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No. 105. VOL. III.

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and the catholics; they marvelled how the young Prince de Condé could forgive the Duke d'Anjou, the king's brother, for the death of his father, assassinated at Jarnac by Montesquiou. And, again, how the young Duke de Guise could pardon Admiral de Coligny for the assassination of his father at Orleans by Poltrot de Méré. Moreover, Jeanne de Navarre, the courageous wife of the weak Antoine de Bourbon, who had persuaded her son Henry to the royal espousals, had died but about two months before, and strange reports had been spread abroad as to this sudden death. It was whispered, and even said aloud in some places, that she had discovered some terrible secret; and that Catherine de Medicis, fearing its disclosure, had caused her gloves to be poisoned by one René, a Florentine, deeply skilled in such affairs. This report, which spread rapidly, received confirmation, when, at her son's request, two celebrated physicians, one of whom was the famous Ambroise Paré, were instructed to open

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS. (Translated for the "Literary Pioneer.")

CHAPTER I.

THE DUKE DE GUISE'S LATIN. THERE was, on Monday, the 18th of August, 1572, a grand fête at the Louvre.

The windows of this ancient royal dwelling, ordinarily so gloomy, were brilliantly illuminated; the squares and neighbouring streets, usually so solitary as soon as the clock of Saint Germainl'Auxerrois had struck nine, were now, although it was past midnight, crowded with people.

This threatening and turbulent multitude resembled in the gloom a dark and rolling sea, each swell of which becomes a foaming wave; and this sea, extending along the quay, spent its waves, on the one side, at the base of the walls of the Louvre, and on the other, at that of the Hotel de Bourbon, disgorged itself through the streets l'Astruce and Saint-Germain.

There was, notwithstanding the royal fête, and perhaps even caused by it, something menacing in this assemblage, for they knew that the solemnity, (the celebration of the nuptials of Margot of Valois with Henri of Navarre,) of which they were only spectators, was but the prelude to another and more serious one at which they were destined to be parties, and to combat, even to the death. The daughter of Henry II., and sister of Charles IX., had on that morning

was by the smell that Jeanne de Navarre had been poisoned, it was the brain alone that could present any traces of the crime, and that was the sole part excluded from dissection. We say crime, for no one doubted for a moment that a crime had been committed.

This was not all. King Charles had so set his heart on this union, which not only re-established peace in his kingdom, but also attracted to Paris the principal huguenots of France, that his anxiety almost approached to obstinacy. As the betrothed belonged, one to the catholic religion, and the other to the reformed religion, they were obliged to obtain a dispensation from Gregory XIII., who then filled the papal chair. The dispensation was slow in coming, and the delay caused great uneasiness to the late Queen of Navarre; and upon her one day expressing her fears to Charles IX. lest it should not arrive, he replied

"Be under no alarm, my dear aunt. I honour you more than I do the pope, and I love my sister more than I fear him. I am not a huguenot, but neither am I a fool; and if the pope makes any difficulties, I will myself take Margot by the hand, and unite her to your son in spite of him."

This speech soon spread through the Louvre and the city, and whilst it greatly rejoiced the huguenots, gave the catholics wherewithal to reflect upon; and they asked themselves if the king really meant to betray them, or was only playing a part which some fine morning or evening might have an unexpected finale.

It was especially with regard to Admiral de

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Coligny, who for five or six years had been so bitterly opposed to the king, that the conduct of having set on his head a price of a hundred and Charles IX. appeared so inexplicable: after

fifty thousand golden crowns, he now swore by him, called him his father, and declared openly that he should in future entrust the whole conduct of the war to him. To such a pitch was this carried, that Catherine de Medicis herself, who until then had controlled the actions, will, and even desires of the young prince, began to be really uneasy, and not without apparent reason; for, in a moment of confidence, Charles IX. had said to the admiral, in reference to the war in Flanders, My father, there is one other thing against which we must be on our guard, and this is, that the queen, my mother, as you know, who likes to poke her nose everywhere, shall know nothing of this undertaking; we must keep it so quiet that she hears not a word of it, or, meddler as she is, she will spoil all."

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Wise and experienced as Coligny was, he had not kept this counsel secret; and although he had come to Paris with strong suspicions, and though at his departure from Chatillon, a peasant had thrown herself at his feet, crying, "Ah! sir, sir, our good master, do not go to Paris, for if you do, you will die-you and all who are with you!" These suspicions, however, were gradually lulled in his breast, as well as in that of Teligny, his son-in-law, to whom the king was especially kind and attentive, calling him "brother," as he called the admiral "father," and behaving to him as he did to his best friends.

The huguenots were thus, excepting some few morose and suspicious spirits, completely reassured. The death of the Queen of Navarre was attributed to pleurisy, and the spacious apartments of the Louvre were filled with those brave protestants to whom the marriage of their young chief, Henry, promised an unhoped for return of good fortune. Admiral Coligny, La Rochefoucault, the young Prince de Condé, Teligny, in short, all the leaders of the party rejoiced when they saw so powerful at the Louvre, and so welcome in Paris, those whom, three months before, King Charles and Queen Catherine would have hanged on the highest gibbets they could find. Marshal Montmorency, whom no pro mises could seduce, no semblance deceive, was the only one that was sought in vain. He remained in retirement at his château at L'Ile Adam, pleading in excuse his grief for the death of his father, who was killed by Robert Stuart, by a pistol-shot, at the battle of Sa nt-Denis. But as extreme sensitiveness and filial love were not much the order of the day, and as his father had been dead above three years, everybody understood the real cause of his prolonged grief. The king. the queen, the Duke d'Anjou, and the Duke d'Alençon did the honours of the royal fête with all courtesy and kindness.

The Duke d'Anjou received from the huguenots themselves well-merited compliments as to the two battles of Jarnac and Montcontour, which he had gained betore he was eighteen years of age, more precocious in that than either Cæsar

or Alexander, to whom they compared him, of course making the conquerors of Pharsalia and Issus inferior to the living prince. The Duke d'Alençon looked on all this with his bland, false smile, whilst Queen Catherine, radiant with joy, graciously complimented the Prince Henry de Condé on his recent marriage with Marie de Clèves; and the Messieurs de Guise themselves smiled approvingly on the formidable enemies of their house, and the Duke de Mayenne discoursed with M. de Tavanne and the admiral on the impending war, which now more than ever threatened Philippe II.

In the midst of these groups moved backwards and forwards, his head a little on one side, his ear open to all that was said, a young man about nineteen years of age, with a keen eye, black hair cut very close, thick eyebrows, and a nose curved like an eagle's, with a sneering smile, and a growing moustache and beard. This young man, who had first distinguished himself at the battle of Arnay-le-Duc, for which he had been very highly complimented, was the beloved pupil of Coligny, and the hero of the day. Three months previous, that is to say, when his mother was living, they called him the Prince of Bearn, now he was called the King of Navarre, and in after-time, Henry IV.

From time to time a cloud momentarily crossed his brow; doubtless, he recollected that two months had scarce elapsed since his mother's death, and he less than any one doubted that she had been poisoned. But the cloud was transitory, and disappeared like a fleeting shadow, for those who spoke to him, those who congratulated him, those who elbowed him, were those who had assassinated the brave Jeanne d'Albret.

A few paces distant from the King of Navarre, almost as pensive and gloomy as the King affected to be joyous and frank, was the young Duke de Guise conversing with Teligny. More fortunate than the Béarnais, at two-and-twenty he had almost attained the reputation of his father, François, the great Duke de Guise. He was an elegant gentleman, very tall, with a noble and haughty look, and gifted with that natural majesty, which caused it to be said that by his side other princes seemed to belong to the people. Young as he was, the catholics looked up to him as the chief of their party, as did the huguenots to Henry of Navarre, whom we have just portrayed. He had heretofore borne the title of Prince de Joinville, and at the siege of Orleans fought his first fight under his father, who died in his arms, denouncing Admiral Coligny as his assassin. It was then the young duke, like Hannibal, took a solemn oath to avenge his father's death on the admiral and his family, and to pursue the foes to his religion without truce or respite, promising God to be his exterminating angel on earth, until the very last heretic should be cut off. It was therefore with the deepest astonishment that the people saw this prince, usually so faithful to his word, extend the hand of fellowship to those whom he had sworn to hold as his eternal enemies, and discourse familiarly with the son-in-law of the man whose death he had promised to his dying father.

But as we have said, this was a night of wonders.

All continued smilingly within, and a murmur more soft and flattering than ever pervaded the Louvre rose at the moment when the youthful bride, after having laid aside her toilette of ceremony, her long mantle and flowing veil, returned to the ball-room, accompanied by the lovely Duchess de Nevers, her most intimate friend, and led by her brother, Charles IX., who presented her to the principal guests.

The bride was the daughter of Henry II., was the pearl of the crown of France, whom, in his familiar tenderness for her, King Charles IX. always called Ma sœur Margot, my sister Mulge."

Never was a more flattering reception, never one more merited than that which awaited the new Queen of Navarre. Margot at this period was scarcely twenty, and already she was the object of all the poets' eulogies, some of whom compared her to Aurora, others to Cytherea; she was, in truth, a beauty without rival in that court in which Catherine de Medicis had assembled the loveliest women of the age and country. She had black hair and a brilliant complexion; a voluptuous eye, veiled by long lids, coral and delicate lips, a graceful neck, a full, enchanting figure, and concealed in a satin slipper a tiny foot, scarce larger than an infant's. The French, who possessed her, were proud to see so lovely a flower flourishing in their soil, and foreigners who passed through France returned home dazzled with her beauty, if they had but seen her, and amazed at her knowledge, if they had discoursed with her; for not only was Marguerite the loveliest, she was also the most erudite woman of her time, and on all sides was quoted the remark of an Italian savant who had been presented to her, and who, after having conversed with her for an hour in Italian, Spanish, and Latin, had said, on quitting her presence: "To see the court without seeing Margot de Valois, is to see neither France nor the court."

Thus it may be supposed, that addresses to King Charles IX, and the Queen of Navarre were not wanting. The huguenots were great hands at addresses. Many strong hints to the past and stronger hints as to the future, were adroitly slipped into these harangues; but to all such allusions and speeches, he replied, with his pale lips and artificial smile.

"In giving my sister Margot to Henry of Navarre, I give my sister to all the protestants of the kingdom."

This phrase assured some and made others smile, for it had really a double sense: the one paternal, and with which Charles IX. would not load his mind; the other, injurious to the bride, her husband, and also to him who said it, for it recalled some scandalous rumours with which the chroniclers of the court had already found means to smirch the nuptial robe of Margot de Valois.

However, M. de Guise was conversing, as we have described, with Teligny; but he did not pay to the conversation such sustained attention but that he turned away somewhat, from time to time, to cast a glance at the group of ladies, in the centre of whom glittered the Queen of Navarre. When the princess's eye thus met that of the young duke, a cloud seemed to overspread that lovely brow, around which stars of diamonds formed a tremulous circlet, and some agitating thought might be divined in her restless and impatient manner.

These whispered words were so lost in the enormous collar which the princess wore, as to be heard only by the person to whom they were addressed; but brief as had been the conference, it doubtless composed all the young couple had to say, for after this exchange of three words for two, they separated, Margot more thoughtful, and the duke with a less clouded brow than when they met. This little scene took place without the person most interested appearing to remark it, for the King of Navarre had eyes for but one individual, who had assembled about her a court almost as numerous as that of Margot herself, and that individual was the lovely Madame de Sauve.

Charlotte de Beaune - Semblançay, granddaughter of the unfortunate Semblançay, and wife of Simon de Fizes, Baron de Sauve, was one of the ladies in waiting to Catherine de Medicis, and one of the most formidable auxiliaries, who poured forth to her enemies philtres of love when she dared not pour out Italian poison. Delicately fair, and by turns sparkling with vivacity or languishing in melancholy, always ready for love or intrigue, the two great occupations of the court for fifty years, during the three succeeding kings: a woman in every acceptation of the word, in all the charm of the idea, her blue eye, languishing or beaming fire, her small and perfectly formed feet, which, occasionally hidden in velvet slippers, had already for some months seized on every faculty of the King of Navarre, then making his debut as a lover as well as a politician, so completely, that Margot de Valois, a magnificent and royal beauty, had not even excited admiration in the heart of her husband; and what was more strange and astonishing to all the world, even in the dark and mysterious soul of Catherine de Medicis, was that, although she prosecuted her project of union between her daughter and the King of Navarre, she ceased not to favour almost openly his amour with Madame de Sauve. But despite this powerful aid, and despite the lay manners of the age, the lovely Charlotte had hitherto resisted; and this almost incredible, unprecedented resistance, even more than the beauty and wit of her who resisted, excited in the heart of the Béarnais a passion which, unable to satisfy itself, had destroyed all timidity, pride, and even that indifference, half philosophy, half idleness, which formed the basis of his character.

Madame de Lorraine, who had not lost sight of her sister Margot, then observed, instead of the cloud which had before overcast her face, a burning blush. The duke approached still nearer, and when he was within two steps of her, she appeared rather to feel than see his presence, and turning round, made a violent effort over herself in order to assume an appearance of calmness and indifference. The duke, then respectfully bowing, murmured, in a low tone, Ipse attuli. "I have brought it."

Margot returned the salute of the young duke, and as she bent, replied, in the same tone, Noctu pro more. "To-night, as usual.

The courtiers, seeing the King of Navarre, whose inflammable heart they knew, approach the lovely Charlotte, had not the courage to prevent their meeting, but complaisantly drew aside; so that at the same moment when Margot de Valois and M. de Guise exchanged the few words in Latin which we have noted above, Henry, having approached Madame de Sauve, began in

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Yes; then you will be certain that he is not with any other."

“Ah! if you do that, sire," said Madame Sauve.

"Then, monseigneur, I serve you a very ill turn."

"What mean you, ma mie?" inquired Henry. "I mean that he who is master of the handsomest woman in France should have only one desire that the light should disappear, and give way to darkness and to happiness."

"You know, cruel one, that my happiness is in the hands of one woman only, and that woman laughs at poor Henry."

"Oh!" replied the baroness, "I believed, on the contrary, that it was this person who was the sport and jest of the King of Navarre."

Henry was at first alarmed at this hostile attitude, but seeing that she exhibited some spite, and knowing spite to be often but the mask of love, he quickly replied, "Faith, my dear Charlotte, you reproach me very unjustly, and I do not comprehend how so lovely a mouth can be so cruel. Do you suppose for a moment that it is I who marry myself? No, ventre-saint-gris, it is not I!"

"It is I, perhaps," said the baroness, sharply. "With your lovely eyes have you not seen farther, baroness? No, no; it is not Henry of Navarre who weds Margot de Valois." "And who is it, then ?"

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Why, sang Diou! it is the reformed religion which marries the pope-that's all."

"No, no; your majesty loves Madame Margot. And can I blame you? Heaven forbid! She is beautiful enough to be adored."

Henry reflected for a moment, and, as he reflected, a meaning smile curled his lip.

"Baroness," said he, "you have no right to seek a quarrel with me. What have you done to prevent me from espousing Madame Margot? Nothing. On the contrary, you have always driven me to despair, and I wed her because you love me not."

"If I had loved you, sire, I must have died in another hour "

"In another hour! What do you mean? And of what death would you have died?"

"Of jealousy!-for in another hour, the Queen of Navarre will send away her women, and your Majesty your gentlemen."

"Is that really the thought that occupies your mind, ma mie?”'

"I have not said so. I only say, that if I loved you it would occupy my mind most tormentingly."

"But suppose," said Henry, "that the King of Navarre should not send away his gentlemen this evening?"

"Sire," replied Madame de Sauve, looking at the king with astonishment for once unfeigned, "you say things impossible, or, at least, incredible."

"What must I do, to make you believe them?" "Give me a proof-and that proof you cannot give me."

"Yes, baroness, yes! By Saint Henry, I will give it you!" exclaimed the king, gazing amorously on her.

“Oh, your majesty!" murmured the lovely Charlotte, with downcast eyes, “I do not comprehend,"

"There are four Henries in this room, my

"And then," said Henry," what will you say?" "I will say," replied Charlotte, "that your majesty really loves me.".

"Ventre-saint-gris! then you will say it. Have you not about you some waiting-woman whom you can trust ?"

"Yes; Dariole is devoted to me."

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Sang-Diou! then say to her, that I will make her fortune when I am King of France, as the astrologers prophesy."

Charlotte smiled, for even at this period the Gascon reputation of the Béarnais was already established with respect to his promises.

"Well, then, what do you desire of Dariole?" "Little for her, a great deal for me. Your apartment is over mine?" "Yes."

"Let her wait behind the door. I will strike three blows gently, and I shall be there to keep my word."

Madame de Sauve kept silence for several seconds, and then, looking around her to observe if she were overheard, she fastened her gaze for a moment on the group which environed the queen-mother: brief as the moment was, it was sufficient for Catherine and her lady-in-waiting to exchange a look.

"Oh, if I were inclined," said Madame de Sauve, with a syren's accent that would have melted Ulysses himself "if I were inclined to catch your majesty in a falsehood

"Ma mie, try

“Ah, ma foi! I confess I am tempted to do so." "Women are never so strong as after their defeat."

"Sire, I hold you to your promise for Dariole, when you shall be King of France."

Henry uttered an exclamation of joy, It was at the precise moment when the cry escaped the lips of the Béarnais, that the Queen of Navarre replied to the Duke of Guise: "Noctu pro more."

Then Henry withdrew from Madame de Sauve as happy as the Duke de Guise withdrew from Margot de Valois.

An hour after the double scene we have just related, King Charles and the Queen-Mother also retired; and almost immediately the apartments began to empty, and the galleries to exhibit the bases of their marble columns. The admiral and the Prince de Condé were escorted home by four hundred huguenot gentlemen through the middle of the crowd, which groaned as they passed. Then Henry de Guise, with the Lorraine and catholic gentlemen, left in their turn, greeted by the cries of joy and plaudits of the people.

Margot de Valois, Henry of Navarre, and Madame de Sauve lived in the Louvre.

CHAPTER II

THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE'S BED-CHAMBER. The Duke de Guise escorted his sister-in-law, the Duchess de Nevers, to his hotel in the Rue du Chaume, and then proceeded to his own apartment to change his dress, put on a night cloak, and arm himself with one of those short

He opened it, and read as follows:

"I hope M. de Guise will not return to the Louvre to-night; or if he does, that he will at least take the precaution to arm himself with a good coat of mail and a proved sword."

"Ah! ah!" said the duke, "this is a singular warning; but I always take good advice-my steel jacket and my sword."..

The valet-de-chambre, accustomed to these changes of costume, brought both. The duke put on his jacket, which was made of rings of steel so fine that it was scarcely thicker than velvet; he then drew on a pardessus and pourpoint of grey and silver, his favourite colours, placed a dagger by his side, handed his sword to a page, the only attendant he allowed to accompany him, and took the way to the Louvre, which he reached in safety.

In front of the royal château was a deep fosse, into which looked the chambers of most of the princes who inhabited the palace. Margot's apartment was on the first-floor, and easily accessible but for a fosse of thirty feet deep, which placed it out of the reach of robbers or lovers; not, however, out of the reach of the Duke de Guise, who approached it without hesitation.

At the same moment was heard the noise of a window opening on the ground-floor. This window was grated, but a hand appeared, lifted out one of the bars that had been loosened, and dropped from it a silken lace.

"Is that you, Gillonne ?" said the duke, in a low voice.

"Yes, monseigneur," replied a female voice, in a still lower tone.

"And Margot?" "Awaits you." ""Tis well."

Hereupon the duke made a signal to his page, who, opening his cloak, took out a small rope ladder. The prince fastened one end to the silk lace, and Gillonne, drawing it up, fastened it, and the prince, after having buckled his sword to his belt, ascended without accident. When he entered, the bar was replaced and the window closed, whilst the page, having seen his master quietly enter the Louvre, to the windows of which he had accompanied him many times in the same way, laid himself down in his cloak on the grass of the fosse, beneath the shadow of the wall.

The night was extremely dark, and large drops of rain fell from the heavy clouds, which were charged with electric fluid.

The Duke de Guise followed his conductress, who was no other than the daughter of Jacques de Matignon, maréchal of France. She was the confidante of Margot, who kept no secret from her; and it was said, that amongst the number of mysteries entrusted to her incorruptible fidelity, there were some so terrible as to compel her to keep the rest.

There was no light either in the lower chamber or in the corridor, but from time to time a vivid flash lent a momentary illumination to the dark apartments.

The duke, still guided by his conductress, who held his hand, reached a staircase formed in the thickness of the wall, and which opened by an invisible door into the antechamber of Margot's apartment.

In this antechamber, which was perfectly dark, Gillonne stopped.

"Have you brought what the queen requested?" she inquired, in a low voice.

"Yes," replied the Duke de Guise; "but I will only give it to her majesty in person." "Come, then, and lose not an instant!" said a