CHAPTER V.
The Chevalier de St. Real, according to the ideas of hospitalityentertained in those days, pressed the King of Navarre to his food,and urged the wine upon him; but scarcely had Henry's glass beenfilled twice, ere the sound of steps hurrying hither and thither washeard in the hall, and the young noble cast many an anxious looktowards the door. It opened at length, and an old servant entered,who, approaching the chair of his young lord, whispered a few words inhis ear.
"Indeed!" said St. Real; "I had hoped his sleep would have lastedlonger. How seems he now, Duverdier?--is he refreshed by this shortrepose?"
"I cannot say I think it, sir," replied the servant; "but he asksanxiously for you, and we could not find you in the hall."
"I come," answered St. Real; and then turning to the King, he added,"My father's short rest is at an end, and I will now tell him of yourvisit, sir. Doubtless he will gladly see you, as there is none herespects more deeply."
"Go! go! my young lord," cried Henry; "I will wait you here, withthese good gentlemen. Let me be no restraint upon you. Yet tell yourfather, my good lord, that my business is such as presses a man'svisits on his friends even at hours unseasonable, else would I not askto see him when he is ill and suffering."
The young lord of St. Real bowed his head and quitted the apartment;while Henry remained with the other guests, whose curiosity was not alittle increased in regard to who this Maitre Jacques could be, by thegreat reverence which seemed paid to him. They had soon an opportunityof expressing their curiosity to each other, in the absence of theobject thereof; for in a very few minutes the Chevalier of St. Realreturned, and besought Henry to "_honour_ his father's chamber withhis presence." The King followed with a smile; and when the door ofthe little hall was closed behind them, laid his hand upon St. Real'sarm, saying, "You are no good actor, my young friend."
"I am afraid not," replied St. Real, in a tone from which he could notbanish the sadness occasioned by his father's illness; "yet I trustwhat I said may in no degree betray your Majesty."
"No, no," answered Henry, "I dare say not; and should you see anysuspicions, St. Real, you must either--in penance for having shown toomuch reverence for a king, in an age when kings are out of allrespect--you must either keep these gentry close prisoners here till Ihave reached Tours, and thence made a two-days' journey Paris-ward, oryou must give me a guard of fifty men to push my way through as far asChartres."
"It shall be which your Majesty pleases," replied St. Real; "but hereis my father's chamber."
The spot where they stood was situated half way up a long passagetraversing the central part of the chateau of St. Real, narrow, low,and unlighted during the day by anything but two small windows, one ateach extreme. At present two or three lamps served to show the way tothe apartments of the sick man, at the small low-framed doorway ofwhich stood an attendant, as if stationed for the purpose of giving orrefusing admittance to those who came to visit the suffering noble.The servant instantly threw back the plain oaken boards, claspedtogether by bands of iron, which served as a door, and the next momentHenry found himself in the ante-chamber of the sick man's room. Theinterior of the apartment into which he was now admitted was muchsuperior in point of comfort to that which one might have expectedfrom the sight of such an entrance. The ante-chamber was spacious,hung with rich though gloomy arras, and carpeted with mats of finerushes. One or two beds were laid upon the ground for the old lord'sattendants; and on many a peg, thrust through the arras, hung trophiesof war or of the chase, together with several lamps and sconces whichcast a considerable light into the room. The chamber beyond was keptin a greater degree of obscurity, though the light was stillsufficient to show the King, as he passed through the intermediatedoorway, the faded form of the old Marquis of St. Real, lying in alarge antique bed of green velvet, with one thin and feeble handstretched out upon the bed-clothes. At the bolster was placed one ofthose old-fashioned double-seated chairs which are now so seldom seen,even as objects of antiquarian research; and, from one of the twoplaces which it afforded, an attendant of the sick rose up as Henryentered, and glided away into the ante-room. St. Real paused andclosed the door between the two chambers; and Henry, advancing, tookthe vacant seat, and kindly laid his hand upon that of his sickfriend.
"Why how now, lord Marquis?" he said, in a feeling but cheerful tone;"how now? this is not the state in which I hoped to find you. But,faith, I must have you better soon, for I would fain see you once moreat the head of your followers."
The Marquis of St. Real shook his head, with a look which had neithermelancholy nor fear in its expression, but which plainly conveyed hisconviction that he was never destined to lead followers to the fieldagain, or rise from the bed on which he was then stretched. Nor,indeed, although the young monarch spoke cheerful hopes--did heentertain any expectations equal to his words. The Marquis of St. Realwas more than eighty years of age; and though his frame had been oneof great power, and in his eyes there was still beaming the light of afine heart and active mind, yet time had bowed him long before, andmany a past labour and former hardship in the Italian wars had brokenthe staff of his strength, and left him to fall before the firststroke of illness. Sickness had come at length, and now all the powersof life were evidently failing fast. The features of his face hadgrown thin and sharp; his temples seemed to have fallen in; and overhis whole countenance--which in his green old age had been coveredwith the ruddy hue of health--was now spreading fast the grey ashycolour of the grave.
"Your Majesty is welcome!" he said, in a low, faint voice, whichobliged Henry to bend his head in order to catch the sounds; "but Imust not hope, either for your Majesty or any one else, to set lancein the rest again. I doubt not," he continued, after a momentarypause--"I doubt not that you have thought me somewhat cold-hearted andungrateful, after many favours received at your hands, and at those ofyour late noble mother, that I have not long before this espoused thecause of those whom I think unjustly persecuted. But I trust that youhave not come to reproach me with what I have not done, but rather toshow me now how I can serve you in my dying hour; without, however,even then forgetting the allegiance I owe to the crown of France, andmy duty to her monarch."
"To reproach you I certainly have not come, my noble friend," answeredHenry; "for I have ever respected your scruples, though I may havethought them unfounded. Nevertheless, what I have now to tell you willput those scruples to an end at once and for ever. The cause of Henryof Navarre and of Henry III. of France are now about to be united. Mygood brother-in-law, the King, has written to me for aid----"
"To you!--to you!" exclaimed the Marquis, raising his head feebly, andspeaking with a tone of much surprise.
"Ay, even to me," answered Henry. "He found that he had misused afriend too long, that too long he had courted enemies; and, wise atlength, he is determined to call around him those who really wish wellto him and to our country, and to use against his foes that sword theyhave so long mocked in safety. I am now on my way to join him with allspeed, while my friends and the army follow more slowly. As Iadvanced, I could not resist the hope that enticed me hither--the hopethat, when justice, and friendship, and loyalty are all united uponour side, the Marquis of St. Real, to whom justice, and friendship,and loyalty were always dear, will no longer hesitate to give us thatgreat support which his fortune, his rank, his renown, and hisretainers enable him so well to afford."
"When Henry of Navarre lends his sword to Henry of France, how shouldI dream of refusing my poor aid to both?" answered the Marquis. "When_you_ refuse not to serve an enemy, sir, how should _I_ refuse toserve a friend? But my own services are over. This world and I, liketwo old friends at the end of a long journey, are just shaking handsbefore we part; but I leave behind me one that may well supply myplace. Huon, my dear son, are you there?"
"I am here, sir," said the young lord, advancing: "what is your will,my father?"
"My son, I am leaving you," replied the Marquis. "I shall never quitthis bed; another sun will neve
r rise and set for me. I leave you introublous times, Huon, in times of difficulty and of sorrow; but thatwhich now smoothes my pillow at my dying hour, and makes the lastmoments of life happy, is the fearless certainty that, come what may,my son will live and die worthy of the name that he inherits; and willfind difficulty and danger but steps to honour and renown. So long asinjustice stained the royal cause, and cruelty and tyranny drove manya noble heart to revolt, I would take no part in the dissensions thathave torn our unhappy land; though God knows I have often longed todraw the sword in behalf of the oppressed; but now that the crowncalls to its aid those it once persecuted, in order to put an end tofaction and strife, my scruples are gone, and, were not life gone too,none would sooner put his foot in the stirrup than I. But those daysare past; and on you, my son, must devolve the task. A few hours now,and I shall be no more; yet I will not seek to command you how to actwhen I am gone. Your own heart has ever been a good and faithfulmonitor. Let me, however, counsel you to seek the Duke of Mayenne ereyou draw the sword against him. Show him your purposes and yourmotives; and tell him that he may be sure those who have been neutralwill now become his enemies--those who have been his friends willdaily fall from him, unless he follow the dictates of loyalty andhonour."
The old man paused, and a slight smile curled the lip of Henry ofNavarre. His nature, however, was too frank to let anything whichmight pass for a sneer remain unexplained; and he said, "You know notthese factious Guises well enough, my friend. They strike fordominion; and that game must be a hopeless one indeed, which theywould not play to gratify their ambition. But let your son seekMayenne! More! If he will, let him not decide whose cause he willespouse till he have heard all the arguments which faction can bringto colour treason. I fear not. Strong in the frank uprightness of agood cause, and confident both of his honesty and clear good sense, Iwill trust to his own judgment, when he has heard all with his ownears. Let him call together what followers he can; let him march themupon Paris; and, under a safe conduct from the Duke and from the King,visit both camps alike. True, that with Henry of Valois he will findmuch to raise disgust and contempt; but there, too, he will find theonly King of France, and with him all that is loyal in the land. WithMayenne, and his demagogues of the Sixteen, he will find faction,ambition, injustice, and fanaticism and I well know which a St. Realmust choose."
"Frank, noble, and confiding, ever, sire!" said the Marquis, "nor withus will your reliance prove vain. Oh, that we had a King like you! Howfew hearts then could, by any arts, be estranged from the throne!"
"Nay, nay," said Henry, smiling, "you forget that I am a heretic, mygood lord--a Huguenot--a _maheutre!_ They would soon find means tocorrupt the base, and to persuade the weak against me, were I King ofFrance to-morrow--which God forfend!--and, by my faith, were I a greatvaluer of that strange thing, life, I should look for poison in mycup, or a dagger in my bosom at every hour."
"And yet, my lord, you are going to trust yourself where daggers havelately been somewhat too rife," said the Chevalier de St. Real; "andthat, too--if I understood you rightly--with but a small escort."
"As small as may be," answered the King, "consisting, indeed, of butthis one faithful friend, who has never yet proved untrue;" and helaid his finger on the hilt of his sword, adding, gaily, "but no fear,no fear: my cousin brother-in-law could have no earthly motive inkilling me but to make Mayenne King of France, which, by my faith, heseeks not to do. He knows me too well, also, to think that I wouldinjure him, even if I could; and, perhaps, finds now, that by makinghead against the Guises, and their accursed League, I have beenserving him ever, though against his will."
"Would it not be better, my lord," asked the old man, in a feeblevoice--"would it not be better to wait till you are accompanied byyour own troops?"
"No, no," replied Henry; "Mayenne presses him hard. He is himselfdispirited, his troops are more so. Still more of the _Spanishcatholicon_--I mean Spanish mercenaries--are likely to be added to theforces of the League; and I fear that, if some means be not taken tokeep up his courage, more speedily than could be accomplished by themarch of my forces, he may cast himself upon the mercy of the enemy,and France be lost for ever."
"The Duke of Guise went as confidently to Blois as your Majesty toTours," said the Chevalier; "and the Duke of Guise was called afriend: you have been looked on as an enemy."
"But Guise was a traitor," answered Henry, "and met with treachery, asa traitor may well expect. He went confiding alone in his own courage,but knowing that his own designs were evil. I go, confiding both inmyself and in my honesty; and well knowing, that in all France thereis not one man who has just cause to wish that Henry of Navarre weredead."
"He has violated his safe conduct more than once," said the Marquis,"and may violate it again."
"It will not be in my person, then," answered the King; "for safeconduct have I none, but his own letter, calling for my aid in time ofneed. Two drops of my blood, I do believe, spilled on that letter,would raise a flame therewith in every noble bosom that would set halfthe land a-fire. But I fear not: kings have no right to fear. Myhonesty is my breastplate, my good friend; and the steel must be sharpindeed that will not turn its edge on that."
"And the hand must be backward indeed," said the Marquis, "that wouldrefuse its aid to such a heart. However, my lord, I give you mypromise, and I am sure that my son will give you his, that thefollowers of St. Real shall be in the field within a month from thisvery night. Willingly, too, would we promise that they should join theroyal cause; but, it is better, perhaps, as you have offered, that hewho leads them should go free, till he shall have spoken his feelingsfreely to the leaders of the League."
"So be it! so be it, then!" answered Henry. "I apprehend no change offeeling towards me. My cause is that of justice, of loyalty, and ofFrance. So long as I opposed your king in arms, I could hardly hopethat a St. Real would join me, however great the private friendshipmight be between us; but, now that his cause is mine, and that thesword once drawn to withstand his injustice is drawn to uphold histhrone, I know I shall meet no refusal. But I weary you, lordMarquis," he continued, rising; "and, good faith, I owe you no smallapology for troubling you with such matters at such a time. Yet, Iwill trust," he added, laying his hand once more on that of the sickman--"yet I will trust that this is not our last meeting by very many,and that I shall soon hear of you in better health."
The Marquis shook his head. "My lord," he said, "I am a dying man; andthough, perhaps, were the choice left to us, I would rather have diedon the battle-field, serving with the last drops of my old blood somenoble cause: yet, I fear not death, even here in my bed; where, tomost men, he is more terrible. I have lived, I trust, well enough notto dread death; and I have, certainly, lived long enough to be wearyof life. For the last ten years--though they have certainly been yearsof such health and strength as few old men ever know--yet, I havedaily found some fine faculty of this wonderful machine in which welive, yielding to the force of time. The ear has grown heavy and theeye grown dim, my lord; the sinews are weak and the joints are stiff.Thank Heaven! the great destroyer has left the mind untouched: but itis time that it should be separated from the earth to which it isjoined, and go back to God, who sent it forth. Fare you well, sir; andHeaven protect you! The times are evil in which your lot is cast; butif ever I saw a man who was fitted to bring evil times to good, it isyourself."
"Fare you well! fare you well, my good old friend!" answered Henry,grasping his hand; "and though I be a Huguenot, doubt not, St. Real,that we shall meet again."
"I doubt it not, my lord," replied the old man, "I doubt it not; and,till then, God protect your Majesty!"
Henry echoed the prayer, and quitted the sick man's chamber, followedby the young lord of St. Real. He suffered not his attendance long,however; but, retiring at once to rest, drank the sleeping cup withhis young friend, and sent him back to the chamber of his father. Hehad judged, and had judged rightly, that the end of the old Marquis ofSt. Real was nearer than his son
anticipated. After the King had lefthis chamber, he was visited by the surgeon and the priest, and thenagain slept for several hours. When he awoke there was no one but hisson by his bed-side, and he gazed upon him with a smile, which madethe young lord believe that he felt better.
"Are you more at ease, my father?" asked the young man, with revivinghopes.
"I am quite at ease, my dear Huon," replied his father. "I had hopedthat in that sleep I should have passed away; but, by my faith, I willturn round and try again, for I am drowsy still." Thus saying, heturned, and once more closing his eyes, remained about an hour insweet and tranquil slumber. At the end of that time, his son, whowatched him anxiously, heard a slight rustle of the bedclothes. Helooked nearer, but all was quiet, and his father seemed still asleep.There was no change either in feature or in hue; but still there wasan indescribable something in the aspect of his parent that made theyoung man's heart beat painfully. He gazed upon the quiet form beforehim--he listened for the light whisper of the breath; but all wasstill--the throbbing of the heart was over, the light of life had goneout! St. Real was glad that he was alone; for, had any other eye thanthat of Heaven been upon him, he might not have given way to thosefeelings which would have been painful to restrain. As it was, he weptfor some time in solitude and silence; and then, calling theattendants, proceeded to fulfil all those painful offices towards thedeceased which in those days were sadly multiplied. When these werefinished, the morning light was shining into the dull chamber of thedead; and St. Real, retiring to his own apartments, sent to announcehis loss to his cousin and to the King of Navarre. The first instantlyjoined him, and offered such consolation as he thought most likely tosoothe his cousin's mind. Henry of Navarre, however, was not in hischamber; and, on further inquiry, it was found that he had taken hisdeparture with the first ray of the morning light.