CHAPTER LIV.
WHAT WAS PASSING AT THE LOUVRE ABOUT THE TIME CHICOT ENTERED NERAC.
The necessity of following Chicot to the end of his mission has kept usa long time away from the Louvre. The king, after having passed sobravely through his adventurous return from Vincennes, experienced thatretrospective emotion which sometimes is felt by the bravest heart afterthe danger is over. He entered the Louvre without saying anything, madehis prayers longer than usual, forgetting to thank the officers andguards who had served him so well. Then he went to bed, astonishing hisvalets by the rapidity of his toilet; and D'Epernon, who remained in hisroom to the last, expecting thanks at least, went away in a very badhumor.
At two o'clock every one slept in the Louvre. The next day, Henri tookfour bouillons in bed instead of two, and then sent for MM. de Villeguieand D'O to come to his room, to speak about a new financial edict. Thequeen received the order to dine alone, but it was added that in theevening the king would receive. All day he played with Love, saying,every time that the animal showed his white teeth, "Ah, rebel! you wantto bite me also; you attack your king also; but you are conquered, M.Love--conquered, wretched leaguer--conquered." His secretaries of statewere somewhat astonished at all this, particularly as he said nothingelse, and signed everything without looking at it. At three o'clock inthe afternoon he asked for D'Epernon. They replied that he was reviewingthe light horse; then he inquired for De Loignac, but he also wasabsent. He asked for lunch, and, while he ate, had an edifying discourseread to him, which he interrupted by saying to the reader, "Was it notPlutarch who wrote the life of Sylla?"
"Yes, sire," said the reader, much astonished at being interrupted inhis pious reading by this profane question.
"Do you remember that passage where the historian recounts how thedictator avoided death?"
The reader hesitated.
"Not precisely, sire; it is a long time since I read Plutarch."
At this moment, the Cardinal de Joyeuse was announced.
"Ah! here is a learned man, he will tell me at once!" cried the king.
"Sire," said the cardinal, "am I lucky enough to arrive apropos--it is arare thing in this world."
"Ma foi! yes; you heard my question?"
"Your majesty asked, I think, in what manner, and when, Sylla narrowlyescaped death?"
"Just so--can you answer me, cardinal?"
"Nothing more easy, sire."
"So much the better."
"Sylla, who had killed so many men, never risked his life but incombats; did your majesty mean in one of those?"
"Yes; in one in which I think I recollect he was very near death. Open aPlutarch, cardinal; there should be one there translated by Amyot, andread me the passage where he escaped the javelins of his enemies, thanksto the swiftness of his white horse."
"Sire, there is no need of opening Plutarch; the event took place in thecombat with Telescrius the Samnite, and Lamponius the Lucanian."
"You are so learned, my dear cardinal."
"Your majesty is too good."
"Now explain to me how this Roman lion, who was so cruel, was neverannoyed by his enemies."
"Sire, I will reply to your majesty in the words of this same Plutarch."
"Go on, Joyeuse."
"Carbon, the enemy of Sylla, said often, 'I have to fight at once a lionand a fox who inhabit the soul of Sylla, but it is the fox who gives memost trouble.'"
"Ah! it was the fox?"
"Plutarch says so, sire."
"And he is right, cardinal. But apropos of combats, have you any news ofyour brother?"
"Of which brother, sire? I have two."
"Of the Duc d'Arques, my friend."
"Not yet, sire."
"If M. d'Anjou, who always plays the fox, will only play the lion alittle for once."
The cardinal did not reply, so Henri, signing to him to remain, dressedhimself sumptuously, and passed into the room where the court waited forhim. He entered, looking full of good humor, kissed the hands of hiswife and mother, paid all sorts of compliments to the ladies, and evenoffered them sweetmeats.
"We were unquiet about your health, my son," said Catherine.
"You were wrong, madame; I have never been better."
"And to what happy influence do you owe this amelioration, my son?"
"To having laughed much, madame."
Every one looked astonished.
"Laughed! you can laugh much, my son; then you are very happy?"
"It is true, madame."
"And about what were you so much amused?"
"I must tell you, mother, that yesterday I went to Vincennes."
"I knew it."
"Oh! you knew it; well, my people told me, before my return, of anenemy's army whose muskets shone on the road."
"An enemy's army on the road to Vincennes?"
"Yes, mother."
"And where?"
"In front of the Jacobins, near the house of our good cousin."
"Near Madame de Montpensier's?"
"Precisely so, near Bel-Esbat. I approached, bravely to give battle, andI perceived--"
"What, sire?" cried the queen, in alarm.
"Reassure yourself, madame, I perceived an entire priory of good monks,who presented arms to me with acclamations."
Every one laughed, and the king continued:
"Yes, you are right to laugh; I have in France more than ten thousandmonks, of whom I can make, if necessary, ten thousand musketeers; then Iwill create a Grand-Master of the Tonsured Musketeers, and give theplace to you, cardinal."
"Sire, I accept."
The ladies now, according to etiquette, rose, and, bowing to the king,retired. The queen followed with her ladies of honor. The queen-motherremained: the king's gayety was a mystery that she wished to fathom.
"Cardinal," said the king, "what has become of your brother, DuBouchage?"
"I do not know, sire."
"How! you do not know?"
"No; I never see him, now."
A grave, sad voice from the end of the room said, "Here I am, sire."
"Ah! it is he," cried Henri. "Approach, comte; approach."
The young man obeyed.
"Mon Dieu!" cried the king, "he is no longer a man, but a shade."
"Sire, he works hard," said the cardinal, stupefied himself at thechange in his brother during the last week. He was as pale as wax, andlooked thin and wan.
"Come here, young man," said the king. "Thanks, cardinal, for yourquotation from Plutarch; in a similar case I shall apply to you again."
The cardinal saw that Henri wished to be left alone with his brother,and took his leave.
There only remained the queen-mother, D'Epernon, and Du Bouchage. Theking beckoned to the latter, and said:
"Why do you hide thus behind the ladies; do you not know it gives mepleasure to see you?"
"Your kind words do me honor, sire," said the young man, bowing.
"Then how is it that we never see you here now?"
"If your majesty has not seen me, it is because you have not deigned tocast an eye on the corner of the room. I am here every day regularly; Inever have failed, and never will, as long as I can stand upright: it isa sacred duty to me."
"And is it that that makes you so sad?"
"Oh! your majesty cannot think so?"
"No, for you and your brother love me, and I love you. Apropos, do youknow that poor Anne has written to me from Dieppe?"
"I did not, sire."
"Yes; but you know he did not like going?"
"He confided to me his regrets at leaving Paris."
"Yes; but do you know what he said? That there existed a man who wouldhave regretted Paris much more; and that if I gave you this order youwould die."
"Perhaps, sire."
"He said yet more, for your brother talks fast when he is not sulky; hesaid that if I had given such an order you would have disobeyed it."
"Your majesty was right to place my death before my disobedience;
itwould have been a greater grief to me to disobey than to die, and yet Ishould have disobeyed."
"You are a little mad, I think, my poor comte," said Henri.
"I am quite so, I believe."
"Then the case is serious."
Joyeuse sighed.
"What is it? tell me."
Joyeuse tried to smile. "A great king like you, sire, would not care forsuch confidences."
"Yes, Henri, yes; tell me. It will amuse me," said the king.
"Sire, you deceive yourself; there is nothing in my grief that couldamuse a noble heart like yours."
The king took the young man's hand.
"Do not be angry, Du Bouchage," said he; "you know that your king alsohas known the griefs of an unrequited love."
"I know it, sire, formerly."
"Therefore, I feel for your sufferings."
"Your majesty is too good."
"Not so; but when I suffered what you suffer, no one could aid me,because no one was more powerful than myself, whereas I can aid you."
"Sire?"
"And, consequently, hope soon for an end of your sorrows."
The young man shook his head.
"Du Bouchage, you shall be happy, or I am no longer king of France!"cried Henri.
"Happy! alas, sire, it is impossible," said the young man with a bittersmile.
"And why so?"
"Because my happiness is not of this world."
"Henri, your brother, when he went, recommended you to my friendship. Iwish, since you consult neither the experience of your father, nor thewisdom of your brother the cardinal, to be an elder brother to you.Come, be confiding, and tell me all. I assure you, Du Bouchage, that foreverything except death my power and love shall find you a remedy."
"Sire," replied the young man, falling at the king's feet, "do notconfound me by the expression of a goodness to which I cannot reply. Mymisfortune is without remedy, for it is that which makes my onlyhappiness."
"Du Bouchage, you are mad; you will kill yourself with fancies."
"I know it well, sire."
"But," cried the king, impatiently, "is it a marriage you wish for?"
"Sire, my wish is to inspire love. You see that the whole world ispowerless to aid me in this; I alone can obtain it for myself."--"Thenwhy despair?"
"Because I feel that I shall never inspire it."
"Try, try, my child; you are young and rich. Where is the woman that canresist at once beauty, youth and wealth? There are none, Du Bouchage."
"Sire, your goodness is great."
"If you wish to be discreet, and tell me nothing, do so; I will findout, and then act. You know what I have done for your brother, I will doas much for you; a hundred thousand crowns shall not stop me."
Du Bouchage seized the king's hand, and pressed his lips to it.
"May your majesty ask one day for my blood, and I will shed it to thelast drop to show you how grateful I am for the protection that Irefuse!"
Henri III. turned on his heel angrily.
"Really," said he, "these Joyeuses are more obstinate than a Valois.Here is one who will bring me every day his long face and eyes circledwith black; that will be delightful."
"Oh! sire, I will smile so, when I am here, that every one shall thinkme the happiest of men."
"Yes, but I shall know the contrary, and that will sadden me."
"Does your majesty permit me to retire?" asked Du Bouchage.
"Go, my child, and try to be a man."
When he was gone the king approached D'Epernon, and said:
"Lavalette, have money distributed this evening to the Forty-five, andgive them holiday for a night and a day to amuse themselves. By themass! they saved me like Sylla's white horse."
"Saved?" said Catherine.
"Yes, mother."
"From what?"
"Ah! ask D'Epernon."
"I ask you, my son."
"Well, madame, our dear cousin, the sister of your good friend M. deGuise--oh! do not deny it; you, know he is your good friend--laid anambush for me."
"An ambush!"
"Yes, madame, and I narrowly escaped imprisonment or assassination."
"By M. de Guise?"
"You do not believe it?"
"I confess I do not."
"D'Epernon, my friend, relate the adventure to my mother. If I go onspeaking, and she goes on shrugging her shoulders, I shall get angry,and that does not suit my health. Adieu, madame; cherish M. de Guise asmuch as you please, but I would advise them not to forget Salcede."
Les Quarante-cinq. English Page 55