I. FONTAINEBLEAU.
|On a fine day, in the early part of June, 1523, a splendid cavalcade,
consisting of three hundred well-mounted gentlemen, habited in velvet,
and each having a massive gold chain round his neck, entered the Forest
of Fontainebleau from the side of Nemours, and proceeded along an avenue
bordered by noble trees towards the palace.
For the most part, the persons composing this brilliant troop were young
and handsome cavaliers, whose looks and haughty bearing proclaimed
their high birth, but there were some veterans among them, whose bronzed
visages and martial deportment showed that they had served in many a
hard campaign. But all were equally richly attired in the sumptuous
livery of their leader--black velvet embroidered with gold--and their
pourpoints and the housings of their steeds bore a princely badge,
woven in gold, together with a sword wrought in the same material, which
denoted that their lord held the office of Constable, one of the highest
military dignities of France.
The leader of the troop, a very striking personage, whom it was
impossible to regard without interest, was a man of large stature, with
handsome, strongly-marked features, very stern in expression. An ample
chest and muscular throat indicated the possession of great personal
strength, but his frame, though stalwart, was admirably proportioned,
and it was easy to discern, from the manner in which he bestrode his
steed--a powerful block charger--that he was a consummate horseman. His
looks and deportment were those of one accustomed to command. If
not absolutely young, he was in the very prime of life, being just
thirty-three. His complexion was swarthy, his eyes dark and piercing,
and his beard, which he wore exceedingly long, black as jet. His
firm-set mouth betokened inflexible resolution, while his towering
forehead indicated great sagacity. Though he was magnificently arrayed,
his bearing showed that he was not one of the silken gallants who
thronged the gay and chivalrous court of François I., and who delighted
in the banquet, the masquerade, or the tournay--but a hardy warrior, who
had displayed prowess in the field, and could lead hosts to conquest.
Like his followers, this noble-looking personage was Clad in black
velvet, but his habiliments were ornamented with precious stones. His
girdle was set thick with gems, as was the handle of his poniard, and
his plumed toque was ornamented in a similar manner. Around his neck he
wore the superb collar of the order of Saint Michael, bestowed upon him
by François I., and upon the caparisons of his steed was embroidered
a sword, a symbol of the dignity with which he had been invested some
eight years ago, on the accession of the Duke d'Angoulême to the throne
of France.
This noble warrior, who equalled Roland in bravery and military science,
was the illustrious Charles de Bourbon, Constable of France. At this
time Bourbon was the most redoubtable person in the kingdom, as well
from his daring and ambitious character, as from the power which
he derived from his vast possessions. As the second prince of the
blood--the Duc d'Alençon being the first--he was not many degrees
removed from the throne, which the descendants of his house occupied at
a later period. Sprung from Saint Louis, by that monarch's sixth son, he
was head of the branch Bourbon-Montpensier, and had espoused Suzanne,
daughter of the Duchess Bourbon-Beaujeu, herself the eldest daughter of
Louis XI., and widow of Duke Pierre de Bourbon. The Duchess Suzanne had
died about six months previously, leaving Bourbon without issue, for her
three children had preceded her to the grave.
The Constable de Bourbon's possessions were immense. Whole provinces
belonged to him, in which he exercised feudal sovereignty. His titles
were Duke de Bourbon, Duke d'Auvergne, Comte de Montpensier, Comte de
Forez, Comte de la Marche, Vicomte of Carlat and Murat, and Seigneur
of Combrailles and La Roche en Reigniers. In Poitou he had the duchy
of Châtelleraut, and in Picardy the earldom of Clermont. These vast
possessions, combined with his pretensions to the throne and ambitious
character, naturally excited the jealousy of François I. Other causes
conspired to heighten the king's dislike of him. The victory of
Marignan, which signalised the first campaign of François in Italy, and
gained for him the duchy of Milan, was virtually won by Bourbon. Though
the Constable did not boast of the achievement, his haughty manner
offended the king, who sought on several occasions to lower his pride,
but only succeeded in irritating him.
In Louise de Savoie, Duchess d'Angoulême, and mother of the king,
Bourbon found an active and powerful enemy. Though she was thirteen
years older than the Constable, the duchess had conceived a violent
passion for him, and, in order to forward his ambitious views, Bourbon
feigned to respond to it. But he soon threw off the mask, and treated
her with indifference. For a time, the Duchess d'Angoulême contented
herself with brooding over her wrongs, perhaps believing her faithless
lover would return, but when he completed his perfidy by uniting himself
to Suzanne de Bourbon-Beaujeu, an alliance which greatly increased his
wealth and power, by uniting two branches of the family, the hostility
of the duchess took a more decided form. By her advice the large
pensions bestowed upon Bourbon by the king were recalled, and other
indignities were offered him.
Bourbon was too proud to complain of these unworthy proceedings, but
his mother-in-law, the haughty old Duchess de Bourbon-Beaujeu, sought an
interview with the Duchess d'Angoulême, and bitterly reproached her with
the injustice done to her son-in-law. The indignation and menaces of the
daughter of Louis XI. produced some effect, and the Duchess d'Angoulême
promised that the pensions should be restored. But she did not keep her
word.
Bourbon worthily avenged himself by making it manifest that he was
independent of court patronage. On the birth of his son he prayed
the king to stand sponsor for the child, and François assented. The
baptismal ceremony took place at the Château de Moulins, and the
entertainments given on the occasion were on a scale of more than regal
splendour, the Constable's retinue being larger and more magnificent
than that of the king. François was greatly offended at this display,
and his mother took advantage of his anger to propose to him a scheme
for the complete humiliation of the haughty duke. This was no less than
to despoil Bourbon of all his vast possessions--an iniquitous design
which she proposed to accomplish by setting up a claim to the succession
as direct heiress of the elder branch of the house of Bourbon. The claim
was as unjust as iniquitous, but the Chancellor Duprat, who owed his
post to her, and who was her confidant and adviser, told her that by
suborning the judges, and by using all the influence of the king, it
could be established. For a long time François refused to listen to the
odious proposition, but his mother persisted, and in the end he yielded.
The duchess was aided in her vindictive plan by the numerous enemies
whom Bourbon's pride had raised up against him, but chiefly by the king's
favourite, the Admiral Bonnivet, the rival and enemy of the Constable.
Bonnivet, of whom we shall have to speak more fully anon, was the
handsomest man at court, and distinguished as much for his gallantry as
for his remarkable graces of person. Envy of Bourbon's rank and power,
apprehension that he might regain his influence over the Duchess
d'Angoulême, and through her govern the king, conspired to make Bonnivet
dread and detest the Constable, and he became a ready instrument in the
duchess's hands, losing no opportunity of inflaming the king's anger
against the best and bravest of his nobles. A scornful remark of Bourbon
converted Bonnivet into an implacable enemy, and made him eager for the
Constable's destruction. A magnificent fête was given by the Admiral at
his château in Poitou. Resolved that Bourbon should witness his rival's
splendid hospitality, the king took him to Bonnivet's château, and
thinking to mortify him, asked him if he did not think it splendid?
“I have only one fault to find, sire,” replied Bourbon. “The cage is too
large and too fine for the bird.”
“You are piqued, cousin,” rejoined the king. “You are jealous of the
Admiral.”
“I jealous of Bonnivet!” exclaimed Bourbon, with deep scorn. “How could
I be jealous of one whose ancestors would have deemed it an honour to be
esquires in my house?”
This bitter speech was reported by the king to his favourite, and, as we
have said, rendered the latter Bourbon's implacable foe.
From this moment, Bonnivet wanted no urging from the Duchess d'Angoulême
to injure Bourbon in the king's opinion. Nothing but the downfal of
the Constable would now content him. Moved by his favourite's
representations, which were seconded by the wily Duprat, and yielding
to his own jealous feelings, the king at last gave consent to a measure
which was fraught with disastrous consequences to himself, and nearly
cost him his throne. A feudal process was commenced by the Duchess
d'Angoulême, designed to dispossess the Constable de Bourbon of his vast
territories. This suit, impolitic as well as unjust, was sustained by
the king's advocate, Bizet, and by the duchess's advocate, Guillaume
Poyet. It was impolitic, we say, for it was undertaken at a juncture
when a war with the Emperor Charles V. caused François to require the
aid of all his great nobles, and especially of so sagacious a commander
as Bourbon. From its importance and long duration, and from the
illustrious personages concerned in it, the process excited the
attention of all Europe, and the wily Emperor failed not to take
advantage of the opportunity of alienating so able a commander as
Bourbon, and caused secret overtures to be made to him. Henry VIII.,
also discerning the great mistake that François had committed, entered
into a league with the Emperor to reduce the power of France. Both these
monarchs regarded Bourbon as the most important auxiliary they could
obtain; but François, insensible to the danger, allowed the process to
go on. That the issue would be adverse to the Constable, little doubt
could be entertained. The Parliament of Paris showed themselves disposed
to comply with the king's wishes, and it was almost certain that a
decree would be pronounced in favour of the Duchess d'Angoulême. But
before the matter was decided, Suzanne de Bourbon died, leaving the
duke, as we have stated, without issue.
This event, which revived the smouldering fire in the breast of the
Duchess d'Angoulême, and awakened new hopes, caused her to suspend
operations for a time. Bourbon had been a widower for six months, during
which he had remained at the Château de Moulins, when he was summoned
by the king to Fontainebleau, and set out at once, attended, as was his
custom, by a numerous and splendid escort. He rested on the last
night of his journey at the Château de Nemours, in order to reach
Fontainebleau at noon.
Amid the crowd of nobles and gentlemen who accompanied him were René
de Bretagne, Comte de Penthièvre, and Jean de Poitiers, Seigneur de
Saint-Vallier, and Comte de Valentinois. The latter belonged to one of
the oldest families in France, and had been governor of Dauphiné during
the reign of the late king Louis XII. He had raised a large number of
men for François I. during the war in Italy, and, like Bourbon, had good
cause to complain of the king's neglect and ingratitude. Saint-Vallier's
daughter, the beautiful Diane de Poitiers, had recently married Louis de
Brézé, Comte de Maulévrier, grand seneschal of Normandy. Saint-Vallier
was somewhat stricken in years, his beard and locks were grizzled, and
his noble countenance had a grave and melancholy expression, as if he
foresaw the misfortunes in store for him. He was a man of the highest
honour, and Bourbon, who had great faith in his judgment, generally
consulted him. Of the gentlemen in attendance upon the Constable, the
two in whom he chiefly confided were the Seigneurs Pompérant and Lurcy,
both young men of good family, graceful in exterior, mettlesome, proud,
and eager for distinction.
Since the accession of François I., the old feudal château of Philippe
Auguste and Saint Louis had been almost entirely demolished, and had
given place to a superb palace, reared in the style of the Renaissance.
François I. had not as yet completed his grand designs, but he had done
enough to make the Palace of Fontainebleau one of the noblest structures
in France. Its splendid apartments were full of objects of art,
paintings, and sculpture brought from Italy, and its glorious gallery,
just completed, was richly decorated. The old walls and moat of the
mediaeval chateau had given place to delicious gardens, with broad
terraces, parterres, alleys, fountains, lakes, bosquets, and all that
could contribute to enjoyment. As Bourbon drew near the palace, and
gazed at its magnificent façade, he could not refuse it the meed of
admiration it so well deserved.
The approach of the Constable and his suite was watched by a number of
arquebusiers, pages, grooms, and serving-men, collected in the outer
court, or grouped upon the great horse-shoe stairs leading to the
principal entrance of the palace. Various comments were made by these
persons on the number and splendour of the Constable's retinue, and the
general opinion seemed to be that the king would take offence at the
display. Among the observers were two magnificently-attired seigneurs,
who, being stationed on the summit of the lofty stairs, commanded a
complete view of the scene. Evidently, from the respect with which
they were treated, these persons were of the highest rank. The
most noticeable of the two--though both were noticeable--was a very
distinguished-looking man, in age about thirty-five, though he did not
look so much, and possessing features of classical regularity, and
a figure of incomparable grace. In stature he was a little above the
ordinary height, and his deportment was haughty and commanding. His
rich brown locks were shorn close, as was then the mode, and he wore
a pointed beard à l'Espagnole. Both for his graceful exterior and
fascinating manner he seemed formed to captivate, and indeed almost all
those whom he had addressed--and he made the highest dames his mark--had
found him irresistible. He was accounted the handsomest, as well as the
most accomplished cavalier at court, and excelled all his compeers in
manly exercises, as he surpassed them in grace.
This preux chevalier was Guillaume Gouffier de Boisy, Seigneur de
Bonnivet, Admiral of France. From the favour bestowed upon him by his
royal master, he was called “le Grand Mignon du Roi.” Audacious in love
as in war, equally at home in the mêlée or at the masked ball, Bonnivet
was the most gallant and profligate personage of the most gallant and
profligate court in Europe, he had fought by the side of his royal
master at the battle of Marignan, and was subsequently sent by François
as ambassador-extraordinary to England, where he distinguished himself
at the gorgeous court of Henry VIII. by his unparalleled magnificence.
Brave to a fault, rash, enterprising, spiritual, lively, a boon
companion, inordinately addicted to gallantry, Bonnivet exactly suited
the king. A perfect courtier, he maintained his influence over François,
while he strengthened his position by ingratiating himself with the
king's mother. His prodigality was excessive, and his audacity in love
affairs unparalleled. If we are to believe Brantôme, he resorted to the
most extraordinary stratagems in the prosecution of his amours, and had
trap-doors contrived in the chambers of his château. He was the secret
lover of the king's mistress, the beautiful Comtesse de Châteaubriand,
and he even dared to raise his eyes to the Duchess d'Alençon, the king's
sister. To Louise de Savoie he was so subservient, that he became little
better than her tool, but she requited him by showering favours on his
head. It was by her desire that the command of the army of Guienne was
bestowed upon him; and he had but recently returned to court, flushed
with the successes he had gained over the Spaniards in Fontarabia.
Vain and presumptuous, Bonnivet had offended most of the old commanders,
but, being supported by the king and the duchess, he was unassailable.
The person who stood next to Bonnivet, and who watched Bourbon's
approach with as much surprise and as much curiosity as the Admiral, was
very different in appearance and manner from the royal favourite,
though equally richly attired. Though not handsome, he had a striking
countenance, and his deportment was proud and martial. He was no
other than the renowned Anne de Montmoreney, one of the haughtiest and
wealthiest nobles of France, and one of the bravest of her captains.
Though he did not envy Bonnivet the king's favour, nor seek to supplant
him, he held him in contempt, and would probably have rejoiced in his
downfall. Montmorency belonged to a ruder and hardier school than that
represented by the Admiral, and had distinguished himself by many feats
of arms and personal courage. On account of his valour and military
skill he had just been named a marshal of France by the king.
“By Heaven! it _is_ the Constable de Bourbon!” cried Bonnivet. “What
brings him to Fontainebleau?”
“I know not,” replied Montmorency, “but I trust he may be restored to
the king's favour, and this abominable process abandoned.”
“That is not likely to be the case,” remarked Bonnivet. “If Bourbon
humbles himself, the king may overlook his faults--not otherwise.”
“I have yet to learn what faults he has committed,” said Montmorency. “I
know he has been unjustly treated, and so I shall not hesitate to tell
the king.”
“You had better not say as much to the duchess,” remarked Bonnivet.
“Wherefore not?” demanded the marshal. “If this suit is pressed to an
issue, mischievous consequences are sure to follow, and I therefore
hope it may be amicably arranged. From Bourbon's appearance here, I
augur favourably. If I can help to set the matter right, I will.”
“Take my advice, marshal, and do not meddle in the matter,” said
Bonnivet. “You will only incur the duchess's displeasure.”
“I care not for that,” said Montmorency.
“And yet it is to the duchess you owe your bâton. You are ungrateful,
monsieur le maréchal.”
These words were not uttered by Bonnivet, but by a singular personage,
who had approached them unawares, and listened to their discourse. On
turning, Montmorency beheld Triboulet, the king's jester. The court
buffoon wore the parti-coloured garb proper to his office, and carried
a bauble in his hand. Misshapen in person, he had high shoulders, long
arms, large feet and hands, and an immense head. His brow was low, his
eyes lighted up by a malicious flame, and his countenance altogether
had a cunning and mischievous expression, which inspired fear while it
excited mirth.
Immediately behind Triboulet stood a tall, thin man, whose appearance
offered a striking contrast to that of the jester. This personage wore
a black taffeta robe with loose sleeves, and a silken skull-cap of the
same hue, which set off his sallow features. His eyes were thoughtful
in expression, and a long grey beard, descending to his girdle, added
materially to the gravity of his aspect. This individual was the
renowned Cornelius Agrippa, who after many years of travel and strange
adventure in Germany, Switzerland, the Low Countries, and England, now
formed part of the royal household of France, and occupied the post of
physician and astrologer to the Duchess d'Angoulême, who had great faith
in his medical and mystic lore. Though the courtiers affected to deride
Agrippa's predictions, and sometimes charged him with dealing in the
black art, they nevertheless stood in great awe of him.
“Why dost charge me with ingratitude, thou ribald knave?” said
Montmorency to the jester.
“Because you turn upon your benefactress,” replied Triboulet.
“Bah! I have got no more than my due,” said Montmorency. “Thou shouldst
talk of my ingratitude to the duchess--à propos of the Constable de
Bourbon.”
“Her highness has no reason to be grateful to the Constable,” said
Triboulet, with a strange grin.
“But the king has,” rejoined Montmorency. “Without him, Marignan would
scarce have been won. I would rather lose my marshal's bâton than
Bourbon should be deprived of his possessions.”
“The king shall hear of this,” muttered Bonnivet. “Did the stars tell
you that Bourbon would come here to-day, learned sir?” he added to
Cornelius Agrippa.
“I expected him,” replied the philosopher.
“Then possibly you know his errand?” continued Bonnivet, with an
incredulous smile.
“I know it,” replied Agrippa, gravely. “I could tell you why he comes,
and what will befal him, but I care not to read the future to those who
mock my lore. The star of Bourbon is temporarily obscured. But it will
break out with added splendour. This day is the turning-point of his
destiny. If he stays here he will be great--but if he departs he will be
greater.”
“How are we to interpret that, compère?” inquired Triboulet,
“As you will,” rejoined Agrippa, contemptuously. “The words of wisdom
are unintelligible to fools. But mark me, messeigneurs,” he added to
Bonnivet and Montmoreney. “The destinies of the king, the duchess, and
the Constable, are this day linked together--but the influencing power
resides in Bourbon.”
“Why in him? Explain your meaning, doctor!” demanded Bonnivet.
“I have said all I care to say,” replied Agrippa. “But here comes the
Constable. Will you stay and bid him welcome?”
“No, I will in, and inform the king of his arrival,” said Bonnivet.
“You will find his majesty in the grand gallery,” said Agrippa. “I left
him there, not many minutes since, with the Comtesse de Chateaubriand.”
“I will go thither,” replied Bonnivet, hastening across the vestibule.
“Methinks the Constable is like a wild beast about to fall into a trap,”
remarked Triboulet to the astrologer. “Were I the king, if I once caught
him, I would not let him go.”
“Neither would I,” replied Agrippa, significantly. “But his majesty
cannot read the future.”
By this time Bourbon had dismounted from his charger, and was received
with the ceremony due to his exalted rank by the chamberlain, who
descended the stairs to meet him. Pages, esquires and gentlemen bowed as
the haughty Constable mounted the steps, and when he readied the summit
the Marshal de Montmoreney advanced to meet him, and a very cordial
greeting passed between them.
“I am right glad to see you here again, prince,” said the marshal. “I
hope we shall soon gather fresh laurels together in the Milanese.”
“I should rejoice to fight by your side,” replied Bourbon. “But I know
not why I have been sent for by the king.”
“Have you been sent for?” said Montmoreney, surprised. “I thought you
came of your own accord. So much the better. You will be well received.
The king is in a very gracious humour--and so is the duchess.”
“Ah! the duchess!” exclaimed Bourbon, with an expression of deep
disgust.
“You do not speak of her highness as she speaks of you, prince,”
observed Triboulet. “I have heard her sigh and seen her change colour at
the mention of your name.”
Bourbon made no reply to this remark, but graciously returned the
salutation addressed to him by Cornelius Agrippa. A slight sign from the
astrologer, who was standing within the vestibule, drew him towards him.
“I would fain have a word with your highness,” said Agrippa, as the
Constable approached him. “I have been consulting your horoscope.”
“Ha! what have you found therein, good doctor?” asked Bourbon, who was
by no means free from superstition.
“Much,” replied Agrippa, gravely. “This is a critical hour with you,
prince--the most critical hour of your existence, since it forms the
turning-point of your career. According as you now act, so will your
future destiny be influenced. Comply with certain propositions which
will be made you, and which will in no respect affect your honour,
and your position will be assured, and you will be elevated to almost
supreme power. Decline them--”
“What then?” demanded Bourbon, fixing his dark eyes searchingly upon the
astrologer.
“Decline them, I repeat,” pursued Agrippa, “and you will incur great
perils--very great perils--but you will baffle the schemes of your
enemies, and obtain brilliant successes.”
“You promise this, doctor?” cried Bourbon, eagerly.
“The stars promise it you, prince, not I,” returned Agrippa. “But I have
more to tell, if you have courage to hear it,” he added, gravely.
“Say on!--let me know all,” cried Bourbon.
“You will not long enjoy your triumph. You will meet a warrior's death
before the walls of a great city.”
“The very death I covet,” said the Constable. “Take this, doctor,”
he added, detaching a gem from his doublet, and giving it him. “Your
prognostication decides me.”
“A word more and I have done,” said Agrippa, lowering his tone. “You
will gain friends as powerful as those you will lose. There are other
monarchs who can better appreciate your noble qualities than the King of
France.”
Bourbon looked at the astrologer, as if he would fain question him
further, but the latter signified by a glance that he had nothing more
to impart, and the Constable left him and followed the chamberlain, who
led him across the vestibule towards the doors of the grand gallery,
before which ushers and a guard of halberdiers were stationed.
II. FRANÇOIS I.
|The magnificent gallery which we are now about to enter had only just
been completed, and formed the principal ornament of the palace, though
it was subsequently eclipsed by another and yet more magnificent gallery
reared by Henri II. The gallery of François I., which still exists,
though reft of some of its ancient splendour, was of great length,
admirably proportioned, and possessed a superb plafond, painted by the
best Italian masters, and supported by a grand gilt cornice. The walls
were adorned with colossal figures of goddesses and nymphs carved in
oak, and between these statues were introduced admirable paintings. On
either side were lofty windows with deep embrasures, embellished like
the walls with carvings and paintings. The windows on the left looked
on an exquisite orange-garden, while those on the right commanded a
spacious court, with a fountain, a chef-d'ouvre of art, in the midst of
it.
At the upper end of the grand gallery a brilliant party was now
assembled. Chief among them, not merely in point of rank, but for
his lofty stature, majestic and graceful deportment, and splendid
habiliments, was François I. At this period, the king, who was still
under thirty, was in the full éclat of his manly beauty. So lofty was
his stature, that he towered above the tallest of his courtiers, and
his person was strongly but admirably proportioned. With his remarkable
physiognomy, rendered familiar by the breathing portrait of Titian,
all are acquainted. All can conjure up that countenance, so handsome,
intellectual, refined, haughty, sarcastic, of which perhaps the sole
fault was that the principal feature was too prominent--a peculiarity
which caused the monarch to be popularly surnamed _François le grand
nez_. The king's eyes were dark and full of fire, and his clear skin
was set off by a pointed beard. His brown locks were cut short, in
consequence of a severe wound he had received on the head, and as a
matter of course the fashion had been followed by his courtiers. His
teeth were magnificent, and were constantly displayed, his countenance
being rarely without a smile. His expression was jovial and good
humoured, though somewhat proud and sarcastic; his deportment full of
majesty, but he was so affable that he set all who approached him at
ease. Familiarity, however, was never attempted with François, even by
his greatest favourites. In a word, he fully merited the appellation to
which he aspired, and which was universally bestowed upon him, of the
First Gentleman in Europe.
François I. was not remarkable merely for his personal accomplishments
and graces. His mental qualifications were of a very high order. If not
erudite or profound, he was well read. He was fond of poetry, and was
himself a poet. He delighted in romances of chivalry, “Lancelot du Lac,”
“Garin le Lorrain,” and took for his model the peerless “Amadis de
Gaule.” In consequence of his predilection for them, the favourite books
with the gallants and dames of his court were “Gérard de Nevers,”
“Pierre de Provence et la Belle Magueloune,” and “Petit Jehan de
Saintré.” Not merely was François I. a lover of literature, and a patron
of poets and men of learning, but he warmly encouraged the arts, and his
court was frequented by the best painters, sculptors, and architects,
whom he brought from Italy.
Endowed with some of the highest and noblest qualities, by nature frank,
loyal, and chivalrous, though fiery and impetuous, passionately fond of
war, and always thirsting for military renown, François was a perfect
type of the nation over which he ruled, and next to Henri IV., who to a
certain extent based himself upon him, is the best loved of the French
monarchs. His splendid person and noble features, his kingly deportment,
his accomplishments, his martial tastes, his courage, his address in
the tilt-yard and in the management of arms of all kinds, pike, rapier,
two-handed sword, his unequalled skill and grace in horsemanship, his
jovial humour, his bonhomie, his devotion to the fair sex, are dwelt
upon with satisfaction, and his faults overlooked or forgotten. The
following poetical portrait of him is far too brightly coloured:=
```C'est luy qui a grâce et parler de maître,
```Digne d'avoir sur tous droit et puissance,
```Qui sans nommer, se peut assez connoître.
```C'est luy qui a de tout la comioissance.
```De sa beauté il est blanc et vermeil,
```Les cheveux bruns, de grande et belle taille;
```En terre il est comme au ciel le soleil.
```Hardi, vaillant, sage et preux en bataille,
```Il est bénin, doux, humble en sa grandeur,
```Fort et puissant, et plein de patience.=
The faults of François I. were profligacy and prodigality More than
once he exhausted his treasury by the immense sums he lavished upon his
mistresses and his favourites. So completely did he yield to his love
of pleasure, that the greater part of his life which was not occupied in
the field was spent in sybaritic enjoyments. Though not tyrannical, he
was capricious and vindictive, and not unfrequently strained the royal
prerogative to the utmost.
On this occasion the splendid person of the king was displayed to the
utmost advantage by his magnificent attire. His habiliments were of
white and blue--the colours of the Comtesse de Châteaubriand. His
doublet, of azure velvet slashed and puffed with white silk, glittered
with diamonds, and his girdle was ornamented with rubies and emeralds.
Over his doublet he wore a white brocade mantle, trimmed with minever,
and so fashioned as to display the puffed sleeves of his jerkin. The
handle and sheath of his poniard were studded with gems, as was also the
guard of his long rapier. His sky-blue velvet toque was encircled by
a white plume, and ornamented by diamonds. The perfect symmetry of his
lower limbs was displayed by his white silk hose, and below the knee he
wore the Garter, with which he had been invested by Henry VIII. prior
to their meeting at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. His buskins, of blue
velvet slashed with white satin, like his doublet, were ornamented with
pearls. He was vain of his small feet and finely-formed hands, and his
fingers were loaded with magnificent rings. Around his neck he wore the
collar of the order of Saint Michael.
The court of François I., as we have intimated, was not only attended by
the first nobles, but by the most beautiful women of the kingdom, and,
though distinguished more than any other of the period for splendour,
refinement, and chivalry, was not remarkable for strictness and decorum,
though the fair fame of his neglected consort, Queen Claude, was never
impeached. But this devout and discreet princess was queen only in name.
The hands that really held the reins of government were those of the
Duchess d'Angoulême, while the king's affections were estranged by his
mistresses.
The Comtesse de Châteaubriand, who at this time held absolute sway over
the fickle heart of the amorous monarch, was in sooth a most lovely
and fascinating creature. Françoise de Foix, daughter of Jean de Foix,
Vicomte de Lautrec, and first cousin of the heroic Gaston de Foix,
surnamed “_le Foudre d'Italie_” was early united to the Comte Laval de
Chateaubriand, whose jealousy of her beauty induced him to immure her
in a solitary chateau in Brittany. His precautions, however, were
unavailing. François having heard of the incomparable charms of the
countess, compelled her jealous spouse to bring her to court, and at
once became passionately enamoured of her. The nature of Françoise de
Foix was unambitious, and she might not have exercised the influence she
possessed over the king beneficially but for her brothers, the elder of
whom, Odet de Foix, Seigneur de Lautrec--a brave but not a successful
leader--she made a marshal of France; while the Comte de Lesparre, the
younger, also owed his advancement to her.
Françoise de Foix was tall, slender, and exquisitely proportioned. Her
features were of extreme delicacy, her eyes large and of a tender blue,
her eyebrows beautifully pencilled, her locks blonde, and her complexion
ravishingly fair. Her attire was of white brocade, her long stomacher
being covered with gems, while the girdle that encircled her narrow waist
was studded with precious stones. Over her gown she wore a surcoat of
azure satin embroidered with gold, and having loose hanging sleeves. A
magnificent head-dress of goldsmith's work confined her blonde tresses,
and set off her lovely countenance. Françoise de Foix was as fascinating
in manner as she was charming in person, and her royal lover seemed
spellbound by her attractions. She was not, however, more faithful to
him than she had been to her husband, but she had the art to conceal
her infidelities, and never incurred his suspicions. Unable to brook his
dishonour, the Comte de Châteaubriand had withdrawn wholly from court,
and secluded himself in his lonely château in Brittany, where he
meditated a terrible revenge, which he afterwards consummated. The end
of the lovely countess was very tragical.
From the contemplation of the bewitching Françoise de Foix we must
turn to another lovely woman, who formed part of the assemblage in
the gallery. This was the king's sister, Marguerite de Valois, Duchess
d'Alençon--La Marguerite des Marguerites, as she was styled by her
royal brother, who tenderly loved her. Graceful of person, beautiful of
feature, amiable in disposition, a model of virtue in a depraved court,
united to a husband she could not respect, and who was incapable
of appreciating her merits, yet to whom she was faithful, highly
accomplished, learned, and witty, the Duchess d'Alençon was the chief
ornament of the court of François I.
About two years subsequent to the period of our history Marguerite was
liberated from her husband by death, and espoused in her second nuptials
Henri d'Albret, King of Navarre--a consort in all respects better suited
to her. As Queen of Navarre, her court was thronged by poets, savants,
and men of letters. Clement Marot thus eulogises her:=
```Entre autres dons de grâces immortelles,
```Madame écrit si haut et doucement,
```Que je m'étonne, en voyant choses telles,
```Qu'on n'en reçoit plus d'ebanissement.
```Puis quand je l'ouis parler si sagement,
```Et que je vois sa plume travailler,
```Je tourne bride, et m'ébanis comment
```On est si sot de s'en émerveiller.=
Ronsard, then a handsome page, thus addresses her:=
````Ainsi tu fus, ô princesse,
````Ançois plutôt, ô déesse,
````Tu fus certes tout l'honneur
````Des princesses de notre âge,
````Soit en force de courage,
````Ou soit en royal bonheur.
By some she was styled the Tenth Muse and the Fourth Grace. Her
_Nouvelles_, which obtained a wonderful celebrity in her own day, may be
classed with the _Decameron_ of Boccaccio.
Marguerite was dressed in crimson velvet, richly embroidered, and
her head-dress was of goldsmith's work, like that of the Comtesse de
Châteaubriand. If she was not so fascinating as the latter syren, she
possessed infinitely more dignity, and her features had an expression
which nothing but purity can impart.
Many other beautiful and high-born dames and demoiselles were present,
but we do not think it necessary to describe them, neither can we do
more than allude to the brilliant collection of young seigneurs, all
magnificently arrayed, by whom the king was attended.
“So you are resolved to go to Italy, sire,” observed the Comtesse de
Châteaubriand to the king, who was standing near an open window, gazing
into the orange-garden. “Nothing that I can say will detain you.”
“I must win back the duchy of Milan, which your brother, the Maréchal
de Lautrec, has suffered Prospero Colonna and Pescara to wrest from me,”
rejoined François. “Had I been there, this would not have happened. I
have been idle far too long, and must conduct the war in person.”
“I trust it will be a brief campaign,” sighed the countess.
“Doubt it not, ma mie,” replied the king. “The duchy shall soon again
be mine. During the winter I will hold my court at Milan, and you shall
come thither, if you list.”
“I would I might accompany you during the campaign, sire! Let me go with
you, I entreat you!”
“No, that cannot be. You could not cross the Alps with the army. But you
shall follow speedily. Nay, content you, mignonne. You shall go with me
as far as Lyons.”
At this moment, Bonnivet, who had come quickly down the gallery,
approached them.
“You have some news for us?” said the king, looking inquiringly at him.
“Any tidings from Bayonne, or from the Milanese?”
“None, sire,” replied the Admiral. “I merely come to announce to you a
most unexpected visitor. Not to keep you a moment in suspense, I will
add that the Prince Mal-endurant has just arrived at the palace.”
“The Constable de Bourbon arrived here!” exclaimed the countess.
“His arrival is not unexpected,” replied the king, smiling. “In fact, I
sent for him.”
“You sent for him, sire!” exclaimed Bonnivet, surprised, and exchanging
a glance with the countess. “I did not suppose you would adopt such a
course. If I had been aware of it, I would have counselled you against
it.”
“And so would I,” added the countess.
“For that very reason, I did not mention my design,” remarked François.
“What will you say, ma mie, if I should be reconciled to the Constable?”
he added to the countess.
“I shall say that your majesty is not true to yourself,” she replied,
unable to conceal her vexation.
“Reconciliation with Bourbon is impossible, unless the Duchess
d'Angoulême will forego her claim--and she will never do that!” cried
Bonnivet.
“Hum!” exclaimed François. “One cannot tell what may happen. I always
pay the greatest deference to my mother's wishes, and, as she has
expressed a desire to see the Constable, I have sent for him.”
“It is strange I should hear nothing of this before, sire,” remarked
Françoise de Foix, in a tone of pique.
“Not so strange as you think, mignonne,” replied the king. “The duchess
bound me to secresy.”
“What can be the meaning of this?” thought Bonnivet. “The duchess hates
Bourbon too deeply to make terms with him.”
“I see it!” mentally ejaculated the countess, instinctively arriving at
the truth. “Her love for Bourbon has been suddenly revived. But will he
accept her terms? If I know him, he will not.”
“Here comes the Constable,” remarked François, as the tall and majestic
figure of Bourbon was seen moving slowly down the gallery. He was
preceded by the chamberlain, and followed by Saint-Vallier and René de
Bretagne.
“He has not lost his insolent deportment,” remarked the Admiral. “I
ought to have informed your majesty that he has brought with him an
escort of three hundred gentlemen.”
The observations told, and a frown of displeasure passed over the king's
brow. But it fled before Bourbon came up, and gave way to a gracious
smile.
“Welcome, cousin,” he cried, in a voice that bespoke cordiality. “I am
right glad to see you again at Fontainebleau.”
At the same time he advanced towards the Constable, and embraced him
affectionately.
“Sire, your kindness overwhelms me,” said Bourbon, moved by the warmth
of the reception.
“You have been absent from court far too long, cousin--far too long,”
pursued the king. “Our sister the Duchess d'Alençon, and the Comtesse de
Chateaubriand, will tell you how much we have missed you.”
“It is not my fault that I have been absent, sire,” replied Bourbon.
“Your majesty will own that I had good reasons for keeping away.”
“I wish you had come, notwithstanding, cousin,” rejoined François.
“A few words of personal explanation would have helped to set matters
right. But you shall not depart till we have settled our differences.”
“Then I must tarry long, sire,” observed Bourbon, smiling sternly. “Your
majesty, I hear, has been pleased to style me le Prince Mal-endurant,
and I own that the appellation is merited, but I am not altogether as
patient as you imagine.”
“I do not wonder at it, cousin. Heaven knows, you have had good
cause for anger! And if you have exhibited a patience worthy of the
long-enduring patriarch himself, I admire you the more for it. But if
I inflict injuries, I know how to repair them, and your wrongs shall be
redressed.”
“You own I have been wronged, sire?” exclaimed Bourbon. “That is
something.”
“Foi de gentilhomme! I will make you amends, cousin,” cried the king.
“You shall be abundantly satisfied.”
Bourbon's sternness could not fail to give way before these and many
other equally gracious expressions. It was evident that François desired
to conciliate his offended visitor, and as he employed his irresistible
fascination of manner to that end, he succeeded. The king next addressed
himself to Saint-Vallier and René de Bretagne, greeting them both with
marked condescension and kindness, and, while he was thus engaged,
Bourbon paid his devoirs to the Duchess d'Alençon and the Comtesse de
Châteaubriand. By the latter he was coldly received, but Marguerite de
Valois accorded him a welcome as gracious as that of her royal brother.
A haughty salutation passed between the Constable and Bonnivet.
“I must have a few words with you in private, cousin,” said the king,
turning to Bourbon, as soon as he had concluded his brief discourse with
Saint-Vallier. “Come with me, I pray you.”
The Constable bowed, and he and the king quitted the gallery, and
entering a corridor on the left, proceeded to a suite of magnificent
apartments which François himself had recently constructed. The most
friendly understanding seemed already re-established between them.
François treated the Constable like a brother, and placed his arm
affectionately upon his shoulder.
“I will now avow the truth to you, cousin,” he said. “This process
has been a great pain to me, but there is only one way of settling it.
Methinks you can readily guess that mode.”
“No, sire, I confess I am completely puzzled,” replied Bourbon.
“You are duller than I thought,” said the king. “The matter rests with
the Duchess d'Angoulême. You must talk it over with her.”
“With the duchess, sire!” exclaimed Bourbon. “Impossible! You must hold
me excused.”
“Nay, I insist, cousin,” rejoined François.
“The interview will be productive of no good, sire, and will rather
aggravate existing difficulties. Again, I pray you to excuse me.”
“Nay, I am resolved, cousin. I know what is for your good. Come with me
to my mother's private cabinet. She expects you.”
“Expects me!” cried Bourbon. “Then this is a preconcerted scheme. I warn
your majesty it will fail.”
“I will listen to no more objections,” said François. “You will thank me
for my firmness anon.”
III. LOUISE DE SAVOIE.
|BOURBON yielded with an ill grace, and entered an ante-chamber with the
king, in which several gentlemen and pages were assembled. Two ushers
were stationed at a door at the farther end of the chamber. At the
king's approach this door was thrown open, and Bourbon found himself in
the presence of the person he most hated on earth.
The Duchess d'Angoulême was seated at a table, engaged in converse with
the Chancellor Duprat, who arose on the king's entrance with Bourbon,
and made a profound obeisance, but the duchess retained her seat.
Though at this time Louise de Savoie was nearer fifty than forty, she
had by no means lost her personal attractions. She bestowed great care
in the preservation of her charms, and Nature seconded her efforts,
Careful, temperate, active, both in mind and body, ill health had
produced no ravages upon her frame, and at forty-five--nay, even at
forty-seven, which was her exact age when Bourbon appeared before
her--the duchess looked younger than many an indolent beauty of
thirty-five. Her complexion was fresh and blooming, her cheek rounded
and full, her eyes bright, her brow white as marble and with scarcely a
wrinkle, and her dark tresses entirely untinged with grey. In brief, she
was still so handsome that it was supposed she must have discovered some
wondrous potion for the preservation of her youth. Her figure was tall,
and admirably proportioned, with a slight tendency to embonpoint, which
she successfully combated by exercise and abstemiousness. It was from
the duchess that François and Marguerite inherited their symmetry of
form and beauty of feature. Her hands were small, white, soft, and
dimpled, and her long taper fingers were covered with rings. Her
deportment was majestic, and at times imperious. She did not neglect to
heighten the effect of her charms and imposing appearance by richness of
attire. On this occasion she was arrayed in purple cloth of gold tissue,
her stomacher being embroidered all over with flat gold and damask.
Her sleeves were paned with gold and quilted, and fastened with gold
aiglets. She wore a partlet ornamented with rubies and other precious
stones; her head-dress, diamond-shaped and having long side lappets,
glittered with gems. From her neck hung a chain of gold, enamelled
black, sustaining a magnificent diamond cross, and her girdle was
ornamented with diamonds, rubies, and pearls. Over the king her son,
as we have said, Louise de Savoie had early obtained an extraordinary
ascendancy, which she never lost. He appointed her Regent of the kingdom
when he set out on his first Italian campaign, and had resolved to
entrust the government again to her care during the war which he now
meditated for the repossession of the Milanese.
Ambitious of power, the Duchess d'Angoulême was also greedy and
avaricious, and scrupled not to enrich herself from the royal treasures.
Of a miserly disposition, she amassed money, not to spend, but hoard it,
and she died possessed of enormous wealth.
Louise was the daughter of Philippe, Duke de Savoie, and Marguerite de
Bourbon, and was wedded at the age of twelve to Charles d'Orléans, Comte
d'Angoulême. Six years later she became a widow.
Bourbon's swarthy cheek flushed, and the blood mounted to his brow, as
he stood before the duchess. Bowing haughtily, he remained at a little
distance from her.
Approaching his mother, the king said, in his cheerful accents,
“I have brought back the truant chevalier, madame.”
Adding a few words in a low tone, he turned to Bourbon, and telling him
he would return anon, quitted the chamber with Duprat.
Left alone with the Constable, Louise regarded him anxiously and
tenderly, but the stern expression of Bourbon's features underwent no
change. The duchess, however, would not be discouraged, but said, in a
gentle voice which she thought calculated to move him,
“Dismiss that frown, Charles de Bourbon, and come and sit nigh me. Nay,”
she added, playfully, “I will be obeyed.”
But Bourbon moved not, and his brow grew yet more sombre.
Presently she arose, and, stepping up to him, laid her hand gently upon
his arm.
He shrank from her touch as if a viper had stung him.
Mastering her anger by a great effort, she said,
“Come, let us be friends, Charles de Bourbon. We have been enemies long
enough.”
“Friends, madame!” exclaimed Bourbon, bitterly. “You can scarcely expect
it.”
“But you will forgive me, Charles, will you not, when I tell you I still
love you?” she rejoined.
“You are too old for love, madame--far too old,” he rejoined, with a
look almost of loathing. “You may have loved me years ago, though your
conduct since would lead me to doubt it. But now the feeling ought to
he--must be--a stranger to your breast.”
“My love for you is strong as ever, and enables me even to bear this
language from you,” she said. Hear my explanation before you reproach me
so severely.”
“I have not reproached you, madame, but I say that your declarations
are utterly inconsistent with your conduct. You have pursued me with
unceasing animosity. By your instrumentality, madame--for I well know
you were the cause of my removal--I was despoiled of my authority in
the Milanese, which I had helped to win, and the government given to
Lautrec, by whose mismanagement the fruits of the battle of Marignan
were lost. Not only did you prevent the reimbursement of the large sums
I had expended for the king's use in Italy, but you withheld the payment
of my pensions as grand-chamberlain of France, as governor of Languedoc,
and as Constable. I deserved better treatment from the king, but I knew
from whom the wrongs proceeded, and made no complaint. This was not
enough. By your instigation a deeper affront was offered me, I will
not vaunt my military skill, though I had proved it sufficiently at
Marignan, but I was excluded by you--by you, madame, for you directed
the king--from the four grand military commanderships formed by his
majesty, and given by him to the Duke d'Alençon, the Duke de Vendôme,
Bonnivet, and Lautrec, Still I was patient.”
“Why were you patient, Charles? Why did you not complain to me?” cried
the duchess.
“Though deeply mortified by the affront,” pursued Bourbon, disregarding
the question, “I did not hesitate to obey the king's commands to
join the army of Picardy, and brought with me six thousand well-armed
fantassins, and three hundred lances. How was I requited? I need not
tell you, madame, since the work was yours, that the command of the
vanguard, which was mine by right, was given to the incapable D'Alençon.
That affront was hard to bear, yet I _did_ bear it. Well might the king
call me the Prince Mal-endurant!”
“Again I ask you, Charles, why did you not appeal to me?” said the
duchess.
“Appeal to you, madame--to the author of my wrongs!” rejoined the
Constable, fiercely. “I would have died rather than so humiliate myself.
Though profoundly wounded, I remained loyal in heart to the king.
No act, no word evinced resentment. But, instead of disarming your
animosity, my patience only aggravated it. You had not wreaked your
vengeance sufficiently upon me. Disgrace was not enough. I must endure
spoliation. You threw off the mask and assailed me in person. In concert
with your unscrupulous adviser, Duprat, you contrived a diabolical plan
to deprive me of the whole of my possessions. An infamous process was
commenced against me, which has filled all France--all Europe--with
astonishment. The finishing stroke has only to be put to your work.
My property has been sequestrated by the Parliament, and may be
confiscated. But beware, madame!” he added, in a voice of terrible
menace. “Beware! A fearful retribution will follow.”
“Threaten me not, Charles de Bourbon,” she rejoined. “But listen. I do
not deny the charges you have brought against me. Had you submitted to
the first blow--had you sued for grace--all the rest would have been
spared you.”
“Sue for grace, madame! Sue for grace to you!” cried the Constable.
“You know little of Charles de Bourbon if you think he would so demean
himself.”
“Hear me out,” said the duchess. “I was determined to conquer
your pride--to bring you to my feet--but you compelled me, by your
inflexibility, to have recourse to harsher measures than I originally
intended. You have to thank yourself, Charles, for the punishment you
have endured. But throughout it all, I have suffered more than you--far
more.”
“I am glad to hear it,” remarked Bourbon. “But I doubt it.
“When I have seemed to hate you most, I have loved you best, Charles.
My heart was torn by conflicting emotions--rage, grief, love. You had
spurned my love, and few women could pardon such an affront. But I could
forgive it, and would have forgiven you, if you had returned to me. But
you ever held aloof. You forced me to go on. Blow after blow was dealt,
in the hope that each might be the last. Oh, how it would have joyed me
to restore you to the government of the Milanese!--to have ordered the
payment of your pensions!--to have given you the command of the army of
Picardy! But all can now be set right.”
“Impossible, madame,” rejoined Bourbon.
“Say not so, Charles. Since you have been made aware of my motives, you
must view my conduct in a different light. Let the past be forgotten.
Let all animosity be at an end between us. Henceforth, let us be
friends--nay, more than friends. Do you not understand me, Charles?”
“I would fain not do so, madame,” rejoined Bourbon, averting his gaze
from her.
“Let not resentment blind you to your own interests, Charles,” pursued
the duchess. “You have felt my power to injure you. Henceforth,
you shall find how well I can serve you. I can restore all you have
lost--honours, commands, pensions. Nay, I can raise you higher than you
have ever risen, and load you with wealth beyond your conception. All
this I can do--and will do. Kneel down at my feet, Charles--not
to supplicate my pardon, for that you have--but to renew those
protestations of love which you once offered me. Kneel, I conjure you.”
But Bourbon remained inflexible.
“My knees would refuse their office were I inclined to comply,” he said.
“Then I must perforce take on myself the part which of right belongs to
you, Charles. By the death of your spouse, Suzanne de Bourbon, you are
free to wed again. I offer you my hand. You ought to solicit it on your
bended knee--but no matter!--I offer it to you.”
“Is the king aware of your design, madame? Does he approve of the step?”
demanded Bourbon.
“The king sent for you at my instance to arrange the marriage,” rejoined
the duchess.
“His majesty's complaisance is carried to the extremest point,” said
Bourbon. “But he seems to have taken my assent for granted--as you have
done, madame.”
“We could not doubt it,” said the duchess, smiling confidently. “The
proposed union offers you too many advantages to be rejected.”
“Enumerate them, I pray you?” said Bourbon. “First, then, the marriage
will amicably settle the process between us, and will operate like a
decree in your favour, for you will retain your possessions. Next, I
shall bring you a royal dowry. As my husband, you will be second only
in authority to the king. Nay, you will have greater power than he. You
will find Louise de Savoi a very different wife from Suzanne de Bourbon.
I will enrich you--I will augment your power--I will aggrandise you. You
shall be king--all but in name.”
“I doubt not your power to accomplish all this, madame,” rejoined
Bourbon. “I know your unbounded influence over your son. I know you
have filled your coffers from the royal treasures--as was proved by the
confession of the wretched Semblençay, who gave you the five million
ducats he ought to have sent to Italy, and who paid the penalty of his
folly with his life. I know that in effect you have already despoiled me
of my possessions--
“Dwell on these matters no longer, Charles,” she interrupted.
“Forget the past, and look forward to a brilliant future. My offer is
accepted?--speak!”
“You deem me so much abased that I must needs accept it, madame,” said
Bourbon. “But I am not yet fallen so low. I reject it--scornfully reject
it.”
“Reflect, Charles--reflect before you come to this fatal determination,
for fatal it will be to you,” she cried. “You are ruined--irretrievably
ruined--if you wed me not.”
“I would sooner be degraded from my rank--I would sooner mount the
scaffold, than wed you, Louise de Savoie, my some time mistress, but now
my bitter enemy,” said the Constable, fiercely.
“Bourbon, I swear to you I am not your enemy,” cried the duchess. “Do
not regard me with scorn and hate. Look at me as a loving woman. My
heart--my soul is yours. Since you will not stoop to me, I will do what
I never yet did to man--I will kneel to you.”
And she threw herself before him, and clasped his hands.
“Forgive me, Charles!” she cried, in half suffocated accents. “Forgive
me for the great love I have ever borne you.”
Notwithstanding the supplications and tears of the duchess, there was no
symptom of yielding in Bourbon. With almost rudeness, he said,
“Arise, madame. It is useless to prolong this interview. Farewell!”
“Stay, I command you, Charles de Bourbon,” she said, rousing all her
dignity. “For a moment I had forgotten myself, but your barbarous
conduct has restored me. Henceforward I will banish your image from
my breast, or only retain it there to animate my vengeance. Your
possessions shall be at once confiscated. I will make you a beggar, and
then see if you can find a wife among the meanest of my court dames.”
“I shall not need to do so, madame,” rejoined Bourbon, sternly. “Let
it confound you to learn that the Emperor Charles V has offered me in
marriage his sister Leanor, widow of the late King of Portugal.
“The Emperor has offered you his sister?” exclaimed the duchess. “It is
false--it is false!”
“You will find it true, madame,” said Bourbon, with a contemptuous
smile.
“You shall never wed her,” cried the duchess. “If you reject me, you
shall wed no one else.”
“These threats are idle, madame,” rejoined Bourbon, scornfully. “I laugh
at your impotent malice. You have wreaked your vengeance to the utmost.
But you will never be able to subdue me to your will.”
“Traitor and villain, I see through your designs!” cried the duchess.
“You meditate reprisals through the enemies of your country. But I will
effectually crush you. If your treasonable practices be proved, I will
have your head--ay, your head, Charles de Bourbon.”
“I have no fear for my head,” laughed Bourbon, disdainfully. “It is safe
enough, even though I am in the king's palace at Fontainebleau.”
“A moment, Charles!” cried the duchess, suddenly relapsing into
tenderness, and making an effort to detain him. “Are we to part thus?”
“How otherwise should we separate, madame, than with threats on your
part--defiance on mine?” said Bourbon.
And with a haughty inclination he was about to depart, when the door was
suddenly thrown open, and the king, unannounced, entered the cabinet.
IV. WHAT PASSED BETWEEN THE KING AND BOURBON.
|Evidently, François had expected a very different termination to
the interview from that which had occurred. The smile fled from his
countenance as he gazed at the pair.
“I have found him utterly impracticable,” whispered the duchess. “But
you may have better success.”
“We shall see,” replied the king, in the same tone. “Leave us alone
together.”
Casting a look at Bourbon, who haughtily averted his gaze from her, the
duchess stepped towards the back of the cabinet and raised the hangings,
behind which was a door communicating with her private apartments.
Instead of passing through the door, however, she concealed herself
behind the arras.
“Come, cousin,” said François, approaching the Constable, and leaning
good humouredly on his shoulder. “Cast off those moody looks. Have
you quarrelled with my mother? If so, I will engage to set the matter
right.”
“I pray your majesty to let me go,” rejoined Bourbon. “I am scarce
master of myself, and: may offend you.”
“No, you will not do that,” replied the king. “I have more command of
my temper than you have; and besides, I can make allowances for you. But
you must not let your pride interfere with your interests.”
“The duchess has told me so already, sire,” cried Bourbon, impatiently.
“I know what you design to say to me. I know the arguments you would
employ. But the match cannot be brought about.”
“Answer one question,” said the king. “Is it nothing to be father-in-law
to the King of France?”
“I am sensible enough of the distinction such an alliance would confer
upon me, sire,” replied the Constable. “But, for all that, I must
decline it.”
“Foi de gentilhomme! fair cousin, you are perverse enough to provoke
me, but I will be calm,” said the king, changing his attitude and tone.
“Since argument is useless, I must exert my authority. By Saint Denis!
the match _shall_ take place. I will have no 'nay' from you. Now you
understand.”
“I hear what you say, sire,” rejoined Bourbon, sternly. “But you cannot
enforce compliance with the injunction. Not even at your bidding will I
wed the Duchess d'Angoulême.”
“You refuse!--ha?” demanded the king, fiercely.
“Absolutely,” replied Bourbon. “I am a prince of the blood.”
“What of that?” cried François, yet more highly incensed. “Were you a
crowned king, you would not bemean yourself by marriage with my mother.
It is she who degrades herself by stooping to you. But this,” he added,
checking himself, “cannot be your motive.”
“No, sire, it is _not_ my motive,” rejoined Bourbon. “Since you force me
to speak, you shall have the truth. I prefer death to dishonour.”
“Dishonour!” echoed the king, astounded and enraged. “Dare you breathe
such a word in connexion with my mother? What mean you? Speak!”
François looked at him with eyes that seemed to flash lightning.
Bourbon, however, did not quail before the fierce looks and gestures of
the king, but replied with stern significance:
“A man of my quality, sire, does not marry a wanton.”
“Sang Dieu! this to me!” cried the king, transported with rage.
And he struck Bourbon in the face with his hand.
This mortal insult, as may be imagined, produced a fearful effect on
the Constable. His first impulse was to slay his assailant, and his hand
involuntarily clutched his sword. But he abandoned the insane design
almost as soon as formed. In the effort to constrain himself, his
frame and features were terribly convulsed, and a cry of rage that was
scarcely human escaped him. The king watched him narrowly, prepared for
attack, but manifesting no alarm.
“Sire,” cried Bourbon, at length, “that was a craven blow, unworthy of
one who aspires to be the first knight in Christendom. No other person
but yourself, who had thus insulted me, should live. But you are
safe. You have dishonoured me for ever. Take back the dignity you have
bestowed upon me, and which I am unworthy longer to wear,” he added,
tearing the jewelled cross of Saint Michael from his breast, and casting
it on the ground. “Others may fight for you. My sword shall never again
be drawn in your service.”
With a heart bursting with rage and grief, he rushed out of the room.
As Bourbon disappeared, the duchess came from behind the hangings.
“So, you have heard what has passed between us, madame?” cried the king.
“I have,” she replied. “He is a false traitor and a liar, and has been
rightly served. But you will not let him quit the palace? By that blow',
which he richly deserved, you have made him your mortal enemy. You have
him now in your hands, and you will rue it, if you suffer him to escape.
He has many partisans, and may raise a revolt.”
“You alarm yourself unnecessarily, madame,” rejoined François.
“I have good reason for apprehension,” rejoined the duchess. “He has
already entered into secret negotiations with the Emperor.”
“Foi de gentilhomme! if I thought so, I would order his instant arrest!”
exclaimed the king. “But are you sure, madame? Have you any proof of
what you assert?”
“He boasted, just now that the Emperor had offered him the widowed Queen
of Portugal in marriage,” replied the duchess. “Does not that prove that
secret overtures have been made him?”
“You are right. He is more dangerous than I thought. I must prevent his
defection--by fair means if possible--if not----“.
“You have provoked him too far, my son,” interrupted the duchess.
“He will never forgive the insult you have put upon him. Allow him to
depart, and most assuredly he will league with your enemies.”
At this moment Bonnivet entered the cabinet.
“Pardon me, sire, and you, gracious madame, if I venture to interrupt
you,” he said. “But I would know your majesty's commands in regard
to the Constable. His demeanour and looks are so infuriated, and his
language so full of menace, that I have ordered the guard not to let him
quit the palace.”
“You have done well, monseigneur,” said the duchess. “Where is he now?”
“In the pavillon de Saint Louis,” remarked Bonnivet, “with her majesty
and the Dame de Beaujeu.”
“I did not know the duchess was here,” remarked Louise de Savoie,
uneasily.
“She only arrived an hour ago from Paris,” replied Bonnivet. “Ha! what
is this I see?” he added, noticing the cross of Saint Michael, which
Bourbon had cast on the ground. “Is it thus your honours are treated,
sire? Such insolence deserves severe punishment.”
“I would punish the offender--severely punish him--but that I gave him
great provocation,” returned the king. “You say that the Constable is in
the salle de Saint Louis, with the queen and the Dame de Beau-jeu?”...
“He went thither not many minutes ago,” replied Bonnivet. “Shall I
arrest him as he comes forth?”
“No,” said the king. “I will see him again, and then decide. Come with
me, madame--and you too, Admiral.”
V. THE DAME DE BEAUJEU.
|Prevented by the guard from quitting the palace, and nothing doubting
that his arrest would speedily follow, Bourbon was slowly pacing the
corridor, considering what course he should pursue, when an usher
approached him, and, bowing reverently, informed him that the queen
desired to speak with him.
The Constable willingly obeyed the summons, and was conducted to a
magnificent hall, where he found the queen.
Her majesty was seated in a fauteuil, and beside her was an ancient dame
of very striking appearance. Several court demoiselles and pages were in
attendance, but they were stationed at the farther end of the hall.
The amiable qualities of Queen Claude were written in legible characters
in her countenance. She was still young, and her features, though not
beautiful, were pleasing. Her person was slightly deformed. It is quite
clear she must have suffered deeply in secret, but profound as they
were, her sorrows were breathed only to the ear of her confessor, or to
Heaven. Her manner was singularly gentle, almost humble, and she rarely,
if ever, manifested resentment against those who most deeply injured
her. So saintly, indeed, was her conduct, that when she was released
from her troubles, an event which occurred within a year from the date
of our history, miracles were supposed to have been wrought upon her
tomb. Claude, we need scarcely add, was the eldest daughter of Louis
XII. and Anne of Brittany. Married to François, then Duke de Valois,
when she was barely fifteen, she brought him as a dowry Brittany, and
the title to the duchy of Milan. On the present occasion she was attired
in cloth of gold tissue, raised with pearls of damask silver, and was
coiffed in a diamond-shaped head-dress, ornamented with jewels.
The ancient dame whom we have mentioned as seated near her was Anne of
France, Duchess de Bourbon-Beaujeu, eldest daughter of Louis XI. A woman
of masculine character and understanding, the Dame de Beaujeu, as she
was called, possessed many of her sagacious father's qualities, great
shrewdness and tenacity of purpose. She had governed the kingdom with
firmness and ability during the youth of her brother, Charles VIII., and
long maintained her sway, but her credit declined under. Louis XII.,
and when François I. mounted the throne the power she had once possessed
fell entirely into the hands of the Duchess d'Angoulême.
At no time had Anne de France been handsome, and perhaps her features
were more agreeable in old age than in youth. Her countenance was hard,
strongly marked, and entirely devoid of feminine expression. Always
meagre of person, she became thinner and more rigid as she advanced in
life. Her manner was cold and severe, but her deportment did not lack
dignity.
At the time when we discover her, the Dame de Beaujeu seemed utterly
prostrated by illness. Her features were wasted and haggard, and all
her movements evinced extreme debility. She was attired in black velvet,
richly trimmed with sable. Around her throat she wore a gorget, and her
venerable locks were partially concealed by a black velvet hood. She had
been brought in a litter to the palace, and had to be carried up to the
salle de Saint Louis. Her physician, Mathieu Bernard, accompanied her,
and was now standing at a little distance, describing her precarious
condition to Cornelius Agrippa.
“Is it possible her grace can have journeyed hither from Paris, doctor?”
inquired Agrippa.
“She heard that the Constable de Bourbon had been summoned to
Fontainebleau by the king, and insisted upon coming hither,” replied
Mathieu Bernard. “All my efforts to dissuade her grace were vain.”
“She will scarce get back again,” replied Agrippa.
Making a profound obeisance to Claude, Bourbon knelt reverentially
to his mother-in-law, and kissed her withered hand. The old duchess
immediately raised him, and embraced him tenderly.
“Your looks bespeak trouble, my son,” she said, regarding him anxiously.
“Tell me what has happened?”
Bourbon relieved his bursting heart by a full description of his
interview with the Duchess d'Angoulême, and the quarrel that had ensued
between him and the king. Both Claude and the old duchess listened to
his narration with profound interest. At its close, the queen said:
“I sympathise with you deeply, prince, but do not let the injuries you
have received make you swerve from your loyalty to the king.”
“Justice must and shall be done you, Charles,” cried the Dame de
Beaujeu. “I will go to the Duchess d'Angoulême at once. Your arm,
Charles--give me your arm.”
“You are not equal to the effort, madame,” said the Constable.
“If it costs me my life, I will see her,” cried the resolute old
duchess. And she took a few steps, but her strength then utterly failed
her, and she would have fallen but for the Constable's support.
Her physician and Cornelius Agrippa, who had been anxiously watching
her, flew to her assistance.
“Oh! that; I had but one hour left of my former strength! I should die
content,” she groaned.
“Drink of this, madame,” said Cornelius Agrippa, offering her a phial.
“It is a sovereign elixir, and will restore you.”
But she had not strength to take the phial, and was evidently sinking.
Bourbon, however, placed the elixir to her lips, and made her swallow a
few drops. The effect was instantaneous and almost magical. New
strength seemed imparted to her limbs, the hue of health returned to her
cadaverous cheeks, and she was able to stand without support.
“You have given me new life,” she said to Agrippa.
“Waste not a moment of it, madame,” he replied. “It may not be of long
duration.”
Just then, the great folding-doors at the end of the hall were thrown
open, and the king, accompanied by the Duchess d'Angoulême and Bonnivet,
entered the salon. Behind them came a crowd of courtiers, amongst whom
were Montmorency, Saint-Vallier, and René de Bretagne.
“I have my wish. She is here!” cried the old duchess.
On the entrance of the king, Claude advanced to meet him, and the Dame
de Beaujeu followed closely behind her, marching with the firmness
and majesty of former years. As he beheld her move along in this way,
Mathieu Bernard observed to Agrippa:
“You have performed a miracle.”
“I have but restored the vital energies for a moment,” replied the
other. “It is the last flash of the expiring taper.”
The royal party met in the centre of the salon. Bourbon had followed
his mother-in-law, and Saint-Vallier and René came over and stationed
themselves beside him.
“I am sorry to learn, sire,” said Claude, “that our cousin, the
Constable de Bourbon, has incurred your displeasure. Let me intercede
for him with your majesty.”
“It is true that the Duke dc Bourbon has deeply offended me,” said the
king. “But it is not too late for his restoration to favour.”
“You hear that, prince,” said Claude to the Constable. “All may yet be
well.”
“Sire,” interposed the Dame de Beaujeu, “I ask for justice to my
son-in-law, the Duke de Bourbon. Has he not served you faithfully? Has
he not brought you men and treasure? Has he not bled for you in the
field? And how has he been rewarded? By slights, by the withdrawal
of his pensions, by the spoliation of his property, by disgrace, by
dishonour. Sire, wrongs like these are enough to make a traitor of the
noblest and most loyal heart in France.”
“No wrong, madame, has been done to the Constable de Bourbon,” rejoined
the king. “But, if I am not misinformed, he has already played the
traitor.”
Bourbon looked sternly at the king, but took no other notice of the
insinuation.
“Believe it not, sire,” said the Dame de Beaujeu. “Whoso has told
you that has spoken falsely,” she added, glancing at the Duchess
d'Angoulême. “Charles de Bourbon is no traitor. But goad him not to
desperation by wrongs greater than any man can tamely endure.”
“Peace, madame. You trouble the king,” said the Duchess d'Angoulême.
“What!” exclaimed the Dame de Beaujeu, regarding her with unutterable
scorn. “Is Anne of France, daughter of Louis XI., the wisest and the
greatest monarch that ever sat on the throne, to hold her peace at the
bidding of Louise de Savoie? But I will _not_ be silent. I will tell the
king, your son, that he has done a flagrant act of injustice in aiding
you to avenge yourself upon the Duke de Bourbon. All shall know the
cause of your animosity.”
“I will hear no more,” cried François, impatiently.
“Listen to me, sire, I beseech you,” said Queen Claude. “You have
done Bourbon grievous wrong. Make him some amends. You know I rarely
interfere with your proceedings, but in this case I cannot refrain. I
would not have you commit injustice.”
“Do you also tax me with injustice?” said the king, frowning.
“I have said it, sire,” she replied.
“I should be wanting in duty to your majesty if I remained silent,” said
Montmorency. “In my opinion, Bourbon has been unjustly treated.”
“You, too, against me, marshal?” cried the king.
“I will answer for Bourbon's loyalty with my head, sire,” said
Saint-Vallier.
“And so will I,” added René de Bretagne.
“I take you at your word, messieurs,” replied François. “Charles de
Bourbon, you are free to depart.”
“Sire, you do wrong in granting this permission,” sad the Duchess
d'Angoulême.
“Beware, madame,” said the Dame de Beaujeu, stepping towards her. And
clutching her hand, she whispered, “Interfere, and I will proclaim your
infamy to all around.”
Bourbon tarried not a moment. With a haughty obeisance, and with a look
of ill-disguised menace at the king, he quitted the salon, followed by
Saint-Vallier and René.
This time he experienced no hindrance from the guard, but passing
through the vestibule, and descending the great horse-shoe staircase, he
mounted his steed, and rode off with his escort.
As Cornelius Agrippa had predicted, the Dame do Beaujeu expired on her
litter on the way back to Paris.
END OF THE FIRST BOOK