AN ELEGY DURING THE PROGRESS OF A COMEDY
If was a custom handed down from the reign of François I. At least
three times a week, the king, the nobles, and all the ladies of the
court assembled in the evening in the queen's apartments. There they
would chat about the gossip of the day with perfect freedom, and
sometimes with a good deal of license. Private tête-à-têtes would
often take place amid the general conversation; and, says Brantôme, "as
a throng of earthly goddesses were assembled there, every nobleman and
gentleman talked with her whom he loved the best." Frequently there was
dancing too, or a play.
It was a party of this description that our friend Gabriel was to attend
on the evening in question; and contrary to his custom, he arrayed and
perfumed himself with considerable solicitude, so that he might not
appear to disadvantage in the eyes of her "whom he loved the best," to
quote Brantôme once more.
But Gabriel's delight was not altogether unalloyed by a feeling of
uneasiness; and certain vague and offensive words which had been
whispered in his hearing concerning Diane's approaching marriage had not
failed to cause him some inward anxiety. Thanks to the joy he had felt
in seeing Diane again, and in believing that he could distinguish in her
expression signs of her former affection for him, he had almost
forgotten that letter from the Cardinal de Lorraine which had been the
cause of his taking his departure so hurriedly; but the rumors which
were flying around, and the continual coupling of the names of Diane de
Castro and François de Montmorency, which came to his ears only too
plainly, brought back memory to his passionate heart. Was Diane
reconciled, then, to that hateful marriage? Did she love this François?
Distracting doubts which the evening's interview might not avail to
solve satisfactorily.
Gabriel resolved therefore to question Martin-Guerre on the subject, for
he had already made more than one acquaintance, and like most squires,
was likely to have a much more extended knowledge in such matters than
his master; for it is a fact of common observation in acoustics that
reports of all sorts sound much louder on low ground, and that echoes
are seldom heard except in valleys. This resolution came at a so much
more fortunate time, because Martin-Guerre had also made up his mind to
question his master, whose preoccupation had not escaped his notice, but
who had not, in all conscience, any right to conceal his actions or his
thoughts from a faithful retainer of five years' standing, and even more
than that,--one who had saved his life.
From this mutual determination, and the conversation which ensued,
Gabriel came to the conclusion that Diane de Castro did not love
François de Montmorency, and Martin-Guerre that Gabriel did love Diane
de Castro.
This twofold conclusion was so satisfactory to both parties that Gabriel
arrived at the Louvre fully an hour before the gates were opened; and
Martin-Guerre, as a mark of respect to the viscount's royal sweetheart,
went off to the court tailor to buy a brown cloth jerkin and
small-clothes of yellow tricot. He paid cash for the whole costume, and
immediately arrayed himself in it so as to exhibit it in the evening in
the antechambers of the Louvre, where he was to go in attendance on his
master.
Imagine the tailor's amazement half an hour later to see Martin-Guerre
appear again in other clothes. He commented on the fact. Martin-Guerre
replied that the evening had seemed a bit cool to him, and that he had
thought best to clothe himself a little more warmly. However, he was so
very well pleased with the jerkin and the small-clothes that he had come
to beg the tailor to sell him or make him another jerkin of the same
material and like cut. To no purpose did the man of the yardstick remind
Martin-Guerre that he would seem to have only one suit of clothes, and
that he would do much better to order a different costume; for instance,
a yellow jerkin and brown small-clothes, since he seemed to have a
weakness for those particular colors. Martin-Guerre would not recede
from his idea, and the tailor had to agree not to make a shade of
difference in the garments, which he was to make for him at once, since
he had none ready-made; but on this second order Martin-Guerre asked for
some credit. He had paid cash handsomely for the first; he was the
squire of Vicomte d'Exmès, captain of the king's Guards. The tailor had
that monumental trust in human nature which has been from time
immemorial the traditional propensity of his craft; so he consented, and
promised to deliver the second costume complete the next day.
Meanwhile the hour during which Gabriel had had to gnash his teeth
outside the gates of his paradise had passed away, and with a number of
others, gentlemen and ladies, he had succeeded in making his way to the
queen's apartments.
At the first glance Gabriel saw Diane; she was seated beside the
Queen-Dauphine, as Mary Stuart was henceforth called.
To approach her at once would have been very presumptuous for a
new-comer, and very imprudent too, no doubt. Gabriel resigned himself to
await a favorable opportunity when the conversation should become
animated and the attention of those who were near be called to other
objects. Meanwhile he entered into conversation with a young nobleman of
unhealthy pallor and delicate appearance, near whom he chanced to be
standing. But after some little talk on matters as insignificant as his
person seemed to be, the young cavalier asked of Gabriel,--
"To whom have I the honor of speaking, Monsieur?"
Gabriel replied, "I am Vicomte d'Exmès. And may I venture to ask you
the same question, Monsieur?" he added.
The young man looked at him in amazement as he replied,--
"I am François de Montmorency."
He might as well have said, "I am the Devil!" and Gabriel would have
shown less alarmed haste in leaving him. François, whose mind did not
work very quickly, was entirely dumfounded; but as he was not fond of
using his brain, he soon gave up the riddle, and sought elsewhere for
auditors who should be somewhat less unceremonious.
Gabriel had taken care to direct his flight toward Diane de Castro; but
his progress was arrested by a great commotion about the king. Henri was
just announcing that as he desired to close the day by treating the
ladies to a surprise, he had caused a stage to be arranged in the
gallery, and that a five-act comedy in verse by Monsieur Jean Antoine de
Baïf, entitled "Le Brave," would be performed there. This intelligence
was naturally greeted with general gratitude and applause. The gentlemen
gave their hands to the ladies to escort them into the neighboring
_salle_, where the stage had been erected; but Gabriel was too late to
escort Diane, and could do no better than take his place at a short
distance from her behind the queen.
Catherine de Médicis perceived him and called him, and he had no choice
but to present himself before her.
"Monsieur d'Exmès," said she, "how is it that we didn't see you at the
tournament to-day?"
"Madame," replied Gabriel, "the duties of the office which his Majesty
has done me the honor to bestow upon me, prevented."
"So much the worse," said Catherine, with a sweet smile, "for you are
surely one of our most daring and skilful cavaliers. You made the king
reel yesterday, and that is a very rare thing. I should have been glad
to be a witness again of your prowess."
Gabriel bowed, feeling decidedly ill at ease under this shower of
compliments, to which he knew not how to reply.
"Do you know the play that they are going to give us?" pursued
Catherine, evidently very favorably inclined toward the handsome and
modest youth.
"I know it only in Latin," was his reply; "for I am told that it is
nothing more than an imitation of one of Terence's plays."
"I see that you are as learned as you are valiant," said the queen, "as
well versed in literary matters as you are skilful with thrusts of the
lance."
All this was said in an undertone, and accompanied by glances which were
not exactly cruel. To be sure, Catherine's heart was empty for the
moment. But Gabriel, uncouth as Euripides' Hippolyte, received the
Italian's advances with an air of constraint and a frowning brow.
Ungrateful wretch! when he was to owe to this kindly disposition, at
which he turned up his nose, not only the place which he had so longed
for at Diane's side, but the most fascinating pouting by which the love
of a jealous sweetheart can betray itself.
In fact, when the prologue began, according to custom, to appeal to the
indulgence of the spectators, Catherine said to Gabriel,--
"Go and sit there behind me among these ladies, my literary friend, so
that I may at need resort to your fund of information."
Madame de Castro had selected her seat at the end of a row, so that
there was only the passage-way beyond her. Gabriel, having paid his
respects to the queen, took a stool and modestly seated himself in the
passage-way by Diane's side, so as to discommode no one.
The play began.
It was, as Gabriel had told the queen, an imitation of the "Eunuchus" of
Terence, written in lines of eight syllables, and translated with all
the pedantic simplicity of the time. We will abstain from criticising
the play. It would be, moreover, an anachronism, for criticism had not
yet been invented at that barbarous epoch. It will suffice for us to
remind our readers that the principal character is a braggart, a
swaggering soldier who allows himself to be duped and bullied by a
sycophant.
Now, from the very beginning of the play, the many partisans of the
Guises who were in the hall could see in the absurd old bully only the
Constable de Montmorency, while the Montmorency faction chose to
recognize the ambitious views of the Duc de Guise in the bluster of the
swaggering soldier. And so every scene was a piece of satire, and every
sally a pointed hit. The two factions laughed uproariously, and pointed
at one another with their fingers; and, truth to tell, this comedy which
was being enacted in the hall was no less entertaining than that which
the actors were performing on the platform.
Our lovers took advantage of the interest which the two rival camps took
in the performance to speak quietly and calmly of their love amid the
shouts and laughter. In the first place, each pronounced the other's
name in a low voice. It was the sacred invocation.
"Diane!"
"Gabriel!"
"Are you really going to marry François de Montmorency?"
"You have made rapid strides in the queen's good graces, haven't you?"
"But you heard her call me."
"And you know that the king wishes this marriage."
"But have you not consented to it, Diane?"
"But haven't you listened to Catherine, Gabriel?"
"One word, just one!" replied Gabriel. "But you still feel some
interest, do you, in the feeling which may be aroused in me by another
than yourself? Then you must care something for what is passing in my
heart."
"I care as much for it," said Madame de Castro, "as you do for what is
passing in mine."
"Oh! then let me tell you, Diane, that if you are like me, you are
jealous; if you are like me, you love me to distraction."
"Monsieur d'Exmès," said Diane, who tried for an instant to be severe,
poor child!--"Monsieur d'Exmès, I am called Madame de Castro."
"But are you not a widow, Madame? Are you not free?"
"Free, alas!"
"Oh, Diane, you sigh. Tell me, Diane, that your childish affection,
which made our early years so sweet, has left some trace in the maiden's
heart. Oh, tell me, Diane, that you still love me a little! Don't fear
that any one will hear you, for everybody near us is taken up with the
jokes of that sycophant; they have no tender words to listen to, so they
are laughing. Oh, Diane, smile upon me and answer me; do you love me,
Diane?"
"Hush! Don't you see that the act is coming to an end?" said the roguish
damsel. "Wait at least till the play begins again."
The _entr'acte_ lasted ten minutes,--ten centuries, rather! Fortunately,
Catherine, talking busily with Mary Stuart, did not call Gabriel to her
side. He would have been quite capable of declining to go, even if it
had been his everlasting ruin.
When the comedy began again amid shouts of laughter and noisy
applause,--
"Well?" Gabriel inquired.
"Well, what?" replied Diane, feigning an indifference that she was very
far from feeling. "Oh, yes, you were asking me, I believe, if I love
you. Well, then! Didn't I answer you just now, thus: 'I love you as
much as you love me'?"
"Ah!" cried Gabriel, "do you realize what you are saying, Diane? Do you
know the extent of this love of mine to which you say that yours is
equal?"
"But," said the little dissembler, "if you want me to know about it, the
least you can do is to tell me."
"Listen to me, then, Diane, and you will see that since I left you six
years ago every action of every hour of my life has tended to bring me
nearer to you. It was only on my arrival at Paris a month after your
departure from Vimoutiers, that I learned who you were: the daughter of
the king and Madame de Valentinois. But it was not your title as a
daughter of France that terrified me; it was your title as wife of the
Duc de Castro, and yet something said to me: 'No matter! raise yourself
to her level; win some renown for yourself, so that some day she may
hear your name at least, and may admire you as others fear you.' Such
were my thoughts, Diane; and I entered the service of the Duc de Guise,
as the one who seemed most likely to put me in a way to win the
honorable name at which my ambition pointed, speedily and well. In
brief, I was shut up with him within the walls of Metz in the following
year, and did my best to bring about the almost-despaired-of result, the
raising of the siege. It was at Metz, where I remained to restore the
fortification and repair all the damage inflicted in sixty-five days of
assault, that I heard of the taking of Hesdin by the imperial troops and
the death of the Duc de Castro, your husband. He had never even seen you
again, Diane! Oh, I pitied him, but how I did fight at Renty! Ask
Monsieur de Guise about it. I was also at Abbeville, Dinant, Bavay, and
Cateau-Cambrésis. I was everywhere where the fire of musketry was to be
heard; and I can fairly say that there has been no glorious action
during this reign in which I have not had some little share.
"After the truce of Vaucelles," said Gabriel, continuing his narrative,
"I came to Paris, but you were still at the convent, Diane; and my
enforced repose was becoming very wearisome when, by good luck, the
truce was broken. The Duc de Guise, who was anxious to give me some
token of his good-will, asked me if I would follow him to Italy. If I
would! Crossing the Alps in the depths of winter, we made our way
through the Milanais, carried Valenza by storm, were allowed free
passage through the duchies of Parma and Plaisance, and after a
triumphal progress through Tuscany and the States of the Church, we
arrived at the Abruzzi. Meanwhile Monsieur de Guise lacked money and
troops; yet he took Campli, and laid siege to Civitella; but the army
was demoralized, and the success of the expedition compromised. It was
at Civitella, Diane, that I learned from a letter from his Eminence, the
Cardinal de Lorraine, to his brother of your approaching marriage to
François de Montmorency.
"There was nothing more for me to do on that side of the Alps. Monsieur
de Guise himself agreed to that, and I obtained from his kindness
permission to return to France, fortified with his weighty
recommendation, and to bring to the king the flags we had conquered. But
my only ambition and desire was to see you, Diane, to speak with you,
and to learn from your own lips if you were entering into this new
contract of your own free will; and finally, after having told you, as I
have just done, of all my struggles and endeavors for these six years,
to ask you what I now ask you once more: 'Tell me, Diane, do you love me
as I love you?"
"Dear friend," said Madame de Castro, softly, "I will now respond by
telling you of my life in return for yours. When I came to court, a mere
child of twelve, after the first moments of wonder and childish
curiosity, I grew weary of it all; the gilded chains of my life here
weighed heavily upon me, and I bitterly regretted our dear woods and
fields at Vimoutiers and Montgommery, Gabriel! Every night I cried
myself to sleep. But the king my father was very kind to me, and I tried
to give him my love in return for his tenderness. But where was my
freedom? Where was Aloyse? And, oh, where were you, Gabriel? I didn't
see the king every day. Madame de Valentinois was very cold and
constrained with me, and seemed almost to avoid me; and I, Gabriel, I
had always need of being loved, as you must remember. Oh, I suffered
bitterly that first year, dear."
"Poor dear Diane!" said Gabriel, much moved.
"And so," Diane resumed, "while you were fighting, I was pining away.
Man acts, and woman waits,--such is destiny. But it is sometimes much
harder to wait than to act. After the first year of my loneliness, the
death of the Duc de Castro left me a widow, and the king sent me to pass
my period of mourning at the convent of the Filles-Dieu. But the
tranquil and peaceful life which we led at the convent suited my nature
much better than the everlasting intriguing and excitement of the court;
so when my mourning was at an end, I sought and obtained the king's
leave to remain at the convent. At least, they loved me there,--good
Sister Monique above all, who reminded me of Aloyse. I tell you her
name, Gabriel, so that you may love her too. And then, not only did all
the sisters love me, but I could still dream, Gabriel; I had the time to
do it and the right. I was free; and who was the central figure of all
my dreams, of the past as well as of the future? Dear friend, you can
guess, can you not?"
Gabriel, reassured and enraptured, answered only by a look of passionate
affection. Luckily the comedy had become very engrossing. The braggart
was being well scoffed at; and the Guise and Montmorency factions were
howling themselves hoarse with delight. The lovers might as well have
been alone in a desert.
"Five tranquil and hopeful years passed away," continued Diane. "I had
had only one misfortune, in the death of Enguerrand, my foster-father.
But a second one was not long in coming. The king recalled me to court,
and informed me that I was the destined bride of François de
Montmorency. I resisted this time, Gabriel, for I was no longer a child,
who did not know what she was doing. I resisted. Then my father went on
his knees to me, and pointed out to me how deeply this marriage
concerned the well-being of the realm. You had forgotten me, no doubt.
It was the king who said that, Gabriel. And then where were you, and who
were you? In short, the king persisted so, and begged me so
appealingly--it was yesterday, yes, only yesterday--that I promised what
he wished, Gabriel, but only on condition that, in the first place, my
sacrifice should be delayed for three months; and in the second place, I
should find out what had become of you."
"But you did promise?" said Gabriel, turning pale.
"I did, but I had not then seen you, dear; and I had no idea that the
very same day your unlooked-for appearance was to stir again in my heart
both joyful and sad emotions as soon as I recognized you. Ah, Gabriel,
handsomer and prouder than of old, but still the same! I knew all at
once that my promise to the king was of no effect, and this marriage
impossible; that my life belongs to you, and that, if you still loved
me, I would love you forever. Well, now, don't you agree that I am no
longer in debt to you, and that your life has no reproach to make to
mine?"
"Oh, you are an angel, Diane! And all that I have done to deserve your
love is nothing."
"And now, Gabriel, since fate has brought us together for a little, let
us consider the obstacles which still keep us asunder. The king is
ambitious for his daughters; and the Castros and the Montmorencys
between them have made him hard to manage, alas!"
"Make your mind easy on that score, Diane, for the family to which I
belong has nothing to ask from either of them, and it will not be the
first time either that it has been allied with the royal family of
France."
"Really, Gabriel! you fill my cup of joy to the full, in telling me
that. I am, as you know, very ignorant in heraldic matters; I do not
know the Exmès. Down at Vimoutiers I called you Gabriel; and my heart
had no need of a sweeter name than that. That is the name that I love;
and if you think that your other name will satisfy the king, why, all is
well, and I am happy indeed. Whether you are Exmès or Guise or
Montmorency, as long as you are not called Montgommery, all is well."
"And why, then, must I not be a Montgommery?" asked Gabriel, beginning
to be alarmed.
"Oh, the Montgommerys, our neighbors down yonder, have apparently done
the king some injury, for he hates them bitterly."
"Indeed!" said Gabriel, who began to feel a choking sensation in his
throat; "but is it the Montgommerys who have injured the king, or is it
rather the king who has injured the Montgommerys?"
"My father is too kind-hearted to have ever been unjust, Gabriel."
"Kind to his daughter, yes," said Gabriel; "but where his enemies are
concerned--"
"He may be terrible," replied Diane, "as you are against the enemies of
France and the king. But what does it matter, and what have the
Montgommerys to do with us, Gabriel?"
"But if I were a Montgommery, Diane?"
"Oh, do not say that, dear."
"But if it should be so?"
"In that case," said Diane, "if I found myself thus obliged to choose
between my father and you, I would throw myself at the feet of the
injured party, whichever it might be, and I would beg my father to
forgive you for my sake, or I would beg you to forgive my father for my
sake."
"And your voice is so powerful, dear Diane, that the injured one would
surely yield to your prayers, if there had never been blood shed; for
blood can only be washed out by blood."
"Oh, you frighten me, Gabriel! Come, this is far enough to carry this
test of my love; for it was nothing but a test, was it?"
"No, Diane, nothing but a test. God grant that it may prove to be
nothing more!" he murmured under his breath.
"And there is not, there cannot be any bad blood between my father and
you?"
"I hope not, Diane, I hope not; I should suffer too bitterly in making
you suffer."
"That's right, Gabriel. And if you hope not, Gabriel," she added with
her lovely smile, "I hope, for my part, to induce my father to give up
this marriage which would be my death-warrant. Such a mighty king as he
ought to have enough ways of making it up to the Montmorencys."
"No, Diane; and all his treasures and all his power could not make up to
them for losing you."
"Ah, that's your way of looking at it. But you did frighten me, Gabriel.
But never fear, dear; François de Montmorency doesn't think as you do
on this subject, thank God! and he would much prefer the bâton which
will make a marshal of him, to your poor Diane. But I, having accepted
this happy exchange, will prepare the king for it very gently. I will
remind him of the royal alliances of the D'Exmès family, and of your
own personal exploits, Gabriel."
She interrupted herself.
"Ah, _mon Dieu_! see, the play seems to be finished."
"Five acts, how short it has been!" said Gabriel. "But you are right,
Diane; and the epilogue is just pointing the moral of the piece."
"Luckily," said Diane, "we have said almost all that we had to say to
each other."
"I haven't said one thousandth part of it," said Gabriel.
"No, nor I really," said Diane; "and the queen's advances to you."
"Oh, you wretch!" said Gabriel.
"Oh, no, the wretch is she who smiles at you, and not I who grumble at
you, do you hear? Don't speak to her again this evening, will you, dear,
just to please me?"
"Just to please you! How good you are! No, I will not speak to her
again. But, see, the epilogue is also finished, alas! Adieu! but only
for a little while, is it, Diane? Say one last word to me to sustain and
comfort me, dear Diane."
"To meet soon again, and forever, Gabriel, my little _husband_,"
whispered the beaming maiden in the ear of the delighted Gabriel.
And she disappeared in the pushing, noisy crowd. Gabriel slunk away so
as to fulfil his promise of avoiding a meeting with the queen. Such
touching fidelity to his oath! And he left the Louvre, convinced that
Antoine de Baïf was a very great man, and that he had never been
present at a performance which had given him so much pleasure.
As he passed into the vestibule, he picked up Martin-Guerre, who was
awaiting him, all radiant in his new clothes.
"Well, Monseigneur, did you see Madame d'Angoulême?" the squire asked
his master when they were in the street.
"I did see her," replied Gabriel, dreamily.
"And does Madame d'Angoulême still love Monsieur le Vicomte?" continued
Martin-Guerre, who saw that Gabriel was in a good humor.
"Rascal!" cried Gabriel, "who told you that? Where did you learn that
Madame de Castro loved me, or that I loved Madame de Castro alone? Be
good enough to hold your tongue, villain!"
"Oh, well," muttered Master Martin, "Monseigneur must be beloved, else
he would have sighed and would not have insulted me; and Monseigneur
must be in love or he would have noticed my new cape and breeches."
"Why do you prate to me of breeches and cape? But really, you didn't
have that doublet a short time ago, did you?"
"No, Monseigneur, I bought it this very evening to do honor to my master
and his mistress, and I paid cash for it too,--for my wife Bertrande did
teach me order and economy, as she taught me temperance and chastity and
all the virtues. I must do her that much justice; and if I had only been
able to instil a little mildness of temper into her, we should have made
the happiest couple in the world."
"It was well done of you, chatterbox, and I will repay your outlay,
since it was for me that you incurred it."
"Oh, how generous, Monseigneur! But if Monseigneur wishes me to hold my
peace about his secret, he should not give me this new proof that he is
loved as dearly as he loves. One never empties one's purse so readily,
when the heart is not overflowing. Besides, Monsieur le Vicomte knows
Martin-Guerre, and that he is to be trusted. Faithful and dumb as the
sword that he wears!"
"Very true; but no more of this, Master Martin."
"I leave Monseigneur to his dreams."
Gabriel was dreaming to such an extent that when he reached his chambers
he felt an absolute need of pouring his dreams into a sympathetic ear:
and he wrote that same night to Aloyse,--
MY DEAR ALOYSE,--Diane loves me! But no, that is not what I ought to say
to you first of all. My dear Aloyse, come and join me here; after six
years of separation, I must embrace you once more. The main points of my
life are now fixed. I am captain of the king's Guards,--one of the most
eagerly sought of all ranks in the army; and the name I have made for
myself will help me to reinstate in honor and renown that which I
inherit from my ancestors. And I have need of you for this latter task
too, Aloyse. And then I need you because I am so happy, because, I
repeat it, Diane loves me,--yes, the Diane of former days, my child
sister, who has never forgotten her good Aloyse, although she calls the
king her father. And then, Aloyse, this daughter of the king and Madame
de Valentinois, this widow of the Duc de Castro, has never forgotten,
and still loves with her whole dear soul her obscure Vimoutiers
playmate. She has told me so within the hour, and her sweet voice still
echoes in my heart.
So come, Aloyse, for I really am too happy to be alone in my happiness.