he met the searching gaze of Madame d'Etampes with a villanous leer.
"I desire to be chancellor," he replied briefly.
"Good! then we are both saved. But what of the provost?"
"Oh," said the count, "you can find some fat office for him; only let it
be lucrative rather than honorable, I beg; it will all fall to me when
the gouty old rascal dies."
Ascanio could contain himself no longer.
"Madame!" he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, stepping forward.
He had no time to say more, the count had no time to be astonished, for
the folding doors were thrown open and the whole court flocked in.
Madame d'Etampes roughly seized Ascanio's hand, and drew him aside with
her, as she said in his ear, in a suppressed voice, trembling with
passion,--
"Now do you see, young man, how one becomes a king's plaything, and
whither life sometimes leads us, in our own despite?"
She said no more. Her words were interrupted by the uproarious good
humor and witty sallies of the king and courtiers.
François I. was radiant, for Charles V. was coming. There would be
receptions, fêtes, surprises,--a glorious part for him to play. The
whole world would have its eyes fixed upon Paris and its king. He looked
forward with childish joy to the performance of the drama of which he
held all the threads. It was his nature to look at everything on the
brilliant rather than on the serious side, to aim more at effect than
anything else, and to look upon battles as tournaments, and upon royalty
as an art. With a mind well stored with strange, poetic, adventurous
ideas, François I. made of his reign a theatrical performance, with the
world for play-house.
On this day, as he was on the eve of dazzling a rival and Europe, his
clemency and benignity were more charming than ever.
As if reassured by his smiling face, Triboulet rolled up to him just as
he passed through the door.
"O Sire, Sire!" cried the fool dolefully, "I come to take my leave of
you; your Majesty must make up your mind to lose me, and I weep for you
more than for myself. What will become of your Majesty without poor
Triboulet, whom you love so dearly?"
"What! you are going to leave me, fool, at this moment when there is but
one fool for two kings?"
"Yes, Sire, at this moment, when there are two kings for one fool."
"But I do not propose to have it so, Triboulet. I order you to remain."
"In that case pray see that Monsieur de Vieilleville is informed of your
royal pleasure, for I but told him what people say of his wife, and for
so simple a matter he swore that he would cut off my ears in the first
place, and then tear out my soul--if I had one, added the impious
villain, whose tongue your Majesty should order to be cut out for such
blasphemy."
"La, la!" rejoined the king; "have no fear, my poor fool; the man who
should take your life would be very sure to be hanged a quarter of an
hour after."
"O Sire, if it makes no difference to you--"
"Well! what?"
"Have him hanged a quarter of an hour before. I much prefer that."
The whole assemblage roared with laughter, the king above all the
others. As he walked on he passed Pietro Strozzi, the noble Florentine
exile.
"Signor Pietro Strozzi," he said, "it is a long time, altogether too
long, I confess, since you requested letters of naturalization at our
hands: it is a disgrace to us that, after having fought so valiantly in
Piedmont for the French and like a true Frenchman, you do not yet belong
to us, since your country by birth denies you. This evening, Signor
Pietro, Messire Le Maçon, my secretary, will take steps to hasten the
issuance of your letters of naturalization. Do not thank me: for my
honor and your own Charles V. must find you a Frenchman.--Ah! there you
are, Cellini, and you never come empty-handed. What have you under your
arm, my friend? But stay a moment; it shall not be said, i' faith, that
I did not surpass you in munificence. Messire Antoine Le Maçon, you
will see that letters of naturalization are issued to my good friend
Benvenuto at the same time with the great Pietro Strozzi's, and you will
issue them without expense to him; a goldsmith cannot put his hand upon
five hundred ducats so readily as a Strozzi."
"Sire," said Benvenuto, "I thank your Majesty, but I pray you to forgive
my ignorance; what are these letters of naturalization?"
"What!" exclaimed Antoine Le Maçon, with great gravity, while the king
laughed like a madman at the question; "do you not know, Master
Benvenuto, that letters of naturalization are the greatest honor his
Majesty can bestow upon a foreigner,--that you thereby become a
Frenchman?"
"I begin to understand, Sire, and I thank you again," said Cellini. "But
pardon me; as I am already at heart your Majesty's subject, of what use
are these letters?"
"Of what use are the letters?" rejoined François, still in the best of
humor; "why they are of this use, Benvenuto, that now that you are a
Frenchman, I can make you Seigneur du Grand-Nesle, which was not
possible before. Messire Le Maçon, you will add to the letters of
naturalization the definitive deed of the château. Do you understand
now, Benvenuto, of what use the letters of naturalization are?"
"Yes, Sire, and I thank you a thousand times. One would say that our
hearts understood each other without words, for this favor which you
bestow upon me to-day is a step toward a very, very great favor which I
shall perhaps dare to ask at your hands some day, and is, so to say, a
part of it."
"You know what I promised you, Benvenuto. Bring me my Jupiter, and ask
what you will."
"Yes, your Majesty has a good memory, and I hope your word will prove to
be as good. Yes, your Majesty, you have it in your power to gratify a
wish, upon which my life in a measure depends, and you have already, by
a sublime instinct worthy of a king, made its gratification more easy."
"It shall be done, my eminent artist, according to your wish; but,
meanwhile, allow us to see what you have in your hands."
"It is a silver salt dish, Sire, to go with the ewer and the basin."
"Show it me quickly, Benvenuto."
The king scrutinized, carefully and silently as always, the marvellous
piece of work which Cellini handed him.
"What a blunder!" he said at last; "what a paradox!"
"What! Sire," cried Benvenuto, disappointed beyond measure, "your
Majesty is not pleased with it?"
"Certainly not, monsieur. Why, you spoil a lovely idea by executing it
in silver! it must be done in gold, Cellini. I am very sorry for you,
but you must begin again."
"Alas! Sire," said Benvenuto sadly, "be not so ambitious for my poor
works. The richness of the material will destroy these treasures of my
thought, I greatly fear. More lasting glory is to be attained by working
in clay than in gold, Sire, and the names of us goldsmiths survive us
but a little while. Necessity is sometimes a cruel master, Sire, and men
are always greedy and stupid. Who can say that a silver cup for which
your Majesty would give ten thousand ducats, might not be melted down
for ten crowns?"
"How now! do you think that the King of France will ever pawn the dishes
from his table?"
"Sire, the Emperor of Constantinople pawned Our Saviour's crown of
thorns with the Venetians."
"But a King of France took it out of pawn, monsieur."
"Very true; but think of the possible risks, revolution and exile. I
come from a country whence the Medicis have been thrice expelled and
thrice recalled, and it is only kings like your Majesty, who are
glorious in themselves, from whom their treasures cannot be taken away."
"No matter, Benvenuto, no matter, I desire my salt dish in gold, and my
treasurer will hand you to-day a thousand gold crowns of the old weight
for that purpose. You hear, Comte d'Orbec, to-day, for I do not wish
Cellini to lose a minute. Adieu, Benvenuto, go on with your work, the
king does not forget his Jupiter; adieu, messieurs, think of Charles V."
While François was descending the staircase to join the queen, who was
already in her carriage, and whom he was to accompany on horseback,
divers incidents occurred which we must not omit to mention.
Benvenuto walked up to Comte d'Orbec and said to him: "Be good enough to
have the gold ready for me, Messire le Trésorier. In obedience to his
Majesty's commands I go at once to my house for a bag, and shall be at
your office in a half-hour." The count bowed in token of acquiescence,
and Cellini took his departure alone, after looking around in vain for
Ascanio.
At the same time Marmagne was speaking in an undertone with the provost,
who still held Colombo's hand.
"This is a magnificent opportunity," he said, "and I shall go at once
and summon my men. Do you tell D'Orbec to detain Cellini as long as
possible."
With that he disappeared, and Messire d'Estourville went to D'Orbec and
whispered a few words in his ear, after which he said aloud,--
"Meanwhile, count, I will take Colombe back to the Hôtel de Nesle."
"Very good," said D'Orbec, "and come and let me know the result this
evening."
They separated, and the provost slowly walked away with his daughter
toward the Hôtel de Nesle, followed without their knowledge by Ascanio,
who did not lose sight of them, but kept his eyes fixed fondly upon his
Colombe.
Meanwhile the king was mounting a superb sorrel, his favorite steed,
presented to him by Henry VIII.
"We are to make a long journey together to-day," he said,
"'Gentil, joli petit cheval,
Bon à monter, doux à descendre.'[11]
Faith, there are the first two lines of a quatrain," he added; "cap them
for me, Marot, or you, Master Melin de Saint-Gelais."
Marot scratched his head, but Saint-Gelais anticipated him, and with
extraordinary promptness and success continued:--
"Sans que tu sois un Bucéphal,
Tu portes plus grand qu'Alexandre."[12]
He was applauded on all sides, and the king, already in the saddle,
waved his hand gracefully in acknowledgment of the poet's swift and
happy inspiration.
Marot returned to the apartments of the Queen of Navarre, more out of
sorts than ever.
"I don't know what the matter was with them at court to-day," he
grumbled, "but they were all extremely stupid."
[Footnote 8: It was at Villers-Cotterets, a small town in the department of
Aisne, where François I. had a château, that the famous ordinance
was signed, providing that the acts of sovereign courts should no
longer be written in Latin, but should be drawn up in the vernacular.
This château is still in existence, although sadly shorn of its
pristine magnificence, and diverted from the uses for which it was
originally intended. Begun by François I., who carved the salamanders
upon it, it was finished by Henri II., who added his cipher
and that of Catherine de Medicis. The visitor may still see those
two letters, masterpieces of the Renaissance, connected,--and note
this well, for the spirit of the time is epitomized in this lapidary
fact,--connected by a lover's knot, which includes also the crescent
of Diane de Poitiers. A charming, but, we must agree, a strange
trilogy, which consists of the cipher and arms of the husband, the
wife, and the mistress.]
[Footnote 9: _Ce maraud de Marot._]
[Footnote 10:
I often wish that I were Phœbus,
Not for his heaven-born knowledge of herbs,
For the pain which I seek to deaden
Can be cured by no herb that grows.
Nor is it to have my abode in the firmament,
Nor for his bow to contend against Love,
For I do not choose to betray my king.
I long to be Phœbus simply for this,
To be beloved by Diane the fair.]
[Footnote 11:
Dainty, pretty little creature,
Kind to mount, to dismount gentle.]
[Footnote 12:
Though thou'rt not a Bucephalus,
Thou bearest a greater than Alexander.]
II
FOUR VARIETIES OF BRIGANDS
Benvenuto crossed the Seine in all haste, and procured, not a bag as he
had told Comte d'Orbec that he should, but a small wicker basket given
him by one of his cousins, a nun at Florence. As he was determined to
make an end of the affair that day, and it was already two o'clock, he
did not wait for Ascanio, whom he had completely lost sight of, nor his
workmen, who had gone to dinner; but started at once for Rue
Froid-Manteau, where Comte d'Orbec had his official residence; and
although he kept his eyes open he saw nothing on the way to cause him
the least uneasiness.
When he reached the treasurer's abode that dignitary informed him that
he could not deliver his gold to him at once, as there were certain
indispensable formalities to be gone through with, a notary to be
summoned, and a contract to be drawn up. The count apologized with a
thousand expressions of regret, knowing Cellini's impatient nature, and
was so courteous withal that it was impossible to be angry; and
Benvenuto resigned himself to wait, believing in the reality of these
obstacles to a speedy delivery of the gold.
Cellini desired to take advantage of the delay to send for some of his
workmen, that they might accompany him home, and help him to carry the
gold. D'Orbec quickly volunteered to send one of his servants to the
Hôtel de Nesle with the message; then he led the conversation around to
Cellini's work, and the king's evident partiality for him,--to anything
in short likely to incline Benvenuto to be patient,--which was the less
difficult of accomplishment as he had no reason for wishing ill to the
count, and no suspicion that the count had any reason for being hostile
to him. There was his desire to supplant him with Colombe, but no one
knew of that desire save Ascanio and himself. He therefore met the
treasurer's friendly overtures graciously enough.
Further time was necessary to select gold of the degree of fineness
which the king desired him to have. The notary was very slow in coming.
A contract is not drawn up in a moment. In short, when, after the final
exchange of courtesies, Benvenuto made ready to return to his studio,
night was beginning to fall. He questioned the servant who was sent for
his companions, and was told that they were unable to come, but that he
would gladly carry the gold for him. Benvenuto's suspicions were
aroused, and he declined the offer, courteous as it was.
He placed the gold in his little basket, then passed his arm through the
two handles, and as there was barely room for his arm, the cover was
securely pressed down, and he carried it much more easily than if it had
been in a bag. He had a stout coat of mail with sleeves beneath his
coat, a short sword at his side, and a dagger in his belt. He set out on
his homeward journey at a quick pace, but cautiously nevertheless. Just
before he started he noticed several servants speaking together in low
tones, and that they left the house in a great hurry, but they made a
show of going in a different direction from that taken by him.
To-day, when one can go from the Louvre to the Institute by the Pont des
Arts, Benvenuto's homeward journey would be but a stride, but at that
time it was a long walk. He was obliged, starting from Rue
Froid-Manteau, to follow the quay as far as the Châtelet, cross the
Pont des Meuniers, go across the city by Rue Saint-Barthélemy, cross to
the left bank by the Pont Saint-Michel, and from there go down the river
to the Grand-Nesle by the deserted quay. The reader need not wonder
that, in those days of thieves and cut-throats, Benvenuto,
notwithstanding his courage, felt some anxiety touching so considerable
a sum as that he carried upon his arm; and if he will go forward with us
two or three hundred yards in advance of Benvenuto he will see that his
anxiety was not unjustifiable.
When it began to grow dark, about an hour before, four men of forbidding
appearance, wrapped in great cloaks, stationed themselves upon the Quai
des Augustins, at a point abreast of the church. The river bank was
bordered with walls only at that spot, and was absolutely deserted at
that moment. While they stood there they saw no one pass but the
provost, on his way back to the Châtelet after escorting Colombe to the
Petit-Nesle, and him they saluted with the respect due the constituted
authorities.
They were talking in low tones in a recess formed by the church, and
their hats were pulled well down over their eyes. Two of them are
already known to us: the bravos employed by Vicomte de Marmagne in his
ill-fated expedition against the Grand-Nesle. Their names were Ferrante
and Fracasso. Their companions, who earned their livelihood at the same
honorable calling, were named Procope and Maledent. In order that
posterity may not quarrel over the nationality of these four valiant
captains, as it has done for three thousand years over that of old
Homer, we will add that Maledent was a Picard, Procope a Bohemian, and
that Ferrante and Fracasso first saw the light beneath the soft skies of
Italy. As to their distinctive callings in time of peace, Procope was a
jurist, Ferrante a pedant, Fracasso a dreamer of dreams, and Maledent a
fool. It will be seen that the fact that we are ourselves a Frenchman
does not blind us to the character of the only one of these four toilers
who happened to be our compatriot.
In battle all four were demons.
Let us listen for a moment to their friendly and edifying conversation.
We may be able to judge therefrom what manner of men they were, and what
danger was impending over our good friend, Benvenuto.
"At all events, Fracasso," said Ferrante, "we shan't be hampered to-day
with that great red-faced viscount, and our poor swords can leave their
scabbards without his crying, 'Retreat!'--the coward,--and forcing us to
turn tail."
"Very true," rejoined Fracasso, "but as he leaves us all the risk of the
combat, for which I thank him, he ought to leave us all the profit too.
By what right does the red-haired devil reserve five hundred crowns for
his own part? I admit that the five hundred that remain make a very
pretty prize. A hundred and twenty-five for each of us does us
honor,--indeed, when times are hard, I sometimes find it necessary to
kill a man for two crowns."
"For two crowns! Holy Virgin!" cried Maledent; "shame! that brings
discredit on the profession. Don't say such things when I am with you,
for any one who overheard you might confound us with each other, my dear
fellow."
"What would you have, Maledent?" said Fracasso, in a melancholy tone;
"life has its crosses, and there are times when one would kill a man for
a bit of bread. It seems to me, my good friends, that two hundred and
fifty crowns are worth just twice as much as a hundred and twenty-five.
Suppose that after we have killed our man we refuse to settle with that
great thief of a Marmagne?"
"You forget, brother," rejoined Procope seriously, "that would be
to disregard our agreement, to defraud our patron, and we must be loyal
in everything. Let us hand the viscount the five hundred crowns to the
last sou, as agreed, that is my advice. But _distinguamus_, let us make
a distinction; when he has pocketed them, and when he realizes that we
are honorable men, I fail to see why we shouldn't fall upon him and take
them from him."
"Well thought of!" exclaimed Ferrante in a judicial tone. "Procope was
always distinguished for uprightness of character conjoined with a vivid
imagination."
"Mon Dieu! that is because I have studied law a little," said Procope
modestly.
"But," continued Ferrante, with the air of pedantry which was habitual
to him, "let us not involve ourselves in too many plans at once. _Secte
ad terminum eamus_. Let the viscount sleep in peace; his turn will come.
This Florentine goldsmith is the one we have to deal with at the moment;
for greater security, it was desired that four of us should set upon
him. Strictly speaking one only should have done the deed and pocketed
the price, but the concentration of capital is a social plague, and 't
is much better that the money be divided among several friends. Let us
despatch him swiftly and cleanly. He is no ordinary man, as Fracasso and
I have learned. Let us resign ourselves, therefore, for greater
security, to attack him all four at once. It cannot be long now before
he comes. Attention! be cool, quick of foot and eye, and beware of the
Italian thrusts he'll be sure to try on you."
"I know what it is, Ferrante," said Maledent disdainfully, "to receive a
sword-cut, whether with the edge or the point. Once on a time I made my
way at night into a certain château in the Bourbonnais on business of a
personal nature. Being surprised by the dawn before I had fully
completed it, I had no choice but to conceal myself until the following
night. No place seemed to me so appropriate for that purpose as the
arsenal of the château: there were quantities of stands of arms and
trophies there, and helmets, cuirasses, armlets and cuisses, shields and
targets. I removed the upright upon which one of the suits of armor
hung, put myself in its place, and stood there, motionless upon my
pedestal, with lowered visor."
"This is very interesting," interposed Ferrante; "go on, Maledent; how
can we better employ this period of waiting to perform one exploit, than
in listening to tales of other feats of arms. Go on."
"I did not know," continued Maledent, "that accursed suit of armor was
used by the young men of the family to practise fencing upon. But soon
two strapping fellows of twenty came in, took down a lance and a sword
each, and began to cut and thrust at my casing with all their heart.
Well, my friends, you may believe me or not, but under all their blows
with lance and sword, I never flinched: I stood there as straight and
immovable as if I had really been of wood, and riveted to my base.
Fortunately the young rascals were not of the first force. The father
arrived in due time and urged them to aim at the joints in my armor; but
Saint Maledent, my patron, whom I invoked in a whisper, turned their
blows aside. At last that devil of a father, in order to show the
youngsters how to carry away a visor, took a lance himself, and at the
first blow uncovered my pale and terrified face. I thought I was lost."
"Poor fellow!" said Fracasso sadly, "how could it be otherwise."
"Fancy, if you please, that when they saw my colorless face they took me
for the ghost of their great-grandfather; and father and sons scuttled
away as if the devil was at their heels. Need I say more? I turned my
back, and did as much for my own part; and you see I came out of it with
a whole skin."
"Very good, but the important thing in our trade, friend Maledent," said
Procope, "is not only to receive blows manfully, but to deal them
handsomely. It's a fine thing when the victim falls without a sound. In
one of my expeditions in Flanders I had to rid one of my customers of
four of his intimate friends, who were travelling in company. He
proposed at first that I should take three comrades, but I told him that
I would undertake it alone, or not at all. It was agreed that I should
do as I chose, and that I should have the stipend four times over
provided that I delivered four dead bodies. I knew the road they were to
take, and I awaited their coming at an inn which they must of necessity
pass.
"The inn-keeper had formerly belonged to the fraternity, and had left it
for his present occupation, which allowed him to plunder travellers
without risk; but he retained some kindly sentiments for his former
brethren, so that I had no great difficulty in winning him over to my
interest in consideration of a tenth of the reward. With that
understanding we awaited our four horsemen, who soon appeared around a
bend in the road, and alighted in front of the inn, preparatory to
filling their stomachs and resting their horses. The landlord said to
them that his stable was so small that, unless they went in one at a
time, they could hardly move there, and would be in each other's way.
The first who entered was so slow about coming out, that the second lost
patience and went to see what he was doing. He also was in no hurry to
reappear, whereupon the third, weary of waiting, followed the other two.
After some little time, as the fourth was expressing his astonishment at
their delay, mine host remarked: 'Ah! I see what it is: the stable is so
extremely small, that they have gone out through the door at the rear.'
"This explanation encouraged my last man to join his companions and
myself, for you will have guessed that I was in the stable. I allowed
him, however, the satisfaction of uttering one little cry, to say
farewell to the world, as there was no longer any danger.