HOW THE CONSTABLE SAID HIS PATER NOSTER
That same day, in the afternoon, while the jousting and holiday-making
was in progress at Tournelles, the Constable de Montmorency was
completing his examination, in Diane de Poitiers's closet at the Louvre,
of one of his secret agents.
The spy was of medium height and swarthy complexion; he had black hair
and eyes, an aquiline nose, a forked chin, and projecting lower lip, and
his back was slightly crooked. He bore a most striking resemblance to
Martin-Guerre, Gabriel's faithful squire. Any one seeing them separately
might well have mistaken either for the other; and he who saw them
standing side by side would have taken them for twin brothers, so
exactly alike were they in every respect. They had the same features and
the same figure, and were apparently of the same age.
"And the courier, what did you do with him, Master Arnauld?" asked the
constable.
"Monseigneur, I put him out of the way. It had to be done; but it was in
the night and in the forest of Fontainebleau. The murder was laid at the
door of robbers. I am very careful."
"Never mind, Master Arnauld; it is a very serious matter, and I blame
you for being so ready to play with your knife."
"I shrink at nothing when Monseigneur's service is at stake."
"That's all very well; but once for all, Master Arnauld, remember that
if you allow yourself to steal, I will allow you to hang," said the
constable, dryly and rather contemptuously.
"Never fear, Monseigneur; I am a man of discretion and foresight."
"Now let's see the letter."
"Here it is, Monseigneur."
"Very well! unseal it without breaking the seal, and read it. For
Heaven's sake, do you suppose for a moment that I am going to read it?"
Master Arnauld du Thill took from his pocket a sharp little chisel, and
cut carefully around the seal, and unfolded the letter. He turned at
once to the signature.
"Monseigneur sees that I was not mistaken. The letter addressed to the
Cardinal de Guise is from Cardinal de Caraffa, as that wretched courier
was simpleton enough to tell me."
"Read it, then, by the crown of thorns!" cried Anne de Montmorency.
Master Arnauld read as follows,--
"MONSEIGNEUR AND DEAR FRIEND,--Just three words of importance. In the
first place, in accordance with your request, the Pope will let the
affair of the divorce drag slowly along, and will put François de
Montmorency off from consistory to consistory (he arrived at Rome
yesterday) before finally refusing the dispensation that he solicits."
"_Pater noster_!" growled the constable. "May the Devil take them, all
these red hats!"
Arnauld continued his reading:--
"In the second place, Monsieur de Guise, your illustrious brother, after
having taken Campli, is holding Civitella in check. But before we
resolve to send him the men and supplies that he asks, and which we can
only give him at a great sacrifice, we must at least be assured that you
will not call him away to serve in Flanders, as the report goes is
likely to be the case. Just see that he remains with us, and his
Holiness will make up his mind to an extensive issue of indulgences,
hard though the times may be, to assist Monsieur François de Guise in
soundly whipping the Duke of Alva and his haughty master."
"_Adveniat tuum regnum_," growled Montmorency. "We will remember that,
body and blood! We will remember that, even if we have to call the
English into France. Go on, Arnauld, go on, by the Mass!"
The spy resumed:--
"In the third place, I have to announce to you, Monseigneur, to
encourage you and support you in your endeavors, the speedy arrival at
Paris of a messenger from your brother, Vicomte d'Exmès, who is
bringing to Henri the flags conquered in this Italian campaign. He is
about to set out, and will arrive no doubt at the same time that my
letter does, which, however, I have chosen to intrust to our regular
courier; his presence, and the glorious trophies which he will offer to
the king, will assuredly be of great service to you in conducting your
negotiations in every direction."
"_Fiat voluntas tua_," cried the constable, in a perfect fury of rage.
"We will give this ambassador from hell a fine reception. I commend him
to you, Arnauld. Is that the end of that cursed letter?"
"Yes, Monseigneur, all but the usual complimentary words, and the
signature."
"Good! you see that there is some work cut out for you, my fine fellow."
"I ask for nothing better, Monseigneur, with a little money thrown in to
assist in obtaining good results."
"Here are a hundred ducats, knave. You must always feel the money in
your hand."
"But I spend so much in Monseigneur's service."
"Your vices cost you more than my service does, you scoundrel."
"Oh, how mistaken Monseigneur is in me! I dream only of leading a quiet
life, in happiness and affluence, somewhere in the country, with my wife
and children about me, and passing the rest of my days in peace, like an
honest father and husband."
"A most charmingly virtuous and bucolic picture, to be sure! Oh, well,
then, mend your ways, put by a few doubloons, and marry, and you will be
in a fair way to realize these dreams of domestic felicity. What
prevents you?"
"Ah, Monseigneur, my fiery spirit! And then what woman would ever have
me?"
"Meanwhile, and pending your hymeneal plans, suppose you seal that
letter again very carefully, and carry it to the cardinal. You must
disguise yourself, you understand, and say that your dying comrade
enjoined upon you--"
"You may trust me, Monseigneur. The resealed letter and the substituted
courier will seem more authentic than the real articles."
"The deuce take it!" said Montmorency; "we forgot to take down the name
of this plenipotentiary whose coming is announced. What is he called?"
"Vicomte d'Exmès, Monseigneur."
"Ah, yes, that was it, villain. Now see that you remember the name.
Well! who dares to interrupt me again?"
"Pardon, Monseigneur," said the constable's fourrier, entering. "A
gentleman arrived from Italy is asking to see the king on behalf of the
Duc de Guise; and I thought I ought to advise you of it, especially
since he was very anxious to speak with the Cardinal de Lorraine. He
calls himself Vicomte d'Exmès."
"That was very proper of you, Guillaume," said the constable. "Show the
gentleman in here. And do you, Master Arnauld, take your place there
behind that hanging, and don't let slip this opportunity of having a
good look at the man with whom no doubt you will have some business to
transact. It is for your benefit that I receive him, so keep your eyes
and ears open."
"I am quite sure, Monseigneur," replied Arnauld, "that I have already
come across him in my travels. But no matter! It is just as well to be
certain of it. Vicomte d'Exmès, is it?"
The spy slipped behind the hangings, as Guillaume appeared, ushering
Gabriel into the room.
"Pardon me," said the young man, politely saluting the old constable;
"but to whom have I the honor of addressing myself?"
"I am the Constable de Montmorency, Monsieur; what is your will?"
"Pardon me again," said Gabriel; "but what I have to say I must say to
the king."
"But you know that his Majesty is not at the Louvre, do you not? and in
his absence--"
"I will follow his Majesty or await his return," Gabriel interposed.
"His Majesty is at the fêtes at the Tournelles, and will not return
before evening. Don't you know that the marriage of Monseigneur le
Dauphin is being celebrated to-day?"
"No, Monseigneur; I only learned of it on my way hither. But I came by
way of the Rue de l'Université and the Pont au Change, and did not pass
through the Rue St. Antoine."
"Then you ought to have followed the crowd. That would have shown you
the way to the king."
"But I have not yet had the honor of being presented to his Majesty. I
am an entire stranger at court. I hoped to find Monseigneur le Cardinal
de Lorraine at the Louvre. It was his Eminence for whom I inquired, and
I can't imagine why I have been conducted to you, Monseigneur."
"Monsieur de Lorraine," said the constable, "loves these sham fights,
being a churchman; but I, who am a man of the sword,--I care only for
real fighting, and that is why I am at the Louvre, while Monsieur de
Lorraine is at the Tournelles."
"If you please, Monseigneur, I will go and seek him there, then."
"But, _mon Dieu_, stay and rest a bit, Monsieur; for you seem to have
arrived from a distance,--from Italy, no doubt, since you entered the
city by the Rue de l'Université."
"From Italy, in truth, Monseigneur. I have no reason to conceal the
fact."
"You come from the Duc de Guise, perhaps? Well, what is he about down
there?"
"Permit me, Monseigneur, to inform his Majesty in the first instance,
and to take my leave to the end that I may fulfil that duty."
"So be it, Monsieur, since you are in such haste. No doubt," he added
with an assumed air of pleasantry, "you are in a hurry to renew your
acquaintance with some fair lady or other. I'll warrant that you are in
haste and fear at the same time. Come, now, isn't that so, my young
sir?"
But Gabriel put on his coldest and most serious expression, and replied
only with a low bow, as he left the apartment.
"_Pater noster qui es in cœlis_" snarled the constable, when the door
had closed behind Gabriel. "Does this cursed fop imagine that I wanted
to make advances to him, to win him over to my side, perchance, or to
corrupt him possibly? As if I didn't know perfectly well what he is
going to say to the king! No matter! if I fall in with him again, he
shall pay me dear for his unsociable airs and his defiant insolence! Ho,
there, Master Arnauld! Come, come! Where is the blackguard? Vanished
too, by the cross! Everybody seems to have taken on a fit of stupidity
to-day. The Devil seize them! _Pater noster_!"
While the constable was thus venting his ill-humor in curses and _Pater
nosters_, as his wont was, Gabriel, on his way out of the Louvre, was
passing through a rather dark gallery, when to his great amazement he
saw his squire, Martin-Guerre, standing near the door, although he had
ordered him to await him in the courtyard.
"Is it you, Master Martin?" said he. "So you have come to meet me! Very
well! Go you ahead with Jérôme, and wait for me with the flags well
wrapped up at the corner of the Rue St. Catherine on the Rue St.
Antoine. Perhaps Monseigneur le Cardinal would prefer that we should
present the flags to the king on the spot, and in the presence of the
whole court assembled at the jousting. Christopher will hold my horse
and bear me company. Go on! you understand me, don't you?"
"Yes, Monseigneur, I know what I wanted to know," replied Martin-Guerre.
And he started down the staircase ahead of Gabriel with an alacrity
which augured well for the speedy execution of his commission. Imagine
Gabriel's extreme surprise, when he came out more slowly and like one
who dreamed, to find his squire still in the court, and now apparently
terrified and pale as a ghost.
"Well, Martin, what is it, and what is the matter with you?" he asked
him.
"Ah, Monseigneur, I have just seen him; he passed right near me this
very moment, and spoke to me."
"Who, pray?"
"Who? Why, who but the devil, the ghost, the phantom, the monster, the
other Martin-Guerre?"
"Still this madness. Martin! Are you dreaming as you stand there?"
"No, no, indeed I was not dreaming. He spoke to me, Monseigneur, I tell
you; he stopped in front of me, turned me to stone with his wizard's
look, and said to me, laughing his infernal laugh, 'So we are still in
Vicomte d'Exmès's service, are we?' Note the plural, 'we are,'
Monseigneur; 'and we have brought from Italy the flags taken in the
field by Monsieur de Guise?' I said yes, in spite of myself, for he
fascinated me. How does he know all this, Monseigneur? And he went on:
'Let us not be afraid, for are we not friends and brothers?' And then he
heard your footsteps approaching, Monseigneur, and he added, with a
diabolical irony which made my hair stand on end, just these words: 'We
shall meet again, Martin-Guerre; we shall meet again.' And he
disappeared through that little wicket, perhaps, or more likely into the
wall."
"You poor fool!" said Gabriel. "How could he have had the necessary time
to say and do all this since you left me up there in the gallery?"
"I, Monseigneur! I haven't stirred from this spot, where you ordered me
to await you."
"It must have been another, then; and if not to you to whom have I just
been speaking?"
"Most certainly to the other. Monseigneur; to my double, my ghost."
"Poor Martin!" said Gabriel, compassionately, "are you in pain? Doesn't
your head ache? Perhaps we have walked too far in the hot sun."
"Oh, yes!" said Martin-Guerre, "I see that you fancy that I am
wandering, do you not? But a sure proof that I am not mistaken,
Monseigneur, is that I don't know a single word of the orders that you
think you gave me."
"You must have forgotten them, Martin," said Gabriel, gently. "Well,
then, I will repeat them, my good fellow. I told you to go and wait for
me with the flags in the Rue St. Antoine at the corner of the Rue St.
Catherine. Jérôme will accompany you, and I will keep Christopher with
me; don't you remember now?"
"Pardon, Monseigneur; but how can you expect me to remember what I never
knew?"
"At all events, you know it now, Martin," said Gabriel. "Come, let us
take our horses again at the gates, where our people ought to be waiting
with them, and then be off at once. To the Tournelles!"
"I obey, Monseigneur. The amount of it is that you have two squires; but
I am very glad at least that I have not two masters."
The lists for the formal celebration had been laid out across the Rue
St. Antoine from the Tournelles to the royal stables. They were in the
form of a large square, bordered on each side by scaffolding filled with
spectators. At one end were the queen and the court; at the other end
was the entrance to the lists where the participants in the games were
waiting; the general public filled the two remaining galleries.
When, after the marriage ceremony and the banquet which immediately
succeeded it were at an end, the queen and court, about three in the
afternoon, took their places on the seats reserved for them, vivas and
shouts of joy resounded on all sides.
But this noisy jubilation caused the fête to be marred by an accident
at its very beginning. The horse of Monsieur d'Avallon, one of the
captains of the Guards, terrified by the uproar, reared and leaped into
the arena, and his rider, unhorsed by the shock, hit his head a terrible
blow against one of the wooden barriers which made the enclosure, and he
was taken up half dead, and given over to the care of the surgeons in an
almost hopeless condition.
The king was much moved by this sad casualty; but his passion for games
and jousting soon got the better of his sorrow.
"Poor Monsieur d'Avallon," said he, "and such a devoted subject! Let us
hope at least that he will be well looked after."
And then he added,--
"Come! the races for the ring can begin at any time."
The game of the ring of that epoch was much more complicated and
difficult than the one that we know. The crutch from which the ring was
suspended was placed almost two thirds of the way down the lists. It was
necessary to ride at a hand gallop the first third, and at a full gallop
the second third, and while going at this high rate of speed to carry
off the ring on the end of the lance. But the lance must not be allowed
to touch the body anywhere; it must be held horizontally with the elbow,
high above the head. The game was ended by riding around the arena at a
trot. The prize was a diamond ring offered by the queen.
Henri II., on his white steed, magnificently caparisoned in gold and
velvet, was the most superb and most graceful cavalier of all. He
carried and handled his lance with admirable grace and precision, and
hardly ever missed the ring. But Monsieur de Vieilleville pressed him
close; and there was a moment when it seemed as if the prize would go to
him. He had two rings more than the king, and but three remained to be
taken; but Monsieur de Vieilleville, like an accomplished courtier,
missed them all three by extraordinary ill luck, and the prize was
awarded to the king.
As he received the ring, he hesitated a moment, and his look turned
regretfully toward Diane de Poitiers; but the gift was offered by the
queen, and it was his bounden duty to present it to the new dauphine,
Mary Stuart, the bride of the day.
"Well!" he asked, in the interval which followed this first contest,
"are there any hopes of saving Monsieur d'Avallon's life?"
"He still breathes, Sire," was the reply; "but there is almost no chance
that he will ever regain consciousness."
"Alas!" said the king, "let us have the gladiators' contest now."
This gladiators' contest was a mock combat with passades and
manœuvring, quite new, and a great curiosity in those days; but which
would have no special interest, probably, for the imagination of the
spectator of our time, or of the readers of this book. We beg to refer
to the pages of Brantôme those who are curious to read about the
marches and counter-marches of these twelve gladiators, "of whom six
were clad in white satin, and six in crimson satin, made up according to
the style in vogue in ancient Rome." All of which should be of great
historical interest in an age when local coloring had not been invented.
This fine contest came to an end amid general applause, and the
necessary preparations were made for beginning the stake-race.
At the court end of the lists several stakes five or six feet long were
stuck into the earth at regular intervals. The rules required that the
contestants should ride at a hand-gallop in and out among these
improvised trees in every direction, without missing or omitting a
single one. The prize was a bracelet of marvellous workmanship.
Out of eight courses that were run, the honors remained with the king in
three and with Monsieur le Colonel-Général de Bonnivet in a like
number. The ninth and last was to be the decisive one; but Monsieur de
Bonnivet was no less respectful than Monsieur de Vieilleville had been;
and notwithstanding the very willing disposition of his horse, he came
in third, and again Henri won the prize.
This time the king sat down beside Diane de Poitiers, and put upon her
arm without concealment the bracelet he had received.
The queen turned pale with rage.
Gaspard de Tavannes, who was just behind her, leaned forward and
whispered in Catherine de Médicis's ear,--
"Madame, follow me with your eyes, and see what I am going to do."
"And what is it that you are going to do, my good Gaspard?" said the
queen.
"To cut off Madame de Valentinois's nose," replied Tavannes, with the
utmost gravity and seriousness.
He was just about to leave her, when Catherine, half terrified and half
delighted, held him back.
"But, Gaspard, do you realize that it will be your destruction?"
"I do, Madame; but I will save the king and France!"
"Thanks, Gaspard," replied Catherine; "you are a valiant friend no less
than a rough soldier. But I command you to be still, Gaspard, and have
patience."
"Patience." In truth, that was the watchword by which Catherine de
Médicis seemed to have ordered her life up to that time. She, who
subsequently was so forward to take her place in the very first rank,
had not yet appeared to have any ambition to emerge from the obscurity
of the second. She bided her time. And yet she was at this time in the
full bloom of a beauty of which Sieur de Bourdeille has left us most
minute details; but she sedulously avoided all parade, and it is
probably to this modesty that she owed the utter absence of slander in
relation to her during her husband's lifetime. There was no one but the
brute of a constable who would have dared to call the king's attention
to the fact that the ten children that Catherine de Médicis had
bestowed on France after ten years of sterility were very little like
their father. No other person would have been bold enough to breathe a
word against the queen.
It was always Catherine's custom to appear, as she did on this day, not
even to notice the attentions which the king lavished on Diane de
Poitiers in the sight and bearing of the whole court. After she had
soothed the fiery indignation of the marshal she went on talking with
her ladies of the races that had taken place, and of the address
displayed by Henri.