wished to purchase him and pull him in quarters in their public square. They afterwards proposed to exchange him for the brave Montbrun, chief of the Protestants of Dauphine, against whom the Parliament was then proceeding. Montbrun was executed and Besme killed by a person named Bretanville. in the park, some feet below the earth, an iron 23 Nevers, Gondi, Tavanne, etc. Nevers,Frederic de Gonzague, of the house of Muntone, Duke of Nevers, one of the authors of the St. Bartholomew massacre. 21 But insult and outrage, etc. It is impossible to know for certain whether Catharine de Medicis sent the head of the admiral to the pope at Rome, as the Protestants assert; but it is certain that his head was carried to the queen in a trunk full of papers, among which was a history of the times written by his own hand. Albret de Gondi, Marshal of Retz, a favorThere were likewise many memoranda on pub-ite of Catharine de Medicis. It was he who had lic affairs. One of these memoranda had for taught Charles IX. to swear and to deny God, its object to induce Charles to make war against as it was called at that time. the English. Charles IX. caused this paper to be read to the English ambassador, who complained to him of treason against the Protestants, and who only despised more the policy of the French court. Another memoir showed the danger to which the state would be exposed if he should settle a portion on his brother, the Duke of Alencon. It was shown to that young man, who lamented the death of the admiral. "I do not know," said he, after having read it, "if this memoir is from any of my friends, but it is certainly one from a faithful subject." The populace dragged the body of the admiral through the streets and hung it up by the feet with an iron chain on the Gibbet of Montfaucon. The king had the cruelty to go himself, with his court, to enjoy this horrible sight. One having remarked to him that the body of the admiral smelled badly, he answered, in the words of Vitellius, "The corpse of an enemy always smells well." He went to the Parliament to accuse the admiral of a conspiracy, and the Parliament gave a judgment against the dead man, by which it was ordered that his body, after being dragged on a hurdle, should be hung in Greve, his children be declared plebeians and incapable of any office, his house at Chatillon-sur-Loing razed to the ground, his trees cut down, and that every year there should be a procession on St. Bartholomew's day to thank God for the discovery of the conspiracy of which the admiral had never once even thought. In spite of this decree, his daughter, the widow of Teligni, shortly after married the Prince of Orange. The Parliament, some years before, had fixed a prize for his head of fifty thousand crowns. It is somewhat strange that this is precisely the sime price since placed on the head of Cardinal Mazarin. The genius of the French is to joke on the most tragic events. They sold a little pamphlet entitled “Passio domini nostri Gaspardi Coligni secundum Bartholomeum; literally in English, "the passion of our lord Gaspard Coligni, according to St. Bartholomew." Mezerai writes in his great history a fact which we must be allowed to doubt. He says that, some years before, the keeper of the convent of the Cordeliers of Saints, named Michael Crellet, condemned to the gallows by the admiral, forewarned him that he would be assassinated, thrown out of a window, and he himself hung. In our days, a financier, having purchased some land that had belonged to Coligni, found Tavanne,-A page brought up by Francis I. He ran through the streets the night of St. Bartholomew, crying, "bleed them! bleed them! bleeding is as good in the month of August as in the month of May!" His son, the author of some memoirs, says that his father, on his death-bed, made a general confession of the acts of his life; and when his confessor, with an air of astonishment, said to him, "Why, you do not mention the St. Bartholomew !" he replied, "I look upon that as a meritorious act that will efface my other sins." 24 Renel and Parduillon, etc. Anthony de Clermont Renel, trying to escape in his nightgown, was massacred by the son of the Baron of Adrets, and by his own cousin, Bursy d'Amboise. The Marquis of Parduillon was killed at his side. 25 Lavardin the wise, Querchy the brave, etc. Querchy for a long time defended himself in the street and killed several of his murderers, before being overcome with numbers; but the Marquis Lavardin had not time to draw his sword. 26 Marsillac and Soubise, etc. Marsillac, Count of Rochefoucault, was the favorite of Charles IX., and had passed a part of the night with the king. This prince had some wish to save him, and had even told him to sleep in the Louvre; but at last he suffered him to depart, saying, "I see God is willing he should perish."" Soubise was thus named from having married the heiress of the house of Soubise. He called himself Dupont Quellence. He fought for a long time, and fell, pierced with wounds, under the window of the queen. 27 In the midst of these butchers, etc. Brantome makes no scruple in confessing in his memoirs, "When it was day, the king put his head out of the window, and seeing some in the Faubourg St. Germain who were moving and escaping, he took a large hunting arque buse that he had, and fired at them with a full load; but it was in vain, for the arquebuse did not carry far enough, crying out, all the time, "Kill them, kill them!" Many persons have heard it related by Marshal de Tessi that, in his boyhood, he had seen a gentleman more than a hundred years old, who was, when very young, in the guards of Charles IX. He asked the old man about the St. Bartholomew, and whether it was true the king fired on the Huguenots. "It was myself," he replied, "that loaded the arquebuse. Henry IV. said in public, more than once, that after the slaughter of St. Bartholomew, a flock of crows came and perched on the Louvre, and that for seven nights the king himself and all the court heard groans and dreadful cries at the same hour. He related a still stranger prodigy. He said that, some days before the massacre, while playing with dice with the Duke of Alencon and the Duke of Guise, he saw drops of blood on the table, that twice he had them wiped off, that twice they reappeared, and that he left the play in a fright. to whom he had sold ten horses the day before. "La Force and his sons lived in the suburbs of St. Germain, as did also many Calvinists. There was at that time no bridge between the suburbs and the city. By order of the court, all the boats had been seized to carry the assassins to the suburbs. This horse-dealer swam the river, reached the opposite bank, and notified La Force of his danger. La Force had already left his house, he had still time to save himself, but seeing that his children did not This Valois, etc. There is found in the come, he returned to seek them. He had memoirs of Villeroi a speech of Henry III. to scarcely reached his house when the assassins one of his confidants, on the subject of St. arrived. One named Martin, their leader, enBartholomew, in which that prince exculpates ters his chamber, disarms him and his two chilCharles IX., and accuses his mother and him-dren, and tells them with terrible oaths that self. Charles IX., according to this account, they must die. La Force offers a ransom of was drawn on by the importunity of his moth- two thousand crowns, which the captain acer and brother, who confessed that the assassi- cepts. La Force swears to pay it in two days, nation of Coligni was by their orders, and that and immediately the assassins, after having it was necessary either to immolate them to the robbed the house, told La Force and his chiladmiral, or order the slaughter of the Protes- dren to carry their handkerchiefs on their hats, tants, for which they had taken measures be- and to turn back their right sleeve to the shoulforehand. M. Voltaire could not admit this der. This was the mark by which the murderstory without rendering Valois too odious, ers were known. In this state they made them nevertheless the account is not the less authen- cross the river and bring them to the city. The Marshal de la Force affirms that he saw the river covered with dead. His father, his brother, and himself landed before the Louvre. There they saw many of their friends slain, and among them the brave de l'iles, the father of him who killed in a duel the son of Malherbe. Captain Martin led them thence as prisoners to his house, in the street Petits Champs, and made them swear they would not leave the house, neither father nor sons, till the two thousand crowns were paid, left them under the guard of two Swiss soldiers, and went forth to seek other Calvinists to massacre in the city. tie. De Caumont, a child, etc. Caumont, who escaped the St. Bartholomew Massacre, is the famous Marshal de la Force who afterward obtained such great reputation, and lived to the age of eighty-four years. He left memoirs that have never been printed, and which should be in the family of La Force. Mezerai, in his great history, says that De Caumont, his father, and his brother slept in the same bed, that his father and brother were killed, and that he escaped as by a miracle. It is on the faith of this historian that I have placed this event in my poem. The circumstances on which Mezerai rests his recital did not allow me to question the fact as be relates it; but since, the Duke de la Force has shown me the memoirs of this same Marshal de la Force, written by his own hand. The marshal gives a different account of the circumstance. This shows how little historians are to be trusted. Here follows an extract of the singular circumstance as related by the marshal in his memoirs of the St. Bartholomew: "Two days previous to the slaughter of St. Bartholomew, the king had ordered the Parliament to release an officer who was in prison. The Parliament not having done so, the king sent some of his guards to open the prisondours and take the prisoner out by force. The next morning, the Parliament came and remonstrated with the king. All these gentlemen wore their arms in slings, to show Charles IX. that he had crippled justice. The matter made a great stir, and at the commencement of the massacre they persuaded the Huguenots, at first, that the tumult they heard was a sedition by the people, excited on account of this affair with the Parliament. "In the mean time, a horse-dealer, who had seen the Duke of Guise, with his satellites, enter the house of Admiral Coligni, and who, slipping in with the crowd, had witnessed his assassination, ran and notified Caumont de la Force, "One of the Swiss guards, touched with compassion, offered to save the prisoners. La Force would not consent. He said he had given his word, and he would rather die than forfeit it. An aunt of his had procured the two thousand crowns, and was on her way to deliver them to Captain Martin, when the Count of Coconas, the same who since had his head cut off, came to La Force and told him the Duke of Anjou wished to speak with him. Immediately he descended the stairs with the father and sons with heads bare and without cloaks. La Force saw at once that he was being led to death. He followed Coconas, imploring him to spare his two innocent children. The youngest, aged thirteen, and who has written this and was called James Nompar, raised his voice and accused the murderers of their crimes, telling them that God would punish them. In the mean time, the father and two children were brought to the end of the street Petits Champs. They poignarded the elder, who exclaimed, O my father, O my God, I am killed!' same time, the father fell, pierced with blows, on the body of his son. The younger, covered with their blood, but who, fortunately, had received no wound, had the presence of mind to exclaim, 'I am killed!' The murderers, supposing them all killed, left, saying, 'there is an end of all of them.' Some wretches came afterwards to rob the bodies. The young La Force had on a linen stocking. The marker of a ten At the nis court at Verdelet wanted that linen stocking. In taking it off, he amused himself in contemplating the body of this boy. Alas! it is a pity,' said he; he is a child, what could he have done?' These compassionate words induced La Force to raise his head gently and to say in a low voice, 'I am not yet dead." The poor man said, Keep still, my child, and wait patiently. In the evening he came for him, and said, 'Get up, they are gone.' He put an old cloak on his shoulders, and as he led him along, one of the murderers asked him, Who is that boy?' He replied, He is my nephew; he is tipsy; you see what a figure he makes. I am going to give him a good beating.' At length the poor marker brought him to his house, and asked thirty crowns for his reward. From that place, he went, disguised as a beggar, to the arsenal to M. Biron, a relative, and master of artillery. He was for some time concealed in the woman's chambers; finally, on the report that the court was making search for him, to make away with him, they managed to save him in the dress of a page by the name of Beaupay. 30 My life she had spared, etc. Many gentlemen attached to Henry IV. were killed in his chamber. They even followed them to the room of his wife, the queen, sister of Charles IX., who saved their lives by placing herself between them and the assassins. Henry IV. and the Prince of Conde, his cousin, were arrested, threatened with death and obliged to re nounce Calvinism. The priests afterward laid stress on this renunciation by treating him as an apostate. Historians have reported that Charles IX. and his mother went to the City Hall to witness the execution of Briquemant aud de Ca vagne, condemned to death as accomplices in the pretended conspiracy that was so basely imputed to the admiral; and that they obliged Henry IV. and the Prince of Conde to follow and accompany the king. 31 The example of Paris, etc. Couriers were at once sent to the governors of provinces and officers of the principal cities to order the massacre. Some time after, a counter order was sent, and the massacre still went on in spite of the order in some cities, in Lyons among others, where the party of the Guises was dominant. But in a great many the principal Catholics opposed the execution of these orders. Many Protestants were saved by their relatives, their friends, and even by some of the priests. Of this number was Tronchin, who remained many days hidden in a tun, and having retired to Geneva, became the parent stock of the family of that name. (End of Notes to Second Canto.) MOURNING ROBES. By Minnie S. Davis. WHEN the loved are taken from us, when the darling of the household is ravished from our sight, or a lovely sister lies still and cold, chiselled into marble by the touch of death; when a noble, manly brother, or beloved parent or companion, falls into that last, long sleep, the heart cries out in bitter anguish. Then we are cast off from our moorings, the horizon seems to narrow around us, and life's ocean is a tempestuous deep in which the spirit struggles vainly for a time to find a calmer sea which will lead to peaceful shores. We stand shuddering at the brink of the grave, reaching out our arms into the darkness there, calling for our loved to return. But they come not; once beyond the veil, celestial glories draw them heavenward. Ah, then how drear, how void, how desolate is life! The one treasure taken is magnified in imagination until the many left are worthless in comparison. Mary sat alone in her chamber, her young head bowed in unutterable sorrow. Yesterday, how happy! Then the sunshine of love nurtured the blossoms of gladness all along her way; but suddenly her sky was blackened, and a fearful storm swept all the beauty from her path. In the shaded parlor lay the lifeless form of her heart's companion, shrouded for the grave. God help her! now a widow, so late a bride! In another chamber were the sisters of Mary, with several female friends. They spoke in low tones; they were awed by the presence of death, and full of sympathy for the bereaved one; and yet, strange inconsistency, their talk was of fashion and style! Mourning bonnets and dress goods were scattered carelessly over the table, and their suitability and texture were under discussion. Will they intrude upon the sacred grief of the young widow with such incongruous trifles? Will they thus make the harsh realities of the grave still more apparent? "It is necessary,' replies relentless, heartless custom. erybody does so," says fashion; and "Ev "Alas!" says the rebellious soul, "it is meet that the broken-hearted should put on mourning robes as a type of their sor row." Had we no faith or hope beyond the grave, this might be well. But we in a Christian land, who have heard the voice of Jesus, and know that he passed through death that he might ascend on high to prepare for us mansions in heaven, should lay aside these dark and chilling symbols. They remind ever of the grave, of the last agony, and of the woful hour when the loved dust was placed in its cold and narrow bed. And do not those who mourn sit too often in the shadow of the tomb? Do they need aught to suggest thoughts of its woe and gloom? How would we remember our loved and lost? As we saw them in their happiest, noblest hours, or as chill and lifeless tenants of the grave? We recognize in those about us a personality independent of the fleshly form, and that we know is immortal; and when the first tumult of grief has subsided, this thought comes winged with consolation. The weeping Mary, looking into the grave of her buried Lord, saw angels clothed in white garments sitting there, and we, by faith, should see angels robed in purity and beauty taking the places of the frail mortal ones whose absence we deplore. But let us return to the stricken young creature whose grief is yet too deep for tears. Her sister entered the chamber, ying, "Dear Mary, will you come into the next room a minute?" She took her hand and led her, passive as a child, into the midst of her companions. "Ellen has almost finished your dress, now you must try it on." Mary looked at the black cashmere with crape trimmings, held up for her inspection, with a weary, absent manner. "I think this bonnet will be the most becoming," said Elizabeth, taking an elegant mourning bonnet from its box and placing it over the nut-brown hair of Mary. "Look in the glass, dear, does it not suit you?" What a pale, sorrowful face looked at her from the polished mirror, its pallor and sadness heightened by the effect of the mourning bonnet and the folds of the black dress lying over her arm. A wave of startled, agonizing feeling swept over the wan face, and Mary turned from the contemplation of herself with a shudder. "Take it off! take these things away!" she cried, in a piercing voice. "O Edward, Edward, must I wear black for you so soon?" She fell prostrate upon the floor, weeping wildly, frantically, tears streaming in rivers from her eyes, and harrowing sobs convulsing her bosom. Her sisters burst into sympathetic tears, yet the thought that the mourning attire, so shocking to the sensitive, tortured Mary, could be dispensed with, did not present itself to their minds. "Poor Mary!" said Ellen, "'tis only a little while since we dressed her for her bridal!" "God comfort you, dear sister!" said Elizabeth, softly, as she lifted up the slight form of the mourner and pillowed her head upon her breast. The silence which followed was broken by the sound of carriage-wheels stopping at the gate. Mary started convulsively, crying, the poor mother!" Oh, "Yes," said Ellen, "Mrs. Earle, Edward's mother, has come." "I will go and meet her." Mary rose to her feet with sudden, strange calmness, and though she tottered as she walked, would not accept her sister's offered arm. Mrs. Earle was a serious, sad-faced woman who for long years had not laid aside the weeds of mourning. She had drank the cup of sorrow to the dregs. She was a widow, and thrice, and yet again, had her mother heart been wrung with parting from a cherished child, and now the last of her household, the son of her old age, was taken. In the evening, Mary and Mrs. Earle sat side by side. They had wept together, their spirits had embraced in transports of grief and love, and now, striving for calmness, they were talking in broken tones of the loved Edward, whose voice was forever hushed in death. 66 'Mother," said Mary, "I shrink from putting on the sad garments of mourning. Sisters tell me that I must, - that it is - the way to show my respect for Edward's memory, but I cannot feel so. I remember, on our wedding-day a lady called on us dressed in mourning. There was nothing white about her to relieve the sombre effect of her dress except her handkerchief, and that was deeply edged with black. I am very impressible, easily affected by external things, and her presence was a cloud in my beautiful little parlor. I felt chilled and uncomfortable while she stayed, and greatly relieved to see her take her departure. Then I laid my head on Edward's breast, and told him all my foolish thoughts. Ah, never more can I go to him for comfort or advice!" Here she broke down in a burst of tears, and the mother drew her near and kissed her with quivering lips. And what did Edward say?" This was asked after Mary had grown somewhat calm again. 66 "He said that he, brave, healthy man that he was, had often felt so, and he believed many sensitive, finely-strung natures suffered in assuming the dismal dress prescribed by custom. He said he did not like the fashion, for in many cases it seemed a solemn mockery, for sometimes pomp and vanity displayed themselves in fashionable mourning' to a painful degree. And then the truly sorrowing are too constantly reminded of the grave and the agony of parting, when they should be striving to rise into a higher, holier atmosphere, that they might be made better by affliction.". "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted,'" said Mrs. Earle, solemnly; "so our Saviour said, but Mary, dear child, I have hardly found that comfort, yet. My heart has bled too often!" you had faith in God and Christ and immortality, but it was a faith without life or expression; and he hoped my girlish, pleasant ways might win you to cheerfulness." "Did Edward say this? dear, noble boy! And it is true! I pained him and injured myself by my gloomy dress, by my want of faith and submission to God's will." "Now tell me, mother," said Mary, after a long pause, "tell me what to do. You know the influence of these things! Shall I put on the mourning clothes my sisters have prepared, or shall I dress without any marked change, plainly, though, as Edward would like?" "As Edward would have you, my child!" was the sobbing reply. "I know my motives will not be understood," said Mary, "but you, mother, and Edward in heaven know how I loved, and that my heart is broken!" The mother clasped the slight form of the weeping girl in her arms, and above her drooping head she prayed, 'mid the aching conflict in her breast, that God would send his Comforter to both. From that time Mary and Edward's mother dwelt together. A tie of inexpressible tenderness bound their hearts in one. "Time brought healing on his wings," and peace brooded over the little cottage where joy had been. Again the rose bloomed on Mary's cheek, and her step was light as she tripped about her household duties. Her girlish gayety never returned, but she wore a smile which became her better, a sweet, tranquil smile, -telling of a heart made serene and elevated by communion with heavenly things. After a few years, Mrs. Earle, blessing Mary for her love and kindness, lay down to rest in death. Her mourning attire was put aside forever, and they placed a white robe on the aged form and laid flowers upon her breast. In that moment, Mary yearned to follow her departed friend. It was hard to turn back to earth, but grace was given her. She still lives, - a patient, trustful, Christian woman; and those who feel the charm of her gentle manner say that she is one of earth's "angels." |