The people expressed their various feelings in an undertone:
“There’s many a rascal hidden under those masks,” said a citizen.
“Ay, and with a face uglier than the mask itself,” added a young man.
“They make me afraid,” tremulously exclaimed a girl.
“I’m only afraid for my purse,” said the first speaker.
“Ah, heaven! there are our holy brethren, the Penitents,” cried an old woman, throwing back her hood, the better to look at them. “See the banner they bear! Ah, neighbors, ’tis a joyful thing to have it among us! Beyond a doubt it will save us; see, it shows the devil in flames, and a monk fastening a chain round his neck, to keep him in hell. Ah, here come the judges—noble gentlemen! dear gentlemen! Look at their red robes; how beautiful! Blessed be the Virgin, they’ve been well chosen!”
“Every man of them is a personal enemy of the Cure,” whispered the Count du Lude to the advocate Fournier, who took a note of the information.
“Don’t you know them, neighbors?” pursued the shrill, sharp voice of the old woman, as she elbowed one and pinched another of those near her to attract their attention to the objects of her admiration; “see, there’s excellent Monsieur Mignon, whispering to Messieurs the Counsellors of the Court of Poitiers; Heaven bless them all, say I!”
“Yes, there are Roatin, Richard, and Chevalier—the very men who tried to have him dismissed a year ago,” continued M. du Lude, in undertones, to the young advocate, who, surrounded and hidden from public observation by the group of dark-clad citizens, was writing down his observations in a note-book under his cloak.
“Here; look, look!” screamed the woman. “Make way! here’s Monsieur Barre, the Cure of Saint-Jacques at Chinon.”
“A saint!” murmured one bystander.
“A hypocrite!” exclaimed a manly voice.
“See how thin he is with fasting!”
“See how pale he is with remorse!”
“He’s the man to drive away devils!”
“Yes, but not till he’s done with them for his own purposes.”
The dialogue was interrupted by the general exclamation, “How beautiful she is!”
The Superior of the Ursulines advanced, followed by all her nuns. Her white veil was raised; in order that the people might see the features of the possessed ones, it had been ordered that it should be thus with her and six of the sisterhood. Her attire had no distinguishing feature, except a large rosary extending from her neck nearly to her feet, from which hung a gold cross; but the dazzling pallor of her face, rendered still more conspicuous by the dark hue of her capuchon, at once fixed the general gaze upon her. Her brilliant, dark eyes, which bore the impress of some deep and burning passion, were crowned with eyebrows so perfectly arched that Nature herself seemed to have taken as much pains to form them as the Circassian women to pencil theirs artistically; but between them a slight fold revealed the powerful agitation within. In her movements, however, and throughout her whole bearing, she affected perfect calm; her steps were slow and measured, and her beautiful hands were crossed on her bosom, as white and motionless as those of the marble statues joined in eternal prayer.
“See, aunt,” ejaculated Martine, “see how Sister Agnes and Sister Claire are weeping, next to the Superior!”
“Ay, niece, they weep because they are the prey of the demon.”
“Or rather,” interposed the same manly voice that spoke before, “because they repent of having mocked Heaven.”
A deep silence now pervaded the multitude; not a word was heard, not a movement, hardly a breath. Every one seemed paralyzed by some sudden enchantment, when, following the nuns, among four Penitents who held him in chains, appeared the Cure of the Church of Ste. Croix, attired in his pastor’s robe. His was a noble, fine face, with grandeur in its whole expression, and gentleness in every feature. Affecting no scornful indifference to his position, he looked calmly and kindly around, as if he sought on his dark path the affectionate glances of those who loved him. Nor did he seek in vain; here and there he encountered those glances, and joyfully returned them. He even heard sobs, and he saw hands extended toward him, many of which grasped weapons. But no gesture of his encouraged these mute offers of aid; he lowered his eyes and went on, careful not to compromise those who so trusted in him, or to involve them in his own misfortunes. This was Urbain Grandier.
Suddenly the procession stopped, at a sign from the man who walked apart, and who seemed to command its progress. He was tall, thin, sallow; he wore a long black robe, with a cap of the same material and color; he had the face of a Don Basilio, with the eye of Nero. He motioned the guards to surround him more closely, when he saw with affright the dark group we have mentioned, and the strong-limbed and resolute peasants who seemed in attendance upon them. Then, advancing somewhat before the Canons and Capuchins who were with him, he pronounced, in a shrill voice, this singular decree:
“We, Sieur de Laubardemont, referendary, being delegated and
invested with discretionary power in the matter of the trial of the
magician Urbain Grandier, upon the various articles of accusation
brought against him, assisted by the reverend Fathers Mignon, canon,
Barre, cure of St. Jacques at Chinon, Father Lactantius, and all the
other judges appointed to try the said magician, have decreed as
follows:
“Primo: the factitious assembly of proprietors, noble citizens of
this town and its environs, is dissolved, as tending to popular
sedition; its proceedings are declared null, and its letter to the
King, against us, the judges, which has been intercepted, shall be
publicly burned in the marketplace as calumniating the good
Ursulines and the reverend fathers and judges.
“Secundo: it is forbidden to say, publicly or in private, that the
said nuns are not possessed by the Evil Spirit, or to doubt of the
power of the exorcists, under pain of a fine of twenty thousand
livres, and corporal punishment.
“Let the bailiffs and sheriffs obey this. Given the eighteenth of
June, in the year of grace 1639.”
Before he had well finished reading the decree, the discordant blare of trumpets, bursting forth at a prearranged signal, drowned, to a certain extent, the murmurs that followed its proclamation, amid which Laubardemont urged forward the procession, which entered the great building already referred to—an ancient convent, whose interior had crumbled away, its walls now forming one vast hall, well adapted for the purpose to which it was about to be applied. Laubardemont did not deem himself safe until he was within the building and had heard the heavy, double doors creak on their
