Paris

by Edward Rutherfurd

  “She will have to stay in your room with you, Simon. All the time. And no one must ever go in there. You will have to pretend to be sick.” He did not say so, but the message to his son was clear: “You have brought the girl in, and now you will have to suffer the consequences.”

  As for the little girl herself, Pierre was kindly, but blunt. The first thing he did was to put a white band around her arm.

  “If anyone ever asks,” he told her, “you must say that you are Catholic. If you say you are Protestant, they will kill you, like your mother and father. Do you understand?” It was a terrible thing to say, but he knew it was necessary. “They will probably kill all of us too,” he added.

  Little Constance nodded solemnly. She understood.

  “If anyone ever sees her,” Pierre continued, “we shall have to say she is a cousin who is visiting us. But people will be suspicious. So let us keep her out of sight until we can find out what to do.”

  By gentle questioning during that very day, her story became clear enough.

  Her parents had come from the great western port of La Rochelle, with a party of other merchants and craftsmen who had thought this a safe opportunity to see the capital. Dragged from the tavern where they were staying, her father had been killed at once, but her mother had managed to escape. As she ran down the street, hearing a horse’s hooves coming around the corner behind her, she’d whispered to the child to hide, and shoved her into the shadows of the alley as she passed. A moment later, she’d been cut down.

  “Did other family come with you to Paris?” Suzanne asked her. The child shook her head.

  “Have you family in La Rochelle?”

  “My aunt and uncle.”

  “God willing,” Pierre said to his wife afterward, “we can return her to La Rochelle when it’s safe to do so.”

  They were both silent for a moment. Neither of them spoke the thought that was in their minds: unless the Protestants of La Rochelle had all been killed as well.

  During the first days, the Renard family were very frightened. For the terrible massacre on the Feast of Saint Bartholomew lasted well past the day itself. Estimates varied, but thousands were slaughtered in Paris alone. Soon news came that the massacres were taking place in other towns and cities as well. What the royal family and the Guises had started in Paris, the mob continued all over France. Orléans, Lyon, Rouen, Bordeaux, in one after another, Catholic mobs massacred Protestants in the thousands. As yet, it seemed, the great stronghold of La Rochelle had not been touched. But who knew what might come next?

  Outside France the news of the massacre traveled like wildfire. The pope sent the King of France a formal congratulation, had Vasari commemorate the event in a fine painting and ordered a Te Deum to be sung in celebration upon that day for years to come. It was said that when the King of Spain heard of the massacre, it was the only time he was ever heard to laugh. Only one great Catholic ruler seemed to have doubts about the merits of the murders. The Holy Roman Emperor, though he was the King of Spain’s cousin, thought that it was not a Christian thing to do.

  In France itself, however, the massacre had one immediate effect. Guy Renard brought the news to his cousin’s house on the morning after the massacre.

  “King Henry of Navarre has converted to Catholicism. So now our Médicis queen has a Catholic son-in-law.”

  “Do you think it was a sincere conversion?” asked Pierre.

  “Oh, very. He was told to do it on the spot or they’d cut his head off.”

  It was a strange existence for Simon and little Constance. The door of his room was kept shut all the time. Now and again his mother would come in with a little broth or some other food that might nourish an invalid, and then she’d put some of it in a second bowl she’d concealed and feed them both. At these times she’d stay and talk in low tones to them both, though only Simon was permitted to reply. After she had gone, the two children would remain as quiet as a pair of mice.

  The serving girl came past the door each day, but she never dared open it. Suzanne had told her firmly that she’d be whipped if she did.

  “I don’t want you getting sick as well. You’ve work to do,” she said.

  The apprentice once asked Pierre if he thought that the shock of the massacre had caused Simon to fall sick, but Pierre was dismissive of the idea.

  “He started looking feverish the afternoon before,” he remarked. “And he certainly never saw anything.”

  Each afternoon, however, he and his wife contrived that the house would be safe for the children to come out of the room. Either Pierre would take the apprentice out and Suzanne send the serving girl on an errand that would take her some time, or vice versa. Then, most days, with one or the other parent guarding the door, the two children would come down and go into the yard at the back, where no one could see them, and walk about and get some fresh air. They could even play ball, so long as they spoke only in whispers. In this manner, they usually got out of Simon’s little room for an hour or two each day.

  For the rest of the time, however, they had to devise ways of keeping the children amused. Fortunately, the little girl liked to draw. And Simon could read. But within a day or two, her curiosity about what he was doing led to a new game. He taught her the letters of the alphabet.

  Constance would make a drawing of a simple object—a cat, a dog, a house—and Simon would write the word in question and, in the lowest whisper, explain to her what sound the letters made, and show her how they were formed. Since they had nothing much else to do, it was not many days before the little girl knew the whole alphabet. Simon was impressed with how quickly she understood things.

  After a few days, his mother brought them a checkerboard, and he showed Constance how to play checkers. It took only a couple of days before she could hold her own. Sometimes she beat him.

  And so the two children lived their strange and secret life. And each night little Constance would curl up in Simon’s arms and fall asleep, and he would sleep contentedly too, knowing that he was her protector.

  Once or twice Uncle Guy came to see Simon’s parents. He was sorry to learn that Simon was unwell, and wanted to come up and see him, but Pierre and Suzanne would tell him that it was better he not. “He’ll be up and about soon enough,” Pierre promised. And although Guy was slightly annoyed at not being allowed to see the boy, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  Even though Simon always heard Guy arrive, he could not hear what was said in the parlor. But once, after Constance had been there for ten days, he did overhear one scrap of conversation as Guy was leaving. He had mounted his horse just under Simon’s window, so his head was only a few feet away. He had turned down to his cousin, who was standing in the doorway.

  “You know, Cousin,” he remarked, “this killing of Protestants is a nasty business, no question. Yet when it’s all over, we may be glad of it. If destroying one community of heretics is the price of uniting France, maybe we should pay it.” Then he had ridden away.

  The words had come through the window quite clearly. Simon looked down at little Constance. Had she heard? Had she understood? Yes. Her face was quite still, but her mouth was open in shock. He put his arm around her. After a few moments he felt her shaking, and saw the tears roll down her cheeks, but she cried silently, because she knew she must not make a sound.

  And somehow, after that, he could never love his uncle Guy the way he had before.

  Constance had been there for two weeks when Pierre told his son that it would be safe for him to take her to her family in La Rochelle. “There has been no assault on the town so far,” he explained, and the roads seemed to be clear. “I shall say that I am returning a niece to your mother’s family in Poitiers. That’s well on the way. I should be able to get Constance safely across from Poitiers to La Rochelle.”

  He was going to leave the city the following afternoon. Simon’s mother would take both the apprentice and the serving girl out with her while they left.

  “Jus
t think,” Simon whispered to her before they went to sleep, “you’ll see your family soon.”

  “I shall miss you,” she whispered back. “Will you come to see me?”

  “Of course,” he said, though he had no idea whether such a thing would ever be possible.

  They were standing together in the parlor the next afternoon, while Pierre was saddling his horse. The house was empty. Simon looked at the dark-haired little girl he had been living with for the last two weeks and felt the need to say something.

  “When I’m grown up, I shall marry you,” he declared.

  “You will?”

  “If you like.”

  Just then, Pierre came into the room.

  “Time to go,” he announced, and took Constance by the hand.

  But when they got to the door, she turned and ran back to where Simon was standing, and kissed him before his father led her out.

  Chapter Eleven

  • 1604 •

  Sometimes brothers quarrel. Robert and Alain de Cygne didn’t. Maybe it was because they were close in age, yet with quite different characters. One would hardly have even guessed they were brothers, to look at them: Robert had thin, dark hair which was already showing the first hint of a receding hairline. He had an almost scholarly bent. Alain was more robustly built, his hair a lighter brown, and thick as thatch. He loved the great outdoors. He’d rather hunt than read a book on any day. But each was the other’s greatest friend.

  Robert was the older by just two years. He was the quieter one; Alain could be a little wild. All through their childhood, neighboring families spoke of them as “the de Cygne boys,” or even sometimes as “Robalain.” They went about as a pair. They were invited as a pair.

  Robert, as the elder son, was to inherit the family estate and fortune.

  “If anything happens to me,” he would tell Alain, “I shall have the pleasure of knowing that the estate will go to you.” Alain might be a bit wilder, but Robert knew that he’d be an excellent steward of the family fortunes if they came his way.

  “No,” Alain would reply, “you get married and have children. I’d rather make my own way in the world.” And Robert knew that his brother was telling the truth. It was the challenge and the adventure that Alain loved. Robert sometimes thought they were even more important to him than the end result.

  Assuming that he lived and produced a family, then Robert’s dream was that he and Alain should have fine houses and estates near each other. And to this end, he was doing everything he could to secure his brother’s advancement in the world.

  That was why, six months ago, he had left Alain in the country to run the estate for him, and come up to Paris to see what he could do for his brother. Taking a house in the fashionable Marais quarter, he’d set to work.

  It had been agreed that Alain would come to Paris in September. Robert knew his brother was excited about the prospect. And now September had come. Alain had arrived. And Robert was faced with one awful dilemma.

  Should he tell his brother how completely he had failed?

  Or that the meeting they were going to this autumn day was his last big chance?

  They were walking through the quarter known as the Marais, the marsh, that lay just north of the axis that ran from the Louvre to the Bastille. Whatever marsh remained was mostly drained now—although hints of the old mire could be smelled in the streets on many days—and during the last decades, some of the greatest men in France had built their mansions there.

  Alain was plainly excited by the magnificence of some of these aristocratic “hôtels.” Mostly they consisted of a big courtyard behind a gateway—this was known as the cour d’honneur—a splendid mansion with wings, and a garden behind. As they stopped in front of the Hôtel Carnavalet, he cried out: “Just imagine, Robert, if our family could have a place like this!”

  “Either you or I,” said Robert with a smile, “would have to be one of the richest men at court. So don’t get your hopes up just yet.”

  Robert looked at his brother affectionately. He knew that Alain was already planning to live there, with the fortune that he did not have. He hoped so much that he might be able to help his adventurous younger brother toward his dreams.

  In one respect at least, young Alain had a great advantage over the generality of men. He was an aristocrat.

  Those advantages were large. Aristocrats were exempt from many of the taxes that ordinary folk had to pay. Their social prestige gave them a better chance of finding a rich wife. And above all, the best positions in the king’s administration almost always went to nobles. A man of outstanding ability might rise in the king’s service. But at a certain point he would nearly always find that the position he sought, and had earned, and the rewards that went with it, would be given to a nobleman to whom he must submit.

  So far, however, these advantages hadn’t produced any results.

  Robert’s first prospect had been a tax farmer. The system of farming might not be popular, but it worked quite well. Instead of maintaining a huge network of officials, who might be corrupt anyway, the royal administration subcontracted the whole business to independent operators. The tax farmers guaranteed a given income to the crown, and anything more they could extract from the people, they kept. The king knew what he would receive, the tax farmers got rich, and of course, if the people were discontented, they blamed the tax farmers first, before they blamed the king.

  So when Robert had found a tax farmer with a marriageable daughter, he’d gone to work. The deal was simple enough. The girl would get the benefit of social status, and with her father’s financial backing, her noble husband might make a great career. Everybody benefited. Robert had a charming miniature of Alain, which was quite true to life. The girl and her parents had seen the picture and liked it. He was on the point of summoning Alain to Paris when the tax farmer had regretfully informed him that he had a better offer. These things happened, but it was a blow.

  Then he’d got an introduction to the great Sully himself.

  Maximilien de Béthune belonged to one of the oldest families in Europe. With branches in France, England and especially Scotland, where their name was often spelled as Beaton, every generation seemed to produce men of talent. Created Duke of Sully for his services, the soldier administrator was the king’s right-hand man, and already he had transformed the country’s finances from loss to profit.

  When Robert was ushered into his presence, he found a man well into middle age, with thinning gray hair and a somewhat domelike head, from which a pair of shrewd gray eyes looked out at him with a hint of amusement.

  “So Monsieur de Cygne,” he remarked with a smile, “you have not come to ask for something for yourself, but you want me to help your brother. Very commendable. Has he a particular skill?”

  “His talents are general, monsieur.”

  “I’m sure they are. Does he by any chance have knowledge of the linen business, or perhaps glassmaking, or silk weaving?”

  “No, monsieur.”

  “I didn’t expect it, but one never knows. More important by far however, has he knowledge and experience in building bridges or roads?”

  “Not as yet. But I’m sure he could learn.”

  “I dare say. But I need men with experience.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “I was hoping,” Robert ventured, “that something might be found for him. Our family has always—”

  “My dear Monsieur de Cygne,” the great man gently interrupted him. “Your family is known to me. If I had something to offer, I assure you, I should oblige you at once.” He paused and gazed at Robert kindly. “Do you know how to govern France?”

  “Well …” Robert was stumped. It was not a question he had been expecting.

  “Very few people do. The answer, however, is wonderfully simple. It is to do as little as possible.” Seeing Robert’s look of stupefaction, he raised his hand. “You are thinking that the king and I are busy, and we are. Allow me to explain. Yo
u see, the rulers of France usually spend their time destroying the country. They engage in wars. The trouble of recent decades has made a terrible mess of the countryside, and that is why I need men to build roads and bridges. Kings also have a deplorable habit of extravagant building, and of giving away money to all their friends. The present king is no better than the rest.” He smiled again. “Don’t worry, I tell him so to his face every day. But here is the point, Monsieur de Cygne: despite the attempts of every generation to ruin France, they cannot do it. The land is so large and so rich. The endless wheat fields that stretch from Chartres to Germany, the orchards and cattle farms of Normandy, the wines of Burgundy … the list goes on forever. Leave it alone for a year or two and the land recovers itself.

  “All I have done, therefore, is to stick to the essentials, employ only people who are useful, build what is needed, and if possible, stay out of unnecessary wars—for as a soldier I know that war is ruinous—and if I do that, then the wealth of France will flow like a great river. That is why we now have a surplus in the treasury. And it is why I cannot create an unnecessary position for your younger brother.”

  As Robert was sadly leaving, the great man did say one other thing.

  “Perhaps you should try to get to know the king. I don’t control him.”

  It had taken time. Robert had got to work on people that he knew. And finally he had been presented to the monarch. Here his name and his family’s centuries of loyal service had earned him a cordial enough reception. And the king was a very genial monarch. When he had finally plucked up the courage to ask if he might present his younger brother when he came to Paris, the king had told him that he expected it.

  This was their mission today. Would the king do anything for Alain if he liked him? Who knew?

  He’d discussed the meeting carefully with Alain. For once, his younger brother was nervous. “What shall I do? What shall I say?” he’d asked.