The Pocket Bible; or, Christian the Printer: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

CHAPTER I.
THE QUEEN'S "FLYING SQUADRON."

The Abbey of St. Severin, situated on the Limoges road not far from the town of Malraye, belonged to the Order of St. Bernard. Before the beginning of the religious wars, the abbey was a splendid monument, built by the hands of Jacques Bonhomme,⁴⁷ like so many other monasteries that dot the soil of France. As a church vassal, Jacques Bonhomme transported either upon his own back, or, to the still greater injury of field agriculture, with the help of oxen, the stones, the lumber, the sand and the lime requisite for the erection of these pretentious monastic residences. He thereupon carried to the idling monks the tithes on his corn, on his cattle, on his poultry, on his eggs, on his butter, on his wine, on his oil, on the fleece of his sheep, on his honey, on his linen, in short, the prime of all that he produced with the sweat of his brow. Then came the corvee⁴⁸– to till the convent lands, to sow, weed and gather the crops thereon; to keep the convent roads in repair; to irrigate its meadows; to dredge its ponds; to serve as watchman; and finally to lay down his life in its defense against the roving bands of vagabonds and robbers. In return for all these services – when either old, or sick, or exhausted with toil, Jacques Bonhomme could work no more – he was allowed to hold out his bowl at the gate of the monastery, when the monks would occasionally deign to fill it with greasy water from their kitchen. When the church vassal was at his last breath, stretched upon the straw in his hut, the good Fathers came to assist and solace him with their Oremus.⁴⁹ "God created man for sorrow and poverty," they would say to him; "you have suffered – God is pleased; you shall enjoy a famous seat in Paradise. Yours will be the delights of the celestial mansion."

When the spirit of the Reformation penetrated some of the provinces, Jacques Bonhomme began to lend an ear to a new theory. "Poor, ignorant people, poor duped and defrauded people," said the pastors of the new church; "offerings to saints, masses, and purgatory are idolatries, tricks, frauds, sacrilegious inventions with the aid of which the priests and monks appropriate to themselves the silver laid by fools upon the altars and at the feet of wooden and stone images. Good men! Read the sacred Book. You will discover that God forbids the traffic on which thousands of frocked and tonsured idlers grow fat." In sight of such a revelation, based as it was upon the texts of Holy Writ, Jacques Bonhomme said to himself in his own rustic common sense: "’Tis so! I have been cheated, duped and robbed all these centuries by the Church of Rome!" Thereupon Jacques Bonhomme turned himself loose upon the convents and churches; he overthrew, broke and profaned the altars, the relics and the statues of saints that had so long been the objects of his veneration.

On the other hand, in the provinces where the population remained under the mental domination of the clergy, Jacques Bonhomme turned himself loose upon the houses of Huguenots, set them on fire, slaughtered the men, violated the women, and dashed the brains of old men and children against the walls.

Occupied before the religious wars by the Bernardine monks, the Abbey of St. Severin had been repeatedly sacked, like so many other monastic resorts in the districts of Poitou, Berri and Limousin. Reared on an admirable site – the slope of a hill shaded by a thick forest – the convent clearly revealed the traces of a sack, freshly undergone: shattered windows, doors broken open or torn from their hinges, portions of the walls blackened by fire, and the capitals of the columns mutilated by the discharge of arquebuses and the fury of the devastators.

One day, towards the middle of the month of June, 1569, as the sun drew near the western horizon, the silence around the ruins of the Abbey of St. Severin was disturbed by the arrival of two squadrons of light cavalry belonging to the Catholic army. The cavalcade escorted a long convoy of pack-mules, the men in charge of whom wore the colors and arms of the royal house of France and of the house of Lorraine. The convoy entered the yard of the cloister. The lackeys unloaded the mules and took possession of the deserted abbey. True to their name, the horsemen were armed in the lightest manner, with Burgundian helmets and breastplates, together with armlets and gauntlets, besides thigh-pieces partly covered by their boots; small arquebuses, only three feet long and well polished, hung from their saddle pommels, and short swords and iron maces completed their outfit.

The armed corps had for its commandant Count Neroweg of Plouernel, a man beyond sixty years of age, of rough, haughty and martial mien. From head to foot he was covered with armor damascened in gold. His Turkish silver-grey horse was cased at the neck, chest and crupper in light flexible sheets of chiseled and richly gilt steel. Its orange-colored velvet housings and saddle were ornamented with green and silver lace, the heraldic colors of the house of Plouernel. The jacket or floating coat that the Count wore above his armor was also of orange-colored velvet, and likewise embroidered with green and silver thread. The commandant of the detachment alighted from his horse; ordered the monastery to be searched; set up watches and sent out pickets over the principal roads that led to the place. He then remounted and rode away in the direction of Limoges, escorted by only one of the two squadrons.

Immediately after the departure of the Count, the quartermasters of Queen Catherine De Medici, assisted by her serving-men and those of Charles of Guise, Cardinal of Lorraine, fell to work on the task of imparting to the devastated halls of the abbey the most presentable appearance possible, with the view of lodging the Queen and the prelate whose arrival they expected. The mules, to the number of more than sixty, carried a complete traveling equipment on their pack-saddles, or in large trunks strapped to their backs – tent cloths, lambrequins, tapestry, easels, dismantled beds, curtains, mattresses, silver vessels, besides an abundance of eatables and wines with the necessary kitchen utensils, and even ice, in leather bags. The valets set to work with a will, and with a promptitude truly marvelous they tapestried the apartments destined for the Queen and for the Cardinal by hanging rich cloths, provided in advance with gilt hooks, from nails that they deftly drove along the upper edges of the walls. They then fitted out the two rooms with the necessary furniture brought by the mules. A chamber, separated from that of the Queen by a small passage was likewise prepared for the reception of the sovereign's four maids of honor. The pages, the knights, the chamberlains, the officers and the equerries were all quartered, as in time of war, in the outhouses of the abbey, the vast kitchen of which was invaded by the master cook and his aides, who prepared supper, while the stewards spread the royal table in the refectory of the monastery. Shortly before sunset forerunners announced the approach of the Queen. Upon the heels of the forerunners came a vanguard, and immediately after, several armed squadrons, in the center of which was the royal litter, enclosed with hangings of gold-embroidered violet velvet and carried by two mules, likewise in trappings of violet velvet. A second litter, not so richly decorated and empty at the time, was reserved for those maids of honor who might tire of riding. These maids, however, together with their governess, had preferred to cover the distance on the backs of their richly caparisoned palfreys, the necks, flanks and cruppers of which were decked in embroidered velvet emblazoned with the arms of the royal house of France. Pages and equerries followed the maids of honor. The rear was brought up by the litter of the Cardinal of Lorraine, wrapped in purple taffeta hangings and surrounded by several leading dignitaries and Princes of the Church.

Before entering the yard of the abbey the prelate put his head out of his litter, and ordered one of his gentlemen-in-waiting to summon before him the commandant of the escort. Charles of Guise, Cardinal of Lorraine, was at that time forty-six years of age. His otherwise handsome features, now marred by debauchery, reflected shrewdness, craft, and above all haughtiness, these being the dominant traits of his character. Count Neroweg of Plouernel, who was summoned by the prelate, approached the litter.

"Monsieur," said the Cardinal in an imperious tone, "do you answer for the safety of the Queen and myself?"

"Yes, Monsieur Cardinal."

"Have you taken sufficient precautions against any surprise on the part of the Huguenot band known by the name of the 'Avengers of Israel' and captained by a felon nicknamed the 'One-Eyed'?"

"Monsieur Cardinal, I answer with my life for the safety of the Queen. The Huguenot forces need not alarm us. His Majesty's army covers our escort. Marshal Tavannes is notified of the Queen's arrival; he has undoubtedly kept clear the route followed by her Majesty. I told your Eminence before that it would have been better to push straight ahead until we joined the army of Marshal Tavannes, instead of spending the night at this abbey."

"Do you imagine the Queen and I can travel like a couple of troopers, without alighting for rest?"

"Monsieur Cardinal," replied Count Neroweg of Plouernel haughtily, "it is not for others to remind me of the respect I owe her Majesty."

"Monsieur!" exclaimed the Cardinal angrily, "you seem to forget that you are addressing a Prince of the house of Lorraine. Be more respectful!"

"Monsieur Cardinal, if you know the history of your house, I know the history of mine. Pepin of Heristal, the grandfather of Charlemagne, from whom you pretend to descend, was but a rather insignificant specimen when the house of Neroweg, illustrious in Germany long before the Frankish conquest, was already established in Gaul for two centuries on its Salic domains of Auvergne, which it held from the sword of one of its own ancestors, a leude of Clovis – "

"Lower your tone, monsieur! Do not oblige me to remind you that Colonel Plouernel, your brother, is one of the military chiefs of the rebels who have risen in arms against the Church and the Crown."

The colloquy was interrupted at this point by the arrival of a page who hurried to announce to the Cardinal the entry of the Queen into the cloister.

Leaving Count Neroweg under the stigma of insinuated treason, the prelate stepped down from his litter in order to hasten to the Queen's side and render her his homage. Catherine De Medici was then in her fiftieth year. Not now was she, as on that fateful January 21, 1535, merely a Princess, and the young butt of the arrows of the Duchess of Etampes. Since then, Francis I had died and had been succeeded to the throne by her husband as Henry II, who, dying later from the consequences of an accident at a tourney, left her Queen Regent – absolute monarch. In point of appearance also Catherine De Medici was now her complete self. She preserved the traces of her youthful beauty. A slight corpulence impaired in nothing the majesty of her stature. Her shoulders, arms and hands – all of a dazzling whiteness – would, thanks to the perfection of their lines, have presented a noble model for a sculptor. Her hair preserved its pristine blackness, and was on this evening covered by the hood of a damask mantle, violet like her trailing robe, which exposed a front of brass. Cunning, perfidy, cruelty, were stamped upon her striking countenance. Catherine De Medici leaned upon the arm of her lover, the Cardinal of Lorraine, and entered the abbey, followed by her maids of honor, a bevy of ravishing young girls.

The maids of honor of Catherine De Medici indulged in these days, and by express orders of their mistress, in the strangest of doings. The ironical title was given them of the "Queen's Flying Squadron." Indeed, according as her policy might require, Catherine De Medici commanded her maids of honor to prostitute themselves and take for their lovers the young seigneurs whom she wished to attract to her party, or whose secrets she wished to fathom. Occasionally the Queen even pointed out to her nymphs such court folks as she wished to be rid of. In such instances, René, the court perfumer, prepared the most subtle poisons and the surest to boot, wherewith the young maids impregnated the gloves of their lovers, or the petals of a flower, or smelling boxes, or the sugar plums which they offered to the victims designated to them. It was a customary saying of Catherine De Medici to her new female recruits: "My little one, you are free to worship at the shrine of Diana, or at that of Venus, but if you sacrifice to the little god Cupid, have an eye to the breadth of your waist."⁵⁰

After supper the Cardinal of Lorraine remained alone with the Queen. The maids of honor entertained themselves in a chamber adjoining the royal apartment. There were four of them, each of a different type of beauty. The youngest was eighteen years of age. A veneer of grace and elegance concealed the precocious degradation of the four beauties. They were superbly dressed. Catherine De Medici loved luxury; on their travels the members of her suite took with them, laden in trunks strapped to the backs of mules, complete outfits of splendid apparel. One of the maids of honor, Blanche of Verceil, was temporarily absent. Diana of Sauveterre, the senior of the Queen's squadron, was a white and pink beauty of the blonde type. She wore a blue waist ornamented with open gold lace-work; her coif, made of white taffeta and surmounted with little curled feathers of blue and silver, marked with its point the middle of her forehead, whence, widening in two rounded wings to either side over her temples, it exposed an opulent growth of blonde hair combed back from the roots. Clorinde of Vaucernay, a dainty little creature with black hair and blue eyes, was clad in a waist and skirt of pale yellow damask threaded with silver; her bonnet, made of the same material, was embroidered with pearls. Finally, Anna Bell, the youngest and most beautiful of all, seemed to unite in her single person the different charms of the other maids of honor. Elegant of stature and with a skin of dazzling white, her thick light-brown hair contrasted marvelously with her eye-brows, jet-black like the long eyelashes which partly veiled her large, soft, brown eyes. The maid's rose-colored satin coat fell in graceful folds upon her robe of white satin. Her pink bonnet was surmounted by little white frizzled feathers. Anna Bell seemed to be in a mood of profound melancholy. Seated slightly apart from her companions, with her elbows leaning on a window that opened upon the enclosure of the abbey, she dreamily contemplated the starry sky, lending but an absentminded attention to the conversation of her sister maids of honor.

"Did I understand you to say there were philters that could make men amorous?" asked Clorinde of Vaucernay.

"Yes, indeed," replied Diana of Sauveterre. "The effectiveness of certain philters is indisputable. In support of what I say I shall quote Madam Noirmoutier. She succeeded in pouring a few drops of a certain liquid into Monsieur Langeais's glass. Before the repast was over, the young seigneur was crazy in love with her."

"And yet there are people who remain incredulous concerning the efficacy of love potions," returned the first speaker. "What about you, Anna Bell, are you among the unbelievers?"

"Sincere love is the only philter that can effect prodigies," Anna Bell sighed as she answered.

At that moment Blanche of Verceil joined her companions. Hers was a masculine, brown-complexioned and tall type of beauty. The maid's abundant black hair and thick eyebrows would have imparted the stamp of harshness to her face were it not for the smile of merry raillery that habitually flitted over her cherry-red lips, which were accentuated by a light-brown down. She held in her hand several sheets of paper, and said gaily to her companions:

"I have come to share with you, my darlings, a bit of good luck that has befallen me."

"Good! Distribute your good things," cried Diana of Sauveterre.

"This morning, just as we were mounting our horses," began Blanche of Verceil, "a page arrived from Paris, sent to me by my dear Brissac. The page brought me sugar plums, fresh flowers wonderfully preserved, and a letter full of love. But that is not all. The letter, which I could not read until a few minutes ago, contained a treasure – an inestimable treasure – the newest pasquils, the most daring and most biting that have yet appeared! They are a true intellectual treat."

"What a windfall! And against whom are they directed?" asked Diana of Sauveterre.

"Innocent creature that you are!" Blanche of Verceil returned. "Against whom can they be written if not against the Queen, against the Cardinal, against the court, and against the maids of honor of the Queen's 'Flying Squadron'? It is all of us who are the butts of the satirists."

"Those vicious people treat us with scant courtesy," exclaimed the black-haired Clorinde of Vaucernay. "But, at any rate, we are sung in superb and royal company. By Venus and Cupid, we should feel proud."

"Come, Blanche, read us the verses," Diana of Sauveterre suggested. "The Queen may send for us any moment before she retires."

Instead of complying at once with Diana's request, Blanche of Verceil pointed to Anna Bell, who remained in silent abstraction, and in a low voice said to her companions: "Decidedly, the little one is in love. Her ears do not prick up at the sound of that tickling word pasquil– a divine tid-bit of wit and wickedness the salt of which is worth a hundred fold, a thousand fold more than all the sugar of the candies."

"I wager she is dreaming awake of the German Prince of whom she speaks in her slumbers. How indiscreet sleep is! Poor thing, she thinks her secret is well kept," rejoined Clorinde of Vaucernay.

"Blanche, the pasquils," again cried Diana, impatiently. "I burn with curiosity to hear them."

"Honor to whom honor is due. We shall commence with our good dame the Queen;" and with these words Blanche read:

 
"People ask, What's the resemblance
’Tween Catherine and Jesebel:
One, the latter, ruined Israel,
And the former ruins France;
Extreme malice marked the latter,
Malice's self the former is;
Finally, the judgment fell
Of a Providence divine
Caused the dogs to eat up Jesebel,
While the carcass rank of Catherine
In this point doth differ much:
It not even the dogs will munch."⁵¹
 

The maids of honor broke out into peals of laughter. Anna Bell, still pensively seated apart at the open casement, let her eyes wander over space, a stranger to the hilarity of her companions. She paid no attention to the reading of the verses.

"You will yet see, in the event of our good Dame Catherine's being taken unawares and swallowing some of the sugar plums destined for her victims, that the rascally dogs may fear the remains of our venerable sovereign are poisoned – and will run away from her carcass," said Clorinde of Vaucernay.

"That pasquil should be read to the Queen. If she is in a good humor she will have a good laugh over it," put in Diana of Sauveterre.

"Indeed, few things amuse her more than bold and witty verses," acquiesced Blanche. "Do you remember how, when she read the 'Marvelous Discourses' from the satirical pen of the famous printer Robert Estienne, the good dame laughed heartily and said: 'There is some truth in that! But they do not know it all – how would it be if they were more fully posted!'⁵² Now, listen. After the Queen, Monsieur the Cardinal, that is a matter of course. He is supposed to be dead – they wish he were – that also is natural. Here is his epitaph written in advance:

 
"The Cardinal, who, in his hours of life
Kept heaven, sea and earth all seething o'er,
In hell now carries on his furious strife,
And 'mong the damned, as erst 'mong us makes war.
"Why is it that upon his tomb is showered
The holy water in such rare profusion?
It is that there the torch of war lies lowered,
And all fear lest it flare to new confusion."⁵³
 

"Poor Monsieur Cardinal!" exclaimed Diana of Sauveterre. "What a villainous calumny! He, such a poltroon as he, for a Guise – he is the most craven of all cravens – to compare him with a bolt of war!"

"No, not a bolt, but a torch," Blanche corrected. "He rests satisfied with holding the torch of war, like Madam Gondi, the governess of the royal Princes and Princesses, held the torch of Venus to light the amours of the late King Henry II, whose worthy go-between, or, to speak more plainly, whose Cyprian, she was."

"As for me," said Clorinde of Vaucernay, "I highly commend the Queen for having placed, as governess over her children, her own husband's go-between. It is a sort of hereditary office which can not be entrusted to hands too worthy, and should be perpetuated in titled families."

"Accordingly," said Blanche, "Gondi, faithful to the duties of her Cyprian employment, took charge of carrying the first love letter from Mademoiselle Margot⁵⁴ to young Henry of Guise, whom we are about to meet in the army of Marshal Tavannes. Hence evil tongues are saying: 'In these days, it is not the men who fall on their knees before the women, but the women who fall on their knees before the men and entreat them for amorous mercy.'"⁵⁵

"Nothing wonderful in that!" replied Clorinde. "Is it not for a Queen to take the first step towards her subjects? What are we? Queens. What are the men? Our subjects. Besides that, Henry of Guise is so handsome, so brave, so amorous! Although he is barely eighteen years old, all the women are crazy over him – I first of all. My arms are open to him."

"Oh, Clorinde! If Biron were to hear you!" cried Diana of Sauveterre.

"He has heard me," answered Clorinde. "He knows that in pledging constancy, exception is always implied for an encounter with Henry of Guise. But let us hear the other pasquils, Blanche!"

"The next one," announced Blanche, "is piquant. It alludes to the new custom that the Queen has borrowed from Spain. It alludes to the title of Majesty that she wishes to be addressed by, as well as her children:

 
"The Kingdom of France, to perdition while lagging,
Has seized from the Spaniard his heathenish bragging:
It rigs up a mortal in godhead's travesty,
And when his estate with hypocrisy's smelling,
I plainly can see, and without any telling,
Our Majesty's booked – to be stript of majesty."⁵⁶
 

"That last line is humorous," laughed Clorinde. "'Our Majesty's booked – to be stript of majesty.'"

"For want of the thing we take the name – that is enough to impose upon the fools," said Diana of Sauveterre.

Blanche pointed to their companion who was still seated by the window, now with her forehead resting on her hands, and said: "Look at Anna Bell. In what black melancholy is she plunged?"

"To the devil with melancholy!" answered Diana. "One has to fall in love with some German Prince in order to look so pitiful!"

"Who may the Prince Charming be?" Blanche inquired. "We know nothing of the secrets of that languishing maid, except a few words uttered by her in her sleep – 'Prince – Germany! – Germany! – My heart is all yours. Alas, my love can not be shared.'"

"Can Anna Bell be German?" asked Clorinde.

"Ask our good Dame Catherine about that. She is no doubt acquainted with the mystery of Anna Bell's birth, and may enlighten you on what you want to know. As for me, I know nothing about it."

"The German Prince has turned her head and made her forget poor Solange altogether," said Clorinde.

"The most famous preachers, among them Burning-Fire and Fra Hervé the Cordelier, failed to draw the Marquis of Solange back to the fold of the Church. Anna Bell undertook his conversion, and, by grace from above – or from below – by virtue of her blue eyes or of her charming hips, the Huguenot became an ardent Catholic."

"But to whom does he render his devotions?" asked Clorinde, meaningly. "To the Church, or to the chapel of our little friend?" The maids of honor laughed uproariously and Clorinde continued: "But let us return to our pasquils."

"This one," resumed Blanche of Verceil, "is odd on account of its form – and the climax is droll. Judge for yourselves:

 
"The poor people endure everything;
The men-at-arms ravage everything;
The Holy Church pensions everything;
The favorites demand everything;
The Cardinal grants everything;
The Parliament registers everything;
The Chancellor seals everything;
The Queen-Mother runs everything;
And only the Devil laughs at everything;
Because the Devil will take everything."⁵⁷
 

The loud hilarity of the maids of honor, whom the wind-up of the last pasquil amused intensely, finally attracted the attention of Anna Bell. Her face bore the impress of profound sadness; her eyes were moist. Fearing that she was the object of her companions' jests, the maid furtively wiped away her tears, stepped slowly towards the other young women, and let herself down beside Blanche of Verceil.

"We are somewhat after the fashion of the devil – we laugh about everything," said Clorinde to her. "You alone, Anna Bell, among us all, are as sad as a wife who sees her husband return from a long voyage, or beholds her gallant depart for the wars. What is the reason of your despondency?"

Anna Bell forced a smile, and answered: "Forget me, as the wife forgets her husband. To-day I feel in a sad humor."

"The remembrance, perhaps, of a bad dream?" suggested Blanche of Verceil, ironically. "Or perhaps bad news from a handsome and absent friend?"

"No, dear Blanche," replied Anna Bell, blushing, "I am affected only by a vague sorrow – without cause or object. Besides, as you are aware, I am not of a gay disposition."

"Oh, God!" broke in Diana of Sauveterre, excitedly. "By the way of dreams, I must tell you I had a most frightful one last night. I saw our escort attacked by the Huguenot bandits called the Avengers of Israel."

"Their chief is said to be a devilish one-eyed man, who attacks monks and priests by choice," said Blanche, "and, when he takes them prisoner, flays their skulls. He calls that raising them to the cardinalate, coifing them with the red cap!"

"It is enough to make one shiver with terror. One hears nothing but reports of such atrocities," exclaimed Clorinde.

"We need not fear that we shall fall into the hands of that reprobate," said Diana reassuringly. "We have attended a special mass for the success of our journey."

"I place but slight reliance upon the mass, my dear Diana, but a very strong one upon Count Neroweg of Plouernel, who commands our escort," replied Blanche. "The Huguenot bandits will not dare to approach our armed squadrons and light cavalry. The saber is a better protection to us than the priest's cowl."

"May God preserve us!" laughed Diana. "All the same, I would not regret undergoing a scare, or even running a certain degree of risk of being carried off, together with the accessory consequences – anything to see the frightened face of the Cardinal, who is as lily-livered as a hare."

"To tell the truth, I do not understand these charges of cowardice that you fling at the Cardinal, after so many proofs of valor given by him," said Blanche.

Diana of Sauveterre burst out laughing again. "You must be joking," she said, "when you speak of the 'bravery' of the Cardinal, and of the 'proofs of valor' given by him."

"No, indeed, my dear Diana," replied Blanche. "I am talking seriously. First of all, did he not carry bravery to the point of charging old Diana of Poitiers, as he would have done a citadel? Did he not accomplish another exploit in passing from the arms of Diana into those of our good Queen Catherine, though she be loaded with years and corpulence? Besides, we know," she added with a sinister smile, "that to play the gallant with Catherine is at times to court death. These are the reasons why I look upon the Cardinal as a Caesar."

"You would be talking to the point, my dear, if, instead of braving the one-eyed man, who has such a reputation for ferocity, the Cardinal were now to turn to the assault of some one-eyed woman," said Clorinde of Vaucernay.

"If heaven is just," said Diana, "it will yet place the Huguenot bandit face to face with the Cordelier Hervé. Then would we see terrible things. The monk commands a company of Catholics, all desperate men. For arms he has a chaplet, the beads of which are arquebus balls, and a heavy iron crucifix which he uses for a mace. All heretics who fall into the hands of the troop of Fra Hervé are put to death with all manner of refined tortures, whether they be men or women, old men or children. But do let us return to our pasquils."

"The best are still to come. They are the cleverest and drollest, but they are in prose;" and Blanche continued reading:

"New Works Belonging to the Court Library.

"The Pot-pourri of the Affairs of France, translated from the Italian into French by the Queen of France.

"The General Goslings' Record, by the Cardinal of Bourbon. A collection of racy stories.

"The History of Ganymede, by the Duke of Anjou, the Queen's favorite son."

"The dear Prince surely did not write that book without a collaborator," cried Diana of Sauveterre, laughing. "I wager the lovely Odet, the son of Count Neroweg of Plouernel, his aide-de-camp, must have helped the Duke of Anjou in his work. The two youngsters have become inseparable, day – and night!"

"O, Italiam! Italiam! O, Italy, the rival of Gomorrah and of Lesbos!" exclaimed Clorinde, laughing boisterously.

"You speak Latin, my dear?" asked Diana, amused.

"Simply out of shame," replied Clorinde, "in order not to frighten the modesty of the maids of honor, my pretty chickens."

"I have a horror of the little hermaphrodites," agreed Blanche. "They are decked out like women – gaudy ruffles, jewelry in their ears, fans in their hands! May Venus protect us from the reign of those favorites! May the fires of hell consume the popinjays! But to proceed with the pasquil. Attention, my dears: