The History of Christianity / Consisting of the Life and Teachings of Jesus of Nazareth; the Adventures of Paul and the Apostles; and the Most Interesting Events in the Progress of Christianity, from the Earliest Period to the Present Time.

by John S. C. Abbott

“I confide,” said the noble admiral, “in the sacred word of his Majesty.”

The admiral, as he entered the palace, was greeted with lavish caresses by both mother and son. The king threw his arms around the admiral’s neck, and hugged him in an Iscariot embrace, saying, “This is the happiest day of my life.”

At length, the nuptial morn arrived. It was the 15th of August, 1572. The unimpassioned bridegroom led his scornful bride to the Church of Notre Dame. Before the massive portals of this renowned cathedral, and beneath the shadow of its venerable towers, a magnificent platform had been reared, canopied with gorgeous tapestry. Hundreds of thousands thronged the surrounding amphitheatre, swarming at the windows, and crowding the balconies and the house-tops.

The gentle breeze, breathing over the multitude, was laden with the perfume of flowers. Banners, pennants, and ribbons, of every varied hue, waved in the air, or hung in gay festoons from window to window, and from roof to roof.

Upon that conspicuous platform Henry received the hand of the haughty princess, and the nuptial oath was administered. Marguerite however, even in that hour and in the presence of all those spectators, gave a ludicrous exhibition of her girlish petulance and her ungoverned wilfulness. When, in the progress of the ceremony, she was asked if she willinglyreceived Henry of Navarre for her husband, a sudden freak of perversion seized her. She pouted, coquettishly tossed her proud little head, and was silent. The question was repeated. The spirit of Marguerite was now up, and all the powers of Europe could not give pliancy to the shrew.

The question was again repeated. She fixed her eyes defiantly upon the officiating bishop, and, refusing by word or gesture to give the slightest assent, remained as immovable as a statue. Embarrassment and delay ensued. There was a pause in the ceremony; and every eye was fixed, in wonder as to what would be the result.

Suddenly the king, Marguerite’s brother, who with his court was conspicuously seated upon the platform, fully conscious of his sister’s indomitable spirit, quietly walked up to the termagant at bay, and placing one hand upon her bosom, and the other upon the back of her head, compelled an involuntary nod. The bishop smiled and bowed, and acting upon the politic principle, that small favors are gratefully received, proceeded with the ceremony. Such were the vows with which Henry of Navarre and Marguerite of France were united. Such is too often love in the palace.

We must now pass by the festival-days which ensued, and turn from the nuptials to the massacre. Admiral Coligni, anxious to return home, called at the Louvre to take leave of the king. As he was passing through the streets to the lodgings which had been provided for him, two bullets from the pistol of an assassin pierced his body. His friends bore him bleeding to his apartment. Though the king and queen feigned great indignation, the evidence was conclusive that they had instigated the crime. The Protestants were thunderstruck. All their leaders had been lured to Paris; and there they were,—caught in a trap, unarmed, separated from their followers, and helpless. Henry of Navarre immediately hastened to the bedside of his revered and wounded friend. While he was sitting there, Catharine and Charles were deliberating whether Henry himself should be included in the general massacre. After much debate, it was decided to sparehim, as he would be powerless after all the Protestants were cold in death.

The Duke of Guise led the movement of the Catholics. Troops had been stationed at all the important positions in Paris, and the Catholic population had been secretly armed. The Catholics were enjoined to wear a white cross upon the hat, that they might be distinguished. The conspiracy extended throughout the whole of France, and the storm of death was to burst at the same moment upon the unsuspecting victims in every city and village of the kingdom.

While Catharine and Charles were arranging the details for the massacre, they employed all their arts of duplicity to disarm suspicion. The very evening of the fatal night, the king invited many of the most illustrious of his victims to a sumptuous entertainment at the Louvre. In a fine glow of spirits he detained them until a late hour with his pleasantries, and induced several to remain in the palace to sleep, that they might be slain beneath his own roof.