throne of Poland, produced a peace, and the siege was raised.

D'Aubigné was now called on for a service which required all his address and all his intrepidity. The war, though withdrawn from the walls of Rochelle, continued to waste blood through France; and the Marshal de Mutignon was sent with a strong force to make himself master of the fortified town of Domfront, held by the Count de Montgomeri. This was more a private pique than a public quarrel. The Queen-Mother had sworn the death of the Count, who had been the accidental instrument of killing her husband. The singular circumstance by which Henry II. perished, is among the memorabilia of that most diversified and stirring of all histories, the history of the French throne. On the proposed marriage of Henry's daughter with the King of Spain, a series of fêtes had been given, the last of which was a tour nament in the Faubourg St Antoine. On this day, the 29th of June, 1559, the four champions were the King, the Prince of Ferrara, the Duke of Guise, and the Duke of Nemours. The King was, of course, the victor. But, excited by his successes, towards the close of the day, he called on Montgomeri to break a lance with him. The Count's prowess was probably the ground of this summons, for he was captain of the famous Scottish Guard. He declined the dangerous honour as long as he could. The Queen was also importunate with Henry to be content with the glories which he had acquired. But the King was obstinate, and the champions were let loose on each other. In the charge, the Count's lance was shivered, and a splinter pierced the King's left eye, bis vizor having been displaced by the shock. He was mortally wounded. He fell from his horse in agony, and died eleven days after, in his forty-first year. It was but fourteen days before the tournament, which thus put an end to his life, that this rash, profligate, and cruel sovereign, had presided at a council, where the extirpation of Protestant ism from France, and the burning of the "Heretics," had been debated, and solemnly confirmed by the throne. But a higher will inter

posed. The murderer fell before his victims !

The siege of Domfront was pressed so closely, that there could be no doubt of its speedily falling. The King of Navarre, who foresaw Montgomeri's fate on its capture, and was anxious to save the Count, commissioned D'Aubigné to render this essential service, by joining the besiegers, and thus obtaining an opportunity to approach the walls, and withdraw Montgomeri. He felt some scruples at thus, even in ap pearance, fighting against the Huguenots, but they were overruled by the King of Navarre's orders, and the importance of the purpose; and he distinguished himself so much by his activity, that Fervaques, who held a command in the royal army, and was in the design, was enabled unsuspiciously to give him the command of some companies posted immediately near one of the gates. Under cover of night, he thus obtained the opportunity of meeting Montgomeri in person, and offered him the means of escape through the midst of the besieging force, telling him further, that his retiring would save the town, as the only object of the siege was, to deliver him into the revengeful hands of the Queen-Mother. But Montgomeri's time was come: he remained inaccessible to all argument; contended that he would be able to stand his ground, by the aid of some German troops, who never arrived; and finished, by offering to give D'Aubigné service within the walls. His obstinacy had the result which his brave and zealous adviser predicted. The town was soon taken. Montgomeri was eagerly seized, as the great prize, sent to Paris, and there given over to the tender mercies of the sanguinary government of Catherine. He was first tortured, and then beheaded.

The total incompatibility of a genuine feeling of religion with a state of war was strongly exhibited in the habits of the time. Huguenot, once a name of purity, self-control, and religious separation from the violence and profligacy of the national manners, had begun, by the simple force of circumstances, to degenerate into the name of a mere party. The Huguenot soldier, by degrees,

learned the common life of camps; and if he plundered less openly than the Roman Catholic, yet plundered. The Huguenot gentleman, in whose hand the Bible had once been the sole guide, gradually learned the vices of his rank, and was a duellist, a gamester, and a lover of that reputation which is to be earned by superior adroitness in the art of destroying life. Such are the inevitable results in all public trials of religion, which have recourse to the sword. They degrade the character of the contest between truth and falsehood; they stain the persecuted with all the vices of the persecutor; and when both alike have thus learned to deal in bloodshed, alienate Heaven from the cause. In the intervals of actual hostility, the leaders of the opposite sides associated in all the tempting eccentricities of the most licentious court in Europe. The Duke of Guise, covered from head to foot with the gore of the St Bartholomew, became the most intimate companion of the King of Navarre. They gave balls and masquerades in conjunction; dined constantly at the same table; by a still more extraordinary dis. play of association, frequently slept in the same bed; and by an emula tion in those grosser habits which have been, in every age, the boast and disgrace of the French court, they were at once companions and rivals in the favours of those showy and profligate women whose rank and attractions have served only to give their names down to scorn. In this compliance with the fashion of the hour, D'Aubigné became a celebra ted duellist, and the most dexterous among the inventors of the amusements of the giddy court. Still his earlier recollections sometimes returned forcibly. In one of the engagements with the Huguenots, while he was still reluctantly at tached to the royal army, he had taken a gentleman prisoner, who offered him a ransom and his horse. D'Aubigné, though his own horse was wounded, generously refused both, and gave the Huguenot his liberty, feelingly exclaiming, in the words of the Psalmist," Wo is me, that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech, and to have my habitation among the tents of Kedar." An

other striking instance of those recollections occurred in the person of one whose restless gaieties, daring spirit in the field, and brilliant ambition, might seem to have long extinguished his earlier impressionsHenry of Navarre himself. He had soon been conscious that his retention at court was but a more stately imprisonment; and one night, as D'Aubigné, now his equerry, and D'Armagnac, his first valet de chambre, were watching him as he lay ill of an ague, hearing him sigh deeply, and repeat some words in a low tone, they listened, and, to their surprise, heard him repeat a part of the 88th Psalm, deploring the want of friends on whom he could rely.

On this D'Armagnac observed to D'Aubigné, that there could be no more favourable time to remind him of regaining his freedom. The latter drew back the curtain, and addressed the King in language of for. cible and eloquent remonstrance. "Is it true, sire," said he," that the grace of God still dwells in your heart? You are now pouring forth sighs to Heaven on account of the distance kept by your faithful friends. They are at the same moment lamenting your absence; but"

and he proceeded in a strain which argues the boldness that a common cause and a high spirit gave this able man-" you have only tears in your eyes, while they have weapons in their hands-they fight the enemies whom you serve-they stir the fears of those whom you court-they fear only God, while you fear a woman. The Duke D'Alençon commands those men who defended you in your cradle, and who cannot fight with pleasure under a man whose religion is opposite to their own." He then touched on a string that vibrated to every Protestant heart. "Those who perpetrated the murder of the St Bartholomew remember it well, and cannot believe that those who suffered it will ever forget it. As for myself and my companion here, we were thinking of making our escape to-morrow, when your sighs interrupted us. When we are gone, the persons who attend you will not refuse to employ poison or poniard at the command of your enemies."

This strong representation, aided

by other evidences of the hollowness of the Court, determined Henry to make his escape, and the day was fixed for the attempt. The whole succeeding process gives a striking example of the keen anxieties which often beset the most envied rank of mankind, and not less of the coolness and courage of Henry's gallant friend. It was agreed that the first notice of his escape should be signalized by those enterprises which told the Huguenot nobility that a soldier was come into the field. His three confidential officers, Laverdin, Roquelaire, and D'Aubigné, were each to storm and seize a royal garrison-Mons, Chartres, and Cherbourg. They then took an oath to persevere, to be faithful to the end, and to hold the man who shrank or betrayed them as a mortal enemy. But the first object was Henry's freedom. He had been allowed to hunt in the neighbourhood of the palace; but to be allowed to extend his limit as far as the forest of St Germains was the point now necessary. This was dexterously accomplished. He had been promised the lieutenancy of the kingdom, which he soon discovered was a promise not to be per formed. But on the very next morning, after having settled the plan of his escape, he went to the Duke of Guise. The hour was early. He found the duke still in bed ; and with that strange familiarity which belonged to a state of manners so different from our own, got into the bed, and there talked with all the apparent exultation of a young French coxcomb on all that he would do when he was Lieutenant of France. Even the wily duke was completely deceived by the gay vanity of the vivacious prince; and highly amusing himself with the thought of his delusion, and his surprise when he should find that all was a dream, he went to tell the whole scene to the King, and join in the laugh against Henry. The request to be suffered to hunt as far as St Germains was easily conceded, as hoodwinking him still more by this evidence of royal favour. It happened that nothing could have been more timely than the request; for the Council were already deliberating on restricting him within

still narrower bounds than before. But the Duke of Guise's opinion was an answer to all suspicion with him. Henry was simply an idle, gay, and easily duped youth, thinking only of his pleasures, and, from mere vanity, incapable of becoming dangerous to France. The hunting was readily permitted, with only the slight precaution, under the guise of honour, that St Martin, master of the royal wardrobe, and De Spolange, lieutenant of the Guards, should ride with him on these excursions. Henry was rejoiced at the permission as a royal favour, and wisely took with him but one of his personal attendants, D'Armagnac. Thus all suspicion, on the part of the most suspicious court on earth, was lulled, and the way was open to punish the perfidious, by the severest stroke that perfidy can feel-the consciousness, that in the very act of dupery, it has been thrown into scorn. Still every step was one of the most extreme delicacy. On the evening of that very day, D'Aubigné, happening to come to the King of France's evening circle, saw, to his utter astonishment and alarm, the Sieur Fervaques holding a long and close conversation with the monarch. Fervaques was a character of singular compoundsprobably such a one as is to be rarely found beyond France; a bold soldier in the field, yet willing to stoop to any arts of getting rid of his enemy out of it-ready to rebel, but equally ready to make his peace-always devising some plot against authority, yet totally unable to restrain himself from talking of it whenever he could find a listener, though that listener were the most unfit on earth to be his confident. But D'Aubigné was of another calibre: he had more of the Englishman than the Frenchman in his mould, and on this occasion acted with a mixture of promptitude and steadiness admirably suited to the character. From the manner of Fervaques, he was perfectly convinced that he was betraying Henry; it having been Fervaques himself, who, in his wrath at being refused the government of Normandy, had prepared the details of the escape. D'Aubigné, conscious that if the King's eye fell on him at that time,

he would be arrested, and all be lost, retired at the instant. But with all his knowledge of the hazard of his vicinity, he determined to have a reckon ing with the traitor, and ascertain how far his treason had gone. He remained walking at some distance from the palace till two in the morning, when at last he saw Fervaques coming out. He rushed upon him, and grasping his arm, exclaimed, "Wretch what have you been doing?" Fervaques, thrown off his guard by the suddenness of the attack, stammered out some explanation; but D'Aubigné fiercely persevered until the full acknowledgment was made, that he had been induced to divulge their plan by his returning sense of old obligation to the King,-but concluding with the words, as if touched by that regard for Henry, which made his treachery so inexplicable, Go, save your master!" No time was now to be lost. D'Aubigné hurried to the King of Navarre's stables, where his horses had been kept, in truth, training in a covered course, for the first emergency. He ordered the equerries instantly to ride out of Paris, and make the best of their way to Senlis. While they were getting ready, they saw the Prevôt des Marchands pass by, sent by the King to order that no one should be suffered to leave the city that night. But the equerries mounted with all haste, reached the gate before the prevôt, and were soon beyond the walls. The King of Navarre, who had gone out to hunt at the first dawo, was returning when they reached Senlis, and asked in astonishment the cause. D'Aubigné soon acquainted him with his proceedings. "The King," said he, "knows every thing. Death and shame are in the road to Paris. Every other place offers you life and glory. Sedan or Alençon will give you the best refuge. It is time to withdraw from the hands of your jailers, and throw yourselves into those of your true friends." Henry answered with the lively laconism, "Fewer reasons would be enough.' But on this trying occasion he showed a humanity which did him even more honour than his gallant promptitude. His attendants, in the brute impulse of passion and

fear, proposed to kill the two gentlemen appointed to keep him in view. He firmly refused to suffer this atrocity, and prepared to get rid of them in a gentler manner. Calling St Martin to his side, he told him, that a gentleman just arrived from Paris had brought him intelligence that reports were spread of his intention to join the Duke of Alençon, and that, in consequence, he desired M. St Martin to go to the King, and enquire whether it was the royal pleasure that he should return to Paris, to disprove the charge, or continue where he was, and hunt as usual. St Martin galloped off to fulfil his mission. But his brother commissioner was still to be disposed of. This was effected with the dexterity of a valet in a Spanish interlude. Henry, instead of returning to his usual quarters, seemed suddenly struck with the idea of passing the night at Senlis. To get rid of the ennui of the evening in a little French town, and amuse his household, he ordered a play by a set of strollers, to whom one of his equerries had been already sent, and with M. De Spolange and his suite went to enjoy the comedy. In the midst of this gay performance, Henry turned to De Spolange, observed that he had made a mistake in not sending St Martin to Beauvais Nangin, where the King was, instead of Paris, and expressed his anxiety that he should ride off, and make the explanation, without a moment's delay. Spolange, suspecting nothing from a man amusing himself with the drolleries of a little provincial stage, ordered his horse, and rode to meet his Majesty. Henry, thus freed, had now to act for himself. Selecting a few of his hunting party to follow him, he left the comedy behind, mounted his horse, and rode all night through the forest, suffering severely from the cold and the rudeness of the road. But the party pushed on unpursued, yet meeting some of those chances which belong to adventurers in that curious. ly diversified period. The courage of an old woman had nearly proved fatal to Henry. As he forced his horse with some difficulty through her hedge, the heroine armed herself with a hatchet, and conceiving

De

him and his troop to be thieves, aimed a desperate blow at his back. D'Aubigné fortunately saw it in time to ward off the weapon, or the fates of France might have been changed. Their next adventure was of a more dramatic description. As they were approaching a village at dawn, of which they knew nothing, and in which they might consequently dread discovery and seizure, they saw a gentleman riding fast towards them, who stated his purpose to be an entreaty that they should not fix their quarters in the village, which was his property, and which he naturally dreaded to see the scene either of plunder or a skirmish with some of the roving troops of the time. They willingly granted his request of not stopping in the village, as haste was indispensable; but to prevent his giving information in case of their pursuit, stipulated that he should go along with them as far as Chateauneuf. The stranger had all the native spirit of communication, and caught with the gaiety of Henry's wit, and mistaking him for an inferior person to Roquelaire, who was more handsomely dressed, rode by his side, telling him stories of all kinds. Among the rest, he thought fit to enlighten the party with tales of Parisian scandal, all which were received with great laughter. Encouraged by this reception, the unconscious Frenchman touched upon the current stories of the Court, until he came to the Queen of Navarre. The conduct of that Princess had been altogether undisguised, and France was full of the most unblushing narratives of her Parisian life. As the name was mentioned, all the party looked grave; but the Frenchman was irrestrainable. Delighted with his own talent, he went on through the whole round of his recollections of this showy queen, and with such extravagance, that the general gravity gave way, Henry himself being the first to laugh at the ridiculous nature of the scene. And thus, with roars of laughter, and each one adding to the supreme happiness of the storyteller, they arrived at the gates of Chateauneuf. "Open the gates, in the name of the King of Navarre!" was the cry of the horsemen that

rode forward to the walls. The unfortunate wit looked round, and to his dismay found whom he had been enlightening in the mysteries of his household. Expecting nothing short of instant vengeance from Henry, he fled for shelter to D'Aubigné, who pledged himself for his safety, but upon the condition that he should return to his village by the route prescribed to him; and to prevent his giving information, sent him by a circuit which prolonged his journey to three days.

On the King of Navarre's reaching Alençon, he reaped the first fruit of his enterprise in the arrival of 250 Huguenot cavaliers, all ready to take service. But there was one arrival which excited universal surprise; this was no other than Fervaques! Treachery was the breath and life of the court; within two hours after he had made his discovery to the monarch, he heard the celebrated Crillon calling to him from the street. He rose, went to the window, and there received sufficient evidence of what a traitor gains by dealing with traitors. "You had scarcely left the room," said Crillon, "before the King said to those im. mediately round him, among whom I was, See that traitor going out. It was he who first put the desire of escaping into my brother-in-law's head, and a thousand other evil thoughts besides. And now he comes to tell me of it, only that he may betray us both alike. I shall have the fellow hanged, for he is not worthy of being beheaded.' Now," added Crillon, " you must look to yourself. For my part, I must not let myself be seen here; but I hope you will not ruin me for this proof of my wishing you safe and well." Fervaques took this midnight advice, got on his horse without delay, and, with the most signal effrontery, came post haste to offer his services to Henry. He had still to defend himself against the strong charges of D'Aubigné; but this he managed with tolerable skill, saying that Madame Carnavalet had first revealed the whole design to the King; and that, to add to her own credibility, she had insisted on his confirming her story. He pleaded the lady's influence as an argument which no