CHAP. IX.
"His Highness, Sire," said one of the attendants to Henry III. on the following day, "His Highness of Guise is not to be found this morning. His servants say that he has gone forth on horseback, followed only by two grooms: but whither he has turned his steps, no one seems rightly to know."
"Seek him with Madame de Noirmontier," said Villequier, who stood beside the King.
But Henry, however, who was in no mood for jesting at that moment, replied sharply, "He is playing with me! He is playing with me! He mocks me! He will repent it some day! And I think you mock me too, Villequier, to talk of Madame de Noirmontier at this moment. Have you not heard this business of Savoy? He knew it last night, and said nothing of it; and I'll tell you what more he has done, Villequier, which you may like as little as I like the other. He has fixed the day for the marriage of his niece with that bold young Logères. But this business of Savoy is terrible, and these mutinous States will be the ruin of the realm."
"Sire," replied Villequier, "your Majesty must remember that I am somewhat in darkness, in twilight at least. I have heard a rumour that the Savoyard is in arms in France. But what of the States?"
"Why, they are even now discussing," exclaimed the King, "whether there shall be war or not, even to defend our invaded territory. There are the Clergy now arguing it at the Jacobins, the Nobles in the Palais de Justice, and the Third Estate in the Hôtel de Ville,--all, all showing a disposition to hesitate at such a moment; and Guise, the Generalissimo of my armies, and Grand Master of my household absent. Heaven knows where!"
"The devil knows best, most likely," replied Villequier with a calm smile. "But, perhaps, the secret may be, that the Duke of Savoy is son-in-law of the King of Spain. Now, the King of Spain has been a good friend to the Duke of Guise, and the good Pope used always to say that a Guise never jumped higher than the King of Spain liked."
"By my faith!" replied the King, "I sometimes think that this same gloomy Philip is more sovereign in France than the King thereof. But here come tidings from the Tiers Etats. Come, Monsieur Artau, how have gone the deliberations of the States? What say our good Commons to war with Savoy?"
"They go against it altogether, Sire," replied the officer who now entered. "Chapelle Marteau spoke against it vehemently, declared that it was but a plundering excursion of some light troops, who had carried off a few thousand crowns, while it would cost many millions to carry on a war with Savoy: and then, up got another, and talked of imposts and taxes and the poverty of the state, and said that millions and hundreds of millions had been lost in peculation and extravagance. If your Majesty indeed, he said, would bear two-thirds of the expense out of your domain, and would cut down your tall trees, or mortgage a part of the royal forests, the Commons would see what could be done."
"By Heaven!" exclaimed Henry stamping his foot, "when they keep me here, a throned beggar, without a crown in my pocket, to give a jewel to a mistress or a friend, they expect me to carry on the defence of the country at my own expense! On my soul! I have a great mind to cast away the sceptre, to go down into the ranks of a private gentleman, and name my rule-loving mother to govern in my stead: or faith, I care not if it were Guise himself. He would teach these surly citizens what it is to have an iron rod over their heads. By the Lord! he would not spare the backs of the porkers. Hie thee, good Artau to the Clergy at the Jacobins; see what they say to the matter. And what say you, Villequier, to my scheme of abdicating?"
"Why, Sire," replied Villequier calmly, "I think it is an excellent good one. But I hope, in the first place, that you will give a few thoughts to what I told you concerning the young Marquis de Montsoreau and the hundred thousand crowns he promised on the day of his marriage with Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. You know your Majesty has claimed the lion's share; and seventy-five thousand crowns at the present moment, or any time between this and Christmas, might serve to give your Majesty a new lace to your doublet, or a new doublet to your lace, for to my mind both are plaguy rusty. Now, though the re-appearance of this young Count of Logères will cut down the amount of his brother's estates most terribly, yet that affects me more than you, Sire; and by having made inquiries I find, to a certainty, that he is quite capable of paying the money the moment the marriage is concluded."
"Seventy-five thousand crowns!" repeated the King thoughtfully. "Seventy-five thousand crowns! Why, my friend, I think that neither you or I have heard of such a thing since we had beards. But how does all this square with my giving the crown to Guise, which you approved so highly?"
"Oh, extremely well, Sire," replied Villequier. "The crown I would have you give him is neither the crown of France nor of Poland: I would give him an immortal crown, Sire. You will fit him better, depend upon it, that way than with a terrestrial one. His aspiring spirit seeks the skies, and, could I deal with him, should very soon find them. However, you will remember that your royal word, as well as mine, is pledged to the young Marquis de Montsoreau."
A dark smile came over the King's face. "We will see, Villequier; we will see," he said. "My word must be kept and shall not be broken. The morning of Christmas-day the Duke has fixed for the marriage. Who knows what may happen between this and then, Villequier. She is then absolutely your ward failing the Duke of Guise, and we will have no hesitation or delay, when we have the power to compel obedience. But we must be very cautious, Villequier; we must be very cautious. We must neither seem pleased with this business of the marriage, for then he would suspect us of some concealed design; nor must we oppose him strongly, because that would put him on his guard; and I fear me, that all the crowns in France could not do me so much good as the Duke of Guise could do me harm if he were offended."
"Without being slain," replied Villequier in a low tone. "Oh no, my Lord, I know well, a wounded boar is always the most dangerous."
The King smiled again in the same dark and sinister manner, but he made no reply to Villequier's insinuation--perhaps still doubtful of his own purposes, perhaps prevented from speaking openly by the return of Monsieur D'Artau.
"What! so soon come back?" exclaimed Henry. "You cannot judge of the tone of the assembly, D'Artau. You should have heard more of their deliberations."
"There was no more to hear, Sire," replied D'Artau. "The Clergy were all agreed; every body had become wonderfully pacific in a moment. There had not been one voice raised for war, and fifty or sixty were raised against it; so their deliberations, as I have said, were almost concluded at the time I entered. They went to no vote, indeed, upon the subject, but agreed to pass on to another question."
"The villains! the crows!" exclaimed the King. "What did they give us as reasons, did you hear?"
"Why, they said, Sire," replied the officer, "that they had taxed themselves, time after time, for the purpose of carrying on the war with the Huguenots; that they had now again taxed themselves to the utmost of their means, and would not consent that any part of the sum thus raised should be diverted to make war upon their fellow Catholics, while nothing had yet been done against the enemies of their faith."
"The specious hypocrites!" exclaimed Henry. "But what said they all to the absence of the Duke of Guise?"
"It was said, Sire, as I heard, by several people, that he had evidently absented himself from policy, not wishing to oppose your Majesty, and yet unwilling to go to war with Savoy. Some said, indeed, Sire," he continued, "that Chapelle Marteau had acknowledged that this was the case. But that could not be so either, for the Duke sent for the President of the Tiers Etats last night, without being able to find him. That I know from the servants, so that what Chapelle said must have been out of his own head; while, on the contrary, I hear that Monsieur Magnac and the Count de Brissac, who were with the Duke for more than an hour last night, spoke vehemently against the Duke of Savoy amongst the Nobles at the Palais de Justice. Thus the Nobles were as unanimous for the war, as the other two States were against it."
"That should be the foot-fall of a Guise in the antechamber," said the King. "Who is without there?"
"The Duke of Guise, your Majesty," said a page entering almost as the King spoke, "craves audience for a moment."
"Admit him," said the King; "admit him:" and the next instant the Duke of Guise entered hastily in a riding dress.
"Your Majesty's gracious pardon," he said, "for presenting myself before you thus: but I heard tidings, as I came along, which I believed might give you great and exceeding pain."
"Well may it give me pain, cousin of Guise," replied the King. "Well may it give me pain, to find that my subjects are so insensible to their own honour or to mine, as to suffer a foreign enemy to encamp upon our native soil, without doing what best we may to drive him forth."
"It may, indeed, Sire," replied the Duke of Guise. "But the matter has not been properly explained; and neither the Tiers Etats nor the Clergy have seen it in its true light."
"But where was the Duke of Guise to explain it?" demanded Henry. "Where was the Generalissimo of my armies, the Lieutenant-general of my kingdom, the Grand Master of my household, the man whose voice is only second to my own in France--ay, and by Heavens! whose voice is sometimes first likewise? Where was he, I say; and how came he not to be present?"
"From the simplest of all possible causes, Sire," replied the Duke. "The business regularly appointed for this morning's discussion by the States was a mere trifling matter of some petty impost. I had not told your Majesty last night of this affair of Savoy, because I thought it would spoil the pleasure of your evening, and perhaps disturb your rest. I myself, however, neglected nothing. I instantly dispatched orders, in your Majesty's name, to my brother of Mayenne, to advance towards Piedmont with troops from Lyons. Before I rested, I sent for the Presidents of the Nobles and of the Tiers Etats. The latter, however, was not to be found; but I told Brissac and Magnac what had occurred, and begged them to prepare all minds for vigorous measures against Savoy, without disclosing the actual fact of aggression, that fact having only reached me by the excessive speed of my brother's courier. I felt perfectly certain that the news could not be known till to-night or to-morrow morning; and how it happened that your Majesty was informed of it so early, as to send down a message thereon to each of the three Estates, I really do not know."
"Very simply, my good cousin of Guise," replied the King, whose face had now relaxed from the harsh and acrid aspect it had borne throughout the morning; "it was Miron told me."
"I had forgotten, I had forgotten," replied the Duke. "He was in the room when the packet arrived, and I must have given vent to my thoughts aloud."
"Well, under such circumstances," replied the King, "I suppose I must pardon, cousin of Guise, your having gone to pay your homage somewhere else, as Monsieur de Villequier insinuates, when the King much wanted your presence."
"Monsieur de Villequier is, as usual, wrong," replied the Duke of Guise frowning upon him. "Where he seeks for or finds such abundance of evil motives to attribute to other men, I do not know. May it not be in his own bosom? I went, for your Majesty's service, to inspect a body of three thousand men, about to march early this morning from Laucome to join the army of the Duke of Nevers, and it was only as I returned that I heard of this unfortunate business."
"Perhaps his Highness thinks," said Villequier, not unwilling to increase any feeling of ill-will between the King and the Duke, "perhaps his Highness thinks that your Majesty would have done more wisely to have waited till his return, and not to have communicated the news from Savoy at all to the States, till you had consulted him upon it."
Villequier had almost said, "till you had asked his permission;" but he feared that a part of the King's anger might fall back upon himself. The Duke of Guise, however, saw through all his purposes in a moment, and replied, "Far from it, Monsieur de Villequier! I think, on the contrary, that I should have done more wisely if, instead of inspecting the troops at all--although Nevers, who is my enemy, might have reproached me for neglect--I had waited till the King had risen, to convey the expression of his will in person to the States-General, Sire, I humbly crave your Majesty's pardon for this one instance of neglect; and, to prove how sorry I am that it has occurred, I will undertake to show the Clergy and the Commons such good motives for changing their decision, that your Majesty's name and honour shall not suffer by the invasion of your territories unresisted."
"They will refuse you, Guise; they will refuse you," replied the King. "I know them well. You think to rule them, Guise; but the first time you speak of money to Commons or to Clergy, you will find that cabalistic word, money, acts on them as the sign of the cross upon the fiends we read of, and makes the seeming angels resume their shapes of devils in a moment."
"Well, Sire, well," exclaimed the Duke of Guise, tossing his lofty head with a proud smile, "if they refuse us, we will shame them. You and I together will put our lances in the rest, as in days of old: we will call the nobility of France about us; and I will promise, at my own expense, without craving these penurious Commons for a sol, with my own men and your Majesty's good help, in three weeks' time to drive the Savoyard back to his mountain den. But no, Sire, no! They will not refuse me; and I pledge myself before this hour to-morrow to bring you such tidings from both clergy and commons as you could wish to hear."
"If you do, cousin," cried the King eagerly, "if you do, you are my best of friends and counsellors for ever."
"Fear not. Sire; fear not," replied the Duke of Guise; "I will be bold to undertake it. But I must see the presidents and some of the deputies speedily, to know what are the vain and idle notions on which they have hesitated in regard to a step imperatively necessary. I will therefore humbly take my leave, beseeching you to think well of me during my absence, even though my good Lord of Villequier be at your Majesty's right elbow."
Thus saying the Duke retired, and the King, turning to Villequier, asked with some anxiety "Think you, Villequier, that he will succeed?"
"I know not, Sire," replied Villequier; "but I should judge not. They have too far committed themselves to retract, let the question be what it would, but are not at all likely to retract where money is concerned."
"Well, well," said the King; "I will hope the best. And now, Villequier, we must think of what can be done, in order not to lose the seventy-five thousand crowns. Mort Dieu! What a sum! In the very first place, we must call hither your young friend, wherever he may be, without loss of an hour. We must not have him appear at the Court, however. He must lie concealed, but be ready at a moment's notice. Let him bring what men he can with him. But above all, do not let him forget the crowns, Villequier. Let them be prepared.--Nay, smile not, I have a scheme for the purpose, which will mature itself in time. But no good plan should ever be hurried, and it should always be formed of elements as ductile as warm wax, that it may fit itself into the mould of circumstances. It will mature itself in time, Villequier; it will mature itself in time. But now to this other terrible business."
"Pray, Sire, what is that?" demanded Villequier with some alarm, for since his arrival at Blois Henry had shown so much more activity and application to serious matters, that even his favourite had forgotten his character. "Pray, what terrible business does your Majesty speak of?"
"Have you not heard," exclaimed the King, "have you not heard, that the boat was upset in coming down the Loire--the boat with the parrots and monkeys; and my great beautiful black ape, Ridolin-din-din, was nearly drowned, and has caught such a cold, that it is feared he will die!--Sweet creature, he is a beauty, and in his woollen nightcap and long gown is not at all unlike my mother. Poor fellow, have you not heard him coughing in the room beyond? I must go and give him some confection of quinces."
During a considerable portion of the day Henry devoted himself to his ape, but towards evening his anxiety in regard to the States and to the eruption of the Duke of Savoy seized upon him again. This was terribly increased by the arrival of a new courier, bearing more ample particulars than the former. The king slept ill at night, and rose early the next morning; but still all the reports brought him of the disposition of the States made him imagine that no means would be taken to curb the enemy, and that he himself would be left by his subjects the mockery and by-word of Europe, unable to repel the outrages of even the pettiest of all the neighbouring princes. The sneers of many of his favourites and courtiers at the Duke of Guise, too--their ironical smiles at the very idea of his being able to change the announced determination of two great bodies in the State, tended to irritate the King still more, and to drive him almost to madness.
In this state of mind he was walking up and down his chamber between eleven and twelve o'clock on the succeeding day, when suddenly hearing the bustle of many feet without, he himself threw open the door and beheld the Duke of Guise approaching with his usual train and several other persons.
There was in the noble countenance of the Duke the glad consciousness of success; but Henry, eager for confirmation, exclaimed, "What is it, cousin of Guise? What is it? Uncertainty drives me wild."
"Health to your Majesty," replied the Duke. "These gentlemen who follow me. Messieurs Brissac and Magnac, the Presidents of the Nobility, the Archbishop of Lyons representing the Clergy, and my good friend, Chapelle Marteau, President of the Third Estate, humbly approach your Majesty with a petition, that as the Duke of Savoy has committed a wanton infringement upon the territories of France, you would be graciously pleased to pronounce a declaration of war against that Prince, in which your dutiful subjects will aid and support your Majesty to the best of their ability."
The King's joy knew no bounds, and throwing his arms around the Duke of Guise, he kissed him on both cheeks. Recovering himself, however, in a few minutes, he received the deputies from the States with some degree of dignity. His joy, however, was still exuberant; and, in dismissing the petitioners, he said that the declaration should be immediately issued, and that he would trust to his best friend and wisest counsellor, pointing to the Duke of Guise, to repel speedily, with that unconquerable hand which had won so many victories, this new aggression upon the territory of France.
As soon as the deputies were gone, he burst forth again in the same strain, vowing to the Duke that he loved him beyond every thing on earth, that his attachment should be unalterable and inviolate, and that whatever might be said or urged against the Duke, he would never believe it.
"Cousin of Guise," he exclaimed, "there are people who would fain persuade me that you aim at my crown, and perhaps there are others who may try to persuade you that I aim at your liberty or life, I know there are."
"Sire, we neither of us believe them," replied the Duke.
"Let us never believe them," answered the King; "let us never believe them. Let us swear, Guise, let us swear to hold good faith and undoubting sincerity and true friendship to each other for ever! Let us swear it upon the altar even now! Let us swear it by the Holy Communion, by which we dare not swear falsely, and then the insinuations of our enemies will be as empty air!"
"Most willingly, Sire," replied the Duke; "I am ready this moment. It is near the hour of mass, and having nothing in my heart but good towards your Majesty, I am ready this very moment."
"Come then, come to the chapel," cried the King. And taking the Duke of Guise by the hand he led the way, followed by only the two attendants who were in the anteroom. In ten minutes more the King and the Duke might be seen kneeling before the same altar, calling down the wrath of God upon their heads if they ever did one act of enmity towards each other, drinking of the same consecrated cup, and dividing the host between them.[8]
CHAP. X.
It was a bright clear frost, all the ancient houses and streets of that most curious and interesting old town, called Blois, were seen clear and defined, without the slightest thin particle of smoke or haze, and from the high windows of the chamber of Catherine de Medici the servant, who sat and gazed out, might see the slightest object that passed along the road below.
As she thus sat and gazed, her eyes fell upon a glittering troop of cavaliers who issued forth from the castle gates, and took their way through the town, and she could see the princely form of the Duke of Guise, and the strong frame of Brissac, and the graceful person of Charles of Montsoreau, riding nearly abreast at the head of the troop.
"The Duke has gone forth, may it please your Majesty," said the woman, turning to the bed on which lay Catherine de Medici, sick in body and uneasy in mind. "The Duke has gone forth, and a large train with him."
"Then the King will soon be here," replied the Queen-mother. "Go into the further chamber, good Bridget, and wait there till he leaves me. If Madame de Noirmontier arrives from Paris before he is gone, bid her wait there too. I will see her after, and be glad to see her."
The attendant had scarcely retired, when Henry III. himself entered with a slow step, a dull frowning brow, and lips turned down, giving his countenance a diabolical expression of sneering malice, which contrasted strongly with the white and red paint which he had used, and the gay foppery of his apparel.
"You sent for us, good mother," he said. "How goes it with you? Has the fever left you, or do you still suffer?"
"My sufferings are of no moment," replied Catherine de Medici. "They will soon pass, Henry, and I shall be well again. But the illnesses of states pass not so soon, my son; and upon your acts, at the present moment, depends the welfare of France for centuries."
"I know it, madam," replied Henry sullenly. "But may I ask upon what particular occasion your Majesty has thus resumed the maternal rod?"
"The occasion is this, my son," replied the Queen: "I find that you are opposing Guise, when you have no power to oppose him; and you are opposing him in things where your opposition will not increase your power, but will increase his. Were you to oppose him firmly but stedfastly on points where reason, and right, and the welfare of the State were upon your side, however blind they might be for a time, the people would come over to your side in the end. But if you oppose him in things where your pride, or your vanity, or your selfishness is concerned, depend upon it his party will every day increase; for Guise having identified himself with the people and the Catholic Church, his foibles will be treated far more leniently by both church and people than yours."
"Guise!--Guise!--Guise!" cried the King in a bitter tone. "For ever, Guise! I am sick to death of the very name. What would you have, Madam? Have I not yielded almost every thing to him? Have not all his demands been granted, till they become so numerous that I have not wherewithal to stop their mouths? Did I not sign the decree of July? Did I not declare old scarlet Bourbon next heir to the Crown? Did I not satisfy the cravings of Nemours and of Mayenne? Did I not banish Epernon; give the Duke all sorts of posts; yield him up towns and cities? Did I not render him king of one half of France? What is it that I have refused him?"
"In many points you mistake, my son," replied the Queen. "You have yielded more than one of these things, not to him, but to the League. You refused to him, too, the sword of Constable; and in that perhaps you were right. At all events he himself seemed to think that you were so, for he has not pressed the demand: but after promising to the League, as one of their towns of surety, the city of Orleans, which both you and I know was promised, you would now persuade Guise and the League that it was inserted in the edict by mistake, and that the town promised was Dourlans, a heap of hovels on a little hill, as if you thought that, by such a trumpery evasion, you could deceive the keen wit of a Lorraine. Guise, of course, set his foot upon the small deception. But what are you doing now? Quarrelling with him because he demands that which has been recognised as a right of every generalissimo in the kingdom; namely, the right of having his own prevôt and guards. Such has ever been the case, as you well know. The matter is a trifle, except to your own jealous disposition; and even were he not right, it would still be but a trifle. But when he is right, and you are wrong, the refusal is an insult, and the matter becomes of importance."
"Madam," said the King bitterly, "in spite of all you say. Guise shall not absolutely be King of France. Has he not here, within these three days, refused me an impost necessary to maintain my dignity as a King, and to provide for the safety of the State? Does he not try to keep me a beggar, that I may have no means of asserting my own rights and dignity?"
"No," replied the Queen; "No, Henry! He did not refuse you the impost; it was the States. If I heard rightly, he spoke in favour of it."
"Ay, spoke!" cried the King. "But how did he speak? Lukewarmly--unwillingly. The States soon saw which way his wishes turned. Had he not been playing the hypocrite, he would have commanded it in a moment. Did he not show how he could command in that business of Savoy? Four-and-twenty hours were sufficient for him to make every man in Clergy and in Commons eat their words. This is something very like sovereign power, madam. It is power such as I never possessed myself."
"Ay, and then you were grateful to him for its exercise," replied Catherine; "and swore eternal friendship to him on the altar!"
"Certainly, but his ambitious views have become far more outrageous since then," replied the King angrily. "Has he not exacted that Henry of Navarre shall be excluded by name from the succession? Has he not forced the Count de Soissons to receive absolution from the Pope? Has not he blazed abroad, throughout all the world, the letters of the Pope himself, thanking him for his efforts to put down heresy, and exhorting him to persevere, as if he and none other were King of France? And now he must have guards, must he! now he must have guards! When will the crown be wanted? His leading staff is already the sceptre, for it sways all things; his chair is already the throne, for from it emanates every movement of the States-General of France. Yes, madam, yes! the throne and sceptre he has gained; and I see the leaves of his ducal coronet gradually changing themselves into fleurs-de-lis, and the bandlets of the close crown ready to meet above his head."
"But to the guards which he demands," said Catherine de Medici, "he has a right, as Lieutenant-general of the kingdom; and why should you oppose him on a point where he is right?
"Ay, the guards! the guards!" cried Henry. "Let him have them, madam; let him have them. But nevertheless, in a few days, all this will be over." And so saying, without waiting for further reply, the King turned and quitted his mother's chamber.
Following a private staircase, which had been so constructed as only to afford a means of communication between the various apartments of the royal family, the King descended to a large chamber, or sort of hall, with a deep window looking out towards the Loire. He found already in that chamber several of his most intimate and confidential friends and favourites, who, notwithstanding the high degree of confidence which the King placed in them, viewed the gloomy sullenness of his countenance with some sort of apprehension. In truth, when the fit was upon him, it could never be told where the blow would fall; and he often thus deprived himself of counsel and assistance in his moments of greatest need.
There were some, however, then present, whose purpose it was to exasperate the irritation which he suffered, even at the risk of injuring, in some degree, themselves; and the Maréchal d'Aumont, who had been waiting there for his return, advanced, and though the King addressed not one word to him, but walked on sullenly till he had almost touched him, he began the conversation first, speaking in a low tone. At length the King stopped abruptly, and, gazing in his face, exclaimed, "What, without my veto; without my consent and approbation? Do the States propose that their determinations be law without the King?"
"They do, Sire," replied the Maréchal d'Aumont; "and I doubt not they would consider that the approbation of the Duke of Guise would be quite sufficient. They have already made him feel that such is the case, Sire; for one of his creatures offered me not long ago, if I would attach myself to him, to make me Governor of Normandy, declaring that the States, at a word from the Duke, would make your Majesty take it from the Duke of Montpensier, to whom you had given it."
The King paused for a moment, with his hands clasped, and his eyes gazing on the ground. At length he raised them suddenly, saying, "Hark ye, D'Aumont!" and then spoke a few words in a whisper, as the Marshal bent down his ear.
D'Aumont turned somewhat pale as he listened; his brows knit, and a certain degree of wildness came into his eyes; but he answered, the moment the King had done, "I have not rightly understood your Majesty. But it seems to me, that the only way a sovereign can deal with rebellious subjects and traitors, is to cause them to be arrested, and deliver them over to their natural judges, to be tried according to law."
Henry waved his hand with a look of contemptuous disappointment, and then added, looking fixedly in D'Aumont's face, "You will be silent!"
"On my honour, Sire," replied D'Aumont; and bowing low, but with a face still pale, he quitted the chamber.
Without noticing the other gentlemen who were standing at the farther corner of the room, Henry called to a page, and descended by the staircase into the gardens. He looked up for a moment at the bright and cheerful sunshine, and then upon the clear wintry scene around; but the sight seemed only to plunge him in deeper gloom than ever; and turning to the boy he said, "Run back to the hall, and bid Monsieur Crillon come here alone."
He then stood with his arms crossed upon his chest, gazing upon the ground beneath his feet, and when Crillon approached he took him by the arm, and walked slowly on with him to the other side of the gardens. He was silent for some moments; but then turning to Crillon he said, "You are colonel of my French guards, Crillon, and there is a service which I want you and them to perform."
"Speak, Sire," replied Crillon with his bluff manner. "If there be any thing that a soldier and a man of honour can do for you, I am ready to do it."
"Are not kings the highest magistrates in their realm, Crillon?" said the King, gazing in his face; "and have they not a right to judge their own subjects, and pass sentence upon them?"
"I wish to Heaven I were a lawyer, Sire," replied the old soldier, "and then I would give your Majesty an answer. But on my honour, at present, I have not considered the subject."
"Well then, Crillon," continued the King, "to put it in another shape: I have a subject who is more king than myself; who stands between me and the sun; who grasps at all the power in the realm; and who, day by day, is increasing in ambition and insolence."
"Your Majesty means the Duke of Guise," said Crillon; "I know him in a minute by the description."
"You are right," said Henry. "But this must not continue long, Crillon. Methinks a small body of my guards, with a brave and determined commander, might rid me of this enemy, of this viper. The most learned lawyers of my realm have assured me that law and justice and right authorise me to cause this deed to be done. Will you undertake it, Crillon?"
"Sire," replied Crillon, "I beg your Majesty's pardon for reminding you, that there is a public executioner appointed by law, and I must not interfere with any other man's office. As to my becoming an assassin, that your Majesty does not conceive possible for a moment."
Henry looked bitterly down upon the ground, and then said, in a tone between wrath and anguish, "My friends desert me!"
"No, Sire, they don't," replied Crillon. "There is a way of settling the matter, which your Majesty has forgotten, but which suits my feelings and habits better than any other way. I will now humbly take leave of your Majesty, and going up to the cabinet of his Highness of Guise, I will insult him before his people, tell him that he has wronged his King and his country, and bid him accompany me to the field with equal arms. The Duke, bad as he is, is not a man to refuse such an invitation; and I think I can insure your Majesty, that you shall not be troubled with the Duke of Guise for a long time to come."
The King smiled; "Alas! Crillon," he said, "you deceive yourself. You forget what you undertake. Remember, you purpose to strive with, hand to hand, the most powerful man in Europe--the most dexterous and skilful in the use of every weapon upon the face of the earth,--the most fearless, the most active, the most prompt, whose hand never trembles, whose eye never winks, whose foot never slips. He would slay thee, Crillon; he would slay thee in a moment."
"I know it, Sire," replied Crillon calmly; "but not before I have slain him. If I choose to make my body a sheath for his sword, I will make his body a sheath for mine, while my hand holds tight against my breast the hilt of his weapon, to keep in my own spirit till I see his fled. This can be done, Sire, and it shall be done within these two hours. I give your Majesty good day, for there is no time to spare."
"Stay, Crillon, stay!" said the King, "I command you not to think of it. If you attempt it, you will ruin all my plans. I thank you for your willingness. I owe you no ill-will for your refusal. You will find the page at the door: tell him to send Monsieur de Laugnac to me--Montpizat Laugnac, you know."
"Oh, I know him, Sire," replied Crillon. "He is a man of small scruples. I will tell the page as your Majesty bids me." And he retired from the presence of the King with a quick step.
The manner in which the King dealt with Laugnac formed a strange contrast with his manner towards Crillon. The moment that the former, who was first gentleman of his chamber, and captain of the famous band of Quarante-cinq, joined him in the garden, the King seized him by the hand, saying, "Laugnac, the Duke of Guise must die!"
"Certainly, Sire," replied Languac, as if it were a thing perfectly natural. "I have thought so some time."
"Will you undertake it, Laugnac," demanded the King. "You and your Quarante-cinq?"
"I must have more help than that, Sire," said Laugnac, "if it is to be done out in the streets, in the open day, which I suppose must be the case, as he is seldom out at night."
"Oh no, no, no! that will never do!" exclaimed the King. "We must have no rashness, Laugnac. He never rides but with a train, which would set you at defiance; and, besides, the town is filled with Guisards. You would have men enough upon you to slay you all in five minutes. We must put him off his guard; we must lull him into tranquillity, and then draw him to some private place, where you and your good fellows, posted behind the arras, can strike him to the heart before he is aware."
"It is an excellent good plan, Sire," exclaimed Laugnac enthusiastically. "I will speak with my good friend, Larchant, who is a bold man and strong, a mortal enemy of the Guise, and a most devoted servant of your Majesty. We will soon arrange a plan together which cannot fail."
"Swear him to secrecy," cried the King; "and remember to-morrow must not pass without its being done. If you can find Villequier too, who ought to be returned by this time, for we have much to do together to-morrow, consult with him, for in a matter of poisoning or of the knife you know, Laugnac, he has not his equal in France."
The King smiled, and Laugnac smiled too, at the imputation which they cast on another of the dark deeds exactly similar to those they were both plotting themselves.
"Do you not think, your Majesty," said the latter, "that it could be done just about the time of the Duke's coming to the Council tomorrow?"
"Excellent, good," said the King, "for that will cut him off, just ere this marriage that is talked of. But go quick, Laugnac, and make all the arrangements, and let me know the plan to-night; for look where the very man comes:" and he pointed down the alley that led to the château, where the Duke of Guise was seen approaching alone.
"He is alone," said Laugnac. "Could it not be done now? I and another could make sure of it, if your Majesty would detain him here till I seek aid."
"On no account," said the King, grasping his wrist tight. "On no account, Laugnac. You forget all the windows of the château see us. The rest of his creatures would escape, and I must have not a few of them in prison. No! we will be tender with him. He shall be our sweet cousin of Guise, our well-beloved counsellor and friend. Greet him gracefully as you pass by him, and tell the page to seek, high and low, for Villequier, and bring him to me."
Laugnac bowed low, and walked away, and as he went he left the Duke of Guise the whole of the path, pulling off his hat till the plumes almost swept the ground, but without speaking. Guise bowed to him graciously; but, evidently in haste, passed on towards the King, whom he saluted with every demonstration of respect, and on whom in return Henry smiled with the most gracious expression that he could assume.
"What seeks our fair cousin of Guise?" said the King. "I know this is a busy hour with him in general, and therefore judge that it must be matter of some importance brings him now."
"Not exactly so, Sire," replied the Duke. "There is but little business of importance stirring now, when so many of the multitude, lately collected in Blois, have returned to their own homes for the approaching festival. I came, however, to beseech your Majesty to grant me permission to absent myself for a few days on the same joyful occasion. All business for the time ceasing, my presence will not be necessary."
"Assuredly, assuredly!" replied Henry, turning pale at the very idea of the Duke escaping from his hands. "But do you go soon, fair cousin. I thought that you proposed the marriage of your fair ward for to-morrow; indeed, I heard that every thing was prepared, and I myself intended to be one of the guests."
"We have not forgotten your Majesty's gracious promise," replied the Duke. "Every thing is prepared, and half an hour before high mass we shall all be waiting for your Majesty in the revestry of the chapel. Never yet have I seen two young beings so happy in their mutual love; and as we have broken through some cold forms, in consideration of the many services which the lover has rendered to his future bride, they are always together, and clinging to each other, as if they fancied that something would yet separate them."
Henry smiled, but there was a certain mixture in it, which rendered it difficult to say whether the expression was gracious or ironical. "Well then, good cousin," he said, "as you have such mighty business toward, we had better hold our council as early as possible to-morrow, and not wait till the usual hour. Let it be as near day-break as possible. The god of day does not open his eyes too soon at this season of the year. And yet I fear that the business of various kinds, that we have before us, will occupy more time than one council can afford. Thus we may be obliged to detain you at Blois, fair cousin, longer than you expect, I fear."
"I did not intend to go, Sire," replied the Duke, "till somewhere about twelve on Christmas-day, which would give me the opportunity of being present at two councils; and I shall be also absent so short a space of time--certainly not longer than three whole days--that the interruption will not be great."
"Well, be it so; be it so," replied the King. "We know that your activity makes rapidly up for time lost. As to the marriage, I will sign the contract in the revestry, where I meet you; and I think that, notwithstanding the poverty of my treasury, I have a jewel yet of some price to give the bride."
"I beseech your Majesty think not of it," replied the Duke of Guise. "She and her good husband will be equally devoted to your service without such a mark of your condescension."
After a few more words of the same kind, the Duke took leave, and Henry remained in the garden walking to and fro, and growing every moment more and more impatient for the arrival of Villequier.
"Where can he be?" he muttered to himself. "He promised to be back before nine o'clock this morning. What can detain him? By Heavens! he will lose the best part of our enterprise if he stays. Can he have met with some mishap by the way--or has some lady poisoned him with champignons or with Cyprus wine--or tried cold steel upon him--or shot him with a silver bullet in honour of his great master. No steel would touch him, I should think, if all tales are true. But here he comes; here he comes, alive and well, with the eye of a wolf and the footfall of a cat.--He is a handsome animal notwithstanding, even now, if he would but paint his lips a little, for they are too pale. Something has gone wrong. He seems agitated; and to see Villequier moved by any thing is indeed a wonder. Why, how now, dear friend? What is it that affects you? I declare your lip quivers, and your cheek is red. What is the meaning of this?"
"Why, Sire," replied Villequier, "I just met the Duke of Guise in the hall of the château, and he not only tells me that the marriage of his niece goes forward, but that your Majesty has promised to sign the contract, and to be present at the ceremony. How you intend to withdraw yourself, I do not know: but to throw, at least, some obstacle in the way, I said that my signature had not been asked; and while my application was before the Parliament of Paris, the marriage could not take place without that signature. He answered haughtily, Sire, not by requesting, but by commanding, me to be in the revestry of the chapel at the hour of half-past eleven; and he added, with a significant tone, that he would teach me the use of pen and ink."
Henry showed no wrath: his mind was made up to his proceedings; his dark determination taken; and utterly remorseless himself, he sported in his own imagination with the idea of Guise's death, and only smiled at his conduct to Villequier, as the skilful angler sees amused the large trout dash at the gilded fly, knowing that a moment after he will have the tyrant of the stream upon his own hook, and panting on the bank.
"You shall be in the revestry, Villequier," said the King; "you shall sign the marriage contract, for the King commands you as well as the Duke of Guise; and surely two such potent voices must be obeyed."
Villequier paused for a minute or two ere he replied, calculating what might be the King's motives in his present conduct. He knew Henry well, and knew his vacillating changeable disposition; and he suspected that he was determined to violate his promise to Gaspar de Montsoreau upon some inducement, either of hope or fear, held out to him by the Duke of Guise. He was well aware, however, that if the means taken had been disagreeable, the King, though he might have endured them smilingly in the presence of the Duke, would have burst forth into passion, almost frantic, when conversing with him. He therefore replied straightforwardly, "I suppose, Sire, the younger brother has outbid the elder."
"Wrong, wrong, good friend," replied the King. "Your hawk has missed its stroke, Villequier. The Duke of Guise wills it so! Is not that quite sufficient in France?"
"I hope it will not be so long, Sire," replied Villequier, now beginning, though indistinctly, to catch the King's meaning. "I hope it will not be so long."
"Ha, René! Do you understand me now?" said Henry. "Hark ye! Are you not this girl's guardian beyond all doubt, were the Duke out of the way?"
"Indubitably," answered Villequier; "for the only thing that affects my right, even now, is her father's will, appointing this same Henry, Duke of Guise to be her guardian: the other brothers are not named."
"Well then," said Henry, "have a contract of marriage in due and proper form drawn out, this very night, in the names of Marie de Clairvaut and Gaspar, Marquis of Montsoreau. Be in the revestry at the hour named, and bring with you your gay bridegroom with all his golden crowns. You shall sign the contract, and I will sign the contract, and we will find means I think to make the fair Lady sign the contract too, while the Duke of Guise's bridegroom discovers his way into a dungeon of the château. You have been so long absent, I feared you would not come in time to hear all this."
"Why, Sire," replied Villequier, "I was forced to be absent; for although your Majesty seems to have forgotten a certain paper given to the Abbé de Boisguerin, I have not."
"Ha!" said the King, "I had forgotten indeed. We must suppress that, Villequier; we must suppress that, if he will not consent to our plans; which, I see by your face, it is not your opinion that the worthy Abbé will do. You must get it from him and suppress it."
Villequier smiled at the very thought. "He will never give it up to be suppressed, Sire," replied the Marquis. "Your Majesty little knows the man."
"Well, then, suppress him!" said the King with a laugh; "suppress him, Villequier, and the paper with him. Under the great blaze made by this business of the Guise, his affair will be but as one of the wax tapers that a country girl, with a sore eye, buys for half a denier to hang up before St. Radigonde. Suppress him, Villequier; suppress him. I know no one so capable of sweeping the window clear of such flies."
"Yes, Sire," replied Villequier; "but he is a wasp, not a fly. He has antidotes for poison, and sureties against the knife. He has, besides, more powerful friends, it seems, than any of us believed, or at least more powerful means of gaining them. The Pope has been induced to set him free of his vows. I find, too, that Epernon sent for him immediately after that business of the attempt upon his life at Augoulême, and they are now sworn friends and comrades, levying forces together, holding counsel every other hour; and here is the former Abbé now disporting himself as Seigneur de Boisguerin; and, just like a butterfly that has cast its slough, he arrives in Blois last night in gilded apparel, with a train of twenty horse behind him, and a number of sumpter mules. I saw him in his gay attire near Augoulême, and find that he aspires to the hand of the fair heiress himself."
"But what is to be done, Villequier?" said the King smiling. "It seems to me that all the world are seeking her. Suppose we send for an auctioneer, and set her up aux enchères. But, to speak seriously, what will you do with this cidevant Abbé?"
"I have done with him something already," replied Villequier, "that with all his art he could not prevent nor know. I found this young Marquis of Montsoreau somewhat stubborn to counsel. He loved not the plan of coming and lying concealed at Blois. Though he is politic and artful at seasons himself, yet now he was all passion and fury. Nothing would serve him but he must come to Blois in open day, with a hundred lances at his back. He would fight his brother, it seemed, and cut his throat. He would beard the Guise; and he would compel your Majesty and me to fulfil our promise to the letter. That the girl had escaped he attributed to my connivance; and, by Heavens! I almost feared he would have laid violent hands upon me. In short, Sire, by a little skilful teazing, I found that this same Abbé de Boisguerin, whose credit I had once greatly shaken, had resumed the mastery, and was urging on his former pupil to every sort of rash and violent act, probably with the hope of getting him killed out of his way. I soothed the good youth down, however, and told him I would give him proof of his friend's regard. I hid him where he could hear all that passed, and then entrapped the Abbé into talking of the paper that we had signed for him. I told him that the person for whom your Majesty and I destined this fair Helen, was the young Marquis of Montsoreau. I reminded him that he had obtained that paper with an absolute and direct view to that marriage; at least, that he had told me so; and I asked him immediately to sign his consent to the alliance. Your Majesty may imagine his answers; and the youth's rage was such that most assuredly he would have broken in upon us, if I had not stationed two men to stop him. However, he became afterwards as docile as a lamb, was convinced, by what passed, that we had throughout been dealing sincerely with him, and will be ready at the hour to-morrow. When the good Abbé, perhaps, hears that the whole affair is concluded, that Guise is gone, and your Majesty powerful, he may judge it more wise to be silent and resigned. We can tempt him, first, with some post; we can alarm him, if that will not do, with some peril; and lastly, if we fail in both, then we must find some way of putting an end to the matter altogether."
"That will be easily done," replied the King, his mind reverting to the Duke of Guise. "But come, Villequier, let us go and consult with Laugnac. I told him, before you came, to seek for you and consult with you. We must trust as few as possible in this business, and I must see to the whole myself, for this is a step on which, if we but slip, we fall to inevitable perdition."