has made a 'clerical error' (_pas de
clerc,_ a slip); but the wine is drawn, and it must be drunk." On
arriving at the battle-field, whither he had brought with him but three
hundred horse, at the very moment when, with this weak escort, he was
preparing to charge the deep column of the Duke of Anjou, he received
from La Rochefoucauld's horse a kick which broke one of the bones of his
leg; and he had already crushed an arm by a fall. We will borrow from
the Duke of Aumale the glorious and piteous tale of this incident.
"Conde turned round to his men-at-arms, and showing first his injured
limbs and then the device, 'Sweet is danger for Christ and for
fatherland!' which fluttered upon his banner in the breeze, 'Nobles of
France,' he cried, 'this is the desired moment Remember in what plight
Louis de Bourbon enters the battle for Christ and fatherland!' Then,
lowering his head, he charges with his three hundred horse upon the eight
hundred lances of the Duke of Anjou. The first shock of this charge was
irresistible; such for a moment was the disorder amongst the Catholics
that many of them believed the day was lost; but fresh bodies of
royalists arrive one after another. The prince has his horse killed
under him; and, in the midst of the confusion, hampered by his wounds, he
cannot mount another. In spite of all, his brave comrades do not desert
him; Soubise and a dozen of them, covered with wounds, are taken; an old
man, named La Vergne, who had brought with him twenty-five sons or
nephews, is left upon the field with fifteen of them, 'all in a heap,'
says D'Aubigne. Left almost alone, with his back against a tree, one
knee upon the ground, and deprived of the use of one leg, Conde still
defends himself; but his strength is failing him; he sees two Catholic
gentlemen to whom he had rendered service, Saint-Jean and D'Argence; he
calls to them, raises the vizor of his helmet, and holds out to them his
gauntlets. The two horsemen dismount, and swear to risk their lives to
save his. Others join them, and are eager to assist the glorious
captive. Meanwhile the royal cavalry continues the pursuit; the
squadrons successively pass close by the group which has formed round
Conde. Soon he spies the red cloaks of the Duke of Anjou's guards. He
points to them with his finger. D'Argence understands him, and, 'Hide
your face!' he cries. 'Ah D'Argence, D'Argence, you will not save me,'
replies the prince. Then, like Caesar