Some days before the terrible end of the reign of Francois II., the king insisted on sailing down the Loire, wishing not to be in the town of Orleans on the day when the Prince de Conde was executed. Having yielded the head of the prince to the Cardinal de Lorraine, he was equally in dread of a rebellion among the townspeople and of the prayers and supplications of the Princesse de Conde. At the moment of embarkation, one of the cold winds which sweep along the Loire at the beginning of winter gave him so sharp an ear-ache that he was obliged to return to his apartments; there he took to his bed, not leaving it again until he died. In contradiction of the doctors, who, with the exception of Chapelain, were his enemies, Ambroise Pare insisted that an abscess was formed in the king's head, and that unless an issue were given to it, the danger of death would increase daily.
Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, and the curfew law, which was sternly enforced in Orleans, at this time practically in a state of siege, Pare's lamp shone from his window, and he was deep in study, when Lecamus called to him from below. Recognizing the voice of his old friend, Pare ordered that he should be admitted.
"You take no rest, Ambroise; while saving the lives of others you are wasting your own," said the furrier as he entered, looking at the surgeon, who sat, with opened books and scattered instruments, before the head of a dead man, lately buried and now disinterred, in which he had cut an opening.
"It is a matter of saving the king's life."
"Are you sure of doing it, Ambroise?" cried the old man, trembling.
"As sure as I am of my own existence. The king, my old friend, has a morbid ulcer pressing on his brain, which will presently suffice it if no vent is given to it, and the danger is imminent. But by boring the skull I expect to release the pus and clear the head. I have already performed this operation three times. It was invented by a Piedmontese; but I have had the honor to perfect it. The first operation I performed was at the siege of Metz, on Monsieur de Pienne, whom I cured, who was afterwards all the more intelligent in consequence. His was an abscess caused by the blow of an arquebuse.
The second was on the head of a pauper, on whom I wanted to prove the value of the audacious operation Monsieur de Pienne had allowed me to perform. The third I did in Paris on a gentleman who is now entirely recovered. Trepanning--that is the name given to the operation--is very little known. Patients refuse it, partly because of the imperfection of the instruments; but I have at last improved them. Iam practising now on this skull, that I may be sure of not failing to-morrow, when I operate on the head of the king.""You ought indeed to be very sure you are right, for your own head would be in danger in case--""I'd wager my life I can cure him," replied Ambroise, with the conviction of a man of genius. "Ah! my old friend, where's the danger of boring into a skull with proper precautions? That is what soldiers do in battle every day of their lives, without taking any precautions.""My son," said the burgher, boldly, "do you know that to save the king is to ruin France? Do you know that this instrument of yours will place the crown of the Valois on the head of the Lorrain who calls himself the heir of Charlemagne? Do you know that surgery and policy are at this moment sternly opposed to each other? Yes, the triumph of your genius will be the death of your religion. If the Guises gain the regency, the blood of the Reformers will flow like water. Be a greater citizen than you are a surgeon; oversleep yourself to-morrow morning and leave a free field to the other doctors who if they cannot cure the king will cure France.""I!" exclaimed Pare. "I leave a man to die when I can cure him? No, no! were I to hang as an abettor of Calvin I shall go early to court.
Do you not feel that the first and only reward I shall ask will be the life of your Christophe? Surely at such a moment Queen Mary can deny me nothing.""Alas! my friend," returned Lecamus, "the little king has refused the pardon of the Prince de Conde to the princess. Do not kill your religion by saving the life of a man who ought to die.""Do not you meddle with God's ordering of the future!" cried Pare.
"Honest men can have but one motto: /Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra/!--do thy duty, come what will. That is what I did at the siege of Calais when I put my foot on the face of the Duc de Guise,--I ran the risk of being strangled by his friends and his servants; but to-day I am surgeon to the king; moreover I am of the Reformed religion; and yet the Guises are my friends. I shall save the king,"cried the surgeon, with the sacred enthusiasm of a conviction bestowed by genius, "and God will save France!"A knock was heard on the street door and presently one of Pare's servants gave a paper to Lecamus, who read aloud these terrifying words:--"A scaffold is being erected at the convent of the Recollets: the Prince de Conde will be beheaded there to-morrow."Ambroise and Lecamus looked at each other with an expression of the deepest horror.
"I will go and see it for myself," said the furrier.
No sooner was he in the open street than Ruggiero took his arm and asked by what means Ambroise Pare proposed to save the king. Fearing some trickery, the old man, instead of answering, replied that he wished to go and see the scaffold. The astrologer accompanied him to the place des Recollets, and there, truly enough, they found the carpenters putting up the horrible framework by torchlight.
"Hey, my friend," said Lecamus to one of the men, "what are you doing here at this time of night?""We are preparing for the hanging of heretics, as the blood-letting at Amboise didn't cure them," said a young Recollet who was superintending the work.
"Monseigneur the cardinal is very right," said Ruggiero, prudently;"but in my country we do better."
"What do you do?" said the young priest.
"We burn them."
