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TUBE ■ iUEIPUT
PUBLISHED BY ]
VOLUME 1.
MISCELLANY.
THE LAST DAYS OF CATHERINE
OF MEDICIS.
1 The life of Catherine tie Medicis, wid
ow of Henry 11. of France, and mother of
; the three ensuing kings, affords one of the
darkest, pictures oi human depravity with
which history furnishes us. There was
no treachery, no cruelty, which this wo
| man would not commit for the purpose of
promoting her ambitious ends; she corrupt
ed her very children in order to make them
follow out her wicked policy. It is most j
instructive to observe how all die wiles j
and bloody deeds ol Catherine redounded j
only in misfortunes to her family and her- !
self. Her eldest son, Francis if. (husband
of Mary Queen of Scots.) died in youth, in
consequence o( the anxiety in which her
policy had involved him. The second,
Charles IX., having been forced bv her to
oVder the celebra'ed Barlholomew’massa
cre, sunk under his consequent remorse.—
Finally her third son, Henry HI., whom ;
site had succeeded in corrupting to a great
er degree titan any of the rest, was driven
from Paris, along with herself, by the son
ol tnat Duke of Guise whose murder she
is believed to have instigated.
It was in 1553 that this last event look
place. Catherine was now seventy years
(ts age, broken down with infirmities and
disappointment, yet still possessed of all
her atrocious dispositions. Site escaped
from her newly-erected palace of the Tuil
I cries with some difficulty, and took re
fuge with her son in the castle of Blois, on
the Loire, a magnificent old fortress,
which still remains nearly in the same
state in which it was at the end of the six
teenth century. Neglected by het son
and his courtiers, she was left on Iter bed
of agony to the attendance of her inferior
domestics, without a friend to cheer and
comfort her hours of suffering and dis
tress. The power of the Duke of Guise
had at this lime attained such a height,
that the king possessed scarcely the shad
ow of authority; his person, his hubils, his
affections, were the objects of the blackest
! calumny and abuse; the pteachers, in their
sermons, represented him to the people as
the worst of tyrants and styled him the
offspring of the devil.
The states-general were called together
to seek a remedy for the disorders of the
kingdom: b :t through the influence of
their party, they were all selected from the
adherents of the league, and every propo
sition made by the king was instantly re
jected. Even in his personal intercourse,
the Duke of Guise took upon him to speak
with the authority of a master whose will
was to be obeyed without a question; and
it Was publicly said that he intended to
1 carry the king to Paris, and to act over
! again the scene of Charles Martel ami
[ Chilperie. The Duchess ofMontpensier,
1 the tltike’s sister, constantly carried at her
side a pair of golden scissors, which she
said were intended to make the tonsure of
| brother Henry of Valois; and it was ex
-1 peeled that the king would be forced into
a convent, sind Henry of Guise proclaim
ed king of France. With these reports
universally credited, what must have been
the torturing reflections of it to such ends
'and purposes that site had waded through
the blood of friend and toe? She fell Iter
j self powerless, from age ami infirmity, and
knew that iter son was equally so ftotn ed
ucation and habit; but it seemed site bad
too much of his mother’s nature within
; him not to seek for vengeance, cost what
it would, and a direful scene was in pre
paration to mark the closing hours of Cath
| eriue’s eventful life. In this scene, how
j ever she had no participation, the king
himself being sole instigator of the plot,
for bis own deliverance from the bondage
: in which he was held, and from the dan
j gers which be anticipated. He first con
sulted with the Marechal d’Aumont, ami
throe other intimate friends, to whom he
disclosed his sorrows and his fears, his re
solution and his hopes. To attack the,
power of the Guises by open force, was
agreed to be impossible; but the education
which the queen-mother had given to her
son made him little scrupulous as to any
other means by which he might rid himself
of his enemies: the only difficulty was to
' find a hand to strike the blow. At length
Henry resolved to apply to Griffon, the
colonel of his guards, who bore a personal
hatred to the duke, and was sincerely de
{ voted to the king; but, on application being
! made to him, his answer was such as was
i little to be expected from a courtier of his
time: “Sire,” he said, “1 am your mnjes
i ty’s servant, and am ready to do battle
with the Duke of Guise to the death, if
such be your will and pleasure; but to act
1 as an assassin or an executioner, is neither
the part of a gentleman nor a soldier.”—
To Henry’s credit he took the reply in
good part, and the brave Griffon lost noth
ing of bis favor or affection; his secrecy was
I secured, and application made to Lotgnac,
first gentleman of the bedchamber, who
agreed to undertake the execution of the
king’s purpose. These measures took
i place on the 21st of December,and the 23d
was fixed upon as the day of vengeance.
The duke, in the meanwhile trusting to
the pusillanimity of the monarch, and con
fident in his own strength, acted with in
creased arrogance, and having objected to
a person whom the latter bad nominated
commander of the royal archers, insulting
ly said that he should resign his post of
lieutenant-general of the k'ngdom, and
MACON, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 16, IMS
seek some other office. The king under
stood the nature of the threat, but conceal
ing his anger and his fears, assured his
“good cousin” that in two or three days
they would arrange the affair between
them witltoul any dispute. In the inter
val no alarm was taken by the princes of
Lorraine, though after the deed was done,
it was said that the great Nostradamus,
who had been one of Catherine’s favourite
soothsayers, had predicted the event in
the almanac for the year, and declared
that a great murder would be perpetrated
at Blois; but this and other vaticinations
were treated with ridicule by him who was
most deeply interested in their develop
ment. On the evening of the 22d, when
he sat down to dinner, the duke found up- 1
ou his plate a paper, by which he was
warned to be on his guard, as u plot was
on the point of execution against him: to
this he contented himself by writing be
neath the notice, “they dare not,” find
threw the paper carelessly under the table.
His friends, however, began to feel vague
alarms, and a secret council was held to
consider if it would not be better lor him
to withdraw for a lime from Blois; but
Guise felt confident in bis force, and
thought that his retreat would compromise
his party, and also be a tacit confession of
treasonable designs; “I am too far advan
ced,” be said, “to draw back, and if I saw
death coming in at the window, I would
not open the door to escape.” During this
time the king pretended to be wrapt in
devout preparation for the festival ol
Christmas, and declared his intention to
make a pilgrimage toN’otre-Danie deCiery j
on the 23d, but, on th>* evening of the 22d,
announced that he had changed his mind,
and should spend the day at Noue, a small j
residence on the borders of the forest,
sending the Sieur de Merle to request the i
Duke ot Guise, bis brother the Cardinal of
Lorraine, the Archbishop of Lyons, and
others, to attend him in his cabinet at six
o’clock in the morning, as he wished to
expedite some weighty matters of business
without disturbing his devotions duringthe
rest of the week.
Notwithstanding the havoc made during
the revolution with the interior as well as
the exterior of tlie casila of Blois, and its
subsequent conversion into a military bar
rack. the arrangements of the part of the
building destined to be the scene of mur
der remains at the present day nearly the
same as that which it exhibited on the 23d
of December 1539; the demolition of some
of the carved work, and placing a slight
partition across the royal chamber, being
all the change which has taken place.—
The room has a dark and gloomy charac
ter from its vast length, and from the win
dows Leing all placed on the north side;
at the east end is a spacious chimney, and
in the centre of the son h side an alcove,
in which was placed the king’s bed; at the
west end of the chamber is a door com
municating with the apartment used its it
council-room in t'te time of Henry ilk; far
ther on was a corridor with various small
cells, and a stair-case descending to the
bed-rootr. of the queen-mother.
Loignac, who had (as lias been said)
accepted the office so honorably declined
by Crillon, had procured the aid of Lar
ehant, one of the captains of the royal
guard, and by the king’s command wait
ed on the Duke of Guise in the evening at
the head of some soldiers of his regiment,
to request bis support to a petition which
they intended to present to the council next
day to obtain the arrears of their pay.—
At nine o’clock Larchant returned, and
received his final orders from his majesty,
who retired to the queen’s chamber at
midnight, alter giving orders to Du liable,
his first valet de cliamhre, to awake him
at four o’clock.
At the appointed time the valet knocked
at the rloor, which was opened by Louis
de Piolans. the principal attendant on her
majesty, who was desired to announce the
hour to the king, upon which Henry arose
instantly—not from sleep, for during the
whole night he had been restless and un
easy. On passing into his own chamber,
he found Bellegarde and Du Halde await
ing him, and was soon after joined by
Loignac, who brought with him several ol
the body-guard, to make sure of whom the
king himself locked them up in the cells
he had fitted up in the adjoining corridor
for the reception of the Capuchins who
frequently attended his devotions. When
the members of the council had arrived,
he re-conducted the guards into his cham
ber, ordering them to move as quietly as
possible, not to disturb tbe queen-mother;
and repeated his commands, promising
large rewards if they were faithfully exe
cuted. He then gave directions to the
huissier stationed in the ante-room to ad
mit no one except by his own immediate
order, and sent the Marechal D’Aumont,
tiis confidant, into the council-chamber, to
be in readiness to arrest the Cardinal of
Lorraine and the Archbishop of Lyons
the instant the duke should have fallen;
directing at the same lime Bellegarde to
summon into his oratory two of his chap
lains, Claude de Bullis and Etiene d’Ar
guyn, with orders that they should “pray
earnestly to God that the king might suc
ceed in the undertaking he was about lor
repose of the kingdom. *’ These arrange
ments, made he awaited the arrival of
brothers of Lorraine in a state of agonizing
excitement. Instead of his usual apathy
and indifference, he now exhibited the
most restless and nervous agitation, re
peatedly addressing himself to the guards,
and charging them to take care of them
sehes, for tnc duke, he «a'd, was very
PRO PATRIA ET LEGIBCS.
strong and powerful. At length the
dinal arrived, but the duke was still
sent. It was nearly eight o’clock b
fore he was in readiness to attend the
council, though a messenger had been
sent to say that the king was waiting to
depart. The morning was dull and
gloomy, and a cold and piercing rain was
falling in torrents. On arriving at the foot
ol the staircase leading to the council
chamber, Guise found Larchant at the
head of his company with the petition they
had requested the duke to present, and
asking permission to wail till it was deci
ded. This was easily granted; the prince
promised his support, und entered the room
where the council was assembled; when
Larchant immediately placed his men in
double rank upon the stairs, and sent his
lieutenant with twenty men men to occu
py the passage leading to the king’s cham
ber. In the meanwhile Crillon, accord
ing to the orders he had received, caused
all the gates of the castle to be closed.—
This spread instantaneous alarm amsngst
the partisans of Guise, and Pericard, his
secretary, who was in wailing below, en
deavored to convey a billet enclosed in a
pocket handkerchief to his master, con
taining these words—“ Save votsrseif, tnon
seigneur, or you are lost.” The page
charged with this warning gave it to a
huissier of the council; hut it was arrested
by the guards, and there was no longer a
hope of escape for the destined victim.
On entering the council, the duke found
till the members assembled, with the ex
ception of the Archbishop of Lyons, who
arrived almost immediately. Seating him
self by the fire, lie complained of cold, was
observed to turn very pale, and request
ed M. de St. Prix to procure him some
sweetmeats. St. Prix offered him some
dried prunes of Brignolles, which he ac
cepted, and said he felt better. The sec
retary then proceeded to lay some papers
before the assembly, when the door was
opened, and it was announced that his
majesty desired to see the duke in his
chamber. The latter placed some of the
prunes in a gold box. wrapped his cloak
round his arm, saluted the members, and
passed towards the royal apartment with
the box in his hand. On entering, he
bowed to the guards stationed near the
door, and was advancing towards the up
per end of the room, where Henry stood
leaning against the side of the chimney:
as he proceeded, he suddenly turned half
round, thinking he heard someone be
hind him. At this ir.stant one of the
guards named Momery caught him by the
arm and wounded him in the throat with
a poniard, whilst another seized hirn round
the legs, and a third struck him on the brick
of the head. “My friends! my friends!
treason!” cried the duke; and with a vio
lent blow liont the box in his band felled
one of tbe assailants to the ground, and
dragged himself and those who clung to
him hall the 1 ngth of the chamber, when
he received a mortal wound from the hand
of Loignac, and it'll beside the king’s bed
in the alcove. “My God! mercy!” were
his last words. Henry, who had remn ti
ed immoveable during the bloody scene,
seeing the body motionless on the fl 'or,
advanced and ordered Bellegarde to si arch
it. A gold chain, to which was attached
a small key, was found fastened round one
of his arms, and in his pocket a purse with
some gold coin, and a billet, on v b elt was
written —“To carry on a civil war with
France will require seven hundred thou
sand ecus per month.” During the search,
Bellegarde thought he perceived some
movement in the body, and said, "Mon
seigneur, whilst you have life, ask pardon
of God and the king;” Guise gave a deep
and heavy sigh, and expired. The body
was then covered with a cloth, drawn into
a closet, and two hours after was delivered
, into the hands of the public executioner.
On the noise caused by the struggle be-
I irig heard in the council chamber, the
j members rose in great alarm; Marechal
ideßetz exclaimed that France was lost,
’ and the cardinal cried out, “They are
: murdering my brother,” whilst d’Espinac
| rushed to the door to endeavor to aid the
: duke; but tbe Marechal d’Aumont, draw-
I ing his sword, iiflercepted him, and said
I calmly, “Gentlemen, remain where you
are, and await his majesty's commands.”
The room was then instantly filled with
j archers, and the two prelates placed in
| custody of an exempt of the guards. Af
ter a short interval Loignac, without his
cloak and with his head bare, entered and
announced the duke’s death, summonin'*
the members of the council to the royal
presence. They lbund the king much ex
cited; and in a tone of menace to which he
was little accustomed, he told them “that
at length he was king, and would take care
that from henceforth his power should be
respected.” He then left them, and went
to the apartment of his mother, who had
heard the noise in the king’s chamber, and
the attempts which Pericard and other at
tendants of the duke had vainly made to
gain admission so her presence, but re
mained in total ignorance of what was
passing, till Henry himself announced the
event which had taken place. And what
was the effect of the dreadful tale upon
this wretched woman, lying on the bed of
death? Was it an additional pang added
to the consciousness of many crimes?—
Was it compassion for one whom she
had at times professed the greatest friend
ship and affection? Was it anxiety for the
difficulties .n which her son had involved '
himself e.r»d the country. No! Her ob- [
derate b«*art remained an«offcnrd hv am*
After a
ed that the work
that now it was necessary to sew ...
er. “C’est bien coupe, mais il faut a pre
sent, aclivitcet vigneur, voilace qu'jlvnus
faut,’ were her words before she sank ex
hausted by pain and weakness on her bed;
and again the poinards of the assassins
were called into play. The Cardinal of
Lorraine, who had been arrested irt the
council-chamber, was conveyed into n
lower room in a neighboring tower, which
communicated with the part of the castle
where the recent tragedy had been enact
ed, and in the floor ol which there is still a
trap-door opening into the ©ulinieltes be
neath; but it was not in those dark reces
ses of crime and horror that the second
victim was to expiate the ambitious pro
jects of his party. After a night of anxie
ty and alarm spent with his tellow-priso
ner, the Archbishop of Lyons, in prayer
and watching, he still remained in iguo
ran e of his approaching fiite. Those
who had been ready and willing to exe
cute the royal commands against the duke,
recoded from the idea of staining their
In ids in the blood of a priest, and a prince
< f the chinch; but at length a Captain do
Gtiust was found, who at the king’s desire
undertook the dangerous office; and at the
price of four hundred ecus obtained the
aid of three soldiers of his company. At
tended by them and by a valet-de-chatn
bre of the monarch, he entered the dur.
geott where the cardinal was confined,and
informed him that the king required his
presence. “Are we both to attend his
majesty?” asked the captive. “I am
charged to summon you only, rnonscig
ncur,” replied Du Gaust; and as the un
fortunate man left the chamber to follow
him, the archbishop, who seemed to have
anticipated his fate, desired him “to think
on God.” In a lew moments the sounds
without the door told him 100 clearly that
his anticipations were correct. The car
dinal was murdered in the passage out
side between the Tour de Moulins and
tbe rest of the building, and the spot where
he fell is still pointed out those who vis
it the castle. The bodies of the two
brothers were afterwards burnt to ashes in
a chamber utidei the staircase built by
Louis XII., und the remains thrown into
ll.c Loire, to prevent their being regarded
as relics by iheir adherents.
Eight days after the second murder, on
the sili ol' January, the guilty Cathetine
finished her mortal career; anil as her
hopes of earthly grandeur had fallen to
nothing during tier file, so also the gorge
ous memorials she had prepaied in her
prosperity to continue her fame became
vain and empty monuments. The mag
nificent tombs site bud prepared to receive
her mortal remains was left void and utt
tenanted. Political affairs pressed too rap
idly upon her sou to allow him to attend
to tits mother’s obsequies, and her body,
says a cotemporary historian, was treated
wt It as little regard as tliut of “an old
goat.” It was indeed ordered to be ein
oalined, in order to its transportation to tit.
Dennis; hut the operation was so imper
ii oily performed, that it became necessa
ry to niter it on the spot, und it was thrown
.n o the common cemetery with as little
r< sped as that of any other malefactor.—
A few months saw the principal agents ot
ttte murders above recorded receive the
reward of their crimes; the minor tools
were abandoned by the remployer to pun
ishment or neglect; and the hand of a fa
natic assassin cut off the lust offspring of
the guilty Catherine, and with him the
race of Valois, for whose aggrandisement
so many direful offences had been perpe
trated. It is worthy of remark, that the
identical motive which the Duke of Guise
i urged lor the murder of the Admiral Col
igny, was his own death warrant; he bad
vehemently pressed the necessity of that
infamous act —“parce quo l’an*tiul fasoit
imp le rni” (lbr the admiral made himself
too much a king.)
TUB GYASCUTUS.
As this very formidable animal is un
doubtedly “loose,” and ns there is no
knowing the amount of mischief he mav
occasion while roaming at large and uis
tuibing the cogitations of those*quiet peo
ple win) know nothing about him—a .state
ment of the particulars concerning his
origin, and remarkable escape, will, no
doubt, be tlianklully received by an anx
ious public.
The story goes, that a couple of Yan
kees traveling south, ran short of funds;
and resolved themselves into a committee
of ways and means for the puqwse of ef
fecting a “ raise.” They determined to
take advantage of the passion for shows,
which possessed our people irt those days,
when the elephant and rhinoceros, and
lions and monkeys, were being exhibited
all over the country. One of these wor
thy couple, it was agreed between them,
was to personate a rare beast, for which
they invented the name of Gyascutus;
while the other was to he keeper or ‘show
man’—*to exhibit the said Gyascutus to
thecurious spectators,stir him wiibastick, j
throw him his food, discourse of his histo
ry, capture qualities, &c.
Accordingly tbe advertisement was i
made at the next village, to the effect that I
a rare and interesting specimen of onirm t
ed nature, called the Gyascutus, would
•hit night he exhibited tothe enligbli net! |
and generous public of that town and vi- •
v7c\v-c, ,
excited fancies would have
derful similitude to the feet and hands «
a live yankee, with sttipes of Coonskitw
sewed around his wrists and ankles {
With palpitating hearts they taw those
big feet move and flap about, as the mon
ster shook his chain and muttered bis dis
content in unearthly growls.
The designated moment for opening
the exhibition having arrived, and Jona
than having stowed a goodly account of
the shining spoil in the big pockets of his
pepper-and-salt coat, he stepped deliber
ately up to the curtain, fir tiie purpose of
commencing the performance.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said he, ‘tb«
Gyascutus is not only remarkable for the
singularity and ferocity of his appearance,
but for tbe terrible tones of his voice.
Before raising the curtain, I will proceed
to stir him a little with this here stick,
just to let you have a specimen % of the
music with which lie makes his native
wilds resound, when angry, or about to
seize anti run off with his unsuspecting
prey.’ He accordingly disappeared—the
stick was plied upon the Gyascutus-—the
beast gave a few premonitroy grunts, but
waxing in wrath, he began to rattle his
chain like mad, and roar and growl in the
most hideous sort, to the unspeakable de
lightful horror of all present. Expecta
tion, mixed with a portion of apprehen
sion, was wrought up to the highest pitch.
When just at this juncture, Jonathan leap
ed out with a bound—his eyes starting
with fear—his limbs trembling in every
joint—terror in all bis looks—exclaiming,
‘Ladies and gentlemen —save yourselves!
—t!:e Gyascutus is loose !
Pell utell, burly burly, fainting, scream
ing, lea ping, crowding, the spectator*
rolled out; w hile Jonathan and the Gyas
cutus retired the back way,with all reason
able expedition, and are now, lbr aught
we know, enjoying the rewards of their
adventure among the circumjacent hills
of the Pasaarnaquoddy.
For the Girls to read.— A young gentle
man happened to sit at church in a pew
adjoining one in which sat a young lady,
fer whom he conceived a most sudden and
violent passion; and was desirous of en
tering into a courtship on the spot. But
the place not suiting u formal declaration,
the exigency of the case suggested the
following dliiii :—He marked the text and
handed the Bible to her; 2d Epistle of
John, Gth verse : ‘And now, I beseech
thee, lady, not us though 1 wrote anew
commandment unto thee, but that which
we have from the beginning that v, e
love one another.’ She returned the
book, pointing to Ruth 2: 10—‘Why
should 1 find grace in thine eyes, that tin u
shnuldesi takq knowledge of me, seeing I
am a stranger?’ lie again returned the
book, pointing to the third Epistle of John*
13ih verse—‘l Irive many things to write,,
h it l will rot wi.h pen and ink, write un o
thee. But ! trust 1 shall sluirtly see thee,
and then we shall speak face to face.*
Tin y were united in marriage soon after.
— Lx. Paper.
Anecdote of Mr. Blair. —The follow ing
anecdote is told of Mr. Blair, editor of tie
Washington Globe, who, it is universally
acknowledged, is a man of no great per
sonal beauty.
Mr. Bl.trr once met a savage looking
Kentuckian in the Wheeling stage coach,
who accosted him thus : ‘lsay, stranger,
! here’9 a very pretty Bowie knife I was
ax’d to hand over to you !’ ‘lndeed 1’
s aid Blair, to whom may I be indebted to
for this present?’—(lt was a frightful
looking knife.) ‘Well now, that would
I e hard to tell,’ replied the Kentuckian.
‘ ’ I’was about five years ago, I reckon,
when I was gnin’ over this turnpike, and
I met a fellow who gave me the kaile,
s >it of premium for being the ugliest look
ing fellnvv he had melon his journey over
this ugly f ad. He exacted a promise,
however, that if I ever met an uglier look
ing nt tn than myself, I should at once
hand it over to him, at all hazards. Since
then, I have looked in vain foe five years,
and began to think the knife was my own
property. I beg Itmvever, you will make
no objections to accept a present to which,
I am satisfied, you art* justly eniitledj’
Mr. Blait pocketed tli£ knife y
tiaturedly, giving tbe.Jye*'
nest assurance
uglier looking
' sig tis
| >y- /
A
| traor<!)
Flight!!
that p!<*
of tiie ti
years a?
parish c
was disc
regular!
was rel
Welsh.'
the mat
Fletche
sworn.
and i'
law.