Canto II

In France, great sovereign, to increase the curse,
Our ills are risen from a sacred source.
Religion, raging with inhuman zeal,
Arms every hand, and points the fatal steel.
To me however it will least belong
To prove the Romans, or Geneva wrong.
Whatever names divine the parties claim,
In mad imposture they are both the same.
If in the strifes, which Europe’s sons divide,
Since both alike in blood their hands imbrue,
Their crimes are equal, and their blindness, too.
For me, whose business is to guard the state,
I leave to heaven their vengeance and their fate.
My hand ne’er trespassed on the rights divine;
Or e’er profaned the incense of the shrine.
Perish each statesman cruel and unkind,
Who reigns despotic o’er the human mind;
Who stains with blood religion’s sacred word,
And kills, or gains new converts by his sword;
Presuming rashly that a gracious God
Approves the sacrifice of human blood.
Oh, would that God, whose laws I wish to know,
On Valois’ court such sentiments bestow!
The Guises falsely plead religion’s cause,
No scruple checks them, and no conscience awes.
At me those leaders, insolent and proud,
Direct their fury, and ensnare the crowd.
These eyes have seen our citizens engage
In mutual murders, with a zealous rage:
For vain disputes have seen their pious care
Deal all around the horrid flames of war.
You know the madness of those vulgar minds
Which faction warms, and superstition blinds ;
When, proudly arming in a cause divine,
No power their headstrong passion can confine.
Erst in these happy realms yourself beheld
The rising evil, and its danger quelled:
The troubled scene assumed a milder form;
Your virtuous cares subdued the gathering storm.
No reign more pleasing could I wish to see,
Your laws are flourishing, your city free.
Far other paths did Medici pursue,
Far less beloved, less merciful than you.
Moved by these tales of misery, and woe,
More of her conduct should you seek to know,
Myself her real character will tell,
Nor aught exaggerate, nor aught conceal.
Many have tried, but few could e’er impart.
The secret counsels of so deep a heart.
Full twenty years within the palace bred,
Much to my cost, I saw the tempest spread.

The king expiring in the bloom of life
Left a free course to his ambitious wife.
Formed by her cares to empire, either son
Alike she hated when he reigned alone.t
Her hands, the source from whence confusion flowed,
The seeds of jealousy and discord sowed.
Her deep designs, no wild effect of chance,
To Condé Guise opposed, and France to France.
By turns defending enemies and friends,
And rivals aiding for her private ends,
False to her sect, and superstition’s slave,
She sought each pleasure which ambition gave.
Scarce did one virtuous grace adorn her mind,
Deformed with all the vices of her kind.
Forgive the freedom of an honest heart;
You reign a stranger to your sex’s art.
August Eliza, blessed with every charm
That thought can fancy, or that heaven can form,
To win.affection, or to guard a state, :
Lives a bright pattern to the good and great.
‘With love and wonder all your deeds are seen,
And Europe ranks you with her greatest men.
Francis the Second, in youth’s early pride,
By fate untimely joined his sire, and died.
Guise he adored, no more his years had shown,
Nor vice, nor virtue marked him for their own.
Charles, younger still, the regal name obtained,
But fear evinced, ’twas Medici that reigned.
She sought by artful policy to bring
Eternal childhood on the rising king.
A hundred battles spoke her new command,
And discord’s flames were kindled by her hand.
Two rival parties she with rage inspired,
Their arms directed, and their bosoms fired.
Dreux first beheld their banners wave in air,
Ill-fated theatre of horrid war!
Old Montmorency near the royal tomb
Met from a warrior’s arm a warrior’s doom.
At Orleans Guise resigned his latest breath,
A stern assassin gave the stroke of death.
My father still unwilling slave at court,
Was fortune’s bubble, and the queen’s support;
Wrought his own fate, in battle firmly stood,
And died for those who thirsted for his blood.
Condé vouchsafed a parent’s aid to lend,
My surest guardian, and my truest friend.
Nursed in his camp, beneath the laurel’s shade,
Amidst surrounding heroes was I bred.
Like him disdaining indolence and sloth,
Arms were the toys and playthings of my youth.
O plains of Jarnac O unhappy day
That took my guardian and my friend away!
Condé, whose kind protection I enjoyed,
Thy murdering hand, O Montesquieu, destroyed:
Too weak, too feeble to avenge the blow,
I saw thee deal destruction on the foe.
Young and untaught, exposed to every ill,
Heaven found some hero to protect me still;
Great Condé first my steps to glory trained,
Next my good cause Coligny’s' arm sustained:
Coligny, gracious queen! if Europe see
A virtue worthy her regard in me,
If Rome herself confess my youthful days
Not unrenowned, Coligny’s be the praise.
Early I learned beneath his eye to bear
A soldier’s hardships in the school of war;
His great example my ambition fired,
His counsel formed me, and his deeds inspired.
I saw him gray in arms, yet undismayed,
The general cause reclining on his aid ;
Dear to his friends, respected by the foe,
Firm in all states, majestic though in woe;
Expert alike in battle and retreat,
More glorious, even more awful in defeat,
Than Gaston or Dunois in all the pride
Of war, with France and fortune at their side.

Ten years elapsed of battles lost and won,
Still on the field our well-armed legions shone;
With grief the queen her barren trophies viewed,
Our hardy troops, though vanquished, unsubdued,
And at one stroke, one fatal stroke ordained
To sweep the civil tury from the land.
Sudden new counsels in her court prevailed,
And peace was offered, when the sword had failed.
Peace! be thou witness, heaven’s avenging power!
That treacherous olive how it blushed with gore ;
Gods! is it then so hard a task to stray,
And shall their monarchs teach mankind the way ?

True to his sovereign still, devoutly true
Though he opposed her, to his country, too,
Coligny seized the happy hour to heal
Her bleeding interests, with a patriot’s zeal.
Undaunted through surrounding foes he pressed,
(Suspicion seldom haunts a hero’s breast)
Nor stayed, till in her own august abode,
Full in the midst before the queen we stood.
With circling arms and flowing tears she strove
Coligny’s friendship was her dearest choice,
Still to be ruled by his unerring voice ;
Wealth, power, and honor at his feet she laid,
Her son’s indulgence to our hopes displayed,
Vain flattering hopes alas! and quickly fled.
All were not blinded by this specious show
Of cordial grace and bounty from the foe.
But Charles, still anxious to insure success,
More bounteous seemed, as they believed him less.
Trained up in falsehood from his earliest youth,
He held eternal enmity with truth ;
From infant years had treasured in his heart
The poisonous precepts of his mother’s art;
And fierce by nature, merciless and proud,
With ease was ripened to the work of blood.
More deeply still to veil the dark design,
By nuptial bands he made his sister mine.
Oh, bands accursed, and Hymen’s rites profaned,
By heaven in anger for our curse ordained,
Whose baleful torch, dire omen of our doom,
Blazed but to lead me to a mother’s tomb.
Though I have suffered let me still be just,
Nor blame thee, Medici, but where I must,
Suspicions, though on reason firmly built,
I scorn, nor need them to enhance thy guilt.
But Albret died—forgive these tears I shed,
Due to the fond remembrance of the dead.
Meanwhile the dreadful hour in swift career,
Big with the queen’s vindictive wrath, drew near.

Night’s gloomy mantle thrown o’er earth and heaven,
Silent and still the appointed sign was given.
The moon, pale regent, faltered on her way,
And sickening seemed to quench her feeble ray.
Coligny slept, and largely o’er his head
The drowsy power had all his influence shed.
Sudden unnumbered shrieks dispelled the charm,
His rallying senses felt the dread alarm;
He waked, looked forth, and saw the assassin throng
With murderous strides march hastily along:
Saw on their arms the quivering torch-light play,
His palace fired, a nation in dismay,
His bleeding household stifled in the flames,
While all the savage host around exclaims,
“Let not compassion check your righteous hands,
’Tis God, ’tis Medici, ’tis Charles commands.”
Now his own name shrill echoing rends the skies,
And now far off Teligny he descries,
Teligny, famed for every virtuous grace,
Whose truth had earned his daughter’s chaste embrace,
Hope of his cause, and honor of his race.
The bleeding youth by ruffians’ force conveyed,
With outstretched arms demands his instant aid.
Helpless, unarmed, he saw his fate decreed,
Saw that his blood must unavenged be shed;
Yet bravely anxious for renown achieved,
Wished but to die the hero he had lived.

Already the tumultuous band explore
His own recess, and thunder at the door.
Instant he flings it wide, and meets the foe
With eye untroubled, and majestic brow,
Such as in battle with deliberate breast,
Serene, he urged the slaughter, or repressed.

Awful and sage he stood, his gracious form
Quelled the loud tumult, and controlled the storm.
“Finish, my friends, your fatal task,” he said,
“Bathe in my freezing blood this hoary head,
These locks, which yet full many a boisterous year
E’en the rough chance of war has deigned to spare.
Strike, and strike deep; be satisfied and know
With my last breath I can forgive the blow,
The mean desire of life my soul abjures,
Yet happier! might I die, defending yours.”

The savage band grown human at his words,
Clasping his knees let fall their idle swords;
Prone on the ground his pardoning grace implore,
And at his feet repentant sorrows pour ;
He in the midst, like some loved monarch rose,
Theme of his subjects’ praise, and idol of their vows.

When Besme, impatient for his destined prey,
Rushed headlong in, enraged at their delay ;
Furious he saw the deed unfinished yet,
And each assassin trembling at his feet.
No change in him this scene of sorrow wrought,
Hard and unfeeling still, the caitiff thought,
Whoe’er relented at Coligny’s fate,
Was the queen’s foe, a rebel to the State.
Athwart the crowd he breaks impetuous way,
Firm stands the chief, unconscious of dismay,
Deep in his side the fierce barbarian struck
The fatal steel, but with averted look,
Lest at a glance that eye’s resistless charm
Should freeze his purpose and unnerve his arm.
Such was the brave Coligny’s mournful end;
Affront and outrage e’en his death attend,
The ravening hawk and vulture hover round
His mangled limbs, still festering on the ground.
At the queen’s feet his sacred head is thrown,
A conquest worthy both herself and son.
With brow unaltered and serene she sate,
Nor seemed t’enjoy the victim of her hate ;
To veil her secret thoughts so well she knew,
Such presents seemed familiar to her view.

Vain were the task and endless to recite
Each horrid scene of that disastrous night;
Coligny’s death served only to presage
Our future woes, an earnest of their rage.
Legions of bigots, flushed with fiery zeal.
And frantic ardor, shake the murdering steel ;
Proudly they march where heaps of slaughter rise,
Unsated vengeance sparkling in their eyes.
Guise in the van full many a victim paid
Indignant, to his father’s injured shade;
Their leaders animate the troops aloud,
And chafe to madness the deluded crowd;
Long registers cf death’s foredoomed display,
And guide the poniard to its destined prey.

The tumult I omit, the deafening screams,
The blood that floated in promiscuous streams ;
How on his father’s corpse struck rudely down,
Convulsed with anguish fell the expiring son;
How when the flames had split the mouldering wall,
It crushed the cradled infant in its fall:
Events like these we view with less surprise,
For still they mark the track where human frenzy flies.
But stranger far, what few will e’er believe
In future ages, or yourself conceive,
The barbarous rout, whose hearts with added fire,
Those holy savages, their priests, inspire;
Even from the carnage call upon the Lord,
And waving high in air the reeking sword,
Offer aloud to God the sacrifice abhorred. .
What numerous heroes in that havoc died!
Renel and brave Pardaillan by his side,
Guerchy and wise Lavardin, worthy well
A longer life and gentler fortune, fell,
Among the wretches, whom that night of woe
Plunged in the gloom of endless night below,
Marsillac and Soubise, marked down for death,
Defended stoutly their devoted breath,
’Till all with labor wearied and foredone,
Close to the Louvre’s gate pushed roughly on,
While to their king with suppliant voice they cry,
Deaf to their prayers, he hears not, and they die.

High on the roof the royal fury stood,
At leisure feasting on the scenes of blood,
Her cruel minions watch the gloomy host,
And mark the spot where slaughter rages most ;
Brave chiefs! triumphant only in their shame,
They saw their country blaze, and gloried in the flame.

Oh, scandal to the name of king revered!
Himself, the monarch, joins the felon herd;
Himself the trembling fugitives pursues,
And even his sacred hands in blood imbrues.
This Valois, too, whose cause I now support,
Who comes by me, a suppliant to your court,
Shared in his brother’s guilt an impious part,
And roused the flames of vengeance in his heart ;
Nor yet is Valois fierce, of savage mood,
Or prone by nature to delight in blood;
But on his youth those dire examples wrought,
And weakness, more than malice, was his fault.

A few there were whom vengeance sought in vain,
Who escaped unhurt among the thousands slain.
Caumont !? thy fortune, thy auspicious fate,
Ages unborn with wonder shall relate.
The hoary sire between his sons reposed,
His aged eyes in needful slumber closed,
One bed sufficed them all; when rushing in
The fell destroyers marred the peaceful scene,
With hasty strokes their poniards plunging round,
They deal a random death at every wound.
But He, whose mercies o’er our fate preside,
Can waft with ease the threatening hour aside;
Through very zeal to slay, they spare the son,
And not a trace of mischief reached Caumont.
A hand unseen was stretched in his defence,
And screened from-harm his infant innocence;
Pierced with a thousand murders, to their force
His father still opposed his bleeding corse,
And a whole nation’s ardor to destroy
Eluding, twice gave being to his boy.

Me to sweet sleep resigned, and balmy rest,
No fear alarmed, no jealousy possessed;
Deep in the Louvre at that dreadful hour,
Far from the din of arms I slept secure:
But oh! what scenes my waking eyes surveyed,
Grim death in all its horrid pomp arrayed,
Porches and porticoes were deluged o’er,
With crimson streams, and stood in pools of gore;
My friends still bleeding, my domestics slain,
The truest, best, and dearest of my train.
Already at my bed the villains stand
Prepared, already lift the murdering hand;
My life hangs wavering on a point, I wait
The final stroke, and yield me to my fate.

But whether reverence of their ancient lords,
The blood of Bourbon, checked their daring swords ;
Whether ingenious to torment, the queen
Held Henry’s life a sacrifice too mean ;
Or wisely spared it, to secure alone
In future storms, a shelter for her own;
Instead of death, at once to set me free,
Chains and a dungeon were her stern decree.

Far happier was the fate Coligny shared,
His life alone her treacherous arts ensnared,
The hero’s freedom still, and glory unimpaired,
I see Eliza shares in the distress,
Though half the sad recital I suppress.
It seemed as from the queen’s malignant eye
All France had caught the signal to destroy ;
Swift from the capital on every side
Death o’er the kingdom stretched his banners wide.
Kings in their vengeance are too well obeyed;
Whole armies blindly lend their impious aid;
France floats in blood, and all her rivers sweep
Upon their purple tides, the carnage to the deep.