CHAPTER XXIX
AN ACT OF FAITH
Although the conspirators had inserted in a manifesto, seized among La Renaudie's papers, a declaration that they would "attempt nothing against the king's majesty, nor the princes of the blood, nor the good of the kingdom," they had, nevertheless, been taken in open rebellion, and might well expect to meet the fate of those who are vanquished in civil wars.
The mode of treatment that had been adopted with regard to those who professed the principles of the Reformation, while they were conducting themselves as peaceful and submissive subjects, left little room for hope of pardon now.
In fact, the Cardinal de Lorraine hurried on their condemnation with a passionate zeal that was quite characteristic of the ecclesiastic of those days, though it was hardly Christlike.
He intrusted the proceedings against the nobles who were implicated in the deplorable affair to the parliament of Paris and the Chancellor Olivier. Thus matters progressed finely. The interrogations were quickly gone through, and the sentences pronounced still more quickly.
They dispensed with even these empty formalities in the cases of the less highly placed abettors of the rebellion, people of small importance, who were being broken on the wheel or hanged every day at Amboise without wearying parliament with their cases. The honor and expense of a trial were only accorded to persons of some quality or note.
At last, thanks to the pious ardor of Charles de Lorraine, everything was concluded in their cases as well in less than three weeks.
The 15th of April was fixed for the public execution at Amboise of twenty-seven barons, eleven counts, and seven marquises; in all, fifty gentlemen, leaders of the Protestants, were to meet their death that day.
Nothing was neglected which could assist in imparting to that extraordinary religious function all desirable pomp and splendor. Extensive preparations were made. From Paris to Nantes public curiosity was inflamed by all the expedients in vogue at that time; that is to say, the execution was announced by all preachers and curés from their pulpits.
On the appointed day, three superb galleries, the central and most sumptuous of which was reserved for the royal family, were erected on the platform of the château at the foot of which the bloody drama was to be enacted.
Around the square were wooden benches filled with all the faithful from the neighborhood who could be got together, willingly or on compulsion. The bourgeoisie and peasants, who might have had some distaste for such a grewsome spectacle, were induced to go either by threats or bribes; some had their taxes remitted; others were threatened with the loss of their offices or their privileges as freemen. All these divers motives, added to the morbid curiosity of some and the fanaticism of others, caused such a concourse of people at Amboise that more than ten thousand were encamped in the fields the night before the fatal day.
Early in the morning of the 15th the roofs of all the houses in the town were covered with a moving mass; and windows looking upon the square were let for ten crowns,—which was an enormous price for the time.
A vast scaffold, draped in black cloth, was erected in the middle of the enclosure. On it was to be seen the chouquet,—a block upon which each of the condemned had to rest his head while he knelt to receive the blow. Near by a chair draped in black was reserved for the clerk, whose duty it was to call the names of the gentlemen one by one, and read aloud the sentence of each in succession.
The square was guarded by the Scotch company and the gendarmes of the royal household.
After solemn Mass in the chapel of St. Florentin, the condemned men were led to the foot of the scaffold. Several of them had already been subjected to the torture. They were surrounded by monks, who tried to make them renounce their heretical principles; but not one of the Huguenots consented thus to apostatize before death, and they steadfastly refused to reply to the monks, whom they suspected of being spies of the Cardinal de Lorraine.
Meanwhile the galleries reserved for the court were filled, except the one in the centre. The king and queen, whose consent to be present at the execution had almost to be torn from them by force, had at last succeeded in obtaining leave to postpone their attendance till toward the end, when only the principal chiefs remained to be punished. If they would but come at some time, that was all the cardinal asked. Poor royal children! Poor crowned slaves! They, as well as the peasants, had been prevailed upon by arousing their fear for their offices and privileges.
At noon the execution began.
When the first of the condemned men mounted the steps of the scaffold, his companions thundered out a French psalm, translated by Clément Marot, as much to afford him on whom the punishment was about to fall some last consolation as to mark their own constancy in the face of their enemies and their doom.
Therefore they sang at the foot of the scaffold,—
"Dieu nous soit doux et favorable,
Nous bénissant par sa bonté,
Et de son visage adorable
Nous fasse luire sa clarté."[5]
A verse was sung for every head as it fell; but every head that fell made one voice less in the chorus.
In an hour but twelve gentlemen remained, and they the most prominent leaders of the conspiracy.
Then there was a pause. The two executioners were weary, and the king was arriving.
François II. was more than pale; he was absolutely livid. Mary Stuart took her place at his right, and Catherine de Médicis at his left.
The Cardinal de Lorraine took his place beside the queen-mother; and the Prince de Condé was shown to a seat beside the young queen.
When the prince appeared upon the platform, almost as pale as the young king himself, the twelve condemned men saluted him.
He gravely responded to their salutation.
"I always bow in the presence of death," he remarked aloud.
The king was received, however, with less respect than the Prince de Condé. No acclamation welcomed him upon his arrival. He noticed the omission, and turning to the cardinal, he said, with an angry frown,—
"Ah, Monsieur le Cardinal, I will never forgive you for forcing us to come hither!"
Charles de Lorraine, however, had raised his hand as a signal for the marks of devotion to be manifested, and a few voices scattered through the crowd cried,—
"Vive le roi!"
"You hear, Sire?" rejoined the cardinal.
"Yes," said the king, sadly; "I hear a few awkward fellows, who but serve to make the general silence more noticeable."
Meanwhile the remainder of the royal gallery had been occupied. The king's brothers, the papal nuncio, the Duchesse de Guise, had taken their places there one after another.
Then came the Duc de Nemours, also very pale, and looking as if he were the prey of bitter remorse.
Last of all two men took their stations there, behind the others, whose presence in that place and at that time was perhaps not less remarkable than that of the Prince de Condé.
They were Ambroise Paré and Gabriel de Montgommery.
They had been led thither by very different motives.
Ambroise Paré had been summoned to Amboise some days before by the Duc de Guise, who was decidedly alarmed concerning the health of his royal nephew; and Mary Stuart, no less alarmed than her uncle, and seeing how dejected François was at the mere thought of the auto-da-fè implored the surgeon to be at hand to assist the king in case he should faint.
Gabriel, however, had come to make one last supreme effort to save at least one of the condemned,—the one who was to suffer last, and whom he reproached himself for having involuntarily, by his well-meant advice, led into this fatal extremity,—the young and gallant Castelnau de Chalosses.
Castelnau, we must remember, had surrendered only upon the written and subscribed assurance of the Duc de Nemours, who had guaranteed his life and liberty; whereas, immediately upon reaching Amboise he had been cast into prison, and to-day was to be beheaded,—last of all, as being the most guilty of all.
We must, however, be just to the Duc de Nemours. When he saw his word and honor as a gentleman thus compromised, he was in despair, and indignant to the highest degree; and for three weeks he went ceaselessly from the Cardinal de Lorraine to the Duc de Guise, and from Mary Stuart to, the king, begging and demanding and imploring the release of him to whom he owed this debt of honor. But the Chancellor Olivier, to whom they referred the question, declared, according to Monsieur de Vieilleville, that "a king is in nowise bound by his word to a rebellious subject, nor by any promise whatsoever made to him on his [the king's] behalf." This almost broke the heart of the Duc de Nemours, "who," the chronicler naïvely adds, "was worried only about his signature; for as to his word, he would always have given the lie to any one without exception who dared to upbraid him for it, save his Majesty alone, so valiant and noble-hearted a prince was he!"
Like Gabriel, the Duc de Nemours had been drawn to the place of execution—which was more terrible to him than to any other—by a secret hope of still saving Castelnau at the last moment.
Meanwhile the Duc de Guise, on horseback, with his captains beneath the gallery, had given a signal to the executioners; and the punishments and singing of psalms began again after the brief interruption.
In less than a quarter of an hour eight heads fell. The fair young queen was almost fainting.
Only four conspirators remained at the foot of the scaffold.
The clerk read in a loud voice,—
"Albert Edmond Roger, Comte de Mazères, guilty of heresy, of the crime of lèse-majesté, and of attacking with arms in his hand the person of the king."
"'T is false!" cried the Comte de Mazères from the scaffold.
Then, showing to the people his blackened arms and his breast all bruised by the torture, he continued: "See the condition to which I have been reduced in the king's name! But I know that he knows nothing of it; and so I still cry, Vive le roi!"
His head fell. The last three Protestants who were awaiting their turns at the foot of the scaffold sang again the first verse of the psalm,—
"Dieu nous soit doux et favorable,
Nous bénissant par sa bonté,
Et de son visage adorable
Nous fasse luire sa clarté."[6]
The clerk's voice was heard once more,—
"Jean Louis Alberic, Baron de Raunay, guilty of heresy, of the crime of lèse-majesté, and of attacking with arms in his hand the person of the king."
"You lie like two clowns, you and your cardinal," said De Raunay; "it is only against him and his brother that we took up arms. I hope they may both meet death as peacefully and as pure in heart as I."
Thereupon he laid his head upon the block.
The last two condemned men sang on,—
"Dieu tu nous as mis à l'épreuve,
Et tu nous as examinés;
Comme l'argent que l'on épreuve,
Par feu tu nous as affinés."[7]
Again the clerk resumed his deadly summons,—
"Robert Jean René Briquemaut, Comte de Villemongis, guilty of heresy, of the crime of lèse-majesté, and of a criminal attempt against the king's person."
Villemongis bathed his hands in De Raunay's blood; and raising them toward heaven, he cried,—
"Heavenly Father, Thou seest the blood of Thy children! Thou wilt avenge them!"
He fell lifeless as he spoke.
Castelnau, left quite alone, still sang,—
"Tu nous as fait entrer et joindre
Aux pièges de nos ennemis;
Tu nous as fait les reins astreindre
Des filets où tu nous as mis."[8]
The Duc de Nemours had been lavish with his gold in furtherance of his hope of saving Castelnau. The clerk and even the executioners were interested in his salvation. The first executioner said that he was exhausted; and there was a necessary interruption while the other was preparing to relieve him.
Gabriel took advantage of it to urge the duke to renewed efforts.
Jacques de Savoie thereupon leaned toward the Duchesse de Guise, with whom he was said to be on the very best terms, and whispered in her ear. The duchess had much influence over the mind of the queen.
She at once rose, as if she could not bear any more of the sad spectacle, and said loud enough for Mary to hear: "Ah, this is too horrible for ladies! Do you see how ill the queen is? Let us go."
But the Cardinal de Lorraine gazed sternly at his sister-in-law.
"A little more firmness, Madame," said he, harshly. "Remember that you are of the blood of D'Este and the wife of the Duc de Guise."
"Ah, and that is just why I am so troubled!" retorted the duchess. "No mother ever had better cause for suffering; for all this bloodshed and all the hatred aroused by this day's work will fall upon our innocent children."
"How weak women are!" muttered the cardinal, who was an arrant coward.
"However," said the Duc de Nemours, "one does not need to be a woman to be touched by this mournful picture. Tell me, Prince," said he to Monsieur de Condé, "are not you moved by it?"
"Oh, ho!" sneered the cardinal; "the prince is a soldier, accustomed to see death in all forms."
"Yes, on the battle-field," replied the prince, courageously; "but upon the scaffold, and in cold blood,—that's quite another matter!"
"Has a prince of the blood so much pity for rebels, pray?" It was again the sneering voice of Charles de Lorraine which asked the question.
"I have unlimited pity and sympathy," retorted the prince, "for gallant officers who have always worthily served their king and country."
What more could the prince do or say in his position, himself the object of suspicion? The Duc de Nemours understood, and addressed himself next to the queen-mother.
"See, Madame, but one remains," said he, without calling Castelnau's name. "Can we not at least save him?"
"I can do nothing," replied Catherine, turning her head away.
Meanwhile the unfortunate Castelnau was ascending the steps to the scaffold, singing as he went,—
"Dieu me soit doux et favorable,
Me bénissant par sa bonté,
Et de son visage adorable
Me fasse luire sa clarté."[9]
The people, deeply affected, forgot the fear inspired by spies and mouchards, and cried as with one voice,—
"Mercy, mercy!"
The Duc de Nemours was struggling at that moment to soften the heart of the young Duc d'Orléans.
"Monseigneur," said he, "have you forgotten that it was Castelnau who, in this same town of Amboise, saved the life of the late Duc d'Orléans, when it was in great danger during an émeute?"
"I will do whatever my mother decides," replied the Duc d'Orléans.
"But," said the Duc de Nemours, imploringly, "if you would but address the king; a single word from you—"
"I tell you again," rejoined the young prince, dryly, "that I await my mother's commands."
"Ah, Prince!" said the Duc de Nemours, reproachfully.
He made a motion to Gabriel expressive of discouragement and despair.
Thereupon the clerk read slowly,—
"Michel Jean Louis, Baron de Castelnau-Chalosses, accused and convicted of the crime of lèse-majesté, of heresy, and an attack upon the king's person."
"I call my judges themselves to witness," cried Castelnau, "that the declaration is false,—unless, indeed, it be lèse-majesté to oppose with all my strength the tyranny of the Guises. If it is to be understood in that way, they should have begun by declaring them kings. Perhaps it will yet come to that; but it will be for those who survive me to deal with that matter."
Addressing the executioner, he said in a firm voice,—
"Now do your office."
But the headsman, who noticed some commotion in the galleries, pretended to be arranging his axe so as to gain time.
"The axe is dull, Monsieur le Baron," he said in a low voice; "and you are surely worthy to die at a single blow. And who knows but that a moment more—It seems to me that something of good omen for you is going on down below there."
Again the people cried,—
"Mercy! mercy!"
Gabriel, losing all self-control at that supreme moment, ventured to cry aloud to Mary Stuart,—
"Mercy, Madame the Queen!"
Mary turned, met Gabriel's heart-rending glance, and understood his despairing cry.
Bending her knee before the king, she said,—
"Sire, this mercy at least; I ask it of you on my knees!"
"Sire," cried the Duc de Nemours, "has not enough blood been shed? And yet, you know, there should be mercy in the king's countenance."
François, trembling in every limb, seemed struck by these words. He seized the queen's hand.
"Remember, Sire," said the stern voice of the nuncio, who wished to recall the king to a more severe view of his duty,—"remember that you are the very Christian king."
"Yes, I do remember it," replied François II., firmly. "Let mercy be shown to the Baron de Castelnau!"
But the Cardinal de Lorraine, feigning to misinterpret the meaning of the king's first phrase, had made an imperative sign to the executioner.
As François pronounced the word "mercy," Castelnau's head rolled upon the planks of the scaffold.
The next day the Prince de Condé set out for Navarre.
"O Lord, to us be merciful,
"And bless us with Thy grace,
"And show unto our humble hearts
The brightness of Thy face."
""O Lord, to us be merciful,
And bless us with Thy grace,
"And show unto our humble hearts
The brightness of Thy face."
""Thou hast put us to the proof when we
To Thy guidance did aspire;
"Like gold, Thou hast refined us
By the ordeal of fire."
""Into the snare our foes have laid
Thou, Lord, hast made us fall;
"And there, fast hound, we lie, and wait
Thy word, O Lord of all!"
""O Lord, to me be merciful,
And bless me with Thy grace,
"And show unto my humble heart
The brightness of Thy face."