CHAPTER XXIII
LE BALAFRÉ
Nevertheless, hope was not yet dead for Gabriel and Diane, since the Duc de Guise was breathing still. The unhappy creatures seized eagerly at the least chance, as the drowning man clutches at a straw.
Vicomte d'Exmès left Diane's side to go and ascertain for himself the extent of this catastrophe which had befallen them just when continued ill-fortune had seemed to be relaxing its rigorous severity.
Jean Peuquoy, who accompanied him, related to him on the way what had happened.
Lord Derby, being summoned by the mutinous citizens to capitulate before the time fixed by Lord Wentworth, had sent a flag of truce to the Duc de Guise to arrange the preliminaries.
Nevertheless, fighting still continued at several points, and was made still more desperate during these final struggles, by the wrath of the vanquished and the impatience of the victors.
François de Lorraine, who was as daring a soldier as he was a skilful general, appeared in person at the spot where the affray seemed to be hottest and most dangerous.
It was at a breach already half carried on the other side of a ditch, which was completely filled with débris.
The Duc de Guise on horseback, and a shining mark for the missiles which were aimed at him from all sides, calmly urged on his men by his words and his example.
Suddenly he saw above the breach the white flag of truce.
A haughty smile spread over his noble features; for it was the definitive assurance of his victory that he saw approaching.
"Hold!" he cried in the midst of the mêlée to those who surrounded him. "Calais surrenders! Down with your arms!"
He raised the visor of his helmet, and putting spurs to his horse, rode forward a few paces with his eyes fixed on the white flag, the symbol of his triumph and of peace.
Darkness, moreover, was beginning to fall, and the uproar had not ceased.
An English man-at-arms, who probably had not seen the flag of truce nor heard amid the din the Duc de Guise's order to his men, sprang at his horse's rein, and threw him back upon his haunches; and as the absorbed duke, without so much as noticing the obstacle which thus arrested his progress, drove the spurs in again, the trooper struck him in the face with his lance.
"I was not able to learn," continued Jean, "what part of Monsieur de Guise's face was struck; but it is certain that it is a terrible wound. The handle of the lance broke off, and the iron remained in the wound. The duke, without a word, fell forward upon the pommel of his saddle. It seems that the Englishman who dealt the fatal blow was torn to pieces by the furious French soldiers; but alas! that could not help Monsieur de Guise. He was carried from the field like one dead. Since then he has not regained consciousness."
"So that Calais is not ours?" asked Gabriel.
"Oh, indeed it is!" replied Jean. "Monsieur le Duc de Nevers received the flag of truce, and imposed most advantageous conditions, like a conqueror. But the gain of such a city will hardly compensate France for the loss of such a hero."
"Mon Dieu! Do you look upon him as already beyond help, then?" said Gabriel, shuddering.
"Alas! alas!" was the weaver's only reply, with a sorrowful shake of the head.
"Whither are you leading me at this pace?" continued Gabriel. "Do you know where they have taken him?"
"To the guard-house of the Château-Neuf, so Master Ambroise Paré was told by the man who brought him the terrible news. Master Paré was anxious to go to him at once, so Pierre went to show him the way, and I came to tell you. I foresaw that it would be a very important matter for you, and that under the circumstances there would doubtless be something for you to do."
"I have only to grieve like the others,—yes, even more than the others," said Gabriel. "But," added he, "as well as I can distinguish objects in the darkness, I should say we were near our destination."
"This is the Château-Neuf," said Jean.
Citizens and soldiers, an enormous, excited crowd eager and muttering, filled all the approaches to the guard-house whither the Duc de Guise had been carried. Questions, conjectures, and remarks of all sorts were passing from mouth to mouth among the restless groups, like the rustling wind among the echoing shades of a forest.
Gabriel and Jean Peuquoy had great difficulty in making their way through this closely packed crowd as far as the steps of the guard-house, the entrance to which was guarded by a strong party of pikemen and halberdiers. Some of them held lighted torches, which cast their lurid rays upon the moving mass of people.
Gabriel started as he saw by the flickering light of the torches Ambroise Paré standing at the foot of the steps, motionless, with contracted brows, and convulsively pressing his folded arms against his heaving chest. Tears of grief and rage were glistening in his handsome eyes.
Behind him stood Pierre Peuquoy, as gloomy and cast down as he.
"You here, Master Paré!" cried Gabriel. "What are you doing here, pray? If Monsieur le Duc de Guise has still a breath of life in his body, your place is at his side."
"Ah! you must not say so to me, Monsieur d'Exmès," retorted the surgeon, quickly, when raising his eyes he recognized Gabriel. "Tell me if you have any authority over these stupid guards."
"What! Do they refuse to let you pass?" asked Gabriel.
"They will not listen to a word," rejoined Ambroise Paré. "Oh, to think that God should make so precious an existence depend upon such paltry distinctions!"
"But you must go in," said Gabriel. "Your presence is indispensable there."
"We begged at first," said Peuquoy, interposing, "and then we threatened. They replied to our prayers with laughter, and to our threats with blows. Master Paré tried to force his way in, but was forcibly repulsed, and wounded by the handle of a halberd, I think."
"It's easily understood," said Ambroise Paré, bitterly. "I have no gold collar or spurs; I have nothing but a keen glance and a sure hand."
"Wait," said Gabriel, "I will soon make them admit you."
He walked toward the steps of the guard-house, but a pikeman bowing respectfully as he saw him, barred his way.
"Pardon me," said he with deference, "but we have received orders to allow no one whatever to go in."
"Blackguard!" said Gabriel, still keeping command over himself, however; "do your orders apply to Vicomte d'Exmès, captain of his Majesty's Guards, and Monsieur de Guise's friend? Where is your leader that I may speak to him?"
"Monseigneur, he is on guard at the inner door," replied the pikeman, still more humbly.
"I will go to him, then," rejoined Gabriel, haughtily; "Come, Master Paré, follow me."
"Monseigneur, you may pass, since you demand it," said the soldier; "but this man cannot pass."
"Why so?" asked Gabriel. "Why cannot the surgeon be admitted to the wounded man?"
"All the surgeons, doctors, and quacks," replied the pikeman, "all those at least who are recognized and licensed, have already been summoned to Monseigneur's bedside. Not one is missing, so we are informed."
"Ah, that is just what alarms me!" said Ambroise Paré, with contemptuous irony.
"This man has no license in his pocket," the soldier continued. "I know him well. He has saved more than one poor fellow's life in the camp, it is true; but he is not the man for dukes."
"Less talk!" cried Gabriel, stamping his foot angrily. "It is my desire that Master Paré should go in with me."
"Impossible, Monsieur le Vicomte."
"I have said that it is my desire, blackguard!"
"Pray remember," the soldier replied, "that my orders compel me to disobey you."
"Ah," cried Ambroise, sadly, "the duke may be dying while this absurd discussion is going on!"
This cry would have scattered all Gabriel's hesitation to the winds, even if the impetuous youth had found it possible to hesitate longer at such a crisis.
"So you really wish that I should treat you as if you were Englishmen!" he cried to the halberdiers. "So much the worse for you, then! Monsieur de Guise's life is worth twenty such lives as yours, after all. We will see if your pikes will dare to cross with my sword."
The blade flashed from the scabbard like a ray of light, and drawing Ambroise Paré after him, he ascended the steps of the guard-house.
There was so much of menace in his whole look and bearing; there was so much force in the physician's calm and determined demeanor; and the mere personality, to say nothing of the expressed will of a man of gentle birth, had so much prestige at that epoch,—that the guards were subdued, and stood aside with their weapons lowered, less in deference to the viscount's sword than to his name.
"Let him pass!" cried a voice among the populace. "They have the appearance of having been sent by God to save the Duc de Guise."
Gabriel and Ambroise Paré reached the door of the guard-house without further hindrance.
In the narrow porch through which they had to pass to reach the main hall, the lieutenant in command of the men outside was stationed, with three or four soldiers.
Vicomte d'Exmès, without stopping, said to him briefly and in a tone which called for no reply,—
"I am bringing another surgeon to see Monseigneur."
The lieutenant bowed, and allowed him to pass without the least objection.
Gabriel and Paré entered the hall.
The attention of all present was too deeply absorbed in the sad business in hand to notice their arrival.
It was truly a harrowing and fearful sight which was presented to their gaze.
In the centre of the hall, oil a camp bed, lay the Duc de Guise, motionless and unconscious, the blood streaming from his head.
His face was pierced from side to side; the iron head of the lance, having entered the cheek beneath the right eye, had passed through his head to that portion of the neck immediately below the left ear, and the broken fragment projected half a foot from the gaping wound, which was frightful to look upon.
Around the bed were grouped some ten or twelve physicians and surgeons, utterly bewildered amid the general despair.
They were doing nothing whatever beyond looking on and talking.
Just as Gabriel came in with Ambroise Paré, one of them was saying aloud,—
"Thus, having consulted together, we are under the painful necessity of announcing our unanimous opinion that Monsieur le Duc de Guise is mortally wounded, beyond hope of recovery: for in order to afford any chance of saving his life, the fragment of the lance must be withdrawn from the wound, and to extract it would be to kill Monseigneur beyond peradventure."
"So, then, you prefer to let him die!" rang out the determined voice of Ambroise Paré from behind the foremost lookers-on. He had from that distance seen with a glance the really almost hopeless condition of the illustrious patient.
The surgeon who had spoken raised his head to discover his bold critic, and failing to do so, he resumed,—
"Who would be so rash as to venture to lay his impious hands upon that august face, and run the risk, without chance of success, of causing the death of such a sufferer?"
"I!" said Ambroise Paré, stepping forward with head erect into the group of surgeons.
And without paying any further attention to those who surrounded him, or to the exclamations of surprise elicited by his word, he leaned over the duke to get a nearer view of the wound.
"Ah! It is Master Ambroise Paré," said the surgeon-in-chief, contemptuously, as he recognized the madman who dared to utter an opinion different from his. "Master Ambroise Paré forgets," he added, "that he has not the honor of being numbered among the surgeons of the Duc de Guise."
"Say rather," retorted Ambroise, "that I am his only surgeon, since his regular attendants all abandon him. Besides, the Duc de Guise, a few days since, after an operation which I performed successfully under his eyes, chose to say to me, and very seriously if not officially, that hereafter he should avail himself of my services in case of need. Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès, who was present, can bear me out in what I say."
"I declare that what he says is true," said Gabriel.
Ambroise Paré had already turned his attention once more to the seemingly lifeless body of the duke, and was carefully examining the wound.
"Well," asked the surgeon-in-chief, with an ironical smile, "after your examination do you still persist in your desire to extract the iron from the wound?"
"Most certainly I do," said Ambroise Paré, resolutely.
"What wonderful instrument do you propose to use?"
"My hands, to be sure," replied Ambroise.
"I protest with all my force," cried the infuriated surgeon, "against any such profanation of Monseigneur's last hours."
"And we join in your protest," shouted all his associates.
"Have you any means of saving the prince's life to propose?" asked Ambroise Paré.
"No, it is impossible," was the unanimous chorus.
"He is mine, then," said Ambroise, extending his hands over the body as if to take formal possession of it.
"We withdraw, then," said the surgeon-in-chief, and he and his associates made a movement toward the door.
"What do you propose to do?" was the question put to Ambroise on all sides.
"The Duc de Guise is dead to all that transpires," he replied, "and I propose to act as if he were really dead."
With these words, he removed his doublet, and rolled up his sleeves.
"The idea of performing such experiments on Monseigneur, tanquam in anima vili," said an old physician, shocked at these preparations, and clasping his hands in horror.
"Yes," replied Ambroise, without raising his eyes from the sufferer. "I am going to treat him, not as a man, not even as a beast of the field, but as an inanimate thing. See!"
He placed his foot boldly upon the duke's chest.
A subdued sound of commingled terror, doubt, and menace ran through the assemblage.
"Take care, Master!" said Monsieur de Nevers, touching Ambroise Paré on the shoulder; "take care! If you fail I will not answer for the anger of the duke's friends and servants."
"Ah!" said Ambroise, with a sad smile, as he turned toward the speaker.
"Your head is in danger," said another.
Ambroise Paré looked up to Heaven as if for strength; then he rejoined with melancholy gravity,—
"So be it! I will endanger my own head in an attempt to save this one. But you can at least," he added, looking proudly around, "leave me to work in peace."
All stepped aside with a sort of respectful deference to the power of genius.
In the solemn silence no further sound was heard except the stertorous breathing of the wounded man.
Ambroise Paré placed his left knee upon the duke's chest; then, leaning over, he took the wooden part of the lance in his hands, as he had said, and moved it to and fro, gently at first, afterwards with more force.
The duke started as if in terrible pain.
The faces of all who were present were pallid with horror.
Ambroise himself stopped for a moment, as if afraid to proceed. The sweat of anguish moistened his forehead; but he set to work again almost immediately.
After a minute, which seemed more than an hour long, the iron at last came from the wound.
Ambroise Paré cast it away with a shudder, and quickly stooped over the yawning orifice.
When he rose, his features were illuminated with a joyous light. But in a moment his serious mood returned, and falling on his knees, he raised his hands to God, while a tear of happiness rolled down his cheek.
It was a sublime moment. Without a word from the great surgeon, every one understood that once more there was hope. The duke's attendants wept hot tears of joy, and some even kissed the skirt of Ambroise Paré's coat.
But no one spoke, waiting for him to say the first word.
He spoke at last, his grave voice trembling with emotion,—
"I will answer now for the life of Monseigneur de Guise."
In an hour, in truth, the duke had recovered consciousness, and even the power of speech.
Ambroise Paré finished dressing the wound; and Gabriel was standing beside the bed to which the surgeon had caused his august patient to be removed.
"So, Gabriel," said the duke, "I owe to you not only the taking of Calais, but my life as well; for it seems that you brought Master Paré to my bedside almost by force."
"Yes, Monseigneur," Ambroise interposed; "save for Monsieur d'Exmès's intervention, they would not have allowed me to come near you."
"God bless my two saviors!" said François de Lorraine.
"I implore you not to talk so much, Monseigneur," said the surgeon.
"Well, I will hold my peace; but just one word,—one question."
"What may it be, Monseigneur?"
"Do you think, Master Paré," asked the duke, "that the results of this horrible wound will be to affect my health or my reason?"
"I am sure not, Monseigneur," said Ambroise; "but I fear that a cicatrix will remain,—a scar (balafré)—"
"A scar!" cried the duke; "oh, that is nothing! It is an adornment to a warrior's features; and the sobriquet of Balafré is one that I should not object to in the least."
It is well known that his contemporaries and posterity were of the Duc de Guise's opinion, who from that time (as well as his son after him) was surnamed Le Balafré by his generation and by history.