CHAPTER I.
MONSIEUR DE GUISE'S LATIN.
On Monday, the 18th of August, 1572, there was a splendid festival atthe Louvre.
The ordinarily gloomy windows of the ancient royal residence werebrilliantly lighted, and the squares and streets adjacent, usually sosolitary after Saint Germain l'Auxerrois had struck the hour of nine,were crowded with people, although it was past midnight.
The vast, threatening, eager, turbulent throng resembled, in thedarkness, a black and tumbling sea, each billow of which makes a roaringbreaker; this sea, flowing through the Rue des Fosses Saint Germain andthe Rue de l'Astruce and covering the quay, surged against the base ofthe walls of the Louvre, and, in its refluent tide, against the Hotel deBourbon, which faced it on the other side.
In spite of the royal festival, and perhaps even because of the royalfestival, there was something threatening in the appearance of thepeople, for no doubt was felt that this imposing ceremony which calledthem there as spectators, was only the prelude to another in which theywould participate a week later as invited guests and amuse themselveswith all their hearts.
The court was celebrating the marriage of Madame Marguerite de Valois,daughter of Henry II. and sister of King Charles IX., with Henry deBourbon, King of Navarre. In truth, that very morning, on a stageerected at the entrance to Notre-Dame, the Cardinal de Bourbon hadunited the young couple with the usual ceremonial observed at themarriages of the royal daughters of France.
This marriage had astonished every one, and occasioned much surmise tocertain persons who saw clearer than others. They found it difficult tounderstand the union of two parties who hated each other so thoroughlyas did, at this moment, the Protestant party and the Catholic party; andthey wondered how the young Prince de Conde could forgive the Ducd'Anjou, the King's brother, for the death of his father, assassinatedat Jarnac by Montesquiou. They asked how the young Duc de Guise couldpardon Admiral de Coligny for the death of his father, assassinated atOrleans by Poltrot de Mere.
Moreover, Jeanne de Navarre, the weak Antoine de Bourbon's courageouswife, who had conducted her son Henry to the royal marriage awaitinghim, had died scarcely two months before, and singular reports had beenspread abroad as to her sudden death. It was everywhere whispered, andin some places said aloud, that she had discovered some terrible secret;and that Catharine de Medicis, fearing its disclosure, had poisoned herwith perfumed gloves, which had been made by a man named Rene, aFlorentine deeply skilled in such matters. This report was the morewidely spread and believed when, after this great queen's death, at herson's request, two celebrated physicians, one of whom was the famousAmbroise Pare, were instructed to open and examine the body, but not theskull. As Jeanne de Navarre had been poisoned by a perfume, only thebrain could show any trace of the crime (the one part excluded fromdissection). We say crime, for no one doubted that a crime had beencommitted.
This was not all. King Charles in particular had, with a persistencyalmost approaching obstinacy, urged this marriage, which not onlyre-established peace in his kingdom, but also attracted to Paris theprincipal Huguenots of France. As the two betrothed belonged one to theCatholic religion and the other to the reformed religion, they had beenobliged to obtain a dispensation from Gregory XIII., who then filled thepapal chair. The dispensation was slow in coming, and the delay hadcaused the late Queen of Navarre great uneasiness. She one day expressedto Charles IX. her fears lest the dispensation should not arrive; towhich the King replied:
"Have no anxiety, my dear aunt. I honor you more than I do the Pope,and I love my sister more than I fear him. I am not a Huguenot, neitheram I a blockhead; and if the Pope makes a fool of himself, I will myselftake Margot by the hand, and have her married to your son in someProtestant meeting-house!"
This speech was soon spread from the Louvre through the city, and, whileit greatly rejoiced the Huguenots, had given the Catholics something tothink about; they asked one another, in a whisper, if the King wasreally betraying them or was only playing a comedy which some finemorning or evening might have an unexpected ending.
Charles IX.'s conduct toward Admiral de Coligny, who for five or sixyears had been so bitterly opposed to the King, appeared particularlyinexplicable; after having put on his head a price of a hundred andfifty thousand golden crowns, the King now swore by him, called him hisfather, and declared openly that he should in future confide the conductof the war to him alone. To such a pitch was this carried that Catharinede Medicis herself, who until then had controlled the young prince'sactions, will, and even desires, seemed to be growing really uneasy, andnot without reason; for, in a moment of confidence, Charles IX. had saidto the admiral, in reference to the war in Flanders,
"My father, there is one other thing against which we must be on ourguard--that is, that the queen, my mother, who likes to poke her noseeverywhere, as you well know, shall learn nothing of this undertaking;we must keep it so quiet that she will not have a suspicion of it, orbeing such a mischief-maker as I know she is, she would spoil all."
Now, wise and experienced as he was, Coligny had not been able to keepsuch an absolute secret; and, though he had come to Paris with greatsuspicions, and albeit at his departure from Chatillon a peasant womanhad thrown herself at his feet, crying, "Ah! sir, our good master, donot go to Paris, for if you do, you will die--you and all who are withyou!"--these suspicions were gradually lulled in his heart, and so itwas with Teligny, his son-in-law, to whom the King was especially kindand attentive, calling him his brother, as he called the admiral hisfather, and addressing him with the familiar "thou," as he did his bestfriends.
The Huguenots, excepting some few morose and suspicious spirits, weretherefore completely reassured. The death of the Queen of Navarre passedas having been caused by pleurisy, and the spacious apartments of theLouvre were filled with all those gallant Protestants to whom themarriage of their young chief, Henry, promised an unexpected return ofgood fortune. Admiral Coligny, La Rochefoucault, the young Prince deConde, Teligny,--in short, all the leaders of the party,--weretriumphant when they saw so powerful at the Louvre and so welcome inParis those whom, three months before, King Charles and Queen Catharinewould have hanged on gibbets higher than those of assassins.
The Marechal de Montmorency was the only one who was missing among allhis brothers, for no promise could move him, no specious appearancesdeceive him, and he remained secluded in his chateau de l'Isle Adam,offering as his excuse for not appearing the grief which he still feltfor his father, the Constable Anne de Montmorency, who had been killedat the battle of Saint Denis by a pistol-shot fired by Robert Stuart.But as this had taken place more than three years before, and assensitiveness was a virtue little practised at that time, this undulyprotracted mourning was interpreted just as people cared to interpretit.
However, everything seemed to show that the Marechal de Montmorency wasmistaken. The King, the Queen, the Duc d'Anjou, and the Duc d'Alencondid the honors of the royal festival with all courtesy and kindness.
The Duc d'Anjou received from the Huguenots themselves well-deservedcompliments on the two battles of Jarnac and Montcontour, which he hadgained before he was eighteen years of age, more precocious in that thaneither Caesar or Alexander, to whom they compared him, of course placingthe conquerors of Pharsalia and the Issus as inferior to the livingprince. The Duc d'Alencon looked on, with his bland, false smile, whileQueen Catharine, radiant with joy and overflowing with honeyed phrases,congratulated Prince Henry de Conde on his recent marriage with Marie deCleves; even the Messieurs de Guise themselves smiled on the formidableenemies of their house, and the Duc de Mayenne discoursed with M. deTavannes and the admiral on the impending war, which was now more thanever threatened against Philippe II.
In the midst of these groups a young man of about nineteen years of agewas walking to and fro, his head a little on one side, his ear open toall that was said. He had a keen eye, black hair cut very close, thickeyebrows, a nose hooked like an eagle's, a sneering smile, and a growingmustach
e and beard. This young man, who by his reckless daring had firstattracted attention at the battle of Arnay-le-Duc and was the recipientof numberless compliments, was the dearly beloved pupil of Coligny andthe hero of the day. Three months before--that is to say, when hismother was still living--he was called the Prince de Bearn, now he wascalled the King of Navarre, afterwards he was known as Henry IV.
From time to time a swift and gloomy cloud passed over his brow;unquestionably it was at the thought that scarce had two months elapsedsince his mother's death, and he, less than any one, doubted that shehad been poisoned. But the cloud was transitory, and disappeared like afleeting shadow, for they who spoke to him, they who congratulated him,they who elbowed him, were the very ones who had assassinated the braveJeanne d'Albret.
Some paces distant from the King of Navarre, almost as pensive, almostas gloomy as the king pretended to be joyous and open-hearted, was theyoung Duc de Guise, conversing with Teligny. More fortunate than theBearnais, at two-and-twenty he had almost attained the reputation of hisfather, Francois, the great Duc de Guise. He was an elegant gentleman,very tall, with a noble and haughty look, and gifted with that naturalmajesty which caused it to be said that in comparison with him otherprinces seemed to belong to the people. Young as he was, the Catholicslooked up to him as the chief of their party, as the Huguenots sawtheirs in Henry of Navarre, whose portrait we have just drawn. At firsthe had borne the title of Prince de Joinville, and at the siege ofOrleans had fought his first battle under his father, who died in hisarms, denouncing Admiral Coligny as his assassin. The young duke then,like Hannibal, took a solemn oath to avenge his father's death on theadmiral and his family, and to pursue the foes to his religion withouttruce or respite, promising God to be his destroying angel on earthuntil the last heretic should be exterminated. So with deep astonishmentthe people saw this prince, usually so faithful to his word, offeringhis hand to those whom he had sworn to hold as his eternal enemies, andtalking familiarly with the son-in-law of the man whose death he hadpromised to his dying father.
But as we have said, this was an evening of astonishments.
Indeed, an observer privileged to be present at this festival, endowedwith the knowledge of the future which is fortunately hidden from men,and with that power of reading men's hearts which unfortunately belongsonly to God, would have certainly enjoyed the strangest spectacle to befound in all the annals of the melancholy human comedy.
But this observer who was absent from the inner courts of the Louvre wasto be found in the streets gazing with flashing eyes and breaking outinto loud threats; this observer was the people, who, with itsmarvellous instinct made keener by hatred, watched from afar the shadowsof its implacable enemies and translated the impressions they made withas great clearness as an inquisitive person can do before the windows ofa hermetically sealed ball-room. The music intoxicates and governs thedancers, but the inquisitive person sees only the movement and laughs atthe puppet jumping about without reason, because the inquisitive personhears no music.
The music that intoxicated the Huguenots was the voice of their pride.
The gleams which caught the eyes of the Parisians that midnight were thelightning flashes of their hatred illuminating the future.
And meantime everything was still festive within, and a murmur softerand more flattering than ever was at this moment pervading the Louvre,for the youthful bride, having laid aside her toilet of ceremony, herlong mantle and flowing veil, had just returned to the ball-room,accompanied by the lovely Duchesse de Nevers, her most intimate friend,and led by her brother, Charles IX., who presented her to the principalguests.
The bride was the daughter of Henry II., was the pearl of the crown ofFrance, was MARGUERITE DE VALOIS, whom in his familiar tenderness forher King Charles IX. always called "_ma soeur Margot_," "my sisterMargot."
Assuredly never was any welcome, however flattering, more richlydeserved than that which the new Queen of Navarre was at this momentreceiving. Marguerite at this period was scarcely twenty, and she wasalready the object of all the poets' eulogies, some of whom compared herto Aurora, others to Cytherea; she was, in truth, a beauty without rivalin that court in which Catharine de Medicis had assembled the loveliestwomen she could find, to make of them her sirens.
Marguerite had black hair and a brilliant complexion; a voluptuous eye,veiled by long lashes; delicate coral lips; a slender neck; a graceful,opulent figure, and concealed in a satin slipper a tiny foot. TheFrench, who possessed her, were proud to see such a lovely flowerflourishing in their soil, and foreigners who passed through Francereturned home dazzled with her beauty if they had but seen her, andamazed at her knowledge if they had discoursed with her; for Margueritewas not only the loveliest, she was also the most erudite woman of hertime, and every one was quoting the remark of an Italian scholar who hadbeen presented to her, and who, after having conversed with her for anhour in Italian, Spanish, Latin, and Greek, had gone away saying:
"To see the court without seeing Marguerite de Valois is to see neitherFrance nor the court."
Thus addresses to King Charles IX. and the Queen of Navarre were notwanting. It is well known that the Huguenots were great hands ataddresses. Many allusions to the past, many hints as to the future, wereadroitly slipped into these harangues; but to all such allusions andspeeches the King replied, with his pale lips and artificial smiles:
"In giving my sister Margot to Henry of Navarre, I give my sister to allthe Protestants of the kingdom."
This phrase assured some and made others smile, for it had really adouble sense: the one paternal, with which Charles IX. would not loadhis mind; the other insulting to the bride, to her husband, and also tohim who said it, for it recalled some scandalous rumors with which thechroniclers of the court had already found means to smirch the nuptialrobe of Marguerite de Valois.
However, M. de Guise was conversing, as we have said, with Teligny; buthe did not pay to the conversation such sustained attention but that heturned away somewhat, from time to time, to cast a glance at the groupof ladies, in the centre of whom glittered the Queen of Navarre. Whenthe princess's eye thus met that of the young duke, a cloud seemed toover-spread that lovely brow, around which stars of diamonds formed atremulous halo, and some agitating thought might be divined in herrestless and impatient manner.
The Princess Claude, Marguerite's eldest sister, who had been for someyears married to the Duc de Lorraine, had observed this uneasiness, andwas going up to her to inquire the cause, when all stood aside at theapproach of the queen mother, who came forward, leaning on the arm ofthe young Prince de Conde, and the princess was thus suddenly separatedfrom her sister. There was a general movement, by which the Duc de Guiseprofited to approach Madame de Nevers, his sister-in-law, andMarguerite.
Madame de Lorraine, who had not lost sight of her sister, then remarked,instead of the cloud which she had before observed on her forehead, aburning blush come into her cheeks. The duke approached still nearer,and when he was within two steps of Marguerite, she appeared rather tofeel than see his presence, and turned round, making a violent effortover herself in order to give her features an appearance of calmness andindifference. The duke, then respectfully bowing, murmured in a lowtone,
"_Ipse attuli._"
That meant: "I have brought it, or brought it myself."
Marguerite returned the young duke's bow, and as she straightenedherself, replied, in the same tone,
"_Noctu pro more._"
That meant: "To-night, as usual."
These soft words, absorbed by the enormous collar which the princesswore, as in the bell of a speaking-trumpet, were heard only by theperson to whom they were addressed; but brief as had been theconference, it doubtless composed all the young couple had to say, forafter this exchange of two words for three, they separated, Margueritemore thoughtful and the duke with his brow less clouded than when theymet. This little scene took place without the person most interestedappearing to remark it, for the King of Navarre had eyes but
for onelady, and she had around her a suite almost as numerous as that whichfollowed Marguerite de Valois. This was the beautiful Madame de Sauve.
Charlotte de Beaune Semblancay, granddaughter of the unfortunateSemblancay, and wife of Simon de Fizes, Baron de Sauve, was one of theladies-in-waiting to Catharine de Medicis, and one of the mostredoubtable auxiliaries of this queen, who poured forth to her enemieslove-philtres when she dared not pour out Florentine poison. Delicatelyfair, and by turns sparkling with vivacity or languishing in melancholy,always ready for love and intrigue, the two great occupations which forfifty years employed the court of the three succeeding kings,--a womanin every acceptation of the word and in all the charm of the idea, fromthe blue eye languishing or flashing with fire to the small rebelliousfeet arched in their velvet slippers, Madame de Sauve had already forsome months taken complete possession of every faculty of the King ofNavarre, then beginning his career as a lover as well as a politician;thus it was that Marguerite de Valois, a magnificent and royal beauty,had not even excited admiration in her husband's heart; and what wasmore strange, and astonished all the world, even from a soul so full ofdarkness and mystery, Catharine de Medicis, while she prosecuted herproject of union between her daughter and the King of Navarre, had notceased to favor almost openly his amour with Madame de Sauve. Butdespite this powerful aid, and despite the easy manners of the age, thelovely Charlotte had hitherto resisted; and this resistance, unheard of,incredible, unprecedented, even more than the beauty and wit of her whoresisted, had excited in the heart of the Bearnais a passion which,unable to satisfy itself, had destroyed in the young king's heart alltimidity, pride, and even that carelessness, half philosophic, halfindolent, which formed the basis of his character.
Madame de Sauve had been only a few minutes in the ballroom; from spiteor grief she had at first resolved on not being present at her rival'striumph, and under the pretext of an indisposition had allowed herhusband, who had been for five years secretary of state, to go alone tothe Louvre; but when Catharine de Medicis saw the baron without hiswife, she asked the cause that kept her dear Charlotte away, and whenshe found that the indisposition was but slight, she wrote a few wordsto her, which the lady hastened to obey. Henry, sad as he had at firstbeen at her absence, had yet breathed more freely when he saw M. deSauve enter alone; but just as he was about to pay some court to thecharming creature whom he was condemned, if not to love, at least totreat as his wife, he unexpectedly saw Madame de Sauve arise from thefarther end of the gallery. He remained stationary on the spot, his eyesfastened on the Circe who enthralled him as if by magic chains, andinstead of proceeding towards his wife, by a movement of hesitationwhich betrayed more astonishment than alarm he advanced to meet Madamede Sauve.
The courtiers, seeing the King of Navarre, whose inflammable heart theyknew, approach the beautiful Charlotte, had not the courage to preventtheir meeting, but drew aside complaisantly; so that at the very momentwhen Marguerite de Valois and Monsieur de Guise exchanged the few wordsin Latin which we have noted above, Henry, having approached Madame deSauve, began, in very intelligible French, although with somewhat of aGascon accent, a conversation by no means so mysterious.
"Ah, _ma mie_!" he said, "you have, then, come at the very moment whenthey assured me that you were ill, and I had lost all hope of seeingyou."
"Would your majesty perhaps wish me to believe that it had cost yousomething to lose this hope?" replied Madame de Sauve.
"By Heaven! I believe it!" replied the Bearnais; "know you not that youare my sun by day and my star by night? By my faith, I was in deepestdarkness till you appeared and suddenly illumined all."
"Then, monseigneur, I serve you a very ill turn."
"What do you mean, _ma mie_?" inquired Henry.
"I mean that he who is master of the handsomest woman in France shouldonly have one desire--that the light should disappear and give way todarkness, for happiness awaits you in the darkness."
"You know, cruel one, that my happiness is in the hands of one womanonly, and that she laughs at poor Henry."
"Oh!" replied the baroness, "I believed, on the contrary, that it wasthis person who was the sport and jest of the King of Navarre." Henrywas alarmed at this hostile attitude, and yet he bethought him that itbetrayed jealous spite, and that jealous spite is only the mask of love.
"Indeed, dear Charlotte, you reproach me very unjustly, and I do notcomprehend how so lovely a mouth can be so cruel. Do you suppose for amoment that it is I who give myself in marriage? No, _ventre saintgris_, it is not I!"
"It is I, perhaps," said the baroness, sharply,--if ever the voice ofthe woman who loves us and reproaches us for not loving her can seemsharp.
"With your lovely eyes have you not seen farther, baroness? No, no;Henry of Navarre is not marrying Marguerite de Valois."
"And who, pray, is?"
"Why, by Heaven! it is the reformed religion marrying the pope--that'sall."
"No, no, I cannot be deceived by your jests. Monseigneur loves MadameMarguerite. And can I blame you? Heaven forbid! She is beautiful enoughto be adored."
Henry reflected for a moment, and, as he reflected, a meaning smilecurled the corner of his lips.
"Baroness," said he, "you seem to be seeking a quarrel with me, but youhave no right to do so. What have you done to prevent me from marryingMadame Marguerite? Nothing. On the contrary, you have always driven meto despair."
"And well for me that I have, monseigneur," replied Madame de Sauve.
"How so?"
"Why, of course, because you are marrying another woman!"
"I marry her because you love me not."
"If I had loved you, sire, I must have died in an hour."
"In an hour? What do you mean? And of what death would you have died?"
"Of jealousy!--for in an hour the Queen of Navarre will send away herwomen, and your majesty your gentlemen."
"Is that really the thought that is uppermost in your mind, _ma mie_?"
"I did not say so. I only say, that if I loved you it would be uppermostin my mind most tormentingly."
"Very well," said Henry, at the height of joy on hearing thisconfession, the first which she had made to him, "suppose the King ofNavarre should not send away his gentlemen this evening?"
"Sire," replied Madame de Sauve, looking at the king with astonishmentfor once unfeigned, "you say things impossible and incredible."
"What must I do to make you believe them?"
"Give me a proof--and that proof you cannot give me."
"Yes, baroness, yes! By Saint Henry, I will give it you!" exclaimed theking, gazing at the young woman with eyes hot with love.
"Oh, your majesty!" exclaimed the lovely Charlotte in an undertone andwith downcast eyes, "I do not understand--No! no, it is impossible foryou to turn your back on the happiness awaiting you."
"There are four Henrys in this room, my adorable!" replied the king,"Henry de France, Henry de Conde, Henry de Guise, but there is only oneHenry of Navarre."
"Well?"
"Well; if this Henry of Navarre is with you all night"--
"All night!"
"Yes; will that be a certain proof to you that he is not with anyother?"
"Ah! if you do that, sire," cried Madame Sauve.
"On the honor of a gentleman I will do it!"
Madame de Sauve raised her great eyes dewy with voluptuous promises andlooked at the king, whose heart was filled with an intoxicating joy.
"And then," said Henry, "what will you say?"
"I will say," replied Charlotte, "that your majesty really loves me."
"_Ventre saint gris_! then you shall say it, baroness, for it is true."
"But how can you manage it?" murmured Madame de Sauve.
"Oh! by Heaven! baroness, have you not about you some waiting-woman,some girl whom you can trust?"
"Yes, Dariole is so devoted to me that she would let herself be cut inpieces for me; she is a real treasure."
"By Heaven! then say to
her that I will make her fortune when I am Kingof France, as the astrologers prophesy."
Charlotte smiled, for even at this period the Gascon reputation of theBearnais was already established with respect to his promises.
"Well, then, what do you want Dariole to do?"
"Little for her, a great deal for me. Your apartment is over mine?"
"Yes."
"Let her wait behind the door. I will knock gently three times; she willopen the door, and you will have the proof that I have promised you."
Madame de Sauve kept silence for several seconds, and then, as if shehad looked around her to observe if she were overheard, she fastened hergaze for a moment on the group clustering around the queen mother; briefas the moment was, it was sufficient for Catharine and herlady-in-waiting to exchange a look.
"Oh, if I were inclined," said Madame de Sauve, with a siren's accentthat would have melted the wax in Ulysses' ears, "if I were inclined tomake your majesty tell a falsehood"--
"_Ma mie_, try"--
"Ah, _ma foi_! I confess I am tempted to do so."
"Give in! Women are never so strong as after they are defeated."
"Sire, I hold you to your promise for Dariole when you shall be King ofFrance."
Henry uttered an exclamation of joy.
At the precise moment when this cry escaped the lips of the Bearnais,the Queen of Navarre was replying to the Duc de Guise:
"_Noctu pro more_--to-night as usual."
Then Henry turned away from Madame de Sauve as happy as the Duc de Guisehad been when he left Marguerite de Valois.
An hour after the double scene we have just related, King Charles andthe queen mother retired to their apartments. Almost immediately therooms began to empty; the galleries exhibited the bases of their marblecolumns. The admiral and the Prince de Conde were escorted home by fourhundred Huguenot gentlemen through the middle of the crowd, which hootedas they passed. Then Henry de Guise, with the Lorraine gentlemen and theCatholics, left in their turn, greeted by cries of joy and plaudits ofthe people.
But Marguerite de Valois, Henry de Navarre, and Madame de Sauve lived inthe Louvre.