XLI
On that day Philip the king, having eaten too much pastry, was more melancholy than usual. He had played upon his living harpsichord, which was a case containing cats whose heads came out through round openings above the keys. Every time the king struck a key, the key in turn struck a cat with a dart, and the beast mewed and complained by reason of the pain.
But Philip never laughed.
Unceasingly, he sought in his mind how he could conquer the great queen, Elizabeth, and set up Mary Stuart on the throne of England. With this object he had written to the Pope who was needy and full of debts; the Pope had replied that for this enterprise he would gladly sell the holy vessels of the temples and the treasures of the Vatican.
But Philip never laughed.
Ridolfi, Queen Mary’s favourite, who hoped, by delivering her, to marry her afterwards and become king of England, came to see Philip and with him plot the murder of Elizabeth. But he was so “parlanchin,” as the king wrote, so given to talking, that his designs were openly talked about in the Antwerp Bourse; and the murder was never committed.
And Philip never laughed.
Later, in accordance with the king’s orders, the bloody duke sent two couples of assassins into England. They succeeded in getting hanged.
And thus God brought to naught and thwarted the ambition of this vampire, who looked to remove her son from Mary Stuart and to reign in his stead, with the Pope, over England. And the murderer was irritated to see this noble country so great and powerful. He never ceased to turn his pale eyes towards it, seeking how he might crush it so as to reign thereafter over the whole world, exterminate the reformers, and especially the rich, and inherit the victim’s wealth.
But he never laughed.
And mice and field mice were brought to him in an iron box, with high sides, and open of one side; and he put the bottom of the box on a hot fire and took his pleasure in seeing and hearing the poor little beasts leaping, moaning, and dying.
But he never laughed.
Then pale and with trembling hand he went to the arms of Madame d’Eboli, to slake the fire of his lust lit by the torch of cruelty.
And he never laughed.
And Madame d’Eboli received him for fear and not for love.