem. Joan, it is true, had on the eve of heracquittal sold the town of Avignon to the pope for the sum of 80, 000florins. 

While the queen was pleading her cause at the court of Clement VI, adreadful epidemic, called the Black Plague--the same that Boccaccio hasdescribed so wonderfully--was ravaging the kingdom of Naples, and indeedthe whole of Italy. According to the calculation of Matteo Villani, Florence lost three-fifths of her population, Bologna two-thirds, andnearly all Europe was reduced in some such frightful proportion. TheNeapolitans were already weary of the cruelties and greed of theHungarians, they were only awaiting some opportunity to revolt againstthe stranger's oppression, and to recall their lawful sovereign, whom, for all her ill deeds, they had never ceased to love. The attraction ofyouth and beauty was deeply felt by this pleasure-loving people. Scarcely had the pestilence thrown confusion into the army and town, whenloud cursing arose against the tyrant and his executioners. Louis ofHungary, suddenly threatened by the wrath of Heaven and the people'svengeance, was terrified both by the plague and by the riots, anddisappeared in the middle of the night. Leaving the government of Naplesin the hands of Conrad Lupo, one of his captains, he embarked hastily atBerletta, and left the kingdom in very much the same way as Louis ofTarentum, fleeing from him, had left it a few months before. 

This news arrived at Avignon just when the pope was about to send thequeen his bull of absolution. It was at once decided to take away thekingdom from Louis's viceroy. Nicholas Acciajuoli left for Naples withthe marvellous bull that was to prove to all men the innocence of thequeen, to banish all scruples and stir up a new enthusiasm. Thecounsellor first went to the castle of Melzi, commanded by his sonLorenzo: this was the only fortress that had always held out. The fatherand son embraced with the honourable pride that near relatives may justlyfeel when they meet after they have united in the performance of a heroicduty. From the governor of Melzi Louis of Tarentum's counsellor learnedthat all men were wearied of the arrogance and vexatious conduct of thequeen's enemies, and that a conspiracy was in train, started in theUniversity of Naples, but with vast ramifications all over the kingdom, and moreover that there was dissension in the enemy's army. Theindefatigable counsellor went from Apulia to Naples, traversing towns andvillages, collecting men everywhere, proclaiming loudly the acquittal ofthe queen and her marriage with Louis of Tarentum, also that the pope wasoffering indulgences to such as would receive with joy their lawfulsovereigns. Then seeing that the people shouted as he went by, "Longlive Joan! Death to the Hungarians!" he returned and told his sovereignsin what frame of mind he had left their subjects. 

Joan borrowed money wherever she could, armed galleys, and leftMarseilles with her husband, her sister, and two faithful advisers, Acciajuoli and Spinelli, on the 10th of September 1348. The king andqueen not being able to enter at the harbour, which was in the enemy'spower, disembarked at Santa Maria del Carmine, near the river Sebeto, amid the frenzied applause of an immense crowd, and accompanied by allthe Neapolitan nobles. They made their way to the palace of MessireAjutorio, near Porta Capuana, the Hungarians having fortified themselvesin all the castles; but Acciajuoli, at the head of the queen'spartisans, blockaded the fortresses so ably that half of the enemy wereobliged to surrender, and the other half took to flight and werescattered about the interior of the kingdom. We shall now follow Louisof Tarentum in his arduous adventures in Apulia, the Calabrias, and theAbruzzi, where he recovered one by one the fortresses that the Hungarianshad taken. By dint of unexampled valour and patience, he at lastmastered nearly all the more considerable places, when suddenlyeverything changed, and fortune turned her back upon him for the secondtime. A German captain called Warner, who had deserted the Hungarianarmy to sell himself to the queen, had again played the traitor and soldhimself once more, allowed himself to be surprised at Corneto by ConradLupo, the King of Hungary's vicar-general, and openly joined him, takingalong with him a great party of the adventurers who fought under hisorders. This unexpected defection forced Louis of Tarentum to retire toNaples. The King of Hungary soon learning that the troops had ralliedround his banner, and only awaited his return to march upon the capital, disembarked with a strong reinforcement of cavalry at the port ofManfredonia, and taking Trani, Canosa, and Salerno, went forward to laysiege to Aversa. 

The news fell like a thunder-clap on Joan and her husband. The Hungarianarmy consisted of 10, 000 horse and more than 7000 infantry, and Aversahad only 500 soldiers under Giacomo Pignatelli. In spite of the immensedisproportion of the numbers, the Neapolitan general vigorously repelledthe attack; and the King of Hungary, fighting in the front, was woundedin his foot by an arrow. Then Louis, seeing that it would be difficultto take the place by storm, determined to starve them out. For threemonths the besieged performed prodigies of valour, and further assistancewas impossible. Their capitulation was expected at any moment, unlessindeed they decided to perish every man. Renaud des Baux, who was tocome from Marseilles with a squadron of ten ships to defend the ports ofthe capital and secure the queen's flight, should the Hungarian army getpossession of Naples, had been delayed by adverse winds and obliged tostop on the way. All things seemed to conspire in favour of the enemy. Louis of Tarentum, whose generous soul refused to shed the blood of hisbrave men in an unequal and desperate struggle, nobly sacrificed himself, and made an offer to the King of Hungary to settle their quarrel insingle combat. We append the authentic letters that passed betweenJoan's husband and Andre's brother. 

"Illustrious King of Hungary, who has come to invade our kingdom, we, bythe grace of God King of Jerusalem and Sicily, invite you to singlecombat. We know that you are in no wise disturbed by the death of yourlancers or the other pagans in your suite, no more indeed than if theywere dogs; but we, fearing harm to our own soldiers and men-at-arms, desire to fight with you personally, to put an end to the present war andrestore peace to our kingdom. He who survives shall be king. Andtherefore, to ensure that this duel shall take place, we definitelypropose as a site either Paris, in the presence of the King of France, orone of the towns of Perugia, Avignon, or Naples. Choose one of thesefour places, and send us your reply. "

The King of Hungary first consulted with his council, and then replied:--

"Great King, we have read and considered your letter sent to us by thebearer of these presents, and by your invitation to a duel we are mostsupremely pleased; but we do not approve of any of the places youpropose, since they are all suspect, and for several reasons. The King ofFrance is your maternal grandfather, and although we are also connectedby blood with him, the relationship is not so near. The town of Avignon, although nominally belonging to the sovereign pontiff, is the capital ofProvence, and has always been subject to your rule. Neither have we anymore confidence in Perugia, for that town is devoted to your cause. 

"As to the city of Naples, there is no need to say that we refuse thatrendezvous, since it is in revolt against us and you are there as king. But if you wish to fight with us, let it be in the presence of theEmperor of Germany, who is lord supreme, or the King of England, who isour common friend, or the Patriarch of Aquilea, a good Catholic. If youdo not approve of any of the places we propose, we shall soon be near youwith our army, and so remove all difficulties and delays. Then you cancome forth, and our duel can take place in the presence of both armies. "

After the interchange of these two letters, Louis of Tarentum proposednothing further. The garrison at Aversa had capitulated after a heroicresistance, and it was known only too well that if the King of Hungarycould get so far as the walls of Naples, he would not have to endangerhis life in order to seize that city. Happily the Provencal galleys hadreached port at last. The king and the queen had only just time toembark and take refuge at Gaeta. The Hungarian army arrived at Naples. The town was on the point of yielding, and had sent messengers to theking humbly demanding peace; but the speeches of the Hungarians showedsuch insolence that the people, irritated past endurance, took up arms, and resolved to defend their household gods with all the energy ofdespair. 

CHAPTER VIII

While the Neapolitans were holding out against their enemy at the PortaCapuana, a strange scene was being enacted at the other side of the town, a scene that shows us in lively colours the violence and treachery ofthis barbarous age. The widow of Charles of Durazzo was shut up in thecastle of Ovo, and awaiting in feverish anxiety the arrival of the shipthat was to take her to the queen. The poor Princess Marie, pressing herweeping children to her heart, pale, with dishevelled locks, fixed eyes, and drawn lips, was listening for every sound, distracted between hopeand fear. Suddenly steps resounded along the corridor; a friendly voicewas heard; Marie fell upon her knees with a cry of joy: her liberator hadcome. 

Renaud des Baux, admiral of the Provencal squadron, respectfullyadvanced, followed by his eldest son Robert and his chaplain. 

"God, I thank Thee!" exclaimed Marie, rising to her feet; "we are saved. "

"One moment, madam, " said Renaud, stopping her: "you are indeed saved, but upon one condition. "

"A condition?" murmured the princess in surprise. 

"Listen, madam. The King of Hungary, the avenger of Andre's murderers, the slayer of your husband, is at the gates of Naples; the people andsoldiers will succumb, as soon as their last gallant effort is spent--thearmy of the conqueror is about to spread desolation and death throughoutthe city by fire and the sword. This time the Hungarian butcher willspare no victims: he will kill the mother before her children's eyes, thechildren in their mother's arms. The drawbridge of this castle is up andthere are none on guard; every man who can wield a sword is now at theother end of the town. Woe to you, Marie of Durazzo, if the King ofHungary shall remember that you preferred his rival to him!"

"But have you not come here to save me?" cried Marie in a voice ofanguish. "Joan, my sister, did she not command you to take me to her?"

"Your sister is no longer in the position to give orders, " repliedRenaud, with a disdainful smile. "She had nothing for me but thanksbecause I saved her life, and her husband's too, when he fled like acoward before the man whom he had dared to challenge to a duel. "

Marie looked fixedly at the admiral to assure herself that it was reallyhe who thus arrogantly talked about his masters. But she was terrifiedat his imperturbable expression, and said gently--

"As I owe my life and my children's lives solely to your generosity, I amgrateful to you beyond all measure. But we must hurry, my lord: everymoment I fancy I hear cries of vengeance, and you would not leave me nowa prey to my brutal enemy?"

"God forbid, madam; I will save you at the risk of my life; but I havesaid already, I impose a condition. "

"What is it?" said Marie, with forced calm. 

"That you marry my son on the instant, in the presence of our reverendchaplain. "

"Rash man!" cried Marie, recoiling, her face scarlet with indignation andshame; "you dare to speak thus to the sister of your legitimatesovereign? Give thanks to God that I will pardon an insult offered, as Iknow, in a moment of madness; try by your devotion to make me forget whatyou have said. "

The count, without one word, signed to his son and a priest to follow, and prepared to depart. As he crossed the threshold Marie ran to him, and clasping her hands, prayed him in God's name never to forsake her. Renaud stopped. 

"I might easily take my revenge, " he said, "for your affront when yourefuse my son in your pride; but that business I leave to Louis ofHungary, who will acquit himself, no doubt, with credit. "

"Have mercy on my poor daughters!" cried the princess; "mercy at leastfor my poor babes, if my own tears cannot move you. "

"If you loved your children, " said the admiral, frowning, "you would havedone your duty at once. "

"But I do not love your son!" cried Marie, proud but trembling. "O God, must a wretched woman's heart be thus trampled? You, father, a ministerof truth and justice, tell this man that God must not be called on towitness an oath dragged from the weak and helpless!"

She turned to the admiral's son; and added, sobbing--

"You are young, perhaps you have loved: one day no doubt you will love. I appeal to your loyalty as a young man, to your courtesy as a knight, toall your noblest impulses; join me, and turn your father away from hisfatal project. You have never seen me before: you do not know but thatin my secret heart I love another. Your pride should be revolted at thesight of an unhappy woman casting herself at your feet and imploring yourfavour and protection. One word from you, Robert, and I shall bless youevery moment of my life: the memory of you will be graven in my heartlike the memory of a guardian angel, and my children shall name younightly in their prayers, asking God to grant your wishes. Oh, say, willyou not save me? Who knows, later on I may love you--with real love. "

"I must obey my father, " Robert replied, never lifting his eyes to thelovely suppliant. 

The priest was silent. Two minutes passed, and these four persons, eachabsorbed in his own thoughts, stood motionless as statues carved at thefour corners of a tomb. Marie was thrice tempted to throw herself intothe sea. But a confused distant sound suddenly struck upon her ears:little by little it drew nearer, voices were more distinctly heard; womenin the street were uttering cries of distress--

"Fly, fly! God has forsaken us; the Hungarians are in the town!"

The tears of Marie's children were the answer to these cries; and littleMargaret, raising her hands to her mother, expressed her fear in speechthat was far beyond her years. Renaud, without one look at this touchingpicture, drew his son towards the door. 

"Stay, " said the princess, extending her hand with a solemn gesture: "asGod sends no other aid to my children, it is His will that the sacrificebe accomplished. "

She fell on her knees before the priest, bending her head like a victimwho offers her neck to the executioner. Robert des Baux took his placebeside her, and the priest pronounced the formula that united them forever, consecrating the infamous deed by a sacrilegious blessing. 

"All is over!" murmured Marie of Durazzo, looking tearfully on her littledaughters. 

"No, all is not yet over, " said the admiral harshly, pushing her towardsanother room; "before we leave, the marriage must be consummated. "

"O just God!" cried the princess, in a voice torn with anguish, and shefell swooning to the floor. 

Renaud des Baux directed his ships towards Marseilles, where he hoped toget his son crowned Count of Provence, thanks to his strange marriagewith Marie of Durazzo. But this cowardly act of treason was not to gounpunished. The wind rose with fury, and drove him towards Gaeta, wherethe queen and her husband had just arrived. Renaud bade his sailors keepin the open, threatening to throw any man into the sea who dared todisobey him. The crew at first murmured; soon cries of mutiny rose onevery side. The admiral, seeing he was lost, passed from threats toprayers. But the princess, who had recovered her senses at the firstthunder-clap, dragged herself up to the bridge and screamed for help, "Come to me, Louis! Come, my barons! Death to the cowardly wretches whohave outraged my honour!"

Louis of Tarentum jumped into a boat, followed by some ten of his bravestmen, and, rowing rapidly, reached the ship. Then Marie told him herstory in a word, and he turned upon the admiral a lightning glance, asthough defying him to make any defence. 

"Wretch!" cried the king, transfixing the traitor with his sword. 

Then he had the son loaded with chains, and also the unworthy priest whohad served as accomplice to the admiral, who now expiated his odiouscrime by death. He took the princess and her children in his boat, andre-entered the harbour. 

The Hungarians, however, forcing one of the gates of Naples, marchedtriumphant to Castel Nuovo. But as they were crossing the Piazza delleCorreggie, the Neapolitans perceived that the horses were so weak and themen so reduced by all they had undergone during the siege of Aversa thata mere puff of wind would dispense this phantom-like army. Changing froma state of panic to real daring, the people rushed upon their conquerors, and drove them outside the walls by which they had just entered. Thesudden violent reaction broke the pride of the King of Hungary, and madehim more tractable when Clement VI decided that he ought at last tointerfere. A truce was concluded first from the month of February 1350to the beginning of April 1351, and the next year this was converted intoa real peace, Joan paying to the King of Hungary the sum of 300, 000florins for the expenses of the war. 

After the Hungarians had gone, the pope sent a legate to crown Joan andLouis of Tarentum, and the 25th of May, the day of Pentecost, was chosenfor the ceremony. All contemporary historians speak enthusiastically ofthis magnificent fete. Its details have been immortalised by Giotto inthe frescoes of the church which from this day bore the name ofL'Incoronata. A general amnesty was declared for all who had taken partin the late wars on either side, and the king and queen were greeted withshouts of joy as they solemnly paraded beneath the canopy, with all thebarons of the kingdom in their train. 

But the day's joy was impaired by an accident which to a superstitiouspeople seemed of evil augury. Louis of Tarentum, riding a richlycaparisoned horse, had just passed the Porta Petruccia, when some ladieslooking out from a high window threw such a quantity of flowers at theking that his frightened steed reared and broke his rein. Louis couldnot hold him, so jumped lightly to the ground; but the crown fell at hisfeet and was broken into three pieces. On that very day the onlydaughter of Joan and Louis died. 

But the king not wishing to sadden the brilliant ceremony with show ofmourning, kept up the jousts and tournaments for three days, and inmemory of his coronation instituted the order of 'Chevaliers du Noeud'. But from that day begun with an omen so sad, his life was nothing but aseries of disillusions. After sustaining wars in Sicily and Apulia, andquelling the insurrection of Louis of Durazzo, who ended his days in thecastle of Ovo, Louis of Tarentum, worn out by a life of pleasure, hishealth undermined by slow disease, overwhelmed with domestic trouble, succumbed to an acute fever on the 5th of June 1362, at the age offorty-two. His body had not been laid in its royal tomb at SaintDomenico before several aspirants appeared to the hand of the queen. 

One was the Prince of Majorca, the handsome youth we have already spokenof: he bore her off triumphant over all rivals, including the son of theKing of France. James of Aragon had one of those faces of melancholysweetness which no woman can resist. Great troubles nobly borne hadthrown as it were a funereal veil over his youthful days: more thanthirteen years he had spent shut in an iron cage; when by the aid of afalse key he had escaped from his dreadful prison, he wandered from onecourt to another seeking aid; it is even said that he was reduced to thelowest degree of poverty and forced to beg his bread. The youngstranger's beauty and his adventures combined had impressed both Joan andMarie at the court of Avignon. Marie especially had conceived a violentpassion for him, all the more so for the efforts she made to conceal itin her own bosom. Ever since James of Aragon came to Naples, the unhappyprincess, married with a dagger at her throat, had desired to purchaseher liberty at the expense of crime. Followed by four armed men, sheentered the prison where Robert des Baux was still suffering for a faultmore his father's than his own. Marie stood before the prisoner, herarms crossed, her cheeks livid, her lips trembling. It was a terribleinterview. This time it was she who threatened, the man who entreatedpardon. Marie was deaf to his prayers, and the head of the luckless manfell bleeding at her feet, and her men threw the body into the sea. ButGod never allows a murder to go unpunished: James preferred the queen toher sister, and the widow of Charles of Durazzo gained nothing by hercrime but the contempt of the man she loved, and a bitter remorse whichbrought her while yet young to the tomb. 

Joan was married in turn to James of Aragon, son of the King of Majorca, and to Otho of Brunswick, of the imperial family of Saxony. We will passrapidly over these years, and come to the denouement of this history ofcrime and expiation. James, parted from his wife, continued his stormycareer, after a long contest in Spain with Peter the Cruel, who hadusurped his kingdom: about the end of the year 1375 he died near Navarre. Otho also could not escape the Divine vengeance which hung over the courtof Naples, but to the end he valiantly shared the queen's fortunes. Joan, since she had no lawful heir, adopted her nephew, Charles de laPaix (so called after the peace of Trevisa). He was the son of LouisDuras, who after rebelling against Louis of Tarentum, had died miserablyin the castle of Ovo. The child would have shared his father's fate hadnot Joan interceded to spare his life, loaded him with kindness, andmarried him to Margaret, the daughter of her sister Marie and her cousinCharles, who was put to death by the King of Hungary. 

Serious differences arose between the queen and one of her formersubjects, Bartolommeo Prigiani, who had become pope under the name ofUrban VI. Annoyed by the queen's opposition, the pope one day angrilysaid he would shut her up in a convent. Joan, to avenge the insult, openly favoured Clement VII, the anti-pope, and offered him a home in herown castle, when, pursued by Pope Urban's army, he had taken refuge atFondi. But the people rebelled against Clement, and killed theArchbishop of Naples, who had helped to elect him: they broke the crossthat was carried in procession before the anti-pope, and hardly allowedhim time to make his escape on shipboard to Provence. Urban declaredthat Joan was now dethroned, and released her subjects from their oath offidelity to her, bestowing the crown of Sicily and Jerusalem upon Charlesde la Paix, who marched on Naples with 8000 Hungarians. Joan, who couldnot believe in such base ingratitude, sent out his wife Margaret to meether adopted son, though she might have kept her as a hostage, and his twochildren, Ladislaus and Joan, who became later the second queen of thatname. But the victorious army soon arrived at the gates of Naples, andCharles blockaded the queen in her castle, forgetting in his ingratitudethat she had saved his life and loved him like a mother. 

Joan during the siege endured all the worst fatigues of war that anysoldier has to bear. She saw her faithful friends fall around her wastedby hunger or decimated by sickness. When all food was exhausted, deadand decomposed bodies were thrown into the castle that they might pollutethe air she breathed. Otho with his troops was kept at Aversa; Louis ofAnjou, the brother of the King of France whom she had named as hersuccessor when she disinherited her nephew, never appeared to help her, and the Provencal ships from Clement VII were not due to arrive until allhope must be over. Joan asked for a truce of five days, promising that, if Otho had not come to relieve her in that time, she would surrender thefortress. 

On the fifth day Otho's army appeared on the side of Piedigrotta. Thefight was sharp on both sides, and Joan from the top of a tower couldfollow with her eyes the cloud of dust raised by her husband's horse inthe thickest of the battle. The victory was long uncertain: at lengththe prince made so bold an onset upon the royal standard, in hiseagerness to meet his enemy hand to hand, that he plunged into the verymiddle of the army, and found himself pressed on every side. Coveredwith blood and sweat, his sword broken in his hand, he was forced tosurrender. An hour later Charles was writing to his uncle, the King ofHungary, that Joan had fallen into his power, and he only awaited HisMajesty's orders to decide her fate. 

It was a fine May morning: the queen was under guard in the castle ofAversa: Otho had obtained his liberty on condition of his quittingNaples, and Louis of Anjou had at last got together an army of 50, 000 menand was marching in hot haste to the conquest of the kingdom. None ofthis news had reached the ears of Joan, who for some days had lived incomplete isolation. The spring lavished all her glory on these enchantedplains, which have earned the name of the blessed and happy country, campagna felite. The orange trees were covered with sweet whiteblossoms, the cherries laden with ruby fruit, the olives with youngemerald leaves, the pomegranate feathery with red bells; the wildmulberry, the evergreen laurel, all the strong budding vegetation, needing no help from man to flourish in this spot privileged by Nature, made one great garden, here and there interrupted by little hiddenrunlets. It was a forgotten Eden in this corner of the world. Joan ather window was breathing in the perfumes of spring, and her eyes mistywith tears rested on a bed of flowery verdure; a light breeze, keen andbalmy, blew upon her burning brow and offered a grateful coolness to herdamp and fevered cheeks. Distant melodious voices, refrains of well-knownsongs, were all that disturbed the silence of the poor little room, thesolitary nest where a life was passing away in tears and repentance, alife the most brilliant and eventful of a century of splendour andunrest. 

The queen was slowly reviewing in her mind all her life since she ceasedto be a child--fifty years of disillusionment and suffering. She thoughtfirst of her happy, peaceful childhood, her grandfather's blindaffection, the pure joys of her days of innocence, the exciting gameswith her little sister and tall cousins. Then she shuddered at theearliest thought of marriage, the constraint, the loss of liberty, thebitter regrets; she remembered with horror the deceitful words murmuredin her ear, designed to sow the seeds of corruption and vice that were topoison her whole life. Then came the burning memories of her first love, the treachery and desertion of Robert of Cabane, the moments of madnesspassed like a dream in the arms of Bertrand of Artois--the whole drama upto its tragic denouement showed as in letters of fire on the darkbackground of her sombre thoughts. Then arose cries of anguish in hersoul, even as on that terrible fatal night she heard the voice of Andreasking mercy from his murderers. A long deadly silence followed hisawful struggle, and the queen saw before her eyes the carts of infamy andthe torture of her accomplices. All the rest of this vision waspersecution, flight, exile, remorse, punishments from God and curses fromthe world. Around her was a frightful solitude: husbands, lovers, kindred, friends, all were dead; all she had loved or hated in the worldwere now no more; her joy, pain, desire, and hope had vanished for ever. The poor queen, unable to free herself from these visions of woe, violently tore herself away from the awful reverie, and kneeling at aprie-dieu, prayed with fervour. She was still beautiful, in spite of herextreme pallor; the noble lines of her face kept their pure oval; thefire of repentance in her great black eyes lit them up with superhumanbrilliance, and the hope of pardon played in a heavenly smile upon herlips. 

Suddenly the door of the room where Joan was so earnestly praying openedwith a dull sound: two Hungarian barons in armour entered and signed tothe queen to follow them. Joan arose silently and obeyed; but a cry ofpain went up from her heart when she recognised the place where bothAndre and Charles of Durazzo had died a violent death. But she collectedher forces, and asked calmly why she was brought hither. For all answer, one of the men showed her a cord of silk and gold. . . . 

"May the will of a just God be done!" cried Joan, and fell upon herknees. Some minutes later she had ceased to suffer. 

This was the third corpse that was thrown over the balcony at Aversa. 

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK [An Essay]

 (This is the essay entitled The Man in the Iron Mask, not the novel "The Man in the Iron Mask" [The Novel] Dumas #28[nmaskxxx. Xxx]2759])

For nearly one hundred years this curious problem has exercised theimagination of writers of fiction--and of drama, and the patience of thelearned in history. No subject is more obscure and elusive, and nonemore attractive to the general mind. It is a legend to the meaning ofwhich none can find the key and yet in which everyone believes. Involuntarily we feel pity at the thought of that long captivitysurrounded by so many extraordinary precautions, and when we dwell on themystery which enveloped the captive, that pity is not only deepened but akind of terror takes possession of us. It is very likely that if thename of the hero of this gloomy tale had been known at the time, he wouldnow be forgotten. To give him a name would be to relegate him at once tothe ranks of those commonplace offenders who quickly exhaust our interestand our tears. But this being, cut off from the world without leavingany discoverable trace, and whose disappearance apparently caused novoid--this captive, distinguished among captives by the unexampled natureof his punishment, a prison within a prison, as if the walls of a merecell were not narrow enough, has come to typify for us the sum of all thehuman misery and suffering ever inflicted by unjust tyranny. 

Who was the Man in the Mask? Was he rapt away into this silent seclusionfrom the luxury of a court, from the intrigues of diplomacy, from thescaffold of a traitor, from the clash of battle? What did he leavebehind? Love, glory, or a throne? What did he regret when hope hadfled? Did he pour forth imprecations and curses on his tortures andblaspheme against high Heaven, or did he with a sigh possess his soul inpatience?

The blows of fortune are differently received according to the differentcharacters of those on whom they fall; and each one of us who inimagination threads the subterranean passages leading to the cells ofPignerol and Exilles, and incarcerates himself in the IlesSainte-Marguerite and in the Bastille, the successive scenes of thatlong-protracted agony will give the prisoner a form shaped by his ownfancy and a grief proportioned to his own power of suffering. How welong to pierce the thoughts and feel the heart-beats and watch thetrickling tears behind that machine-like exterior, that impassible mask!Our imagination is powerfully excited by the dumbness of that fate borneby one whose words never reached the outward air, whose thoughts couldnever be read on the hidden features; by the isolation of forty yearssecured by two-fold barriers of stone and iron, and she clothes theobject of her contemplation in majestic splendour, connects the mysterywhich enveloped his existence with mighty interests, and persists inregarding the prisoner as sacrificed for the preservation of somedynastic secret involving the peace of the world and the stability of athrone. 

And when we calmly reflect on the whole case, do we feel that our firstimpulsively adopted opinion was wrong? Do we regard our belief as apoetical illusion? I do not think so; on the contrary, it seems to methat our good sense approves our fancy's flight. For what can be morenatural than the conviction that the secret of the name, age, andfeatures of the captive, which was so perseveringly kept through longyears at the cost of so much care, was of vital importance to theGovernment? No ordinary human passion, such as anger, hate, orvengeance, has so dogged and enduring a character; we feel that themeasures taken were not the expression of a love of cruelty, for evensupposing that Louis XIV were the most cruel of princes, would he nothave chosen one of the thousand methods of torture ready to his handbefore inventing a new and strange one? Moreover, why did he voluntarilyburden himself with the obligation of surrounding a prisoner with suchnumberless precautions and such sleepless vigilance? Must he not havefeared that in spite of it all the walls behind which he concealed thedread mystery would one day let in the light? Was it not through hisentire reign a source of unceasing anxiety? And yet he respected thelife of the captive whom it was so difficult to hide, and the discoveryof whose identity would have been so dangerous. It would have been soeasy to bury the secret in an obscure grave, and yet the order was nevergiven. Was this an expression of hate, anger, or any other passion?Certainly not; the conclusion we must come to in regard to the conduct ofthe king is that all the measures he took against the prisoner weredictated by purely political motives; that his conscience, while allowinghim to do everything necessary to guard the secret, did not permit him totake the further step of putting an end to the days of an unfortunateman, who in all probability was guilty of no crime. 

Courtiers are seldom obsequious to the enemies of their master, so thatwe may regard the respect and consideration shown to the Man in the Maskby the governor Saint-Mars, and the minister Louvois, as a testimony, notonly to his high rank, but also to his innocence. 

For my part, I make no pretensions to the erudition of the bookworm, andI cannot read the history of the Man in the Iron Mask without feeling myblood boil at the abominable abuse of power--the heinous crime of whichhe was the victim. 

A few years ago, M. Fournier and I, thinking the subject suitable forrepresentation on the stage, undertook to read, before dramatising it, all the different versions of the affair which had been published up tothat time. Since our piece was successfully performed at the Odeon twoother versions have appeared: one was in the form of a letter addressedto the Historical Institute by M. Billiard, who upheld the conclusionsarrived at by Soulavie, on whose narrative our play was founded; theother was a work by the bibliophile Jacob, who followed a new system ofinquiry, and whose book displayed the results of deep research andextensive reading. It did not, however, cause me to change my opinion. Even had it been published before I had written my drama, I should stillhave adhered to the idea as to the most probable solution of the problemwhich I had arrived at in 1831, not only because it was incontestably themost dramatic, but also because it is supported by those moralpresumptions which have such weight with us when considering a dark anddoubtful question like the one before us. It will, be objected, perhaps, that dramatic writers, in their love of the marvellous and the pathetic, neglect logic and strain after effect, their aim being to obtain theapplause of the gallery rather than the approbation of the learned. Butto this it may be replied that the learned on their part sacrifice agreat deal to their love of dates, more or less exact; to their desire toelucidate some point which had hitherto been considered obscure, andwhich their explanations do not always clear up; to the temptation todisplay their proficiency in the ingenious art of manipulating facts andfigures culled from a dozen musty volumes into one consistent whole. 

Our interest in this strange case of imprisonment arises, not alone fromits completeness and duration, but also from our uncertainty as to themotives from which it was inflicted. Where erudition alone cannotsuffice; where bookworm after bookworm, disdaining the conjectures of hispredecessors, comes forward with a new theory founded on some forgottendocument he has hunted out, only to find himself in his turn pushed intooblivion by some follower in his track, we must turn for guidance to someother light than that of scholarship; especially if, on strictinvestigation, we find that not one learned solution rests on a soundbasis of fact. 

In the question before us, which, as we said before, is a double one, asking not only who was the Man in the Iron Mask, but why he wasrelentlessly subjected to this torture till the moment of his death, whatwe need in order to restrain our fancy is mathematical demonstration, andnot philosophical induction. 

While I do not go so far as to assert positively that Abbe Soulavie hasonce for all lifted the veil which hid the truth, I am yet persuaded thatno other system of research is superior to his, and that no othersuggested solution has so many presumptions in its favour. I have notreached this firm conviction on account of the great and prolongedsuccess of our drama, but because of the ease with which all the opinionsadverse to those of the abbe may be annihilated by pitting them oneagainst the other. 

The qualities that make for success being quite different in a novel andin a drama, I could easily have founded a romance on the fictitious lovesof Buckingham and the queen, or on a supposed secret marriage between herand Cardinal Mazarin, calling to my aid a work by Saint-Mihiel which thebibliophile declares he has never read, although it is assuredly neitherrare nor difficult of access. I might also have merely expanded mydrama, restoring to the personages therein their true names and relativepositions, both of which the exigencies of the stage had sometimesobliged me to alter, and while allowing them to fill the same parts, making them act more in accordance with historical fact. No fablehowever far-fetched, no grouping of characters however improbable, can, however, destroy the interest which the innumerable writings about theIron Mask excite, although no two agree in details, and although eachauthor and each witness declares himself in possession of completeknowledge. No work, however mediocre, however worthless even, which hasappeared on this subject has ever failed of success, not even, forexample, the strange jumble of Chevalier de Mouhy, a kind of literarybraggart, who was in the pay of Voltaire, and whose work was publishedanonymously in 1746 by Pierre de Hondt of The Hague. It is divided intosix short parts, and bears the title, 'Le Masque de Fer, ou les Aventuresadmirables du Prre et du Fils'. An absurd romance by Regnault Warin, andone at least equally absurd by Madame Guenard, met with a like favourablereception. In writing for the theatre, an author must choose one view ofa dramatic situation to the exclusion of all others, and in following outthis central idea is obliged by the inexorable laws of logic to pushaside everything that interferes with its development. A book, on thecontrary, is written to be discussed; it brings under the notice of thereader all the evidence produced at a trial which has as yet not reacheda definite conclusion, and which in the case before us will never reachit, unless, which is most improbable, some lucky chance should lead tosome new discovery. 

The first mention of the prisoner is to be found in the 'Memoires secretspour servir a l'Histoire de Perse' in one 12mo volume, by an anonymousauthor, published by the 'Compagnie des Libraires Associes d'Amsterdam'in 1745. 

"Not having any other purpose, " says the author (page 20, 2nd edit. ), "than to relate facts which are not known, or about which no one haswritten, or about which it is impossible to be silent, we refer at onceto a fact which has hitherto almost escaped notice concerning PrinceGiafer (Louis de Bourbon, Comte de Vermandois, son of Louis XIV andMademoiselle de la Valliere), who was visited by Ali-Momajou (the Ducd'Orleans, the regent) in the fortress of Ispahan (the Bastille), inwhich he had been imprisoned for several years. This visit had probablyno other motive than to make sure that this prince was really alive, hehaving been reputed dead of the plague for over thirty years, and hisobsequies having been celebrated in presence of an entire army. 

"Cha-Abas (Louis XIV) had a legitimate son, Sephi-Mirza (Louis, Dauphinof France), and a natural son, Giafer. These two princes, as dissimilarin character as in birth, were always rivals and always at enmity witheach other. One day Giafer so far forgot himself as to strikeSephi-Mirza. Cha-Abas having heard of the insult offered to the heir tothe throne, assembled his most trusted councillors, and laid the conductof the culprit before them--conduct which, according to the law of thecountry, was punishable with death, an opinion in which they all agreed. One of the councillors, however, sympathising more than the others withthe distress of Cha-Abas, suggested that Giafer should be sent to thearmy, which was then on the frontiers of Feidrun (Flanders), and that hisdeath from plague should be given out a few days after his arrival. Then, while the whole army was celebrating his obsequies, he should becarried off by night, in the greatest secrecy, to the stronghold on theisle of Ormus (Sainte-Marguerite), and there imprisoned for life. 

"This course was adopted, and carried out by faithful and discreetagents. The prince, whose premature death was mourned by the army, beingcarried by unfrequented roads to the isle of Ormus, was placed in thecustody of the commandant of the island, who, had received ordersbeforehand not to allow any person whatever to see the prisoner. Asingle servant who was in possession of the secret was killed by theescort on the journey, and his face so disfigured by dagger thrusts thathe could not be recognised. 

"The commandant treated his prisoner with the most profound respect; hewaited on him at meals himself, taking the dishes from the cooks at thedoor of the apartment, none of whom ever looked on the face of Giafer. One day it occurred to the prince to scratch, his name on the back of aplate with his knife. One of the servants into whose hands the platefell ran with it at once to the commandant, hoping he would be pleasedand reward the bearer; but the unfortunate man was greatly mistaken, forhe was at once made away with, that his knowledge of such an importantsecret might be buried with himself. 

"Giafer remained several years in the castle Ormus, and was thentransported to the fortress of Ispahan; the commandant of Ormus havingreceived the governorship of Ispahan as a reward for faithful service. 

"At Ispahan, as at Ormus, whenever it was necessary on account of illnessor any other cause to allow anyone to approach the prince, he was alwaysmasked; and several trustworthy persons have asserted that they had seenthe masked prisoner often, and had noticed that he used the familiar 'tu'when addressing the governor, while the latter showed his charge thegreatest respect. As Giafer survived Cha-Abas and Sephi-Mirza by manyyears, it may be asked why he was never set at liberty; but it must beremembered it would have been impossible to restore a prince to his rankand dignities whose tomb actually existed, and of whose burial there werenot only living witnesses but documentary proofs, the authenticity ofwhich it would have been useless to deny, so firm was the belief, whichhas lasted down to the present day, that Giafer died of the plague incamp when with the army on the frontiers of Flanders. Ali-Homajou diedshortly after the visit he paid to Giafer. "

This version of the story, which is the original source of all thecontroversy on the subject, was at first generally received as true. On acritical examination it fitted in very well with certain events whichtook place in the reign of Louis XIV. 

The Comte de Vermandois had in fact left the court for the camp very soonafter his reappearance there, for he had been banished by the king fromhis presence some time before for having, in company with several youngnobles, indulged in the most reprehensible excesses. 

"The king, " says Mademoiselle de Montpensier ('Memoires de Mademoisellede Montpensier', vol. Xliii. P. 474. , of 'Memoires Relatifs d'Histoirede France', Second Series, published by Petitot), "had not been satisfiedwith his conduct and refused to see him. The young prince had caused hismother much sorrow, but had been so well lectured that it was believedthat he had at last turned over a new leaf. " He only remained four daysat court, reached the camp before Courtrai early in November 1683, wastaken ill on the evening of the 12th, and died on the 19th of the samemonth of a malignant fever. Mademoiselle de Montpensier says that theComte de Vermandois "fell ill from drink. "

There are, of course, objections of all kinds to this theory. 

For if, during the four days the comte was at court, he had struck thedauphin, everyone would have heard of the monstrous crime, and yet it isnowhere spoken of, except in the 'Memoires de Perse'. What renders thestory of the blow still more improbable is the difference in age betweenthe two princes. The dauphin, who already had a son, the Duc deBourgogne, more than a year old, was born the 1st November 1661, and wastherefore six years older than the Comte de Vermandois. But the mostcomplete answer to the tale is to be found in a letter written byBarbezieux to Saint-Mars, dated the 13th August 1691:--

"When you have any information to send me relative to the prisoner whohas been in your charge for twenty years, I most earnestly enjoin on youto take the same precautions as when you write to M. De Louvois. "

The Comte de Vermandois, the official registration of whose death bearsthe date 1685, cannot have been twenty years a prisoner in 1691. 

Six years after the Man in the Mask had been thus delivered over to thecuriosity of the public, the 'Siecle de Louis XIV' (2 vols. Octavo, Berlin, 1751) was published by Voltaire under the pseudonym of M. DeFrancheville. Everyone turned to this work, which had been longexpected, for details relating to the mysterious prisoner about whomeveryone was talking. 

Voltaire ventured at length to speak more openly of the prisoner thananyone had hitherto done, and to treat as a matter of history "an eventlong ignored by all historians. " (vol. Ii. P. 11, 1st edition, chap. Xxv. ). He assigned an approximate date to the beginning of thiscaptivity, "some months after the death of Cardinal Mazarin" (1661); hegave a description of the prisoner, who according to him was "young anddark-complexioned; his figure was above the middle height and wellproportioned; his features were exceedingly handsome, and his bearing wasnoble. When he spoke his voice inspired interest; he never complained ofhis lot, and gave no hint as to his rank. " Nor was the mask forgotten:"The part which covered the chin was furnished with steel springs, whichallowed the prisoner to eat without uncovering his face. " And, lastly, he fixed the date of the death of the nameless captive; who "was buried, "he says, "in 1704. , by night, in the parish church of Saint-Paul. "

Voltaire's narrative coincided with the account given in the 'Memoires dePeyse', save for the omission of the incident which, according to the'Memoires', led in the first instance to the imprisonment of Giafer. "The prisoner, " says Voltaire, "was sent to the Iles Sainte-Marguerite, and afterwards to the Bastille, in charge of a trusty official; he worehis mask on the journey, and his escort had orders to shoot him if hetook it off. The Marquis de Louvois visited him while he was on theislands, and when speaking to him stood all the time in a respectfulattitude. The prisoner was removed to the Bastille in 1690, where he waslodged as comfortably as could be managed in that building; he wassupplied with everything he asked for, especially with the finest linenand the costliest lace, in both of which his taste was perfect; he had aguitar to play on, his table was excellent, and the governor rarely satin his presence. "

Voltaire added a few further details which had been given him by M. DeBernaville, the successor of M. De Saint-Mars, and by an old physician ofthe Bastille who had attended the prisoner whenever his health required adoctor, but who had never seen his face, although he had "often seen histongue and his body. " He also asserted that M. De Chamillart was thelast minister who was in the secret, and that when his son-in-law, Marshal de la Feuillade, besought him on his knees, de Chamillart beingon his deathbed, to tell him the name of the Man in the Iron Mask, theminister replied that he was under a solemn oath never to reveal thesecret, it being an affair of state. To all these details, which themarshal acknowledges to be correct, Voltaire adds a remarkable note:"What increases our wonder is, that when the unknown captive was sent tothe Iles Sainte-Marguerite no personage of note disappeared from theEuropean stage. "

The story of the Comte de Vermandois and the blow was treated as anabsurd and romantic invention, which does not even attempt to keep withinthe bounds of the possible, by Baron C. (according to P. Marchand, BaronCrunyngen) in a letter inserted in the 'Bibliotheque raisonnee desOuvrages des Savants de d'Europe', June 1745. The discussion was revivedsomewhat later, however, and a few Dutch scholars were supposed to beresponsible for a new theory founded on history; the foundations provingsomewhat shaky, however, --a quality which it shares, we must say, withall the other theories which have ever been advanced. 

According to this new theory, the masked prisoner was a young foreignnobleman, groom of the chambers to Anne of Austria, and the real fatherof Louis XIV. This anecdote appears first in a duodecimo volume printedby Pierre Marteau at Cologne in 1692, and which bears the title, 'TheLoves of Anne of Austria, Consort of Louis XIII, with M. Le C. D. R. , theReal Father of Louis XIV, King of France; being a Minute Account of theMeasures taken to give an Heir to the Throne of France, the Influences atWork to bring this to pass, and the Denoument of the Comedy'. 

This libel ran through five editions, bearing date successively, 1692, 1693, 1696, 1722, and 1738. In the title of the edition of 1696 thewords "Cardinal de Richelieu" are inserted in place of the initials "C. D. R. , " but that this is only a printer's error everyone who reads thework will perceive. Some have thought the three letters stood for Comtede Riviere, others for Comte de Rochefort, whose 'Memoires' compiled bySandras de Courtilz supply these initials. The author of the book was anOrange writer in the pay of William III, and its object was, he says, "tounveil the great mystery of iniquity which hid the true origin of LouisXIV. " He goes on to remark that "the knowledge of this fraud, althoughcomparatively rare outside France, was widely spread within her borders. The well-known coldness of Louis XIII; the extraordinary birth ofLouis-Dieudonne, so called because he was born in the twenty-third yearof a childless marriage, and several other remarkable circumstancesconnected with the birth, all point clearly to a father other than theprince, who with great effrontery is passed off by his adherents as such. The famous barricades of Paris, and the organised revolt led bydistinguished men against Louis XIV on his accession to the throne, proclaimed aloud the king's illegitimacy, so that it rang through thecountry; and as the accusation had reason on its side, hardly anyonedoubted its truth. "

We give below a short abstract of the narrative, the plot of which israther skilfully constructed:--

"Cardinal Richelieu, looking with satisfied pride at the love of Gaston, Duc d'Orleans, brother of the king, for his niece Parisiatis (Madame deCombalet), formed the plan of uniting the young couple in marriage. Gaston taking the suggestion as an insult, struck the cardinal. PereJoseph then tried to gain the cardinal's consent and that of his niece toan attempt to deprive Gaston of the throne, which the childless marriageof Louis XIII seemed to assure him. A young man, the C. D. R. Of thebook, was introduced into Anne of Austria's room, who though a wife inname had long been a widow in reality. She defended herself but feebly, and on seeing the cardinal next day said to him, 'Well, you have had yourwicked will; but take good care, sir cardinal, that I may find above themercy and goodness which you have tried by many pious sophistries toconvince me is awaiting me. Watch over my soul, I charge you, for I haveyielded!' The queen having given herself up to love for some time, thejoyful news that she would soon become a mother began to spread over thekingdom. In this manner was born Louis XIV, the putative son of LouisXIII. If this instalment of the tale be favourably received, says thepamphleteer, the sequel will soon follow, in which the sad fate of C. D. R. Will be related, who was made to pay dearly for his short-livedpleasure. "

Although the first part was a great success, the promised sequel neverappeared. It must be admitted that such a story, though it neverconvinced a single person of the illegitimacy of Louis XIV, was anexcellent prologue to the tale of the unfortunate lot of the Man in theIron Mask, and increased the interest and curiosity with which thatsingular historical mystery was regarded. But the views of the Dutchscholars thus set forth met with little credence, and were soon forgottenin a new solution. 

The third historian to write about the prisoner of the IlesSainte-Marguerite was Lagrange-Chancel. He was just twenty-nine years ofage when, excited by Freron's hatred of Voltaire, he addressed a letterfrom his country place, Antoniat, in Perigord, to the 'Annee Litteraire'(vol. Iii. P. 188), demolishing the theory advanced in the 'Siecle deLouis XIV', and giving facts which he had collected whilst himselfimprisoned in the same place as the unknown prisoner twenty years later. 

"My detention in the Iles-Saint-Marguerite, " says Lagrange-Chancel, "brought many things to my knowledge which a more painstaking historianthan M. De Voltaire would have taken the trouble to find out; for at thetime when I was taken to the islands the imprisonment of the Man in theIron Mask was no longer regarded as a state secret. This extraordinaryevent, which M. De Voltaire places in 1662, a few months after the deathof Cardinal Mazarin, did not take place till 1669, eight years after thedeath of His Eminence. M. De La Motte-Guerin, commandant of the islandsin my time, assured me that the prisoner was the Duc de Beaufort, who wasreported killed at the siege of Candia, but whose body had never beenrecovered, as all the narratives of that event agree in stating. He alsotold me that M. De Saint-Mars, who succeeded Pignerol as governor of theislands, showed great consideration for the prisoner, that he waited onhim at table, that the service was of silver, and that the clothessupplied to the prisoner were as costly as he desired; that when he wasill and in need of a physician or surgeon, he was obliged under pain ofdeath to wear his mask in their presence, but that when he was alone hewas permitted to pull out the hairs of his beard with steel tweezers, which were kept bright and polished. I saw a pair of these which hadbeen actually used for this purpose in the possession of M. De Formanoir, nephew of Saint-Mars, and lieutenant of a Free Company raised for thepurpose of guarding the prisoners. Several persons told me that whenSaint-Mars, who had been placed over the Bastille, conducted his chargethither, the latter was heard to say behind his iron mask, 'Has the kingdesigns on my life?' To which Saint-Mars replied, 'No, my prince; yourlife is safe: you must only let yourself be guided. '

"I also learned from a man called Dubuisson, cashier to the well-knownSamuel Bernard, who, having been imprisoned for some years in theBastile, was removed to the Iles Sainte-Marguerite, where he was confinedalong with some others in a room exactly over the one occupied by theunknown prisoner. He told me that they were able to communicate with himby means of the flue of the chimney, but on asking him why he persistedin not revealing his name and the cause of his imprisonment, he repliedthat such an avowal would be fatal not only to him but to those to whomhe made it. 

"Whether it were so or not, to-day the name and rank of this politicalvictim are secrets the preservation of which is no longer necessary tothe State; and I have thought that to tell the public what I know wouldcut short the long chain of circumstances which everyone was forgingaccording to his fancy, instigated thereto by an author whose gift ofrelating the most impossible events in such a manner as to make them seemtrue has won for all his writings such success--even for his Vie deCharles XII"

This theory, according to Jacob, is more probable than any of the others. 

"Beginning with the year 1664. , " he says, "the Duc de Beaufort had by hisinsubordination and levity endangered the success of several maritimeexpeditions. In October 1666 Louis XIV remonstrated with him with muchtact, begging him to try to make himself more and more capable in theservice of his king by cultivating the talents with which he was endowed, and ridding himself of the faults which spoilt his conduct. 'I do notdoubt, ' he concludes, 'that you will be all the more grateful to me forthis mark of my benevolence towards you, when you reflect how few kingshave ever shown their goodwill in a similar manner. '" ( 'Oeuvres de LouisXIV', vol. V. P. 388). Several calamities in the royal navy are known tohave been brought about by the Duc de Beaufort. M. Eugene Sue, in his'Histoire de la Marine', which is full of new and curious information, has drawn a very good picture of the position of the "roi des halles, "the "king of the markets, " in regard to Colbert and Louis XIV. Colbertwished to direct all the manoeuvres of the fleet from his study, while itwas commanded by the naval grandmaster in the capricious manner whichmight be expected from his factious character and love of bluster (EugeneSue, vol. I. , 'Pieces Justificatives'). In 1699 Louis XIV sent the Ducde Beaufort to the relief of Candia, which the Turks were besieging. Seven hours after his arrival Beaufort was killed in a sortie. The Ducde Navailles, who shared with him the command of the French squadron, simply reported his death as follows: "He met a body of Turks who werepressing our troops hard: placing himself at the head of the latter, hefought valiantly, but at length his soldiers abandoned him, and we havenot been able to learn his fate" ('Memoires du Duc de Navailles', bookiv. P. 243)

The report of his death spread rapidly through France and Italy;magnificent funeral services were held in Paris, Rome, and Venice, andfuneral orations delivered. Nevertheless, many believed that he wouldone day reappear, as his body had never been recovered. 

Guy Patin mentions this belief, which he did not share, in two of hisletters:--

"Several wagers have been laid that M. De Beaufort is not dead! 'Outinam'!" (Guy Patin, September 26, 1669). 

"It is said that M. De Vivonne has been granted by commission the post ofvice-admiral of France for twenty years; but there are many who believethat the Duc de Beaufort is not dead, but imprisoned in some Turkishisland. Believe this who may, I don't; he is really dead, and the lastthing I should desire would be to be as dead as he", (Ibid. , January 14, 1670). 

The following are the objections to this theory:

"In several narratives written by eye-witnesses of the siege of Candia, "says Jacob, "it is related that the Turks, according to their custom, despoiled the body and cut off the head of the Duc de Beaufort on thefield of battle, and that the latter was afterwards exhibited atConstantinople; and this may account for some of the details given bySandras de Courtilz in his 'Memoires du Marquis de Montbrun' and his'Memoires d'Artagnan', for one can easily imagine that the naked, headless body might escape recognition. M. Eugene Sue, in his 'Histoirede la Marine' (vol. Ii, chap. 6), had adopted this view, which coincideswith the accounts left by Philibert de Jarry and the Marquis de Ville, the MSS. Of whose letters and 'Memoires' are to be found in theBibliotheque du Roi. 

"In the first volume of the 'Histoire de la Detention des Philosophes etdes Gens de Lettres a la Bastille, etc. ', we find the followingpassage:--

"Without dwelling on the difficulty and danger of an abduction, which anOttoman scimitar might any day during this memorable siege renderunnecessary, we shall restrict ourselves to declaring positively that thecorrespondence of Saint-Mars from 1669 to 1680 gives us no ground forsupposing that the governor of Pignerol had any great prisoner of statein his charge during that period of time, except Fouquet and Lauzun. '"

While we profess no blind faith in the conclusions arrived at by thelearned critic, we would yet add to the considerations on which he reliesanother, viz. That it is most improbable that Louis XIV should ever haveconsidered it necessary to take such rigorous measures against the Duc deBeaufort. Truculent and self-confident as he was, he never acted againstthe royal authority in such a manner as to oblige the king to strike himdown in secret; and it is difficult to believe that Louis XIV, peaceablyseated on his throne, with all the enemies of his minority under hisfeet, should have revenged himself on the duke as an old Frondeur. 

The critic calls our attention to another fact also adverse to the theoryunder consideration. The Man in the Iron Mask loved fine linen and richlace, he was reserved in character and possessed of extreme refinement, and none of this suits the portraits of the 'roi des halles' whichcontemporary historians have drawn. 

Regarding the anagram of the name Marchiali (the name under which thedeath of the prisoner was registered), 'hic amiral', as a proof, wecannot think that the gaolers of Pignerol amused themselves inpropounding conundrums to exercise the keen intellect of theircontemporaries; and moreover the same anagram would apply equally well tothe Count of Vermandois, who was made admiral when only twenty-two monthsold. Abbe Papon, in his roamings through Provence, paid a visit to theprison in which the Iron Mask was confined, and thus speaks:--

"It was to the Iles Sainte-Marguerite that the famous prisoner with theiron mask whose name has never been discovered, was transported at theend of the last century; very few of those attached to his service wereallowed to speak to him. One day, as M. De Saint-Mars was conversingwith him, standing outside his door, in a kind of corridor, so as to beable to see from a distance everyone who approached, the son of one ofthe governor's friends, hearing the voices, came up; Saint-Mars quicklyclosed the door of the room, and, rushing to meet the young man, askedhim with an air of great anxiety if he had overheard anything that wassaid. Having convinced himself that he had heard nothing, the governorsent the young man away the same day, and wrote to the father that theadventure was like to have cost the son dear, and that he had sent himback to his home to prevent any further imprudence. 

"I was curious enough to visit the room in which the unfortunate man wasimprisoned, on the 2nd of February 1778. It is lighted by one window tothe north, overlooking the sea, about fifteen feet above the terracewhere the sentries paced to and fro. This window was pierced through avery thick wall and the embrasure barricaded by three iron bars, thusseparating the prisoner from the sentries by a distance of over twofathoms. I found an officer of the Free Company in the fortress who wasnigh on fourscore years old; he told me that his father, who had belongedto the same Company, had often related to him how a friar had seensomething white floating on the water under the prisoner's window. Onbeing fished out and carried to M. De Saint-Mars, it proved to be a shirtof very fine material, loosely folded together, and covered with writingfrom end to end. M. De Saint-Mars spread it out and read a few words, then turning to the friar who had brought it he asked him in anembarrassed manner if he had been led by curiosity to read any of the, writing. The friar protested repeatedly that he had not read a line, butnevertheless he was found dead in bed two days later. This incident wastold so often to my informant by his father and by the chaplain of thefort of that time that he regarded it as incontestably true. Thefollowing fact also appears to me to be equally well established by thetestimony of many witnesses. I collected all the evidence I could on thespot, and also in the Lerins monastery, where the tradition is preserved. 

"A female attendant being wanted for the prisoner, a woman of the villageof Mongin offered herself for the place, being under the impression thatshe would thus be able to make her children's fortune; but on being toldthat she would not only never be allowed to see her children again, butwould be cut off from the rest of the world as well, she refused to beshut up with a prisoner whom it cost so much to serve. I may mentionhere that at the two outer angles of the wall of the fort which faced thesea two sentries were placed, with orders to fire on any boat whichapproached within a certain distance. 

"The prisoner's personal attendant died in the Iles Sainte-Marguerite. The brother of the officer whom I mentioned above was partly in theconfidence of M. De Saint-Mars, and he often told how he was summoned tothe prison once at midnight and ordered to remove a corpse, and that hecarried it on his shoulders to the burial-place, feeling certain it wasthe prisoner who was dead; but it was only his servant, and it was thenthat an effort was made to supply his place by a female attendant. "

Abbe Papon gives some curious details, hitherto unknown to the public, but as he mentions no names his narrative cannot be considered asevidence. Voltaire never replied to Lagrange-Chancel, who died the sameyear in which his letter was published. Freron desiring to revengehimself for the scathing portrait which Voltaire had drawn of him in the'Ecossaise', called to his assistance a more redoubtable adversary thanLagrange-Chancel. Sainte-Foix had brought to the front a brand newtheory, founded on a passage by Hume in an article in the 'AnneeLitteraire (1768, vol. Iv. ), in which he maintained that the Man in theIron Mask was the Duke of Monmouth, a natural son of Charles II, who wasfound guilty of high treason and beheaded in London on the 15th July1685. 

This is what the English historian says:

"It was commonly reported in London that the Duke of Monmouth's life hadbeen saved, one of his adherents who bore a striking resemblance to theduke having consented to die in his stead, while the real culprit wassecretly carried off to France, there to undergo a lifelongimprisonment. "

The great affection which the English felt for the Duke of Monmouth, andhis own conviction that the people only needed a leader to induce them toshake off the yoke of James II, led him to undertake an enterprise whichmight possibly have succeeded had it been carried out with prudence. Helanded at Lyme, in Dorset, with only one hundred and twenty men; sixthousand soon gathered round his standard; a few towns declared in hisfavour; he caused himself to be proclaimed king, affirming that he wasborn in wedlock, and that he possessed the proofs of the secret marriageof Charles II and Lucy Waiters, his mother. He met the Royalists on thebattlefield, and victory seemed to be on his side, when just at thedecisive moment his ammunition ran short. Lord Gray, who commanded thecavalry, beat a cowardly retreat, the unfortunate Monmouth was takenprisoner, brought to London, and beheaded. 

The details published in the 'Siecle de Louis XIV' as to the personalappearance of the masked prisoner might have been taken as a descriptionof Monmouth, who possessed great physical beauty. Sainte-Foix hadcollected every scrap of evidence in favour of his solution of themystery, making use even of the following passage from an anonymousromance called 'The Loves of Charles II and James II, Kings ofEngland':--

"The night of the pretended execution of the Duke of Monmouth, the king, attended by three men, came to the Tower and summoned the duke to hispresence. A kind of loose cowl was thrown over his head, and he was putinto a carriage, into which the king and his attendants also got, and wasdriven away. "

Sainte-Foix also referred to the alleged visit of Saunders, confessor toJames II, paid to the Duchess of Portsmouth after the death of thatmonarch, when the duchess took occasion to say that she could neverforgive King James for consenting to Monmouth's execution, in spite ofthe oath he had taken on the sacred elements at the deathbed of CharlesII that he would never take his natural brother's life, even in case ofrebellion. To this the priest replied quickly, "The king kept his oath. "

Hume also records this solemn oath, but we cannot say that all thehistorians agree on this point. 'The Universal History' by Guthrie andGray, and the 'Histoire d'Angleterre' by Rapin, Thoyras and de Barrow, donot mention it. 

"Further, " wrote Sainte-Foix, "an English surgeon called Nelaton, whofrequented the Cafe Procope, much affected by men of letters, oftenrelated that during the time he was senior apprentice to a surgeon wholived near the Porte Saint-Antoine, he was once taken to the Bastille tobleed a prisoner. He was conducted to this prisoner's room by thegovernor himself, and found the patient suffering from violent headache. He spoke with an English accent, wore a gold-flowered dressing-gown ofblack and orange, and had his face covered by a napkin knotted behind hishead. "

This story does not hold water: it would be difficult to form a mask outof a napkin; the Bastille had a resident surgeon of its own as well as aphysician and apothecary; no one could gain access to a prisoner withouta written order from a minister, even the Viaticum could only beintroduced by the express permission of the lieutenant of police. 

This theory met at first with no objections, and seemed to be going tooust all the others, thanks, perhaps, to the combative and restivecharacter of its promulgator, who bore criticism badly, and whom no onecared to incense, his sword being even more redoubtable than his pen. 

It was known that when Saint-Mars journeyed with his prisoner to theBastille, they had put up on the way at Palteau, in Champagne, a propertybelonging to the governor. Freron therefore addressed himself to agrand-nephew of Saint-Mars, who had inherited this estate, asking if hecould give him any information about this visit. The following replyappeared in the 'Annee Litteraire (June 1768):--

"As it appears from the letter of M. De Sainte-Foix from which you quotethat the Man in the Iron Mask still exercises the fancy of yourjournalists, I am willing to tell you all I know about the prisoner. Hewas known in the islands of Sainte-Marguerite and at the Bastille as 'LaTour. ' The governor and all the other officials showed him greatrespect, and supplied him with everything he asked for that could begranted to a prisoner. He often took exercise in the yard of the prison, but never without his mask on. It was not till the 'Siecle' of M. DeVoltaire appeared that I learned that the mask was of iron and furnishedwith springs; it may be that the circumstance was overlooked, but henever wore it except when taking the air, or when he had to appear beforea stranger. 

"M. De Blainvilliers, an infantry officer who was acquainted with M. DeSaint-Mars both at Pignerol and Sainte-Marguerite, has often told me thatthe lot of 'La Tour' greatly excited his curiosity, and that he had onceborrowed the clothes and arms of a soldier whose turn it was to be sentryon the terrace under the prisoner's window at Sainte-Marguerite, andundertaken the duty himself; that he had seen the prisoner distinctly, without his mask; that his face was white, that he was tall and wellproportioned, except that his ankles were too thick, and that his hairwas white, although he appeared to be still in the prime of life. Hepassed the whole of the night in question pacing to and fro in his room. Blainvilliers added that he was always dressed in brown, that he hadplenty of fine linen and books, that the governor and the other officersalways stood uncovered in his presence till he gave them leave to coverand sit down, and that they often bore him company at table. 

"In 1698 M. De Saint-Mars was promoted from the governorship of the IlesSainte-Marguerite to that of the Bastille. In moving thither, accompanied by his prisoner, he made his estate of Palteau ahalting-place. The masked man arrived in a litter which preceded that ofM. De Saint-Mars, and several mounted men rode beside it. The peasantswere assembled to greet their liege lord. M. De Saint-Mars dined withhis prisoner, who sat with his back to the dining-room windows, whichlooked out on the court. None of the peasants whom I have questionedwere able to see whether the man kept his mask on while eating, but theyall noticed that M. De Saint-Mars, who sat opposite to his charge, laidtwo pistols beside his plate; that only one footman waited at table, whowent into the antechamber to change the plates and dishes, alwayscarefully closing the dining-room door behind him. When the prisonercrossed the courtyard his face was covered with a black mask, but thepeasants could see his lips and teeth, and remarked that he was tall, andhad white hair. M. De Saint-Mars slept in a bed placed beside theprisoner's. M. De Blainvilliers told me also that 'as soon as he wasdead, which happened in 1704, he was buried at Saint-Paul's, ' and that'the coffin was filled with substances which would rapidly consume thebody. ' He added, 'I never heard that the masked man spoke with anEnglish accent. '"

Sainte-Foix proved the story related by M. De Blainvilliers to be littleworthy of belief, showing by a circumstance mentioned in the letter thatthe imprisoned man could not be the Duc de Beaufort; witness the epigramof Madame de Choisy, "M. De Beaufort longs to bite and can't, " whereasthe peasants had seen the prisoner's teeth through his mask. It appearedas if the theory of Sainte-Foix were going to stand, when a Jesuitfather, named Griffet, who was confessor at the Bastille, devoted chapterxiii, of his 'Traite des differentes Sortes de Preuves qui servent aetablir la Verite dans l'Histoire' (12mo, Liege, 1769) to theconsideration of the Iron Mask. He was the first to quote an authenticdocument which certifies that the Man in the Iron Mask about whom therewas so much disputing really existed. This was the written journal of M. Du Jonca, King's Lieutenant in the Bastille in 1698, from which PereGriffet took the following passage:--

"On Thursday, September the 8th, 1698, at three o'clock in the afternoon, M. De Saint-Mars, the new governor of the Bastille, entered upon hisduties. He arrived from the islands of Sainte-Marguerite, bringing withhim in a litter a prisoner whose name is a secret, and whom he had hadunder his charge there, and at Pignerol. This prisoner, who was alwaysmasked, was at first placed in the Bassiniere tower, where he remaineduntil the evening. At nine o'clock p. M. I took him to the third room ofthe Bertaudiere tower, which I had had already furnished before hisarrival with all needful articles, having received orders to do so fromM. De Saint-Mars. While I was showing him the way to his room, I wasaccompanied by M. Rosarges, who had also arrived along with M. DeSaint-Mars, and whose office it was to wait on the said prisoner, whosetable is to be supplied by the governor. "

Du Jonca's diary records the death of the prisoner in the followingterms:--

"Monday, 19th November 1703. The unknown prisoner, who always wore ablack velvet mask, and whom M. De Saint-Mars brought with him from theIles Sainte-Marguerite, and whom he had so long in charge, felt slightlyunwell yesterday on coming back from mass. He died to-day at 10 p. M. Without having a serious illness, indeed it could not have been slighter. M. Guiraut, our chaplain, confessed him yesterday, but as his death wasquite unexpected he did not receive the last sacraments, although thechaplain was able to exhort him up to the moment of his death. He wasburied on Tuesday the 20th November at 4 P. M. In the burial-ground of St. Paul's, our parish church. The funeral expenses amounted to 40 livres. "

His name and age were withheld from the priests of the parish. The entrymade in the parish register, which Pere Griffet also gives, is in thefollowing words:--

"On the 19th November 1703, Marchiali, aged about forty-five, died in theBastille, whose body was buried in the graveyard of Saint-Paul's, hisparish, on the 20th instant, in the presence of M. Rosarges and of M. Reilh, Surgeon-Major of the Bastille. 

 "(Signed) ROSARGES. "REILH. "

As soon as he was dead everything belonging to him, without exception, was burned; such as his linen, clothes, bed and bedding, rugs, chairs, and even the doors of the room he occupied. His service of plate wasmelted down, the walls of his room were scoured and whitewashed, the veryfloor was renewed, from fear of his having hidden a note under it, orleft some mark by which he could be recognised. 

Pere Griffet did not agree with the opinions of either Lagrange-Chancelor Sainte-Foix, but seemed to incline towards the theory set forth in the'Memoires de Perse', against which no irrefutable objections had beenadvanced. He concluded by saying that before arriving at any decision asto who the prisoner really was, it would be necessary to ascertain theexact date of his arrival at Pignerol. 

Sainte-Foix hastened to reply, upholding the soundness of the views hehad advanced. He procured from Arras a copy of an entry in the registersof the Cathedral Chapter, stating that Louis XIV had written with his ownhand to the said Chapter that they were to admit to burial the body ofthe Comte de Vermandois, who had died in the city of Courtrai; that hedesired that the deceased should be interred in the centre of the choir, in the vault in which lay the remains of Elisabeth, Comtesse deVermandois, wife of Philip of Alsace, Comte de Flanders, who had died in1182. It is not to be supposed that Louis XIV would have chosen a familyvault in which to bury a log of wood. 

Sainte-Foix was, however, not acquainted with the letter of Barbezieux, dated the 13th August 1691, to which we have already referred, as a proofthat the prisoner was not the Comte de Vermandois; it is equally a proofthat he was not the Duke of Monmouth, as Sainte-Foix maintained; forsentence was passed on the Duke of Monmouth in 1685, so that it could notbe of him either that Barbezieux wrote in 1691, "The prisoner whom youhave had in charge for twenty years. "

In the very year in which Sainte-Foix began to flatter himself that histheory was successfully established, Baron Heiss brought a new oneforward, in a letter dated "Phalsburg, 28th June 1770, " and addressed tothe 'Journal Enclycopedique'. It was accompanied by a letter translatedfrom the Italian which appeared in the 'Histoire Abregee de l'Europe' byJacques Bernard, published by Claude Jordan, Leyden, 1685-87, in detachedsheets. This letter stated (August 1687, article 'Mantoue') that theDuke of Mantua being desirous to sell his capital, Casale, to the King ofFrance, had been dissuaded therefrom by his secretary, and induced tojoin the other princes of Italy in their endeavours to thwart theambitious schemes of Louis XVI. The Marquis d'Arcy, French ambassador tothe court of Savoy, having been informed of the secretary's influence, distinguished him by all kinds of civilities, asked him frequently totable, and at last invited him to join a large hunting party two or threeleagues outside Turin. They set out together, but at a short distancefrom the city were surrounded by a dozen horsemen, who carried off thesecretary, 'disguised him, put a mask on him, and took him to Pignerol. 'He was not kept long in this fortress, as it was 'too near the Italianfrontier, and although he was carefully guarded it was feared that thewalls would speak'; so he was transferred to the Iles Sainte-Marguerite, where he is at present in the custody of M. De Saint-Mars. 

This theory, of which much was heard later, did not at first excite muchattention. What is certain is that the Duke of Mantua's secretary, byname Matthioli, was arrested in 1679 through the agency of Abbe d'Estradeand M. De Catinat, and taken with the utmost secrecy to Pignerol, wherehe was imprisoned and placed in charge of M. De Saint-Mars. He must not, however, be confounded with the Man in the Iron Mask. 

Catinat says of Matthioli in a letter to Louvois "No one knows the nameof this knave. "

Louvois writes to Saint-Mars: "I admire your patience in waiting for anorder to treat such a rogue as he deserves, when he treats you withdisrespect. "

Saint-Mars replies to the minister: "I have charged Blainvilliers to showhim a cudgel and tell him that with its aid we can make the frowardmeek. "

Again Louvois writes: "The clothes of such people must be made to lastthree or four years. "

This cannot have been the nameless prisoner who was treated with suchconsideration, before whom Louvois stood bare-headed, who was suppliedwith fine linen and lace, and so on. 

Altogether, we gather from the correspondence of Saint-Mars that theunhappy man alluded to above was confined along with a mad Jacobin, andat last became mad himself, and succumbed to his misery in 1686. 

Voltaire, who was probably the first to supply such inexhaustible foodfor controversy, kept silence and took no part in the discussions. Butwhen all the theories had been presented to the public, he set aboutrefuting them. He made himself very merry, in the seventh edition of'Questions sur l'Encyclopedie distibuees en forme de Dictionnaire(Geneva, 1791), over the complaisance attributed to Louis XIV in actingas police-sergeant and gaoler for James II, William III, and Anne, withall of whom he was at war. Persisting still in taking 1661 or 1662 as thedate when the incarceration of the masked prisoner began, he attacks theopinions advanced by Lagrange-Chancel and Pere Griffet, which they haddrawn from the anonymous 'Memoires secrets pour servir a l'Histoire dePerse'. "Having thus dissipated all these illusions, " he says, "let usnow consider who the masked prisoner was, and how old he was when hedied. It is evident that if he was never allowed to walk in thecourtyard of the Bastille or to see a physician without his mask, it musthave been lest his too striking resemblance to someone should beremarked; he could show his tongue but not his face. As regards his age, he himself told the apothecary at the Bastille, a few days before hisdeath, that he thought he was about sixty; this I have often heard from ason-in-law to this apothecary, M. Marsoban, surgeon to Marshal Richelieu, and afterwards to the regent, the Duc d'Orleans. The writer of thisarticle knows perhaps more on this subject than Pere Griffet. But he hassaid his say. "

This article in the 'Questions on the Encyclopaedia' was followed by someremarks from the pen of the publisher, which are also, however, attributed by the publishers of Kelh to Voltaire himself. The publisher, who sometimes calls himself the author, puts aside without refutation allthe theories advanced, including that of Baron Heiss, and says he hascome to the conclusion that the Iron Mask was, without doubt, a brotherand an elder brother of Louis XIV, by a lover of the queen. Anne ofAustria had come to persuade herself that hers alone was the fault whichhad deprived Louis XIII [the publisher of this edition overlooked theobvious typographical error of "XIV" here when he meant, and it onlymakes sense, that it was XIII. D. W. ] of an heir, but the birth of theIron Mask undeceived her. The cardinal, to whom she confided her secret, cleverly arranged to bring the king and queen, who had long lived apart, together again. A second son was the result of this reconciliation; andthe first child being removed in secret, Louis XIV remained in ignoranceof the existence of his half-brother till after his majority. It was thepolicy of Louis XIV to affect a great respect for the royal house, so heavoided much embarrassment to himself and a scandal affecting the memoryof Anne of Austria by adopting the wise and just measure of burying alivethe pledge of an adulterous love. He was thus enabled to avoidcommitting an act of cruelty, which a sovereign less conscientious andless magnanimous would have considered a necessity. 

After this declaration Voltaire made no further reference to the IronMask. This last version of the story upset that of Sainte-Foix. Voltairehaving been initiated into the state secret by the Marquis de Richelieu, we may be permitted to suspect that being naturally indiscreet hepublished the truth from behind the shelter of a pseudonym, or at leastgave a version which approached the truth, but later on realising thedangerous significance of his words, he preserved for the future completesilence. 

We now approach the question whether the prince who thus became the IronMask was an illegitimate brother or a twin-brother of Louis XIV. Thefirst was maintained by M. Quentin-Crawfurd; the second by Abbe Soulaviein his 'Memoires du Marechal Duc de Richelieu' (London, 1790). In 1783the Marquis de Luchet, in the 'Journal des Gens du Monde' (vol. Iv. No. 23, p. 282, et seq. ), awarded to Buckingham the honour of the paternityin dispute. In support of this, he quoted the testimony of a lady of thehouse of Saint-Quentin who had been a mistress of the ministerBarbezieux, and who died at Chartres about the middle of the eighteenthcentury. She had declared publicly that Louis XIV had consigned hiselder brother to perpetual imprisonment, and that the mask wasnecessitated by the close resemblance of the two brothers to each other. 

The Duke of Buckingham, who came to France in 1625, in order to escortHenrietta Maria, sister of Louis XIII, to England, where she was to marrythe Prince of Wales, made no secret of his ardent love for the queen, andit is almost certain that she was not insensible to his passion. Ananonymous pamphlet, 'La Conference du Cardinal Mazarin avec le Gazetier'(Brussels, 1649), says that she was infatuated about him, and allowed himto visit her in her room. She even permitted him to take off and keepone of her gloves, and his vanity leading him to show his spoil, the kingheard of it, and was vastly offended. An anecdote, the truth of which noone has ever denied, relates that one day Buckingham spoke to the queenwith such passion in the presence of her lady-in-waiting, the Marquise deSenecey, that the latter exclaimed, "Be silent, sir, you cannot speakthus to the Queen of France!" According to this version, the Man in theIron Mask must have been born at latest in 1637, but the mention of anysuch date would destroy the possibility of Buckingham's paternity; for hewas assassinated at Portsmouth on September 2nd, 1628. 

After the taking of the Bastille the masked prisoner became thefashionable topic of discussion, and one heard of nothing else. On the13th of August 1789 it was announced in an article in a journal called'Loisirs d'un Patriote francais', which was afterwards publishedanonymously as a pamphlet, that the publisher had seen, among otherdocuments found in the Bastille, a card bearing the unintelligible number"64389000, " and the following note: "Fouquet, arriving from Les IlesSainte-Marguerite in an iron mask. " To this there was, it was said, adouble signature, viz. "XXX, " superimposed on the name "Kersadion. " Thejournalist was of opinion that Fouquet had succeeded in making hisescape, but had been retaken and condemned to pass for dead, and to weara mask henceforward, as a punishment for his attempted evasion. Thistale made some impression, for it was remembered that in the Supplementto the 'Siecle de Louis XIV' it was stated that Chamillart had said that"the Iron Mask was a man who knew all the secrets of M. Fouquet. " But theexistence of this card was never proved, and we cannot accept the storyon the unsupported word of an anonymous writer. 

From the time that restrictions on the press were removed, hardly a daypassed without the appearance of some new pamphlet on the Iron Mask. Louis Dutens, in 'Correspondence interceptee' (12mo, 1789), revived thetheory of Baron Heiss, supporting it by new and curious facts. He provedthat Louis XIV had really ordered one of the Duke of Mantua's ministersto be carried off and imprisoned in Pignerol. Dutens gave the name of thevictim as Girolamo Magni. He also quoted from a memorandum which by thewish of the Marquis de Castellane was drawn up by a certain Souchon, probably the man whom Papon questioned in 1778. This Souchon was the sonof a man who had belonged to the Free Company maintained in the islandsin the time of Saint-Mars, and was seventy-nine years old. Thismemorandum gives a detailed account of the abduction of a minister in1679, who is styled a "minister of the Empire, " and his arrival as amasked prisoner at the islands, and states that he died there incaptivity nine years after he was carried off. 

Dutens thus divests the episode of the element of the marvellous withwhich Voltaire had surrounded it. He called to his aid the testimony ofthe Duc de Choiseul, who, having in vain attempted to worm the secret ofthe Iron Mask out of Louis XV, begged Madame de Pompadour to try herhand, and was told by her that the prisoner was the minister of anItalian prince. At the same time that Dutens wrote, "There is no fact inhistory better established than the fact that the Man in the Iron Maskwas a minister of the Duke of Mantua who was carried off from Turin, " M. Quentin-Crawfurd was maintaining that the prisoner was a son of Anne ofAustria; while a few years earlier Bouche, a lawyer, in his 'Essai surl'Histoire de Provence' (2 vols. 4to, 1785), had regarded this story as afable invented by Voltaire, and had convinced himself that the prisonerwas a woman. As we see, discussion threw no light on the subject, andinstead of being dissipated, the confusion became ever "worseconfounded. "

In 1790 the 'Memoires du Marechal de Richelieu' appeared. He had lefthis note-books, his library, and his correspondence to Soulavie. The'Memoires' are undoubtedly authentic, and have, if not certainty, atleast a strong moral presumption in their favour, and gained the beliefof men holding diverse opinions. But before placing under the eyes ofour readers extracts from them relating to the Iron Mask, let us refreshour memory by recalling two theories which had not stood the test ofthorough investigation. 

According to some MS. Notes left by M. De Bonac, French ambassador atConstantinople in 1724, the Armenian Patriarch Arwedicks, a mortal enemyof our Church and the instigator of the terrible persecutions to whichthe Roman Catholics were subjected, was carried off into exile at therequest of the Jesuits by a French vessel, and confined in a prisonwhence there was no escape. This prison was the fortress ofSainte-Marguerite, and from there he was taken to the Bastille, where hedied. The Turkish Government continually clamoured for his release till1723, but the French Government persistently denied having taken any partin the abduction. 

Even if it were not a matter of history that Arwedicks went over to theRoman Catholic Church and died a free man in Paris, as may be seen by aninspection of the certificate of his death preserved among the archivesin the Foreign Office, one sentence from the note-book of M. De Bonacwould be sufficient to annihilate this theory. M. De Bonac says that thePatriarch was carried off, while M. De Feriol, who succeeded M. DeChateauneuf in 1699, was ambassador at Constantinople. Now it was in1698 that Saint-Mars arrived at the Bastille with his masked prisoner. 

Several English scholars have sided with Gibbon in thinking that the Manin the Iron Mask might possibly have been Henry, the second son of OliverCromwell, who was held as a hostage by Louis XIV. 

By an odd coincidence the second son of the Lord Protector does entirelydisappear from the page of history in 1659; we know nothing of where heafterwards lived nor when he died. But why should he be a prisoner ofstate in France, while his elder brother Richard was permitted to livethere quite openly? In the absence of all proof, we cannot attach theleast importance to this explanation of the mystery. 

We now come to the promised extracts from the 'Memoires du Marechal deRichelieu':

"Under the late king there was a time when every class of society wasasking who the famous personage really was who went by the name of theIron Mask, but I noticed that this curiosity abated somewhat after hisarrival at the Bastille with Saint-Mars, when it began to be reportedthat orders had been given to kill him should he let his name be known. Saint-Mars also let it be understood that whoever found out the secretwould share the same fate. This threat to murder both the prisoner andthose who showed too much curiosity about him made such an impression, that during the lifetime of the late king people only spoke of themystery below their breath. The anonymous author of 'Les Memoires dePerse', which were published in Holland fifteen years after the death ofLouis XIV, was the first who dared to speak publicly of the prisoner andrelate some anecdotes about him. 

"Since the publication of that work, liberty of speech and the freedom ofthe press have made great strides, and the shade of Louis XIV having lostits terrors, the case of the Iron Mask is freely discussed, and yet evennow, at the end of my life and seventy years after the death of the king, people are still asking who the Man in the Iron Mask really was. 

"This question was one I put to the adorable princess, beloved of theregent, who inspired in return only aversion and respect, all her lovebeing given to me. As everyone was persuaded that the regent knew thename, the course of life, and the cause of the imprisonment of the maskedprisoner, I, being more venturesome in my curiosity than others, triedthrough my princess to fathom the secret. She had hitherto constantlyrepulsed the advances of the Duc d' Orleans, but as the ardour of hispassion was thereby in no wise abated, the least glimpse of hope would besufficient to induce him to grant her everything she asked; I persuadedher, therefore, to let him understand that if he would allow her to readthe 'Memoires du Masque' which were in his possession his dearest desireswould be fulfilled. 

"The Duc d'Orleans had never been known to reveal any secret of state, being unspeakably circumspect, and having been trained to keep everyconfidence inviolable by his preceptor Dubois, so I felt quite certainthat even the princess would fail in her efforts to get a sight of thememoranda in his possession relative to the birth and rank of the maskedprisoner; but what cannot love, and such an ardent love, induce a man todo?

"To reward her goodness the regent gave the documents into her hands, andshe forwarded them to me next day, enclosed in a note written in cipher, which, according to the laws of historical writing, I reproduce in itsentirety, vouching for its authenticity; for the princess always employeda cipher when she used the language of gallantry, and this note told mewhat treaty she had had to sign in order that she might obtain thedocuments, and the duke the desire of his heart. The details are notadmissible in serious history, but, borrowing the modest language of thepatriarchal time, I may say that if Jacob, before he obtained possessionof the best beloved of Laban's daughters, was obliged to pay the pricetwice over, the regent drove a better bargain than the patriarch. Thenote and the memorandum were as follows:"'2. 1. 17. 12. 9. 2. 20. 2. 1. 7. 1420. 10. 3. 21. 1. 11. 14. 1. 15. 16. 12. 17. 14. 2. 1. 21. 11. 20. 17. 12. 9. 14. 9. 2. 8. 20. 5. 20. 2. 2. 17. 8. 1. 2. 20. 9. 21. 21. 1. 5. 12. 17. 15. 00. 14. 1. 15. 14. 12. 9. 21. 5. 12. 9. 21. 16. 20. 14. 8. 3. 

"'NARRATIVE OF THE BIRTH AND EDUCATION OF THE UNFORTUNATE PRINCE WHO WASSEPARATED FROM THE WORLD BY CARDINALS RICHELIEU AND MAZARIN ANDIMPRISONED BY ORDER OF LOUIS XIV. 

"'Drawn up by the Governor of this Prince on his deathbed. 

"'The unfortunate prince whom I brought up and had in charge till almostthe end of my life was born on the 5th September 1638 at 8. 30 o'clock inthe evening, while the king was at supper. His brother, who is now onthe throne, was born at noon while the king was at dinner, but whereashis birth was splendid and public, that of his brother was sad andsecret; for the king being informed by the midwife that the queen wasabout to give birth to a second child, ordered the chancellor, themidwife, the chief almoner, the queen's confessor, and myself to stay inher room to be witnesses of whatever happened, and of his course ofaction should a second child be born. 

"'For a long time already it had been foretold to the king that his wifewould give birth to two sons, and some days before, certain shepherds hadarrived in Paris, saying they were divinely inspired, so that it was saidin Paris that if two dauphins were born it would be the greatestmisfortune which could happen to the State. The Archbishop of Parissummoned these soothsayers before him, and ordered them to be imprisonedin Saint-Lazare, because the populace was becoming excited about them--acircumstance which filled the king with care, as he foresaw much troubleto his kingdom. What had been predicted by the soothsayers happened, whether they had really been warned by the constellations, or whetherProvidence by whom His Majesty had been warned of the calamities whichmight happen to France interposed. The king had sent a messenger to thecardinal to tell him of this prophecy, and the cardinal had replied thatthe matter, must be considered, that the birth of two dauphins was notimpossible, and should such a case arrive, the second must be carefullyhidden away, lest in the future desiring to be king he should fightagainst his brother in support of a new branch of the royal house, andcome at last to reign. 

"'The king in his suspense felt very uncomfortable, and as the queenbegan to utter cries we feared a second confinement. We sent to informthe king, who was almost overcome by the thought that he was about tobecome the father of two dauphins. He said to the Bishop of Meaux, whomhe had sent for to minister to the queen, "Do not quit my wife till sheis safe; I am in mortal terror. " Immediately after he summoned us all, the Bishop of Meaux, the chancellor M. Honorat, Dame Peronete themidwife, and myself, and said to us in presence of the queen, so that shecould hear, that we would answer to him with our heads if we made knownthe birth of a second dauphin; that it was his will that the fact shouldremain a state secret, to prevent the misfortunes which would elsehappen, the Salic Law not having declared to whom the inheritance of thekingdom should come in case two eldest sons were born to any of thekings. 

"'What had been foretold happened: the queen, while the king was atsupper, gave birth to a second dauphin, more dainty and more beautifulthan the first, but who wept and wailed unceasingly, as if he regrettedto take up that life in which he was afterwards to endure such suffering. The chancellor drew up the report of this wonderful birth, withoutparallel in our history; but His Majesty not being pleased with its form, burned it in our presence, and the chancellor had to write and rewritetill His Majesty was satisfied. The almoner remonstrated, saying it wouldbe impossible to hide the birth of a prince, but the king returned thathe had reasons of state for all he did. 

"'Afterwards the king made us register our oath, the chancellor signingit first, then the queen's confessor, and I last. The oath was alsosigned by the surgeon and midwife who attended on the. Queen, and theking attached this document to the report, taking both away with him, andI never heard any more of either. I remember that His Majesty consultedwith the chancellor as to the form of the oath, and that he spoke for along time in an undertone to the cardinal: after which the last-bornchild was given into the charge of the midwife, and as they were alwaysafraid she would babble about his birth, she has told me that they oftenthreatened her with death should she ever mention it: we were alsoforbidden to speak, even to each other, of the child whose birth we hadwitnessed. 

"'Not one of us has as yet violated his oath; for His Majesty dreadednothing so much as a civil war brought about by the two children borntogether, and the cardinal, who afterwards got the care of the secondchild into his hands, kept that fear alive. The king also commanded usto examine the unfortunate prince minutely; he had a wart above the leftelbow, a mole on the right side of his neck, and a tiny wart on his rightthigh; for His Majesty was determined, and rightly so, that in case ofthe decease of the first-born, the royal infant whom he was entrusting toour care should take his place; wherefore he required our signmanual tothe report of the birth, to which a small royal seal was attached in ourpresence, and we all signed it after His Majesty, according as hecommanded. As to the shepherds who had foretold the double birth, neverdid I hear another word of them, but neither did I inquire. The cardinalwho took the mysterious infant in charge probably got them out of thecountry. 

"'All through the infancy of the second prince Dame Peronete treated himas if he were her own child, giving out that his father was a greatnobleman; for everyone saw by the care she lavished on him and theexpense she went to, that although unacknowledged he was the cherishedson of rich parents, and well cared for. 

"'When the prince began to grow up, Cardinal Mazarin, who succeededCardinal Richelieu in the charge of the prince's education, gave him intomy hands to bring up in a manner worthy of a king's son, but in secret. Dame Peronete continued in his service till her death, and was very muchattached to him, and he still more to her. The prince was instructed inmy house in Burgundy, with all the care due to the son and brother of aking. 

"'I had several conversations with the queen mother during the troublesin France, and Her Majesty always seemed to fear that if the existence ofthe prince should be discovered during the lifetime of his brother, theyoung king, malcontents would make it a pretext for rebellion, becausemany medical men hold that the last-born of twins is in reality theelder, and if so, he was king by right, while many others have adifferent opinion. 

"'In spite of this dread, the queen could never bring herself to destroythe written evidence of his birth, because in case of the death of theyoung king she intended to have his twin-brother proclaimed. She told meoften that the written proofs were in her strong box. 

"'I gave the ill-starred prince such an education as I should have likedto receive myself, and no acknowledged son of a king ever had a better. The only thing for which I have to reproach myself is that, withoutintending it, I caused him great unhappiness; for when he was nineteenyears old he had a burning desire to know who he was, and as he saw thatI was determined to be silent, growing more firm the more he tormented mewith questions, he made up his mind henceforward to disguise hiscuriosity and to make me think that he believed himself a love-child ofmy own. He began to call me 'father, ' although when we were alone Ioften assured him that he was mistaken; but at length I gave up combatingthis belief, which he perhaps only feigned to make me speak, and allowedhim to think he was my son, contradicting him no more; but while hecontinued to dwell on this subject he was meantime making every effort tofind out who he really was. Two years passed thus, when, through anunfortunate piece of forgetfulness on my part, for which I greatly blamemyself, he became acquainted with the truth. He knew that the king hadlately sent me several messengers, and once having carelessly forgottento lock up a casket containing letters from the queen and the cardinals, he read part and divined the rest through his natural intelligence; andlater confessed to me that he had carried off the letter which told mostexplicitly of his birth. 

"'I can recall that from this time on, his manner to me showed no longerthat respect for me in which I had brought him up, but became hectoringand rude, and that I could not imagine the reason of the change, for Inever found out that he had searched my papers, and he never revealed tome how he got at the casket, whether he was aided by some workmen whom hedid not wish to betray, or had employed other means, "'One day, however, he unguardedly asked me to show him the portraits ofthe late and the present king. I answered that those that existed wereso poor that I was waiting till better ones were taken before having themin my house. 

"'This answer, which did not satisfy him, called forth the request to beallowed to go to Dijon. I found out afterwards that he wanted to see aportrait of the king which was there, and to get to the court, which wasjust then at Saint-Jean-de-Luz, because of the approaching marriage withthe infanta; so that he might compare himself with his brother and see ifthere were any resemblance between them. Having knowledge of his plan, Inever let him out of my sight. 

"'The young prince was at this time as beautiful as Cupid, and throughthe intervention of Cupid himself he succeeded in getting hold of aportrait of his brother. One of the upper servants of the house, a younggirl, had taken his fancy, and he lavished such caresses on her andinspired her with so much love, that although the whole household wasstrictly forbidden to give him anything without my permission, sheprocured him a portrait of the king. The unhappy prince saw the likenessat once, indeed no one could help seeing it, for the one portrait wouldserve equally well for either brother, and the sight produced such a fitof fury that he came to me crying out, "There is my brother, and thistells me who I am!" holding out a letter from Cardinal Mazarin which hehad stolen from me, and making a great commotion in my house. 

"'The dread lest the prince should escape and succeed in appearing at themarriage of his brother made me so uneasy, that I sent off a messenger tothe king to tell him that my casket had been opened, and asking forinstructions. The king sent back word through the cardinal that we wereboth to be shut up till further orders, and that the prince was to bemade to understand that the cause of our common misfortune was his absurdclaim. I have since shared his prison, but I believe that a decree ofrelease has arrived from my heavenly judge, and for my soul's health andfor my ward's sake I make this declaration, that he may know whatmeasures to take in order to put an end to his ignominious estate shouldthe king die without children. Can any oath imposed under threats obligeone to be silent about such incredible events, which it is neverthelessnecessary that posterity should know?'"

Such were the contents of the historical document given by the regent tothe princess, and it suggests a crowd of questions. Who was the prince'sgovernor? Was he a Burgundian? Was he simply a landed proprietor, withsome property and a country house in Burgundy? How far was his estatefrom Dijon? He must have been a man of note, for he enjoyed the mostintimate confidence at the court of Louis XIII, either by virtue of hisoffice or because he was a favourite of the king, the queen, and CardinalRichelieu. Can we learn from the list of the nobles of Burgundy whatmember of their body disappeared from public life along with a young wardwhom he had brought up in his own house just after the marriage of LouisXIV? Why did he not attach his signature to the declaration, whichappears to be a hundred years old? Did he dictate it when so near deaththat he had not strength to sign it? How did it find its way out ofprison? And so forth. 

There is no answer to all these questions, and I, for my part, cannotundertake to affirm that the document is genuine. Abbe Soulavie relatesthat he one day "pressed the marshal for an answer to some questions onthe matter, asking, amongst other things, if it were not true that theprisoner was an elder brother of Louis XIV born without the knowledge ofLouis XIII. The marshal appeared very much embarrassed, and although hedid not entirely refuse to answer, what he said was not very explanatory. He averred that this important personage was neither the illegitimatebrother of Louis XIV, nor the Duke of Monmouth, nor the Comte deVermandois, nor the Duc de Beaufort, and so on, as so many writers hadasserted. " He called all their writings mere inventions, but added thatalmost every one of them had got hold of some true incidents, as forinstance the order to kill the prisoner should he make himself known. Finally he acknowledged that he knew the state secret, and used thefollowing words: "All that I can tell you, abbe, is, that when theprisoner died at the beginning of the century, at a very advanced age, hehad ceased to be of such importance as when, at the beginning of hisreign, Louis XIV shut him up for weighty reasons of state. "

The above was written down under the eyes of the marshal, and when AbbeSoulavie entreated him to say something further which, while not actuallyrevealing the secret, would yet satisfy his questioner's curiosity, themarshal answered, "Read M. De Voltaire's latest writings on the subject, especially his concluding words, and reflect on them. "

With the exception of Dulaure, all the critics have treated Soulavie'snarrative with the most profound contempt, and we must confess that if itwas an invention it was a monstrous one, and that the concoction of thefamous note in cipher was abominable. "Such was the great secret; inorder to find it out, I had to allow myself 5, 12, 17, 15, 14, 1, threetimes by 8, 3. " But unfortunately for those who would defend the moralsof Mademoiselle de Valois, it would be difficult to traduce the characterof herself, her lover, and her father, for what one knows of the triojustifies one in believing that the more infamous the conduct imputed tothem, the more likely it is to be true. We cannot see the force of theobjection that Louvois would not have written in the following terms toSaint-Mars in 1687 about a bastard son of Anne of Austria: "I see noobjection to your removing Chevalier de Thezut from the prison in whichhe is confined, and putting your prisoner there till the one you arepreparing for him is ready to receive him. " And we cannot understandthose who ask if Saint-Mars, following the example of the minister, wouldhave said of a prince "Until he is installed in the prison which is beingprepared for him here, which has a chapel adjoining"? Why should he haveexpressed himself otherwise? Does it evidence an abatement ofconsideration to call a prisoner a prisoner, and his prison a prison?

A certain M. De Saint-Mihiel published an 8vo volume in 1791, atStrasbourg and Paris, entitled 'Le veritable homme, dit au MASQUE DE FER, ouvrage dans lequel on fait connaitre, sur preuves incontestables, a quile celebre infortune dut le jour, quand et ou il naquit'. The wording ofthe title will give an idea of the bizarre and barbarous jargon in whichthe whole book is written. It would be difficult to imagine the vanityand self-satisfaction which inspire this new reader of riddles. If hehad found the philosopher's stone, or made a discovery which wouldtransform the world, he could not exhibit more pride and pleasure. Allthings considered, the "incontestable proofs" of his theory do not decidethe question definitely, or place it above all attempts at refutation, any more than does the evidence on which the other theories whichpreceded and followed his rest. But what he lacks before all otherthings is the talent for arranging and using his materials. With themost ordinary skill he might have evolved a theory which would havedefied criticism at least as successfully, as the others, and he mighthave supported it by proofs, which if not incontestable (for no one hasproduced such), had at least moral presumption in their favour, which hasgreat weight in such a mysterious and obscure affair, in trying toexplain, which one can never leave on one side, the respect shown byLouvois to the prisoner, to whom he always spoke standing and withuncovered head. 

According to M. De Saint-Mihiel, the 'Man in the Iron Mask was alegitimate son of Anne of Austria and Mazarin'. 

He avers that Mazarin was only a deacon, and not a priest, when he becamecardinal, having never taken priest's orders, according to the testimonyof the Princess Palatine, consort of Philip I, Duc d'Orleans, and that itwas therefore possible for him to marry, and that he did marry, Anne ofAustria in secret. 

"Old Madame Beauvais, principal woman of the bed-chamber to the queenmother, knew of this ridiculous marriage, and as the price of her secrecyobliged the queen to comply with all her whims. To this circumstance theprincipal bed-chamber women owe the extensive privileges accorded themever since in this country" (Letter of the Duchesse d'Orleans, 13thSeptember 1713). 

"The queen mother, consort of Louis XIII, had done worse than simply tofall in love with Mazarin, she had married him, for he had never been anordained priest, he had only taken deacon's orders. If he had been apriest his marriage would have been impossible. He grew terribly tiredof the good queen mother, and did not live happily with her, which wasonly what he deserved for making such a marriage" (Letter of the Duchessed'Orleans, 2nd November 1717). 

"She (the queen mother) was quite easy in her conscience about CardinalMazarin; he was not in priest's orders, and so could marry. The secretpassage by which he reached the queen's rooms every evening still existsin the Palais Royal" (Letter of the Duchesse d'Orleans, 2nd July 1719)

"The queen's, manner of conducting affairs is influenced by the passionwhich dominates her. When she and the cardinal converse together, theirardent love for each other is betrayed by their looks and gestures; it isplain to see that when obliged to part for a time they do it with greatreluctance. If what people say is true, that they are properly married, and that their union has been blessed by Pere Vincent the missioner, there is no harm in all that goes on between them, either in public or inprivate" ('Requete civile contre la Conclusion de la Paix, 1649). 

The Man in the Iron Mask told the apothecary in the Bastille that hethought he was about sixty years of age ('Questions sur d'Encyclopedie'). Thus he must have been born in 1644, just at the time when Anne ofAustria was invested with the royal power, though it was really exercisedby Mazarin. 

Can we find any incident recorded in history which lends support to thesupposition that Anne of Austria had a son whose birth was kept as secretas her marriage to Mazarin?

"In 1644, Anne of Austria being dissatisfied with her apartments in theLouvre, moved to the Palais Royal, which had been left to the king byRichelieu. Shortly after taking up residence there she was very ill witha severe attack of jaundice, which was caused, in the opinion of thedoctors, by worry, anxiety, and overwork, and which pulled her downgreatly" ('Memoire de Madame de Motteville, 4 vols. 12mo, Vol i. P. 194). 

"This anxiety, caused by the pressure of public business, was mostprobably only dwelt on as a pretext for a pretended attack of illness. Anne of Austria had no cause for worry and anxiety till 1649. She didnot begin to complain of the despotism of Mazarin till towards the end of1645" (Ibid. , viol. I. Pp. 272, 273). 

"She went frequently to the theatre during her first year of widowhood, but took care to hide herself from view in her box. " (Ibid. , vol. I. P. 342). 

Abbe Soulavie, in vol. Vi. Of the 'Memoires de Richelieu', published in1793, controverted the opinions of M. De Saint-Mihiel, and again advancedthose which he had published some time before, supporting them by a newarray of reasons. 

The fruitlessness of research in the archives of the Bastille, and theimportance of the political events which were happening, diverted theattention of the public for some years from this subject. In the year1800, however, the 'Magazin encyclopedique' published (vol. Vi. P. 472)an article entitled 'Memoires sur les Problemes historiques, et lamethode de les resoudre appliquee a celui qui concerne l'Homme au Masquede Fer', signed C. D. O. , in which the author maintained that theprisoner was the first minister of the Duke of Mantua, and says his namewas Girolamo Magni. 

In the same year an octavo volume of 142 pages was produced by M. Roux-Fazillac. It bore the title 'Recherches historiques et critiquessur l'Homme au Masque de Fer, d'ou resultent des Notions certaines sur ceprisonnier'. These researches brought to light a secret correspondencerelative to certain negotiations and intrigues, and to the abduction of asecretary of the Duke of Mantua whose name was Matthioli, and notGirolamo Magni. 

In 1802 an octavo pamphlet containing 11 pages, of which the author wasperhaps Baron Lerviere, but which was signed Reth, was published. It tookthe form of a letter to General Jourdan, and was dated from Turin, andgave many details about Matthioli and his family. It was entitled'Veritable Clef de l'Histoire de l'Homme au Masque de Fer'. It provedthat the secretary of the Duke of Mantua was carried off, masked, andimprisoned, by order of Louis XIV in 1679, but it did not succeed inestablishing as an undoubted fact that the secretary and the Man in theIron Mask were one and the same person. 

It may be remembered that M. Crawfurd writing in 1798 had said in his'Histoire de la Bastille' (8vo, 474 pages), "I cannot doubt that the Manin the Iron Mask was the son of Anne of Austria, but am unable to decidewhether he was a twin-brother of Louis XIV or was born while the king andqueen lived apart, or during her widowhood. " M. Crawfurd, in his'Melanges d'Histoire et de Litterature tires dun Portefeuille' (quarto1809, octavo 1817), demolished the theory advanced by Roux-Fazillac. 

In 1825, M. Delort discovered in the archives several letters relating toMatthioli, and published his Histoire de l'Homme au Masque de Fer (8vo). This work was translated into English by George Agar-Ellis, andretranslated into French in 1830, under the title 'Histoire authentiquedu Prisonnier d'Etat, connu sons le Nom de Masque de Fer'. It is in thiswork that the suggestion is made that the captive was the second son ofOliver Cromwell. 

In 1826, M. De Taules wrote that, in his opinion, the masked prisoner wasnone other than the Armenian Patriarch. But six years later the greatsuccess of my drama at the Odeon converted nearly everyone to the versionof which Soulavie was the chief exponent. The bibliophile Jacob ismistaken in asserting that I followed a tradition preserved in the familyof the Duc de Choiseul; M. Le Duc de Bassano sent me a copy made underhis personal supervision of a document drawn up for Napoleon, containingthe results of some researches made by his orders on the subject of theMan in the Iron Mask. The original MS. , as well as that of the Memoiresdu Duc de Richelieu, were, the duke told me, kept at the Foreign Office. In 1834 the journal of the Institut historique published a letter from M. Auguste Billiard, who stated that he had also made a copy of thisdocument for the late Comte de Montalivet, Home Secretary under theEmpire. 

M. Dufey (de l'Yonne) gave his 'Histoire de la Bastille' to the world inthe same year, and was inclined to believe that the prisoner was a son ofBuckingham. 

Besides the many important personages on whom the famous mask had beenplaced, there was one whom everyone had forgotten, although his name hadbeen put forward by the minister Chamillart: this was the celebratedSuperintendent of Finance, Nicolas Fouquet. In 1837, Jacob, armed withdocuments and extracts, once more occupied himself with this Chinesepuzzle on which so much ingenuity had been lavished, but of which no onehad as yet got all the pieces into their places. Let us see if hesucceeded better than his forerunners. 

The first feeling he awakes is one of surprise. It seems odd that heshould again bring up the case of Fouquet, who was condemned toimprisonment for life in 1664, confined in Pignerol under the care ofSaint-Mars, and whose death was announced (falsely according to Jacob) onMarch 23rd, 1680. The first thing to look for in trying to get at thetrue history of the Mask is a sufficient reason of state to account forthe persistent concealment of the prisoner's features till his death; andnext, an explanation of the respect shown him by Louvois, whose attitudetowards him would have been extraordinary in any age, but was doubly soduring the reign of Louis XIV, whose courtiers would have been the lastpersons in the world to render homage to the misfortunes of a man indisgrace with their master. Whatever the real motive of the king's angeragainst Fouquet may have been, whether Louis thought he arrogated tohimself too much power, or aspired to rival his master in the hearts ofsome of the king's mistresses, or even presumed to raise his eyes higherstill, was not the utter ruin, the lifelong captivity, of his enemyenough to satiate the vengeance of the king? What could he desire more?Why should his anger, which seemed slaked in 1664, burst forth intohotter flames seventeen years later, and lead him to inflict a newpunishment? According to the bibliophile, the king being wearied by thecontinual petitions for pardon addressed to him by the superintendent'sfamily, ordered them to be told that he was dead, to rid himself of theirsupplications. Colbert's hatred, says he, was the immediate cause ofFouquet's fall; but even if this hatred hastened the catastrophe, are weto suppose that it pursued the delinquent beyond the sentence, throughthe long years of captivity, and, renewing its energy, infected the mindsof the king and his councillors? If that were so, how shall we explainthe respect shown by Louvois? Colbert would not have stood uncoveredbefore Fouquet in prison. Why should Colbert's colleague have done so?

It must, however, be confessed that of all existing theories, this one, thanks to the unlimited learning and research of the bibliophile, has thegreatest number of documents with the various interpretations thereof, the greatest profusion of dates, on its side. 

For it is certain--

1st, that the precautions taken when Fouquet was sent to Pignerolresembled in every respect those employed later by the custodians of theIron Mask, both at the Iles Sainte-Marguerite and at the Bastille;

2nd, that the majority of the traditions relative to the masked prisonermight apply to Fouquet;

3rd, that the Iron Mask was first heard of immediately after theannouncement of the death of Fouquet in 1680;

4th, that there exists no irrefragable proof that Fouquet's death reallyoccurred in the above year. 

The decree of the Court of justice, dated 20th December 1664, banishedFouquet from the kingdom for life. "But the king was of the opinion thatit would be dangerous to let the said Fouquet leave the country, inconsideration of his intimate knowledge of the most important matters ofstate. Consequently the sentence of perpetual banishment was commutedinto that of perpetual imprisonment. " ('Receuil des defenses de M. Fouquet'). The instructions signed by the king and remitted toSaint-Mars forbid him to permit Fouquet to hold any spoken or writtencommunication with anyone whatsoever, or to leave his apartments for anycause, not even for exercise. The great mistrust felt by Louvoispervades all his letters to Saint-Mars. The precautions which he orderedto be kept up were quite as stringent as in the case of the Iron Mask. 

The report of the discovery of a shirt covered with writing, by a friar, which Abbe Papon mentions, may perhaps be traced to the followingextracts from two letters written by Louvois to Saint-Mars: "Your letterhas come to hand with the new handkerchief on which M. Fouquet haswritten" (18th Dec. 1665 ); "You can tell him that if he continues tooemploy his table-linen as note-paper he must not be surprised if yourefuse to supply him with any more" ( 21st Nov. 1667). 

Pere Papon asserts that a valet who served the masked prisoner died inhis master's room. Now the man who waited on Fouquet, and who like himwas sentenced to lifelong imprisonment, died in February 1680 (see letterof Louvois to Saint-Mars, 12th March 1680). Echoes of incidents whichtook place at Pignerol might have reached the Iles Sainte-Marguerite whenSaint-Mars transferred his "former prisoner" from one fortress to theother. The fine clothes and linen, the books, all those luxuries in factthat were lavished on the masked prisoner, were not withheld fromFouquet. The furniture of a second room at Pignerol cost over 1200livres (see letters of Louvois, 12th Dec. 1665, and 22nd Feb, 1666). 

It is also known that until the year 1680 Saint-Mars had only twoimportant prisoners at Pignerol, Fouquet and Lauzun. However, his"former prisoner of Pignerol, " according to Du Junca's diary, must havereached the latter fortress before the end of August 1681, whenSaint-Mars went to Exilles as governor. So that it was in the intervalbetween the 23rd March 1680, the alleged date of Fouquet's death, and the1st September 1681, that the Iron Mask appeared at Pignerol, and yetSaint-Mars took only two prisoners to Exilles. One of these was probablythe Man in the Iron Mask; the other, who must have been Matthioli, diedbefore the year 1687, for when Saint-Mars took over the governorship inthe month of January of that year of the Iles Sainte-Marguerite hebrought only ONE prisoner thither with him. "I have taken such goodmeasures to guard my prisoner that I can answer to you for his safety"('Lettres de Saint-Mars a Louvois', 20th January 1687). 

In the correspondence of Louvois with Saint-Mars we find, it is true, mention of the death of Fouquet on March 23rd, 1680, but in his latercorrespondence Louvois never says "the late M. Fouquet, " but speaks ofhim, as usual, as "M. Fouquet" simply. Most historians have given as afact that Fouquet was interred in the same vault as his father in thechapel of Saint-Francois de Sales in the convent church belonging to theSisters of the Order of the Visitation-Sainte-Marie, founded in thebeginning of the seventeenth century by Madame de Chantal. But proof tothe contrary exists; for the subterranean portion of St. Francis's chapelwas closed in 1786, the last person interred there being AdelaideFelicite Brulard, with whom ended the house of Sillery. The convent wasshut up in 1790, and the church given over to the Protestants in 1802;who continued to respect the tombs. In 1836 the Cathedral chapter ofBourges claimed the remains of one of their archbishops buried there inthe time of the Sisters of Sainte-Marie. On this occasion all thecoffins were examined and all the inscriptions carefully copied, but thename of Nicolas Fouquet is absent. 

Voltaire says in his 'Dictionnaire philosophique', article "Ana, " "It ismost remarkable that no one knows where the celebrated Fouquet wasburied. "

But in spite of all these coincidences, this carefully constructed theorywas wrecked on the same point on which the theory that the prisoner waseither the Duke of Monmouth or the Comte de Vermandois came to grief, viz. A letter from Barbezieux, dated 13th August 1691, in which occurthe words, "THE PRISONER WHOM YOU HAVE HAD IN CHARGE FOR TWENTY YEARS. "According to this testimony, which Jacob had successfully used againsthis predecessors, the prisoner referred to could not have been Fouquet, who completed his twenty-seventh year of captivity in 1691, if stillalive. 

We have now impartially set before our readers all the opinions whichhave been held in regard to the solution of this formidable enigma. Forourselves, we hold the belief that the Man in the Iron Mask stood on thesteps of the throne. Although the mystery cannot be said to bedefinitely cleared up, one thing stands out firmly established among themass of conjecture we have collected together, and that is, that whereverthe prisoner appeared he was ordered to wear a mask on pain of death. His features, therefore, might during half a century have brought abouthis recognition from one end of France to the other; consequently, duringthe same space of time there existed in France a face resembling theprisoner's known through all her provinces, even to her most secludedisle. 

Whose face could this be, if not that of Louis XVI, twin-brother of theMan in the Iron Mask?

To nullify this simple and natural conclusion strong evidence will berequired. 

Our task has been limited to that of an examining judge at a trial, andwe feel sure that our readers will not be sorry that we have left them tochoose amid all the conflicting explanations of the puzzle. No consistentnarrative that we might have concocted would, it seems to us, have beenhalf as interesting to them as to allow them to follow the devious pathsopened up by those who entered on the search for the heart of themystery. Everything connected with the masked prisoner arouses the mostvivid curiosity. And what end had we in view? Was it not to denounce acrime and to brand the perpetrator thereof? The facts as they stand aresufficient for our object, and speak more eloquently than if used toadorn a tale or to prove an ingenious theory. 

MARTIN GUERRE

We are sometimes astonished at the striking resemblance existing betweentwo persons who are absolute strangers to each other, but in fact it isthe opposite which ought to surprise us. Indeed, why should we notrather admire a Creative Power so infinite in its variety that it neverceases to produce entirely different combinations with precisely the sameelements? The more one considers this prodigious versatility of form, the more overwhelming it appears. 

To begin with, each nation has its own distinct and characteristic type, separating it from other races of men. Thus there are the English, Spanish, German, or Slavonic types; again, in each nation we findfamilies distinguished from each other by less general but stillwell-pronounced features; and lastly, the individuals of each family, differing again in more or less marked gradations. What a multitude ofphysiognomies! What variety of impression from the innumerable stamps ofthe human countenance! What millions of models and no copies!Considering this ever changing spectacle, which ought to inspire us withmost astonishment--the perpetual difference of faces or the accidentalresemblance of a few individuals? Is it impossible that in the wholewide world there should be found by chance two people whose features arecast in one and the same mould? Certainly not; therefore that whichought to surprise us is not that these duplicates exist here and thereupon the earth, but that they are to be met with in the same place, andappear together before our eyes, little accustomed to see suchresemblances. From Amphitryon down to our own days, many fables haveowed their origin to this fact, and history also has provided a fewexamples, such as the false Demetrius in Russia, the English PerkinWarbeck, and several other celebrated impostors, whilst the story we nowpresent to our readers is no less curious and strange. 

On the 10th of, August 1557, an inauspicious day in the history ofFrance, the roar of cannon was still heard at six in the evening in theplains of St. Quentin; where the French army had just been destroyed bythe united troops of England and Spain, commanded by the famous CaptainEmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy. An utterly beaten infantry, theConstable Montmorency and several generals taken prisoner, the Duked'Enghien mortally wounded, the flower of the nobility cut down likegrass, --such were the terrible results of a battle which plunged Franceinto mourning, and which would have been a blot on the reign of Henry II, had not the Duke of Guise obtained a brilliant revenge the followingyear. 

In a little village less than a mile from the field of battle were to beheard the groans of the wounded and dying, who had been carried thitherfrom the field of battle. The inhabitants had given up their houses tobe used as hospitals, and two or three barber surgeons went hither andthither, hastily ordering operations which they left to their assistants, and driving out fugitives who had contrived to accompany the woundedunder pretence of assisting friends or near relations. They had alreadyexpelled a good number of these poor fellows, when, opening the door of asmall room, they found a soldier soaked in blood lying on a rough mat, and another soldier apparently attending on him with the utmost care. 

"Who are you?" said one of the surgeons to the sufferer. "I don't thinkyou belong to our French troops. "

"Help!" cried the soldier, "only help me! and may God bless you for it!"

"From the colour of that tunic, " remarked the other surgeon, "I shouldwager the rascal belongs to some Spanish gentleman. By what blunder washe brought here?"

"For pity's sake!" murmured the poor fellow, "I am in such pain. "

"Die, wretch!" responded the last speaker, pushing him with his foot. "Die, like the dog you are!"

But this brutality, answered as it was by an agonised groan, disgustedthe other surgeon. 

"After all, he is a man, and a wounded man who implores help. Leave himto me, Rene. "

Rene went out grumbling, and the one who remained proceeded to examinethe wound. A terrible arquebus-shot had passed through the leg, shattering the bone: amputation was absolutely necessary. 

Before proceeding to the operation, the surgeon turned to the othersoldier, who had retired into the darkest corner of the room. 

"And you, who may you be?" he asked. 

The man replied by coming forward into the light: no other answer wasneeded. He resembled his companion so closely that no one could doubtthey were brothers-twin brothers, probably. Both were above middleheight; both had olive-brown complexions, black eyes, hooked noses, pointed chins, a slightly projecting lower lip; both wereround-shouldered, though this defect did not amount to disfigurement: thewhole personality suggested strength, and was not destitute of masculinebeauty. So strong a likeness is hardly ever seen; even their agesappeared to agree, for one would not have supposed either to be more thanthirty-two; and the only difference noticeable, besides the palecountenance of the wounded man, was that he was thin as compared with themoderate fleshiness of the other, also that he had a large scar over theright eyebrow. 

"Look well after your brother's soul, " said the surgeon to the soldier, who remained standing; "if it is in no better case than his body, it ismuch to be pitied. "

"Is there no hope?" inquired the Sosia of the wounded man. 

"The wound is too large and too deep, " replied the man of science, "to becauterised with boiling oil, according to the ancient method. 'Delendaest causa mali, ' the source of evil must be destroyed, as says thelearned Ambrose Pare; I ought therefore 'secareferro, '--that is to say, take off the leg. May God grant that he survive the operation!"

While seeking his instruments, he looked the supposed brother full in theface, and added--

"But how is it that you are carrying muskets in opposing armies, for Isee that you belong to us, while this poor fellow wears Spanish uniform?"

"Oh, that would be a long story to tell, " replied the soldier, shakinghis head. "As for me, I followed the career which was open to me, andtook service of my own free will under the banner of our lord king, HenryII. This man, whom you rightly suppose to be my brother, was born inBiscay, and became attached to the household of the Cardinal of Burgos, and afterwards to the cardinal's brother, whom he was obliged to followto the war. I recognised him on the battle-field just as he fell; Idragged him out of a heap of dead, and brought him here. "

During his recital this individual's features betrayed considerableagitation, but the surgeon did not heed it. Not finding some necessaryinstruments, "My colleague, " he exclaimed, "must have carried them off. He constantly does this, out of jealousy of my reputation; but I will beeven with him yet! Such splendid instruments! They will almost work ofthemselves, and are capable of imparting some skill even to him, dunce ashe is!. . . I shall be back in an hour or two; he must rest, sleep, havenothing to excite him, nothing to inflame the wound; and when theoperation is well over, we shall see! May the Lord be gracious to him!"

Then he went to the door, leaving the poor wretch to the care of hissupposed brother. 

"My God!" he added, shaking his head, "if he survive, it will be by thehelp of a miracle. "

Scarcely had he left the room, when the unwounded soldier carefullyexamined the features of the wounded one. 

"Yes, " he murmured between his teeth, "they were right in saying that myexact double was to be found in the hostile army . . . . Truly onewould not know us apart! . . . I might be surveying myself in amirror. I did well to look for him in the rear of the Spanish army, and, thanks to the fellow who rolled him over so conveniently with thatarquebus-shot; I was able to escape the dangers of the melee by carryinghim out of it. "

"But that's not all, " he thought, still carefully studying the torturedface of the unhappy sufferer; "it is not enough to have got out of that. I have absolutely nothing in the world, no home, no resources. Beggar bybirth, adventurer by fortune, I have enlisted, and have consumed my pay;I hoped for plunder, and here we are in full flight! What am I to do?Go and drown myself? No, certainly a cannon-ball would be as good asthat. But can't I profit by this chance, and obtain a decent position byturning to my own advantage this curious resemblance, and making some useof this man whom Fate has thrown in my way, and who has but a short timeto live?"

Arguing thus, he bent over the prostrate man with a cynical laugh: onemight have thought he was Satan watching the departure of a soul tooutterly lost to escape him. 

"Alas! alas!" cried the sufferer; "may God have mercy on me! I feel myend is near. "

"Bah! comrade, drive away these dismal thoughts. Your leg painsyou--well they will cut it off! Think only of the other one, and trustin Providence!"

"Water, a drop of water, for Heaven's sake!" The sufferer was in a highfever. The would-be nurse looked round and saw a jug of water, towardswhich the dying man extended a trembling hand. A truly infernal ideaentered his mind. He poured some water into a gourd which hung from hisbelt, held it to the lips of the wounded man, and then withdrew it. 

"Oh! I thirst-that water! . . . For pity's sake, give me some!"

"Yes, but on one condition you must tell me your whole history. "

"Yes . . . But give me water!"

His tormentor allowed him to swallow a mouthful, then overwhelmed himwith questions as to his family, his friends and fortune, and compelledhim to answer by keeping before his eyes the water which alone couldrelieve the fever which devoured him. After this often interruptedinterrogation, the sufferer sank back exhausted, and almost insensible. But, not yet satisfied, his companion conceived the idea of reviving himwith a few drops of brandy, which quickly brought back the fever, andexcited his brain sufficiently to enable him to answer fresh questions. The doses of spirit were doubled several times, at the risk of ending theunhappy man's days then and there: Almost delirious, his head feeling asif on fire, his sufferings gave way to a feverish excitement, which tookhim back to other places and other times: he began to recall the days ofhis youth and the country where he lived. But his tongue was stillfettered by a kind of reserve: his secret thoughts, the private detailsof his past life were not yet told, and it seemed as though he might dieat any moment. Time was passing, night already coming on, and itoccurred to the merciless questioner to profit by the gathering darkness. By a few solemn words he aroused the religious feelings of the sufferer, terrified him by speaking of the punishments of another life and theflames of hell, until to the delirious fancy of the sick man he took theform of a judge who could either deliver him to eternal damnation or openthe gates of heaven to him. At length, overwhelmed by a voice whichresounded in his ear like that of a minister of God, the dying man laidbare his inmost soul before his tormentor, and made his last confessionto him. 

Yet a few moments, and the executioner--he deserves no other name--hangsover his victim, opens his tunic, seizes some papers and a few coins, half draws his dagger, but thinks better of it; then, contemptuouslyspurning the victim, as the other surgeon had done--

"I might kill you, " he says, "but it would be a useless murder; it wouldonly be hastening your last Sigh by an hour or two, and advancing myclaims to your inheritance by the same space of time. "

And he adds mockingly:--

"Farewell, my brother!"

The wounded soldier utters a feeble groan; the adventurer leaves theroom. 

Four months later, a woman sat at the door of a house at one end of thevillage of Artigues, near Rieux, and played with a child about nine orten years of age. Still young, she had the brown complexion of Southernwomen, and her beautiful black hair fell in curls about her face. Herflashing eyes occasionally betrayed hidden passions, concealed, however, beneath an apparent indifference and lassitude, and her wasted formseemed to acknowledge the existence of some secret grief. An observerwould have divined a shattered life, a withered happiness, a soulgrievously wounded. 

Her dress was that of a wealthy peasant; and she wore one of the longgowns with hanging sleeves which were in fashion in the sixteenthcentury. The house in front of which she sat belonged to her, so alsothe immense field which adjoined the garden. Her attention was dividedbetween the play of her son and the orders she was giving to an oldservant, when an exclamation from the child startled her. 

"Mother!" he cried, "mother, there he is!"

She looked where the child pointed, and saw a young boy turning thecorner of the street. 

"Yes, " continued the child, "that is the lad who, when I was playing withthe other boys yesterday, called me all sorts of bad names. "

"What sort of names, my child?"

"There was one I did not understand, but it must have been a very badone, for the other boys all pointed at me, and left me alone. He calledme--and he said it was only what his mother had told him--he called me awicked bastard!"

His mother's face became purple with indignation. "What!" she cried, "they dared! . . . What an insult!"

"What does this bad word mean, mother?" asked the child, half frightenedby her anger. "Is that what they call poor children who have no father?"

His mother folded him in her arms. "Oh!" she continued, "it is aninfamous slander! These people never saw your father, they have onlybeen here six years, and this is the eighth since he went away, but thisis abominable! We were married in that church, we came at once to livein this house, which was my marriage portion, and my poor Martin hasrelations and friends here who will not allow his wife to be insulted--"

"Say rather, his widow, " interrupted a solemn voice. 

"Ah! uncle!" exclaimed the woman, turning towards an old man who had justemerged from the house. 

"Yes, Bertrande, " continued the new-comer, "you must get reconciled tothe idea that my nephew has ceased to exist. I am sure he was not such afool as to have remained all this time without letting us hear from him. He was not the fellow to go off at a tangent, on account of a domesticquarrel which you have never vouchsafed to explain to me, and to retainhis anger during all these eight years! Where did he go? What did hedo? We none of us know, neither you nor I, nor anybody else. He isassuredly dead, and lies in some graveyard far enough from here. May Godhave mercy on his soul!"

Bertrande, weeping, made the sign of the cross, and bowed her head uponher hands. 

"Good-bye, Sanxi, " said the uncle, tapping the child's, ' cheek. Sanxiturned sulkily away. 

There was certainly nothing specially attractive about the uncle: hebelonged to a type which children instinctively dislike, false, crafty, with squinting eyes which continually appeared to contradict his honeyedtongue. 

"Bertrande, " he said, "your boy is like his father before him, and onlyanswers my kindness with rudeness. "

"Forgive him, " answered the mother; "he is very young, and does notunderstand the respect due to his father's uncle. I will teach himbetter things; he will soon learn that he ought to be grateful for thecare you have taken of his little property. "

"No doubt, no doubt, " said the uncle, trying hard to smile. "I will giveyou a good account of it, for I shall only have to reckon with you two infuture. Come, my dear, believe me, your husband is really dead, and youhave sorrowed quite enough for a good-for-nothing fellow. Think no moreof him. "

So saying, he departed, leaving the poor young woman a prey to thesaddest thoughts. 

Bertrande de Rolls, naturally gifted with extreme sensibility, on which acareful education had imposed due restraint, had barely completed hertwelfth year when she was married to Martin Guerre, a boy of about thesame age, such precocious unions being then not uncommon, especially inthe Southern provinces. They were generally settled by considerations offamily interest, assisted by the extremely early development habitual tothe climate. The young couple lived for a long time as brother andsister, and Bertrande, thus early familiar with the idea of domestichappiness, bestowed her whole affection on the youth whom she had beentaught to regard as her life's companion. He was the Alpha and Omega ofher existence; all her love, all her thoughts, were given to him, andwhen their marriage was at length completed, the birth of a son seemedonly another link in the already long existing bond of union. But, asmany wise men have remarked, a uniform happiness, which only attacheswomen more and more, has often upon men a precisely contrary effect, andso it was with Martin Guerre. Of a lively and excitable temperament, hewearied of a yoke which had been imposed so early, and, anxious to seethe world and enjoy some freedom, he one day took advantage of a domesticdifference, in which Bertrande owned herself to have been wrong, and lefthis house and family. He was sought and awaited in vain. Bertrandespent the first month in vainly expecting his return, then she betookherself to prayer; but Heaven appeared deaf to her supplications, thetruant returned not. She wished to go in search of him, but the world iswide, and no single trace remained to guide her. What torture for atender heart! What suffering for a soul thirsting for love! Whatsleepless nights! What restless vigils! Years passed thus; her son wasgrowing up, yet not a word reached her from the man she loved so much. She spoke often of him to the uncomprehending child, she sought todiscover his features in those of her boy, but though she endeavoured toconcentrate her whole affection on her son, she realised that there issuffering which maternal love cannot console, and tears which it cannotdry. Consumed by the strength of the sorrow which ever dwelt in herheart, the poor woman was slowly wasting, worn out by the regrets of thepast, the vain desires of the present, and the dreary prospect of thefuture. And now she had been openly insulted, her feelings as a motherwounded to the quirk; and her husband's uncle, instead of defending andconsoling her, could give only cold counsel and unsympathetic words!

Pierre Guerre, indeed, was simply a thorough egotist. In his youth hehad been charged with usury; no one knew by what means he had becomerich, for the little drapery trade which he called his profession did notappear to be very profitable. 

After his nephew's departure it seemed only natural that he should poseas the family guardian, and he applied himself to the task of increasingthe little income, but without considering himself bound to give anyaccount to Bertrande. So, once persuaded that Martin was no more, he wasapparently not unwilling to prolong a situation so much to his ownadvantage. 

Night was fast coming on; in the dim twilight distant objects becameconfused and indistinct. It was the end of autumn, that melancholyseason which suggests so many gloomy thoughts and recalls so manyblighted hopes. The child had gone into the house. Bertrande, stillsitting at the door, resting her forehead on her hand, thought sadly ofher uncle's words; recalling in imagination the past scenes which theysuggested, the time of their childhood, when, married so young, they wereas yet only playmates, prefacing the graver duties of life by innocentpleasures; then of the love which grew with their increasing age; then ofhow this love became altered, changing on her side into passion, on hisinto indifference. She tried to recollect him as he had been on the eveof his departure, young and handsome, carrying his head high, coming homefrom a fatiguing hunt and sitting by his son's cradle; and then also sheremembered bitterly the jealous suspicions she had conceived, the angerwith which she had allowed them to escape her, the consequent quarrel, followed by the disappearance of her offended husband, and the eightsucceeding years of solitude and mourning. She wept over his desertion;over the desolation of her life, seeing around her only indifferent orselfish people, and caring only to live for her child's sake, who gaveher at least a shadowy reflection of the husband she had lost. "Lost--yes, lost for ever!" she said to herself, sighing, and lookingagain at the fields whence she had so often seen him coming at this sametwilight hour, returning to his home for the evening meal. She cast awandering eye on the distant hills, which showed a black outline againsta yet fiery western sky, then let it fall on a little grove of olivetrees planted on the farther side of the brook which skirted herdwelling. Everything was calm; approaching night brought silence alongwith darkness: it was exactly what she saw every evening, but to leavewhich required always an effort. 

She rose to re-enter the house, when her attention was caught by amovement amongst the trees. For a moment she thought she was mistaken, but the branches again rustled, then parted asunder, and the form of aman appeared on the other side of the brook. Terrified, Bertrande triedto scream, but not a sound escaped her lips; her voice seemed paralyzedby terror, as in an evil dream. And she almost thought it was a dream, for notwithstanding the dark shadows cast around this indistinctsemblance, she seemed to recognise features once dear to her. Had herbitter reveries ended by making her the victim of a hallucination? Shethought her brain was giving way, and sank on her knees to pray for help. But the figure remained; it stood motionless, with folded arms, silentlygazing at her! Then she thought of witchcraft, of evil demons, andsuperstitious as every one was in those days, she kissed a crucifix whichhung from her neck, and fell fainting on the ground. With one spring thephantom crossed the brook and stood beside her. 

"Bertrande!" it said in a voice of emotion. She raised her head, uttereda piercing cry, and was clasped in her husband's arms. 

The whole village became aware of this event that same evening. Theneighbours crowded round Bertrande's door, Martin's friends and relationsnaturally wishing to see him after this miraculous reappearance, whilethose who had never known him desired no less to gratify their curiosity;so that the hero of the little drama, instead of remaining quietly athome with his wife, was obliged to exhibit himself publicly in aneighbouring barn. His four sisters burst through the crowd and fell onhis neck weeping; his uncle examined him doubtfully at first, thenextended his arms. Everybody recognised him, beginning with the oldservant Margherite, who had been with the young couple ever since theirwedding-day. People observed only that a riper age had strengthened hisfeatures, and given more character to his countenance and moredevelopment to his powerful figure; also that he had a scar over theright eyebrow, and that he limped slightly. These were the marks ofwounds he had received, he said; which now no longer troubled him. Heappeared anxious to return to his wife and child, but the crowd insistedon hearing the story of his adventures during his voluntary absence, andhe was obliged to satisfy them. Eight years ago, he said, the desire tosee more of the world had gained an irresistible mastery over him; heyielded to it, and departed secretly. A natural longing took him to hisbirthplace in Biscay, where he had seen his surviving relatives. Therehe met the Cardinal of Burgos, who took him into his service, promisinghim profit, hard knocks to give and take, and plenty of adventure. Sometime after, he left the cardinal's household for that of his brother, who, much against his will, compelled him to follow him to the war andbear arms against the French. Thus he found himself on the Spanish sideon the day of St. Quentin, and received a terrible gun-shot wound in theleg. Being carried into a house a an adjoining village, he fell into thehands of a surgeon, who insisted that the leg must be amputatedimmediately, but who left him for a moment, and never returned. Then heencountered a good old woman, who dressed his wound and nursed him nightand day. So that in a few weeks he recovered, and was able to set outfor Artigues, too thankful to return to his house and land, still more tohis wife and child, and fully resolved never to leave them again. 

Having ended his story, he shook hands with his still wonderingneighbours, addressing by name some who had been very young when he left, and who, hearing their names, came forward now as grown men, hardlyrecognisable, but much pleased at being remembered. He returned hissisters' carresses, begged his uncle's forgiveness for the trouble he hadgiven in his boyhood, recalling with mirth the various correctionsreceived. He mentioned also an Augustinian monk who had taught him toread, and another reverend father, a Capuchin, whose irregular conducthad caused much scandal in the neighbourhood. In short, notwithstandinghis prolonged absence, he seemed to have a perfect recollection ofplaces, persons, and things. The good people overwhelmed him withcongratulations, vying with one another in praising him for having thegood sense to come home, and in describing the grief and the perfectvirtue of his Bertrande. Emotion was excited, many wept, and severalbottles from Martin Guerre's cellar were emptied. At length the assemblydispersed, uttering many exclamations about the extraordinary chances ofFate, and retired to their own homes, excited, astonished, and gratified, with the one exception of old Pierre Guerre, who had been struck by anunsatisfactory remark made by his nephew, and who dreamed all night aboutthe chances of pecuniary loss augured by the latter's return. 

It was midnight before the husband and wife were alone and able to givevent to their feelings. Bertrande still felt half stupefied; she couldnot believe her own eyes and ears, nor realise that she saw again in hermarriage chamber her husband of eight years ago, him for whom she hadwept; whose death she had deplored only a few hours previously. In thesudden shock caused by so much joy succeeding so much grief, she had notbeen able to express what she felt; her confused ideas were difficult toexplain, and she seemed deprived of the powers of speech and reflection. When she became calmer and more capable of analysing her feelings, shewas astonished not to feel towards her husband the same affection whichhad moved her so strongly a few hours before. It was certainly himself, those were the same features, that was the man to whom she had willinglygiven her hand, her heart, herself, and yet now that she saw him again acold barrier of shyness, of modesty, seemed to have risen between them. His first kiss, even, had not made her happy: she blushed and feltsaddened--a curious result of the long absence! She could not define thechanges wrought by years in his appearance: his countenance seemedharsher, yet the lines of his face, his outer man, his whole personality, did not seem altered, but his soul had changed its nature, a differentmind looked forth from those eyes. Bertrande knew him for her husband, and yet she hesitated. Even so Penelope, on the, return of Ulysses, required a certain proof to confirm the evidence of her eyes, and herlong absent husband had to remind her of secrets known only to herself. 

Martin, however, as if he understood Bertrande's feeling and divined somesecret mistrust, used the most tender and affectionate phrases, and eventhe very pet names which close intimacy had formerly endeared to them. 

"My queen, " he said, "my beautiful dove, can you not lay aside yourresentment? Is it still so strong that no submission can soften it?Cannot my repentance find grace in your eyes? My Bertrande, my Bertha, my Bertranilla, as I used to call you. "

She tried to smile, but stopped short, puzzled; the names were the verysame, but the inflexion of voice quite different. 

Martin took her hands in his. "What pretty hands! Do you still wear myring? Yes, here it is, and with it the sapphire ring I gave you the daySanxi was born. "

Bertrande did not answer, but she took the child and placed him in hisfather's arms. 

Martin showered caresses on his son, and spoke of the time when hecarried him as a baby in the garden, lifting him up to the fruit trees, so that he could reach and try to bite the fruit. He recollected one daywhen the poor child got his leg terribly torn by thorns, and convincedhimself, not without emotion, that the scar could still be seen. 

Bertrande was touched by this display of affectionate recollections, andfelt vexed at her own coldness. She came up to Martin and laid her handin his. He said gently--

"My departure caused you great grief: I now repent what I did. But I wasyoung, I was proud, and your reproaches were unjust. "

"Ah, " said she, "you have not forgotten the cause of our quarrel?"

"It was little Rose, our neighbour, whom you said I was making love to, because you found us together at the spring in the little wood. Iexplained that we met only by chance, --besides, she was only achild, --but you would not listen, and in your anger--"

"Ah! forgive me, Martin, forgive me!" she interrupted, in confusion. 

"In your blind anger you took up, I know not what, something which layhandy, and flung it at me. And here is the mark, " he continued, smiling, "this scar, which is still to be seen. "

"Oh, Martin!" Bertrande exclaimed, "can you ever forgive me?"

"As you see, " Martin replied, kissing her tenderly. 

Much moved, Bertrande swept aside his hair, and looked at the scarvisible on his forehead. 

"But, " she said, with surprise not free from alarm, "this scar seems tome like a fresh one. "

"Ah!" Martin explained, with a, little embarrassment; "it reopenedlately. But I had thought no more about it. Let us forget it, Bertrande; I should not like a recollection which might make you thinkyourself less dear to me than you once were. "

And he drew her upon his knee. She repelled him gently. 

"Send the child to bed, " said Martin. "Tomorrow shall be for him;to-night you have the first place, Bertrande, you only. "

The boy kissed his father and went. 

Bertrande came and knelt beside her husband, regarding him attentivelywith an uneasy smile, which did not appear to please him by any means. 

"What is the matter?" said he. "Why do you examine me thus?"

"I do not know--forgive me, oh! forgive me! . . . But the happinessof seeing you was so great and unexpected, it is all like a dream. Imust try to become accustomed to it; give me some time to collect myself;let me spend this night in prayer. I ought to offer my joy and mythanksgiving to Almighty God--"

"Not so, " interrupted her husband, passing his arms round her neck andstroking her beautiful hair. "No; 'tis to me that your first thoughtsare due. After so much weariness, my rest is in again beholding you, andmy happiness after so many trials will be found in your love. That hopehas supported me throughout, and I long to be assured that it is noillusion. " So saying, he endeavoured to raise her. 

"Oh, " she murmured, "I pray you leave me. "

"What!" he exclaimed angrily. "Bertrande, is this your love? Is it thusyou keep faith with me? You will make me doubt the evidence of yourfriends; you will make me think that indifference, or even anotherlove----"

"You insult me, " said Bertrande, rising to her feet. 

He caught her in his arms. "No, no; I think nothing which could woundyou, my queen, and I believe your fidelity, even as before, you know, onthat first journey, when you wrote me these loving letters which I havetreasured ever since. Here they are. " And he drew forth some papers, onwhich Bertrande recognised her own handwriting. "Yes, " he continued, "Ihave read and--re-read them. . . . See, you spoke then of your love and thesorrows of absence. But why all this trouble and terror? You tremble, just as you did when I first received you from your father's hands. . . . It was here, in this very room. . . . You begged me then to leave you, tolet you spend the night in prayer; but I insisted, do you remember? andpressed you to my heart, as I do now. "

"Oh, " she murmured weakly, "have pity!"

But the words were intercepted by a kiss, and the remembrance of thepast, the happiness of the present, resumed their sway; the imaginaryterrors were forgotten, and the curtains closed around the marriage-bed. 

The next day was a festival in the village of Artigues. Martin returnedthe visits of all who had come to welcome him the previous night, andthere were endless recognitions and embracings. The young men rememberedthat he had played with them when they were little; the old men, thatthey had been at his wedding when he was only twelve. 

The women remembered having envied Bertrande, especially the pretty Rose, daughter of Marcel, the apothecary, she who had roused the demon ofjealousy in, the poor wife's heart. And Rose knew quite well that thejealousy was not without some cause; for Martin had indeed shown herattention, and she was unable to see him again without emotion. She wasnow the wife of a rich peasant, ugly, old, and jealous, and she compared, sighing, her unhappy lot with that of her more fortunate neighbour. Martin's sisters detained him amongst them, and spoke of their childishgames and of their parents, both dead in Biscay. Martin dried the tearswhich flowed at these recollections of the past, and turned theirthoughts to rejoicing. Banquets were given and received. Martin invitedall his relations and former friends; an easy gaiety prevailed. It wasremarked that the hero of the feast refrained from wine; he was thereuponreproached, but answered that on account of the wounds he had received hewas obliged to avoid excess. The excuse was admitted, the result ofMartin's precautions being that he kept a clear head on his shoulders, while all the rest had their tongues loosed by drunkenness. 

"Ah!" exclaimed one of the guests, who had studied a little medicine, "Martin is quite right to be afraid of drink. Wounds which havethoroughly healed may be reopened and inflamed by intemperance, and winein the case of recent wounds is deadly poison. Men have died on thefield of battle in an hour or two merely because they had swallowed alittle brandy. "

Martin Guerre grew pale, and began a conversation with the pretty Rose, his neighbour. Bertrande observed this, but without uneasiness; she hadsuffered too much from her former suspicions, besides her husband showedher so much affection that she was now quite happy. 

When the first few days were over, Martin began to look into his affairs. His property had suffered by his long absence, and he was obliged to goto Biscay to claim his little estate there, the law having already laidhands upon it. It was several months before, by dint of making judicioussacrifices, he could regain possession of the house and fields which hadbelonged to his father. This at last accomplished, he returned toArtigues, in order to resume the management of his wife's property, andwith this end in view, about eleven months after his return, he paid avisit to his uncle Pierre. 

Pierre was expecting him; he was extremely polite, desired Martin, to sitdown, overwhelmed him with compliments, knitting his brows as hediscovered that his nephew decidedly meant business. Martin brokesilence. 

"Uncle, " he said, "I come to thank you for the care you have taken of mywife's property; she could never have managed it alone. You havereceived the income in the family interest: as a good guardian, Iexpected no less from your affection. But now that I have returned, andam free from other cares, we will go over the accounts, if you please. "

His uncle coughed and cleared his voice before replying, then saidslowly, as if counting his words--

"It is all accounted for, my dear nephew; Heaven be praised! I don't oweyou anything. "

"What!" exclaimed the astonished Martin, "but the whole income?"

"Was well and properly employed in the maintenance of your wife andchild. "

"What! a thousand livres for that? And Bertrande lived alone, soquietly and simply! Nonsense! it is impossible. "

"Any surplus, " resumed the old man, quite unmoved, --"any surplus went topay the expenses of seed-time and harvest. "

"What! at a time when labour costs next to nothing?"

"Here is the account, " said Pierre. 

"Then the account is a false one, " returned his nephew. 

Pierre thought it advisable to appear extremely offended and angry, andMartin, exasperated at his evident dishonesty, took still higher ground, and threatened to bring an action against him. Pierre ordered him toleave the house, and suiting actions to words, took hold of his arm toenforce his departure. Martin, furious, turned and raised his fist tostrike. 

"What! strike your uncle, wretched boy!" exclaimed the old man. 

Martin's hand dropped, but he left the house uttering reproaches andinsults, among which Pierre distinguished--

"Cheat that you are!"

"That is a word I shall remember, " cried the angry old man, slamming hisdoor violently. 

Martin brought an action before the judge at Rieux, and in course of timeobtained a decree, which, reviewing the accounts presented by Pierre, disallowed them, and condemned the dishonest guardian to pay his nephewfour hundred livres for each year of his administration. The day on whichthis sum had to be disbursed from his strong box the old usurer vowedvengeance, but until he could gratify his hatred he was forced to concealit, and to receive attempts at reconciliation with a friendly smile. Itwas not until six months later, on the occasion of a joyous festivity, that Martin again set foot in his uncle's house. The bells were ringingfor the birth of a child, there was great gaiety at Bertrande's house, where all the guests were waiting on the threshold for the godfather inorder to take the infant to church, and when Martin appeared, escortinghis uncle, who was adorned with a huge bouquet for the occasion, and whonow came forward and took the hand of Rose, the pretty godmother, therewere cries of joy on all sides. Bertrande was delighted at thisreconciliation, and dreamed only of happiness. She was so happy now, herlong sorrow was atoned for, her regret was at an end, her prayers seemedto have been heard, the long interval between the former delights and thepresent seemed wiped out as if the bond of union had never been broken, and if she remembered her grief at all, it was only to intensify the newjoys by comparison. She loved her husband more than ever; he was full ofaffection for her, and she was grateful for his love. The past had nowno shadow, the future no cloud, and the birth of a daughter, drawingstill closer the links which united them, seemed a new pledge offelicity. Alas! the horizon which appeared so bright and clear to thepoor woman was doomed soon again to be overcast. 

The very evening of the christening party, a band of musicians andjugglers happened to pass through the village, and the inhabitants showedthemselves liberal. Pierre asked questions, and found that the leader ofthe band was a Spaniard. He invited the man to his own house, andremained closeted with him for nearly an hour, dismissing him at lengthwith a refilled purse. Two days later the old man announced to thefamily that he was going to Picardy to see a former partner on a matterof business, and he departed accordingly, saying he should return beforelong. 

The day on which Bertrande again saw her uncle was, indeed, a terribleone. She was sitting by the cradle of the lately-born infant, watchingfor its awakening, when the door opened, and Pierre Guerre strode in. Bertrande drew back with an instinct of terror as soon as she saw him, for his expression was at once wicked and joyful--an expression ofgratified hate, of mingled rage and triumph, and his smile was terribleto behold. She did not venture to speak, but motioned him to a seat. Hecame straight up to her, and raising his head, said loudly--

"Kneel down at once, madame--kneel down, and ask pardon from AlmightyGod!"

"Are you mad, Pierre?" she replied, gazing at him in astonishment. 

"You, at least, ought to know that I am not. "

"Pray for forgiveness--I--! and what for, in Heaven's name?"

"For the crime in which you are an accomplice. "

"Please explain yourself. "

"Oh!" said Pierre, with bitter irony, "a woman always thinks herselfinnocent as long as her sin is hidden; she thinks the truth will never beknown, and her conscience goes quietly to sleep, forgetting her faults. Here is a woman who thought her sins nicely concealed; chance favouredher: an absent husband, probably no more; another man so exactly like himin height, face, and manner that everyone else is deceived! Is itstrange that a weak, sensitive woman, wearied of widowhood, shouldwillingly allow herself to be imposed on?"

Bertrande listened without understanding; she tried to interrupt, butPierre went on--

"It was easy to accept this stranger without having to blush for it, easyto give him the name and the rights of a husband! She could even appearfaithful while really guilty; she could seem constant, though reallyfickle; and she could, under a veil of mystery, at once reconcile herhonour, her duty--perhaps even her love. "

"What on earth do you mean?" cried Bertrande, wringing her hands interror. 

"That you are countenancing an impostor who is not your husband. "

Feeling as if the ground were passing from beneath her, Bertrandestaggered, and caught at the nearest piece of furniture to save herselffrom falling; then, collecting all her strength to meet thisextraordinary attack, she faced the old man. 

"What! my husband, your nephew, an impostor!"

"Don't you know it?""I!!"

This cry, which came from her heart, convinced Pierre that she did notknow, and that she had sustained a terrible shock. He continued morequietly--

"What, Bertrande, is it possible you were really deceived?"

"Pierre, you are killing me; your words are torture. No more mystery, Ientreat. What do you know? What do you suspect? Tell me plainly atonce. "

"Have you courage to hear it?"

"I must, " said the trembling woman. 

"God is my witness that I would willingly have kept it from you, but youmust know; if only for the safety of your soul entangled in so deadly asnare, . . . There is yet time, if you follow my advice. Listen: the manwith whom you are living, who dares to call himself Martin Guerre, is acheat, an impostor----"

"How dare you say so?"

"Because I have discovered it. Yes, I had always a vague suspicion, anuneasy feeling, and in spite of the marvellous resemblance I could neverfeel as if he were really my sister's child. The day he raised his handto strike me--yes, that day I condemned him utterly. . . . Chance hasjustified me! A wandering Spaniard, an old soldier, who spent a night inthe village here, was also present at the battle of St. Quentin, and sawMartin Guerre receive a terrible gunshot wound in the leg. After thebattle, being wounded, he betook himself to the neighbouring village, anddistinctly heard a surgeon in the next room say that a wounded man musthave his leg amputated, and would very likely not survive the operation. The door opened, he saw the sufferer, and knew him for Martin Guerre. Somuch the Spaniard told me. Acting on this information, I went onpretence of business to the village he named, I questioned theinhabitants, and this is what I learned. "

"Well?" said Bertrande, pale, and gasping with emotion. 

"I learned that the wounded man had his leg taken off, and, as thesurgeon predicted, he must have died in a few hours, for he was neverseen again. "

Bertrande remained a few moments as if annihilated by this appallingrevelation; then, endeavoring to repel the horrible thought--

"No, " she cried, "no, it is impossible! It is a lie intended to ruinhim-to ruin us all. "

"What! you do not believe me?"

"No, never, never!"

"Say rather you pretend to disbelieve me: the truth has pierced yourheart, but you wish to deny it. Think, however, of the danger to yourimmortal soul. "

"Silence, wretched man!. . . No, God would not send me so terrible atrial. What proof can you show of the truth of your words?"

"The witnesses I have mentioned. "

"Nothing more?"

"No, not as yet. "

"Fine proofs indeed! The story of a vagabond who flattered your hatredin hope of a reward, the gossip of a distant village, the recollectionsof ten years back, and finally, your own word, the word of a man whoseeks only revenge, the word of a man who swore to make Martin pay dearlyfor the results of his own avarice, a man of furious passions such asyours! No, Pierre, no, I do not believe you, and I never will!"

"Other people may perhaps be less incredulous, and if I accuse himpublicly----"

"Then I shall contradict you publicly!" And coming quickly forward, hereyes shining with virtuous anger--

"Leave this house, go, " she said; "it is you yourself who are theimpostor--go!"

"I shall yet know how to convince everyone, and will make you acknowledgeit, " cried the furious old man. 

He went out, and Bertrande sank exhausted into a chair. All the strengthwhich had supported her against Pierre vanished as soon as she was alone, and in spite of her resistance to suspicion, the terrible light of doubtpenetrated her heart, and extinguished the pure torch of trustfulnesswhich had guided her hitherto--a doubt, alas! which attacked at once herhonour and her love, for she loved with all a woman's tender affection. Just as actual poison gradually penetrates and circulates through thewhole system, corrupting the blood and affecting the very sources of lifeuntil it causes the destruction of the whole body, so does that mentalpoison, suspicion, extend its ravages in the soul which has received it. Bertrande remembered with terror her first feelings at the sight of thereturned Martin Guerre, her involuntary repugnance, her astonishment atnot feeling more in touch with the husband whom she had so sincerelyregretted. She remembered also, as if she saw it for the first time, that Martin, formerly quick, lively, and hasty tempered, now seemedthoughtful, and fully master of himself. 

This change of character she had supposed due to the natural developmentof age, she now trembled at the idea of another possible cause. Someother little details began to occur to her mind--the forgetfulness orabstraction of her husband as to a few insignificant things; thus itsometimes happened that he did not answer to his name of Martin, alsothat he mistook the road to a hermitage, formerly well known to themboth, and again that he could not answer when addressed in Basque, although he him self had taught her the little she knew of this language. Besides, since his return, he would never write in her presence, did hefear that she would notice some difference? She had paid little or noattention to these trifles; now, pieced together, they assumed analarming importance. An appalling terror seized Bertrande: was she toremain in this uncertainty, or should she seek an explanation which mightprove her destruction? And how discover the truth--by questioning theguilty man, by noting his confusion, his change of colour, by forcing aconfession from him? But she had lived with him for two years, he wasthe father of her child, she could not ruin him without ruining herself, and, an explanation once sought, she could neither punish him and escapedisgrace, nor pardon him without sharing his guilt. To reproach him withhis conduct and then keep silence would destroy her peace for ever; tocause a scandal by denouncing him would bring dishonour upon herself andher child. Night found her involved in these hideous perplexities, tooweak to surmount them; an icy chill came over her, she went to bed, andawoke in a high fever. For several days she hovered between life anddeath, and Martin Guerre bestowed the most tender care upon her. She wasgreatly moved thereby, having one of those impressionable minds whichrecognise kindness fully as much as injury. When she was a littlerecovered and her mental power began to return, she had only a vaguerecollection of what had occurred, and thought she had had a frightfuldream. She asked if Pierre Guerre had been to see her, and found he hadnot been near the house. This could only be explained by the scene whichhad taken place, and she then recollected all the accusation Pierre hadmade, her own observations which had confirmed it, all her grief andtrouble. She inquired about the village news. Pierre, evidently, hadkept silence why? Had he seen that his suspicions were unjust, or was heonly seeking further evidence? She sank back into her cruel uncertainty, and resolved to watch Martin closely, before deciding as to his guilt orinnocence. 

How was she to suppose that God had created two faces so exactly alike, two beings precisely similar, and then sent them together into the world, and on the same track, merely to compass the ruin of an unhappy woman! Aterrible idea took possession of her mind, an idea not uncommon in an ageof superstition, namely, that the Enemy himself could assume human form, and could borrow the semblance of a dead man in order to capture anothersoul for his infernal kingdom. Acting on this idea, she hastened to thechurch, paid for masses to be said, and prayed fervently. She expectedevery day to see the demon forsake the body he had animated, but hervows, offerings, and prayers had no result. But Heaven sent her an ideawhich she wondered had not occurred to her sooner. "If the Tempter, "she said to herself, "has taken the form of my beloved husband, his powerbeing supreme for evil, the resemblance would be exact, and nodifference, however slight, would exist. If, however, it is only anotherman who resembles him, God must have made them with some slightdistinguishing marks. "

She then remembered, what she had not thought of before, having beenquite unsuspicious before her uncle's accusation, and nearly out of hermind between mental and bodily suffering since. She remembered that onher husband's left shoulder, almost on the neck, there used to be one ofthose small, almost imperceptible, but ineffaceable birthmarks. Martinwore his hair very long, it was difficult to see if the mark were thereor not. One night, while he slept, Bertrande cut away a lock of hairfrom the place where this sign ought to be--it was not there!

Convinced at length of the deception, Bertrande suffered inexpressibleanguish. This man whom she had loved and respected for two whole years, whom she had taken to her heart as a husband bitterly mourned for--thisman was a cheat, an infamous impostor, and she, all unknowing, was yet aguilty woman! Her child was illegitimate, and the curse of Heaven wasdue to this sacrilegious union. To complete the misfortune, she wasalready expecting another infant. She would have killed herself, but herreligion and the love of her children forbade it. Kneeling before herchild's cradle, she entreated pardon from the father of the one for thefather of the other. She would not bring herself to proclaim aloud theirinfamy. 

"Oh!" she said, "thou whom I loved, thou who art no more, thou knowest noguilty thought ever entered my mind! When I saw this man, I thought Ibeheld thee; when I was happy, I thought I owed it to thee; it was theewhom I loved in him. Surely thou dost not desire that by a public avowalI should bring shame and disgrace on these children and on myself. "

She rose calm and strengthened: it seemed as if a heavenly inspirationhad marked out her duty. To suffer in silence, such was the course sheadopted, --a life of sacrifice and self-denial which she offered to God asan expiation for her involuntary sin. But who can understand theworkings of the human heart? This man whom she ought to have loathed, this man who had made her an innocent partner in his crime, this unmaskedimpostor whom she should have beheld only with disgust, she-loved him!The force of habit, the ascendancy he had obtained over her, the love hehad shown her, a thousand sympathies felt in her inmost heart, all thesehad so much influence, that, instead of accusing and cursing him, shesought to excuse him on the plea of a passion to which, doubtless, he hadyielded when usurping the name and place of another. She fearedpunishment for him yet more than disgrace for herself, and thoughresolved to no longer allow him the rights purchased by crime, she yettrembled at the idea of losing his love. It was this above all whichdecided her to keep eternal silence about her discovery; one single wordwhich proved that his imposture was known would raise an insurmountablebarrier between them. 

To conceal her trouble entirely was, however, beyond her power; her eyesfrequently showed traces of her secret tears. Martin several times askedthe cause of her sorrow; she tried to smile and excuse herself, onlyimmediately sinking back into her gloomy thoughts. Martin thought it merecaprice; he observed her loss of colour, her hollow cheeks, and concludedthat age was impairing her beauty, and became less attentive to her. Hisabsences became longer and more frequent, and he did not conceal hisimpatience and annoyance at being watched; for her looks hung upon his, and she observed his coldness and change with much grief. Havingsacrificed all in order to retain his love, she now saw it slowlyslipping away from her. 

Another person also observed attentively. Pierre Guerre since hisexplanation with Bertrande had apparently discovered no more evidence, and did not dare to bring an accusation without some positive proofs. Consequently he lost no chance of watching the proceedings of hissupposed nephew, silently hoping that chance might put him on the trackof a discovery. He also concluded from Bertrande's state of melancholythat she had convinced herself of the fraud, but had resolved to concealit. 

Martin was then endeavoring to sell a part of his property, and thisnecessitated frequent interviews with the lawyers of the neighbouringtown. Twice in the week he went to Rieux, and to make the journeyeasier, used to start horseback about seven in the evening, sleep atRieux, and return the following afternoon. This arrangement did notescape his enemy's notice, who was not long in convincing himself thatpart of the time ostensibly spent on this journey was otherwise employed. 

Towards ten o'clock on the evening of a dark night, the door of a smallhouse lying about half a gunshot from the village opened gently for theexit of a man wrapped in a large cloak, followed by a young woman, whoaccompanied him some distance. Arrived at the parting point, theyseparated with a tender kiss and a few murmured words of adieu; the lovertook his horse, which was fastened to a tree, mounted, and rode offtowards Rieux. When the sounds died away, the woman turned slowly andsadly towards her home, but as she approached the door a man suddenlyturned the corner of the house and barred her away. Terrified, she wason the point of crying for help, when he seized her arm and ordered herto be silent. 

"Rose, " he whispered, "I know everything: that man is your lover. Inorder to receive him safely, you send your old husband to sleep by meansof a drug stolen from your father's shop. This intrigue has been goingon for a month; twice a week, at seven o'clock, your door is opened tothis man, who does not proceed on his way to the town until ten. I knowyour lover: he is my nephew. "

Petrified with terror, Rose fell on her knees and implored mercy. 

"Yes, " replied Pierre, "you may well be frightened: I have your secret. I have only to publish it and you are ruined for ever:"

You will not do it! "entreated the guilty woman, clasping her hands. 

"I have only to tell your husband, " continued Pierre, "that his wife hasdishonoured him, and to explain the reason of his unnaturally heavysleep. "

"He will kill me!"

"No doubt: he is jealous, he is an Italian, he will know how to avengehimself--even as I do. "

"But I never did you any harm, " Rose cried in despair. "Oh! have pity, have mercy, and spare me!"

"On one condition. "

"What is it?"

"Come with me. "

Terrified almost out of her mind, Rose allowed him to lead her away. 

Bertrande had just finished her evening prayer, and was preparing forbed, when she was startled by several knocks at her door. Thinking thatperhaps some neighbour was in need of help, she opened it immediately, and to her astonishment beheld a dishevelled woman whom Pierre grasped bythe arm. He exclaimed vehemently--

"Here is thy judge! Now, confess all to Bertrande!"

Bertrande did not at once recognise the woman, who fell at her feet, overcome by Pierre's threats. 

"Tell the truth here, " he continued, "or I go and tell it to yourhusband, at your own home!"--"Ah! madame, kill me, " said the unhappycreature, hiding her face; "let me rather die by your hand than his!"

Bertrande, bewildered, did not understand the position in the least, butshe recognised Rose--

"But what is the matter, madame? Why are you here at this hour, pale andweeping? Why has my uncle dragged you hither? I am to judge you, doeshe say? Of what crime are you guilty?"

"Martin might answer that, if he were here, " remarked Pierre. 

A lightning flash of jealousy shot through Bertrande's soul at thesewords, all her former suspicions revived. 

"What!" she said, "my husband! What do you mean?"

"That he left this woman's house only a little while ago, that for amonth they have been meeting secretly. You are betrayed: I have seenthem and she does not dare to deny it. "

"Have mercy!" cried Rose, still kneeling. 

The cry was a confession. Bertrande became pate as death. "O God!" shemurmured, "deceived, betrayed--and by him!"

"For a month past, " repeated the old man. 

"Oh! the wretch, " she continued, with increasing passion; "then his wholelife is a lie! He has abused my credulity, he now abuses my love! Hedoes not know me! He thinks he can trample on me--me, in whose power arehis fortune, his honour, his very life itself!"

Then, turning to Rose--

"And you, miserable woman! by what unworthy artifice did you gain hislove? Was it by witchcraft? or some poisonous philtre learned from yourworthy father?"

"Alas! no, madame; my weakness is my only crime, and also my only excuse. I loved him, long ago, when I was only a young girl, and these memorieshave been my ruin. "

"Memories? What! did you also think you were loving the same man? Areyou also his dupe? Or are you only pretending, in order to find a rag ofexcuse to cover your wickedness?"

It was now Rose who failed to understand; Bertrande continued, withgrowing excitement--

"Yes, it was not enough to usurp the rights of a husband and father, hethought to play his part still better by deceiving the mistress also . . . . Ah! it is amusing, is it not? You also, Rose, you thought he wasyour old lover! Well, I at least am excusable, I the wife, who onlythought she was faithful to her husband!"

"What does it all mean?" asked the terrified Rose. 

"It means that this man is an impostor and that I will unmask him. Revenge! revenge!"

Pierre came forward. "Bertrande, " he said, "so long as I thought youwere happy, when I feared to disturb your peace, I was silent, Irepressed my just indignation, and I spared the usurper of the name andrights of my nephew. Do you now give me leave to speak?"

"Yes, " she replied in a hollow voice. 

"You will not contradict me?"

By way of answer she sat down by the table and wrote a few hasty lineswith a trembling hand, then gave them to Pierre, whose eyes sparkled withjoy. 

"Yes, " he said, "vengeance for him, but for her pity. Let thishumiliation be her only punishment. I promised silence in return forconfession, will you grant it?"

Bertrande assented with a contemptuous gesture. 

"Go, fear not, " said the old man, and Rose went out. Pierre also leftthe house. 

Left to herself, Bertrande felt utterly worn out by so much emotion;indignation gave way to depression. She began to realise what she haddone, and the scandal which would fall on her own head. Just then herbaby awoke, and held out its arms, smiling, and calling for its father. Its father, was he not a criminal? Yes! but was it for her to ruin him, to invoke the law, to send him to death, after having taken him to herheart, to deliver him to infamy which would recoil on her own head andher child's and on the infant which was yet unborn? If he had sinnedbefore God, was it not for God to punish him? If against herself, oughtshe not rather to overwhelm him with contempt? But to invoke the help, of strangers to expiate this offence; to lay bare the troubles of herlife, to unveil the sanctuary of the nuptial couch--in short, to summonthe whole world to behold this fatal scandal, was not that what in herimprudent anger she had really done? She repented bitterly of her haste, she sought to avert the consequences, and notwithstanding the night andthe bad weather, she hurried at once to Pierre's dwelling, hoping at allcosts to withdraw her denunciation. He was not there: he had at oncetaken a horse and started for Rieux. Her accusation was already on itsway to the magistrates!

At break of day the house where Martin Guerre lodged when at Rieux wassurrounded by soldiers. He came forward with confidence and inquiredwhat was wanted. On hearing the accusation, he changed colour slightly, then collected himself, and made no resistance. When he came before thejudge, Bertrande's petition was read to him, declaring him to be "animpostor, who falsely, audaciously, and treacherously had deceived her bytaking the name and assuming the person of Martin Guerre, " and demandingthat he should be required to entreat pardon from God, the king, andherself. 

The prisoner listened calmly to the charge, and met it courageously, onlyevincing profound surprise at such a step being taken by a wife who hadlived with him for two years since his return, and who only now thoughtof disputing the rights he had so long enjoyed. As he was ignorant bothof Bertrande's suspicions and their confirmation, and also of thejealousy which had inspired her accusation, his astonishment wasperfectly natural, and did not at all appear to be assumed. Heattributed the whole charge to the machinations of his uncle, PierreGuerre; an old man, he said, who, being governed entirely by avarice andthe desire of revenge, now disputed his name and rights, in order thebetter to deprive him of his property, which might be worth from sixteento eighteen hundred livres. In order to attain his end, this wicked manhad not hesitated to pervert his wife's mind, and at the risk of her owndishonour had instigated this calumnious charge--a horrible andunheard-of thing in the mouth of a lawful wife. "Ah! I do not blameher, " he cried; "she must suffer more than I do, if she really entertainsdoubts such as these; but I deplore her readiness to listen to theseextraordinary calumnies originated by my enemy. "

The judge was a good deal impressed by so much assurance. The accusedwas relegated to prison, whence he was brought two days later toencounter a formal examination. 

He began by explaining the cause of his long absence, originating, hesaid, in a domestic quarrel, as his wife well remembered. He thererelated his life during these eight years. At first he wandered over thecountry, wherever his curiosity and the love of travel led him. He thenhad crossed the frontier, revisited Biscay, where he was born, and havingentered the service of the Cardinal of Burgos, he passed thence into thearmy of the King of Spain. He was wounded at the battle of St. Quentin, conveyed to a neighbouring village, where he recovered, althoughthreatened with amputation. Anxious to again behold his wife and child, his other relations and the land of his adoption, he returned toArtigues, where he was immediately recognised by everyone, including theidentical Pierre Guerre, his uncle, who now had the cruelty to disavowhim. In fact, the latter had shown him special affection up to the daywhen Martin required an account of his stewardship. Had he only had thecowardice to sacrifice his money and thereby defraud his children, hewould not to-day be charged as an impostor. "But, " continued Martin, "Iresisted, and a violent quarrel ensued, in which anger perhaps carried metoo far; Pierre Guerre, cunning and revengeful, has waited in silence. He has taken his time and his measures to organise this plot, hopingthereby to obtain his ends, to bring justice to the help of his avarice, and to acquire the spoils he coveted, and revenge for his defeat, bymeans of a sentence obtained from the scruples of the judges. " Besidesthese explanations, which did not appear wanting in probability, Martinvehemently protested his innocence, demanding that his wife should beconfronted with him, and declaring that in his presence she would notsustain the charge of personation brought against him, and that her mindnot being animated by the blind hatred which dominated his persecutor, the truth would undoubtedly prevail. 

He now, in his turn, demanded that the judge should acknowledge hisinnocence, and prove it by condemning his calumniators to the punishmentinvoked against himself; that his wife, Bertrande de Rolls, should besecluded in some house where her mind could no longer be perverted, and, finally, that his innocence should be declared, and expenses andcompensations awarded him. 

After this speech, delivered with warmth, and with every token ofsincerity, he answered without difficulty all the interrogations of thejudge. The following are some of the questions and answers, just as theyhave come down to us:--

"In what part of Biscay were you born?"

"In the village of Aymes, province of Guipuscoa. "

"What were the names of your parents?"

"Antonio Guerre and Marie Toreada. "

"Are they still living?"

"My father died June 15th, 1530; my mother survived him three years andtwelve days. "

"Have you any brothers and sisters?"

"I had one brother, who only lived three months. My four sisters, Inez, Dorothea, Marietta, and Pedrina, all came to live at Artigues when I did;they are there still, and they all recognised me. "

"What is the date of your marriage?"

"January 10, 1539. "

"Who were present at the ceremony?"

"My father-in-law, my mother-in-law, my uncle, my two sisters, MaitreMarcel and his daughter Rose; a neighbour called Claude Perrin, who gotdrunk at the wedding feast; also Giraud, the poet, who composed verses inour honour. "

"Who was the priest who married you?"

"The old cure, Pascal Guerin, whom I did not find alive when I returned. "

"What special circumstances occurred on the wedding-day?"

"At midnight exactly, our neighbour, Catherine Boere, brought us therepast which is known as 'medianoche. ' This woman has recognised me, asalso our old Marguerite, who has remained with us ever since thewedding. "

"What is the date of your son's birth?"

"February 10, 1548, nine years after our marriage. I was only twelvewhen the ceremony took place, and did not arrive at manhood till severalyears later. "

"Give the date of your leaving Artigues. "

"It was in August 1549. As I left the village, I met Claude Perrin andthe cure Pascal, and took leave of them. I went towards Beauvais, end Ipassed through Orleans, Bourges, Limoges, Bordeaux, and Toulouse. If youwant the names of people whom I saw and to whom I spoke, you can havethem. What more can I say?"

Never, indeed, was there a more apparently veracious statement! All thedoings of Martin Guerre seemed to be most faithfully described, andsurely only himself could thus narrate his own actions. As the historianremarks, alluding to the story of Amphitryon, Mercury himself could notbetter reproduce all Sosia's actions, gestures, and words, than did thefalse Martin Guerre those of the real one. 

In accordance with the demand of the accused, Bertrande de Rolls wasdetained in seclusion, in order to remove her from the influence ofPierre Guerre. The latter, however, did not waste time, and during themonth spent in examining the witnesses cited by Martin, his diligentenemy, guided by some vague traces, departed on a journey, from which hedid not return alone. 

All the witnesses bore out the statement of the accused; the latter heardthis in prison, and rejoiced, hoping for a speedy release. Before long hewas again brought before the judge, who told him that his deposition hadbeen confirmed by all the witnesses examined. 

"Do you know of no others?" continued the magistrate. "Have you norelatives except those you have mentioned?"

"I have no others, " answered the prisoner. 

"Then what do you say to this man?" said the judge, opening a door. 

An old man issued forth, who fell on the prisoner's neck, exclaiming, "Mynephew!"

Martin trembled in every limb, but only for a moment. Promptlyrecovering himself, and gazing calmly at the newcomer, he asked coolly--

"And who may you be?"

"What!" said the old man, "do you not know me? Dare you deny me?--me, your mother's brother, Carbon Barreau, the old soldier! Me, who dandledyou on my knee in your infancy; me, who taught you later to carry amusket; me, who met you during the war at an inn in Picardy, when youfled secretly. Since then I have sought you everywhere; I have spoken ofyou, and described your face and person, until a worthy inhabitant ofthis country offered to bring me hither, where indeed I did not expect tofind my sister's son imprisoned and fettered as a malefactor. What ishis crime, may it please your honour?"

"You shall hear, " replied the magistrate. "Then you identify theprisoner as your nephew? You affirm his name to be---?"

"Arnauld du Thill, also called 'Pansette, ' after his father, JacquesPansa. His mother was Therese Barreau, my sister, and he was born in thevillage of Sagias. "

"What have you to say?" demanded the judge, turning to the accused. 

"Three things, " replied the latter, unabashed, "this man is either mad, or he has been suborned to tell lies, or he is simply mistaken. "

The old man was struck dumb with astonishment. But his supposed nephew'sstart of terror had not been lost upon the judge, also much impressed bythe straightforward frankness of Carbon Barreau. He caused freshinvestigations to be made, and other inhabitants of Sagias were summonedto Rieux, who one and all agreed in identifying the accused as the sameArnauld du Thill who had been born and had grown up under their veryeyes. Several deposed that as he grew up he had taken to evil courses, and become an adept in theft and lying, not fearing even to take thesacred name of God in vain, in order to cover the untruth of his daringassertions. From such testimony the judge naturally concluded thatArnauld du Thill was quite capable of carrying on, an imposture, and thatthe impudence which he displayed was natural to his character. Moreover, he noted that the prisoner, who averred that he was born in Biscay, knewonly a few words of the Basque language, and used these quite wrongly. He heard later another witness who deposed that the original MartinGuerre was a good wrestler and skilled in the art of fence, whereas theprisoner, having wished to try what he could do, showed no skillwhatever. Finally, a shoemaker was interrogated, and his evidence was notthe least damning. Martin Guerre, he declared, required twelve holes tolace his boots, and his surprise had been great when he found those ofthe prisoner had only nine. Considering all these points, and thecumulative evidence, the judge of Rieux set aside the favourabletestimony, which he concluded had been the outcome of general credulity, imposed on by an extraordinary resemblance. He gave due weight also toBertrande's accusation, although she had never confirmed it, and nowmaintained an obstinate silence; and he pronounced a judgment by whichArnauld du Thill was declared "attainted and convicted of imposture, andwas therefore condemned to be beheaded; after which his body should bedivided into four quarters, and exposed at the four corners of the town. "

This sentence, as soon as it was known, caused much diversity of opinionin the town. The prisoner's enemies praised the wisdom of the judge, andthose less prejudiced condemned his decision; as such conflictingtestimony left room for doubt. Besides, it was thought that thepossession of property and the future of the children required muchconsideration, also that the most absolute certainty was demanded beforeannulling a past of two whole years, untroubled by any counter claimwhatever. 

The condemned man appealed from this sentence to the Parliament ofToulouse. This court decided that the case required more carefulconsideration than had yet been given to it, and began by orderingArnauld du Thill to be confronted with Pierre Guerre and Bertrande deRolls. 

Who can say what feelings animate a man who, already once condemned, finds himself subjected to a second trial? The torture scarcely endedbegins again, and Hope, though reduced to a shadow, regains her sway overhis imagination, which clings to her skirts, as it were, withdesperation. The exhausting efforts must be recommenced; it is the laststruggle--a struggle which is more desperate in proportion as there isless strength to maintain it. In this case the defendant was not one ofthose who are easily cast down; he collected all his energy, all hiscourage, hoping to come victoriously out of the new combat which laybefore him. 

The magistrates assembled in the great hall of the Parliament, and theprisoner appeared before them. He had first to deal with Pierre, andconfronted him calmly, letting him speak, without showing any emotion. He then replied with indignant reproaches, dwelling on Pierre's greed andavarice, his vows of vengeance, the means employed to work uponBertrande, his secret manoeuvres in order to gain his ends, and theunheard-of animosity displayed in hunting up accusers, witnesses, andcalumniators. He defied Pierre to prove that he was not Martin Guerre, his nephew, inasmuch as Pierre had publicly acknowledged and embracedhim, and his tardy suspicions only dated from the time of their violentquarrel. His language was so strong and vehement, that Pierre becameconfused and was unable to answer, and the encounter turned entirely inArnauld's favour, who seemed to overawe his adversary from a height ofinjured innocence, while the latter appeared as a disconcerted slanderer. 

The scene of his confrontation with Bertrande took a wholly differentcharacter. The poor woman, pale, cast down, worn by sorrow, camestaggering before the tribunal, in an almost fainting condition. Sheendeavoured to collect herself, but as soon as she saw the prisoner shehung her head and covered her face with her hands. He approached her andbesought her in the gentlest accents not to persist in an accusationwhich might send him to the scaffold, not thus to avenge any sins hemight have committed against her, although he could not reproach himselfwith any really serious fault. 

Bertrande started, and murmured in a whisper, "And Rose?"

"Ah!" Arnauld exclaimed, astonished at this revelation. 

His part was instantly taken. Turning to the judges--

"Gentlemen, " he said, "my wife is a jealous woman! Ten years ago, when Ileft her, she had formed these suspicions; they were the cause of myvoluntary exile. To-day she again accuses me of, guilty relations withthe same person; I neither deny nor acknowledge them, but I affirm thatit is the blind passion of jealousy which, aided by my uncle'ssuggestions, guided my wife's hand when she signed this denunciation. "

Bertrande remained silent. 

"Do you dare, " he continued, turning towards her, --"do you dare to swearbefore God that jealousy did not inspire you with the wish to ruin me?"

"And you, " she replied, "dare you swear that I was deceived in mysuspicions?"

"You see, gentlemen, " exclaimed the prisoner triumphantly, "her jealousybreaks forth before your eyes. Whether I am, or am not, guilty of thesin she attributes to me, is not the question for you to decide. Can youconscientiously admit the testimony of a woman who, after publiclyacknowledging me, after receiving me in her house, after living two yearsin perfect amity with me, has, in a fit of angry vengeance, thought shecould give the lie to all her wards and actions? Ah! Bertrande, " hecontinued, "if it only concerned my life I think I could forgive amadness of which your love is both the cause and the excuse, but you area mother, think of that! My punishment will recoil on the head of mydaughter, who is unhappy enough to have been born since our reunion, andalso on our unborn child, which you condemn beforehand to curse the unionwhich gave it being. Think of this, Bertrande, you will have to answerbefore God for what you are now doing!"

The unhappy woman fell on her knees, weeping. 

"I adjure you, " he continued solemnly, "you, my wife, Bertrande de Rolls, to swear now, here, on the crucifix, that I am an impostor and a cheat. "

A crucifix was placed before Bertrande; she made a sign as if to push itaway, endeavoured to speak, and feebly exclaimed, "No, " then fell to theground, and was carried out insensible. 

This scene considerably shook the opinion of the magistrates. They couldnot believe that an impostor, whatever he might be, would have sufficientdaring and presence of mind thus to turn into mockery all that was mostsacred. They set a new inquiry on foot, which, instead of producingenlightenment, only plunged them into still greater obscurity. Out ofthirty witnesses heard, more than three-quarters agreed in identifying asMartin Guerre the man who claimed his name. Never was greater perplexitycaused by more extraordinary appearances. The remarkable resemblanceupset all reasoning: some recognised him as Arnauld du Thill, and othersasserted the exact contrary. He could hardly understand Basque, somesaid, though born in Biscay, was that astonishing, seeing he was onlythree when he left the country? He could neither wrestle nor fence well, but having no occasion to practise these exercises he might well haveforgotten them. The shoemaker--who made his shoes afore-time, thought hetook another measure, but he might have made a mistake before or bemistaken now. The prisoner further defended himself by recapitulatingthe circumstances of his first meeting with Bertrande, on his return, thethousand and one little details he had mentioned which he only could haveknown, also the letters in his possession, all of which could only beexplained by the assumption that he was the veritable Martin Guerre. Wasit likely that he would be wounded over the left eye and leg as themissing man was supposed to be? Was it likely that the old servant, thatthe four sisters, his uncle Pierre, many persons to whom he had relatedfacts known only to himself, that all the community in short, would haverecognised him? And even the very intrigue suspected by Bertrande, whichhad aroused her jealous anger, this very intrigue, if it really existed, was it not another proof of the verity of his claim, since the personconcerned, as interested and as penetrating as the legitimate wife; hadalso accepted him as her former lover? Surely here was a mass ofevidence sufficient to cast light on the case. Imagine an impostorarriving for the first time in a place where all the inhabitants areunknown to him, and attempting to personate a man who had dwelt there, who would have connections of all kinds, who would have played his partin a thousand different scenes, who would have confided his secrets, hisopinions, to relations, friends, acquaintances, to all sorts of people;who had also a wife--that is to say, a person under whose eyes nearly hiswhole life would be passed, a person would study him perpetually, withwhom he would be continually conversing on every sort of subject. Couldsuch an impostor sustain his impersonation for a single day, without hismemory playing him false? From the physical and moral impossibility ofplaying such a part, was it not reasonable to conclude that the accused, who had maintained it for more than two years, was the true MartinGuerre?

There seemed, in fact, to be nothing which could account for such anattempt being successfully made unless recourse was had to an accusationof sorcery. The idea of handing him over to the ecclesiasticalauthorities was briefly discussed, but proofs were necessary, and thejudges hesitated. It is a principle of justice, which has become aprecept in law, that in cases of uncertainty the accused has the benefitof the doubt; but at the period of which we are writing, these truthswere far from being acknowledged; guilt was presumed rather thaninnocence; and torture, instituted to force confession from those whocould not otherwise be convicted, is only explicable by supposing thejudges convinced of the actual guilt of the accused; for no one wouldhave thought of subjecting a possibly innocent person to this suffering. However, notwithstanding this prejudice, which has been handed down to usby some organs of the public ministry always disposed to assume the guiltof a suspected person, --notwithstanding this prejudice, the judges inthis case neither ventured to condemn Martin Guerre themselves as animpostor, nor to demand the intervention of the Church. In this conflictof contrary testimony, which seemed to reveal the truth only toimmediately obscure it again, in this chaos of arguments and conjectureswhich showed flashes of light only to extinguish them in greaterdarkness, consideration for the family prevailed. The sincerity ofBertrande, the future of the children, seemed reasons for proceeding withextreme caution, and this once admitted, could only yield to conclusiveevidence. Consequently the Parliament adjourned the case, mattersremaining in 'statu quo', pending a more exhaustive inquiry. Meanwhile, the accused, for whom several relations and friends gave surety, wasallowed to be at liberty at Artigues, though remaining under carefulsurveillance. 

Bertrande therefore again saw him an inmate of the house, as if no doubtshad ever been cast on the legitimacy of their union. What thoughtspassed through her mind during the long 'tete-a-tete'? She had accusedthis man of imposture, and now, notwithstanding her secret conviction, she was obliged to appear as if she had no suspicion, as if she had beenmistaken, to humiliate herself before the impostor, and ask forgivenessfor the insanity of her conduct; for, having publicly renounced heraccusation by refusing to swear to it, she had no alternative left. Inorder to sustain her part and to save the honour of her children, shemust treat this man as her husband and appear submissive and repentant;she must show him entire confidence, as the only means of rehabilitatinghim and lulling the vigilance of justice. What the widow of MartinGuerre must have suffered in this life of effort was a secret between Godand herself, but she looked at her little daughter, she thought of herfast approaching confinement, and took courage. 

One evening, towards nightfall, she was sitting near him in the mostprivate corner of the garden, with her little child on her knee, whilstthe adventurer, sunk in gloomy thoughts, absently stroked Sanxi's fairhead. Both were silent, for at the bottom of their hearts each knew theother's thoughts, and, no longer able to talk familiarly, nor daring toappear estranged, they spent, when alone together, long hours of silentdreariness. 

All at once a loud uproar broke the silence of their retreat; they heardthe exclamations of many persons, cries of surprise mixed with angrytones, hasty footsteps, then the garden gate was flung violently open, and old Marguerite appeared, pale, gasping, almost breathless. Bertrandehastened towards her in astonishment, followed by her husband, but whennear enough to speak she could only answer with inarticulate sounds, pointing with terror to the courtyard of the house. They looked in thisdirection, and saw a man standing at the threshold; they approached him. He stepped forward, as if to place himself between them. He was tall, dark; his clothes were torn; he had a wooden leg; his countenance wasstern. He surveyed Bertrande with a gloomy look: she cried aloud, andfell back insensible; . . . She recognised her real husband!

Arnauld du Thill stood petrified. While Marguerite, distracted herself, endeavoured to revive her mistress, the neighbours, attracted by thenoise, invaded the house, and stopped, gazing with stupefaction at thisastonishing resemblance. The two men had the same features, the sameheight, the same bearing, and suggested one being in two persons. Theygazed at each other in terror, and in that superstitious age the idea ofsorcery and of infernal intervention naturally occurred to those present. All crossed themselves, expecting every moment to see fire from heavenstrike one or other of the two men, or that the earth would engulf one ofthem. Nothing happened, however, except that both were promptly arrested, in order that the strange mystery might be cleared up. 

The wearer of the wooden leg, interrogated by the judges, related that hecame from Spain, where first the healing of his wound, and then the wantof money, had detained him hitherto. He had travelled on foot, almost abeggar. He gave exactly the same reasons for leaving Artigues as hadbeen given by the other Martin Guerre, namely, a domestic quarrel causedby jealous suspicion, the desire of seeing other countries, and anadventurous disposition. He had gone back to his birthplace, in Biscay;thence he entered the service of the Cardinal of Burgos; then thecardinal's brother had taken him to the war, and he had served with theSpanish troops; at the battle of St. Quentiny--his leg had been shatteredby an arquebus ball. So far his recital was the counterpart of the onealready heard by the judges from the other man. Now, they began todiffer. Martin Guerre stated that he had been conveyed to a house by aman whose features he did not distinguish, that he thought he was dying, and that several hours elapsed of which he could give no account, beingprobably delirious; that he suffered later intolerable pain, and oncoming to himself, found that his leg had been amputated. He remainedlong between life and death, but he was cared for by peasants whoprobably saved his life; his recovery was very slow. He discovered thatin the interval between being struck down in the battle and recoveringhis senses, his papers had disappeared, but it was impossible to suspectthe people who had nursed him with such generous kindness of theft. After his recovery, being absolutely destitute, he sought to return toFrance and again see his wife and child: he had endured all sorts ofprivations and fatigues, and at length, exhausted, but rejoicing at beingnear the end of his troubles, he arrived, suspecting nothing, at his owndoor. Then the terror of the old servant, a few broken words, made himguess at some misfortune, and the appearance of his wife and of a man soexactly like himself stupefied him. Matters had now been explained, andhe only regretted that his wound had not at once ended his existence. 

The whole story bore the impress of truth, but when the other prisonerwas asked what he had to say he adhered to his first answers, maintainingtheir correctness, and again asserted that he was the real Martin Guerre, and that the new claimant could only be Arnauld du Thill, the cleverimpostor, who was said to resemble himself so much that the inhabitantsof Sagias had agreed in mistaking him for the said Arnauld. 

The two Martin Guerres were then confronted without changing thesituation in the least; the first showing the same assurance, the samebold and confident bearing; while the second, calling on God and men tobear witness to his sincerity, deplored his misfortune in the mostpathetic terms. 

The judge's perplexity was great: the affair became more and morecomplicated, the question remained as difficult, as uncertain as ever. All the appearances and evidences were at variance; probability seemed toincline towards one, sympathy was more in favour of the other, but actualproof was still wanting. 

At length a member of the Parliament, M. De Coras, proposed as a lastchance before resorting to torture, that final means of examination in abarbarous age, that Bertrande should be placed between the two rivals, trusting, he said, that in such a case a woman's instinct would divinethe truth. Consequently the two Martin Guerres were brought before theParliament, and a few moments after Bertrande was led in, weak, pale, hardly able to stand, being worn out by suffering and advanced pregnancy. Her appearance excited compassion, and all watched anxiously to see whatshe would do. She looked at the two men, who had been placed atdifferent ends of the hall, and turning from him who was nearest to her, went and knelt silently before the man with the wooden leg; then, joiningher hands as if praying for mercy, she wept bitterly. So simple andtouching an action roused the sympathy of all present; Arnauld du Thillgrew pale, and everyone expected that Martin Guerre, rejoiced at beingvindicated by this public acknowledgment, would raise his wife andembrace her. But he remained cold and stern, and in a contemptuoustone--

"Your tears, madame, " he said; "they do not move me in the least, neithercan you seek to excuse your credulity by the examples of my sisters andmy uncle. A wife knows her husband more intimately than his otherrelations, as you prove by your present action, and if she is deceived itis because she consents to the deception. You are the sole cause of themisfortunes of my house, and to you only shall I ever impute them. "

Thunderstruck by this reproach, the poor woman had no strength to reply, and was taken home more dead than alive. 

The dignified language of this injured husband made another point in hisfavour. Much pity was felt for Bertrande, as being the victim of anaudacious deception; but everybody agreed that thus it beseemed the realMartin Guerre to have spoken. After the ordeal gone through by the wifehad been also essayed by the sisters and other relatives, who one and allfollowed Bertrande's example and accepted the new-comer, the court, having fully deliberated, passed the following sentence, which wetranscribe literally:

"Having reviewed the trial of Arnauld du Thill or Pansette, callinghimself Martin Guerre, a prisoner in the Conciergerie, who appeals fromthe decision of the judge of Rieux, etc. , "We declare that this court negatives the appeal and defence of the saidArnauld du Thill; and as punishment and amends for the imposture, deception, assumption of name and of person, adultery, rape, sacrilege, theft, larceny, and other deeds committed by the aforesaid du Thill, andcausing the above-mentioned trial; this court has condemned and condemnshim to do penance before the church of Artigue, kneeling, clad in hisshirt only, bareheaded and barefoot, a halter on his neck, and a burningtorch in his hand, and there he shall ask pardon from God, from the King, and from justice, from the said Martin Guerre and Bertrande de Rolls, husband and wife: and this done, the aforesaid du Thill shall bedelivered into the hands of the executioners of the King's justice, whoshall lead him through the customary streets and crossroads of theaforesaid place of Artigues, and, the halter on his neck, shall bring himbefore the house of the aforesaid Martin Guerre, where he shall be hungand strangled upon a gibbet erected for this purpose, after which hisbody shall be burnt: and for various reasons and considerations thereuntomoving the court, it has awarded and awards the goods of the aforesaidArnauld du Thill, apart from the expenses of justice, to the daughterborn unto him by the aforesaid Bertrande de Rolls, under pretence ofmarriage falsely asserted by him, having thereto assumed the name andperson of the aforesaid Martin Guerre, by this mans deceiving theaforesaid de Rolls; and moreover the court has exempted and exempts fromthis trial the aforesaid Martin Guerre and Bertrande de Rolls, also thesaid Pierre Guerre, uncle of the aforesaid Martin, and has remitted andremits the aforesaid Arnauld du Thill to the aforesaid judge of Rieux, inorder that the present sentence may be executed according to its form andtenor. Pronounced judicially this 12th day of September 1560. "

This sentence substituted the gallows for the decapitation decreed by thefirst judge, inasmuch as the latter punishment was reserved for criminalsof noble birth, while hanging was inflicted on meaner persons. 

When once his fate was decided, Arnauld du Thill lost all his audacity. Sent back to Artigues, he was interrogated in prison by the judge ofRieux, and confessed his imposture at great length. He said the ideafirst occurred to him when, having returned from the camp in Picardy, hewas addressed as Martin Guerre by several intimate friends of the latter. He then inquired as to the sort of life, the habits and relations of, this man, and having contrived to be near him, had watched him closelyduring the battle. He saw him fall, carried him away, and then, as thereader has already seen, excited his delirium to the utmost in order toobtain possession of his secrets. Having thus explained his successfulimposture by natural causes, which excluded any idea of magic or sorcery, he protested his penitence, implored the mercy of God, and preparedhimself for execution as became a Christian. 

The next day, while the populace, collecting from the wholeneighbourhood, had assembled before the parish church of Artigues inorder to behold the penance of the criminal, who, barefoot, attired in ashirt, and holding a lighted torch in his hand, knelt at the entrance ofthe church, another scene, no less painful, took place in the house ofMartin Guerre. Exhausted by her suffering, which had caused a prematureconfinement, Bertrande lay on her couch of pain, and besought pardon fromhim whom she had innocently wronged, entreating him also to pray for hersoul. Martin Guerre, sitting at her bedside, extended his hand andblessed her. She took his hand and held it to her lips; she could nolonger speak. All at once a loud noise was heard outside: the guilty manhad just been executed in front of the house. When finally attached tothe gallows, he uttered a terrible cry, which was answered by anotherfrom inside the house. The same evening, while the body of themalefactor was being consumed by fire, the remains of a mother and childwere laid to rest in consecrated ground. 

ALI PACHA

CHAPTER I

The beginning of the nineteenth century was a time of audaciousenterprises and strange vicissitudes of fortune. Whilst Western Europein turn submitted and struggled against a sub-lieutenant who made himselfan emperor, who at his pleasure made kings and destroyed kingdoms, theancient eastern part of the Continent; like mummies which preserve butthe semblance of life, was gradually tumbling to pieces, and gettingparcelled out amongst bold adventurers who skirmished over its ruins. Without mentioning local revolts which produced only short-livedstruggles and trifling changes, of administration, such as that ofDjezzar Pacha, who refused to pay tribute because he thought himselfimpregnable in his citadel of Saint-Jean-d'Acre, or that ofPassevend-Oglou Pacha, who planted himself on the walls of Widdin asdefender of the Janissaries against the institution of the regularmilitia decreed by Sultan Selim at Stamboul, there were wider spreadrebellions which attacked the constitution of the Turkish Empire anddiminished its extent; amongst them that of Czerni-Georges, which raisedServia to the position of a free state; of Mahomet Ali, who made hispachalik of Egypt into a kingdom; and finally that of the man whose, history we are about to narrate, Ali Tepeleni, Pacha of Janina, whoselong resistance to the suzerain power preceded and brought about theregeneration of Greece. 

Ali's own will counted for nothing in this important movement. Heforesaw it, but without ever seeking to aid it, and was powerless toarrest it. He was not one of those men who place their lives andservices at the disposal of any cause indiscriminately; and his sole aimwas to acquire and increase a power of which he was both the guidinginfluence, and the end and object. His nature contained the seeds ofevery human passion, and he devoted all his long life to theirdevelopment and gratification. This explains his whole temperament; hisactions were merely the natural outcome of his character confronted withcircumstances. Few men have understood themselves better or been onbetter terms with the orbit of their existence, and as the personality ofan individual is all the more striking, in proportion as it reflects themanners and ideas of the time and country in which he has lived, so thefigure of Ali Pacha stands out, if not one of the most brilliant, atleast one of the most singular in contemporary history. 

From the middle of the eighteenth century Turkey had been a prey to thepolitical gangrene of which she is vainly trying to cure herself to-day, and which, before long, will dismember her in the sight of all Europe. Anarchy and disorder reigned from one end of the empire to the other. The Osmanli race, bred on conquest alone, proved good for nothing whenconquest failed. It naturally therefore came to pass when Sobieski, whosaved Christianity under the walls of Vienna, as before his time CharlesMartel had saved it on the plains of Poitiers, had set bounds to the waveof Mussulman westward invasion, and definitely fixed a limit which itshould not pass, that the Osmanli warlike instincts recoiled uponthemselves. The haughty descendants of Ortogrul, who consideredthemselves born to command, seeing victory forsake them, fell back upontyranny. Vainly did reason expostulate that oppression could not long beexercised by hands which had lost their strength, and that peace imposednew and different labours on those who no longer triumphed in war; theywould listen to nothing; and, as fatalistic when condemned to a state ofpeace as when they marched forth conquering and to conquer, they cowereddown in magnificent listlessness, leaving the whole burden of theirsupport on conquered peoples. Like ignorant farmers, who exhaust fertilefields by forcing crops; they rapidly ruined their vast and rich empireby exorbitant exactions. Inexorable conquerors and insatiable masters, with one hand they flogged their slaves and with the other plunderedthem. Nothing was superior to their insolence, nothing on a level withtheir greed. They were never glutted, and never relaxed theirextortions. But in proportion as their needs increased on the one hand, so did their resources diminish on the other. Their oppressed subjectssoon found that they must escape at any cost from oppressors whom theycould neither appease nor satisfy. Each population took the steps bestsuited to its position and character; some chose inertia, othersviolence. The inhabitants of the plains, powerless and shelterless, bentlike reeds before the storm and evaded the shock against which they wereunable to stand. The mountaineers planted themselves like rocks in atorrent, and dammed its course with all their might. On both sides arosea determined resistance, different in method, similar in result. In thecase of the peasants labour came to a stand-still; in that of the hillfolk open war broke out. The grasping exactions of the tyrant dominantbody produced nothing from waste lands and armed mountaineers;destitution and revolt were equally beyond their power to cope with; andall that was left for tyranny to govern was a desert enclosed by a wall. 

But, all the same, the wants of a magnificent sultan, descendant of theProphet and distributor of crowns, must be supplied; and to do this, theSublime Porte needed money. Unconsciously imitating the Roman Senate, the Turkish Divan put up the empire for sale by public auction. Allemployments were sold to the highest bidder; pachas, beys, cadis, ministers of every rank, and clerks of every class had to buy their postsfrom their sovereign and get the money back out of his subjects. Theyspent their money in the capital, and recuperated themselves in theprovinces. And as there was no other law than their master's pleasure, so there, was no other guarantee than his caprice. They had therefore toset quickly to work; the post might be lost before its cost had beenrecovered. Thus all the science of administration resolved itself intoplundering as much and as quickly as possible. To this end, the delegateof imperial power delegated in his turn, on similar conditions, otheragents to seize for him and for themselves all they could lay their handson; so that the inhabitants of the empire might be divided into threeclasses--those who were striving to seize everything; those who weretrying to save a little; and those who, having nothing and hoping fornothing, took no interest in affairs at all. 

Albania was one of the most difficult provinces to manage. Itsinhabitants were poor, brave, and, the nature of the country wasmountainous and inaccessible. The pashas had great difficulty incollecting tribute, because the people were given to fighting for theirbread. Whether Mahomedans or Christians, the Albanians were above allsoldiers. Descended on the one side from the unconquerable Scythians, onthe other from the ancient Macedonians, not long since masters of theworld; crossed with Norman adventurers brought eastwards by the greatmovement of the Crusades; they felt the blood of warriors flow in theirveins, and that war was their element. Sometimes at feud with oneanother, canton against canton, village against village, often even houseagainst house; sometimes rebelling against the government their sanjaks;sometimes in league with these against the sultan; they never rested fromcombat except in an armed peace. Each tribe had its militaryorganisation, each family its fortified stronghold, each man his gun onhis shoulder. When they had nothing better to do, they tilled theirfields, or mowed their neighbours', carrying off, it should be noted, thecrop; or pastured their, flocks, watching the opportunity to trespassover pasture limits. This was the normal and regular life of thepopulation of Epirus, Thesprotia, Thessaly, and Upper Albania. LowerAlbania, less strong, was also less active and bold; and there, as inmany other parts of Turkey, the dalesman was often the prey of themountaineer. It was in the mountain districts where were preserved therecollections of Scander Beg, and where the manners of ancient Laconiaprevailed; the deeds of the brave soldier were sung on the lyre, and theskilful robber quoted as an example to the children by the father of thefamily. Village feasts were held on the booty taken from strangers; andthe favourite dish was always a stolen sheep. Every man was esteemed inproportion to his skill and courage, and a man's chances of making a goodmatch were greatly enhanced when he acquired the reputation of being anagile mountaineer and a good bandit. 

The Albanians proudly called this anarchy liberty, and religiouslyguarded a state of disorder bequeathed by their ancestors, which alwaysassured the first place to the most valiant. 

It was amidst men and manners such as these that Ali Tepeleni was born. He boasted that he belonged to the conquering race, and that he descendedfrom an ancient Anatolian family which had crossed into Albania with thetroops of Bajazet Ilderim. But it is made certain by the learnedresearches of M. De Pouqueville that he sprang from a native stock, andnot an Asiatic one, as he pretended. His ancestors were ChristianSkipetars, who became Mussulmans after the Turkish invasion, and hisancestry certainly cannot be traced farther back than the end of thesixteenth century. 

Mouktar Tepeleni, his grandfather, perished in the Turkish expeditionagainst Corfu, in 1716. Marshal Schullemburg, who defended the island, having repulsed the enemy with loss, took Mouktar prisoner on Mount SanSalvador, where he was in charge of a signalling party, and with abarbarity worthy of his adversaries, hung him without trial. It must beadmitted that the memory of this murder must have had the effect ofrendering Ali badly disposed towards Christians. 

Mouktar left three sons, two of whom, Salik and Mahomet, were born of thesame mother, a lawful wife, but the mother of the youngest, Veli, was aslave. His origin was no legal bar to his succeeding like his brothers. The family was one of the richest in the town of Tepelen, whose name itbore, it enjoyed an income of six thousand piastres, equal to twentythousand francs. This was a large fortune in a poor country, where, allcommodities were cheap. But the Tepeleni family, holding the rank ofbeys, had to maintain a state like that of the great financiers offeudal Europe. They had to keep a large stud of horses, with a greatretinue of servants and men-at-arms, and consequently to incur heavyexpenses; thus they constantly found their revenue inadequate. The mostnatural means of raising it which occurred to them was to diminish thenumber of those who shared it; therefore the two elder brothers, sons ofthe wife, combined against Veli, the son of the slave, and drove him outof the house. The latter, forced to leave home, bore his fate like abrave man, and determined to levy exactions on others to compensate himfor the losses incurred through his brothers. He became a freebooter, patrolling highroads and lanes, with his gun on his shoulder and hisyataghan in his belt, attacking, holding for ransom, or plundering allwhom he encountered. 

After some years of this profitable business, he found himself a wealthyman and chief of a warlike band. Judging that the moment for vengeancehad arrived, he marched for Tepelen, which he reached unsuspected, crossed the river Vojutza, the ancient Aous, penetrated the streetsunresisted, and presented himself before the paternal house, in which hisbrothers, forewarned, had barricaded themselves. He at once besiegedthem, soon forced the gates, and pursued them to a tent, in which theytook a final refuge. He surrounded this tent, waited till they wereinside it, and then set fire to the four corners. "See, " said he tothose around him, "they cannot accuse me of vindictive reprisals; mybrothers drove me out of doors, and I retaliate by keeping them at homefor ever. "

In a few moments he was his father's sole heir and master of Tepelen. Arrived at the summit of his ambition, he gave up free-booting, andestablished himself in the town, of which he became chief ago. He hadalready a son by a slave, who soon presented him with another son, andafterwards with a daughter, so that he had no reason to fear dyingwithout an heir. But finding himself rich enough to maintain more wivesand bring up many children, he desired to increase his credit by allyinghimself to some great family of the country. He therefore solicited andobtained the hand of Kamco, daughter of a bey of Conitza. This marriageattached him by the ties of relationship to the principal families of theprovince, among others to Kourd Pacha, Vizier of Serat, who was descendedfrom the illustrious race of Scander Beg. After a few years, Veli had byhis new wife a son named Ali, the subject of this history, and a daughternamed Chainitza. 

Ire spite of his intentions to reform, Veli could not entirely give uphis old habits. Although his fortune placed him altogether above smallgains and losses, he continued to amuse himself by raiding from time totime sheep, goats, and other perquisites, probably to keep his hand in. This innocent exercise of his taste was not to the fancy of hisneighbours, and brawls and fights recommenced in fine style. Fortune didnot always favour him, and the old mountaineer lost in the town part ofwhat he had made on the hills. Vexations soured his temper and injuredhis health. Notwithstanding the injunctions of Mahomet, he soughtconsolation in wine, which soon closed his career. He died in 1754. 

CHAPTER II

Ali thus at thirteen years of age was free to indulge in the impetuosityof his character. From his early youth he had manifested a mettle andactivity rare in young Turks, haughty by nature and self-restrained byeducation. Scarcely out of the nursery, he spent his time in climbingmountains, wandering through forests, scaling precipices, rolling insnow, inhaling the wind, defying the tempests, breathing out his nervousenergy through every pore. Possibly he learnt in the midst of every kindof danger to brave everything and subdue everything; possibly in sympathywith the majesty of nature, he felt aroused in him a need of personalgrandeur which nothing could satiate. In vain his father sought to calmhis savage temper; and restrain his vagabond spirit; nothing was of, anyuse. As obstinate as intractable, he set at defiance all efforts and allprecautions. If they shut him up, he broke the door or jumped out of thewindow; if they threatened him, he pretended to comply, conquered byfear, and promised everything that was required, but only to break hisword the first opportunity. He had a tutor specially attached to hisperson and charged to supervise all his actions. He constantly deludedhim by fresh tricks, and when he thought himself free from theconsequences, he maltreated him with gross violence. It was only in hisyouth, after his father's death, that he became more manageable; he evenconsented to learn to read, to please his mother, whose idol he was, andto whom in return he gave all his affection. 

If Kamco had so strong a liking for Ali, it was because she found in him, not only her blood, but also her character. During the lifetime of herhusband, whom she feared, she seemed only an ordinary woman; but as soonas his eyes were closed, she gave free scope to the violent passionswhich agitated her bosom. Ambitious, bold, vindictive; she assiduouslycultivated the germs of ambition, hardihood, and vengeance which alreadystrongly showed themselves in the young Ali. "My son, " she was nevertired of telling him, "he who cannot defend his patrimony richly deservesto lose it. Remember that the property of others is only theirs so longas they are strong enough to keep it, and that when you find yourselfstrong enough to take it from them, it is yours. Success justifieseverything, and everything is permissible to him who has the power to doit. "

Ali, when he reached the zenith of his greatness, used to declare thathis success was entirely his mother's work. "I owe everything to mymother, " he said one day to the French Consul; "for my father, when hedied, left me nothing but a den of wild beasts and a few fields. Myimagination, inflamed by the counsels of her who has given me life twiceover, since she has made me both a man and a vizier, revealed to me thesecret of my destiny. Thenceforward I saw nothing in Tepelen but thenatal air from which I was to spring on the prey which I devouredmentally. I dreamt of nothing else but power, treasures, palaces, inshort what time has realised and still promises; for the point I have nowreached is not the limit of my hopes. "

Kamco did not confine herself to words; she employed every means toincrease the fortune of her beloved son and to make him a power. Herfirst care was to poison the children of Veli's favourite slave, who haddied before him. Then, at ease about the interior of her family, shedirected her attention to the exterior. Renouncing all the habit of hersex, she abandoned the veil and the distaff, and took up arms, underpretext of maintaining the rights of her children. She collected roundher her husband's old partisans, whom she attached to her, service, someby presents, others by various favours, and she gradually enlisted allthe lawless and adventurous men in Toscaria. With their aid, she madeherself all powerful in Tepelen, and inflicted the most rigorouspersecutions on such as remained hostile to her. 

But the inhabitants of the two adjacent villages of Kormovo and Kardiki, fearing lest this terrible woman, aided by her son, now grown into a man, should strike a blow against their independence; made a secret allianceagainst her, with the object of putting her out of the way the firstconvenient opportunity. Learning one day that Ali had started on adistant expedition with his best soldiers; they surprised Tepelen undercover of night, and carried off Kamco and her daughter Chainitza captivesto Kardiki. It was proposed to put them to death; and sufficientevidence to justify their execution was not wanting; but their beautysaved their lives; their captors preferred to revenge themselves bylicentiousness rather than by murder. Shut up all day in prison, theyonly emerged at night to pass into the arms of the men who had won themby lot the previous morning. This state of things lasted for a month, atthe end of which a Greek of Argyro-Castron, named G. Malicovo, moved bycompassion for their horrible fate, ransomed them for twenty thousandpiastres, and took them back to Tepelen. 

Ali had just returned. He was accosted by his mother and sister, palewith fatigue, shame, and rage. They told him what had taken place, withcries and tears, and Kamco added, fixing her distracted eyes upon him, "My son! my son! my soul will enjoy no peace till Kormovo and Kardikildestroyed by thy scimitar, will no longer exist to bear witness to mydishonour. "

Ali, in whom this sight and this story had aroused, sanguinary passions, promised a vengeance proportioned to the outrage, and worked with all hismight to place himself in a position to keep his word. A worthy son ofhis father, he had commenced life in the fashion of the heroes of ancientGreece, stealing sheep and goats, and from the age of fourteen years hehad acquired an equal reputation to that earned by the son of Jupiter andMaia. When he grew to manhood, he extended his operations. At the timeof which we are speaking, he had long practised open pillage. Hisplundering expeditions added to his mother's savings, who since herreturn from Kardiki had altogether withdrawn from public life, anddevoted herself to household duties, enabled him to collect aconsiderable force for am expedition against Kormovo, one of the twotowns he had sworn to destroy. He marched against it at the head of hisbanditti, but found himself vigorously opposed, lost part of his force, and was obliged to save himself and the rest by flight. He did not stoptill he reached Tepelen, where he had a warm reception from Kamco, whosethirst for vengeance had been disappointed by his defeat. "Go!" saidshe, "go, coward! go spin with the women in the harem! The distaff is abetter weapon for you than the scimitar!" The young man answered not aword, but, deeply wounded by these reproaches, retired to hide hishumiliation in the bosom of his old friend the mountain. The popularlegend, always thirsting for the marvellous in the adventures of heroes, has it that he found in the ruins of a church a treasure which enabledhim to reconstitute his party. But he himself has contradicted thisstory, stating that it was by the ordinary methods of rapine and plunderthat he replenished his finances. He selected from his old band ofbrigands thirty palikars, and entered, as their bouloubachi, or leader ofthe group, into the service of the Pacha of Negropont. But he soon tiredof the methodical life he was obliged to lead, and passed into Thessaly, where, following the example of his father Veli, he employed his time inbrigandage on the highways. Thence he raided the Pindus chain ofmountains, plundered a great number of villages, and returned to Tepelen, richer and consequently more esteemed than ever. 

He employed his fortune and influence in collecting a formidable guerillaforce, and resumed his plundering operations. Kurd Pacha soon foundhimself compelled, by the universal outcry of the province, to takeactive measures against this young brigand. He sent against him adivision of troops, which defeated him and brought him prisoner with hismen to Berat, the capital of Central Albania and residence of thegovernor. The country flattered itself that at length it was freed fromits scourge. The whole body of bandits was condemned to death; but Aliwas not the man to surrender his life so easily. Whilst they werehanging his comrades, he threw himself at the feet of the pacha andbegged for mercy in the name of his parents, excusing himself on accountof his youth, and promising a lasting reform. The pacha, seeing at hisfeet a comely youth, with fair hair and blue eyes, a persuasive voice, and eloquent tongue, and in whose veins flowed the same blood as his own, was moved with pity and pardoned him. Ali got off with a mild captivityin the palace of his powerful relative, who heaped benefits upon him, anddid all he could to lead him into the paths of probity. He appearedamenable to these good influences, and bitterly to repent his pasterrors. After some years, believing in his reformation, and moved by theprayers of Kamco, who incessantly implored the restitution of her dearson, the generous pacha restored him his liberty, only giving him tounder stand that he had no more mercy to expect if he again disturbed thepublic peace. Ali taking the threat seriously; did not run the risk ofbraving it, and, on the contrary, did all he could to conciliate the manwhose anger he dared not kindle. Not only did he keep the promise he hadmade to live quietly, but by his good conduct he caused his, formerescapades to be forgotten, putting under obligation all his neighbours, and attaching to himself, through the services he rendered them, a greatnumber of friendly disposed persons. In this manner he soon assumed adistinguished and honourable rank among the beys of the country, andbeing of marriageable age, he sought and formed an alliance with thedaughter of Capelan Tigre, Pacha of Delvino, who resided atArgyro-Castron. This union, happy on both sides, gave him, with one ofthe most accomplished women in Epirus, a high position and greatinfluence. 

It seemed as if this marriage were destined to wean Ali forever from hisformer turbulent habits and wild adventures. But the family into whichhe had married afforded violent contrasts and equal elements of good andmischief. If Emineh, his wife, was a model of virtue, his father-in-law, Capelan, was a composition of every vice--selfish, ambitious, turbulent, fierce. Confident in his courage, and further emboldened by hisremoteness from the capital, the Pacha of Delvino gloried in setting lawand authority at defiance. 

Ali's disposition was too much like that of his father-in-law to preventhim from taking his measure very quickly. He soon got on good terms withhim, and entered into his schemes, waiting for an opportunity to denouncehim and become his successor. For this opportunity he had not long towait. 

Capelan's object in giving his daughter to Tepeleni was to enlist himamong the beys of the province to gain independence, the ruling passionof viziers. The cunning young man pretended to enter into the views ofhis father-in-law, and did all he could to urge him into the path ofrebellion. 

An adventurer named Stephano Piccolo, an emissary of Russia, had justraised in Albania the standard of the Cross and called to arms all theChristians of the Acroceraunian Mountains. The Divan sent orders to allthe pachas of Northern Turkey in Europe to instantly march against theinsurgents and quell the rising in blood. 

Instead of obeying the orders of the Divan and joining Kurd Pacha, whohad summoned him, Capelan, at the instigation of his son-in-law, did allhe could to embarrass the movement of the imperial troops, and withoutopenly making common cause with the insurgents, he rendered themsubstantial aid in their resistance. They were, notwithstanding, conquered and dispersed; and their chief, Stephano Piccolo, had to takerefuge in the unexplored caves of Montenegro. 

When the struggle was over, Capelan, as Ali had foreseen, was summoned togive an account of his conduct before the roumeli-valicy, supreme judgeover Turkey in Europe. He was not only accused of the gravest offences, but proofs of them were forwarded to the Divan by the very man who hadinstigated them. There could be no doubt as to the result of theinquiry; therefore, the pacha, who had no suspicions of his son-in-law'sduplicity, determined not to leave his pachalik. That was not inaccordance with the plans of Ali, who wished to succeed to both thegovernment and the wealth of his father-in-law. He accordingly made themost plausible remonstrances against the inefficacy and danger of such aresistance. To refuse to plead was tantamount to a confession of guilt, and was certain to bring on his head a storm against which he waspowerless to cope, whilst if he obeyed the orders of the roumeli-valicyhe would find it easy to excuse himself. To give more effect to hisperfidious advice, Ali further employed the innocent Emineh, who waseasily alarmed on her father's account. Overcome by the reasoning of hisson-in-law and the tears of his daughter, the unfortunate pacha consentedto go to Monastir, where he had been summoned to appear, and where he wasimmediately arrested and beheaded. 

Ali's schemes had succeeded, but both his ambition and his cupidity werefrustrated. Ali, Bey of Argyro-Castron, who had throughout shown himselfdevoted to the sultan, was nominated Pacha of Delvino in place ofCapelan. He sequestered all the property of his predecessor, asconfiscated to the sultan, and thus deprived Ali Tepeleni of all thefruits of his crime. 

This disappointment kindled the wrath of the ambitious Ali. He sworevengeance for the spoliation of which he considered himself the victim. But the moment was not favourable for putting his projects in train. Themurder of Capelan, which its perpetrator intended for a mere crime, proved a huge blunder. The numerous enemies of Tepeleni, silent underthe administration of the late pacha, whose resentment they had cause tofear, soon made common cause under the new one, for whose support theyhad hopes. Ali saw the danger, sought and found the means to obviate it. He succeeded in making a match between Ali of Argyro-Castron, who wasunmarried, and Chainitza, his own sister. This alliance secured to himthe government of Tigre, which he held under Capelan. But that was notsufficient. He must put himself in a state of security against thedangers he had lately, experienced, and establish himself on a firmfooting' against possible accidents. He soon formed a plan, which hehimself described to the French Consul in the following words:--

"Years were elapsing, " said he, "and brought no important change in myposition. I was an important partisan, it is true, and stronglysupported, but I held no title or Government employment of my own. Irecognised the necessity of establishing myself firmly in my birthplace. I had devoted friends, and formidable foes, bent on my destruction, whomI must put out of the way, for my own safety. I set about a plan fordestroying them at one blow, and ended by devising one with which I oughtto have commenced my career. Had I done so, I should have saved muchtime and pains. 

"I was in the habit of going every day, after hunting, for a siesta in aneighbouring wood. A confidential servant of mine suggested to myenemies the idea of surprising me and assassinating one there. I myselfsupplied the plan of the conspiracy, which was adopted. On the dayagreed upon, I preceded my adversaries to the place where I wasaccustomed to repose, and caused a goat to be pinioned and muzzled, andfastened under the tree, covered with my cape; I then returned home by aroundabout path. Soon after I had left, the conspirators arrived, andfired a volley at the goat. 

"They ran up to make certain of my death, but were interrupted by apiquet of my men, who unexpectedly emerged from a copse where I hadposted them, and they were obliged to return to Tepelen, which theyentered, riotous with joy, crying 'Ali Bey is dead, now we are free!'This news reached my harem, and I heard the cries of my mother and mywife mingled with the shouts of my enemies. I allowed the commotion torun its course and reach its height, so as to indicate which were myfriends and which my foes. But when the former were at the depth oftheir distress and the latter at the height of their joy, and, exultingin their supposed victory, had drowned their prudence and their couragein floods of wine, then, strong in the justice of my cause, I appearedupon the scene. Now was the time for my friends to triumph and for myfoes to tremble. I set to work at the head of my partisans, and beforesunrise had exterminated the last of my enemies. I distributed theirlands, their houses, and their goods amongst my followers, and from thatmoment I could call the town of Tepelen my own. "

A less ambitious man might perhaps have remained satisfied with such aresult. But Ali did not look upon the suzerainty of a canton as a finalobject, but only as a means to an end; and he had not made himself masterof Tepelen to limit himself to a petty state, but to employ it as a baseof operations. 

He had allied himself to Ali of Argyro-Castron to get rid of his enemies;once free from them, he began to plot against his supplanter. He forgotneither his vindictive projects nor his ambitious schemes. As prudent inexecution as bold in design, he took good care not to openly attack a manstronger than himself, and gained by stratagem what he could not obtainby violence. The honest and straightforward character of hisbrother-in-law afforded an easy success to his perfidy. He began byendeavouring to suborn his sister Chainitza, and several times proposedto her to poison her husband; but she, who dearly loved the pacha, whowas a kind husband and to whom she had borne two children, repulsed hissuggestions with horror, and threatened, if he persisted, to denouncehim. Ali, fearing the consequences if she carried out her threat, beggedforgiveness for his wicked plans, pretended deep repentance, and spoke ofhis brother-in-law in terms of the warmest affection. His acting was soconsummate that even Chainitza, who well knew her brother's subtlecharacter, was deceived by it. When he saw that she was his dupe, knowing that he had nothing more either to fear or to hope for from thatside, he directed his attention to another. 

The pacha had a brother named Soliman, whose character nearly resembledthat of Tepeleni. The latter, after having for some time quietly studiedhim, thought he discerned in him the man he wanted; he tempted him tokill the pacha, offering him, as the price of this crime, his wholeinheritance and the hand of Chainitza, only reserving for himself thelong coveted sanjak. Soliman accepted the proposals, and the fratricidalbargain was concluded. The two conspirators, sole masters of the secret, the horrible nature of which guaranteed their mutual fidelity, and havingfree access to the person of their victim; could not fail in theirobject. 

One day, when they were both received by the pacha in private audience, Soliman, taking advantage of a moment when he was unobserved, drew apistol from his belt and blew out his brother's brains. Chainitza ran atthe sound, and saw her husband lying dead between her brother and herbrother-in-law. Her cries for help were stopped by threats of death ifshe moved or uttered a sound. As she lay, fainting with grief andterror, Ali made, a sign to Soliman, who covered her with his cloak, anddeclared her his wife. Ali pronounced the marriage concluded, andretired for it to be consummated. Thus was celebrated this frightfulwedding, in the scene of an awful crime; beside the corpse of a man who amoment before had been the husband of the bride and the brother of thebridegroom. 

The assassins published the death of the pacha, attributing it, as isusual in Turkey, to a fit of cerebral apoplexy. But the truth soonleaked out from the lying shrouds in which it had been wrapped. Reportseven exceeded the truth, and public opinion implicated Chainitza in acrime of which she had been but the witness. Appearances certainlyjustified these suspicions. The young wife had soon consoled herself inthe arms of her second husband for the loss of the first, and her son byhim presently died suddenly, thus leaving Soliman in lawful and peacefulpossession of all his brother's wealth. As for the little girl, as shehad no rights and could hurt no one, her life was spared; and she waseventually married to a bey of Cleisoura, destined in the sequel to cut atragic figure in the history of the Tepeleni family. 

But Ali was once more deprived of the fruit of his bloody schemes. Notwithstanding all his intrigues, the sanjak of Delvino was conferred, not upon him, but upon a bey of one of the first families of Zapouria. But, far from being discouraged, he recommenced with new boldness andstill greater confidence the work of his elevation, so often begun and sooften interrupted. He took advantage of his increasing influence toingratiate himself with the new pasha, and was so successful ininsinuating himself into his confidence, that he was received into thepalace and treated like the pacha's son. There he acquired completeknowledge of the details of the pachalik and the affairs of the pacha, preparing himself to govern the one when he had got rid of the other. 

The sanjak of Delvino was bounded from Venetian territory by the districtof Buthrotum. Selim, a better neighbour and an abler politician than hispredecessors, sought to renew and preserve friendly commercial relationswith the purveyors of the Magnificent Republic. This wise conduct, equally advantageous for both the bordering provinces, instead of gainingfor the pacha the praise and favours which he deserved, rendered himsuspected at a court whose sole political idea was hatred of the name ofChristian, and whose sole means of government was terror. Aliimmediately perceived the pacha's error, and the advantage which hehimself could derive from it. Selim, as one of his commercialtransactions with the Venetians, had sold them, for a number of years, the right of felling timber in a forest near Lake Reloda. Aliimmediately took advantage of this to denounce the pasha as guilty ofhaving alienated the territory of the Sublime Porte, and of a desire todeliver to the infidels all the province of Delvino. Masking hisambitious designs under the veil of religion and patriotism, he lamented, in his denunciatory report, the necessity under which he found himself, as a loyal subject and faithful Mussulman, of accusing a man who had beenhis benefactor, and thus at the same time gained the benefit of crime andthe credit of virtue. 

Under the gloomy despotism of the Turks, a man in any position ofresponsibility is condemned almost as soon as accused; and if he is notstrong enough to inspire terror, his ruin is certain. Ali received atTepelen, where he had retired to more conveniently weave his perfidiousplots, an order to get rid of the pacha. At the receipt of the firman ofexecution he leaped with joy, and flew to Delvino to seize the prey whichwas abandoned to him. 

The noble Selim, little suspecting that his protege had become hisaccuser and was preparing to become his executioner, received him withmore tenderness than ever, and lodged him, as heretofore, in his palace. Under the shadow of this hospitable roof, Ali skilfully prepared theconsummation of the crime which was for ever to draw him out ofobscurity. He went every morning to pay his court to the pacha, whoseconfidence he doubted; then, one day, feigning illness, he sent excusesfor inability to pay his respects to a man whom he was accustomed toregard as his father, and begged him to come for a moment into hisapartment. The invitation being accepted, he concealed assassins in oneof the cupboards without shelves, so common in the East, which contain byday the mattresses spread by night on the floor for the slaves to sleepupon. At the hour fixed, the old man arrived. Ali rose from his sofawith a depressed air, met him, kissed the hem of his robe, and, afterseating him in his place, himself offered him a pipe-and coffee, whichwere accepted. But instead of putting the cup in the hand stretched toreceive it, he let it fall on the floor, where it broke into a thousandpieces. This was the signal. The assassins sprang from their retreat anddarted upon Selim, who fell, exclaiming, like Caesar, "And it is thou, myson, who takest my life!"

At the sound of the tumult which followed the assassination, Selim'sbodyguard, running up, found Ali erect, covered with blood, surrounded byassassins, holding in his hand the firman displayed, and crying with amenacing voice, "I have killed the traitor Selim by the order of ourglorious sultan; here is his imperial command. " At these words, and thesight of the fatal diploma, all prostrated themselves terror-stricken. Ali, after ordering the decapitation of Selim, whose head he seized as atrophy, ordered the cadi, the beys, and the Greek archons to meet at thepalace, to prepare the official account of the execution of the sentence. They assembled, trembling; the sacred hymn of the Fatahat was sung, andthe murder declared legal, in the name of the merciful and compassionateGod, Lord of the world. 

When they had sealed up the effects of the victim, the murderer left thepalace, taking with him, as a hostage, Mustapha, son of Selim, destinedto be even more unfortunate than his father. 

A few days afterwards, the Divan awarded to Ali Tepeleni, as a reward forhis zeal for the State and religion, the sanjak of Thessaly, with thetitle of Dervendgi-pacha, or Provost Marshal of the roads. This latterdignity was conferred on the condition of his levying a body of fourthousand men to clear the valley of the Peneus of a multitude ofChristian chiefs who exercised more power than the officers of the GrandSeigneur. The new pacha took advantage of this to enlist a numerous bodyof Albanians ready for any enterprise, and completely devoted to him. With two important commands, and with this strong force at his back, herepaired to Trikala, the seat of his government, where he speedilyacquired great influence. 

His first act of authority was to exterminate the bands of Armatolis, orChristian militia, which infested the plain. He laid violent hands onall whom he caught, and drove the rest back into their mountains, splitting them up into small bands whom he could deal with at hispleasure. At the same time he sent a few heads to Constantinople, toamuse the sultan and the mob, and some money to the ministers to gaintheir support. "For, " said he, "water sleeps, but envy never does. "These steps were prudent, and whilst his credit increased at court, orderwas reestablished from the defiles of the Perrebia of Pindus to the valeof Tempe and to the pass of Thermopylae. 

These exploits of the provost-marshal, amplified by Orientalexaggeration, justified the ideas which were entertained of the capacityof Ali Pacha. Impatient of celebrity, he took good care himself tospread his fame, relating his prowess to all comers, making presents tothe sultan's officers who came into his government, and showingtravellers his palace courtyard festooned with decapitated heads. Butwhat chiefly tended to consolidate his power was the treasure which heceaselessly amassed by every means. He never struck for the mere pleasureof striking, and the numerous victims of his proscriptions only perishedto enrich him. His death sentences always fell on beys and wealthypersons whom he wished to plunder. In his eyes the axe was but aninstrument of fortune, and the executioner a tax-gatherer. 

CHAPTER III

Having governed Thessaly in this manner during several years, Ali foundhimself in a position to acquire the province of Janina, the possessionof which, by making him master of Epirus, would enable him to crush allhis enemies and to reign supreme over the three divisions of Albania. 

But before he could succeed in this, it was necessary to dispose of thepacha already in possession. Fortunately for Ali, the latter was a weakand indolent man, quite incapable of struggling against so formidable arival; and his enemy speedily conceived and put into execution a planintended to bring about the fulfilment of his desires. He came to termswith the same Armatolians whom he had formerly treated so harshly, andlet them loose, provided with arms and ammunition, on the country whichhe wished to obtain. Soon the whole region echoed with stories ofdevastation and pillage. The pacha, unable to repel the incursions ofthese mountaineers, employed the few troops he had in oppressing theinhabitants of the plains, who, groaning under both extortion and rapine, vainly filled the air with their despairing cries. Ali hoped that theDivan, which usually judged only after the event, seeing that Epirus laydesolate, while Thessaly flourished under his own administration, would, before long, entrust himself with the government of both provinces, whena family incident occurred, which for a time diverted the course of hispolitical manoeuvres. 

For a long time his mother Kamco had suffered from an internal cancer, the result of a life of depravity. Feeling that her end drew near, shedespatched messenger after messenger, summoning her son to her bedside. He started, but arrived too late, and found only his sister Chainitzamourning over the body of their mother, who had expired in her arms anhour previously. Breathing unutterable rage and pronouncing horribleimprecations against Heaven, Kamco had commanded her children, under painof her dying curse, to carry out her last wishes faithfully. Afterhaving long given way to their grief, Ali and Chainitza read together thedocument which contained these commands. It ordained some specialassassinations, mentioned sundry villages which, some day; were to begiven to the flames, but ordered them most especially, as soon aspossible, to exterminate the inhabitants of Kormovo and Kardiki, fromwhom she had endured the last horrors of slavery. 

Then, after advising her children to remain united, to enrich theirsoldiers, and to count as nothing people who were useless to them, Kamcoended by commanding them to send in her name a pilgrim to Mecca, whoshould deposit an offering on the tomb of the Prophet for the repose ofher soul. Having perused these last injunctions, Ali and Chainitzajoined hands, and over the inanimate remains of their departed motherswore to accomplish her dying behests. 

The pilgrimage came first under consideration. Now a pilgrim can only besent as proxy to Mecca, or offerings be made at the tomb of Medina, atthe expense of legitimately acquired property duly sold for the purpose. The brother and sister made a careful examination of the family estates, and after long hunting, thought they had found the correct thing in asmall property of about fifteen hundred francs income, inherited fromtheir great-grandfather, founder of the Tepel-Enian dynasty. But furtherinvestigations disclosed that even this last resource had been forciblytaken from a Christian, and the idea of a pious pilgrimage and a sacredoffering had to be given up. They then agreed to atone for theimpossibility of expiation by the grandeur of their vengeance, and sworeto pursue without ceasing and to destroy without mercy all enemies oftheir family. 

The best mode of carrying out this terrible and self-given pledge wasthat Ali should resume his plans of aggrandizement exactly where he hadleft them. He succeeded in acquiring the pachalik of Janina, which wasgranted him by the Porte under the title of "arpalik, " or conquest. Itwas an old custom, natural to the warlike habits of the Turks, to bestowthe Government provinces or towns affecting to despise the authority ofthe Grand Seigneur on whomsoever succeeded in controlling them, andJanina occupied this position. It was principally inhabited byAlbanians, who had an enthusiastic admiration for anarchy, dignified bythem with the name of "Liberty, " and who thought themselves independentin proportion to the disturbance they succeeded in making. Each livedretired as if in a mountain castle, and only went out in order toparticipate in the quarrels of his faction in the forum. As for thepachas, they were relegated to the old castle on the lake, and there wasno difficulty in obtaining their recall. 

Consequently there was a general outcry at the news of Ali Pacha'snomination, and it was unanimously agreed that a man whose character andpower were alike dreaded must not be admitted within the walls of Janina. Ali, not choosing to risk his forces in an open battle with a warlikepopulation, and preferring a slower and safer way to a short anddangerous one, began by pillaging the villages and farms belonging to hismost powerful opponents. His tactics succeeded, and the very persons whohad been foremost in vowing hatred to the son of Kamco and who had swornmost loudly that they would die rather than submit to the tyrant, seeingtheir property daily ravaged, and impending ruin if hostilitiescontinued, applied themselves to procure peace. Messengers were sentsecretly to Ali, offering to admit him into Janina if he would undertaketo respect the lives and property of his new allies. Ali promisedwhatever they asked, and entered the town by night. His first proceedingwas to appear before the cadi, whom he compelled to register and proclaimhis firmans of investiture. 

In the same year in which he arrived at this dignity, really the desireand object of Ali's whole life, occurred also the death of the SultanAbdul Hamid, whose two sons, Mustapha and Mahmoud, were confined in theOld Seraglio. This change of rulers, however, made no difference to Ali;the peaceful Selim, exchanging the prison to which his nephews were nowrelegated, for the throne of their father, confirmed the Pacha of Janinain the titles, offices, and privileges which had been conferred on him. 

Established in his position by this double investiture, Ali appliedhimself to the definite settlement of his claims. He was now fifty yearsof age, and was at the height of his intellectual development: experiencehad been his teacher, and the lesson of no single event had been lostupon him. An uncultivated but just and penetrating mind enabled him tocomprehend facts, analyse causes, and anticipate results; and as hisheart never interfered with the deductions of his rough intelligence, hehad by a sort of logical sequence formulated an inflexible plan ofaction. This man, wholly ignorant, not only of the ideas of history butalso of the great names of Europe, had succeeded in divining, and as anatural consequence of his active and practical character, in alsorealising Macchiavelli, as is amply shown in the expansion of hisgreatness and the exercise of his power. Without faith in God, despisingmen, loving and thinking only of himself, distrusting all around him, audacious in design, immovable in resolution, inexorable in execution, merciless in vengeance, by turns insolent, humble, violent, or suppleaccording to circumstances, always and entirely logical in his egotism, he is Cesar Borgia reborn as a Mussulman; he is the incarnate ideal ofFlorentine policy, the Italian prince converted into a satrap. 

Age had as yet in no way impaired Ali's strength and activity, andnothing prevented his profiting by the advantages of his position. Already possessing great riches, which every day saw increasing under hismanagement, he maintained a large body of warlike and devoted troops, heunited the offices of Pacha of two tails of Janina, of Toparch ofThessaly, and of Provost Marshal of the Highway. As influential aidsboth to his reputation for general ability and the terror of his' arms, and his authority as ruler, there stood by his side two sons, Mouktar andVeli, offspring of his wife Emineh, both fully grown and carefullyeducated in the principles of their father. 

Ali's first care, once master of Janina, was to annihilate the beysforming the aristocracy of the place, whose hatred he was well aware of, and whose plots he dreaded. He ruined them all, banishing many andputting others to death. Knowing that he must make friends to supply thevacancy caused by the destruction of his foes, he enriched with the spoilthe Albanian mountaineers in his pay, known by the name of Skipetars, onwhom he conferred most of the vacant employments. But much too prudentto allow all the power to fall into the hands of a single caste, althougha foreign one to the capital, he, by a singular innovation, added to andmixed with them an infusion of Orthodox Greeks, a skilful but despisedrace, whose talents he could use without having to dread their influence. While thus endeavouring on one side to destroy the power of his enemiesby depriving them of both authority and wealth, and on the other toconsolidate his own by establishing a firm administration, he neglectedno means of acquiring popularity. A fervent disciple of Mahomet whenamong fanatic Mussulmans, a materialist with the Bektagis who professed arude pantheism, a Christian among the Greeks, with whom he drank to thehealth of the Holy Virgin, he made everywhere partisans by flattering theidea most in vogue. But if he constantly changed both opinions andlanguage when dealing with subordinates whom it was desirable to winover, Ali towards his superiors had one only line of conduct which henever transgressed. Obsequious towards the Sublime Porte, so long as itdid not interfere with his private authority, he not only paid withexactitude all dues to the sultan, to whom he even often advanced money, but he also pensioned the most influential ministers. He was bent onhaving no enemies who could really injure his power, and he knew that inan absolute government no conviction can hold its own against the powerof gold. 

Having thus annihilated the nobles, deceived the multitude with plausiblewords and lulled to sleep the watchfulness of the Divan, Ali resolved toturn his arms against Kormovo. At the foot of its rocks he had, inyouth, experienced the disgrace of defeat, and during thirty nights Kamcoand Chainitza had endured all horrors of outrage at the hands of itswarriors. Thus the implacable pacha had a twofold wrong to punish, adouble vengeance to exact. 

This time, profiting by experience, he called in the aid of treachery. Arrived at the citadel, he negotiated, promised an amnesty, forgivenessfor all, actual rewards for some. The inhabitants, only too happy tomake peace with so formidable an adversary, demanded and obtained a truceto settle the conditions. This was exactly what Ali expected, andKormovo, sleeping on the faith of the treaty, was suddenly attacked andtaken. All who did not escape by flight perished by the sword in thedarkness, or by the hand of the executioner the next morning. Those whohad offered violence aforetime to Ali's mother and sister were carefullysought for, and whether convicted or merely accused, were impaled onspits, torn with redhot pincers, and slowly roasted between two fires;the women were shaved and publicly scourged, and then sold as slaves. 

This vengeance, in which all the nobles of the province not yet entirelyruined were compelled to assist, was worth a decisive victory to Ali. Towns, cantons, whole districts, overwhelmed with terror, submittedwithout striking a blow, and his name, joined to the recital of amassacre which ranked as a glorious exploit in the eyes of this savagepeople, echoed like thunder from valley to valley and mountain tomountain. In order that all surrounding him might participate in the joyof his success Ali gave his army a splendid festival. Of unrivalledactivity, and, Mohammedan only in name, he himself led the chorus in thePyrrhic and Klephtic dances, the ceremonials of warriors and of robbers. There was no lack of wine, of sheep, goats, and lambs roasted beforeenormous fires; made of the debris of the ruined city; antique games ofarchery and wrestling were celebrated, and the victors received theirprizes from the hand of their chief. The plunder, slaves, and cattlewere then shared, and the Tapygae, considered as the lowest of the fourtribes composing the race of Skipetars, and ranking as the refuse of thearmy, carried off into the mountains of Acroceraunia, doors, windows, nails, and even the tiles of the houses, which were then all surrenderedto the flames. 

However, Ibrahim, the successor and son-in-law of Kurd Pacha, could notsee with indifference part of his province invaded by his ambitiousneighbour. He complained and negotiated, but obtaining no satisfaction, called out an army composed of Skipetars of Toxid, all Islamites, andgave the command to his brother Sepher, Bey of Avlone. Ali, who hadadopted the policy of opposing alternately the Cross to the Crescent andthe Crescent to the Cross, summoned to his aid the Christian chiefs ofthe mountains, who descended into the plains at the head of theirunconquered troops. As is generally the case in Albania, where war ismerely an excuse for brigandage, instead of deciding matters by a pitchedbattle, both sides contented themselves with burning villages, hangingpeasants, and carrying off cattle. 

Also, in accordance with the custom of the country, the women interposedbetween the combatants, and the good and gentle Emineh laid proposals ofpeace before Ibrahim Pacha, to whose apathetic disposition a state of warwas disagreeable, and who was only too happy to conclude a fairlysatisfactory negotiation. A family alliance was arranged, in virtue ofwhich Ali retained his conquests, which were considered as the marriageportion of Ibrahim's eldest daughter, who became the wife of Ali's eldestson, Mouktar. 

It was hoped that this peace might prove permanent, but the marriagewhich sealed the treaty was barely concluded before a fresh quarrel brokeout between the pachas. Ali, having wrung such important concessionsfrom the weakness of his neighbour, desired to obtain yet more. Butclosely allied to Ibrahim were two persons gifted with great firmness ofcharacter and unusual ability, whose position gave them great influence. They were his wife Zaidee, and his brother Sepher, who had been incommand during the war just terminated. As both were inimical to Ali, who could not hope to corrupt them, the latter resolved to get rid ofthem. 

Having in the days of his youth been intimate with Kurd Pacha, Ali hadendeavoured to seduce his daughter, already the wife of Ibrahim. Beingdiscovered by the latter in the act of scaling the wall of his harem, hehad been obliged to fly the country. Wishing now to ruin the woman whomhe had formerly tried to corrupt, Ali sought to turn his former crime tothe success of a new one. Anonymous letters, secretly sent to Ibrahim, warned him that his wife intended to poison him, in order to be ablelater to marry Ali Pacha, whom she had always loved. In a country likeTurkey, where to suspect a woman is to accuse her, and accusation issynonymous with condemnation, such a calumny might easily cause the deathof the innocent Zaidee. But if Ibrahim was weak and indolent, he wasalso confiding and generous. He took the letters; to his wife, who had nodifficulty in clearing herself, and who warned him against the writer, whose object and plots she easily divined, so that this odious conspiracyturned only to Ali's discredit. But the latter was not likely either toconcern himself as to what others said or thought about him or to bedisconcerted by a failure. He simply turned his machinations against hisother enemy, and arranged matters this time so as to avoid a failure. 

He sent to Zagori, a district noted for its doctors, for a quack whoundertook to poison Sepher Bey on condition of receiving forty purses. When all was settled, the miscreant set out for Berat, and wasimmediately accused by Ali of evasion, and his wife and children werearrested as accomplices and detained, apparently as hostages for the goodbehaviour of their husband and father, but really as pledges for hissilence when the crime should have been accomplished. Sepher Bey, informed of this by letters which Ali wrote to the Pacha of Beratdemanding the fugitive, thought that a man persecuted by his enemy wouldbe faithful to himself, and took the supposed runaway into his service. The traitor made skilful use of the kindness of his too credulousprotector, insinuated himself into his confidence, became his trustedphysician and apothecary, and gave him poison instead of medicine on thevery first appearance of indisposition. As soon as symptoms of deathappeared, the poisoner fled, aided by the emissaries of All, with whomthe court of Berat was packed, and presented himself at Janina to receivethe reward of his crime. Ali thanked him for his zeal, commended hisskill, and referred him to the treasurer. But the instant the wretchleft the seraglio in order to receive his recompense, he was seized bythe executioners and hurried to the gallows. In thus punishing theassassin, Ali at one blow discharged the debt he owed him, disposed ofthe single witness to be dreaded, and displayed his own friendship forthe victim! Not content with this, he endeavoured to again throwsuspicion on the wife of Ibrahim Pacha, whom he accused of being jealousof the influence which Sepher Pacha had exercised in the family. This hementioned regularly in conversation, writing in the same style to hisagents at Constantinople, and everywhere where there was any profit inslandering a family whose ruin he desired for the sake of theirpossessions. Before long he made a pretext out of the scandal started byhimself, and prepared to take up arms in order, he said, to avenge hisfriend Sepher Bey, when he was anticipated by Ibrahim Pacha, who rousedagainst him the allied Christians of Thesprotia, foremost among whomranked the Suliots famed through Albania for their courage and their loveof independence. 

After several battles, in which his enemies had the a vantage, Ali begannegotiations with Ibrahim, and finally concluded a treaty offensive anddefensive. This fresh alliance was, like the first, to be cemented by amarriage. The virtuous Emineh, seeing her son Veli united to the seconddaughter of Ibrahim, trusted that the feud between the two families wasnow quenched, and thought herself at the summit of happiness. But herjoy was not of long duration; the death-groan was again to be heardamidst the songs of the marriage-feast. 

The daughter of Chainitza, by her first husband, Ali, had married acertain Murad, the Bey of Clerisoura. This nobleman, attached to IbrahimPacha by both blood and affection, since the death of Sepher Bey, had, become the special object of Ali's hatred, caused by the devotion ofMurad to his patron, over whom he had great influence, and from whomnothing could detach him. Skilful in concealing truth under specialpretexts, Ali gave out that the cause of his known dislike to this youngman was that the latter, although his nephew by marriage, had severaltimes fought in hostile ranks against him. Therefore the amiable Ibrahimmade use of the marriage treaty to arrange an honourable reconciliationbetween Murad Bey and his uncle, and appointed the former "Ruler a theMarriage Feast, " in which capacity he was charged to conduct the bride toJanina and deliver her to her husband, the young Veli Bey. He hadaccomplished his mission satisfactorily, and was received by Ali with allapparent hospitality. The festival began on his arrival towards the endof November 1791, and had already continued several days, when suddenlyit was announced that a shot had been fired upon Ali, who had onlyescaped by a miracle, and that the assassin was still at large. Thisnews spread terror through the city and the palace, and everyone dreadedbeing seized as the guilty person. Spies were everywhere employed, butthey declared search was useless, and that there must bean extensiveconspiracy against Ali's life. The latter complained of being surroundedby enemies, and announced that henceforth he would receive only oneperson at a time, who should lay down his arms before entering the hallnow set apart for public audience. It was a chamber built over a vault, and entered by a sort of trap-door, only reached by a ladder. 

After having for several days received his couriers in this sort ofdovecot, Ali summoned his nephew in order to entrust with him the weddinggifts. Murad took this as a sign of favour, and joyfully acknowledgedthe congratulations of his friends. He presented himself at the timearranged, the guards at the foot of the ladder demanded his arms, whichhe gave up readily, and ascended the ladder full of hope. Scarcely hadthe trap-door closed behind him when a pistol ball, fired from a darkcorner, broke his shoulder blade, and he fell, but sprang up andattempted to fly. Ali issued from his hiding place and sprang upon him, but notwithstanding his wound the young bey defended himself vigorously, uttering terrible cries. The pacha, eager to finish, and finding hishands insufficient, caught a burning log from the hearth, struck hisnephew in the face with it, felled him to the ground, and completed hisbloody task. This accomplished, Ali called for help with loud cries, andwhen his guards entered he showed the bruises he had received and theblood with which he was covered, declaring that he had killed inself-defence a villain who endeavoured to assassinate him. He orderedthe body to be searched, and a letter was found in a pocket which Ali hadhimself just placed there, which purported to give the details of thepretended conspiracy. 

As Murad's brother was seriously compromised by this letter, he also wasimmediately seized, and strangled without any pretence of trial. Thewhole palace rejoiced, thanks were rendered to Heaven by one of thosesacrifices of animals still occasionally made in the East to celebrate anescape from great danger, and Ali released some prisoners in order toshow his gratitude to Providence for having protected him from sohorrible a crime. He received congratulatory visits, and composed anapology attested by a judicial declaration by the cadi, in which thememory of Murad and his brother was declared accursed. Finally, commissioners, escorted by a strong body of soldiers, were sent to seizethe property of the two brothers, because, said the decree, it was justthat the injured should inherit the possessions of his would-beassassins. 

Thus was exterminated the only family capable of opposing the Pacha ofJanina, or which could counterbalance his influence over the weak Ibrahimof Berat. The latter, abandoned by his brave defenders, and findinghimself at the mercy of his enemy, was compelled to submit to what hecould not prevent, and protested only by tears against these crimes, which seemed to herald a terrible future for himself. 

As for Emineh, it is said that from the date of this catastrophe sheseparated herself almost entirely from her blood-stained husband, andspent her life in the recesses of the harem, praying as a Christian bothfor the murderer and his victims. It is a relief, in the midst of thisatrocious saturnalia to encounter this noble and gentle character, whichlike a desert oasis, affords a rest to eyes wearied with thecontemplation of so much wickedness and treachery. 

Ali lost in her the guardian angel who alone could in any way restrainhis violent passions. Grieved at first by the withdrawal of the wifewhom hitherto he had loved exclusively, he endeavoured in vain to regainher affection; and then sought in new vices compensation for thehappiness he had lost, and gave himself up to sensuality. Ardent ineverything, he carried debauchery to a monstrous extent, and as if hispalaces were not large enough for his desires, he assumed variousdisguises; sometimes in order to traverse the streets by night in searchof the lowest pleasures; sometimes penetrating by day into churches andprivate houses seeking for young men and maidens remarkable for theirbeauty, who were then carried off to his harem. 

His sons, following in his footsteps, kept also scandalous households, and seemed to dispute preeminence in evil with their father, each in hisown manner. Drunkenness was the speciality of the eldest, Mouktar, whowas without rival among the hard drinkers of Albania, and who was reputedto have emptied a whole wine-skin in one evening after a plentiful meal. Gifted with the hereditary violence of his family, he had, in his drunkenfury, slain several persons, among others his sword-bearer, the companionof his childhood and confidential friend of his whole life. Veli chose adifferent course. Realising the Marquis de Sade as his father hadrealised Macchiavelli, he delighted in mingling together debauchery andcruelty, and his amusement consisted in biting the lips he had kissed, and tearing with his nails the forms he had caressed. The people ofJanina saw with horror more than one woman in their midst whose nose andears he had caused to be cut off, and had then turned into the streets. 

It was indeed a reign of terror; neither fortune, life, honour, norfamily were safe. Mothers cursed their fruitfulness, and women theirbeauty. Fear soon engenders corruption, and subjects are speedilytainted by the depravity of their masters. Ali, considering ademoralised race as easier to govern, looked on with satisfaction. 

While he strengthened by every means his authority from within, he missedno opportunity of extending his rule without. In 1803 he declared waragainst the Suliots, whose independence he had frequently endeavouredeither to purchase or to overthrow. The army sent against them, althoughten thousand strong, was at first beaten everywhere. Ali then, as usual, brought treason to his aid, and regained the advantage. It becameevident that, sooner or later, the unhappy Suliots must succumb. 

Foreseeing the horrors which their defeat would entail, Emineh, touchedwith compassion, issued from her seclusion and cast herself at Ali'sfeet. He raised her, seated her beside him, and inquired as to herwishes. She spoke of, generosity, of mercy; he listened as if touchedand wavering, until she named the Suliots. Then, filled with fury, heseized a pistol and fired at her. She was not hurt, but fell to theground overcome with terror, and her women hastily intervened and carriedher away. For the first time in his life, perhaps, Ali shuddered beforethe dread of a murder. 

It was his wife, the mother of his children, whom he saw lying at hisfeet, and the recollection afflicted and tormented him. He rose in thenight and went to Emineh's apartment; he knocked and called, but beingrefused admittance, in his anger he broke open the door. Terrified by thenoise; and at the sight of her infuriated husband, Emineh fell intoviolent convulsions, and shortly expired. Thus perished the daughter ofCapelan Pacha, wife of Ali Tepeleni, and mother of Mouktar and Veli, who, doomed to live surrounded by evil, yet remained virtuous and good. 

Her death caused universal mourning throughout Albania, and produced anot less deep impression on the mind of her murderer. Emineh's spectrepursued him in his pleasures, in the council chamber, in the hours ofnight. He saw her, he heard her, and would awake, exclaiming, "my wife!my wife!--It is my wife!--Her eyes are angry; she threatens me!--Save me!Mercy!" For more than ten years Ali never dared to sleep alone. 

CHAPTER IV

In December, the Suliots, decimated by battle, worn by famine, discouraged by treachery, were obliged to capitulate. The treaty gavethem leave to go where they would, their own mountains excepted. Theunfortunate tribe divided into two parts, the one going towards Parga, the other towards Prevesa. Ali gave orders for the destruction of both, notwithstanding the treaty. 

The Parga division was attacked in its march, and charged by a numerousbody of Skipetars. Its destruction seemed imminent, but instinctsuddenly revealed to the ignorant mountaineers the one manoeuvre whichmight save them. They formed a square, placing old men, women, children, and cattle in the midst, and, protected by this military formation, entered Parga in full view of the cut-throats sent to pursue them. 

Less fortunate was the Prevesa division, which, terrified by a sudden andunexpected attack, fled in disorder to a Greek convent called Zalongos. But the gate was soon broken down, and the unhappy Suliots massacred tothe last man. 

The women, whose tents had been pitched on the summit of a lofty rock, beheld the terrible carnage which destroyed their defenders. Henceforththeir only prospect was that of becoming the slaves of those who had justslaughtered their husbands and brothers. An heroic resolution sparedthem this infamy; they joined hands, and chanting their national songs, moved in a solemn dance round the rocky platform. As the song ended, they uttered a prolonged and piercing cry, and cast themselves and theirchildren down into the profound abyss beneath. 

There were still some Suliots left in their country when Ali Pacha tookpossession of it. These were all taken and brought to Janina, and theirsufferings were the first adornments of the festival made for the army. Every soldier's imagination was racked for the discovery of new tortures, and the most original among them had the privilege of themselves carryingout their inventions. 

There were some who, having had their noses and ears cut off, werecompelled to eat them raw, dressed as a salad. One young man was scalpeduntil the skin fell back upon his shoulders, then beaten round the courtof the seraglio for the pacha's entertainment, until at length a lancewas run through his body and he was cast on the funeral pile. Many wereboiled alive and their flesh then thrown to the dogs. 

From this time the Cross has disappeared from the Selleid mountains, andthe gentle prayer of Christ no longer wakes the echoes of Suli. 

During the course of this war, and shortly after the death of Emineh, another dismal drama was enacted in the pacha's family, whose activewickedness nothing seemed to weary. The scandalous libertinism of bothfather and sons had corrupted all around as well as themselves. Thisdemoralisation brought bitter fruits for all alike: the subjects endureda terrible tyranny; the masters sowed among themselves distrust, discord, and hatred. The father wounded his two sons by turns in their tenderestaffections, and the sons avenged themselves by abandoning their father inthe hour of danger. 

There was in Janina a woman named Euphrosyne, a niece of the archbishop, married to one of the richest Greek merchants, and noted for wit andbeauty. She was already the mother of two children, when Mouktar becameenamoured of her, and ordered her to come to his palace. The unhappyEuphrosyne, at once guessing his object, summoned a family council todecide what should be done. All agreed that there was no escape, andthat her husband's life was in danger, on account of the jealousy of histerrible rival. He fled the city that same night, and his wifesurrendered herself to Mouktar, who, softened by her charms, soonsincerely loved her, and overwhelmed her with presents and favours. Things were in this position when Mouktar was obliged to depart on animportant expedition. 

Scarcely had he started before his wives complained to Ali thatEuphrosyne usurped their rights and caused their husband to neglect them. Ali, who complained greatly of his sons' extravagance, and regretted themoney they squandered, at once struck a blow which was both to enrichhimself and increase the terror of his name. 

One night he appeared by torchlight, accompanied by his guards, atEuphrosyne's house. Knowing his cruelty and avarice, she sought todisarm one by gratifying the other: she collected her money and jewelsand laid them at Ali's feet with a look of supplication. 

"These things are only my own property, which you restore, " said he, taking possession of the rich offering. "Can you give back the heart ofMouktar, which you have stolen?"

Euphrosyne besought him by his paternal feelings, for the sake of his sonwhose love had been her misfortune and was now her only crime, to spare amother whose conduct had been otherwise irreproachable. But her tearsand pleadings produced no effect on Ali, who ordered her to be taken, loaded with fetters and covered with a piece of sackcloth, to the prisonof the seraglio. 

If it were certain that there was no hope for the unhappy Euphrosyne, onetrusted that she might at least be the only victim. But Ali, professingto follow the advice of some severe reformers who wished to restoredecent morality, arrested at the same time fifteen ladies belonging tothe best Christian families in Janina. A Wallachian, named NicholasJanco, took the opportunity to denounce his own wife, who was on thepoint of becoming a mother, as guilty of adultery, and handed her alsoover to the pacha. These unfortunate women were brought before Ali toundergo a trial of which a sentence of death was the foregone conclusion. They were then confined in a dungeon, where they spent two days ofmisery. The third night, the executioners appeared to conduct them tothe lake where they were to perish. Euphrosyne, too exhausted to endureto the end, expired by the way, and when she was flung with the rest intothe dark waters, her soul had already escaped from its earthly tenement. Her body was found the next day, and was buried in the cemetery of themonastery of Saints-Anargyres, where her tomb, covered with white irisand sheltered by a wild olive tree, is yet shown. 

Mouktar was returning from his expedition when a courier from his brotherVeli brought him a letter informing him of these events. He opened it. "Euphrosyne!" he cried, and, seizing one of his pistols, fired it at themessenger, who fell dead at his feet, --"Euphrosyne, behold thy firstvictim!" Springing on his horse, he galloped towards Janina. His guardsfollowed at a distance, and the inhabitants of all the villages he passedfled at his approach. He paid no attention to them, but rode till hishorse fell dead by the lake which had engulfed Euphrosyne, and then, taking a boat, he went to hide his grief and rage in his own palace. 

Ali, caring little for passion which evaporated in tears and cries, sentan order to Mouktar to appear before him at once. "He will not killyou, " he remarked to his messenger, with a bitter smile. And, in fact, the man who a moment before was furiously raging and storming against hisfather, as if overwhelmed by this imperious message, calmed down, andobeyed. 

"Come hither, Mouktar, " said the pacha, extending his murderous hand tobe kissed as soon as his son appeared. "I shall take no notice of youranger, but in future never forget that a man who braves public opinion asI do fears nothing in the world. You can go now; when your troops haverested from their march, you can come and ask for orders. Go, rememberwhat I have said. "

Mouktar retired as submissively as if he had just received pardon forsome serious crime, and found no better consolation than to spend thenight with Veli in drinking and debauchery. But a day was to come whenthe brothers, alike outraged by their father, would plot and carry out aterrible vengeance. 

However, the Porte began to take umbrage at the continual aggrandisementof the Pacha of Janina. Not daring openly to attack so formidable avassal, the sultan sought by underhand means to diminish his power, andunder the pretext that Ali was becoming too old for the labour of so manyoffices, the government of Thessaly was withdrawn from him, but, to showthat this was not done in enmity, the province was entrusted to hisnephew, Elmas Bey, son of Suleiman and Chainitza. 

Chainitza, fully as ambitious as her brother, could not contain herdelight at the idea of governing in the name of her son, who was weak andgentle in character and accustomed to obey her implicitly. She asked herbrother's permission to go to Trikala to be present at the installation, and obtained it, to everybody's astonishment; for no one could imaginethat Ali would peacefully renounce so important a government as that ofThessaly. However, he dissembled so skilfully that everyone was deceivedby his apparent resignation, and applauded his magnanimity, when heprovided his sister with a brilliant escort to conduct her to the capitalof the province of which he had just been deprived in favour of hisnephew. He sent letters of congratulation to the latter as well asmagnificent presents, among them a splendid pelisse of black fox, whichhad cost more than a hundred thousand francs of Western money. Herequested Elmas Bey to honour him by wearing this robe on the day whenthe sultan's envoy should present him with the firman of investiture, andChainitza herself was charged to deliver both gifts and messages. 

Chainitza arrived safely at Trikala, and faithfully delivered themessages with which she had been entrusted. When the ceremony she soardently desired took place, she herself took charge of all thearrangements. Elmas, wearing the black fox pelisse, was proclaimed, andacknowledged as Governor of Thessaly in her presence. "My son is pacha!"she cried in the delirium of joy. "My son is pacha! and my nephews willdie of envy!" But her triumph was not to be of long duration. A fewdays after his installation, Elmas began to feel strangely languid. Continual lethargy, convulsive sneezing, feverish eyes, soon betokened aserious illness. Ali's gift had accomplished its purpose. The pelisse, carefully impregnated with smallpox germs taken from a young girlsuffering from this malady, had conveyed the dreaded disease to the newpacha, who, not having been inoculated, died in a few days. 

The grief of Chainitza at her son's death displayed itself in sobs, threats, and curses, but, not knowing whom to blame for her misfortune, she hastened to leave the scene of it, and returned to Janina, to mingleher tears with those of her brother. She found Ali apparently in suchdepths of grief, that instead of suspecting, she was actually tempted topity him, and this seeming sympathy soothed her distress, aided by thecaresses of her second son, Aden Bey. Ali, thoughtful of his owninterests, took care to send one of his own officers to Trikala, toadminister justice in the place of his deceased nephew, and the Porte, seeing that all attempts against him only caused misfortune, consented tohis resuming the government of Thessaly. 

This climax roused the suspicions of many persons. But the public voice, already discussing the causes of the death of Elinas, was stifled by thethunder of the cannon, which, from the ramparts of Janina, announced toEpirus the birth of another son to Ali, Salik Bey, whose mother was aGeorgian slave. 

Fortune, seemingly always ready both to crown Ali's crimes with successand to fulfil his wishes, had yet in reserve a more precious gift thanany of the others, that of a good and beautiful wife; who should replace, and even efface the memory of the beloved Emineh. 

The Porte, while sending to Ali the firman which restored to him thegovernment of Thessaly, ordered him to seek out and destroy a society ofcoiners who dwelt within his jurisdiction. Ali, delighted to, prove hiszeal by a service which cost nothing but bloodshed; at once set his spiesto work, and having discovered the abode of the gang, set out for theplace attended by a strong escort. It was a village called Plikivitza. 

Having arrived in the evening, he spent the night in taking measures toprevent escape, and at break of day attacked the village suddenly withhis whole force. The coiners were seized in the act. Ali immediatelyordered the chief to be hung at his own door and the whole population tobe massacred. Suddenly a young girl of great beauty made her way throughthe tumult and sought refuge at his feet. Ali, astonished, asked who shewas. She answered with a look of mingled innocence and terror, kissinghis hands, which she bathed with tears, and said:

"O my lord! I implore thee to intercede with the terrible vizier Ali formy mother and brothers. My father is dead, behold where he hangs at thedoor of our cottage! But we have done nothing to rouse the anger of ourdreadful master. My mother is a poor woman who never offended anyone, and we are only weak children. Save us from him!"

Touched in spite of himself, the pacha took the girl in his arms, andanswered her with a gentle smile. 

"Thou hast come to the wrong man, child: I am this terrible vizier. "

"Oh no, no! you are good, you will be our good lord. "

"Well, be comforted, my child, and show me thy mother and thy brothers;they shall be spared. Thou hast saved their lives. "

And as she knelt at his feet, overcome with joy, he raised her and askedher name. 

"Basilessa, " she replied. 

"Basilessa, Queen! it is a name of good augury. Basilessa, thou shaltdwell with me henceforth. "

And he collected the members of her family, and gave orders for them tobe sent to Janina in company with the maiden, who repaid his mercy withboundless love and devotion. 

Let us mention one trait of gratitude shown by Ali at the end of thisexpedition, and his record of good deeds is then closed. Compelled by astorm to take refuge in a miserable hamlet, he inquired its name, and onhearing it appeared surprised and thoughtful, as if trying to recall lostmemories. Suddenly he asked if a woman named Nouza dwelt in the village, and was told there was an old infirm woman of that name in great poverty. He ordered her to be brought before him. She came and prostrated herselfin terror. Ali raised her kindly. 

"Dost thou not know me?" he asked. 

"Have mercy, great Vizier, " answered the poor woman, who, having nothingto lose but her life, imagined that even that would be taken from her. 

"I see, " said the pacha, "that if thou knowest me, thou dost not reallyrecognise me. "

The woman looked at him wonderingly, not understanding his words in theleast. 

"Dost thou remember, " continued Ali, "that forty years ago a young manasked for shelter from the foes who pursued him? Without inquiring hisname or standing, thou didst hide him in thy humble house, and dressedhis wounds, and shared thy scanty food with him, and when he was able togo forward thou didst stand on thy threshold to wish him good luck andsuccess. Thy wishes were heard, for the young man was Ali Tepeleni, andI who speak am he!"

The old woman stood overwhelmed with astonishment. She departed callingdown blessings on the pasha, who assured her a pension of fifteen hundredfrancs for the rest of her days. 

But these two good actions are only flashes of light illuminating thedark horizon of Ali's life for a brief moment. Returned to Janina, heresumed his tyranny, his intrigues, and cruelty. Not content with thevast territory which owned his sway, he again invaded that of hisneighbours on every pretext. Phocis, Mtolia, Acarnania, were by turnsoccupied by his troops, the country ravaged, and the inhabitantsdecimated. At the same time he compelled Ibrahim Pacha to surrender hislast remaining daughter, and give her in marriage to his nephew, AdenBey, the son of Chainitza. This new alliance with a family he had sooften attacked and despoiled gave him fresh arms against it, whether bybeing enabled better to watch the pasha's sons, or to entice them intosome snare with greater ease. 

Whilst he thus married his nephew, he did not neglect the advancement ofhis sons. By the aid of the French Ambassador, whom he had convinced ofhis devotion to the Emperor Napoleon, he succeeded in getting thepachalik of Morea bestowed on Veli, and that of Lepanto on Mouktar. Butas in placing his sons in these exalted positions his only aim was toaggrandise and consolidate his own power, he himself ordered theirretinues, giving them officers of his own choosing. When they departedto their governments, he kept their wives, their children, and even theirfurniture as pledges, saying that they ought not to be encumbered withdomestic establishments in time of war, Turkey just then being at openwar with England. He also made use of this opportunity to get rid ofpeople who displeased him, among others, of a certain Ismail Pacho Bey, who had been alternately both tool and enemy, whom he made secretary tohis son Veli, professedly as a pledge of reconciliation and favour, butreally in order to despoil him more easily of the considerable propertywhich he possessed at Janina. Pacho was not deceived, and showed hisresentment openly. "The wretch banishes me, " he cried, pointing out Ali, who was sitting at a window in the palace, "he sends me away in order torob me; but I will avenge myself whatever happens, and I shall diecontent if I can procure his destruction at the price of my own. "

Continually increasing his power, Ali endeavoured to consolidate itpermanently. He had entered by degrees into secret negotiations with allthe great powers of Europe, hoping in the end to make himselfindependent, and to obtain recognition as Prince of Greece. A mysteriousand unforeseen incident betrayed this to the Porte, and furnished actualproofs of his treason in letters confirmed by Ali's own seal. The SultanSelim immediately, sent to Janina a "kapidgi-bachi, " or plenipotentiary, to examine into the case and try the delinquent. 

Arrived at Janina, this officer placed before Ali the proofs of hisunderstanding with the enemies of the State. Ali was not strong enoughto throw off the mask, and yet could not deny such overwhelming evidence. He determined to obtain time. 

"No wonder, " said he, "that I appear guilty in the eyes of His Highness. This seal is, certainly mine, I cannot deny it; but the writing is notthat of my secretaries, and the seal must have been obtained and used tosign these guilty letters in order to ruin me. I pray you to grant me afew days in order to clear up this iniquitous mystery, which compromisesme in the eyes of my master the sultan and of all good Mahommedans. MayAllah grant me the means of proving my innocence, which is as pure as therays of the sun, although everything seems against me!"

After this conference, Ali, pretending to be engaged in a secret inquiry, considered how he could legally escape from this predicament. He spentsome days in making plans which were given up as soon as formed, untilhis fertile genius at length suggested a means of getting clear of one ofthe greatest difficulties in which he had ever found himself. Sendingfor a Greek whom he had often employed, he addressed him thus:

"Thou knowest I have always shown thee favour, and the day is arrivedwhen thy fortune shall be made. Henceforth thou shalt be as my son, thychildren shall be as mine, my house shall be thy home, and in return formy benefits I require one small service. This accursed kapidgi-bachi hascome hither bringing certain papers signed with my seal, intending to usethem to my discredit, and thus to extort money from me. Of money I havealready given too much, and I intend this time to escape without beingplundered except for the sake of a good servant like thee. Therefore, myson, thou shalt go before the tribunal when I tell thee, and declarebefore this kapidgi-bachi and the cadi that thou hast written theseletters attributed to me, and that thou didst seal them with my seal, inorder to give them due weight and importance. "

The unhappy Greek grew pale and strove to answer. 

"What fearest thou, my son?" resumed Ali. "Speak, am I not thy goodmaster? Thou wilt be sure of my lasting favour, and who is there todread when I protect thee? Is it the kapidgi-bachi? he has no authorityhere. I have thrown twenty as good as he into the lake! If more isrequired to reassure thee, I swear by the Prophet, by my own and my sons'heads, that no harm shall come to thee from him. Be ready, then, to doas I tell thee, and beware of mentioning this matter to anyone, in orderthat all may be accomplished according to our mutual wishes. "

More terrified by dread of the pacha, from whose wrath in case of refusalthere was no chance of escape, than tempted by his promises, the Greekundertook the false swearing required. Ali, delighted, dismissed himwith a thousand assurances of protection, and then requested the presenceof the sultan's envoy, to whom he said, with much emotion:

"I have at length unravelled the infernal plot laid against me; it is thework of a man in the pay of the implacable enemies of the Sublime Porte, and who is a Russian agent. He is in my power, and I have given himhopes of pardon on condition of full confession. Will you then summonthe cadi, the judges and ecclesiastics of the town, in order that theymay hear the guilty man's deposition, and that the light of truth maypurify their minds?"

The tribunal was soon assembled, and the trembling Greek appeared in themidst of a solemn silence. "Knowest thou this writing?" demanded thecadi. --"It is mine. "--"And this seal?"--"It is that of my master, AliPacha. "--"How does it come to be placed at the foot of theseletters?"--"I did this by order of my chief, abusing the confidence of mymaster, who occasionally allowed me to use it to sign his orders. "--"Itis enough: thou canst withdraw. "

Uneasy as to the success of his intrigue, Ali was approaching the Hall ofJustice. As he entered the court, the Greek, who had just finished hisexamination, threw himself at his feet, assuring him that all had gonewell. "It is good, " said Ali; "thou shalt have thy reward. " Turninground, he made a sign to his guards, who had their orders, and whoinstantly seized the unhappy Greek, and, drowning his voice with theirshouts, hung him in the courtyard. This execution finished, the pachapresented himself before the judges and inquired the result of theirinvestigation. He was answered by a burst of congratulation. "Well, "said he, "the guilty author of this plot aimed at me is no more; Iordered him to be hung without waiting to hear your decision. May allenemies of our glorious sultan perish even as he!"

A report of what had occurred was immediately drawn up, and, to assistmatters still further, Ali sent the kapidgi-bachi a gift of fifty purses, which he accepted without difficulty, and also secured the favour of theDivan by considerable presents. The sultan, yielding to the advice ofhis councillors, appeared to have again received him into favour. 

But Ali knew well that this appearance of sunshine was entirelydeceptive, and that Selim only professed to believe in his innocenceuntil the day should arrive when the sultan could safely punish histreason. He sought therefore to compass the latter's downfall, and madecommon cause with his enemies, both internal and external. A conspiracy, hatched between the discontented pachas and the English agents, shortlybroke out, and one day, when Ali was presiding at the artillery practiceof some French gunners sent to Albania by the Governor of Illyria, aTartar brought him news of the deposition of Selim, who was succeeded byhis nephew Mustapha. Ali sprang up in delight, and publicly thankedAllah for this great good fortune. He really did profit by this changeof rulers, but he profited yet more by a second revolution which causedthe deaths both of Selim, whom the promoters wished to reestablish on thethrone, and of Mustapha whose downfall they intended. Mahmoud II, whowas next invested with the scimitar of Othman, came to the throne introublous times, after much bloodshed, in the midst of great politicalupheavals, and had neither the will nor the power to attack one of hismost powerful vassals. He received with evident satisfaction the millionpiastres which, at, his installation, Ali hastened to send as a proof ofhis devotion, assured the pacha of his favour, and confirmed both him andhis sons in their offices and dignities. This fortunate change in hisposition brought Ali's pride and audacity to a climax. Free frompressing anxiety, he determined to carry out a project which had been thedream of his life. 

CHAPTER V

After taking possession of Argyro-Castron, which he had long coveted, Aliled his victorious army against the town of Kardiki, whose inhabitantshad formerly joined with those of Kormovo in the outrage inflicted on hismother and sister. The besieged, knowing they had no mercy to hope for, defended themselves bravely, but were obliged to yield to famine. Aftera month's blockade, the common people, having no food for themselves ortheir cattle, began to cry for mercy in the open streets, and theirchiefs, intimidated by the general misery and unable to stand alone, consented to capitulate. Ali, whose intentions as to the fate of thisunhappy town were irrevocably decided, agreed to all that they asked. Atreaty was signed by both parties, and solemnly sworn to on the Koran, invirtue of which seventy-two beys, heads of the principal Albanianfamilies, were to go to Janina as free men, and fully armed. They wereto be received with the honours due to their rank as free tenants of thesultan, their lives and their families were to be spared, and also theirpossessions. The other inhabitants of Kardiki, being Mohammedans, andtherefore brothers of Ali, were to be treated as friends and retain theirlives and property. On these conditions a quarter of the town; was to beoccupied by the victorious troops. 

One of the principal chiefs, Saleh Bey, and his wife, foreseeing the fatewhich awaited their friends, committed suicide at the moment when, inpursuance of the treaty, Ali's soldiers took possession of the quarterassigned to them. 

Ali received the seventy-two beys with all marks of friendship when theyarrived at Janina. He lodged them in a palace on the lake, and treatedthem magnificently for some days. But soon, having contrived on somepretext to disarm them, he had them conveyed, loaded with chains, to aGreek convent on an island in the lake, which was converted into aprison. The day of vengeance not having fully arrived, he explained thisbreach of faith by declaring that the hostages had attempted to escape. 

The popular credulity was satisfied by this explanation, and no onedoubted the good faith of the pacha when he announced that he was goingto Kardiki to establish a police and fulfil the promises he had made tothe inhabitants. Even the number of soldiers he took excited nosurprise, as Ali was accustomed to travel with a very numerous suite. 

After three days' journey, he stopped at Libokhovo, where his sister hadresided since the death of Aden Bey, her second son, cut off recently bywickness. What passed in the long interview they had no one knew, but itwas observed that Chainitza's tears, which till then had flowedincessantly, stopped as if by magic, and her women, who were wearingmourning, received an order to attire themselves as for a festival. Feasting and dancing, begun in Ali's honour, did not cease after hisdeparture. 

He spent the night at Chenderia, a castle built on a rock, whence thetown of Kardiki was plainly visible. Next day at daybreak Ali despatchedan usher to summon all the male inhabitants of Kardiki to appear beforeChenderia, in order to receive assurances of the pacha's pardon andfriendship. 

The Kardikiotes at once divined that this injunction was the precursor ofa terrible vengeance: the whole town echoed with cries and groans, themosques were filled with people praying for deliverance. The appointedtime arrived, they embraced each other as if parting for ever, and thenthe men, unarmed, in number six hundred and seventy, started forChenderia. At the gate of the town they encountered a troop ofAlbanians, who followed as if to escort them, and which increased innumber as they proceeded. Soon they arrived in the dread presence of AliPacha. Grouped in formidable masses around him stood several thousand ofhis fierce soldiery. 

The unhappy Kardikiotes realised their utter helplessness, and saw thatthey, their wives an children, were completely at the mercy of theirimplacable enemy. They fell prostrate before the pacha, and with all thefervour which the utmost terror could inspire, implored him to grant thema generous pardon. 

Ali for some time silently enjoyed the pleasure of seeing his ancientenemies lying before him prostrate in the dust. He then desired them torise, reassured them, called them brothers, sons, friends of his heart. Distinguishing some of his old acquaintances, he called them to him, spoke familiarly of the days of their youth, of their games, their earlyfriendships, and pointing to the young men, said, with tears in his eyes. 

"The discord which has divided us for so many years has allowed childrennot born at the time of our dissension to grow into men. I have lost thepleasure of watching the development of the off-spring of my neighboursand the early friends of my youth, and of bestowing benefits on them, butI hope shortly to repair the natural results of our melancholydivisions. "

He then made them splendid promises, and ordered them to assemble in aneighbouring caravanserai, where he wished to give them a banquet inproof of reconciliation. Passing from the depths of despair totransports of joy, the Kardikiotes repaired gaily to the caravanserai, heaping blessings on the pacha, and blaming each other for having everdoubted his good faith. 

Ali was carried down from Chenderia in a litter, attended by hiscourtiers, who celebrated his clemency in pompous speeches, to which hereplied with gracious smiles. At the foot of the steep descent hemounted his horse, and, followed by his troops, rode towards thecaravanserai. Alone, and in silence, he rode twice round it, then, returning to the gate, which had just been closed by his order, he pulledup his horse, and, signing to his own bodyguard to attack the building, "Slay them!" he cried in a voice of thunder. 

The guards remained motionless in surprise and horror, then as the pacha, with a roar, repeated his order, they indignantly flung down their arms. In vain he harangued, flattered, or threatened them; some preserved asullen silence, others ventured to demand mercy. Then he ordered themaway, and, calling on the Christian Mirdites who served under his banner. 

"To you, brave Latins, " he cried, "I will now entrust the duty ofexterminating the foes of my race. Avenge me, and I will reward youmagnificently. "

A confused murmur rose from the ranks. Ali imagined they were consultingas to what recompense should be required as the price of such deed. 

"Speak, " said he; "I am ready to listen to your demands and to satisfythem. "

Then the Mirdite leader came forward and threw back the hood of his blackcloak. 

"O Pacha!" said he, looking Ali boldly in the face, "thy words are aninsult; the Mirdites do not slaughter unarmed prisoners in cold blood. Release the Kardikiotes, give them arms, and we will fight them to thedeath; but we serve thee as soldiers and not as executioners. "

At these words; which the black-cloaked battalion received with applause, Ali thought himself betrayed, and looked around with doubt and mistrust. Fear was nearly taking the place of mercy, words of pardon were on hislips, when a certain Athanasius Vaya, a Greek schismatic, and a favouriteof the pacha's, whose illegitimate son he was supposed to be, advanced atthe head of the scum of the army, and offered to carry out the deathsentence. Ali applauded his zeal, gave him full authority to act, andspurred his horse to the top of a neighbouring hill, the better to enjoythe spectacle. The Christian Mirdites and the Mohammedan guards knelttogether to pray for the miserable Kardikiotes, whose last hour had come. 

The caravanserai where they were shut in was square enclosure, open tothe sky, and intended to shelter herds of buffaloes. The prisonershaving heard nothing of what passed outside, were astonished to beholdAthanasius Vaya and his troop appearing on the top of the wall. They didnot long remain in doubt. Ali gave the signal by a pistol-shot, and ageneral fusillade followed. Terrible cries echoed from the court; theprisoners, terrified, wounded, crowded one upon another for shelter. Some ran frantically hither and thither in this enclosure with no shelterand no exit, until they fell, struck down by bullets. Some tried toclimb the walls, in hope of either escape or vengeance, only to be flungback by either scimitars or muskets. It was a terrible scene of despairand death. 

After an hour of firing, a gloomy silence descended on the place, nowoccupied solely by a heap of corpses. Ali forbade any burial rites onpain of death, and placed over the gate an inscription in letters ofgold, informing posterity that six hundred Kardikiotes had there beensacrificed to the memory of his mother Kamco. 

When the shrieks of death ceased in the enclosure, they began to be heardin the town. The assassins spread themselves through it, and havingviolated the women and children, gathered them into a crowd to be drivento Libokovo. At every halt in this frightful journey fresh maraudersfell on the wretched victims, claiming their share in cruelty anddebauchery. At length they arrived at their destination, where thetriumphant and implacable Chainitza awaited them. As after the taking ofKormovo, she compelled the women to cut off their hair and to stuff withit a mattress on which she lay. She then stripped them, and joyfullynarrated to them the massacre of their husbands, fathers, brothers andsons, and when she had sufficiently enjoyed their misery they were againhanded over to the insults of the soldiery. Chainitza finally publishedan edict forbidding either clothes, shelter, or food to be given to thewomen and children of Kardiki, who were then driven forth into the woodseither to die of hunger or to be devoured by wild beasts. As to theseventy-two hostages, Ali put them all to death when he returned toJanina. His vengeance was indeed complete. 

But as, filled with a horrible satisfaction, the pacha was enjoying therepose of a satiated tiger, an indignant and threatening voice reachedhim even in the recesses of his palace. The Sheik Yussuf, governor ofthe castle of Janina, venerated as a saint by the Mohammedans on accountof his piety, and universally beloved and respected for his many virtues, entered Ali's sumptuous dwelling for the first time. The guards onbeholding him remained stupefied and motionless, then the most devoutprostrated themselves, while others went to inform the pacha; but no onedared hinder the venerable man, who walked calmly and solemnly throughthe astonished attendants. For him there existed no antechamber, nodelay; disdaining the ordinary forms of etiquette, he paced slowlythrough the various apartments, until, with no usher to announce him, hereached that of Ali. The latter, whose impiety by no means saved himfrom superstitious terrors, rose hastily from the divan and advanced tomeet the holy sheik, who was followed by a crowd of silent courtiers. Aliaddressed him with the utmost respect, and endeavoured even to kiss hisright hand. Yussuf hastily withdrew it, covered it with his mantle, andsigned to the pacha to seat himself. Ali mechanically obeyed, and waitedin solemn silence to hear the reason of this unexpected visit. 

Yussuf desired him to listen with all attention, and then reproached himfor his injustice and rapine, his treachery and cruelty, with such vivideloquence that his hearers dissolved in tears. Ali, though muchdejected, alone preserved his equanimity, until at length the sheikaccused him of having caused the death of Emineh. He then grew pale, andrising, cried with terror:

"Alas! my father, whose name do you now pronounce? Pray for me, or atleast do not sink me to Gehenna with your curses!"

"There is no need to curse thee, " answered Yussuf. "Thine own crimesbear witness against thee. Allah has heard their cry. He will summonthee, judge thee, and punish thee eternally. Tremble, for the time is athand! Thine hour is coming--is coming--is coming!"

Casting a terrible glance at the pacha, the holy man turned his back onhim, and stalked out of the apartment without another word. 

Ali, in terror, demanded a thousand pieces of gold, put them in a whitesatin purse, and himself hastened with them to overtake the sheik, imploring him to recall his threats. But Yussuf deigned no answer, andarrived at the threshold of the palace, shook off the dust of his feetagainst it. 

Ali returned to his apartment sad and downcast, and many days elapsedbefore he could shake off the depression caused by this scene. But soonhe felt more ashamed of his inaction than of the reproaches which hadcaused it, and on the first opportunity resumed his usual mode of life. 

The occasion was the marriage of Moustai, Pacha of Scodra, with theeldest daughter of Veli Pacha, called the Princess of Aulis, because shehad for dowry whole villages in that district. Immediately after theannouncement of this marriage Ali set on foot a sort of saturnalia, aboutthe details of which there seemed to be as much mystery as if he had beenpreparing an assassination. 

All at once, as if by a sudden inundation, the very scum of the earthappeared to spread over Janina. The populace, as if trying to drowntheir misery, plunged into a drunkenness which simulated pleasure. Disorderly bands of mountebanks from the depths of Roumelia traversed thestreets, the bazaars and public places; flocks and herds, with fleecesdyed scarlet, and gilded horns, were seen on all the roads driven to thecourt by peasants under the guidance of their priests. Bishops, abbots, ecclesiastics generally, were compelled to drink, and to take part inridiculous and indecent dances, Ali apparently thinking to raise himselfby degrading his more respectable subjects. Day and night thesespectacles succeeded each other with increasing rapidity, the airresounded with firing, songs, cries, music, and the roaring of wildbeasts in shows. Enormous spits, loaded with meat, smoked before hugebraziers, and wine ran in floods at tables prepared in the palace courts. Troops of brutal soldiers drove workmen from their labour with whips, andcompelled them to join in the entertainments; dirty and impudent jugglersinvaded private houses, and pretending that they had orders from thepacha to display their skill, carried boldly off whatever they could laytheir hands upon. Ali saw the general demoralization with pleasure, especially as it tended to the gratification of his avarice, Every guestwas expected to bring to the palace gate a gift in proportion to hismeans, and foot officers watched to see that no one forgot thisobligation. At length, on the nineteenth day, Ali resolved to crown thefeast by an orgy worthy of himself. He caused the galleries and halls ofhis castle by the lake to be decorated with unheard-of splendour, andfifteen hundred guests assembled for a solemn banquet. The pacha appearedin all his glory, surrounded by his noble attendants and courtiers, andseating himself on a dais raised above this base crowd which trembled athis glance, gave the signal to begin. At his voice, vice plunged intoits most shameless diversions, and the wine-steeped wings of debaucheryoutspread themselves over the feast. All tongues were at their freest, all imaginations ran wild, all evil passions were at their height, whensuddenly the noise ceased, and the guests clung together in terror. A manstood at the entrance of the hall, pale, disordered, and wild-eyed, clothed in torn and blood-stained garments. As everyone made way at hisapproach, he easily reached the pacha, and prostrating himself at hisfeet, presented a letter. Ali opened and rapidly perused it; his lipstrembled, his eyebrows met in a terrible frown, the muscles of hisforehead contracted alarmingly. He vainly endeavoured to smile and tolook as if nothing had happened, his agitation betrayed him, and he wasobliged to retire, after desiring a herald to announce that he wished thebanquet to continue. 

Now for the subject of the message, and the cause of the dismay itproduced. 

CHAPTER VI

Ali had long cherished a violent passion for Zobeide, the wife of his sonVeli Pacha: Having vainly attempted to gratify it after his son'sdeparture, and being indignantly repulsed, he had recourse to drugs, andthe unhappy Zobeide remained in ignorance of her misfortune until shefound she was pregnant. Then, half-avowals from her women, compelled toobey the pacha from fear of death, mixed with confused memories of herown, revealed the whole terrible truth. Not knowing in her despair whichway to turn, she wrote to Ali, entreating him to visit the harem. Ashead of the family, he had a right to enter, being supposed responsiblefor the conduct of his sons' families, no-law-giver having hithertocontemplated the possibility of so disgraceful a crime. When heappeared, Zobeide flung herself at his feet, speechless with grief. Aliacknowledged his guilt, pleaded the violence of his passion, wept withhis victim, and entreating her to control herself and keep silence, promised that all should be made right. Neither the prayers nor tears ofZobeide could induce him to give up the intention of effacing the tracesof his first crime by a second even more horrible. 

But the story was already whispered abroad, and Pacho Bey learnt all itsdetails from the spies he kept in Janina. Delighted at the prospect ofavenging himself on the father, he hastened with his news to the son. Veli Pacha, furious, vowed vengeance, and demanded Pacho Bey's help, which was readily promised. But Ali had been warned, and was not a manto be taken unawares. Pacho Bey, whom Veli had just promoted to theoffice of sword-bearer, was attacked in broad daylight by six emissariessent from Janina. He obtained timely help, however, and five of theassassins, taken red-handed, were at once hung without ceremony in themarket-place. The sixth was the messenger whose arrival with the newshad caused such dismay at Ali's banquet. 

As Ali reflected how the storm he had raised could best be laid, he wasinformed that the ruler of the marriage feast sent by Moustai, Pacha ofScodra, to receive the young bride who should reign in his harem, hadjust arrived in the plain of Janina. He was Yussuf Bey of the Delres, anold enemy of Ali's, and had encamped with his escort of eight hundredwarriors at the foot of Tomoros of Dodona. Dreading some treachery, heabsolutely refused all entreaties to enter the town, and Ali seeing thatit was useless to insist, and that his adversary for the present wassafe, at once sent his grand-daughter, the Princess of Aulis, out to him. 

This matter disposed of, Ali was able to attend to his hideous familytragedy. He began by effecting the disappearance of the women whom hehad been compelled to make his accomplices; they were simply sewn up insacks by gipsies and thrown into the lake. This done, he himself led theexecutioners into a subterranean part of the castle, where they werebeheaded by black mutes as a reward for their obedience. He then sent adoctor to Zobeide; who succeeded in causing a miscarriage, and who, hiswork done, was seized and strangled by the black mutes who had justbeheaded the gipsies. Having thus got rid of all who could bear witnessto his crime, he wrote to Veli that he might now send for his wife andtwo of his children, hitherto detained as hostages, and that theinnocence of Zobeide would confound a calumniator who had dared to assailhim with such injurious suspicions. 

When this letter arrived, Pacho Bey, distrusting equally the treachery ofthe father and the weakness of the son, and content with having sown theseeds of dissension in his enemy's family, had sufficient wisdom to seeksafety in flight. Ali, furious, vowed, on hearing this, that hisvengeance should overtake him even at the ends of the earth. Meanwhilehe fell back on Yussuf Bey of the Debres, whose escape when lately atJanina still rankled in his mind. As Yussuf was dangerous both fromcharacter and influence, Ali feared to attack him openly, and sought toassassinate him. This was not precisely easy; for, exposed to a thousanddangers of this kind, the nobles of that day were on their guard. Steeland poison were used up, and another way had to be sought. Ali found it. 

One of the many adventurers with whom Janina was filled penetrated to thepacha's presence, and offered to sell the secret of a powder whereofthree grains would suffice to kill a man with a terribleexplosion--explosive powder, in short. Ali heard with delight, butreplied that he must see it in action before purchasing. 

In the dungeons of the castle by the lake, a poor monk of the order ofSt. Basil was slowly dying, for having boldly refused a sacrilegioussimony proposed to him by Ali. He was a fit subject for the experiment, and was successfully blown to pieces, to the great satisfaction of Ali, who concluded his bargain, and hastened to make use of it. He prepared afalse firman, which, according to custom, was enclosed and sealed in acylindrical case, and sent to Yussuf Bey by a Greek, wholly ignorant ofthe real object of his mission. Opening it without suspicion, Yussuf hadhis arm blown off, and died in consequence, but found time to despatch amessage to Moustai Pacha of Scodra, informing him of the catastrophe, andwarning him to keep good guard. 

Yussuf's letter was received by Moustai just as a similar infernalmachine was placed in his hands under cover to his young wife. Thepacket was seized, and a careful examination disclosed its nature. Themother of Moustai, a jealous and cruel woman, accused her daughter-in-lawof complicity, and the unfortunate Ayesha, though shortly to become amother, expired in agony from the effects of poison, only guilty of beingthe innocent instrument of her grandfather's treachery. 

Fortune having frustrated Ali's schemes concerning Moustai Pacha, offeredhim as consolation a chance of invading the territory of Parga, the onlyplace in Epirus which had hitherto escaped his rule, and which hegreedily coveted. Agia, a small Christian town on the coast, hadrebelled against him and allied itself to Parga. It provided an excusefor hostilities, and Ali's troops, under his son Mouktar, first seizedAgia, where they only found a few old men to massacre, and then marchedon Parga, where the rebels had taken refuge. After a few skirmishes, Mouktar entered the town, and though the Parganiotes fought bravely, theymust inevitably have surrendered had they been left to themselves. Butthey had sought protection from the French, who had garrisoned thecitadel, and the French grenadiers descending rapidly from the height, charged the Turks with so much fury that they fled in all directions, leaving on the field four "bimbashis, " or captains of a thousand, and aconsiderable number of killed and wounded. 

The pacha's fleet succeeded no better than his army. Issuing from theGulf of Ambracia, it was intended to attack Parga from the sea, joiningin the massacre, and cutting off all hope of escape from that side, Alimeaning to spare neither the garrison nor any male inhabitants overtwelve years of age. But a few shots fired from a small fort dispersedthe ships, and a barque manned by sailors from Paxos pursued them, a shotfrom which killed Ali's admiral on his quarter-deck. He was a Greek ofGalaxidi, Athanasius Macrys by name. 

Filled with anxiety, Ali awaited news at Prevesa, where a courier, sentoff at the beginning of the action, had brought him oranges gathered inthe orchards of Parga. Ali gave him a purse of gold, and publiclyproclaimed his success. His joy was redoubled when a second messengerpresented two heads of French soldiers, and announced that his troopswere in possession of the lower part of Parga. Without further delay heordered his attendants to mount, entered his carriage, and startedtriumphantly on the Roman road to Nicopolis. He sent messengers to hisgenerals, ordering them to spare the women and children of Parga, intended for his harem, and above all to take strict charge of theplunder. He was approaching the arena of Nicopolis when a third Tartarmessenger informed him of the defeat of his army. Ali changedcountenance, and could scarcely articulate the order to return toPrevesa. Once in his palace, he gave way to such fury that all aroundhim trembled, demanding frequently if it could be true that his troopswere beaten. "May your misfortune be upon us!" his attendants answered, prostrating themselves. All at once, looking out on the calm blue seawhich lay before his windows, he perceived his fleet doubling CapePancrator and re-entering the Ambracian Gulf under full sail; it anchoredclose by the palace, and on hailing the leading ship a speaking trumpetannounced to Ali the death of his admiral, Athanasius Macrys. 

"But Parga, Parga!" cried Ali. 

"May Allah grant the pacha long life! The Parganiotes have escaped thesword of His Highness. "

"It is the will of Allah!" murmured the pacha; whose head sank upon hisbreast in dejection. 

Arms having failed, Ali, as usual, took refuge in plots and treachery, but this time, instead of corrupting his enemies with gold, he sought toweaken them by division. 

CHAPTER VII

The French commander Nicole, surnamed the "Pilgrim, " on account of ajourney he had once made to Mecca, had spent six months at Janina with abrigade of artillery which General Marmont, then commanding in theIllyrian provinces, had for a time placed at Ali's disposal. The oldofficer had acquired the esteem and friendship of the pacha, whoseleisure he had often amused by stories of his campaigns and variousadventures, and although it was now long since they had met, he still hadthe reputation of being Ali's friend. Ali prepared his plansaccordingly. He wrote a letter to Colonel Nicole, apparently incontinuation of a regular correspondence between them, in which hethanked the colonel for his continued affection, and besought him byvarious powerful motives to surrender Parga, of which he promised him thegovernorship during the rest of his life. He took good care to completehis treason by allowing the letter to fall into the hands of the chiefecclesiastics of Parga, who fell head-foremost into the trap. Seeingthat the tone of the letter was in perfect accordance with the formerfriendly relations between their French governor and the pacha, they wereconvinced of the former's treachery. But the result was not as Ali hadhoped: the Parganiotes resumed their former negotiations with theEnglish, preferring to place their freedom in the hands of a Christiannation rather than to fall under the rule of a Mohammedan satrap. . . . TheEnglish immediately sent a messenger to Colonel Nicole, offeringhonourable conditions of capitulation. The colonel returned a decidedrefusal, and threatened to blow up the place if the inhabitants, whoseintentions he guessed, made the slightest hostile movement. However, afew days later, the citadel was taken at night, owing to the treachery ofa woman who admitted an English detachment; and the next day, to thegeneral astonishment, the British standard floated over the Acropolis ofParga. 

All Greece was then profoundly stirred by a faint gleam of the dawn ofliberty, and shaken by a suppressed agitation. The Bourbons againreigned in France, and the Greeks built a thousand hopes on an eventwhich changed the basis of the whole European policy. Above all, theyreckoned on powerful assistance from Russia. But England had alreadybegun to dread anything which could increase either the possessions orthe influence of this formidable power. Above all, she was determinedthat the Ottoman Empire should remain intact, and that the Greek navy, beginning to be formidable, must be destroyed. With these objects inview, negotiations with Ali Pacha were resumed. The latter was stillsmarting under his recent disappointment, and to all overtures answeredonly, "Parga! I must have Parga. "--And the English were compelled toyield it!

Trusting to the word of General Campbell, who had formally promised, onits surrender, that Parga should be classed along with the seven IonianIsles; its grateful inhabitants were enjoying a delicious rest after thestorm, when a letter from the Lord High Commissioner, addressed toLieutenant-Colonel de Bosset, undeceived them, and gave warning of theevils which were to burst on the unhappy town. 

On the 25th of March, 1817, notwithstanding the solemn promise made tothe Parganiotes, when they admitted the British troops, that they shouldalways be on the same footing as the Ionian Isles, a treaty was signed atConstantinople by the British Plenipotentiary, which stipulated thecomplete and stipulated cession of Parga and all its territory to, theOttoman Empire. Soon there arrived at Janine Sir John Cartwright, theEnglish Consul at Patras, to arrange for the sale of the lands of theParganiotes and discuss the conditions of their emigration. Never beforehad any such compact disgraced European diplomacy, accustomed hitherto toregard Turkish encroachments as simple sacrilege. But Ali Pachafascinated the English agents, overwhelming them with favours, honours, and feasts, carefully watching them all the while. Their correspondencewas intercepted, and he endeavoured by means of his agents to rouse theParganiotes against them. The latter lamented bitterly, and appealed toChristian Europe, which remained deaf to their cries. In the name oftheir ancestors, they demanded the rights which had been guaranteed them. "They will buy our lands, " they said; "have we asked to sell them? Andeven if we received their value, can gold give us a country and the tombsof our ancestors?"

Ali Pacha invited the Lord High Commissioner of Great Britain, Sir ThomasMaitland, to a conference at Prevesa, and complained of the exorbitantprice of 1, 500, 000, at which the commissioners had estimated Parga andits territory, including private property and church furniture. It hadbeen hoped that Ali's avarice would hesitate at this high price, but hewas not so easily discouraged. He give a banquet for the Lord HighCommissioner, which degenerated into a shameless orgy. In the midst ofthis drunken hilarity the Turk and the Englishman disposed of theterritory of Parga; agreeing that a fresh estimate should be made on thespot by experts chosen by both English and Turks. The result of thisvaluation was that the indemnity granted to the Christians was reduced bythe English to the sum of 276, 075 sterling, instead of the original500, 000. And as Ali's agents only arrived at the sum of 56, 750, a finalconference was held at Buthrotum between Ali and the Lord HighCommissioner. The latter then informed the Parganiotes that the indemnityallowed them was irrevocably fixed at 150, 000! The transaction is adisgrace to the egotistical and venal nation which thus allowed the lifeand liberty of a people to be trifled with, a lasting blot on the honourof England!

The Parganiotes at first could believe neither in the infamy of theirprotectors nor in their own misfortune; but both were soon confirmed by aproclamation of the Lord High Commissioner, informing them that thepacha's army was marching to take possession of the territory which, byMay 10th, must be abandoned for ever. 

The fields were then in full bearing. In the midst of plains ripeningfor a rich harvest were 80, 000 square feet of olive trees, aloneestimated at two hundred thousand guineas. The sun shone in cloudlessazure, the air was balmy with the scent of orange trees, of pomegranatesand citrons. But the lovely country might have been inhabited byphantoms; only hands raised to heaven and brows bent to the dust metone's eye. Even the very dust belonged no more to the wretchedinhabitants; they were forbidden to take a fruit or a flower, the priestsmight not remove either relics or sacred images. Church, ornaments, torches, tapers, pyxes, had by this treaty all become Mahommedanproperty. The English had sold everything, even to the Host! Two daysmore, and all must be left. Each was silently marking the door of thedwelling destined so soon to shelter an enemy, with a red cross, whensuddenly a terrible cry echoed from street to street, for the Turks hadbeen perceived on the heights overlooking the town. Terrified anddespairing, the whole population hastened to fall prostrate before theVirgin of Parga, the ancient guardian of their citadel. A mysteriousvoice, proceeding from the sanctuary, reminded them that the English had, in their iniquitous treaty, forgotten to include the ashes of those whoma happier fate had spared the sight of the ruin of Parga. Instantly theyrushed to the graveyards, tore open the tombs, and collected the bonesand putrefying corpses. The beautiful olive trees were felled, anenormous funeral pyre arose, and in the general excitement the orders ofthe English chief were defied. With naked daggers in their hands, standing in the crimson light of the flames which were consuming thebones of their ancestors, the people of Parga vowed to slay their wivesand children, and to kill themselves to the last man, if the infidelsdared to set foot in the town before the appointed hour. Xenocles, thelast of the Greek poets, inspired by this sublime manifestation ofdespair, even as Jeremiah by the fall of Jerusalem, improvised a hymnwhich expresses all the grief of the exiles, and which the exilesinterrupted by their tears and sobs. 

A messenger, crossing the sea in all haste, informed the Lord HighCommissioner of the terrible threat of the Parganiotes. He started atonce, accompanied by General Sir Frederic Adams, and landed at Parga bythe light of the funeral pyre. He was received with ill-concealedindignation, and with assurances that the sacrifice would be at onceconsummated unless Ali's troops were held back. The general endeavouredto console and to reassure the unhappy people, and then proceeded to theoutposts, traversing silent streets in which armed men stood at each dooronly waiting a signal before slaying their families, and then turningtheir weapons against the English and themselves. He implored them tohave patience, and they answered by pointing to the approaching Turkisharmy and bidding him hasten. He arrived at last and commencednegotiations, and the Turkish officers, no less uneasy than the Englishgarrison, promised to wait till the appointed hour. The next day passedin mournful silence, quiet as death, At sunset on the following day, May9, 1819, the English standard on the castle of Parga was hauled down, andafter a night spent in prayer and weeping, the Christians demanded thesignal of departure. 

They had left their dwellings at break of day, and scattering on theshore, endeavoured to collect some relics of their country. Some filledlittle bags with ashes withdrawn from the funeral pile; others tookhandfuls of earth, while the women and children picked up pebbles whichthey hid in their clothing and pressed to their bosoms, as if fearing tobe deprived of them. Meanwhile, the ships intended to transport themarrived, and armed English soldiers superintended the embarkation, whichthe Turks hailed from afar with, ferocious cries. The Parganiotes werelanded in Corfu, where they suffered yet more injustice. Under variouspretexts the money promised them was reduced and withheld, untildestitution compelled them to accept the little that was offered. Thusclosed one of the most odious transactions which modern history has beencompelled to record. 

The satrap of Janina had arrived at the fulfilment of his wishes. In theretirement of his fairy-like palace by the lake he could enjoy voluptuouspleasures to the full. But already seventy-eight years had passed overhis head, and old age had laid the burden of infirmity upon him. Hisdreams were dreams of blood, and vainly he sought refuge in chambersglittering with gold, adorned with arabesques, decorated with costlyarmour and covered with the richest of Oriental carpets, remorse stoodever beside him. Through the magnificence which surrounded him thereconstantly passed the gale spectre of Emineh, leading onwards a vastprocession of mournful phantoms, and the guilty pasha buried his face inhis hands and shrieked aloud for help. Sometimes, ashamed of hisweakness, he endeavoured to defy both the reproaches of his conscienceand the opinion of the multitude, and sought to encounter criticism withbravado. If, by chance, he overheard some blind singer chanting in thestreets the satirical verses which, faithful to the poetical and mockinggenius of them ancestors, the Greeks frequently composed about him, hewould order the singer to be brought, would bid him repeat his verses, and, applauding him, would relate some fresh anecdote of cruelty, saying, "Go, add that to thy tale; let thy hearers know what I can do; let themunderstand that I stop at nothing in order to overcome my foes! If Ireproach myself with anything, it is only with the deeds I have sometimesfailed to carry out. "

Sometimes it was the terrors of the life after death which assailed him. The thought of eternity brought terrible visions in its train, and Alishuddered at the prospect of Al-Sirat, that awful bridge, narrow as aspider's thread and hanging over the furnaces of Hell; which a Mussulmanmust cross in order to arrive at the gate of Paradise. He ceased to jokeabout Eblis, the Prince of Evil, and sank by degrees into profoundsuperstition. He was surrounded by magicians and soothsayers; heconsulted omens, and demanded talismans and charms from the dervishes, which he had either sewn into his garments, or suspended in the mostsecret parts of his palace, in order to avert evil influences. A Koranwas hung about his neck as a defence against the evil eye, and frequentlyhe removed it and knelt before it, as did Louis XI before the leadenfigures of saints which adorned his hat. He ordered a complete chemicallaboratory from Venice, and engaged alchemists to distill the water ofimmortality, by the help of which he hoped to ascend to the planets anddiscover the Philosopher's Stone. Not perceiving any practical result oftheir labours, he ordered, the laboratory to be burnt and the alchemiststo be hung. 

Ali hated his fellow-men. He would have liked to leave no survivors, andoften regretted his inability to destroy all those who would have causeto rejoice at his death, Consequently he sought to accomplish as muchharm as he could during the time which remained to him, and for nopossible reason but that of hatred, he caused the arrest of both IbrahimPasha, who had already suffered so much at his hands, and his son, andconfined them both in a dungeon purposely constructed under the grandstaircase of the castle by the lake, in order that he might have thepleasure of passing over their heads each time he left his apartments orreturned to them. 

It was not enough for Ali merely to put to death those who displeasedhim, the form of punishment must be constantly varied in order to producea fresh mode of suffering, therefore new tortures had to be constantlyinvented. Now it was a servant, guilty of absence without leave, who wasbound to a stake in the presence of his sister, and destroyed by a cannonplaced six paces off, but only loaded with powder, in order to prolongthe agony; now, a Christian accused of having tried to blow up Janina byintroducing mice with tinder fastened to their tails into the powdermagazine, who was shut up in the cage of Ali's favourite tiger anddevoured by it. 

The pasha despised the human race as much as he hated it. A Europeanhaving reproached him with the cruelty shown to his subjects, Alireplied:--

"You do not understand the race with which I have to deal. Were I tohang a criminal on yonder tree, the sight would not deter even his ownbrother from stealing in the crowd at its foot. If I had an old manburnt alive, his son would steal the ashes and sell them. The rabble canbe governed by fear only, and I am the one man who does it successfully. "

His conduct perfectly corresponded to his ideas. One great feast-day, two gipsies devoted their lives in order to avert the evil destiny of thepasha; and, solemnly convoking on their own heads all misfortunes whichmight possibly befall him, cast themselves down from the palace roof. One arose with difficulty, stunned and suffering, the other remained onthe ground with a broken leg. Ali gave them each forty francs and anannuity of two pounds of maize daily, and considering this sufficient, took no further trouble about them. 

Every year, at Ramadan, a large sum was distributed in alms among poorwomen without distinction of sect. But Ali contrived to change this actof benevolence into a barbarous form of amusement. 

As he possessed several palaces in Janina at a considerable distance fromeach other, the one at which a distribution was to take place was eachday publicly announced, and when the women had waited there for an houror two, exposed to sun, rain or cold, as the case might be, they weresuddenly informed that they must go to some other palace, at the oppositeend of the town. When they got there, they usually had to wait foranother hour, fortunate if they were not sent off to a third place ofmeeting. When the time at length arrived, an eunuch appeared, followedby Albanian soldiers armed with staves, carrying a bag of money, which hethrew by handfuls right into the midst of the assembly. Then began aterrible uproar. The women rushed to catch it, upsetting each other, quarreling, fighting, and uttering cries of terror and pain, while theAlbanians, pretending to enforce order, pushed into the crowd, strikingright and left with their batons. The pacha meanwhile sat at a windowenjoying the spectacle, and impartially applauding all well deliveredblows, no matter whence they came. During these distributions, whichreally benefitted no one, many women were always severely hurt, and somedied from the blows they had received. 

Ali maintained several carriages for himself and his family, but allowedno one else to share in this prerogative. To avoid being jolted, hesimply took up the pavement in Janina and the neighbouring towns, withthe result that in summer one was choked by dust, and in winter couldhardly get through the mud. He rejoiced in the public inconvenience, andone day having to go out in heavy rain, he remarked to one of theofficers of his escort, "How delightful to be driven through this in acarriage, while you will have the pleasure of following on horseback!You will be wet and dirty, whilst I smoke my pipe and laugh at yourcondition. "

He could not understand why Western sovereigns should permit theirsubjects to enjoy the same conveniences and amusements as themselves. "IfI had a theatre, " he said, "I would allow no one to be present atperformances except my own children; but these idiotic Christians do notknow how to uphold their own dignity. "

There was no end to the mystifications which it amused the pacha to carryout with those who approached him. 

One day he chose to speak Turkish to a Maltese merchant who came todisplay some jewels. He was informed that the merchant understood onlyGreek and Italian. He none the less continued his discourse withoutallowing anyone to translate what he said into Greek. The Maltese atlength lost patience, shut up his cases, and departed. Ali watched himwith the utmost calm, and as he went out told him, still in Turkish, tocome again the next day. 

An unexpected occurrence seemed, like the warning finger of Destiny, toindicate an evil omen for the pacha's future. "Misfortunes arrive introops, " says the forcible Turkish proverb, and a forerunner of disasterscame to Ali Dacha. 

One morning he was suddenly roused by the Sheik Yussuf, who had forcedhis way in, in spite of the guards. "Behold!" said he, handing Ali aletter, "Allah, who punishes the guilty, has permitted thy seraglio ofTepelen to be burnt. Thy splendid palace, thy beautiful furniture, costly stuffs, cashmeers, furs, arms, all are destroyed! And it is thyyoungest and best beloved son, Salik Bey himself, whose hand kindled theflames!" So saying; Yussuf turned and departed, crying with a triumphantvoice, "Fire! fire! fire!"

Ali instantly ordered his horse, and, followed by his guards, rodewithout drawing rein to Tepelen. As soon as he arrived at the placewhere his palace had formerly insulted the public misery, he hastened toexamine the cellars where his treasures were deposited. All was intact, silver plate, jewels, and fifty millions of francs in gold, enclosed in awell over which he had caused a tower to be built. After this examinationhe ordered all the ashes to be carefully sifted in hopes of recoveringthe gold in the tassels and fringes of the sofas, and the silver from theplate and the armour. He next proclaimed through the length and breadthof the land, that, being by the hand of Allah deprived of his house, andno longer possessing anything in his native town, he requested all wholoved him to prove their affection by bringing help in proportion. Hefixed the day of reception for each commune, and for almost eachindividual of any rank, however small, according to their distance fromTepelen, whither these evidences of loyalty were to be brought. 

During five days Ali received these forced benevolences from all parts. He sat, covered with rags, on a shabby palm-leaf mat placed. At the outergate of his ruined palace, holding in his left hand a villainous pipe ofthe kind used by the lowest people, and in his right an old red cap, which he extended for the donations of the passers-by. Behind stood aJew from Janina, charged with the office of testing each piece of goldand valuing jewels which were offered instead of money; for, in terror, each endeavoured to appear generous. No means of obtaining a richharvest were neglected; for instance, Ali distributed secretly large sumsamong poor and obscure people, such as servants, mechanics, and soldiers, in order that by returning them in public they might appear to be makinggreat sacrifices, so that richer and more distinguished persons couldnot, without appearing ill-disposed towards the pacha, offer only thesame amount as did the poor, but were obliged to present gifts ofenormous value. 

After this charity extorted from their fears, the pacha's subjects hopedto be at peace. But a new decree proclaimed throughout Albania requiredthem to rebuild and refurnish the formidable palace of Tepelen entirelyat the public expense. Ali then returned to Janina, followed by histreasure and a few women who had escaped from the flames, and whom hedisposed of amongst his friends, saying that he was no longersufficiently wealthy to maintain so many slaves. 

Fate soon provided him with a second opportunity for amassing wealth. Arta, a wealthy town with a Christian population, was ravaged by theplague, and out of eight thousand inhabitants, seven thousand were sweptaway. Hearing this, Ali hastened to send commissioners to prepare anaccount of furniture and lands which the pacha claimed as being heir tohis subjects. A few livid and emaciated spectres were yet to be found inthe streets of Arta. In order that the inventory might be more complete, these unhappy beings were compelled to wash in the Inachus blankets, sheets, and clothes steeped in bubonic infection, while the collectorswere hunting everywhere for imaginary hidden treasure. Hollow trees weresounded, walls pulled down, the most unlikely corners examined, and askeleton which was discovered still girt with a belt containing Venetiansequins was gathered up with the utmost care. The archons of the townwere arrested and tortured in the hope of discovering buried treasure, the clue to which had disappeared along with the owners. One of thesemagistrates, accused of having hidden some valuable objects, was plungedup to his shoulders in a boiler full of melted lead and boiling oil. Oldmen, women, children, rich and poor alike, were interrogated, beaten, andcompelled to abandon the last remains of their property in order to savetheir lives. 

Having thus decimated the few inhabitants remaining to the town, itbecame necessary to repeople it. With this object in view, Ali'semissaries overran the villages of Thessaly, driving before them all. Thepeople they met in flocks, and compelling them to settle in Arta. Theseunfortunate colonists were also obliged to find money to pay the pachafor the houses they were forced to occupy. 

This business being settled, Ali turned to another which had long been onhis mind. We have seen how Ismail Pacho Bey escaped the assassins sentto murder him. A ship, despatched secretly from Prevesa, arrived at theplace of his retreat. The captain, posing as a merchant, invited Ismailto come on board and inspect his goods. But the latter, guessing a trap, fled promptly, and for some time all trace of him was lost. Ali, inrevenge, turned his wife out of the palace at Janina which she stilloccupied, and placed her in a cottage, where she was obliged to earn aliving by spinning. But he did not stop there, and learning after sometime that Pacho Bey had sought refuge with the Nazir of Drama, who hadtaken him into favour, he resolved to strike a last blow, more sure andmore terrible than the others. Again Ismail's lucky star saved him fromthe plots of his enemy. During a hunting party he encountered akapidgi-bachi, or messenger from the sultan, who asked him where he couldfind the Nazir, to whom he was charged with an important communication. As kapidgi-bachis are frequently bearers of evil tidings, which it iswell to ascertain at once, and as the Nazir was at some distance, PachoBey assumed the latter's part, and the sultan's confidential messengerinformed him that he was the bearer of a firman granted at the request ofAli Pacha of Janina, "Ali of Tepelenir. He is my friend. How can I serve him?"

"By executing the present order, sent you by the Divan, desiring you tobehead a traitor, named Pacho Bey, who crept into your service a shorttime ago. 

"Willingly I but he is not an easy man to seize being brave, vigorous, clever, and cunning. Craft will be necessary in this case. He may appearat any moment, and it is advisable that he should not see you. Let noone suspect who you are, but go to Drama, which is only two hoursdistant, and await me there. I shall return this evening, and you canconsider your errand as accomplished. "

The kapidgi-bachi made a sign of comprehension, and directed his coursetowards Drama; while Ismail, fearing that the Nazir, who had only knownhim a short time, would sacrifice him with the usual Turkishindifference, fled in the opposite direction. At the end of an hour heencountered a Bulgarian monk, with whom he exchanged clothes--a disguisewhich enabled him to traverse Upper Macedonia in safety. Arriving at thegreat Servian convent in the mountains whence the Axius takes its rise, he obtained admission under an assumed name. But feeling sure of thediscretion of the monks, after a few days he explained his situation tothem. 

Ali, learning the ill-success of his latest stratagem, accused the Nazirof conniving at Paeho Bey's escape. But the latter easily justifiedhimself with the Divan by giving precise information of what had reallyoccurred. This was what Ali wanted, who profited thereby in having thefugitive's track followed up, and soon got wind of his retreat. As PachoBey's innocence had been proved in the explanations given to the Porte, the death firman obtained against him became useless, and Ali affected toabandon him to his fate, in order the better to conceal the new plot hewas conceiving against him. 

Athanasius Vaya, chief assassin of the Kardikiotes, to whom Ali impartedhis present plan for the destruction of Ismail, begged for the honour ofputting it into execution, swearing that this time Ismail should notescape. The master and the instrument disguised their scheme under theappearance of a quarrel, which astonished the whole town. At the end ofa terrible scene which took place in public, Ali drove the confidant ofhis crimes from the palace, overwhelming him with insults, and declaringthat were Athanasius not the son of his children's foster-mother, hewould have sent him to the gibbet. He enforced his words by theapplication of a stick, and Vaya, apparently overwhelmed by terror andaffliction, went round to all the nobles of the town, vainly entreatingthem to intercede for him. The only favour which Mouktar Pacha couldobtain for him was a sentence of exile allowing him to retreat toMacedonia. 

Athanasius departed from Janina with all the demonstrations of utterdespair, and continued his route with the haste of one who fears pursuit. Arrived in Macedonia, he assumed the habit of a monk, and undertook apilgrimage to Mount Athos, saying that both the disguise and the journeywere necessary to his safety. On the way he encountered one of theitinerant friars of the great Servian convent, to whom he described hisdisgrace in energetic terms, begging him to obtain his admission amongthe lay brethren of his monastery. 

Delighted at the prospect of bringing back to the fold of the Church aman so notorious for his crimes, the friar hastened to inform hissuperior, who in his turn lost no time in announcing to Pacho Bey thathis compatriot and companion in misfortune was to be received among thelay brethren, and in relating the history of Athanasius as he himself hadheard it. Pacho Bey, however, was not easily deceived, and at onceguessing that Vaya's real object was his own assassination, told hisdoubts to the superior, who had already received him as a friend. Thelatter retarded the reception of Vaya so as to give Pacho time to escapeand take the road to Constantinople. Once arrived there, he determined tobrave the storm and encounter Ali openly. 

Endowed by nature with a noble presence and with masculine firmness, Pacho Bey possessed also the valuable gift of speaking all the varioustongues of the Ottoman Empire. He could not fail to distinguish himselfin the capital and to find an opening for his great talents. But hisinclination drove him at first to seek his fellow-exiles from Epirus, whowere either his old companions in arms, friends, of relations, for he wasallied to all the principal families, and was even, through his wife, nearly connected with his enemy, Ali Pacha himself. 

He had learnt what this unfortunate lady had already endured on hisaccount, and feared that she would suffer yet more if he took activemeasures against the pacha. While he yet hesitated between affection andrevenge, he heard that she had died of grief and misery. Now thatdespair had put an end to uncertainty, he set his hand to the work. 

At this precise moment Heaven sent him a friend to console and aid him inhis vengeance, a Christian from OEtolia, Paleopoulo by name. This man wason the point of establishing himself in Russian Bessarabia, when he metPacho Bey and joined with him in the singular coalition which was tochange the fate of the Tepelenian dynasty. 

Paleopoulo reminded his companion in misfortune of a memorial presentedto the Divan in 1812, which had brought upon Ali a disgrace from which heonly escaped in consequence of the overwhelming political events whichjust then absorbed the attention of the Ottoman Government. The GrandSeigneur had sworn by the tombs of his ancestors to attend to the matteras soon as he was able, and it was only requisite to remind him of hisvow. Pacho Hey and his friend drew up a new memorial, and knowing thesultan's avarice, took care to dwell on the immense wealth possessed byAli, on his scandalous exactions, and on the enormous sums diverted fromthe Imperial Treasury. By overhauling the accounts of hisadministration, millions might be recovered. To these financialconsiderations Pacho Bey added some practical ones. Speaking as a mansure of his facts and well acquainted with the ground, he pledged hishead that with twenty thousand men he would, in spite of Ali's troops andstrongholds, arrive before Janina without firing a musket. 

However good these plans appeared, they were by no means to the taste ofthe sultan's ministers, who were each and all in receipt of largepensions from the man at whom they struck. Besides, as in Turkey it iscustomary for the great fortunes of Government officials to be absorbedon their death by the Imperial Treasury, it of course appeared easier toawait the natural inheritance of Ali's treasures than to attempt to seizethem by a war which would certainly absorb part of them. Therefore, while Pacho Bey's zeal was commended, he obtained only dilatory answers, followed at length by a formal refusal. 

Meanwhile, the old OEtolian, Paleopoulo, died, having prophesied theapproaching Greek insurrection among his friends, and pledged Pacho Beyto persevere in his plans of vengeance, assuring him that before long Aliwould certainly fall a victim to them. Thus left alone, Pacho, beforetaking any active steps in his work of vengeance, affected to givehimself up to the strictest observances of the Mohammedan religion. Ali, who had established a most minute surveillance over his actions, findingthat his time was spent with ulemas and dervishes, imagined that he hadceased to be dangerous, and took no further trouble about him. 

CHAPTER VIII

A career of successful crime had established Ali's rule over a populationequal to that of the two kingdoms of Sweden and Norway. But his ambitionwas not yet satisfied. The occupation of Parga did not crown hisdesires, and the delight which it caused him was much tempered by theescape of the Parganiotes, who found in exile a safe refuge from hispersecution. Scarcely had he finished the conquest of Middle Albaniabefore he was exciting a faction against the young Moustai Pacha inScodra, a new object of greed. He also kept an army of spies inWallachia, Moldavia, Thrace, and Macedonia, and, thanks to them, heappeared to be everywhere present, and was mixed up in every intrigue, private or political, throughout the empire. He had paid the Englishagents the price agreed on for Parga, but he repaid himself five timesover, by gifts extorted from his vassals, and by the value of the Pargalands, now become his property. His palace of Tepelen had been rebuiltat the public expense, and was larger and more magnificent than before;Janina was embellished with new buildings; elegant pavilions rose on theshores of the lake; in short, Ali's luxury was on a level with his vastriches. His sons and grandsons were provided for by important positions, and Ali himself was sovereign prince in everything but the name. 

There was no lack of flattery, even from literary persons. At Vienna apoem was pointed in his honour, and a French-Greek Grammar was dedicatedto him, and such titles as "Most Illustrious, " "Most Powerful, " and "MostClement, " were showered upon him, as upon a man whose lofty virtues andgreat exploits echoed through the world. A native of Bergamo, learned inheraldry, provided him with a coat of arms, representing, on a fieldgules, a lion, embracing three cubs, emblematic of the Tepeleniandynasty. Already he had a consul at Leucadia accepted by the English, who, it is said, encouraged him to declare himself hereditary Prince ofGreece, under the nominal suzerainty of the sultan; their real intentionbeing to use him as a tool in return for their protection, and to employhim as a political counter-balance to the hospodars of Moldavia andWallachia, who for the last twenty years had been simply Russian agentsin disguise, This was not all; many of the adventurers with whom theLevant swarms, outlaws from every country, had found a refuge in Albania, and helped not a little to excite Ali's ambition by their suggestions. Some of these men frequently saluted him as King, a title which heaffected to reject with indignation; and he disdained to imitate otherstates by raising a private standard of his own, preferring not tocompromise his real power by puerile displays of dignity; and he lamentedthe foolish ambition of his children, who would ruin him, he said, byaiming, each, at becoming a vizier. Therefore he did not place his hopeor confidence in them, but in the adventurers of every sort and kind, pirates, coiners, renegades, assassins, whom he kept in his pay andregarded as his best support. These he sought to attach to his person asmen who might some day be found useful, for he did not allow the manyfavours of fortune to blind him to the real danger of his position. Avizier, " he was answered, "resembles a man wrapped in costly furs, but hesits on a barrel of powder, which only requires a spark to explode it. "The Divan granted all the concessions which Ali demanded, affectingignorance of his projects of revolt and his intelligence with the enemiesof the State; but then apparent weakness was merely prudent temporising. It was considered that Ali, already advanced in years, could not livemuch longer, and it was hoped that, at his death, Continental Greece, nowin some measure detached from the Ottoman rule, would again fall underthe sultan's sway. 

Meanwhile, Pacho Bey, bent on silently undermining Ali's influence; hadestablished himself as an intermediary for all those who came to demandjustice on account of the pacha's exactions, and he contrived that bothhis own complaints and those of his clients, should penetrate to the earsof the sultan; who, pitying his misfortunes, made him a kapidgi-bachi, asa commencement of better things. About this time the sultan alsoadmitted to the Council a certain Abdi Effendi of Larissa, one of therichest nobles of Thessaly, who had been compelled by the tyranny of VeliPacha to fly from his country. The two new dignitaries, having securedKhalid Effendi as a partisan, resolved to profit by his influence tocarry out their plans of vengeance on the Tepelenian family. The news ofPacho Bey's promotion roused Ali from the security in which he wasplunged, and he fell a prey to the most lively anxiety. Comprehending atonce the evil which this man, --trained in his own school, might causehim, he exclaimed, "Ah! if Heaven would only restore me the strength ofmy youth, I would plunge my sword into his heart even in the midst of theDivan. "

It was not long before Ali's enemies found an extremely suitableopportunity for opening their attack. Veli Pacha, who had for his ownprofit increased the Thessalian taxation fivefold, had in doing so causedso much oppression that many of the inhabitants preferred the griefs anddangers of emigration rather than remain under so tyrannical a rule. Agreat number of Greeks sought refuge at Odessa, and the great Turkishfamilies assembled round Pacho Bey and Abdi Effendi at Constantinople, who lost no opportunity of interceding in their favour. The sultan, whoas yet did not dare to act openly against the Tepelenian family, was atleast able to relegate Veli to the obscure post of Lepanto, and Veli, much disgusted, was obliged to obey. He quitted the new palace he hadjust built at Rapehani, and betook himself to the place of exile, accompanied by actors, Bohemian dancers, bear leaders, and a crowd ofprostitutes. 

Thus attacked in the person of his most powerful son, Ali thought toterrify his enemies by a daring blow. He sent three Albanians toConstantinople to assassinate Pacho Bey. They fell upon him as he wasproceeding to the Mosque of Saint-Sophia, on the day on which the sultanalso went in order to be present at the Friday ceremonial prayer, andfired several shots at him. He was wounded, but not mortally. 

The assassins, caught red-handed, were hung at the gate of the ImperialSeraglio, but not before confessing that they were sent by the Pacha ofJanina. The Divan, comprehending at last that so dangerous a man must bedealt with at any cost, recapitulated all Ali's crimes, and pronounced asentence against him which was confirmed by a decree of the Grand Mufti. It set forth that Ali Tepelen, having many times obtained pardon for hiscrimes, was now guilty of high treason in the first degree, and that hewould, as recalcitrant, be placed under the ban of the Empire if he didnot within forty days appear at the Gilded Threshold of the FelicitousGate of the Monarch who dispenses crowns to the princes who reign in thisworld, in order to justify himself. As may be supposed, submission tosuch an order was about the last thing Ali contemplated. As he failed toappear, the Divan caused the Grand Mufti to launch the thunder ofexcommunication against him. 

Ali had just arrived at Parga, which he now saw for the third time sincehe had obtained it, when his secretaries informed him that only the rodof Moses could save him from the anger of Pharaoh--a figurative mode ofwarning him that he had nothing to hope for. But Ali, counting on hisusual luck, persisted in imagining that he could, once again, escape fromhis difficulty by the help of gold and intrigue. Without discontinuingthe pleasures in which he was immersed, he contented himself with sendingpresents and humble petitions to Constantinople. But both were alikeuseless, for no one even ventured to transmit them to the sultan, who hadsworn to cut off the head of anyone who dared mention the name of AliTepelen in his presence. 

Receiving no answer to his overtures, Ali became a prey to terribleanxiety. As he one day opened the Koran to consult it as to his future, his divining rod stopped at verse 82, chap. Xix. , which says, "He dothflatter himself in vain. He shall appear before our tribunal naked andbare. " Ali closed the book and spat three times into his bosom. He wasyielding to the most dire presentiments, when a courier, arriving fromthe capital, informed him that all hope of pardon was lost. 

He ordered his galley to be immediately prepared, and left his seraglio, casting a look of sadness on the beautiful gardens where only yesterdayhe had received the homage of his prostrate slaves. He bade farewell tohis wives, saying that he hoped soon to return, and descended to theshore, where the rowers received him with acclamations. The sail was setto a favourable breeze, and Ali, leaving the shore he was never to seeagain, sailed towards Erevesa, where he hoped to meet the Lord HighCommissioner Maitland. But the time of prosperity had gone by, and theregard which had once been shown him changed with his fortunes. Theinterview he sought was not granted. 

The sultan now ordered a fleet to be equipped, which, after Ramadan, wasto disembark troops on the coast of Epirus, while all the neighbouringpashas received orders to hold themselves in readiness to march with allthe troops of their respective Governments against Ali, whose name wasstruck out of the list of viziers. Pacho Bey was named Pasha of Janinaand Delvino on condition of subduing them, and was placed in command ofthe whole expedition. 

However, notwithstanding these orders, there was not at the beginning ofApril, two months after the attempted assassination of Pacho Bey, asingle soldier ready to march on Albania. Ramadan, that year, did notclose until the new moon of July. Had Ali put himself boldly at the headof the movement which was beginning to stir throughout Greece, he mighthave baffled these vacillating projects, and possibly dealt a fatal blowto the Ottoman Empire. As far back as 1808, the Hydriotes had offered torecognise his son Veli, then Vizier of the Morea, as their Prince, and tosupport him in every way, if he would proclaim the independence of theArchipelago. The Moreans bore him no enmity until he refused to helpthem to freedom, and would have returned to him had he consented. 

On the other side, the sultan, though anxious for war, would not spend apenny in order to wage it; and it was not easy to corrupt some of thegreat vassals ordered to march at their own expense against a man inwhose downfall they had no special interest. Nor were the means ofseduction wanting to Ali, whose wealth was enormous; but he preferred tokeep it in order to carry on the war which he thought he could no longerescape. He made, therefore, a general appeal to all Albanian warriors, whatever their religion. Mussulmans and Christians, alike attracted bythe prospect of booty and good pay, flocked to his standard in crowds. 

He organised all these adventurers on the plan of the Armatous, bycompanies, placing a captain of his own choice at the head of each, andgiving each company a special post to defend. Of all possible plans thiswas the best adapted to his country, where only a guerilla warfare can becarried on, and where a large army could not subsist. 

In repairing to the posts assigned to them, these troops committed suchterrible depredations that the provinces sent to Constantinople demandingtheir suppression. The Divan answered the petitioners that it was theirown business to suppress these disorders, and to induce the Klephotes toturn their arms against Ali, who had nothing to hope from the clemency ofthe Grand Seigneur. At the same time circular letters were addressed tothe Epirotes, warning them to abandon the cause of a rebel, and toconsider the best means of freeing themselves from a traitor, who, havinglong oppressed them, now sought to draw down on their country all theterrors of war. Ali, who every where maintained numerous and activespies, now redoubled his watchfulness, and not a single letter enteredEpirus without being opened and read by his agents. As an extraprecaution, the guardians of the passes were enjoined to slay withoutmercy any despatch-bearer not provided with an order signed by Alihimself; and to send to Janina under escort any travellers wishing toenter Epirus. These measures were specially aimed against Suleyman Pacha, who had succeeded Veli in the government of Thessaly, and replaced Alihimself in the office of Grand Provost of the Highways. Suleyman'ssecretary was a Greek called Anagnorto, a native of Macedonia, whoseestates Ali had seized, and who had fled with his family to escapefurther persecution. He had become attached to the court party, less forthe sake of vengeance on Ali than to aid the cause of the Greeks, forwhose freedom he worked by underhand methods. He persuaded SuleymanPacha that the Greeks would help him to dethrone Ali, for whom theycherished the deepest hatred, and he was determined that they shouldlearn the sentence of deprivation and excommunication fulminated againstthe rebel pacha. He introduced into the Greek translation which he wascommissioned to make, ambiguous phrases which were read by the Christiansas a call to take up arms in the cause of liberty. In an instant, allHellas was up in arms. The Mohammedans were alarmed, but the Greeks gaveout that it was in order to protect themselves and their property againstthe bands of brigands which had appeared on all sides. This was thebeginning of the Greek insurrection, and occurred in May 1820, extendingfrom Mount Pindus to Thermopylae. However, the Greeks, satisfied withhaving vindicated their right to bear arms in their own defence, continued to pay their taxes, and abstained from all hostility. 

At the news of this great movement, Ali's friends advised him to turn itto his own advantage. "The Greeks in arms, " said they, "want a chief:offer yourself as their leader. They hate you, it is true, but thisfeeling may change. It is only necessary to make them believe, which iseasily done, that if they will support your cause you will embraceChristianity and give them freedom. "

There was no time to lose, for matters became daily more serious. Alihastened to summon what he called a Grand Divan, composed of the chiefsof both sects, Mussulmans and Christians. There were assembled men ofwidely different types, much astonished at finding themselves in company:the venerable Gabriel, Archbishop of Janina, and uncle of the unfortunateEuphrosyne, who had been dragged thither by force; Abbas, the old head ofthe police, who had presided at the execution of the Christian martyr;the holy bishop of Velas, still bearing the marks of the chains withwhich Ali had loaded him; and Porphyro, Archbishop of Arta, to whom theturban would have been more becoming than the mitre. 

Ashamed of the part he was obliged to play, Ali, after long hesitation, decided on speaking, and, addressing the Christians, "O Greeks!" he said, "examine my conduct with unprejudiced minds, and you will see manifestproofs of the confidence and consideration which I have ever shown you. What pacha has ever treated you as I have done? Who would have treatedyour priests and the objects of your worship with as much respect? Whoelse would have conceded the privileges which you enjoy? for you holdrank in my councils, and both the police and the administration of myStates are in your hands. I do not, however, seek to deny the evils withwhich I have afflicted you; but, alas! these evils have been the resultof my enforced obedience to the cruel and perfidious orders of theSublime Porte. It is to the Porte that these wrongs must be attributed, for if my actions be attentively regarded it will be seen that I only didharm when compelled thereto by the course of events. Interrogate myactions, they will speak more fully than a detailed apology. 

"My position with regard to the Suliotes allowed no half-and-halfmeasures. Having once broken with them, I was obliged either to drivethem from my country or to exterminate them. I understood the politicalhatred of the Ottoman Cabinet too well not to know that it would declarewar against me sooner or later, and I knew that resistance would beimpossible, if on one side I had to repel the Ottoman aggression, and onthe other to fight against the formidable Suliotes. 

"I might say the same of the Parganiotes. You know that their town wasthe haunt of my enemies, and each time that I appealed to them to changetheir ways they answered only with insults and threats. They constantlyaided the Suliotes with whom I was at war; and if at this moment theystill were occupying Parga, you would see them throw open the gates ofEpirus to the forces of the sultan. But all this does not prevent mybeing aware that my enemies blame me severely, and indeed I also blamemyself, and deplore the faults which the difficulty of my position hasentailed upon me. Strong in my repentance, I do not hesitate to addressmyself to those whom I have most grievously wounded. Thus I have longsince recalled to my service a great number of Suliotes, and those whohave responded to my invitation are occupying important posts near myperson. To complete the reconciliation, I have written to those who arestill in exile, desiring them to return fearlessly to their country, andI have certain information that this proposal has been everywhereaccepted with enthusiasm. The Suliotes will soon return to theirancestral houses, and, reunited under my standard, will join me incombating the Osmanlis, our common enemies. 

"As to the avarice of which I am accused, it seems easily justified bythe constant necessity I was under of satisfying the inordinate cupidityof the Ottoman ministry, which incessantly made me pay dearly fortranquillity. This was a personal affair, I acknowledge, and so also isthe accumulation of treasure made in order to support the war, which theDivan has at length declared. "

Here Ali ceased, then having caused a barrel full of gold pieces to beemptied on the floor, he continued:

"Behold a part of the treasure I have preserved with so much care, andwhich has been specially obtained from the Turks, our common enemies: itis yours. I am now more than ever delighted at being the friend of theGreeks. Their bravery is a sure earnest of victory, and we will shortlyre-establish the Greek Empire, and drive the Osmanlis across theBosphorus. O bishops and priests of Issa the prophet! bless the arms ofthe Christians, your children. O primates! I call upon you to defendyour rights, and to rule justly the brave nation associated with myinterests. "

This discourse produced very different impressions on the Christianpriests and archons. Some replied only by raising looks of despair toHeaven, others murmured their adhesion. A great number remaineduncertain, not knowing what to decide. The Mirdite chief, he who hadrefused to slaughter the Kardikiotes, declared that neither he nor anySkipetar of the Latin communion would bear arms against their legitimatesovereign the sultan. But his words were drowned by cries of "Long liveAli Pasha! Long live the restorer of liberty!" uttered by some chiefs ofadventurers and brigands. 

CHAPTER IX

Yet next day, May 24th, 1820, Ali addressed a circular letter to hisbrothers the Christians, announcing that in future he would consider themas his most faithful subjects, and that henceforth he remitted the taxespaid to his own family. He wound up by asking for soldiers, but theGreeks having learnt the instability of his promises, remained deaf tohis invitations. At the same time he sent messengers to the Montenegrinsand the Servians, inciting them to revolt, and organised insurrections inWallachia and Moldavia to the very environs of Constantinople. 

Whilst the Ottoman vassals assembled only in small numbers and veryslowly under their respective standards, every day there collected roundthe castle of Janina whole companies of Toxidae, of Tapazetae, and ofChamidae; so that Ali, knowing that Ismail Pacho Bey had boasted that hecould arrive in sight of Janina without firing a gun, said in his turnthat he would not treat with the Porte until he and his troops should bewithin eight leagues of Constantinople. 

He had fortified and supplied with munitions of war Ochrida, Avlone, Cannia, Berat, Cleisoura, Premiti, the port of Panormus, Santi-Quaranta, Buthrotum, Delvino, Argyro-Castron, Tepelen, Parga, Prevesa, Sderli, Paramythia, Arta, the post of the Five Wells, Janina and its castles. These places contained four hundred and twenty cannons of all sizes, forthe most part in bronze, mounted on siege-carriages, and seventy mortars. Besides these, there were in the castle by the lake, independently of theguns in position, forty field-pieces, sixty mountain guns, a number ofCongreve rockets, formerly given him by the English, and an enormousquantity of munitions of war. Finally, he endeavoured to establish aline of semaphores between Janina and Prevesa, in order to have promptnews of the Turkish fleet, which was expected to appear on this coast. 

Ali, whose strength seemed to increase with age, saw to everything andappeared everywhere; sometimes in a litter borne by his Albanians, sometimes in a carriage raised into a kind of platform, but it was morefrequently on horseback that he appeared among his labourers. Often hesat on the bastions in the midst of the batteries, and conversedfamiliarly with those who surrounded him. He narrated the successesformerly obtained against the sultan by Kara Bazaklia, Vizier of Scodra, who, like himself, had been attained with the sentence of deprivation andexcommunication; recounting how the rebel pacha, shut up in his citadelwith seventy-two warriors, had seen collapse at his feet the unitedforces of four great provinces of the Ottoman Empire, commanded bytwenty-two pachas, who were almost entirely annihilated in one day by theGuegues. He reminded them also, of the brilliant victory gained byPassevend Oglon, Pacha of Widdin, of quite recent memory, which iscelebrated in the warlike songs of the Klephts of Roumelia. 

Almost simultaneously, Ali's sons, Mouktar and Veli, arrived at Janina. Veli had been obliged, or thought himself obliged, to evacuate Lepanto bysuperior forces, and brought only discouraging news, especially as to thewavering fidelity of the Turks. Mouktar, on the contrary, who had justmade a tour of inspection in the Musache, had only noticed favourabledispositions, and deluded himself with the idea that the Chaonians, whohad taken up arms, had done so in order to aid his father. He wascuriously mistaken, for these tribes hated Ali with a hatred all thedeeper for being compelled to conceal it, and were only in arms in orderto repel aggression. 

The advice given by the sons to their father as to the manner of treatingthe Mohammedans differed widely in accordance with their respectiveopinions. Consequently a violent quarrel arose between them, ostensiblyon account of this dispute, but in reality on the subject of theirfather's inheritance, which both equally coveted. Ali had brought all histreasure to Janina, and thenceforth neither son would leave theneighbourhood of so excellent a father. They overwhelmed him with marksof affection, and vowed that the one had left Lepanto, and the otherBerat, only in order to share his danger. Ali was by no means duped bythese protestations, of which he divined the motive only too well, andthough he had never loved his sons, he suffered cruelly in discoveringthat he was not beloved by them. 

Soon he had other troubles to endure. One of his gunners assassinated aservant of Vela's, and Ali ordered the murderer to be punished, but whenthe sentence was to be carried out the whole corps of artillery mutinied. In order to save appearances, the pacha was compelled to allow them toask for the pardon of the criminal whom he dared not punish. Thisincident showed him that his authority was no longer paramount, and hebegan to doubt the fidelity of his soldiers. The arrival of the Ottomanfleet further enlightened him to his true position. Mussulman andChristian alike, all the inhabitants of Northern Albania, who hadhitherto concealed their disaffection under an exaggerated semblance ofdevotion, now hastened to make their submission to the sultan. TheTurks, continuing their success, laid siege to Parga, which was held byMehemet, Veli's eldest son. He was prepared to make a good defence, butwas betrayed by his troops, who opened the gates of the town, and he wascompelled to surrender at discretion. He was handed over to thecommander of the naval forces, by whom he was well treated, beingassigned the best cabin in the admiral's ship and given a brilliantsuite. He was assured that the sultan, whose only quarrel was with hisgrandfather, would show him favour, and would even deal mercifully withAli, who, with his treasures, would merely be sent to an importantprovince in Asia Minor. He was induced to write in this strain to hisfamily and friends in order to induce them to lay down their arms. 

The fall of Parga made a great impression on the Epirotes, who valued itspossession far above its real importance. Ali rent his garments andcursed the days of his former good fortune, during which he had neitherknown how to moderate his resentment nor to foresee the possibility ofany change of fortune. 

The fall of Parga was succeeded by that of Arta of Mongliana, where wassituated Ali's country house, and of the post of the Five Wells. Thencame a yet more overwhelming piece of news Omar Brionis, whom Ali, havingformerly despoiled of its wealth, had none the less, recently appointedgeneral-in-chief, had gone over to the enemy with all his troops!

Ali then decided on carrying out a project he had formed in case ofnecessity, namely, on destroying the town of Janina, which would affordshelter to the enemy and a point of attack against the fortresses inwhich he was entrenched. When this resolution was known, the inhabitantsthought only of saving themselves and their property from the ruin fromwhich nothing could save their country. But most of them were onlypreparing to depart, when Ali gave leave to the Albanian soldiers yetfaithful to him to sack the town. 

The place was immediately invaded by an unbridled soldiery. TheMetropolitan church, where Greeks and Turks alike deposited their gold, jewels, and merchandise, even as did the Greeks of old in the temples ofthe gods, became the first object of pillage. Nothing was respected. The cupboards containing sacred vestments were broken open, so were thetombs of the archbishops, in which were interred reliquaries adorned withprecious stones; and the altar itself was defiled with the blood ofruffians who fought for chalices and silver crosses. 

The town presented an equally terrible spectacle; neither Christians norMussulmans were spared, and the women's apartments, forcibly entered, were given up to violence. Some of the more courageous citizensendeavoured to defend their houses and families against these bandits, and the clash of arms mingled with cries and groans. All at once the roarof a terrible explosion rose above the other sounds, and a hail of bombs, shells, grenade's, and rockets carried devastation and fire into thedifferent quarters of the town, which soon presented the spectacle of animmense conflagration. Ali, seated on the great platform of the castleby the lake, which seemed to vomit fire like a volcano, directed thebombardment, pointing out the places which must be burnt. Churches, mosques, libraries, bazaars, houses, all were destroyed, and the onlything spared by the flames was the gallows, which remained standing inthe midst of the ruins. 

Of the thirty thousand persons who inhabited Janina a few hourspreviously, perhaps one half had escaped. But these had not fled manyleagues before they encountered the outposts of the Otto man army, which, instead of helping or protecting them, fell upon them, plundered them, and drove them towards the camp, where slavery awaited them. The unhappyfugitives, taken thus between fire and. Sword, death behind and slaverybefore, uttered a terrible cry, and fled in all directions. Those whoescaped the Turks were stopped in the hill passes by the mountaineersrushing down to the rey; only large numbers who held together could forcea passage. 

In some cases terror bestows extraordinary strength, there were motherswho, with infants at the breast, covered on foot in one day the fourteenleagues which separate Janina from Arta. But others, seized with thepangs of travail in the midst of their flight, expired in the woods, after giving birth to babes, who, destitute of succour, did not survivetheir mothers. And young girls, having disfigured themselves by gashes, hid themselves in caves, where they died of terror and hunger. 

The Albanians, intoxicated with plunder and debauchery, refused to returnto the castle, and only thought of regaining their country and enjoyingthe fruit of their rapine. But they were assailed on the way by peasantscovetous of their booty, and by those of Janina who had sought refugewith them. The roads and passes were strewn with corpses, and the treesby the roadside converted into gibbets. The murderers did not longsurvive their victims. 

The ruins of Janina were still smoking when, on the 19th August, PachoBey made his entry. Having pitched his tent out of range of Ali's cannon, he proclaimed aloud the firman which inaugurated him as Pacha of Janinaand Delvino, and then raised the tails, emblem of his dignity. Ali heardon the summit of his keep the acclamations of the Turks who saluted PachoBey, his former servant with the titles of Vali of Epirus, and Ghazi, ofVictorius. After this ceremony, the cadi read the sentence, confirmed bythe Mufti, which declared Tepelen Veli-Zade to have forfeited hisdignities and to be excommunicated, adding an injunction to all thefaithful that henceforth his name was not to be pronounced except withthe addition of "Kara, " or "black, " which is bestowed on those cut offfrom the congregation of Sunnites, or Orthodox Mohammedans. A Maraboutthen cast a stone towards the castle, and the anathema upon "Kara Ali"was repeated by the whole Turkish army, ending with the cry of "Long livethe sultan! So be it!"

But it was not by ecclesiastical thunders that three fortresses could bereduced, which were defended by artillerymen drawn from differentEuropean armies, who had established an excellent school for gunners andbombardiers. The besieged, having replied with hootings of contempt tothe acclamations of the besiegers, proceeded to enforce their scorn withwell-aimed cannon shots, while the rebel flotilla, dressed as if for afete-day, passed slowly before the Turks, saluting them with cannon-shotif they ventured near the edge of the lake. 

This noisy rhodomontade did not prevent Ali from being consumed withgrief and anxiety. The sight of his own troops, now in the camp of PachoBey, the fear of being for ever separated from his sons, the thought ofhis grandson in the enemy's hands, all threw him into the deepestmelancholy, and his sleepless eyes were constantly drowned in tears. Herefused his food, and sat for seven days with untrimmed beard, clad inmourning, on a mat at the door of his antechamber, extending his hands tohis soldiers, and imploring them to slay him rather than abandon him. His wives, seeing him in this state, and concluding all was lost, filledthe air with their lamentations. All began to think that grief wouldbring Ali to the grave; but his soldiers, to whose protestations he atfirst refused any credit, represented to him that their fate wasindissolubly linked with his. Pacho Bey having proclaimed that all takenin arms for Ali would be shot as sharers in rebellion, it was thereforetheir interest to support his resistance with all their power. They alsopointed out that the campaign was already advanced, and that the Turkisharmy, which had forgotten its siege artillery at Constantinople, couldnot possibly procure any before the end of October, by which time therains would begin, and the enemy would probably be short of food. Moreover, in any case, it being impossible to winter in a ruined town, the foe would be driven to seek shelter at a distance. 

These representations, made with warmth conviction, and supported byevidence, began to soothe the restless fever which was wasting Ali, andthe gentle caresses and persuasions of Basillisa, the beautiful Christiancaptive, who had now been his wife for some time, completed the cure. 

At the same time his sister Chainitza gave him an astonishing example ofcourage. She had persisted, in spite of all that could be said, inresiding in her castle of Libokovo. The population, whom she had cruellyoppressed, demanded her death, but no one dared attack her. Superstitiondeclared that the spirit of her mother, with whom she kept up amysterious communication even beyond the portals of the grave, watchedover her safety. The menacing form of Kamco had, it was said, appearedto several inhabitants of Tepelen, brandishing bones of the wretchedKardikiotes, and demanding fresh victims with loud cries. The desire ofvengeance had urged some to brave these unknown dangers, and twice, awarrior, clothed in black, had warned them back, forbidding them to layhands on a sacrilegious woman; whose punishment Heaven reserved toitself, and twice they had returned upon their footsteps. 

But soon, ashamed of their terror, they attempted another attack, andcame attired in the colour of the Prophet. This time no mysteriousstranger speared to forbid their passage and with a cry they climbed themountain, listening for any supernatural warning. Nothing disturbed thesilence and solitude save the bleating of flocks and the cries of birdsof prey. Arrived on the platform of Libokovo, they prepared in silenceto surprise the guards, believing the castle full of them. Theyapproached crawling, like hunters who stalk a deer, already they hadreached the gate of the enclosure, and prepared to burst it open, whenlo! it opened of itself, and they beheld Chainitza standing before them, a carabine in her hand, pistols in her belt, and, for all guard, twolarge dogs. 

"Halt! ye daring ones, " she cried; "neither my life nor my treasure willever be at your mercy. Let one of you move a step without my permission, and this place and the ground beneath your feet' will engulf you. Tenthousand pounds of powder are in these cellars. I will, however, grantyour pardon, unworthy though you are. I will even allow you to takethese sacks filled with gold; they may recompense you for the losseswhich my brother's enemies have recently inflicted on you. But departthis instant without a word, and dare not to trouble me again; I haveother means of destruction at command besides gunpowder. Life is nothingto me, remember that; but your mountains may yet at my command become thetomb of your wives and children. Go!"

She ceased, and her would-be murderers fled terror. 

Shortly after the plague broke out in these mountains, Chainitza haddistributed infected garments among gipsies, who scattered contagionwherever they went. 

"We are indeed of the same blood!" cried Ali with pride, when he heard ofhis sister's conduct; and from that hour he appeared to regain all thefire and audacity of his youth. When, a few days later, he was informedthat Mouktar and Veli, seduced by the brilliant promises of Dacha Bey, had surrendered Prevesa and Argyro-Castron, "It does not surprise me, " heobserved coldly. "I have long known them to be unworthy of being mysons, and henceforth my only children and heirs are those who defend mycause. " And on hearing a report that both had been beheaded by DachaBey's order, he contented himself with saying, "They betrayed theirfather, and have only received their deserts; speak no more of them. "And to show how little it discouraged him, he redoubled his fire upon theTurks. 

But the latter, who had at length obtained some artillery, answered hisfire with vigour, and began to rally to discrown the old pacha'sfortress. Feeling that the danger was pressing, Ali redoubled both hisprudence and activity. His immense treasures were the real reason of thewar waged against him, and these might induce his own soldiers to rebel, in order to become masters of them. He resolved to protect them fromeither surprise or conquest. The sum necessary for present use wasdeposited in the powder magazine, so that, if driven to extremity, itmight be destroyed in a moment; the remainder was enclosed instrong-boxes, and sunk in different parts of the lake. This labourlasted a fortnight, when, finally, Ali put to death the gipsies who hadbeen employed about it, in order that the secret might remain withhimself. 

While he thus set his own affairs in order, he applied himself to thetroubling those of his adversary. A great number of Suliots had joinedthe Ottoman army in order to assist in the destruction of him whoformerly had ruined their country. Their camp, which for a long time hadenjoyed immunity from the guns of Janina, was one day overwhelmed withbombs. The Suliots were terrified, until they remarked that the bombsdid not burst. They then, much astonished, proceeded to pick up andexamine these projectiles. Instead of a match, they found rolls of paperenclosed in a wooden cylinder, on which was engraved these words, "Opencarefully. " The paper contained a truly Macchiavellian letter from Ali, which began by saying that they were quite justified in having taken uparms against him, and added that he now sent them a part of the pay ofwhich the traitorous Ismail was defrauding them, and that the bombsthrown into their cantonment contained six thousand sequins in gold. Hebegged them to amuse Ismail by complaints and recriminations, while hisgondola should by night fetch one of them, to whom he would communicatewhat more he had to say. If they accepted his proposition, they were tolight three fires as a signal. 

The signal was not long in appearing. Ali despatched his barge, whichtook on board a monk, the spiritual chief of the Suliots. He was clothedin sackcloth, and repeated the prayers for the dying, as one going toexecution. Ali, however, received him with the utmost cordiality: Heassured the priest of his repentance, his good intentions, his esteem forthe Greek captains, and then gave him a paper which startled himconsiderably. It was a despatch, intercepted by Ali, from Khalid Effendito the Seraskier Ismail, ordering the latter to exterminate allChristians capable of bearing arms. All male children were to becircumcised, and brought up to form a legion drilled in European fashion;and the letter went on to explain how the Suliots, the Armatolis, theGreek races of the mainland and those of the Archipelago should bedisposed of. Seeing the effect produced on the monk by the perusal ofthis paper, Ali hastened to make him the most advantageous offers, declaring that his own wish was to give Greece a political existence, andonly requiring that the Suliot captains should send him a certain numberof their children as hostages. He then had cloaks and arms brought whichhe presented to the monk, dismissing him in haste, in order that darknessmight favour his return. 

The next day Ali was resting, with his head on Basilissa's lap, when hewas informed that the enemy was advancing upon the intrenchments whichhad been raised in the midst of the ruins of Janina. Already theoutposts had been forced, and the fury of the assailants threatened totriumph over all obstacles. Ali immediately ordered a sortie of all histroops, announcing that he himself would conduct it. His master of thehorse brought him the famous Arab charger called the Dervish, his chiefhuntsman presented him with his guns, weapons still famous in Epirus, where they figure in the ballads of the Skipetars. The first was anenormous gun, of Versailles manufacture, formerly presented by theconqueror of the Pyramids to Djezzar, the Pacha of St. Jean-d'Arc, whoamused himself by enclosing living victims in the walls of his palace, inorder that he might hear their groans in the midst of his festivities. Next came a carabine given to the Pacha of Janina in the name of Napoleonin 1806; then the battle musket of Charles XII of Sweden, and finally--the much revered sabre of Krim-Guerai. The signal was given; the drawbridge crossed; the Guegues and other adventurers uttered a terrificshout; to which the cries of the assailants replied. Ali placed himselfon a height, whence his eagle eye sought to discern the hostile chiefs;but he called and defied Pacho Bey in vain. Perceiving Hassan-Stamboul, colonel of the Imperial bombardiers outside his battery, Ali demanded thegun of Djezzar, and laid him dead on the spot. He then took the carabineof Napoleon, and shot with it Kekriman, Bey of Sponga, whom he hadformerly appointed Pacha of Lepanto. The enemy now became aware of hispresence, and sent a lively fusillade in his direction; but the ballsseemed to diverge from his person. As soon as the smoke cleared, heperceived Capelan, Pacha of Croie, who had been his guest, and woundedhim mortally in the chest. Capelan uttered a sharp cry, and histerrified horse caused disorder in the ranks. Ali picked off a largenumber of officers, one after another; every shot was mortal, and hisenemies began to regard him in, the light of a destroying angel. Disorder spread through the forces of the Seraskier, who retreatedhastily to his intrenchments. 

The Suliots meanwhile sent a deputation to Ismail offering theirsubmission, and seeking to regain their country in a peaceful manner;but, being received by him with the most humiliating contempt, theyresolved to make common cause with Ali. They hesitated over the demandfor hostages, and at length required Ali's grandson, Hussien Pacha, inexchange. After many difficulties, Ali at length consented, and theagreement was concluded. The Suliots received five hundred thousandpiastres and a hundred and fifty charges of ammunition, Hussien Pacha wasgiven up to them, and they left the Ottoman camp at dead of night. MorcoBotzaris remained with three hundred and twenty men, threw down thepalisades, and then ascending Mount Paktoras with his troops, waited fordawn in order to announce his defection to the Turkish army. As soon asthe sun appeared he ordered a general salvo of artillery and shouted hiswar-cry. A few Turks in charge of an outpost were slain, the rest fled. A cry of "To arms" was raised, and the standard of the Cross floatedbefore the camp of the infidels. 

Signs and omens of a coming general insurrection appeared on all sides;there was no lack of prodigies, visions, or popular rumours, and theMohammedans became possessed with the idea that the last hour of theirrule in Greece had struck. Ali Pacha favoured the generaldemoralisation; and his agents, scattered throughout the land, fanned theflame of revolt. Ismail Pacha was deprived of his title of Seraskier, and superseded by Kursheed Pacha. As soon as Ali heard this, he sent amessenger to Kursheed, hoping to influence him in his favour. Ismail, distrusting the Skipetars, who formed part of his troops, demandedhostages from them. The Skipetars were indignant, and Ali hearing oftheir discontent, wrote inviting them to return to him, and endeavouringto dazzle them by the most brilliant promises. These overtures werereceived by the offended troops with enthusiasm, and Alexis Noutza, Ali'sformer general, who had forsaken him for Ismail, but who had secretlyreturned to his allegiance and acted as a spy on the Imperial army, wasdeputed to treat with him. As soon as he arrived, Ali began to enact acomedy in the intention of rebutting the accusation of incest with hisdaughter-in-law Zobeide; for this charge, which, since Veli himself hadrevealed the secret of their common shame, could only be met by vaguedenials, had never ceased to produce a mast unfavourable impression onNoutza's mind. Scarcely had he entered the castle by the lake, when Alirushed to meet him, and flung himself into his arms. In presence of hisofficers and the garrison, he loaded him with the most tender names, calling him his son, his beloved Alexis, his own legitimate child, evenas Salik Pacha. He burst into tears, and, with terrible oaths, calledHeaven to witness that Mouktar and Veli, whom he disavowed on account oftheir cowardice, were the adulterous offspring of Emineh's amours. Then, raising his hand against the tomb of her whom he had loved so much, hedrew the stupefied Noutza into the recess of a casemate, and sending forBasilissa, presented him to her as a beloved son, whom only politicalconsiderations had compelled him to keep at a distance, because, beingborn of a Christian mother, he had been brought up in the faith of Jesus. 

Having thus softened the suspicions of his soldiers, Ali resumed hisunderground intrigues. The Suliots had informed him that the sultan hadmade them extremely advantageous offers if they would return to hisservice, and they demanded pressingly that Ali should give up to them thecitadel of Kiapha, which was still in his possession, and which commandedSuli. He replied with the information that he intended, January 26, toattack the camp of Pacho Bey early in the morning, and requested theirassistance. In order to cause a diversion, they were to descend into thevalley of Janina at night, and occupy a position which he pointed out tothem, and he gave their the word "flouri" as password for the night. Ifsuccessful, he undertook to grant their request. 

Ali's letter was intercepted, and fell into Ismail's hands, whoimmediately conceived a plan for snaring his enemy in his own toils. Whenthe night fixed by Ali arrived, the Seraskier marched out a strongdivision under the command of Omar Brionis, who had been recentlyappointed Pacha, and who was instructed to proceed along the westernslope of Mount Paktoras as far as the village of Besdoune, where he wasto place an outpost, and then to retire along the other side of themountain, so that, being visible in the starlight, the sentinels placedto watch on the hostile towers might take his men for the Suliots andreport to Ali that the position of Saint-Nicolas, assigned to them, hadbeen occupied as arranged. All preparations for battle were made, andthe two mortal enemies, Ismail and Ali, retired to rest, each cherishingthe darling hope of shortly annihilating his rival. 

At break of day a lively cannonade, proceeding from the castle of thelake and from Lithoritza, announced that the besieged intended a sortie. Soon Ali's Skipetars, preceded by a detachment of French, Italians, andSwiss, rushed through the Ottoman fire and carried the first redoubt, held by Ibrahim-Aga-Stamboul. They found six pieces of cannon, which theTurks, notwithstanding their terror, had had time to spike. Thismisadventure, for they had hoped to turn the artillery against theintrenched camp, decided Ali's men on attacking the second redoubt, commanded by the chief bombardier. The Asiatic troops of Baltadgi Pacharushed to its defence. At their head appeared the chief Imaun of thearmy, mounted on a richly caparisoned mule and repeating the cursefulminated by the mufti against Ali, his adherents, his castles, and evenhis cannons, which it was supposed might be rendered harmless by theseadjurations. Ali's Mohammedan Skipetars averted their eyes, and spatinto their bosoms, hoping thus to escape the evil influence. Asuperstitious terror was beginning to spread among them, when a Frenchadventurer took aim at the Imaun and brought him down, amid theacclamations of the soldiers; whereupon the Asiatics, imagining thatEblis himself fought against them, retired within the intrenchments, whither the Skipetars, no longer fearing the curse, pursued themvigorously. 

At the same time, however, a very different action was proceeding at thenorthern end of the besiegers' intrenchments. Ali left his castle of thelake, preceded by twelve torch-bearers carrying braziers filled withlighted pitch-wood, and advanced towards the shore of Saint-Nicolas, expecting to unite with the Suliots. He stopped in the middle of theruins to wait for sunrise, and while there heard that his troops hadcarried the battery of Ibrahim-Aga-Stamboul. Overjoyed, he ordered themto press on to the second intrenchment, promising that in an hour, whenhe should have been joined by the Suliots, he would support them, and hethen pushed forward, preceded by two field-pieces with their waggons, andfollowed by fifteen hundred men, as far as a large plateau on which heperceived at a little distance an encampment which he supposed to be thatof the Suliots. He then ordered the Mirdite prince, Kyr Lekos, toadvance with an escort of twenty-five men, and when within hearingdistance to wave a blue flag and call out the password. An Imperialofficer replied with the countersign "flouri, " and Lekos immediately sentback word to Ali to advance. His orderly hastened back, and the princeentered the camp, where he and his escort were immediately surrounded andslain. 

On receiving the message, Ali began to advance, but cautiously, beinguneasy at seeing no signs of the Mirdite troop. Suddenly, furious cries, and a lively fusillade, proceeding from the vineyards and thickets, announced that he had fallen into a trap, and at the same moment OmarPacha fell upon his advance guard, which broke, crying "Treason!". 

Ali sabred the fugitives mercilessly, but fear carried them away, and, forced to follow the crowd, he perceived the Kersales and Baltadgi Pachadescending the side of Mount Paktoras, intending to cut off his retreat. He attempted another route, hastening towards the road to Dgeleva, butfound it held by the Tapagetae under the Bimbashi Aslon ofArgyro-Castron. He was surrounded, all seemed lost, and feeling that hislast hour had come, he thought only of selling his life as dearly aspossible. Collecting his bravest soldiers round him, he prepared for alast rush on Omar Pacha; when, suddenly, with an inspiration born ofdespair, he ordered his ammunition waggons to be blown up. The Kersales, who were about to seize them, vanished in the explosion, which scattereda hail of stones and debris far and wide. Under cover of the smoke andgeneral confusion, Ali succeeded in withdrawing his men to the shelter ofthe guns of his castle of Litharitza, where he continued the fight inorder to give time to the fugitives to rally, and to give the support hehad promised to those fighting on the other slope; who, in the meantime, had carried the second battery and were attacking the fortified camp. Here the Seraskier Ismail met them with a resistance so well managed, that he was able to conceal the attack he was preparing to make on theirrear. Ali, guessing that the object of Ismail's manoeuvres was to crushthose whom he had promised to help, and unable, on account of thedistance, either to support or to warn them, endeavoured to impede OmarPasha, hoping still that his Skipetars might either see or hear him. Heencouraged the fugitives, who recognised him from afar by his scarletdolman, by the dazzling whiteness of his horse, and by the terrible crieswhich he uttered; for, in the heat of battle, this extraordinary manappeared to have regained the vigour and audacity, of his youth. Twentytimes he led his soldiers to the charge, and as often was forced torecoil towards his castles. He brought up his reserves, but in vain. Fate had declared against him. His troops which were attacking theintrenched camp found themselves taken between two fires, and he couldnot help them. Foaming with passion, he threatened to rush singly intothe midst of his enemies. His officers besought him to calm himself, and, receiving only refusals, at last threatened to lay hands upon him ifhe persisted in exposing himself like a private soldier. Subdued by thisunaccustomed opposition, Ali allowed himself to be forced back into thecastle by the lake, while his soldiers dispersed in various directions. 

But even this defeat did not discourage the fierce pasha. Reduced toextremity, he yet entertained the hope of shaking the Ottoman Empire, andfrom the recesses of his fortress he agitated the whole of Greece. Theinsurrection which he had stirred up, without foreseeing what the resultsmight be, was spreading with the rapidity of a lighted train of powder, and the Mohammedans were beginning to tremble, when at length KursheedPasha, having crossed the Pindus at the head of an army of eightythousand men, arrived before Janina. 

His tent had hardly been pitched, when Ali caused a salute of twenty-oneguns to be fired in his honour, and sent a messenger, bearing a letter ofcongratulation on his safe arrival. This letter, artful and insinuating, was calculated to make a deep impression on Kursheed. Ali wrote that, being driven by the infamous lies of a former servant, called Pacho Bey, into resisting, not indeed the authority of the sultan, before whom hehumbly bent his head weighed down with years and grief, but theperfidious plots of His Highness's advisers, he considered himself happyin his misfortunes to have dealings with a vizier noted for his loftyqualities. He then added that these rare merits had doubtless been veryfar from being estimated at their proper value by a Divan in which menwere only classed in accordance with the sums they laid out in gratifyingthe rapacity of the ministers. Otherwise, how came it about thatKursheed Pasha, Viceroy of Egypt--after the departure of the French, theconqueror of the Mamelukes, was only rewarded for these services by beingrecalled without a reason? Having been twice Romili-Valicy, why, when heshould have enjoyed the reward of his labours, was he relegated to theobscure post of Salonica? And, when appointed Grand Vizier and sent topacify Servia, instead of being entrusted with the government of thiskingdom which he had reconquered for the sultan, why was he hastilydespatched to Aleppo to repress a trifling sedition of emirs andjanissaries? Now, scarcely arrived in the Morea, his powerful arm was tobe employed against an aged man. 

Ali then plunged into details, related the pillaging, avarice, andimperious dealing of Pacho Bey, as well as of the pachas subordinate tohim; how they had alienated the public mind, how they had succeeded inoffending the Armatolis, and especially the Suliots, who might be broughtback to their duty with less trouble than these imprudent chiefs hadtaken to estrange them. He gave a mass of special information on thissubject, and explained that in advising the Suliots to retire to theirmountains he had really only put them in a false position as long as heretained possession of the fort of Kiapha, which is the key of theSelleide. 

The Seraskier replied in a friendly manner, ordered the military saluteto be returned in Ali's honour, shot for shot, and forbade thathenceforth a person of the valour and intrepidity of the Lion of Tepelenshould be described by the epithet of "excommunicated. " He also spoke ofhim by his title of "vizier, " which he declared he had never forfeitedthe right to use; and he also stated that he had only entered Epirus as apeace-maker. Kursheed's emissaries had just seized some letters sent byPrince Alexander Ypsilanti to the Greek captains at Epirus. Withoutgoing into details of the events which led to the Greek insurrection, theprince advised the Polemarchs, chiefs of the Selleid, to aid Ali Pacha inhis revolt against the Porte, but to so arrange matters that they couldeasily detach themselves again, their only aim being to seize histreasures, which might be used to procure the freedom of Greece. 

These letters a messenger from Kursheed delivered to Ali. They producedsuch an impression upon his mind that he secretly resolved only to makeuse of the Greeks, and to sacrifice them to his own designs, if he couldnot inflict a terrible vengeance on their perfidy. He heard from themessenger at the same time of the agitation in European Turkey, the hopesof the Christians, and the apprehension of a rupture between the Porteand Russia. It was necessary to lay aside vain resentment and to uniteagainst these threatening dangers. Kursheed Pacha was, said hismessenger, ready to consider favourably any propositions likely to leadto a prompt pacification, and would value such a result far more highlythan the glory of subduing by means of the imposing force at his command, a valiant prince whom he had always regarded as one of the strongestbulwarks of the Ottoman Empire. This information produced a differenteffect upon Ali to that intended by the Seraskier. Passing suddenly fromthe depth of despondency to the height of pride, he imagined that theseovertures of reconciliation were only a proof of the inability of hisfoes to subdue him, and he sent the following propositions to KursheedPacha:

"If the first duty of a prince is to do justice, that of his subjects isto remain faithful, and obey him in all things. From this principle wederive that of rewards and punishments, and although my services mightsufficiently justify my conduct to all time, I nevertheless acknowledgethat I have deserved the wrath of the sultan, since he has raised the armof his anger against the head of his slave. Having humbly implored hispardon, I fear not to invoke his severity towards those who have abusedhis confidence. With this object I offer--First, to pay the expenses ofthe war and the tribute in arrears due from my Government without delay. Secondly, as it is important for the sake of example that the treason ofan inferior towards his superior should receive fitting chastisement, Idemand that Pacho Bey, formerly in my service, should be beheaded, hebeing the real rebel, and the cause of the public calamities which areafflicting the faithful of Islam. Thirdly, I require that for the restof my life I shall retain, without annual re-investiture, my pachalik ofJanina, the coast of Epirus, Acarnania and its dependencies, subject tothe rights, charges and tribute due now and hereafter to the sultan. Fourthly, I demand amnesty and oblivion of the past for all those whohave served me until now. And if these conditions are not acceptedwithout modifications, I am prepared to defend myself to the last. 

"Given at the castle of Janina, March 7, 1821. "

CHAPTER X

This mixture of arrogance and submission only merited indignation, but itsuited Kursheed to dissemble. He replied that, assenting to suchpropositions being beyond his powers, he would transmit them toConstantinople, and that hostilities might be suspended, if Ali wished, until the courier, could return. 

Being quite as cunning as Ali himself, Kursheed profited by the truce tocarry on intrigues against him. He corrupted one of the chiefs of thegarrison, Metzo-Abbas by name, who obtained pardon for himself and fiftyfollowers, with permission to return to their homes. But this clemencyappeared to have seduced also four hundred Skipetars who made use of theamnesty and the money with which Ali provided them, to raise Toxis andthe Tapygetae in the latter's favour. Thus the Seraskier's scheme turnedagainst himself, and he perceived he had been deceived by Ali's seemingapathy, which certainly did not mean dread of defection. In fact, no manworth anything could have abandoned him, supported as he seemed to be byalmost supernatural courage. Suffering from a violent attack of gout, amalady he had never before experienced, the pacha, at the age ofeighty-one, was daily carried to the most exposed place on the rampartsof his castle. There, facing the hostile batteries, he gave audience towhoever wished to see him. On this exposed platform he held hiscouncils, despatched orders, and indicated to what points his guns shouldbe directed. Illumined by the flashes of fire, his figure assumedfantastic and weird shapes. The balls sung in the air, the bulletshailed around him, the noise drew blood from the ears of those with him. Calm and immovable, he gave signals to the soldiers who were stilloccupying part of the ruins of Janina, and encouraged them by voice andgesture. Observing the enemy's movements by the help of a telescope, heimprovised means of counteracting them. Sometimes he amused himself by, greeting curious persons and new-comers after a fashion of his own. Thusthe chancellor of the French Consul at Prevesa, sent as an envoy toKursheed Pacha, had scarcely entered the lodging assigned to him, when hewas visited by a bomb which caused him to leave it again with all haste. This greeting was due to Ali's chief engineer, Caretto, who next day senta whole shower of balls and shells into the midst of a group ofFrenchmen, whose curiosity had brought them to Tika, where Kursheed wasforming a battery. "It is time, " said Ali, "that these contemptiblegossip-mongers should find listening at doors may become uncomfortable. I have furnished matter enough for them to talk about. Frangistan(Christendom) shall henceforth hear only of my triumph or my fall, whichwill leave it considerable trouble to pacify. " Then, after a moment'ssilence, he ordered the public criers to inform his soldiers of theinsurrections in Wallachia and the Morea, which news, proclaimed from theramparts, and spreading immediately in the Imperial camp, caused theremuch dejection. 

The Greeks were now everywhere proclaiming their independence, andKursheed found himself unexpectedly surrounded by enemies. His positionthreatened to become worse if the siege of Janina dragged on much longer. He seized the island in the middle of the lake, and threw up redoubtsupon it, whence he kept up an incessant fire on the southern front of thecastle of Litharitza, and a practicable trench of nearly forty feethaving been made, an assault was decided on. The troops marched outboldly, and performed prodigies of valour; but at the end of an hour, Ali, carried on a litter because of his gout, having led a sortie, thebesiegers were compelled to give way and retire to their intrenchments, leaving three hundred dead at the foot of the rampart. "The Pindian bearis yet alive, " said Ali in a message to Kursheed; "thou mayest take thydead and bury them; I give them up without ransom, and as I shall alwaysdo when thou attackest me as a brave man ought. " Then, having enteredhis fortress amid the acclamations of his soldiers, he remarked onhearing of the general rising of Greece and the Archipelago, "It isenough! two men have ruined Turkey!" He then remained silent, andvouchsafed no explanation of this prophetic sentence. 

Ali did not on this occasion manifest his usual delight on having gaineda success. As soon as he was alone with Basilissa, he informed her withtears of the death of Chainitza. A sudden apoplexy had stricken thisbeloved sister, the life of his councils, in her palace of Libokovo, where she remained undisturbed until her death. She owed this specialfavour to her riches and to the intercession of her nephew, DjiladinPacha of Ochcrida, who was reserved by fate to perform the funeralobsequies of the guilty race of Tepelen. 

A few months afterwards, Ibrahim Pacha of Berat died of poison, being thelast victim whom Chainitza had demanded from her brother. 

Ali's position was becoming daily more difficult, when the time ofRamadan arrived, during which the Turks relax hostilities, and a speciesof truce ensued. Ali himself appeared to respect the old popularcustoms, and allowed his Mohammedan soldiers to visit the enemy'soutposts and confer on the subject of various religious ceremonies. Discipline was relaxed in Kursheed's camp, and Ali profited thereby toascertain the smallest details of all that passed. 

He learned from his spies that the general's staff, counting on the"Truce of God, " a tacit suspension of all hostilities during the feast ofBairam, the Mohammedan Easter, intended to repair to the chief mosque, inthe quarter of Loutcha. This building, spared by the bombs, had untilnow been respected by both sides. Ali, according to reports spread byhimself, was supposed to be ill, weakened by fasting, and terrified intoa renewal of devotion, and not likely to give trouble on so sacred a day. Nevertheless he ordered Caretto to turn thirty guns against the mosque, cannon, mortars and howitzers, intending, he said, to solemnise Bairam bydischarges of artillery. As soon as he was sure that the whole of thestaff had entered the mosque, he gave the signal. 

Instantly, from the assembled thirty pieces, there issued a storm ofshells, grenades and cannon-balls. With a terrific noise, the mosquecrumbled together, amid the cries of pain and rage of the crowd insidecrushed in the ruins. At the end of a quarter of an hour the winddispersed the smoke, and disclosed a burning crater, with the largecypresses which surrounded the building blazing as if they had beentorches lighted for the funeral ceremonies of sixty captains and twohundred soldiers. 

"Ali Pacha is yet alive!" cried the old Homeric hero of Janina, leapingwith joy; and his words, passing from mouth to mouth, spread yet moreterror amid Kursheed's soldiers, already overwhelmed by the horriblespectacle passing before their eyes. 

Almost on the same day, Ali from the height of his keep beheld thestandard of the Cross waving in the distance. The rebellious Greeks werebent on attacking Kursheed. The insurrection promoted by the Vizier ofJanina had passed far beyond the point he intended, and the rising hadbecome a revolution. The delight which Ali first evinced cooled rapidlybefore this consideration, and was extinguished in grief when he foundthat a conflagration, caused by the besiegers' fire, had consumed part ofhis store in the castle by the lake. Kursheed, thinking that this eventmust have shaken the old lion's resolution, recommenced negotiations, choosing the Kiaia of Moustai Pacha: as an envoy, who gave Ali aremarkable warning. "Reflect, " said he, "that these rebels bear the signof the Cross on their standards. You are now only an instrument in theirhands. Beware lest you become the victim of their policy. " Aliunderstood the danger, and had the sultan been better advised, he wouldhave pardoned Ali on condition of again bringing Hellos under his ironyoke. It is possible that the Greeks might not have prevailed against anenemy so formidable and a brain so fertile in intrigue. But so simple anidea was far beyond the united intellect of the Divan, which never roseabove idle display. As soon as these negotiations, had commenced, Kursheed filled the roads with his couriers, sending often two in a dayto Constantinople, from whence as many were sent to him. This state ofthings lasted mare than three weeks, when it became known that Ali, whohad made good use of his time in replacing the stores lost in theconflagration, buying actually from the Kiaia himself a part of theprovisions brought by him for the Imperial camp, refused to accept theOttoman ultimatum. Troubles which broke, out at the moment of the ruptureof the negotiations proved that he foresaw the probable result. 

Kursheed was recompensed for the deception by which he had been duped bythe reduction of the fortress of Litharitza. The Guegue Skipetars, whocomposed the garrison, badly paid, wearied out by the long siege, and wonby the Seraskier's bribes, took advantage of the fact that the time oftheir engagement with Ali had elapsed same months previously, anddelivering up the fortress they defended, passed over to the enemy. Henceforth Ali's force consisted of only six hundred men. 

It was to be feared that this handful of men might also become a prey todiscouragement, and might surrender their chief to an enemy who hadreceived all fugitives with kindness. The Greek insurgents dreaded suchan event, which would have turned all Kursheed's army, hitherto detainedbefore the castle, of Janina, loose upon themselves. Therefore theyhastened to send to their former enemy, now their ally, assistance whichhe declined to accept. Ali saw himself surrounded by enemies thirstingfor his wealth, and his avarice increasing with the danger, he had forsome months past refused to pay his defenders. He contented himself withinforming his captains of the insurgents' offer, and telling them that hewas confident that bravery such as theirs required no reinforcement. Andwhen some of them besought him to at least receive two or three hundredPalikars into the castle, "No, " said he; "old serpents always remain oldserpents: I distrust the Suliots and their friendship. "

Ignorant of Ali's decision, the Greeks of the Selleid were advancing, aswell as the Toxidae, towards Janina, when they received the followingletter from Ali Pacha:

"My well-beloved children, I have just learned that you are preparing todespatch a party of your Palikars against our common enemy, Kursheed. Idesire to inform you that this my fortress is impregnable, and that I canhold out against him for several years. The only, service I require ofyour courage is, that you should reduce Arta, and take alive Ismail PachoBey, my former servant, the mortal enemy of my family, and the author ofthe evils and frightful calamities which have so long oppressed ourunhappy country, which he has laid waste before our eyes. Use your bestefforts to accomplish this, it will strike at the root of the evil, andmy treasures shall reward your Palikars, whose courage every day gains ahigher value in my eyes. "

Furious at this mystification, the Suliots retired to their mountains, and Kursheed profited by the discontent Ali's conduct had caused, to winover the Toxide Skipetars, with their commanders Tahir Abbas and HagiBessiaris, who only made two conditions: one, that Ismail Pacho Bey, their personal enemy, should be deposed; the other, that the life oftheir old vizier should be respected. 

The first condition was faithfully adhered to by Kursheed, actuated byprivate motives different from those which he gave publicly, and IsmailPacho Bey was solemnly deposed. The tails, emblems of his authority, were removed; he resigned the plumes of office; his soldiers forsook him, his servants followed suit. Fallen to the lowest rank, he was soonthrown into prison, where he only blamed Fate for his misfortunes. Allthe Skipetar Agas hastened to place themselves under Kursheeds' standard, and enormous forces now threatened Janina. All Epirus awaited thedenoument with anxiety. 

Had he been less avaricious, Ali might have enlisted all the adventurerswith whom the East was swarming, and made the sultan tremble in hiscapital. But the aged pacha clung passionately to his treasures. Hefeared also, perhaps not unreasonably, that those by whose aid he mighttriumph would some day become his master. He long deceived himself withthe idea that the English, who had sold Parga to him, would never allow aTurkish fleet to enter the Ionian Sea. Mistaken on this point, hisforesight was equally at fault with regard to the cowardice of his sons. The defection of his troops was not less fatal, and he only understoodthe bearing of the Greek insurrection which he himself had provoked, sofar as to see that in this struggle he was merely an instrument inprocuring the freedom of a country which he had too cruelly oppressed tobe able to hold even an inferior rank in it. His last letter to theSuliots opened the eyes of his followers, but under the influence of asort of polite modesty these were at least anxious to stipulate for thelife of their vizier. Kursheed was obliged to produce firmans from thePorte, declaring that if Ali Tepelen submitted, the royal promise givento his sons should be kept, and that he should, with them, be transferredto Asia Minor, as also his harem, his servants; and his treasures, andallowed to finish his days in peace. Letters from Ali's sons were shownto the Agas, testifying to the good treatment they had experienced intheir exile; and whether the latter believed all this, or whether theymerely sought to satisfy their own consciences, they henceforth thoughtonly of inducing their rebellious chief to submit. Finally, eightmonths' pay, given them in advance, proved decisive, and they franklyembraced the cause of the sultan. 

The garrison of the castle on the lake, whom Ali seemed anxious to offendas much as possible, by refusing their pay, he thinking them socompromised that they would not venture even to accept an amnestyguaranteed by the mufti, began to desert as soon as they knew the Toxidaehad arrived at the Imperial camp. Every night these Skipetars who couldcross the moat betook themselves to Kursheed's quarters. One single manyet baffled all the efforts of the besiegers. The chief engineer, Caretto, like another Archimedes, still carried terror into the midst oftheir camp. 

Although reduced to the direst misery, Caretto could not forget that heowed his life to the master who now only repaid his services with themost sordid ingratitude. When he had first come to Epirus, Ali, recognising his ability, became anxious to retain him, but withoutincurring any expense. He ascertained that the Neapolitan waspassionately in love with a Mohammedan girl named Nekibi, who returnedhis affection. Acting under Ali's orders, Tahir Abbas accused the womanbefore the cadi of sacrilegious intercourse with an infidel. She couldonly escape death by the apostasy of her lover; if he refused to deny hisGod, he shared her fate, and both would perish at the stake. Carettorefused to renounce his religion, but only Nekibi suffered death. Caretto was withdrawn from execution, and Ali kept him concealed in aplace of safety, whence he produced him in the time of need. No one hadserved him with greater zeal; it is even possible that a man of this typewould have died at his post, had his cup not been filled withmortification and insult. 

Eluding the vigilance of Athanasius Vaya, whose charge it was to keepguard over him, Caretto let himself down by a cord fastened to the end ofa cannon: He fell at the foot of the rampart, and thence dragged himself, with a broken arm, to the opposite camp. He had become nearly blindthrough the explosion of a cartridge which had burnt his face. He wasreceived as well as a Christian from whom there was now nothing to fear, could expect. He received the bread of charity, and as a refugee is onlyvalued in proportion to the use which can be made of him, he was despisedand forgotten. 

The desertion of Caretto was soon followed by a defection whichannihilated Ali's last hopes. The garrison which had given him so manyproofs of devotion, discouraged by his avarice, suffering from adisastrous epidemic, and no longer equal to the necessary labour indefence of the place, opened all, the gates simultaneously to the enemy. But the besiegers, fearing a trap, advanced very slowly; so that Ali, whohad long prepared against very sort of surprise, had time to gain a placewhich he called his "refuge. "

It was a sort of fortified enclosure, of solid masonry, bristling withcannon, which surrounded the private apartments of his seraglio, calledthe "Women's Tower. " He had taken care to demolish everything whichcould be set on fire, reserving only a mosque and the tomb of his wifeEmineh, whose phantom, after announcing an eternal repose, had ceased tohaunt him. Beneath was an immense natural cave, in which he had storedammunition, precious articles, provisions, and the treasures which hadnot been sunk in the lake. In this cave an apartment had been made forBasilissa and his harem, also a shelter in which he retired to sleep whenexhausted with fatigue. This place was his last resort, a kind ofmausoleum; and he did not seem distressed at beholding the castle in thehands of his enemies. He calmly allowed them to occupy the entrance, deliver their hostages, overrun the ramparts, count the cannon which wereon the platforms, crumbling from the hostile shells; but when they camewithin hearing, he demanded by one of his servants that Kursheed shouldsend him an envoy of distinction; meanwhile he forbade anyone to passbeyond a certain place which he pointed out. 

Kursheed, imagining that, being in the last extremity, he wouldcapitulate, sent out Tahir Abbas and Hagi Bessiaris. Ali listenedwithout reproaching them for their treachery, but simply observed that hewished to meet some of the chief officers. 

The Seraskier then deputed his keeper of the wardrobe, accompanied by hiskeeper of the seals and other persons of quality. Ali received them withall ceremony, and, after the usual compliments had been exchanged, invited them to descend with him into the cavern. There he showed themmore than two thousand barrels of powder carefully arranged beneath histreasures, his remaining provisions, and a number of valuable objectswhich adorned this slumbering volcano. He showed them also his bedroom, a sort of cell richly furnished, and close to the powder. It could bereached only by means of three doors, the secret of which was known to noone but himself. Alongside of this was the harem, and in the neighbouringmosque was quartered his garrison, consisting of fifty men, all ready tobury themselves under the ruins of this fortification, the only spotremaining to him of all Greece, which had formerly bent beneath hisauthority. 

After this exhibition, Ali presented one of his most devoted followers tothe envoys. Selim, who watched over the fire, was a youth in appearanceas gentle as his heart was intrepid, and his special duty was to be inreadiness to blow up the whole place at any moment. The pacha gave himhis hand to kiss, inquiring if he were ready to die, to which he onlyresponded by pressing his master's hand fervently to his lips. He nevertook his eyes off Ali, and the lantern, near which a match was constantlysmoking, was entrusted only to him and to Ali, who took turns with him inwatching it. Ali drew a pistol from his belt, making as if to turn ittowards the powder magazine, and the envoys fell at his feet, utteringinvoluntary cries of terror. He smiled at their fears, and assured themthat, being wearied of the weight of his weapons, he had only intended torelieve himself of some of them. He then begged them to seat themselves, and added that he should like even a more terrible funeral than thatwhich they had just ascribed to him. "I do not wish to drag down withme, " he exclaimed, "those who have come to visit me as friends; it isKursheed, whom I have long regarded as my brother, his chiefs, those whohave betrayed me, his whole army in short, whom I desire to follow me tothe tomb--a sacrifice which will be worthy of my renown, and of thebrilliant end to which I aspire. "

The envoys gazed at him with stupefaction, which did not diminish whenAli further informed them that they were not only sitting over the archof a casemate filled with two hundred thousand pounds of powder, but thatthe whole castle, which they had so rashly occupied, was undermined. "The rest you have seen, " he said, "but of this you could not be aware. My riches are the sole cause of the war which has been made against me, and in one moment I can destroy them. Life is nothing to me, I mighthave ended it among the Greeks, but could I, a powerless old man, resolveto live on terms of equality among those whose absolute master I havebeen? Thus, whichever way I look, my career is ended. However, I amattached to those who still surround me, so hear my last resolve. Let apardon, sealed by the sultan's hands, be given me, and I will submit. Iwill go to Constantinople, to Asia Minor, or wherever I am sent. Thethings I should see here would no longer be fitting for me to behold. "

To this Kursheed's envoys made answer that without doubt these termswould be conceded. Ali then touched his breast and forehead, and, drawing forth his watch, presented it to the keeper of the wardrobe. "Imean what I say, my friend, " he observed; "my word will be kept. Ifwithin an hour thy soldiers are not withdrawn from this castle which hasbeen treacherously yielded to them, I will blow it up. Return to theSeraskier, warn him that if he allows one minute more to elapse than thetime specified, his army, his garrison, I myself and my family, will allperish together: two hundred thousand pounds of powder can destroy allthat surrounds us. Take this watch, I give it thee, and forget not thatI am a man of my word. " Then, dismissing the messengers, he saluted themgraciously, observing that he did not expect an answer until the soldiersshould have evacuated the castle. 

The envoys had barely returned to the camp when Kursheed sent orders toabandon the fortress. As the reason far this step could not beconcealed, everyone, exaggerating the danger, imagined deadly mines readyto be fired everywhere, and the whole army clamoured to break up thecamp. Thus Ali and his fifty followers cast terror into the hearts ofnearly thirty thousand men, crowded together on the slopes of Janina. Every sound, every whiff of smoke, ascending from near the castle, becamea subject of alarm for the besiegers. And as the besieged had provisionsfor a long time, Kursheed saw little chance of successfully ending hisenterprise; when Ali's demand for pardon occurred to him. Withoutstating his real plans, he proposed to his Council to unite in signing apetition to the Divan for Ali's pardon. 

This deed, formally executed, and bearing more than sixty signatures, wasthen shown to Ali, who was greatly delighted. He was described in it asVizier, as Aulic Councillor, and also as the most distinguished veteranamong His Highness the Sultan's slaves. He sent rich presents toKursheed and the principal officers, whom he hoped to corrupt, andbreathed as though the storm had passed away. The following night, however, he heard the voice of Emineh, calling him several times, andconcluded that his end drew nigh. 

During the two next nights he again thought he heard Emineh's voice, andsleep forsook his pillow, his countenance altered, and his enduranceappeared to be giving way. Leaning on a long Malacca cane, he repairedat early dawn to Emineh's tomb, on which he offered a sacrifice of twospotted lambs, sent him by Tahir Abbas, whom in return he consented topardon, and the letters he received appeared to mitigate his trouble. Some days later, he saw the keeper of the wardrobe, who encouraged him, saying that before long there would be good news from Constantinople. Ali learned from him the disgrace of Pacho Bey, and of Ismail Pliaga, whom he detested equally, and this exercise of authority, which was madeto appear as a beginning of satisfaction offered him, completelyreassured him, and he made fresh presents to this officer, who hadsucceeded in inspiring him with confidence. 

Whilst awaiting the arrival of the firman of pardon which Ali wasreassured must arrive from Constantinople without fail, the keeper of thewardrobe advised him to seek an interview with Kursheed. It was clearthat such a meeting could not take place in the undermined castle, andAli was therefore invited to repair to the island in the lake. Themagnificent pavilion, which he had constructed there in happier days, hadbeen entirely refurnished, and it was proposed that the conference shouldtake place in this kiosk. 

Ali appeared to hesitate at this proposal, and the keeper of thewardrobe, wishing to anticipate his objections, added that the object ofthis arrangement was, to prove to the army, already aware of it, thatthere was no longer any quarrel between himself and thecommander-in-chief. He added that Kursheed would go to the conferenceattended only by members of his Divan, but that as it was natural anoutlawed man should be on his guard, Ali might, if he liked, send toexamine the place, might take with him such guards as he thoughtnecessary, and might even arrange things on the same footing as in hiscitadel, even to his guardian with the lighted match, as the surestguarantee which could be given him. 

The proposition was accepted, and when Ali, having crossed over with ascore of soldiers, found himself more at large than he did in hiscasemate, he congratulated himself on having come. He had Basilissabrought over, also his diamonds; and several chests of money. Two dayspassed without his thinking of anything but procuring variousnecessaries, and he then began to inquire what caused the Seraskier todelay his visit. The latter excused himself on the plea of illness, andoffered meanwhile to send anyone Ali might wish to see, to visit him: Thepacha immediately mentioned several of his former followers, now employedin the Imperial army, and as no difficulty was made in allowing them togo, he profited by the permission to interview a large number of his oldacquaintances, who united in reassuring him and in giving him great hopesof success. 

Nevertheless, time passed on, and neither the Seraskier nor the firmanappeared. Ali, at first uneasy, ended by rarely mentioning either theone or the other, and never was deceiver more completely deceived. Hissecurity was so great that he loudly congratulated himself on having cometo the island. He had begun to form a net of intrigue to cause himselfto be intercepted on the road when he should be sent to Constantinople, and he did not despair of soon finding numerous partisans in the Imperialarmy. 

CHAPTER XI

For a whole week all seemed going well, when, on the morning of February5th, Kursheed sent Hassan Pacha to convey his compliments to Ali, andannounce that the sultan's firman, so long desired, had at lengtharrived. Their mutual wishes had been heard, but it was desirable, forthe dignity of their sovereign, that Ali, in order to show his gratitudeand submission, should order Selim to extinguish the fatal match and toleave the cave, and that the rest of the garrison should first displaythe Imperial standard and then evacuate the enclosure. Only on thiscondition could Kursheed deliver into Ali's hands the sultan's decree ofclemency. 

Ali was alarmed, and his eyes were at length opened. He repliedhesitatingly, that on leaving the citadel he had charged Selim to obeyonly his own verbal order, that no written command, even though signedand sealed by himself, would produce any effect, and therefore he desiredto repair himself to the castle, in order to fulfil what was required. 

Thereupon a long argument ensued, in which Ali's sagacity, skill, andartifice struggled vainly against a decided line of action. Newprotestations were made to deceive him, oaths were even taken on theKoran that no evil designs, no mental reservations, were entertained. Atlength, yielding to the prayers of those who surrounded him, perhapsconcluding that all his skill could no longer fight against Destiny, hefinally gave way. 

Drawing a secret token from his bosom, he handed it to Kursheed's envoy, saying, "Go, show this to Selim, and you will convert a dragon into alamb. " And in fact, at sight of the talisman, Selim prostrated himself, extinguished the match, and fell, stabbed to the heart. At the same timethe garrison withdrew, the Imperial standard displayed its blazonry, andthe lake castle was occupied by the troops of the Seraskier, who rent theair with their acclamations. 

It was then noon. Ali, in the island, had lost all illusions. His pulsebeat violently, but his countenance did not betray his mental trouble. It was noticed that he appeared at intervals to be lost in profoundthought, that he yawned frequently, and continually drew his fingersthrough his beard. He drank coffee and iced water several times, incessantly looked at his watch, and taking his field-glass, surveyed byturns the camp, the castles of Janina, the Pindus range, and the peacefulwaters of the lake. Occasionally he glanced at his weapons, and then hiseyes sparkled with the fire of youth and of courage. Stationed besidehim, his guards prepared their cartridges, their eyes fixed on thelanding-place. 

The kiosk which he occupied was connected with a wooden structure raisedupon pillars, like the open-air theatres constructed for a publicfestival, and the women occupied the most remote apartments. Everythingseemed sad and silent. The vizier, according to custom, sat facing thedoorway, so as to be the first to perceive any who might wish to enter. At five o'clock boats were seen approaching the island, and soon HassanPacha, Omar Brionis, Kursheed's sword-bearer, Mehemet, the keeper of thewardrobe, and several officers of the army, attended by a numerous suite, drew near with gloomy countenances. 

Seeing them approach, Ali sprang up impetuously, his hand upon thepistols in his belt. "Stand! . . . What is it you bring me?" he criedto Hassan in a voice of thunder. "I bring the commands of His Highnessthe Sultan, --knowest thou not these august characters?" And Hassanexhibited the brilliantly gilded frontispiece which decorated the firman. "I know them and revere them. " "Then bow before thy destiny; make thyablutions; address thy prayer to Allah and to His Prophet; for thy, headis demanded. . . . " Ali did not allow him to finish. "My head, " hecried with fury, "will not be surrendered like the head of a slave. "

These rapidly pronounced words were instantly followed by a pistol-shotwhich wounded Hassan in the thigh. Swift as lightning, a second killedthe keeper of the wardrobe, and the guards, firing at the same time, brought down several officers. Terrified, the Osmanlis forsook thepavilion. Ali, perceiving blood flowing from a wound in his chest, roared like a bull with rage. No one dared to face his wrath, but shotswere fired at the kiosk from all sides, and four of his guards fell deadbeside him. He no longer knew which way to turn, hearing the noise madeby the assailants under the platform, who were firing through the boardson which he stood. A ball wounded him in the side, another from belowlodged in his spine; he staggered, clung to a window, then fell on thesofa. "Hasten, " he cried to one of his officers, "run, my friend, andstrangle my poor Basilissa; let her not fall a prey to these infamouswretches. "

The door opened, all resistance ceased, the guards hastened to escape bythe windows. Kursheed's sword-bearer entered, followed by theexecutioners. "Let the justice of Allah be accomplished!" said a cadi. At these words the executioners seized Ali, who was still alive, by thebeard, and dragged him out into the porch, where, placing his head on oneof the steps, they separated it from the body with many blows of a jaggedcutlass. Thus ended the career of the dreaded Ali Pacha. 

His head still preserved so terrible and imposing an aspect that thosepresent beheld it with a sort of stupor. Kursheed, to whom it waspresented on a large dish of silver plate, rose to receive it, bowedthree times before it, and respectfully kissed the beard, expressingaloud his wish that he himself might deserve a similar end. To such anextent did the admiration with which Ali's bravery inspired thesebarbarians efface the memory of his crimes. Kursheed ordered the head tobe perfumed with the most costly essences, and despatched toConstantinople, and he allowed the Skipetars to render the last honoursto their former master. 

Never was seen greater mourning than that of the warlike Epirotes. Duringthe whole night, the various Albanian tribes watched by turns around thecorpse, improvising the most eloquent funeral songs in its honour. Atdaybreak, the body, washed and prepared according to the Mohammedanritual, was deposited in a coffin draped with a splendid Indian Cashmereshawl, on which was placed a magnificent turban, adorned with the plumesAli had worn in battle. The mane of his charger was cut off, and theanimal covered with purple housings, while Ali's shield, his sword, hisnumerous weapons, and various insignia, were borne on the saddles ofseveral led horses. The cortege proceeded towards the castle, accompanied by hearty imprecations uttered by the soldiers against the"Son of a Slave, " the epithet bestowed on their sultan by the Turks inseasons of popular excitement. 

The Selaon-Aga, an officer appointed to render the proper salutes, actedas chief mourner, surrounded by weeping mourners, who made the ruins ofJanina echo with their lamentations. The guns were fired at longintervals. The portcullis was raised to admit the procession, and thewhole garrison, drawn up to receive it, rendered a military salute. Thebody, covered with matting, was laid in a grave beside that of Amina. When the grave had been filled in, a priest approached to listen to thesupposed conflict between the good and bad angels, who dispute thepossession of the soul of the deceased. When he at length announced thatAli Tepelen Zadi would repose in peace amid celestial houris, theSkipetars, murmuring like the waves of the sea after a tempest, dispersedto their quarters:

Kursheed, profiting by the night spent by the Epirotes in mourning, caused Ali's head to be en closed in a silver casket, and despatched itsecretly to Constantinople. His sword-bearer Mehemet, who, havingpresided at the execution, was entrusted with the further duty ofpresenting it to the sultan, was escorted by three hundred Turkishsoldiers. He was warned to be expeditious, and before dawn was well outof reach of the Arnaouts, from whom a surprise might have been feared. 

The Seraskier then ordered the unfortunate Basilissa, whose life had beenspared, to be brought before him. She threw herself at his feet, imploring him to spare, not her life, but her honour; and he consoledher, and assured her of the sultan's protection. She burst into tearswhen she beheld Ali's secretaries, treasurers, and steward loaded withirons. Only sixty thousand purses (about twenty-five million piastres)of Ali's treasure could be found, and already his officers had beentortured, in order to compel them to disclose where the rest might beconcealed. Fearing a similar fate, Basilissa fell insensible into thearms of her attendants, and she was removed to the farm of Bouila, untilthe Supreme Porte should decide on her fate. 

The couriers sent in all directions to announce the death of Ali, havingpreceded the sword-bearer Mehemet's triumphal procession, the latter, onarriving at Greveno, found the whole population of that town and theneighbouring hamlets assembled to meet him, eager to behold the head ofthe terrible Ali Pacha. Unable to comprehend how he could possibly havesuccumbed, they could hardly believe their eyes when the head waswithdrawn from its casket and displayed before them. It remained exposedto view in the house of the Mussulman Veli Aga whilst the escort partookof refreshment and changed horses, and as the public curiosity continuedto increase throughout the journey, a fixed charge was at length made forits gratification, and the head of the renowned vizier was degraded intobecoming an article of traffic exhibited at every post-house, until itarrived at Constantinople. 

The sight of this dreaded relic, exposed on the 23rd of February at thegate of the seraglio, and the birth of an heir-presumptive to the swordof Othman--which news was announced simultaneously with that of the deathof Ali, by the firing of the guns of the seraglio--roused the enthusiasmof the military inhabitants of Constantinople to a state of frenzy, andtriumphant shouts greeted the appearance of a document affixed to thehead which narrated Ali's crimes and the circumstances of his death, ending with these words: "This is the Head of the above-named Ali Pacha, a Traitor to the Faith of Islam. "

Having sent magnificent presents to Kursheed, and a hyperbolical despatchto his army, Mahmoud II turned his attention to Asia Minor; where Ali'ssons would probably have been forgotten in their banishment, had it notbeen supposed that their riches were great. A sultan does not condescendto mince matters with his slaves, when he can despoil them with impunity;His Supreme Highness simply sent them his commands to die. Veli Pacha, agreater coward than a woman-slave born in the harem, heard his sentencekneeling. The wretch who had, in his palace at Arta, danced to thestrains of a lively orchestra, while innocent victims were being torturedaround him, received the due reward of his crimes. He vainly embracedthe knees of his executioners, imploring at least the favour of dying inprivacy; and he must have endured the full bitterness of death in seeinghis sons strangled before his eyes, Mehemet the elder, remarkable, forhis beauty, and the gentle Selim, whose merits might have procured thepardon of his family had not Fate ordained otherwise. After nextbeholding the execution of his brother, Salik Pacha, Ali's best lovedson, whom a Georgian slave had borne to him in his old age, Veli, weeping, yielded his guilty head to the executioners. 

His women were then seized, and the unhappy Zobeide, whose scandalousstory had even reached Constantinople, sewn up in a leather sack, wasflung into the Pursak--a river whose waters mingle with those of theSagaris. Katherin, Veli's other wife, and his daughters by variousmothers, were dragged to the bazaar and sold ignominiously to Turcomanshepherds, after which the executioners at once proceeded to make aninventory of the spoils of their victims. 

But the inheritance of Mouktar Pacha was not quite such an easy prey. Thekapidgi-bachi who dared to present him with the bowstring was instantlylaid dead at his feet by a pistol-shot. "Wretch!" cried Mouktar, roaringlike a bull escaped from the butcher, "dost thou think an Arnaout dieslike an eunuch? I also am a Tepelenian! To arms, comrades! they wouldslay us!" As he spoke, he rushed, sword in hand, upon the Turks, anddriving them back, succeeded in barricading himself in his apartments. 

Presently a troop of janissaries from Koutaieh, ordered to be inreadiness, advanced, hauling up cannon, and a stubborn combat began. Mouktar's frail defences were soon in splinters. The venerableMetche-Bono, father of Elmas Bey, faithful to the end, was killed by abullet; and Mouktar, having slain a host of enemies with his own hand andseen all his friends perish, himself riddled with wounds, set fire to thepowder magazine, and died, leaving as inheritance for the sultan only aheap of smoking ruins. An enviable fate, if compared with that of hisfather and brothers, who died by the hand of the executioner. 

The heads of Ali's children, sent to Constantinople and exposed at thegate of the seraglio, astonished the gaping multitude. The sultanhimself, struck with the beauty of Mehemet and Selim, whose longeyelashes and closed eyelids gave them the appearance of beautiful youthssunk in peaceful slumber, experienced a feeling of emotion. "I hadimagined them, " he said stupidly, "to be quite as old as their father;"and he expressed sorrow for the fate to which he had condemned them. 

THE COUNTESS DE SAINT-GERAN--1639

About the end of the year 1639, a troop of horsemen arrived, towardsmidday, in a little village at the northern extremity of the province ofAuvergne, from the direction of Paris. The country folk assembled at thenoise, and found it to proceed from the provost of the mounted police andhis men. The heat was excessive, the horses were bathed in sweat, thehorsemen covered with dust, and the party seemed on its return from animportant expedition. A man left the escort, and asked an old woman whowas spinning at her door if there was not an inn in the place. The womanand her children showed him a bush hanging over a door at the end of theonly street in the village, and the escort recommenced its march at awalk. There was noticed, among the mounted men, a young man ofdistinguished appearance and richly dressed, who appeared to be aprisoner. This discovery redoubled the curiosity of the villagers, whofollowed the cavalcade as far as the door of the wine-shop. The hostcame out, cap in hand, and the provost enquired of him with a swaggeringair if his pothouse was large enough to accommodate his troop, men andhorses. The host replied that he had the best wine in the country togive to the king's servants, and that it would be easy to collect in theneighbourhood litter and forage enough for their horses. The provostlistened contemptuously to these fine promises, gave the necessary ordersas to what was to be done, and slid off his horse, uttering an oathproceeding from heat and fatigue. The horsemen clustered round the youngman: one held his stirrup, and the provost deferentially gave way to himto enter the inn first. No, more doubt could be entertained that he wasa prisoner of importance, and all kinds of conjectures were made. Themen maintained that he must be charged with a great crime, otherwise ayoung nobleman of his rank would never have been arrested; the womenargued, on the contrary, that it was impossible for such a pretty youthnot to be innocent. 

Inside the inn all was bustle: the serving-lads ran from cellar togarret; the host swore and despatched his servant-girls to theneighbours, and the hostess scolded her daughter, flattening her noseagainst the panes of a downstairs window to admire the handsome youth. 

There were two tables in the principal eating-room. The provost tookpossession of one, leaving the other to the soldiers, who went in turn totether their horses under a shed in the back yard; then he pointed to astool for the prisoner, and seated himself opposite to him, rapping thetable with his thick cane. 

"Ouf!" he cried, with a fresh groan of weariness, "I heartily beg yourpardon, marquis, for the bad wine I am giving you!"

The young man smiled gaily. 

"The wine is all very well, monsieur provost, " said he, "but I cannotconceal from you that however agreeable your company is to me, this haltis very inconvenient; I am in a hurry to get through my ridiculoussituation, and I should have liked to arrive in time to stop this affairat once. "

The girl of the house was standing before the table with a pewter potwhich she had just brought, and at these words she raised her eyes on theprisoner, with a reassured look which seemed to say, "I was sure that hewas innocent. "

"But, " continued the marquis, carrying the glass to his lips, "this wineis not so bad as you say, monsieur provost. "

Then turning to the girl, who was eyeing his gloves and his ruff--

"To your health, pretty child. "

"Then, " said the provost, amazed at this free and easy air, "perhaps Ishall have to beg you to excuse your sleeping quarters. "

"What!" exclaimed the marquis, "do we sleep here?"

"My lord;" said the provost, "we have sixteen long leagues to make, ourhorses are done up, and so far as I am concerned I declare that I am nobetter than my horse. "

The marquis knocked on the table, and gave every indication of beinggreatly annoyed. The provost meanwhile puffed and blowed, stretched outhis big boots, and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was aportly man, with a puffy face, whom fatigue rendered singularlyuncomfortable. 

"Marquis, " said he, "although your company, which affords me theopportunity of showing you some attention, is very precious to me, youcannot doubt that I had much rather enjoy it on another footing. If it bewithin your power, as you say, to release yourself from the hands ofjustice, the sooner you do so the better I shall be pleased. But I begyou to consider the state we are in. For my part, I am unfit to keep thesaddle another hour, and are you not yourself knocked up by this forcedmarch in the great heat?"

"True, so I am, " said the marquis, letting his arms fall by his side. 

"Well, then, let us rest here, sup here, if we can, and we will startquite fit in the cool of the morning. "

"Agreed, " replied the marquis; "but then let us pass the time in abecoming manner. I have two pistoles left, let them be given to thesegood fellows to drink. It is only fair that I should treat them, seeingthat I am the cause of giving them so much trouble. "

He threw two pieces of money on the table of the soldiers, who cried inchorus, "Long live M. The marquis!" The provost rose, went to postsentinels, and then repaired to the kitchen, where he ordered the bestsupper that could be got. The men pulled out dice and began to drink andplay. The marquis hummed an air in the middle of the room, twirled hismoustache, turning on his heel and looking cautiously around; then hegently drew a purse from his trousers pocket, and as the daughter of thehouse was coming and going, he threw his arms round her neck as if tokiss her, and whispered, slipping ten Louis into her hand--

"The key of the front door in my room, and a quart of liquor to thesentinels, and you save my life. "

The girl went backwards nearly to the door, and returning with anexpressive look, made an affirmative sign with her hand. The provostreturned, and two hours later supper was served. He ate and drank like aman more at home at table than in the saddle. The marquis plied him withbumpers, and sleepiness, added to the fumes of a very heady wine, causedhim to repeat over and over again--

"Confound it all, marquis, I can't believe you are such a blackguard asthey say you are; you seem to me a jolly good sort. "

The marquis thought he was ready to fall under the table, and wasbeginning to open negotiations with the daughter of the house, when, tohis great disappointment, bedtime having come, the provoking provostcalled his sergeant, gave him instructions in an undertone, and announcedthat he should have the honour of conducting M. The marquis to bed, andthat he should not go to bed himself before performing this duty. Infact, he posted three of his men, with torches, escorted the prisoner tohis room, and left him with many profound bows. 

The marquis threw himself on his bed without pulling off his boots, listening to a clock which struck nine. He heard the men come and go inthe stables and in the yard. 

An hour later, everybody being tired, all was perfectly still. Theprisoner then rose softly, and felt about on tiptoe on the chimneypiece, on the furniture, and even in his clothes, for the key which he hoped tofind. He could not find it. He could not be mistaken, nevertheless, inthe tender interest of the young girl, and he could not believe that shewas deceiving him. The marquis's room had a window which opened upon thestreet, and a door which gave access to a shabby gallery which did dutyfor a balcony, whence a staircase ascended to the principal rooms of thehouse. This gallery hung over the courtyard, being as high above it asthe window was from the street. The marquis had only to jump over oneside or the other: he hesitated for some time, and just as he wasdeciding to leap into the street, at the risk of breaking his neck, twotaps were struck on the door. He jumped for joy, saying to himself as heopened, "I am saved!" A kind of shadow glided into the room; the younggirl trembled from head to foot, and could not say a word. The marquisreassured her with all sorts of caresses. 

"Ah, sir, " said she, "I am dead if we are surprised. "

"Yes, " said the marquis, "but your fortune is made if you get me out ofhere. "

"God is my witness that I would with all my soul, but I have such a badpiece of news----"

She stopped, suffocated with varying emotions. The poor girl had comebarefooted, for fear of making a noise, and appeared to be shivering. 

"What is the matter?" impatiently asked the marquis. 

"Before going to bed, " she continued, "M. The provost has required frommy father all the keys of the house, and has made him take a great oaththat there are no more. My father has given him all: besides, there is asentinel at every door; but they are very tired; I have heard themmuttering and grumbling, and I have given them more wine than you toldme. "

"They will sleep, " said the marquis, nowise discouraged, "and they havealready shown great respect to my rank in not nailing me up in thisroom. "

"There is a small kitchen garden, " continued the girl, "on the side ofthe fields, fenced in only by a loose hurdle, but----"

"Where is my horse?"

"No doubt in the shed with the rest. "

"I will jump into the yard. "

"You will be killed. "

"So much the better!"

"Ah monsieur marquis, what have, you done?" said the young girl withgrief. 

"Some foolish things! nothing worth mentioning; but my head and my honourare at stake. Let us lose no time; I have made up my mind. "

"Stay, " replied the girl, grasping his arm; "at the left-hand corner ofthe yard there is a large heap of straw, the gallery hangs just overit--"

"Bravo! I shall make less noise, and do myself less mischief. " He madea step towards the door; the girl, hardly knowing what she was doing, tried to detain him; but he got loose from her and opened it. The moonwas shining brightly into the yard; he heard no sound. He proceeded tothe end of the wooden rail, and perceived the dungheap, which rose to agood height: the girl made the sign of the cross. The marquis listenedonce again, heard nothing, and mounted the rail. He was about to jumpdown, when by wonderful luck he heard murmurings from a deep voice. Thisproceeded from one of two horsemen, who were recommencing theirconversation and passing between them a pint of wine. The marquis creptback to his door, holding his breath: the girl was awaiting him on thethreshold. 

"I told you it was not yet time, " said she. 

"Have you never a knife, " said the marquis, "to cut those rascals'throats with?"

"Wait, I entreat you, one hour, one hour only, " murmured the young girl;"in an hour they will all be asleep. "

The girl's voice was so sweet, the arms which she stretched towards himwere full of such gentle entreaty, that the marquis waited, and at theend of an hour it was the young girl's turn to tell him to start. 

The marquis for the last time pressed with his mouth those lips butlately so innocent, then he half opened the door, and heard nothing thistime but dogs barking far away in an otherwise silent country. He leanedover the balustrade, and saw: very plainly a soldier lying prone on thestraw. 

"If they were to awake?" murmured the young girl in accents of anguish. 

"They will not take me alive, be assured, " said the marquis. 

"Adieu, then, " replied she, sobbing; "may Heaven preserve you!"

He bestrode the balustrade, spread himself out upon it, and fell heavilyon the dungheap. The young girl saw him run to the shed, hastily detacha horse, pass behind the stable wall, spur his horse in both flanks, tearacross the kitchen garden, drive his horse against the hurdle, knock itdown, clear it, and reach the highroad across the fields. 

The poor girl remained at the end of the gallery, fixing her eyes on thesleeping sentry, and ready to disappear at the slightest movement. Thenoise made by spurs on the pavement and by the horse at the end of thecourtyard had half awakened him. He rose, and suspecting some surprise, ran to the shed. His horse was no longer there; the marquis, in hishaste to escape, had taken the first which came to hand, and this was thesoldier's. Then the soldier gave the alarm; his comrades woke up. Theyran to the prisoner's room, and found it empty. The provost came fromhis bed in a dazed condition. The prisoner had escaped. 

Then the young girl, pretending to have been roused by the noise, hindered the preparations by mislaying the saddlery, impeding thehorsemen instead of helping them; nevertheless, after a quarter of anhour, all the party were galloping along the road. The provost sworelike a pagan. The best horses led the way, and the sentinel, who rodethe marquis's, and who had a greater interest in catching the prisoner, far outstripped his companions; he was followed by the sergeant, equallywell mounted, and as the broken fence showed the line he had taken, aftersome minutes they were in view of him, but at a great distance. However, the marquis was losing ground; the horse he had taken was the worst inthe troop, and he had pressed it as hard as it could go. Turning in thesaddle, he saw the soldiers half a musket-shot off; he urged his horsemore and more, tearing his sides with his spurs; but shortly the beast, completely winded. Foundered; the marquis rolled with it in the dust, butwhen rolling over he caught hold of the holsters, which he found tocontain pistols; he lay flat by the side of the horse, as if he hadfainted, with a pistol at full cock in his hand. The sentinel, mountedon a valuable horse, and more than two hundred yards ahead of hisserafile, came up to him. In a moment the marquis, jumping up before hehad tune to resist him, shot him through the head; the horseman fell, themarquis jumped up in his place without even setting foot in the stirrup, started off at a gallop, and went away like the wind, leaving fifty yardsbehind him the non-commissioned officer, dumbfounded with what had justpassed before his eyes. 

The main body of the escort galloped up, thinking that he was taken; andthe provost shouted till he was hoarse, "Do not kill him!" But they foundonly the sergeant, trying to restore life to his man, whose skull wasshattered, and who lay dead on the spot. 

As for the marquis, he was out of sight; for, fearing a fresh pursuit, hehad plunged into the cross roads, along which he rode a good hour longerat full gallop. When he felt pretty sure of having shaken the police offhis track, and that their bad horses could not overtake him, hedetermined to slacken to recruit his horse; he was walking him along ahollow lane, when he saw a peasant approaching; he asked him the road tothe Bourbonnais, and flung him a crown. The man took the crown andpointed out the road, but he seemed hardly to know what he was saying, and stared at the marquis in a strange manner. The marquis shouted tohim to get out of the way; but the peasant remained planted on theroadside without stirring an inch. The marquis advanced with threateninglooks, and asked how he dared to stare at him like that. 

"The reason is, " said the peasant, "that you have----", and he pointed tohis shoulder and his ruff. 

The marquis glanced at his dress, and saw that his coat was dabbled inblood, which, added to the disorder of his clothes and the dust withwhich he was covered, gave him a most suspicious aspect. 

"I know, " said he. "I and my servant have been separated in a scufflewith some drunken Germans; it's only a tipsy spree, and whether I havegot scratched, or whether in collaring one of these fellows I have drawnsome of his blood, it all arises from the row. I don't think I am hurt abit. " So saying, he pretended to feel all over his body. 

"All the same, " he continued, "I should not be sorry to have a wash;besides, I am dying with thirst and heat, and my horse is in no bettercase. Do you know where I can rest and refresh myself?"

The peasant offered to guide him to his own house, only a few yards off. His wife and children, who were working, respectfully stood aside, andwent to collect what was wanted--wine, water, fruit, and a large piece ofblack bread. The marquis sponged his coat, drank a glass of wine, andcalled the people of the house, whom he questioned in an indifferentmanner. He once more informed himself of the different roads leadinginto the Bourbonnais province, where he was going to visit a relative; ofthe villages, cross roads, distances; and finally he spoke of thecountry, the harvest, and asked what news there was. 

The peasant replied, with regard to this, that it was surprising to hearof disturbances on the highway at this moment, when it was patrolled bydetachments of mounted police, who had just made an important capture. 

"Who is that?--" asked the marquis. 

"Oh, " said the peasant, "a nobleman who has done a lot of mischief in thecountry. "

"What! a nobleman in the hands of justice?"

"Just so; and he stands a good chance of losing his head. "

"Do they say what he has done?"

"Shocking things; horrid things; everything he shouldn't do. All theprovince is exasperated with him. "

"Do you know him?"

"No, but we all have his description. "

As this news was not encouraging, the marquis, after a few morequestions, saw to his horse, patted him, threw some more money to thepeasant, and disappeared in the direction pointed out. 

The provost proceeded half a league farther along the road; but coming tothe conclusion that pursuit was useless, he sent one of his men toheadquarters, to warn all the points of exit from the province, andhimself returned with his troop to the place whence he had started in themorning. The marquis had relatives in the neighbourhood, and it wasquite possible that he might seek shelter with some of them. All thevillage ran to meet the horsemen, who were obliged to confess that theyhad been duped by the handsome prisoner. Different views were expressedon the event, which gave rise to much talking. The provost entered theinn, banging his fist on the furniture, and blaming everybody for themisfortune which had happened to him. The daughter of the house, atfirst a prey to the most grievous anxiety, had great difficulty inconcealing her joy. 

The provost spread his papers over the table, as if to nurse hisill-temper. 

"The biggest rascal in the world!" he cried; "I ought to have suspectedhim. "

"What a handsome man he was!" said the hostess. 

"A consummate rascal! Do you know who he is? He is the Marquis deSaint-Maixent!"

"The Marquis de Saint-Maixent!" all cried with horror. 

"Yes, the very man, " replied the provost; "the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, accused, and indeed convicted, of coining and magic. "

"Ah!"

"Convicted of incest. "

"O my God!"

"Convicted of having strangled his wife to marry another, whose husbandhe had first stabbed. "

"Heaven help us!" All crossed themselves. 

"Yes, good people, " continued the furious provost, "this is the nice boywho has just escaped the king's justice!"

The host's daughter left the room, for she felt she was going to faint. 

"But, " said the host, "is there no hope of catching him again?"

"Not the slightest, if he has taken the road to the Bourbonnais; for Ibelieve there are in that province noblemen belonging to his family whowill not allow him to be rearrested. "

The fugitive was, indeed, no other than the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, accused of all the enormous crimes detailed by the provost, who by hisaudacious flight opened for himself an active part in the strange storywhich it remains to relate. 

It came to pass, a fortnight after these events, that a mounted gentlemanrang at the wicket gate of the chateau de Saint-Geran, at the gates ofMoulins. It was late, and the servants were in no hurry to open. Thestranger again pulled the bell in a masterful manner, and at lengthperceived a man running from the bottom of the avenue. The servant peeredthrough the wicket, and making out in the twilight a very ill-appointedtraveller, with a crushed hat, dusty clothes, and no sword, asked himwhat he wanted, receiving a blunt reply that the stranger wished to seethe Count de Saint-Geran without any further loss of time. The servantreplied that this was impossible; the other got into a passion. 

"Who are you?" asked the man in livery. 

"You are a very ceremonious fellow!" cried the horseman. "Go and tell M. De Saint-Geran that his relative, the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, wishes tosee him at once. "

The servant made humble apologies, and opened the wicket gate. He thenwalked before the marquis, called other servants, who came to help him todismount, and ran to give his name in the count's apartments. The latterwas about to sit down to supper when his relative was announced; heimmediately went to receive the marquis, embraced him again and again, and gave him the most friendly and gracious reception possible. He wishedthen to take him into the dining-room to present him to all the family;but the marquis called his attention to the disorder of his dress, andbegged for a few minutes' conversation. The count took him into hisdressing-room, and had him dressed from head to foot in his own clothes, whilst they talked. The marquis then narrated a made-up story to M. DeSaint-Geran relative to the accusation brought against him. This greatlyimpressed his relative, and gave him a secure footing in the chateau. When he had finished dressing, he followed the count, who presented himto the countess and the rest of the family. 

It will now be in place to state who the inmates of the chateau were, andto relate some previous occurrences to explain subsequent ones. 

The Marshal de Saint-Geran, of the illustrious house of Guiche, andgovernor of the Bourbonnais, had married, for his first wife, Anne deTournon, by whom he had one son, Claude de la Guiche, and one daughter, who married the Marquis de Bouille. His wife dying, he married againwith Suzanne des Epaules, who had also been previously married, being thewidow of the Count de Longaunay, by whom she had Suzanne de Longaunay. 

The marshal and his wife, Suzanne des Epauies, for the mutual benefit oftheir children by first nuptials, determined to marry them, thus sealingtheir own union with a double tie. Claude de Guiche, the marshal's son, married Suzanne de Longaunay. 

This alliance was much to the distaste of the Marchioness de Bouille, themarshal's daughter, who found herself separated from her stepmother, andmarried to a man who, it was said, gave her great cause for complaint, the greatest being his threescore years and ten. 

The contract of marriage between Claude de la Guiche and Suzanne deLongaunay was executed at Rouen on the 17th of February 1619; but thetender age of the bridegroom, who was then but eighteen, was the cause ofhis taking a tour in Italy, whence he returned after two years. Themarriage was a very happy one but for one circumstance--it produced noissue. The countess could not endure a barrenness which threatened theend of a great name, the extinction of a noble race. She made vows, pilgrimages; she consulted doctors and quacks; but to no purpose. 

The Marshal de Saint-Geran died on the Loth of December 1632, having themortification of having seen no descending issue from the marriage of hisson. The latter, now Count de Saint-Geran, succeeded his father in thegovernment of the Bourbonnais, and was named Chevalier of the King'sOrders. 

Meanwhile the Marchioness de Bouille quarrelled with her old husband themarquis, separated from him after a scandalous divorce, and came to liveat the chateau of Saint-Geran, quite at ease as to her brother'smarriage, seeing that in default of heirs all his property would revertto her. 

Such was the state of affairs when the Marquis de Saint-Maixent arrivedat the chateau. He was young, handsome, very cunning, and verysuccessful with women; he even made a conquest of the dowager Countess deSaint-Geran, who lived there with her children. He soon plainly saw thathe might easily enter into the most intimate relations with theMarchioness de Bouille. 

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent's own fortune was much impaired by hisextravagance and by the exactions of the law, or rather, in plain words, he had lost it all. The marchioness was heiress presumptive to thecount: he calculated that she would soon lose her own husband; in anycase, the life of a septuagenarian did not much trouble a man like themarquis; he could then prevail upon the marchioness to marry him, thusgiving him the command of the finest fortune in the province. 

He set to work to pay his court to her, especially avoiding anything thatcould excite the slightest suspicion. It was, however, difficult to geton good terms with the marchioness without showing outsiders what wasgoing on. But the marchioness, already prepossessed by the agreeableexterior of M. De Saint-Maixent, soon fell into his toils, and theunhappiness of her marriage, with the annoyances incidental to ascandalous case in the courts, left her powerless to resist his schemes. Nevertheless, they had but few opportunities of seeing one' anotheralone: the countess innocently took a part in all their conversations;the count often came to take the marquis out hunting; the days passed infamily pursuits. M. De Saint-Maixent had not so far had an opportunityof saying what a discreet woman ought to pretend not to hear; thisintrigue, notwithstanding the marquis's impatience, dragged terribly. 

The countess, as has been stated, had for twenty years never ceased tohope that her prayers would procure for her the grace of bearing a son toher husband. Out of sheer weariness she had given herself up to allkinds of charlatans, who at that period were well received by people ofrank. On one occasion she brought from Italy a sort of astrologer, whoas nearly as possible poisoned her with a horrible nostrum, and was sentback to his own country in a hurry, thanking his stars for having escapedso cheaply. This procured Madame de Saint-Geran a severe reprimand fromher confessor; and, as time went on, she gradually accustomed herself tothe painful conclusion that she would die childless, and cast herselfinto the arms of religion. The count, whose tenderness for her neverfailed, yet clung to the hope of an heir, and made his Will with this inview. The marchioness's hopes had become certainties, and M. DeSaint-Maixent, perfectly tranquil on this head, thought only offorwarding his suit with Madame-de Bouille, when, at the end of the monthof November 1640, the Count de Saint-Geran was obliged to repair to Parisin great haste on pressing duty. 

The countess, who could not bear to be separated from her husband, tookthe family advice as to accompanying him. The marquis, delighted at anopportunity which left him almost alone in the chateau with Madame deBouille, painted the journey to Paris in the most attractive colours, andsaid all he could to decide her to go. The marchioness, for her part, worked very quietly to the same end; it was more than was needed. It wassettled that the countess should go with M. De Saint-Geran. She soonmade her preparations, and a few days later they set off on the journeytogether. 

The marquis had no fears about declaring his passion; the conquest ofMadame de Bouille gave him no trouble; he affected the most violent love, and she responded in the same terms. All their time was spent inexcursions and walks from, which the servants were excluded; the lovers, always together, passed whole days in some retired part of the park, orshut up in their apartments. It was impossible for these circumstancesnot to cause gossip among an army of servants, against whom they had tokeep incessantly on their guard; and this naturally happened. 

The marchioness soon found herself obliged to make confidantes of thesisters Quinet, her maids; she had no difficulty in gaining theirsupport, for the girls were greatly attached to her. This was the firststep of shame for Madame de Bouille, and the first step of corruption forherself and her paramour, who soon found themselves entangled in theblackest of plots. Moreover, there was at the chateau de Saint-Geran atall, spare, yellow, stupid man, just intelligent enough to perform, ifnot to conceive, a bad action, who was placed in authority over thedomestics; he was a common peasant whom the old marshal had deigned tonotice, and whom the count had by degrees promoted to the service ofmajor-domo on account of his long service in the house, and because hehad seen him there since he himself was a child; he would not take himaway as body servant, fearing that his notions of service would not dofor Paris, and left him to the superintendence of the household. Themarquis had a quiet talk with this man, took his measure, warped his mindas he wished, gave him some money, and acquired him body and soul. Thesedifferent agents undertook to stop the chatter of the servants' hall, andthenceforward the lovers could enjoy free intercourse. 

One evening, as the Marquis de Saint-Maixent was at supper in companywith the marchioness, a loud knocking was heard at the gate of thechateau, to which they paid no great attention. This was followed by theappearance of a courier who had come post haste from Paris; he enteredthe courtyard with a letter from the Count de Saint-Geran for M. Themarquis; he was announced and introduced, followed by nearly all thehousehold. The marquis asked the meaning of all this, and dismissed allthe following with a wave of the hand; but the courier explained that M. The count desired that the letter in his hands should be read beforeeveryone. The marquis opened it without replying, glanced over it, andread it out loud without the slightest alteration: the count announced tohis good relations and to all his household that the countess hadindicated positive symptoms of pregnancy; that hardly had she arrived inParis when she suffered from fainting fits, nausea, retching, that shebore with joy these premonitory indications, which were no longer amatter of doubt to the physicians, nor to anyone; that for his part hewas overwhelmed with joy at this event, which was the crowning stroke toall his wishes; that he desired the chateau to share his satisfaction byindulging in all kinds of gaieties; and that so far as other matters wereconcerned they could remain as they were till the return of himself andthe countess, which the letter would precede only a few days, as he wasgoing to transport her in a litter for greater safety. Then followed thespecification of certain sums of money to be distributed among theservants. 

The servants uttered cries of joy; the marquis and marchioness exchangeda look, but a very troublous one; they, however, restrained themselves sofar as to simulate a great satisfaction, and the marquis brought himselfto congratulate the servants on their attachment to their master andmistress. After this they were left alone, looking very serious, whilecrackers exploded and violins resounded under the windows. For some timethey preserved silence, the first thought which occurred to both beingthat the count and countess had allowed themselves to be deceived bytrifling symptoms, that people had wished to flatter their hopes, that itwas impossible for a constitution to change so suddenly after twentyyears, and that it was a case of simulative pregnancy. This opiniongaining strength in their minds made them somewhat calmer. 

The next day they took a walk side by side in a solitary path in the parkand discussed the chances of their situation. M. De Saint-Maixentbrought before the marchioness the enormous injury which this event wouldbring them. He then said that even supposing the news to be true, therewere many rocks ahead to be weathered before the succession could bepronounced secure. 

"The child may die, " he said at last. 

And he uttered some sinister expressions on the slight damage caused bythe loss of a puny creature without mind, interest, or consequence;nothing, he said, but a bit of ill-organised matter, which only came intothe world to ruin so considerable a person as the marchioness. 

"But what is the use of tormenting ourselves?" he went on impatiently;"the countess is not pregnant, nor can she be. "

A gardener working near them overheard this part of the conversation, butas they walked away from him he could not hear any more. 

A few days later, some outriders, sent before him by the count, enteredthe chateau, saying that their master and mistress were close at hand. In fact, they were promptly followed by brakes and travelling-carriages, and at length the countess's litter was descried, which M. DeSaint-Geran, on horse back, had never lost sight of during the journey. It was a triumphal reception: all the peasants had left their work, andfilled the air with shouts of welcome; the servants ran to meet theirmistress; the ancient retainers wept for joy at seeing the count so happyand in the hope that his noble qualities might be perpetuated in hisheir. The marquis and Madame de Bouille did their best to tune up to thepitch of this hilarity. 

The dowager countess, who had arrived at the chateau the same day, unableto convince herself as to this news, had the pleasure of satisfying herself respecting it. The count and countess were much beloved in theBourbonnais province; this event caused therein a general satisfaction, particularly in the numerous houses attached to them by consanguinity. Within a few days of their return, more than twenty ladies of qualityflocked to visit them in great haste, to show the great interest theytook in this pregnancy. All these ladies, on one occasion or another, convinced themselves as to its genuineness, and many of them, carryingthe subject still further, in a joking manner which pleased the countess, dubbed themselves prophetesses, and predicted the birth of a boy. Theusual symptoms incidental to the situation left no room for doubt: thecountry physicians were all agreed. The count kept one of thesephysicians in the chateau for two months, and spoke to the Marquis ofSaint-Maixent of his intention of procuring a good mid-wife, on the sameterms. Finally, the dowager countess, who was to be sponsor, ordered ata great expense a magnificent store of baby linen, which she desired topresent at the birth. 

The marchioness devoured her rage, and among the persons who went besidethemselves with joy not one remarked the disappointment which overspreadher soul. Every day she saw the marquis, who did all he could toincrease her regret, and incessantly stirred up her ill-humour byrepeating that the count and countess were triumphing over hermisfortune, and insinuating that they were importing a supposititiouschild to disinherit her. As usual both in private and political affairs, he began by corrupting the marchioness's religious views, to pervert herinto crime. The marquis was one of those libertines so rare at thattime, a period less unhappy than is generally believed, who made sciencedependent upon, atheism. It is remarkable that great criminals of thisepoch, Sainte-Croix for instance, and Exili, the gloomy poisoner, werethe first unbelievers, and that they preceded the learned of thefollowing age both, in philosophy and in the exclusive study of physicalscience, in which they included that of poisons. Passion, interest, hatred fought the marquis's battles in the heart of Madame de Bouille;she readily lent herself to everything that M. De Saint-Maixent wished. 

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent had a confidential servant, cunning, insolent, resourceful, whom he had brought from his estates, a servantwell suited to such a master, whom he sent on errands frequently into theneighbourhood of Saint-Geran. 

One evening, as the marquis was about to go to bed, this man, returningfrom one of his expeditions, entered his room, where he remained for along time, telling him that he had at length found what he wanted, andgiving him a small piece of paper which contained several names of placesand persons. 

Next morning, at daybreak, the marquis caused two of his horses to besaddled, pretended that he was summoned home on pressing business, foresaw that he should be absent for three or four days, made his excusesto the count, and set off at full gallop, followed by his servant. 

They slept that night at an inn on the road to Auvergne, to put off thescent any persons who might recognise them; then, following cross-countryroads, they arrived after two days at a large hamlet, which they hadseemed to have passed far to their left. 

In this hamlet was a woman who practised the avocation of midwife, andwas known as such in the neighbourhood, but who had, it was said, mysterious and infamous secrets for those who paid her well. Further, shedrew a good income from the influence which her art gave her overcredulous people. It was all in her line to cure the king's evil, compound philtres and love potions; she was useful in a variety of waysto girls who could afford to pay her; she was a lovers' go-between, andeven practised sorcery for country folk. She played her cards so well, that the only persons privy to her misdeeds were unfortunate creatureswho had as strong an interest as herself in keeping them profoundlysecret; and as her terms were very high, she lived comfortably enough ina house her own property, and entirely alone, for greater security. In ageneral way, she was considered skilful in her ostensible profession, andwas held in estimation by many persons of rank. This woman's name wasLouise Goillard. 

Alone one evening after curfew, she heard a loud knocking at the door ofher house. Accustomed to receive visits at all hours, she took her lampwithout hesitation, and opened the door. An armed man, apparently muchagitated, entered the room. Louise Goillard, in a great fright, fellinto a chair; this man was the Marquis de Saint-Maixent. 

"Calm yourself, good woman, " said the stranger, panting and stammering;"be calm, I beg; for it is I, not you, who have any cause for emotion. Iam not a brigand, and far from your having anything to fear, it is I, onthe contrary, who am come to beg for your assistance. "

He threw his cloak into a corner, unbuckled his waistbelt, and laid asidehis sword. Then falling into a chair, he said--

"First of all, let me rest a little. "

The marquis wore a travelling-dress; but although he had not stated hisname, Louise Goillard saw at a glance that he was a very different personfrom what she had thought, and that, on the contrary, he was some finegentleman who had come on his love affairs. 

"I beg you to excuse, " said she, "a fear which is insulting to you. Youcame in so hurriedly that I had not time to see whom I was talking to. My house is rather lonely; I am alone; ill-disposed people might easilytake advantage of these circumstances to plunder a poor woman who haslittle enough to lose. The times are so bad! You seem tired. Will youinhale some essence?"

"Give me only a glass of water. "

Louise Goillard went into the adjoining room, and returned with an ewer. The marquis affected to rinse his lips, and said--

"I come from a great distance on a most important matter. Be assuredthat I shall be properly grateful for your services. "

He felt in his pocket, and pulled out a purse, which he rolled betweenhis fingers. 

"In the first place; you must swear to the greatest secrecy. "

"There is no need of that with us, " said Louise Goillard; "that is thefirst condition of our craft. "

"I must have more express guarantees, and your oath that you will revealto no one in the world what I am going to confide to you. "

"I give you my word, then, since you demand it; but I repeat that this issuperfluous; you do not know me. "

"Consider that this is a most serious matter, that I am as it wereplacing my head in your hands, and that I would lose my life a thousandtimes rather than see this mystery unravelled. "

"Consider also, " bluntly replied the midwife, "that we ourselves areprimarily interested in all the secrets entrusted to us; that anindiscretion would destroy all confidence in us, and that there are evencases----You may speak. "

When the marquis had reassured her as to himself by this preface, hecontinued: "I know that you are a very able woman. "

"I could indeed wish to be one, to serve you. ". 

"That you have pushed the study of your art to its utmost limits. "

"I fear they have been flattering your humble servant. "

"And that your studies have enabled you to predict the future. "

"That is all nonsense. "

"It is true; I have been told so. "

"You have been imposed upon. "

"What is the use of denying it and refusing to do me a service?"

Louise Goillard defended herself long: she could not understand a man ofthis quality believing in fortune-telling, which she practised only withlow-class people and rich farmers; but the marquis appeared so earnestthat she knew not what to think. 

"Listen, " said he, "it is no use dissembling with me, I know all. Beeasy; we are playing a game in which you are laying one against athousand; moreover, here is something on account to compensate you forthe trouble I am giving. "

He laid a pile of gold on the table. The matron weakly owned that shehad sometimes attempted astrological combinations which were not alwaysfortunate, and that she had been only induced to do so by the fascinationof the phenomena of science. The secret of her guilty practices wasdrawn from her at the very outset of her defence. 

"That being so, " replied the marquis, "you must be already aware of thesituation in which I find myself; you must know that, hurried away by ablind and ardent passion, I have betrayed the confidence of an old ladyand violated the laws of hospitality by seducing her daughter in her ownhouse; that matters have come to a crisis, and that this noble damsel, whom I Love to distraction, being pregnant, is on the point of losing herlife and honour by the discovery of her fault, which is mine. "

The matron replied that nothing could be ascertained about a personexcept from private questions; and to further impose upon the marquis, she fetched a kind of box marked with figures and strange emblems. Opening this, and putting together certain figures which it contained, she declared that what the marquis had told her was true, and that hissituation was a most melancholy one. She added, in order to frightenhim, that he was threatened by still more serious misfortunes than thosewhich had already overtaken him, but that it was easy to anticipate andobviate these mischances by new consultations. 

"Madame, " replied the marquis, "I fear only one thing in the world, thedishonour of the woman I love. Is there no method of remedying the usualembarrassment of a birth?"

"I know of none, " said the matron. 

"The young lady has succeeded in concealing her condition; it would beeasy for her confinement to take place privately. "

"She has already risked her life; and I cannot consent to be mixed up inthis affair, for fear of the consequences. "

"Could not, for instance, " said the marquis, "a confinement be effectedwithout pain?"

"I don't know about that, but this I do" know, that I shall take verygood care not to practise any method contrary to the laws of nature. "

"You are deceiving me: you are acquainted with this method, you havealready practised it upon a certain person whom I could name to you. "

"Who has dared to calumniate me thus? I operate only after the decisionof the Faculty. God forbid that I should be stoned by all thephysicians, and perhaps expelled from France!"

"Will you then let me die of despair? If I were capable of making a baduse of your secrets, I could have done so long ago, for I know them. InHeaven's name, do not dissimulate any longer, and tell me how it ispossible to stifle the pangs of labour. Do you want more gold? Here itis. " And he threw more Louis on the table. 

"Stay, " said the matron: "there is perhaps a method which I think I havediscovered, and which I have never employed, but I believe itefficacious. "

"But if you have never employed it, it may be dangerous, and risk thelife of the lady whom I love. "

"When I say never, I mean that I have tried it once, and mostsuccessfully. Be at your ease. "

"Ah!" cried the marquis, "you have earned my everlasting gratitude! But, "continued he, "if we could anticipate the confinement itself, and removefrom henceforth the symptoms of pregnancy?"

"Oh, sir, that is a great crime you speak of!"

"Alas!" continued the marquis, as if speaking to himself in a fit ofintense grief; "I had rather lose a dear child, the pledge of our love, than bring into the world an unhappy creature which might possibly causeits mother's death. "

"I pray you, sir, let no more be said on the subject; it is a horriblecrime even to think of such a thing. "

"But what is to be done? Is it better to destroy two persons and perhapskill a whole family with despair? Oh, madame, I entreat you, extricateus from this extremity!"

The marquis buried his face in his hands, and sobbed as though he wereweeping copiously. 

"Your despair grievously affects me, " said the matron; "but consider thatfor a woman of my calling it is a capital offence. "

"What are you talking about? Do not our mystery, our safety, and ourcredit come in first?

"They can never get at you till after the death and dishonour of all thatis dear to me in the world. "

"I might then, perhaps. But in this case you must insure me againstlegal complications, fines, and procure me a safe exit from the kingdom. "

"Ah! that is my affair. Take my whole fortune! Take my life!"

And he threw the whole purse on the table. 

"In this case, and solely to extricate you from the extreme danger inwhich I see you placed, I consent to give you a decoction, and certaininstructions, which will instantly relieve the lady from her burden. Shemust use the greatest precaution, and study to carry out exactly what Iam about to tell you. My God! only such desperate occasions as this onecould induce me to---- Here----"

She took a flask from the bottom of a cupboard, and continued--

"Here is a liquor which never fails. "

"Oh, madame, you save my honour, which is dearer to me than life! Butthis is not enough: tell me what use I am to make of this liquor, and inwhat doses I am to administer it. "

"The patient, " replied the midwife, "must take one spoonful the firstday; the second day two; the third----"

"You will obey me to the minutest particular?"

"I swear it. "

"Let us start, then. "

She asked but for time to pack a little linen, put things in order, thenfastened her doors, and left the house with the marquis. A quarter of anhour later they were galloping through the night, without her knowingwhere the marquis was taking her. 

The marquis reappeared three days later at the chateau, finding thecount's family as he had left them--that is to say, intoxicated withhope, and counting the weeks, days, and hours before the accouchement ofthe countess. He excused his hurried departure on the ground of theimportance of the business which had summoned him away; and speaking ofhis journey at table, he related a story current in the country whence hecame, of a surprising event which he had all but witnessed. It was thecase of a lady of quality who suddenly found herself in the mostdangerous pangs of labour. All the skill of the physicians who had beensummoned proved futile; the lady was at the point of death; at last, insheer despair, they summoned a midwife of great repute among thepeasantry, but whose practice did not include the gentry. From the firsttreatment of this woman, who appeared modest and diffident to a degree, the pains ceased as if by enchantment; the patient fell into anindefinable calm languor, and after some hours was delivered of abeautiful infant; but after this was attacked by a violent fever whichbrought her to death's door. They then again had recourse to the doctors, notwithstanding the opposition of the master of the house, who hadconfidence in the matron. The doctors' treatment only made mattersworse. In this extremity they again called in the midwife, and at theend of three weeks the lady was miraculously restored to life, thus, added the marquis, establishing the reputation of the matron, who hadsprung into such vogue in the town where she lived and the neighbouringcountry that nothing else was talked about. 

This story made a great impression on the company, on account of thecondition of the countess; the dowager added that it was very wrong toridicule these humble country experts, who often through observation andexperience discovered secrets which proud doctors were unable to unravelwith all their studies. Hereupon the count cried out that this midwifemust be sent for, as she was just the kind of woman they wanted. Afterthis other matters were talked about, the marquis changing theconversation; he had gained his point in quietly introducing the thin endof the wedge of his design. 

After dinner, the company walked on the terrace. The countess dowagernot being able to walk much on account of her advanced age, the countessand Madame de Bouille took chairs beside her. The count walked up anddown with M. De Saint-Maixent. The marquis naturally asked how thingshad been going on during his absence, and if Madame de Saint-Geran hadsuffered any inconvenience, for her pregnancy had become the mostimportant affair in the household, and hardly anything else was talkedabout. 

"By the way, " said the count, "you were speaking just now of a veryskilful midwife; would it not be a good step to summon her?"

"I think, " replied the marquis, "that it would be an excellent selection, for I do not suppose there is one in this neighbourhood to compare toher. "

"I have a great mind to send for her at once, and to keep her about thecountess, whose constitution she will be all the better acquainted withif she studies it beforehand. Do you know where I can send for her?"

"Faith, " said the marquis, "she lives in a village, but I don't knowwhich. "

"But at least you know her name?"

"I can hardly remember it. Louise Boyard, I think, or Polliard, one orthe other. "

"How! have you not even retained the name?"

"I heard the story, that's all. Who the deuce can keep a name in hishead which he hears in such a chance fashion?"

"But did the condition of the countess never occur to you?"

"It was so far away that I did not suppose you would send such adistance. I thought you were already provided. "

"How can we set about to find her?"

"If that is all, I have a servant who knows people in that part of thecountry, and who knows how to go about things: if you like, he shall goin quest of her. "

"If I like? This very moment. "

The same evening the servant started on his errand with the count'sinstructions, not forgetting those of his master. He went at full speed. It may readily be supposed that he had not far to seek the woman he wasto bring back with him; but he purposely kept away for three days, and atthe end of this time Louise Goillard was installed in the chateau. 

She was a woman of plain and severe exterior, who at once inspiredconfidence in everyone. The plots of the marquis and Madame de Bouillethus throve with most baneful success; but an accident happened whichthreatened to nullify them, and, by causing a great disaster, to preventa crime. 

The countess, passing into her apartments, caught her foot in a carpet, and fell heavily on the floor. At the cries of a footman all thehousehold was astir. The countess was carried to bed; the most intensealarm prevailed; but no bad consequences followed this accident, whichproduced only a further succession of visits from the neighbouringgentry. This happened about the end of the seventh month. 

At length the moment of accouchement came. Everything had long beforebeen arranged for the delivery, and nothing remained to be done. Themarquis had employed all this time in strengthening Madame de Bouilleagainst her scruples. He often saw Louise Goillard in private, and gaveher his instructions; but he perceived that the corruption of Baulieu, the house steward, was an essential factor. Baulieu was already halfgained over by the interviews of the year preceding; a large sum of readymoney and many promises did the rest. This wretch was not ashamed to joina plot against a master to whom he owed everything. The marchioness forher part, and always under the instigation of M. De Saint-Maixent, secured matters all round by bringing into the abominable plot the Quinetgirls, her maids; so that there was nothing but treason and conspiracyagainst this worthy family among their upper servants, usually styledconfidential. Thus, having prepared matters, the conspirators awaited theevent. 

On the 16th of August the Countess de Saint-Geran was overtaken by thepangs of labour in the chapel of the chateau, where she was hearing mass. They carried her to her room before mass was over, her women ran aroundher, and the countess dowager with her own hands arranged on her head acap of the pattern worn by ladies about to be confined--a cap which isnot usually removed till some time later. 

The pains recurred with terrible intensity. The count wept at his wife'scries. Many persons were present. The dowager's two daughters by hersecond marriage, one of whom, then sixteen years of age, afterwardsmarried the Duke de Ventadour and was a party to the lawsuit, wished tobe present at this accouchement, which was to perpetuate by a new scionan illustrious race near extinction. There were also Dame Saligny, sister of the late Marshal Saint-Geran, the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, andthe Marchioness de Bouille. 

Everything seemed to favour the projects of these last two persons, whotook an interest in the event of a very different character from thatgenerally felt. As the pains produced no result, and the accouchementwas of the most difficult nature, while the countess was near the lastextremity, expresses were sent to all the neighbouring parishes to offerprayers for the mother and the child; the Holy Sacrament was elevated inthe churches at Moulins. 

The midwife attended to everything herself. She maintained that thecountess would be more comfortable if her slightest desires wereinstantly complied with. The countess herself never spoke a word, onlyinterrupting the gloomy silence by heart-rending cries. All at once, Madame de Boulle, who affected to be bustling about, pointed out that thepresence of so many persons was what hindered the countess'saccouchement, and, assuming an air of authority justified by fictitioustenderness, said that everyone must retire, leaving the patient in thehands of the persons who were absolutely necessary to her, and that, toremove any possible objections, the countess dowager her mother must setthe example. The opportunity was made use of to remove the count fromthis harrowing spectacle, and everyone followed the countess dowager. Even the countess's own maids were not allowed to remain, being sent onerrands which kept them out of the way. This further reason was given, that the eldest being scarcely fifteen, they were too young to be presenton such an occasion. The only persons remaining by the bedside were theMarchioness de Bouille, the midwife, and the two Quinet girls; thecountess was thus in the hands of her most cruel enemies. 

It was seven o'clock in the evening; the labours continued; the elderQuinet girl held the patient by the hand to soothe her. The count andthe dowager sent incessantly to know the news. They were told thateverything was going on well, and that shortly their wishes would beaccomplished; but none of the servants were allowed to enter the room. 

Three hours later, the midwife declared that the countess could not holdout any longer unless she got some rest. She made her swallow a liquorwhich was introduced into her mouth by spoonfuls. The countess fell intoso deep a sleep that she seemed to be dead. The younger Quinet girlthought for a moment that they had killed her, and wept in a corner ofthe room, till Madame de Bouille reassured her. 

During this frightful night a shadowy figure prowled in the corridors, silently patrolled the rooms, and came now and then to the door of thebedroom, where he conferred in a low tone with the midwife and theMarchioness de Bouille. This was the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, who gavehis orders, encouraged his people, watched over every point of his plot, himself a prey to the agonies of nervousness which accompany thepreparations for a great crime. 

The dowager countess, owing to her great age, had been compelled to takesome rest. The count sat up, worn out with fatigue, in a downstairs roomhard by that in which they were compassing the ruin of all most dear tohim in the world. 

The countess, in her profound lethargy, gave birth, without being awareof it, to a boy, who thus fell on his entry into the world into the handsof his enemies, his mother powerless to defend him by her cries andtears. The door was half opened, and a man who was waiting outsidebrought in; this was the major-domo Baulieu. 

The midwife, pretending to afford the first necessary cares to the child, had taken it into a corner. Baulieu watched her movements, and springingupon her, pinioned her arms. The wretched woman dug her nails into thechild's head. He snatched it from her, but the poor infant for long borethe marks of her claws. 

Possibly the Marchioness de Bouille could not nerve herself to thecommission of so great a crime; but it seems more probable that thesteward prevented the destruction of the child under the orders of M. DeSaint-Maixent. The theory is that the marquis, mistrustful of thepromise made him by Madame de Bouille to marry him after the death of herhusband, desired to keep the child to oblige her to keep her word, underthreats of getting him acknowledged, if she proved faithless to him. Noother adequate reason can be conjectured to determine a man of hischaracter to take such great care of his victim. 

Baulieu swaddled the child immediately, put it in a basket, hid it underhis cloak, and went with his prey to find the marquis; they conferredtogether for some time, after which the house steward passed by a posterngate into the moat, thence to a terrace by which he reached a bridgeleading into the park. This park had twelve gates, and he had the keysof all. He mounted a blood horse which he had left waiting behind awall, and started off at full gallop. The same day he passed through thevillage of Escherolles, a league distant from Saint-Geran, where hestopped at the house of a nurse, wife of a glove-maker named Claude. This peasant woman gave her breast to the child; but the steward, notdaring to stay in a village so near Saint-Geran, crossed the river Allierat the port de la Chaise, and calling at the house of a man namedBoucaud, the good wife suckled the child for the second time; he thencontinued his journey in the direction of Auvergne. 

The heat was excessive, his horse was done up, the child seemed uneasy. A carrier's cart passed him going to Riom; it was owned by a certain PaulBoithion of the town of Aigueperce, a common carrier on the road. Baulieu went alongside to put the child in the cart, which he enteredhimself, carrying the infant on his knees. The horse followed, fastenedby the bridle to the back of the cart. 

In the conversation which he held with this man, Baulieu said that heshould not take so much care of the child did it not belong to the mostnoble house in the Bourbonnais. They reached the village of Che atmidday. The mistress of the house where he put up, who was nursing aninfant, consented to give some of her milk to the child. The poorcreature was covered with blood; she warmed some water, stripped off itsswaddling linen, washed it from head to foot, and swathed it up againmore neatly. 

The carrier then took them to Riom. When they got there, Baulieu got ridof him by giving a false meeting-place for their departure; left in thedirection of the abbey of Lavoine, and reached the village of Descoutoux, in the mountains, between Lavoine and Thiers. The Marchioness de Bouillehad a chateau there where she occasionally spent some time. 

The child was nursed at Descoutoux by Gabrielle Moini, who was paid amonth in advance; but she only kept it a week or so, because they refusedto tell her the father and mother and to refer her to a place where shemight send reports of her charge. This woman having made these reasonspublic, no nurse could be found to take charge of the child, which wasremoved from the village of Descoutoux. The persons who removed it tookthe highroad to Burgundy, crossing a densely wooded country, and herethey lost their way. 

The above particulars were subsequently proved by the nurses, thecarrier, and others who made legal depositions. They are stated atlength here, as they proved very important in the great lawsuit. Thecompilers of the case, into which we search for information, have howeveromitted to tell us how the absence of the major-domo was accounted for atthe castle; probably the far-sighted marquis had got an excuse ready. 

The countess's state of drowsiness continued till daybreak. She wokebathed in blood, completely exhausted, but yet with a sensation ofcomfort which convinced her that she had been delivered from her burden. Her first words were about her child; she wished to see it, kiss it; sheasked where it was. The midwife coolly told her, whilst the girls whowere by were filled with amazement at her audacity, that she had not beenconfined at all. The countess maintained the contrary, and as she grewvery excited, the midwife strove to calm her, assuring her that in anycase her delivery could not be long protracted, and that, judging fromall the indications of the night, she would give birth to a boy. Thispromise comforted the count and the countess dowager, but failed tosatisfy the countess, who insisted that a child had been born. 

The same day a scullery-maid met a woman going to the water's edge in thecastle moat, with a parcel in her arms. She recognised the midwife, andasked what she was carrying and where she was going so early. The latterreplied that she was very inquisitive, and that it was nothing at all;but the girl, laughingly pretending to be angry at this answer, pulledopen one of the ends of the parcel before the midwife had time to stopher, and exposed to view some linen soaked in blood. 

"Madame has been confined, then?" she said to the matron. 

"No, " replied she briskly, "she has not. "

The girl was unconvinced, and said, "How do you mean that she has not, when madame the marchioness, who was there, says she has?" The matron ingreat confusion replied, "She must have a very long tongue, if she saidso. "

The girl's evidence was later found most important. 

The countess's uneasiness made her worse the next day. She implored withsighs and tears at least to be told what had become of her child, steadily maintaining that she was not mistaken when she assured them thatshe had given birth to one. The midwife with great effrontery told herthat the new moon was unfavourable to childbirth, and that she must waitfor the wane, when it would be easier as matters were already prepared. 

Invalids' fancies do not obtain much credence; still, the persistence ofthe countess would have convinced everyone in the long run, had not thedowager said that she remembered at the end of the ninth month of one ofher own pregnancies she had all the premonitory symptoms of lying in, butthey proved false, and in fact the accouchement took place three monthslater. 

This piece of news inspired great confidence. The marquis and Madame deBouille did all in their power to confirm it, but the countessobstinately refused to listen to it, and her passionate transports ofgrief gave rise to the greatest anxiety. The midwife, who knew not howto gain time, and was losing all hope in face of the countess'spersistence, was almost frightened out of her wits; she entered intomedical details, and finally said that some violent exercise must betaken to induce labour. The countess, still unconvinced, refused to obeythis order; but the count, the dowager, and all the family entreated herso earnestly that she gave way. 

They put her in a close carriage, and drove her a whole day over ploughedfields, by the roughest and hardest roads. She was so shaken that shelost the power of breathing; it required all the strength of herconstitution to support this barbarous treatment in the delicatecondition of a lady so recently confined. They put her to bed againafter this cruel drive, and seeing that nobody took her view, she threwherself into the arms of Providence, and consoled herself by religion;the midwife administered violent remedies to deprive her of milk; she gotover all these attempts to murder her, and slowly got better. 

Time, which heals the deepest affliction, gradually soothed that of thecountess; her grief nevertheless burst out periodically on the slightestcause; but eventually it died out, till the following events rekindledit. 

There had been in Paris a fencing-master who used to boast that he had abrother in the service of a great house. This fencing-master had marrieda certain Marie Pigoreau, daughter of an actor. He had recently died inpoor circumstances, leaving her a widow with two children. This womanPigoreau did not enjoy the best of characters, and no one knew how shemade a living, when all at once, after some short absences from home andvisit from a man who came in the evening, his face muffled in his cloak, she launched out into a more expensive style of living; the neighbourssaw in her house costly clothes, fine swaddling-clothes, and at last itbecame known that she was nursing a strange child. 

About the same time it also transpired that she had a deposit of twothousand livres in the hands of a grocer in the quarter, named Raguenet;some days later, as the child's baptism had doubtless been put off forfear of betraying his origin, Pigoreau had him christened at St. Jean enGreve. She did not invite any of the neighbours to the function, andgave parents' names of her own choosing at the church. For godfather sheselected the parish sexton, named Paul Marmiou, who gave the child thename of Bernard. La Pigoreau remained in a confessional during theceremony, and gave the man ten sou. The godmother was Jeanne Chevalier, a poor woman of the parish. 

The entry in the register was as follows:-

 "On the seventh day of March one thousand six hundred and forty-two was baptized Bernard, son of . . . And . . . His godfather being Paul Marmiou, day labourer and servant of this parish, and his godmother Jeanne Chevalier, widow of Pierre Thibou. "

A few days afterwards la Pigoreau put out the child to nurse in thevillage of Torcy en Brie, with a woman who had been her godmother, whosehusband was called Paillard. She gave out that it was a child of qualitywhich had been entrusted to her, and that she should not hesitate, ifsuch a thing were necessary, to save its life by the loss of one of herown children. The nurse did not keep it long, because she fell ill; laPigoreau went to fetch the child away, lamenting this accident, andfurther saying that she regretted it all the more, as the nurse wouldhave earned enough to make her comfortable for the rest of her life. Sheput the infant out again in the same village, with the widow of a peasantnamed Marc Peguin. The monthly wage was regularly paid, and the childbrought up as one of rank. La Pigoreau further told the woman that itwas the son of a great nobleman, and would later make the fortunes ofthose who served him. An elderly man, whom the people supposed to be thechild's father, but who Pigoreau assured them was her brother-in-law, often came to see him. 

When the child was eighteen months old, la Pigoreau took him away andweaned him. Of the two by her husband the elder was called Antoine, thesecond would have been called Henri if he had lived; but he was born onthe 9th of August 1639, after the death of his father, who was killed inJune of the same year, and died shortly after his birth. La Pigoreauthought fit to give the name and condition of this second son to thestranger, and thus bury for ever the secret of his birth. With this endin view, she left the quarter where she lived, and removed to concealherself in another parish where she was not known. The child was broughtup under the name and style of Henri, second son of la Pigoreau, till hewas two and a half years of age; but at this time, whether she was notengaged to keep it any longer, or whether she had spent the two thousandlivres deposited with the grocer Raguenet, and could get no more from theprincipals, she determined to get rid of it. 

Her gossips used to tell this woman that she cared but little for hereldest son, because she was very confident of the second one making hisfortune, and that if she were obliged to give up one of them, she hadbetter keep the younger, who was a beautiful boy. To this she wouldreply that the matter did not depend upon her; that the boy's godfatherwas an uncle in good circumstances, who would not charge himself with anyother child. She often mentioned this uncle, her brother-in-law, shesaid, who was major-domo in a great house. 

One morning, the hall porter at the hotel de Saint-Geran came to Baulieuand told him that a woman carrying a child was asking for him at thewicket gate; this Baulieu was, in fact, the brother of the fencingmaster, and godfather to Pigoreau's second son. It is now supposed thathe was the unknown person who had placed the child of quality with her, and who used to go and see him at his nurse's. La Pigoreau gave him along account of her situation. The major-domo took the child with someemotion, and told la Pigoreau to wait his answer a short distance off, ina place which he pointed out. 

Baulieu's wife made a great outcry at the first proposal of an increaseof family; but he succeeded in pacifying her by pointing out thenecessities of his sister-in-law, and how easy and inexpensive it was todo this good work in such a house as the count's. He went to his masterand mistress to ask permission to bring up this child in their hotel; akind of feeling entered into the charge he was undertaking which in somemeasure lessened the weight on his conscience. 

The count and countess at first opposed this project; telling him thathaving already five children he ought not to burden himself with anymore, but he petitioned so earnestly that he obtained what he wanted. The countess wished to see it, and as she was about to start for Moulinsshe ordered it to be put in her women's coach; when it was shown her, shecried out, "What a lovely child!" The boy was fair, with large blue eyesand very regular features, She gave him a hundred caresses, which thechild returned very prettily. She at once took a great fancy to him, andsaid to Baulieu, "I shall not put him in my women's coach; I shall puthim in my own. "

After they arrived at the chateau of Saint-Geran, her affection forHenri, the name retained by the child, increased day by day. She oftencontemplated him with sadness, then embraced him with tenderness, andkept him long on her bosom. The count shared this affection for thesupposed nephew of Baulieu, who was adopted, so to speak, and brought uplike a child of quality. 

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent and Madame de Bouille had not married, although the old Marquis de Bouille had long been dead. It appeared thatthey had given up this scheme. The marchioness no doubt felt scruplesabout it, and the marquis was deterred from marriage by his profligatehabits. It is moreover supposed that other engagements and heavy bribescompensated the loss he derived from the marchioness's breach of faith. 

He was a man about town at that period, and was making love to thedemoiselle Jacqueline de la Garde; he had succeeded in gaining heraffections, and brought matters to such a point that she no longerrefused her favours except on the grounds of her pregnancy and the dangerof an indiscretion. The marquis then offered to introduce to her amatron who could deliver women without the pangs of labour, and who had avery successful practice. The same Jacqueline de la Garde further gaveevidence at the trial that M. De Saint-Maixent had often boasted, as of ascientific intrigue, of having spirited away the son of a governor of aprovince and grandson of a marshal of France; that he spoke of theMarchioness de Bouille, said that he had made her rich, and that it wasto him she owed her great wealth; and further, that one day having takenher to a pretty country seat which belonged to him, she praised itsbeauty, saying "c'etait un beau lieu"; he replied by a pun on a man'sname, saying that he knew another Baulieu who had enabled him to make afortune of five hundred thousand crowns. He also said to Jadelon, sieurde la Barbesange, when posting with him from Paris, that the Countess deSaint-Geran had been delivered of a son who was in his power. 

The marquis had not seen Madame de Bouille for a long time; a commondanger reunited them. They had both learned with terror the presence ofHenri at the hotel de Saint-Geran. They consulted about this; themarquis undertook to cut the danger short. However, he dared put inpractice nothing overtly against the child, a matter still more difficultjust then, inasmuch as some particulars of his discreditable adventureshad leaked out, and the Saint-Geran family received him more than coldly. 

Baulieu, who witnessed every day the tenderness of the count and countessfor the boy Henri, had been a hundred times on the point of givinghimself up and confessing everything. He was torn to pieces with remorse. Remarks escaped him which he thought he might make without ulteriorconsequences; seeing the lapse of time, but they were noted and commentedon. Sometimes he would say that he held in his hand the life and honourof Madame the Marchioness de Bouille; sometimes that the count andcountess had more reasons than they knew of for loving Henri. One day heput a case of conscience to a confessor, thus: "Whether a man who hadbeen concerned in the abduction of a child could not satisfy hisconscience by restoring him to his father and mother without telling themwho he was?" What answer the confessor made is not known, but apparentlyit was not what the major-domo wanted. He replied to a magistrate ofMoulins, who congratulated him on having a nephew whom his mastersoverburdened with kind treatment, that they ought to love him, since hewas nearly related to them. 

These remarks were noticed by others than those principally concerned. One day a wine merchant came to propose to Baulieu the purchase of a pipeof Spanish wine, of which he gave him a sample bottle; in the evening hewas taken violently ill. They carried him to bed, where he writhed, uttering horrible cries. One sole thought possessed him when hissufferings left him a lucid interval, and in his agony he repeated overand over again that he wished to implore pardon from the count andcountess for a great injury which he had done them. The people roundabout him told him that was a trifle, and that he ought not to let itembitter his last moments, but he begged so piteously that he got them topromise that they should be sent for. 

The count thought it was some trifling irregularity, somemisappropriation in the house accounts; and fearing to hasten the deathof the sufferer by the shame of the confession of a fault, he sent wordthat he heartily forgave him, that he might die tranquil, and refused tosee him. Baulieu expired, taking his secret with him. This happened in1648. 

The child was then seven years old. His charming manners grew with hisage, and the count and countess felt their love for him increase. Theycaused him to be taught dancing and fencing, put him into breeches andhose, and a page's suit of their livery, in which capacity he servedthem. The marquis turned his attack to this quarter. He was doubtlesspreparing some plot as criminal as the preceding, when justice overtookhim for some other great crimes of which he had been guilty. He wasarrested one day in the street when conversing with one of theSaint-Geran footmen, and taken to the Conciergerie of the Palace ofJustice. 

Whether owing to these occurrences, or to grounds for suspicion beforementioned, certain reports spread in the Bourbonnais embodying some ofthe real facts; portions of them reached the ears of the count andcountess, but they had only the effect of renewing their grief withoutfurnishing a clue to the truth. 

Meanwhile, the count went to take the waters at Vichy. The countess andMadame de Bouille followed him, and there they chanced to encounterLouise Goillard, the midwife. This woman renewed her acquaintance withthe house, and in particular often visited the Marchioness de Bouille. One day the countess, unexpectedly entering the marchioness's room, foundthem both conversing in an undertone. They stopped talking immediately, and appeared disconcerted. 

The countess noticed this without attaching any importance to it, andasked the subject of their conversation. 

"Oh, nothing, " said the marchioness. 

"But what is it?" insisted the countess, seeing that she blushed. 

The marchioness, no longer able to evade the question, and feeling herdifficulties increase, replied--

"Dame Louise is praising my brother for bearing no ill-will to her. "

"Why?" said the countess, turning to the midwife, --"why should you fearany ill-will on the part of my husband?"

"I was afraid, " said Louise Goillard awkwardly, "that he might have takena dislike to me on account of all that happened when you expected to beconfined. "

The obscurity of these words and embarrassment of the two women produceda lively effect upon the countess; but she controlled herself and let thesubject drop. Her agitation, however, did not escape the notice of themarchioness, who the next day had horses put to her coach and retired tohey estate of Lavoine. This clumsy proceeding strengthened suspicion. 

The first determination of the countess was to arrest Louise Goillard;but she saw that in so serious a matter every step must be taken withprecaution. She consulted the count and the countess dowager. Theyquietly summoned the midwife, to question her without any preliminaries. She prevaricated and contradicted herself over and over again; moreover, her state of terror alone sufficed to convict her of a crime. Theyhanded her over to the law, and the Count de Saint-Geran filed aninformation before the vice-seneschal of Moulins. 

The midwife underwent a first interrogatory. She confessed the truth ofthe accouchement, but she added that the countess had given birth to astill-born daughter, which she had buried under a stone near the step ofthe barn in the back yard. The judge, accompanied by a physician and asurgeon, repaired to the place, where he found neither stone, nor foetus, nor any indications of an interment. They searched unsuccessfully inother places. 

When the dowager countess heard this statement, she demanded that thishorrible woman should be put on her trial. The civil lieutenant, in theabsence of the criminal lieutenant, commenced the proceedings. 

In a second interrogation, Louise Goillard positively declared that thecountess had never been confined;

In a third, that she had been delivered of a mole;

In a fourth, that she had been confined of a male infant, which Baulieuhad carried away in a basket;

And in a fifth, in which she answered from the dock, she maintained thather evidence of the countess's accouchement had been extorted from her byviolence. She made no charges against either Madame de Bouille or theMarquis de Saint Maixent. On the other hand, no sooner was she underlock and key than she despatched her son Guillemin to the marchioness toinform her that she was arrested. The marchioness recognised howthreatening things were, and was in a state of consternation; sheimmediately sent the sieur de la Foresterie, her steward, to thelieutenant-general, her counsel, a mortal enemy of the count, that hemight advise her in this conjuncture, and suggest a means for helping thematron without appearing openly in the matter. The lieutenant's advicewas to quash the proceedings and obtain an injunction against thecontinuance of the preliminaries to the action. The marchioness spent alarge sum of money, and obtained this injunction; but it was immediatelyreversed, and the bar to the suit removed. 

La Foresterie was then ordered to pass to Riom, where the sisters Quinetlived, and to bribe them heavily to secrecy. The elder one, on leavingthe marchioness's service, had shaken her fist in her face, feelingsecure with the secrets in her knowledge, and told her that she wouldrepent having dismissed her and her sister, and that she would make aclean breast of the whole affair, even were she to be hung first. Thesegirls then sent word that they wished to enter her service again; thatthe countess had promised them handsome terms if they would speak; andthat they had even been questioned in her name by a Capuchin superior, but that they said nothing, in order to give time to prepare an answerfor them. The marchioness found herself obliged to take back the girls;she kept the younger, and married the elder to Delisle, her housesteward. But la Foresterie, finding himself in this network of intrigue, grew disgusted at serving such a mistress, and left her house. Themarchioness told him on his departure that if he were so indiscreet as torepeat a word of what he had learned from the Quinet girls, she wouldpunish him with a hundred poniard stabs from her major-domo Delisle. Having thus fortified her position, she thought herself secure againstany hostile steps; but it happened that a certain prudent Berger, gentleman and page to the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, who enjoyed hismaster's confidence and went to see him in the Conciergerie, where he wasimprisoned, threw some strange light on this affair. His master hadnarrated to him all the particulars of the accouchement of the countessand of the abduction of the child. 

"I am astonished, my lord, " replied the page, "that having so manydangerous affairs on hand; you did not relieve your conscience of thisone. "

"I intend, " replied the marquis, "to restore this child to his father: Ihave been ordered to do so by a Capuchin to whom I confessed havingcarried off from the midst of the family, without their knowing it, agrandson of a marshal of France and son of a governor of a province. "

The marquis had at that time permission to go out from prisonoccasionally on his parole. This will not surprise anyone acquaintedwith the ideas which prevailed at that period on the honour of anobleman, even the greatest criminal. The marquis, profiting by thisfacility, took the page to see a child of about seven years of age, fairand with a beautiful countenance. 

"Page, " said he, "look well at this child, so that you may know him againwhen I shall send you to inquire about him. "

He then informed him that this was the Count de Saint-Geran's son whom hehad carried away. 

Information of these matters coming to the ears of justice, decisiveproofs were hoped for; but this happened just when other criminalinformations were lodged against the marquis, which left him helpless toprevent the exposure of his crimes. Police officers were despatched inall haste to the Conciergerie; they were stopped by the gaolers, who toldthem that the marquis, feeling ill, was engaged with a priest who wasadministering the sacraments, to him. As they insisted on seeing him;the warders approached the cell: the priest came out, crying that personsmust be sought to whom the sick man had a secret to reveal; that he wasin a desperate state, and said he had just poisoned himself; all enteredthe cell. 

M. De Saint-Maixent was writhing on a pallet, in a pitiable condition, sometimes shrieking like a wild beast, sometimes stammering disconnectedwords. All that the officers could hear was--

"Monsieur le Comte . . . Call . . . The Countess . . . DeSaint-Geran . . . Let them come. . . . " The officers earnestlybegged him to try to be more explicit. 

The marquis had another fit; when he opened his eyes, he said--

"Send for the countess . . . Let them forgive me . . . I wish totell them everything. " The police officers asked him to speak; one eventold him that the count was there. The marquis feebly murmured--

"I am going to tell you----" Then he gave a loud cry and fell back dead. 

It thus seemed as if fate took pains to close every mouth from which thetruth might escape. Still, this avowal of a deathbed revelation to bemade to the Count de Saint-Geran and the deposition of the priest who hadadministered the last sacraments formed a strong link in the chain ofevidence. 

The judge of first instruction, collecting all the information he hadgot, made a report the weight of which was overwhelming. The carters, the nurse, the domestic servants, all gave accounts consistent with eachother; the route and the various adventures of the child were plainlydetailed, from its birth till its arrival at the village of Descoutoux. 

Justice, thus tracing crime to its sources, had no option but to issue awarrant for the arrest of the Marchioness de Bouilie; but it seemsprobable that it was not served owing to the strenuous efforts of theCount de Saint-Geran, who could not bring himself to ruin his sister, seeing that her dishonour would have been reflected on him. Themarchioness hid her remorse in solitude, and appeared again no more. Shedied shortly after, carrying the weight of her secret till she drew herlast breath. 

The judge of Moulins at length pronounced sentence on the midwife, whomhe declared arraigned and convicted of having suppressed the child bornto the countess; for which he condemned her to be tortured and thenhanged. The matron lodged an appeal against this sentence, and the casewas referred to the Conciergerie. 

No sooner had the count and countess seen the successive proofs of theprocedure, than tenderness and natural feelings accomplished the rest. They no longer doubted that their page was their son; they stripped himat once of his livery and gave him his rank and prerogatives, under thetitle of the Count de la Palice. 

Meanwhile, a private person named Sequeville informed the countess thathe had made a very important discovery; that a child had been baptized in1642 at St. Jean-en-Greve, and that a woman named Marie Pigoreau hadtaken a leading part in the affair. Thereupon inquiries were made, andit was discovered that this child had been nursed in the village ofTorcy. The count obtained a warrant which enabled him to get evidencebefore the judge of Torcy; nothing was left undone to elicit the wholetruth; he also obtained a warrant through which he obtained moreinformation, and published a monitory. The elder of the Quinet girls onthis told the Marquis de Canillac that the count was searching at adistance for things very near him. The truth shone out with great lustrethrough these new facts which gushed from all this fresh information. The child, exhibited in the presence of a legal commissary to the nursesand witnesses of Torcy, was identified, as much by the scars left by themidwife's nails on his head, as by his fair hair and blue eyes. Thisineffaceable vestige of the woman's cruelty was the principal proof; thewitnesses testified that la Pigoreau, when she visited this child with aman who appeared to be of condition, always asserted that he was the sonof a great nobleman who had been entrusted to her care, and that shehoped he would make her fortune and that of those who had reared him. 

The child's godfather, Paul Marmiou, a common labourer; the grocerRaguenet, who had charge of the two thousand livres; the servant of laPigoreau, who had heard her say that the count was obliged to take thischild; the witnesses who proved that la Pigoreau had told them that thechild was too well born to wear a page's livery, all furnished convincingproofs; but others were forthcoming. 

It was at la Pigoreau's that the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, living then atthe hotel de Saint-Geran, went to see the child, kept in her house as ifit were hers; Prudent Berger, the marquis's page, perfectly wellremembered la Pigoreau, and also the child, whom he had seen at her houseand whose history the marquis had related to him. Finally, many otherwitnesses heard in the course of the case, both before the three chambersof nobles, clergy, and the tiers etat, and before the judges of Torcy, Cusset, and other local magistrates, made the facts so clear andconclusive in favour of the legitimacy of the young count, that it wasimpossible to avoid impeaching the guilty parties. The count ordered thesummons in person of la Pigoreau, who had not been compromised in theoriginal preliminary proceedings. This drastic measure threw theintriguing woman on her beam ends, but she strove hard to right herself. 

The widowed Duchess de Ventadour, daughter by her mother's secondmarriage of the Countess dowager of Saint-Geran, and half-sister of thecount, and the Countess de Lude, daughter of the Marchioness de Bouille, from whom the young count carried away the Saint-Geran inheritance, werevery warm in the matter, and spoke of disputing the judgment. LaPigoreau went to see them, and joined in concert with them. 

Then commenced this famous lawsuit, which long occupied all France, andis parallel in some respects, but not in the time occupied in thehearing, to the case heard by Solomon, in which one child was claimed bytwo mothers. 

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent and Madame de Bouille being dead, werenaturally no parties to the suit, which was fought against theSaint-Geran family by la Pigoreau and Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour. These ladies no doubt acted in good faith, at first at any rate, inrefusing to believe the crime; for if they had originally known the truthit is incredible that they could have fought the case so long aid soobstinately. 

They first of all went to the aid of the midwife, who had fallen sick inprison; they then consulted together, and resolved as follows:

That the accused should appeal against criminal proceedings;

That la Pigoreau should lodge a civil petition against the judgmentswhich ordered her arrest and the confronting of witnesses;

That they should appeal against the abuse of obtaining and publishingmonitories, and lodge an interpleader against the sentence of the judgeof first instruction, who had condemned the matron to capital punishment;

And that finally, to carry the war into the enemy's camp, la Pigoreaushould impugn the maternity of the countess, claiming the child as herown; and that the ladies should depose that the countess's accouchementwas an imposture invented to cause it to be supposed that she had givenbirth to a child. 

For more safety and apparent absence of collusion Mesdames du Lude and deVentadour pretended to have no communication with la Pigoreau. 

About this time the midwife died in prison, from an illness whichvexation and remorse had aggravated. After her death, her son Guilleminconfessed that she had often told him that the countess had given birthto a son whom Baulieu had carried off, and that the child entrusted toBaulieu at the chateau Saint-Geran was the same as the one recovered; theyouth added that he had concealed this fact so long as it might injurehis mother, and he further stated that the ladies de Ventadour and duLude had helped her in prison with money and advice--another strong pieceof presumptive evidence. 

The petitions of the accused and the interpleadings of Mesdames du Ludeand de Ventadour were discussed in seven hearings, before three courtsconvened. The suit proceeded with all the languor and chicanery of theperiod. 

After long and specious arguments, the attorney general Bijnon gave hisdecision in favour of the Count and Countess of Saint-Geran, concludingthus:--

"The court rejects the civil appeal of la Pigoreau; and all theopposition and appeals of the appellants and the defendants; condemnsthem to fine and in costs; and seeing that the charges against laPigoreau were of a serious nature, and that a personal summons had beendecreed against her, orders her committal, recommending her to theindulgence of the court. "

By a judgment given in a sitting at the Tournelle by M. De Mesmes, on the18th of August 1657, the appellant ladies' and the defendants' oppositionwas rejected with fine and costs. La Pigoreau was forbidden to leave thecity and suburbs of Paris under penalty of summary conviction. Thejudgment in the case followed the rejection of the appeal. 

This reverse at first extinguished the litigation of Mesdames du Lude andde Ventadour, but it soon revived more briskly than ever. These ladies, who had taken la Pigoreau in their coach to all the hearings, promptedher, in order to procrastinate, to file a fresh petition, in which shedemanded the confrontment of all the witnesses to the pregnancy, and theconfinement. On hearing this petition, the court gave on the 28th ofAugust 1658 a decree ordering the confrontment, but on condition that forthree days previously la Pigoreau should deliver herself a prisoner inthe Conciergerie. 

This judgment, the consequences of which greatly alarmed la Pigoreau, produced such an effect upon her that, after having weighed the interestshe had in the suit, which she would lose by flight, against the dangerto her life if she ventured her person into the hands of justice, sheabandoned her false plea of maternity, and took refuge abroad. This lastcircumstance was a heavy blow to Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour; butthey were not at the end of their resources and their obstinacy. 

Contempt of court being decreed against la Pigoreau, and the case beinggot up against the other defendants, the Count de Saint-Geran left forthe Bourbonnais, to put in execution the order to confront the witnesses. Scarcely had he arrived in the province when he was obliged to interrupthis work to receive the king and the queen mother, who were returningfrom Lyons and passing through Moulins. He presented the Count de laPalice to their Majesties as his son; they received him as such. Butduring the visit of the king and queen the Count de Saint-Geran fell ill, over fatigued, no doubt, by the trouble he had taken to give them asuitable reception, over and above the worry of his own affairs. 

During his illness, which only lasted a week, he made in his will a newacknowledgment of his son, naming his executors M. De Barriere, intendantof the province, and the sieur Vialet, treasurer of France, desiring themto bring the lawsuit to an end. His last words were for his wife andchild; his only regret that he had not been able to terminate thisaffair. He died on the 31st of January 1659. 

The maternal tenderness of the countess did not need stimulating by theinjunctions of her husband, and she took up the suit with energy. Theladies de Ventadour and du Lude obtained by default letters ofadministration as heiresses without liability, which were granted out ofthe Chatelet. At the same time they appealed against the judgment of thelieutenant-general of the Bourbonnais, giving the tutelage of the youngcount to the countess his mother, and his guardianship to sieur deBompre. The countess, on her side, interpleaded an appeal against thegranting of letters of administration without liability, and did all inher power to bring back the case to the Tournelle. The other ladiescarried their appeal to the high court, pleading that they were notparties to the lawsuit in the Tournelle. 

It would serve no purpose to follow the obscure labyrinth of legalprocedure of that period, and to recite all the marches andcountermarches which legal subtlety suggested to the litigants. At theend of three years, on the 9th of April 1661, the countess obtained ajudgment by which the king in person--

 "Assuming to his own decision the civil suit pending at the Tournelle, as well as the appeals pled by both parties, and the last petition of Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour, sends back the whole case to the three assembled chambers of the States General, to be by them decided on its merits either jointly or separately, as they may deem fit. "

The countess thus returned to her first battlefield. Legal scienceproduced an immense quantity of manuscript, barristers and attorneysgreatly distinguishing themselves in their calling. After aninterminable hearing, and pleadings longer and more complicated thanever, which however did not bamboozle the court, judgment was pronouncedin Conformity with the summing up of the attorney-general, thus--

"That passing over the petition of Mesdames Marie de la Guiche andEleonore de Bouille, on the grounds, " etc. Etc. ;

"Evidence taken, " etc. ;

"Appeals, judgments annulled, " etc. ;

"With regard to the petition of the late Claude de la Guiche and Suzannede Longaunay, dated 12th August 1658, "

"Ordered, "That the rule be made absolute;

"Which being done, Bernard de la Guiche is pronounced, maintained, anddeclared the lawfully born and legitimate son of Claude de la Guiche andSuzanne de Longaunay; in possession and enjoyment of the name and arms ofthe house of Guiche, and of all the goods left by Claude de la Guiche, his father; and Marie de la Guiche and Eleonore de Bouille areinterdicted from interfering with him;

"The petitions of Eleonore de Bouille and Marie de la Guiche, dated 4thJune 1664, 4th August 1665, 6th January, 10th February, 12th March, 15thApril, and 2nd June, 1666, are dismissed with costs;

"Declared, "That the defaults against la Pigoreau are confirmed; and that she, arraigned and convicted of the offences imputed to her, is condemned tobe hung and strangled at a gallows erected in the Place de Greve in thiscity, if taken and apprehended; otherwise, in effigy at a gallows erectedin the Place de Greve aforesaid; that all her property subject toconfiscation is seized and confiscated from whomsoever may be inpossession of it; on which property and other not subject toconfiscation, is levied a fine of eight hundred Paris livres, to be paidto the King, and applied to the maintenance of prisoners in theConciergerie of the Palace of justice, and to the costs. "

Possibly a more obstinate legal contest was never waged, on both sides, but especially by those who lost it. The countess, who played the partof the true mother in the Bible, had the case so much to heart that sheoften told the judges, when pleading her cause, that if her son were notrecognised as such, she would marry him, and convey all her property tohim. 

The young Count de la Palice became Count de Saint-Geran through thedeath of his father, married, in 1667, Claude Francoise Madeleine deFarignies, only daughter of Francois de Monfreville and of MargueriteJourdain de Carbone de Canisi. He had only one daughter, born in 1688, who became a nun. He died at the age of fifty-five years, and thus thisillustrious family became extinct. 

MURAT--1815

I--TOULON

On the 18th June, 1815, at the very moment when the destiny of Europe wasbeing decided at Waterloo, a man dressed like a beggar was silentlyfollowing the road from Toulon to Marseilles. 

Arrived at the entrance of the Gorge of Ollioulles, he halted on a littleeminence from which he could see all the surrounding country; then eitherbecause he had reached the end of his journey, or because, beforeattempting that forbidding, sombre pass which is called the Thermopylaeof Provence, he wished to enjoy the magnificent view which spread to thesouthern horizon a little longer, he went and sat down on the edge of theditch which bordered the road, turning his back on the mountains whichrise like an amphitheatre to the north of the town, and having at hisfeet a rich plain covered with tropical vegetation, exotics of aconservatory, trees and flowers quite unknown in any other part ofFrance. 

Beyond this plain, glittering in the last rays of the sun, pale andmotionless as a mirror lay the sea, and on the surface of the waterglided one brig-of-war, which, taking advantage of a fresh land breeze, had all sails spread, and was bowling along rapidly, making for Italianseas. The beggar followed it eagerly with his eyes until it disappearedbetween the Cape of Gien and the first of the islands of Hyeres, then asthe white apparition vanished he sighed deeply, let his head fall intohis hands, and remained motionless and absorbed in his reflections untilthe tramplings of a cavalcade made him start; he looked up, shook backhis long black hair, as if he wished to get rid of the gloomy thoughtswhich were overwhelming him, and, looking at the entrance to the gorgefrom whence the noise came, he soon saw two riders appear, who were nodoubt well known to him, for, drawing himself up to his full height, helet fall the stick he was carrying, and folding his arms he turnedtowards them. On their side the new-comers had hardly seen him beforethey halted, and the foremost dismounted, threw his bridle to hiscompanion, and uncovering, though fifty paces from the man in rags, advanced respectfully towards him. The beggar allowed him to approachwith an air of sombre dignity and without a single movement; then, whenhe was quite near--

"Well, marshal, have, you news for me?" said the beggar. 

"Yes, sire, " said the other sadly. 

"And what are they?"

"Such that I could wish it were anyone but myself to announce them toyour Majesty----"

"So the Emperor refuses my services! He forgets the victories ofAboukir, Eylau, and Moscow?"

"No, sire; but he remembers the treaty of Naples, the taking of Reggio, and the declaration of war of the viceroy of Italy. "

The beggar struck his forehead. 

"Yes, yes! I daresay he thinks I deserve his reproaches, and yet itseems to me that he ought to remember that there are two men in me--thesoldier whom he made his brother, and the brother whom he made a king. . . . Yes, as brother I have treated him ill--very ill, but as king, upon mysoul, I could not have acted differently. . . . I had to choose between mysword and my crown, and between a regiment and a people. Listen, Brune:you do not know how it all happened. There was an English fleet, theguns of which were growling in the port, there was a Neapolitanpopulation howling in the streets. If I had been alone, I would havepassed through the fleet with one boat, through the crowd with my swordalone, but I had a wife and children. Yet I hesitated; the idea of beingcalled traitor and deserter caused me to shed more tears than the loss ofmy throne, or perhaps the death of those I love best, will ever wringfrom me. . . . And so he will have nothing more to do with me? He refusesme as general, captain, private? Then what is left for me to do?"

"Sire, your Majesty must leave France immediately. "

"And if I don't obey?"

"My orders are to arrest you and deliver you up to a court-martial!"

"Old comrade, you will not do that?"

"I shall do it, praying God to strike me dead in the moment I lay handson you!"

"That's you all over, Brune. You have been able to remain a good, loyalfellow. He did not give you a kingdom, he did not encircle your browwith a band of iron which men call a crown and which drives one mad; hedid not place you between your conscience and your family. So I mustleave France, begin my vagabond life again, and say farewell to Toulon, which recalls so many memories to me! See, Brune, " continued Murat, leaning on the arm of the marshal, "are not the pines yonder as fine asany at the Villa Pamfili, the palms as imposing as any at Cairo, themountains as grand as any range in the Tyrol? Look to your left, is notCape Gien something like Castellamare and Sorrento--leaving out Vesuvius?And see, Saint-Mandrier at the farthest point of the gulf, is it not likemy rock of Capri, which Lamarque juggled away so cleverly from that idiotof a Sir Hudson Lowe? My God! and I must leave all this! Is there noway of remaining on this little corner of French ground--tell me, Brune!"

"You'll break my heart, sire!" answered the marshal. 

"Well, we'll say no more about it. What news?"

"The Emperor has left Paris to join the army. They must be fightingnow. "

"Fighting now and I not there! Oh, I feel I could have been of use tohim on this battlefield. How I would have gloried in charging thosemiserable Prussians and dastardly English! Brune, give me a passport, I'll go at full speed, I'll reach the army, I will make myself known tosome colonel, I shall say, 'Give me your regiment. ' I'll charge at itshead, and if the Emperor does not clasp my hand to-night, I'll blow mybrains out, I swear I will. Do what I ask, Brune, and however it mayend, my eternal gratitude will be yours!"

"I cannot, sire. "

"Well, well, say no more about it. "

"And your Majesty is going to leave France?"

"I don't know. Obey your orders, marshal, and if you come across meagain, have me arrested. That's another way of doing something for me. Life is a heavy burden nowadays. He who will relieve me of it will bewelcome. . . . Good-bye, Brune. "

He held out his hand to the marshal, who tried to kiss it; but Muratopened his arms, the two old comrades held each other fast for a moment, with swelling hearts and eyes full of tears; then at last they parted. Brune remounted his horse, Murat picked up his stick again, and the twomen went away in opposite directions, one to meet his death byassassination at Avignon, the other to be shot at Pizzo. Meanwhile, likeRichard III, Napoleon was bartering his crown against a horse atWaterloo. 

After the interview that has just been related, Murat took refuge withhis nephew, who was called Bonafoux, and who was captain of a frigate;but this retreat could only be temporary, for the relationship wouldinevitably awake the suspicions of the authorities. In consequence, Bonafoux set about finding a more secret place of refuge for his uncle. He hit on one of his friends, an avocat, a man famed for his integrity, and that very evening Bonafoux went to see him. 

After chatting on general subjects, he asked his friend if he had not ahouse at the seaside, and receiving an affirmative answer, he invitedhimself to breakfast there the next day; the proposal naturally enoughwas agreed to with pleasure. The next day at the appointed hour Bonafouxarrived at Bonette, which was the name of the country house where M. Marouin's wife and daughter were staying. M. Marouin himself was kept byhis work at Toulon. After the ordinary greetings, Bonafoux stepped tothe window, beckoning to Marouin to rejoin him. 

"I thought, " he said uneasily, "that your house was by the sea. "

"We are hardly ten minutes' walk from it. "

"But it is not in sight. "

"That hill prevents you from seeing it. "

"May we go for a stroll on the beach before breakfast is served?"

"By all means. Well, your horse is still saddled. I will order mine--Iwill come back for you. "

Marouin went out. Bonafoux remained at the window, absorbed in histhoughts. The ladies of the house, occupied in preparations for themeal, did not observe, or did not appear to observe, his preoccupation. In five minutes Marouin came back. He was ready to start. The avocatand his friend mounted their horses and rode quickly down to the sea. Onthe beach the captain slackened his pace, and riding along the shore forabout half an hour, he seemed to be examining the bearings of the coastwith great attention. Marouin followed without inquiring into hisinvestigations, which seemed natural enough for a naval officer. 

After about an hour the two men went back to the house. 

Marouin wished to have the horses unsaddled, but Bonafoux objected, saying that he must go back to Toulon immediately after lunch. Indeed, the coffee was hardly finished before he rose and took leave of hishosts. Marouin, called back to town by his work, mounted his horse too, and the two friends rode back to Toulon together. After riding along forten minutes, Bonafoux went close to his companion and touched him on thethigh--

"Marouin, " he said, "I have an important secret to confide to you. "

"Speak, captain. After a father confessor, you know there is no one sodiscreet as a notary, and after a notary an avocat. "

"You can quite understand that I did not come to your country house justfor the pleasure of the ride. A more important object, a seriousresponsibility, preoccupied me; I have chosen you out of all my friends, believing that you were devoted enough to me to render me a greatservice. "

"You did well, captain. "

"Let us go straight to the point, as men who respect and trust each othershould do. My uncle, King Joachim, is proscribed, he has taken refugewith me; but he cannot remain there, for I am the first person they willsuspect. Your house is in an isolated position, and consequently wecould not find a better retreat for him. You must put it at our disposaluntil events enable the king to come to some decision. "

"It is at your service, " said Marouin. 

"Right. My uncle shall sleep there to-night. "

"But at least give me time to make some preparations worthy of my royalguest. "

"My poor Marouin, you are giving yourself unnecessary trouble, and makinga vexatious delay for us: King Joachim is no longer accustomed to palacesand courtiers; he is only too happy nowadays to find a cottage with afriend in it; besides, I have let him know about it, so sure was I ofyour answer. He is counting on sleeping at your house to-night, and if Itry to change his determination now he will see a refusal in what is onlya postponement, and you will lose all the credit for your generous andnoble action. There--it is agreed: to-night at ten at the Champs deMars. "

With these words the captain put his horse to a gallop and disappeared. Marouin turned his horse and went back to his country house to give thenecessary orders for the reception of a stranger whose name he did notmention. 

At ten o'clock at night, as had been agreed, Marouin was on the Champs deMars, then covered with Marshal Brune's field-artillery. No one hadarrived yet. He walked up and down between the gun-carriages until afunctionary came to ask what he was doing. He was hard put to it to findan answer: a man is hardly likely to be wandering about in an artillerypark at ten o'clock at night for the mere pleasure of the thing. Heasked to see the commanding officer. The officer came up: M. Marouininformed him that he was an avocat, attached to the law courts of Toulon, and told him that he had arranged to meet someone on the Champs de Mars, not knowing that it was prohibited, and that he was still waiting forthat person. After this explanation, the officer authorised him toremain, and went back to his quarters. The sentinel, a faithful adherentto discipline, continued to pace up and down with his measured step, without troubling any more about the stranger's presence. 

A few moments later a group of several persons appeared from thedirection of Les Lices. The night was magnificent, and the moonbrilliant. Marouin recognised Bonafoux, and went up to him. The captainat once took him by the hand and led him to the king, and speaking inturn to each of them--

"Sire, " he said, "here is the friend. I told you of. "

Then turning to Marouin--

"Here, " he said, "is the King of Naples, exile and fugitive, whom Iconfide to your care. I do not speak of the possibility that some day hemay get back his crown, that would deprive you of the credit of your fineaction. . . . Now, be his guide--we will follow at a distance. March!"

The king and the lawyer set out at once together. Murat was dressed in ablue coat-semi-military, semi-civil, buttoned to the throat; he worewhite trousers and top boots with spurs; he had long hair, moustache, andthick whiskers, which would reach round his neck. 

As they rode along he questioned his host about the situation of hiscountry house and the facility for reaching the sea in case of asurprise. Towards midnight the king and Marouin arrived at Bonette; theroyal suite came up in about ten minutes; it consisted of about thirtyindividuals. After partaking of some light refreshment, this littletroop, the last of the court of the deposed king, retired to disperse inthe town and its environs, and Murat remained alone with the women, onlykeeping one valet named Leblanc. 

Murat stayed nearly a month in this retirement, spending all his time inanswering the newspapers which accused him of treason to the Emperor. This accusation was his absorbing idea, a phantom, a spectre to him; dayand night he tried to shake it off, seeking in the difficult position inwhich he had found himself all the reasons which it might offer him foracting as he had acted. Meanwhile the terrible news of the defeat atWaterloo had spread abroad. The Emperor who had exiled him was an exilehimself, and he was waiting at Rochefort, like Murat at Toulon, to hearwhat his enemies would decide against him. No one knows to this day whatinward prompting Napoleon obeyed when, rejecting the counsels of GeneralLallemande and the devotion of Captain Bodin, he preferred England toAmerica, and went like a modern Prometheus to be chained to the rock ofSt. Helena. 

We are going to relate the fortuitous circumstance which led Murat to themoat of Pizzo, then we will leave it to fatalists to draw from thisstrange story whatever philosophical deduction may please them. We, ashumble annalists, can only vouch for the truth of the facts we havealready related and of those which will follow. 

King Louis XVIII remounted his throne, consequently Murat lost all hopeof remaining in France; he felt he was bound to go. His nephew Bonafouxfitted out a frigate for the United States under the name of Prince RoccaRomana. The whole suite went on board, and they began to carry on to theboat all the valuables which the exile had been able to save from theshipwreck of his kingdom. First a bag of gold weighing nearly a hundredpounds, a sword-sheath on which were the portraits of the king, thequeen, and their children, the deed of the civil estates of his familybound in velvet and adorned with his arms. Murat carried on his person abelt where some precious papers were concealed, with about a score ofunmounted diamonds, which he estimated himself to be worth four millions. 

When all these preparations for departing were accomplished, it wasagreed that the next day, the 1st of August, at five o'clock, a boatshould fetch the king to the brig from a little bay, ten minutes' walkfrom the house where he was staying. The king spent the night making outa route for M. Marouin by which he could reach the queen, who was then inAustria, I think. 

It was finished just as it was time to leave, and on crossing thethreshold of the hospitable house where he had found refuge he gave it tohis host, slipped into a volume of a pocket edition of Voltaire. Belowthe story of 'Micromegas' the king had written: [The volume is still inthe hands of M. Marouin, at Toulon. ]

Reassure yourself, dear Caroline; although unhappy, I am free. I amdeparting, but I do not know whither I am bound. Wherever I may be myheart will be with you and my children. "J. M. "

Ten minutes later Murat and his host were waiting on the beach at Bonettefor the boat which was to take them out to the ship. 

They waited until midday, and nothing appeared; and yet on the horizonthey could see the brig which was to be his refuge, unable to lie atanchor on account of the depth of water, sailing along the coast at therisk of giving the alarm to the sentinels. 

At midday the king, worn out with fatigue and the heat of the sun, waslying on the beach, when a servant arrived, bringing variousrefreshments, which Madame Marouin, being very uneasy, had sent at allhazards to her husband. The king took a glass of wine and water and atean orange, and got up for a moment to see whether the boat he wasexpecting was nowhere visible on the vastness of the sea. There was nota boat in sight, only the brig tossing gracefully on the horizon, impatient to be off, like a horse awaiting its master. 

The king sighed and lay down again on the sand. 

The servant went back to Bonette with a message summoning M. Marouin'sbrother to the beach. He arrived in a few minutes, and almostimmediately afterwards galloped off at full speed to Toulon, in order tofind out from M. Bonafoux why the boat had not been sent to the king. Onreaching the captain's house, he found it occupied by an armed force. They were making a search for Murat. 

The messenger at last made his way through the tumult to the person hewas in search of, and he heard that the boat had started at the appointedtime, and that it must have gone astray in the creeks of Saint Louis andSainte Marguerite. This was, in fact, exactly what had happened. 

By five o'clock M. Marouin had reported the news to his brother and theking. It was bad news. The king had no courage left to defend his lifeeven by flight, he was in a state of prostration which sometimesoverwhelms the strongest of men, incapable of making any plan for his ownsafety, and leaving M. Marouin to do the best he could. Just then afisherman was coming into harbour singing. Marouin beckoned to him, andhe came up. 

Marouin began by buying all the man's fish; then, when he had paid himwith a few coins, he let some gold glitter before his eyes, and offeredhim three louis if he would take a passenger to the brig which was lyingoff the Croix-des-Signaux. The fisherman agreed to do it. This chanceof escape gave back Murat all his strength; he got up, embraced Marouin, and begged him to go to the queen with the volume of Voltaire. Then hesprang into the boat, which instantly left the shore. 

It was already some distance from the land when the king stopped the manwho was rowing and signed to Marouin that he had forgotten something. Onthe beach lay a bag into which Murat had put a magnificent pair ofpistols mounted with silver gilt which the queen had given him, and whichhe set great store on. As soon as he was within hearing he shouted hisreason for returning to his host. Marouin seized the valise, and withoutwaiting for Murat to land he threw it into the boat; the bag flew open, and one of the pistols fell out. The fisherman only glanced once at theroyal weapon, but it was enough to make him notice its richness and toarouse his suspicions. Nevertheless, he went on rowing towards thefrigate. M. Marouin seeing him disappear in the distance, left hisbrother on the beach, and bowing once more to the king, returned to thehouse to calm his wife's anxieties and to take the repose of which he wasin much need. 

Two hours later he was awakened. His house was to be searched in itsturn by soldiers. They searched every nook and corner without finding atrace of the king. Just as they were getting desperate, the brother camein; Maroum smiled at him; believing the king to be safe, but by thenew-comer's expression he saw that some fresh misfortune was in the wind. In the first moment's respite given him by his visitors he went up to hisbrother. 

"Well, " he said, "I hope the king is on board?"

"The king is fifty yards away, hidden in the outhouse. "

"Why did he come back?"

"The fisherman pretended he was afraid of a sudden squall, and refused totake him off to the brig. "

"The scoundrel!"

The soldiers came in again. 

They spent the night in fruitless searching about the house andbuildings; several times they passed within a few steps of the king, andhe could hear their threats and imprecations. At last, half an hourbefore dawn, they went away. Marouin watched them go, and when they wereout of sight he ran to the king. He found him lying in a corner, apistol clutched in each hand. The unhappy man had been overcome byfatigue and had fallen asleep. Marouin hesitated a moment to bring himback to his wandering, tormented life, but there was not a minute tolose. He woke him. 

They went down to the beach at once. A morning mist lay over the sea. They could not see anything two hundred yards ahead. They were obligedto wait. At last the first sunbeams began to pierce this nocturnal mist. It slowly dispersed, gliding over the sea as clouds move in the sky. Theking's hungry eye roved over the tossing waters before him, but he sawnothing, yet he could not banish the hope that somewhere behind thatmoving curtain he would find his refuge. Little by little the horizoncame into view; light wreaths of mist, like smoke, still floated aboutthe surface of the water, and in each of them the king thought herecognised the white sails of his vessel. The last gradually vanished, the sea was revealed in all its immensity, it was deserted. Not daringto delay any longer, the ship had sailed away in the night. 

"So, " said the king, "the die is cast. I will go to Corsica. "

The same day Marshal Brune was assassinated at Avignon. 

II--CORSICA

Once more on the same beach at Bonette, in the same bay where he hadawaited the boat in vain, still attended by his band of faithfulfollowers, we find Murat on the 22nd August in the same year. It was nolonger by Napoleon that he was threatened, it was by Louis XVIII that hewas proscribed; it was no longer the military loyalty of Marshal Brunewho came with tears in his eyes to give notice of the orders he hadreceived, but the ungrateful hatred of M. De Riviere, who had set a price[48, 000 francs. ] on the head of the man who had saved his own. [Conspiracyof Pichegru. ] M. De Riviere had indeed written to the ex-King of Naplesadvising him to abandon himself to the good faith and humanity of theKing of France, but his vague invitation had not seemed sufficientguarantee to the outlaw, especially on the part of one who had allowedthe assassination almost before his eyes of a man who carried asafe-conduct signed by himself. Murat knew of the massacre of theMamelukes at Marseilles, the assassination of Brune at Avignon; he hadbeen warned the day before by the police of Toulon that a formal orderfor his arrest was out; thus it was impossible that he should remain anylonger in France. Corsica, with its hospitable towns, its friendlymountains, its impenetrable forests, was hardly fifty leagues distant; hemust reach Corsica, and wait in its towns, mountains, and forests untilthe crowned heads of Europe should decide the fate of the man they hadcalled brother for seven years. 

At ten o'clock at, night the king went down to the shore. The boat whichwas to take him across had not reached the rendezvous, but this timethere was not the slightest fear that it would fail; the bay had beenreconnoitred during the day by three men devoted to the fallen fortunesof the king--Messieurs Blancard, Langlade, and Donadieu, all three navalofficers, men of ability and warm heart, who had sworn by their own livesto convey Murat to Corsica, and who were in fact risking their lives inorder to accomplish their promise. Murat saw the deserted shore withoutuneasiness, indeed this delay afforded him a few more moments ofpatriotic satisfaction. 

On this little patch of land, this strip of sand, the unhappy exile clungto his mother France, for once his foot touched the vessel which was tocarry him away, his separation from France would be long, if not eternal. He started suddenly amidst these thoughts and sighed: he had justperceived a sail gliding over the waves like a phantom through thetransparent darkness of the southern night. Then a sailor's song washeard; Murat recognised the appointed signal, and answered it by burningthe priming of a pistol, and the boat immediately ran inshore; but as shedrew three feet of water, she was obliged to stop ten or twelve feet fromthe beach; two men dashed into the water and reached the beach, while athird remained crouching in the stern-sheets wrapped in his boat-cloak. 

"Well, my good friends, " said the king, going towards Blancard andLanglade until he felt the waves wet his feet "the moment is come, is itnot? The wind is favourable, the sea calm, we must get to sea. "

"Yes, " answered Langlade, "yes, we must start; and yet perhaps it wouldbe wiser to wait till to-morrow. "

"Why?" asked Murat. 

Langlade did not answer, but turning towards the west, he raised hishand, and according to the habit of sailors, he whistled to call thewind. 

"That's no good, " said Donadieu, who had remained in the boat. "Here arethe first gusts; you will have more than you know what to do with in aminute. . . . Take care, Langlade, take care! Sometimes in calling thewind you wake up a storm. "

Murat started, for he thought that this warning which rose from the seahad been given him by the spirit of the waters; but the impression was apassing one, and he recovered himself in a moment. 

"All the better, " he said; "the more wind we have, the faster we shallgo. "

"Yes, " answered Langlade, "but God knows where it will take us if it goeson shifting like this. "

"Don't start to-night, sire, " said Blancard, adding his voice to those ofhis two companions. 

"But why not?"

"You see that bank of black cloud there, don't you? Well, at sunset itwas hardly visible, now it covers a good part of the sky, in an hourthere won't be a star to be seen. "

"Are you afraid?" asked Murat. 

"Afraid!" answered Langlade. "Of what? Of the storm? I might as wellask if your Majesty is afraid of a cannon-ball. We have demurred solelyon your account, sire; do you think seadogs like ourselves would delay onaccount of the storm?"

"Then let us go!" cried Murat, with a sigh. 

"Good-bye, Marouin. . . . God alone can reward you for what you have donefor me. I am at your orders, gentlemen. "

At these words the two sailors seized the king end hoisted him on totheir shoulders, and carried him into the sea; in another moment he wason board. Langlade and Blancard sprang in behind him. Donadieu remainedat the helm, the two other officers undertook the management of the boat, and began their work by unfurling the sails. Immediately the pinnaceseemed to rouse herself like a horse at touch of the spur; the sailorscast a careless glance back, and Murat feeling that they were sailingaway, turned towards his host and called for a last time--

"You have your route as far as Trieste. Do not forget my wife!. . . Good-bye-good-bye----!"

"God keep you, sire!" murmured Marouin. 

And for some time, thanks to the white sail which gleamed through thedarkness, he could follow with his eyes the boat which was rapidlydisappearing; at last it vanished altogether. Marouin lingered on theshore, though he could see nothing; then he heard a cry, made faint bythe distance; it was Murat's last adieu to France. 

When M. Marouin was telling me these details one evening on the very spotwhere it all happened, though twenty years had passed, he rememberedclearly the slightest incidents of the embarkation that night. From thatmoment he assured me that a presentiment of misfortune seized him; hecould not tear himself away from the shore, and several times he longedto call the king back, but, like a man in a dream, he opened his mouthwithout being able to utter a sound. He was afraid of being thoughtfoolish, and it was not until one o'clock that is, two and a half hoursafter the departure of the boat-that he went home with a sad and heavyheart. 

The adventurous navigators had taken the course from Toulon to Bastia, and at first it seemed to the king that the sailors' predictions werebelied; the wind, instead of getting up, fell little by little, and twohours after the departure the boat was rocking without moving forward orbackward on the waves, which were sinking from moment to moment. Muratsadly watched the phosphorescent furrow trailing behind the little boat:he had nerved himself to face a storm, but not a dead calm, and withouteven interrogating his companions, of whose uneasiness he took noaccount, he lay down in the boat, wrapped in his cloak, closing his eyesas if he were asleep, and following the flow of his thoughts, which werefar more tumultuous than that of the waters. Soon the two sailors, thinking him asleep, joined the pilot, and sitting down beside the helm, they began to consult together. 

"You were wrong, Langlade, " said Donadieu, "in choosing a craft likethis, which is either too small or else too big; in an open boat we cannever weather a storm, and without oars we can never make any way in acalm. "

"'Fore God! I had no choice. I was obliged to take what I could get, and if it had not been the season for tunny-fishing I might not even havegot this wretched pinnace, or rather I should have had to go into theharbour to find it, and they keep such a sharp lookout that I might wellhave gone in without coming out again. "

"At least it is seaworthy, " said Blancard. 

"Pardieu, you know what nails and planks are when they have been soakedin sea-water for ten years. On any ordinary occasion, a man would rathernot go in her from Marseilles to the Chateau d'If, but on an occasionlike this one would willingly go round the world in a nutshell. "

"Hush!" said Donadieu. The sailors listened; a distant growl was heard, but it was so faint that only the experienced ear of a sailor could havedistinguished it. 

"Yes, yes, " said Langlade, "it is a warning for those who have legs orwings to regain the homes and nests that they ought never to have left. "

"Are we far from the islands?" asked Donadieu quickly. 

"About a mile off. "

"Steer for them. "

"What for?" asked Murat, looking up. 

"To put in there, sire, if we can. "

"No, no, " cried Murat; "I will not land except in Corsica. I will notleave France again. Besides, the sea is calm and the wind is getting upagain--"

"Down with the sails!" shouted Donadieu. Instantly Langlade and Blancardjumped forward to carry out the order. The sail slid down the mast andfell in a heap in the bottom of the boat. 

"What are you doing?" cried Murat. "Do you forget that I am king andthat I command you?"

"Sire, " said Donadieu, "there is a king more powerful than you--God;there is a voice which drowns yours--the voice of the tempest: let ussave your Majesty if possible, and demand nothing more of us. "

Just then a flash of lightning quivered along the horizon, a clap ofthunder nearer than the first one was heard, a light foam appeared on thesurface of the water, and the boat trembled like a living thing. Muratbegan to understand that danger was approaching, then he got up smiling, threw his hat behind him, shook back his long hair, and breathed in thestorm like the smell of powder--the soldier was ready for the battle. 

"Sire, " said Donadieu, "you have seen many a battle, but perhaps you havenever watched a storm if you are curious about it, cling to the mast, foryou have a fine opportunity now. "

"What ought I to do?" said Murat. "Can I not help you in any way?"

"No, not just now, sire; later you will be useful at the pumps. "

During this dialogue the storm had drawn near; it rushed on thetravellers like a war-horse, breathing out fire and wind through itsnostrils, neighing like thunder, and scattering the foam of the wavesbeneath its feet. 

Donadieu turned the rudder, the boat yielded as if it understood thenecessity for prompt obedience, and presented the poop to the shock ofwind; then the squall passed, leaving the sea quivering, and everythingwas calm again. The storm took breath. 

"Will that gust be all?" asked Murat. 

"No, your Majesty, that was the advance-guard only; the body of the armywill be up directly. "

"And are you not going to prepare for it?" asked the king gaily. 

"What could we do?" said Donadieu. "We have not an inch of canvas tocatch the wind, and as long as we do not make too much water, we shallfloat like a cork. Look out-sire!"

Indeed, a second hurricane was on its way, bringing rain and lightning;it was swifter than the first. Donadieu endeavoured to repeat the samemanoeuvre, but he could not turn before the wind struck the boat, themast bent like a reed; the boat shipped a wave. 

"To the pumps!" cried Donadieu. "Sire, now is the moment to help us--"

Blancard, Langlade, and Murat seized their hats and began to bale out theboat. The position of the four men was terrible--it lasted three hours. 

At dawn the wind fell, but the sea was still high. They began to feelthe need of food: all the provisions had been spoiled by sea-water, onlythe wine had been preserved from its contact. 

The king took a bottle and swallowed a little wine first, then he passedit to his companions, who drank in their turn: necessity had overcomeetiquette. By chance Langlade had on him a few chocolates, which heoffered to the king. Murat divided them into four equal parts, andforced his companions to take their shares; then, when the meal was over, they steered for Corsica, but the boat had suffered so much that it wasimprobable that it would reach Bastia. 

The whole day passed without making ten miles; the boat was kept underthe jib, as they dared not hoist the mainsail, and the wind. Was sovariable that much time was lost in humouring its caprices. 

By evening the boat had drawn a considerable amount of water, itpenetrated between the boards, the handkerchiefs of the crew served toplug up the leaks, and night, which was descending in mournful gloom, wrapped them a second time in darkness. Prostrated with fatigue, Muratfell asleep, Blancard and Langlade took their places. Beside Donadieu, and the three men, who seemed insensible to the calls of sleep andfatigue, watched over his slumbers. 

The night was calm enough apparently, but low grumblings were heard nowand then. 

The three sailors looked at each other strangely and then at the king, who was sleeping at the bottom of the boat, his cloak soaked withsea-water, sleeping as soundly as he had slept on the sands of Egypt orthe snows of Russia. 

Then one of them got up and went to the other end of the boat, whistlingbetween his teeth a Provencal air; then, after examining the sky, thewaves; and the boat, he went back to his comrades and sat down, muttering, "Impossible! Except by a miracle, we shall never make theland. "

The night passed through all its phases. At dawn there was a vessel insight. 

"A sail!" cried Donadieu, --"a sail!"

At this cry the king--awoke; and soon a little trading brig hove insight, going from Corsica to Toulon. 

Donadieu steered for the brig, Blancard hoisted enough sail to work theboat, and Langlade ran to the prow and held up the king's cloak on theend of a sort of harpoon. Soon the voyagers perceived that they had beensighted, the brig went about to approach them, and in ten minutes theyfound themselves within fifty yards of it. The captain appeared in thebows. Then the king hailed him and offered him a substantial reward ifhe would receive them on board and take them to Corsica. The captainlistened to the proposal; then immediately turning to the crew, he gavean order in an undertone which Donadieu could not hear, but which heunderstood probably by the gesture, for he instantly gave Langlade andBlancard the order to make away from the schooner. They obeyed with theunquestioning promptitude of sailors; but the king stamped his foot. 

"What are you doing, Donadieu? What are you about? Don't you see thatshe is coming up to us?"

"Yes--upon my soul--so she is. . . . Do as I say, Langlade; ready, Blancard. Yes, she is coming upon us, and perhaps I was too late inseeing this. That's all right--that's all right: my part now. "

Then he forced over the rudder, giving it so violent a jerk that theboat, forced to change her course suddenly, seemed to rear and plungelike a horse struggling against the curb; finally she obeyed. A hugewave, raised by the giant bearing down on the pinnace, carried it on likea leaf, and the brig passed within a few feet of the stern. 

"Ah!. . . . Traitor!" cried the king, who had only just begun to realisethe intention of the captain. At the same time, he pulled a pistol fromhis belt, crying "Board her! board her!" and tried to fire on the brig, but the powder was wet and would not catch. The king was furious, andwent on shouting "Board her! board her!"

"Yes, the wretch, or rather the imbecile, " said Donadieu, "he took us forpirates, and wanted to sink us--as if we needed him to do that!"

Indeed, a single glance at the boat showed that she was beginning to makewater. 

The effort--to escape which Donadieu had made had strained the boatterribly, and the water was pouring in by a number of leaks between theplanks; they had to begin again bailing out with their hats, and went onat it for ten hours. Then for the second time Donadieu heard theconsoling cry, "A sail! a sail!" The king and his companions immediatelyleft off bailing; they hoisted the sails again, and steered for thevessel which was coming towards them, and neglected to fight against thewater, which was rising rapidly. 

From that time forth it was a question of time, of minutes, of seconds;it was a question of reaching the ship before the boat foundered. 

The vessel, however, seemed to understand the desperate position of themen imploring help; she was coming up at full speed. Langlade was thefirst to recognise her; she was a Government felucca plying betweenToulon and Bastia. Langlade was a friend of the captain, and he calledhis name with the penetrating voice of desperation, and he was heard. Itwas high time: the water kept on rising, and the king and his companionswere already up to their knees; the boat groaned in its death-struggle;it stood still, and began to go round and round. 

Just then two or three ropes thrown from the felucca fell upon the boat;the king seized one, sprang forward, and reached the rope-ladder: he wassaved. 

Blancard and Langlade immediately followed. Donadieu waited until thelast, as was his duty, and as he put his foot on the ladder he felt theother boat begin to go under; he turned round with all a sailor's calm, and saw the gulf open its jaws beneath him, and then the shattered boatcapsized, and immediately disappeared. Five seconds more, and the fourmen who were saved would have been lost beyond recall! [These details arewell known to the people of Toulon, and I have heard them myself a scoreof times during the two stays that I made in that town during 1834 and1835. Some of the people who related them had them first-hand fromLanglade and Donadieu themselves. ]

Murat had hardly gained the deck before a man came and fell at his feet:it was a Mameluke whom he had taken to Egypt in former years, and hadsince married at Castellamare; business affairs had taken him toMarseilles, where by a miracle he had escaped the massacre of hiscomrades, and in spite of his disguise and fatigue he had recognised hisformer master. 

His exclamations of joy prevented the king from keeping up his incognito. Then Senator Casabianca, Captain Oletta, a nephew of Prince Baciocchi, astaff-paymaster called Boerco, who were themselves fleeing from themassacres of the South, were all on board the vessel, and improvising alittle court, they greeted the king with the title of "your Majesty. " Ithad been a sudden embarkation, it brought about a swift change: he was nolonger Murat the exile; he was Joachim, the King of Naples. The exile'srefuge disappeared with the foundered boat; in its place Naples and itsmagnificent gulf appeared on the horizon like a marvellous mirage, and nodoubt the primary idea of the fatal expedition of Calabria was originatedin the first days of exultation which followed those hours of anguish. The king, however, still uncertain of the welcome which awaited him inCorsica, took the name of the Count of Campo Melle, and it was under thisname that he landed at Bastia on the 25th August. But this precautionwas useless; three days after his arrival, not a soul but knew of hispresence in the town. 

Crowds gathered at once, and cries of "Long live Joachim!" were heard, and the king, fearing to disturb the public peace, left Bastia the sameevening with his three companions and his Mameluke. Two hours later hearrived at Viscovato, and knocked at the door of General Franceschetti, who had been in his service during his whole reign, and who, leavingNaples at the same time as the king, had gone to Corsica with his wife, to live with his father-in-law, M. Colonna Cicaldi. 

He was in the middle of supper when a servant told him that a strangerwas asking to speak to him--he went out, and found Murat wrapped in amilitary greatcoat, a sailor's cap drawn down on his head, his beardgrown long, and wearing a soldier's trousers, boots, and gaiters. 

The general stood still in amazement; Murat fixed his great dark eyes onhim, and then, folding his arms:--

"Franceschetti, " said he, "have you room at your table for your general, who is hungry? Have you a shelter under your roof for your king, who isan exile?"

Franceschetti looked astonished as he recognised Joachim, and could onlyanswer him by falling on his knees and kissing his hand. From thatmoment the general's house was at Murat's disposal. 

The news of the king's arrival had hardly been handed about theneighbourhood before officers of all ranks hastened to Viscovato, veterans who had fought under him, Corsican hunters who were attracted byhis adventurous character; in a few days the general's house was turnedinto a palace, the village into a royal capital, the island into akingdom. 

Strange rumours were heard concerning Murat's intentions. An army ofnine hundred men helped to give them some amount of confirmation. It wasthen that Blancard, Donadieu, and Langlade took leave of him; Muratwished to keep them, but they had been vowed to the rescue of the exile, not to the fortunes of the king. 

We have related how Murat had met one of his former Mamelukes, a mancalled Othello, on board the Bastia mailboat. Othello had followed himto Viscovato, and the ex-King of Naples considered how to make use ofhim. Family relations recalled him naturally to Castellamare, and Muratordered him to return there, entrusting to him letters for persons onwhose devotion he could depend. Othello started, and reached hisfather-in-law's safely, and thought he could confide in him; but thelatter was horror-struck, and alarmed the police, who made a descent onOthello one night, and seized the letters. 

The next day each man to whom a letter was addressed was arrested andordered to answer Murat as if all was well, and to point out Salerno asthe best place for disembarking: five out of seven were dastards enoughto obey; the two remaining, who were two Spanish brothers, absolutelyrefused; they were thrown into a dungeon. 

However, on the 17th September, Murat left Viscovato; GeneralFranceschetti and several Corsican officers served as escort; he took theroad to Ajaccio by Cotone, the mountains of Serra and Bosco, Venaco andVivaro, by the gorges of the forest of Vezzanovo and Bogognone; he wasreceived and feted like a king everywhere, and at the gates of the townshe was met by deputations who made him speeches and saluted him with thetitle of "Majesty"; at last, on the 23rd September, he arrived atAjaccio. The whole population awaited him outside the walls, and hisentry into the town was a triumphal procession; he was taken to the innwhich had been fixed upon beforehand by the quartermasters. It wasenough to turn the head of a man less impressionable than Murat; as forhim, he was intoxicated with it. As he went into the inn he held out hishand to Franceschetti. 

"You see, " he said, "what the Neapolitans will do for me by the way theCorsicans receive me. "

It was the first mention which had escaped him of his plans for thefuture, and from that very day he began to give orders for his departure. 

They collected ten little feluccas: a Maltese, named Barbara, formercaptain of a frigate of the Neapolitan navy, was appointedcommander-in-chief of the expedition; two hundred and fifty men wererecruited and ordered to hold themselves in readiness for the firstsignal. 

Murat was only waiting for the answers to Othello's letters: they arrivedon the afternoon of the 28th. Murat invited all his officers to a granddinner, and ordered double pay and double rations to the men. 

The king was at dessert when the arrival of M. Maceroni was announcedto him: he was the envoy of the foreign powers who brought Murat theanswer which he had been awaiting so long at Toulon. Murat left thetable and went into another room. M. Maceroni introduced himself ascharged with an official mission, and handed the king the Emperor ofAustria's ultimatum. It was couched in the following terms:

 "Monsieur Maceroni is authorised by these presents to announce to King Joachim that His Majesty the Emperor of Austria will afford him shelter in his States on the following terms:--

 "1. The king is to take a private name. The queen having adopted that of Lipano, it is proposed that the king should do likewise. 

 "2. It will be permitted to the king to choose a town in Bohemia, Moravia, or the Tyrol, as a place of residence. He could even inhabit a country house in one of these same provinces without inconvenience. 

 "3. The king is to give his word of honour to His Imperial and Royal Majesty that he will never leave the States of Austria without the express-permission of the Emperor, and that he is to live like a private gentleman of distinction, but submitting to the laws in force in the States of Austria. 

 "In attestation whereof, and to guard against abuse, the undersigned has received the order of the Emperor to sign the present declaration. 

 "(Signed) PRINCE OF METTERNICH "PARIS, 1st Sept. 1815. "

Murat smiled as he finished reading, then he signed to M. Maceroni tofollow him:

He led him on to the terrace of the house, which looked over the wholetown, and over which a banner floated as it might on a royal castle. From thence they could see Ajaccio all gay and illuminated, the port withits little fleet, and the streets crowded with people, as if it were afete-day. 

Hardly had the crowd set eyes on Murat before a universal cry arose, "Long live Joachim, brother of Napoleon! Long live the King of Naples!"

Murat bowed, and the shouts were redoubled, and the garrison band playedthe national airs. 

M. Maceroni did not know how to believe his own eyes and ears. 

When the king had enjoyed his astonishment, he invited him to go down tothe drawing-room. His staff were there, all in full uniform: one mighthave been at Caserte or at Capo di Monte. At last, after a moment'shesitation, Maceroni approached Murat. 

"Sir, " he said, "what is my answer to be to His Majesty the Emperor ofAustria?"

"Sir, " answered Murat, with the lofty dignity which sat so well on hisfine face, "tell my brother Francis what you have seen and heard, and addthat I am setting out this very night to reconquer my kingdom of Naples. "

III--PIZZO

The letters which had made Murat resolve to leave Corsica had beenbrought to him by a Calabrian named Luidgi. He had presented himself tothe king as the envoy of the Arab, Othello, who had been thrown intoprison in Naples, as we have related, as well as the seven recipients ofthe letters. 

The answers, written by the head of the Neapolitan police, indicated theport of Salerno as the best place for Joachim to land; for King Ferdinandhad assembled three thousand Austrian troops at that point, not daring totrust the Neapolitan soldiers, who cherished a brilliant and enthusiasticmemory of Murat. 

Accordingly the flotilla was directed for the Gulf of Salerno, but withinsight of the island of Capri a violent storm broke over it, and drove itas far as Paola, a little seaport situated ten miles from Cosenza. Consequently the vessels were anchored for the night of the 5th ofOctober in a little indentation of the coast not worthy of the name of aroadstead. The king, to remove all suspicion from the coastguards andthe Sicilian scorridori, [Small vessels fitted up as ships-of-war. ]ordered that all lights should be extinguished and that the vesselsshould tack about during the night; but towards one o'clock such aviolent land-wind sprang up that the expedition was driven out to sea, sothat on the 6th at dawn the king's vessel was alone. 

During the morning they overhauled Captain Cicconi's felucca, and the twoships dropped anchor at four o'clock in sight of Santo-Lucido. In theevening the king commanded Ottoviani, a staff officer, to go ashore andreconnoitre. Luidgi offered to accompany him. Murat accepted hisservices. So Ottoviani and his guide went ashore, whilst Cicconi and hisfelucca put out to sea in search of the rest of the fleet. 

Towards eleven o'clock at night the lieutenant of the watch descried aman in the waves swimming to the vessel. As soon as he was withinhearing the lieutenant hailed him. The swimmer immediately made himselfknown: it was Luidgi. They put out the boat, and he came on board. Thenhe told them that Ottoviani had been arrested, and he had only escapedhimself by jumping into the sea. Murat's first idea was to go to therescue of Ottoviani; but Luidgi made the king realise the danger anduselessness of such an attempt; nevertheless, Joachim remained agitatedand irresolute until two o'clock in the morning. 

At last he gave the order to put to sea again. During the manoeuvrewhich effected this a sailor fell overboard and disappeared before theyhad time to help him. Decidedly these were ill omens. 

On the morning of the 7th two vessels were in sight. The king gave theorder to prepare for action, but Barbara recognised them as Cicconi'sfelucca and Courrand's lugger, which had joined each other and werekeeping each other company. They hoisted the necessary signals, and thetwo captains brought up their vessels alongside the admiral's. 

While they were deliberating as to what route to follow, a boat came upto Murat's vessel. Captain Pernice was on board with a lieutenant. Theycame to ask the king's permission to board his ship, not wishing toremain on Courrand's, for in their opinion he was a traitor. 

Murat sent to fetch him, and in spite of his protestations he was made todescend into a boat with fifty men, and the boat was moored to thevessel. The order was carried out at once, and the little squadronadvanced, coasting along the shores of Calabria without losing sight ofthem; but at ten o'clock in the evening, just as they came abreast of theGulf of Santa-Eufemia, Captain Courrand cut the rope which moored hisboat to the vessel, and rowed away from the fleet. 

Murat had thrown himself on to his bed without undressing; they broughthim the news. 

He rushed up to the deck, and arrived in time to see the boat, which wasfleeing in the direction of Corsica, grow small and vanish in thedistance. He remained motionless, not uttering a cry, giving no signs ofrage; he only sighed and let his head fall on his breast: it was one moreleaf falling from the exhausted tree of his hopes. 

General Franceschetti profited by this hour of discouragement to advisehim not to land in Calabria, and to go direct to Trieste, in order toclaim from Austria the refuge which had been offered. 

The king was going through one of those periods of extreme exhaustion, ofmortal depression, when courage quite gives way: he refused flatly atfirst, and there at last agreed to do it. 

Just then the general perceived a sailor lying on some coils of ropes, within hearing of all they said; he interrupted himself, and pointed himout to Murat. 

The latter got up, went to see the man, and recognised Luidgi; overcomewith exhaustion, he had fallen asleep on deck. The king satisfiedhimself that the sleep was genuine, and besides he had full confidence inthe man. The conversation, which had been interrupted for a moment, wasrenewed: it was agreed that without saying anything about the new plans, they would clear Cape Spartivento and enter the Adriatic; then the kingand the general went below again to the lower deck. 

The next day, the 8th October, they found themselves abreast of Pizzo, when Joachim, questioned by Barbara as to what he proposed to do, gavethe order to steer for Messina. Barbara answered that he was ready toobey, but that they were in need of food and water; consequently heoffered to go on, board Cicconi's vessel and to land with him to getstores. The king agreed; Barbara asked for the passports which he hadreceived from the allied powers, in order, he said, not to be molested bythe local authorities. 

These documents were too important for Murat to consent to part withthem; perhaps the king was beginning to suspect: he refused. Barbarainsisted; Murat ordered him to land without the papers; Barbara flatlyrefused. 

The king, accustomed to being obeyed, raised his riding-whip to strikethe Maltese, but, changing his resolution, he ordered the soldiers toprepare their arms, the officers to put on full uniform; he himself setthe example. The disembarkation was decided upon, and Pizzo was tobecome the Golfe Juan of the new Napoleon. 

Consequently the vessels were steered for land. The king got down into aboat with twenty-eight soldiers and three servants, amongst whom wasLuidgi. As they drew near the shore General Franceschetti made amovement as if to land, but Murat stopped him. 

"It is for me to land first, " he said, and he sprang on shore. 

He was dressed in a general's coat, white breeches and riding-boots, abelt carrying two pistols, a gold-embroidered hat with a cockade fastenedin with a clasp made of fourteen brilliants, and lastly he carried underhis arm the banner round which he hoped to rally his partisans. The townclock of Pizzo struck ten. Murat went straight up to the town, fromwhich he was hardly a hundred yards distant. He followed the wide stonestaircase which led up to it. 

It was Sunday. Mass was about to be celebrated, and the whole populationhad assembled in the Great Square when he arrived. No one recognisedhim, and everyone gazed with astonishment at the fine officer. Presentlyhe saw amongst the peasants a former sergeant of his who had served inhis guard at Naples. He walked straight up to him and put his hand onthe man's shoulder. 

"Tavella, " he said, "don't you recognise me?"

But as the man made no answer:

"I am Joachim Murat, I am your king, " he said. "Yours be the honour toshout 'Long live Joachim!' first. "

Murat's suite instantly made the air ring with acclamations, but theCalabrians remained silent, and not one of his comrades took up the cryfor which the king himself had given the signal; on the contrary, a lowmurmur ran through the crowd. Murat well understood this forerunner ofthe storm. 

"Well, " he said to Tavella, "if you won't cry 'Long live Joachim!' youcan at least fetch me a horse, and from sergeant I will promote you to becaptain. "

Tavella walked away without answering, but instead of carrying out theking's behest, went into his house, and did not appear again. 

In the meantime the people were massing together without evincing any ofthe sympathy that the king had hoped for. He felt that he was lost if hedid not act instantly. 

"To Monteleone!" he cried, springing forward towards the road which ledto that town. 

"To Monteleone!" shouted his officers and men, as they followed him. 

And the crowd, persistently silent, opened to let them pass. 

But they had hardly left the square before a great disturbance broke out. A man named Giorgio Pellegrino came out of his house with a gun andcrossed the square, shouting, "To your arms!"

He knew that Captain Trenta Capelli commanding the Cosenza garrison wasjust then in Pizzo, and he was going to warn him. 

The cry "To arms!" had more effect on the crowd than the cry "Long liveJoachim!"

Every Calabrian possesses a gun, and each one ran to fetch his, and whenTrenta Capelli and Giorgio Pellegrino came back to the square they foundnearly two hundred armed men there. 

They placed themselves at the head of the column, and hastened forward inpursuit of the king; they came up with him about ten minutes from thesquare, where the bridge is nowadays. Seeing them, Murat stopped andwaited for them. 

Trenta Capelli advanced, sword in hand, towards the king. 

"Sir, " said the latter, "will you exchange your captain's epaulettes fora general's? Cry 'Long live Joachim!' and follow me with these bravefellows to Monteleone. "

"Sire, " said Trenta Capelli, "we are the faithful subjects of KingFerdinand, and we come to fight you, and not to bear you company. Giveyourself up, if you would prevent bloodshed. "

Murat looked at the captain with an expression which it would beimpossible to describe; then without deigning to answer, he signed toCagelli to move away, while his other hand went to his pistol. GiotgioPellegrino perceived the movement. 

"Down, captain, down!" he cried. The captain obeyed. Immediately abullet whistled over his head and brushed Murat's head. 

"Fire!" commanded Franceschetti. 

"Down with your arms!" cried Murat. 

Waving his handkerchief in his right hand, he made a step towards thepeasants, but at the same moment a number of shots were fired, an officerand two or three men fell. In a case like this, when blood has begun toflow, there is no stopping it. 

Murat knew this fatal truth, and his course of action was rapidly decidedon. Before him he had five hundred armed men, and behind him a precipicethirty feet high: he sprang from the jagged rock on which he wasstanding, and alighting on the sand, jumped up safe and sound. GeneralFranceschetti and his aide-de-camp Campana were able to accomplish thejump in the same way, and all three went rapidly down to the sea throughthe little wood which lay within a hundred yards of the shore, and whichhid them for a few moments from their enemies. 

As they came out of the wood a fresh discharge greeted them, bulletswhistled round them, but no one was hit, and the three fugitives went ondown to the beach. 

It was only then that the king perceived that the boat which had broughtthem to land had gone off again. The three ships which composed thefleet, far from remaining to guard his landing, were sailing away at fullspeed into the open sea. 

The Maltese, Barbara, was going off not only with Murat's fortune, butwith his hopes likewise, his salvation, his very life. They could notbelieve in such treachery, and the king took it for some manoeuvre ofseamanship, and seeing a fishing-boat drawn up on the beach on some nets, he called to his two companions, "Launch that boat!"

They all began to push it down to the sea with the energy of despair, thestrength of agony. 

No one had dared to leap from the rock in pursuit of them; their enemies, forced to make a detour, left them a few moments of liberty. 

But soon shouts were heard: Giorgio Pellegrino, Trenta Capelli, followedby the whole population of Pizzo, rushed out about a hundred and fiftypaces from where Murat, Franceschetti, and Campana were strainingthemselves to make the boat glide down the sand. 

These cries were immediately followed by a volley. Campana fell, with abullet through his heart. 

The boat, however, was launched. Franceschetti sprang into it, Murat wasabout to follow, but he had not observed that the spurs of hisriding-boots had caught in the meshes of the net. The boat, yielding tothe push he gave it, glided away, and the king fell head foremost, withhis feet on land and his face in the water. Before he had time to pickhimself up, the populace had fallen on him: in one instant they had tornaway his epaulettes, his banner, and his coat, and would have torn him tobits himself, had not Giorgio Pellegrino and Trenta Capelli taken himunder their protection, and giving him an arm on each side, defended himin their turn against the people. Thus he crossed the square as aprisoner where an hour before he had walked as a king. 

His captors took him to the castle: he was pushed into the common prison, the door was shut upon him, and the king found himself among thieves andmurderers, who, not knowing him, took him for a companion in crime, andgreeted him with foul language and hoots of derision. 

A quarter of an hour later the door of the gaol opened and CommanderMattei came in: he found Murat standing with head proudly erect andfolded arms. There was an expression of indefinable loftiness in thishalf-naked man whose face was stained with blood and bespattered withmud. Mattei bowed before him. 

"Commander, " said Murat, recognising his rank by his epaulettes, "lookround you and tell me whether this is a prison for a king. "

Then a strange thing happened: the criminals, who, believing Murat theiraccomplice, had welcomed him with vociferations and laughter, now bentbefore his royal majesty, which had not overawed Pellegrino and TrentaCapelli, and retired silently to the depths of their dungeon. 

Misfortune had invested Murat with a new power. 

Commander Mattei murmured some excuse, and invited Murat to follow him toa room that he had had prepared for him; but before going out, Murat puthis hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of gold and let it fallin a shower in the midst of the gaol. 

"See, " he said, turning towards the prisoners, "it shall not be said thatyou have received a visit from a king, prisoner and crownless as he is, without having received largesse. "

"Long live Joachim!" cried the prisoners. 

Murat smiled bitterly. Those same words repeated by the same number ofvoices an hour before in the public square, instead of resounding in theprison, would have made him King of Naples. 

The most important events proceed sometimes from such mere trifles, thatit seems as if God and the devil must throw dice for the life or death ofmen, for the rise or fall of empires. 

Murat followed Commander Mattei: he led him to a little room which theporter had put at his disposal. Mattei was going to retire when Muratcalled him back. 

"Commander, " he said, "I want a scented bath. "

"Sire, it will be difficult to obtain. "

"Here are fifty ducats; let someone buy all the eau de Cologne that canbe obtained. Ah--and let some tailors be sent to me. "

"It will be impossible to find anyone here capable of making anything buta peasant's clothes. "

"Send someone to Monteleone to fetch them from there. "

The commander bowed and went out. 

Murat was in his bath when the Lavaliere Alcala was announced, a Generaland Governor of the town. He had sent damask coverlets, curtains, andarm-chairs. Murat was touched by this attention, and it gave him freshcomposure. At two o'clock the same day General Nunziante arrived fromSanta-Tropea with three thousand men. Murat greeted his old acquaintancewith pleasure; but at the first word the king perceived that he wasbefore his judge, and that he had not come for the purpose of making avisit, but to make an official inquiry. 

Murat contented himself with stating that he had been on his way fromCorsica to Trieste with a passport from the Emperor of Austria whenstormy weather and lack of provisions had forced him to put into Pizzo. All other questions Murat met with a stubborn silence; then at least, wearied by his importunity--

"General, " he said, "can you lend me some clothes after my bath?"

The general understood that he could expect no more information, and, bowing to the king, he went out. Ten minutes later, a complete uniformwas brought to Murat; he put it on immediately, asked for a pen and ink, wrote to the commander-in-chief of the Austrian troops at Naples, to theEnglish ambassador, and to his wife, to tell them of his detention atPizzo. These letters written, he got up and paced his room for some timein evident agitation; at last, needing fresh air, he opened the window. There was a view of the very beach where he had been captured. 

Two men were digging a hole in the sand at the foot of the littleredoubt. Murat watched them mechanically. When the two men hadfinished, they went into a neighbouring house and soon came out, bearinga corpse in their arms. 

The king searched his memory, and indeed it seemed to him that in themidst of that terrible scene he had seen someone fall, but who it was heno longer remembered. The corpse was quite without covering, but by thelong black hair and youthful outlines the king recognised Campana, theaide-decamp he had always loved best. 

This scene, watched from a prison window in the twilight, this solitaryburial on the shore, in the sand, moved Murat more deeply than his ownfate. Great tears filled his eyes and fell silently down the leonineface. At that moment General Nunziante came in and surprised him withoutstretched arms and face bathed with tears. Murat heard him enter andturned round, and seeing the old soldier's surprise. 

"Yes, general, " he said, "I weep; I weep for that boy, just twenty-four, entrusted to me by his parents, whose death I have brought about. I weepfor that vast, brilliant future which is buried in an unknown grave, inan enemy's country, on a hostile shore. Oh, Campana! Campana! if everI am king again, I will raise you a royal tomb. "

The general had had dinner served in an adjacent room. Murat followedhim and sat down to table, but he could not eat. The sight which he hadjust witnessed had made him heartbroken, and yet without a line on hisbrow that man had been through the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, and Moscow!After dinner, Murat went into his room again, gave his various letters toGeneral Nunziante, and begged to be left alone. The general went away. 

Murat paced round his room several times, walking with long steps, andpausing from time to time before the window, but without opening it. 

At last he overcame a deep reluctance, put his hand on the bolt and drewthe lattice towards him. 

It was a calm, clear night: one could see the whole shore. He looked forCampana's grave. Two dogs scratching the sand showed him the spot. 

The king shut the window violently, and without undressing threw himselfonto his bed. At last, fearing that his agitation would be attributed topersonal alarm, he undressed and went to bed, to sleep, or seem to sleepall night. 

On the morning of the 9th the tailors whom Murat had asked forarrived. He ordered a great many clothes, taking the trouble toexplain all the details suggested by his fastidious taste. He wasthus employed when General Nunziante came in. He listened sadly tothe king's commands. He had just received telegraphic despatchesordering him to try the King of Naples by court-martial as a publicenemy. But he found the king so confident, so tranquil, almostcheerful indeed, that he had not the heart to announce his trial tohim, and took upon himself to delay the opening of operation until hereceived written instructions. These arrived on the evening of the12th. They were couched in the following terms:

 NAPLES, October 9, 1815

 "Ferdinand, by the grace of God, etc . . . . Wills and decrees the following:

 "Art. 1. General Murat is to be tried by court-martial, the members whereof are to be nominated by our Minister of War. 

 "Art. 2. Only half an hour is to be accorded to the condemned for the exercises of religion. 

 "(Signed) FERDINAND. "

Another despatch from the minister contained the names of the members ofthe commission. They were:--

Giuseppe Fosculo, adjutant, commander-in-chief of the staff, president. 

Laffaello Scalfaro, chief of the legion of Lower Calabria. 

Latereo Natali, lieutenant-colonel of the Royal Marines. 

Gennaro Lanzetta, lieutenant-colonel of the Engineers. 

W. T. Captain of Artillery. 

Francois de Venge, ditto. 

Francesco Martellari, lieutenant of Artillery. 

Francesco Froio, lieutenant in the 3rd regiment of the line. 

Giovanni delta Camera, Public Prosecutor to the Criminal Courts of LowerCalabria. 

Francesco Papavassi, registrar. 

The commission assembled that night. 

On the 13th October, at six o'clock in the morning, Captain Stratti cameinto the king's prison; he was sound asleep. Stratti was going awayagain, when he stumbled against a chair; the noise awoke Murat. 

"What do you want with me, captain?" asked the king. 

Stratti tried to speak, but his voice failed him. 

"Ah ha!" said Murat, "you must have had news from Naples. "

"Yes, sire, " muttered Stratti. 

"What are they?" said Murat. 

"Your trial, sire. "

"And by whose order will sentence be pronounced, if you please? Wherewill they find peers to judge me? If they consider me as a king, I musthave a tribunal of kings; if I am a marshal of France, I must have acourt of marshals; if I am a general, and that is the least I can be, Imust have a jury of generals. "

"Sire, you are declared a public enemy, and as such you are liable to bejudged by court-martial: that is the law which you instituted yourselffor rebels. "

"That law was made for brigands, and not for crowned heads, sir, " saidMurat scornfully. "I am ready; let them butcher me if they like. I didnot think King Ferdinand capable of such an action. "

"Sire, will you not hear the names of your judges?"

"Yes, sir, I will. It must be a curious list. Read it: I am listening. "

Captain Stratti read out the names that we have enumerated. Muratlistened with a disdainful smile. 

"Ah, " he said, as the captain finished, "it seems that every precautionhas been taken. "

"How, sire?"

"Yes. Don't you know that all these men, with the exception of FrancescoFroio, the reporter; owe their promotion to me? They will be afraid ofbeing accused of sparing me out of gratitude, and save one voice, perhaps, the sentence will be unanimous. "

"Sire, suppose you were to appear before the court, to plead your owncause?"

"Silence, sir, silence!" said Murat. "I could, not officially recognisethe judges you have named without tearing too many pages of history. Such tribunal is quite incompetent; I should be disgraced if I appearedbefore it. I know I could not save my life, let me at least preserve myroyal dignity. "

At this moment Lieutenant Francesco Froio came in to interrogate theprisoner, asking his name, his age, and his nationality. Hearing thesequestions, Murat rose with an expression of sublime dignity. 

"I am Joachim Napoleon, King of the Two Sicilies, " he answered, "and Iorder you to leave me. "

The registrar obeyed. 

Then Murat partially dressed himself, and asked Stratti if he could writea farewell to his wife and children. The Captain no longer able tospeak, answered by an affirmative sign; then Joachim sat down to thetable and wrote this letter:

"DEAR CAROLINE OF MY HEART, --The fatal moment has come: I am to sufferthe death penalty. In an hour you will be a widow, our children will befatherless: remember me; never forget my memory. I die innocent; my lifeis taken from me unjustly. 

"Good-bye, Achilles good-bye, Laetitia; goodbye, Lucien; good-bye, Louise. 

"Show yourselves worthy of me; I leave you in a world and in a kingdomfull of my enemies. Show yourselves superior to adversity, and remembernever to think yourselves better than you are, remembering what you havebeen. 

"Farewell. I bless you all. Never curse my memory. Remember that theworst pang of my agony is in dying far from my children, far from mywife, without a friend to close my eyes. Farewell, my own Caroline. Farewell, my children. I send you my blessing, my most tender tears, mylast kisses. Farewell, farewell. Never forget your unhappy father, "Pizzo, Oct. 13, 1815"

[We can guarantee the authenticity of this letter, having copied itourselves at Pizzo, from the Lavaliere Alcala's copy of the original]

Then he cut off a lock of his hair and put it in his letter. Just thenGeneral Nunziante came in; Murat went to him and held out his hand. 

"General, " he said, "you are a father, you are a husband, one day youwill know what it is to part from your wife and sons. Swear to me thatthis letter shall be delivered. "

"On my epaulettes, " said the general, wiping his eyes. [Madame Muratnever received this letter. ]

"Come, come, courage, general, " said Murat; "we are soldiers, we know howto face death. One favour--you will let me give the order to fire, willyou not?"

The general signed acquiescence: just then the registrar came in with theking's sentence in his hand. 

Murat guessed what it was. 

"Read, sir, " he said coldly; "I am listening. "

The registrar obeyed. Murat was right. 

The sentence of death had been carried with only one dissentient voice. 

When the reading was finished, the king turned again to Nunziante. 

"General, " he said, "believe that I distinguish in my mind the instrumentwhich strikes me and the hand that wields that instrument. I should neverhave thought that Ferdinand would have had me shot like a dog; he doesnot hesitate apparently before such infamy. Very well. We will say nomore about it. I have challenged my judges, but not my executioners. What time have you fixed for my execution?"

"Will you fix it yourself, sir?" said the general. 

Murat pulled out a watch on which there was a portrait of his wife; bychance he turned up the portrait, and not the face of the watch; he gazedat it tenderly. 

"See, general, " he said, showing it to Nunziante; "it is a portrait ofthe queen. You know her; is it not like her?"

The general turned away his head. Murat sighed and put away the watch. 

"Well, sire, " said the registrar, "what time have you fixed?"

"Ah yes, " said Murat, smiling, "I forgot why I took out my watch when Isaw Caroline's portrait. "

Then he looked at his watch again, but this time at its face. 

"Well, it shall be at four o'clock, if you like; it is past threeo'clock. I ask for fifty minutes. Is that too much, sir?"

The registrar bowed and went out. The general was about to follow him. 

"Shall I never see you again, Nunziante?" said Murat. 

"My orders are to be present at your death, sire, but I cannot do it. "

"Very well, general. I will dispense with your presence at the lastmoment, but I should like to say farewell once more and to embrace you. "

"I will be near, sire. "

"Thank you. Now leave me alone. "

"Sire, there are two priests here. "

Murat made an impatient movement. 

"Will you receive them?" continued the general. 

"Yes; bring them in. "

The general went out. A moment later, two priests appeared in thedoorway. One of them was called Francesco Pellegrino, uncle of the manwho had caused the king's death; the other was Don Antonio Masdea. 

"What do you want here?" asked Murat. 

"We come to ask you if you are dying a Christian?"

"I am dying as a soldier. Leave me. "

Don Francesco Pellegrino retired. No doubt he felt ill at ease beforeJoachim. But Antonio Masdea remained at the door. 

"Did you not hear me?" asked the king. 

"Yes, indeed, " answered the old man; "but permit me, sire, to hope thatit was not your last word to me. It is not, the first time that I seeyou or beg something of you. I have already had occasion to ask a favourof you. "

"What was that?"

"When your Majesty came to Pizzo in 1810, I asked you for 25, 000 francsto enable us to finish our church. Your Majesty sent me 40, 000 francs. "

"I must have foreseen that I should be buried there, " said Murat, smiling. 

"Ah, sire, I should like to think that you did not refuse my second boonany more than my first. Sire, I entreat you on my knees. "

The old man fell at Murat's feet. 

"Die as a Christian!"

"That would give you pleasure, then, would it?" said the king. 

"Sire, I would give the few short days remaining to me if God would grantthat His Holy Spirit should fall upon you in your last hour. "

"Well, " said Murat, "hear my confession. I accuse myself of having beendisobedient to my parents as a child. Since I reached manhood I havedone nothing to reproach myself with. "

"Sire, will you give me an attestation that you die in the Christianfaith?"

"Certainly, " said Murat. 

And he took a pen and wrote: "I, Joachim Murat, die a Christian, believing in the Holy Catholic Church, Apostolic and Roman. "

He signed it. 

"Now, father, " continued the king, "if you have a third favour to ask ofme, make haste, for in half an hour it will be too late. "

Indeed, the castle clock was striking half-past three. The priest signedthat he had finished. 

"Then leave me alone, " said Murat; and the old man went out. 

Murat paced his room for a few moments, then he sat down on his bed andlet his head fall into his hands. Doubtless, during the quarter of anhour he remained thus absorbed in his thoughts, he saw his whole lifepass before him, from the inn where he had started to the palace he hadreached; no doubt his adventurous career unrolled itself before him likesome golden dream, some brilliant fiction, some tale from the ArabianNights. 

His life gleamed athwart the storm like a rainbow, and like a rainbow's, its two extremities were lost in clouds--the clouds of birth and death. At last he roused himself from this inward contemplation, and lifted apale but tranquil face. Then he went to the glass and arranged his hair. His strange characteristics never left him. The affianced of Death, hewas adorning himself to meet his bride. 

Four o'clock struck. 

Murat went to the door himself and opened it. 

General Nunziante was waiting for him. 

"Thank you, general, " said Murat. "You have kept your word. Kiss me, and go at once, if you like. "

The general threw himself into the king's arms, weeping, and utterlyunable to speak. 

"Courage, " said Murat. "You see I am calm. " It was this very calmnesswhich broke the general's heart. He dashed out of the corridor, and leftthe castle, running like a madman. 

Then the king walked out into the courtyard. 

Everything was ready for the execution. 

Nine men and a corporal were ranged before the door of the councilchamber. Opposite them was a wall twelve feet high. Three feet awayfrom the wall was a stone block: Murat mounted it, thus raising himselfabout a foot above the soldiers who were to execute him. Then he took outhis watch, [Madame Murat recovered this watch at the price of 200 Louis]kissed his wife's portrait, and fixing his eyes on it, gave the order tofire. At the word of command five out of the nine men fired: Muratremained standing. The soldiers had been ashamed to fire on their king, and had aimed over his head. That moment perhaps displayed mostgloriously the lionlike courage which was Murat's special attribute. Hisface never changed, he did not move a muscle; only gazing at the soldierswith an expression of mingled bitterness and gratitude, he said:

"Thank you; my friends. Since sooner or later you will be obliged to aimtrue, do not prolong my death-agonies. All I ask you is to aim at theheart and spare the face. Now----"

With the same voice, the same calm, the same expression, he repeated thefatal words one after another, without lagging, without hastening, as ifhe were giving an accustomed command; but this time, happier than thefirst, at the word "Fire!" he fell pierced by eight bullets, without asigh, without a movement, still holding the watch in his left hand. 

The soldiers took up the body and laid it on the bed where ten minutesbefore he had been sitting, and the captain put a guard at the door. 

In the evening a man presented himself, asking to go into thedeath-chamber: the sentinel refused to let him in, and he demanded aninterview with the governor of the prison. Led before him, he producedan order. The commander read it with surprise and disgust, but afterreading it he led the man to the door where he had been refused entrance. 

"Pass the Signor Luidgi, " he said to the sentinel. 

Ten minutes had hardly elapsed before he came out again, holding abloodstained handkerchief containing something to which the sentinelcould not give a name. 

An hour later, the carpenter brought the coffin which was to contain theking's remains. The workman entered the room, but instantly called thesentinel in a voice of indescribable terror. 

The sentinel half opened the door to see what had caused the man's panic. 

The carpenter pointed to a headless corpse!

At the death of King Ferdinand, that, head, preserved in spirits of wine, was found in a secret cupboard in his bedroom. 

A week after the execution of Pizzo everyone had received his reward:Trenta Capelli was made a colonel, General Nunziante a marquis, andLuidgi died from the effects of poison. 

THE MARQUISE DE BRINVILLIERS

Towards the end of the year 1665, on a fine autumn evening, there was aconsiderable crowd assembled on the Pont-Neuf where it makes a turn downto the rue Dauphine. The object of this crowd and the centre ofattraction was a closely shut, carriage. A police official was trying toforce open the door, and two out of the four sergeants who were with himwere holding the horses back and the other two stopping the driver, whopaid no attention to their commands, but only endeavoured to urge hishorses to a gallop. The struggle had been going on same time, whensuddenly one of the doors violently pushed open, and a young officer inthe uniform of a cavalry captain jumped down, shutting the door as he didso though not too quickly for the nearest spectators to perceive a womansitting at the back of the carriage. She was wrapped in cloak and veil, and judging by the precautions she, had taken to hide her face from everyeye, she must have had her reasons for avoiding recognition. 

"Sir, " said the young man, addressing the officer with a haughty air, "Ipresume, till I find myself mistaken, that your business is with mealone; so I will ask you to inform me what powers you may have for thusstopping my coach; also, since I have alighted, I desire you to give yourmen orders to let the vehicle go on. "

"First of all, " replied the man, by no means intimidated by these lordlyairs, but signing to his men that they must not release the coach or thehorses, "be so good as to answer my questions. "

"I am attending, " said the young man, controlling his agitation by avisible effort. 

"Are you the Chevalier Gaudin de Sainte-Croix?"

"I am he. "

"Captain of the Tracy, regiment?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then I arrest you in the king's name. "

"What powers have you?"

"This warrant. "

Sainte-Croix cast a rapid glance at the paper, and instantly recognisedthe signature of the minister of police: he then apparently confined hisattention to the woman who was still in the carriage; then he returned tohis first question. 

"This is all very well, sir, " he said to the officer, "but this warrantcontains no other name than mine, and so you have no right to expose thusto the public gaze the lady with whom I was travelling when you arrestedme. I must beg of you to order your assistants to allow this carriage todrive on; then take me where you please, for I am ready to go with you. "

To the officer this request seemed a just one: he signed to his men tolet the driver and the horses go on; and, they, who had waited only forthis, lost no time in breaking through the crowd, which melted awaybefore them; thus the woman escaped for whose safety the prisoner seemedso much concerned. 

Sainte-Croix kept his promise and offered no resistance; for some momentshe followed the officer, surrounded by a crowd which seemed to havetransferred all its curiosity to his account; then, at the corner of theQuai de d'Horloge, a man called up a carriage that had not been observedbefore, and Sainte-Croix took his place with the same haughty anddisdainful air that he had shown throughout the scene we have justdescribed. The officer sat beside him, two of his men got up behind, andthe other two, obeying no doubt their master's orders, retired with aparting direction to the driver, "The Bastille!"

Our readers will now permit us to make them more fully acquainted withthe man who is to take the first place in the story. The origin ofGaudin de Sainte-Croix was not known: according to one tale, he was thenatural son of a great lord; another account declared that he was theoffspring of poor people, but that, disgusted with his obscure birth, hepreferred a splendid disgrace, and therefore chose to pass for what hewas not. The only certainty is that he was born at Montauban, and inactual rank and position he was captain of the Tracy regiment. At thetime when this narrative opens, towards the end of 1665, Sainte-Croix wasabout twenty-eight or thirty, a fine young man of cheerful and livelyappearance, a merry comrade at a banquet, and an excellent captain: hetook his pleasure with other men, and was so impressionable a characterthat he enjoyed a virtuous project as well as any plan for a debauch; inlove he was most susceptible, and jealous to the point of madness evenabout a courtesan, had she once taken his fancy; his prodigality wasprincely, although he had no income; further, he was most sensitive toslights, as all men are who, because they are placed in an equivocalposition, fancy that everyone who makes any reference to their origin isoffering an intentional insult. 

We must now see by what a chain of circumstances he had arrived at hispresent position. About the year 1660, Sainte-Croix, while in the army, had made the acquaintance of the Marquis de Brinvilliers, maitre-de-campof the Normandy regiment. 

Their age was much the same, and so was their manner of life: theirvirtues and their vices were similar, and thus it happened that a mereacquaintance grew into a friendship, and on his return from the field themarquis introduced Sainte-Croix to his wife, and he became an intimate ofthe house. The usual results followed. Madame de Brinvilliers was thenscarcely eight-and-twenty: she had married the marquis in 1651-that is, nine years before. He enjoyed an income of 30, 000 livres, to which sheadded her dowry of 200, 000 livres, exclusive of her expectations in thefuture. Her name was Marie-Madeleine; she had a sister and two brothers:her father, M. De Dreux d'Aubray; was civil lieutenant at the Chatelet deParis. At the age of twenty-eight the marquise was at the height of herbeauty: her figure was small but perfectly proportioned; her rounded facewas charmingly pretty; her features, so regular that no emotion seemed toalter their beauty, suggested the lines of a statue miraculously endowedwith life: it was easy enough to mistake for the repose of a happyconscience the cold, cruel calm which served as a mask to cover remorse. 

Sainte-Croix and the marquise loved at first sight, and she was soon hismistress. The marquis, perhaps endowed with the conjugal philosophywhich alone pleased the taste of the period, perhaps too much occupiedwith his own pleasure to see what was going on before his eyes, offeredno jealous obstacle to the intimacy, and continued his foolishextravagances long after they had impaired his fortunes: his affairsbecame so entangled that the marquise, who cared for him no longer, anddesired a fuller liberty for the indulgence of her new passion, demandedand obtained a separation. She then left her husband's house, andhenceforth abandoning all discretion, appeared everywhere in public withSainte-Croix. This behaviour, authorised as it was by the example of thehighest nobility, made no impression upon the. Marquis of Brinvilliers, who merrily pursued the road to ruin, without worrying about his wife'sbehaviour. Not so M. De Dreux d'Aubray: he had the scrupulosity of alegal dignitary. He was scandalised at his daughter's conduct, andfeared a stain upon his own fair name: he procured a warrant for thearrest of Sainte-Croix wheresoever the bearer might chance to encounterhim. We have seen how it was put in execution when Sainte-Croix wasdriving in the carriage of the marquise, whom our readers will doubtlesshave recognised as the woman who concealed herself so carefully. 

From one's knowledge of the character of Sainte-Croix, it is easy toimagine that he had to use great self-control to govern the anger he feltat being arrested in the middle of the street; thus, although during thewhole drive he uttered not a single word, it was plain to see that aterrible storm was gathering, soon to break. But he preserved the sameimpossibility both at the opening and shutting of the fatal gates, which, like the gates of hell, had so often bidden those who entered abandon allhope on their threshold, and again when he replied to the formalquestions put to him by the governor. His voice was calm, and when theygave him they prison register he signed it with a steady hand. At once agaoler, taking his orders from the governor, bade him follow: aftertraversing various corridors, cold and damp, where the daylight mightsometimes enter but fresh air never, he opened a door, and Sainte-Croixhad no sooner entered than he heard it locked behind him. 

At the grating of the lock he turned. The gaoler had left him with nolight but the rays of the moon, which, shining through a barred windowsome eight or ten feet from the ground, shed a gleam upon a miserabletruckle-bed and left the rest of the room in deep obscurity. Theprisoner stood still for a moment and listened; then, when he had heardthe steps die away in the distance and knew himself to be alone at last, he fell upon the bed with a cry more like the roaring of a wild beastthan any human sound: he cursed his fellow-man who had snatched him fromhis joyous life to plunge him into a dungeon; he cursed his God who hadlet this happen; he cried aloud to whatever powers might be that couldgrant him revenge and liberty. 

Just at that moment, as though summoned by these words from the bowels ofthe earth, a man slowly stepped into the circle of blue light that fellfrom the window-a man thin and pale, a man with long hair, in a blackdoublet, who approached the foot of the bed where Sainte-Croix lay. Brave as he was, this apparition so fully answered to his prayers (and atthe period the power of incantation and magic was still believed in) thathe felt no doubt that the arch-enemy of the human race, who iscontinually at hand, had heard him and had now come in answer to hisprayers. He sat up on the bed, feeling mechanically at the place wherethe handle of his sword would have been but two hours since, feeling hishair stand on end, and a cold sweat began to stream down his face as thestrange fantastic being step by step approached him. At length theapparition paused, the prisoner and he stood face to face for a moment, their eyes riveted; then the mysterious stranger spoke in gloomy tones. 

"Young man, " said he, "you have prayed to the devil for vengeance on themen who have taken you, for help against the God who has abandoned you. I have the means, and I am here to proffer it. Have you the courage toaccept?"

"First of all, " asked Sainte-Croix; "who are you?"

"Why seek you to know who I am, " replied the unknown, "at the very momentwhen I come at your call, and bring what you desire?"

"All the same, " said Sainte-Croix, still attributing what he heard to asupernatural being, "when one makes a compact of this kind, one prefersto know with whom one is treating. "

"Well, since you must know, " said the stranger, "I am the Italian Exili. "

Sainte-Croix shuddered anew, passing from a supernatural vision to ahorrible reality. The name he had just heard had a terrible notoriety atthe time, not only in France but in Italy as well. Exili had been drivenout of Rome, charged with many poisonings, which, however, could not besatisfactorily brought home to him. He had gone to Paris, and there, asin his native country, he had drawn the eyes of the authorities uponhimself; but neither in Paris nor in Rome was he, the pupil of Rene andof Trophana, convicted of guilt. All the same, though proof was wanting, his enormities were so well accredited that there was no scruple as tohaving him arrested. A warrant was out against him: Exili was taken up, and was lodged in the Bastille. He had been there about six months whenSainte-Croix was brought to the same place. The prisoners were numerousjust then, so the governor had his new guest put up in the same room asthe old one, mating Exili and Sainte-Croix, not knowing that they were apair of demons. Our readers now understand the rest. Sainte-Croix wasput into an unlighted room by the gaoler, and in the dark had failed tosee his companion: he had abandoned himself to his rage, his imprecationshad revealed his state of mind to Exili, who at once seized the occasionfor gaining a devoted and powerful disciple, who once out of prison mightopen the doors for him, perhaps, or at least avenge his fate should he beincarcerated for life. 

The repugnance felt by Sainte-Croix for his fellow-prisoner did not lastlong, and the clever master found his pupil apt. Sainte-Croix, a strangemixture of qualities good and evil, had reached the supreme crisis of hislife, when the powers of darkness or of light were to prevail. Maybe, ifhe had met some angelic soul at this point, he would have been led toGod; he encountered a demon, who conducted him to Satan. 

Exili was no vulgar poisoner: he was a great artist in poisons, comparable with the Medici or the Borgias. For him murder was a fineart, and he had reduced it to fixed and rigid rules: he had arrived at apoint when he was guided not by his personal interest but by a taste forexperiment. God has reserved the act of creation for Himself, but hassuffered destruction to be within the scope of man: man thereforesupposes that in destroying life he is God's equal. Such was the natureof Exili's pride: he was the dark, pale alchemist of death: others mightseek the mighty secret of life, but he had found the secret ofdestruction. 

For a time Sainte-Croix hesitated: at last he yielded to the taunts ofhis companion, who accused Frenchmen of showing too much honour in theircrimes, of allowing themselves to be involved in the ruin of theirenemies, whereas they might easily survive them and triumph over theirdestruction. In opposition to this French gallantry, which ofteninvolves the murderer in a death more cruel than that he has given, hepointed to the Florentine traitor with his amiable smile and his deadlypoison. He indicated certain powders and potions, some of them of dullaction, wearing out the victim so slowly that he dies after longsuffering; others violent and so quick, that they kill like a flash oflightning, leaving not even time for a single cry. Little by littleSainte-Croix became interested in the ghastly science that puts the livesof all men in the hand of one. He joined in Exili's experiments; then hegrew clever enough to make them for himself; and when, at the year's end, he left the Bastille, the pupil was almost as accomplished as his master. 

Sainte-Croix returned into that society which had banished him, fortifiedby a fatal secret by whose aid he could repay all the evil he hadreceived. Soon afterwards Exili was set free--how it happened is notknown--and sought out Sainte-Croix, who let him a room in the name of hissteward, Martin de Breuille, a room situated in the blind, alley off thePlace Maubert, owned by a woman called Brunet. 

It is not known whether Sainte-Croix had an opportunity of seeing theMarquise de Brinvilliers during his sojourn in the Bastille, but it iscertain that as soon as he was a free man the lovers were more attachedthan ever. They had learned by experience, however, of what they had tofear; so they resolved that they would at once make trial ofSainte-Croix's newly acquired knowledge, and M. D'Aubray was selected byhis daughter for the first victim. At one blow she would free herselffrom the inconvenience of his rigid censorship, and by inheriting hisgoods would repair her own fortune, which had been almost dissipated byher husband. But in trying such a bold stroke one must be very sure ofresults, so the marquise decided to experiment beforehand on anotherperson. Accordingly, when one day after luncheon her maid, FrancoiseRoussel, came into her room, she gave her a slice of mutton and somepreserved gooseberries for her own meal. The girl unsuspiciously atewhat her mistress gave her, but almost at once felt ill, saying she hadsevere pain in the stomach, and a sensation as though her heart werebeing pricked with pins. But she did not die, and the marquise perceivedthat the poison needed to be made stronger, and returned it toSainte-Croix, who brought her some more in a few days' time. 

The moment had come for action. M. D'Aubray, tired with business, was tospend a holiday at his castle called Offemont. The marquise offered togo with him. M. D'Aubray, who supposed her relations with Sainte-Croixto be quite broken off, joyfully accepted. Offemont was exactly theplace for a crime of this nature. In the middle of the forest of Aigue, three or four miles from Compiegne, it would be impossible to getefficient help before the rapid action of the poison had made it useless. 

M. D'Aubray started with his daughter and one servant only. Never hadthe marquise been so devoted to her father, so especially attentive, asshe was during this journey. And M. D'Aubray, like Christ--who though Hehad no children had a father's heart--loved his repentant daughter morethan if she had never strayed. And then the marquise profited by theterrible calm look which we have already noticed in her face: always withher father, sleeping in a room adjoining his, eating with him, caring forhis comfort in every way, thoughtful and affectionate, allowing no otherperson to do anything for him, she had to present a smiling face, inwhich the most suspicious eye could detect nothing but filial tenderness, though the vilest projects were in her heart. With this mask she oneevening offered him some soup that was poisoned. He took it; with hereyes she saw him put it to his lips, watched him drink it down, and witha brazen countenance she gave no outward sign of that terrible anxietythat must have been pressing on her heart. When he had drunk it all, andshe had taken with steady hands the cup and its saucer, she went back toher own room, waited and listened. . . . 

The effect was rapid. The marquise heard her father moan; then she heardgroans. At last, unable to endure his sufferings, he called out to hisdaughter. The marquise went to him. But now her face showed signs ofthe liveliest anxiety, and it was for M. D'Aubray to try to reassure herabout himself! He thought it was only a trifling indisposition, and wasnot willing that a doctor should be disturbed. But then he was seized bya frightful vomiting, followed by such unendurable pain that he yieldedto his daughter's entreaty that she should send for help. A doctorarrived at about eight o'clock in the morning, but by that time all thatcould have helped a scientific inquiry had been disposed of: the doctorsaw nothing, in M. D'Aubray's story but what might be accounted for byindigestion; so he dosed him, and went back to Compiegne. 

All that day the marquise never left the sick man. At night she had abed made up in his room, declaring that no one else must sit up with him;thus she, was able to watch the progress of the malady and see with herown eyes the conflict between death and life in the body of her father. The next day the doctor came again: M. D'Aubray was worse; the nausea hadceased, but the pains in the stomach were now more acute; a strange fireseemed to burn his vitals; and a treatment was ordered which necessitatedhis return to Paris. He was soon so weak that he thought it might bebest to go only so far as Compiegne, but the marquise was so insistent asto the necessity for further and better advice than anything he could getaway from home, that M. D'Aubray decided to go. He made the journey inhis own carriage, leaning upon his daughter's shoulder; the behaviour ofthe marquise was always the same: at last M. D'Aubray reached Paris. Allhad taken place as the marquise desired; for the scene was now changed:the doctor who had witnessed the symptoms would not be present at thedeath; no one could discover the cause by studying the progress of thedisorder; the thread of investigation was snapped in two, and the twoends were now too distant to be joined again. In spite, of everypossible attention, M. D'Aubray grew continually worse; the marquise wasfaithful to her mission, and never left him for an hour. At list, afterfour days of agony, he died in his daughter's arms, blessing the womanwho was his murderess. Her grief then broke forth uncontrolled. Hersobs and tears were so vehement that her brothers' grief seemed coldbeside hers. Nobody suspected a crime, so no autopsy was held; the tombwas closed, and not the slightest suspicion had approached her. 

But the marquise had only gained half her purpose. She had now morefreedom for her love affairs, but her father's dispositions were not sofavourable as she expected: the greater part of his property, togetherwith his business, passed to the elder brother and to the second brother, who was Parliamentary councillor; the position of, the marquise was verylittle improved in point of fortune. 

Sainte-Croix was leading a fine and joyous life. Although nobodysupposed him to be wealthy, he had a steward called Martin, three lackeyscalled George, Lapierre, and Lachaussee, and besides his coach and othercarriages he kept ordinary bearers for excursions at night. As he wasyoung and good-looking, nobody troubled about where all these luxuriescame from. It was quite the custom in those days that a well-set-upyoung gentleman should want for nothing, and Sainte-Croix was commonlysaid to have found the philosopher's stone. In his life in the world hehad formed friendships with various persons, some noble, some rich: amongthe latter was a man named Reich de Penautier, receiver-general of theclergy and treasurer of the States of Languedoc, a millionaire, and oneof those men who are always successful, and who seem able by the help oftheir money to arrange matters that would appear to be in the province ofGod alone. This Penautier was connected in business with a man calledd'Alibert, his first clerk, who died all of a sudden of apoplexy. Theattack was known to Penautier sooner than to his own family: then thepapers about the conditions of partnership disappeared, no one knew how, and d'Alibert's wife and child were ruined. D'Alibert's brother-in-law, who was Sieur de la Magdelaine, felt certain vague suspicions concerningthis death, and wished to get to the bottom of it; he accordingly beganinvestigations, which were suddenly brought to an end by his death. 

In one way alone Fortune seemed to have abandoned her favourite: MaitrePenautier had a great desire to succeed the Sieur of Mennevillette, whowas receiver of the clergy, and this office was worth nearly 60, 000livres. Penautier knew that Mennevillette was retiring in favour of hischief clerk, Messire Pierre Hannyvel, Sieur de Saint-Laurent, and he hadtaken all the necessary, steps for buying the place over his head: theSieur de Saint-Laurent, with the full support of the clergy, obtained thereversion for nothing--a thing that never happened before. Penautierthen offered him 40, 000 crowns to go halves, but Saint-Laurent refused. Their relations, however, were not broken off, and they continued tomeet. Penautier was considered such a lucky fellow that it was generallyexpected he would somehow or other get some day the post he coveted sohighly. People who had no faith in the mysteries of alchemy declared thatSainte-Croix and Penautier did business together. 

Now, when the period for mourning was over, the relations of the marquiseand Sainte-Croix were as open and public as before: the two brothersd'Aubray expostulated with her by the medium of an older sister who wasin a Carmelite nunnery, and the marquise perceived that her father had onhis death bequeathed the care and supervision of her to her brothers. Thus her first crime had been all but in vain: she had wanted to get ridof her father's rebukes and to gain his fortune; as a fact the fortunewas diminished by reason of her elder brothers, and she had scarcelyenough to pay her debts; while the rebukes were renewed from the mouthsof her brothers, one of whom, being civil lieutenant, had the power toseparate her again from her lover. This must be prevented. Lachausseeleft the service of Sainte-Croix, and by a contrivance of the marquisewas installed three months later as servant of the elder brother, wholived with the civil lieutenant. The poison to be used on this occasionwas not so swift as the one taken by M. D'Aubray so violent a deathhappening so soon in the same family might arouse suspicion. Experimentswere tried once more, not on animals--for their different organisationmight put the poisoner's science in the wrong--but as before upon humansubjects; as before, a 'corpus vili' was taken. The marquise had thereputation of a pious and charitable lady; seldom did she fail to relievethe poor who appealed: more than this, she took part in the work of thosedevoted women who are pledged to the service of the sick, and she walkedthe hospitals and presented wine and other medicaments. No one wassurprised when she appeared in her ordinary way at l'Hotel-Dieu. Thistime she brought biscuits and cakes for the convalescent patients, hergifts being, as usual, gratefully received. A month later she paidanother visit, and inquired after certain patients in whom she wasparticularly interested: since the last time she came they had suffered arelapse--the malady had changed in nature, and had shown graver symptoms. It was a kind of deadly fatigue, killing them by a slows strange decay. She asked questions of the doctors but could learn nothing: this maladywas unknown to them, and defied all the resources of their art. Afortnight later she returned. Some of the sick people were dead, othersstill alive, but desperately ill; living skeletons, all that seemed leftof them was sight, speech, and breath. At the end of two months theywere all dead, and the physicians had been as much at a loss over thepost-mortems as over the treatment of the dying. 

Experiments of this kind were reassuring; so Lachaussee had orders tocarry out his instructions. One day the civil lieutenant rang his bell, and Lachaussee, who served the councillor, as we said before, came up fororders. He found the lieutenant at work with his secretary, Couste whathe wanted was a glass of wine and water. In a moment Lachaussee broughtit in. The lieutenant put the glass to his lips, but at the first sippushed it away, crying, "What have you brought, you wretch? I believeyou want to poison me. " Then handing the glass to his secretary, headded, "Look at it, Couste: what is this stuff?" The secretary put a fewdrops into a coffee-spoon, lifting it to his nose and then to his mouth:the drink had the smell and taste of vitriol. Meanwhile Lachaussee wentup to the secretary and told him he knew what it must be: one of thecouncillor's valets had taken a dose of medicine that morning, andwithout noticing he must have brought the very glass his companion hadused. Saying this, he took the glass from the secretary's hand, put itto his lips, pretending to taste it himself, and then said he had nodoubt it was so, for he recognised the smell. He then threw the wineinto the fireplace. 

As the lieutenant had not drunk enough to be upset by it, he soon forgotthis incident and the suspicions that had been aroused at the moment inhis mind. Sainte-Croix and the marquise perceived that they had made afalse step, and at the risk of involving several people in their plan forvengeance, they decided on the employment of other means. Three monthspassed without any favourable occasion presenting itself; at last, on oneof the early days of April 1670, the lieutenant took his brother to hiscountry place, Villequoy, in Beauce, to spend the Easter vacation. Lachaussee was with his master, and received his instructions at themoment of departure. 

The day after they arrived in the country there was a pigeon-pie fordinner: seven persons who had eaten it felt indisposed after the meal, and the three who had not taken it were perfectly well. Those on whomthe poisonous substance had chiefly acted were the lieutenant, thecouncillor, and the commandant of the watch. He may have eaten more, orpossibly the poison he had tasted on the former occasion helped, but atany rate the lieutenant was the first to be attacked with vomiting twohours later, the councillor showed the same symptoms; the commandant andthe others were a prey for several hours to frightful internal pains; butfrom the beginning their condition was not nearly so grave as that of thetwo brothers. This time again, as usual, the help of doctors wasuseless. On the 12th of April, five days after they had been poisoned, the lieutenant and his brother returned to Paris so changed that anyonewould have thought they had both suffered a long and cruel illness. Madame de Brinvilliers was in the country at the time, and did not comeback during the whole time that her brothers were ill. From the veryfirst consultation in the lieutenant's case the doctors entertained nohope. The symptoms were the same as those to which his father hadsuccumbed, and they supposed it was an unknown disease in the family. They gave up all hope of recovery. Indeed, his state grew worse andworse; he felt an unconquerable aversion for every kind of food, and thevomiting was incessant. The last three days of his life he complainedthat a fire was burning in his breast, and the flames that burned withinseemed to blaze forth at his eyes, the only part of his body thatappeared to live, so like a corpse was all the rest of him. On the 17thof June 1670 he died: the poison had taken seventy-two days to completeits work. Suspicion began to dawn: the lieutenant's body was opened, anda formal report was drawn up. The operation was performed in thepresence of the surgeons Dupre and Durant, and Gavart, the apothecary, byM. Bachot, the brothers' private physician. They found the stomach andduodenum to be black and falling to pieces, the liver burnt andgangrened. They said that this state of things must have been producedby poison, but as the presence of certain bodily humours sometimesproduces similar appearances, they durst not declare that thelieutenant's death could not have come about by natural causes, and hewas buried without further inquiry. 

It was as his private physician that Dr. Bachot had asked for the autopsyof his patient's brother. For the younger brother seemed to have beenattacked by the same complaint, and the doctor hoped to find from thedeath of the one some means for preserving the life of the other. Thecouncillor was in a violent fever, agitated unceasingly both in body andmind: he could not bear any position of any kind for more than a fewminutes at a time. Bed was a place of torture; but if he got up, hecried for it again, at least for a change of suffering. At the end ofthree months he died. His stomach, duodenum, and liver were all in thesame corrupt state as his brother's, and more than that, the surface ofhis body was burnt away. This, said the doctors; was no dubious sign ofpoisoning; although, they added, it sometimes happened that a 'cacochyme'produced the same effect. Lachaussee was so far from being suspected, that the councillor, in recognition of the care he had bestowed on him inhis last illness, left him in his will a legacy of a hundred crowns;moreover, he received a thousand francs from Sainte-Croix and themarquise. 

So great a disaster in one family, however, was not only sad butalarming. Death knows no hatred: death is deaf and blind, nothing more, and astonishment was felt at this ruthless destruction of all who boreone name. Still nobody suspected the true culprits, search wasfruitless, inquiries led nowhere: the marquise put on mourning for herbrothers, Sainte-Croix continued in his path of folly, and all thingswent on as before. Meanwhile Sainte-Croix had made the acquaintance ofthe Sieur de Saint Laurent, the same man from whom Penautier had askedfor a post without success, and had made friends with him. Penautier hadmeanwhile become the heir of his father-in-law, the Sieur Lesecq, whosedeath had most unexpectedly occurred; he had thereby gained a second postin Languedoc and an immense property: still, he coveted the place ofreceiver of the clergy. Chance now once more helped him: a few days aftertaking over from Sainte-Croix a man-servant named George, M. DeSaint-Laurent fell sick, and his illness showed symptoms similar to thoseobserved in the case of the d'Aubrays, father and sons; but it was morerapid, lasting only twenty-four hours. Like them, M. De Saint-Laurentdied a prey to frightful tortures. The same day an officer from thesovereign's court came to see him, heard every detail connected with hisfriend's death, and when told of the symptoms said before the servants toSainfray the notary that it would be necessary to examine the body. Anhour later George disappeared, saying nothing to anybody, and not evenasking for his wages. Suspicions were excited; but again they remainedvague. The autopsy showed a state of things not precisely to be calledpeculiar to poisoning cases the intestines, which the fatal poison hadnot had time to burn as in the case of the d'Aubrays, were marked withreddish spots like flea-bites. In June Penautier obtained the post thathad been held by the Sieur de Saint-Laurent. 

But the widow had certain suspicions which were changed into somethinglike certainty by George's flight. A particular circumstance aided andalmost confirmed her doubts. An abbe who was a friend of her husband, and knew all about the disappearance of George, met him some daysafterwards in the rue des Masons, near the Sorbonne. They were both onthe same side, and a hay-cart coming along the street was causing ablock. George raised his head and saw the abbe, knew him as a friend ofhis late master, stooped under the cart and crawled to the other side, thus at the risk of being crushed escaping from the eyes of a man whoseappearance recalled his crime and inspired him with fear of punishment. Madame de Saint-Laurent preferred a charge against George, but though hewas sought for everywhere, he could never be found. Still the report ofthese strange deaths, so sudden and so incomprehensible, was bruitedabout Paris, and people began to feel frightened. Sainte-Croix, alwaysin the gay world, encountered the talk in drawing-rooms, and began tofeel a little uneasy. True, no suspicion pointed as yet in hisdirection; but it was as well to take precautions, and Sainte-Croix beganto consider how he could be freed from anxiety. There was a post in theking's service soon to be vacant, which would cost 100, 000 crowns; andalthough Sainte-Croix had no apparent means, it was rumoured that he wasabout to purchase it. He first addressed himself to Belleguise to treatabout this affair with Penautier. There was some difficulty, however, tobe encountered in this quarter. The sum was a large one, and Penautierno longer required help; he had already come into all the inheritance helooked for, and so he tried to throw cold water on the project. 

Sainte-Croix thus wrote to Belleguise:

"DEAR FRIEND, --Is it possible that you need any more talking to about thematter you know of, so important as it is, and, maybe, able to give uspeace and quiet for the rest of our days! I really think the devil mustbe in it, or else you simply will not be sensible: do show your commonsense, my good man, and look at it from all points of view; take it atits very worst, and you still ought to feel bound to serve me, seeing howI have made everything all right for you: all our interests are togetherin this matter. Do help me, I beg of you; you may feel sure I shall bedeeply grateful, and you will never before have acted so agreeably bothfor me and for yourself. You know quite enough about it, for I have notspoken so openly even to my own brother as I have to you. If you cancome this afternoon, I shall be either at the house or quite near athand, you know where I mean, or I will expect you tomorrow morning, or Iwill come and find you, according to what you reply. --Always yours withall my heart. "

The house meant by Sainte-Croix was in the rue des Bernardins, and theplace near at hand where he was to wait for Belleguise was the room heleased from the widow Brunet, in the blind alley out of the PlaceMaubert. It was in this room and at the apothecary Glazer's thatSainte-Croix made his experiments; but in accordance with poeticaljustice, the manipulation of the poisons proved fatal to the workersthemselves. The apothecary fell ill and died; Martin was attacked byfearful sickness, which brought, him to death's door. Sainte-Croix wasunwell, and could not even go out, though he did not know what was thematter. He had a furnace brought round to his house from Glazer's, andill as he was, went on with the experiments. Sainte-Croix was thenseeking to make a poison so subtle that the very effluvia might be fatal. He had heard of the poisoned napkin given to the young dauphin, elderbrother of Charles VII, to wipe his hands on during a game of tennis, andknew that the contact had caused his death; and the still discussedtradition had informed him of the gloves of Jeanne d'Albret; the secretwas lost, but Sainte-Croix hoped to recover it. And then there happenedone of those strange accidents which seem to be not the hand of chancebut a punishment from Heaven. At the very moment when Sainte-Croix wasbending over his furnace, watching the fatal preparation as it becamehotter and hotter, the glass mask which he wore over his face as aprotection from any poisonous exhalations that might rise up from themixture, suddenly dropped off, and Sainte-Croix dropped to the ground asthough felled by a lightning stroke. At supper-time, his wife findingthat he did not come out from his closet where he was shut in, knocked atthe door, and received no answer; knowing that her husband was wont tobusy himself with dark and mysterious matters, she feared some disasterhad occurred. She called her servants, who broke in the door. Then shefound Sainte-Croix stretched out beside the furnace, the broken glasslying by his side. It was impossible to deceive the public as to thecircumstances of this strange and sudden death: the servants had seen thecorpse, and they talked. The commissary Picard was ordered to affix theseals, and all the widow could do was to remove the furnace and thefragments of the glass mask. 

The noise of the event soon spread all over Paris. Sainte-Croix wasextremely well known, and the, news that he was about to purchase a postin the court had made him known even more widely. Lachaussee was one ofthe first to learn of his master's death; and hearing that a seal hadbeen set upon his room, he hastened to put in an objection in theseterms:

"Objection of Lachaussee, who asserts that for seven years he was in theservice of the deceased; that he had given into his charge, two yearsearlier, 100 pistoles and 200 white crowns, which should be found in acloth bag under the closet window, and in the same a paper stating thatthe said sum belonged to him, together with the transfer of 300 livresowed to him by the late M. D'Aubray, councillor; the said transfer madeby him at Laserre, together with three receipts from his master ofapprenticeship, 100 livres each: these moneys and papers he claims. "

To Lachaussee the reply was given that he must wait till the day when theseals were broken, and then if all was as he said, his property would bereturned. 

But Lachaussee was not the only person who was agitated about the deathof Sainte-Croix. The, marquise, who was familiar with all the secrets ofthis fatal closet, had hurried to the commissary as 2496 soon as sheheard of the event, and although it was ten o'clock at night had demandedto speak with him. But he had replied by his head clerk, Pierre Frater, that he was in bed; the marquise insisted, begging them to rouse him up, for she wanted a box that she could not allow to have opened. The clerkthen went up to the Sieur Picard's bedroom, but came back saying thatwhat the marquise demanded was for the time being an impossibility, forthe commissary was asleep. She saw that it was idle to insist, and wentaway, saying that she should send a man the next morning to fetch thebox. In the morning the man came, offering fifty Louis to the commissaryon behalf of the marquise, if he would give her the box. But he repliedthat the box was in the sealed room, that it would have to be opened, andthat if the objects claimed by the marquise were really hers, they wouldbe safely handed over to her. This reply struck the marquise like athunderbolt. There was no time to be lost: hastily she removed from therue Neuve-Saint-Paul, where her town house was, to Picpus, her countryplace. Thence she posted the same evening to Liege, arriving the nextmorning, and retired to a convent. 

The seals had been set on the 31st of July 1672, and they were taken offon the 8th of August following. Just as they set to work a lawyercharged with full powers of acting for the marquise, appeared and put inthe following statement: "Alexandre Delamarre, lawyer acting for theMarquise de Brinvilliers, has come forward, and declares that if in thebox claimed by his client there is found a promise signed by her for thesum of 30, 000 livres, it is a paper taken from her by fraud, againstwhich, in case of her signature being verified, she intends to lodge anappeal for nullification. " This formality over, they proceeded to openSainte-Croix's closet: the key was handed to the commissary Picard by aCarmelite called Friar Victorin. The commissary opened the door, andentered with the parties interested, the officers, and the widow, andthey began by setting aside the loose papers, with a view to taking themin order, one at a time. While they were thus busy, a small roll felldown, on which these two words were written: "My Confession. " Allpresent, having no reason to suppose Sainte-Croix a bad man, decided thatthis paper ought not to be read. The deputy for the attorney general onbeing consulted was of this opinion, and the confession of Sainte-Croixwas burnt. This act of conscience performed, they proceeded to make aninventory. One of the first objects that attracted the attention of theofficers was the box claimed by Madame de Brinvilliers. Her insistencehad provoked curiosity, so they began with it. Everybody went near tosee what was in it, and it was opened. 

We shall let the report speak: in such cases nothing is so effective orso terrible as the official statement. 

"In the closet of Sainte-Croix was found a small box one foot square, onthe top of which lay a half-sheet of paper entitled 'My Will, ' written onone side and containing these words: 'I humbly entreat any into whosehands this chest may fall to do me the kindness of putting it into thehands of Madame the Marquise de Brinvilliers, resident in the rueNeuve-Saint-Paul, seeing that all the contents concern and belong to heralone, and are of no use to any person in the world apart from herself:in case of her being already dead before me, the box and all its contentsshould be burnt without opening or disturbing anything. And lest anyoneshould plead ignorance of the contents, I swear by the God I worship andby all that is most sacred that no untruth is here asserted. If anyoneshould contravene my wishes that are just and reasonable in this matter, I charge their conscience therewith in discharging my own in this worldand the next, protesting that such is my last wish. 

"'Given at Paris, the 25th of May after noon, 1672. Signed bySainte-Croix, '

"And below were written these words: 'There is one packet only addressedto M. Penautier which should be delivered. '"

It may be easily understood that a disclosure of this kind only increasedthe interest of the scene; there was a murmur of curiosity, and whensilence again reigned, the official continued in these words:

"A packet has been found sealed in eight different places with eightdifferent seals. On this is written: 'Papers to be burnt in case of mydeath, of no consequence to anyone. I humbly beg those into whose handsthey may fall to burn them. I give this as a charge upon theirconscience; all without opening the packet. ' In this packet we find twoparcels of sublimate. 

"Item, another packet sealed with six different seals, on which is asimilar inscription, in which is found more sublimate, half a pound inweight. 

"Item, another packet sealed with six different seals, on which is asimilar inscription, in which are found three parcels, one containinghalf an ounce of sublimate, the second 2 1/4 ozs. Of Roman vitriol, andthe third some calcined prepared vitriol. In the box was found a largesquare phial, one pint in capacity, full of a clear liquid, which waslooked at by M. Moreau, the doctor; he, however, could not tell itsnature until it was tested. 

"Item, another phial, with half a pint of clear liquid with a whitesediment, about which Moreau said the same thing as before. 

"Item, a small earthenware pot containing two or three lumps of preparedopium. 

"Item, a folded paper containing two drachms of corrosive sublimatepowdered. 

"Next, a little box containing a sort of stone known as infernal stone. 

"Next, a paper containing one ounce of opium. 

"Next, a piece of pure antimony weighing three ounces. 

"Next, a packet of powder on which was written: 'To check the flow ofblood. ' Moreau said that it was quince flower and quince buds dried. 

"Item, a pack sealed with six seals, on which was written, 'Papers to beburnt in case of death. ' In this twenty-four letters were found, said tohave been written by the Marquise de Brinvilliers. 

"Item, another packet sealed with six seals, on which a similarinscription was written. In this were twenty-seven pieces of paper oneach of which was written: 'Sundry curious secrets. '

"Item, another packet with six more seals, on which a similar inscriptionwas written. In this were found seventy-five livres, addressed todifferent persons. Besides all these, in the box there were two bonds, one from the marquise for 30, 000, and one from Penautier for 10, 000francs, their dates corresponding to the time of the deaths of M. D'Aubray and the Sieur de St. Laurent. "

The difference in the amount shows that Sainte-Croix had a tariff, andthat parricide was more expensive than simple assassination. Thus in hisdeath did Sainte-Croix bequeath the poisons to his mistress and hisfriend; not content with his own crimes in the past, he wished to betheir accomplice in the future. 

The first business of the officials was to submit the differentsubstances to analysis, and to experiment with them on animals. Thereport follows of Guy Simon, an apothecary, who was charged to undertakethe analysis and the experiments:

"This artificial poison reveals its nature on examination. It is sodisguised that one fails to recognise it, so subtle that it deceives thescientific, so elusive that it escapes the doctor's eye: experiments seemto be at fault with this poison, rules useless, aphorisms ridiculous. The surest experiments are made by the use of the elements or uponanimals. In water, ordinary poison falls by its own weight. The wateris superior, the poison obeys, falls downwards, and takes the lowerplace. 

"The trial by fire is no less certain: the fire evaporates and dispersesall that is innocent and pure, leaving only acrid and sour matter whichresists its influence. The effect produced by poisons on animals isstill more plain to see: its malignity extends to every part that itreaches, and all that it touches is vitiated; it burns and scorches allthe inner parts with a strange, irresistible fire. 

"The poison employed by Sainte-Croix has been tried in all the ways, andcan defy every experiment. This poison floats in water, it is thesuperior, and the water obeys it; it escapes in the trial by fire, leaving behind only innocent deposits; in animals it is so skilfullyconcealed that no one could detect it; all parts of the animal remainhealthy and active; even while it is spreading the cause of death, thisartificial poison leaves behind the marks and appearance of life. Everysort of experiment has been tried. The first was to pour out severaldrops of the liquid found into oil of tartar and sea water, and nothingwas precipitated into the vessels used; the second was to pour the sameliquid into a sanded vessel, and at the bottom there was found nothingacrid or acid to the tongue, scarcely any stains; the third experimentwas tried upon an Indian fowl, a pigeon, a dog, and some other animals, which died soon after. When they were opened, however, nothing was foundbut a little coagulated blood in the ventricle of the heart. Anotherexperiment was giving a white powder to a cat, in a morsel of mutton. Thecat vomited for half an hour, and was found dead the next day, but whenopened no part of it was found to be affected by the poison. A secondtrial of the same poison was made upon a pigeon, which soon died. Whenopened, nothing peculiar was found except a little reddish water in thestomach. "

These experiments proved that Sainte-Croix was a learned chemist, andsuggested the idea that he did not employ his art for nothing; everybodyrecalled the sudden, unexpected deaths that had occurred, and the bondsfrom the marquise and from Penautier looked like blood-money. As one ofthese two was absent, and the other so powerful and rich that they darednot arrest him without proofs, attention was now paid to the objectionput in by Lachaussee. 

It was said in the objection that Lachaussee had spent seven years in theservice of Sainte-Croix, so he could not have considered the time he hadpassed with the d'Aubrays as an interruption to this service. The bagcontaining the thousand pistoles and the three bonds for a hundred livreshad been found in the place indicated; thus Lachaussee had a thoroughknowledge of this closet: if he knew the closet, he would know about thebox; if he knew about the box, he could not be an innocent man. This wasenough to induce Madame Mangot de Villarceaux, the lieutenant's widow, tolodge an accusation against him, and in consequence a writ was issuedagainst Lachaussee, and he was arrested. 

When this happened, poison was found upon him. The trial came on beforethe Chatelet. Lachaussee denied his guilt obstinately. The judgesthinking they had no sufficient proof, ordered the preparatory questionto be applied. Mme. Mangot appealed from a judgment which would probablysave the culprit if he had the strength to resist the torture and own tonothing;

[Note: There were two kinds of question, one before and one after thesentence was passed. In the first, an accused person would endurefrightful torture in the hope of saving his life, and so would oftenconfess nothing. In the second, there was no hope, and therefore it wasnot worth while to suffer additional pains. ]

so, in virtue of this appeal, a judgment, on March 4th, 1673, declaredthat Jean Amelin Lachaussee was convicted of having poisoned thelieutenant and the councillor; for which he was to be broken alive on thewheel, having been first subjected to the question both ordinary andextraordinary, with a view to the discovery of his accomplices. At thesame time Madame de Brinvilliers was condemned in default of appearanceto have her head cut off. 

Lachaussee suffered the torture of the boot. This was having each legfastened between two planks and drawn together in an iron ring, afterwhich wedges were driven in between the middle planks; the ordinaryquestion was with four wedges, the extraordinary with eight. At the thirdwedge Lachaussee said he was ready to speak; so the question was stopped, and he was carried into the choir of the chapel stretched on a mattress, where, in a weak voice--for he could hardly speak--he begged for half anhour to recover himself. We give a verbatim extract from the report ofthe question and the execution of the death-sentence:

"Lachaussee, released from the question and laid on the mattress, theofficial reporter retired. Half an hour later Lachaussee begged that hemight return, and said that he was guilty; that Sainte-Croix told himthat Madame de Brinvilliers had given him the poison to administer to herbrothers; that he had done it in water and soup, had put the reddishwater in the lieutenant's glass in Paris, and the clear water in the pieat Villequoy; that Sainte-Croix had promised to keep him always, and tomake him a gift of 100 pistolets; that he gave him an account of theeffect of the poisons, and that Sainte-Croix had given him some of thewaters several times. Sainte-Croix told him that the marquise knewnothing of his other poisonings, but Lachaussee thought she did know, because she had often spoken to him about his poisons; that she wanted tocompel him to go away, offering him money if he would go; that she hadasked him for the box and its contents; that if Sainte-Croix had beenable to put anyone into the service of Madame d'Aubray, the lieutenant'swidow, he would possibly have had her poisoned also; for he had a fancyfor her daughter. "

This declaration, which left no room for doubt, led to the judgment thatcame next, thus described in the Parliamentary register: "Report of thequestion and execution on the 24th of March 1673, containing thedeclarations and confessions of Jean Amelin Lachaussee; the court hasordered that the persons mentioned, Belleguise, Martin, Poitevin, Olivier, Veron pere, the wife of Quesdon the wigmaker, be summoned toappear before the court to be interrogated and heard concerning mattersarising from the present inquiry, and orders that the decree of arrestagainst Lapierre and summons against Penautier decreed by the criminallieutenant shall be carried out. In Parliament, 27th March 1673. " Invirtue of this judgment, Penautier, Martin, and Belleguise wereinterrogated on the 21st, 22nd, and 24th of April. On the 26th of July, Penautier was discharged; fuller information was desired concerningBelleguise, and the arrest of Martin was ordered. On the 24th of March, Lachaussee had been broken on the wheel. As to Exili, the beginner of itall, he had disappeared like Mephistopheles after Faust's end, andnothing was heard of him. Towards the end of the year Martin wasreleased for want of sufficient evidence. But the Marquise deBrinvilliers remained at Liege, and although she was shut up in a conventshe had by no means abandoned one, at any rate, of the most worldlypleasures. She had soon found consolation for the death of Sainte-Croix, whom, all the same, she had loved so much as to be willing to killherself for his sake. But she had adopted a new lover, Theria by name. About this man it has been impossible to get any information, except thathis name was several times mentioned during the trial. Thus, all theaccusations had, one by one, fallen upon her, and it was resolved to seekher out in the retreat where she was supposed to be safe. The missionwas difficult and very delicate. Desgrais, one of the cleverest of theofficials, offered to undertake it. He was a handsome man, thirty-sixyears old or thereabouts: nothing in his looks betrayed his connectionwith the police; he wore any kind of dress with equal ease and grace, andwas familiar with every grade in the social scale, disguising himself asa wretched tramp or a noble lord. He was just the right man, so hisoffer was accepted. 

He started accordingly for Liege, escorted by several archers, and, fortified by a letter from the king addressed to the Sixty of that town, wherein Louis xiv demanded the guilty woman to be given up forpunishment. After examining the letter, which Desgrais had taken painsto procure, the council authorised the extradition of the marquise. 

This was much, but it was not all. The marquise, as we know, had takenrefuge in a convent, where Desgrais dared not arrest her by force, fortwo reasons: first, because she might get information beforehand, andhide herself in one of the cloister retreats whose secret is known onlyto the superior; secondly, because Liege was so religious a town that theevent would produce a great sensation: the act might be looked upon as asacrilege, and might bring about a popular rising, during which themarquise might possibly contrive to escape. So Desgrais paid a visit tohis wardrobe, and feeling that an abbe's dress would best free him fromsuspicion, he appeared at the doors of the convent in the guise of afellow-countryman just returned from Rome, unwilling to pass throughLiege without presenting his compliments to the lovely and unfortunatemarquise. Desgrais had just the manner of the younger son of a greathouse: he was as flattering as a courtier, as enterprising as amusketeer. In this first visit he made himself attractive by his wit andhis audacity, so much so that more easily than he had dared to hope, hegot leave to pay a second call. The second visit was not long delayed:Desgrais presented himself the very next day. Such eagerness wasflattering to the marquise, so Desgrais was received even better than thenight before. She, a woman of rank and fashion, for more than a year hadbeen robbed of all intercourse with people of a certain set, so withDesgrais the marquise resumed her Parisian manner. Unhappily thecharming abbe was to leave Liege in a few days; and on that account hebecame all the more pressing, and a third visit, to take place next day, was formally arranged. Desgrais was punctual: the marquise wasimpatiently waiting him; but by a conjunction of circumstances thatDesgrais had no doubt arranged beforehand, the amorous meeting wasdisturbed two or three times just as they were getting more intimate andleast wanting to be observed. Desgrais complained of these tiresomechecks; besides, the marquise and he too would be compromised: he owedconcealment to his cloth: He begged her to grant him a rendezvous outsidethe town, in some deserted walk, where there would be no fear of theirbeing recognised or followed: the marquise hesitated no longer than wouldserve to put a price on the favour she was granting, and the rendezvouswas fixed for the same evening. 

The evening came: both waited with the same impatience, but with verydifferent hopes. The marquise found Desgrais at the appointed spot: hegave her his arm then holding her hand in his own, he gave a sign, thearchers appeared, the lover threw off his mask, Desgrais was confessed, and the marquise was his prisoner. Desgrais left her in the hands of hismen, and hastily made his way to the convent. Then, and not before, heproduced his order from the Sixty, by means of which he opened themarquise's room. Under her bed he found a box, which he seized andsealed; then he went back to her, and gave the order to start. 

When the marquise saw the box in the hands of Desgrais, she at firstappeared stunned; quickly recovering, she claimed a paper inside it whichcontained her confession. Desgrais refused, and as he turned round forthe carriage to come forward, she tried to choke herself by swallowing apin. One of the archers, called Claude, Rolla, perceiving her intention, contrived to get the pin out of her mouth. After this, Desgrais commandedthat she should be doubly watched. 

They stopped for supper. An archer called Antoine Barbier was present atthe meal, and watched so that no knife or fork should be put on thetable, or any instrument with which she could wound or kill herself. Themarquise, as she put her glass to her mouth as though to drink, broke alittle bit off with her teeth; but the archer saw it in time, and forcedher to put it out on her plate. Then she promised him, if he would saveher, that she would make his fortune. He asked what he would have to dofor that. She proposed that he should cut Desgrais' throat; but herefused, saying that he was at her service in any other way. So sheasked him for pen and paper, and wrote this letter:

"DEAR THERIA, --I am in the hands of Desgrais, who is taking me by roadfrom Liege to Paris. Come quickly and save me. "

Antoine Barbier took the letter, promising to deliver it at the rightaddress; but he gave it to Desgrais instead. The next day, finding thatthis letter had not been pressing enough, she wrote him another, sayingthat the escort was only eight men, who could be easily overcome by fouror five determined assailants, and she counted on him to strike this baldstroke. But, uneasy when she got no answer and no result from herletters, she despatched a third missive to Theria. In this she imploredhim by his own salvation, if he were not strong enough to attack herescort and save her, at least to kill two of the four horses by which shewas conveyed, and to profit by the moment of confusion to seize the chestand throw it into the fire; otherwise, she declared, she was lost. Though Theria received none of these letters, which were one by onehanded over by Barbier to Desgrais, he all the same did go to Maestricht, where the marquise was to pass, of his own accord. There he tried tobribe the archers, offering much as 10, 000 livres, but they wereincorruptible. At Rocroy the cortege met M. Palluau, the councillor, whom the Parliament had sent after the prisoner, that he might putquestions to her at a time when she least expected them, and so would nothave prepared her answers. Desgrais told him all that had passed, andspecially called his attention to the famous box, the object of so muchanxiety and so many eager instructions. M. De Palluau opened it, andfound among other things a paper headed "My Confession. " This confessionwas a proof that the guilty feel great need of discovering their crimeseither to mankind or to a merciful God. Sainte-Croix, we know, had made aconfession that was burnt, and here was the marquise equally imprudent. The confession contained seven articles, and began thus, "I confess toGod, and to you, my father, " and was a complete avowal, of all the crimesshe had committed. 

In the first article she accused herself of incendiarism;

In the second, of having ceased to be a virgin at seven years of age;

In the third of having poisoned her father;

In the fourth, of having poisoned her two brothers;

In the fifth, that she had tried to poison her sister, a Carmelite nun. 

The two other articles were concerned with the description of strange andunnatural sins. In this woman there was something of Locusta andsomething of Messalina as well: antiquity could go no further. 

M. De Palluau, fortified by his knowledge of this important document, began his examination forthwith. We give it verbatim, rejoicing that wemay substitute an official report for our own narrative. 

Asked why she fled to Liege, she replied that she left France on accountof some business with her sister-in-law. 

Asked if she had any knowledge of the papers found in the box, shereplied that in the box there were several family papers, and among thema general confession which she desired to make; when she wrote it, however, her mind was disordered; she knew not what she had said or done, being distraught at the time, in a foreign country, deserted by herrelatives, forced to borrow every penny. 

Asked as to the first article, what house it was she had burnt, shereplied that she had not burnt anything, but when she wrote that she wasout of her senses. 

Asked about the six other articles she replied that she had norecollection of them. 

Asked if she had not poisoned her father and brothers, she replied thatshe knew nothing at all about it. 

Asked if it were not Lachaussee who poisoned her brothers, she repliedthat she knew nothing about it. 

Asked if she did not know that her sister could not live long, havingbeen poisoned, she said that she expected her sister to die, because shesuffered in the same way as her brothers; that she had lost all memory ofthe time when she wrote this confession; admitted that she left France bythe advice of her relations. 

Asked why her relations had advised her thus, she replied that it was inconnection with her brothers' affairs; admitted seeing Sainte-Croix sincehis release from the Bastille. 

Asked if Sainte-Croix had not persuaded her to get rid of her father, shereplied that she could not remember; neither did she remember ifSainte-Croix had given her powders or other drugs, nor if Sainte-Croixhad told her he knew how to make her rich. 

Eight letters having been produced, asked to whom she had written them, she replied that she did not remember. 

Asked why she had promised to pay 30, 000 livres to Sainte-Croix, shereplied that she intended to entrust this sum to his care, so that shemight make use of it when she wanted it, believing him to be her friend;she had not wished this to be known, by reason of her creditors; that shehad an acknowledgment from Sainte-Croix, but had lost it in her travels;that her husband knew nothing about it. 

Asked if the promise was made before or after the death of her brothers, she replied that she could not remember, and it made no difference. 

Asked if she knew an apothecary called Glazer, she replied that she hadconsulted him three times about inflammation. 

Asked why she wrote to Theria to get hold of the box, she replied thatshe did not understand. 

Asked why, in writing to Theria, she had said she was lost unless he gothold of the box, she replied that she could not remember. 

Asked if she had seen during the journey with her father the firstsymptoms of his malady, she replied that she had not noticed that herfather was ill on the journey, either going or coming back in 1666. 

Asked if she had not done business with Penautier, she replied thatPenautier owed her 30, 000 livres. 

Asked how this was, she replied that she and her husband had lentPenautier 10, 000 crowns, that he had paid it back, and since then theyhad had no dealings with him. 

The marquise took refuge, we see, in a complete system of denial: arrivedin Paris, and confined in the Conciergerie, she did the same; but soonother terrible charges were added, which still further overwhelmed her. 

The sergeant Cluet deposed: that, observing a lackey to M. D'Aubray, thecouncillor, to be the man Lachaussee, whom he had seen in the service ofSainte-Croix, he said to the marquise that if her brother knew thatLachaussee had been with Sainte-Croix he would not like it, but thatMadame de Brinvilliers exclaimed, "Dear me, don't tell my brothers; theywould give him a thrashing, no doubt, and he may just as well get hiswages as any body else. " He said nothing to the d'Aubrays, though he sawLachaussee paying daily visits to Sainte-Croix and to the marquise, whowas worrying Sainte-Croix to let her have her box, and wanted her billfor two or three thousand pistoles. Other wise she would have had himassassinated. She often said that she was very anxious that no oneshould see the contents of the box; that it was a very important matter, but only concerned herself. After the box was opened, the witness added, he had told the marquise, that the commissary Picard said to Lachausseethat there were strange things in it; but the lady blushed, and changedthe subject. He asked her if she were not an accomplice. She said, "What! I?" but then muttered to herself: "Lachaussee ought to be sent offto Picardy. " The witness repeated that she had been after Sainte-Croixalong time about the box, and if she had got it she would have had histhroat cut. The witness further said that when he told Briancourt thatLachaussee was taken and would doubtless confess all, Briancourt, speaking of the marquise, remarked, "She is a lost woman. " Thatd'Aubray's daughter had called Briancourt a rogue, but Briancourt hadreplied that she little knew what obligations she was under to him; thatthey had wanted to poison both her and the lieutenant's widow, and healone had hindered it. He had heard from Briancourt that the marquisehad often said that there are means to get rid of people one dislikes, and they can easily be put an end to in a bowl of soup. 

The girl Edme Huet, a woman of Brescia, deposed that Sainte-Croix went tosee the marquise every day, and that in a box belonging to that lady shehad seen two little packets containing sublimate in powder and in paste:she recognised these, because she was an apothecary's daughter. Sheadded that one day Madame de Brinvilliers, after a dinner party, in amerry mood, said, showing her a little box, "Here is vengeance on one'senemies: this box is small, but holds plenty of successsions!" That shegave back the box into her hands, but soon changing from her sprightlymood, she cried, "Good heavens, what have I said? Tell nobody. " ThatLambert, clerk at the palace, told her he had brought the packets toMadame from Sainte-Croix; that Lachaussee often went to see her; and thatshe herself, not being paid ten pistoles which the marquise owed her, went to complain to Sainte-Croix, threatening to tell the lieutenant whatshe had seen; and accordingly the ten pistoles were paid; further, thatthe marquise and Sainte-Croix always kept poison about them, to make useof, in case of being arrested. 

Laurent Perrette, living with Glazer, said that he had often seen a ladycall on his mistress with Sainte-Croix; that the footman told him she wasthe Marquise de Brinvilliers; that he would wager his head on it thatthey came to Glazer's to make poison; that when they came they used toleave their carriage at the Foire Saint-Germain. 

Marie de Villeray, maid to the marquise, deposed that after the death ofM. D'Aubray the councillor, Lachaussee came to see the lady and spokewith her in private; that Briancourt said she had caused the death of aworthy men; that Briancourt every day took some electuary for fear ofbeing poisoned, and it was no doubt due to this precaution that he wasstill alive; but he feared he would be stabbed, because she had told himthe secret about the poisoning; that d'Aubray's daughter had to bewarned; and that there was a similar design against the tutor of M. DeBrinvillier's children. Marie de Villeray added that two days after thedeath of the councillor, when Lachaussee was in Madame's bedroom, Couste, the late lieutenant's secretary, was announced, and Lachaussee had to behidden in the alcove by the bed. Lachaussee brought the marquise aletter from Sainte-Croix. 

Francois Desgrais, officer, deposed that when he was given the king'sorders he arrested the marquise at Liege; that he found under her bed abox which he sealed; that the lady had demanded a paper which was in it, containing her confession, but he refused it; that on the road to Paristhe marquise had told him that she believed it was Glazer who made thepoisons for Sainte-Croix; that Sainte-Croix, who had made a rendezvouswith her one day at the cross Saint-Honore, there showed her four littlebottles, saying, "See what Glazer has sent me. " She asked him for one, but Sainte-Croix said he would rather die than give it up. He added thatthe archer Antoine Barbier had given him three letters written by themarquise to Theria; that in the first she had told him to come at onceand snatch her from the hands of the soldiers; that in the second shesaid that the escort was only composed of eight persons, who could heworsted by five men; that in the third she said that if he could not saveher from the men who were taking her away, he should at least approachthe commissary, and killing his valet's horse and two other horses in hiscarriage, then take the box, and burn it; otherwise she was lost. 

Laviolette, an archer, deposed that on the evening of the arrest. Themarquise had a long pin and tried to put it in her mouth; that he stoppedher, and told her that she was very wicked; that he perceived that peoplesaid the truth and that she had poisoned all her family; to which shereplied, that if she had, it was only through following bad advice, andthat one could not always be good. 

Antoine Barbier, an archer, said that the marquise at table took up aglass as though to drink, and tried to swallow a piece of it; that heprevented this, and she promised to make his fortune if only he wouldsave her; that she wrote several letters to Theria; that during the wholejourney she tried all she could to swallow pins, bits of glass, andearth; that she had proposed that he should cut Desgrais' throat, andkill the commissary's valet; that she had bidden him get the box and burnit, and bring a lighted torch to burn everything; that she had written toPenautier from the Conciergerie; that she gave him, the letter, and hepretended to deliver it. 

Finally, Francoise Roussel deposed that she had been in the service ofthe marquise, and the lady had one day given her some preservedgooseberries; that she had eaten some on the point of her knife, and atonce felt ill. She also gave her a slice of mutton, rather wet, whichshe ate, afterwards suffering great pain in the stomach, feeling asthough she had been pricked in the heart, and for three years had feltthe same, believing herself poisoned. 

It was difficult to continue a system of absolute denial in face ofproofs like these. The marquise persisted, all the same, that she was inno way guilty; and Maitre Nivelle, one of the best lawyers of the period, consented to defend her cause. 

He combated one charge after another, in a remarkably clever way, owningto the adulterous connection of the marquise with Sainte-Croix, butdenying her participation in the murders of the d'Aubrays, father andsons: these he ascribed entirely to the vengeance desired bySainte-Croix. As to the confession, the strongest and, he maintained, the only evidence against Madame de Brinvilliers, he attacked itsvalidity by bringing forward certain similar cases, where the evidencesupplied by the accused against themselves had not been admitted byreason of the legal action: 'Non auditur perire volens'. He cited threeinstances, and as they are themselves interesting, we copy them verbatimfrom his notes. 

 FIRST CASE

Dominicus Soto, a very famous canonist and theologian, confessor toCharles V, present at the first meetings of the Council of Trent underPaul III, propounds a question about a man who had lost a paper on whichhe had written down his sins. It happened that this paper fell into thehands of an ecclesiastical judge, who wished to put in informationagainst the writer on the strength of this document. Now this judge wasjustly punished by his superior, because confession is so sacred thateven that which is destined to constitute the confession should bewrapped in eternal silence. In accordance with this precedent, thefollowing judgment, reported in the 'Traite des Confesseurs', was givenby Roderic Acugno. A Catalonian, native of Barcelona, who was condemnedto death for homicide and owned his guilt, refused to confess when thehour of punishment arrived. However strongly pressed, he resisted, and soviolently, giving no reason, that all were persuaded that his mind wasunhinged by the fear of death. Saint-Thomas of Villeneuve, Archbishop ofValencia, heard of his obstinacy. Valencia was the place where hissentence was given. The worthy prelate was so charitable as to try topersuade the criminal to make his confession, so as not to lose his soulas well as his body. Great was his surprise, when he asked the reason ofthe refusal, to hear the doomed man declare that he hated confessors, because he had been condemned through the treachery of his own priest, who was the only person who knew about the murder. In confession he hadadmitted his crime and said where the body was buried, and all about it;his confessor had revealed it all, and he could not deny it, and so hehad been condemned. He had only just learned, what he did not know atthe time he confessed, that his confessor was the brother of the man hehad killed, and that the desire for vengeance had prompted the bad priestto betray his confession. Saint-Thomas, hearing this, thought that thisincident was of more importance than the trial, which concerned the lifeof only one person, whereas the honour of religion was at stake, withconsequences infinitely more important. He felt he must verify thisstatement, and summoned the confessor. When he had admitted the breachof faith, the judges were obliged to revoke their sentence and pardon thecriminal, much to the gratification of the public mind. The confessor wasadjudged a very severe penance, which Saint-Thomas modified because ofhis prompt avowal of his fault, and still more because he had given anopportunity for the public exhibition of that reverence which judgesthemselves are bound to pay to confessions. 

 SECOND CASE

In 1579 an innkeeper at Toulouse killed with his own hand, unknown to theinmates of his house, a stranger who had come to lodge with him, andburied him secretly in the cellar. The wretch then suffered fromremorse, and confessed the crime with all its circumstances, telling hisconfessor where the body was buried. The relations of the dead man, after making all possible search to get news of him, at last proclaimedthrough the town a large reward to be given to anyone who would discoverwhat had happened to him. The confessor, tempted by this bait, secretlygave word that they had only to search in the innkeeper's cellar and theywould find the corpse. And they found it in the place indicated. Theinnkeeper was thrown into prison, was tortured, and confessed his crime. But afterwards he always maintained that his confessor was the onlyperson who could have betrayed him. Then the Parliament, indignant withsuch means of finding out the truth, declared him innocent, failing otherproof than what came through his confessor. The confessor was himselfcondemned to be hanged, and his body was burnt. So fully did thetribunal in its wisdom recognise the importance of securing the sanctityof a sacrament that is indispensable to salvation. 

 THIRD CASE

An Armenian woman had inspired a violent passion in a young Turkishgentleman, but her prudence was long an obstacle to her lover's desires. At last he went beyond all bounds, and threatened to kill both her andher husband if she refused to gratify him. Frightened by this threat, which she knew too well he would carry out, she feigned consent, and gavethe Turk a rendezvous at her house at an hour when she said her husbandwould be absent; but by arrangement the husband arrived, and although theTurk was armed with a sabre and a pair of pistols, it so befell that theywere fortunate enough to kill their enemy, whom they buried under theirdwelling unknown to all the world. But some days after the event theywent to confess to a priest of their nation, and revealed every detail ofthe tragic story. This unworthy minister of the Lord supposed that in aMahommedan country, where the laws of the priesthood and the functions ofa confessor are either unknown or disapproved, no examination would bemade into the source of his information, and that his evidence would havethe same weight as any other accuser's. So he resolved to make a profitand gratify his own avarice. Several times he visited the husband andwife, always borrowing considerable sums, and threatening to reveal theircrime if they refused him. The first few times the poor creatures gavein to his exactions; but the moment came at last when, robbed of alltheir fortune, they were obliged to refuse the sum he demanded. Faithfulto his threat, the priest, with a view to more reward, at once denouncedthem to the dead man's father. He, who had adored his son, went to thevizier, told him he had identified the murderers through their confessor, and asked for justice. But this denunciation had by no means the desiredeffect. The vizier, on the contrary, felt deep pity for the wretchedArmenians, and indignation against the priest who had betrayed them. Heput the accuser into a room which adjoined the court, and sent for theArmenian bishop to ask what confession really was, and what punishmentwas deserved by a priest who betrayed it, and what was the fate of thosewhose crimes were made known in this fashion. The bishop replied thatthe secrets of confession are inviolable, that Christians burn the priestwho reveals them, and absolve those whom he accuses, because the avowalmade by the guilty to the priest is proscribed by the Christian religion, on pain of eternal damnation. The vizier, satisfied with the answer, tookthe bishop into another room, and summoned the accused to declare all thecircumstances: the poor wretches, half dead, fell at the vizier's feet. The woman spoke, explaining that the necessity of defending life andhonour had driven them to take up arms to kill their enemy. She addedthat God alone had witnessed their crime, and it would still be unknownhad not the law of the same God compelled them to confide it to the earof one of His ministers for their forgiveness. Now the priest'sinsatiable avarice had ruined them first and then denounced them. Thevizier made them go into a third room, and ordered the treacherous priestto be confronted with the bishop, making him again rehearse the penaltiesincurred by those who betray confessions. Then, applying this to theguilty priest, he condemned him to be burnt alive in a public place;--inanticipation, said he, of burning in hell, where he would assuredlyreceive the punishment of his infidelity and crimes. The sentence wasexecuted without delay. 

In spite of the effect which the advocate intended to produce by thesethree cases, either the judges rejected them, or perhaps they thought theother evidence without the confession was enough, and it was soon clearto everyone, by the way the trial went forward, that the marquise wouldbe condemned. Indeed, before sentence was pronounced, on the morning ofJuly 16th, 1676, she saw M. Pirot, doctor of the Sorbonne, come into herprison, sent by the chief president. This worthy magistrate, foreseeingthe issue, and feeling that one so guilty should not be left till thelast moment, had sent the good priest. The latter, although he hadobjected that the Conciergerie had its own two chaplains, and added thathe was too feeble to undertake such a task, being unable even to seeanother man bled without feeling ill, accepted the painful mission, thepresident having so strongly urged it, on the ground that in this case heneeded a man who could be entirely trusted. The president, in fact, declared that, accustomed as he was to dealing with criminals, thestrength of the marquise amazed him. The day before he summoned M. Pirot, he had worked at the trial from morning to night, and for thirteenhours the accused had been confronted with Briancourt, one of the chiefwitnesses against her. On that very day, there had been five hours more, and she had borne it all, showing as much respect towards her judges ashaughtiness towards the witness, reproaching him as a miserable valet, given to drink, and protesting that as he had been dismissed for hismisdemeanours, his testimony against her ought to go for nothing. So thechief president felt no hope of breaking her inflexible spirit, except bythe agency of a minister of religion; for it was not enough to put her todeath, the poisons must perish with her, or else society would gainnothing. The doctor Pirot came to the marquise with a letter from hersister, who, as we know, was a nun bearing the name of Sister Marie atthe convent Saint-Jacques. Her letter exhorted the marquise, in the mosttouching and affectionate terms, to place her confidence in the goodpriest, and look upon him not only as a helper but as a friend. 

When M. Pirot came before the marquise, she had just left the dock, whereshe had been for three hours without confessing anything, or seeming inthe least touched by what the president said, though he, after acting thepart of judge, addressed her simply as a Christian, and showing her whather deplorable position was, appearing now for the last time before men, and destined so soon to appear before God, spoke to her such moving wordsthat he broke down himself, and the oldest and most obdurate judgespresent wept when they heard him. When the marquise perceived the doctor, suspecting that her trial was leading her to death, she approached him, saying:

"You have come, sir, because----"

But Father Chavigny, who was with M. Pirot; interrupted her, saying:

"Madame, we will begin with a prayer. "

They all fell on their knees invoking the Holy Spirit; then the marquiseasked them to add a prayer to the Virgin, and, this prayer finished, shewent up to the doctor, and, beginning afresh, said:

"Sir, no doubt the president has sent you to give me consolation: withyou I am to pass the little life I have left. I have long been eager tosee you. "

"Madame, " the doctor replied, "I come to render you any spiritual officethat I can; I only wish it were on another occasion. "

"We must have resolution, sir, " said she, smiling, "for all things. "

Then turning to Father Chavigny, she said:

"My father, I am very grateful to you for bringing the doctor here, andfor all the other visits you have been willing to pay me. Pray to Godfor me, I entreat you; henceforth I shall speak with no one but thedoctor, for with him I must speak of things that can only be discussedtete-a-tete. Farewell, then, my father; God will reward you for theattention you have been willing to bestow upon me. "

With these words the father retired, leaving the marquise alone with thedoctor and the two men and one woman always in attendance on her. Theywere in a large room in the Montgomery tower extending, throughout itswhole length. There was at the end of the room a bed with grey curtainsfor the lady, and a folding-bed for the custodian. It is said to havebeen the same room where the poet Theophile was once shut up, and nearthe door there were still verses in his well-known style written by hishand. 

As soon as the two men and the woman saw for what the doctor had come, they retired to the end of the room, leaving the marquise free to ask forand receive the consolations brought her by the man of God. Then the twosat at a table side by side. The marquise thought she was alreadycondemned, and began to speak on that assumption; but the doctor told herthat sentence was not yet given, and he did not know precisely when itwould be, still less what it would be; but at these words the marquiseinterrupted him. 

"Sir, " she said, "I am not troubled about the future. If my sentence isnot given yet, it soon will be. I expect the news this morning, and Iknow it will be death: the only grace I look for from the president is adelay between the sentence and its execution; for if I were executedto-day I should have very little time to prepare, and I feel I have needfor more. "

The doctor did not expect such words, so he was overjoyed to learn whatshe felt. In addition to what the president had said, he had heard fromFather Chavigny that he had told her the Sunday before that it was veryunlikely she would escape death, and indeed, so far as one could judge byreports in the town, it was a foregone conclusion. When he said so, atfirst she had appeared stunned, and said with an air of great terror, "Father, must I die?" And when he tried to speak words of consolation, she had risen and shaken her head, proudly replying--

"No, no, father; there is no need to encourage me. I will play my part, and that at once: I shall know how to die like a woman of spirit. "

Then the father had told her that we cannot prepare for death so quicklyand so easily; and that we have to be in readiness for a long time, notto be taken by surprise; and she had replied that she needed but aquarter of an hour to confess in, and one moment to die. 

So the doctor was very glad to find that between Sunday and Thursday herfeelings had changed so much. 

"Yes, " said she, "the more I reflect the more I feel that one day wouldnot be enough to prepare myself for God's tribunal, to be judged by Himafter men have judged me. "

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "I do not know what or when your sentencewill be; but should it be death, and given to-day, I may venture topromise you that it will not be carried out before to-morrow. Butalthough death is as yet uncertain, I think it well that you should beprepared for any event. "

"Oh, my death is quite certain, " said she, "and I must not give way touseless hopes. I must repose in you the great secrets of my whole life;but, father, before this opening of my heart, let me hear from your lipsthe opinion you have formed of me, and what you think in my present stateI ought to do. "

"You perceive my plan, " said the doctor, "and you anticipate what I wasabout to say. Before entering into the secrets of your conscience, before opening the discussion of your affairs with God, I am ready, madame, to give you certain definite rules. I do not yet know whetheryou are guilty at all, and I suspend my judgment as to all the crimes youare accused of, since of them I can learn nothing except through yourconfession. Thus it is my duty still to doubt your guilt. But I cannotbe ignorant of what you are accused of: this is a public matter, and hasreached my ears; for, as you may imagine, madame, your affairs have madea great stir, and there are few people who know nothing about them. "

"Yes, " she said, smiling, "I know there has been a great deal of talk, and I am in every man's mouth. "

"Then, " replied the doctor, "the crime you are accused of is poisoning. If you are guilty, as is believed, you cannot hope that God will pardonyou unless you make known to your judges what the poison is, what is itscomposition and what its antidote, also the names of your accomplices. Madame, we must lay hands on all these evil-doers without exception; forif you spared them, they would be able to make use of your poison, andyou would then be guilty of all the murders committed by them after yourdeath, because you did not give them over to the judges during your life;thus one might say you survive yourself, for your crime survives you. You know, madame, that a sin in the moment of death is never pardoned, and that to get remission for your crimes, if crimes you have, they mustdie when you die: for if you slay them not, be very sure they will slayyou. "

"Yes, I am sure of that, " replied the marquise, after a moment of silentthought; "and though I will not admit that I am guilty, I promise, if Iam guilty, to weigh your words. But one question, sir, and pray takeheed that an answer is necessary. Is there not crime in this world thatis beyond pardon? Are not some people guilty of sins so terrible and sonumerous that the Church dares not pardon them, and if God, in Hisjustice, takes account of them, He cannot for all His mercy pardon them?See, I begin with this question, because, if I am to have no hope, it isneedless for me to confess. "

"I wish to think, madame, " replied the doctor, in spite of himself halffrightened at the marquise, "that this your first question is only put byway of a general thesis, and has nothing to do with your own state. Ishall answer the question without any personal application. No, madame, in this life there are no unpardonable sinners, terrible and numeroushowsoever their sins may be. This is an article of faith, and withoutholding it you could not die a good Catholic. Some doctors, it is true, have before now maintained the contrary, but they have been condemned asheretics. Only despair and final impenitence are unpardonable, and theyare not sins of our life but in our death. "

"Sir, " replied the marquise, "God has given me grace to be convinced bywhat you say, and I believe He will pardon all sins--that He has oftenexercised this power. Now all my trouble is that He may not deign togrant all His goodness to one so wretched as I am, a creature so unworthyof the favours already bestowed on her. "

The doctor reassured her as best he could, and began to examine herattentively as they conversed together. "She was, " he said, "a womannaturally courageous and fearless; naturally gentle and good; not easilyexcited; clever and penetrating, seeing things very clearly in her mind, and expressing herself well and in few but careful words; easily findinga way out of a difficulty, and choosing her line of conduct in the mostembarrassing circumstances; light-minded and fickle; unstable, paying noattention if the same thing were said several times over. For thisreason, " continued the doctor, "I was obliged to alter what I had to sayfrom time to time, keeping her but a short time to one subject, to which, however, I would return later, giving the matter a new appearance anddisguising it a little. She spoke little and well, with no sign oflearning and no affectation, always, mistress of herself, always composedand saying just what she intended to say. No one would have supposedfrom her face or from her conversation that she was so wicked as she musthave been, judging by her public avowal of the parricide. It issurprising, therefore--and one must bow down before the judgment of Godwhen He leaves mankind to himself--that a mind evidently of somegrandeur, professing fearlessness in the most untoward and unexpectedevents, an immovable firmness and a resolution to await and to enduredeath if so it must be, should yet be so criminal as she was proved to beby the parricide to which she confessed before her judges. She hadnothing in her face that would indicate such evil. She had very abundantchestnut hair, a rounded, well-shaped face, blue eyes very pretty andgentle, extraordinarily white skin, good nose, and no disagreeablefeature. Still, there was nothing unusually attractive in the face:already she was a little wrinkled, and looked older than her age. Something made me ask at our first interview how old she was. 'Monsieur, ' she said, 'if I were to live till Sainte-Madeleine's day Ishould be forty-six. On her day I came into the world, and I bear hername. I was christened Marie-Madeleine. But near to the day as we noware, I shall not live so long: I must end to-day, or at latest to-morrow, and it will be a favour to give me the one day. For this kindness I relyon your word. ' Anyone would have thought she was quite forty-eight. Though her face as a rule looked so gentle, whenever an unhappy thoughtcrossed her mind she showed it by a contortion that frightened one atfirst, and from time to time I saw her face twitching with anger, scorn, or ill-will. I forgot to say that she was very little and thin. Such is, roughly given, a description of her body and mind, which I very soon cameto know, taking pains from the first to observe her, so as to lose notime in acting on what I discovered. "

As she was giving a first brief sketch of her life to her confessor, themarquise remembered that he had not yet said mass, and reminded himherself that it was time to do so, pointing out to him the chapel of theConciergerie. She begged him to say a mass for her and in honour of OurLady, so that she might gain the intercession of the Virgin at the throneof God. The Virgin she had always taken for her patron saint, and in themidst of her crimes and disorderly life had never ceased in her peculiardevotion. As she could not go with the priest, she promised to be withhim at least in the spirit. He left her at half-past ten in the morning, and after four hours spent alone together, she had been induced by hispiety and gentleness to make confessions that could not be wrung from herby the threats of the judges or the fear of the question. The holy anddevout priest said his mass, praying the Lord's help for confessor andpenitent alike. After mass, as he returned, he learned from a librariancalled Seney, at the porter's lodge, as he was taking a glass of wine, that judgment had been given, and that Madame de Brinvilliers was to haveher hand cut off. This severity--as a fact, there was a mitigation ofthe sentence--made him feel yet more interest in his penitent, and hehastened back to her side. 

As soon as she saw the door open, she advanced calmly towards him, andasked if he had truly prayed for her; and when he assured her of this, she said, "Father, shall I have the consolation of receiving the viaticumbefore I die?"

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "if you are condemned to death, you mustdie without that sacrament, and I should be deceiving you if I let youhope for it. We have heard of the death of the constable of Saint-Paulwithout his obtaining this grace, in spite of all his entreaties. He wasexecuted in sight of the towers of Notre-Dame. He offered his own prayer, as you may offer yours, if you suffer the same fate. But that is all:God, in His goodness, allows it to suffice. "

"But, " replied the marquise, "I believe M. De Cinq-Mars and M. De Thoucommunicated before their death. "

"I think not, madame, " said the doctor; "for it is not so said in thepages of Montresor or any other book that describes their execution. "

"But M. De Montmorency?" said she. 

"But M. De Marillac?" replied the doctor. 

In truth, if the favour had been granted to the first, it had beenrefused to the second, and the marquise was specially struck thereby, forM. De Marillac was of her own family, and she was very proud of theconnection. No doubt she was unaware that M. De Rohan had received thesacrament at the midnight mass said for the salvation of his soul byFather Bourdaloue, for she said nothing about it, and hearing thedoctor's answer, only sighed. 

"Besides, " he continued, "in recalling examples of the kind, madame, youmust not build upon them, please: they are extraordinary cases, not therule. You must expect no privilege; in your case the ordinary laws willbe carried out, and your fate will not differ from the fate of othercondemned persons. How would it have been had you lived and died beforethe reign of Charles VI? Up to the reign of this prince, the guilty diedwithout confession, and it was only by this king's orders that there wasa relaxation of this severity. Besides, communion is not absolutelynecessary to salvation, and one may communicate spiritually in readingthe word, which is like the body; in uniting oneself with the Church, which is the mystical substance of Christ; and in suffering for Him andwith Him, this last communion of agony that is your portion, madame, andis the most perfect communion of all. If you heartily detest your crimeand love God with all your soul, if you have faith and charity, yourdeath is a martyrdom and a new baptism. "

"Alas, my God, " replied the marquise, "after what you tell me, now that Iknow the executioner's hand was necessary to my salvation, what should Ihave become had I died at Liege? Where should I have been now? And evenif I had not been taken, and had lived another twenty years away fromFrance, what would my death have been, since it needed the scaffold formy purification? Now I see all my wrong-doings, and the worst of all isthe last--I mean my effrontery before the judges. But all is not yetlost, God be thanked; and as I have one last examination to go through, Idesire to make a complete confession about my whole life. You, Sir, Ientreat specially to ask pardon on my behalf of the first president;yesterday, when I was in the dock, he spoke very touching words to me, and I was deeply moved; but I would not show it, thinking that if I madeno avowal the evidence would not be sufficiently strong to convict me. But it has happened otherwise, and I must have scandalised my judges bysuch an exhibition of hardihood. Now I recognise my fault, and willrepair it. Furthermore, sir, far from feeling angry with the presidentfor the judgment he to-day passes against me, far from complaining of theprosecutor who has demanded it, I thank them both most humbly, for mysalvation depends upon it. "

The doctor was about to answer, encouraging her, when the door opened: itwas dinner coming in, for it was now half-past one. The marquise pausedand watched what was brought in, as though she were playing hostess inher own country house. She made the woman and the two men who watchedher sit down to the table, and turning to the doctor, said, "Sir, youwill not wish me to stand on ceremony with you; these good people alwaysdine with me to keep me company, and if you approve, we will do the sameto-day. This is the last meal, " she added, addressing them, "that Ishall take with you. " Then turning to the woman, "Poor Madame du Rus, "said she, "I have been a trouble to you for a long time; but have alittle patience, and you will soon be rid of me. To-morrow you can go toDravet; you will have time, for in seven or eight hours from now therewill be nothing more to do for me, and I shall be in the gentleman'shands; you will not be allowed near me. After then, you can go away forgood; for I don't suppose you will have the heart to see me executed. "All this she said quite calmly, but not with pride. From time to timeher people tried to hide their tears, and she made a sign of pityingthem. Seeing that the dinner was on the table and nobody eating, sheinvited the doctor to take some soup, asking him to excuse the cabbage init, which made it a common soup and unworthy of his acceptance. Sheherself took some soup and two eggs, begging her fellow-guests to excuseher for not serving them, pointing out that no knife or fork had been setin her place. 

When the meal was almost half finished, she begged the doctor to let herdrink his health. He replied by drinking hers, and she seemed to bequite charmed by, his condescension. "To-morrow is a fast day, " saidshe, setting down her glass, "and although it will be a day of greatfatigue for me, as I shall have to undergo the question as well as death, I intend to obey the orders of the Church and keep my fast. "

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "if you needed soup to keep you up, youwould not have to feel any scruple, for it will be no self-indulgence, but a necessity, and the Church does not exact fasting in such a case. "

"Sir, " replied the marquise, "I will make no difficulty about it, if itis necessary and if you order it; but it will not be needed, I think: ifI have some soup this evening for supper, and some more made strongerthan usual a little before midnight, it will be enough to last me throughto-morrow, if I have two fresh eggs to take after the question. "

"In truth, " says the priest in the account we give here, "I was alarmedby this calm behaviour. I trembled when I heard her give orders to theconcierge that the soup was to be made stronger than usual and that shewas to have two cups before midnight. When dinner was over, she wasgiven pen and ink, which she had already asked for, and told me that shehad a letter to write before I took up my pen to put down what she wantedto dictate. " The letter, she explained, which was difficult to write, was to her husband. She would feel easier when it was written. For herhusband she expressed so much affection, that the doctor, knowing whathad passed, felt much surprised, and wishing to try her, said that theaffection was not reciprocated, as her husband had abandoned her thewhole time of the trial. The marquise interrupted him:

"My father, we must not judge things too quickly or merely byappearances. M. De Brinvilliers has always concerned himself with me, and has only failed in doing what it was impossible to do. Ourinterchange of letters never ceased while I was out of the kingdom; donot doubt but that he would have come to Paris as soon as he knew I wasin prison, had the state of his affairs allowed him to come safely. Butyou must know that he is deeply in debt, and could not appear in Pariswithout being arrested. Do not suppose that he is without feeling forme. "

She then began to write, and when her letter was finished she handed itto the doctor, saying, "You, sir, are the lord and master of all mysentiments from now till I die; read this letter, and if you findanything that should be altered, tell me. "

This was the letter--

"When I am on the point of yielding up my soul to God, I wish to assureyou of my affection for you, which I shall feel until the last moment ofmy life. I ask your pardon for all that I have done contrary to my duty. I am dying a shameful death, the work of my enemies: I pardon them withall my heart, and I pray you to do the same. I also beg you to forgiveme for any ignominy that may attach to you herefrom; but consider that weare only here for a time, and that you may soon be forced to render anaccount to God of all your actions, and even your idle words, just as Imust do now. Be mindful of your worldly affairs, and of our children, and give them a good example; consult Madame Marillac and Madame Couste. Let as many prayers as possible be said for me, and believe that in mydeath I am still ever yours, D'AUBRAY. "

The doctor read this letter carefully; then he told her that one of herphrases was not right--the one about her enemies. "For you have no otherenemies, " said he, "than your own crimes. Those whom you call yourenemies are those who love the memory of your father and brothers, whomyou ought to have loved more than they do. "

"But those who have sought my death, " she replied, "are my enemies, arethey not, and is it not a Christian act to forgive them?"

"Madame, " said the doctor, "they are not your enemies, but you are theenemy of the human race: nobody can think without, horror of yourcrimes. "

"And so, my father, " she replied, "I feel no resentment towards them, andI desire to meet in Paradise those who have been chiefly instrumental intaking me and bringing me here. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "what mean you by this? Such words are usedby some when they desire people's death. Explain, I beg, what you mean. "

"Heaven forbid, " cried the marquise, "that you should understand me thus!Nay, may God grant them long prosperity in this world and infinite gloryin the next! Dictate a new letter, and I will write just what youplease. "

When a fresh letter had been written, the marquise would attend tonothing but her confession, and begged the doctor to take the pen forher. "I have done so many wrong thing's, " she said, "that if I only gaveyou a verbal confession, I should never be sure I had given a completeaccount. "

Then they both knelt down to implore the grace of the Holy Spirit. Theysaid a 'Veni Creator' and a 'Salve Regina', and the doctor then rose andseated himself at a table, while the marquise, still on her knees, begana Confiteor and made her whole confession. At nine o'clock, FatherChavigny, who had brought Doctor Pirot in the morning, came in again. The marquise seemed annoyed, but still put a good face upon it. "Myfather, " said she, "I did not expect to see you so late; pray leave me afew minutes longer with the doctor. " He retired. "Why has he come?"asked the marquise. 

"It is better for you not to be alone, " said the doctor. 

"Then do you mean to leave me?" cried the marquise, apparently terrified. 

"Madame, I will do as you wish, " he answered; "but you would be actingkindly if you could spare me for a few hours. I might go home, andFather Chavigny would stay with you. "

"Ah!" she cried, wringing her hands, "you promised you would not leave metill I am dead, and now you go away. Remember, I never saw you beforethis morning, but since then you have become more to me than any of myoldest friends. "

"Madame, " said the good doctor, "I will do all I can to please you. If Iask for a little rest, it is in order that I may resume my place withmore vigour to-morrow, and render you better service than I otherwisecould. If I take no rest, all I say or do must suffer. You count on theexecution for tomorrow; I do not know if you are right; but if so, to-morrow will be your great and decisive day, and we shall both need allthe strength we have. We have already been working for thirteen orfourteen hours for the good of your salvation; I am not a strong man, andI think you should realise, madame, that if you do not let me rest alittle, I may not be able to stay with you to the end. "

"Sir, " said the marquise, "you have closed my mouth. To-morrow is for mea far more important day than to-day, and I have been wrong: of courseyou must rest to-night. Let us just finish this one thing, and read overwhat we have written. "

It was done, and the doctor would have retired; but the supper came in, and the marquise would not let him go without taking something. She toldthe concierge to get a carriage and charge it to her. She took a cup ofsoup and two eggs, and a minute later the concierge came back to say thecarriage was at the door. Then the marquise bade the doctor good-night, making him promise to pray for her and to be at the Conciergerie by sixo'clock the next morning. This he promised her. 

The day following, as he went into the tower, he found Father Chavigny, who had taken his place with the marquise, kneeling and praying with her. The priest was weeping, but she was calm, and received the doctor in justthe same way as she had let him go. When Father Chavigny saw him, heretired. The marquise begged Chavigny to pray for her, and wanted tomake him promise to return, but that he would not do. She then turned tothe doctor, saying, "Sir, you are punctual, and I cannot complain thatyou have broken your promise; but oh, how the time has dragged, and howlong it has seemed before the clock struck six!"

"I am here, madame, " said the doctor; "but first of all, how have youspent the night?"

"I have written three letters, " said the marquise, "and, short as theywere, they took a long time to write: one was to my sister, one to Madamede Marillac, and the third to M. Couste. I should have liked to showthem to you, but Father Chavigny offered to take charge of them, and ashe had approved of them, I could not venture to suggest any doubts. After the letters were written, we had some conversation and prayer; butwhen the father took up his breviary and I my rosary with the sameintention, I felt so weary that I asked if I might lie on my bed; he saidI might, and I had two good hours' sleep without dreams or any sort ofuneasiness; when I woke we prayed together, and had just finished whenyou came back. "

"Well, madame, " said the doctor, "if you will, we can pray again; kneeldown, and let us say the 'Veni Sancte Spiritus'. "

She obeyed, and said the prayer with much unction and piety. The prayerfinished, M. Pirot was about to take up the pen to go on with theconfession, when she said, "Pray let me submit to you one question whichis troubling me. Yesterday you gave me great hope of the mercy of God;but I cannot presume to hope I shall be saved without spending a longtime in purgatory; my crime is far too atrocious to be pardoned on anyother conditions; and when I have attained to a love of God far greaterthan I can feel here, I should not expect to be saved before my stainshave been purified by fire, without suffering the penalty that my sinshave deserved. But I have been told that the flames of purgatory wheresouls are burned for a time are just the same as the flames of hell wherethose who are damned burn through all eternity tell me, then, how can asoul awaking in purgatory at the moment of separation from this body besure that she is not really in hell? how can she know that the flamesthat burn her and consume not will some day cease? For the torment shesuffers is like that of the damned, and the flames wherewith she isburned are even as the flames of hell. This I would fain know, that atthis awful moment I may feel no doubt, that I may know for certainwhether I dare hope or must despair. "

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "you are right, and God is too just to addthe horror of uncertainty to His rightful punishments. At that momentwhen the soul quits her earthly body the judgment of God is passed uponher: she hears the sentence of pardon or of doom; she knows whether sheis in the state of grace or of mortal sin; she sees whether she is to beplunged forever into hell, or if God sends her for a time to purgatory. This sentence, madame, you will learn at the very instant when theexecutioner's axe strikes you; unless, indeed, the fire of charity has sopurified you in this life that you may pass, without any purgatory atall, straight to the home of the blessed who surround the throne of theLord, there to receive a recompense for earthly martyrdom. "

"Sir, " replied the marquise, "I have such faith in all you say that Ifeel I understand it all now, and I am satisfied. "

The doctor and the marquise then resumed the confession that wasinterrupted the night before. The marquise had during the nightrecollected certain articles that she wanted to add. So they continued, the doctor making her pause now and then in the narration of the heavieroffences to recite an act of contrition. 

After an hour and a half they came to tell her to go down. The registrarwas waiting to read her the sentence. She listened very calmly, kneeling, only moving her head; then, with no alteration in her voice, she said, "In a moment: we will have one word more, the doctor and I, andthen I am at your disposal. " She then continued to dictate the rest ofher confession. When she reached the end, she begged him to offer ashort prayer with her, that God might help her to appear with suchbecoming contrition before her judges as should atone for her scandalouseffrontery. She then took up her cloak, a prayer-book which FatherChavigny had left with her, and followed the concierge, who led her tothe torture chamber, where her sentence was to be read. 

First, there was an examination which lasted five hours. The marquisetold all she had promised to tell, denying that she had any accomplices, and affirming that she knew nothing of the composition of the poisons shehad administered, and nothing of their antidotes. When this was done, andthe judges saw that they could extract nothing further, they signed tothe registrar to read the sentence. She stood to hear it: it was asfollows:

"That by the finding of the court, d'Aubray de Brinvilliers is convictedof causing the death by poison of Maitre Dreux d'Aubray, her father, andof the two Maitres d'Aubray, her brothers, one a civil lieutenant, theother a councillor to the Parliament, also of attempting the life ofTherese d'Aubray, her sister; in punishment whereof the court hascondemned and does condemn the said d'Aubray de Brinvilliers to make therightful atonement before the great gate of the church of Paris, whithershe shall be conveyed in a tumbril, barefoot, a rope on her neck, holdingin her hands a burning torch two pounds in weight; and there on her kneesshe shall say and declare that maliciously, with desire for revenge andseeking their goods, she did poison her father, cause to be poisoned hertwo brothers, and attempt the life of her sister, whereof she dothrepent, asking pardon of God, of the king, and of the judges; and whenthis is done, she shall be conveyed and carried in the same tumbril tothe Place de Greve of this town, there to have her head cut off on ascaffold to be set up for the purpose at that place; afterwards her bodyto be burnt and the ashes scattered; and first she is to be subjected tothe question ordinary and extraordinary, that she may reveal the names ofher accomplices. She is declared to be deprived of all successions fromher said father, brothers, and sister, from the date of the severalcrimes; and all her goods are confiscated to the proper persons; and thesum of 4000 livres shall be paid out of her estate to the king, and 400livres to the Church for prayers to be said on behalf of the poisonedpersons; and all the costs shall be paid, including those of Amelincalled Lachaussee. In Parliament, 16th July 1676. "

The marquise heard her sentence without showing any sign of fear orweakness. When it was finished, she said to the registrar, "Will you, sir, be so kind as to read it again? I had not expected the tumbril, andI was so much struck by that that I lost the thread of what followed. "

The registrar read the sentence again. From that moment she was theproperty of the executioner, who approached her. She knew him by thecord he held in his hands, and extended her own, looking him over coollyfrom head to foot without a word. The judges then filed out, disclosingas they did so the various apparatus of the question. The marquisefirmly gazed upon the racks and ghastly rings, on which so many had beenstretched crying and screaming. She noticed the three buckets of water

[Note: The torture with the water was thus administered. There wereeight vessels, each containing 2 pints of water. Four of these weregiven for the ordinary, and eight for the extraordinary. The executionerinserted a horn into the patient's mouth, and if he shut his teeth, forced him to open them by pinching his nose with the finger and thumb. ]

prepared for her, and turned to the registrar--for she would not addressthe executioner--saying, with a smile, "No doubt all this water is todrown me in? I hope you don't suppose that a person of my size couldswallow it all. " The executioner said not a word, but began taking offher cloak and all her other garments, until she was completely naked. Hethen led her up to the wall and made her sit on the rack of the ordinaryquestion, two feet from the ground. There she was again asked to givethe names of her accomplices, the composition of the poison and itsantidote; but she made the same reply as to the doctor, only adding, "Ifyou do not believe me, you have my body in your hands, and you cantorture me. "

The registrar signed to the executioner to do his duty. He firstfastened the feet of the marquise to two rings close together fixed to aboard; then making her lie down, he fastened her wrists to two otherrings in the wall, distant about three feet from each other. The head wasat the same height as the feet, and the body, held up on a trestle, described a half-curve, as though lying over a wheel. To increase thestretch of the limbs, the man gave two turns to a crank, which pushed thefeet, at first about twelve inches from the rings, to a distance of sixinches. And here we may leave our narrative to reproduce the officialreport. 

"On the small trestle, while she was being stretched, she said severaltimes, 'My God! you are killing me! And I only spoke the truth. '

"The water was given: she turned and twisted, saying, 'You are killingme!'

"The water was again given. 

"Admonished to name her accomplices, she said there was only one man, whohad asked her for poison to get rid of his wife, but he was dead. 

"The water was given; she moved a little, but would not say anything. 

"Admonished to say why, if she had no accomplice, she had written fromthe Conciergerie to Penautier, begging him to do all he could for her, and to remember that his interests in this matter were the same as herown, she said that she never knew Penautier had had any understandingwith Sainte-Croix about the poisons, and it would be a lie to sayotherwise; but when a paper was found in Sainte-Croix's box thatconcerned Penautier, she remembered how often she had seen him at thehouse, and thought it possible that the friendship might have includedsome business about the poisons; that, being in doubt on the point, sherisked writing a letter as though she were sure, for by doing so she wasnot prejudicing her own case; for either Penautier was an accomplice ofSainte-Croix or he was not. If he was, he would suppose the marquiseknew enough to accuse him, and would accordingly do his best to save her;if he was not, the letter was a letter wasted, and that was all. 

"The water was again given; she turned and twisted much, but said that onthis subject she had said all she possibly could; if she said anythingelse, it would be untrue. "

The ordinary question was at an end. The marquise had now taken half thequantity of water she had thought enough to drown her. The executionerpaused before he proceeded to the extraordinary question. Instead of thetrestle two feet and a half high on which she lay, they passed under herbody a trestle of three and a half feet, which gave the body a greaterarch, and as this was done without lengthening the ropes, her limbs werestill further stretched, and the bonds, tightly straining at wrists andankles, penetrated the flesh and made the blood run. The question beganonce more, interrupted by the demands of the registrar and the answers ofthe sufferer. Her cries seemed not even to be heard. 

"On the large trestle, during the stretching, she said several times, 'OGod, you tear me to, pieces! Lord, pardon me! Lord, have mercy uponme!'

"Asked if she had nothing more to tell regarding her accomplices, shesaid they might kill her, but she would not tell a lie that would destroyher soul. 

"The water was given, she moved about a little, but would not speak. 

"Admonished that she should tell the composition of the poisons and theirantidotes, she said that she did not know what was in them; the onlything she could recall was toads; that Sainte-Croix never revealed hissecret to her; that she did not believe he made them himself, but hadthem prepared by Glazer; she seemed to remember that some of themcontained nothing but rarefied arsenic; that as to an antidote, she knewof no other than milk; and Sainte-Croix had told her that if one hadtaken milk in the morning, and on the first onset of the poison tookanother glassful, one would have nothing to fear. 

"Admonished to say if she could add anything further, she said she hadnow told everything; and if they killed her, they could not extractanything more. 

"More water was given; she writhed a little, and said she was dead, butnothing more. 

"More water was given; she writhed more violently, but would say no more. 

"Yet again water was given; writhing and twisting, she said, with a deepgroan, 'O my God, I am killed!' but would speak no more. "

Then they tortured her no further: she was let down, untied, and placedbefore the fire in the usual manner. While there, close to the fire, lying on the mattress, she was visited by the good doctor, who, feelinghe could not bear to witness the spectacle just described, had asked herleave to retire, that he might say a mass for her, that God might granther patience and courage. It is plain that the good priest had notprayed in vain. 

"Ah, " said the marquise, when she perceived him, "I have long beendesiring to see you again, that you might comfort me. My torture hasbeen very long and very painful, but this is the last time I shall haveto treat with men; now all is with God for the future. See my hands, sir, and my feet, are they not torn and wounded? Have not myexecutioners smitten me in the same places where Christ was smitten?"

"And therefore, madame, " replied the priest, "these sufferings now areyour happiness; each torture is one step nearer to heaven. As you say, you are now for God alone; all your thoughts and hopes must be fastenedupon Him; we must pray to Him, like the penitent king, to give you aplace among His elect; and since nought that is impure can pass thither, we must strive, madame, to purify you from all that might bar the way toheaven. "

The marquise rose with the doctor's aid, for she could scarcely stand;tottering, she stepped forward between him and the executioner, who tookcharge of her immediately after the sentence was read, and was notallowed to leave her before it was completely carried out. They allthree entered the chapel and went into the choir, where the doctor andthe marquise knelt in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. At that momentseveral persons appeared in the nave, drawn by curiosity. They could notbe turned out, so the executioner, to save the marquise from beingannoyed, shut the gate of the choir, and let the patient pass behind thealtar. There she sat down in a chair, and the doctor on a seat opposite;then he first saw, by the light of the chapel window, how greatly changedshe was. Her face, generally so pale, was inflamed, her eyes glowing andfeverish, all her body involuntarily trembling. The doctor would havespoken a few words of consolation, but she did not attend. "Sir, " shesaid, "do you know that my sentence is an ignominious one? Do you knowthere is fire in the sentence?"

The doctor gave no answer; but, thinking she needed something, bade thegaoler to bring her wine. A minute later he brought it in a cup, and thedoctor handed it to the marquise, who moistened her lips and then gave itback. She then noticed that her neck was uncovered, and took out herhandkerchief to cover it, asking the gaoler for a pin to fasten it with. When he was slow in finding a pin, looking on his person for it, shefancied that he feared she would choke herself, and shaking her head, said, with a smile, "You have nothing to fear now; and here is thedoctor, who will pledge his word that I will do myself no mischief. "

"Madame, " said the gaoler, handing her the pin she wanted, "I beg yourpardon for keeping you waiting. I swear I did not distrust you; ifanyone distrusts you, it is not I. "

Then kneeling before her, he begged to kiss her hand. She gave it, andasked him to pray to God for her. "Ah yes, " he cried, sobbing, "with allmy heart. " She then fastened her dress as best she could with her handstied, and when the gaoler had gone and she was alone with the doctor, said:--

"Did you not hear what I said, sir? I told you there was fire in mysentence. And though it is only after death that my body is to be burnt, it will always be a terrible disgrace on my memory. I am saved the painof being burnt alive, and thus, perhaps, saved from a death of despair, but the shamefulness is the same, and it is that I think of. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "it in no way affects your soul's salvationwhether your body is cast into the fire and reduced to ashes or whetherit is buried in the ground and eaten by worms, whether it is drawn on ahurdle and thrown upon a dung-heap, or embalmed with Oriental perfumesand laid in a rich man's tomb. Whatever may be your end, your body willarise on the appointed day, and if Heaven so will, it will come forthfrom its ashes more glorious than a royal corpse lying at this moment ina gilded casket. Obsequies, madame, are for those who survive, not forthe dead. "

A sound was heard at the door of the choir. The doctor went to see whatit was, and found a man who insisted on entering, all but fighting withthe executioner. The doctor approached and asked what was the matter. The man was a saddler, from whom the marquise had bought a carriagebefore she left France; this she had partly paid for, but still owed himtwo hundred livres. He produced the note he had had from her, on whichwas a faithful record of the sums she had paid on account. The marquiseat this point called out, not knowing what was going on, and the doctorand executioner went to her. "Have they come to fetch me already?" saidshe. "I am not well prepared just at this moment; but never mind, I amready. "

The doctor reassured her, and told her what was going on. "The man isquite right, " she said to the executioner; "tell him I will give ordersas far as I can about the money. " Then, seeing the executioner retiring, she said to the doctor, "Must I go now, sir? I wish they would give me alittle more time; for though I am ready, as I told you, I am not reallyprepared. Forgive me, father; it is the question and the sentence thathave upset me it is this fire burning in my eyes like hell-flames. 

"Had they left me with you all this time, there would now be better hopeof my salvation. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "you will probably have all the time beforenightfall to compose yourself and think what remains for you to do. "

"Ah, sir, " she replied, with a smile, "do not think they will show somuch consideration for a poor wretch condemned to be burnt. That doesnot depend on ourselves; but as soon as everything is ready, they willlet us know, and we must start. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "I am certain that they will give you the timeyou need. "

"No, no, " she replied abruptly and feverishly, "no, I will not keep themwaiting. As soon as the tumbril is at this door, they have only to tellme, and I go down. "

"Madame, " said he, "I would not hold you back if I found you prepared tostand before the face of God, for in your situation it is right to askfor no time, and to go when the moment is come; but not everyone is soready as Christ was, who rose from prayer and awaked His disciples thatHe might leave the garden and go out to meet His enemies. You at thismoment are weak, and if they come for you just now I should resist yourdeparture. "

"Be calm; the time is not yet come, " said the executioner, who had heardthis talk. He knew his statement must be believed, and wished as far aspossible to reassure the marquise. "There is no hurry, and we cannotstart for another two of three hours. "

This assurance calmed the marquise somewhat, and she thanked the man. Then turning to the doctor, she said, "Here is a rosary that I wouldrather should not fall into this person's hands. Not that he could notmake good use of it; for, in spite of their trade, I fancy that thesepeople are Christians like ourselves. But I should prefer to leave thisto somebody else. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "if you will tell me your wishes in thismatter, I will see that they are carried out. "

"Alas!" she said, "there is no one but my sister; and I fear lest she, remembering my crime towards her, may be too horrified to touch anythingthat belonged to me. If she did not mind, it would be a great comfort tome to think she would wear it after my death, and that the sight of itwould remind her to pray for me; but after what has passed, the rosarycould hardly fail to revive an odious recollection. My God, my God! Iam desperately wicked; can it be that you will pardon me?"

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "I think you are mistaken about Mlle, d'Aubray. You may see by her letter what are her feelings towards you, and you must pray with this rosary up to the very end. Let not yourprayers be interrupted or distracted, for no guilty penitent must ceasefrom prayer; and I, madame, will engage to deliver the rosary where itwill be gladly received. "

And the marquise, who had been constantly distracted since the morning, was now, thanks to the patient goodness of the doctor, able to returnwith her former fervour to her prayers. She prayed till seven o'clock. As the clock struck, the executioner without a word came and stood beforeher; she saw that her moment had come, and said to the doctor, graspinghis arm, "A little longer; just a few moments, I entreat. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, rising, "we will now adore the divine blood ofthe Sacrament, praying that you may be thus cleansed from all soil andsin that may be still in your heart. Thus shall you gain the respite youdesire. "

The executioner then tied tight the cords round her hands that he had letloose before, and she advanced pretty firmly and knelt before the altar, between the doctor and the chaplain. The latter was in his surplice, andchanted a 'Veni Creator, Salve Regina, and Tantum ergo'. These prayersover, he pronounced the blessing of the Holy Sacrament, while themarquise knelt with her face upon the ground. The executioner then wentforward to get ready a shirt, and she made her exit from the chapel, supported on the left by the doctor's arm, on the right by theexecutioner's assistant. Thus proceeding, she first felt embarrassmentand confusion. Ten or twelve people were waiting outside, and as shesuddenly confronted them, she made a step backward, and with her hands, bound though they were, pulled the headdress down to cover half her face. She passed through a small door, which was closed behind her, and thenfound herself between the two doors alone, with the doctor and theexecutioner's man. Here the rosary, in consequence of her violentmovement to cover her face, came undone, and several beads fell on thefloor. She went on, however, without observing this; but the doctorstopped her, and he and the man stooped down and picked up all the beads, which they put into her hand. Thanking them humbly for this attention, she said to the man, "Sir, I know I have now no worldly possessions, thatall I have upon me belongs to you, and I may not give anything awaywithout your consent; but I ask you kindly to allow me to give thischaplet to the doctor before I die: you will not be much the loser, forit is of no value, and I am giving it to him for my sister. Kindly letme do this. "

"Madame, " said the man, "it is the custom for us to get all the propertyof the condemned; but you are mistress of all you have, and if the thingwere of the very greatest value you might dispose of it as you pleased. "

The doctor, whose arm she held, felt her shiver at this gallantry, whichfor her, with her natural haughty disposition, must have been the worsthumiliation imaginable; but the movement was restrained, and her facegave no sign. She now came to the porch of the Conciergerie, between thecourt and the first door, and there she was made to sit down, so as to beput into the right condition for making the 'amende honorable'. Eachstep brought her nearer to the scaffold, and so did each incident causeher more uneasiness. Now she turned round desperately, and perceived theexecutioner holding a shirt in his hand. The door of the vestibuleopened, and about fifty people came in, among them the Countess ofSoissons, Madame du Refuge, Mlle. De Scudery, M, de Roquelaure, and theAbbe de Chimay. At the sight the marquise reddened with shame, andturning to the doctor, said, "Is this man to strip me again, as he did inthe question chamber? All these preparations are very cruel; and, inspite of myself, they divert my thoughts, from God. "

Low as her voice was, the executioner heard, and reassured her, sayingthat they would take nothing off, only putting the shirt over her otherclothes. 

He then approached, and the marquise, unable to speak to the doctor witha man on each side of her, showed him by her looks how deeply she feltthe ignominy of her situation. Then, when the shirt had been put on, forwhich operation her hands had to be untied, the man raised the headdresswhich she had pulled down, and tied it round her neck, then fastened herhands together with one rope and put another round her waist, and yetanother round her neck; then, kneeling before her, he took off her shoesand stockings. Then she stretched out her hands to the doctor. 

"Oh, sir, " she cried, "in God's name, you see what they have done to me!Come and comfort me. "

The doctor came at once, supporting her head upon his breast, trying tocomfort her; but she, in a tone of bitter lamentation, gazing at thecrowd, who devoured her with all their eyes, cried, "Oh, sir, is not thisa strange, barbarous curiosity?"

"Madame, " said he, the tears in his eyes, "do not look at these eagerpeople from the point of view of their curiosity and barbarity, thoughthat is real enough, but consider it part of the humiliation sent by Godfor the expiation of your crimes. God, who was innocent, was subject tovery different opprobrium, and yet suffered all with joy; for, asTertullian observes, He was a victim fattened on the joys of sufferingalone. "

As the doctor spoke these words, the executioner placed in the marquise'shands the lighted torch which she was to carry to Notre-Dame, there tomake the 'amende honorable', and as it was too heavy, weighing twopounds, the doctor supported it with his right hand, while the registrarread her sentence aloud a second time. The doctor did all in his powerto prevent her from hearing this by speaking unceasingly of God. Stillshe grew frightfully pale at the words, "When this is done, she shall beconveyed on a tumbril, barefoot, a cord round her neck, holding in herhands a burning torch two pounds in weight, " and the doctor could feel nodoubt that in spite of his efforts she had heard. It became still worsewhen she reached the threshold of the vestibule and saw the great crowdwaiting in the court. Then her face worked convulsively, and crouchingdown, as though she would bury her feet in the earth, she addressed thedoctor in words both plaintive and wild: "Is it possible that, after whatis now happening, M. De Brinvilliers can endure to go on living?"

"Madame, " said the doctor, "when our Lord was about to leave Hisdisciples, He did not ask God to remove them from this earth, but topreserve them from all sin. 'My Father, ' He said, 'I ask not that Youtake them from the world, but keep them safe from evil. ' If, madame, youpray for M. De Brinvilliers, let it be only that he may be kept in grace, if he has it, and may attain to it if he has it not. "

But the words were useless: at that moment the humiliation was too greatand too public; her face contracted, her eyebrows knit, flames dartedfrom her eyes, her mouth was all twisted. Her whole appearance washorrible; the devil was once more in possession. During this paroxysm, which lasted nearly a quarter of an hour, Lebrun, who stood near, gotsuch a vivid impression of her face that the following night he could notsleep, and with the sight of it ever before his eyes made the finedrawing which--is now in the Louvre, giving to the figure the head of atiger, in order to show that the principal features were the same, andthe whole resemblance very striking. 

The delay in progress was caused by the immense crowd blocking the court, only pushed aside by archers on horseback, who separated the people. Themarquise now went out, and the doctor, lest the sight of the peopleshould completely distract her, put a crucifix in her hand, bidding herfix her gaze upon it. This advice she followed till they gained the gateinto the street where the tumbril was waiting; then she lifted her eyesto see the shameful object. It was one of the smallest of carts, stillsplashed with mud and marked by the stones it had carried, with no seat, only a little straw at the bottom. It was drawn by a wretched horse, well matching the disgraceful conveyance. 

The executioner bade her get in first, which she did very rapidly, as ifto escape observation. There she crouched like a wild beast, in the leftcorner, on the straw, riding backwards. The doctor sat beside her on theright. Then the executioner got in, shutting the door behind him, andsat opposite her, stretching his legs between the doctor's. His man, whose business it was to guide the horse, sat on the front, back to backwith the doctor and the marquise, his feet stuck out on the shafts. Thusit is easy to understand how Madame de Sevigne, who was on the PontNotre-Dame, could see nothing but the headdress of the marquise as shewas driven to Notre-Dame. 

The cortege had only gone a few steps, when the face of the marquise, fora time a little calmer, was again convulsed. From her eyes, fixedconstantly on the crucifix, there darted a flaming glance, then came atroubled and frenzied look which terrified the doctor. He knew she musthave been struck by something she saw, and, wishing to calm her, askedwhat it was. 

"Nothing, nothing, " she replied quickly, looking towards him; "it wasnothing. "

"But, madame, " said he, "you cannot give the lie to your own eyes; and aminute ago I saw a fire very different from the fire of love, which onlysome displeasing sight can have provoked. What may this be? Tell me, pray; for you promised to tell me of any sort of temptation that mightassail you. "

"Sir, " she said, "I will do so, but it is nothing. " Then, lookingtowards the executioner, who, as we know, sat facing the doctor, shesaid, "Put me in front of you, please; hide that man from me. " And shestretched out her hands towards a man who was following the tumbril onhorseback, and so dropped the torch, which the doctor took, and thecrucifix, which fell on the floor. The executioner looked back, and thenturned sideways as she wished, nodding and saying, "Oh yes, Iunderstand. " The doctor pressed to know what it meant, and she said, "Itis nothing worth telling you, and it is a weakness in me not to be ableto bear the sight of a man who has ill-used me. The man who touched theback of the tumbril is Desgrais, who arrested me at Liege, and treated meso badly all along the road. When I saw him, I could not control myself, as you noticed. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "I have heard of him, and you yourself spokeof him in confession; but the man was sent to arrest you, and was in aresponsible position, so that he had to guard you closely and rigorously;even if he had been more severe, he would only have been carrying out hisorders. Jesus Christ, madame, could but have regarded His executionersas ministers of iniquity, servants of injustice, who added of their ownaccord every indignity they could think of; yet all along the way Helooked on them with patience and more than patience, and in His death Heprayed for them. "

In the heart of the marquise a hard struggle was passing, and this wasreflected on her face; but it was only for a moment, and after a lastconvulsive shudder she was again calm and serene; then she said:--

"Sir, you are right, and I am very wrong to feel such a fancy as this:may God forgive me; and pray remember this fault on the scaffold, whenyou give me the absolution you promise, that this too may be pardonedme. " Then she turned to the executioner and said, "Please sit where youwere before, that I may see M. Desgrais. " The man hesitated, but on asign from the doctor obeyed. The marquise looked fully at Desgrais forsome time, praying for him; then, fixing her eyes on the crucifix, beganto pray for herself: this incident occurred in front of the church ofSainte-Genevieve des Ardents. 

But, slowly as it moved, the tumbril steadily advanced, and at lastreached the place of Notre-Dame. The archers drove back the crowdingpeople, and the tumbril went up to the steps, and there stopped. Theexecutioner got down, removed the board at the back, held out his arms tothe marquise, and set her down on the pavement. The doctor then gotdown, his legs quite numb from the cramped position he had been in sincethey left the Conciergerie. He mounted the church steps and stood behindthe marquise, who herself stood on the square, with the registrar on herright, the executioner on her left, and a great crowd of people behindher, inside the church, all the doors being thrown open. She was made tokneel, and in her hands was placed the lighted torch, which up to thattime the doctor had helped to carry. Then the registrar read the 'amendehonorable' from a written paper, and she began to say it after him, butin so low a voice that the executioner said loudly, "Speak out as hedoes; repeat every word. Louder, louder!" Then she raised her voice, and loudly and firmly recited the following apology. 

"I confess that, wickedly and for revenge, I poisoned my father and mybrothers, and attempted to poison my sister, to obtain possession oftheir goods, and I ask pardon of God, of the king, and of my country'slaws. "

The 'amende honorable' over, the executioner again carried her to thetumbril, not giving her the torch any more: the doctor sat beside her:all was just as before, and the tumbril went on towards La Greve. Fromthat moment, until she arrived at the scaffold, she never took her eyesoff the crucifix, which the doctor held before her the whole time, exhorting her with religious words, trying to divert her attention fromthe terrible noise which the people made around the car, a murmur mingledwith curses. 

When they reached the Place de Greve, the tumbril stopped at a littledistance from the scaffold. Then the registrar M. Drouet, came up onhorseback, and, addressing the marquise, said, "Madame, have you nothingmore to say? If you wish to make any declaration, the twelvecommissaries are here at hand, ready to receive it. "

"You see, madame, " said the doctor, "we are now at the end of ourjourney, and, thank God, you have not lost your power of endurance on theroad; do not destroy the effect of all you have suffered and all you haveyet to suffer by concealing what you know, if perchance you do know morethan you have hitherto said. "

"I have told all I know, " said the marquise, "and there is no more I cansay. "

"Repeat these words in a loud voice, " said the doctor, "so that everybodymay hear. "

Then in her loudest voice the marquise repeated--

"I have told all I know, and there is no more I can say. "

After this declaration, they were going to drive the tumbril nearer tothe scaffold, but the crowd was so dense that the assistant could notforce a way through, though he struck out on every side with his whip. So they had to stop a few paces short. The executioner had already gotdown, and was adjusting the ladder. In this terrible moment of waiting, the marquise looked calmly and gratefully at the doctor, and when shefelt that the tumbril had stopped, said, "Sir, it is not here we part:you promised not to leave me till my head is cut off. I trust you willkeep your word. "

"To be sure I will, " the doctor replied; "we shall not be separatedbefore the moment of your death: be not troubled about that, for I willnever forsake you. "

"I looked for this kindness, " she said, "and your promise was too solemnfor you to think for one moment of failing me. Please be on the scaffoldand be near me. And now, sir, I would anticipate the finalfarewell, --for all the things I shall have to do on the scaffold maydistract me, --so let me thank you here. If I am prepared to suffer thesentence of my earthly judge, and to hear that of my heavenly judge, Iowe it to your care for me, and I am deeply grateful. I can only askyour forgiveness for the trouble I have given you. " Tears choked thedoctor's speech, and he could not reply. "Do you not forgive me?" sherepeated. At her words, the doctor tried to reassure her; but feelingthat if he opened his mouth he must needs break into sobs, he still keptsilent. The marquise appealed to him a third time. "I entreat you, sir, forgive me; and do not regret the time you have passed with me. You willsay a De Profundus at the moment of my death, and a mass far meto-morrow: will you not promise?"

"Yes, madame, " said the doctor in a choking voice; "yes, yes, be calm, and I will do all you bid me. "

The executioner hereupon removed the board, and helped the marquise outof the tumbril; and as they advanced the few steps towards the scaffold, and all eyes were upon them, the doctor could hide his tears for a momentwithout being observed. As he was drying his eyes, the assistant gavehim his hand to help him down. Meanwhile the marquise was mounting theladder with the executioner, and when they reached the platform he toldher to kneel down in front of a block which lay across it. Then thedoctor, who had mounted with a step less firm than hers, came and kneltbeside her, but turned in the other direction, so that he might whisperin her ear--that is, the marquise faced the river, and the doctor facedthe Hotel de Ville. Scarcely had they taken their place thus when theman took down her hair and began cutting it at the back and at the sides, making her turn her head this way and that, at times rather roughly; butthough this ghastly toilet lasted almost half an hour, she made nocomplaint, nor gave any sign of pain but her silent tears. When her hairwas cut, he tore open the top of the shirt, so as to uncover theshoulders, and finally bandaged her eyes, and lifting her face by thechin, ordered her to hold her head erect. She obeyed, unresisting, allthe time listening to the doctor's words and repeating them from time totime, when they seemed suitable to her own condition. Meanwhile, at theback of the scaffold, on which the stake was placed, stood theexecutioner, glancing now and again at the folds of his cloak, wherethere showed the hilt of a long, straight sabre, which he had carefullyconcealed for fear Madame de Brinvilliers might see it when she mountedthe scaffold. When the doctor, having pronounced absolution, turned hishead and saw that the man was not yet armed, he uttered these prayers, which she repeated after him: "Jesus, Son of David and Mary, have mercyupon me; Mary, daughter of David and Mother of Jesus, pray for me; myGod, I abandon my body, which is but dust, that men may burn it and dowith it what they please, in the firm faith that it shall one day ariseand be reunited with my soul. I trouble not concerning my body; grant, OGod, that I yield up to Thee my soul, that it may enter into Thy rest;receive it into Thy bosom; that it may dwell once more there, whence itfirst descended; from Thee it came, to Thee returns; Thou art the sourceand the beginning; be thou, O God, the centre and the end!"

The marquise had said these words when suddenly the doctor heard a dullstroke like the sound of a chopper chopping meat upon a block: at thatmoment she ceased to speak. The blade had sped so quickly that thedoctor had not even seen a flash. He stopped, his hair bristling, hisbrow bathed in sweat; for, not seeing the head fall, he supposed that theexecutioner had missed the mark and must needs start afresh. But hisfear was short-lived, for almost at the same moment the head inclined tothe left, slid on to the shoulder, and thence backward, while the bodyfell forward on the crossway block, supported so that the spectatorscould see the neck cut open and bleeding. Immediately, in fulfilment ofhis promise, the doctor said a De Profundis. 

When the prayer was done and the doctor raised his head, he saw beforehim the executioner wiping his face. "Well, sir, " said he, "was not thata good stroke? I always put up a prayer on these occasions, and God hasalways assisted me; but I have been anxious for several days about thislady. I had six masses said, and I felt strengthened in hand and heart. "He then pulled out a bottle from under his cloak, and drank a dram; andtaking the body under one arm, all dressed as it was, and the head in hisother hand, the eyes still bandaged, he threw both upon the faggots, which his assistant lighted. 

"The next day, " says Madame de Sevigne, "people were looking for thecharred bones of Madame de Brinvilliers, because they said she was asaint. "

In 1814, M. D'Offemont, father of the present occupier of the castlewhere the Marquise de Brinvilliers poisoned her father, frightened at theapproach of all the allied troops, contrived in one of the towers severalhiding-places, where he shut up his silver and such other valuables aswere to be found in this lonely country in the midst of the forest ofLaigue. The foreign troops were passing backwards and forwards atOffemont, and after a three months' occupation retired to the fartherside of the frontier. 

Then the owners ventured to take out the various things that had beenhidden; and tapping the walls, to make sure nothing had been overlooked, they detected a hollow sound that indicated the presence of someunsuspected cavity. With picks and bars they broke the wall open, andwhen several stones had come out they found a large closet like alaboratory, containing furnaces, chemical instruments, phialshermetically sealed full of an unknown liquid, and four packets ofpowders of different colours. Unluckily, the people who made thesediscoveries thought them of too much or too little importance; andinstead of submitting the ingredients to the tests of modern science, they made away with them all, frightened at their probably deadly nature. 

Thus was lost this great opportunity--probably the last--for finding andanalysing the substances which composed the poisons of Sainte-Croix andMadame de Brinvilliers. 

VANINKA

About the end of the reign of the Emperor Paul I--that is to say, towardsthe middle of the first year of the nineteenth century--just as fouro'clock in the afternoon was sounding from the church of St. Peter andSt. Paul, whose gilded vane overlooks the ramparts of the fortress, acrowd, composed of all sorts and conditions of people, began to gather infront of a house which belonged to General Count Tchermayloff, formerlymilitary governor of a fair-sized town in the government of Pultava. Thefirst spectators had been attracted by the preparations which they sawhad been made in the middle of the courtyard for administering torturewith the knout. One of the general's serfs, he who acted as barber, wasto be the victim. 

Although this kind of punishment was a common enough sight in St. Petersburg, it nevertheless attracted all passers-by when it was publiclyadministered. This was the occurrence which had caused a crowd, as justmentioned, before General Tchermayloff's house. 

The spectators, even had they been in a hurry, would have had no cause tocomplain of being kept waiting, for at half-past four a young man ofabout five-and-twenty, in the handsome uniform of an aide-de-camp, hisbreast covered with decorations, appeared on the steps at the farther endof the court-yard in front of the house. These steps faced the largegateway, and led to the general's apartments. 

Arrived on the steps, the young aide-de-camp stopped a moment and fixedhis eyes on a window, the closely drawn curtains of which did not allowhim the least chance of satisfying his curiosity, whatever may have beenits cause. Seeing that it was useless and that he was only wasting timein gazing in that direction, he made a sign to a bearded man who wasstanding near a door which led to the servants' quarters. The door wasimmediately opened, and the culprit was seen advancing in the middle of abody of serfs and followed by the executioner. The serfs were forced toattend the spectacle, that it might serve as an example to them. Theculprit was the general's barber, as we have said, and the executionerwas merely the coachman, who, being used to the handling of a whip, wasraised or degraded, which you will, to the office of executioner everytime punishment with the knout was ordered. This duty did not deprivehim of either the esteem or even the friendship of his comrades, for theywell knew that it was his arm alone that punished them and that his heartwas not in his work. As Ivan's arm as well as the rest of his body wasthe property of the general, and the latter could do as he pleased withit, no one was astonished that it should be used for this purpose. Morethan that, correction administered by Ivan was nearly always gentler thanthat meted out by another; for it often happened that Ivan, who was agood-natured fellow, juggled away one or two strokes of the knout in adozen, or if he were forced by those assisting at the punishment to keepa strict calculation, he manoeuvred so that the tip of the lash struckthe deal plank on which the culprit was lying, thus taking much of thesting out of the stroke. Accordingly, when it was Ivan's turn to bestretched upon the fatal plank and to receive the correction he was inthe habit of administering, on his own account, those who momentarilyplayed his part as executioner adopted the same expedients, rememberingonly the strokes spared and not the strokes received. This exchange ofmutual benefits, therefore, was productive of an excellent understandingbetween Ivan and his comrades, which was never so firmly knit as at themoment when a fresh execution was about to take place. It is true thatthe first hour after the punishment was generally so full of sufferingthat the knouted was sometimes unjust to the knouter, but this feelingseldom out-lasted the evening, and it was rare when it held out after thefirst glass of spirits that the operator drank to the health of hispatient. 

The serf upon whom Ivan was about to exercise his dexterity was a man offive or six-and-thirty, red of hair and beard, a little above averageheight. His Greek origin might be traced in his countenance, which evenin its expression of terror had preserved its habitual characteristics ofcraft and cunning. 

When he arrived at the spot where the punishment was to take place, theculprit stopped and looked up at the window which had already claimed theyoung aide-de-camp's attention; it still remained shut. With a glanceround the throng which obstructed the entrance leading to the street, heended by gazing, with a horror-stricken shudder upon the plank on whichhe was to be stretched. The shudder did not escape his friend Ivan, who, approaching to remove the striped shirt that covered his shoulders, tookthe opportunity to whisper under his breath--

"Come, Gregory, take courage!"

"You remember your promise?" replied the culprit, with an indefinableexpression of entreaty. 

"Not for the first lashes, Gregory; do not count on that, for during thefirst strokes the aide-de-camp will be watching; but among the later onesbe assured I will find means of cheating him of some of them. "

"Beyond everything you will take care of the tip of the lash?"

"I will do my best, Gregory, I will do my best. Do you not know that Iwill?"

"Alas! yes, " replied Gregory. 

"Now, then!" said the aide-de-camp. 

"We are ready, noble sir, " replied Ivan. 

"Wait, wait one moment, your high origin, " cried poor Gregory, addressingthe young captain as though he had been a colonel, "Vache VoussoKorodie, " in order to flatter him. "I believe that the lady Vaninka'swindow is about to open!"

The young captain glanced eagerly towards the spot which had alreadyseveral times claimed his attention, but not a fold of the silkencurtains, which could be seen through the panes of the window, had moved. 

"You are mistaken, you rascal, " said the aide-de-camp, unwillinglyremoving his eyes from the window, as though he also had hoped to see itopen, "you are mistaken; and besides, what has your noble mistress to dowith all this?"

"Pardon, your excellency, " continued Gregory, gratifying the aide-de-campwith yet higher rank, --"pardon, but it is through her orders I am aboutto suffer. Perhaps she might have pity upon a wretched servant!"

"Enough, enough; let us proceed, " said the captain in an odd voice, asthough he regretted as well as the culprit that Vaninka had not shownmercy. 

"Immediately, immediately, noble sir, " said Ivan; then turning toGregory, he continued, "Come, comrade; the time has come. "

Gregory sighed heavily, threw a last look up at the window, and seeingthat everything remained the same there, he mustered up resolution enoughto lie down on the fatal plank. At the same time two other serfs, chosenby Ivan for assistants, took him by the arms and attached his wrists totwo stakes, one at either side of him, so that it appeared as though hewere stretched on a cross. Then they clamped his neck into an ironcollar, and seeing that all was in readiness and that no sign favourableto the culprit had been made from the still closely shut window, theyoung aide-de-camp beckoned with his hand, saying, "Now, then, begin!"

"Patience, my lord, patience, " said Ivan, still delaying the whipping, inthe hope that some sign might yet be made from the inexorable window. "Ihave a knot in my knout, and if I leave it Gregory will have good rightto complain. "

The instrument with which the executioner was busying himself, and whichis perhaps unknown to our readers, was a species of whip, with a handleabout two feet long. A plaited leather thong, about four feet long andtwo inches broad, was attached to this handle, this thong terminating inan iron or copper ring, and to this another band of leather was fastened, two feet long, and at the beginning about one and a half inches thick:this gradually became thinner, till it ended in a point. The thong wassteeped in milk and then dried in the sun, and on account of this methodof preparation its edge became as keen and cutting as a knife; further, the thong was generally changed at every sixth stroke, because contactwith blood softened it. 

However unwillingly and clumsily Ivan set about untying the knot, it hadto come undone at last. Besides, the bystanders were beginning togrumble, and their muttering disturbed the reverie into which the youngaide-de-camp had fallen. He raised his head, which had been sunk on hisbreast, and cast a last look towards the window; then with a peremptorysign; and in a voice which admitted of no delay, he ordered the executionto proceed. 

Nothing could put it off any longer: Ivan was obliged to obey, and he didnot attempt to find any new pretext for delay. He drew back two paces, and with a spring he returned to his place, and standing on tiptoe, hewhirled the knout above his head, and then letting it suddenly fall, hestruck Gregory with such dexterity that the lash wrapped itself thriceround his victim's body, encircling him like a serpent, but the tip ofthe thong struck the plank upon which Gregory was lying. Nevertheless, in spite of this precaution, Gregory uttered a loud shriek, and Ivancounted "One. "

At the shriek, the young aide-de-camp again turned towards the window;but it was still shut, and mechanically his eyes went back to theculprit, and he repeated the word "One. "

The knout had traced three blue furrows on Gregory's shoulders. Ivantook another spring, and with the same skill as before he again envelopedthe culprit's body with the hissing thong, ever taking care that the tipof it should not touch him. Gregory uttered another shriek, and Ivancounted "Two. " The blood now began to colour the skin. 

At the third stroke several drops of blood appeared; at the fourth theblood spurted out; at the fifth some drops spattered the young officer'sface; he drew back, and wiped them away with his handkerchief. Ivanprofited by his distraction, and counted seven instead of six: thecaptain took no notice. At the ninth stroke Ivan stopped to change thelash, and in the hope that a second fraud might pass off as luckily asthe first, he counted eleven instead of ten. 

At that moment a window opposite to Vaninka's opened, and a man aboutforty-five or fifty in general's uniform appeared. He called out in acareless tone, "Enough, that will do, " and closed the window again. 

Immediately on this apparition the young aide-de-camp had turned towardshis general, saluting, and during the few seconds that the general waspresent he remained motionless. When the window had been shut again, herepeated the general's words, so that the raised whip fell withouttouching the culprit. 

"Thank his excellency, Gregory, " said Ivan, rolling the knout's lashround his hand, "for having spared you two strokes;" and he added, bending down to liberate Gregory's hand, "these two with the two I wasable to miss out make a total of eight strokes instead of twelve. Come, now, you others, untie his other hand. "

But poor Gregory was in no state to thank anybody; nearly swooning withpain, he could scarcely stand. 

Two moujiks took him by the arms and led him towards the serfs' quarters, followed by Ivan. Having reached the door, however, Gregory stopped, turned his head, and seeing the aide-de-camp gazing pitifully at him, "Ohsir, " he cried, "please thank his excellency the general for me. As forthe lady Vaninka, " he added in a low tone, "I will certainly thank hermyself. "

"What are you muttering between your teeth?" cried the young officer, with an angry movement; for he thought he had detected a threatening tonein Gregory's voice. 

"Nothing, sir, nothing, " said Ivan. "The poor fellow is merely thankingyou, Mr. Foedor, for the trouble you have taken in being present at hispunishment, and he says that he has been much honoured, that is all. "

"That is right, " said the young man, suspecting that Ivan had somewhataltered the original remarks, but evidently not wishing to be betterinformed. "If Gregory wishes to spare me this trouble another time, lethim drink less vodka; or else, if he must get drunk, let him at leastremember to be more respectful. "

Ivan bowed low and followed his comrades, Foedor entered the house again, and the crowd dispersed, much dissatisfied that Ivan's trickery and thegeneral's generosity had deprived them of four strokes of theknout--exactly a third of the punishment. 

Now that we have introduced our readers to some of the characters in thishistory, we must make them better acquainted with those who have madetheir appearance, and must introduce those who are still behind thecurtain. 

General Count Tchermayloff, as we have said, after having been governorof one of the most important towns in the environs of Pultava, had beenrecalled to St. Petersburg by the Emperor Paul, who honoured him with hisparticular friendship. The general was a widower, with one daughter, whohad inherited her mother's fortune, beauty, and pride. Vaninka's motherclaimed descent from one of the chieftains of the Tartar race, who hadinvaded Russia, under the leadership of D'Gengis, in the thirteenthcentury. Vaninka's naturally haughty disposition had been fostered bythe education she had received. His wife being dead, and not having timeto look after his daughter's education himself, General Tchermayloff hadprocured an English governess for her. This lady, instead of suppressingher pupil's scornful propensities, had encouraged them, by filling herhead with those aristocratic ideas which have made the Englisharistocracy the proudest in the world. Amongst the different studies towhich Vaninka devoted herself, there was one in which she was speciallyinterested, and that one was, if one may so call it, the science of herown rank. She knew exactly the relative degree of nobility and power ofall the Russian noble families--those that were a grade above her own, and those of whom she took precedence. She could give each person thetitle which belonged to their respective rank, no easy thing to do inRussia, and she had the greatest contempt for all those who were belowthe rank of excellency. As for serfs and slaves, for her they did notexist: they were mere bearded animals, far below her horse or her dog inthe sentiments which they inspired in her; and she would not for oneinstant have weighed the life of a serf against either of thoseinteresting animals. 

Like all the women of distinction in her nation, Vaninka was a goodmusician, and spoke French, Italian, German, and English equally well. 

Her features had developed in harmony with her character. Vaninka wasbeautiful, but her beauty was perhaps a little too decided. Her largeblack eyes, straight nose, and lips curling scornfully at the corners, impressed those who saw her for the first time somewhat unpleasantly. This impression soon wore off with her superiors and equals, to whom shebecame merely an ordinary charming woman, whilst to subalterns and suchlike she remained haughty and inaccessible as a goddess. At seventeenVaninka's education was finished, and her governess who had suffered inhealth through the severe climate of St. Petersburg, requested permissionto leave. This desire was granted with the ostentatious recognition ofwhich the Russian nobility are the last representatives in Europe. ThusVaninka was left alone, with nothing but her father's blind adoration todirect her. She was his only daughter, as we have mentioned, and hethought her absolutely perfect. 

Things were in this state in the-general's house when he received aletter, written on the deathbed of one of the friends of his youth. CountRomayloff had been exiled to his estates, as a result of some quarrelwith Potemkin, and his career had been spoilt. Not being able to recoverhis forfeited position, he had settled down about four hundred leaguesfrom St. Petersburg; broken-hearted, distressed probably less on accountof his own exile and misfortune than of the prospects of his only son, Foedor. The count feeling that he was leaving this son alone andfriendless in the world, commended the young man, in the name of theirearly friendship, to the general, hoping that, owing to his being afavourite with Paul I, he would be able to procure a lieutenancy in aregiment for him. The general immediately replied to the count that hisson should find a second father in himself; but when this comfortingmessage arrived, Romayloff was no more, and Foedor himself received theletter and carried it back with him to the general, when he went to tellhim of his loss and to claim the promised protection. So great was thegeneral's despatch, that Paul I, at his request, granted the young man asub-lieutenancy in the Semonowskoi regiment, so that Foedor entered onhis duties the very next day after his arrival in St. Petersburg. 

Although the young man had only passed through the general's house on hisway to the barracks, which were situated in the Litenoi quarter, he hadremained there long enough for him to have seen Vaninka, and she hadproduced a great impression upon him. Foedor had arrived with his heartfull of primitive and noble feelings; his gratitude to his protector, whohad opened a career for him, was profound, and extended to all hisfamily. These feelings caused him perhaps to have an exaggerated idea ofthe beauty of the young girl who was presented to him as a sister, andwho, in spite of this title, received him with the frigidity and hauteurof a queen. Nevertheless, her appearance, in spite of her cool andfreezing manner, had left a lasting impression upon the young man'sheart, and his arrival in St. Petersburg had been marked by feelings tillthen never experienced before in his life. 

As for Vaninka, she had hardly noticed Foedor; for what was a youngsub-lieutenant, without fortune or prospects, to her? What she dreamedof was some princely alliance, that would make her one of the mostpowerful ladies in Russia, and unless he could realise some dream of theArabian Nights, Foedor could not offer her such a future. 

Some time after this first interview, Foedor came to take leave of thegeneral. His regiment was to form part of a contingent thatField-Marshal Souvarow was taking to Italy, and Foedor was about to die, or show himself worthy of the noble patron who had helped him to acareer. 

This time, whether on account of the elegant uniform that heightenedFoedor's natural good looks, or because his imminent departure, glowingwith hope and enthusiasm, lent a romantic interest to the young man, Vaninka was astonished at the marvellous change in him, and deigned, ather father's request, to give him her hand when he left. This was morethan Foedor had dared to hope. He dropped upon his knee, as though inthe presence of a queen, and took Vaninka's between his own tremblinghands, scarcely daring to touch it with his lips. Light though the kisshad been, Vaninka started as though she had been burnt; she felt a thrillrun through her, and she blushed violently. She withdrew her hand soquickly, that Foedor, fearing this adieu, respectful though it was, hadoffended her, remained on his knees, and clasping his hands, raised hiseyes with such an expression of fear in them, that Vaninka, forgettingher hauteur, reassured him with a smile. Foedor rose, his heart filledwith inexplicable joy, and without being able to say what had caused thisfeeling, he only knew that it had made him absolutely happy, so that, although he was just about to leave Vaninka, he had never felt greaterhappiness in his life. 

The young man left dreaming golden dreams; for his future, be it gloomyor bright, was to be envied. If it ended in a soldier's grave, hebelieved he had seen in Vaninka's eyes that she would mourn him; if hisfuture was glorious, glory would bring him back to St. Petersburg intriumph, and glory is a queen, who works miracles for her favourites. 

The army to which the young officer belonged crossed Germany, descendedinto Italy by the Tyrolese mountains, and entered Verona on the 14th ofApril 1799. Souvarow immediately joined forces with General Melas, andtook command of the two armies. General Chasteler next day suggestedthat they should reconnoitre. Souvarow, gazing at him with astonishment, replied, "I know of no other way of reconnoitring the enemy than bymarching upon him and giving him battle. "

As a matter of fact Souvarow was accustomed to this expeditious sort ofstrategy: through it he had defeated the Turks at Folkschany andIsmailoff; and he had defeated the Poles, after a few days' campaign, andhad taken Prague in less than four hours. Catherine, out of gratitude, had sent her victorious general a wreath of oak-leaves, intertwined withprecious stones, and worth six hundred thousand roubles, a heavy goldfield-marshal's baton encrusted with diamonds; and had created him afield-marshal, with the right of choosing a regiment that should bear hisname from that time forward. Besides, when he returned to Russia, shegave him leave of absence, that he might take a holiday at a beautifulestate she had given him, together with the eight thousand serfs wholived upon it. 

What a splendid example for Foedor! Souvarow, the son of a humbleRussian officer, had been educated at the ordinary cadets' trainingcollege, and had left it as a sub-lieutenant like himself. Why shouldthere not be two Souvarows in the same century?

Souvarow arrived in Italy preceded by an immense reputation; religious, strenuous, unwearied, impassible, loving with the simplicity of a Tartarand fighting with the fury of a Cossack, he was just the man required tocontinue General Melas's successes over the soldiers of the Republic, discouraged as they had been by the weak vacillations of Scherer. 

The Austro-Russian army of one hundred thousand men was opposed by onlytwenty-nine or thirty thousand French. Souvarow began as usual with athundering blow. On 20th April he appeared before Brescia, which made avain attempt at resistance; after a cannonade of about half an hour'sduration, the Preschiera gate was forced, and the Korsakow division, ofwhich Foedor's regiment formed the vanguard, charged into the town, pursuing the garrison, which only consisted of twelve hundred men, andobliged them to take refuge in the citadel. Pressed with an impetuositythe French were not accustomed to find in their enemies, and seeing thatthe scaling ladders were already in position against the ramparts, thecaptain Boucret wished to come to terms; but his position was tooprecarious for him to obtain any conditions from his savage conquerors, and he and his soldiers were made prisoners of war. 

Souvarow was experienced enough to know how best to profit by victory;hardly master of Brescia, the rapid occupation of which had discouragedour army anew, he ordered General Kray to vigorously press on the siegeof Preschiera. General Kray therefore established his headquarters atValeggio, a place situated at an equal distance between Preschiera andMantua, and he extended from the Po to the lake of Garda, on the banks ofthe Mencio, thus investing the two cities at the same time. 

Meanwhile the commander-in-chief had advanced, accompanied by the largerpart of his forces, and had crossed the Oglio in two columns: he launchedone column, under General Rosenberg, towards Bergamo, and the other, withGeneral Melas in charge, towards the Serio, whilst a body of seven oreight thousand men, commanded by General Kaim and General Hohenzollern, were directed towards Placentia and Cremona, thus occupying the whole ofthe left bank of the Po, in such a manner that the Austro-Russian armyadvanced deploying eighty thousand men along a front of forty-five miles. 

In view of the forces which were advancing, and which were three times aslarge as his own, Scherer beat a retreat all along the line. He destroyedthe bridges over the Adda, as he did not consider that he was strongenough to hold them, and, having removed his headquarters to Milan, heawaited there the reply to a despatch which he had sent to the Directory, in which, tacitly acknowledging his incapacity, he tendered hisresignation. As the arrival of his successor was delayed, and asSouvarow continued to advance, Scherer, more and more terrified by theresponsibility which rested upon him, relinquished his command into thehands of his most able lieutenant. The general chosen by him was Moreau, who was again about to fight those Russians in whose ranks he wasdestined to die at last. 

Moreau's unexpected nomination was proclaimed amidst the acclamation ofthe soldiers. He had been called the French Fabius, on account of hismagnificent campaign on the Rhine. He passed his whole army in review, saluted by the successive acclamations of its different divisions, whichcried, "Long live Moreau! Long live the saviour of the army of Italy!"But however great this enthusiasm, it did not blind Moreau to theterrible position in which he found himself. At the risk of beingout-flanked, it was necessary for him to present a parallel line to thatof the Russian army, so that, in order to face his enemy, he was obligedto extend his line from Lake Lecco to Pizzighitone--that is to say, adistance of fifty miles. It is true that he might have retired towardsPiedmont and concentrated his troops at Alexandria, to await there thereinforcements the Directory had promised to send him. But if he haddone this, he would have compromised the safety of the army at Naples, and have abandoned it, isolated as it was, to the mercy of the enemy. Hetherefore resolved to defend the passage of the Adda as long as possible, in order to give the division under Dessolles, which was to be despatchedto him by Massena, time to join forces with him and to defend his left, whilst Gauthier, who had received orders to evacuate Tuscany and tohasten with forced marches to his aid, should have time to arrive andprotect his right. Moreau himself took the centre, and personallydefended the fortified bridge of Cassano; this bridge was protected bythe Ritorto Canal, and he also defended it with a great deal of artilleryand an entrenched vanguard. Besides, Moreau, always as prudent as brave, took every precaution to secure a retreat, in case of disaster, towardsthe Apennines and the coast of Genoa. Hardly were his dispositionscompleted before the indefatigable Souvarow entered Triveglio. At thesame time as the Russian commander-in-chief arrived at this last town, Moreau heard of the surrender of Bergamo and its castle, and on 23rdApril he saw the heads of the columns of the allied army. 

The same day the Russian general divided his troops into three strongcolumns, corresponding to the three principal points in the French line, each column numerically more than double the strength of those to whomthey were opposed. The right column, led by General Wukassowich, advanced towards Lake Lecco, where General Serrurier awaited it. Theleft column, under the command of Melas, took up its position in front ofthe Cassano entrenchments; and the Austrian division, under Generals Zopfand Ott, which formed the centre, concentrated at Canonia, ready at agiven moment to seize Vaprio. The Russian and Austrian troops bivouackedwithin cannon-shot of the French outposts. 

That evening, Foedor, who with his regiment formed part of Chasteler'sdivision, wrote to General Tchermayloff:

"We are at last opposite the French, and a great battle must take placeto-morrow morning; tomorrow evening I shall be a lieutenant or a corpse. "

Next morning, 26th April, cannon resounded at break of day from theextremities of the lines; on our left Prince Bagration's grenadiersattacked us, on our right General Seckendorff, who had been detached fromthe camp of Triveglio, was marching on Crema. 

These two attacks met with very different success. Bagration'sgrenadiers were repulsed with terrible loss, whilst Seckendorff, on thecontrary, drove the French out of Crema, and pushed forward towards thebridge of Lodi. Foedor's predictions were falsified: his portion of thearmy did nothing the whole day; his regiment remained motionless, waitingfor orders that did not come. 

Souvarow's arrangements were not yet quite complete, the night was neededfor him to finish them. During the night, Moreau, having heard ofSeckendorff's success on his extreme right, sent an order to Serruriercommanding him to leave at Lecco, which was an easy post to defend, the18th light brigade and a detachment of dragoons only, and to draw backwith the rest of his troops towards the centre. Serrurier received thisorder about two o'clock in the morning, and executed it immediately. 

On their side the Russians had lost no time, profiting by the darkness ofthe night. General Wukassowich had repaired the bridge at Brevio, whichhad been destroyed by the French, whilst General Chasteler had builtanother bridge two miles below the castle of Trezzo. These two bridgeshad been, the one repaired and the other built, without the Frenchoutposts having the slightest suspicion of what was taking place. 

Surprised at two o'clock in the morning by two Austrian divisions, which, concealed by the village of San Gervasio, had reached the right bank ofthe Adda without their being discovered, the soldiers defending thecastle of Trezzo abandoned it and beat a retreat. The Austrians pursuedthem as far as Pozzo, but there the French suddenly halted and facedabout, for General Serrurier was at Pozzo, with the troops he had broughtfrom Lecco. He heard the cannonade behind him, immediately halted, and, obeying the first law of warfare, he marched towards the noise and smoke. It was therefore through him that the garrison of Trezzo rallied andresumed the offensive. Serrurier sent an aide-de-Camp to Moreau toinform him of the manoeuvre he had thought proper to execute. 

The battle between the French and Austrian troops raged with incrediblefury. Bonaparte's veterans, during their first Italian campaigns, hadadopted a custom which they could not renounce: it was to fight HisImperial Majesty's subjects wherever they found them. Nevertheless, sogreat was the numerical superiority of the allies, that our troops hadbegun to retreat, when loud shouts from the rearguard announced thatreinforcements had arrived. It was General Grenier, sent by Moreau, whoarrived with his division at the moment when his presence was mostnecessary. 

One part of the new division reinforced the centre column, doubling itssize; another part was extended upon the left to envelop the enemy. Thedrums beat afresh down the whole line, and our grenadiers began again toreconquer this battle field already twice lost and won. But at thismoment the Austrians were reinforced by the Marquis de Chasteler and hisdivision, so that the numerical superiority was again with the enemy. Grenier drew back his wing to strengthen the centre, and Serrurier, preparing for retreat in case of disaster, fell back on Pozzo, where heawaited the enemy. It was here that the battle raged most fiercely:thrice the village of Pozzo was taken and re-taken, until at last, attacked for the fourth time by a force double their own in numbers, theFrench were obliged to evacuate it. In this last attack an Austriancolonel was mortally wounded, but, on the other hand, General Beker, whocommanded the French rearguard, refused to retreat with his soldiers, andmaintained his ground with a few men, who were slain as they stood; hewas at length obliged to give up his sword to a young Russian officer ofthe Semenofskoi regiment, who, handing over his prisoner to his ownsoldiers, returned immediately to the combat. 

The two French generals had fixed on the village of Vaprio as arallying-place, but at the moment when our troops were thrown intodisorder through the evacuation of Pozzo, the Austrian cavalry chargedheavily, and Serrurier, finding himself separated from his colleague, wasobliged to retire with two thousand five hundred men to Verderio, whilstGrenier, having reached the appointed place, Vaprio, halted to face theenemy afresh. 

During this time a terrible fight was taking place in the centre. Melaswith eighteen to twenty thousand men had attacked the fortified posts atthe head of the bridge of Cassano and the Ritorto Canal. About seveno'clock in the morning, when Moreau had weakened himself by despatchingGrenier and his division, Melas, leading three battalions of Austriangrenadiers, had attacked the fortifications, and for two hours there wasterrible carnage; thrice repulsed, and leaving more than fifteen hundredmen at the base of the fortifications, the Austrians had thrice returnedto the attack, each time being reinforced by fresh troops, always led onand encouraged by Melas, who had to avenge his former defeats. Atlength, having been attacked for the fourth time, forced from theirentrenchments, and contesting the ground inch by inch, the French tookshelter behind their second fortifications, which defended the entranceto the bridge itself: here they were commanded by Moreau in person. There, for two more hours, a hand-to-hand struggle took place, whilst theterrible artillery belched forth death almost muzzle to muzzle. At lastthe Austrians, rallying for a last time, advanced at the point of thebayonet, and; lacking either ladders or fascines, piled the bodies oftheir dead comrades against the fortifications, and succeeded in scalingthe breastworks. There was not a moment to be lost. Moreau ordered aretreat, and whilst the French were recrossing the Adda, he protectedtheir passage in person with a single battalion of grenadiers, of whom atthe end of half an hour not more than a hundred and twenty men remained;three of his aides-de-camp were killed at his side. This retreat wasaccomplished without disorder, and then Moreau himself retired, stillfighting the enemy, who set foot on the bridge as soon as he reached theother bank. The Austrians immediately rushed forward to capture him, when suddenly a terrible noise was heard rising above the roar of theartillery; the second arch of the bridge was blown into the air, carryingwith it all those who were standing on the fatal spot. The armiesrecoiled, and into the empty space between them fell like rain a debrisof stones and human beings. But at this moment, when Moreau hadsucceeded in putting a momentary obstacle between himself and Melas, General Grenier's division arrived in disorder, after having been forcedto evacuate Vaprio, pursued by the Austro-Russians under Zopf, Ott, andChasteler. Moreau ordered a change of front, and faced this new enemy, who fell upon him when he least expected them; he succeeded in rallyingGrenier's troops and in re-establishing the battle. But whilst his backwas turned Melas repaired the bridge and crossed the river; thus Moreaufound himself attacked frontally, in the rear, and on his two flanks, byforces three times larger than his own. It was then that all theofficers who surrounded him begged him to retreat, for on thepreservation of his person depended the preservation of Italy for France. Moreau refused for some time, for he knew the awful consequences of thebattle he had just lost, and he did not wish to survive it, although ithad been impossible for him to win it. At last a chosen band surroundedhim, and, forming a square, drew back, whilst the rest of the armysacrificed themselves to cover his retreat; for Moreau's genius waslooked upon as the sole hope that remained to them. 

The battle lasted nearly three hours longer, during which the rearguardof the army performed prodigies of valour. At length Melas, seeing thatthe enemy had escaped him, and believing that his troops, tired by thestubborn fight, needed rest, gave orders that the fighting should cease. He halted on the left bank of the Adda, encamping his army in thevillages of Imago, Gorgonzola, and Cassano, and remained master of thebattlefield, upon which we had left two thousand five hundred dead, onehundred pieces of cannon, and twenty howitzers. 

That night Souvarow invited General Becker to supper with him, and askedhim by whom he had been taken prisoner. Becker replied that it was ayoung officer belonging to the regiment which had first entered Pozzo. Souvarow immediately inquired what regiment this was, and discovered thatit was the Semenofskoi; he then ordered that inquiries should be made toascertain the young officer's name. Shortly afterwards Sub-LieutenantFoedor Romayloff was announced. He presented General Becker's sword toSouvarow, who invited him to remain and to have supper with his prisoner. 

Next day Foedor wrote to his protector: "I have kept my word. I am alieutenant, and Field-Marshal Souvarow has requested his Majesty Paul Ito bestow upon me the order of Saint Vladimir. "

On 28th of April, Souvarow entered Milan, which Moreau had just abandonedin order to retreat beyond Tesino. The following proclamation was by hisorder posted on all the walls of the capital; it admirably paints thespirit of the Muscovite:

"The victorious army of the Apostolical and Roman Emperor is here; it hasfought solely for the restoration of the Holy Faith, --the clergy, nobility, and ancient government of Italy. People, join us for God andthe Faith, for we have arrived with an army at Milan and Placentia toassist you!"

The dearly bought victories of Trebia and Novi succeeded that of Cassano, and left Souvarow so much weakened that he was unable to profit by them. Besides, just when the Russian general was about to resume his march, anew plan of campaign arrived, sent by the Aulic Council at Vienna. TheAllied Powers had decided upon the invasion of France, and had fixed theroute each general must follow in order to accomplish this new project. It way decided that Souvarow should invade France by Switzerland, andthat the arch-duke should yield him his positions and descend on theLower Rhine. 

The troops with which Souvarow was to operate against Massena from thistime were the thirty thousand Russians he had with him, thirty thousandothers detached from the reserve army commanded by Count Tolstoy inGalicia, who were to be led to join him in Switzerland by GeneralKorsakoff, about thirty thousand Austrians under General Hotze, andlastly, five or six thousand French emigrants under the Prince de Condein all, an army of ninety or ninety-five thousand men. The Austrianswere to oppose Moreau and Macdonald. 

Foedor had been wounded when entering Novi, but Souvarow had rewarded himwith a second cross, and the rank of captain hastened his convalescence, so that the young officer, more happy than proud of the new rank he hadreceived, was in a condition to follow the army, when on 13th Septemberit moved towards Salvedra and entered the valley of Tesino. 

So far all had gone well, and as long as they remained in the rich andbeautiful Italian plains, Suovarow had nothing but praise for the courageand devotion of his soldiers. But when to the fertile fields ofLombardy, watered by its beautiful river, succeeded the rough ways of theLevantine, and when the lofty summits of the St. Gothard, covered withthe eternal snows, rose before them, their enthusiasm was quenched, theirenergy disappeared, and melancholy forebodings filled the hearts of thesesavage children of the North. 

Unexpected grumblings ran through the ranks; then suddenly the vanguardstopped, and declared that it would go no farther. In vain Foedor, whocommanded a company, begged and entreated his own men to set an exampleby continuing the march: they threw down their arms, and lay down besidethem. Just as they had given this proof of insubordination, freshmurmurs, sounding like an approaching storm, rose from the rear of thearmy: they were caused by the sight of Souvarow, who was riding from therear to the vanguard, and who arrived at the front accompanied by thisterrible proof of mutiny and insubordination. When he reached the headof the column, the murmurings had developed into imprecations. 

Then Souvarow addressed his soldiers with that savage eloquence to whichhe owed the miracles he had effected with them, but cries of "Retreat!Retreat!" drowned his voice. Then he chose out the most mutinous, andhad them thrashed until they were overcome by this shameful punishment:But the thrashings had no more influence than the exhortation, and theshouts continued. Souvarow saw that all was lost if he did not employsome powerful and unexpected means of regaining the mutineers. Headvanced towards Foedor. "Captain, " said he, "leave these fools here, take eight non-commissioned officers and dig a grave. " Foedor, astonished, gazed at his general as though demanding an explanation ofthis strange order. "Obey orders, " said Souvarow. 

Foedor obeyed, and the eight men set to work; and ten minutes later thegrave was dug, greatly to the astonishment of the whole army, which hadgathered in a semicircle on the rising slopes of the two hills whichbordered the road, standing as if on the steps of a huge amphitheatre. 

Souvarow dismounted from his horse, broke his sword in two and threw itinto the grave, detached his epaulets one by one and threw them after hissword, dragged off the decorations which covered his breast and castthese after the sword and epaulets, and then, stripping himself naked, helay down in the grave himself, crying in a loud voice--

"Cover me with earth! Leave your general here. You are no longer mychildren, and I am no longer your father; nothing remains to me butdeath. "

At these strange words, which were uttered in so powerful a voice thatthey were heard by the whole army, the Russian grenadiers threwthemselves weeping into the grave, and, raising their general, askedpardon of him, entreating him to lead them again against the enemy. 

"At last, " cried Souvarow, "I recognise my children again. To theenemy!"

Not cries but yells of joy greeted his words. Souvarav dressed himselfagain, and whilst he was dressing the leaders of the mutiny crept in thedust to kiss his feet. Then, when his epaulets were replaced on hisshoulders, and when his decorations again shone on his breast, heremounted his horse, followed by the army, the soldiers swearing with onevoice that they would all die rather than abandon their father. 

The same day Souvarow attacked Aerolo; but his luck had turned: theconqueror of Cassano, Trebia, and Novi had left his good-fortune behindin the plains of Italy. For twelve hours six hundred French opposedthree thousand Russian grenadiers beneath the walls of the town, and sosuccessfully that night fell without Souvarow being able to defeat them. Next day he marched the whole of his troops against this handful of bravemen, but the sky clouded over and the wind. Blew a bitter rain into thefaces of the Russians; the French profited by this circumstance to beat aretreat, evacuating the valley of Ursern, crossing the Reuss, and takingup their position on the heights of the Furka and Grimsel. One portionof the Russian army's design had been achieved, they were masters of theSt. Gothard. It is true that as soon as they marched farther on, theFrench would retake it and cut off their retreat; but what did thismatter to Souvarow? Did he not always march forward?

He marched on, then, without worrying about that which was behind him, reached Andermatt, cleared Trou d'Ury, and found Lecourbe guarding thedefile of the Devil's Bridge with fifteen hundred men. There the strugglebegan again; for three days fifteen hundred Frenchmen kept thirtythousand Russians at bay. Souvarow raged like a lion trapped in a snare, for he could not understand this change of fortune. At last, on thefourth day, he heard that General Korsakoff, who had preceded him and whowas to rejoin him later, had been beaten by Molitor, and that Massena hadrecaptured Zurich and occupied the canton of Glaris. Souvarow now gaveup the attempt to proceed up the valley of the Reuss, and wrote toKorsakoff and Jallachieh, "I hasten to retrieve your losses; stand firmas ramparts: you shall answer to me with your heads for every step inretreat that you take. " The aide-de-camp was also charged to communicateto the Russian and Austrian generals a verbal plan of battle. GeneralsLinsken and Jallachieh were to attack the French troops separately andthen to join the forces in the valley of Glaris, into which Souvarowhimself was to descend by the Klon-Thal, thus hemming Molitor in betweentwo walls of iron. 

Souvarow was so sure that this plan would be successful, that when hearrived on the borders of the lake of Klon-Thal, he sent a bearer with aflag of truce, summoning Molitor to surrender, seeing that he wassurrounded on every side. 

Molitor replied, to the field-marshal that his proposed meeting with hisgenerals had failed, as he had beaten them one after the other, anddriven them back into the Grisons, and that moreover, in retaliation, asMassena was advancing by Muotta, it was he, Souvarow, who was between twofires, and therefore he called upon him to lay down his arms instead. 

On hearing this strange reply, Souvarow thought that he must be dreaming, but soon recovering himself and realising the danger of his position inthe defiles, he threw himself on General Molitor, who received him at thepoint of the bayonet, and then closing up the pass with twelve hundredmen, the French succeeded in holding fifteen to eighteen thousandRussians in check for eight hours. At length night came, and Molitorevacuated the Klon Thal, and retired towards the Linth, to defend thebridges of Noefels and Mollis. 

The old field-marshal rushed like a torrent over Glaris and Miltodi;there he learnt that Molitor had told him the truth, and that Jallachiehand Linsken had been beaten and dispersed, that Massena was advancing onSchwitz, and that General Rosenberg, who had been given the defence ofthe bridge of Muotta, had been forced to retreat, so that he foundhimself in the position in which he had hoped to place Molitor. 

No time was to be lost in retreating. Souvarow hurried through thepasses of Engi, Schwauden, and Elm. His flight was so hurried that hewas obliged to abandon his wounded and part of his artillery. Immediatelythe French rushed in pursuit among the precipices and clouds. One sawwhole armies passing over places where chamois-hunters took off theirshoes and walked barefoot, holding on by their hands to preventthemselves from falling. Three nations had come from three differentparts to a meeting-place in the home of the eagles, as if to allow thosenearest God to judge the justice of their cause. There were times whenthe frozen mountains changed into volcanoes, when cascades now filledwith blood fell into the valleys, and avalanches of human beings rolleddown the deepest precipices. Death reaped such a harvest there wherehuman life had never been before, that the vultures, becoming fastidiousthrough the abundance, picked out only the eyes of the corpses to carryto their young--at least so says the tradition of the peasants of thesemountains. 

Souvarow was able to rally his troops at length in the neighbourhood ofLindau. He recalled Korsakoff, who still occupied Bregenz; but all histroops together did not number more than thirty thousand men-all thatremained of the eighty thousand whom Paul had furnished as his contingentin the coalition. In fifteen days Massena had defeated three separatearmies, each numerically stronger than his own. Souvarow, furious athaving been defeated by these same Republicans whom he had sworn toexterminate, blamed the Austrians for his defeat, and declared that heawaited orders from his emperor, to whom he had made known the treacheryof the allies, before attempting anything further with the coalition. 

Paul's answer was that he should immediately return to Russia with hissoldiers, arriving at St. Petersburg as soon as possible, where atriumphal entry awaited them. 

The same ukase declared that Souvarow should be quartered in the imperialpalace for the rest of his life, and lastly that a monument should beraised to him in one of the public places of St. Petersburg. 

Foedor was thus about to see Vaninka once more. Throughout the campaign, where there was a chance of danger, whether in the plains of Italy, inthe defiles of Tesino, or on the glaciers of Mount Pragal, he was thefirst to throw himself into it, and his name had frequently beenmentioned as worthy of distinction. Souvarow was too brave himself to beprodigal of honours where they were not merited. Foedor was returning, ashe had promised, worthy of his noble protector's friendship, and whoknows, perhaps worthy of Vaninka's love. Field-Marshal Souvarow had madea friend of him, and none could know to what this friendship might notlead; for Paul honoured Souvarow like one of the ancient heroes. 

But no one could rely upon Paul, for his character was made up of extremeimpulses. Without having done anything to offend his master, and withoutknowing the cause of his disgrace, Souvarow, on arriving at Riga, received a private letter which informed him, in the emperor's name, that, having tolerated an infraction of the laws of discipline among hissoldiers, the emperor deprived him of all the honours with which he hadbeen invested, and also forbade him to appear before him. 

Such tidings fell like a thunderbolt upon the old warrior, alreadyembittered by his reverses: he was heart-broken that such storm-cloudsshould tarnish the end of his glorious day. 

In consequence of this order, he assembled all his officers in themarket-place of Riga, and took leave of them sorrowfully, like a fathertaking leave of his family. Having embraced the generals and colonels, and having shaken hands with the others, he said good-bye to them oncemore, and left them free to continue their march to their destination. 

Souvarow took a sledge, and, travelling night and day, arrived incognitoin the capital, which he was to have entered in triumph, and was drivento a distant suburb, to the house of one of his nieces, where he died ofa broken heart fifteen days afterwards. 

On his own account, Foedor travelled almost as rapidly as his general, and entered St. Petersburg without having sent any letter to announce hisarrival. As he had no parent in the capital, and as his entire existencewas concentrated in one person, he drove direct to the general's house, which was situated in the Prospect of Niewski, at an angle of theCatherine Canal. 

Having arrived there, he sprang out of his carriage, entered thecourtyard, and bounded up the steps. He opened the ante-chamber door, and precipitated himself into the midst of the servants and subordinatehousehold officers. They cried out with surprise upon seeing him: heasked them where the general was; they replied by pointing to the door ofthe dining-room; he was in there, breakfasting with his daughter. 

Then, through a strange reaction, Foedor felt his knees failing him, andhe was obliged to lean against a wall to prevent himself from falling. At this moment, when he was about to see Vaninka again, this soul of hissoul, for whom alone he had done so much, he dreaded lest he should notfind her the same as when he had left her. Suddenly the dining-room dooropened, and Vaninka appeared. Seeing the young man, she uttered a cry, and, turning to the general, said, "Father, it is Foedor"; and theexpression of her voice left no doubt of the sentiment which inspired it. 

"Foedor!" cried the general, springing forward and holding out his arms. 

Foedor did not know whether to throw himself at the feet of Vaninka orinto the arms of her father. He felt that his first recognition ought tobe devoted to respect and gratitude, and threw himself into the general'sarms. Had he acted otherwise, it would have been an avowal of his love, and he had no right to avow this love till he knew that it wasreciprocated. 

Foedor then turned, and as at parting, sank on his knee before Vaninka;but a moment had sufficed for the haughty girl to banish the feeling shehad shown. The blush which had suffused her cheek had disappeared, andshe had become again cold and haughty like an alabaster statue-amasterpiece of pride begun by nature and finished by education. Foedorkissed her hand; it was trembling but cold he felt his heart sink, andthought he was about to die. 

"Why, Vaninka, " said the general--"why are you so cool to a friend whohas caused us so much anxiety and yet so much pleasure? Come, Fordor, kiss my daughter. "

Foedor rose entreatingly, but waited motionless, that another permissionmight confirm that of the general. 

"Did you not hear my father?" said Vaninka, smiling, but neverthelesspossessing sufficient self-control to prevent the emotion she was feelingfrom appearing in her voice. 

Foedor stooped to kiss Vaninka, and as he held her hands it seemed to himthat she lightly pressed his own with a nervous, involuntary movement. Afeeble cry of joy nearly escaped him, when, suddenly looking at Vaninka, he was astonished at her pallor: her lips were as white as death. 

The general made Foedor sit down at the table: Vaninka took her placeagain, and as by chance she was seated with her back to the light, thegeneral noticed nothing. 

Breakfast passed in relating and listening to an account of this strangecampaign which began under the burning sun of Italy and ended in theglaciers of Switzerland. As there are no journals in St. Petersburgwhich publish anything other than that which is permitted by the emperor, Souvarow's successes were spread abroad, but his reverses were ignored. Foedor described the former with modesty and the latter with frankness. 

One can imagine, the immense interest the general took in Foedor's story. His two captain's epaulets and the decorations on his breast proved thatthe young man had modestly suppressed his own part in the story he hadtold. But the general, too courageous to fear that he might share inSouvarow's disgrace, had already visited the dying field-marshal, and hadheard from him an account of his young protege's bravery. Therefore, when Foedor had finished his story, it was the general's turn toenumerate all the fine things Foedor had done in a campaign of less thana year. Having finished this enumeration, he added that he intended nextday to ask the emperor's permission to take the young captain for hisaide-de-camp. Foedor hearing this wished to throw himself at thegeneral's feet, but he received him again in his arms, and to show Foedorhow certain he was that he would be successful in his request, he fixedthe rooms that the young man was to occupy in the house at once. 

The next day the general returned from the palace of St. Michel with thepleasant news that his request had been granted. 

Foedor was overwhelmed with joy: from this time he was to form part ofthe general's family. Living under the same roof as Vaninka, seeing herconstantly, meeting her frequently in the rooms, seeing her pass like anapparition at the end of a corridor, finding himself twice a day at thesame table with her, all this was more than Foedor had ever dared hope, and he thought for a time that he had attained complete happiness. 

For her part, Vaninka, although she was so proud, at the bottom of herheart took a keen interest in Foedor. He had left her with the certaintythat he loved her, and during his absence her woman's pride had beengratified by the glory he had acquired, in the hope of bridging thedistance which separated them. So that, when she saw him return withthis distance between them lessened, she felt by the beating of her heartthat gratified pride was changing into a more tender sentiment, and thatfor her part she loved Foedor as much as it was possible for her to loveanyone. 

She had nevertheless concealed these feelings under an appearance ofhaughty indifference, for Vaninka was made so: she intended to let Foedorknow some day that she loved him, but until the time came when it pleasedher to reveal it, she did not wish the young man to discover her love. Things went on in this way for several months, and the circumstanceswhich had at first appeared to Foedor as the height of happiness soonbecame awful torture. 

To love and to feel his heart ever on the point of avowing its love, tobe from morning till night in the company of the beloved one, to meet herhand at the table, to touch her dress in a narrow corridor, to feel herleaning on his arm when they entered a salon or left a ballroom, alwaysto have ceaselessly to control every word, look, or movement which mightbetray his feelings, no human power could endure such a struggle. 

Vaninka saw that Foedor could not keep his secret much longer, anddetermined to anticipate the avowal which she saw every moment on thepoint of escaping his heart. 

One day when they were alone, and she saw the hopeless efforts the youngman was making to hide his feelings from her, she went straight up tohim, and, looking at him fixedly, said:

"You love me!"

"Forgive me, forgive me, " cried the young man, clasping his hands. 

"Why should you ask me to forgive you, Foedor? Is not your lovegenuine?"

"Yes, yes, genuine but hopeless. "

"Why hopeless? Does not my father love you as a son?" said Vaninka. 

"Oh, what do you mean?" cried Foedor. "Do you mean that if your fatherwill bestow your hand upon me, that you will then consent--?"

"Are you not both noble in heart and by birth, Foedor? You are notwealthy, it is true, but then I am rich enough for both. "

"Then I am not indifferent to you?"

"I at least prefer you to anyone else I have met. "

"Vaninka!" The young girl drew herself away proudly. 

"Forgive me!" said Foedor. "What am I doing? You have but to order: Ihave no wish apart from you. I dread lest I shall offend you. Tell mewhat to do, and I will obey. "

"The first thing you must do, Foedor, is to ask my father's consent. "

"So you will allow me to take this step?"

"Yes, but on one condition. "

"What is it? Tell me. "

"My father, whatever his answer, must never know that I have consented toyour making this application to him; no one must know that you arefollowing my instructions; the world must remain ignorant of theconfession I have just made to you; and, lastly, you must not ask me, whatever happens, to help you in any other way than with my good wishes. "

"Whatever you please. I will do everything you wish me to do. Do younot grant me a thousand times more than I dared hope, and if your fatherrefuses me, do I not know myself that you are sharing my grief?" criedFoedor. 

"Yes; but that will not happen, I hope, " said Vaninka, holding out herhand to the young officer, who kissed it passionately. 

"Now be hopeful and take courage;" and Vaninka retired, leaving the youngman a hundred times more agitated and moved than she was herself, womanthough she was. 

The same day Foedor asked for an interview with the general. The generalreceived his aide-de-camp as usual with a genial and smiling countenance, but with the first words Foedor uttered his face darkened. However, whenhe heard the young man's description of the love, so true, constant, andpassionate, that he felt for Vaninka, and when he heard that this passionhad been the motive power of those glorious deeds he had praised sooften, he held out his hand to Foedor, almost as moved as the youngsoldier. 

And then the general told him, that while he had been away, and ignorantof his love for Vaninka, in whom he had observed no trace of its beingreciprocated, he had, at the emperor's desire, promised her hand to theson of a privy councillor. The only stipulation that the general hadmade was, that he should not be separated from his daughter until she hadattained the age of eighteen. Vaninka had only five months more to spendunder her father's roof. Nothing more could be said: in Russia theemperor's wish is an order, and from the moment that it is expressed, nosubject would oppose it, even in thought. However, the refusal hadimprinted such despair on the young man's face, that the general, touchedby his silent and resigned sorrow, held out his arms to him. Foedorflung himself into them with loud sobs. 

Then the general questioned him about his daughter, and Foedor answered, as he had promised, that Vaninka was ignorant of everything, and that theproposal came from him alone, without her knowledge. This assurancecalmed the general: he had feared that he was making two people wretched. 

At dinner-time Vaninka came downstairs and found her father alone. Foedorhad not enough courage to be present at the meal and to meet her again, just when he had lost all hope: he had taken a sleigh, and driven out tothe outskirts of the city. 

During the whole time dinner lasted Vaninka and the general hardlyexchanged a word, but although this silence was so expressive, Vaninkacontrolled her face with her usual power, and the general alone appearedsad and dejected. 

That evening, just when Vaninka was going downstairs, tea was brought toher room, with the message that the general was fatigued and had retired. Vaninka asked some questions about the nature of his indisposition, andfinding that it was not serious, she told the servant who had brought herthe message to ask her father to send for her if he wanted anything. Thegeneral sent to say that he thanked her, but he only required quiet andrest. Vaninka announced that she would retire also, and the servantwithdrew. 

Hardly had he left the room when Vaninka ordered Annouschka, herfoster-sister, who acted as her maid, to be on the watch for Foedor'sreturn, and to let her know as soon as he came in. 

At eleven o'clock the gate of the mansion opened: Foedor got out of hissleigh, and immediately went up to his room. He threw himself upon asofa, overwhelmed by his thoughts. About midnight he heard someonetapping at the door: much astonished, he got up and opened it. It wasAnnouschka, who came with a message from her mistress, that Vaninkawished to see him immediately. Although he was astonished at thismessage, which he was far from expecting, Foedor obeyed. 

He found Vaninka seated, dressed in a white robe, and as she was palerthan usual he stopped at the door, for it seemed to him that he wasgazing at a marble statue. 

"Come in, " said Vaninka calmly. 

Foedor approached, drawn by her voice like steel to a magnet. Annouschkashut the door behind him. 

"Well, and what did my father say?" said Vaninka. 

Foedor told her all that had happened. The young girl listened to hisstory with an unmoved countenance, but her lips, the only part of herface which seemed to have any colour, became as white as thedressing-gown she was wearing. Foedor, on the contrary, was consumed bya fever, and appeared nearly out of his senses. 

"Now, what do you intend to do?" said Vaninka in the same cold tone inwhich she had asked the other questions. 

"You ask me what I intend to do, Vaninka? What do you wish me to do?What can I do, but flee from St. Petersburg, and seek death in the firstcorner of Russia where war may break out, in order not to repay mypatron's kindness by some infamous baseness?"

"You are a fool, " said Vaninka, with a mixed smile of triumph andcontempt; for from that moment she felt her superiority over Foedor, andsaw that she would rule him like a queen for the rest of her life. 

"Then order me--am I not your slave?" cried the young soldier. 

"You must stay here, " said Vaninka. 

"Stay here?"

"Yes; only women and children will thus confess themselves beaten at thefirst blow: a man, if he be worthy of the name, fights. "

"Fight!--against whom?--against your father? Never!"

"Who suggested that you should contend against my father? It is againstevents that you must strive; for the generality of men do not governevents, but are carried away by them. Appear to my father as though youwere fighting against your love, and he will think that you have masteredyourself. As I am supposed to be ignorant of your proposal, I shall notbe suspected. I will demand two years' more freedom, and I shall obtainthem. Who knows what may happen in the course of two years? The emperormay die, my betrothed may die, my father--may God protect him!--my fatherhimself may die--!"

"But if they force you to marry?"

"Force me!" interrupted Vaninka, and a deep flush rose to her cheek andimmediately disappeared again. "And who will force me to do anything?Father? He loves me too well. The emperor? He has enough worries inhis own family, without introducing them into another's. Besides, thereis always a last resource when every other expedient fails: the Neva onlyflows a few paces from here, and its waters are deep. "

Foedor uttered a cry, for in the young girl's knit brows and tightlycompressed lips there was so much resolution that he understood that theymight break this child but that they would not bend her. But Foedor'sheart was too much in harmony with the plan Vaninka had proposed; hisobjections once removed, he did not seek fresh ones. Besides, had he hadthe courage to do so; Vaninka's promise to make up in secret to him forthe dissimulation she was obliged to practise in public would haveconquered his last scruples. 

Vaninka, whose determined character had been accentuated by hereducation, had an unbounded influence over all who came in contact withher; even the general, without knowing why, obeyed her. Foedor submittedlike a child to everything she wished, and the young girl's love wasincreased by the wishes she opposed and by a feeling of gratified pride. 

It was some days after this nocturnal decision that the knouting hadtaken place at which our readers have assisted. It was for some slightfault, and Gregory had been the victim; Vaninka having complained to herfather about him. Foedor, who as aide-de-camp had been obliged topreside over Gregory's punishment, had paid no more attention to thethreats the serf had uttered on retiring. 

Ivan, the coachman, who after having been executioner had become surgeon, had applied compresses of salt and water to heal up the scarred shouldersof his victim. Gregory had remained three days in the infirmary, andduring this time he had turned over in his mind every possible means ofvengeance. Then at the end of three days, being healed, he had returnedto his duty, and soon everyone except he had forgotten the punishment. If Gregory had been a real Russian, he would soon have forgotten it all;for this punishment is too familiar to the rough Muscovite for him toremember it long and with rancour. Gregory, as we have said, had Greekblood in his veins; he dissembled and remembered. Although Gregory was aserf, his duties had little by little brought him into greaterfamiliarity with the general than any of the other servants. Besides, inevery country in the world barbers have great licence with those theyshave; this is perhaps due to the fact that a man is instinctively moregracious to another who for ten minutes every day holds his life in hishands. Gregory rejoiced in the immunity of his profession, and it nearlyalways happened that the barber's daily operation on the general's chinpassed in conversation, of which he bore the chief part. 

One day the general had to attend a review: he sent for Gregory beforedaybreak, and as the barber was passing the razor as gently as possibleover his master's cheek, the conversation fell, or more likely was led, on Foedor. The barber praised him highly, and this naturally caused hismaster to ask him, remembering the correction the young aide-decamp hadsuperintended, if he could not find some fault in this model ofperfection that might counterbalance so many good qualities. Gregoryreplied that with the exception of pride he thought Foedorirreproachable. 

"Pride?" asked the astonished general. "That is a failing from which Ishould have thought him most free. "

"Perhaps I should have said ambition, " replied Gregory. 

"Ambition!" said the general. "It does not seem to me that he has givenmuch proof of ambition in entering my service; for after his achievementsin the last campaign he might easily have aspired to the honour of aplace in the emperor's household. "

"Oh yes, he is ambitious, " said Gregory, smiling. "One man's ambition isfor high position, another's an illustrious alliance: the former will oweeverything to himself, the latter will make a stepping-stone of his wife, then they raise their eyes higher than they should. "

"What do you mean to suggest?" said the general, beginning to see whatGregory was aiming at. 

"I mean, your excellency, " replied Gregory, "there are many men who, owing to the kindness shown them by others, forget their position andaspire to a more exalted one; having already been placed so high, theirheads are turned. "

"Gregory, " cried the general, "believe me, you are getting into ascrape; for you are making an accusation, and if I take any notice of it, you will have to prove your words. "

"By St. Basilius, general, it is no scrape when you have truth on yourside; for I have said nothing I am not ready to prove. "

"Then, " said the general, "you persist in declaring that Foedor loves mydaughter?"

"Ah! I have not said that: it is your excellency. I have not named thelady Vaninka, " said Gregory, with the duplicity of his nation. 

"But you meant it, did you not? Come, contrary to your custom, replyfrankly. "

"It is true, your excellency; it is what I meant. "

"And, according to you, my daughter reciprocates the passion, no doubt?"

"I fear so, your excellency. "

"And what makes you think this, say?"

"First, Mr. Foedor never misses a chance of speaking to the ladyVaninka. "

"He is in the same house with her, would you have him avoid her?"

"When the lady Vaninka returns late, and when perchance Mr. Foedor hasnot accompanied you, whatever the hour Mr. Foedor is there, ready, tohelp her out of the carriage. "

"Foedor attends me, it is his duty, " said the general, beginning tobelieve that the serf's suspicions were founded on slight grounds. "Hewaits for me, " he, continued, "because when I return, at any hour of theday or night, I may have orders to give him. "

"Not a day passes without Mr. Foedor going into my lady Vaninka's room, although such a favour is not usually granted to a young man in a houselike that of your excellency. "

"Usually it is I who send him to her, " said the general. 

"Yes, in the daytime, " replied Gregory, "but at night?"

"At night!" cried the general, rising to his feet, and turning so palethat, after a moment, he was forced to lean for support on a table. 

"Yes, at night, your excellency, " answered Gregory quietly; "and since, as you say, I have begun to mix myself up in a bad business, I must go onwith it; besides, even if there were to result from it another punishmentfor me, even more terrible than that I have already endured, I should notallow so good, a master to be deceived any longer. "

"Be very careful about what you are going to say, slave; for I know themen of your nation. Take care, if the accusation you are making by wayof revenge is not supported by visible, palpable, and positive proofs, you shall be punished as an infamous slanderer. "

"To that I agree, " said Gregory. 

"Do you affirm that you have seen Foedor enter my daughter's chamber atnight?"

"I do not say that I have seen him enter it, your excellency. I say thatI have seen him come out. "

"When was that?"

"A quarter of an hour ago, when I was on my way to your excellency. "

"You lie!" said the general, raising his fist. 

"This is not our agreement, your excellency, " said the slave, drawingback. "I am only to be punished if I fail to give proofs. "

"But what are your proofs?"

"I have told you. "

"And do you expect me to believe your word alone?"

"No; but I expect you to believe your own eyes. "

"How?"

"The first time that Mr. Foedor is in my lady Vaninka's room aftermidnight, I shall come to find your excellency, and then you can judgefor yourself if I lie; but up to the present, your excellency, all theconditions of the service I wish to render you are to my disadvantage. "

"In what way?"

"Well, if I fail to give proofs, I am to be treated as an infamousslanderer; but if I give them, what advantage shall I gain?"

"A thousand roubles and your freedom. "

"That is a bargain, then, your excellency, " replied Gregory quietly, replacing the razors on the general's toilet-table, "and I hope thatbefore a week has passed you will be more just to me than you are now. "

With these words the slave left the room, leaving the general convincedby his confidence that some dreadful misfortune threatened him. 

From this time onward, as might be expected, the general weighed everyword and noticed every gesture which passed between Vaninka and Foedor inhis presence; but he saw nothing to confirm his suspicions on the part ofthe aide-de-camp or of his daughter; on the contrary, Vaninka seemedcolder and more reserved than ever. 

A week passed in this way. About two o'clock in the morning of the ninthday, someone knocked at the general's door. It was Gregory. 

"If your excellency will go into your daughter's room, " said Gregory, "you will find Mr. Foedor there. "

The general turned pale, dressed himself without uttering a word, andfollowed the slave to the door of Vaninka's room. Having arrived there, with a motion of his hand he dismissed the informer, who, instead ofretiring in obedience to this mute command, hid himself in the corner ofthe corridor. 

When the general believed himself to be alone, he knocked once; but allwas silent. This silence, however, proved nothing; for Vaninka might beasleep. He knocked a second time, and the young girl, in a perfectlycalm voice, asked, "Who is there?"

"It is I, " said the general, in a voice trembling with emotion. 

"Annouschka!" said the girl to her foster-sister, who slept in theadjoining room, "open the door to my father. Forgive me, father, " shecontinued; "but Annouschka is dressing, and will be with you in amoment. "

The general waited patiently, for he could discover no trace of emotionin his daughter's voice, and he hoped that Gregory had been mistaken. 

In a few moments the door opened, and the general went in, and cast along look around him; there was no one in this first apartment. 

Vaninka was in bed, paler perhaps than usual, but quite calm, with theloving smile on her lips with which she always welcomed her father. 

"To what fortunate circumstance, " asked the young girl in her softesttones, "do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at so late an hour?"

"I wished to speak to you about a very important matter, " said thegeneral, "and however late it was, I thought you would forgive me fordisturbing you. "

"My father will always be welcome in his daughter's room, at whateverhour of the day or night he presents himself there. "

The general cast another searching look round, and was convinced that itwas impossible for a man to be concealed in the first room--but thesecond still remained. 

"I am listening, " said Vaninka, after a moment of silence. 

"Yes, but we are not alone, " replied the general, "and it is importantthat no other ears should hear what I have to say to you. "

"Annauschka, as you know, is my foster-sister, " said Vaninka. 

"That makes no difference, " said the general, going candle in hand intothe next room, which was somewhat smaller than his daughter's. "Annouschka, " said he, "watch in the corridor and see that no oneoverhears us. "

As he spoke these words, the general threw the same scrutinizing glanceall round the room, but with the exception of the young girl there was noone there. 

Annouschka obeyed, and the general followed her out, and, looking eagerlyround for the last time, re-entered his daughter's room, and seatedhimself on the foot of her bed. Annouschka, at a sign from her mistress, left her alone with her father. The general held out his hand toVaninka, and she took it without hesitation. 

"My child, " said the general, "I have to speak to you about a veryimportant matter. "

"What is it, father?" said Vaninka. 

"You will soon be eighteen, " continued the general, "and that is the ageat which the daughters of the Russian nobility usually marry. " Thegeneral paused for a moment to watch the effect of these words uponVaninka, but her hand rested motionless in his. "For the last year yourhand has been engaged by me, " continued the general. 

"May I know to whom?" asked Vaninka coldly. 

"To the son of the Councillor-in-Ordinary, " replied the general. "What isyour opinion of him?"

"He is a worthy and noble young man, I am told, but I can have formed noopinion except from hearsay. Has he not been in garrison at Moscow forthe last three months?"

"Yes, " said the general, "but in three months' time he should return. "

Vaninka remained silent. 

"Have you nothing to say in reply?" asked the general. 

"Nothing, father; but I have a favour to ask of you. "

"What is it?"

"I do not wish to marry until I am twenty years old. "

"Why not?"

"I have taken a vow to that effect. "

"But if circumstances demanded the breaking of this vow, and made thecelebration of this marriage imperatively necessary?"

"What circumstances?" asked Vaninka. 

"Foedor loves you, " said the general, looking steadily at Vaninka. 

"I know that, " said Vaninka, with as little emotion as if the questiondid not concern her. 

"You know that!" cried the general. 

"Yes; he has told me so. "

"When?"

"Yesterday. "

"And you replied--?"

"That he must leave here at once. "

"And he consented?"

"Yes, father. "

"When does he go?"

"He has gone. "

"How can that be?" said the general: "he only left me at ten o'clock. "

"And he left me at midnight, " said Vaninka. 

"Ah!" said the general, drawing a deep breath of relief, "you are a noblegirl, Vaninka, and I grant you what you ask-two years more. But rememberit is the emperor who has decided upon this marriage. "

"My father will do me the justice to believe that I am too submissive adaughter to be a rebellious subject. "

"Excellent, Vaninka, excellent, " said the general. "So, then, poorFoedor has told you all?"

"Yes, " said Vaninka. 

"You knew that he addressed himself to me first?"

"I knew it. "

"Then it was from him that you heard that your hand was engaged?"

"It was from him. "

"And he consented to leave you? He is a good and noble young man, whoshall always be under my protection wherever he goes. Oh, if my word hadnot been given, I love him so much that, supposing you did not dislikehim, I should have given him your hand. "

"And you cannot recall your promise?" asked Vaninka. 

"Impossible, " said the general. 

"Well, then, I submit to my father's will, " said Vaninka. 

"That is spoken like my daughter, " said the general, embracing her. "Farewell, Vaninka; I do not ask if you love him. You have both doneyour duty, and I have nothing more to exact. "

With these words, he rose and left the room. Annouschka was in thecorridor; the general signed to her that she might go in again, and wenton his way. At the door of his room he found Gregory waiting for him. 

"Well, your excellency?" he asked. 

"Well, " said the general, "you are both right and wrong. Foedor loves mydaughter, but my daughter does not love him. He went into my daughter'sroom at eleven o'clock, but at midnight he left her for ever. No matter, come to me tomorrow, and you shall have your thousand roubles and yourliberty. "

Gregory went off, dumb with astonishment. 

Meanwhile, Annouschka had re-entered her mistress's room, as she had beenordered, and closed the door carefully behind her. 

Vaninka immediately sprang out of bed and went to the door, listening tothe retreating footsteps of the general. When they had ceased to beheard, she rushed into Annouschka's room, and both began to pull aside abundle of linen, thrown down, as if by accident, into the embrasure of awindow. Under the linen was a large chest with a spring lock. Annouschka pressed a button, Vaninka raised the lid. The two womenuttered a loud cry: the chest was now a coffin; the young officer, stifled for want of air, lay dead within. 

For a long time the two women hoped it was only a swoon. Annouschkasprinkled his face with water; Vaninka put salts to his nose. All was invain. During the long conversation which the general had had with hisdaughter, and which had lasted more than half an hour, Foedor, unable toget out of the chest, as the lid was closed by a spring, had died forwant of air. The position of the two girls shut up with a corpse wasfrightful. Annouschka saw Siberia close at hand; Vaninka, to do herjustice, thought of nothing but Foedor. Both were in despair. However, as the despair of the maid was more selfish than that of her mistress, itwas Annouschka who first thought of a plan of escaping from the situationin which they were placed. 

"My lady, " she cried suddenly, "we are saved. " Vaninka raised her headand looked at her attendant with her eyes bathed in tears. 

"Saved?" said she, "saved? We are, perhaps, but Foedor!"

"Listen now, " said Annouschka: "your position is terrible, I grant that, and your grief is great; but your grief could be greater and yourposition more terrible still. If the general knew this. "

"What difference would it make to me?" said Vaninka. "I shall weep forhim before the whole world. "

"Yes, but you will be dishonoured before the whole world! To-morrow yourslaves, and the day after all St. Petersburg, will know that a man diedof suffocation while concealed in your chamber. Reflect, my lady: yourhonour is the honour of your father, the honour of your family. "

"You are right, " said Vaninka, shaking her head, as if to disperse thegloomy thoughts that burdened her brain, --"you are right, but what mustwe do?"

"Does my lady know my brother Ivan?"

"Yes. "

"We must tell him all. "

"Of what are you thinking?" cried Vaninka. "To confide in a man? A man, do I say? A serf! a slave!"

"The lower the position of the serf and slave, the safer will our secretbe, since he will have everything to gain by keeping faith with us. "

"Your brother is a drunkard, " said Vaninka, with mingled fear anddisgust. 

"That is true, " said Annouschka; "but where will you find a slave who isnot? My brother gets drunk less than most, and is therefore more to betrusted than the others. Besides, in the position in which we are wemust risk something. "

"You are right, " said Vaninka, recovering her usual resolution, whichalways grew in the presence of danger. "Go and seek your brother. "

"We can do nothing this morning, " said Annouschka, drawing back thewindow curtains. "Look, the dawn is breaking. "

"But what can we do with the body of this unhappy man?" cried Vaninka. 

"It must remain hidden where it is all day, and this evening, while youare at the Court entertainment, my brother shall remove it. "

"True, " murmured Vaninka in a strange tone, "I must go to Court thisevening; to stay away would arouse suspicion. Oh, my God! my God!"

"Help me, my lady, " said Annouschka; "I am not strong enough alone. "

Vaninka turned deadly pale, but, spurred on by the danger, she wentresolutely up to the body of her lover; then, lifting it by theshoulders, while her maid raised it by the legs, she laid it once more inthe chest. Then Annouschka shut down the lid, locked the chest, and putthe key into her breast. Then both threw back the linen which had hiddenit from the eyes of the general. Day dawned, as might be expected, eresleep visited the eyes of Vaninka. 

She went down, however, at the breakfast hour; for she did not wish toarouse the slightest suspicion in her father's mind. Only it might havebeen thought from her pallor that she had risen from the grave, but thegeneral attributed this to the nocturnal disturbance of which he had beenthe cause. 

Luck had served Vaninka wonderfully in prompting her to say that Foedorhad already gone; for not only did the general feel no surprise when hedid not appear, but his very absence was a proof of his daughter'sinnocence. The general gave a pretext for his aide-de-camp's absence bysaying that he had sent him on a mission. As for Vaninka, she remainedout of her room till it was time to dress. A week before, she had been atthe Court entertainment with Foedor. 

Vaninka might have excused herself from accompanying her father byfeigning some slight indisposition, but two considerations made her fearto act thus: the first was the fear of making the general anxious, andperhaps of making him remain at home himself, which would make theremoval of the corpse more difficult; the second was the fear of meetingIvan and having to blush before a slave. She preferred, therefore, tomake a superhuman effort to control herself; and, going up again into herroom, accompanied by her faithful Annouschka, she began to dress with asmuch care as if her heart were full of joy. When this cruel business wasfinished, she ordered Annouschka to shut the door; for she wished to seeFoedor once more, and to bid a last farewell to him who had been herlover. Annouschka obeyed; and Vaninka, with flowers in her hair and herbreast covered with jewels, glided like a phantom into her servant'sroom. 

Annouschka again opened the chest, and Vaninka, without shedding a tear, without breathing a sigh, with the profound and death-like calm ofdespair, leant down towards Foedor and took off a plain ring which theyoung man had on his finger, placed it on her own, between twomagnificent rings, then kissing him on the brow, she said, "Goodbye, mybetrothed. "

At this moment she heard steps approaching. It was a groom of thechambers coming from the general to ask if she were ready. Annouschka letthe lid of the chest fall, and Vaninka going herself to open the door, followed the messenger, who walked before her, lighting the way. 

Such was her trust in her foster-sister that she left her to accomplishthe dark and terrible task with which she had burdened herself. 

A minute later, Annouschka saw the carriage containing the general andhis daughter leave by the main gate of the hotel. 

She let half an hour go by, and then went down to look for Ivan. Shefound him drinking with Gregory, with whom the general had kept his word, and who had received the same day one thousand roubles and his liberty. Fortunately, the revellers were only beginning their rejoicings, and Ivanin consequence was sober enough for his sister to entrust her secret tohim without hesitation. 

Ivan followed Annouschka into the chamber of her mistress. There shereminded him of all that Vaninka, haughty but generous, had allowed hissister to do for him. The, few glasses of brandy Ivan had alreadyswallowed had predisposed him to gratitude (the drunkenness of theRussian is essentially tender). Ivan protested his devotion so warmlythat Annouschka hesitated no longer, and, raising the lid of the chest, showed him the corpse of Foedor. At this terrible sight Ivan remained aninstant motionless, but he soon began to calculate how much money and howmany benefits the possession of such a secret would bring him. He sworeby the most solemn oaths never to betray his mistress, and offered, asAnnouschka had hoped, to dispose of the body of the unfortunateaide-decamp. 

The thing was easily done. Instead of returning to drink with Gregoryand his comrades, Ivan went to prepare a sledge, filled it with straw, and hid at the bottom an iron crowbar. He brought this to the outsidegate, and assuring himself he was not being spied upon, he raised thebody of the dead man in his arms, hid it under the straw, and sat downabove it. He had the gate of the hotel opened, followed Niewski Streetas far as the Zunamenie Church, passed through the shops in theRejestwenskoi district, drove the sledge out on to the frozen Neva, andhalted in the middle of the river, in front of the deserted church ofSte. Madeleine. There, protected by the solitude and darkness, hiddenbehind the black mass of his sledge, he began to break the ice, which wasfifteen inches thick, with his pick. When he had made a large enoughhole, he searched the body of Foedor, took all the money he had abouthim, and slipped the body head foremost through the opening he had made. He then made his way back to the hotel, while the imprisoned current ofthe Neva bore away the corpse towards the Gulf of Finland. An hourafter, a new crust of ice had formed, and not even a trace of the openingmade by Ivan remained. 

At midnight Vaninka returned with her father. A hidden fever had beenconsuming her all the evening: never had she looked so lovely, and shehad been overwhelmed by the homage of the most distinguished nobles andcourtiers. When she returned, she found Annouschka in the vestibulewaiting to take her cloak. As she gave it to her, Vaninka sent her oneof those questioning glances that seem to express so much. "It is done, "said the girl in a low voice. Vaninka breathed a sigh of relief, as if amountain had been removed from her breast. Great as was her self-control, she could no longer bear her father's presence, and excused herself fromremaining to supper with him, on the plea of the fatigues of the evening. Vaninka was no sooner in her room, with the door once closed, than shetore the flowers from her hair, the necklace from her throat, cut withscissors the corsets which suffocated her, and then, throwing herself onher bed, she gave way to her grief. Annouschka thanked God for thisoutburst; her mistress's calmness had frightened her more than herdespair. The first crisis over, Vaninka was able to pray. She spent anhour on her knees, then, yielding to the entreaties of her faithfulattendant, went to bed. Annouschka sat down at the foot of the bed. 

Neither slept, but when day came the tears which Vaninka had shed hadcalmed her. 

Annouschka was instructed to reward her brother. Too large a sum givento a slave at once might have aroused suspicion, therefore Annouschkacontented herself with telling Ivan that when he had need of money he hadonly to ask her for it. 

Gregory, profiting by his liberty and wishing to make use of his thousandroubles, bought a little tavern on the outskirts of the town, where, thanks to his address and to the acquaintances he had among the servantsin the great households of St. Petersburg, he began to develop anexcellent business, so that in a short time the Red House (which was thename and colour of Gregory's establishment) had a great reputation. Another man took over his duties about the person of the general, and butfor Foedor's absence everything returned to its usual routine in thehouse of Count Tchermayloff. 

Two months went by in this way, without anybody having the leastsuspicion of what had happened, when one morning before the usualbreakfast-hour the general begged his daughter to come down to his room. Vaninka trembled with fear, for since that fatal night everythingterrified her. She obeyed her father, and collecting all her strength, made her way to his chamber, The count was alone, but at the first glanceVaninka saw she had nothing to fear from this interview: the general waswaiting for her with that paternal smile which was the usual expressionof his countenance when in his daughter's presence. 

She approached, therefore, with her usual calmness, and, stooping downtowards the general, gave him her forehead to kiss. 

He motioned to her to sit down, and gave her an open letter. Vaninkalooked at him for a moment in surprise, then turned her eyes to theletter. 

It contained the news of the death of the man to whom her hand had beenpromised: he had been killed in a duel. 

The general watched the effect of the letter on his daughter's face, andgreat as was Vaninka's self-control, so many different thoughts, suchbitter regret, such poignant remorse assailed her when she learnt thatshe was now free again, that she could not entirely conceal her emotion. The general noticed it, and attributed it to the love which he had for along time suspected his daughter felt for the young aide-de-camp. 

"Well, " he said, smiling, "I see it is all for the best. "

"How is that, father?" asked Vaninka. 

"Doubtless, " said the general. "Did not Foedor leave because he lovedyou?"

"Yes, " murmured the young girl. 

"Well, now he may return, " said the general. 

Vaninka remained silent, her eyes fixed, her lips trembling. 

"Return!" she said, after a moment's silence. 

"Yes, certainly return. We shall be most unfortunate, " continued thegeneral, smiling, "if we cannot find someone in the house who knows wherehe is. Come, Vaninka, tell me the place of his exile, and I willundertake the rest. "

"Nobody knows where Foedor is, " murmured Vaninka in a hollow voice;"nobody but God, nobody!"

"What!" said the general, "he has sent you no news since the day heleft?"

Vaninka shook her head in denial. She was so heart-broken that she couldnot speak. 

The general in his turn became gloomy. "Do you fear some misfortune, then?" said he. 

"I fear that I shall never be happy again on earth, " cried Vaninka, giving way under the pressure of her grief; then she continued at once, "Let me retire, father; I am ashamed of what I have said. "

The general, who saw nothing in this exclamation beyond regret for havingallowed the confession of her love to escape her, kissed his daughter onthe brow and allowed her to retire. He hoped that, in spite of themournful way in which Vaninka had spoken of Foedor, that it would bepossible to find him. The same day he went to the emperor and told himof the love of Foedor for his daughter, and requested, since death hadfreed her from her first engagement, that he might dispose of her hand. The emperor consented, and the general then solicited a further favour. Paul was in one of his kindly moods, and showed himself disposed to grantit. The general told him that Foedor had disappeared for two months;that everyone, even his daughter, was ignorant of his whereabouts, andbegged him to have inquiries made. The emperor immediately sent for thechief of police, and gave him the necessary orders. 

Six weeks went by without any result. Vaninka, since the day when theletter came, was sadder and more melancholy than ever. Vainly from timeto time the general tried to make her more hopeful. Vaninka only shookher head and withdrew. The general ceased to speak, of Foedor. 

But it was not the same among the household. The young aide-de-camp hadbeen popular with the servants, and, with the exception of Gregory, therewas not a soul who wished him harm, so that, when it became known that hehad not been sent on a mission, but had disappeared, the matter becamethe constant subject of conversation in the antechamber, the kitchen, andthe stables. There was another place where people busied themselvesabout it a great deal--this was the Red House. 

From the day when he heard of Foedor's mysterious departure Gregory hadhis suspicions. He was sure that he had seen Foedor enter Vaninka'sroom, and unless he had gone out while he was going to seek the general, he did not understand why the latter had not found him in his daughter'sroom. Another thing occupied his mind, which it seemed to him mightperhaps have some connection with this event--the amount of money Ivanhad been spending since that time, a very extraordinary amount for aslave. This slave, however, was the brother of Vaninka's cherishedfoster-sister, so that, without being sure, Gregory already suspected thesource from whence this money came. Another thing confirmed him in hissuspicions, which was that Ivan, who had not only remained his mostfaithful friend, but had become one of his best customers, never spoke ofFoedor, held his tongue if he were mentioned in his presence, and to allquestions, however pressing they were, made but one answer: "Let us speakof something else. "

In the meantime the Feast of Kings arrived. This is a great day in St. Petersburg, for it is also the day for blessing the waters. 

As Vaninka had been present at the ceremony, and was fatigued afterstanding for two hours on the Neva, the general did not go out thatevening, and gave Ivan leave to do so. Ivan profited by the permissionto go to the Red House. 

There was a numerous company there, and Ivan was welcomed; for it wasknown that he generally came with full pockets. This time he did notbelie his reputation, and had scarcely arrived before he made thesorok-kopecks ring, to the great envy of his companions. 

At this warning sound Gregory hastened up with all possible deference, abottle of brandy in each hand; for he knew that when Ivan summoned him hegained in two ways, as innkeeper and as boon companion. Ivan did notdisappoint these hopes, and Gregory was invited to share in theentertainment. The conversation turned on slavery, and some of theunhappy men, who had only four days in the year of respite from theireternal labour, talked loudly of the happiness Gregory had enjoyed sincehe had obtained his freedom. 

"Bah!" said Ivan, on whom the brandy had begun to take effect, "there aresome slaves who are freer than their masters. "

"What do you mean?" said Gregory, pouring him out another glass ofbrandy. 

"I meant to say happier, " said Ivan quickly. 

"It is difficult to prove that, " said Gregory doubtingly. 

"Why difficult? Our masters, the moment they are born, are put into thehands of two or three pedants, one French, another German, and a thirdEnglish, and whether they like them or not, they must be content withtheir society till they are seventeen, and whether they wish to or not, must learn three barbarous languages, at the expense of our noble Russiantongue, which they have sometimes completely forgotten by the time theothers are acquired. Again, if one of them wishes for some career, hemust become a soldier: if he is a sublieutenant, he is the slave of thelieutenant; if he is a lieutenant, he is the slave of the captain, andthe captain of the major, and so on up to the emperor, who is nobody'sslave, but who one fine day is surprised at the table, while walking, orin his bed, and is poisoned, stabbed, or strangled. If he chooses acivil career, it is much the same. He marries a wife, and does not loveher; children come to him he knows not how, whom he has to provide for;he must struggle incessantly to provide for his family if he is poor, andif he is rich to prevent himself being robbed by his steward and cheatedby his tenants. Is this life? While we, gentlemen, we are born, andthat is the only pain we cost our mothers--all the rest is the master'sconcern. He provides for us, he chooses our calling, always easy enoughto learn if we are not quite idiots. Are we ill? His doctor attends usgratis; it is a loss to him if we die. Are we well? We have our fourcertain meals a day, and a good stove to sleep near at night. Do we fallin love? There is never any hindrance to our marriage, if the woman lovesus; the master himself asks us to hasten our marriage, for he wishes usto have as many children as possible. And when the children are born, hedoes for them in their turn all he has done for us. Can you find me manygreat lords as happy as their slaves?"

"All this is true, " said Gregory, pouring him out another glass ofbrandy; "but, after all, you are not free. "

"Free to do what?" asked Ivan. 

"Free to go where you will and when you will. "

"I am as free as the air, " replied Ivan. 

"Nonsense!" said Gregory. 

"Free as air, I tell you; for I have good masters, and above all a goodmistress, " continued Ivan, with a significant smile, "and I have only toask and it is done. "

"What! if after having got drunk here to-day, you asked to come backto-morrow to get drunk again?" said Gregory, who in his challenge to Ivandid not forget his own interests, --"if you asked that?"

"I should come back again, " said Ivan. 

"To-morrow?" said Gregory. 

"To-morrow, the day after, every day if I liked. . . . "

"The fact is, Ivan is our young lady's favourite, " said another of thecount's slaves who was present, profiting by his comrade Ivan'sliberality. 

"It is all the same, " said Gregory; "for supposing such permission weregiven you, money would soon run short. "

"Never!" said Ivan, swallowing another glass of brandy, "never will Ivanwant for money as long as there is a kopeck in my lady's purse. "

"I did not find her so liberal, " said Gregory bitterly. 

"Oh, you forget, my friend; you know well she does not reckon with herfriends: remember the strokes of the knout. "

"I have no wish to speak about that, " said Gregory. "I know that she isgenerous with blows, but her money is another thing. I have never seenthe colour of that. "

"Well, would you like to see the colour of mine?" said Ivan, getting moreand more drunk. "See here, here are kopecks, sorok-kopecks, blue notesworth five roubles, red notes worth twenty five roubles, and to-morrow, if you like, I will show you white notes worth fifty roubles. A healthto my lady Vaninka!" And Ivan held out his glass again, and Gregoryfilled it to the brim. 

"But does money, " said Gregory, pressing Ivan more and more, --"does moneymake up for scorn?"

"Scorn!" said Ivan, --"scorn! Who scorns me? Do you, because you arefree? Fine freedom! I would rather be a well-fed slave than a free mandying of hunger. "

"I mean the scorn of our masters, " replied Gregory. 

"The scorn of our masters! Ask Alexis, ask Daniel there, if my ladyscorns me. "

"The fact is, " said the two slaves in reply, who both belonged to thegeneral's household, "Ivan must certainly have a charm; for everyonetalks to him as if to a master. "

"Because he is Annouschka's brother, " said Gregory, "and Annouschka is mylady's foster-sister. "

"That may be so, " said the two slaves. 

"For that reason or for some other, " said Ivan; "but, in short, that isthe case. "

"Yes; but if your sister should die?" said Gregory. "Ah!"

"If my sister should die, that would be a pity, for she is a good girl. I drink to her health! But if she should die, that would make nodifference. I am respected for myself; they respect me because they fearme. "

"Fear my lord Ivan!" said Gregory, with a loud laugh. "It follows, then, that if my lord Ivan were tired of receiving orders, and gave them in histurn, my lord Ivan would be obeyed. "

"Perhaps, " said Ivan. 

"He said 'perhaps, ' repeated Gregory, " laughing louder than ever, --"hesaid 'perhaps. ' Did you hear him?"

"Yes, " said the slaves, who had drunk so much that they could only answerin monosyllables. 

"Well, I no longer say 'perhaps, ' I now say 'for certain. '"

"Oh, I should like to see that, " said Gregory; "I would give something tosee that. "

"Well, send away these fellows, who are getting drunk like pigs, and fornothing, you will find. "

"For nothing?" said Gregory. "You are jesting. Do you think I shouldgive them drink for nothing?"

"Well, we shall see. How much would be their score, for your atrociousbrandy, if they drank from now till midnight, when you are obliged toshut up your tavern?"

"Not less than twenty roubles. "

"Here are thirty; turn there out, and let us remain by ourselves. "

"Friends, " said Gregory, taking out his watch as if to look at the time, "it is just upon midnight; you know the governor's orders, so you mustgo. " The men, habituated like all Russians to passive obedience, wentwithout a murmur, and Gregory found himself alone with Ivan and the twoother slaves of the general. 

"Well, here we are alone, " said Gregory. "What do you mean to do?"

"Well, what would you say, " replied Ivan, "if in spite of the late hourand the cold, and in spite of the fact that we are only slaves, my ladywere to leave her father's house and come to drink our healths?"

"I would say that you ought to take advantage of it, " said Gregory, shrugging his shoulders, "and tell her to bring at the same time a bottleof brandy. There is probably better brandy in the general's cellar thanin mine. "

"There is better, " said Ivan, as if he was perfectly sure of it, "and mylady shall bring you a bottle of it. "

"You are mad!" said Gregory. 

"He is mad!" repeated the other two slaves mechanically. 

"Oh, I am mad?" said Ivan. "Well, will you take a wager?"

"What will you wager?"

"Two hundred roubles against a year of free drinking in your inn. "

"Done!" said Gregory. 

"Are your comrades included?" said the two moujiks. 

"They are included, " said Ivan, "and in consideration of them we willreduce the time to six months. Is that agreed?"

"It is agreed, " said Gregory. 

The two who were making the wager shook hands, and the agreement wasperfected. Then, with an air of confidence, assumed to confound thewitnesses of this strange scene, Ivan wrapped himself in the fur coatwhich, like a cautious man, he had spread on the stove, and went out. 

At the end of half an hour he reappeared. 

"Well!" cried Gregory and the two slaves together. 

"She is following, " said Ivan. 

The three tipplers looked at one another in amazement, but Ivan quietlyreturned to his place in the middle of them, poured out a new bumper, andraising his glass, cried--

"To my lady's health! It is the least we can do when she is kind enoughto come and join us on so cold a night, when the snow is falling fast. "

"Annouschka, " said a voice outside, "knock at this door and ask Gregoryif he has not some of our servants with him. "

Gregory and the two other slaves looked at one another, stupefied: theyhad recognised Vaninka's voice. As for Ivan, he flung himself back inhis chair, balancing himself with marvellous impertinence. 

Annouschka opened the door, and they could see, as Ivan had said, thatthe snow was falling heavily. 

"Yes, madam, " said the girl; "my brother is there, with Daniel andAlexis. "

Vaninka entered. 

"My friends, " said she, with a strange smile, "I am told that you weredrinking my health, and I have come to bring you something to drink itagain. Here is a bottle of old French brandy which I have chosen for youfrom my father's cellar. Hold out your glasses. "

Gregory and the slaves obeyed with the slowness and hesitation ofastonishment, while Ivan held out his glass with the utmost effrontery. 

Vaninka filled them to the brim herself, and then, as they hesitated todrink, "Come, drink to my health, friends, " said she. 

"Hurrah!" cried the drinkers, reassured by the kind and familiar tone oftheir noble visitor, as they emptied their glasses at a draught. 

Vaninka at once poured them out another glass; then putting the bottle onthe table, "Empty the bottle, my friends, " said she, "and do not troubleabout me. Annouschka and I, with the permission 2668 of the master ofthe house, will sit near the stove till the storm is over. "

Gregory tried to rise and place stools near the stove, but whether he wasquite drunk or whether some narcotic had been mixed with the brandy, hefell back on his seat, trying to stammer out an excuse. 

"It is all right, " said Vaninka: "do not disturb yourselves; drink, myfriends, drink. "

The revellers profited by this permission, and each emptied the glassbefore him. Scarcely had Gregory emptied his before he fell forward onthe table. 

"Good!" said Vaninka to her maid in a low voice: "the opium is takingeffect. "

"What do you mean to do?" said Annouschka. 

"You will soon see, " was the answer. 

The two moujiks followed the example of the master of the house, and felldown side by side on the ground. Ivan was left struggling against sleep, and trying to sing a drinking song; but soon his tongue refused to obeyhim, his eyes closed in spite of him, and seeking the tune that escapedhim, and muttering words he was unable to pronounce, he fell fast asleepnear his companions. 

Immediately Vaninka rose, fixed them with flashing eyes, and called themby name one after another. There was no response. 

Then she clapped her hands and cried joyfully, "The moment has come!"Going to the back of the room, she brought thence an armful of straw, placed it in a corner of the room, and did the same in the other corners. She then took a flaming brand from the stove and set fire in successionto the four corners of the room. 

"What are you doing?" said Annouschka, wild with terror, trying to stopher. 

"I am going to bury our secret in the ashes of this house, " answeredVaninka. 

"But my brother, my poor brother!" said the girl. 

"Your brother is a wretch who has betrayed me, and we are lost if we donot destroy him. "

"Oh, my brother, my poor brother!"

"You can die with him if you like, " said Vaninka, accompanying theproposal with a smile which showed she would not have been sorry ifAnnouschka had carried sisterly affection to that length. 

"But look at the fire, madam--the fire!"

"Let us go, then, " said Vaninka; and, dragging out the heart-broken girl, she locked the door behind her and threw the key far away into the snow. 

"In the name of Heaven, " said Annouschka, "let us go home quickly: Icannot gaze upon this awful sight!"

"No, let us stay here!" said Vaninka, holding her back with a grasp ofalmost masculine strength. "Let us stay until the house falls in onthem, so that we may be certain that not one of them escapes. "

"Oh, my God!" cried Annouschka, falling on her knees, "have mercy upon mypoor brother, for death will hurry him unprepared into Thy presence. "

"Yes, yes, pray; that is right, " said Vaninka. "I wish to destroy theirbodies, not their souls. "

Vaninka stood motionless, her arms crossed, brilliantly lit up by theflames, while her attendant prayed. The fire did not last long: thehouse was wooden, with the crevices filled with oakum, like all those ofRussian peasants, so that the flames, creeping out at the four corners, soon made great headway, and, fanned by the wind, spread rapidly to allparts of the building. Vaninka followed the progress of the fire withblazing eyes, fearing to see some half-burnt spectral shape rush out ofthe flames. At last the roof fell in, and Vaninka, relieved of all fear, then at last made her way to the general's house, into which the twowomen entered without being seen, thanks to the permission Annouschka hadto go out at any hour of the day or night. 

The next morning the sole topic of conversation in St. Petersburg was thefire at the Red House. Four half-consumed corpses were dug out frombeneath the ruins, and as three of the general's slaves were missing, hehad no doubt that the unrecognisable bodies were those of Ivan, Daniel, and Alexis: as for the fourth, it was certainly that of Gregory. 

The cause of the fire remained a secret from everyone: the house wassolitary, and the snowstorm so violent that nobody had met the two womenon the deserted road. Vaninka was sure of her maid. Her secret then hadperished with Ivan. But now remorse took the place of fear: the younggirl who was so pitiless and inflexible in the execution of the deedquailed at its remembrance. It seemed to her that by revealing thesecret of her crime to a priest, she would be relieved of her terribleburden. She therefore sought a confessor renowned for his lofty charity, and, under the seal of confession, told him all. The priest washorrified by the story. Divine mercy is boundless, but human forgivenesshas its limits. He refused Vaninka the absolution she asked. Thisrefusal was terrible: it would banish Vaninka from the Holy Table; thisbanishment would be noticed, and could not fail to be attributed to someunheard-of and secret crime. Vaninka fell at the feet of the priest, andin the name of her father, who would be disgraced by her shame, beggedhim to mitigate the rigour of this sentence. 

The confessor reflected deeply, then thought he had found a way toobviate such consequences. It was that Vaninka should approach the HolyTable with the other young girls; the priest would stop before her asbefore all the others, but only say to her, "Pray and weep"; thecongregation, deceived by this, would think that she had received theSacrament like her companions. This was all that Vaninka could obtain. 

This confession took place about seven o'clock in the evening, and thesolitude of the church, added to the darkness of night, had given it astill more awful character. The confessor returned home, pale andtrembling. His wife Elizabeth was waiting for him alone. She had justput her little daughter Arina, who was eight years old, to bed in anadjoining room. When she saw her husband, she uttered a cry of terror, so changed and haggard was his appearance. The confessor tried toreassure her, but his trembling voice only increased her alarm. Sheasked the cause of his agitation; the confessor refused to tell her. Elizabeth had heard the evening before that her mother was ill; shethought that her husband had received some bad news. The day was Monday, which is considered an unlucky day among the Russians, and, going outthat day, Elizabeth had met a man in mourning; these omens were toonumerous and too strong not to portend misfortune. 

Elizabeth burst into tears, and cried out, "My mother is dead!"

The priest in vain tried to reassure her by telling her that hisagitation was not due to that. The poor woman, dominated by one idea, made no response to his protestations but this everlasting cry, "Mymother is dead!"

Then, to bring her to reason, the confessor told her that his emotion wasdue to the avowal of a crime which he had just heard in the confessional. But Elizabeth shook her head: it was a trick, she said, to hide from herthe sorrow which had fallen upon her. Her agony, instead of calming, became more violent; her tears ceased to flow, and were followed byhysterics. The priest then made her swear to keep the secret, and thesanctity of the confession was betrayed. 

Little Arina had awakened at Elizabeth's cries, and being disturbed andat the same time curious as to what her parents were doing, she got up, went to listen at the door, and heard all. 

The day for the Communion came; the church of St. Simeon was crowded. Vaninka came to kneel at the railing of the choir. Behind her was herfather and his aides-de-camp, and behind them their servants. 

Arina was also in the church with her mother. The inquisitive childwished to see Vaninka, whose name she had heard pronounced that terriblenight, when her father had failed in the first and most sacred of theduties imposed on a priest. While her mother was praying, she left herchair and glided among the worshippers, nearly as far as the railing. 

But when she had arrived there, she was stopped by the group of thegeneral's servants. But Arina had not come so far to be, stopped soeasily: she tried to push between them, but they opposed her; shepersisted, and one of them pushed her roughly back. The child fell, struck her head against a seat, and got up bleeding and crying, "You arevery proud for a slave. Is it because you belong to the great lady whoburnt the Red House?"

These words, uttered in a loud voice, in the midst of the silence whichpreceded, the sacred ceremony, were heard by everyone. They wereanswered by a shriek. Vaninka had fainted. The next day the general, atthe feet of Paul, recounted to him, as his sovereign and judge, the wholeterrible story, which Vaninka, crushed by her long struggle, had at lastrevealed to him, at night, after the scene in the church. 

The emperor remained for a moment in thought at the end of this strangeconfession; then, getting up from the chair where he had been sittingwhile the miserable father told his story, he went to a bureau, and wroteon a sheet of paper the following sentence:

"The priest having violated what should have been inviolable, the secretsof the confessional, is exiled to Siberia and deprived of his priestlyoffice. His wife will follow him: she is to be blamed for not havingrespected his character as a minister of the altar. The little girl willnot leave her parents. 

"Annouschka, the attendant, will also go to Siberia for not having madeknown to her master his daughter's conduct. 

"I preserve all my esteem for the general, and I mourn with him for thedeadly blow which has struck him. 

"As for Vaninka, I know of no punishment which can be inflicted upon her. I only see in her the daughter of a brave soldier, whose whole life hasbeen devoted to the service of his country. Besides, the extraordinaryway in which the crime was discovered, seems to place the culprit beyondthe limits of my severity. I leave her punishment in her own hands. IfI understand her character, if any feeling of dignity remains to her, herheart and her remorse will show her the path she ought to follow. "

Paul handed the paper open to the general, ordering him to take it toCount Pahlen, the governor of St. Petersburg. 

On the following day the emperor's orders were carried out. 

Vaninka went into a convent, where towards the end of the same year shedied of shame and grief. 

The general found the death he sought on the field of Austerlitz. 

THE MARQUISE DE GANGES--1657

Toward the close of the year 1657, a very plain carriage, with no armspainted on it, stopped, about eight o'clock one evening, before the doorof a house in the rue Hautefeuille, at which two other coaches werealready standing. A lackey at once got down to open the carriage door;but a sweet, though rather tremulous voice stopped him, saying, "Wait, while I see whether this is the place. "

Then a head, muffled so closely in a black satin mantle that no featurecould be distinguished, was thrust from one of the carriage windows, andlooking around, seemed to seek for some decisive sign on the house front. The unknown lady appeared to be satisfied by her inspection, for sheturned back to her companion. 

"It is here, " said she. "There is the sign. "

As a result of this certainty, the carriage door was opened, the twowomen alighted, and after having once more raised their eyes to a stripof wood, some six or eight feet long by two broad, which was nailed abovethe windows of the second storey, and bore the inscription, "MadameVoison, midwife, " stole quickly into a passage, the door of which wasunfastened, and in which there was just so much light as enabled personspassing in or out to find their way along the narrow winding stair thatled from the ground floor to the fifth story. 

The two strangers, one of whom appeared to be of far higher rank than theother, did not stop, as might have been expected, at the doorcorresponding with the inscription that had guided them, but, on thecontrary, went on to the next floor. 

Here, upon the landing, was a kind of dwarf, oddly dressed after thefashion of sixteenth-century Venetian buffoons, who, when he saw the twowomen coming, stretched out a wand, as though to prevent them from goingfarther, and asked what they wanted. 

"To consult the spirit, " replied the woman of the sweet and tremulousvoice. 

"Come in and wait, " returned the dwarf, lifting a panel of tapestry andushering the two women into a waiting-room. 

The women obeyed, and remained for about half an hour, seeing and hearingnothing. At last a door, concealed by the tapestry, was suddenly opened;a voice uttered the word "Enter, " and the two women were introduced intoa second room, hung with black, and lighted solely by a three-branchedlamp that hung from the ceiling. The door closed behind them, and theclients found themselves face to face with the sibyl. 

She was a woman of about twenty-five or twenty-six, who, unlike otherwomen, evidently desired to appear older than she was. She was dressedin black; her hair hung in plaits; her neck, arms, and feet were bare;the belt at her waist was clasped by a large garnet which threw outsombre fires. In her hand she held a wand, and she was raised on a sortof platform which stood for the tripod of the ancients, and from whichcame acrid and penetrating fumes; she was, moreover, fairly handsome, although her features were common, the eyes only excepted, and these, bysome trick of the toilet, no doubt, looked inordinately large, and, likethe garnet in her belt, emitted strange lights. 

When the two visitors came in, they found the soothsayer leaning herforehead on her hand, as though absorbed in thought. Fearing to rouseher from her ecstasy, they waited in silence until it should please herto change her position. At the end of ten minutes she raised her head, and seemed only now to become aware that two persons were standing beforeher. 

"What is wanted of me again?" she asked, "and shall I have rest only inthe grave?"

"Forgive me, madame, " said the sweet-voiced unknown, "but I am wishing toknow----"

"Silence!" said the sibyl, in a solemn voice. "I will not know youraffairs. It is to the spirit that you must address yourself; he is ajealous spirit, who forbids his secrets to be shared; I can but pray tohim for you, and obey his will. "

At these words, she left her tripod, passed into an adjoining room, andsoon returned, looking even paler and more anxious than before, andcarrying in one hand a burning chafing dish, in the other a red paper. The three flames of the lamp grew fainter at the same moment, and theroom was left lighted up only by the chafing dish; every object nowassumed a fantastic air that did not fail to disquiet the two visitors, but it was too late to draw back. 

The soothsayer placed the chafing dish in the middle of the room, presented the paper to the young woman who had spoken, and said to her--

"Write down what you wish to know. "

The woman took the paper with a steadier hand than might have beenexpected, seated herself at a table, and wrote:--

"Am I young? Am I beautiful? Am I maid, wife, or widow? This is forthe past. 

"Shall I marry, or marry again? Shall I live long, or shall I die young?This is for the future. "

Then, stretching out her hand to the soothsayer, she asked--

"What am I to do now with this?"

"Roll that letter around this ball, " answered the other, handing to theunknown a little ball of virgin wax. "Both ball and letter will beconsumed in the flame before your eyes; the spirit knows your secretsalready. In three days you will have the answer. "

The unknown did as the sibyl bade her; then the latter took from herhands the ball and the paper in which it was wrapped, and went and threwboth into the chafing pan. 

"And now all is done as it should be, " said the soothsayer. "Comus!"

The dwarf came in. 

"See the lady to her coach. "

The stranger left a purse upon the table, and followed Comus. Heconducted her and her companion, who was only a confidential maid, down aback staircase, used as an exit, and leading into a different street fromthat by which the two women had come in; but the coachman, who had beentold beforehand of this circumstance, was awaiting them at the door, andthey had only to step into their carriage, which bore them rapidly awayin the direction of the rue Dauphine. 

Three days later, according to the promise given her, the fair unknown, when she awakened, found on the table beside her a letter in anunfamiliar handwriting; it was addressed "To the beautiful Provencale, "and contained these words--

"You are young; you are beautiful; you are a widow. This is for thepresent. 

"You will marry again; you will die young, and by a violent death. This is for the future. THE SPIRIT. "

The answer was written upon a paper like that upon which the questionshad been set down. 

The marquise turned pale and uttered a faint cry of terror; the answerwas so perfectly correct in regard to the past as to call up a fear thatit might be equally accurate in regard to the future. 

The truth is that the unknown lady wrapped in a mantle whom we haveescorted into the modern sibyl's cavern was no other than the beautifulMarie de Rossan, who before her marriage had borne the name ofMademoiselle de Chateaublanc, from that of an estate belonging to hermaternal grandfather, M. Joannis de Nocheres, who owned a fortune of fiveto six hundred thousand livres. At the age of thirteen--that is to say, in 1649--she had married the Marquis de Castellane, a gentleman of veryhigh birth, who claimed to be descended from John of Castille, the son ofPedro the Cruel, and from Juana de Castro, his mistress. Proud of hisyoung wife's beauty, the Marquis de Castellane, who was an officer of theking's galleys, had hastened to present her at court. Louis XIV, who atthe time of her presentation was barely twenty years old, was struck byher enchanting face, and to the great despair of the famous beauties ofthe day danced with her three times in one evening. Finally, as acrowning touch to her reputation, the famous Christina of Sweden, who wasthen at the French court, said of her that she had never, in any of thekingdoms through which she had passed, seen anything equal to "thebeautiful Provencale. " This praise had been so well received, that thename of "the beautiful Provencale" had clung to Madame de Castellane, andshe was everywhere known by it. 

This favour of Louis XIV and this summing up of Christina's had beenenough to bring the Marquise de Castellane instantly into fashion; andMignard, who had just received a patent of nobility and been made painterto the king, put the seal to her celebrity by asking leave to paint herportrait. That portrait still exists, and gives a perfect notion of thebeauty which it represents; but as the portrait is far from our readers'eyes, we will content ourselves by repeating, in its own original words, the one given in 1667 by the author of a pamphlet published at Rouenunder the following title: True and Principal Circumstances of theDeplorable Death of Madame the Marquise de Ganges:

[Note: It is from this pamphlet, and from the Account of the Death ofMadame the Marquise de Ganges, formerly Marquise de Castellane, that wehave borrowed the principal circumstances of this tragic story. To thesedocuments we must add--that we may not be constantly referring ourreaders to original sources--the Celebrated Trials by Guyot de Pitaval, the Life of Marie de Rossan, and the Lettres galantes of MadameDesnoyers. ]

"Her complexion, which was of a dazzling whiteness, was illumined by nottoo brilliant a red, and art itself could not have arranged moreskilfully the gradations by which this red joined and merged into thewhiteness of the complexion. The brilliance of her face was heightenedby the decided blackness of her hair, growing, as though drawn by apainter of the finest taste, around a well proportioned brow; her large, well opened eyes were of the same hue as her hair, and shone with a softand piercing flame that rendered it impossible to gaze upon her steadily;the smallness, the shape, the turn of her mouth, and, the beauty of herteeth were incomparable; the position and the regular proportion of hernose added to her beauty such an air of dignity, as inspired a respectfor her equal to the love that might be inspired by her beauty; therounded contour of her face, produced by a becoming plumpness, exhibitedall the vigour and freshness of health; to complete her charms, herglances, the movements of her lips and of her head, appeared to be guidedby the graces; her shape corresponded to the beauty of her face; lastly, her arms, her hands, her bearing, and her gait were such that nothingfurther could be wished to complete the agreeable presentment of abeautiful woman. "

[Note: All her contemporaries, indeed, are in agreement as to hermarvellous beauty; here is a second portrait of the marquise, delineatedin a style and manner still more characteristic of that period:--

"You will remember that she had a complexion smoother and finer than amirror, that her whiteness was so well commingled with the lively bloodas to produce an exact admixture never beheld elsewhere, and imparting toher countenance the tenderest animation; her eyes and hair were blackerthan jet; her eyes, I say, of which the gaze could scarce, from theirexcess of lustre, be supported, which have been celebrated as a miracleof tenderness and sprightliness, which have given rise, a thousand times, to the finest compliments of the day, and have been the torment of many arash man, must excuse me, if I do not pause longer to praise them, in aletter; her mouth was the feature of her face which compelled the mostcritical to avow that they had seen none of equal perfection, and that, by its shape, its smallness, and its brilliance, it might furnish apattern for all those others whose sweetness and charms had been sohighly vaunted; her nose conformed to the fair proportion of all herfeatures; it was, that is to say, the finest in the world; the wholeshape of her face was perfectly round, and of so charming a fullness thatsuch an assemblage of beauties was never before seen together. Theexpression of this head was one of unparalleled sweetness and of amajesty which she softened rather by disposition than by study; herfigure was opulent, her speech agreeable, her step noble, her demeanoureasy, her temper sociable, her wit devoid of malice, and founded upongreat goodness of heart. "]

It is easy to understand that a woman thus endowed could not, in a courtwhere gallantry was more pursued than in any other spot in the world, escape the calumnies of rivals; such calumnies, however, never producedany result, so correctly, even in the absence of her husband, did themarquise contrive to conduct herself; her cold and serious conversation, rather concise than lively, rather solid than brilliant, contrasted, indeed, with the light turn, the capricious and fanciful expressionsemployed by the wits of that time; the consequence was that those who hadfailed to succeed with her, tried to spread a report that the marquisewas merely a beautiful idol, virtuous with the virtue of a statue. Butthough such things might be said and repeated in the absence of themarquise, from the moment that she appeared in a drawing-room, from themoment that her beautiful eyes and sweet smile added their indefinableexpression to those brief, hurried, and sensible words that fell from herlips, the most prejudiced came back to her and were forced to own thatGod had never before created anything that so nearly touched perfection. 

She was thus in the enjoyment of a triumph that backbiters failed toshake, and that scandal vainly sought to tarnish, when news came of thewreck of the French galleys in Sicilian waters, and of the death of theMarquis de Castellane, who was in command. The marquise on thisoccasion, as usual, displayed the greatest piety and propriety: althoughshe had no very violent passion for her husband, with whom she had spentscarcely one of the seven years during which their marriage had lasted, on receipt of the news she went at once into retreat, going to live withMadame d'Ampus, her mother-in-law, and ceasing not only to receivevisitors but also to go out. 

Six months after the death of her husband, the marquise received lettersfrom her grandfather, M. Joannis de Nocheres, begging her to come andfinish her time of mourning at Avignon. Having been fatherless almostfrom childhood, Mademoiselle de Chateaublanc had been brought up by thisgood old man, whom she loved dearly; she hastened accordingly to accedeto his invitation, and prepared everything for her departure. 

This was at the moment when la Voisin, still a young woman, and far fromhaving the reputation which she subsequently acquired, was yet beginningto be talked of. Several friends of the Marquise de Castellane had beento consult her, and had received strange predictions from her, some ofwhich, either through the art of her who framed them, or through some oddconcurrence of circumstances, had come true. The marquise could notresist the curiosity with which various tales that she had heard of thiswoman's powers had inspired her, and some days before setting out forAvignon she made the visit which we have narrated. What answer shereceived to her questions we have seen. 

The marquise was not superstitious, yet this fatal prophecy impresseditself upon her mind and left behind a deep trace, which neither thepleasure of revisiting her native place, nor the affection of hergrandfather, nor the fresh admiration which she did not fail to receive, could succeed in removing; indeed, this fresh admiration was a wearinessto the marquise, and before long she begged leave of her grandfather toretire into a convent and to spend there the last three months of hermourning. 

It was in that place, and it was with the warmth of these poor cloisteredmaidens, that she heard a man spoken of for the first time, whosereputation for beauty, as a man, was equal to her own, as a woman. Thisfavourite of nature was the sieur de Lenide, Marquis de Ganges, Baron ofLanguedoc, and governor of Saint-Andre, in the diocese of Uzes. Themarquise heard of him so often, and it was so frequently declared to herthat nature seemed to have formed them for each other, that she began toallow admission to a very strong desire of seeing him. Doubtless, thesieur de Lenide, stimulated by similar suggestions, had conceived a greatwish to meet the marquise; for, having got M. De Nocheres who no doubtregretted her prolonged retreat--to entrust him with a commission for hisgranddaughter, he came to the convent parlour and asked for the fairrecluse. She, although she had never seen him, recognised him at thefirst glance; for having never seen so handsome a cavalier as he who nowpresented himself before her, she thought this could be no other than theMarquis de Ganges, of whom people had so often spoken to her. 

That which was to happen, happened: the Marquise de Castellane and theMarquis de Ganges could not look upon each other without loving. Bothwere young, the marquis was noble and in a good position, the marquisewas rich; everything in the match, therefore, seemed suitable: and indeedit was deferred only for the space of time necessary to complete the yearof mourning, and the marriage was celebrated towards the beginning of theyear 1558. The marquis was twenty years of age, and the marquisetwenty-two. 

The beginnings of this union were perfectly happy; the marquis was inlove for the first time, and the marquise did not remember ever to havebeen in love. A son and a daughter came to complete their happiness. The marquise had entirely forgotten the fatal prediction, or, if sheoccasionally thought of it now, it was to wonder that she could ever havebelieved in it. Such happiness is not of this world, and when by chanceit lingers here a while, it seems sent rather by the anger than by thegoodness of God. Better, indeed, would it be for him who possesses andwho loses it, never to have known it. 

The Marquis de Ganges was the first to weary of this happy life. Littleby little he began to miss the pleasures of a young man; he began to drawaway from the marquise and to draw nearer to his former friends. On herpart, the marquise, who for the sake of wedded intimacy had sacrificedher habits of social life, threw herself into society, where new triumphsawaited her. These triumphs aroused the jealousy of the marquis; but hewas too much a man of his century to invite ridicule by anymanifestation; he shut his jealousy into his soul, and it emerged in adifferent form on every different occasion. To words of love, so sweetthat they seemed the speech of angels, succeeded those bitter and bitingutterances that foretell approaching division. Before long, the marquisand the marquise only saw each other at hours when they could not avoidmeeting; then, on the pretext of necessary journeys, and presentlywithout any pretext at all, the marquis would go away for three-quartersof a year, and once more the marquise found herself widowed. Whatevercontemporary account one may consult, one finds them all agreeing todeclare that she was always the same--that is to say, full of patience, calmness, and becoming behaviour--and it is rare to find such a unanimityof opinion about a young and beautiful woman. 

About this time the marquis, finding it unendurable to be alone with hiswife during the short spaces of time which he spent at home, invited histwo brothers, the chevalier and the abbe de Ganges, to come and live withhim. He had a third brother, who, as the second son, bore the title ofcomte, and who was colonel of the Languedoc regiment, but as thisgentleman played no part in this story we shall not concern ourselveswith him. 

The abbe de Ganges, who bore that title without belonging to the Church, had assumed it in order to enjoy its privileges: he was a kind of wit, writing madrigals and 'bouts-rimes' [Bouts-rimes are verses written to agiven set of rhymes. ] on occasion, a handsome man enough, though inmoments of impatience his eyes would take a strangely cruel expression;as dissolute and shameless to boot, as though he had really belonged tothe clergy of the period. 

The chevalier de Ganges, who shared in some measure the beauty soprofusely showered upon the family, was one of those feeble men who enjoytheir own nullity, and grow on to old age inapt alike for good and evil, unless some nature of a stronger stamp lays hold on them and drags themlike faint and pallid satellites in its wake. This was what befell thechevalier in respect of his brother: submitted to an influence of whichhe himself was not aware, and against which, had he but suspected it, hewould have rebelled with the obstinacy of a child, he was a machineobedient to the will of another mind and to the passions of anotherheart, a machine which was all the more terrible in that no movement ofinstinct or of reason could, in his case, arrest the impulse given. 

Moreover, this influence which the abbe had acquired over the chevalierextended, in some degree also, to the marquis. Having as a younger sonno fortune, having no revenue, for though he wore a Churchman's robes hedid not fulfil a Churchman's functions, he had succeeded in persuadingthe marquis, who was rich, not only in the enjoyment of his own fortune, but also in that of his wife, which was likely to be nearly doubled atthe death of M. De Nocheres, that some zealous man was needed who woulddevote himself to the ordering of his house and the management of hisproperty; and had offered himself for the post. The marquis had verygladly accepted, being, as we have said, tired by this time of hissolitary home life; and the abbe had brought with him the chevalier, whofollowed him like his shadow, and who was no more regarded than if he hadreally possessed no body. 

The marquise often confessed afterwards that when she first saw these twomen, although their outward aspect was perfectly agreeable, she feltherself seized by a painful impression, and that the fortune-teller'sprediction of a violent death, which she had so long forgotten, gashedout like lightning before her eyes. The effect on the two brothers wasnot of the same kind: the beauty of the marquise struck them both, although in different ways. The chevalier was in ecstasies ofadmiration, as though before a beautiful statue, but the impression thatshe made upon him was that which would have been made by marble, and ifthe chevalier had been left to himself the consequences of thisadmiration would have been no less harmless. Moreover, the chevalier didnot attempt either to exaggerate or to conceal this impression, andallowed his sister-in-law to see in what manner she struck him. Theabbe, on the contrary, was seized at first sight with a deep and violentdesire to possess this woman--the most beautiful whom he had ever met;but being as perfectly capable of mastering his sensations as thechevalier was incapable, he merely allowed such words of compliment toescape him as weigh neither with him who utters nor her who hears them;and yet, before the close of this first interview, the abbe had decidedin his irrevocable will that this woman should be his. 

As for the marquise, although the impression produced by her twobrothers-in-law could never be entirely effaced, the wit of the abbe, towhich he gave, with amazing facility, whatever turn he chose, and thecomplete nullity of the chevalier brought her to certain feelings of lessrepulsion towards them: for indeed the marquise had one of those soulswhich never suspect evil, as long as it will take the trouble to assumeany veil at all of seeming, and which only recognise it with regret whenit resumes its true shape. 

Meanwhile the arrival of these two new inmates soon spread a little morelife and gaiety through the house. Furthermore; greatly to theastonishment of the marquise, her husband, who had so long beenindifferent to her beauty, seemed to remark afresh that she was toocharming to be despised; his words accordingly began little by little toexpress an affection that had long since gradually disappeared from them. The marquise had never ceased to love him; she had suffered the loss ofhis love with resignation, she hailed its return with joy, and threemonths elapsed that resembled those which had long ceased to be more tothe poor wife than a distant and half-worn-out memory. 

Thus she had, with the supreme facility of youth, always ready to behappy, taken up her gladness again, without even asking what genius hadbrought back to her the treasure which she had thought lost, when shereceived an invitation from a lady of the neighbourhood to spend somedays in her country house. Her husband and her two brothers-in-law, invited with her, were of the party, and accompanied her. A great huntingparty had been arranged beforehand, and almost immediately upon arrivingeveryone began to prepare for taking part in it. 

The abbe, whose talents had made him indispensable in every company, declared that for that day he was the marquise's cavalier, a title whichhis sister-in-law, with her usual amiability, confirmed. Each of thehuntsmen, following this example, made choice of a lady to whom todedicate his attentions throughout the day; then, this chivalrousarrangement being completed, all present directed their course towardsthe place of meeting. 

That happened which almost always happens the dogs hunted on their ownaccount. Two or three sportsmen only followed the dogs; the rest gotlost. The abbe, in his character of esquire to the marquise, had notleft her for a moment, and had managed so cleverly that he was alone withher--an opportunity which he had been seeking for a month previously withno less care--than the marquise had been using to avoid it. No sooner, therefore, did the marquise believe herself aware that the abbe hadintentionally turned aside from the hunt than she attempted to gallop herhorse in the opposite direction from that which she had been following;but the abbe stopped her. The marquise neither could nor would enterupon a struggle; she resigned herself, therefore, to hearing what theabbe had to say to her, and her face assumed that air of haughty disdainwhich women so well know how to put on when they wish a man to understandthat he has nothing to hope from them. There was an instant's silence;the abbe was the first to break it. 

"Madame, " said he, "I ask your pardon for having used this means to speakto you alone; but since, in spite of my rank of brother-in-law, you didnot seem inclined to grant me that favour if I had asked it, I thought itwould be better for me, to deprive you of the power to refuse it me. "

"If you have hesitated to ask me so simple a thing, monsieur, " repliedthe marquise, "and if you have taken such precautions to compel me tolisten to you, it must, no doubt, be because you knew beforehand that thewords you had to say to me were such as I could not hear. Have thegoodness, therefore, to reflect, before you open this conversation, thathere as elsewhere I reserve the right--and I warn you of it--to interruptwhat you may say at the moment when it may cease to seem to mebefitting. "

"As to that, madame, " said the abbe, "I think I can answer for it thatwhatever it may please me to say to you, you will hear to the end; butindeed the matters are so simple that there is no need to make you uneasybeforehand: I wished to ask you, madame, whether you have perceived achange in the conduct of your husband towards you. "

"Yes, monsieur, " replied the marquise, "and no single day has passed inwhich I have not thanked Heaven for this happiness. "

"And you have been wrong, madame, " returned the abbe, with one of thosesmiles that were peculiar to himself; "Heaven has nothing to do with it. Thank Heaven for having made you the most beautiful and charming ofwomen, and that will be enough thanksgiving without despoiling me of suchas belong to my share. "

"I do not understand you, monsieur, " said the marquise in an icy tone. 

"Well, I will make myself comprehensible, my dear sister-in-law. I amthe worker of the miracle for which you are thanking Heaven; to metherefore belongs your gratitude. Heaven is rich enough not to rob thepoor. "

"You are right, monsieur: if it is really to you that I owe this return, the cause of which I did not know, I will thank you in the first place;and then afterwards I will thank Heaven for having inspired you with thisgood thought. "

"Yes, " answered the abbe, "but Heaven, which has inspired me with a goodthought, may equally well inspire me with a bad one, if the good thoughtdoes not bring me what I expect from it. "

"What do you mean, monsieur?"

"That there has never been more than one will in the family, and thatwill is mine; that the minds of my two brothers turn according to thefancy of that will like weathercocks before the wind, and that he who hasblown hot can blow cold. "

"I am still waiting for you to explain yourself, monsieur. "

"Well, then, my dear sister-in-law, since you are pleased not tounderstand me, I will explain myself more clearly. My brother turnedfrom you through jealousy; I wished to give you an idea of my power overhim, and from extreme indifference I have brought him back, by showinghim that he suspected you wrongly, to the ardours of the warmest love. Well, I need only tell him that I was mistaken, and fix his wanderingsuspicions upon any man whatever, and I shall take him away from you, even as I have brought him back. I need give you no proof of what I say;you know perfectly well that I am speaking the truth. "

"And what object had you, in acting this part?"

"To prove to you, madame, that at my will I can cause you to be sad orjoyful, cherished or neglected, adored or hated. Madame, listen to me: Ilove you. "

"You insult me, monsieur!" cried the marquise, trying to withdraw thebridle of her horse from the abbe's hands. 

"No fine words, my dear sister-in-law; for, with me, I warn you, theywill be lost. To tell a woman one loves her is never an insult; onlythere are a thousand different ways of obliging her to respond to thatlove. The error is to make a mistake in the way that one employs--thatis the whole of the matter. "

"And may I inquire which you have chosen?" asked the marquise, with acrushing smile of contempt. 

"The only one that could succeed with a calm, cold, strong woman likeyou, the conviction that your interest requires you to respond to mylove. "

"Since you profess to know me so well, " answered the marquise, withanother effort, as unsuccessful as the former, to free the bridle of herhorse, "you should know how a woman like me would receive such anoverture; say to yourself what I might say to you, and above all, what Imight say to my husband. "

The abbe smiled. 

"Oh, as to that, " he returned, "you can do as you please, madame. Tellyour husband whatever you choose; repeat our conversation word for word;add whatever your memory may furnish, true or false, that may be mostconvincing against me; then, when you have thoroughly given him his cue, when you think yourself sure of him, I will say two words to him, andturn him inside out like this glove. That is what I had to say to you, madame I will not detain you longer. You may have in me a devoted friendor a mortal enemy. Reflect. "

At these words the abbe loosed his hold upon the bridle of the marquise'shorse and left her free to guide it as she would. The marquise put herbeast to a trot, so as to show neither fear nor haste. The abbe followedher, and both rejoined the hunt. 

The abbe had spoken truly. The marquise, notwithstanding the threatwhich she had made, reflected upon the influence which this man had overher husband, and of which she had often had proof she kept silence, therefore, and hoped that he had made himself seem worse than he was, tofrighten her. On this point she was strangely mistaken. 

The abbe, however, wished to see, in the first place, whether themarquise's refusal was due to personal antipathy or to real virtue. Thechevalier, as has been said, was handsome; he had that usage of goodsociety which does instead of mind, and he joined to it the obstinacy ofa stupid man; the abbe undertook to persuade him that he was in love withthe marquise. It was not a difficult matter. We have described theimpression made upon the chevalier by the first sight of Madame deGanges; but, owing beforehand the reputation of austerity that hissister-in-law had acquired, he had not the remotest idea of paying courtto her. Yielding, indeed, to the influence which she exercised upon allwho came in contact with her, the chevalier had remained her devotedservant; and the marquise, having no reason to mistrust civilities whichshe took for signs of friendliness, and considering his position as herhusband's brother, treated him with less circumspection than was hercustom. 

The abbe sought him out, and, having made sure they were alone, said, "Chevalier, we both love the same woman, and that woman is our brother'swife; do not let us thwart each other: I am master of my passion, and canthe more easily sacrifice it to you that I believe you are the manpreferred; try, therefore, to obtain some assurance of the love which Isuspect the marquise of having for you; and from the day when you reachthat point I will withdraw, but otherwise, if you fail, give up yourplace civilly to me, that I may try, in my turn, whether her heart isreally impregnable, as everybody says. "

The chevalier had never thought of the possibility of winning themarquise; but from the moment in which his brother, with no apparentmotive of personal interest, aroused the idea that he might be beloved, every spark of passion and of vanity that still existed in this automatontook fire, and he began to be doubly assiduous and attentive to hissister-in-law. She, who had never suspected any evil in this quarter, treated the chevalier at first with a kindliness that was heightened byher scorn for the abbe. But, before long, the chevalier, misunderstanding the grounds of this kindliness, explained himself moreclearly. The marquise, amazed and at first incredulous, allowed him tosay enough to make his intentions perfectly clear; then she stopped him, as she had done the abbe, by some of those galling words which womenderive from their indifference even more than from their virtue. 

At this check, the chevalier, who was far from possessing his brother'sstrength and determination, lost all hope, and came candidly to own tothe latter the sad result of his attentions and his love. This was whatthe abbe had awaited, in the first place for the satisfaction of his ownvanity, and in the second place for the means of carrying out hisschemes. He worked upon the chevalier's humiliation until he had wroughtit into a solid hatred; and then, sure of having him for a supporter andeven for an accomplice, he began to put into execution his plan againstthe marquise. 

The consequence was soon shown in a renewal of alienation on the part ofM. De Ganges. A young man whom the marquise sometimes met in society, and to whom, on account of his wit, she listened perhaps a little morewillingly than to others, became, if not the cause, at least the excuseof a fresh burst of jealousy. This jealousy was exhibited as on previousoccasions, by quarrels remote from the real grievance; but the marquisewas not deceived: she recognised in this change the fatal hand of herbrother-in-law. But this certainty, instead of drawing her towards him, increased her repulsion; and thenceforward she lost no opportunity ofshowing him not only that repulsion but also the contempt thataccompanied it. 

Matters remained in this state for some months. Every day the marquiseperceived her husband growing colder, and although the spies wereinvisible she felt herself surrounded by a watchfulness that took note ofthe most private details of her life. As to the abbe and the chevalier, they were as usual; only the abbe had hidden his hate behind a smile thatwas habitual, and the chevalier his resentment behind that cold and stiffdignity in which dull minds enfold themselves when they believethemselves injured in their vanity. 

In the midst of all this, M. Joannis de Nocheres died, and added to thealready considerable fortune of his granddaughter another fortune of fromsix to seven hundred thousand livres. 

This additional wealth became, on accruing to the marquise, what was thencalled, in countries where the Roman law prevailed, a 'paraphernal'estate that is to say that, falling in, after marriage? it was notincluded in the dowry brought by the wife, and that she could disposefreely both of the capital and the income, which might not beadministered even by her husband without a power of attorney, and ofwhich she could dispose at pleasure, by donation or by will. And in fact, a few days after the marquise had entered into possession of hergrandfather's estate, her husband and his brothers learned that she hadsent for a notary in order to be instructed as to her rights. This stepbetokened an intention of separating this inheritance from the commonproperty of the marriage; for the behaviour of the marquis towards hiswife--of which within himself he often recognised the injustice--left himlittle hope of any other explanation. 

About this time a strange event happened. At a dinner given by themarquise, a cream was served at dessert: all those who partook of thiscream were ill; the marquis and his two brothers, who had not touched it, felt no evil effects. The remainder of this cream, which was suspectedof having caused illness to the guests, and particularly to the marquise, who had taken of it twice, was analysed, and the presence of arsenic init demonstrated. Only, having been mixed with milk, which is itsantidote, the poison had lost some of its power, and had produced buthalf the expected effect. As no serious disaster had followed thisoccurrence, the blame was thrown upon a servant, who was said to havemistaken arsenic for sugar, and everybody forgot it, or appeared toforget it. 

The marquis, however, seemed to be gradually and naturally drawing neareragain to his wife; but this time Madame de Ganges was not deceived by hisreturning kindness. There, as in his alienation, she saw the selfishhand of the abbe: he had persuaded his brother that seven hundredthousand livres more in the house would make it worth while to overlooksome levities of behaviour; and the marquis, obeying the impulse given, was trying, by kind dealing, to oppose his wife's still unsettledintention of making a will. 

Towards the autumn there was talk of going to spend that season atGanges, a little town situated in Lower Languedoc, in the diocese ofMontpellier, seven leagues from that town, and nineteen from Avignon. Although this was natural enough, since the marquis was lord of the townand had a castle there, the marquise was seized by a strange shudder whenshe heard the proposal. Remembrance of the prediction made to herreturned immediately to her mind. The recent and ill explained attemptto poison her, too, very naturally added to her fears. 

Without directly and positively suspecting her brothers-in-law of thatcrime, she knew that in them she had two implacable enemies. This journeyto a little town, this abode in a lonely castle, amid new, unknownneighbours, seemed to her of no good omen; but open opposition would havebeen ridiculous. On what grounds, indeed, could she base resistance?The marquise could only own her terrors by accusing her husband and herbrothers-in-law. And of what could she accuse them? The incident of thepoisoned cream was not a conclusive proof. She resolved accordingly tolock up all her fears in her heart, and to commit herself to the hands ofGod. 

Nevertheless, she would not leave Avignon without signing the will whichshe had contemplated making ever since M. De Nocheres' death. A notarywas called in who drew up the document. The Marquise de Ganges made hermother, Madame de Rossan, her sole inheritor, and left in her charge theduty of choosing between the testatrix's two children as to which of themshould succeed to the estate. These two children were, one a boy of sixyears old, the other a girl of five. But this was not enough for themarquise, so deep was her impression that she would not survive thisfatal journey; she gathered together, secretly and at night, themagistrates of Avignon and several persons of quality, belonging to thefirst families of the town, and there, before them, verbally at first, declared that, in case of her death, she begged the honourable witnesseswhom she had assembled on purpose, not to recognise as valid, voluntary, or freely written anything except the will which she had signed the daybefore, and affirmed beforehand that any later will which might beproduced would be the effect of fraud or of violence. Then, having madethis verbal declaration, the marquise repeated it in writing, signed thepaper containing it, and gave the paper to be preserved by the honour ofthose whom she constituted its guardians. Such a precaution, taken withsuch minute detail, aroused the lively curiosity of her hearers. Manypressing questions were put to the marquise, but nothing could beextracted from her except that she had reasons for her action which shecould not declare. The cause of this assemblage remained a secret, andevery person who formed part of it promised the marquise not to revealit. 

On the next day, which was that preceding her departure for Ganges, themarquise visited all the charitable institutions and religiouscommunities in Avignon; she left liberal alms everywhere, with therequest that prayers and masses should be said for her, in order toobtain from God's grace that she should not be suffered to die withoutreceiving the sacraments of the Church. In the evening, she took leaveof all her friends with the affection and the tears of a person convincedthat she was bidding them a last farewell; and finally she spent thewhole night in prayer, and the maid who came to wake her found herkneeling in the same spot where she, had left her the night before. 

The family set out for Ganges; the journey was performed withoutaccident. On reaching the castle, the marquise found her mother-in-lawthere; she was a woman of remarkable distinction and piety, and herpresence, although it was to be but temporary, reassured the poor fearfulmarquise a little. Arrangements had been made beforehand at the oldcastle, and the most convenient and elegant of the rooms had beenassigned to the marquise; it was on the first floor, and looked out upona courtyard shut in on all sides by stables. 

On the first evening that she was to sleep here, the marquise exploredthe room with the greatest attention. She inspected the cupboards, sounded the walls, examined the tapestry, and found nothing anywhere thatcould confirm her terrors, which, indeed, from that time began todecrease. At the end of a certain time; however, the marquis's motherleft Ganges to return to Montpellier. Two, days after her departure, themarquis talked of important business which required him to go back toAvignon, and he too left the castle. The marquise thus remained alonewith the abbe, the chevalier, and a chaplain named Perette, who had beenattached for five-and-twenty years to the family of the marquis. Therest of the household consisted of a few servants. 

The marquise's first care, on arriving at the castle, had been to collecta little society for herself in the town. This was easy: not only didher rank make it an honour to belong to her circle, her kindlygraciousness also inspired at first-sight the desire of having her for afriend. The marquise thus endured less dulness than she had at firstfeared. This precaution was by no means uncalled for; instead ofspending only the autumn at Ganges, the marquise was obliged, inconsequence of letters from her husband, to spend the winter there. During the whole of this time the abbe and the chevalier seemed to havecompletely forgotten their original designs upon her, and had againresumed the conduct of respectful, attentive brothers. But with allthis, M. De Ganges remained estranged, and the marquise, who had notceased to love him, though she began to lose her fear, did not lose hergrief. 

One day the abbe entered her room suddenly enough to surprise her beforeshe had time to dry her tears; the secret being thus half surprised, heeasily obtained a knowledge of the whole. The marquise owned to him thathappiness in this world was impossible for her so long as her husband ledthis separate and hostile life. The abbe tried to console her; but amidhis consolations he told her that the grief which she was suffering hadits source in herself; that her husband was naturally wounded by herdistrust of him--a distrust of which the will, executed by her, was aproof, all the more humiliating because public, and that, while that willexisted, she could expect no advances towards reconciliation from herhusband. For that time the conversation ended there. 

Some days later, the abbe came into the marquise's room with a letterwhich he had just received from his brother. This letter, supposedconfidential, was filled with tender complaints of his wife's conducttowards him, and showed, through every sentence, a depth of affectionwhich only wrongs as serious as those from which the marquis consideredhimself to be feeling could counterbalance. The marquise was, at first, very much touched by this letter; but having soon reflected that justsufficient time had elapsed since the explanation between herself and theabbe for the marquis to be informed of it, she awaited further andstronger proofs before changing her mind. 

From day to day, however, the abbe, under the pretext of reconciling thehusband and wife, became more pressing upon the matter of the will, andthe marquise, to whom this insistence seemed rather alarming, began toexperience some of her former fears. Finally, the abbe pressed her sohard as to make her reflect that since, after the precautions which shehad taken at Avignon, a revocation could have no result, it would bebetter to seem to yield rather than irritate this man, who inspired herwith so great a fear, by constant and obstinate refusals. The next timethat he returned to the subject she accordingly replied that she wasready to offer her husband this new proof of her love if it would bringhim back to her, and having ordered a notary to be sent for, she made anew will, in the presence of the abbe and the chevalier, and constitutedthe marquis her residuary legatee. This second instrument bore date the5th of May 1667. The abbe and the chevalier expressed the greatest joythat this subject of discord was at last removed, and offered themselvesas guarantees, on their brother's behalf, of a better future. Some dayswere passed in this hope, which a letter from the marquis came toconfirm; this letter at the same time announced his speedy return toGanges. 

On the 16th of May; the marquise, who for a month or two had not beenwell, determined to take medicine; she therefore informed the chemist ofwhat she wanted, and asked him to make her up something at his discretionand send it to her the next day. Accordingly, at the agreed hour in themorning, the draught was brought to the marquise; but it looked to her soblack and so thick that she felt some doubt of the skill of itscompounder, shut it up in a cupboard in her room without saying anythingof the matter, and took from her dressing-case some pills, of a lessefficacious nature indeed, but to which she was accustomed, and whichwere not so repugnant to her. 

The hour in which the marquise was to take this medicine was hardly overwhen the abbe and the chevalier sent to know how she was. She repliedthat she was quite well, and invited them to a collation which she wasgiving about four o'clock to the ladies who made up her little circle. An hour afterwards the abbe and the chevalier sent a second time toinquire after her; the marquise, without paying particular attention tothis excessive civility, which she remembered afterwards, sent word asbefore that she was perfectly well. The marquise had remained in bed todo the honours of her little feast, and never had she felt more cheerful. At the hour named all her guests arrived; the abbe and the chevalier wereushered in, and the meal was served. Neither one nor the other wouldshare it; the abbe indeed sat down to table, but the chevalier remainedleaning on the foot of the bed. The abbe appeared anxious, and onlyroused himself with a start from his absorption; then he seemed to driveaway some dominant idea, but soon the idea, stronger than his will, plunged him again into a reverie, a state which struck everyone the moreparticularly because it was far from his usual temper. As to thechevalier, his eyes were fixed constantly upon his sister-in-law, but inthis there was not, as in his brother's behaviour, anything surprising, since the marquise had never looked so beautiful. 

The meal over, the company took leave. The abbe escorted the ladiesdownstairs; the chevalier remained with the marquise; but hardly had theabbe left the room when Madame de Ganges saw the chevalier turn pale anddrop in a sitting position--he had been standing on the foot of the bed. The marquise, uneasy, asked what was the matter; but before he couldreply, her attention was called to another quarter. The abbe, as pale andas disturbed as the chevalier, came back into the room, carrying in hishands a glass and a pistol, and double-locked the door behind him. Terrified at this spectacle, the marquise half raised herself in her bed, gazing voiceless and wordless. Then the abbe approached her, his lipstrembling; his hair bristling and his eyes blazing, and, presenting toher the glass and the pistol, "Madame, " said he, after a moment ofterrible silence, "choose, whether poison, fire, or"--he made a sign tothe chevalier, who drew his sword--"or steel. "

The marquise had one moment's hope: at the motion which she saw thechevalier make she thought he was coming to her assistance; but beingsoon undeceived, and finding herself between two men, both threateningher, she slipped from her bed and fell on her knees. 

"What have I done, " she cried, "oh, my God? that you should thus decreemy death, and after having made yourselves judges should make yourselvesexecutioners? I am guilty of no fault towards you except of having beentoo faithful in my duty to my husband, who is your brother. "

Then seeing that it was vain to continue imploring the abbe, whose looksand gestures spoke a mind made up, she turned towards the chevalier. 

"And you too, brother, " said she, "oh, God, God! you, too! Oh, havepity on me, in the name of Heaven!"

But he, stamping his foot and pressing the point of his sword to herbosom, answered--

"Enough, madam, enough; take your choice without delay; for if you do nottake it, we will take it for you. "

The marquise turned once again to the abbe, and her forehead struck themuzzle of the pistol. Then she saw that she must die indeed, andchoosing of the three forms of death that which seemed to her the leastterrible, "Give me the poison, then, " said she, "and may God forgive youmy death!"

With these words she took the glass, but the thick black liquid of whichit was full aroused such repulsion that she would have attempted a lastappeal; but a horrible imprecation from the abbe and a threateningmovement from his brother took from her the very last gleam of hope. Sheput the glass to her lips, and murmuring once more, "God! Saviour! havepity on me!" she swallowed the contents. 

As she did so a few drops of the liquid fell upon her breast, andinstantly burned her skin like live coals; indeed, this infernal draughtwas composed of arsenic and sublimate infused in aqua-fortis; then, thinking that no more would be required of her, she dropped the glass. 

The marquise was mistaken: the abbe picked it up, and observing that allthe sediment had remained at the bottom, he gathered together on a silverbodkin all that had coagulated on the sides of the glass and all that hadsunk to the bottom, and presenting this ball, which was about the size ofa nut, to the marquise, on the end of the bodkin, he said, "Come, madame, you must swallow the holy-water sprinkler. "

The marquise opened her lips, with resignation; but instead of doing asthe abbe commanded, she kept this remainder of the poison in her mouth, threw herself on the bed with a scream, and clasping the pillows, in herpain, she put out the poison between the sheets, unperceived by herassassins; and then turning back to them, folded her hands in entreatyand said, "In the name of God, since you have killed my body, at least donot destroy my soul, but send me a confessor. "

Cruel though the abbe and the chevalier were, they were no doubtbeginning to weary of such a scene; moreover, the mortal deed wasaccomplished--after what she had drunk, the marquise could live but a fewminutes; at her petition they went out, locking the door behind them. But no sooner did the marquise find herself alone than the possibility offlight presented itself to her. She ran to the window: this was buttwenty-two feet above the ground, but the earth below was covered withstones and rubbish. The marquise, being only in her nightdress, hastenedto slip on a silk petticoat; but at the moment when she finished tying itround her waist she heard a step approaching her room, and believing thather murderers were returning to make an end of her, she flew like amadwoman to the window. At the moment of her setting foot on the windowledge, the door opened: the marquise, ceasing to consider anything, flungherself down, head first. 

Fortunately, the new-comer, who was the castle chaplain, had time toreach out and seize her skirt. The skirt, not strong enough to bear theweight of the marquise, tore; but its resistance, slight though it was, sufficed nevertheless to change the direction of her body: the marquise, whose head would have been shattered on the stones, fell on her feetinstead, and beyond their being bruised by the stones, received noinjury. Half stunned though she was by her fall, the marquise sawsomething coming after her, and sprang aside. It was an enormous pitcherof water, beneath which the priest, when he saw her escaping him, hadtried to crush her; but either because he had ill carried out his attemptor because the marquise had really had time to move away, the vessel wasshattered at her feet without touching her, and the priest, seeing thathe had missed his aim, ran to warn the abbe and the chevalier that thevictim was escaping. 

As for the marquise, she had hardly touched the ground, when withadmirable presence of mind she pushed the end of one of her long plaitsso far down her throat as to provoke a fit of vomiting; this was the moreeasily done that she had eaten heartily of the collation, and happily thepresence of the food had prevented the poison from attacking the coats ofthe stomach so violently as would otherwise have been the case. Scarcelyhad she vomited when a tame boar swallowed what she had rejected, andfalling into a convulsion, died immediately. 

As we have said, the room looked upon an enclosed courtyard; and themarquise at first thought that in leaping from her room into this courtshe had only changed her prison; but soon perceiving a light thatflickered from an upper window of ore of the stables, she ran thither, and found a groom who was just going to bed. 

"In the name of Heaven, my good man, " said she to him, "save me! I ampoisoned! They want to kill me! Do not desert me, I entreat you! Havepity on me, open this stable for me; let me get away! Let me escape!"

The groom did not understand much of what the marquise said to him; butseeing a woman with disordered hair, half naked, asking help of him, hetook her by the arm, led her through the stables, opened a door for her, and the marquise found herself in the street. Two women were passing;the groom put her into their hands, without being able to explain to themwhat he did not know himself. As for the marquise, she seemed able tosay nothing beyond these words: "Save me! I am poisoned! In the name ofHeaven, save me!"

All at once she escaped from their hands and began to run like a madwoman; she had seen, twenty steps away, on the threshold of the door bywhich she had come, her two murderers in pursuit of her. 

Then they rushed after her; she shrieking that she was poisoned, theyshrieking that she was mad; and all this happening amid a crowd which, not knowing what part to take, divided and made way for the victim andthe murderers. Terror gave the marquise superhuman strength: the womanwho was accustomed to walk in silken shoes upon velvet carpets, ran withbare and bleeding feet over stocks and stones, vainly asking help, whichnone gave her; for, indeed, seeing her thus, in mad flight, in anightdress, with flying hair, her only garment a tattered silk petticoat, it was difficult not to--think that this woman was, as herbrothers-in-law said, mad. 

At last the chevalier came up with her, stopped her, dragged her, inspite of her screams, into the nearest house, and closed the door behindthem, while the abbe, standing at the threshold with a pistol in hishand, threatened to blow out the brains of any person who shouldapproach. 

The house into which the chevalier and the marquise had gone belonged toone M. Desprats, who at the moment was from home, and whose wife wasentertaining several of her friends. The marquise and the chevalier, still struggling together, entered the room where the company wasassembled: as among the ladies present were several who also visited themarquise, they immediately arose, in the greatest amazement, to give herthe assistance that she implored; but the chevalier hastily pushed themaside, repeating that the marquise was mad. To this reiteratedaccusation--to which, indeed, appearances lent only too great aprobability--the marquise replied by showing her burnt neck and herblackened lips, and wringing her hands in pain, cried out that she waspoisoned, that she was going to die, and begged urgently for milk, or atleast for water. Then the wife of a Protestant minister, whose name wasMadame Brunel, slipped into her hand a box of orvietan, some pieces ofwhich she hastened to swallow, while another lady gave her a glass ofwater; but at the instant when she was lifting it to her mouth, thechevalier broke it between her teeth, and one of the pieces of glass cuther lips. At this, all the women would have flung themselves upon thechevalier; but the marquise, fearing that he would only become moreenraged, and hoping to disarm him, asked, on the contrary, that she mightbe left alone with him: all the company, yielding to her desire, passedinto the next room; this was what the chevalier, on his part, too, asked. 

Scarcely were they alone, when the marquise, joining her hands, knelt tohim and said in the gentlest and most appealing voice that it waspossible to use, "Chevalier, my dear brother, will you not have pity uponme, who have always had so much affection for you, and who, even now, would give my blood for your service? You know that the things I amsaying are not merely empty words; and yet how is it you are treating me, though I have not deserved it? And what will everyone say to suchdealings? Ah, brother, what a great unhappiness is mine, to have been socruelly treated by you! And yet--yes, brother--if you will deign to havepity on me and to save my life, I swear, by my hope of heaven, to keep noremembrance of what has happened; and to consider you always as myprotector and my friend. "

All at once the marquise rose with a great cry and clasped her hand toher right side. While she was speaking, and before she perceived what hewas doing, the chevalier had drawn his sword, which was very short, andusing it as a dagger, had struck her in the breast; this first blow wasfollowed by a second, which came in contact with the shoulder blade, andso was prevented from going farther. At these two blows the marquiserushed towards the door, of the room into which the ladies had retired, crying, "Help! He is killing me!"

But during the time that she took to cross the room the chevalier stabbedher five times in the back with his sword, and would no doubt have donemore, if at the last blow his sword had not broken; indeed, he had struckwith such force that the fragment remained embedded in her shoulder, andthe marquise fell forward on the floor, in a pool of her blood, which wasflowing all round her and spreading through the room. 

The chevalier thought he had killed her, and hearing the women running toher assistance, he rushed from the room. The abbe was still at the door, pistol in hand; the chevalier took him by the arm to drag him away, andas the abbe hesitated to follow, he said:--

"Let us go, abbe; the business is done. "

The chevalier and the abbe had taken a few steps in the street when awindow opened and the women who had found the marquise expiring calledout for help: at these cries the abbe stopped short, and holding back thechevalier by the arm, demanded--

"What was it you said, chevalier? If they are calling help, is she notdead, after all?"

"'Ma foi', go and see for yourself, " returned the chevalier. "I havedone enough for my share; it is your turn now. "

"'Pardieu', that is quite my opinion, " cried the abbe; and rushing backto the house, he flung himself into the room at the moment when thewomen, lifting the marquise with great difficulty, for she was so weakthat she could no longer help herself, were attempting to carry her tobed. The abbe pushed them away, and arriving at the marquise, put hispistol to her heart; but Madame Brunel, the same who had previously giventhe marquise a box of orvietan, lifted up the barrel with her hand, sothat the shot went off into the air, and the bullet instead of strikingthe marquise lodged in the cornice of the ceiling. The abbe then tookthe pistol by the barrel and gave Madame Brunet so violent a blow uponthe head with the butt that she staggered and almost fell; he was aboutto strike her again, but all the women uniting against him, pushed him, with thousands of maledictions, out of the room, and locked the doorbehind him. The two assassins, taking advantage of the darkness, fledfrom Ganges, and reached Aubenas, which is a full league away, about tenin the evening. 

Meanwhile the women were doing all they could for the marquise. Theirfirst intention, as we have already said, was to put her to bed, but thebroken sword blade made her unable to lie down, and they tried in vain topull it out, so deeply had it entered the bone. Then the marquise herselfshowed Madame Brunei what method to take: the operating lady was to siton the bed, and while the others helped to hold up the marquise, was toseize the blade with both hands, and pressing her--knees against thepatient's back, to pull violently and with a great jerk. This plan atlast succeeded, and the marquise was able to get to bed; it was nine inthe evening, and this horrible tragedy had been going on for nearly threehours. 

The magistrates of Ganges, being informed of what had happened, andbeginning to believe that it was really a case of murder, came in person, with a guard, to the marquise. As soon as she saw them come in sherecovered strength, and raising herself in bed, so great was her fear, clasped her hands and besought their protection; for she always expectedto see one or the other of her murderers return. The magistrates toldher to reassure herself, set armed men to guard all the approaches to thehouse, and while physicians and surgeons were, summoned in hot haste fromMontpellier, they on their part sent word to the Baron de Trissan, provost of Languedoc, of the crime that had just been committed, and gavehim the names and the description of the murderers. That official atonce sent people after them, but it was already too late: he learned thatthe abbe and the chevalier had slept at Aubenas on the night of themurder, that there they had reproached each other for theirunskilfulness, and had come near cutting each other's throats, thatfinally they had departed before daylight, and had taken a boat, nearAgde, from a beach called the "Gras de Palaval. "

The Marquis de Ganges was at Avignon, where he was prosecuting a servantof his who had robbed him of two hundred crowns; when he heard news ofthe event. He turned horribly pale as he listened to the messenger'sstory, then falling into a violent fury against his brothers, he sworethat they should have no executioners other than himself. Nevertheless, though he was so uneasy about the marquise's condition, he waited untilthe next day in the afternoon before setting forth, and during theinterval he saw some of his friends at Avignon without saying anything tothem of the matter. He did not reach Ganges until four days after themurder, then he went to the house of M. Desprats and asked to see hiswife, whom some kind priests had already prepared for the meeting; andthe marquise, as soon as she heard of his arrival, consented to receivehim. The marquis immediately entered the room, with his eyes full oftears, tearing his hair, and giving every token of the deepest despair. 

The marquise receivers her husband like a forgiving wife and a dyingChristian. She scarcely even uttered some slight reproaches about themanner in which he had deserted her; moreover, the marquis havingcomplained to a monk of these reproaches, and the monk having reportedhis complaints to the marquise, she called her husband to her bedside, ata moment when she was surrounded by people, and made him a publicapology, begging him to attribute the words that seemed to have woundedhim to the effect of her sufferings, and not to any failure in her regardfor him. The marquis, left alone with his wife, tried to take advantageof this reconciliation to induce her to annul the declaration that shehad made before the magistrates of Avignon; for the vice-legate and hisofficers, faithful to the promises made to the marquise, had refused toregister the fresh donation which she had made at Ganges, according tothe suggestions of the abbe, and which the latter had sent off, the verymoment it was signed, to his brother. But on this point the marquise wasimmovably resolute, declaring that this fortune was reserved for herchildren and therefore sacred to her, and that she could make noalteration in what had been done at Avignon, since it represented hergenuine and final wishes. Notwithstanding this declaration, the marquisdid not cease to--remain beside his wife and to bestow upon her everycare possible to a devoted and attentive husband. 

Two days later than the Marquis de Ganges arrived Madame de Rossan greatwas her amazement, after all the rumours that were already in circulationabout the marquis, at finding her daughter in the hands of him whom sheregarded as one of her murderers. But the marquise, far from sharingthat opinion, did all she could, not only to make her mother feeldifferently, but even to induce her to embrace the marquis as a son. This blindness on the part of the marquise caused Madame de Rossan somuch grief that notwithstanding her profound affection for her daughtershe would only stay two days, and in spite of the entreaties that thedying woman made to her, she returned home, not allowing anything to stopher. This departure was a great grief to the marquise, and was thereason why she begged with renewed entreaties to be taken to Montpellier. The very sight of the place where she had been so cruelly torturedcontinually brought before her, not only the remembrance of the murder, but the image of the murderers, who in her brief moments of sleep sohaunted her that she sometimes awoke suddenly, uttering shrieks andcalling for help. Unfortunately, the physician considered her too weak tobear removal, and declared that no change of place could be made withoutextreme danger. 

Then, when she heard this verdict, which had to be repeated to her, andwhich her bright and lively complexion and brilliant eyes seemed tocontradict, the marquise turned all her thoughts towards holy things, andthought only of dying like a saint after having already suffered like amartyr. She consequently asked to receive the last sacrament, and whileit was being sent for, she repeated her apologies to her husband and herforgiveness of his brothers, and this with a gentleness that, joined toher beauty, made her whole personality appear angelic. When, however, the priest bearing the viaticum entered, this expression suddenlychanged, and her face presented every token of the greatest terror. Shehad just recognised in the priest who was bringing her the lastconsolations of Heaven the infamous Perette, whom she could not butregard as an accomplice of the abbe and the chevalier, since, afterhaving tried to hold her back, he had attempted to crush her beneath thepitcher of water which he had thrown at her from the window, and since, when he saw her escaping, he had run to warn her assassins and to setthem on her track. She recovered herself quickly, however, and seeingthat the priest, without any sign of remorse, was drawing near to herbedside, she would not cause so great a scandal as would have been causedby denouncing him at such a moment. Nevertheless, bending towards him, she said, "Father, I hope that, remembering what has passed, and in orderto dispel fears that--I may justifiably entertain, you will make nodifficulty of partaking with me of the consecrated wafer; for I havesometimes heard it said that the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, whileremaining a token of salvation, has been known to be made a principle ofdeath. "

The priest inclined his head as a sign of assent. 

So the marquise communicated thus, taking a sacrament that she sharedwith one of her murderers, as an evidence that she forgave this one likethe others and that she prayed God to forgive them as she herself did. 

The following days passed without any apparent increase in her illness, the fever by which she was consumed rather enhancing her beauties, andimparting to her voice and gestures a vivacity which they had never hadbefore. Thus everybody had begun to recover hope, except herself, who, feeling better than anyone else what was her true condition, never for amoment allowed herself any illusion, and keeping her son, who was sevenyears old, constantly beside her bed, bade him again and again look wellat her, so that, young as he was, he might remember her all his life andnever forget her in his prayers. The poor child would burst into tearsand promise not only to remember her but also to avenge her when he was aman. At these words the marquise gently reproved him, telling him thatall vengeance belonged to the king and to God, and that all cares of thekind must be left to those two great rulers of heaven and of earth. 

On the 3rd of June, M. Catalan, a councillor, appointed as acommissioner by the Parliament of Toulouse, arrived at Ganges, togetherwith all the officials required by his commission; but he could not seethe marquise that night, for she had dozed for some hours, and this sleephad left a sort of torpor upon her mind, which might have impaired thelucidity of her depositions. The next morning, without asking anybody'sopinion, M. Catalan repaired to the house of M. Desprats, and in spiteof some slight resistance on the part of those who were in charge of her, made his way to the presence of the marquise. The dying woman receivedhim with an admirable presence of mind, that made M. Catalan think therehad been an intention the night before to prevent any meeting between himand the person whom he was sent to interrogate. At first the marquisewould relate nothing that had passed, saying that she could not at thesame time accuse and forgive; but M. Catalan brought her to see thatjustice required truth from her before all things, since, in default ofexact information, the law might go astray, and strike the innocentinstead of the guilty. This last argument decided the marquise, andduring the hour and a half that he spent alone with her she told him allthe details of this horrible occurrence. On the morrow M. Catalan was tosee her again; but on the morrow the marquise was, in truth, much worse. He assured himself of this by his own eyes, and as he knew almost allthat he wished to know, did not insist further, for fear of fatiguingher. 

Indeed, from that day forward, such atrocious sufferings laid hold uponthe marquise, that notwithstanding the firmness which she had alwaysshown, and which she tried to maintain to the end, she could not preventherself from uttering screams mingled with prayers. In this manner shespent the whole day of the 4th and part of the 5th. At last, on that day, which was a Sunday, towards four o'clock in the afternoon, she expired. 

The body was immediately opened, and the physicians attested that themarquise had died solely from the power of the poison, none of the sevensword cuts which she had received being, mortal. They found the stomachand bowels burned and the brain blackened. However, in spite of thatinfernal draught, which, says the official report, "would have killed alioness in a few hours, " the marquise struggled for nineteen days, somuch, adds an account from which we have borrowed some of these details, so much did nature lovingly defend the beautiful body that she had takenso much trouble to make. 

M. Catalan, the very moment he was informed of the marquise's death, having with him twelve guards belonging to the governor, ten archers, anda poqueton, --despatched them to the marquis's castle with orders to seizehis person, that of the priest, and those of all the servants except thegroom who had assisted the marquise in her flight. The officer incommand of this little squad found the marquis walking up and down, melancholy and greatly disturbed, in the large hall of the castle, andwhen he signified to him the order of which he was the bearer, themarquis, without making any resistance, and as though prepared for whatwas happening to him, replied that he was ready to obey, and thatmoreover he had always intended to go before the Parliament to accuse themurderers of his wife. He was asked for the key of his cabinet, which hegave up, and the order was given to conduct him, with the other personsaccused, to the prisons of Montpellier. As soon as the marquis came intothat town, the report of his arrival spread with incredible rapidity fromstreet to street. Then, as it was dark, lights came to all the windows, and people corning out with torches formed a torchlight procession, bymeans of which everybody could see him. He, like the priest, was mountedon a sorry hired horse, and entirely surrounded by archers, to whom, nodoubt, he owed his life on this occasion; for the indignation against himwas so great that everyone was egging on his neighbours to tear him limbfrom limb, which would certainly have come to pass had he not been socarefully defended and guarded. 

Immediately upon receiving news of her daughter's death, Madame de Rossantook possession of all her property, and, making herself a party to thecase, declared that she would never desist from her suit until herdaughter's death was avenged. M. Catalan began the examination at once, and the first interrogation to which he submitted the marquis lastedeleven hours. Then soon afterwards he and the other persons accused wereconveyed from the prisons of Montpellier to those of Toulouse. Acrushing memorial by Madame de Rossan followed them, in which shedemonstrated with absolute clearness that the marquis had participated inthe crime of his two brothers, if not in act, in thought, desire, andintention. 

The marquis's defence was very simple: it was his misfortune to have hadtwo villains for brothers, who had made attempts first upon the honourand then upon the life of a wife whom he loved tenderly; they haddestroyed her by a most atrocious death, and to crown his evil fortune, he, the innocent, was accused of having had a hand in that death. And, indeed, the examinations in the trial did not succeed in bringing anyevidence against the marquis beyond moral presumptions, which, itappears, were insufficient to induce his judges to award a sentence ofdeath. 

A verdict was consequently given, upon the 21st of August, 1667, whichsentenced the abbe and the chevalier de Ganges to be broken alive on thewheel, the Marquis de Ganges to perpetual banishment from the kingdom, his property to be confiscated to the king, and himself to lose hisnobility and to become incapable of succeeding to the property of hischildren. As for the priest Perette, he was sentenced to the galleys forlife, after having previously been degraded from his clerical orders bythe ecclesiastical authorities. 

This sentence made as great a stir as the murder had done, and gave rise, in that period when "extenuating circumstances" had not been invented, tolong and angry discussions. Indeed, the marquis either was guilty ofcomplicity or was not: if he was not, the punishment was too cruel; if hewas, the sentence was too light. Such was the opinion of Louis XIV. , whoremembered the beauty of the Marquis de Ganges; for, some timeafterwards, when he was believed to have forgotten this unhappy affair, and when he was asked to pardon the Marquis de la Douze, who was accusedof having poisoned his wife, the king answered, "There is no need for apardon, since he belongs to the Parliament of Toulouse, and the Marquisde Ganges did very well without one. "

It may easily be supposed that this melancholy event did not pass withoutinciting the wits of the day to write a vast number of verses andbouts-rimes about the catastrophe by which one of the most beautifulwomen of the country was carried off. Readers who have a taste for thatsort of literature are referred to the journals and memoirs of the times. 

Now, as our readers, if they have taken any interest at all in theterrible tale just narrated, will certainly ask what became of themurderers, we will proceed to follow their course until the moment whenthey disappeared, some into the night of death, some into the darkness ofoblivion. 

The priest Perette was the first to pay his debt to Heaven: he died atthe oar on the way from Toulouse to Brest. 

The chevalier withdrew to Venice, took service in the army of the MostSerene Republic, then at war with Turkey, and was sent to Candia, whichthe Mussulmans had been besieging for twenty years; he had scarcelyarrived there when, as he was walking on the ramparts of the town withtwo other officers, a shell burst at their feet, and a fragment of itkilled the chevalier without so much as touching his companions, so thatthe event was regarded as a direct act of Providence. 

As for the abbe, his story is longer and stranger. He parted from thechevalier in the neighbourhood of Genoa, and crossing the whole ofPiedmont, part of Switzerland, and a corner of Germany, entered Hollandunder the name of Lamartelliere. After many hesitations as to the placewhere he would settle, he finally retired to Viane, of which the Count ofLippe was at that time sovereign; there he made the acquaintance of agentleman who presented him to the count as a French religious refugee. 

The count, even in this first conversation, found that the foreigner whohad come to seek safety in his dominions possessed not only greatintelligence but a very solid sort of intelligence, and seeing that theFrenchman was conversant with letters and with learning, proposed that heshould undertake the education of his son, who at that time was nineyears old. Such a proposal was a stroke of fortune for the abbe deGanges, and he did not dream of refusing it. 

The abbe de Ganges was one of those men who have great mastery overthemselves: from the moment when he saw that his interest, nay, the verysafety of his life required it, he concealed with extreme care whateverbad passions existed within him, and only allowed his good qualities toappear. He was a tutor who supervised the heart as sharply as the mind, and succeeded in making of his pupil a prince so accomplished in bothrespects, that the Count of Lippe, making use of such wisdom and suchknowledge, began to consult the tutor upon all matters of State, so thatin course of time the so-called Lamartelliere, without holding any publicoffice, had become the soul of the little principality. 

The countess had a young relation living with her, who though withoutfortune was of a great family, and for whom the countess had a deepaffection; it did not escape her notice that her son's tutor had inspiredthis poor young girl with warmer feelings than became her high station, and that the false Lamartelliere, emboldened by his own growing credit, had done all he could to arouse and keep up these feelings. The countesssent for her cousin, and having drawn from her a confession of her love, said that she herself had indeed a great regard for her son's governor, whom she and her husband intended to reward with pensions and with postsfor the services he had rendered to their family and to the State, butthat it was too lofty an ambition for a man whose name was Lamartelliere, and who had no relations nor family that could be owned, to aspire to thehand of a girl who was related to a royal house; and that though she didnot require that the man who married her cousin should be a Bourbon, aMontmorency, or a Rohan, she did at least desire that he should besomebody, though it were but a gentleman of Gascony or Poitou. 

The Countess of Lippe's young kinswoman went and repeated this answer, word for word, to her lover, expecting him to be overwhelmed by it; but, on the contrary, he replied that if his birth was the only obstacle thatopposed their union, there might be means to remove it. In fact, theabbe, having spent eight years at the prince's court, amid the strongesttestimonies of confidence and esteem, thought himself sure enough of theprince's goodwill to venture upon the avowal of his real name. 

He therefore asked an audience of the countess, who immediately grantedit. Bowing to her respectfully, he said, "Madame, I had flattered myselfthat your Highness honoured me with your esteem, and yet you now opposemy happiness: your Highness's relative is willing to accept me as ahusband, and the prince your son authorises my wishes and pardons myboldness; what have I done to you, madame, that you alone should beagainst me? and with what can you reproach me during the eight years thatI have had the honour of serving your Highness?"

"I have nothing to reproach you with, monsieur, " replied the countess:"but I do not wish to incur reproach on my own part by permitting such amarriage: I thought you too sensible and reasonable a man to needreminding that, while you confined yourself to suitable requests andmoderate ambitions, you had reason to be pleased with our gratitude. Doyou ask that your salary shall be doubled? The thing is easy. Do youdesire important posts? They shall be given you; but do not, sir, so farforget yourself as to aspire to an alliance that you cannot flatteryourself with a hope of ever attaining. "

"But, madame, " returned the petitioner, "who told you that my birth wasso obscure as to debar me from all hope of obtaining your consent?"

"Why, you yourself, monsieur, I think, " answered the countess inastonishment; "or if you did not say so, your name said so for you. "

"And if that name is not mine, madame?" said the abbe, growing bolder;"if unfortunate, terrible, fatal circumstances have compelled me to takethat name in order to hide another that was too unhappily famous, wouldyour Highness then be so unjust as not to change your mind?"

"Monsieur, " replied the countess, "you have said too much now not to goon to the end. Who are you? Tell me. And if, as you give me tounderstand, you are of good birth, I swear to you that want of fortuneshall not stand in the way. "

"Alas, madame, " cried the abbe, throwing himself at her feet, "my name, Iam sure, is but too familiar to your Highness, and I would willingly atthis moment give half my blood that you had never heard it uttered; butyou have said it, madame, have gone too far to recede. Well, then, I amthat unhappy abbe de Ganges whose crimes are known and of whom I havemore than once heard you speak. "

"The abbe de Ganges!" cried the countess in horror, --"the abbe de Ganges!You are that execrable abbe de Ganges whose very name makes one shudder?And to you, to a man thus infamous, we have entrusted the education ofour only son? Oh, I hope, for all our sakes, monsieur, that you arespeaking falsely; for if you were speaking the truth I think I shouldhave you arrested this very instant and taken back to France to undergoyour punishment. The best thing you can do, if what you have said to meis true, is instantly to leave not only the castle, but the town and theprincipality; it will be torment enough for the rest of my life wheneverI think that I have spent seven years under the same roof with you. "

The abbe would have replied; but the countess raised her voice so much, that the young prince, who had been won over to his tutor's interests andwho was listening at his mother's door, judged that his protege'sbusiness was taking an unfavourable turn; and went in to try and putthings right. He found his mother so much alarmed that she drew him toher by an instinctive movement, as though to put herself under hisprotection, and beg and pray as he might; he could only obtain permissionfor his tutor to go away undisturbed to any country of the world that hemight prefer, but with an express prohibition of ever again entering thepresence of the Count or the Countess of Lippe. 

The abbe de Ganges withdrew to Amsterdam, where he became a teacher oflanguages, and where his lady-love soon after came to him and marriedhim: his pupil, whom his parents could not induce, even when they toldhim the real name of the false Lamartelliere, to share their horror ofhim, gave him assistance as long as he needed it; and this state ofthings continued until upon his wife attaining her majority he enteredinto possession of some property that belonged to her. His regularconduct and his learning, which had been rendered more solid by long andserious study, caused him to be admitted into the Protestant consistory;there, after an exemplary life, he died, and none but God ever knewwhether it was one of hypocrisy or of penitence. 

As for the Marquis de Ganges, who had been sentenced, as we have seen, tobanishment and the confiscation of his property, he was conducted to thefrontier of Savoy and there set at liberty. After having spent two orthree years abroad, so that the terrible catastrophe in which he had beenconcerned should have time to be hushed up, he came back to France, andas nobody--Madame de Rossan being now dead--was interested in prosecutinghim, he returned to his castle at Ganges, and remained there, pretty wellhidden. M. De Baville, indeed, the Lieutenant of Languedoc, learned thatthe marquis had broken from his exile; but he was told, at the same time, that the marquis, as a zealous Catholic, was forcing his vassals toattend mass, whatever their religion might be: this was the period inwhich persons of the Reformed Church were being persecuted, and the zealof the marquis appeared to M. De Baville to compensate and more thancompensate for the peccadillo of which he had been accused; consequently, instead of prosecuting him, he entered into secret communication withhim, reassuring him about his stay in France, and urging on his religiouszeal; and in this manner twelve years passed by. 

During this time the marquise's young son, whom we saw at his mother'sdeathbed, had reached the age of twenty, and being rich in his father'spossessions--which his uncle had restored to him--and also by hismother's inheritance, which he had shared with his sister, had married agirl of good family, named Mademoiselle de Moissac, who was both rich andbeautiful. Being called to serve in the royal army, the count broughthis young wife to the castle of Ganges, and, having fervently commendedher to his father, left her in his charge. 

The Marquis de Ganges was forty-two veers old, and scarcely seemedthirty; he was one of the handsomest men living; he fell in love with hisdaughter-in-law and hoped to win her love, and in order to promote thisdesign, his first care was to separate from her, under the excuse ofreligion, a maid who had been with her from childhood and to whom she wasgreatly attached. 

This measure, the cause of which the young marquise did not know, distressed her extremely. It was much against her will that she had cometo live at all in this old castle of Ganges, which had so recently beenthe scene of the terrible story that we have just told. She inhabited thesuite of rooms in which the murder had been committed; her bedchamber wasthe same which had belonged to the late marquise; her bed was the same;the window by which she had fled was before her eyes; and everything, down to the smallest article of furniture, recalled to her the details ofthat savage tragedy. But even worse was her case when she found it nolonger possible to doubt her father-in-law's intentions; when she sawherself beloved by one whose very name had again and again made herchildhood turn pale with terror, and when she was left alone at all hoursof the day in the sole company of the man whom public rumour stillpursued as a murderer. Perhaps in any other place the poor lonely girlmight have found some strength in trusting herself to God; but there, where God had suffered one of the fairest and purest creatures that everexisted to perish by so cruel a death, she dared not appeal to Him, forHe seemed to have turned away from this family. 

She waited, therefore, in growing terror; spending her days, as much asshe could, with the women of rank who lived in the little town of Ganges, and some of whom, eye-witnesses of her mother-in-law's murder, increasedher terrors by the accounts which they gave of it, and which she, withthe despairing obstinacy of fear, asked to hear again and again. As toher nights, she spent the greater part of them on her knees, and fullydressed, trembling at the smallest sound; only breathing freely asdaylight came back, and then venturing to seek her bed for a few hours'rest. 

At last the marquis's attempts became so direct and so pressing, that thepoor young woman resolved to escape at all costs from his hands. Herfirst idea was to write to her father, explain to him her position andask help; but her father had not long been a Catholic, and had sufferedmuch on behalf of the Reformed religion, and on these accounts it wasclear that her letter would be opened by the marquis on pretext ofreligion, and thus that step, instead of saving, might destroy her. Shehad thus but one resource: her husband had always been a Catholic; herhusband was a captain of dragoons, faithful in the service of the kingand faithful in the service of God; there could be no excuse for openinga letter to him; she resolved to address herself to him, explained theposition in which she found herself, got the address written by anotherhand, and sent the letter to Montpellier, where it was posted. 

The young marquis was at Metz when he received his wife's missive. Atthat instant all his childish memories awoke; he beheld himself at hisdying mother's bedside, vowing never to forget her and to pray daily forher. The image presented itself of this wife whom he adored, in the sameroom, exposed to the same violence, destined perhaps to the same fate;all this was enough to lead him to take positive action: he flung himselfinto a post-chaise, reached Versailles, begged an audience of the king, cast himself, with his wife's letter in his hand, at the feet of LouisXIV, and besought him to compel his father to return into exile, where heswore upon has honour that he would send him everything he could need inorder to live properly. 

The king was not aware that the Marquis do Ganges had disobeyed thesentence of banishment, and the manner in which he learned it was notsuch as to make him pardon the contradiction of his laws. In consequencehe immediately ordered that if the Marquis de Ganges were found in Francehe should be proceeded against with the utmost rigour. 

Happily for the marquis, the Comte de Ganges, the only one of hisbrothers who had remained in France, and indeed in favour, learned theking's decision in time. He took post from Versailles, and making thegreatest haste, went to warn him of the danger that was threatening; bothtogether immediately left Ganges, and withdrew to Avignon. The districtof Venaissin, still belonging at that time to the pope and being governedby a vice-legate, was considered as foreign territory. There he foundhis daughter, Madame d'Urban, who did all she could to induce him to staywith her; but to do so would have been to flout Louis XIV's orders toopublicly, and the marquis was afraid to remain so much in evidence lestevil should befall him; he accordingly retired to the little village ofl'Isle, built in a charming spot near the fountain of Vaucluse; there hewas lost sight of; none ever heard him spoken of again, and when I myselftravelled in the south of France in 1835, I sought in vain any trace ofthe obscure and forgotten death which closed so turbulent and stormy anexistence. 

As, in speaking of the last adventures of the Marquis de Ganges, we havementioned the name of Madame d'Urban, his daughter, we cannot exemptourselves from following her amid the strange events of her life, scandalous though they may be; such, indeed, was the fate of this family, that it was to occupy the attention of France through well-nigh acentury, either by its crimes or by its freaks. 

On the death of the marquise, her daughter, who was barely six years old, had remained in the charge of the dowager Marquise de Ganges, who, whenshe had attained her twelfth year, presented to her as her husband theMarquis de Perrant, formerly a lover of the grandmother herself. Themarquis was seventy years of age, having been born in the reign of HenryIV; he had seen the court of Louis XIII and that of Louis XIV's youth, and he had remained one of its most elegant and favoured nobles; he hadthe manners of those two periods, the politest that the world has known, so that the young girl, not knowing as yet the meaning of marriage andhaving seen no other man, yielded without repugnance, and thought herselfhappy in becoming the Marquise de Perrant. 

The marquis, who was very rich, had quarrelled With his younger brother, and regarded him with such hatred that he was marrying only to deprivehis brother of the inheritance that would rightfully accrue to him, should the elder die childless. Unfortunately, the marquis soonperceived that the step which he had taken, however efficacious in thecase of another man, was likely to be fruitless in his own. He did not, however, despair, and waited two or three years, hoping every day thatHeaven would work a miracle in his favour; but as every day diminishedthe chances of this miracle, and his hatred for his brother grew with theimpossibility of taking revenge upon him, he adopted a strange andaltogether antique scheme, and determined, like the ancient Spartans, toobtain by the help of another what Heaven refused to himself. 

The marquis did not need to seek long for the man who should give him hisrevenge: he had in his house a young page, some seventeen or eighteenyears old, the son of a friend of his, who, dying without fortune, had onhis deathbed particularly commended the lad to the marquis. This youngman, a year older than his mistress, could not be continually about herwithout falling passionately in love with her; and however much he mightendeavour to hide his love, the poor youth was as yet too littlepractised in dissimulation to succeed iii concealing it from the eyes ofthe marquis, who, after having at first observed its growth withuneasiness, began on the contrary to rejoice in it, from the moment whenhe had decided upon the scheme that we have just mentioned. 

The marquis was slow to decide but prompt to execute. Having taken hisresolution, he summoned his page, and, after having made him promiseinviolable secrecy, and having undertaken, on that condition, to provehis gratitude by buying him a regiment, explained what was expected ofhim. The poor youth, to whom nothing could have been more unexpectedthan such a communication, took it at first for a trick by which themarquis meant to make him own his love, and was ready to throw himself athis feet and declare everything; but the marquis seeing his confusion, and easily guessing its cause, reassured him completely by swearing thathe authorised him to take any steps in order to attain the end that themarquis had in view. As in his inmost heart the aim of the young man wasthe same, the bargain was soon struck: the page bound himself by the mostterrible oaths to keep the secret; and the marquis, in order to supplywhatever assistance was in his power, gave him money to spend, believingthat there was no woman, however virtuous, who could resist thecombination of youth, beauty, and fortune: unhappily for the marquis, such a woman, whom he thought impossible, did exist, and was his wife. 

The page was so anxious to obey his master, that from that very day hismistress remarked the alteration that arose from the permission givenhim--his prompt obedience to her orders and his speed in executing them, in order to return a few moments the sooner to her presence. She wasgrateful to him, and in the simplicity of her heart she thanked him. Twodays later the page appeared before her splendidly dressed; she observedand remarked upon his improved appearance, and amused herself in conningover all the parts of his dress, as she might have done with a new doll. All this familiarity doubled the poor young man's passion, but he stoodbefore his mistress, nevertheless, abashed and trembling, like Cherubinobefore his fair godmother. Every evening the marquis inquired into hisprogress, and every evening the page confessed that he was no fartheradvanced than the day before; then the marquis scolded, threatened totake away his fine clothes, to withdraw his own promises, and finally toaddress himself to some other person. At this last threat the youthwould again call up his courage, and promise to be bolder to-morrow; andon the morrow would spend the day in making a thousand compliments to hismistress's eyes, which she, in her innocence, did not understand. Atlast, one day, Madame de Perrant asked him what made him look at herthus, and he ventured to confess his love; but then Madame de Perrant, changing her whole demeanour, assumed a face of sternness and bade him goout of her room. 

The poor lover obeyed, and ran, in despair, to confide his grief to thehusband, who appeared sincerely to share it, but consoled him by sayingthat he had no doubt chosen his moment badly; that all women, even theleast severe, had inauspicious hours in which they would not yield toattack, and that he must let a few days pass, which he must employ inmaking his peace, and then must take advantage of a better opportunity, and not allow himself to be rebuffed by a few refusals; and to thesewords the marquis added a purse of gold, in order that the page might, ifnecessary, win over the marquise's waiting-woman. 

Guided thus by the older experience of the husband, the page began toappear very much ashamed and very penitent; but for a day or two themarquise, in spite of his apparent humility, kept him at a distance: atlast, reflecting no doubt, with the assistance of her mirror and of hermaid, that the crime was not absolutely unpardonable, and after havingreprimanded the culprit at some length, while he stood listening witheyes cast down, she gave a him her hand, forgave him, and admitted him toher companionship as before. 

Things went on in this way for a week. The page no longer raised hiseyes and did not venture to open his mouth, and the marquise wasbeginning to regret the time in which he used to look and to speak, when, one fine day while she was at her toilet, at which she had allowed him tobe present, he seized a moment when the maid had left her alone, to casthimself at her feet and tell her that he had vainly tried to stifle hislove, and that, even although he were to die under the weight of heranger, he must tell her that this love was immense, eternal, strongerthan his life. The marquise upon this wished to send him away, as on theformer occasion, but instead of obeying her, the page, better instructed, took her in his arms. The marquise called, screamed, broke herbell-rope; the waiting-maid, who had been bought over, according to themarquis's advice, had kept the other women out of the way, and wascareful not to come herself. Then the marquise, resisting force by force, freed herself from the page's arms, rushed to her husband's room, andthere, bare-necked, with floating hair, and looking lovelier than ever, flung herself into his arms and begged his protection against theinsolent fellow who had just insulted her. But what was the amazement ofthe marquise, when, instead of the anger which she expected to see breakforth, the marquis answered coldly that what she was saying wasincredible, that he had always found the young man very well behaved, andthat, no doubt, having taken up some frivolous ground of resentmentagainst him, she was employing this means to get rid of him; but, headded, whatever might be his love for her, and his desire to doeverything that was agreeable to her, he begged her not to require thisof him, the young man being his friend's son, and consequently his ownadopted child. It was now the marquise who, in her turn, retiredabashed, not knowing what to make of such a reply, and fully resolving, since her husband's protection failed her, to keep herself well guardedby her own severity. 

Indeed, from that moment the marquise behaved to the poor youth with somuch prudery, that, loving her as he did, sincerely, he would have diedof grief, if he had not had the marquis at hand to encourage andstrengthen him. Nevertheless, the latter himself began to despair, andto be more troubled by the virtue of his wife than another man might havebeen by the levity of his. Finally, he resolved, seeing that mattersremained at the same point and that the marquise did not relax in thesmallest degree, to take extreme measures. He hid his page in a closetof his wife's bedchamber, and, rising during her first sleep, left emptyhis own place beside her, went out softly, double-locked the door, andlistened attentively to hear what would happen. 

He had not been listening thus for ten minutes when he heard a greatnoise in the room, and the page trying in vain to appease it. Themarquis hoped that he might succeed, but the noise increasing, showed himthat he was again to be disappointed; soon came cries for help, for themarquise could not ring, the bell-ropes having been lifted out of herreach, and no one answering her cries, he heard her spring from her highbed, run to the door, and finding it locked rush to the window, which shetried to open: the scene had come to its climax. 

The marquis decided to go in, lest some tragedy should happen, or lesthis wife's screams should reach some belated passer-by, who next daywould make him the talk of the town. Scarcely did the marquise beholdhim when she threw herself into his arms, and pointing to the page, said:--

"Well, monsieur, will you still hesitate to free me from this insolentwretch?"

"Yes, madame, " replied the marquis; "for this insolent wretch has beenacting for the last three months not only with my sanction but even by myorders. "

The marquise remained stupefied. Then the marquis, without sending awaythe page, gave his wife an explanation of all that had passed, andbesought her to yield to his desire of obtaining a successor, whom hewould regard as his own child, so long as it was hers; but young thoughshe was, the marquise answered with a dignity unusual at her age, thathis power over her had the limits that were set to it by law, and notthose that it might please him to set in their place, and that howevermuch she might wish to do what might be his pleasure, she would yet neverobey him at the expense of her soul and her honour. 

So positive an answer, while it filled her husband with despair, provedto him that he must renounce the hope of obtaining an heir; but since thepage was not to blame for this, he fulfilled the promise that he hadmade, bought him a regiment, and resigned himself to having the mostvirtuous wife in France. His repentance was not, however, of longduration; he died at the end of three months, after having confided tohis friend, the Marquis d'Urban, the cause of his sorrows. 

The Marquis d'Urban had a son of marriageable age; he thought that hecould find nothing more suitable for him than a wife whose virtue hadcome triumphantly through such a trial: he let her time of mourning pass, and then presented the young Marquis d'Urban, who succeeded in making hisattentions acceptable to the beautiful widow, and soon became herhusband. More fortunate than his predecessor, the Marquis d'Urban hadthree heirs to oppose to his collaterals, when, some two years and a halflater, the Chevalier de Bouillon arrived at the capital of the county ofVenaissin. 

The Chevalier de Bouillon was a typical rake of the period, handsome, young, and well-grown; the nephew of a cardinal who was influential atRome, and proud of belonging to a house which had privileges ofsuzerainty. The chevalier, in his indiscreet fatuity, spared no woman;and his conduct had given some scandal in the circle of Madame deMaintenon, who was rising into power. One of his friends, havingwitnessed the displeasure exhibited towards him by Louis XIV, who wasbeginning to become devout, thought to do him a service by warning himthat the king "gardait une dent" against him. [ Translator'snote. --"Garder une dent, " that is, to keep up a grudge, means literally"to keep a tooth" against him. ]

"Pardieu!" replied the chevalier, "I am indeed unlucky when the onlytooth left to him remains to bite me. "

This pun had been repeated, and had reached Louis XIV, so that thechevalier presently heard, directly enough this time, that the kingdesired him to travel for some years. He knew the danger ofneglecting--such intimations, and since he thought the country after allpreferable to the Bastille, he left Paris, and arrived at Avignon, surrounded by the halo of interest that naturally attends a handsomeyoung persecuted nobleman. 

The virtue of Madame d'Urban was as much cried up at Avignon as theill-behaviour of the chevalier had been reprobated in Paris. Areputation equal to his own, but so opposite in kind, could not fail tobe very offensive to him, therefore he determined immediately uponarriving to play one against the other. 

Nothing was easier than the attempt. M. D'Urban, sure of his wife'svirtue, allowed her entire liberty; the chevalier saw her wherever hechose to see her, and every time he saw her found means to express agrowing passion. Whether because the hour had come for Madame d'Urban, or whether because she was dazzled by the splendour of the chevalier'sbelonging to a princely house, her virtue, hitherto so fierce, meltedlike snow in the May sunshine; and the chevalier, luckier than the poorpage, took the husband's place without any attempt on Madame d'Urban'spart to cry for help. 

As all the chevalier desired was public triumph, he took care to make thewhole town acquainted at once with his success; then, as some infidels ofthe neighbourhood still doubted, the chevalier ordered one of hisservants to wait for him at the marquise's door with a lantern and abell. At one in the morning, the chevalier came out, and the servantwalked before him, ringing the bell. At this unaccustomed sound, a greatnumber of townspeople, who had been quietly asleep, awoke, and, curiousto see what was happening, opened their windows. They beheld thechevalier, walking gravely behind his servant, who continued to light hismaster's way and to ring along the course of the street that lay betweenMadame d'Urban's house and his own. As he had made no mystery to anyoneof his love affair, nobody took the trouble even to ask him whence hecame. However, as there might possibly be persons still unconvinced, herepeated this same jest, for his own satisfaction, three nights running;so that by the morning of the fourth day nobody had any doubts left. 

As generally happens in such cases, M. D'Urban did not know a word ofwhat was going on until the moment when his friends warned him that hewas the talk of the town. Then he forbade his wife to see her loveragain. The prohibition produced the usual results: on the morrow, as, soon as M. D'Urban had gone out, the marquise sent for the chevalier toinform him of the catastrophe in which they were both involved; but shefound him far better prepared than herself for such blows, and he triedto prove to her, by reproaches for her imprudent conduct, that all thiswas her fault; so that at last the poor woman, convinced that it was shewho had brought these woes upon them, burst into tears. Meanwhile, M. D'Urban, who, being jealous for the first time, was the more seriouslyso, having learned that the chevalier was with his wife, shut the doors, and posted himself in the ante-chamber with his servants, in order toseize him as he came out. But the chevalier, who had ceased to troublehimself about Madame d'Urban's tears, heard all the preparations, and, suspecting some ambush, opened the window, and, although it was oneo'clock in the afternoon and the place was full of people, jumped out ofthe window into the street, and did not hurt himself at all, though theheight was twenty feet, but walked quietly home at a moderate pace. 

The same evening, the chevalier, intending to relate his new adventure inall its details, invited some of his friends to sup with him at thepastrycook Lecoq's. This man, who was a brother of the famous Lecoq ofthe rue Montorgueil, was the cleverest eating-house-keeper in Avignon;his own unusual corpulence commended his cookery, and, when he stood atthe door, constituted an advertisement for his restaurant. The good man, knowing with what delicate appetites he had to deal, did his very bestthat evening, and that nothing might be wanting, waited upon his guestshimself. They spent the night drinking, and towards morning thechevalier and his companions, being then drunk, espied their hoststanding respectfully at the door, his face wreathed in smiles. Thechevalier called him nearer, poured him out a glass of wine and made himdrink with them; then, as the poor wretch, confused at such an honour, was thanking him with many bows, he said:--

"Pardieu, you are too fat for Lecoq, and I must make you a capon. "

This strange proposition was received as men would receive it who weredrunk and accustomed by their position to impunity. The unfortunatepastry-cook was seized, bound down upon the table, and died under theirtreatment. The vice-legate being informed of the murder by one of thewaiters, who had run in on hearing his master's shrieks, and had foundhim, covered with blood, in the hands of his butchers, was at firstinclined to arrest the chevalier and bring him conspicuously topunishment. But he was restrained by his regard for the Cardinal deBouillon, the chevalier's uncle, and contented himself with warning theculprit that unless he left the town instantly he would be put into thehands of the authorities. The chevalier, who was beginning to have hadenough of Avignon, did not wait to be told twice, ordered the wheels ofhis chaise to be greased and horses to be brought. In the intervalbefore they were ready the fancy took him to go and see Madame d'Urbanagain. 

As the house of the marquise was the very last at which, after the mannerof his leaving it the day before, the chevalier was expected at such anhour, he got in with the greatest ease, and, meeting a lady's-maid, whowas in his interests, was taken to the room where the marquise was. She, who had not reckoned upon seeing the chevalier again, received him withall the raptures of which a woman in love is capable, especially when herlove is a forbidden one. But the chevalier soon put an end to them byannouncing that his visit was a visit of farewell, and by telling her thereason that obliged him to leave her. The marquise was like the womanwho pitied the fatigue of the poor horses that tore Damien limb fromlimb; all her commiseration was for the chevalier, who on account of sucha trifle was being forced to leave Avignon. At last the farewell had tobe uttered, and as the chevalier, not knowing what to say at the fatalmoment, complained that he had no memento of her, the marquise took downthe frame that contained a portrait of herself corresponding with one ofher husband, and tearing out the canvas, rolled, it up and gave it to thechevalier. The latter, so far from being touched by this token of love, laid it down, as he went away, upon a piece of furniture, where themarquise found it half an hour later. She imagined that his mind beingso full of the original, he had forgotten the copy, and representing toherself the sorrow which the discovery of this forgetfulness would causehim, she sent for a servant, gave him the picture, and ordered him totake horse and ride after the chevalier's chaise. The man took apost-horse, and, making great speed, perceived the fugitive in thedistance just as the latter had finished changing horses. He madeviolent signs and shouted loudly, in order to stop the postillion. Butthe postillion having told his fare that he saw a man coming on at fullspeed, the chevalier supposed himself to be pursued, and bade him go onas fast as possible. This order was so well obeyed that the unfortunateservant only came up with the chaise a league and a half farther on;having stopped the postillion, he got off his horse, and veryrespectfully presented to the chevalier the picture which he had beenbidden to bring him. But the chevalier, having recovered from his firstalarm, bade him go about his business, and take back the portrait--whichwas of no use to him--to the sender. The servant, however, like afaithful messenger, declared that his orders were positive, and that heshould not dare go back to Madame d'Urban without fulfilling them. Thechevalier, seeing that he could not conquer the man's determination, senthis postillion to a farrier, whose house lay on the road, for a hammerand four nails, and with his own hands nailed the portrait to the back ofhis chaise; then he stepped in again, bade the postillion whip up hishorses, and drove away, leaving Madame d'Urban's messenger greatlyastonished at the manner in which the chevalier had used his mistress'sportrait. 

At the next stage, the postillion, who was going back, asked for hismoney, and the chevalier answered that he had none. The postillionpersisted; then the chevalier got out of his chaise, unfastened Madamed'Urban's portrait, and told him that he need only put it up for sale inAvignon and declare how it had come into his possession, in order toreceive twenty times the price of his stage; the postillion, seeing thatnothing else was to be got out of the chevalier, accepted the pledge, and, following his instructions precisely, exhibited it next morning atthe door of a dealer in the town, together with an exact statement of thestory. The picture was bought back the same day for twenty-five Louis. 

As may be supposed, the adventure was much talked of throughout the town. Next day, Madame d'Urban disappeared, no one knew whither, at the verytime when the relatives of the marquis were met together and had decidedto ask the king for a 'lettre-de-cachet'. One of the gentlemen presentwas entrusted with the duty of taking the necessary steps; but whetherbecause he was not active enough, or whether because he was in Madamed'Urban's interests, nothing further was heard in Avignon of anyconsequences ensuing from such steps. In the meantime, Madame d'Urban, who had gone to the house of an aunt, opened negotiations with herhusband that were entirely successful, and a month after this adventureshe returned triumphantly to the conjugal roof. 

Two hundred pistoles, given by the Cardinal de Bouillon, pacified thefamily of the unfortunate pastry-cook, who at first had given notice ofthe affair to the police, but who soon afterwards withdrew theircomplaint, and gave out that they had taken action too hastily on thestrength of a story told in joke, and that further inquiries showed theirrelative to have died of an apoplectic stroke. 

Thanks--to this declaration, which exculpated the Chevalier de Bouillonin the eyes of the king, he was allowed, after travelling for two yearsin Italy and in Germany, to return undisturbed to France. 

Thus ends, not the family of Ganges, but the commotion which the familymade in the world. From time to time, indeed, the playwright or thenovelist calls up the pale and bloodstained figure of the marquise toappear either on the stage or in a book; but the evocation almost alwaysceases at her, and many persons who have written about the mother do noteven know what became of the children. Our intention has been to fillthis gap; that is why we have tried to tell what our predecessors leftout, and try offer to our readers what the stage--and often the actualworld--offers; comedy after melodrama.