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The gaunt troopers riding at ease with swinging legs and swaying stirrups and singing now a refrain from Ronsard, and now one of those verses of Marot's psalms which all the world had sung three decades before wore their most lamb-like aspect. Behind them Madame St.
Some of the prisoners were singing a hymn of Marot's, and all carried their heads erect, advancing fearlessly to the place of execution. On arriving, they were seized by savage-looking men, while some were speedily hoisted up to the gibbets by their shoulders, where they hung, enduring, it was evident, the greatest agony.
He now knew that his host was one of the many Protestants existing in the country who ventured thus in secret to worship God according to their consciences, even though running the risk of being condemned to death as heretics. After the guests had retired, the family spent some time in singing Marot's hymns.
The fickle king abandoned for a second time the psalm versifier, who never again returned to France. The austere and far-seeing Calvin at once adopted Marot's version of the Psalms, now enlarged to the number of fifty, and added them to the Genevan Confession of Faith, recommending however that they be sung with the grave and suitable strains written, for them by Guillaume Frane.
The clergy showed like a wedge of black driven into the bright colors with which nave and transept overflowed. His Excellency the Governor sat in state, with the Council on either hand. One member of that body was not present. Well-nigh all Williamsburgh knew by now that Mr. Marmaduke Haward lay at Marot's ordinary, ill of a raging fever.
Haward, sitting at the table in Marot's best room, wrote an answer to Audrey's letter, and tore it up; wrote another, and gave it to Juba, to be given to the messenger waiting below; recalled the negro before he could reach the door, destroyed the second note, and wrote a third.
'Alas, Sire! said the Admiral, seeing that no perilous ears remained in the room; 'there are better and more soothing words than any mundane melody. 'Peste! My good father, said the King, petulantly, 'has not old Phlipote, my nurse, rocked me to the sound of your Marot's Psalms, and crooned her texts over me? I tell you I do not want to think. I want what will drive thought away to dull
My eyes had now become accustomed to the darkness of the streets, and I could without difficulty walk on by the side of my companion. We had not gone far, when he stopped at the door of a low cottage. We listened, for a sweet, low hymn was being sung by some one within. It was one of Marot's, such as my own dear parents had delighted in. The sound melted me almost to tears.
And Madame de Ribaumont mixed sugar and dough, and twisted quaint shapes, and felt important and almost light-hearted, and sang over her work and over her child songs that were not always Marot's psalms; and that gave the more umbrage to Noemi, because she feared that Maitre Gardon actually like to hear them, though, should their echo reach the street, why it would be a peril, and still worse, a horrible scandal that out of that sober, afflicted household should proceed profane tunes such as court ladies sang.
But Marot's gift was not wide enough for the voluminous energies of the age; and it was not until a generation later, in the work of the Pléiade a group of writers of whom RONSARD was the chief, and who flourished about the middle of the sixteenth century that the poetical spirit of the French Renaissance found its full expression.
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