CHAPTER XIV.
We must now entirely change the scene. The spot is no longer thesame--the actors different. From the mountains of Savoy, the feudalcastle, the lonely chapel, and the humble inn, let us turn to thecapital of France, her stately palaces, and the gay and glittering hallwhere laughed and revelled the bright, the brave, the fair, and thewitty of that splendid epoch which began with Francis the First, andended with his immediate successor. The personages, too, have changedwith the scene. The young warrior and his fair bride, the wily Italianand the supercilious and unprincipled Count de Meyrand, are no longerbefore us. Even good Father Willand himself is left behind, and one forwhom we owe no slight affection, Corse de Leon, is, for the time, offthe stage.
At the door--or rather, we may say, beyond the door, for they were notactually in the chamber--stood two of the king's guard, with theirhalberds resting on their shoulders, embroidered on which appeared thewell-known cognisance of the salamander. They were there merely toperform the place of a living gate, barring the way against any whowould enter, till such time as the orders of the king threw open thehalls of the Louvre.
Henry himself, in the prime of his years, graceful, handsome, vigorous,with a countenance full of fire, but still kindly and good-humoured,stood at the farther end of the large and nearly vacant reception room,close to one of the windows, which looked out upon the river Seine,speaking with a lady, on whose appearance we may well be expected topause for a moment. That lady was the celebrated Diana of Poitiers; and,though the period had by this time passed by when her dazzling beautycaptivated all eyes as well as those of her royal lover, she wascertainly still very handsome. But she had also in her countenance anexpression of power and resolution, of quickness of understanding and ofsparkling vivacity, which at once displayed many of the chief points ofher character. As one stood and looked at her, and saw the play of herfine features, the rapid changes, the sudden lighting up of the eyes,the occasional look of intense eagerness, the shade of momentarymeditation, succeeded by the bright smile, the gay laugh, the eyes castup to heaven, it was easy to understand what manifold powers of charmingand persuading lay beneath, and to perceive that, whatever might havebeen at any time the mere beauty of feature and expression, the chiefloveliness of that lovely countenance must ever have been in itswonderful variety.
What was it that moved her now? What was the eager scheme that she wasurging upon the king with such a host of wiles, and charms, and graces,that it was hardly possible to expect that he should resist? Lo! how shehangs upon his arm with those two fair hands, and gazes up into his facewith those speaking eyes! Now comes a shade of vexation over her brow.One hand drops from his arm. Her head is partly turned away: a tear dimsthe eye for an instant, then leaves it brighter than before. Now, again,how merrily she laughs, with the clear, joyous, ringing laugh that we soseldom hear but from the lips of infancy; and then, again, that look ofbright and eloquent thoughtfulness, while with her extended hand sheargues with the monarch on some mighty theme, and carries highconviction on her lofty brow! What a wonderful picture does she formthere, even at this very moment, changing by her words the destinies ofEurope, and with smiles, and tears, and laughter, and high thoughts, allmingled in a wondrous antidote, curing one of those spoiled children offortune that we call kings of that venomous and pestilential sickness,the love of war!
"Well," said the king, "well, you have triumphed. He shall have thepowers, although it goes against my soul to yield anything to that coldand haughty Spaniard. What though Fortune have, with all her fickleness,left at the last a momentary balance in the scale against France, havewe not already retrieved much, and are we not daily retrieving?"
"True, sire, true," replied Diana of Poitiers, "your armies areretrieving all that was once lost. But your country, sire, alas! yourcountry is not. France suffers, France groans even, while Spain iswounded, and each blow that you strike at the enemy but injures yourselffar more."
The king was about to reply, but she stopped him eagerly: "I am foolishto argue with you," she continued; "You have said I have triumphed, youhave said I shall have the powers; and, though he may conquer me inargument, my Henry's word is never broken. Besides," she added, "have Inot a private suit to be heard and granted also?"
"Ha!" said the king, after pausing thoughtfully for a moment or two, asif he were still unconvinced, and unwilling to leave the subject onwhich they had just been conversing, "ha! I had forgot! You did mentionsome private suit--what, I remember not now, sweet Diana. But yet it ishard even to hear of peace after defeat. Were we just hot fromvictory--were we flushed with triumph, and our enemy reduced to lowlysupplication--then, indeed, then we might hear of terms of peace, andgrant them liberally and willingly. But after this accursed battle ofSt. Laurence; after so total, so signal, and terrible a defeat--theconstable himself taken, one half of the nobility of the land wounded orslain, our soldiers scattered, and our provinces, invaded--it is bitterindeed to hear the name of peace."
"As bitter to Henry's heart," replied the lady, "as the sound of war tomany another man. But you have promised, sire. You have promisedMontmorency the full powers, and--you have forgotten my petition."
"Well, well," said the king, with a sigh, "what is your petition? I knowthat you have no private interest in this matter, Diana, You never werea friend to Montmorency."
The lady coloured slightly, but replied at once. "I never was hisfriend, sire, while haughty fortune smiled upon him, and when he urgedmeasures harsh and injurious to the country upon your majesty; but Iwill own that I am his friend now, when, bearing his adversity withcalmness and with dignity, he would fain persuade your majesty to thatwhich is most necessary for the safety of your realm. So much, indeed,am I his friend, your majesty, now, that I have promised to mingle ourfamilies together by the marriage of our sweet Henrietta with his sonDamville. Nay, start not, sire, I told you of this before."
"Did you?" exclaimed the king, "did you? I recollect it not. Yet nowmethinks I do remember something thereof; but I must have been thinkingof other things. How can I consent to such a contract?" continued theking. "Recollect, dear lady! Is there not a story current of Damville,like his brother, having bound himself by a secret marriage to anItalian woman?"
"There is some tale of the kind, sire," replied the Duchess ofValentinois, "but I believe without foundation. Even were it so,however, sire," she continued, eagerly, "what matters it, in truth? Theconnexion has long ceased: the pope will annul the marriage instantly;and, not many months ago, your majesty vowed that you would give anedict rendering clandestine marriages of no effect, and declaring allillegal but such as have the full consent of the nearest survivingrelative of both parties, always under your majesty's good pleasure."
"I recollect," replied the king. "The edict was drawn up, but neversigned, because, as it deeply affected ecclesiastical matters, it wasthought best to have the sanction of our holy father in Rome, and hemade manifold objections. But that edict, even had it issued, could notaffect the past."
"Your majesty will pardon me," replied the lady. "It had a clause whichrendered it retrospective--at least I am so informed, in a letter whichI received not many hours ago from your faithful subject the good Countof Meyrand, whom you intrusted to carry the edict to Rome. Had it notthat retrospective sense," she added, eagerly, "the hopes andexpectations of Montmorency and myself would both be very bitterlydisappointed."
The king's brow grew somewhat cloudy, and she added suddenly, "Not formyself, sire! I speak not for myself, and with no reference to thisproposed marriage between Henriette de la Mark and the young Damville.But there is one thing for which I know the good constable has longsighed. The duke, his eldest son, is more ambitious than your majestydreams of."
"Indeed!" said the king, with a slight smile. "What do you mean, fairlady? Is his ambition dangerous to the state?"
"Nay, nay, sire, not so," replied the duchess, with a smile, seeing thatthe king, while affecting ignorance, in reality understood what shemeant. "The
re is a certain lovely lady bearing the same name as my morehumble self, and somewhat near to the affections of your royalperson--near, even as a daughter, some men say. She has now wept forsome time in widowhood; and the young Duke of Montmorency, daringlypriding himself upon the royal blood that flows also in his veins, hasventured to sigh for this fair lady's hand. But the great impediment isthat fatal contract which he signed with Mademoiselle de Pienne, withouthis father's knowledge and consent."
"I have heard something of this before," said the king, to whom the ideaof uniting his natural daughter to the high race of Montmorency was nota little grateful. "But does the constable desire this marriage for hisson? If so, why did he not speak long since?"
"Most humbly, sire, does he desire it," replied the lady, "and hascommissioned me to sue, by every means of persuasion and entreaty, thatyour majesty would condescend to grant your consent to the union of hisson with Madame de Farnese. He overrates my means, I know; but he doescalculate that your majesty has some affection still for me, as well assome regard and esteem for him."
"Much, much for both, dear lady," replied the king; and then, fallinginto a fit of thought, he added, as if speaking to himself, "Thismarriage is most unfortunate. But that a rash boy should pay, by a wholelife of celibacy and regret, for the idle folly of signing his name to apromise extracted from him by an artful woman, is indeed too much. Iwould fain see the draught of the edict which was proposed."
"Here is the chancellor, sire, hard by," replied the lady, pointing to agroup of three or four persons who had followed her into the hall at herfirst entrance, but who had remained gathered together in a group at theother end of the chamber, conversing in a low voice. "Here is thechancellor, sire: perhaps he may have a copy of the edict with him now."
"Perchance he may, fair dame," replied the king, laying his hand fondlyupon her shoulder, and smiling, at the same time, at the evidentpreparation of the whole affair, "perchance he may. Ho! my goodchancellor, we would fain speak with you here a while."
At the very first word the king addressed to him, a tall and somewhatmeager man, in the rich and gorgeous habit of one of the princes of theRoman Church, took a step forward from the rest of the group, and,bowing low, advanced towards the king. He was dark and pale incountenance, and his features were of an Italian cast, while a look ofshrewd, calm cunning, which that cast is so well calculated to assume,was the predominant expression.
"His majesty, my Lord Cardinal," said the duchess, addressing the famousJohn Bertrandi, and having marked well the shrewd smile upon the king'scountenance, "his majesty, my Lord Cardinal, would fain see a copy ofthat edict referring to clandestine marriages, which was drawn up somemonths ago, but never signed. I besought you this morning to seek forit: has it been found?"
"I have it here, madam," replied the chancellor at once, opening aportfolio which he carried under his arm; "may I present it to yourmajesty:" and, selecting from among a number of papers which theportfolio contained the one that was required at the moment, he put itinto the hands of Henry the Second.
The king took and read it attentively. "And is this, my lord," hedemanded, "in all due form, and ready for promulgation?"
"It is, sire," replied the chancellor: "wanting nothing but yourmajesty's signature and the seal."
Henry paused thoughtfully. "And is it," he asked, "and is it altogether,and in all parts, in strict accordance with the laws of France?"
"_Que veut le roi, veut le loi_," replied the chancellor. "What the kingwills, the law wills;" and, with that tyrannical axiom, the attemptedenforcement of which, in France, has caused more bloodshed than perhapsany other line that ever was written, John Bertrandi satisfied hisconscience in sanctioning that which was contrary to the true spirit ofall law.
Henry himself, however, was not satisfied! Although it is so easy forbase counsellors--on whom be eternal shame--to find specious argumentsin favour of those things which monarchs wish, however evil; andalthough it certainly was the case that the King of France himself,eagerly desiring the marriage of his natural daughter with the heir ofMontmorency, had potent tempters in his own bosom to second the words ofBertrandi, still he was not satisfied that the retrospective actproposed to him was right. He looked first at the cardinal; next turnedhis eyes for a moment to the countenance of Diana of Poitiers; smileddoubtfully, and then said, "Put it up, my Lord Cardinal, put it up! Iwill take one day more to consider of it. Nay, look not grieved, fairdame, it shall have favourable consideration. Forget not that both ourwishes run in the same way. Now let us speak of other things, Diana. Doyou come to our gay hall to-night? Nay, you must not be absent," headded, seeing that the duchess looked down somewhat mournfully;"Henriette de la Mark must dance a gaillarde with her lover Damville."
"But can her lover ever be her husband?" demanded Diana, gazingreproachfully in the king's face; and then adding, with consummate skillin the management of that monarch, "It matters not! Since I haveaccomplished what I sought for the good of the country, even if I havefailed in what I sought for my own pleasure, it matters not! My goodLord Chancellor, the king has been pleased to promise that powers shallbe immediately granted to the noble constable of Montmorency to treatwith Spain and with the empire for a good and perfect peace. Let it besaid that this has been obtained by the solicitations of one who couldobtain nothing for herself! but still, not to her honour let it be, butto the king's, inasmuch as he overcame in his own heart the love ofglory and the thirst of victory for the sake of his good land of France.Will you, sire," she continued, "will you not order the chancellor atonce to expedite the powers for the good constable? It cannot be donetoo rapidly."
"Why so?" demanded Henry. "There is, surely, no such haste."
"Because, sire," replied the lady, "there are two great and fortunatemen, whose first wish must be to change your majesty's counsels in thisregard. The conqueror of Calais may well have a say in matters of peaceand war. The Cardinal of Lorraine is still at your majesty's ear. Thepurpose may evaporate and pass away, war be continued gloriously andlong, and France be ruined."
"Nay, nay," replied the king, looking at the duchess reproachfully, "Iam not so vacillating in my purposes. The Guises have not the influenceyou think."
"They have had the influence, sire," replied Diana, boldly, "they havehad the influence to delay, for months, that very edict, drawn up by theorders of the king himself, for the security and protection of theFrench people, and to guard against the evils under which half of thenoble families of France now smart, from alliances contracted in wildyouth with races of inferior blood."
"The Guises had nothing to do with that--have nothing to do with it,"replied the king, impatiently. "What interest have they in this matter?I remember, it is true, the Cardinal of Lorraine did oppose the edict,but upon motives of general justice. What interest had he, or hisbrother either, for or against the edict?"
"To keep down the house of Montmorency," replied Diana of Poitiers. "Toblast the expectations of the young duke, in the hopes which he, perhapspresumptuously, had entertained."
"I believe that it is so, indeed, sire," said the chancellor. "There ismuch reason to think that the opposition of our holy father the pope wasraised up by the instigations of the Cardinal of Lorraine. You are wellaware, sire, that a messenger from the cardinal outstripped even theCount de Meyrand, and that the latter gentleman found the holy fatheralready prepared to oppose the edict."
"I will think of the matter," said the king again. "If the opposition bebut factious, we will give it no head; but I would fain, before Ipromulgate the edict, have some cause before me to justify it, in whichmy own personal wishes, and yours, fair lady, are not interested. I musthave time for thought upon it. Now let the doors be opened, for we havekept our court too long without."
The doors of the anteroom were accordingly thrown open. The guards, withtheir halberds, drew back, and in a few minutes the great hall ofreception was crowded with the nobles of France. While the king, withaffable condescension, received his subj
ects, spoke with many of them,and smiled upon all, and the buzz of voices, steps, and rustlinggarments raised a sort of whispering murmur through the halls, thechancellor was seen speaking, in a low voice, to the Duchess ofValentinois; and some one who was passing heard the latter say, "Notonly that, my lord, but the abbey of St. Martin also, if we succeed. Therevenues are twelve thousand crowns a year."
The chancellor bowed low, with an humble and obsequious smile, and theduchess turned to speak to some one else.
Corse de Leon; or, The Brigand: A Romance. Volume 1 (of 2) Page 14
