The Forty-Five Guardsmen | Page 7

a fete; and the death of a man is a fete, especially when he has
raised so many passions that some curse and others bless him.
The spectators who succeeded in reaching the Place saw the archers
and a large number of Swiss and light horse surrounding a little
scaffold raised about four feet from the ground. It was so low as to be
visible only to those immediately surrounding it, or to those who had
windows overlooking the Place. Four vigorous white horses beat the
ground impatiently with their hoofs, to the great terror of the women,
who had either chosen this place willingly, or had been forcibly pushed
there.
These horses were unused, and had never done more work than to
support, by some chance, on their broad backs the chubby children of
the peasants. After the scaffold and the horses, what next attracted all
looks was the principal window of the Hotel de Ville, which was hung
with red velvet and gold, and ornamented with the royal arms. This was
for the king. Half-past one had just struck when this window was filled.
First came Henri III., pale, almost bald, although he was at that time
only thirty-five, and with a somber expression, always a mystery to his
subjects, who, when they saw him appear, never knew whether to say
"Vive le Roi!" or to pray for his soul. He was dressed in black, without
jewels or orders, and a single diamond shone in his cap, serving as a
fastening to three short plumes. He carried in his hand a little black dog
that his sister-in-law Marie Stuart had sent him from her prison, and on
which his fingers looked as white as alabaster.
Behind the king came Catherine de Medicis, almost bowed by age, for
she might be sixty-six or sixty-seven, but still carrying her head firm
and erect, and darting bitter glances from under her thick eyebrows. At
her side appeared the melancholy but sweet face of the queen, Louise
de Torraine. Catherine came as a triumph, she as a punishment. Behind
them came two handsome young men, brothers, the eldest of whom
smiled with wonderful beauty, and the younger with great melancholy.
The one was Anne, duc de Joyeuse, and the other Henri de Joyeuse,
comte de Bouchage. The people had for these favorites of the king none
of the hatred which they had felt toward Maugiron, Quelus, and

Schomberg.
Henri saluted the people gravely; then, turning to the young men, he
said, "Anne, lean against the tapestry; it may last a long time."
"I hope so," said Catherine.
"You think, then, that Salcede will speak, mother?"
"God will, I trust, give this confusion to our enemies."
Henri looked doubtful.
"My son," said Catherine, "do I not see some tumult yonder?"
"What clear sight you have! I believe you are right. I have such bad
eyes, and yet I am not old. Yes, here comes Salcede."
"He fears," said Catherine; "he will speak."
"If he has strength," said the king. "See, his head falls about like that of
a corpse."
"He is frightful," said Joyeuse.
"How should a man be handsome whose thoughts are so ugly? Have I
not explained to you, Anne, the secret connection of the physical and
the moral, as Hippocrates and Galen understood and expounded them?"
"I admit it, sire, but I am not a good pupil. I have sometimes seen very
ugly men very good soldiers. Have you not, Henri?" said he, turning to
his brother: but he looked without seeing, and heard without
understanding, so the king answered for him.
"Eh, mon Dieu! my dear Anne, who says this man is not brave? He is
brave, pardieu, like a wolf, a bear, or a serpent. He burned in his house
a Norman gentleman, his enemy; he has fought ten duels, and killed
three of his adversaries. He has now been taken in the act of coining,
for which he has been condemned to death."

"That is a well-filled existence, but which will soon finish."
"On the contrary," said Catherine, "I trust it will finish as slowly as
possible."
"Madame," said Joyeuse, "I see those four stout horses, who appear to
me so impatient of their state of inactivity that I do not believe in a long
resistance of the muscles, tendons, and cartilages of M. de Salcede."
"Yes, but my son is merciful," replied she, with the smile peculiar to
herself, "and he will tell the men to go gently."
"But, madame," said the queen timidly, "I heard you say this morning
that there were only to be two draws?"
"Yes, if he conducts himself well; in that case all will be finished as
soon as possible, and, as you interest yourself so much in him, you had
better let