The forty-five guardsmen; a sequel to "Marguerite de Valois", and "Chicot the jester"

Front matter

FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN

A SEQUEL TO “ MARGUERITE DE VALOIS,” AND “CHICOT

THE JESTER"

Contents

CHAPTER

XXVI. THE LOUVRE -

XXVII. THE REVELATION

Chapter II

WHAT PASSED OUTSIDE THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE.

One of the groups was formed of a considerable number of citizens. They surrounded four or five of a martial appearance, whom the closing of the doors annoyed very much, as it seemed, for they cried with all their might, “ The door ! the door !”

Robert Briquet advanced towards this group, and began to cry also, “ The door ! the door !”

One of the cavaliers, charmed at this, turned towards him and said, ‘ Is it not shameful, monsieur, that they should close the gates in open day, as though the Spaniards or the English were besieging Paris ?”

Robert Briquet looked attentively at the speaker, who seemed to be about forty-five years of age, and the principal personage in the group. “Yes, monsieur,” replied he, “you are right; but may I venture to ask what you think their motive is for these precautions ?”

“ Pardieu ! the fear they have lest some one should eat their Salcede.”

“ Diable !” said a voice, “a sad meal.”

Robert Briquet turned towards the speaker, whose voice had a strong Gascon accent, and saw a young man from twenty to twenty- five, resting his hand on the crupper of the horse of the first speaker. His head was bare ; he had probably lost his hat in the melee.

“ But as they say,” replied Briquet, “ that this Salcede belongs to M. de Guise ”

“ Bah i they say that !”

“ Then you do not believe it, monsieur ?”

“ Certainly not,” replied the cavalier, “ doubtless, if he had, the duke would not have let him be taken, or at all events

THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN.

would not have allowed him to have been carried from Brussels to Paris bound hand and foot, without even trying to rescue him.”

“ An attempt to rescue him,” replied Briquet, “ would have been very dangerous, because, whether it failed or succeeded, it would have been an avowal, on the duke’s part, that he had conspired against the Due d’Anjou.”

“ M. de Guise would not, I am sure, have been restrained by such considerations ; therefore, as he has not defended Salcede, it is certain that he is not one of his men.”

“ Excuse me, monsieur, if I insist, but it is not I who invent, for it appears that Salcede has confessed.”

“ Where ? before the judges ?”

“ No, monsieur ; at the torture.”

“ They asserted that he did, but they do not repeat what he said.”

“Excuse me again, monsieur, but they do.”

“ And what did he say ?” cried the cavalier impatiently. “ As you seem so well informed, what were his words ?”

“ I cannot certify that they were his words,” replied Briquet, who seemed to take a pleasure in teazing the cavalier.

“ Well, then, those they attribute to him.”

“ They assert that he has confessed that he conspired for M. de Guise.”

“ Against the king, of course ?”

“No ; against the Due d’Anjou.”

“If he confessed that ”

“Well ?”

“ Well, he is a poltroon !” said the cavalier, frowning.

“ Ah ! monsieur, the boot and the thumb-screw make a man confess many things.”

“ Alas ! that is true, monsieur.”

“ Bah !” interrupted the Gascon, “ the boot and the thumb' screw, nonsense ; if Salcede confessed that, he was a knave, and his patron another.”

“You speak loudly, monsieur,” said the cavalier.

“ I speak as I please ; so much the worse for those who dislike it.”

“ More calmly,” said a voice at once soft and imperative, of which Briquet vainly sought the owner.

The cavalier seemed to make an effort over himself, and then said quietly to the Gascon, “ Do you know him of whom you speak ?”

WHAT PASSED OUTSIDE THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE. 7

“ Salcede ?”

“ Yes.”

w Not in the least.”

“ And the Due de Guise ?”

“ Still less.”

“ Well, then, Salcede is a brave man.”

“ So much the better ; he will die bravely.”

“ And know that, when the Due de Guise wishes to conspire, he conspires for himself.”

“ What do I care ?”

“ What !”

“ Mayneville ! Mayneville !” murmured the same voice.

“Yes, mordieu ! what do I care?” continued the Gascon. “ I came to Paris on business, and find the gates closed on account of this execution — that is all I care for.”

At this moment there was a sound of trumpets. The Swiss had cleared the middle of the road, along which a crier proceeded, dressed in a flowered tunic, and bearing on his breast a scutcheon on which was embroidered the arms of Paris. He read from a paper in his hand the following proclamation :

“ This is to make known to our good people of Paris and its environs, that its gates will be closed for one hour, and that none can enter during that time ; and this by the will of the King and the Mayor of Paris.”

The crowd gave vent to their discontent in a long hoot, to which, however, the crier seemed indifferent. The officer commanded silence, and when it was obtained, the crier continued :

“ All who are the bearers of a sign of recognition, or are summoned by letter or mandate, are exempt from this rule. Given at the Hotel of the Provost of Paris, 26th of October,

1585.”

Scarcely had the crier ceased to speak, when the crowd began to undulate like a serpent behind the line of soldiers.

“ What is the meaning of this ?” cried all.

“ Oh ! it is to keep us out of Paris,” said the cavalier, who had been speaking in a low voice to his companions. “ These guards, this crier, these bars, and these trumpets are all for us ; we ought to be proud of them.”

“ Room !” cried the officer in command ; “ make room for those who have the right to pass !”

“ Cap de Bious ! I know who will pass, whoever is kept out !”

THE FORTY -FIVE GUARDSMEN.

said the Gascon, leaping into the cleared space. He walked straight up to the officer who had spoken, and who looked at him for some moments in silence, and then said :

“ You have lost your hat, it appears, monsieur?”

“ Yes, monsieur.”

“ Is it in the crowd ?”

“ No. I had just received a letter from my sweetheart, and was reading it, cap de Bious ! near the river, about a mile from here, when a gust of wind carried away both my letter and my hat. I ran after the letter, although the button of my hat was a single diamond ; I caught my letter, but my hat was carried by the wind into the middle of the river. It will make the fortune of the poor devil who finds it”

“ So that you have none ?”

“ Oh, there are plenty in Paris, cap de Bious ! I will buy a more magnificent one, and put in it a still larger diamond.”

The officer shrugged his shoulders slightly, and said, “ Have you a card ?”

“Certainly I have one — or rather two.”

“One is enough, if it be the right one.”

“ But it cannot be wrong — oh, no, cap de Bious ! Is it to M. de Loignac that I have the honour of speaking?”

“It is possible,” said the officer coldly, and evidently not much charmed at the recognition.

“ M. de Loignac, my compatriot ?”

“ I do not say no.”

“ My cousin !”

“ Good ! Your card ?”

“ Here it is and the Gascon drew out the half of a card, carefully cut.

“ Follow me,” said De Loignac, without looking at it, “ and your companions, if you have any. We will verify the admissions.”

The Gascon obeyed, and five other gentlemen followed him. The first was adorned with a magnificent cuirass, so marvellous in its work that it seemed as if it had come out of the hands of Benvenuto Cellini. However, as the make of this cuirass was somewhat old-fashioned, its magnificence attracted more laughter than admiration ; and it is true that no other part of the costume of the individual in question corresponded with this magnificence. The second, who was lame, was followed by a greyheaded lackey, who looked like the precursor of Sancho Panza,

WHAT PASSED OUTSIDE TIIE FORTE ST. ANTOINE. 9

as his master did of Don Quixote. The third carried a child of ten months old in his arms, and was followed by a woman, who kept a tight grasp of his leathern belt, while two other children, one four and the other five years old, held by her dress.

The fourth was attached to an enormous sword, and the fifth, Mho closed the troop, was a handsome young man, mounted on a black horse. He looked like a king by the side of the others. Forced to regulate his pace by those who preceded him, he was advancing slowly, when he felt a sudden pull at the scabbard of his sword ; he turned round, and saw that it had been done by a slight and graceful young man with black hair and soarkling eyes.

“What do you desire, monsieur?” said the cavalier.

“A favour, monsieur.”

“ Speak ; but quickly, I pray you, for I am waited for.”

“ I desire to enter into the city, monsieur ; an imperious necessity demands my presence there. You, on your part, are alone, and want a page to do justice to your appearance.”

“ Well ?”

“ Take me in, and I will be your page.”

“ Thank you ; but I do not wish to be served by any one.”

“ Not even by me,” said the young man, \\ T ith such a strange glance, that the cavalier felt the icy reserve in which he had tried to close his heart melting away.

' “ I meant to say that I could be served by no one,” said he.

“ Yes, I know you are not rich, M. Ernanton de Carmainges,” said the young page. The cavalier started, but the lad went on, “ therefore I do not speak of wages ; it is you, on the contrary, who, if you grant what I ask, shall be paid a hundredfold for the service you will render me ; let me enter with you, then, I beg, remembering that he who now begs, has often commanded.” Then, turning to the group of which we have already spoken, the lad said, “ I shall pass ; that is the most important thing ; but you, Mayneville, try to do so also if possible.”

“ It is not everything that you should pass,” replied Mayneville ; “ it is necessary that he should see you.”

“ Make yourself easy ; once I am through, he shall see me.”

“ Do not forget the sign agreed upon.”

“ Two fingers on the mouth, is it not ?”

“ Yes ; success attend you.”

“ Well, monsieur page,” said the man on the black horse, “ are you ready ?”

IO

THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN.

“ Here I am,” replied he, jumping lightly on the horse, behind the cavalier, who immediately joined his friends who were occupied in exhibiting their cards and proving their right to enter.

“ Ventre de Biche !” said Robert Briquet ; “ what an arrival of Gascons.”

Chapter III. The Examination

The process of examination consisted in comparing the half card with another half in the possession of the officer.

The Gascon with the bare head advanced first.

“ Your name ?” said De Loignac.

“ It is on the card.”

“ Never mind ; tell it to me.”

“ Well, I am called Perducas de Pincornay.”

Then, throwing his eyes on the card, M. de Loignac read, “ Perducas de Pincornay, 26 October, 1585, at noon precisely. Porte St. Antoine.”

“ Very good ; it is all right,” said he, “ enter. Now for you,” said he to the second.

The man with the cuirass advanced.

“ Your card ?” said De Loignac.

“ What ! M. de Loignac, do you not know the son of your old friend, whom you have danced twenty times on your knee ?”

“ I am Pertinax de Montcrabeau,” replied the young man, with astonishment. “ Do you not know me now ?”

“ When I am on service, I know no one. Your card, monsieur ?”

He held it out. “ All right ! pass,” said De Loignac

The third now approached, whose card was demanded in the same terms. The man plunged his hand into a little goat-skin pouch which he wore, but in vain ; he was so embarrassed by the child in his arms, that he could not find it.

“ What the devil are you doing with that child ?” asked De Loignac.

“ He is my son, monsieur.”

“Well, put your son down. You are married, then?”

“Yes. monsieur.”

THE EXAMINATION, ii cc At twenty ?'

“ They marry young among us ; you ought to know that, M. de Loignae, who were married at eighteen/’

“ Oh !” thought De Loignae, “ here is another who knows me.”

“ And why should he not be married ?” cried the woman, advancing. “ Yes, monsieur, he is married, and here are two other children who call him father, besides this great lad behind. Advance, Militor, and bow to M. de Loignae/’

A lad of sixteen, vigorous and agile, with an incipient moustache, stepped forward.

“ They are my wife’s sons, monsieur.”

“ In Heaven’s name, your card !” cried De Loignae.

“ Lardille !” cried the Gascon to his wife, “ come and help me.”

Lardille searched the pouch and pockets of her husband, but uselessly. “ We must have lost it !” she cried.

“ Then I arrest you.”

The man turned pale, but said, “ I am Eustace de Mirandoux, and M. de St. M aline is my patron.”

“ Oh !” said De Loignae, a little mollified at this name, “ well, search again.”

They turned to their pockets again, and began to re-examine them.

“ Why, what do I see there, on the sleeve of that blockhead ?” said De Loignae.

“ Yes, yes !” cried the father. “ I remember, now, Lardille sewed it on.”

“ That you might carry something, I suppose, you great lazy fellow.”

The card was looked at and found all right, and the family passed on in the same order as before.

The fourth man advanced and gave his name as Chalabre. It was found correct, and he also entered.

Then came M. de Carmainges. He got off his horse and presented his card, while the page hid his face by pretending to adjust the saddle.

“ The page belongs to you ?” asked De Loignae.

“ You see, he is attending to my horse.”

“ Pass, then.”

“ Quick, my master,” said the page.

Behind these men the door was closed, much to the discon-

THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN.

tent of the crowd. Robert Briquet, meanwhile, had drawn near to the porter’s lodge, which had two windows, one looking towards Paris, and the other into the country. From this post he saw a man, who, coming from Paris at full gallop, entered the lodge and said, “ Here I am, M. de Loignac.”

“ Good. Where do you come from ?”

“ From the Porte St. Victor.”

“ Your number ?”

“ Five.”

“ The cards ?”

“ Here they are.”

De Loignac took them, examined them, and wrote on a slate the number five. The messenger left, and two others appeared, almost immediately. One came from the Porte Bourdelle, and brought the number four, the other from the Porte du Temple, and announced six. Then came four others. The first from the Porte St. Denis, with the number five ; the next from the Porte St. Jacques, with the number three ; the third from the Porte St. Honore, with the number eight ; and the fourth from the Porte Montmartre, with the number four. Lastly came a messenger, from the Porte Bussy, who announced four. De Loignac wrote all these down, added them to those who had entered the Porte St. Antoine, and found the total number to be forty-five.

‘‘Good !” said he. “ Now open the gates, and all may enter.”

The gates were thrown open, and then horses, mules, and carts, men, women, and children, pressed into Paris, at the risk of suffocating each other, and in a quarter of an hour all the crowd had vanished.

Robert Briquet remained until the last. “ I have seen enough,” said he ; “ would it be very advantageous to me to see M. Salcede torn in four pieces ? No, pardieu ! Besides, I have renounced politics ; I will go and dine.”

Chapter IV. His Majesty Henri The Third

M. Friard was right when he talked of 100,000 persons as the number of spectators who would meet on the Place de Greve and its environs, to witness the execution of Salcede. All Paris appeared to have a rendezvous at the Hotel de Ville ; and Paris

HIS MAJESTY HENRI THE THIRD. 13

is very exact, and never misses a fete ; and the death of a man is a fete, especially when he has raised so many passions that some curse and others bless him.

The spectators who succeeded in reaching the Place saw the archers and a large number of Swiss and light horse surrounding a little scaffold raised about four feet from the ground. It was so low as to be visible only to those immediately surrounding it, or to those who had windows overlooking the Place. Four vigorous white horses beat the ground impatiently with their hoofs, to the great terror of the women, who had either chosen this place willingly, or had been forcibly pushed there.

These horses were unused, and had never done more work than to support, by some chance, on their broad backs the chubby children cf the peasants. After the scaffold and the horses, what next attracted all looks was the principal window of the Hotel de Ville, which was hung with red velvet and gold, and ornamented with the royal arms. This was for the king. Half-past one had just struck when this window was filled. First came Henri III., pale, almost bald, although he was at that time only thirty-five, and vith a sombre expression, always a mystery to his subjects, who, when they saw him appear, never knew whether to say “ Vive le Roi !” or to pray for his soul He was dressed in black, without jewels or orders, and a single diamond shone in his cap, serving as a fastening to three short plumes. He carried in his hand a little black dog that his sister-in-law Marie Stuart had sent him from her prison, and on which his fingers looked as white as alabaster.

Behind the king came Catherine de Medicis, almost bowed by age, for she might be sixty-six or sixty-seven, but still carrying her head firm and erect, and darting bitter glances from under her thick eyebrows. At her side appeared the melancholy but sweet face of the queen, Louise de Torraine. Catherine came as a triumph, she as a punishment. Behind them came two handsome young men, brothers, the eldest of whom smiled with wonderful beauty, and the younger with great melancholy. The one was Anne, Due de Joyeuse, and the other Henri de Joyeuse, Comte de Bouehage. The people had for these favourites of the king none of the hatred which they had felt towards Maugiron, Quelus, arid Schomberg.

Henri saluted the people gravely ; then, turning to the young men, he said, “ Anne, lean against the tapestry ; it may last a long time.”

U

“ I hope so,” said Catherine.

“ You think then, that Salcede will speak, mother ?”

“ God will, I trust, give this confusion to our enemies.”

Henri looked doubtful.

“My son,” said Catherine, “do I not see some tumult yonder ?”

“ What clear sight you have ! I believe you are right. I have such bad eyes, and yet I am not old. Yes, here comes Salcede.”

“ He fears,” said Catherine ; “ he will speak.”

“ If he has strength,” said the king. “ See, his head falls about like that of a corpse.”

“He is frightful,” said Joyeuse.

“ How should a man be handsome whose thoughts are so ugly? Have I not explained to you, Anne, the secret connection of the physical and the moral, as Hippocrates and Galen understood and expounded them ?”

“ I admit it, sire, but I am not a good pupil. I have sometimes seen very ugly men very good soldiers. Have you not, Henri ?” said he, turning to his brother ; but he looked without seeing, and heard without understanding, so the king answered for him.

“ Eh, mon Dieu ! my dear Anne, who says this man is not brave ? He is brave, pardieu, like a wolf, a bear, or a serpent. He burned in his house a Norman gentleman, his enemy ; he has fought ten duels, and killed three of his adversaries. He has now been taken in the act of coining, for which he has been condemned to death.”

“ That is a well-filled existence, but which will soon finish.”

“ On the contrary,” said Catherine, “ I trust it will finish as slowly as possible.”

“Madame,” said Joyeuse, “I see those four stout horses, who appear to me so impatient of their state of inactivity that I do not believe in a long resistance of the muscles, tendons, and cartilages of M. de Salcede.”

“ Yes, but my son is merciful,” replied she, with the smile peculiar to herself, “and he will tell the men to go gently.”

“ But, madame,” said the queen timidly, “ 1 heard you say this morning that there were only to be two draws ?”

“Yes, if he conducts himself well; in that case all will be finished as soon as possible, and, as you interest yourself so much in him, you had better let him know as much, my daughter.”

HIS MAJESTY HENRI THE THIRD .

“ Madame,” said the queen, “ I have not your strength when looking at suffering.”

“ Do not look, then.”

The king heard nothing ; he was all eyes. They were lifting Salcfcde from the car on to the scaffold, round which the archers had cleared a large space, so that it was distinctly visible to all eyes.

Salcede was about thirty-five years of age, strong and vigorous ; and his pale features, on which stood drops of blood, were animated alternately by hope and anguish. He was no vulgar assassin ; he was of good birth, and even distantly related to the queen, and had been a captain of some renown. Those bound hands had valiantly borne the sword, and that livid head, on which were depicted the terrors of death, had conceived great designs. Therefore, to many of the spectators, he was a hero ; to others, a victim ; some looked on him as an assassin ; but the crow r d seldom despises those very great criminals who are registered in the book of history as well as in that of justice. Thus they told, in the crowd, that Salcede was of a race of warriors ; that his father had fought against the Cardinal de Lorraine, but that the son had joined with the Guises to destroy in Flanders the rising power of the Due d’Anjou, so hated by the French.

He had been arrested and conducted to France, and had hoped to be rescued by the way ; but unfortunately for him. M. de Bellievre had kept such good watch, that neither Spaniards nor Lorraines, nor leaguers, had been able to approach. In the prison Salcede hoped ; during the torture, on the car, even on the scaffold, he still hoped. He wanted neither courage nor resignation ; but he was one of those who defend themselves to their last breath. He darted curious glances towards the crowd, but constantly turned away, with a look of disap. pointment.

At this moment, an usher, raising the tapestry of the royal tent, announced that the president Brisson and four councillors desired the honour of an instant’s conversation with the king on the subject of the execution.

“ Good,” said the king. “ Mother, you will be satisfied.”

“ Sire, a favour,” said Joyeuse.

‘‘ Speak, Joyeuse ; and provided it be not the pardon of the criminal ”

“Sire, permit my brother and me to retire.”

“ What ! you take so little interest in my affairs that you wish to retire at su ha moment !”

“ Do not say so, sire ; all that concerns your majesty profoundly interests me ; but I am of a miserable organisation, and the weakest woman is stronger than I am on this point. I cannot see an execution without being ill for a week ; and as I am the only person who ever laughs at the Louvre, since my brother — I know not why — has given it up, think what would become of the Louvre — so sad already — if I were sad also.”

“ You wish to leave me then, Anne ?”

“ Peste ! sire, you are exacting ; an execution is a spectacle of which, unlike me, you are fond. Is not that enough for you, or must you also enjoy the weakness of your friends ?”

“If you will remain, Joyeuse, you will see that it is interesting.”

“ I do not doubt it, sire ; I only think that the interest will be carried to a point that I cannot bear ;” and he turned towards the door.

“ Go, then,” said Henri, sighing ; “ my destiny is to live alone.”

“ Quick ! Du Bouchage,” said Anne to his brother. “ The king says yes now ; but in five minutes he will say no.”

“ Thanks, my brother,” said Bouchage ; “ I was as anxious as you to get away.”