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diff --git a/old/50218-0.txt b/old/50218-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 372e4bc..0000000 --- a/old/50218-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10433 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Old Court Life in France, vol. 1/2, by Frances Elliot - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Old Court Life in France, vol. 1/2 - -Author: Frances Elliot - -Release Date: October 14, 2015 [EBook #50218] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE, VOL. 1/2 *** - - - - -Produced by Josep Cols Canals, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - _By Frances Elliot_ - - - Old Court Life in France - _2 vols. 8º._ - - Old Court Life in Spain - _2 vols. 8º._ - - [Illustration] - - [Illustration] - - - - - OLD COURT - LIFE IN FRANCE - - BY - - FRANCES ELLIOT - - AUTHOR OF “DIARY OF AN IDLE WOMAN IN ITALY,” - “PICTURE OF OLD ROME,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - _ILLUSTRATED_ - - VOLUME I. - - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - NEW YORK AND LONDON - The Knickerbocker Press - - COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London - BY G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - - Made in the United States of America - - The Knickerbocker Press, New York - - - - - TO MY NIECE - - THE COUNTESS OF MINTO - - THIS WORK IS - INSCRIBED - - - - -PREFACE - -TO THE FIFTH EDITION. - - -I cannot express the satisfaction I feel at finding myself once more -addressing the great American public, which from the first has received -my works with such flattering favour. - -I have taken special pleasure in the production of this new edition of -_Old Court Life in France_, which was first published in America some -twenty years ago, and which is, I trust, now entering into a new lease -of life. - -That the same cordial welcome may follow the present edition, which was -accorded to the first, is my anxious hope. - -A new generation has appeared, which may, I trust, find itself -interested in the stirring scenes I have delineated with so much care, -that they might be strictly historical, as well as locally correct. - -To write this book was, for me (with my knowledge of French history) a -labour of love. It takes me back to the happiest period of my life, -passed on the banks of the historic Loire: to Blois, Amboise, Chambord, -and, a little further off, to the lovely _plaisances_ of Chenonceaux and -Azay le Rideau, the woods of magnificent Versailles, and Saint Cloud -(now a desolation), on to the walls of the palatial Louvre, the -house-tree of the great Kings and Queens of France--never can all these -annals be fitly told! Never can they be exhausted! - -To be the guide to these romantic events for the American public is -indeed an honour. To lead where they will follow, with, I trust, -something of my own enthusiasm, is worth all the careful labour the work -has cost me. - -With these words I take my leave of the unknown friends across the sea, -who have so kindly appreciated me for many years. Although I have never -_visited_ America, this sympathy bridges space, and draws me to them -with inexpressible cordiality and confidence, in which sentiment I shall -ever remain, leaving my work to speak to them for me. - -FRANCES ELLIOT. - - _June, 1893._ - - - - -PREFACE - -TO THE THIRD EDITION--IN REPLY TO CERTAIN CRITICS. - - -To relate the “Court life” of France--from Francis I. to Louis XIV.--it -is necessary to relate, also, the history of the royal favourites. They -ruled both court and state, if they did not preside at the council. The -caprice of these ladies was, actually, “the Pivot on which French -history turned.” - -Louis XIII. was an exception. Under him Cardinal Richelieu reigned. -Richelieu’s “_zeal_” for France led him unfortunately to butcher all his -political and personal opponents. He ruled France, axe in hand. It was -an easy way to absolute power. - -Cardinal Mazarin found France in a state of anarchy. The throne was -threatened with far more serious dangers than under Richelieu. To feudal -chiefs were joined royal princes. The great Condé led the Spanish troops -against his countrymen. Yet no political murder stains the name of the -gentle Italian. He triumphed by statescraft,--and married the Infanta to -Louis XIV. - -Cardinal de Retz possessed much of the genius of Richelieu. No cruelty, -however, attaches to his memory. But De Retz was on the wrong side, the -side of rebellion. He was false to his king and to France. Great as were -his gifts, he fell before the persevering loyalty of Mazarin. - -The personal morality of either of these statesmen ill bears -investigation. Marion de l’Orme was the mistress and the spy of -Richelieu; Mazarin--it is to be hoped--was privately married to the -Queen Regent Anne of Austria. Cardinal de Retz had, as a contemporary -remarks, “a bevy of mistresses.” - -We have the authority of Charlotte de Bavière, second wife of Phillippe -Duc d’Orléans, brother of Louis XIV., in her _Autobiographical -Fragments_, “that her predecessor, Henrietta of England, was poisoned.” -No legal investigation was ever made as to the cause of her sudden -death. There is no proof “that Louis XIV. disbelieved she was poisoned.” - -The number of the victims of the St. Bartholomew-massacre is stated by -Sully to have been 70,000. (_Memoirs_, book I., page 37.) Sully and -other authorities state “that Charles IX., at his death, manifested by -his transports and his tears the sorrow he felt for what he had done.” -Further, “that when dying he sent for Henry of Navarre, in whom _alone_ -he found faith and honour.” (Sully, book I., page 42.) - -That Sorbin, confessor to Charles IX., should have denied this is -perfectly natural. Henry of Navarre would stink in the confessor’s -nostrils as a pestilent heretic. As to the credibility of Sorbin (a -bigot and a controversialist), I would refer to the _Mémoires de l’état -de France sous Charles IX._, vol. 3, page 267. - -According to the _Confession de Saucy_, Sorbin de St. Foy “was made a -Bishop for having placed Charles IX. among the Martyrs.” - -FRANCES (MINTO) ELLIOT. - - August, 1873. - - - - -PREFACE - - -All my life I have been a student of French memoir-history. In this -species of literature France is remarkably rich. There exist -contemporary memoirs and chronicles, from a very early period down to -the present time, in which are preserved not only admirable outlooks -over general events, but details of language, character, dress, and -manners, not to be found elsewhere. I was bold enough to fancy that -somewhat yet remained to tell;--say--of the caprices and eccentricities -of Louis XIII., of the homeliness of Henri Quatre, of the feminine -tenderness of Gabrielle d’Estrées, of the lofty piety and unquestioning -confidence of Louise de Lafayette, of the romantic vicissitudes of -Mademoiselle de Montpensier; and that some pictures might be made of -these old French personages for English readers in a way that should -pourtray the substance and spirit of history, without affecting to -maintain its form and dress. - -In all I have written I have sought carefully to work into my dialogue -each word and sentence recorded of the individual, every available trait -or peculiarity of character to be found in contemporary memoirs, every -tradition that has come down to us. - -To be true to life has been my object. Keeping close to the background -of history, I have endeavoured to group the figures of my foreground as -they grouped themselves in actual life. I have framed them in the frames -in which they really lived. - -FRANCES ELLIOT. - -FARLEY HILL COURT, -Christmas, 1872. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER PAGE - -I--FRANCIS I. 1 - -II--CHARLES DE BOURBON 6 - -III--BROTHER AND SISTER 12 - -IV--THE QUALITY OF MERCY 20 - -V--ALL LOST SAVE HONOUR 28 - -VI--BROKEN FAITH 33 - -VII--LA DUCHESSE D’ÉTAMPES 42 - -VIII--LAST DAYS 49 - -IX--CATHERINE DE’ MEDICI 55 - -X--A FATAL JOUST 58 - -XI--THE WIDOWED QUEEN 63 - -XII--MARY STUART AND HER HUSBAND 67 - -XIII--A TRAITOR 74 - -XIV--THE COUNCIL OF STATE 80 - -XV--CATHERINE’S VENGEANCE 86 - -XVI--THE ASTROLOGER’S CHAMBER 94 - -XVII--AT CHENONCEAU 101 - -XVIII--A DUTIFUL DAUGHTER 113 - -XIX--BEFORE THE STORM 122 - -XX--ST. BARTHOLOMEW 129 - -XXI--THE END OF CATHERINE DE’ MEDICI 139 - -XXII--THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 146 - -XXIII--DON JUAN 158 - -XXIV--CHARMANTE GABRIELLE 172 - -XXV--ITALIAN ART 186 - -XXVI--BIRON’S TREASON 198 - -XXVII--A COURT MARRIAGE 207 - -XXVIII--THE PREDICTION FULFILLED 215 - -XXIX--LOUIS XIII. 227 - -XXX--THE ORIEL WINDOW 235 - -XXXI--AN OMINOUS INTERVIEW 244 - -XXXII--LOVE AND TREASON 254 - -XXXIII--THE CARDINAL DUPED 263 - -XXXIV--THE MAID OF HONOUR 271 - -XXXV--AT VAL DE GRÂCE 283 - -XXXVI--THE QUEEN BEFORE THE COUNCIL 291 - -XXXVII--LOUISE DE LAFAYETTE 302 - -NOTES 317 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - -THE CHÂTEAU OF CHENONCEAU _Frontispiece_ - From the painting by Debat Ponson. - (With permission of Ad. Braun et Cie.) - -PORTION OF THE ROOF OF THE CHÂTEAU OF CHAMBORD 2 - -CHÂTEAU OF AZAY LE RIDEAU 6 - -FRANCIS I. 10 - From the painting by Titian. - -DOOR OF THE CHAPEL, CHÂTEAU OF AMBOISE 16 - -HENRY, DUKE OF MONTMORENCI, MARSHAL OF FRANCE 24 - From a portrait by Balthasar Moncornet. - -THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 40 - After A. de Neuville. - (By permission of Estes & Lauriat.) - -QUEEN ELINOR 44 - -CHÂTEAU OF AMBOISE 48 - -DUCHESSE D’ÉTAMPES 52 - -CHÂTEAU DE CHAMBORD 56 - -SPIRAL STAIRCASE, CHÂTEAU OF BLOIS 78 - (By permission of Neurdein, Paris.) - -COUÇY 86 - -THE GARDENS OF THE TUILERIES, PARIS 90 - -A GATE OF THE LOUVRE, AFTER ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S DAY 102 - -CHARLES IX. 106 - From the painting by Clouet. - -HENRI DE GUISE 122 - From a drawing in the Louvre. - (By permission of A. Giraudon, Paris.) - -NOTRE-DAME, PARIS 126 - -ADMIRAL GASPARD DE COLIGNY 132 - From a drawing by François Clouet. - (By permission of A. Giraudon, Paris.) - -CATHERINE DE MÉDICIS 140 - -CHÂTEAU DE BLOIS 150 - -HENRY IV. 158 - From a contemporary painting in the Museum at Versailles. - -DIANA DE POITIERS, BY JEAN GOUJON 164 - From the Château of Anet, now in the Louvre. - (By permission of Levy, Paris.) - -THE CASCADE OF ST. CLOUD 174 - From an engraving by Rigaud. - -GENERAL VIEW OF FONTAINEBLEAU 190 - From an old print. - -MARIE DE MÉDICIS 204 - From a steel engraving. - -COUÇY--INTERIOR, SHOWING THICKNESS OF WALLS 218 - -LOUIS XIII., KING OF FRANCE AND NAVARRE 232 - From an old print. - -CARDINAL RICHELIEU 270 - -CHÂTEAU OF NANTES 280 - - - - -AUTHORITIES - - - Mémoires de Brantôme. - Mémoires de son Temps, Du Bellay. - Histoire de Henri Duc de Bouillon. - Mémoires de Condé. - Dictionnaire de Bayle, “_Duc de Guise_.” - Histoire des Guerres Civiles de la France, par Davila. - Mémoires pour servir à l’Histoire de France, par Champollion. - Mémoires de Coligni. - Novaes, Storia dei Pontefici. - Mémoires de Marguerite de Valois. - Journal de Henri III. - Mémoires de Sully. - Histoire de Henri IV., par Mathieu. - Histoire des Amours de Henri IV. - L’Intrigue du Cabinet sous Henri IV. et Louis XIII. - Mémoires pour l’Histoire du Cardinal de Richelieu. - Mémoires du Cardinal de Richelieu. - Histoire de la Mère et du Fils, par Mezeray. - Mémoires du Maréchal de Bassompierre. - Observations de Bassompierre. - Mémoires de feu Monsieur (Gaston) Duc d’Orléans. - Mémoires de Cinq-Mars. - Mémoires de Montrésor. - La Cour de Marie de’ Medici, par un Cadet de Gascogne. - Lettres de Madame de Sévigné. - Mémoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier. - Mémoires du Duc de Lauzun. - Mémoires de Madame de Motteville. - Mémoires de M. d’Artagnan. - Mémoires du Cardinal de Retz. - Mémoires de La Porte. - Mémoires de Mazarin. - Œuvres Complètes de Saint-Simon. - Mémoires de la Duchesse de la Vallière. - Mémoires de la Marquise de Montespan. - Mémoires de la Marquise de Maintenon. - Amours des Rois de France. - Dulaure, Histoire de Paris. - Histoire de la Touraine, dans la Bibliothèque Publique à Tours. - Capefigue, Ouvrages Divers. - - - - - -OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -FRANCIS I. - - -We are in the sixteenth century. Europe is young in artistic life. The -minds of men are moved by the discussions, councils, protests, and -contentions of the Reformation. The printing press is spreading -knowledge into every corner of the globe. - -At this period, three highly educated and unscrupulous young men divide -the power of Europe. They are Henry VIII. of England, Charles V. of -Austria, and Francis I. of France. Each is magnificent in taste; each is -desirous of power and conquest. Each acts as a spur to the others both -in peace and in war. They introduce the cultivated tastes, the refined -habits, the freedom of thought of modern life, and from the period in -which they flourish modern history dates. - -Of these three monarchs Francis is the boldest, cleverest, and most -profligate. The elegance, refinement, and luxury of his court are -unrivalled; and this luxury strikes the senses from its contrast with -the frugal habits of the ascetic Louis XI. and the homely Louis XII. - -His reign educated Europe. If ambition led him towards Italy, it was as -much to capture the arts of that classic land and to bear them back in -triumph to France, as to acquire the actual territory. Francis -introduced the French Renaissance, that subtle union of elaborate -ornamentation with purity of design which was the renovation of art. -When and how he acquired such exact appreciation of the beautiful is -unexplained. That he possessed judgment and taste is proved by the -monuments he left behind, and by his patronage of the greatest masters -of their several arts. - -The wealth of beauty and colour, the flowing lines of almost divine -expression in the works of the Italian painters of the Cinque-cento, -delighted the sensuous soul of Francis. Wherever he lived he gathered -treasures of their art around him. Such a nature as his had no sympathy -with the meritorious but precise elaboration of the contemporary Dutch -school, led by the Van Eycks and Holbein. It was Leonardo da Vinci, the -head of the Milanese school, who blended power and tenderness, that -Francis delighted to honour. He brought Cellini, Primaticcio, and -Leonardo from Italy, and never wearied of their company. He established -the aged Leonardo at the Château de Clos, near his own castle of -Amboise, where the painter is said to have died in the arms of his royal -patron. - -As an architect, Francis left his mark beyond any other sovereign of -Europe. He transformed the gloomy fortress-home--embattled, turreted, -and moated--into the elaborately decorated, manorial château. The bare -and foot-trodden space without, - -[Illustration: Portion of the Roof of the Château of Chambord] - -enclosed with walls of defence, was changed into green lawns and -overarching bowers breaking the vista toward the royal forest, the -flowing river, and the open _campagne_. - -Francis had a mania for building. Like Louis XIV., who in the century -following built among the sandhills of Versailles, Francis insisted on -creating a fairy palace amid the flat and dusty plains of Sologne. Here -the Renaissance was to achieve its triumph. At Chambord, near Blois, -were massed every device, decoration, and eccentricity of his favourite -style. So identified is this place with its creator, that even his -intriguing life peeps out in the double staircase under the central -tower--representing a gigantic fleur-de-lys in stone--where those who -ascend are invisible to those who descend; in the doors, concealed in -sliding panels behind the arras; and in many double walls and secret -stairs. - -Azay le Rideau, built on a beautifully wooded island on the river Indre, -though less known than Chambord, was and is an exquisite specimen of the -Renaissance. It owes the fascination of its graceful outlines and -peculiar ornamentation to the masterhand which has graven his crowned F -and Salamander on its quaint façades. The Louvre and Fontainebleau are -also signed by these monograms. He, and his son Henry II., made these -piles the historic monuments we now behold. - -Such was Francis, the artist. As a soldier, he followed in the steps of -Bayard, “Sans peur et sans reproche.” He perfected that poetic code of -honour which reconciles the wildest courage with generosity towards an -enemy. A knight-errant in love of danger and adventure, Francis comes -to us as the perfect type of the chivalrous Frenchman; ready to do -battle on any provocation either as king or gentleman, either at the -head of his army, in the tournament, or in the duello. He loved all that -was gay, bright, and beautiful. He delighted in the repose of peace, yet -no monarch ever plunged his country into more ruinous and causeless -wars. Though capable of the tenderest and purest affection, no man was -ever more heartless and cruel in principle and conduct. - -Francis, Duc de Valois,[1] was educated at home by his mother, Madame -Louise de Savoie, Duchesse d’Angoulême, Regent of France, together with -his brilliant sister, Marguerite, “the pearl of the Valois,” poetess, -story-teller, artist, and politician. Each of these royal ladies was -tenderly attached to the clever, handsome youth, and together formed -what they chose to call “a trinity of love.” The old Castle of Amboise, -in Touraine, the favourite abode of Louis XII., continued to be their -home after his death. Here, too, the hand of Francis is to be traced in -sculptured windows and architectural façades, in noble halls and broad -galleries, and in the stately terraced gardens overlooking the Loire -which flows beneath its walls. Here, under the formal lime alleys and -flowering groves, or in the shadow of the still fortified bastions, the -brother and sister sat or wandered side by side, on many a summer day; -read and talked of poetry and troubadours, of romance and chivalry, of -Arthur, Roland, and Charlemagne, of spells and witcheries, and of Merlin -the enchanter whose magic failed before a woman’s glance. - -Printing at that time having become general, literature of all kinds -circulated in every direction, stirring men’s minds with fresh tides of -knowledge. Marguerite de Valois, who was called “the tenth Muse,” dwelt -upon poetry and fiction, and already meditated her Boccaccio-like -stories, afterwards to be published under the title of the _Heptameron_. -Francis gloated over such adventures as were detailed in the roundelay -of the “Four Sons of Aymon,” a ballad of that day, devoured the history -of _Amadis de Gaul_, and tried his hand in twisting many a love-rhyme, -after the fashion of the “Romaunt of the Rose.” - -In such an idyllic life of love, of solitude, and of thought, full of -the humanising courtesies of family life, was formed the paradoxical -character of Francis, who above all men possessed what the French -describe as “the reverse of his qualities.” His fierce passions still -slumbered, his imagination was filled with poetry, his heart beat high -with the endearing love of a brother and a son. His reckless courage -vented itself in the chase, among the royal forests of Amboise and of -Chanteloup, that darkened the adjacent hills, or in a tustle with the -boorish citizens, or travelling merchants, in the town below. - -Thus he grew into manhood, his stately yet condescending manners, -handsome person, and romantic courage gaining him devoted adherents. Yet -when we remember that Francis served as the type for Hugo’s play of _Le -Roi s’amuse_ we pause and--shudder. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -CHARLES DE BOURBON. - - -The Court is at Amboise. Francis is only twenty, and still solicits the -advice of his mother, Louise de Savoie, regent during his minority. -Marguerite, now married to the Duc d’Alençon, has also considerable -influence over him. Both these princesses, who are with him at Amboise, -insist on the claims of their kinsman, Charles de Montpensier, Duc de -Bourbon,--in right of his wife, Suzanne, only daughter and heiress of -Pierre, the last duke,--to be appointed Constable of France. It is an -office next in power to the sovereign, and has not been revived since -the treasonable conspiracy of the Comte de St. Pol, in the reign of -Louis XI. - -Bourbon is only twenty-six, but he is already a hero. He has braved -death again and again in the battle-field with dauntless valour. In -person he is tall and handsome. In manners, he is frank, bold, and -prepossessing; but when offended, his proud nature easily turns to -vindictive and almost savage revenge. Invested with the double dignity -of General of the royal forces and Constable of France, he comes to -Amboise to salute the King and the princesses, who are both strangely -interested in his career, and to take the last commands from Francis, -who does not now propose accompanying his army into Italy. - -There is a restless, mobile expression on Bourbon’s dark yet comely -face, that tells of strong passions ill suppressed. A man capable of -ardent and devoted - -[Illustration: CHÂTEAU OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU.] - -love, and of bitter hate; his marriage with his cousin Suzanne, lately -dead, had been altogether a political alliance to bring him royal -kindred, wealth, and power. Suzanne had failed to interest his heart. It -is said that another passion has long engaged him. Francis may have some -hint as to who the lady is, and may resent Bourbon’s presumption. At all -events, the Constable is no favourite with the King. He dislikes his -_fanfaronnade_ and haughty address. He loves not either to see a subject -of his own age so powerful and so magnificent; it trenches too much on -his own prerogatives of success. Besides, as lads, Bourbon and Francis -had quarrelled at a game of _maille_. The King had challenged Bourbon -but had never fought him, and Bourbon resented this refusal as an -affront to his honour. - -The Constable, mounted on a splendid charger, with housings of black -velvet, and attended by a brilliant suite, gallops into the courtyard. -His fine person is set off by a rich surcoat, worn over a suit of gilded -armour. He wears a red and white _panache_ in his helmet, and his sword -and dagger are thickly incrusted with diamonds. - -At the top of the grand staircase are posted one hundred archers, royal -pages conduct the Constable through the range of state apartments. - -The King receives Bourbon in the great gallery hung with tapestry. He is -seated on a chair of state, ornamented with elaborate carving, on which -the arms of France are in high relief. This chair is placed on a raised -floor, or dais, covered with a carpet. Beside him stands the grand -master of the ceremonies, who introduces the Constable to the King. -Francis, who inclines his head and raises his cap for an instant, is -courteous but cold. Marguerite d’Alençon is present; like Bourbon, she -is unhappily mated. The Duc d’Alençon is, physically and mentally, her -inferior. When the Constable salutes the King, Marguerite stands apart. -Conscious that her brother’s eyes read her thoughts, she blushes deeply -and averts her face. Bourbon advances to the spot where she is seated in -the recess of an oriel window. He bows low before her; Marguerite rises, -and offers him her hand. Their eyes meet. There is no disguise in the -passionate glance of the Constable; Marguerite, confused and -embarrassed, turns away. - -“Has your highness no word of kindness for your kinsman?” says the -Constable, in a low voice. - -“You know, cousin, your interests are ever dear to me,” replies she, in -the same tone; then, curtseying deeply to the King, she takes the arm of -her husband, M. d’Alençon, who was killing flies at the window, and -leaves the gallery. - -“_Diable!_” says Francis to his confidant, Claude de Guise, in an -undertone; “My sister is scarcely civil to the Constable. Did you -observe, she hardly answered him? All the better. It will teach Bourbon -humility, and not to look too high for a mate.” - -“Yet her highness pleaded eagerly with your Majesty for his -advancement.” - -“Yes, yes; that was to please our mother. Suzanne de Bourbon was her -cousin, and the Regent promised her before her death to support her -husband’s claims.” - -Meanwhile, the Constable receives, with a somewhat reserved and haughty -civility, the compliments of the Court. He is conscious of an -antagonistic atmosphere. It is well known that the King loves him not; -and whom the King loves not neither does the courtier. - -A page then approaches, and invites the Constable, in the name of Queen -Claude, to join her afternoon circle. Meanwhile, he is charged to -conduct the Constable to an audience with the Regent-mother, who awaits -him in her apartments. - -The King had been cool and the Princess silent and reserved: not so the -Regent Louise de Savoie, who advances to meet the Constable with -unmistakable eagerness. - -“I congratulate you, my cousin,” she says, holding out both her hands to -him, which he receives kneeling, “on the dignity with which my son has -invested you. I may add, that I was not altogether idle in the matter.” - -“Your highness will, I hope, be justified in the favour you have shown -me,” replies the Constable, coldly. - -“Be seated, my cousin,” continues Louise. “I have desired to see you -alone that I might fully explain with what grief I find myself obliged, -by the express orders of my son, to dispute with a kinsman I so much -esteem as yourself”--she pauses a moment, the Constable bows -gravely--“the inheritance of my poor cousin, your wife, Madame Suzanne -de Bourbon. Suzanne was dear to me, and you also, Constable, have a high -place in my regard.” - -Louise ceases. She looks significantly at the Constable, as if waiting -for him to answer; but he does not reply, and again bows. - -“I am placed,” continues the Regent, the colour gathering on her cheek, -“in a most painful alternative. The Chancellor has insisted on the -legality of my claims--claims on the inheritance of your late wife, -daughter of Pierre, Duc de Bourbon, my cousin. I will not trouble you -with details. My son urges the suit. My own feelings plead strongly -against proceeding any further in the matter.” She hesitates and stops. - -“Your highness is of course aware that the loss of this suit would be -absolute ruin to me?” says Bourbon, looking hard at Louise. - -“I fear it would be most disastrous to your fortunes. That they are dear -to me, judge--you are by my interest made Constable of France, second -only in power to my son.” - -“I have already expressed my gratitude, madame.” - -“But, Constable,” continues Louise de Savoie, speaking with much -animation, “why have you insisted on your claims--why not have trusted -to the gratitude of the King towards a brave and zealous subject? Why -not have counted on myself, who have both power and will, as I have -shown, to protect you?” - -“The generosity of the King and your highness’s favour, which I accept -with gratitude, have nothing to do with the legal rights of my late -wife’s inheritance. I desire not, madame, to be beholden in such matters -even to your highness or to his Majesty.” - -“Well, Constable, well, as you will; you are, I know, of a proud and -noble nature. But I have desired earnestly,” and the Regent rises and -places herself on another chair nearer the Constable, “to - -[Illustration: FRANCIS I. - -FROM THE PAINTING BY TITIAN.] - -ascertain from your own lips if this suit cannot be settled _à -l’amiable_. There are many means of accommodating a lawsuit, Duke. -Madame Anne, wife of two kings of France, saved Brittany from cruel wars -in a manner worthy of imitation.” - -“Truly,” replies Bourbon, with a sigh; “but I know not what princess of -the blood would enable me to accommodate your highness’s suit in so -agreeable a manner.” - -“Have you not yourself formed some opinion on the subject?” asks Louise, -looking at the Constable with undisguised tenderness. - -“No, madame, I have not. Since the hand of your beautiful daughter, -Madame Marguerite, is engaged, I know no one.” - -“But--” and she hesitates, and again turns her eyes upon him, which the -Constable does not observe, as he is adjusting the hilt of his -dagger--“but--you forget, Duke, that I am a widow.” - -As she speaks she places her hand upon that of the Constable, and gazes -into his face. Bourbon starts violently and looks up. Louise de Savoie, -still holding his hand, meets his gaze with an unmistakable expression. -She is forty years old, but vain and intriguing. There is a pause. Then -the Constable rises and drops the hand which had rested so softly upon -his own. His handsome face darkens into a look of disgust. A flush of -rage sends the blood tingling to the cheeks of Louise. - -“Your highness mistakes me,” says Bourbon. “The respect I owe to his -Majesty, the disparity of our years, my own feelings, all render such an -union impossible. Your highness does me great honour, but I do not at -present intend to contract any other alliance. If his Majesty goes to -law with me, why I will fight him, madame,--that is all.” - -“Enough,” answers Louise, in a hoarse voice, “I understand.” The -Constable makes a profound obeisance and retires. - -This interview was the first act in that long and intricate drama by -which the spite of a mortified woman drove the Duc de Bourbon--the -greatest general of his age, under whom the arms of France never knew -defeat--to become a traitor to his king and to France. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -BROTHER AND SISTER. - - -Years have passed; Francis, with his wife, Queen Claude, daughter of -Louis XII. and Anne of Brittany, is at Chambord, in the Touraine. -Claude, but for the Salic law, would have been Queen of France. In her -childhood, she was affianced to Charles, son of Philip the Fair, -afterwards Charles V. of Germany, the great rival of Francis. Francis -had never loved her, the union had been political; yet Claude is gentle -and devoted, and he says of her, “that her soul is as a rose without a -thorn.” This queen--the darling of her parents--can neither bear the -indifference nor the infidelity of her brilliant husband, and dies of -her neglected love at the early age of twenty-five. - -Marguerite d’Alençon, the Duke her husband, and the Court, are assembled -for hunting in the forests of Sologne. Chambord, then but a gloomy -mediæval fortress lying on low swampy lands on the banks of the river -Casson, is barely large enough to accommodate the royal party. Already -Francis meditates many changes; the course of the river Loire, some -fifteen miles distant, is to be turned in order to bathe the walls of a -sumptuous palace, not yet fully conceived in the brain of the royal -architect. - -It is spring; Francis is seated in the broad embrasure of an oriel -window, in an oak-panelled saloon which looks towards the surrounding -forest. He eagerly watches the gathering clouds that veil the sun and -threaten to prevent the boar-hunt projected for that morning. Beside -him, in the window, sits his sister Marguerite. She wears a black velvet -riding-habit, faced with gold; her luxuriant hair is gathered into a net -under a plumed hat on which a diamond aigrette glistens. At the farther -end of the room Queen Claude is seated on a high-backed chair, richly -carved, in the midst of her ladies. She is embroidering an altar-cloth; -her face is pale and very plaintive. She is young, and though not -beautiful, there is an angelic expression in her large grey eyes, a -dimpling sweetness about her mouth, that indicate a nature worthy to -have won the love of any man, not such a libertine as Francis. Her dress -is plain and rich, of grey satin trimmed with ermine; a jewelled coif is -upon her head. She bends over her work, now and then raising her wistful -eyes with an anxious look towards the King. The Queen’s habits are -sedentary, and the issue of the hunting party is of no personal -interest to her; she always remains at home with her children and -ladies. Many attendant lords, attired for hunting, are waiting his -Majesty’s pleasure in the adjoining gallery. - -“Marguerite,” says the King, turning to the Duchesse d’Alençon, as the -sun reappears out of a bank of cloud, “the weather mends; in a quarter -of an hour we shall start. Meanwhile, dear sister, sit beside me. -_Morbleu_, how well that riding-dress becomes you! You are very -handsome, and worthy to be called the Rose of the Valois. There are few -royal ladies in our Court to compare to you”; and Francis glances -significantly at his gentle Queen, busy over her embroidery, as if to -say--“Would that she resembled you!” - -Marguerite, proud of her brother’s praise, reddens with pleasure and -reseats herself at his side. “By-and-by I shall knock down this sombre -old fortress,” continues Francis, looking out of the window at the -gloomy façade, “and transform it into a hunting château. The situation -pleases me, and the surrounding forest is full of game.” - -“My brother,” says Marguerite, interrupting him and speaking in an -earnest voice, for her eyes have not followed the direction of the -King’s, which are fixed on the prospect; she seems not to have heard his -remarks, and her bright look has changed into an anxious expression; “my -brother, tell me, have you decided upon the absolute ruin of Bourbon? -Think how his haughty spirit must chafe under the repeated marks of your -displeasure.” They are both silent. Marguerite’s eyes are riveted upon -the King. Francis is embarrassed. He averts his face from the suppliant -look cast upon him by his sister, and again turns to the window, as if -to watch the rapidly passing clouds. - -“My sister,” he says at length, “Bourbon is not a loyal subject; he is -unworthy of your regard.” - -“Sire, I cannot believe it. Bourbon is no traitor! But, my brother, if -he were, have you not tried him sorely? Have you not driven him from you -by an intolerable sense of injury? Oh, Francis, remember he is our -kinsman, your most zealous servant;--did he not save your life at -Marignano? Who among your generals is cool, daring, valiant, wise as -Bourbon? Has he not borne our flag triumphantly through Italy? Have the -French troops under him ever known defeat? Yet, my brother, you have now -publicly disgraced him.” Her voice trembles with emotion; she is very -pale, and her eyes fill with tears. - -“By the mass, Marguerite, no living soul, save our mother, would dare to -address me thus!” exclaims the King, turning towards her. He is much -moved. Then, examining her countenance, he adds, “You are strangely -agitated, my sister. What concern have you with the Constable? Believe -me, I have made Bourbon too powerful.” - -“Not now, not now, Francis, when you have, at the request of a woman--of -Madame de Châteaubriand too--taken from him the government of Milan; -when he is superseded in his command; when our mother is pressing on him -a ruinous suit, with your sanction.” - -At the name of Madame de Châteaubriand Marguerite’s whole countenance -darkens with anger, the King’s face grows crimson. - -“My sister, you plead Bourbon’s cause warmly--too warmly, methinks,” and -Francis turns his head aside to conceal his confusion. - -“Not only has your Majesty taken from him the government of Milan,” -continues Marguerite, bitterly, unheeding the King’s interruption, “but -he has been replaced by Lautrec, brother of Madame de Châteaubriand, an -inexperienced soldier, unfitted for such an important post. Oh, my -brother, you are driving Bourbon to despair. So great a general cannot -hang up his victorious sword.” - -“By my faith, sister, you press me hard,” replies the King, recovering -the gentle tone with which he always addressed her; “I will communicate -with my council; what you have said shall be duly considered. Meanwhile, -if Bourbon inspires you with such interest, as it seems he does, tell -him to humble his pride and submit himself to us, his sovereign and his -master. If he do, he shall be greater than ever, I promise you.” As he -speaks, he glances at Marguerite, whose eyes fall to the ground. “But -see, my sister, the sun is shining; and there is some one already -mounting in the courtyard. Give the signal for departure, Comte de -Saint-Vallier,” says the King in a louder voice, turning towards two -gentlemen standing at an opposite window in the gallery. The King has to -repeat his command before the Comte de Saint-Vallier hears him. -“Saint-Vallier, you are in deep converse with De Pompérant. Is it love -or war?” - -“Neither, Sire,” replies the Captain of the Royal Archers, looking -embarrassed. - -“M. de Pompérant, are you going with us - -[Illustration: Door of the Chapel, Château of Amboise] - -to-day to hunt the boar?” says the King, advancing towards them. - -“Sire,” replies De Pompérant, bowing profoundly, “your Majesty does me -great honour; but, with your leave, I will not accompany the hunt. -Urgent business calls me from Chambord.” - -“Ah, _coquin_, it is an assignation; confess it,” and a wicked gleam -lights up the King’s eyes. - -“No, Sire,” says De Pompérant. “I go to join the Constable de Bourbon, -who is indisposed.” - -“Ah! to join the Constable!” Francis pauses and looks at him. “I know he -is your friend,” continues he, suddenly becoming very grave. “Where is -he?” - -“At his fortress of Chantelle, Sire.” - -“At Chantelle! a fortified place, and without my permission. Truly, -Monsieur de Pompérant, your friend is a daring subject. What if I will -not trust you in his company, and command your attendance on our person -here at Chambord?” - -“Then, Sire, I should obey,” replies De Pompérant; “but let your -gracious Majesty remember the Duc de Bourbon is ill; he is a broken and -ruined man, deprived of your favour. Chantelle is more a château than a -fortress.” - -“Go, De Pompérant; I did but jest. Tell Bourbon, on the word of a king, -that he has warm friends near my person; that if the Regent-mother gains -her suit against him, I will restore tenfold to him in money, lands, and -honour. Adieu, Monsieur de Pompérant. You are dismissed. Bon voyage.” - -Now, the truth was that De Pompérant had come to Chambord upon a secret -mission from Bourbon, who wished to assure himself of those gentlemen -of the Court upon whom he could rely in case of rebellion. The Comte de -Saint-Vallier had just, while standing at the window, pledged his word -to stand by Bourbon for life or death. - -The King is now mounting his horse in the courtyard, a noble bay with -glittering harness. He gives the signal of departure, which is echoed -through the woodland recesses by the bugles of the huntsmen. A lovely -lady attired in white has joined the royal retinue in the courtyard. She -rides on in front beside the King, who, the better to converse with her, -has placed his hand upon her horse’s neck. This is Françoise, Comtesse -de Châteaubriand, the favourite of the hour--at whose request Bourbon -had been superseded in the government of Milan by her brother Lautrec. - -Behind this pair rides Marguerite d’Alençon with her husband, the Comte -de Guise, Montmorenci, Bonnivet, and other nobles. A large cavalcade of -courtiers follows. Since her conversation with her brother, Marguerite -looks thoughtful and anxious. She is so absent that she does not even -hear the prattle of her husband, who is content to talk and cares not -for reply. On reaching the dense thickets of the forest she suddenly -reins up her horse, and, falling back a little, beckons the Comte de -Saint-Vallier to her side. - -“M. le Comte,” she says in a loud voice, so as to be overheard by her -husband and the other gentlemen riding in advance, “tell me when is the -Court to be graced by the presence of your incomparable daughter, -Madame Diane, Grande Seneschale of Normandy?” - -“Madame,” replies Saint-Vallier, “her husband, Monseigneur de Brèzè, is -much occupied in his distant government. Diane is young, much younger -than her husband. The Court, madame, is dangerously full of temptations -to the young.” - -“We lose a bright jewel by her absence,” says Marguerite, abstractedly. -“M. le Comte,” she continues in a low voice, speaking quickly, and -motioning to him with her hand to approach nearer, “I have something -private to say to you. Ride close by my side. You are a friend of the -Constable de Bourbon?” she asks eagerly. - -“Yes, madame, I am.” - -“You are, perhaps, his confidant? Speak freely to me; I feel deeply the -misfortunes of the Duke. I would aid him if I could. Is there any -foundation for the suspicion with which my brother regards him? You will -not deceive me, Monsieur de Poitiers?” - -Saint-Vallier does not answer at once. “The Constable de Bourbon will -never, I trust, betray his Majesty,” replies he at last, with -hesitation. - -“Alas! my poor cousin! Is that all the assurance you can give me, -Monsieur de Saint-Vallier? Oh! he is incapable of treason,” exclaims -Marguerite with enthusiasm; “I would venture my life he is incapable of -treason!” - -A courier passes them at this moment, riding with hot speed. He nears -the King, who is now far on in front, and who, hearing the sound of the -horse’s hoofs, stops and listens. The messenger hands the King a -despatch. Francis hastily breaks the seal. It is from Lautrec, the new -governor of Milan. Bourbon is in open rebellion. - -Bourbon in open rebellion! This intelligence necessitates the instant -presence of the King at Paris. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE QUALITY OF MERCY. - - -Francis is at the Louvre, surrounded by his most devoted friends and -councillors, Chabannes, La Trémouille, Bonnivet, Montmorenci, Crequi, -Cossé, De Guise, and the two Du Bellays. The Louvre is still the -isolated stronghold, castle, palace, and prison, surrounded by moat, -walls, and bastions, built by Philippe Auguste on the grassy margin of -the Seine. In the centre of the inner court is a round tower, also -moated, and defended by ramparts, ill-famed in feudal annals for its -oubliettes and dungeons, under which the river flows. Four gates, with -posterns and towers, open from the Louvre; that one opposite the Seine -is the strongest. The southern gate--which is low and narrow, with -statues on either hand of Charles V. and his wife, Jeanne de -Bourbon--faces the Church of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois.[2] Beyond are -gardens and orchards, and a house called Fromenteau, where lions are -kept for the King’s amusement. - -These are the days of stately manners, intellectual culture, and -increasing knowledge. Personal honour, as from man to man, is a -religion, of which Bayard is the high priest; treachery to woman, a -virtue inculcated by the King. The idle, vapid life of later courts is -unknown under a monarch who, however addicted to pleasure, cultivates -all kinds of knowledge, whose inquiring intellect seeks to master all -science, to whom indolence is impossible. His very meals are chosen -moments in which he converses with authors, poets, and artists, or -dictates letters to Erasmus and the learned Greek Lascaris. Such -industry and dignity, such grace and condescension, gather around him -the great spirits of the age. He delights in their company. - -It is the King’s boast that he has introduced into France the study of -the Greek language, Botany, and Natural History. He buys, at enormous -prices, pictures, pottery, enamels, statues, and manuscripts. As in his -fervid youth at Amboise, he loves poetry and poets. Clément Marot is his -chosen guest, and polishes the King’s rhymes, of which some delicate and -touching stanzas (those on Agnes Sorel,[3] especially) have come down to -us. - -Even that witty heretic, Rabelais, found both an appreciative protector -and intelligent friend in a sovereign superior to the prejudices of his -age. With learning, poetry, wit, and intellect, come luxury and -boundless extravagance. Brantôme speaks as with bated breath of the -royal expenditure. These are the days of broad sombrero hats fringed -with gold and looped up with priceless jewels and feathers; of -embroidered cloaks in costly stuffs--heavy with gold or silver -embroidery--hung over the shoulder; of slashed hose and richly chased -rapiers; of garments of cloth-of-gold, embroidered with armorial -bearings in jewels; of satin justaucorps covered with rivières of -diamonds, emeralds, and oriental pearls; of torsades and collars wherein -gold is but the foil to priceless gems. The ladies wear Eastern silks -and golden tissues, with trimmings of rare furs; wide sleeves and -Spanish fardingales, sparkling coifs and jewelled nets, with glittering -veils. They ride in ponderous coaches covered with carving and gilding, -or on horses whose pedigrees are as undoubted as their own, covered with -velvet housings and with silken nets woven with jewels, their manes -plaited with gold and precious stones. But these illustrious ladies -consider gloves a royal luxury, and are weak in respect of stockings. - -Foremost in every gorgeous mode is Francis. He wears rich Genoa velvets, -and affects bright colours--rose and sky-blue. A Spanish hat is on his -head, turned up with a white plume, fastened to an aigrette of rubies, -with a golden salamander his device, signifying, “I am nourished and I -die in fire” (“Je me nourris et je meurs dans le feu”). - -How well we know his dissipated though distinguished features, as -portrayed by Titian! His long nose, small eyes, broad cheeks, and -cynical mouth. He moves with careless grace, as one who would say, “_Que -m’importe?_ I am King of France; nought comes amiss to me.” - -Now he walks up and down the council-room in the Louvre which looks -towards the river. His step is quick and agitated, his face wears an -unusual frown. He calls Bonnivet to him and addresses him in a low -voice, while the other nobles stand back. - -“Am I to believe that Bourbon has not merely rebelled against me, but -that the traitor has fled into Spain and made terms with Charles?” - -“Your Majesty’s information is precise.” - -“What was the manner of his flight?” - -“The Duke, Sire, waited at his fortress of Chantelle until the arrival -of Monsieur de Pompérant from your Majesty’s Court at Chambord, feigning -sickness and remaining shut up within his apartments. After Monsieur de -Pompérant’s arrival, a litter was ordered to await his pleasure, and De -Pompérant, dressed in the clothes of the Duke and with his face -concealed by a hood, was carried into the litter, which started for -Moulins, travelling slowly. Meanwhile Bourbon, accompanied by a band of -gentlemen, was galloping on the road to the frontier. He was last seen -at Saint-Jean de Luz, in the Pyrenees.” - -“By our Lady!” exclaims Francis, “such treason is a blot upon -knighthood. Bourbon, a man whom we had made as great as ourselves!” - -“The Duke, Sire, left a message for your Majesty.” - -“A message! Where? and who bore it?” - -“De Pompérant, Sire, who has already been arrested at Moulins. The Duke -begged your Majesty to take back the sword which you had given him, and -prayed you to send for the badge which he left hanging at the head of -his bed at Chantelle.” - -“_Diable!_ does the villain dare to point his jests at his sovereign?” -and Francis flushes to the roots of his hair with passion. “I wish I had -him face to face in a fair field”--and he lays his hand on the hilt of -his sword;--“but no,” he adds in a calmer voice, “a traitor’s blood -would but soil my weapon. Let him carry his perfidy into Spain--’twill -suit the Emperor; I am well rid of him. Are there many accomplices, -Bonnivet?” - -“About two hundred, Sire.” - -“Is it possible! Do we know them?” - -“The Comte de Saint-Vallier, Sire, is the principal accomplice.” - -“What! Saint-Vallier, the Captain of our Archers! That strikes us -nearly. This conspiracy, my lords,” says Francis, advancing to where -Guise, La Trémouille, Montmorenci, and the others stand somewhat apart -during his conversation with Bonnivet, “is much more serious than I -imagined. I must remain in France to wait the issue of events. You, -Bonnivet, must take command of the Italian campaign.” - -Bonnivet kneels and kisses the hand of Francis. - -“I am sorry for Jean de Poitiers,” continues Francis, turning to Guise. -“Are the proofs against him certain?” - -“Sire, Saint-Vallier accompanied the Constable to the frontier.” - -“I am sorry,” repeats the King, and he passes his hand thoughtfully over -his brow and muses. - -“Jean de Poitiers, my _ci-devant_ Captain of the Guards, is the father -of a charming lady; Madame Diane, the Seneschale of Normandy, is an -angel, though her husband, De Brèzè--hum--why, he is a monster. Vulcan -and Venus--the old story, eh, my lords?” - -There is a general laugh. - -A page enters and announces a lady humbly - -[Illustration: HENRY, DUKE OF MONTMORENCI, MARSHAL OF FRANCE. - -FROM A PORTRAIT BY BALTAZAR MONCORNET.] - -craving to speak with his Majesty. The King smiles, his wicked eyes -glisten. “Who? what? Do I know her?” - -“Sire, the lady is deeply veiled; she desires to speak with your Majesty -alone.” - -“But, by St. Denis--do I know her?” - -“I think, Sire, it is the wife of the Grand Seneschal of -Normandy--Madame Diane de Brèzè.” - -There is a pause, some whispering, and a low laugh is heard. The King -looks around displeased. “I am not surprised,” says he. “When I heard of -the father’s danger I expected the daughter’s intercession. Let the lady -enter.” - -With a wave of his hand he dismisses the Court, and seats himself on a -chair of state under a rich canopy embroidered in gold with the arms of -France. - -Diane enters. She is dressed in long black robes which sweep the floor. -Her head is covered with a thick lace veil which she raises as she -approaches the King. She weeps, but her tears do not mar her beauty, -which is absolutely radiant. She is exquisitely fair and wonderfully -fresh, with golden hair and dark eyebrows--a most winsome lady. - -She throws herself at the King’s feet. She clasps her hands. Her sobs -drown her voice. - -“Pardon, Sire, pardon my father!” she at length falters. The King stoops -forward, and raises her to the estrade on which he stands. He looks -tenderly into her soft blue eyes, his hands are locked in hers. - -“Your father, madame, my old and trusted servant, is guilty of treason.” - -“Alas! Sire, I fear so; but he is old, too old for punishment. He has -been hitherto a true subject of your Majesty.” - -“He is blessed, madame, with a most surpassing daughter.” Francis pauses -and looks steadfastly at her with eyes of ardent admiration. “But I fear -I must confirm the sentence of my judges, madame; your father is certain -to be found guilty of treason.” - -“Oh! Sire, mercy, mercy! grant me my father’s life, I implore you”; and -again Diane falls prostrate at the King’s feet, and looks supplicatingly -into his face. Again the King raises her. - -“Well, madame, you are aware that you desire the pardon of a traitor; on -what ground do you ask for his life?” - -“Sire, I ask it for the sake of mercy; mercy is the privilege of kings,” -and her soft eyes seek those of Francis and rest upon them. “I have come -so far, too, from Normandy, to invoke it--my poor father!” and she sobs -again. “Your Majesty will not send me back refused, broken-hearted?” -Still her eyes are fixed upon the King. - -“Mercy, Madame Diane, is, doubtless, a royal prerogative. I am an -anointed king,” and he lets go her hands, and draws himself up proudly, -“and I may use it; but the prerogative of a woman is beauty. Beauty, -Madame Diane,” adds Francis, with a glance at the lovely woman still -kneeling at his feet, “is more potent than a king’s word.” - -There is silence for a few moments. Diane’s eyes are now bent upon the -ground, her bosom heaves. Francis contemplates her with delight. - -“Will you, fair lady, deign to exercise your prerogative?” - -“Truly, Sire, I know not what your Majesty would say,” replies Diane, -looking down and blushing. - -Something in his eyes gives her hope, for she starts violently, rises, -and clasping her hands together exclaims, “How, Sire! do I read your -meaning aright? can I, by my humble service to your Majesty----” - -“Yes, fair lady, you can. Your presence at my Court, where your adorable -beauty shall receive due homage, will be my hostage for your father’s -loyalty. Madame Diane, I declare that the Comte de Saint-Vallier is -PARDONED. Though he had rent the crown from off our head, your father is -pardoned. And I add, madame, that it was the charm of his daughter that -rendered a refusal impossible.” - -Madame Diane’s face shines like April sunshine through rain-drops; a -smile parts her lips, and her glistening eyes dance with joy; she is -more lovely than ever. - -“Thanks, thanks, Sire!” And again she would have knelt, but the King -again takes her hands, and looks into her face so earnestly that she -again blushes. - -Did that look of the King fascinate her? or did the sudden joy of saving -her father move her heart with love? Who can tell? It is certain, -however, that from this time Diane left Normandy, and became one of the -brightest ornaments of that beauty-loving Court. Diane was a woman of -masculine understanding, concealed under the gentlest and most -fascinating manners; but she was also mercenary, intriguing, and -domineering. Of her beauty we may judge for ourselves, as many portraits -of her are extant, especially one of great excellence by Leonardo da -Vinci, in the long gallery at Chenonceau. - -Diane was soon forsaken, but the ready-witted lady consoled herself by -laying siege to the heart of the son of Francis, Prince Henry, -afterwards Henry II. - -Henry surrendered at discretion. Nothing can more mark the freedom of -the times than this _liaison_. Yet both these ladies--Diane de Poitiers -and her successor in the favour of the King, the Duchesse -d’Étampes--were constantly in the society of two most virtuous queens -Claude, and Elinor of Spain, the successive wives of Francis. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -ALL LOST SAVE HONOUR. - - -The next scene is in Italy. The French army lies encamped on the broad -plains of Lombardy, backed by snowy lines of Alpine fastnesses. - -Bonnivet, in command of the French, presumptuous and inexperienced, has -been hitherto defeated in every battle. Bourbon, fighting on the side of -Spain, is, as before, victorious. - -Francis, stung by the repeated defeat of his troops, has now joined the -army, and commands in person. Milan, where the plague rages, has opened -its gates to him; but Pavia, distant about twenty miles, is occupied by -the Spaniards in force. Antonio de Leyva is governor. Thither the French -advance in order to besiege the city. - -The open country is defended by the Spanish forces under Bourbon. -Francis, maddened by the presence of his cousin, rushes onward. -Montmorenci and Bonnivet, flatterers both, assure him that victory is -certain by means of a _coup de main_. - -It is night; the days are short, for it is February. The winter moon -lights up the rich meadow lands divided by the broad Ticino and broken -by the deep ditches and sluggish streams which surround the city. Tower, -campanile, dome, and turret, with here and there the grim façade of a -mediæval palace, stand out in the darkness. - -Yonder among the meadows are the French, darkening the surrounding -plain. Francis knows that the Constable is advancing to support the -garrison of Pavia, and he desires to carry the city by assault before -his arrival. Ever too rash, and now excited by a passionate sense of -injury, Francis, with D’Alençon, De la Trémouille, De Foix, and -Bonnivet, leads the attack at the head of his cavalry. Now he is under -the very walls. Despite the dim moonlight, no one can mistake him. He -wears a suit of steel armour inlaid with gold; a crimson surcoat, -embroidered with gilt “F’s”; a helmet encircled by a jewelled crown, out -of which rises a yellow plume and golden salamander. For an instant -success seems certain; the scaling-ladders thick with soldiers are -already planted against the lowest walls, and the garrison retreats -under cover of the bastions. A sudden panic seizes the troops beneath, -who are to support the assault. In the treacherous moonlight they have -fallen into confusion among the deep, slimy ditches; many are drifted -away in the current of the great river. A murderous cannonade from the -city walls now opens on the assailants and on the cavalry. Francis falls -back. The older generals conjure him to retreat and raise the siege -before the arrival of Bourbon, but, backed by Bonnivet and Montmorenci, -he will not hear of it. The battle rages during the night. The morning -light discovers the Spaniards commanded by Bourbon and Pescara, with the -whole strength of their army, close under the walls. Again the King -leads a fresh assault--a forlorn hope, rather. He fights desperately; -the yellow plumes of his helmet wave hither and thither as his horse -dashes wildly from side to side amidst the smoke, in the thickest of the -battle. See, for an instant he falters,--he is wounded and bleeding. He -recovers, however, and again clapping spurs to his horse, scatters his -surrounding foes; six have already fallen by his hand. Look! his charger -is pierced by a ball and falls with his rider. After a desperate -struggle the King extricates himself; now on foot, he still fights -furiously. Alas! it is in vain. Every moment his enemies thicken around -him, pressing closer and closer. His gallant followers drop one by one -under the unerring aim of the Basque marksmen. La Trémouille has fallen. -De Foix lies a corpse at his feet. Bonnivet in despair expiates his evil -counsel by death.[4] Every shot takes from him one of the pillars of his -throne. Francis flings himself wildly on the points of the Spanish -pikes. The Royal Guards fall like summer grass before the sickle; but -where the King stands, still dealing desperate blows, the bodies of the -slain form a rampart of protection around him. His very enemies stand -back amazed at such furious courage. While he struggles for his life -hand to hand with D’Avila and D’Ovietta, plumeless, soiled, and bloody, -a loud cry rises from a thousand voices--“It is the King--LET HIM -SURRENDER--_Capture the King!_” There is a dead silence; the Spanish -troops fall back. A circle is formed round the now almost fainting -Francis, who lies upon the blood-stained earth. De Pompérant advances. -He kneels before the master whom he has betrayed, he implores him to -yield to Bourbon. - -At that hated name the King starts into fresh fury; he grasps his sword, -he struggles to his feet. “Never,” cries he in a hoarse voice; “never -will I surrender to that traitor! Rather let me die by the hand of a -common marksman. Go back, Monsieur de Pompérant, and call to me the -Vice-King of Naples.” - -Lannoy advances, kneels, and kisses his hand. “Your Majesty is my -prisoner,” he cries aloud, and a ringing shout is echoed from the -Spanish troops. - -Francis gives him his sword. Lannoy receives it kneeling, and replaces -it by his own. The King’s helmet is then removed; a velvet cap is given -to him, which he places on his head. The Spanish and Italian troopers -and the deadly musketeers silently creep round him where he lies on the -grass, supported by cushions, one to tear a feather from his broken -plume, another to cut a morsel from his surcoat as a relic. This -involuntary homage from his enemies is evidently agreeable to Francis. -As his surcoat rapidly disappears under the knives of his opponents, he -smiles, and graciously acknowledges the rough advances of those same -soldiers who a moment before thirsted for his blood. Other generals with -Pescara advance and surround him. He courteously acknowledges their -respectful salutations. - -“Spare my poor soldiers, spare my Frenchmen, generals,” says he. - -These unselfish words bring tears into Pescara’s eyes. - -“Your Majesty shall be obeyed,” replies he. - -“I thank you,” replies Francis with a faltering voice. - -A pony is now brought to bear him into Pavia. Francis becomes greatly -agitated. As they raise him up and assist him to mount, he turns to his -escort of generals-- - -“Marquis,” says he, turning to Pescara, “and you, my lord governor, if -my calamity touches your hearts, as it would seem to do, I beseech you -not to lead me into Pavia. I would not be exposed to the affront of -entering as a prisoner a city I should have taken by assault. Carry me, -I pray you, to some shelter without the walls.” - -“Your Majesty’s wishes are our law,” replies Pescara, saluting him. “We -will bear you to the monastery of Saint-Paul, without the gate towards -Milan.” - -To Saint-Paul the King was carried. It was from thence he wrote the -historic letter to his mother, Louise de Savoie, Regent of France, in -which he tells her, “_all is lost save honour_.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -BROKEN FAITH. - - -We are at Madrid. Francis has been lured hither by incredible treachery, -under the idea that he will meet Charles V., and be at once set at -liberty. - -He is confined in one of the rooms of the Alcazar, then used as a state -prison. A massive oaken door, clamped and barred with iron, opens from -the court from whence a flight of steps leads into two small chambers -which occupy one of the towers. The inner room has narrow windows, -closely barred. The light is dim. There is just room for a table, two -chairs, and a bed. It is a cage rather than a prison. - -On a chair, near an open window, sits the King. He is emaciated and -pale; his cheeks are hollow, his lips are white, his eyes are sunk in -his head, his dress is neglected. His glossy hair, plentifully streaked -with grey, covers the hand upon which he wearily leans his head. He -gazes vacantly at the setting sun opposite--a globe of fire rapidly -sinking below the low dark plain which bounds his view. - -There are boundless plains in front of him, and on his left a range of -tawny hills. A roadway runs beneath the tower, where the Imperial Guards -are encamped. The gay fanfare of the trumpets sounding the retreat, the -waving banners, the prancing horses, the brilliant accoutrements, the -glancing armour of the imperial troops, mock him where he sits. Around -him is Madrid. Palace, tower, and garden rise out of a sea of buildings -burnt by southern sunshine. The church-bells ring out the _Ave Maria_. -The fading light darkens into night. Still the King sits beside the open -window, lost in thought. No one comes to disturb him. Now and then some -broken words escape his lips:--“Save France--my poor soldiers--brave De -Foix--noble Bonnivet--see, he is tossed on the Spanish pikes. Alas! -would I were dead. My sister--my little lads--the Dauphin--Henry--Orléans--I -shall never see you more. Oh, God! I am bound in chains of -iron--France--liberty--Glory--gone--gone for ever!” His head sinks on -his breast; tears stream from his eyes. He falls back fainting in his -chair, and is borne to his bed. - -Francis has never seen Charles, who is at his capital, Toledo. The -Emperor does not even excuse his absence. This cold and cautious policy, -this death in life, is agony to the ardent temperament of Francis. His -health breaks down. A settled melancholy, a morbid listlessness -overwhelms him. He is seized with fever; he rapidly becomes delirious. -His royal gaoler, Charles, will not believe in his danger; he still -refuses to see him. False himself, he believes Francis to be shamming. -The Spanish ministers are distracted by their master’s obstinacy, for if -the French King dies at Madrid of broken heart, all is lost, and a -bloody war with France inevitable. - -At the moment when the Angel of Death hovers over the Alcazar, a sound -of wheels is heard below. A litter, drawn by reeking mules and covered -with mud, dashes into the street. The leather curtains are drawn aside, -and Marguerite d’Alençon, pale and shrunk with anxiety and fatigue, -attended by two ladies, having travelled from Paris day and night, -descends. Breathless with excitement, she passes quickly up the narrow -stairs, through the anteroom, and enters the King’s chamber. Alas! what -a sight awaits her. Francis lies insensible on his bed. The room is -darkened, save where a temporary altar has been erected, opposite his -bed, on which lights are burning. A Bishop officiates. The low voices of -priests, chanting as they move about the altar, alone break a death-like -silence. Marguerite, overcome by emotion, clasps her hands and sinks on -her knees beside her brother. Her sobs and cries disturb the solemn -ordinance. She is led almost fainting away. Then the Bishop approaches -the King, bearing the bread of life, and, at that moment, Francis -becomes suddenly conscious. He opens his eyes, and in a feeble voice -prays that he may be permitted to receive it. So humbly, yet so -joyfully, does he communicate that all present are deeply moved. - -In spite, however, of the presence of Marguerite in Madrid, the King -relapses. He again falls into a death-like trance. Then, and then only, -does the Emperor yield to the reproaches of the Duchesse d’Alençon and -the entreaties of his ministers. He takes horse from Toledo and rides to -Madrid almost without drawing rein, until he stops at the heavy door in -the Alcazar. He mounts the stairs and enters the chamber. Francis, now -restored to consciousness, prompted by a too generous nature, opens his -arms to embrace him. - -“Your Majesty has come to see your prisoner die,” says he in a feeble -voice, faintly smiling. - -“No,” replies Charles, with characteristic caution and Spanish courtesy, -bowing profoundly and kissing him on either cheek; “no, your Majesty -will not die, you are no longer my prisoner; you are my friend and -brother. I come to set you free.” - -“Ah, Sire,” murmurs Francis in a voice scarcely audible, “death will -accomplish that before your Majesty; but if I live--and indeed I do not -believe I shall, I am so overcome by weakness--let me implore you to -allow me to treat for my release in person with your Majesty; for this -end I came hither to Madrid.” - -At this moment the conversation is interrupted by the entrance of a -page, who announces to the Emperor that the Duchesse d’Alençon has -arrived and awaits his Majesty’s pleasure. Glad of an excuse to -terminate a most embarrassing interview with his too confiding prisoner, -Charles, who has been seated on the bed, rises hastily-- - -“Permit me, my brother,” says he, “to leave you, in order to descend and -receive your august sister in person. In the meantime recover your -health. Reckon upon my willingness to serve you. Some other time we will -meet; then we can treat more in detail of these matters, when your -Majesty is stronger and better able to converse.” - -Charles takes an affectionate leave of Francis, descends the narrow -stairs, and with much ceremony receives the Duchess. - -“I rejoice, madame,” says he, “to offer you in person the homage of all -Spain, and my own hearty thanks for the courage and devotion you have -shown in the service of the King, my brother. He is a prisoner no -longer. The conditions of release shall forthwith be prepared by my -ministers.” - -“Is the King fully aware what those conditions are, Sire?” Marguerite -coldly asks. - -Charles was silent. - -“I fear our mother, Madame Louise, Regent of France,” continues the -Duchesse d’Alençon, “may find it difficult to accept your conditions, -even though it be to liberate the Sovereign of France, her own beloved -son.” - -“Madame,” replies Charles evasively, “I will not permit this occasion, -when I have the happiness of first saluting you within my realm, to be -occupied with state affairs. Rely on my desire to set my brother free. -Meanwhile the King will, I hope, recover his strength. Pressing business -now calls me back to Toledo. Adieu! most illustrious princess, to whom I -offer all that Madrid contains for your service. Permit me to kiss your -hands. Salute my brother, the King, from me. Once more, royal lady, -adieu!” - -Marguerite curtseys to the ground. The Emperor, with his head uncovered, -mounts his horse, again salutes her, and attended by his retinue puts -spurs to his steed and rides from the Alcazar on his return to Toledo. -Marguerite fully understands the treachery of his words. Her heart -swelling with indignation, she slowly ascends to the King’s chamber. - -“Has the Emperor departed already?” Francis eagerly asks her. - -“Yes, my brother; pressing business, he says, calls him back to Toledo,” -replies Marguerite bitterly, speaking very slowly. - -“What! gone so soon, before giving me an opportunity of discussing with -him the terms of my freedom. Surely, my sister, this is strange,” says -Francis, turning eagerly towards the Duchess, and then sinking back pale -and exhausted on his pillows. - -Marguerite seats herself beside him, takes his hand tenderly within both -her own, and gazes at him in silence. - -“But, my sister, did my brother, the Emperor, say _nothing_ to you of -his speedy return?” - -“Nothing,” answers Marguerite, drily. - -“Yet he assured me, with his own lips, that I was already free, and that -the conditions of release would be prepared immediately.” - -“Dear brother,” says the Duchess, “has your imprisonment at Madrid, and -the conduct of the Emperor to you this long time past, inclined you to -believe what he says?” - -“I, a king myself, should be grieved to doubt a brother sovereign’s -word.” - -“Francis,” says Marguerite, speaking with great earnestness and fixing -her eyes on him, “what you say convinces me that you are weakened by -illness. Your naturally acute intellect is dulled by the confusion of -recent delirium. If you were in full possession of your senses you would -not speak as you do. My brother, take heed of my words--you will never -be free.” - -“How,” exclaims the King, starting up, “never be free? What do you -mean?” - -“Calm yourself, my brother. You are, I fear, too weak to hear what I -have to say.” - -“No, no! my sister; suspense to me is worse than death. Speak to me, -Marguerite; speak to me, my sister.” - -“Then, Sire, let me ask you, when you speak of release, when the Emperor -tells you you are free, are you aware of the conditions he imposes on -you?” - -“Not accurately,” replies Francis. “Certain terms were proposed, before -my illness, that I should surrender whole provinces in France, renounce -my rights in the Milanese, pay an enormous ransom, leave my sons -hostages at Madrid; but these were the proposals of the Spanish council. -The Emperor, speaking personally to a brother sovereign, would never -press anything on me unbecoming my royal condition; therefore it is that -I desire to treat with himself alone.” - -“Alas! my brother, you are too generous; you are deceived. Much -negotiation has passed during your illness, and since my arrival. -Conditions have been proposed by Spain to the Regent, that she--your -mother--supported by the parliament of your country, devoted to your -person, has refused. Listen to me, Francis. Charles seeks to dismember -France. As long as it remains a kingdom, he intends that you shall never -leave Madrid.” - -“Marguerite, my sister, proceed, I entreat you!” breaks in Francis, -trembling with excitement. - -“Burgundy is to be ceded; you are to renounce all interest in Flanders -and in the Milanese. You are to pay a ransom that will beggar the -kingdom. You are to marry Elinor, Queen Dowager of Portugal, sister to -Charles, and you are to leave your sons, the Dauphin and the Duc -d’Orléans, hostages in Spain for the fulfilment of these demands.” - -Francis turns very white, and sinks back speechless on the pillows that -support him. He stretches out his arm to his sister and fondly clasps -her neck. “Marguerite, if it is so, you say well,--I shall never leave -Madrid. My sister, let me die ten thousand deaths rather than betray the -honour of France.” - -“Speak not of death, dearest brother!” exclaims Marguerite, her face -suddenly flushing with excitement. “I have come to make you live. I, -Marguerite d’Alençon, your sister, am come to lead you back to your army -and to France; to the France that mourns for you; to the army that is -now dispersed and insubordinate; to the mother who weeps for her beloved -son.” Marguerite’s voice falters; she sobs aloud, and rising from her -chair, she presses her brother in her arms. Francis feebly returns her -embrace, tenderly kisses her, and signs to her to proceed. “Think you,” -continues Marguerite more calmly, and reseating herself, but still -holding the King’s hand--“think you that councils in which _Bourbon_ has -a voice----” At this name the King shudders and clenches his fist upon -the bed-clothes. “Think you that a sovereign who has treacherously lured -you to Madrid will have any mercy on you? No, my brother; unless you -agree to unworthy conditions, imposed by a treacherous monarch who -abuses his power over you, here you will languish until you die! Now -mark my words, dear brother. Treaties made under _duresse_, by _force -majeure_, are legally void. You will dissemble, my generous King--for -the sake of France, you will dissemble. You must fight this crafty -emperor with his own weapons.” - -“What! my sister, be false to my word--I, a belted knight, invested by -the hands of Bayard on the field - -[Illustration: THE CHEVALIER BAYARD. - -AFTER A. DE NEUVILLE. - -(By permission of Estes & Lauriat.)] - -of Marignano, stoop to a lie? Marguerite, you are mad!” - -“Oh, Francis, hear me!” cries Marguerite passionately, “hear me; on my -knees I conjure you to live, for yourself, for us, for France.” She -casts herself on the floor beside him. She wrings his hands, she kisses -his feet, her tears falling thickly. “Francis, you must, you shall -consent. By-and-by you will bless me for this tender violence. You are -not fit to meddle in this matter. Leave to me the care of your honour; -is it not my own? I come from the Regent, from the council, from all -France. Believe me, brother, if you are perjured, all Europe will -applaud the perjury.” - -Marguerite, whose whole frame quivers with agitation, speaks no more. -There is a lengthened pause. The flush of fever is on the King’s face. - -“My sister,” murmurs Francis, struggling with a broken voice to express -himself, “you have conquered. Into your hands I commit my honour and the -future of France. Leave me a while to rest, for I am faint.” - -Treaties made under _duresse_ by _force majeure_ are legally void. The -Emperor must be decoyed into the belief that terms are accepted by -Francis, which are to be broken the instant his foot touches French -soil. It is with the utmost difficulty that the chivalrous monarch can -be brought to lend himself to this deceit. But the prayers of his -sister, the deplorable condition of his kingdom deprived of his presence -for nearly five years, the terror of returning illness, and the thorough -conviction that Charles is as perfidious as he is ambitious, at length -prevail. Francis ostensibly accepts the Emperor’s terms, and Queen -Claude being dead, he affiances himself to Charles’s sister, Elinor, -Queen Dowager of Portugal. - -Francis was perjured, but France was saved. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -LA DUCHESSE D’ÉTAMPES. - - -Riding with all speed from Madrid--for he fears the Emperor’s -perfidy--Francis has reached the frontier of Spain, on the banks of the -river Bidassoa. His boys--the Dauphin and the Duc d’Orléans, who are to -replace him at Madrid as hostages--await him there. They rush into their -father’s arms and fondly cling to him, weeping bitterly at this cruel -meeting for a moment after years of separation. Francis, with ready -sympathy, mingles his tears with theirs. He embraces and blesses them. -But, wild with the excitement of liberty and insecure while on Spanish -soil, he cannot spare time for details. He hands the poor lads over to -the Spanish commissioners. Too impatient to await the arrival of the -ferry-boat, which is pulling across the river, he steps into the waters -of the Bidassoa to meet it. On the opposite bank, among the low scrub -wood, a splendid retinue awaits him. He springs into the saddle, waves -his cap in the air, and with a joyous shout exclaims, “Now I am a king! -Now I am free!” - -The political vicissitudes of Francis’s reign are as nothing to the -chaos of his private life; only as a lover he was never defeated. No -humiliating Pavia arrests his successful course. At Bayonne he finds a -brilliant Court; his mother the Regent, and his sister Marguerite, await -his arrival. After “Les embrasseurs d’usage,” as Du Bellay quaintly -expresses it, the King’s eye wanders over the parterre of young beauties -assembled in their suite, “la petite bande des dames de la Cour.” Then -Francis first beholds Anne de Pisselieu, afterwards Duchesse d’Étampes. -No one can compare to her in the tyranny of youth, beauty, and talent. A -mere girl, she already knows everything, and is moreover astute, witty, -and false. In spite of the efforts of Diane de Poitiers to attract the -King (she having come to Bayonne in attendance on the Regent-mother), -Anne de Pisselieu prevails. The King is hers. He delights in her joyous -sallies. Anne laughs at every one and everything, specially at the -pretensions of Madame Diane, whom she calls “an old hag.” She declares -that she herself was born on Diane’s wedding-day! - -Who can resist so bewitching a creature? Not Francis certainly. So the -Court divides itself into two factions in love, politics, and religion. -One party, headed by the Duchesse d’Étampes--a Protestant, and mistress -of the reigning monarch; a second by Madame Diane de Poitiers--a -Catholic, who, after many efforts, finding the King inaccessible, -devotes herself to his son, Prince Henry, a mere boy, at least twenty -years younger than herself, and waits his reign. Oddly enough, it is the -older woman who waits, and the younger one who rules. - -The Regent-mother looks on approvingly. Morals, especially royal morals, -do not exist. Madame Louise de Savoie is ambitious. She would not see -the new Spanish Queen--a comely princess, as she hears from her daughter -Marguerite--possess too much influence over the King. It might injure -her own power. The poor Spanish Queen! No fear that her influence will -injure any one! The King never loves her, and never forgives her being -forced upon him as a clause in the ignominious treaty of Madrid. -Besides, she is thirty-two years old and a widow; grave, dignified, and -learned, but withal a lady of agreeable person, though of mature and -well-developed charms. Elinor admired and loved Francis when she saw him -at Madrid, and all the world thought that the days were numbered in -which Madame d’Étampes would be seen at Court. “But,” says Du Bellay, -either with perfect naiveté or profound irony--“it was impossible for -the King to offer to the virtuous Spanish princess any other sentiments -than respect and gratitude, the Duchesse d’Étampes being sole mistress -of his heart!” So the royal lady fares no better than Queen Claude, -“with the roses in her soul,” and only receives, like her, courtesy and -indifference. - -The King returns to the Spanish frontier to receive Queen Elinor and to -embrace the sons, now released, to whom she has been a true mother -during the time they have been hostages at Madrid. - -By-and-by the Queen’s brother--that mighty and perfidious sovereign, -Charles V., Emperor of Germany--passing to his estates in the -Netherlands, “craves leave of his beloved brother, Francis, King of -France, to traverse his kingdom on his way,” so great is his dread of -the sea voyage on account of sickness. - -[Illustration: QUEEN ELINOR.] - -Some days before the Emperor’s arrival Francis is at the Louvre. He has -repaired and embellished it in honour of his guest, and has pulled down -the central tower, or donjon, called “Philippine,” which encumbered the -inner court. By-and-by he will pull down all the mediæval fortress, and, -assisted by Lescot, begin the palace known as the “Old Louvre.” - -Francis is seated _tête-à-tête_ with the Duchesse d’Étampes. The room is -small--a species of boudoir or closet. It is hung with rare tapestry, -representing in glowing colours the Labours of Hercules. Venetian -mirrors, in richly carved frames, fling back the light of a central -chandelier, also of Venetian workmanship, cunningly wrought into gaudy -flowers, diamonded pendants, and true lovers’ knots. It is a blaze of -brightness and colour. Rich velvet hangings, heavy with gold embroidery, -cover the narrow windows and hang over the low doors. The King and the -Duchess sit beside a table of inlaid marble, supported on a pedestal, -marvellously gilt, of Italian workmanship, on which are laid fruits, -wines, and _confitures_, served in golden vessels worked in the -Cinque-cento style, after Cellini’s patterns. Beside themselves, -Triboulet,[5] the king’s fool, alone is present. As Francis holds out -his cup time after time to Triboulet, who replenishes it with Malvoisie, -the scene composes itself into a perfect picture, such as Victor Hugo -has imagined in _Le Roi s’amuse_; so perfect, indeed, that Francis might -have sung, “La donna è mobile,” as he now does in Verdi’s opera of -_Rigoletto_. - -“Sire,” says the Duchess, her voice dropping into a most delicious -softness, “do you leave us to-morrow?” - -The King bows his head and kisses her jewelled fingers. - -“So you persist in going to meet your brother, the Emperor Charles, your -loving brother of Spain, whom I hate because he was so cruel to you at -Madrid.” The Duchess looks up and smiles. Her eyes are beautiful, but -hard and cruel. She wears an ermine mantle, for it is winter; her dress -is of the richest green satin, embroidered with gold. On her head is a -golden net, the meshes sprinkled with diamonds, from which her dark -tresses escape in long ringlets over her shoulders. - -Francis turns towards her and pledges her in a cup of Malvoisie. The -corners of his mouth are drawn up into a cynical smile, almost to his -nostrils. He has now reached middle life, and his face at that time -would have made no man’s fortune. - -“Duchess,” says he, “I must tear myself from you. I go to-morrow to -Touraine. Before returning to Paris, I shall attend my brother the -Emperor Charles at Loches, then at Amboise on the Loire. You will soon -follow me with the Queen.” - -“And, surely, when you have this heartless king, this cruel gaoler in -your power, you will punish him and revenge yourself? If he, like a -fool, comes into Touraine, make him revoke the treaty of Madrid, or shut -him up in one of Louis XI.’s _oubliettes_ at Amboise or Loches.” - -“I will _persuade_ him, if I can, to liberate me from all the remaining -conditions of the treaty,” said the King, “but I will never _force_ -him.” As he speaks Triboulet, who has been shaking the silver bells on -his parti-coloured dress with suppressed laughter, pulls out some ivory -tablets to add something to a list he keeps of those whom he considers -greater fools than himself. He calls it “his journal.” - -The King looks at the tablets and sees the name of Charles V. - -“Ha! ha! by the mass!--how long has my brother of Spain figured there?” -asks he. - -“The day, Sire, that I heard he had put his foot on the French -frontier.” - -“What will you do when I let him depart freely?” - -“I shall,” said Triboulet, “rub out his name and put yours in its place, -Sire.” - -“See, your Majesty, there is some one else who agrees with me,” said the -Duchess, laughing. - -“I know,” replies Francis, “that my interests would almost force me to -do as you desire, madame, but my honour is dearer to me than my -interests. I am now at liberty,--I had rather the treaty of Madrid -should stand for ever than countenance an act unworthy of ‘un roi -chevalier.’ ” - -Francis receives Charles V. at Amboise with ostentatious splendour. -Aware of the repugnance of his royal guest to mount steps (the Spanish -Emperor was early troubled by those attacks of gout that caused him at -length to abdicate and to die of premature old age, at the monastery of -San Juste), Francis caused an inclined plane or slope to be constructed -in place of stairs within one of the round towers by which the Castle of -Amboise, standing on a precipitous pile of rocks, is approached. Up -this slope, which remains in excellent preservation, Charles ascends to -the plateau on which the castle stands, seated in his ponderous coach, -drawn by heavy horses, attended by guards and outriders. Elinor, his -sister, the neglected Queen, as well as the favourite, Madame d’Étampes, -are present at the fêtes given in honour of the Emperor. There are no -secrets at Court, and Charles soon comes to know that the _maîtresse en -titre_ is his enemy. One evening, after a dance executed by Anne -d’Étampes along with the ladies of the Court, in which she displayed the -graces of her person, the Emperor approaches her. - -“Madame,” he says, “it is only in France that I have seen such -perfection of elegance and beauty. My brother, the King, would be the -envy of all the sovereigns of Europe could they have witnessed what I -have just seen. There is no ransom that I would accept for such a -captive, had I the power of retaining her at Madrid.” - -The Emperor’s eyes melt with admiration as he gazes on her. - -The Duchess’s countenance beams with delight at the Emperor’s high-flown -compliment. - -The King approaches the spot where they stand. - -“Know, my brother,” says the King with a slight touch of irony in his -tone, for he is displeased at the tender glances Charles is casting on -his favourite, “know that this fair Duchess would have had me detain you -here a prisoner until you had revoked the treaty of Madrid.” - -The Emperor starts visibly and frowns. “If you consider the advice good, -your Majesty had better - -[Illustration: CHÂTEAU OF AMBOISE.] - -follow it,” he replies haughtily, turning away to address some nobles -standing near. - -Some few days afterwards the Duchess gives a supper in her apartments, -to which the Emperor and the Court are invited. After the reception, -sinking on her knees, she presents his Majesty with rose-water in a gold -embossed basin in which to wash his hands. Charles adroitly drops a -large diamond ring into the basin. The Duchess stoops and places the -vessel on the ground in order to pick up the jewel. - -“This ring, madame,” he says, and he speaks low, and leans forward in -order to catch her ear, “is too becoming to that fair hand for me to -remove it. It has itself sought a new possessor,” and he kisses her -hand. “Keep it as a pledge of my admiration and my friendship.” - -The Duchess rises and makes a deep obeisance. Not only did she keep the -ring, but she became so decided a partisan of this “_gaoler_,” that she -is popularly accused of having betrayed Francis to the Emperor; -specially in the subsequent wars between England, France, and Spain. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -LAST DAYS. - - -Rambouillet is now a station on the railway between Versailles, -Chartres, and Le Mans. It is a sunny little town, sloping to the south, -in a sheltered hollow, over which the slanting roofs and conical turrets -of the palace rise out of stately elms and spiked poplars. The -principal façade of the château--which consists of two wings at right -angles to each other, having at each corner a circular turret, -surmounted by a spire--faces the mid-day sun. The ground lies low, and -canals, extending in three directions, bordered by terraced walks and -avenues, intersect the grassy lawns which lengthen into the tangled -woodland of the surrounding forest. Opposite the château, on an islet, -is a grotto called “La Marmite de Rabelais.” To the right, the three -canals flow into a river, spanned by a low bridge, known as “the -accursed bridge,” from some now obscure tradition foreboding evil to -those who pass over it. On every other side, the trunks of venerable -trees, their overarching branches closing above like a cloister--pillars -of oak, elm, and ash--wind away into grassy meads and shady dingles, -intersected by long rides cut straight through the forest, proper for -the stag-hunts which have been held in this ancient manor since the -Middle Ages. - -The château itself has now been modernised, save where one ivy-crowned -round tower (the donjon of the mediæval fortress), in deep shadow, -frowns an angry defiance to the stucco and whitewash of the flimsy -modern façade. - -It is the month of March, in the year 1547. Francis, attended by a small -retinue, has arrived at the foot of this round tower. Coming from the -south, he has crossed the river by “the accursed bridge.” - -During the whole past year he has wandered from place to place, -revisiting all his favourite haunts as though conscious that he is -bidding them farewell. The restlessness of mortal disease is upon him. -Though he flies from city to hamlet, from castle to palace, vainly -seeking respite from pain, death haunts and follows him. His life is -agony. He is greatly changed--an internal fever consumes him. His eyes -are haggard; his face is thin, and his body emaciated. Only fifty-two -years old, like his great rival the Emperor Charles, he is prematurely -aged. Now he is half lifted from his coach and slowly led up a winding -staircase to his apartments on the second floor by his friend James -d’Angennes, to whose ancestors Rambouillet belonged. Francis comes from -Chambord, where Marguerite, now Queen of Navarre by her second marriage, -met him. Marguerite and her brother still cling to each other, but they -are both aged and full of care. Her beauty is faded and her health is -broken. Even she, though devoted as ever, cannot amuse Francis or -dissipate the weight that oppresses his spirit. The old topics that were -wont to delight him are irritably dismissed. He no longer cares for -poetry, is wearied of politics, shrinks from society, and abuses women. -It is at this time he writes with the point of a diamond, on the window -of his closet at Chambord, these significant lines:-- - - “Souvent femme varie; - Mal habile qui s’y fie!” - -He can only talk to his sister on sorrowful subjects: of the death by -plague of his favourite son Charles, who caught the infection when -sleeping at Abbeville; or of his old friend, Henry VIII. of England, who -has also recently died. - -The death of the latter seems to affect Francis terribly. “Our lives,” -he says, “were very similar--he was slightly older, but I shall not -long survive him.” Vainly does Marguerite combat these dismal -forebodings. She laments in secret the sad change. Ever sympathetic with -her brother, she, too, throws aside romance and poetry and composes “The -Mirror of a Sinful Soul,” to suit his altered humour. Alas! what would -Marguerite say if she knew what is carefully concealed from her? That -the great surgeon Paré--Paré, who was afterwards to draw the spear-point -from the cheek of the Balafré--has pronounced that the King’s malady is -hopeless! - -After a short sojourn together at Chambord, the brother and sister part -never to meet again. - -Francis was to have passed the carnival at Limours, says Du Bellay; now -he commands the masked balls and the court ballets to be held at -Saint-Germain en Laye. The King’s fancy changes; he will rouse himself; -he will shake off the horrible lethargy that is creeping over him; he -will dismiss sinister presentiments. Disguised himself, he will dance -among the maskers--the excitement will revive him. - -But strong as is his will, high as is his courage, the mortal disease -within him is stronger still. Suddenly he countermands all his orders. -He will rather go to Rambouillet to visit his old friend, D’Angennes; to -meet Rabelais perhaps, who loves the old castle, and to hunt in the -great woods. - -The quiet old manor, half hunting-lodge, half fortress, buried in -secluded woods just bursting into leaf, where the wild boar and the stag -are plentiful, will suit him better than banquets, balls, games, and -boisterous revelry. The once dauntless Francis is grown nervous and -querulous, and is painfully - -[Illustration: DUCHESSE D’ÉTAMPES.] - -conscious of the slightest noise. After a rapid journey he crosses the -ill-omened bridge and arrives at Rambouillet. No sooner has he been laid -in his bed than again his mind changes. He must rise and go to -Saint-Germain, more suitable than Rambouillet in accommodation for his -present condition. But the intense anguish he suffers renders his -project impossible. Well, he will remain. He will rest one night here; -then, he will depart. In the morning, says the same historian, he awakes -at daylight, feeling somewhat better. He commands a royal hunt for stags -and boars. Once more he hears the bugle of the huntsmen, the baying of -the hounds, the tramp of the impatient steeds. The fresh morning air -gives him fictitious strength. He rises from his bed, dresses himself, -descends, forces himself on horseback and rides forth, defying disease -and pain. Alas! he is soon brought back to the donjon tower and carried -up the stairs speechless and in mortal agony to his bed. Fever and -delirium ensue, but as the death shadows gather round him weakness -clears his brain. - -“I am dying,” says he, faintly, addressing D’Angennes, who never leaves -him for an instant; “send for my son Henry.” - -“Sire,” replies the Count, “his highness is already here.” - -“Let him come to me at once; my breath fails me fast.” - -The Prince enters and kneels beside the dying King. He weeps bitterly, -takes his father’s already cold hand in his own and kisses it. Francis -feebly returns the pressure. He turns his sunken eyes towards his son -and signs that he would speak. Henry, the better to catch his words, -rises and bends over him. - -“My son, I have been a great sinner,” falters the dying King, “my -passions led me astray; avoid this, Henry. If I have done well, follow -that, not the evil.” - -“Sire,” replies the Prince, “we all love and honour your Majesty.” - -“Cherish France, my son,” continues the King; “it is a noble nation. -They refused me nothing in my adversity, nor will they you, if you rule -them rightly. Lighten the taxes, my son,--be good to my people.” - -His voice grows fainter and less distinct, his face more ashen. - -The Prince, seeing his lips move, but hearing no sound, lays his ear -close to his father’s mouth. - -“Commend me to Catherine, your wife; beware of the Guises; they will -strip you; they are all traitors[6]; cherish my people.” He spoke no -more. - -The Prince motions to D’Angennes, and the parish priest with his -acolytes enters, bearing the Host. Speechless, but conscious, with a -look of infinite devotion, Francis receives the sacraments. Then, -turning his dying eyes towards his son, he feebly raises his hands to -bless him. - -Henry, overcome by the sight of his dying father, sinks prostrate beside -the bed. D’Angennes stands at the head, supporting his dying master in -his arms; while he wipes the moisture from his forehead, Francis -expires. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -CATHERINE DE’ MEDICI. - - -Catherine de’ Medici, widow of Henry II., and mother of three kings -regnant, rules France in their name. Her father, Lorenzo, Duke of -Urbino, second tyrant of Florence, died before she was born; her mother, -Madaleine de la Tour d’Auvergne (for Catherine had French blood in her -veins), died when she was born; so fatal was this Medici, even at her -birth. - -The _Duchessina_, as Catherine was called, was reared by her aunt -Clarice Sforza, within the mediæval stronghold of the Medici at -Florence--now known as the Riccardi Palace. Although bereft of palisade -and towers of defence, it is still a stately pile of Italian Gothic -architecture, with pillared cortile, ornate front, and sculptured -cornice, bidding a mute defiance to the encroachments of the modern -buildings of the Via Cavour, the Corso of the City of Flowers. - -Catherine was educated by the nuns of the “Murate” (walled up), in their -convent near the Porta Santa Croce. The teaching of these lonely -enthusiasts strangely contrasted with the life she afterwards led in the -Florentine Court--a very hot-bed of vice, intrigue, and ambition. There -did this Medea of the Cinque-cento learn how to dissimulate and to -betray. At fifteen she became, by the favour of her uncle, Pope Clement -VII., the richest heiress in Europe. She was tall and finely formed, of -a clear olive complexion (inherited from her French mother), with -well-cut features, and large, prominent eyes, like all the Medici. Her -manners were gracious, her countenance expressive, but there was, even -in extreme youth, a fixed and cold expression on the statuesque face -that belied these pleasant attributes. Many suitors sought her hand, but -Clement VII., outraged at the brutality of the Spanish coalition against -him under Charles V., which had resulted in the sack of Rome and his own -imprisonment in the Castle of St. Angelo, was glad to spite his enemies -by bestowing his wealthy niece on the Duc d’Orléans, son of Francis I. -As the heiress of the Medici came of a republican race of merchant -princes, mere mushrooms beside the lofty antiquity of the Valois line, -the Pope, to give greater lustre to the espousals, announced that he -would himself conduct his niece to her future husband. At Leghorn, -Catherine embarked with her uncle in a sumptuous papal galley, attended -by his tonsured Court. A flotilla of boats accompanied the vice-regent -of God upon earth, and his niece, the sparkling _Duchessina_. Fair winds -and smooth seas soon wafted them to the French shore, where Francis and -his sons awaited their arrival at Marseilles. - -Francis, says Brantôme, was so charmed with the Medici bride, her -intelligence and lively manners, that he romped with her the entire -evening after her arrival. When Francis found that she danced admirably, -that she shot with an arquebuse like a trooper, played at _maille_ like -a boy, and rode boldly and gracefully, his partiality to his new -daughter-in-law knew no bounds. What was the opinion of the - -[Illustration: CHÂTEAU DE CHAMBORD.] - -bridegroom Orléans, and what comparison he made between a bride of -fifteen and a mistress of thirty-five, is not recorded. There was nearly -twenty years difference in age between Prince Henry, Duc d’Orléans, a -mere boy, and Diane de Poitiers, yet her influence over him was still -absolute. To the day of his death he wore her colours--white and -black--upon his shield. Diane, secure in power, was rather proud of her -age. She boasted to the new Duchess that she was never ill, that she -rose at six o’clock in the morning, bathed in the coldest water, and -rode two hours before breakfast. - -When Catherine first appeared at the Louvre as the bride of Prince -Henry, she _seemed_ but a clever, facile girl, ready to accept her -humiliating position as subordinate in power, influence, and beauty to -her husband’s mistress, Diane de Poitiers, as well as to the Duchesse -d’Étampes, the favourite of Francis. Placed among these two women and -the lonely Spanish Queen, Elinor of Portugal, for fourteen years she -acquitted herself with the most perfect temper and discretion. Indeed, -with strange self-command in one so young, she endeavoured to flatter -both the favourites, but failing to propitiate either Diane or the -Duchess, and not being able to attract her husband or to interest the -sedate Spaniard, she devoted herself wholly to charm her father-in-law, -Francis. She became the constant and beloved companion of his various -progresses and hunting-parties to Fontainebleau, Amboise, Chenonceau, -and Loches. No court pageants these, on ambling pads over smooth lawns, -among limber trees, with retinue of velvet-liveried menials on the watch -for any possible casualty; but hard and dangerous riding in search of -boars, and wolves, and stags, over a rough country, among thick -underwood, rocky hills, and precipitous uplands. - -Thus Catherine _seemed_; but in her heart she despised the Duchess, -abhorred Diane, and suffered all the mortification of a neglected wife. -Diane did not moreover spare her feelings, but insolently and -ostentatiously paraded her superior influence, especially after Prince -Henry came to the throne and created her Duchesse de Valentinois. - -Catherine, however, with marvellous self-command bore all meekly, -brought the King ten children, and for fourteen years bided her time. -And that time came sooner than either the wife or the mistress expected. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -A FATAL JOUST. - - -It is the wedding-day of the two princesses, Elizabeth and Marguerite; -the first a daughter, the latter a sister, of Henry II. A tournament is -to be held in the Rue Saint-Antoine, near the Palace des Tournelles, so -called from its many towers.[7] - -King Henry and the elder princes, his sons, are to ride in the lists and -to break a lance freely with all comers. Queen Catherine and the -brides--Elizabeth, the very youthful wife of the morose Philip II. of -Spain, lately husband of Mary Tudor, known as Bloody Mary, now deceased; -Marguerite, wife of the Duke of Savoy, and Marguerite de Valois, second -daughter of Catherine, then but a child--are seated in the centre of an -open dais covered with damascened silk, and ornamented with feathers, -tassels and gaudy streamers, which flutter in the summer breeze. Behind -them are ranged the greatest ladies of the Court, among whom Diane de -Poitiers, now Duchesse de Valentinois, occupies the place of honour. The -ladies in waiting on the Queen and the great officers of state are -ranged at the back. - -It is a lovely morning in the month of July. The summer sun lights up -the gay dresses and fair faces of the Court into a glowing parterre of -bright colours. At a signal from Queen Catherine bands of wind -instruments burst into martial music; the combatants enter the arena and -divide themselves into different squadrons. First rides the King at the -head of his knights. His appearance is the signal for all to rise, as -much out of respect to him as the better to observe his chivalrous -bearing and magnificent accoutrements. He wears a suit of armour in -which gold is the chief metal. His sword-handle and dagger are set with -jewels, and from his shield and lance fly streamers of black and -white--the colours of Diane de Poitiers. He rides a Spanish barb, -caparisoned with crimson velvet, that tosses his head and curvets -proudly, as if conscious of its royal burden. Three times the King -passes round the list within the barriers, preceded by pages and -esquires bearing shields bound with ribbons, on which are engraven, in -letters of gold or of gems, the initials of their masters’ ladye-loves. -The King is followed by squadrons of knights. All range themselves near -the open dais occupied by the queens and the princesses. - -A herald in a parti-coloured dress advances into the centre of the open -space, and to the sound of trumpet proclaims that the lists are open. -The barriers are then lowered by the pages and the esquires, and the -tilting begins. - -Catherine looks on with a troubled countenance. Her eyes incessantly -follow the King and watch his every movement. As knight after knight is -unhorsed and rolls in the dust, and loud cries and shouts of laughter -rise at each discomfiture above the tumult of the fight, the anxious -expression on her face never changes. Now and then, when the King, -excited by the mimic warfare, deals and receives hard blows and vigorous -lance thrusts, Catherine visibly trembles. Like the wife of Pilate, “she -has suffered much because of a dream concerning him”--a dream that has -shown him to her, disfigured and dabbled with blood, lying dead in a -strange chamber. - -In the early morning she had implored the King not to enter the lists, -but Henry had laughed and had ridden forth wearing the colours of her -rival. - -Now the long day is drawing to a close; the sun is low on the horizon -and the tournament is over. The King, who has fought like the son of -Francis I., and broken the lances of the Ducs de Ferrara, Guise, and -Nemours, has retired from the lists into his tent to unarm. The young -princes have dismounted and ascended into the dais beside their mother -and the brides. Catherine breathes again; the King is safe--her dream -but the coinage of her brain! But hark! the faint sound of a trumpet is -heard, proceeding from the extremity of the long street of -Saint-Antoine. The Queen grows pale and bends her ear to listen. The -sound comes nearer; it becomes more distinct at each fresh blast. Now it -is at hand, and as the shrill and ill-omened notes strike her ear, a -herald advances preceded by a trumpeter, and announces that a masked -knight has arrived and challenges his Majesty to break a lance with him -in honour of his lady. - -The masked knight, habited entirely in black armour, rides into the -arena. Certain of the fatal event, the Queen rises abruptly from her -seat. Her countenance expresses absolute terror. She beckons hastily to -the Comte d’O, who is in attendance. “Go,” says she in a low voice, -speaking rapidly; “go at once to the King. Tell him if he fights with -this stranger he will die!--tell him so from me. Haste! for the love of -the Virgin, haste!” - -No sooner has the Comte d’O left her, than, leaning over the dais, -Catherine, with clasped hands and eager eyes, watches him as he crosses -the enclosure. She sees him parley with the King, who is replacing his -casque and arranging his armour. Henry laughs. The Queen turns to the -young Comte de la Molle, who is near--“Call up hither his Majesty to me -instantly. Tell him he must come up to me here before he enters the -lists. It is for life or death--the life of the King. Go! fly!” - -This second messenger crosses to where Henry is just mounting on -horseback. “Alas! alas! he does not heed my messenger. Let me go,” cries -the Queen in the most violent agitation; “I will myself descend and -speak with his Majesty.” She rushes forward through the astonished -courtiers to where a flight of steps leads below into the enclosure. As -her foot is on the topmost stair, she sees the King gallop forth, fully -equipped, in face of the masked knight. The Queen is ashy pale, her -large eyes are fixed on the King, her white lips tremble. She stands -motionless, supported by the balustrade. Her daughters, the brides, and -her ladies gather round her, full of wonder. By a great effort she -masters her agitation, and slowly turns back into a retiring-room behind -the dais, and seats herself on her chair of state. Then with solemn -gesture she addresses herself to the princesses-- - -“Elizabeth, my daughter, and you, Marguerite, come hither. My sons, -Francis and Charles, come to me all of you quickly.” At her invitation -they assemble around her in astonishment. “Alas! my children, you are -all orphans and I am a widow. I have seen it. It is true. Now, while I -speak, the lance is pointed that will pierce the King. Your father must -die, my children. I know it and I cannot save him.” - -While they all press with pitying looks around her, trying to console -yet unable to comprehend her meaning, she slowly rises. “Let us, my -children,” says she in a hollow voice, “pray for the King’s soul.” She -casts herself on the ground and folds her hands in silent prayer. Her -children kneel around her. There is a great silence. Then a loud cry is -heard from below--“The King is wounded; the King is unhorsed; the King -bleeds; _en avant_ to the King!” Catherine rises. She is calm now and -perfectly composed. She approaches the wooden steps leading into the -arena below. There she sees, stretched on the ground, the King -insensible, his face bathed in blood, pierced in the eye by the lance of -the masked knight, who has fled. Henry is mortally wounded, and is -borne, as the Queen saw in her dream, into a strange chamber in the -Palace des Tournelles, hard by. After some days of horrible agony he -expires, aged forty-one. The masked knight struck but a random blow, and -was held innocent of all malice. He was the Sieur de Montgomeri, -ancestor of the present Earls of Eglinton. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE WIDOWED QUEEN. - - -Even while the King lay dying, Catherine gave a taste of her vindictive -character by ordering Diane de Poitiers instantly to quit the Louvre; to -deliver up the crown jewels; and to make over the possession of the -Château of Chenonceau, in Touraine, to herself. Chenonceau was -Catherine’s “Naboth’s vineyard.” From a girl, when she had often visited -it in company with her father-in-law, Francis, she had longed to possess -this lovely woodland palace, beside the clear waters of the river Cher. -To her inexpressible disgust, her husband, when he became King, -presented it to “the old hag,” Diane, Duchesse de Valentinois. - -When Diane, sitting lonely at the Louvre, for Henry II. was dying at the -Palace des Tournelles received the Queen’s message, she turned -indignantly to the messenger and angrily asked, “Is the King then dead?” -“No, madame, but his wound is pronounced mortal; he cannot last out the -day.” - -“Tell the Queen,” said Diane haughtily, “that her reign has not yet -begun. I am mistress over her and the kingdom as long as the King lives. -If he dies I care little how much she insults me. I shall be too -wretched even to heed her.” - -As Regent, Catherine’s real character appeared. She revelled in power. -Gifted with a masculine understanding and a thorough aptitude for state -business, she was also inscrutable, stern, and cruel. She believed in no -one, and had faith in nothing save the prediction of astrologers and the -course of the stars, to which she gave unquestioning belief. As in the -days of her girlhood, Catherine (always armed with a concealed dagger, -its blade dipped in poison) traded on the weaknesses of those around -her. She intrigued when she could not command, and fascinated the victim -she dared not attack. All who stood in the way of her ambition were -“_removed_.” None can tell how many she hurried to an untimely grave. -The direful traditions of her race, the philters, the perfumes, the -powders, swift and deadly poisons, were imported by her into France. Her -cunning hands could infuse death into the fairest and the freshest -flowers. She had poisons for gloves and handkerchiefs, for the folds of -royal robes, for the edge of gemmed drinking cups, for rich and savory -dishes. She stands accused of having poisoned the Queen of Navarre, -mother of Henry IV.,[8] in a pair of gloves; and, spite of the trial -and execution of Sebastian Montecucolli, she was held guilty of having -compassed the death of her brother-in-law, the Dauphin, in a cup of -water, thus opening the throne for her husband and herself. - -Within her brain, fertile in evil, was conceived the massacre of St. -Bartholomew--to exceed the horrors of the Sicilian Vespers under John of -Procida--the plan of which she discussed years before the event with -Philip II. and his minister, the Duke of Alva, whom she met at Bayonne, -when she visited there her daughter, Elizabeth of Spain. Catherine was -true to no party and faithful to no creed. During her long government -she cajoled alike Catholics and Protestants. She balanced Guise against -Coligni, and Condé against Navarre, as suited her immediate purpose. -Provided the end she proposed was attained, she cared nothing for the -means. Although attached to her children in infancy, before supreme -power had come within her grasp, she did not hesitate to sacrifice them -later to her political intrigues. - -For her youngest daughter--the bewitching Marguerite, frail Queen of -Navarre--she cared not at all. Her autobiography is filled with details -of her mother’s falseness and unkindness. As to her sons, all--save -Francis, who died at eighteen--were initiated early into vice. Their -hands were soon red with blood. Long before they reached manhood they -were steeped in debauchery and left the cares of government entirely to -their mother. Her Court--an oasis of delight and artistic repose, in an -age of bloodshed (for Catherine was a true Medici, and loved artists and -the art, splendour and expenditure)--was as fatal as the gardens of -Armida to virtue, truth, and honour. She surrounded herself with -dissipated nobles, subservient courtiers, venal nymphs, and impure -enchantresses, all ready to barter their souls and bodies in the service -of their Queen. The names of the forty noble demoiselles by whom -Catherine was always attended, are duly recorded by Brantôme. - -“Know, my cousin,” said the Queen, speaking to the Duc de Guise, “that -my maids of honour are the best allies of the royal cause.” - -She imported ready-witted Italians, actors and singers, who played at a -theatre within the Hôtel Bourbon at Paris; _saltimbanques_ and -rope-dancers, who paraded the streets; astrologers, like Ruggiero; -jewellers, like Zametti; and bankers, like Gondi. These men were ready -to sell themselves for any infamy; to call on the stars for confirmation -of their prophesies; to tempt spendthrift princes with ample supply of -ready cash; to insinuate themselves into the confidence of unwary -nobles; all to serve their royal mistress as spies. - -A woman of such powerful mind, infinite resource, and unscrupulous will, -overawed and oppressed her children. During the three successive reigns -of her sons, Francis II., Charles IX., and Henry III., Catherine ruled -with the iron hand of a mediæval despot. Yet her cruelty, perfidy, and -statescraft, were worse than useless. She lived to see the chivalric -race of Valois degraded; her favourite child Anjou, Henry III., driven -like a dog from Paris, by Henri de Guise; and son after son go down -childless to a dishonoured grave. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -MARY STUART AND HER HUSBAND. - - -Francis II., aged sixteen, eldest son of Henry II., is nominally King of -France. He is gentle and affectionate (strange qualities for a son of -Catherine), well principled, and not without understanding. Born with a -feeble constitution and badly educated, he lacks vigour both of mind and -body to grasp the reigns of government in a period so stormy--a period -when Guise is at variance with Condé, and the nation is distracted -between Catholic and Protestant intrigues. Though yet a boy, Francis is -married to Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland, daughter of James V. and Mary -of Lorraine, and niece to the Duc de Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine. - -Francis and Mary have known each other from earliest childhood. At the -age of five the little Scottish Princess was sent to the Louvre to be -educated with her royal cousins. Even at that tender age she was the -delight and wonder of the Court--a little northern rosebud, transplanted -into a southern climate, by-and-by to expand into a perfect flower. Her -sweet temper, beauty, and winning manners gained all hearts. She was, -moreover, says Brantôme, quiet, discreet, and accomplished. -Accomplished, indeed, as well as learned, for, at fourteen, the -fascinating girl recited a Latin oration of her own composition in the -great gallery of the Louvre, before her future father-in-law, King -Henry, and the whole Court, to the effect “that women ought to rival, -if not to excel, men in learning.” She spoke with such composure, her -voice was so melodious, her gesture so graceful, and her person so -lovely, that the King publicly embraced her, and swore a great oath that -she alone was fit to marry with the Dauphin. Forthwith he betrothed her -to his son Francis. This marriage between a youth and a girl yet in -their teens was a dream of love, short, but without alloy. - -Catherine rules, and Francis and Mary Stuart, too young and careless to -desire any life but a perpetual holiday in each others company, tremble -at her frown and implicitly obey her. - -Now and then Mary’s maternal uncles, the princes of Lorraine, Francis, -the great Duc de Guise (the same who took Calais and broke the English -Queen’s heart), and the Cardinal de Lorraine, the proudest and falsest -prelate in the sacred college,[9] endeavour to traverse the designs of -Catherine, and to inspire their beautiful niece with a taste for -intrigue--under their guidance, be it well understood. But all such -attempts are useless. Mary loves poetry and music, revels in banquets -and masques, hunts and games, and toys with her boy-husband, of whose -society she never wearies. - -Nevertheless, the Queen-mother hates her, accuses her of acting the part -of a spy for her uncles, the Guises, and, sneering, speaks of her as -“une petite reinette qui fait tourner toutes les tétes.” - -The Court is at Amboise, that majestic castle planted on a pile of -sombre rocks that cast gloomy shadows across the waters of the Loire, -widened at this spot into the magnitude of a lake, the river being -divided by an island and crossed by two bridges. - -Over these bridges they come, a glittering procession, preceded by -archers and attended by pages and men-at-arms. Francis rides in front; -he is tall, slight, and elegantly formed, and sits his horse with -elegant grace. His grey, almond-shaped eyes sparkle as he turns them -upon the young Queen riding at his side. Mary is seated on a dark -palfrey. She is dressed in a white robe, fastened from the neck -downwards with jewelled buttons. The robe itself is studded with gold -embroidery and trimmed with ermine. A ruff of fine lace, and a chain of -gold, from which hangs a medallion, are round her slender throat. Her -hair is drawn back from her forehead, and a little pointed cap, set with -jewels, to which is attached a thin white veil falling behind, sets off -the chiselled features, the matchless eyes, and exquisite complexion of -her fair young face. - -Catherine and the Duc de Guise, the Cardinal de Lorraine and the Duc de -Nemours follow. Behind them the gay multitude of a luxurious Court fills -up the causeway. Francis has a prepossessing face, but looks pale and -ill. As they ride, side by side, Mary watches him with tender anxiety. -Her sweet eyes rest on him as she speaks, and she caressingly places her -hand upon his saddle-bow as they ascend the rocky steep leading to the -castle. - -When they dismount, the Queen-mother--her hard face set into a -frown--passes, without speaking a word, into her own apartments. The Duc -de Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine also retire with gloomy looks. Not -a single word do either of them address to Francis or to Mary. The -young sovereigns enter the royal chambers, a stately suite of -apartments, the lofty windows of which, reaching from ceiling to floor, -overlook the river. Folding doors open into a gallery wainscoted with -oak richly gilt, with a carved ceiling richly emblazoned with -coats-of-arms. The walls are covered with crimson brocade set in heavy -frames of carved gold; chandeliers of glittering pendants hang from open -rafters formed of various-coloured wood arranged in mosaic patterns. -Beyond is a retiring room, hung with choice tapestry of flowers and -fruit on a violet ground, let into arabesque borders of white and gold. -Inlaid tables of marble bear statues and tazzas of alabaster and enamel. -Clustered candelabra of coloured Venetian glass hold perfumed candles, -and the flowers of the spring are placed in cups and vases of rarest -pottery. - -Mary, with a wave of her hand, dismisses her attendants. Francis sinks -into a chair beside an open window, utterly exhausted. He sighs, leans -back his head, and closes his eyes. - -“_Mon amour_,” says Mary, throwing her arms round him, and kissing his -white lips, “you are very weary. Tell me--why is the Queen-mother so -grave and silent? When I spoke she did not answer me. My uncles, too, -frighten me with their black looks. Tell me, Francis, what have I done?” - -“Done, sweetest?--nothing,” answered Francis, unclosing his eyes, and -looking at her. “Our mother is busied with affairs of state, as are also -your uncles. There is much to disquiet them.” Francis draws her closer -to him, laying his head upon her shoulder wearily, and again closing his -eyes. “It is some conspiracy against her and your uncles--the -Guises--_mignonne_,” added he, whispering into her ear. - -“Conspiracy! Holy Virgin, how dreadful! Why did you not tell me this -before we left Blois?” - -“I feared to frighten you, dear love, ere we were safe within the thick -walls of this old fortress.” - -Mary starts up and seizes his hand. - -“Tell me, tell me,” she says, in an unsteady voice, “what is this -conspiracy?” - -“A plot of the Huguenots, in which Condé and the Coligni are concerned,” -replies Francis, roused by her vehemence into attention. “Did you not -mark how suddenly our uncle, Francis of Guise, appeared at Blois, and -that he was closeted with her Majesty for hours?” Mary, her eyes -extended to their utmost limit and fixed on his, bows her head in -assent. “Did we not leave immediately after the interview for Amboise? -Did not that make you suspicious?” - -“No, Francis; for you said that we came here to hold a joust and to hunt -in the forest of Chanteloup. How could I doubt your word? Oh! this is -horrible!” - -“We came to Amboise, _ma mie_, because it is a stronghold, and Blois is -an open town.” - -“Do you know no more? or will you still deceive me?” asks Mary eagerly, -looking at him with tearful eyes. - -“My mother told me that the Duc de Guise was informed by the Catholics -of England (which tidings have been since confirmed), that the Huguenots -are arming in force, that they are headed by Condé, that they are -plotting to imprison the Queen-mother and your uncles, and to carry you -and me to Paris by force.” - -“By force? Would they lay hands on us? Oh, Francis, are we safe in this -castle?” exclaims Mary, clasping her hands. “Will our guards defend us? -Are the walls manned? Is the town faithful? Are there plenty of troops -to guard the bridges?” - -As she speaks, Mary trembles so violently that she has slid from her -chair and sinks upon the ground, clinging to Francis in an agony of -fear. - -“Courage, my _reinette_! rise up, and sit beside me,” and Francis raises -her in his arms and replaces her on her chair. “Here we are safe. This -conspiracy is not directed against us, Mary. The people say my mother -and the Guises rule, not I, the anointed King. The Huguenots want to -carry us off to Paris for our good. _Pardieu!_ I know little of the plot -myself as yet; my mother refused to tell me. Anyhow, we are secure here -at Amboise from Turk, Jew, or Huguenot, so cheer up, my lovely queen!” - -As Mary looks up again further to question him, he stops her mouth with -kisses. - -“Let us leave all to the Queen-mother. She is wise, and governs for us -while we are young. She loves not to be questioned. Sweetest, I am -weary, give me a cup of wine; let me lie in your closet, and you shall -sing me to sleep with your lute.” - -“But, Francis,” still urges Mary, gently disengaging herself from his -arms as he leads her away, “surely my uncles must be in great danger; a -conspiracy perhaps means an assassination. I beseech you let me go and -question them myself.” - -“_Nenni_,” answers Francis, drawing her to him. “You shall come with me. -I will not part with you for a single instant. Ah! _mignonne_, if you -knew how my head aches, you would ask me no more questions, or I shall -faint.” - -Mary’s expressive face changes as the April sunshine. Her eyes fill with -tears of tenderness as she leads Francis to a small closet in a turret -exclusively her own,--a _chinoiserie_, quaint and bright as the plumage -of a bird,--and seats him, supported by a pile of pillows, on a -couch--luxurious for that period of stiff-backed chairs and wooden -benches. - -“Talk to me,” says Francis, smoothing her abundant hair, which hung in -dark masses on her shoulders as she knelt at his feet, “or, better -still, sing to me, I love to hear your soft voice; only, no more -politics--not a word of affairs of state, Mary. Sing to me those verses -you showed to Ronsard, about the knight who leapt into a deep stream to -pluck a flower for his love and was drowned by the spell of a jealous -mermaid who watched him from among the flags.” - -Mary rises and fetches her lute. All expression of fear has left her -face. Reassured by Francis and occupied alone by him, she forgets not -only the Huguenots and the conspiracy, but the whole world, beside the -boy-husband, who bends lovingly over her as she tries the strings of her -instrument. So let us leave them as they sit, two happy children, side -by side, bathed in the brief sunshine of a changeful day in March, now -singing, now talking of country fêtes, especially of a _carrousel_ to -take place on the morrow in the courtyard of the castle, in which the -Grand Prieur is to ride disguised as a gipsy woman and carry a monkey on -his back for a child! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -A TRAITOR. - - -The Queen-mother sits alone; a look of care overshadows her face; her -prominent eyes are fixed and glassy. From her window she can gaze at an -old familiar scene, the terrace and parterre bordered by lime walks, -planted by Francis I., where she has romped in many a game of -_cache-cache_ with him. - -Presently she rises and summons an attendant from the antechamber. - -“Call hither to me Maître Avenelle,” says she to the dainty page who -waits her command. - -Avenelle, a lawyer and a Huguenot, is the friend of Barri, Seigneur de -la Renaudie, the nominal leader of the Huguenot plot; of which the Duc -de Guise has been warned by the Catholics of England. Avenelle has, for -a heavy bribe, been gained over in Paris by the Duke’s secretary, -Marmagne; he has come to Amboise to betray his friends “of the religion” -by revealing to the Queen-mother all he knows of this vast Huguenot -conspiracy, secretly headed by the Prince de Condé and by Admiral -Coligni. - -Avenelle enters and bows low before the Queen who is seated opposite to -him at a writing-table. He is sallow and wasted-looking, with a grave -face and an anxious eye; a tremor passes over him as he suddenly -encounters the dark eyes of Catherine fixed upon him. - -“Have you seen the Duc de Guise?” says she haughtily, shading her face -with her hand the better to observe him, as he stands before her, -motionless, and pale with fear. - -“Yes, madame,” replies he, again humbly bowing; “I come now from his -chamber, whither I was conducted by M. Marmagne, his secretary.” - -“And you have confided to him all you know of this plot?” - -“I have, madame, all.” - -“Is it entirely composed of Huguenots?” - -“It is, madame.” - -“What are the numbers?” - -“Perhaps two thousand, your Majesty.” - -Catherine starts, the lines on her face deepen, and her eyes glitter -with astonishment and rage. - -“Who is at the head of these rebels?” she asks suddenly, after pausing a -few moments. - -Avenelle trembles violently; the savage tone of her voice and her -imperious manner show him his danger. His teeth chatter, and drops of -moisture trickle down his forehead. So great is his alarm that, in spite -of his efforts to reply, his voice fails him. Catherine, her eyes -riveted on his, waves her hand with an impatient gesture. - -“Why do not you answer me, Maître Avenelle? If you are waiting to invent -a lie with which to deceive me, believe me, such deceit is useless. The -torture-chamber is at hand; the screw will make you speak.” - -“Oh, madame,” gasps Avenelle, making a successful effort to recover his -voice, “I had no intention to deceive your Majesty; I am come to tell -you all I know. It was a passing weakness that overcame me.” - -“Who, then, I again ask,” says the Queen, taking a pen in her hand in -order to note his reply, “who is at the head of this plot?” - -“Madame, it is secretly headed by that heretic, the Prince de Condé. -Coligni knows of it, as does also his brother d’Andelot, and the -Cardinal de Châtillon. The nominal leader, Barri de la Renaudie, is but -a subordinate acting under their orders.” - -“Heretics do you call them; are not you, then, yourself a Huguenot?” - -“Madame, I was,” replies Avenelle, obsequiously, with an effort to look -fearless, for Catherine’s glittering eyes are still upon him; “but his -Highness, the Duc de Guise, has induced me to recant my errors.” - -“Ah!” says Catherine, smiling sarcastically; “I did not know our cousin -of Guise troubled himself with the souls of his enemies. But this La -Renaudie, was he not your friend? Did he not lodge with you in Paris?” - -“He did lodge, for a brief space, in my house in Paris, madame; but I -have no friend that is not a loyal subject to your Majesty.” Avenelle -now speaks more boldly. - -Catherine eyes him from head to foot with a glance of infinite contempt. -“I am glad to hear this for your own sake, Maître Avenelle,” she replies -drily. “What is the precise purpose of this plot?” - -“Madame, it is said by the Huguenots that your Majesty, not your son, -his Majesty Francis II., governs, and that under your rule no justice -will ever be done to those of ‘the religion’; that your Majesty seeks -counsel of the Duc de Guise and of his brother, the Cardinal de -Lorraine, who are even more bitterly opposed than yourself to their -interests. Therefore they have addressed themselves to the Prince de -Condé, who is believed to share their opinions both political and -religious, for present redress. The conspirators propose, madame, to -place his Highness the Prince de Condé on the throne as Regent, until -such measures are taken as will insure their independence; imprison your -Majesty; send the young King and Queen to some unfortified place--such -as Blois or Chenonceau--and banish the noble Duke and his brother the -Cardinal from France.” - -While Avenelle, speaking rapidly, gives these details, Catherine sits -unmoved. As he proceeds her eyes never leave him, and her hands, -singularly small and delicate, are clenched upon her velvet robe. When -he has done speaking a look of absolute fury passes over her face. There -is a lengthened silence, during which her head sinks on her breast and -she remains lost in thought. When she looks up all passion has faded out -of her face. She appears as impassible as a statue, and speaks in a -clear metallic voice which betrays no vestige of emotion. - -“Have these conspirators many adherents, Maître Avenelle?” - -“I fear so, madame. Nearly two thousand are gathering together, from -various points, at Nantes. On the 15th of the present month of March -they would have attacked Blois. Had your Majesty not received timely -warning and retreated to this fortified castle, these rebellious -gentlemen would have captured your sacred person and that of our -Sovereign and the young Queen. They would have kept you imprisoned -until you had consented to abdicate the throne or to dismiss our great -Catholic Princes of Lorraine, to whom and to your Majesty all evil -influence is attributed.” - -“Influence? Yes, influence enough to punish traitors, heretics, and -_spies_!” exclaims Catherine, and she darts a fierce look at Avenelle, -who, though still pale as death, is now more composed, and meets her -glance without flinching. He knows his life is in the balance, and he -thinks he reads the Queen-mother rightly, that he may best ensure it by -showing no cowardice. - -“Is this all you know, Maître Avenelle?” says the Queen, coldly. - -“Yes, madame; and I trust you will remember that I have been the means -of saving your Majesty and the young King from imprisonment, perhaps -from death.” - -Catherine turns her terrible eyes full upon Avenelle. “Maître Avenelle, -I appreciate both your disinterestedness and your loyalty,” replies she, -with a bitter sneer. “You, sir, will be kept a prisoner in this castle -until his Majesty’s council have tested the truth of what you say. We -may _use_ such as you, but we mistrust them and we despise them. If you -have spoken the truth, your life shall be spared, but you will leave -France for ever. If you have lied, you will die.” As these words fall -from her lips and are echoed through the lofty chamber, she strikes on a -sharp metal placed before her. Two guards immediately enter and remove -Avenelle in custody. - -Catherine again strikes on the metal instrument, summons her attendant, -and desires that Francis, - -[Illustration: SPIRAL STAIRCASE, CHÂTEAU OF BLOIS. - -(By permission of Neurdein, Paris.)] - -Duc de Guise, and the Cardinal de Lorraine shall attend her. - -In this interview between the heads of the Catholic party their plan of -action is decided. A council of state is to be at once called at -Amboise, to which the Huguenot chiefs, the Prince of Condé, the Admiral -Coligni, his brother d’Andelot, the Cardinal de Châtillon, and others -are to be invited to attend; and a conciliatory edict in favour of the -Calvinists, signed by the King, is to be proclaimed. - -Thus the Reformed party will be thrown completely off their guard, and -La Renaudie and the conspirators, emboldened by the apparent security -and ignorance of the government, will gather about Amboise, the better -to carry out their designs of capturing the King, the Queen, and the -Queen-mother, and banishing or killing the Guises, her supposed evil -counsellors. But another and secret condition is appended to this edict -which would at once, if known, have awakened the suspicions and driven -back from any approach to Amboise both the conspirators and the great -chiefs of the Huguenot party. - -This secret condition is that Francis, Duc de Guise, shall be forthwith -nominated Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, and be invested with almost -absolute power. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -THE COUNCIL OF STATE. - - -The council assembles in a sombre chamber panelled with dark oak, -crossed by open rafters--a chamber that had remained unaltered since the -days of Louis XI. A long table stands in the centre surrounded with -leather chairs heavily carved, on which are seated the members of the -council. Condé, who is of royal blood, takes the highest place on the -Calvinist side. He is somewhat below middle height and delicately -formed. His complexion is fair, his face comely; his dark eyes, sunk -deep in his head, bright with the power of intellect, are both cunning -and piercing. Nevertheless, it is a veiled face and betrays nothing. His -dress is dark and simple, yet studiously calculated to display to the -best advantage his supple and elegant figure. There is an air of -authority about him that betrays itself unwittingly in every glance he -casts around the room. He is a man born to command. - -Next to him is a man older, sturdier, rougher; a powerfully built man, -who sits erect and firm in his chair. His head is covered with long -white hair; he has overhanging eyebrows, a massive forehead, and a -firmly-closed mouth. His weather-beaten face and sunken cheeks show that -he has lived a life of exposure and privation--a man thus to meet -unmoved peril or death. He wears a homely suit of black woollen stuff -much worn, and as he sits he leans forward, plunged in deep thought. -This is Admiral Coligni. Beside him is his brother D’Andelot, slighter -and much younger: he is dressed with the same simplicity as the Admiral, -but wants that look of iron resolve and fanatic zeal which at the first -glance stamps Coligny as a hero. Châtillon has placed himself beside his -brother prelate of Lorraine. Each wears the scarlet robe of a cardinal, -over which falls a deep edging of open guipure lace; their broad red -hats, tasselled with silken cords, lie on the table before them. -Lorraine is thin and dark, with a treacherous eye and a prevailing -expression of haughty unconcern. Châtillon is bland and mild, but withal -shrewd and astute; a smile rests upon his thin lips as his eyes travel -round the table, peering into every face, while from time to time he -whispers some observation to the Cardinal de Lorraine, the Minister of -State, who effects not to hear him. - -A door opens within a carved recess or dais raised one step from the -floor, and Francis and Mary appear. The whole council rises and salutes -the young King and Queen. They seat themselves under a purple velvet -canopy embroidered in gold with fleurs-de-lys and the oriflamme. They -are followed by Catherine and Francis Duc de Guise, a man of majestic -presence and lofty stature. He is spare, like the Cardinal, but his -eager eye and sharply cut features, on which many a wrinkle has -gathered, proclaim the man of action and the warrior, ardent in the path -of glory, prompt, bold, and unscrupulous. At the sight of Coligni, -Condé, and Châtillon he knits his brows, and a sinister expression -passes over his face which deepens into a look of actual cruelty as he -silently takes his place next to Catherine de’ Medici. - -The young King and Queen sit motionless side by side, like two children -who are permitted to witness a solemn ceremony upon the promise of -silence and tranquillity. They are both curious and attentive. Not all -Mary Stuart’s questions have elicited further information from her -uncles, and Francis, too feeble in health to be energetic, is satisfied -with the knowledge that the Queen-mother occupies herself with affairs -of state. - -The Queen-mother, with a curious smile upon her face, stands for a few -moments on the estrade facing the council-chamber. She coldly receives -the chiefs of the Reformed faith, but her welcome is studiously polite. -With the same grave courtesy she greets the Guises, Nemours, and the -other Catholic princes. All are now seated in a circle of which Francis -and Mary, motionless under the canopy of state, form the centre. -Catherine rises from her chair and in a guarded address speaks of danger -to the Crown from the Huguenot party, darkly hinting at a treasonable -plot in which some near the throne are implicated, and she calls on -those lords favourable to the Reformed religion for advice and support -in this emergency. - -As she speaks an evil light gathers in her eye, especially when she -declares that she has at this time summoned her son’s trusty counsellors -of the Calvinist faith in order to consider an edict of pacification, -calculated to conciliate _all_ his Majesty’s subjects, and to rally -_all_ his faithful servants round his throne. - -Her composed and serious countenance, the grave deliberation of her -discourse, her frank yet stately avowal of peril to the State and -desire for counsel in an hour of danger, are all so admirably simulated -that those not aware of her perfidy are completely duped. - -Francis, her son, listens with wonder to his mother’s words, believing, -as he does, that she is both indignant and alarmed at the machinations -of that very party she has called to Amboise and which she now proposes -to propitiate. - -The Duc de Guise, who perfectly understands her drift, secretly smiles -at this fresh proof of the dissimulation and astuteness of his cousin -who caresses ere she grasps her prey. When she has ended he loudly -applauds her conciliatory resolutions, and by so doing astonishes still -more the unsuspicious Francis, as well as his niece Mary whose wondering -eyes are fixed on him. - -As to Coligni and the other Protestants, they fall blindfolded into the -snare spread for them by Catherine, all save the Prince de Condé, who, -crafty and treacherous himself, is more suspicious of others. He has -marked, too, the Queen-mother’s words, “some near the throne,” and -thinks he knows to whom they are applied. However, he immediately rises -and in a few well-chosen phrases declares himself ready to defend the -royal cause with his life. The Admiral next speaks, and in an eloquent -harangue he unsuspectingly dilates on his own views of the present -administration, and reproves the ambition of those princes who usurp the -government of France. “There are two millions of Protestants in the -kingdom,” he says, “who look to the heads of their own faith for relief -from the tyranny and injustice under which they have long languished. -Two millions,” repeats Coligni in a grave, sad voice, looking -steadfastly round the circle, “who seek to live at peace, industrious, -tranquil, loyal. But these two millions demand that they shall enjoy -equal privileges with the least of his Majesty’s Catholic subjects. This -is now refused. They ask to be neither suspected, watched, nor wilfully -persecuted. If any conspiracy exists, such as is known to her Majesty -the Queen-mother--and I accept her statement as true with the deepest -sorrow--it can only arise from the bitter feeling engendered by the -disgrace of these Calvinistic subjects of this realm who are uniformly -treated as aliens, and repulsed with cruel persistency from such places -of trust and honour as their services have entitled them to enjoy. Let -these heavy grievances be removed, let his Majesty reign for himself -_alone_”--and Coligni’s eye rests on the Duc de Guise and the -Queen-mother--“with equal favour over both parties, Catholic as well as -Protestant. Let the conciliatory edict now before the council be made -public, and I, Gaspard de Coligni, bind myself upon my plighted word as -a noble and upon my conscience as a devout Calvinist, that the House of -Valois will for ever live in the hearts of our people, and receive from -them as entire a devotion as ever animated subject to his sovereign.” - -A deep silence follows Coligni’s address, and the Duc de Guise and the -Cardinal de Lorraine exchange glances of indignation. - -Francis has become more and more mystified. Timid and inexperienced, he -fears to betray his absolute ignorance of state affairs, and perhaps -incense his mother by indiscreet questions. But when the parchment, -heavy with seals of state, is produced and borne to him by the -Chancellor for signature, he can no longer conceal his astonishment that -he should be called on to sign an edict giving both liberty and -protection to those very persons whom the Queen-mother and his uncles -had represented to him as his mortal enemies. He looks so long and -earnestly at Catherine, that she, fearing that by one mistaken word he -is about to destroy the whole fabric of her masterly dissimulation, -rises quickly from the arm-chair in which she sits, and advancing -quickly towards him with a commanding look and imperious gesture, takes -the pen from the hand of the Chancellor and presents it to him herself. - -“Sign, my son,” says she, “this edict which has been framed by the -unanimous advice of your council in favour of your loyal subjects. Fear -not to sanction this royal act of mercy. Your Majesty is still too young -to understand the far-seeing wisdom of the act. Take it on my word, -Sire, take it _now_ on my word. You will understand it better later.” - -“Truly, madame,” replies the King, “I call God to witness that I desire -the good of all my subjects, Huguenot and Catholic.” So saying he takes -the pen and signs the edict. The council forthwith breaks up, and with -what wondering curiosity on the part of the King and Mary, who dare ask -no questions, cannot be told. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -CATHERINE’S VENGEANCE. - - -Meanwhile the conspirators, emboldened by the news of the edict of -Amboise, carried out their purpose exactly as the Queen-mother intended, -with perfect confidence and little concealment. Catherine’s object was -to draw them towards Amboise and there destroy them. Band after band, in -small detachments the better to avoid suspicion, rode up from Nantes -where they lay, to concentrate in force on the Loire and within Amboise -itself. When sufficiently strong they proposed to carry off the King and -Queen by a _coup-de-main_, make away with the Jesuitical Guises, banish -the Queen-mother to some distant fortress, and place Condé on the throne -as Regent. - -They came through the plains of Touraine, halting beside solitary farms, -in the vineyards, under the willows and tufted underwood that border the -rivers, and through the dark forests that lie on the hills behind -Amboise. Band after band reached certain points, halted at the spots -indicated to them, and met other detachments with whom they were to act; -but not one of them was heard of more. - -The walls of the castle of Amboise bristled with troops, and the open -country towards Loches was full of soldiers. Trusty guards stationed on -the double bridge across the Loire were instructed by the Duc de Guise, -who wielded absolute power and who had now gained minute knowledge of -the plot, to take all - -[Illustration: COUÇY.] - -suspected persons prisoners, or if needful, slay them as they stood. -Crowds of prisoners poured into Amboise, tied together and driven like -cattle to the shambles. Those who were known were reserved for a further -purpose, the rest--the herd--were either hanged or drowned. The Loire -was full of floating corpses. - -Condé, wary with the wariness of his race, ventured not again to -Amboise. Coligni and his brother knew not how to oppose a power -exercised in the royal name, but Jean Barri de la Renaudie, the -ostensible leader of the conspiracy and a bold adventurer, alarmed at -the mysterious disappearance of party after party of his followers, set -out in rash haste towards Amboise. He too was watched for and expected -among the wooded hills of the forest of Château Renaud. - -La Renaudie had encamped in the woods towards morning after advancing -under cover of the night from Niort. Suddenly his detachment was -approached by two or three horsemen, who, after reconnoitring for a few -moments, retreated. These were evidently the advance guard of the royal -forces. La Renaudie immediately broke up his camp and dashed on towards -Amboise, concealed by the overhanging trees on the banks of a stream -which flowed through a wild defile. In a hollow of the river, among beds -of stone and sand, he was fallen upon by a regiment of royal troops who -had tracked and finally caught him as in a trap. His own cousin -Pardilliac commanded the attack, he recognised him by the flag. A deadly -struggle ensued, in which both cousins fell. La Renaudie’s corpse, -carried in triumph to Amboise, was hung in chains over the bridge. - -Then Condé, Coligni, and the other Calvinists came fully to understand -what the edict of conciliation really meant. - -The Castle of Amboise during all this time had been strictly guarded; -every door was watched, every gallery was full of troops; the garden and -the walled plateau, within which stands the beautiful little votive -chapel erected by Anne of Brittany, was like a camp. Silence, suspicion, -and terror were on every face. Although the Queen-mother, with her -crafty smiles and unruffled brow, affected entire ignorance and exhorted -“la petite reinette,” as she called Mary, to hunt in the adjoining -forest, and to assemble the Court in the state rooms with the usual -banquets and festivities, Mary, pale and anxious, remained shut up with -Francis in her private apartments. - -“My uncle,” said Francis to the Duc de Guise whom he met leaving the -Queen-mother’s retiring-room, “I must know what all these precautions -mean. Why are so many troops encamped about the castle, the guards -doubled, and the gates closed? Why do you avoid me and the Queen? Uncle, -I insist on knowing more.” - -“It is nothing, Sire--nothing,” faltered the Duke, who, dissembler as he -was, could scarcely conceal the confusion the King’s questions caused -him. “A trifling conspiracy has been discovered, a few rebels have been -caught, your Majesty’s leniency has been abused by some false Huguenots. -These troops assembled about the castle are your Majesty’s trusty guards -brought here to ensure the maintenance of the terms of the edict.” - -“But, uncle, the Queen and I hear the clash of arms and firing on the -bridges as against an enemy. I cannot sleep, so great is the tumult. -What have I done that my people should mistrust me? Huguenots and -Catholics are alike my subjects. Are you sure, uncle, that it is not you -and my mother that they hate? I would that you would all go away for a -while and let me rule alone, then my people would know me.” - -When all the Huguenot conspirators, about two thousand in number, were -either massacred or imprisoned, Catherine threw off the mask. She called -to her Francis and the young Queen. “My children,” said she, “a plot has -been discovered by which the Prince de Condé was to be made Regent. You -and the Queen were to be shut up for life, or murdered perhaps. Such as -remain unpunished of the enemies of the House of Valois are about to be -executed on the southern esplanade of the castle. You are too young to -be instructed in all these details, but, my son, when you signed that -edict, I told you I would afterwards explain it--now come and behold the -reason. Mary, my _reinette_, do not turn so pale, you will need to learn -to be both stern and brave to rule your rough subjects the Scotch.” - -Catherine, erect and calm, led the way to the state apartments -overlooking on either side the garden, terrace, and river. Large -mullioned windows had by the command of Francis I. taken the place of -the narrow lights of the older fortress. He had changed the esplanade -and southern terraced front within the walls and the balconied windows -to the north overlooking the town, into that union of _manoir_ and -château which he first created. - -The boy-King and Queen followed tremblingly the steps of their mother, -who strode on in front with triumphant alacrity. Without, on the -pleasant terrace bordered by walls now bristling with guns and alive -with guards and archers, on the pinnacles and fretted roof of the votive -chapel, which stands to the right in a tuft of trees inside a bastion, -the sun shone brightly, but the blue sky and the laughing face of nature -seemed but to mock the hideous spectacle in front. Close under the -windows of the central gallery, a scaffold was erected covered with -black, on which stood an executioner masked, clothed in a red robe. Long -lines of prisoners packed closely together, a dismal crowd, wan and -emaciated by imprisonment in the loathsome holes of the mediæval castle, -stood by hundreds ranged against the outer walls and those of the -chapel, guarded by archers and musketeers; as if such despairing -wretches, about to be butchered like cattle in the shambles, needed -guarding! The windows of the royal gallery were wide open, flags -streamed from the architraves, and a loggia, or covered balcony, had -been prepared, hung with crimson velvet, with seats for the royal -princes. - -Within the gallery the whole Court stood ranged against the sculptured -walls. Catherine entered first. With an imperious gesture she signed to -Mary, who clung, white as death, to her husband, to take her place under -a royal canopy placed in the centre of the window. Francis she drew into -a chair beside herself, the Chancellor, the Duc de Guise, his brother -the Cardinal, and the Duc de Nemours seated themselves near. Their -appearance was the signal to begin the slaughter. Prisoner after -prisoner was dragged up beneath the loggia to the scaffold and hastily -despatched. Cries of agony were drowned - -[Illustration: THE GARDENS OF THE TUILERIES, PARIS] - -in the screeching of fifes and the loud braying of trumpets. The -mutilated bodies were flung on one side to be cast into the river, the -heads borne away to be placed upon the bridge. Blood ran in streams and -scented the fresh spring breezes. The executioner wearily rested from -his labour, and another masked figure, dressed like himself, in red from -head to foot, took his place. - -Spellbound and speechless sat the young Queen. A look of horror was on -her face. She had clutched the hand of Francis as she sat down, and ere -a few minutes had passed, she had fainted. - -Catherine, who, wholly unmoved, was contemplating the death of her -enemies the Huguenots, turned with a terrible frown towards her son, -handing him some strong essence with which to revive Mary. As her senses -returned, even the basilisk eyes of her dreaded mother-in-law could not -restrain her. One glance at the awful spectacle gave her courage; she -gave a wild scream, and rushing forward, flung herself passionately at -the feet of her uncle, Francis of Guise. - -“Uncle, dear uncle, stay this fearful massacre. Speak to the Queen, or I -shall die. Oh! why was I brought here to behold such a sight?” - -“My niece,” answered the Duke solemnly, raising her from the ground, and -tenderly kissing her on the cheek, “have courage; these are but a few -pestilent heretics who would have dethroned you and your husband, the -King, and set up a false religion. By their destruction we are doing -good service to God and to the blessed Virgin. Such vermin deserve no -pity. You ought to rejoice in their destruction.” - -“Alas! my mother,” said Francis, also rising, “I too am overcome at this -horrible sight, I also would crave your highness’s permission to retire; -the blood of my subjects, even of my enemies, is horrible to see. Let us -go!” - -“My son, I command you to stay!” broke in Catherine, furious with -passion, and imperiously raising her hand to stay him. “Duc de Guise, -support your niece, the Queen of France. Teach her the duty of a -sovereign.” - -Again Francis, intimidated by his mother’s violence, reseated himself -along with the unhappy Mary, motionless beside him. Again the steel of -the axe flashed in the sunshine, and horrible contortions writhed the -bodies of the slain. It was too much. Mary, young, tender, -compassionate--afraid to plead for mercy as though committing a crime, -again fainted, and was again recovered. The Queen-mother, to whom the -savage scene was a spectacle of rapture, again commanded her to be -reseated; but Francis, now fully aroused by the sufferings of his wife, -interposed. - -“My mother, I can no longer permit your Majesty to force the Queen to be -present. You are perilling her health. Govern my kingdom and slay my -subjects, but let me judge what is seemly for my wife.” - -So, bearing her in his arms, with the assistance of her ladies, Francis -withdrew. - -When the butchery was over, and the headless bodies were floating in the -river or strung up on the branches of the trees or piled in heaps about -the castle, Catherine retired. She commanded that the remains of the -chief conspirators should be hung in chains from the iron balustrades of -the stone balcony which protects the windows of the royal gallery and -which still remains intact, on the north front of the castle, towards -the river. The remainder were to be thrown into the Loire. This stone -balcony borders now, as then, the whole length of the state apartments -towards the river. A fall of some hundred feet down a sheer mass of grey -rock on which the castle stands makes the head dizzy. Over this -precipice the headless bodies dangled, swaying to and fro in the March -wind, a hideous and revolting sight. No one could pass through any of -the apartments of the castle without beholding it. But despised humanity -in the shape of the murdered Huguenots asserted its claim on the -attention of the Court, and the stench of these bodies hung to the -balcony, and of those strung up on the trees, and the rotting corpses -that dammed up the river, soon became so overwhelming, that even -Catherine herself was forced to retreat, and accompany her son and the -young Queen to Chenonceau. The shock and excitement were, however, too -much for the sickly Francis. Rapidly he pined and died; no physician was -found who could cure a nameless malady. - -Mary Stuart, a widow at eighteen, passionate and romantic, clung fondly -to that “pleasant land” where she had spent such happy days with the -gracious Francis. She had been created Duchesse de Touraine at her -marriage, and craved earnestly to be allowed to enjoy that apanage -rather than be banished to reign in a barren land, which she dreaded -like a living tomb. But her ambitious uncles, the Duc de Guise and the -Cardinal de Lorraine, who were to her as parents, obstinately insisted -on her departure for Scotland. So she sailed from Calais; and, from the -deck of the ship that bore her across the seas, as the shores of -France--which she was never more to see--gradually faded from her view, -she sang to her lute that plaintive song, so identified with her -memory:-- - - “Adieu, oh plaisant pays! - Adieu! oh ma patrie, - La plus chérie, qui a nourri - Ma Belle enfance,--Adieu!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -THE ASTROLOGER’S CHAMBER. - - -Wherever Catherine chose to reside, either in Paris or in Touraine, an -observatory for the stars was always at hand, and Cosmo Ruggiero, who -had attended her from Italy, never left her. Cosmo was the Queen’s -familiar demon; he was both astrologer, alchemist, and philosopher. He -fed the glowing furnaces with gold and silver, sometimes with dead men’s -bones; concocted essences, powders, and perfumes; drew horoscopes, and -modelled wax figures in the likeness of those who had incurred the -Queen’s enmity. These were supposed to suffer pangs from each stab -inflicted on their images, and to waste away as their wax similitudes -melted in the flames. Cosmo was also purveyor of poisons to her -Majesty, and dealt largely in herbs and roots fatal to life. His -apartments and the observatory were always near those of the Queen and -connected with them by a secret stair. - -We are at the Tuileries.[10] It stands on a plot of ground outside -Paris--where tiles were baked and rubbish shot--given by Francis I. to -his mother, Louise de Savoie. Charles IX., who has succeeded his -brother--Francis II.--inhabits the Louvre, now entirely rebuilt by -Francis I. The Queen-mother desired to live alone. She therefore -commanded Philippe de Lorme to erect a new palace for her use, -consisting of a central pavilion, with ample wings. Catherine is now -middle-aged; her complexion is darker, the expression of her face -sterner and more impassive. She seldom relaxes into a smile except to -deceive an enemy. In her own person she dislikes and despises the luxury -of dress, and principally wears black since the death of her husband. -But on fitting occasions of state she, too, robes herself in royal -apparel. She stands before us in a long black dress, tightly fitting her -shape. She has grown much stouter though she is still upright and -majestic. Her active habits and her extraordinary capacity for mental -labour are the same. A stiff ruff is round her neck and a black coif -upon her head. Jewels she rarely uses. Her suite of rooms at the -Tuileries, hung with sombre tapestry or panelled with dark wood, are -studiously plain. She loves artists and the arts, but pictures and -statues are not appropriate to the state business she habitually -transacts. There is a certain consistent grandeur in her plain, -unadorned _entourage_; a sense of subdued power--hidden yet -apparent--that makes those who approach her tremble. Her second son -Charles, now King of France, is wholly under her influence. He was only -ten years old when he ascended the throne at the death of his brother -Francis, and his mother has carefully stamped out every good quality in -his naturally frank and manly nature. Now he is rough and cruel, loves -the sight of blood, and has become a perfect Nimrod. He blows the horn -with such violence, so often and so loud, that he has injured his lungs. -Charles knows much more about the bears, wolves, deer, and wild boars of -France, than of his Christian subjects. - -The Princess Marguerite is now grown into a woman, “a noble mind in a -most lovely person,” says the flattering Brantôme. Her mother encourages -Marguerite’s taste for intrigue, and throws her into the company of -women, such as Madame de Sauve, the court Ninon de l’Enclos of that day. -Catherine contemplates her beauty, not with the profound affection of a -mother, but as a useful bait to entrap those whom she desires to gain. -When she was young herself the Queen never allowed any tender passion to -stand in her way, but ruthlessly sacrificed all who were either useless -or troublesome. - -When the palace is quiet, and the sighing of the winter wind without, as -it sweeps along the quays and ruffles the surface of the river, is only -broken by the challenge of the sentinels on the bastion bordering the -Seine, Catherine rises from her chair. She passes over her black dress a -long white mantle, puts her feet into silken slippers, lights a scented -bougie, takes from her girdle a golden key--which is hid there along -with a poisoned dagger in case of need--draws aside the tapestry, -unlocks a hidden door, and mounts a secret stair. Cosmo Ruggiero is -seated on a folding stool in a small laboratory under the roof. He is -reading an ancient manuscript. A lamp illuminates the page, and he is, -or affects to be, so profoundly absorbed that he does not hear his -terrible mistress enter. She glides like a ghost beside him and laying -her hand on his shoulder rouses him. Ruggiero rises hastily and salutes -her. Catherine draws a stool beside him, seats herself, and signs him to -do so also. - -“Well, Cosmo! always studying; always at work in my service,” says she, -in a low metallic voice. - -“Yes, madame, I have no other pleasure than in your Majesty’s service.” - -“Yes, yes! you serve the Queen for love, and science out of interest--I -understand. Disinterestedness is the custom of our country, my friend.” - -“Your Majesty mistakes; I serve her as a loyal servant and countryman -should.” - -“La! la!” says Catherine, “we know each other, Cosmo,--no professions. -Is the poison ready I ordered of you, the subtle powder to sprinkle on -gloves or flowers? It is possible I may want it shortly.” - -Ruggiero rises and hands a small sealed packet, enclosed in satin, to -the Queen, who places it in her bosom. - -“Madame,” he says, “beware! this poison is most powerful.” - -“So much the worse for those for whom it is destined,” replied -Catherine; and a cruel smile lights up her face for a moment. “It will -serve me the quicker. But to business, Cosmo. What say the stars? Have -you drawn the horoscopes?” - -“Here, madame, are the horoscopes”; and he draws from his belt a bundle -of papers. “Here are the celestial signs within the House of Life of all -the royal persons concerned, traced by the magic pencil from the dates -you furnished me.” - -Catherine glances at the papers. “Explain to me their import,” says she, -looking at him with grave attention. - -“Your present design, madame, to marry Madame Marguerite to the King of -Navarre appears favourable to the interests of France. A cloud now rests -upon the usually brilliant star of the King of Navarre, but another -night, madame, perhaps----” - -“This is all very vague, Ruggiero, I want an absolute prediction,” says -Catherine, fixing her black eyes full upon the soothsayer. “Among all -these illustrious personages is there not one whose horoscope is clear -and defined?” - -“Assuredly, madame; will your Majesty deign to interrogate me as to the -future? I will unfold the purposes of the stars as I have read them.” - -“You have spoken of the Princess. Does she love the young Duc Henri de -Guise?” - -“Madame, her highness affects the Duke; but she is unstable in her -affections.” - -“The Queen of Navarre--will she still forward this marriage?” - -“It will cause her death.” - -“How?” - -“By poison.” - -“Where?” - -“At Paris.” - -“That is well,” answers the Queen, and deep thought darkens her swarthy -face. “Her son, the King of Navarre--what of him?” - -“He, madame, is safe for awhile, though he will shortly be exposed to -extreme peril.” - -“But is he destined to die violently?” - -“Perhaps; but long years hence. His hair will be gray before the poniard -I see hovering over him strikes. But, as I have said to-night, there is -a cloud upon his star. Long he will certainly escape steel, fire, -illness, or accident; he will bear a charmed life. Madame, the King of -Navarre will be a proper husband for Madame Marguerite.” - -“But how of that bold man, the Duc de Guise, who dares without my leave -to aspire to the hand of the Princess?” asked Catherine. - -“Henri de Guise, madame, will die a violent death, as will his father -and Coligni. The Admiral will be stabbed in his own house. This is -certain.” - -The Queen smiles, and for a time is silent. - -“Tell me,” at length she almost whispers, “have you discovered anything -more about myself and my sons?” - -“Madame, I tremble to reply,” replies Ruggiero, hesitating. - -“Speak, I command you, Cosmo.” - -Catherine rises, and lays her hand heavily upon his arm. Her eyes meet -his. - -“If I must reveal the future of your Majesty and the royal princes, -well, let it be done. Your Majesty can but kill me. I fear not death.” - -“Fool, your life is safe!” - -“You, madame, will live; but the Princes, your sons----” and he stops -and again hesitates. - -“Speak!” hisses Catherine between her set teeth. “Speak, or, _pardieu_! -I will force you,” and she raises her hand aloft, as if to strike him. - -“Madame,” replies Ruggiero, quite unmoved by her violence, rising from -his stool, and moving towards the wall, “you yourself shall see the -future that awaits them.” He withdraws a black curtain covering an -arched recess and revealed a magic mirror. “The kings your sons, madame, -shall pass before you. Each shall reign as many years as he makes the -circuit of that dark chamber you see reflected on the polished steel. -There is your eldest son, Francis. See how feebly he moves, how pale he -looks. He never lived to be a man. Twice he slowly passes round, and he -is gone. The next is Charles, ninth of that name. Thirteen times he -turns around, and as he moves a mist of blood gathers about him. Look, -it thickens--it hides him. He shall reign thirteen years, and die a -bloody death, having caused much blood to flow. Here is Henri, Duc -d’Anjou, who shall succeed him. A few circuits, and then behold--a -muffled figure--a monk, springs on him from behind. He falls and -vanishes.” - -There is a pause. - -“What! Cosmo,” whispers Catherine, who stood supporting herself on the -back of a high chair opposite the magic mirror. “Francis, Charles, Henry -are gone, but do they leave no child?” - -“None, madame.” - -“Where, then, is D’Alençon, my youngest boy? Let me see him.” - -“Madame,” falters Ruggiero, “his highness is not destined to reign. The -successor of your sons is before you”; and on the magic glass rises up, -clear and distinct, the image of the King of Navarre. With strong, firm -steps he circles the mystic chamber of life twenty times. As he passes -on the twenty-first round, a mist gathers round him; he falls and -vanishes. - -At the sight of Henry of Navarre, the Queen’s composure utterly forsakes -her. She trembles from head to foot and sinks into a chair. A sombre -fire shoots from her eyes. - -“I will take care _that_ shall never be!” gasps she, unable to speak -with rage. - -After a few moments she rose, took up her light, and without one other -word descended as she had come. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -AT CHENONCEAU. - - -The Château of Chenonceau, so greatly coveted by Catherine de’ Medici in -her youth, still remains to us. It lies in a rural district of the -Touraine, far from cities and the traffic of great thoroughfares. -Spared, from its isolated position, by the First Revolution, this -monument of the Renaissance, half palace half château, is as beautiful -as ever--a picturesque mass of pointed turrets, glistening spires, -perpendicular roofs, lofty pavilions, and pillared arches. It is partly -built over the river Cher, at once its defence and its attraction. - -Henry II., as also his father, Francis, who specially loved this sunny -_plaisance_ and often visited it in company with his daughter-in-law, -Catherine, and his mistress, the Duchesse d’Étampes, had both lavished -unknown sums on its embellishment. - -Chenonceau is approached by a drawbridge over a moat fed by the river. -On the southern side a stately bridge of five arches has been added by -Diane de Poitiers in order to reach the opposite bank, where the high -roofs and pointed turrets of the main building are seen to great -advantage, rising out of scattered woods of oak and ash, which are -divided into leafy avenues leading into fair water-meadows beside the -Cher. By Catherine’s command this bridge has been recently covered and -now forms a spacious wing of two stories, the first floor fitted as a -banqueting hall, the walls broken by four embayed windows, opening on -either side and looking up and down the stream. - -A fresh-breathing air comes from the river and the forest, a scent of -moss and flowers extremely delicious. The cooing of the cushat doves, -the cry of the cuckoo, the flutter of the breeze among the trees, and -the hum of insects dancing in the sunbeams are the voices of this sylvan -solitude. The blue sky blends into the green woods, and the white -clouds, sailing over the tree-tops, make the shadows come and go among -the arches of the bridge and the turrets of the château. - -[Illustration: A Gate of the Louvre, after St. Bartholomew’s Day] - -A sudden flourish of trumpets breaks the silence. It is Catherine, in -the early summer, coming, like Jezebel, to possess herself of her fair -domain. She is habited in black and wears a velvet toque with an ostrich -plume. A perfect horsewoman, she rides with a stately grace down the -broad avenue leading from the high road, followed by her maids of -honour--a bevy of some forty beauties, the _escadron volant de la -reine_, who serve her political intrigues by fascinating alike Huguenots -and Catholics. - -To the right of the Queen-mother rides Madame Marguerite, her -daughter--by-and-by to become infamous as Queen of Navarre, wife of -Henry IV.--now a laughter-loving girl, who makes her brown jennet -prance, out of pure high spirits. She is tall, like all the Valois, and -finely formed. Her skin is very fair and her eyes full of expression; -but there is a hard look on her delicately-featured face that belies her -attractive appearance. - -On the other side of the Queen-mother is her son, the young King, -Charles IX. He has a weak though most engaging countenance. Naturally -brave and witty and extremely frank and free, the artifices of his -mother’s corrupt Court have made him what he now is--cruel, violent, and -suspicious. Catherine has convinced him that he is deceived by all the -world except herself, and leads him at her will. He is to marry shortly -the daughter of the Emperor Maximilian. Beside him is the vicious and -elegant Duc d’Anjou, his next brother, of whom Charles is extremely -jealous. Already Henry has been victor at Jarnac, and almost rivals -Henry of Navarre in the number of battles he fights. He is to be elected -King of Poland during his brother’s life. Henry is handsomer than -Charles, but baby-faced and effeminate. He wears rouge, and is as gay as -a woman in his attire. Catherine’s youngest son, D’Alençon, long-nosed, -ill-favoured, and sullen, rides beside his sister. - -Behind the royal Princess, is Francis, Duc de Guise, a man, as we have -seen, of indomitable will and unflinching purpose; fanatical in his -devotion to the Catholic Church, and of unbounded ambition. He secretly -cherishes the settled purpose of his house,--destruction to the race of -Valois. Ere long he will be assassinated at Orléans, by Poltrot, a -Huguenot, a creature of Coligni, who firmly believes he will ensure his -salvation by this crime. Such is Christianity in the sixteenth century! -There are also two cardinals mounted on mules. Lorraine, a true Guise, -most haughty and unscrupulous of politicians and of churchmen; and -D’Este, newly arrived from Ferrara, insinuating, treacherous, and -artistic. He has brought in his train from Italy the great poet Tasso, -who follows his patron, and wears a garbadine and cap of dark satin. -Tasso looks sad and careworn, spite of the high favour shown him by his -countrywoman, the Queen-mother. Ronsard, the court poet, is beside -Tasso, and Châtelard, who, madly enamoured of the widowed Queen, Mary -Stuart, is about to follow her to Scotland, and to die of his -presumptuous love ere long at Holyrood. - -As this brilliant procession passes down the broad avenue through -pleasant lawns forming part of the park, at a fast trot, a rider is seen -mounted on a powerful black horse, who neither entirely conceals -himself nor attempts to join the Court. As he passes in and out among -the underwood skirting the adjoining forest, many eyes are bent upon -him. The Queen-mother specially, turns in her saddle the better to -observe him, and then questions her sons as to whether they recognise -this solitary cavalier, whose face and figure are completely hidden by a -broad Spanish hat and heavy riding-cloak. - -At the moment when the Queen-mother has turned her head to make these -inquiries and is speaking earnestly to Francis of Guise, whom she has -summoned to her side, the unknown rider crosses the path of the Princess -Marguerite (who in frolicsome mood is making her horse leap over some -ditches in the grass), and throws a rose before her. Marguerite looks up -with a gleam of delight, their eyes meet for an instant; she raises her -hand, kisses it, and waves it towards him. The stranger bows to the -saddle-bow, bounds into the thicket, and is seen no more. The royal -party cross the drawbridge through two lines of attendants, picquers, -retainers, pages, and running footmen, and dismount at the arched -entrance from which a long stone passage leads to the great gallery, the -staircase, and the various apartments. - -Leaving the young King and the Princes, his brothers, to the care of the -chamberlains who conduct them to their various apartments, the -Queen-mother turns to the left, followed by the Princess, who is -somewhat alarmed lest her mother should have observed her recognition of -the disguised cavalier. They pass through the guard-room--a lofty -chamber, with raftered ceilings and walls hung with tapestry, on which -cuirasses, swords, lances, casques, shields, and banners are suspended, -fashioned into various devices. - -Beyond is a saloon, and through a narrow door in a corner is a small -writing-closet within a turret. Catherine, who knows the château well, -has chosen this suite of rooms apart from the rest. She enters the -closet alone, closes the door, seats herself beside the casement, and -gazes at the broad river flowing beneath. Her eyes follow the current -onwards to where the stream, by a graceful bend, loses itself among -copses of willow and alder. She smiles a smile of triumph. All is now -her own. Then she summons her chamberlain, and commands a masque on the -river for the evening, to celebrate her arrival. None shall say that -she, a Medici, neglects the splendid pageantry of courts. Besides, the -hunting parties, banquets, and masques are too precious as political -opportunities to be disregarded. - -Having dismissed her chamberlain, who with his white wand of office bows -low before her, she calls for writing materials, bidding the Princess -and a single lady-in-waiting, Charlotte de Presney, her favourite -attendant, remain without in the saloon. - -This is a large apartment, used by Catherine as a sleeping-room, with a -high vaulted ceiling of dark oak, heavily carved, the walls panelled -with rare marbles, brought by the Queen’s command from Italy. Busts on -sculptured pedestals, ponderous chairs, carved cabinets and inlaid -tables, stand around. In one corner there is a bedstead of walnut-wood -with heavy hangings of purple velvet which are gathered into a diadem -with the embossed initials “C. M.,” and an antique silver - -[Illustration: CHARLES IX. - -FROM THE PAINTING BY CLOUET.] - -toilet-table, with a mirror in Venetian glass set in a shroud of lace. -The polished floor has no carpet, and there is not a chair that can be -moved without an effort. A window, looking south towards the river and -the woods, is open. The summer breezes fill the room with fragrance. -Under a ponderous mantelpiece of coloured marbles Marguerite seats -herself on a narrow settee. Her large, sparkling eyes and animated face, -her comely shape, and easy though stately bearing, invite, yet repel, -approach. She still wears her riding-dress of emerald velvet laced with -gold, and a plumed cap lies beside her. Her luxuriant hair, escaped from -a golden net, covers her shoulders. She is a perfect picture of youth -and beauty, and as fresh as her namesake, the daisy. - -Charlotte de Presney, at least ten years older than the Princess, is an -acknowledged belle. Her features are regular, her complexion brilliant, -and her face full of intelligence; but there is a cunning expression -about her dimpling mouth that greatly mars her beauty. - -“Have you nothing for me, Charlotte?” whispers the Princess, stretching -out her little hand glistening with precious stones. “I know you have. -Give it me. His eyes told me so when he passed me in the avenue.” - -“Your highness must not ask me. Suppose her Majesty opens that door and -sees me in the act of giving you a letter?” - -“Oh! _méchante_, why do you plague me? I know you have something hidden; -give it me, or I will search you,” and she jumps up and casts her soft -arms round the lady-in-waiting. - -Charlotte disengages herself gently, and with her eyes fixed on the low -door leading into the Queen’s closet sighs deeply, and takes a letter -from her bosom, bound with blue silk, and sealed with the arms of Guise. - -“Ah! my colours! Is he not charming, my lover?” mutters Marguerite, as -her eager eyes devour the lines. “He says he has followed us, disguised, -from Tours; not even his father knows he has come, but believes him to -be in Paris, in case he should be questioned by the Queen-mother,--Charlotte, -do you think her Majesty recognised him in the avenue? He was admirably -disguised.” - -“Your highness knows that nothing escapes the Queen’s eye. The sudden -appearance of a stranger in this lonely spot must have created -observation.” - -“Ah! is he not adorable, Charlotte, to come like a real knight-errant to -gaze at his lady-love? How grand he looked--my noble Guise, my warrior, -my hero!” and Marguerite leans back pensively on the settee, as though -calling up his image before her. - -“Her Majesty will be very angry, madame, if she recognised him. I saw -her questioning the Duke, his father, and pointing towards him as he -disappeared into the wood,” answered Charlotte, with the slightest -expression of bitterness in her well-modulated voice. - -“Henry has discovered,” continues Marguerite, still so lost in reverie -that she does not heed her remark, “that the Queen has a masque to-night -on the river. He will be disguised, he tells me, as a Venetian nobleman, -in a yellow brocaded robe, with a violet mantle, and a red mask. He will -wear my colours--blue, heavenly blue, the symbol of hope and faith--on -his shoulder-knot. Our watchword is to be ‘Eternal love.’ ” - -“Holy Virgin!” exclaims Charlotte, with alarm, laying her hand on -Marguerite’s shoulder, “your highness will not dare to meet him?” - -“Be silent, _petite sotte_,” breaks in the Princess. “We are to meet on -the southern bank of the river. Charlotte, you must help me; I shall be -sure to be watched, but I must escape from the Queen by some device. -Change my dress, and then--and then----” and she turns her laughing eyes -on the alarmed face of Charlotte, “under the shady woods, by the -parterre near the grotto, I shall meet him--and, alone.” - -“And what on earth am I to say to the Queen if she asks for your -highness?” replies Charlotte, turning away her face that the Princess -might not see the tears that bedew her cheeks. - -“Anything, my good Charlotte; you have a ready wit, or my mother would -not favour you. I trust to your invention, it has been often exercised,” -and she looked archly at her. “Tell the Queen that I am fatigued, and -have retired into the château until the banquet, when I will rejoin her -Majesty. There is no fear, _ma mie_, especially as the Comte de Clermont -is at Chenonceau. Her Majesty, stern and silent though she be, unbends -to him and greatly affects his company,” and she laughs softly and -points towards the closed door. - -“I trust there is, indeed, no fear of discovery, Princess,” returns -Charlotte; “for her Majesty would never forgive me.” At which Marguerite -laughs again. - -“Princess,” says Charlotte, looking very grave, and seating herself on -a stool at her feet, “tell me, truly, do you love the Duc de Guise?” -Charlotte’s fine eyes are fixed intently on Marguerite as she asks this -question. - -“_Peste!_ you know I do. He is as great a hero as Rinaldo in the Italian -poet’s romance of _Orlando_. Somewhat sedate, perhaps, for me, but so -handsome, spite of that scar. I even love that scar, Charlotte.” - -“Does the Duke love you?” again asks Charlotte, with a trembling voice. - -“_Par exemple!_ do you think the man lives who would not return my -love?” and the young Princess colours, and tosses the masses of waving -brown curls back from her brow, staring at her companion in unfeigned -astonishment. - -“I was thinking,” continues Charlotte, avoiding her gaze, and speaking -in a peculiar voice, “I was thinking of that poor La Molle, left alone -in Paris. How jealous he was! You loved him well, madame, a week ago.” - -“Bah! that is ancient history--we are at Chenonceau now. When I return -to Paris it is possible I may console him. Poor La Molle! one cannot be -always constant. Charlotte,” said the Princess, after a pause, looking -inquisitively at her, “I believe you are in love with the Balafré -yourself.” - -Charlotte colours, and, not daring to trust her voice in reply, shakes -her head and bends her eyes on the ground. - -Marguerite, too much occupied with her own thoughts to take much heed of -her friend’s emotion, pats her fondly on the cheek, and proceeds-- - -“You are dull, _ma mie_; amuse yourself like me, now with one, then with -another. Be constant to none. Regard your own interest and inclination -only. But leave Guise alone; he is my passion. His proud reserve pleases -me. His stately devotion touches me. He is a king among men. I love to -torment the hero of Jarnac and Moncontour. He is jealous, too--jealous -of the very air I breathe; but in time, that may become wearisome. I -never thought of that,” adds she, musing. - -“Your highness will marry soon,” says Charlotte, rising and facing the -Princess, “and then Guise must console himself----” - -“With you, _par exemple, belle des belles_? You need not blush so, -Charlotte, I read your secret. But, _ma mie_, I mean to marry Henri de -Guise myself, even if my mother and the King, my brother, refuse their -consent. They may beat me--imprison me--or banish me; I will still marry -Henri de Guise.” - -“Her Majesty will never consent to this alliance, madame.” - -“You are jealous, Charlotte, or you would not say so. Why should I not -marry him, when my sister-in-law, the young Queen of Scots, is of the -House of Lorraine?” - -“Yes, madame, but the case is altogether different; she is a -Queen-regnant. The house of Lorraine is already too powerful.” - -“Ah!” exclaims the volatile Marguerite, starting up, “I love freedom; -freedom in life, freedom in love. Charlotte, you say truly, I shall -never be constant.” - -“Then, alas, for your husband! He _must_ love you, and you will break -his heart.” - -“Husband! I will have no husband but Henri de Guise. Guise or a convent. -I should make an enchanting nun!” And she laughs a low merry laugh, -springs to her feet, and turns a _pirouette_ on the floor. “I think the -dress would suit me. I would write Latin elegies on all my old lovers.” - -“You will hear somewhat of that, madame, later from the Queen,” -Charlotte replies, with a triumphant air. “A husband is chosen for you -already.” - -“Who? Who is he?” - -“You will learn from her Majesty very shortly.” - -“Charlotte, if you do not tell me this instant, I will never forgive -you;” and Marguerite suddenly becomes grave and reseats herself. “Next -time you want my help I won’t move a finger.” - -“I dare not tell you, madame.” - -“Then I will tell Guise to-night you are in love with him,” cries she, -reddening with anger. - -“Oh, Princess,” exclaims Charlotte, sinking at her feet, and seizing her -hand; “you would not be so cruel!” - -“But I will, unless you tell me.” - -At this moment, when Marguerite was dragging her friend beside her on -the sofa, determined to obtain an avowal from her almost by force, the -low door opens, and Catherine stands before them. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -A DUTIFUL DAUGHTER. - - -The two girls were startled and visibly trembled; but, recovering from -their fright, rose and made their obeisance. For a moment Catherine -gazed earnestly at them, as if divining the reason of their -discomposure; then beckoning to the Princess, she led her daughter into -her writing-room, where she seated herself beside a table covered with -despatches and papers. - -“My daughter,” said the Queen, contemplating Marguerite with -satisfaction, as the Princess stood before her, her cheeks flushed by -the fright that Catherine’s sudden entrance had occasioned. “I have -commanded a masque to-night on the river, and a banquet in the -water-gallery, to celebrate my return. You will attend me and be careful -not to leave me, my child. Strangers have been seen among the woods. Did -you not mark one as we approached riding near us?” And Catherine gave a -searching glance at Marguerite. “I have given strict orders that all -strangers (Huguenots, probably, with evil designs upon his Majesty) -shall be arrested and imprisoned.” - -Again Catherine turned her piercing eyes upon Marguerite, who suddenly -grew very pale. - -“My daughter, you seem indisposed, the heat has overcome you--be -seated.” - -Marguerite sank into a chair near the door. She knew that her mother had -recognised the Duke, and that it would be infinitely difficult to keep -her appointment with him that evening. Neither mother nor daughter spoke -for some moments. Catherine was studying the effect of her words on -Marguerite, and Marguerite was endeavouring to master her agitation. -When the Queen next addressed her, the Princess was still pale but -perfectly composed. - -“My daughter, you passed much of your time before you left the Louvre -with the Comte la Molle. I know he is highly favoured by my son Anjou. -Does his company amuse you?” - -Marguerite’s cheeks became scarlet. - -“Your Majesty has ever commanded me,” replied she in a firm voice, “to -converse with those young nobles whom you and my brother the King have -called to the Court.” - -“True, my child, you have done so, I acknowledge freely, and, by such -gracious bearing you have, doubtless, forwarded his Majesty’s -interests.” There was again silence. “Our cousin, the young Duc Henri de -Guise, is also much in your company,” Catherine said at length, speaking -very slowly and turning her eyes full upon Marguerite who, for an -instant, returned her gaze boldly. “I warn you, Marguerite, that neither -the King my son, nor I, will tolerate more alliances with the ambitious -House of Lorraine. They stand too near the throne already.” - -Marguerite during this speech did not look up, not daring to meet the -steadfast glance of the Queen. - -“Surely,” said she, speaking low, “your Majesty has been prejudiced -against the Duke by my brother Charles. His Majesty hates him. He is -jealous of him.” - -“My child, speak with more respect of his Majesty.” - -“Madame, the King has threatened to beat me if I dared to love the Duc -de Guise. But I am your Majesty’s own child,” and Marguerite turned -towards Catherine caressingly. “I fear not threats.” Catherine smiled -and curiously observed her. “But your Majesty surely forgets,” continued -Marguerite, warmly, “that our cousin of Guise is the chief pillar of the -throne, a hero who, at sixteen, vanquished Coligni at Poitiers; and that -at Massignac and Jarnac, in company with my brother Anjou, he performed -prodigies of valour.” - -“My daughter, I forget nothing. You appear to have devoted much time to -the study of the Duke--our cousin’s life. It is a brilliant page in our -history. I have, however, other projects for you. You must support the -throne by a royal marriage.” - -“Oh, madame!” exclaimed Marguerite, heaving a deep sigh, and clasping -her hands as she looked imploringly at her mother, who proceeded to -address her as though unconscious of this appeal. - -“Avoid Henri de Guise, Princess. I have already remonstrated with his -father on his uninvited presence here, of which he professes entire -ignorance--for he _is here_, and you know it, Marguerite”--and she shot -an angry glance at the embarrassed Princess. “Avoid the Duke, I say, and -let me see you attended less often by La Molle, or I must remove him -from Court.” - -“Madame!” cried Marguerite, turning white, and looking greatly alarmed, -well knowing what this _removal_ meant; “I will obey your commands. But -whom, may I ask, do you propose for my husband? Unless I can choose a -husband for myself”--and she hesitated, for the Queen bent her eyes -sternly upon her and frowned--“I do not care to marry at all,” she added -in a low voice. - -“Possibly you may not, my daughter. But his Majesty and the council have -decided otherwise. Your hand must ultimately seal a treaty important to -the King your brother, in order to reconcile conflicting creeds and to -conciliate a powerful party.” - -All this time Marguerite had stood speechless before the Queen. At this -last sentence, fatal to her hopes of marrying the Duc de Guise, the -leader of the Catholic party, her lips parted as if to speak, but she -restrained herself and was silent. - -“The daughters of France,” said Catherine, lifting her eyes to the -ceiling, “do not consider personal feelings in marriage, but the good of -the kingdom. My child, you are to marry very shortly the King of -Navarre. I propose journeying myself to the Castle of Nérac to conclude -a treaty with my sister, Queen Jeanne, his mother. Henri de Béarn will -demand your hand. He will be accepted when an alliance is concluded -between the Queen of Navarre and myself.” - -“But, my mother,” answered Marguerite, stepping forward in her -excitement, “he is a heretic. I am very Catholic. Surely your Majesty -will not force me----” - -“You will convert him,” replied Catherine. - -“But, madame, the Prince is not to my taste. He is rough and unpolished. -He is a mountaineer--a Béarnois.” - -“My daughter, he will be your husband. Now, Marguerite, listen to me. -This marriage is indispensable for reasons of state. The King, your -brother, and I myself like the King of Navarre as little as you do. That -little kingdom in the valleys of the Pyrenees is a thorn in our side -which we must pluck out. Those pestilent and accursed heretics must be -destroyed. We call them to our Court; we lodge them in the Louvre--not -for love, Marguerite--not for love. Have patience, my daughter. I cannot -unfold to you the secrets of the council; but it is possible that Henry -of Navarre may not live long. Life is in the hands of God,--and of the -King.” She added in a lower voice. “Console yourself. A day is coming -that will purge France of Huguenots; and if Henry do not accept the -mass----” - -“Madame,” said Marguerite, archly (who had eagerly followed her mother’s -words), “I trust that the service of his Majesty will not require me to -_convert_ the King of Navarre?” - -“No, Princess,” said Catherine, with a sinister smile. “My daughter,” -continued she, “your dutiful obedience pleases me. The King may, in the -event of your marriage, create new posts of honour about the King of -Navarre while he lives. Monsieur la Molle, a most accomplished -gentleman, shall be remembered. _Au revoir_, Princess. Send Charlotte de -Presney to me. Go to your apartments, and prepare for the masque on the -river I have commanded to-night in honour of our arrival.” - -So Marguerite, full of thought, curtseying low before her mother, kissed -her hand, and retired to her apartments. - -As the sun sets and the twilight deepens, torch after torch lights up -the river and the adjacent woods. Every window in the château is -illuminated, and the great beacon-fires flash out from the turrets. The -sound of a lute, the refrain of a song, a snatch from a hunting-chorus, -are borne upon the breeze, as, one by one, painted barges shoot out from -under the arches of the bridge along the current. - -As night advances the forest on both sides of the river is all ablaze. -On the southern bank, where the parterre is divided from the woods by -marble balustrades, statues, and hedges of clipped yew, festoons of -coloured lamps hang from tree to tree, and fade away into sylvan bowers -deep among the tangled coppice. The fountains, cunningly lit from below, -flash up in streams of liquid fire. Each tiny streamlet that crosses the -mossy lawns is a thread of gold. Tents of satin and velvet, fringed with -gold, border broad alleys and marble terraces of dazzling whiteness. The -river, bright as at midday with the light of thousands of torches, is -covered with gondolas and fantastic barques. Some are shaped like -birds--swans, parrots, and peacocks; others resemble shells, and -butterflies whose expanded wings of glittering stuff form the sails. All -are filled with maskers habited in every device of quaint disguisement. -Not a face or form is to be recognised. See how rapidly the fairy fleet -cleaves the water, now dashing into deep shadows, now lingering in the -torchlight that glances on the rich silks and grotesque features of the -maskers. Yonder a whole boat’s crew is entangled among the water lilies -that thickly fringe the banks under the over-arching willows. Some -disembark among the fountains, or mount the broad marble steps leading -to the arcades; some descend to saunter far away into the illuminated -woods. Others, tired of the woods, are re-embarking on the river. In the -centre of the stream is a barge with a raised platform covered with -velvet embroidered in gold, on which are placed the Queen’s musicians, -who wake the far-off echoes with joyous symphonies. Beyond, in the -woods, are maskers who dance under silken hangings spread among the -overhanging branches of giant oaks, or recline upon cushions piled upon -rich carpets beside tables covered with choice wines, fruit, and -confectionery. The merry laughter of these revellers mixes with strains -of voluptuous music from flutes and flageolets, played by concealed -musicians placed in pavilion orchestras hidden among the underwood, -tempting onwards those who desire to wander into the dark and lonely -recesses of the forest. - -Among the crowd which thickly gathers on the parterre, a tall man of -imposing figure, habited in a Venetian dress of yellow satin and wrapped -in a cloak of the same colour, paces up and down. He is alone and -impatient. He wears a red mask; conspicuous on his right shoulder is a -knot of blue and silver ribbons. As each boat approaches to discharge -its gay freight upon the bank he eagerly advances and mixes with the -company. Then, as though disappointed, he returns into the shadow -thrown by the portico of a shell grotto. Wearied with waiting, he seats -himself upon the turf. “She will not come!” he says, and then sinks back -against a tree and covers his face with his hands. The fountains throw -up columns of fiery spray; the soft music sighs in the distance; crowds -of fluttering maskers pace up and down the plots of smooth grass or -linger on the terrace--still he sits and waits. - -A soft hand touches him, and a sweet voice whispers, “Eternal love!” It -is the Princess, who, disguised in a black domino procured by Charlotte -de Presney, has escaped from the Queen-mother and stands before him. - -For an instant she unmasks and turns her lustrous eyes upon him. - -Henri de Guise (for it is he) leaps to his feet. He kneels before her -and kisses her hands. “Oh! my Princess, what condescension!” he murmurs, -in a low voice. “I trembled lest I had been too bold. I feared that my -letter had not reached you.” - -A gay laugh answers his broken sentences. - -“My cousin, will you promise to take on your soul all the lies I have -told my mother in order to meet you?” - -“I will absolve you, madame.” - -“Ah, my cousin, I have ill news! My mother and the King are determined -to marry me to the King of Navarre.” - -“Impossible!” exclaims the Duke; “it would be sacrilege!” - -“Oh, Henry!” replies the Princess, in a pleading voice, and laying her -hand upon his arm, “my cousin, bravest among the brave, swear by your -own sword that you will save me from this detestable heretic!” - -The Duke did not answer, but gently drew her near the entrance of the -grotto. It was now late, and the lights within had grown dim. -“Marguerite,” he says, in a voice trembling with passion, “come where I -may adore you as my living goddess--come where I may conjure you to give -me a right to defend you. Say but one word, and to-morrow I will ask -your hand in marriage; the King dare not refuse me.” - -“Alas! my cousin, my mother’s will is absolute.” - -“It is a vile conspiracy!” cries the Duke, in great agitation. “The -House of Lorraine, my Princess, save but for the Crown, is as great as -your own. My uncle, the Cardinal, shall appeal to the Holy See. -Marguerite, do but love me, and I will never leave you! Marguerite, hear -me!” He seizes her hands--he presses her in his arms, drawing her each -moment deeper into the recesses of the grotto. As they disappear, a -voice is heard without, calling softly-- - -“Madame! Madame Marguerite! for the love of heaven, come, come!” - -In an instant the spell is broken. Marguerite extricates herself from -the arms of the Duke and rushes forward. - -It is Charlotte de Presney, disguised like herself in a black domino. -“Not a moment is to be lost,” she says, hurriedly. “Her Majesty has -three times asked for your highness. She supposes I am in the château -seeking you.” Charlotte’s voice is unsteady. She wore her mask to -conceal her face, for it was bathed in tears. - -In an instant she and the Princess, followed by the Duke, cross the -terrace to where a boat is moored under the shade of some willows, and -are lost in the crowd. - -The Duke dashes into the darkest recesses of the forest, and is seen no -more. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -BEFORE THE STORM. - - -Henry, King of Navarre, accompanied by the Prince de Condé and his wife, -and attended by eight hundred Huguenot gentlemen dressed in black (for -his mother, Queen Jeanne, had died suddenly at Paris, while he was on -the road), has just arrived at the Louvre to claim the hand of the -Princess Marguerite. The two Princes and the Princesse de Condé are -received with royal honours and much effusion of compliments by King -Charles and Catherine; they are lodged in the Palace of the Louvre. -Whatever Marguerite’s feelings are, she carefully conceals them. -Insinuating, adroit, clever, gifted with a facile pen and a flattering -tongue, she is too ambitious to resist, too volatile to be constant. She -lives in a world of intrigue, as she tells us in her memoirs, and -piquing herself on being “so Catholic, so devoted to the ‘sacred faith -of her fathers,’ ” and she pendulates between Henri de Guise and La -Molle, amid a thousand other flirtations. She lives in a family divided -against itself. Sometimes she - -[Illustration: HENRI DE GUISE. - -FROM A DRAWING IN THE LOUVRE. - -(By permission of A. Giraudon, Paris.)] - -takes part with the Duc d’Anjou and watches the Queen-mother in his -interests, in order to report every word she says to him; or she -quarrels with D’Anjou and swears eternal friendship with her youngest -brother, D’Alençon--all his life the puppet of endless political -conspiracies; or she abuses the King (Charles) because he listens to her -enemy, De Gaust, and tells her that she shall never marry the Duc de -Guise, because she would reveal all the secrets of state to him, and -make the House of Lorraine more dangerous than it is already. This -greatest princess of Europe, young and beautiful, a “noble mind in a -lovely person,” as Brantôme says of her, is agitated, unhappy, and -lonely. “Let it never be said,” writes she, “that marriages are made in -heaven; God is not so unjust. All yesterday my room echoed with talk of -weddings. How can I purge it?” - -The Duc de Guise no longer whispers in her ear “Eternal love.” The great -Balafré, stern in resolve, firm in affection, is disgusted at her -_légèreté_. He has ceased even to be jealous. His mind is now occupied -by those religious intrigues which he developed later as leader of the -Holy Catholic League. Guise dislikes and distrusts the Valois race. He -especially abhors their unholy coquetting with heretics in the matter of -Marguerite’s approaching marriage. He has now adopted the motto of the -House of Lorraine, “Death to the Valois! Guise upon the throne!” -Moreover, he looks with favour on a widow--the Princesse de Porcian, -whom he marries soon after. Guise only remains at Court to fulfil the -vow of vengeance he has sworn against Coligni for his suspected -connivance in the murder of his illustrious father, Francis of Guise, of -which accusation Coligni could never clear himself.[11] The great -Admiral is now at Court. He is loaded with favours. Charles IX. has -requested his constant attendance at the council to arrange the details -of a war with Spain. He has also made him a present of a thousand -francs. The friends of Coligni warn him to beware. His comrade and -friend Montmorenci refuses to leave Chantilly. The Admiral, more honest -than astute, is completely duped. It is whispered among the Catholics -that revenge is at hand, and that the Protestant princes and Coligni are -shortly coming to their death. It is said also that the marriage -liveries of the Princess will be “crimson,” and that “more blood than -wine will flow at the marriage feast.” - -And the Queen? Serene and gracious, she moves with her accustomed -majesty among these conflicting parties. She neither sees, nor hears, -nor knows aught that shall disarrange her projects. Silent, inscrutable, -her hands hold the threads of life. Within her brain is determined the -issue of events. Her son Charles is a puppet in her hands. This once -frank, witty, brave, artistic youth, who formerly loved verses and -literature,--when not a roaring Nimrod among the royal forests,--is -morose, cruel, and suspicious; convinced that the whole world is playing -him false, all perjured but his mother. She has told him, and she has -darkly hinted in the council, that events are approaching a crisis. She -has secured the present support of the young Duc de Guise and the -powerful House of Lorraine, ever foremost when Catholic interests are at -stake. She can now sit down calmly and marshal each act in the coming -drama, as a general can marshal those regiments which are to form his -battle-front. Fifteen hundred Protestants were slaughtered at Amboise -alone, but there are thousands upon thousands remaining, and she has -promised Philip II., her awful son-in-law, and his minister, the Duke of -Alva, that she will cut off the head of heresy within the realm of -France. She has tried both parties, intrigued with both--with Coligni -and the Condés, with Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine--and she finds -that at present orthodoxy answers her purpose best. - -Besides, there is personal hatred, fear, and offence towards the -Huguenots. Did not Coligni dare to criticise her government at the -Council of Amboise? Did not Condé (that cautious Bourbon) escape her? -The King of Navarre, too, her future son-in-law, is he to be lured to -Court and married to the fascinating Marguerite for _nothing_? Has not -Ruggiero shown her that his life crossed the life of her sons? Does she -not hate him? Is he not adored by the people, who, grown cold towards -the House of Valois, extol his vigour, courage, and ability? Yes, he -shall marry. Then he shall die along with all rebels, heretics, and -traitors! A general massacre of the Huguenots throughout France can -alone satisfy her longings and secure Charles on the throne. - -Thus came to be planned that most tremendous crime, fixed for the -festival of St. Bartholomew, ostensibly for the triumph of the Catholic -Church, but in reality to compass the death of the Queen’s political -enemies--Navarre, Condé, and Coligni--and to crush the freedom of -thought and opinion brought in by liberty of conscience and a purer -faith. - -This was the Court to which Henry of Navarre came, to be lodged under -the roof of the Louvre, and to marry the Princess Marguerite! - -The marriage took place on the 18th of August, 1572, at Notre-Dame.[12] -The outspoken Charles had said that, in giving his sister _Margot_ to -the King of Navarre, he gave her to all the Huguenots in his kingdom. -The Princess tells us she wore a royal crown and a state mantle of blue -velvet, wrought with gold embroidery, four yards long. It was held up by -three princesses; and she further wore a corset, forming the body of her -dress, covered with brilliants, and the crown jewels. The streets -through which she passed were dressed with scaffoldings, lined with -cloth of gold, to accommodate the spectators, all the way from the -Archbishop’s palace to Notre-Dame. - -A few nights after, Admiral Coligni was shot at, with an arquebuse, by a -man standing at a barred window in the street of the Fossés -Saint-Germain, as he returned from playing a game of rackets with the -King, at the Louvre, to his lodgings at the Hôtel de Saint-Pierre, in -the Rue Béthisy. He was walking along slowly, reading a paper; the -finger of his right hand was broken, and he was otherwise grievously -wounded. The assassin, Maurévert, was a fellow known to be in the pay of -Henri, Duc de Guise. The house from which the shot was fired - -[Illustration: NOTRE DAME, PARIS] - -belonged to the Duke’s tutor. The King of Navarre and Condé were -overcome at the news. Charles IX., along with the Queen-mother, visited -the Admiral next day, and stayed an hour with him. Before leaving, -Charles folded him in his arms and wept. “You, my father,” he said, -“have the wound, but I suffer the pain. By the light of God, I will so -avenge this act that it shall be a warning as long as the world lasts.” - -A few hours after the shot was fired, the Huguenot chiefs assembled in -Navarre’s apartments to deliberate what means should be taken to punish -the assassin. About the same time a secret council was called by the -Queen-mother, to decide whether or no Navarre and Condé should be -massacred. Charles IX., the Duc de Guise--who, however hostile -otherwise, join issue to destroy Navarre and Condé--Anjou, Nevers, and -D’Angoulême were present. It was resolved that the King of Navarre and -the Prince de Condé should die, and that the massacre should take place -that very night, before the Huguenots--alarmed by the attempt on -Coligni--had time to concert measures of defence. Under pretence of -protecting them from further violence, all hotels and lodging-houses -were diligently searched, and a list made of the name, age, and -condition of every Protestant in Paris. Orders were also given for the -troops to be under arms, during the coming night, throughout the city. -Every outlet and portal of the Louvre were closed and guarded by Swiss -Guards, commanded by Cossein. The Hôtel de Saint-Pierre, in the Rue -Béthisy, where Coligni lay, was also surrounded by troops, “for his -safety,” it was said. No one could go in or out. At a given signal, the -tocsin was to sound from all places where a bell was hung. Chains were -to be drawn across the streets and bonfires lighted. White cockades, -stitched on a narrow white band to be bound round the right arm, were -distributed, in order that the Catholics might be recognised in the -darkness. The secret, known to hundreds, was well kept; the Huguenots -were utterly unprepared. “No one told me anything,” said Marguerite.[13] -“They knew that I was too humane. But the evening before, being present -at the _coucher_ of my mother the Queen, and sitting on a coffer near my -sister Claude, who seemed very sad, the Queen, who was talking to some -one, turned round and saw I was not gone. She desired me to retire to -bed. As I was making my obeisance to her, my sister took me by the arm -and stopped me. Then, sobbing violently, she said, ‘Good God, sister, do -not go!’ This alarmed me exceedingly. The Queen, my mother, was watching -us, and, looking very angry, called my sister to her and scolded her -severely. She peremptorily desired her to say no more to me. Claude -replied that it was not fair to sacrifice me like that, and that danger -might come to me. - -“ ‘Never mind,’ said the Queen. ‘Please God, no danger will come to her; -but she must go to bed at once in order to raise no suspicions.’ But -Claude still disputed with her, although I did not hear their words. The -Queen again turned to me angrily and commanded me to go. My sister, -continuing her sobs, bade me ‘good-night.’ I dared ask no questions. -So, cold and trembling, without the least idea of what was the matter, I -went to my rooms and to my closet, where I prayed to God to save me from -I knew not what. The King, my husband, who had not come to bed, sent -word to me to do so.” (They occupied the same room, she tells us, but -separate beds.) “I could not close my eyes all night,” she adds; -“thinking of my sister’s agitation, and sure that something dreadful was -coming. Before daylight my husband got up. He came to my bed-side, -kissed me, and said that he was going to play a game of rackets before -the King was awake. He said he would have justice in the matter of the -attempt on the Admiral’s life. Then he left the room. I, seeing the -daylight, and overcome by sleep, told my nurse to shut the door, that I -might rest longer.” - -This took place on Saturday evening, the 23d of August, being the eve of -St. Bartholomew. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -ST. BARTHOLOMEW. - - -A signal sounded from the belfry of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois. It was -answered by the great bell of the Palace of Justice on the opposite bank -of the Seine. Catherine and her two sons, Charles IX. and the Duc -d’Anjou, had risen long before daylight. Catherine dared not leave -Charles to himself. He was suddenly grown nervous and irresolute. He -might yet countermand everything. Within a small closet over the gate -of the Louvre, facing the quays, the mother and her two sons stood -huddled together. Charles was tallest of the three. The window was open; -it was still dark; the streets were empty; not a sound was heard save -the crashing of the bells. They listened to the wild clamour without; -but not a word was spoken. Catherine felt Charles tremble. She clutched -him tightly, and, dreading to hear the echo of her own voice, she -whispered in his ear, “My son, God has given your enemies into your -hands. Let them not escape you.” - -“_Mort de Dieu_, mother, do you take me for a coward?” whispered back -Charles, still trembling. - -Suddenly a shot was fired on the Quays. The three conspirators started -as if the weapon had been levelled against themselves. - -“Whence this pistol shot came, who fired it, or if it wounded any one, I -know not,” writes the Duc d’Anjou, who as well as his sister has left an -account of the massacre; “but this I know, that the report struck terror -into our very souls. We were seized with such sudden dread at the -horrors we had ourselves invoked, that even the Queen-mother was -dismayed. She despatched one of the King’s gentlemen who waited without, -to command the Duc de Guise to stay all proceedings and not to attack -Admiral Coligni.” This counter order came too late. The Duke had already -left his house. - -All the bells in Paris were now ringing furiously; the quays and streets -were rapidly filling with citizens bearing flambeaux. Multitudes came -pouring in from every opening, every window was filled with persons -holding lights, and the crackling of firearms, loud curses, piercing -screams, and wild laughter were heard on every side. In the midst of -this uproar, Henri de Guise, thirsting for revenge upon the supposed -murderer of his father, accompanied by Nevers and D’Angoulême, and a -company of Catholic nobles, made his way to the Hôtel Saint-Pierre, in -the Rue Béthisy, where Coligni lodged. - -Coligni, who had the night before been embraced by his sovereign, lay -asleep on his bed. Some of his Protestant friends, Guerchi, Teligny, -with Cornaton and Labonne his gentlemen, who had hastened to him upon -the news of the attempted assassination, lingered in the anteroom. Paré, -the surgeon who had dressed his wounds, had not yet left the hotel. The -Admiral had been conversing with him and with his chaplain Merlin, who -had offered up a thanksgiving for his deliverance. Within the Court five -Swiss Guards stood behind the outer doors; without, in the darkness of -the night, crouched Cossein with fifty arquebusiers, who had been gained -over by the Duc de Guise. - -Suddenly, out of the stillness of the night a voice is heard calling -from without, “Open the door--open in the name of the King!” At the -King’s name the street-door is immediately unbarred; Cossein and his men -rush in, poniard the five guards, break open the inner door, and dash up -the stairs. The noise disturbs Cornaton, who descends the stairs; he is -pushed violently backwards amid cries of “_De par le Roi!_” Now the -whole house is aroused, Merlin has risen, and Coligni awakened from his -sleep, calls loudly from the door of his room, “Cornaton, what does this -noise mean?” “My dear Lord,” cries Cornaton hurrying up to him, -wringing his hands, “it means that it is God who summons you! The hall -below is carried by your enemies--Cossein is a traitor--we cannot save -you--we have no means of defence!” - -“I understand,” replies Coligni, unmoved. “It is a plot to destroy me -now that I am wounded and cannot defend myself. I have long been -prepared to die. I commend my soul to God. Cornaton, Merlin, and the -others, if the doors are forced you cannot save me, save yourselves.” -Coligni returns to his room. - -By this time the Admiral’s retainers are aroused and enter his chamber, -but no sooner does he repeat the words, “Save yourselves, you cannot -save me,” than they lose not a moment in escaping to the leads of the -house. One man only remains with his master; his name is Nicolas Muso. -The door is then shut, barred, and locked. - -Meanwhile Cossein, heavily mailed and sword in hand, having slain all he -has found in his way, is on the landing. Besme, a page of the Duc de -Guise, Attin, and Sarbaloux are with him; they force open the door of -Coligni’s room. - -The Admiral, his long white hair falling about his shoulders, is seated -in an arm-chair. There is a majesty about him even thus wounded, unarmed -and alone, that daunts his assailants. The traitor Cossein falls back. -Besme advances brandishing his sword. - -“Are you Admiral Coligni?” he cries. - -“I am,” replies the veteran, following with his eyes the motion of the -sword. “Young man, respect my grey hairs and my infirmities,” and he - -[Illustration: ADMIRAL GASPARD DE COLIGNY. - -FROM A DRAWING BY FRANÇOIS CLOUET. - -(By permission of A. Giraudon, Paris.)] - -signs to his arm bound up and swathed to his side. Besme makes a pass at -him. “If I could have died by the hands of a gentleman and not of this -varlet!” exclaims the Admiral. Besme for answer plunges his sword up to -the hilt into Coligni’s breast. - -A voice is now heard from without under the window--“Besme, you are very -long; is all over?” - -“All is over,” answers Besme, thrusting his head out and displaying his -bloody sword. - -“Sirrah, here is the Duc de Guise, and I, the Chevalier d’Angoulême. We -will not believe it until we see the body. Fling it out of the window, -like a good lad.” - -With some difficulty the corpse is raised and thrown into the street -below. The gashed and bleeding remains of the old hero fall heavily upon -the pavement. Henri de Guise stoops down to feast his eyes upon his -enemy. The features are so veiled with blood he cannot recognise them. -He takes out his handkerchief and wipes the wrinkled face clean. “I know -you now--Admiral Coligni,” says he, “and I spurn you. Lie there, -poisonous old serpent that murdered my father. Thou shalt shed no more -venom, reptile!” and he kicks the corpse into a corner, amidst the dirt -and mud of the thoroughfare. (Coligni’s dead body[14] is carried to the -gallows at Montfaucon, where it hangs by the feet from a chain of iron.) -Guise then turns to the fifty arquebusiers behind him. “En avant--en -avant, mes enfants!” he shouts; “you have made a good beginning--set -upon the others--slaughter them all--men, women--even infants at the -breast--cut them down.” Sword in hand Guise rushes through the streets -with Nevers, D’Angoulême, and Tavannes, as well as Gondi and De Retz, -who have now joined him, at his back. - -Meanwhile, Marguerite de Valois is awakened by some one beating -violently with feet and hands against her door crying out, “Navarre! -Navarre!” “My nurse,” writes she, “thinking it was the King, ran and -opened the door; but it was M. de Séran, grievously wounded and closely -pursued by four archers, who cried out, ‘Kill him; kill him! spare no -one.’ De Séran threw himself on my bed to save himself. I, not knowing -who he was, jumped out, and he with me, holding by me tightly. We both -screamed loudly; I was as frightened as he was, but God sent M. de -Nançay, Captain of the Guards, who finding me in this condition, could -not help laughing. He drove the archers out and spared the life of this -man, whom I put to bed in my closet and kept there till he was well. I -changed my night-dress, which was covered with blood. M. de Nançay -assured me that my husband was safe and with the King. He threw over me -a cloak, and took me to my sister Claude, in whose room I arrived more -dead than alive; specially so when, as I set my foot in the antechamber, -a gentleman named Bourse dropped, pierced by a ball, dead at my feet. I -fell fainting into the arms of M. de Nançay, thinking I was killed also. -A little recovered, I went into the small room beyond where my sister -slept. While I was there, two gentlemen-in-waiting, who attended my -husband, rushed in, imploring me to save their lives. So I went to the -King and to the Queen, my brother and my mother, and falling on my -knees begged that these gentlemen might be spared, which was granted to -me.” - -“Having,” continues Marguerite, “failed in the principal purpose, _which -was not so much against the Huguenots as against the Princes of the -blood--the King my husband, and the Prince of Condé_--the Queen, my -mother, came to me and ‘_asked me to break my marriage_.’ But I replied -that I would not; being sure that she only proposed this in order to -murder my husband.”[15] - -The magic mirror of Ruggiero had revealed the truth; Henry of Navarre -led a charmed life. Of his escape, against the express command of the -all-powerful Catherine, various accounts are related. He is said to have -been saved by his wife, but of this _she_ says nothing. It is believed -on good authority that, with the Prince de Condé, he went out unusually -early, before daybreak even, in order to prepare for playing that -identical game of rackets, of which he spoke to Marguerite and which -probably saved his life. When it is discovered that these two princes, -Condé and Navarre, are both alive, they are summoned to the King’s -presence. They find Charles, arquebuse in hand, within the same small -closet over the gate of the Louvre. He has been there since daybreak. A -page stands by him, ready to reload his weapon. He is mad with -exultation and excitement; he leans out of window to watch the crowds of -fugitives rush by and to shout to the Swiss Guards below--“Kill--kill -all--cut them all in pieces!” “_Pardieu!_ see,” he roars out, pointing -to the river, “there is a fellow yonder escaping. By the mass, -look--one, two, three--they are swimming across the Seine--at them, at -them--take good aim--shoot them down, the carrion!” Volleys of shot are -the reply. Charles had recovered his nerves; he now looks on Huguenots -as game, and has been potting them with remarkable precision from the -window. With hideous mirth, he boasts to Navarre and Condé how many -heretics he has brought down with his own hand. He counts upon his -fingers the names of the Huguenot chiefs already slaughtered. He yells -with fiendish laughter when he describes how Coligni, whom the night -before he had called “father,” looked when dead. “By the light of God, -it is a royal chase!” shrieks Charles, as the page quickly reloads his -arquebuse. “That last shot was excellent. Not a heretic shall be left in -France.” Again he points his gun and shoots; a piercing cry follows. -Charles nods his head approvingly. “We will have them all--babies and -their mothers. ‘Break the eggs and the nest will rot.’ Our mother says -well--we must reign. We will no longer be contradicted by our subjects. -We will teach them to revere us as the image of the living God. You, -Princes,”--and as he turns to address the King of Navarre and Condé, his -tall, gaunt figure, distorted countenance, bleared and bloodshot eyes, -and matted hair are repulsive to look upon--“You, Princes, I have called -hither, out of compassion for your youth, to give you a chance for your -lives, _as you are alive_,--but by the holy Oriflamme, _I thought you -were both dead already_. You are, both of you, rebels, and sons of -rebels. You must instantly recant and enter the true Church or you must -die. So down on your knees, both of you. Purge yourselves from your -accursed sect. Give me your parole, and your swords too, Princes, that -you will not leave the Louvre; or, _Dieu des Dieux_, you shall be -massacred like the rest!” - -Thus did Henry IV. and the Prince de Condé escape death, unknown to, and -contrary to the express orders of Catherine. - -Without, Paris is a charnel-house. The streets are choked up by murdered -Huguenots. Carts and litters full of dead bodies, huddled together in a -hideous medley, rumble along the rough causeways, to be shot into the -Seine. The river runs red with blood; its current is dammed up with -corpses. But the Court is merry. Catherine triumphs. Her ladies--_la -petite bande de la Reine_--go forth and pick their way in the gory mud, -to scrutinise the dead, piled in heaps against the walls and in the -courts of the Louvre, to recognise friends or lovers. - -On the 6th September the news of the massacre reaches Rome by letters -from the Nuncio. Gregory XIII. commands solemn masses and thanksgivings -to God for the event. The cannon of St. Angelo booms over the papal -city; _feux de joie_ are fired in the principal streets; a medal is -struck; a jubilee is published; a legate is sent into France; a -procession, in which the Pope, Cardinals, and Ministers to the See of -Rome appear, visit the great Basilicas; the Cardinal de Lorraine, uncle -to the Balafré, then at Rome, is present, and in the name of his master, -Charles IX., congratulates his Holiness on the efficacy of his prayers -these _seventeen years past_ for the destruction of heretics. - -Blood calls for blood![16] Charles IX., whose royal mandate authorised -the massacre (which lasted seven days and seven nights), falls sick two -years after at the Castle of Vincennes. “I know not what has befallen -me,” he says to his surgeon, Ambrose Paré; “my mind and body both burn -with fever. Asleep or awake, I see the mangled Huguenots pass before me. -They drip with blood; they make hideous faces at me; they point to their -open wounds and mock me. Holy Virgin! I wish, Paré, I had spared the old -and the infirm and the infants at the breasts.” Aged twenty-four, -Charles died, abhorring the mother whose counsels had led him to this -execrable deed--abhorring her so intensely that he could not even bear -her in his sight. In her place he called for the King of Navarre, and -confided to him his last wishes. He died, poor misguided youth, piously -thanking God that he left no children. The blood actually oozed from the -pores of his skin. His cries and screams were horrible. - -Thus another King of France passed into the world of spirits, bringing -Henry of Navarre one step nearer the throne. Charles, according to the -prediction of Ruggiero, had died young, bathed in his own blood. - -And Catherine? Calm, undaunted, still handsome, she inaugurated a new -reign--that of her third and best beloved son, Henri, Duc d’Anjou and -King of Poland, popularly known by the style and title of Henry III., -“_by the favour of his mother inert King of France_.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE END OF CATHERINE DE’ MEDICI. - - -Fifteen years have passed. The Queen-mother is now seventy. She suffers -from a mortal disease, and lies sick at the Château of Blois. - -Hither her son Henry III. and his Court have come to meet the -States-General. Trouble is in the kingdom; for the great Balafré, -supported by Rome and Spain, is in rebellion; Henry totters on his -throne. - -And what a throne! What a monarch! Henry, who in his youth was learned, -elegant, sober, who fought at Jarnac and Moncontour[17] like a Paladin, -has become effeminate, superstitious, and vicious. His sceptre is a -cup-and-ball; his sword, a tuft of feathers; he paints and dresses like -a woman, covers himself with jewels, and passes his time in arranging -ecclesiastical processions, or in festivals, pageants, masques, and -banquets. His four favourites (“minions” they are called, and also -“beggars,” from their greed and luxury), De Joyeuse, D’Epernon, -Schomberg, and Maugiron, govern him and the kingdom. They are handsome -and satirical, and think to kill the King’s enemies with ridicule and -_jeux de mots_. But Henri de Guise, who sternly rebukes their ribaldry -and abhors their dissolute manners, is not the man to be conquered by -such weapons as words. He has placed himself at the head of the Catholic -League, negotiates with Spain, and openly aspires to the throne. - -For a moment there is peace. Henry before leaving Paris, by the advice -of his mother summoned the Duc de Guise from Nancy to Paris. The Balafré -enters the capital in disguise. The cry, “The Duke is with us!” spreads -over the city like lightning. The populace, who adore Guise and detest -Henry, tear off his mask and cloak and lead him through the streets in -triumph. Catherine, although very ill, is so alarmed at the threatening -aspect of affairs, that she causes herself to be carried out to meet -him, borne in a chair, and so brings him to the Louvre into the presence -of the King. His insolent bearing transports Henry with rage. The -citizens, not to be pacified, fall out with the King’s guards, and there -is a fearful uproar in the city. The Louvre is besieged. Henry, haughty -and obstinate, is no longer safe in Paris. Maréchal d’Ornano offers to -assassinate the Duc de Guise, but the King, by advice of D’Epernon, -affects to yield to the policy of his mother, and to accept the -supremacy of Guise. Under pretence, however, of a walk in the Tuileries -Gardens, then newly planted, he orders his horses to be saddled, and -escapes out of Paris, by way of Montmartre, attended only by his -favourites. He reaches Chartres in safety. At Chartres he is joined by -Catherine, and a treaty is signed--a treaty of false peace, for already -D’Epernon and Joyeuse are whispering into the King’s ear that “the Duc -de Guise must die.” - -The treaty stipulates that Henry be declared Head of the Catholic -League; that all Huguenots be banished--notably the King of Navarre, -heir-presumptive to the throne; and that the Duc de - -[Illustration: CATHERINE DE’ MEDICI.] - -Guise be Lieutenant-General of the kingdom. The States-General are to be -immediately assembled; and Henri de Guise, once the poetic lover, now -hardened into the cold, ambitious bigot--ready to usurp the throne of -France to ensure the triumph of the Catholic party, and exclude the King -of Navarre--canvasses France, to insure a majority for the Holy League -against those pertinacious enemies of orthodoxy, Condé and Navarre. - -The King, meanwhile, overridden and humiliated, agrees to everything, -and listens complacently to D’Epernon, who tells him, “He will never be -king while Guise lives.” So, for the moment, there is peace. - -Now the King has left Chartres, and is at Blois. The Balafré and his -brother the Cardinal are also there to attend the Parliament, which is -summoned, and to make known their grievances. So the sunny little town -of Blois, sloping sweetly downwards to the Loire, with its superb castle -marked by towers, turrets, broad flat roofs, painted windows, and ample -courts, is the theatre on which the great battle is to be fought between -the rival houses of Guise and Valois. All the chiefs on either side are -to be present at a council which is to precede the meeting of the -Assembly. Henry--at the instigation of D’Epernon--the better to play his -perfidious game has communicated at the same altar with the Balafré and -his brother the Cardinal, and given them the kiss of peace to seal their -reconciliation. - -Catherine’s apartments are on the first floor of the château,--a -gallery-saloon, the diamonded windows set in painted arches overlooking -the town, the dark walls, decorated with a crowned C and a monogram in -gold; her oratory, with a large oval window where an altar stands; her -writing-closet, with many concealed drawers and _secrets_ in the -walls--a hidden stair leading to an observatory, and a sleeping-room -with a recess for her bed. So unaltered are these rooms that the -presence of Catherine still haunts them; she faces one at every step. - -In her bed within that recess the great Queen lies dying. She is old and -broken, and her mind wanders at times through excess of pain. But she -cannot die in peace, for she knows that her son Henry--the last of her -race--meditates a hideous crime; a crime in which she would have gloried -once, but now, racked with bodily suffering and mental anguish, with -remorse for the past and terror for the future, she shudders at the very -thought. - -She calls him to her. Henry, her beloved Anjou! As he enters her -chamber, she struggles upright on her bed. No one would have recognised -the majestic Queen in the hideous skeleton that now speaks. - -“What are you about to do, my son?” she asks in a tremulous voice; -“answer me, Henry. I fear I know too well what is on your mind. God -grant you may succeed, but I fear evil will come of it. The Duke and his -brother are too powerful.” - -“The very reason they should die, my mother. I shall never be King of -France while they live.” - -“But, Henry,” gasps Catherine, trembling from weakness and excitement, -as she clasps her son’s hand, “have you taken measures to assure -yourself of the cities? Have you communicated with the Holy Father? Do -this, do it at once!” - -“Madame, good measures have been taken; trouble not yourself further.” - -“But, my son,” continues Catherine with increasing agitation, “the -Cardinal de Guise has been here to visit me; they are full of suspicion. -The Cardinal says that I have betrayed them. I replied, ‘May I die, my -cousin, if I have anything to do with any treason whatever.’ My son, I -am in great agony,” and she groans and turns her eyes glowing with fever -full upon him; “do not listen to D’Epernon; let there be peace while I -live, and after.” - -“What!” cries Henry, disengaging himself from her and striding up and -down the room. “What! spare, when Guise, triumphant among the citizens -of Paris, dared to lay his hand on the hilt of his sword in our very -presence at the Louvre! Spare him who drove me a fugitive from the -capital! Spare the chief of the League, who, assisted by Spain, is -dismembering France! Spare them, when they will both be within this -castle to-night, to attend the council! Spare _them_ who never spared -ME! No, my mother, I will NOT spare them! Your sickness has weakened -your courage. ‘A nut for a nut’ was once your motto. It is mine. If the -Balafré and the Cardinal enter these doors to-morrow they shall not go -hence alive; they shall die like rebels as they are.” - -“Alas! my son,” says the Queen in a very low voice,--she has fallen back -exhausted upon the bed,--“alas! it is easy to cut the thread of life; -but once cut, can you mend it? Shed no more blood, Henry, for my sake, -for I am dying. Let my last hour be undisturbed. I have much that -troubles me,” and she heaves a deep sigh. “Too much blood has flowed -already. Spare them, Henry, spare them.” - -“My mother, _you_ never spared an enemy when within your power, nor will -I. Either Guise or I must die. You have taught me that all means are -good to save the sovereign and support his authority. My brother -Charles, by your order, spared not Coligni and massacred the Huguenots -at the festival of St. Bartholomew. _I helped him._ The Guises, madame, -must die.” - -“But, my son,” replies Catherine, wringing her bony hands, and -struggling again to raise herself upright, “it is sacrilege. You have -sworn peace upon the altar; you have eaten together the body of the -Lord.” - -Catherine’s voice is so feeble, that the King either does not hear, or -does not heed her. He still strides up and down the room, speaking from -time to time as if to himself. - -“Every detail is arranged; we cannot fail. To-morrow the guards within -the walls will be doubled; a hundred Swiss will be posted at the -entrance in the courtyard and on the grand staircase. When the Duke -arrives, Crillon will see that the outer gates are closed. As soon as -Guise enters the council-chamber, I will send for him into my closet. -When he has passed through the guard-room to reach it, Nambre will bar -the door, that he may not return. My trusty Dalahaide and the -guards--the 45th--who will be hidden on the secret stair behind the -arras, will then rush down, fall upon the traitor as he passes through -the guard-room, and finish him.” - -Catherine, with haggard eyes, listens breathlessly. When the King has -ceased speaking and looks round for a reply, she has fainted. - - * * * * * - -The next morning the sky was black with clouds. The month was December. -It rained violently, and the wind howled round the corners of the -château. Catherine, lying in the uneasy slumber of disease, was awakened -at eight o’clock by the sound of heavy footsteps overhead. The state -apartments are on the second floor, immediately over and corresponding -with those of the Queen-mother. They still remain, gloomy and -ill-omened, haunted by evil memories. Every plank has its history--each -corner a ghastly detail. There is the hidden stair within the wall, -concealed by tapestry, where Dalahaide and the guards hid; the door -against which the great Balafré fell, stabbed by Malines in the breast, -where he was spurned by the heel of the King, as he himself had spurned -Coligni, and where he lay long uncovered, until an old carpet was found -in which to wrap his corpse. - - * * * * * - -Catherine, listening breathlessly, hears the council assembling. Heavy -footsteps are passing backwards and forwards through the guard-room -overhead to the royal gallery where the council is to meet. Then all is -hushed, and the face of the dying queen flushes with hope, and her hands -clasp themselves in prayer, if, perchance, at the last moment Henry has -relented and listened to her entreaties to spare the Duke. - -A moment after a door closes violently. She hears a single footstep--a -powerful and firm footstep. It crosses the floor. Then came loud -tramplings, as of a rush of armed men, a clash of weapons, a fall as of -a heavy body; then a terrible cry-- - -“À moi, mes amis!--trahison!--à moi, Guise,--je me meurs.” - -The dying woman knows that all is over; she sinks back on her bed raving -in delirium. In a few days she was dead. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE LAST OF THE VALOIS. - - -We are at Saint-Cloud. The time, the wars of the League. At the head of -the Leaguers is the Duc de Mayenne, only living brother of the Guises. -Henry III. commands the royal forces. With him is Henry of Navarre. -Since the Queen-mother’s death the King of France has become reconciled -to his brother-in-law. He shows himself almost a hero. They are both -defending the Crown to which Mayenne aspires. Eight months have passed -since the murder of the Balafré. That treacherous deed has done the King -no good; Mayenne lives to avenge his brother’s death, and the Catholic -party is still more alienated from the King since he has called a -heretic into his councils. The royal troops are lying encamped among the -hilly woodlands of the park towards Ville d’Avray and Meudon, then, as -now, pleasant to the eye. - -On the 1st August, 1589, Henry sat in the long gallery of the palace -(until lately lined with pictures and gorgeously decorated), playing at -cards with his attendants. He holds himself so upright, that he moves -neither his head nor his feet, and his hands as little as possible. A -hood hangs upon his shoulders; a little cap, with a flower stuck in it, -is placed over one ear; round his neck, suspended by a broad blue -ribbon, is a basket of gold wickerwork, full of little puppies. - -Monsieur d’O, Seigneur of Fiesnes and Maillebois, first gentleman of the -bed-chamber, and Governor of Paris, has been joking him about the -predictions of an astrologer, named Osman, who has arrived that evening -at Saint-Cloud in company with some noblemen. - -“By our Ladye-mother! let us have him in and hear what he can say,” -cries the King. “These fellows are diverting. I will question him -myself.” - -Osman is sent for; but startled at so sudden and unexpected an interview -with the King himself in such a whimsical attire, scarcely knows how to -reply to the gibes his Majesty addressed to him. - -“Come, come,” says the King, “let us hear what you can do. They tell me -you draw horoscopes. Let me have a specimen of your skill.” - -“Sire,” replies Osman, somewhat recovered from his confusion, “I will -obey you; but, as sure as fate, the heavens this night are unpropitious. -The light of the moon is veiled; there are signs of mourning among the -stars; lamentations and woe are written in the planets; a great -misfortune hangs over you--Beware!” - -“By St. Denis!” cries the King, “the fellow is glib enough with his -tongue; but tell me, good heathen, are the stars in mourning for a king -or for an emperor?” - -“Sire, they mourn over the approaching extinction of your race.” - -“Heaven preserve us!” answers the King, with affected consternation, -caressing his puppies. “But tell me now, if you have any knowledge, what -do the celestial powers think of those accursed rebels, the Leaguers, -and their chief, the Duc de Mayenne? Is that bold traitor in favour -among the stars?” - -Osman does not at once reply; but, advancing to the window, throws open -the sash, and silently observes the heavens. - -“Sire, I see one star shining brightly in the firmament.” - -“Where?” asks the King. - -“Just over the Camp of Meudon, where Henry of Navarre lies this night. -But look, your Majesty, at that other star there over the woods. It -blazes for a moment; and now, see--it falls; it has disappeared behind -the palace!” - -“By the mother of God,” says the King, reddening either with terror or -passion, “I have had enough of this gibberish. Hark ye, you wandering -Jew! no more of these ugly portents, or, by St. Louis, the guardian of -our race, we will hold you warrant for all that may happen to our -person.” - -Osman shrunk back from the window, trembling with fright. He does not -wait for permission to depart, but as the King rises to address some -gentlemen he glides from the gallery. - -“If ever I heard a voice hoarse with blood, it is his,” mutters the -astrologer, pointing to the King as he crept away. “By the brightness of -the celestial bodies, there will be evil this night. I will never draw -horoscope more, if to-morrow’s sun finds Henry of Valois alive. There is -blood on him, but he sees it not. His star has fallen, he beheld it; but -he understood not the portent.” - -As Osman crosses the circular hall opening from the gallery and leading -to the principal staircase, he meets the Comte d’Auvergne[18] conversing -with a Dominican monk, whose sinister countenance expressed every evil -passion. A crowd of attendants had assembled and are listening to the -conversation. - -“Good father,” says M. d’Auvergne, addressing the Dominican, “you must -not, at this late hour, insist on seeing his Majesty; he is engaged.” - -“But, indeed, monseigneur, I do insist upon seeing him without a -moment’s delay, and alone. It is on a matter of life and death.” The -monk’s bold words and determined bearing evidently impress M. d’Auvergne -in his favour. - -“Are you the bearer of any despatches for his Majesty?” he asks. “Those -might be delivered, although his Majesty has just retired and is at this -moment in his oratory, busy with his devotions.” - -As he spoke, D’Auvergne scans him curiously; the monk perceives the -look, draws his cowl closer over his face, and withdraws from the full -glare of the lights on the staircase. - -“I am the bearer of letters of the greatest importance, -monseigneur--letters from the President Harlay, now a prisoner of the -League; but I am charged to deliver them in person, and into the hand of -his Majesty alone. Nor is that all; I have a secret communication to -make, which it behoves the King to hear without delay. Good gentlemen,” -and he faces round to the courtiers who are gathered about him, “I pray -you, one of you, go to the King and tell him what I say.” - -“Impossible,” replies the Count d’O, who came from the gallery at that -moment, and hears the last few words; “impossible. His Majesty is now -alone; I have just left him. He is fatigued, and desired not to be -disturbed.” - -“Good God!” cries the monk, clasping his hands, “if I do not see him -to-night, I shall never see him.” - -“And why not, I pray?” asks the Comte d’Auvergne. “Come and sup with my -people to-night; and to-morrow, as early as you please, I will take you -to his Majesty. Follow me.” - -“I wash my hands of all the evil this delay will cause,” exclaims the -monk, following him reluctantly. “On your head be it, monseigneur.” They -quitted the hall together. - -All this time Osman had stood near watching them. He had not lost a -syllable of the conversation. “Did I not say that there was blood?” he -mutters half aloud; “is it not true? The knowledge of it came to me in a -vision. Now I have read it also in the stars. The blood of the King is -on that monk. His robes are spotted with it. In his hand, while he -spoke, there was a dagger. None else beheld it; but I saw it, and the -point streamed with the King’s life-blood. Woe! woe! woe! Would that I -could - -[Illustration: CHÂTEAU DE BLOIS.] - -speak! Would that they would listen! Before many hours, death will be -within these walls. Alas! it is given to me to avert it if they would -but hear me.” - -The astrologer slowly follows the steps of the Comte d’Auvergne and the -Dominican, descending the stairs after them. They enter a suite of rooms -on the ground floor of the palace. The monk had now thrown back his cowl -and displayed a face yet young, but seamed and wrinkled with deep lines. -His eyes are dull and bloodshot; his thin hair scarcely shades his -projecting forehead. He stands in the centre of the apartment, silent, -sullen, and preoccupied. - -“What is your name?” asks the Count sternly, turning towards him. - -“Jacques Clément,” is the short rejoinder. - -“You say you are the bearer of letters to the King?” - -“Yes,” replies he, “from Monsieur de Brienne and the President Harlay, -now both prisoners in the Bastille. There is my passport; you see it is -signed by Monsieur de Brienne.” - -“Show me the President’s letter,” says D’Auvergne; “his writing is as -familiar to me as my own. If you are a spy, you will meet with no mercy -here,” and he measured him from head to foot with eyes full of doubt and -suspicion. - -The monk draws forth a parcel of unsealed letters, which the Count reads -and examines. - -“It is well,” he says. “These are proofs that you are a messenger from -the King’s friends. But how did you, carrying such dangerous -credentials, contrive to pass the gates of Paris? Answer me that, my -father.” - -“My habit protected me,” replies the monk, devoutly crossing himself, -“our Blessed Lady gave me courage and address to escape from those -Philistines. Once past the gates, I came here in company with Monsieur -de la Guesle’s people.” - -“You say, then, that you will answer with your head that two gates of -Paris will open to the King if he advances?” - -“I swear before God that this is the truth,” replies the monk, again -crossing himself; “and my God is not that false one worshipped by the -Huguenot dogs under Henry of Navarre, but the true God of the Holy -Catholic Church. Let the King trust to his loyal Catholic subjects, and -beware of the heretics that are in his council and amongst his troops.” -And the monk scowls around. His eyes meet those of Osman the astrologer, -which are fixed on him with the intensity of a cat ready to spring. -Jacques Clément trembles. For an instant his courage forsakes him and he -turns pale. - -“Well, father,” says D’Auvergne, laughing, “you are true to your -trade--a steady Catholic. We understand; you can smell a heretic a mile -off, I’ll be sworn.” - -The monk makes no reply, and to avoid further discussion turns to a -table on which supper is spread, and sitting down, begins to eat. - -The Attorney-General de la Guesle having been told of the arrival of a -mysterious monk, enters the room and confirms what he had said of their -meeting outside the gates of Paris. - -The Comte d’Auvergne, after scrutinising Jacques Clément for some -minutes, turns aside to Monsieur de la Guesle, and whispers-- - -“I do not know why, but I have a strange suspicion of that fellow. All -he says seems fair enough and his papers are properly signed; but there -is something about his dark, sinister face and surly answers that alarms -me.” - -Osman, seeing them converse apart, advances eagerly from the bottom of -the room, and addresses them in a low voice, “If monseigneur will only -listen to me, he will not admit this monk within a hundred miles of his -Majesty. The stars, Count, are----” - -“Confound the stars!” interrupts Monsieur de la Guesle. “Do you take us -for a parcel of fools? Go prate elsewhere.” - -The noblemen seat themselves at the upper end of the supper-table. The -Comte d’Auvergne, Monsieur de la Guesle, and other gentlemen are served -by an old valet who, after pouring out the wine all round, stands behind -the chair of his master, the Count. His eyes are fixed on Jacques -Clément, who had drawn forth from the folds of his sleeve a large dagger -with which he cuts up his meat. - -“May it please monseigneur,” the valet whispers into the Count’s ear, -“the reverend father knows how to travel in these stormy times. He has -not forgotten to bring a goodly dagger with him; though perhaps the -breviary, being less useful, is forgotten.” - -“Not so, brother,” answers the monk who, overhearing his whisper, draws -out a missal from his bosom; “I never travel without the one and the -other--defences for the body and the soul--whichever may most need it.” - -But the garrulous old servant, once set talking, is not to be silenced. -He begins a long account, in a low voice, addressed to the Count, of how -the monk, on arriving, had entertained him and his fellows in the -courtyard with a history of the death of Holofernes the tyrant, by the -hands of a Jewish maiden Judith, the saviour of her country. - -“A bloody tale, forsooth,” says M. de la Guesle, eying the monk. - -“Ay, blood, blood!” mutters Osman who is seated below the salt, next the -Comte d’Auvergne. “See you not, my lord,” he continues, half aloud to -the Count, holding up his hand warningly, “that this monk is a mad -fanatic? Admit him to no speech with the King, I entreat you; he is mad, -monseigneur.” - -“Oh,” answers the Count, in low voice, “I will watch over his Majesty. -As the bearer of letters of importance I cannot refuse him an audience, -but I will answer that no mischief comes of the meeting.” - -Soon after, supper being ended, the party separates. The monk is -conducted to a bed; and Osman, heaving many heavy sighs, retires to the -room appropriated to him, where he consults the stars, until the dawn of -day obliterates them and ends his labour. - -The next day is the 2d of August, and the King, who has been informed of -the arrival of a monk with letters over night, commands his early -attendance in his bed-chamber. The Comte d’Auvergne conducts Jacques -Clément into the presence of Henry, who sits in an arm-chair, only -partially dressed, close to the bed. As the communication is to be -private, the King signs to D’Auvergne, Clermont, and the other -attendants present, to retire to the farther end of the room; then he -stretches out his hand to receive the packet from Jacques Clément, who -in presenting it bows his head, and stands motionless, his arms crossed -on his breast. - -As Henry’s attention is absorbed and his eyes are bent upon the page, -Jacques Clément suddenly draws out the dagger he carried concealed in -his sleeve, springs forward, and plunges it up to the hilt in the King’s -abdomen. - -“Help!” groans the King, with difficulty plucking out the weapon and -flinging it on the floor. “Help! the wretch has stabbed me. I am -killed--kill him!” - -D’Auvergne rushes forward. The pages and gentlemen in attendance, the -guards outside, and Monsieur de la Guesle, who is waiting for an -audience, all burst into the room. - -The King is lying back in the arm-chair; a pool of blood stains the -floor from a deep wound; Jacques Clément still stands immovable before -him. Swords flash in the air; some fly to support the dying monarch, -some to raise an alarm over the palace; others, transported with fury, -fall upon the monk, who offers no resistance. He is speedily despatched. -Osman, hearing the uproar, enters. “What!” cries he, “is the King dead?” - -“Not quite,” is the reply. - -“Who did it?” - -“Jacques Clément.” - -“Sainte Marie!” groans the astrologer, wringing his hands, “if you had -listened to me this would never have happened. Did I not say there was -blood on that monk? Did I not say that the star of the House of Valois -had fallen? Alas! alas! If you had but listened!” - -At this moment M. d’O and the Comte d’Auvergne leave the King’s room to -send for a surgeon. - -“Why did you kill the assassin? We might have tortured him, and -discovered his accomplices,” says M. d’O, while they await the messenger -whom they had despatched. - -“I did not kill him,” answered the Comte d’Auvergne. The King was seated -when he entered, and, taking the wretch’s papers in his hands, was busy -reading them. M. Clermont and I were present, but had retired a little -to leave his Majesty more at liberty. As he rose from his seat and was -addressing the monk, the traitor drew a dagger from his sleeve and -plunged it into the King’s stomach. The King cried out, “Kill him--he -has killed me!” and, drawing forth the dagger from the wound, gave two -or three cuts at the assassin, and then fell. We rushed to his aid, and -smote the fellow, who was unarmed, right and left. At the noise, the -doors burst open, and the gentlemen and pages in their rage finished him -with a hundred blows. Seeing that he was dead, I ordered him to be -stripped and thrown out of the window, in order to be recognised if -possible.” - -“What does it matter who recognises him?” answers M. d’O. “Have the -papers that he showed the King disappeared also?” - -Before the Count could reply the surgeon appears. He desires that every -one shall be turned out of the King’s bedroom whilst he examines him. He -pronounces the wound mortal; the dagger was poisoned. Henry, after great -anguish, expires in a few hours. The letters were forgeries. The body of -Jacques Clément, having first been drawn by four horses through the -streets of Saint-Cloud, is burned by the common hangman. He is much -lauded, however, at Rome, where Sixtus V. reigns as Pontiff; at Paris -his effigy is placed upon the altars beside the Host. - -Meanwhile the King of Navarre is within his quarters at Meudon. His -minister Sully lodges a little way down the hill, in the house of a man -called Sauvat. Sully is just sitting down to supper, when his secretary -enters and desires him to go instantly to his master. - -Henry of Navarre tells him that an express has arrived from Saint-Cloud, -and that the King is already dead, or dying. “Sully,” he says, “for what -I know, I may be at this very instance King of France. Yet, who will -support me? Half my army will desert if Henry be really dead. Not a -prince of the blood--not a minister will stand by me. I am here, as it -were, in the midst of an enemy’s country, with but a handful of -followers. What is to be done?” - -“Stay where you are, Sire, is my advice,” answers Sully. “If you are, -indeed, now King of France, remain with such as are faithful to you. A -monarch should never fly. But let us go to Saint-Cloud and hear the -truth.” - -“That is just what I desire,” answers Henry. “We will start as soon as -our horses are saddled.” - -As they enter the gates of Saint-Cloud, a man rushes by them, shouting, -“The King is dead--the King is dead!” Henry reins up his horse. The -Swiss Guard, posted round the château, perceive him. They throw down -their arms and cast themselves at his feet. “Sire,” they cry, “now you -are our King and master, do not forsake us.” Biron, the Duc de -Bellegarde, the Comte d’O, M. de Châteauvieux, and De Dampierre come up; -they all warmly salute Henry as their sovereign. - -But the bonfires that already blaze in the streets of Paris at the news -of the death of the King, warn Henry of Navarre that he must fight as -many battles to gain the Crown, as he has already done to secure his -personal liberty. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -DON JUAN. - - -The wars of the League rage fiercer than ever. By the death of the last -Valois, Henry III., Henry IV., a Bourbon, is King of France.[19] But he -is only acknowledged by his Protestant subjects. To the Catholics he is -but a rebel, and still only King of Navarre. The Duc de Mayenne (a -Guise, brother of the Balafré), subsidised with money and troops by -Spain, is the orthodox pretender to the - -[Illustration: HENRY IV. - -FROM A CONTEMPORARY PAINTING IN THE MUSEUM AT VERSAILLES.] - -throne. The capital, Paris, is with him. The two Henries, reconciled -after the death of Catherine de’ Medici, encamped with their respective -forces at Saint-Cloud, were about to invest the city. But now Henry III. -is dead. His successor, Henry of Navarre, weakened in influence, troops, -and money, is forced to raise the siege and retire. Henry IV. had at -this time but 3,000 troops, while the army of Mayenne numbered 32,000 -men. Then came help from England. The victory of Ivry was gained, Henry -again invested Paris and encamped on the heights of Montmartre. It was -now he uttered that characteristic _mot_:--“I am like the true mother in -the judgment of Solomon,--I would rather not have Paris at all than see -it torn to pieces.” - -At this time the fortune of war called the King in many places. He loved -an adventurous life. Brave to a fault, he rode hither and thither like a -knight-errant, regardless of his personal safety, accompanied only by a -few attendants. - -Although a warrior and a statesman, Henry was a true child of the -mountains. Born under the shadows of the Pyrenees, he would as soon -encamp under a hedge as lie on a bed of down; would rather eat dried ham -spiced with garlic than dine sumptuously at Jarnet’s Palace, at the -Marais or at “Le Petit More,” the polite _traiteur_ of that day; would -quaff the _petit cru_ of his native grape with more relish than the -costliest wines from the vineyards of Champagne or Bordeaux. Henry was -not born upon the banks of the Garonne, but a more thorough Gascon never -lived,--his hand upon his sword, his foot in the stirrup, his gun slung -across his shoulder, the first in assault, the last in retreat, ready -to slay the wild boar of his native forests, or lute in hand to twang a -roundelay in honour of the first Dulcinea he encountered. Boastful, -fearless, capricious; his versatility of accomplishments suited the -changing aspects of the times. He was plain of speech, rough in -manner--with a quaint jest alike for friend or foe; irregular in his -habits, eating at no stated times, but when hungry voraciously devouring -everything that pleased him, especially fruit and oysters; negligent, -not to say dirty, in his person, and smelling strong of garlic. A man -who called a spade a spade, swore like a trooper, and hated the parade -of courts; was constant in friendship, fickle in love, promised -everything freely, especially marriage, to any beauty who caught his -eye; a boon companion among men, a libertine with women, a story-teller, -cynical in his careless epicureanism, and so profound a believer in “the -way of fate,” that reckless of the morrow he extracted all things from -the passing hour. - -He is now thirty-three years old, of middle height, broad-shouldered, -and coarsely made. His swarthy skin is darkened by constant exposure; he -looks battered, wrinkled, and dissipated. His long nose overhangs his -grisly moustache, and a mocking expression lurks in the corners of his -mouth. The fire of his eyes is unquenched, and the habit of command is -stamped on every motion. - -He is with his army at Mantes. It is evening; he is surrounded by a few -friends, and from talk of war the conversation turns to women. The Duc -de Bellegarde, captain of light horse, the close friend and constant -companion of the King, sits beside him. He has a noble presence, is -supple, graceful, gentle in speech and generous in nature. - -Bellegarde speaks boastingly of the beauty of a certain lady whom he is -engaged to marry, Gabrielle d’Estrées, daughter of the Marquis -d’Estrées. - -“_Cap de Dieu!_” exclaims Henry, after listening to Bellegarde in -silence; “I have heard of the lady, one of the daughters of our brave -general of artillery, Antoine d’Estrées; but I will back my bewitching -Abbess of Montmartre, Marie de Beauvilliers, against your Gabrielle.” - -“Not if your Majesty saw her, believe me,” replies Bellegarde, warmly. - -“You are a boaster, Bellegarde. You dare not produce your paragon.” - -“On the contrary, Sire, I only desire that Mademoiselle d’Estrées should -be seen, for then alone she can be appreciated.” - -“Say you so, Bellegarde? That is fair; will you bet a thousand crowns on -Gabrielle against Marie?” - -“I accept, Sire; but how can we decide!” - -“You see the lady. It is easily managed. Do you visit her often?” - -“Your Majesty seemingly forgets I am engaged to marry her.” - -“I understand. Now, Bellegarde, I forbid you, as your sovereign and -master, to see this fair lady, except in my company. _Par Dieu!_ I will -refuse you leave of absence.” - -Bellegarde’s heart misgave him. The King’s vehemence alarms him. He saw -too late the mistake that he has made. - -“Now, Bellegarde, don’t look like a doctor of the Sorbonne in a fix; -Mademoiselle d’Estrées will not object if I go in your company?” - -“Your Majesty must consider that I have no excuse for introducing you,” -replies he, with some hesitation. “Besides, consider, Sire, the roads -are unsafe and skirmishers are abroad.” - -“Tut! tut! man; when did I ever care for that when a fair lady was in -the way? I insist upon going, or you shall not either. Both or none. -Listen how it shall be managed. I will disguise myself as--well, let me -see--a Spaniard; no one will suspect me in that character. You shall -introduce me as an Hidalgo, Don Juan, we will say”; and a wicked leer -lights up his countenance. “Don Juan, your prisoner,--taken in a -_mêlée_, now on parole; and my poor Chicot[20] shall go with us, too, -for company.” - -Gabrielle was then living at the paternal Castle of Cœuvres, which -stood on a wooded height between Soissons and Laon, with her father and -her sisters. She was passionately attached to the seductive Bellegarde, -and anticipated their speedy union with all imaginable happiness. - -One evening, while she was indulging in those agreeable musings proper -to the state called “being in love,” Bellegarde was abruptly announced. -He was accompanied by two gentlemen: one, short in stature, with a -comical expression of countenance, was introduced as Monsieur Chicot; -the other, by name “Don Juan,” neither tall nor short, but with very -broad shoulders, had greyish hair, highly coloured cheeks, a swarthy -skin, and was remarkable for a prominent nose and exceedingly audacious -eyes. - -Gabrielle rose in haste and was about to fling her arms round -Bellegarde, but, on seeing his two companions, she drew back, welcoming -them all with a more formal courtesy. - -Gabrielle was eighteen, tall, slim, and singularly graceful. The -severity of her aquiline features was relieved by the bluest eyes and a -most delicate pink and white complexion; webs of auburn hair flowed over -her shoulders. She cast a curious glance at her lover’s singular -companions; she was surprised and vexed that Bellegarde had not come -alone, and to find him cold and reserved. However, any shortcomings on -his part were amply made up by the cordial accolade of the Spanish Don, -who extolled her beauty to her face, and, without asking permission, -kissed her on the cheek. - -Gabrielle’s delicacy was hurt at this freedom; she reproached herself -for the frankness with which she had received strangers, believing them -to be friends of her lover. Casting a helpless glance at him, she looked -down, blushed and retreated to a distant part of the room, where she -seated herself. - -“Pray, madame, excuse our friend,” said Chicot, seeing the confusion of -Gabrielle at such unexpected familiarity; “he is a Spaniard, only newly -arrived in France; he is quite unacquainted with the usages of the -country.” - -“By the mass!” cried Bellegarde, evidently ill at ease, and placing -himself in front of his love, “Spaniard, indeed! I, for my part, know no -country in the world where gentlemen are permitted, thus uninvited, to -salute the ladies--at least, in civilised latitudes. It is well -Mademoiselle’s father was not present.” - -His annoyance was, however, quite lost on the Don, who, his eyes fixed -in bold admiration on Gabrielle, did not heed it. - -“Bellegarde,” said Gabrielle, blushing to her forehead, seeing his -deeply-offended look, “excuse this stranger, I entreat, for my sake; I -am sure he meant no offence. Let not the joy I feel at seeing you be -overcast by this little occurrence.” And she rose, advanced to where he -stood, looked fondly at him, and took his hand in both of hers. - -This appeal was enough. Bellegarde, though anxious, was no longer angry, -and, upon Gabrielle’s invitation, the party seated themselves, Gabrielle -placing herself beside Bellegarde. - -“This gentleman, madame,” said Chicot, turning towards Gabrielle, “whose -admiration of you has led him to offend, is our prisoner; he surrendered -to us yesterday in the _mêlée_ at Marly, and, his ransom paid, to-morrow -morning he will start to join the army of the Duke of Parma. Though -somewhat hot-headed and wilful he is an excellent soldier; he knows how -to behave in the battle-field, if his manners are otherwise too free,” -and Chicot turned round his head and winked at Don Juan, who laughed. - -“At least, gentlemen, now you are here,” said Gabrielle, “by whatever -chance--and the chance must be good that brings you to me” (and her blue -eyes turned towards Bellegarde)--“you will partake of some refreshment. -I beg you to do so in the - -[Illustration: DIANA DE POITIERS, BY JEAN GOUJON. - -FROM THE CHÂTEAU OF ANET, NOW IN THE LOUVRE. - -(By permission of Levy, Paris.)] - -name of Monsieur de Bellegarde, my affianced husband, my father being -absent.” - -“Fair lady,” said the Spaniard, breaking silence for the first time, and -speaking in excellent French, “I never before rejoiced so much in being -able to understand the French tongue as spoken by your dulcet voice; -this is the happiest moment of my life, for it has introduced me to the -fairest of your sex. I repeat it deliberately--the fairest of your sex;” -and he looked significantly at Bellegarde. “I accept your invitation, -readily. Were I fortunate enough to be your prisoner instead of the -Captain’s, my ransom would never be paid, I warrant.” - -“_Cap de Dieu!_” exclaimed Chicot, grinning from ear to ear, “the -Spanish Dons well merit their reputation for gallantry, but our friend -here, Don Juan, outdoes them all, and, indeed, every one of his nation.” - -“Madame,” broke in the Spaniard, very red in the face and speaking with -great vehemence, not appearing to hear this remark, and still addressing -Gabrielle, on whom his eyes were riveted, “I declare if any one, be he -noble or villein, knight or king, dare to say that any woman under God’s -sun surpasses you in beauty or grace, I declare him to be false and -disloyal, and with fitting opportunity I will prove, in more than words, -that he lies to the teeth.” - -“Come, come, my good friend,” interrupted Bellegarde, much discomposed, -“do not, I beseech you, go into these heroics; you will alarm this lady. -If you heat yourself in this way, the night air will give you cold. -Besides, remember, Señor, this lady, Mademoiselle d’Estrées, is my -affianced bride, and that certain conditions were made between us before -I introduced you, which conditions you swore to observe”; and Bellegarde -looked reproachfully at him. - -Don Juan felt the implied reproof, and, for the first time since he had -entered, moved his eyes to some other object than the smiling face of -Gabrielle. - -Her sisters now joined them. Although they much resembled her, and would -have been comely in any other company, Gabrielle so far exceeded them as -to throw them altogether into the shade. They were both immediately -saluted with nearly equal warmth by the Spanish Don, who evidently would -not reform his manners in this particular. Like Gabrielle, they were -quite abashed and retreated to the farther side of the room. - -“Let me tell you, ladies,” said Chicot, advancing towards them, “if you -were to see our friend, Don Juan, in a justaucorps of satin and -glittering with gold and precious stones, with a white panache in his -velvet cap, you would not think he looked so much amiss. But are you -going to give us nothing to eat? What has the Don done that he is to be -starved? Though he be a Spaniard, and serves against Henry of Navarre, -he is a Christian, and has a stomach like any other.” - -On this hint the whole party adjourned to the eating-room. Gabrielle -carefully avoided the Don and kept close to Bellegarde, who looked the -picture of misery. Her sisters clung to her, Chicot was bursting with -ill-suppressed laughter, and the Don was fully occupied in endeavouring -to place himself beside Gabrielle, on whom his eyes were again intently -fixed. At table, spite of Bellegarde’s manœuvres, he contrived to -place himself beside her. He eat and drank voraciously; perpetually -proposed toasts in Gabrielle’s honour, and confused her to such a -degree, that she heartily repented having invited him to remain, -particularly as the annoyance of Bellegarde did not escape her. In this -state of general misunderstanding, the merry Chicot again came to the -rescue. - -“Let us drink to the health of the King of France and Navarre!” cried -he. “Come, Don Juan, forget your politics and join us: here’s prosperity -and success to our gallant Henry--long may he live!” - -“This is a toast we must drink standing and in chorus,” said Bellegarde, -rising. - -The Spaniard smiled. - -“But why,” observed Gabrielle, “does Don Juan bear arms against the King -of France if he is his partisan?” - -“Fair lady, your remark is just,” replied the Don, “but the fortune of -war drives a soldier into many accidents; however, I only wish all -France was as much the King’s friend as I am.” - -Chicot now took up a lute which lay near, tried the strings, and in a -somewhat cracked voice sang the following song, wagging his head and -winking at the Spaniard as he did so:-- - - “Vive Henri Quatre, - Vive ce roi vaillant; - Ce diable à quatre, - A le triple talent - De boire et de battre - Et d’être vert galant.” - -“Long live the King! Vive Henri Quatre!” was drunk, with all the -honours, in a chorus of applause. The Spaniard wiped a tear from his -eye, and sat down without speaking. - -“_Cap de Dieu!_” cried Chicot, “the right cause will triumph at last.” - -“Yes,” replied Bellegarde, “sooner or later we shall see our brave King -enter Paris and his noble palace of the Louvre in state; but meanwhile -he must not fool away his time in follies and amours while the League is -in strength.” - -“There you speak truth,” said Chicot; “he is too much given to such -games; he’s a very Sardanapalus: and,” continued he, squinting at the -Don with a most comical expression, “if report speak true, at this very -moment his Majesty is off on some adventure touching the rival beauty of -certain ladies, to the manifest neglect of his Crown and the ruin of his -affairs.” - -“Ah!” exclaimed Gabrielle, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, “if some -second Agnes Sorel would but appear, and, making like her a noble use of -the King’s love and her influence, incite him to conquer himself, to -forsake all follies, and to devote his great talents in fighting heart -and soul against the rebels and the League!” - -“Alas!” sighed Don Juan, “those were the early ages; such love as that -is not to be found now--it is a dream, a fantasy. Henry will find no -Agnes Sorel in these later days.” - -“Say not so, noble Don,” replied Gabrielle; “I for my part adore the -King--I long to know him.” - -The Spaniard’s eyes flashed, and Bellegarde started visibly. - -“Love,” continued Gabrielle, flushing with excitement, “love is of all -times and of all seasons. True love is immortal. But I allow that it is -rare, though not impossible, to excite such a passion.” - -“If it is a science to be learnt, will you teach me, fair lady?” asked -the Spaniard tenderly. - -At this turn in the conversation Bellegarde again became painfully -agitated, and the subject dropped. The Don now addressed his -conversation to the sisters of Gabrielle, and at their request took up -the lute and sang an improvised song with considerable taste, in a fine -manly voice, which gained for him loud applauses all around. The words -were these: - - “Charmante Gabrielle, - Percé de mille dards, - Quand la gloire m’appelle - A la suite de Mars, - Cruelle départie. - Que ne suis-je sans vie - Ou sans amour?” - -Gabrielle looked, perhaps, a trifle too much pleased at the somewhat -free admiration expressed in these verses, and spite of Bellegarde, -approached the Don to thank him after he had finished. - -“Lady, did my song please you?” said he softly, trying to kiss her hand. -“If it had any merit you inspired me.” - -“Yes,” replied she musingly. “You wished just now you were my prisoner. -Had you been, I should long ago have freed you if you had sung to me -like that, I am sure.” - -“And why?” asked he. - -“Because you have something in your voice I should have feared to hear -too often,” said she in a low voice, lest Bellegarde should hear her. - -“Then in that case I would always have remained your voluntary captive, -_ma belle_.” - -How long this conversation might have continued authorities do not -state; but Bellegarde, now really displeased, approached the whispering -pair, giving an indignant glance at Gabrielle and a look full of -reproach at the Don. - -“Come, come, Don Juan!” said he. “It is time to go. Where are our -horses? The day wears on, we shall scarce reach the camp ere sundown.” - -“_Ventre Saint Gris!_” said the Spaniard, starting, “there is surely no -need for such haste.” - -“Your promise,” muttered Bellegarde in his ear. - -“Confound you, Bellegarde! You have introduced me into paradise, and now -you drag me away just when the breath of heaven is warming me.” Don Juan -looked broken-hearted at being obliged to leave, and cast the most -loving glances towards Gabrielle and her handsome sisters. - -“I opine we ought never to have come at all,” said Chicot, winking -violently and looking at Gabrielle, who with downcast eyes evidently -regretted the necessity of the Don’s departure. - -“_Mère de Dieu!_” muttered the latter to Bellegarde, “you are too hard -thus to bind me to my cursed promise.” - -“Gabrielle,” said Bellegarde, drawing her aside, and speaking in a low -voice, “one kiss ere I go. You are my beloved--my other self, the soul -of my soul. Adieu! This has been a miserable meeting. You have grieved -me, love; but perhaps it is my own fault. I ought to have come alone. -That Spaniard is disgusting”--Gabrielle turned her head away--“But I -will soon return. In the meantime, a caution in your ear. If this same -Don Juan comes again during my absence to pay you a second visit, send -him off I charge you, by the love I know you bear me. Give him his -_congé_ without ceremony; hold no parley, I entreat you; he is a sad -good-for-nothing, and would come with no good intentions. I could tell -you more. He is----, but next time you shall hear all. Till then, -adieu!” - -“I will obey you, Bellegarde,” replied Gabrielle somewhat coldly; “but -the Spaniard seems to me an honest gentleman, and looks born to -command.” - -The whole party then proceeded to the courtyard, where the three horses -were waiting. - -“Adieu, most adorable Gabrielle!” cried the Spaniard, vaulting first -into the saddle. “Would to heaven I had never set eyes on you, or that, -having seen you, I might gaze to eternity on that heavenly face.” - -“Well,” said Bellegarde gaily, for his spirits rose as he saw the -Spaniard ready to depart, “you need only wait until peace be made, and -then I will present you at Court, Don Juan, where Madame la Duchesse de -Bellegarde, otherwise La Belle Gabrielle, will shine fairest of the -fair.” - -“You are not married yet, Duke, however,” rejoined the Spaniard, looking -back, “and remember, you must first have his Majesty’s leave and -licence--not always to be got. Ha, ha, my friend, I have you there!” -laughed the Don. “Adieu, then, once more, most beautiful ladies, adieu -to you all! Bellegarde, _you have gained your bet_.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -CHARMANTE GABRIELLE. - - -After this meeting Don Juan soon contrived to return, and the lady, -forgetful of her lover’s advice, received him. This was sufficient -encouragement for so audacious a cavalier, and an intimacy sprang up -between them ending in a confession of his being the King. Gabrielle was -charmed, for she had always been his devoted partisan. What at first -appeared bold and free in his manner she now ascribed to a proper sense -of his own rank, born as he was to command and to be obeyed. Their -romantic introduction and the disguise he had condescended to assume on -that occasion captivated her imagination almost as much as his unbounded -admiration of her person flattered her vanity. Henry, too, was a fit -subject for devoted loyalty at that time, closely beset as he was by the -troops of the League, unable to enter Paris, and only maintaining his -ground by prodigies of valour and the most heroic perseverance. - -Should she, then, be unkind, and repulse him, when he vowed to her, on -his knees, that his only happy moments were spent in her society? The -image of Bellegarde grew fainter and fainter; their meetings became -colder and more unsatisfactory. He reproached her for her unbecoming -encouragement of a libertine monarch; Gabrielle defended herself by -declaring that her heart was her own, and that she might bestow it where -she thought proper. As yet, however, there had been no formal rupture -between them. Bellegarde loved the fascinating girl too fondly to -renounce her lightly; and she herself, as yet undecided, hesitated -before resigning a man whose attachment was honourable and legitimate, -and whose birth and position were brilliant, to receive the dubious -addresses of a married monarch. True, the shameful excesses of -Marguerite de Valois, his Queen, excused and almost exonerated the King; -Henry urged this circumstance with passionate eloquence, promising -Gabrielle, spite of state reasons, to marry her as soon as, settled on -the throne, he had leisure legally to prove the scandalous conduct of -his wife and to obtain a papal divorce. This, to a vain and beautiful -woman like Gabrielle, was a telling argument. - -Still, Gabrielle had not broken with Bellegarde; she delighted to -irritate the passion of the King by yet professing some love for her old -admirer. At times she refused to see Henry at all, and actually went on -a visit to her aunt, Madame de Sourdis, without even bidding him adieu. -This coquetry made the King desperate. He was so overcome at her sudden -departure, that he was ready, according to his habit, to promise -anything she asked. The difficulty was how to reach her, for he must -start from Mantes, at the gravest risk, passing through two outposts and -seven leagues of open country occupied by the League. But now he was -wrought up to such a pass that he was ready to sacrifice his Crown or -his head to win her. As soon, therefore, as he ascertained that -Gabrielle had returned to Cœuvres he swore a solemn oath to see her -or die. The country was covered with troops; alone he dared not -venture; with attendants he compromised his beloved. Such obstacles were -maddening. At last he decided to set forth on horseback, accompanied -only by a few devoted followers. With this escort he rode four leagues -through the most dangerous part of the route, then left them at a -certain spot to await his return. Towards Cœuvres he wandered on -alone until he found a roadside house. There he offered a peasant some -gold pieces to lend him a suit of clothes, in order, as he told the man, -the more safely to deliver some letters of importance to the Seigneur of -Cœuvres. The peasant readily consented to his proposal. In those -boisterous days of internecine warfare nothing of this kind caused -astonishment, spies, in every species of disguise, continually passing -to and fro between the two armies. So Henry IV., in the garb of a -peasant, pushed on alone. - -The day was fast falling, deep shadows gathered in the forest and around -the castle. Gabrielle sat within in the twilight embroidering a scarf. -She was thinking over all the difficulties of her position, divided as -she was between regard for the generous Bellegarde and her passion each -day growing stronger for the King. Suddenly her maid Louise came into -the room and begged her, as she had passed all day in the house, to take -a little fresh air. - -“Come, madame, while there is yet a little light; come, at least, to the -balcony that looks out over the terrace, where the breeze is so -pleasant, and see the sun set over the tree-tops.” - -“No, no,” replied Gabrielle, shaking her head sadly. “Leave me alone. I -have enough to think - -[Illustration: THE CASCADE OF ST. CLOUD. - -From an engraving by Rigaud.] - -about, and I want to finish my scarf, or it will not be done by the time -I promised Bellegarde. Besides I do not fancy open balconies in the -month of November; it is too cold.” - -“Oh! but,” pleaded Louise, “the day has been so splendid--like summer in -the forest. Pray come, madame.” - -“Why do you plague me so? I never remember your great desire for open -air before.” And Gabrielle rose. She was no sooner on the balcony, -watching the last streaks of golden light glittering among the branches -and lighting up the plain beyond in a ruddy mist, than all at once she -heard a rustling noise, and on looking down saw, just under the balcony, -on the grass-plot, a peasant on a horse, laden with a bundle of straw. - -The peasant stopped and gazed at her for some time, then, throwing away -the straw, he flung himself from his horse and fell on his knees before -her, clasping his hands, as if about to worship at some shrine. - -Juliette, Gabrielle’s sister, now joined her on the balcony. -Readier-witted than she, Juliette whispered-- - -“Gabrielle, it is the King--he is disguised!” - -Louise burst into a loud laugh at their surprise and ran away. It was -now apparent why she was so anxious to make Gabrielle go on the balcony -to see the sun set. Gabrielle had not dreamt of seeing the King, who was -reported to be encamped at some distance. Her first feeling was one of -anger for his utter want of dignity. To kneel on the wet grass, and in -the dress of a peasant! Besides, this disguise was most unbecoming to -him. He looked positively hideous. - -Juliette retired, and Gabrielle was left standing alone on the balcony -before the King. As yet she had not spoken. - -“What! not a word to greet me?” cried Henry, rising. “Why, _vrai Dieu_, -many a lady of our Court would have flung herself down headlong to -welcome me, and never cared if she broke her neck! Come, _belle des -belles_, look down graciously upon your devoted slave, whose only desire -is to die at your feet.” - -“Sire,” replied Gabrielle, “for heaven’s sake go away. Return to Mantes, -and never let me see you again so vilely dressed. Always wear your white -panache and your scarlet mantle when you come. Without it you are not -Henre Quatre. Better stay away altogether, for you know well your -enemies are prowling about in this neighbourhood. Besides, who can tell? -Bellegarde may come. Pray, I entreat you, go away directly.” - -“_Ma foi!_” replied the King, “let them come, Leaguers or Spaniards, -Bellegarde or the devil, what care I, if La Belle Gabrielle looks kindly -on me? Come down to me, Gabrielle.” - -“Kind I will certainly not be if your Majesty do not at once depart. -Kneeling in that manner is too ridiculous. I will not come down. I shall -go away. I am no saint to be prayed to, heaven knows. If your Majesty -won’t remount, I shall really go away.” - -“You could not have the heart, Gabrielle,” replied Henry, “when I have -run such risks to see you for a moment.” - -His horse stood by cropping the grass. The King leaving the bundle of -straw on the ground, sprang into the saddle without even touching the -stirrup, and again addressed her. She was terrified at the idea of being -surprised by any one, especially Bellegarde, who would have been so -incensed, that he might have forgotten himself towards his Majesty. - -For a moment Gabrielle was overcome. Tears came into her eyes out of -sheer vexation and fear of consequences, both to him, who might fall -into an ambuscade, and to herself. As she lifted up her hands to wipe -the tears away, the scarf she had been embroidering, and which she still -held, slipped out of her hand, and borne by the wind, after fluttering -for a few moments, dropped on the King, who, catching it, exclaimed-- - -“_Ventre Saint Gris!_ what have we here?” - -“Oh, Sire!” cried Gabrielle, “it is my work--a scarf; it is all but -finished, and now I have dropped it.” - -“By all the rules of war, fair lady,” said Henry, “what falls from the -walls of a besieged city belongs to the soldier; so, by your leave, dear -Gabrielle, the scarf is mine; I will wear it.” - -“Oh!” replied she, leaning over the balcony, “do give it me back; it is -for Monsieur de Bellegarde, and he knows it. Should he see your Majesty -with it, what will he think? He would never believe but that I gave it -to you.” - -“By the mass! it is too good for him; I will keep it without any -remorse, and cover with a thousand kisses these stitches woven by your -delicate fingers.” - -“But, indeed, Sire, it is promised--Monsieur de Bellegarde will ask me -for it; what am I to say?” - -“Bellegarde shall never have it, I promise you. Tell him that, like -Penelope, you undid in the night what you worked in the day. Come, come, -now, Gabrielle, confess you are not in reality so much attached to -Bellegarde as you pretend, and that if I can prove to you he is unworthy -of your love and inconstant into the bargain, you will promise to give -me his place in your heart. Besides, his position is unworthy of your -beauty; there is but one ornament worthy of that snowy brow--Bellegarde -cannot place it there; but I know another able and willing, when the -cursed League is dispersed, to give that finishing touch to your -loveliness.” - -“Sire,” replied she, “I must not listen to what you say. I cannot -believe anything against Bellegarde; I have known him all my life, and -he has never deceived me. Nothing but the most positive evidence shall -convince me that he is false.” - -“How now? _Saints et Saintes!_ you doubt my word--the word of a king! -But, Gabrielle, I can give you proofs, be assured.” - -“Oh, Sire, it is not for me to talk of proofs or to reproach him. Poor -Bellegarde! my heart bleeds when I think of him.” Her head fell upon her -bosom; again the tears gathered in her eyes. Then she looked up, and -becoming aware all at once that it had grown quite dusk, she forgot -every other feeling in fear for the King’s safety. “Sire, go away, I -implore you, return to your quarters as fast as your horse can carry -you. If I have been cold, remember what you are risking--your life and -my good name! for you will be seen by some one.” - -“Gabrielle, do you drive me away thus, when to leave you costs me such -a pang! Heaven knows when this war will allow us again to meet! I never -know from day to day but that some rebel of a Leaguer may finish me by a -stray shot; much less do I know where or how I may be. The present is -all I have--let me enjoy it.” - -“Ah, Sire! only put down that atrocious League, and we will meet when -you please. I shall offer up no end of prayers that it may be so.” - -“Whatever comes out of those ruby lips will not fail of being heard; as -to your slave Henry, the very knowledge that such a divinity stoops to -interest herself in his fate will serve as a talisman to shield him from -every danger.” - -“Your Majesty speaks like a poet,” and a soft laugh was heard out of the -darkness. “Now adieu, Sire! I wish you a safe journey wherever you go, -and may you prevail against your foes. When you see Monsieur de -Bellegarde, assure him of my love.” - -“Ungrateful Gabrielle! thus to trifle with me. But I have proofs, _vrai -Dieu_! I have proofs that shall cure you of that attachment.” - -“Sire, why should you seek to make me unhappy? You know that for years I -have been engaged to Bellegarde, and that I look forward to my marriage -with the utmost delight. Why, then, endeavour to separate us?” - -“_Par exemple, ma belle,_ you give me credit for being vastly -magnanimous, upon my word! What then, Gabrielle, would you have me -resign you without a struggle?--nay, am I expected to bring about your -marriage with a rival? That is a little too much, forsooth!” - -“Nenni, Sire; I only ask you not to prevent it. Such artifice would be -unworthy so generous a monarch to a faithful servant like poor -Bellegarde, to whom I am--” and she could not help again laughing, so -dismal was the look of the King--“to whom I am bound in all honour. Then -there is your Majesty’s wife, the Queen of Navarre--for, Sire, you seem -to forget that you have a wife.” - -“Yes, as I have a Crown, which I am never to wear. That infernal -Marguerite is keeping her state with a vengeance, and forgetting, _par -Dieu, she has a husband_. The people of Usson, in Auvergne, call shame -on her; they know what she is better than I do.” - -“Sire, I beg of you to speak at least with respect of Madame Marguerite -de France.” - -“Why should I not be frank with you, _ma belle_, at least? _Ah, Margot, -la reine Margot, à la bonne heure!_ I only wish she were in her coffin -at Saint-Denis along with her brothers. I shall be quit of a wife -altogether until I enter Paris, and then we shall see--we shall see who -will be crowned with me. But, _mignonne_, I must indeed bid you adieu. -_Morbleu!_ my people will think I am lost, and besiege the château. -Adieu until I can next come. I will write to you in the meantime. -Remember to forget Bellegarde, as you value the favour of your -Sovereign.” - -And kissing the scarf he had stolen from her, the King put spurs to his -horse and galloped away into the darkness. - -Gabrielle d’Estrées followed his pernicious counsel but too readily, as -the sequel will show. Unable to resist the continued blandishments of -the King, and silencing her conscience by a belief in his promise of -marriage, she sacrificed her lover, the Duc de Bellegarde, sincerely and -honourably attached to her for many years and whom she had once really -loved, for the sake of the gallant but licentious Henry. She followed -the King to Mantes, in company with her father, whom the King made -General of Artillery and loaded with honours. After this Henry would not -hear of her returning to the Château of Cœuvres, a place, he said, -too remote and difficult of access. He finally prevailed on her to -accompany him to the camp at Saint-Germain. - -The Duc de Bellegarde was banished. - -In the autumn she was still at Saint-Germain, where the King, in his -brief intervals of leisure, showed more and more delight in her society. - -One day he entered Gabrielle’s apartment, and dismissing his attendants -sank into a chair without saying a word. He heaved a deep sigh. -Gabrielle looked up at him, wondering at his silence--she perceived that -he was weeping. Surprised at his emotion, she asked him, with an -offended air, if the sight of her had caused those tears, for if such -were the case she would go back to the Castle of Cœuvres, if it so -pleased his Majesty. - -“_Mignonne_,” replied Henry very gravely, taking her hand and kissing -it, “it is indeed you who are partly the cause of my grief, but not -because you are here. Seeing you makes me envy the happiness of the -poorest peasant in my dominions, living on bread and garlic, who has the -woman he loves beside him, and is his own master. I am no king, I am -nothing but a miserable slave, jostled between Calvinists and -Catholics, who both distrust me.” - -“Come, come, Sire, dismiss these fancies, at least while you are with -me,” answered she. - -“On the contrary, Gabrielle, it is the sight of you that recalls them. -You have escaped from the control of a father to live with me, while my -chains press about me tighter than ever. I cannot, I dare not break -them,--and be wholly yours. You gain and I lose--that is all.” - -“Sire,” said she, sadly, “I am not sure of that. Women, I believe, are -best in the chains you speak of. I shall see. If I have gained, you will -keep your promise to me. I am not so certain of it; all I know is, -whatever has been or is to be, that I love you,” and she turned her -languishing blue eyes full upon him. - -“Gabrielle, I swear I will keep my promise. Does not every act of my -life prove my devotion?” - -“Well then, Sire, succeed in putting down that odious League, march on -to Paris, and I shall be happy. To see you crowned and anointed at -Rheims I would give my life!” - -“Never fear, sweet; this will come about shortly. I am certain. There, -are, however, more difficulties than you are aware of. If I become a -Catholic, as all my nobles wish me to do--and beautiful France is well -worth a mass--then the Calvinists will at once reorganise this cursed -League; and, if I persist in my faith, which my poor mother reared me up -to love sincerely--why then I shall be forsaken by all the Catholics; a -fact they take care to remind me of every day of my life. _Vrai Dieu!_ I -only wish I were once again Prince of Navarre, free and joyous, -fighting and hunting, dancing and jousting, without an acre of land, as -I was formerly.” - -“Sire, all will be well; be more sanguine, I entreat you. If my poor -words have any power over you,” she added, encouragingly, “dismiss such -gloomy thoughts. Believe me, the future has much in store for you and -for me.” - -“Ah! dear Gabrielle, when I am far away over mountains and valleys, -separated from those lovely eyes that now beam so brightly on me, I feel -all the torments of jealousy. Away from you, happiness is impossible.” - -“Well, Sire, if it is only my presence you want, I will follow you to -the end of the world--I will go anywhere;” Gabrielle spoke with -impassioned ardour. - -“_Ma mie!_ it is this love alone that enables me to bear all the -anxieties and troubles that surround me on every side. I value it more -than the Crown of France; but this very love of yours, entire as I -believe it to be, is the one principal cause of my misery.” - -“How can that be?” answered she caressingly; “I love you--I will ever be -constant, I swear it solemnly, Henry.” - -“Yes,” replied he thoughtfully, “but I have promised you marriage--you -must sit beside me as Queen of France. Do you forget that I have the -honour of being the husband of a queen--the sister of three defunct -monarchs--the most abandoned, the most disgraceful, the most odious----” - -“Sire, you need not think about her; you are not obliged to be a -witness of her disorders. Let her enjoy all her gallantries at the -Castle of Usson. You can easily divorce her when you please----and then -nothing can part us.” - -“_Ventre Saint Gris!_ cursed be the demon who dishonours me by calling -herself my wife! that wretch who prevents my marrying the angel whom I -love so entirely--your own sweet self!” - -“Henry, my heart at least is yours.” - -“Yes, dearest; but not more mine than I am yours eternally--and I would -recompense your love as it deserves. But know, Gabrielle, that -Marguerite de Valois absolutely refuses to consent to a divorce that I -may marry you. She declares she acts in my interests; but I believe her -odious pride is offended at being succeeded by a gentlewoman of honest -and ancient lineage, a thousand times better than all the Valois that -ever lived, a race born of the Devil, I verily believe. I have -threatened her with a state trial; the proofs against her are flagrant. -She knows that she would in that case be either beheaded or imprisoned -for life. Not even that shakes her resolve, so inveterate is she against -our union.” - -“Alas! poor lady--did she ever love you?” - -“Not a whit; she was false from the beginning. Let us speak of her no -more,” said the King, rising and walking up and down the room. Then -stopping opposite Gabrielle, who, dismayed at what she heard, sat with -her face buried in her hands, he asked her, “How about Bellegarde?” - -Gabrielle shrank back, then looked up at him. - -“Are you sure he is entirely banished from your remembrance?” - -“As much as if I had never known him,” replied she promptly. - -“I depend upon your pledge of meeting him no more, because, good-natured -as I am--and I am good natured, _Par Dieu!_--I am somewhat choleric and -hot (God pardon me), and if by chance I ever surprised you together, -why, _vrai Dieu_, if I had my sword I might be sorry for the -consequences.” - -“Sire, there is no danger; you may wear your sword for me. If such a -thing ever occurred, it is I who would deserve to die.” - -“Well, _ma mie_, I must draw the trenches nearer the walls of Paris. In -my absence remain at Mantes,” said Henry. “Then I must advance upon -Rouen. I expect a vigorous resistance, and God only knows how it will -end. I leave all in your care, and invest you, fair Gabrielle, with the -same power as if you were really queen. Would to heaven you -were--confound that devil of a Margot! I will return to you as often as -I can, and write constantly. Now I must say that sad word, adieu. Adieu! -adieu! _ma mie_.” - -Gabrielle consoled the King as best she could, and after much ado he -took his departure, always repeating, “_adieu, ma mie_.” - -After he had passed down the great gallery, Gabrielle rushed to one of -the windows overlooking the entrance, to catch the last sight of him. -She saw him vault on horseback, and ride down the hill with a brilliant -retinue; that excellent creature, Chicot the jester, as faithful as -Achates, but whom he had the misfortune soon after to lose, close at his -side. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -ITALIAN ART. - - -Years have passed. The wars of the League are over, and Henry is -undisputed master of France. He has proved himself a hero in a hundred -battles, but has acquired nothing heroic in his appearance. Still in the -prime of life, he has the keenest sense of enjoyment, the warmest heart, -the old love of danger and contempt of consequences. His time is divided -between hunting in the forest of Fontainebleau and the society of -Gabrielle d’Estrées, and her little son Cæsar, created Duc de Vendôme. - -Gabrielle has nominally been married to the Sieur de Liancourt, in -accordance with court etiquette, which did not permit a single lady -permanently to form part of a Court without a Queen. Henry has been -severely commented on for this marriage mockery, for husband and wife -parted at the church door. Gabrielle, who has been created Duchesse de -Beaufort, is exceedingly unpopular. The divorce from “la reine Margot” -is still incomplete, that obstinate princess objecting to conclude the -needful formalities on the ground that Gabrielle is not of royal blood. -Conquered by her prayers, her sweetness, and her devotion, Henry is -still resolved to marry his lovely duchess. In vain he urges, threatens, -and storms; the tyrant Queen will not consent. By Gabrielle’s advice he -has become a Catholic. “Ma Gabrielle,” he writes from Paris, “I have -yielded to your entreaties. I have spoken to the bishops; on Sunday I -make the _perilous leap_. I kiss my angel’s hand.” - -A strong political party opposed the marriage. Sully was dead against -it. Gabrielle, it was argued, however fascinating and correct in -conduct, was no match for Henry the Great. Besides, as being already the -mother of two children by the King, a disputed succession would be -certain. The Court of Rome had plans of its own, too, about the King’s -marriage, and already the name of Marie de’ Medici had been mentioned as -a fitting consort. The Pontiff himself favoured the match, and he alone -could solve every difficulty with regard to the divorce. Sully looked -askance at the excessive influence Gabrielle exercised over his master. -The Florentine marriage was approved by him, and the negotiations had -already begun. Marie de’ Medici fulfilled every requirement. She was -young, beautiful, rich, and allied to the throne of France by her -relative, Catherine de’ Medici. As long as Gabrielle lived there was no -chance of inducing the King to consider seriously any other alliance. -Must she die? Poor Gabrielle! there were not wanting foreign noblemen -like Maréchal d’Ornano, besides a host of low Italian usurers and Jews -brought to France by Catherine de’ Medici--mere mushrooms who had -acquired enormous wealth by pillaging the Court--who lent the King money -and pandered to his desires, ready and willing to forward his marriage -with a richly dowered princess, their countrywoman, even by a crime. - -Gabrielle is at Fontainebleau. She expects the King, who is in Paris. An -extraordinary depression, a foreboding of evil, overwhelms her. She -knows but too well of the powerful party arrayed against her,--that -Sully is her enemy, that the Pope is inflexible about granting the -divorce, even if Marguerite de Valois should consent, which she will not -whilst Gabrielle lives; she knows that all France is reluctant to -receive her as its queen. But there is the King’s promise of marriage, -repeated again and again with oaths of passionate fondness. Will he keep -that promise of marriage? That is the question. She knows he loves her; -but love is but an episode in the chequered life of a soldier-king. How -many others has he not loved? How many promises of marriage has he not -broken? True, she is always treated as his wife. She lodges in the -apartments assigned to the Queen of France in the “Oval Court.” She is -seated beside him on occasions of state; every favour she asks is -granted, all who recommend themselves to her intercession are pardoned. -The greatest ladies of the Court--the Duchesse de Guise and her witty -daughter, the Duchesse de Retz, even the austere Duchesse de Sully--are -proud to attend upon her. Bellegarde, the faithful Bellegarde, restored -to favour, now her devoted servant, watches over her interests with -ceaseless anxiety. Yet her very soul is heavy within her; her position -is intolerable. After all, what is she but the mistress of the King? She -shudders at the thought. - -The season is spring. The trees are green; their tender foliage but -lightly shades the formal walks ranged round a fountain in a little -garden (still remaining) that Henry has made for her under the palace -walls. The fountain, in the centre of a parterre of grass and flowers, -catches the rays of the April sun, glitters for an instant in a flood of -rainbow tints, then falls back in showers of spray into a marble basin -supported by statues. - -Gabrielle is dressed in a white robe; the long folds trail upon the -ground. Her auburn hair, drawn off her face, is gathered into a coronet -of gold; rich lace covers her bosom, and a high ruff rises from her -shoulders; on her neck is a string of pearls, to which is attached a -miniature of the King. With the years that have passed the bloom of -youth is gone; the joyous expression of early days has died out of those -soft pleading eyes. Lovely she is still; her complexion is delicately -fair, and the pensive look in her face is touching to the last degree. -Graceful and gracious as ever, there is a sedate dignity, a tempered -reserve, in her address, befitting the royal station which awaits her. - -She stops, sighs, then listens for the sound of horses’ feet. There is -not a breath stirring, save the hum of insects about the fountain and -the murmur of the breeze among the trees. She takes from her bosom a -letter. It is in the King’s handwriting and shows manifest signs of -having been often handled. She kisses the signature, and reads these -words:-- - - “You conjured me to take with me as much love for you as I know I - leave with you for me. Now in two hours after you receive this you - shall behold a knight who adores you. People call him King of - France and of Navarre, but he calls himself your subject and your - slave. No woman can compare to you in judgment or in beauty. I - cherish and honour you beyond all earthly things.” - -A dreamy smile comes over her face. Again she raises her head to listen, -and again hears nothing. Wearily she paces round and round the fountain, -holding the letter still in her hands. Then she enters the palace by an -arcaded corridor, and mounting a flight of steps, seats herself in the -vestibule to await the King’s arrival. At length he enters the court -named “The White Horse.” Gabrielle is on the terrace to receive him. - -“You are late, Sire.” - -“Yes, sweetheart. I thought I should never get here. The Seine was -swollen and we had a saucy ferryman. Come hither, Gabrielle, and I will -tell you what he said, while he pulled us across the river. He was a -funny rogue.” - -“Did he not know you then, Sire?” - -“No. How should he in this grey doublet and with only a single -gentleman? He asked me if we were gallants for the Court. I said yes, we -were bound to Fontainebleau to hunt with the King. ‘People say we have a -hero for a King,’ he said; ‘but, _morbleu!_ this hero taxes everything. -Even the very boat your excellency sits in is taxed. We will pay for him -nevertheless; he is an honest King. But it is his mistress, folks say, -who wants the money to pay for her fine gauds and dresses. She is but a -plain gentlewoman born, after all. If she were a princess now, why then -I’d forgive her.’ So you see, Gabrielle, when you are a queen, the -people will love you and pay the taxes willingly.” And - -[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF FONTAINEBLEAU. - -FROM AN OLD PRINT.] - -Henry laughs and looks at Gabrielle, who has changed colour; but the -King does not observe it and continues his story. “ ‘Sirrah,’ I said to -him, ‘you malign a charming lady.’ ‘Devil take her!’ replied the -churlish ferrymen; ‘I wish she were in heaven.’ So I rode away without -paying my toll. The fellow bellowed after me, and ran, but could not -catch me. We will call this _drôle_ hither, and divert ourselves with -him.” - -As Henry proceeds with his story, Gabrielle’s look of pain has deepened. - -“I pray your Majesty to do nothing of the kind,” she answers sharply; “I -do not love coarse jokes.” Henry looks at her with surprise. - -“I am wretched enough already, heaven knows, without being mocked by the -ribaldry of a low bargeman, who, after all, has reason for what he says. -Why did you tell me this story, Henry?” she adds in a plaintive tone, -bursting into tears. “Am I not degraded enough already?” - -“How, Gabrielle, this from you? when, spite of every obstacle, within a -few weeks you will be crowned my queen?” - -A knock is now heard at the door, and Sully enters. He looks hot and -surly. He barely salutes the King, and scowls at Gabrielle, who -instantly retreats to the farther corner of the room. Sully wears a -threadbare doublet, his grey hair is uncombed over his forehead, and he -carries some papers in his hand. - -“Sire,” he says, addressing the King abruptly and unfolding these -papers, “if you pass this document, you had better declare yourself at -once the husband of her grace there, the Duchesse de Beaufort.” Sully -points at Gabrielle, who cowers in the corner. - -Poor Gabrielle is thunderstruck, and trembles at the certainty of a -violent scene. She had often had to bear at different times roughness, -and even rudeness, from Sully, but such language as this she had never -heard. What does it mean? - -The King takes the papers in his hand. - -“What are these, Sully?” he says, looking grave. “Bills for the -entertainment given by the Duchesse de Beaufort for the baptism of my -second son, Alexandria, son of France, eight thousand francs! -Impossible! Baptismal fees for a son of France? There is no son of -France. I wish to God there were! What does all this mean, Sully?” - -“It means, Sire, that if you sign that paper, I shall leave the Court.” - -“Come, come, my good Rosny, you forget that the Duchess is present”; and -he glances at Gabrielle, who lay back on the arm-chair, weeping -bitterly. - -“No, Sire; I mean what I say. My advice is disregarded; I am superseded -by a council of women”; and he turns fiercely towards the Duchesse. “The -nation groans under heavy taxes. Complaints reach me from every quarter. -What am I to do, if the revenues are squandered like this?” - -Gabrielle’s sobs had now become audible. Henry, still holding the paper, -looks greatly perplexed. - -“The amount is certainly enormous. Some enemy of her grace must have -done this. Tell me, Gabrielle, you cannot have sanctioned it? There are -no ‘sons of France.’ Say to me, Gabrielle, that you were ignorant of all -this.” - -Gabrielle neither speaks nor moves, save that she shakes with sobs. -Sully gazes at her with a cynical air as of a man who would not be -deceived. - -“You see, Rosny,” whispers the King into his ear, “that she does not -govern me, much as I love her. You do me wrong to say so.” Sully -shrugged his shoulders. “No, she shall not control you, who only live -for my service. I must make her feel that I am displeased. Speak, -Gabrielle,” he continues aloud, in a voice which he endeavours to make -severe, “speak.” Receiving no answer he turns away with affected -unconcern. Yet in spite of his words, he glances over his shoulder to -watch her. Had Sully not been present, he would have flown to her on the -spot and yielded. This Sully well knew; so he did not stir. - -There is an awkward pause. Horrible suspicions rush into Gabrielle’s -mind. That strange story of the ferryman and the taxes; Sully’s -audacious language; the King’s coldness: it could only mean one thing, -and as this conviction comes over her, her heart dies within her. - -“Sire,” she answers at last, suppressing her sobs as she best could and -approaching where Henry stood, affecting not to notice her, “I see that -you have permitted the Duc de Sully to come here in order to insult me. -You want to abandon me, Sire. Say so frankly; it is more worthy of you. -But remember that I am not here by my own wish, save for the love I bear -you.” As she utters these words her voice nearly failed her; but by a -strong effort she continues, “No one can feel more forlorn than I do. -Your Majesty has promised me marriage against the advice of your -ministers. This scene is arranged between you to justify you in breaking -your sacred word, else you could never allow the lady whom you design -for so high an honour to be thus treated in your very presence.” - -Henry, placed between Sully and Gabrielle, is both angry and -embarrassed. Her bitter words have stung him to the quick. He knows that -she has no cause to doubt his loyalty. - -“_Pardieu_, madame, you have made me a fine speech. You talk all this -nonsense to make me dismiss Rosny. If I must choose between you, let me -tell you, Duchesse, I can part with you better than with him.” Gabrielle -turns very pale, and clings to a chair for support. “Come, Rosny, we -will have a ride in the forest, and leave the Duchesse to recover her -usually sweet temper”; and without one look at her, Henry strode towards -the door. - -These bitter words are more than his gentle mistress can bear. With a -wild scream she rushes forward, and falls flat upon the floor at the -King’s feet. Henry, greatly moved, gathers her up tenderly in his arms. -Even the stern Sully relents. He looks at her sorrowfully, shakes his -head, collects his papers, and departs. - -The Holy-week is at hand. Gabrielle, who is to be crowned within a -month, is to communicate and keep her Easter publicly at Paris, while -the King remains at Fontainebleau. An unaccountable terror of Paris and -a longing desire not to leave the King overwhelm her. Again and again -she alters the hour of her departure. She takes Henry’s hand and wanders -with him to the Orangery, to the lake where the carp are fed, to the -fountain garden, and to the Salle de Diane, which he is building. She -cannot tear herself from him. She speaks much to him of their children, -and commends them again and again to his love. She adjures him not to -forget her during her absence. - -“Why! _ma belle des belles!_” exclaims the King, “one would think you -were going round the world; remember, in ten days I shall join you in -Paris, and then my Gabrielle shall return to Fontainebleau as Queen of -France. I have ordered that _bon diable_ Zametti, to receive you at -Paris as though you were already crowned.” - -Now Zametti was an Italian Jew from Genoa, who had originally come to -France in the household of Catherine de’ Medici, as her shoemaker. He -had served her and all her sons in that capacity, until Henry III., -amused by his jests, and perceiving him to be a man of no mean talents, -gave him a place in the Customs. Zametti’s fortune was made, and he -became henceforth usurer and money-lender in chief to the reigning -monarch. - -“I love not Zametti,” replies Gabrielle, shuddering. “I wish I were -going to my aunt, Madame de Sourdis, she always gives me good advice. -Cannot your Majesty arrange that it should be so still?” - -“It is too late, sweetheart. I do not like Madame de Sourdis; she is not -a fitting companion for my Gabrielle. Zametti has, by my orders, already -prepared his house for your reception, and certain _parures_ for your -approval; besides, what objection can you have to Zametti, the most -courteous and amusing of men?” - -“Alas! Henry, I cannot tell; but I dread him. I would I were back again. -I feel as though I were entering a tomb. I am haunted by the most dismal -fancies.” - -She drives through the forest accompanied by the King, who rides beside -her litter, attended by the Ducs de Retz, Roquelaure, Montbazon, and the -Maréchal d’Ornano, to Mélun, where a royal barge awaits her, attended by -a flotilla of boats decorated with flags and streamers in the Venetian -style. Here they take a tender farewell; again and again Gabrielle -throws herself upon the King’s neck and whispers through her tears that -they will never meet again. Henry laughs, but, seeing her agitation, -would have accompanied her and have braved the religious prejudices of -the Parisians, had it not been for the entreaties of D’Ornano. Almost by -force is he restrained. Gabrielle embarks; he stands watching her as the -barge is towed rapidly through the stream; one more longing, lingering -look she casts upon him, then disappears from his sight. Downcast and -sorrowful the King rides back to Fontainebleau. - -All night long Gabrielle is towed up the river. She arrives at Paris in -the morning. Zametti, the Italian usurer and jeweller, with a numerous -suite of nobles and attendants, is waiting on the quay to receive her. -She is carried to Zametti’s house, or rather palace, for it was a -princely abode, near the Arsenal, in the new quarter of Paris then -called the Marais. - -Here unusual luxuries await her, such as were common only in Italy and -among Italian princes: magnificent furniture, embroidered stuffs, -delicious perfumes, rich dishes. She rests through the day (the evening -having been passed in the company of the Duchesse de Guise and her -daughter), and the first night she sleeps well. Next day she rises early -and goes to church. Before she leaves the house, Zametti presents her -with a highly decorated filigree bottle, containing a strong perfume. - -Before the service is over she faints. She is carried back and placed, -by her own desire, in Zametti’s garden, under a tuft of trees. She calls -for refreshments. Again in the garden she sinks back insensible. This -time it is very difficult to revive her. When she recovers, she is -undressed and orders a litter to be instantly prepared to bear her to -her aunt’s house, which is situated near Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois, -close to the Louvre. - -In the meantime her head aches violently, but she is carried to her -aunt’s, where she is put to bed. Here she lies with her sweet eyes wide -open and turned upward, her beautiful face livid, and her mouth -distorted. In her anguish she calls incessantly for the King. He cannot -come, for it is Holy-week, which he must pass out of her company. She -tries to write to him, to tell him of her condition. The pen drops from -her hand. A letter from him is given her; she cannot read it. -Convulsions come on, and she expires insensible. - -That she died poisoned is certain. Poisoned either by the subtle perfume -in the filigree bottle, or by some highly flavoured dish of Zametti’s -Italian _cuisine_. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -BIRON’S TREASON. - - -The scene is again at Fontainebleau. Henry’s brow is knit. He is gloomy -and sad. With slow steps he quits the palace by the Golden Gate, passes -through the parterre garden under the shadow of the lime _berceau_ which -borders the long façade of the palace, and reaches a pavilion under a -grove of trees overlooking the park and the canal. This pavilion is the -house he has built for Sully. The statesman is seated writing in an -upper chamber overlooking the avenues leading to the forest. - -The King enters unannounced; he throws his arms round Sully, then sinks -into a chair. Sully looks at him unmoved. He is accustomed to outbreaks -of passion and remorse caused by the King’s love affairs, and he -mentally ascribes his master’s present trouble to this cause. “Sully,” -says Henry, speaking at last, “I am betrayed, betrayed by my dearest -friend. _Ventre de ma vie!_ Maréchal Biron has conspired against me, -with Spain.” - -“How, Sire?” cries Sully, bounding from his chair; “have you proofs?” - -“Ay, Sully, only too complete; his agent and secretary Lafin has -confessed everything. Lafin is now at Fontainebleau. I have long doubted -the good faith of Biron, but I must now bring myself to hold him as a -traitor.” - -“If your Majesty has sufficient proofs,” said Sully, re-seating himself, -“have him at once arrested. Allow him no time to communicate with your -enemies.” - -“No, Sully, no; I cannot do that: I must give my old friend a chance. Of -his treason, there is, however, no question. He has intrigued for years -with the Duke of Savoy and with Spain, giving out as his excuse that the -Catholic faith is endangered by my heresy, and that I am a Calvinist. He -has entered into a treasonable alliance with Bouillon and D’Auvergne; -and worse, oh, far worse than all, during the campaign in Switzerland he -commanded the battery of St. Catherine’s Fort to be pointed against -me.--God knows how I was saved.” - -“Monstrous!” cries Sully, casting up his hands. “And your Majesty -dallies with such a miscreant?” - -“Yes, I can make excuses for him. He has been irritated against me by -the base insinuations of the Duke of Savoy. Biron is vain, hot-tempered, -and credulous. I know every detail. He shall come here to Fontainebleau: -I have summoned him. The sight of his old master will melt his heart. He -will confide in me; he will confess, and I shall pardon him.” - -“I trust it may be as your Majesty wishes,” answers Sully; “but you are -playing a dangerous game, Sire. God help you safe out of it.” - -Biron, ignorant of the treachery of Lafin, arrives at Fontainebleau. He -reckons on the King’s ignorance and their old friendship, and trusts to -a confident bearing and a bold denial of all charges. They meet--the -Maréchal and the King--in the great parterre, where, it being the month -of June, sweetly scented herbs and gay flowers fill the diamonded -beds--under the lime _berceau_ surrounding the garden. Biron, perfectly -composed, makes three low obeisances to the King, then kisses his hand. -Henry salutes him. His eyes are moist as he looks at him. “You have done -well to confide in me,” he says; “I am very glad to see you, Biron,” and -he passes his arm round the Maréchal’s neck, and draws him off to -describe to him the many architectural plans he has formed for the -embellishment of the château, and to show him the great “gallery of -Diana” which is in course of decoration. He hopes that Biron will -understand his feelings, and that kindness will tempt him to confess his -crime. Biron, however, is convinced that if he braves the matter out, he -will escape; he ascribes Henry’s clemency to an infatuated attachment to -himself. He wears an unruffled brow, is cautious and plausible though -somewhat silent, carefully avoids all topics which might lead to -discussion of any matters touching his conduct, and pointedly disregards -the hints thrown out from time to time by the King. Henry is miserable; -he feels he must arrest the Maréchal. Sully urges him to lose no time. -Still his generous heart longs to save his old friend and companion in -arms. - -Towards evening the Court is assembled in the great saloon. The King is -playing a game of _primero_. Biron enters. He invites him to join; Biron -accepts, and takes up the cards with apparent unconcern. The King -watches him; is silent and absent, and makes many mistakes in the game. -The clock strikes eleven, Henry rises, and taking Biron by the arm, -leads him into a small retiring-room or cabinet at the bottom of the -throne-room, now forming part of that large apartment. The King closes -the door carefully. His countenance is darkened by excitement and -anxiety. His manner is so constrained and unnatural that Biron begins to -question himself as to his safety; still he sees no other resource but -to brave his treason out. “My old companion,” says the King, in an -unsteady voice, standing in the centre of the room, “you and I are -countrymen; we have known each other from boyhood. We were playfellows. -I was then the poor Prince de Béarn, and you, Biron, a cadet of Gontaut. -Our fortunes have changed since then. I am a great king, and you are a -Duke and Maréchal of France.” Biron bows; his confident bearing does not -fail him. - -“Now, Biron,” and Henry’s good-natured face grows stern--“I have called -you here to say, that if you do not instantly confess the truth (and all -the truth, instantly, mind), you will repent it bitterly. I was in hopes -you would have done so voluntarily, but you have not.--Now I can wait no -longer.” - -“Sire, I have not failed in my duty,” replies Biron haughtily; “I have -nothing to confess; you do me injustice.” - -“Alas, my old friend, this denial does not avail you. I know -_all_!”--and Henry sighs and fixes his eyes steadfastly upon him. “I -conjure you to make a voluntary confession. Spare me the pain of your -public trial. I have kept the matter purposely secret. I will not -disgrace you, if possible.” - -“Sire,” answers Biron, with a well-simulated air of offended dignity. “I -have already said I have nothing to confess. I can only beseech your -Majesty to confront me with my accusers.” - -“That cannot be done without public disgrace--without danger to your -life, Maréchal. Come, Biron,” he adds, in a softer tone, and turning his -eyes upon him where he stands before him, dogged and obstinate; “come, -my old friend, believe me, every detail is known to me; your life is in -my hand.” - -“Sire, you will never have any other answer from me. Where are my -accusers?” - -“Avow all, Biron, fearlessly,” continues Henry, in the same tone, as if -not hearing him. “Open your heart to me;--I can make allowances for you, -perchance many allowances. You have been told lies, you have been sorely -tempted. Open your heart,--I will screen you.” - -“Sire, my heart is true. Remember it was I who first proclaimed you -king, when you had not a dozen followers at Saint-Cloud,” Biron speaks -with firmness, but avoids the piercing glance of the King; “I shall be -happy to answer any questions, but I have nothing to confess.” - -“_Ventre Saint Gris!_” cries Henry, reddening, “are you mad? Confess at -once--make haste about it. If you do not, I swear by the crown I wear to -convict you publicly as a felon and a traitor. But I would save you, -Maréchal,” adds Henry in an altered voice, laying his hand upon his arm, -“God knows I would save you, if you will let me. _Pardieu!_ I will -forgive you all!” he exclaims, in an outburst of generous feeling. - -“Sire, I can only reply--confront me with my accusers. I am your -Majesty’s oldest friend. I have no desire but the service of your -Majesty.” - -“Would to God it were so!” exclaims the King, turning upon Biron a look -of inexpressible compassion. Then moving towards the door he opens it, -and looks back at Biron, who still stands where he has left him, with -his arms crossed, in the centre of the room. “Adieu, _Baron_ de -Biron!”--and the King emphasises the word “Baron,” his original title -before he had received titles and honours--“adieu! I would have saved -you had you let me--your blood be on your own head.” The door -closed--Henry was gone. - -Biron gave a deep sigh of relief, passed his hand over his brow, which -was moist with perspiration, and prepared to follow. - -As he was passing the threshold, Vitry, the Captain of the Guard, seized -him by the shoulder, and wrenched his sword from its scabbard. “I arrest -you, Duc de Biron!” - -Biron staggered, and looked up with astonishment. “This must be some -jest, Vitry!” - -“No jest, monseigneur. In the King’s name, you are my prisoner.” - -“As a peer of France, I claim my right to speak with his Majesty!” cried -Biron, loudly. “Lead me to the King!” - -“No, Duke; the King is gone--his Majesty refuses to see you again.” - -Once in the hands of justice, Biron vainly solicited the pardon which -Henry would gladly have granted. He was arraigned before the parliament, -convicted of treason, and beheaded at the Bastille _privately_, the -only favour he could obtain from the master he had betrayed. - - * * * * * - -The pleasant days are now long past when Henry wandered, disguised as a -Spaniard or a peasant, together with Bellegarde and Chicot, in search of -adventures--when he braved the enemy to meet Gabrielle, and escaped the -ambuscades of the League by a miracle. He lives principally at the -Louvre, and is always surrounded by a brilliant Court. He has grown -clumsy and round-shouldered, and shows much of the Gascon swagger in his -gait. He is coarse-featured and red-faced; his hair is white; his nose -seems longer--in a word, he is uglier than ever. His manners are -rougher, and he is still more free of tongue. There is a senile leer in -his eyes, peering from under the tuft of feathers that rests on the brim -of his felt hat, as cane in hand, he passes from group to group of -deeply curtseying beauties in the galleries of the Louvre. He has -neither the chivalric bearing of Francis I., nor the refined elegance of -the Valois Princes. Beginning with his first wife, “la reine Margot,” -the most fascinating, witty, and depraved princess of her day, his -experience of the sex has been various. The only woman who really loved -him was poor Gabrielle, and to her alone he had been tolerably constant. -Her influence over him was gentle and humane, and, although she sought -to legalise their attachment by marriage, she was singularly free from -pride or personal ambition. - -Now she is dead. He has wedded a new wife, Marie de’ Medici, whose ample -charms and imperious ways are little to his taste. “We have married -you, - -[Illustration: MARIE DE MEDICIS - -FROM A STEEL ENGRAVING] - -Sire,” said Sully to him, entering his room one day, bearing the -marriage contract in his hand, “you have only to affix your signature.” -“Well, well,” Henry had replied, “so be it. If the good of France -demands it, I will marry.” Nevertheless, he had bitten his nails -furiously and stamped up and down the room for some hours, like a man -possessed. Ever reckless of consequences, he consoles himself by -plunging deeper than ever into a series of intrigues which compromise -his dignity and create endless difficulties and dangers. - -What complicated matters was his readiness to promise marriage. He would -have had more wives than our Henry VIII. could he have made good all his -engagements. Gabrielle would have been his queen in a few weeks had not -the subtle poison of Zametti, the Italian usurer, cleared her from the -path of the Florentine bride. Even in the short interval between her -death and the landing of Marie de’ Medici at Marseilles, he had yielded -to the wiles of Henriette de Balsac d’Entragues, half-sister to the -Comte d’Auvergne, son of Charles IX., and had given her a formal promise -of marriage. - -Henriette cared only for the sovereign, not for the man, who was old -enough to be her father. In the glory of youth and insolence of beauty, -stealthy, clever, and remorseless, a finished coquette and a reckless -_intrigante_, she allured him into signing a formal contract of -marriage, affianced though he was to a powerful princess proposed by the -reigning Pontiff, whose good-will it was important to the King, always a -cold Catholic, to secure. - -The new favourite claimed to be of royal blood through her mother, -Marie Touchet, and, therefore, a fitting consort for the King. She -showed her “marriage lines” to every one--did not hesitate to assert -that she, not Marie de’ Medici, was the lawful wife; that the King would -shortly acknowledge her as such, and send the Queen back whence she -came, together with the hated Concini, her chamber-women and secretary, -along with all the jesters and mountebanks who had come with her from -Italy. Endless complications ensued with the new Queen. Quarrels, -recriminations, and reproaches ran so high that Marie on one occasion -struck the King in the face. Henry was disgusted with her ill-temper, -but was too generous either to coerce or to control her. Her Italian -confidants, Concini and his wife, however, made capital of these -dissensions to incense Marie violently against her husband, and at the -same time to gain influence over herself. Henry was watched,--no very -difficult undertaking, as he had assigned a magnificent suite of rooms -in the Louvre to his new mistress, between whose apartments and those of -the wife there was but a single corridor. - -Henrietta meanwhile lived with all the pomp of a sovereign; there were -feasts at Zametti’s, balls, and jousts, and hunting-parties at -Saint-Germain and Fontainebleau. Foreign ambassadors and ministers -scoured the country after the King; so engaged was he in pleasure and -junketing. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -A COURT MARRIAGE. - - -The great gallery of the Louvre is just completed. It is on the first -floor, and approached through a circular hall with a fine mosaic floor; -it has painted walls and a vaulted ceiling. The gallery is lighted by -twelve lofty windows looking towards the quays and the river, which -glitters without in the morning sun. Every inch of this sumptuous -apartment is painted and laden with gilding; the glittering ceiling -rests upon a cornice, where Henry’s initials are blended with those of -the dead Gabrielle. A crowd of lords-in-waiting and courtiers walk up -and down, loll upon settees, or gather in groups within the deep -embrasures of the windows, to discuss in low tones the many scandals of -the day, as they await his Majesty’s lover. Presently Maréchal -Bassompierre enters. Bassompierre, the friend and confidant of Henry, as -great a libertine as his master, who has left behind him a minute -chronicle of his life, is a tall, burly man; his face is bronzed by the -long campaigns against the League, and his bearing as he moves up and -down, his sword clanging upon the polished floor, has more of the -swagger of the camp than the refinement of the Court. He wears the -uniform of the Musketeers who guard the person of the King, and on his -broad breast is the ribbon of the Order of the “Saint-Esprit.” He is -joined by the Duc de Roquelaure. Now Roquelaure is an effeminate-looking -man, a gossip and a dandy, the retailer of the latest scandal, the -block upon which the newest fashions are tried. He wears a doublet of -rose-coloured Florence satin quilted with silk, stiff with embroidery -and sown with seed-pearls. The sleeves are slashed with cloth of silver; -a golden chain, with a huge medallion set in diamonds, hangs round his -neck. Placed jauntily over his ear is a velvet cap with a jewelled clasp -and white ostrich plume. Broad golden lace borders his hose, and -high-heeled Cordovan boots--for he desires to appear tall--of amber -leather, with huge golden spurs, complete his attire. Being a man of low -stature--a pigmy beside the Marshal--as the sun streams upon him from -the broad window-panes, he looks like a gaudy human butterfly. - -“Well, Bassompierre,” says the Duke eagerly, standing on the points of -his toes, “is it true that your marriage with the incomparable Charlotte -de Montmorenci is broken off?” - -Bassompierre bows his head in silence, and a sorrowful look passes over -his jovial face. - -“_Pardieu!_ Marshal, for a rejected lover you seem well and hearty. Are -you going to break your heart, or the Prince of Condé’s head--eh, -Marshal?” - -A malicious twinkle gathers in Roquelaure’s eye, for there is a certain -satisfaction to a man of his inches in seeing a giant like Bassompierre -unsuccessful. - -“Neither, Duke,” replies Bassompierre drily. “I shall in this matter, as -in all others, submit myself to his Majesty’s pleasure.” - -“Mighty well spoken, Marshal; you are a perfect model of our court -virtue. But how can a worshipper of ‘the great Alexander,’ at the court -of ‘Lutetia,’ in the very presence of the divine Millegarde, the superb -Dorinda, and all the attendant knights and ladies, tolerate the affront, -the dishonour of a public rejection?” And Roquelaure takes out an -enamelled snuff-box, taps it, and with a pinch of scented snuff between -fingers covered with rings awaits a reply. “Not but that any gentleman,” -continues he, receiving no answer, “who marries the fair Montmorenci -will have perforce to submit to his Majesty’s pleasure--eh, Marshal, you -understand?” and Roquelaure takes his pinch of snuff and dusts his -perfumed beard. - -“I cannot allow the lady to be made a subject for idle gossip, Duke,” -replies Bassompierre, drawing himself up to his full height and eying -the other grimly. “Although I am not to have the honour of being her -husband, her good name is as dear to me as before.” - -“But, _morbleu_! who blames the lady?” - -“Not I--I never blamed a lady in my life, let her do what she may--it is -my creed of honour.’ - -“But his Majesty’s passion for her is so unconcealed. Perhaps, Marshal, -the King understood that this marriage must break up your ancient -friendship?” - -Bassompierre scowls, but makes no reply. - -“The King has grown young again,” continues Roquelaure. “Our noble Henri -Quatre,--he orders new clothes every day, wears embroidered collars, -sleeves of carnation satin--(I brought in the mode)” and he glances at -his own--“and scents and perfumes his hair and beard. We are to have -another tournament to-morrow in honour of the marriage of the Prince de -Condé--in reality to show off a suit of armour his Majesty has received -from Milan. Will you have the heart to be present, Marshal?” - -“Yes, Duke, I shall attend his Majesty as usual,” replies Bassompierre, -turning away with an offended air. - -“Come, Marshal, between such old friends as you and I these airs of -distance are absurd”; and the Duke lays his hand on the other’s arm to -detain him. “Own to me honestly that this marriage with the Prince de -Condé gives you great concern----” - -Bassompierre hangs down his head and plays with his sword-knot. “I -should have desired a better husband for her, truly,” answers he in a -low voice. “The Prince is a shabby fellow, with an evil temper. I fear -Mademoiselle de Montmorenci can never affect him,” and a deep sigh -escapes him. - -“Never, never,” rejoins Roquelaure, looking round to note who arrives, -“it is an ill-assorted union. You, Bassompierre, would have loved her -well. It was possible she might have reformed your manners. Ha! I have -you there, Marshal. Pardon my joke,” adds he, as he sees a dark scowl -again gathering on the Marshal’s face. “But Condé, the _rustre_, he -hates women--I never saw him address one in his life; a cold, austere -fellow, as solitary as an owl; a miser, and silent too--if he does speak -he is rude and ungracious; and with the temper of a fiend. If he does -right, it is only through obstinacy. I am told he suspects the lady -already, and has set spies to watch her. A pretty match for the fair -Montmorenci truly, who has lived with a sovereign at her feet.” - -“Duke,” cries Bassompierre fiercely, secretly writhing under the Duke’s -malicious probing of a heart-wound which still bled, “I have already -observed that any inuendoes touching Mademoiselle de Montmorenci -displease me.” - -“Inuendoes! why, Marshal, even Condé confessed the other day that rich -as was the prize, and surpassing the lady, he hesitated to accept ‘one -whom the King’s attention had made so notorious!’ ” - -Bassompierre’s eyes flash. He is about to make an angry rejoinder when a -page approaches and summons them to attend his Majesty. - -The marriage between Charlotte de Montmorenci and the Prince de Condé -was, as had been anticipated, a failure. Condé, devoured by jealousy, -shut up his wife at Chantilly, or at the still more remote Château of -Muret. The petted beauty, accustomed to the incense of a Court and the -avowed admiration of an infatuated sovereign, scolded and wept, but in -vain. The more bitterly they quarrelled, the more deep and dangerous -became Condé’s enmity to Henry. Disloyalty was the tradition of his -race, rebellious practices with Spain the habit of his house. We have -seen how a Condé was ready to usurp the throne under pretence of a -Regency, during the conflict with the Huguenots at Amboise. His son, -“the great Condé,” is by-and-by to head the standard of revolt, and at -the head of Spanish troops to bring France to the brink of ruin. Avarice -had led him to accept the hand of Charlotte de Montmorenci--avarice and -poverty--and he had counted upon constant espionage and absence from -Court as sufficient precautions. But he was young: he had yet to learn -the wilfulness of his wife and the audacity of the King. As he gradually -discovered that the Princess was neither to be soothed nor coerced, his -rage knew no bounds. Sully, seriously alarmed at the rumours that -reached him respecting the Prince’s language, requested a visit from him -at the Arsenal. - -Sully is seated in a sombre closet--looking towards the towers of -Notre-Dame--at a table covered with papers. Condé is tall, thin, and -slightly made. He is singularly ill-favoured, with dark hair and swarthy -skin, a nose quite out of proportion with the rest of his face, and a -sinister expression in his eyes. On entering he cannot conceal his -uneasiness. - -“Be seated, monseigneur,” says Sully, scanning him from under his heavy -eyebrows. “I have no time to spare--therefore I must use plain words. -You speak of the King my master in terms that do you little credit. You -are playing the devil, Prince. The King’s patience is well-nigh -exhausted. I am commanded to keep back the payment of the pension you -receive to mark his Majesty’s displeasure. If this has no effect upon -you, other means must be tried.” - -While Sully speaks, Condé sits opposite to him unmoved, save that his -dark face hardens, and he fixes his sullen eyes steadfastly upon Sully. - -“If I am what you say,” replies he at last doggedly, “if I speak ill of -his Majesty, am I not justified? He is determined to ruin me. He -persecutes me because I choose to keep my wife in the country. It is my -desire to leave France--then I shall no longer give his Majesty -offence.” - -“Impossible, monseigneur! As a Prince of the blood your place is at -Court, beside the Sovereign.” - -“What! have I not liberty even to visit my own sister, the Princess of -Orange, at Breda, in company with the Princess, my wife? That can be no -affront to his Majesty. Surely, Monsieur de Sully, you cannot advise the -King to refuse so reasonable a request?” - -“I shall advise him to refuse it, monseigneur, nevertheless. Persons of -your rank cannot leave the kingdom--the very act is treason.” - -Condé casts up his eyes, and his hands-- - -“Was ever a man so ill used? My personal liberty denied me! My very -allowance stopped!” - -“It is said, Prince, that you have plenty of Spanish doubloons at -Chantilly,” returns Sully significantly. - -“It is false--tales to ruin me. Ever since my marriage I have been -pursued by informers. It was by his Majesty’s command I married. Now he -desires to seduce my wife--that is the truth. If I appear ungrateful, -there is my reason.” - -“His Majesty assures me, Prince,” breaks in Sully, “that his sentiments -towards your illustrious consort are those of a father.” - -“A father! Why, then, does he come disguised to Chantilly? He has been -seen hiding in the woods there and at Muret. A pretty father, indeed! By -the grace of God, I will submit to the tyranny of no such a father. It -is a thraldom unbecoming my birth, my position, and my honour! While the -King acts thus I will not come to Court, to be an object of pity and -contempt!” - -“You speak of tyranny, Prince, towards yourself. It may be well for your -highness to consider, however, that the King, my master, has to a -certain extent justified your accusation.” Condé looks up at him -keenly. “But it is tyranny exercised in your favour, Monsieur le Prince, -not to your prejudice.” - -Sully’s eyes are bent upon the Prince. While he speaks a half smile -flitters about his mouth. - -“I do not understand you, Duke. Explain yourself,” replies Condé, with -real or affected ignorance; but something in the expression of Sully’s -face caused him to drop the tone of bravado he had hitherto assumed. - -“His Majesty, Prince, has justified your accusation of tyranny by having -hitherto insisted, nay even compelled, those about him to acknowledge -you--well--_for what you are not_!” - -Condé almost bounds from his seat. There was a horrible suspicion that -his mother had shortened his father’s life, and this suspicion had cast -doubts upon his legitimacy. - -Sully sits back in his chair and contemplates Condé at his ease. - -“Your highness will, I think, do well for the future to consider how -much you owe to his Majesty’s bounty in many ways.” And these last words -are strongly emphasised. Condé is silent. “Again, I say, as your -highness is fortunately accepted as a Prince of the blood, you must bear -the penalties of this high position.” - -Condé, who has turned ashy pale, rises with difficulty--he even holds -the table for support. - -“Have you more to say to me, Duc de Sully, or is our interview ended?” - -He speaks in a suppressed voice, and looks careworn and haggard. - -“Monseigneur, I have now only to thank you for the honour you have done -me in coming here,” replies Sully, rising, a malicious smile upon his -face. “I commend to your consideration the remarks I have had the honour -to make to you. Believe me, you owe everything to the King, my master.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -THE PREDICTION FULFILLED. - - -Henry was seated in his closet playing at cards, with Bassompierre, the -Comtes de Soissons, Cœuvres, and Monseigneur de Lorraine. It was -late, and the game was almost concluded, when Monsieur d’Ellène, a -gentleman-in-waiting, entered hurriedly, and whispered something in the -King’s ear. In an instant Henry’s face expressed the utmost -consternation. He threw down his cards, clenched his fists with passion, -and rose hastily; then, leaning over upon Bassompierre’s shoulder, who -sat next to him, he said in a low voice-- - -“Marshal, I am lost. Condé has fled with his wife into the woods. God -knows whether he means to murder her, or carry her out of France. Take -care of my cards. Go on playing. I must learn more particulars. Do the -same, and follow me as soon as you can.” And he left the room. - -But the sudden change in the King’s face and manner had spread alarm in -the circle. No one would play any more, and Bassompierre was assailed -with eager questions. He was obliged to reply that he believed the -Prince de Condé had left France. At this astounding news every tongue -was let loose. Bassompierre then retired, and after having made himself -master of every particular, joined the King, in order to inform him. -Henry listened with horror to Bassompierre’s narrative. Meanwhile, late -as it was (midnight), he commanded a council of state to be called. The -ministers assembled as quickly as was possible. There were present the -Chancellor, the President Jeannin, Villeroy, and the Comtes de -Cœuvres and De Cremail. Henry hastily seated himself at the top of -the table. - -“Well, Chancellor, well,--you have heard this dreadful news,” said he, -addressing him. “The poor young Princess! What is your advice? How can -we save her?” - -Bellièvre, a grave lawyer, looked astounded at the King’s vehemence. - -“Surely, Sire, you cannot apprehend any personal danger to the -illustrious lady?” said he, with hesitation. “The Princesse de Condé is -with her husband, he will doubtless act as is fitting.” - -“_Ventre Saint Gris!_” cried the King, boiling with passion. “I want no -comments--the remedy. What is the remedy? How can we rescue her?” - -“Well, Sire, if you have reason to misdoubt the good faith of the Prince -de Condé, if her highness be in any danger, you must issue edicts, -proclaim fines, and denounce all persons who harbour and abet him; but I -would advise your Majesty to pause.” - -Henry turned away with a violent gesture. - -“Now, Villeroy, speak. If the Princess is out of the kingdom, what is to -be done?” - -“Your Majesty can do nothing then but through your ambassadors. -Representation must be made to the Court of the country whither the -Prince has fled. You must demand the Prince’s restitution as a rebel.” - -The King shrugged his shoulders with infinite disgust. Such slow -measures little suited his impetuous humour. - -“Now, President Jeannin,” said Henry, “let us hear your opinion. These -other counsels are too lengthy. God knows what mischief may ere this -have happened.” - -“I advise your Majesty,” replied the President, “to send a trusty -officer after the Prince and bring him back along with his wife, if -within the realm. He is doubtless on his way to Flanders. If he has -passed the frontier, the Archduke, who would not willingly offend your -Majesty, will, doubtless, dismiss the Prince at your desire.” - -Henry nodded his head approvingly, and turned quickly round to issue -orders at once to follow this advice, which suited the urgency of the -case; all at once he remembered that Sully was not present, and he -hesitated. - -“Where is Sully?” cried he. - -“Monsieur de Praslin,” replied Bassompierre, who had just left him, “has -been again despatched to fetch him from the Arsenal; but he is not yet -arrived.” - -At this moment the door opened, and Sully appeared. It was evident that -he was in one of his surliest moods. Henry, preoccupied as he was, -observed this, and, fearing some outburst, dismissed the Council and -Bassompierre, and carefully shut the door. - -“Sully, what am I to do? By the mass! that monster, my nephew, has fled, -and carried off my dear Charlotte with him!” - -This was not, as has been seen, the first time that the grave statesman -Sully had been consulted in his master’s love affairs. He had passed -very many hours in endeavouring to cajole Henriette d’Entragues to give -up the fatal marriage contract signed by the King; he had all but -quarrelled with his master in opposing his marriage with Gabrielle -d’Estrées; and he had been called up in the dead of night to remonstrate -with the Queen when, in consequence of a violent quarrel, she had sworn -that she would leave the Louvre. Sully, like the King, had grown old, -and was tired of acting adviser to a headstrong master, whose youthful -follies never seemed to end. Now he gave a grunt of disapproval. - -“I am not surprised, Sire. I told you the Prince would go. If he went -himself, it was not likely he would leave his wife behind him--was it? -That would have been too complaisant in his highness. If you wanted to -secure him, you should have shut him up in the Bastille.” - -“Sully, this raillery is ill-timed. I am distressed beyond all words. -The Princess is in an awful predicament. Laperrière’s son brought the -news. His father was their guide. He left them in the middle of a dismal -forest. He shall be paid a mine of gold for his information.” - -[Illustration: COUCY--INTERIOR, SHOWING THICKNESS OF WALLS.] - -Sully shook his head and cast up his hands. - -“God help us!” muttered he. - -“Never was anything more dreadful,” continued the King. “My beloved -Charlotte was lured from Muret under the pretence of a hunting-party. -She was to be carried to the rendezvous in a coach. The dear creature -started before daylight, says Laperrière’s son, and as the morning -broke, found herself in a strange part of the country--in a plain far -from the forest. She stopped the coach, and called to Virrey, who rode -by the door, and asked him whither they were going? Virrey, confused, -said he would ride on and ask the Prince, who was in advance, leading -the way, the cowardly scoundrel!” and Henry shook his fist in the air. -“My nephew came up, and told her she was on her road to Breda, upon -which the sweet soul screamed aloud, says Laperrière, and lamented, -entreating to be allowed to return. But that ruffian, Condé, rode off -and left her in the middle of the road, bidding the driver push forward. -At last they came to Couçy, where they changed horses. Just as they were -about again to start the coach broke down.” - -“Praised be God!” ejaculated Sully. “I hope no one was found to mend -it.” - -“Sully, I believe you are without heart or feeling,” cried the King, -reproachfully. - -“Not at all, Sire; but my heart and my feelings also are with your -Majesty, not with the Princess. Proceed, Sire, with this touching -narrative.” - -“Condé then, says Laperrière, the night beginning to fall, purchased a -pillion at Couçy, and mounted his wife behind him on horseback.” Sully -shook with laughter; but fearing to offend his master, suppressed it as -well as he could. “Her two attendants mounted behind two of the suite, -the guides being in advance. It rained heavily. _Pardieu!_ I can hardly -bear to speak of it. My dear Charlotte in such a condition! The night -was dark; but Condé rode on like a devil incarnate to Castellin, the -first village across the frontier. When she was taken down, Charlotte -fainted.” The tears ran down Henry’s cheeks as he said this. “She -fainted; and then Laperrière, convinced of some treason on the part of -my nephew, despatched his son to tell me these particulars. Now, Sully,” -and the King rose suddenly and seized his hand, shaking off the sorrow -that had overcome him during the narrative, “now tell me, what am I to -do? I would lose my Crown rather than not succour her.” - -“Do nothing, Sire,” replied Sully quietly. - -“How, Sully! Do nothing?” - -“Yes, Sire; I advise you--I implore you, do nothing. If you leave Condé -to himself he will be laughed at. Even his friends will ridicule his -escapade. In three months he will be back again at Court with the -Princess, ashamed of himself. Meantime Madame la Princesse will see -foreign Courts, acquire the Spanish manner from the Archduchess, and -return more fascinating than ever. On the other hand, if you pursue him, -you will exalt him into a political victim; all your Majesty’s enemies -will rally round him.” - -Excellent advice, which the King was too infatuated to follow! -Forgetting all decency, and even the law of nations, he insisted on -punishing Condé as a rebel, and called on the Spanish Government -formally to release the Princess. Spain refused; and this ridiculous -passion may be said to have been the approximate cause of that -formidable alliance against Spain in which, at the time of his death, -Henry was about to engage. - -The favour which Henry had shown his Protestant subjects had long -rankled in the minds of the Catholics. He was held to be a renegade and -a traitor. It was affirmed that his conversion was a sham, to which he -lent himself only the more effectually to advance the interests of the -reformed faith. While he gave himself up to amorous follies and prepared -for foreign wars, a network of hate, treachery, and fanaticism was fast -closing around him. Enemies and spies filled the Louvre, and dogged his -every movement. Already the footsteps of the assassin approached. - -After the birth of the Dauphin a strong political party had gathered -round Marie de’ Medici. Her constant dissensions with the King, her -bitter complaints, and the scandal of his private life, afforded -sufficient grounds for elevating her into a kind of martyr. - -The intrigues of Concini, whose easy manners, elegant person, and -audacious counsels had raised him from a low hanger-on at Court into the -principal adviser of his royal mistress, gradually contrived to identify -her interests with those of the great feudal princes, still absolute -sovereigns in their own territory. The maintenance of the Catholic -Church against heresy, and the security of the throne for her son, were -the ostensible motives of this coalition. But the bond between Marie -and her chief supporters, the powerful Ducs de Bouillon and d’Epernon, -was in reality a common hatred of Henry and a bitter jealousy of Sully, -whose clear intellect and firm hand had directed with such extraordinary -sagacity the helm of state throughout Henry’s long and stormy reign. - -Evil influences, which displayed themselves in predictions, warnings, -and prophesies, were abroad. The death of the King would at once raise -Marie, as Regent for her son, to sovereign power, and throw the whole -control of the State into the hands of her adherents. How far Marie was -implicated in the events about to happen can never be known, and whether -she listened to the dark hints of her Italian attendants, _that by the -King’s death alone_ she could find relief. But undoubtedly the barbarous -cruelty with which Concini and his wife were afterwards murdered by -Henry’s friends had regard to this suspicion. Whether the Duc d’Epernon -knew beforehand of the conspiracy, and insured his master’s death by a -final thrust when he had already been struck by the assassin, or whether -Henriette d’Entragues, out of revenge for the King’s passion for the -Princesse de Condé, herself instigated Ravaillac to the act, must ever -remain a mystery. - -Marie de’ Medici, urged by the Concini, and advised by her friend the -Duc d’Epernon, was at this time unceasing in her entreaties to the King -to consent to her coronation at Saint-Denis. According to her varying -mood she either wept, raved and stamped about the room, or kissed, -coaxed, and cajoled him. And there was cause for her pertinacity. -Henry’s weak compliances with Henriette d’Entragues’ pretensions, her -residence in the Louvre, and her boastings of that unhappy promise of -marriage, had given occasion for questions to arise touching the -legitimacy of the Dauphin. Those who were politically opposed to the -King would be ready, at any moment after his death, to justify rebellion -on the pretence of a prior contract invalidating his present marriage. - -Such an idea drove the Queen frantic. There was no peace for Henry until -he consented to her coronation. Yet he was strangely reluctant to -comply. An unaccountable presentiment of danger connected with that -ceremony pursued him. He had never been the same since the loss of the -Princesse de Condé. Now he was dull, absent, and indifferent, ate little -and slept ill. Nothing interested or pleased him, save the details of -his great campaign against Spain, which was about to convulse all -Europe. - -“Ah, my friend,” said he to Sully, “how this ceremony of the coronation -distresses me. Whenever I think about it I cannot shake off sinister -forebodings. Alas! I fear I shall never live to head my army. I shall -die in this city of Paris. I shall never see the Princesse de Condé -again. Ah, cursed coronation! I shall die while they are about it. -Bassompierre tells me the maypole, which was set up in the court of the -Louvre, has just fallen down. It is an evil omen.” - -“Well, Sire,” returned Sully, “postpone the ceremony.” - -“No, Sully, no; it shall not be said that Henry IV. trembled before an -idle prophecy. For twenty years, Sully, I have heard of predictions of -my death. After all, nothing will happen to me but what is ordained.” - -“My God, Sire!” exclaimed Sully, “I never heard your Majesty speak so -before. Countermand the coronation, I entreat you. Let the Queen not be -crowned at all rather than lose your peace of mind. What does it matter? -It is but a woman’s whim.” - -“Ah, Sully, what will my wife say? I dare not approach her unless I keep -my word;--her heart is so set upon being crowned.” - -“Let her say what she pleases, Sire; never heed her. Allow me to -persuade her Majesty to postpone the ceremony.” - -“Try, Sully; try, if you please:--you will find what the Queen is. She -will not consent to put it off.” - -The King spoke truly. Marie de’ Medici flew into a violent rage, and -positively refused to listen to any postponement whatever. The -coronation was fixed to take place on Thursday, the 13th of May. - -It is certain that the King was distinctly warned of his approaching -death. The very day and hour were marked with a cross of blood in an -almanack sent to him anonymously. A period of six hours on the 14th of -May was marked as fatal to him. If he survived that time, on that day--a -Friday--he was safe. The day named for his death was that preceding the -public entry of the Queen into Paris, after her coronation at -Saint-Denis. He rose at six o’clock in the morning on that day, Friday, -the 14th of May. On his way down-stairs, he was met by the Duc de -Vendôme, his son by Gabrielle d’Estrées. Vendôme held in his hand a -paper, which he had found lying on his table. It was a horoscope, signed -by an astrologer called La Brosse, warning the King that the -constellation under which he was born threatened him with great danger -on the 14th of May. “My father,” said Vendôme, standing in his path, “do -not go abroad; spend this day at home.” - -“La Brosse, my boy,” replied Henry, looking at the paper, “is an old -fox. Do you not see that he wants money? You are a young fool to mind -him. My life is in the hands of God, my son,--I shall live or die as he -pleases,--let me pass.” - -He heard mass early, and passed the day as usual. At a quarter to four -o’clock in the afternoon he ordered his coach, to visit Sully at the -Arsenal, who was ailing. The streets were much crowded. Paris was full -of strangers, assembled for the coronation, and to see the spectacle of -the Queen’s public entry. Stages and booths blocked up the -thoroughfares. Henry was impatient for the arrival of his coach, and -took his seat in it immediately it arrived. He signed to the Duc -d’Epernon to seat himself at his right hand. De Liancourt and Mirabeau, -his lords in waiting, placed themselves opposite to him. The Ducs de -Lavardin, Roquelaure, and Montbazon, and the Marquis de la Force, took -their places on either side. Besides these noblemen seated inside, a few -guards accompanied him on horseback, but when he reached the _hôtel_ of -the Duc de Longueville, the King stopped and dismissed all his -attendants, save those lords in the coach with him. From the Rue -Saint-Honoré, which was greatly crowded, they entered the Rue de la -Ferronnière, on the way to the Arsenal. This was a narrow street, and -numbers of wooden stalls (such as are still seen on the boulevards in -Paris) were ranged along a dead wall, on one of the sides. There was a -block of carts about these booths, and the royal coach was obliged to -draw up close against the dead wall. The running footmen went forward to -clear the road; the coach halted close to the wall. Ravaillac now -slipped between the wall and the coach, and jumping on one of the -wheels, stabbed the King twice in the breast and ribs. The knife passed -through a shirt of fine cambric, richly embroidered _à jour_. A third -time the assassin raised his hand to strike, but only ripped up the -sleeve of the Duc de Montbazon’s doublet, upon whom the King had fallen. -“I am wounded,” gasped Henry, “but it is nothing--” Then the Duc -d’Epernon raised his royal master in his arms. Henry made a convulsive -effort to speak, he was choked by blood, and fell back lifeless. He was -brought back dead to the Louvre. There he lay in state, clothed in his -coronation robes, the crown upon his head. - -The bloody almanack had told true. Henry had circled twenty times the -magic chamber of life! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -LOUIS XIII. - - -It is related that the night after the assassination of Henri Quatre by -Ravaillac, and while his body lay in the Louvre, his little son, Louis -XIII., screaming with terror, cried out that he saw the same men who had -murdered his father coming to kill him. Louis was not to be pacified -until he was carried to his mother’s bed, where he passed the rest of -the night. - -To this infantine terror, this early association with death and murder, -may be traced the strange character of Louis; weak in body and mind, -timid, suspicious, melancholy, superstitious, an undutiful son, a bad -husband, and an unworthy king. The fame of his great father, and the -enthusiasm his memory inspired, instead of filling him with emulation, -crushed and depressed him. He became a complete “_Roi fainéant_.” His -reign was the reign of favourites, and nothing was heard of the monarch -but in connection with them, save that, with a superstition worthy of -the Middle Ages, he formerly placed France “under the protection of the -Virgin.” - -His early favourite, Albret the Gascon, created Duc de Luynes and -Constable of France, was his tyrant. As long as he lived Louis both -hated and feared him. He hated his mother, he hated Richelieu, he hated -his wife, Anne of Austria. Louis, surnamed “the Just,” had a great -capacity for hatred. - -Poor Anne of Austria, to whom he was married at fifteen, she being the -same age, what a lot was hers! - -Her personal charms actually revolted the half-educated, awkward boy, -whom all the world thought she would govern despotically. He could not -help acknowledging her exceeding loveliness; but she was his superior, -and he knew it. He shrank back, terrified, at her vivacity and her -talents. Her innocent love of amusement jarred against his morbid -nature. Melancholy himself, he disliked to see others happy, and from -the day of their marriage he lived as much apart from her as state -etiquette permitted. - -Maria de’ Medici, ambitious and unprincipled as ever, widened the breach -between them. She still sat supreme in the council, and regulated public -affairs. Richelieu, her favourite and minister during the Regency, in -continual dread of a possible reconciliation between Louis and his wife, -and in love with the young Queen himself, was rapidly rising to that -dictatorship which he exercised over France and the King until he died. -Both he and the Queen-mother roused Louis’s jealousy against his wife, -and dropped dark hints of danger to his throne, perhaps to his life. -They succeeded only too well; the King and Queen become more and more -estranged. - -Anne of Austria uttered no complaint. She showed no anger, but her pride -was deeply wounded, and amongst her ladies and her friends her joyous -raillery did not spare the King. Reports of her flirtations also, as -well as of her _bon mots_ and her mimicry, heightened by the malice of -those whose interest it was to keep them asunder, reached Louis, and -alienated him more and more. Anne, too young to be fully aware of the -growing danger of her position, vain of her success, and without either -judicious friends or competent advisers, took no steps to reconcile -herself to her husband. Coldness and estrangement rapidly grew into -downright dislike and animosity; suspicions were exaggerated into -certainty, until at last she came to be treated as a conspirator and a -criminal. - -The age was an age of intrigue, treachery, and rebellion. The growing -power of the nobles narrowed the authority of the throne. The incapacity -of the King strengthened the pretensions of the princes. Spain, -perpetually at war with France, sought its dismemberment by most -disloyal conspiracies. Every disaffected prince or rebellious noble -found a home at the Court of Philip, brother of Anne of Austria. - -Thus Louis knew nothing of royalty but its cares and dangers. As a boy, -browbeaten and overborne by his mother, when arrived at an age when his -own sense and industry might have remedied defects of education, he took -it for granted that his ignorance was incapacity, his timidity -constitutional deficiency. - -A prime minister was absolutely indispensable to such a monarch, and -Louis at least showed some discernment in selecting for that important -post the Bishop of Luçon (Cardinal Richelieu), the _protégé_ of his -mother. - -Estranged from his wife, pure in morals, and correct in conduct, Louis, -still a mere youth, yearned for female sympathy. A confidante was as -necessary as a minister--one as immaculate as himself, into whose ear -he could, without fear of scandal, murmur the griefs and anxieties of -his life. Such a woman he found in Mademoiselle de Hautefort, maid of -honour to the Queen. Her modesty and her silence first attracted him. -Her manners were reserved, her speech soft and gentle. She was naturally -of a serious turn of mind, and had been carefully educated. She took -great apparent interest in all the King said to her. Her conversation -became so agreeable to him, that he dared by degrees to confide to her -his loneliness, his misery, and even his bodily infirmities, which were -neither few nor slight. This intimacy, to a solitary young King who -longed for affection, yet delicately shrunk from the slightest semblance -of intrigue, was alluring in the highest degree. - -Long, however, ere Louis had favoured her with his preference she had -given her whole heart to her mistress, Anne of Austria. Every word the -King uttered was immediately repeated to the Queen, with such comments -as caused the liveliest entertainment to that lovely princess, who -treated the _liaison_ as an admirable joke, and entreated her maid of -honour to humour the King to the very utmost, so as to afford her the -greatest possible amount of amusement. - -The Court is at Compiègne. Since the days of Clotaire it has been a -favourite hunting-lodge of the Kings of France. One vast façade -stretches along verdant banks sloping to the river Oise, across which an -ancient bridge (on which Jeanne d’Arc, fighting against the English, was -taken prisoner) leads into the sunny little town. On the farther side of -the château a magnificent terrace, bordered by canals, links it to the -adjoining forest. So close to this terrace still press the ancient trees -and woodland alleys, backed by rising hills crowned with lofty elms, and -broken by deep hollows where feathery beeches wave, that even to this -day the whole scene faithfully represents an ancient chase. So immense -is the château that the two Queens, Marie de’ Medici and Anne of -Austria, could each hold distinct Courts within its walls. Marie, in the -suite called the “Apartments of the Queens-dowager of France,” then hung -with ancient tapestry and painted in fresco, looking over the grassy -lawns beside the river and the town; Anne, in the stately rooms towards -the forest and the woodland heights. - -Within a vaulted room, the walls hung with Cordova leather stamped in -patterns of gorgeous colours, Anne of Austria is seated at her toilette. -Before her is a mirror, framed in lace and ribbons, placed on a silver -table. She wears a long white _peignoir_ thrown over a robe of azure -satin. Her luxuriant hair is unbound and falls over her shoulders; Doña -Estafania, her Spanish dresser, who has never left her, assisted by -Madame Bertant, combs and perfumes it, drawing out many curls and -ringlets from the waving mass, which, at a little distance, the morning -sunshine turns into a shower of gold. Around her stand her maids of -honour, Mademoiselles de Guerchy, Saint-Mégrin, and de Hautefort. The -young Queen is that charming anomaly, a Spanish _blonde_. She has large -blue eyes that can languish or sparkle, entreat or command, pencilled -eyebrows, and a mouth full-lipped and rosy. She has the prominent nose -of her family; her complexion, of the most dazzling fairness, is -heightened by rouge. She is not tall, but her royal presence, even in -youth, lends height to her figure. When she smiles her face expresses -nothing but innocence and candour; but she knows how to frown, and to -make others frown also. - -There is a stir among the attendants, and the King enters. He is -assiduous in saluting her Majesty at her lever when Mademoiselle de -Hautefort is present. Louis XIII. has inherited neither the rough though -martial air of his father, nor the beauty of his Italian mother. His -face is long, thin, and sallow; his hair dark and scanty. He is far from -tall, and very slight, and an indescribable air of melancholy pervades -his whole person. As Louis approaches her, Anne is placing a diamond -pendant in her ear; her hands are exquisitely white and deliciously -shaped, and she loves to display them. She receives the King, who -timidly advances, with sarcastic smiles and insolent coldness. While he -is actually addressing her, she turns round to her lady in waiting, the -Duchesse de Chevreuse, who stands behind her chair, holding a -hand-mirror set in gold, whispers in her ear and laughs, then points -with her dainty finger, bright with costly rings, to the King, who -stands before her. Louis blushes, waits some time for an answer, which -she does not vouchsafe to give; then, greatly embarrassed, retreats into -a corner near the door, and seats himself. - -The Duchesse de Chevreuse, the friend and confidante of Anne of Austria, -widow of the King’s favourite the Duc de Luynes, now a second time - -[Illustration: LOUIS XIII., KING OF FRANCE AND OF NAVARRE - -FROM AN OLD PRINT] - -Duchess, as wife of Claude Lorraine, Duc de Chevreuse, an adventuress -and an _intrigante_, is a gipsy-faced, bewitching woman, dark-skinned, -velvet-eyed, and enticing; her cheeks dimpling with smiles, her black -eyes dancing with mischief. - -The King sits lost in thought, with an anxious and almost tearful -expression, gazing fixedly at Mademoiselle de Hautefort who stands -behind the Queen’s chair among the maids of honour. Suddenly he becomes -aware that all eyes are turned upon him. He rises quickly, and makes a -sign to Mademoiselle de Hautefort to approach him; but the eyes of the -maid of honour are fixed upon the ground. With a nervous glance towards -the door, he reseats himself on the edge of his chair. The Queen turns -towards him, then to Mademoiselle de Hautefort, and laughs, whilst the -maid of honour busies herself with some lace. A moment after she -advances towards the Queen, carrying the ruff in her hand which is to -encircle her Majesty’s neck. - -Anne leans back, adjusts the ruff, and whispers to her--“Look, -mademoiselle, look at your despairing lover. He longs to go away, but he -cannot tear himself from you. I positively admire his courage. Go to -him, _ma belle_--he is devouring you with his eyes. Have you no mercy on -the anointed King of France?” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort colours, and again turns her eyes to the -ground. - -“Duchesse,” continues Anne in a low voice, addressing the Duchesse de -Chevreuse, “tell mademoiselle what you would do were you adored by a -great king. Would you refuse to look at him when he stands before -you--red, white, smiling, almost weeping, a spectacle of what a fool -even a sovereign may make of himself?” And the Queen laughs again -softly, and, for an instant, mimicks the grotesque expression of the -King’s face. - -“Madame,” says Mademoiselle de Hautefort, looking up and speaking -gravely, “the opinion of Madame la Duchesse would not influence me. We -take different views of life. Your Majesty knows that the King is not my -lover, and that I only converse with him out of the duty I owe your -Majesty. I beseech you, Madame,” adds she, in a plaintive voice, “do not -laugh at me. My task is difficult enough. I have to amuse a Sovereign -who cannot be amused--to feign an interest I do not feel. Her grace the -Duchesse de Chevreuse would, I doubt not, know how to turn the -confidence with which his Majesty honours me to much better account”; -and Mademoiselle de Hautefort glances angrily at the Duchess, who smiles -scornfully, and makes her a profound curtsey. - -“You say true, mademoiselle,” replies she; “I should certainly pay more -respect to his Majesty’s exalted position, and perhaps I should feel -more sympathy for the passion I had inspired. However, you are but a -mere girl, new to court life. You will learn in good time, -mademoiselle--you will learn.” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort, about to make a bitter reply, is interrupted -by the Queen. - -“Come, _petite sotte_,” says Anne, still speaking under her breath, -“don’t lose your temper. We all worship you as the modern Diana. Venus -is not at all in the line of our royal spouse. Look, he can bear it no -longer; he has left the room. There he stands in the anteroom, casting -one last longing look after you; I see it in the glass. Go, -mademoiselle, I dismiss you--go and console his Majesty with your -Platonic friendship.” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort left the room, and was instantly joined by -Louis, who drew her into the embrasure of an oriel window. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -THE ORIEL WINDOW. - - -“You have come at last,” said Louis eagerly. “Why would you not look at -me? I have suffered tortures; I abhor the Queen’s ladies, a set of -painted Jezebels, specially the Duchesse de Chevreuse, a dangerous -intriguer, her Majesty’s evil genius. I saw them all mocking me. Why did -you not look at me? you knew I came for you,” repeated he, querulously. - -“Surely, Sire, I could not be so presumptuous as to imagine that a visit -to her Majesty from her husband concerned me.” - -“Her husband! would I had never seen her, or her friend the Duchesse. -They are both--well, I will not say what, certainly spies, spies of -Spain. My principles forbid me to associate with such women. You look -displeased, mademoiselle--what have I done?”--for Mademoiselle de -Hautefort showed by her expression the disapproval she felt at his -abuse of the Queen. “It is your purity, your sweetness, that alone make -the Court bearable. But you are not looking at me--cruel, selfish girl! -would you too forsake me?” - -The maid of honour feeling that she must say something, and assume an -interest she did not feel, looked up into the King’s face and smiled. “I -am here, Sire, for your service. I am neither cruel nor selfish, but I -am grieved at the terms in which you speak of my gracious mistress. Let -me pray your Majesty, most humbly, not to wound me by such language.” - -Her look, her manner, softened the irritable Louis. He took her hand -stealthily and kissed it. He gazed at her pensively for some moments -without speaking. - -“How beautiful you are, and wise as you are beautiful!” exclaimed he at -length. “I have much to say to you, but not about my Spanish wife. Let -us not mention her.” His eyes were still riveted on the maid of honour; -his lips parted as if to speak, then he checked himself, but still -retained her hand, which he pressed. - -“You hunted yesterday, Sire,” said she, confused at the King’s silence -and steadfast gaze; “what number of stags did you kill? I was not -present at the _curée_.” She gently withdrew her hand from the King’s -grasp. - -“I did not hunt yesterday; I was ill,” replied Louis. “I am ill, very -ill.” - -This allusion to his health instantly changed the current of his -thoughts, for Louis was a complete valetudinarian. He became suddenly -moody, and sank heavily into a seat placed behind a curtain, the thick -folds of which concealed both him and the maid of honour. - -“I am harassed, sick to death of everything. I should die but for you. I -can open my heart to you.” And then suddenly becoming conscious that -Mademoiselle de Hautefort still stood before him, he drew a chair close -to his side, on which he desired her to seat herself. - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort, knowing well that the King would now go on -talking to her for a long time, assumed an attitude of pleased -attention. Louis looked pale and haggard. His sallow cheeks were shrunk, -his large eyes hollow. As he spoke a hectic flush went and came upon his -face. - -“Will you not let me take your hand, mademoiselle?” said he, timidly. “I -feel I could talk much better if I did, and I have much to say to you.” - -She reluctantly placed her hand in his. The King sighed deeply. - -“What is the matter, Sire?” - -“Ah, that is the question! I long to tell you. I sigh because I am weary -of my life. My mother, who still calls herself Regent, and pretends to -govern the kingdom, quarrels perpetually with Richelieu. The council is -distracted by her violence and ill-temper; affairs of state are -neglected. She reproaches Richelieu publicly for his ingratitude, as she -calls it, because he will not support her authority rather than the good -of the kingdom. The Duc d’Epernon supports her. He is as imperious as -she is. Her ambition embitters my life, as it embittered that of my -great father.” - -“Oh, Sire, remember that the Queen-dowager of France is your mother. -Besides, Richelieu owes everything to her favour. Had it not been for -her he would have remained an obscure bishop at Luçon all his life. She -placed him at Court.” - -“Yes, and he shall stay there. _Par Dieu!_ he shall stay there. If any -one goes it shall be my mother. I feel I myself have no capacity for -governing; I shrink from the tremendous responsibility; but I am better -able to undertake it than the Queen-mother. Her love of power is so -excessive she would sacrifice me and every one else to keep it--she and -the Duc d’Epernon,” he added, bitterly. “Richelieu is an able minister. -He is ambitious, I know, but I am safe in his hands. He can carry out no -measures of reform, he cannot maintain the dignity of the Crown, if he -is for ever interfered with by a fractious woman,--vain, capricious, -incompetent.” - -“Oh, Sire!” and Mademoiselle de Hautefort held up her hands to stop him. - -“It is true, madame. Did not the Queen-mother and her creatures, the -Concini and the Duc d’Epernon, all but plunge France into civil war -during her regency? She was nigh being deposed, and I with her. What a -life I led until De Luynes rescued me! He presumed upon my favour, _le -fripon_, and brought boat-loads of Gascon cousins to Court from Guienne. -I never knew a man have so many cousins! They came in shoals, and never -one of them with a silken cloak to his back--a beggarly lot!” - -“But, Sire,” said Mademoiselle de Hautefort, sitting upright in her -chair, and trying to fix the King’s wandering mind, “why do you need -either her Majesty the Queen-mother or the Cardinal de Richelieu? -Depend on no one. Govern for yourself, Sire.” - -“Impossible, impossible. I am too weak. I have no capacity. I have none -of my great father’s genius.” And the King lifted his feathered hat -reverently from his head each time he named his father. “Richelieu rules -for me. He has intellect. He will maintain the honour of France. The -nation is safe in his hands. As for me, I am tyrannised over by my -mother, laughed at by my Spanish wife, and betrayed by my own brother. I -am not fit to reign. Every one despises me--except you.” And the King -turned with an appealing look towards Mademoiselle de Hautefort. “You, I -hope, at least, understand me. You do me justice.” - -There was a melting expression in the King’s eyes which she had never -seen before. It alarmed her. She felt that her only excuse for the -treacherous part she was acting was in the perfect innocence of their -relations. A visible tremor passed over her. She blushed violently, a -look of pain came into her face, and her eyes fell before his gaze. - -“You do not speak? Have I offended you?” cried Louis, much excited. -“What have I said? Oh, mademoiselle, do not lose your sympathy for me, -else I shall die! I know I am unworthy of your notice; but--see how I -trust you. The hours I spend in your society give me the only happiness -I enjoy. Pity, pity the King of France, who craves your help, who -implores your sympathy!” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort, speaking in her usual quiet manner, entreated -him to be calm. - -“Am I forgiven?” said he in a faltering voice, looking the picture of -despair. “Will you still trust me?” - -“Yes, yes, Sire. I am ashamed to answer such a question. Your Majesty -has given me no offence.” - -Louis reseated himself. - -“It is to prepare you for an unexpected event that I wish to talk to -you. It is possible that I may shortly leave Compiègne suddenly and -secretly. I must tear myself away from you for a while.” - -“Leave the Court, Sire! What do you mean?” - -“The quarrels between my mother and Richelieu are more than I can -endure. They must end. One must go--I will not say which. You can guess. -I am assured by Richelieu, who has information from all parts of France, -that her Majesty is hated by the people. She is suspected of a knowledge -of my great father’s death; she has abused her position. No one feels -any interest in her fate.” - -“But, surely, your Majesty feels no pleasure in knowing that it is so, -even if it be true, which I much doubt.” - -“Well, her Majesty has deserved little favour of me,” replied he with -indifference. “Richelieu tells me that her exile would be a popular -act----” - -“Her exile, Sire! You surely do not contemplate the exile of your own -mother?” - -“Possibly not--possibly not; but a sovereign must be advised by his -ministers. It is indispensable to the prosperity of the State.” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort was silent, but something of the contempt she -felt might have been seen in her expressive eyes. - -“I do not feel disposed,” continued he, “to face the anger of the -Queen-mother when she hears my determination. She would use violent -language to me that might make me forget I am her son. Richelieu must -break it to her. He can do it while I am away. Agitation injures my -health, it deranges my digestion. I have enough to bear from my wife, -from whom it is not so easy to escape----” - -Again he stopped abruptly, as if he were about to say more than he -intended. - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort, ever on the lookout for all that concerned -her mistress the Queen, glanced at him with sullen curiosity. Her eyes -read his thoughts. - -“Your Majesty is concealing something from me?” she said. - -“Well, yes,”--and he hesitated--“it is a subject too delicate to -mention.” - -“Have you, then, withdrawn your confidence from me, Sire?” asked she, -affecting the deepest concern. - -“No, no--never. I tell you everything--yet, I blush to allude to such a -subject.” - -“What subject, Sire? Does it concern her Majesty?” - -“By heaven it does!” cried the King, with unwonted excitement, a look of -rage on his face. “It is said--” and he stopped, and looked round -suspiciously, and became crimson. “Not here--not here,” he muttered, -rising. “I cannot speak of it here. It is too public. Come with me into -this closet.” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort, foreboding some misfortune to the Queen, -followed him, trembling in every limb, into a small retiring-closet -opening from the gallery where they had been seated. He drew her close -to the window, glanced cautiously around, and placed his hand on her -arm. - -“It is said,”--he spoke in a low voice--“it is said--and appearances -confirm it--that”--and he stooped, and whispered some words in -Mademoiselle de Hautefort’s ear, who started back with horror. “If it be -so,” he added coolly, “I shall crave a dispensation from the Pope, and -send the Queen back to Madrid.” - -“For shame, Sire! you are deceived,” cried Mademoiselle de Hautefort, an -expression of mingled disgust, anger, and terror on her face. She could -hardly bring herself to act out the part imposed upon her for the -Queen’s sake. She longed to overwhelm the unmanly Louis with her -indignation; but she controlled her feelings. “On my honour, Sire,” said -she firmly, “they do but converse as friends. For the truth of this I -wager my life--my salvation.” - -“Nothing of the kind,” insisted Louis doggedly. “It is your exalted -virtue that blinds you to their wickedness. My mother, who hates -me--even my mother pities me; she believes in the Queen’s guilt.” - -“Sire,” broke in the maid of honor impetuously, her black eyes full of -indignation, “I have already told you I will not hear my royal mistress -slandered; this is a foul slander. To me she is as sacred as your -Majesty, who are an anointed king.” Louis passed his hand over his brow, -and mused in silence. “I beseech you, Sire, listen to me,” continued -she, seeing his irresolution. “I speak the truth; before God I speak the -truth!” Louis looked fixedly at her. Her vehemence impressed, if it did -not convince him. “Your Majesty needs not the counsel of the -Queen-mother in affairs of state; do not trust her, or any one else, in -matters touching the honour of your consort.” And she raised her eyes, -and looked boldly at him. “Promise me, Sire, to dismiss this foul tale -from your mind.” - -“All your words are precious, mademoiselle,” replied Louis evasively, -and he caught her hand and kissed it with fervour. - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort dared not press him further. She withdrew her -hand. They were both silent, and stood opposite to each other. As Louis -gazed into her eyes, still sparkling with indignation, his anger melted -away. - -“When I am gone, mademoiselle,” said he tenderly, “do not forget me. You -are my only friend. I will watch over you, though absent. Here is a -piece of gold, pure and unalloyed as are my feelings toward you,” and he -disengaged from his neck a medallion delicately chased. “See, I have -broken it. One half I will keep; the other shall rest in your bosom”; -and he pressed it to his lips, and placed it in Mademoiselle de -Hautefort’s hands. “As long as you hold that piece of gold without the -other half, know that as the token is divided between us, so is my -heart--the better half with you.” - -Her conscience smote her as she received this pledge. Louis had such -perfect faith in her integrity, she almost repented that her duty to the -Queen forced her to deceive him. - -“Your Majesty overwhelms me,” said she, making a deep reverence. - -“The Court is full of intrigues,” continued Louis, “I have no wish to -control my minister; but remember this--obey no order, defy all -commands, that are delivered to you without that token.” The maid of -honour bowed her head. A tear stole down her cheek; the King’s -simplicity touched her in spite of herself. “Adieu, mademoiselle,” said -he, “my best, my only friend. I humbly crave your pardon for aught I may -have said or done to wound your delicacy. We will meet at Saint-Germain: -then, perhaps, you will fear me less. We will meet at Saint-Germain.” - -He hesitated, and approached dangerously near to the handsome maid of -honour, whose confusion made her all the more attractive. As he -approached, she retreated. - -Suddenly the curtain was drawn aside, and a page entered the closet, and -announced-- - -“The Queen-dowager, who demands instant admittance to her son, the -King.” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort disappeared in an instant through a door -concealed in the arras. The King, pale as death, put his hand to his -heart, sank into a chair, and awaited the arrival of his mother. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -AN OMINOUS INTERVIEW. - - -Louis had not long to wait; scarcely a moment passed before Marie de’ -Medici appeared. She entered hastily; marks of violent agitation were on -her countenance; her brows were knit; her eyes flashed. She was in the -prime of middle life, but grown stout and unwieldy; her delicate -complexion had become red and coarse, and her voice was loud and harsh; -but her height, and the long habit of almost absolute command, gave her -still an imposing presence. Louis involuntarily shuddered at her -approach; he had been long accustomed to tremble at her frown. His first -impulse was to fly by the same door through which Mademoiselle de -Hautefort had vanished. He rose, however, bowed low before her, and -offered her a seat. - -“My son,” she cried in a husky voice, walking straight up to him, “I -have come to request you instantly to banish Richelieu. If you do not, I -shall return to Florence. The insolence of that villain whom I have made -your minister is intolerable. He has disobeyed my express commands!” - -“What has Richelieu done, madame?” - -“Is it not enough that I, your mother, who have governed France almost -from your birth, should declare to you my pleasure? Would you prefer a -lackey to your own mother?”[21] “Let it suffice that Richelieu has -offended me past forgiveness. Sit down, my son”--and she seized on the -terrified Louis, and almost forced him into a chair beside the -table--“here are my tablets; write instantly an order that within -twenty-four hours Richelieu leaves France forever.” - -Louis took the tablets, but his trembling hands could not hold them. The -jewelled leaves of ivory, set in gold, fell on the ground with a crash. -There was a pause. - -“What! Louis, you hesitate to obey me?” and the Queen’s fierce eyes -darted a look of fury at the King, whose slender figure positively -seemed to shrink as she laid her hand upon him. - -“My mother,” he said, in a faltering voice, “you have told me nothing. A -great minister like Richelieu cannot be dismissed on the instant.” - -“Yes, he can, if there be another to replace him, a better than he; one -who knows the respect due to the Queen-dowager of France, the widow of -Henry the Great, your mother, and still Regent of the kingdom.” - -“But, Madame, what has Richelieu done to offend you?” and the King had -the courage to meet his mother’s glance unmoved. - -“He has dared to disobey my positive orders. I had appointed the Duc -d’Epernon governor of Poitiers. He has placed there a creature of his -own. After this insult, you will understand, I can never again sit at -the Council with Richelieu.” - -“Well, Madame, and suppose you do not!” rejoined the King, whose nervous -dread was rapidly giving place to resentment at his mother’s arrogance. -“I shall still be King of France, and Richelieu will be my minister.” - -“Undutiful boy!” exclaimed Marie de’ Medici, and she raised her hand as -if to strike him; “You forget yourself.” - -“No, Madame, it is you who forget that, if I am your son, I am also your -king. You may strike me, if you please, Madame,” added he in a lower -voice, “but I will not sign the exile of Richelieu.” The countenance of -Louis darkened with growing passion; the threatening aspect of his -mother standing before him with upraised arm, aroused him to unwonted -courage. “I will not exile Richelieu. I leave him to settle his -differences with you and your favourites--their claims do not concern -me. I will have no more _Concini_, madame; I would rather abdicate at -once.” And turning on his heel, without another word, or even saluting -the Queen, he left the room. - -A sudden dizziness, an overwhelming conviction of something new and -strange in her position, sobered the passion of Marie de’ Medici the -instant the King was gone. She stood motionless where he had left her, -save that her uplifted arm dropped to her side. A mournful look--the -shadow of coming misfortunes--clouded her face. Silent and dejected, the -tears streaming from her eyes, she withdrew. When she had reached her -own apartments, she commanded that no one should be admitted. - -That same day the King left Compiègne, taking with him only two -attendants. No one knew whither he was gone. - -Early the next morning the Queen-mother’s ladies were startled by the -appearance of Cardinal Richelieu in her anteroom. It was long since he, -who was wont never to be absent from her service, had been seen there. - -“Tell her Majesty,” he said to the Duchesse d’Epernon, “that I am come -on urgent state business, by the express command of the King, and that I -must speak with her in person.” - -After some delay he was admitted into the Queen’s apartment. - -Marie de’ Medici wears a long robe of black velvet, and a widow’s coif -upon her head. She looks old, worn, and anxious; she is neither -imperious nor angry. She begins to realise that power is passing from -her; she is intensely curious, not to say alarmed, as to what the -intelligence may be, of which the Cardinal is the bearer; and she now -secretly repents that she has quarrelled with him. - -The Cardinal wears a close-fitting black _soutane_ bound with purple, -and a _beretta_ of the same colour on his head; he has nothing of the -churchman in his appearance. He is still a young man, upright in figure -and easy in manner, attractions which he owes to his early military -training. He has piercing black eyes, light brown hair that lies -straight upon his forehead, and a pale, thoughtful face, already lined -with wrinkles. His closely shutting mouth, thin-lipped and stern, -expresses inflexible determination. His manners are composed, almost -gentle; his voice melodious. He has not yet become the imperious -autocrat--the merciless butcher of the chivalrous nobles of France--of -after years. Chalais and Montmorenci have not yet fallen by his order on -the scaffold; and Cinq-Mars is a precocious lad, living with his mother -on the banks of the Loire. Without vanity he knows that he has genius to -conceive great deeds, and industry to elaborate every necessary detail. -Already the consciousness of growing greatness forces itself upon him. -The incompetence of the King, his indolent acquiescence in all his -measures, the jealousy between Louis and his mother whom the King has -hitherto not dared to check, his alienation from the young Queen his -wife, open before Richelieu’s mental vision a vista of almost boundless -power. Now he stands in the presence of his early benefactress, the -sovereign to whom he would have been faithful, had such fidelity been -consistent with the welfare of France and his own ambition. Spite of -habitual self-control, he is greatly moved at her forlorn condition. He -still hopes that he may save her from an overwhelming calamity. - -Richelieu advances to where the Queen-mother is seated beside the -hearth, and after making a profound obeisance waits for her to address -him. - -“You bear to me a message from my son. What can he have to say to me, -that he cannot speak himself?” Marie asks with dignity. - -“Nothing, my most gracious mistress,” replies Richelieu, almost -submissively, “if your Majesty will deign to be guided by my counsel.” - -“You call me your mistress, Cardinal,” says Marie bitterly; “but you -have left my service, and you disobey my positive commands. How can I -treat with such a hypocrite?” - -“Madame, I beseech you, let not personal animosity towards myself--be I -innocent or guilty of what you accuse me--blind you to the danger in -which you now stand.” - -“Danger! What do you mean? To what danger do you allude?” - -“The danger that threatens you, Madame, in the displeasure of his -Majesty.” - -“Ah, I perceive. My son strikes through you, my creature, that he may -crush me. I congratulate your eminence on your triumphant ingratitude.” - -“Madame,” and the Cardinal wrings his hands and advances a step or two -nearer the Queen with an air of earnest entreaty, “hear me, I implore -you. Let us not lose precious time in mere words. I have come here in a -twofold character, as your friend and as minister of state. Permit me -first to address you as the former, Madame, your counsellor and your -sincere friend.” As he speaks his voice trembles, his manner is almost -humble as he seeks to allay the stormy passions that gather on the brow -of his royal mistress. - -Marie de’ Medici is so much taken aback at this unusual display of -feeling in the stern Cardinal, that though her eyes glisten with anger -she makes no reply. - -“Your Majesty, in honour and greatness,” continued Richelieu, “stands -next to the throne. Be satisfied, Madame, with the second place in the -kingdom. Your own age, Madame,”--Marie starts--“and the increased -experience of his Majesty, justify you in committing the reins of -government into his hands and into the hands of such ministers as he may -appoint.” - -“Yourself, for instance,” breaks in Marie bitterly. - -“Madame, I implore you, by the respect and the affection I bear you, not -to interrupt me. Withdraw, graciously and cheerfully, from all -interference with state affairs. Resign your place at the council. -Dismiss those nobles who, by their rebellious conduct, excite his -Majesty’s displeasure, specially the Duc d’Epernon.” - -“Never!” exclaims Marie passionately. “I will not resign my place at the -council, nor will I sacrifice my supporter, the Duc d’Epernon. My son is -incapable of governing. He has ever been the tool of those about him. I -am his best substitute. This is a miserable plot by which you basely -seek to disgrace me by my own act--to rise by my fall.” - -“Oh, Madame, to whom I owe so much,” pleads Richelieu, “whom I would now -serve while I can, hear me. I speak from my heart--I speak for the last -time. Be warned, I beseech you.” His hands are still clasped, his voice -falters, tears flow down his cheeks. Any one less obstinately blind than -the Queen would have been warned by the evidence of such unusual emotion -in a man ordinarily so cold and impassible as the Cardinal. - -“Ha, ha, you are an admirable actor, Cardinal!” cries she. “But what if -I refuse to listen to a traitor? Who named me[22] ‘Mother of the -kingdom?’ Who vowed to me ‘that the purple with which I invested him -would be a solemn pledge of his willingness to shed his blood in my -service’? I know you, Armand de Plessis.” - -For some minutes neither utters a word. When he addresses the Queen -again, Richelieu has mastered his feelings and speaks with calmness, but -his looks express the profoundest pity. - -“I am no traitor, Madame, but the unwilling bearer of a decision that -will infinitely pain you, if you drive me to announce it. But if you -will condescend to listen to my counsel, to conciliate your son the -King, and disarm his wrath by immediate submission, then that terrible -decision never need be revealed. That you should be wise in time, -Madame,” adds he, in a voice full of gentleness, contemplating her with -the utmost compassion, “is my earnest prayer.” - -Before he had done speaking the Cardinal sinks on his knees at her feet, -and draws forth from his breast a paper, to which are appended the royal -seals. Marie, whose usual insolence and noisy wrath have given place to -secret fear, still clings to the hope that she is too powerful to be -dispensed with, and that by a dauntless bearing she will intimidate -Richelieu, and, through him, the King, replies coldly-- - -“I have given you my answer. Now you can withdraw.” Then, rising from -her chair, she turns her back upon Richelieu--who still kneels before -her--and moves forward to leave the room. - -“Stay, Madame!” cries Richelieu, rising, stung to the quick by her -arrogant rejection of his sympathy, and ashamed of the unwonted emotion -the forlorn position of his royal mistress had called forth; “stay and -listen to this decree, in the name of his Majesty.” And he unfolds the -parchment. “Once more, Madame, understand. Unless you will on the -instant resign your seat in the Council of State and dismiss the Duc -d’Epernon--a man suspected of a hideous crime, which you at least, -Madame, ought never to have forgotten--from his attendance on your -person, I am commanded by his Majesty----” - -“Dismiss D’Epernon!--my only trusty servant, D’Epernon, who has defended -me from your treachery!”--breaks in Marie passionately, her voice rising -higher at every word--“Never--never! Let me die first! How dare you, -Cardinal Richelieu, come hither to affront the mother of your King? I -will NOT dismiss the Duc d’Epernon. It is you who shall be -dismissed!”--and she glares upon him with fury--“despised, dishonoured, -blasted, as you deserve.” - -“If you refuse, Madame--and let me implore you to reflect well before -you do,” continues the Cardinal, quite unmoved by her reproaches--“I -have his Majesty’s commands to banish you from Court, and to imprison -you during his pleasure within this palace.”[23] - -No sooner has he uttered these words than the Queen, who stands facing -the Cardinal, staggers backwards. A deadly pallor overspreads her face. -She totters, tries to grasp the arm of the chair from which she has -risen, and before Richelieu, who watches her agony with eyes rather of -sorrow than of anger, can catch her, she has fallen fainting on the -floor. - -At his cries the Queen’s ladies appear. He leaves her to their care, and -proceeds to the apartments of Anne of Austria, whom, through Madame de -Chevreuse, he informs of what has occurred. - -Anne of Austria, on hearing that the Queen-mother was disgraced, saw in -her unfortunate mother-in-law, who had never ceased to persecute her and -to arouse the jealousy of the King, only an unhappy parent. She flew to -her, threw herself into her arms, and readily promised to employ all the -influence she possessed to mitigate the royal wrath. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -LOVE AND TREASON. - - -Anne of Austria has left Compiègne and the royal prisoner, and is now -at Saint-Germain. The château stands upon the crest of a hill, backed by -a glorious forest that darkens the heights encircling Paris. - -It is spring; the air is warm and genial, the sky mildly blue; light -clouds temper the bright sunshine that plays upon the southern façade of -the palace, and glistens among the elms which form magnificent avenues -in the surrounding park. - -The King has not yet returned, and the Queen and her ladies, relieved of -his dreary presence, revel in unusual freedom. Concerts, suppers, -dances, repasts in the forest, and moonlight walks on the terrace, are -their favourite diversions. Anne of Austria has not positively forgotten -the lonely captive at Compiègne, but is too much engrossed with her own -affairs to remember more than her promise to assist her. That atmosphere -of flattery a woman loves so well and accepts as an offering exacted by -her beauty breathes around her. Monsieur Gaston, Duc d’Orléans, the -King’s only brother, is always by her side. Monsieur is gay, polished, -gallant; tall and slight like his brother, and pale-faced, but not, as -with Louis, with the pallor of disease. He has much of his mother’s -versatile nature without her violent temper. Like her he is fickle, -weak, and treacherous, incapable of any deep or stable feeling. -Monsieur talks to the Queen of Madrid, and sympathises with her -attachment to her brother, to whom Anne writes almost daily long letters -in cipher (always committed to the care of the Duchesse de Chevreuse), -notwithstanding the war between France and Spain. The chivalrous Duc de -Montmorenci, more formal and reserved than Monsieur, but equally -devoted; the Duc de Bellegarde, no longer the ideal of manly beauty dear -to the heart of poor Gabrielle d’Estrées, but grey-headed and -middle-aged, though still an ardent servant of the fair, with the -chivalric manners and soldier-like freedom of the former reign; gallant, -rough, generous Bassompierre, who was to pay so dearly by twelve years’ -imprisonment in the Bastille his opposition to the Cardinal; and -Maréchal d’Ornano, the _beau sabreur_ of that day, were also in -attendance, each one the object of the King’s morbid jealousy. - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort rarely leaves the Queen. She rejoices almost -more than her mistress in the King’s absence. The Duchesse de Chevreuse, -bewitching and spiteful, closely attended by the Comtes Chalais and -Louvigni, whom she plays one against the other; the Duchesse de -Montbazon, her step-mother, whose imperious eyes demand worship from all -who approach her, ever in the company of De Rancé,[24]--by-and-by to -found the order of La Trappe,--are some of the Ladies who form the -Queen’s Court. - -One moonlit night the Queen and her ladies had lingered late on the -stately terrace, built by Henry IV., which borders the forest and -extends for two miles along the edge of the heights on which the -château stands. The Queen and her brother-in-law, Monsieur Duc -d’Orléans, have seated themselves somewhat apart from the rest on the -stone balustrade that fronts the steep descent into the plains around -Paris. Vineyards line the hillside, which falls rapidly towards the -Seine flowing far beneath, its swelling banks rich with groves, -orchards, villas, and gardens. Beyond, the plain lay calm and still, -wrapped in dark shadows, save where the moonbeams fall in patches and -glints of silvery light. Of the great city which spreads itself beyond, -not a vestige is to be seen. All human lights are extinguished, but the -moon rides high in the heavens in fields of azure brightness, and the -stars shine over the topmost heights, where, on the very verge of the -horizon, and facing the terrace, the towers of the Cathedral of -Saint-Denis break the dusky sky-line. - -A range of hills links this far-off distance with the sombre masses of -the adjoining forest. Great masses of trees surge up black in front, -swaying hither and thither in the night breeze; the rustling of their -leaves is the only sound that breaks the silence. For a time the Queen -sits motionless. - -“What a lovely night,” she says at last, as she casts her eyes out over -the broad expanse of earth and sky. “Oh, that the world could be ever as -calm and peaceful!” - -A sad look comes into her eyes,--she heaves a deep sigh, throws back her -head and gazes upwards. The softened rays of the moon shine upon her -face, light up the masses of her golden hair, and play among the folds -of a long white robe which encircles her to the feet. She sits framed, -as it were, in a circle of supernatural lustre. Monsieur is beside her, -rapt in admiration. The beautiful vision before him intoxicates his -senses. The landmarks of social restriction, of tyrannous etiquette, -have vanished, gone, with the sun and the daylight. He forgets that she -is a great queen, the wife of his brother--his Sovereign; he forgets -that their attendants, though invisible, are at hand, that a glittering -palace lies hid among the woods, with its attendant multitudes; he -forgets all save that she is there before him, a dazzling presence, -sprung, as it seems, out of the darkness of the night. He gazes at her -with speechless rapture. Words which had often before trembled on his -lips must now be uttered. He is about to speak, when the Queen, -unconscious of what is passing within him, awakes from her reverie and -points to the forest. - -“See, Gaston, how the moon plays upon those branches. I could almost -believe that some fantastic shapes are gliding amongst the trees. Let us -go back; the forest is horribly dark, it frightens me.” And she -shudders. - -“I can see nothing but you, my sister,” answers Monsieur, softly. “You -are the very goddess of the night.” And his eyes rest on her with an -impassioned gaze. - -Anne of Austria still looks fixedly into the thicket, as if fascinated -by the mystery of the great woods. Again she shudders and wraps the -light mantle she wore closer around her. - -“It is late, my brother,” she says, rising. “If I stay longer I shall -have evil dreams. Let us go.” - -“Oh, my sister! oh, Anne!” cries the Duke, “let us stay here for ever.” -And he caught one of the folds of her white robe, kissed it, and gently -endeavoured to draw her, again, toward the balustrade. - -“By no means,” replied the Queen, startled, for the first time meeting -his eyes. “Ah, my brother,” adds she, becoming suddenly much confused, -“are you sure you do not frighten me more than the strange shapes among -the trees?” - -“Trust me,” cries Monsieur ardently, retaining her robe almost by force. -“Tell me you will trust me--now, always. Ah, my sister, my heart bleeds -for you. Never, never will you find one so devoted to you as I----” - -There was a certain eloquence in his words, a truth in his protestings, -that seemed to touch her. Anne flushes from head to foot. - -“Monsieur--Gaston--let me go.” And she disengages herself with -difficulty. Monsieur now rose. “Where is the Duchesse de Chevreuse?” -asks Anne, not knowing what to say. - -“No fear for her: she is well attended,” replies Monsieur in a voice -full of vexation. “Every one is in good luck but me. I never saw a man -so madly in love as poor Chalais, and the Duchess returns it.” - -The Queen is now walking onwards at as rapid a pace as the uncertain -light permitted, along the terrace. Monsieur follows her. - -“Yes--in love,”--and Anne laughs her silvery laugh; “but that is not the -way I would give my heart if I gave it at all, which I don’t think I am -tempted to do.” And she looked back archly at Monsieur, whose -countenance fell. “Chalais is one among so many,” continues the Queen, -trying to resume her usual manner. “The Duchess is very benevolent.” - -“Alas, my poor Henry!” answers Monsieur, “with him it is an overwhelming -passion. Louvigni and the others admire and court the Duchess; but they -are not like Chalais--he worships her. The Duchess is a coquette who -uses him for her own purposes. She is now inciting him to head a -dangerous conspiracy against the Cardinal. Chalais has opened the matter -to me; but they go far--dangerously far. I cannot pledge myself to them -as yet.” - -“Oh, Gaston!” exclaims the Queen, stopping, and laying her hand eagerly -on his arm; “if you love me as you say you do, join in any conspiracy -against the Cardinal.” - -The Queen speaks with vehemence. A sudden fire shot into her eyes, as -she turns towards Monsieur. Her delicate hand still rests for an instant -upon him, and is then withdrawn. - -“Fair sister,” replies the Duke, “You cannot pretend to misunderstand -me. For your service I would risk anything--how much more a tussle with -an arrogant minister, who has outraged me--as much as he has you. -Perhaps, Anne, I would risk too much for your sake.” And the enamoured -look again comes into his eyes. But the Queen draws back, and turns her -head away. “Deign to command me, sister--Queen,” he adds, “only to -command me, and I will obey.” - -Anne is now walking onwards. For a few moments she does not reply. - -“If you would serve me--let Richelieu be banished,” says she at last -imperiously. “I care not whither. Nothing is too bad for him. He has -dared to insult me. You, Gaston, are safe, even if you fail. My brother -will receive you at Madrid; I will take care of that.” - -“I am overcome by your gracious consideration for my welfare,” cries -Monsieur, catching at her words. “But, my sister,” continues he gravely, -“do you know what this plot means? Assassination is spoken of. At this -very moment I wager my life the Duchess is employing all her seductions -to draw Chalais into a promise of stabbing the Cardinal.” - -“Stabbing the Cardinal? Impossible! Chalais would not commit a crime. -You make me tremble. The Duchess told me nothing of this. She must have -lost her head.” - -“I know that Chalais is fiercely jealous. He is jealous of every one who -approaches the Duchess, and we all know that the Cardinal is not -insensible to her charms----” - -“Odious hypocrite!” breaks in the Queen. - -“As long as Richelieu lives,” continues Monsieur, “my mother will not be -set at liberty. He dreads her influence. He knows she has a powerful -party.” - -“It is infamous!” exclaims Anne of Austria. - -“The Cardinal persuades the King that he alone can govern France, and -that our mother desires to depose him and appoint a regency, which I am -to share with her; that you, my sister, conspire against him with Spain. -My brother, weak, irresolute, insensible to you, believes all that is -told him. I, my mother’s only friend, dare not assist her. You, his -wife, the loveliest princess in Europe--nay, in the whole world,”--and -his kindling eyes fix themselves upon her--“he repulses. You might as -well be married to an anchorite. Thank God, his Majesty’s health is -feeble, his life very uncertain. If he dies I shall be King of France, -and then----” He pauses, as if hesitating to finish the sentence. “Ah, -my sister!” he exclaims, stopping and trying to detain her. “Had I been -blessed with such a consort I would have passed my life at her feet. -Would that even now I might do so! The dark canopy of these ancient -trees--the silence, the solitude, make all possible. Speak to me, Anne; -tell me--oh, tell me that I may hope. Do not turn away from me----” - -The Queen had stopped. She stands listening to him with her face turned -towards the ground. - -The moon is fast sinking behind the distant tree-tops, and the deepest -shadows of the night darken their path which had now left the terrace, -and lay beneath the trees. The wind sighs and moans in the adjoining -forest, and an owl hoots from an ivy-covered tree. For some minutes the -Queen moves not. Her whole figure is in shadow. Was she listening to the -voices of the night? or was she deeply musing on what she had heard? Who -can tell? - -Some sudden resolve seemed, however, to form itself in her mind. She -roused herself, and motions to Monsieur with her hand to go onwards. -“Alas, my brother,” she says with a deep sigh, “do not press me, I -beseech you. You know not what you say. Such words are treason.” And she -hurries onwards into the gloom. “Head the conspiracy against the -Cardinal,” she continues, moving quickly forward as if afraid to hear -more; “restrain the violence of Chalais, who loves you well and will -obey you. I will temper the indiscretion of the Duchess. She is an -excellent lieutenant, inspired in her readiness of resource and -ingenuity in intrigue; but--she is a bad general. We must be careful, -Gaston, or we shall all find ourselves prisoners in the Bastille.” - -“No, by Saint Paul! not so, my sister,” and Monsieur laughs gaily, for -his facile nature dwelt upon nothing long, and his thoughts had now been -diverted into other channels. “No; but we will have Richelieu there! -Bassompierre and D’Ornano are with us; they swear that they will shut -him up in an iron cage--as Louis XI. did Cardinal Balue--for life, and -feed him on bread and water. _Corps de Dieu!_ I should like to see it.” - -“But I will have no blood shed,” rejoins the Queen; “remember that.” - -“My sister, your word is law. When I have learnt more from Chalais, I -will inform you of every detail.” - -They had now reached the château. The windows shone with light. Torches -fixed in the ground burnt round the great quadrangle, and a guard of -musketeers, assembled near the entrance, presented arms as the Queen -passed. - -A page appeared, and handed a despatch to Mademoiselle de Mérigny, who -had now joined the Queen. She presented it to her Majesty. Anne broke -the seals. As she read she coloured, then laughed. “Gaston,” whispered -she, turning to Monsieur, “this is the most extraordinary coincidence. -We have been talking of the Cardinal, and here is a letter from him in -which he craves a private audience. You shall learn by-and-by what it -means.” - -“_Par Dieu!_” exclaimed Monsieur, full of wonder. - -“Tell no one of this but Chalais,” again whispered the Queen. Then she -lightly laid her small hand within that of Monsieur; they mounted the -grand staircase together, and passed through the long suite of the royal -apartments. All were blazing with light; on either side of the great -gallery stood the Court, ranged in two lines, waiting her Majesty’s -pleasure. As she passed, led by Monsieur, she bowed slightly, and, with -a wave of the hand, dismissed the assembly. At the door leading to her -private apartment Monsieur pressed her hand, raised it to his lips, and, -glancing at her significantly, bowed and retired. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -THE CARDINAL DUPED. - - -Anne of Austria seated herself beside a fire which burnt on the -hearth. She signed to her attendants to withdraw. - -“Send hither to me the Duchesse de Chevreuse, if she has returned to the -château,” said she to one of the pages in waiting. Then Anne drew from -her bosom the letter she had just received. “It is incredible,” said -she, speaking to herself, “that he should so compromise himself! Pride -has turned his brain. Now it is my turn, Monsieur le Cardinal.” The -Duchess entered hastily. “Read, _ma belle_, read,” cried Anne, holding -out the despatch to her, “the fates favour us. Let us a lay a trap for -this wicked prelate.” - -“_Ma foi_” replied the Duchess, after having reperused the letter -contained in the despatch, “even I could not have contrived it better. -Here is the Cardinal craving a private audience of your Majesty in the -absence of the King. It will be a declaration in form--such as he made -to me.” - -“A declaration to me, Duchess? He would not dare----” - -“Madame, he has been a soldier, and has passed his life along with a -great queen. He believes himself irresistible. Who knows if Marie de’ -Medici did not tell him so?” Anne of Austria looked displeased. “Pardon -me, Madame, this saucy Cardinal, whom I call the _Court-knave_, makes me -forget myself. Your Majesty must receive him graciously.” - -“Yes, he shall come,” cried Anne; “he shall come and pay for his -audacity, the hypocrite! But tell me, Duchess, tell me instantly, how -can I best revenge myself? I have a long account to settle. Shall I -command my valets, Laporte and Putange, to hide behind the arras and -beat him until he is half dead?” - -“No, Madame, that would be too dangerous; he might cut off your head in -revenge, _à la reine Anne Boleyn_. We must mortify him--wound his -vanity: no vengeance equal to that with a man like the Cardinal. He is -intensely conceited, and proud of his figure. He imagines that he is -graceful and alluring--perhaps he has been told so by her Majesty--I -beg your pardon, Madame”--and the Duchess stopped and pursed up her -lips, as if she could say more but dared not. - -“Did Marion de l’Orme betray him?” asked the Queen slily, “or do you -speak on your own knowledge?” - -“I have it!” cried Madame de Chevreuse--not noticing the Queen’s -question--and her mischievous eyes danced with glee. “I will meet him -when he comes to-morrow, and persuade him to appear in the dress of a -Spaniard, out of compliment to you. Stay, he shall dance, too, and we -will provide a mandoline to accompany his voice. I will tell him that -you have long admired him in secret, and that if he appears in so -becoming a costume he is sure to be well received. A Spanish costume, -too, for he knows how you adore Spain, the spy--then he shall dance a -_sarabande_, a _bolero à l’Espagnol_, or sing----” - -“Ha! ha! Duchess, you are _impayable_” and the Queen laughed until the -tears ran down her cheeks. “But will he be fool enough to believe you? -If he does, I will kill him with scorn, the daring Cardinal!” and Anne -of Austria drew herself up, looked into an opposite mirror, shook her -golden curls, and laughed again. - -The next morning, at the hour of the Queen’s lever, the Cardinal -arrived. The Duchesse de Chevreuse met him and conducted him to a room -near the Queen’s saloon. She carefully closed the door, begged him to be -seated, and, with an air of great mystery, requested him to listen to -her before his arrival was announced to her Majesty. The Cardinal was -greatly taken aback at finding himself alone with the Duchess. She -looked so seductive; the dark tints of her luxuriant hair, hanging about -her neck and shoulders, harmonised so well with her _brunette_ -complexion, her brown eyes bent smilingly upon him, her delicate robe -clinging to her tall figure, that he was almost tempted to repent his -infidelity to her, and that he had come for any other than for her. - -“Your eminence is surprised to see me,” said she, smiling, and speaking -in the softest voice, and with the utmost apparent frankness, “but I am -not in the least jealous,” and she shook her finger at him. - -The Cardinal reddened, and looked confused. - -“Do you, then, Duchess, guess on what errand I have come?” - -“Perfectly, perfectly; when I heard you had requested a private audience -in the absence of the King, I understood the rest.” - -“Perhaps I have been indiscreet,” said Richelieu, and he sighed, “but I -was anxious to explain my position to the Queen. I fear that she -misconceives me; that she looks on me as her enemy; that she imagines -that I prejudice the King against her. I desire to explain my feelings -to her; they are of a mixed nature.” - -“So I would suppose,” answered Madame de Chevreuse, primly, almost -bursting with suppressed laughter. - -“Do you think, then, madame, that her Majesty might be induced to lay -aside her silence, her reserve? Are you authorised to admit me to her -presence?” - -“I am, Cardinal.” - -Richelieu’s face flushed deep, his eyes glistened. - -“To a certain extent,” continued the Duchess, “the Queen is gratified by -your homage. Her Majesty has noted your slim yet manly form, your -expressive eyes. She admires your great talents.” - -“Do I dream?” exclaimed Richelieu. “You, madame, are indeed magnanimous. -I feared that you might be indignant at what you might consider my -inconstancy.” - -“No, Cardinal, you could not be inconstant, for you were never loved.” - -Richelieu started. - -“By me--I mean to say, your eminence. You really should spare me,” added -she, affectedly; “but I suppose I must speak. Anne of Austria, the -daughter of a hundred kings, the wife of your Sovereign, secretly loves -you, monseigneur. It is astonishing your extraordinary penetration never -discovered this before. Since you went into the Church you must have -grown modest; but love is blind, says the motto,” and the Duchess was -obliged to hold her handkerchief to her face to hide her laughter. - -“What words of ecstacy do you utter, adorable Duchess! But you must be -aware of the coldness, the insulting scorn which the lovely Queen has -hitherto shown towards me. How could I venture to guess----” - -“Ah, Cardinal, it is easy to see you are not so advanced in the art of -love as of politics. Let me advise you to read Ovid--a little of _The -Art of Love_--_pour vous remettre_. Did you learn so little, then, from -her late Majesty, Marie de’ Medici, as not to know that where most -Cupid triumphs he most conceals his wicked little person? That very -coldness and scorn you speak of are but proofs of the Queen’s passion. -But let me tell you one thing: the Queen fears you may deceive--betray -her; and you must excuse her in this, when you remember, monseigneur, -certain tales of treachery--all utterly false, of course--but then -pardon a woman’s fears. You must, to speak plainly, give her some -undoubted proof of your love.” - -“Madame, you cannot doubt after what I have just heard that I can -hesitate in promising to do all and everything my royal mistress can -desire.” - -The Duchess confessed afterwards to the Queen, that it was with the -utmost difficulty she could keep her countenance, so absolutely farcical -were his transports. - -“Have a care what you promise,” said the Duchess to the Cardinal; “the -Queen is very _bizarre_, and perhaps may require something -impracticable.” - -“Madame,” replied Richelieu, “to _me_ nothing in this realm is -impracticable; speak only her Majesty’s wishes, and I hasten to obey -them.” - -“Well, then, to-night you must come at dusk to her apartments.” The -Cardinal bounded from his chair with delight. “To-night; but not in this -sombre, melancholy dress; you must wear a toilette a little _convenable_ -to the part you hope to act--something brilliant, gaudy--_un pantalon -vert, par exemple_.” The Cardinal started. “At your knees little bells -must be fastened. You must have a velvet jacket, scarlet scarf, and, in -fact, all the _et cæteras_ of a Spanish dress. It will please the Queen, -and pay her a delicate compliment, to which, believe me, she will not -be insensible.” - -All this time Richelieu had listened to the Duchess in an agony of -surprise and amazement. “But, madame,” said he, at length, “this is -impossible. I, a dignitary of the Church, a Cardinal. Much as I desire -to show my devotion to the Queen, she herself cannot expect from me so -strange, so extraordinary a proof----” - -“Certainly, monseigneur, it is an extreme proof of your devotion, and as -such the Queen will regard it. She will be gratified, and at the same -time will be thoroughly convinced of your sincerity. However, pray do as -you please,” and the Duchess shrugged her shoulders; “I merely mention -her Majesty’s wishes; you are quite at liberty to refuse. I shall -therefore,” and she rose, “report your refusal.” - -“Stop, Duchess, stop, I entreat you!” interrupted Richelieu, “you are so -precipitate! I will--I must! (But what a fearful degradation! I, the -prime minister of France, a prince of the Church, to appear in the -disguise of a mountebank!) Ah, madame, her Majesty is too hard on me; -but I adore, I worship her too much to refuse. Yes,--her wishes are my -law; I cannot, I dare not refuse. Tell the Queen, at twilight this -evening, I will present myself in her apartments.” - -The Duchess waited no longer, but flew to acquaint the Queen with her -success. Neither could for a long time articulate a single syllable, -they were so overcome with laughter. Music was introduced behind the -_arras_, for the Cardinal was to be prevailed on to dance a _sarabande_. -Then they impatiently awaited the moment of his arrival. At last, -enveloped in a Spanish cloak that entirely concealed his dress, the -Cardinal entered. He was hastily rushing towards the Queen--Heaven only -knows with what intentions--when Madame de Chevreuse interposed: - -“Not yet, Cardinal--not yet; you must show us your dress first, then you -must dance a _sarabande_, a _bolero_--something. Her Majesty has heard -of your accomplishments and insists on it.” - -“Yes,” cried Anne of Austria, “I insist on it, monseigneur, and have -provided the music accordingly.” - -The violins now struck up. Richelieu looked confounded. He was almost on -the point of rushing out, when a few words whispered to him by the -Duchess arrested him; they acted like a charm. Casting one deep, -impassioned glance at the Queen, who sat at a little distance reposing -on a couch, ravishing in beauty, her rosy lips swelling with -ill-suppressed scorn, he threw down his cloak, displaying his -extraordinary dress, bells, scarlet scarf and all, and began to -dance--yes, to dance! - -Poor man! he was no longer young, and was stiff from want of practice; -so after a few clumsy _entrechats_ and _pirouettes_, he stopped. He was -quite red in the face and out of breath. He looked horribly savage for a -few moments. The music stopped also, and there was a pause. Then he -advanced towards the Queen, the little bells tinkling as he moved. - -“Your Majesty must _now_ be convinced of my devotion. Deign, most -adorable Princess, to permit me to kiss that exquisite hand.” - -[Illustration: CARDINAL RICHELIEU.] - -The Queen listened to him in solemn silence. The Duchess leaned behind -her couch, a smile of gratified malice on her face. The Cardinal, -motionless before them, awaited her reply. Then Anne of Austria rose, -and, looking him full in the face, measured him from head to foot. -Anger, contempt, and scorn flashed in her eyes. At last she -spoke--ineffable disgust and disdain in her tone--“Your eminence is, I -rejoice to see, good for something better than a _spy_. I had hitherto -doubted it. You have diverted me immensely. But take my advice; when you -next feel inclined to pay your addresses to the Queen of France, get -yourself shut up by your friends for an old fool. Now you may go.” - -Richelieu, who had gradually turned livid while the Queen spoke, waited -to hear no more. He covered himself with his cloak and rushed headlong -from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -THE MAID OF HONOUR. - - -The King returns to Saint-Germain as suddenly as he had departed; he -commands a hunt in the forest at noon. The château wears an air of -unusual gaiety. The King and Queen start together from the quadrangle, -but they do not address each other. Anne, who rides on in front, -attended by Monsieur, is positively dazzling in her sunny beauty. Her -delicate cheeks are flushed with excitement. A small velvet cap, with a -heron’s plume, rests on her head, and an emerald-coloured riding-dress, -bordered with gold, sets off her rounded figure. She is followed by her -ladies, many of whom wear masks to protect their complexions. The maids -of honour are in blue, with large hats overtopped by enormous feathers. - -Near them rides the King. He is much too shy to address Mademoiselle de -Hautefort before such an assemblage; but his eyes constantly follow her, -and he is infinitely gratified by the reserve of her manner towards the -young gallants of the Court. Behind him rides the Grand Falconer, -followed by the huntsmen, the _piqueur_, the whippers-in, and the -falcons, hooded and chained to the wrists of their bearers. Last come -the dogs--the sad King’s special favourites. The brilliant cavalcade -flashes among the glades, which intersect the forest in every direction. -The gaily caparisoned steeds, and their still gayer riders, the -feathers, the lace, the embroidery, flutter in and out among the -openings of the wood, and are lost in the many paths, where every turn -is so like the other, yet each marked by some special beauty. Most of -the ladies are mounted on palfreys, but some prefer litters; others are -drawn up and down in cumbrous coaches, that threaten each moment to -overturn on the gnarled roots of beech and oak that break the sward. On -the riders dash between the giant tree-trunks, unhidden by the luxuriant -foliage that masses the woods in summer--for the season is spring--and -the trees are covered with but a slight shade of green leaves just -bursting from the grey boughs. Yonder they dart under a pine-tree that -darkens the ground, its spiky branches casting forth an aromatic -perfume. Then beneath a cherry-tree, white with snowy blossoms, on among -a maze of goss and yellow broom that streak the underwood with fire. - -The birds sing in the bushes, the bees buzz among the blossoms, and the -horses’ hoofs crush the tender mosses and the early flowers that carpet -the ground. At the approach of the hunters hares and rabbits run lightly -away, and timid does, with their young at their side, scamper far into -the deepest recesses of the woods. Now the bugles sound, the dogs bay -loudly; they spread themselves from side to side and disappear among the -coppice, and the whole glittering company, gilded coaches, litters and -all follow them, and dash out of sight and are hidden among the trees. - -It was arranged that the hunt should lead towards a noble mansion lying -on the confines of the forest, in the direction of Bondy, where the -host, apprized of the intended honour, had prepared an ample collation. - -Etiquette demanded that the King and Queen should be served apart from -the rest. After their repast was finished and their attendants had -withdrawn, the Queen approached nearer to the King. He started up and -turned towards the door. Anne followed him. The long ride in the forest -had flushed her cheeks. She looked brilliant. “Your Majesty will not -refuse to speak to me, surely,” said she in the softest tones of her -naturally sweet voice, and she raised her glorious eyes, which would -have melted any other man but Louis, beseechingly. - -The King shook his head sullenly. - -“What have I done that your Majesty should scorn me?” said she, -stretching out her beautiful hand with the most winning gesture to -detain him. - -Louis shrank from her touch, and turned his back upon her. - -“Sire, will you not at least hear me, as you would hear the least of -your subjects?” and the Queen’s eyes filled with tears and her hand -dropped to her side. - -“What have you to say to me?” asked Louis harshly, not looking at her. - -“When I last saw your Majesty at Compiègne,” replied she with a -faltering voice, “your mother, the Queen-dowager”--at her name Louis -shuddered--“was mistress of the palace and of France. She sat at the -royal board; she presided at the Council of State; your Majesty obeyed -and loved her as a son. She is now a prisoner--disgraced, forsaken, -ill.” The Queen’s voice became so unsteady that she was obliged to stop, -and unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks. “What has this great Queen -done to deserve your Majesty’s displeasure?” she added after a pause. - -“Madame, it is no affair of yours,” answered Louis gruffly. “I refuse to -give you my reasons. I act according to the advice of my council. Do not -detain me,” and he turned again to leave the room. Anne placed herself -in front of him; her head was thrown back, her figure raised to its full -height, the tears on her eyelids were dried; she was no longer timid, -but exasperated. - -“If I have ventured to intercede for the Queen-mother,” said she with -dignity, “it is because she implored me to do so. She wept upon my -bosom. Her heart was all but broken. I comforted her as a daughter. I -promised her to use such feeble powers as I had, to soften your heart, -Sire. It is a sacred pledge I am discharging.” - -“You are a couple of hypocrites!” exclaimed Louis with great irritation, -facing round upon her. “You hate each other. From my mother I have freed -myself; but you--” and he surveyed her savagely from head to foot--“you, -Madame Anne of Austria, you remain.” - -“Yes, I remain,” returned Anne, “until, as I am told, you crave a -dispensation from the Pope and send me back to Madrid.” These last words -were spoken slowly and with marked emphasis. “I am a childless queen,” -and she shot a bitter glance at Louis, who now stood rooted to the spot -and listened to her with an expression of speechless amazement. - -“Who told you, Madame, that I sought a dispensation from the Pope, and -to send you back to Madrid?” asked Louis sharply. Then, without waiting -for an answer, he put his hand to his forehead as if some sudden thought -had struck him, knit his brows, and was lost in thought. - -“I have heard so, no matter how,” answered the Queen coolly, “and on -excellent authority. Sire,” she cried passionately, no longer able to -restrain her feelings, “you use me too ill--rather than suffer as I do I -will leave France for ever; I will not bear the mockery of being called -your wife--I would rather bury myself in a convent at Madrid.” - -Louis was so completely abstracted, that although he had asked her a -question, he had forgotten to listen to her reply. Now he caught at her -last word. - -“Madrid? Yes, Madame, I believe it. Your heart is there. I know it but -too well. Would you had never left Madrid! Ever since you came into -France you have desired my death that you might wed a comelier consort.” - -Louis could scarcely articulate, so violently was he excited. Anne did -not stir, only her glowing eyes followed, as it were, each word he -uttered. - -“You talk of the Queen-mother, do you know that she warned me long ago -that you were dishonouring me?” - -“Oh, Sire, if you forget who I am,” exclaimed the Queen, “remember at -least that I am a woman!” and she burst into tears, and for a few -moments sobbed bitterly. - -“Can you deny it, Madame,” continued the King, with rising fury, his -mouth twitching nervously, as was his wont when much agitated--“can you -deny it? Am I not become a jest among my own courtiers? You, the Queen -of France, openly encourage the addresses of many lovers. You are -wanting, Madame, even in the decency of the reserve becoming your high -station,” and Louis clenched his fist with rage. - -“I deny what you say,” returned the Queen boldly; “I have discoursed -with no man to the dishonour of your Majesty.” She was trembling -violently, but she spoke firmly and with dignity. “If I am wanting in -concealment,” added she, “it is because I have nothing to conceal.” - -“I do not believe you,” answered the King rudely. - -“No, Sire, you do not, because you are my enemy. Your mind is poisoned -against me. You encourage the lies of Richelieu, you slander me to my -own attendants. Worse than all, you dare to couple my name with that of -the Duc d’Orléans, your own brother. It is a gross calumny.” - -Her voice rose as she spoke; the power of truth and innocence was in her -look--it was impossible not to believe her. For an instant the King’s -suspicions seemed shaken. He followed eagerly every word she uttered; -but at the name of Monsieur a livid paleness overspread his face; for a -moment he looked as if he would have swooned. Then recovering himself -somewhat he came close up to her, and with a wild look he scanned her -curiously, as though to read some answer to his suspicions. “Who can -have told her? who can have told her?” he muttered half aloud--“a secret -of state too. It is not possible that--” The last words were spoken so -low that they were lost. Louis was evidently struggling with some -painful but overwhelming conviction. His head sunk on his breast. Again -he became lost in thought. Then, looking up, he saw that the Queen was -watching him. She was waiting for him to speak. This awakened him -suddenly to a consciousness of what was passing, and his anger burst -forth afresh. - -“You say I am your enemy--yes, I am, and with reason. Are you not -devoted to the interests of Spain, now at war with France? Do you not -betray me in letters to your brother? Answer me.” It was now the Queen’s -turn to falter and turn pale. The King perceived it. “I have you there, -Madame Anne; I have you there;” and he laughed vindictively. “My life is -not safe beside you. Like my great father, I shall die by an assassin -whose hand will be directed by my wife!” A cold shiver passed over him. -“Richelieu has proofs. _Vrai Dieu_, Madame, he has proofs. It is -possible,” he added, with a sardonic smile, which made him look ghastly, -“that you may return to Madrid sooner than you imagine--you and the -Duchesse de Chevreuse, your accomplice.” - -“Not sooner than I desire, Sire, after your unworthy treatment,” -exclaimed Anne, proudly, her anger overcoming her fears that her letters -might have been really deciphered. “I come of a race that cannot brook -insult; but I can bear disgrace.” - -Louis, who felt that the Queen was getting the better of him, grew -furious--“I will have no more words, Madame,” shouted he; “we will deal -with facts. I shall appeal to my minister and to my council. For myself, -I am not fit to govern,” he added, in an altered voice, and with the -forlorn air of a man who cannot help himself. - -“Speak not to me, Sire, of Richelieu and the council over which he -presides,” cried Anne, goaded beyond endurance. “Richelieu is a traitor, -a hypocrite, a libertine--not even his sovereign’s wife is sacred to -him!” - -“Ah, Madame, it is natural that you and Richelieu should disagree,” -retorted the King, with an incredulous sneer. “He is a match for you and -for the Duchess your counsellor--the Duchess whose life disgraces my -Court.” - -Anne had now thrown herself into a chair, her hands were crossed on her -bosom, her eyes bent steadily on the King, as if prepared for whatever -fresh extravagance he might utter. Even the enraged Louis felt the -influence of her fixed, stern gaze. He ceased speaking, grew suddenly -confused, paced up and down hurriedly, stopped, essayed again to address -her--then abruptly strode out of the room. - - * * * * * - -The Queen and her ladies are seated on a stone balcony that overlooks -the parterre and the park of Saint-Germain. Below, the King’s violins -are playing some music of his composition, set to words in praise of -friendship, full of covert allusions to Mademoiselle de Hautefort. The -Queen’s fair young face is clouded with care; she leans back listlessly -in her chair, and takes no heed of the music or of what is passing -around her. The Chevalier de Jars approaches her. There is something in -his air that alarms her; she signs to him to place himself beside her. - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort, conscious that every one is watching the -effect of the music and the words upon her, sits apart at the farther -end of the gallery, from which the balcony projects, almost concealed -from view. A door near her opens noiselessly, and the King puts in his -head. He peers round cautiously, sees that no one has perceived him, and -that Mademoiselle de Hautefort is alone, then he creeps in and seats -himself by her side. He looks saddened and perplexed. - -“Why do you shun me?” he asks, abruptly. - -“You have been absent, Sire.” - -“Did you miss me?” His voice sounds so strange and hollow that -Mademoiselle de Hautefort looks up into his face. Something has -happened; what could it be? Some misfortune to the Queen is always her -first thought. Before she can reply, Louis sighs profoundly, so -profoundly that he almost groans, contemplating her, at the same time, -with looks of inexpressible sorrow. “Alas!” exclaims he at last, “I had -hoped so much from this interview when we parted at Fontainebleau; I -have lived upon the thought, and now--my dream is ended; all is over!” -The maid of honour grows alarmed: either he is gone mad, she thinks, or -something dreadful has happened. - -“I cannot conceive what you mean, Sire?” she replies, not knowing what -to say. - -“Are you, too, false?” he continues, “with those eyes so full of truth? -Yet it must be you, it can be no other. False like the rest; a devil -with an angel’s face!” The maid of honour is more and more amazed. “Yet -I trusted you; with my whole heart I trusted you,” and he turns to her -with a piteous expression, and wrings his hands. “I unfolded to you my -forlorn and desolate condition. It might have touched you. Tell me,” he -continues, in a tone of anguish, “tell me the truth; was it you who -betrayed me?” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort is terribly confused. She understands now what -the King means; a mortal terror seizes her; what shall she say to him? -She is too conscientious to deny point-blank that she has told his -secret, so she replies evasively, “that she is his Majesty’s faithful -servant.” - -“But, speak,” insists the King, “give me a plain - -[Illustration: CHÂTEAU OF NANTES.] - -answer. How does the Queen know a state secret, that I confided to you -alone, that I even whispered in your ear?” - -“Sire, I--I do not know,” falters the maid of honour. - -“Swear to me, mademoiselle, that you have not betrayed me to the Queen; -swear, and I will believe you. _Pardieu!_ I will believe you even if it -is not true!” Louis’s eyes shine with hidden fire; his slight frame -quivers. - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort, trembling for her mistress, with difficulty -controls herself. “Your Majesty must judge me as you please,” she -replies, struggling to speak with unconcern. “I call God to witness I -have been faithful to my trust.” - -“I would fain believe it,” replies the King, watching her in painful -suspense; he seems to wait for some further justification, but not -another syllable passes her lips. Still the King lingers; his looks are -riveted upon her. - -At this moment the music ceases. The maid of honour starts up, for the -Queen has left the balcony. The King had vanished. - -Anne of Austria, quitting those around her, advances alone to the spot -where Mademoiselle de Hautefort had been talking with the King. “I am -going at once to the Val de Grâce,” she whispers in great agitation. - -“Indeed, Madame; so suddenly?” - -“Yes, at once. I have just heard from the Chevalier de Jars that Chalais -is arrested at Nantes. He accuses me and the Duchesse de Chevreuse of -conspiring with him. Richelieu meditates some _coup de main_ against -me. I shall be safe at the Val de Grâce. You and the Duchess will -accompany me. Here is a letter I have written in pencil to my brother; -it is most important. I dare not carry it about me; take care to deliver -it yourself to Laporte.” - -The Queen drew from her pocket a letter, placed it in the maid of -honour’s hand, and hastened back to rejoin the company. Mademoiselle was -about to follow her, when Louis suddenly rose up before her, and barred -her advance. - -“Mademoiselle de Hautefort,” he said, “I have heard all. I was concealed -behind that curtain. Give me that letter, written by my wife, I command -you.” - -“Never, Sire, never!” and Mademoiselle de Hautefort crushed the letter -in her hand. - -“How--dare you refuse me? Give it to me instantly!” and he tried to tear -it from her grasp. She eluded him, retreated a few steps, and paused for -a moment to think, then, as if a sudden inspiration had struck her, she -opened the lace kerchief which covered her neck, thrust the letter into -her bosom, and exclaimed:-- - -“Here it is, Sire; come and take it!” - -With outstretched arms she stood before him; her cheeks aglow with -blushes, her bosom wildly heaving. Wistfully he regarded her for a -moment, then thrust out his hand to seize the letter, plainly visible -beneath the gauzy covering. One glance from her flashing eye, and the -King, crimson to the temples, drew back; irresistibly impelled, he -advanced again and once more retreated, then with a look of baffled fury -shouted, “Now I _know_ you are a traitress!” and rushed from the -gallery. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -AT VAL DE GRÂCE. - - -The ancient Benedictine abbey of the Val Profond, near Bièvre le Châlet, -three leagues from Paris, was founded by Robert, son of Hugh Capet. Soon -after her arrival in France, Anne of Austria bought the ground upon -which the then ruined abbey stood, moved the nuns to Paris, and placed -them in a convent called the Val de Grâce,[25] under the Mont Parnasse, -near the Luxembourg Gardens. To this convent of the Val de Grâce the -Queen often resorted to seek in prayer and meditation (for she was -eminently pious), consolation and repose. On these occasions she -occupied a suite of rooms specially set apart for her use. - -It is a bright morning, and the sunshine streams through the painted -windows, and streaks the marble floor of the Queen’s oratory with -chequered colours. To the east, under a lofty window, stands an altar, -covered with a costly cloth, on which, in golden sconces, burn many -votive candles. Anne of Austria is seated in a recess, on a carved chair -of dark oak. She is dressed in black, her golden curls are gathered -under a sober coif; she looks pale, and ill at ease; her eyes, dulled by -want of sleep, are anxious and restless, but there is a resolution in -her bearing that shows she is prepared to meet whatever calamity awaits -her with the courage of her race. Mademoiselle de Hautefort sits on a -low stool at her feet. She is weeping bitterly. - -“Ah! Madame,” she sobs, “this is Richelieu’s revenge. It is all his -doing. How could your Majesty listen to the advice of that wild Duchess, -and affront him so cruelly at Saint-Germain? Alas! he will persecute you -as long as he lives.” - -“I cannot recall the past,” answers Anne sadly. - -“Had you reposed confidence in me, Madame, this would never have -happened. Madame de Chevreuse has sacrificed you to her love of -intrigue.” - -“My poor Chevreuse, she is no more to blame than I am. Where is the -Duchess, mademoiselle?” - -While the Queen speaks a sound of wheels entering the courtyard from the -street of Saint-Jacques breaks the silence. A moment after Madame de -Chevreuse rushes into the oratory, so hidden in a black hood and a long -cloak that no one would have recognised her. She flings herself on her -knees before the Queen, and grasps her hands. - -“Ah, my dear mistress, you are saved!” she cries, breathlessly. Anne -raises her and kisses her tenderly. “I am just come from the Bastille. I -went there disguised as a priest. I have seen Chalais. The Cardinal -interpreted what Chalais said--purposely, of course--into meaning an -attempt upon the life of the King.” - -“Great God!” exclaims Anne, turning her glistening eyes to heaven, “what -wickedness!” - -“The King has joined the Cardinal in a purpose to prosecute your Majesty -for treason. His Majesty is furious. He declares that he will repudiate -you, and send you back into Spain. He has commanded the Chancellor -Séguier and the Archbishop of Paris to repair here to the convent of the -Val de Grâce to search your private papers for proofs of your guilt and -of your treasonable intrigues with Spain. They are close at hand. I -feared lest they had already arrived before I could return and apprise -your Majesty.” - -“But what of Chalais?” cries Anne. “Why did you visit him in the -Bastille?” - -“To learn what had passed between him and the Cardinal. We must all tell -the same story. Chalais confesses to me that, in the confusion of his -arrest at Nantes, he did let fall some expressions connecting your -Majesty, Monsieur, and myself with the plot against Richelieu, and that -when questioned he avowed that he acted with your knowledge.” - -“Ah, the coward!” cries Mademoiselle de Hautefort bitterly. “And you -love him.” - -“No, mademoiselle, Chalais is no coward. He is a noble gentleman, whose -fortitude will yet save her Majesty. He has been betrayed by Louvigni, -the traitor, out of jealousy. Do not interrupt me, mademoiselle,” -continues the Duchess, seeing that Mademoiselle de Hautefort is again -about to break forth into reproaches against Chalais. “No sooner had -Chalais arrived at the Bastille than Richelieu visited him in his cell. -He offered him his life if he would consent to inculpate your Majesty in -the plot. Chalais refused, and declared that the plot of which you were -informed by Monsieur the Duc d’Orléans, was directed against himself; -and he told the Cardinal he might tear him in pieces with wild horses -before he would say one word to your Majesty’s prejudice.” - -“Generous Chalais!” exclaims the Queen, clasping her hands. “Can he not -be saved?” - -“No, Madame, my noble friend must die. He knows it, and places his life -at your feet.” - -Anne sobs violently. - -“Horrible! Oh, that I should cost those who love me so dear! Proceed, -Duchess.” - -“The Cardinal had in the meantime, as soon as your Majesty left -Saint-Germain, sent to force your drawers and cabinets for papers.” Anne -rises to her feet, white with terror. “Never fear, Madame; I had thought -of that. Laporte had destroyed everything by my order. Only one letter -to your brother the King of Spain was found. It was written the day you -left, and confided by you, Mademoiselle de Hautefort, to Laporte,” and -the Duchess gives a spiteful glance at the maid of honour. “Before he -despatched it, Laporte was seized and searched.” - -“There was nothing in that letter derogatory to me as Queen of France,” -says the Queen quickly. “I spoke of Richelieu’s insane passion for me, -and described the scene at Saint-Germain, and I told him I was about to -leave for the Val de Grâce; nothing more. The Cardinal will not show -that letter.” - -“Yes, Madame, God be praised! it is so. But it was absolutely necessary -that I should tell Chalais that but one letter had been found, and that -perfectly innocent, before he was examined by the Cardinal. I have told -him. He knows he can save his Queen. He is content to die!” As the -Duchess speaks, the sound of wheels again interrupts them. “Hark! The -Chancellor and the Archbishop have arrived. Courage, your Majesty! All -now depends on your presence of mind. Nothing will be found in this -convent, and Laporte waits at the door without. He will suffer no one to -enter.” - -Anne flings herself into the arms of the Duchess. - -“You have saved me!” she cries, and covers her with kisses. - - * * * * * - -An hour has passed. Laporte knocks at the door, and enters. His looks -betray the alarm he tries to conceal. - -“The Chancellor, Madame, has arrived, in company with the Archbishop of -Paris,” he says, addressing the Queen. “The Archbishop has commanded the -Abbess, the venerable Louise de Milli, and all the sisterhood, who went -out to meet him, to return each one within her cell, and not to exchange -a single word together during the time he remains in the convent, under -pain of excommunication.” The Queen and the Duchess exchange anxious -glances. Laporte speaks again with much hesitation, “I regret to say -that the Chancellor then proceeded to search all the cells. No papers -were found.” The Duchess clasps her hands with exultation. “How can I go -on?” Laporte groans, the tears coming into his eyes. “Forgive me, -Madame; I cannot help it.” The Queen makes an impatient gesture, and -Laporte continues: “The Chancellor craves your Majesty’s pardon, but -desires me to tell you that he bears a royal warrant, which he must -obey, to search your private apartment, and this oratory also.” - -“Let him have every facility, my good Laporte,” answers the Queen -collectedly. “Mademoiselle de Hautefort, deliver up all my keys to -Laporte.” - -“The Chancellor and the Archbishop desire to speak also to the -lady-in-waiting on your Majesty, the Duchesse de Chevreuse,” Laporte -adds. - -“What new misfortune is this?” cries Anne of Austria, turning very pale. -“Go, dear Duchess; all is not yet over, I fear.” - -Madame de Chevreuse leaves the oratory with Laporte. The Queen casts -herself on her knees before the sacred relics exposed on the altar. She -hides her face in her hands. - -It is not long before the Duchess returns. Her triumphant air has -vanished. She tries to appear unconcerned, but cannot. Anne rises from -her knees, and looks at her in silence. - -“Speak, Madame de Chevreuse; I can bear it,” she says meekly. - -“Alas! my dear mistress, Richelieu’s vengeance is not yet complete. The -Chancellor has announced to me that a Council of State is about to -assemble in the refectory of the convent. You are summoned to appear, to -answer personally certain matters laid to your charge.” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort utters a loud scream. The Queen, her eyes -riveted on the Duchess, neither moves nor speaks for some moments. - -“You have more to say. Speak, Duchess,” she says at last in a low voice. - -“Nothing whatever has been found--no line, no paper. I took care of -that,” and the Duchess smiles faintly. - -“You have not yet told me all. I must hear it. Conceal nothing,” again -insists the Queen. - -“Alas! it is indeed as you say. The Chancellor”--and her voice falls -almost to a whisper--“has express orders under the King’s hand to search -your Majesty’s _person_.” - -“Search an anointed Queen!” exclaims Anne of Austria. “Never!” and she -stretches out her arms wildly towards the altar. “Holy Virgin, help me!” -she cries. - -At this moment the sound of many footsteps is heard without in the stone -passage, approaching the door. Anne of Austria has risen; she stands in -the centre of the oratory; an unwonted fire glows in her eyes, a look of -unmistakable command spreads itself over her whole person. Never had she -looked more royal than in this moment of extreme humiliation. The -Duchess rushes to the door and draws the ponderous bolts. “Now let them -come,” cries she, “if they dare!” They all listen in breathless silence. -The voice of Laporte, who has returned to his post outside the door, is -heard in low but angry altercation. Then he is heard to say, in a loud -voice-- - -“No one can be admitted to her Majesty, save only the King, without her -permission.” - -“We command you in the name of the law. Stand aside!” is the reply. - -Then another voice speaks:-- - -“We are the bearers of an order from the King and the Council of State -to see her Majesty.” It is the Chancellor’s voice, and his words are -distinctly audible within. - -“I know of no order but from the Queen my mistress. Your Grace shall not -pass. If you do, it shall be across my body,” Laporte is heard to -reply. - -“We enter our solemn protest against this breach of the law; but we -decline to force her Majesty’s pleasure.” It was still the Chancellor -who spoke. Then the sound of receding footsteps told that he was gone. - -“Where will this end?” asks Anne in a hollow voice, sinking into a -chair. - -The Duchess and Mademoiselle de Hautefort fling their arms round her. - -“Bear up, Madame, the worst is over. Be only firm; they can prove -nothing,” whispers the Duchess. “There is not a tittle of evidence -against you.” - -“Ah, but, my friend, you forget that the King is eager to repudiate me. -Mademoiselle de Hautefort knows it from his own lips.” - -“He cannot, without proofs of your guilt,” the Duchess answers -resolutely. “There are none. And if he does, _qu’importe_? Why mar that -queenly brow with sorrow, and wrinkle those delicate cheeks with tears? -Be like me, Madame, a citizen of the world--Madrid, Paris, London--what -matters? The sun shines as brightly in other lands as here. Life and -love are everywhere. You are young, beautiful, courageous. To see you is -to love you. Swords will start from their scabbards to defend you. Your -exile in your brother’s Court will be a triumph. You will rule all -hearts; you will still be the sovereign of youth, of poetry, and of -song!” - -As she speaks the Duchess’s countenance beams with enthusiasm. Anne of -Austria shakes her head sorrowfully, and is silent. - -“You are happy, Duchess, in such volatile spirits,” says Mademoiselle de -Hautefort contemptuously, her eyes all the while fixed on her royal -mistress; “but I cannot look on the disgrace of the Queen of France as -though it were the finale to a page’s roundelay.” - -The sound of many heavy coaches thundering into the inner court of the -convent puts a stop to further conversation. - -“The council is assembling!” exclaims the Duchess. - -At these words the Queen rises mechanically; her large eyes, dilated and -widely open, are fixed on vacancy, as though the vision of some unspoken -horror, some awful disaster, had risen before her. She knows it is the -crisis of her life. From that chamber she may pass to banishment, -prison, or death. For a moment her mind wanders. She looks round wildly. -“Spare me! spare me!” she murmurs, and she wrings her hands. “Alas! I am -too young to die!” Then collecting her scattered senses, she moves -forward with measured steps. “I am ready,” she says, in a hollow voice. -“Unbar the door.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -THE QUEEN BEFORE THE COUNCIL. - - -The refectory of the convent of the Val de Grâce is a vast apartment, -dimly lit by rows of small lancet windows placed along the side walls. -These walls are bare, panelled with dark wood; great oaken rafters span -the tented roof. At the eastern end hangs a large crucifix of silver. -In the centre is a table, round which the three principal members of the -council are assembled. Alone, at the head, is the King, uneasily seated -on the corner of a huge chair. His whole body is shrunk and contracted, -as though he were undergoing some agonising penance. He never raises his -eyes; his pallid face works with nervous excitement. His hat is drawn -over his brow; his hands are clasped upon his knees. That he had come in -haste is apparent, for he wears his usual dark hunting-dress. - -At his right hand is the Cardinal, wearing a long tightly fitting -_soutane_ of purple silk, with a cloak of the same colour. His -countenance is perfectly impassive, save that when he moves, and the -light from above strikes upon his dark eyes, they glitter. In his -delicate hands he holds some papers, to which he refers from time to -time: others lie on the table near him. Opposite the Cardinal are the -Archbishop of Paris and the Chancellor Séguier. At the farther end of -the council-table, facing the King, Anne of Austria is seated. The -colour comes and goes upon her downy cheeks; but otherwise no sovereign -throned in fabled state is more queenly than this golden-haired daughter -of the Cæsars. - -The Cardinal turns towards her, but, before addressing her, his eyes are -gathered fixedly upon her. Then, in a placid voice, he speaks-- - -“Your Majesty has been summoned by the King here present to answer -certain matters laid to your charge.” - -Anne of Austria rises and makes an obeisance, looking towards the King, -then reseats herself. - -“I am here to answer whatever questions his Majesty sees good to put to -me,” she replies, in a clear, firm voice. - -“His Majesty, Madame, speaks through _my_ voice,” answers Richelieu, -significantly, observing her pointed reference to the King’s presence; -“I am here as his _alter ego_. It is said,” he continues, in the same -impassive manner in which he had at first addressed her, “that you, -Madame Anne of Austria, consort of the King, hold a treasonable -correspondence in cipher with your brother, Philip, King of Spain, now -waging war against this realm of France, and that therein you betray to -him secrets of state to the manifest hurt and danger of the King’s -armies, by affording treacherous foreknowledge of their movements and of -the measures of his Government. What answer does your Majesty make to so -grave a charge?” - -“If it be so, let these letters be produced,” answers the Queen boldly. -“I declare that beyond the natural love I bear my brother and his -consort, Elizabeth of France, sister to the King,--which love surely is -no crime,--I have never, by word or deed, betrayed aught that I might -know to the prejudice of the King, my husband, or of this great country -of which I am the Queen.” - -“Why, then, Madame, if these letters were harmless did you write in a -cipher unknown to the King’s ministers?” asks the Cardinal, bending his -piercing eyes keenly upon her. - -“Because,” replies the Queen, “I knew that spies were set, by the King’s -order, at _your_ instance,” and she points to the Cardinal, “to waylay -these letters, the writing of which has been to me, next to God, my -greatest comfort in much sorrow and persecution which I have suffered -wrongfully since I came into France.” - -“Madame,” continues Richelieu, speaking with the same unmoved voice and -manner, “do you know Henry de Talleyrand, Comte de Chalais, Master of -the Robes to his Majesty, and once esteemed by him as his faithful -subject?” - -“I do know him,” answers the Queen. - -“Do you know also that this gentleman, the Comte de Chalais, has been -lately arrested at Nantes, and is now lying in the prison of the -Bastille, accused of having treacherously conspired against the sacred -person of his Majesty, with the design of placing on the throne, at his -death, Monseigneur, Duc d’Orléans--brother of the King; and that the -Comte de Chalais avers and declares, before witnesses, that he acted by -your order and by your counsel? What answer have you to make to this, -Madame?” - -“That it is false, and unsupported by any evidence whatever, and that -you, Cardinal Richelieu, know that it is false.” Then Anne of Austria -raises her hands towards the crucifix hanging before her--“By the -blessed wounds of our Lord Jesus, I swear that I never knew that the -life of the King, my husband, was threatened; if it were so, it was -concealed from me.” A stifled groan is heard from the King. Both the -Chancellor and the Archbishop appear greatly impressed by the Queen’s -solemn declaration, and whisper together. Richelieu alone is unmoved. - -Then the Queen rises, and for the first time, turns her large eyes full -upon the Cardinal, over whose frame a momentary tremor passes. “It was -of another plot that the Comte de Chalais spoke; and of another -assassination, not that of the King. His Majesty himself--if I mistake -not--knew and did not disapprove of _this other_ project, and of -removing _him_ whom I mean. Nevertheless I shrank from the proposal with -horror; I expressly forbade all bloodshed, although it would have -removed a deadly enemy from my path.” And the Queen, while she speaks, -fixes her undaunted gaze full on the Cardinal, who casts down his eyes -on the papers he holds in his hands. “Let his Majesty confront me with -Chalais; he will confirm the truth of what I say.” Anne of Austria stops -to watch the effect of her words. Something like a groan again escapes -from the King; he pulls at his beard, and moves uneasily in his chair, -as the Cardinal’s lynx eyes are directed, for an instant, towards him -with a malignant glare. The Cardinal stoops to consult some documents -that lie upon the table, and for a few moments not a word was uttered. -Then resuming his former placid voice and manner, Richelieu faces the -Queen, and proceeds:-- - -“Further, Madame, it is averred, and it is believed by his Majesty, that -you, forgetting the duty of a wife, and the loyalty of a Queen, have -exchanged love-tokens with the said prince of the blood, Gaston, Duc -d’Orléans, now for his manifest treason fled into Spain,”--at these -words, to which she listens with evident horror, Anne clasps her -hands;--“further, that you, Madame, and your lady of the bedchamber, -Marie de Lorraine, Duchesse de Chevreuse, did conspire, with Chalais and -others, for this unholy purpose.” - -Anne’s face is suffused with a deep blush of shame while the Cardinal -speaks; for a moment her courage seems to fail her--then, collecting -herself, she stretches out her arms towards the King, and says solemnly, -“I call on his Majesty, Louis--surnamed the Just--my husband, to -confront me with my accusers: I am innocent of this foul charge.” - -At this appeal the King half rises, as if with an intention to speak, -then sinks back again into his chair. His features twitch convulsively; -he never raises his eyes. - -“Is that all you have to reply to the wicked and murderous project said -to be entertained by you of wedding, _from inclination_, with the King’s -brother, at his death, if by feeble health, or any other accident, his -Majesty had been removed?” and the Cardinal bends his glassy eyes -earnestly upon the Queen. - -“I reply that I should have gained nothing by the change. The Duc -d’Orléans is as fickle and unworthy as his Majesty, who sits by unmoved, -and hears his consort slandered by her enemies.” Anne’s eyes flash fire; -her indignation had carried her beyond fear; she stands before the -council more like a judge than a criminal. “Have a care, Armand de -Plessis, Cardinal Minister and _tyrant_ of France, that you question me -not too closely,” the Queen adds in a lower voice, addressing herself -directly to Richelieu. As she speaks she puts her hand to her bosom, and -discloses, between the folds of her dark velvet robe a portion of a -letter, bound with purple cord, which Richelieu instantly recognises as -the identical one he had addressed to her at Saint-Germain, asking for a -private audience. The Cardinal visibly shudders; his whole expression -changes; his impassive look is turned to one of anxiety and doubt; he -passes his hands over his forehead, as if to shade his eyes from the -light, but in reality to give his fertile brain a few moments’ time in -which to devise some escape from the danger that threatens him should -the Queen produce that letter before the council. So rapid has been the -Queen’s action that no one else has perceived it. Something peculiar, -however, in the tone of her voice attracts the notice of the King, who, -rousing himself from the painful abstraction into which he has fallen, -gazes round for the first time, and bends his lustreless grey eyes -suspiciously on the Cardinal, and from him on the Queen; then shaking -his head doubtfully, he again resumes his former weary attitude. -Meanwhile the Queen, imagining that she perceives some compassion in -that momentary glance, rises and advances close to the edge of the -council-table. Grief, anger, and reproach are in her looks. With a -haughty gesture she signs to the Cardinal to be silent, clasps her small -hands so tightly that the nails redden her tender skin, and, in a -plaintive voice, addresses herself directly to the King. “Oh, Sire, is -not your heart moved with pity to behold a great princess, such as I, -your wife, and who might have been the mother of your children, stand -before you here like a criminal, to suffer the scorn and malice of her -enemies?”--she is so overcome that her voice falters, and she hastily -brushes the starting tears from her eyes. “I know,” she continues, with -her appealing eyes resting on the King, “I know that you are weary of -me, and that your purpose is, if possible, to repudiate me and send me -back into Spain; you have confessed as much to one of my maids of -honour, who, shocked at the proposal, repeated it to me. I appeal to -yourself, Sire, if this be not true?” and laying one hand on the table -she leans forward towards Louis, waiting for his reply; but, although he -does not answer her appeal, he whispers a few words into the ear of the -Archbishop, standing next to him, who bows. Then he falls back on his -chair, as if weary and exhausted by a hopeless struggle. “My lords, the -King cannot deny it,” says Anne of Austria triumphantly, addressing the -council; “My lords, I have never, since I came into France, a girl of -fifteen, been permitted to occupy my legitimate place in his Majesty’s -affections. The Queen-dowager, Marie de’ Medici, poisoned his mind -against me; and now Cardinal Richelieu, _her creature_,”--and Anne casts -a look of ineffable disdain at Richelieu--“continues the same policy, -because he dreads my influence, and desires wholly to possess himself of -the King’s confidence, the better to rule him and France.” - -The Queen’s bold words had greatly impressed the council in her favour. -The Archbishop and the Chancellor consult anxiously together. At length -the Archbishop of Paris interposes. - -“Her Majesty the Queen appears to have explained most satisfactorily all -the accusations made against her. I was myself present at the -examination of her private apartments within this convent of the Val de -Grâce. Nothing was found but proofs of her pious sentiments and devout -exercises, such as scourges, girdles spiked with iron to mortify the -flesh, books of devotion and missals. It is to be desired that all royal -ladies could disarm suspicion like her Majesty. If, therefore, the -evidence which the Cardinal holds be in accordance with her Majesty’s -declarations, all the charges may be withdrawn, and her Majesty be -returned to those royal dignities and honours which she so fitly adorns. -Speak, Cardinal Richelieu, do you hold counter evidence--yea, or nay?” - -The Cardinal does not at once answer. He shuffles some papers in his -hands, then turns towards the King, and whispers in his ear. Louis makes -an impatient gesture of assent, and resumes his despondent attitude. - -“I have his Majesty’s commands for replying,” answers Richelieu, “that -no letters implicating the Queen in treasonable correspondence with her -brother have been at present actually found, although his Majesty has -reason to believe that such exist. Also that the Count de Chalais’s -statements are in accord with those of her Majesty. Also that the King -acquits Madame Anne, his consort, of the purpose of marrying with his -brother, Monsieur Duc d’Orléans, on whom _alone_ must rest the onus of -such a crime. Usher of the court, summon the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting -to attend her. Your Majesty is free,” adds Richelieu, and the mocking -tone of his voice betrays involuntarily something of the inward rage he -labours to conceal. “Madame Anne of Austria, you are no longer a -prisoner of state under examination by the council, but are, as before, -in full possession of the privileges, powers, immunities, and revenues -belonging to the Queen Consort of France.” - -Anne of Austria leaves her chair, salutes his Majesty with a profound -obeisance, of which Louis takes no other notice than to turn his eyes to -the ceiling, and then advances towards the door. The Chancellor and the -Archbishop rise at the same time from the council-table, and hasten to -open the door by which she is to pass out, bowing humbly before her. - -“The royal carriages are in waiting, Madame,” whispered the Duchesse de -Chevreuse, who, with Mademoiselle de Hautefort, was waiting outside; and -she wrung the Queen’s hand. “My dear, dear mistress, I know you are -free!” - -“Praised be God!” replied Anne, “I have escaped,” and she kissed her on -both cheeks, as also her maid of honour, who was so overcome she could -not say one word of congratulation. - -“Come, Madame,” cried the Duchesse de Chevreuse, “let us leave this -dreadful place, I beseech you, lest the Cardinal should concoct some -fresh plot to detain you.” - -“Duchess,” replied Anne gaily, “you shall command me. It is to you I owe -my liberty. But for your forethought those unhappy letters, wrung from -me in moments of anguish--ah! of despair, would have been found, and I -should at this moment have been on my way to the Bastille. My good -Hautefort, you have not spoken to me. You look sad. What is it?” and the -Queen took her hand. - -“It is because I have contributed nothing towards your Majesty’s -freedom. Besides, a foreboding of coming evil overpowers me,” and she -burst into tears. - -She again kissed her, and led her by the hand towards the cumbrous coach -which was to bear her to Paris. As Anne was preparing to mount into it, -assisted by her page and Laporte, who had reappeared, the Chevalier de -Jars approached hastily, and bowed before her. - -“How now, Chevalier! any more ill news? What is your business here?” -asked Anne. - -“It is with this lady,” said he, turning to the maid of honour. -“Mademoiselle de Hautefort, you cannot accompany her Majesty to Paris.” - -“Why, Chevalier?” demanded Anne impatiently, still holding her hand. - -“Because I am commanded to make known to you that Mademoiselle de -Hautefort is exiled from France during his Majesty’s pleasure. I am -charged, mademoiselle, to show you this token,” and he produced the -other half of the golden medallion which Louis had broken during their -interview at Fontainebleau. “The King bid me say that by this token he -himself commands your instant departure.” - -The Queen clasped her in her arms. - -“My poor Hautefort, is it indeed so? Must I lose my trusty friend?” - -Mademoiselle de Hautefort threw herself, weeping bitterly, at the -Queen’s feet. - -“Alas! Madame,” sobbed she, “I am banished because I have been faithful -to you!” - -“Have you got another order--for my arrest, _par exemple_, Chevalier?” -asked the Duchess archly. “I have also committed the awful crime of -faithfulness to her Majesty. I suppose I shall go next.” - -The Chevalier shook his head. - -“No, madame. You will accompany the Queen to the Louvre.” - - * * * * * - -The Duchesse de Chevreuse did accompany the Queen to the Louvre; but, on -arriving there, she found a _lettre de cachet_ banishing her from France -within twenty-four hours. A similar order was also served on the -Chevalier de Jars. - -The Queen was free, but her friends were exiled. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -LOUISE DE LAFAYETTE. - - -Louise de Lafayette--the only child of Comte Jean de Lafayette, of -Hauteville, and of Margaret de Boulon-Busset, his wife--was the young -lady selected to fill the vacant post of maid of honour to the Queen, -_vice_ De Hautefort, banished. - -So long a time had elapsed since the departure of the latter that it -seemed as though Anne of Austria never intended to replace her; however, -the new mistress of the robes, the Duchesse de Sennécy, a distant -relative of Mademoiselle de Lafayette, urged the Queen so strongly in -her favour, that the appointment was at last announced. - -Louise de Lafayette had passed many years of her girlhood in a convent, -and was somewhat _dévote_, but she was sincere in her piety, and -good-natured to excess. Not only was she good-natured, but she was so -entirely devoid of malice that it actually pained her to be made -acquainted with the faults of others. Perhaps her chief characteristic -was an exaggerated sensibility, almost amounting to delusion. She -created an ideal world around her, and peopled it with creatures of her -own imagination, rather than the men and women of flesh and blood among -whom she lived--a defect of youth which age and experience would -rectify. She possessed that gift, so rare in women, of charming -involuntarily--without effort or self-consciousness. When most -attractive and most admired, she alone was unconscious of it; envy -itself was disarmed by her ingenuous humility. - -Louise was twenty-three years old when she was presented to the Queen at -Fontainebleau by the Principessa di Mantua, during her morning -reception. The saloon was filled with company, and great curiosity was -felt to see the successor of Mademoiselle de Hautefort. The most -critical observers were satisfied. The new maid of honour, though modest -and a little abashed, comported herself with perfect self-possession. -She was superbly dressed, had a tall and supple figure, good features, -and a complexion so exquisitely fair and fresh, and such an abundance of -sunny hair, as to remind many in the circle of her Majesty when, in the -dazzling beauty of her fifteenth year, she came a bride into France. But -Anne of Austria never had those large appealing grey eyes, beaming with -all the confidence of a guileless heart, nor that air of maiden reserve -which lent an unconscious charm to every movement, nor that calm and -placid brow, unruffled by so much as an angry thought. - -Why had not Mademoiselle de Lafayette married? was the general question -which passed round the circle. - -“Because she has found no one worthy of her,” was the reply of her -friend and cousin, the Duchesse de Sennécy. - -After the new maid of honour had made her curtsey to the Queen, who -received her very graciously, the King (who had as usual placed himself -almost out of sight, near the door, in order to ensure a safe retreat if -needful) emerged, and timidly addressed her. - -Since the scene at the monastery of the Val de Grâce, and the discovery -of Mademoiselle de Hautefort’s treachery, Louis had never once appeared -at the Queen’s lever until this morning. At the few words of compliment -he found courage to say to her, Louise blushed and curtsied, but made no -reply. - -The next day the King was again present at her Majesty’s lever. He did -not speak, but his eyes never for an instant left the new maid of -honour. - -The Court was at this time greatly agitated by political events. The -Spaniards were making the most alarming progress in France; they had -penetrated in the north as far as Corbie, in Picardy; in the south they -were overrunning Provence. Troops and money were both wanting. The -position of the ministry was so critical that even Richelieu was at -fault. Louis, roused from his habitual apathy, suddenly remembered that -he was the son of a great warrior, and electrified the Council of State -by announcing that he intended at once to take the field in person. A -resolve so contrary to his usual habits excited great discussion and -general interest. - - * * * * * - -The Saloon of Saint-Louis, at Fontainebleau, opens from the royal -guard-room. It is a noble apartment, divided into a card-room and a -_with_-drawing, or, as we say, drawing-room. The decorations are the -same as those in the Gallery of Francis I.; the walls, painted in fresco -after designs by Primaticcio, are divided by sculptured figures, in high -relief, entwined by wreaths of flowers, fruit, and foliage. The ceiling -is blue, sown with golden stars. Lights blaze from the chandeliers -disposed on marble tables and in the corners of the room, and display -the artistic beauty of the various paintings and frescoes that cover the -walls. - -The Queen is playing cards with the Bishop of Limoges. The Court groups -itself about the double rooms, and at the other card-tables. Near the -Queen are her favourites of the hour, the Principesse di Gonzaga and di -Mantua; the Duchesse de Sennécy is in attendance. The King is seated on -a settee in the darkest and most distant corner. Anne dares not now -treat him either with impertinence or _hauteur_. If she cannot bring -herself actually to fear him, she knows that he is capable of revenge. -She has learnt, however, both to fear and to dread his minister, -Richelieu, under whose insolent dominion Louis’s life is passed. Madame -de Chevreuse is no longer at hand to tempt her into rebellion, and she -has learnt to submit quietly, if not contentedly, to her lot. She has -perceived the impression made upon the King by her new maid of honour, -and looks on amused and indifferent. Of the absolute goodness and -perfect rectitude of Louise de Lafayette, no one, and certainly not the -Queen, could entertain a doubt. - -As she pushes the cards towards the Bishop of Limoges to deal for her, -which he does after making her a low bow, she turns round, the better to -observe his Majesty. He has moved from the settee, and is now seated in -earnest conversation with Mademoiselle de Lafayette. A sneer gathers -about the corners of her rosy mouth, and her eyes dwell upon him for an -instant with an expression of intense contempt; then she shrugs her -snowy shoulders, leans back in her chair, takes up the cards that lie -before her, and rapidly sorts them. The conversation between Louis and -Mademoiselle de Lafayette is low and earnest. His naturally dismal face -expresses more lively interest, and his lack-lustre eyes are more -animated than they have been for years. As to the maid of honour, she -listens to him with every faculty of her being, and hangs upon his words -as though, to her at least, they are inspired. - -“The condition of France,” the King is saying, “overwhelms me. Would -that I could offer up my life for my beloved country! Would that I -possessed my great father’s military genius to defend her! I go, perhaps -never to return! Alas! no one will miss me,” and he heaves a heavy sigh, -and the tears gather in his eyes. - -The maid of honour longs to tell him all the interest she feels for him, -her genuine admiration, her devotion, her pity for his desolate -condition; but she is new to court life, and, like himself, she is too -timid as yet to put her feelings into words. She sits beside him -motionless as a statue, not daring even to lift up her eyes, lest they -may betray her. - -“Happy, ah! happy beyond words is the man who feels he is beloved, who -feels that he is missed!”--here Louis stops, casts a reproachful glance -at the Queen, whose back was towards him, then a shy, furtive look at -Mademoiselle de Lafayette, whose heightened colour and quickened -breathing betrays the intensity of her feelings: “such a one,” continues -the King, “has a motive for desiring fame; he can afford to risk his -life in the front of the battle. Were I”--and his voice sinks almost -into a whisper--“were I dear to any one, which I know I am not, I should -seek to live in history, like my father. As it is,” and he sighs, “I -know that I possess no quality that kindles sympathy. I am betrayed by -those whom I most trust, and hated and despised by those who are bound -by nature and by law to love and honour me. My death would be a boon to -some,”--again his eyes seek out the Queen--“and a blessing to myself. I -am a blighted and a miserable man. Sometimes I ask myself why I should -live at all?” It was not possible for the human countenance to express -more absolute despair than does the King’s face at this moment. - -“Oh, Sire!” was all Mademoiselle de Lafayette dare trust herself to -reply; indeed, she is so choked by rising sobs that it is not possible -for her to say more. - -The King is conscious that her voice trembles; he notices also that her -bosom heaves, and that she has suddenly grown very pale. Her silence, -then, was not from lack of interest. Louis feels infinitely gratified by -the discovery of this mute sympathy. All that was surpressed and -unspoken had a subtle charm to his morbid nature. After a few moments of -silence, Louis, fearful lest the Queen’s keen eyes should be turned upon -them, rises. “I deeply deplore, mademoiselle, that this conversation -must now end. Let me hope that it may be again resumed before my -departure for the army.” Louise does not reply, but one speaking glance -tells him he will not be refused. - -At supper, and when she attends the Queen in her private apartments, she -is so absent that her friend, Madame de Sennécy, reprimands her sharply. - -The next morning the Duchess went to her young cousin’s room. Madame de -Sennécy had a very decided taste for intrigue, and would willingly have -replaced the Duchesse de Chevreuse in the confidence of Anne of Austria, -but she wanted her predecessor’s daring wit, her adroitness, witcheries, -and beauty; above all, she lacked that generous devotion to her -mistress, which turned her life into a romance. Now Madame de Sennécy -thought she saw a chance of advancing her interests by means of her -cousin’s growing favour with the King. She would gain her confidence, -and by retailing her secrets excite the jealousy and secure the favour -of the Queen. - -“My dear child,” said she, kissing Louise on both cheeks, a bland smile -upon her face, “will you excuse my early visit?” She seated herself -opposite to Mademoiselle de Lafayette, the better to observe her. -“Excuse the warmth with which I spoke to you last night in the Queen’s -sleeping-room; but really, whatever attention the King may pay you, _ma -chère_, you must not allow yourself to grow careless in her Majesty’s -service. As mistress of the robes, I cannot permit it. All the world, my -dear cousin, sees he is in love with you”--Louise blushed to the roots -of her hair, shook her head, and looked confused and unhappy--“of course -he loves you in his fashion. I mean,” added Madame de Sennécy quickly, -seeing her distress, and not giving her time to remonstrate, “a -perfectly Platonic love, nothing improper, of course. He loves you -timidly, modestly, even in his most secret thoughts. I am told by his -attendants that the King shows every sign of a great passion, much more -intense than he ever felt for Mademoiselle de Hautefort, who, after all, -trifled with him, and never was sincere.” - -“I do not know the King well enough, Duchess, to venture an opinion on -his character,” replied Mademoiselle de Lafayette, with diffidence, “but -I may say that if I had any prepossessions against his Majesty, I have -lost them; I am sure he is capable of the tenderest friendship; he longs -to open his heart to a real friend. His confidence has been hitherto -abused.” - -“My dear child, I have come here to advise you to be--well--that -friend.” - -“Oh! madame, I fear I am too inexperienced to be of use to him; but if -the King does ask my advice, which seems very presumptuous in me to -suppose, I shall conceal nothing that I think, neither facts nor -opinions.” - -“Ah, my cousin, try to rouse him; make him reign for himself; tell him -to shake off that dreadful Cardinal.” - -“That is, I fear, impossible; I am too ignorant of politics. Besides, -what can I do now? he is going away to the war.” - -“Well, but, _petite sotte_, he will return, and you will meet again.” - -“Oh, no,” replied Louise, again colouring under the scrutinising eye of -the mistress of the robes, “he will forget me long before that.” - -“Nothing of the kind, Louise,” replied the Duchess, “the King never -forgets anything.” - -“Dear Duchess, you really are talking nonsense. What on earth could make -the King care for me?” and she sighed deeply, and fell into a muse. “I -do pity him, though,” she added, speaking with great feeling; “I pity -him, I own. He is naturally good--brave--confiding,” and she paused -between each word. - -“I am glad you find him so,” answered the Duchess drily. - -“Yet he ill fulfils his glorious mission,” continued Louise, as if -speaking to herself. “He is conscious of it, and it pains him. I am sure -he suffers acutely.” - -“Heal his wounds, then,” said the Duchess, with a cynical smile, but -speaking in so low a voice that Mademoiselle de Lafayette did not catch -the words. - -“Ah! if he had but one true friend, he might emulate his great father! -Did you hear, Duchess, with what firmness he addressed the deputies -yesterday, who had refused to register the royal edicts for raising the -necessary funds for the army? ‘This money,’ he said, ‘is not for myself, -but for the nation, and to maintain the national honour. Those who -refuse it, injure France more than her enemies, the Spaniards. I will be -obeyed,’ he said. There was energy! Oh, it was noble!” and her eyes -glistened and cheeks glowed. - -“I suppose the Cardinal had composed this neat little speech for him -beforehand,” replied the Duchess with a sneer, contemplating her cousin -with amused inquisitiveness. “You do not believe he ever spoke like that -himself? You do not know him as well as I do, else you would not be so -enthusiastic. However, it is all as it should be. I do not desire to -disenchant you, I am sure. _Au revoir_,” and the Duchess left the room. - -The next morning, before his departure for the campaign, Louis went to -bid the Queen farewell. It was only a formal visit, and he stayed -scarcely a minute. The Queen did not affect to care what might become of -him. On leaving her audience-chamber he lingered in the anteroom in -which her attendants were assembled. Mademoiselle de Lafayette was -seated, with another maid, in a recess; she,--Mademoiselle de -Guerchy,--seeing the King’s anxious looks, at once rose and retired. He -immediately took her place, and signed to Louise to seat herself beside -him. Separated from her companion, and sitting apart with Louis, Louise -suddenly remembered that it was precisely thus the King had conversed -_tête-à-tête_ with Mademoiselle de Hautefort; she became greatly -embarrassed. - -“I come,” said the King, turning towards her, and speaking in a -plaintive voice, “I come to bid you adieu.” - -Louise bent her head, and put her handkerchief to her eyes. Louis -started at seeing the big tears roll down her cheeks. - -“I have enjoyed few moments of happiness in the course of my dreary -life,” continued he, pressing her hand, “but this is one.” - -He broke off, overcome apparently by his feelings. Louise wiped the -tears from her eyes. - -“Sire, believe me, I only feel the same emotion as thousands of your -faithful subjects at a moment when you are about to lead the campaign -against Spain. If you would condescend to inform yourself of general -opinion you would find it as I say.” - -“It may be, mademoiselle; but I only wish now to know _your_ feelings. -If you will indeed be to me the devoted friend I have so long sought in -vain, my entire confidence shall be yours. I go to-morrow, but the most -tender recollections will cling to me.” As he spoke he took her hand in -his and kissed it with fervour. “Think of me, I implore you, with the -same interest you now display. Believe me, my heart echoes all you feel. -If I am spared, please God, your sympathy will be the consolation of my -life.” - -At this moment the Duchesse de Sennécy opened the door, in order to -cross the anteroom. The King started up at the noise, and walked quickly -towards another door opposite. The Duchess stopped; looked first at -Mademoiselle de Lafayette seated alone, covered with blushes, then at -the retreating figure of the King. She took in the whole situation at a -glance. It was too tempting an opportunity to throw away. There was a -favour she specially desired to ask. This was the very moment. In his -present state of confusion the King, only to get rid of her, was sure to -grant it. She rushed after him, and before Louis could reach the door, -she had seized upon him and spoken. - -When he had gone the Duchess ran up to Louise, who was now stitching at -some embroidery to hide her blushes, and burst out laughing. - -“You are merry, Duchess,” said the maid of honour, glad that anything -should divert attention from herself. - -“I am laughing, Louise, at the admirable presence of mind I have just -shown. As you are only a _débutante_, I will explain what I mean for -your special instruction. His Majesty does not exactly hate me, but -something very like it. No love is lost between us. He dreads my making -capital of all I see and hear to the Queen. He dreads my turning him -into ridicule--which is so easy. Of all the persons about Court whom he -would least have liked to have surprise him in the tender conversation -he was holding with you, I am the one. He tried to reach the door. I saw -my advantage, and pursued him. I knew he wanted to shake me off, so I -seized the opportunity to ask a favour--of great importance to me. It is -granted! Is not this clever? I am grateful, and will not repeat one word -of this little adventure to her Majesty.” - -Louise shook her head, and affected not to understand her. “You are -altogether mistaken, Duchess. His Majesty simply honours me with such -friendship as he might feel towards any loyal subject devoted to his -interests. It is because the Court affects to despise him that I appear -singular in estimating him at his true value; nothing else.” - -“You are a prude,” exclaimed the Duchess, bluntly. “I hate affectation, -especially of that kind.” Louise hung her head down, and played with -some pearls with which the grey silk dress she wore was trimmed. -“Besides, my little cousin, you must not sacrifice the interest of your -friends, who have a right to look to you for favour and patronage.” - -“Oh, Duchess, what a vile thought!” cried Louise; reddening. “Do you -think I would make his Majesty’s friendship a matter of barter!” - -“Oh, bah!” replied the Duchess, growing angry. “Louise, you are not so -simple as you pretend. If you ask me the question, I reply, certainly -your friends have a right to look to you--especially myself, who never -let the Queen rest until she appointed you her maid of honour. She had -almost made a vow never to fill up the place of her dear Mademoiselle de -Hautefort.” Louise stared at the Duchess with a troubled look. -Worldliness and meanness was a new and unpleasant experience--a fresh -page in the history of the Court--that pained and revolted her. - -“When the King returns,” continued Madame de Sennécy, not condescending -to notice her disapprobation, “I shall expect you to give me all your -confidence. You shall have excellent advice in return. If you follow it, -in six months’ time you will revolutionise the Court, and banish -Cardinal Richelieu. You will by that one act secure the King’s -friendship and her Majesty’s favour. Eh, Louise? a brilliant position -for a little _provinciale_ like you! You must mind what you are about, -or the Queen will grow jealous. I will take care, on the first -opportunity, to assure her you are only acting in her interests.” - -“Jealous of me! Impossible!” cried Louise. “Such a great Queen! so -beautiful, so fascinating! Oh, Duchess, you are joking.” - -“Nothing of the kind. I warn you not to imagine that there is any joking -at Court, or you will find yourself mistaken. Now I shall leave you, -Louise. Think over what I have said. Remember what you owe to those -friends whose influence has placed you in your present high position.” - - * * * * * - -As soon as the Duchess left her, Mademoiselle de Lafayette hastened to -her room, locked the door and sat down to reflect calmly upon all that -had passed. She was disgusted with the coarse selfishness of the -Duchess, whom she determined for the future to avoid. Then her heart -melted within her as she recalled the King’s tender farewell. How -eagerly his eyes had, sought hers! How melodious was his tremulous -voice! How tenderly he had pressed her hand! He had spoken out: he -wanted a friend; he had made choice of her; he had promised her all his -confidence! Delicious thought! - -No one had ever dreamed of attaching the slightest blame to his intimacy -with Mademoiselle de Hautefort. It would be therefore absurd to reject -his advances. She was safe, she felt, entirely safe in his high -principles, his delicacy, and his honour. If she could only teach him to -be as firm as he was winning, release him from the bondage of -favourites, emancipate him from the tyranny of Richelieu, and deserve -his gratitude--perhaps his affection! With what energy she would address -him on his return, and remonstrate with him on his indolence, his -indifference! With his courage, his powers of mind (in which she -sincerely believed), his sensibility and gentleness, guided by her -devoted far-seeing friendship, might he not equal his father as a -sovereign--surpass him, perhaps, as much as he now does in morals, as a -man? All these vague ideas floated through the brain of the -simple-minded girl as she sat musing within the solitude of her -chamber. - - - - -NOTES TO VOLUME I. - - -NOTE 1, p. 4. - -Francis I., born at Cognac, was the only son of Charles d’Orléans, Duc -d’Angoulême. After the death of two sons, born to Louis XII. by his -wife, Anne de Bretagne, he created his relative, Francis, Duc de Valois, -married him to his daughter, Claude, and selected him as his successor -to the throne. - - -NOTE 2, p. 20. - -Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois, one of the oldest churches in France, -dedicated to St. Germain, Bishop of Paris, by Chilperic. Saint-Germain -l’Auxerrois, Saint-Etienne du Mont, the Hôtel de Clugny, and the Hôtel -de Sens, all dating from a very early period, still remain. - - -NOTE 3, p. 21. - - Gentille Agnès plus de loy tu mérite, - La cause était de France recouvrir; - Que ce que peut dedans un cloître ouvrir, - Close nonnaine? ou bien dévot hermite? - - -NOTE 4, p. 30. - -The Duc d’Alençon, husband of Marguerite de Valois, sister of Francis, -who commanded the left wing of the French army, was the only man who -showed himself a coward at Pavia. He turned and fled, with his whole -division. - - -NOTE 5, p. 45. - -Triboulet had been court fool to Louis XII., who first discerned his -good qualities, and rescued him from a most forlorn position. -Triboulet’s sayings are almost a chronicle of the time, so much was he -mixed up with the life of the two sovereigns he served. Brusquet, who -compiled the “fool’s Calendar,” succeeded him in the office of jester to -Francis. - - -NOTE 6, p. 54. - -Francis’s exact words, according to Du Bellay, were--“Les Guises -mettront mes enfans en pourpoint et mon pauvre peuple en chemise.” This -prophecy was poetised into the following verse:-- - - “François premier prédit ce mot, - Que ceux de la maison de Guise, - Mettraient ses enfans en pourpoint, - Et son pauvre peuple en chemise.” - - -NOTE 7, p. 58. - -The Palace des Tournelles (so named from its many towers) stood in the -Rue Saint-Antoine, opposite the Hôtel de Saint-Paul, upon the site of -the Place Royal. Charles VI. was confined here when insane, by his wife, -Isabeau de Bavière. The Duke of Bedford, Regent of France for Henry VI., -a minor, lodged here. After the expulsion of the English from Paris, -Charles VII. made it his residence. Louis XI. and Louis XII. inhabited -it. The latter monarch died here. - - -NOTE 8, p. 64. - -Another contemporary says that the Queen of Navarre was invited to -Marcel’s, the Prévôt of Paris, where, having eaten some _confitures_, -she fell sick, and died five days afterwards. - - -NOTE 9, p. 68. - -Charles de Guise, Cardinal de Lorraine, was Minister under Francis II. -and Charles IX. He endeavoured, without success, to introduce the -Inquisition into France. - - -NOTE 10, p. 95. - -No sooner had Catherine de’ Medici built the Tuileries, than she left it -to inhabit the Hôtel de Soissons (then called Hôtel de la Reine), in the -parish of Saint-Eustache, in consequence of a prediction that she would -die at Saint-Germain. The Hôtel de Soissons, as well as the Hôtel de -Nesle, is now amalgamated into the Halle aux Blés. At the Hôtel de -Soissons, Catherine lived for some years before her death. - - -NOTE 11, p. 124. - -Coligni was prosecuted as accessory to the murder of Francis, Duc de -Guise, by his widow, Anna di Ferrara, but no sentence was pronounced. - - -NOTE 12, p. 126. - -Henri de Navarre then went to _le prêche_, Marguerite to mass. - - -NOTE 13, p. 128. - -_Memoirs and Letters of Marguerite de Valois_ published by the Société -de l’Histoire de France, by M. Guessand, 1842. - - -NOTE 14, p. 144. - -Coligni’s head was cut off, embalmed, and sent to Rome as a trophy. His -remains were collected and buried by his friend, Montmorenci, at -Chantilly. Before their removal from Montfaucon, Charles and all his -court rode to see them. One of the courtiers observed “that the body -smelt foul.” “Nay,” replied Charles, “the body of an enemy always smells -sweet.” - - -NOTE 15, p. 135. - -SULLY’S ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. - -“I felt myself awakened at three hours after midnight by the loud -ringing of all the bells, and the confused cries of the populace. My -governor, Saint-Just and my valet went out. I never heard any more of -them. I continued alone in my chamber, dressing myself, when in a few -moments I saw my landlord enter, pale and astonished. He was of the -reformed religion. He came to persuade me to go with him to mass. I did -not think proper to follow him, but resolved to try if I could gain the -College of Burgundy, where I studied, notwithstanding the distance it -was from the house where I lodged, which made the attempt very perilous. -I put on my scholar’s robe, and taking a large prayer-book under my arm, -I went out. Upon entering the street, I was seized with horror at the -sight of the furies who rushed from all parts, and burst open the -houses, bawling out ‘Slaughter, slaughter--massacre the Huguenots!’ the -blood which I saw shed before my eyes redoubled my terror. I fell into -the midst of a body of guards; they stopped me, questioned me, and were -beginning to use me ill, when, happily for me, the book that I carried -was perceived, and served me as a passport. At last I arrived at the -College of Burgundy, when a danger far greater than any I had yet met -with awaited me. The porter having twice refused me entrance, I remained -in the midst of the street, at the mercy of the Catholic furies, whose -numbers increased every moment, and who were evidently in quest of their -prey, when I bethought myself of calling for the principal of the -college, La Faye, a good man, who loved me tenderly. The porter, gained -by some small pieces of money which I put into his hand, did not fail to -make him come at once. This honest man led me into his chamber. Here two -inhuman priests, whom I heard make mention of the Sicilian Vespers, -wanted to force me from him, that they might cut me in pieces, saying: -‘The order was to kill to the very infants at the breast!’ All that La -Faye could do was to conduct me secretly to a remote closet, where he -locked me up. I was there confined three days, uncertain of my destiny, -receiving succour only from a domestic belonging to this charitable man, -who brought me from time to time something to preserve my life.” - - -NOTE 16, p. 138. - -According to Dufresnay, _Tables Chronologiques_, vol. ii., seventy -thousand Huguenots perished in the massacre of St. Bartholomew, which -lasted seven days and seven nights. One man boasted that he had killed -four hundred with his own hand. - - -NOTE 17, p. 139. - -It was the renown of these victories that gained for Henry the crown of -Poland. - - -NOTE 18, p. 149. - -Comte d’Auvergne, son of Charles IX. by Marie Touchet, illegitimate -nephew of Henry III. and half-brother of Henrietta d’Entragues. - - -NOTE 19, p. 158. - -Henry IV. was the son of Antoine de Bourbon, Duc de Vendôme, and of -Jeanne d’Albret, only daughter of Henri d’Albret, King of Navarre, -married to Marguerite Alençon, sister of Francis I., the widow of the -Duc d’Alençon. - - -NOTE 20, p. 162. - -Chicot was a Gascon, jester to Henry IV. His _specialité_ was intense -hatred to the Duc de Mayenne, whom he constantly attempted to attack. -During an engagement at Bures, he made prisoner the Comte de Chaligny, -and carried him into Henry’s presence. “_Tiens!_” said he, “this is my -prisoner.” Chaligny was so enraged at having been captured by a buffoon, -that he poniarded Chicot on the spot. - - -NOTE 21, p. 253. - -Marie de’ Medici died in poverty at Cologne, aged sixty-nine. - - -NOTE 22, p. 255. - -The Duchesse de Montbazon died suddenly at Paris of measles. De Rancé -was in the country at the time; no one dared tell him what had happened. -On his return to Paris he ran up the stairs into her rooms, expecting to -find her. There he found an open coffin, containing the corpse of Madame -de Montbazon. The head was severed from the body (the coffin having been -made too short), and lay outside on the winding sheet. Such is the story -according to the _Véritable Motifs de la Conversion de l’Abbé de la -Trappe_. Other authorities contradict these details. - - -NOTE 23, p. 283. - -Now the military hospital of the Val de Grâce, 277, Rue Saint-Jacques. -Anne of Austria having been married twenty-two years without issue, -vowed that she would build a new church within the convent, if she bore -an heir to the throne. After the death of her husband, Louis XIII., she -fulfilled her vow. The first stone of the present church was laid in -1645, by her son, Louis XIV. - -END OF VOLUME I. - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] See Note 1. - - [2] See Note 2. - - [3] See Note 3. - - [4] See Note 4. - - [5] See Note 5. - - [6] See Note 6. - - [7] See Note 7. - - [8] See Note 8. - - [9] See Note 9. - - [10] See Note 10. - - [11] See Note 11. - - [12] See Note 12. - - [13] See Note 13. - - [14] See Note 14. - - [15] See Note 15. - - [16] See Note 16. - - [17] See Note 17. - - [18] See Note 18. - - [19] See Note 19. - - [20] See Note 20. - - [21] Words used by Marie de’ Medici to Louis XIII. - - [22] Richelieu used these precise words in speaking of Marie de’ - Medici. - - [23] See Note 21. o - - [24] See Note 22. - - [25] See Note 23. - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -Under him Cardidinal=> Under him Cardinal {pg vii} - -he lays his land=> he lays his hand {pg 24} - -these significent lines=> these significant lines {pg 51} - -This marriage is indipensable=> This marriage is indispensable {pg 117} - -It is indespensable=> It is indispensable {pg 240} - -twiching nervously=> twitching nervously {pg 276} - -Annie of Austria=> Anne of Austria {pg 253} - -of the preset church=> of the present church {pg 321} - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Court Life in France, vol. 1/2, by -Frances Elliot - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE, VOL. 1/2 *** - -***** This file should be named 50218-0.txt or 50218-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/1/50218/ - -Produced by Josep Cols Canals, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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