however, and would have asked nothing better than to earn their money
honestly, by slaying or being themselves slain: in retiring, they had
simply obeyed their master's orders. They promised to give a better
account of themselves in an ambuscade; but as Marmagne, to shield his
own honor, claimed that the check he had met with was due to them, he
informed them that he did not propose to accompany them in their next
undertaking, and that they must go through with it alone as best they
could. It was the very thing they most desired.
Having enjoined silence upon them concerning their recent experience, he
called upon the Provost of Paris, and informed him that he had concluded
that the surest way to avoid all suspicion was to postpone Benvenuto's
punishment until some day when, as frequently happened, he ventured into
a lonely, deserted street with a considerable sum of money, or some
valuable piece of his handiwork. Then it would be believed that he had
been murdered by robbers.
It now remains for us to see how the wishes of Madame d'Etampes,
Ascanio, and Cellini were gratified to their increased sorrow.
XVI
A COURT
Meanwhile Ascanio had completed the design for his lily, and, perhaps
from mere curiosity, perhaps under the influence of the magnet which
attracts the wretched to those who sympathize with them, he at once
repaired to the Hôtel d'Etampes. It was about two o'clock in the
afternoon, and just at that hour the duchess was sitting upon her
throne, surrounded by a veritable court; but similar orders to those
which were given at the Louvre relating to Benvenuto, were given at the
Hôtel d'Etampes for Ascanio. He was therefore at once escorted to a
reception-room, and his arrival was made known to the duchess.
She trembled with joy at the thought that the young man was about to see
her in all her splendor, and gave certain orders in a low tone to
Isabeau, who had brought her the message, Isabeau returned to Ascanio,
took him by the hand without a word, led him into a corridor, raised a
heavy curtain, and gently pushed him forward. He found himself in the
duchess's salon, immediately behind the arm-chair of the sovereign of
the mansion, who guessed his presence more by the thrill which ran
through her whole being than by the rustling of the curtain, and gave
him her fair hand to kiss over her shoulder, which his lips almost
touched in the position in which he stood.
The lovely duchess was, as we have said, surrounded by a veritable
court. At her right was seated the Duke of Medina-Sidonia, ambassador of
Charles V.; Monsieur de Montbrion, governor of Charles d'Orléans, the
king's second son, was at her left; the rest of the company sat in a
circle at her feet.
With the leading personages of the kingdom--warriors, statesmen,
magistrates, artists,--were assembled the leaders of the Protestant
sect, which Madame d'Etampes secretly favored; great nobles all, and
much courted, who had constituted themselves courtiers of the favorite.
It was a gorgeous throng, and dazzling to the eyes at first sight. The
conversation was enlivened with satirical remarks of all sorts
concerning Diane de Poitiers, mistress of the Dauphin, and the bitter
enemy of Madame d'Etampes. But Anne took no part in this petty warfare
of quips and cranks, save by a word or two thrown in at random now and
then, as, "Softly, messieurs, softly! no abuse of Madame Diane, or
Endymion will be angry!" or, "Poor Madame Diane! she was married the day
I was born!"
Except for these sparks with which she lighted up the conversation,
Madame d'Etampes hardly spoke to anybody beside her two neighbors. She
talked with them in undertones, but with great animation, and not so low
that Ascanio, who was humble and abashed among so many great men, could
not hear her.
"Yes, Monsieur de Montbrion," said she confidentially to her left hand
neighbor, "we must make an admirable prince of your pupil; he is the
real king of the future, you know. I am ambitious for the dear child,
and I am engaged at this moment in carving out an independent
sovereignty for him in case God should take his father from us. Henri
II., a poor creature, between ourselves, will be King of France; so be
it. Our king will be a French king, and we will leave Madame Diane and
Paris to his elder brother. But we will take with us, with our Charles,
the heart of Paris. The court will be where I am, Monsieur de Montbrion;
I shall displace the sun. We shall have great painters like Primaticcio,
charming poets like Clement Marot, who is fidgeting about yonder in his
corner without speaking, a sure proof that he would like an opportunity
to repeat some verses to us. All these people are at heart more vain
than selfish, and more thirsty for glory than for money. Ant he who has
the greatest wealth, but he who will flatter them most freely, will have
them on his side. And he who has them will be always great, for they
will shed lustre upon any place upon which their rays fall. The Dauphin
cares for naught but jousting! Oh, well! let him keep the lances and
swords, and we will take the pens and the brushes with us. Never fear,
Monsieur de Montbrion, I will never allow myself to be put down by
Madame Diane, the queen in expectancy. Let her wait patiently till time
and chance give her kingdom. I shall have made one for myself twice
over meanwhile. What say you to the Duchy of Milan? There you will not
be very far from your friends at Geneva; for I know that you are not
altogether indifferent to the new doctrine blown over from Germany.
Hush! we will speak of this again, and I will tell you things that will
surprise you. Why has Madame Diane assumed to set herself up as
protectress of the Catholics? She protects, I protest; that's the
difference between us."
With an imperative gesture and a meaning glance, Madame d'Etampes
brought her confidences upon this subject to a close, leaving the
governor of Charles d'Orléans sadly bewildered. He was on the point of
replying, nevertheless, but found that the duchess had already turned to
the Duke of Medina-Sidonia.
We have said that Ascanio could hear all.
"Well, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur," so Madame d'Etampes began, "does the
Emperor finally conclude to pass through France? He can hardly do
otherwise, to tell the truth, and a net on land is always preferable to
a yawning gulf at sea. His cousin Henry VIII. would have no scruples
about kidnapping him, and if he escaped the English he would fall into
the hands of the Turk. By land the three Protestant princes would oppose
his passage. What can he do? He must either proceed through France, or
else--cruel sacrifice!--forego the chastisement of the rebels of Ghent,
his dear compatriots. For our great Emperor Charles is a good burgher of
Ghent. That is very evident in the slight respect which he has shown on
occasion for Royal Majesty. Memories of that sort are what make him so
timid and circumspect to-day, Monsieur de Medina. Oh, we understand it
all! He fears that the King of France will avenge the prisoner in Spain,
and that the prisoner at Paris may pay the balance of the ransom due
from the prisoner of the Escurial. O mon Dieu! let his mind be at ease;
even if he does not comprehend our chivalrous loyalty, he has heard of
it, I trust."
"Most assuredly, Madame la Duchesse," said the ambassador, "we know the
loyalty of François I. when left to his own devices, but we fear--"
The duke paused.
"You fear his advisers, do you not?" rejoined the duchess. "Yes, yes!
Oh, I know very well that advice from a pretty mouth, advice which
should take a clever and satirical form, would never fail of influence
upon a king's mind. It is your duty to think of that, Monsieur
l'Ambassadeur, and take your precautions accordingly. After all, you
must have full powers, or, if not full powers, a little paper signed in
blank, wherein a good many things can be inserted in a few words. We
know how it's done. We have studied diplomacy; indeed, I once asked the
king to make me an ambassador, for I believe that I have a decided
talent for negotiation. Yes, I am sure that it would be very painful for
Charles V. to give up a slice of his empire in order to obtain his
release, or to assure his inviolability. On the other hand, Flanders is
one of the fairest jewels of his crown; it is the inheritance of his
mother, Marie de Bourgogne, and it is hard to renounce the patrimony of
one's ancestors with a stroke of the pen, especially when that patrimony
is a great duchy, which may well be transformed into a little monarchy.
But what am I saying, mon Dieu! I, who have a perfect horror of
politics, for it is universally agreed that politics and women do not go
well together. To be sure, I let fall a word or two thoughtlessly now
and then on affairs of state, but if his Majesty presses me and insists
upon my expressing my thoughts more fully, I beg him to spare me such
tiresome discussions, and sometimes I run away and leave him alone to
dream upon them. You, clever diplomatist that you are, and who know
mankind so well, will tell me that these words tossed into the air are
just the ones which take root in minds like the king's, and that such
words, which are supposed to have been blown away by the wind, almost
always have more weight than a long harangue which is not listened to.
That may be, Monsieur le Duc de Medina, that may be, but I am only a
poor woman, engrossed with ribbons and gewgaws, and you understand all
these serious matters a thousand times better than I; but the lion may
have need of the ant, the skiff may save the ship. We are here to come
to an understanding, Monsieur le Duc, and that's all we have to do."
"If you choose, madame," said the ambassador, "it will be very quickly
done."
"Who gives to-day receives to-morrow," continued the duchess, evading a
direct reply; "my womanly instinct will always lead me to advise
François I. to perform great and generous deeds, but instinct often
turns its back on reason. We must also think of our interest, of the
interest of France, of course. But I have confidence in you, Monsieur de
Medina; I will ask your advice, and upon the whole I think that the
Emperor will do well to rely upon the king's word.
"Ah! if you were in our interest, madame, he would not hesitate."
"Master Clement Marot," said the duchess, abruptly breaking off the
conversation, as if she had not heard the ambassador's last exclamation;
"Master Clement Marot, do you not happen to have some flowing madrigal,
or some stately sonnet to repeat to us?"
"Madame," said the poet, "sonnets and madrigals are natural flowers
beneath your feet, and grow apace in the sunshine of your lovely eyes:
half a score of lines have come to my mind simply from looking into
them."
"Indeed, master! Very good! we will listen to them. Ah! Messire le
Prévôt, welcome; pray forgive me for not seeing you at once. Have you
news of your future son-in-law, our friend Comte d'Orbec?"
"Yes, madame," replied D'Estourville, "he writes that he is to hasten
his return, and we shall soon see him, I trust."
A half suppressed sigh made Madame d'Etampes start, but she said,
without turning toward its author:--
"He will be welcomed by us all. Well, Vicomte de Marmagne," she
continued, "have you found the sheath of your dagger?"
"No, madame; but I am on the trace of it, and I know how and where to
find it now."
"Good luck to you then, Monsieur le Vicomte, good luck to you. Are you
ready, Master Clement? we are all ears."
"The subject is the duchy of Etampes," said Marot.
A murmur of approval ran through the room, and the poet recited the
following lines in an affected voice:--
"Ce plaisant val que l'on nomme Tempé
Dont mainte histoire est encore embellie,
Arrosé d'eau, si doux, si attrempé,
Sachez que plus il n'est en Thessalie;
Jupiter, roi qui les cœurs gagne et lie,
L'a de Thessale en France remué,
Et quelque peu son propre nom mué,
Car pour Tempé veut qu'Etampes s'appelle,
Ainsi lui plait, ainsi l'a situé
Pour y loger de France la plus belle."[7]
Madame d'Etampes clapped her hands and smiled, and all the hands and all
the lips applauded after her.
"Faith!" said she, "I see that Jupiter transported Pindarus to France
when he transported Tempe."
With that the duchess rose, and all the company followed suit. She was
fully justified in deeming herself the veritable queen; and it was a
true queenly gesture with which she took leave of her guests, and it was
as a queen that all sainted her as they withdrew.
"Remain," she said in a low voice to Ascanio.
Ascanio obeyed.
But when all the others had left the room, it was no haughty and
disdainful queen, but an humble and passionate woman, who turned and
confronted the young artist.
Ascanio, born of humble parents, brought up far from the world, in the
almost cloister-like twilight of the studio, and an unaccustomed guest
in palaces, whither he had accompanied his master only on rare
occasions, was already giddy, confused, dazzled by the light and noise
and conversation. His mind was attacked by something very like vertigo
when he heard Madame d'Etampes speak in such simple terms, or rather so
coquettishly, of such grave subjects, and touch lightly in familiar
phrase upon the destinies of kings and the dismemberment of kingdoms.
The woman, like a very Providence, had in some sort distributed to each
one his portion of joy or sorrow; she had with the same hand rattled
fetters and let crowns fall. And lo! this sovereign of the loftiest
earthly things, proud as Lucifer with her noble flatterers, turned to
him not only with the soft glance of the loving woman, but with the
suppliant air of the slave who fears. Ascanio had suddenly become the
leading character in the play, instead of a simple spectator.
It should be said that the coquettish duchess had skilfully planned and
brought about this effect. Ascanio was conscious of the empire which
this woman assumed, despite his efforts to combat it, not over his
heart, but over his mind; and like the child that he was, he sought to
hide his trouble beneath a cold, stern demeanor. It may perhaps be that
he had seen his spotless Colombe pass like a ghost between the duchess
and himself,--Colombe with her white robe and her luminous brow.
[Footnote 7:
That lovely valley called the Vale of Tempe,
Whose refreshing shade doth many a tale adorn.
Watered by cool and limpid streamlets,
Is no more to be found in Thessaly:
For Jupiter, the king who conquers hearts and binds them,
Has bodily transported it from Thessaly to France,
And in a slight degree has changed its name:
For _Tempe_ read _Etampes_; such is his will,
And he hath so ordained, and placed it there,
That there might dwell she who is France's loveliest.]
XVII
LOVE AS PASSION
"Madame," said Ascanio, "you requested me to design a lily, do you
remember? You ordered me to bring the design to you as soon as it should
be completed. I completed it this morning, and I have it here."
"We have time enough, Ascanio," said the duchess, with a smile, and in a
siren's voice. "Sit you down, pray. Well, my bonny invalid, what of your
wound?"
"I am entirely recovered, madame."
"So far as your shoulder is concerned; but here?" said the duchess,
laying her hand upon the young man's heart, with a graceful gesture, and
a world of sentiment in her tone.
"I beg you, madame, to forget all that nonsense; I am very angry with
myself for having annoyed your ladyship with it."
"O mon Dieu! what means this air of constraint? What means this clouded
brow, and this harsh voice? All those men wearied you, did they not,
Ascanio?--and as for myself, I hate and abhor them, but I fear them! Oh
how I longed to be alone with you! Did you not see how quickly I
dismissed them?"
"You are right, madame; I felt sadly out of place in such a
distinguished company. I, a poor artist, who am here simply to show you
this lily."
"Ah! mon Dieu! in a moment, Ascanio," continued the duchess, slinking
her head; "you are very cold, and very sober with a friend. The other
day you were so expansive and so delightful! Why this change, Ascanio?
Doubtless some speech of your master's, who cannot endure me. How could
you listen to him, Ascanio? Come, be frank; you have discussed me with
him, have you not? and he told you that it was dangerous to trust me;
that the friendly feeling I had manifested for you concealed some snare;
he told you, did he not, that I detest you?"
"He told me that you loved me, madame," retorted Ascanio, looking
earnestly into her face.
Madame d'Etampes was speechless for a moment, in presence of the
thoughts which rushed through her mind. She wished without doubt that
Ascanio should know her love, but she would have liked time to prepare
him for it, and to extinguish gradually, without seeming interested in
so doing, his passion for Colombe. How that the ambuscade she had
arranged was discovered, she must fight her battle in the broad
daylight, and win the victory openly if at all. She made her decision in
a second.
"Well, yes," said she, "I do love you. Is it a crime? Is it a sin even?
Can one command one's love or hatred? You should never nave known that I
love you. For why tell you, when you love another? But that man revealed
the whole truth, he laid bare my heart to you, and he did well, Ascanio.
Look upon it, and you will see there adoration so deep that you can but
be touched by it. And now, Ascanio, you must love me too, mark that."
Anne d'Etampes, a potent, superior nature, disdainful by instinct and
ambitious from weariness of her surroundings had had several lovers
hitherto, but not one love. She had fascinated the king, Admiral Brion
had taken her by surprise, the Comte de Longueval caught her fancy for
the moment, but throughout all these intrigues the head had always taken
the place of the heart. At last, one day she found this young, true
love, tender and deep, which she had so often summoned without avail,
and now another woman disputed its possession with her. Ah! so much the
worse for that other woman! She could not know what an irresistible
passion she had to contend with. All the determination and all the
violent impulses of her heart, she, Anne d'Etampes, would make manifest
in her affection. That woman did not yet know what a fatal thing it
would be to have the Duchesse d'Etampes for her rival, the Duchesse
d'Etampes, who desired to have her Ascanio to herself, and whose power
was such that she could, with a look, a word, a gesture, crush whatever
might come between him and herself. The die was cast, the ambition and
the beauty of the king's mistress were thenceforth to serve no other
masters than her love for Ascanio and her jealousy of Colombe.
Poor Colombe, at that moment bending over her embroidery, sitting at her
spinning-wheel, or kneeling before her prie-Dieu!
Ascanio, in presence of so outspoken and so redoubtable a passion, felt
fascinated, carried away, and dismayed, all at the same moment.
Benvenuto had said, and Ascanio now realized, that this was no mere
whim; but he was deficient, not in the strength to struggle, but in the
experience which would have taught him to feign submission. He was
hardly twenty years old, and was too candid to pretend; he fancied, poor
child, that the memory of Colombe, the name of the innocent girl uttered
by him, would be an offensive and defensive weapon, a sword and a
shield, while on the other hand it was sure to drive the shaft still
deeper into the heart of Madame d'Etampes, who perhaps would soon have
grown weary of a love in which she had no rival and no battle to wage.
"Come, Ascanio," she resumed more calmly, seeing that the young man held
his peace, alarmed perhaps by the words she had let fall, "let us for
to-day forget my love, which an imprudent word of yours inopportunely
awakened. Let us think now of yourself only. Oh! I love you more on your
own account than mine, I swear to you. I long to brighten your life as
you have brightened mine. You are an orphan, take me for your mother.
You heard what I said to Montbrion and Medina, and you may have thought
that I am all ambition. 'T is true, I am ambitious, but for you alone.
How long is it since I conceived this project of creating an independent
duchy in the heart of Italy for a son of France? Only since I have loved
you. If I were queen there, who would be the veritable king? You. For
you I would cause empire and kingdom to change places! Ah! Ascanio, you
do not know me; you do not know what a woman I am. You see that I tell
you the whole truth, I unfold my plans to you without reserve. How do
you, in your turn, confide in me, Ascanio. What are your wishes, that I
may fulfil them! What are your passions, that I may minister to them!"
"Madame, I desire to be as frank and loyal as yourself, and to tell you
the truth, as you have told it to me. I ask nothing, I wish nothing, I
long for nothing, save Colombe's love."
"But she loves you not; you yourself told me so!"
"I was desperate the other day, true. But to-day who can say?" Ascanio
lowered his eyes and his voice: "For you love me!" he added.
The duchess was taken aback by this instance of the instinctive
divination of true love. There was a moment of silence, and that moment
sufficed for her to collect her thoughts.
"Ascanio, let us not talk to-day of affairs of the heart," she said. "I
made that request once before; I make it again. Love isn't the whole of
life to you men. For instance, have you never thirsted for wealth,
honors, glory?"
"Oh! yes, yes! for a month past I have most ardently longed for them,"
replied Ascanio, always reverting to the same idea in spite of himself.
Again there was a pause.
"Are you fond of Italy?" Anne resumed with effort.
"Yes, madame," said Ascanio. "There are flowering orange groves there,
beneath which it is so pleasant to wander and converse. There the bluest
of blue skies surrounds, caresses, and adorns everything that is
beautiful."
"Oh, to fly thither with you!--to have you all to myself!--to be all in
all to you, as you would be all in all to me! Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" cried
the duchess, likewise yielding to the irresistible force of her love.
But she at once recovered herself, fearing to frighten Ascanio again,
and continued: "I thought that you loved art before everything."
"Before everything I love--to love!" said Ascanio. "Oh! it is my great
master Cellini, not I, who throws his whole being into his work. He is
the great, the marvellous, the sublime artist! I am a poor apprentice,
nothing more. I came to France with him, not to acquire wealth, nor
glory, but because I loved him, that's all, and it was impossible for me
to part from him; for at that time he was everything to me. I have no
personal will, no strength independent of his strength. I became a
goldsmith to gratify him, and because he wished it, as I became a carver
because of his enthusiasm for skilful and delicate carving."
"Very well," said the duchess, "now listen: to live in Italy,
all-powerful, almost a king; to patronize artists, Cellini at their
head; to give him bronze, and silver and gold, to carve and cast and
mould; and beyond all that, to love and be loved. Say, Ascanio, is it
not a lovely dream?"
"It would be Paradise, madame, if it were Colombe whom I loved and who
loved me."
"Still Colombe, always Colombe!" cried the duchess. "So be it; since the
subject persistently forces itself into our words and our thoughts;
since your Colombe is here with us, constantly before your eyes, and
constantly in your heart, let us speak of her and of myself frankly and
without hypocrisy: she does not love you, and you know it full well."
"Oh, no! I do not know it now, madame."
"But how can she love you when she is to marry another?" cried the
duchess.
"Her father forces her, perhaps."
"Her father forces her! And do you think that if you loved me as you
loved her,--do you think that if I were in her place there is in this
wide world any force or will or power that could keep us apart? Oh, I
would leave everything, I would fly from everything, I would run to your
arms, and would give you my love, my honor, and my life to guard! No,
no! I say she does not love you. And now would you have me tell you
something else? you do not love her!"
"What! I not love Colombe! I think you said that I do not love her,
madame?"