In these days, however, we can readily believe that Charles IX. died a natural death. His excesses, his manner of life, the sudden development of his faculties, his last spasmodic attempt to recover the reins of power, his desire to live, the abuse of his vital strength, his final sufferings and last pleasures, all prove to an impartial mind that he died of consumption, a disease scarcely studied at that time, and very little understood, the symptoms of which might, not unnaturally, lead Charles IX. to believe himself poisoned. The real poison which his mother gave him was in the fatal counsels of the courtiers whom she placed about him, — men who led him to waste his intellectual as well as his physical vigor, thus bringing on a malady which was purely fortuitous and not constitutional. Under these harrowing circumstances, Charles IX. displayed a gloomy majesty of demeanor which was not unbecoming to a king. The solemnity of his secret thoughts was reflected on his face, the olive tones of which he inherited from his mother. This ivory pallor, so fine by candlelight, so suited to the expression of melancholy thought, brought out vigorously the fire of the blue-black eyes, which gazed from their thick and heavy lids with the keen perception our fancy lends to kings, their color being a cloak for dissimulation. Those eyes were terrible, — especially from the movement of their brows, which he could raise or lower at will on his bald, high forehead. His nose was broad and long, thick at the end, — the nose of a lion; his ears were large, his hair sandy, his lips blood-red, like those of all consumptives, the upper lip thin and sarcastic, the lower one firm, and full enough to give an impression of the noblest qualities of the heart. The wrinkles of his brow, the youth of which was killed by dreadful cares, inspired the strongest interest; remorse, caused by the uselessness of the Saint-Bartholomew, accounted for some, but there were two others on that face which would have been eloquent indeed to any student whose premature genius had led him to divine the principles of modern physiology. These wrinkles made a deeply indented furrow going from each cheek-bone to each corner of the mouth, revealing the inward efforts of an organization wearied by the toil of thought and the violent excitements of the body. Charles IX. was worn-out. If policy did not stifle remorse in the breasts of those who sit beneath the purple, the queen-mother, looking at her own work, would surely have felt it. Had Catherine foreseen the effect of her intrigues upon her son, would she have recoiled from them? What a fearful spectacle was this! A king born vigorous, and now so feeble; a mind powerfully tempered, shaken by distrust; a man clothed with authority, conscious of no support; a firm mind brought to the pass of having lost all confidence in itself! His warlike valor had changed by degrees to ferocity; his discretion to deceit; the refined and delicate love of a Valois was now a mere quenchless thirst for pleasure. This perverted and misjudged great man, with all the many facets of a noble soul worn-out, — a king without power, a generous heart without a friend, dragged hither and thither by a thousand conflicting intrigues, — presented the melancholy spectacle of a youth, only twenty-four years old, disillusioned of life, distrusting everybody and everything, now resolving to risk all, even his life, on a last effort. For some time past he had fully understood his royal mission, his power, his resources, and the obstacles which his mother opposed to the pacification of the kingdom; but alas! this light now burned in a shattered lantern.
Two men, whom Charles IX. loved sufficiently to protect under circumstances of great danger, — Jean Chapelain, his physician, whom he saved from the Saint-Bartholomew, and Ambroise Pare, with whom he went to dine when Pare’s enemies were accusing him of intending to poison the king, — had arrived this evening in haste from the provinces, recalled by the queen-mother. Both were watching their master anxiously. A few courtiers spoke to them in a low voice; but the men of science made guarded answers, carefully concealing the fatal verdict which was in their minds. Every now and then the king would raise his heavy eyelids and give his mother a furtive look which he tried to conceal from those about him. Suddenly he sprang up and stood before the fireplace.
“Monsieur de Chiverni,” he said abruptly, “why do you keep the title of chancellor of Anjou and Poland? Are you in our service, or in that of our brother?”
“I am all yours, sire,” replied Chiverni, bowing low.
“Then come to me to-morrow; I intend to send you to Spain. Very strange things are happening at the court of Madrid, gentlemen.”
The king looked at his wife and flung himself back into his chair.
“Strange things are happening everywhere,” said the Marechal de Tavannes, one of the friends of the king’s youth, in a low voice.
The king rose again and led this companion of his youthful pleasures apart into the embrasure of the window at the corner of the room, saying, when they were out of hearing: —
“I want you. Remain here when the others go. I shall know to-night whether you are for me or against me. Don’t look astonished. I am about to burst my bonds. My mother is the cause of all the evil about me. Three months hence I shall be king indeed, or dead. Silence, if you value your life! You will have my secret, you and Solern and Villeroy only. If it is betrayed, it will be by one of you three. Don’t keep near me; go and pay your court to my mother. Tell her I am dying, and that you don’t regret it, for I am only a poor creature.”
The king was leaning on the shoulder of his old favorite, and pretending to tell him of his ailments, in order to mislead the inquisitive eyes about him; then, not wishing to make his aversion too visible, he went up to his wife and mother and talked with them, calling Birago to their side.
Just then Pinard, one of the secretaries of State, glided like an eel through the door and along the wall until he reached the queen-mother, in whose ear he said a few words, to which she replied by an affirmative sign. The king did not ask his mother the meaning of this conference, but he returned to his seat and kept silence, darting terrible looks of anger and suspicion all about him.
This little circumstance seemed of enormous consequence in the eyes of the courtiers; and, in truth, so marked an exercise of power by the queen-mother, without reference to the king, was like a drop of water overflowing the cup. Queen Elizabeth and the Comtesse de Fiesque now retired, but the king paid no attention to their movements, though the queen-mother rose and attended her daughter-in-law to the door; after which the courtiers, understanding that their presence was unwelcome, took their leave. By ten o’clock no one remained in the hall but a few intimates, — the two Gondis, Tavannes, Solern, Birago, the king, and the queen-mother.
The king sat plunged in the blackest melancholy. The silence was oppressive. Catherine seemed embarrassed. She wished to leave the room, and waited for the king to escort her to the door; but he still continued obstinately lost in thought. At last she rose to bid him good-night, and Charles IX. was forced to do likewise. As she took his arm and made a few steps toward the door, she bent to his ear and whispered: —
“Monsieur, I have important things to say to you.”
Passing a mirror on her way, she glanced into it and made a sign with her eyes to the two Gondis, which escaped the king’s notice, for he was at the moment exchanging looks of intelligence with the Comte de Solern and Villeroy. Tavannes was thoughtful.
“Sire,” said the latter, coming out of his reverie, “I think you are royally ennuyed; don’t you ever amuse yourself now? Vive Dieu! have you forgotten the times when we used to vagabondize about the streets at night?”
“Ah! those were the good old times!” said the king, with a sigh.
“Why not bring them back?” said Birago, glancing significantly at the Gondis as he took his leave.
“Yes, I always think of those days with pleasure,” said Albert de Gondi, Duc de Retz.
“I’d like to see you on the roofs once more, monsieur le duc,” remarked Tavannes. “Damned Italian cat! I wish he might break his neck!” he added in a whisper to the king.
“I don’t know which of us two could climb the quickest in these days,” replied de Gondi; “but one thing I do
know, that neither of us fears to die.”
“Well, sire, will you start upon a frolic in the streets to-night, as you did in the days of your youth?” said the other Gondi, master of the Wardrobe.
The days of his youth! so at twenty-four years of age the wretched king seemed no longer young to any one, not even to his flatterers!
Tavannes and his master now reminded each other, like two school-boys, of certain pranks they had played in Paris, and the evening’s amusement was soon arranged. The two Italians, challenged to climb roofs, and jump from one to another across alleys and streets, wagered that they would follow the king wherever he went. They and Tavannes went off to change their clothes. The Comte de Solern, left alone with the king, looked at him in amazement. Though the worthy German, filled with compassion for the hapless position of the king of France, was honor and fidelity itself, he was certainly not quick of perception. Charles IX., surrounded by hostile persons, unable to trust any one, not even his wife (who had been guilty of some indiscretions, unaware as she was that his mother and his servants were his enemies), had been fortunate enough to find in Monsieur de Solern a faithful friend in whom he could place entire confidence. Tavannes and Villeroy were trusted with only a part of the king’s secrets. The Comte de Solern alone knew the whole of the plan which he was now about to carry out. This devoted friend was also useful to his master, in possessing a body of discreet and affectionate followers, who blindly obeyed his orders. He commanded a detachment of the archers of the guards, and for the last few days he had been sifting out the men who were faithfully attached to the king, in order to make a company of tried men when the need came. The king took thought of everything.
“Why are you surprised, Solern?” he said. “You know very well I need a pretext to be out to-night. It is true, I have Madame de Belleville, but this is better; for who knows whether my mother does not hear of all that goes on at Marie’s?”
Monsieur de Solern, who was to follow the king, asked if he might not take a few of his Germans to patrol the streets, and Charles consented. About eleven o’clock the king, who was now very gay, set forth with his three courtiers, — namely, Tavannes and the two Gondis.
“I’ll go and take my little Marie by surprise,” said Charles IX. to Tavannes, “as we pass through the rue de l’Autruche.” That street being on the way to the rue Saint-Honore, it would have been strange indeed for the king to pass the house of his love without stopping.
Looking out for a chance of mischief, — a belated burgher to frighten, or a watchman to thrash — the king went along with his nose in the air, watching all the lighted windows to see what was happening, and striving to hear the conversations. But alas! he found his good city of Paris in a state of deplorable tranquillity. Suddenly, as he passed the house of a perfumer named Rene, who supplied the court, the king, noticing a strong light from a window in the roof, was seized by one of those apparently hasty inspirations which, to some minds, suggest a previous intention.
This perfumer was strongly suspected of curing rich uncles who thought themselves ill. The court laid at his door the famous “Elixir of Inheritance,” and even accused him of poisoning Jeanne d’Albret, mother of Henri of Navarre, who was buried (in spite of Charles IX.’s positive order) without her head being opened. For the last two months the king had sought some way of sending a spy into Rene’s laboratory, where, as he was well aware, Cosmo Ruggiero spent much time. The king intended, if anything suspicious were discovered, to proceed in the matter alone, without the assistance of the police or law, with whom, as he well knew, his mother would counteract him by means of either corruption or fear.
It is certain that during the sixteenth century, and the years that preceded and followed it, poisoning was brought to a perfection unknown to modern chemistry, as history itself will prove. Italy, the cradle of modern science, was, at this period, the inventor and mistress of these secrets, many of which are now lost. Hence the reputation for that crime which weighed for the two following centuries on Italy. Romance-writers have so greatly abused it that wherever they have introduced Italians into their tales they have almost always made them play the part of assassins and poisoners.[*] If Italy then had the traffic in subtle poisons which some historians attribute to her, we should remember her supremacy in the art of toxicology, as we do her pre-eminence in all other human knowledge and art in which she took the lead in Europe. The crimes of that period were not her crimes specially. She served the passions of the age, just as she built magnificent edifices, commanded armies, painted noble frescos, sang romances, loved queens, delighted kings, devised ballets and fetes, and ruled all policies. The horrible art of poisoning reached to such a pitch in Florence that a woman, dividing a peach with a duke, using a golden fruit-knife with one side of its blade poisoned, ate one half of the peach herself and killed the duke with the other half. A pair of perfumed gloves were known to have infiltrated mortal illness through the pores of the skin. Poison was instilled into bunches of natural roses, and the fragrance, when inhaled, gave death. Don John of Austria was poisoned, it was said, by a pair of boots.
[*] Written sixty-six years ago. — Tr.
Charles IX. had good reason to be curious in the matter; we know already the dark suspicions and beliefs which now prompted him to surprise the perfumer Rene at his work.
The old fountain at the corner of the rue de l’Arbre-See, which has since been rebuilt, offered every facility for the royal vagabonds to climb upon the roof of a house not far from that of Rene, which the king wished to visit. Charles, followed by his companions, began to ramble over the roofs, to the great terror of the burghers awakened by the tramp of these false thieves, who called to them in saucy language, listened to their talk, and even pretended to force an entrance. When the Italians saw the king and Tavannes threading their way among the roofs of the house next to that of Rene, Albert de Gondi sat down, declaring that he was tired, and his brother followed his example.
“So much the better,” thought the king, glad to leave his spies behind him.
Tavannes began to laugh at the two Florentines, left sitting alone in the midst of deep silence, in a place where they had nought but the skies above them, and the cats for auditors. But the brothers made use of their position to exchange thoughts they would not dare to utter on any other spot in the world, — thoughts inspired by the events of the evening.
“Albert,” said the Grand-master to the marechal, “the king will get the better of the queen-mother; we are doing a foolish thing for our own interests to stay by those of Catherine. If we go over to the king now, when he is searching everywhere for support against her and for able men to serve him, we shall not be driven away like wild beasts when the queen-mother is banished, imprisoned, or killed.”
“You wouldn’t get far with such ideas, Charles,” replied the marechal, gravely. “You’d follow the king into the grave, and he won’t live long; he is ruined by excesses. Cosmo Ruggiero predicts his death within a year.”
“The dying boar has often killed the huntsman,” said Charles de Gondi. “This conspiracy of the Duc d’Alencon, the king of Navarre, and the Prince de Conde, with whom La Mole and Coconnas are negotiating, is more dangerous than useful. In the first place, the king of Navarre, whom the queen-mother hoped to catch in the very act, distrusts her, and declines to run his head into the noose. He means to profit by the conspiracy without taking any of its risks. Besides, the notion now is to put the crown on the head of the Duc d’Alencon, who has turned Calvinist.”
“Budelone! but don’t you see that this conspiracy enables the queen-mother to find out what the Huguenots can do with the Duc d’Alencon, and what the king can do with the Huguenots? — for the king is even now negotiating with them; but he’ll be finely pilloried to-morrow, when Catherine reveals to him the counter-conspiracy which will neutralize all his projects.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Charles de Gondi, “by dint of profiting by our advice she’s clever and stronger than we! Well, that�
��s all right.”
“All right for the Duc d’Anjou, who prefers to be king of France rather than king of Poland; I am going now to explain the matter to him.”
“When do you start, Albert?”
“To-morrow. I am ordered to accompany the king of Poland; and I expect to join him in Venice, where the patricians have taken upon themselves to amuse and delay him.”
“You are prudence itself!”
“Che bestia! I swear to you there is not the slightest danger for either of us in remaining at court. If there were, do you think I would go away? I should stay by the side of our kind mistress.”
“Kind!” exclaimed the Grand-master; “she is a woman to drop all her instruments the moment she finds them heavy.”
“O coglione! you pretend to be a soldier, and you fear death! Every business has its duties, and we have ours in making our fortune. By attaching ourselves to kings, the source of all temporal power which protects, elevates, and enriches families, we are forced to give them as devoted a love as that which burns in the hearts of martyrs toward heaven. We must suffer in their cause; when they sacrifice us to the interests of their throne we may perish, for we die as much for ourselves as for them, but our name and our families perish not. Ecco!”
“You are right as to yourself, Albert; for they have given you the ancient title and duchy of de Retz.”
“Now listen to me,” replied his brother. “The queen hopes much from the cleverness of the Ruggieri; she expects them to bring the king once more under her control. When Charles refused to use Rene’s perfumes any longer the wary woman knew at once on whom his suspicions really rested. But who can tell the schemes that are in his mind? Perhaps he is only hesitating as to what fate he shall give his mother; he hates her, you know. He said a few words about it to his wife; she repeated them to Madame de Fiesque, and Madame de Fiesque told the queen-mother. Since then the king has kept away from his wife.”
Works of Honore De Balzac Page 1237
