Makers of History

 Henry IV. 

 BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT

 WITH ENGRAVINGS

 NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 1904

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-six, by

 HARPER & BROTHERS, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. 

 Copyright, 1884, by SUSAN ABBOT MEAD. 

PREFACE. 

History is our Heaven-appointed instructor. It is the guide for thefuture. The calamities of yesterday are the protectors of to-day. 

The sea of time we navigate is full of perils. But it is not anunknown sea. It has been traversed for ages, and there is not a sunkenrock or a treacherous sand-bar which is not marked by the wreck ofthose who have preceded us. 

There is no portion of history fraught with more valuable instructionthan the period of those terrible religious wars which desolated thesixteenth century. There is no romance so wild as the veritablehistory of those times. The majestic outgoings of the Almighty, asdeveloped in the onward progress of our race, infinitely transcend, inall the elements of profoundness, mystery, and grandeur, all thatman's fancy can create. 

The cartoons of Raphael are beautiful, but what are they when comparedwith the heaving ocean, the clouds of sunset, and the pinnacles of theAlps? The dome of St. Peter's is man's noblest architecture, but whatis it when compared with the magnificent rotunda of the skies?

 JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. 

Brunswick, Maine, 1856. 

CONTENTS. 

 Chapter Page

 I. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 13

 II. CIVIL WAR 45

 III. THE MARRIAGE 68

 IV. PREPARATIONS FOR MASSACRE 93

 V. MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW 109

 VI. THE HOUSES OF VALOIS, OF GUISE, AND OF BOURBON 137

 VII. REIGN OF HENRY III 167

 VIII. THE LEAGUE 196

 IX. THE ASSASSINATION OF THE DUKE OF GUISE AND OF HENRY III 220

 X. WAR AND WOE 256

 XI. THE CONVERSION OF THE KING 281

 XII. THE REIGN OF HENRY IV. AND HIS DEATH 306

ENGRAVINGS. 

 Page

 THE BIRTH OF HENRY OF NAVARRE 19

 THE FLIGHT OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE 52

 THE MARRIAGE 87

 THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW 115

 THE ASSASSINATION OF FRANCIS, DUKE OF GUISE 161

 THE ASSASSINATION OF HENRY, DUKE OF GUISE 228

 THE ASSASSINATION OF HENRY III. 238

 THE ACT OF ABJURING PROTESTANTISM 292

 THE RECONCILIATION WITH MAYENNE 309

KING HENRY IV. 

CHAPTER I. 

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 

1475-1564

Navarre. --Catharine de Foix. --Ferdinand and Isabella. --Dismembermentof Navarre. --Plans for revenge. --Death of Catharine. --Marriage ofHenry and Margaret. --Lingering hopes of Henry. --Jeanne returns toNavarre. --Birth of Henry IV. --The royal nurse. --Name chosen for theyoung prince. --The castle of Courasse. --Education of Henry. --Death ofthe King of Navarre. --Jeanne d'Albret ascends the throne. --Residencein Bearn. --Marriage of Mary, Queen of Scots. --Betrothal ofHenry. --Henry's tutor. --Remark of Dr. Johnson. --Henry's motto. --LaGaucherie's method of instruction. --Death of Henry II. --Catharine deMedicis regent. --Influence of Plutarch. --Religious agitation. --TheHuguenots. --The present controversy. --The Sorbonne. --Purging theempire. --The burning chamber. --Persecution of the Protestants. --Calvinand his writings. --Calvin's physical debility. --Continuedlabors. --Execution of Servetus. --Inhabitants of France. --Antonyof Bourbon. --Jeanne d'Albret. --The separation. --Differentlife. --Rage of the Pope. --Growth of Protestantism. --Catharine'sblandishments. --Undecided action. --Seizure of the queen. --Civilwar. --Death of Antony of Bourbon. --Effects of the war. --Liberty ofworship. --Indignation and animosity. --Religious toleration. --Belief ofthe Romanists. --Establishment of freedom of conscience. 

About four hundred years ago there was a small kingdom, spreading overthe cliffs and ravines of the eastern extremity of the Pyrenees, called Navarre. Its population, of about five hundred thousand, consisted of a very simple, frugal, and industrious people. Those wholived upon the shore washed by the stormy waves of the Bay of Biscaygratified their love of excitement and of adventure by braving theperils of the sea. Those who lived in the solitude of the interior, onthe sunny slopes of the mountains, or by the streams which meanderedthrough the verdant valleys, fed their flocks, and harvested theirgrain, and pressed rich wine from the grapes of their vineyards, inthe enjoyment of the most pleasant duties of rural life. Proud oftheir independence, they were ever ready to grasp arms to repelforeign aggression. The throne of this kingdom was, at the time ofwhich we speak, occupied by Catharine de Foix. She was a widow, andall her hopes and affections were centred in her son Henry, an ardentand impetuous boy six or seven years of age, who was to receive thecrown when it should fall from her brow, and transmit to posteritytheir ancestral honors. 

Ferdinand of Aragon had just married Isabella of Castile, and had thusunited those two populous and wealthy kingdoms; and now, in thearrogance of power, seized with the pride of annexation, he began tolook with a wistful eye upon the picturesque kingdom of Navarre. Itscomparative feebleness, under the reign of a bereaved woman weary ofthe world, invited to the enterprise. Should he grasp at the wholeterritory of the little realm, France might interpose her powerfulremonstrance. Should he take but the half which was spread out uponthe southern declivity of the Pyrenees, it would be virtually sayingto the French monarch, "The rest I courteously leave for you. " Thearmies of Spain were soon sweeping resistlessly through these sunnyvalleys, and one half of her empire was ruthlessly torn from the Queenof Navarre, and transferred to the dominion of imperious Castile andAragon. 

Catharine retired with her child to the colder and more uncongenialregions of the northern declivity of the mountains. Her bosom glowedwith mortification and rage in view of her hopeless defeat. As she satdown gloomily in the small portion which remained to her of herdismembered empire, she endeavored to foster in the heart of her sonthe spirit of revenge, and to inspire him with the resolution toregain those lost leagues of territory which had been wrested from theinheritance of his fathers. Henry imbibed his mother's spirit, andchafed and fretted under wrongs for which he could obtain no redress. Ferdinand and Isabella could not be annoyed even by any force whichfeeble Navarre could raise. Queen Catharine, however, brooded deeplyover her wrongs, and laid plans for retributions of revenge, theexecution of which she knew must be deferred till long after her bodyshould have mouldered to dust in the grave. She courted the mostintimate alliance with Francis I. , King of France. She contemplatedthe merging of her own little kingdom into that powerful monarchy, that the infant Navarre, having grown into the giant France, mightcrush the Spanish tyrants into humiliation. Nerved by this determinedspirit of revenge, and inspired by a mother's ambition, she intriguedto wed her son to the heiress of the French throne, that even in theworld of spirits she might be cheered by seeing Henry heading thearmies of France, the terrible avenger of her wrongs. These hopesinvigorated her until the fitful dream of her joyless life wasterminated, and her restless spirit sank into the repose of the grave. She lived, however, to see her plans apparently in progress towardtheir most successful fulfillment. 

Henry, her son, was married to Margaret, the favorite sister of theKing of France. Their nuptials were blessed with but one child, Jeanned'Albret. This child, in whose destiny such ambitious hopes werecentred, bloomed into most marvelous beauty, and became also asconspicuous for her mental endowments as for her personal charms. Shehad hardly emerged from the period of childhood when she was marriedto Antony of Bourbon, a near relative of the royal family of France. Immediately after her marriage she left Navarre with her husband, totake up her residence in the French metropolis. 

One hope still lived, with undying vigor, in the bosom of Henry. Itwas the hope, the intense passion, with which his departed mother hadinspired him, that a grandson would arise from this union, who would, with the spirit of Hannibal, avenge the family wrongs upon Spain. Twice Henry took a grandson into his arms with the feeling that thegreat desire of his life was about to be realized; and twice, withalmost a broken heart, he saw these hopes blighted as he committed thelittle ones to the grave. 

Summers and winters had now lingered wearily away, and Henry hadbecome an old man. Disappointment and care had worn down his frame. World-weary and joyless, he still clung to hope. The tidings thatJeanne was again to become a mother rekindled the lustre of his fadingeye. The aged king sent importunately for his daughter to returnwithout delay to the paternal castle, that the child might be born inthe kingdom of Navarre, whose wrongs it was to be his peculiar destinyto avenge. It was mid-winter. The journey was long and the roadsrough. But the dutiful and energetic Jeanne promptly obeyed the wishesof her father, and hastened to his court. 

Henry could hardly restrain his impatience as he waited, week afterweek, for the advent of the long-looked-for avenger. With thecharacteristic superstition of the times, he constrained his daughterto promise that, at the period of birth, during the most painfulmoments of her trial, she would sing a mirthful and triumphant song, that her child might possess a sanguine, joyous, and energetic spirit. 

Henry entertained not a doubt that the child would prove a boy, commissioned by Providence as the avenger of Navarre. The old kingreceived the child, at the moment of its birth, into his own arms, totally regardless of a mother's rights, and exultingly enveloping itin soft folds, bore it off, as his own property, to his privateapartment. He rubbed the lips of the plump little boy with garlic, andthen taking a golden goblet of generous wine, the rough and royalnurse forced the beverage he loved so well down the untainted throatof his new-born heir. 

"A little good old wine, " said the doting grandfather, "will make theboy vigorous, and brave. "

We may remark, in passing, that it was _wine_, rich and pure: not thatmixture of all abominations, whose only vintage is in cellars, sunless, damp, and fetid, where guilty men fabricate poison for anation. 

[Illustration: THE BIRTH OF HENRY IV. ]

This little stranger received the ancestral name of Henry. By hissubsequent exploits he filled the world with his renown. He was thefirst of the Bourbon line who ascended the throne of France, and heswayed the sceptre of energetic rule over that wide-spread realm witha degree of power and grandeur which none of his descendants have everrivaled. The name of Henry IV. Is one of the most illustrious in theannals of France. The story of his struggles for the attainment of thethrone of Charlemagne is full of interest. His birth, to which we havejust alluded, occurred at Parr, in the kingdom of Navarre, in the year1553. 

His grandfather immediately assumed the direction of every thingrelating to the child, apparently without the slightest consciousnessthat either the father or the mother of Henry had any prior claims. The king possessed, among the wild and romantic fastnesses of themountains, a strong old castle, as rugged and frowning as the eternalgranite upon which its foundations were laid. Gloomy evergreens clungto the hill-sides. A mountain stream, often swollen to an impetuoustorrent by the autumnal rains and the spring thaws, swept through thelittle verdant lawn, which smiled amid the stern sublimitiessurrounding this venerable and moss-covered fortress. Around thesolitary towers the eagles wheeled and screamed in harmony with thegales and storms which often swept through these wild regions. Theexpanse around was sparsely settled by a few hardy peasants, who, byfeeding their herds, and cultivating little patches of soil among thecrags, obtained a humble living, and by exercise and the pure mountainair acquired a vigor and an athletic-hardihood of frame which hadgiven them much celebrity. 

To the storm-battered castle of Courasse, thus lowering in congenialgloom among these rocks, the old king sent the infant Henry to benurtured as a peasant-boy, that, by frugal fare and exposure tohardship, he might acquire a peasant's robust frame. He resolved thatno French delicacies should enfeeble the constitution of this noblechild. Bareheaded and barefooted, the young prince, as yet hardlyemerging from infancy, rolled upon the grass, played with the poultry, and the dogs, and the sturdy young mountaineers, and plunged into thebrook or paddled in the pools of water with which the mountain showersoften filled the court-yard. His hair was bleached and his cheeksbronzed by the sun and the wind. Few would have imagined that theunattractive child, with his unshorn locks and in his studiouslyneglected garb, was the descendant of a long line of kings, and wasdestined to eclipse them all by the grandeur of his name. 

As years glided along he advanced to energetic boyhood, the constantcompanion, and, in all his sports and modes of life, the equal of thepeasant-boys by whom he was surrounded. He hardly wore a better dressthan they; he was nourished with the same coarse fare. With them heclimbed the mountains, and leaped the streams, and swung upon thetrees. He struggled with his youthful competitors in all theirathletic games, running, wrestling, pitching the quoit, and tossingthe bar. This active out-door exercise gave a relish to the coarsefood of the peasants, consisting of brown bread, beef, cheese, andgarlic. His grandfather had decided that this regimen was essentialfor the education of a prince who was to humble the proud monarchy ofSpain, and regain the territory which had been so unjustly wrestedfrom his ancestors. 

When Henry was about six years of age, his grandfather, by gradualdecay, sank sorrowingly into his grave. Consequently, his mother, Jeanne d'Albret, ascended the throne of Navarre. Her husband, Antonyof Bourbon, was a rough, fearless old soldier, with nothing todistinguish him from the multitude who do but live, fight, and die. Jeanne and her husband were in Paris at the time of the death of herfather. They immediately hastened to Bearn, the capital of Navarre, totake possession of the dominions which had thus descended to them. Thelittle Henry was then brought from his wild mountain home to residewith his mother in the royal palace. Though Navarre was but a feeblekingdom, the grandeur of its court was said to have been unsurpassed, at that time, by that of any other in Europe. The intellectualeducation of Henry had been almost entirely neglected; but thehardihood of his body had given such vigor and energy to his mind, that he was now prepared to distance in intellectual pursuits, withperfect ease, those whose infantile brains had been overtasked withstudy. 

Henry remained in Bearn with his parents two years, and in that timeingrafted many courtly graces upon the free and fetterless carriage hehad acquired among the mountains. His mind expanded with remarkablerapidity, and he became one of the most beautiful and engaging ofchildren. 

About this time Mary, Queen of Scots, was to be married to the DauphinFrancis, son of the King of France. Their nuptials were to becelebrated with great magnificence. The King and Queen of Navarrereturned to the court of France to attend the marriage. They took withthem their son. His beauty and vivacity excited much admiration in theFrench metropolis. One day the young prince, then but six or sevenyears of age, came running into the room where his father and HenryII. Of France were conversing, and, by his artlessness and grace, strongly attracted the attention of the French monarch. The kingfondly took the playful child in his arms, and said affectionately, "Will you be my son?"

"No, sire, no! that is my father, " replied the ardent boy, pointing tothe King of Navarre. 

"Well, then, will you be my son-in-law?" demanded Henry. 

"Oh yes, most willingly, " the prince replied. 

Henry II. Had a daughter Marguerite, a year or two younger than thePrince of Navarre, and it was immediately resolved between the twoparents that the young princes should be considered as betrothed. 

Soon after this the King and Queen of Navarre, with their son, returned to the mountainous domain which Jeanne so ardently loved. Thequeen devoted herself assiduously to the education of the youngprince, providing for him the ablest teachers whom that age couldafford. A gentleman of very distinguished attainments, named LaGaucherie, undertook the general superintendence of his studies. Theyoung prince was at this time an exceedingly energetic, active, ambitious boy, very inquisitive respecting all matters of information, and passionately fond of study. 

Dr. Johnson, with his rough and impetuous severity, has said, "It is impossible to get Latin into a boy unless you flog it intohim. "

The experience of La Gaucherie, however, did not confirm thissentiment. Henry always went with alacrity to his Latin and his Greek. His judicious teacher did not disgust his mind with long and laboriousrules, but introduced him at once to words and phrases, whilegradually he developed the grammatical structure of the language. Thevigorous mind of Henry, grasping eagerly at intellectual culture, made rapid progress, and he was soon able to read and write both Latinand Greek with fluency, and ever retained the power of quoting, withgreat facility and appositeness, from the classical writers of Athensand of Rome. Even in these early days he seized upon the Greek phrase[Greek: "_ê nikan ê apothanein_"], _to conquer or to die_, and adoptedit for his motto. 

La Gaucherie was warmly attached to the principles of the Protestantfaith. He made a companion of his noble pupil, and taught him byconversation in pleasant walks and rides as well as by books. It washis practice to have him commit to memory any fine passage in prose orverse which inculcated generous and lofty ideas. The mind of Henrythus became filled with beautiful images and noble sentiments from theclassic writers of France. These gems of literature exerted a powerfulinfluence in moulding his character, and he was fond of quoting themas the guide of his life. Such passages as the following werefrequently on the lips of the young prince:

 "Over their subjects princes bear the rule, But God, more mighty, governs kings themselves. "

Soon after the return of the King and Queen of Navarre to their ownkingdom, Henry II. Of France died, leaving the crown to his sonCharles, a feeble boy both in body and in mind. As Charles was but tenor twelve years of age, his mother, Catharine de Medicis, wasappointed regent during his minority. Catharine was a woman of greatstrength of mind, but of the utmost depravity of heart. There was nocrime ambition could instigate her to commit from which, in theslightest degree, she would recoil. Perhaps the history of the worldretains not another instance in which a mother could so far forget theyearnings of nature as to endeavor, studiously and perseveringly, todeprave the morals, and by vice to enfeeble the constitution of herson, that she might retain the power which belonged to him. This proudand dissolute woman looked with great solicitude upon the enterprisingand energetic spirits of the young Prince of Navarre. There were manyprovidential indications that ere long Henry would be a prominentcandidate for the throne of France. 

Plutarch's Lives of Ancient Heroes has perhaps been more influentialthan any other uninspired book in invigorating genius and inenkindling a passion for great achievements. Napoleon was a carefulstudent and a great admirer of Plutarch. His spirit was entranced withthe grandeur of the Greek and Roman heroes, and they were ever to himas companions and bosom friends. During the whole of his stormycareer, their examples animated him, and his addresses andproclamations were often invigorated by happy quotations from classicstory. Henry, with similar exaltation of genius, read and re-read thepages of Plutarch with the most absorbing delight. Catharine, with aneagle eye, watched these indications of a lofty mind. Her solicitudewas roused lest the young Prince of Navarre should, with hiscommanding genius, supplant her degenerate house. 

At the close of the sixteenth century, the period of which we write, all Europe was agitated by the great controversy between the Catholicsand the Protestants. The writings of Luther, Calvin, and otherreformers had aroused the attention of the whole Christian world. InEngland and Scotland the ancient faith had been overthrown, and thedoctrines of the Reformation were, in those kingdoms, established. InFrance, where the writings of Calvin had been extensively circulated, the Protestants had also become quite numerous, embracing generallythe most intelligent portion of the populace. The Protestants were inFrance called Huguenots, but for what reason is not now known. Theywere sustained by many noble families, and had for their leaders thePrince of Condé, Admiral Coligni, and the house of Navarre. There werearrayed against them the power of the crown, many of the most powerfulnobles, and conspicuously the almost regal house of Guise. 

It is perhaps difficult for a Protestant to write upon this subjectwith perfect impartiality, however earnestly he may desire to do so. The lapse of two hundred years has not terminated the great conflict. The surging strife has swept across the ocean, and even now, with moreor less of vehemence, rages in all the states of this new world. Though the weapons of blood are laid aside, the mighty controversy isstill undecided. 

The advocates of the old faith were determined to maintain theircreed, and to force all to its adoption, at whatever price. Theydeemed heresy the greatest of all crimes, and thought--and doubtlessmany conscientiously thought--that it should be exterminated even bythe pains of torture and death. The French Parliament adopted for itsmotto, "_One religion, one law, one king. _" They declared that tworeligions could no more be endured in a kingdom than two governments. 

At Paris there was a celebrated theological school called theSorbonne. It included in its faculty the most distinguished doctors ofthe Catholic Church. The decisions and the decrees of the Sorbonnewere esteemed highly authoritative. The views of the Sorbonne werealmost invariably asked in reference to any measures affecting theChurch. 

In 1525 the court presented the following question to the Sorbonne:"_How can we suppress and extirpate the damnable doctrine of Lutherfrom this very Christian kingdom, and purge it from it entirely?_"

The prompt reply was, "_The heresy has already been endured too long. It must be pursued with the extremest rigor, or it will overthrow thethrone. _"

Two years after this, Pope Clement VII. Sent a communication to theParliament of Paris, stating, "It is necessary, in this great and astounding disorder, which arises from the rage of Satan, and from the fury and impiety of his instruments, that every body exert himself to guard the common safety, seeing that this madness would not only embroil and destroy religion, but also all principality, nobility, laws, orders, and ranks. "

The Protestants were pursued by the most unrelenting persecution. TheParliament established a court called the _burning chamber_, becauseall who were convicted of heresy were burned. The estates of thosewho, to save their lives, fled from the kingdom, were sold, and theirchildren, who were left behind, were pursued with merciless cruelty. 

The Protestants, with boldness which religious faith alone couldinspire, braved all these perils. They resolutely declared that theBible taught their faith, and their faith only, and that no earthlypower could compel them to swerve from the truth. Notwithstanding theperils of exile, torture, and death, they persisted in preaching whatthey considered the pure Gospel of Christ. In 1533 Calvin was drivenfrom Paris. When one said to him, "Mass must be true, since it iscelebrated in all Christendom;" he replied, pointing to the Bible, "There is my mass. " Then raising his eyes to heaven, he solemnly said, "O Lord, if in the day of judgment thou chargest me with not havingbeen at mass, I will say to thee with truth, 'Lord, thou hast notcommanded it. Behold thy law. In it I have not found any othersacrifice than that which was immolated on the altar of the cross. '"

In 1535 Calvin's celebrated "Institutes of the Christian Religion"were published, the great reformer then residing in the city of Basle. This great work became the banner of the Protestants of France. It wasread with avidity in the cottage of the peasant, in the work-shop ofthe artisan, and in the chateau of the noble. In reference to thisextraordinary man, of whom it has been said, "On Calvin some think Heaven's own mantle fell, While others deem him instrument of hell, "

Theodore Beza writes, "I do not believe that his equal can be found. Besides preaching every day from week to week, very often, and as muchas he was able, he preached twice every Sunday. He lectured ontheology three times a week. He delivered addresses to the Consistory, and also instructed at length every Friday before the BibleConference, which we call the congregation. He continued this courseso constantly that he never failed a single time except in extremeillness. Moreover, who could recount his other common or extraordinarylabors? I know of no man of our age who has had more to hear, toanswer, to write, nor things of greater importance. The number andquality of his writings alone is enough to astonish any man who seesthem, and still more those who read them. And what renders his laborsstill more astonishing is, that he had a body so feeble by nature, sodebilitated by night labors and too great abstemiousness, and, what ismore, subject to so many maladies, that no man who saw him couldunderstand how he had lived so long. And yet, for all that, he neverceased to labor night and day in the work of the Lord. We entreatedhim to have more regard for himself; but his ordinary reply was thathe was doing nothing, and that we should allow God to find him alwayswatching, and working as he could to his latest breath. "

Calvin died in 1564, eleven years after the birth of Henry of Navarre, at the age of fifty-five. For several years he was so abstemious thathe had eaten but one meal a day. [A]

[Footnote A: In reference to the execution of Servetus for heresy, anevent which, in the estimation of many, has seriously tarnished thereputation of Calvin, the celebrated French historian M. Mignet, in avery able dissertation, establishes the following points:

 1. Servetus was not an ordinary heretic; he was a bold pantheist, and outraged the dogma of all Christian communions by saying that God, in three persons, was a Cerberus, a monster with three heads. 2. He had already been condemned to death by the Catholic doctors at Vienne in Dauphiny. 3. The affair was judged, not by Calvin, but by the magistrates of Geneva; and if it is objected that his advice must have influenced their decision, it is necessary to recollect that the councils of the other reformed cantons of Switzerland approved the sentence with a unanimous voice. 4. It was of the utmost importance for the Reformation to separate distinctly its cause from that of such an unbeliever as Servetus. The Catholic Church, which in our day accuses Calvin of having participated in his condemnation, much more would have accused him, in the sixteenth century, with having solicited his acquittal. ]

At this time the overwhelming majority of the inhabitants of Francewere Catholics--it has generally been estimated a hundred to one; butthe doctrines of the reformers gained ground until, toward the closeof the century, about the time of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, theProtestants composed about one sixth of the population. 

The storm of persecution which fell upon them was so terrible thatthey were compelled to protect themselves by force of arms. Graduallythey gained the ascendency in several cities, which they fortified, and where they protected refugees from the persecution which haddriven them from the cities where the Catholics predominated. Such wasthe deplorable condition of France at the time of which we write. 

In the little kingdom of Navarre, which was but about one third aslarge as the State of Massachusetts, and which, since itsdismemberment, contained less than three hundred thousand inhabitants, nearly every individual was a Protestant. Antony of Bourbon, who hadmarried the queen, was a Frenchman. With him, as with many others inthat day, religion was merely a badge of party politics. Antony spentmuch of his time in the voluptuous court of France, and as he was, ofcourse, solicitous for popularity there, he espoused the Catholic sideof the controversy. 

Jeanne d'Albret was energetically a Protestant. Apparently, her faithwas founded in deep religious conviction. When Catharine of Mediciadvised her to follow her husband into the Catholic Church, shereplied with firmness, "Madam, sooner than ever go to mass, if I had my kingdom and my sonboth in my hands, I would hurl them to the bottom of the sea beforethey should change my purpose. "

Jeanne had been married to Antony merely as a matter of state policy. There was nothing in his character to win a noble woman's love. Withno social or religious sympathies, they lived together for a time in astate of respectful indifference; but the court of Navarre was tooquiet and religious to satisfy the taste of the voluptuous Parisian. He consequently spent most of his time enjoying the gayeties of themetropolis of France. A separation, mutually and amicably agreed upon, was the result. 

Antony conveyed with him to Paris his son Henry, and there took up hisresidence. Amidst the changes and the fluctuations of theever-agitated metropolis, he eagerly watched for opportunities toadvance his own fame and fortune. As Jeanne took leave of her belovedchild, she embraced him tenderly, and with tears entreated him neverto abandon the faith in which he had been educated. 

Jeanne d'Albret, with her little daughter, remained in the lesssplendid but more moral and refined metropolis of her paternal domain. A mother's solicitude and prayers, however, followed her son. Antonyconsented to retain as a tutor for Henry the wise and learned LaGaucherie, who was himself strongly attached to the reformed religion. 

The inflexibility of Jeanne d'Albret, and the refuge she evercheerfully afforded to the persecuted Protestants, quite enraged thePope. As a measure of intimidation, he at one time summoned her as aheretic to appear before the Inquisition within six months, underpenalty of losing her crown and her possessions. Jeanne, unawed by thethreat, appealed to the monarchs of Europe for protection. None weredisposed in that age to encourage such arrogant claims, and Pope PiusVI. Was compelled to moderate his haughty tone. A plot, however, wasthen formed to seize her and her children, and hand them over to the"tender mercies" of the Spanish Inquisition. But this plot alsofailed. 

In Paris itself there were many bold Protestant nobles who, with armsat their side, and stout retainers around them, kept personalpersecution at bay. They were generally men of commanding character, of intelligence and integrity. The new religion, throughout thecountry, was manifestly growing fast in strength, and at times, evenin the saloons of the palace, the rival parties were pretty nearlybalanced. Although, throughout the kingdom of France, the Catholicswere vastly more numerous than the Protestants, yet as England andmuch of Germany had warmly espoused the cause of the reformers, itwas perhaps difficult to decide which party, on the whole, in Europe, was the strongest. Nobles and princes of the highest rank were, in allparts of Europe, ranged under either banner. In the two factions thuscontending for dominion, there were, of course, some who were not muchinfluenced by conscientious considerations, but who were merelystruggling for political power. 

When Henry first arrived in Paris, Catharine kept a constant watchover his words and his actions. She spared no possible efforts tobring him under her entire control. Efforts were made to lead histeacher to check his enthusiasm for lofty exploits, and to surrenderhim to the claims of frivolous amusement. This detestable queenpresented before the impassioned young man all the blandishments offemale beauty, that she might betray him to licentious indulgence. Insome of these infamous arts she was but too successful. 

Catharine, in her ambitious projects, was often undecided as to whichcause she should espouse and which party she should call to her aid. At one time she would favor the Protestants, and again the Catholics. At about this time she suddenly turned to the Protestants, andcourted them so decidedly as greatly to alarm and exasperate theCatholics. Some of the Catholic nobles formed a conspiracy, and seizedCatharine and her son at the palace of Fontainebleau, and held themboth as captives. The proud queen was almost frantic with indignationat the insult. 

The Protestants, conscious that the conspiracy was aimed against them, rallied for the defense of the queen. The Catholics all over thekingdom sprang to arms. A bloody civil war ensued. Nearly all Europewas drawn into the conflict. Germany and England came with eagerarmies to the aid of the Protestants. Catharine hated the proud andhaughty Elizabeth, England's domineering queen, and was very jealousof her fame and power. She resolved that she would not be indebted toher ambitious rival for aid. She therefore, most strangely, threwherself into the arms of the _Catholics_, and ardently espoused theircause. The Protestants soon found her, with all the energy of herpowerful mind, heading their foes. France was deluged in blood. 

A large number of Protestants threw themselves into Rouen. Antony ofBourbon headed an army of the Catholics to besiege the city. A ballstruck him, and he fell senseless to the ground. His attendants placedhim, covered with blood, in a carriage, to convey him to a hospital. While in the carriage and jostling over the rough ground, and as thethunders of the cannonade were pealing in his ears, the spirit of theblood-stained soldier ascended to the tribunal of the God of Peace. Henry was now left fatherless, and subject entirely to the control ofhis mother, whom he most tenderly loved, and whose views, as one ofthe most prominent leaders of the Protestant party, he was stronglyinclined to espouse. 

The sanguinary conflict still raged with unabated violence throughoutthe whole kingdom, arming brother against brother, friend againstfriend. Churches were sacked and destroyed; vast extents of countrywere almost depopulated; cities were surrendered to pillage, andatrocities innumerable perpetrated, from which it would seem that evenfiends would revolt. France was filled with smouldering ruins; and thewailing cry of widows and of orphans, thus made by the wrath of man, ascended from every plain and every hill-side to the ear of that Godwho has said, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. "

At last both parties were weary of the horrid strife. The Catholicswere struggling to extirpate what they deemed ruinous heresy from thekingdom. The Protestants were repelling the assault, and contending, not for general liberty of conscience, but that their doctrines _weretrue_, and _therefore_ should be sustained. Terms of accommodationwere proposed, and the Catholics made the great concession, as theyregarded it, of allowing the Protestants to conduct public worship_outside of the walls of towns_. The Protestants accepted these terms, and sheathed the sword; but many of the more fanatic Catholics weregreatly enraged at this toleration. The Guises, the most arrogantfamily of nobles the world has ever known, retired from Paris inindignation, declaring that they would not witness such a triumph ofheresy. The decree which granted this poor boon was the famous edictof January, 1562, issued from St. Germain. But such a peace as thiscould only be a truce caused by exhaustion. Deep-seated animositystill rankled in the bosom of both parties; and, notwithstanding allthe woes which desolating wars had engendered, the spirit of religiousintolerance was eager again to grasp the weapons of deadly strife. 

During the sixteenth century the doctrine of religious toleration wasrecognized by no one. That great truth had not then even dawned uponthe world. The noble toleration so earnestly advocated by Bayle andLocke a century later, was almost a new revelation to the human mind;but in the sixteenth century it would have been regarded as impious, and rebellion against God to have affirmed that _error_ was not to bepursued and punished. The reformers did not advocate the view that aman had a right to believe what he pleased, and to disseminate thatbelief. They only declared that they were bound, at all hazards, tobelieve the _truth;_ that the views which they cherished were _true_, and that _therefore_ they should be protected in them. They appealedto the Bible, and challenged their adversaries to meet them there. Ourfathers must not be condemned for not being in advance of the age inwhich they lived. That toleration which allows a man to adopt, withoutany civil disabilities, any mode of worship that does not disturb thepeace of society, exists, as we believe, only in the United States. Even in England Dissenters are excluded from many privileges. Throughout the whole of Catholic Europe no religious toleration isrecognized. The Emperor Napoleon, during his reign, established themost perfect freedom of conscience in every government his influencecould control. His downfall re-established through Europe the dominionof intolerance. 

The Reformation, in contending for the right of private judgment incontradiction to the claims of councils, maintained a principle whichnecessarily involved the freedom of conscience. This was not thenperceived; but time developed the truth. The Reformation became, inreality, the mother of all religious liberty. 

CHAPTER II. 

CIVIL WAR. 

1565-1568

Henry but little acquainted with his parents. --Indecision ofHenry. --Hypocrisy of Catharine. --She desires to save Henry. --Asignificant reply. --Indications of future greatness. --Theprophecy. --Visit of Catharine. --Endeavors of Catharine to influencethe young prince. --The return visit. --Obstacles to the departure. --Thestratagem. --Its success. --Home again. --Description of theprince. --Evil effects of dissolute society. --Influence of Jeanned'Albret. --Catharine's deity. --Principle of Jeanne d'Albret. --Thecannon the missionary. --Devastation. --Indecision of theprince. --Arguments pro and con. --Chances of a crown. --Waragain. --Arrival of the Queen of Navarre. --Education of theprince. --The Prince of Condé. --Slaughter of the Protestants. --Thebattle. --Courage of the Prince of Condé. --The defeat. --Deathof the Prince of Condé. --Retreat of the Protestants. --Fiendishbarbarity. --Advice of the Pope. --Incitement to massacre. --Theprotectorate. 

While France was thus deluged with the blood of a civil war, youngHenry was busily pursuing his studies in college. He could have hadbut little affection for his father, for the stern soldier had passedmost of his days in the tented field, and his son had hardly knownhim. From his mother he had long been separated; but he cherished hermemory with affectionate regard, and his predilections stronglyinclined him toward the faith which he knew that she had so warmlyespoused. It was, however, in its political aspects that Henry mainlycontemplated the question. He regarded the two sects merely as twopolitical parties struggling for power. For some time he did notventure to commit himself openly, but, availing himself of theprivilege of his youth, carefully studied the principles and theprospects of the contending factions, patiently waiting for the timeto come in which he should introduce his strong arm into the conflict. Each party, aware that his parents had espoused opposite sides, andregarding him as an invaluable accession to either cause, adopted allpossible allurements to win his favor. 

Catharine, as unprincipled as she was ambitious, invited him to hercourt, lavished upon him, with queenly profusion, caresses andflattery, and enticed him with all those blandishments which mightmost effectually enthrall the impassioned spirit of youth. Voluptuousness, gilded with its most dazzling and deceitfulenchantments, was studiously presented to his eye. The queen was alllove and complaisance. She received him to her cabinet council. Sheaffected to regard him as her chief confidant. She had already formedthe design of perfidiously throwing the Protestants off their guard byprofessions of friendship, and then, by indiscriminate massacre, ofobliterating from the kingdom every vestige of the reformed faith. Thegreat mass of the people being Catholics, she thought that, by asimultaneous uprising all over the kingdom, the Protestants might beso generally destroyed that not enough would be left to cause her anyserious embarrassments. 

For many reasons Catharine wished to save Henry from the doomimpending over his friends, if she could, by any means, win him toher side. She held many interviews with the highest ecclesiastics uponthe subject of the contemplated massacre. At one time, when she wasurging the expediency of sparing some few Protestant nobles who hadbeen her personal friends, Henry overheard the significant reply fromthe Duke of Alva, "The head of a salmon is worth a hundred frogs. " Theyoung prince meditated deeply upon the import of those words. Surmising their significance, and alarmed for the safety of hismother, he dispatched a trusty messenger to communicate to her hissuspicions. 

His mind was now thoroughly aroused to vigilance, to careful andhourly scrutiny of the plots and counterplots which were ever formingaround him. While others of his age were absorbed in the pleasures oflicentiousness and gaming, to which that corrupt court was abandoned, Henry, though he had not escaped unspotted from the contaminationwhich surrounded him, displayed, by the dignity of his demeanor andthe elevation of his character, those extraordinary qualities which soremarkably distinguished him in future life, and which indicated, eventhen, that he was born to command. One of the grandees of the Spanishcourt, the Duke of Medina, after meeting him incidentally but for afew moments, remarked, "It appears to me that this young prince is either an emperor, or isdestined soon to become one. "

Henry was very punctilious in regard to etiquette, and would allow noone to treat him without due respect, or to deprive him of theposition to which he was entitled by his rank. 

Jeanne d'Albret, the Queen of Navarre, was now considered the mostillustrious leader of the Protestant party. Catharine, the better todisguise her infamous designs, went with Henry, in great splendor, tomake a friendly visit to his mother in the little Protestant court ofBearn. Catharine insidiously lavished upon Jeanne d'Albret the warmestcongratulations and the most winning smiles, and omitted no courtlyblandishments which could disarm the suspicions and win the confidenceof the Protestant queen. The situation of Jeanne in her feebledominion was extremely embarrassing. The Pope, in consequence of heralleged heresy, had issued against her the bull of excommunication, declaring her incapable of reigning, forbidding all good Catholics, bythe peril of their own salvation, from obeying any of her commands. Asher own subjects were almost all Protestants, she was in no danger ofany insurrection on their part; but this decree, in that age ofsuperstition and of profligacy, invited each neighboring power toseize upon her territory. The only safety of the queen consisted inthe mutual jealousies of the rival kingdoms of France and Spain, neither of them being willing that the other should receive such anaccession to its political importance. 

The Queen of Navarre was not at all shaken in her faith, or influencedto change her measure, by the visit of the French court to hercapital. She regarded, however, with much solicitude, the ascendencywhich, it appeared to her, Catharine was obtaining over the mind ofher son. Catharine caressed and flattered the young Prince of Navarrein every possible way. All her blandishments were exerted to obtain acommanding influence over his mind. She endeavored unceasingly to lurehim to indulgence in all forbidden pleasure, and especially to crowdupon his youthful and ardent passions all the temptations whichyielding female beauty could present. After the visit of a few weeks, during which the little court of Navarre had witnessed an importationof profligacy unknown before, the Queen of France, with Henry andwith her voluptuous train, returned again to Paris. 

Jeanne d'Albret had seen enough of the blandishments of vice to exciteher deepest maternal solicitude in view of the peril of her son. Sheearnestly urged his return to Navarre; but Catharine continually threwsuch chains of influence around him that he could not escape. At lastJeanne resolved, under the pretense of returning the visit ofCatharine, to go herself to the court of France and try to recoverHenry. With a small but illustrious retinue, embellished with greatelegance of manners and purity of life, she arrived in Paris. TheQueen of France received her with every possible mark of respect andaffection, and lavished upon her entertainments, and fêtes, andgorgeous spectacles until the Queen of Navarre was almost bewildered. 

[Illustration: THE FLIGHT OF THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. ]

Whenever Jeanne proposed to return to her kingdom there was some veryspecial celebration appointed, from which Jeanne could not, withoutextreme rudeness, break away. Thus again and again was Jeannefrustrated in her endeavors to leave Paris, until she found, to hersurprise and chagrin, that both she and her son were prisoners, detained in captivity by bonds of the most provoking politeness. Catharine managed so adroitly that Jeanne could not enter anycomplaints, for the shackles which were thrown around her were thoseof ostensibly the most excessive kindness and the most unbounded love. It was of no avail to provoke a quarrel, for the Queen of Navarre waspowerless in the heart of France. 

At last she resolved to effect by stratagem that which she could notaccomplish openly. One day a large party had gone out upon a huntingexcursion. The Queen of Navarre made arrangements with her son, and afew of the most energetic and trustworthy gentlemen of her court, toseparate themselves, as it were accidentally, when in the eagerness ofthe chase, from the rest of the company, and to meet at an appointedplace of rendezvous. The little band, thus assembled, turned the headsof their horses toward Navarre. They drove with the utmost speed dayand night, furnishing themselves with fresh relays of horses, andrested not till the clatter of the iron hoofs of the steeds were heardamong the mountains of Navarre. Jeanne left a very polite note uponher table in the palace of St. Cloud, thanking Queen Catharine for allher kindness, and praying her to excuse the liberty she had taken inavoiding the pain of words of adieu. Catharine was exceedinglyannoyed at their escape, but, perceiving that it was not in her powerto overtake the fugitives, she submitted with as good a grace aspossible. 

Henry found himself thus again among his native hills. He was placedunder the tuition of a gentleman who had a high appreciation of allthat was poetic and beautiful. Henry, under his guidance, devotedhimself with great delight to the study of polite literature, and gavefree wing to an ennobled imagination as he clambered up the cliffs, and wandered over the ravines familiar to the days of his childhood. His personal appearance in 1567, when he was thirteen years of age, isthus described by a Roman Catholic gentleman who was accustomed tomeet him daily in the court of Catharine. 

 "We have here the young Prince of Bearn. One can not help acknowledging that he is a beautiful creature. At the age of thirteen he displays all the qualities of a person of eighteen or nineteen. He is agreeable, he is civil, he is obliging. Others might say that as yet he does not know what he is; but, for my part, I, who study him very often, can assure you that he does know perfectly well. He demeans himself toward all the world with so easy a carriage, that people crowd round wherever he is; and he acts so nobly in every thing, that one sees clearly that he is a great prince. He enters into conversation as a highly-polished man. He speaks always to the purpose, and it is remarked that he is very well informed. I shall hate the reformed religion all my life for having carried off from us so worthy a person. Without this original sin, he would be the first after the king, and we should see him, in a short time, at the head of the armies. He gains new friends every day. He insinuates himself into all hearts with inconceivable skill. He is highly honored by the men, and no less beloved by the ladies. His face is very well formed, the nose neither too large nor too small. His eyes are very soft; his skin brown, but very smooth; and his whole features animated with such uncommon vivacity, that, if he does not make progress with the fair, it will be very extraordinary. "

Henry had not escaped the natural influence of the dissolute societyin the midst of which he had been educated, and manifested, on hisfirst return to his mother, a strong passion for balls andmasquerades, and all the enervating pleasures of fashionable life. Hiscourtly and persuasive manners were so insinuating, that, withoutdifficulty, he borrowed any sums of money he pleased, and with theseborrowed treasures he fed his passion for excitement at thegaming-table. 

The firm principles and high intellectual elevation of his motherroused her to the immediate and vigorous endeavor to correct all theseradical defects in his character and education. She kept him, as muchas possible, under her own eye. She appointed teachers of the highestmental and moral attainments to instruct him. By her conversation andexample she impressed upon his mind the sentiment that it was the mostdistinguished honor of one born to command others to be their superiorin intelligence, judgment, and self-control. The Prince of Navarre, inhis mother's court at Bearn, found himself surrounded by Protestantfriends and influences, and he could not but feel and admit thesuperior dignity and purity of these his new friends. 

Catharine worshiped no deity but ambition. She was ready to adopt anymeasures and to plunge into any crimes which would give stability andlustre to her power. She had no religious opinions or evenpreferences. She espoused the cause of the Catholics because, on thewhole, she deemed that party the more powerful; and then she soughtthe entire destruction of the Protestants, that none might be left todispute her sway. Had the Protestants been in the majority, she would, with equal zeal, have given them the aid of her strong arm, andunrelentingly would have striven to crush the whole papal power. 

Jeanne d'Albret, on the contrary, was in _principle_ a Protestant. Shewas a woman of reflection, of feeling, of highly-cultivated intellect, and probably of sincere piety. She had read, with deep interest, thereligious controversies of the day. She had prayed for light andguidance. She had finally and cordially adopted the Protestant faithas the truth of God. Thus guided by her sense of duty, she wasexceedingly anxious that her son should be a Protestant--a ProtestantChristian. In most solemn prayer she dedicated him to God's service, to defend the faith of the Reformers. In the darkness of that day, thebloody and cruel sword was almost universally recognized as the greatchampion of truth. Both parties appeared to think that the thunders ofartillery and musketry must accompany the persuasive influence ofeloquence. If it were deemed important that one hand should guide thepen of controversy, to establish the truth, it was considered no lessimportant that the other should wield the sword to extirpate heresy. Military heroism was thought as essential as scholarship for thedefense of the faith. 

A truly liberal mind will find its indignation, in view of theatrocities of these religious wars, mitigated by comparison in view ofthe ignorance and the frailty of man. The Protestants often needlesslyexasperated the Catholics by demolishing, in the hour of victory, their churches, their paintings, and their statues, and by pouringcontempt upon all that was most hallowed in the Catholic heart. Therewas, however, this marked difference between the two parties: theleaders of the Protestants, as a general rule, did every thing intheir power to check the fury of their less enlightened followers. Theleaders of the Catholics, as a general rule, did every thing in theirpower to stimulate the fanaticism of the frenzied populace. In thefirst religious war the Protestant soldiers broke open and plunderedthe great church of Orleans. The Prince of Condé and Admiral Colignihastened to repress the disorder. The prince pointed a musket at asoldier who had ascended a ladder to break an image, threatening toshoot him if he did not immediately desist. 

"My lord, " exclaimed the fanatic Protestant, "wait till I have throwndown this idol, and then, if it please you, I will die. "

It is well for man that Omniscience presides at the day of judgment. "The Lord knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust. "

Europe was manifestly preparing for another dreadful religiousconflict. The foreboding cloud blackened the skies. The young Princeof Navarre had not yet taken his side. Both Catholics and Protestantsleft no exertions untried to win to their cause so important anauxiliary. Henry had warm friends in the court of Navarre and in thecourt of St. Cloud. He was bound by many ties to both Catholics andProtestants. Love of pleasure, of self-indulgence, of power, urged himto cast in his lot with the Catholics. Reverence for his motherinclined him to adopt the weaker party, who were struggling for purityof morals and of faith. To be popular with his subjects in his ownkingdom of Navarre, he must be a Protestant. To be popular in France, to whose throne he was already casting a wistful eye, it was necessaryfor him to be a Catholic. He vacillated between these views ofself-interest. His conscience and his heart were untouched. Bothparties were aware of the magnitude of the weight he could place ineither scale, while each deemed it quite uncertain which cause hewould espouse. His father had died contending for the Catholic faith, and all knew that the throne of Catholic France was one of the prizeswhich the young Prince of Navarre had a fair chance of obtaining. Hismother was the most illustrious leader of the Protestant forces on theContinent, and the crown of Henry's hereditary domain could not reposequietly upon any brow but that of a Protestant. 

Such was the state of affairs when the clangor of arms again burstupon the ear of Europe. France was the arena of woe upon which theCatholics and the Protestants of England and of the Continent hurledthemselves against each other. Catharine, breathing vengeance, headedthe Catholic armies. Jeanne, calm yet inflexible, was recognized as atthe head of the Protestant leaders, and was alike the idol of thecommon soldiers and of their generals. The two contending armies, after various marchings and countermarchings, met at Rochelle. Thewhole country around, for many leagues, was illuminated at night bythe camp-fires of the hostile hosts. The Protestants, inferior innumbers, with hymns and prayers calmly awaited an attack. TheCatholics, divided in council, were fearful of hazarding a decisiveengagement. Day after day thus passed, with occasional skirmishes, when, one sunny morning, the sound of trumpets was heard, and thegleam of the spears and banners of an approaching host was seen on thedistant hills. The joyful tidings spread through the ranks of theProtestants that the Queen of Navarre, with her son and four thousandtroops, had arrived. At the head of her firm and almost invincibleband she rode, calm and serene, magnificently mounted, with her proudboy by her side. As the queen and her son entered the plain, anexultant shout from the whole Protestant host seemed to rend theskies. These enthusiastic plaudits, loud, long, reiterated, sentdismay to the hearts of the Catholics. 

Jeanne presented her son to the Protestant army, and solemnlydedicated him to the defense of the Protestant faith. At the same timeshe published a declaration to the world that she deplored the horrorsof war; that she was not contending for the oppression of others, butto secure for herself and her friends the right to worship Godaccording to the teachings of the Bible. The young prince was placedunder the charge of the most experienced generals, to guard his personfrom danger and to instruct him in military science. The Prince ofCondé was his teacher in that terrible accomplishment in which bothmaster and pupil have obtained such worldwide renown. 

Long files of English troops, with trumpet tones, and waving banners, and heavy artillery, were seen winding their way along the streams ofFrance, hastening to the scene of conflict. The heavy battalions ofthe Pope were marshaling upon all the sunny plains of Italy, and thebanners of the rushing squadrons glittered from the pinnacles of theAlps, as Europe rose in arms, desolating ten thousand homes withconflagrations, and blood, and woe. Could the pen record thesmouldering ruins, the desolate hearthstones, the shrieks of mortalagony, the wailings of the widow, the cry of the orphan, which thusresulted from man's inhumanity to man, the heart would sicken at therecital. The summer passed away in marches and counter-marches, inassassinations, and skirmishes, and battles. The fields of thehusbandmen were trampled under the hoofs of horses. Villages wereburned to the ground, and their wretched inhabitants driven out innakedness and starvation to meet the storms of merciless winter. Nobleladies and refined and beautiful maidens fled shrieking from thepursuit of brutal and licentious soldiers. Still neither party gainedany decisive victory. The storms of winter came, and beat heavily, with frost and drifting snow, upon the worn and weary hosts. 

In three months ten thousand Protestants had perished. At Orleans twohundred Protestants were thrown into prison. The populace set theprison on fire, and they were all consumed. 

At length the Catholic armies, having become far more numerous thanthe Protestant, ventured upon a general engagement. They met upon thefield of Jarnac. The battle was conducted by the Reformers with adegree of fearlessness bordering on desperation. The Prince of Condéplunged into the thickest ranks of the enemy with his unfurled bannerbearing the motto, "Danger is sweet for Christ and my country. " Justas he commenced his desperate charge, a kick from a wounded horsefractured his leg so severely that the fragments of the bone protrudedthrough his boot. Pointing to the mangled and helpless limb, he saidto those around him, "Remember the state in which Louis of Bourbonenters the fight for Christ and his country. " Immediately sounding thecharge, like a whirlwind his little band plunged into the midst oftheir foes. For a moment the shock was irresistible, and the assailedfell like grass before the scythe of the mower. Soon, however, theundaunted band was entirely surrounded by their powerful adversaries. The Prince of Condé, with but about two hundred and fifty men, withindomitable determination sustained himself against the serried ranksof five thousand men closing up around him on every side. This was thelast earthly conflict of the Prince of Condé. With his leg broken andhis arm nearly severed from his body, his horse fell dead beneath him, and the prince, deluged with blood, was precipitated into the dustunder the trampling hoofs of wounded and frantic chargers. His menstill fought with desperation around their wounded chieftain. Oftwenty-five nephews who accompanied him, fifteen were slain by hisside. Soon all his defenders were cut down or dispersed. The woundedprince, an invaluable prize, was taken prisoner. Montesquieu, captainof the guards of the Duke of Anjou, came driving up, and as he sawthe prisoner attracting much attention, besmeared with blood and dirt, "Whom have we here?" he inquired. 

"The Prince of Condé, " was the exultant reply. 

"Kill him! kill him!" exclaimed the captain, and he discharged apistol at his head. 

The ball passed through his brain, and the prince fell lifeless uponthe ground. The corpse was left where it fell, and the Catholic troopspursued their foes, now flying in every direction. The Protestantsretreated across a river, blew up the bridge, and protected themselvesfrom farther assault. The next day the Duke of Anjou, the youngerbrother of Charles IX. , and who afterward became Henry III. , who wasone of the leaders of the Catholic army, rode over the field ofbattle, to find, if possible, the body of his illustrious enemy. 

"We had not rode far, " says one who accompanied him, "when weperceived a great number of the dead bodies piled up in a heap, whichled us to judge that this was the spot where the body of the princewas to be found: in fact, we found it there. Baron de Magnac took thecorpse by the hair to lift up the face, which was turned toward theground, and asked me if I recognized him; but, as one eye was tornout, and his face was covered with blood and dirt, I could only replythat it was certainly his height and his complexion, but farther Icould not say. "

They washed the bloody and mangled face, and found that it was indeedthe prince. His body was carried, with infamous ribaldry, on an ass tothe castle of Jarnac, and thrown contemptuously upon the ground. Several illustrious prisoners were brought to the spot and butcheredin cold blood, and their corpses thrown upon that of the prince, whilethe soldiers passed a night of drunkenness and revelry, exulting overthe remains of their dead enemies. 

Such was the terrible battle of Jarnac, the first conflict which Henrywitnessed. The tidings of this great victory and of the death of theillustrious Condé excited transports of joy among the Catholics. Charles IX. Sent to Pope Pius V. The standards taken from theProtestants. The Pope, who affirmed that Luther was a ravenous beast, and that his doctrines were the sum of all crimes, wrote to the kinga letter of congratulation. He urged him to extirpate every fibreof heresy, regardless of all entreaty, and of every tie of bloodand affection. To encourage him, he cited the example of Saulexterminating the Amalekites, and assured him that all tendency toclemency was a snare of the devil. 

The Catholics now considered the condition of the Protestants asdesperate. The pulpits resounded with imprecations and anathemas. TheCatholic priests earnestly advocated the sentiment that no faith wasto be kept with heretics; that to massacre them was an actionessential to the safety of the state, and which would secure theapprobation of God. 

But the Protestants, though defeated, were still unsubdued. The nobleAdmiral Coligni still remained to them; and after the disaster, Jeanned'Albret presented herself before the troops, holding her son Henry, then fourteen years of age, by one hand, and Henry, son of the Princede Condé, by the other, and devoted them both to the cause. The youngHenry of Navarre was then proclaimed _generalissimo_ of the army and_protector_ of the churches. He took the following oath: "I swear todefend the Protestant religion, and to persevere in the common cause, till death or till victory has secured for all the liberty which wedesire. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE MARRIAGE. 

1568-1572

Emotions of Henry. --His military sagacity. --Enthusiasm inspired byJeanne. --The failure of Catharine. --The second defeat. --The woundedfriends. --The reserve force. --Misfortunes of Coligni. --Hisletter. --The third army. --The tide of victory changed. --The treatyof St. Germaine-en-Laye. --Perfidy of Catharine. --The court atRochelle. --The two courts. --Marriage of Elizabeth. --The PrincessMarguerite. --Effects of the connection. --A royal match. --Repugnanceof Jeanne d'Albret. --Objections overcome. --Perjury of CharlesIX. --Displays of friendship. --Indifference of Marguerite. --Preparationsfor the wedding. --Death of Jeanne. --Demonstrations of grief. --Differentreports. --The King of Navarre. --Indifference. --Coligni lured toParis. --He is remonstrated with. --The nuptial day. --The scene. --Smallfavors gratefully received. --Mass. --National festivities. --Thetournament. --Strange representations. --Regal courtesy. --Impedimentsto departure. --Mission from the Pope. --The reply. 

Young Henry of Navarre was but about fourteen years of age when, fromone of the hills in the vicinity, he looked upon the terrible battleof Jarnac. It is reported that, young as he was, he pointed out thefatal errors which were committed by the Protestants in all thearrangements which preceded the battle. 

"It is folly, " he said, "to think of fighting, with forces so divided, a united army making an attack at one point. "

For the security of his person, deemed so precious to the Protestants, his friends, notwithstanding his entreaties and even tears, would notallow him to expose himself to any of the perils of the conflict. Ashe stood upon an eminence which overlooked the field of battle, surrounded by a few faithful guards, he gazed with intense anguishupon the sanguinary scene spread out before him. He saw his friendsutterly defeated, and their squadrons trampled in the dust beneath thehoofs of the Catholic cavalry. 

The Protestants, without loss of time, rallied anew their forces. TheQueen of Navarre soon saw thousands of strong arms and brave heartscollecting again around her banner. Accompanied by her son, she rodethrough their ranks, and addressed them in words of feminine yetheroic eloquence, which roused their utmost enthusiasm. But fewinstances have been recorded in which human hearts have been moredeeply moved than were these martial hosts by the brief sentenceswhich dropped from the lips of this extraordinary woman. Henry, in themost solemn manner, pledged himself to consecrate all his energies tothe defense of the Protestant religion. To each of the chiefs of thearmy the queen also presented a gold medal, suspended from a goldenchain, with her own name and that of her son impressed upon one side, and on the other the words "Certain peace, complete victory, orhonorable death. " The enthusiasm of the army was raised to the highestpitch, and the heroic queen became the object almost of the adorationof her soldiers. 

Catharine, seeing the wonderful enthusiasm with which the Protestanttroops were inspired by the presence of the Queen of Navarre, visitedthe head-quarters of her own army, hoping that she might alsoenkindle similar ardor. Accompanied by a magnificent retinue of herbrilliantly-accoutred generals, she swept, like a gorgeous vision, before her troops. She lavished presents upon her officers, and inhigh-sounding phrase harangued the soldiers; but there was not aprivate in the ranks who did not know that she was a wicked and apolluted woman. She had talent, but no soul. All her efforts wereunavailing to evoke one single electric spark of emotion. She hadsense enough to perceive her signal failure and to feel itsmortification. No one either loved or respected Catharine. Thousandshated her, yet, conscious of her power, either courting her smiles ordreading her frown, they often bowed before her in adulation. 

The two armies were soon facing each other upon the field of battle. It was the third of October, 1569. More than fifty thousand combatantsmet upon the plains of Moncontour. All generalship seemed to beignored as the exasperated adversaries rushed upon each other in aheadlong fight. The Protestants, outnumbered, were awfully defeated. Out of twenty-five thousand combatants whom they led into the field, but eight thousand could be rallied around their retreating bannerafter a fight of but three quarters of an hour. All their cannon, baggage, and munitions of war were lost. No mercy was granted to thevanquished. 

Coligni, at the very commencement of the battle, was struck by abullet which shattered his jaw. The gushing blood under his helmetchoked him, and they bore him upon a litter from the field. As theywere carrying the wounded admiral along, they overtook another litterupon which was stretched L'Estrange, the bosom friend of the admiral, also desperately wounded. L'Estrange, forgetting himself, gazed for amoment with tearful eyes upon the noble Coligni, and then gently said, "It is sweet to trust in God. " Coligni, unable to speak, could only_look_ a reply. Thus the two wounded friends parted. Coligni afterwardremarked that these few words were a cordial to his spirit, inspiringhim with resolution and hope. 

Henry of Navarre, and his cousin, Henry of Condé, son of the princewho fell at the battle of Jarnac, from a neighboring eminencewitnessed this scene of defeat and of awful carnage. The admiral, unwilling to expose to danger lives so precious to their cause, hadstationed them there with a reserve of four thousand men under thecommand of Louis of Nassau. When Henry saw the Protestants giving way, he implored Louis that they should hasten with the reserve to theprotection of their friends; but Louis, with military rigor, awaitedthe commands of the admiral. "We lose our advantage, then, " exclaimedthe prince, "and consequently the battle. "

The most awful of earthly calamities seemed now to fall like anavalanche upon Coligni, the noble Huguenot chieftain. His belovedbrother was slain. Bands of wretches had burned down his castle andlaid waste his estates. The Parliament of Paris, composed of zealousCatholics, had declared him guilty of high treason, and offered fiftythousand crowns to whoever would deliver him up, dead or alive. ThePope declared to all Europe that he was a "detestable, infamous, execrable man, if, indeed, he even merited the name of man. " His armywas defeated, his friends cut to pieces, and he himself was grievouslywounded, and was lying upon a couch in great anguish. Under thesecircumstances, thirteen days after receiving his wound, he thus wroteto his children:

 "We should not repose on earthly possessions. Let us place our hope beyond the earth, and acquire other treasures than those which we see with our eyes and touch with our hands. We must follow Jesus our leader, who has gone before us. Men have ravished us of what they could. If such is the will of God, we shall be happy and our condition good, since we endure this loss from no wrong you have done those who have brought it to you, but solely for the hate they have borne me because God was pleased to direct me to assist his Church. For the present, it is enough to admonish and conjure you, in the name of God, to persevere courageously in the study of virtue. "

In the course of a few weeks Coligni rose from his bed, and theCatholics were amazed to find him at the head of a third army. Theindomitable Queen of Navarre, with the calm energy which eversignalized her character, had rallied the fugitives around her, andhad reanimated their waning courage by her own invincible spirit. Nobles and peasants from all the mountains of Bearn, and from everyprovince in France, thronged to the Protestant camp. Conflict afterconflict ensued. The tide of victory now turned in favor of theReformers. Henry, absolutely refusing any longer to retire from theperils of the field, engaged with the utmost coolness, judgment, andyet impetuosity in all the toils and dangers of the battle. TheProtestant cause gained strength. The Catholics were disheartened. Even Catharine became convinced that the extermination of theProtestants by force was no longer possible. So once more they offeredconditions of peace, which were promptly accepted. These terms, whichwere signed at St. Germaine-en-Laye the 8th of August, 1570, were morefavorable than the preceding. The Protestants were allowed liberty ofworship in all the places then in their possession. They were alsoallowed public worship in two towns in each province of the kingdom. They were permitted to reside any where without molestation, and weredeclared _eligible_ to any public office. 

Coligni, mourning over the untold evils and miseries of war, withalacrity accepted these conditions. "Sooner than fall back into thesedisturbances, " said he, "I would choose to die a thousand deaths, andbe dragged through the streets of Paris. "

The queen, however, and her advisers were guilty of the most extremeperfidy in this truce. It was merely their object to induce theforeign troops who had come to the aid of the allies to leave thekingdom, that they might then exterminate the Protestants by a generalmassacre. Catharine decided to accomplish by the dagger of theassassin that which she had in vain attempted to accomplish on thefield of battle. This peace was but the first act in the awful tragedyof St. Bartholomew. 

Peace being thus apparently restored, the young Prince of Navarre nowreturned to his hereditary domains and visited its various provinces, where he was received with the most lively demonstrations ofaffection. Various circumstances, however, indicated to the Protestantleaders that some mysterious and treacherous plot was forming fortheir destruction. The Protestant gentlemen absented themselves, consequently, from the court of Charles IX. The king and his motherwere mortified by these evidences that their perfidy was suspected. 

Jeanne, with her son, after visiting her subjects in all parts of herown dominions, went to Rochelle, where they were joined by many of themost illustrious of their friends. Large numbers gathered around them, and the court of the Queen of Navarre was virtually transferred tothat place. Thus there were two rival courts, side by side, in thesame kingdom. Catharine, with her courtiers, exhibited boundlessluxury and voluptuousness at Paris. Jeanne d'Albret, at Rochelle, embellished her court with all that was noble in intellect, elegant inmanners, and pure in morals. Catharine and her submissive son CharlesIX. Left nothing untried to lure the Protestants into a falsesecurity. Jeanne scrupulously requited the courtesies she receivedfrom Catharine, though she regarded with much suspicion the adulationand the sycophancy of her proud hostess. 

The young King of France, Charles IX. , who was of about the same agewith Henry, and who had been his companion and playmate in childhood, was now married to Elizabeth, the daughter of the Emperor MaximilianII. Of Austria. Their nuptials were celebrated with all theostentatious pomp which the luxury of the times and the opulence ofthe French monarchy could furnish. In these rejoicings the courts ofFrance and Navarre participated with the semblance of the mostheartfelt cordiality. Protestants and Catholics, pretending to forgetthat they had recently encountered each other with fiendlike fury infields of blood, mingled gayly in these festivities, and vied witheach other in the exchange of courtly greetings and polishedflatteries. Catharine and Charles IX. Lavished, with the utmostprofusion, their commendations and attentions upon the young Prince ofNavarre, and left no arts of dissimulation unessayed which mightdisarm the fears and win the confidence of their victims. 

The queen mother, with caressing fondness, declared that Henry must beher son. She would confer upon him Marguerite, her youngest daughter. This princess had now become a young lady, beautiful in the extreme, and highly accomplished in all those graces which can kindle the firesand feed the flames of passion; but she was also as devoid ofprinciple as any male libertine who contaminated by his presence acourt whose very atmosphere was corruption. Many persons of royalblood had most earnestly sought the hand of this princess, for analliance with the royal family of France was an honor which theproudest sovereigns might covet. Such a connection, in its politicalaspects, was every thing Henry could desire. It would vastly augmentthe consideration and the power of the young prince, and would bringhim a long step nearer to the throne of France. The Protestants wereall intensely interested in this match, as it would invest one, destined soon to become their most prominent leader, with new abilityto defend their rights and to advocate their cause. It is a singularillustration of the hopeless corruption of the times, that thenotorious profligacy of Marguerite seems to have been considered, evenby Henry himself, as no obstacle to the union. 

A royal marriage is ordinarily but a matter of state policy. Upon thecold and icy eminence of kingly life the flowers of sympathy andaffection rarely bloom. Henry, without hesitation, acquiesced in theexpediency of this nuptial alliance. He regarded it as manifestly avery politic partnership, and did not concern himself in the leastabout the agreeable or disagreeable qualities of his contemplatedspouse. He had no idea of making her his companion, much less hisfriend. She was to be merely his _wife_. 

Jeanne d'Albret, however, a woman of sincere piety, and in whose bosomall noble thoughts were nurtured, cherished many misgivings. HerProtestant principles caused her to shrink from the espousals of herson with a Roman Catholic. Her religious scruples, and the spotlesspurity of her character, aroused the most lively emotions ofrepugnance in view of her son's connection with one who had not eventhe modesty to conceal her vices. State considerations, however, finally prevailed, and Jeanne, waiving her objections, consented tothe marriage. She yielded, however, with the greatest reluctance, tothe unceasing importunities of her friends. They urged that thismarriage would unite the two parties in a solid peace, and thusprotect the Protestants from persecution, and rescue France fromunutterable woe. Even the Admiral Coligni was deceived. But the resultproved, in this case as in every other, that _it is never safe to doevil that good may come_. If any fact is established under thegovernment of God, it is this. 

The Queen of Navarre, in her extreme repugnance to this match, remarked, "I would choose to descend to the condition of the poorest damsel inFrance rather than sacrifice to the grandeur of my family my own souland that of my son. "

With consummate perjury, Charles IX. Declared, "I give my sister inmarriage, not only to the Prince of Navarre, but, as it were, to thewhole Protestant party. This will be the strongest and closest bondfor the maintenance of peace between my subjects, and a sure evidenceof my good-will toward the Protestants. "

Thus influenced, this noble woman consented to the union. She thenwent to Blois to meet Catharine and the king. They received her withexuberant displays of love. The foolish king quite overacted his part, calling her "his great aunt, his all, his best beloved. " As the Queenof Navarre retired for the night, Charles said to Catharine, laughing, "Well, mother, what do you think of it? Do I play my little partwell?"

"Yes, " said Catharine, encouragingly, "very well; but it is of no useunless it continues. "

"Allow me to go on, " said the king, "and you will see that I shallensnare them. "

The young Princess Marguerite, heartless, proud, and petulant, received the cold addresses of Henry with still more chillingindifference. She refused to make even the slightest concessions tohis religious views, and, though she made no objection to thedecidedly politic partnership, she very ostentatiously displayed herutter disregard for Henry and his friends. The haughty and dissolutebeauty was piqued by the reluctance which Jeanne had manifested to analliance which Marguerite thought should have been regarded as thevery highest of all earthly honors. Preparations were, however, madefor the marriage ceremony, which was to be performed in the Frenchcapital with unexampled splendor. The most distinguished gentlemen ofthe Protestant party, nobles, statesmen, warriors, from all parts ofthe realm, were invited to the metropolis, to add lustre to thefestivities by their presence. Many, however, of the wisest counselorsof the Queen of Navarre, deeply impressed with the conviction of theutter perfidy of Catharine, and apprehending some deep-laid plot, remonstrated against the acceptance of the invitations, presagingthat, "if the wedding were celebrated in Paris, the liveries would bevery crimson. "

Jeanne, solicited by the most pressing letters from Catharine and herson Charles IX. , and urged by her courtiers, who were eager to sharethe renowned pleasures of the French metropolis, proceeded to Paris. She had hardly entered the sumptuous lodgings provided for her in thecourt of Catharine, when she was seized with a violent fever, whichraged in her veins nine days, and then she died. In death shemanifested the same faith and fortitude which had embellished herlife. Not a murmur or a groan escaped her lips in the most violentparoxysms of pain. She had no desire to live except from maternalsolicitude for her children, Henry and Catharine. 

"But God, " said she, "will be their father and protector, as he hasbeen mine in my greatest afflictions. I confide them to hisprovidence. "

She died in June, 1572, in the forty-fourth year of her age. Catharineexhibited the most ostentatious and extravagant demonstrations ofgrief. Charles gave utterance to loud and poignant lamentations, andordered a surgeon to examine the body, that the cause of her deathmight be ascertained. Notwithstanding these efforts to allaysuspicion, the report spread like wildfire through all the departmentsof France, and all the Protestant countries of Europe, that the queenhad been perfidiously poisoned by Catharine. The Protestant writers ofthe time assert that she fell a victim to poison communicated by apair of perfumed gloves. The Catholics as confidently affirm that shedied of a natural disease. The truth can now never be known till thesecrets of all hearts shall be revealed at the judgment day. 

Henry, with his retinue, was slowly traveling toward Paris, unconscious of his mother's sickness, when the unexpected tidingsarrived of her death. It is difficult to imagine what must have beenthe precise nature of the emotions of an ambitious young man in suchan event, who ardently loved both his mother and the crown which shewore, as by the loss of the one he gained the other. The cloud of hisgrief was embellished with the gilded edgings of joy. The Prince ofBearn now assumed the title and the style of the King of Navarre, andhonored the memory of his noble mother with every manifestation ofregret and veneration. This melancholy event caused the postponementof the marriage ceremony for a short time, as it was not deemeddecorous that epithalamiums should be shouted and requiems chantedfrom the same lips in the same hour. The knell tolling the burial ofthe dead would not blend harmoniously with the joyous peals of themarriage bell. Henry was not at all annoyed by this delay, for noimpatient ardor urged him to his nuptials. Marguerite, annoyed by theopposition which Henry's mother had expressed in regard to thealliance, and vexed by the utter indifference which her betrothedmanifested toward her person, indulged in all the wayward humors of aworse than spoiled child. She studiously displayed her utter disregardfor Henry, which manifestations, with the most provokingindifference, he did not seem even to notice. 

During this short interval the Protestant nobles continued to flock toParis, that they might honor with their presence the marriage of theyoung chief. The Admiral Coligni was, by very special exertions on thepart of Catharine and Charles, lured to the metropolis. He hadreceived anonymous letters warning him of his danger. Many of his moreprudent friends openly remonstrated against his placing himself in thepower of the perfidious queen. Coligni, however, was strongly attachedto Henry, and, in defiance of all these warnings, he resolved toattend his nuptials. "I confide, " said he, "in the sacred word of hismajesty. "

Upon his arrival in the metropolis, Catharine and Charles lavishedupon him the most unbounded manifestations of regard. The king, embracing the admiral, exclaimed, "This is the happiest day of mylife. " Very soon one of the admiral's friends called upon him to takeleave, saying that he was immediately about to retire into thecountry. When asked by the admiral the cause of his unexpecteddeparture, he replied, "I go because they caress you too much, and Iwould rather save myself with fools than perish with sages. "

At length the nuptial day arrived. It was the seventeenth of August, 1572. Paris had laid aside its mourning weeds, and a gay and brilliantcarnival succeeded its dismal days of gloom. Protestants andCatholics, of highest name and note, from every part of Europe, whohad met in the dreadful encounters of a hundred fields of blood, nowmingled in apparent fraternity with the glittering throng, allinterchanging smiles and congratulations. The unimpassioned bridegroomled his scornful bride to the church of Notre Dame. Before the massiveportals of this renowned edifice, and under the shadow of itsvenerable towers, a magnificent platform had been reared, canopiedwith the most gorgeous tapestry. Hundreds of thousands thronged thesurrounding amphitheatre, swarming at the windows, crowding thebalconies, and clustered upon the house-tops, to witness the imposingceremony. The gentle breeze breathing over the multitude was ladenwith the perfume of flowers. Banners, and pennants, and ribbons ofevery varied hue waved in the air, or hung in gay festoons from windowto window, and from roof to roof. Upon that conspicuous platform, inthe presence of all the highest nobility of France, and of the mostillustrious representatives of every court of Europe, Henry receivedthe hand of the haughty princess, and the nuptial oath wasadministered. 

Marguerite, however, even in that hour, and in the presence of allthose spectators, gave a ludicrous exhibition of her girlish petulanceand ungoverned willfulness. When, in the progress of the ceremony, shewas asked if she willingly received Henry of Bourbon for her husband, she pouted, coquettishly tossed her proud head, and was silent. Thequestion was repeated. The spirit of Marguerite was now roused, andall the powers of Europe could not tame the shrew. She fixed her eyesdefiantly upon the officiating bishop, and refusing, by look, or word, or gesture, to express the slightest assent, remained as immovable asa statue. Embarrassment and delay ensued. Her royal brother, CharlesIX. , fully aware of his sister's indomitable resolution, coolly walkedup to the termagant at bay, and placing one hand upon her chest andthe other upon the back of her head, compelled an involuntary nod. Thebishop smiled and bowed, and acting upon the principle that smallfavors were gratefully received, proceeded with the ceremony. Suchwere the vows with which Henry and Marguerite were united. Such is toooften _love in the palace_. 

[Illustration: THE MARRIAGE. ]

The Roman Catholic wife, unaccompanied by her Protestant husband, whowaited at the door with his retinue, now entered the church of NotreDame to participate in the solemnities of the mass. The young King ofNavarre then submissively received his bride and conducted her to avery magnificent dinner. Catharine and Charles IX. , at thisentertainment, were very specially attentive to the Protestant nobles. The weak and despicable king leaned affectionately upon the arm of theAdmiral Coligni, and for a long time conversed with him with everyappearance of friendship and esteem. Balls, illuminations, andpageants ensued in the evening. For many days these unnatural andchilling nuptials were celebrated with all the splendor of nationalfestivities. Among these entertainments there was a tournament, singularly characteristic of the times, and which certainly shedspeculiar lustre either upon the humility or upon the good-nature ofthe Protestants. 

A large area was prepared for the display of one of those barbaricpasses of arms in which the rude chivalry of that day delighted. Theinclosure was surrounded by all the polished intellect, rank, andbeauty of France. Charles IX. , with his two brothers and several ofthe Catholic nobility, then appeared upon one side of the arena onnoble war-horses gorgeously caparisoned, and threw down the gauntletof defiance to Henry of Navarre and his Protestant retinue, who, similarly mounted and accoutred, awaited the challenge upon theopposite side. 

The portion of the inclosure in which the Catholics appeared wasdecorated to represent heaven. Birds of Paradise displayed theirgorgeous plumage, and the air was vocal with the melody of trillingsongsters. Beauty displayed its charms arrayed in celestial robes, andambrosial odors lulled the senses in luxurious indulgence. All theresources of wealth and art were lavished to create a vision of thehome of the blessed. 

The Protestants, in the opposite extreme of the arena, were seenemerging from the desolation, the gloom, and the sulphurous canopy ofhell. The two parties, from their antagonistic realms, rushed to theencounter, the fiends of darkness battling with the angels of light. Gradually the Catholics, in accordance with previous arrangements, drove back the Protestants toward their grim abodes, when suddenlynumerous demons appeared rushing from the dungeons of the infernalregions, who, with cloven hoofs, and satanic weapons, and chainsforged in penal fires, seized upon the Protestants and dragged them tothe blackness of darkness from whence they had emerged. Plaudits loudand long greeted this discomfiture of the Protestants by the infernalpowers. 

But suddenly the scene is changed. A winged Cupid appears, therepresentative of the pious and amiable bride Marguerite. The demonsfly in dismay before the irresistible boy. Fearlessly this emissary oflove penetrates the realms of despair. The Protestants, by thisagency, are liberated from their thralldom, and conducted in triumphto the Elysium of the Catholics. A more curious display of regalcourtesy history has not recorded. And this was in Paris!

Immediately after the marriage, the Admiral Coligni was anxious toobtain permission to leave the city. His devout spirit found noenjoyment in the gayeties of the metropolis, and he was deeplydisgusted with the unveiled licentiousness which he witnessed everywhere around him. Day after day, however, impediments were placed inthe way of his departure, and it was not until three days after themarriage festivities that he succeeded in obtaining an audience withCharles. He accompanied Charles to the racket-court, where the youngmonarch was accustomed to spend much of his time, and there biddinghim adieu, left him to his amusements, and took his way on foot towardhis lodgings. 

The Pope, not aware of the treachery which was contemplated, was muchdispleased in view of the apparently friendly relations which had thussuddenly sprung up between the Catholics and the Protestants. He wasexceedingly perplexed by the marriage, and at last sent a legate toexpostulate with the French king. Charles IX. Was exceedinglyembarrassed how to frame a reply. He wished to convince the legate ofhis entire devotion to the Papal Church, and, at the same time, he didnot dare to betray his intentions; for the detection of the conspiracywould not only frustrate all his plans, but would load him withignominy, and vastly augment the power of his enemies. 

"I do devoutly wish, " Charles replied, "that I could tell you all; butyou and the Pope shall soon know how beneficial this marriage shallprove to the interests of religion. Take my word for it, in a littletime the holy father shall have reason to praise my designs, my piety, and my zeal in behalf of the faith. "

CHAPTER IV. 

PREPARATIONS FOR MASSACRE. 

1572

The attempted assassination of Coligni. --Escape of theassassin. --Arrival of Henry. --Christian submission ofColigni. --Indignation of Henry. --Artifice of Catharine andCharles. --Perplexity of the Protestants. --Secret preparations. --Feeblecondition of the Protestants. --The visit. --The secretcouncil. --Preparations to arm the citizens. --Directions for themassacre. --Signals. --Feast at the Louvre. --Embarrassment ofHenry. --The Duke of Lorraine. --His hatred toward the Protestants. --Theassassin's revenge. --Anxiety of the Duchess of Lorraine. --Scene inHenry's chamber. --Rumors of trouble. --Assembling for work. --Alarmin the metropolis. --Inflexibility of Catharine. --The faltering ofCharles. --Nerved for the work. --The knell of death. --"Vive Dieu etle roi!"

As the Admiral Coligni was quietly passing through the streets fromhis interview with Charles at the Louvre to his residence, inpreparation for his departure, accompanied by twelve or fifteen of hispersonal friends, a letter was placed in his hands. He opened it, andbegan to read as he walked slowly along. Just as he was turning acorner of the street, a musket was discharged from the window of anadjoining house, and two balls struck him. One cut off a finger of hisright hand, and the other entered his left arm. The admiral, inured toscenes of danger, manifested not the slightest agitation or alarm. Hecalmly pointed out to his friends the house from which the gun hadbeen discharged, and his attendants rushed forward and broke open thedoor. The assassin, however, escaped through a back window, and, mounting a fleet horse stationed there, and which was subsequentlyproved to have belonged to a nephew of the king, avoided arrest. Itwas clearly proved in the investigations which immediately ensuedthat the assassin was in connivance with some of the most prominentCatholics of the realm. The Duke of Guise and Catharine were clearlyimplicated. 

Messengers were immediately dispatched to inform the king of the crimewhich had been perpetrated. Charles was still playing in thetennis-court. Casting away his racket, he exclaimed, with everyappearance of indignation, "Shall I never be at peace?"

The wounded admiral was conveyed to his lodgings. The surgeons of thecourt, the ministers of the Protestant Church, and the mostillustrious princes and nobles of the admiral's party hastened to thecouch of the sufferer. Henry of Navarre was one of the first thatarrived, and he was deeply moved as he bent over his revered andmuch-loved friend. The intrepid and noble old man seemed perfectlycalm and composed, reposing unfailing trust in God. 

"My friends, " said he, "why do you weep? For myself, I deem it anhonor to have received these wounds for the name of God. Pray him tostrengthen me. "

Henry proceeded from the bedside of the admiral to the Louvre. Hefound Charles and Catharine there, surrounded by many of the noblesof their court. In indignant terms Henry reproached both mother andson with the atrocity of the crime which had been committed, anddemanded immediate permission to retire from Paris, asserting thatneither he nor his friends could any longer remain in the capital insafety. The king and his mother vied with each other in noisy, voluble, and even blasphemous declarations of their utter abhorrenceof the deed; but all the oaths of Charles and all the vociferations ofCatharine did but strengthen the conviction of the Protestants thatthey both were implicated in this plot of assassination. Catharine andCharles, feigning the deepest interest in the fate of their woundedguest, hastened to his sick-chamber with every possible assurance oftheir distress and sympathy. Charles expressed the utmost indignationat the murderous attempt, and declared, with those oaths which arecommon to vulgar minds, that he would take the most terrible vengeanceupon the perpetrators as soon as he could discover them. 

"To discover them can not be difficult, " coolly replied the admiral. 

Henry of Navarre, overwhelmed with indignation and sorrow, wasgreatly alarmed in view of the toils in which he found himself and hisfriends hopelessly involved. The Protestants, who had been thus luredto Paris, unarmed and helpless, were panic-stricken by theseindications of relentless perfidy. They immediately made preparationsto escape from the city. Henry, bewildered by rumors of plots andperils, hesitated whether to retire from the capital with his friendsin a body, taking the admiral with them, or more secretly to endeavorto effect an escape. 

But Catharine and Charles, the moment for action having not quitearrived, were unwearied in their exertions to allay this excitementand soothe these alarms. They became renewedly clamorous in theirexpressions of grief and indignation in view of the assault upon theadmiral. The king placed a strong guard around the house where thewounded nobleman lay, ostensibly for the purpose of protecting himfrom any popular outbreak, but in reality, as it subsequentlyappeared, to guard against his escape through the intervention of hisfriends. He also, with consummate perfidy, urged the Protestants inthe city to occupy quarters near together, that, in case of trouble, they might more easily be protected by him, and might moreeffectually aid one another. His real object, however, was to assemblethem in more convenient proximity for the slaughter to which they weredoomed. The Protestants were in the deepest perplexity. They were notsure but that all their apprehensions were groundless; and yet theyknew not but that in the next hour some fearful battery would beunmasked for their destruction. They were unarmed, unorganized, andunable to make any preparation to meet an unknown danger. Catharine, whose depraved yet imperious spirit was guiding with such consummateduplicity all this enginery of intrigue, hourly administered thestimulus of her own stern will to sustain the faltering purpose of herequally depraved but fickle-minded and imbecile son. 

Some circumstances seem to indicate that Charles was not an accomplicewith his mother in the attempt upon the life of the admiral. She saidto her son, "Notwithstanding all your protestations, the deed willcertainly be laid to your charge. Civil war will again be enkindled. The chiefs of the Protestants are now all in Paris. You had bettergain the victory at once here than incur the hazard of a newcampaign. "

"Well, then, " said Charles, petulantly, "since you approve the murderof the admiral, I am content. But let all the Huguenots also fall, that there may not be one left to reproach me. "

It was on Friday, the 22d of August, that the bullets of the assassinwounded Coligni. The next day Henry called again, with his bride, tovisit his friend, whose finger had been amputated, and who wassuffering extreme pain from the wound in his arm. Marguerite had butfew sympathies with the scenes which are to be witnessed in thechamber of sickness. She did not conceal her impatience, but, after afew commonplace phrases of condolence with her husband's bosom friend, she hastened away, leaving Henry to perform alone the offices offriendly sympathy. 

While the young King of Navarre was thus sitting at the bedside of theadmiral, recounting to him the assurances of faith and honor given byCatharine and her son, the question was then under discussion, insecret council, at the palace, by this very Catharine and Charles, whether Henry, the husband of the daughter of the one and of thesister of the other, should be included with the rest of theProtestants in the massacre which they were plotting. Charlesmanifested some reluctance thus treacherously to take the life of hisearly playmate and friend, his brother-in-law, and his invited guest. It was, after much deliberation, decided to protect him from thegeneral slaughter to which his friends were destined. 

The king sent for some of the leading officers of his troops, andcommanded them immediately, but secretly, to send his agents throughevery section of the city, to arm the Roman Catholic citizens, andassemble them, at midnight, in front of the Hotel de Ville. 

The energetic Duke of Guise, who had acquired much notoriety by thesanguinary spirit with which he had persecuted the Protestants, was totake the lead of the carnage. To prevent mistakes in the confusion ofthe night, he had issued secret orders for all the Catholics "to weara white cross on the hat, and to bind a piece of white cloth aroundthe arm. " In the darkest hour of the night, when all the sentinels ofvigilance and all the powers of resistance should be most effectuallydisarmed by sleep, the alarm-bell, from the tower of the Palace ofJustice, was to toll the signal for the indiscriminate massacre of theProtestants. The bullet and the dagger were to be every whereemployed, and men, women, and children were to be cut down withoutmercy. With a very few individual exceptions, none were to be left toavenge the deed. Large bodies of troops, who hated the Protestantswith that implacable bitterness which the most sanguinary wars of manyyears had engendered, had been called into the city, and they, familiar with deeds of blood, were to commence the slaughter. All goodcitizens were enjoined, as they loved their Savior, to aid in theextermination of the enemies of the Church of Rome. Thus, it wasdeclared, God would be glorified and the best interests of manpromoted. The spirit of the age was in harmony with the act, and itcan not be doubted that there were those who had been so instructed bytheir spiritual guides that they truly believed that by this sacrificethey were doing God service. 

The conspiracy extended throughout all the provinces of France. Thestorm was to burst, at the same moment, upon the unsuspecting victimsin every city and village of the kingdom. Beacon-fires, with theirlurid midnight glare, were to flash the tidings from mountain tomountain. The peal of alarm was to ring along from steeple to steeple, from city to hamlet, from valley to hill-side, till the wholeCatholic population should be aroused to obliterate every vestige ofProtestantism from the land. 

While Catharine and Charles were arranging all the details of thisdeed of infamy, even to the very last moment they maintained with theProtestants the appearance of the most cordial friendship. Theylavished caresses upon the Protestant generals and nobles. The veryday preceding the night when the massacre commenced, the kingentertained, at a sumptuous feast in the Louvre, many of the mostillustrious of the doomed guests. Many of the Protestant nobles werethat night, by the most pressing invitations, detained in the palaceto sleep. Charles appeared in a glow of amiable spirits, and amusedthem, till a late hour, with his pleasantries. 

Henry of Navarre, however, had his suspicions very strongly aroused. Though he did not and could not imagine any thing so dreadful as ageneral massacre, he clearly foresaw that preparations were making forsome very extraordinary event. The entire depravity of both Catharineand Charles he fully understood. But he knew not where the blow wouldfall, and he was extremely perplexed in deciding as to the course heought to pursue. The apartments assigned to him and his bride were inthe palace of the Louvre. It would be so manifestly for his worldlyinterest for him to unite with the Catholic party, especially when heshould see the Protestant cause hopelessly ruined, that the mother andthe brother of his wife had hesitatingly concluded that it would besafe to spare his life. Many of the most conspicuous members of thecourt of Navarre lodged also in the capacious palace, in chamberscontiguous to those which were occupied by their sovereign. 

Marguerite's oldest sister had married the Duke of Lorraine, and herson, the Duke of Guise, an energetic, ambitious, unprincipledprofligate, was one of the most active agents in this conspiracy. Hisillustrious rank, his near relationship with the king--rendering itnot improbable that he might yet inherit the throne--his restlessactivity, and his implacable hatred of the Protestants, gave him themost prominent position as the leader of the Catholic party. He hadoften encountered the Admiral Coligni upon fields of battle, where allthe malignity of the human heart had been aroused, and he had oftenbeen compelled to fly before the strong arm of his powerful adversary. He felt that now the hour of revenge had come, and with an assassin'sdespicable heart he thirsted for the blood of his noble foe. It wasone of his paid agents who fired upon the admiral from the window, and, mounted upon one of the fleetest chargers of the Duke of Guise, the wretch made his escape. 

The conspiracy had been kept a profound secret from Marguerite, lestshe should divulge it to her husband. The Duchess of Lorraine, however, was in all their deliberations, and, fully aware of thedreadful carnage which the night was to witness, she began to feel, asthe hour of midnight approached, very considerable anxiety inreference to the safety of her sister. Conscious guilt magnified herfears; and she was apprehensive lest the Protestants, when they shouldfirst awake to the treachery which surrounded them, would rush to thechamber of their king to protect him, and would wreak their vengeanceupon his Catholic spouse. She did not dare to communicate to hersister the cause of her alarm; and yet, when Marguerite, about 11o'clock, arose to retire, she importuned her sister, even with tears, not to occupy the same apartment with her husband that night, but tosleep in her own private chamber. Catharine sharply reproved theDuchess of Lorraine for her imprudent remonstrances, and bidding theQueen of Navarre good-night, with maternal authority directed her torepair to the room of her husband. She departed to the nuptialchamber, wondering what could be the cause of such an unwonted displayof sisterly solicitude and affection. 

When she entered her room, to her great surprise she found thirty orforty gentlemen assembled there. They were the friends and thesupporters of Henry, who had become alarmed by the mysterious rumorswhich were floating from ear to ear, and by the signs of agitation, and secrecy, and strange preparation which every where met the eye. Noone could imagine what danger was impending. No one knew from whatquarter the storm would burst. But that some very extraordinary eventwas about to transpire was evident to all. It was too late to adoptany precautions for safety. The Protestants, unarmed, unorganized, andwidely dispersed, could now only practice the virtue of heroicfortitude in meeting their doom, whatever that doom might be. Thegentlemen in Henry's chamber did not venture to separate, and not aneye was closed in sleep. They sat together in the deepest perplexityand consternation, as the hours of the night lingered slowly along, anxiously awaiting the developments with which the moments seemed tobe fraught. 

In the mean time, aided by the gloom of a starless night, in everystreet of Paris preparations were going on for the enormousperpetration. Soldiers were assembling in different places ofrendezvous. Guards were stationed at important points in the city, that their victims might not escape. Armed citizens, with loadedmuskets and sabres gleaming in the lamplight, began to emerge, throughthe darkness, from their dwellings, and to gather, in motley andinterminable assemblage, around the Hotel de Ville. A regiment ofguards were stationed at the gates of the royal palace to protectCharles and Catharine from any possibility of danger. Many of thehouses were illuminated, that by the light blazing from the windows, the bullet might be thrown with precision, and that the dagger mightstrike an unerring blow. Agitation and alarm pervaded the vastmetropolis. The Catholics were rejoicing that the hour of vengeancehad arrived. The Protestants gazed upon the portentous gatherings ofthis storm in utter bewilderment. 

All the arrangements of the enterprise were left to the Duke of Guise, and a more efficient and fitting agent could not have been found. Hehad ordered that the tocsin, the signal for the massacre, should betolled at two o'clock in the morning. Catharine and Charles, in one ofthe apartments of the palace of the Louvre, were impatiently awaitingthe lingering flight of the hours till the alarm-bell should tollforth the death-warrant of their Protestant subjects. Catharine, inured to treachery and hardened in vice, was apparently a stranger toall compunctious visitings. A life of crime had steeled her soulagainst every merciful impression. But she was very apprehensive lesther son, less obdurate in purpose, might relent. Though impotent incharacter, he was, at times, petulant and self-willed, and inparoxysms of stubbornness spurned his mother's counsels and exertedhis own despotic power. 

Charles was now in a state of the most feverish excitement. He hastilypaced the room, peering out at the window, and almost every momentlooking at his watch, wishing that the hour would come, and again halfregretting that the plot had been formed. The companions and thefriends of his childhood, the invited guests who, for many weeks, hadbeen his associates in gay festivities, and in the interchange of allkindly words and deeds, were, at his command, before the morningshould dawn, to fall before the bullet and the poniard of the midnightmurderer. His mother witnessed with intense anxiety this wavering ofhis mind. She therefore urged him no longer to delay, but toanticipate the hour, and to send a servant immediately to sound thealarm. 

Charles hesitated, while a cold sweat ran from his forehead. "Are youa coward?" tauntingly inquired the fiendlike mother. This is thecharge which will always make the poltroon squirm. The young kingnervously exclaimed, "Well, then, begin. "

There were in the chamber at the time only the king, his mother, andhis brother the Duke of Anjou. A messenger was immediately dispatchedto strike the bell. It was two hours after midnight. A few moments ofterrible suspense ensued. There was a dead silence, neither of thethree uttering a word. They all stood at the windows looking out intothe rayless night. Suddenly, through the still air, the ponderoustones of the alarm-bell fell upon the ear, and rolled, the knell ofdeath, over the city. Its vibrations awakened the demon in tenthousand hearts. It was the morning of the Sabbath, August 24th, 1572. It was the anniversary of a festival in honor of St. Bartholomew, which had long been celebrated. At the sound of the tocsin, the signalfor the massacre, armed men rushed from every door into the streets, shouting, "_Vive Dieu et le roi!_"--_Live God and the king!_

CHAPTER V. 

MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. 

1572

The commencement of the massacre. --The house forced. --Flight of theservants. --Death of Admiral Coligni. --Brutality. --Fate of the Dukeof Guise. --Excitement of the Parisians. --Fiendish spirit ofCharles. --Fugitives butchered. --Terror of Marguerite. --Flight ofMarguerite. --Terrors of the night. --Remarkable escape ofMaximilian. --Efforts to save his life. --The disguise. --Scene in thestreet. --The talisman. --Arrival at the college. --His protection. --Henrytaken before the king. --He yields. --Paris on the Sabbathfollowing. --Encouragement by the priests. --The massacrecontinued. --Exultation of the Catholics. --Triumphal procession. --Extentof the massacre. --Magnanimity of Catholic officers. --The Bishopof Lisieux. --Noble replies to the king's decree. --The higherlaw. --Attempted justification. --Punishment of Coligni. --Valorof the survivors. --Pledges of aid. --Prophecy of Knox. --Apologyof the court. --Opinions of the courts of Europe. --Rejoicings atRome. --Atrocity of the deed. --Results of the massacre. --Retribution. 

As the solemn dirge from the steeple rang out upon the night air, theking stood at the window of the palace trembling in every nerve. Hardly had the first tones of the alarm-bell fallen upon his ear whenthe report of a musket was heard, and the first victim fell. The soundseemed to animate to frenzy the demoniac Catharine, while it almostfroze the blood in the veins of the young monarch, and he passionatelycalled out for the massacre to be stopped. It was too late. The trainwas fired, and could not be extinguished. The signal passed with therapidity of sound from steeple to steeple, till not only Paris, butentire France, was roused. The roar of human passion, the cracklingfire of musketry, and the shrieks of the wounded and the dying, roseand blended in one fearful din throughout the whole metropolis. Guns, pistols, daggers, were every where busy. Old men, terrified maidens, helpless infants, venerable matrons, were alike smitten, and mercyhad no appeal which could touch the heart of the murderers. 

The wounded Admiral Coligni was lying helpless upon his bed, surrounded by a few personal friends, as the uproar of the risingstorm of human violence and rage rolled in upon their ears. The Dukeof Guise, with three hundred soldiers, hastened to the lodgings of theadmiral. The gates were immediately knocked down, and the sentinelsstabbed. A servant, greatly terrified, rushed into the inner apartmentwhere the wounded admiral was lying, and exclaimed, "The house is forced, and there is no means of resisting. "

"I have long since, " said the admiral, calmly, "prepared myself todie. Save yourselves, my friends, if you can, for you can not defendmy life. I commend my soul to the mercy of God. "

The companions of the admiral, having no possible means of protection, and perhaps adding to his peril by their presence, immediately fled toother apartments of the house. They were pursued and stabbed. Threeleaped from the windows and were shot in the streets. 

Coligni, left alone in his apartment, rose with difficulty from hisbed, and, being unable to stand, leaned for support against the wall. A desperado by the name of Breme, a follower of the Duke of Guise, with a congenial band of accomplices, rushed into the room. They saw avenerable man, pale, and with bandaged wounds, in his night-dress, engaged in prayer. 

"Art thou the admiral?" demanded the assassin, with brandished sword. 

"I am, " replied the admiral; "and thou, young man, shouldst respect mygray hairs. Nevertheless, thou canst abridge my life but a little. "

Breme plunged his sword into his bosom, and then withdrawing it, gavehim a cut upon the head. The admiral fell, calmly saying, "If I couldbut die by the hand of a gentleman instead of such a knave as this!"The rest of the assassins then rushed upon him, piercing his body withtheir daggers. 

The Duke of Guise, ashamed himself to meet the eye of this noblevictim to the basest treachery, remained impatiently in the court-yardbelow. 

"Breme!" he shouted, looking up at the window, "have you done it?"

"Yes, " Breme exclaimed from the chamber, "he is done for. "

"Let us see, though, " rejoined the duke. "Throw the body from thewindow. "

The mangled corpse was immediately thrown down upon the pavement ofthe court-yard. The duke, with his handkerchief, wiped the blood andthe dirt from his face, and carefully scrutinized the features. 

"Yes, " said he, "I recognize him. He is the man. "

Then giving the pallid cheek a kick, he exclaimed, "Courage, comrades!we have happily begun. Let us now go for others. The king commandsit. "

In sixteen years from this event the Duke of Guise was himselfassassinated, and received a kick in the face from Henry III. , brotherof the same king in whose service he had drawn the dagger of themurderer. Thus died the Admiral Coligni, one of the noblest sons ofFrance. Though but fifty-six years of age, he was prematurely infirmfrom care, and toil, and suffering. 

For three days the body was exposed to the insults of the populace, and finally was hung up by the feet on a gibbet. A cousin of Colignisecretly caused it to be taken down and buried. 

The tiger, having once lapped his tongue in blood, seems to be imbuedwith a new spirit of ferocity. There is in man a similar temper, whichis roused and stimulated by carnage. The excitement of human slaughterconverts man into a demon. The riotous multitude of Parisians wasbecoming each moment more and more clamorous for blood. They brokeopen the houses of the Protestants, and, rushing into their chambers, murdered indiscriminately both sexes and every age. The streetsresounded with the shouts of the assassins and the shrieks of theirvictims. Cries of "Kill! kill! more blood!" rent the air. The bodiesof the slain were thrown out of the windows into the streets, and thepavements of the city were clotted with human gore. 

Charles, who was overwhelmed with such compunctions of conscience whenhe heard the first shot, and beheld from his window the commencementof the butchery, soon recovered from his momentary wavering, and, conscious that it was too late to draw back, with fiendlike eagernessengaged himself in the work of death. The monarch, when a boy, hadbeen noted for his sanguinary spirit, delighting with his own hand toperform the revolting acts of the slaughter-house. Perfect fury seemednow to take possession of him. His cheeks were flushed, his lipscompressed, his eyes glared with frenzy. Bending eagerly from hiswindow, he shouted words of encouragement to the assassins. Grasping agun, in the handling of which he had become very skillful from longpractice in the chase, he watched, like a sportsman, for his prey; andwhen he saw an unfortunate Protestant, wounded and bleeding, flyingfrom his pursuers, he would take deliberate aim from the window of hispalace, and shout with exultation as he saw him fall, pierced by hisbullet. A crowd of fugitives rushed into the court-yard of the Louvreto throw themselves upon the protection of the king. Charles sent hisown body-guard into the yard, with guns and daggers, to butcher themall, and the pavements of the palace-yard were drenched with theirblood. 

[Illustration: THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. ]

Just before the carnage commenced, Marguerite, weary with excitementand the agitating conversation to which she had so long beenlistening, retired to her private apartment for sleep. She had hardlyclosed her eyes when the fearful outcries of the pursuers and thepursued filled the palace. She sprang up in her bed, and heard someone struggling at the door, and shrieking "Navarre! Navarre!" In aparoxysm of terror, she ordered an attendant to open the door. Oneof her husband's retinue instantly rushed in, covered with wounds andblood, pursued by four soldiers of her brother's guard. The captain ofthe guard entered at the same moment, and, at the earnest entreaty ofthe princess, spared her the anguish of seeing the friend of herhusband murdered before her eyes. 

Marguerite, half delirious with bewilderment and terror, fled from herroom to seek the apartment of her sister. The palace was filled withuproar, the shouts of the assassins and the shrieks of their victimsblending in awful confusion. As she was rushing through the hall, sheencountered another Protestant gentleman flying before the drippingsword of his pursuer. He was covered with blood, flowing from the manywounds he had already received. Just as he reached the young Queen ofNavarre, his pursuer overtook him and plunged a sword through hisbody. He fell dead at her feet. 

No tongue can tell the horrors of that night. It would require volumesto record the frightful scenes which were enacted before the morningdawned. Among the most remarkable escapes we may mention that of a ladwhose name afterward attained much celebrity. The Baron de Rosny, aProtestant lord of great influence and worth, had accompanied his sonMaximilian, a very intelligent and spirited boy, about eleven years ofage, to Paris, to attend the nuptials of the King of Navarre. Thisyoung prince, Maximilian, afterward the world-renowned Duke of Sully, had previously been prosecuting his studies in the College ofBurgundy, in the metropolis, and had become a very great favorite ofthe warm-hearted King of Navarre. His father had come to Paris withgreat reluctance, for he had no confidence in the protestations ofCatharine and Charles IX. Immediately after the attempt was made toassassinate the admiral, the Baron de Rosny, with many of his friends, left the city, intrusting his son to the care of a private tutor and avalet de chambre. He occupied lodgings in a remote quarter of the cityand near the colleges. 

Young Maximilian was asleep in his room, when, a little aftermidnight, he was aroused by the ringing of the alarm-bells, and theconfused cries of the populace. His tutor and valet de chambre sprangfrom their beds, and hurried out to ascertain the cause of the tumult. They did not, however, return, for they had hardly reached the doorwhen they were shot down. Maximilian, in great bewilderment respectingtheir continued absence, and the dreadful clamor continuallyincreasing, was hurriedly dressing himself, when his landlord came in, pale and trembling, and informed him of the massacre which was goingon, and that he had saved his own life only by the avowal of his faithin the Catholic religion. He earnestly urged Maximilian to do thesame. The young prince magnanimously resolved not to save his life byfalsehood and apostasy. He determined to attempt, in the darkness andconfusion of the night, to gain the College of Burgundy, where hehoped to find some Catholic friends who would protect him. 

The distance of the college from the house in which he was renderedthe undertaking desperately perilous. Having disguised himself in thedress of a Roman Catholic priest, he took a large prayer-book underhis arm, and tremblingly issued forth into the streets. The sightswhich met his eye in the gloom of that awful night were enough toappal the stoutest heart. The murderers, frantic with excitement andintoxication, were uttering wild outcries, and pursuing, in everydirection, their terrified victims. Women and children, in theirnight-clothes, having just sprung in terror from their beds, wereflying from their pursuers, covered with wounds, and uttering fearfulshrieks. The mangled bodies of the young and of the old, of males andfemales, were strewn along the streets, and the pavements wereslippery with blood. Loud and dreadful outcries were heard from theinterior of the dwellings as the work of midnight assassinationproceeded; and struggles of desperate violence were witnessed, as themurderers attempted to throw their bleeding and dying victims from thehigh windows of chambers and attics upon the pavements below. Theshouts of the assailants, the shrieks of the wounded, as blow afterblow fell upon them, the incessant reports of muskets and pistols, thetramp of soldiers, and the peals of the alarm-bell, all combined tocreate a scene of terror such as human eyes have seldom witnessed. Inthe midst of ten thousand perils, the young man crept along, protectedby his priestly garb, while he frequently saw his fellow-Christiansshot and stabbed at his very side. 

Suddenly, in turning a corner, he fell into the midst of a band of thebody-guard of the king, whose swords were dripping with blood. Theyseized him with great roughness, when, seeing the Catholicprayer-book which was in his hands, they considered it a safepassport, and permitted him to continue on his way uninjured. Twiceagain he encountered similar peril, as he was seized by bands ofinfuriated men, and each time he was extricated in the same way. 

At length he arrived at the College of Burgundy; and now his dangerincreased tenfold. It was a Catholic college. The porter at the gateabsolutely refused him admittance. The murderers began to multiply inthe street around him with fierce and threatening questions. Maximilian at length, by inquiring for La Faye, the president of thecollege, and by placing a bribe in the hands of the porter, succeededin obtaining entrance. La Faye was a humane man, and exceedinglyattached to his Protestant pupil. Maximilian entered the apartment ofthe president, and found there two Catholic priests. The priests, assoon as they saw him, insisted upon cutting him down, declaring thatthe king had commanded that not even the infant at the breast shouldbe spared. The good old man, however, firmly resolved to protect hisyoung friend, and, conducting him privately to a secure chamber, locked him up. Here he remained three days in the greatest suspense, apprehensive every hour that the assassins would break in upon him. Afaithful servant of the president brought him food, but could tell himof nothing but deeds of treachery and blood. At the end of three days, the heroic boy, who afterward attained great celebrity as the ministerand bosom friend of Henry, was released and protected. 

The morning of St. Bartholomew's day had not dawned when a band ofsoldiers entered the chamber of Henry of Navarre and conveyed him tothe presence of the king. Frenzied with the excitements of the scene, the imbecile but passionate monarch received him with a countenanceinflamed with fury. With blasphemous oaths and imprecations, hecommanded the King of Navarre, as he valued his life, to abandon areligion which Charles affirmed that the Protestants had assumed onlyas a cloak for their rebellion. With violent gesticulations andthreats, he declared that he would no longer submit to be contradictedby his subjects, but that they should revere him as the image of God. Henry, who was a Protestant from considerations of state policy ratherthan from Christian principle, and who saw in the conflict merely astrife between two political parties, ingloriously yielded to thatnecessity by which alone he could save his life. Charles gave himthree days to deliberate, declaring, with a violent oath, that if, atthe end of that time, he did not yield to his commands, he would causehim to be strangled. Henry yielded. He not only went to mass himself, but submitted to the degradation of sending an edict to his owndominions, prohibiting the exercise of any religion except that ofRome. This indecision was a serious blot upon his character. Energeticand decisive as he was in all his measures of government, hisreligious convictions were ever feeble and wavering. 

When the darkness of night passed away and the morning of the Sabbathdawned upon Paris, a spectacle was witnessed such as the streets evenof that blood-renowned metropolis have seldom presented. The citystill resounded with that most awful of all tumults, the clamor of aninfuriated mob. The pavements were covered with gory corpses. Men, women, and children were still flying in every direction, wounded andbleeding, pursued by merciless assassins, riotous with demoniaclaughter and drunk with blood. The report of guns and pistols washeard in all parts of the city, sometimes in continuous volleys, as ifplatoons of soldiers were firing upon their victims, while thescattered shots, incessantly repeated in every section of the extendedmetropolis, proved the universality of the massacre. Drunken wretches, besmeared with blood, were swaggering along the streets, with ribaldjests and demoniac howlings, hunting for the Protestants. Bodies, tornand gory, were hanging from the windows, and dissevered heads werespurned like footballs along the pavements. Priests were seen in theirsacerdotal robes, with elevated crucifixes, and with fanaticalexclamations encouraging the murderers not to grow weary in their holywork of exterminating God's enemies. The most distinguished nobles andgenerals of the court and the camp of Charles, mounted on horsebackwith gorgeous retinue, rode through the streets, encouraging by voiceand arm the indiscriminate massacre. 

"Let not, " the king proclaimed, "one single Protestant be spared toreproach me hereafter with this deed. "

For a whole week the massacre continued, and it was computed that fromeighty to a hundred thousand Protestants were slain throughout thekingdom. 

Charles himself, with Catharine and the highborn but profligate ladieswho disgraced her court, emerged with the morning light, in splendidarray, into the reeking streets. The ladies contemplated withmerriment and ribald jests the dead bodies of the Protestants piled upbefore the Louvre. Some of the retinue, appalled by the horridspectacle, wished to retire, alleging that the bodies already emitteda putrid odor. Charles inhumanly replied, "The smell of a dead enemyis always pleasant. "

On Thursday, after four days spent in hunting out the fugitivesand finishing the bloody work, the clergy paraded the streetsin a triumphal procession, and with jubilant prayers and hymns gavethanks to God for their great victory. The Catholic pulpits resoundedwith exultant harangues, and in honor of the event a medallionwas struck off, with the inscription "_La piété a reveille lajustice_"--_Religion has awakened justice_. 

In the distant provinces of France the massacre was continued, as theProtestants were hunted from all their hiding-places. In somedepartments, as in Santonge and Lower Languedoc, the Protestants wereso numerous that the Catholics did not venture to attack them. Insome other provinces they were so few that the Catholics had nothingwhatever to fear from them, and therefore spared them; and in thesparsely-settled rural districts the peasants refused to imbrue theirhands in the blood of their neighbors. Many thousand Protestantsthroughout the kingdom in these ways escaped. 

But in nearly all the populous towns, where the Catholic populationpredominated, the massacre was universal and indiscriminate. In Meaux, four hundred houses of Protestants were pillaged and devastated, andthe inmates, without regard to age or sex, utterly exterminated. AtOrleans there were three thousand Protestants. A troop of armedhorsemen rode furiously through the streets, shouting, "Courage, boys!kill all, and then you shall divide their property. " At Rouen, many ofthe Protestants, at the first alarm, fled. The rest were arrested andthrown into prison. They were then brought out one by one, anddeliberately murdered. Six hundred were thus slain. Such were thescenes which were enacted in Toulouse, Bordeaux, Bourges, Angers, Lyons, and scores of other cities in France. It is impossible toascertain with precision the number of victims. The Duke of Sullyestimates them at seventy thousand; the Bishop Péréfixe at onehundred thousand. This latter estimate is probably not exaggerated, ifwe include the unhappy fugitives, who, fleeing from their homes, diedof cold, hunger, and fatigue, and all the other nameless woes whichaccrued from this great calamity. 

In the midst of these scenes of horror it is pleasant to recordseveral instances of generous humanity. In the barbarism of thosetimes dueling was a common practice. A Catholic officer by the name ofVessins, one of the most fierce and irritable men in France, had aprivate quarrel with a Protestant officer whose name was Regnier. Theyhad mutually sought each other in Paris to obtain such satisfaction asa duel could afford. In the midst of the massacre, Regnier, while atprayers with his servant (for in those days dueling and praying werenot deemed inconsistent), heard the door of his room broken open, and, looking round in expectation of instant death, saw his foe Vessinsenter breathless with excitement and haste. Regnier, conscious thatall resistance would be unavailing, calmly bared his bosom to hisenemy, exclaiming, "You will have an easy victory. "

Vessins made no reply, but ordered the valet to seek his master'scloak and sword. Then leading him into the street, he mounted him upona powerful horse, and with fifteen armed men escorted him out of thecity. Not a word was exchanged between them. When they arrived at alittle grove at a short distance from the residence of the Protestantgentleman, Vessins presented him with his sword, and bade him dismountand defend himself, saying, "Do not imagine that I seek your friendship by what I have done. All Iwish is to take your life honorably. "

Regnier threw away his sword, saying, "I will never strike at one whohas saved my life. "

"Very well!" Vessins replied, and left him, making him a present ofthe horse on which he rode. 

Though the commands which the king sent to the various provinces ofFrance for the massacre were very generally obeyed, there wereexamples of distinguished virtue, in which Catholics of high rank notonly refused to imbrue their own hands in blood, but periled theirlives to protect the Protestants. The Bishop of Lisieux, in theexercise of true Christian charity, saved all the Protestants in thetown over which he presided. The Governor of Auvergne replied to thesecret letter of the king in the following words:

 "Sire, I have received an order, under your majesty's seal, to put all the Protestants of this province to death, and if, which God forbid, the order be genuine, I respect your majesty still too much to obey you. "

The king had sent a similar order to the commandant at Bayonne, theViscount of Orthez. The following noble words were returned in reply:

 "Sire, I have communicated the commands of your majesty to the inhabitants of the town and to the soldiers of the garrison, and I have found good citizens and brave soldiers, _but not one executioner_; on which account, they and I humbly beseech you to employ our arms and our lives in enterprises in which we can conscientiously engage. However perilous they may be, we will willingly shed therein the last drop of our blood. "

Both of these noble-minded men soon after very suddenly andmysteriously died. Few entertained a doubt that poison had beenadministered by the order of Charles. 

The _law_ of France required that these Protestants should be huntedto death. This was _the law_ promulgated by the king and sent by hisown letters missive to the appointed officers of the crown. 

But there is--_there is_ a HIGHER LAW than that of kings and courts. Nobly these majestic men rendered to it their allegiance. They sealedtheir fidelity to this HIGHER LAW with their blood. They were martyrs, not fanatics. 

On the third day of the massacre the king assembled the Parliament inParis, and made a public avowal of the part he had taken in thisfearful tragedy, and of the reasons which had influenced him to thedeed. Though he hoped to silence all Protestant tongues in his ownrealms in death, he knew that the tale would be told throughout allEurope. He therefore stated, in justification of the act, that he had, "as if by a miracle, " discovered that the Protestants were engaged ina conspiracy against his own life and that of all of his family. 

This charge, however, uttered for the moment, was speedily dropped andforgotten. There was not the slightest evidence of such a design. 

The Parliament, to give a little semblance of justice to the king'saccusation, sat in judgment upon the memory of the noble Coligni. Theysentenced him to be hung in effigy; ordered his arms to be dragged atthe heels of a horse through all the principal towns of France; hismagnificent castle of Chatillon to be razed to its foundations, andnever to be rebuilt; his fertile acres, in the culture of which he hadfound his chief delight, to be desolated and sown with salt; hisportraits and statues, wherever found, to be destroyed; his childrento lose their title of nobility; all his goods and estates to beconfiscated to the use of the crown, and a monument of durable marbleto be raised, upon which this sentence of the court should beengraved, to transmit to all posterity his alleged infamy. Thus waspunished on earth one of the noblest servants both of God and man. Butthere is a day of final judgment yet to come. The oppressor has buthis brief hour. There is eternity to right the oppressed. 

Notwithstanding this general and awful massacre, the Protestants werefar from being exterminated. Several nobles, surrounded by theirretainers in their distant castles, suspicious of treachery, hadrefused to go to Paris to attend the wedding of Henry and Marguerite. Others who had gone to Paris, alarmed by the attack upon AdmiralColigni, immediately retired to their homes. Some concealed themselvesin garrets, cellars, and wells until the massacre was over. As hasbeen stated, in some towns the governors refused to engage in themerciless butchery, and in others the Protestants had the majority, and with their own arms could defend themselves within the walls whichtheir own troops garrisoned. 

Though, in the first panic caused by the dreadful slaughter, theProtestants made no resistance, but either surrendered themselvessubmissively to the sword of the assassin, or sought safety inconcealment or flight, soon indignation took the place of fear. Thosewho had fled from the kingdom to Protestant states rallied together. The survivors in France began to count their numbers and marshal theirforces for self-preservation. From every part of Protestant Europe acry of horror and execration simultaneously arose in view of thiscrime of unparalleled enormity. In many places the Catholicsthemselves seemed appalled in contemplation of the deed they hadperpetrated. Words of sympathy were sent to these martyrs to a purefaith from many of the Protestant kingdoms, with pledges of determinedand efficient aid. The Protestants rapidly gained courage. From allthe country, they flocked into those walled towns which stillremained in their power. 

As the fugitives from France, emaciate, pale, and woe-stricken, withtattered and dusty garb, recited in England, Switzerland, and Germanythe horrid story of the massacre, the hearts of their auditors werefrozen with horror. In Geneva a day of fasting and prayer wasinstituted, which is observed even to the present day. In Scotlandevery church resounded with the thrilling tale; and Knox, whoseinflexible spirit was nerved for those iron times, exclaimed, inlanguage of prophetic nerve, "Sentence has gone forth against that murderer, the King of France, and the vengeance of God will never be withdrawn from his house. Hisname shall be held in everlasting execration. "

The French court, alarmed by the indignation it had aroused, sent anembassador to London with a poor apology for the crime, by pretendingthat the Protestants had conspired against the life of the king. Theembassador was received in the court of the queen with appallingcoldness and gloom. Arrangements were made to invest the occasion withthe most impressive solemnity. The court was shrouded in mourning, and all the lords and ladies appeared in sable weeds. A stern andsombre sadness was upon every countenance. The embassador, overwhelmedby his reception, was overheard to exclaim to himself, in bitternessof heart, "I am ashamed to acknowledge myself a Frenchman. "

He entered, however, the presence of the queen, passed through thelong line of silent courtiers, who refused to salute him, or even tohonor him with a look, stammered out his miserable apology, and, receiving no response, retired covered with confusion. Elizabeth, wethank thee! This one noble deed atones for many of thy crimes. 

Very different was the reception of these tidings in the court ofRome. The messenger who carried the news was received with transportsof joy, and was rewarded with a thousand pieces of gold. Cannons werefired, bells rung, and an immense procession, with all the trappingsof sacerdotal rejoicing, paraded the streets. Anthems were chanted andthanksgivings were solemnly offered for the great victory over theenemies of the Church. A gold medal was struck off to commemorate theevent; and Charles IX. And Catharine were pronounced, by theinfallible word of his holiness, to be the especial favorites of God. Spain and the Netherlands united with Rome in these infamousexultations. Philip II. Wrote from Madrid to Catharine, "These tidings are the greatest and the most glorious I could have received. "

Such was the awful massacre of St. Bartholomew. When contemplated inall its aspects of perfidy, cruelty, and cowardice, it must bepronounced the greatest crime recorded in history. The victims wereinvited under the guise of friendship to Paris. They were receivedwith solemn oaths of peace and protection. The leading men in thenation placed the dagger in the hands of an ignorant and degradedpeople. The priests, professed ministers of Jesus Christ, stimulatedthe benighted multitude by all the appeals of fanaticism toexterminate those whom they denounced as the enemies of God and man. After the great atrocity was perpetrated, princes and priests, withblood-stained hands, flocked to the altars of God, our common Father, to thank him that the massacre had been accomplished. 

The annals of the world are filled with narratives of crime and woe, but the Massacre of St. Bartholomew stands perhaps without a parallel. 

It has been said, "The blood of the martyrs is the seed of theChurch. " This is only true with exceptions. Protestantism in Francehas never recovered from this blow. But for this massacre one half ofthe nobles of France would have continued Protestant. The Reformerswould have constituted so large a portion of the population thatmutual toleration would have been necessary. Henry IV. Would not haveabjured the Protestant faith. Intelligence would have been diffused;religion would have been respected; and in all probability, thehorrors of the French Revolution would have been averted. 

God is an avenger. In the mysterious government which he wields, mysterious only to our feeble vision, he "visits the iniquities of thefathers upon the children, even unto the third and fourth generation. "As we see the priests of Paris and of France, during the awful tragedyof the Revolution, massacred in the prisons, shot in the streets, hungupon the lamp-posts, and driven in starvation and woe from thekingdom, we can not but remember the day of St. Bartholomew. The 24thof August, 1572, and the 2d of September, 1792, though far apart inthe records of time, are consecutive days in the government of God. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE HOUSES OF VALOIS, OF GUISE, AND OF BOURBON. 

Illustrious French families. --The house of Valois. --Early conditionof France. --Clovis. --The Carlovingian dynasty. --Capet andPhilip. --Decay of the house of Valois. --House of Guise. --The dukedomof Lorraine. --Claude of Lorraine. --Marriage of the Count ofGuise. --Francis I. --The suggestion and its results. --Bravery ofthe duke. --His prominence. --Days of war. --The bloody rout. --Scenefrom the castle. --Claude the Butcher. --The Cardinal of Lorraine. --Thereprimand. --Duke of Mayence. --The family of Guise. --Henry theEighth. --Death of Claude. --Francis, Duke of Guise. --The dreadfulwound. --Le Balafré. --Interview with the king. --Jealousy ofthe king. --Arrogance of the Guises. --Power of the house ofGuise. --Appointment of Francis. --Thralldom of Henry II. --Mary, Queenof Scots. --Francis II. --Troubles between the Protestants andCatholics. --Admiral Coligni. --Antoinette. --Massacre by the Duke ofGuise. --The Butcher of Vassy. --Remonstrance to the queen. --Magnanimityof the Duke of Guise. --Religious wars. --Assassination of the Duke ofGuise. --Death of the duke. --Jean Poltrot. --Anecdote. --Prediction ofFrancis. --Enthusiasm of the populace. --The house of Bourbon. --Thehouses united. 

At this time, in France, there were three illustrious and rivalfamilies, prominent above all others. Their origin was lost in theremoteness of antiquity. Their renown had been accumulating for manygenerations, through rank, and wealth, and power, and deeds of heroicand semi-barbarian daring. As these three families are so blended inall the struggles of this most warlike period, it is important to givea brief history of their origin and condition. 

1. _The House of Valois. _ More than a thousand years before the birthof Christ, we get dim glimpses of France, or, as it was then called, Gaul. It was peopled by a barbarian race, divided into petty tribes orclans, each with its chieftain, and each possessing undefined andsometimes almost unlimited power. Age after age rolled on, duringwhich generations came and went like ocean billows, and all Gaul wasbut a continued battle-field. The history of each individual of itscountless millions seems to have been, that he was born, killed asmany of his fellow-creatures as he could, and then, having acquiredthus much of glory, died. 

About fifty years before the birth of Christ, Cæsar, with hisconquering hosts, swept through the whole country, causing its riversto run red with blood, until the subjugated Gauls submitted to Romansway. In the decay of the Roman empire, about four hundred years afterChrist, the Franks, from Germany, a barbarian horde as ferocious aswolves, penetrated the northern portion of Gaul, and, obtainingpermanent settlement there, gave the whole country the name of France. Clovis was the chieftain of this warlike tribe. In the course of a fewyears, France was threatened with another invasion by combined hordesof barbarians from the north. The chiefs of the several independenttribes in France found it necessary to unite to repel the foe. Theychose Clovis as their leader. This was the origin of the Frenchmonarchy. He was but little elevated above the surrounding chieftains, but by intrigue and power perpetuated his supremacy. For about threehundred years the family of Clovis retained its precarious andoft-contested elevation. At last, this line, enervated by luxury, became extinct, and another family obtained the throne. This newdynasty, under Pepin, was called the Carlovingian. The crown descendedgenerally from father to son for about two hundred years, when thelast of the race was poisoned by his wife. This family has beenrendered very illustrious, both by Pepin and by his son, the stillmore widely renowned Charlemagne. 

Hugh Capet then succeeded in grasping the sceptre, and for threehundred years the Capets held at bay the powerful chieftains whoalternately assailed and defended the throne. Thirteen hundred yearsafter Christ, the last of the Capets was borne to his tomb, and thefeudal lords gave the pre-eminence to Philip of Valois. For about twohundred years the house of Valois had reigned. At the period of whichwe treat in this history, luxury and vice had brought the family nearto extinction. 

Charles IX. , who now occupied the throne under the rigorous rule ofhis infamous mother, was feeble in body and still more feeble in mind. He had no child, and there was no probability that he would ever beblessed with an heir. His exhausted constitution indicated that apremature death was his inevitable destiny. His brother Henry, whohad been elected King of Poland, would then succeed to the throne; buthe had still less of manly character than Charles. An early death washis unquestioned doom. At his death, if childless, the house of Valoiswould become extinct. Who then should grasp the rich prize of thesceptre of France? The house of Guise and the house of Bourbon wererivals for this honor, and were mustering their strength and arrayingtheir forces for the anticipated conflict. Each family could bringsuch vast influences into the struggle that no one could imagine inwhose favor victory would decide. Such was the condition of the houseof Valois in France in the year 1592. 

2. Let us now turn to the house of Guise. No tale of fiction canpresent a more fascinating collection of romantic enterprises and ofwild adventures than must be recorded by the truthful historian of thehouse of Guise. On the western banks of the Rhine, between that riverand the Meuse, there was the dukedom of Lorraine. It was a state of noinconsiderable wealth and power, extending over a territory of aboutten thousand square miles, and containing a million and a half ofinhabitants. Rene II. , Duke of Lorraine, was a man of great renown, and in all the pride and pomp of feudal power he energeticallygoverned his little realm. His body was scarred with the wounds he hadreceived in innumerable battles, and he was ever ready to head hisarmy of fifty thousand men, to punish any of the feudal lords aroundhim who trespassed upon his rights. 

The wealthy old duke owned large possessions in Normandy, Picardy, andvarious other of the French provinces. He had a large family. Hisfifth son, Claude, was a proud-spirited boy of sixteen. Rene sent thislad to France, and endowed him with all the fertile acres, and thecastles, and the feudal rights which, in France, pertained to thenoble house of Lorraine. Young Claude of Lorraine was presented at thecourt of St. Cloud as the Count of Guise, a title derived from one ofhis domains. His illustrious rank, his manly beauty, his princelybearing, his energetic mind, and brilliant talents, immediately gavehim great prominence among the glittering throng of courtiers. LouisXII. Was much delighted with the young count, and wished to attach thepowerful and attractive stranger to his own house by an alliance withhis daughter. The heart of the proud boy was, however, captivated byanother beauty who embellished the court of the monarch, and, turningfrom the princess royal, he sought the hand of Antoinette, anexceedingly beautiful maiden of about his own age, a daughter of thehouse of Bourbon. The wedding of this young pair was celebrated withgreat magnificence in Paris, in the presence of the whole Frenchcourt. Claude was then but sixteen years of age. 

A few days after this event the infirm old king espoused the young andbeautiful sister of Henry VIII. Of England. The Count of Guise washonored with the commission of proceeding to Boulogne with severalprinces of the blood to receive the royal bride. Louis soon died, andhis son, Francis I. , ascended the throne. Claude was, by marriage, hiscousin. He could bring all the influence of the proud house of Bourbonand the powerful house of Lorraine in support of the king. His ownenergetic, fearless, war-loving spirit invested him with great powerin those barbarous days of violence and blood. Francis received hisyoung cousin into high favor. Claude was, indeed, a young man of veryrare accomplishments. His prowess in the jousts and tournaments, thenso common, and his grace and magnificence in the drawing-room, rendered him an object of universal admiration. 

One night Claude accompanied Francis I. To the queen's circle. She hadgathered around her the most brilliant beauty of her realm. In thosedays woman occupied a very inferior position in society, and seldommade her appearance in the general assemblages of men. The gallantyoung count was fascinated with the amiability and charms of thosedistinguished ladies, and suggested to the king the expediency ofbreaking over the restraints which long usage had imposed, andembellishing his court with the attractions of female society andconversation. The king immediately adopted the welcome suggestion, anddecided that, throughout the whole realm, women should be freed fromthe unjust restraint to which they had so long been subject. Guise hadalready gained the good-will of the nobility and of the army, and henow became a universal favorite with the ladies, and was thus the mostpopular man in France. Francis I. Was at this time making preparationsfor the invasion of Italy, and the Count of Guise, though but eighteenyears of age, was appointed commander-in-chief of a division of thearmy consisting of twenty thousand men. 

In all the perils of the bloody battles which soon ensued, hedisplayed that utter recklessness of danger which had been thedistinguishing trait of his ancestors. In the first battle, whendiscomfiture and flight were spreading through his ranks, the proudcount refused to retire one step before his foes. He was surrounded, overmatched, his horse killed from under him, and he fell, coveredwith twenty-two wounds, in the midst of the piles of mangled bodieswhich strewed the ground. He was afterward dragged from among thedead, insensible and apparently lifeless, and conveyed to his tent, where his vigorous constitution, and that energetic vitality whichseemed to characterize his race, triumphed over wounds whose severityrendered their cure almost miraculous. 

Francis I. , in his report of the battle, extolled in the most glowingterms the prodigies of valor which Guise had displayed. War, desolating war, still ravaged wretched Europe, and Guise, with hisuntiring energy, became so prominent in the court and the camp that hewas regarded rather as an ally of the King of France than as hissubject. His enormous fortune, his ancestral renown, the vastpolitical and military influences which were at his command, made himalmost equal to the monarch whom he served. Francis lavished honorsupon him, converted one of his counties into a dukedom, and, as _duke_of Guise, young Claude of Lorraine had now attained the highestposition which a subject could occupy. 

Years of conflagration, carnage, and woe rolled over war-delugedEurope, during which all the energies of the human race seemed to beexpended in destruction; and in almost every scene of smoulderingcities, of ravaged valleys, of battle-fields rendered hideous with theshouts of onset and shrieks of despair, we see the apparition of thestalwart frame of Guise, scarred, and war-worn, and blackened with thesmoke and dust of the fray, riding upon his proud charger, whereverperil was most imminent, as if his body were made of iron. 

At one time he drove before him, in most bloody rout, a numerous armyof Germans. The fugitives, spreading over leagues of country, fled byhis own strong castle of Neufchâteau. Antoinette and the ladies of hercourt stood upon the battlements of the castle, gazing upon the scene, to them so new and to them so pleasantly exciting. As they saw thecharges of the cavalry trampling the dead and the dying beneath theirfeet, as they witnessed all the horrors of that most horrible scenewhich earth can present--a victorious army cutting to pieces itsflying foes, with shouts of applause they animated the ardor of thevictors. The once fair-faced boy had now become a veteran. His bronzedcheek and sinewy frame attested his life of hardship and toil. Thenobles were jealous of his power. The king was annoyed by his haughtybearing; but he was the idol of the people. In one campaign he causedthe death of forty thousand Protestants, for he was the devotedservant of mother Church. _Claude the Butcher_ was the notinappropriate name by which the Protestants designated him. Hisbrother John attained the dignity of Cardinal of Lorraine. Claude withhis keen sword, and John with pomp, and pride, and spiritual power, became the most relentless foes of the Reformation, and the mostvaliant defenders of the Catholic faith. 

The kind-heartedness of the wealthy but dissolute cardinal, and theprodigality of his charity, rendered him almost as popular as hiswarlike brother. When he went abroad, his _valet de chambre_invariably prepared him a bag filled with gold, from which he gave tothe poor most freely. His reputation for charity was so exalted thata poor blind mendicant, to whom he gave gold in the streets of Rome, overjoyed at the acquisition of such a treasure, exclaimed, "Surelythou art either Christ or the Cardinal of Lorraine. "

The Duke of Guise, in his advancing years, was accompanied to thefield of battle by his son Francis, who inherited all of his father'scourtly bearing, energy, talent, and headlong valor. At the siege ofLuxemburg a musket ball shattered the ankle of young Francis, thenCount of Aumale, and about eighteen years of age. As the surgeon wasoperating upon the splintered bones and quivering nerves, the sufferergave some slight indication of his sense of pain. His iron fatherseverely reprimanded him, saying, "Persons of your rank should not feel their wounds, but, on thecontrary, should take pleasure in building up their reputation uponthe ruin of their bodies. "

Others of the sons of Claude also signalized themselves in the warswhich then desolated Europe, and they received wealth and honors. Theking erected certain lands and lordships belonging to the Duke ofGuise into a marquisate, and then immediately elevated the marquisateinto a duchy, and the youngest son of the Duke of Guise, inheritingthe property, was ennobled with the title of the Duke of Mayence. Thusthere were two rich dukedoms in the same family. 

Claude had six sons, all young men of imperious spirit and magnificentbearing. They were allied by marriage with the most illustriousfamilies in France, several of them being connected with princes ofthe blood royal. The war-worn duke, covered with wounds which hedeemed his most glorious ornaments, often appeared at courtaccompanied by his sons. They occupied the following posts of rank andpower: Francis, the eldest, Count of Aumale, was the heir of thetitles and the estates of the noble house. Claude was Marquis ofMayence; Charles was Archbishop of Rheims, the richest benefice inFrance, and he soon attained one of the highest dignities of theChurch by the reception of a cardinal's hat; Louis was Bishop ofTroyes, and Francis, the youngest, Chevalier of Lorraine and Duke ofMayence, was general of the galleys of France. One of the daughterswas married to the King of Scotland, and the others had formed mostillustrious connections. Thus the house of Guise towered proudly andsublimely from among the noble families in the midst of whom it had sorecently been implanted. 

Henry VIII. Of England, inflamed by the report of the exceeding beautyof Mary, daughter of the Duke of Guise, had solicited her hand; butClaude was unwilling to surrender his daughter to England's burly andbrutal old tyrant, and declined the regal alliance. The exasperatedmonarch, in revenge, declared war against France. Years of violenceand blood lingered away. At last Claude, aged and infirm, surrenderedto that king of terrors before whom all must bow. In his strong castleof Joinville, on the twelfth of April, 1550, the illustrious, magnanimous, blood-stained duke, after a whole lifetime spent inslaughter, breathed his last. His children and his grandchildren weregathered around the bed of the dying chieftain. In the darkness ofthat age, he felt that he had been contending, with divine approval, for Christ and his Church. With prayers and thanksgivings, andlanguage expressive of meekness and humility before God, he ascendedto that tribunal of final judgment where there is no differencebetween the peasant and the prince. 

The chivalrous and warlike Francis inherited his father's titles, wealth, and power; and now the house of Guise was so influential thatthe king trembled in view of its rivalry. It was but the kingly officealone which rendered the house of Valois superior to the house ofGuise. In illustration of the character of those times, and thehardihood and sufferings through which the renown of these chieftainswas obtained, the following anecdote may be narrated. 

Francis, Duke of Guise, in one of the skirmishes with the Englishinvaders, received a wound which is described as the most severe fromwhich any one ever recovered. The lance of an English officer "enteredabove the right eye, declining toward the nose, and piercing throughon the other side, between the nape and the ear. " The weapon, havingthus penetrated the head more than half a foot, was broken off by theviolence of the blow, the lance-iron and two fingers' breadth of thestaff remaining in the dreadful wound. The surgeons of the army, stupefied by the magnitude of the injury, declined to attempt theextraction of the splinter, saying that it would only expose him todreadful and unavailing suffering, as he must inevitably die. The kingimmediately sent his surgeon, with orders to spare no possibleefforts to save the life of the hero. The lance-head was broken off soshort that it was impossible to grasp it with the hand. The surgeontook the heavy pincers of a blacksmith, and asked the sufferer if hewould allow him to make use of so rude an instrument, and would alsopermit him to place his foot upon his face. 

"You may do any thing you consider necessary, " said the duke. 

The officers standing around looked on with horror as the king'ssurgeon, aided by an experienced practitioner, tore out thus violentlythe barbed iron, fracturing the bones, and tearing nerves, veins, andarteries. The hardy soldier bore the anguish without the contractionof a muscle, and was only heard gently to exclaim to himself, "Oh myGod!" The sufferer recovered, and ever after regarded the frightfulscar which was left as a signal badge of honor. He hence bore thecommon name of Le Balafré, or _The Scarred_. 

As the duke returned to court, the king hurried forth from his chamberto meet him, embraced him warmly, and said, "It is fair that I should come out to meet my old friend, who, on hispart, is ever so ready to meet my enemies. "

Gradually, however, Francis, the king, became very jealous of theboundless popularity and enormous power acquired by this ambitioushouse. Upon his dying bed he warned his son of the dangerous rivalryto which the Guises had attained, and enjoined it upon him to curbtheir ambition by admitting none of the princes of that house to ashare in the government; but as soon as King Francis was consigned tohis tomb, Henry II. , his son and successor, rallied the members ofthis family around him, and made the duke almost the partner of histhrone. He needed the support of the strong arm and of theinexhaustible purse of the princes of Lorraine. 

The arrogance of the Guises, or the princes of Lorraine, as they werefrequently called, in consequence of their descent from Claude ofLorraine, reached such a pitch that on the occasion of a proudpageant, when Henry II. Was on a visit of inspection to one of hisfrontier fortresses, the Duke of Guise claimed equal rank with Henryof Navarre, who was not only King of Navarre, but, as the Duke ofVendôme, was also first prince of the blood in France. An angrydispute immediately arose. The king settled it in favor of theaudacious Guise, for he was intimidated by the power of that arroganthouse. He thus exasperated Henry of Navarre, and also nurtured thepride of a dangerous rival. 

All classes were now courting the Duke of Guise. The first nobles ofthe land sought his protection and support by flattering letters andcostly presents. "From all quarters, " says an ancient manuscript, "hereceived offerings of wine, fruit, confections, ortolans, horses, dogs, hawks, and gerfalcons. The letters accompanying these oftencontained a second paragraph petitioning for pensions or grants fromthe king, or for places, even down to that of apothecary or of barberto the Dauphin. " The monarchs of foreign countries often wrote to himsoliciting his aid. The duke, in the enjoyment of this immense wealth, influence, and power, assumed the splendors of royalty, and his courtwas hardly inferior to that of the monarch. The King of Poland and theDuke of Guise were rivals for the hand of Anne, the beautiful daughterof the Duke of Ferrara, and Guise was the successful suitor. 

Francis of Lorraine was now appointed lieutenant general of the Frencharmies, and the king addressed to all the provincial authoritiesspecial injunction to render as prompt and absolute obedience to theorders of the Duke of Guise as if they emanated from himself. "Andtruly, " says one of the writers of those times, "never had monarch inFrance been obeyed more punctually or with greater zeal. " In fact, Guise was now the head of the government, and all the great interestsof the nation were ordered by his mind. Henry was a feeble prince, with neither vigor of body nor energy of intellect to resist theencroachments of so imperial a spirit. He gave many indications ofuneasiness in view of his own thralldom, but he was entirely unable todispense with the aid of his sagacious ally. 

It will be remembered that one of the daughters of Claude, and asister of Francis, the second duke of Guise, married the King ofScotland. Her daughter, the niece of Francis, was the celebrated Mary, Queen of Scots. She had been sent to France for her education, and shewas married, when very young, to her cousin Francis, son of Henry II. And of the infamous Catharine de Medici. He was heir of the Frenchthrone. This wedding was celebrated with the utmost magnificence, andthe Guises moved on the occasion through the palaces of royalty withthe pride of monarchs. Henry II. Was accidentally killed in atournament; and Francis, his son, under the title of Francis II. , withhis young and beautiful bride, the unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots, ascended the throne. Francis was a feeble-minded, consumptive youth of16, whose thoughts were all centred in his lovely wife. Mary, who wasbut fifteen years of age, was fascinating in the extreme, and entirelydevoted to pleasure. She gladly transferred all the power of the realmto her uncles, the Guises. 

About this time the conflict between the Catholics and the Protestantsbegan to grow more violent. The Catholics drew the sword for theextirpation of heresy; the Protestants grasped their arms to defendthemselves. The Guises consecrated all their energies to the supportof the Papal Church and to the suppression of the Reformation. Thefeeble boy, Francis II. , sat languidly upon his throne but seventeenmonths, when he died, on the 5th of December, 1560, and his brother, Charles IX. , equally enervated in mind and with far less moral worth, succeeded to the crown. The death of Francis II. Was a heavy blow tothe Guises. The Admiral Coligni, one of the most illustrious of theProtestants, and the bosom friend of Henry of Navarre, was standing, with many other nobles, at the bedside of the monarch as he breathedhis last. 

"Gentlemen, " said the admiral, with that gravity which was inaccordance with his character and his religious principles, "the kingis dead. It is a lesson to teach us all how to live. "

The Protestants could not but rejoice that the Guises had thus lostthe peculiar influence which they had secured from their nearrelationship to the queen. Admiral Coligni retired from the death-bedof the monarch to his own mansion, and, sitting down by the fire, became lost in the most profound reverie. He did not observe that hisboots were burning until one of his friends called his attention tothe fact. 

"Ah!" he replied, "not a week ago, you and I would each have given aleg to have things take this turn, and now we get off with a pair ofboots. "

Antoinette, the widow of Claude of Lorraine, and the mother ofFrancis, the then Duke of Guise, was still living. She was sorancorous in her hostility to the Protestants that she was designatedby them "_Mother of the tyrants and enemies of the Gospel_. " Greatlyto her annoyance, a large number of Protestants conducted theirworship in the little town of Vassy, just on the frontier of thedomains of the Duke of Guise. She was incessantly imploring her son todrive off these obnoxious neighbors. The duke was at one timejourneying with his wife. Their route lay through the town of Vassy. His suite consisted of two hundred and sixty men at arms, all showingthe warlike temper of their chief, and even far surpassing him inbigoted hatred of the Protestants. 

On arriving at Vassy, the duke entered the church to hear high mass. It is said that while engaged in this act of devotion his ears wereannoyed by the psalms of the Protestants, who were assembled in thevicinity. He sent an imperious message for the minister and theleading members of the congregation immediately to appear before him. The young men fulfilled their mission in a manner so taunting andinsulting that a quarrel ensued, shots were exchanged, and immediatelyall the vassals of the duke, who were ripe for a fray, commenced anindiscriminate massacre. The Protestants valiantly but unavailinglydefended themselves with sticks and stones; but the bullets of theirenemies reached them everywhere, in the houses, on the roofs, in thestreets. For an hour the carnage continued unchecked, and sixty menand women were killed and two hundred wounded. One only of the men ofthe duke was killed. Francis was ashamed of this slaughter of thedefenseless, and declared that it was a sudden outbreak, for which hewas not responsible, and which he had done every thing in his power tocheck; but ever after this he was called by the Protestants "_TheButcher of Vassy_. "

When the news of this massacre reached Paris, Theodore de Beza wasdeputed by the Protestants to demand of Catharine, their regent, severe justice on the Duke of Guise; but Catharine feared the princesof Lorraine, and said to Beza, "Whoever touches so much as the finger-tip of the Duke of Guise, touches me in the middle of my heart. "

Beza meekly but courageously replied, "It assuredly behooves thatChurch of God, in whose name I speak, to endure blows and not tostrike them; but may it please your majesty also to remember that itis an anvil which has worn out many hammers. "

At the siege of Rouen the Duke of Guise was informed that an assassinhad been arrested who had entered the camp with the intention oftaking his life. He ordered the man to be brought before him, andcalmly inquired, "Have you not come hither to kill me?"

The intrepid but misguided young man openly avowed his intention. 

"And what motive, " inquired the duke, "impelled you to such a deed?Have I done you any wrong?"

"No, " he replied; "but in removing you from the world I should promotethe best interests of the Protestant religion, which I profess. "

"My religion, then, " generously replied the duke, "is better thanyours, for it commands me to pardon, of my own accord, you who areconvicted of guilt. " And, by his orders, the assassin was safelyconducted out of camp. 

"A fine example, " exclaims his historian, "of truly religioussentiments and magnanimous proselytism very natural to the Duke ofGuise, the most moderate and humane of the chiefs of the Catholicarmy, and whose brilliant generosity had been but temporarily obscuredby the occurrence at Vassy. "

The war between the Catholics and Protestants was now raging withimplacable fury, and Guise, victorious in many battles, had acquiredfrom the Catholic party the name of "Savior of his Country. " The dukewas now upon the very loftiest summits of power which a subject canattain. In great exaltation of spirits, he one morning left the armyover which he was commander-in-chief to visit the duchess, who hadcome to meet him at the neighboring castle of Corney. The duke veryimprudently took with him merely one general officer and a page. Itwas a beautiful morning in February. As he crossed, in a boat, themirrored surface of the Loiret, the vegetation of returning spring andthe songs of the rejoicing birds strikingly contrasted with the blood, desolation, and misery with which the hateful spirit of war wasdesolating France. The duke was silent, apparently lost in painfulreveries. His companions disturbed not his thoughts. Having crossedthe stream, he was slowly walking his horse, with the reins hanginglistlessly upon his mane, when a pistol was discharged at him frombehind a hedge, at a distance of but six or seven paces. Two bulletspierced his side. On feeling himself wounded, he calmly said, "They have long had this shot in reserve for me. I deserve it for mywant of precaution. "

[Illustration: THE ASSASSINATION OF FRANCIS, DUKE OF GUISE. ]

He immediately fell upon his horse's neck, and was caught in the armsof his friends. They conveyed him to the castle, where the duchessreceived him with cries of anguish. He embraced her tenderly, minutely described the circumstances of his assassination, andexpressed himself grieved in view of the stain which such a crimewould inflict upon the honor of France. He exhorted his wife to bow insubmission to the will of Heaven, and kissing his son Henry, the Dukeof Joinville, who was weeping by his side, gently said to him, "God grant thee grace, my son, to be a good man. "

Thus died Francis, the second Duke of Guise, on the twenty-fourth ofFebruary, 1563. His murderer was a young Protestant noble, JeanPoltrot, twenty-four years of age. Poltrot, from being an ardentCatholic, had embraced the Protestant faith. This exposed him topersecution, and he was driven from France with the loss of hisestates. He was compelled to support himself by manual labor. Souredin disposition, exasperated and half maddened, he insanely felt thathe would be doing God service by the assassination of the _Butcher ofVassy_, the most formidable foe of the Protestant religion. It was aday of general darkness, and of the confusion of all correct ideas ofmorals. 

Henry, the eldest son of the Duke of Guise, a lad of but thirteenyears of age, now inherited the titles and the renown which his boldancestors had accumulated. This was the Duke of Guise who was thebandit chieftain in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. 

One day Henry II. Was holding his little daughter Marguerite, whoafterward became the wife of Henry of Navarre, in his lap, when Henryof Guise, then Prince of Joinville, and the Marquis of Beaupreau, wereplaying together upon the floor, the one being but seven years of age, and the other but nine. 

"Which of the two do you like the best?" inquired the king of hischild. 

"I prefer the marquis, " she promptly replied. 

"Yes; but the Prince of Joinville is the handsomest, " the kingrejoined. 

"Oh, " retorted Marguerite, "he is always in mischief, and he will bemaster every where. "

Francis, the Duke of Guise, had fully apprehended the ambitious, impetuous, and reckless character of his son. He is said to havepredicted that Henry, intoxicated by popularity, would perish in theattempt to seat himself upon the throne of France. 

"Henry, " says a writer of those times, "surpassed all the princes ofhis house in certain natural gifts, in certain talents, which procuredhim the respect of the court, the affection of the people, but which, nevertheless, were tarnished by a singular alloy of great faults andunlimited ambition. "

"France was mad about that man, " writes another, "for it is too littleto say that she was in love with him. Her passion approached idolatry. There were persons who invoked him in their prayers. His portrait wasevery where. Some ran after him in the streets to touch his mantlewith their rosaries. One day that he entered Paris on his return froma journey, the multitude not only cried '_Vive Guise!_' but many sang, on his passage, '_Hosanna to the son of David!_'"

3. _The House of Bourbon. _ The origin of this family fades away in theremoteness of antiquity. Some bold chieftain, far remote in barbarianages, emerged from obscurity and laid the foundations of theillustrious house. Generation after generation passed away, as the sonsucceeded the father in baronial pomp, and pride, and power, till thelight of history, with its steadily-increasing brilliancy, illuminedEurope. The family had often been connected in marriage both with thehouse of Guise and the royal line, the house of Valois. Antony ofBourbon, a sturdy soldier, united the houses of Bourbon and Navarreby marrying Jeanne d'Albret, the only child of the King of Navarre. Henry came from the union, an only son; and he, by marryingMarguerite, the daughter of the King of France, united the houses ofBourbon, Navarre, and Valois, and became heir to the throne of Franceshould the sons of Henry II. Die without issue. 

This episode in reference to the condition of France at the time ofwhich we write seems necessary to enable the reader fully tounderstand the succeeding chapters. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE DEATH OF CHARLES IX. AND THE ACCESSION OF HENRY III. 

1576-1577

Henry, King of Poland. --Henry's journey through Germany. --Enmitybetween the two brothers. --Sickness of Charles IX. --Remorse of theking. --Death of Charles IX. --Chateaubriand. --Character of theking. --Henry III. --The stratagem. --Flight from the crown. --Thesojourn in Italy. --The three Henrys. --Marriage of Henry III. --TheDuke of Alençon. --Suspicions of poison. --Invectives of theking. --Recovery of the king. --Disappointment of Francis. --Fanaticismof the king. --Escape of the Duke of Alençon. --The king aroused. --Warof the public good. --Defeat of Guise. --Perplexity of Catharine. --Theguard of honor. --Plan of escape. --Successful artifice. --The falserumor. --Escape accomplished. --Trouble of the Duke of Alençon. --Termsof settlement. --Paix de Monsieur. --Duke of Anjou. --Arrival atRochelle. --Conduct of Catharine and Henry III. --Complexity ofpolitics. --Francis and Queen Elizabeth. --New assaults on theProtestants. --Anecdote of the Protestants. --Gratitude of the citizensof Bayonne. --Anecdote of Henry of Navarre. --Another peace. --Thebattle arrested. --Pledge of peace. --Morality in France. --Disgracefulfête. --Murder in the royal palace. 

After the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, a large number of theProtestants threw themselves into the city of Rochelle. For sevenmonths they were besieged by all the power which the King of Francecould bring against them. They were at length, weakened by sicknessand exhausted by famine, compelled to surrender. By their valiantresistance, however, they obtained highly honorable terms, securingfor the inhabitants of Rochelle the free exercise of their religionwithin the walls of the city, and a general act of amnesty for all theProtestants in the realm. 

Immediately after this event, Henry, the brother of Charles IX. , waselected King of Poland, an honor which he attained in consequence ofthe military prowess he had displayed in the wars against theProtestants of France. Accompanied by his mother, Catharine de Medici, the young monarch set out for his distant dominions. Henry had been avery active agent in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. At LorraineCatharine took leave of him, and he went on his way in a verymelancholy mood. His election had been secured by the greatest effortsof intrigue and bribery on the part of his mother. The melancholycountenances of the Protestants, driven into exile, and bewailing themurder of friends and relatives, whose assassination he had caused, met him at every turn. His reception at the German courts was cold andrepulsive. In the palace of the Elector Palatine, Henry beheld theportrait of Coligni, who had been so treacherously slaughtered in theMassacre of St. Bartholomew. The portrait was suspended in a veryconspicuous place of honor, and beneath it were inscribed the words, "SUCH WAS THE FORMER COUNTENANCE OF THE HERO COLIGNI, WHO HAS BEEN RENDERED TRULY ILLUSTRIOUS BOTH BY HIS LIFE AND HIS DEATH. "

The Protestant Elector pointed out the picture to the young king, whomhe both hated and despised, and coolly asked him if he knew the man. Henry, not a little embarrassed, replied that he did. 

"He was, " rejoined the German prince, "the most honest man, and thewisest and the greatest captain of Europe, whose children I keep withme, lest the dogs of France should tear them as their father has beentorn. "

Thus Henry, gloomy through the repulses which he was everencountering, journeyed along to Poland, where he was crowned king, notwithstanding energetic remonstrances on the part of those whoexecrated him for his deeds. The two brothers, Charles IX. And Henry, were bitter enemies, and Charles had declared, with many oaths, thatone of the two should leave the realm. Henry was the favorite ofCatharine, and hence she made such efforts to secure his safety byplacing him upon the throne of Poland. She was aware that the feebleCharles would not live long, and when, with tears, she took leave ofHenry, she assured him that he would soon return. 

The outcry of indignation which the Massacre of St. Bartholomew calledforth from combined Europe fell like the knell of death on the ear ofthe depraved and cowardly Charles. Disease began to ravage, with newviolence, his exhausted frame. He became silent, morose, irritable, and gloomy. He secluded himself from all society, and surrenderedhimself to the dominion of remorse. He was detested by theProtestants, and utterly despised by the Catholics. A bloody sweat, oozing from every pore, crimsoned his bed-clothes. His occasionaloutcries of remorse and his aspect of misery drove all from hischamber excepting those who were compelled to render him service. Hegroaned and wept incessantly, exclaiming, "Oh, what blood! oh, what murders! Alas! why did I follow such evilcounsels?"

He saw continually the spectres of the slain, with ghastly, gorywounds, stalking about his bed; and demons of hideous aspect, and withweapons of torture in their hands, with horrid and derisive malice, were impatiently waiting to seize his soul the moment it should passfrom the decaying body. 

The day before his death he lay for some time upon his bed in perfectsilence. Suddenly starting up, he exclaimed, "Call my brother. "

His mother, who was sitting by his side, directed an attendant to callhis brother Francis, the Duke of Alençon. 

"No, not him, " the king replied; "my brother, the King of Navarre, Imean. "

Henry of Navarre was then detained in princely imprisonment in thecourt of Catharine. He had made many efforts to escape, but all hadbeen unavailing. 

Catharine directed that Henry should be called. In order to intimidatehim, and thus to prevent him from speaking with freedom and boldnessto her dying son, she ordered him to be brought through the vaults ofthe castle, between a double line of armed guards. Henry, as hedescended into those gloomy dungeons, and saw the glittering arms ofthe soldiers, felt that the hour for his assassination had arrived. He, however, passed safely through, and was ushered into the chamberof his brother-in-law and former playfellow, the dying king. CharlesIX. , subdued by remorse and appalled by approaching death, receivedhim with gentleness and affection, and weeping profusely, embraced himas he knelt by his bedside. 

"My brother, " said the dying king, "you lose a good master and a goodfriend. I know that you are not the cause of the troubles which havecome upon me. If I had believed all which has been told me, you wouldnot now have been living; but I have always loved you. " Then turninghis eyes to the queen mother, he said energetically, "Do not trustto--" Here Catharine hastily interrupted him, and prevented thefinishing of the sentence with the words "_my mother_. "

Charles designated his brother Henry, the King of Poland, as hissuccessor. He expressed the earnest wish that neither his youngerbrother, Francis, the Duke of Alençon, nor Henry, would disturb therepose of the realm. The next night, as the Cathedral clock wastolling the hour of twelve, the nurse, who was sitting, with twowatchers, at the bedside of the dying monarch, heard him sighing andmoaning, and then convulsively weeping. Gently she approached the bedand drew aside the curtains. Charles turned his dimmed and despairingeye upon her, and exclaimed, "Oh, my nurse! my nurse! what blood have I shed! what murders have Icommitted! Great God! pardon me--pardon me!"

A convulsive shuddering for a moment agitated his frame, his head fellback upon his pillow, and the wretched man was dead. He died attwenty-four years of age, expressing satisfaction that he left no heirto live and to suffer in a world so full of misery. In reference tothis guilty king, Chateaubriand says, "Should we not have some pity for this monarch of twenty-three years, born with fine talents, a taste for literature and the arts, acharacter naturally generous, whom an execrable mother had tried todeprave by all the abuses of debauchery and power?"

"Yes, " warmly responds G. De Felice, "we will have compassion for him, with the Huguenots themselves, whose fathers he ordered to be slain, and who, with a merciful hand, would wipe away the blood which covershis face to find still something human. "

Henry, his brother, who was to succeed him upon the throne, was thenin Poland. Catharine was glad to have the pusillanimous Charles out ofthe way. He was sufficiently depraved to commit any crime, withoutbeing sufficiently resolute to brave its penalty. Henry III. Had, inearly life, displayed great vigor of character. At the age of fifteenhe had been placed in the command of armies, and in several combatshad defeated the veteran generals of the Protestant forces. His renownhad extended through Europe, and had contributed much in placing himon the elective throne of Poland. Catharine, by the will of the king, was appointed regent until the return of Henry. She immediatelydispatched messengers to recall the King of Poland. In the mean time, she kept Henry of Navarre and her youngest son, the Duke of Alençon, in close captivity, and watched them with the greatest vigilance, thatthey might make no movements toward the throne. 

Henry was by this time utterly weary of his Polish crown, and sighedfor the voluptuous pleasures of Paris. The Poles were not willing thattheir king should leave the realm, as it might lead to civil war inthe choice of a successor. Henry was compelled to resort to stratagemto effect his escape. A large and splendid party was invited to thepalace. A wilderness of rooms, brilliantly illuminated, were thrownopen to the guests. Masked dancers walked the floor in every varietyof costume. Wine and wassail filled the halls with revelry. When allwere absorbed in music and mirth, the king, by a private passage, stole from the palace, and mounting a swift horse, which was awaitinghim in the court-yard, accompanied by two or three friends, commencedhis flight from his crown and his Polish throne. Through the longhours of the night they pressed their horses to their utmost speed, and when the morning dawned, obtaining fresh steeds, they hurried ontheir way, tarrying not for refreshment or repose until they hadpassed the frontiers of the kingdom. Henry was afraid to take thedirect route through the Protestant states of Germany, for theMassacre of St. Bartholomew was still bitterly remembered. Hetherefore took a circuitous route through Italy, and arrived at Venicein August. In sunny Italy he lingered for some time, surrenderinghimself to every enervating indulgence, and even bartering thefortresses of France to purchase the luxuries in the midst of which hewas reveling. At last, sated with guilty pleasure, he languidly turnedhis steps toward Paris. 

There were now three Henrys, who had been companions in childhood, whowere at the head of the three rival houses of Valois, of Bourbon, andof Guise. One of these was King of France. One was King of Navarre. But Henry of Guise was, in wealth and in the attachment of theCatholic population of France, superior to either. The war whichensued is sometimes called _The War of the three Henrys_. 

As soon as his mother learned that he was approaching France, she setout from Paris with a magnificent retinue to meet her pet child, taking with her his brother, the Duke of Alençon, and Henry ofNavarre. Dissipation had impaired the mental as well as the physicalenergies of the king, and a maudlin good-nature had absorbed all hisfaculties. He greeted his brother and his brother-in-law with muchkindness, and upon receiving their oaths of obedience, withdrew muchof the restraint to which they previously had been subjected. Henrywas now known as Henry III. Of France. Soon after his coronation hemarried Louisa of Lorraine, a daughter of one of the sons of the Dukeof Guise. She was a pure-minded and lovely woman, and her mild andgentle virtues contrasted strongly with the vulgarity, coarseness, andvice of her degraded husband. 

The Duke of Alençon was, however, by no means appeased by the kindnesswith which he had been received by his brother the king. He called himthe robber of his crown, and formed a conspiracy for attacking thecarriage of his brother and putting him to death. The plot wasrevealed to the king. He called his brother to his presence, reproached him with his perfidy and ingratitude, but generouslyforgave him. But the heart of Alençon was impervious to any appeals ofgenerosity or of honor. Upon the death of Henry III. , the Duke ofAlençon, his only surviving brother, would ascend the throne. 

The Duke of Guise hated with implacable rancor the Duke of Alençon, and even proffered his aid to place Henry of Navarre upon the thronein the event of the death of the king, that he might thus exclude hisdetested rival. Francis, the Duke of Alençon, was impatient to reachthe crown, and again formed a plot to poison his brother. The king wassuddenly taken very ill. He declared his brother had poisoned him. Aseach succeeding day his illness grew more severe, and theprobabilities became stronger of its fatal termination, Francisassumed an air of haughtiness and of authority, as if confident thatthe crown was already his own. The open exultation which he manifestedin view of the apparently dying condition of his brother Henryconfirmed all in the suspicion that he had caused poison to beadministered. 

Henry III. , believing his death inevitable, called Henry of Navarre tohis bedside, and heaping the bitterest invectives upon his brotherFrancis, urged Henry of Navarre to procure his assassination, and thussecure for himself the vacant throne. Henry of Navarre was the nextheir to the throne after the Duke of Alençon, and the dying king mostearnestly urged Henry to put the duke to death, showing him the easewith which it could be done, and assuring him that he would beabundantly supported by all the leading nobles of the kingdom. Whilethis scene was taking place at the sick-bed of the monarch, Francispassed through the chamber of his brother without deigning to noticeeither him or the King of Navarre. Strongly as Henry of Navarre wasdesirous of securing for himself the throne of France, he was utterlyincapable of meditating even upon such a crime, and he refused to giveit a second thought. 

To the surprise of all, the king recovered, and Francis made noefforts to conceal his disappointment. There were thousands of armedinsurgents ready at any moment to rally around the banner of the Dukeof Alençon, for they would thus be brought into positions of emolumentand power. The king, who was ready himself to act the assassin, treated his assassin-brother with the most profound contempt. Nodescription can convey an adequate idea of the state of France at thistime. Universal anarchy prevailed. Civil war, exasperated by theutmost rancor, was raging in nearly all the provinces. Assassinationswere continually occurring. Female virtue was almost unknown, and themost shameful licentiousness filled the capital. The treasury was soutterly exhausted that, in a journey made by the king and his retinuein mid-winter, the pages were obliged to sell their cloaks to obtain abare subsistence. The king, steeped in pollution, a fanatic and ahypocrite, exhibited himself to his subjects bareheaded, barefooted, and half naked, scourging himself with a whip, reciting his prayers, and preparing the way, by the most ostentatious penances, to plungeanew into every degrading sensual indulgence. He was thoroughlydespised by his subjects, and many were anxious to exchange him forthe reckless and impetuous, but equally depraved Francis. 

The situation of the Duke of Alençon was now not only veryuncomfortable, but exceedingly perilous. The king did every thing inhis power to expose him to humiliations, and was evidently watchingfor an opportunity to put him to death, either by the dagger or by acup of poison. The duke, aided by his profligate sister Marguerite, wife of Henry of Navarre, formed a plan for escape. 

One dark evening he wrapped himself in a large cloak, and issued forthalone from the Louvre. Passing through obscure streets, he arrived atthe suburbs of the city, where a carriage with trusty attendants wasin waiting. Driving as rapidly as possible, he gained the opencountry, and then mounting a very fleet charger, which by previousappointment was provided for him, he spurred his horse at the utmostspeed for many leagues, till he met an escort of three hundred men, with whom he took refuge in a fortified town. His escape was not knownin the palace until nine o'clock the next morning. Henry wasexceedingly agitated when he received the tidings, for he knew thathis energetic and reckless brother would join the Protestant party, carrying with him powerful influence, and thus add immeasurably to thedistractions which now crowded upon the king. 

For once, imminent peril roused Henry III. To vigorous action. Heforgot his spaniels, his parrots, his monkeys, and even his paintedconcubines, and roused himself to circumvent the plans of his hatedrival. Letter after letter was sent to all the provinces, informingthe governors of the flight of the prince, and commanding the mostvigorous efforts to secure his arrest. Francis issued a proclamationdeclaring the reasons for his escape, and calling upon the Protestantsand all who loved the "public good" to rally around him. Hence theshort but merciless war which ensued was called "the war of the publicgood. "

The Duke of Alençon was now at the head of a powerful party, for hehad thrown himself into the arms of the Protestants, and many of hisCatholic partisans followed him. Henry III. Called to his aid thefearless and energetic Duke of Guise, and gave him the command of hisarmies. In the first terrible conflict which ensued Guise wasdefeated, and received a hideous gash upon his face, which left a scarof which he was very proud as a signet of valor. 

Catharine was now in deep trouble. Her two sons were in open armsagainst each other, heading powerful forces, and sweeping France withwhirlwinds of destruction. Henry of Navarre was still detained aprisoner in the French court, though surrounded by all the luxuriesand indulgences of the capital. The dignity of his character, and hisgreat popularity, alarmed Catharine, lest, in the turmoil of thetimes, he should thrust both of her sons from the throne, and graspthe crown himself. Henry and his friends all became fully convincedthat Catharine entertained designs upon his life. Marguerite was fullysatisfied that it was so, and, bad as she was, as Henry interfered notin the slightest degree with any of her practices, she felt a certainkind of regard for him. The guards who had been assigned to Henryprofessedly as a mark of honor, and to add to the splendor of hisestablishment, were in reality his jailers, who watched him with aneagle eye. They were all zealous Papists, and most of them, in theMassacre of St. Bartholomew, had dipped their hands deep in Protestantblood. Catharine watched him with unceasing vigilance, and crowdedevery temptation upon him which could enervate and ruin. Her depravitydid but stimulate her woman's shrewdness and tact. 

Henry of Navarre sighed for liberty. He was, however, so closelyguarded that escape seemed impossible. At last the following plan wasformed for flight. A hunting-party was got up. Henry was to invitepersons to attend the chase in whose fidelity he could reposeconfidence, while one only was to be intrusted with the secret. Othersof his friends were secretly to resort to an appointed rendezvous withfresh horses, and all well armed and in sufficient numbers tooverpower the guard placed about his person. Henry was to press on inthe chase with the utmost eagerness until the horses of the guard werecompletely exhausted, when his friends with the fresh steeds were toappear, rescue him from the guards, and accompany him in his flight. The guards, being drawn far from the palace, could not speedily obtainfresh horses, neither could they pursue him with their jaded animals. 

The Duke of Guise was now in great favor with Henry III. Henry ofNavarre, during the few days in which he was making preparation forhis flight, blinded the eagle eyes of the duke by affecting greatconfidence that he should obtain from the king the high office oflieutenant general of France. The duke and Henry III. Made themselvesvery merry over this supposed simplicity of Henry of Navarre, littleaware that he was making himself equally merry at their expense. 

Two days before the execution of the scheme, a rumor spread throughthe court that Henry had escaped. For a short time great anxiety andconfusion ensued. Henry, being informed of the report and of theagitation which filled the palace, hastened to the apartments whereCatharine and the king were in deliberation, and laughingly told themthat he had arrested the King of Navarre, and that he now surrenderedhim to them for safe keeping. 

In the morning of the day fixed for his flight, the King of Navarreheld a long and familiar conversation with the Duke of Guise, andurged him to accompany him to the hunt. Just as the moment arrived forthe execution of the plot, it was betrayed to the king by thetreachery of a confederate. Notwithstanding this betrayal, however, matters were so thoroughly arranged that Henry, after severalhair-breadth escapes from arrest, accomplished his flight. Hisapprehension was so great that for sixty miles he rode as rapidly aspossible, without speaking a word or stopping for one moment except tomount a fresh horse. He rode over a hundred miles on horseback thatday, and took refuge in Alençon, a fortified city held by theProtestants. As soon as his escape was known, thousands of his friendsflocked around him. 

The Duke of Alençon was not a little troubled at the escape of theKing of Navarre, for he was well aware that the authority he hadacquired among the Protestants would be lost by the presence of one somuch his superior in every respect, and so much more entitled to theconfidence of the Protestants. Thus the two princes remained separate, but ready, in case of emergence, to unite their forces, which nowamounted to fifty thousand men. Henry of Navarre soon established hishead-quarters on the banks of the Loire, where every day freshparties of Protestants were joining his standard. 

Henry III. , with no energy of character, despised by his subjects, andwithout either money or armies, seemed to be now entirely at the mercyof the confederate princes. Henry of Navarre and the Duke of Alençonsent an embassador to the French court to propose terms to Henry III. The King of Navarre required, among other conditions, that Franceshould unite with him in recovering from Spain that portion of theterritory of Navarre which had been wrested from his ancestors byFerdinand and Isabella. While the proposed conditions of peace wereunder discussion, Catharine succeeded in bribing her son, the Duke ofAlençon, to abandon the cause of Henry of Navarre. A treaty of peacewas then concluded with the Protestants; and by a royal edict, thefull and free exercise of the Protestant religion was guaranteed inevery part of France except Paris and a circle twelve miles indiameter around the capital. As a bribe to the Duke of Alençon, he wasinvested with sovereign power over the three most important provincesof the realm, with an annual income of one hundred thousand crowns. This celebrated treaty, called the _Paix de Monsieur_, becauseconcluded under the auspices of Francis, the brother of the king, wassigned at Chastenoy the sixth of May, 1576. 

The ambitious and perfidious duke now assumed the title of the Duke ofAnjou, and entirely separated himself from the Protestants. He triedto lure the Prince of Condé, the cousin and devoted friend of Henry ofNavarre, to accompany him into the town of Bourges. The prince, suspecting treachery, refused the invitation, saying that some roguewould probably be found in the city who would send a bullet throughhis head. 

"The rogue would be hanged, I know, " he added, "but the Prince ofCondé would be dead. I will not give you occasion, my lord, to hangrogues for love of me. "

He accordingly took his leave of the Duke of Alençon, and, puttingspurs to his horse, with fifty followers joined the King of Navarre. 

Henry was received with royal honors in the Protestant town ofRochelle, where he publicly renounced the Roman Catholic faith, declaring that he had assented to that faith from compulsion, and asthe only means of saving his life. He also publicly performed penancefor the sin which he declared that he had thus been compelled tocommit. 

Catharine and Henry III. , having detached Francis, who had been theDuke of Alençon, but who was now the Duke of Anjou, from theProtestants, no longer feigned any friendship or even toleration forthat cause. They acted upon the principle that no faith was to be keptwith heretics. The Protestants, notwithstanding the treaty, wereexposed to every species of insult and injury. The Catholics weredetermined that the Protestant religion should not be tolerated inFrance, and that all who did not conform to the Church of Rome shouldeither perish or be driven from the kingdom. Many of the Protestantswere men of devoted piety, who cherished their religious convictionsmore tenaciously than life. There were others, however, who joinedthem merely from motives of political ambition. Though the Protestantparty, in France itself, was comparatively small, the great mass ofthe population being Catholics, yet the party was extremelyinfluential from the intelligence and the rank of its leaders, andfrom the unconquerable energy with which all of its members wereanimated. 

The weak and irresolute king was ever vacillating between the twoparties. The Duke of Guise was the great idol of the Catholics. Henryof Navarre was the acknowledged leader of the Protestants. The kingfeared them both. It was very apparent that Henry III. Could not livelong. At his death his brother Francis, Duke of Anjou, would ascendthe throne. Should he die childless, Henry of Navarre would be hislawful successor. But the Catholics would be horror-stricken at theidea of seeing a _heretic_ on the throne. The Duke of Guise was layinghis plans deep and broad to array all the Catholic population ofFrance in his own favor, and thus to rob the Protestant prince of hisrights. Henry III. , Henry of Navarre, Henry, Duke of Guise, andFrancis, Duke of Anjou, had all been playmates in childhood andclassmates at school. They were now heading armies, and struggling forthe prize of the richest crown in Europe. 

Francis was weary of waiting for his brother to die. To strengthenhimself, he sought in marriage the hand of Queen Elizabeth of England. Though she had no disposition to receive a husband, she was ever veryhappy to be surrounded by lovers. She consequently played the coquettewith Francis until he saw that there was no probability of thesuccessful termination of his suit. Francis returned to Parisbitterly disappointed, and with new zeal consecrated his sword to thecause of the Catholics. Had Elizabeth accepted his suit, he would thenmost earnestly have espoused the cause of the Protestants. 

Henry III. Now determined to make a vigorous effort to crush theProtestant religion. He raised large armies, and gave the command tothe Duke of Anjou, the Duke of Guise, and to the brother of the Dukeof Guise, the Duke of Mayenne. Henry of Navarre, encountering fearfulodds, was welcomed by acclamation to head the small but indomitableband of Protestants, now struggling, not for liberty only, but forlife. The king was very anxious to get Henry of Navarre again in hispower, and sent most flattering messages and most pressing invitationsto lure him again to his court; but years of captivity had taught alesson of caution not soon to be forgotten. 

Again hideous war ravaged France. The Duke of Anjou, exasperated bydisappointed love, disgraced himself by the most atrocious cruelties. He burned the dwellings of the Protestants, surrendered unarmed anddefenseless men, and women, and children to massacre. The Duke ofGuise, who had inflicted such an ineffaceable stain upon hisreputation by the foul murder of the Admiral Coligni, made someatonement for this shameful act by the chivalrous spirit with which heendeavored to mitigate the horrors of civil war. 

One day, in the vicinity of Bayonne, a party of Catholics, consistingof a few hundred horse and foot, were conducting to their executionthree Protestant young ladies, who, for their faith, were infamouslycondemned to death. As they were passing over a wide plain, coveredwith broken woods and heath, they were encountered by a body ofProtestants. A desperate battle immediately ensued. The Protestants, impelled by a noble chivalry as well as by religious fervor, rushedupon their foes with such impetuosity that resistance was unavailing, and the Catholics threw down their arms and implored quarter. Many ofthese soldiers were from the city of Dux. The leader of the Protestantband remembered that at the Massacre of St. Bartholomew all theProtestants in that city had been slain without mercy. With a mostdeplorable want of magnanimity, he caused all the prisoners whobelonged to that place to be separated from the rest, and in coldblood they were slaughtered. 

The remainder of the prisoners were from the city of Bayonne, whoseinhabitants, though Catholics, had nobly refused to imbrue their handsin the blood of that horrible massacre which Charles IX. Had enjoined. To them, after they had seen their comrades surrendered to butcherybefore their eyes, he restored their horses and their arms, and gavethem their entire liberty. 

"Go, " said he, "to your homes, and there tell the different treatmentwhich I show to soldiers and to assassins. "

The three ladies, thus rescued from impending death, were borne backin triumph to their friends. Eight days after this, a trumpet wassounded and a flag of truce appeared emerging from the gates ofBayonne. The friends of the Catholic soldiers who had been thusgenerously restored sent a beautifully embroidered scarf and ahandkerchief to each one of the Protestant soldiers. 

It is a singular illustration of the blending of the horrors of warand the courtesies of peace, that in the midst of this sanguinaryconflict, Henry of Navarre, accompanied by only six companions, accepted an invitation to a fête given by his enemies of the town ofBayonne. He was received with the utmost courtesy. His table wasloaded with luxuries. Voluptuous music floated upon the ear; songs anddances animated the festive hours. Henry then returned to head hisarmy and to meet his entertainers in the carnage of the field ofbattle. 

There was but little repose in France during the year 1577. Skirmishsucceeded skirmish, and battle was followed by battle; cities werebombarded, villages burned, fields ravaged. All the pursuits ofindustry were arrested. Ruin, beggary, and woe desolated thousands ofonce happy homes. Still the Protestants were unsubdued. The king'sresources at length were entirely exhausted, and he was compelledagain to conclude a treaty of peace. Both parties immediatelydisbanded their forces, and the blessings of repose followed thediscords of war. 

One of the Protestant generals, immediately upon receiving the tidingsof peace, set out at the utmost speed of his horse to convey theintelligence to Languedoc, where very numerous forces of Protestantsand Catholics were preparing for conflict. He spurred his steed overhills and plains till he saw, gleaming in the rays of the morning sun, the banners of the embattled hosts arrayed against each other on avast plain. The drums and the trumpets were just beginning to soundthe dreadful charge which in a few moments would strew that plain withmangled limbs and crimson it with blood. The artillery on theadjoining eminences was beginning to utter its voice of thunder, asballs, more destructive than the fabled bolts of Jove, were throwninto the massive columns marching to the dreadful onset. A few momentslater, and the cry, the uproar, and the confusion of the battle wouldblind every eye and deafen every ear. La Noue, almost frantic with thedesire to stop the needless effusion of blood, at the imminent risk ofbeing shot, galloped between the antagonistic armies, wavingenergetically the white banner of peace, and succeeded in arrestingthe battle. His generous effort saved the lives of thousands. 

Henry III. Was required, as a pledge of his sincerity, to place in thehands of the Protestants eight fortified cities. The Reformers werepermitted to conduct public worship unmolested in those places onlywhere it was practiced at the time of signing the treaty. In otherparts of France they were allowed to retain their belief withoutpersecution, but they were not permitted to meet in any worshipingassemblies. But even these pledges, confirmed by the Edict ofPoitiers on the 8th of October, 1577, were speedily broken, like allthe rest. 

But in the midst of all these conflicts, while every province inFrance was convulsed with civil war, the king, reckless of the woes ofhis subjects, rioted in all voluptuous dissipation. He was accustomedto exhibit himself to his court in those effeminate pageants in whichhe found his only joy, dressed in the flaunting robes of a gay woman, with his bosom open and a string of pearls encircling his neck. On oneoccasion he gave a fête, when, for the excitement of novelty, thegentlemen, in female robes, were waited upon by the ladies of thecourt, who were dressed in male attire, or rather undressed, for theirpersons were veiled by the slightest possible clothing. Such was thecorruption of the court of France, and, indeed, of nearly the wholerealm in those days of darkness. Domestic purity was a virtue unknown. Law existed only in name. The rich committed any crimes without fearof molestation. In the royal palace itself, one of the favorites ofthe king, in a paroxysm of anger, stabbed his wife and herwaiting-maid while the unfortunate lady was dressing. No noticewhatever was taken of this bloody deed. The murderer retained all hisoffices and honors, and it was the general sentiment of the people ofFrance that the assassination was committed by the order of thesovereign, because the lady refused to be entirely subservient to thewishes of the dissolute king. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE LEAGUE. 

1585-1589

Formation of the league. --Politics in the pulpit. --The League. --Objectof the League. --The oath. --Influence of the League. --Itsextension. --Vast power of the League. --Alarm of theProtestants. --Adroit measures of Henry III. --Embarrassment of theLeaguers. --Excommunication of Henry IV. --Bold retort. --Edict ofNemours. --Anguish of Henry of Navarre. --Death of Francis. --Redoubledenergies. --Toleration. --The challenge. --Efforts to raise an army. --TheLeaguers baffled. --The hostile meeting. --Appearance of the twoarmies. --The charge. --Penitence of Henry of Navarre. --Extraordinaryscene. --The battle of Coutras. --The victory. --Exultation ofthe troops. --Magnanimity of Henry of Navarre. --Conduct ofMarguerite. --Court of Henry of Navarre. --Censure by the clergy. --Theflying squadron. --Intrigue and gallantry. --Influences used byCatharine. --La Reole. --Treachery of Ussac. --News of the loss of LaReole. --The recapture. --Precarious peace. --Attempt to assassinateHenry. --The assassin humiliated. 

About this time there was formed the celebrated league which occupiesso conspicuous a position in the history of the sixteenth century. Henry III. , though conscious that his throne was trembling beneathhim, and courting now the Catholics and again the Protestants, wasstill amusing himself, day after day, with the most contemptible andtrivial vices. The extinction of the house of Valois was evidentlyand speedily approaching. Henry of Navarre, calm, sagacious, andenergetic, was rallying around him all the Protestant influences ofEurope, to sustain, in that event, his undeniable claim to the throne. The Duke of Guise, impetuous and fearless, hoped, in successfulusurpation, to grasp the rich prize by rallying around his banner allthe fanatic energies of Catholic Europe. 

Henry III. Was alike despised by Catholics and Protestants. Hisbrother Francis, though far more impulsive, had but few traits ofcharacter to command respect. He could summon but a feeble band forhis support. Henry of Guise was the available candidate for theCatholics. All the priestly influences of France were earnestlycombined to advance his claims. They declared that Henry of Navarrehad forfeited every shadow of right to the succession by being aheretic. The genealogy of the illustrious house of Guise was blazonedforth, and its descent traced from Charlemagne. It was asserted, andargued in the pulpit and in the camp, that even the house of Valoishad usurped the crown which by right belonged to the house of Guise. 

Under these circumstances, the most formidable secret society wasorganized the world has ever known. It assumed the name of The League. Its object was to exterminate Protestantism, and to place the Duke ofGuise upon the throne. The following are, in brief, its covenant andoath:

 THE LEAGUE. 

 In the name of the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, this League of Catholic princes, lords, and gentlemen shall be instituted to maintain the holy Catholic, apostolical, and Roman Church, abjuring all errors to the contrary. Should opposition to this league arise in any quarter, the associates shall employ all their goods and means, and even their own persons unto death, to punish and hunt down those opposing. Should any of the Leaguers, their associates or friends, be molested, the members of the League shall be bound to employ their bodies, goods, and means to inflict vengeance upon those thus offending. Should any Leaguer, after having taken the oath, withdraw from the association under any pretext whatever, the refractory member shall be injured, in body and goods, in every manner which can be devised, as enemies of God, rebels, and disturbers of the public peace. The Leaguers shall swear implicit obedience to their chief, and shall aid by counsel and service in preserving the League, and in the ruin of all who oppose it. All Catholic towns and villages shall be summoned secretly, by their several governors, to enter into this League, and to furnish arms and men for its execution. 

 OATH. 

 I swear by God the Creator, touching the Evangelists, and upon the pain of eternal damnation, that I have entered into this holy Catholic League loyally and sincerely, either to command, to obey, or to serve. I promise, upon my life and honor, to remain in this League to the last drop of my blood, without opposing or retiring upon any pretext whatever. 

Such was the character of secret societies in the sixteenth century. Amore atrocious confederacy than this the human mind could hardly haveconceived. It was, however, peculiarly calculated to captivate themultitude in those days of darkness and blood. Though at first formedand extended secretly, it spread like wildfire through all the citiesand provinces of France. Princes, lords, gentlemen, artisans, andpeasants rushed into its impious inclosures. The benighted populace, enthralled by the superstitions of the Church, were eager to manifesttheir zeal for God by wreaking the most awful vengeance upon_heretics_. He who, for any cause, declined entering the League, foundhimself exposed to every possible annoyance. His house and his barnsblazed in midnight conflagrations; his cattle were mutilated andslain; his wife and children were insulted and stoned in the streets. By day and by night, asleep and awake, at home and abroad, at alltimes and every where, he was annoyed by every conceivable form ofinjury and violence. 

Soon the League became so powerful that no farther secrecy wasneedful. It stalked abroad in open day, insulting its foes andvaunting its invincibility. The gigantic plan it unblushingly avowedwas to exterminate Protestantism by fire and the sword from France;then to drown it in blood in Holland; then to turn to England andpurify that kingdom from the taint of heresy; then to march uponGermany; and thus to advance from kingdom to kingdom, in their holycrusade, until Protestantism should be every where ingulfed in bloodand flame, and the whole of Europe should be again brought back to thedespotism of Rome. 

The Duke of Guise was the soul of this mammoth conspiracy, thoughPhilip II. , the bigoted King of Spain, was its recordedcommander-in-chief. The Protestants were justly alarmed by theenormous energy of the new power thus suddenly evoked against them. The Pope, though at first hostile, soon, with his cardinals, espousedthe cause of the League, and consecrated to its support all theweapons which could be wielded by the Vatican. From France, thedemoniac organization spread through all the kingdoms of Europe. Hundreds of thousands were arrayed beneath its crimson banner. EvenHenry III. In the Louvre, surrounded by his parasites and hisconcubines, trembled as he saw the shadow of this fearful apparitiondarkening his court. 

He immediately perceived that he must mount the car or be crushed byit. Adroitly he leaped into the seat of the charioteer and seized thereins. The demands of the League he adopted as his own, and urged themwith energy. He issued a proclamation commending the League to hissubjects, and announcing that he, to set them an example, had signedits covenant and its oath. The Duke of Guise and his followers werequite bewildered by this unexpected step. 

The League had demanded the assembling of the States-General, a bodysomewhat resembling the Congress of the United States. The kingimmediately summoned them to meet. They declared war against theProtestants. The king adopted the declaration as his own decree, andcalled loudly for supplies to prosecute the war with vigor. Heoutleagued the most violent of the Leaguers in denunciations of theProtestants, in declaring that but one religion should be tolerated inFrance, and in clamoring for arms and munitions of war, that _heresy_might be utterly extirpated. The Leaguers thus found, to their greatperplexity, the weapon which they had forged wrested from their handsand wielded against them. They had organized to drive the imbecileHenry III. From the throne. He had seized upon that organization, andwas using it to establish himself more firmly there. 

The situation of Henry of Navarre was now extremely critical. PopeSextus V. , besides giving the League his Papal blessing, hadfulminated against the King of Navarre the awful thunders ofexcommunication. 

The bull of excommunication was exceedingly coarse and vulgar in itsdenunciatory terms, calling the King of Navarre "_this bastard anddetestable progeny of Bourbons_. "

Henry replied to this assault in accents intrepid and resolute, whichcaused Catholic Europe to stand aghast. 

 "Henry, " said this bold document, "by the grace of God King of Navarre, sovereign prince of Bearn, first peer and prince of France, resists the declaration and excommunication of Sextus V. , self-styled Pope of Rome, asserts it to be false, and maintains that Mr. Sextus, the self-styled Pope, _has falsely and maliciously lied;_ that he himself is _heretic_, which he will prove in any full and free council lawfully assembled; to which if he does not consent and submit, as he is bound by the canons, he, the King of Navarre, holds and pronounces him to be anti-Christ and heretic, and in that quality declares against him perpetual and irreconcilable war. "

This energetic protest was placarded in most of the towns of France, and by some fearless followers of the prince was even attached to thewalls of the Vatican. The Pope, though at first much irritated, hadthe magnanimity to express his admiration of the spirit manifested byHenry. 

"There are but two princes in Europe, " said he, "to whom I couldventure to communicate the grand schemes revolving in my mind, Henryof Navarre and Elizabeth of England; but, unfortunately, they are bothheretics. "

Henry III. , having no moral principles to guide him in any thing, andhaving no generous affections of any kind, in carrying out his plan ofwielding the energies of the League without any scruples ofconscience, issued the infamous Edict of Nemours in 1585, whichcommanded every Protestant minister to leave the kingdom within onemonth, and every member of the Reformed faith either to abjure hisreligion and accept the Catholic faith, or to depart from Francewithin six months. The penalty for disobedience in either of thesecases was _death and the confiscation of property_. This edict wasexecuted with great rigor, and many were burned at the stake. 

Henry of Navarre was amazed, and, for a time, overwhelmed in receivingthe news of this atrocious decree. He clearly foresaw that it mustarouse France and all Europe to war, and that a new Iliad of woes wasto commence. Leaning his chin upon his hand, he was for a long timelost in profound reverie as he pondered the awful theme. It is saidthat his anguish was so intense, that when he removed his hand hisbeard and mustache on that side were turned entirely gray. 

But Henry rose with the emergence, and met the crisis with a degree ofenergy and magnanimity which elicited, in those barbarous times, theadmiration even of his enemies. The Protestants heroically graspedtheir arms and rallied together for mutual protection. War, with allits horrors, was immediately resumed. 

Affairs were in this condition when Francis, the Duke of Anjou, wastaken sick and suddenly died. This removed another obstruction fromthe field, and tended to hasten the crisis. Henry III. Was feeble, exhausted, and childless. Worn out by shameless dissipation, it wasevident to all that he must soon sink into his grave. Who was to behis successor? This was the question, above all others, which agitatedFrance and Europe. Henry of Navarre was, beyond all question, legitimately entitled to the throne; but he was, in the estimation ofFrance, a _heretic_. The League consequently, in view of the impendingperil of having a Protestant king, redoubled its energies to excludehim, and to enthrone their bigoted partisan, Henry of Guise. It was aterrific struggle. The Protestants saw suspended upon its issue theirproperty, their religious liberty, their lives, their earthly all. TheCatholics were stimulated by all the energies of fanaticism in defenseof the Church. All Catholic Europe espoused the one side, allProtestant Europe the other. One single word was enough to arrest allthese woes. That word was TOLERATION. 

When Henry III. Published his famous Edict of Nemours, commanding theconversion, the expulsion, or the death of the Protestants, Henry ofNavarre issued another edict replying to the calumnies of the League, and explaining his actions and his motives. Then adopting a stepcharacteristic of the chivalry of the times, he dispatched a challengeto the Duke of Guise, defying him to single combat, or, if he objectedto that, to a combat of two with two, ten with ten, or a hundred witha hundred. 

"In this challenge, " said Henry, "I call Heaven to witness that I amnot influenced by any spirit of bravado, but only by the desire ofdeciding a quarrel which will otherwise cost the lives of thousands. "

To this appeal the duke made no reply. It was by no means for hisinterest to meet on equal terms those whom he could easily outnumbertwo or three to one. 

Though the situation of Henry of Navarre seemed now almost desperate, he maintained his courage and his hope unshaken. His estates wereunhesitatingly sold to raise funds. His friends parted with theirjewels for gold to obtain the means to carry on the war. But, with hisutmost efforts, he could raise an army of but four or five thousandmen to resist two armies of twenty thousand each, headed by the Dukeof Guise and by his brother, the Duke of Mayenne. Fortunately forHenry, there was but little military capacity in the League, and, notwithstanding their vast superiority in numbers, they werecontinually circumvented in all their plans by the energy and thevalor of the Protestants. 

The King of France was secretly rejoiced at the discomfiture of theLeaguers, yet, expressing dissatisfaction with the Duke of Guise, heintrusted the command of the armies to one of his petted favorites, Joyeuse, a rash and fearless youth, who was as prompt to revel in thecarnage of the battle-field as in the voluptuousness of the palace. The king knew not whether to choose victory or defeat for hisfavorite. Victory would increase the influence and the renown of onestrongly attached to him, and would thus enable him more successfullyto resist the encroachments of the Duke of Guise. Defeat would weakenthe overbearing power of the Leaguers, and enable Henry III. Moresecurely to retain his position by the balance of the two rivalparties. Joyeuse, ardent and inexperienced, and despising the feebleband he was to encounter, was eager to display his prowess. He pressedeagerly to assail the King of Navarre. The two armies met upon abattle-field a few leagues from Bordeaux. The army of Joyeuse waschiefly of gay and effeminate courtiers and young nobles, who had toomuch pride to lack courage, but who possessed but little physicalvigor, and who were quite unused to the hardships and to thevicissitudes of war. 

On the morning of the 20th of October, 1589, as the sun rose over thehills of Perigord, the two armies were facing each other upon theplains of Coutras. The Leaguers were decked with unusual splendor, andpresented a glittering array, with gorgeous banners and waving plumes, and uniforms of satin and velvet embroidered by the hands of theladies of the court. They numbered twelve thousand men. Henry ofNavarre, with admirable military skill, had posted his six thousandhardy peasants, dressed in tattered skins, to meet the onset. 

And now occurred one of the most extraordinary scenes which historyhas recorded. It was a source of constant grief to the devoutProtestant leaders that Henry of Navarre, notwithstanding his manynoble traits of character, was not a man of pure morality. Just beforethe battle, Du Plessis, a Christian and a hero, approached the King ofNavarre and said, "Sire, it is known to all that you have sinned against God, andinjured a respectable citizen of Rochelle by the seduction of hisdaughter. We can not hope that God will bless our arms in thisapproaching battle while such a sin remains unrepented of andunrepaired. "

The king dismounted from his horse, and, uncovering his head, avowedin the presence of the whole army his sincere grief for what he haddone; he called all to witness that he thus publicly imploredforgiveness of God, and of the family he had injured, and he pledgedhis word that he would do every thing in his power to repair thewrong. 

The troops were then called to prayers by the ministers. Every man inthe ranks fell upon his knees, while one of the clergy implored God toforgive the sin of their chieftain, and to grant them protection andvictory. 

The strange movement was seen from the Catholic camp. "By death, "exclaimed Joyeuse, "the poltroons are frightened. Look! they kneel, imploring our mercy. "

"Do not deceive yourself, " replied an old captain. "When the Huguenotsget into that position, they are ready for hard fighting. "

The brilliant battalions of the enemy now began to deploy. Some onespoke of the splendor of their arms. Henry smiled and replied, "Weshall have the better aim when the fight begins. " Another ventured tointimate that the ministers had rebuked him with needless severity. Hereplied, "We can not be too humble before God, nor too brave beforemen. " Then turning to his followers, with tears in his eyes, headdressed to them a short and noble speech. He deplored the calamitiesof war, and solemnly declared that he had drawn arms only inself-defense. "Let them, " said he, "perish who are the authors of thiswar. May the blood shed this day rest upon them alone. "

To his two prominent generals, the Prince of Condé and the Count deSoissons, he remarked, with a smile, "To you I shall say nothing butthat you are of the house of Bourbon, and, please God, I will show youthis day that I am your elder. "

The battle almost immediately ensued. Like all fierce fights, it wasfor a time but a delirious scene of horror, confusion, and carnage. But the Protestants, with sinewy arms, hewed down their effeminatefoes, and with infantry and cavalry swept to and fro resistlessly overthe plain. The white plume of Henry of Navarre was ever seen waving inthe tumultuous throng wherever the battle was waged the fiercest. 

There was a singular blending of the facetious with the horrible inthis sanguinary scene. Before the battle, the Protestant preachers, inearnest sermons, had compared Henry with David at the head of theLord's chosen people. In the midst of the bloody fray, when the fieldwas covered with the dying and the dead, Henry grappled one of thestandard-bearers of the enemy. At the moment, humorously reminded ofthe flattering comparison of the preachers, he shouted, with waggerywhich even the excitement of the battle could not repress, "Surrender, you uncircumcised Philistine. "

In the course of one hour three thousand of the Leaguers wereweltering in blood upon the plain, Joyeuse himself, their leader, being among the dead. The defeat of the Catholics was so entire thatnot more than one fourth of their number escaped from the field ofCoutras. 

The victors were immediately assembled upon the bloody field, and, after prayers and thanksgiving, they sung, with exultant lips, "The Lord appears my helper now, Nor is my faith afraid What all the sons of earth can do, Since Heaven affords its aid. "

Henry was very magnanimous in the hour of victory. When some one askedwhat terms he should now demand, after so great a discomfiture of hisfoes, he replied, "_The same as before the battle_. "

In reading the records of these times, one is surprised to see howmirth, festivity, and magnificence are blended with blood, misery, anddespair. War was desolating France with woes which to thousands offamilies must have made existence a curse, and yet amid these sceneswe catch many glimpses of merriment and gayety. At one time we seeHenry III. Weeping and groaning upon his bed in utter wretchedness, and again he appears before us reveling with his dissolute companionsin the wildest carousals. While Henry of Navarre was struggling withhis foes upon the field of battle, Marguerite, his wife, was dancingand flirting with congenial paramours amid all the guilty pleasures ofthe court. Henry wrote repeatedly for her to come and join him, butshe vastly preferred the voluptuousness of the capital to the gloomand the hardships of the Protestant camp. She never loved her husband, and while she wished that he might triumph, and thus confer upon herthe illustrious rank of the Queen of France, she still rejoiced in hisabsence, as it allowed her that perfect freedom which she desired. When she saw indications of approaching peace, she was soapprehensive that she might thus be placed under constraint by thepresence of her husband, that she did what she could to perpetuatecivil war. 

It will be remembered that several of the fortified cities of Francewere in the hands of the Protestants. Henry of Navarre held hiscomparatively humble court in the town of Agen, where he was very muchbeloved and respected by the inhabitants. Though far fromirreproachable in his morals, the purity of his court was infinitelysuperior to that of Henry III. And his mother Catharine. Henry ofNavarre was, however, surrounded by a body of gay and light-heartedyoung noblemen, whose mirth-loving propensities and whose oftenindecorous festivities he could not control. One evening, at a generalball, these young gentlemen extinguished the lights, and in thedarkness a scene of much scandal ensued. Henry was severely censuredby the Protestant clergy, and by many others of his friends, for notholding the members of his court in more perfect control. Hispopularity suffered so severely from this occurrence, that it evenbecame necessary for Henry to withdraw his court from the town. 

Catharine and Marguerite, accompanied by a retinue of the mostvoluptuously-beautiful girls of France, set out to visit the court ofHenry of Navarre, which had been transferred to Neruc. Henry, hearingof their approach, placed himself at the head of five hundredgentlemen, and hastened to meet his mother-in-law and his wife, withtheir characteristic and congenial train. These were theinstrumentalities with which Catharine and Marguerite hoped to bendthe will of Henry and his friends to suit their purposes. Catharinehad great confidence in the potency of the influence which thesepliant maidens could wield, and they were all instructed in the partwhich they were to act. She was accustomed to call these allies her_flying squadron_. 

There then ensued a long series of negotiations, intermingled withmirth, gallantry, and intrigue, but the result of which was a treatyhighly conducive to the interests of the Protestants. Various placeswere designated where their religion should be freely tolerated, andin which they were to be allowed to build conventicles. They were alsopermitted to raise money for the support of their ministers, andfourteen cities were surrendered to their government. Severalincidents occurred during these negotiations very characteristic ofthe corrupt manners of the times. 

Marguerite devoted herself most energetically to the promotion of thesuccess of Henry's plans. Catharine found herself, notwithstanding allher artifice, and all the peculiar seductions of her femaleassociates, completely foiled by the sagacity and the firmness ofHenry. She had brought with her Monsieur de Pibrac, a man verycelebrated for his glowing eloquence and for his powers of persuasion. The oratory of Pibrac, combined with the blandishments of the ladies, were those co-operative influences which the queen imagined none wouldbe able to resist. Marguerite, however, instructed in the school ofCatharine, succeeded in obtaining entire control over the mind ofPibrac himself, and he became a perfect tool in her hands. Catharine, thus foiled, was compelled to grant far more favorable terms to theProtestants than she had contemplated. 

La Reole was one of the towns of security surrendered to theProtestants. There was, however, so little of good faith in that day, that, notwithstanding the pledge of honor, possession of the placecould only be retained by vigilance. The government of the town hadbeen conferred upon a veteran Protestant general by the name of Ussac. His days, from early youth, had been passed on fields of battle. Hewas now far advanced in years, in feeble health, and dreadfullydisfigured by wounds received in the face. One of the most fascinatingof the ladies of the queen-mother lavished such endearments upon theold man, already in his dotage, that he lost his principles and allself-control, and made himself very ridiculous by assuming the airs ofa young lover. Henry had the imprudence to join in the mockery withwhich the court regarded his tenderness. This was an indignity whichan old man could never forget. Instigated by his beautiful seducer, hebecame entirely unmindful of those principles of honor which hadembellished his life, and in revenge invited a Roman Catholic generalto come and take possession of the town. 

Henry was informed of this act of treachery while dancing at a verybrilliant entertainment given in his palace. He quietly whispered toTurenne, Sully, and a few others of his most intimate friends, requesting them to escape from the room, gather around them such armedmen as they could, and join him at a rendezvous in the country. Theyall stole unperceived from the mirthful party, concealed their swordsbeneath their cloaks, traveled all night, and arrived, just as the daybegan to dawn, before the gates of the city. They found the place, asthey had expected, entirely unprepared for such a sudden attack, and, rushing in, regained it without difficulty. The Catholic soldiersretreated to the castle, where they held out a few days, and many ofthem perished in the assault by which it was soon taken. 

Such was the character of the nominal peace which now existed. Apartisan warfare was still continued throughout France. Catharine andher maids did every thing in their power to excite dissensions betweenthe Protestant leaders. In this they succeeded so well that the Princeof Condé became so exasperated against Turenne as to challenge him tosingle combat. 

Such a peace as we have above described could not, of course, belasting. Both parties were soon again gathering all their forces forwar. There is a tedious monotony in the recital of the horrors ofbattle. Cities bombarded, and sacked, and burned; shells exploding inthe cradle of infancy and in the chambers of mothers and maidens;mutilated bodies trampled beneath the hoofs of horses; the cry of themaddened onset, the shrieks of the wounded, and the groans of thedying; the despair of the widow and the orphan; smouldering ruins ofonce happy homes; the fruits of the husbandman's toils trodden intothe mire; starvation, misery, and death--these are ever the fruits ofwar. 

During the short interval of peace, many attempts had been made toassassinate Henry of Navarre by the partisans of the Duke of Guise. Henry was, one fine morning, setting out with a few friends for a rideof pleasure. Just as the party were leaving the court-yard, he wasinformed that an assassin, very powerfully mounted, was prepared tomeet him on the way and to take his life. Henry apparently paid noheed to the warning, but rode along conversing gayly with his friends. They soon met, in a retired part of the way, a stranger, armedaccording to the custom of the times, and mounted upon a verymagnificent steed, which had been prepared for him to facilitate hisescape after the accomplishment of the fell deed. Henry immediatelyrode up to the assassin, addressed him in terms of great familiarityand cordiality, and, professing to admire the beautiful charger uponwhich he was mounted, requested him to dismount, that he might try thesplendid animal. The man, bewildered, obeyed the wishes of the king, when Henry leaped into the saddle, and, seizing the two loaded pistolsat the saddle-bow, looked the man sternly in the eye, and said, "I am told that you seek to kill me. You are now in my power, and Icould easily put you to death; but I will not harm you. "

He then discharged the two pistols in the air, and permitted thehumiliated man to mount his horse and ride away unharmed. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE ASSASSINATION OF THE DUKE OF GUISE AND OF HENRY III. 

1589

Imbecility of the king. --Haughtiness of the Duke of Guise. --The dukegoes to Paris. --Interview with the king. --Two rival courts. --TheSwiss guard defeated. --Tumult in the city. --Dignity of Achille deHarlai. --Measures adopted by the duke. --Endeavors to obtain anassassin. --The king at Blois. --Assassination of the Duke ofGuise. --Interview between the king and Catharine. --Indignation ofthe League. --Anathemas against the king. --The king seeks aid fromthe Protestants. --Desolations of war. --Compact with Henry ofNavarre. --Interview at Plessis les Tours. --The manifesto. --Renewedwar. --Duchess of Montpensier. --The flag of truce. --Assassination ofHenry III. --Arrival of Henry of Navarre. --Dying scene. --Henry IV. Assumes the crown. --Difficulties of the new reign. --Danger ofassassination. --Religious principles of Henry IV. --News of the deathof Henry III. --Abandoned by the Catholics. --The retreat. --The standat Dieppe. --Henry urged to fly to England. --Anecdote. --Arrival ofthe fleet from England. --Bigotry of the Catholics. --Desolation ofFrance. --Ignoble conduct of the League. --Paris besieged. --Assault ofEtampes. --Letter from Lorraine. --Military reprisals. --Activity ofHenry. --Dissension among the Leaguers. --Triumphant progress ofHenry. --Wonderful escape. 

The war, again resumed, was fiercely prosecuted. Henry III. Remainedmost of the time in the gilded saloons of the Louvre, irritable andwretched, and yet incapable of any continued efficient exertion. Manyof the zealous Leaguers, indignant at the pusillanimity he displayed, urged the Duke of Guise to dethrone Henry III. By violence, and openlyto declare himself King of France. They assured him that the nationwould sustain him by their arms. But the duke was not prepared toenter upon so bold a measure, as he hoped that the death of the kingwould soon present to him a far more favorable opportunity for theassumption of the throne. Henry III. Was in constant fear that theduke, whose popularity in France was almost boundless, might supplanthim, and he therefore forbade him to approach the metropolis. 

Notwithstanding this prohibition, the haughty duke, accompanied by asmall party of his intrepid followers, as if to pay court to hissovereign, boldly entered the city. The populace of the capital, everripe for excitement and insurrection, greeted him with boundlessenthusiasm. Thousands thronged the broad streets through which hepassed with a small but brilliant retinue. Ladies crowded the windows, waving scarfs, cheering him with smiles, and showering flowers at hisfeet. The cry resounded along the streets, penetrating even theapartments of the Louvre, and falling appallingly upon the ear of theking:

"Welcome--welcome, great duke. Now you are come, we are safe. "

Henry III. Was amazed and terrified by this insolence of his defiantsubject. In bewilderment, he asked those about him what he should do. 

"Give me the word, " said a colonel of his guard, "and I will plunge mysword through his body. "

"Smite the shepherd, " added one of the king's spiritual counselors, "and the sheep will disperse. "

But Henry feared to exasperate the populace of Paris by theassassination of a noble so powerful and so popular. In the midst ofthis consultation, the Duke of Guise, accompanied by the queen-motherCatharine, whom he had first called upon, entered the Louvre, and, passing through the numerous body-guard of the king, whom he salutedwith much affability, presented himself before the feeble monarch. Theking looked sternly upon him, and, without any word of greeting, exclaimed angrily, "Did I not forbid you to enter Paris?"

"Sire, " the duke replied, firmly, but with affected humility, "I cameto demand justice, and to reply to the accusations of my enemies. "

The interview was short and unrelenting. The king, exasperated almostbeyond endurance, very evidently hesitated whether to give the signalfor the immediate execution of his dreaded foe. There were those athis side, with arms in their hands, who were eager instantly to obeyhis bidding. The Duke of Guise perceived the imminence of his danger, and, feigning sudden indisposition, immediately retired. In his ownalmost regal mansion he gathered around him his followers and hisfriends, and thus placed himself in a position where even the arm ofthe sovereign could not venture to touch him. 

There were now in Paris, as it were, two rival courts, emulating eachother in splendor and power. The one was that of the king at theLouvre, the other was that of the duke in his palace. It was rumoredthat the duke was organizing a conspiracy to arrest the king and holdhim a captive. Henry III. , to strengthen his body-guard, called astrong force of Swiss mercenaries into the city. The retainers of theduke, acting under the secret instigation of their chieftain, rousedthe populace of Paris to resist the Swiss. Barricades were immediatelyconstructed by filling barrels with stones and earth; chains werestretched across the streets from house to house; and organized bands, armed with pikes and muskets, threatened even the gates of the Louvre. 

A conflict soon ensued, and the Swiss guard were defeated by the mobat every point. The Duke of Guise, though he secretly guided all thesemovements, remained in his palace, affecting to have no share in theoccurrences. Night came. Confusion and tumult rioted in the city. Theinsurgent populace, intoxicated and maddened, swarmed around the wallsof the palace, and the king was besieged. The spiritless and terrifiedmonarch, disguising himself in humble garb, crept to his stables, mounted a fleet horse, and fled from the city. Riding at full speed, he sought refuge in Chartres, a walled town forty miles southeast ofParis. 

The flight of the king before an insurgent populace was a greatvictory to the duke. He was thus left in possession of the metropoliswithout any apparent act of rebellion on his own part, and it becamemanifestly his duty to do all in his power to preserve order in thecapital thus surrendered to anarchy. The duke had ever been the idolof the populace, but now nearly the whole population of Paris, andespecially the influential citizens, looked to him as their onlyprotector. 

Some, however, with great heroism, still adhered to the cause of theking. The Duke of Guise sent for Achille de Harlai, President of theCouncil, and endeavored to win him over to his cause, that he mightthus sanction his usurpation by legal forms; but De Harlai, fixing hiseyes steadfastly upon the duke, fearlessly said, "'Tis indeed pitiable when the valet expels his master. As for me, mysoul belongs to my Maker, and my fidelity belongs to the king. My bodyalone is in the hands of the wicked. You talk of assembling theParliament. When the majesty of the prince is violated, the magistrateis without authority. " The intrepid president was seized andimprisoned. 

The followers of Henry III. Soon gathered around him at Chartres, andhe fortified himself strongly there. The Duke of Guise, though stillprotesting great loyalty, immediately assumed at Paris the authorityof a sovereign. He assembled around him strong military forces, professedly to protect the capital from disturbance. For a month ortwo negotiations were conducted between the two parties for acompromise, each fearing the other too much to appeal to the decisionsof the sword. At last Henry III. Agreed to appoint the Duke of Guiselieutenant general of France and high constable of the kingdom. Healso, while pledging himself anew to wage a war of exterminationagainst the Protestants, promised to bind the people of France, by anoath, to exclude from the succession to the throne all personssuspected even of Protestantism. This would effectually cut off thehopes of Henry of Navarre, and secure the crown to the Duke of Guiseupon the death of the king. 

Both of the antagonists now pretended to a sincere reconciliation, andHenry, having received Guise at Chartres with open arms, returned toParis, meditating how he might secure the death of his dreaded andpowerful rival. Imprisonment was not to be thought of, for no fortressin France could long hold one so idolized by the populace. The kingapplied in person to one of his friends, a brave and honest soldier bythe name of Crillon, to assassinate the duke. 

"I am not an executioner, " the soldier proudly replied, "and thefunction does not become my rank. But I will challenge the duke toopen combat, and will cheerfully sacrifice my life that I may takehis. "

This plan not meeting with the views of the king, he applied to one ofthe commanders of his guard named Lorgnac. This man had no scruples, and with alacrity undertook to perform the deed. Henry, having retiredto the castle of Blois, about one hundred miles south of Paris, arranged all the details, while he was daily, with the most consummatehypocrisy, receiving his victim with courteous words and smiles. Theking summoned a council to attend him in his cabinet at Blois on the23d of December. It was appointed at an early hour, and the Duke ofGuise attended without his usual retinue. He had been repeatedlywarned to guard against the treachery of Henry, but his reply was, [Illustration: ASSASSINATION OF HENRY, DUKE OF GUISE. ]

"I do not know that man on earth who, hand to hand with me, would nothave his full share of fear. Besides, I am always so well attendedthat it would not be easy to find me off my guard. "

The duke arrived at the door of the cabinet after passing through longfiles of the king's body-guard. Just as he was raising the tapestrywhich veiled the entrance, Lorgnac sprang upon him and plunged adagger into his throat. Others immediately joined in the assault, andthe duke dropped, pierced with innumerable wounds, dead upon thefloor. 

Henry, hearing the noise and knowing well what it signified, verycoolly stepped from his cabinet into the ante-chamber, and, lookingcalmly upon the bloody corpse, said, "Do you think he is dead, Lorgnac?"

"Yes, sire, " Lorgnac replied, "he looks like it. "

"Good God, how tall he is!" said the king. "He seems taller dead thanwhen he was living. " Then giving the gory body a kick, he exclaimed, "Venomous beast, thou shalt cast forth no more venom. "

In the same manner the duke had treated the remains of the nobleAdmiral Coligni, a solemn comment upon the declaration, "With whatmeasure ye mete it shall be measured to you again. "

Cardinal Guise, the brother of the duke, was immediately arrested byorder of the king, and sent to prison, where he was assassinated. Henry III. Soon after repaired to the bedside of Catharine his mother, who was lying sick in one of the chambers of the castle. Nothing canshow more clearly the character of the times and of the personagesthan the following laconic dialogue which ensued:

"How do you do, mother, this morning?" inquired the king. 

"I am better than I have been, " she replied. 

"So am I, " Henry rejoined, gayly, "for I have made myself this morningKing of France by putting to death the King of Paris. "

"Take care, " this hardened woman exclaimed, "that you do not soon findyourself _king of nothing_. Diligence and resolution are nowabsolutely necessary for you. "

She then turned upon her pillow without the slightest apparentemotion. In twelve days from this time, this wretched queen, deformedby every vice, without one single redeeming virtue, breathed her last, seventy years of age. She was despised by the Catholics, and hated bythe Protestants. 

These acts of violence and crime roused the League to the most intenseenergy. The murder of the Duke of Guise, and especially the murder ofhis brother, a cardinal in the Church, were acts of impiety which noatonement could expiate. Though Henry was a Catholic, and all hisagents in these atrocious murders were Catholics, the death of theDuke of Guise increased vastly the probability that Protestantinfluences might become dominant at court. The Pope issued a bull ofexcommunication against all who should advocate the cause of HenryIII. The Sorbonne published a decree declaring that the king hadforfeited all right to the obedience of his subjects, and justifyingthem in taking up arms against him. The clergy, from the pulpit, refused communion, absolution, and burial in holy ground to every onewho yielded obedience to "the perfidious apostate and tyrant; Henry ofValois. "

The League immediately chose the Duke of Mayenne, a surviving brotherof the Duke of Guise, as its head. The Pope issued his anathemasagainst Henry III. , and Spain sent her armies to unite with theLeague. Henry now found it necessary to court the assistance of theProtestants. He dreaded to take this step, for he was superstitious inthe extreme, and he could not endure the thought of any alliance withheretics. He had still quite a formidable force which adhered to him, for many of the highest nobles were disgusted with the arrogance ofthe Guises, and were well aware that the enthronement of the house ofGuise would secure their own banishment from court. 

The triumph of the League would be total discomfiture to theProtestants. No freedom of worship or of conscience whatever would beallowed them. It was therefore for the interest of the Protestants tosustain the more moderate party hostile to the League. It wasestimated that about one sixth of the inhabitants of France were atthat time Protestants. 

Wretched, war-scathed France was now distracted by three parties. First, there were the Protestants, contending only in self-defenseagainst persecution, and yet earnestly praying that, upon the death ofthe king, Henry of Navarre, the legitimate successor, might ascend thethrone. Next came those Catholics who were friendly to the claims ofHenry from their respect for the ancient law of succession. Thencame, combined in the League, the bigoted partisans of the Church, resolved to exterminate from Europe, with fire and sword, the detestedheresy of Protestantism. 

Henry III. Was now at the castle of Blois. Paris was hostile to him. The Duke of Mayenne, younger brother of the Duke of Guise, at the headof five thousand soldiers of the League, marched to the metropolis, where he was received by the Parisians with unbounded joy. He wasurged by the populace and the Parliament in Paris to proclaim himselfking. But he was not yet prepared for so decisive a step. 

No tongue can tell the misery which now pervaded ill-fated France. Some cities were Protestant, some were Catholic; division, and war, and blood were every where. Armed bands swept to and fro, andconflagration and slaughter deluged the kingdom. 

The king immediately sent to Henry of Navarre, promising to confermany political privileges upon the Protestants, and to maintainHenry's right to the throne, if he would aid him in the conflictagainst the League. The terms of reconciliation were soon effected. Henry of Navarre, then leaving his army to advance by rapid marches, rode forward with his retinue to meet his brother-in-law, Henry ofValois. He found him at one of the ancient palaces of France, Plessisles Tours. The two monarchs had been friends in childhood, but theyhad not met for many years. The King of Navarre was urged by hisfriends not to trust himself in the power of Henry III. "For, " saidthey, "the King of France desires nothing so much as to obtainreconciliation with the Pope, and no offering can be so acceptable tothe Pope as the death of a heretic prince. "

Henry hesitated a moment when he arrived upon an eminence whichcommanded a distant view of the palace. Then exclaiming, "God guidesme, and He will go with me, " he plunged his spurs into his horse'sside, and galloped forward. 

The two monarchs met, each surrounded with a gorgeous retinue, in oneof the magnificent avenues which conducted to the castle. Forgettingthe animosities of years, and remembering only the friendships ofchildhood, they cast themselves cordially into each other's arms. Themultitude around rent the air with their acclamations. 

Henry of Navarre now addressed a manifesto to all the inhabitants ofFrance in behalf of their woe-stricken country. "I conjure you all, "said he, "Catholics as well as Protestants, to have pity on the stateand on yourselves. We have all done and suffered evil enough. We havebeen four years intoxicate, insensate, and furious. Is not thissufficient? Has not God smitten us all enough to allay our fury, andto make us wise at last?"

But passion was too much aroused to allow such appeals to be heeded. Battle after battle, with ever-varying success, ensued between thecombined forces of the king and Henry of Navarre on one side, and ofthe League, aided by many of the princes of Catholic Europe, on theother. The storms of winter swept over the freezing armies and thesmouldering towns, and the wail of the victims of horrid war blendedwith the moanings of the gale. Spring came, but it brought no joy todesolate, distracted, wretched France. Summer came, and the bright sunlooked down upon barren fields, and upon a bleeding, starving, fighting nation. Henry of Navarre, in command of the royal forces, atthe head of thirty thousand troops, was besieging Paris, which washeld by the Duke of Mayenne, and boldly and skillfully was conductinghis approaches to a successful termination. The cause of the Leaguebegan to wane. Henry III. Had taken possession of the castle of St. Cloud, and from its elevated windows looked out with joy upon the boldassaults and the advancing works. 

[Illustration: THE ASSASSINATION OF HENRY III. ]

The leaders of the League now resolved to resort again to the oldweapon of assassination. Henry III. Was to be killed. But no man couldkill him unless he was also willing to sacrifice his own life. TheDuchess of Montpensier, sister of the Duke of Guise, for theaccomplishment of this purpose, won the love, by caressings andendearments, of Jaques Clement, an ardent, enthusiastic monk of wildand romantic imaginings, and of the most intense fanaticism. Thebeautiful duchess surrendered herself without any reserve whatever tothe paramour she had enticed to her arms, that she might obtain theentire supremacy over his mind. Clement concealed a dagger in hisbosom, and then went out from the gates of the city accompanied by twosoldiers and with a flag of truce, ostensibly to take a message to theking. He refused to communicate his message to any one but the monarchhimself. Henry III. , supposing it to be a communication of importance, perhaps a proposition to surrender, ordered him to be admittedimmediately to his cabinet. Two persons only were present with theking. The monk entered, and, kneeling, drew a letter from the sleeveof his gown, presented it to the king, and instantly drawing a largeknife from its concealment, plunged it into the entrails of hisvictim. The king uttered a piercing cry, caught the knife from hisbody and struck at the head of his murderer, wounding him above theeye. The two gentlemen who were present instantly thrust their swordsthrough the body of the assassin, and he fell dead. 

The king, groaning with anguish, was undressed and borne to his bed. The tidings spread rapidly, and soon reached the ears of the King ofNavarre, who was a few miles distant at Meudon. He galloped to St. Cloud, and knelt with gushing tears at the couch of the dying monarch. Henry III. Embraced him with apparently the most tender affection. Inbroken accents, interrupted with groans of anguish, he said, "If my wound proves mortal, I leave my crown to you as my legitimatesuccessor. If my will can have any effect, the crown will remain asfirmly upon your brow as it was upon that of Charlemagne. "

He then assembled his principal officers around him, and enjoined themto unite for the preservation of the monarchy, and to sustain theclaims of the King of Navarre as the indisputable heir to the throneof France. 

A day of great anxiety passed slowly away, and as the shades ofevening settled down over the palace, it became manifest to all thatthe wound was mortal. The wounded monarch writhed upon his bed infearful agony. At midnight, Henry of Navarre, who was busily engagedsuperintending some of the works of the siege, was sent for, as theKing of France was dying. Accompanied by a retinue of thirtygentlemen, he proceeded at full speed to the gates of the castle wherethe monarch was struggling in the grasp of the King of Terrors. 

It is difficult to imagine the emotions which must have agitated thesoul of Henry of Navarre during this dark and gloomy ride. The day hadnot yet dawned when he arrived at the gates of the castle. The firsttidings he received were, _The king is dead_. It was the 2d of August, 1589. 

Henry of Navarre was now Henry IV. , King of France. But never didmonarch ascend the throne under circumstances of greater perplexityand peril. Never was a more distracted kingdom placed in the hands ofa new monarch. Henry was now thirty-four years of age. The wholekingdom was convulsed by warring factions. For years France had beendesolated by all the most virulent elements of religious and politicalanimosity. All hearts were demoralized by familiarity with the daggerof the assassin and the carnage of the battle-field. Almost universaldepravity had banished all respect for morality and law. The wholefabric of society was utterly disorganized. 

Under these circumstances, Henry developed that energy and sagacitywhich have given him a high position among the most renowned ofearthly monarchs. He immediately assembled around him that portion ofthe royal army in whose fidelity he could confide. Without the delayof an hour, he commenced dictating letters to all the monarchies ofEurope, announcing his accession to the throne, and soliciting theiraid to confirm him in his legitimate rights. 

As the new sovereign entered the chamber of the deceased king, hefound the corpse surrounded by many of the Catholic nobility ofFrance. They were ostentatiously solemnizing the obsequies of thedeparted monarch. He heard many low mutterings from these zealouspartisans of Rome, that they would rather die a thousand deaths thanallow a Protestant king to ascend the throne. Angry eyes glared uponhim from the tumultuous and mutinous crowd, and, had not Henry retiredto consult for his own safety, he also might have fallen the victim ofassassination. In the intense excitement of these hours, the leadingCatholics held a meeting, and appointed a committee to wait uponHenry, and inform him that he must immediately abjure Protestantismand adopt the Catholic faith, or forfeit their support to the crown. 

"Would you have me, " Henry replied, "profess conversion with thedagger at my throat? And could you, in the day of battle, follow onewith confidence who had thus proved that he was an apostate andwithout a God? I can only promise carefully to examine the subjectthat I may be guided to the truth. "

Henry was a Protestant from the force of circumstances rather thanfrom conviction. He was not a theologian either in mind or heart, andhe regarded the Catholics and Protestants merely as two politicalparties, the one or the other of which he would join, according as, inhis view, it might promote his personal interests and the welfare ofFrance. In his childhood he was a Catholic. In boyhood, under thetuition of his mother, Protestant influences were thrown around him, and he was nominally a Protestant. He saved his life at St. Bartholomew by avowing the Catholic faith. When he escaped from theCatholic court and returned to his mother's Protestant court inNavarre, he espoused with new vigor the cause of his Protestantfriends. These changes were of course more or less mortifying, andthey certainly indicated a total want of religious conviction. He nowpromised carefully to look at the arguments on both sides of thequestion, and to choose deliberately that which should seem to himright. This arrangement, however, did not suit the more zealous of theCatholics, and, in great numbers, they abandoned his camp and passedover to the League. 

The news of the death of Henry III. Was received with unboundedexultation in the besieged city. The Duchess of Montpensier threw herarms around the neck of the messenger who brought her the welcometidings, exclaiming, "Ah! my friend, is it true? Is the monster really dead? What agratification! I am only grieved to think that he did not know that itwas I who directed the blow. "

She rode out immediately, that she might have the pleasure herself ofcommunicating the intelligence. She drove through the streets, shouting from her carriage, "Good news! good news! the tyrant isdead. " The joy of the priests rose to the highest pitch of fanaticalfervor. The assassin was even canonized. The Pope himself condescendedto pronounce a eulogium upon the "_martyr_, " and a statue was erectedto his memory, with the inscription, "St. Jaques Clement, pray forus. "

The League now proclaimed as king the old Cardinal of Bourbon, underthe title of Charles X. , and nearly all of Catholic Europe ralliedaround this pretender to the crown. No one denied the validity of thetitle, according to the principles of legitimacy, of Henry IV. Hisrights, however, the Catholics deemed forfeited by his Protestanttendencies. Though Henry immediately issued a decree promising everysurety and support to the Catholic religion as the establishedreligion of France, still, as he did not also promise to devote allhis energies to the extirpation of the heresy of Protestantism, thegreat majority of the Catholics were dissatisfied. 

Epernon, one of the most conspicuous of the Catholic leaders, at thehead of many thousand Catholic soldiers, waited upon the kingimmediately after the death of Henry III. , and informed him that theycould not maintain a Protestant on the throne. With flying banners andresounding bugles they then marched from the camp and joined theLeague. So extensive was this disaffection, that in one day Henryfound himself deserted by all his army except six thousand, most ofwhom were Protestants. Nearly thirty thousand men had abandoned him, some to retire to their homes, and others to join the enemy. 

The army of the League within the capital was now twenty thousandstrong. They prepared for a rush upon the scattered and broken ranksof Henry IV. Firmly, fearlessly, and with well matured plans, heordered a prompt retreat. Catholic Europe aroused itself in behalf ofthe League. Henry appealed to Protestant Europe to come to his aid. Elizabeth of England responded promptly to his appeal, and promised tosend a fleet and troops to the harbor of Dieppe, about one hundredmiles northwest of Paris, upon the shores of the English Channel. Firmly, and with concentrated ranks, the little army of Protestantscrossed the Seine. Twenty thousand Leaguers eagerly pursued them, watching in vain for a chance to strike a deadly blow. Henry ate not, slept not, rested not. Night and day, day and night, he was everywhere present, guiding, encouraging, protecting this valiant band. Planting a rear guard upon the western banks of the Seine, the chafingfoe was held in check until the Royalist army had retired beyond theOise. Upon the farther banks of this stream Henry again reared hisdefenses, thwarting every endeavor of his enemies, exasperated by suchunexpected discomfiture. 

As Henry slowly retreated toward the sea, all the Protestants of theregion through which he passed, and many of the moderate Catholics whowere in favor of the royal cause and hostile to the house of Guise, flocked to his standard. He soon found himself, with seven thousandvery determined men, strongly posted behind the ramparts of Dieppe. 

But the Duke of Mayenne had also received large accessions. The spearsand banners of his proud host, now numbering thirty-five thousand, gleamed from all the hills and valleys which surrounded the fortifiedcity. For nearly a month there was almost an incessant conflict. Everymorning, with anxious eyes, the Royalists scanned the watery horizon, hoping to see the fleet of England coming to their aid. Cheered byhope, they successfully beat back their assailants. The toils of theking were immense. With exalted military genius he guided everymovement, at the same time sharing the toil of the humblest soldier. "It is a marvel, " he wrote, "how I live with the labor I undergo. Godhave pity upon me, and show me mercy. "

Some of Henry's friends, appalled by the strength of the army pursuingthem, urged him to embark and seek refuge in England. 

"Here we are, " Henry replied, "in France, and here let us be buried. If we fly now, all our hopes will vanish with the wind which bearsus. "

In a skirmish, one day, one of the Catholic chieftains, the Count deBélin, was taken captive. He was led to the head-quarters of the king. Henry greeted him with perfect cordiality, and, noticing theastonishment of the count in seeing but a few scattered soldiers wherehe had expected to see a numerous army, he said, playfully, yet witha confident air, "You do not perceive all that I have with me, M. De Bélin, for you donot reckon God and the right on my side. "

The indomitable energy of Henry, accompanied by a countenance everserene and cheerful under circumstances apparently so desperate, inspired the soldiers with the same intrepidity which glowed in thebosom of their chief. 

But at last the valiant little band, so bravely repelling overwhelmingnumbers, saw, to their inexpressible joy, the distant ocean whitenedwith the sails of the approaching English fleet. Shouts of exultationrolled along their exhausted lines, carrying dismay into the camp ofthe Leaguers. A favorable wind pressed the fleet rapidly forward, andin a few hours, with streaming banners, and exultant music, andresounding salutes, echoed and re-echoed from English ships and Frenchbatteries, the fleet of Elizabeth, loaded to its utmost capacity withmoney, military supplies, and men, cast anchor in the little harbor ofDieppe. 

Nearly six thousand men, Scotch and English, were speedilydisembarked. The Duke of Mayenne, though his army was still doublethat of Henry IV. , did not dare to await the onset of his foes thusrecruited. Hastily breaking up his encampment, he retreated to Paris. Henry IV. , in gratitude to God for the succor which he had thusreceived from the Protestant Queen of England, directed thatthanksgivings should be offered in his own quarters according to thereligious rites of the Protestant Church. This so exasperated theCatholics, even in his own camp, that a mutiny was excited, andseveral of the Protestant soldiers were wounded in the fray. Soextreme was the fanaticism at this time that, several Protestants, after a sanguinary fight, having been buried on the battle-fieldpromiscuously in a pit with some Catholics who had fallen by theirside, the priests, even of Henry's army, ordered the Protestant bodiesto be dug up and thrown out as food for dogs. 

While these scenes were transpiring in the vicinity of Dieppe, almostevery part of France was scathed and cursed by hateful war. Everyprovince, city, village, had its partisans for the League or for theking. Beautiful France was as a volcano in the world of woe, in whoseseething crater flames, and blood, and slaughter, the yell of conflictand the shriek of agony, blended in horrors which no imagination cancompass. There was an end to every earthly joy. Cities were bombarded, fields of grain trampled in the mire, villages burned. Famine riotedover its ghastly victims. Hospitals were filled with miserablemultitudes, mutilated and with festering wounds, longing for death. Not a ray of light pierced the gloom of this dark, black night ofcrime and woe. And yet, undeniably, the responsibility before God mustrest with the League. Henry IV. Was the lawful king of France. TheCatholics had risen in arms to resist his rights, because they fearedthat he would grant liberty of faith and worship to the Protestants. 

The League adopted the most dishonorable and criminal means toalienate from Henry the affections of the people. They forged letters, in which the king atrociously expressed joy at the murder of HenryIII. , and declared his determination by dissimulation and fraud toroot out Catholicism entirely from France. No efforts of artifice werewanting to render the monarch odious to the Catholic populace. Thoughthe Duke of Mayenne occasionally referred to the old Cardinal ofBourbon as the king whom he acknowledged, he, with the characteristichaughtiness of the family of Guise, assumed himself the air and thelanguage of a sovereign. It was very evident that he intended to placehimself upon the throne. 

Henry IV. , with the money furnished by Elizabeth, was now able to payhis soldiers their arrears. His army steadily increased, and he soonmarched with twenty-three thousand troops and fourteen pieces ofartillery to lay siege to Paris. His army had unbounded confidence inhis military skill. With enthusiastic acclamations they pursued theretreating insurgents. Henry was now on the offensive, and his troopswere posted for the siege of Paris, having driven the foe within itswalls. After one sanguinary assault, the king became convinced that hehad not with him sufficient force to carry the city. The Duke ofMayenne stood firmly behind the intrenchments of the capital, with anarmy much strengthened by re-enforcements of Spanish and Italiantroops. Henry accordingly raised the siege, and marched rapidly toEtampes, some forty miles south of Paris, where a large part of hisfoes had established themselves. He suddenly attacked the town andcarried it by assault. The unhappy inhabitants of this city had, inthe course of four months, experienced the horrors of three assaults. The city, in that short period, had been taken and retaken threetimes. 

While at Etampes, Henry received a letter from the beautiful butdisconsolate Louisa of Lorraine, the widow of Henry III. , imploringhim to avenge the murder of her husband. The letter was so affectingthat, when it was read in the king's council, it moved all the membersto tears. 

Many of the citizens of Paris, weary of the miseries of civil war, were now disposed to rally around their lawful monarch as the onlymode of averting the horrible calamities which overwhelmed France. TheDuke of Mayenne rigorously arrested all who were suspected of suchdesigns, and four of the most prominent of the citizens were condemnedto death. Henry immediately sent a message to the duke, that if thesentence were carried into effect, he would retaliate by putting todeath some of the Catholic nobles whom he had in his power. Mayennedefiantly executed two Royalists. Henry immediately suspended upon agibbet two unfortunate Leaguers who were his captives. This decisivereprisal accomplished its purpose, and compelled Mayenne to be moremerciful. 

With great energy, Henry now advanced to Tours, about one hundred andtwenty miles south of Paris, on the banks of the Loire, taking everytown by the way, and sweeping all opposition before him. He seldomslept more than three hours at a time, and seized his meals where hecould. 

"It takes Mayenne, " said Henry, proudly, "more time to put on hisboots than it does me to win a battle. "

"Henry, " remarked Pope Sextus V. , sadly, "will surely, in the end, gain the day, for he spends less hours in bed than Mayenne spends atthe table. "

Though the armies of the League were still superior to the Royalistarmy, victory every where followed the banner of the king. Every daythere was more and more of union and harmony in his ranks, and moreand more of discord in the armies of the League. There were variousaspirants for the throne in case Henry IV. Could be driven from thekingdom, and all these aspirants had their partisans. The morereasonable portion of the Catholic party soon saw that there could beno end to civil war unless the rights of Henry IV. Were maintained. Each day consequently witnessed accessions of powerful nobles to hisside. The great mass of the people also, notwithstanding their hatredof Protestantism and devotion to the Catholic Church, found itdifficult to break away from their homage to the ancient law ofsuccession. 

It was now manifest to all, that if Henry would but proclaim himself aCatholic, the war would almost instantly terminate, and the people, with almost entire unanimity, would rally around him. Henry IV. Was alawful monarch endeavoring to put down insurrection. Mayenne was arebel contending against his king. The Pope was so unwilling to see aProtestant sovereign enthroned in France, that he issued a bull ofexcommunication against all who should advocate the cause of Henry IV. Many of the Royalist Catholics, however, instead of yielding to thesethunders of the Vatican, sent a humble apology to the Pope for theiradherence to the king, and still sustained his cause. 

Henry now moved on with the strides of a conqueror, and city aftercity fell into his hands. Wherever he entered a city, the evervacillating multitude welcomed him with acclamations. Regardless ofthe storms of winter, Henry dragged his heavy artillery through themire and over the frozen ruts, and before the close of the year 1589his banner waved over fifteen fortified cities and over very manyminor towns. The forces of the League were entirely swept from threeof the provinces of France. 

Still Paris was in the hands of the Duke of Mayenne, and a large partof the kingdom was yet held in subjection by the forces of the League. 

At one time, in the face of a fierce cannonade, Henry mounted thetower of a church at Meulun to ascertain the position of the enemy. Ashe was ascending, cannon ball passed between his legs. In returning, the stairs were found so shot away that he was compelled to lethimself down by a rope. All the winter long, the storm of battle ragedin every part of France, and among all the millions of the ill-fatedrealm, there could not then, perhaps, have been found one singleprosperous and happy home. 

CHAPTER X. 

WAR AND WOE. 

1590-1591

Ferocity of the combatants. --Liberality of Henry. --Preparations fora battle. --Striking phenomenon. --The omen. --Manoeuvres. --Night beforethe battle. --Morning of the battle. --Henry's address to his army. --Theprayer of Henry. --Anecdote. --Magnanimity of Henry. --The battle ofIvry. --Heroism of Henry. --The Leaguers vanquished. --Flight of theLeaguers. --Detestable conduct of Mayenne. --Lines on the battle ofIvry. --Paris in consternation. --Inexplicable delay. --Magnanimity tothe Swiss Catholics. --Paris blockaded. --Death of the Cardinal ofBourbon. --Horrors of famine. --Kindness of Henry. --Murmurs inParis. --The assault. --The suburbs taken. --The Duchess ofMontpensier. --Great clemency of Henry. --Murmurs in the camp. --Desultorywarfare. --Awful condition of France. --Attempts to conciliate theCatholics. --Curious challenge. --A new dynasty contemplated. --Troublein the camp of Henry. --Motives for abjuring Protestantism. 

Civil war seems peculiarly to arouse the ferocity of man. Familyquarrels are notoriously implacable. Throughout the whole kingdom ofFrance the war raged with intense violence, brother against brother, and father against child. Farm-houses, cities, villages, were burnedmercilessly. Old men, women, and children were tortured and slain withinsults and derision. Maiden modesty was cruelly violated, and everyspecies of inhumanity was practiced by the infuriated antagonists. TheCatholic priests were in general conspicuous for their brutality. Theyresolved that the Protestant heresy should be drowned in blood andterror. 

Henry IV. Was peculiarly a humane man. He cherished kind feelings forall his subjects, and was perfectly willing that the Catholic religionshould retain its unquestioned supremacy. His pride, however, revoltedfrom yielding to compulsory conversion, and he also refused to becomethe persecutor of his former friends. Indeed, it seems probable thathe was strongly inclined toward the Catholic faith as, on the whole, the safest and the best. He consequently did every thing in his powerto mitigate the mercilessness of the strife, and to win his Catholicsubjects by the most signal clemency. But no efforts of his couldrestrain his partisans in different parts of the kingdom from severeretaliation. 

Through the long months of a cold and dreary winter the awful carnagecontinued, with success so equally balanced that there was no prospectof any termination to this most awful of national calamities. Early inMarch, 1590, the armies of Henry IV. And of the Duke of Mayenne beganto congregate in the vicinity of Ivry, about fifty miles west ofParis, for a decisive battle. The snows of winter had nearlydisappeared, and the cold rains of spring deluged the roads. TheSabbath of the eleventh of March was wet and tempestuous. As nightdarkened over the bleak and soaked plains of Ivry, innumerablebattalions of armed men, with spears, and banners, and heavy pieces ofartillery, dragged axle-deep through the mire, were dimly discernedtaking positions for an approaching battle. As the blackness ofmidnight enveloped them, the storm increased to fearful fury. The galefiercely swept the plain, in its loud wailings and its roar drowningevery human sound. The rain, all the night long, poured down intorrents. But through the darkness and the storm, and breasting thegale, the contending hosts, without even a watch-fire to cheer thegloom, waited anxiously for the morning. 

In the blackest hour of the night, a phenomenon, quite unusual at thatseason of the year, presented itself. The lightning gleamed indazzling brilliance from cloud to cloud, and the thunder rolled overtheir heads as if an aerial army were meeting and charging in thesanguinary fight. It was an age of superstition, and the shiveringsoldiers thought that they could distinctly discern the banners of thebattling hosts. Eagerly and with awe they watched the surgings of thestrife as spirit squadrons swept to and fro with streaming banners offire, and hurling upon each other the thunderbolts of the skies. Atlength the storm of battle seemed to lull, or, rather, to pass away inthe distance. There was the retreat of the vanquished, the pursuit ofthe victors. The flash of the guns became more faint, and the roar ofthe artillery diminished as farther and still farther the embattledhosts vanished among the clouds. Again there was the silence ofmidnight, and no sounds were heard but the plashing of the rain. 

The Royalists and the insurgents, each party inflamed more or less byreligious fanaticism, were each disposed to regard the ethereal battleas waged between the spirits of light and the spirits of darkness, angels against fiends. Each party, of course, imagined itself asrepresented by the angel bands, which doubtless conquered. Thephenomenon was thus, to both, the omen of success, and inspired bothwith new energies. 

The morning dawned gloomily. Both armies were exhausted and nearlyfrozen by the chill storm of the night. Neither of the parties wereeager to commence the fight, as each was anxious to wait forre-enforcements, which were hurrying forward, from distant posts, withthe utmost possible speed. The two next days were passed in variousmanoeuvres to gain posts of advantage. The night of the 13th came. Henry took but two hours of repose upon a mattress, and then, everything being arranged according to his wishes, spent nearly all therest of the night in prayer. He urged the Catholics and theProtestants in his army to do the same, each according to the ritesof his own Church. The Catholic priests and the Protestant clergy ledthe devotions of their respective bands, and there can be no doubtwhatever that they implored the aid of God with as perfect aconviction of the righteousness of their cause as the human heart canfeel. 

And how was it in the army of the Duke of Mayenne? They also looked toGod for support. The Pope, Christ's vicar upon earth, had blessedtheir banners. He had called upon all of the faithful to advocatetheir cause. He had anathematized their foes as the enemies of God andman, justly doomed to utter extermination. Can it be doubted that theecclesiastics and the soldiers who surrounded the Duke of Mayenne, ready to lay down their lives for the Church, were also, many of them, sincere in their supplications? Such is bewildered, benighted man. When will he imbibe the spirit of a noble toleration--of a kindbrotherhood?

The morning of the 14th of March arrived. The stars shone brilliantlyin the clear, cold sky. The vast plain of Ivry and its surroundinghills gleamed with the camp-fires of the two armies, now face to face. It is impossible to estimate with precision the two forces. It isgenerally stated that Henry IV. Had from ten to twelve thousand men, and the Duke of Mayenne from sixteen to twenty thousand. 

Before the first glimmer of day, Henry mounted his horse, a powerfulbay charger, and riding slowly along his lines, addressed to everycompany words of encouragement and hope. His spirit was subdued andhis voice was softened by the influence of prayer. He attempted nolofty harangue; he gave utterance to no clarion notes of enthusiasm;but mildly, gently, with a trembling voice and often with a moistenedeye, implored them to be true to God, to France, and to themselves. 

"Your future fame and your personal safety, " said he, "depend uponyour heroism this day. The crown of France awaits the decision of yourswords. If we are defeated to-day, we are defeated hopelessly, for wehave no reserves upon which we can fall back. "

Then assembling nearly all his little band in a square around him, heplaced himself upon an eminence where he could be seen by all, andwhere nearly all could hear him, and then, with clasped hands and eyesraised to Heaven, offered the following prayer--a truly extraordinaryprayer, so humble and so Christian in its spirit of resignation:

"O God, I pray thee, who alone knowest the intentions of man's heart, to do thy will upon me as thou shalt judge necessary for the weal ofChristendom. And wilt thou preserve me as long as thou seest it to beneedful for the happiness and the repose of France, and no longer. Ifthou dost see that I should be one of those kings on whom thou dostlay thy wrath, take my life with my crown, and let my blood be thelast poured out in this quarrel. "

Then turning to his troops, he said, "Companions, God is with us. You are to meet His enemies and ours. If, in the turmoil of the battle, you lose sight of your banner, followthe white plume upon my casque. You will find it in the road tovictory and honor. "

But a few hours before this, General Schomberg, who was in command ofthe auxiliaries furnished to Henry by Germany, urged by theimportunity of his troops, ventured to ask for their pay, which was inarrears. Henry, irritated, replied, "A man of courage would not ask for money on the eve of a battle. "

The words had no sooner escaped his lips than he regretted them. Henrynow rode to the quarters of this veteran officer, and thusmagnanimously addressed him:

"General Schomberg, I have insulted you. As this day may be the lastof my life, I would not carry away the honor of a gentleman and beunable to restore it. I know your valor, and I ask your pardon. Ibeseech you to forgive me and embrace me. "

This was true magnanimity. General Schomberg nobly replied, "Sire, you did, indeed, wound me yesterday, but to-day you kill me. The honor you have done me will lead me to lay down my life in yourservice. "

A terrible battle immediately ensued. All fought bravely, ferociously, infernally. Love and peace are the elements of heaven. Hatred and warare the elements of hell. Man, upon the battle-field, even in a goodcause, must call to his aid the energies of the world of woe. Rushingsquadrons swept the field, crushing beneath iron hoofs the dying andthe dead. Grapeshot mowed down the crowded ranks, splintering bones, and lacerating nerves, and extorting shrieks of agony which even thethunders of the battle could not drown. Henry plunged into thethickest of the fight, every where exposing himself to peril like thehumblest soldier. The conflict was too desperate to be lasting. Inless than an hour the field of battle was crimson with blood andcovered with mangled corpses. 

The Leaguers began to waver. They broke and fled in awful confusion. The miserable fugitives were pursued and cut down by the keen swordsof the cavalry, while from every eminence the cannon of the victorsplowed their retreating ranks with balls. Henry himself headed thecavalry in the impetuous pursuit, that the day might be the moredecisive. When he returned, covered with blood, he was greeted fromhis triumphant ranks with the shout, _Vive le roi!_

Marshal Biron, with a powerful reserve, had remained watching theprogress of the fight, ready to avail himself of any opportunity whichmight present to promote or to increase the discomfiture of the foe. He now joined the monarch, saying, "This day, sire, you have performed the part of Marshal Biron, andMarshal Biron that of the king. "

"Let us praise God, marshal, " answered Henry, "for the victory ishis. "

The routed army fled with the utmost precipitation in two directions, one division toward Chartres and the other toward Ivry. The wholeRoyalist army hung upon their rear, assailing them with everyavailable missile of destruction. The Duke of Mayenne fled across theEure. Thousands of his broken bands were crowding the shore, strivingto force their way across the thronged bridge, when the Royalistcavalry, led by the monarch himself, was seen in the distance spurringfuriously over the hills. Mayenne himself having passed, in order tosecure his own safety, cruelly gave the command to destroy the bridge, leaving the unhappy men who had not yet crossed at the mercy of thevictors. The bridge was immediately blown up. Many of those thusabandoned, in their terror cast themselves into the flooded stream, where multitudes were drowned. Others shot their horses and built arampart of their bodies. Behind this revolting breastwork theydefended themselves, until, one after another, they all fell beneaththe sabres and the bullets of the Protestants. In this dreadfulretreat more than two thousand were put to the sword, large numberswere drowned, and many were taken captive. 

In this day, so glorious to the Royalist cause, more than one half ofthe army of the Leaguers were either slain or taken prisoners. Thoughthe Duke of Mayenne escaped, many of his best generals perished uponthe field of battle or were captured. It is reported that Henryshouted to his victorious troops as they were cutting down thefugitives, "Spare the French; they are our brethren. "

This celebrated battle has often been the theme of the poet. But noone has done the subject better justice than Mr. Macaulay in thefollowing spirited lines. They are intended to express the feelings ofa Huguenot soldier. 

 THE BATTLE OF IVRY. 

 "The king has come to marshal us, all in his armor dressed. And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, 'God save our lord the king!' 'And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre. '

 "'Hurrah! the foes are coming! Hark to the mingled din Of fife and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring culverin! The fiery duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almagne. Now, by the lips of those we love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies now--upon them with the lance!' A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest. And on they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amid the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 

 "Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein, D'Aumale hath cried for quarter, the Flemish count is slain; Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, 'Remember St. Bartholomew, ' was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry, 'No Frenchman is my foe; Down--down with every foreigner! but let your brethren go. ' Oh, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord King Henry, the soldier of Navarre?"

This decisive battle established Henry on the throne. Mayenne stillheld Paris, and many other important fortresses in other parts ofFrance; but his main army was defeated and dispersed, and he could nolonger venture to encounter Henry in the open field. Having thrownsome additional forces into Paris, which city he knew that Henry wouldimmediately besiege, he fled to Flanders to obtain re-enforcements. 

Paris was in consternation. Not a town in its vicinity could resistthe conqueror. Henry was but two days' march from his rebelliouscapital. The Leaguers could hope for no aid for many weeks. TheRoyalist cause had many friends among the Parisians, eager for anopportunity to raise within their walls the banner of their lawfulsovereign. 

Henry had now the entire command of the Seine from Rouen to Paris. Hadhe immediately marched upon the capital, there can be no doubt that itwould have been compelled to surrender; but, for some reason which hasnever been satisfactorily explained, he remained for a fortnightwithin one day's march of the field of Ivry. Various causes have beensurmised for this unaccountable delay, but there is no authenticstatement to be found in any letters written by Henry, or in anycontemporaneous records. The time, however, thus lost, whatever mighthave been the cause, proved to him a terrible calamity. The partisansof the League in the city had time to recover from their panic, tostrengthen their defenses, and to collect supplies. 

One act of magnanimity which Henry performed during this interval isworthy of record. Two regiments of Swiss Catholics, who had been sentto fight beneath the banners of Mayenne, had surrendered to the royalforces. They were for a few days intensely anxious respecting theirfate. Henry restored to them their ensigns, furnished them with money, supplied them with provisions, and sent them back to their nativecountry. He gave them a letter to the Swiss cantons, with dignityreproaching them for their violation of the friendly treaty existingbetween Switzerland and the crown of France. 

It was not until the 28th of March that Henry appeared before thewalls of Paris. By this time the Leaguers had made preparations toresist him. Provisions and military stores had been accumulated. Troops had been hurried into the city, and arrangements were made tohold out till Mayenne could bring them succor. Now a siege wasnecessary, with all its accompaniments of blood and woe. There werenow fifty thousand fighting men in the city when Henry commenced thesiege with but twelve thousand foot and three thousand horse. 

In this emergence the energy of Henry returned. He took possession ofthe river above and below the city. Batteries were reared upon theheights of Montmartre and Montfauçon, and cannon balls, portentous ofthe rising storm, began to fall in the thronged streets of themetropolis. In the midst of this state of things the old Cardinal ofBourbon died. The Leaguers had pronounced him king under the title ofCharles X. The insurgents, discomfited in battle, and with many rivalcandidates ambitious of the crown, were not in a condition to attemptto elect another monarch. They thought it more prudent to combine andfight for victory, postponing until some future day their choice of aking. The Catholic priests were almost universally on their side, andurged them, by all the most sacred importunities of religion, ratherto die than to allow a heretic to ascend the throne of France. 

Day after day the siege continued. There were bombardments, andconflagrations, and sallies, and midnight assaults, and all thetumult, and carnage, and woe of horrid war. Three hundred thousandmen, women, and children were in the beleaguered city. All supplieswere cut off. Famine commenced its ravages. The wheat becameexhausted, and they ate bran. The bran was all consumed, and thehaggard citizens devoured the dogs and the cats. Starvation came. Onparlor floors and on the hard pavement emaciate forms were stretchedin the convulsions of death. The shrieks of women and children intheir dying agonies fell in tones horrible to hear upon the ears ofthe besiegers. 

The tender heart of Henry was so moved by the sufferings which he wasunwillingly instrumental in inflicting, that he allowed someprovisions to be carried into the city, though he thus protracted thesiege. He hoped that this humanity would prove to his foes that he didnot seek revenge. The Duke of Nemours, who conducted the defense, encouraged by this unmilitary humanity, that he might relieve himselffrom the encumbrance of useless mouths, drove several thousands out ofthe city. Henry, with extraordinary clemency, allowed three thousandto pass through the ranks of his army. He nobly said, "I can not bearto think of their sufferings. I had rather conquer my foes by kindnessthan by arms. " But the number still increasing, and the inevitableeffect being only to enable the combatants to hold out morestubbornly, Henry reluctantly ordered the soldiers to allow no more topass. 

The misery which now desolated the city was awful. Famine bredpestilence. Woe and death were every where. The Duke of Nemours, younger brother of the Duke of Mayenne, hoping that Mayenne might yetbring relief, still continued the defense. The citizens, tortured bythe unearthly woes which pressed them on every side, began to murmur. Nemours erected scaffolds, and ordered every murmurer to be promptlyhung as a partisan of Henry. Even this harsh remedy could not entirelysilence fathers whose wives and children were dying of starvationbefore their eyes. 

The Duke of Mayenne was preparing to march to the relief of the citywith an army of Spaniards. Henry resolved to make an attempt to takethe city by assault before their arrival. The hour was fixed atmidnight, on the 24th of July. Henry watched the sublime and terrificspectacle from an observatory reared on the heights of Montmartre. Inten massive columns the Royalists made the fierce onset. The besiegedwere ready for them, with artillery loaded to the muzzle and withlighted torches. An eye-witness thus describes the spectacle:

 "The immense city seemed instantly to blaze with conflagrations, or rather by an infinity of mines sprung in its heart. Thick whirlwinds of smoke, pierced at intervals by flashes and long lines of flame, covered the doomed city. The blackness of darkness at one moment enveloped it. Again it blazed forth as if it were a sea of fire. The roar of cannon, the clash of arms, and the shouts of the combatants added to the horrors of the night. "

By this attack all of the suburbs were taken, and the condition of thebesieged rendered more hopeless and miserable. There is no siege uponrecord more replete with horrors. The flesh of the dead was eaten. Thedry bones of the cemetery were ground up for bread. Starving mothersate their children. It is reported that the Duchess of Montpensier wasoffered three thousand crowns for her dog. She declined the offer, saying that she should keep it to eat herself as her last resource. 

The compassion of Henry triumphed again and again over his militaryfirmness. He allowed the women and children to leave the city, thenthe ecclesiastics, then the starving poor, then the starving rich. Each of these acts of generosity added to the strength of his foes. The famished Leaguers were now in a condition to make but a feebleresistance. Henry was urged to take the city by storm. He could easilydo this, but fearful slaughter would be the inevitable result. Forthis reason Henry refused, saying, "I am their father and their king. I can not hear the recital of theirwoes without the deepest sympathy. I would gladly relieve them. I cannot prevent those who are possessed with the fury of the League fromperishing, but to those who seek my clemency I must open my arms. "

Early in August, more than thirty thousand within the walls of thecity had perished by famine. Mayenne now marched to the relief ofParis. Henry, unwisely, military critics say, raised the siege andadvanced to meet him, hoping to compel him to a decisive battle. Mayenne skillfully avoided a battle, and still more skillfully threwabundant supplies into the city. 

And now loud murmurs began to arise in the camp of Henry. Many of themost influential of the Catholics who adhered to his cause, disheartened by this result and by the indications of an endless war, declared that it was in vain to hope that any Protestant could beaccepted as King of France. The soldiers could not conceal theirdiscouragement, and the cause of the king was involved anew in gloom. 

Still Henry firmly kept the field, and a long series of conflictsensued between detachments of the Royalist army and portions of theSpanish troops under the command of the Duke of Mayenne and the Dukeof Parma. The energy of the king was roused to the utmost. Victoryaccompanied his marches, and his foes were driven before him. 

The winter of 1591 had now arrived, and still unhappy France was onewide and wasted battle-field. Confusion, anarchy, and misery everywhere reigned. Every village had its hostile partisans. Catholiccities were besieged by Protestants, and Protestant towns byCatholics. In the midst of these terrible scenes, Henry had caught aglimpse, at the chateau of Coeuvres, of the beautiful face ofGabrielle d'Estrées. Ignobly yielding to a guilty passion, he againforgot the great affairs of state and the woes of his distractedcountry in the pursuit of this new amour. The history of this periodcontains but a monotonous record of the siege of innumerable towns, with all the melancholy accompaniments of famine and blood. Summercame and went, and hardly a sound of joy was heard amid all the hillsand valleys of beautiful but war-scathed France. 

There was great division existing among the partisans of the League, there being several candidates for the throne. There was but one causeof division in the ranks of Henry. That he was the legitimatesovereign all admitted. It was evident to all that, would Henry butabjure Protestantism and embrace the Catholic faith, nearly allopposition to him would instantly cease. Many pamphlets were issued bythe priests urging the iniquity of sustaining a _heretic_ upon thethrone. The Pope had not only anathematized the heretical sovereign, but had condemned to eternal flames all who should maintain his cause. 

Henry had no objection to Catholicism. It was the religion of fivesixths of his subjects. He was now anxious to give his adherence tothat faith, could he contrive some way to do it with decency. Heissued many decrees to conciliate the Romanists. He proclaimed that hehad never yet had time to examine the subject of religious faith; thathe was anxious for instruction; that he was ready to submit to thedecision of a council; and that under no circumstances would he sufferany change in France detrimental to the Catholic religion. At the sametime, with energy which reflects credit upon his name, he declared thebull fulminated against him by Gregory XIV. As abusive, seditious, anddamnable, and ordered it to be burned by the public hangman. 

By the middle of November, 1591, Henry, with an army of thirty-fivethousand men, surrounded the city of Rouen. Queen Elizabeth had againsent him aid. The Earl of Essex joined the royal army with a retinuewhose splendor amazed the impoverished nobles of France. His owngorgeous dress, and the caparisons of his steed, were estimated to beworth sixty thousand crowns of gold. The garrison of Rouen was underthe command of Governor Villars. Essex sent a curious challenge toVillars, that if he would meet him on horseback or on foot, in armoror doublet, he would maintain against him man to man, twenty totwenty, or sixty to sixty. To this defiance the earl added, "I am thusready to prove that the cause of the king is better than that of theLeague, that Essex is a braver man than Villars, and that my mistressis more beautiful than yours. " Villars declined the challenge, declaring, however, that the three assertions were false, but that hedid not trouble himself much about the respective beauty of theirmistresses. 

The weary siege continued many weeks, varied with fierce sallies andbloody skirmishes. Henry labored in the trenches like a commonsoldier, and shared every peril. He was not wise in so doing, for hislife was of far too much value to France to be thus needlesslyperiled. 

The influential Leaguers in Paris now formed the plan to found a newdynasty in France by uniting in marriage the young Duke of Guise--sonof Henry of Guise who had been assassinated--with Isabella, thedaughter of Philip II. , King of Spain. This secured for their causeall the energies of the Spanish monarchy. This plan immediatelyintroduced serious discord between Mayenne and his Spanish allies, asMayenne hoped for the crown for himself. About the same time PopeGregory XIV. Died, still more depressing the prospects of Mayenne;but, with indomitable vigor of intrigue and of battle, he stillcontinued to guide the movements of the League, and to watch foropportunities to secure for himself the crown of France. 

The politics of the nation were now in an inextricable labyrinth ofconfusion. Henry IV. Was still sustained by the Protestants, thoughthey were ever complaining that he favored too much the Catholics. Hewas also sustained by a portion of the moderate Catholics. They were, however, quite lukewarm in their zeal, and were importunatelydemanding that he should renounce the Protestant faith and avowhimself a Catholic, or they would entirely abandon him. The Swiss andGermans in his ranks were filling the camp with murmurs, demandingtheir arrears of pay. The English troops furnished him by Elizabethrefused to march from the coast to penetrate the interior. 

The League was split into innumerable factions, some in favor ofMayenne, others supporting the young Cardinal of Bourbon, and othersstill advocating the claims of the young Duke of Guise and the Infantaof Spain. They were all, however, united by a common detestation ofProtestantism and an undying devotion to the Church of Rome. 

In the mean time, though the siege of Rouen was pressed with greatvigor, all efforts to take the place were unavailing. Henry wasrepeatedly baffled and discomfited, and it became daily more evidentthat, as a Protestant, he never could occupy a peaceful throne inCatholic France. Even many of the Protestant leaders, who werepoliticians rather than theologians, urged Henry to become a Catholic, as the only possible means of putting an end to this cruel civil war. They urged that while his adoption of the Catholic faith wouldreconcile the Catholics, the Protestants, confiding in the freedom offaith and worship which his just judgment would secure to them, wouldprefer him for their sovereign to any other whom they could hope toobtain. Thus peace would be restored to distracted France. Henrylistened with a willing mind to these suggestions. To give assuranceto the Catholics of his sincerity, he sent embassadors to Rome totreat with the Pope in regard to his reconciliation with the Church. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE CONVERSION OF THE KING. 

1593-1595

Advice of the Duke of Sully. --Perplexity of Henry. --Theologicalargument of Sully. --Philip of Mornay, Lord of Plessis. --Inflexibleintegrity of Mornay. --Mornay's reply to Henry III. --Attempt to bribeMornay. --His address to the courtiers. --Indecision of Henry. --Processof conversion. --Testimony of Sully. --Gabrielle d'Estrées. --Influenceof Gabrielle. --Abjuration of Protestantism. --Public adoption of theCatholic faith. --Ceremony in the Church of St. Denis. --Allegedsincerity of the king. --Other motives assigned. --Political effectsof Henry's conversion. --Satisfaction of the people. --Ferocity ofthe Pope. --Coronation of the king. --Paris secretly surrendered. --Theentry to Paris. --Noble conduct. --Justice of Henry IV. --Joy inParis. --Reconciliation with the Pope. --Henry chastised by proxy. --Thefarce. --Cause of the war. --The Protestants still persecuted. --Sceneof massacre. --Dissatisfaction of both Catholics andProtestants. --Complaints of the Reformed Churches of France. 

This bloody war of the succession had now desolated France for fouryears. The Duke of Sully, one of the most conspicuous of the politicalCalvinists, was at last induced to give his influence to lead the kingto accept the Catholic faith. Sully had been Henry's companion fromchildhood. Though not a man of deep religious convictions, he was oneof the most illustrious of men in ability, courage, and integrity. Conversing with Henry upon the distracted affairs of state, he said, one day, "That you should wait for me, being a Protestant, to counsel you to goto mass, is a thing you should not do, although I will boldly declareto you that it is the prompt and easy way of destroying all malignprojects. You will thus meet no more enemies, sorrows, nordifficulties _in this world_. As to the _other world_, " he continued, smiling, "I can not answer for that. "

The king continued in great perplexity. He felt that it was degradingto change his religion upon apparent compulsion, or for theaccomplishment of any selfish purpose. He knew that he must exposehimself to the charge of apostasy and of hypocrisy in affirming achange of belief, even to accomplish so meritorious a purpose as torescue a whole nation from misery. These embarrassments to avacillating mind were terrible. 

Early one morning, before rising, he sent for Sully. The duke foundthe king sitting up in his bed, "scratching his head in greatperplexity. " The political considerations in favor of the change urgedby the duke could not satisfy fully the mind of the king. He had stillsome conscientious scruples, imbibed from the teachings of a pious andsainted mother. The illustrious warrior, financier, and diplomatistnow essayed the availability of theological considerations, and urgedthe following argument of Jesuitical shrewdness:

"I hold it certain, " argued the duke, "that whatever be the exteriorform of the religion which men profess, if they live in theobservation of the Decalogue, believe in the Creed of the apostles, love God with all their heart, have charity toward their neighbor, hope in the mercy of God, and to obtain salvation by the death, merits, and justice of Jesus Christ, they can not fail to be saved. "

Henry caught eagerly at this plausible argument. The Catholics saythat no Protestant can be saved, but the Protestants admit that aCatholic may be, if in heart honest, just, and true. The sophistry ofthe plea in behalf of an _insincere_ renunciation of faith is toopalpable to influence any mind but one eager to be convinced. The kingwas counseled to obey the Decalogue, which _forbids false witness_, while at the same time he was to be guilty of an act of fraud andhypocrisy. 

But Henry had another counselor. Philip of Mornay, Lord of Plessis, had imbibed from his mother's lips a knowledge of the religion ofJesus Christ. His soul was endowed by nature with the most noblelineaments, and he was, if man can judge, a devoted and exaltedChristian. There was no one, in those stormy times, more illustriousas a warrior, statesman, theologian, and orator. "We can not, " says aFrench writer, "indicate a species of merit in which he did not excel, except that he did not advance his own fortune. " When but twelve yearsof age, a priest exhorted him to beware of the opinions of theProtestants. 

"I am resolved, " Philip replied, firmly, "to remain steadfast in whatI have learned of the service of God. When I doubt any point, I willdiligently examine the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles. "

His uncle, the Archbishop of Rheims, advised him to read the fathersof the Church, and promised him the revenues of a rich abbey and theprospect of still higher advancement if he would adhere to theCatholic religion. Philip read the fathers and declined the bribe, saying, "I must trust to God for what I need. "

Almost by a miracle he had escaped the Massacre of St. Bartholomew andfled to England. The Duke of Anjou, who had become King of Poland, wishing to conciliate the Protestants, wrote to Mornay in his povertyand exile, proposing to him a place in his ministry. The noble manreplied, "I will never enter the service of those who have shed the blood of mybrethren. "

He soon joined the feeble court of the King of Navarre, and adheredconscientiously, through all vicissitudes, to the Protestant cause. Henry IV. Was abundantly capable of appreciating such a character, andhe revered and loved Mornay. His services were invaluable to Henry, for he seemed to be equally skillful in nearly all departments ofknowledge and of business. He could with equal facility guide an army, construct a fortress, and write a theological treatise. Many of themost important state papers of Henry IV. He hurriedly wrote upon thefield of battle or beneath his wind-shaken tent. Henry III. , on oneoccasion, had said to him, "How can a man of your intelligence and ability be a Protestant? Haveyou never read the Catholic doctors?"

"Not only have I read the Catholic doctors, " Mornay replied, "but Ihave read them with eagerness; for I am flesh and blood like othermen, and I was not born without ambition. I should have been very gladto find something to flatter my conscience that I might participate inthe favors and honors you distribute, and from which my religionexcludes me; but, above all, I find something which fortifies myfaith, and the world must yield to conscience. "

The firm Christian principles of Philip of Mornay were now almost theonly barrier which stood in the way of the conversion of Henry. TheCatholic lords offered Mornay twenty thousand crowns of gold if hewould no more awaken the scruples of the king. Nobly he replied, "The conscience of my master is not for sale, neither is mine. "

Great efforts were then made to alienate Henry from his faithfulminister. Mornay by chance one day entered the cabinet of the king, where his enemies were busy in their cabals. In the boldness of anintegrity which never gave him cause to blush, he thus addressed themin the presence of the sovereign:

"It is hard, gentlemen, to prevent the king my master from speaking tohis faithful servant. The proposals which I offer the king are suchthat I can pronounce them distinctly before you all. I propose to himto serve God with a good conscience; to keep Him in view in everyaction; to quiet the schism which is in his state by a holyreformation of the Church, and to be an example for all Christendomduring all time to come. Are these things to be spoken in a corner? Doyou wish me to counsel him to go to mass? With what conscience shall Iadvise if I do not first go myself? And what is religion, if it can belaid aside like a shirt?"

The Catholic nobles felt the power of this moral courage andintegrity, and one of them, Marshal d'Aumont, yielding to a generousimpulse, exclaimed, "You are better than we are, Monsieur Mornay; and if I said, two daysago, that it was necessary to give you a pistol-shot in the head, Isay to-day entirely the contrary, and that you should have a statue. "

Henry, however, was a politician, not a Christian; and nothing is moreamazing than the deaf ear which even apparently good men can turn tothe pleadings of conscience when they are involved in the mazes ofpolitical ambition. The process of conversion was, for decency's sake, protracted and ostentatious. As Henry probably had no fixed religiousprinciples, he could with perhaps as much truth say that he was aCatholic as that he was a Protestant. 

On the 23d of July the king listened to a public argument, five hoursin length, from the Archbishop of Bourges, upon the points ofessential difference between the two antagonistic creeds. Henry foundthe reasoning of the archbishop most comfortably persuasive, and, having separated himself for a time from Mornay, he professed to besolemnly convinced that the Roman Catholic faith was the truereligion. Those who knew Henry the best declare that he was sincere inthe change, and his subsequent life seems certainly to indicate thathe was so. The Duke of Sully, who refused to follow Henry into theCatholic Church, records, "As uprightness and sincerity formed the depth of his heart, as they did of his words, I am persuaded that nothing would have been capable of making him embrace a religion which he internally despised, or of which he even doubted. "

In view of this long interview with the Archbishop of Bourges, Henrywrote to the frail but beautiful Gabrielle d'Estrées, "I began this morning to speak to the bishops. On Sunday I shall takethe perilous leap. " The king's connection with Gabrielle presentedanother strong motive to influence his conversion. Henry, when a mereboy, had been constrained by political considerations to marry theworthless and hateful sister of Charles IX. For the wife thus coldlyreceived he never felt an emotion of affection. She was an unblushingprofligate. The king, in one of his campaigns, met the beautifulmaiden Gabrielle in the chateau of her father. They both immediatelyloved each other, and a relation prohibited by the divine law soonexisted between them. Never, perhaps, was there a better excuse forunlawful love. But guilt ever brings woe. Neither party were happy. Gabrielle felt condemned and degraded, and urged the king to obtain adivorce from the notoriously profligate Marguerite of Valois, thattheir union might be sanctioned by the rites of religion. Henry lovedGabrielle tenderly. Her society was his chiefest joy, and it is saidthat he ever remained faithful to her. He was anxious for a divorcefrom Marguerite, and for marriage with Gabrielle. But this divorcecould only be obtained through the Pope. Hence Gabrielle exerted allher influence to lead the king into the Church, that this most desiredend might be attained. 

The king now openly proclaimed his readiness to renounce Protestantismand to accept the Papal Creed. The Catholic bishops prepared an act ofabjuration, rejecting, very decisively, one after another, everydistinguishing article of the Protestant faith. The king glanced hiseye over it, and instinctively recoiled from an act which he seemed todeem humiliating. He would only consent to sign a very briefdeclaration, in six lines, of his return to the Church of Rome. Thepaper, however, which he had rejected, containing the emphaticrecantation of every article of the Protestant faith, was sent to thePope with the forged signature of the king. 

The final act of renunciation was public, and was attended with muchdramatic pomp, in the great church of St. Denis. It was Sunday, thetwenty-fifth of July, 1593. The immense cathedral was richlydecorated. Flowers were scattered upon the pavements, and garlands andbanners festooned the streets and the dwellings. 

At eight o'clock in the morning Henry presented himself before themassive portals of the Cathedral. He was dressed in white satin, witha black mantle and chapeau. The white plume, which both pen and pencilhave rendered illustrious, waved from his hat. He was surrounded by agorgeous retinue of nobles and officers of the crown. Severalregiments of soldiers, in the richest uniform, preceded and followedhim as he advanced toward the church. Though a decree had been issuedstrictly prohibiting the populace from being present at the ceremony, an immense concourse thronged the streets, greeting the monarch withenthusiastic cries of "_Vive le roi!_"

[Illustration: THE ACT OF ABJURING PROTESTANTISM. ]

The Archbishop of Bourges was seated at the entrance of the church ina chair draped with white damask. The Cardinal of Bourbon, and severalbishops glittering in pontifical robes, composed his brilliantretinue. The monks of St. Denis were also in attendance, clad in theirsombre attire, bearing the cross, the Gospels, and the holy water. Thus the train of the exalted dignitary of the Church even eclipsed insplendor the suite of the king. 

As Henry approached the door of the church, the archbishop, as if torepel intrusion, imperiously inquired, "Who are you?"

"I am the king, " Henry modestly replied. 

"What do you desire?" demanded the archbishop. 

"I ask, " answered the king, "to be received into the bosom of theCatholic, Apostolic, and Roman religion. "

"Do you desire this _sincerely_?" rejoined the archbishop. 

"I do, " the king replied. Then kneeling at the feet of the prelate, hepronounced the following oath:

 "I protest and swear, in the presence of Almighty God, to live and die in the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman religion; to protect and defend it against all its enemies at the hazard of my blood and life, renouncing all heresies contrary to it. "

The king then placed a copy of this oath in writing in the hands ofthe archbishop, and kissed the consecrated ring upon his holy finger. Then entering the Cathedral, he received the absolution of his sinsand the benediction of the Church. A _Te Deum_ was then sung, highmass was solemnized, and thus the imposing ceremony was terminated. 

It is easy to treat this whole affair as a farce. The elements ofridicule are abundant. But it was by no means a farce in the vastinfluences which it evolved. Catholic historians have almostinvariably assumed that the king acted in perfect good faith, beingfully convinced by the arguments of the Church. Even Henry'sProtestant friend, the Duke of Sully, remarks, "I should betray the cause of truth if I suffered it even to be suspected that policy, the threats of the Catholics, the fatigue of labor, the desire of rest, and of freeing himself from the tyranny of foreigners, or even the good of the people, had entirely influenced the king's resolution. As far as I am able to judge of the heart of this prince, which I believe I know better than any other person, it was, indeed, these considerations which first hinted to him the necessity of his conversion; but, in the end, he became convinced in his own mind that the Catholic religion was the safest. "

Others have affirmed that it was a shameful act of apostasy, in whichthe king, stimulated by ambition and unlawful love, stooped tohypocrisy, and feigned a conversion which in heart he despised. He isrepresented as saying, with levity, "Paris is well worth a mass. "

Others still assert that Henry was humanely anxious to arrest thehorrors of civil war; to introduce peace to distracted France, and tosecure the Protestants from oppression. His acceptance of the Catholicfaith was the only apparent way of accomplishing these results. Beinga humane man, but not a man of established Christian principle, hedeemed it his duty to pursue the course which would accomplish suchresults. The facts, so far as known, are before the reader, and eachone can form his own judgment. 

The announcement throughout the kingdom that Henry had become aCatholic almost immediately put an end to the civil war. Incited bythe royal example, many of the leading Protestants, nobles andgentlemen, also renounced Protestantism, and conformed to the religionof the state. The chiefs of the League, many of whom were ambitiouspolitical partisans rather than zealous theologians, and who wereclamorous for Catholicism only as the means of obtaining power, atonce relinquished all hope of victory. For a time, however, they stillassumed a hostile attitude, and heaped unmeasured ridicule upon whatthey styled the feigned conversion of the king. They wished to compelthe monarch to purchase their adhesion at as dear a price as possible. 

Many important cities surrendered to the royal cause under thestipulation that the preaching of the Protestants should be utterlyprohibited in their precincts and suburbs. Even the Pope, ClementVIII. , a weak and bigoted man, for a time refused to ratify the act ofthe Archbishop of Bourges in absolving Henry from the pains andpenalties of excommunication. He forbade the envoy of Henry toapproach the Vatican. The Duke of Nevers, who was the appointed envoy, notwithstanding this prohibition, persisted in his endeavors to obtainan audience; but the Pope was anxious to have the crown of France inthe possession of one whose Catholic zeal could not be questioned. Hewould much have preferred to see the fanatic Duke of Mayenne upon thethrone, or to have promoted the Spanish succession. He thereforetreated the Duke of Nevers with great indignity, and finally gave himan abrupt dismission. 

But the mass of the French people, longing for repose, gladly acceptedthe conversion of the king. One after another the leaders of theLeague gave in their adhesion to the royal cause. The Duke of Mayenne, however, held out, Paris being still in his possession, and severalother important cities and fortresses being garrisoned by his troops. The Pope, at length, having vainly done every thing in his power torouse France and Catholic Europe to resist Henry, condescended tonegotiate. His spirit may be seen in the atrocious conditions which heproposed. As the price of his absolution, he required that Henryshould abrogate every edict of toleration, that he should excludeProtestants from all public offices, and that he should exterminatethem from the kingdom as soon as possible. 

To these demands Henry promptly replied, "I should be justly accusedof shamelessness and ingratitude if, after having received such signalservices from the Protestants, I should thus persecute them. "

Henry was fully aware of the influence of forms upon the imaginationsof the people. He accordingly made preparations for his coronation. The event was celebrated with great pomp, in the city of Chartres, onthe 27th of February, 1594. The Leaguers were now quite disheartened. Every day their ranks were diminishing. The Duke of Mayenne, apprehensive that his own partisans might surrender Paris to the king, and that thus he might be taken prisoner, on the 6th of March, withhis wife and children, left the city, under the pretense of beingcalled away by important business. 

Three hours after midnight of the 21st of the month the gates weresecretly thrown open, and a body of the king's troops entered themetropolis. They marched rapidly along the silent streets, hardlyencountering the slightest opposition. Before the morning dawned theyhad taken possession of the bridges, the squares, and the ramparts, and their cannon were planted so as to sweep all the important streetsand avenues. 

The citizens, aroused by the tramp of infantry and of cavalry, and bythe rumbling of the heavy artillery over the pavements, rose fromtheir beds, and crowded the windows, and thronged the streets. In theearly dawn, the king, accompanied by the officers of his staff, entered the capital. He was dressed in the garb of a civilian, and wasentirely unarmed. All were ready to receive him. Shouts of "Peace!peace! Long live the king!" reverberated in tones of almost deliriousjoy through the thoroughfares of the metropolis. Henry thus advancedthrough the ranks of the rejoicing people to the great cathedral ofNotre Dame, where mass was performed. He then proceeded to the royalpalace of the Louvre, which his officers had already prepared for hisreception. All the bells of the city rung their merriest chimes, bandsof music pealed forth their most exultant strains, and the air wasrent with acclamations as the king, after all these long and bloodywars, thus peacefully took possession of the capital of his kingdom. 

In this hour of triumph Henry manifested the most noble clemency. Heissued a decree declaring that no citizen who had been in rebellionagainst him should be molested. Even the Spanish troops who were inthe city to fight against him were permitted to depart with their armsin their hands. As they defiled through the gate of St. Denis, theking stood by a window, and, lifting his hat, respectfully salutedthe officers. They immediately approached the magnanimous monarch, and, bending the knee, thanked him feelingly for his great clemency. The king courteously replied, "Adieu, gentlemen, adieu! Commend me to your master, and go in peace, but do not come back again. "

La Noue, one of Henry's chief supporters, as he was entering the city, had his baggage attached for an old debt. Indignantly he hastened tothe king to complain of the outrage. The just monarch promptly butpleasantly replied, "We must pay our debts, La Noue. I pay mine. " Then drawing hisfaithful servant aside, he gave him his jewels to pledge for thedeliverance of his baggage. The king was so impoverished that he hadnot money sufficient to pay the debt. 

These principles of justice and magnanimity, which were instinctivewith the king, and which were daily manifested in multiplied ways, soon won to him nearly all hearts. All France had writhed in anguishthrough years of war and misery. Peace, the greatest of all earthlyblessings, was now beginning to diffuse its joys. The happiness of theParisians amounted almost to transport. It was difficult for the kingto pass through the streets, the crowd so thronged him with theiracclamations. Many other important towns soon surrendered. But thehaughty Duke of Mayenne refused to accept the proffered clemency, and, strengthened by the tremendous spiritual power of the head of theChurch, still endeavored to arouse the energies of Papal fanaticism inFlanders and in Spain. 

Soon, however, the Pope became convinced that all further resistancewould be in vain. It was but compromising his dignity to bevanquished, and he accordingly decided to accept reconciliation. Inyielding to this, the Pope stooped to the following silly farce, quitecharacteristic of those days of darkness and delusion. It was deemednecessary that the king should do penance for his sins before he couldbe received to the bosom of holy mother Church. It was proper that thesevere mother should chastise her wayward child. "Whom the Lord lovethhe chasteneth. "

It was the sixteenth of September, 1595. The two embassadors of HenryIV. Kneeled upon the vestibule of one of the churches in Rome asunworthy to enter. In strains of affected penitence, they chanted the_Miserere_--"Have mercy, Lord. " At the close of every verse theyreceived, in the name of their master, the blows of a little switch ontheir shoulders. The king, having thus made expiation for his sins, through the reception of this chastisement by proxy, and having thusemphatically acknowledged the authority of the sacred mother, receivedthe absolution of the vicar of Christ, and was declared to be worthyof the loyalty of the faithful. 

We have called this a _farce_. And yet can it be justly called so? Theproud spirit of the king must indeed have been humiliated ere he couldhave consented to such a degradation. The spirit ennobled can biddefiance to any amount of corporeal pain. It is ignominy alone whichcan punish the soul. The Pope triumphed; the monarch was flogged. Itis but just to remark that the friends of Henry deny that he wasaccessory to this act of humiliation. 

The atrocious civil war, thus virtually, for a time, terminated, wascaused by the Leaguers, who had bound themselves together in a _secretsociety_ for the persecution of the Protestants. Their demand wasinexorable that the Protestants throughout France should be proscribedand exterminated. The Protestants were compelled to unite inself-defense. They only asked for liberty to worship God according totheir understanding of the teachings of the Bible. Henry, toconciliate the Catholics, was now compelled to yield to many of theirclaims which were exceedingly intolerant. He did this veryunwillingly, for it was his desire to do every thing in his power tomeliorate the condition of his Protestant friends. But, notwithstanding all the kind wishes of the king, the condition of theProtestants was still very deplorable. Public opinion was vehementlyagainst them. The magistrates were every where their foes, and thecourts of justice were closed against all their appeals. Pettypersecution and tumultuary violence in a thousand forms annoyed them. During the year of Henry's coronation, a Protestant congregation inChalaigneraie was assailed by a Catholic mob instigated by theLeaguers, and two hundred men, women, and children were massacred. Alittle boy eight years old, in the simplicity of his heart, offeredeight coppers which he had in his pocket to ransom his life; but themerciless fanatics struck him down. Most of these outrages werecommitted with entire impunity. The king had even felt himself forcedto take the oath, "I will endeavor with all my power, in good faith, to drive from my jurisdiction and estates all the heretics denouncedby the Church. "

The Protestants, finding themselves thus denounced as enemies, andbeing cut off from all ordinary privileges and from all commonjustice, decided, for mutual protection, vigorously to maintain theirpolitical organization. The king, though he feigned to be displeased, still encouraged them to do so. Though the Protestants were few innumbers, they were powerful in intelligence, rank, and energy; and intheir emergencies, the strong arm of England was ever generouslyextended for their aid. The king was glad to avail himself of theirstrength to moderate the intolerant demands of the Leaguers. Many ofthe Protestants complained bitterly that the king had abandoned them. On the other hand, the haughty leaders of the League clamored loudlythat the king was not a true son of the Church, and, in multiformconspiracies, they sought his death by assassination. 

The Protestants held several large assemblies in which they discussedtheir affairs. They drew up an important document--an address to theking, entitled, "Complaints of the Reformed Churches of France. " Manypages were filled with a narrative of the intolerable grievances theyendured. This paper contained, in conclusion, the following noblewords:

 "And yet, sire, we have among us no Jacobins or Jesuits who wish for your life, or Leaguers who aspire to your crown. We have never presented, instead of petitions, the points of our swords. We are rewarded with _considerations of state_. It is not yet time, they say, to grant us an edict. And yet, after thirty-five years of persecution, ten years of banishment by the edicts of the League, eight years of the king's reign, four years of proscription, we are still under the necessity of imploring from your majesty an edict which shall allow us to enjoy what is common to all your subjects. The sole glory of God, the liberty of our consciences, the repose of the state, the security of our property and our lives--this is the summit of our wishes, and the end of our requests. "

CHAPTER XII. 

REIGN AND DEATH OF HENRY IV. 

1596-1610

Mayenne professes reconciliation. --Terms exacted by theduke. --Interview between Henry and the duke. --Henry'srevenge. --Hostility of Spain and Flanders. --Calais taken bythe Leaguers. --Movement of the nobles. --Energetic reply ofthe king. --Dark days. --Singular accident. --Deplorable stateof France. --Poverty of the king. --Depression of the king. --TheDuke of Sully. --Siege of Amiens. --Its capitulation. --TheEdict of Nantes. --Provisions of the edict. --Clamors of theCatholics. --Toleration slowly learned. --Dissatisfaction of bothparties. --Progress of affairs. --Prosperity in the kingdom. --Henry'sillness. --Devotion of his subjects. --Hostility of the nobles. --TheMarchioness of Verneuil. --Integrity of Sully. --The slave of love. --Theking's greatness. --Financial skill of Sully. --Co-operation ofHenry. --Solicitations of Gabrielle. --Her death. --Grief of theking. --The divorce. --Henrietta d'Entragues. --Bold fidelity ofSully. --Marriage to Maria of Medici. --Anecdote. --Grand politicalscheme. --Mode of preventing religious quarrels. --Assassination ofthe king. --Character of Henry IV. --The truth to be enforced. --Freespeech. --Free press. --Free men. --Practical application of the moral. 

The reconciliation of the king with the Pope presented a favorableopportunity for the Duke of Mayenne, consistently with his pride, toabandon the hopeless conflict. He declared that, as the Pope hadaccepted the conversion of the king, all his scruples were removed, and that he could now conscientiously accept him as the sovereign ofFrance. But the power of the haughty duke may be seen in the terms heexacted. 

The king was compelled to declare, though he knew to the contrary, that, all things considered, it was evident that neither the princesnor the princesses of the League were at all implicated in theassassination of Henry III. , and to stop all proceedings in Parliamentin reference to that atrocious murder. Three fortified cities weresurrendered to the duke, to be held by him and his partisans for sixyears, in pledge for the faithful observance of the terms of thecapitulation. The king also assumed all the debts which Mayenne hadcontracted during the war, and granted a term of six weeks to all theLeaguers who were still in arms to give in their adhesion and toaccept his clemency. 

The king was at this time at Monceaux. The Duke of Mayenne hastened tomeet him. He found Henry riding on horseback in the beautiful park ofthat place with the fair Gabrielle, and accompanied by the Duke ofSully. Mayenne, in compliance with the obsequious etiquette of thosedays, kneeled humbly before the king, embraced his knees, and, assuring him of his entire devotion for the future, thanked themonarch for having delivered him "from the arrogance of the Spaniardsand from the cunning of the Italians. "

Henry, who had a vein of waggery about him, immediately raised theduke, embraced him with the utmost cordiality, and, taking his arm, without any allusion whatever to their past difficulties, led himthrough the park, pointing out to him, with great volubility andcheerfulness, the improvements he was contemplating. 

Henry was a well-built, vigorous man, and walked with great rapidity. Mayenne was excessively corpulent, and lame with the gout. With theutmost difficulty he kept up with the king, panting, limping, and hisface blazing with the heat. Henry, with sly malice, for some timeappeared not to notice the sufferings of his victim; then, with aconcealed smile, he whispered to Sully, "If I walk this great fat body much longer, I shall avenge myselfwithout any further trouble. " Then turning to Mayenne, he added, "Tellme the truth, cousin, do I not walk a little too fast for you?"

"Sire, " exclaimed the puffing duke, "I am almost dead with fatigue. "

"There's my hand, " exclaimed the kind-hearted king, again cordiallyembracing the duke. "Take it, for, on my life, this is all thevengeance I shall ever seek. "

[Illustration: THE RECONCILIATION WITH MAYENNE. ]

There were still parts of the kingdom which held out against Henry, and Spain and Flanders freely supplied men and ammunition to thefragments of the League. Calais was in the hands of the enemy. QueenElizabeth of England had ceased to take much interest in the conflictsince the king had gone over to the Catholics. When Calais wasbesieged by the foe, before its surrender she offered to send herfleet for its protection if Henry would give the city to her. Henrytartly replied, "I had rather be plundered by my enemies than by myfriends. "

The queen was offended, sent no succor, and Calais passed into thehands of the Leaguers. The king was exceedingly distressed at the lossof this important town. It indicated new and rising energy on the partof his foes. The more fanatical Catholics all over the kingdom, whohad never been more than half reconciled to Henry, were encouraged tothink that, after all their defeats, resistance might still besuccessful. The heroic energies of the king were, however, notdepressed by this great disaster. When its surrender was announced, turning to the gentlemen of his court, he calmly said, "My friends, there is no remedy. Calais is taken, but we must not loseour courage. It is in the midst of disasters that bold men growbolder. Our enemies have had their turn. With God's blessing, who hasnever abandoned me when I have prayed to him with my whole heart, weshall yet have ours. At any event, I am greatly comforted by theconviction that I have omitted nothing that was possible to save thecity. All of its defenders have acquitted themselves loyally andnobly. Let us not reproach them. On the contrary, let us do honor totheir generous defense. And now let us rouse our energies to retakethe city, that it may remain in the hands of the Spaniards not so manydays as our ancestors left it years in the hands of the English. "

A large body of the nobles now combined to extort from the king someof the despotic feudal privileges which existed in the twelfthcentury. They thought that in this hour of reverse Henry would be gladto purchase their powerful support by surrendering many of theprerogatives of the crown. After holding a meeting, they appointed theDuke of Montpensier, who was very young and self-sufficient, topresent their demands to the king. Their plan was this, that the kingshould consent to the division of France into several largedepartments, over each of which, as a vassal prince, somedistinguished nobleman should reign, collecting his own revenues andmaintaining his own army. Each of these vassal nobles was to be bound, when required, to furnish a military contingent to their liege lordthe king. 

Montpensier entered the presence of the monarch, and in a longdiscourse urged the insulting proposal. The king listened calmly, andwithout interrupting him, to the end. Then, in tones unimpassioned, but firm and deliberate, he replied, "My cousin, you must be insane. Such language coming from _you_, andaddressed to _me_, leads me to think that I am in a dream. Views sofull of insult to the sovereign, and ruin to the state, can not haveoriginated in your benevolent and upright mind. Think you that thepeople, having stripped me of the august prerogatives of royalty, would respect in you the rights of a prince of the blood? Did Ibelieve that you, in heart, desired to see me thus humiliated, I wouldteach you that such an offense is not to be committed with impunity. My cousin, abandon these follies. Reveal not your accomplices, butreply to them that you yourself have such a horror of thesepropositions that you will hold him as a deadly enemy who shall everspeak to you of them again. "

This firmness crushed the conspiracy; but still darkness and gloomseemed to rest upon unhappy France. The year 1596 was one of famineand of pestilence. "We had, " says a writer of the times, "summer inApril, autumn in May, and winter in June. " In the city and in thecountry, thousands perished of starvation. Famishing multitudescrowded to the gates of the city in search of food, but in the citythe plague had broken forth. The authorities drove the mendicants backinto the country. They carried with them the awful pestilence in everydirection. At the same time, several attempts were made to assassinatethe king. Though he escaped the knife of the assassin, he came nearlosing his life by a singular accident. 

The Princess of Navarre, sister of the king, had accompanied him, withthe rest of the court, into Picardy. She was taken suddenly ill. Theking called to see her, carrying in his arms his infant son, theidolized child of the fair Gabrielle. While standing by the bedside ofhis sister, from some unexplained cause, the flooring gave way beneaththem. Henry instinctively sprang upon the bed with his child. Providentially, that portion of the floor remained firm, while all therest was precipitated with a crash into the rooms below. NeitherHenry, his sister, or his child sustained any injury. 

The financial condition of the empire was in a state of utter ruin--aruin so hopeless that the almost inconceivable story is told that theking actually suffered both for food and raiment. He at times madehimself merry with his own ragged appearance. At one time he saidgayly, when the Parliament sent the president, Seguier, toremonstrate against a fiscal edict, "I only ask to be treated as they treat the monks, with food andclothing. Now, Mr. President, I often have not enough to eat. As formy habiliments, look and see how I am accoutred, " and he pointed tohis faded and thread-bare doublet. 

Le Grain, a contemporary, writes, "I have seen the king with a plaindoublet of white stuff, all soiled by his cuirass and torn at thesleeve, and with well-worn breeches, unsewn on the side of thesword-belt. "

While the king was thus destitute, the members of the council offinance were practicing gross extortion, and living in extravagance. The king was naturally light-hearted and gay, but the deplorablecondition of the kingdom occasionally plunged him into the deepest ofmelancholy. A lady of the court one day remarked to him that he lookedsad. 

"Indeed, " he replied, "how can I be otherwise, to see a people soungrateful toward their king? Though I have done and still do all Ican for them, and though for their welfare I would willingly sacrificea thousand lives had God given me so many, as I have often proved, yetthey daily attempt my life. "

The council insisted that it was not safe for the king to leave somany of the Leaguers in the city, and urged their banishment. The kingrefused, saying, "They are all my subjects, and I wish to love them equally. "

The king now resolved, notwithstanding strong opposition from theCatholics, to place his illustrious Protestant friend, Sully, at thehead of the ministry of finance. Sully entered upon his Herculean taskwith shrewdness which no cunning could baffle, and with integritywhich no threat or bribe could bias. All the energies of calumny, malice, and violence were exhausted upon him, but this majestic manmoved straight on, heedless of the storm, till he caused order toemerge from apparently inextricable confusion, and, by just andhealthy measures, replenished the bankrupt treasury of the state. 

The king was now pushing the siege of Amiens, which had for some timebeen in the hands of his enemies. During this time he wrote to hisdevoted friend and faithful minister of finance, "I am very near the enemy, yet I have scarcely a horse upon which I can fight, or a suit of armor to put on. My doublet is in holes at the elbows. My kettle is often empty. For these two last days I have dined with one and another as I could. My purveyors inform me that they have no longer the means of supplying my table. "

On the twenty-fifth of June, 1597, Amiens capitulated. 

One of the kings of England is said to have remarked to his son, whowas eager to ascend the throne, "Thou little knowest, my child, what aheap of cares and sorrows thou graspest at. " History does, indeed, prove that "uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. " New perplexitiesnow burst upon the king. The Protestants, many of them irritated byhis conversion, and by the tardy and insufficient concessions theyreceived, violently demanded entire equality with the Catholics. Thisdemand led to the famous Edict of Nantes. This ordinance, whichreceives its name from the place where it was published, was issued inthe month of April, 1598. It granted to the Protestants full privateliberty of conscience. It also permitted them to enjoy public worshipin all places where the right was already established. Protestantlords of the highest rank could celebrate divine service in theircastles with any number of their retainers. Nobles of the second rankmight maintain private worship in their mansions, to which thirtypersons could be admitted. Protestants were pronounced to be eligibleto public office. Their children were to be admitted to the schools, their sick to the hospitals, and their poor to a share of the publiccharities. In a few specified places they were permitted to printbooks. Such, in the main, was the celebrated "Edict of Nantes. "

The Catholics considered this an enormous and atrocious concession todeadly heresy. New clamors blazed forth against Henry, as in heartfalse to the Church. The Catholic clergy, in one combined voice, protested against it, and Pope Clement VIII. Declared the Edict ofNantes, which permitted _liberty of conscience to every one, the mostexecrable that was ever made_. 

It has required centuries of blood and woe to teach even a fewindividuals the true principles of religious liberty. Even inProtestant lands, the masses of the people have not yet fully learnedthat lesson. All over Catholic Europe, and all through the realms ofpaganism, intolerance still sways her cruel and bloody sceptre. Thesemiserable religious wars in France, the birth of ignorance, fanaticism, and depravity, for seventy years polluted the state withgory scaffolds and blazing stakes. Three thousand millions of dollarswere expended in the senseless strife, and two millions of lives werethrown away. At the close of the war, one half of the towns and themajestic castles of beautiful France were but heaps of smoulderingruins. All industry was paralyzed. The fields were abandoned to weedsand barrenness. The heart and the mind of the whole nation wasthoroughly demoralized. Poverty, emaciation, and a semi-barbarismdeformed the whole kingdom. 

Neither the Catholics nor Protestants were satisfied with the Edict ofNantes. The Parliament of Paris, composed almost entirely ofCatholics, for a long time refused its ratification. Henry called thecourts before him, and insisted with kindness, but with firmness, thatthe edict should be verified. 

"Gentlemen, " said he, in the long speech which he made upon theoccasion, "there must be no more distinction between Catholics andProtestants. All must be good Frenchmen. Let the Catholics convert theProtestants by the example of a good life. I am a shepherd-king, whowill not shed the blood of his sheep, but who will seek to bring themall with kindness into the same fold. "

The Catholic Parliament, thus constrained, finally adopted the edict. The Protestants also, perceiving clearly that this was the best thatthe king could do for them, after long discussion in their Consistory, which was, in reality, their Parliament, finally gave in theiradhesion. The adjoining hostile powers, having no longer a party inFrance to join them, were thus disarmed. They sent embassadors topromote peace. Friendly treaties were speedily formed, and Henry wasthe undisputed monarch of a kingdom in repose. 

Henry now commenced, with great energy, the promotion of theprosperity of his exhausted kingdom. To check the warlike spirit whichhad so long been dominant, he forbade any of his subjects, except hisguards, to carry arms. The army was immediately greatly reduced, andpublic expenditures so diminished as materially to lighten the weightof taxation. Many of the nobles claimed exemption from the tax, butHenry was inflexible that the public burden should be borne equally byall. The people, enjoying the long unknown blessings of peace, becameenthusiastically grateful to their illustrious benefactor. 

In the month of October, 1598, the king was taken dangerously ill. Thewhole nation was in a panic. The touching demonstrations which Henrythen received of the universal love and homage of his subjectsaffected him deeply. But few men find enough happiness in this worldto lead them to cling very tenaciously to life when apparently on adying bed. Henry at this time said to his attendants, "I have no fear of death. I do not shrink at all from the greatjourney to the spirit land. But I greatly regret being removed from mybeloved country before I have restored it to complete prosperity. "

Happily, the fever was subdued, and he again, with indefatigablediligence, resumed his labors. To discourage the extravagance of thenobles, he set the example of extreme economy in all his personalexpenses. He indulged in no gaudy equipage, his table was veryfrugally served, and his dress was simple in the extreme. No man inthe kingdom devoted more hours to labor. He met his council daily, andin all their conferences exhibited a degree of information, shrewdness, and of comprehensive statesmanship which astonished themost experienced politicians who surrounded him. 

It was a fierce battle which the king and his minister were compelledto fight for many years against the haughty nobles, who had everregarded the mass of the people but as beasts of burden, made tocontribute to their pleasure. The demands of these proud aristocratswere incessant and inexorable. It is a singular fact that, among themall, there was not a more thorough-going aristocrat than Sullyhimself. He had a perfect contempt for the people as to any power ofself-government. They were, in his view, but sheep, to be carefullyprotected by a kind shepherd. It was as absurd, he thought, to consultthem, as it would be for a shepherd to ask the advice of his flock. But Sully wished to take good care of the people, to shield them fromall unequal burdens, from all aristocratic usurpations, and to protectthem with inflexible justice in person and in property. His governmentwas absolute in the extreme. 

The Marchioness of Verneuil, in a towering rage, bitterly reproachedthe duke for preventing her from receiving a monopoly from the king, which would have secured to her an income of some five hundredthousand dollars a year. 

"Truly the king will be a great fool, " exclaimed the enragedmarchioness, "if he continues to follow your advice, and thusalienates so many distinguished families. On whom, pray, should theking confer favors, if not on his relatives and his influentialfriends?"

"What you say, " replied the unbending minister, "would be reasonableenough if his majesty took the money all out of his own purse. But toassess a new tax upon the merchants, artisans, laborers, and countrypeople will never do. It is by them that the king and all of us aresupported, and it is enough that they provide for a master, withouthaving to maintain his cousins and friends. "

For twelve years Henry, with his illustrious minister, labored withunintermitted zeal for the good of France. His love of France was anever-glowing and growing passion for which every thing was to besurrendered. Henry was great in all respects but one. He was a slaveto the passion of love. "And no one, " says Napoleon, "can surrenderhimself to the passion of love without forfeiting some palms ofglory. " This great frailty has left a stain upon his reputation whichtruth must not conceal, which the genius of history with sorrowregards, and which can never be effaced. He was a great statesman. Hisheart was warm and generous. His philanthropy was noble andall-embracing, and his devotion to the best welfare of France wassincere and intense. Witness the following memorable prayer as he wasjust entering upon a great battle:

"O Lord, if thou meanest this day to punish me for my sins, I bow myhead to the stroke of thy justice. Spare not the guilty. But, Lord, bythy holy mercy, have pity on this poor realm, and strike not the flockfor the fault of the shepherd. "

"If God, " said he at another time, "shall grant me the ordinary termof human life, I hope to see France in such a condition that everypeasant shall be able to have a fowl in the pot on Sunday. "

This memorable saying shows both the benevolence of the king and theexceeding poverty, at that time, of the peasantry of France. Sully, inspeaking of the corruption which had prevailed and of the measures ofreform introduced, says, "The revenue annually paid into the royal treasury was thirty millions. It could not be, I thought, that such a sum could reduce the kingdom of France so low. I resolved to enter upon the immense investigation. To my horror, I found that for these thirty millions given to his majesty there were extorted from the purses of his subjects, I almost blush to say, one hundred and fifty millions. After this I was no longer ignorant whence the misery of the people proceeded. I applied my cares to the authors of this oppression, who were the governors and other officers of the army, who all, even to the meanest, abused, in an enormous manner, their authority over the people. I immediately caused a decree to be issued, by which they were prohibited, under great penalties, to exact any thing from the people, under any title whatever, without a warrant in form. "

The king co-operated cordially with his minister in these rigorousacts of reform, and shielded him with all the power of the monarchyfrom the storm of obloquy which these measures drew down upon him. Theproud Duke of Epernon, exasperated beyond control, grossly insultedSully. Henry immediately wrote to his minister, "If Epernon challengesyou, I will be your second. "

The amiable, but sinning and consequently wretched Gabrielle was nowimportunate for the divorce, that she might be lawfully married to theking. But the children already born could not be legitimated, andSully so clearly unfolded to the king the confusion which would thusbe introduced, and the certainty that, in consequence of it, adisputed succession would deluge France in blood, that the king, ardently as he loved Gabrielle, was compelled to abandon the plan. Gabrielle was inconsolable, and inveighed bitterly against Sully. Theking for a moment forgot himself, and cruelly retorted, "Know, woman, that a minister like Sully must be dearer to me thaneven such a friend as you. "

This harshness broke the heart of the unhappy Gabrielle. Sheimmediately left Fontainebleau, where she was at that time with theking, and retired to Paris, saying, as she bade Henry adieu, "We shallnever meet again. " Her words proved true. On reaching Paris she wasseized with convulsions, gave birth to a lifeless child, and died. Poor Gabrielle! Let compassion drop a tear over her grave! She was bynature one of the most lovely and noble of women. She lived in a dayof darkness and of almost universal corruption. Yielding to thetemptation of a heroic monarch's love, she fell, and a subsequent lifeof sorrow was terminated by an awful death, probably caused by poison. 

Henry, as soon as informed of her sickness, mounted his horse togallop to Paris. He had proceeded but half way when he was met by acourier who informed him that Gabrielle was dead. The dreadful blowstaggered the king, and he would have fallen from his horse had he notbeen supported by his attendants. He retired to Fontainebleau, shuthimself up from all society, and surrendered himself to the mostbitter grief. Sully in vain endeavored to console him. It was longbefore he could turn his mind to any business. But there is no painwhose anguish time will not diminish. New cares and new loves atlength engrossed the heart where Gabrielle had for a few brief yearsso supremely reigned. 

The utterly profligate Marguerite, now that Gabrielle was dead, whomshe of course hated, was perfectly willing to assent to a divorce. While arrangements were making to accomplish this end, the kingchanced to meet a fascinating, yet pert and heartless coquette, Henriette d'Entragues, daughter of Francis Balzac, Lord of Entragues. Though exceedingly beautiful, she was a calculating, soulless girl, who was glad of a chance to sell herself for rank and money. She thusreadily bartered her beauty to the king, exacting, with the most coolfinanciering, as the price, a written promise that he would marry heras soon as he should obtain a divorce from Marguerite of Valois, uponcondition that she, within the year, should bear him a son. 

The king, having written the promise, placed it in the hands of Sully. The bold minister read it, then tore it into fragments. The king, amazed at such boldness, exclaimed in a passion, "Sir, I believe thatyou are mad. "

"True, sire, I am, " replied Sully; "but would to God that I were theonly madman in France. "

But Henry, notwithstanding his anger, could not part from a ministerwhose services were so invaluable. He immediately drew up anotherpromise, which he placed in the hands of the despicable beauty. Thisrash and guilty pledge was subsequently the cause of great trouble tothe king. 

Henry having obtained a divorce, the nation demanded that he shouldform a connection which should produce a suitable heir to inherit thethrone. Thus urged, and as Henrietta did not give birth to thewished-for son, Henry reluctantly married, in the year 1600, Maria ofMedici, niece of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. 

Maria was a domineering, crafty, ambitious woman, who embittered thelife of the king. She was very jealous, and with reason enough, of thecontinued influence of Henrietta; and the palace was the scene ofdisgraceful domestic broils. Henry, in one of his letters to Sully, describes the queen as "terribly robust and healthy. " But when shegave birth to a son who was undeniably heir to the throne, thusallaying the fears of a disputed succession, the whole nationrejoiced, and Henry became somewhat reconciled to his unattractivespouse. The king was exceedingly fond of this child. One day theSpanish embassador, a dignified Castilian, was rather suddenly usheredinto the royal presence at Fontainebleau. The monarch was on all fourson the floor, running about the room with the little dauphin on hisback. Raising his eyes, he said to the embassador, "Are you a father?"

"Yes, sire, " was the reply. 

"Then I may finish my play, " said Henry, and he took another trotaround the room. 

Henrietta and her relatives were greatly exasperated that the king didnot fulfill his promise of marriage. The father and daughter, joinedby the Count d'Auvergne, plotted against the king's life. They werearrested and condemned to death. The king, however, transmuted theirpunishment to exile. 

One of the grandest schemes of Henry deserves particular mention. Reflecting deeply upon the wars with which Europe had ever beendesolated, and seeing the occasion for this in the innumerable statesand nations into which Europe was divided, of various degrees ofpower, and each struggling for its own selfish interest, he proposedto unite all the states of Europe in one vast Christian Republic. Thewhole continent was to be divided into fifteen states, as uniform insize and power as possible. These states were to be, according totheir choice, monarchical or republican. They were to be associated ona plan somewhat resembling that of the United States of America. 

Nothing can more conclusively show the entire absence of correctnotions of religious toleration prevailing at that day than the planproposed to prevent religious quarrels. Wherever any one form offaith predominated, that was to be maintained as the national faith. In Catholic states, there were to be no Protestants; in Protestantstates, no Catholics. The minority, however, were not to beexterminated; they were only to be compelled to emigrate to thecountries where their own form of faith prevailed. All pagans andMohammedans were to be driven out of Europe into Asia. To enforce thischange, an army of two hundred and seventy thousand infantry, fiftythousand cavalry, two hundred cannon, and one hundred and twenty shipsof war, was deemed amply sufficient. 

The first step was to secure the co-operation of two or three of themost powerful kings of Europe. This would render success almostcertain. Sully examined the plan with the utmost care in all itsdetails. Henry wished first to secure the approval of England, Sweden, and Denmark. 

But, in the midst of these schemes of grandeur, Henry was struck downby the hand of an assassin. On the fourteenth of May, 1610, the kingleft the Louvre at four o'clock in the afternoon to visit Sully, whowas sick. Preparations were making for the public entry of the queen, who, after a long delay, had just been crowned. The city was thronged;the day was fine, and the curtains of the coach were drawn up. Severalnobles were in the spacious carriage with the king. As the coach wasturning out of the street Honoré into the narrow street Ferronnerie, it was stopped by two carts which blocked up the way. Just at thatinstant a man from the crowd sprang upon a spoke of the wheel, andstruck a dagger into the king just above the heart. Instantlyrepeating the blow, the heart was pierced. Blood gushed from the woundand from the mouth of the king, and, without uttering a word, he sankdead in the arms of his friends. 

The wretched assassin, a fanatic monk, was immediately seized by theguard. With difficulty they protected him from being torn to pieces bythe infuriated people. His name was Francis Ravaillac. According tothe savage custom of the times, he was subsequently put to death withthe most frightful tortures. 

The lifeless body of the king was immediately taken to the Tuileriesand placed upon a bed. Surgeons and physicians hurried to the roomonly to gaze upon his corpse. No language can depict the grief anddespair of France at his death. He had won the love of the wholenation, and, to the present day, no one hears the name of Henry theFourth mentioned in France but with affection. He was truly the fatherof his people. All conditions, employments, and professions wereembraced in his comprehensive regard. He spared no toil to make Francea happy land. He was a man of genius and of instinctive magnanimity. In conversation he had no rival. His profound and witty sayings whichhave been transmitted to us are sufficient to form a volume. His onegreat and almost only fault sadly tarnishes his otherwise fair andhonorable fame. 

In Henry commenced the reign of the house of Bourbon. For nearly twohundred years the family retained the crown. It is now expelled, andthe members are wandering in exile through foreign lands. 

There is one great truth which this narrative enforces: it is thedoctrine of _freedom of conscience_. It was the denial of this simpletruth which deluged France in blood and woe. The recognition of thisone sentiment would have saved for France hundreds of thousands oflives, and millions of treasure. Let us take warning. We need it. 

Let us emblazon upon our banner the noble words, "_Toleration--perfectcivil and religious toleration_. " But Toleration is not a slave. It isa spirit of light and of liberty. It has much to give, but it has justas much to demand. It bears the olive-branch in one hand, and thegleaming sword in the other. I grant _to you_, it says, perfectliberty of opinion and of expression, and I demand _of you_ the same. 

Let us then inscribe upon the arch which spans our glorious Union, making us one in its celestial embrace, "_Freedom of speech, freedomof the press, and free men_. "

Then shall that arch beam upon us like God's bow of promise in thecloud, proclaiming that this land shall never be deluged by the surgesof civil war--that it never shall be inundated by flames and blood. 

The human mind is now so roused that it will have this liberty; and ifthere are any institutions of religion or of civil law which can notstand this scrutiny, they are doomed to die. The human mind will movewith untrammeled sweep through the whole range of religious doctrine, and around the whole circumference and into the very centre of allpolitical assumptions. 

If the Catholic bishop have a word to say, let him say it. If someone, rising in the spirit and power of Martin Luther, has a reply tomake, let him make it. Those who wish to listen to the one or theother, let them do so. Those who wish to close their ears, let themhave their way. 

Our country is one. Our liberty is national. Let us then granttoleration every where throughout our wide domain, in Maine and inGeorgia, amid the forests of the Aroostook and upon the plains ofKansas. 

 THE END. 

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors, and toensure consistent spelling and punctuation in this etext; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the original book. 

2. The chapter summaries in this text were originally published asbanners in the page headers, and have been moved to beginning of thechapter for the reader's convenience.