Père Joseph said, fixing the shafts of blue fury which were his eyes upon Louis’ face, holding him by his hypnotic power:
“Yes, my son, there is something you can do, something you must do. And, you must listen carefully to me, for the fate of Christendom might depend upon your integrity, your strength and your wisdom.”
Slowly, shaking violently, Louis reseated himself, leaning forward across the table, clutching its edge as though about to spring, his eyes glittering, his teeth bared.
Père Joseph lifted his hand solemnly, and spoke in an even lower voice:
“I am the friend, and the confessor, of Madame the Queen. Nevertheless, she has some distrust for me. I cannot, therefore, impel her to listen to me without suspicion.” He paused. “You are regarded favorably by Madame?”
Louis hesitated. There were beads of moisture on his broad white brow. He touched them with his trembling hand.
“I am his Eminence’s secretary, father, as you are his friend. Therefore, the same distrust had formerly been extended to me by Madame. However, I have thought this distrust has subsided, for I have had many conversations with her, and she has been convinced of my sincerity, and my desire that the Huguenots be destroyed. Though I have sometimes accused myself of disloyalty, I have disagreed, in her presence, with the policies of his Eminence. But that is not secret to Monseigneur!”
Aroused, the Capuchin leaned forward towards Louis.
“This is extremely significant, far better than I hoped! Repeat, if you please, some of your conversations with Madame.”
Flattered by the concentrated attention of the Capuchin, Louis obeyed. The Capuchin listened. He hardly breathed. His extraordinary eyes blazed, welled, glowed. He smiled, gripping the edge of the table. He weighed every word. Occasionally, he nodded, with intense pleasure. Once, he ran his hand through the tangled russet beard, as though unbearably excited.
“That is most excellent!” he cried, when Louis had finished. “Most amazingly excellent! I am certain you have convinced Madame of your sincerity.” He paused, and now his eyes narrowed cunningly and sharply upon Louis. “It has always been a great sadness to me that her Majesty suspected, and disliked, his Eminence. No doubt without reason.”
He waited, wondering how much Louis had heard of the Cardinal’s lust for Anne of Austria. And then he saw that Louis would never have believed anything obscene about his master, for there was no obscenity in that egotistic and glacial soul.
Louis shook his head, frowning and sighing. “I regret that there is a reason, father. Madame has always desired that the Edict of Nantes be revoked, that the Huguenots be exiled and suppressed and destroyed, for the sake of Holy Mother Church. She has pleaded so, with the King. But Madame has very little influence with his Majesty, who listens only to his Eminence. And his Eminence has always believed that the strength of France depended on an inner integrity, and for the sake of that integrity, he has placated and conciliated the murderous and rebellious Huguenots.” He hesitated again, looked at the Capuchin imploringly. “I have not agreed with his Eminence. I have agreed only with Madame.”
The Capuchin nodded. He smiled darkly in his beard.
“Madame has not received his Eminence lately?”
“No. She leaves the room when he enters the chambers of the King. I know that he has sought audiences with her, to no avail.”
“Ah,” murmured the Capuchin, well aware of the reasons for the young queen’s aversion for the Cardinal.
There was a sudden and portentous silence in the room, in which the Capuchin kept his eyes fixed unmovingly on Louis’ face. And Louis waited, his very spirit sweating.
Then Capuchin said, as if meditating aloud: “I have thought that if her Majesty could be induced to receive his Eminence, many things might be accomplished. Once I urged this, before going on my mission to Rome. She refused, with great agitation, suspecting me. Therefore, my pleadings would be of no service. However, if one she trusted, like yourself, pleaded for this interview, it might possibly be granted.”
He paused. Louis’ eyes widened, but a frown wrinkled his forehead. Then he was excited.
“You believe that my pleas might have some effect, father?”
The Capuchin was relieved. He smiled affectionately. “I know this! And that is why I have arranged an interview for you, and you alone, within the hour, with her Majesty!” Louis was astounded. He half rose from his chair, staring.
“Now?” he cried. “At this hour, when all of Paris is asleep, and the Louvre sleeps also, and Madame?”
The Capuchin smiled sadly. “Her Majesty has few friends, and those friends are suspect. The spies of his Majesty, and—er—his Eminence, are ever watchful. Therefore, she receives her friends in secrecy, after midnight.”
Louis, astonished and bewildered, shook his head numbly. The Capuchin reached across the table with a sudden and violent movement, and seized Louis’ cold and rigid hand. He impaled the young priest with the rapier of his eye.
“You must go at once, alone, in secrecy, my son! Wrapped in your cloak, your face hidden. Madame will receive you! I have sent a messenger in your name, seeking this appointment, and it has been granted!”
He waited for some exclamation following this amazing revelation. But Louis only stared, incredulously.
“Now, at once!” cried Père Joseph. “Without an instant’s further delay. Upon this interview, my son, depends the fate of the Church in Europe!”
“But what reason shall I advance to her Majesty in pleading for her to receive his Eminence?” asked Louis, in a hoarse voice.
The Capuchin was silent a moment, while the flame became intensified in his eyes. Then he said:
“You will say to her that you are certain his Eminence can be persuaded to abandon his present policy with regard to the Huguenots upon her pleading.” He paused, then said, very slowly, very portentously:
“And you will say to Madame that the sacrifice of a single woman’s delicacy, aversions, modesty and hesitations are nothing, if the Church is to be saved. You must say to her that it is the command of God that she sacrifice herself.”
He wondered if he had gone too far, if Louis had indeed heard of the Cardinal’s lust for the Queen, for the young priest’s face became very pale, and a cold hauteur spread over it, in spite of the perspiration that gleamed on his brow.
But he was reassured when Louis said: “But that is impertinence, father.”
The Capuchin, in his relief, struck the table with his clenched fist.
“ A priest is never impertinent, in serving his Church and his God! Your words are absurd, worldly, my son! In the name of the Lord, a priest can speak with all frankness, all imperiousness. Have no fear. Her Majesty will listen with all consideration to you, as a true daughter of the Church.” Without another word, Louis rose. He wrapped himself in a voluminous black cloak. He pulled the hood far over his features. Then, he glanced at the wall, upon which hung his sword. He went to it, removed it, buckled it to his waist. Then he turned to the Capuchin.
“I am ready,” he said, simply.
Père Joseph put his arm about him, after blessing him solemnly. They left the Palais-Cardinal through great corridors. They passed the guards, who saluted. They emerged into the dark and gloomy streets. Père Joseph watched Louis until he was swallowed in the midnight darkness.
He shook his head a little. But it was not the first time, he reflected, that a priest had acted as a panderer.
CHAPTER XVIII
Louis followed the Capuchin’s last instructions. The Louvre slept in complete and gloomy silence. Louis approached the rear, where he discovered the Captain of the Guards standing motionless, cloaked and silent, near the gate, his plumed hat pulled down closely over his face. His sword was in his hand. No other guard was visible, though, at a distance, the monotonous fall of their footsteps could be heard. Over the Louvre, a white moon sailed through ragged black clouds, plunging the city into alternate wan light and darkness.
; Louis, his pulses hammering violently, approached the Captain, who knew him well. He drew aside his hood and revealed his pale face. His large blue eyes glittered feverishly in the moonlight.
“It is a quiet night,” he said, softly, giving the password.
The Captain was silent a moment; he scrutinized Louis’ features. Then he saluted, without speaking. They entered the court; the moon had failed again, and they felt their way in complete blackness. Louis heard a door creak open, and found himself in a lightless corridor. His arm was taken firmly by the Captain, and he traversed numerous narrow corridors, which Louis knew were passageways in, the servants’ quarters. Doors opened and closed behind him. There was no sound at all but their whispering footsteps. Louis felt a balustrade under his hand. They climbed innumerable stairs. There was another flight, and another. Finally, the Captain stopped at a narrow door, and rapped three times, waited, rapped twice, then three times again. The door opened, and Louis found himself in a tiny dim chamber, lit only by a feeble lamp on a far table. The windows were shrouded in rich tapestry; the narrow pointed ceiling was lost in flickering shadows. At one side of the chamber was a purple velvet divan.
He turned to the Captain, who scrutinized him piercingly. The soldier was as pale as the young priest, and his expression was stern. He spoke in a whisper:
“Monseigneur, there is only one punishment for treachery.”
Louis grew even whiter. He drew himself up haughtily, without answering. The Captain was apparently satisfied, but, after going to a distant door, he paused a moment and shot the priest a long and ferocious look. Then he unlocked the door and disappeared. There was a long and waiting emptiness.
When he was alone, Louis was filled with a great disquiet. He paced slowly up and down the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick golden carpet. His was not a nature attuned to intrigue, to passwords, to furtive approaches. Now he had his moments of apprehension and doubt. Was he being treacherous to the Cardinal? Was he violating his trust? But surely Père Joseph, the Cardinal’s dearest friend, would not urge him into a situation where he would do treachery to the Cardinal. Nevertheless, Louis’ aversion for the task forced upon him in moments of transport did not lessen. He was no adventurer. He was not excited by secrecy and tension and danger. All his life, he had fled from anomalous positions, and had felt that there was something ridiculous and childish in intrigue. There was something in the nature of men, he had reflected, which impelled them to silly excitements, torturous deviousness, elaborate precautions and signals, when the best approach was the simplest and most uncomplex. But that latter approach held no adventure, no gaiety, no breathlessness, and so, was despised.
Sighing impatiently, and frowning, he removed his cloak and flung it irritably upon the divan. He stood in his somber black, his sword about his strong and slender waist. All the singular beauty of his large white countenance was revealed in the lamplight. His fair curling hair, his handsome blue eyes and perfect features gave him the aspect of a militant angel, so full of proud dignity was he, so quiet and of statuesque proportions. He was no churchman, now, but a young military officer, and only the silver cross that hung from his neck on a black cord betrayed his calling.
Though he heard no sound, the narrow door opened soundlessly, and the Captain appeared. He glanced swiftly at Louis, momentarily withdrew. A female form appeared, small, delicate, graceful, and Louis recognized the young queen.
She was dressed in a simple robe of blue velvet, pearls about her famous white throat and in her tiny ears. Upon one finger of her perfect right hand blazed a single diamond. Her hair was loose, and clung about her smooth white forehead and cheeks and neck in a profusion of gleaming chestnut curls. Her green and sparkling eyes were full of reserve and sweetness, and only the protruding red-underlip of the Habsburgs marred a face that otherwise was exquisite and bewitching. All her movements were perfect in their simple and haughty beauty, and she seemed to float rather than walk. Following her was her only female friend, donna Estefania, a Spanish noblewoman, the last of those driven from the Queen by her suspicious husband. Then the Captain entered the chamber on the heels of the Spaniard.
Louis gazed at the beautiful young queen, and a strange agitation seized him. In the light and shape of her eyes, in the brightened radiance of her flowing hair, in her manner and sweetness and reserve, she resembled Marguerite de Tremblant. The Queen, to Louis, had always been a remote and exalted personage, to be treated with distant reverence, and hardly to be regarded as human. But now she was a woman to him, formed of the same dear and lustrous flesh of one of whom he hardly dared think. It was her femaleness, her resemblance to that other, which made his heart beat suffocatingly, made a pervading warmness creep through his body, made a dimness blind his eyes. He felt deep love for her, and adoration. He bowed deeply. When she extended her hand graciously to him he could hardly take it, and when he pressed his cold lips to it, he felt that a fire had burst within him.
When he looked up, the Spanish woman and the Captain had gone. He was alone with the Queen. She seated herself on the velvet divan. She was pale and agitated, and her hands were clasped convulsively together. She regarded Louis with dignity and remoteness, but there was fear and urgency in her emerald eyes.
“Monseigneur,” she murmured, “it was against the promptings of discretion that I granted your plea for an interview at this hour.”
Bemused though he was, Louis experienced a pang of anger. Haughty and egotistic as he was, he resented the subtle hand which had impudently manipulated him into this dangerous situation, and had thrust him forward to flounder or succeed according to his unprepared wits. He could not speak. His anger gave a white flame to his face, and his eyes glowed. The Queen could not know the reason for all this, and it appeared to her that Louis was inspired. Moreover, she was not immune to manly beauty, and she had always secretly admired the young priest. For some reason which she could never explain, but which arose from her intuition, she had trusted him. She trusted him now, though she was plainly terrified.
He drew a deep breath. He approached the queen and stood before her. All his bemusement had gone. He remembered, with rapidity, what the Capuchin had told him, and his natural caution assisted him in his efforts.
“I shall be brief,” he said, in a low voice, “and not detain your Majesty a moment longer than necessary.”
The queen sighed. Her rigidity relaxed. But she gazed at him with anxious penetration.
“Your Majesty and I have had frequent conversations about the Huguenots, the Edict of Nantes; and the infamous promises of the heretical English to the rebels in La Rochelle. We have discussed the danger to France, to the Church, and to all Christendom, in this nefarious situation. Forgive my impudence, Madame, if I recall these conversations to you at this time.”
The eyes of the queen became full of lightning and passion. She leaned towards the priest, and clenched her dainty little hands on her knees.
“It is not necessary to recall them to me, Monseigneur!” she cried, vehemently. “I think of nothing else but this most frightful condition, and spend all my hours in prayer, and in despair! I can think of nothing but the insult to the Holy Father, to my brother his Majesty of Spain, to the Habsburgs, to all those faithful to God, in the present policy of France, which conciliates our deadly enemies and the foul heretics!”
She sprang to her feet. She was filled with wild indignation and grief. She regarded Louis with a passionate look.
She exclaimed, bitterly: “But of what avail are my prayers, my tears, when, seated in the power of France, is my most vicious enemy, and the enemy of the Church—your master, Monseigneur!”
Louis said coldly: “Madame, I crave your forgiveness, but the Cardinal is no enemy of the Church. The thought is preposterous, insulting.” He was carried away by his indignation, and forgot that this was his queen and not a presumptuous and hysterical woman. His eyes fixed themselves upon her reprovingly, and even with disdain. She was not familiar with such a
look and such a manner, and while they aroused her anger and astonishment, they also reassured her and convinced her afresh of the young priest’s integrity and sincerity. Nevertheless, she regarded him with outrage, breathing swiftly.
He continued: “His Eminence has been impelled at all times with a profound devotion to France. One must not question his devotion, which springs from his heart. At the worst, one can only question his wisdom. I have disputed with him often upon this matter.”
He paused, then continued in a firm tone: “I am not betraying his Eminence when I speak of this to Madame. He is well aware of my sentiments. I am convinced, however, that he is wrong in his policies, in conciliating and placating the Huguenots. I have told him often that his policy is giving strength to these vile heretics, and that, if the Church is to be saved, and France, also, they must be forever destroyed, and Catholic culture and authority restored to supreme power in Europe. He has asked me: ‘Would you have another slaughter of St. Bartholomew?’ And I have answered him: ‘Yes!’”
At these words, the fire of hatred and fury rose to his eyes, and he was like one possessed. He communicated his emotion to the queen, and between her red lips her little white teeth flashed hungrily.
“Yes!” she cried, striking her hands together. “Let all the gutters of Europe flow with Protestant blood!”
They regarded each other in a transport of hysteria. Louis’ hand had flashed to his sword. He trembled visibly. The queen was so shaken that she put her fingers convulsively to her throat, and sank again on the divan. There was a terrible silence in the chamber, while they gazed at each other, panting.
Then Louis whispered: “There is a way, Madame, in which we can accomplish the will of God, and destroy the heretics. I have been assured of this. And that way is to receive his Eminence in secret audience, and plead with him.”
The Arm and the Darkness Page 23