CHAPTER VII
HOW THE CONSTABLE SAID HIS PATER NOSTER
That same day, in the afternoon, while the jousting and holiday-making was in progress at Tournelles, the Constable de Montmorency was completing his examination, in Diane de Poitiers's closet at the Louvre, of one of his secret agents.
The spy was of medium height and swarthy complexion; he had black hair and eyes, an aquiline nose, a forked chin, and projecting lower lip, and his back was slightly crooked. He bore a most striking resemblance to Martin-Guerre, Gabriel's faithful squire. Any one seeing them separately might well have mistaken either for the other; and he who saw them standing side by side would have taken them for twin brothers, so exactly alike were they in every respect. They had the same features and the same figure, and were apparently of the same age.
"And the courier, what did you do with him, Master Arnauld?" asked the constable.
"Monseigneur, I put him out of the way. It had to be done; but it was in the night and in the forest of Fontainebleau. The murder was laid at the door of robbers. I am very careful."
"Never mind, Master Arnauld; it is a very serious matter, and I blame you for being so ready to play with your knife."
"I shrink at nothing when Monseigneur's service is at stake."
"That's all very well; but once for all, Master Arnauld, remember that if you allow yourself to steal, I will allow you to hang," said the constable, dryly and rather contemptuously.
"Never fear, Monseigneur; I am a man of discretion and foresight."
"Now let's see the letter."
"Here it is, Monseigneur."
"Very well! unseal it without breaking the seal, and read it. For Heaven's sake, do you suppose for a moment that I am going to read it?"
Master Arnauld du Thill took from his pocket a sharp little chisel, and cut carefully around the seal, and unfolded the letter. He turned at once to the signature.
"Monseigneur sees that I was not mistaken. The letter addressed to the Cardinal de Guise is from Cardinal de Caraffa, as that wretched courier was simpleton enough to tell me."
"Read it, then, by the crown of thorns!" cried Anne de Montmorency.
Master Arnauld read as follows,—
"MONSEIGNEUR AND DEAR FRIEND,—Just three words of importance. In the first place, in accordance with your request, the Pope will let the affair of the divorce drag slowly along, and will put François de Montmorency off from consistory to consistory (he arrived at Rome yesterday) before finally refusing the dispensation that he solicits."
"Pater noster!" growled the constable. "May the Devil take them, all these red hats!"
Arnauld continued his reading:—
"In the second place, Monsieur de Guise, your illustrious brother, after having taken Campli, is holding Civitella in check. But before we resolve to send him the men and supplies that he asks, and which we can only give him at a great sacrifice, we must at least be assured that you will not call him away to serve in Flanders, as the report goes is likely to be the case. Just see that he remains with us, and his Holiness will make up his mind to an extensive issue of indulgences, hard though the times may be, to assist Monsieur François de Guise in soundly whipping the Duke of Alva and his haughty master."
"Adveniat tuum regnum," growled Montmorency. "We will remember that, body and blood! We will remember that, even if we have to call the English into France. Go on, Arnauld, go on, by the Mass!"
The spy resumed:—
"In the third place, I have to announce to you, Monseigneur, to encourage you and support you in your endeavors, the speedy arrival at Paris of a messenger from your brother, Vicomte d'Exmès, who is bringing to Henri the flags conquered in this Italian campaign. He is about to set out, and will arrive no doubt at the same time that my letter does, which, however, I have chosen to intrust to our regular courier; his presence, and the glorious trophies which he will offer to the king, will assuredly be of great service to you in conducting your negotiations in every direction."
"Fiat voluntas tua," cried the constable, in a perfect fury of rage. "We will give this ambassador from hell a fine reception. I commend him to you, Arnauld. Is that the end of that cursed letter?"
"Yes, Monseigneur, all but the usual complimentary words, and the signature."
"Good! you see that there is some work cut out for you, my fine fellow."
"I ask for nothing better, Monseigneur, with a little money thrown in to assist in obtaining good results."
"Here are a hundred ducats, knave. You must always feel the money in your hand."
"But I spend so much in Monseigneur's service."
"Your vices cost you more than my service does, you scoundrel."
"Oh, how mistaken Monseigneur is in me! I dream only of leading a quiet life, in happiness and affluence, somewhere in the country, with my wife and children about me, and passing the rest of my days in peace, like an honest father and husband."
"A most charmingly virtuous and bucolic picture, to be sure! Oh, well, then, mend your ways, put by a few doubloons, and marry, and you will be in a fair way to realize these dreams of domestic felicity. What prevents you?"
"Ah, Monseigneur, my fiery spirit! And then what woman would ever have me?"
"Meanwhile, and pending your hymeneal plans, suppose you seal that letter again very carefully, and carry it to the cardinal. You must disguise yourself, you understand, and say that your dying comrade enjoined upon you—"
"You may trust me, Monseigneur. The resealed letter and the substituted courier will seem more authentic than the real articles."
"The deuce take it!" said Montmorency; "we forgot to take down the name of this plenipotentiary whose coming is announced. What is he called?"
"Vicomte d'Exmès, Monseigneur."
"Ah, yes, that was it, villain. Now see that you remember the name. Well! who dares to interrupt me again?"
"Pardon, Monseigneur," said the constable's fourrier, entering. "A gentleman arrived from Italy is asking to see the king on behalf of the Duc de Guise; and I thought I ought to advise you of it, especially since he was very anxious to speak with the Cardinal de Lorraine. He calls himself Vicomte d'Exmès."
"That was very proper of you, Guillaume," said the constable. "Show the gentleman in here. And do you, Master Arnauld, take your place there behind that hanging, and don't let slip this opportunity of having a good look at the man with whom no doubt you will have some business to transact. It is for your benefit that I receive him, so keep your eyes and ears open."
"I am quite sure, Monseigneur," replied Arnauld, "that I have already come across him in my travels. But no matter! It is just as well to be certain of it. Vicomte d'Exmès, is it?"
The spy slipped behind the hangings, as Guillaume appeared, ushering Gabriel into the room.
"Pardon me," said the young man, politely saluting the old constable; "but to whom have I the honor of addressing myself?"
"I am the Constable de Montmorency, Monsieur; what is your will?"
"Pardon me again," said Gabriel; "but what I have to say I must say to the king."
"But you know that his Majesty is not at the Louvre, do you not? and in his absence—"
"I will follow his Majesty or await his return," Gabriel interposed.
"His Majesty is at the fêtes at the Tournelles, and will not return before evening. Don't you know that the marriage of Monseigneur le Dauphin is being celebrated to-day?"
"No, Monseigneur; I only learned of it on my way hither. But I came by way of the Rue de l'Université and the Pont au Change, and did not pass through the Rue St. Antoine."
"Then you ought to have followed the crowd. That would have shown you the way to the king."
"But I have not yet had the honor of being presented to his Majesty. I am an entire stranger at court. I hoped to find Monseigneur le Cardinal de Lorraine at the Louvre. It was his Eminence for whom I inquired, and I can't imagine why I have been conducted to you, Monseigneur."
"Monsieur de Lorraine," said the constable, "loves these sham fights, being a churchman; but I, who am a man of the sword,—I care only for real fighting, and that is why I am at the Louvre, while Monsieur de Lorraine is at the Tournelles."
"If you please, Monseigneur, I will go and seek him there, then."
"But, mon Dieu, stay and rest a bit, Monsieur; for you seem to have arrived from a distance,—from Italy, no doubt, since you entered the city by the Rue de l'Université."
"From Italy, in truth, Monseigneur. I have no reason to conceal the fact."
"You come from the Duc de Guise, perhaps? Well, what is he about down there?"
"Permit me, Monseigneur, to inform his Majesty in the first instance, and to take my leave to the end that I may fulfil that duty."
"So be it, Monsieur, since you are in such haste. No doubt," he added with an assumed air of pleasantry, "you are in a hurry to renew your acquaintance with some fair lady or other. I'll warrant that you are in haste and fear at the same time. Come, now, isn't that so, my young sir?”
But Gabriel put on his coldest and most serious expression, and replied only with a low bow, as he left the apartment.
"Pater noster qui es in cœlis" snarled the constable, when the door had closed behind Gabriel. "Does this cursed fop imagine that I wanted to make advances to him, to win him over to my side, perchance, or to corrupt him possibly? As if I didn't know perfectly well what he is going to say to the king! No matter! if I fall in with him again, he shall pay me dear for his unsociable airs and his defiant insolence! Ho, there, Master Arnauld! Come, come! Where is the blackguard? Vanished too, by the cross! Everybody seems to have taken on a fit of stupidity to-day. The Devil seize them! Pater noster!"
While the constable was thus venting his ill-humor in curses and Pater nosters, as his wont was, Gabriel, on his way out of the Louvre, was passing through a rather dark gallery, when to his great amazement he saw his squire, Martin-Guerre, standing near the door, although he had ordered him to await him in the courtyard.
"Is it you, Master Martin?" said he. "So you have come to meet me! Very well! Go you ahead with Jérôme, and wait for me with the flags well wrapped up at the corner of the Rue St. Catherine on the Rue St. Antoine. Perhaps Monseigneur le Cardinal would prefer that we should present the flags to the king on the spot, and in the presence of the whole court assembled at the jousting. Christopher will hold my horse and bear me company. Go on! you understand me, don't you?"
"Yes, Monseigneur, I know what I wanted to know," replied Martin-Guerre.
And he started down the staircase ahead of Gabriel with an alacrity which augured well for the speedy execution of his commission. Imagine Gabriel's extreme surprise, when he came out more slowly and like one who dreamed, to find his squire still in the court, and now apparently terrified and pale as a ghost.
"Well, Martin, what is it, and what is the matter with you?" he asked him.
"Ah, Monseigneur, I have just seen him; he passed right near me this very moment, and spoke to me."
"Who, pray?"
"Who? Why, who but the devil, the ghost, the phantom, the monster, the other Martin-Guerre?"
"Still this madness. Martin! Are you dreaming as you stand there?"
"No, no, indeed I was not dreaming. He spoke to me, Monseigneur, I tell you; he stopped in front of me, turned me to stone with his wizard's look, and said to me, laughing his infernal laugh, 'So we are still in Vicomte d'Exmès's service, are we?' Note the plural, 'we are,' Monseigneur; 'and we have brought from Italy the flags taken in the field by Monsieur de Guise?' I said yes, in spite of myself, for he fascinated me. How does he know all this, Monseigneur? And he went on: 'Let us not be afraid, for are we not friends and brothers?' And then he heard your footsteps approaching, Monseigneur, and he added, with a diabolical irony which made my hair stand on end, just these words: 'We shall meet again, Martin-Guerre; we shall meet again.' And he disappeared through that little wicket, perhaps, or more likely into the wall."
"You poor fool!" said Gabriel. "How could he have had the necessary time to say and do all this since you left me up there in the gallery?"
"I, Monseigneur! I haven't stirred from this spot, where you ordered me to await you."
"It must have been another, then; and if not to you to whom have I just been speaking?"
"Most certainly to the other. Monseigneur; to my double, my ghost."
"Poor Martin!" said Gabriel, compassionately, "are you in pain? Doesn't your head ache? Perhaps we have walked too far in the hot sun."
"Oh, yes!" said Martin-Guerre, "I see that you fancy that I am wandering, do you not? But a sure proof that I am not mistaken, Monseigneur, is that I don't know a single word of the orders that you think you gave me."
"You must have forgotten them, Martin," said Gabriel, gently. "Well, then, I will repeat them, my good fellow. I told you to go and wait for me with the flags in the Rue St. Antoine at the corner of the Rue St. Catherine. Jérôme will accompany you, and I will keep Christopher with me; don't you remember now?"
"Pardon, Monseigneur; but how can you expect me to remember what I never knew?"
"At all events, you know it now, Martin," said Gabriel. "Come, let us take our horses again at the gates, where our people ought to be waiting with them, and then be off at once. To the Tournelles!"
"I obey, Monseigneur. The amount of it is that you have two squires; but I am very glad at least that I have not two masters."
The lists for the formal celebration had been laid out across the Rue St. Antoine from the Tournelles to the royal stables. They were in the form of a large square, bordered on each side by scaffolding filled with spectators. At one end were the queen and the court; at the other end was the entrance to the lists where the participants in the games were waiting; the general public filled the two remaining galleries.
When, after the marriage ceremony and the banquet which immediately succeeded it were at an end, the queen and court, about three in the afternoon, took their places on the seats reserved for them, vivas and shouts of joy resounded on all sides.
But this noisy jubilation caused the fête to be marred by an accident at its very beginning. The horse of Monsieur d'Avallon, one of the captains of the Guards, terrified by the uproar, reared and leaped into the arena, and his rider, unhorsed by the shock, hit his head a terrible blow against one of the wooden barriers which made the enclosure, and he was taken up half dead, and given over to the care of the surgeons in an almost hopeless condition.
The king was much moved by this sad casualty; but his passion for games and jousting soon got the better of his sorrow.
"Poor Monsieur d'Avallon," said he, "and such a devoted subject! Let us hope at least that he will be well looked after."
And then he added,—
"Come! the races for the ring can begin at any time."
The game of the ring of that epoch was much more complicated and difficult than the one that we know. The crutch from which the ring was suspended was placed almost two thirds of the way down the lists. It was necessary to ride at a hand gallop the first third, and at a full gallop the second third, and while going at this high rate of speed to carry off the ring on the end of the lance. But the lance must not be allowed to touch the body anywhere; it must be held horizontally with the elbow, high above the head. The game was ended by riding around the arena at a trot. The prize was a diamond ring offered by the queen.
Henri II., on his white steed, magnificently caparisoned in gold and velvet, was the most superb and most graceful cavalier of all. He carried and handled his lance with admirable grace and precision, and hardly ever missed the ring. But Monsieur de Vieilleville pressed him close; and there was a moment when it seemed as if the prize would go to him. He had two rings more than the king, and but three remained to be taken; but Monsieur de Vieilleville, like an accomplished courtier, missed them all three by extraordinary ill luck, and the prize was awarded to the king.
As he received the ring, he hesitated a moment, and his look turned regretfully toward Diane de Poitiers; but the gift was offered by the queen, and it was his bounden duty to present it to the new dauphine, Mary Stuart, the bride of the day.
"Well!" he asked, in the interval which followed this first contest, "are there any hopes of saving Monsieur d'Avallon's life?"
"He still breathes, Sire," was the reply; "but there is almost no chance that he will ever regain consciousness."
"Alas!" said the king, "let us have the gladiators' contest now."
This gladiators' contest was a mock combat with passades and manœuvring, quite new, and a great curiosity in those days; but which would have no special interest, probably, for the imagination of the spectator of our time, or of the readers of this book. We beg to refer to the pages of Brantôme those who are curious to read about the marches and counter-marches of these twelve gladiators, "of whom six were clad in white satin, and six in crimson satin, made up according to the style in vogue in ancient Rome." All of which should be of great historical interest in an age when local coloring had not been invented.
This fine contest came to an end amid general applause, and the necessary preparations were made for beginning the stake-race.
At the court end of the lists several stakes five or six feet long were stuck into the earth at regular intervals. The rules required that the contestants should ride at a hand-gallop in and out among these improvised trees in every direction, without missing or omitting a single one. The prize was a bracelet of marvellous workmanship.
Out of eight courses that were run, the honors remained with the king in three and with Monsieur le Colonel-Général de Bonnivet in a like number. The ninth and last was to be the decisive one; but Monsieur de Bonnivet was no less respectful than Monsieur de Vieilleville had been; and notwithstanding the very willing disposition of his horse, he came in third, and again Henri won the prize.
This time the king sat down beside Diane de Poitiers, and put upon her arm without concealment the bracelet he had received.
The queen turned pale with rage.
Gaspard de Tavannes, who was just behind her, leaned forward and whispered in Catherine de Médicis's ear,—
"Madame, follow me with your eyes, and see what I am going to do."
"And what is it that you are going to do, my good Gaspard?" said the queen.
"To cut off Madame de Valentinois's nose," replied Tavannes, with the utmost gravity and seriousness.
He was just about to leave her, when Catherine, half terrified and half delighted, held him back.
"But, Gaspard, do you realize that it will be your destruction?"
"I do, Madame; but I will save the king and France!"
"Thanks, Gaspard," replied Catherine; "you are a valiant friend no less than a rough soldier. But I command you to be still, Gaspard, and have patience."
"Patience." In truth, that was the watchword by which Catherine de Médicis seemed to have ordered her life up to that time. She, who subsequently was so forward to take her place in the very first rank, had not yet appeared to have any ambition to emerge from the obscurity of the second. She bided her time. And yet she was at this time in the full bloom of a beauty of which Sieur de Bourdeille has left us most minute details; but she sedulously avoided all parade, and it is probably to this modesty that she owed the utter absence of slander in relation to her during her husband's lifetime. There was no one but the brute of a constable who would have dared to call the king's attention to the fact that the ten children that Catherine de Médicis had bestowed on France after ten years of sterility were very little like their father. No other person would have been bold enough to breathe a word against the queen.
It was always Catherine's custom to appear, as she did on this day, not even to notice the attentions which the king lavished on Diane de Poitiers in the sight and bearing of the whole court. After she had soothed the fiery indignation of the marshal she went on talking with her ladies of the races that had taken place, and of the address displayed by Henri.