Part 27 (1/2)

”Certainly,” said Calvin. ”You, my son, will bear the brunt of the struggle. Be decisive, absolute. n.o.body, neither the Queen, nor the Guises, nor I want pacification as a result; it would not suit our purpose. I have much confidence in Duplessis-Mornay. Give him the leading part. We are alone----” said he, with a suspicious glance into the kitchen, of which the door was open, showing two s.h.i.+rts and some collars hung to dry on a line, ”Go and shut all the doors.--Well,” he went on, when Theodore had done his bidding, ”we must compel the King of Navarre to join the Guises and the Connetable de Montmorency, by advising him to desert Queen Catherine de'

Medici. Let us take full advantage of his weakness; he is but a poor creature. If he prove a turncoat to the Italian woman, she, finding herself bereft of his support, must inevitably join the Prince de Conde and Coligny. Such a manoeuvre may possibly compromise her so effectually that she must remain on our side----”

Theodore de Beze raised the hem of Calvin's gown and kissed it.

”Oh, master,” said he, ”you are indeed great!”

”Unfortunately, I am dying, my dear Theodore. If I should die before seeing you again,” he went on, whispering in the ear of his Minister for Foreign Affairs, ”remember to strike a great blow by the hand of one of our martyrs.”

”Another Minard to be killed?”

”Higher than a lawyer.”

”A king!”

”Higher still. The man who wants to be king.”

”The Duc de Guise?” cried Theodore, with a gesture of dismay.

”Well,” cried Calvin, fancying that he discerned refusal, or at least an instinct of resistance, and failing to notice the entrance of Chaudieu, ”have we not a right to strike as we are struck? Yes, and in darkness and silence! May we not return wound for wound, and death for death? Do the Catholics hesitate to lay snares for us and kill us? I trust to you! Burn their churches. Go on, my sons! If you have any devoted youths----”

”I have,” Chaudieu put in.

”Use them as weapons of war. To triumph, we may use every means. The Balafre, that terrible man of war, is, like me, more than a man; he is a dynasty, as I am a system; he is capable of annihilating us! Death to the Duc de Guise!”

”I should prefer a peaceful victory, brought about by time and reason,”

said de Beze.

”By time!” cried Calvin, flinging over his chair. ”By reason! Are you mad?

Conquer by reason? Do you know nothing of men, you who live among them--idiot? What is so fatal to my teaching, thrice-dyed simpleton, is that it is based on reason. By the thunders of Saint Paul, by the sword of the Mighty! Pumpkin as you are, Theodore, cannot you see the power that the catastrophe at Amboise has given to my reforms? Ideas can never grow till they are watered with blood. The murder of the Duc de Guise would give rise to a fearful persecution, and I hope for it with all my might! To us reverses are more favorable than success! The Reformation can be beaten and endure, do you hear, oaf? Whereas Catholicism is overthrown if we win a single battle.

”What are these lieutenants of mine? Wet rags and not men! Guts on two legs! Christened baboons! O G.o.d, wilt Thou not grant me another ten years to live? If I die too soon, the cause of religion is lost in the hands of such rascals!

”You are as helpless as Antoine de Navarre! Begone! leave me! I must have a better messenger! You are an a.s.s, a popinjay, a poet! Go, write your Catullics, your Tibullics, your acrostics! Hoo!”

The pain he suffered was entirely swamped by the fires of his wrath. Gout vanished before this fearful excitement. Calvin's face was blotched with purple, like the sky before a storm. His broad forehead shone. His eyes flashed fire. He was not like the same man. He let himself give way to this sort of epileptic frenzy, almost madness, which was habitual with him; but, then, struck by the silence of his two listeners, and observing Chaudieu, who said to de Beze, ”The burning bush of h.o.r.eb!” the minister sat down, was dumb, and covered his face with his hands, with their thickened joints, and his fingers quivered in spite of their strength.

A few minutes later, while still trembling from the last shocks of this tempest--the result of his austere life--he said in a broken voice:

”My vices, which are many, are less hard to subdue than my impatience! Ah!

wild beast, shall I never conquer you?” he exclaimed, striking his breast.

”My beloved master,” said de Beze in a caressing tone, taking his hands and kissing them, ”Jove thunders, but he can smile.”

Calvin looked at his disciple with a softened expression.

”Do not misunderstand me, my friends,” he said.

”I understand that the shepherds of nations have terrible burdens to bear,”