Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "'By God! d'Argenton, we win in the end,' he broke out,
shaking his finger at me."]
THE
KING'S SCAPEGOAT
BY
HAMILTON DRUMMOND
AUTHOR OF "THE SEVEN HOUSES," "A MAN'S FEAR," ETC., ETC.
_FRONTISPIECE BY CYRUS CUNEO_
TORONTO
THE COPP CLARK CO., LIMITED
1905
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I My Claim to be heard for Truth's Sake
II The Bruisings of a Friend
III Fire and Sack
IV Babette
V Paris in "Eighty-Three"
VI The Muse in Draggled Skirts
VII The Shrewdest Brain in France
VIII The Doors of the Louvre only open Inwards
IX How I met Mademoiselle the Second Time
X Plessis-les-Tours
XI The Plot of the Four Nations
XII Monseigneur's Counterplot
XIII His Most Christian Majesty
XIV Monsieur de Commines Explains
XX A Lesson in Diplomacy
XXI A Mission of Peace
XXII South from Plessis
XVIII Count Gaston de Foix
XIX Mademoiselle Suzanne, _Gouvernante_
XX What Happened at the Grey Leap
XXI "I Trust You, Come what May"
XXII The Message of a Foot of String
XXIII A Rose of Promise
XXIV Jean Volran, Tapster, and Translator of Latin
XXV In What Way the King Sought the Peace of Navarre
XXVI The Justice Hall in Morsigny
XXVII "God Keep You, Now and Always"
XXVIII A Lie for a Life
XXIX How Martin won his Heart's Desire
XXX Mademoiselle Speaks
XXXI There is Hope--Till Dawn on Sunday
XXXII The Mercy of Louis the Eleventh
XXXIII "It is the Finger of God!"
XXXIV A Race for a Life
CHAPTER I
MY CLAIM TO BE HEARD FOR TRUTH'S SAKE
Of the many ways, worthy or vile, honourable or ignoble, whereby men,
as my excellent friend the Prince de Talmont has shown in his history,
may rise to court favour, few, I think, are more curious than that by
which fate led me. Led me? The word is too soft, too gracious, too
solicitous: fate kicked me, rather; for it was a vicious cuff of
misfortune's contempt which made me a King's envoy; and a gentle stroke
of the mercy of God which flung me back again to the humble obscurity
of a simple gentleman.
But not without reward. And it is of that misfortune, that mercy, and
that reward this story treats. God be thanked! the last was greater
than the first, for love is a salve that heals all wounds the world
over.
If the embassage committed to me by his late majesty finds no place in
the admirable memoirs of the Prince de Talmont, better known it may be,
as Monsieur Philip de Commines, Lord of Argenton, it is because at my
earnest solicitation he expunged the narrative from his records.
These, in his earnest desire for accuracy, he had submitted to me for
revision. But, deeply conscious of my own unskilfulness in such
matters, I humbly pointed out, first, that the story did not redound to
the credit or honour of the late King, his master. Second, that the
disclosure could not possibly gratify the son who so worthily fills his
august father's throne; and, third, that Monsieur de Commines, having
already known the cold shadows of banishment from regal favour, there
was a danger--but doubtless the third reason moved him not at all.
Historians must be superior to considerations of private advantage.
But if these three reasons were insufficient to warrant the fearless
historian to consent to such a suppression, I had yet more to urge.
The inclusion of the details served no worthy purpose. No political
result followed my mission, which was abortive for reasons I hope to
make clear. France and Navarre were neither of them a penny the better
or the worse for it. Why, then, stir up old ashes? Many a
conflagration has sprung from a fool's raking over of half dead embers,
which, left to themselves, would have cooled to safety. Stories that
are to no man's credit are best let sleep.
That brings me to the final reason that I urged. Perhaps it was the
most instant of them all, and the one on which I laid the most stress,
since a thorn in our own finger-tip troubles us more than a sword's
thrust in our neighbour's ribs: it would give my enemies grounds for
speaking ill of me. Little or great, we all have gnats to bite us, and
evil tongues are so many that if they burnt like fire the poor would
have charcoal for nothing the winter through.
"There goes the man who stooped to such and such an infamy," they would
say, wilfully ignoring--but that is the story.
Why, then, do I give that to the world which I have successfully
influenced Monsieur de Commines to suppress? Just because of these
same evil tongues. Let no man dream that any act of his ever dies:
good or bad, it is co-existent with his life, if not with the sun
itself. What I had hoped was buried in the dust of the past, ghouls,
infamous devourers of men's reputations, have disinterred, and for the
sake of those who are to come after me the whole truth must be told.
My children's love and reverence are more to me than all I possess,
whether in Flanders or Navarre. Partly I tell the tale myself, and
partly it is told by another outside of myself, but whether it be
Gaspard de Helville in person or that other who speaks, this I solemnly
assert, both are alike true.