CHAPTER XV
CHANGE OF TEMPERATURE
In accordance with Catherine de Médicis's wish, the deputies found the most perfect unanimity of sentiment prevailing at the Louvre. François II., his wife at his right hand, and his mother at his left, presented the Duc de Guise to them as lieutenant-general of the kingdom, the Cardinal of Lorraine as superintendent of the finances, and François Olivier as keeper of the seals. Le Balafré was triumphant, the queen-mother smiled upon his triumph, and everything went off as smoothly as possible; and no suspicion of a misunderstanding appeared to cast a shadow upon the fortunate auspices which inaugurated this reign, which bade fair to be as long as its opening was happy.
One of the councillors of the parliament apparently thought that a suggestion of clemency would not be ill-timed amid so much happiness, and as he passed before the king with a group of others he cried,—
"Mercy for Anne Dubourg!"
But the good councillor forgot how zealous a Catholic the new minister was. Le Balafré, as his habit was, pretended to have misunderstood; and without going through the formality of consulting the king or the queen-mother, so sure was he of their approbation, he replied in a loud, firm voice,—
"Yes, Messieurs, yes; the prosecution of Anne Dubourg and those accused with him will be at once taken up and carried to its close, never fear!"
With this assurance, the members of parliament left the Louvre, sad or joyous according to their respective opinions, but all convinced that never were the governing powers more united in sentiment and better pleased with one another than those to whom they had just paid their respects.
After their departure, the Duc de Guise still noticed upon Catherine's lips the smile which every time that she glanced at him seemed to be stereotyped there.
François II. rose from his seat, tired out with the formalities he had gone through.
"At last we are done for to-day, I trust, with business and ceremony," said he. "Mother, uncle, may we not one of these days leave Paris for a while, and pass the balance of our period of mourning at Blois, for instance, on the banks of the Loire, that Mary loves so dearly? Oh, can we not, tell me?"
"Oh, do try to make it possible!" said Mary Stuart. "In these lovely summer days Paris is so wearisome and the country so charming!"
"Monsieur de Guise will attend to that," said Catherine. "But your labors are not yet quite at an end for to-day, my son; before I leave you to yourself I must ask for half an hour more of your time, for you have a sacred duty yet to perform."
"What is it, Mother?" asked François.
"A duty which devolves upon you as the guardian of public justice, Sire," said Catherine,—"the same one in which Monsieur le Connétable flattered himself that he would anticipate me; but a wife's justice is keener than a friend's."
"What does she mean?" the Duc de Guise asked himself, in alarm.
"Sire, your august father died a violent death. The man who dealt the blow either is simply an unfortunate wretch or a culprit. For my own part, I incline to the latter supposition; but in any event the question is worth the trouble of solving. If we treat such an attack with indifference, without even taking pains to ascertain whether it was involuntary or not, what risks do not all kings run,—you, above all, Sire? Therefore an inquiry into what is called the 'accident' of the 30th of June is essential."
"But in that case," said Le Balafré, "it would be necessary to order Monsieur de Montgommery's arrest at once, Madame, as a regicide."
"Monsieur de Montgommery has been under arrest since morning," said Catherine.
"Under arrest! And upon whose order, pray!" cried the Duc de Guise.
"Upon mine," replied the queen-mother. "There was no regularly constituted authority at that time, and I took it upon myself to issue that order. Monsieur de Montgommery might take flight at any moment, and it was of the utmost importance to prevent it. He has been brought to the Louvre without disturbance or excitement. I ask you, my son, to question him."
Without waiting for permission, she touched a bell, as the Duc de Guise had done two hours earlier. But this time Le Balafré scowled heavily; a storm was brewing.
"Order the prisoner to be brought hither," said Catherine to the usher who appeared.
There was an embarrassing silence when the usher had left the room. The king seemed undecided, Mary Stuart anxious, and the Duc de Guise very much displeased. The queen-mother alone affected an air of dignity and assurance.
The Duc de Guise alone broke the silence with these words,—
"It seems to me that if Monsieur de Montgommery had desired to make his escape, nothing would have been easier during the last fortnight."
Catherine had no time to reply, for Gabriel was led in at that moment.
He was pale but composed. That morning very early four armed domestics had come to seek him at his house, to the great dismay of Aloyse. He had accompanied them without any attempt at resistance, and since then had awaited events without apparent anxiety.
When Gabriel entered the apartment with a firm step and tranquil bearing, the young king changed color, whether from emotion at sight of him who had stricken his father to death, or from alarm at having for the first time to perform the functions of dispenser of justice of which his mother had spoken,—in very truth the most awe-inspiring duty which the Lord has imposed upon the kings of the earth.
Consequently, it was with a scarcely audible voice that he said to Catherine, turning toward her,—
"Speak, Madame; it is for you to speak."
Catherine de Médicis made haste to avail herself of this permission. She now believed herself to be certain of her omnipotence with François and his minister. She addressed Gabriel in a haughty, magisterial tone.
"Monsieur," said she, "we have thought fit, before any other steps were taken, to cause you to appear before his Majesty in person, and to question you with our own lips, so that there may be no necessity of offering you any reparation if we find you innocent, and that justice may be the more prompt and effective if we find you guilty. Extraordinary crimes demand extraordinary tribunals. Are you ready to reply to our questions, Monsieur?"
"I am ready to listen to you, Madame," was Gabriel's reply.
Catherine was rather irritated than convinced by the calm demeanor of the man whom she had bitterly hated even before he had made her a widow,—whom she hated the more for all the love which for one moment she had felt for him. She continued with an offensive bitterness in her tone,—
"Several curious circumstances conspire to throw suspicion on you, Monsieur, and to accuse you,—your long absences from Paris, your voluntary exile from court for nearly two years, your presence and your mysterious demeanor at the fatal tournament, your very refusal to enter the lists against the king. How did it happen that you, who are accustomed to these sports and passages-at-arms, omitted the ordinary and necessary precaution of throwing away the shaft of your lance as you were riding back? How do you explain such strange forgetfulness? Answer! What have you to say to all this?"
"Nothing, Madame," said Gabriel.
"Nothing?" said the queen-mother, completely taken aback.
"Absolutely nothing."
"What!" rejoined Catherine; "you confess, then? You avow that—"
"I neither avow nor confess anything, Madame."
"Oho! then you deny?"
"Nor do I deny anything. I simply say nothing."
Mary Stuart could not restrain a movement of approbation. François II. listened and looked on with eager curiosity; and the Duc de Guise remained mute and motionless.
Catherine began again in a tone which became momentarily more and more biting,—
"Monsieur, be careful! You would do better, perhaps, to try to defend or justify your action. Understand one thing: Monsieur de Montmorency, who can, in case of need, be heard as a witness, declares that to his certain knowledge you might well have certain grievances against the king, some grounds for personal enmity."
"What were they, Madame? Did Monsieur de Montmorency say what they were?"
"Not yet, but doubtless he will tell."
"Very well! let him tell them, if he dares!" retorted Gabriel, with a proud but quiet smile.
"So you refuse altogether to speak, do you?" Catherine persisted.
"I refuse."
"Do you know that the torture may bring your disdainful silence to terms?"
"I do not think it, Madame."
"By proceeding in this way, you risk your life, I warn you."
"I will not defend it, Madame. It is no longer worth the trouble."
"You are fully determined, then, Monsieur? Not a word?"
"Not one single word, Madame," said Gabriel, shaking his head.
"And quite right, too!" cried Mary Stuart, as if carried away by an irresistible impulse. "Noble and grand this silence is! It is the course of a gentleman who does not even choose to repel suspicion for fear that suspicion may fall upon him. I say, for my part, that this very refusal to speak is the most eloquent and convincing of justifications!"
During this outburst the old queen was gazing at the younger one with a stern and angry expression.
"Yes, I may be wrong to speak thus," continued Mary; "but I care not! I speak as I feel and as I think. My heart will never allow my lips to remain closed. My impressions and my emotions must find vent. My instinct is the only policy that I recognize, and it cries out to me now that Monsieur d'Exmès never conceived and executed such a crime in cold blood, but that he was only the blind instrument of fate, and believes himself to be above any other supposition, and therefore scorns to justify himself. My instinct tells me this, and I give it voice. Why not?"
The young king gazed joyfully and affectionately at his mignonne, as he called her, while she expressed herself with an eloquence and animation which made her twenty times more fascinating than usual.
Gabriel cried in a touched and penetrating voice,—
"Oh, thanks, Madame! I thank you! And you have done well; not on my account, but your own, you have done well to act thus."
"Indeed, I know it," replied Mary, with the most gracious accent that one could dream of.
"Well, have we reached the end of this sentimental childishness!" cried Catherine, indignantly.
"No, Madame," said Mary Stuart, wounded in her self-respect as a young wife and a young queen, "no; if you have made an end of your childishness, we, who are young, thank God! are only just beginning. Am I not right, my gentle Sire?" she added, turning prettily toward her youthful spouse.
The king did not reply in words, but touched with his lips the ends of the lovely fingers Mary held out to him.
Catherine's wrath, which she had restrained up to that time, now burst forth; she had not yet succeeded in accustoming to treat as king a son who was still almost a child; moreover, she believed herself to be secure in the support of the Duc de Guise, who had not declared himself thus far, and whom she did not know to be the devoted patron, and, we might almost say, a tacit accomplice of the Comte de Montgommery. Thus she dared to give free vent to her ire.
"Ah, this is the way matters stand!" she said in reply to Mary Stuart's last words, which were slightly contemptuous. "I claim a right, and I am laughed at. I ask, in all moderation, that the murderer of Henri II. may at least be interrogated: and when he declines to justify his act, his silence is approved,—nay, more, it is even applauded. Very well! since things have come to such a pass, away with cowardly reserve and half-measures! I proclaim myself aloud as the accuser of the Comte de Montgommery. Will the king refuse justice to his mother because she is his mother? We will examine the constable, and Madame de Poitiers, too, if necessary! The truth shall be brought to light; and if secrets of State are involved in this affair, we will have the judgment and sentence kept secret. But the death of a king treacherously murdered before the eyes of all his subjects shall, at any price, be avenged."
During this harangue of the queen-mother, a sad and resigned smile played about Gabriel's lips.
He recalled, in his own mind, the last two lines of Nostradamus's prediction,—
"Enfin, l'aimera, puis las! le tuera,
Dame du roy."
And so the prophecy, thus far so faithfully fulfilled, was to be accomplished to the end! Catherine would cause the condemnation and death of him whom she had loved! Gabriel expected it, and was ready for it.
However, the Florentine, thinking perhaps that she might have gone too far, checked herself a moment; and turning with her most gracious manner to the Duc de Guise, who was still silent, she said,—
"But you say nothing, Monsieur de Guise. You are of my opinion, are you not?"
"No, Madame," replied Le Balafré, slowly; "no, I confess that I am not of your opinion, and that is why I said nothing."
"Ah, you too turn against me!" rejoined Catherine, in a hollow, threatening voice.
"I am so unfortunate as to disagree with you in this matter, Madame," said the duke. "However, you see that until now I have been heartily with you, and that in everything concerning the constable and Madame de Valentinois I entirely agreed with your plans."
"Yes, because they served your own," muttered Catherine. "I see it now when it is too late."
"But as for Monsieur de Montgommery," continued Le Balafré, calmly, "I cannot conscientiously share in your feeling, Madame. It seems to me impossible to hold a brave and loyal gentleman answerable for a pure accident. Prosecution would result in a triumph for him, and his accusers would be confounded. And concerning the risks to which, in your opinion, Madame, the lives of our kings would be exposed by an indulgent mode of dealing which prefers to believe in misfortune rather than in crime, why, I am convinced, on the other hand, that the real danger would lie in making the people too familiar with the idea that royal lives are not held in such sacred reverence as they have supposed."
"Doubtless these are very exalted political maxims," retorted Catherine, bitterly.
"I consider them true and in good sense, at all events, Madame," added Le Balafré; "and for all these reasons, and others besides, I am of opinion that what we ought now to do is to apologize to Monsieur de Montgommery for this arbitrary arrest, which happily has been kept secret,—more happily for us than for him; and when our apologies have been accepted, we have only to restore him to the world, free and honorable and honored as he was yesterday, and as he will be to-morrow and forever after. I have spoken."
"Superb!" sneered Catherine.
Turning sharply to the young king, she asked,—
"And does this fine opinion that we have just listened to happen to coincide with yours, my son?"
The demeanor of Mary Stuart, who was bestowing a grateful glance and smile upon the Duc de Guise, left François II. no room for hesitation.
"Yes, Mother," he replied, "I confess that my uncle's opinion is mine."
"And so you betray your father's memory, do you?" retorted Catherine, in a deep voice which she struggled to render unmoved.
"On the other hand, Madame, I respect it," said François. "My father's first words after his wound were to request that Monsieur de Montgommery should not be molested, were they not? And did he not, in one of his rare intervals of consciousness while he lay dying, repeat that request, or rather command? Allow his son, Madame, to obey him."
"Very well! and you thrust aside at the very beginning your mother's devout will—"
"Madame," interrupted the Duc de Guise, "allow me to remind you of your own words, 'only one will in the kingdom.'"
"But I also said, Monsieur, that of the minister should always be subordinate to that of the king," cried Catherine.
"Yes, Madame," observed Mary Stuart, "but you added, the king's will should be enlightened by those persons who are interested only in his glory and his welfare. Now, no one is more interested than I, his wife, in either of those subjects, I fancy; and I advise him, as my uncle De Guise does, to believe rather in the loyalty than in the perfidy of a tried and valiant subject, and not to begin his reign with an iniquitous act."
"Do you yield to such suggestions as these, my son?" Catherine asked once more.
"I yield to the voice of my conscience, Mother," replied the young king, with more firmness than could have been expected of him.
"Is this your last word, François?" continued Catherine. "Be careful! If you refuse your mother the first request that she makes of you; if you thus assume the attitude of an independent master toward her, and act like the docile instrument of others,—you may reign alone, with or without your faithful ministers. I will have nothing more to do with anything that concerns king or kingdom, but I will deprive you of the benefit of my experience and devotion. I will return to my retirement, and abandon you, my son. Consider, consider well!"
"We should deplore her retirement, but would resign ourselves to bear it," murmured Mary Stuart, in a low voice which none but François heard.
But the amorous, imprudent youth, like a faithful echo, repeated aloud,—
"We should deplore your retirement, but would resign ourselves to bear it, Madame."
"Ah, very good!" was all Catherine said.
Then she continued in a voice of suppressed rage, pointing at Gabriel,—
"As for that villain, I shall meet with him again, sooner or later."
"I know it, Madame," replied the young man, whose mind was still dwelling on the horoscope.
But Catherine heard him not.
In a perfect fury of wrath, she included the charming young king and queen and the Duc de Guise in a baleful glance, viperish and awful,—a fatal glance, wherein one might have read the promise of all the crimes dictated by Catherine's ambition and the whole sombre history of the last kings of the Valois line.
Without another word she left the room.