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Catherine De Medici
“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.”
“The time has come,” said Charles de Gondi.
“To do what?” asked the marechal.
“To lay hold of the king’s mind,” replied the Grand-master, who, if he was not so much in the queen’s confidence as his brother, was by no means less clear-sighted.
“Charles, I have opened a great career to you,” said his brother gravely. “If you wish to be a duke also, be, as I am, the accomplice and cat’s-paw of our mistress; she is the strongest here, and she will continue in power. Madame de Sauves is on her side, and the king of Navarre and the Duc d’Alencon are still for Madame de Sauves. Catherine holds the pair in a leash under Charles IX., and she will hold them in future under Henri III. God grant that Henri may not prove ungrateful.”
“How so?”
“His mother is doing too much for him.”
“Hush! what noise is that I hear in the rue Saint-Honore?” cried the Grand-master. “Listen! there is some one at Rene’s door! Don’t you hear the footsteps of many men. Can they have arrested the Ruggieri?”
“Ah, diavolo! this is prudence indeed. The king has not shown his usual impetuosity. But where will they imprison them? Let us go down into the street and see.”
The two brothers reached the corner of the rue de l’Autruche just as the king was entering the house of his mistress, Marie Touchet. By the light of the torches which the concierge carried, they distinguished Tavannes and the two Ruggieri.
“Hey, Tavannes!” cried the grand-master, running after the king’s companion, who had turned and was making his way back to the Louvre, “What happened to you?”
“We fell into a nest of sorcerers and arrested two, compatriots of yours, who may perhaps be able to explain to the minds of French gentlemen how you, who are not Frenchmen, have managed to lay hands on two of the chief offices of the Crown,” replied Tavannes, half jesting, half in earnest.
“But the king?” inquired the Grand-master, who cared little for Tavanne’s enmity.
“He stays with his mistress.”
“We reached our present distinction through an absolute devotion to our masters, – a noble course, my dear Tavannes, which I see that you also have adopted,” replied Albert de Gondi.
The three courtiers walked on in silence. At the moment when they parted, on meeting their servants who then escorted them, two men glided swiftly along the walls of the rue de l’Autruche. These men were the king and the Comte de Solern, who soon reached the banks of the Seine, at a point where a boat and two rowers, carefully selected by de Solern, awaited them. In a very few moments they reached the other shore.
“My mother has not gone to bed,” cried the king. “She will see us; we chose a bad place for the interview.”
“She will think it a duel,” replied Solern; “and she cannot possibly distinguish who we are at this distance.”
“Well, let her see me!” exclaimed Charles IX. “I am resolved now!”
The king and his confidant sprang ashore and walked quickly in the direction of the Pre-aux-Clercs. When they reached it the Comte de Solern, preceding the king, met a man who was evidently on the watch, and with whom he exchanged a few words; the man then retired to a distance. Presently two other men, who seemed to be princes by the marks of respect which the first man paid to them, left the place where they were evidently hiding behind the broken fence of a field, and approached the king, to whom they bent the knee. But Charles IX. raised them before they touched the ground, saying: —
“No ceremony, we are all gentlemen here.”
A venerable old man, who might have been taken for the Chancelier de l’Hopital, had the latter not died in the preceding year, now joined the three gentlemen, all four walking rapidly so as to reach a spot where their conference could not be overheard by their attendants. The Comte de Solern followed at a slight distance to keep watch over the king. That faithful servant was filled with a distrust not shared by Charles IX., a man to whom life was now a burden. He was the only person on the king’s side who witnessed this mysterious conference, which presently became animated.
“Sire,” said one of the new-comers, “the Connetable de Montmorency, the closest friend of the king your father, agreed with the Marechal de Saint-Andre in declaring that Madame Catherine ought to be sewn up in a sack and flung into the river. If that had been done then, many worthy persons would still be alive.”
“I have enough executions on my conscience, monsieur,” replied the king.
“But, sire,” said the youngest of the four personages, “if you merely banish her, from the depths of her exile Queen Catherine will continue to stir up strife, and to find auxiliaries. We have everything to fear from the Guises, who, for the last nine years, have schemed for a vast Catholic alliance, in the secret of which your Majesty is not included; and it threatens your throne. This alliance was invented by Spain, which will never renounce its project of destroying the boundary of the Pyrenees. Sire, Calvinism will save France by setting up a moral barrier between her and a nation which covets the empire of the world. If the queen-mother is exiled, she will turn for help to Spain and to the Guises.”
“Gentlemen,” said the king, “know this, if by your help peace without distrust is once established, I will take upon myself the duty of making all subjects tremble. Tete-Dieu! it is time indeed for royalty to assert itself. My mother is right in that, at any rate. You ought to know that it is to your interest was well as mine, for your hands, your fortunes depend upon our throne. If religion is overthrown, the hands you allow to do it will be laid next upon the throne and then upon you. I no longer care to fight ideas with weapons that cannot touch them. Let us see now if Protestantism will make progress when left to itself; above all, I would like to see with whom and what the spirit of that faction will wrestle. The admiral, God rest his soul! was not my enemy; he swore to me to restrain the revolt within spiritual limits, and to leave the ruling of the kingdom to the monarch, his master, with submissive subjects. Gentlemen, if the matter be still within your power, set that example now; help your sovereign to put down a spirit of rebellion which takes tranquillity from each and all of us. War is depriving us of revenue; it is ruining the kingdom. I am weary of these constant troubles; so weary, that if it is absolutely necessary I will sacrifice my mother. Nay, I will go farther; I will keep an equal number of Protestants and Catholics about me, and I will hold the axe of Louis XI. above their heads to force them to be on good terms. If the Messieurs de Guise plot a Holy Alliance to attack our crown, the executioner shall begin with their heads. I see the miseries of my people, and I will make short work of the great lords who care little for consciences, – let them hold what opinions they like; what I want in future is submissive subjects, who will work, according to my will, for the prosperity of the State. Gentlemen, I give you ten days to negotiate with your friends, to break off your plots, and to return to me who will be your father. If you refuse you will see great changes. I shall use the mass of the people, who will rise at my voice against the lords. I will make myself a king who pacificates his kingdom by striking down those who are more powerful even than you, and who dare defy him. If the troops fail me, I have my brother of Spain, on whom I shall call to defend our menaced thrones, and if I lack a minister to carry out my will, he can lend me the Duke of Alba.”
“But in that case, sire, we should have Germans to oppose to your Spaniards,” said one of his hearers.
“Cousin,” replied Charles IX., coldly, “my wife’s name is Elizabeth of Austria; support might fail you on the German side. But, for Heaven’s sake, let us fight, if fight we must, alone, without the help of foreigners. You are the object of my mother’s hatred, and you stand near enough to me to be my second in the duel I am about to fight with her; well then, listen to what I now say. You seem to me so worthy of confidence that I offer you the post of connetable; you will not betray me like the other.”
The prince to whom Charles IX. had addressed himself, struck his hand into that of the king, exclaiming:
“Ventre-saint-gris! brother; this is enough to make me forget many wrongs. But, sire, the head cannot march without the tail, and ours is a long tail to drag. Give me more than ten days; we want at least a month to make our friends hear reason. At the end of that time we shall be masters.”
“A month, so be it! My only negotiator will be Villeroy; trust no one else, no matter what is said to you.”
“One month,” echoed the other seigneurs, “that is sufficient.”
“Gentlemen, we are five,” said the king, – “five men of honor. If any betrayal takes place, we shall know on whom to avenge it.”
The three strangers kissed the hand of Charles IX. and took leave of him with every mark of the utmost respect. As the king recrossed the Seine, four o’clock was ringing from the clock-tower of the Louvre. Lights were on in the queen-mother’s room; she had not yet gone to bed.
“My mother is still on the watch,” said Charles to the Comte de Solern.
“She has her forge as you have yours,” remarked the German.
“Dear count, what do you think of a king who is reduced to become a conspirator?” said Charles IX., bitterly, after a pause.
“I think, sire, that if you would allow me to fling that woman into the river, as your young cousin said, France would soon be at peace.”
“What! a parricide in addition to the Saint-Bartholomew, count?” cried the king. “No, no! I will exile her. Once fallen, my mother will no longer have either servants or partisans.”
“Well, then, sire,” replied the Comte de Solern, “give me the order to arrest her at once and take her out of the kingdom; for to-morrow she will have forced you to change your mind.”
“Come to my forge,” said the king, “no one can overhear us there; besides, I don’t want my mother to suspect the capture of the Ruggieri. If she knows I am in my work-shop she’ll suppose nothing, and we can consult about the proper measures for her arrest.”
As the king entered a lower room of the palace, which he used for a workshop, he called his companion’s attention to the forge and his implements with a laugh.
“I don’t believe,” he said, “among all the kings that France will ever have, there’ll be another to take pleasure in such work as that. But when I am really king, I’ll forge no swords; they shall all go back into their scabbards.”
“Sire,” said the Comte de Solern, “the fatigues of tennis and hunting, your toil at this forge, and – if I may say it – love, are chariots which the devil is offering you to get the faster to Saint-Denis.”
“Solern,” said the king, in a piteous tone, “if you knew the fire they have put into my soul and body! nothing can quench it. Are you sure of the men who are guarding the Ruggieri?”
“As sure as of myself.”
“Very good; then, during this coming day I shall take my own course. Think of the proper means of making the arrest, and I will give you my final orders by five o’clock at Madame de Belleville’s.”
As the first rays of dawn were struggling with the lights of the workshop, Charles IX., left alone by the departure of the Comte de Solern, heard the door of the apartment turn on its hinges, and saw his mother standing within it in the dim light like a phantom. Though very nervous and impressible, the king did not quiver, albeit, under the circumstances in which he then stood, this apparition had a certain air of mystery and horror.
“Monsieur,” she said, “you are killing yourself.”
“I am fulfilling my horoscope,” he replied with a bitter smile. “But you, madame, you appear to be as early as I.”
“We have both been up all night, monsieur; but with very different intentions. While you have been conferring with your worst enemies in the open fields, concealing your acts from your mother, assisted by Tavannes and the Gondis, with whom you have been scouring the town, I have been reading despatches which contained the proofs of a terrible conspiracy in which your brother, the Duc d’Alencon, your brother-in-law, the king of Navarre, the Prince de Conde, and half the nobles of your kingdom are taking part. Their purpose is nothing less than to take the crown from your head and seize your person. Those gentlemen have already fifty thousand good troops behind them.”
“Bah!” exclaimed the king, incredulously.
“Your brother has turned Huguenot,” she continued.
“My brother! gone over to the Huguenots!” cried Charles, brandishing the piece of iron which he held in his hand.
“Yes; the Duc d’Alencon, Huguenot at heart, will soon be one before the eyes of the world. Your sister, the queen of Navarre, has almost ceased to love you; she cares more for the Duc d’Alencon; she cares of Bussy; and she loves that little La Mole.”
“What a heart!” exclaimed the king.
“That little La Mole,” went on the queen, “wishes to make himself a great man by giving France a king of his own stripe. He is promised, they say, the place of connetable.”
“Curse that Margot!” cried the king. “This is what comes of her marriage with a heretic.”
“Heretic or not is of no consequence; the trouble is that, in spite of my advice, you have brought the head of the younger branch too near the throne by that marriage, and Henri’s purpose is now to embroil you with the rest and make you kill one another. The house of Bourbon is the enemy of the house of Valois; remember that, monsieur. All younger branches should be kept in a state of poverty, for they are born conspirators. It is sheer folly to give them arms when they have none, or to leave them in possession of arms when they seize them. Let every younger son be made incapable of doing harm; that is the law of Crowns; the Sultans of Asia follow it. The proofs of this conspiracy are in my room upstairs, where I asked you to follow me last evening, when you bade me good-night; but instead of doing so, it seems you had other plans. I therefore waited for you. If we do not take the proper measures immediately you will meet the fate of Charles the Simple within a month.”
“A month!” exclaimed the king, thunderstruck at the coincidence of that period with the delay asked for by the princes themselves. “‘In a month we shall be masters,’” he added to himself, quoting their words. “Madame,” he said aloud, “what are your proofs?”
“They are unanswerable, monsieur; they come from my daughter Marguerite. Alarmed herself at the possibilities of such a combination, her love for the throne of the Valois has proved stronger, this time, than all her other loves. She asks, as the price of her revelations that nothing shall be done to La Mole; but the scoundrel seems to me a dangerous villain whom we had better be rid of, as well as the Comte de Coconnas, your brother d’Alencon’s right hand. As for the Prince de Conde, he consents to everything, provided I am thrown into the sea; perhaps that is the wedding present he gives me in return for the pretty wife I gave him! All this is a serious matter, monsieur. You talk of horoscopes! I know of the prediction which gives the throne of the Valois to the Bourbons, and if we do not take care it will be fulfilled. Do not be angry with your sister; she has behaved well in this affair. My son,” continued the queen, after a pause, giving a tone of tenderness to her words, “evil persons on the side of the Guises are trying to sow dissensions between you and me; and yet we are the only ones in the kingdom whose interests are absolutely identical. You blame me, I know, for the Saint-Bartholomew; you accuse me of having forced you into it. Catholicism, monsieur, must be the bond between France, Spain, and Italy, three countries which can, by skilful management, secretly planned, be united in course of time, under the house of Valois. Do not deprive yourself of such chances by loosing the cord which binds the three kingdoms in the bonds of a common faith. Why should not the Valois and the Medici carry out for their own glory the scheme of Charles the Fifth, whose head failed him? Let us fling off that race of Jeanne la Folle. The Medici, masters of Florence and of Rome, will force Italy to support your interests; they will guarantee you advantages by treaties of commerce and alliance which shall recognize your fiefs in Piedmont, the Milanais, and Naples, where you have rights. These, monsieur, are the reasons of the war to the death which we make against the Huguenots. Why do you force me to repeat these things? Charlemagne was wrong in advancing toward the north. France is a body whose heart is on the Gulf of Lyons, and its two arms over Spain and Italy. Therefore, she must rule the Mediterranean, that basket into which are poured all the riches of the Orient, now turned to the profit of those seigneurs of Venice, in the very teeth of Philip II. If the friendship of the Medici and your rights justify you in hoping for Italy, force, alliances, or a possible inheritance may give you Spain. Warn the house of Austria as to this, – that ambitious house to which the Guelphs sold Italy, and which is even now hankering after Spain. Though your wife is of that house, humble it! Clasp it so closely that you will smother it! There are the enemies of your kingdom; thence comes help to the Reformers. Do not listen to those who find their profit in causing us to disagree, and who torment your life by making you believe I am your secret enemy. Have I prevented you from having heirs? Why has your mistress given you a son, and your wife a daughter? Why have you not to-day three legitimate heirs to root out the hopes of these seditious persons? Is it I, monsieur, who am responsible for such failures? If you had an heir, would the Duc d’Alencon be now conspiring?”
As she ended these words, Catherine fixed upon her son the magnetic glance of a bird of prey upon its victim. The daughter of the Medici became magnificent; her real self shone upon her face, which, like that of a gambler over the green table, glittered with vast cupidities. Charles IX. saw no longer the mother of one man, but (as was said of her) the mother of armies and of empires, —mater castrorum. Catherine had now spread wide the wings of her genius, and boldly flown to the heights of the Medici and Valois policy, tracing once more the mighty plans which terrified in earlier days her husband Henri II., and which, transmitted by the genius of the Medici to Richelieu, remain in writing among the papers of the house of Bourbon. But Charles IX., hearing the unusual persuasions his mother was using, thought that there must be some necessity for them, and he began to ask himself what could be her motive. He dropped his eyes; he hesitated; his distrust was not lessened by her studied phrases. Catherine was amazed at the depths of suspicion she now beheld in her son’s heart.
“Well, monsieur,” she said, “do you not understand me? What are we, you and I, in comparison with the eternity of royal crowns? Do you suppose me to have other designs than those that ought to actuate all royal persons who inhabit the sphere where empires are ruled?”
“Madame, I will follow you to your cabinet; we must act – ”
“Act!” cried Catherine; “let our enemies alone; let them act; take them red-handed, and law and justice will deliver you from their assaults. For God’s sake, monsieur, show them good-will.”
The queen withdrew; the king remained alone for a few moments, for he was utterly overwhelmed.
“On which side is the trap?” thought he. “Which of the two – she or they – deceive me? What is my best policy? Deus, discerne causam meam!” he muttered with tears in his eyes. “Life is a burden to me! I prefer death, natural or violent, to these perpetual torments!” he cried presently, bringing down his hammer upon the anvil with such force that the vaults of the palace trembled.
“My God!” he said, as he went outside and looked up at the sky, “thou for whose holy religion I struggle, give me the light of thy countenance that I may penetrate the secrets of my mother’s heart while I question the Ruggieri.”