La Dame de Monsoreau (71 page)

ture alone that gives me a right superior to his. But M. de Guise — Nonsense, friend Chicot, you had better go and study heraldry, and then you will be able to say which is the escutcheon of the nobler house, the lilies of France or the merlets of Lorraine."

" Aha ! that is just where you make your mistake, Henri," answered Chicot.

" My mistake ? Where is my mistake ? "

" Undoubtedly, your mistake. M. de Guise is of a far better house than you have any notion of, and you may take my word for it, too."

" Of a better house than mine, perhaps," said Henri, with a smile.

" There is no mistake about it, my little Harry."

" You are a fool, M. Chicot."

" Oh, yes, I believe such is my title at your court."

" But I mean a fool in its true and proper sense, a shallow-pated fool. You ought to go and learn to read, my friend."

" Well, Henri," answered Chicot, " you know how to read and don't require to go back to school, as you say I do. Please read this."

And Chicot drew from his breast the parchment upon which Nicolas David had written the genealogy with which we are acquainted, the genealogy brought back from Avignon with the approval of the Pope, and in which it was shown that Henri de Guise was descended from Charlemagne.

Henri turned pale as soon as he had cast his eyes over the document and recognized, near the legate's signature, the seal of Saint Peter.

" What do you say to that, Henri ? " asked Chicot ; " are not your lilies thrown a little into the background? Venire de biche ! as far as I can see, the merlets want to fly as high as the eagle of Csesar; beware of them, my son ! "

" But how did you manage to get possession of this genealogy ? "

" I ? Do I bother about such things ? It came in search of me by itself."

" But where was it before it found you ? "

" Under a lawyer's bolster."

" And that lawyer's name ? "

" Maitre Nicolas David."

" Where was he ? "

" In Lyons."

" And who went to Lyons to take it from under this lawyer's bolster ? "

" A good-natured friend of mine."

" What does this friend of yours do ? "

" He preaches."

" Then he 's a monk."

"Undoubtedly."

" And his name ? "

« Gorenflot."

" What! " cried Henri, " that abominable Leaguer who delivered such an incendiary harangue in the convent of Sainte Genevieve, and insulted me yesterday in the streets of Paris ? "

" Do you remember the story of Brutus, who pretended to be mad "

" Why, then, your Genevievan monk must be a deep politician ?"

" Have you not heard of Signor Machiavelli, secretary of the Florentine Republic ? Your grandmother iised to be his pupil."

" Then he purloined that document from the lawyer ? "

" You can hardly say ( purloined; ' he took it from him by force."

" Took it by force from Nicolas David, who is known to be a desperado ? "

" Yes, from Nicolas David, who was known to be a desperado."

" Why, he is a brave man, then, this monk of yours ? "

" As brave as Bayard !"

" And, after the performance of this fine deed, he has never come near me to ask for his reward ? "

" He returned humbly to his convent, only asking for one thing, that it should be forgotten he had ever left it."

" Then he is modest also ? "

" As modest as Saint Crispin."

" Chicot, on my honor as a gentleman your friend shall have the first abbey vacant," said the King.

" I thank you in his name, Henri."

Then the Gascon said to himself:

"By my faith, I can see him now between Mayeiine and Valois, between a rope and a prebend. Is he likely to be

hanged, or is he likely to have the abbey ? He would be a wise man who could tell.

" In any case, if he is still asleep he must have the queerest of dreams."

CHAPTER L.

ETEOCLES AND POLYNICES.

THE close of this day was as tumultuous and brilliant for the League as had been its beginning.

The friends of the King were in raptures. The preachers of the League were preparing to canonize Brother Henri and were recounting everywhere the great warlike deeds of Valois, who had shown such heroism in his youth.

The favorites said : " The lion is roused at last."

The Leaguers said: " The fox has got a glimpse of the trap laid for him at last."

And, as the principal characteristic of the French people is vanity, and, as the French do not care much for leaders of inferior intelligence, the conspirators themselves were rather proud of their King for tricking them so cleverly.

The chiefs of the association had, however, sought safety in flight.

The three Lorraine princes, as we have seen, had clapped spurs to their horses and were soon out of Paris. Their principal agent, M. de Monsoreau, was about leaving the Louvre to make his preparations for departure, with the object of coming up with the Due d'Anjou.

But no sooner was his foot on the threshold than Chicot accosted him.

The palace was now free from Leaguers, and the Gascon was no longer alarmed about his King.

" Where are you going in such a hurry, M. le Grand Veneur?" he inquired.

" To overtake his highness," the count answered, curtly.

" To overtake his highness ? "

" Yes, I am uneasy about him. The present time is not such that a prince can travel safely without a considerable escort."

" Oh, yes," said the Gascon, " and our prince is so brave that he is inclined even to be rash."

The grand huntsman stared at Chicot.

" At any rate," said the latter, " I am even more uneasy than you are."

" About whom ? "

" Of course, about the same royal highness."

"Why?"

" You have not heard the rumor ? "

" Does not the rumor run that he has left Paris ?" asked the count.

" There is a report that he is dead," whispered the Gascon in the grand huntsman's ear.

" Pshaw !" answered Monsoreau, in a tone in which there was joy as well as surprise, " did you not tell me he was on the road to Anjou ? "

" Upon my soul, I was persuaded that such was the case. You see I am so sincere myself that I take for granted every story buzzed into my ears. But since then I have had good grounds for believing that, if the poor prince is on any road, he is on the road to the other world."

" Come, now, who has put this gloomy idea into your head ? "

" He entered the Louvre yesterday, did he not ? "

" Undoubtedly ; I entered with him."

" Well, no one has seen him leave it."

" Leave the Louvre ? "

« Yes."

« But Aurilly ? "

" Vanished also ! "

" And his gentlemen ? "

" Vanished ! vanished ! all vanished ! "

" You are having a joke at my expense, are you not, M. Chicot ? " said the grand huntsman.

" Go and ask."

"Whom?"

"The King."

" But I cannot question his Majesty, can I ? "

"Pshaw! there is a way of going about everything."

" At all events," said the count, " I cannot remain in such uncertainty."

And, leaving Chicot, or rather, walking in front of him, he made his way to the ro3^al cabinet.

He was told the King had just gone out.

"Where has his Majesty gone ? " inquired the grand hunts-

man. " It is my duty to give him an account of the execution of certain orders with which he honored me."

"He has gone to see the Due d'Anjou," answered the person ,he addressed.

" To see the Due d'Anjou!" said the count to Chicot; " then the prince is not dead ? "

" Alas ! " returned the Gascon, " if not dead, I 'm afraid he is as good as dead."

This answer completed the bewilderment of the grand huntsman; He was now almost sure the Due d'Anjou had not quitted the Louvre.

Certain reports he had heard, as well as the manner of certain officials he met, confirmed him in this opinion.

As he was ignorant of the real cause of the prince's absence at the late critical juncture, this absence astonished him beyond measure.

It was true, as he had been told, that the King had gone to see the Due d'Anjou, but as the grand huntsman, in spite of his anxiety to learn what was passing in the prince's apartments, could not, in the circumstances, very well enter them, he was forced to wait in the corridor for whatever news might reach him.

We have stated that, in order to allow the four minions to be present at the session, their places had been taken by Swiss guardsmen; but, as soon as it was over, their desire to be disagreeable to the prince got the better of the ennui they experienced from being compelled to mount guard over him, especially as they wanted to have an opportunity of informing him of the King's triumph. Consequently, they resumed their posts, Schomberg and D'Epernon in the drawing-room, Maugiron and Quelus in his highness's bedchamber.

Francois, on the other hand, was terribly depressed, both by his confinement and by his anxiety as to how it would end, and it must certainly be said that the conversation of these young gentlemen was not of a character to raise his spirits.

" Really," said Quelus to Maugiron, speaking across the room just as if the prince were not there at all, " really, Maugiron, it is only during the last hour that I have begun to appreciate our friend Valois; upon my word, I believe him to be a great statesman."

"Explain your meaning," answered Maugiron, throwing himself on a sofa.

"The King spoke openly of the conspiracy. Now, as long as he was afraid of it, he dissembled, kept quiet about it. The fact that he has discussed it so frankly proves he is no longer afraid of it."

" What you say is logical," answered Maugiron.

" If he is no longer afraid of it, he will punish it; you know our Valois: he has many resplendent qualities, but certainly that of clemency does not shine among them."

" You never spoke truer."

" Now, if he punish the said conspiracy, we shall have a trial, and this trial will be a second representation of the Amboise affair, so that we are in for a good deal of enjoyment."

" Yes, it will be a fine spectacle, morbleu ! "

" And a spectacle at which our places are already assigned us, unless "

" What do you mean by your t unless' ? "

" Unless — and this is quite possible — unless all judicial forms are dispensed with because of the rank of the prisoners, and so everything may be done under the rose, as the saying is."

" I rather fancy," said Maugiron, " the matter will be managed that way ; you see it is the manner in which family affairs are usually dealt with, and this last conspiracy is a true family affair."

Aurilly looked anxiously at the prince.

" Faith," said Maugiron, " I am pretty certain of one thing, at least; if I were King I would not spare the high heads, for, in good truth, they are twice as guilty as the others in entering on this conspiracy business. These gentlemen apparently believe they can indulge with impunity in the pleasure of conspiring. I say, then, that I would bleed one or two of them, one especially ; then I would drown all the small fry. The Seine is deep in front of the Nesle, and, if I were in the King's place, I could not resist the temptation ; I give you my word of honor I could not."

" In that case," said Quelus, " I think it would be no bad thing to revive the famous invention of the sacks."

" What invention was that ?" asked Maugiron.

" Never heard of it ? Oh, a royal invention dating from 1350, or thereabouts; you shut up a man in a sack with three or four cats and then throw the whole affair into the water.

The cats, you know, cannot endure a wetting, and are no sooner in the Seine than they set about paying off the man for the accident that happened to them. Then, certain things take place in the sack which, unfortunately, we shall not be able to see."

" In good truth," said Maugiron, " you are a well of science, Quelus, and your conversation is most interesting."

" This invention, however, cannot be applied to the chiefs. The chiefs have the right to decapitation in a public square, or to assassination in some private corner. But as to the small fry you spoke about, and by small fry I understand you to mean favorites, squires, stewards, lute-players "

" Gentlemen," stammered Aurilly, pale with terror.

" Do not answer them, Aurilly," said Francois ; " such words cannot be addressed to me, nor to my household, either. Princes of the blood are not a subject for such jeering in France."

" No," said Quelus, " they are treated in a far more serious fashion ; they, have their heads cut off. It was the mode of dealing with them affected by Louis XL, that great king ! M. de Nemours was a proof of it."

The minions had got thus far in their dialogue when a noise was heard in the drawing-room, the door of the bedchamber was opened, and the King stood on the threshold.

Francois rose.

"Sire," said he, " I appeal to your justice against the infamous treatment to which I am subjected by your people."

But Henri did not seem to see or hear his brother.

" Good day, Quelus," said he, kissing his favorite on both cheeks ; " good day, my child, the sight of you rejoices my soul, and you, my poor Maugiron, how are we getting along ? "

"I am bored to death," answered Maugiron. " I had imagined when I took charge of your brother, sire, that I should get some amusement out of him. But he is such a wearisome prince ! I wonder can he really be the son of your father and mother ! "

" You hear him, sire," said Francois. " Is it, then, your royal intention to have your brother insulted in this fashion ? "

" Silence, monsieur," answered Henri, without even turning round, " I do not like to have my prisoners complaining."

" Prisoner as long as you wish; but this prisoner is not the less on that account your " —

" The title you are about to invoke is the very title that, to my mind, destroys you. A guilty brother is twice guilty."

" But if he is not guilty ? "

« But he is."

" Of what crime ? "

" That of displeasing me, monsieur."

" Sire/' said the humiliated Francois, " our family quarrels should not have witnesses."

" You are right, monsieur. My friends, leave me for a moment, I wish to talk for a while with my brother."

" Sire," whispered Quelus, " it is not prudent for your Majesty to remain alone with two enemies."

" I '11 take Aurilly with me," said Maugiron, in another whisper.

The two gentlemen led out Aurilly, who was at once burning with curiosity and dying of anxiety.

" So we are now alone," said the King.

" I was waiting impatiently for this moment, sire."

"And I also. Ah ! you have been aiming at my crown, my worthy Eteocles. The League was to be your means and the throne your goal. So you were anointed in a remote church in a corner of Paris ; you wanted to exhibit yourself suddenly to the Parisians, all glistening with holy oil!"

" Alas ! " said Francois, crushed by the King's anger, " your Majesty will not allow me to speak."

" Why should I do so ?" answered Henri; " in order to allow you to lie, or else to tell me things with which I am as well acquainted as you are ? But no, you would lie, my good brother, for to confess w r hat you have done would be to confess that you deserve death. You would lie, and I want to spare you that shame."

" Brother, brother," said Francois, wildly, " is it your intention to outrage me beyond endurance ? "

" Then, if what I am about to say to you is an outrage, it is I who lie, and I ask for nothing better than to have a proof that what I say is a lie. Come, speak, speak, I am ready to listen; prove to me that you are not a traitor, and, what is worse, a clumsy traitor."

" I do not know what your Majesty means, and it seems as if you w r ere determined to speak to me only in enigmas."

" Then I am going to make my words plain," said the King, in tones of menace that rang in the ears of Francois; " yes,

you have conspired against me, as formerly you conspired against my brother Charles; only that formerly you conspired with the aid of the King of Navarre ; now you conspire with the aid of the Due de Guise. A fine scheme that excites my admiration and would, if successful, have given you a grand place in the history of usurpers. It is true that formerly you crawled like a serpent, and to-day would rend like a lion ; after perfidy, open force; after poison, the sword."

" Poison ! What do you mean, monsieur ? " cried Francois, livid' with rage, and, like the Eteocles to whom Henri had compared him, seeking a spot where he could strike Polynices with his flaming eyes, as he was powerless to do so with sword or dagger. " What poison ? "

" The poison with which you assassinated our brother Charles ; the poison you destined for Henri de Navarre, your associate. Oh, we all know about that fatal poison ; our mother had already used it so often ! That is the reason, I suppose, why you abandoned the thought of using it on me ; that is the reason why you wished to pose as a captain and command the soldiery of the League. But look me well in the face, Franqois," continued Henri, taking a threatening step toward his brother, " and learn there that a man of your cast of character will never kill a man of mine."

Francois staggered under the weight of this terrible attack. But. without regard or mercy for his prisoner, the King went on:

" The sword ! The sword ! I should like to see you alone with me in this chamber, and each of us with a sword in his hand. I have proved my superiority to you in astuteness, FranQois, for I, too, have travelled along tortuous paths to reach the throne of France, and, while marching over these paths, I had to trample on the bodies of a million Poles to attain my object. Well and good ! If you wish to show yourself my master in cunning, do so; but do so in my fashion ; if you will imitate me, imitate me ; but do not imitate me as a dwarf might imitate a giant. My intrigues have been royal intrigues, my craft has been the craft of a great captain. I repeat then, that in astuteness I have vanquished you, and that in a fair combat you would be slain. No longer dream of a successful contest with me in one way or the other ; for from this moment I act as a King, a master, a despot; from this moment I have my eye on every one of your movements ; from this moment I search you out in every one of your dark-

some retreats, and, at the least doubt, at the least suspicion, I lay my heavy hand on you, puny creature that you are, and fling you, gasping, under the axe of my executioner.

" And now you know what I had to say about our family affairs, my brother; now you know why I wished to speak with you face to face; now you know why I am about to order my friends to leave you alone to-night, so that you may have full leisure to meditate in your loneliness on my words.