by Eugène Sue
“Great God! madam. I tremble at the bare thought of falling into the hands of the Huguenots!”
“If your courage fail you, all will run to water. But you may be quite certain that you run no risk whatever. The Huguenots do not kill women — especially not such handsome ones as yourself. You will be merely the prisoner of the miscreants.”
“And what am I to do then, madam?”
“You will say to those who will arrest you: ‘Messieurs, I am one of the Queen’s maids of honor; I was on my way to join her Majesty; the leader of my litter struck a wrong road; please take me to Prince Franz of Gerolstein.’ The rest will go of itself. The Huguenots will take you to the Prince. Like the nobleman that he is, my little beauty, he will keep you at his lodgings or in his tent, he will yield you the place of honor at his table — and — in his bed. You will have more than one opportunity to improve Franz’s wine with a few drops of the philter.”
The Queen’s instructions were interrupted at this point by the entrance of a page who came to announce that Count Neroweg of Plouernel prayed for admission to the Queen’s presence upon pressing and important matters. Catherine ordered the page to introduce the Count, and she bade Anna Bell godspeed, kissing her on the forehead and adding these last instructions:
“Prepare immediately for your journey, my pet. The Count of Plouernel will appoint the guide who is to accompany you. One of my equerries will get a litter ready. I expect to see you again before your departure.”
The maid of honor followed the Queen’s instructions. Seeing that the interview with the Count of Plouernel lasted longer than she had anticipated, Catherine De Medici was prevented from seeing Anna Bell again, and sent her a note to depart without delay.
Towards one o’clock in the morning the maid of honor mounted in one of the Queen’s litters, left the Abbey of St. Severin.
CHAPTER III.
THE AVENGERS OF ISRAEL.
THE SUN WAS rising. Its early rays gilded the crest of a forest about a league distant from St. Yrieix, a large burg that served as the center of the Protestant encampment. A chapel, formerly dedicated to St. Hubert by an inveterate hunter, raised its dilapidated walls on the edge of the wood, the skirts of which were now guarded by mounted scouts, posted at long intervals. The chapel had been devastated during the religious wars. Its belfries, the capitals and the friezes of its portico were broken; its windows were smashed in; the statue of St. Hubert, the patron of hunters, lay decapitated in the midst of other debris, along with that of the seigneur who founded the holy shrine, chosen by him for his sepulcher. The fragments of his marble image, representing him lying prone, with hands joined in prayer, hunting horn slung over his shoulder, his favorite greyhound stretched at his feet — all lay strewn around the mortuary vault, now gaping wide open and cumbered with ruins. The interior of the chapel now served as a stable, and also as guardhouse to a picket squad of the Huguenot army, posted at the spot. The pickets’ horses, ready saddled and bridled, stood drawn up in double row in one of the low-roofed aisles and on either side of a door that communicated with the old vestry. For want of forage the beasts were eating the green leaves of large bunches of branches thrown at their feet. The riders, either standing, or seated, or stretched out at full length, wrapped in their cloaks, were not dressed in uniform. Their offensive and defensive arms, however, dissimilar and worn, were in usable condition.
This band of Huguenot volunteers took the name of the Avengers of Israel. Josephin, the Franc-Taupin, named by the Catholics “The One-Eyed,” was their commander. On all occasions the Avengers of Israel approved themselves animated by an intrepidity that was matchless, always claiming for themselves the post of greatest danger, and always found first in battle. The indomitable courage of the Franc-Taupin, his exceptional skill in guerilla warfare, his pitiless hatred for the papists, upon whom he swore to avenge the fate of his sister Bridget and his niece Hena, earned for him the leadership of these resolute men.
On this day, at sunrise, the commander presided at a species of tribunal consisting of several of his companions in arms, all seated in the midst of the ruins of the chapel of St. Hubert. The years had whitened the hair and beard of the Franc-Taupin, without impairing the fiber of his energy. An old rust-covered steel breastplate over his chest answered the purpose of corselet; his wide hose of red cloth were half covered by a pair of high leather boots heavy with dust; at his belt, which also contained his cartridges, hung a short stick suspended from a piece of pack-thread, and indented with sixteen notches — each tallying the death of a priest or monk. The dagger of fine Milan steel, a present from Odelin, hung on the Franc-Taupin’s right side, while at his left he wore a long sword with an iron hilt. The Franc-Taupin’s bronzed and haggard features, rendered all the more sinister by the large black patch which covered one eye, were at this moment expressive of sardonic cruelty. He was sitting in judgment upon a Cordelier, a man of tall and robust build, who was captured in the early morning prowling in the forest. Some letters found about his person proved that the tonsured gentleman was a spy of the royalist army, and one of the Avengers of Israel recognized him as one of the monks who took part in the carnage of Mirebeau, where nearly twelve hundred Huguenot prisoners were put to death with frightful refinements of cruelty. Surrounded by several of his companions, who, like himself, were seated upon the ruins of the altar, the Franc-Taupin drew his dagger and was engaged in leisurely sharpening it upon a stone that he held between his knees, without looking at the monk who, livid with rage and terror, and standing a few steps aside with his arms tied behind his back, was uttering maledictions at the top of his voice:
“Accursed and sacrilegious wretches! You abuse your strength! The hand of the Lord will fall heavy upon you! Heretical dogs!”
The Franc-Taupin calmly sharpened his dagger. “Good!” he exclaimed. “Be brave, my reverend! Disgorge your monastic bile! Crack your apostolic hide! It will not make your fate any worse. Be prepared for the worst, and you will still be far behind what I have in store for you. We care nothing for your threats.”
“Neither can anything render your fate worse than it will be, reprobates,” howled the Cordelier, “when the whole pack of you, to the very last one, will be hurled into the pit of everlasting flames!”
“By my sister’s death!” the Franc-Taupin answered. “You make a mistake to mention ‘flames.’ You remind me of what I never forget — the fate of my niece, who, poor innocent creature, was plunged twenty-five times into the burning pyre. Brothers, instruct the tonsured fellow upon our reasons for enrolling ourselves in the corps of the Avengers of Israel, and why we are pitiless.”
Accordingly, while the Franc-Taupin continued to whet his dagger, one of the Huguenot soldiers thus addressed the monk:
“Monk, listen! In full peace, after the Edict of Orleans, my house was invaded during my absence by a band of fanatics. The vicar of the parish led them. My old and blind father, who remained at home in my house, was strangled to death. It is to avenge my father that I enrolled myself with the militia of the Avengers of Israel. Therefore, death to the papist Church! Death to all the tonsured felons!”
“Marshal Montluc held command in Guyenne,” continued a second Huguenot. “Six soldiers, attached to his ordnance company, lodged at our farm-house. One day they forced the cellar door, drank themselves drunk, and violated my brother’s wife. Wounded with cutlass cuts in his endeavor to defend her, he dragged himself bleeding to the headquarters of Marshal Montluc to demand justice. Montluc ordered him to be hanged! Monk, I have sworn to avenge my brother! Death to the papists!”
“I also am from Guyenne, like my companion,” came from another Huguenot. “One Sunday, relying upon the Edict of Longjumeau, I attended services with my mother and sister. A company of Marshal Montluc’s swashbucklers, led by a chaplain, invaded the temple, chased out the women, locked up the men in the building, and set it on fire. There were sixty-five of us inside, all without arms. Nine succeeded in making their escape from
the flames. The rest, burned, smothered by the smoke, or crushed under the falling roof, all perished. The women and young girls were dragged to a nearby enclosure; they were stripped to the skin; they were then compelled at the point of pikes to dance naked before the papist soldiers; and were finally forced to submit to the lechery of their persecutors. My mother was killed in her endeavor to save my sister from that crowning outrage; nine months later my sister died in childbed of the fruit of her rape. Monk, I swore to avenge my sister! I swore to avenge my mother! Death to the papist seigneurs and nobles!”
“I come from Montaland, near Limoges,” a fourth Huguenot proceeded. “Three months after the new edict, I attended services with my young son. A band of peasants, led by two Carmelites and one Dominican, rushed into the temple. My poor boy’s head — he was not yet fifteen — was cut off with a scythe, and stuck upon a pole. Monk, I swore to avenge my son! Death to the whole monastic vermin!”
“Was it I, perchance, who committed the acts that you are seeking to avenge?” howled the Cordelier. “Cowardly felons!”
At this the Franc-Taupin interrupted the sharpening of his dagger, cast a sardonic look at the monk, and cried: “Oh! Oh! This is the seventeenth time I hear that identical remark — you being the seventeenth tonsured gentleman whom I sentence. Do you see this little stick? I cut a notch in it at each reprisal. When I shall have reached twenty-five the bill will be settled — my sister’s daughter was plunged twenty-five times into the furnace, at the order of the Catholic priests, the agents of the Pope.
“Monk, it stands written in the Bible: ‘Life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.’ Well, now, instead of burning you, as should be done, I purpose to make you a Cardinal.”
Saying this the soldier of fortune described with the point of his dagger a circle around his head. The monk understood the meaning of the frightful pantomime. The Avengers of Israel threw him down and held him fast at the foot of the altar. The Franc-Taupin passed his thumb along the edge of his weapon, and sat down upon his haunches beside the patient. At that moment one of the riders rushed precipitately into the chapel, shouting:
“A good prize! A good prize! A maid of honor of Jezebel!”
The arrival of the captive girl suspended the torture of the monk who remained pinioned at the feet of Josephin. The Franc-Taupin rose, and cast a look upon the female captive, who was none other than Anna Bell. The features of the hardened soldier relaxed, a tremor ran over his frame, he hid his face in his hands and wept. It seemed to him as if he saw in the young captive Hena, the poor martyr he so deeply mourned! The otherwise inexorable man remained for a moment steeped in desolate thoughts, in the midst of the profound silence of the Avengers of Israel. The maid of honor stood cold with fright. She realized she was in the power of the terrible One-Eyed man, the ferocity of whom spread terror among the Catholics.
The Franc-Taupin passed the back of his hand over his burning and hollow eye, the fierce fire of which seemed kindled into fiercer flame by the tear that had just bathed it. Turning with severity to Anna Bell he ordered her to step nearer:
“You are a maid of honor to the Queen?”
With a trembling voice Anna Bell replied: “Yes, monsieur, I belong to her Majesty the Queen.”
“Where do you come from?”
“From Meilleret. Tired with travel, I stopped for rest at the village. From there I proceeded on my journey to join the Queen. — My guide lost his way. Your riders stopped my litter. — Have pity upon me and order that I be taken to Monsieur the Prince of Gerolstein. I think I may rely upon his courtesy.”
“At what hour did you leave Meilleret?”
“About one this morning.”
“You lie! It is hardly five o’clock now — you traveled in a litter — it takes more than eight hours to come from Meilleret to this place on horseback and riding fast.”
“Monsieur, I conjure you, have me taken to the Prince of Gerolstein — it is the only favor I entreat of your kindness,” cried Anna Bell, trembling and stammering.
Struck by the insistence with which the maid of honor requested to be taken to Prince Franz of Gerolstein, the Franc-Taupin contemplated her with mistrust. Suddenly he ordered:
“Search the woman!”
Two Huguenots executed the order, and extracted from Anna Bell’s pockets a purse, a letter and the gold vial. The Franc-Taupin opened the letter, the seal of which was broken; read it; looked puzzled over a passage in the missive and remained for a moment thoughtful. But immediately struck by a sudden inspiration, he darted a fierce glance at the maid of honor, examined the gold vial in silence, and holding it up to Anna Bell, said:
“Woman, what does that vial contain?”
With a great effort, Anna Bell replied, “I — I — know not.”
“Oh, you know not!” cried the Franc-Taupin, breaking out in a sardonic guffaw. “Miserable creature. You seem to have the audacity of a criminal.”
He stepped slowly towards the young girl, seized her by the arm, and holding the vial to her lips, cried:
“Drink it on the spot, or I stab you to death!”
Anna Bell, terror-stricken and fainting, dropped upon her knees, crying: “Mercy! Mercy! I beg of you, mercy! Pity! Mercy!”
“Poisoner!” exclaimed the Franc-Taupin.
The maid of honor crouched still lower upon her knees, hid her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. The Huguenots looked at one another stupefied. Again silence reigned.
“Brothers,” said the Franc-Taupin, breaking the silence, “listen to the letter that you have just taken from this woman’s pocket:
“A courier from my son Charles has arrived from Paris, my pet, compelling me to have an immediate conference with the Cardinal. I can not see you before your departure. Adieu, and courage. You will reach your Prince. I forgot one important recommendation to you. The philter must be emptied quickly after the stopper is removed from the vial.
“The letter is signed ‘C. M.’ — Catherine De Medici! Here we have it! The Queen sends one of her strumpets to poison Franz of Gerolstein!”
Still under the shock of the cowardly assassination of Condé, and of the recent deaths by poison of the Duke of Deux-Ponts and the Admiral’s brother, the Huguenots broke out into imprecations. The youth and beauty of the maid of honor only rendered her criminal designs all the more execrable in their eyes. The moment was critical. Anna Bell made a superhuman effort — a last endeavor to escape the fate that threatened her. She rose on her knees and with clasped hands cried:
“Mercy! Listen to me! I shall confess everything!”
“O, Hena,” cried the Franc-Taupin with savage exaltation. “Poor martyr! I shall avenge your death upon this infamous creature — beautiful like yourself — young like yourself! Throw together outside of the chapel the branches that our horses have bared of their leaves. The wood is green — it will burn slowly. We’ll tie the poisoner and the monk back to back upon the pyre the instant I have ordained him a Cardinal.”
In chorus the Huguenots shouted: “To the pyre with the monk and the poisoner!”
Anna Bell’s mind began to wander. Livid and shivering she crouched in a heap upon the ground, her voice choked in her throat, already rigid with terror, and escaped only in convulsive sobs. The Avengers of Israel hurried to heap up the bare branches around a tall oak-tree planted before the portico of the chapel. The Franc-Taupin stepped towards the Cordelier, who muttered in an agonizing voice, “Miserere mei, Domine — miserere!”
Again the solemnity of ordaining the monk a Cardinal was suddenly interrupted. The sound of an approaching and numerous cavalcade reached the Avengers of Israel. A moment later Prince Franz of Gerolstein appeared at the head of a mounted troop.
The personage who now stepped upon the scene was the grandson of Charles of Gerolstein, who in 1534 assisted at the council of the Calvinists in the quarry of Montmartre, together with Christian the printe
r. The young Prince was twenty-five years of age. The short visor of his helmet exposed his features. Their regularity and symmetry were perfect; they expressed at once benevolence and resolution. Of tall and wiry build, the young man’s heavy black cuirass, worn German fashion, and his thick armlets, seemed not to weigh upon him. His wide hose, made of scarlet cloth, were almost overlapped by his long boots of buff leather armed with silver spurs. A wide belt of white taffeta — the Protestants’ rallying sign — was fastened with a knot on one side.
Immediately upon entering the chapel the Prince addressed the Franc-Taupin:
“Comrades, I have just learned that your scouts have arrested one of the Queen’s maids of honor—”
Before the Franc-Taupin had time to answer the Prince, Anna Bell jumped up, ran to Franz, and threw herself at his feet, crying: “For mercy’s sake, monsieur, deign to hear me!”
Franz of Gerolstein recognized the young girl at once. He reached out his hand to her and made her rise, saying: “I remember to have met you, mademoiselle, at the French court, last year. Be comforted. There must be some untoward misunderstanding in regard to you.”
Anna Bell in turn seized the Prince’s hands and covered them with kisses and tears. “I am innocent of the horrible crime that they charge me with!” she cried.
“Prince,” broke in the Franc-Taupin, “the woman must die! The wretch is a poisoner; she is an emissary of Catherine De Medici; and you were singled out for her victim. We are about to do justice to the case.”
“No pity for the prostitutes of the Italian woman! None for her messengers of death!” cried several Huguenots.
But Franz of Gerolstein interposed, saying: “My friends, I can not believe in the crime that you charge this young girl with. I knew her at the court of France. I often spoke with her. Whatever the deplorable reputation of her companions, she is a happy exception among them.”