THE POET KING.
Not for two weeks did we have word or sign from Admiral de Coligny;
but at last a messenger came speedily for De Brésac, who followed
in haste to the Hôtel de Châtillon. The Admiral sought further
information. Then there was another long silence and our impatience was
not diminished when the report of the massacre got abroad and a rumor
came from Madrid that a vessel had reached Spain from San Augustin and
that the messengers of Menendez to King Philip had been received with
great good will and circumstance. I wished this business brought to a
favorable conclusion, but if naught were to come of it, I longed to
justify myself before Captain Hooper and would rather have sought other
employment at the Pelican in Plymouth than to dilly-dally at the French
Court.
Yet what we saw and learned in this great city of Paris was most
instructive. Through the good offices of M. de Teligny, and of
Coligny, I had been enabled to renew my costume; and Goddard had been
given a purse well-lined with pistoles, out of which he had bought
himself from a dealer in cast-off garments a most gaudy vesture of red
and yellow velvet and silk, these being the colors most to his liking.
He had a gray, high-pointed hat, of a bygone fashion, ornamented with a
wide-flowing plume; the breeches were most capacious and trimmed with
ribbons; the stockings were gray and the shoes were high, ornamented
with great flame-colored rosettes. His sword was of a most prodigious
length, and though hooked well up by his shoulder straps, clanked
and clattered upon the paving stones like that of a swaggerer of the
Reiters. Much of the time he spent below in the courtyard smoking and
conversing with La Chastro, the body-servant of our host, a roystering
man-at-arms who, second only to Goddard himself, had the most voluble
proficiency in camp language I had ever heard. There upon a bench in
the sun the two of them would sit during most of the day, the one
rolling out his roundest, mouth-filling speech, which the other would
set in some fashion into a language of his own. Goddard had soon cut
his hair short in the prevailing fashion, and by the end of a week his
upper lip was blue with stubble which, with elbow aloft, he vainly
strove to stroke and twist after the manner of the _raffinés_ he had
seen coming from the _levee_. When I, marveling and curious at his
wonderful jerkin and shadowy lip, called him to me and asked him how it
was that he was turning frog-eater upon so short occasion, he sent a
great whiff of smoke from his pipe, saying,
“’Tis a wench, sir,--a most comely wench who vows that ’til I grow a
beard upon my face, she will have none of me. ‘A man without hair upon
his face,’ says she, ‘is like a pasty without truffles.’ What think you
of that for a saucy minx?”
I went off to the fencing hall. Here Pompée, the maître d’armes to
the King, sometimes gave a showing of his art; and I picked up one or
two tricks of fence on the use of the dagger and had much interest in
some strokes which had come newly into vogue at court. Once when we
were returning thence, we came to a small hostel before the door of
which a crowd had gathered. From within there was a babel of voices
and much laughter. A familiar odor saluted my nostrils, for there was
Job Goddard teaching mine host the art of smoking. That ’twas not
altogether to the fancy of that worthy was readily to be seen by the
grimaces he made and the groans which he let forth from his throat. But
La Chastro was behind him, the point of his rapier touching the wide
breeches, prodding at intervals between the puffs to spur his energy.
Goddard, with his tall plume waving in the air, was standing in front
of him holding the reed within his lips and saying,
“Suck,--suck my little pasty-flipper! Thus only you may learn the
virtues of the tabac. ’Tis none so sweet as malvoisie, eh, my little
wine-bibber?” then, leaning forward, imitating the grimaces of the
rogue.
“Ventre de loup!” roared La Chastro. “So! you do not like us to make a
smoke in your house--eh? You say we shall not! Quarrelsome little pig
that you are! Bah! Now puff! puff! puff!”--and each time came a new
prod in the breeches, making mine host to writhe the more, though he
puffed and clung to the pipe which Job Goddard held, as though death
alone could separate them.
“_Parbleu!_” said Goddard, “puff, and puff again! ’Twill make ye proof
against the plague,--and other things. Also it is of much benefit to
the manners, taking away all fretting an’ excitement. ’Tis a way we
have among the Caribs, when all is in agreement. The pipe of peace is
what ye smoke, me lad. When ’tis finished, no more discussion will
there be atween us.”
But the little man had no further humor for discussion of any kind, for
he turned the color of lead, and, putting his two hands upon his wide
paunch in dismay, he spat forth the pipe and dashed frantically back
among his pots and pans, La Chastro aiding his departure with the toe
of his boot.
The on-lookers roared with merriment, and Goddard blew out some
marvelous smoke rings from his lungs, to the great delight of the
wondering crowd.
So, after all, there was much to amuse and entertain. M. de Teligny
took us out upon the streets at the hour of the afternoon when the
world was abroad, pointing out to us those of the courtiers who were
closest in the councils of the King. He showed us the beauties,--and
their lovers--and told us the number of duels fought over each, and
how, the greater the number, the greater the fame of the lady. Here
was one favorite who numbered her duels in the twenties; and there
another poor creature for whom but four men had fought, and no person
been killed. We saw little Comminges, Prince of _raffinés_, who had
more deaths to his credit--or debit--than any man in France. He had
once taken a man out to the Prè-aux-clercs. When they had uncloaked, he
had said to his cavalier, “Are you not Berny of Auvergne?” “No,” says
the other, “I am Villequier from Normandy.” “’Tis a pity to have been
mistaken,” said Comminges, “but I have challenged you, and of course
we must fight.” And he killed him with a beautiful feint and thrust in
tierce. We passed the house of Réné the Florentine, the poisoner for
Catherine de Medicis. We saw Thoré de Montmorency, “Little Captain
Burn-the-Benches”; His Grace the “Archbishop of Bottles,” who by reason
of the early hour was still walking with much steadiness; the Count
de Rochefoucauld, nicknamed the “Cabbage Killer,” who had ordered his
arquebusiers to cut a plot of cabbages to pieces, his poor sight taking
them for lanzknechts. There the Tuileries, just a-building; and here
the Louvre, where the King and the Queen-mother were holding court.
Once we saw the royal cavalcade returning from the hunt at the Château
de Madrid, and the jerkin of the King was covered with blood, it being
his delight to kill the stag with his own hands.
He seemed a young man fairly well set together, but with a head put
somewhat low and awkwardly between his shoulders, the neck craning
forward unpleasantly, giving a lowering look to a figure otherwise
agreeable. As to his face, the forehead protruded, and heavy ridges
above the eyes gave notice of a high temper; the nose was thick, and
the upper lip protruded, while the lower one fell away. The eyes seemed
of a greenish hue, and shifted from this side to that; the skin pale
yellow, which showed the habitual derangement to which he was prey. But
it was not a harsh face--only stupid and wistful--truthful, upon the
whole, but weak; most unlike Catharine, who once rode beside him--that
Jezebel from Italy, who thought that to be honest was to be a fool.
It was well into the month of January before word came again from
Coligny summoning us to the Louvre. We knew that long communications
had been sent by both Charles and Catherine de Medicis to Forquevaulx,
at Madrid, asking reparation for the slaughter at San Augustin. The
Duke d’Alava the Spanish Ambassador at Paris, had replied for his
sovereign that Philip considered the French colonists pirates and
intruders upon the domains of Spain, and that there could be no
reparation. The position of Admiral Coligny was unchanged, and there,
so far as we knew, the affair rested. Now however, we should perhaps
learn something more. The summons from Coligny excited hope.
De Brésac and I, with M. de Teligny, passed by way of the Rue d’Averon
and the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois to the Louvre, over the moat and
through a stone arch into a great courtyard. The place was alive with
men in armor, but M. de Teligny, having the entrée, was well known
to the cornet of the guard, and we walked up the wide stairs to the
Audience Chamber, where most of the general business of the King,
Queen-mother or the Admiral was carried forward. The names of M.
de Teligny and of De Brésac having been passed by the gentlemen in
waiting, we were presently shown into the anteroom of his Majesty’s
apartments, where Gaspard de Coligny was awaiting us.
He bore a most serious countenance as, dismissing those about him, he
arose to greet us. “The King is within,” he said, “and I have wished
him to see and speak with M. de Brésac and M. Killigrew. M. d’Alava has
been here this morning and there is news from Madrid.”
Not knowing what was desired of us, we entered the King’s apartment
after the great Admiral and stood inside the curtains. The room had
more the appearance of an armory than of an audience chamber, for
about the walls there hung halberds, pikes, spears, hunting horns,
knives and arquebuses; while upon the floor were saddles, a morion and
breastpieces, and a wolf-trap which his Majesty had but just devised.
Foils and masks lay upon a chair by the chimney-piece, before which a
great staghound bitch lay sleeping upon the hearth-rug. Here it was
that the King took his fencing lessons with M. Pompée and wrote verses
with M. Ronsard.
His Majesty, his back toward the door, sat before a table covered with
books and papers, hawk-bells and nets. He was leaning over, his elbow
upon a book, his chin in his hand, while his eyes in deep thought were
cast upward toward the ceiling. So deeply engrossed was he upon the
verses he was writing that he was not aware of our presence until the
Admiral, waiting a moment, went forward and spoke.
The King started from his reverie.
“Sire,” said Coligny.
“Ah, mon père,” he exclaimed, rising and stretching forward a hand. “It
is you? I was in a fine poetic frenzy, was I not?”
“Your Majesty has a ready gift.”
“Come, my Plato,” said he joyously, “you shall be the judge of how this
couplet runs:
“Pour maintenir la foy
Je suis belle et fidele.”
“But your Majesty----”
“Aux ennemies du roy
Je suis belle et cruelle.”
“’Tis for a new arquebus, monsieur, which the armorer has made me.
Think you not it has a glittering ring?”
“Your Majesty, Ronsard himself could not have invented better. But this
morning----”
“Think you so?”
“Sire, I have come this morning upon a State matter of great
importance.”
Charles dropped back into his chair.
“Matters of State! Matters of Court! Can I never get away from this
confusion?”
The Admiral paused a moment, motioning us forward.
“Sire, there is news from Madrid to-day, and these are the gentlemen
whom you wished to see, M. de Brésac, M. Killigrew and M. de Teligny.”
For the first time the King looked around toward us, smiling.
“Ah, M. de Teligny, I thought you boar-hunting in the South.”
“I did not go, Sire. A touch of the wound I had at Havre.”
“I have a great desire to hunt in the South.” And then petulantly,
“Well, well, mon père, what is it this morning?”
“The matter of these Huguenots in Florida, Sire.”
“I thought it would be upon some matter of religious concern,” he
muttered with a flash of ill-humor. “Catholic and Huguenot,--Huguenot
and Catholic,--I am sick of you both.” Then seeing that Coligny,
looking at his papers, remained grave and silent, the King sighed
deeply and seized the Admiral impetuously by the hand.
“Pardon, my brave Counselor. What is it that you will?”
“Your Majesty, this news from Madrid is serious. In spite of your
Majesty’s request of Philip of Spain, M. d’Alava has replied for the
second time that the blame of this massacre is upon the Huguenots
themselves. He says that the view of his Majesty of Spain is that
the blood of these Frenchmen is upon the soul of Coligny, Admiral of
France, and that he, and he alone, should be punished.”
“You!--Impossible!”
“Sire, you shall see. Here are other communications. One from
Forquevaulx, one from other survivors of the colony, and one from
relatives of the slain. Our Ambassador but repeats what D’Alava has
said and writes that so pleased is His Majesty of Spain with the acts
of this Menendez de Avilés, that he has conferred upon him the title of
Marquis of Florida.”
“Foi de gentilhomme! It cannot be so!” said the King.
“It is as I have said, your Majesty. The first Spanish ship to arrive
in the Biscayan ports brought some of the officers of San Augustin, and
they are to-day the heroes of the hour in the Spanish capital. They
also hold certain prisoners who were spared from the massacre, and
these too have petitioned you to secure their release. They are held as
pirates, which, as your Majesty well knows, they are not.”
“Jour de Dieu!” shouted Charles, rising to his feet. “I myself gave
this commission under my own private seal. It is an insult which my
brother of Spain offers me, messieurs, an insult--to honor so highly
a man who murders my people!” He walked up and down the floor, his
hands behind him, his brow clouded, the picture of resolution. Then by
a curious inconsistency, he leaned over the stag-hound which followed
him, patting it on the head and saying, “Is it not so, Lisette?” as
though matters of State had vanished from his memory.
Coligny turned impatiently.
“Sire, I have also the narration of other survivors and I would have
you talk with M. de Brésac.”
“Yes, yes, by all means let us hear M. de Brésac.” Whereupon, following
the direction of the Admiral, Brésac told again of the day upon the
sand-spit before the massacre, when Menendez had given Jean Ribault his
promise, under seal, to hold us as honorable prisoners of war; of our
desperate condition, of the surrender and of the martyrdom.
Through it all the King sat nervously pulling at his pen and looking
at us, his eyes shifting uneasily from the one to the other. Before
the tale was far advanced he had the appearance of one most _ennuyé_
who wished to have the audience at an end at the soonest possible
convenience. That he and the Admiral had been grievously and publicly
insulted was a matter most apparent; and yet all signs of anger had
disappeared from his manner, which was now that of a lad awkward and
ill at ease in the presence of a company whose thoughts and mission he
could not comprehend. Doubtless Coligny understood his mood better than
we, but for my part he seemed but as a child to deal with the great
national disgrace which was pending upon him if this disagreement with
the King of Spain could not be set speedily aright. But suddenly, the
horror of the deception came upon him as it had upon M. de Teligny. A
phrase or a gesture of De Brésac caught his attention, and he sprang
to his feet in the intensity of passion, striding up and down again,
saying over and over,
“It is monstrous! It is monstrous!”
He stopped as suddenly by the side of Coligny, putting his hand upon
the Admiral’s shoulder. When the Chevalier finished, he said: “It is
well, M. de Brésac, you have served the Admiral well--and you, M.
Killigrew. You may be sure that this matter is not ended here.” And
then to Coligny, “Did you not say, mon père, that there were other
reports of this unfortunate colony?”
“Yes, sire, and I will read.”
He seated himself and began, while Brésac and I, uncertain whether the
survivors were of the ships or of the fort, strained forward to listen.
It was the narrative of Nicholas Challeux, the carpenter. He spoke at
some length of the happenings within the fort and of the attack by
the Spaniards which came at an early hour in the morning--at dawn in a
driving rain-storm. He himself was surprised going to his duty, with
naught but a clasp-knife in his hand. Seeing no other means of escape
he turned his back and leaped over the palisade.
“I know not how it was,” said he, “unless by the grace of God, that my
strength was redoubled, old man as I am and gray-headed, a thing which
I could not have done at any other time, for the rampart was raised
eight or nine feet.... Having then lost all hope of seeing our men
rally, I resigned all my senses to the Lord. Recommending myself to His
mercy, grace and favor, I threw myself into the wood, for it seemed to
me that I could find no greater cruelty among the savage beasts than
that which I had seen shown toward our people.... By and by I came upon
the old crossbow-maker, who was hiding in terror among some bushes,
with two gentlewomen, Madame de la Notte and her daughter----”
“Diane!”
I started forward, with a cry which I could not restrain. It seemed as
though all my life-blood was ebbing out of my finger-ends.
De Brésac put a hand upon my arm, while the Admiral looked up from his
papers sharply.
“You know----” he began.
“Yes, monsieur. The wife and daughter of the Vicomte de la Notte.”
“I thought him at Villeneuve,” said the King.
“Sire, he was with Ribault,” I said, my heart bursting.
Coligny still paused.
“For the love of God, sir, read on,” I exclaimed, forgetting the
Presence and everything save that we were there, speaking of the woman
I loved--and that she might still be alive.
The King smiled a little.
“You are impatient, monsieur,” he said, not unkindly.
“--Madame and Mademoiselle de la Notte,” continued the Admiral, “who
had been upon their guard and had fled to the woods through a lower
casement at the first sound of danger. The rain was coming down in
torrents, but these women hid themselves in the hollow of an oak tree.
Madame de la Notte could go no further, for she was terrified and sick
unto death. I threw some bark and brush-wood before the opening to the
tree, but heard the sounds of the Spaniards coming and so fled away
toward the sea in company with the crossbow-maker, who was weeping and
wringing his hands----”
“The coward!” said De Brésac.
“I presently descried others, and came upon the artist Le Moyne and
a Flemish soldier carrying a woman who had been wounded in the
breast. Then after toiling through a deep swamp we met Captain Réné
de Laudonnière, with whom we struggled through the marshes in great
distress to the vessel of Captain Mallard.”
The Admiral paused, scanning the document. “Um--ah. The remainder deals
with the voyage to Swansea in Wales, and is of no importance.”
“By my faith! Nor is any of it, save as information. ’Twas a most
scurvy trick to lock those gentlewomen up to die in an oak tree. Your
carpenter could better have learnt gallantry from the hardy Flemish
soldier whom he is at pains to describe.”
“And yet ’tis just such a place that these devils might overlook,”
replied Coligny. “Réné de Laudonnière, who has sent me his report----”
“Ah, mon père,” said the King, rising abruptly. “Shall you not spare us
further reports this morning? It will all be looked to in good time.
You shall prepare a plan and I will follow it. Will that please you?”
And then gaily, “As for me, this morning, mon brave,--ah! I have so
inventive a humor that not less than three inspirations have come to me
while I have listened. My dear Ronsard will be here within the minute
and I have a sonnet which I must write to him.” And then turning to us,
“Messieurs, you may be sure that nothing will be left undone to secure
the punishment of this Menendez de Avilés for the insult which he has
offered me and the people of France.”
And so we bowed ourselves out, I a prey to violent emotion, De Brésac
not knowing whether the King were insincere or only a fool--M. de
Teligny sure that he was both.