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Marguerite de Valois
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"For me?"
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"I do not know, but he is terrible to look at; the very sight of him makes me shudder."
"Go and ask him his name," said Marguerite, turning pale.
Gillonne withdrew, and returned in a few moments.
"He will not give his name, madame, but he begged me to give you this."
Gillonne handed to Marguerite the reliquary she had given to La Mole the previous evening.
"Oh! bring him in, bring him in!" said the queen quickly, growing paler and more numb than before.
A heavy step shook the floor. The echo, indignant, no doubt, at having to repeat such a sound, moaned along the wainscoting. A man stood on the threshold.
"You are" – said the queen.
"He whom you met one day near Montfaucon, madame, and who in his tumbril brought back two wounded gentlemen to the Louvre."
"Yes, yes, I know you. You are Maître Caboche."
"Executioner of the provostship of Paris, madame."
These were the only words Henriette had heard for an hour. She raised her pale face from her hands and looked at the man with her sapphire eyes, from which a double flame seemed to dart.
"And you come" – said Marguerite, trembling.
"To remind you of your promise to the younger of the two gentlemen, who charged me to give you this reliquary. You remember the promise, madame?"
"Yes, yes," exclaimed the queen, "and never has a noble soul had more satisfaction than his shall have; but where is" —
"At my house with the body."
"At your house? Why did you not bring it?"
"I might have been stopped at the gate of the Louvre, and compelled to raise my cloak. What would they have said if they had seen a head under it?"
"That is right; keep it. I will come for it to-morrow."
"To-morrow, madame," said Caboche, "may perhaps be too late."
"How so?"
"Because the queen mother wanted the heads of the first victims executed by me to be kept for her magical experiments."
"Oh! What profanation! The heads of our well-beloved! Henriette," cried Marguerite, turning to her friend, who had risen as if a spring had placed her on her feet, "Henriette, my angel, do you hear what this man says?"
"Yes; what must we do?"
"Go with him."
Then uttering a cry of pain by which great sufferers return to life:
"Ah! I was so happy," said Henriette; "I was almost dead."
Meanwhile Marguerite had thrown a velvet cloak over her bare shoulders.
"Come," said she, "we will go and see them once more."
Telling Gillonne to have all the doors closed, the queen gave orders for a litter to be brought to the private entrance, and taking Henriette by the arm, she descended by the secret corridor, signing to Caboche to follow.
At the lower door was the litter; at the gate Caboche's attendant waited with a lantern. Marguerite's porters were trusty men, deaf and dumb, more to be depended on than if they had been beasts of burden.
They walked for about ten minutes, preceded by Caboche and his servant, carrying the lantern. Then they stopped. The hangman opened the door, while his man went ahead.
Marguerite stepped from the litter and helped out the Duchesse de Nevers. In the deep grief which bound them together it was the nervous organism which was the stronger.
The headsman's tower rose before them like a dark, vague giant, giving out a lurid gleam from two narrow upper windows.
The attendant reappeared at the door.
"You can enter, ladies," said Caboche; "every one is asleep in the tower."
At the same moment the light from above was extinguished.
The two women, holding to each other, passed through the small gothic door, and reached a dark hall with damp and uneven pavement. At the end of a winding corridor they perceived a light and guided by the gruesome master of the place they set out towards it. The door closed behind them.
Caboche, a wax torch in hand, admitted them into a lower room filled with smoke. In the centre was a table containing the remains of a supper for three. These three were probably the hangman, his wife, and his chief assistant. In a conspicuous place on the wall a parchment was nailed, sealed with the seal of the King. It was the hangman's license. In a corner was a long-handled sword. This was the flaming sword of justice.
Here and there were various rough drawings representing martyrs undergoing the torture.
At the door Caboche made a low bow.
"Your majesty will excuse me," said he, "if I ventured to enter the Louvre and bring you here. But it was the last wish of the gentleman, so that I felt I" —
"You did well, Maître," said Marguerite, "and here is a reward for you."
Caboche looked sadly at the large purse which Marguerite laid on the table.
"Gold!" said he; "always gold! Alas! madame, if I only could buy back for gold the blood I was forced to spill to-day!"
"Maître," said Marguerite, looking around with a sad hesitation, "Maître, do we have to go to some other room? I do not see" —
"No, madame, they are here; but it is a sad sight, and one which I could have spared you by wrapping up in my cloak that for which you have come."
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"I do not know, but he is terrible to look at; the very sight of him makes me shudder."
"Go and ask him his name," said Marguerite, turning pale.
Gillonne withdrew, and returned in a few moments.
"He will not give his name, madame, but he begged me to give you this."
Gillonne handed to Marguerite the reliquary she had given to La Mole the previous evening.
"Oh! bring him in, bring him in!" said the queen quickly, growing paler and more numb than before.
A heavy step shook the floor. The echo, indignant, no doubt, at having to repeat such a sound, moaned along the wainscoting. A man stood on the threshold.
"You are" – said the queen.
"He whom you met one day near Montfaucon, madame, and who in his tumbril brought back two wounded gentlemen to the Louvre."
"Yes, yes, I know you. You are Maître Caboche."
"Executioner of the provostship of Paris, madame."
These were the only words Henriette had heard for an hour. She raised her pale face from her hands and looked at the man with her sapphire eyes, from which a double flame seemed to dart.
"And you come" – said Marguerite, trembling.
"To remind you of your promise to the younger of the two gentlemen, who charged me to give you this reliquary. You remember the promise, madame?"
"Yes, yes," exclaimed the queen, "and never has a noble soul had more satisfaction than his shall have; but where is" —
"At my house with the body."
"At your house? Why did you not bring it?"
"I might have been stopped at the gate of the Louvre, and compelled to raise my cloak. What would they have said if they had seen a head under it?"
"That is right; keep it. I will come for it to-morrow."
"To-morrow, madame," said Caboche, "may perhaps be too late."
"How so?"
"Because the queen mother wanted the heads of the first victims executed by me to be kept for her magical experiments."
"Oh! What profanation! The heads of our well-beloved! Henriette," cried Marguerite, turning to her friend, who had risen as if a spring had placed her on her feet, "Henriette, my angel, do you hear what this man says?"
"Yes; what must we do?"
"Go with him."
Then uttering a cry of pain by which great sufferers return to life:
"Ah! I was so happy," said Henriette; "I was almost dead."
Meanwhile Marguerite had thrown a velvet cloak over her bare shoulders.
"Come," said she, "we will go and see them once more."
Telling Gillonne to have all the doors closed, the queen gave orders for a litter to be brought to the private entrance, and taking Henriette by the arm, she descended by the secret corridor, signing to Caboche to follow.
At the lower door was the litter; at the gate Caboche's attendant waited with a lantern. Marguerite's porters were trusty men, deaf and dumb, more to be depended on than if they had been beasts of burden.
They walked for about ten minutes, preceded by Caboche and his servant, carrying the lantern. Then they stopped. The hangman opened the door, while his man went ahead.
Marguerite stepped from the litter and helped out the Duchesse de Nevers. In the deep grief which bound them together it was the nervous organism which was the stronger.
The headsman's tower rose before them like a dark, vague giant, giving out a lurid gleam from two narrow upper windows.
The attendant reappeared at the door.
"You can enter, ladies," said Caboche; "every one is asleep in the tower."
At the same moment the light from above was extinguished.
The two women, holding to each other, passed through the small gothic door, and reached a dark hall with damp and uneven pavement. At the end of a winding corridor they perceived a light and guided by the gruesome master of the place they set out towards it. The door closed behind them.
Caboche, a wax torch in hand, admitted them into a lower room filled with smoke. In the centre was a table containing the remains of a supper for three. These three were probably the hangman, his wife, and his chief assistant. In a conspicuous place on the wall a parchment was nailed, sealed with the seal of the King. It was the hangman's license. In a corner was a long-handled sword. This was the flaming sword of justice.
Here and there were various rough drawings representing martyrs undergoing the torture.
At the door Caboche made a low bow.
"Your majesty will excuse me," said he, "if I ventured to enter the Louvre and bring you here. But it was the last wish of the gentleman, so that I felt I" —
"You did well, Maître," said Marguerite, "and here is a reward for you."
Caboche looked sadly at the large purse which Marguerite laid on the table.
"Gold!" said he; "always gold! Alas! madame, if I only could buy back for gold the blood I was forced to spill to-day!"
"Maître," said Marguerite, looking around with a sad hesitation, "Maître, do we have to go to some other room? I do not see" —
"No, madame, they are here; but it is a sad sight, and one which I could have spared you by wrapping up in my cloak that for which you have come."
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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