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[dumasdaily]

Queen Margot - 5

CHAPTER V

OF VIRTUE IN GENERAL AND OF THE LOUVRE IN PARTICULAR

THE two gentlemen, directed by the first person they came across, took the Rue d'Averon, then the Rue Saint-Germain I'Auxerrois, and presently found themselves in front of the Louvre, the towers of which were beginning to fade into the darkness of evening.

"What is the matter with you?" asked Coconnas of La Mole, who, stopping at the sight of the ancient castle, was gazing with reverence at its drawbridges, its narrow windows, and its pointed turrets, which suddenly presented themselves to his view.

"Upon my word, I hardly know," said La Mole, "but my heart is beating. I am no more timid than other people, yet somehow this palace strikes me as gloomy and, shall I say, terrifying!"

"Well, for my part," said Coconnas, "I don't know what has come to me, but I feel unusually cheerful. My dress, however, is somewhat untidy," continued he, running over his travelling-costume with his eyes; "but no matter, it is suited to a cavalier. Besides, my orders enjoin promptitude, so I shall be welcome."

And the two young men, each disturbed by the sentiments which he had expressed, continued their road.

The Louvre was well guarded; all the sentries appeared to be doubled. Our two travellers therefore were at first in somewhat of a difficulty. But Coconnas, who had remarked that the name of the Duc de Guise acted on the Parisians as a sort of charm, approached a sentry, and, employing that all-powerful name, asked if, by virtue of it, he might be admitted to the Louvre.

The name appeared to produce on the soldier its usual effect; he asked Coconnas, however, if he could not give the watchword.

Coconnas was obliged to admit that he could not.

"Then keep off, my friend!" said the soldier.

At this moment a man who was talking with an officer of the guard, and had heard Coconnas request admission to the Louvre, broke off his conversation, and, advancing towards him, asked:

"What do you wand wid Monsir de Gouise?"

"I want to speak to him," answered Coconnas, smiling.

"It is imbossible; the Dugue is with the King."

"1 have a letter, however, summoning me to Paris."

"Ah! you haf a letter?"

"Yes, and I have come a long distance."

"Ah! you haf gome a long way."

"I have come from Piedmont."

"Fery goot; dat's another matter. And your name is?"

"The Comte Hannibal de Coconnas."

"Fery well; gif me the letter, Monsir Hannipal."

"Upon my word, a very polite fellow," said La Mole to himself, ' can't I find some one like him to take me to the King of Navarre?"

"Well, gif me the letter," continued the German, extending his hand towards Coconnas, who showed signs of hesitation.

"Zounds! " replied the Piedmontese, with all the suspicion of a semi-Italian, "I hardly know if I ought to — I have not the honour of your acquaintance, sir."

"I am Pesme; I pelong to Monsir, the Dugue of Gouise."

"Pesme," murmured Coconnas, "I don't know the name."

"It is Monsieur de Besme,[1]" said the sentry; "you are puzzled by the pronunciation, that is all. You may give him your letter; I will answer for him."

"Ah! Monsieur de Besme," cried Coconnas, "of course I know you — why, of course, with the greatest pleasure. Here is my letter. Forgive my hesitation; but one must be cautious if one wishes to be loyal."

"Quite right," said De Besme, "dere is no need for abologies."

"Upon my word, sir," said La Mole, approaching in his turn, "since you are so obliging, would you take charge of my letter as you have done of my friend's?"

"What is your name?"

"Comte Lerac de la Mole."

"Gomte Lerag de la Mole?"

"Yes."

"I don't know you."

"That is easily explained, sir. I am a stranger, and, like the Comte de Coconnas, have come a long distance."

"And where haf you come from?"

"From Provence."

"With a letter?"

"Yes, with a letter."

"For Monsir de Gouise?"

"No, for his Majesty, the King of Navarre."

"I do not pelong to the King of Navarre, Monsir," answered De Besme, with a sudden coldness of manner, "so I gannot take charge of your letter."

And Besme, turning his back on La Mole, entered the Louvre, motioning to Coconnas to follow him. La Mole was left alone.

At that moment a troop of horsemen, numbering about a hundred, issued from a gate parallel to that by which Besme and Coconnas had entered.

"Halloa!" said the sentry to his comrade, "it is De Mouy and his Huguenots; they look delighted. The King must have promised to let them take vengeance on the murderer of the Admiral, and as he is the same man that assassinated De Mouy's father, the son will kill two birds with one stone."

"I beg your pardon," said La Mole, addressing the soldier, "but didn't you say that officer was Monsieur de Mouy?"

"Yes, certainly I did."

"And that those accompanying him were--"

"Heretics — yes, I said so."

"Thank you," said La Mole, without appearing to notice the disparaging term used by the sentry, "that is all I wanted to know."

And at once making towards the leader of the horsemen:

"Sir," said he, accosting him, " I understand that you are Monsieur de Mouy."

"Yes, sir," replied the officer, politely.

"Your name, so well known among those of the Religion, emboldens me to address you, sir, and ask you to do me a service."

"What is it, sir? But, first of all, to whom have I the honour of speaking?"

"To Comte Lerac de la Mole."

The two young men bowed to each other.

"I am listening to you, sir," said De Mouy.

"Sir, I come from Aix with a letter from M. d'Auriac, the Governor of Provence. It is addressed to the King of Navarre, and contains urgent and important news. How can I convey this letter to him, and how can I get into the Louvre."

"Nothing easier, sir, than to get into the Louvre," replied De Mouy, "only I fear that the King of Navarre is too busy at this hour to receive you. But, never mind, if you like to follow me I will take you to his apartments; the rest depends on yourself."

"A thousand thanks."

"Come, sir," said De Mouy. De Mouy dismounted from his horse, threw the bridle to his lackey, approached the door and spoke to the sentry, then passed La Mole through into the castle, and, opening the door of the King's apartments, observed:

"Enter, sir, and make enquiries for yourself."

And, bowing to La Mole, he withdrew.

La Mole, left alone, looked around him. The ante-chamber was empty, and one of the inner doors was open.

He took a few steps and found himself in a passage.

He knocked and called, but without getting any answer: the most profound silence reigned in this quarter of the Louvre.

"Who was it who told me," thought he, "of the severe etiquette of the palace? Why, you can come and go as though you were in a public square."

And he called again, with no better result.

"Well," thought he, "I will go straight ahead; I must end by meeting somebody."

And he advanced down the passage, which became darker and darker.

Suddenly a door opposite to the one by which he had entered was opened, and two pages appeared carrying flambeaux, and escorting a woman of imposing stature, majestic mien, and striking beauty.

The light flashed full upon La Mole, who remained motionless.

The woman, on her part, stopped, just as La Mole had done.

"What are you wanting, sir?" she asked the young man in tones that sounded like sweet music to his ears.

"Oh! Madame," said La Mole, lowering his eyes, "forgive me, I beg of you. I have just left M. de Mouy, who was kind enough to show me the way here, and I was looking for the King of Navarre."

"His Majesty is not here, sir; he is, I believe, with his brother-in-law. But could you not, in his absence tell the Queen . . . .?"

"Yes, Madame, no doubt," replied La Mole, "if anyone would be kind enough to conduct me to her presence."

"You are in it, sir."

"What!" cried La Mole.

"I am the Queen of Navarre," said Marguerite.

La Mole made a sudden movement of astonishment and fear, which made the Queen smile.

"Speak quickly, sir," said she, "for the Queen-Mother is waiting for me."

"Oh! Madame, in that case, allow me to go away, for I could not possibly speak to you just now. I cannot collect my thoughts; the sight of you has confused me and I cannot think; I can only admire."

Marguerite advanced in all her graceful beauty towards this young fellow, who, all unconsciously, had acted the part of the practised courtier.

"Compose yourself, sir," said she; "I will stay, and they must wait for me."

"Oh! forgive me, Madame, for not having at once greeted your Majesty with all the respect that you have the right to look for from one of your most humble servants, but..."

"But," continued Marguerite, "you took me for one of my ladies."

"No, Madame, but for the shade of the fair Diane de Poitiers[2]; I am told that she haunts the Louvre."

"Come, sir," said Marguerite, "I see I need not be uneasy about you, you will soon win your way at the Court. You said you had a letter for the King: it was quite unnecessary, but never mind, where is it? I will give it to him . . . but make haste, I beseech you."

La Mole promptly opened the folds of his doublet, and drew from his breast a letter enclosed in a silk envelope.

Marguerite took the letter and looked at the writing.

"Are you not Monsieur de la Mole?" she asked.

"Can I indeed be so fortunate that your Majesty should know my name?"

"I have heard my husband, the King, mention it, and also my brother, the Duc d'Alençon: I know that you have been expected."

And she slipped into the body of her dress, all stiff with embroidery and diamonds, this letter, which had been taken from the young man's doublet, and was still warm from lying in his breast. La Mole's eyes followed Marguerite's movements greedily.

"Now, sir," she said, "go down to the corridor below, and wait until someone comes to you from the King of Navarre or the Duc d'Alençon: one of my pages will conduct you."

With these words Marguerite moved away. La Mole stood back against the wall. But the passage was so narrow, and the Queen of Navarre's farthingale was so wide, that her silk robe brushed against the young man's coat, and he was conscious of a delightful perfume as she passed him.

La Mole quivered through his whole frame, and feeling as though he were going to fall, leaned against the wall for support.

Marguerite disappeared like a vision.

"Are you coming, sir?" said the page, who had been bidden to conduct him to the lower corridor.

"Oh! yes, yes," cried La Mole excitedly; for, as the page was pointing in the direction in which Marguerite had gone, he hoped that he might catch sight of her again if he made haste.

And in point of fact, on reaching the top of the staircase he perceived her on the landing below, and whether by chance or because she heard the sound of his steps. Marguerite raised her head and he was able to see her once more.

"Oh!" said he, as he followed the page, "she is not a mortal but a goddess; and, as Virgil says: Et vera incessu patuit dea."

"Well? " asked the page.

"Here I am; I beg your pardon," said La Mole.

The page preceded La Mole, descended to the floor below, opened a first door, and then a second, and stopping on the threshold, observed:

"This is the place where you will have to wait."

La Mole entered the corridor, and the door was closed behind him.

The corridor was empty with the exception of a gentleman who was walking up and down, and who seemed, like La Mole, to be waiting.

The evening was already beginning to cast deep shadows from the vaulted roof, and although the two men were scarcely twenty paces from each other, they could not distinguish each other's faces. La Mole approached him.

"Great heavens!" he murmured, as he came closer, "why, it is the Comte de Coconnas."

The Piedmontese had already turned round on hearing his step, and was looking at La Mole with equal surprise.

"Zounds!" cried he, "it is M. de la Mole, or the devil take me! Ouf! What am I saying? I am swearing in the King's own palace; but there, it appears that the King swears a deal harder than ever I do, and even in Church. So you have found your way into the Louvre then?"

"Yes, as you see. Did M. de Besme introduce you?"

"Yes, he is a delightful German, is M. de Besme. And who acted as your guide?"

"M. de Mouy. I told you that the Huguenots didn't stand badly at the Court at present; and have you met M.de Guise?"

"No, not yet; and you, did you obtain your audience from the King of Navarre?"

"No; but it cannot be long delayed. I was brought here, and told to wait."

"You will see that it is a question of some grand banquet, and that you and I will sit side by side at the feast. Truly, what a singular chance! Fate has wedded us for the last two hours; but what is the matter with you? You seem preoccupied."

"I! " said La Mole quickly, with a start, for, in point of fact, he remained still dazzled by the vision he had seen, "no, but the place in which we are gives birth in my mind to a whole host of reflections."

"Philosophic ones, no doubt; it is the same with myself. Just when you came in, all my tutor's instructions were recurring to my mind. Monsieur le Comte, do you know Plutarch?"

"Why, of course," said La Mole, smiling, "he is one of my favourite authors."

"Well," continued Coconnas, seriously, "that great writer seems to me not to have been mistaken when he compares the gifts of Nature to bright but ephemeral flowers, while he regards Virtue as a balsamic plant with an imperishable perfume, and as a sovereign remedy for the healing of wounds."

"Do you know Greek, Monsieur de Coconnas? " said La Mole, looking fixedly at his interlocutor.

"No, but my tutor did, and strongly recommended me to discourse on virtue, in case I ever found myself at Court; it looks well, he said. So I warn you that I am ready armed for the subject. By-the-bye, do you feel hungry?"

-No."

"I thought, however, that you hankered after the roast fowl of the Belle-Etoile; for my own part, I am dying of starvation."

"Well, then, here is a fine opportunity for utilising your arguments on virtue, and proving your admiration for Plutarch, for that great writer says somewhere or other: tis well to inure the mind to grief and the stomach to hunger."

"Why! you know Greek, then? " cried Coconnas, with astonishment.

"My word, yes! " answered La Mole, "my tutor taught it me."

"Zounds! Comte, in that case your fortune is assured; you will write poetry with King Charles IX., and talk Greek with Queen Marguerite."

"Not to mention," added La Mole, laughing, "that I can also talk Gasconese with the King of Navarre."

At this moment the door of the corridor, which was next to the King's apartments, opened, a step resounded, and a shadowy figure approached in the darkness. It proved to be that of M. de Besme.

He peered into the young men's faces in order to find which of the two men he wanted, and then motioned to Coconnas to follow him.

Coconnas waved his hand to La Mole.

De Besme led Coconnas to the end of the corridor, opened a door, and they found themselves at the top of a staircase.

Here De Besme stopped, and, looking all round him, both above and below, asked:

"Monsir de Gogonnas, where are you lodging?"

"At the Belle-Etoile, Rue de I'Arbre Sec."

"Goot! goot! it is only two steps from here — go back guickly to your inn, and to-night"

He looked round again.

"Well, to-night? " asked Coconnas.

"Well, come back here to-night with a white cross fastened in your hat. De pass-word will be Gouise. Hush! nod a word."

' At what hour am I to come?"

"When you hear de dogzin."

"The dogzin?" asked Coconnas.

"Yes, de dogzin: ding, ding!"

"Oh! the tocsin?"

"Yes, dat is what I said."

"All right; I will be there," said Coconnas.

And, bowing to De Besme, he went away, saying to himself:

"What the devil does he mean, and what are they going to sound the tocsin for? Never mind! I stick to my opinion that M. de Besme is a charming Teuton. Shall I wait for the Comte de La Mole? no; he will probably sup with the King of Navarre."

And Coconnas made off towards the Rue de I'Arbre Sec, whither the sign of the Belle-Etoile drew him like a magnet. Meanwhile a door in the corridor leading from the apartments of the King of Navarre opened, and a page advanced towards M. de La Mole.

"Are you the Comte de La Mole? " said he.

"I am."

"Where are you lodging?"

"Rue de I'Arbre Sec, at the Belle Etoile:'

"Good! It is at the gate of the Louvre. Listen . . . his Majesty sends word that he cannot receive you at this moment; he will perhaps send for you to-night. In any case, if you do not hear from him before to-morrow morning, come to the Louvre."

"But if the sentry refuses me admission?"

"Ah! true . . . the pass-word is Navarre; give this word, and all doors will open to you."

"Thanks."

"Wait, sir; I have orders to conduct you to the gate for fear you should lose your way in the Louvre."

"By-the-bye, what about Coconnas? said La Mole when he found himself outside the palace. "Oh! he will stay to supper with the Due de Guise."

But on entering the inn, the first person that he saw was Coconnas seated at table with an enormous fried omelette in I front of him.

"Ha! ha!" exclaimed Coconnas, with a burst of laughter, "you don't seem to have supped with the King of Navarre any more than I have with M.de Guise."

"No, indeed."

"And do you feel hungry yet?"

"I should think so."

"In spite of Plutarch?"

"Monsieur le Comte," said La Mole, laughing, "Plutarch observes in another place: 'He who has, should share with him who has not.' Will you, for the sake of Plutarch, share your omelette with me, and we will talk of virtue while we are eating it."

"Not I, indeed," said Coconnas, "virtue is all very well when one is at the Louvre and afraid of being overheard, and on an empty stomach. Sit down there and have your supper.'"

"Come, I see that Fate has decided that we are to be inseparable. Shall you sleep here?"

"I don't know."

"Nor I either."

"At any rate, I know where I shall spend the night."

"Where is that?"

"In the same place where you spend it yourself; that is inevitable."

And both began to laugh as they turned their best attention to Master La Huiiere's omelette.

_________

NOTES

Besme, also called Behmef, real name apparently Charles Dianovitz (Czech: Karel z Janovic), was a Bohemian in the pay of the Duke of Guise, who is recorded as the assassin of Protestant leader Gaspard de Coligny in 1572, using either a dagger or a "big sword". The assassin group called itself Picards de Bohème. Later subsequently was made prisoner while warring against the Protestants of Saintonge, who put him to death.

Diane de Poitiers (9 January 1500 – 25 April 1566) was a French noblewoman and courtier who wielded much power and influence as King Henry II's royal mistress and adviser until his death. Her position increased her wealth and family's status. She was a major patron of French Renaissance architecture.

[dumasdaily]

Queen Margot - 4

CHAPTER IV

THE EVENING OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH OF AUGUST, 1572.

OUR reader has not forgotten that mention was made in the preceding chapter of a gentleman called La Mole, for whom Henri de Navarre was waiting somewhat impatiently. This young gentleman, as the Admiral had announced, entered Paris by the Porte Saint-Marcel, towards the close of the day of the 24th of August, 1572, and bestowing a somewhat contemptuous glance on the numerous hostelries displaying their picturesque signs to right and left, rode his still-smoking horse into the heart of the City, where, after crossing the Place Maubert, the Petit-Pont, the Notre-Dame Bridge, and passing along the quays, he stopped at the end of the Rue de Bresec, turned by us at a later date into the Rue de I'Arbre Sec, and which, for the greater convenience of our readers, we shall allude to under its modern name.

The name doubtless pleased him, for he turned down the street, and, his attention being attracted by a fine piece of metal creaking on its iron support at his left hand, halted once more in order to read these words: A la Belle-Etoile, painted beneath a picture representing an object most attractive to the hungry traveller; namely, a fowl roasting against a dark sky, while a man in a red cloak was extending towards this new sort of star, his arms, his purse, and his desires.

"Here," said the rider to himself, "is an inn which promises well, and the host who keeps it must be an ingenious fellow, upon my word. I have always heard say that the Rue de I'Arbre Sec was near the Louvre, and provided the establishment fulfils the promise of its sign-board, I shall do capitally here."

While the newcomer was uttering this soliloquy, another horseman, who had entered the street from its opposite end, that is to say from the Rue Saint-Honore, also halted and remained in ecstasy before the sign of the Belle-Etoile.

The one of these horsemen whom we know, at least by name, rode a white horse of Spanish breed, and was dressed in a black doublet trimmed with jet. His cloak was of dark purple velvet; he wore boots of black leather, and carried a sword with a hilt of chased steel, and a dagger similarly ornamented. Passing from his equipment to his face, we shall remark that he was a man of four or five and twenty, of sunburnt complexion, with blue eyes, a slight moustache, and a row of white teeth, which seemed to light up his features when he opened a perfectly-shaped mouth to give expression to a sweet though melancholy smile.

As for the second traveller, he presented a complete contrast to the first. Beneath his hat, with its turned-up brim, appeared a rich and curly crop of hair, red rather than fair; beneath his hair were grey eyes, which, at the slightest opposition, flashed with a fire so brilliant that you would then have called them black.

The rest of his face consisted of a ruddy complexion, thin lips surmounted by a fair moustache, and a splendid set of teeth. In short, with his fair skin, his tall stature, and his broad shoulders, he was a very handsome cavalier in the ordinary acceptation of the term, and for the past hour, during which he had been staring up into every window on pretence of looking for sign-boards, had attracted much attention on the part of the fair sex; as for the men, who at first perhaps had shown some inclination to laugh on seeing his scanty cloak, tight-fitting hose, and old-fashioned boots, they had ended this laugh with a most gracious "God keep you!" on a survey of this countenance, which assumed ten different expressions in a minute, with the one exception, however, of that benevolent and deprecating expression which always distinguishes the face of the provincial visitor when in a difficulty.

It was he who first accosted the other gentleman who, as we have said, was thus inspecting the hostelry of the Belle-Etoile.

"Zounds! sir," he observed, with that dreadful mountain accent which, at his first word, makes a man known for a Piedmontese among a room full of strangers, "are we not somewhere near the Louvre? At any rate, you seem to have the same taste as myself, which is flattering to my dignity."

"Sir," replied the other with a Provencal accent in noway less marked than the Piedmontese accent of his companion, "I fancy that, in point of fact, this inn is near the Louvre. I am, however, still asking myself whether I shall have the honour of agreeing with your opinion; I am debating the question in my mind."

"You have not yet decided, sir? The house, however, looks attractive, and in addition I have perhaps allowed myself to be influenced by your presence. You will allow, at any rate, that the sign is a tempting one?"

"Oh! no doubt; but it is exactly that which makes me doubt whether the reality will come up to it. Paris is full of swindlers I have been told, and you can cheat by means of a sign-board as well as with anything else."

"Zounds, sir," replied the Piedmontese, "I don't bother my head about trickery, and should the host serve me up a fowl less well roasted than that on the sign, I'll put him on the spit himself, and not leave him until he is browned to a nicety. Let us go in, sir."

"You have decided me," said the Provencal, laughing; "so lead the way, sir, I beg of you."

"Upon my soul, sir, I will do nothing of the kind, for I am but your humble servant, Comte Hannibal de Coconnas."

"And I, sir, am but Comte Joseph Hyacinthe Boniface de Lerac de la Mole, at your service."

"In that case, sir, let us take arms and enter together."

The result of this conciliatory proposal was that the two young men, dismounting from their horses and throwing their reins to an ostler, took each other by the arm, and settling their swords, made for the door of the inn, on the threshold of which stood the landlord.

Contrary, however, to the custom with such persons, the worthy proprietor appeared to have taken no notice of them, being engaged in a very earnest conversation with a tall fellow, with a wizened, yellow face, ensconced, like an owl among its feathers, in a drab cloak.

Our two friends were so close to the host and the man in the cloak with whom he was conversing, that Coconnas, annoyed at the neglect shown to himself and his companion, pulled the landlord by the sleeve. The latter appeared to rouse himself with a start, and took leave of his interlocutor with the words:

"Au revoir. Come again soon, and mind you keep me informed how things are going."

"Here, you rascal!" said Coconnas, "don't you see that we have business with you?"

"Ah! I beg pardon, messieurs," said the host: "I did not see you."

"Zounds! you ought to have seen us; and now that you have done so, instead of saying 'monsieur' in that abrupt fashion, say 'Monsieur le Comte,' if you please."

La Mole stood in the rear, letting Coconnas, who seemed to have taken the affair into his own hands, do the talking. It was easy, however, to see by the frown on his brow that he was prepared to come to his aid when the moment for action should arrive.

"Well! what is your will, Monsieur le Comte?" asked the landlord in a more subdued tone.

"Good; that's better already, is it not? " said Coconnas, turning to La Mole, who nodded his head. "M. le Comte and myself, being attracted by your sign-board, desire to find supper and lodging in your hostelry."

"Gentlemen," said the landlord, "I am exceedingly sorry, but I have only one room, and I am afraid that it will not be suitable for you."

"Oh! well, so much the better," said La Mole; "we will go and lodge elsewhere."

"No, no," said Coconnas. " I will I stay, at any rate; my horse is worn out. I will have the room, then, since you do not want it."

"Ah! that's quite another matter," answered the landlord, still maintaining the same imperturbability. "If there is only one of you I can't put you up at all."

"Zounds!" cried Coconnas, "a pretty fellow, upon my word. Just now we were two too many, and now we are not enough by one! You don't want to take us in, then, you rascal?"

"Upon my word, gentlemen, since you take that tone, I will give you a straight answer."

"Answer, then, and be quick about it."

"Well, then, I prefer not to have the honour of entertaining you."

"Because?" asked Coconnas, growing white with rage.

"Because you have no grooms, and therefore, for one gentleman's room occupied, I should have two grooms' chambers empty. Now, if I give you the gentleman's room, I run the risk of not letting the others."

"Monsieur de la Mole," said Coconnas, turning round, "don't you agree with me that we must teach this fellow a lesson?"

"It seems justifiable," said La Mole, preparing, like his companion, to belabour the landlord with his whip.

But in spite of this double demonstration, somewhat alarming on the part of two gentlemen who appeared so determined, the innkeeper showed no surprise, and merely retreated a step within the doorway,

"It is easy to see," he remarked in a jeering tone, "that these gentlemen hail from the country. In Paris the fashion of butchering innkeepers for refusing to let their rooms is obsolete. It is the great lords, and not the citizens, who get butchered, and if you make much disturbance I shall call in my neighbours, and it is you who will get the thrashing, a punishment quite beneath the dignity of two gentlemen."

"Zounds! he is laughing at us," cried Coconnas, with rising wrath.

"Gregoire! my arquebus," said the landlord, addressing his drawer, in the same tone that he might have said, "a seat for these gentlemen."

"By the Pope!" roared Coconnas, drawing his sword; "come, warm up. Monsieur de La Mole!"

"Not so, an it please you; for while we are getting warm, our supper will be getting cold."

"What! you mean to say?" cried Coconnas.

"I mean that mine host of the Belle-Etoile has right on his side; only he doesn't know how to deal with travellers, especially when those travellers are gentlemen. Instead of saying to us uncivilly: 'Gentlemen, I don't want to have anything to do with you,' he would have done better to have said politely: 'Enter, gentlemen,' being free to put in his bill: Gentleman s room, so much; lackey s room, so much; seeing that, though we have no lackeys at present, we expect to have some."

Saying this. La Mole gently pushed aside the innkeper, who was already extending his hand towards his arquebus, made Coconnas pass in, and entered the house behind him.

"Never mind," said Coconnas, "it's as much as I can do to replace my sword in the sheath without satisfying myself that it pricks as sharply as this rogue's larding-needles do."

"Patience, my dear comrade," said La Mole, "patience! All the inns are full of gentlemen attracted to Paris by the marriage festivities, or for the approaching war with Flanders, and we shouldn't find any other quarters; mayhap, too, it is the custom in Paris to receive strangers in this way on their arrival."

"Zounds! you are patient, and no mistake! " muttered Coconnas, twisting his red moustache with fury, and pulverising the innkeeper with his glance. "But let the rascal look to himself; if his cooking is bad, if his beds are hard, if his wine is not three years in bottle, if his drawer is not as supple as a rush"

"There, there, my gentleman," said the host, sharpening his knife on a grindstone, "make your mind easy; you are in the country where things are to be had for the asking."

Then with a shake of the head, he muttered sotto voce:

"It is some Huguenot; the traitors have become so insolent since the marriage of their Bearnais with Mistress Margot!"

Upon which he added, with a smile which would have made his guests shudder had they seen it:

"Ha! ha! it would be amusing if Huguenots had chanced to tumble in here — and if."

"Look here! can we have our supper?" asked Coconnas, sharply, interrupting his host's asides.

"Why, just as you please, sir," replied the latter, mollified no doubt by the thought that had just occurred to him.

"Well! we do please, and quick's the word," answered Coconnas.

Then, turning to La Mole:

"Come, Monsieur le Comte," said he, "while they are preparing our room, tell me, does Paris happen to strike you as a gay city?"

"My word! no," said La Mole; "I seem to have come across nothing but scared or crabbed faces. Perhaps the Parisians are in fear of a storm. Look how black the sky is, and how oppressive the atmosphere."

"Tell me, Count, you are looking for the Louvre, are you not?"

"And you, too, I believe, Monsieur de Coconnas."

"Well, we will look for it together, if you like."

"Eh! isn't it rather late to go out?" said La Mole.

"Late or not, I must go; my orders are peremptory — make for Paris as quickly as possible, and communicate with the Duc de Guise the instant you arrive."

On hearing the Duc's name mentioned, the landlord approached and listened attentively.

"I fancy this rascal is listening to us," said Coconnas, who, being a Piedmontese, was rather spiteful, and could not forgive the host of the Belle-Etoile for the unceremonious fashion in which he had welcomed them.

"Yes, gentlemen," said the landlord, touching his cap, "I am listening, but only in order to serve you. I heard the great Duc de Guise mentioned, and so I hurried forward. In what way can I oblige you, gentlemen?"

"Ha! that name apparently is magical in its effects, for, from being insolent, you have become obsequious. Zounds! master — master — what is your name?"

"Master La Hurière," replied the landlord, with a bow.

"Well! Master La Hurière, do you fancy that my arm is less heavy than the Duc de Guise's, who has the privilege of making you so polite?"

"No, Monsieur le Comte, but it is not so long," replied La Hurière. "Besides," added he, "I must tell you that this great Henri is idolised by us Parisians."

"Which Henri? " asked La Mole.

"I imagine there is only one," said the Innkeeper.

"Pardon me. my friend, there is another Henri, of whom I would advise you to say no harm, and that is Henri de Navarre, not to mention Henri de Condé, who is also an excellent prince."

"I know nothing about them," answered the host.

"Yes, but / do," said La Mole, "and as my business is with King Henri de Navarre, I recommend you not to abuse him in my presence."

The host, without replying to M. de la Mole, contented himself with slightly touching his cap, and continuing to gaze at Coconnas with admiration, observed:

"So you are going to speak with the great Duc de Guise? You are very fortunate, and no doubt you have come here for--"

"For what?" asked Coconnas.

"For the fete," answered the host, with a curious smile.

"You should say rather for the fetes, for Paris is glutted with them, I am told; at least, people talk of nothing but balls, banquets, and carousals. There is plenty of amusement in Paris, eh!"

"A fair amount so far, sir; but we are going to have an abundance, I hope."

"At any rate, the marriage of His Majesty, the King of Navarre, has drawn plenty of people to the city," said La Mole.

"Plenty of Huguenots, yes, sir," replied La Hurière, sharply; then, recovering himself: "I beg your pardon," said he, "perhaps you gentlemen belong to the Religion?"

"To the Religion!" cried Coconnas, "not I! I am as Catholic as the Holy Father himself."

La Hurière turned to La Mole as if to question him; but La Mole either did not understand his look, or thought it better not to reply except by another question.

"If you don't know His Majesty, the King of Navarre, Master La Hurière. perhaps you know the Admiral? I have heard that he enjoys some measure of favour at the Court; and as I have been recommended to him, I should be glad to know where he resides, if it will not burn your mouth to mention his address."

"He was residing in the Rue de Bethisy, to the right here, sir," answered the host, with an inward satisfaction which he was unable to disguise in his outward manner.

"Was residing?" asked La Mole; "has he removed, then?"

"Yes, out of this world, very likely."

"What does he say?" exclaimed the two gentlemen simultaneously; "the Admiral removed from this world!"

"Why! Monsieur de Coconnas," went on the host with a cunning smile, "you are of the party of Guise and don't know that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, that the day before yesterday, as he was going through the Place Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, the Admiral was shot by an arquebus just in front of the house of the Canon Pierre Piles."

"And was he killed?" cried La Mole.

"No, he only had his arm and two fingers smashed, but it is hoped that the bullets were poisoned."

"What, you wretch! hoped!"

"I mean to say, believed," replied the host. "Don't let us quarrel about a word; my tongue tripped."

And La Hurière, turning his back on La Mole, thrust out his tongue in the most jeering fashion, accompanying this gesture with a wink at Coconnas.

"Really and truly," said Coconnas, beaming.

"Really and truly!" murmured La Mole, with mournful stupefaction.

"It is just as I have the honour to tell you, gentlemen," replied the host.

"In that case," said La Mole,"I must go to the Louvre without a moment's delay. Shall I find King Henri there?"

"It is possible, for he is lodged there."

"And I also must go to the Louvre," said Coconnas. "Shall I find the Due de Guise there?"

"Most probably, for I saw him pass by a short time ago with two hundred gentlemen."

"Come, then, Monsieur de Coconnas," said La Mole.

"1 will follow you, sir," said Coconnas.

"But your supper, gentlemen? " asked La Hurière.

"Ah!" said La Mole, "perhaps I shall have supper with the King of Navarre."

"And I with the Duc de Guise," said Coconnas.

"And I," said the host, as he looked after the two gentlemen who took the road to the Louvre, "will polish up my helmet, prime my arquebus, and sharpen my halberd. One never knows what may happen."

_________

NOTES

Annibal Hannibal, comte de Coconas (in italian : Annibale Radicati), a nobleman of Piedmontese origins, was born in Suse (Italy) about 1535 and died in Paris in 1574, was one of the favourites of Duc d'Alençon, François de France.

[dumasdaily]

Queen Margot - 3

CHAPTER III

A POET KING

THE next day and those that succeeded it were spent in fetes, ballets, and tourneys.

The two parties continued to fraternise with one another. The Huguenots were treated with an attention and respect sufficient to turn the heads of the most embittered among them. Père Cotton had been seen dining and making merry with the Baron de Courtaumer, and the Duc de Guise had gone up the Seine with the Prince de Condé in a barge, attended by a band of musicians.

King Charles appeared to have laid aside his habitual melancholy, and to be unable to do without the company of his brother-in-law Henri. Lastly, the Queen-Mother was so cheerful and so taken up with embroideries, jewels and plumes, as to lose her sleep.

The Huguenots, though but slightly mollified by this new Capua, began to don once more their silken doublets, to set up emblems, and to parade in front of certain balconies just as though they were Catholics. On all sides there was a reaction in favour of the Reformed Religion, such as to make people imagine the entire Court was going to turn Protestant. The Admiral himself, spite of his previous experience, allowed himself to be carried away like the rest, and became so excited that one evening he forgot for two whole hours to chew his tooth-pick, an occupation to which he usually gave himself up the moment his dinner was finished until eight o'clock at night, when he sat down again to supper.

On the evening when the Admiral had relapsed into this incredible forgetfulness of his usual habits, Charles IX. had invited Henri de Navarre and the Duc de Guise to sup with him in private.

At the termination of the meal he took them into his cabinet, and was there explaining to them the ingenious mechanism of a wolf-trap invented by himself, when, breaking off suddenly, he asked:

"Isn't the Admiral coming this evening? Has anyone seen him to-day? Can anyone give me news of him?"

"I have seen him," said the King of Navarre, "and in case your Majesty should be anxious about his health I can set your mind at ease, for I saw him this morning at six o'clock, and again this evening at seven."

"Oh! indeed," said the King, whose eyes, momentarily distracted, now fixed themselves with a piercing gaze upon his brother-in-law, " You are up very early, Henriot, for a newly-married man!"

"Yes, sire," replied the King of Navarre, "I was anxious to learn from the Admiral, who knows everything, whether some gentlemen whom I am still expecting are likely to arrive soon."

"More gentlemen! why, you had eight hundred on the day of your wedding, and they still keep arriving every day. Do you want to invade us?" asked Charles, laughing.

The Duc de Guise frowned.

"Sire," replied the Béarnais, " there is talk of an expedition against Flanders, and I am collecting round me all those of my own country and the neighbouring districts whom I think likely to prove serviceable to your Majesty."

The Duke, recollecting the scheme of which the Béarnais had spoken to Marguerite on the wedding-day, listened more attentively.

"Good, good!" answered the King, with his deceitful smile, "the more of them there are, the better pleased we shall be; bring them up, Henri, bring them up. But who are these gentlemen? Courageous fellows, I trust?"

"I don't know, sire, whether my men are equal to your Majesty's, or those of the Duc d'Anjou, or the Duc de Guise, but I know their worth, and am certain they will do their best."

"Are there many that you still expect?"

"Some ten or a dozen more."

"And their names?"

"Sire, their names have escaped me, and with the exception of one of them recommended to me by Teligny as an accomplished gentleman, and called De la Mole, I could not tell you. . . ."

"De la Mole!" replied the King, who was well versed in geneaIogical matters," isn't he one Lerac de la Mole[1], a Provencal?"

"The same, sire; I gather recruits even in Provence, as you see."

"And I," said the Duc de Guise, with a mocking smile, "go even further than his Majesty the King of Navarre, for I am going to hunt even in Piedmont for all the trusty Catholics I can find."

"Catholics or Protestants," interrupted the King, "it matters little, provided they are valiant."

The King had assumed such a tone of indifference in saying these words, which seemed, from his point of view, to place Protestants and Catholics upon an equal footing, that even the Duc de Guise was astonished.

"Your Majesty is discussing the Flemish? " said Admiral de Coligny, to whom the King some days earlier had granted the privilege of visiting him unannounced, and who had heard the last words spoken by His Majesty.

"Ah! here is my father, the Admiral," cried Charles IX., opening his arms; "we talk of war and gallant gentlemen, and he arrives like iron attracted by the magnet. My brother-in-law of Navarre and my cousin of Guise are expecting reinforcements for your army; that is what we were discussing."

"And these reinforcements are arriving," said the Admiral.

"Have you had any news, sir?" asked the Béarnais.

"Yes, my son, more particularly with regard to M. de la Mole; he was at Orleans yesterday, and will be in Paris to-morrow or the day after."

"Plague take it! The Admiral must be a wizard to know thus what is taking place at thirty or forty leagues' distance! For my own part, I should like to know with equal certainty what happened or has happened before Orleans."

Coligny remained impervious to this deadly thrust of the Duc de Guise, which evidently bore reference to the death of his father, François de Guise, who had been slain at Orleans by Poltrot de Mere, not without a suspicion that the Admiral had suggested the deed.

"Sir," he replied coldly and with dignity, "I am always a wizard when I wish for positive information as to what concerns my own business or that of the King. My messenger arrived from Orleans an hour ago, and, thanks to his relays of horses, accomplished thirty-two leagues within the day. M. de la Mole, who is riding his own horse, travels but ten leagues a day, and will not arrive until the twenty-fourth. That is the whole magic."

"Bravo! my father; well answered," said Charles. "Prove to these young men that it is wisdom as well as old age that has whitened your hair and your beard; and now we will send them away to talk of their tourneys and love affairs, while we remain together to discuss our wars. Good advisers make good kings, my father. Come, gentlemen, I wish to talk with the Admiral."

The two young men went out, the king of Navarre first, followed by the Duc de Guise; once outside the door, however, each turned with a frigid bow in his own direction.

Coligny had followed them with his eyes with some uneasiness, for he never saw these two hostile spirits meet without fearing that some fresh explosion would follow. Charles, comprehending what was passing in his mind, advanced to him and linking his arm in the Admiral's, observed:

"Make your mind easy, my father, I am here to exact obedience and respect from everyone. I am veritably King, now that my mother is no longer Queen, and that she has ceased to be, now that Coligny is my father."

"Oh! sire," said the Admiral, "Queen Catherine--"

"Is a mischief-maker. With her there can be no peace. The Italian Catholics are enraged, and will hear of nothing but extermination. I, on the contrary, am not only for pacific measures, but would even wish to place power in the hands of those of the Reformed Religion. The other Party are too dissolute, my father, and scandalise me by their amours and irregularities. Look! would you like me to speak frankly," continued Charles, waxing increasingly confidential, "I mistrust all who surround me except my new friends. I suspect the ambition of the Tavannes. Vieilleville[2] cares about nothing but good wine, and would betray his Sovereign for a cask of Malmsey. Montmorency thinks of nought but his hunting, and spends his time between his hounds and his falcons. The Comte de Retz[3] is a Spaniard, the Guises are Lorrainers. I don't believe there are any true Frenchmen in France, so help me God! except myself, my brother-in law of Navarre, and you. But, for myself, I am tied to the throne and cannot lead armies into the field. It is as much as they will do to let me hunt in peace at Saint-Germain and Rambouillet. My brother-in-law of Navarre is too young and inexperienced. Besides, he seems to me to take in every respect after his father, Antoine, of whom women were ever the ruin. There is no one left but you, my father, who are at once as brave as Julius Cassar and as wise as Plato. So, really and truly, I don't know what I ought to do; to keep you here as my adviser or send you there as general. If you remain to give advice, who will lead the army? If you command, who will advise me?"

"Sire," said Coligny, "you must conquer first; after the victory will come the time for counsel."

"That is your opinion, my father? Well! be it so. Your advice shall be taken. You shall start to-morrow for Flanders, and I for Amboise."

"Your Majesty leaves Paris?"

"Yes. I am tired of all this noise and all these fetes. I am no man of action, but a dreamer. I was not born to be a King but a poet. You shall form a sort of Council, who will manage affairs while you are at the Wars; and provided my mother has no hand in it, all will go well. I have already told Ronsard[4] to come and join me; and there, far from all uproar, far from the madding crowd and from evil-doers, we two, beneath our spacious woods, on the banks of the river, and to the accompaniment of the murmur of the brooks, will talk of the things of God, the sole compensation for human affairs which this world contains. Come, listen to these lines, in which I have invited him to join me; I composed them this morning."

Coligny smiled. Charles passed his hand across his forehead, which was as yellow and smooth as ivory, and recited in a kind of sing-song the following lines:

Ronsard, I know that, should you see me not, Your Monarch's voice will be by you forgot, So let me tell you that I still pursue The art poetic erst begun with you; This trifle, therefore, I desired to send To stir the ambition of my poet friend.

Come, cease your absorption in household affairs, The time is gone by for gardening cares; The King summons you, whom he loves of all men, For the verses so sweet which fall from your pen; And know, should you fail to Amboise to repair, A serious quarrel with me you will share."

"Bravo! sire, bravo! " said Coligny, "I know more of war than I do of poetry, but these verses seem to me to equal the finest of Ronsard, Dorat[5], and even Michel de I'Hospital[6], Chancellor of France."

"Ah! my father!" ciied Charles, "how truly you speak; for the title of poet, mark you, is the one that I desire above all things; and, as I said to my master in poetry a few days ago:

The art poetic (I'm indignant at the thing) Should sure rank higher than that of being King; Poet and King, each wears a crown upon his brow, But I, the King, receive it, you, the bard, bestow. Your spirit, kindled by celestial flame, Shines of itself, I but by greatness of my name; While, from the gods, if I seek predilection, Ronsard their darling is, I, their mere reflection. Your lyre, enchanting with its dulcet tone, Enthrals men's minds — I but their bodies own — Makes you their lord, and thus you win your way Where proudest monarch never yet held sway."

"Sire," said Coligny, "I was well aware that your Majesty conversed with the Muses, but I had no notion you had taken them as your chief advisers."

"Next to you, my father, next to you; and it is in order that my relations with them may not be disturbed that I wish to put you at the head of affairs. Listen, then; I must reply immediately to a new madrigal sent me by my great and beloved poet… so I cannot now give you all the documents necessary for acquainting you with the great question on which Philip II and I are divided. Moreover, there is a kind of plan of campaign sketched out by my Ministers. I will hunt up all these and hand them to you to-morrow morning."

"At what hour, sire?"

"At ten o'clock; and if I should happen to be engaged with my verses and shut up in my study. . . well! you can come in here all the same and take all the papers you find on this table enclosed in this red portfolio; the colour is bright, and you cannot make any mistake. Now I am going to write to Ronsard."

"Adieu, sire."

"Adieu, my father."

"Your hand!"

"My hand, did you say? in my arms, clasped to my breast, that is your place. Come, my old warrior, come."

And Charles, drawing Coligny to him as he bowed, placed his lips on his white locks.

The Admiral went out, wiping away a tear.

Charles looked and listened until he was out of sight and hearing, then let his pale face droop, as was his wont, between his shoulders, and walked slowly from the room into the closet where his collection of weapons was stored.

This room was a favourite one of the King's; in it he took lessons in fencing with Pompée, and in poetry with Ronsard. In it was placed a large collection of the finest weapons, and the finest armour that he had been able to find. The walls were covered with axes, shields, pikes, halberds, pistols, and musketoons, and that very day a noted armourer had brought him a splendid arquebus[7], on the stock of which were engraved in silver these lines composed by the royal poet himself:

In defence of the faith I am loyal; 'Gainst the foes of the King I am cruel.

This room Charles entered on the present occasion, and, after carefully closing the door, raised a curtain which concealed a passage leading to a chamber where a woman, kneeling before a prie-dieu, was engaged in prayer.

As his movements had been slow, and his steps, deadened by the thick carpet, had made no more noise than if he had been a ghost, the woman, hearing nothing, continued her prayers without turning round. Charles stood for a moment, looking at her in deep thought.

She was a woman of four or five and thirty, whose striking beauty was heightened by the costume worn by the peasants in the neighbourhood of Caux, She wore the high cap which was so fashionable at the French Court during the reign of Isabeau de Baviere[8], and her red corsage was covered with gold embroidery, like those worn by the peasants of Nettuno and Sora at the present day. The room which she had occupied for nearly twenty years adjoined the King's bed-chamber, and presented a singular mixture of elegance and rusticity in which the palace and the cottage were blended in almost equal proportions, so that the apartment occupied a middle position between the simplicity of the villager and the luxury of the great lady. Thus the prie-dieu at which she knelt was of oak, wonderfully carved, and covered with gold-fringed velvet, while the Bible — for she belonged to the Reformed Religion — from which she read her prayers was one of those old, tattered volumes such as are found in the poorest houses. The rest of the furniture of the room was in keeping with this prie-dieu and this Bible.

"Well! Madelon," said the King. On hearing his familiar voice she raised her head with a smile; then, getting up from her knees, she said:

"Ah! it is you, my son!"

"Yes, nurse, come here." Charles let the curtain fall back again, and went and took a seat on the arm of a chair. The nurse followed him.

"What do you want with me, Charlot," said she.

"Come here, and speak softly."

The nurse approached, with a familiarity which might have been born of that maternal tenderness of the woman for the child whom she has nursed at her breast, but to which the lampoons of the day ascribed a cause infinitely less pure.

"Here I am," said she; "speak."

"Is the man I sent for here?"

"He has been here for half an hour."

Charles got up and went to the window to see that no one was on the watch, held his ear close to the door to make sure that no one was listening, shook the dust from his stands of arms, stroked a large greyhound which was following his steps, stopping when his master stopped and advancing when he advanced; then, turning to the nurse:

"Very well, nurse, bring him in." The worthy woman went out by the same passage by which she had entered, while the King went and leaned against a table on which weapons of various kinds were lying.

He had scarcely reached this table when the curtain was raised again to give admission to the man whom he was expecting.

This was a person of about forty, with grey and shifty eyes, a nose hooked like a screech-owl's, and projecting cheekbones; his features endeavoured to express respect, though his lips, blanched by terror, could only assume a hypocritical smile.

Charles gently extended a hand behind his back and grasped the butt of a newly-invented pistol which was fired by means of a flint in contact with a wheel of steel instead of by a match, then fixed his dull eye upon the new-comer and scrutinised him narrowly, at the same time whistling the air of one of his favourite hunting-songs with remarkable accuracy and melodiousness.

After a few seconds, during which the stranger's countenance grew more and more disconcerted:

"You are François de Louviers-Maurevel?" asked the King.

"The same, sire."

"Commander of the Petardiers?"

"Yes, sire."

"I wished to see you."

Maurevel bowed.

"You know," continued Charles, dwelling on each word, "that I love all my subjects equally."

"I know," stammered Maurevel, "that your Majesty is the father of his people."

"And the Huguenots and the Catholics are equally my children."

Maurevel remained dumb; the tremor, however, which shook his frame was visible to the King's piercing glance, although the man whom he addressed was almost hidden in shadow.

"That is disappointing to you," con- tinued the King, "you who have waged such stern war against the Huguenots."

Maurevel fell upon his knees.

"Sire," he stammered, "believe me —"

"I believe," continued Charles, fixing more intensely on Maurevel a glance which, from being cold, became almost flashing, "I believe that you wanted at Moncontour to kill the Admiral who has just left me; that you failed in your object, and that you then joined the army of my brother, the Duc d'Anjou; that you went afterwards for the second time to the Princes and took service in the company of M. de Mouy de St. Phale —"

"Oh! sire!"

"A brave nobleman of Picardy?"

"Sire, sire," cried Maurevel, "do not crush me!"

"And a worthy officer," continued Charles, on whose face an almost ferocious cruelty was depicted as he went on talking, "who welcomed you as a son, lodged you, fed and clothed you."

Maurevel uttered a sigh of despair.

"You called him your father, I believe," the King continued mercilessly, "and a tender friendship bound you to young De Mouy, his son?"

Maurevel, still on his knees, bent to the ground, more and more crushed by the words of the King, who stood over him motionless, like a statue which the lips alone endowed with life.

"By-the-bye," continued the King, "was it not ten thousand crowns that you were to receive from M. de Guise in case you killed the Admiral?"

The assassin, in his consternation, seemed to strike the very floor with his forehead.

"As for the lord of Mouy, your good father, one day you accompanied him on a reconnoitring party which he was pushing forwards towards Chevreux. He let his whip fall, and dismounted to pick it up. You were alone with him; you then snatched a pistol from your holsters and shot him in the back as he was stooping; when you saw that he was dead — for you killed him with one shot — you escaped upon the horse which he had given you. That, I believe, is the story?"

And as Maurevel met this accusation, each detail of which was true, in silence, Charles began to whistle the same hunting-song with the same accuracy and melodiousness as before.

"So now, sir murderer," said he, after an instant, "do you know that I have a great mind to hang you?"

"Oh! your Majesty!" cried Maurevel.

"The young De Mouy entreated me to do so but yesterday, and I really did not know how to answer him, for his demand is perfectly just."

Maurevel clasped his hands.

"All the more so because, as you said, I am the Father of my people, and because, as I told you, now that I have patched up matters with the Huguenots, they are as much my children as the Catholics."

"Sire," said Maurevel, in abject despair, "my life is in with me as you will."

"You are right, and I you a groat for it."

"But, sire," answered the assassin, "is there no way in which I can redeem my crime?"

"I hardly think so. Still, if I were in your place, which, thank God, I am not…"

"Well, sire! if you were in my place? " murmured Maurevel, hanging in suspense on Charles's lips.

"I think I should find a way of extricating myself," continued the King.

Maurevel raised himself on one knee, and fixed his eyes on Charles to assure himself that the King was not joking.

"I like young De Mouy very much, of course," the King went on, "but I like my cousin of Guise much more, and if the latter were to beg the life of a man whose death was demanded by the former, I confess I should be much puzzled how to act. However, from political as well as from religious motives I ought to do what my cousin of Guise asks me, for De Mouy, brave officer as he is, is of small importance in comparison with a Prince of Lorraine."

During these words Maurevel rose from the ground slowly, like a man returning to life.

"Well, the important thing for you, then, in your critical position, is to gain the favour of my cousin of Guise, and a propos I remember something he was telling me yesterday."

Maurevel came a step nearer.

"'Just fancy, sire,'" he said to me, "'that every morning at ten o'clock my deadly enemy passes through the Rue Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois on his return from the Louvre; I see him go by from a barred window on the ground-floor, a window belonging to the house of my old tutor, the Abbe Pierre Piles, and every time I see him go by, I utter a prayer that the Devil might pitch him into hell.'" Now, master Maurevel," continued Charles, "supposing you were the Devil, or at least could take his place for a moment, perhaps my cousin of Guise might be pleased."

Maurevel recovered his sinister smile, and his lips, still white with fear, let fall the words:

"But, sire, I cannot send him to hell."

"You did so, however, if I remember your hands, do I rightly, for the brave De Mouy. After that, will you tell me that with a pistol — haven't you got that pistol still?"

" Pardon me, sire," replied Maurevel, with somewhat more assurance, "but I shoot better with the arquebus than the pistol."

"Oh!" said Charles, "pistol or arquebus, It makes little difference, and I am sure my cousin of Guise will not wrangle over the choice of weapons."

"But," said Maurevel, "I must have a weapon on whose accuracy I can rely, for perhaps I may have to shoot from some distance."

"I have ten arquebuses in this room," replied Charles, "with which I can hit a gold crown at a hundred and fifty paces. Will you try one of them?"

"Oh! sire! with the greatest pleasure," cried Maurevel, going towards the weapon lying in a corner, and which had been brought to the King that very day.

"No, not that one," said the King; "I reserve that for my own use. I am going to have a great hunt one of these days, when I hope it will prove useful; but take your choice of the others."

Maurevel took down an arquebus from a stand.

"Now, sire, this enemy, who is he?" asked the assassin.

"How should I know that? " replied the King, crushing the wretch with a look of contempt.

"Then I will ask M. de Guise," stammered Maurevel.

The King shrugged his shoulders.

"Ask nothing," said he; "M. de Guise will not answer you. Do you think people get replies to such questions? It is the business of those who want to escape hanging to guess for themselves."

"Still, how am I to recognise him?"

"I have told you that he passes the Abbe's window every morning at ten."

"But a great many people go past that window; will your Majesty deign to give me some slight hint?"

"Oh! that's easily done: to-morrow, for example, he will carry a red morocco portfolio under his arm."

"Sire, that is sufficient."

"Have you still that fast horse which M. de Mouy gave you?"

"Sire, my mount is one of the swiftest."

"Oh! I am not uneasy about you! only, it is well you should know that the cloister has a door at the rear."

"Thanks, sire. Now, pray God speed me."

"What! pray the Devil rather, for it is only by his protection that you can escape the halter."

"Adieu, sire."

"Adieu. Ah! by the bye, Monsieur de Maurevel, you know that if by any chance you should be heard of before ten o'clock to-morrow, or if you should not be heard of after ten, there is a dungeon in the Louvre!"

And Charles IX. started afresh to whistle his favourite air softly and more melodiously than ever.

_________

NOTES

Joseph Boniface de La Môle (c. 1526 – 30 April 1574) was a French nobleman. La Môle was the Provençal lover of Marguerite de Valois, among others, during the early part of her marriage to King Henry III of Navarre, the future king of France (Henry IV). In 1574 he was implicated in a Malcontent conspiracy against the reigning king, Charles IX, who was gravely ill, supported by the duke of Alençon. He was quartered and beheaded at the Place de Grève in Paris with his co-conspirator, Annibal de Coconas. It has been rumoured that Marguerite embalmed la Môle's head and kept it in a jewelled casket.

François de Scépeaux de Vieilleville (1509 – 30 November 1571), lord of Vieilleville, 1st comte of Durtal, was a French governor, diplomat, ambassador, conseillé du roi and marshal.

Albert de Gondi, duc de Retz (4 November 1522 in Florence – 1602) was a marshal of France and a member of the Gondi family. In 1572 he was deeply implicated in the decision to massacre the Protestant leadership in Paris that spiralled out into the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew.

Pierre de Ronsard (French pronunciation: [pjɛʁ də ʁɔ̃saʁ]; 11 September 1524 – 27 December 1585) was a French poet known in his generation as a "prince of poets".

Jean Daurat (Occitan: Joan Dorat; Latin: Auratus) (3 April 1508 – 1 November 1588) was a French poet, scholar and a member of a group known as The Pléiade.

Michel de l'Hôpital (or l'Hospital; 1506 – 13 March 1573) was a French lawyer, diplomat and chancellor during the latter Italian Wars and the early French Wars of Religion.

An arquebus is a form of long gun that appeared in Europe and the Ottoman Empire during the 15th century. An infantryman armed with an arquebus is called an arquebusier.

during the reign of Isabeau de Baviere - 1371-1435

[dumasdaily]

Queen Margot - 2

CHAPTER II

THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE'S BEDCHAMBER

THE Duc de Guise escorted his sister-in-law, the Duchesse de Nevers back to her house, which was in the Rue du Chaume, opposite to the Rue de Brac, and after handing her over to her women, passed to his own apartments in order to change his costume for a cloak suited to the night, and to arm himself with one of those short, sharp daggers which were nick-named "On the word of a gentleman," and were carried without a sword; but on taking it from the table on which he had laid it, he perceived a small note wedged between the blade and the sheath.

Opening this, he read as follows: —

"I earnestly hope that M. de Guise will not return to the Louvre to-night, or, if he does, that he will at least take the precaution to arm himself with a good coat-of-mail and sword."

"Aha!" said the Duke, turning to-wards his valet-de-chambre; " here is a curious warning, Master Robin. Now be good enough to tell me who are the persons who have got in here during my absence."

"One person only, Monseigneur."

"And who is he?"

"M. du Gast."

"Ah! just so: I rather fancied I recognised the hand. And you are sure that Du Gast came? You saw him?"

"I did more, Monseigneur, I talked with him."

"Good; then I will follow his advice. My coat-of-mail and my sword."

The valet-de-chambre, well accustomed to these changes of costume, brought them both. The Duke thereupon put on his jacket, composed of chains of mail so pliable that the texture of the steel was hardly thicker than velvet; next he drew on his long hose, and a doublet of grey and silver, his favourite colours, high boots, which came up to the middle of his thighs, placing on his head a cap of black velvet, without either plume or jewels, wrapped himself in a dark-coloured cloak, fastened a dagger in his girdle, and placing his sword in the hands of a page, the sole escort that he desired to accompany him, took the road for the Louvre.

Just as he crossed the threshold of his house the watchman at St. Germain-I'Auxerrois announced the hour of one in the morning.

Though the night was so far advanced, and the streets at this period far from safe, our adventurous Prince met with no accident by the way, and arrived safe and sound in front of the huge mass of the ancient Louvre, all the lights of which had gradually been extinguished, and which loomed out darkly in the silence of night.

In front of the Royal Palace extended a deep moat which was over- looked by most of the rooms of the princes who were lodged in the Palace. Marguerite's apartments were situated on the first floor.

But this first floor, which would have been accessible had there been no moat, was, owing to its existence, raised about thirty feet above the ground, and consequently beyond the reach of lovers or burglars, although this fact did not deter the Duke from descending resolutely into the ditch.

At the same moment was heard the sound of a window on the ground-floor being opened. This window was guarded by bars; but a hand appeared, removed one of these bars which had been loosened beforehand, and through this opening let down a thread of silk.

"Is it you, Gillonne?" asked the Duke in a low tone.

"Yes, Monseigneur," replied a woman's voice in a lower tune stili.

"And Marguerite?"

"She is waiting for you."

"Good."

With these words the Duke signed to his page, who, opening his cloak, unrolled a slender ladder of rope. The Prince fastened one end of the ladder to the silken thread. Gillonne drew the ladder up and fastened it firmly; and the Prince, after buckling his sword to his girdle, commenced the ascent, which he accomplished without accident. When he had passed through the window, the bar was replaced and the window closed again, while the page, after seeing his master quietly enter the Louvre, to the windows of which he had frequently escorted him in a smiilar fashion, went and lay down, wrapping himself in his cloak, on the grass at the bottom of the moat, and beneath the shadow of the wall.

The night was dark, and a few large, warm drops of rain fell from the clouds charged with electricity.

The Due de Guise followed his conductor, who was no other than the daughter of Jacques de Matignon, Marshal of France; this girl was the confidential friend of Marguerite, who had no secrets that she did not share with her, and it was asserted that among the mysteries locked in the incorruptible fidelity of her breast were some so terrible that these latter compelled her to keep silence as to all the rest.

No light remained either in the lower chambers or in the corridors, but from time to time a livid lightning-flash momentarily illuminated the dark apartments with a glare of ghastly, blue light.

The Duke, still led by his guide, who held him by the hand, reached at last a spiral staircase built in the thickness of the wall, and opening by a secret and invisible door upon the ante-chamber leading to Marguerite's apartments.

The ante-chamber, like the rest of the lower rooms, was in the most profound darkness.

On reaching this ante-chamber Gillonne stopped.

"Have you brought what the Queen desires?" she inquired in a low tone.

"Yes," answered the Due de Guise," but I will hand it only to her Majesty herself."

"Then come without another moment's delay!" said a voice out of the darkness which made the Duke start, for he recognised it as Marguerite's.

At the same moment a curtain of purple velvet and gold fleurs-de-lis was raised, and the Duke discerned in the shadow the Queen herself, who in her impatience had come to meet him.

"I am here, Madame," said the Duke, passing quickly behind the curtain, and letting it fall into its place again.

It was now the turn of Marguerite de Valois to guide the Prince through this apartment, with which, however, he was well acquainted, while Gillonne, remaining at the door, conveyed to her Royal mistress a sign of reassurance by placing her finger on her lips.

Marguerite, as though conscious of the jealous uneasiness which was disturbing the Duke, led him into her bedchamber; there she stopped.

"Well, Duke," she said, "are you satisfied?"

"Satisfied, Madame? with what, I ask you?"

"With this proof I am giving you," replied Marguerite, with a slight accent of annoyance, "that I belong to a man who, on his very wedding-night, holds me so cheaply as not even to have come to thank me for the honour I have done him, not in choosing him, but in accepting him as my husband."

"Oh! Madame," said the Duke sadly, "rest assured that he will come, especially if you wish him to do so."

"And it is you who say that, Henri," cried Marguerite, "you, who of all people know the contrary! If I had the desire that you credit me with, should I have asked you to come to the Louvre?"

"You asked me to come here, Marguerite, because you desire to destroy all trace of our past relations, and because that past lives not only in my heart but also in this silver casket which I have brought you."

"May I tell you one thing, Henri?" replied Marguerite, looking the Duke steadily in the face, ''and that is that you are acting more like a schoolboy than a Prince. deny that I have loved you! I desire to extinguish a flame which may die, perhaps, but the reflection of which will never be quenched! For the amours of people of my station set ablaze, and often bring disaster upon, the whole period in which they live. No, no, my Lord Duke; you can keep your Marguerite's letters and the casket which she gave you. She only asks of you a single letter of those which it contains, and that is because this letter is as dangerous to you as to herself"

"They are all yours," said the Duke; "select the one which you wish to destroy."

Marguerite searched the opened casket eagerly, and with a trembling hand took up, one after another, some dozen letters, contenting herself with merely looking at their addresses, as though this of itself would recall to her memory the contents of the letters; but after going through them all, she looked at the Duke and said, turning very pale the while:

"Nay, sir, the one I am looking for is not there; you haven't lost it by any chance, for as to handing it over ."

"Which letter are you looking for, Madame?"

"The one in which I told you to get married without delay."

"In order to excuse your unfaithfulness?" Marguerite shrugged her shoulders.

"No, but to save your life. The letter in which I told you that the King, perceiving our mutual love, and the efforts I was making to break off your union with the Infanta of Portugal, had summoned his brother, the Bastard of Angouleme, and, showing him two swords, had said to him: 'Slay Henri de Guise with this sword to-night, or I will kill him with the other to-morrow.' Where is that letter?"

"Here," said the Due de Guise, drawing it from his breast.

Marguerite almost tore it from his hands, opened it eagerly, assured herself that it was the one she was in search of, uttered an exclamation of joy, and thrust it into the candle. The flame immediately caught it and consumed it, but Marguerite, as though fearing that even its ashes might convey information, crushed the charred remains beneath her foot.

The Due de Guise had followed with his eyes the restless actions of his mistress.

"Well! Marguerite," said he when she had finished, " are you satisfied now?"

"Yes; for now that you have married the Princesse de Porcian, my brother will forgive you for loving me; while he would not have forgiven me for revealing such a secret which, in my weakness for you, I should not have had the strength to conceal from you."

"True," said the Duke; "at that time you loved me."

"And I love you still, Henri, as much as, nay more than ever."

"Do you? . . ."

"Yes, I do; for never more than to-day did I need a true and devoted friend. A queen, I have no throne; a woman, I have no husband."

The young Prince shook his head sadly.

"But when I tell you, Henri, when I repeat that my husband not only does not love me, but that he hates and despises me; besides, I think the mere fact of your presence in the room where he ought to be is good proof of this hatred and contempt."

"It is still early, Madame, and the King of Navarre has required time to dismiss his gentlemen; if he has not come yet, he will not be long in doing so."

"And I tell you that he will not come," cried Marguerite with increasing vexation.

"Madame," said Gillonne, opening the door and raising the curtain, "The King of Navarre is coming from his rooms."

"Oh! I knew very well that he would come!" exclaimed the Duc de Guise.

"Henri," said Marguerite, in a peremptory tone, and seizing the Duke by the hand, "you shall see if I am a woman of my word, and if you can depend on me when I have once given a promise. Henri, go into that closet."

"Madame, let me go away if there be yet time, for reflect that at the first sign of affection he gives you, I come out of that closet, and then woe betide him!"

"You are mad! go in, go in, I tell you; I will answer for everything."

And she pushed the Duke into the closet.

She was just in time. Scarcely had the door closed on the Duke, when the King of Navarre, escorted by two pages bearing eight wax candles in two candelabra, appeared smiling on the threshold of the chamber.

Marguerite concealed her uneasiness by making a profound reverence.

"You have not yet retired to bed, Madame? " asked the Bearnais with a frank expression of pleasure on his countenance; " were you by chance expecting me?"

"No, sir," answered Marguerite, "since you told me but yesterday that you knew quite well that our marriage was a political union, and that you would never force me to submit to your embraces."

"Well and good; but that is no reason why we should not converse together for a little while. Shut the door, Gillonne, and leave us."

Marguerite, who had sat down, rose and extended her hand as if to order the pages to remain.

"Must I call your women?" asked the King. "I will do so if you insist upon it, though I must confess that, in view of what I have to say to you, I should prefer that we were alone."

And the King of Navarre stepped towards the closet.

"No," cried Margaret, throwing herself impetuously in front of him; "no, it is unnecessary, and I am ready to listen to you."

The Bearnais had discovered what he wished to learn; he threw a swift and searching glance towards the closet, as though desirous, in spite of the curtain which concealed it, to penetrate its dark recesses; then, fixing his eyes upon his wife, who was now pale with alarm:

"in that case, Madame," said he, in a perfectly calm tone, " let us have a little talk together."

"As your Majesty pleases," said Marguerite, sinking rather than sitting down upon the chair indicated by her husband.

The Bearnais sat down beside her.

"Madame," he continued, "our marriage, whatever people may say of it, is, I think, a good marriage. I am entirely yours and you are mine."

"But" said Marguerite, in terror.

"Consequently," the King went on, without appearing to notice her hesitation, "we ought to treat one another as good allies since we have to-day sworn alliance to each other before God. Is not that your opinion?"

"Certainly it is."

"I know, Madame, the greatness of your penetration; I know, also, how the ground of this Court is strewn with dangerous pitfalls; well, I am young, and, although I have never injured anybody, I have plenty of enemies. In which camp, Madame, am I to reckon her who bears my name, and who has sworn at the altar to love me?"

"Oh, sir, could you imagine."

"I imagine nothing, Madame; I hope, and I should like to be assured that my hope is well founded. It is certain that our marriage is either merely a pretext or a trap."

Marguerite started, for the same idea had possibly occurred to her mind.

"Now, which of the two is it?" continued Henri de Navarre. " The King hates me, the Dukes of Anjou and Alençon hate me, Catherine de' Medici hated my mother too much not to hate me also."

"Oh! sir, what are you saying?"

"The truth, Madame," replied the King, "and I should wish that there were someone here to hear my words, so that I might not be thought to be the dupe of those who assassinated M. de Mouy and poisoned my mother."

"But, sir," said Marguerite, quickly, with the most calm and smiling expression she could command, "you know there is nobody here but we two."

"That is just why I am speaking with such freedom, and why I dare to tell you that I am not deceived either by the blandishments of the French Court or by those of the house of Lorraine."

"Sir! sir!" cried Marguerite.

"Well, what is the matter, sweet one?" asked Henri, smiling in his turn.

"The matter is, sir, that such speeches are very dangerous."

"Not when we are quite alone," replied the King. "Well, I was telling you."

Marguerite was evidently suffering tortures; she would fain have arrested the words upon her husband's lips; but Henri continued, with apparent unconcern:

"I was telling you, then, that I am threatened on all sides: by the King, by the Duc d'Alençon, by the Duc d'Anjou, by the Queen-Mother, by the Duc de Guise, by the Duc de Mayenne, by the Cardinal de Lorraine — by everybody, in short. You know, Madame, one feels these things instinctively. Well! against all these threats, which will not be long in developing into attacks, I can defend myself with your help, since you are beloved by all the persons who hate me."

"I!" said Marguerite.

"Yes, you," replied Henri de Navarre, with perfect good humour; "yes, you are beloved by King Charles; you are beloved" — he dwelt upon the word — " by the Due d'Alençon and by Queen Catherine; and, lastly, you are beloved by the Due de Guise."

"Sir " murmured Marguerite.

"Well! is there anything surprising in the fact that everyone loves you? All those whom I have just named are either your brothers or your relations, and to love these is but to obey God's commandment."

"But to what does all this tend, sir?" asked Marguerite, in a troubled tone.

"It tends to what I have already told you, that with you for, I will not say my friend, but my ally, I can brave everything; while, on the other hand, with you for my enemy, I am lost."

"Oh! sir, your enemy, never!" cried Marguerite.

"But my friend, if never any more than that?"

"Perhaps."

"And my ally?"

"Certainly."

And Marguerite turned and extended her hand to the King.

Henri took it, kissed it gracefully, and keeping it within his own much more with a desire of investigation than from any sentiment of tenderness:

"Well! Madame, I believe you," said he, "and accept you as my ally. So they have married us without our either knowing or loving one another; without consulting us who are chiefly concerned. We therefore owe each other nothing as husband and wife. You see, Madame, that I meet your wishes, and confirm to-day what I promised you yesterday. But we enter into this alliance freely, under compulsion from nobody, as two loyal hearts that unite for mutual protection; that is how you understand the matter, is it not?"

"Yes, sir," said Marguerite, trying to withdraw her hand.

"Well! "continued the Bearnais, keeping his eyes still fixed on the door of the closet, "since the first proof of a frank alliance is the most absolute confidence, I am going to acquaint you, Madame, in its minutest details, with the scheme that I have formed with a view of successfully combating this hostility."

"Sir," murmured Marguerite, in her turn, involuntarily directing her eyes towards the closet, while the Bearnais, seeing the success of his ruse, smiled in his sleeve.

"This is what I intend to do," he continued, without seeming to notice her agitation; " I intend..."

"Sir," cried Marguerite, rising abruptly and grasping the King by the arm, "let me have breath; the emotion — the heat — I am choking."

And, in point of fact. Marguerite was pale and trembling, as though about to fall on the floor. Henri walked to a window at the further end of the room and opened it; this window overlooked the river.

Marguerite followed him.

"Silence! silence! sir, in pity for yourself," she murmured.

"What! Madame," said the Bearnais with his customary smile, "did you not say that we were alone?"

"Yes, sir; but have you not heard that by means of an air-tube inserted in a wall or ceiling, all that passes can be overheard?"

"True, Madame, true," said the Bearnais, in a low tone. "You do not love me, it is true; but you are an honourable woman."

"What mean you, sir?"

"I mean that, were you capable of betraying me, you might have let me go on until I betrayed myself by my own words. You stopped me. I know now that someone is concealed here; that you are an unfaithful wife, but a loyal ally, and at the present moment," added the Bearnais with a smile, " I stand in greater need of fidelity in matters of policy than in love"

"Sir," murmured Marguerite, in confusion.

"There, there, we will talk of all this later on, when we know each other better," said Henri.

"Yes, yes," murmured Marguerite.

"In that case I will not disturb you longer. I owed you my respects and some advances in the way of friendship; accept them as they are offered, with all my heart. Go to rest then, and good night."

Marguerite directed towards her husband a look beaming with gratitude, and, in her turn, extended her hand.

"It is settled," said she.

"A political alliance, frank and loyal?" asked Henri.

"Frank and loyal," replied the Queen.

Upon this the Bearnais stepped towards the door, while Marguerite, as though fascinated, followed him with her gaze. Then, when the curtain had fallen, and they had passed out of the bed-chamber, Henri said quickly, in a low tone: —

"Thank you, Marguerite; thank you; you are a true daughter of France. I go away with my mind at ease. In default of your love, your friendship, at least, will not fail me. I rely upon you, as you may rely upon me. Adieu, Madame."

Henri kissed his wife's hand, and pressed it softly; then went back at a brisk pace to his own apartments, saying to himself softly as he passed along the corridor.

"Who the deuce is in there with her? Is it the King, the Due d'Anjou, the Due d'Alençon, the Due de Guise, is it a brother or lover, or both? I am really almost sorry now that I made that appointment with the Baronne: but since I have given my word and Dariole is waiting for me . . . never mind; she will be rather a sufferer, I fear, from the fact that I have passed through my wife's bed-chamber on my way to her, for, by God, this Margot, as my brother-in-law Charles calls her, is an adorable creature."

And with a step that betrayed a slight hesitation, Henri de Navarre ascended the staircase leading to the apartment of Madame de Sauve.

Marguerite had followed him with her eyes until he disappeared, and had then returned to her room. She found the Duke at the door of the closet; the sight of him inspired her with something akin to remorse.

The Duke, for his part, looked serious, and his contracted brows betokened that his thoughts were unpleasantly preoccupied.

"Marguerite is neutral to-day," said he; "in a week she will be hostile."

"Ah! then you heard?" said Marguerite.

"What did you expect I should do in that closet?"

"And do you think I behaved otherwise than as became the Queen of Nazarre?"

"No, but otherwise than as becomes the mistress of the Duc de Guise."

"Sir," replied the Queen, " I cannot love my husband, but no one has the right to demand of me that I should betray him. Honestly, now; would you betray the secrets of your wife, the Princesse de Porcian?"

"Come, come, Madame," said the Duke, shaking his head, "that is enough. I see that you no longer love me as in the days when you told me what the King was plotting against me and mine."

"The King was then the strong and you the weak: Henri is now the weak and you the strong. You see that I still play the same part."

"Only you have crossed from the one camp to the other."

"I have acquired the right to do so, sir, by having saved your life."

"Very well, Madame; and as, when lovers part, they restore all that has been given them, I, in my turn, will save your life if the opportunity occurs, and we shall be quits."

With these words the Duke bowed and withdrew without Marguerite making any movement to stop him.

In the ante-chamber he found Gillonne, who conducted him to the window on the ground-floor, and in the moat he found his page, with whom he returned to the Hotel de Guise.

Meanwhile Marguerite had gone to the window, and stood there wrapt in thought.

"What a wedding-night!" she murmured; "my husband shuns me and my lover deserts me!"

At this moment there passed on the other side of the moat, coming from the Tour de Bois, and ascending towards the Moulin de la Monnaie, a student, with his arms akimbo, singing lustily:

Why, when I your lips would taste, And fain would clasp your slender waist, And feast upon your eyes so pure, Why do you play the nun demure, Enclosed by cloister walls?

For whom do you reserve your charms. Your bosom, eyes, and rounded arms? Think you Pluto's love to share — When Charon shall have rowed you there- in his dark and silent halls?

Down there, fair one, when you die, Upon a bed of straw you'll lie; And when I meet you there below, I shall not to the Shades avow That you were once my sweet.

Therefore, while youth and beauty last, Amend your coldness in the past And to my suit relent. For when you're dead, you will repent You spurned me from your feet.

Marguerite listened to this ballad with a doleful smile; then, when the student's voice had died away in the distance, she closed the window again, and summoned Gillonne to help her to prepare for bed.

[dumasdaily]

Queen Margot - 1

CHAPTER I

THE DUC DE GUISE'S[1] LATIN

ON Monday, the 18th of August, 1572, there were great doings at the Louvre; the windows of the ancient Royal Palace, usually so gloomy, were brilliantly illuminated; the neighbouring squares and streets, generally so deserted so soon as the clock of Saint-Germain- I'Auxerrois[2] had struck nine, were this evening thronged with people, although it was now midnight. This menacing, pushing, clamorous crowd resembled some dark and angry sea with its roaring waves; this surging tide of humanity pouring out over the quay and overflowing the Rue des Fosses-Saint-Germain and the Rue de I'Astruce, beat against the walls of the Louvre and ebbed back against the base of the H6tel de Bourbon, which rose opposite to the Palace. In spite of the Royal fete, or, rather, perhaps because of it, the attitude of the populace was somewhat threatening, since it did not suspect that this solemnity, at which it was acting the part of an uninvited spectator, was but the prelude to another entertainment postponed to a week later, to which it would be invited, and at which it would delight itself to its heart's content.

The Court was engaged in celebrating the marriage of Marguerite de Valois[3], daughter of King Henri II[4]. and sister of King Charles IX[5], with Henri de Bourbon[6], King of Navarre. In point of fact, the Cardinal de Bourbon[7] had that same morning united the bride and bridegroom, with the ceremonial customary at the weddings of Princesses of France, upon a stage erected at the porch of Notre-Dame.

This marriage had amazed everybody, and had given much food for reflection to sundry who were more clear-sighted than the rest. This drawing together between two factions so antagonistic as were the Protestant and Catholic parties at the present moment, was not easy to understand; people wondered how the young Prince de Condé[8] could forgive the Duc d'Anjou, the King's brother[9], for the death of his father, who had been murdered at Jarnac[10] by Montesquiou[11]. They asked how the young Duc de Guise could pardon Admiral de Coligny[12] for the death of his own father[13], who had been assassinated at Orleans by Poltrot de Méré[14].

More than this: Jeanne de Navarre[15], the courageous wife of the weak Antoine de Bourbon[16], who had brought her son Henri to Paris in order to settle the terms of the Royal alliance, had died barely two months ago, and singular rumours were abroad respecting her sudden decease. Everywhere it was whispered, and sometimes even asserted openly, that she had discovered some terrible secret, and that Catherine de Medici[17], fearing the revelation of this secret, had poisoned her with some perfumed gloves, prepared by one Réné, a Florentine, who was an expert in matters of this nature. Additional confirmation had been given to this report by the fact that, after the death of this great queen, two physicians, one of whom was the celebrated Ambroise Paré[18], had been instructed, at the request of her two sons, to open and examine the body, with the exception of the brain. Now, as Jeanne de Navarre had been poisoned by the perfume, it was the brain, the only part of the body excluded from the autopsy, and the brain alone, which could furnish proof of the crime. We say crime advisedly, for none doubted that a crime had been perpetrated. Nor was this all. King Charles, in particular, had shown a persistence amounting to obstinacy in bringing about this marriage[19], which would not merely restore peace to his realm, but would likewise attract to Paris all the leaders of the Huguenot faction. Inasmuch as one of the two parties to the marriage belonged to the Catholic, and the other to the Reformed Religion, it had been necessary to apply for a dispensation to Gregory XIII[20], who at that time occupied the Papal throne. The dispensation was slow in coming, and this delay had caused great anxiety to the late Queen of Navarre, who one day expressed to Charles IX. her fears that it would not arrive at all, to which the King had replied:

"Do not be uneasy, my good aunt; I honour you more than I do the Pope, and I love my sister n:ore than I fear him. I am not a Huguenot, but neither am I a fool, and, should the Pope prove unmanageable, I will myself take Margot by the hand and give her in marriage to your son before the whole Church."

This speech had spread from the Louvre through the city, and, while causing great rejoicing to the Huguenots, had given much food for thought to the Catholics, who inquired of one another in undertones whether the King was really betraying them, or whether he was not rather playing some comedy which would result some fine day in an unexpected denouement.

Especially inexplicable did the conduct of Charles IX. appear to Admiral de Coligny, who for five or six years had maintained a determined struggle against the King. After having set a price upon his head of one hundred and fifty thousand gold crowns, Charles now swore by him alone, styling him his "father," and declaring openly that he would henceforth confide the conduct of the War to none but the Admiral. So far did he go, indeed, that Catherine de Medici, who had hitherto controlled the actions and even the wishes and desires of the young Prince, began to grow seriously uneasy, and not without good reason, for Charles, in a moment of effusion, when speaking of the War in Flanders[21], had remarked to the Admiral:

"My father, there is one thing in this matter of which we must be very careful, and that is, that the Queen Mother, who, as you know, likes to have her finger in every pie, should know nothing of this enterprise; we must keep the affair so secret that she does not get the slightest inkling of it, for, mischief-maker as I know her to be, she would ruin the whole concern."

Well, Coligny, wise and experienced as he was, had been unable to hold his tongue about the secret the King had entrusted to him in such strict confidence; and although he had arrived in Paris full of suspicions, although at his departure from Chatillon a peasant woman had thrown herself at his feet, exclaiming: — "Oh! sir, our good master, do not go to Paris, for if you do, you will perish, you and all who go with you!" — yet these suspicions had gradually faded from his breast, and from that of Teligny[22], his son-in-law, towards whom also the King professed a great friendship, styling him "brother" as he styled the Admiral "father," and conversing with him on as familiar terms as he did with his most intimate and particular friends.

Accordingly the Huguenots, with the exception of some of the more gloomy and distrustful spirits, were completely reassured ; the Queen of Navarre's death was set down as having been caused by pleurisy, and the vast saloons of the Louvre were thronged by all the worthy Protestants to whom the marriage of their young chief Henri promised an altogether unhoped-for change of fortune.

Admiral de Coligny, La Rochefoucauld[23], the young Prince de Conde, Teligny, all the leaders of the Party, in short, triumphed at seeing all-powerful at the Louvre, and so welcome in Paris, those very persons whom three months previously King Charles and Queen Catherine would fain have hanged on gallows higher than those of murderers. The Marshal de Montmorency[24] alone was missing from this illustrious fraternity. Incapable either of being seduced by promises, or deceived by appearances, he had remained in retirement at his Castle of Isle-Adam, alleging as excuse for his absence the grief which he still felt at the death of his father[25], who had been slain by a pistol-shot at the battle of Saint-Denis, by Robert Stuart. But as this event had happened more than three years back, and as depth of feeling was a virtue quite out of fashion at this period, he had not won the credit which he would have wished to gain for this mourning, so inordinately prolonged. Everything besides seemed to decide against the Marshal de Montmorency; the King, the Queen, the Duc d'Anjou, and the Duc d'Alençon[26], were wonderfully gracious to everyone at the royal reception.

The Duc d'Anjou received from the Huguenots themselves well-earned compliments in respect to the two battles of Jamac and Moncontour[27], victories gained by him before he had attained the age of eighteen, eclipsing by this precocity both Csesar and Alexander, to whom they compared him, maintaining, of course, his decided superiority over the victors of Issus[28] and Pharsalia[29]; the Duc d'Alençon listened to these compliments with a fawning, yet insincere expression; Queen Catherine beamed with delight, and, with an air of utmost graciousness, congratulated Prince Henri de Conde on his recent marriage with Marie de Cloves[30]; lastly, the Messieurs de Guise themselves smiled upon the formidable enemies of their house, while the Duc de Mayenne[31] discoursed with Monsieur Tavannes[32] and the Admiral about the coming war, which it was now more than ever a question of declaring against Philip II[33].

Amid these groups there passed backwards and forwards, with head slightly inclined and ears open to all topics of conversation, a young man of nineteen, with keen eyes, black hair cut extremely short, bushy eyebrows, nose curved like an eagle's beak, an artful smile, and beard and moustache just sprouting. This young man, who had done nothing to distinguish himself until the battle of Arnay-le-Duc[34], where he had risked his life with much gallantry, and who was now receiving numerous compliments thereon, was the much-loved pupil of Coligny and the hero of the day. Three months ago, that is to say, while his mother was still alive, he had been styled the Prince de Béarn; now his title was King of Navarre, until the time came for him to be called Henri IV.

Occasionally a dark cloud would pass swiftly over his brow; he was doubtless recalling the fact that it was less than two months since his mother's death, and he, more strongly than anybody, suspected that she had been poisoned. But the cloud was a passing one, and disappeared like a floating shadow; for those who were congratulating him and rubbing shoulders with him were the very men who had assassinated the courageous Jeanne d'Albret.

At a short distance from the King of Navarre, and almost as pensive and anxious as the latter affected to be gay and frank, the young Duc de Guise was chatting with Teligny. More fortunate than the Bearnais, at the age of two and twenty his reputation had almost equalled that of his father, the great François de Guise. A nobleman of handsome appearance, tall stature, proud and haughty mien, he was endowed with that natural majesty which caused men to say that, when he passed by, the other Princes appeared but as commonplace people in comparison with him.

Young as he was, the Catholics saw in him the leader of their party, just as the Huguenots saw their leader in the young Henri de Navarre, whose appearance we have just depicted. At an earlier date he had borne the title of Prince de Joinville, and had made his debut at the siege of Orleans, under the command of his father, who had died in his arms, pointing out to him Admiral Coligny as his slayer. Whereupon the young Duke, like Hannibal[35], had sworn a solemn oath that he would be revenged for his father's death upon the Admiral and his family, and that he would hunt the Protestants down without rest or truce, vowing to God to be His Destroying Angel upon earth until the last of the Heretics should be exterminated. It was not, therefore, without profound astonishment that this Prince, usually so faithful to his word, was seen to offer his hand to those whom he had sworn to regard as eternal foes, and chatting familiarly with the son-in-law of the very man whose death he had promised his dying father that he would compass.

But, as we have said, this was an evening of surprises.

In point of fact, had he possessed that knowledge of the future which is happily lacking to men, together with that power of reading the heart which unhappily belongs to God alone, the privileged observer who might have been allowed to take part in this reception would certainly have enjoyed one of the most curious spectacles furnished by the annals of the mournful comedy of human affairs.

But this imaginary observer, who had no place in the inner corridors of the Louvre, continued to gaze in the street with his fierce eyes, and to growl with his menacing voice; this observer was, in fact, the populace, which, with its marvellous instinct sharpened by hatred, followed from a distance the shadows of its implacable enemies, and translated its impressions into words as frankly as an inquisitive person in front of the windows of a ball-room hermetically closed can do. The music intoxicates the dancer as he moves to its melodious rhythm, while the curious spectator, seeing nothing but the movement, and not hearing the music, laughs at the apparently objectless gestures of the puppets.

The music which intoxicated the Huguenots was the voice of their pride.

The flames which danced in the eyes of the Parisians were the lightning-flashes of their hatred shedding their lurid light upon the future.

Within the Palace, however, everything wore a smiling face; nay, at this very moment a murmur more sweet and flattering than any that had preceded it was circulating through the Louvre, to the effect that the young bride, having laid aside her cloak of state and her long wedding-veil, had just returned to the ball-room, accompanied by the beautiful Duchesse de Nevers[36], her bosom friend, and escorted by her brother, Charles IX, who was presenting to her the chief of his guests.

This bride was the daughter of Henri II, the pearl of the crown of France, Marguerite de Valois, whom King Charles IX, in his tender affection for her, never addressed but as "Sister Margot."

Certainly no reception, of however flattering a nature, was ever more deserved than that which was at this moment being accorded to the new Queen of Navarre. Marguerite had scarcely reached her twentieth year, yet she was already the object of the encomiums of all the poets, some of whom compared her with Aurora, others with Venus. She was, in truth, the peerless beauty of that Court, where Catherine de Medici had assembled, to play the part of her Sirens, all the loveliest women she could find. Marguerite had dark hair, a brilliant complexion, a voluptuous eye, veiled by dark lashes, a well cut and rosy mouth, a graceful neck, a full and supple bust, and, lost in its satin slipper, the foot of a child. The French, to whom she belonged, were proud to see so magnificent a flower blossom on their soil, while foreigners passing through France returned from it dazzled by her beauty, if they had merely seen her; amazed at her learning, if they had conversed with her. Marguerite was not only the most beautiful, but also the best-read woman of her time, and people quoted the saying of an Italian scholar who had been presented to her, and who, after talking with her for an hour in Italian, Spanish, Greek, and Latin, had left her presence with the enthusiastic remark: — "To see the Court without seeing Marguerite de Valois is to see neither the Court nor France itself."

Accordingly, there was no lack of speeches made to King Charles IX. and to the Queen of Navarre; the Huguenots, as we know, were great at speeches. Many allusions to the past, many requests for the future, were adroitly conveyed to the King amid these orations; but to all these allusions he replied with his pale lips and crafty smile:

"In giving my sister Margot to Henri de Navarre, I give my sister to all the Protestants in the Kingdom."

This saying, while reassuring some, made others smile, for it contained in reality two meanings: the one paternal, with which Charles IX. in all good conscience was unwilling to overburden his mind; the other, offensive to the bride, to her husband, and also to himself, since it recalled certain grave scandals with which the Court Chronicle had already found means to smirch the nuptial robe of Marguerite de Valois.

However, M. de Guise was chatting, as we have said, with Teligny; but he was not so absorbed in the conversation as to prevent him from occasionally turning to bestow a glance on the group of ladies, in the centre of which shone the Queen of Navarre. If at such moments the Queen's glance encountered that of the young Duke, a cloud seemed to darken that charming brow, on which the diamond stars formed a dancing halo, and some vague, half-formed purpose manifested itself in her impatient and uneasy attitude.

The Princess Claude, Marguerite's eldest sister, who had been now for some years married to the Duc de Lorraine, had noticed this uneasiness, and was approaching her to ask the cause of it, when, owing to the retirement of the whole assembly before the Queen- mother, who advanced, leaning on the arm of the young Prince de Condé, the Princess found herself separated by some distance from her sister. A general movement then occurred, of which the Duc de Guise availed himself to approach Madame de Nevers, his sister-in-law, and, consequently, Marguerite's also. Madame de Lorraine, who had not taken her eyes off the young Queen, then saw, instead of the cloud which she had noticed on her brow, a deep blush overspread her cheeks. The Duke, however, was still advancing, and when he arrived within two paces of her. Marguerite, who seemed to feel rather than see his approach, turned round with a violent effort to compose her features into indifference; thereupon the Duke bowed respectfully before her, and murmured sotto voce: —

"Ipse attuli."

Which meant to say :

"I have brought him, or, have brought myself."

Marguerite returned the young Duke's bow, and, as she lifted her head again, let fall this reply :

"Noctu pro more."

Which signified:

"To-night as usual."

These softly-spoken words, swallowed up as in a speaking-trumpet by the Princess's enormous starched collar, were heard only by the person to whom they were addressed; but short as the dialogue had been, it doubtless embraced all that the two young people had to say to each other, for after exchanging these five words they separated. Marguerite with a look more dreamy than ever, and the Duke with an expression more radiant than before they had met. This little scene had occurred without the man who was the most interested in it having appeared to take the slightest notice of it, for the King of Navarre, on his side, had eyes but for one person, around whom was gathered a court almost as numerous as that of Marguerite de Valois; this person was the beautiful Madame de Sauve.

Charlotte de Beaune-Semblançay[37], grand-daughter of the unfortunate Semblançay and wife of Simon de Fizes, Baron de Sauve, was one of the ladies of the bedchamber to Catherine de Medici, and one of the most formidable auxiliaries of that Queen, who poured upon her enemies the philtre of love when she dared not employ the Florentine poison against them; small, jair, by turns sparkling with vivacity or languishing with melancholy, ever) ready for love and for intrigue, the two principal subjects which for the last fifty years had occupied the Courts of three kings in succession; a woman in the full acceptation of the word and in all its charm, from the blue eyes which languished or blazed with fire down to the tiny feet bent rebelliously into their velvet slippers, Madame de Sauve had already for several months entirely captivated the King of Navarre, who was then making his debut in the career of love, as in that of politics. So much so that Marguerite de Navarre, with her splendid and regal beauty, had not even moved her husband's heart to admiration; and, what was strange and surprising to everybody, even on the part of that lover of darkness and mystery, the Queen-Mother, was that Catherine de Medici, while pursuing her scheme of alliance between her daughter and the King of Navarre, had not ceased to countenance almost openly the intimacy between the latter and Madame de Sauve. But, spite of this powerful aid and of the easy-going morals of the time, the fair Charlotte had hitherto resisted his advances; and this resistance, so unexpected, so incredible, and so unheard-of, even more than her wit and beauty, had inflamed the heart of the Bearnais with a passion which, unable to find satisfaction, had fallen back upon itself and had devoured in the young Monarch's heart the timidity, the pride, and even the indifference, half philosophical, half idle, which lay at the bottom of his character.

Madame de Sauve had only entered the ball-room a few minutes earlier. Whether from spite or from annoyance, she had at first determined not to be a witness of her rival's triumph, and, alleging indisposition as an excuse, had allowed her husband, for five years one of the Secretaries of State, to come alone to the Louvre. Catherine de' Medici, however, on seeing the Baron without his wife, had inquired the reason which kept her beloved Charlotte away, and on hearing that the indisposition was but slight, wrote a few lines requesting her presence, and with this request the young woman had hastened to comply Henri, though at first quite woe-begone at her absence, had nevertheless breathed more freely on seeing M de Sauve enter by himsel, but at the moment when, having ceased to expect her appearance, he moved off with a sigh towards the lovely creature whom he was condemned, if not to love, at least to treat as his wife, he had seen Madame de Sauve emerging from the end of a corridor, and had remained rooted to the spot with his eyes fixed on this Circe, who enchained him to herself as though with a magic bond, and instead of continuing his progress towards his wife, with a movement of hesitation caused far more by surprise than by alarm, he advanced towards Madame de Sauve.

The courtiers, for their part seeing that the King of Navarre, the condition of whose heart they already knew, was making towards his fair Charlotte, had not the courage to prevent their meeting, but complacently made way, so that at the same moment when Marguerite de Valois and M. de Guise were exchanging the few words in Latin which we have reported, Henri, who had now reached Madame de Sauve, entered upon a much less mysterious conversation with her in quite intelligible French, though marked with something of a Gascon accent.

"Ah! my sweet!" said he, "here you are, come back, just as they were telling me that you were ill, and I had lost all hope of seeing you."

"Would your Majesty pretend to make me believe," answered Madame de Sauve, "that it cost you much to abandon that hope?"

"Zounds ! I should think so," answered the Bearnais; "do you not know that you are my sun by day and my star by night? Truly I thought myself plunged in the blackest darkness, when you appeared just now and of a sudden lit up the world for me."

"Then I am doing you a bad turn, Monseigneur."

"How mean you, sweet?" asked Henri.

"I mean that, being lord of the fairest woman in France, your sole desire should be for the light to give place to darkness, since it is the darkness which brings us happiness."

"That happiness, cruel creature, lies in the hands of one alone, as you know full well, and she laughs at her Henri, and makes him her sport."

"Oh!" replied the Baronne," I should have thought for my part that, on the contrary, it was she who is the plaything and the laughing-stock of the King of Navarre."

Henri was alarmed at her hostile attitude. He reflected, however, that it betokened pique, and that pique is but the mask which conceals love.

"Truly, dear Charlotte," said he, "you reproach me unjustly, and I do not understand how so sweet a mouth can be at the same time so cruel! Do you imagine, then, it was I who brought about my marriage? By the Lord! No, it was not my doing.'

"Perhaps it was mine!" replied the Baronne, harshly, if the voice of the woman who loves you, and who reproaches you with not loving her, can ever appear harsh.

"Have you not seen farther with those lovely eyes of yours, Baronne? No, no, it is not Henri de Navarre who weds Marguerite de Valois."

"And who, then?"

"Zounds! it is the Reformed Religion that is marrying the Pope, and nothing more."

"Nay, not so, Monseigneur, nor do I understand your jests: your Majesty loves the Lady Marguerite, and God forbid I should reproach you for it; she is beautiful enough to be loved."

Henri reflected for an instant, and while he reflected, a smile compressed the corners of his lips.

"Baronne," said he," you are trying to pick a quarrel with me, I fancy, and yet you have no right to do so; what have you done, I ask you, to prevent me from marrying the Lady Marguerite ? Nothing at all; on the contrary, you have always forbidden me to hope."

"And I was quite right in so doing, Monseigneur!" replied Madame de Sauve.

''How so?"

"Certainly, since to-day you have wedded another."

"Ah! I have wedded her because you do not love me."

"Had I loved you, sire, I must have died within an hour!"

"Within an hour! How mean you, and of what would you have died?"

"Of jealousy… for within an hour the Queen of Navarre will dismiss her ladies, and your Majesty your gentlemen."

"Is that really and truly the thought which troubles you, my sweet?"

"I do not say that. I said that, if I loved you, the thought would trouble me horribly."

"Well!" exclaimed Henri, overwhelmed with joy at hearing this avowal, the first he had received — "suppose the King of Navarre were not to dismiss his gentlemen to-night?"

"Sire," said Madame de Sauve, regarding the King with an astonishment which this time was not assumed, "you talk of what is impossible, nay more, incredible."

"What must I do to make you believe it?"

"You must give me the proof of it, and that proof you cannot give."

"Yes, Baronne, yes; by St. Henri! I will give it you, I will," cried the King, devouring the girl with a burning look of love.

"Oh, your Majesty!" murmured the fair Charlotte, lowering her voice and her eyes. . . "I do not understand. . . No, no! it is impossible that you should avoid the happiness awaiting you."

"There are four Henris in this room, my adored!" replied the King; "Henri of France, Henri of Conde, Henri of Guise, but only one Henri of Navarre."

"Well?"

"Well! if you have this Henri of Navarre near you all this night?"

"All this night?"

"Yes; will you then feel certain that he is with no other lady?"

"Ah! if you do that, sire!" exclaimed Madame de Sauve.

"I will do it, on the honour of a gentleman."

Madame de Sauve raised her large eyes moist with voluptuous promise, and smiled at the King, whose heart was elated with joy.

"Come," replied Henri, "what would you say in that case?"

"Oh! in that case," answered Charlotte, "I should say that your Majesty loved me really and truly."

"Zounds! then you shall say it, Baronne, for so it is."

"But how are we to act?" murmured Madame de Sauve.

"Great heavens! Baronne, you surely have some waiting-woman about you, some follower, some girl on whom you can depend?"

"Oh! I have Dariole, a regular treasure; she is so devoted to me that she would lay down her life for my sake."

"Zounds! Baronne, tell that girl that I will make her fortune when I am King of France, as the astrologers predict I am to be."

Charlotte smiled, for the Gascon reputation of Henri in regard to his promises was already well established.

"Well!" she said, "what do you want Dariole to do?"

"Nothing much for her, but everything for me."

"Go on?"

"Your apartment is above mine?"

"Yes."

"Let her wait behind the door. I will knock gently thrice; she must open the door, and then you shall have the proof which I have offered you."

Madame de Sauve maintained a silence that lasted a few moments; then, looking round as though to ensure that her words would not be overheard, she glanced for an instant at the group where the Queen-mother was standing; but though only for an instant, it was sufficient to enable Catherine and her lady of the bed-chamber to exchange glances.

"Oh! if I wished to catch your Majesty in an untruth," said Madame de Sauve, in siren tones that would have melted the wax in Ulysses's ears.

"Try me, my sweet, try."

"Ah! I confess that I am struggling against the desire to do so."

"Let yourself be conquered; women are never so strong as after their defeat."

"Sire, I hold you to your promise for Dariole on the day that you are King of France."

Henri uttered an exclamation of joy.

It was at the very moment that this exclamation left his lips that the Queen of Navarre replied to the Duc de Guise:

"Noctu pro more: To-night, as usual."

Upon which Henri left the side of Madame Sauve with a delight equal to that felt by the Duc de Guise as he left the side of Marguerite de Valois.

An hour after this two-fold incident, which we have just related. King Charles and the Queen-mother withdrew to their own apartments. Almost immediately the rooms began to empty, and the bases of the marble columns in the corridors became once more visible. The Admiral and the Prince de Conde were escorted home by four hundred Huguenot gentlemen through the crowds which hooted them as they passed. Presently Henri de Guise, accompanied by the Lorraine noblemen and the Catholics, came out in their turn and were greeted by the populace with shouts of joy and applause.

As for Marguerite de Valois, Henri de Navarre, and Madame de Sauve, they were lodged, as we know, in the Louvre itself.

_________

NOTES

Henri I de Lorraine, Duke of Guise, Prince of Joinville, Count of Eu (31 December 1550 – 23 December 1588), sometimes called Le Balafré ('Scarface'), was the eldest son of François, Duke of Guise, and Anna d'Este. His maternal grandparents were Ercole II d'Este, Duke of Ferrara, and Renée of France. Through his maternal grandfather, he was a descendant of Lucrezia Borgia and Pope Alexander VI. A key figure in the French Wars of Religion, he was one of the namesakes of the War of the Three Henrys. A powerful opponent of the queen mother, Catherine de' Medici, Henri was assassinated by the bodyguards of her son, King Henry III.

The Church of Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois (French pronunciation: [sɛ̃ ʒɛʁmɛ̃ losɛʁwa]) is a medieval Roman Catholic church in the 1st arrondissement of Paris, directly across from the Louvre Palace.

Margaret of Valois (French: Marguerite, 14 May 1553 – 27 March 1615), popularly known as La Reine Margot, was Queen of Navarre from 1572 to 1599 and Queen of France from 1589 to 1599 as the consort of Henry IV of France and III of Navarre. Margaret was the daughter of King Henry II of France and Catherine de' Medici and the sister of Kings Francis II, Charles IX and Henry III. Her union with Henry of Navarre, intended to contribute to the reconciliation of Catholics and Huguenots in France, was tarnished six days after the marriage ceremony by the St Bartholomew's Day massacre and the resumption of the French Wars of Religion. In the conflict between Henry III of France and the Malcontents, she took the side of Francis, Duke of Anjou, her younger brother, which caused Henry to have a deep aversion towards her.

Henry II (French: Henri II; 31 March 1519 – 10 July 1559) was King of France from 1547 until his death in 1559. The second son of Francis I and Claude, Duchess of Brittany, he became Dauphin of France upon the death of his elder brother Francis in 1536.

Charles IX (Charles Maximilien; 27 June 1550 – 30 May 1574) was King of France from 1560 until his death in 1574. He ascended the French throne upon the death of his brother Francis II in 1560, and as such was the penultimate monarch of the House of Valois. Charles' reign saw the culmination of decades of tension between Protestants and Catholics. Civil and religious war broke out between the two parties after the massacre of Vassy in 1562. In 1572, following several unsuccessful attempts at brokering peace, Charles arranged the marriage of his sister Margaret to Henry of Navarre, a major Protestant nobleman in the line of succession to the French throne, in a last desperate bid to reconcile his people. Facing popular hostility against this policy of appeasement and at the instigation of his mother Catherine de' Medici, Charles oversaw the massacre of numerous Huguenot leaders who gathered in Paris for the royal wedding, though his direct involvement is still debated. This event, known as the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre, was a significant blow to the Huguenot movement, and religious civil warfare soon began anew. Charles sought to take advantage of the disarray of the Huguenots by ordering the siege of La Rochelle, but was unable to take the Protestant stronghold.

Henry IV (French: Henri IV; 13 December 1553 – 14 May 1610), also known by the epithets Good King Henry (le Bon Roi Henri) or Henry the Great (Henri le Grand), was King of Navarre (as Henry III) from 1572 and King of France from 1589 to 1610. He was the first monarch of France from the House of Bourbon, a cadet branch of the Capetian dynasty. He pragmatically balanced the interests of the Catholic and Protestant parties in France, as well as among the European states. He was assassinated in Paris in 1610 by a Catholic zealot, and was succeeded by his son Louis XIII. Henry was baptised a Catholic but raised as a Huguenot in the Protestant faith by his mother, Queen Jeanne III of Navarre. He inherited the throne of Navarre in 1572 on his mother's death. As a Huguenot, Henry was involved in the French Wars of Religion, barely escaping assassination in the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre. He later led Protestant forces against the French royal army. Henry inherited the throne of France in 1589 upon the death of Henry III. Henry IV initially kept the Protestant faith (the only French king to do so) and had to fight against the Catholic League, which refused to accept a Protestant monarch. After four years of military stalemate, Henry converted to Catholicism, reportedly saying that "Paris is well worth a Mass". As a pragmatic politician (politique), he promulgated the Edict of Nantes (1598), which guaranteed religious liberties to Protestants, thereby effectively ending the French Wars of Religion.

Charles II of Bourbon (19 August, 1562 – 30 July, 1594), known as Cardinal de Vendôme and later as Cardinal de Bourbon, was a prince of the blood of the House of Bourbon. When his Protestant cousin became King Henry IV of France in 1589, he raised the hopes of Catholics hostile to the League and was a candidate for the crown of France.

Henri de Bourbon, 2nd Prince of Condé (29 December 1552 – 5 March 1588) was a French prince du sang and Huguenot general like his more prominent father, Louis I, Prince of Condé.

Duc d'Anjou - future King Henry III (French: Henri III, né Alexandre Édouard; Polish: Henryk Walezy; Lithuanian: Henrikas Valua; 19 September 1551 – 2 August 1589) was King of France from 1574 until his assassination in 1589, as well as King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania from 1573 to 1575.

Jarnac (French pronunciation: [ʒaʁnak]; Occitan: [d͡ʒaɾˈnak]; Saintongese: Jharnat) is a commune in the Charente department, southwestern France.[3] It was the site of the Battle of Jarnac in 1569.

François de Montesquiou. Captain of the guards of the Duke of Anjou (the future Henri III of France); killed Louis I de Bourbon, Prince of Condé, as the latter was surrending during the battle of Jarnac in 1569.

Gaspard de Coligny, seigneur de Châtillon (French pronunciation: [ɡaspaʁ də kɔliɲi]; 16 February 1519 – 24 August 1572), was a French nobleman, Admiral of France, and Huguenot leader during the French Wars of Religion. He served under kings Francis I and Henry II during the Italian Wars, attaining great prominence both due to his military skill and his relationship with his uncle, the king's favourite Anne de Montmorency. During the reign of Francis II he converted to Protestantism, becoming a leading noble advocate for the Reformation during the early reign of Charles IX.

In the fourth encounter, Guise was about to take Orléans from the Huguenot supporters of Condé when he was wounded on 18 February 1563 by the Huguenot assassin, Jean de Poltrot de Méré, and died six days later, bled to death by his surgeons, at Château Corney.[15] In his testimony, Poltrot implicated Coligny and the Protestant pastor Théodore de Bèze. Though the assassin later retracted his statement and Coligny denied responsibility for Guise's death, a bitter feud arose between Guise's son Henry and Coligny, which culminated in the St Bartholomew's Day massacre.

Jean de Poltrot (c. 1537 – 1563), sieur de Méré or Mérey, was a French nobleman of Angoumois, who assassinated Francis, Duke of Guise in the aftermath of the massacre of Huguenots at Wassy.

Jeanne d'Albret (Spanish: Juana de Albret, Basque: Joana Albretekoa; Occitan: Joana de Labrit; 16 November 1528 – 9 June 1572), also known as Jeanne III, was Queen of Navarre from 1555 to 1572.

Antoine (Spanish: Antonio, Basque: Antonio, 22 April 1518 – 17 November 1562), sometimes called Antoine of Bourbon, was King of Navarre from 1555 until his death in 1562 as the husband and co-ruler of Queen Jeanne III.

Catherine de' Medici (Italian: Caterina de' Medici, pronounced [kateˈriːna de ˈmɛːditʃi]; French: Catherine de Médicis, pronounced [katʁin də medisis]; 13 April 1519 – 5 January 1589) was an Italian[a] Florentine noblewoman of the Medici family and Queen of France from 1547 to 1559 by marriage to King Henry II. She was the mother of French kings Francis II, Charles IX, and Henry III. She was a cousin of Pope Clement VII. The years during which her sons reigned have been called "the age of Catherine de' Medici" since she had extensive, albeit at times varying, influence on the political life of France.

Ambroise Paré (French: [ɑ̃bʁwaz paʁe]; c. 1510 – 20 December 1590) was a French barber surgeon who served in that role for kings Henry II, Francis II, Charles IX and Henry III. He is considered one of the fathers of surgery and modern forensic pathology and a pioneer in surgical techniques and battlefield medicine, especially in the treatment of wounds. He was also an anatomist, invented several surgical instruments, and was a member of the Parisian barber surgeon guild.

Charles IX arranged his sister's marriage in hopes to bring peace between Catholics and Protestants.

Pope Gregory XIII (Latin: Gregorius XIII, Italian: Gregorio XIII, born Ugo Boncompagni; 7 January 1502 – 10 April 1585[b]) was head of the Catholic Church and ruler of the Papal States from 13 May 1572 to his death in April 1585. He is best known for commissioning and being the namesake for the Gregorian calendar, which remains the internationally accepted civil calendar to this day.

War in Flandres - A part of the Eighty Years' War, caused by the Reformation.

Charles de Téligny (c. 1535 – 24 August 1572) was a French soldier and diplomat.

François III, Count of La Rochefoucauld, prince of Marcillac, count of Roucy and baron of Verteuil (1521 – 24 August 1572) was a French courtier and soldier, serving as gentleman-in-ordinary to the king's chamber. He was a friend of Charles de Téligny and Louise de Coligny, serving as one of the witnesses to their marriage, whilst his humour and intelligence rendered him a favourite of Henry II of France and Charles IX of France. He is also notable as one of the Protestant leaders killed in the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre.

Henri de Montmorency, 3rd Duke of Montmorency (15 June 1534 in Chantilly, Oise – 2 April 1614), Marshal of France, and Constable of France, seigneur of Damville, served as Governor of Languedoc from 1563 to 1614.

Anne de Montmorency, duc de Montmorency (c. 1493 – 12 November 1567) was a French noble, governor, royal favourite and Constable of France during the mid to late Italian Wars and early French Wars of Religion. He served under five French kings (Louis XII, François I, Henri II, François II and Charles IX). Pushed to confront the Protestants, Montmorency died as a result of wounds sustained at the battle of Saint Denis on 12 November 1567.

Monsieur François, Duke of Anjou and Alençon (French: Hercule François; 18 March 1555[1] – 10 June 1584) was the youngest son of King Henry II of France and Catherine de' Medici.

The Battle of Moncontour occurred on 3 October 1569 between the royalist Catholic forces of King Charles IX of France, commanded by Henry, Duke of Anjou, and the Huguenots commanded by Gaspard de Coligny.

The Battle of Issus (also Issos) occurred in southern Anatolia, on 5 November 333 BC between the Hellenic League led by Alexander the Great and the Achaemenid Empire, led by Darius III. It was the second great battle of Alexander's conquest of Asia, and the first encounter between Darius III and Alexander the Great. The battle resulted in the Macedonian troops defeating the Persian forces.

The Battle of Pharsalus was the decisive battle of Caesar's Civil War fought on 9 August 48 BC near Pharsalus in Central Greece. Julius Caesar and his allies formed up opposite the army of the Roman Republic under the command of Pompey. Pompey had the backing of a majority of Roman senators and his army significantly outnumbered the veteran Caesarian legions.

Marie of Cleves or of Nevers (Marie de Clèves, Marie de Nevers; 1553–1574), by marriage the Princess of Condé, was the wife of Henry, Prince of Condé, and an early love interest of King Henry III of France. She was the last child of Francis I of Cleves, Duke of Nevers, and Marguerite of Bourbon-Vendôme, elder sister of Antoine of Navarre.

Charles de Lorraine, duc de Mayenne (26 March 1554 –3 October 1611)[1] was a French noble, governor, military commander and rebel during the latter French Wars of Religion.

Gaspard de Saulx, sieur de Tavannes (March 1509–June 1573) was a French Roman Catholic military leader during the Italian Wars and the French Wars of Religion. He served under four kings during his career, participating in the Siege of Calais (1558) and leading the royal army to victory in the third civil war at the battles of Jarnac and Moncontour.

Philip II (21 May 1527 – 13 September 1598), sometimes known in Spain as Philip the Prudent (Spanish: Felipe el Prudente), was King of Spain from 1556, King of Portugal from 1580, and King of Naples and Sicily from 1554 until his death in 1598. He was also jure uxoris King of England and Ireland from his marriage to Queen Mary I in 1554 until her death in 1558. Further, he was Duke of Milan from 1540. From 1555, he was Lord of the Seventeen Provinces of the Netherlands.

Battle of Arnay-le-Duc' on 27 June 1570: During the French Wars of Religion the Catholic armies of Artus de Cossé-Brissac (Marshal of Cossé) were beaten by the Protestant armies of Gaspard II de Coligny. This was the first military engagement of Henry of Navarre, the future Henri IV. Jean de La Taille was wounded.

Hannibal (/ˈhænɪbəl/; 247 – between 183 and 181 BC) was a Carthaginian general and statesman who commanded the forces of Carthage in their battle against the Roman Republic during the Second Punic War.

Henriette de La Marck (31 October 1542 – 24 June 1601), also known as Henriette of Cleves, was a French noblewoman and courtier. She was the 4th Duchess of Nevers, suo jure Countess of Rethel, and Princess of Mantua by her marriage with Louis I of Gonzaga-Nevers. A very talented landowner, she was one of France's chief creditors until her death.

Charlotte de Beaune Semblançay, Viscountess of Tours, Baroness de Sauve, Marquise de Noirmoutier (26 October 1551 – 30 September 1617) was a French noblewoman and a mistress of King Henry of Navarre, who later ruled as King Henry IV of France. She was a member of queen mother Catherine de' Medici's notorious "Flying Squadron" (L'escadron volant in French), a group of beautiful female spies and informants recruited to seduce important men at court, and thereby extract information to pass on to the Queen Mother.

[dumasdaily]

The Alexandre Dumas Historical Novel book club starts on June 22!

Hello! I'm the creator of @monte-cristo-daily and on the 22nd of June, after we're done with The Count of Monte-Cristo, I'll start a new book club in which we'll learn history of France in a wrong way, but with lots of fun!

The project will take 3+ years and will be a one time thing, unlike @monte-cristo-daily that will hopefully return the next year.

We'll read the three Valois novels that describe the collapse of the dynasty in the late 16th century. Then, to see the 17th century in its splendour, we'll move on to the Musketeers trilogy. And finally, we'll finish with the long story of the French revolution, we'll look at the 18th century and follow the French monarchy to its end.

Three centuries one chapter a day. With notes and illustrations. Everything will be published in this blog.

The project will be run in English, if you have any suggestions on which translations to pick, reach out to me, @theniftycat

The list of novels is below:

The Queen Margot (the Valois trilogy) - June-August 2025

The Dame de Monsoreau (the Valois trilogy) - September-November 2025

The Forty Five (the Valois trilogy) - December 2025 - February 2026

The Three Musketeers (the Musketeers trilogy) - March-April 2026

Twenty Years Later (the Musketeers trilogy) - May-July 2026

Ten Years Later (the Musketeers trilogy) - August 2026 - April 2027

Joseph Balsamo (Memoirs of a Physician) - May-October 2027

The Queen's Necklace (Memoirs of a Physician) - November 2027 - January 2028

Ange Pitou (Memoirs of a Physician) - February-April 2028

The Countess de Charny (Memoirs of a Physician) - May-October 2028

The Chevalier de Maison-Rouge - November-December 2028

Jump on and jump off whenever you like! All the dates are approximate.