"As the principal author of and leader in the conspiracy and rebellion gotten up against the King and his State, the said Sieur of Coligny is sentenced to be hanged and strangled upon the Greve Square, and subsequently to be exposed from the gibbet of Montfaucon. His goods revert to and are confiscate by the King. His children are declared forfeit of their noble rank, infamous, and disqualified from holding office or owning any property in the kingdom. Fifty thousand gold ecus are promised to whomsoever will deliver the said Sieur of Coligny, dead or alive. The children of his brother Dandelot are likewise declared infamous."
"As the principal author of and leader in the conspiracy and rebellion gotten up against the King and his State, the said Sieur of Coligny is sentenced to be hanged and strangled upon the Greve Square, and subsequently to be exposed from the gibbet of Montfaucon. His goods revert to and are confiscate by the King. His children are declared forfeit of their noble rank, infamous, and disqualified from holding office or owning any property in the kingdom. Fifty thousand gold ecus are promised to whomsoever will deliver the said Sieur of Coligny, dead or alive. The children of his brother Dandelot are likewise declared infamous."
Coligny flung back upon the table the scroll containing the extract of the royal decree, registered in the Parliament of Paris on May 27, 1569, and raising his tearful eyes heavenward, exclaimed in accents of profound grief:
"My poor and good brother! They killed you treacherously by poison! Your children are orphans, with none but myself for their support—and now a price is set upon my own life! To-day, to-morrow, in battle, or otherwise, God may call me to Him! Oh, let me at least carry with me the consolation that my own and my brother's orphans will remain entrusted to worthy hands!"
Coligny remained long absorbed in meditation. He then took a sheet of paper, a pen, and again concentrating his thoughts, proceeded to write his testament:[68]
Of all His creatures, God has created man the most worthy. Accordingly, it is man's duty, during his life, to do all he can to glorify the Lord, render evidence of his faith, set a good example to his fellows, and, to the extent of his powers, leave his children in comfort, if it has pleased God to afford him any.Although our days are numbered before God, nothing is more uncertain than the hour when it will please Him to call us away. We must keep ourselves so well prepared that we may not be taken by surprise. For this reason I have decided to draw up the present writing, in order that those who may remain behind me, may hear my intentions and know my wishes.In the first place, after invoking the name of God, I maketo Him a summary confession of my faith, imploring Him that the same may serve me at the hour when it shall please Him to call me away, because He knows that I make this confession with my heart and affection, and in the full sincerity of my soul.I believe in what is contained in the Old and the New Testament, as being the true word of God, to which and from which nothing may be added or taken away, as it orders us. Lastly, I seek in Jesus Christ and through Him alone my salvation and the remission of my sins, according as He has promised. I subscribe to the confession of faith of the Reformed Church in this kingdom. I wish to live and die in this faith, judging myself happy, indeed, if I must suffer on that account.I know I am accused of having attempted against the life of the King, of the Queen, and of messeigneurs the King's brothers; I protest before God that I never had the wish or the intention of doing so. I am also accused of ambition, on account of my having taken up arms with the Reformers; I protest that only the interest of religion, and the necessity of defending my own life and the lives of my family made me take up arms. Upon this head I confess that my greatest guilt lies in not having resented the injustices and the murders perpetrated upon my brothers. I had to be driven to take up arms by the dangers and the plots of which I myself was the object. But I also say it before God, I have endeavored by all means available to pacify, fearing nothing so much as civil war, and foreseeing that the same would carry in its wake the ruin of this kingdom, whose preservation I have ever desired. I write this because, ignorant of the hour when it will please God to call me away, I do not wish to leave my children with the brand of infamy and rebellion.I have taken up arms, not against the King, but against those whose tyranny compelled the Reformers to defend their lives. I knew in my heart that they often acted against the wishes of the King, according to several letters and instructions that prove the fact. I know I must appear before the throne of God and there receive judgment. May He condemn me if I lie when I say that my warmest desire is to see the King served in allpurity, obedient to his orders, and that the kingdom of France be preserved. On these conditions I would gladly forget all that concerns me personally—injuries, insults, outrages, confiscation of my estates—provided the glory of God and public tranquility are assured. To that end I am determined to occupy myself to my last breath. I wish this to be known, in order not to leave a wrong impression concerning myself after my death.I request and order that my children be always brought up to the love and fear of God; that they continue their studies up to the age of fifteen, without interruption. I hold those years to be better employed in that manner than if they are sent to a court, or placed in the suite of some seigneur. Above all do I request their tutors never to allow them to keep bad or vicious company. We are all too much inclined to evil, by our own nature. I request that my children be frequently reminded of this, in order that they may know that such is my desire, as I have often expressed it to them myself.I request that my children be brought up with those of my brother Dandelot, as he himself expressed in his testament the wish that they should be. That the ones and the others take for their example the warm and fraternal friendship that always existed between my brother and myself.Loving all my children equally, I expect that each will receive as my successors that which is accorded to them by the usages of the country where my estates are situated (if the confiscation with which they are attainted cease). I request that the jewelry belonging to my deceased wife be equally divided between my two daughters.I desire that my eldest son take the name of Chatillon; Gaspard, my second son, the name of Dandelot; and Charles, the third, that of La Breteche.I request Madam Dandelot, my sister-in-law, to keep near her my two daughters, so long as she may remain in widowhood. Should she marry again, I request Madam La Rochefoucauld, my niece, to take charge of them.Having learned that they burned down the college founded by me at Chatillon, I desire and expect that it be re-built, becauseit is a public good with the aid of which God may be honored and glorified.I order that my servants and pensioners be paid all that may be due to them on the day of my decease, and do grant them, besides, a year's wages. In recognition of my great satisfaction with Lagrele, the preceptor of my children, for the care he has bestowed upon them, I bequeath to him one thousand francs. To Nicholas Mouche and his wife Joan, in reward of their good offices to me and my deceased wife, I bequeath five hundred francs, and an annual stipend of seventeen measures of wheat during their lives, because they have so many children.When it shall please God to call me away, I desire, if it be possible, that my body be taken to my Chatillon home, to be there interred beside my wife, without any funeral pomp or other ceremony than that of the Reformed religion.And in order that the above provisions be carried out, I request Monsieur the Count of Chatillon, my brother; Monsieur La Rochefoucauld, my nephew; and Messieurs Lanoüe and Saragosse, to be the executors of these my last wishes. Above all do I recommend to themthe education and instruction of my children. I consecrate them to the service of God, entreating them to cause my children always to deport and guide themselves by His holy spirit, and to so behave that their actions contribute to His glory, to the public welfare, and to the pacification of the kingdom. I pray to God to be pleased with the benediction that I bestow upon my children, to the end of attracting upon them the blessing of heaven.As to myself, offering to the Lord the sacrifice of Jesus Christ in the redemption of my sins, I pray to Him that He may receive my soul and grant to it the blessed and eternal life that awaits the resurrection of the body.Finally, I request Messieurs La Rochefoucauld, Saragosse and Lanoüe, to be the tutors and guardians of my children.
Of all His creatures, God has created man the most worthy. Accordingly, it is man's duty, during his life, to do all he can to glorify the Lord, render evidence of his faith, set a good example to his fellows, and, to the extent of his powers, leave his children in comfort, if it has pleased God to afford him any.
Although our days are numbered before God, nothing is more uncertain than the hour when it will please Him to call us away. We must keep ourselves so well prepared that we may not be taken by surprise. For this reason I have decided to draw up the present writing, in order that those who may remain behind me, may hear my intentions and know my wishes.
In the first place, after invoking the name of God, I maketo Him a summary confession of my faith, imploring Him that the same may serve me at the hour when it shall please Him to call me away, because He knows that I make this confession with my heart and affection, and in the full sincerity of my soul.
I believe in what is contained in the Old and the New Testament, as being the true word of God, to which and from which nothing may be added or taken away, as it orders us. Lastly, I seek in Jesus Christ and through Him alone my salvation and the remission of my sins, according as He has promised. I subscribe to the confession of faith of the Reformed Church in this kingdom. I wish to live and die in this faith, judging myself happy, indeed, if I must suffer on that account.
I know I am accused of having attempted against the life of the King, of the Queen, and of messeigneurs the King's brothers; I protest before God that I never had the wish or the intention of doing so. I am also accused of ambition, on account of my having taken up arms with the Reformers; I protest that only the interest of religion, and the necessity of defending my own life and the lives of my family made me take up arms. Upon this head I confess that my greatest guilt lies in not having resented the injustices and the murders perpetrated upon my brothers. I had to be driven to take up arms by the dangers and the plots of which I myself was the object. But I also say it before God, I have endeavored by all means available to pacify, fearing nothing so much as civil war, and foreseeing that the same would carry in its wake the ruin of this kingdom, whose preservation I have ever desired. I write this because, ignorant of the hour when it will please God to call me away, I do not wish to leave my children with the brand of infamy and rebellion.
I have taken up arms, not against the King, but against those whose tyranny compelled the Reformers to defend their lives. I knew in my heart that they often acted against the wishes of the King, according to several letters and instructions that prove the fact. I know I must appear before the throne of God and there receive judgment. May He condemn me if I lie when I say that my warmest desire is to see the King served in allpurity, obedient to his orders, and that the kingdom of France be preserved. On these conditions I would gladly forget all that concerns me personally—injuries, insults, outrages, confiscation of my estates—provided the glory of God and public tranquility are assured. To that end I am determined to occupy myself to my last breath. I wish this to be known, in order not to leave a wrong impression concerning myself after my death.
I request and order that my children be always brought up to the love and fear of God; that they continue their studies up to the age of fifteen, without interruption. I hold those years to be better employed in that manner than if they are sent to a court, or placed in the suite of some seigneur. Above all do I request their tutors never to allow them to keep bad or vicious company. We are all too much inclined to evil, by our own nature. I request that my children be frequently reminded of this, in order that they may know that such is my desire, as I have often expressed it to them myself.
I request that my children be brought up with those of my brother Dandelot, as he himself expressed in his testament the wish that they should be. That the ones and the others take for their example the warm and fraternal friendship that always existed between my brother and myself.
Loving all my children equally, I expect that each will receive as my successors that which is accorded to them by the usages of the country where my estates are situated (if the confiscation with which they are attainted cease). I request that the jewelry belonging to my deceased wife be equally divided between my two daughters.
I desire that my eldest son take the name of Chatillon; Gaspard, my second son, the name of Dandelot; and Charles, the third, that of La Breteche.
I request Madam Dandelot, my sister-in-law, to keep near her my two daughters, so long as she may remain in widowhood. Should she marry again, I request Madam La Rochefoucauld, my niece, to take charge of them.
Having learned that they burned down the college founded by me at Chatillon, I desire and expect that it be re-built, becauseit is a public good with the aid of which God may be honored and glorified.
I order that my servants and pensioners be paid all that may be due to them on the day of my decease, and do grant them, besides, a year's wages. In recognition of my great satisfaction with Lagrele, the preceptor of my children, for the care he has bestowed upon them, I bequeath to him one thousand francs. To Nicholas Mouche and his wife Joan, in reward of their good offices to me and my deceased wife, I bequeath five hundred francs, and an annual stipend of seventeen measures of wheat during their lives, because they have so many children.
When it shall please God to call me away, I desire, if it be possible, that my body be taken to my Chatillon home, to be there interred beside my wife, without any funeral pomp or other ceremony than that of the Reformed religion.
And in order that the above provisions be carried out, I request Monsieur the Count of Chatillon, my brother; Monsieur La Rochefoucauld, my nephew; and Messieurs Lanoüe and Saragosse, to be the executors of these my last wishes. Above all do I recommend to themthe education and instruction of my children. I consecrate them to the service of God, entreating them to cause my children always to deport and guide themselves by His holy spirit, and to so behave that their actions contribute to His glory, to the public welfare, and to the pacification of the kingdom. I pray to God to be pleased with the benediction that I bestow upon my children, to the end of attracting upon them the blessing of heaven.
As to myself, offering to the Lord the sacrifice of Jesus Christ in the redemption of my sins, I pray to Him that He may receive my soul and grant to it the blessed and eternal life that awaits the resurrection of the body.
Finally, I request Messieurs La Rochefoucauld, Saragosse and Lanoüe, to be the tutors and guardians of my children.
Coligny was just finishing this testament, every line of which breathed sincerity, straightforwardness, wisdom,modesty, the tenderest of domestic virtues, faith in the holiness of his cause, love for France, and horror of civil war, when Monsieur Lanoüe entered the room with indignation stamped upon his features. He held an open letter in his hand, and was about to address Coligny, when the Admiral forestalled him, saying:
"My friend, I have just written your name at the foot of my testament, requesting you and Monsieur La Rochefoucauld kindly to accept the office of guardians to my children, and those of my brother;" and extending his hand to Lanoüe: "You accept, do you not, this mark of my friendship and confidence? Brought up under your eyes, my nephews and my children, if it please God, will be honorable men and women."
"Monsieur," answered Lanoüe with profound emotion, "in heart, at least, I shall be worthy of the sacred mission that you honor me with."
"May people some day be able to say of my children and nephews: 'They have the virtues of Lanoüe!' God will then have granted my last prayer. I entrust this testament to your hands, my friend. Keep it safe."
"It is not sealed, monsieur."
"Both my friends and my enemies are free to read it. What a man says to God men may hear," replied the Admiral with ancient loftiness. "Here I am now, settled with myself," the noble soldier proceeded to say; "now let us consider the military preparations for the day."
"Oh, what a war!" cried Lanoüe. "No, it is war no longer; it is treachery; it is assassination! I have a letterfrom Paris. They send me a copy of a missive to the Duke of Alençon from his brother, in the Maurevert affair."
"The cowardly assassin of Mouy?"
"Yes, the cowardly assassin Maurevert, who came to our camp with the mask of friendship, and who, profiting by the darkness of night and the defenselessness of Mouy asleep, stabbed him to death, and immediately took flight. Listen, Admiral, listen now to this! This is what Charles IX, the present King of France, writes to his brother:
"To my brother the Duke of Alençon."My brother, in reward for the signal service rendered to me by Charles of Louvier, Sieur of Maurevert, the bearer of these presents,it being he who killed Mouy,in the way that he will narrate to you, I request you, my brother, to bestow upon him the collar of my Order, he being chosen and elected by the brothers of the said Order a member of the same; and furthermore to see to it that he, the said Maurevert, be gratified by the denizens and residents of my good city of Pariswith some worthy presentIN KEEPING WITH HIS DESERTS, while I pray God, my brother, that He keep you under His holy and worthy protection."Done at Plessis-les-Tours, the 1st day of June, 1569."Your good brother"CHARLES."[69]
"To my brother the Duke of Alençon.
"My brother, in reward for the signal service rendered to me by Charles of Louvier, Sieur of Maurevert, the bearer of these presents,it being he who killed Mouy,in the way that he will narrate to you, I request you, my brother, to bestow upon him the collar of my Order, he being chosen and elected by the brothers of the said Order a member of the same; and furthermore to see to it that he, the said Maurevert, be gratified by the denizens and residents of my good city of Pariswith some worthy presentIN KEEPING WITH HIS DESERTS, while I pray God, my brother, that He keep you under His holy and worthy protection.
"Done at Plessis-les-Tours, the 1st day of June, 1569.
"Your good brother"CHARLES."[69]
The Admiral listened stupefied.
"Never," observed Lanoüe after reading the royal schedule, "never yet was the glorification of assassination carried further than this! Oh, Monsieur Admiral, you often made the remark—'You, as well as I and so many others,are attached by heart and principle, if not to the King, still to the Crown.' But this house of Valois will yet cover itself with so many crimes that it will inspire hatred for monarchy. Do we not already see springing up the desire for a federal republic, like the federated Swiss cantons? The desire already has spread among many men of honorable purposes, and it gains new supporters every day."
Nicholas Mouche appeared at this moment at the threshold of the door. "I wager," he said to himself, "that the wholesome drink of chicory water still lies forgotten." And approaching his master, he added: "Well, Monsieur Admiral, the hour has elapsed!"
"What hour?" asked Coligny, whose thoughts were absorbed in the painful reminiscences awakened by Lanoüe's words, "what do you mean?"
"Your morning drink!" answered the trusty equerry; and turning from his master: "Monsieur Lanoüe, I entreat you; join me in making the Admiral listen to reason. He knows that his surgeon, Monsieur Ambroise Paré, strongly recommended to him chicory water when in the field, because the Admiral often is twelve and fifteen hours at a stretch on horseback, without once taking off his boots. Well, he refuses to follow the orders of his physician."
"You hear the complaint of your worthy servant, Monsieur Admiral," remarked Lanoüe smiling. "I agree with him; he is right. You should follow the orders of Master Ambroise Paré."
"Come, come—it shall be as Monsieur Nicholas wishes," said Coligny, taking the bowl from the table. He lookedat the greenish color of the decoction with visible repugnance, and carried the bowl to his lips.
At that very instant Odelin Lebrenn rushed into the chamber, dashed the earthen vessel from Coligny's hands and crushed it under his feet, crying:
"Thank God! I arrived in time!"
Lanoüe, Nicholas Mouche and Coligny were stupefied. Breathless with excitement and winded from a long and rapid run, Odelin Lebrenn leaned with one hand against the table. He made a sign that he wished to speak but could not yet. Finally he stammered out:
"A second later—and Monsieur Coligny would have been poisoned—by the potion—he was about—to drink!"
"Great God!" cried Lanoüe, growing pale, while Nicholas Mouche trembled like an aspen leaf as he looked at his master.
"Explain yourself, Monsieur Lebrenn!" commanded the Admiral.
"This morning, when you were away from the room with your servants at prayer, I came in to bring back your casque. I found Dominic here."
"That is so," said Nicholas Mouche; "he did not go to prayer with the rest."
"Without being surprised at finding Dominic in his master's room," Odelin proceeded, "I noticed, notwithstanding, that he was pale and confused. Later, God be blessed, I recalled the circumstance that, as I came in, I saw him quickly step away from the table on which stood the vessel which, as Nicholas afterwards told me, held thedrink you take every morning, Monsieur Admiral. Into that drink, into that chicory water, Dominic dropped the poison."
"He!" exclaimed Coligny, horrified. "Impossible! A servant raised under my own roof since his early childhood!"
"Oh, the wretch!" cried Nicholas Mouche. "This morning, seeing me prepare the potion, Dominic asked me to let him attend to the matter. I saw in that only a warning to be careful."
"My God!" put in Lanoüe, who had remained dumb with horror and indignation. "Providence can allow such crimes, only to inspire the world with execration for their perpetrators. Can such wickedness be, Monsieur Lebrenn?"
"Dominic has confessed all. The instigators of the murder are the Duke of Anjou and the Count of La Riviere, a captain of the Duke's guards. The temptation of a vast sum decided the assassin to undertake the deed."
"Oh, Catherine De Medici, your children approve themselves worthy of you! They emulate the example you have set them!" exclaimed Lanoüe.
"But how did you discover the crime, Monsieur Lebrenn? Tell us."
"What I noticed this morning would have awakened my suspicions on the spot, were it not for the hurried arrival of my son and the tidings he brought me. I followed him in a great hurry. As we were passing by the inn that lies not far from my place and where the horses of MonsieurColigny are stabled, I saw Dominic come out, riding bareback. His nag bore evidence of having been bridled in great haste. Dominic departed at a gallop. The man's frightened looks and his hurry to get off revived my first suspicions. I ran after him calling out: 'Hold him!' 'Hold him!' My uncle, the Franc-Taupin, together with some others of his men, happened to be in the wretch's way. They jumped at the bridle of his horse, and held him fast. As I caught up with them I shouted to him point-blank: 'You poisoned the Admiral!' Surprise, fear and remorse immediately drew from him a full confession of his crime. 'It is true,' he answered. 'I repent it. The Duke of Anjou offered me a large sum to poison my master—I yielded—the poison was handed to me—and I returned to camp in order to commit the murder.' The instant I heard this, I ran hither, leaving Dominic in the care of my son."
"Monsieur Lebrenn," said Coligny, grasping Odelin's hands with warmth, "It is thirty and odd years ago that I met your worthy father at one of the first councils of the reformers on Montmartre. I was then quite young, while your father, an artisan employed at the printing establishment of Robert Estienne already had rendered valiant services to the cause. It is sweet to me to owe my life to you—to you, his worthy son."
"The cannon!" suddenly called out Lanoüe, listening to a muffled and rumbling sound that came from afar, carried into the room by the early morning breeze, "It is therumbling sound of approaching cannon wheels. The detonations succeed each other rapidly."
"Nicholas," said Coligny, without indicating any surprise, "look at my pocket-watch. It must now be nearly ten o'clock."
"Yes, monsieur," answered the equerry after consulting the watch; "it is nearly ten."
"La Rochefoucauld has executed my orders punctually. It shall not be long before we shall see one of his officers arrive. Lanoüe, let us be ready to jump on horseback." And turning to his equerry: "Order the horses brought to the door of the priory. Monsieur Lebrenn, I count upon having your son at my side, as usual in action, to carry my orders."
"Here he is, monsieur," answered Odelin as Antonicq entered. "Where is the wretch, my son?"
"Father, he repeated his confession, again accusing the Duke of Anjou and the captain of the Duke's guards with having driven him to the commission of the crime, which he seemed deeply to repent. The exasperated soldiers executed instant justice upon the poisoner. They hanged him. His corpse is now swinging from the branch of an oak."[70]
At this moment a Huguenot officer covered with dustappeared at the threshold of the door. Monsieur Coligny said to him:
"I was waiting for you. Is the skirmish opened? Are all doing their duty well?"
"Yes, monsieur. A few companies of the royal army answered our attack, and have crossed the stream that covered their front."
"Monsieur La Rochefoucauld must have feigned a retreat towards the hill of Haut Moulin, behind which are massed the twenty cavalry squadrons of the Prince of Gerolstein. Have all my orders been executed?"
"Yes, monsieur. At the very moment that he despatched me to you, Monsieur La Rochefoucauld was executing the retreat. The Prince was in command of his cavalry. All the forces are in line of battle."
"All goes well," observed Coligny to Lanoüe; "I ordered the Prince's squadrons not to dismask and charge until the royal troops, drawn into disorder by their pursuit of our men, shall have arrived at the foot of the hill. We may expect a good result."
"Monsieur La Rochefoucauld also ordered me to make an important communication to you. From some royalist prisoners we learned this morning that the Queen and the Cardinal arrived in the camp of the Duke of Anjou."
Upon hearing of Catherine De Medici's arrival, the Admiral reflected for an instant, then drew near the table, dashed a few words down on a sheet of paper and handed it to the officer, saying:
"Monsieur, return at your fastest, and deliver this order to Monsieur La Rochefoucauld." And addressing Lanoüe as the officer left on the wings of the wind on his errand: "The presence of the Queen in the royal camp may suggest to Marshal Tavannes the idea of engaging in a decisive action. Come, my friend," he added, leaving the chamber, "I wish to consult with the Princes of Orange and Nassau before taking horse."
Almost immediately upon the arrival of Monsieur La Rochefoucauld's aide at the Admiral's quarters, Odelin Lebrenn and Antonicq hastened to reach their lodgings, where Anna Bell awaited them. The meeting between father and daughter was delayed through the discovery of the crime that Coligny was to be the victim of.
Odelin Lebrenn had set up his armorer's establishment on the ground floor of a house in St. Yrieix which the inhabitants had abandoned. Franz of Gerolstein, together with several noblemen of his suite and their pages, occupied a set of rooms on the floor above, below them being also the quarters of Odelin, his son and the Franc-Taupin. A straw couch, large enough to accommodate the three, stood at the rear of the apartment. Near a wide, open fireplace lay the hammers, the anvil and the portable forge requisite for the armorer's work. Day was now far advanced. Since morning Anna Bell had not left the lodging. Seated on a wooden bench, and her head reclined upon her hands, she expectantly turned her ears from time to time toward the street. The recent agonizing bustle of the camp was now followed by solitude and silence. Allthe troops, a few companies excepted that were left in charge of the baggage, had marched out beyond the burg and its entrenchments, in order to form in battle array about one league from the Admiral's headquarters, he having prepared for a possible general engagement.
Odelin Lebrenn's first interview with Anna Bell was both tender and painful. The father found again his daughter, once dearly beloved and long wept as lost. But he found her soiled with the title of maid of honor of Catherine De Medici! With distressing frankness the wretched girl confessed to her father the disorders of her past life. Anna Bell was just finishing her narrative when the general call to arms resounded. Antonicq went to his post beside Monsieur Coligny, after listening to the revelations of his sister; a few minutes later Odelin also, yielding to the imperious voice of duty, left his weeping daughter, to join the cavalry squadron in which he served as volunteer.
Left alone, Anna Bell fell a prey to cruel anxieties. Her father, her brother and Franz of Gerolstein were about to run the dangers of a battle. The confession wrung from her lips by a terrific necessity seemed to render all the more profound, all the more grievous the love of the young girl for the Prince. Now less than ever did she expect her affection to be returned. Still she experienced a sort of bitter consolation in the thought that Franz of Gerolstein was no longer ignorant of her passionate devotion, and that, in order to save him from poison, she risked her own life. The chaos of distressing thoughts, now rendered allthe more painful by her uneasiness for those whom she loved, plunged Anna Bell into inexpressible agony. She counted the hours with increasing anxiety. Toward night the roll of drums and blare of trumpets resounded from afar. The young girl trembled and listened. Presently she could distinguish the approaching tramp of horses' hoofs, and not long thereafter she heard them stop before the lodging. Running to the door, she opened it in the hope of seeing her brother and father. Instead, she saw a page in the livery of the Prince of Gerolstein holding a second horse by the reins.
"Monsieur," asked Anna Bell anxiously of the lad, "what news of the battle?"
"There was no battle, mademoiselle, only a lively engagement of outposts. The royalists were worsted," and swallowing a sigh, while tears appeared in his eyes, he added, "but unfortunately my poor comrade Wilhelm, one of the Prince of Gerolstein's pages, was killed in the skirmish. I am leading back his horse."
"And the Prince?" inquired Anna Bell, nervously. "He has not been wounded?"
"No, mademoiselle. I am riding ahead of monsieur; he is returning with his squadrons," answered the page, alighting from his horse, and his sighs and sobs redoubled, while the tears rolled down his cheeks.
At ease on the score of Franz of Gerolstein's life, Anna Bell had some words of consolation for the afflicted page. "I am sorry for you," she said; "to lose a friend at your age."
"Oh, mademoiselle. I loved him so dearly—he died so valiantly! An arquebusier was taking aim at the Prince. Wilhelm threw himself in front and received the ball in his chest. He dropped, never to rise again."
"Generous lad!" exclaimed Anna Bell, and silently she thought: "To die for Franz! Under his own eyes. That is a death to be envied!"
"Poor Wilhelm!" continued the page sadly, "his last words were for his mother. He asked me, if ever I return home again, to carry to her a sash that she embroidered for him, and which he left at our lodging together with his gala suit."
The lad's words seemed to have suggested an unexpected line of thought to Anna Bell, when she suddenly saw Odelin from a distance, returning at full gallop in the company of other horsemen. She cried: "There is father! Thank God, he is not wounded. But where is brother?"
Not daring, out of a sense of modesty, to be seen by the strangers who accompanied her father, Anna Bell stepped back into the room. Odelin led his horse to a stable where also the horses of Franz of Gerolstein were kept, and hastened back to join his daughter in the house. The girl ran to him, kissed his hands respectfully several times, and said:
"Thank heaven, father, you are safe and sound—but brother, dear Antonicq, did he also come off scathless?"
"You may feel at ease," answered Odelin, embracing his daughter, "Antonicq is not wounded. Together with other volunteers he is escorting a number of prisoners toplaces of safety in the camp. Poor child, great must have been your anxiety since I left you. Come to your father's arms!"
"Oh, I counted the hours—the minutes—"
"Let me embrace you again—and yet again," said Odelin with tears in his eyes, and fondly holding her in his arms. "Oh, divine power of happiness! It brings with it the balm of forgetfulness of the past! I have found you again—dear child! In one day, years of sorrow are blotted out!"
Hardly able to repress her tears, Anna Bell responded unrestrainedly to Odelin's caresses. His ineffable clemency was not belied.
"Father," she said, "would you have me disarm you while we wait for Antonicq? Your cuirass must tire you. Let me unbuckle it."
"Thank you, child," the armorer answered, as he stepped to a lanthorn that hung from the wall, and lighted the same to dispel the shadows that began to invade the apartment. He then took off his casque, loosened his belt, and returned to his daughter: "But I shall remain armed. The Admiral issued orders that the troops rest a few hours, take supper, and hold themselves ready to march at a minute's notice."
"My God—is there another battle pending?"
"I do not know the projects of Admiral Coligny; all I know—and that is all that is of importance to me—I know we have a few hours to ourselves. Sit down there, dear child, so that the light of the lanthorn may fall upon yourface—I wish to behold you at my leisure. This morning tears darkened my eyes almost continuously."
And after contemplating Anna Bell for a while with tender and silent curiosity, Odelin resumed:
"Yes, your sweet beauty is such as your charming little girl's face gave promise of. Oh! how often did I not leave my anvil and drop my hammer to fondle your blonde head! Your hair has grown darker. In your infancy you were as blonde as my sister Hena. Many a line in your face recalls hers. She and I resembled each other. But your beautiful brown and velvety eyes have remained the same—neither in color nor shape have they changed. I find the dimple still on your chin, and the two little ones on your cheeks each time you laughed, they also are still there—and you were always laughing—my dear, dear child!"
"Oh! how happy those days must have been to me!" murmured the young girl, as she recalled with bitter sorrow the hours of her innocent childhood. "I then was near you, father, and near mother—and besides—"
Anna Bell could not finish the sentence. The distressed girl broke down sobbing.
"Heaven and earth!" cried up the armorer, whose features, shortly before illumined with happiness, now were overcast with grief. "To think that you had to beg your bread! My poor child—perhaps beaten by the gypsy woman who kidnapped you from the loving paternal roof!"
"Father," replied the poor girl with a look of profoundgrief, "those days of misery were not my worst days. Oh, that I had always remained a beggar!"
"I understand your thoughts, unhappy child! Let us drop those sad recollections!" And stamping the floor furiously Odelin added: "Oh, infamous Queen! Thou art the monster who debauched my child! A curse upon thee and thy execrable brood!" After a painful silence, Odelin proceeded abruptly: "Do! I conjure you! Let us never again return to the past. Let us endeavor to bury it in everlasting oblivion!"
"Alas, father, even if your clemency were to forget, my conscience will ever remember. It will every day remind me that I am a disgrace to my family. Oh, God! My cheeks tingle with shame at the bare thought of meeting my sister—and mother!"
"Your mother! You know not the depths of a mother's love, indulgence and compassion. You return to her soiled, but repentant, and your mother will forgive. Besides, you are not guilty—you are the victim of, not the accomplice in, your past life. Your heart has remained pure, your instincts honest and lofty; your tears, your remorse, your apprehensions prove it to me. No, no! Be not afraid. Your mother and sister will receive you with joy, with confidence. I am certain henceforth your life will be ours, pure, modest, industrious! Oh, I know it—it is only that that causes my heart to bleed, and my pity for you to redouble; you are never to experience the austere yet sweet joys of a wife—and a mother!"
Odelin remained for a moment steeped in silent rumination. After a pause he proceeded:
"It is the severe punishment for a sin that it is allowed to none but your own family to absolve you of. But your sister's children will be your own. Your brother also is to marry. Cornelia, his sweetheart, is worthy of our affection. You will silence the cravings of your own heart in loving their children as you would have done your own. They will also love you. You will spend your life near them and us. Come, take a father's word for it—the domestic hearth is an inexhaustible source of consolation for the sorrowful—an inexhaustible source of sweet joys and healthy pleasures."
These warm and affectionate words moved Anna Bell so profoundly that, dropping down upon her knees before her father, she covered his hands and face with kisses and tears; and raising her eyes up to him, and contemplating him with a kind of respectful admiration, "Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "living image of God! Your goodness and compassion are like only unto His!"
"Because you suffer, my poor child," replied Odelin, his eyes moist with tears. And raising his daughter from the floor and placing her beside him, he put his arm around her and covered her with renewed caresses.
"It is because you are to suffer still more—it is because you love—it is because you are bound to love—and without hope!" the armorer proceeded with solemnity. "Only this once, and never again shall I mention this painful love. If I, your father, touch upon such a subject withyou, the reason is that it is impossible for me to blame the choice of your heart. Franz of Gerolstein, by the strength of his character, the generosity of his sentiments, the loftiness of his whole life, deserves to be loved passionately. Alas, but for that unhappy past, your love needed not be hopeless. Only a few hours ago, speaking about you at a halt made by our troops, Franz of Gerolstein remarked to me: 'Oh, that honor, the only barrier I may never leap, should separate me forever from your daughter!' It was not a hollow consolation the Prince was offering me. I know Franz's contempt for distinctions of rank. Moreover we are of the same blood, our family comes from one stock; but that fatal past—that is the unbridgeable abyss that separates us forever from the Prince. That is why you inspire me with so much pity. Yes, you are all the more endeared to me because you suffer, and by reason of your future sufferings, poor dear child, so guiltless of the sins you have committed!" added Odelin with renewed tenderness. "But be brave, be brave, my child! Your hopeless love is at least honorable and pure; you can nourish it without shame, in the secret recesses of your heart. I shall say not another word upon that ill-starred passion. When you are back among us and, although surrounded by our affection, I shall see you at times lost in revery, sad, and moist of eye, believe me, poor distressed soul, your father will sympathize with your grief; each tear you drop will fall upon my heart."
Odelin was uttering these last words when his son hurried into the apartment, looking sad and even bewildered.Anna Bell jumped up to meet the young man, saying: "Thank God, brother, I see you back safe and sound!"
Such was the preoccupation of Antonicq that, without answering his sister, without taking notice of her, and even gently pushing her aside, he approached his father, and taking him apart to the other end of the room, spoke to him in a low and excited voice. Painfully affected at seeing herself pushed out of the way by her brother, who seemed to have neither a word nor a look for her in response to the gladness that she expressed at his safe return from battle, the young girl imagined herself despised by him.
"Alas!" thought the maid of honor, "my brother will not forgive my past life; only a father's heart is capable of indulgence. Great God! If my sister, my mother, were also to receive me with such disdain—perchance aversion! I would rather die than expose myself to such treatment!"
Antonicq continued to speak with his father in a low voice. Suddenly Odelin seemed to shudder, and hid his face in his hands. Profound silence ensued. Anna Bell, more and more the prey of the shyness and mistrust that conscious guilt inspires in a repentant soul, imagined herself the subject of the mysterious conversation between her father and brother. Odelin's features, lowering and angry, betokened disgust and indignation. The words escaped him: "And yet, despite such revolting horrors, I am bound to him by a sacred bond! Oh, a curse upon the day that brought us together again! A curse upon the fatal discovery! But once I shall have fulfilled that last duty, may heaven ever after deliver me of his hated presence!Listen," added the armorer, and again lowering his voice, he spoke to his son with intense earnestness, closing with the statement: "Such is my plan!"
The conversation was again renewed in undertones between father and son. Anna Bell had caught only fragments of her father's remarks. She was convinced they spoke of her—and yet, only a minute before, Odelin was so lovingly indulgent towards his erring daughter. In vain did the young girl seek to fathom the cause of so sudden a change. What could the fatal discovery be that Antonicq had just imparted to his father, and seemed suddenly to incite his indignation and anger? Did she not lay her past life bare to her father in all sincerity of heart? What could she be accused of that she had not voluntarily confessed? A prey to profound anxiety, the young girl's heart sank within her; her limbs trembled as she saw her father hurriedly take up his sword and casque, and make ready to leave with Antonicq.
The young man stepped to the couch of straw and pulled out of it a long, wide cloak of a brown material with a scarlet hood attached, such as was common among the Rochelois,[71]and helped his father to wrap himself in it over his armor; Odelin then put on his casque, threw the hood over it, and, without either look or word to his daughter, who, trembling and with frightened eyes followed his movements, went out, followed by his son.
Long did Anna Bell weep. When her tears ran dry, the young girl turned her face to the future with sinister resolution.She considered herself an object of disgust and aversion to her brother and father. Forsaken by them, an unbridgeable abyss—honor—separated her forever from Franz of Gerolstein. Nothing was left but to die. Suddenly a flash of joy lightened her eyes, red with recent tears. She rose, stood erect, and looking about said: "Yes, to die. But to die under Franz's eyes—to die for him, like the young page killed this very day by throwing himself in the path of the bullet that was to fell his master. The army is to return to battle. The clothes, the horse of the page who was killed to-day are all here!"
As these thoughts seethed in her mind, Anna Bell's eyes fell upon some sheets of paper, a pen and ink in a broken cup lying on the mantlepiece. The girl took them down with a sigh:
"Oh, father! Oh, brother! Despite your contempt and aversion, my last thoughts will be of you!"
Hervé Lebrenn, the incestuous wretch who raised a matricidal hand against his mother, Fra Hervé, the Cordelier, as he was called in the royal army, deserved but too well the reputation for a fiery preacher and leader of implacable sectarians. His sermons, lighted by a savage style of eloquence, and coupled to acts of ferocity in battle, inspired the Catholics with fanatic admiration. Wounded and made a prisoner in the course of the engagement of that day, he was taken pinioned to St. Yrieix and locked up in a dark cellar. The cellar door opened. The light of a lanthorn partially dispelled the gloom of the subterranean cell. Seated on the ground with his shouldersagainst the wall, Fra Hervé saw a man enter, wrapped in a brown mantle, the scarlet hood of which, being wholly thrown over his head, concealed the face of the nocturnal visitor. The visitor was Odelin Lebrenn. He closed the door behind him, placed the lanthorn on the floor, and almost convulsed with wracking emotions, silently contemplated his brother, who had not yet recognized him. Odelin saw him now for the first time since the day when, still a lad returning from Italy with Master Raimbaud, the armorer, he involuntarily witnessed the torture and death of his sister Hena and Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. Hervé also attended the solemnity of his sister's execution, in the company of Fra Girard, his evil genius.
Odelin Lebrenn looked with mute horror upon his imprisoned brother. The lanthorn, placed upon the floor, threw upward a bright light streaked with hard, black shadows upon the cadaverous, ascetic and haggard features of Hervé. His large, bald forehead, yellow and dirty, was tied in a blood-stained bandage. The blood had flowed down from his wound, dried up on one of his protruding cheek bones, and coagulated in the hairs of his thick and matted beard. His brown and threadbare coat, patched up in a score of places, was held around his waist by a cord from which hung a chaplet of arquebus balls with a small crucifix of lead. Rusty iron spurs were fastened with leather straps to his muddy feet, shod in sandals. Fra Hervé, unable to distinguish his brother's face, shadowed as it was by the hood of the mantle, turned his head slowlytowards the visitor, and kneeling down with an expression of gloomy disdain, said in a hollow voice:
"Is it death? I am ready!"
The Cordelier thereupon bowed down his large bald head, and raising his fettered hands towards the roof of the cellar muttered in a low voice the funeral invocation of the dying. Odelin threw back his hood, took up the lanthorn, and held it so as to throw a clear light upon his face.
"Brother!" he called out to the monk in a voice that betrayed his profound emotion. "I am Odelin Lebrenn!"
Without rising from his knees, Fra Hervé threw himself back, and examined for a moment the face of Odelin. At length he recognized him, and, a sudden flash of hatred illumining his hollow eyes and an infernal smile curling his livid lips, he cried:
"God has sent you! I shall spit out the truth into the face of the apostate! Oh, that your father were also here!"
"Respect his memory—our father is dead!"
"Did he die impenitent?"
"He died in his faith!"
"He died damned!" replied Fra Hervé with a savage guffaw. "Everlastingly damned! The corruptor of my youth! The heretical leper! The sink of pestilence! Damned along with his wife! It was Thy will, Oh, God! In Thy wrath Thou didst so decree it. The flames of hell will be doubly hot to them! Forever and ever will they be face to face with the spectacle of their daughter, damnedthrough their acts, and damned like themselves, writhing in the midst of everlasting fires!"
"Do not take upon your lips the names of our sister, the poor martyr, or of our mother, you wretched fanatic, author of all their sufferings!"
"'Our' mother! 'Our' father! 'Our' sister!" echoed back the monk, with an outburst of sardonic laughter. "Look at the renegate! He dares invoke bonds that are snapped, and are abhorred! Man—I have no father but the vicar of Christ! No mother but the Church! No brothers but faithful Catholics. Outside of that holy family—holy, thrice holy!—I see only savage beasts, bent in their demoniacal rage upon tearing into shreds the sacred body of my holy mother! And I kill them! I throttle them! I immolate them to God, the avenger! Oh, how I grieve to think that you did not fall, like the likes of you, under my heavy iron crucifix, which the Holy Father blessed! What more beautiful holocaust could I offer to the implacable anger of the Lord, than to say to Him as Abraham did on the mountain: 'Lord! May the vapor of this blood rise to your nostrils. This blood is twofold expiatory! It is my blood, it is the blood of my family!'"
"Blood! Always blood!" echoed Odelin, shivering with disgust and horror. "Hervé, blood has intoxicated you. Like so many other priests, you are the prey of a savage frenzy. A bloodthirsty dementia has dethroned your reason. I have for you the pity that a furious madman inspires. After a desperate resistance you fell into the powerof a corps of Protestant horsemen. My son was among them; he identified you by the mournful celebrity that surrounds your name. His companions were of a mind to kill you on the spot. He obtained from them a postponement of your execution under the pretext that your death would be more exemplary before the assembled ranks of our soldiers. My son's views prevailed. You were taken to this place, to this cellar belonging to the priory occupied by Admiral Coligny, who, thanks to God, escaped this day being poisoned, escaped the latest abominable crime planned against him. You were taken to this cell. My son just notified me of your capture and of his desire to save you. I share his wishes—seeing that, unfortunately, we are both children of one father. But for that I would have left you to your fate. Your religion commands you to kill me; mine commands me to save you. I shall untie your hands; you shall throw this mantle over your shoulders and lower the hood over your head. My son is the only watchman. He offered to the sentinel placed on guard over you to take his place. The offer was accepted. We shall leave this cell together. The Rochelois mantle will conceal your frock and remove suspicion. You will follow me. I am known to all the people and soldiers whom we may meet in crossing the courtyard of the Admiral's house. I hope to secure your flight with the aid of this disguise. That duty, a sacred one to me, I fulfil in the name of our parents who are no more—in the name of those cherished beings who loved us so dearly."
"Oh, God, the Avenger!" exclaimed Hervé with savageexaltation. "Ever does Thy anger strike Thy enemies with blindness! Themselves they break the chains of their immolators! Themselves they deliver themselves defenseless into the hands of their implacable enemies!"
And stretching out his fettered hands to his brother, the monk added:
"Oh, thou vile instrument of the King of Kings! Free these hands from their bonds! There is still work for them to do in cropping the bloody field of heresy! There are still supporters of Satan for these hands to exterminate!"
Calm and sad, Odelin loosed the fetters from Fra Hervé's hands. Hardly did the monk regain the free use of his arms than, darting a tiger's look at his brother, he took two steps back, seized the heavy string of leaden balls that hung from his girdle, swung it like a sling, and, before his liberator, who stood stupefied at the brusque assault, had time to protect himself, smote him several times on the head with the heavy chaplet. Although considerably deadened by Odelin's casque, the violent blows staggered the armorer. For a moment he seemed to reel on his feet, but instantly recovering himself, he drew his sword at the very moment that Fra Hervé returned to the charge. Odelin parried the blows, and, cutting with a back-stroke the string that held the balls, caused them to slip off and roll down at the feet of the monk. Odelin immediately threw his sword aside, but carried away with rage and indignation, he dashed upon his brother, seized him by the throat, threw him to the ground and pinned him down with his kneesupon his chest. In this struggle, Fra Hervé, weakened by his wound, had the disadvantage. He furiously bit Odelin's hand. The pain drew a piercing cry from Odelin. The noise was heard by Antonicq, who stood on guard at the outside of the door. The young man rushed in and saw his father at close quarters with the monk, who, in his rage, kept his teeth in Odelin's flesh and sought, after having penetrated to the bone, to crush his brother's thumb between his teeth. Exasperated at the sight, Antonicq picked up his father's sword and dealing with the handle of the weapon a crushing blow upon Fra Hervé's cheek, knocked in several of his teeth and compelled him to release his prey. Odelin rose. Panting with fury and exhausted by the violence of the struggle, the Cordelier sank upon his knees; tore off the bandage from his head, thereby leaving a deep, gaping wound exposed; and trembling with silent, savage rage, sought to staunch the blood that poured in streams out of his mouth.
"My son, look at that monk," observed Odelin to Antonicq with a broken voice. "There was a time when that man was full of tenderness and respect for my father and mother. He cherished my sister and me. Brought up like myself in the practice of justice, and gifted with exceptional intelligence, he was the joy, the pride, the hope of our family. Look at him now; shudder; there you see him the handiwork of the infamous clergy of the papacy!"
"Oh, it is horrible!" exclaimed Antonicq, hiding his face in his hands. And, suddenly startled by the sound of a distant tumult that reached the depth of the cell across theprofound silence of the night, the young man listened for a moment and said: "Father, do you hear that noise? The troops are on the march. The cavalry is moving."
"Yes," answered Odelin, listening in turn. "The Admiral must have decided to surprise the royalist army before daybreak. The forces will be shortly on the march. You remain on guard at the door of the cellar. This prisoner is the object of so much hatred that they are likely to come for him any moment, to put him to death before we deliver battle. His cell will be found empty. You will answer that the man was my brother and that I wished him to escape punishment. Before mounting your horse, come for me at my lodging. We left your poor sister there. Our sudden departure must have seemed strange to her, and may have caused her anxiety. In my confusion I never thought of giving her a word of comfort. Let us make haste."
And throwing his Rochelois cloak to Fra Hervé, Odelin continued:
"If you care to escape death, put that cloak on and come. Towards you, and despite yourself, I shall act as a brother."
"And I will pursue you with revengeful hatred, apostate!" answered the monk with implacable resentment, rising to his feet and donning the cloak. "The Lord delivers me through your hand. He has His purpose. I shall be the exterminator of your heretical kin! March—lead my way out—save me! God orders it—obey!"
Thanks to the disguise of Fra Hervé, who was wrappedin a Rochelois cloak like a large number of Protestant volunteers, Odelin succeeded in aiding him to escape from the grounds of the priory where he was a prisoner. The two thereupon crossed the streets of St. Yrieix, these being crowded with soldiers hastening in silence to their several posts. Intending to surprise the enemy in the morning by a forced night march, the Admiral ordered the assembly of the forces to be done without beat of drum. Odelin and Fra Hervé saw not far from them the Franc-Taupin and the Avengers of Israel as they crossed the road on their way to the prison of the Cordelier whom they were to execute. A few minutes later, led by his brother to the furthest end of the camp, Fra Hervé vanished in the dark, taking long strides, and hurling threats of vengeance and anathema at his liberator.
Odelin hastened to return to his own lodging in order to comfort his daughter and embrace her before going to battle. Anna Bell had vanished. The room was empty. There was a letter left by her upon the armorer's anvil.
The Protestant army, about twenty-five thousand strong, marched out of St. Yrieix in profound silence at about one o'clock in the morning. The black and sinuous line of battalions and squadrons was hardly distinguishable from the surrounding darkness of the night, lighted only by the scintillations of the stars. The column followed the winding of the whitish road which was lost to sight in the distant horizon in the direction towards Roche-la-Belle, the royalist encampment. The measured step of the foot soldiers, the sonorous tramp of the cavalry, the clinking of the armors, the jolting and rumbling of artillery wheels—all these noises merged into one muffled and solemn sound. Scouts, alert with eye and ear, and pistol in hand, preceded the vanguard. At the head of the vanguard rode Admiral Coligny, with two young men, one on either side—Henry of Bearn, the son of the brave Joan of Albert, Queen of Navarre, and Condé, a son of the Prince of Condé, whom Montesquiou assassinated. Other Protestant leaders, among them Lanoüe and Saragosse, followed in the Admiral's suite. On that morning the Admiral rode a superb silver-grey Turkish horse that waswounded under him at Jarnac, and which he preferred to all other mounts. A light iron mail covered the neck, chest and crupper of the spirited steed. Coligny himself wore his habitual armor of polished iron devoid of ornament. His strong high boots reached up as far as his cuisses. His floating white and wire-sleeved cloak allowed his cuirass to be seen. His old battle sword hung from his belt. The butts of his long pistols peeped from under his saddle-bow. He rode bowed down by years, sorrows and the trials of so many campaigns. His venerable head seemed to bend under the weight of his casque. He guided his horse with his left hand. His right, gloved, reclined upon his cuisse. Suddenly he straightened up in the saddle, reined in his horse, and said in a grave voice:
"Halt, messieurs!"
The order was repeated from rank to rank back to the rearmost of the rear guard. One of the volunteers, who served as aide-de-camp to the Admiral, rode forward at a gallop to carry to the scouts the order to stop. An almost imperceptible shimmer began to whiten the horizon and announced the approach of dawn. A tepid breeze rose from the west, and became strong enough to chase the few clouds before it. These grew denser; at first they veiled the stars; soon they seemed to invade the whole firmament. Coligny attentively examined the aspect of the skies, communicated his opinion to his escort, and said to his lieutenants:
"A west wind, rising at dawn, generally presages a rainy day. Messieurs, we shall have to push the attack in livelystyle before the rain comes down upon us, otherwise the fire of our infantry will be almost useless."
And addressing Lanoüe:
"My friend, the chiefs of divisions have my orders; let them be drawn up for battle."
Lanoüe and several other officers rode off to execute the instructions of the Admiral. At this spot the road crossed a vast plateau more than a league wide, upon which the Protestant army deployed its lines and took up its positions. Coligny had Lanoüe and John of Soubise for his lieutenants. Prince Louis of Nassau commanded the right wing; La Rochefoucauld the center, with Henry of Bearn, Condé, the Prince of Orange, Wolfgang of Mansfeld and the Prince of Gerolstein under his orders; finally, the left was in charge of Saragosse. Colonels Piles and Baudine covered the right wing with their regiments; Colonels Rouvray and Pouilly the left. The lancers and the artillery were distributed along the two wings, while a strong cavalry force, consisting of twenty squadrons, held itself in reserve, ready to ride into action supported by several regiments of infantry.
In the measure that the light of dawn rendered the distant horizon more distinct, the belfry of the church of Roche-la-Belle, the fortified town occupied by the royalists, and lying about half a league away, could be discerned from the highest point of the plateau where the Protestant forces were deploying their lines. A black line along the dawn that dimly lighted the horizon marked the royalist entrenchments.
Soon as the army was drawn up in battle formation, Coligny said to Antonicq, one of the volunteers who served as aide-de-camp:
"Monsieur Lebrenn, convey to Colonel Plouernel my orders to push forward with his regiment and six companies of auxiliaries. Recommend to him above all to execute his march in the profoundest silence possible, without either beat of drums or blare of trumpets. The enemy must be taken by surprise. The colonel is to seize the lake road, which is strongly defended. When that post is carried, return and notify me."
Antonicq left at a gallop for the extreme right wing, the post of Colonel Plouernel, the younger brother of Count Neroweg of Plouernel, who commanded the escort of Queen Catherine De Medici the day of her arrival at the Abbey of St. Severin. The religious feuds threw the two brothers into opposite camps—a not infrequent occurrence in those unhappy days. In the course of the civil wars, the colonel, like so many other Protestants, sought refuge in the city of La Rochelle. Odelin thanks to the family archives left to him by his father Christian, knew that the printer had met and was greatly gratified by the courtesy of Colonel Plouernel on the occasion of one of the first councils held by the reformers in the quarry of Montmartre, when he was known as the Knight of Plouernel. One day, at La Rochelle, Odelin saw the knight, who had become a colonel in the Huguenot army, enter his smithy. He came to purchase arms, and noticing on the shield of the shop the name of Lebrenn, inquired from the armorer whether any relationship existed between him and the artisan once employed in the printing establishment of Robert Estienne. Odelin answered that he was a son of the artisan, and, agreeably impressed by the cordiality with which the colonel spoke of his father, entered into friendly relations with the nobleman, finding a singular charm in an acquaintance with one of the descendants of that old Frankish family whose path the sons of Joel had so often crossed, arms in hand, across the ages. In short, prizing more and more the noble character, the generous heart and the artless manners of Colonel Plouernel, a man free from all taint of family haughtiness and imbued, as much as any, with the democratic principles of the Reformation, Odelin informed the scion of the ancient house of Plouernel of the accidental circumstance concerning the hereditary feud between the two families both before and since the conquest of Clovis, and communicated to him the passages of the domestic chronicles touching upon those historic facts. By little and little an intimate friendship sprang up between Odelin and Colonel Plouernel. The latter, having married during one of the truces of the civil war a young lady of Vannes, from whom he had two little boys, was forced to seek refuge in La Rochelle with them and his wife when at last war broke out anew. He hired a few vacant rooms from Odelin, being anxious to leave Madam Plouernel with a family the virtues of which he appreciated. For Antonicq, Odelin's son, he felt an almost paternal affection, there being many years' difference between their ages. Being, thanks to his bravery, his reputation, his military talents, and his experience inthe field, greatly esteemed among the Protestants, Colonel Plouernel commanded in this campaign a regiment composed almost exclusively of Bretons. His soldiers, however, although brave and zealous, were, like all other volunteers, unfortunately prone to disregard discipline; being, moreover, but ill broken to the pursuit of arms, they often failed to appreciate the authority of skilful and prudent tactics, preferring to listen to their own blind intrepidity. The Breton regiment, together with the company of auxiliaries, numbered about three thousand men. They stood drawn up for battle at the furthest extremity of the right wing, when Antonicq, the carrier of the Admiral's orders, arrived at a gallop before their front ranks. Some, being field laborers, wore the ancient loose Gallic blouse, with hose fastened around the waist by a belt, and woolen bonnets on their heads; others, being either artisans or bourgeois from the cities, wore wide hose, jackets laced in front in the Burgundian style, or brigandines, or coats of mail or other defensive equipments, according to their several tastes. The men's headgear also offered a varied aspect: casques, morions, bassinets, slouch hats, bonnets ribbed with two iron hoops. Neither were the offensive arms more uniform—lances, pikes, halberds, antique swords, cross-bows, iron maces, cutlasses, hunting arquebuses, field arquebuses, and pistols all being visible. Several wood-cutters and their helpers were armed with hatchets, and some had scythes with the edge turned out. The only uniform, or article common to all, was a belt or shoulder sash of white material. These men, althoughpresenting a rather unmilitary appearance, displayed spirit and ardor. More than once did it happen that the fury of their onslaught overthrew the best royal troops, both infantry and cavalry, despite the latter's long military training and discipline.
Armed like a German rider, with black casque, black cuirass and white cloak, Colonel Plouernel bestrode a powerful Breton bay mare, caparisoned in scarlet. When Antonicq approached him he was in conversation with several officers of his regiment. Among these was the Pastor Feron, a man gifted with exceptional energy, and of austere and resolute mien. Often did he, like so many other ministers of the Reformed religion, march to battle at the head of a troop, singing psalms like the old bards of Gaul who marched in advance of the warriors singing their heroic chants. More than once wounded, the clergyman Feron inspired the Protestants with as much confidence as veneration. Antonicq transmitted the orders of Admiral Coligny to Colonel Plouernel. The latter immediately faced his troops and said to the captains who surrounded him:
"The Admiral does us the honor of entrusting to us the lead in the attack. We shall prove ourselves worthy of the distinction. We are to take the royal army by surprise. It will soon be day, but the slope of this hill, along the foot of which runs the road that we are to follow, will hide us from the enemy's pickets. We shall be able to reach the edge of the lake without being seen. Foreseeing the attack with which we are charged, I have just commissioned the Franc-Taupin to proceed with a picked body of determined men of his own corps and sound for a ford across the lake. Return to your companies. Order the drummers and trumpeters to remain quiet, and all your men to observe scrupulous silence."
"Brothers," remonstrated Pastor Feron with elation, "why conceal our approach from the Philistines? Does not the Lord lead the children of Israel? Let us place our reliance on Him only, and the proud towers of Zion will crumble before the breath of the Eternal. Let us march to the attack, not like timid and slinking thieves, but openly, bravely, like true soldiers of God! It was under the open sky that David vanquished Goliath!"
"Yes, yes. No underhanded tactics!" cried several officers. "Let us march straight upon the enemy, singing praises to the Lord. He is with us. We shall vanquish."
"My friends," said Colonel Plouernel, "follow my advice. Let us proceed with caution. The royal army is much our superior in numbers. We must make up with tactics for our inferiority. Let us arrive noiselessly before the vanguard of the enemy, you will not then lack for opportunity to prove your valor. Place yourselves at the head of your companies, and forward at the double quick, only in the profoundest silence."
The authority enjoyed by Colonel Plouernel, the wisdom of his orders, the confidence of the volunteers in his bravery and military skill once more carried the day over the seething impatience of his captains, although Pastor Feron looked displeased with a manoeuvre in which heimagined he saw a weakness and dissimulation unworthy of the children of Israel. The officers took their posts, and the column advanced in silence, with its right covered by the ridge of a long hill that completely masked it on the side of the enemy's entrenchment. The road that the column followed crossed a wide field covered with wild roses, their petals heavy with the dew of night, and spreading an aromatic odor far and wide. Colonel Plouernel inhaled with delight the early morning fragrance, and addressing Antonicq, who rode beside him, said:
"Oh, my boy! This sweet perfume, these wild smells, remind me of the moors of Brittany. I draw them in with full lungs."
"Brittany! It is the dream of my life! When I was still a boy my father took us to Vannes, on a pilgrimage to the sacred stones of Karnak. They rise not far from the spot where stood the cradle of our family at the time of Julius Caesar. I being then too young to understand it, my father only gave me a short account of our family history. Since then I have read it from beginning to end. I now have but one uppermost desire, and my father shares it. It is, should God put an end to these disastrous wars, to leave La Rochelle and settle down in Vannes. We may be able to purchase a patch of land on the seashore, near the stones of Karnak."
"Those sacred stones, the surviving witnesses of the voluntary sacrifice of your ancestress Hena, the virgin of the isle of Sen—that old Armorica, the independence of whichyour ancestor Vortigern defended so valiantly against the son of Charlemagne!"
"You may judge, colonel, what memories are awakened within us by that single word—Brittany."
"Well, my boy, it occurred to me quite recently that your and your father's wishes may easily be realized."
"How?"
"By virtue of his primogeniture, my brother is the sole owner of the vast hereditary domains belonging to our family in Auvergne and in Brittany. But the father of my dear wife Jocelyne, a good and honest Breton who resides in Brittany, owns an estate that lies not far from Karnak, along the seashore. Judging from what your father has told me of your family traditions, the estate is bound to consist, partly at least, of the fields once owned by your ancestor Joel the brenn of the tribe of Karnak. Now, then, if God should grant us peace again, nothing would be easier for me than to obtain from my wife's father either the sale or lease of a portion of those fields, and you could then settle down there with your family."
"Oh, colonel! I should be pleased to owe to you the happiness of living in Brittany, near the cradle of my family, together with father and mother, and my sisters, and Cornelia my sweetheart, who will then be my wife!"
"And yet, strange to say, my boy, your ancestors and mine have hated and fought each other across the ages. I must admit the fact—the law of nature justified the terrible reprisals of the conquered upon their conquerors, in those days of frightful oppression. It required the rudeschool of the religious wars to join in one common belief the children of Joel the Gaul and of Neroweg the Frank, as your father puts it. That first step in Evangelical fraternity marks an immense progress. Thus will traditional hatreds cool down little by little, and race antagonisms will be wiped out, as they have been wiped out between our two families, once such bitter enemies—"
"And now," Antonicq completed the sentence, "united by the bonds of firm friendship. May the same be kept ever green among our descendants."
"It is my fervent hope, my dear Antonicq. I am bringing up my children in that feeling. More than once have I cited to them incidents from your family legends, to the end that their young minds may be penetrated with the sense that the rights, the privileges, the titles of which the nobility boasts so loudly, and which it guards so jealously, have for their principle or origin the abominable acts of violence that conquest brings in its train."
During the conversation between Colonel Plouernel and Antonicq the regiment pursued its march under shelter of the ridge that it skirted. The further end of the ridge sloped gradually down to the level of the field, watered by the lake and the stream which protected the front of the royal camp. The attacking column, which, obedient to the orders of the Admiral, marched in silence, was expected to reach the open before sunrise, and thus be able to open the assault unexpectedly upon the strongly entrenched outposts, that were planted on the lake road. The execution of the plan was frustrated by the martial impatience of thevolunteers, whom Pastor Feron in his exaltation drove to a fever heat of excitement with his blind faith in the irresistible power of the arm of Israel. The Huguenots were still half an hour's march from the enemy when the pastor, who marched ahead of the silent drummers, suddenly intoned in a ringing voice the psalm well known to the Protestants:
No sooner had the pastor struck up the psalm with its biblical poetry, than each couplet was repeated in chorus by the Huguenots. Nothing could be more solemn than that choir of three thousand male and sonorous voices, rising from the silent plain, and seeming to salute with a martial hymn the first rays of that day of battle. Nevertheless, sadly inopportune, the canticle announced to the enemy the approach of the Protestants. Driven to despair by the infraction of the Admiral's orders, Colonel Plouernel sought at first to restore silence by addressing himself to the foremost companies. Vain hope; vain entreaties. The soldiers wrought themselves up with their own voice.
"Oh, this lack of discipline will ever be fatal to us!" observed Colonel Plouernel to Antonicq. "Thus have we almost always either endangered the success of a battle, or even lost the day that otherwise would positively have been ours! But the error is committed. The enemy is informed of our proximity. Let it at least be announced resolutely!"
And addressing the drummers:
"Boys, beat the double-quick!"
The drums immediately resounded without however drowning the voices of the Protestants—an imposing military orchestra. The column hastened its steps. After half an hour's rapid march its front ranks debouched into the open field. Piercing a heavy bank of clouds, the first rays of the sun crimsoned the face of a wide lake into which emptied a stream that itself was fed by a number of streamlets which descended from an elevated plateau, dominated by the burg of Roche-la-Belle. The lake and main streamwere hemmed in on the side of the royal entrenchments, and constituted the enemy's first line of defense. A thick chestnut forest rose to the left of the lake. The lake road ran at right angles, and was fortified by an earthwork, furnished with embrasures, and these armed with falconets. This light artillery could sweep the whole length of the water-courses, which had to be crossed in order to attack a palisaded ground, which, crenelated with loop-holes for the use of arquebusiers, completed the defenses of the Catholic army. Finally, a number of heavy guns, mounted upon a high embankment, could also play upon the water-course. A cross-fire thus rendered the crossing doubly dangerous. This particular peril would have been almost wholly escaped had the Admiral's orders been obeyed. Had the attacking column arrived noiselessly at break of day and taken the royalists by surprise when still rolled in slumbers, and before they could hurry to their light and heavy guns and form their ranks, the Huguenots could have crossed the stream and, soon supported by their whole army corps, could have led a powerful attack upon the enemy's position. It happened otherwise. The reverberations of the hymn sung by the Huguenots sounded the reveille to the enemy, and frustrated the Admiral's plans. From all sides the drums of the Catholics were sounding the call to arms when the first company of the Protestants debouched upon the plain. Colonel Plouernel ordered a halt, alighted from his horse, gathered his captains around him and, in order to avoid further mishaps said to them:
"We can no longer hope to take the enemy by surprise.I shall now communicate to you my new plan of attack."
Hardly had Colonel Plouernel uttered these words when they heard a lively rattle of arquebus fire from the lake road. He turned his eyes in that direction, unable at first to conjecture against whom the fire could be directed, seeing that he and his forces were beyond the reach of the shot. Immediately, however, the ricochetting of the balls over the surface of the lake attracted the colonel's attention, and he soon perceived here and there, at a considerable distance from one another, several casqued heads just above the surface of the water, and ever and anon diving below with the view of escaping the fire of the arquebusiers.
"It is the Franc-Taupin and his Avengers of Israel. They have been sounding for a ford across the lake and the stream!" exclaimed the colonel in high glee. "Their information will be of great use to us." But immediately he cried out: "Oh! one of the brave men has been struck!"