by Eugène Sue
The gay guffaws of the beautiful sinners were interrupted by the solemn entrance of their governess.
“Silence!” she commanded. “Silence, young ladies! Her Majesty is close by, in conference with Monseigneur the Cardinal.”
“Oh, dear Countess!” answered Blanche of Verceil, endeavoring to smother the outbursts of her laughter. “If you only knew what a wicked pasquil we have just read! According to the author it would seem that we emerge from our dormitory like the goddess Truth out of her fountain, or with as scant clothing on our limbs as Madam Eve in her paradise.”
“Less noise, you crazy lasses! Less noise!” ordered the governess; and addressing Anna Bell: “Come, dearest, the Queen wishes to have a talk with you after her conference with his Excellency the Cardinal. You are to wait for her summons in a cabinet, which is separated from the Queen’s apartment by the little corridor. When you hear her bell ring three times, the usual summons, you are to go in.”
Anna Bell went out with the governess, leaving her lightheaded and lighthearted companions in the room laughing and exchanging witticisms upon the pasquils.
CHAPTER II.
ANNA BELL.
CATHERINE DE MEDICI and Cardinal Charles of Lorraine were in the midst of a conversation that started immediately after supper. The prelate, complaisant, sly and attentive to the slightest word of the Italian woman, showed himself alternately reserved and familiar, according to the turn that the conversation took. The Queen, on the other hand, intent, not so much upon what the retainer of the Guises said, as upon fathoming what he suppressed, at once hated and feared him, and sought to surprise upon his face the hidden secrets of his thoughts. Both the one and the other stood on their guard, the two accomplices in intrigue and crime vying with each other in dissimulation and perfidy, the Italian woman crafty, the prelate cautious.
“Monsignor Cardinal,” remarked Catherine De Medici with a touch of irony in her tone, “you remind me at this moment — you must excuse the comparison, I am a huntress you know—”
“Your Majesty unites all the deities — Juno on her throne, Diana in the woods, Venus in her temple of Cytheria—”
“Mercy, Monsignor Cardinal, let us drop those mythological queens. They are old, they have lived their time — Diana, with the rest of them; they now inhabit the empyrean.”
The pointed allusion to his amours with old Diana of Poitiers, Duchess of Valentinois, stung the haughty prelate to the quick. He meant to give tit for tat, and, in his turn hinting at his present amours with the Queen herself, he replied:
“I perceive, madam, that the death of the Duchess of Valentinois has not yet disarmed your jealousy. And yet, I feel hope re-rising in my heart—”
Catherine De Medici had yielded herself to the prelate out of political calculation, the same as he himself had laid siege to her out of political ambition. The Italian woman affected not to have understood the Cardinal’s hint at their intimate relations, and darting upon him her viper’s glance, proceeded:
“As I was saying, monsignor, when I begged you to excuse a comparison which I borrow from falconry, your oratorical circumlocutions remind me of a falcon’s evolutions when he rises in the air to swoop down upon his prey. I have been searching through the mists of your discourse for the prey you are in pursuit of, and am unable to discover it. You induced me to join my son of Anjou in the army with the view of reviving the spirits of the Catholic chiefs. Meseems my faithful subjects should be sufficiently encouraged by the deaths of the Duke of Deux-Ponts, of Monsieur Condé, and of Dandelot, the brother of Coligny, — three of the most prominent chiefs of the Huguenot party, and all three carried off within a month. These are all fortunate events.”
“We see God’s hand in that, madam,” observed the Cardinal. “These three sudden deaths are providential. They are utterances from God.”
“‘Providential,’ as you say Monsignor Cardinal,” pursued the Queen. “Nevertheless, the Huguenots are pushing the campaign with great vigor, while the Catholic chiefs are flagging. You thought my presence at the camp of Roche-la-Belle would exert a favorable influence upon the fate of the campaign. Accordingly, I am on the way to join our army. Now, however, you indicate to me that this journey might lead to unexpected discoveries. You even dropped the word ‘treason.’ Once more I must say to you, Monsignor Cardinal, I see in all this the evolutions of the falcon, but not yet the prey that it threatens. In short, if there is treason, tell me where it lies. If there is a traitor, name him. Speak out plainly.”
“Very well, madam. There is a plot concocted by Marshal Tavannes. The revelation seems to cause your Majesty to start. I beg your leave to go into the details of the affair. You will then be instructed upon its purpose.”
“Monsignor Cardinal, no act of treason can surprise me. All I care to understand is the cause that brings the treason about. Please continue your revelations.”
“I have it from good authority that Marshal Tavannes is negotiating with Monsieur Coligny. In present circumstances, negotiations smack of treason.”
“And what do you presume, Monsignor Cardinal, is the purpose of the negotiations between Tavannes and Coligny?”
“To induce your Majesty’s son, the Duke of Anjou, to embrace the Reformation and join the Huguenots.”
“Is my son of Anjou supposed to be implicated in the plot? That, indeed, would mightily surprise me.”
“Yes, madam. The Emperor of Germany and Monsieur Coligny have promised to the Duke of Anjou, in case he consents to go over to the reformers, the sovereignty of the Low Countries, of Saintonge and of Poitou. They hope to drive the young Prince into open revolt against his reigning brother, his Majesty Charles IX.”
“Monsignor Cardinal, your insinuations, affecting as they do a son of the royal house of France, are of so grave a nature that I am bound to presume you have, ready at hand, the proofs of the plot which you are revealing to me. I demand that you produce the proofs instantly.”
“I am at the orders of my Queen. I now hasten to spread before your Majesty’s eyes the correspondence relating to the plot. Here is a letter from his Majesty Philip II of Spain, who was the first to get wind of the scheme, through one of his agents in the Low Countries. Furthermore, here are the written propositions from his Catholic Majesty and the Holy Father for common action with your Majesty against the Huguenot rebellion and heresy.”
“What are the propositions of his Catholic Majesty and venerated Pontiff?”
“King Philip II and our Holy Father Pius V offer to your Majesty, besides the five thousand Walloon and Italian soldiers that now reinforce our army, a new corps of six thousand men — under the condition that your Majesty remove Marshal Tavannes and place the supreme command of the troops in the hands of the Duke of Alva.”
“Accordingly,” replied Catherine De Medici, fixing her eyes upon the Cardinal, “our two allies, His Holiness and King Philip II demand that the Duke of Alva, a Spanish general, be the commandant in chief of the French forces?”
“That is their condition, madam. But it is also agreed that the Duke of Alva is to exercise a nominal command only, and that the military operations shall be conducted by my brother of Aumale and my nephew Henry of Guise, who are to be his immediate subalterns.”
Catherine De Medici remained impassive, betraying neither astonishment nor anger at the proposition to deliver the command of the French royal troops to the Duke of Alva, the pestiferous menial of Philip II, and to strengthen the Duke’s hand with the support of the brother and the nephew of the prelate. The Queen seemed to reflect. After a short pause she said to the Cardinal:
“The proposition is not inacceptable. It may serve as the basis for some combination that we may offer later.”
Despite his self-control, the Cardinal’s face betrayed his secret joy. The Queen seemed not to notice it, and proceeded:
“The first thing to do would then be to withdraw my son of Anjou from the command of the army.”
“The principal thing to
do, madam, would be to remonstrate with the young Prince, and to separate him from his present evil advisers.”
“That, indeed, would be the wisest course to pursue, if that plot exists, as I very much fear it can not be doubted in sight of the proofs you have presented to me. And yet, I must be frank to confess, I feel some repugnance against placing the Duke of Alva at the head of our army. I would be afraid, above all, of displeasing the other military chiefs and high dignitaries of our court. The measure will seem an outrage to them.”
“I have the honor of reminding your Majesty that, in that case, my brother and my nephew will be joined to the Duke of Alva.”
“You may feel certain, Monsignor Cardinal, that, without the express condition of Messieurs of Aumale and Guise being joined to the Spanish generalissimo, I would not for a moment have lent an ear to the scheme.”
Thrown off the scent by the Queen, the prelate answered enthusiastically:
“Oh, madam, I swear to God the throne has not a more faithful supporter than the house of Guise.”
“The fraud! The scamp!” said the Italian woman to herself. “I have probed his thoughts! I scent his treason! But I am compelled to conceal my feelings and to humor his family, however heartily I abhor it.”
One of the Queen’s pages, posted outside the door of the apartment and authorized at certain emergencies of the service to enter the Queen’s cabinet without being called, parted the portieres, and bowing respectfully, said:
“Madam, the Count of La Riviere, captain of the guards of the Duke of Anjou, has just arrived from camp, and requests to be introduced to your Majesty immediately.”
“Bring him in,” answered Catherine De Medici. And as the page was about to withdraw, she added: “Should Monsieur Gondi arrive this evening, or even later in the night, let me be notified without delay.”
The page bowed a second time, and withdrew. The Queen’s last words seemed to cause the Cardinal some uneasiness. He asked with surprise:
“Does madam expect Monsieur Gondi?”
“Gondi must have received a letter from me at Poitiers, in which I ordered him to meet me at the camp of my son, instead of pursuing his route to Paris.”
The Guisard had not quite recovered from his surprise when the Count of La Riviere, captain of the guards of the Duke of Anjou, was ushered in by the page. Catherine De Medici said to the prelate with a sweet smile:
“We shall see each other again to-night, Monsignor Cardinal. I shall need the advice of my friends in these sad complications. I shall want yours.”
Charles of Lorraine understood that he was expected to withdraw; he bowed respectfully to the Queen and left the apartment, a prey to racking apprehensions.
The captain of the guards of the Duke of Anjou stepped forward, and presenting a letter to Catherine De Medici, said:
“Madam, my master ordered me to place this letter in your Majesty’s own hands.”
“Is my son’s health good?” inquired the Queen, taking the missive. “What is the news in the army?”
“My master is in admirable health, madam. Yesterday there was a skirmish of vanguards between us and the Huguenots. The affair was of little importance — only a few men killed on either side.”
Catherine broke the seal on the letter. As her eyes ran over its contents, her face, which at first was rigid with apprehension, gradually relaxed, and reflected gladness and profound satisfaction.
“The Guisard,” she muttered to herself, “dared accuse my son of negotiating with Admiral Coligny. The infamous calumniator!” And turning to her son’s ambassador: “My son informs me of your plan, monsieur. You wish to serve God, the King and France. Your arm and your heart are at our disposal?”
“Madam, I am anxious to emulate Monsieur Montesquiou — and to rid the King of one of his most dangerous enemies.”
“You will surpass Monsieur Montesquiou if you succeed! One Coligny is worth ten Condés. But are you sure of the man whom my son mentions?”
“The man swore by his soul that he would not falter. He received six thousand livres on account of the fifty thousand promised to him. The rest is not to be paid until the thing is done. That is our guarantee.”
“Provided he is not assailed with some silly qualms of conscience. But how did you become acquainted with the fellow?”
“Yesterday, as I just had the honor of advising your Majesty, there was a skirmish at our outposts. Admiral Coligny charged in person, and Dominic, that is the name of the man in question, led one of his master’s relay horses by the reins—”
“He is, then, in the service of Monsieur Coligny?”
“Yes, madam; since infancy he has been attached to the Admiral’s house. During the engagement he was separated from him. Two of our armed men were on the point of despatching Dominic, as we despatch all Huguenots, when, seeing me, he cried out ‘Quarter!’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked him. ‘I am a servant of Monsieur the Admiral,’ he answered. It suddenly flashed through my mind what profit we could draw from the man. Relying upon attaching him to me by the bonds of gratitude, I granted him his life. Later the proposition was made to him of causing the Admiral to drink a potion that we would furnish him with, and of a rich reward for himself.”
“If your prisoner agreed readily to all,” said the Queen, raising her head, “there is reason to suspect him.”
“On the contrary, madam, he hesitated long. It was the magnitude of the promised sum that silenced his scruples. My master placed a certain powder in his hands and instucted him how to use it. The thing may be considered done.”
“How is our man to explain his return to the heretic camp?”
“Very easily, madam. He will say that he was made a prisoner by us and escaped. The Admiral will not suspect a servant who was raised in his house.”
“I hardly dare hope for success! In one month we have been rid of three enemies — the Duke of Deux-Ponts, Condé and Dandelot. Now it will be Coligny’s turn! When is the man to leave our camp and rejoin the Huguenots?”
“This very night.”
“Accordingly — to-morrow—”
“If it shall please God, madam, our holy Church and the kingdom will have triumphed over a redoubtable enemy.”
“How I wish it were to-morrow!” exclaimed Catherine De Medici in a hollow voice, as the page, reappearing at the portiere, announced:
“Madam, Monsieur Gondi and another rider are alighting from their horses. Obedient to your Majesty’s orders I have hastened to give you the news, and await your orders.”
“Summon Gondi to me,” said the Italian woman; and addressing the Count of La Riviere: “Go and take rest, monsieur; you may depart early in the morning; you shall have a letter from me for my son. Whether the scheme succeed or not, we shall reward your zeal for the triumph of the Catholic faith and the service of the King — two sacred interests.”
“Will your Majesty allow me to remind her that Maurevert has just received the necklace of the Order of St. Michael for having put the Huguenot captain, Monsieur Mouy to death, after having penetrated into the camp of the reformers under the pretext that he renounced the Catholic faith and embraced the Reformation? I would wish to be the object of a like distinction.”
“Monsieur La Riviere, you shall be as satisfied with us as we are with you. Assassination, committed in the service of the King, deserves to be rewarded. You shall be decorated Knight of the Order of St. Michael.”
The captain of the guards of the Duke of Anjou saluted the Queen and withdrew as Monsieur Gondi entered in traveling costume. This Italian shared with his countryman Birago the confidence of Catherine De Medici. Delighted, the Queen took two steps towards Gondi, saying with impatient curiosity:
“What tidings from Bayonne?”
“Madam, I do not come alone. I bring with me the reverend Father Lefevre, one of the luminaries of the faith, a pupil and disciple of the celebrated Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Order of Jesuits.”
“But what is the result of your
particular mission?”
“At the very first words with which I broached the matter to the Duke of Alva, he stopped me, saying: ‘Monsieur Gondi, the reverend Father Lefevre is just about to proceed to the Queen for the purpose of considering with her the matter that brings you here. He has received the instructions of my master and of the Holy Father. He will disclose those instructions to the Queen.’ It was impossible for me to draw anything further from the Duke of Alva. Accordingly, I had no choice but to return, madam, and to bring Father Lefevre to you.”
“This is strange. What sort of a man is the Jesuit?”
“An impenetrable man. You can neither divine his thoughts, nor pick the lock of his secrets. You may judge for yourself when you shall have him before you. He requests an audience this very evening.”
“And my daughter? What news from my poor Elizabeth?”
“The health of the Queen of Spain declines steadily, madam. She no longer leaves her bed.”
“Alas, Gondi, we one of these days shall hear that Philip II has poisoned my daughter, as we learned last year that he caused his own son, Don Carlos, to be put to death. Oh, Philip! Thou crowned monk! Thou vampire that feedst on human blood!” And after a short pause: “Fetch me the Jesuit.”
Gondi left and returned almost immediately, accompanied by the one-time friend of Christian the printer. The Queen made a sign to Gondi to be left alone with the Jesuit.
“You are Father Lefevre, and belong to the Society of Jesus? I understand that our Holy Father and the King of Spain have charged you with a mission to me. Speak, I am listening.”
“Madam, the Holy Father and his Majesty Philip II are very much displeased — with you. Deign to acquaint yourself with this letter from his Holiness.”
The Jesuit extracted from a silk wallet a schedule sealed with the pontifical seal, carried it respectfully to his lips, and handed it over to Catherine De Medici. The Queen broke the seal and read:
Madam and dearly beloved daughter:
In no way and for no reason whatever should you spare the enemies of God. I have issued orders to the commander of my troops, the Count of Santa Fiore, that he cause all the Huguenots that may fall into the hands of his soldiers to be KILLED ON THE SPOT. Accordingly, no human considerations for persons or things should induce you to spare the enemies of God, they never having spared either God or yourself. Only through the complete extermination of the heretics will the King be able to restore his noble kingdom to the old religion. The felons must be put to just torture and death.
