Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE EVE OF THE FEAST.

  IT was Tignonville's salvation that the men who crowded the longwhite-walled room, and exchanged vile boasts under the naked flaringlights, were of all classes. There were butchers, natives of thesurrounding quarter whom the scent of blood had drawn from theirlairs; and there were priests with hatchet faces, who whispered in thebutchers' ears. There were gentlemen of the robe, and plain mechanics,rich merchants in their gowns, and bare-armed ragpickers, sleekchoristers, and shabby led-captains; but differ as they might in otherpoints, in one thing all were alike. From all, gentle or simple, rosethe same cry for blood, the same aspiration to be first equipped forthe fray. In one corner a man of rank stood silent and apart, his handon his sword, the working of his face alone betraying the storm thatreigned within. In another, a Norman horse-dealer talked in lowwhispers with two thieves. In a third, a gold-wire drawer addressed anadmiring group from the Sorbonne; and meantime the middle of the floorgrew into a seething mass of muttering, scowling men, through whom thelast comers, thrust as they might, had much ado to force their way.

  And from all under the low ceiling rose a ceaseless hum, though nonespoke loud. "Kill! kill! kill!" was the burden; the accompaniment suchprofanities and blasphemies as had long disgraced the Paris pulpits,and day by day had fanned the bigotry--already at a white heat--of theParisian populace. Tignonville turned sick as he listened, and wouldfain have closed his ears. But for his life he dared not. Andpresently a cripple in a beggar's garb, a dwarfish, filthy creaturewith matted hair, twitched his sleeve, and offered him a whetstone.

  "Are you sharp, noble sir?" he asked with a leer. "Are you sharp? It'ssurprising how the edge goes on the bone. A cut and thrust? Well,every man to his taste. But give me a broad butcher's knife and I'llask no help, be it man, woman, or child!"

  A bystander, a lean man in rusty black, chuckled as he listened. "Butthe woman or the child for choice, eh, Jehan?" he said. And he lookedto Tignonville to join in the jest.

  "Ay, give me a white throat for choice!" the cripple answered, withhorrible zest. "And there'll be delicate necks to prick to-night!Lord, I think I hear them squeal! You don't need it, sir?" hecontinued, again proffering the whetstone. "No? Then I'll give myblade another whet, in the name of our Lady, the Saints, and goodFather Pezelay!"

  "Ay, and give me a turn!" the lean man cried, proffering his weapon."May I die if I do not kill one of the accursed for every finger of myhands!"

  "And toe of my feet!" the cripple answered, not to be outdone. "Andtoe of my feet! A full score!"

  "'Tis according to your sins!" the other, who had something of the airof a Churchman, answered. "The more heretics killed, the more sinsforgiven. Remember that, brother, and spare not if your soul beburdened! They blaspheme God and call Him paste! In the paste of theirown blood," he continued ferociously, "I will knead them and roll themout, saith the good Father Pezelay, my master!"

  The cripple crossed himself. "Whom God keep," he said. "He is a goodman. But you are looking ill, noble sir?" he continued, peeringcuriously at the young Huguenot.

  "'Tis the heat," Tignonville muttered. "The night is stifling, and thelights make it worse. I will go nearer the door."

  He hoped to escape them; he had some hope even of escaping from theroom and giving the alarm. But when he had forced his way to thethreshold, he found it guarded by two pikemen; and glancing back tosee if his movements were observed--for he knew that his agitationmight have awakened suspicion--he found that the taller of the twowhom he had left, the black-garbed man with the hungry face, waswatching him a-tiptoe, over the shoulders of the crowd.

  With that, and the sense of his impotence, the lights began to swimbefore his eyes. The catastrophe that overhung his party, the fate sotreacherously prepared for all whom he loved and all with whom hisfortunes were bound up, confused his brain almost to delirium. Hestrove to think, to calculate chances, to imagine some way in which hemight escape from the room, or from a window might cry the alarm. Buthe could not bring his mind to a point. Instead, in lightning flasheshe foresaw what must happen: his betrothed in the hands of themurderers, the fair face that had smiled on him frozen with terror;brave men, the fighters of Montauban, the defenders of Angely, strewndead through the dark lanes of the city. And now a gust of passion,and now a shudder of fear, seized him; and in any other assembly hisagitation must have led to detection. But in that room were manytwitching faces and trembling hands. Murder, cruel, midnight, and mostfoul, wrung even from the murderers her toll of horror. While some, tohide the nervousness they felt, babbled of what they would do, othersbetrayed by the intentness with which they awaited the signal, thedreadful anticipations that possessed their souls.

  Before he had formed any plan, a movement took place near the door.The stairs shook beneath the sudden trampling of feet, a voicecried "De par le Roi! De par le Roi!" and the babel of the room dieddown. The throng swayed and fell back on either hand, and MarshalTavannes entered, wearing half armour, with a white sash; he wasfollowed by six or eight gentlemen in like guise. Amid cries of"Jarnac! Jarnac!"--for to him the credit of that famous fight,nominally won by the King's brother, was popularly given--he advancedup the room, met the Provost of the merchants, and began to conferwith him. Apparently he asked the latter to select some men who couldbe trusted on a special mission, for the Provost looked round andbeckoned to his side one or two of higher rank than the herd, and thenone or two of the most truculent aspect.

  Tignonville trembled lest he should be singled out. He had hiddenhimself as well as he could at the rear of the crowd by the door; buthis dress, so much above the common, rendered him conspicuous. Hefancied that the Provost's eye ranged the crowd for him; and to avoidit and efface himself he moved a pace to his left.

  The step was fatal. It saved him from the Provost, but it brought himface to face and eye to eye with Count Hannibal, who stood in thefirst rank at his brother's elbow. Tavannes stared an instant as if hedoubted his eyesight. Then, as doubt gave slow place to certainty, andsurprise to amazement, he smiled. And after a moment he looked anotherway.

  Tignonville's heart gave a great bump and seemed to stand still. Thelights whirled before his eyes, there was a roaring in his ears. Hewaited for the word that should denounce him. It did not come. Andstill it did not come; and Marshal Tavannes was turning. Yes, turning,and going; the Provost, bowing low, was attending him to the door; hissuite were opening on either side to let him pass. And Count Hannibal?Count Hannibal was following also, as if nothing had occurred. As ifhe had seen nothing!

  The young man caught his breath. Was it possible that he had imaginedthe start of recognition, the steady scrutiny, the sinister smile? No;for as Tavannes followed the others, he hung an instant on his heel,their eyes met again, and once more he smiled. In the next breath hewas gone through the doorway, his spurs rang on the stairs; and thebabel of the crowd, unchecked by the great man's presence, broke outanew, and louder.

  Tignonville shuddered. He was saved as by a miracle, saved he did notknow how. But the respite, though its strangeness diverted histhoughts for a while, brought short relief. The horrors which impendedover others surged afresh into his mind, and filled him with amaddening sense of impotence. To be one hour, only one short half-hourwithout! To run through the sleeping streets, and scream in the dullears which a King's flatteries had stopped as with wool! To go up anddown and shake into life the guests whose royal lodgings daybreakwould turn to a shambles reeking with their blood! They slept, thegentle Teligny, the brave Pardaillan, the gallant Rochefoucauld, Pilesthe hero of St. Jean, while the cruel city stirred rustling aboutthem, and doom crept whispering to the door. They slept, they and athousand others, gentle and simple, young and old; while the half-madValois shifted between two opinions, and the Italian woman, accurseddaughter of an accursed race, cried "Hark!" at her window, and lookedeastwards for the dawn.

  And the women? The woman he was to marry?
And the others? In an accessof passion he thrust aside those who stood between, he pushed his way,disregarding complaints, disregarding opposition, to the door. But thepikes lay across it, and he could not utter a syllable to save hislife. He would have flung himself on the door-keepers, for he waslosing control of himself; but as he drew back for the spring, a handclutched his sleeve, and a voice he loathed hummed in his ear.

  "No, fair play, noble sir; fair play!" the cripple Jehan muttered,forcibly drawing him aside. "All start together, and it's no man'sloss. But if there is any little business," he continued, lowering histone and peering with a cunning look into the other's face, "of yourown, noble sir, or your friends', anything or anybody you wantdespatched, count on me. It were better, perhaps, you didn't appear init yourself, and a man you can trust----"

  "What do you mean?" the young man cried, recoiling from him.

  "No need to look surprised, noble sir," the lean man, who had joinedthem, answered in a soothing tone. "Who kills to-night does Godservice, and who serves God much may serve himself a little. 'Thoushalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn,' says good FatherPezelay."

  "Hear, hear!" the cripple chimed in eagerly, his impatience such thathe danced on his toes. "He preaches as well as the good father hismaster! So frankly, noble sir, what is it? What is it? A woman grownugly? A rich man grown old, with perchance a will in his chest? Or ayoung heir that stands in my lord's way? Whichever it be, or whateverit be, trust me and our friend here, and my butcher's gully shall cutthe knot."

  Tignonville shook his head.

  "But something there is," the lean man persisted obstinately; and hecast a suspicious glance at Tignonville's clothes. It was evident thatthe two had discussed him, and the motives of his presence there."Have the dice proved fickle, my lord, and are you for the jewellers'shops on the bridge to fill your purse again? If so, take my word, itwere better to go three than one, and we'll enlist."

  "Ay, we know shops on the bridge where you can plunge your armelbow-deep in gold," the cripple muttered, his eyes sparklinggreedily. "There's Baillet's, noble sir! There's a shop for you! Andthere's the man's shop who works for the King. He's lame like me. AndI know the way to all. Oh, it will be a merry night if they ringbefore the dawn. It must be near daybreak now. And what's that?"

  Ay, what was it? A score of voices called for silence; a breathlesshush fell on the crowd. A moment the fiercest listened, with partedlips and starting eyes. Then, "It was the bell!" cried one, "let usout!" "It was not!" cried, another. "It was a pistol shot!" "Anyhowlet us out!" the crowd roared in chorus; "let us out!" And theypressed in a furious mass towards the door, as if they would force it,signal or no signal.

  But the pikemen stood fast, and the throng, checked in their firstrush, turned on one another, and broke into wrangling and disputing;boasting, and calling Heaven and the saints to witness how thoroughly,how pitilessly, how remorselessly they would purge Paris of thisleprosy when the signal did sound. Until again above the babel a mancried "Silence!" and again they listened. And this time, dulled bywalls and distance, but unmistakable by the ears of fear or hate, theheavy note of a bell came to them on the hot night-air. It was theboom, sullen and menacing, of the death signal.

  The door-keepers lowered their pikes, and with a wild rush as ofwolves swarming on their prey, the band stormed the door, and thrustand struggled and battled a way down the narrow staircase, and alongthe narrow passage. "A bas les Huguenots! Mort aux Huguenots!" theyshouted; and shrieking, sweating, spurning with vile hands vilerfaces, they poured pell-mell into the street, and added their clamourto the boom of the tocsin that, as by magic and in a moment, turnedthe streets of Paris into a hell of blood and cruelty. For as it washere, so it was in a dozen other quarters.

  Quickly as they streamed out--and to have issued more quickly wouldhave been impossible--fiercely as they pushed and fought and clovetheir way, Tignonville was of the foremost. And for a moment, seeingthe street clear before him and almost empty, the Huguenot thoughtthat he might do something. He might outstrip the stream of rapine, hemight carry the alarm; at worst he might reach his betrothed beforeharm befel her. But when he had sped fifty yards, his heart sank.True, none passed him; but under the spell of the alarm-bell thestones themselves seemed to turn to men. Houses, courts, alleys, thevery churches vomited men. In a twinkling the street was alive withmen, roared with them as with a rushing tide, gleamed with theirlights and weapons, thundered with the volume of their thousandvoices. He was no longer ahead, men were running before him, behindhim, on his right hand and on his left. In every side-street, everypassage, men were running; and not men only, but women, children,furious creatures without age or sex. And all the time the bell tolledoverhead, tolled faster and faster, and louder and louder; and shotsand screams, and the clash of arms, and the fall of strong doors beganto swell the maelstrom of sound.

  He was in the Rue St. Honore now, and speeding westward. But the floodstill rose with him, and roared abreast of him. Nay, it outstrippedhim. When he came, panting, within sight of his goal, and lacked but ahundred paces of it, he found his passage barred by a dense mass ofpeople moving slowly to meet him. In the heart of the press the lightof a dozen torches shone on half as many riders mailed and armed;whose eyes, as they moved on, and the furious gleaming eyes of therabble about them, never left the gabled roofs on their right. Onthese from time to time a white-clad figure showed itself, and passedfrom chimney-stack to chimney-stack, or, stooping low, ran along theparapet. Every time that this happened, the men on horseback pointedupwards and the mob foamed with rage.

  Tignonville groaned, but he could not help. Unable to go forward, heturned, and with others hurrying, shouting, and brandishing weapons,he pressed into the Rue du Roule, passed through it, and gained theBethizy. But here, as he might have foreseen, all passage was barredat the Hotel Pouthieu by a horde of savages, who danced and yelled andsang songs round the Admiral's body, which lay in the middle of theway; while to right and left men were bursting into houses and forcingnew victims into the street. The worst had happened there, and heturned panting, regained the Rue St. Honore and, crossing it andturning left-handed, darted through side streets until he came againinto the main thoroughfare a little beyond the Croix du Tiroir, thatmarked the corner of Mademoiselle's house.

  Here his last hope left him. The street swarmed with bands of menhurrying to and fro as in a sacked city. The scum of the Halles, therabble of the quarter poured this way and that, here at random, thereswayed and directed by a few knots of men-at-arms, whose corseletsreflected the glare of a hundred torches. At one time and withinsight, three or four houses were being stormed. On every side roseheartrending cries, mingled with brutal laughter, with savage jests,with cries of "To the river!" The most cruel of cities had burst itsbounds and was not to be stayed; nor would be stayed until the Seineran red to the sea, and leagues below, in pleasant Normandy hamlets,men, for fear of the pestilence, pushed the corpses from the bridgeswith poles and boat-hooks.

  All this Tignonville saw, though his eyes, leaping the turmoil, lookedonly to the door at which he had left Mademoiselle a few hoursearlier. There a crowd of men pressed and struggled; but from the spotwhere he stood he could see no more. That was enough, however. Ragenerved him, and despair; his world was dying round him. If he couldnot save her he would avenge her. Recklessly he plunged into thetumult; blade in hand, with vigorous blows he thrust his way through,his white sleeve and the white cross in his hat gaining him passageuntil he reached the fringe of the band who beset the door. Here hisfirst attempt to pass failed; and he might have remained hampered bythe crowd if a squad of archers had not ridden up. As they spurred tothe spot, heedless over whom they rode, he clutched a stirrup, and wasborne with them into the heart of the crowd. In a twinkling he stoodon the threshold of the house, face to face and foot to foot withCount Hannibal, who stood also on the threshold, but with his back tothe door, which, unbarred and unbolted, gaped open behind him.