despite the difference in our fortunes, our positions are almost the
same, and that we could understand each other, and perhaps mutually
assist each other. You cried out when I suggested that you should
renounce Ascanio; it seemed to you impossible and mad, and yet I had set
you an example, madame."
"An example?"
"Yes, as you love Ascanio, I loved Colombe."
"You?"
"I. I loved her as I had never loved but once. I would have given my
blood, my life, my soul for her, and yet I gave her to Ascanio."
"Truly a most unselfish passion," sneered the duchess.
"Oh! do not make my suffering matter for raillery, madame; do not mock
at my agony. I have suffered keenly; but I realized that the child was
no more made for me than Ascanio for you. Listen, madame: we are both,
if I may be pardoned for the comparison, of those exceptional and
uncommon natures which lead an existence of their own, have feelings and
emotions peculiar to themselves, and rarely find themselves in accord
with others. We both obey, madame, a sovereign idol, the worship of
which has expanded our hearts and placed us higher than mankind. To you,
madame, ambition is all in all; to me, art. Now our divinities are
jealous, and exert their sway always and everywhere. You desired Ascanio
as a crown, I desired Colombe as a Galatea. You loved as a duchess, I as
an artist. You have persecuted, I have suffered. Oh! do not think that
I wrong you in my thoughts; I admire your energy, and sympathize with
your audacity. Let the vulgar think what they will: from your point of
view it is a great thing to turn the world upside down in order to make
a place for the person one loves. I recognize therein a strong and
masterful passion, and I admire characters capable of such heroic
crimes; but I also admire superhuman characters, for everything which
eludes foresight, everything outside the beaten paths, has an attraction
for me. Even while I loved Colombe, madame, I considered that my
domineering, unruly nature would be ill mated with that pure angelic
soul. Colombe loved Ascanio, my harmless, sweet-natured pupil; my rough,
vigorous temperament would have frightened her. Thereupon, in a loud,
imperative tone, I bade my love hold its peace, and as it remonstrated I
called to my assistance my art divine, and by our united efforts we
floored the rebellious passion and held it down. Then Sculpture, my
true, my only mistress, touched my brow with her burning lips, and I was
comforted. Do as I have done, Madame la Duchesse, leave these children
to their angel loves and do not disturb them in their heaven. Our domain
is earth, with its sorrows, its conflicts, and its intoxicating
triumphs. Seek a refuge against suffering in ambition; unmake empires to
distract your thoughts; play with the kings and masters of the world to
amuse yourself. That would be well done, and I would applaud your
efforts. But do not wreck the peace and happiness of these poor
innocents, who love each other with such a pure, sweet love, before the
face of God and the Virgin Mary."
"Who are you, Master Benvenuto Cellini? I do not know you," said the
duchess in blank amazement. "Who are you?"
"Vrai Dieu! a man among men, as you are a woman among women," rejoined
the goldsmith, laughing with his customary frankness; "and if you do not
know me, you see that I have a great advantage over you, for I do know
you, madame."
"It may be so," said the duchess, "but it is my opinion that a woman
among women loves better and more earnestly than a man among men, for
she snaps her fingers at your superhuman abnegation, and defends her
lover with beak and claws to the last gasp."
"You persist, then, in refusing to give Ascanio to Colombe?"
"I persist in loving him myself."
"So be it. But if you will not yield with good grace, beware! I am
somewhat rough when I am roused, and may make you cry out a little in
the _mêlée_. You have reflected fully, have you not? You refuse once
for all your consent to the union of Ascanio and Colombe."
"Most emphatically, yes."
"Very good! to our posts!" cried Benvenuto, "for the battle is on."
At that moment the door opened and an usher announced the king.
XXII
A LOVE MATCH
François appeared on the threshold, giving his hand to Diane de
Poitiers, with whom he had come from the bedside of his sick son. Diane,
inspired by her hatred, had a vague feeling that her rival was
threatened with humiliation, and did not choose to miss the gratifying
spectacle.
As for the king, he saw nothing, suspected nothing; he believed Madame
d'Etampes and Benvenuto to be entirely reconciled, and as he saw them
talking together when he entered, he saluted them both at once, with the
same smile, and the same inclination of the head.
"Good morrow, my queen of beauty; good morrow, my king of artists," he
said; "what are you talking about so confidentially? You seem both to be
deeply interested."
"Mon Dieu! Sire, we are talking politics," said Benvenuto.
"And what particular subject exercises your faculties? Tell me, I beg."
"The question which engrosses everybody at present, Sire," continued the
goldsmith.
"Ah! the Duchy of Milan."
"Yes, Sire."
"Well, what were you saying of it?"
"We do not agree, Sire; one of us maintains that the Emperor might well
refuse to give you the Duchy of Milan, and yet redeem his promise by
giving it to your son Charles."
"Which of you makes that suggestion?"
"I think that it was Madame d'Etampes, Sire."
The duchess became pale as death.
"If the Emperor should do that, it would be infamous treachery," said
François; "but he'll not do it."
"In any event, even if he does not do it," said Diane, joining in the
conversation, "it will not be, I am assured, for lack of advice given
him to that effect."
"Given by whom?" cried the king. "By Mahomet's belly! I would be glad to
know by whom?"
"Bon Dieu! do not be so disturbed, Sire," rejoined Benvenuto; "we said
that as we said other things,--simple conjectures, put forward by us in
desultory talk. Madame la Duchesse and I are but bungling politicians,
Sire. Madame la Duchesse is too much of a woman to think of aught beside
her toilet, although she has no need to think of that; and I, Sire, am
too much of an artist to think of aught beside art. Is it not so, Madame
la Duchesse?"
"The truth is, my dear Cellini," said François, "that each of you has
too glorious a part to play to envy others aught that they may have,
even though it were the Duchy of Milan. Madame la Duchesse d'Etampes is
queen by virtue of her beauty, and you are king by virtue of your
talent."
"King, Sire?"
"Yes, king; and although you haven't, as I have, three lilies in your
crest, you have one in your hand, which seems to me to be lovelier than
any that ever blossomed in the brightest sunlight or upon the fairest
field in all heraldry."
"This lily is not mine, Sire; it belongs to Madame d'Etampes, who
commissioned my pupil Ascanio to make it; but as he could not finish it,
and as I realized Madame d'Etampes's desire to have so rich a jewel in
her possession, I set to work myself and finished it, wishing with all
my heart to make it the symbol of the treaty of peace which we ratified
the other day in your Majesty's presence."
"It is marvellously beautiful," said the king, putting out his hand to
take it.
"Is it not, sire?" rejoined Benvenuto, withdrawing it as if without
design, "and the young artist, whose _chef-d'œuvre_ it is, certainly
deserves to be magnificently rewarded."
"Such is my purpose," interposed the duchess; "I have in store for him a
recompense which a king might envy him."
"But you know, madame, that the recompense to which you refer, splendid
as it is, is not that upon which his heart is fixed. What would you
have, madame? We artists are whimsical creatures, and often the thing
which would, as you say, arouse a king's envy, is viewed by us with
disdainful eye."
"Nevertheless," said Madame d'Etampes, as an angry flush overspread her
face, "he must be content with what I have set apart for him; for I have
already told you, Benvenuto, that I would accord him no other save at
the last extremity."
"Very well, you may confide to me what his wishes are," said François
to Benvenuto, once more putting out his hand for the lily, "and if it's
not too difficult a matter, we will try to arrange it."
"Observe the jewel carefully, Sire," said Benvenuto, placing the stalk
of the flower in the king's hand; "examine it in detail, and your
Majesty will see that any compensation whatsoever must fall short of the
value of such a masterpiece."
As he spoke, Benvenuto darted a keen glance at the duchess; but her
self-control was so perfect, that not a muscle of her face moved as she
saw the lily pass from the artist's hand to the king's.
"'T is really miraculous," said the king. "But where did you find this
superb diamond which glistens in the heart of the flower?"
"I did not find it, Sire," replied Cellini, with charming affability;
"Madame d'Etampes furnished it to my pupil."
"I was not aware that you owned this diamond, madame; whence came it to
your hands, pray?"
"Why, probably from the place where most diamonds come from, Sire; from
the mines of Guzarate or Golconda."
"There is a long story connected with that diamond, Sire, and if your
Majesty cares to hear it, I will tell it you. The diamond and I are old
acquaintances, for this is the third time it has passed through my
hands. In the first place, I set it in the tiara of our Holy Father, the
Pope, where its effect was marvellous; then, by order of Clement VII., I
mounted it upon a missal which his Holiness presented to the Emperor
Charles V.; and as the Emperor desired to carry it constantly about him,
as a resource doubtless in an emergency, I set the diamond, which is
worth more than a million, in a ring, Sire. Hid not your Majesty observe
it on the hand of your cousin, the Emperor?"
"Yes, I remember," cried the king; "yes, on the day of our first
interview he had it on his finger. How comes the diamond in your
possession, duchess!"
"Yes, tell us," cried Diane, whose eyes shone with joy, "how came it
about that a diamond of that value passed from the Emperor's hands to
yours?"
"If the question were put to you, madame," retorted Madame d'Etampes,
"the answer would not be far to seek, assuming that you confess certain
matters to any other than your confessor."
"You do not answer the king's question, madame," rejoined Diane.
"Yes," said François, "how comes the diamond in your possession?"
"Ask Benvenuto," said Madame d'Etampes, hurling a last defiance at her
enemy; "Benvenuto will tell you."
"Tell me, then," said the king, "and instantly: I am weary of waiting."
"Very good, Sire," said Benvenuto; "I must confess to your Majesty that
at sight of this diamond strange suspicions awoke in my mind, as in
yours. It was while Madame d'Etampes and myself were at enmity, you must
know, and I should not have been sorry to learn some little secret which
might injure her in your Majesty's eyes. So I followed the scent, and I
learned--"
"You learned?"
Benvenuto glanced hastily at the duchess, and saw that she was smiling.
The power of resistance which she manifested pleased him, and, instead
of putting an end to the struggle brutally with one stroke, he resolved
to prolong it, like au athlete, sure of victory in the end, who, having
fallen in with an antagonist worthy of him, resolves to display all his
strength and all his skill.
"You learned--" the king repeated.
"I learned that she purchased it of Manasseh, the Jew. Yes, Sire, know
this and govern yourself accordingly: it seems that since he entered
France your cousin, the Emperor, has scattered so much money along the
road, that he is reduced to putting his diamonds in pawn; and Madame
d'Etampes, with royal magnificence, gathers in what the imperial poverty
cannot retain."
"Ah! by my honor as a gentleman, 't is most diverting!" cried François,
doubly flattered in his vanity as lover, and in his jealousy as king.
"But, fair lady," he added, addressing the duchess, "methinks you must
have ruined yourself in order to make such an acquisition, and it is for
us to repair the disordered state of your finances. Remember that we are
your debtor to the value of the diamond, for it is so magnificent that I
am determined that it shall come to you from a king's hand at least, if
not from an emperor's."
"Thanks, Benvenuto," said the duchess in an undertone; "I begin to
believe, as you claim, that we were made to understand each other."
"What are you saying?" cried the king.
"Oh, nothing, Sire! I was apologizing to the duchess for my first
suspicion, which she deigns to pardon,--a favor which is the more
generous on her part, in that the lily gave birth to another suspicion."
"What was that?" demanded the king, while Diane, whose hate was too keen
to allow her to be deceived by this comedy, devoured her triumphant
rival with her eyes.
Madame d'Etampes saw that she was not yet quit of her indefatigable foe,
and a shadow of dread passed across her face, but it should be said, in
justice to her courage, only to disappear immediately.
Furthermore, she availed herself of the king's preoccupation, caused by
Benvenuto's words, to try to gain possession of the lily; but Benvenuto
carelessly placed himself between the king and her.
"What was the suspicion? Oh!" the goldsmith said with a smile, "it was
so infamous that I am not sure that I shouldn't be ashamed of having
had it, and that it would not add to my offence to be so shameless as to
avow it. I must have an express command from your Majesty before I
should dare--"
"Dare, Cellini! I command you!" said the king.
"So be it. In the first place," said Cellini, "I confess with an
artist's candid pride, that I was surprised to see Madame d'Etampes
intrust the apprentice with a task which the master would have been
happy and proud to execute for her. You remember my apprentice, Ascanio,
Sire? He is a charming youth, who might venture to pose for Endymion,
upon my word."
"Well! what then?" said the king, his brows contracting at the suspicion
which began to gnaw his heart.
This time it was evident that, for all her self-control, Madame
d'Etampes was on the rack. In the first place she read malicious
curiosity in the eyes of Diane de Poitiers, and in the second place she
was well aware that, while François might have forgiven treason to the
king, he certainly would not forgive infidelity to the lover. However,
as if he did not notice her agony, Benvenuto continued:--
"I reflected upon the beauty of my Ascanio, and it occurred to
me--forgive me, mesdames, if there was anything in the thought which
seems to cast a reflection upon the French, but I am accustomed to the
ways of our Italian princesses, who, in love, it must be confessed, are
very weak creatures--it occurred to me that a sentiment which had little
connection with art--"
"Master," said François, frowning darkly, "reflect before you speak."
"I apologized beforehand for my temerity, and asked to be permitted to
hold my peace."
"I bear witness to that," said Diane; "you yourself bade him speak,
Sire; and now that he has begun--"
"It is always time to stop," said Madame d'Etampes, "when one knows that
what one is about to say is a falsehood."
"I will stop if you choose, madame," said Benvenuto; "you know that you
have but to say the word."
"Yes, but I choose that he shall continue. You are right, Diane; there
are matters here which must be probed to the bottom. Say on, monsieur,
say on," said the king, keeping his eyes fixed upon the sculptor and the
duchess.
"My conjectures were taking a wide range when an incredible discovery
opened a new field to them."
"What was it?" cried the king and Diane de Poitiers in the same breath.
"I am getting in very deep," whispered Cellini to the duchess.
"Sire," said she, "you do not need to hold the lily in your hand to
listen to this long discourse. Your Majesty is so accustomed to hold a
sceptre in a firm grasp, that I fear the fragile flower may be broken in
your fingers."
As she spoke, the duchess, with one of those smiles which belonged to
her alone, put out her hand to take the jewel.
"Forgive me, Madame la Duchesse," said Cellini; "but as the lily plays
an important part throughout my story, permit me to enforce my words
with ocular demonstration."
"The lily plays an important part in the story you have to tell,
master?" cried Diane, snatching the flower from the king's hand with a
movement swift as thought. "In that case, Madame d'Etampes is right, for
if the story is at all what I suspect, it is much better that the lily
should be in my hands than in yours, Sire; for, purposely or not, your
Majesty might, by some uncontrollable impulse, break it."
Madame d'Etampes became terribly pale, for she deemed herself lost; she
hastily seized Benvenuto's hand, and her lips opened to speak, but
almost immediately she thought better of it. Her hand let the artist's
fall, and her lips closed again.
"Say what you have to say," she muttered through her clenched
teeth,--"if you dare!" she added in so low a tone that Benvenuto alone
could hear.
"Yes, and measure your words, my master," said the king.
"And do you, madame, measure your silence," said Benvenuto.
"We are waiting!" cried Diane, unable to restrain her impatience.
"Fancy, Sire, and you, madame, fancy that Ascanio and Madame la Duchesse
d'Etampes corresponded."
The duchess looked about to see if there were not at hand some weapon
with which she could silence the goldsmith's tongue forever.
"Corresponded?" echoed the king.
"Yes, corresponded; and the most extraordinary thing is that the subject
of this correspondence between Madame la Duchesse d'Etampes and the
humble carver's apprentice was love."
"The proofs, master! you have proofs, I trust!" cried the king, in a
rage.
"O mon Dieu! yes, Sire," replied Benvenuto. "Your Majesty must
understand that I should not have allowed myself to form such suspicions
without proofs."
"Produce them instantly, then," said the king.
"When I say that I have them, I am in error: your Majesty had them a
moment since."
"I!" cried the king.
"And Madame de Poitiers has them now."
"I!" cried Diane.
"Yes," rejoined Benvenuto, who, amid the king's wrath, and the hatred
and terror of the two most powerful women in the world, was perfectly
cool and complacent. "Yes, for the proofs are in the lily."
"In the lily?" cried the king, snatching the flower from the hands of
Diane de Poitiers, and examining it with a careful scrutiny, in which
love of art had no share. "In this lily?"
"Yes, Sire, in the lily," Benvenuto repeated. "You know that it is so,
madame," he continued in a meaning tone, toward the gasping duchess.
"Let us come to terms," she whispered; "Colombe shall not marry
D'Orbec."
"That is not enough," returned Cellini; "Ascanio must marry Colombe."
"Never!" exclaimed Madame d'Etampes.
Meanwhile the king was turning the fatal lily over and over in his
fingers, his suspense and wrath being the more poignant in that he dared
not express them openly.
"The proofs are in the lily! in the lily!" he repeated; "but I can see
nothing in the lily."
"Because your Majesty does not know the secret of opening it."
"There is a secret. Show it me, messire, on the instant, or rather--"
François made a movement as if to crush the flower, but both women
cried out, and he checked himself.
"Oh Sire! it would be a pity," cried Diane; "such a charming toy! Give
it to me, Sire, and I promise you that if there is a secret I will find
it."
Her slender, active fingers, to which hatred lent additional subtlety,
passed over all the rough places on the jewel, felt in all the hollows,
while the Duchesse d'Etampes, half fainting, followed with haggard eyes
her investigations, which for a moment were without result. But at last,
whether by good luck, or a rival's instinct of divination, Diane touched
the precise spot on the stalk.
The flower opened.
The two women cried out again at the same moment; one with joy, the
other with dismay. The duchess darted forward to tear the lily from
Diane's hand, but Benvenuto held her back with one hand, while with the
other he showed her the letter which he had taken from its hiding place.
A swift glance at the flower showed her that the hiding place was empty.
"I agree to everything," said the duchess, completely crushed, and too
weak to maintain such a contest.
"On the Gospel?" said Benvenuto.
"On the Gospel."
"Well, master," said the king, impatiently, "where are the proofs? I see
a recess very cleverly hollowed out in the stalk, but there is nothing
within it."
"No, sire, there is nothing," said Benvenuto.
"True, but there might have been something," suggested Diane.
"Madame is right," said Benvenuto.
"Master!" cried the king through his clenched teeth "do you know that it
may be dangerous for you to prolong this pleasantry, and that stronger
men than you have repented playing with my anger?"
"For that reason I should be in despair were I to incur it, Sire,"
rejoined Cellini, without losing his composure; "but there is nothing in
the present circumstances to arouse it, for I trust your Majesty did not
take my words seriously. Should I have dared to bring so grave an
accusation so lightly? Madame d'Etampes can show you the letters this
lily contained, if you are curious to see them. They are in fact
concerned with love, but it is the love of my poor Ascanio for a noble
demoiselle,--a passion which at first seems insane and impossible,
doubtless; but my Ascanio, like the true artist he is, fancying that a
beautiful jewel falls not far short of equalling in value a beautiful
maiden, applied to Madame d'Etampes as to a special providence, and made
this lily his messenger. Now, you know, Sire, that Providence can do
anything, and you will not be jealous of this particular one, I fancy,
since, while doing a kindly action, she attributes part of the credit to
you. That is the solution of the enigma, Sire, and if all the beating
about the bush I have indulged in has offended your Majesty, I pray you
to forgive me in consideration of the familiarity to which you have been
graciously pleased to admit me."
This quasi academic harangue changed the face of affairs. As Benvenuto
went on, Diane's brow grew dark, while the wrinkles vanished from that
of Madame d'Etampes, and the king resumed his smiling good humor. When
Benvenuto had finished,--
"Forgive me, fair duchess," said François, "for having dared to suspect
you for an instant. Tell me what I can do to redeem my offence and earn
my forgiveness."
"Grant the request which Madame la Duchesse d'Etampes is about to make,
as your Majesty heretofore granted the one that I made."
"Speak for me, Master Cellini, since you know what it is that I wish,"
said the duchess with better grace than Cellini would have thought
possible.
"Very well: since Madame la Duchesse appoints me to be her mouthpiece,
Sire, you must know that she desires your all-powerful intervention in
favor of poor Ascanio's passion."
"Yes, yes!" laughed the king; "I agree with all my heart to assist in
making the comely apprentice a happy man. What is the name of his
sweetheart?"
"Colombe d'Estourville, sire."
"Colombe d'Estourville!" cried François.
"I pray your Majesty to remember that it is Madame d'Etampes who
proffers this request. Come, madame, add your prayers to mine," he
added, causing a corner of the letter to protrude from his pocket, "for
if you are silent much longer, his Majesty will think that you make the
request solely from a desire to oblige me."
"Is it true that you desire this marriage, madame?" inquired François.
"Yes, Sire," murmured Madame d'Etampes; "I do desire it--earnestly."
The adverb was extracted by a fresh exhibition of the letter.
"But how do I know," said the king, "that the provost will accept for
his son-in-law a nameless, penniless youth?"