Harper's Young People, January 25, 1881 / An Illustrated Monthly

by Various

A king running away from his kingdom, with all his courtiers and people in hot pursuit to catch him and bring him back! Did you ever hear of anything more absurd?

There was a reason for it too, or at least the King thought so. The truth is, this unfortunate monarch was embarrassed by the possession of two kingdoms at once, and it so happened that the kingdom where he was was not the kingdom where he desired to be, so he made up his mind to run away.

Now I suppose, before I go any farther, I may as well let you into the secret of his name and country, if you have not already guessed it. He was Henry III. of France and Poland, son of Catherine de Medicis, one of the wickedest Queens who ever ruled over any country, and brother of Charles IX., King of France.

Only a few months before his flight from Cracow he had been elected King of Poland. He had been received with great magnificence by the Polish nobles, and the festivities had lasted many days. After everything had settled down into the usual quiet, Henry found life in Poland rather dull; so when he received a letter from Queen Catherine announcing the death of Charles IX., and saying that his presence in France was very necessary to maintain his rights as his brother's heir, he was quite ready to abandon his Polish kingdom, and start at once for Paris.

But it was very far from being the intention of the Polish magnates to let him off so easily. They naturally considered the well-being of their kingdom as important—to them at least—as that of France could possibly be. So they voted an address of condolence to the King on the death of his brother, prayed him still to remain King of Poland, and entreated him not to leave the kingdom without giving notice to the Senate, and first appointing some one to act as Viceroy.

Henry returned a courteous but rather vague reply, thanking the nobles for their good wishes, but giving them little satisfaction as to his intentions.

In the mean time Henry's French attendants were urging upon him the necessity of returning at once to France, lest he should lose the French crown. His mother, Queen Catherine, sent messenger after messenger, urging him to hasten, and his own inclinations were entirely in favor of instant departure. So during the night a council of the French nobles was held in Henry's apartments, and it was settled that they should arrange matters for a secret departure. They must go secretly, if they went at all, for the Polish Senate was determined to keep their King in the country, and the people were equally determined not to let him go.

Then the preparations began. In the first place, the French Ambassador, as had been agreed upon, asked permission to return immediately to France, as his mission had ended with the death of Charles IX. Permission was granted, and he left Cracow at once. He took with him the King's jewels and valuable papers, and made arrangements at all the principal towns on his route for horses and provisions to be got ready for illustrious members of his suite, who, as he said, were not able to leave as soon as he did. Next the King sent off M. Chémerault (the messenger who had brought him the news of Charles's death), on the pretense of carrying letters to Queen Catherine, but really to wait at a short distance from the capital until the King could join him. He was to act as guide, and conduct Henry in safety across the border.

The next step was rather unfortunate for the King. A train of ten mules laden with coffers was observed to leave the city, and when it was found that the baggage belonged to the Grand Master of the King's household, the suspicions of the people were aroused, and they became wild with excitement. It was in vain that Henry assured them that he had no intention of leaving the kingdom. They did not believe him—and with very good reason—and the tumult increased, until at last the Senate ordered guards to be placed at all the entrances to the palace, and gave instructions to arrest any one who should that night attempt to stir out, not even excepting the King himself.

After supper the King retired, and kept all his courtiers about him for a long time, chatting merrily with them, and appearing so easy and unconcerned that he fancied he must have entirely deceived the Poles, and then he made a sign that he wanted to go to sleep. The Chamberlain, Count Teuczin, drew the curtains of the King's bed, and a page put his sword and a candle on a table close by—a ceremony which all understood as a signal to leave the room, except the Chamberlain, whose duty it was to stand at the foot of the bed until the King was asleep. It had been agreed that the King and a few of his nobles should meet at a ruined chapel, half a mile from the city gate, where one of Henry's equerries was to be waiting with horses.