ANOTHER SPECIMEN OF POLITICS
From the day of that fatal execution, the feeble health of François II.
grew steadily worse.
Seven months later (at the end of November, 1560), the court being then
at Orléans, where the States-General had been convoked by the Duc de
Guise, the poor boy-king of seventeen was obliged to take to his bed.
Beside that bed of sorrow where Mary Stuart prayed and watched and wept,
a most interesting drama depended for its conclusion upon the life or
death of the son of Henri II.
The real question, although others were interested in its solution, lay
between a pale woman and a sinister-looking man, who were seated side by
side in the evening of December 4 a few steps from the sleeping invalid,
and from Mary, who was weeping silently at his pillow.
The man was Charles de Lorraine, the woman Catherine de Médicis.
The revengeful queen-mother, who had at first been as one dead after the
struggle which we have related at the accession of her son, had awakened
during the last eight months, since the "Tumult of Amboise."
This, in brief, is what she had done in the bitterness of her hatred
against the Guises: she had entered into a secret alliance with the
Prince de Condé and Antoine de Bourbon; she had effected a
reconciliation secretly with the old Constable de Montmorency. Nought
but hatred can cause hatred to be forgotten.
Her new and ill-assorted friends, urged on by her, had fomented
rebellion in various provinces, had aroused Dauphiné under Montbrun,
and Provence under the brothers Mouvans, and had caused an attempt to be
made upon Lyons by Maligny.
The Guises, on their side, were by no means asleep. They had assembled
the States-General at Orléans, and had taken care to have a majority
devoted to them.
Then, too, they had summoned the King of Navarre and the Prince de
Condé to attend the States-General, as was their right.
Catherine de Médicis sent warning after warning to the princes to
dissuade them from putting themselves in their enemy's power; but their
duty called them, and the Cardinal de Lorraine gave them the king's word
as a pledge of their security.
Therefore they came to Orléans.
The very day of their arrival Antoine de Navarre was consigned to a
certain house in the city where he was kept continually in sight, and
the Prince de Condé was cast into prison.
Then an extraordinary commission issued to try the prince; and he was
condemned to death at Orléans by the procurement of the Guises,--the
very man whose innocence the Duc de Guise himself at Amboise had
announced his willingness to answer for with his sword.
Only one or two signatures were still to be procured, which the
Chancellor l'Hôpital was delaying, before the sentence would be
executed.
The foregoing statement will serve to show how matters stood on the
evening of the 4th of December, as regards the party of the Guises, of
which Le Balafré was the arm and the cardinal the head, and the Bourbon
faction, of which Catherine de Médicis was the secret soul.
Everything depended, for both sides, upon the expiring breath of the
anointed youth.
If François II. could only live a few days longer, the Prince de Condé
would be executed, the King of Navarre might be accidentally slain in
some altercation, and Catherine de Médicis banished to Florence. So far
as the States-General were concerned, the Guises were masters, and if
necessary, kings.
If, on the other hand, the young king should die before his uncles were
relieved of their enemies, the struggle would begin again, with the
chances against them rather than in their favor.
Therefore what Catherine de Médicis and Charles de Lorraine were
waiting and watching for with such an anguish of interest on that cold
night of the 4th of December, in that apartment in the city of Orléans,
was not so much the life or death of their royal son and nephew as the
triumph or defeat of their cause.
Mary Stuart alone watched over her young, dearly loved husband without
thinking what loss his death might entail upon her.
However, we must not think that the bitter antagonism of the
queen-mother and the cardinal betrayed itself to outside observers in
their manners or their conversation. On the contrary, they had never
seemed to be more confiding or more affectionate to each other.
At the moment at which we look in upon them, taking advantage of
François's slumber, they were talking in a low voice and in the most
friendly way imaginable about their most secret interests and their
inmost thoughts.
For the better to conform to that Italian policy of which we have
already given specimens, Catherine had sedulously dissembled her
underhand proceedings, and Charles de Lorraine had always pretended to
know nothing of them.
Thus they had not ceased to converse as allies and as friends. They were
like two gamblers, each of whom cheats loyally for his own side, and who
openly use cogged dice against each other.
"Yes, Madame," the cardinal was saying,--"yes, that stubborn Chancellor
de l'Hôpital obstinately refuses to sign the decree for the prince's
death. Ah! you were indeed in the right, Madame, six months ago, to
oppose his succession to Olivier so vigorously! If I had only understood
you then!"
"What? is it absolutely impossible to overcome his resistance?" asked
Catherine, who had in reality instructed the chancellor to resist.
"I have tried flattery and threats," Charles de Lorraine replied, "and
have found him inflexible."
"Suppose Monsieur le Duc should try his hand?"
"Nothing will move that Auvergne mule," said the cardinal. "Besides, my
brother has declared that he does not propose to meddle in the affair at
all."
"It becomes embarrassing," remarked Catherine, secretly delighted beyond
expression.
"There is one way, however," said the cardinal, "by resorting to which
we can get along without all the chancellors in the world."
"Is there, indeed? What way is that?" cried the queen-mother, uneasily.
"To have the decree signed by the king."
"By the king!" echoed Catherine. "But can he do it? Has he the right?"
"Yes," replied the cardinal, "we have proceeded thus far in this very
matter by the advice of the best jurists, who have declared that the
matter may be pushed forward to judgment in spite of the prince's
refusal to reply."
"But what will the chancellor say?" cried Catherine, really alarmed.
"He will grumble, as he always does," replied the cardinal, calmly; "he
will threaten to resign the seals."
"And if he does really carry out his threat?"
"It will be doubly advantageous, for we shall be well rid of a most
inconvenient critic."
"When do you propose that this decree should be signed?" asked
Catherine, after a pause.
"To-night, Madame."
"And you will cause it to be executed--?"
"To-morrow."
The queen-mother absolutely shuddered, for the blow was sudden.
"To-night! to-morrow! you do not reflect," she replied. "The king is too
ill and weak, and his intellect is not clear enough to understand what
you mean to ask of him."
"There is no necessity that he should understand, provided that he
signs," retorted the cardinal.
"But his hand is not strong enough to hold a pen."
"It can be guided for him," taking keen delight in the alarm which he
saw depicted in the expression of his dear foe.
"Listen," said Catherine, very gravely. "I must give you a warning and
some good advice. My poor son's end is nearer than you think. Do you
know what Chapelain, the first physician, told me?--that he did not
think the king would be alive to-morrow evening, unless by a miracle."
"So much the more reason for us to hasten," said the cardinal, coldly.
"Yes," rejoined Catherine, "but if François II. is not alive to-morrow,
Charles IX. reigns; and the King of Navarre will perhaps be regent. What
a terrible reckoning would he demand for the infamous punishment of his
brother? Would you not be in your turn tried and condemned?"
"Oh, well, Madame, he who risks nothing has nothing!" cried the
cardinal, with angry warmth. "Besides, who says that Antoine de Navarre
will be appointed regent? Who says that this Chapelain is not mistaken?
Bah! the king is alive now!"
"Not so loud! not so loud, uncle!" said Mary Stuart, rising in fright.
"You will wake the king! See! you have waked him."
"Mary, where are you?" said the feeble voice of François.
"Here, always by your side, dear Sire," replied Mary.
"Oh, how I suffer!" groaned the poor youth. "My head is as if it were on
fire; and this pain in my ear is like a continual sword-thrust. Even in
my sleep I have continued to suffer. Ah! all is at an end with me; all
is at an end!"
"Don't say so! oh, don't say so!" replied Mary, struggling to restrain
her tears.
"My memory is failing," said François. "Have I received the Holy
Sacrament? I wish to do so as soon as possible."
"All your duties shall be fulfilled, dear Sire; do not be anxious about
them."
"I want to see my confessor, Monsieur de Brichanteau."
"He will be with you immediately," said Mary.
"Are prayers being said for me?" asked the king.
"I have hardly ceased since the morning."
"Poor dear Mary! Where is Chapelain?"
"In the next room, ready to answer your call. Your mother and my uncle
the cardinal are there also. Do you wish to see them, Sire?"
"No, no; none but you, Mary!" said the dying man. "Turn a little this
way--there--so that I may at least see you once more."
"Courage!" replied Mary. "God is so kind! and I pray to Him with such a
full heart."
"Oh, the pain!" moaned François. "I cannot see, and can scarcely hear.
Give me your hand, Mary."
"There! rest upon me," said Mary, soothingly, supporting the small pale
face of her husband upon her shoulder.
"My soul to God! my heart to thee, Mary! Forever! Alas! to die at
seventeen!"
"No, no! you shall not die!" cried Mary. "What ill have we done to God
on high that He should thus afflict us?"
"Do not weep, Mary," said the king. "We shall meet again above. I regret
nothing in this world but you. If I could carry you with me, I should be
glad to die. The journey to heaven is even more beautiful than that to
Italy; and then, too, I fear that without me you will never know any
joy. They will make you suffer,--you will be cold and lonely; they will
kill you, my poor dear heart! It is that which afflicts me much more
than death."
The king sank back upon his pillow exhausted, and maintained a dejected
silence.
"But you shall not die; you shall not die, Sire!" cried Mary. "Listen, I
have a great hope. One chance in which I have faith is left us."
"What do you mean?" Catherine de Médicis, drawing near in her amazement,
interrupted her.
"Yes," continued Mary Stuart, "the king may yet he and shall be saved.
Something within me tells me that all these physicians by whom he is
surrounded and wearied to death are ignorant and blind. But there is a
skilful man, learned and famous,--a man who preserved my uncle's life at
Calais--"
"Master Ambroise Paré?" suggested the cardinal.
"Master Ambroise Paré!" Mary repeated. "They say that this man ought
not to have the king's life in his hands, and would himself prefer not
to; that he is a heretic and accursed; and that even if he would accept
the responsibility of such a case, it ought not to be intrusted to him."
"That is very certain," said the queen-mother, scornfully.
"What! if I intrust it to him myself?" cried Mary. "Can a man of genius
be a traitor! A great man, Madame, is always a good man."
"But," said the cardinal, "my brother has not delayed thinking of
Ambroise Paré until to-day. He has already been approached."
"Yes, but who have been sent to him?" retorted Mary,--"those who took no
interest in the matter, or even his enemies, perhaps. But I sent a
trusted friend to him, and he will come."
"It will take some time for him to come from Paris," observed Catherine.
"He is on the way; in fact, he ought to have arrived," rejoined the
young queen. "The friend of whom I spoke promised to bring him here
to-day."
"Who is this mysterious friend, pray?" asked the queen-mother.
"Comte Gabriel de Montgommery, Madame."
Before Catherine had time to utter a word, Dayelle, Mary's first
lady-in-waiting, came in and said to her mistress,--
"Comte Gabriel de Montgommery is below, and awaits Madame's commands."
"Oh, let him come in! let him come in!" cried Mary, eagerly.