THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN
CHAPTER I.
THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE.
On the 26th of October, 1585, the barriers of the Porte St. Antoinewere, contrary to custom, still closed at half-past ten in the morning.A quarter of an hour after, a guard of twenty Swiss, the favorite troopsof Henri III., then king, passed through these barriers, which wereagain closed behind them. Once through, they arranged themselves alongthe hedges, which, outside the barrier, bordered each side of the road.
There was a great crowd collected there, for numbers of peasants andother people had been stopped at the gates on their way into Paris. Theywere arriving by three different roads--from Montreuil, from Vincennes,and from St. Maur; and the crowd was growing more dense every moment.Monks from the convent in the neighborhood, women seated onpack-saddles, and peasants in their carts, and all, by their questionsmore or less pressing, formed a continual murmur, while some voices wereraised above the others in shriller tones of anger or complaint.
There were, besides this mass of arrivals, some groups who seemed tohave come from the city. These, instead of looking at the gate, fastenedtheir gaze on the horizon, bounded by the Convent of the Jacobins, thePriory of Vincennes, and the Croix Faubin, as though they were expectingto see some one arrive. These groups consisted chiefly of bourgeois,warmly wrapped up, for the weather was cold, and the piercing northeastwind seemed trying to tear from the trees all the few remaining leaveswhich clung sadly to them.
Three of these bourgeois were talking together--that is to say, twotalked and one listened, or rather seemed to listen, so occupied was hein looking toward Vincennes. Let us turn our attention to this last. Hewas a man who must be tall when he stood upright, but at this moment hislong legs were bent under him, and his arms, not less long inproportion, were crossed over his breast. He was leaning against thehedge, which almost hid his face, before which he also held up his handas if for further concealment. By his side a little man, mounted on ahillock, was talking to another tall man who was constantly slipping offthe summit of the same hillock, and at each slip catching at the buttonof his neighbor's doublet.
"Yes, Maitre Miton," said the little man to the tall one, "yes, I tellyou that there will be 100,000 people around the scaffold ofSalcede--100,000 at least. See, without counting those already on thePlace de Greve, or who came there from different parts of Paris, thenumber of people here; and this is but one gate out of sixteen."
"One hundred thousand! that is much, Friard," replied M. Miton. "Be suremany people will follow my example, and not go to see this unlucky manquartered, for fear of an uproar."
"M. Miton, there will be none, I answer for it. Do you not think so,monsieur?" continued he, turning to the long-armed man.--"What?" saidthe other, as though he had not heard.
"They say there will be nothing on the Place de Greve to-day."
"I think you are wrong, and that there will be the execution ofSalcede."
"Yes, doubtless: but I mean that there will be no noise about it."
"There will be the noise of the blows of the whip, which they will giveto the horses."
"You do not understand: by noise I mean tumult. If there were likely tobe any, the king would not have had a stand prepared for him and the twoqueens at the Hotel de Ville."
"Do kings ever know when a tumult will take place?" replied the other,shrugging his shoulders with an air of pity.
"Oh, oh!" said M. Miton; "this man talks in a singular way. Do you knowwho he is, compere?"
"No."
"Then why do you speak to him? You are wrong. I do not think he likes totalk."
"And yet it seems to me," replied Friard, loud enough to be heard by thestranger, "that one of the greatest pleasures in life is to exchangethoughts."
"Yes, with those whom we know well," answered M. Miton.
"Are not all men brothers, as the priests say?"
"They were primitively; but in times like ours the relationship issingularly loosened. Talk low, if you must talk, and leave the strangeralone."
"But I know you so well, I know what you will reply, while the strangermay have something new to tell me."
"Hush! he is listening."
"So much the better; perhaps he will answer. Then you think, monsieur,"continued he, turning again toward him, "that there will be a tumult?"
"I did not say so."
"No; but I believe you think so."
"And on what do you found your surmise, M. Friard?"
"Why, he knows me!"
"Have I not named you two or three times?" said Miton.
"Ah! true. Well, since he knows me, perhaps he will answer. Now,monsieur, I believe you agree with me, or else would be there, while,on the contrary, you are here."
"But you, M. Friard, since you think the contrary of what you think Ithink, why are you not at the Place de Greve? I thought the spectaclewould have been a joyful one to all friends of the king. Perhaps youwill reply that you are not friends of the king; but of MM. de Guise,and that you are waiting here for the Lorraines, who they say are aboutto enter Paris in order to deliver M. de Salcede."
"No, monsieur," replied the little man, visibly frightened at thissuggestion; "I wait for my wife, Nicole Friard, who has gone to taketwenty-four tablecloths to the priory of the Jacobins, having the honorto be washerwoman to Dom. Modeste Gorenflot, the abbe."
"Look, compere," cried Miton, "at what is passing."
M. Friard, following the direction of his friend's finger, saw themclosing yet another door, while a party of Swiss placed themselvesbefore it. "How! more barriers!" cried he.
"What did I tell you?" said Miton.
At the sight of this new precaution, a long murmur of astonishment andsome cries of discontent proceeded from the crowd.
"Clear the road! Back!" cried an officer.
This maneuver was not executed without difficulty; the people in cartsand on horseback tried to go back, and nearly crushed the crowd behindthem. Women cried and men swore, while those who could escape, did,overturning the others.
"The Lorraines! the Lorraines!" cried a voice in the midst of thistumult.
"Oh!" cried Miton, trembling, "let us fly."
"Fly! and where?" said Friard.
"Into this inclosure," answered Miton tearing his hands by seizing thethorns of the hedge.
"Into that inclosure, it is not so easy. I see no opening, and youcannot climb a hedge that is higher than I am."
"I will try," returned Miton, making new efforts.
"Oh! take care, my good woman," cried Friard, in a tone of distress;"your ass is on my feet. Oh, monsieur, take care, your horse is going tokick."
While M. Miton was vainly trying to climb the hedge, and M. Friard tofind an opening through which to push himself, their neighbor quietlyopened his long legs and strode over the hedge with as much ease as onemight have leaped it on horseback. M. Miton imitated him at last aftermuch detriment to his hands and clothes; but poor Friard could notsucceed, in spite of all his efforts, till the stranger, stretching outhis long arms, and seizing him by the collar of his doublet, lifted himover.
"Ah! monsieur," said he, when he felt himself on the ground, "on theword of Jean Friard, you are a real Hercules; your name, monsieur? thename of my deliverer?"
"I am called Briquet--Robert Briquet, monsieur."
"You have saved me, M. Briquet--my wife will bless you. But apropos; monDieu! she will be stifled in this crowd. Ah! cursed Swiss, only good tocrush people!"
As he spoke, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and, looking roundand seeing that it was a Swiss, he took to flight, followed by Miton.The other man laughed quietly, then turning to the Swiss, said:
"Are the Lorraines coming?"
"No."
"Then why do they close the door. I do not understand it."
"There is no need that you should," replied the Swiss, laughing at hisown wit.