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Marguerite de Valois
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"Write," said the judge.
"If I committed a crime in setting a trap for the King of Navarre," continued Coconnas, "I was only an instrument, monsieur, and I was obeying my master."
The clerk began to write.
"Oh! you denounced me, pale-face!" murmured the victim; "but just wait!"
And he related the visit of François to the King of Navarre, the interviews between De Mouy and Monsieur d'Alençon, the story of the red cloak, all as though he were just remembering them between the blows of the hammer.
At length he had given such precise, terrible, uncontestable evidence against D'Alençon, making it seem as though it was extorted from him only by the pain, – he grimaced, roared, and yelled so naturally, and in so many different tones of voice, – that the judge himself became terrified at having to record details so compromising to a son of France.
"Well!" said Caboche to himself, "here is a gentleman who does not need to say things twice, and who gives full measure of work to the clerk. Great God! what if, instead of leather, the wedges had been of wood!"
Coconnas was excused from the last wedge; but he had had nine others, which were enough to have crushed his limbs completely.
The judge reminded the victim of the mercy allowed him on account of his confession, and withdrew.
The prisoner was alone with Caboche.
"Well," asked the latter, "how are you?"
"Ah! my friend! my kind friend, my dear Caboche!" exclaimed Coconnas. "You may be sure I shall be grateful all my life for what you have done for me."
"The deuce! but you are right, monsieur, for if they knew what I have done it would be I who would have to take your place on the rack, and they would not treat me as I have treated you."
"But how did the idea come to you?"
"Well," said Caboche, wrapping the limbs of Coconnas in bloody bands of linen; "I knew you had been arrested, and that your trial was going on. I knew that Queen Catharine was anxious for your death. I guessed that they would put you to the torture and consequently took my precautions."
"At the risk of what might have happened?"
"Monsieur," said Caboche, "you are the only gentleman who ever gave me his hand, and we all have memories and hearts, even though we are hangmen, and perhaps for that very reason. You will see to-morrow how well I will do my work."
"To-morrow?" said Coconnas.
"Yes."
"What work?"
Caboche looked at Coconnas in amazement.
"What work? Have you forgotten the sentence?"
"Ah! yes, of course! the sentence!" said Coconnas; "I had forgotten it."
The fact is that Coconnas had not really forgotten it, but he had not been thinking of it.
What he was thinking of was the chapel, the knife hidden under the altar cloth, of Henriette and the queen, of the vestry door, and the two horses waiting on the edge of the forest; he was thinking of liberty, of the ride in the open air, of safety beyond the boundaries of France.
"Now," said Caboche, "you must be taken skilfully from the rack to the litter. Do not forget that for every one, even the guards, your limbs are broken, and that at every jar you must give a cry."
"Ah! ah!" cried Coconnas, as the two assistants advanced.
"Come! come! Courage," said Caboche, "if you cry out already, what will you do in a little while?"
"My dear Caboche," said Coconnas, "do not have me touched, I beg, by your estimable acolytes; perhaps their hands are not as light as yours."
"Place the litter near the racks," said Caboche.
The attendants obeyed. Maître Caboche raised Coconnas in his arms as if he were a child and laid him in the litter, but in spite of every care Coconnas uttered loud shrieks.
The jailer appeared with a lantern.
"To the chapel," said he.
The bearers started after Coconnas had given Caboche a second grasp of the hand. The first had been of too much use to the Piedmontese for him not to repeat it.
CHAPTER LIX
THE CHAPEL
In profound silence the mournful procession crossed the two drawbridges of the fortress and the courtyard which leads to the chapel, through the windows of which a pale light colored the white faces of the red-robed priests.
Coconnas eagerly breathed the night air, although it was heavy with rain. He looked at the profound darkness and rejoiced that everything seemed propitious for the flight of himself and his companion. It required all his will-power, all his prudence, all his self-control to keep from springing from the litter when on entering the chapel he perceived near the choir, three feet from the altar, a figure wrapped in a great white cloak.
It was La Mole.
The two soldiers who accompanied the litter stopped outside of the door.
"Since they have done us the final favor of once more leaving us together," said Coconnas in a drawling voice, "take me to my friend."
The bearers had had no different order, and made no objection to assenting to Coconnas's demand.
La Mole was gloomy and pale; his head rested against the marble wall; his black hair, bathed with profuse perspiration, gave to his face the dull pallor of ivory, and seemed still to stand on end.
At a sign from the turnkey the two attendants went to find the priest for whom Coconnas had asked.
This was the signal agreed on.
Coconnas followed them with anxious eyes; but he was not the only one whose glance was riveted on them.
Scarcely had they disappeared when two women rushed from behind the altar and hurried to the choir with cries of joy, rousing the air like a warm and restless breeze which precedes a storm.
Marguerite rushed towards La Mole, and caught him in her arms.
La Mole uttered a piercing shriek, like one of the cries Coconnas had heard in his dungeon and which had so terrified him.
"My God! What is the matter, La Mole?" cried Marguerite, springing back in fright.
"If I committed a crime in setting a trap for the King of Navarre," continued Coconnas, "I was only an instrument, monsieur, and I was obeying my master."
The clerk began to write.
"Oh! you denounced me, pale-face!" murmured the victim; "but just wait!"
And he related the visit of François to the King of Navarre, the interviews between De Mouy and Monsieur d'Alençon, the story of the red cloak, all as though he were just remembering them between the blows of the hammer.
At length he had given such precise, terrible, uncontestable evidence against D'Alençon, making it seem as though it was extorted from him only by the pain, – he grimaced, roared, and yelled so naturally, and in so many different tones of voice, – that the judge himself became terrified at having to record details so compromising to a son of France.
"Well!" said Caboche to himself, "here is a gentleman who does not need to say things twice, and who gives full measure of work to the clerk. Great God! what if, instead of leather, the wedges had been of wood!"
Coconnas was excused from the last wedge; but he had had nine others, which were enough to have crushed his limbs completely.
The judge reminded the victim of the mercy allowed him on account of his confession, and withdrew.
The prisoner was alone with Caboche.
"Well," asked the latter, "how are you?"
"Ah! my friend! my kind friend, my dear Caboche!" exclaimed Coconnas. "You may be sure I shall be grateful all my life for what you have done for me."
"The deuce! but you are right, monsieur, for if they knew what I have done it would be I who would have to take your place on the rack, and they would not treat me as I have treated you."
"But how did the idea come to you?"
"Well," said Caboche, wrapping the limbs of Coconnas in bloody bands of linen; "I knew you had been arrested, and that your trial was going on. I knew that Queen Catharine was anxious for your death. I guessed that they would put you to the torture and consequently took my precautions."
"At the risk of what might have happened?"
"Monsieur," said Caboche, "you are the only gentleman who ever gave me his hand, and we all have memories and hearts, even though we are hangmen, and perhaps for that very reason. You will see to-morrow how well I will do my work."
"To-morrow?" said Coconnas.
"Yes."
"What work?"
Caboche looked at Coconnas in amazement.
"What work? Have you forgotten the sentence?"
"Ah! yes, of course! the sentence!" said Coconnas; "I had forgotten it."
The fact is that Coconnas had not really forgotten it, but he had not been thinking of it.
What he was thinking of was the chapel, the knife hidden under the altar cloth, of Henriette and the queen, of the vestry door, and the two horses waiting on the edge of the forest; he was thinking of liberty, of the ride in the open air, of safety beyond the boundaries of France.
"Now," said Caboche, "you must be taken skilfully from the rack to the litter. Do not forget that for every one, even the guards, your limbs are broken, and that at every jar you must give a cry."
"Ah! ah!" cried Coconnas, as the two assistants advanced.
"Come! come! Courage," said Caboche, "if you cry out already, what will you do in a little while?"
"My dear Caboche," said Coconnas, "do not have me touched, I beg, by your estimable acolytes; perhaps their hands are not as light as yours."
"Place the litter near the racks," said Caboche.
The attendants obeyed. Maître Caboche raised Coconnas in his arms as if he were a child and laid him in the litter, but in spite of every care Coconnas uttered loud shrieks.
The jailer appeared with a lantern.
"To the chapel," said he.
The bearers started after Coconnas had given Caboche a second grasp of the hand. The first had been of too much use to the Piedmontese for him not to repeat it.
CHAPTER LIX
THE CHAPEL
In profound silence the mournful procession crossed the two drawbridges of the fortress and the courtyard which leads to the chapel, through the windows of which a pale light colored the white faces of the red-robed priests.
Coconnas eagerly breathed the night air, although it was heavy with rain. He looked at the profound darkness and rejoiced that everything seemed propitious for the flight of himself and his companion. It required all his will-power, all his prudence, all his self-control to keep from springing from the litter when on entering the chapel he perceived near the choir, three feet from the altar, a figure wrapped in a great white cloak.
It was La Mole.
The two soldiers who accompanied the litter stopped outside of the door.
"Since they have done us the final favor of once more leaving us together," said Coconnas in a drawling voice, "take me to my friend."
The bearers had had no different order, and made no objection to assenting to Coconnas's demand.
La Mole was gloomy and pale; his head rested against the marble wall; his black hair, bathed with profuse perspiration, gave to his face the dull pallor of ivory, and seemed still to stand on end.
At a sign from the turnkey the two attendants went to find the priest for whom Coconnas had asked.
This was the signal agreed on.
Coconnas followed them with anxious eyes; but he was not the only one whose glance was riveted on them.
Scarcely had they disappeared when two women rushed from behind the altar and hurried to the choir with cries of joy, rousing the air like a warm and restless breeze which precedes a storm.
Marguerite rushed towards La Mole, and caught him in her arms.
La Mole uttered a piercing shriek, like one of the cries Coconnas had heard in his dungeon and which had so terrified him.
"My God! What is the matter, La Mole?" cried Marguerite, springing back in fright.
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Последний отзыв
В борьбе за власть есть первые; есть вторые; и есть 6ыдло (из канала BS "Без Слёз").
- Вторые всегда стремятся стать первыми. Но ресурсы власти – у п...
Далее