The Pocket Bible; or, Christian the Printer: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

Anna Bell could proceed no further; she seemed to strangle with confusion, and was purple with shame. Suddenly frightful cries, proceeding from the interior of the chapel, startled the oppressive silence in the vestry. The cries were speedily smothered, but again, ever and anon, and despite the gag that suppressed them, they escaped in muffled roars of pain. Frightened at these ominous sounds, the maid of honor precipitately took refuge by the Prince's side, seeming to implore his protection and muttering amid sobs:

"Monsieur – do you hear those cries – do you hear the man's moans?"

"Oh!" answered Franz of Gerolstein, visibly depressed with grief. "Forever accursed be they, who, through their ferocity, were the first to provoke these acts of cruel reprisal!"

The moans that reached the vestry gradually changed into muffled and convulsive rattles that grew fainter and fainter. Silence prevailed once more. The expiring monk was ordained Cardinal by the Franc-Taupin.

"I arrived in time, mademoiselle, to rescue you from the vengeance of those pitiless men," resumed the Prince. "The candor of your words would denote the falseness of the accusations raised against you. And yet, this letter from the Queen, this vial, would seem to furnish convincing testimony against you."

"Last evening," Anna Bell proceeded, "notified by our governess that the Queen wished to speak to me, I awaited her orders in a dark corridor that separated my chamber from the Queen's apartments. At the very moment I was about to open the door I heard your name mentioned, monsieur. The Queen was speaking about you with Father Lefevre, a priest of the Society of Jesus, one of the counselors of the King of Spain."

"To what purpose was my name mentioned by the Queen and the Jesuit?"

"It seems that, in their opinion, monsieur, you are a redoubtable enemy, and the Queen promised Father Lefevre to rid herself of you. One of her maids of honor was to be commissioned to execute the murder through poison. The maid of honor chosen was myself. Madam Catherine selected me for this horrible deed. Frightened at what I had overheard, an involuntary cry of horror escaped me. Almost immediately I heard footsteps approach the door of the Queen's apartment. Luckily I had time to regain my own chamber without being heard or even suspected of having overheard the Queen's words. Presently she rang for me. The Queen began by reminding me of her acts of kindness to me, and added she decided to fulfil the dearest and most secret wishes of my heart. 'Anna Bell,' she said, 'you no longer love the Marquis of Solange; you have transferred your affections to the Prince of Gerolstein, whom you saw at court last year.' Take this vial. It contains a philter that makes one beloved. A guide will take you to the outposts of the Huguenots; you will fall into their hands; you will then ask to be taken to the Prince of Gerolstein. He is a nobleman, he will take pity upon you, he will lodge you in his tent. Love will inspire you. You will find the opportunity to pour a few drops of this philter into Franz of Gerolstein's cup – thus you will reach your Prince' – and these are the words which the Queen repeated to me in her letter."

"And guessing that the philter was poison, and fearing to awaken the Queen's suspicions, you feigned readiness to accept the mission of death? That, I suppose, is the complement of your story?"

"Yes, monsieur. I hoped to warn you to be on guard against the dangers that threaten you!"

Exhausted by so many emotions, and crushed with shame, the poor girl dropped down upon one of the benches in the vestry, hid her face in her hands, and wept convulsively.

The revelation, bearing as it did the stamp of irresistible candor, awakened in the heart of Franz of Gerolstein a deep interest for the ill-starred young woman.

"Mademoiselle," he said to her in a firm yet kind tone, "I believe in your sincerity – I believe your account of your misfortunes."

"Now, monsieur, I can die."

"Dismiss such mournful thoughts – perhaps an unexpected consolation awaits you. Owing to certain details that you mentioned concerning your early years, I am almost certain I know your parents. You must have been born at La Rochelle, and was not your father an armorer?"

"Yes!" cried Anna Bell. "Yes! I remember how the sight of glistening arms delighted my eyes in my childhood."

"Did you not, at the time you were kidnapped from your family, wear any collar or other trinket that you may have preserved?"

"I wore around my neck, and have preserved ever since, a little lead medal. I have it here attached to this chain."

Franz of Gerolstein ran to the door of the vestry and called for Josephin. The Franc-Taupin approached, stepping slowly, and engaged in imparting the latest notch to the stick that hung from his cartridge belt: "Seventeen! There are still eight wanting before we reach twenty-five! Oh! My bill shall be paid, by my sister's death! My bill shall be paid!"

Franz of Gerolstein inquired from the Franc-Taupin: "What was the age of Odelin's child when she was kidnapped!"

With a look of surprise the Franc-Taupin answered: "The poor child was eight years old. It is now ten years since the dear little girl disappeared."

"Did she wear anything by which she might be identified?" pursued Franz.

"She wore from her neck," said the Franc-Taupin with a sigh, "a medal of the Church of the Desert, like all other Protestant children. It was a medal that I presented to her mother the day of the little creature's birth."

Franz of Gerolstein held before the Franc-Taupin the medal that Anna Bell had just given him, and said: "Do you recognize this medal? Josephin, this young girl was kidnapped from her family ten years ago – she carried this medal from her neck – "

"Oh!" cried the Franc-Taupin, looking at Anna Bell with renewed confusion. "She is Odelin's daughter! That accounts for my having been from the first struck with her resemblance to Hena."

"Do you, monsieur, know my parents?" it was now Anna Bell's turn to ask. "Pray tell me where I can find them."

But overcome with emotion, the Franc-Taupin said: "But Oh! what a shame for the family! What a disgrace! A maid of honor to the Queen!"

The Franc-Taupin was quickly drawn from his mixed emotions of sorrow and joy. More important work was soon to be done. An officer entered the vestry, bringing orders from Admiral Coligny for the vanguards and outposts to fall back without delay toward St. Yrieix. Franz of Gerolstein immediately conveyed the Admiral's orders to the Avengers of Israel, who crowded behind the officer, and then turned to Anna Bell, saying:

"Mademoiselle, come; remount your litter. We shall escort you to St. Yrieix. I shall impart to you on the road tidings concerning your family – of which I am a member."

"What a revelation to Odelin – and to Antonicq!" the Franc-Taupin thought to himself, "when they learn within shortly, at St. Yrieix, that this unfortunate creature – the disgraced and dishonored maid of honor to the Queen is the daughter of the one and the sister of the other!"

The Avengers of Israel and the squadron of German horsemen, with Franz of Gerolstein at their head, completed their reconnoisance about the forest and fell back upon St. Yrieix. The chapel of St. Hubert remained deserted and wrapped in silence. The morning breeze swung the body of the monk as it hung limp from a branch of the oak-tree in front of the portico of the holy place. Horrible to look at were the features of the corpse. They preserved the impress of the Cordelier's last agonies. The skin was ripped from the head. It had the appearance of being covered with a red skull cap.

Abominable reprisals, without a doubt; and yet less abominable than the crimes of which they record the expiatory vengeance.

CHAPTER IV.

GASPARD OF COLIGNY

The burg of St. Yrieix stood in the center of the staked-in camp occupied by the army of Admiral Coligny. An inflexible disciplinarian, Admiral Coligny maintained rigorous order among his troops. Never was pillage allowed; never marauding. His soldiers always paid for all that they demanded from city folks or peasants. He went even further. Whenever it happened that, scared at the approach of armed forces, the peasants fled from their villages, the officers, executing the express orders of Admiral Coligny, left in the houses the price of the vegetables and forage with which the soldiers provisioned themselves and their beasts in the absence of the masters of the place. Finally, as a necessary and terrible example – thieves caught redhanded were inexorably hanged, and the stolen objects tied to their feet. Finally there never were seen at the Huguenot camps the swarms of women of ill fame that ordinarily encumbered the baggage of the Catholic army, and that, according to the ancient practice, were placed under the supervision of the "King of the Ribalds."

The habits of the Protestants in the army of Admiral Coligny were pious, austere and upright. This notwithstanding, the Admiral found it impossible to impose rigid discipline upon the numerous bands that from time to time attached themselves to his main forces, usually conducted a guerilla warfare, and emulated the royalists in rapine and cruelty.

The Admiral, the Princes of Orange, of Nassau and of Gerolstein, the sons of the Prince of Condé who was assassinated upon orders from the Duke of Anjou, young Henry of Bearn, besides many other Protestant chiefs, occupied several houses at St. Yrieix. The ancient priory served as the Admiral's quarters. Early in the morning, as was his wont, Admiral Coligny left his lodgings accompanied by his servants, to attend the prayers held in the Huguenot camp and called the "Prayer of the Guard." The officers and soldiers of the Admiral's post, together with those of some neighboring ones, filled on these occasions the courtyard of the priory, and standing erect, bareheaded, silent, they awaited in meditation the hour of raising their souls to God. Old soldiers grey of beard and seamed with scars; young recruits, barely beyond adolescence; rich noblemen, raised in the spacious halls of castles; field laborers, as well as artisans from the cities, who rallied to the defense of the "Church of the Desert" – all animated with an ardent faith, would there unite upon the level of Evangelical equality. The seigneur, battling side by side with his vassal for the holy cause of freedom of conscience, saw in him only a brother. Thus germinated among the Protestants the tendencies toward fraternity that were later to cause the distinctions of castes and races, so much prized by royalists, to vanish. A slight murmur, betokening the affection and respect that he inspired, greeted the Admiral's arrival. The rude fatigues of many wars had bent his tall and one-time straight figure. His white hair and beard, together with the pallor of his noble visage, now profoundly changed since the death of his brother, who was treacherously poisoned, imparted to the aspect of the supreme chieftain of the Protestant armies a venerable and touching expression. Encased from his neck down in armor of burnished iron, without any ornament whatever, and half concealed under a flowing cloak of white cloth – the Huguenot color – the Admiral was bareheaded. Beside him stood the brave Francis of Lanoüe, a young Breton nobleman. Courage, honor, kindness, were stamped upon his manly and loyal countenance. A sort of steel arm, artistically forged by Odelin Lebrenn, with the aid of which Monsieur Lanoüe could guide his horse, replaced the arm that the daring captain had lost in battle. When the murmur that greeted the Admiral's arrival subsided, one of the pastors, Feron by name, who attended the army, uttered in a benign voice the following short prayer:

"Our trust lies in God, who made the heavens and the earth.

"Our Father and Savior, since it has pleased You, in the midst of the dangers of war, to preserve us last night and until this day, may it please You to cause us to employ it wholly in Your service. Oh, heavenly Father! Our brothers rely upon our vigilance. They rely upon us, their defenders. Deign by Your grace to help us in faithfully fulfilling our charge, without negligence, or cowardice. Finally, may it please You, O Lord of Hosts, to change these calamitous times into happy times where justice and religion shall reign! Not then shall we any longer be reduced to the necessity of defending ourselves; then will Your holy name be glorified more and more the world over! All these things, O Lord, our Father! O, good God! we beg of You in the name and by the grace of our Savior Jesus Christ. We pray to You to increase our faith which we now confess, saying: I believe in God the omnipotent Father, and in his Son the Redeemer.

"May the blessing of God the Father, the grace and the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ remain and dwell forevermore among us in the communion of the Holy Ghost.

"Amen!"[67 - Morning prayer of the guard, 1569. —Protestant Review, vol. I, p. 105.]

"Amen!" responded Admiral Coligny devoutly and in a grave voice.

"Amen!" answered the soldiers.

The morning prayer had been said.

While the Admiral was religiously attending morning service in the courtyard at his headquarters, Dominic, the servant of his household who was captured shortly before by the royalists, was engaged in executing the crime plotted by the Duke of Anjou jointly with the captain of his guards.

Dominic stepped into the chamber of Coligny; he moved about cautiously, with eyes and ears alert, watching from all sides whether he was either seen or heard; he approached a table on which, standing beside several scrolls of paper, was an earthen bowl containing a refreshing drink that Coligny was in the habit of taking every morning, and which his faithful equerry Nicholas Mouche always prepared for him. Mouche was at the moment at prayers with the Admiral, together with the rest of the household servants. Dominic purposely did not join his comrades that morning; he figured upon their absence to carry out his nefarious deed. The poisoner took up the earthen bowl to drop the poison in. For an instant he hesitated. Brought up in the house of Coligny and ever treated by his master with paternal kindness, the thoughts of the wretch for an instant conjured up the past before him. Then cupidity stifled pity in the assassin's breast. He took out of his pocket a scent-bag containing some grey powder, shook the contents into the bowl, and stirred it, in order to mix the poison well with the liquid. Dominic was placing the bowl back from where he took it when he heard steps approaching. Quickly and tremblingly he slid away from the table. It was Odelin Lebrenn, bringing back the Admiral's casque, which was sent to him to repair, it having been bent in the day before by a ball from a large arquebus while the Admiral was on a reconnoitering expedition. Although serving as a volunteer with his son Antonicq in the Protestant army, Odelin exercised his trade with the help of a portable forge. Thirty-three years had elapsed since the day when he returned to Paris with Master Raimbaud. He was now bordering on his forty-eighth year. His beard and hair were grizzled with grey. His features betokened frankness and resolution. Odelin had not seen Dominic since his capture by the Catholics. He now congratulated him heartily upon his escape from the enemy, but remarking the wretch's pallor, he added:

"What is the matter, my dear Dominic? You look ashy pale."

"I do not know – what – you mean – " stammered Dominic, saying which the poisoner rushed out precipitately.

The hurry of the man's departure, his pallor and flutter, awakened the armorer's suspicion; but these thoughts were quickly crowded out of his mind by the sudden appearance of his son Antonicq, who ran in with flustered face and tears in his eyes, crying:

"Oh, father! Come quick! In heaven's name come to the Prince of Gerolstein who is just back to camp with uncle Josephin, the Franc-Taupin."