replied by reasoning gently with him: I told him he must try to conquer
his passion, and love me no more. The next five days I listened in
silence, and that was a very compromising kind of an answer; but you
bade me do it, so I did it. Since then I have been driven to talk of my
duty to you, and yesterday, master, I reached a point where I besought
him to be generous, while he pressed me to confess my love for him."
"If that is so, it puts a different face on the matter," said Benvenuto.
"Ah, at last!" said Scozzone.
"Yes, now listen, little one. During the first three days of my absence,
you will let him think that you love him; during the next three, you
will confess your love."
"What, you bid me do that, Benvenuto!" cried Scozzone, deeply wounded at
the master's too great confidence in her.
"Never you fear. What have you to reproach yourself for when I authorize
you to do it?"
"Mon Dieu! nothing, I know," said Scozzone; "but being placed as I am
between your indifference and his love, I may end by falling in love
with him outright."
"Nonsense! in six days? Aren't you strong enough to remain indifferent
to him six days?"
"Yes, indeed! I give you six days; but don't remain away seven, I beg
you."
"No fear, my child, I will return in time. Adieu, Scozzone."
"Adieu, master," returned Scozzone, sulking, smiling, and weeping all at
once.
While Cellini was giving Catherine these instructions, the provost and
D'Orbec returned to the studio.
When they were left to themselves, with unrestricted freedom of
movement, they went about their search in a sort of frenzy; they
explored the garrets and cellars, sounded all the walls, moved all the
furniture; they detained all the servants they met, and displayed the
ardor of creditors with the patience of hunters. A hundred times they
retraced their steps, examining the same thing again and again, like a
sheriff's officer with a writ to serve, and when they had finished they
were flushed and excited, but had discovered nothing.
"Well, messieurs," said Benvenuto, preparing to mount his horse, "you
found nothing, eh? So much the worse! so much the worse! I understand
what a painful thing it must be for turn sensitive hearts like yours,
but notwithstanding my sympathy with your suffering and my desire to
assist in your search I must begone. If you feel called upon to visit
the Grand-Nesle in my absence, do not hesitate, but make yourself
perfectly at home here. I have given orders that the house be open to
you at all times. My only consolation for leaving you in so anxious a
frame of mind is the hope that I shall learn upon my return that you
have found your daughter, Monsieur le Prévôt, and you your fair
_fiancée_, Monsieur d'Orbec. Adieu, messieurs."
Thereupon he turned to his companions, who were standing in a group at
the door, all save Ascanio, who doubtless did not care to stand faee to
face with his rival.
"Adieu, my children," he said. "If during my absence Monsieur le
Prévôt desires to inspect my house a third time, do not forget to
receive him as its former master."
With that little Jehan threw open the door, and Benvenuto galloped away.
"You see that we are idiots, my dear fellow," said Comte d'Orbec to the
provost. "When a man has kidnapped a girl, he doesn't go off to
Romorantin with the court."
VI
CHARLES THE FIFTH AT FONTAINEBLEAU
It was not without grave doubts and a terrible sinking at the heart that
Charles V. stepped foot upon French territory, where earth and air were,
so to speak, his enemies, whose king he had treated unworthily when he
was a prisoner in his hands, and whose Dauphin he had perhaps
poisoned,--he was at least accused of it. Europe anticipated terrible
reprisals on the part of François I. from the moment that his rival
placed himself in his power. But Charles's audacity, great gambler in
empires that he was, would not permit him to draw back; and as soon as
he had skilfully felt the ground and paved the way, he boldly crossed
the Pyrenees.
He counted upon finding devoted friends at the French court, and thought
that he could safely trust to three guaranties: the ambition of Madame
d'Etampes, the overweening conceit of the Connétable Anne de
Montmorency, and the king's chivalrous nature.
We have seen how and for what reason the duchess chose to serve his
interests. With the constable it was a different matter. The great
stumbling-block in the way of statesmen of all lands and all periods is
the question of alliances. Politics, which, in this matter and many
others, is perforce conjectural only, is often mistaken, alas! like the
science of medicine, in studying the symptoms of affinities between
peoples, and in risking remedies for their animosities. Now the
constable was a monomaniac on the subject of the Spanish alliance. He
had got it into his head that France's salvation lay in that direction,
and provided that he could satisfy Charles V., who had been at war with
his master twenty years out of twenty-five, he cared but little how much
he displeased his other allies, the Turks and the Protestants, or let
slip the most magnificent opportunities, like that which gave Flanders
to François I.
The king had blind confidence in Montmorency. In truth the constable had
in the last war against the Emperor displayed a hitherto unheard of
resolution, and had checked the enemy's advance. To be sure he did it at
the cost of the ruin of a province, by laying the country waste before
him, by devastating a tenth part of France. But what especially
impressed the king was his minister's haughty roughness of manner, his
inflexible obstinacy, which to a superficial mind might seem cleverness
and unswerving firmness of resolution. The result was that François
listened to the "great suborner of men," as Brantôme calls him, with a
deference equal to the fear inspired in his inferiors by this terrible
reciter of _paternosters_, who alternated his prayers with hangings.
Charles V. could therefore safely rely upon the persevering friendship
of the constable.
He placed even more reliance upon his rival's generosity. Indeed,
François I. carried magnanimity to an absurd point.
"My kingdom," he said, "has no toll-house, like a bridge, and I do not
sell my hospitality." The astute Charles knew that he could trust the
word of the "knightly king."
Nevertheless, when the Emperor was fairly' upon French territory, he
could not overcome his apprehension and his doubts. He found the king's
two sons awaiting him at the frontier, and throughout his journey they
overwhelmed him with attentions and honors. But the crafty monarch
shuddered as he thought that all this appearance of cordiality might
conceal some deep-laid snare.
"I must say that I sleep very ill," he said, "in a foreign country."
He brought an anxious preoccupied face to the fêtes which were given
him, and, as he advanced farther and farther toward the heart of the
country, he became more and more sad and gloomy.
Whenever he rode into a city, he would ask himself, amid all the
haranguing, as he passed beneath the triumphal arches, if that was the
city where he was to be imprisoned; then he would murmur beneath his
breath, "Not this or any other city, but all France, is my dungeon; all
these assiduous courtiers are my jailers." And each hour as it passed
added something to the apprehension of this tiger, who believed himself
to be in a cage, and saw bars on all sides.
One day, as they were riding along, Charles d'Orléans, a fascinating,
frolicsome child,--who was in great haste to be amiable and gallant, as
a son of France, before dying of the plague like any peasant,--leaped
lightly to the saddle behind the Emperor and threw his arms about his
waist, crying gleefully, "Now you are my prisoner!" Charles became pale
as death, and nearly fainted.
At Châtellerault, the poor imaginary captive was met by François, who
welcomed him fraternally, and on the following day presented the whole
court to him,--the valorous, magnificent nobility, the glory of the
country, and the artists and men of letters, the glory of the king. The
fêtes and merry-makings began in good earnest. The Emperor wore a brave
face everywhere, but in his heart he was afraid, and constantly
reproached himself for his imprudence. From time to time, as if to test
his liberty, he would go out at daybreak from the château where he had
lain at night, and he was delighted to see that his movements were not
interfered with outside of the honors paid him. But could he be sure
that he was not watched from a distance? Sometimes, as if from mere
caprice, he changed the itinerary arranged for his journey, to the
despair of François I., because part of the ceremonial prescribed by
him went for naught as a consequence.
When he was within two day's ride of Paris he remembered with terror the
French king's sojourn at Madrid. For an emperor the capital would seem
to be the most honorable place of detention, and at the same time the
surest. He therefore begged the king to escort him at once to
Fontainebleau, of which he had heard so much. This overturned all of
François's plans, but he was too hospitable to allow his disappointment
to appear, and at once sent word to the queen and all the ladies to
repair to Fontainebleau.
The presence of his sister Eleanora, and her confidence in her husband's
good faith, allayed the Emperor's anxiety to some extent. But, although
reassured for the moment, Charles V. was never able to feel at his ease
while he was within the dominions of the King of France. François was
the mirror of the past, Charles the type of the future. The sovereign of
modern times never rightly understood the hero of the Middle Ages; it
was impossible that there should be any real sympathy between the last
of the chevaliers and the first of the diplomatists.
It is true Louis XI. might, strictly speaking, lay claim to this latter
title, but in our opinion Louis XI. was not so much the scheming
diplomatist as the grasping miser.
On the day of the Emperor's arrival there was a hunting party in the
forest of Fontainebleau. Hunting was a favorite pastime of François I.
It was not much better than a terrible bore to Charles V. Nevertheless
he seized with avidity this further opportunity to see if he was not a
prisoner; he let the hunt pass, took a by-road, and rode about at random
until he was lost. But when he found that he was entirely alone in the
middle of the forest, as free as the air that blew through the branches,
or as the birds that flew through the air, he was almost wholly
reassured, and began to recover his good humor in some measure. And yet
the anxious expression returned to his faee when, upon his making his
appearance at the rendezvous, François came to him, flushed with the
excitement of the chase, and still holding in his hand the bleeding
boar-spear. The warrior of Marignano and Pavia was much in evidence in
the king's pleasures.
"Come, my dear brother, let us enjoy ourselves!" said François, passing
his arm through Charles's in a friendly way, when they had both alighted
at the palace gate, and, leading him to the Galerie de Diane,
resplendent with the paintings of Rosso and Primaticcio. "Vrai Dieu! you
are as thoughtful as I was at Madrid. But you will agree, my dear
brother, that I had some reason for being so, for I was your prisoner,
while you are my guest; you are free, you are on the eve of a triumph.
Rejoice therefore with us, if not because of the fêtes, which are
doubtless beneath the notice of a great politician like yourself, at
least in the thought that you are on your way to humble all those
beer-drinking Flemings, who presume to talk of renewing the Communes.
Or, better still, forget the rebels, and think only of enjoying yourself
with friends. Does not my court impress you pleasantly?"
"It is superb, my brother," said Charles, "and I envy you. I too have a
court--you have seen it--but a stern, joyless court, a gloomy assemblage
of statesmen and generals like Lannoy, Peschiara, and Antonio de Leyra.
But you have, beside your warriors and statesmen, beside your
Montmorencys and Dubellays, beside your scholars, beside Budée,
Duchâtel, and Lascaris,--beside all these you have your poets and your
artists, Marot, Jean Goujon, Primaticcio, Benvenuto; and, above all,
your adorable women,--Marguerite de Navarre, Diane de Poitiers,
Catherine de Medicis, and so many others; and verily I begin to believe,
my dear brother, that I would willingly exchange my gold mines for your
flower-strewn fields."
"Ah! but you have not yet seen the fairest of all these lovely flowers,"
said François naïvely to Eleanora's brother.
"No, and I am dying with longing to see that marvellous pearl of
loveliness," said the Emperor, who understood that the king alluded to
Madame d'Etampes; "but even now I think that it is well said that yours
is the fairest realm on earth, my brother."
"But you have the fairest countship, Flanders; the fairest duchy,
Milan."
"You refused the first last month," said the Emperor, smiling, "and I
thank you for so doing; but you covet the other, do you not?" he added
with a sigh.
"Ah! let us not talk of serious matters to-day, my cousin, I beg you,"
said François; "after the pleasures of war there is nothing, I confess,
which I like less to disturb than the pleasures of a festal occasion
like the present."
"It is the truth," rejoined Charles, with the grimace of a miser, who
realizes that he must pay a debt, "it is the truth that the Milanese is
very dear to my heart, and that it would be like tearing my heart out to
give it to you."
"Say rather to return it to me, my brother; that word would be more
accurate, and would perhaps soften your disappointment. But that is not
the matter in hand now; we must enjoy ourselves. We will talk of the
Milanese later."
"Gift or restitution, given or returned," said the Emperor, "you will
none the less possess one of the finest lordships in the world; for you
shall have it, my brother; it is decided, and I will keep my engagements
with you as faithfully as you keep yours with me."
"Mon Dieu!" cried François, beginning to be vexed at this everlasting
recurrence to serious matters; "what do you regret, my brother? Are you
not King of the Spains, Emperor of Germany, Count of Flanders, and lord,
either by influence or by right of your sword, of all Italy, from the
foot of the Alps to the farthest point of Calabria?"
"But you have France!" rejoined Charles with a sigh.
"You have the Indies and their golden treasures; you have Peru and the
mines!"
"But you have France!"
"You reign over an empire so vast that the sun never sets upon it."
"But you have France! What would your Majesty say, if I should cast an
eye on this diamond among kingdoms, as fondly and gloatingly as you gaze
upon that pearl of duchies, Milan?"
"Look, you, my brother," said François gravely, "I have instincts
rather than ideas upon these momentous questions; but, as they say in
your country, 'Do not touch the queen!' so I say to you, 'Do not touch
France!'"
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Charles; "are we not cousins and allies?"
"Most certainly," was François's reply, "and I most earnestly hope that
nothing will happen henceforth to embitter our relationship or disturb
our alliance."
"I too hope so," said the Emperor. "But," he continued, with his cunning
smile and hypocritical expression, "can I answer for the future, and
prevent my son Philip, for instance, from falling out with your son
Henri?"
"Such a quarrel would not be dangerous for France, if Augustus is
succeeded by Tiberius."
"What matter who the master is?" said Charles, waxing warm; "the Empire
will still be the Empire, and the Rome of the Cæsars was still Rome
when the Cæsars had ceased to be Cæsars in everything save name."
"True, but the Empire of Charles V. is not the Empire of Octavius, my
brother," said François, a little piqued. "Pavia was a glorious battle,
but it was no Actium; then, too, Octavius was very wealthy, while,
notwithstanding your Indian treasures and your Peruvian mines, you are
well known to be in straitened circumstances financially; your unpaid
troops were driven to sack Rome to procure means of subsistence, and now
that Rome is sacked they are in revolt."
"And you, my brother," said Charles, "have alienated the royal domains,
as I am informed, and are driven to treat Luther very tenderly, so that
the German princes may consent to loan you money."
"Not to mention the fact," retorted François, "that your Cortes is very
far from being so manageable as the Senate, while I can boast that I
have freed the Kings of France from their dependence forever."
"Beware that your parliaments don't put you back into leading-strings
some fine day."
The discussion was growing warm, both monarchs were getting excited, and
the long standing antipathy which had kept them apart so long, was
beginning to glow afresh. François was on the point of forgetting the
duties of hospitality, and Charles the dictates of prudence, when the
former suddenly remembered that he was beneath his own roof.
"On my word, my good brother," he exclaimed abruptly, laughing aloud, "I
believe, by Mahomet's belly! that we were near losing our tempers. I
told you that we must not talk of serious matters, but must leave such
discussions to our ministers, and keep for ourselves only our good
friendship. Come, let us agree, once for all, that you are to have the
world, less France, and drop the subject."
"And less the Milanese, my brother," said Charles, realizing the
imprudence he had been guilty of, and seeking at once to avoid its
effects, "for the Milanese is yours. I have promised it to you, and I
renew my promise."
As they exchanged these mutual assurances of continuing good will, the
door of the gallery opened, and Madame d'Etampes appeared. The king
walked quickly to meet her, took her hand, and led her to where the
Emperor stood, who, seeing her then for the first time, and, being fully
informed as to what had taken place between her and Monsieur de Medina,
fixed his most penetrating gaze upon her as she approached.
"My brother," said the king smiling, "do you see this fair dame?"
"Not only do I see her," replied Charles, "but I admire her."
"Very well! you do not know what she wants?"
"Is it one of my Spains? I will give it her."
"No, no, brother, not that."
"What then?"
"She wants me to detain you at Paris until you have destroyed the treaty
of Madrid, and confirmed by acts the promise you have given me."
"If the advice is good, you should follow it," rejoined the Emperor,
bowing low before the duchess, as much to hide the sudden pallor which
these words caused to overspread his face, as to perform an act of
courtesy.
He had no time to say more, nor could François see the effect produced
by the words he had laughingly let fall, and which Charles was quite
ready to take seriously, for the door opened again and the whole court
poured into the gallery.
During the half-hour preceding dinner, when this clever, cultivated,
corrupt throng was assembled in the salons of the palace, the scene we
described apropos of the reception at the Louvre was re-enacted in all
its essential details. There were the same men and the same women, the
same courtiers and the same valets. Loving and malevolent glances were
exchanged as usual, and sarcastic remarks and gallant speeches were
indulged in with the customary freedom.
Charles V., spying Anne de Montmorency, whom he with good reason deemed
to be his surest ally, went to him, and talked in a corner with him and
the Duke of Medina, his ambassador.
"I will sign whatever you choose, constable," said the Emperor, who knew
the old campaigner's loyalty; "prepare a deed of cession of the Duchy of
Milan, and by Saint James, though it be one of the brightest jewels of
my crown, I will sign an absolute surrender of it to you."
"A deed!" cried the constable, hotly putting aside the suggestion of a
precaution which implied distrust. "A deed, Sire! what is your Majesty's
meaning? No deed, Sire, no deed; your word, nothing more. Does your
Majesty think that we shall have less confidence in you than you had in
us, when you came to France with no written document to rely upon?"
"You will do as you should do, Monsieur de Montmorency," rejoined the
Emperor, giving him his hand, "you will do what you should do."
The constable walked away.
"Poor dupe!" exclaimed the Emperor; "he plays at politics, Medina, as
moles dig their holes, blindly."
"But the king, Sire?" queried Medina.
"The king is too proud of his own grandeur of soul not to be sure of
ours. He will foolishly let us go, Medina, and we will prudently let him
wait. To make him wait, my lord, is not to break my promise, but to
postpone its fulfilment, that is all."
"But Madame d'Etampes?" suggested Medina.
"As to her we shall see," said the Emperor, moving up and down a
magnificent ring with a superb diamond, which he wore on his left thumb.
"Ah! I must have a long interview with her."
While these words were rapidly exchanged in low tones between the
Emperor and his minister, the duchess was mercilessly making sport of
Marmagne, apropos of his nocturnal exploits, all in presence of Messire
d'Estourville.
"Can it be of your people, Monsieur de Marmagne," she was saying, "that
Benvenuto tells every comer this extraordinary story? Attacked by four
bandits, and with but one arm free to defend himself, he simply made
these gentry escort him home. Were you one of these gentlemanly bravos,
viscount?"
"Madame," replied poor Marmagne, in confusion, "it did not take place
precisely in that way, and Benvenuto tells the story too favorably for
himself."
"Yes, yes, I doubt not that he embroiders it a little, and adds a few
details by way of ornament, but the main fact is true, viscount, the
main fact is true; and in such matters the main fact is everything."
"Madame," returned Marmagne, "I promise you that I will have my revenge,
and I shall be more fortunate next time."
"Pardon, viscount, pardon! it's not a question of revenge, but of
beginning another game. Cellini, I should say, has won the first two
bouts."
"Yes, thanks to my absence," muttered Marmagne, with increasing
embarrassment; "because my men took advantage of my not being there to
run away, the miserable villains!"
"Oh!" said the provost, "I advise you, Marmagne, to admit that you are
beaten in that direction; you have no luck with Cellini."
"In that case it seems to me that we may console each other, my dear
provost," retorted Marmagne, "for if we add known facts to the
mysterious rumors which are in circulation,--the capture of the
Grand-Nesle to the reported disappearance of one of its fair
inmates,--Cellini would seem not to have brought you luck either,
Messire d'Estourville. To be sure, he is said to be actively interested
in the fortunes of your family, if not in your own, my dear provost."
"Monsieur de Marmagne," cried the provost fiercely, in a furious rage to
learn that his paternal infelicity was beginning to be noised
abroad,--"Monsieur de Marmagne, you will explain to me later what you
mean by your words."
"Ah messieurs, messieurs!" exclaimed the duchess, "do not forget, I beg
you, that I am here. You are both in the wrong. Monsieur le Prévôt, it
is not for those who know so little about seeking to ridicule those who
know so little about finding. Monsieur de Marmagne, in the hour of
defeat we must unite against the common enemy, and not afford him the
additional satisfaction of seeing the vanquished slashing at one
another's throats. They are going to the _salle-à-manger_; your hand,
Monsieur de Marmagne. Ah, well! since it seems that men, for all their
strength, avail nothing against Cellini, we will see if a woman's wiles
will find him equally invincible. I have always thought that allies were
simply in the way, and have always loved to make war alone. The risk is
greater, I know, but at least the honors of victory are not to be shared
with any one."
"The impertinent varlet!" exclaimed Marmagne; "see how familiarly he is
talking to our great king. Would not one say he was nobly born, whereas
he is naught but a mere stone-cutter."