 CHAPTER 8 THE LEAGUE, PART II Henry III having no moral principles to guide him in anything, and having no generous affections of any kind, in carrying out his plan of wielding the energies of the League without any scruples of conscience issued the infamous Edict of Namur in 1585, which commanded every Protestant minister to leave the kingdom within one month and every member of the Reformed faith either to abjure his religion and accept the Catholic faith or to depart from France within six months. The penalty for disobedience in either of these cases was death and the confiscation of property. This Edict was executed with great rigor and many were burned at the stake. Henry of Navarre was amazed and for a time overwhelmed in receiving the news of this atrocious decree. He clearly foresaw that it must arouse France and all Europe to war and that a new Iliad of woes was to commence. Leaning his chin upon his hand he was for a long time lost in profound reverie as he pondered the awful theme. It is said that his anguish was so intense that when he removed his hand his beard and mustache on that side were turned entirely gray. But Henry rose with the emergence and met the crisis with a degree of energy and magnanimity which elicited in those barbarous times, the admiration even of his enemies. The Protestants heroically grasped their arms and rallied together for mutual protection. War with all its horrors was immediately resumed. Affairs were in this condition when Francis, the Duke of Anjou, was taken sick and suddenly died. This removed another obstruction from the field intended to hasten the crisis. Henry III was feeble, exhausted, and childless. Worn out by shameless dissipation it was evident to all that he must soon sink into his grave. Who was to be his successor? This was the question above all others which agitated France and Europe. Henry of Navarre was beyond all question, legitimately entitled to the throne, but he was, in the estimation of France, a heretic. The League consequently, in view of the impending peril of having a Protestant king, redoubled its energies to exclude him and to enthrone their bigoted partisan, Henry of Guise. It was a terrific struggle. The Protestants saw suspended upon its issue their property, their religious liberty, their lives, their earthly all. The Catholics were stimulated by all the energies of the Naticism and Defense of the Church. All Catholic Europe espoused the one side, all Protestant Europe, the other. One single word was enough to arrest all these woes. That word was toleration. When Henry III published his famous Edict of Namur, commanding the conversion, the expulsion, or the death of the Protestants, Henry of Navarre issued another edict, replying to the column knees of the League, and explaining his actions and his motives. Then adopting a step characteristic of the chivalry of the times, he dispatched a challenge to the Duke of Guise, defying him to single combat, or, if he objected to that, a combat of two with two, ten with ten, or a hundred with a hundred. In this challenge, said Henry, I call heaven to witness that I am not influenced by any spirit of bravado, but only by the desire of deciding a quarrel which will otherwise cost the lives of thousands. To this appeal the Duke made no reply. It was by no means for his interest to meet on equal terms those whom he could easily outnumber two or three to one. Though the situation of Henry of Navarre seemed now almost desperate, he maintained his courage and his hope unshaken. His estates were unhesitatingly sold to raise funds. His friends parted with their jewels for gold to obtain the means to carry on the war. But with his utmost efforts he could raise an army of but four or five thousand men to resist two armies of twenty thousand each headed by the Duke of Guise and by his brother, the Duke of Mayenne. Fortunately for Henry there was but little military capacity in the League, and notwithstanding their vast superiority in numbers they were continually circumvented in all their plans by the energy and valor of the Protestants. The King of France was secretly rejoiced at the discomforture of the Leaguers, yet expressing dissatisfaction with the Duke of Guise, he entrusted the command of the armies to one of his petted favorites, Joieuse, a rash and fearless youth, who was as prompt to revel in the carnage of the battlefield as in the voluptuousness of the palace. The King knew not whether to choose victory or defeat for his favorite. Victory would increase the influence and the renown of one strongly attached to him, and would thus enable him more successfully to resist the encroachments of the Duke of Guise. Defeat would weaken the overbearing power of the Leaguers and enable Henry III more securely to retain his position by the balance of the two rival parties. Joieuse ardent and inexperienced and despising the feeble band he was to encounter was eager to display his prowess. He pressed eagerly to assail the King of Navarre. The two armies met upon a battlefield a few leagues from Bordeaux. The army of Joieuse was chiefly of gay and effeminate courtiers and young nobles who had too much pride to lack courage but who possessed but little physical vigor and who were quite unused to the hardships and the vicissitudes of war. On the morning of the 20th of October, 1589, as the sun rose over the hills of Périgor, the two armies were facing each other upon the plains of Coutre. The Leaguers were decked with unusual splendor and presented a glittering array with gorgeous banners and waving plumes and uniforms of satin and velvet embroidered by the hands of the ladies of the court, the number twelve thousand men. Henry of Navarre with admirable military skill had posted his six thousand hearty peasants dressed in tattered skins to meet the onset. And now occurred one of the most extraordinary scenes which history has recorded. It was a source of constant grief to the devout Protestant leaders that Henry of Navarre notwithstanding as many noble traits of character was not a man of pure morality. Just before the battle, Du Plessis, a Christian and a hero, approached the King of Navarre and said, Sire, it is known to all that you have sinned against God and injured a respectable citizen of Rochelle by the seduction of his daughter. We cannot hope that God will bless our arms in this approaching battle while such as sin remains unrepented up and unrepaired. The King dismounted from his horse and, uncovering his head, avowed in the presence of the whole army his sincere grief for what he had done. He called all to witness that he thus publicly implored forgiveness of God and of the family he had injured, and he pledged his word that he would do everything in his power to repair the wrong. The troops were then called to prayers by the ministers. Every man in the ranks fell upon his knees while one of the clergy implored God to forgive the sin of their chieftain and to grant them protection and victory. The strange movement was seen from the Catholic camp. My death exclaimed joyous. The paltrons are frightened. Look, they kneel, imploring our mercy. Do not deceive yourself, replied an old captain. When the Ugano get into that position, they are ready for hard fighting. The brilliant battalions of the enemy now began to deploy. Someone spoke of the splendor of their arms. Henry smiled and replied, We shall have the better aim when the fight begins. Another ventured to intimate that the ministers had rebuked him with needless severity. He replied, We cannot be too humble before God nor too brave before men. Then turning to his followers, with tears in his eyes, he addressed to them a short and noble speech. He deplored the calamities of war, and solemnly declared that he had drawn arms only in self-defense. Let them, said he, perish, who are the authors of this war, may the bloodshed this day rest upon them alone. To his two prominent generals, the Prince of Condé and the Count de Soissons, he remarked with a smile. To you I shall say nothing, but that you are of the house of Bourbon, and please, God, I will show you this day that I am your elder. CHAPTER 8 THE LEAGUE PART III The battle almost immediately ensued. Like all fierce fights it was for a time but a delirious scene of horror, confusion, and carnage. But the Protestants with sinewy arms hewed down their effeminate foes, and with infantry and cavalry swept to and fro resistlessly over the plain. The white plume of Henry of Navarre was ever seen waving in the tumultuous throng wherever the battle was waged the fiercest. There was a singular blending of the facetious with the horrible in this sanguinary scene. Throughout the battle the Protestant preachers in Ernest's sermons had compared Henry with David at the head of the Lord's chosen people. In the midst of the bloody fray when the field was covered with the dying and the dead Henry grappled one of the standard bearers of the enemy. At that moment humorously reminded of the flattering comparison of the preachers he shouted with waggery which even the excitement of the battle could not repress surrender you on circumcised Philistine. In the course of one hour three thousand of the leaguers were weltering and blood upon the plain joyous himself their leader being among the dead. The defeat of the Catholics was so entire that not more than one fourth of their number escaped from the field of Kutra. The victors were immediately assembled upon the bloody field and after prayers and thanksgiving they sung with exultant lips. The Lord appears my helper now nor is my faith afraid what all the sons of earth can do since heaven affords its aid. Henry was very magnanimous in the hour of victory when someone asked what terms he should now demand after so great a discomforture of his foes he replied the same as before the battle. In reading the records of these times one is surprised to see how mirth, festivity, and magnificence are blended with blood, misery, and despair. War was desolating France with woes which two thousands of families must have made existence a curse and yet amid these scenes we catch many glimpses of merriment and gaiety. At one time we see Henry the third weeping and groaning upon his bed an utter wretchedness and again he appears before us reveling with his disillude companions in the wildest carousels. While Henry of Navarre was struggling with his foes upon the field of battle, Marguerite, his wife, was dancing and flirting with congenial paramours amid all the guilty pleasures of the court. Henry wrote repeatedly for her to come and join him, but she vastly preferred the voluptuousness of the capital to the gloom and hardships of the Protestant camp. She never loved her husband, and while she wished that he might triumph and thus confer upon her the illustrious rank of the Queen of France, she still rejoiced in his absence as it allowed her that perfect freedom which she desired. When she saw indications of approaching peace she was so apprehensive that she might thus be placed under constraint by the presence of her husband that she did what she could to perpetuate civil war. It will be remembered that several of the fortified cities of France were in the hands of the Protestants. Henry of Navarre held his comparatively humble court in the town of Ajon, where he was very much beloved and respected by the inhabitants. Though far from irreproachable in his morals, the purity of his court was infinitely superior to that of Henry III and his mother Catherine. Henry of Navarre was, however, surrounded by a body of gay and light-hearted young nobleman whose mirth-loving propensities and whose often indecorous festivities he could not control. One evening, at a general ball, these young gentlemen extinguished the lights, and in the darkness a scene of much scandal ensued. Henry was severely censured by the Protestant clergy and by many others of his friends for not holding the members of his court in more perfect control. His popularity suffered so severely from this occurrence that it even became necessary for Henry to withdraw his court from the town. Catherine and Marguerite, accompanied by a retinue of the most voluptuously beautiful girls of France, set out to visit the court of Henry of Navarre, which had been transferred to Néruc. Henry, hearing of their approach, placed himself at the head of five hundred gentlemen and hastened to meet his mother-in-law and his wife, with their characteristic and congenial train. These were the instrumentalities with which Catherine and Marguerite hoped to bend the will of Henry and his friends to suit their purposes. Catherine had great confidence in the potency of the influence which these pliant maidens could wield, and they were all instructed in the part which they were to act. She was accustomed to call these allies her flying squadron. They were then ensued a long series of negotiations, mingled with mirth, gallantry, and intrigue, but the result of which was a treaty highly conducive to the interests of the Protestants. Various places were designated where their religion should be freely tolerated, and in which they were to be allowed to build conventicals. They were also permitted to raise money for the support of their ministers, and fourteen cities were surrendered to their government. All incidents occurred during these negotiations very characteristic of the corrupt manners of the times. Marguerite devoted herself most energetically to the promotion of the success of Henry's plans. Catherine found herself notwithstanding all her artifice and all the peculiar seductions of her female associates, completely foiled by the sagacity and firmness of Henry. She had brought with her Monsieur de Peebrock, a man very celebrated for his glowing eloquence and for his powers of persuasion. The oratory of Peebrock, combined with the blandishments of the ladies, were those cooperative influences which the Queen imagined none would be able to resist. Marguerite, however, instructed in the School of Catherine succeeded in obtaining entire control over the mind of Peebrock herself, and he became a perfect tool in her hands. Catherine, thus foiled, was compelled to grant far more favorable terms to the Protestants than she had contemplated. La Riolle was one of the towns of security surrendered to the Protestants. There was, however, so little of good faith in that day that notwithstanding the pledge of honor, possession of the place could only be retained by vigilance. The government of the town had been conferred upon a veteran Protestant general by the name of Usak. His days from early youth had been passed on fields of battle. He was now far advanced in years, in feeble health, and dreadfully disfigured by wounds received in the face. One of the most fascinating ladies of the Queen Mother lavished such endearments upon the old man, already in his dotage, that he lost his principles and all self-control and made himself very ridiculous by assuming the heirs of a young lover. Henry had the imprudence to join in the mockery with which the court regarded his tenderness. This was an indignity which an old man could never forget. Instigated by his beautiful seducer, he became entirely unmindful of those principles of honor which had embellished his life, and in revenge invited a Roman Catholic general to come and take possession of the town. Henry was informed of this act of treachery while dancing at a very brilliant entertainment given in his palace. He quietly whispered to Tyrann and Sully and a few others of his most intimate friends, requesting them to escape from the room, gather around him such armed men as they could, and join him at a rendezvous in the country. They all stole unperceived from the mirthful party, concealed their swords beneath their cloaks, traveled all night, and arrived just as the day began to dawn before the gates of the city. They found the place as they had expected, entirely unprepared for such a sudden attack, and rushing in regained it without difficulty. The Catholic soldiers retreated to the castle where they held out a few days and many of them perished in the assault by which it was soon taken. Such was the character of the nominal peace which now existed. A partisan warfare was still continued throughout France. Catherine and her maids did everything in their power to excite dissensions between the Protestant leaders. In this they succeeded so well that the Prince of Conde became so exasperated against Tyrann as to challenge him to single combat. Such a peace as we have above described could not of course be lasting. Both parties were soon again gathering all their forces for war. There is a tedious monotony in the recitals of the horrors of battle. Cities bombarded and sacked and burned. Shells exploding in the cradle of infancy and in the chambers of mothers and maidens. Mutilated bodies trampled beneath the hoofs of horses. The cry of the maddened onset, the shrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dying. The despair of the widow and the orphan, smoldering ruins of once happy homes. The fruits of the husbandmen's toils trodden into the mire, starvation, misery and death. These are ever the fruits of war. During the short interval of peace many attempts had been made to assassinate Henry of Navarre by the partisans of the Duke of Guise. Henry was, one fine morning, setting out with a few friends for a ride of pleasure. Just as the party was leaving the courtyard, he was informed that an assassin, very powerfully mounted, was prepared to meet him on the way in to take his life. Henry apparently paid no heed to the warning but rode along, conversing gaily with his friends. They soon met, in a retired part of the way, a stranger, armed according to the custom of the times, and mounted upon a very magnificent steed which had been prepared for him to facilitate his escape after the accomplishment of the fell deed. He immediately rode up to the assassin, addressed him in terms of great familiarity and cordiality, and professing to admire the beautiful charger upon which he was mounted, requested him to dismount, that he might try the splendid animal. The man, bewildered, obeyed the wishes of the king. When Henry leaped into the saddle and seizing the two loaded pistols at the saddle-bow, looked the man sternly in the eye and said, I am told that you seek to kill me. You are now in my power, and I could easily put you to death, but I will not harm you. He then discharged the two pistols in the air, and permitted the humiliated man to mount his horse and ride away unharmed. End of section 22 Section 23 of History of Henry IV, King of France and Navarre by John Stevens, Cabot Abbot. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Pamela Nagami. Chapter 9. The Assassination of the Duke of Guise, and of Henry III, Part 1. The war, again resumed, was fiercely prosecuted. Henry III remained most of the time in the gilded saloons of the Louvre, irritable and wretched, and yet incapable of any continued efficient exertion. Many of the zealous leaguers, indignant at the pusillanimity he displayed, urged the Duke of Guise to dethrone Henry III by violence, and openly to declare himself King of France. They assured him that the nation would sustain him by their arms. But the Duke was not prepared to enter upon so bold a measure, as he hoped that the death of the king would soon present to him a far more favorable opportunity for the assumption of the throne. Henry III was in constant fear that the Duke whose popularity in France was almost boundless might supplant him, and he therefore forbade him to approach the metropolis. Notwithstanding this prohibition, the haughty Duke, accompanied by a small party of his intrepid followers, as if to pay court to his sovereign, boldly entered the city. The populace of the capital ever ripe for excitement and insurrection greeted him with boundless enthusiasm. Thousands thronged the broad streets through which he passed with a small but brilliant retinue. Ladies crowded the windows, waving scarves, cheering him with smiles, and showering flowers at his feet. The cry resounded along the streets, penetrating even the apartments of the Louvre, and falling appallingly upon the ear of the king. Welcome, welcome, great Duke. Now you are come, we are safe. Henry III was amazed and terrified by this insolence of his defiant subject. In bewilderment he asked those about him what he should do. Give me the words at a kernel of the garden I will plunge my sword through his body. Smite the shepherd, added one of the king's spiritual counselors, and the sheep will disperse. But Henry feared to exasperate the populace of Paris by the assassination of a noble so powerful and so popular. In the midst of this consultation the Duke of Guise, accompanied by the Queen Mother Catherine, whom he had first called upon, entered the Louvre, and passing through the numerous bodyguard of the king whom he saluted with much affability, presented himself before the feeble monarch. The king looked sternly upon him, and without any word of greeting exclaimed angrily. Did I not forbid you to enter Paris? Sire, the Duke replied firmly but with affected humility, I came to demand justice and to reply to the accusations of my enemies. The interview was short and unrelenting. The king exasperated almost beyond endurance, very evidently hesitated whether to give the signal for the immediate execution of his dreaded foe. There were those at his side with arms in their hands, who were eager instantly to obey his bidding. The Duke of Guise perceived the imminence of his danger, and feigning sudden indisposition immediately retired. In his own almost regal mansion he gathered around him his followers and his friends, and thus placed himself in a position where even the arm of the sovereign could not venture to touch him. There were now in Paris, as it were, two rival courts, emulating each other in splendor and power. The one was that of the king at the Louvre, the other was that of the Duke in his palace. It was rumored that the Duke was organizing a conspiracy to arrest the king and hold him a captive. Henry III, to strengthen his bodyguard, called a strong force of Swiss mercenaries into the city. The retainers of the Duke, acting under the secret instigation of their chieftain, roused the populace of Paris to resist the Swiss. Barricades were immediately constructed by filling barrels with stones and earth. Chains were stretched across the streets from house to house, and organized bands, armed with pikes and muskets, threatened even the gates of the Louvre. A conflict soon ensued, and the Swiss guard were defeated by the mob at every point. The Duke of Guise, though he secretly guided all these movements, remained in his palace, affecting to have no share in the occurrences. Night came. Confusion and tumult rioted in the city. The insurgent populace intoxicated and maddened, swarmed around the walls of the palace, and the king was besieged. This spiritless and terrified monarch, disguising himself in humble garb, crept to his stables, mounted a fleet horse, and fled from the city. Riding at full speed, he sought refuge in Chartres, a walled town forty miles southeast of Paris. The flight of the king, before an insurgent populace was a great victory to the Duke. He was thus left in possession of the metropolis without any apparent act of rebellion on his own part, and it became manifestly his duty to do all in his power to preserve order in the capital, thus surrendered to anarchy. The Duke had ever been the idol of the populace, but now nearly the whole population of Paris, and especially the influential citizens, looked to him as their only protector. Some, however, with great heroism still adhered to the cause of the king. The Duke of Guise sent for Achille de Achle, president of the council, an endeavour to win him over to his cause, that he might thus sanction his usurpation by legal forms. But de Achle, fixing his eyes steadfastly upon the Duke, fearlessly said, "'Tis indeed pitiable when the valet expels his master. As for me, my soul belongs to my maker, and my fidelity belongs to the king. My body alone is in the hands of the wicked. Do you talk of assembling the parliament? When the majesty of the princes violated, the magistrate is without authority. The intrepid president was seized and imprisoned. The followers of Henry III soon gathered around him at Chartres, and he fortified himself strongly there. The Duke of Guise, though still protesting great loyalty, immediately assumed at Paris the authority of a sovereign. He assembled around him strong military forces professively to protect the capital from disturbance. For a month or two negotiations were conducted between the two parties for a compromise, each fearing the other too much to appeal to the decisions of the sword. At last Henry III agreed to appoint the Duke of Guise, lieutenant general of France and high constable of the kingdom. He also, while pledging himself anew to wage a war of extermination against the Protestants, promised to bind the people of France by an oath to exclude from the succession to the throne all persons suspected even of Protestantism. This would effectually cut off the hopes of Henry of Navarre and secure the crown to the Duke of Guise upon the death of the king. Both of the antagonists now pretended to a sincere reconciliation, and Henry, having received Guise at Chartres with open arms, returned to Paris meditating how he might secure the death of his dreaded and powerful rival. Imprisonment was not to be thought of, for no fortress in France could long hold one so idolized by the populace. The king applied in person to one of his friends, a brave and honest soldier by the name of Clio, to assassinate the Duke. I am not an executioner, the soldier proudly replied, and the function does not become my rank, but I will challenge the Duke to open combat and will cheerfully sacrifice my life that I may take his. This plan, not meeting with the views of the king, he applied to one of the commanders of his guard, named Lognac. This man had no scruples, and with alacrity undertook to perform the deed. Henry having retired to the castle of Blois, about one hundred miles south of Paris, arranged all the details while he was daily with the most consummate hypocrisy, receiving his victim with courteous words and smiles. The king summoned a council to attend him in his cabinet at Blois on the twenty-third of December, fifteen eighty-eight. It was appointed at an early hour, and the Duke of Guise attended without his usual retinue. He had been repeatedly warned to guard against the treachery of Henry, but his reply was, I do not know that man on earth who hand to hand with me would not have his full share of fear. Besides, I am always so well attended that it would not be easy to find me off my guard. The Duke arrived at the door of the cabinet, after passing through long files of the king's bodyguard. Just as he was raising the tapestry which veiled the entrance, Lognac sprang upon him and plunged a dagger into his throat. Henry immediately joined in the assault, and the Duke dropped, pierced with innumerable wounds, dead upon the floor. Henry, hearing the noise and knowing well what it signified, very coolly stepped from his cabinet into the antechamber, and looking calmly upon the bloody corpse said, Do you think he is dead, Lognac? Yes, sire, Lognac replied, he looks like it. Good God, how tall he is, said the king. He seems taller dead than when he was living. Then giving the gory body a kick, he exclaimed, venomous beast, thou shall cast forth no more venom. In the same manner the Duke had treated the remains of the noble admiral Coligny, a solemn comment upon the declaration, with what measure ye meet, it shall be measured to you again. Cardinal Guise, the brother of the Duke, was immediately arrested by order of the king, and sent to prison where he was assassinated. Henry III soon after repair to the bedside of Catherine his mother who was lying sick in one of the chambers of the castle. Nothing can show more clearly the character of the times and of the personages than the following Lognac dialogue which ensued. How do you do, mother, this morning, inquired the king? I am better than I have been, she replied. So am I, Henry rejoined gaily, for I have made myself this morning king of France by putting to death the king of Paris. Take care, this hardened woman exclaimed, that you do not soon find yourself king of nothing. Diligence and resolution are now absolutely necessary for you. She then turned upon her pillow, without the slightest apparent emotion. In twelve days from this time this wretched queen, deformed by every vice, without one single redeeming virtue, breathed her last seventy years of age. She was despised by the Catholics and hated by the Protestants. These acts of violence and crime roused the league to the most intense energy. The murder of the Duke of Guise and especially the murder of his brother, a cardinal in the church, were acts of impiety which no atonement could expiate. Though Henry was a Catholic, and all his agents in these atrocious murders were Catholics, the death of the Duke of Guise increased vastly the probability that Protestant influences might become dominant at court. The Pope issued a bull of excommunication against all who should advocate the cause of Henry III. The Sorbonne published a decree declaring that the king had forfeited all right to the obedience of his subjects, and justifying them in taking up arms against him. The clergy from the pulpit refused communion, absolution, and burial in holy ground to everyone who yielded obedience to the perfidious at the state and tyrant, Henry of Valois. The league immediately chose the Duke of Mayenne, a surviving brother of the Duke of Guise as its head. The Pope issued his anathemas against Henry III and Spain sent her armies to unite with the league. Henry now found it necessary to court the assistance of the Protestants. He dreaded to take this step for he was superstitious in the extreme, and he could not endure the thought of any alliance with heretics. He had still quite a formidable force which adhered to him, for many of the highest nobles were disgusted with the arrogance of the Guises and were well aware that the enthronement of the House of Guise would secure their own banishment from court. The triumph of the league would be totaled as comforture to the Protestants. No freedom of worship or of conscience whatever would be allowed them. It was therefore for the interest of the Protestants to sustain the more moderate party hostile to the league. It was estimated that about one-sixth of the inhabitants of France were at that time Protestants. Wretched war scathes, France was now distracted by three parties. First there were the Protestants contending only in self-defense against persecution and yet earnestly praying that upon the death of the King, Henry of Navarre, the legitimate successor might ascend the throne. Next came those Catholics who were friendly to the claims of Henry from their respect for the ancient law of succession. Then came, combined in the league, the bigoted partisans of the Church resolved to exterminate from Europe with fire and sword the detested heresy of Protestantism. Henry III was now at the castle of Blois. Paris was hostile to him. The Duke of Mayenne, younger brother of the Duke of Guise, at the head of five thousand soldiers of the league, marched to the metropolis where he was received by the Parisians with unbounded joy. He was urged by the populace and the parliament in Paris to proclaim himself King, but he was not as yet prepared for so decisive a step. No tongue can tell the misery which now pervaded ill-fated France. Some cities were Protestant, some were Catholic, division and war and blood were everywhere. Armed bands swept to and fro, and conflagration and slaughter deluged the kingdom. The King immediately sent to Henry of Navarre, promising to confirm many political privileges upon the Protestants and to maintain Henry's right to the throne if he would aid him in the conflict against the league. The terms of reconciliation were soon effected. Henry of Navarre, then leaving his army to advance by rapid marches, rode forward with his retinue to meet his brother-in-law, Henry of Valois. He found him at one of the ancient palaces of France, Place les Tours. The two monarchs had been friends in childhood, but they had not met for many years. The King of Navarre was urged by his friends not to trust himself in the power of Henry III, for, said they, the King of France desires nothing so much as to obtain reconciliation with the Pope, and no offering can be so acceptable to the Pope as the death of a heretic prince. Henry hesitated a moment when he arrived upon an eminence which commanded a distant view of the palace. Then exclaiming, God guides me and he will go with me, he plunged his spurs into his horse's side and galloped forward. END OF SECTION XXIII. The two monarchs met, each surrounded with a gorgeous retinue, in one of the magnificent avenues which conducted to the castle. Forgetting the animosities of years and remembering only the friendships of childhood, they cast themselves cordially into each other's arms. The multitude around rent the air with their acclamations. Henry of Navarre now addressed the manifesto to all the inhabitants of France in behalf of their woe-stricken country. I conjure you all, said he, Catholics as well as Protestants, you have pity on the state and on yourselves. We have all done and suffered evil enough. We have been four years intoxicate, insensate, and furious. Is not this sufficient? Has not God smitten us all enough to allay our fury and to make us wise at last? But passion was too much aroused to allow such appeals to be heeded. Battle after battle with ever-varying success ensued between the combined forces of the King and Henry of Navarre on one side and of the League aided by many of the princes of Catholic Europe on the other. The storms of winter swept over the freezing armies and the smoldering towns, and the wail of the victims of horrid war blended with the moanings of the gale. Spring came, but it brought no joy to desolate, distracted, wretched France. Summer came, and the bright sun looked down upon barren fields and upon a bleeding, starving, fighting nation. Henry of Navarre, in command of the royal forces, at the head of thirty thousand troops, was besieging Paris, which was held by the Duke of Mayenne, and boldly and skillfully was conducting his approaches to a successful termination. The cause of the League began to wane. Henry III had taken possession of the Castle of St. Clue, and from its elevated windows looked out with joy upon the bold assaults and the advancing works. The leaders of the League now resolved to resort again to the old weapon of assassination. Henry III was to be killed. But no man could kill him unless he was also willing to sacrifice his own life. The Duchess of Montponsier, sister of the Duke of Guise, for the accomplishment of this purpose won the love by caressings and endearments of Jacques Clemence, an ardent, enthusiastic monk of wild and romantic imaginings and of the most intense fanaticism. The beautiful Duchess surrendered herself without any reserve whatever to the paramour she had enticed to her arms, that she might obtain the entire supremacy over his mind. Clemence concealed a dagger in his bosom and then went out from the gates of the city accompanied by two soldiers and with a flag of truce, ostensibly to take a message to the King. He refused to communicate his message to anyone but the Monarch himself. Henry III, supposing it to be a communication of importance, perhaps a proposition to surrender, ordered him to be admitted immediately to his cabinet. Two persons only were present with the King. The monk entered and kneeling drew a letter from the sleeve of his gown, presented it to the King, and instantly drawing a large knife from its concealment, plunged it into the entrails of his victim. The King uttered a piercing cry, caught the knife from his body and struck at the head of his murderer, wounding him above the eye. The two gentlemen who were present instantly thrust their swords through the body of the assassin and he fell dead. The King groaning with anguish was undressed and borne to his bed. The tidings spread rapidly and soon reached the ears of the King of Novar, who was a few miles distant at Mudon. He galloped to Sanklu and knelt with gushing tears at the couch of the dying Monarch. Henry III embraced him with apparently the most tender affection. In broken accents, interrupted with groans of anguish, he said, If my wound proves mortal, I leave my crown to you as my legitimate successor. If my will can have any effect, the crown will remain as firmly upon your brow as it was upon that of Charlemagne. He then assembled his principal officers around him and enjoined them to unite for the preservation of the monarchy and to sustain the claims of the King of Novar as the indisputable heir to the throne of France. A day of great anxiety passed slowly away, and as the shades of evening settled down over the palace it became manifest to all that the wound was mortal. The wounded Monarch writhed upon his bed in fearful agony. At midnight Henry of Novar who was busily engaged, superintending some of the works of the siege was sent for as the King of France was dying. Accompanied by a retinue of thirty gentlemen, he proceeded at full speed to the gates of the castle where the Monarch was struggling in the grasp of the King of Terror. It is difficult to imagine the emotions which must have agitated the soul of Henry of Novar during this dark and gloomy ride. The day had not yet dawned when he arrived at the gates of the castle. The first tidings he received were, The King is Dead. It was the 2nd of August, 1589. Henry of Novar was now Henry IV, King of France. But never did Monarch ascend the throne under circumstances of greater perplexity and peril. Never was a more distracted kingdom placed in the hands of a new Monarch. Henry was now thirty-four years of age. The whole kingdom was convulsed by warring factions. For years France had been desolated by all the most virulent elements of religious and political animosity. All hearts were demoralized by familiarity with the dagger of the assassin and the carnage of the battlefield. Almost universal to pravati had banished all respect for morality and law. The whole fabric of society was utterly disorganized. Under these circumstances Henry developed that energy and sagacity which have given him a high position among the most renowned of earthly monarchs. He immediately assembled around him that portion of the royal army in whose fidelity he could confide. Without the delay of an hour he commenced dictating letters to all the monarchies of Europe, announcing his accession to the throne and soliciting their aid to confirm him in his legitimate rights. As the new sovereign entered the chamber of the deceased king he found the corpse surrounded by many of the Catholic nobility of France. They were ostentatiously solemnizing the obsequies of the departed monarch. He heard many low mutterings from these zealous partisans of Rome that they would rather die a thousand deaths than allow a Protestant king to ascend the throne. Henry eyes glared upon him from the tumultuous and mutinous crowd, and had not Henry retired to consult for his own safety he also might have fallen the victim of assassination. In the intense excitement of these hours the leading Catholics held a meeting and appointed a committee to wait upon Henry and inform him that he must immediately abjure Protestantism and adopt the Catholic faith or forfeit their support to the crown. Did you have me, Henry replied, profess conversion with a dagger at my throat, and could you in the day of battle follow one with confidence who had thus proved that he was an apostate and without a god? I can only promise carefully to examine the subject that I may be guided to the truth. Henry was a Protestant from the force of circumstances rather than from conviction. He was not a theologian either in mind or heart, and he regarded the Catholics and the Protestants merely as two political parties, the one or the other of which he would join according as in his view it might promote his personal interests in the welfare of France. In his childhood he was a Catholic. In boyhood under the tuition of his mother Protestant influences were thrown around him and he was nominally a Protestant. He saved his life at Saint Bartholomew by avowing the Catholic faith. When he escaped from the Catholic court and returned to his mother's Protestant court in Navarre he espoused with new vigor the cause of his Protestant friends. These changes were of course more or less mortifying and they certainly indicated a total want of religious conviction. He now promised carefully to look at the arguments on both sides of the question and to choose deliberately that which would seem to him right. This arrangement however did not suit the Morzellus of the Catholics and in great numbers they abandoned his camp and passed over to the league. The news of the death of Henry III was received with unbounded exaltation in the besieged city. The Duchess of Montponcier threw her arms around the neck of the messenger who brought her the welcome tidings exclaiming, Ah my friend, is it true? Is the monster really dead? Not a gratification. I am only grieved to think that he did not know that it was I who directed the blow. She wrote out immediately that she might have the pleasure herself of communicating the intelligence. She drove through the streets shouting from her carriage, Good news, good news, the tyrant is dead. The joy of the priests rose to the highest pitch of fanatical fervor. The assassin was even canonized. The pope himself condescended to pronounce a eulogium upon the martyr and the statue was erected in his memory with the inscription, Saint Jacques Clemence pray for us. The league now proclaimed as king the old cardinal de Bourbon under the title of Charles the Tenth and nearly all of Catholic Europe rallied around this pretender to the crown. No one denied the validity of the title according to the principles of legitimacy of Henry IV. His rights, however, the Catholics deemed forfitted by his Protestant tendencies. Though Henry immediately issued a decree promising every surety and support to the Catholic religion as the established religion of France, still, as he did not also promise to devote all his energies to the extirpation of the heresy of Protestantism, the great majority of the Catholics were dissatisfied. Le Pernon, one of the most conspicuous of the Catholic leaders at the head of many thousands Catholic soldiers, waited upon the king immediately after the death of Henry III and informed him that they could not maintain a Protestant on the throne. With flying banners and resounding bugles, they then marched from the camp and joined the league. So extensive was this disaffection that in one day Henry found himself deserted by all his army except six thousand, most of whom were Protestants. Nearly thirty thousand men had abandoned him, some to retire to their homes and others to join the army. The army of the league within the capital was now twenty thousand strong. They prepared for a rush upon the scattered and broken ranks of Henry IV. Firmly, fearlessly and with well-matured plans, he ordered a prompt retreat. Catholic Europe aroused itself on behalf of the league. Henry appealed to Protestant Europe to come to his aid. Elizabeth of England responded promptly to his appeal and promised to send a fleet and troops to the harbor of Dieppe about one hundred miles northwest of Paris upon the shores of the English Channel. Firmly and with concentrated ranks the little army of Protestants crossed the Seine. Twenty thousand leaguers eagerly pursued them, watching in vain for a chance to strike a deadly blow. Henry VIII not, slept not, and rested not. Night and day, day and night, he was everywhere present, guiding, encouraging, protecting this valiant band. Planting a rearguard upon the western banks of the Seine, the chafing foe was held in check until the royalist army had retired beyond the was. Upon the farther banks of this stream Henry again reared his defenses, thwarting every endeavor of his enemies, exasperated by such unexpected discomforture. As Henry slowly retreated toward the sea, all the Protestants of the region through which he passed, and many of the moderate Catholics who were in favor of the royal cause and hostile to the House of Guise, flocked to his standard. He soon found himself with seven thousand very determined men, strongly posted behind the ramparts of Dieppe. But the Duke of Mayenne had also received large accessions. The spears and banners of his proud host, now numbering thirty-five thousand, gleamed from all the hills and valleys which surrounded the fortified city. For nearly a month there was almost an incessant conflict. Every morning with anxious eyes the royalists scanned the watery horizon, hoping to see the fleet of England coming to their aid. Cheered by hope they successfully beat back their assailants. The toils of the King were immense. With exalted military genius he guided every movement, at the same time sharing the toil of the humblest soldier. It is a marvel, he wrote, how I live with the labor I undergo. God have pity upon me and show me mercy. Some of Henry's friends, appalled by the strength of the army pursuing him, urged him to embark and seek refuge in England. Here we are, Henry replied, in France, and here let us be buried. If we fly now all our hopes will vanish with the wind which bears us. In a skirmish one day one of the Catholic chieftains, the Count de Bélan, was taken captive. He was led to the headquarters of the King. Henry greeted him with perfect cordiality and noticing the astonishment of the Count and seeing but a few scattered soldiers where he had expected to see a numerous army, he said playfully, yet with a confident air. You do not perceive all that I have with me, Monsieur de Bélan, for you do not reckon God and the right on my side. The indomitable energy of Henry accompanied by accountants ever serene and cheerful, under circumstances apparently so desperate, inspired the soldiers with the same entrepidity which glowed in the bosom of their chief. But at last the valiant little band, so bravely repelling overwhelming numbers, saw to their inexpressible joy the distant ocean whitened with the sails of the approaching English fleet. Shouts of exaltation rolled along their exhausted lines, being dismayed to the camp of the leaguers. A favorable wind pressed the fleet rapidly forward and in a few hours with streaming banners and exultant music and resounding salutes echoed and re-echoed from English ships and French batteries, the fleet of Elizabeth, loaded to its utmost capacity with money, military supplies and men cast anchor in the little harbor of Dieppe. Only six thousand men, Scotch and English, were speedily disembarked. The Duke of Mayenne, though his army was still double that of Henry the Fourth, did not dare to await the onset of his foes thus recruited. Hastily breaking up his encampment, he retreated to Paris. Henry the Fourth, in gratitude to God for the succor which he had received from the Protestant Queen of England, directed that thanksgivings should be offered in his quarters according to the religious rites of the Protestant Church. This so exasperated the Catholics, even in his own camp, that a mutiny was excited and several of the Protestant soldiers were wounded in the fray. So extreme was the fanaticism at this time, that several Protestants, after a sanguinary fight, having been buried in the battlefield promiscuously in a pit with some Catholics who had fallen by their side, the priests, even of Henry's army, ordered the Protestant bodies to be dug up and thrown out as food for dogs. While these scenes were transpiring in the vicinity of Dieppe, almost every part of France was scathed and cursed by hateful war. Every province, city, village, had its partisans for the leak or for the king. Beautiful France was a volcano in the world of Woe, in whose seething crater flames and blood and slaughter, the yell of conflict and the shriek of agony blended in horrors which no imagination can compass. There was an end to every earthly joy. Cities were bombarded, fields of grain trampled in the mire, villages burned. Famine rioted over its ghastly victims. Hospitals were filled with miserable multitudes, mutilated and with festering wounds, longing for death. Not a ray of light pierced the gloom of this dark black night of crime and woe, and yet undeniably the responsibility before God must rest with the League. Henry IV was the lawful king of France. The Catholics had risen in arms to resist his rights because they feared that he would grant liberty of faith and worship to the Protestants. The League adopted the most dishonorable and criminal means to alienate from Henry the affections of the people. They forged letters in which the king atrociously expressed joy at the murder of Henry III and declared his determination by dissimulation and fraud to root out Catholicism entirely from France. No efforts of artifice were wanting to render the monarch odious to the Catholic populace. Though the Duke of Mayenne occasionally referred to the old Cardinal of Bourbon as the king whom he acknowledged, he, with the characteristic haughtiness of the family of guise, assumed himself the heir and the language of a sovereign. It was very evident that he intended to place himself upon the throne. Henry IV, with the money furnished by Elizabeth, was now able to pay his soldiers their arrears. His army steadily increased, and he soon marched with twenty-three thousand troops and fourteen pieces of artillery to lay siege to Paris. His army had unbounded confidence in his military skill. With enthusiastic acclamations they pursued the retreating insurgents. Henry was now on the offensive, and his troops were posted for the siege of Paris, having driven the foe within its walls. After one sanguinary assault the king became convinced that he had not with him sufficient force to carry the city. The Duke of Mayenne stood firmly behind the entrenchments of the capital, with an army much strengthened by reinforcements of Spanish and Italian troops. Henry accordingly raised the siege and marched rapidly to a Tomp, some forty miles south of Paris, where a large part of his foes had established themselves. He suddenly attacked the town and carried it by assault. The unhappy inhabitants of this city had in the course of four months experienced the horrors of three assaults. The city, in that short period, had been taken and retaken three times. While at a Tomp, Henry received a letter from the beautiful baptist consulate Louisa of Lorraine, the widow of Henry III, imploring him to avenge the murder of her husband. The letter was so affecting that when it was read in the king's council it moved all the members to tears. Many of the citizens of Paris, weary of the miseries of civil war, were now disposed to rally around their lawful monarch as the only mode of averting the horrible calamities which overwhelmed France. The Duke of Mayen rigorously arrested all who were suspected of such designs and four of the most prominent of the citizens were condemned to death. Henry immediately sent a message to the Duke that if the sentence were carried into effect he would retaliate by putting to death some of the Catholic nobles whom he had in his power. In Mayen defiantly executed two royalists. Henry immediately suspended upon a gibbet two unfortunate leaders who were his captives. This decisive reprisal accomplished its purpose and compelled Mayen to be more merciful. With great energy Henry now advanced to Tour, about 120 miles south of Paris on the banks of the Loire, taking every town by the way and sweeping all opposition before him. He seldom slept more than three hours at a time and seized his meals where he could. It takes Mayen, said Henry proudly, more time to put on his boots than it does me to win a battle. Henry remarked Pope Sextus V sadly, will surely in the end gain the day, for he spends less hours in bed than Mayen spends at the table. Although the armies of the League were still superior to the royalist army, victory everywhere followed the banner of the King. Every day there was more and more of union and harmony in his ranks and more and more of discord in the armies of the League. There were various aspirants for the throne in case Henry IV could be driven from the kingdom and all these aspirants had their partisans. The more reasonable portion of the Catholic Party soon saw that there could be no end to civil war unless the rights of Henry IV were maintained. Each day consequently witnessed accessions of powerful nobles to his side. The great mass of people also notwithstanding their hatred of Protestantism and devotion to the Catholic Church, found it difficult to break away from their homage to the ancient law of succession. It was now manifest to all, that if Henry would but proclaim himself a Catholic, the war would almost instantly terminate and the people with almost entire unanimity would rally around him. Henry IV was a lawful monarch endeavoring to put down insurrection. Mayen was a rebel contending against his King. The Pope was so unwilling to see a Protestant sovereign enthroned in France that he issued a boule of excommunication against all who should advocate the cause of Henry IV. Many of the royalist Catholics, however, instead of yielding to these thunders of the Vatican, sent a humble apology to the Pope for their adherence to the King, and still sustained his cause. Henry now moved on with the strides of a conqueror, and city after city fell into his hands. Wherever he entered a city, the ever-vasilating multitude welcomed him with acclamations. Regardless of the storms of winter, Henry dragged his heavy artillery through the mire and over the frozen ruts, and before the close of the year 1589 his banner waved over fifteen fortified cities and over very many minor towns. The forces of the League were entirely swept from three of the provinces of France. Still, Paris was in the hands of the Duke of Mayen, and the large part of the Kingdom was yet held in subjection by the forces of the League. At one time, in the face of a fierce cannonade, Henry mounted the tower of a church at Moulin to ascertain the position of the enemy. As he was ascending, a cannonball passed between his legs. In returning, the stairs were found so shot away, that he was compelled to let himself down by a rope. All the winterlong the storm of battle raged in every part of France, and among all the millions of the ill-fated realm, there could not then perhaps have been found one single prosperous and happy home. End of Section 25 Section 26 of History of Henry IV, King of France and Navarre by John Stevens Cabot Abbott. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Pamela Nagami. Chapter 10 War and Woe, Part 1 Civil war seems peculiarly to arouse the ferocity of man. Family quarrels are notoriously implacable. Throughout the whole Kingdom of France the war raged with intense violence, brother against brother and father against child. Farmhouses, cities, villages were burned mercilessly. Old men, women and children were tortured and slain with insults and derision. Maiden modesty was cruelly violated, and every species of inhumanity was practiced by the infuriated antagonists. The Catholic priests were in general conspicuous for their brutality. They resolved that the Protestant heresy should be drowned in blood and terror. Henry IV was peculiarly a humane man. He cherished kind feelings for all his subjects and was perfectly willing that the Catholic religion should retain its unquestioned supremacy. His pride, however, revolted from yielding to compulsory conversion, and he also refused to become the persecutor of his former friends. Indeed it seems probable that he was strongly inclined toward the Catholic faith, as on the whole the safest and the best. He consequently did everything in his power to mitigate the mercilessness of the strife, and to win his Catholic subjects by the most signal clemency. But no efforts of his could restrain his partisans in different parts of the kingdom from severe retaliation. Through the long months of a cold and reary winter the awful carnage continued, with success so equally balanced that there was no prospect of any termination to this most awful of national calamities. Early in March 1590 the armies of Henry IV and the Duke of Mayenne began to congregate in the vicinity of Ivory, about 50 miles west of Paris, for a decisive battle. The snows of winter had nearly disappeared, and the cold rains of spring deluged the roads. The Sabbath of the 11th of March was wet and tempestuous. As night darkened over the bleak and soaked plains of Ivory, innumerable battalions of armed men, with spears and banners, and heavy pieces of artillery, dragged axle deep through the mire, were dimly discerned, taking positions for an approaching battle. As the blackness of midnight enveloped them, the storm increased to fearful fury. The gale fiercely swept the plain, in its loud wailings and its roar, drowning every human sound. The rain all the night long poured down in torrents. But through the darkness in the storm, and breasting the gale, the contending hosts, without even a watch-fire to cheer the gloom, waited anxiously for the morning. In the blackest hour of the night, a phenomenon quite unusual at that season of the year presented itself. The lightning gleamed in dazzling brilliance, from cloud to cloud, and the thunder rolled over their heads, as if an aerial army were meeting and charging in the sanguinary fight. It was an age of superstition, and the shivering soldiers thought they could distinctly discern the banners of the battling hosts. Eagerly and with awe they watched the surging of the strife, as spirit squadrons swept to and fro with streaming banners of fire and hurling upon each other the thunderbolts of the skies. At length the storm of battle seemed to lull, or rather to pass away in the distance. There was the retreat of the vanquished, the pursuit of the victors, the flash of the guns became more faint, and the roar of the artillery diminished as farther and still farther the embattled hosts vanished among the clouds. Again there was the silence of midnight, and no sounds were heard but the plashing of the rain. The royalists and the insurgents, each party inflamed more or less by religious fanaticism, were each disposed to regard the ethereal battle as waged between the spirits of light and the spirits of darkness, angels against fiends. Each party of course imagines itself as represented by the angel bands which doubtless conquered. The phenomenon was thus to both the omen of success, and inspired both with new energies. The morning dawned gloomily. The armies were exhausted and nearly frozen by the chill storm of the night. Neither of the parties were eager to commence the fight, as each was anxious to wait for reinforcements which were hurrying forward from distant posts with the utmost possible speed. The two next days were passed in various maneuvers to gain posts of advantage. The night of the thirteenth came, Henry took but two hours of repose upon a mattress, and then everything being arranged according to his wishes, spent nearly all the rest of the night in prayer. He urged the Catholics and Protestants in his army to do the same, each according to the rites of his own church. The Catholic priests and the Protestant clergy led the devotions of their respective bands, and there can be no doubt whatever that they implored the aid of God with his perfect a conviction of the righteousness of their cause as the human heart confined. And how was it in the army of the Duke of Mayen? They also looked to God for support. The Pope, Christ's vicar upon earth, had blessed their banners. He had called upon all of the faithful to advocate their cause. He had anathematized their foes as the enemies of God and man, justly doomed to utter extermination. Can it be doubted that the ecclesiastics and the soldiers who surrounded the Duke of Mayen, ready to lay down their lives for the church, were also, many of them, sincere in their supplications? Such is bewildered, benighted man. When will he imbibe the spirit of a noble toleration? Of a kind brotherhood. The morning of the 14th of March arrived. The stars shone brilliantly in the clear cold sky. The vast plain of Yvri and its surrounding hills gleamed with the campfires of the two armies, now face to face. It is impossible to estimate, with precision, the two forces. It is generally stated that Henry IV had from ten to twelve thousand men and the Duke of Mayen from sixteen to twenty thousand. Before the first glimmer of day, Henry mounted his horse, a powerful bay charger, and riding slowly along his lines addressed to every company words of encouragement and hope. His spirit was subdued, and his voice was softened by the influence of prayer. He attempted no lofty harangue. He gave utterance to no clarion notes of enthusiasm, but mildly, gently, with a trembling voice and often with a moistened eye implored them to be true to God, to France and to themselves. Your future fame and your personal safety, said he, depend upon your heroism this day. The crown of France awaits the decision of your swords. If we are defeated today, we are defeated hopelessly, for we have no reserves upon which we can fall back. Then assembling nearly all his little band and a square around him, he placed himself upon an eminence where he could be seen by all and where nearly all could hear him, and then with clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven offered the following prayer, a truly extraordinary prayer, so humble and so Christian in its spirit of resignation. O God, I pray thee who alone knowest the intentions of man's heart, to do thy will upon me as thou shalt judge necessary for the wheel of Christendom, and wilt thou preserve me as long as thou seest it to be needful for the happiness and the repose of France and no longer. If thou dost see that I should be one of those kings on whom thou dost lay thy wrath, take my life with my crown, and let my blood be the last poured out in this quarrel. Then turning to his troops he said, Companions, God is with us. You are to meet his enemies and ours. If in the turmoil of the battle you lose sight of your banner, follow the white plume upon my cask, you will find it in the road to victory and honor. But a few hours before this, General Schaumberg, who was in command of the Auxiliaries furnished to Henry by Germany, urged by the importunity of his troops, ventured to ask for their pay, which was in their rears, Henry irritated replied. A man of courage would not ask for money on the eve of a battle. The words had no sooner escaped his lips than he regretted them. Henry now wrote to the quarters of this veteran officer and thus magnanimously addressed him. General Schaumberg, I have insulted you. As this day may be the last of my life, I would not carry away the honor of a gentleman and be unable to restore it. I know your valor and I ask your pardon. I beseech you to forgive me and embrace me. This was true magnanimity. General Schaumberg nobly replied, Sire, you did indeed wound me yesterday, but today you kill me. The honor you have done me will lead me to lay down my life in your service. End of Section 26. Section 27 of History of Henry IV King of France and Navarre by John Stevens Cabot Abbott. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Pamela Nagami. Chapter 10. War and Woe, Part 2. A terrible battle immediately ensued. All fought bravely, ferociously, infernally. Love and peace are the elements of heaven. Hatred and war are the elements of hell. Man upon the battlefield, even in a good cause, must call to his aid the energies of the world of woe. Rushing squadrons swept the field, crushing beneath iron hoofs the dying and the dead. Grape-shot mowed down the crowded ranks, splintering bones and lacerating nerves, and extorting shrieks of agony which even the thunders of the battle could not drown. Henry plunged into the thickest of the fight, everywhere exposing himself to peril like the humblest soldier. The conflict was too desperate to be long-lasting. In less than an hour the field of battle was crimson with blood uncovered with mangled corpses. The Ligars began to waver. They broke and fled in awful confusion. The miserable fugitives were pursued and cut down by the keen swords of the cavalry, while from every eminence the cannon of the victors plowed their retreating ranks with balls. Henry himself headed the cavalry in the impetuous pursuit that the day might be the more decisive. When he returned covered with blood, he was greeted from his triumphant ranks with the shout, VIVRE LE CHOIS. Marshal Byron, with a powerful reserve, had remained watching the progress of the fight, ready to avail himself of any opportunity which might present to promote or increase the discomforture of the foe. He now joined the monarch, saying, This day, Sire, you have performed the part of Marshal Byron, and Marshal Byron, that of the king. Let us praise God, Marshal, answered Henry, for the victory is his. The routed army fled with the utmost precipitation in two directions, one division toward Chartres and the other toward Ivry. The whole royalist army hung upon their rear assailing them with every available missile of destruction. The Duke of Mayen fled across the Eur. Thousands of his broken bands were crowding the shore, striving to force their way across the thronged bridge when the royalist cavalry led by the monarch himself was seen in the distance, spurring furiously over the hills. Mayen himself, having passed, in order to secure his own safety, cruelly gave the command to destroy the bridge, leaving the unhappy men who had not yet crossed at the mercy of the victors. The bridge was immediately blown up. Many of those thus abandoned in their terror cast themselves into the flooded stream where multitudes were drowned. Others shot their horses and built a round part of their bodies. Behind this revolting breastwork they defended themselves until one after another they all fell beneath the sabers and the bullets of the Protestants. In this dreadful retreat more than two thousand were put to the sword, large numbers were drowned and many were taken captive. In this day so glorious to the royalist cause more than one half of the army of the Ligars were either slain or taken prisoners. Though the Duke of Mayen escaped, many of his best generals perished upon the field of battle or were captured. It is reported that Henry shouted to his victorious troops as they were cutting down the fugitives, spare the French, they are our brethren. This celebrated battle has often been the theme of the poet, but no one has done the subject better justice than Mr. Macaulay in the following spirited lines. They are intended to express the feelings of an Ugano soldier. THE BATTLE OF IVRI The King has come to marshal us all in his armor dressed and he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people and a tear was in his eye. He looked upon the traitors and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us as rolled from wing to wing down all our line a deafening shout, God save our lord the king. And if my standard bearer fall, as fall full well he may, for never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, press where ye see my white plume shine amid the ranks of war and be your aura flam today the helmet of Navarre. Hurray! the foes are coming, hark to the mingled din of fife and steed and trump and drum and roaring culverine. The fiery duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain with all the hireling chivalry of Gilders and Elmaine. Now by the lips of those we love fair gentlemen of France, charge for the golden lilies now upon them with the lance. A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, a thousand nights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest, and on they burst, and on they rushed, while like a guiding star amid the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. Now God be praised, the day is ours, Mayen hath turned his reign, Domal hath cried for quarter, the Flemish Count is slain. Their ranks are breaking, like thin clouds before a bisque gale. The field is heaped with bleeding steeds and flags and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van. Remember St. Bartholomew was passed from man to man, but out spake gentle Henry. No Frenchman is my foe, down, down with every foreigner but let your brethren go. O was there ever such a night in friendship or in war as our sovereign Lord King Henry, the soldier of Navarre. This decisive battle established Henry on the throne. Mayen still held Paris and many other important fortresses and other parts of France, but his main army was defeated and dispersed and he could no longer venture to encounter Henry in the open field. Having thrown some additional forces into Paris, which city he knew Henry would immediately besiege, he fled to Flanders to obtain reinforcements. Paris was in consternation. Not a town in its vicinity could resist the conqueror. Henry was but two days march from his rebellious capital. The leaguers could hope for no aid for many weeks. The royalist cause had many friends among the Parisians, eager for an opportunity to raise within their walls the banner of their lawful sovereign. Henry had now the entire command of the Seine from Rouen to Paris. Had he immediately marched upon the capital there can be no doubt that it would have been compelled to surrender. But for some reason which has never been satisfactorily explained he remained for a fortnight within one day's march of the field of Ivory. Various causes had been surmised for this unaccountable delay, but there is no authentic statement to be found in any letters written by Henry or in any contemporaneous records. The time however thus lost, whatever might have been the cause, proved to him a terrible calamity. The partisans of the league in the city had time to recover from their panic and to strengthen their defenses and to collect supplies. One act of magnanimity which Henry performed during this interval is worthy of record. Two regiments of Swiss Catholics who had been sent to fight beneath the banners of Mayenne had surrendered to the royal forces. They were for a few days intensely anxious respecting their fate. Henry restored to them their ensigns, furnished them with money, supplied them with provisions and sent them back to their native country. He gave them a letter to the Swiss cantons, with dignity reproaching them for their violation of the friendly treaty existing between Switzerland and the Crown of France. It was not until the 28th of March that Henry appeared before the walls of Paris. By this time the leaguers had made preparations to resist him. Provisions and military stores had been accumulated, troops had been hurried into the city, and arrangements were made to hold out till Mayenne could bring them succor. Now a siege was necessary, with all its accompaniments of blood and woe. There were now fifty thousand fighting men in the city when Henry commenced the siege with but twelve thousand foot and three thousand horse. In this emergence the energy of Henry returned. He took possession of the river above and below the city. Batteries were reared upon the heights of Montmartre and Mont-Fousson, and cannonballs portentious of the rising storm began to fall in the throng streets of the metropolis. In the midst of this state of things the old cardinal de Bourbon died. The leaguers had pronounced him king under the title of Charles X. The insurgents, discomfited in battle and with many rival candidates ambitious of the crown, were not in a condition to attempt to elect another monarch. They thought it more prudent to combine and fight for victory, postponing until some future day their choice of a king. The Catholic priests were almost universally on their side and urged them by all the most sacred importunities of religion rather to die than to allow a heretic to ascend the throne of France. Day after day the siege continued, there were bombardments and conflagrations and sallies and midnight assaults and all the tumult and carnage and woe of horrid war. Three hundred thousand men, women and children were in the beleaguered city. All supplies were cut off. Famine commenced its ravages. The wheat became exhausted and they ate bran. The bran was all consumed and the haggard citizens devoured the dogs and the cats. Starvation came. On parlor floors and on the hard pavement emaciate forms were stretched in the convulsions of death. The shrieks of women and children in their dying agonies fell in tones horrible to hear upon the ears of the besiegers. The tender heart of Henry was so moved by the sufferings which he was unwillingly instrumental in inflicting that he allowed some provisions to be carried into the city though he thus protracted the siege. He hoped that this humanity would prove to his foes that he did not seek revenge. The Duke of Numur who conducted the defense encouraged by this unmilitary humanity that he might relieve himself from the encumbrance of useless mouths drove several thousands out of the city. Henry with extraordinary clemency allowed three thousand to pass through the ranks of his army. He nobly said, I cannot bear to think of their sufferings, I had rather conquer my foes by kindness than by arms, but the number still increasing in the inevitable effect being only to enable the combatants to hold out more stubbornly, Henry reluctantly ordered the soldiers to allow no more to pass. The mystery which now desolated the city was awful. Famine bred pestilence, woe and death were everywhere. The Duke of Numur, younger brother of the Duke of Mayen, hoping that Mayen might yet bring relief, still continued the defense. The citizens, tortured by the unearthly woes which pressed them on every side, began to murmur. Numur erected scaffolds and ordered every murmuror to be promptly hung as a partisan of Henry. Even this harsh remedy could not entirely silence fathers whose wives and children were dying of starvation before their eyes. The Duke of Mayen was preparing to march to the relief of the city with an army of Spaniards. Henry resolved to make an attempt to take the city by assault before their arrival. The hour was fixed at midnight on the 24th of July, 1590. Henry watched the sublime and terrific spectacle from an observatory reared on the heights of Montmartre. In ten massive columns the royalists made the fierce onset. The besieged were ready for them with artillery loaded to the muzzle and with lighted torches. An eyewitness thus describes the spectacle. The immense city seemed instantly to blaze with conflagrations or rather by an infinity of mines sprung in its heart. Thick whirlwinds of smoke pierced at intervals by flashes and long lines of flame covered the doomed city. The blackness of darkness at one moment enveloped it. Again it blazed forth as if it were a sea of fire. The roar of cannon, the clash of arms and the shouts of the combatants added to the horrors of the night. By this attack all of the suburbs were taken and the condition of the besieged rendered more hopeless and miserable. There is no siege upon record more replete with horrors. The flesh of the dead was eaten, the dry bones of the cemetery were ground up for bread. Starving mothers ate their children. It is reported that the Duchess of Montpollier was offered three thousand crowns for her dog. She declined the offer, saying that she would keep it to eat herself as her last resource. The compassion of Henry triumphed again and again over his military firmness. He allowed the women and children to leave the city, then the ecclesiastics, then the starving poor, then the starving rich. Each of these acts of generosity added to the strength of his foes. The famished leaguers were now in a condition to make but feeble resistance. Henry was urged to take the city by storm. He could easily do this but fearful slaughter would be the inevitable result. For this reason Henry refused, saying, I am their father and their king. I cannot hear the recital of their woes without the deepest sympathy. I would gladly relieve them. I cannot prevent those who are possessed with the fury of the league from perishing, but to those who seek my clemency I must offer my arms. Early in August more than thirty thousand within the walls of the city had perished by famine. Mayen now marched to the relief of Paris. Henry unwisely, military critic say, raised the siege and advanced to meet him hoping to compel him to a decisive battle. Mayen skillfully avoided a battle and still more skillfully threw abundant supplies into the city. And now loud murmurs began to arise in the camp of Henry. Many of the most influential of the Catholics who adhered to his cause, disheartened by this result and by the indications of an endless war, declared that it was in vain to hope that any Protestant could be accepted as king of France. The soldiers could not conceal their discouragement and the cause of the king was involved anew in gloom. General Henry firmly kept the field and a long series of conflicts ensued between detachments of the royalist army and portions of the Spanish troops under the command of the Duke of Mayen and the Duke of Parma. The energy of the king was roused to the utmost, victory accompanied his marches and his foes were driven before him. The winter of 1591 had now arrived and still unhappy France was one wide and wasted battlefield. Confusion, anarchy, and misery everywhere reigned. Every village had its hostile partisans. Catholic cities were besieged by Protestants and Protestant towns by Catholics. In the midst of these terrible scenes Henry had caught a glimpse at the chateau of Cuivre of the beautiful face of Gabrielle d'Estrein. The yielding to a guilty passion he again forgot the great affairs of state and the woes of his distracted country in the pursuit of this new amour. The history of this period contains but a monotonous record of the siege of innumerable towns with all the melancholy accompaniments of famine and blood. Summer came and went, and hardly a sound of joy was heard amid all the hills and valleys of beautiful but war-scaithed France. There was great division existing amongst the partisans of the League, there being several candidates for the throne. There was but one cause of division in the ranks of Henry, that he was the legitimate sovereign all admitted. It was evident to all that would Henry butt-apture Protestantism and embrace the Catholic faith nearly all opposition to him would instantly cease. Many pamphlets were issued by the priests, urging the iniquity of sustaining a heretic upon the throne. The Pope had not only anathematized the heretical sovereign, but had condemned to eternal flames all who should maintain his cause. Henry had no objection to Catholicism. It was the religion of five-sixths of his subjects. He was now anxious to give his adherents to that faith. Would he contrive some way to do it with decency? He issued many decrees to conciliate the Romanists. He proclaimed that he had never yet had time to examine the subject of religious faith, that he was anxious for instruction, that he was ready to submit to the decision of a council, and that under no circumstances would he suffer any change in France detrimental to the Catholic religion. At the same time, with energy which reflects credit upon his name, he declared the bull fulminated against him by Gregory XIV as abusive, seditious, and damnable, in order to be burned by the public hangman. By the middle of November 1591, Henry with an army of thirty-five thousand men surrounded the city of Rouen. Queen Elizabeth had again sent him aid. The Earl of Essex joined the royal army with a retinue whose splendor amazed the impoverished nobles of France. His own gorgeous dress and the comparisons of his steed were estimated to be worth sixty thousand crowns of gold. The garrison of Rouen was under the command of Governor Villard. Essex sent a curious challenge to Villard, that if he would meet him on horseback or on foot, in armor or doublet he would maintain against him, man to man, twenty to twenty, or sixty to sixty. To this defiance the Earl added, I am thus ready to prove that the cause of the king is better than that of the league, that Essex is a braver man than Villard, and that my mistress is more beautiful than yours. Villard declined the challenge, declaring, however, that the three assertions were false, but that he did not trouble himself much about the respective beauty of their mistresses. The weary siege continued many weeks, varied with fierce sallies and bloody skirmishes. Henry labored in the trenches like a common soldier and shared every peril. He was not wise in so doing, for his life was of far too much value to France to be thus needlessly periled. The influential leaguers in Paris now formed the plan to found a new dynasty in France, by uniting in marriage the young Duke of Guise, son of Henry of Guise, with an assassinated, with Isabella, the daughter of Philip II, king of Spain. This secured for their cause all the energies of the Spanish monarchy. This plan immediately introduced serious discord between Mayen and his Spanish allies, as Mayen hoped for the crown for himself. About the same time, Pope Gregory XIV died, still more depressing, the prospects of Mayen. But with indomitable vigor of intrigue and of battle, he still continued to guide the movements of the League and to watch for opportunities to secure for himself the crown of France. The politics of the nation were now in an inextricable labyrinth of confusion. Gregory IV was still sustained by the Protestants, though they were ever complaining that he favored too much the Catholics. He was also sustained by a portion of the moderate Catholics. They were, however, quite lukewarm in their zeal, and were importantly demanding that he should renounce the Protestant faith and avowal himself a Catholic, or they would entirely abandon him. The Swiss and Germans in his ranks were filling the camp with murmurs, demanding their arrears of pay. The English troops furnished him by Elizabeth, refused to march from the coast to penetrate the interior. The League was split into innumerable factions, some in favor of Mayen, others supporting the young Cardinal of Bourbon, and others still advocating the claims of the young Duke of Guise and the Infanta of Spain. They were, however, united by a common detestation of Protestantism and an undying devotion to the Church of Rome. In the meantime, though the siege of Rouen was pressed with great vigor, all efforts to take the place were unavailing. Henry was repeatedly baffled and discomfited, and became daily more evident that as a Protestant he never could occupy a peaceful throne in Catholic France. Even many of the Protestant leaders, who were politicians rather than theologians, urged Henry to become a Catholic as the only possible means of putting an end to this cruel civil war. They urged that while his adoption of the Catholic faith would reconcile the Catholics, the Protestants confiding in the freedom of faith and worship which his just judgment would secure to them, would prefer him for their sovereign to any other whom they could hope to obtain. Thus peace would be restored to distracted France. Henry listened with a willing mind to these suggestions. To give assurance to the Catholics of his sincerity, he sent ambassadors to Rome to treat with the Pope in regard to his reconciliation with the Church. End of Section 28. Section 29 of History of Henry IV King of France and Navarre by John Stevens Cabot Abbot. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Pamela Nagami. Chapter 11. THE CONVERSION OF THE KING, PART I This bloody war of the succession had now desolated France for four years. The Duke of Suley, one of the most conspicuous of the political Calvinists, was at last induced to give his influence to lead the King to accept the Catholic faith. Suley had been Henry's companion from childhood. Though not a man of deep religious convictions, he was one of the most illustrious of men in ability, courage, and integrity. Conversing with Henry upon the distracted affairs of state, he said one day, That you should wait for me, being a Protestant, to counsel you to go to Mass, is the thing you should not do, although I will boldly declare to you, that it is the prompt and easy way of destroying all malign projects. You will thus meet no more enemies, sorrows, or difficulties in this world, as to the other world, he continued smiling. I could not answer for that. The King continued in great perplexity. He felt that it was degrading to change his religion upon apparent compulsion, or for the accomplishment of any selfish purpose. He knew that he must expose himself to the charge of apostasy and of hypocrisy in affirming a change of belief, even to accomplish so meritorious a purpose as to rescue a whole nation from misery. These embarrassments to a vacillating mind were terrible. Only one morning before rising he sent for Suley. The Duke found the King sitting in his bed, scratching his head in great perplexity. The political considerations in favor of the change urged by the Duke could not satisfy fully the mind of the King. He had still some conscientious scruples imbibed from the teachings of a pious and sainted mother. The illustrious warrior, financier and diplomatist, now assayed the availability of theological considerations and urged the following argument of Jesuitical shrewtness. I hold it certain, argued the Duke, that whatever be the exterior form of the religion which men profess, if they live in the observation of the decalogue, believe in the creed of the apostles, love God with all their heart, have charity toward their neighbor, hope in the mercy of God, and to obtain salvation by the death, merits and justice of Jesus Christ, they cannot fail to be saved. Henry caught eagerly at this plausible argument. The Catholics say that no Protestant can be saved, but the Protestants admit that a Catholic may be, if in heart honest, just and true. The sophistry of the plea on behalf of an insincere renunciation of faith is too palpable to influence any mind but one eager to be convinced. The King was counseled to obey the decalogue, which forbids false witness, while at the same time he was to be guilty of an act of fraud and hypocrisy. But Henry had another counselor. Philip of Morkney, Lord of Placy, had imbibed from his mother's lips a knowledge of the religion of Jesus Christ. His soul was endowed by nature with the most noble lineaments, and he was, if man can judge, a devoted and exalted Christian. There was no one in those stormy times more illustrious as a worrier statesman theologian and orator. We cannot, says a French writer, indicate a species of merit in which he did not excel, except that he did not advance his own fortune. One but twelve years of age a priest exhorted him to beware of the opinions of the Protestants. I am resolved, Philip replied firmly, to remain steadfast in what I have learned of the service of God. When I doubt any point, I will diligently examine the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles. His uncle, the Archbishop of Reims, advised him to read the Fathers of the Church, and promised him the revenues of a rich abbey and the prospect of still higher advancement if he would adhere to the Catholic religion. Philip read the Fathers and declined the bribe, saying, I must trust to God for what I need. Almost by a miracle he had escaped the massacre of St. Bartholomew and fled to England. The Duke of Anjou, who had become King of Poland, wishing to conciliate the Protestants, wrote to Morknay in his poverty and exile, proposing to him a place in his ministry. The noble man replied, I will never enter the service of those who have shed the blood of my brethren. He soon joined the feeble court of the King of Novar and adhered conscientiously through all the Sisitudes to the Protestant cause. Henry IV was abundantly capable of appreciating such a character, and he revered and loved Morknay. His services were invaluable to Henry, for he seemed to be equally skillful in nearly all departments of knowledge and of business. He could with equal facility, guide an army, construct a fortress, and write a theological treatise. Many of the most important state papers of Henry IV he hurriedly wrote upon the field of battle, or beneath his wind-shaking tent. Henry III, on one occasion, had said to him, How can a man of your intelligence and ability be a Protestant? Have you never read the Catholic Fathers? Not only have I read the Catholic Fathers, Morknay replied, but I have read them with eagerness, for I am flesh and blood like other men, and I was not born without ambition. I should have been very glad to find something to flatter my conscience that I might participate in the favors and honors you distribute, and from which my religion excludes me. But above all, I find something which fortifies my faith and the world must yield to conscience. The firm Christian principles of Philip of Morknay were now almost the only barrier which stood in the way of the conversion of Henry. The Catholic Lords offered Morknay twenty thousand crowns of gold, if he would no more awaken the scruples of the king. Nobly he replied, The conscience of my master is not for sale, neither is mine. Great efforts were then made to alienate Henry from his faithful minister. Morknay by chance one day entered the cabinet of the king, where his enemies were busy in their cavals. In the boldness of an integrity which never gave him cause to blush, he thus addressed them in the presence of the sovereign. It is hard, gentlemen, to prevent the king my master from speaking to his faithful servant. The proposals which I offer the king are such that I can pronounce them distinctly before you all. I propose to him to serve God with a good conscience. To keep him in view in every action. To quiet the schism which is in his state by a holy reformation of the church. And to be an example for all Christendom during all time to come. Are these things to be spoken in a corner? Do you wish me to counsel him to go to mass? With what conscience shall I advise him if I do not first go myself? And what is religion if it can be laid aside like a shirt? The Catholic nobles felt the power of his moral courage and integrity and one of them, Marshal Dolman, yielding to a generous impulse, exclaimed. You are better than we are, Monsieur Hoarnay, and if I said two days ago that it would be necessary to give you a pistol shot in the head, I say to-day entirely the contrary, and that you should have a statue. End of section 29 Section 30 of History of Henry the Fourth King of France in Navarre by John Stevens Cabot Abbot. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Pamela Nagami. Chapter 11. The Conversion of the King, Part II Henry however was a politician, not a Christian, and nothing is more amazing than the deaf ear which even apparently good men can turn to the pleadings of conscience when they are involved in the mazes of political ambition. The process of conversion was for decency's sake protracted and ostentatious. As Henry probably had no fixed religious principles he could with perhaps as much truth say that he was a Catholic as that he was a Protestant. On the 23rd of July 1593 the King listened to a public argument five hours in length from the Archbishop of Bourges upon the points of essential difference between the two antagonistic creeds. Henry found the reasoning of the Archbishop most comfortably persuasive and having separated himself for a time from Mognay he professed to be solemnly convinced that the Roman Catholic faith was the true religion. Those who knew Henry the best declared that he was sincere in the change and his subsequent life seemed certainly to indicate that he was so. The Duke of Suley who refused to follow Henry into the Catholic Church records, as uprightness and sincerity formed the depth of his heart as they did of his words, I am persuaded that nothing would have been capable of making him embrace a religion which he internally despised or of which he even doubted. In view of this long interview with the Archbishop of Bourges Henry wrote to the frail but beautiful Gabrielle d'Astre. I began this morning to speak to the bishops. On Sunday I shall take the perilous leap. The King's connection with Gabrielle presented another strong motive to influence his conversion. Henry when a mere boy had been constrained by political considerations to marry the worthless and hateful sister of Charles the Ninth. For the wife thus coldly received he never felt an emotion of affection. She was an unblushing profligate. The King in one of his campaigns met the beautiful maiden Gabrielle in the chateau of her father. They both immediately loved each other in a relation prohibited by the divine laws soon existed between them. Never perhaps was there a better excuse for unlawful love, but guilt ever brings woe. Neither party were happy. Gabrielle felt condemned and degraded and urged the King to obtain a divorce from the notoriously profligate Margaret of Allois that their union might be sanctioned by the rites of religion. Henry loved Gabrielle tenderly. Her society was his chiefest joy and it is said that he ever remained faithful to her. He was anxious for a divorce from Marguerite and for marriage with Gabrielle, but this divorce could only be obtained through the Pope. Once Gabrielle exerted all her influence to lead the King into the church that this most desired end might be attained. The King now openly proclaimed his readiness to renounce Protestantism and to accept the papal creed. The Catholic bishops prepared an act of abjuration rejecting very decisively one after another every distinguished article of the Protestant faith. The King glanced his eye over it and instinctively recoiled from an act which he seemed to deem humiliating. He would only consent to sign a very brief declaration in six lines of his return to the Church of Rome. The paper, however, which he had rejected, containing the emphatic recantation of every article of the Protestant faith, was sent to the Pope with the forged signature of the King. The final act of renunciation was public and was attended with much dramatic pomp in the Great Church of Sandini. It was Sunday, the 25th of July, 1593. The immense cathedral was richly decorated. Flowers were scattered upon the pavements and garlands and banners festooned the streets and the dwellings. At eight o'clock in the morning Henry presented himself before the massive portals of the cathedral. He was dressed in white satin with a black mantle and chapeau. The white plume which both pen and pencil have rendered illustrious waved from his hat. He was surrounded by a gorgeous retinue of nobles and officers of the crown. Several regiments of soldiers in the richest uniform preceded and followed him as he advanced toward the church. Though a decree had been issued, strictly prohibiting the populace from being present at the ceremony, an immense concourse thronged the streets, greeting the monarch with enthusiastic cries of Vivre le Roi. The Archbishop of Bourges was seated at the entrance of the church in a chair draped with white damask. The cardinal of Bourbon and several bishops glittering in pontifical robes composed his brilliant retinue. The monks of Sandini were also in attendance, clad in their somber attire, bearing the cross, the gospels, and the holy water. Thus the train of the exalted dignitary of the church even eclipsed and splendor the sweet of the king. As Henry approached the door of the church, the Archbishop, as if to repel intrusion, imperiously inquired, Who are you? I am the king, Henry modestly replied. What do you desire? demanded the Archbishop. I ask, answered the king, to be received into the bosom of the Catholic, apostolic, and Roman religion. Do you desire this sincerely rejoined the Archbishop? I do, the king replied. Then kneeling at the feet of the prelate, he pronounced the following oath. I protest and swear, in the presence of Almighty God, to live and die in the Catholic, apostolic, and Roman religion, to protect and defend it against all its enemies, at the hazard of my blood and life, renouncing all heresies contrary to it. The king then placed a copy of this oath in writing in the hands of the Archbishop, and kissed the consecrated ring upon his holy finger. Then entering the cathedral he received the absolution of his sins and the benediction of the church. A te deum was then sung, high mass was solemnized, and thus the imposing ceremony was terminated. It is easy to treat this whole affair as a farce. The elements of ridicule are abundant. But it was by no means a farce, in the vast influences which it evolved. Catholic historians have almost invariably assumed that the king acted in perfect good faith, being fully convinced by the arguments of the church. Even Henry's Protestant friend the Duke of Suley remarks, I should betray the cause of truth, if I suffered it even to be suspected, that policy, the threats of the Catholics, the fatigue of labor, the desire of rest, and of freeing himself from the tyranny of foreigners, or even the good of the people, had entirely influenced the king's resolution. As far as I am able to judge of the heart of this prince, which I believe I know better than any other person, it was indeed these considerations which first hinted to him the necessity of his conversion. But in the end he became convinced in his own mind that the Catholic religion was the safest. Others have affirmed that it was a shameful act of apostasy in which the king stimulated by ambition and unlawful love, stooped to hypocrisy and feigned a conversion which in heart he despised. He is represented as saying with levity, Paris is well worth a mass. End of section 30