Anxious to divert my thoughts from what I hoped was only a temporary
evil, I determined, accompanied by Charles, to make a tour of some of
the cities of Germany. Dresden was the capital to which I was most
desirous of conducting him. Maurice, duke of Saxony, who held his court
there, and who was now only twenty-three years of age, was incomparably
the most accomplished prince of the empire. Desirous as I was that my
only son should fill a distinguished career, I thought I could not
better prepare him for the theatre of his native country, than by thus
initiating him beforehand in scenes of distinction and greatness.
He was delighted with his tour. We had not proceeded many leagues from
Constance, before, indulging in the bent of my mind, I laid aside
the humbleness of our appearance, and the obscure style in which we
travelled; and having procured a numerous cavalcade of horses and
servants, I set forward with considerable magnificence. We passed
through Munich, Ratisbon, and Prague. At Munich we found the court of
the elector palatine; the diet of the empire was sitting at Ratisbon,
when we arrived at that city. Charles had been almost entirely a
stranger to every thing princely and magnificent from the time he was
nine years of age; and he was now exactly at that period of human life
when external appearances are apt to make the strongest impression.
To him every thing that occurred seemed like transportation into a
new world. The figure we made procured us, as strangers, unquestioned
admission into every circle. We mixed with princes, ourselves in garb
and figure confounded with those we saw. I had lived too much and too
long in the most splendid society, to find difficulty in resuming the
unembarrassed and courtly manners which I had for years laid aside;
and Charles might be said to see his father in a new character.
Novelty prompted his admiration; he was intoxicated with wonder. His
disposition had always led him to bold and adventurous conceptions;
nothing less than an imperious sense of duty could have restrained
him from quitting our cottage, and casting himself upon the world in
search of honour and distinction. His generous heart had beat to burst
away from the obscurity of his station; and it was with impatience
and discontent that he looked forward to the life of a swain. Yet he
knew not how to break through the obstacles that confined him. It was
therefore with transports of pleasure that he saw them vanishing as of
themselves, and the career of glory opening, as if by enchantment, to
his eager steps.
The court of Dresden was infinitely more delightful to him than the
court of Munich, or the imperial display at Ratisbon. Here Charles
saw a young prince in the flower of his age, whose talents and spirit
rendered him the universal object of attention and adoration. He
remarked, in the fire of his eyes, the vivacity of his gestures, and
the grandeur of his port, something inexpressibly different from those
princes, of whom it is necessary that their rank should be announced
to you by some extrinsic circumstance, that you may not mistake them
for a merchant’s clerk or a city magistrate. The sentiment that he
breathed, as it were instinctively, as we returned from the first time
of our seeing duke Maurice, was, “At twenty-three years of age may I,
in appearance, accomplishments, and spirit, resemble this man!”
Here I was desirous of making a longer stay than at the cities through
which we had previously passed, and of procuring for my son some
personal intercourse with this great ornament of the age. I judged
this to be the more easy, as, in our first visit to the palace, I had
perceived some French noblemen of the Protestant persuasion, who had
resorted to the duke’s court in search of employment. They appeared not
to know me; but that was little to be wondered at, considering that I
had been seven years absent from my country, and that the calamities by
which I had been overtaken more than once during that period, might be
supposed to have produced a greater effect upon me than the mere lapse
of years would have done. Among the rest I remarked Gaspar de Coligny,
who was only twenty-one years of age at the time I quitted France,
and had then been remarked as one of the most promising young men his
country had to boast. His stay here was expected to be short; his
hopes in his own country, from the greatness of his connections, were
of the highest class; and he had only come to Dresden at the earnest
invitation of duke Maurice, who entertained an ardent affection for
him. My heart led me towards him; policy concurred in dictating the
application, as, if I were fortunate enough to gain his favour, my son
could not have a friend better qualified either to form his character
or forward his advancement.
I wrote to Coligny to announce my request to him, and in a few hours
after the delivery of my letter that young nobleman came in person
to wait on me. He informed me that he had done so, because he had
something of delicacy to mention, which he did not choose to trust to
the intermission of a third person, and upon which, as he hoped I could
remove his scruple, he did not like even to bestow the formality of
putting it on paper.
“I am a gentleman of France,” said Coligny; “you will excuse my
frankness. I am a gentleman of France; you will not wonder at the
niceness of my honour. Mixing in society, I do not pretend minutely to
investigate the character of every person with whom I converse; but
what you ask of me obliges me to consult my understanding, and enquire
into facts. I cannot consent to vouch for any man’s character to
another, till I have paid some attention to the ground upon which that
character rests.
“I remember the count de St. Leon with pleasure and advantage at the
court of my own sovereign. Every one admired his accomplishments, his
gallantry, and his learning; every one spoke of him with respect.
Unfortunate circumstances, as we all understood, deprived you of your
patrimony; that is nothing to me; I respect a nobleman in misfortune,
as much as when he is surrounded with wealth and splendour. You retired
into voluntary exile; I heard, with great grief, of some subsequent
calamities that have overtaken you. But, here in Saxony, I see you
resuming all your former splendour, and coming forward with the
magnificence of a prince. Other of your countrymen have remarked it,
as well as myself, and feel themselves at a loss to account for what
they see.
“Excuse me, count! by your application to me, you oblige me to speak
freely. I dare say you can clear up the difficulty, and account for
this second revolution in your fortune, upon which I shall then be
the first to congratulate you. I cannot suspect a man, with your high
descent and the illustrious character you formerly maintained, of any
thing dishonourable. But you have not sufficiently considered the
account we all owe to one another, and the clearness of proceeding we
are obliged to maintain, not only to our own hearts, but in the face
of the world. The present occasion is, I trust, fortunate for you;
and, when you have assisted me in complying with the rules by which
every honourable man governs himself, I shall be eager to publish your
justification, and render you all the service in my power.”
I was ready to burst with astonishment and vexation during this
representation of Coligny. I could feel my colour change from pale to
red, and from red to pale. I could only answer with suffocation and
inward rage, that I was much obliged to him; I would consider what he
said; I would acquaint him with my justification; and, whenever it was
made, he might be assured it should be an ample one.--I was cautious
as to what I uttered; I could not immediately foresee what it was
eligible, or what it was possible, to do; and I was resolved that I
would not, by an idle or hasty expression, preclude myself, in a matter
of so much moment, from the benefits of future deliberation. If what
I had just heard had come from any other person, I should probably
have despised it; but I felt at once that Gaspar de Coligny might be
considered, in a case of this sort, as the representative of all that
was most honourable and illustrious in my native country.--Finding that
I was indisposed to any further communication on the subject, he took a
polite leave, and departed.
I was no sooner alone than I felt myself overwhelmed with mortification
and shame. I had rejoiced in the bequests of the stranger, because I
regarded them as the means of restoring me to splendour, and replacing
my children in the situation to which they were entitled by their
birth. Was that which I had regarded as the instrument of their glory,
to become the medium of their ignominy and disgrace? I had suffered all
other misfortunes, but the whisper of dishonour had never been breathed
against me. I was a son of honour, descended of a race of heroes, and
cradled in the lap of glory and fame. When we quitted Paris in the
year 1537, my incomparable wife had set to sale our entire property,
resolved that, though driven into exile, we would not leave it in the
power of the meanest individual to controvert the sacred attention we
yielded to every just obligation. Since that time I had declined from
the splendour of rank to the humble situation of a rustic, cultivating
my little property with my own hands; nay, I had even, for a short
time, hired myself as a labourer in the garden of the bishop of
Constance. But the same disdain of every thing disgraceful had followed
me to my cottage and my truckle bed, which I had originally learned in
the halls of chivalry and the castle of my ancestors. Accordingly I had
uniformly retained the same honourable character and spotless fame.
St. Leon, the virtuous cottager, had in nothing blemished the name of
St. Leon, surrounded with glory in the siege of Pavia. Often, and with
pride, had I pointed out this circumstance to my son, adding, Wherever
fortune calls you, for whatever scenes you may be reserved, remember
that your father was unfortunate, but that through life he never acted
a deed nor conceived a thought, that should stain your manly cheeks
with the blush of shame! I stand before you a culprit, as having
robbed you of your patrimony, but I have preserved for you entire the
inheritance of our honour!
This had been the first lesson imprinted upon my infant mind. All other
possessions I had ever held cheap and worthless in comparison with that
of an illustrious name. My indignation at the attack it now sustained
was boundless. The more I thought, the more intolerable it appeared. I
was impatient and furious, like a lion struggling in the toils. I could
with joy have trampled under my feet whoever aspersed me. I could have
wantoned in blood, and defied my adversaries to mortal combat. Alas,
all my fury was useless here! It was no tale whispered in the dark
that I had to contend with; it was the commentary of the world upon
incontestable facts. Though a hecatomb of souls should be sacrificed
at the shrine of my blasted name, the facts would still remain, the
mystery still require to be solved. Coligny, the virtuous Coligny,
had made no observations on the circumstances he mentioned; he merely
proposed a difficulty, and waited my answer.
I was called upon to exercise the whole of my deliberative powers as
to the reply which was to be returned, or the conduct to be held, upon
the question of Coligny. Every thing I most valued was now at issue;
and a false step taken under the present circumstances could never
be retrieved. I had another sort of party to deal with here, than
when I had told Marguerite the tale of the stranger and his legacy.
Nothing would pass now, but what bore an open, fair, and unequivocal
appearance. I must vent no assertion that could not bear to be sifted
to the bottom, and that did not fully accord with all the vouchers with
which it could be collated. I had written to Marguerite, immediately
after launching into the expense with which our tour had been attended,
that I had received an unexpected acquisition from the death of a
relation of my own family in France. I knew that the story of the three
thousand crowns would no longer account for the style in which I was
proceeding, and this fabrication suggested itself upon the spur of the
moment. I hated to think of the difficulties in the way of explanation
in which I was involved; I abhorred the system of falsehood I was
driven to practise. It did not occur to me at the time, infatuated as
I was! that I should have occasion to account for this accession of
wealth to any one out of my own family. Marguerite, I well knew, had no
correspondence in France, nor therefore any obvious means of verifying
or refuting this second deception. But such a story could not be told
to noblemen of France, without being instantly liable to be compared
with known facts, and eventually investigated upon the spot where the
scene was laid. Marguerite herself, I well knew, had listened with
incredulity to the explanation I had made, and the alleged legacy of
the stranger; what could I expect from indifferent hearers? They
might not all possess her good sense and sagacity in judging; but they
were destitute of that personal kindness and partiality which were
calculated to induce her to credit whatever I affirmed. Most men have a
malignant pleasure in the detection of specious pretences, in humbling
the importunate superiority that obscures their claims, and removing
the rival who might otherwise acquire the prize of which they are in
pursuit.
My mind was still torn and distracted with these contemplations, when
in the afternoon of the same day on which I had received the visit of
Coligny, my attention was suddenly roused by the abrupt entrance of
my son into the chamber where I was sitting. He opened the door with
a hurried action as he entered, and, having closed it impetuously
after him, advanced directly towards me. He then stopped himself; and,
turning from me, I could perceive a rush of crimson in his face like
that of a man suffocated. A passion of tears succeeded that shook his
frame, and sufficiently proved that his feelings had sustained some
extraordinary shock. My whole soul was alarmed at what I saw; and,
following him as he retired to the other side of the room, in the
gentlest accents I endeavoured to soothe him, while I enquired with
earnestness and trepidation into the cause of his grief.