f the _cure_ of St. Jacques, and in the
morning the president of the Parlement, Brisson, was seized and
dragged to the Petit Chatelet, where a revolutionary tribunal, in
black cloaks, on which were sewn large red crosses, condemned him to
death. Meanwhile two councillors of the Parlement, Larcher and Tardif,
had been seized, the latter by the _cure_ of St. Cosme, and haled to
the Chatelet. All three were dragged to a room, and the executioner
was forced to hang them from a beam; the bodies were then stripped, an
inscription was hung about their necks, and they were suspended from
the gallows in the Place de Greve. The sections believed that Paris
would rise: they only shocked the more orderly citizens. The Duke of
Mayenne, who was at Lyons, on the receipt of the news hastened to
Paris, temporised a while and, when sure of support, seized four of
the most dangerous leaders of the sections and hanged them without
trial in the Salle basse of the Louvre. All save the more violent
partisans were now weary of the strife and the Leaguers themselves
were divided. The sections aimed at a theocratic democracy; another
party favoured the Duke of Mayenne; a third, the Duke of Guise; a
fourth, the Infanta of Spain. It was decided to convoke the
States-General at Paris in 1593, and a conference was arranged with
Henry's supporters at Suresnes. Crowds flocked there, crying, "Peace,
peace; blessed be they who bring it; cursed they who prevent it."
Henry knew the supreme moment was come. France was still profoundly
Catholic: he must choose between his religion and France. He chose to
heal his country's wounds and perhaps to save her very existence.
Learned theologians were deputed to confer with him at Paris, whom he
astonished and confounded by his knowledge of Scripture; they declared
that they had never met a heretic better able to defend his cause. But
on 23rd July 1573, he professed himself convinced, and the same
evening wrote to his mistress, Gabrielle d'Estrees, that he had spoken
with the bishops, and that a hundred anxieties were making St. Denis
hateful to him. "On Sunday," he adds, "I am to take the perilous leap.
_Bonjour_, my heart; come to me early to-morrow. It seems a year since
I saw you. A million times I kiss the fair hands of my angel and the
mouth of my dear mistress."

On Sunday, under the great portal of St. Denis, the archbishop of
Bourges sat enthroned in a chair covered with white damask and
embroidered with