THE LOUVRE
It wanted full ten minutes to the hour when I rode through the gates
of the Hotel de Belin, and a moment or so after was with my friend. He
was standing in the great hall as I entered, in the midst of a small
but brilliantly dressed group of cavaliers. On my being announced,
however, he came forward to meet me with outstretched arms.
'_Pardieu!_' he exclaimed, stepping back a half-pace after our
greeting, 'so you have dropped the Huguenot? We poor devils will have
but a bad time of it if you turn courtier.'
'Is that likely?' I asked, a little bitterly, and then, in a low tone,
'have you made Ravaillac safe?'
'He has made himself safe,' he whispered, 'he is gone.'
'Gone?'
'Yes--vanished. It is, perhaps, best so. We will discuss him later,'
and, raising his voice, 'come, let me present you to my friends,' and
he led me up to his companions, who, gathered in a little knot near
the huge fireplace, stood surveying us with a well-bred curiosity.
'Gentlemen, permit me to introduce my old comrade, the Chevalier
d'Auriac--the Duc de Bellegarde, whom we all call M. le Grand, the
Vicompte de Vitry, the Seigneur de Valryn, and the Chevalier
d'Aubusson, who, like you, d'Auriac, is new to the court.'
'And who is delighted to meet with an old acquaintance, and trusts
that M. de Preaulx is in as good a way.'
'As the company from Paradise--eh, chevalier?' I put in.
'Fairly hit,' exclaimed the lieutenant, and then he must needs tell
the story of our little adventure, at which there was much laughter,
and it was easy to see that the Marshal and Zamet had no friends in
the Rue de Bourdonnais.
'Come, gentlemen,' said de Belin, 'if we delay longer we shall miss
the cinque-pace--one health round, and let us start.'
As he spoke, a number of long-necked glasses filled with the wine of
Champagne were brought to us. Holding his glass high above his head,
de Belin called out:
'Gentlemen--the King.'
The toast was drunk with a cheer in which my voice alone was still;
but I joined with the others in shivering my glass to fragments on the
white marble of the floor, and then, a gay, laughing crowd, we took
horse for the Louvre.
As we trotted along, I could not help wondering to myself at my own
outward gaiety, and whether the same bright mask covered thoughts as
dark as mine in my companions' hearts. Who, on looking at de Belin and
hearing the frivol of his talk, or on casting a glance at the red and
honest face of de Vitry, would imagine that these men were hilt-deep
in the intrigues of the court? Perhaps the stately Bellegarde, the
cynical lord of Valryn, the Thersites of his day, whose ribald tongue
had silenced even de Sancy, and that devil-may-care d'Aubusson, were
up to the elbows in the same pie!
Absorbed for a moment or so in these reflections I became silent, and
was only aroused by Bellegarde riding up alongside of me and calling
out--
'A tester for your thoughts, chevalier, and three hundred pistoles for
your nag.'
'My thoughts would be expensive at that price, duc, and the pistoles
will not buy Couronne.'
'_Morbleu!_ Then name your own price. 'Tis just such a horse as that I
have dreamed of to lead the King's House against M. de Savoye.'
'I may need her for the Italian war myself, monseigneur. No, Couronne
is not for sale. She bears too heavy a stake for us to part.'
Bellegarde looked at me curiously on my speech, and I half repented of
my last words; but he said no more, and a second or so later we were
past the Magasins and approaching the main entrance to the Louvre.
The sight before us was gay beyond description. All the good commons
of Paris had thronged to see the court re-open, and to catch a
glimpse, and perhaps a wave of the hand, from the King, whom they now
loved with their whole hearts. They came all in their gayest, and as
the cheerful crowd swayed backwards and forwards beyond the long line
of guards that kept the entrance to the palace free, it was for all
the world like a bank of flowers stirred by the wind.
But it was not the commons alone that had gathered there. From within
the palace itself we caught the continual flashes of silvered armour,
the sheen of silk and satin, the waving of plumes and the glitter of
jewels, and, far as the eye could stretch along the river-face, there
was an apparently endless cavalcade approaching the Louvre. In that
great heaving crowd, wherein all the strength of France was gathered,
we saw, as the wind caught the banners and spread them to the
sunlight, that there was hardly a house in France but was represented
here, from the lordly seigneurs of Champagne and Guienne, with their
splendid followings, to the poor knights of Gascony and Bearn, who had
not a tower that was not in ruins amongst them, and could barely
maintain the brace of starveling lackeys that rode at the heels of
each of these lean-pursed but long-sworded gentlemen. Here one saw the
white shield of Couci, the lilies of Conde, the griffins of Epernon,
there the cross of Croye, the star of d'Andelot, the red hand
of d'Auvergne, and the black wolves on the golden shield of La
Roche-Guyon, the proudest lord of Burgundy, who traced his descent far
back into the mists beyond the middle ages.
Absorbed as I was in my own troubles, I could not restrain a feeling
of pride that rose within me at the scene. Down through that roaring
crowd that cheered them again and again as they passed, it was as if
all the old historic names of France had gathered to do honour to the
day. And I felt, too, as I looked at the endless sea of heads, that
this was no longer a France at murderous war with itself, but a united
and powerful nation that was being led onwards to its destiny by the
strong hand of a man who had quenched a fratricidal struggle; and for
the moment I forgot how small he could be who was yet so great.
I had yet to learn how great he could be; and here, as I write these
lines in my study in the watch tower of Auriac, round which the
sea-gulls circle and scream, my old eyes grow dim, and I lay down my
pen and wonder for a moment at His will, which did not shield that
brave heart from an assassin's blow.
The throng was so thick that for a time we were unable to gain a
passage, and were compelled to go at a walking pace, and Belin,
reining in his fretting beast, exclaimed, 'Faith! 'tis the largest
gathering I have ever seen.'
'All France is here to-day,' said de Valryn. 'There go d'Ossat, and
his Eminence fresh from the Quirinal.'
'I wonder d'Ossat did not win his red hat as well as Monseigneur of
Evreux,' said de Vitry.
'Ah! he is so unlike the Cardinal,' replied de Valryn.
'How do you mean?'
'In this way. His Eminence deceives but he never lies; the Bishop, on
the other hand, lies, but he never deceives.'
'It would cost you your regiment if the King heard that, de Valryn.'
'On the contrary, I am sure it will get to his ears, and then I could
almost hope for the vacant baton, though 'tis said that is already in
Ornano's hand--see, there is the Constable's banner!'
'And Bouillon too--the stormy petrel is back from Sedan--I almost
sniff war in the air.'
'Oh, he has taken to himself a wife--See! He has quartered the arms of
La Marck on his scutcheon.'
'_Si dieu ne me vult, le diable me prye_,' said d'Aubusson, reading
the scroll on the banner of Turenne; and then, the crowd giving way
for a moment, we took the opportunity and passed through the gates of
the Louvre. So full did we find the Petite Galerie on our entrance,
that it was impossible to see or to observe who was there, and all
that I was conscious of, as I slowly made my way forwards at the heels
of de Belin, was the sound of music, the murmur of voices, and the
rippling of gay laughter. In front of us was the noble stairway that
led to the Galerie d'Apollon, and between the silent and statue-like
figures of the King's House who lined the steps, and who still wore
their violet sashes in token of mourning for the death of Gabrielle,
there seemed an endless train of men and women advancing upwards.
Amongst the jewelled clusters of fair and dainty dames, my eye sought
in vain for the face of Madame; but my glance was, for the moment,
arrested by the graceful figure of the celebrated La Noirmoutiers, as,
with one arched and scarlet-shod foot resting on the white marble of
the topmost step of the stairway, she turned to address some laughing
remark to the cavalier who was her escort. I had not seen her since I
was a boy of fifteen; but years had not changed her--her eyes were as
lustrous, her cheeks as pink and dimpled as when she trailed the
honour of Lorraine in the dust, and broke the heart of Joyeuse. I
could not restrain a feeling of pity for the man upon whom she was now
turning the light of her cruel beauty, for there was that in his
honest eyes that showed he would do for her what Mornay, what Joyeuse,
what Francis of Lorraine had done.
'Who is the man?' I bent forward and whispered to de Belin.
'Poor de Rethelois, who held La Fere so well against us. I fear he
will find holding his heart a harder task.'
'He has capitulated already, I think,' I answered, and then she rested
one small gloved hand on her escort's arm and they passed out of
sight.
By this time I had collected myself to some degree, and began to try
and rapidly rehearse in my mind what I should say when I came face to
face with the King, but I am not ashamed to confess that at each
attempt I found myself getting more and more hopelessly confused, and
finally, dropping the effort, determined to let the occasion find its
own words. At last we were on the stairway, and in twenty steps had
entered the great hall which Henry had built himself, and which was
known as the Galerie d'Apollon. Except for the vacant space round the
still empty throne, the full length of its seventy yards was almost as
much crowded as the hall below; but here the music was much louder,
though the laughter and talk was not less merry and incessant. There
was not, of course, nearly so much movement, and the people were more
or less gathered in little knots or groups, though there were many gay
butterflies flitting from one of these to the other.
'Keep by me,' said de Belin, and almost as he spoke we came face to
face with Tavannes, de Gie, and de Cosse-Brissac, all dressed in the
extreme of fashion. Belin saluted coldly, but my heart warmed towards
my old comrades in arms, and I stretched out my hand. This de Gie took
limply, but Tavannes and de Cosse-Brissac contented themselves with
bows of the politest ceremony. The Vicompte de Gie was, however,
effusive in speech if chill in manner.
'It is not everyone who could tear a hole in the Edict as you have
done, d'Auriac,' he said; and then added with a smile, 'but who made
your cloak? 'Tis a trifle longer than we wear it here.'
'It is short enough for me to see the King in,' I answered a little
crisply.
'The King!' exclaimed both Tavannes and Brissac, a marked interest in
their tones.
'My dear fellow,' said de Gie, interrupting my reply, 'I knew you
would fall on your feet; see here,' and stepping right up to me, he
threw open my cloak slightly with a turn of his wrist, 'wear it so,
d'Auriac; it shows your cross of St. Denis now.' Then dropping his
voice, 'friend or foe? Are you for the Marshal or the Master-General?'
'I am here for a short time,' I replied. 'I have come to see the King.
I neither understand nor care about your intrigues.'
'I understand perfectly, monsieur,' he said, falling back, a
half-smile on his lips, and, bowing to each other, we passed on in
different ways, they down, and I up the hall to join de Belin, who had
gone a few paces ahead.
'The King is still in his cabinet,' he said, pointing to a closed
door, before which a sentry stood on guard. 'I go in at once. When I
come out let it be the signal for you to join me. I will then present
you; and mind--speak freely.'
'I mean to,' I answered, and with a nod he passed up through the
press. I leaned against the pillar near which I was standing and
surveyed the crowd. Madame was nowhere there, or else I had missed
her. Perhaps it was better so, for did I see her I might be unnerved;
and here Bellegarde joined me.
'Do you see her?' he asked.
'See whom?' I answered, with a start and an eager look around.
'_La belle_ Henriette. See, there she stands! A little court around
her, with the brightest eyes and the sharpest tongue in France. I
wager a hundred pistoles she will rule us all some day.'
As events showed, Bellegarde was right, though that concerns not this
story. I followed his glance, and saw Mademoiselle d'Entragues
surrounded by a group of admirers, with whom she was bandying jest and
repartee. I saw before me a tall, slight woman, beautiful in a wicked,
imperious way, her eyes as black as night, and her features exquisite,
but marred in every line, to my mind, by their look of pride. I
never saw her again but once, and that was at Bois Lancy, where the
once-powerful Marquise de Verneuil had gone to hide her shame.
It was a pleasanter sight to turn from this girl, who was even then
weighing the price of her honour, to the cluster of fair faces around
the tabouret of Madame Catherine, the King's sister, now the Duchesse
de Bar. Close to the Princess was Mary of Guise, and within a few feet
of her were the wives and daughters of Rohan, de Pangeas, de Guiche,
and d'Andelot. I did not, of course, know who they were, but
Bellegarde pointed them out one by one, and then suddenly waved his
hand in greeting to a man.
'Ah, there is Pimental! one moment, chevalier,' and he left me to join
his friend. I was again alone, and resigned myself to patience, when a
voice seemed to whisper over my shoulder:
'If M. le Chevalier will kindly survey the other side of the room,
perhaps he will be equally interested.'
I turned round sharply. There was no one whom I could recognise as the
person who had addressed me. On the other hand, however, I blessed him
in my heart, for not ten feet away was Madame, radiant and beautiful,
with Palin by her side, and M. d'Ayen, with his arm in a silken
sling, bowing before her. He was pressing the tips of her fingers to
his lips when our eyes met, and, drawing away her hand, she made a
half-movement towards me. I was by her side in a moment, and as we
shook hands she said with a smile:
'So we have met again, chevalier! In the Louvre, above all places!
'This with a slight rising of colour.
'I thought I had missed you. I was looking for you everywhere, and had
given you up. I of course knew you were in Paris.'
'But the Rue Varenne was too distant a land to journey to? Come,'
she added as I began to protest, 'give me your arm and take me
there'--she indicated the upper end of the room--'the crush is not so
great there. It is frightful here. M. d'Ayen will, I know, excuse me.'
Here d'Ayen, who stood glaring at me and biting at the red feathers in
his hat which he held in his hand, interposed:
'I was in hopes that Madame would give me the pleasure,' he began.
'Another day, perhaps, baron,' I cut in rudely enough. 'I trust,' I
added in a kinder tone, 'that your arm does not incommode you?'
'It will heal soon,' he said in a thick voice, and turned away
abruptly.
'He is very angry,' Madame said, following him with her eyes.
'That will heal too, I hope. This way is easiest, I think,' and I
moved onwards with my charge, still, however, keeping an eye on the
door of the cabinet.
'Do you know,' I said a moment or so later, 'I am indebted to an
unknown friend for finding out you were here?'
'Indeed!' she replied seriously enough, though her eyes were smiling;
'perhaps I ought not to tell you, but I saw you and told Coiffier to
let you know I was here.'
'Coiffier, the astrologer!'
'Yes--do you not see him there? He is a brother of Pantin, and devoted
to my house; a strange man though, and at times I almost fear him.'
I looked in the direction she indicated, and saw a tall man, dressed
like any ordinary cavalier of the court, except for his cloak, which
was of extreme length, and fell almost to his heels. He, however, wore
no sword, but held in his hand a small rod of ebony, with a golden
ball at the end. This was the celebrated astrologer Coiffier, who had
foretold the death of Henry III., and who, it is said, never died, but
was taken away bodily by the Evil One. How far this is true I know
not, but it was common report when he disappeared for ever.
'He is much unlike Pantin,' I remarked; 'no one would take them for
brothers.'
'And yet they are--and Pantin always says he is the younger, too.'
And now, as we made our way slowly towards the upper end of the room,
I began to get tongue-tied, and Madame, too, said nothing. Finally, I
blurted out, 'I am to see the King in a few minutes.'
She looked down and half-whispered, 'God give you success.'
'Amen!' I echoed to her prayer.
And then, in a way that people have when their hearts are full of
grave things, we began to talk of matters light as air.
'The King is late to-day,' Madame said, glancing at the still closed
door of the cabinet, near which a curious crowd had gathered; 'perhaps
the cinque-pace will not come off,' she ran on, 'Monsieur de Guiche
told me that the King was to open it with Mademoiselle d'Entragues. Do
you not see her there? That lovely, black-eyed girl, talking to
half-a-dozen people at once.'
'Is she so very beautiful?'
'What a question to ask! I do not see a woman in the room to compare
with her.'
'To my mind her profile is too hard.'
'Indeed!' Madame's face, with its soft though clear outlines, was half
turned from me as she spoke. 'I suppose, then, you do not care for
her--a man never thinks with a woman in the matter of beauty. But I
did think you would admire Mademoiselle.'
'Why should I, even supposing she was beautiful? To my mind there are
two kinds of beauty.'
And here I was interrupted by the sound of cheering from the Petite
Galerie, and the sudden hush that fell on the room. As we moved down
to see for whom the crush was parting on either side, we discovered
that it was the Marshal himself, and close at his heels were Lafin,
with his sinister smile, and a dozen gentlemen, amongst whom I
observed the grim figure of Adam de Gomeron. Madame saw the
free-lance, too, and then turned her eyes to mine. She read the
unspoken question in my look, her eyes met mine, and through her
half-parted lips a low whisper came to me--'Never--never.'
'They are coming straight towards us,' I said, 'we will stand here and
let them pass,' and with her fingers still resting on my arm we moved
a pace or so aside. As Biron came up there was almost a shout of
welcome, and he bowed to the right and left of him as though he were
the King himself. He was then the foremost subject in France, and in
the heyday of his strength and power. In person he was of middle
height, but carried himself with unexampled grace and dignity of
manner. His short beard was cut to a peak, and from beneath his
straight eyebrows, his keen and deep-set eyes, those eyes which Marie
de Medici said hall-marked him for a traitor, _avec ses yeux noirs
enfonces_, seemed to turn their searchlights here, there, and
everywhere at once. His dress, like all about the man, was full of
display. He wore a suit of grey satin, a short black velvet cloak held
by a splendid emerald and diamond clasp, and carried a hat plumed with
white and black feathers. His sword hilt and the buckles on his shoes
flashed with gems. As he came onwards, making straight for the door of
the cabinet, Coiffier stepped out of the crowd and held him lightly by
his cloak. The Marshal turned on him sharply: 'Let me go, I have no
time for mummeries.' 'Very well, my lord, only I should advise
Monseigneur never again to wear a suit such as he is attired in at
present.'
Biron stopped, and we all gathered closer.
'Why, Coiffier?' he asked, in a tone of affected gaiety, but with a
nervous manner.
'Because, monseigneur, I dreamed that I saw you early one morning
standing, dressed as you are just now, by the block in the yard of the
Bastille.'
One or two of the women almost shrieked, and a murmur went up from
those who heard the words. As for the Marshal, his face grew pale and
then flushed darkly.
'You are mad, my friend,' he said hoarsely, and then, with his head
down, went straight to the door of the cabinet. It seemed to open of
its own accord as he came up to it, and, leaving his suite behind, he
passed in to the King.
Little did I think of the prophecy until that August dawn, when I
stood by the side of the Lieutenant of Montigny and saw the head of
Charles de Gontaut, Duc de Biron, and Marshal of France, held up to
the shuddering spectators in the red hand of Monsieur of Paris.
'It almost seems as if I shall not have my interview,' I said to
Madame a minute or so later, when the commotion caused by Coiffier had
ceased.
'When were you to go in?' she asked.
'As soon as ever M. de Belin came out to summon me.'
'Then here he is,' and as she spoke I saw the door open, and Belin
looked out. 'Go,' she said, and then our eyes met and I stepped up to
the cabinet.
'Courage,' whispered Belin, and I was before the King. In the first
two steps I took on entering the room, I perceived that there had been
a scene; Sully was standing against the open window, his back to the
light, and gravely stroking his beard. The Marshal was pacing
backwards and forwards in an agitated manner, and the King himself was
leaning against a high desk, beating a tattoo with his fingers on the
veneer.
As de Belin presented me, I bent to my knee, and there was a dead
silence, broken only by Henry renewing the quick, impatient tapping of
his fingers on the woodwork of the desk. He was, what was unusual with
him when in Paris, in half armour, and perhaps in compliment to the
King of Spain, for it was the anniversary of the treaty of Vervins,
wore the scarlet and ermine-lined mantle of the _Toison d'Or_. In the
silence my eyes unconsciously caught the glitter of the collar, and I
could almost read the device, '_Pretium non vile laborum_,' on the
pendant fleece.
'You may rise, monsieur,' the King said at last coldly, and added,
'and you may speak. It is because I understand that you broke the laws
unwittingly that I have for the moment excused you--now what have you
to say?'
As he spoke his piercing eyes met me full in the face, and for the
moment I could not find words.
'_Ventre St. Gris!_' and Henry picked up a melocotin from a salver
that was by him and played with it between his fingers; 'you could not
have been born under the two cows on a field _or_, else you would have
found tongue ere this, M. d'Auriac. You are not of the south, are
you?'
'No, sire, though my father was Governor of Provence, and married into
the Foix Candale.'
'If so, you should be a perfect Chrysostom. What have you to say?'
I had regained my courage by this and took the matter in both hands.
'Your Majesty, I will speak--I charge the Marshal, Duc de Biron,
with being a traitor to you and to France, I charge him with
conspiring----'
'You liar!'
It was Biron's voice, furious and cracked with rage, that rang through
the room; but Henry stopped him with a word, and then I went on
repeating exactly what is known, and what I have described before.
When it was over the King turned to the Marshal, who burst out in a
passion of upbraiding, calling God and his own services to witness
that his hands were clean, 'and is the word of this man to be
believed?' he concluded, 'this man who was openly in arms against his
King, who is known as a brawler in the streets, who is even now trying
to win the hand of a royal ward with not a penny piece to line his
doublet pockets, who is excluded from the King's Peace--is his oath to
be taken before the word of a peer of France? Sire, my father died by
your side--and I--I will say no more. Believe him if you will. Here is
my sword! It has served you well,' and unbuckling his sword the
Marshal flung himself on his knees before the King and presented him
with the hilt of his blade.
Astonished and silenced by this audacious outburst, I could say
nothing, but saw Sully and de Belin exchange a strange smile. The
King, however, was much moved. Putting his hands on Biron's shoulders,
he lifted him to his feet. 'Biron, my old friend,' he said, 'the oaths
of this man and of a hundred such as he are but as a feather weight
against your simple word. Messieurs, it is because I wished the
Marshal to know that I would hear nothing behind a man's back that I
would not repeat to his own face that I have allowed M. d'Auriac a
free rein to his tongue. In fine, I believe no word of this incredible
tale. M. d'Auriac,' and he turned to me, 'I give you twenty-four hours
to quit France, and never cross my path again.' And here the reckless
Biron interposed hotly, 'But I must have satisfaction, sire.'
'Is it not satisfaction enough to know that the King believes your
word?' said Sully.
'That may do for the house of Bethune, but not for Biron.'
The taunt told. It was the one tender point with the great minister.
'The house of Bethune,' he began.
'Was old with the Ark, duc--we all know that,' said Henry; 'but truly
I know not what satisfaction the Marshal wants.'
'If not for me, sire, for my friends. There is M. de Gomeron who has
been much wronged too.'
'I see, you are coming to the old point again. I tell you, Biron,
plainly, and once for all, I will not have it--my word is given to
d'Ayen. And now let us go.'
When the King had warned me out of France, I had made a half-movement
to bow and retire and then glanced round to Belin for a hint as to
what I should do. I could not see him, and not knowing whether to
leave the cabinet or not, I remained standing irresolutely where I
was, and thus was a witness to the little passage described above. As
Henry refused Biron's request he, however, at the same time linked his
arm in that of the Marshal, and stepped towards the door of the
cabinet. Sully followed immediately behind, and I brought up the rear.
In this manner we entered the Galerie d'Apollon, and as we passed in
the King looked round and saw me. He stared hard for a moment, and
then said in loud tones, 'Twenty-four hours is a short time to reach
the frontier, M. d'Auriac,' and then he turned his back on me.
Everyone heard the words, and I caught de Gie's mocking voice as he
spoke to Mademoiselle d'Entragues, 'His cloak was short enough to see
the King in, I observe,' and then there was a feminine titter.
With my heart boiling with rage I made for the stairway. I did not
dare to look for Madame. There was enough despair on my face to enable
her to read it like a book were she to see me, and I had no doubt she
had. I felt I had miserably failed. There was one chance, however, and
that was to urge her to instant flight, and I determined to ride
straight to the Rue Varenne and there await either Madame's or Palin's
return and induce them to adopt this course.
At this moment someone came in my way, and, stepping aside to let him
pass, I caught sight of Madame with both de Belin and the Huguenot at
her side. She was not three feet from me, and held out her hand
saying, 'Courage; I know all.' I held her small fingers for a moment,
and then the ribbon by which her fan was slung to her wrist somehow
slipped and the fan fell to the ground. I picked it up, and, on
handing it to her, caught a whisper, 'Coiffier, to-night,' and then
with a bow I went on. Ten steps more brought me to the head of the
stairway, and Coiffier was standing there. 'Would you have your
fortune told, monsieur?' he asked.
'Will to-night suit you?' I answered, taking his humour.
'To-night will be too late, monsieur le chevalier. Look in that as you
ride home and you will see--and now go.'
With a turn of his wrist he produced a small red ball of polished wood
and placed it in my hands, and then moved backwards amongst the crowd.
It did not take me five minutes more to find Couronne, but as I turned
her head on reaching the gates of the town towards the river face, I
heard de Belin's quiet voice behind:
'Not that way, d'Auriac; you come with me.'