Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XII.

  IN THE HALL OF THE LOUVRE.

  It is a strange thing that love--or passion, if the sudden fancy forMademoiselle which had seized Count Hannibal be deemed unworthy of thehigher name--should so entirely possess the souls of those who harbourit that the greatest events and the most astounding catastrophes, evenmeasures which set their mark for all time on a nation, are to them ofimportance only so far as they affect the pursuit of the fair one.

  As Tavannes, after leaving Mademoiselle, rode through the paved lanes,beneath the gabled houses, and under the shadow of the Gothic spiresof his day, he saw a score of sights, moving to pity, or wrath, orwonder. He saw Paris as a city sacked; a slaughterhouse, where for aweek a masque had moved to stately music; blood on the nailed doorsand the close-set window bars; and at the corners of the ways strewngarments, broken weapons, the livid dead in heaps. But he saw all witheyes which in all and everywhere, among living and dead, sought onlyTignonville; Tignonville first, and next a heretic minister, withenough of life in him to do his office.

  Probably it was to this that one man hunted through Paris owed hisescape that day. He sprang from a narrow passage full in Tavannes'view, and, hair on end, his eyes starting from his head, ranblindly--as a hare will run when chased--along the street to meetCount Hannibal's company. The man's face was wet with the dews ofdeath, his lungs seemed cracking, his breath hissed from him as heran. His pursuers were hard on him, and, seeing him headed by CountHannibal's party, yelled in triumph, holding him for dead. And dead hewould have been within thirty seconds had Tavannes played his part.But his thoughts were elsewhere. Either he took the poor wretch forTignonville, or for the minister on whom his mind was running; at anyrate he suffered him to slip under the belly of his horse; then, tomake matters worse, he wheeled to follow him in so untimely and clumsya fashion that his horse blocked the way and stopped the pursuers intheir tracks. The quarry slipped into an alley and vanished. Thehunters stood and blasphemed, and even for a moment seemed inclined toresent the mistake. But Tavannes smiled; a broader smile lightened thefaces of the six iron-clad men behind him; and for some reason thegang of ruffians thought better of it and slunk aside.

  There are hard men, who feel scorn of the things which in the breastsof others excite pity. Tavannes' lip curled as he rode on through thestreets, looking this way and that, and seeing what a King twenty-twoyears old had made of his capital. His lip curled most of all when hecame, passing between the two tennis-courts, to the east gate of theLouvre, and found the entrance locked and guarded, and allcommunication between city and palace cut off. Such a proof ofunkingly panic, in a crisis wrought by the King himself, astonishedhim less a few minutes later, when, the keys having been brought andthe door opened, he entered the courtyard of the fortress.

  Within and about the door of the gatehouse some three-score archersand arquebusiers stood to their arms; not in array, but in disorderlygroups, from which the babble of voices, of feverish laughter, andstrained jests rose without ceasing. The westering sun, of which thebeams just topped the farther side of the quadrangle, fell slantwiseon their armour, and heightened their exaggerated and restlessmovements. To a calm eye they seemed like men acting in a nightmare.Their fitful talk and disjointed gestures, their sweating brows anddamp hair, no less than the sullen, brooding silence of one here andthere, bespoke the abnormal and the terrible. There were livid facesamong them, and twitching cheeks, and some who swallowed much; andsome again who bared their crimson arms and bragged insanely of thepart they had played. But perhaps the most striking thing was thethirst, the desire, the demand for news, and for fresh excitement. Inthe space of time it took him to pass through them, Count Hannibalheard a dozen rumours of what was passing in the city; that Montgomeryand the gentlemen who had slept beyond the river had escaped onhorseback in their shirts; that Guise had been shot in the pursuit;that he had captured the Vidame de Chartres and all the fugitives;that he had never left the city; that he was even then entering by thePorte de Bucy. Again that Biron had surrendered the Arsenal, that hehad threatened to fire on the city, that he was dead, that with theHuguenots who had escaped he was marching on the Louvre, that----

  And then Tavannes passed out of the blinding sunshine, and out ofearshot of their babble, and had plain in his sight across thequadrangle, the new facade, Italian, graceful, of the Renaissance;which rose in smiling contrast with the three dark Gothic sides thatnow, the central tower removed, frowned unimpeded at one another. Butwhat was this which lay along the foot of the new Italian wall? This,round which some stood, gazing curiously, while others strewed freshsand about it, or after long downward-looking glanced up to answer thequestion of a person at a window?

  Death; and over death--death in its most cruel aspect--a cloud ofbuzzing, whirling flies, and the smell, never to be forgotten, of muchspilled blood. From a doorway hard by came shrill bursts of hystericallaughter; and with the laughter plumped out, even as Tavannes crossedthe court, a young girl, thrust forth it seemed by her fellows, forshe turned about and struggled as she came. Once outside she hungback, giggling and protesting, half willing, half unwilling; andmeeting Tavannes' eye thrust her way in again with a whirl of herpetticoats, and a shriek. But before he had taken four paces she wasout again.

  He paused to see who she was, and his thoughts involuntarily went backto the woman he had left weeping in the upper room. Then he turnedabout again and stood to count the dead. He identified Piles,identified Pardaillan, identified Soubise--whose corpse the murderershad robbed of the last rag--and Touchet and St. Galais. He made hisreckoning with an unmoved face, and with the same face stopped andstared, and moved from one to another; had he not seen the slaughterabout "_le petit home_" at Jarnac, and the dead of three pitchedfields? But when a bystander, smirking obsequiously, passed him a jeston Soubise, and with his finger pointed the jest, he had the same hardunmoved face for the gibe as for the dead. And the jester shrank away,abashed and perplexed by his stare and his reticence.

  Half way up the staircase to the great gallery or guardroom above,Count Hannibal found his brother, the Marshal, huddled together indrunken slumber on a seat in a recess. In the gallery to which hepassed on without awakening him, a crowd of courtiers and ladies, witharquebusiers and captains of the quarters, walked to and fro, talkingin whispers; or peeped over shoulders towards the inner end of thehall, where the querulous voice of the King rose now and again abovethe hum. As Tavannes moved that way, Nancay, in the act of passingout, booted and armed for the road, met him and almost jostled him.

  "Ah, well met, M. le Comte," he sneered, with as much hostility as hedared betray. "The King has asked for you twice."

  "I am going to him. And you? Whither in such a hurry, M. Nancay?"

  "To Chatillon."

  "On pleasant business?"

  "Enough that it is on the King's!" Nancay replied with unexpectedtemper. "I hope that you may find yours as pleasant!" he added with agrin. And he went on.

  The gleam of malice in the man's eye warned Tavannes to pause. Helooked round for someone who might be in the secret, saw the Provostof the Merchants and approached him. "What's amiss, M. le Charron?" heasked. "Is not the affair going as it should?"

  "'Tis about the Arsenal, M. le Comte," the Provost answered busily."M. de Biron is harbouring the vermin there. He has lowered theportcullis and pointed his culverins over the gate and will not yieldit or listen to reason. The King would bring him to terms, but no onewill venture himself inside with the message. Rats in a trap, youknow, bite hard, and care little whom they bite."

  "I begin to understand."

  "Precisely, M. le Comte. His Majesty would have sent M. de Nancay. Buthe elected to go to Chatillon, to seize the young brood there. TheAdmiral's children, you comprehend."

  "Whose teeth are not yet grown! He was wise."

  "To be sure, M. de Tavannes, to be sure. But the King was annoyed, andon top of that came a priest with complaints, and if I m
ay make sobold as to advise you, you will not----"

  But Tavannes fancied that he had caught the gist of the difficulty,and with a nod he moved on; and so he missed the point of the warningwhich the other had it in his mind to give. A moment and he reachedthe inner circle, and there halted, disconcerted, nay, taken aback.For as soon as he showed his face, the King, who was pacing to and frolike a caged beast, before a table at which three clerks knelt oncushions, espied him and stood still. With a glare of something likemadness in his eyes, Charles raised his hand with a shaking finger andsingled him out.

  "So, by G--d, you are there!" he cried, with a volley of blasphemy.And he signed to those about Count Hannibal to stand away from him."You are there, are you? And you are not afraid to show your face? Itell you, it's you and such as you bring us into contempt! so that itis said everywhere Guise does all and serves God, and we followbecause we must! It's you, and such as you, are stumbling-blocks toour good folk of Paris! Are you traitor, sirrah?" he continued withpassion, "or are you of our brother Alencon's opinions, that youtraverse our orders to the damnation of your soul and our discredit?Are you traitor? Or are you heretic? Or what are you? God in heaven,will you answer me, man, or shall I send you where you will find yourtongue?"

  "I know not of what your Majesty accuses me," Count Hannibal answered,with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulders.

  "I? 'Tis not I," the King retorted. His hair hung damp on his brow,and he dried his hands continually; while his gestures had theill-measured and eccentric violence of an epileptic. "Here, you!Speak, father, and confound him!"

  Then Tavannes discovered on the farther side of the circle the priestwhom his brother had ridden down that morning. Father Pezelay's palehatchet-face gleamed paler than ordinary; and a great bandage hid onetemple and part of his face. But, below the bandage, the flame of hiseyes was not lessened, nor the venom of his tongue. To the King he hadcome--for no other would deal with his violent opponent; to the King'spresence! and, as he prepared to blast his adversary, now his chancewas come, his long lean frame, in its narrow black cassock, seemed togrow longer, leaner, more baleful, more snake-like. He stood there afitting representative of the dark fanaticism of Paris, which Charlesand his successor--the last of a doomed line--alternately used as toolor feared as master; and to which the most debased and the mostimmoral of courts paid, in its sober hours, a vile and slavish homage.Even in the midst of the drunken, shameless courtiers--who stood, ifthey stood for anything, for that other influence of the day, theRenaissance--he was to be reckoned with; and Count Hannibal knew it.He knew that in the eyes not of Charles only, but of nine out of tenwho listened to him, a priest was more sacred than a virgin, and atonsure than all the virtues of spotless innocence.

  "Shall the King give with one hand and withdraw with the other?" thepriest began, in a voice hoarse yet strident, a voice borne high abovethe crowd on the wings of passion. "Shall he spare of the best of themen and the maidens whom God hath doomed, whom the Church hathdevoted, whom the King hath given? Is the King's hand shortened or hisword annulled that a man does as he forbiddeth and leaves undone whathe commandeth? Is God mocked? Woe, woe unto you," he continued,turning swiftly, arms uplifted, towards Tavannes, "who please yourselfwith the red and white of their maidens and take of the best of thespoil, sparing where the King's word is 'Spare not!' Who strike atHoly Church with the sword! Who----"

  "Answer, sirrah!" Charles cried, spurning the floor in his fury. Hecould not listen long to any man. "Is it so? Is it so? Do you do thesethings?"

  Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders and was about to answer, when athick, drunken voice rose from the crowd behind him. "Is it what? Eh!Is it what?" it droned. And a figure with bloodshot eyes, disorderedbeard, and rich clothes awry, forced its way through the obsequiouscircle. It was Marshal Tavannes. "Eh, what? You'd beard the King,would you?" he hiccoughed truculently, his eyes on Father Pezelay, hishand on his sword. "Were you a priest ten times--

  "Silence!" Charles cried, almost foaming with rage at this freshinterruption. "It's not he, fool! 'Tis your pestilent brother."

  "Who touches my brother touches Tavannes!" the Marshal answered with amenacing gesture. He was sober enough, it appeared, to hear what wassaid, but not to comprehend its drift; and this caused a titter, whichimmediately excited his rage. He turned and seized the nearest laugherby the ear. "Insolent!" he cried. "I will teach you to laugh when theKing speaks! Puppy! Who laughs at his Majesty or touches my brotherhas to do with Tavannes!"

  The King, in a rage that almost deprived him of speech, stamped thefloor twice. "Idiot!" he cried. "Imbecile! Let the man go! 'Tis nothe! 'Tis your heretic brother, I tell you! By all the Saints! By thebody of----" and he poured forth a flood of oaths. "Will you listen tome and be silent! Will you--your brother----"

  "If he be not your Majesty's servant, I will kill him with thissword!" the irrepressible Marshal struck in. "As I have killed tento-day! Ten!" And, staggering back, he only saved himself from fallingby clutching Chicot about the neck.

  "Steady, my pretty Marechale!" the jester cried, chucking him underthe chin with one hand, while with some difficulty he supported himwith the other--for he, too, was far from sober--

  "Pretty Margot, toy with me, Maiden bashful----"

  "Silence!" Charles cried, darting forth his long arms in a fury ofimpatience. "God, have I killed every man of sense? Are you all gonemad? Silence! Do you hear? Silence! And let me hear what he has tosay," with a movement towards Count Hannibal. "And look you, sirrah,"he continued with a curse, "see that it be to the purpose!"

  "If it be a question of your Majesty's service," Tavannes answered."And obedience to your Majesty's orders, I am deeper in it than he whostands there!" with a sign towards the priest. "I give my word forthat. And I will prove it."

  "How, sir?" Charles cried. "How, how, how? How will you prove it?"

  "By doing for you, sire, what he will not do!" Tavannes answeredscornfully. "Let him stand out, and if he will serve his Church as Iwill serve my King----

  "Blaspheme not!" cried the priest.

  "Chatter not!" Tavannes retorted hardily, "but do! Better is he," hecontinued, "who takes a city than he who slays women! Nay, sire," hewent on hurriedly, seeing the King start, "be not angry, but hear me!You would send to Biron, to the Arsenal? You seek a messenger, sire?Then let the good father be the man. Let him take your Majesty's willto Biron, and let him see the Grand Master face to face, and bring himto reason. Or, if he will not, I will! Let that be the test!"

  "Ay, ay!" cried Marshal de Tavannes, "you say well, brother! Let him!"

  "And if he will not, I will!" Tavannes repeated. "Let that be thetest, sire."

  The King wheeled suddenly to Father Pezelay.

  "You hear, father?" he said. "What say you!"

  The priest's face grew sallow, and more sallow. He knew that the wallsof the Arsenal sheltered men whose hands no convention and no order ofBiron's would keep from his throat, were the grim gate and frowningculverins once passed; men who had seen their women and children,their wives and sisters immolated at his word, and now asked naughtbut to stand face to face and eye to eye with him and tear him limbfrom limb before they died! The challenge, therefore, was one-sidedand unfair; but for that very reason it shook him. The astuteness ofthe man who, taken by surprise, had conceived this snare filled himwith dread. He dared not accept, and he scarcely dared to refuse theoffer. And meantime the eyes of the courtiers, who grinned in theirbeards, were on him. At length he spoke, but it was in a voice whichhad lost its boldness and assurance.

  "It is not for me to clear myself," he cried, shrill and violent, "butfor those who are accused, for those who have belied the King's word,and set at naught his Christian orders. For you, Count Hannibal,heretic, or no better than heretic, it is easy to say 'I go.' For yougo but to your own, and your own will receive you!"

  "Then you will not go?" with a jeer.

  "At your command? No!" the priest shrieked with p
assion. "His Majestyknows whether I serve him."

  "I know," Charles cried, stamping his foot in a fury, "that you allserve me when it pleases you! That you are all sticks of the samefaggot, wood of the same bundle, hell-babes in your own business, andsluggards in mine! You kill to-day and you'll lay it to me to-morrow!Ay, you will! you will!" he repeated frantically, and drove home theasseveration with a fearful oath. "The dead are as good servants asyou! Foucauld was better! Foucauld? Foucauld? Ah, my God!"

  And abruptly in presence of them all, with the sacred name, which heso often defiled, on his lips, Charles turned, and covering his faceburst into childish weeping; while a great silence fell on all--onBussy with the blood of his cousin Resnel on his point, on Fervacques,the betrayer of his friend, on Chicot, the slayer of his rival, onCocconnas the cruel--on men with hands unwashed from the slaughter,and on the shameless women who lined the walls; on all who used thissobbing man for their stepping-stone, and, to attain their ends andgain their purposes, trampled his dull soul in blood and mire.

  One looked at another in consternation. Fear grew in eyes that amoment before were bold; cheeks turned pale that a moment before werehectic. If he changed as rapidly as this, if so little dependencecould be placed on his moods or his resolutions, who was safe? Whoseturn might it not be to-morrow? Or who might not be held accountablefor the deeds done this day? Many, from whom remorse had seemed fardistant a while before, shuddered and glanced behind them. It was asif the dead who lay stark without the doors, ay, and the countlessdead of Paris, with whose shrieks the air was laden, had flocked inshadowy shape into the hall; and there, standing beside theirmurderers, had whispered with their cold breath in the living ears, "Areckoning! A reckoning! As I am, thou shalt be!"

  It was Count Hannibal who broke the spell and the silence, and withhis hand on his brother's shoulder stood forward. "Nay, sire," hecried, in a voice which rang defiant in the roof, and seemed tochallenge alike the living and the dead, "if all deny the deed, yetwill not I! What we have done we have done! So be it! The dead aredead! So be it! For the rest, your Majesty has still one servant whowill do your will, one soldier whose life is at your disposition! Ihave said I will go, and I go, sire. And you, churchman," hecontinued, turning in bitter scorn to the priest, "do you go too--tochurch! To church, shaveling! Go, watch and pray for us! Fast and flogfor us! Whip those shoulders, whip them till the blood runs down! Forit is all, it seems, you will do for your King!"

  Charles turned. "Silence, railer!" he said in a broken voice. "Sow nomore troubles! Already," a shudder shook his tall ungainly form, "Isee blood, blood, blood everywhere! Blood! Ah, God, shall I from thistime see anything else? But there is no turning back. There is noundoing. So, do you go to Biron. And do you," he went on, sullenlyaddressing Marshal Tavannes, "take him and tell him what it is needfulhe should know."

  "'Tis done, sire!" the Marshal cried with a hiccough. "Come, brother!"

  But when the two, the courtiers making quick way for them, had passeddown the hall to the door, the Marshal tapped Hannibal's sleeve. "Itwas touch and go," he muttered; it was plain he had been more soberthan he seemed. "Mind you, it does not do to thwart our little masterin his fits! Remember that another time, or worse will come of it,brother. As it is, you came out of it finely and tripped that blackdevil's heels to a marvel! But you won't be so mad as to go to Biron?"

  "Yes," Count Hannibal answered coldly. "I shall go."

  "Better not! Better not!" the Marshal answered. "'Twill be easier togo in than to come out--with a whole throat! Have you taken wild catsin the hollow of a tree? The young first, and then the she-cat? Well,it will be that! Take my advice, brother. Have after Montgomery, ifyou please, ride with Nancay to Chatillon--he is mounting now--gowhere you please out of Paris, but don't go there! Biron hates us,hates me. And for the King, if he do not see you for a few days,'twill blow over in a week."

  Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said, "I shall go."

  The Marshal stared a moment. "Morbleu!" he said, "why? 'Tis not toplease the King, I know. What do you think to find there, brother?"

  "A minister," Hannibal answered gently. "I want one with life in him,and they are scarce in the open. So I must to covert after him." And,twitching his sword-belt a little nearer to his hand, he passed acrossthe court to the gate, and to his horses. The Marshal went backlaughing, and, slapping his thigh as he entered the hall, jostled byaccident a gentleman who was passing out.

  "What is it?" the Gascon cried hotly; for it was Chicot he hadjostled.

  "Who touches my brother touches Tavannes!" the Marshal hiccoughed.And, smiting his thigh anew, he went off into another fit of laughter.