He was a fair-haired scamp, with a pink face, consequential, insolent,
garrulous, forever boasting of his relations with women, who often used
him as a cloak for their serious amours, overflowing with pride in his
post of secretary to the king, which permitted him to approach his
Majesty in the same way in which his greyhounds and parrots and monkeys
approached him. The provost, therefore, was not deceived by his apparent
favor and the superficial familiarity of his relations with his Majesty,
which favor and familiarity he owed, so it was said, to his decidedly
unmoral additions to the duties of his post. Furthermore, the Vicomte de
Marmagne had long since devoured all his patrimony, and had no other
fortune than the liberality of François. How it might happen any day
that this liberal disposition would cease, so far as he was concerned,
and Messire Robert d'Estourville was not fool enough to rely, in matters
of such importance, upon the caprice of a very capricious monarch. He
had therefore gently denied the suit of the Vicomte de Marmagne,
admitting to him confidentially and under the seal of secrecy that his
daughter's hand had long been promised to another. Thanks to this
confidential communication, which supplied a motive for the provost's
refusal, the Vicomte de Marmagne and Messire Robert d'Estourville had
continued to be in appearance the best friends in the world, although
from that day the viscount detested the provost, and the provost was
suspicious of the viscount, who could not succeed in concealing his
rancor beneath an affable and smiling exterior from a man so accustomed
as Messire Robert to peer into the dark corners of courts, and the
deepest depths of men's hearts. So it was that, whenever the viscount
made his appearance, the provost expected to find in him,
notwithstanding his invariably affable and engaging demeanor, a bearer
of bad news, which he would always impart with tears in his eyes, and
with the feigned, premeditated grief which squeezes out poison upon a
wound, drop by drop.
As for Comte d'Orbec, the Vicomte de Marmagne had wellnigh come to an
open rupture with him; it was one of the rare instances of court
enmities visible to the naked eye. D'Orbec despised Marmagne, because
Marmagne had no fortune and could make no display. Marmagne despised
D'Orbec, because D'Orbec was old and had consequently lost the power of
making himself agreeable to women; in fine, they mutually detested each
other, because, whenever they met upon the same path, one of them had
taken something from the other.
So it was that when they met on this occasion the two courtiers greeted
each other with that cold, sardonic smile which is never seen save in
palace antechambers, and which means, "Ah! if we weren't a pair of
cowards, how long ago one of us would have ceased to live!"
Nevertheless, as it is the historian's duty to set down everything, good
and bad alike, it is proper to state that they confined themselves to
this salutation and this smile, and that Comte d'Orbec, escorted by the
provost, and without exchanging a word with Marmagne, left the house
immediately by the same door by which his enemy entered.
Let us hasten to add, that, notwithstanding the hatred which kept them
asunder, these two men were ready, in case of need, to unite temporarily
to destroy a third.
Comte d'Orbec having taken his leave, the provost found himself
_tête-à-tête_ with the Vicomte de Marmagne. He walked toward him with
a joyous countenance, in striking contrast to the melancholy visage with
which the other awaited him.
"Well, my dear provost," said Marmagne, to open the conversation, "you
seem in extremely good spirits."
"While you, my dear Marmagne," rejoined the provost, "seem sadly
depressed."
"Simply because, as you know, my poor D'Estourville, my friends'
misfortunes afflict me as keenly as my own."
"Yes, yes, I know your heart," said the provost.
"And when I saw you in such a joyous mood, with your future son-in-law,
Comte d'Orbec,--for your daughter's betrothal to him is no longer a
secret, and I congratulate you upon it, my dear D'Estourville--"
"You know that I told you long ago that Colombe's hand was promised, my
dear Marmagne."
"Yes, but, 'pon honor, I cannot understand how you can consent to part
from such a fascinating child."
"Oh! I do not propose to part from her," replied Messire Robert. "My
son-in-law, Comte d'Orbec, will bring his whole establishment across the
Seine, and will take up his abode at the Grand-Nesle, while I shall
spend my unoccupied moments at the Petit."
"My poor friend!" exclaimed Marmagne, shaking his head with an air of
profound sadness, and placing one hand upon the provost's arm while with
the other he wiped away a tear which did not exist.
"Why 'poor friend'?" demanded Messire Robert. "Come! what have you to
tell me now?"
"Am I the first, pray, to tell you the unpleasant news?"
"What is it? Speak out!"
"You know, my dear provost, that we must take things philosophically in
this world, and there is an old proverb which we poor weak mortals
should keep constantly in mind, for it sums up the accumulated wisdom of
all nations."
"What is the proverb? Say what you have to say."
"Man proposes, my dear friend, man proposes, and God disposes."
"In God's name, what have I proposed for him to dispose of? Say on, I
beg you, and let us have done with it."
"You have intended the Grand-Nesle for the residence of your daughter
and son-in-law?"
"Most assuredly; and I trust that they will be installed there within
three months."
"Undeceive yourself, my dear provost, undeceive yourself; the Hôtel de
Nesle is no longer your property at this moment. Pardon me for
afflicting you thus, but I thought, knowing your somewhat hasty nature,
that it would be better for you to learn the news from the mouth of a
friend, who would spare your feelings in the telling as much as
possible, rather than from some malicious fellow, who would take a keen
delight in your misfortune, and brutally east it in your faee, Alas! no,
my friend, the Grand-Nesle is yours no longer."
"Who has taken it from me, I pray to know?"
"His Majesty."
"His Majesty!"
"Himself, so you see that the disaster is irreparable."
"When was it done?"
"This morning. If I had not been detained by my duties at the Louvre,
you would have been sooner apprised of it."
"You are mistaken, Marmagne; it's some false report set afloat by my
enemies, and which you are in too great haste to repeat."
"I would be glad for many reasons if it were so, but unfortunately I was
not told of it; I heard it."
"You heard it? what?"
"I heard the king with his own month present the Grand-Nesle to
another."
"Who is this other?"
"An Italian adventurer, a paltry goldsmith, whose name you perhaps have
heard; an intriguing rascal named Benvenuto Cellini, who came from
Florence some two months since, whom the king has taken upon his
shoulders for some unknown reason, and to whom he paid a visit to-day
with his whole court at the Cardinal of Ferrara's hotel, where this
pretended artist has established his studio."
"And you say that you were present, viscount, when the king presented
the Grand-Nesle to this wretch?"
"I was," replied Marmagne, pronouncing the words very slowly and
distinctly, and dwelling upon them with evident relish.
"Oho!" said the provost, "very good! I am ready for your adventurer: let
him come and take possession of his royal gift."
"Do you mean that you would offer resistance?"
"To be sure!"
"To an order of the king?"
"To an order of God or the devil,--to any order, in short, which should
undertake to eject me from this place."
"Softly, provost, softly," said Marmagne, "over and above the king's
wrath, to which you expose yourself, this Benvenuto Cellini is in
himself more to be feared than you think."
"Do you know who I am, viscount?"
"First of all, he stands very high in his Majesty's good graces,--only
for the moment, to be sure,--but it is none the less true."
"Do you know that I, the Provost of Paris, represent his Majesty at the
Châtelet, that I sit there beneath a canopy, in a short coat and a
cloak with a collar, with my sword at my side, a hat with waving plumes
on my head, and in my hand a staff covered with blue velvet?"
"Secondly, I will tell you that this accursed Italian makes no scruple
of offering combat, as if he stood on equal terms with them, to princes,
cardinals, and popes."
"Do you know that I have a private seal which imparts the fullest
authority to those documents to which it is affixed?"
"It is said, furthermore, that the damned bully wounds or kills
recklessly every one who ventures to oppose him."
"Do you not know that a bodyguard of twenty-four men-at-arms is at my
orders night and day?"
"They say that he attacked a goldsmith against whom he had a grudge,
although he was surrounded by a guard of sixty men."
"You forget that the Hôtel de Nesle is fortified, that the walls are
crenellated, and there are machicoulis above the doors, to say nothing
of the city fortifications which render it impregnable on one side."
"It is said that he is as thoroughly at home in the science of sieges as
Bayard or Antonio de Leyra."
"As to that we shall see."
"I am sorely afraid."
"I will bide my time."
"Look you, my dear friend, will you allow me to offer you a little
advice?"
"Say on, so that it be brief."
"Do not try to struggle with one who is stronger than you."
"Stronger than I, a paltry Italian mechanic! Viscount, you exasperate
me!"
"You may find reason to repent, 'pon honor! I speak whereof I know."
"Viscount, you try my temper."
"Consider that the fellow has the king on his side."
"And I have Madame d'Etampes."
"His Majesty may take it ill of you to resist his will."
"I have already done it, Monsieur, and successfully."
"Yes, I know, in the matter of the toll at the bridge of Mantes. But--"
"But what?"
"One risks nothing, or very little at all events, in resisting a weak,
good-natured king, while one risks everything in entering into a contest
with a powerful, formidable opponent like Benvenuto Cellini."
"By Mahomet's belly, Viscount, do you propose to drive me mad?"
"On the contrary, my purpose is to make you discreet."
"Enough, Viscount, enough! Ah! the villain shall pay dear, I swear, for
these moments that your friendship has caused me to pass."
"God grant it, Provost! God grant it!"
"Very good, very good! You have nothing else to tell me?"
"No, no, I believe not," the viscount replied, as if he were trying to
recall some item of news which would make a fitting pendant to the
other.
"Very well, adieu!" cried the provost.
"Adieu, my poor friend!"
"Adieu!"
"At all events I have given you warning."
"Adieu!"
"I shall have no reason to reproach myself: that consoles me."
"Adieu! adieu!"
"Good luck attend you! But I must say that I express that wish with but
little hope of its being gratified."
"Adieu! adieu! adieu!"
"Adieu!"
And the Vicomte de Marmagne, sighing as if his heart would burst, and
with grief-stricken face, took his departure, gesticulating mournfully,
after he had pressed the provost's hand as if he were saying farewell to
him forever.
The provost followed him, and with his own hands secured the street door
behind him.
It will readily be understood that this friendly conversation had heated
Messire d'Estourville's blood and stirred his bile to an extreme degree.
He was looking around in search of some one upon whom he might vent his
ill-humor, when he suddenly remembered the young man whom he had seen
emerging from the Grand-Nesle as he entered with Comte d'Orbec. As
Raimbault was at hand he had not far to seek for one who could answer
his questions touching that stranger, so he summoned the gardener with
one of those imperative gestures which admit no delay, and asked him
what he knew about the young man.
The gardener replied that the individual to whom his master referred had
presented himself in the king's name, to inspect the Grand-Nesle; that
he did not consider it his duty to take anything upon himself, and
therefore referred him to Dame Perrine, who good-naturedly showed him
over the whole establishment.
The provost thereupon rushed to the Petit-Nesle to demand an explanation
from the worthy duenna, but she unfortunately had just gone out to
purchase the weekly supply of provisions.
There remained Colombe, but as the provost could not believe that she
had seen the youthful stranger, after the forcible and explicit terms in
which he had forbidden Dame Perrine to allow good-looking young men to
approach her, he did not even speak to her on the subject.
As his duties required him to return to the Grand Châtelet, he
departed, ordering Raimbault, on pain of instant dismissal, to admit no
person to the Grand or Petit-Nesle, whoever he might be, or in
whosesoever name he might come, especially the miserable adventurer who
had been admitted previously.
So it was that, when Ascanio presented himself on the following day with
his wares, in accordance with Dame Perrine's suggestion, Raimbault
simply opened a small window, and informed him through the bars that the
Hôtel de Nesle was closed to everybody, particularly to him.
Ascanio, as may be imagined, withdrew in despair; but we hasten to say
that he did not for a moment attribute this extraordinary reception to
Colombe; the maiden had bestowed but one glance upon him, had uttered
but one sentence, but that glance was so eloquent of shy affection, and
there was such a wealth of loving melody in that one sentence, that it
had seemed to Ascanio since he parted from her as if an angel's voice
were singing in his heart.
He fancied therefore, and with good reason, that, as he had been seen by
the provost, the provost was the author of that terrible order of which
he was the victim.
VIII
PREPARATIONS FOR ATTACK AND DEFENCE
Ascanio had no sooner returned to the studio on the previous day, and
made his report to Benvenuto touching that part of his expedition which
related to the topography of the Hôtel de Nesle, than the goldsmith,
seeing that it met his requirements in every respect, hastened to the
bureau of Seigneur de Neufville, the first secretary of the king's
treasury, to obtain from him documentary evidence of the royal gift.
Seigneur de Neufville demanded until the following day to assure himself
of the validity of Master Benvenuto's claims, and, although the latter
considered him extremely impertinent to refuse to take his word for it,
he realized the reasonableness of the demand, and assented, resolved
however not to allow Messire de Neufville a half-hour's grace on the
following day.
He was punctual to the minute, and was at once admitted to the
secretary's presence, which he considered a favorable augury.
"Well, Monseigneur," he said, "is the Italian a liar, or did he tell you
the truth?"
"The whole truth, my dear friend."
"That is very fortunate."
"And the king has ordered me to hand you a deed of gift in proper form."
"It will be welcome."
"And yet--" continued the secretary, hesitatingly.
"Well, what more is there? Let us hear."
"And yet if you would allow me to offer you some good advice--"
"Good advice! the devil! that's a rare article, Monsieur le Secrétaire;
say on, say on."
"I should advise you to seek another location for your studio than the
Grand-Nesle."
"Indeed!" retorted Benvenuto dryly; "think you that it is not a
convenient location?"
"It is, indeed; and truth compels me to state that you would have great
difficulty in finding a better."
"Very well, what is the matter then?"
"That it belongs to a personage of too much importance for you to come
in collision with him without danger."
"I myself belong to the noble King of France," rejoined Cellini, "and I
shall never flinch so long as I act in his name."
"Very good, but in our country, Master Benvenuto, every nobleman is king
in his own house, and in seeking to eject the provost from the house
which he occupies you risk your life."
"We must all die sooner or later," was Cellini's sententious reply.
"You are determined, then--"
"To kill the devil before the devil kills me. Trust me for that,
Monsieur le Secrétaire. Let the provost look well to himself, as all
those must do who assume to oppose the king's wishes, especially when
Master Benvenuto Cellini has it in charge to carry them out."
Thereupon Messire Nicolas de Neufville made an end of his philanthropic
observations, but alleged all sorts of formalities to be complied with
before delivering the deed. But Benvenuto tranquilly seated himself,
declaring that he would not stir until the document was placed in his
hands, and that he was determined to stay the night there, if necessary,
having foreseen that possibility, and taken the precaution to say to his
people that he might not return.
Taking note of this determination, Messire Nicolas de Neufville,
regardless of consequences, delivered the deed of gift to Benvenuto
Cellini, taking pains, however, to advise Messire Robert d'Estourville
of what he had been compelled to do, in part by the king's will, in part
by the goldsmith's persistence.
Benvenuto returned to his domicile without saying anything to anybody of
what he had done, locked up the deed in the drawer in which he kept his
precious stones, and calmly resumed his work.
The information transmitted to the provost by the secretary convinced
Messire Robert that Benvenuto, as the Vicomte de Marmagne had said that
he would do, persisted in his purpose to take possession of the Hôtel
de Nesle, peaceably or by force. The provost, therefore, prepared to
maintain his rights, sent for his twenty-four sergeants-at-arms, posted
sentinels upon the walls, and went to the Châtelet only when the duties
of his office absolutely compelled him to do so.
Days passed, however, and Cellini, tranquilly occupied with the work he
had in hand, made not the least demonstration. But the provost felt
certain that this apparent tranquillity was only a ruse, and that his
foe proposed to wait until he had grown weary of watching, and then take
him unawares. And so Messire Robert, with eyes and ears always on the
alert, his mind always in a state of extreme tension, and engrossed with
warlike thoughts, was finally reduced by this condition of affairs,
which was neither peace nor war, to a state of feverish expectation and
anxiety, which threatened, if it were prolonged, to make him as mad as
the governor of the Castle of San Angelo. He could not eat or sleep, and
grew perceptibly thinner.
From time to time he would abruptly draw his sword and begin to make
passes at a wall, shouting:--
"Let him come on! let him come on, the villain! Let him come on, I am
ready for him!"
But Benvenuto did not come on.
D'Estourville had his calmer moments, too, during which he would succeed
in persuading himself that the goldsmith's tongue, was longer than his
sword, and that he would never dare to carry out his damnable schemes.
It was at one of these moments that Colombe, happening to come out of
her room, observed all the warlike preparations, and asked her father
what was the occasion of them.
"A scoundrel to be chastised, that's all," the provost replied.
As it was the provost's business to chastise, Colombe did not even ask
who the scoundrel was whose chastisement was preparing, being too deeply
preoccupied with her own thoughts not to be content with this brief
explanation.
In very truth, Messire Robert with a single word had made a fearful
change in his daughter's life; that life, hitherto so calm, so simple,
so obscure and secluded, that life of peaceful days and tranquil nights,
was like a lake whose surface is suddenly ruffled by a tempest. She had
felt at times before that her soul was sleeping, that her heart was
empty, but she thought that her solitude was the cause of her
melancholy, and attributed the emptiness of her heart to the fact that
she had lost her mother in her infancy. And now, without warning, her
existence, her thoughts, her heart and her soul were filled to
overflowing, but with grief.
Ah! how she then sighed for the days of ignorance and tranquillity, when
the commonplace but watchful friendship of Dame Perrine was almost
sufficient for her happiness; the days of hope and faith, when she
reckoned upon the future as one reckons upon a friend; the days of
filial trust and confidence, when she believed in the affection of her
father. Alas! her future now was the hateful love of Comte d'Orbec; her
father's affection was simply ambition so disguised. Why, instead of
being the only inheritor of a noble name and vast fortune, was she not
the child of some obscure bourgeois of the city, who would have cared
for and cherished her? In that case she might, have fallen in with this
young artist, in whose speech there was so much to move and fascinate,
this handsome Ascanio, who seemed to have such a wealth of happiness and
love to bestow.
But when the rapid beating of her heart and her flushed cheeks warned
her that the stranger's image had filled her thoughts too long, she
condemned herself to the task of banishing the lovely dream, and
succeeded in placing before her eyes the desolating reality. Since her
father had made known to her his matrimonial plans, she had expressly
forbidden Dame Perrine to receive Ascanio, upon one pretext or another,
threatening to tell her father everything if she disobeyed; and as the
governess, fearing to be accused of complicity with him, had said
nothing of the hostile projects of Ascanio's master, poor Colombe
believed herself to be well protected in that direction.
It must not be supposed, however, that the sweet-natured child was
resigned to the idea of obeying her father's commands. No; her whole
being revolted at the thought of an alliance with this man, whom she
would have hated had she really known what hate was. Beneath her
beautiful, pale brow she revolved a thousand thoughts, hitherto unknown
to her mind,--thoughts of revolt and rebellion, which she looked upon
almost as crimes, and for which she asked God's forgiveness upon her
knees. Then it occurred to her to go and throw herself at the king's
feet. But she had heard it whispered that the same idea had occurred to
Diane de Poitiers under much more terrible circumstances, and that she
left her honor there. Madame d'Etampes might protect her too, if she
chose. But would she choose? Would she not greet the complaints of a
mere child with a contemptuous smile? Such a smile of mockery and
contempt she had seen upon her father's lips when she begged him to keep
her with him, and it made a terrible impression upon her.
Thus Colombe had no refuge but God: and she knelt before her _prie-Dieu_
a hundred times a day, imploring the Omnipotent to send succor to her
weakness before the end of the three months which still separated her
from her formidable _fiancé_, or, if she could hope for no relief on
earth, to allow her at least to join her mother in heaven.
Ascanio's existence, meanwhile, was no less troublous and unhappy than
that of his beloved. Twenty times since Raimbault had made known to him
the order which forbade his admission to the Hôtel de Nesle had he
loitered dreaming about the lofty walls which separated him from his
life,--in the morning before anybody had risen, and at night after
everybody was asleep. But not once, either openly or furtively, did he
try to make his way into the forbidden garden. He still had that
virginal respect of early youth, which protects the woman whom one loves
against the very passion which she may have to fear at a later period.
But this did not prevent Ascanio, as he worked away at his carving and
chasing, from indulging in many an extravagant dream, to say nothing of
those he dreamed in his morning and evening promenades, or during his
troubled sleep at night. These dreams were concerned more especially
with the day, at first so much dreaded, now so eagerly desired by him,
when Benvenuto should assume possession of the Hôtel de Nesle; for
Ascanio knew his master, and that all this apparent tranquillity was
that of a volcano breeding an eruption. Cellini had given out that the
eruption would take place on the following Sunday. Ascanio had no doubt,
therefore, that on the following Sunday Cellini's undertaking would be
accomplished.