One in a Thousand; or, The Days of Henri Quatre

by G. P. R. James

He found D'Aubin surrounded by a large party of the gay nobility of Paris; and levity and merriment had so completely taken possession of every one present, that St. Real could obtain no attention for the serious matter he had to communicate. Even his cousin himself, whom he knew to be full of strong and fiery passions, and whom he had seen that very morning moved by no light emotions, appeared now to have given himself up entirely to the idlest spirit of gaiety; so that the only effect produced by the tale which the young nobleman had to tell was loud laughter at the repulse he had met with from the monarch's presence, and advice to suffer Henry to deal with his friend the friar as best he might.

Somewhat offended, and still more grieved, at his cousin's conduct, St. Real quitted him, promising to rejoin him in the course of the day; and, betaking himself to the small rooms, which were the only ones he could find unoccupied in either of the two auberges that St. Cloud at that time boasted, he hastily put off his riding-suit, removed the traces of travel and contention from his person, and then, dressed more in accordance with the courtly foppery of a great capital than the simplicity which he had expected to find in a camp, he returned to the temporary dwelling of the king, bent upon executing his own right purposes, whoever might laugh or sneer. Henry had by this time, it would seem, considered the impolicy of alienating so powerful a subject, at a moment when the throne so much needed support; and St. Real found a page waiting for him in the vestibule, charged, on his return, to deliver a sort of half apology for the treatment he had met with, and to conduct him immediately to the royal presence.

Led through the same rooms, St. Real entered the audience-chamber, which was still tenanted by the same personages, with the exception of the king himself, whose voice was heard in a cabinet beyond. The page, however, instantly proceeded to the door, and throwing it open, announced St. Real's return.

"We will speak with him presently," replied Henry, aloud: but the sight which met St. Real's eyes through the open door made him once more cast away all ceremony, notwithstanding his rebuke he had received in the morning. On the right of the monarch stood La Guesle, the Procureur Général, while at the king's feet knelt the very Jacobin friar whom St. Real had seen in conversation with that officer about half an hour before. The monk seemed in the act of presenting a letter; but though that action, and his whole demeanour, appeared perfectly pacific, yet St. Real was convinced, from his previous knowledge, that the ultimate designs of the Jacobin must be evil; and striding across the audience-hall with the purpose of interposing, he had nearly reached the door of the cabinet, when one of the nobles in attendance stopped him for an instant, attempting to explain to him that the King would summon him when he thought fit.

"Of course, of course!" replied St. Real, "but the King is in danger. See, see!" And at the same moment the Dominican, as he knelt, lifted his arm and struck the monarch, what appeared to be merely a blow of his clenched hand.

The King staggered back, however, exclaiming, "He has killed me!" And drawing from his side the long sharp knife which the Jacobin had left in the wound, he struck the assassin on the head as he was endeavouring to rise. Almost at the same time, La Guesle, drawing; his sword, passed it through the monk's body; and the nobleman, who had so ill-timedly stopped the advance of St. Real, sprang forward, crying, "The Monk has killed his Majesty;" and while the murderer was already falling under the blows of the King and La Guesle, drove his dagger into his throat and put a period to his existence. The other officers in attendance rushed into the cabinet in tumult and fury, and with an indecent excess of rage, cast the dead body of the Jacobin out of the window into the court.

There is no describing the terror, confusion, and despair, into which the large body of courtiers, interested deeply in the life of their master, were thrown by the event that had just occurred; but Henry himself, at that awful moment, recalled all the courage and self-possession for which he had been distinguished in his early years, and showed himself far more tranquil and undisturbed than any of the party.

"Send for a surgeon," he said, sitting down and pressing one hand upon the wound, while with the other he waved back those who were crowding round him. "La Guesle, you have done wrong to kill the wretch. We might have learned who were his instigators; but let the room be cleared. Monsieur de St. Real, I thought to have spoken with you, but it is impossible now. You said you had something to communicate; but if I recover, it must be told hereafter; if I die, it must be told to my successor."

"God forbid your Majesty should die at this moment," replied St. Real, whose intended communication was now rendered useless. "I trust that your wound will not prove serious."

"I trust not," replied the King; "but no one can say what, or how soon, may be the termination. Although I am inclined to think that the wound is not dangerous, yet in this body there may be but half an hour of life. Therefore remember, lords and gentlemen of France here present, that, should death be the result of this morning's bad work, Henry of Navarre is your lawful king! From the moment that my lips cease to breathe he is your king according to every principle of right and justice: the fundamental laws of the French monarchy make him so, and no power on earth can absolve you of your duty towards him. I only raise my voice to point out to my subjects what will be their duty when I am dead. Remember that this is my last injunction: but here come the surgeons; and now, once more, I say, let the room be cleared."