villages should send in lists of the men in their parishes capable of bearing arins, &c. &c.

The Queen-Mother must recall her misled son, whom she will easily persuade to return to the King, and accompany him to the convocation at Blois. She must also strive to draw over the King of Navarre and Prince of Condé, by proving to them, that if they do not present themselves before the States, they will be declared rebels and traitors; and, in order to take from them all excuse of doubt or fear, the Duke of Guise, and his brothers, shall absent themselves froin court as malcontent.

"To destroy the ordinary succession, as settled by Hugh Capet, the captains of the provinces shall assemble in the field with their forces, and each in his own district fall upon the heretics, their friends, and adherents, and put them all to the sword.

"Finally, by the advice and permission of his holiness, he shall shut up the King and Queen in a monastery, as Pepin his ancestor had confined Childeric."

It is a singular proof of the carelessness of the King, that the first intimation he received of the association of the Holy League, was from a memorial transmitted to him by his ambassador at Madrid, and his conduct, in consequence, sufficiently marks the timidity and negligence of his character. He declared himself chief of the party, and thus bound himself to fulfil their views, without foreseeing, that while he possessed the empty name of leader, the Duke of Guise alone would dispose of the resources, zeal, and energy of the Leaguers. This painful truth was soon made apparent to the King, who, too weak and too listless to attempt at lessening the power which he dreaded, submitted in silence to the wrong which he could not remedy; and, while brooding over his meditated revenge, indulged his hatred, by seizing every possible occasion of humiliating and mortifying the high spirit of his too popular rival. An opportunity unfortunately offered itself too soon, as, though the King did not neglect it, he was doomed to pay a

high price for the gratification it afforded him. A new edict having left the reformed in the peaceable practice of their religion, and the King and his favourites to the enjoyment of their usual amusements, some violent disputes among the courtiers, (the unhappy result of liberty and leisure in ungoverned spirits,) were extinguished in the blood of three of the particular friends of the King. Vengeance was muttered against D'Entragues, the conqueror of Caylus, by the royal party, in case of the demise of the wounded favourite; but it was a vengeance which was confined to threatenings only, for the Duke of Guise protected D'Entragues; and upon the dreaded death of Caylus, the offender remained in perfect safety, for it was remembered that the Duke had defended his conduct, and declared that his sword, which, as he observed, cut deeply, should avenge any wrong offered to the person of his friend, The King was obliged to chew this bitter cud in silence; but it was not long ere a delicious tribute to his hatred of Guise was presented by the unthinking vanity of St Megrin, another of his worthless favourites, who boasted of his intimacy with the Duchess of Guise, and made, by desire of the King, his successes so public, that the report at length reached the ear of the family, whose vengeance (though the Duke himself appeared to disbelieve and disdain) was only satisfied by the life of the unhappy offender. The conduct of Guise upon this trying occasion, both towards St Megrin and his Duchess, are strong proofs of the firmness and prudence of his character; but it is too generally known to require a repetition here.

While the King was occupied with religious processions and mourning ceremonies over his slaughtered fa vourites, the Leaguers busied themselves in forging a title for their idol to the crown, which gave him a more legitimate claim than that even of the reigning family. They found out and asserted, that the family of Lorraine, was descended from Charles, the last of the Carlovingian race, from whose brow the strong hand of Hugh Gapet had rent the diadem of the Lilies. It was the first time any posterity of this

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monarch had been heard of or mentioned; but the story gained credit, and the King himself did not disdain to refute the assertion, and suppress the huge folio which was written to support it. The death of the Duke of Anjou, the last brother of the King, gave still more energy to these visions of greatness. Guise thought, or pretended to think, it would not be difficult to crush the more distant, and (on account of his religious opinions) somewhat unpopular claims of the King of Navarre; but not as yet daring to direct the pointing finger of popularity towards his own person, he affected to consider the old Cardinal of Bourbon as presumptive heir; his own real sentiments were carefully concealed from all with whom he conversed; he had a secret to entrust, opinions to demand, and a project to discuss; and the Queen Mother, the King of Spain, and the Cardinal of Lorraine, were all alternately deceived and amused by his calmness and ingenuity.

But the insolence with which the order of the succession was discussed, at length opened the eyes of the monarch, and made him sensible of the necessity of uniting himself with the real heir of his crown. Unfortunately the King of Navarre had just accepted the order of the garter from a Queen of the reformed faith, and this raised a new outcry against his possible intentions, and the probable destruction of the Catholic faith, should he ascend the throne. The Duke of Guise strengthened and animated this opinion, and encouraged by Sixtus, who about this time fulminated his famous bull against the King of Navarre and his party, assembled his troops, and prepared to oppose both the court and the reformed. Again was the unfortunate Henry of France compelled to offer terms to his formidable subjects, and barter, as the price of their acceptance, his solemn word of honour, pledged to his Protestant people, to allow them the free exercise of their faith; but Catherine had so willed it, and it was well known the sovereign of the most powerful monarchy in Europe dared not disobey his mother. The Huguenots were obliged to submit, and their gallant leader, Henry of Navarre, wearied out with the perpetual promises, deceptions, and quarrels of the court, at length challenged the Duke of Guise as the head of the

opposite party, to by single and morta this extravagance the politic. Of his courage, harbour a doubt, and he was very generally believed, when he asserted, that regard for Henry's person and respect to his high station, alone prevented his acceptance of a challenge which did him so much honour in the eye of the world. Of his friendship for Henry, there was indeed little reason to doubt they had each bold and enterprizing feelings in common, and we are assured, both by Serres, and De Thou, that each had at different times driven men from their presence, who, either from zeal, hatred, or policy, had offered to the one to assassinate the other.

The Queen-Mother herself at last became convinced of the necessity of conciliating the King of Navarre. The insolence of Guise, who, at the head of the Leaguers, made war upon his own authority, and had just taken Rocroi without any orders from the King, hastened the negociations. Many were the meetings, but little success attended them, for Henry of Navarre, aware of the character of Catherine, understood that her aim was the balancing of parties for her own interest, not his establishment as heir of the throne. The conversation which passed at one of these meetings we translate with pleasure for our readers, as being little known and sufficiently curious to merit the attention of those who like to. see the sentiments of such remarkable personages, delivered in their own particular phrase. The conversation took place at St Brix, and this account is. extracted from the manuscript in the King's Library at Paris.

"After many courtesies," says the MS. " on both sides, the Queen-Mo ther said to the King of Navarre,→ Well, my son, shall we do any good?

The King. It does not depend upon me, Madame, but it is certainly what I desire.

Queen. Tell us then what you wish. King. My wishes, Madame, are those of your Majesties.

Queen. A truce with these compliments, my son, which are useless what do you require?

King. Madame, I require nothing of you, and I only came hither to receive your commands.

Queen. Make some proposal then.

King, Madame, I have no proposal to unake..

Queen. What! you are determined to be the ruin of this kingdom, in which, next to the King, you have the greatest interest?

King. Neither you nor he, Madame, can make it appear so, having raised eight armies solely to ruin me.

Queen, What armies, my son? you are deceived; do you imagine the King could not have destroyed you had it been his pleasure?

King. It was neither in the King's power, nor in yours, Madame, to destroy me.

Queen. Are you ignorant, then, of the King's power, and of what he can do?

King. No, Madame, we know well enough what he can do, but we also

know what he cannot do.

Queen. You will not then obey the King?

King. Madame, I have always endeavoured to do so, and have exerted myself to make it appear so by my actions, having frequently written to him to beg he would honour me with his commands, that, under his authority, I might oppose the League which has arisen in his kingdom to the prejudice of his own edicts, and the destruction of his tranquillity and re

pose.

Queen. Do not deceive yourself, my son; they are not leagued against the kingdom; the King himself approves it. There is no confederacy, those who, you imagine, are of it, are the best Catholics-in short, the King is satisfied with all they have done. But let us not mind this; ask all you wish, the King will grant it, but ask only for yourself. Can you think the members of this pretended religion love you?

King. Madame, I shall ask nothing of you; but if you will make some proposal, I will lay it before the princes and the gentlemen, both within and without the kingdom, to whom I am bound by oath, and without whom I will neither act nor negociate.

Queen. Well, my son, I see you will not say any thing. I assure you the King, my son, loves and honours you, desiring nothing more than to embrace you as his good brother and subject, and to give you the next rank to himself.

King, Madame, I thank him very

Queen. You are the cause of the disasters of this kingdom. Are you not afraid that the displeasure of the King will effect the total ruin of your interest?

King. No, Madame, I know that it cannot be so totally ruined, but there will still remain some rallying point for me.

Queen. But leaving all this, tell me why, under the false pretence of the Leaguers, having obliged the King to break through his own edict, and deny you the liberty of exercising your religion, you are continually complaining against his authority?

King. Madame, do you wish me to repeat what you are saying to the princes and gentlemen who are with me?

Queen. No, no, I do not wish that; but will you not obey the King?

King. Madame, I must speak the truth. I have not obeyed the King these eighteen months.

Queen. Do not say so, my son.

King. Madame, I must say so; for the King, who should have been a father to me, instead of treating me like a son, has made war upon me like a wolf; and you yourself, Madam, have played the lioness towards me, and given me a scratch when I was weakest. Now I am more powerful than you are, but still I fear your artifices, which do me more harm than all the armies which could be brought against me.

King. Madame, it is not my fault; on the contrary, it is your own. I do not prevent your sleeping quietly in your bed, but during the last eighteen months you have effectually hindered me from lying down in mine.

Queen. Must I then always be in troubles when I am so anxious for rest?

King. Madame, these troubles are your pleasures, your nourishment; if you were at peace you would not live. Queen. How is this? I have always seen you calm and tractable, now you are overcome by passion.

King. Madame, it is true; but misfortunes and the ill treatment I have received at your hands, have changed my natural disposition.

Queen. Well, since you cannot act of yourself, we will endeavour to get a truce for a short time, during which you may confer with the churchmen, and your other associates, in order to make as good a peace as we can, in the manner which shall seem to you most expedient.

So.

King. Very well, Madame, I will do

and

Queen. Ah! my son, you deceive yourself; you imagine you have troops, you have none. King. Madame, I did not come here to hear news of my troops from you."

From the sulky answers of the good Bearnois to his politic mother-in-law, it is evident he strongly distrusted her honesty. Nothing was effected in consequence; and the march of the German troops to the assistance of their brethren in France, still farther alienated the mind of the King from his cousin of Navarre. The distress of his situation was greatly increased by the establishment of the Council of Sixteen, an association in Paris consisting of persons, distributed in the sixteen wards of the city, who entirely engrossed the management of affairs, were devoted servants to the Duke of Guise, and insolent opposers of the regal authority. The flight of the King of Navarre and his party to join his German auxiliaries, induced the King, now heartily desirous of peace, and wearied and disgusted with the insolence of Guise, to offer terms to the strangers. A treaty was made between them, (they had already refued to fight against the King of France In person;) and they were quietly res VOL. XI.

treating homeward insolently braving in defiance of the treaty attacked, defeated, and dis peaceable strangers, under the preten that the King had a secret understand ing with the enemies of his country. For this ungovernable sally the Duke was loaded with encomiums; the churches rung with the commendations of the priests, who did not hesi tate to apply the words of Scripture for the purposes of treason, and "Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands," became the favourite text of the day. The leaguers loudly demanded the presence of their idol in Paris. The King forbid his approach; yet he dared disobey the positive orders of his sovereign, and, returning to the capital, demanded an audience of his offended master, The King, on receiving the intimation of this effrontery, remained for some moments motionless with surprise and vexation; on recovering his recollection, he consult ed with Alphonso D'Ornano, what was to be done in so momentous a crisis.→→→ "Sire," replied the Sicilian, "do you regard the Duke of Guise as a friend or as an enemy?" The King replied by a significant gesture, and the cour tier added, "If you will commit the execution of this business to me, I will this day throw the head of the Duke of Guise at your feet." But the King shrunk from the proposal, and dared not refuse the demanded audience to his audacious enemy, who came to the Louvre with the whole city in his train, filling the air with the shouts of "Guise! Guise! Long live the pillar of the church!" The King received him coldly; the Duke endeavoured to justify his conduct, and then retired amid the acclamations of the people to his palace. Embold ened by, the weakness of the King, and the presence of their chief, the Leaguers next ventured to appear in arms in the city of Paris; and the day of the Barricades" (so named from their closing the streets with cannon and chains against all passengers except their own party) beheld an attack upon the King's troops, and the blood of the royalists shed without pity or remorse by the infuriated Leaguers. The prayers and entreaties of the Queen Mother alone prevailed upon the Duke (who was quietly regarding the spectacle) to exert his authority,

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