THE RUGGIERI'S SECRET
Between eleven o'clock and midnight, towards the end of October 1573, two
Florentines, brothers, Albert de Gondi, Marshal of France, and Charles de
Gondi la Tour, Master of the Wardrobe to King Charles IX., were sitting at
the top of a house in the Rue Saint-Honore on the edge of the gutter. Such
gutters were made of stone; they ran along below the roof to catch the
rain-water, and were pierced here and there with long gargoyles carved in
the form of grotesque creatures with gaping jaws. In spite of the zeal of
the present generation in the destruction of ancient houses, there were
still in Paris many such gutter-spouts when, not long since, the police
regulations as to waste-pipes led to their disappearance. A few sculptured
gutters are still to be seen in the Saint-Antoine quarter, where the low
rents have kept owners from adding rooms in the roof.
It may seem strange that two persons invested with such important functions
should have chosen a perch more befitting cats. But to any one who has
hunted through the historical curiosities of that time, and seen how many
interests were complicated about the throne, so that the domestic politics
of France can only be compared to a tangled skein of thread, these two
Florentines are really cats, and quite in their place in the gutter. Their
devotion to the person of Catherine de' Medici, who had transplanted them
to the French Court, required them to shirk none of the consequences of
their intrusion there.
But to explain how and why these two courtiers were perched up there, it
will be necessary to relate a scene which had just taken place within a
stone's throw of this gutter, at the Louvre, in the fine brown room--which
is, perhaps, all that remains of Henri II.'s apartments--where the Court
was in attendance after supper on the two Queens and the King. At that time
middle-class folk supped at six o'clock, and men of rank at seven; but
people of exquisite fashion supped between eight and nine; it was the meal
we nowadays call dinner.
Some people have supposed that etiquette was the invention of Louis XIV.;
but this is a mistake; it was introduced into France by Catherine de'
Medici, who was so exacting that the Connetable Anne de Montmorency had
more difficulty in obtaining leave to ride into the courtyard of the Louvre
than in winning his sword, and even then the permission was granted only on
the score of his great age. Etiquette was slightly relaxed under the first
three Bourbon Kings, but assumed an Oriental character under Louis the
Great, for it was derived from the Lower Empire, which borrowed it from
Persia. In 1573 not only had very few persons a right to enter the
courtyard of the Louvre with their attendants and torches, just as in Louis
XIV.'s time only dukes and peers might drive under the porch, but the
functions which gave the privilege of attending their Majesties after
supper could easily be counted. The Marechal de Retz, whom we have just
seen keeping watch on the gutter, once offered a thousand crowns of that
day to the clerk of the closet to get speech of Henri III. at an hour when
he had no right of _entree_. And how a certain venerable historian mocks at
a view of the courtyard of the chateau of Blois, into which the draughtsman
introduced the figure of a man on horseback!
At this hour, then, there were at the Louvre none but the most eminent
persons in the kingdom. Queen Elizabeth of Austria and her mother-in-law,
Catherine de' Medici, were seated to the left of the fireplace. In the
opposite corner the King, sunk in his armchair, affected an apathy
excusable on the score of digestion, for he had eaten like a prince
returned from hunting. Possibly, too, he wished to avoid speech in the
presence of so many persons whose interest it was to detect his thoughts.
The courtiers stood, hat in hand, at the further end of the room. Some
conversed in undertones; others kept an eye on the King, hoping for a
glance or a word. One, being addressed by the Queen-mother, conversed with
her for a few minutes. Another would be so bold as to speak a word to
Charles IX., who replied with a nod or a short answer. A German noble, the
Count of Solern, was standing in the chimney corner by the side of Charles
V.'s grand-daughter, with whom he had come to France. Near the young Queen,
seated on a stool, was her lady-in-waiting, the Countess Fieschi, a
Strozzi, and related to Catherine. The beautiful Madame de Sauves, a
descendant of Jacques Coeur, and mistress in succession of the King of
Navarre, of the King of Poland, and of the Duc d'Alencon, had been invited
to supper, but she remained standing, her husband being merely a Secretary
of State. Behind these two ladies were the two Gondis, talking to them.
They alone were laughing of all the dull assembly. Gondi, made Duc de Retz
and Gentleman of the Bedchamber, since obtaining the Marshal's baton though
he had never commanded an army, had been sent as the King's proxy to be
married to the Queen at Spires. This honor plainly indicated that he, like
his brother, was one of the few persons whom the King and Queen admitted to
a certain familiarity.
On the King's side the most conspicuous figure was the Marechal de
Tavannes, who was at Court on business; Neufville de Villeroy, one of the
shrewdest negotiators of the time, who laid the foundation of the fortunes
of his family; Messieurs de Birague and de Chiverni, one in attendance on
the Queen-mother, the other Chancellor of Anjou and of Poland, who, knowing
Catherine's favoritism, had attached himself to Henry III., the brother
whom Charles IX. regarded as an enemy; Strozzi, a cousin of Queen
Catherine's, and a few more gentlemen, among whom were to be noted the old
Cardinal de Lorraine, and his nephew, the young Duc de Guise, both very
much kept at a distance by Catherine and by the King. These two chiefs of
the Holy Alliance, afterwards known as the League, established some years
since with Spain, made a display of the submission of servants who await
their opportunity to become the masters; Catherine and Charles IX. were
watching each other with mutual attention.
At this Court--as gloomy as the room in which it had assembled--each one
had reasons for sadness or absence of mind. The young Queen was enduring
all the torments of jealousy, and disguised them ineffectually by
attempting to smile at her husband, whom she adored as a pious woman of
infinite kindness. Marie Touchet, Charles IX.'s only mistress, to whom he
was chivalrously faithful, had come home a month since from the chateau of
Fayet, in Dauphine, whither she had retired for the birth of her child; and
she had brought back with her the only son Charles IX. ever had--Charles,
at first Comte d'Auvergne, and afterwards Duc d'Angouleme.
Besides the grief of seeing her rival the mother of the King's son, while
she had only a daughter, the poor Queen was enduring the mortification of
complete desertion. During his mistress' absence, the King had made it up
with his wife with a vehemence which history mentions as one of the causes
of his death. Thus Marie Touchet's return made the pious Austrian princess
understand how little her husband's heart had been concerned in his
love-making. Nor was this the only disappointment the young Queen had to
endure in this matter; till now Catherine de' Medici had seemed to be her
friend; but, in fact, her mother-in-law, for political ends, had encouraged
her son's infidelity, and preferred to support the mistress rather than the
wife. And this is the reason why.
When Charles IX. first confessed his passion for Marie Touchet, Catherine
looked with favor on the girl for reasons affecting her own prospects of
dominion. Marie Touchet was brought to Court at a very early age, at the
time of life when a girl's best feelings are in their bloom; she loved the
King passionately for his own sake. Terrified at the gulf into which
ambition had overthrown the Duchesse de Valentinois, better known as Diane
de Poitiers, she was afraid too, no doubt, of Queen Catherine, and
preferred happiness to splendor. She thought perhaps that a pair of lovers
so young as she and the King were could not hold their own against the
Queen-mother.
And, indeed, Marie, the only child of Jean Touchet, the lord of Beauvais
and le Quillard, King's Councillor, and Lieutenant of the Bailiwick of
Orleans, half-way between the citizen class and the lowest nobility, was
neither altogether a noble nor altogether _bourgeoise_, and was probably
ignorant of the objects of innate ambition aimed at by the Pisseleus and
the Saint-Valliers, women of family who were struggling for their families
with the secret weapons of love. Marie Touchet, alone, and of no rank,
spared Catherine de' Medici the annoyance of finding in her son's mistress
the daughter of some great house who might have set up for her rival.
Jean Touchet, a wit in his day, to whom some poets dedicated their works,
wanted nothing of the Court. Marie, a young creature, with no following, as
clever and well-informed as she was simple and artless, suited the
Queen-mother to admiration, and won her warm affection.
In point of fact, Catherine persuaded the Parlement to acknowledge the son
which Marie Touchet bore to the King in the month of April, and she granted
him the title of Comte d'Auvergne, promising the King that she would leave
the boy her personal estate, the _Comtes_ of Auvergne and Lauraguais.
Afterwards, Marguerite, Queen of Navarre, disputed the gift when she became
Queen of France, and annulled it; but later still, Louis XIII., out of
respect to the Royal blood of the Valois, indemnified the Comte d'Auvergne
by making him Duc d'Angouleme.
Catherine had already given Marie Touchet, who asked for nothing, the manor
of Belleville, an estate without a title, near Vincennes, whither she came
when, after hunting, the King slept at that Royal residence. Charles IX.
spent the greater part of his later days in that gloomy fortress, and,
according to some authors, ended his days there as Louis XII. had ended
his. Though it was very natural that a lover so entirely captivated should
lavish on the woman he adored fresh proofs of affection when he had to
expiate his legitimate infidelities, Catherine, after driving her son back
to his wife's arms, certainly pleaded for Marie Touchet as women can, and
had won the King back to his mistress again. Whatever could keep Charles
IX. employed in anything but politics was pleasing to Catherine; and the
kind intentions she expressed towards this child for the moment deceived
Charles IX., who was beginning to regard her as his enemy.
The motives on which Catherine acted in this business escaped the
discernment of the Queen, who, according to Brantome, was one of the
gentlest Queens that ever reigned, and who did no harm nor displeasure to
any one, even reading her Hours in secret. But this innocent Princess began
to perceive what gulfs yawn round a throne, a terrible discovery which
might well make her feel giddy; and some still worse feeling must have
inspired her reply to one of her ladies, who, at the King's death, observed
to her that if she had had a son, she would be Queen-mother and Regent:
"Ah, God be praised that He never gave me a son! What would have come of
it? The poor child would have been robbed, as they tried to rob the King my
husband, and I should have been the cause of it.--God has had mercy on the
kingdom, and has ordered everything for the best."
This Princess, of whom Brantome thinks he has given an ample description
when he had said that she had a complexion of face as fine and delicate as
that of the ladies of her Court, and very pleasing, and that she had a
beautiful shape though but of middle height, was held of small account at
the Court; and the King's state affording her an excuse for her double
grief, her demeanor added to the gloomy hues of a picture to which a young
Queen less cruelly stricken than she was might have given some brightness.
The pious Elizabeth was at this crisis a proof of the fact that qualities
which add lustre to a woman in ordinary life may be fatal in a Queen. A
Princess who did not devote her whole night to prayer would have been a
valuable ally for Charles IX., who found no help either in his wife or in
his mistress.
As to the Queen-mother, she was absorbed in watching the King; he during
supper had made a display of high spirits, which she interpreted as assumed
to cloak some plan against herself. Such sudden cheerfulness was in too
strong a contrast to the fractious humor he had betrayed by his persistency
in hunting, and by a frenzy of toil at his forge, where he wrought iron,
for Catherine to be duped by it. Though she could not guess what statesman
was lending himself to these schemes and plots--for Charles IX. could put
his mother's spies off the scent--Catherine had no doubt that some plan
against her was in the wind.
The unexpected appearance of Tavannes, arriving at the same time as
Strozzi, whom she had summoned, had greatly aroused her suspicions. By her
power of organization Catherine was superior to the evolution of
circumstances; but against sudden violence she was powerless.
As many persons know nothing of the state of affairs, complicated by the
multiplicity of parties which then racked France, each leader having his
own interests in view, it is needful to devote a few words to describing
the dangerous crisis in which the Queen-mother had become entangled. And as
this will show Catherine de' Medici in a new light, it will carry us to the
very core of this narrative.
Two words will fully summarize this strange woman, so interesting to study,
whose influence left such deep traces on France. These two words are
dominion and astrology. Catherine de' Medici was excessively ambitious; she
had no passion but for power. Superstitious and a fatalist, as many a man
of superior mind has been, her only sincere belief was in the occult
sciences. Without this twofold light, she must always remain misunderstood;
and by giving the first place to her faith in astrology, a light will be
thrown on the two philosophical figures of this Study.
There was a man whom Catherine clung to more than to her children; this man
was Cosmo Ruggieri. She gave him rooms in her Hotel de Soissons; she had
made him her chief counselor, instructing him to tell her if the stars
ratified the advice and common-sense of her ordinary advisers.
Certain curious antecedent facts justified the power which Ruggieri exerted
over his mistress till her latest breath. One of the most learned men of
the sixteenth century was beyond doubt the physician to Catherine's father,
Lorenzo de' Medici, Duke of Urbino. This leech was known as Ruggiero the
elder (_vecchio Ruggier_, and in French _Roger l'Ancien_, with authors who
have written concerning alchemy), to distinguish him from his two sons,
Lorenzo Ruggiero, called the Great by writers on the Cabala, and Cosmo
Ruggiero, Catherine's astrologer, also known as _Roger_ by various French
historians. French custom altered their name to Ruggieri, as it did
Catherine's from Medici to Medicis.
The elder Ruggieri, then, was so highly esteemed by the family of the
Medici that the two Dukes, Cosmo and Lorenzo, were godfathers to his sons.
In his capacity of mathematician, astrologer, and physician to the Ducal
House--three offices that were often scarcely distinguished--he cast the
horoscope of Catherine's nativity, in concert with Bazile, the famous
mathematician. At that period the occult sciences were cultivated with an
eagerness which may seem surprising to the sceptical spirits of this
supremely analytical age, who perhaps may find in this historical sketch
the germ of the positive sciences which flourish in the nineteenth
century--bereft, however, of the poetic grandeur brought to them by the
daring speculators of the sixteenth; for they, instead of applying
themselves to industry, exalted art and vivified thought. The protection
universally granted to these sciences by the sovereigns of the period was
indeed justified by the admirable works of inventors who, starting from the
search for the _magnum opus_, arrived at astonishing results.
Never, in fact, were rulers more curious for these mysteries. The Fugger
family, in whom every modern Lucullus must recognize his chiefs, and every
banker his masters, were beyond a doubt men of business, not to be caught
nodding; well, these practical men, while lending the capitalized wealth of
Europe to the sovereigns of the sixteenth century--who ran into debt quite
as handsomely as those of to-day--these illustrious entertainers of Charles
V. furnished funds for the retorts of Paracelsus. At the beginning of the
sixteenth century, Ruggieri the elder was the head of that secret college
whence came Cardan, Nostradamus, and Agrippa, each in turn physician to the
Valois; and all the astronomers, astrologers, and alchemists who at that
period crowded to the Courts of the Princes of Christendom, and who found
especial welcome and protection in France from Catherine de' Medici.
In the horoscope cast for Catherine by Bazile and Ruggieri the elder, the
principal events of her life were predicted with an accuracy that is enough
to drive disbelievers to despair. This forecast announced the disasters
which, during the siege of Florence, affected her early life, her marriage
with a Prince of France, his unexpected accession to the throne, the birth
and the number of her children. Three of her sons were to reign in
succession, her two daughters were to become queens; all were to die
childless. And this was all so exactly verified, that many historians have
regarded it as a prophecy after the event.
It is well known that Nostradamus brought to the chateau of Chaumont,
whither Catherine went at the time of la Renaudie's conspiracy, a woman who
had the gift of reading the future. Now in the time of Francis II., when
the Queen's sons were still children and in good health, before Elizabeth
de Valois had married Philip II. of Spain, or Marguerite de Valois had
married Henri de Bourbon, King of Navarre, Nostradamus and this soothsayer
confirmed all the details of the famous horoscope.
This woman, gifted no doubt with second-sight, and one of the extensive
association of indefatigable inquirers for the _magnum opus_, though her
life has evaded the ken of history, foretold that the last of these
children to wear the crown would perish assassinated. Having placed the
Queen in front of a magical mirror in which a spinning-wheel was reflected,
each child's face appearing at the end of a spoke, the soothsayer made the
wheel turn, and the Queen counted the number of turns. Each turn was a year
of a reign. When Henri IV. was placed on the wheel, it went round
twenty-two times. The woman--some say it was a man--told the terrified
Queen that Henri de Bourbon would certainly be King of France, and reign so
many years. Queen Catherine vowed a mortal hatred of the Bearnais on
hearing that he would succeed the last, murdered Valois.
Curious to know what sort of death she herself would die, she was warned to
beware of Saint-Germain. Thenceforth, thinking that she would be imprisoned
or violently killed at the chateau of Saint-Germain, she never set foot in
it, though, by its nearness to Paris, it was infinitely better situated for
her plans than those where she took refuge with the King in troubled times.
When she fell ill, a few days after the Duc de Guise was assassinated,
during the assembly of the States-General at Blois, she asked the name of
the prelate who came to minister to her. She was told that his name was
Saint-Germain.
"I am a dead woman!" she cried.
She died the next day, having lived just the number of years allotted to
her by every reading of her horoscope.
This scene, known to the Cardinal de Lorraine, who ascribed it to the Black
Art, was being realized; Francis II. had reigned for two turns only of the
wheel, and Charles IX. was achieving his last. When Catherine spoke these
strange words to her son Henri as he set out for Poland, "You will soon
return!" they must be ascribed to her faith in the occult sciences, and not
to any intention of poisoning Charles IX. Marguerite de France was now
Queen of Navarre; Elizabeth was Queen of Spain; the Duc d'Anjou was King of
Poland.
Many other circumstances contributed to confirm Catherine's belief in the
occult sciences. On the eve of the tournament where Henri II. was mortally
wounded, Catherine saw the fatal thrust in a dream. Her astrological
council, consisting of Nostradamus and the two Ruggieri, had foretold the
King's death. History has recorded Catherine's earnest entreaties that he
should not enter the lists. The prognostic, and the dream begotten of the
prognostic, were verified.
The chronicles of the time relate another and not less strange fact. The
courier who brought news of the victory of Moncontour arrived at night,
having ridden so hard that he had killed three horses. The Queen-mother was
roused, and said, "I knew it."
"In fact," says Brantome, "she had the day before announced her son's
success and some details of the fight."
The astrologer attached to the House of Bourbon foretold that the youngest
of the Princes in direct descent from Saint-Louis, the son of Antoine de
Bourbon, would be King of France. This prophecy, noted by Sully, was
fulfilled precisely as described by the horoscope, which made Henri IV.
remark that by dint of lies these astrologers hit on the truth.
Be this as it may, most of the clever men of the time believed in the
far-reaching "science of the Magi," as it was called by the masters of
astrology--or sorcery, as it was termed by the people--and they were
justified by the verification of horoscopes.
It was for Cosmo Ruggieri, her mathematician and astrologer--her wizard, if
you will--that Catherine erected the pillar against the corn-market in
Paris, the only remaining relic of the Hotel de Soissons. Cosmo Ruggieri,
like confessors, had a mysterious influence which satisfied him, as it does
them. His secret ambition, too, was superior to that of vulgar minds. This
man, depicted by romance-writers and playwrights as a mere juggler, held
the rich abbey of Saint-Mahe in Lower Brittany, and had refused high
ecclesiastical preferment; the money he derived in abundance from the
superstitious mania of the time was sufficient for his private
undertakings; and the Queen's hand, extended to protect his head, preserved
every hair of it from harm.
As to Catherine's devouring thirst for dominion, her desire to acquire
power was so great that, in order to grasp it, she could ally herself with
the Guises, the enemies of the throne; and to keep the reins of State in
her own hands, she adopted every means, sacrificing her friends, and even
her children. This woman could not live without the intrigues of rule, as a
gambler cannot live without the excitement of play. Though she was an
Italian and a daughter of the luxurious Medici, the Calvinists, though they
calumniated her plentifully, never accused her of having a lover.
Appreciating the maxim "Divide to reign," for twelve years she had been
constantly playing off one force against another. As soon as she took the
reins of government into her hands, she was compelled to encourage discord
to neutralize the strength of two rival Houses and save the throne. This
necessary system justified Henri II.'s foresight. Catherine was the
inventor of the political see-saw, imitated since by every Prince who has
found himself in a similar position; she upheld, by turns, the Calvinists
against the Guises, and the Guises against the Calvinists. Then, after
using the two creeds to check each other in the heart of the people, she
set the Duc d'Anjou against Charles IX. After using things to counteract
each other, she did the same with men, always keeping the clue to their
interests in her own hands.
But in this tremendous game, which requires the head of a Louis XI. or a
Louis XVIII., the player inevitably is the object of hatred to all parties,
and is condemned to win unfailingly, for one lost battle makes every
interest his enemy, until indeed by dint of winning he ends by finding no
one to play against him. The greater part of Charles IX.'s reign was the
triumph of the domestic policy carried out by this wonderful woman. What
extraordinary skill Catherine must have brought into play to get the chief
command of the army given to the Duc d'Anjou, under a brave young King
thirsting for glory, capable and generous--and in the face of the
Connetable Anne de Montmorency! The Duc d'Anjou, in the eyes of all Europe,
reaped the honors of Saint-Bartholomew's Day, while Charles IX. had all the
odium. After instilling into the King's mind a spurious and covert jealousy
of his brother, she worked upon this feeling so as to exhaust Charles IX.'s
really fine qualities in the intrigues of rivalry with his brother.
Cypierre, their first tutor, and Amyot, Charles IX.'s preceptor, had made
their royal charge so noble a man, and had laid the foundations of so great
a reign, that the mother hated the son from the very first day when she
feared to lose her power after having conquered it with so much difficulty.
These facts have led certain historians to believe that the Queen-mother
had a preference for Henri III.; but her behavior at this juncture proves
that her heart was absolutely indifferent towards her children. The Duc
d'Anjou, when he went to govern Poland, robbed her of the tool she needed
to keep Charles IX.'s mind fully occupied by these domestic intrigues,
which had hitherto neutralized his energy by giving food to his vehement
feelings. Catherine then hatched the conspiracy of la Mole and Coconnas, in
which the Duc d'Alencon had a hand; and he, when he became Duc d'Anjou on
his brother's being made King, lent himself very readily to his mother's
views, and displayed an ambition which was encouraged by his sister
Marguerite, Queen of Navarre.
This plot, now ripened to the point which Catherine desired, aimed at
putting the young Duke and his brother-in-law, the King of Navarre, at the
head of the Calvinists, at seizing Charles IX., thus making the King, who
had no heir, a prisoner, and leaving the throne free for the Duke, who
proposed to establish Calvinism in France. Only a few days before his
death, Calvin had won the reward he hoped for--the Reformed creed was
called Calvinism in his honor.
La Mole and Coconnas had been arrested fifty days before the night on which
this scene opens, to be beheaded in the following April; and if le
Laboureur and other judicious writers had not amply proved that they were
the victims of the Queen-mother, Cosmo Ruggieri's participation in the
affair would be enough to show that she secretly directed it. This man,
suspected and hated by the King for reasons which will be presently
sufficiently explained, was implicated by the inquiries. He admitted that
he had furnished la Mole with an image representing the King and stabbed to
the heart with two needles. This form of witchcraft was at that time a
capital crime. This kind of bedevilment (called in French _envouter_, from
the Latin _vultus_, it is said) represented one of the most infernal
conceptions that hatred could imagine, and the word admirably expresses the
magnetic and terrible process carried on, in occult science, by constantly
active malevolence on the person devoted to death; its effects being
incessantly suggested by the sight of the wax figure. The law at that time
considered, and with good reason, that the idea thus embodied constituted
high treason. Charles IX. desired the death of the Florentine; Catherine,
more powerful, obtained from the Supreme Court, through the intervention of
her Councillor Lecamus, that her astrologer should be condemned only to the
galleys. As soon as the King was dead, Ruggieri was pardoned by an edict of
Henri III.'s, who reinstated him in his revenues and received him at Court.
* * * * *
Catherine had, by this time, struck so many blows on her son's heart, that
at this moment he was only anxious to shake off the yoke she had laid on
him. Since Marie Touchet's absence, Charles IX., having nothing to occupy
him, had taken to observing very keenly all that went on around him. He had
set very skilful snares for certain persons whom he had trusted, to test
their fidelity. He had watched his mother's proceedings, and had kept her
in ignorance of his own, making use of all the faults she had inculcated in
order to deceive her. Eager to efface the feeling of horror produced in
France by the massacre of Saint-Bartholomew, he took an active interest in
public affairs, presided at the council, and tried by well-planned measures
to seize the reins of government. Though the Queen might have attempted to
counteract her son's endeavors by using all the influence that maternal
authority and her habit of dominion could have over his mind, the downward
course of distrust is so rapid that, at the first leap, the son had gone
too far to be recalled.
On the day when his mother's words to the King of Poland were repeated to
Charles IX., he already felt so ill that the most hideous notions dawned on
his mind; and when such suspicions take possession of a son and a King,
nothing can remove them. In fact, on his deathbed his mother was obliged to
interrupt him, exclaiming, "Do not say that, monsieur!" when Charles IX.,
intrusting his wife and daughter to the care of Henri IV., was about to put
him on his guard against Catherine.
Though Charles IX. never failed in the superficial respect of which she was
so jealous, and she never called the Kings, her sons, anything but
monsieur, the Queen-mother had, for some months past, detected in Charles'
manner the ill-disguised irony of revenge held in suspense. But he must be
a clever man who could deceive Catherine. She held in her hand this
conspiracy of the Duc d'Alencon and la Mole, so as to be able to divert
Charles' efforts at emancipation by his new rivalry of a brother; but
before making use of it, she was anxious to dissipate the want of
confidence which might make her reconciliation with the King
impossible--for how could he leave the power in the hands of a mother who
was capable of poisoning him?
Indeed, at this juncture she thought herself so far in danger that she had
sent for Strozzi, her cousin, a soldier famous for his death. She held
secret councils with Birague and the Gondis, and never had she so
frequently consulted the oracle of the Hotel de Soissons.
Though long habits of dissimulation and advancing years had given Catherine
that Abbess-like countenance, haughty and ascetic, expressionless and yet
deep, reserved but scrutinizing, and so remarkable for any student of her
portraits, those about her perceived a cloud over this cold, Florentine
mirror. No sovereign was ever a more imposing figure than this woman had
made herself since the day when she had succeeded in coercing the Guises
after the death of Francis II. Her black velvet hood, with a peak over the
forehead, for she never went out of mourning for Henri II., was, as it
were, a womanly cowl round her cold, imperious features, to which she
could, however, on occasion, give insinuating Italian charm. She was so
well made, that she introduced the fashion for women to ride on horseback
in such a way as to display their legs; this is enough to prove that hers
were of perfect form. Every lady in Europe thenceforth rode on a
side-saddle, _a la planchette_, for France had long set the fashions.
To any one who can picture this impressive figure, the scene in the great
room that evening has an imposing aspect. The two Queens, so unlike in
spirit, in beauty, and in dress, and almost at daggers drawn, were both
much too absent-minded to give the impetus for which the courtiers waited
to raise their spirits.
The dead secret of the drama which, for the past six months, the son and
mother had been cautiously playing, was guessed by some of their followers;
the Italians, more especially, had kept an attentive lookout, for if
Catherine should lose the game, they would all be the victims. Under these
circumstances, at a moment when Catherine and her son were vying with each
other in subterfuges, the King was the centre of observation.
Charles IX., tired by a long day's hunting, and by the serious reflections
he brooded over in secret, looked forty this evening. He had reached the
last stage of the malady which killed him, and which gave rise to grave
suspicions of poison. According to de Thou, the Tacitus of the Valois, the
surgeon found unaccountable spots in the King's body (_ex causa incognita
reperti livores_). His funeral was even more carelessly conducted than that
of Francis II. Charles the Ninth was escorted from Saint-Lazare to
Saint-Denis by Brantome and a few archers of the Guard commanded by the
Comte de Solern. This circumstance, added to the mother's supposed hatred
of her son, may confirm the accusation brought against her by de Thou; at
least it gives weight to the opinion here expressed, that she cared little
for any of her children, an indifference which is accounted for by her
faith in the pronouncement of astrology. Such a woman could not care for
tools that were to break in her hands. Henri III. was the last King under
whom she could hope to reign; and that was all.
In our day it seems allowable to suppose that Charles IX. died a natural
death. His excesses, his manner of life, the sudden development of his
powers, his last struggles to seize the reins of government, his desire to
live, his waste of strength, his last sufferings and his last pleasures,
all indicate, to impartial judges, that he died of disease of the lungs, a
malady at that time little understood, and of which nothing was known; and
its symptoms might lead Charles himself to believe that he was poisoned.
The real poison given him by his mother lay in the evil counsels of the
courtiers with whom she surrounded him, who induced him to waste his
intellectual and physical powers, and who thus were the cause of a disease
which was purely incidental and not congenital.
Charles the Ninth, at this period of his life more than at any other, bore
the stamp of a sombre dignity not unbecoming in a King. The majesty of his
secret thoughts was reflected in his face, which was remarkable for the
Italian complexion he inherited from his mother. This ivory pallor, so
beautiful by artificial light, and so well suited with an expression of
melancholy, gave added effect to his deep blue eyes showing narrowly under
thick eyelids, and thus acquiring that keen acumen which imagination
pictures in the glance of a King, while their color was an aid to
dissimulation. Charles' eyes derived an awe-inspiring look from his high,
marked eyebrows--accentuating a lofty forehead--which he could lift or
lower with singular facility. His nose was long and broad, and thick at the
tip--a true lion's nose; he had large ears; light reddish hair; lips of the
color of blood, the lips of a consumptive man; the upper lip thin and
satirical, the lower full enough to indicate fine qualities of feeling.
The wrinkles stamped on his brow in early life, when terrible anxieties had
blighted its freshness, made his face intensely interesting--more than one
had been caused by remorse for the massacre of Saint-Bartholomew, a deed
which had been craftily foisted on him; but there were two other lines on
his face which would have been eloquent to any student who at that time
could have had a special revelation of the principles of modern physiology.
These lines made a deep furrow from the cheek-bones to each corner of the
mouth, and betrayed the efforts made by an exhausted organization to
respond to mental strain and to violent physical enjoyment. Charles IX. was
worn out. The Queen-mother, seeing her work, must have felt some remorse,
unless, indeed, politics stifle such a feeling in all who sit under the
purple. If Catherine could have foreseen the effects of her intrigues on
her son, she might perhaps have shrunk from them?
It was a terrible spectacle. The King, by nature so strong, had become
weak; the spirit, so nobly tempered, was racked by doubts; this man, the
centre of authority, felt himself helpless; the naturally firm temper had
lost confidence in its power. The warrior's valor had degenerated into
ferocity, reserve had become dissimulation, the refined and tender passion
of the Valois was an insatiable thirst for pleasure. This great man,
misprized, perverted, with every side of his noble spirit chafed to a sore,
a King without power, a loving heart without a friend, torn a thousand ways
by conflicting schemes, was, at four-and-twenty, the melancholy image of a
man who has found everything wanting, who distrusts every one, who is ready
to stake his all, even his life. Only lately had he understood his mission,
his power, his resources, and the obstacles placed by his mother in the way
of the pacification of the kingdom; and the light glowed in a broken lamp.
Two men, for whom the King had so great a regard that he had saved one from
the massacre of Saint-Bartholomew, and had dined with the other at a time
when his enemies accused him of poisoning the King--his chief physician
Jean Chapelain, and the great surgeon Ambroise Pare--had been sent for from
the country by Catherine, and, obeying the summons in hot haste, arrived at
the King's bedtime. They looked anxiously at their sovereign, and some of
the courtiers made whispered inquiries, but they answered with due reserve,
saying nothing of the sentence each had secretly pronounced. Now and again
the King would raise his heavy eyelids and try to conceal from the
bystanders the glance he shot at his mother. Suddenly he rose, and went to
stand in front of the fireplace.
"Monsieur de Chiverni," said he, "why do you keep the title of Chancellor
of Anjou and Poland? Are you our servant or our brother's?"
"I am wholly yours, Sire," replied Chiverni, with a bow.
"Well, then, come to-morrow; I mean to send you to Spain, for strange
things are doing at the Court of Madrid, gentlemen."
The King looked at his wife and returned to his chair.
"Strange things are doing everywhere," he added in a whisper to Marshal
Tavannes, one of the favorites of his younger days. And he rose to lead the
partner of his youthful pleasures into the recess of an oriel window,
saying to him:
"I want you; stay till the last. I must know whether you will be with me or
against me. Do not look astonished. I am breaking the leading strings. My
mother is at the bottom of all the mischief here. In three months I shall
either be dead, or be really King. As you love your life, silence! You are
in my secret with Solern and Villeroy. If the least hint is given, it will
come from one of you three.--Do not keep too close to me; go and pay your
court to my mother; tell her that I am dying, and that you cannot regret
it, for that I am but a poor creature."
Charles IX. walked round the room leaning on his old favorite's shoulder,
and discussing his sufferings with him, to mislead inquisitive persons;
then, fearing that his coldness might be too marked, he went to talk with
the two Queens, calling Birague to his side.
Just then Pinard glided in at the door and came up to Queen Catherine,
slipping in like an eel, close to the wall. He murmured two words in the
Queen-mother's ear, and she replied with an affirmative nod. The King did
not ask what this meant, but he went back to his chair with a scowl round
the room of horrible rage and jealousy. This little incident was of immense
importance in the eyes of all the Court. This exertion of authority without
any appeal to the King was like the drop of water that makes the glass
overflow. The young Queen and Countess Fieschi withdrew without the King's
paying her the least attention, but the Queen-mother attended her
daughter-in-law to the door. Though the misunderstanding between the mother
and son lent enormous interest to the movements, looks, and attitude of
Catherine and Charles IX., their cold composure plainly showed the
courtiers that they were in the way; as soon as the Queen had gone they
took their leave. At ten o'clock no one remained but certain intimate
persons--the two Gondis, Tavannes, the Comte de Solern, Birague, and the
Queen-mother.
The King sat plunged in the deepest melancholy. This silence was fatiguing.
Catherine seemed at a loss; she wished to retire, and she wanted the King
to attend her to the door, but Charles remained obstinately lost in
thought; she rose to bid him good-night, Charles was obliged to follow her
example; she took his arm, and went a few steps with him to speak in his
ear these few words:
"Monsieur, I have matters of importance to discuss with you."
As she left, the Queen-mother met the eyes of the Gondis reflected in a
glass, and gave them a significant glance, which her son could not see--all
the more so because he himself was exchanging meaning looks with the Comte
de Solern and Villeroy; Tavannes was absorbed in thought.
"Sire," said the Marechal de Retz, coming out of his meditations, "you
seem right royally bored. Do you never amuse yourself nowadays? Heaven
above us! where are the times when we went gadding about the streets of
nights?"
"Yes, those were good times," said the King, not without a sigh.
"Why not be off now?" said Monsieur de Birague, bowing himself out, with a
wink at the Gondis.
"I always think of that time with pleasure," cried the Marechal de Retz.
"I should like to see you on the roofs, Monsieur le Marechal," said
Tavannes. "_Sacre chat d'Italie_, if you might but break your neck," he
added in an undertone to the King.
"I know not whether you or I should be nimblest at jumping across a yard or
a street; but what I do know is, that neither of us is more afraid of death
than the other," replied the Duc de Retz.
"Well, sir, will you come to scour the town as you did when you were
young?" said the Master of the Wardrobe to the King.
Thus at four-and-twenty the unhappy King was no longer thought young, even
by his flatterers. Tavannes and the King recalled, like two schoolfellows,
some of the good tricks they had perpetrated in Paris, and the party was
soon made up. The two Italians, being dared to jump from roof to roof
across the street, pledged themselves to follow where the King should lead.
They all went to put on common clothes.
The Comte de Solern, left alone with the King, looked at him with
amazement. The worthy German, though filled with compassion as he
understood the position of the King of France, was fidelity and honor
itself, but he had not a lively imagination. King Charles, surrounded by
enemies, and trusting no one, not even his wife--who, not knowing that his
mother and all her servants were inimical to him, had committed some little
indiscretions--was happy to have found in Monsieur de Solern a devotion
which justified complete confidence. Tavannes and Villeroy were only partly
in the secret. The Comte de Solern alone knew the whole of the King's
schemes; and he was in every way very useful to his master, inasmuch as
that he had a handful of confidential and attached men at his orders who
obeyed him blindly. Monsieur de Solern, who held a command in the Archers
of the Guard, had for some days been picking from among his men some who
were faithful in their adherence to the King, to form a chosen company. The
King could think of everything.
"Well, Solern," said Charles IX., "we were needing a pretext for spending a
night out of doors. I had the excuse, of course, of Madame de Belleville;
but this is better, for my mother can find out what goes on at Marie's
house."
Monsieur de Solern, as he was to attend the King, asked if he might not go
the rounds with some of his Germans, and to this Charles consented. By
eleven o'clock the King, in better spirits now, set out with his three
companions to explore the neighborhood of the Rue Saint-Honore.
"I will take my lady by surprise," said Charles to Tavannes as they went
along the Rue de l'Autruche.
To make this nocturnal ploy more intelligible to those who may be ignorant
of the topography of old Paris, it will be necessary to explain the
position of the Rue de l'Autruche. The part of the Louvre, begun by Henri
II., was still being built amid the wreck of houses. Where the wing now
stands looking over the Pont des Arts, there was at that time a garden. In
the place of the Colonnade there were a moat and a drawbridge on which,
somewhat later, a Florentine, the Marechal d'Ancre, met his death. Beyond
this garden rose the turrets of the Hotel de Bourbon, the residence of the
princes of that branch till the day when the Constable's treason (after he
was ruined by the confiscation of his possessions, decreed by Francis I.,
to avoid having to decide between him and his mother) put an end to the
trial that had cost France so dear, by the confiscation of the Constable's
estates.
This chateau, which looked well from the river, was not destroyed till the
time of Louis XIV.
The Rue de l'Autruche ran from the Rue Saint-Honore, ending at the Hotel de
Bourbon on the quay. This street, named de l'Autriche on some old plans,
and de l'Austruc on others, has, like many more, disappeared from the map.
The Rue des Poulies would seem to have been cut across the ground occupied
by the houses nearest to the Rue Saint-Honore. Authors have differed, too,
as to the etymology of the name. Some suppose it to be derived from a
certain Hotel d'Osteriche (_Osterrichen_) inhabited in the fourteenth
century by a daughter of that house who married a French nobleman. Some
assert that this was the site of the Royal Aviaries, whither, once on a
time, all Paris crowded to see a living ostrich.
Be it as it may, this tortuous street was made notable by the residences of
certain princes of the blood, who dwelt in the vicinity of the Louvre.
Since the sovereign had deserted the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, where for
several centuries he had lived in the Bastille, and removed to the Louvre,
many of the nobility had settled near the palace. The Hotel de Bourbon had
its fellow in the old Hotel d'Alencon in the Rue Saint-Honore. This, the
palace of the Counts of that name, always an appanage of the Crown, was at
this time owned by Henri II.'s fourth son, who subsequently took the title
of Duc d'Anjou, and who died in the reign of Henri III., to whom he gave no
little trouble. The estate then reverted to the Crown, including the old
palace, which was pulled down. In those days a prince's residence was a
vast assemblage of buildings; to form some idea of its extent, we have only
to go and see the space covered by the Hotel de Soubise, which is still
standing in the Marais. Such a palace included all the buildings necessary
to these magnificent lives, which may seem almost problematical to many
persons to see how poor is the state of a prince in these days. There were
immense stables, lodgings for physicians, librarians, chancellor,
chaplains, treasurers, officials, pages, paid servants, and lackeys,
attached to the Prince's person.
Not far from the Rue Saint-Honore, in a garden belonging to the Hotel,
stood a pretty little house built in 1520 by command of the celebrated
Duchesse d'Alencon, which had since been surrounded with other houses
erected by merchants. Here the King had installed Marie Touchet. Although
the Duc d'Alencon was engaged in a conspiracy against the King at that
time, he was incapable of annoying him in such a matter.
As the King was obliged to pass by his lady's door on his way down the Rue
Saint-Honore, where at that time highway robbers had no opportunities
within the Barriere des Sergents, he could hardly avoid stopping there.
While keeping a lookout for some stroke of luck--a belated citizen to be
robbed, or the watch to be thrashed--the King scanned every window, peeping
in wherever he saw lights, to see what was going on, or to overhear a
conversation. But he found his good city in a provokingly peaceful state.
On a sudden, as he came in front of the house kept by a famous perfumer
named Rene, who supplied the Court, the King was seized with one of those
swift inspirations which are suggested by antecedent observation, as he saw
a bright light shining from the topmost window of the roof.
This perfumer was strongly suspected of doctoring rich uncles when they
complained of illness; he was credited at Court with the invention of the
famous _Elixir a successions_--the Elixir of Inheritance--and had been
accused of poisoning Jeanne d'Albret, Henri IV.'s mother, who was buried
without her head having been opened, in spite of the express orders of
Charles IX., as a contemporary tells us. For two months past the King had
been seeking some stratagem to enable him to spy out the secrets of Rene's
laboratory, whither Cosmo Ruggieri frequently resorted. Charles intended,
if anything should arouse his suspicions, to take steps himself without the
intervention of the Police or the Law, over whom his mother would exert the
influence of fear or of bribery.
It is beyond all doubt that during the sixteenth century, and the years
immediately preceding and following it, poisoning had been brought to a
pitch of perfection which remains unknown to modern chemistry, but which
is indisputably proved by history. Italy, the cradle of modern science, was
at that time the inventor and mistress of these secrets, many of which are
lost. Romancers have made such extravagant use of this fact, that whenever
they introduce Italians they make them play the part of assassins and
poisoners.
But though Italy had then the monopoly of those subtle poisons of which
historians tell us, we must regard her supremacy in toxicology merely as
part of her pre-eminence in all branches of knowledge and in the arts, in
which she led the way for all Europe. The crimes of the period were not
hers alone; she served the passions of the age, as she built magnificently,
commanded armies, painted glorious frescoes, sang songs, loved Queens, and
directed politics. At Florence this hideous art had reached such
perfection, that a woman dividing a peach with a duke could make use of a
knife of which one side only was poisoned, and, eating the untainted half,
dealt death with the other. A pair of perfumed gloves introduced a mortal
malady by the pores of the hand; poison could be concealed in a bunch of
fresh roses of which the fragrance, inhaled but once, meant certain death.
Don Juan of Austria, it is said, was poisoned by a pair of boots.
So King Charles had a right to be inquisitive, and it is easy to imagine
how greatly the dark suspicions which tormented him added to his eagerness
to detect Rene in the act.
The old fountain, since rebuilt, at the corner of the Rue de l'Arbre-Sec,
afforded this illustrious crew the necessary access to the roof of a house,
which the King pretended that he wished to invade, not far from Rene's.
Charles, followed by his companions, began walking along the roofs, to the
great terror of the good folks awakened by these marauders, who would call
to them, giving them some coarsely grotesque name, listen to family
squabbles or love-makings, or do some vexatious damage.
When the two Gondis saw Tavannes and the King clambering along the roof
adjoining Rene's, the Marechal de Retz sat down, saying he was tired, and
his brother remained with him.
"So much the better," thought the King, glad to be quit of his spies.
Tavannes made fun of the two Italians, who were then left alone in the
midst of perfect silence in a place where they had only the sky above them
and the cats for listeners. And the brothers took advantage of this
position to speak out thoughts which they never would have uttered
elsewhere--thoughts suggested by the incidents of the evening.
"Albert," said the Grand Master to the Marshal, "the King will get the
upper hand of the Queen; we are doing bad business so far as our fortunes
are concerned by attaching ourselves to Catherine's. If we transfer our
services to the King now, when he is seeking some support against his
mother, and needs capable men to rely upon, we shall not be turned out like
wild beasts when the Queen-mother is banished, imprisoned, or killed."
"You will not get far, Charles, by that road," the Marshal replied. "You
will follow your master into the grave, and he has not long to live; he is
wrecked by dissipation; Cosmo Ruggieri has foretold his death next year."
"A dying boar has often gored the hunter," said Charles de Gondi. "This
plot of the Duc d'Alencon with the King of Navarre and the Prince de Conde,
of which la Mole and Coconnas are taking the _onus_, is dangerous rather
than useful. In the first place, the King of Navarre, whom the Queen-mother
hopes to take in the fact, is too suspicious of her, and will have nothing
to do with it. He means to get the benefit of the conspiracy and run none
of the risks. And now, the last idea is to place the crown on the head of
the Duc d'Alencon, who is to turn Calvinist."
"_Budelone!_ Dolt that you are, do not you see that this plot enables our
Queen to learn what the Huguenots can do with the Duc d'Alencon, and what
the King means to do with the Huguenots? For the King is temporizing with
them. And Catherine, to set the King riding on a wooden horse, will betray
the plot which must nullify his schemes."
"Ay!" said Charles de Gondi, "by dint of taking our advice she can beat us
at our own game. That is very good."
"Good for the Duc d'Anjou, who would rather be King of France than King of
Poland; I am going to explain matters to him."
"You are going, Albert?"
"To-morrow. Is it not my duty to attend the King of Poland? I shall join
him at Venice, where the Signori have undertaken to amuse him."
"You are prudence itself."
"_Che bestia!_ I assure you solemnly that there is not the slightest danger
for either of us at Court. If there were, should I leave? I would stick to
our kind mistress."
"Kind!" said the Grand Master. "She is the woman to drop her tools if she
finds them too heavy."
"_O coglione!_ You call yourself a soldier, and are afraid of death? Every
trade has its duties, and our duty is to Fortune. When we attach ourselves
to monarchs who are the fount of all temporal power, and who protect and
ennoble and enrich our families, we have to give them such love as inflames
the soul of the martyr for heaven; when they sacrifice us for the throne we
may perish, for we die as much for ourselves as for them, but our family
does not perish.--_Ecco_; I have said!"
"You are quite right, Albert; you have got the old duchy of Retz."
"Listen to me," said the Duc de Retz. "The Queen has great hopes of the
Ruggieri and their arts to reconcile her to her son. When that artful youth
refused to have anything to do with Rene, our Queen easily guessed what her
son's suspicions were. But who can tell what the King has in his pocket?
Perhaps he is only doubting as to what fate he intends for his mother; he
hates her, you understand? He said something of his purpose to the Queen,
and the Queen talked of it to Madame de Fieschi; Madame de Fieschi carried
it on to the Queen-mother, and since then the King has kept out of his
wife's way."
"It was high time----" said Charles de Gondi.
"What to do?" asked the Marshal.
"To give the King something to do," replied the Grand Master, who, though
he was on less intimate terms with Catherine than his brother, was not less
clear-sighted.
"Charles," said de Retz gravely, "I have started on a splendid road; but if
you want to be a Duke, you must, like me, be our mistress' ready tool. She
will remain Queen; she is the strongest. Madame de Sauves is still devoted
to her; and the King of Navarre and the Duc d'Alencon are devoted to Madame
de Sauves; Catherine will always have them in leading strings under this
King, as she will have them under King Henri III. Heaven send he may not be
ungrateful!"
"Why?"
"His mother does too much for him."
"Hark! There is a noise in the Rue Saint-Honore," cried Charles de Gondi.
"Rene's door is being locked. Cannot you hear a number of men? They must
have taken the Ruggieri."
"The devil! What a piece of prudence! The King has not shown his usual
impetuosity. But where will he imprison them?--Let us see what is going
on."
The brothers reached the corner of the Rue de l'Autruche at the moment when
the King was entering his mistress' house. By the light of the torches held
by the gatekeeper they recognized Tavannes and the Ruggieri.
"Well, Tavannes," the Grand Master called out as he ran after the King's
companion, who was making his way back to the Louvre, "what adventures have
you had?"
"We dropped on a full council of wizards, and arrested two who are friends
of yours, and who will explain for the benefit of French noblemen by what
means you, who are not Frenchmen, have contrived to clutch two Crown
offices," said Tavannes, half in jest.
"And the King?" asked the Grand Master, who was not much disturbed by
Tavannes' hostility.
"He is staying with his mistress."
"We have risen to where we stand by the most absolute devotion to our
masters, a brilliant and noble career which you too have adopted, my dear
Duke," replied the Marechal de Retz.
* * * * *
The three courtiers walked on in silence. As they bid each other
good-night, rejoining their retainers, who escorted them home, two men
lightly glided along the Rue de l'Autruche in the shadow of the wall. These
were the King and the Comte de Solern, who soon reached the river-bank at a
spot where a boat and rowers, engaged by the German Count, were awaiting
them. In a few minutes they had reached the opposite shore.
"My mother is not in bed," cried the King, "she will see us; we have not
made a good choice of our meeting-place."
"She will think some duel is in the wind," said Solern. "And how is she to
distinguish who we are at this distance?"
"Well! Even if she sees me!" cried Charles IX. "I have made up my mind
now."
The King and his friend jumped on shore, and hurried off towards the Pre
aux Clercs. On arriving there, the Comte de Solern, who went first,
parleyed with a man on sentry, with whom he exchanged a few words, and who
then withdrew to a group of others.
Presently two men, who seemed to be princes by the way the outposts saluted
them, left the spot where they were in hiding behind some broken fencing,
and came to the King, to whom they bent the knee; but Charles IX. raised
them before they could touch the ground, saying:
"No ceremony; here we are all gentlemen together."
These three were now joined by a venerable old man, who might have been
taken for the Chancellor de l'Hopital, but that he had died the year
before. Then all four walked on as quickly as possible to reach a spot
where their conversation could not be overheard by their retainers, and
Solern followed them at a little distance to keep guard over the King. This
faithful servant felt some doubts which Charles did not share, for to him
indeed life was too great a burden. The Count was the only witness to the
meeting on the King's side.
It soon became interesting.
"Sire," said one of the speakers, "the Connetable de Montmorency, the best
friend the King, your father, had, and possessed of all his secrets, agreed
with the Marechal de Saint-Andre that Madame Catherine should be sewn up in
a sack and thrown into the river. If that had been done, many good men
would be alive now."
"I have executions enough on my conscience, monsieur," replied the King.
"Well, Sire," said the youngest of the four gentlemen, "from the depths of
exile Queen Catherine would still manage to interfere and find men to help
her. Have we not everything to fear from the Guises, who, nine years since,
schemed for a monstrous Catholic alliance, in which your Majesty is not
included, and which is a danger to the throne? This alliance is a Spanish
invention--for Spain still cherishes the hope of leveling the Pyrenees.
Sire, Calvinism can save France by erecting a moral barrier between this
nation and one that aims at the empire of the world. If the Queen-mother
finds herself in banishment, she will throw herself on Spain and the
Guises."
"Gentlemen," said the King, "I will have you to know that, with your help,
and with peace established on a basis of confidence, I will undertake to
make every soul in the kingdom quake. By God and every sacred relic! it is
time that the Royal authority should assert itself. Understand this
clearly; so far, my mother is right, power is slipping from your grasp, as
it is from mine. Your estates, your privileges are bound to the throne;
when you have allowed religion to be overthrown, the hands you are using as
tools will turn against the Monarchy and against you.
"I have had enough of fighting ideas with weapons that cannot touch them.
Let us see whether Protestantism can make its way if left to itself; above
all, let us see what the spirit of that faction means to attack. The
Admiral, God be merciful to him, was no enemy of mine. He swore to me that
he would restrain the revolt within the limits of spiritual feeling, and in
the temporal kingdom secure mastery to the King and submissive subjects.
Now, gentlemen, if the thing is still in your power, set an example, and
help your sovereign to control the malcontents who are disturbing the peace
of both parties alike. War robs us of all our revenue, and ruins the
country; I am weary of this troubled State--so much so, that, if it should
be absolutely necessary, I would sacrifice my mother. I would do more; I
would have about me a like number of Catholics and of Protestants, and I
would hang Louis XI.'s axe over their heads to keep them equal. If
Messieurs de Guise plot a Holy Alliance which endangers the Crown, the
executioner shall begin on them.
"I understand the griefs of my people, and am quite ready to cut freely at
the nobles who bring trouble on our country. I care little for questions of
conscience; I mean henceforth to have submissive subjects who will work,
under my rule, at the prosperity of the State.
"Gentlemen, I give you ten days to treat with your adherents, to break up
your plots, and return to me, who will be a father to you. If you are
refractory, you will see great changes. I shall make use of smaller men
who, at my bidding, will rush upon the great lords. I will follow the
example of a king who pacified his realm by striking down greater men than
you are who dared to defy him. If Catholic troops are wanting, I can appeal
to my brother of Spain to defend a threatened throne; nay, and if I need a
Minister to carry out my will, he will lend me the Duke of Alva."
"In that event, Sire, we can find Germans to fight your Spaniards," said
one of the party.
"I may remind you, cousin," said Charles IX. coldly, "that my wife's name
is Elizabeth of Austria; your allies on that side might fail you. But take
my advice; let us fight this alone without calling in the foreigner. You
are the object of my mother's hatred, and you care enough for me to play
the part of second in my duel with her--well, then, listen. You stand so
high in my esteem, that I offer you the office of High Constable; you will
not betray us as the other has done."
The Prince thus addressed took the King's hand in a friendly grasp,
exclaiming:
"God's 'ounds, brother, that is indeed forgiving evil! But, Sire, the head
cannot move without the tail, and our tail is hard to drag along. Give us
more than ten days. We still need at least a month to make the rest hear
reason. By the end of that time we shall be the masters."
"A month, so be it; Villeroy is my only plenipotentiary. Take no word but
his, whatever any one may say."
"One month," said the three other gentlemen; "that will be enough time."
"Gentlemen," said the King, "we are but five, all men of mettle. If there
is any treachery, we shall know with whom to deal."
The three gentlemen left the King with every mark of deep respect and
kissed his hand.
As the King recrossed the Seine, four o'clock was striking by the Louvre
clock.
Queen Catherine was still up.
"My mother is not gone to bed," said Charles to the Comte de Solern.
"She too has her forge," said the German.
"My dear Count, what must you think of a king who is reduced to
conspiracy?" said Charles IX. bitterly, after a pause.
"I think, Sire, that if you would only allow me to throw that woman into
the river, as our young friend said, France would soon be at peace."
"Parricide!--and after Saint-Bartholomew's!" said the King. "No, no--Exile.
Once fallen, my mother would not have an adherent or a partisan."
"Well, then, Sire," the Count went on, "allow me to take her into custody
now, at once, and escort her beyond the frontier; for by to-morrow she will
have won you round."
"Well," said the King, "come to my forge; no one can hear us there.
Besides, I am anxious that my mother should know nothing of the arrest of
the Ruggieri. If she knows I am within, the good lady will suspect nothing,
and we will concert the measures for arresting her."
When the King, attended by Solern, went into the low room which served as
his workshop, he smiled as he pointed to his forge and various tools.
"I do not suppose," said he, "that of all the kings France may ever have,
there will be another with a taste for such a craft. But when I am really
King, I shall not forge swords; they shall all be sheathed."
"Sire," said the Comte de Solern, "the fatigues of tennis, your work at the
forge, hunting, and--may I say it?--love-making, are chariots lent you by
the Devil to hasten your journey to Saint-Denis."
"Ah, Solern!" said the King sadly, "if only you could feel the fire they
have set burning in my heart and body. Nothing can slake it.--Are you sure
of the men who are guarding the Ruggieri?"
"As sure as of myself."
"Well, in the course of this day I shall have made up my mind. Think out
the means of acting, and I will give you my final instructions at five this
evening, at Madame de Belleville's."
* * * * *
The first gleams of daybreak were struggling with the lights in the King's
workshop, where the Comte de Solern had left him alone, when he heard the
door open and saw his mother, looking like a ghost in the gloom. Though
Charles IX. was highly strung and nervous, he did not start, although under
the circumstances this apparition had an ominous and grotesque aspect.
"Monsieur," said she, "you are killing yourself----"
"I am fulfilling my horoscopes," he retorted, with a bitter smile. "But
you, madame, are you as ill as I am?"
"We have both watched through the night, monsieur, but with very different
purpose. When you were setting out to confer with your bitterest enemies in
the open night, and hiding it from your mother, with the connivance of
Tavannes and the Gondis, with whom you pretended to be scouring the town, I
was reading dispatches which prove that a terrible conspiracy is hatching,
in which your brother the Duc d'Alencon is implicated with your
brother-in-law, the King of Navarre, the Prince de Conde, and half the
nobility of your kingdom. Their plan is no less than to snatch the Crown
from you by taking possession of your person. These gentlemen have already
a following of fifty thousand men, all good soldiers."
"Indeed!" said the King incredulously.
"Your brother is becoming a Huguenot," the Queen went on.
"My brother joining the Huguenots?" cried Charles, brandishing the iron bar
he held.
"Yes. The Duc d'Alencon, a Huguenot at heart, is about to declare himself.
Your sister, the Queen of Navarre, has scarcely a tinge of affection left
for you. She loves Monsieur le Duc d'Alencon, she loves Bussy, and she also
loves little la Mole."
"What a large heart!" said the King.
"Little la Mole, to grow great," the Queen went on, "can think of no better
means than making a King of France to his mind. Then, it is said, he is to
be High Constable."
"That damned Margot!" cried the King. "This is what comes of her marrying a
heretic----"
"That would be nothing; but then there is the head of the younger branch,
whom you have placed near the throne against my warnings, and who only
wants to see you all kill each other! The House of Bourbon is the enemy of
the House of Valois. Mark this, monsieur, a younger branch must always be
kept in abject poverty, for it is born with the spirit of conspiracy, and
it is folly to give it weapons when it has none, or to leave them in its
possession when it takes them. The younger branches must be impotent for
mischief--that is the law of sovereignty. The sultans of Asia observe it.
"The proofs are upstairs in my closet, whither I begged you to follow me
when we parted last night, but you had other projects. Within a month, if
we do not take a high hand, your fate will be that of Charles the Simple."
"Within a month!" exclaimed Charles, amazed at the coincidence of this
period with the term fixed by the princes that very night. "In a month we
shall be the masters," thought he to himself, repeating their words. "You
have proofs, madame?" he asked aloud.
"They are unimpeachable, monsieur; they are supplied by my daughter
Marguerite. Terrified by the probable outcome of such a coalition, in spite
of her weakness for your brother d'Alencon, the throne of the Valois lay,
for once, nearer to her heart than all her amours. She asks indeed, as the
reward of her revelation, that la Mole shall go scot free; but that
popinjay seems to me to be a rogue we ought to get rid of, as well as the
Comte de Coconnas, your brother d'Alencon's right-hand man. As to the
Prince de Conde, that boy would agree to anything so long as I may be flung
into the river; I do not know if that is his idea of a handsome return on
his wedding-day for the pretty wife I got him.
"This is a serious matter, monsieur. You spoke of predictions! I know of
one which says that the Bourbons will possess the throne of the Valois; and
if we do not take care, it will be fulfilled. Do not be vexed with your
sister, she has acted well in this matter."
"My son," she went on, after a pause, with an assumption of tenderness in
her tone, "many evil-minded persons, in the interest of the Guises, want to
sow dissension between you and me, though we are the only two persons in
the realm whose interests are identical. Reflect. You blame yourself now, I
know, for Saint-Bartholomew's night; you blame me for persuading you to it.
But Catholicism, monsieur, ought to be the bond of Spain, France, and
Italy, three nations which by a secretly and skilfully worked scheme may,
in the course of time, be united under the House of Valois. Do not forfeit
your chances by letting the cord slip which includes these three kingdoms
in the pale of the same faith.
"Why should not the Valois and the Medici carry out, to their great glory,
the project of Charles V., who lost his head? Let those descendants of Jane
the Crazy people the new world which they are grasping at. The Medici,
masters of Florence and Rome, will subdue Italy to your rule; they will
secure all its advantages by a treaty of commerce and alliance, and
recognize you as their liege lord for the fiefs of Piedmont, the Milanese,
and Naples over which you have rights. These, monsieur, are the reasons for
the war to the death we are waging with the Huguenots. Why do you compel us
to repeat these things?
"Charlemagne made a mistake when he pushed northwards. France is a body of
which the heart is on the Gulf of Lyons, and whose two arms are Spain and
Italy. Thus we should command the Mediterranean, which is like a basket
into which all the wealth of the East is poured to the benefit of the
Venetians now, in the teeth of Philip II.
"And if the friendship of the Medici and your inherited rights can thus
entitle you to hope for Italy, force, or alliance, or perhaps inheritance,
may give you Spain. There you must step in before the ambitious House of
Austria, to whom the Guelphs would have sold Italy, and who still dream of
possessing Spain. Though your wife is a daughter of that line, humble
Austria, hug her closely to stifle her! There lie the enemies of your
dominion, since from thence comes aid for the Reformers.--Do not listen to
men who would profit by our disagreement, and who fill your head with
trouble by representing me as your chief enemy at home. Have I hindered you
from having an heir? Is it my fault that your mistress has a son and your
wife only a daughter? Why have you not by this time three sons, who would
cut off all this sedition at the root?--Is it my part, monsieur, to reply
to these questions? If you had a son, would Monsieur d'Alencon conspire
against you?"
As she spoke these words, Catherine fixed her eyes on Charles IX. with the
fascinating gaze of a bird of prey on its victim. The daughter of the
Medici was beautiful in her way; her real feelings illumined her face,
which, like that of a gambler at the green-table, was radiant with
ambitious greed. Charles IX. saw her no longer as the mother of one man,
but, as she had been called, the mother of armies and empires (_mater
castrorum_). Catherine had spread the pinions of her genius, and was boldly
soaring in the realm of high politics of the Medici and the Valois,
sketching the vast plans which had frightened Henri II., and which,
transmitted by the Medici to Richelieu, were stored in the Cabinet of the
House of Bourbon. But Charles IX., seeing his mother take so many
precautions, supposed them to be necessary, and wondered to what end she
was taking them. He looked down; he hesitated; his distrust was not to be
dispelled by words.
Catherine was astonished to see what deeply founded suspicion lurked in her
son's heart.
"Well, monsieur," she went on, "do you not choose to understand me? What
are we, you and I, compared with the eternity of a royal Crown? Do you
suspect me of any purposes but those which must agitate us who dwell in the
sphere whence empires are governed?"
"Madame," said he, "I will follow you to your closet--we must act----"
"Act?" cried Catherine. "Let them go their way and take them in the act;
the law will rid you of them. For God's sake, monsieur, let them see us
smiling."
The Queen withdrew. The King alone remained standing for a minute, for he
had sunk into extreme dejection.
"On which side are the snares?" he said aloud. "Is it she who is deceiving
me, or they? What is the better policy? _Deus! discerne causam meam_," he
cried, with tears in his eyes. "Life is a burden to me. Whether natural or
compulsory, I would rather meet death than these contradictory torments,"
he added, and he struck the hammer on his anvil with such violence that
the vaults of the Louvre quaked. "Great God!" he exclaimed, going out and
looking up at the sky, "Thou for whose holy religion I am warring, give me
the clearness of Thine eyes to see into my mother's heart by questioning
the Ruggieri."
* * * * *
The little house inhabited by the Lady of Belleville, where Charles had
left his prisoners, was the last but one in the Rue de l'Autruche, near the
Rue Saint-Honore. The street-gate, guarded by two little lodges built of
brick, looked very plain at a time when gates and all their accessories
were so elaborately treated. The entrance consisted of two stone pillars,
diamond-cut, and the architrave was graced with the reclining figure of a
woman holding a cornucopia. The gate, of timber covered with heavy iron
scroll-work, had a wicket peephole at the level of the eye for spying any
one who desired admittance. In each lodge a porter lived, and Charles'
caprice insisted that a gatekeeper should be on the watch day and night.
There was a little courtyard in front of the house paved with Venetian
mosaic. At that time, when carriages had not been invented, and ladies rode
on horseback or in litters, the courtyards could be splendid with no fear
of injury from horses or vehicles. We must constantly bear these facts in
mind to understand the narrowness of the streets, the small extent of the
forecourts, and various other details of the dwellings of the fifteenth
century.
The house, of one story above the ground floor, had at the top a sculptured
frieze, on which rested a roof sloping up from all the four sides to a flat
space at the top. The sides were pierced by dormer-windows adorned with
architraves and side-posts, which some great artist had chiseled into
delicate arabesques. All the three windows of the first-floor rooms were
equally conspicuous for this embroidery in stone, thrown into relief by the
red-brick walls. On the ground floor a double flight of outside steps,
elegantly sculptured--the balcony being remarkable for a true lovers'
knot--led to the house door, decorated in the Venetian style with stone
cut into pointed lozenges, a form of ornament that was repeated on the
window-jambs on each side of the door.
A garden laid out in the fashion of the time, and full of rare flowers,
occupied a space behind the house of equal extent with the forecourt. A
vine hung over the walls. A silver pine stood in the centre of a grass
plot; the flower borders were divided from the turf by winding paths
leading to a little bower of clipped yews at the further end. The garden
walls, covered with a coarse mosaic of colored pebbles, pleased the eye by
a richness of color that harmonized with the hues of the flowers. The
garden front of the house, like the front to the court, had a pretty
balcony from the middle window over the door; and on both facades alike the
architectural treatment of this middle window was carried up to the frieze
of the cornice, with a bow that gave it the appearance of a lantern. The
sills of the other windows were inlaid with fine marbles let into the
stone.
Notwithstanding the perfect taste evident in this building, it had a look
of gloom. It was shut out from the open day by neighboring houses and the
roofs of the Hotel d'Alencon, which cast their shadow over the courtyard
and garden; then absolute silence prevailed. Still, this silence, this
subdued light, this solitude, were restful to a soul that could give itself
up to a single thought, as in a cloister where we may meditate, or in a
snug home where we may love.
Who can fail now to conceive of the interior elegance of this dwelling, the
only spot in all his kingdom where the last Valois but one could pour out
his heart, confess his sufferings, give play to his taste for the arts, and
enjoy the poetry he loved--pleasures denied him by the cares of his most
ponderous royalty. There alone were his lofty soul and superior qualities
appreciated; there alone, for a few brief months, the last of his life,
could he know the joys of fatherhood, to which he abandoned himself with
the frenzy which his presentiment of an imminent and terrible death lent to
all his actions.