“Why, you rascal!” I said, addressing La Trape, who did not know which way to look, “where are the ten crowns of which you defrauded the scullion?”
“To be sure,” the King said, going off into another roar. “And the third puppy?”
“Yes,” I said, “you scoundrel; and the third puppy?”
“Ay, and the gipsy girl?” the King continued. “The butler’s wench, what of her? And of your evil living? Begone, begone, rascal!” he continued, falling into a fresh paroxysm, “or you will kill US in earnest. Would nothing else do for you but to die in my chamber? Begone!”
I took this as a hint to clear the room, not only of La Trape himself but of all; and presently only I and Du Laurens remained with the King. It then appeared that there was still a mystery, and one which it behoved us to clear up; inasmuch as Du Laurens took the cat’s death very seriously, insisting that it had died of poison administered in a most sinister fashion, and one that could not fail to recall to our minds the Borgian popes. It needed no more than this to direct my suspicions to the Florentines who swarmed about the Queen, and against whom the King had let drop so many threats. But the indisposition which excitement had for a time kept at bay began to return upon me; and I was presently glad to drop the subject; and retire to my own apartments, leaving the King to dress.
Consequently, I was not with him when the strange discovery which followed was made. In the ordinary course of dressing, one of the servants going to the fire-place to throw away a piece of waste linen, thought that he heard a rat stir among the boughs. He moved them, and in a moment a small snake crawled out, hissing and darting out its tongue. It was killed, and then it at once occurred to the King that he had the secret of the cat’s death. He came to me hot-foot with the news, and found me with Du Laurens who was in the act of ordering me to bed.
I confess that I heard the story almost with apathy, so ill was I. Not so the physician. After examining the snake, which by the King’s orders had been brought for my inspection, he pronounced that it was not of French origin. “It has escaped from some snake-charmer,” he said.
The King seemed to be incredulous.
“I assure you that I speak the truth, sire,” Du Laurens persisted.
“But how then did it come in my room?”
“That is what I should like to know, sire,” the physician answered severely; “and yet I think that I can guess. It was put there, I fancy, by the person who sent up the milk to your chamber.”
“Why do you say so?” Henry asked
“Because, sire, all snakes are inordinately fond of milk.”
“Ah!” the King said slowly, with a change of countenance and a shudder which he could not repress; “and there was milk on the floor in the morning.”
“Yes, sire; on the floor, and beside the head of your bed.”
But at this stage I was attacked by a fit of illness so severe that I had to break in on the discussion, and beg the King to withdraw. The sickness increased on me during the day, and by noon I was prostrate, neither taking interest in anything, nor allowing others, who began to fear for my life, to divert their attention. After twenty-four hours I began to mend, but still several days elapsed before I was able to devote myself to business; and then I found that, the master-mind being absent, and the King, as always, lukewarm in the pursuit, nothing had been done to detect and punish the criminal.
I could not rest easy, however, with so abominable a suspicion attaching to my house; and as soon as I could bend my mind to the matter I began an inquiry. At the first stage, however, I came to an IMPASSE; the butler, who had been long in my service, cleared himself without difficulty, but a few questions discovered the fact that a person who had been in his department on the evening in question was now to seek, having indeed disappeared from that time. This was the gipsy-girl, whom La Trape had mentioned, and whose presence in my household seemed to need the more elucidation the farther I pushed the inquiry. In the end I had the butler punished, but though my agents sought the girl through Paris, and even traced her to Meaux, she was never discovered.
The affair, at the King’s instance, was not made public; nevertheless, it gave him so strong a distaste for the Arsenal that he did not again visit me, nor use the rooms I had prepared. That later, when the first impression wore off, he would have done so, is probable; but, alas, within a few months the malice of his enemies prevailed over my utmost precautions, and robbed me of the best of masters; strangely enough, as all the world now knows, at the corner of that very Rue de la Feronnerie which he had seen in his dream.
XII.
AT FONTAINEBLEAU.
The passion which Henry still felt for Madame de Conde, and which her flight from the country was far from assuaging, had a great share in putting him upon the immediate execution of the designs we had so long prepared. Looking to find in the stir and bustle of a German campaign that relief of mind which the Court could no longer afford him, he discovered in the unhoped-for wealth of his treasury an additional incitement; and now waited only for the opening of spring and the Queen’s coronation to remove the last obstacles that kept him from the field.
Nevertheless, relying on my assurances that all things were ready, and persuaded that the more easy he showed himself the less prepared would he find the enemy, he made no change in his habits; but in March, 1610, went, as usual, to Fontainebleau, where he diverted himself with hunting. It was during this visit that the Court credited him with seeing — I think, on the Friday before the Feast of the Virgin — the Great Huntsman; and even went so far as to specify the part of the forest in which he came upon it, and the form — that of a gigantic black horseman, surrounded by hounds — which it assumed The spectre had not been seen since the year 1598; nevertheless, the story spread widely, those who whispered it citing in its support not only the remarkable agitation into which the Queen fell publicly on the evening of that day, but also some strange particulars that attended the King’s return from the forest; and, being taken up and repeated, and confirmed, as many thought, by the unhappy sequence of his death, the fable found a little later almost universal credence, so that it may now be found even in books.
As it happened, however, I was that day at Fontainebleau, and hunted with the King; and, favoured both by chance and the confidence with which my master never failed to honour me, am able not only to refute this story, but to narrate the actual facts from which it took its rise. And though there are some, I know, who boast that they had the tale from the King’s own mouth, I undertake to prove either that they are romancers who seek to add an inch to their stature, or dull fellows who placed their own interpretation on the hasty words he vouchsafed such chatterers.
As a fact, the King, on that day wishing to discuss with me the preparations for the Queen’s entry, bade me keep close to him, since he had more inclination for my company than the chase. But the crowd that attended him was so large, the day being fine and warm — and comprised, besides, so many ladies, whose badinage and gaiety he could never forego — that I found him insensibly drawn from me. Far from being displeased, I was glad to see him forget the moodiness which had of late oppressed him; and beyond keeping within sight of him, gave up, for the time, all thought of affairs, and found in the beauty of the spectacle sufficient compensation. The bright dresses and waving feathers of the party showed to the greatest advantage, as the long cavalcade wound through the heather and rocks of the valley below the Apremonts; and whether I looked to front or rear — on the huntsmen, with their great horns, or the hounds straining in the leashes — I was equally charmed with a sight at once joyous and gallant, and one to which the calls of duty had of late made me a stranger.
On a sudden a quarry was started, and the company, galloping off pell-mell, with a merry burst of music, were in a moment dispersed, some taking this track, and others that, through the rocks and DEBRIS that make that part of the forest difficult. Singling out the King, I kept as near him as possible until the chase led us into the Aprem
ont coverts, where, the trees growing thickly, and the rides cut through them being intricate, I lost him for a while. Again, however, I caught sight of him flying down a ride bordered by dark-green box-trees, against which his white hunting coat showed vividly; but now he was alone, and riding in a direction which each moment carried him farther from the line of the chase, and entangled him more deeply in the forest.
Supposing that he had made a bad cast and was in error, I dashed the spurs into my horse, and galloped after him; then, finding that he still held his own, and that I did not overtake him, but that, on the contrary, he was riding at the top of his speed, I called to him. “You are in error, sire, I think!” I cried. “The hounds are the other way!”
He heard, for he raised his hand, and, without turning his head, made me a sign; but whether of assent or denial, I could not tell. And he still held on his course. Then, for a moment, I fancied that his horse had got the better of him, and was running away; but no sooner had the thought occurred to me than I saw that he was spurring it, and exciting it to its utmost speed, so that we reached the end of that ride, and rushed through another and still another, always making, I did not fail to note, for the most retired part of the forest.
We had proceeded in this way about a mile, and the sound of the hunt had quite died away behind us, and I was beginning to chafe, as well as marvel, at conduct so singular, when at last I saw that he was slackening his pace. My horse, which was on the point of failing, began, in turn, to overhaul his, while I looked out with sharpened curiosity for the object of pursuit. I could see nothing, however, and no one; and had just satisfied myself that this was one of the droll freaks in which he would sometimes indulge, and that in a second or two he would turn and laugh at my discomfiture, when, on a sudden, with a final pull at the reins, he did turn, and showed me a face flushed with passion and chagrin.
I was so taken aback that I cried out. “MON DIEU! sire,” I said. “What is it? What is the matter?”
“Matter enough!” he cried, with an oath. And on that, halting his horse, he looked at me as if he would read my heart. “VENTRE DE SAINT GRIS!” he said, in a voice that made me tremble, “if I were sure that there was no mistake, I would — I would never see your face again!”
I uttered an exclamation.
“Have you not deceived me?” quoth he.
“Oh, sire, I am weary of these suspicions!” I answered, affecting an indifference I did not feel. “If your Majesty does not—”
But he cut me short. “Answer me!” he said harshly, his mouth working in his beard and his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Have you not deceived me?”
“No, sire!” I said.
“Yet you have told me day by day that Madame de Conde remained in Brussels?”
“Certainly!”
“And you still say so?”
“Most certainly!” I answered firmly, beginning to think that his passion had turned his brain. “I had despatches to that effect this morning.”
“Of what date?”
“Three days gone. The courier travelled night and day.”
“They may be true, and still she may be here to-day?” he said, staring at me.
“Impossible, sire!”
“But, man, I have just seen her!” he cried impatiently.
“Madame de Conde?”
“Yes, Madame de Conde, or I am a madman!” Henry answered, speaking a little more moderately. “I saw her gallop out of the patch of rocks at the end of the Dormoir — where the trees begin. She did not heed the line of the hounds, but turned straight down the boxwood ride; and, after that, led as I followed. Did you not see her?”
“No, sire,” I said, inexpressibly alarmed — I could take it for nothing but fantasy— “I saw no one.”
“And I saw her as clearly as I see you,” he answered. “She wore the yellow ostrich-feather she wore last year, and rode her favourite chestnut horse with a white stocking. But I could have sworn to her by her figure alone; and she waved her hand to me.”
“But, sire, out of the many ladies riding to-day—”
“There is no lady wearing a yellow feather,” he answered passionately. “And the horse! And I knew her, man! Besides, she waved to me! And, for the others — why should they turn from the hunt and take to the woods?”
I could not answer this, but I looked at him in fear; for, as it was impossible that the Princess de Conde could be here, I saw no alternative but to think him smitten with madness. The extravagance of the passion which he had entertained for her, and the wrath into which the news of her flight with her young husband had thrown him, to say nothing of the depression under which he had since suffered, rendered the idea not so unlikely as it now seems. At any rate, I was driven for a moment to entertain it; and gazed at him in silence, a prey to the most dreadful apprehensions.
We stood in a narrow ride, bordered by evergreens, with which that part of the forest is planted; and but for the songs of the birds the stillness would have been absolute. On a sudden the King removed his eyes from me, and, walking his horse a pace or two along the ride, uttered a cry of joy.
He pointed to the ground. “We are right!” he said. “There are her tracks! Come! We will overtake her yet!”
I looked, and saw the fresh prints of a horse’s shoes, and felt a great weight roll off my mind, for at least he had seen someone. I no longer hesitated to fall in with his humour, but, riding after him, kept at his elbow until he reached the end of the ride. Here, a vista opening right and left, and the ground being hard and free from tracks, we stood at a loss; until the King, whose eyesight was always of the keenest, uttered an exclamation, and started from me at a gallop.
I followed more slowly, and saw him dismount and pick up a glove, which, even at that distance, he had discerned lying in the middle of one of the paths. He cried, with a flushed face, that it was Madame de Conde’s; and added: “It has her perfume — her perfume, which no one else uses!”
I confess that this so staggered me that I knew not what to think; but, between sorrow at seeing my master so infatuated and bewilderment at a riddle that grew each moment more perplexing, I sat gaping at Henry like a man without counsel. However, at the moment, he needed none, but, getting to his saddle as quickly as he could, he began again to follow the tracks of the horse’s feet, which here were visible, the path running through a beech wood. The branches were still bare, and the shining trunks stood up like pillars, the ground about them being soft. We followed the prints through this wood for a mile and a half or more, and then, with a cry, the King darted from me, and, in an instant, was racing through the wood at break-neck speed.
I had a glimpse of a woman flying far ahead of us; and now hidden from us by the trunks and now disclosed; and could even see enough to determine that she wore a yellow feather drooping from her hat, and was in figure not unlike the Princess. But that was all; for, once started, the inequalities of the ground drew my eyes from the flying form, and, losing it, I could not again recover it. On the contrary, it was all I could do to keep up with the King; and of the speed at which the woman was riding, could best judge by the fact that in less than five minutes he, too, pulled-up with a gesture of despair, and waited for me to come abreast of him.
“You saw her?” he said, his face grim, and with something of suspicion lurking in it.
“Yes, sire,” I answered, “I saw a woman, and a woman with a yellow feather; but whether it was the Princess—”
“It was!” he said. “If not, why should she flee from us?”
To that, again, I had not a word to say, and for a moment we rode in silence. Observing, however, that this last turn had brought us far on the way home, I called the King’s attention to this; but he had sunk into a fit of gloomy abstraction, and rode along with his eyes on the ground. We proceeded thus until the slender path we followed brought up into the great road that leads through the forest to the kennels and the new canal.
Here I asked him if he would not return to the chase,
as the day was still young.
“Mon Dieu, no!” he answered passionately. “I have other work to do. Hark ye, M. le Duc, do you still think that she is in Brussels?”
“I swear that she was there three days ago, sire!”
“And you are not deceiving me? If it be so, God forgive you, for I shall not!”
“It is no trick of mine, sire,” I answered firmly.
“Trick?” he cried, with a flash of his eyes. “A trick, you say? No, VENTRE DE SAINT GRIS! there is no man in France dare trick me so!”
I did not contradict him, the rather as we were now close to the kennels, and I was anxious to allay his excitement; that it might not be detected by the keen eyes that lay in wait for us, and so add to the gossip to which his early return must give rise. I hoped that at that hour he might enter unperceived, by way of the kennels and the little staircase; but in this I was disappointed, the beauty of the day having tempted a number of ladies, and others who had not hunted, to the terrace by the canal; whence, walking up and down, their fans and petticoats fluttering in the sunshine, and their laughter and chatter filling the air, they were able to watch our approach at their leisure.
Unfortunately, Henry had no longer the patience and self-control needful for such a RENCONTRE. He dismounted with a dark and peevish air, and, heedless of the staring, bowing throng, strode up the steps. Two or three, who stood high in favour, put themselves forward to catch a smile or a word, but he vouchsafed neither. He walked through them with a sour air, and entered the chateau with a precipitation that left all tongues wagging.
To add to the misfortune, something — I forget what — detained me a moment, and that cost us dear. Before I could cross the terrace, Concini, the Italian, came up, and, saluting me, said that the Queen desired to speak to me.
“The Queen?” I said, doubtfully, foreseeing trouble.
“She is waiting at the gate of the farther court,” he answered politely, his keen black eyes reverting, with eager curiosity, to the door by which the King had disappeared.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 203
